Beth Kaplan's Blog, page 105

Parigi

I'm in Paris, still speaking Italian. Grazie. Prego. Life moving too fast for this old brain.

Up at six yesterday, out the door by nearly 7, a fond goodbye to my dear travelling companion Bruce, who moved that morning to a hotel and is staying nearly two more weeks in Italy. We had a wonderful time together, though my fondest memory will be Bruce the good nurse tending to my back wound, putting on salve and bandages. A very kind man.

The travel was seamless - the airport bus arrived as I did, lots of time for a cappucino at the airport, the flight was on time, the bags at CDG arrived almost immediately. And then one of my travelling triumphs - I headed for the metro to town and bypassed the long lines of people waiting to buy metro tickets at the automated machines. It's one of the tortures devised by the French - jet-lagged tourists, who often don't speak French, have to stand in line for ages and then figure out a complicated machine in order to get a metro ticket. Whereas now, every time I leave Paris, I make sure to have a  return metro ticket from the airport in my wallet. The one I had was from 2 or 3 years ago, but still good. Hopped on the train, got off not at Chatelet, another torture for tourists, the most convoluted, crowded, and endless metro station, but at Port-Royal, to get on the #91 bus to the Gare de Lyon, a route I'd figured out in Bologna. From there, a five minute walk to the flat Lynn has rented for us, though of course I got lost in the windy streets.

And there was my friend. She has rented a funky little two-bedroom place in the 12th, one of her favourite, least touristy quartiers. We went for a walk around the 'hood - we lived nearby on the Place d'Aligre the last time we were in Paris together, so we know it well here - visited a few favourite shops, explored a few others, sat in the sun in the Place des Vosges, stopped at a café in the sun for an aperitif - a beer for me, a cocktail for her - near the Bastille, shopped at a market for dinner - fish and zucchini croquettes - which Madame prepared for us. Talking talking talking.

Netflix in the evening - Lynn had heard good things about "Russian Doll" so we watched two episodes before abandoning. Lynn said, "Do you suppose it's a generational thing? We just don't get it." Yes, I agreed. We just don't. But fun to try to figure it out with ma belle copine.

It's very cold in Paris: 4 degrees, exactly the temperature in Toronto. I have not been lucky enough to have warm weather. It's going up to 20 at last next Thursday, which is the day I leave. C'est la vie.

The Place des Vosges is a tradition with Lynn and me; she found this photo from 2014. My blue period. How warm it was in April that year, though the trees were not yet out!
 This was yesterday. Trees are green but it's so cold, I'm wearing a hat.
You may have noticed I've not removed that pink scarf since I bought it in Montpellier. It keeps me warm.
The stunning Place des Vosges at about 6 yesterday.

Lynn and I have three days together; she has work here Monday through Wednesday, so I'll be on my own. The rain starts Tuesday. So - a weekend of pleasure awaits. En avant. 

absolutely last pix of Bologna

Four more pix just downloaded.
My view throughout Italy - my fearless leader and guide.
 An ordinary door handle or keyhole or something wonderful on a very big door
A simple little saint's tomb in ivory with two of the statuettes by a very young Michelangelo who lived in Bologna for a year
A simple little side altar in the same church. Baroque enough for you? The wealth of the Catholic church is unimaginable. And yet they ask for donations "for the upkeep of the churches." LOL.

My favourite Italian word is prego. You're welcome, there you go, please, after you - a kind, useful word. And of course ciao. At one restaurant, when a new group arrived, the chorus of "ciao"s, said maybe 25 times, made me laugh.

And on that note ... avanti. 

last pix of Bologna

(click to enlarge) countless arcades
 brickwork detail on a cloister wall
a rather full hardware store
Raphael's Saint Ursula with her instruments and fellow saints - and Mary Magdelane - with angels reading music above
gorgeous Madonna with baby and sparrow by Barbieri, 1615
medieval vistas everywhere
ditto
and now for something completely different: Morandi - landscape
an "hommage" by a British artist called Tony Cragg, 1999
Why do these paintings make my heart ache?
On the way home, passed this grocery store - selling, it seems, oranges, bananas, and wine.

