As I type this, we are potentially just over 24 hours away from Parliament agreeing that we should commit to "an expansion" of our role in the war on IS/ISIL/Daesh. Writing that sentence makes me depressed, scared, angry - anything other than confident and safer. The hawks in Westminster, egged on by tub-thumping journalists and the defence industry, will soon have their way and we will commit to a war that will have no forseeable end and no clearly-defined outcomes. Of course, we could all be surprised and find that Labour MPs actually vote in line with the resolution passed at Conference barely two months ago. There could be many more Tory MPs who have a last minute wobble and decide to reject the need for us to - yet again - strut our stuff on the battlefield, only to find that when the war is 'over' and we have buried our dead, nothing has changed. It could happen, but I doubt it will.
We, the public, have been whipped into a frenzy of "we must do SOMETHING!". The constant assault on our consciousness by the endless front pages of the gutter press shouting out their stories of 'terrorist refugees' coupled with the night of co-ordinated attacks launched in Paris last month - "Paris - that's on our doorstep!" - has convinced the British people that we are next on the terrorists' list of targets. We have been made scared and set on edge and we have been told who the enemy is. Having wound us up, the press and Government can be guaranteed that the majority are now thoroughly on-side when it comes to rolling out the bloody red carpet once more.
I was disappointed that Jeremy Corbyn did not place a three-line whip on the Party when it comes to any vote relating to 'expanding' our role. To my mind, a free vote allows the bad apples in hs own cabinet, the ones that are constantly briefing against him in the press (probably for a nice little kickback too), to do what they want to do without having to positively buck the party line. I thought that this missed an opportunity to damage Cameron's leadership because, without the support of dissident Labour MPs, he would probably have had to have shut up about his war ambitions, a humuiliating climbdown given his known wish to increase our involvement. However, having heard Corbyn speak today and explain why he went with the free vote, I now believe it to be a good move: those Labour MPs who vote for war will have nowhere to hide when it all goes to hell and we are having Chilcot Part 2 - they will not have the option of saying "The Party made me do it!". It will all be of their own making, their own free will.
As a little aside, I just thought of something the other day. Although Corbyn is portayed in many sections of the media as "extreme" or "hard-left", take away his meetings with Palestinian and Irish Republican activists and his views on social justice, plain speaking, "good' politics and equality make me think of John Smith, the best PM we never had. Was John Smith vilified in this way as "extreme"? Were his views on social justice pilloried? No, the press had yet to descend into whatever circle of hell in which it currently resides. Back then, having a conscience was still acceptable. But I digress…
So, why are we going to war? Although there are associated reasons such as the French wanting us to do more (well, we could do 'more' but more of other useful and effective stuff rather than bombing) or "the UN has sanctioned it" (not sure if the UN has sanctioned war or, indeed, if Russia, for example, is going to carry on playing nice for ever). It seems to come down to this: to increase our security. Yep, you read right - to increase our security. Now, given that we are already (sort of) operating in Iraq against IS, we are going to be a likely target of some kind of revenge attack. IS are pretty old skool when it comes to their religion, very much an-eye-for-an-eye type guys. Given our current involvement in Iraq (plus previous form in Iraq, Afghanistan etc), I'd say we are on their attack list. The terrorists involved in the attacks in Paris specifically linked thier actions to France's role in the Middle East. Now, while some of the terrorists may have come into France posing as refugees, some were already there in France and/or Belgium and had been for some time. France getting involved against IS provided the trigger for their 'revenge'. We are now trying to go down the same route, painting a bigger target on our backs. Public safety will be decreased by our involvement and the only way to ensure "our" safety will be greater surveillance, more restrictions, more hassle. Win for the terrorists.
Never mind our safety, what about the safety of the average Syrian? In our war in Iraq (Gulf War 2 and the occupation), we managed to kill lots of Saddam's troops as well as henchmen fiercely loyal to him. But how many Iraqi civillians did we also manage to kill in the process? 100,000? More? We don't know for certain but, whatever figure it is, it is an awful lot of 'collateral damage' (as they try to sanitise it). The fact is that, even with the smartest of smart bombs, many, many Syrian civilians are going to be killed, especially if IS start basing themselves in densely-populatd areas. To compound the problem, we have no spotters on the ground so how accurate are these targets ever going to be? As more civilians die - people who might have been bombed by the Assad regime previously, remember- so anti-West resentment rises and IS can play into that. Win for the terrorists.
What is the end-game here? Neither Iraq nor Afghanistan had a good outcome following our departure, despite our hanging around for a very prolonged period after the 'victory'. The Taliban are back in many places in Afghanistan and the vacuum in Iraq left by removing the one thing holding factions at bay - Saddam - created the right environment in which IS could flourish. Oficially, Iraq has an army of 650,000 and around 300,000 police - nearly a million people who should be operating against IS and yet still they exist in Iraq. Syria, we are told, has a 'free Syrian army' of around 70,000. This figure, quoted by Cameron among others, is likely to be baloney: 70,000 armend people maybe, but not an army as we would understand it or need it to be - different groups and factions without a single command structure are not going to be effective allies on the ground. Internicene warring is more likely than concentrating on defeating IS.
Before we even get into a never-ending war (a showdown that IS wants, of course - win for the terrorists), why are we not looking to strike at IS in other ways? They get their weapons from somewhere - why are we not working on cutting that supply off? (I know it's probably the Saudis that are supplying which means Cameron will find it hard to be tough with them but, hey, it's all about this country's security, isn't it Dave? Isn't it?). Where are they selling their oil to gain revenue? Use diplomacy/pressure with the buyers. Do almost anything and exhaust those routes before we get into a war, for God's sake!
Churchill once advocated that there should be "more jaw-jaw and less war-war". A motion to lay before Parliament was agreed today, a few hours debate in the house tomorrow will determine if our bombers will be in action by the end of the week: barely time for any talking, any exploration of other options. I'd like to think that some of those set on war could still be turned through debate tomorrow, but I doubt it. Most politicians wear poppies and stand at the Cenotaph, yet they all seem to want to rush to war at the drop of a hat or the sniff of a dodgy dossier. Jeremy Corbyn wants us to stay out of a war and to try other means to defeat IS first. It's not about him being weak, it's about him being strong and holding on to his principles in the face of incredible provocation.
Tuesday, 1 December 2015
Robbing BAstards!
The World's Favourite Airline (do they still claim that?), British Airways, like to act as if they are the Rolls Royce service of the skies, somehow above all that tawdry money grubbing that the budget airlines indulge in. I'm sure it will come as no great shock to find out that they are just as devious in their pursuit of your cash as Ryan Air and EasyJet.
Having booked some reasonably-priced flights to Boston, I was surprised to find that the carrier was BA. I went online to see if it is possible to upgrade our seats to exit row seats. As a tall person, I appreciate all the extra leg room I can get, especially on long-haul flights and, from memory, BA provided the worst amount of leg room of all the carriers I have flown with on trans-Atlantic flights. On finally getting into the 'Manage Your Booking' section of their website, I found that no exit seats were available at all. Fine, others had obviously got there before me. It was then that I noticed that 'reserving' a seat would cost between £31 and £36 per person. To further up the ante, only half the plane appeared to have seats that are reservable. One could, of course, wait until check-in (24 hours before the flight) to choose one's seats, but, by then, any chance of sitting with your partner might have disappeared if only scattered, random unreserved seats remain. It feels like I am being forced to cough up the extra money if I want to sit next to my wife on the flight.
I rang BA to check what seats we had been allocated when we booked the flight and I was told that handing over a large wad of cash only got us onto the flight: no seats were allocated at that stage and we could either reserve them now at a huge cost (it is four fights in total) or gamble on twin seats still being available when we check in. In effect, BA would like us all to pay an exorbitant (and not previously-disclosed) fee simply to be able to sit next to each other.
While Ryan Air and EasyJet may sting you for every extra under the sun, at least they are upfront about it and you know what to expect: we know that we need to remember to take our credit card with us when we get out of our seat to head down the aisle to the loo; we expect a charge for raising the blind on the window in order to admire the view (charge doubled if it is an exceptionally clear day); we know that the lifejacket holder will contain a note telling us how we can go online a purchase one should it be needed . BA, on the other hand - the would-be Jeeves of the airways, the nobility among a sea of plebeian carriers - offer you a smug smile and a warm pat on the back whilst simultaneously filching your wallet and dipping your handbag.
Having booked some reasonably-priced flights to Boston, I was surprised to find that the carrier was BA. I went online to see if it is possible to upgrade our seats to exit row seats. As a tall person, I appreciate all the extra leg room I can get, especially on long-haul flights and, from memory, BA provided the worst amount of leg room of all the carriers I have flown with on trans-Atlantic flights. On finally getting into the 'Manage Your Booking' section of their website, I found that no exit seats were available at all. Fine, others had obviously got there before me. It was then that I noticed that 'reserving' a seat would cost between £31 and £36 per person. To further up the ante, only half the plane appeared to have seats that are reservable. One could, of course, wait until check-in (24 hours before the flight) to choose one's seats, but, by then, any chance of sitting with your partner might have disappeared if only scattered, random unreserved seats remain. It feels like I am being forced to cough up the extra money if I want to sit next to my wife on the flight.
I rang BA to check what seats we had been allocated when we booked the flight and I was told that handing over a large wad of cash only got us onto the flight: no seats were allocated at that stage and we could either reserve them now at a huge cost (it is four fights in total) or gamble on twin seats still being available when we check in. In effect, BA would like us all to pay an exorbitant (and not previously-disclosed) fee simply to be able to sit next to each other.
While Ryan Air and EasyJet may sting you for every extra under the sun, at least they are upfront about it and you know what to expect: we know that we need to remember to take our credit card with us when we get out of our seat to head down the aisle to the loo; we expect a charge for raising the blind on the window in order to admire the view (charge doubled if it is an exceptionally clear day); we know that the lifejacket holder will contain a note telling us how we can go online a purchase one should it be needed . BA, on the other hand - the would-be Jeeves of the airways, the nobility among a sea of plebeian carriers - offer you a smug smile and a warm pat on the back whilst simultaneously filching your wallet and dipping your handbag.
Monday, 9 November 2015
If it quacks...
A couple of weeks ago, the Observer Food Monthly (OFM) published the list of its Food Awards for 2015. Awards are given to the best restaurant, food retailer, food producer and so on. In the 'special' edition of OFM detailing the award winners, each award recipient was given some space to talk about how they got into the food business, what their personal philosophies and attitudes to food and consumption are and what they want to do going forward. One of the awards given out was for the Best Food Blog of the year and it was awarded to Ella Woodward for her blog, Deliciously Ella.
I was reading the piece on her in the OFM when I arrived at this paragraph:
"In the current wave of interest in healthy eating, the most prominent figures are not doctors or dieticians but “wellness gurus”, and there has been a backlash against people giving out dietary advice without proper medical qualifications. (Woodward is currently training part-time for a diploma in naturopathic nutrition at the College of Naturopathic Medicine, a London-based organisation founded by homeopath Hermann Keppler.)"