an invitation to Prague

I just received this from the Canadian ambassador to the Czech Republic, to student and friend Helen Notzl's book launch there; I was the book's first editor. It's a beautiful work of art; wish I could attend. 
The Ambassador of CanadaBarbara C. Richardsonrequests the pleasure of the company of
Beth Kaplan
at a Book Launch of “Long Journey Home: A Prague Love Story” by Czech-Canadian Helen Notzlon Wednesday, April 17th, 2019, 17:00 – 19:00 at Canada House, Ve Struhách 95/2, Praha 6Invitation non-transferableThe program will include author’s reading from the book in English.For more information about Helen Notzl and her book, please visit  www.helennotzl.com .Helen Notzl will also present the book at Vaclav Havel Library on Thursday, April 25 at 7:00 pm.

last day in Italy - in love with Bologna

Thunderstorms predicted and instead, so far, at 5 p.m., a beautiful sunny day, the best of my time here so far. No trains today, just a leisurely stroll around town under the porticos; Bologna has 25 miles of arcaded streets - and, incidentally, many bike paths on the roads, well used. We saw - of course - churches and then the museum. Four churches, which made Bruce happy as he showed me the beauties therein, several enormous and baroque, others smaller, simpler, lovelier, one dedicated to Saint Cecilia, the patron saint of music, one with Roman remains and a cloister. Love cloisters. The streets packed, students shouting, eating, smoking, sitting on the medieval steps in the sun - do they even see the history and beauty that surrounds them as they go about their noisy teenaged lives?

Facts: Italians love cellphones, perhaps more than any other country I've seen so far, constant constant talking; they love dogs, particularly, for some reason, golden retrievers. Well, they are golden and decorative. Italians also love movies, pastries, coffee, scarves, shoes, perfume, motorcycles, Jesus and Mary. Fashion report: the women love pants made of a rubber-like pseudo-leather, shredded jeans with gigantic rips and holes cut in them - for men too - , over-the-knee boots, extravagant fringe. This morning, we followed a woman who on top was wearing a chic little jacket with scarf, and on the bottom was in skintight leggings, as if she was wearing nothing at all, and high-heels. Always with flare, if sometimes a bit silly.

We went to the Pinacoteca for one last look at Renaissance marvels - a Tintoretto, a Giotto, a gorgeous Raphael, a room of Guido Reni ... After a while, as always, I start to go cross-eyed with all the vast sweeping canvases of virgins, saints, crucifixions, angels.

So - LUNCH. At the Trattoria Gianni, recommended by our landlady - and since we were surrounded there either by Italians or French, we felt it was a good choice. At last, we had tagiatelle bolognese, divine, I with a glass of sangiovese, and a dessert of melted chocolate over almond gelato - more divine. It was my treat for Bruce, to thank him for his guiding on our marvellous journey. A long chat with the Parisian couple eating tagiatelle bolognese next to us - how they love Italy and come often, are disappointed with the food in Rome, Florence and Venice; the food in Bologna is best.

Good to know.
Another grimace - will someone teach this woman to smile?

BK went home for a rest and I went to the museum of modern art to see one of my great favourites: Giorgio Morandi. Talk about a change from the Renaissance and the Baroque, the work of this extremely simple man, almost a hermit, who lived all his life in Bologna or the countryside nearby with his mother and three sisters, hardly travelled, painted what he saw, mostly the dusty vases and bottles in his atelier bedroom, and yet is considered the greatest Italian painter of the 20th century. I fell in love with Morandi years ago after seeing an exhibition at the Met in NYC. How can all those repeated shapes and forms mean so much? And yet they do. You feel his concentration go deeper and deeper into what it means to be alive and to see, to feel, to experience. His heroes were Piero della Francesca, Giotto - and Cezanne.

And then I strolled in the afternoon sun, peering into boutiques and buying nothing. I have bought nothing in Italy. Miracolo! Except in a farmacia where I bought more bandages for my back. There was a weight machine so I used it - have gained 4 or 5 pounds. Basta! Now at home, waiting for the photos to download, will share when it happens. A final dinner with Bruce, and packing, and tomorrow at dawn - Parigi. Paris, here I come.

Bruce wants me to report that when we were in Turin, he asked me if I wanted to see the Turd of Shroudin. A great laugh.