Now, the mention of 'naturopathic' rang a lot of little alarm bells. In my years of 'O' and 'A' Level biology, a physiology degree course and a health and social care degree course, I had never come across the medical field of 'naturopathy'. When I looked into the 'college', I realised why this was. 'Naturopathy' is concerned with nurturing the body's 'vital force' through homeopathy, herbalism and naturopathic nutrition. Now, studying for a diploma in nutrition designed to nurture this 'vital force', a rather fuzzy, unscientific concept, says to me that Woodward is aiming to be just such a "wellness guru" albeit with some rather dodgy letter after her name. She too will be handing out "dietary advice without proper medical qualifications" but will seek to legitimise that "advice" by parading a New Age qualification as 'proof' of her knowledge.
Now, I am not going to dismiss, out of hand, the worth of herbalism and accupuncture (homeopathy, however….): many modern drugs have their basis in plant extracts and plants are increasingly being looked at to provide new treatments going forward. However, linking food to this 'vital force' adds a level of mysticism to the existing (scientific) field of nutrition. Why not study for a diploma in nutrition? In the article, it was noted that Woodward's blog was followed in large part by teenage women, many of whom will already be pulled in negative directions by the perceived need to be the same as the celebrity 'role models' that are constantly shoved down our throats. To dress up an influential food blog with the trappings of pseudo-science is, to my mind, a potentially dangerous path and gives spurious substance to fad eating and snake oil ingredients that promise to 'cleanse', 'vitalise' or 'energise'. If it quacks like a duck, it's a duck. But if it promises you wellness through eating an obscure South American berry, it's a quack.
I was reading the piece on her in the OFM when I arrived at this paragraph:
"In the current wave of interest in healthy eating, the most prominent figures are not doctors or dieticians but “wellness gurus”, and there has been a backlash against people giving out dietary advice without proper medical qualifications. (Woodward is currently training part-time for a diploma in naturopathic nutrition at the College of Naturopathic Medicine, a London-based organisation founded by homeopath Hermann Keppler.)"
Now, the mention of 'naturopathic' rang a lot of little alarm bells. In my years of 'O' and 'A' Level biology, a physiology degree course and a health and social care degree course, I had never come across the medical field of 'naturopathy'. When I looked into the 'college', I realised why this was. 'Naturopathy' is concerned with nurturing the body's 'vital force' through homeopathy, herbalism and naturopathic nutrition. Now, studying for a diploma in nutrition designed to nurture this 'vital force', a rather fuzzy, unscientific concept, says to me that Woodward is aiming to be just such a "wellness guru" albeit with some rather dodgy letter after her name. She too will be handing out "dietary advice without proper medical qualifications" but will seek to legitimise that "advice" by parading a New Age qualification as 'proof' of her knowledge.
Now, I am not going to dismiss, out of hand, the worth of herbalism and accupuncture (homeopathy, however….): many modern drugs have their basis in plant extracts and plants are increasingly being looked at to provide new treatments going forward. However, linking food to this 'vital force' adds a level of mysticism to the existing (scientific) field of nutrition. Why not study for a diploma in nutrition? In the article, it was noted that Woodward's blog was followed in large part by teenage women, many of whom will already be pulled in negative directions by the perceived need to be the same as the celebrity 'role models' that are constantly shoved down our throats. To dress up an influential food blog with the trappings of pseudo-science is, to my mind, a potentially dangerous path and gives spurious substance to fad eating and snake oil ingredients that promise to 'cleanse', 'vitalise' or 'energise'. If it quacks like a duck, it's a duck. But if it promises you wellness through eating an obscure South American berry, it's a quack.
Tuesday, 29 September 2015
Pick your targets
There seems to have been some serious schadenfreude going on over the last 48 hours in respect of the attack on 'Cereal Killers' eaterie in Brick Lane. For those who don't know, 'Cereal Killers' specialised in selling bowls of cereal (at £3.95 a pop) to the hipster residents of Shoreditch and Whitechapel. No, I don't understand it either: a bowl of cereal is something one normally enjoys at home, slobbing in PJ's, either first thing in the morning or last thing at night as a snack (not sure about cereals for lunch, but not against giving it a go!). The cost of this treat at home? Ooh, probably about 15p. A bowl of cereal worth £3.95 on the other hand would normally form part of a ££££ breakfast in a hotel (I have paid anywhere between £11 and £22 for a full breakfast where it is not included in the room price). But the concept of walking into a food outlet in London's East End to willingly part with the thick end of £5 for a bowl of cereal defeats me.
'Cereal Killers' is one of those things that happens from time to time: a ludicrous idea that, for some unfathomable reason, takes off with a a particular group and suddenly snowballs into a phenomenon. The complete idiocy of such a venture attracted much media attention (and, therefore, free publicity) and virtually guaranteed great footfall for the establishment. Like many culinary trends (and I wince as I include the serving of breakfast cereals the list of 'culinary' activities), this will have its moment and then vanish. Another current food trend is to serve food on anything other than plates: wellington boots full of chips; steak with a sauce on a slate; steak served under a nest of barbed wire. This is the nouvelle cuisine du nos jours. It is hateful, pointless and nothing to do with enhancing the enjoyment of food but it will soon fade into deserved oblivion.
When Class War decided to attack 'Cereal Killers' with paint and, I believe, fire (I have a vision of the mob in the old 'Frankenstein' movie: all burning torches advancing on the castle), they did so to protest the gentrification of the area. This is duff logic, surely? If an area has reached a state where it can sustain, for longer than 10 minutes, a cafe that sells breakfast cereals, then I would respectfully submit that the gentrification is well underway because the lunatics have arleady taken over the asylum. How many local estate agents selling 'bijoux' terraced homes, once affordable family homes but now the preserve of the latte-drinking chatterati, were attacked in this protest? How many 'buy-to-let' landlords looking for the big bucks that the poorest can't provide were targeted? Was the local council questioned over their seeming inability to enforce a 35% affordable housing requirement in new housing developments? Was the Mayor of London taken to task for allowing property to be bought hand-over-fist by absentee owners? Gentrification is about pricing the working/lower middle classes out of the market in that area, something that would seem to have already happened or be well-established in Shoreditch. Attacking businesses where people with more money than sense go to spend their income will not bring about social change: burning down Fortnum & Mason will not feed the poor or collapse the monarchy. There again, Class War have always been bigger on gesture than they have on effecting outcomes…
'Cereal Killers' are not, as a friend of mine said, 'Alan Sugar's shock troops, the advance guard of Richard Branson's Virgin invasion fleet' (sorry, Geoff). They are a cople of guys who have realised that there are people in their local area who are willing to spend silly money on stupid things. They are not promoting gentrification, they are exploiting it. Pick your targets, Class War.
'Cereal Killers' is one of those things that happens from time to time: a ludicrous idea that, for some unfathomable reason, takes off with a a particular group and suddenly snowballs into a phenomenon. The complete idiocy of such a venture attracted much media attention (and, therefore, free publicity) and virtually guaranteed great footfall for the establishment. Like many culinary trends (and I wince as I include the serving of breakfast cereals the list of 'culinary' activities), this will have its moment and then vanish. Another current food trend is to serve food on anything other than plates: wellington boots full of chips; steak with a sauce on a slate; steak served under a nest of barbed wire. This is the nouvelle cuisine du nos jours. It is hateful, pointless and nothing to do with enhancing the enjoyment of food but it will soon fade into deserved oblivion.
When Class War decided to attack 'Cereal Killers' with paint and, I believe, fire (I have a vision of the mob in the old 'Frankenstein' movie: all burning torches advancing on the castle), they did so to protest the gentrification of the area. This is duff logic, surely? If an area has reached a state where it can sustain, for longer than 10 minutes, a cafe that sells breakfast cereals, then I would respectfully submit that the gentrification is well underway because the lunatics have arleady taken over the asylum. How many local estate agents selling 'bijoux' terraced homes, once affordable family homes but now the preserve of the latte-drinking chatterati, were attacked in this protest? How many 'buy-to-let' landlords looking for the big bucks that the poorest can't provide were targeted? Was the local council questioned over their seeming inability to enforce a 35% affordable housing requirement in new housing developments? Was the Mayor of London taken to task for allowing property to be bought hand-over-fist by absentee owners? Gentrification is about pricing the working/lower middle classes out of the market in that area, something that would seem to have already happened or be well-established in Shoreditch. Attacking businesses where people with more money than sense go to spend their income will not bring about social change: burning down Fortnum & Mason will not feed the poor or collapse the monarchy. There again, Class War have always been bigger on gesture than they have on effecting outcomes…
'Cereal Killers' are not, as a friend of mine said, 'Alan Sugar's shock troops, the advance guard of Richard Branson's Virgin invasion fleet' (sorry, Geoff). They are a cople of guys who have realised that there are people in their local area who are willing to spend silly money on stupid things. They are not promoting gentrification, they are exploiting it. Pick your targets, Class War.
Monday, 24 August 2015
Thank you Mr Sorkin
Another boxset has bitten the dust. Yesterday we binge-watched episodes 10-22 of Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, Aaron Sorkin's brilliant show set backstage of a late night comedy sketch show (just like Saturday Night Live, in fact). Again, there was that sense of loss as the credits rolled on the last episode but, this time, that loss is all the greater as we have now watched all of Mr Sorkin's TV output as a writer: Sportsnight, The Newsroom, The West Wing and now, Studio 60. Aaron Sorkin's thing is dialogue: whip-crack sharp, brilliant dialogue. Sure, it's often slightly preachy liberal dialogue, but I love it. The verbal rhythms, the actors he uses to deliver the lines, the contaxts in which he explores wider issues are all sheer genius to my mind. And, for now at least, that genius is missing from our screens.
Sorkin writes for television as if the medium has worth and the viewers of that medium are not dumbed-down, infantalised and passive consumers. His writing is saying that we can do so much better than endless talent shows and celebrity gee-gaws: we can be entertained and think a bit at the same time. Revolutionary stuff, huh? As one of his characters in Studio 60 puts it, 'the people who watch TV are no dumber than the people who make it'. No lesser person than Quentin Tarrantino recognises the brilliance of Sorkin's writing as he states in this quote:
However, brilliant dialogue delivered by great actors as part of interesting story lines are still not enough to win the day. Studio 60 was lauded by critics who saw the pilot episode and 13 million viewers watched when it aired. By episode 3, that was down to 9 million, still a massive number to you or I but a loss of one third of viewers overnight became the blood in the water that attracted the critical sharks. Advertisers, the life blood of the majority of US TV, began to drift away while the network who screened it in the States, NBC, put two hiatuses into the run, further breaking up viewer 'loyalty'. The 22 episodes that were made became the first and only series of Studio 60, the only one of Sorkin's TV shows not to get a second (or more) season. Interestingly, an article in the Guardian that appeared when Studio 60 was about to air in the UK in 2007 noted that in the States, many viewers were watching episodes that they had recorded to view later. At that time, viewings made in this way did not get included in the ratings. Had they been taken into account, the 'low' viewer numbers might have looked a whole lot healthier and Season 2 might have made it to screen. Perhaps it was just ahead of its time?