Church bells ringing.

Beth's spring classes at U of T and Ryerson

Dear writers, if you're thinking of signing up - do go ahead.

U of T's Life Stories is a daytime class, 12.30 to 3, starting Tuesday May 7.

Ryerson's True to Life is an evening class, 6.30 to 9.15, starting Wednesday May 1. Please let me know if you have any questions.

I look forward to seeing you. Rest assured, I will be speaking English - with maybe just a tiny bit of Italian. Ciao!

And if you need inspiration, consider going to hear this marvellous non-fiction writer:
http://view.tmclient.ticketmaster.com/?qs=0dc9f9be68b76fe32b7f3d0d469e38843ffe1b8ccbf2f333b95e858b67506754f7d688f637196deac5fba51f0c96130b8a04528eec0d0dcc186fc4dd4074bcd427f8a0924fd37177218aa583e8bc90319ed812e047bf51ed

Padua

If it's Tuesday on the Bruce Trail, this must be Padua. I moaned this morning when I received my wake-up call at 7.15; I'm supposed to be on vacation but it can feel sometimes like work, this search for Renaissance genius. In fact, with rain predicted and tired from yesterday - we walked in fact 24,000 steps, Bruce informed me - I contemplated backing out of today's jaunt. But am very glad I did not. We were on the 8.25 train to Padua, to see Giotto's magnificent frescoes, one of the greatest masterpieces of western art, in the Capella della Scrovegni. 
The visits are timed; it all works like clockwork: one group inside the chapel, one watching a film about the work, one waiting outside. At 10.45 on the nose we were let in for the 15 minute film and then into the chapel for our 15 minutes with glory. And then the bell rang, and BK and I and 46 French high school students were led out.  Salvation on one side; damnation on the other
Scenes from the lives of Mary and Christ in one delicate, stunning panel after another

All these astounding details - faces, folds of cloth, scenes, movement - have survived since 1300, even the bombings of WW2 which destroyed a lot of Padua. Profoundly moving to see, particularly because this trip I also saw the prehistoric cave at Chauvet, the earliest human drawings on a wall - and here, that art reaches its pinnacle. Very grateful to have been awakened to see it. And when we left the chapel, the rain had stopped and the sun was out - though briefly, as it turned out.
 Outdoor markets everywhere with fresh produce - and spices ready to plant. I'm ready. Oh, and white asparagus has come into season and is also everywhere.
The rain began again, a literal damper on the day.
But lunch was huge and splendid - pasta, carpaccio, steamed vegetables, including artichoke, for a mere 10 euros. Healthy and good, in a cafe right on a rainy market square. And our waiter was handsome, a face right out of Giotto or Botticelli, as are so many here.
We only saw two churches, hooray. San Antonio - Saint Anthony - is adored here as the patron saint of lost things; I could use him at my place! These are his remains, bits of his body enclosed in gold; a group of small children was being led around. How creepy, I thought. I took this shot and received a reprimand from a priest. The cathedral, of course, is beyond enormous, loaded with marble, paintings, incredible painted vault ceiling, sculpture, gold leaf etc. Including a Donatello horse and rider outside.

But it was still raining, and so this time Bruce agreed that though we'd only done 15 or 16,000 steps and seen two churches, we could go back to the train station, where for the usual 20 euros, we were able to change the tickets - booked for 4.30 - to 2.30. Home to Bologna, where the sun was back out, and I could Google various things I've been wondering about. What is the Visitation, for example? Pregnant Mary visiting Elizabeth, the more pregnant mother of St. John the Baptist. The Wedding at Cana? Where Jesus turned water into wine. (I could use him around too.) Good to know. I guess it doesn't surprise you to know my biblical knowledge is very weak.

Also Googled why the scrape above my backside is now bright raspberry red. A tiny bit worrying.

Tomorrow, my last day on the beautiful Bruce Trail.

pix of Verona

Click to enlarge. Again, cannot adjust light, so some of these are darker than they should be. This is Juliet's balcony and some of her many admirers.
 Street scene. In many places, building were so artfully aged that it was as if they'd been done by set decorators.
and this
and this
The other side of the river
 one of Bruce's churches with gorgeous painted vaults
our lunch with a view of the river
 more loveliness - still life with a Bruce
 more churches
 a medieval bridge
a medieval woman gazing at a medieval cloister.