At this time, Sorkin has said he is "unlikely" to write for television again. Having scripted several successful films, he has no need to write for the small screen. Unfortunately, that makes the small screen even smaller to my mind. One fewer passionate, liberal and intelligent writer in TV land leaves us at the mercy of the celeb and talent schlock that is the new bear-bating for the 21st century. I'm sorry that he has made that choice but, boy, did he leave us with some gems!
Sorkin writes for television as if the medium has worth and the viewers of that medium are not dumbed-down, infantalised and passive consumers. His writing is saying that we can do so much better than endless talent shows and celebrity gee-gaws: we can be entertained and think a bit at the same time. Revolutionary stuff, huh? As one of his characters in Studio 60 puts it, 'the people who watch TV are no dumber than the people who make it'. No lesser person than Quentin Tarrantino recognises the brilliance of Sorkin's writing as he states in this quote:
However, brilliant dialogue delivered by great actors as part of interesting story lines are still not enough to win the day. Studio 60 was lauded by critics who saw the pilot episode and 13 million viewers watched when it aired. By episode 3, that was down to 9 million, still a massive number to you or I but a loss of one third of viewers overnight became the blood in the water that attracted the critical sharks. Advertisers, the life blood of the majority of US TV, began to drift away while the network who screened it in the States, NBC, put two hiatuses into the run, further breaking up viewer 'loyalty'. The 22 episodes that were made became the first and only series of Studio 60, the only one of Sorkin's TV shows not to get a second (or more) season. Interestingly, an article in the Guardian that appeared when Studio 60 was about to air in the UK in 2007 noted that in the States, many viewers were watching episodes that they had recorded to view later. At that time, viewings made in this way did not get included in the ratings. Had they been taken into account, the 'low' viewer numbers might have looked a whole lot healthier and Season 2 might have made it to screen. Perhaps it was just ahead of its time?
At this time, Sorkin has said he is "unlikely" to write for television again. Having scripted several successful films, he has no need to write for the small screen. Unfortunately, that makes the small screen even smaller to my mind. One fewer passionate, liberal and intelligent writer in TV land leaves us at the mercy of the celeb and talent schlock that is the new bear-bating for the 21st century. I'm sorry that he has made that choice but, boy, did he leave us with some gems!
Thursday, 16 July 2015
The Italian Jaunt 2015 - Part 3
It was quite hard to leave the villa: it was such a perfect spot that saying goodbye to it was quite a wrench. Couldn't we stay just another couple of days? After squeezing our cases into the back of the car, we set off for Arrone, a point about half way between the villa and Rome. On the way, we stopped off in Assisi. As we approached, we could see that the massive Basillica di Francesco d'Assisi dominates one 'end' of the town. Parking well below the level of the streets we would be visiting, we start our ascent by stairs then escalators until we are delivered onto the street. Assisi is a busy town, its population swelled by tourists and pilgrims, St Francis being both an important saint within the Catholic Church and, therefore, the main reason this town is a major tourist attraction in this part of Italy. Consequently, the visitors to the tomb of St Francis below the basillica are a mixture of tourist gawkers (me) and the deeply pious, the latter stopping to pray in the basillica before praying at the site of the tomb. With the numbers of people in the small crypt, it is quite claustrophobic and I am glad when we emerge into the bright light and sit for while on a cool stone bench. As we leave the basillica, we see that a couple are having their wedding photos taken against its magnificent facade. How lucky are they to have such a setting as this? After the obligatory ice creams (gelati - yay!), we head back to the car park. Unfortunately, we choose the wrong route and end up having to tramp up a murderous incline in the midday heat. I return to the car sweaty and a bit grumpy.
We set off for one more stop, the small town of Spello to see the frescoes in the church that featured in an episode of 'Unpacking Italy'. We park outside the centre of the town and proceed on foot and, yes, it is uphill all the way. When we reach the church, we are confronted with a small sign that explains that the church closed (for lunch, presumably) and will reopen at 3.30pm, giving us almost an hour to wait. We decide that we will pass on the frescoes and make our way to the accommodation in Arrone. We arrive in the centre of the town and puzzle as to where the guest house is: the sat nav is not giving any clear signals as to where we should go. Two of our number head off up a very narrow street which seemed promising and, a while later come back reporting that the guest house is up there, but there is no parking space: we will have to lug cases up the (steep) hill. But of course - all uphill today! After throwing the cases into the room, E and I head out to look for restaurants. My first choice turns out to be a little way outside town and would involve driving, so that is a 'no'. The second choice, we can't find: we seem to being sent onto a small housing estate, an unlikely place to put a restaurant, so that is also out. That leaves really only one restaurant in the town, indicated by a little hand painted sign that says 'Dream King'. It's an unlikely name for a restaurant but, hey, beggars can't be choosers. It turns out to be very, very good food. We are the only customers and the place is in serious need of a makeover, but the bit that counts - what turns up on our plates - is done really well. And to top it all, the bill at the end is tiny! We head back to the guest house but, before going to bed, E and I go further up the road, past the guest house and emerge into the old walled town that sits on top of the hill. The narrow cobbled streets, the side arches that hide lines of ancient houses decorated with baskets and tubs of flowers are all slightly surreal, like something from a film set. A nice find.
The next morning, we head for the Cascata delle Marmore, a spectacular set of waterfalls created by the Romans and now the tallest man-made falls in Europe. They really are a pretty sight. They do not have the vast size and power of Niagara but they have their own magic. We go near to the top of the falls and get very wet. I had scoffed at the plastic ponchos being sold down below and only now do I get it: they are not for rain showers, they are for the constant fine spray that creates beautiful mini rainbows while soaking everything around it. The camera, therefore, spends most of the visit packed in its case. When we are headed back to the car park, E notices that she has lost the lens cap for her camera. I suggest she retraces her steps for a while and see if it turns up. She does so and returns, relieved, about ten minutes later with the cap. Camera loss - Strike 1.
Returning to Rome, we drop the car back at the airport and take a cab into Rome to our hotel that is conveniently situated just round the corner from The Vatican City, the site we will be visiting on Tuesday. On the Monday, Paul and Dawn go to visit the Forum while E and I take a trip around the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain and the Piazza de Navone. The Pantheon is a spectacular space, the huge dome with the window at its apex that allows a shaft of sunlight to pierce the space below - very dramatic! The Piazza is also an amazing space, packed with sculpted gods and monsters that decorate a series of small fountains. As for the Steps and the Trevi… scaffolding! The Trevi Fountain is dry and almost completely boarded up - nothing to see there - and the Spanish Steps head upwards and climax in a massive advert hanging from the scaffolding that conceals the crowning monument and buildings behind it. Slightly disappointing. Less disappointing were the clerical socks that I got from a religious outfitters near to the Pantheon! Fit for a cardinal - one pair red and the other a lovely purple. In the afternoon, we decided to have a beer. There was a bar next to the hotel with three tables outside and that seemed a good place to refresh after the days tramping round. We had a couple of beers then decided to drop the cameras off in the hotel before heading out to explore a bit more. The next morning, E realised that her camera is nowhere to be found in the hotel room. Mine is still there so theft is unlikely. The only place where it could be is the little bar a few doors up and what is the liklihood of it having been handed in? After breakfast I checked that the bar was open and, on finding it was, Paul and E headed out to see if anything had been handed in. A short while later, a very, very, very relieved E returned with the camera: someone had noticed it sitting there by one of the outside tables and had handed it to the barman! Camera loss - Strike 2.
On the Tuesday, we had our guided tour of the Vatican Museum, Sistine Capel and St Peter's Basillica. All three contain sights that are jaw-dropping. The paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine dazzle first in terms of sheer scale, then in their beauty and finally, thanks to a very informative explanation by our guide, in their meaning and significance. The paintings on the walls are not exactly poor either! The sheer opulance of the decoration of the corridors of the Vatican Museum stunned me (albeit there was a fair sprinkling of scaffolding present - especially for us!), while the size and scale of St Peter's leaves the mind reeling. The contrast between what is contained in these three buildings and the interior of the catherdral on Mont St Michel in France is startling: the finery, the splendour, the wealth displayed in the former versus the stark white walls of the latter. Which is the greater monument to faith? Outside St Peter's we found a Swiss Guardsman or two and, of course, had to photograph them. I think the Swiss, back in the day, had rather a reputation for producing fearsome mercenary fighters, hence the choice of them to guard the pontiff. Times change, don't they! As we walked to the far side of St Pete's Square, E noticed that the detachable viewfinder for her camera was missing. Again, retracing our steps, we found it by the barrier where we had photographed the guardsmen. Relief etc. Camera loss - Strike 3: you're outta here!!
So that was it. Amazing sights, some great food and wine (apart from the 'medium' Orvieto bought in error - ugh!), a lovely villa stay and some great memories. Oh, and by some miracle, E still has a complete camera!
We set off for one more stop, the small town of Spello to see the frescoes in the church that featured in an episode of 'Unpacking Italy'. We park outside the centre of the town and proceed on foot and, yes, it is uphill all the way. When we reach the church, we are confronted with a small sign that explains that the church closed (for lunch, presumably) and will reopen at 3.30pm, giving us almost an hour to wait. We decide that we will pass on the frescoes and make our way to the accommodation in Arrone. We arrive in the centre of the town and puzzle as to where the guest house is: the sat nav is not giving any clear signals as to where we should go. Two of our number head off up a very narrow street which seemed promising and, a while later come back reporting that the guest house is up there, but there is no parking space: we will have to lug cases up the (steep) hill. But of course - all uphill today! After throwing the cases into the room, E and I head out to look for restaurants. My first choice turns out to be a little way outside town and would involve driving, so that is a 'no'. The second choice, we can't find: we seem to being sent onto a small housing estate, an unlikely place to put a restaurant, so that is also out. That leaves really only one restaurant in the town, indicated by a little hand painted sign that says 'Dream King'. It's an unlikely name for a restaurant but, hey, beggars can't be choosers. It turns out to be very, very good food. We are the only customers and the place is in serious need of a makeover, but the bit that counts - what turns up on our plates - is done really well. And to top it all, the bill at the end is tiny! We head back to the guest house but, before going to bed, E and I go further up the road, past the guest house and emerge into the old walled town that sits on top of the hill. The narrow cobbled streets, the side arches that hide lines of ancient houses decorated with baskets and tubs of flowers are all slightly surreal, like something from a film set. A nice find.
The next morning, we head for the Cascata delle Marmore, a spectacular set of waterfalls created by the Romans and now the tallest man-made falls in Europe. They really are a pretty sight. They do not have the vast size and power of Niagara but they have their own magic. We go near to the top of the falls and get very wet. I had scoffed at the plastic ponchos being sold down below and only now do I get it: they are not for rain showers, they are for the constant fine spray that creates beautiful mini rainbows while soaking everything around it. The camera, therefore, spends most of the visit packed in its case. When we are headed back to the car park, E notices that she has lost the lens cap for her camera. I suggest she retraces her steps for a while and see if it turns up. She does so and returns, relieved, about ten minutes later with the cap. Camera loss - Strike 1.