While I write this, Bruce is wrestling with the washing machine; we've put a load of laundry in - but where do you turn it on? Mystery; he's on the internet trying to figure it out. This morning I wrestled for ten minutes with the toaster, another medieval device, and the espresso pot, which took 15 minutes to heat up. Always with the adventures. Avanti!

seeing Juliet in Verona

In every life, there comes a time when friends are indispensable, and today was one of those times. Last night, in this lovely apartment in Bologna, I had the luxury of taking a bath. I lay back and slid up and down between being nearly submerged and sitting upright, over and over. It was heaven.

And when I emerged, I had a livid red scratch across my lower back. There must be a rough patch in the tub, and as I slid up and down, I had scraped some skin off. It hurt through the night, and this morning, I needed it tended. But I could hardly see way back there, let alone apply a bandage. So I had to ask my friend Bruce to take a look. He did - and actually took a photograph so that I could see it too. (Which I will NOT be posting on the blog.) I found a First Aid kit here, and Bruce stuck a big bandage just above my bum for me.

What else are friends for?

Another great scene - when we got back from our walk late yesterday afternoon, we entered the vast doors of the apartment building and went to our floor. But we could not remember which apartment door was ours, the one on the right or the one on the left. The one on the right had the name of our landlady, whereas the other had some other name, so we tried to get into the one on the right, but the key did not fit. Bruce tried and tried, and so did I, and then I held my phone as a flashlight while he bent down and tried again. Luckily a nice man came home and told us we were trying to get into his apartment.

LOL. It was okay - he was the father of our landlady who lives in the apartment to the right, so he understood - crazy Canadians.

Today - Verona. A mild day, chilly in the morning, sunny later, a quick train ride, and there the city of the Montagues and Capulets, of the Two Gentlemen. And what a glorious place it is.

We did the Bruce Trail, as I call it, for he has been to the city several times and had our path mapped out. The Roman arena was closed, so we headed straight down the beautiful narrow streets to Juliet's balcony, obviously not hers but in a building owned since the 1200's by the family - But soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Then for a cappucino on the market square, and then to a series of churches - he got us the church pass, five churches for the price of two, though we only made it to three - to see various treasures, including a famous altarpiece painting by Mantegna and a famous battered fresco by Pisanello. Lunch by the river, outside with an incredible view - polenta con funghi and minestrone, another fave - more walking and looking and admiring. I kept seeing tight groups of handsome, laughing young men or a pretty young girl and saying, There are the Montagues; there's Juliet Capulet.

But by then, we had done almost 20,000 steps; Bruce's phone keeps tabs. We've been doing 20,000 almost every day. And now I know that when we get to 20,000, I've had it. So we took the long trek to the train station, and once more I was happy to pay the 20 euros to get us on an earlier train home. It was the milk train, a local with many stops, so I answered a lot of emails, including one from my boss at U of T and a series bouncing from France to Canada to a train in Italy. Amazing.

We got in just after 6. Hooray - time for the aperitivo, one of the best things about this fabulous country. From 6 to 9, in many bars, if you order a drink, you can help yourself to a selection of free food. Not exactly free - BK and I found a great place near our flat staffed entirely by young women, where we ordered two glasses of wine - both for me, since Bruce now does not drink - and ate our fill from a big selection, including eggplant many different ways, cauliflower in cheese sauce, tons of pastas. The wine, however, was 12 euros a glass, much more than a glass of wine usually costs. So our dinner was not free, but still, we had a great meal for 24 euros, and I had delicious Montepulciano d'Abruzzo to boot.

It's heading for 8 and we are home, tapping at our separate machines. Already, many beautiful memories of this trip, but several special ones from today - Bruce carefully applying the bandage, our lunch in a lovely piazza, our aperitivo. There's an art to successful restaurant finds in a strange city, and as Bruce says, you win some, you lose some. Today, winners all the way.

Tutte le ribs.

Quick, while there's internet, three more photos from yesterday.
 From the Milan train station: Tutte le ribs che vuoi a!
The entryway to our apartment...
and the tiny front door, with Mr. Kellett for reference.