Returning to Rome, we drop the car back at the airport and take a cab into Rome to our hotel that is conveniently situated just round the corner from The Vatican City, the site we will be visiting on Tuesday. On the Monday, Paul and Dawn go to visit the Forum while E and I take a trip around the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain and the Piazza de Navone. The Pantheon is a spectacular space, the huge dome with the window at its apex that allows a shaft of sunlight to pierce the space below - very dramatic! The Piazza is also an amazing space, packed with sculpted gods and monsters that decorate a series of small fountains. As for the Steps and the Trevi… scaffolding! The Trevi Fountain is dry and almost completely boarded up - nothing to see there - and the Spanish Steps head upwards and climax in a massive advert hanging from the scaffolding that conceals the crowning monument and buildings behind it. Slightly disappointing. Less disappointing were the clerical socks that I got from a religious outfitters near to the Pantheon! Fit for a cardinal - one pair red and the other a lovely purple. In the afternoon, we decided to have a beer. There was a bar next to the hotel with three tables outside and that seemed a good place to refresh after the days tramping round. We had a couple of beers then decided to drop the cameras off in the hotel before heading out to explore a bit more. The next morning, E realised that her camera is nowhere to be found in the hotel room. Mine is still there so theft is unlikely. The only place where it could be is the little bar a few doors up and what is the liklihood of it having been handed in? After breakfast I checked that the bar was open and, on finding it was, Paul and E headed out to see if anything had been handed in. A short while later, a very, very, very relieved E returned with the camera: someone had noticed it sitting there by one of the outside tables and had handed it to the barman! Camera loss - Strike 2.
On the Tuesday, we had our guided tour of the Vatican Museum, Sistine Capel and St Peter's Basillica. All three contain sights that are jaw-dropping. The paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine dazzle first in terms of sheer scale, then in their beauty and finally, thanks to a very informative explanation by our guide, in their meaning and significance. The paintings on the walls are not exactly poor either! The sheer opulance of the decoration of the corridors of the Vatican Museum stunned me (albeit there was a fair sprinkling of scaffolding present - especially for us!), while the size and scale of St Peter's leaves the mind reeling. The contrast between what is contained in these three buildings and the interior of the catherdral on Mont St Michel in France is startling: the finery, the splendour, the wealth displayed in the former versus the stark white walls of the latter. Which is the greater monument to faith? Outside St Peter's we found a Swiss Guardsman or two and, of course, had to photograph them. I think the Swiss, back in the day, had rather a reputation for producing fearsome mercenary fighters, hence the choice of them to guard the pontiff. Times change, don't they! As we walked to the far side of St Pete's Square, E noticed that the detachable viewfinder for her camera was missing. Again, retracing our steps, we found it by the barrier where we had photographed the guardsmen. Relief etc. Camera loss - Strike 3: you're outta here!!
So that was it. Amazing sights, some great food and wine (apart from the 'medium' Orvieto bought in error - ugh!), a lovely villa stay and some great memories. Oh, and by some miracle, E still has a complete camera!
Tuesday, 7 July 2015
The Italian Jaunt 2015 - Part 2
The morning following our arrival at the villa, we were able to have a proper look round. The property we were staying in was formerly the grains and crop storage area for a monastery (the main building) and between us and the latter was a small, high-sided chapel. There were apartments available to hire in the main building although no-one would be staying there during our visit. To the side of our building was a decent-sized pool with plenty of space to bake in the sun by its side.
Our home for a week
View to the back (a field of tobacco?)
View to one side. Can just about see the nearest neighbours!
All around the property, there were rosemary plants: not just polite little potted shrubs that we grow in our gardens for some fresh herbs but thick, gnarly, ancient plants that had grown into fragrant hedges. To release the most wonderful smells, one had only to run a hand over their foliage. Needless to say, rosemary featured in one of the meals that we cooked - it would have been rude not to!
Inside, the villa was spacious and pretty well-appointed with a choice of three dining areas: very informal (kitchen), quite informal (a covered area adjoining the kitchen that could be opened onto to the garden) and completely alfresco, the preferred option for meals when it was dry. It has to be admitted here that, alongside the very, very good weather, there were a couple of wet periods. And when I say wet, I mean ‘wet’ as in Noah and the Ark, virtually. In fact, the first day it rained, we suddenly found that quaint properties sometimes have little faults. In this case, some of the seals where a sloping roof butted against a wall were obviously less than sealed and we found water running down the wall, a shower on the main staircase and a lake forming behind one of the sofas in the living room! However, we decided not to panic as a) the floors were all stone tiled, so no wood to warp or rot and b) this was pretty definitely a problem that happened whenever the rains came. Rain is probably inevitable in Umbria as the region is so lushly green. If you are looking for sun 7 days a week, head further south but the colour pallette will not contain such a variety of greens.
All in, it was a relaxing week although we did not stick solely to turning ourselves lobster-red by the pool. We took a day trip out to Gubbio, a lovely medieval town just north of Perugia and, on another day, drove a circuit taking in Lake Trasimeno, Citta della Pieve and Orvieto. Pieve is an old walled town with lots of character and many, many churches. It also claims ’the narrowest alley in Italy’ in Vicolo Baciadonne (Kisswomen Passage) which is less than half a metre wide at its narrowest. Orvieto too is a beautiful town with a striking duomo at its heart, the external colours of which (striped in light and dark stone) reminded me of the duomo in Siena. In fact, the colour palatte of the area is gorgeous: the greenery (numerous woodlands, young crops in the fields, hedges) against the light, sandy-coloured earth, the light rose of building walls, the darker tones of the sun-bleached curved terracotta roof tiles and, standing out aganst all, the bone white of civic and religious infrastructure. However, along with a feast for the eyes comes a test for the muscles, mainly those powering the legs. I thought Ramsbottom was hilly but it has nothing on these towns: everything one might wish to see involves steep ascents on cobbled paths. As you stagger ever upwards, sweating and daring not to look at how far you still need to climb, you need to remain vigilant for cars, vans and, of course, scooters. There are virtually no areas in these old towns that are 'pedestrian only’ as the streets are too narrow to cater for such niceties. You can only pray that God is protecting you, the poor pilgrim, as you progress slowly to the architectural gem that (invariably) sits at the highest point in the region.
One final note: aside from the man-made beauty that we got to see during our week in the villa, there are two memorable moments that were provided by nature. Firstly, sitting outside following a meal, we carried on talking and opened another bottle of wine as the sun went down. Although there were meant to be external lights, we never did find out how to turn them on so, after a time, we found ourselves sitting out with just enough light to enable us to find our wine glasses. Suddenly we saw first one, then two or three and finally, many, many firelies were flitting between plants around us, a magical display of natural fairy lights! Secondly, preceding a storm, we were treated to an hour or more of lightning flashing among the dark clouds of the afternoon sky before we had to move inside as the rain began. That show was good but the sounds that accompanied it were even better: throughout that period, there was virtually no break in the sound of thunder. While the flashes were numerous, they remained discrete, but there was no way of knowing when one thunderclap began and another ended, an endless gigantic ‘grumbling’ in the hills around us. Truly, that was rolling thunder.
Our home for a week
View to the back (a field of tobacco?)
View to one side. Can just about see the nearest neighbours!
All around the property, there were rosemary plants: not just polite little potted shrubs that we grow in our gardens for some fresh herbs but thick, gnarly, ancient plants that had grown into fragrant hedges. To release the most wonderful smells, one had only to run a hand over their foliage. Needless to say, rosemary featured in one of the meals that we cooked - it would have been rude not to!
Inside, the villa was spacious and pretty well-appointed with a choice of three dining areas: very informal (kitchen), quite informal (a covered area adjoining the kitchen that could be opened onto to the garden) and completely alfresco, the preferred option for meals when it was dry. It has to be admitted here that, alongside the very, very good weather, there were a couple of wet periods. And when I say wet, I mean ‘wet’ as in Noah and the Ark, virtually. In fact, the first day it rained, we suddenly found that quaint properties sometimes have little faults. In this case, some of the seals where a sloping roof butted against a wall were obviously less than sealed and we found water running down the wall, a shower on the main staircase and a lake forming behind one of the sofas in the living room! However, we decided not to panic as a) the floors were all stone tiled, so no wood to warp or rot and b) this was pretty definitely a problem that happened whenever the rains came. Rain is probably inevitable in Umbria as the region is so lushly green. If you are looking for sun 7 days a week, head further south but the colour pallette will not contain such a variety of greens.
All in, it was a relaxing week although we did not stick solely to turning ourselves lobster-red by the pool. We took a day trip out to Gubbio, a lovely medieval town just north of Perugia and, on another day, drove a circuit taking in Lake Trasimeno, Citta della Pieve and Orvieto. Pieve is an old walled town with lots of character and many, many churches. It also claims ’the narrowest alley in Italy’ in Vicolo Baciadonne (Kisswomen Passage) which is less than half a metre wide at its narrowest. Orvieto too is a beautiful town with a striking duomo at its heart, the external colours of which (striped in light and dark stone) reminded me of the duomo in Siena. In fact, the colour palatte of the area is gorgeous: the greenery (numerous woodlands, young crops in the fields, hedges) against the light, sandy-coloured earth, the light rose of building walls, the darker tones of the sun-bleached curved terracotta roof tiles and, standing out aganst all, the bone white of civic and religious infrastructure. However, along with a feast for the eyes comes a test for the muscles, mainly those powering the legs. I thought Ramsbottom was hilly but it has nothing on these towns: everything one might wish to see involves steep ascents on cobbled paths. As you stagger ever upwards, sweating and daring not to look at how far you still need to climb, you need to remain vigilant for cars, vans and, of course, scooters. There are virtually no areas in these old towns that are 'pedestrian only’ as the streets are too narrow to cater for such niceties. You can only pray that God is protecting you, the poor pilgrim, as you progress slowly to the architectural gem that (invariably) sits at the highest point in the region.
One final note: aside from the man-made beauty that we got to see during our week in the villa, there are two memorable moments that were provided by nature. Firstly, sitting outside following a meal, we carried on talking and opened another bottle of wine as the sun went down. Although there were meant to be external lights, we never did find out how to turn them on so, after a time, we found ourselves sitting out with just enough light to enable us to find our wine glasses. Suddenly we saw first one, then two or three and finally, many, many firelies were flitting between plants around us, a magical display of natural fairy lights! Secondly, preceding a storm, we were treated to an hour or more of lightning flashing among the dark clouds of the afternoon sky before we had to move inside as the rain began. That show was good but the sounds that accompanied it were even better: throughout that period, there was virtually no break in the sound of thunder. While the flashes were numerous, they remained discrete, but there was no way of knowing when one thunderclap began and another ended, an endless gigantic ‘grumbling’ in the hills around us. Truly, that was rolling thunder.
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