Yes, of course, it is a bit of a curse, living in interesting times. Yet, in testing us, it also grants us new perspectives and a new appreciation of things we take for granted . . .
. . . like mushrooms,
especially ones we make together,
and, well, yes, who cares whether or not it’s a mushroom.
Even in a pandemic, love will have its way,
nature is still nature (looking best at dawn and dusk),
and we’ll enjoy time with those we care about
and remember those we’ve lost.
We flew down to El Paso in early January to drop in on Amanda’s cousins, John and Gemariah, and give Jim a chance to experience that little wedge of westernmost Texas pushed up against the border and Juarez, surrounded by New Mexico, lots of mountain and the passes through the high desert landscape that give the place its name. Cactus is at the heart of the family story and was the family business with a client list that included J. Edgar Hoover (back in the day).
We stuck our heads in a little down at the heels and nearly empty at noontime restaurant in a pilgrimage to see granddad’s fireplace, the one featured in a story in National Geographic (November, 1951), and snapped a hasty photo. No one seemed to even notice we were there.
The 192 rock specimens making up the fireplace came from grandad’s friends and fellow collectors and include large pieces of petrified wood to frame the fireplace, plus Indian artifacts, fossilized dinosaur vertebrae, mastodon tusks, clams, snails and oysters, then onyx, agate, and smithsonite, as well as a chunk of gold ore from the Homestake Mine of South Dakota. Sadly, cousin John could be right that the rocks in the fireplace are worth more than the property itself. National Geographic states that the photo was taken in the living room, but family lore says it was the gas station/shop and that the house has long since been demolished. Everything has changed since that first half of the 20th century and every few years El Paso becomes, once again, almost unrecognizable.
If you look very carefully, you may be able to make out a large “X” in the distance. It’s La Equis (the “X”) over in Juarez. It symbolizes the merging of the Aztec and Spanish civilizations in Mexico which was personified in Benito Juarez, the first president with Aztec heritage for whom the city was named and who was also the leader who drove the French puppet Maximilian from a Napoleon III created Mexican throne. Juarez was admired and supported by Abraham Lincoln, who had voted against the war in which the US seized pretty much half of Mexico, establishing the Rio Grande as the border in 1848. When massive flooding altered the course of the river in 1864 a long running dispute was opened over where the border should be. A tamed river and 100 years of talking resulted in a treaty that was finally concluded by JFK and signed by LBJ. Unlike the relatively relaxed back and forth over in San Diego/Tijuana, the current level of violence in Juarez kept us from venturing across.
The archeology museum reconnected us to the broader picture of pre-Columbian America before this area was known as El Paso del Norte and the Spanish had followed the natural route across the Rio Grande and through the mountains to New Mexico. The native peoples had used the same natural routes, likely for thousands of years, so that Pueblo culture has been around El Paso for a long time.
As the only visitors (literally) in the museum on a January morning, we benefited from what we came to experience as the uncanny warmth and friendliness of everyone we encountered in El Paso. The museum attendant directed us to what we had assumed to be only an auditorium but which housed drawer after drawer of carefully labeled Native American (including everyone from the Iroquois to the Maya) beadwork, moccasins, war clubs, axe heads and small bits of pottery such as these, all of which was great fun to browse through.
Coming from the Anglo-centric northeast (where we’ve even forgotten that New York started life as New Amsterdam), we’re largely oblivious to the Spanish heritage in the United States which runs long and deep and have had no awareness at all, for instance, that credit for the first cross-cultural Thanksgiving could just as easily go to the Spanish under Don Juan de Oñate and the Manso Indians near present day San Elizario where Oñate had called a rest before crossing the Rio Grande as he extended the Camino Real from Mexico City to Santa Fe a quarter century before the happening at Plymouth between the English and the Wampanoag. Reminds us of that song from Hamilton: “Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story.” Of course, the history of the Spanish and the Native Americans is no more pretty than that in the world of the English.
By 1680, the various tribes of Pueblo Indians up the road had had their fill of the Spanish and collaborated to stage the Pueblo Revolt or Popé’s Rebellion under the leadership of the mysterious Popé, who united all the Pueblos except the Piro and Tigua. Fleeing for their lives, almost 2000 Spaniards together with hundreds of Tigua and Piro Indians headed south and crossed over the Rio Grande to safety, establishing new settlements at Socorro (Tigua) and Ysleta (Piro). After the wandering river finally settled down under the hand of man, the settlements ended up being north of the river and in what’s now the USA. Suffering numerous floods and fires, the existing look of the Ysleta Mission is from 1907. The Tiguas established the Ysleta del Sur Pueblo in 1682 which continues to be the heart of the community. The Spanish had reconquered New Mexico in 1692.
Periodic flooding was slightly more kind to the Piro Indians at Socorro and their current edifice dates from 1843, although it’s believed that the decorative beams (“vigas”) and other roof elements were salvaged from the original 1691 structure.
The chapel at the San Elizario Presidio has a different story, starting out as a military fort in 1789 complete with a chapel to serve the soldiers and their families (destroyed in the flood of 1829). A community developed around this, evolving into a farming community and the first county seat for El Paso County. The current chapel was completed in 1882. A 1935 fire prompted the interior modifications to cover the fire damage: the pressed-tin ceiling and boxed-in support columns.
Rufino Loya got up from his chair by the house and came out to talk with us. We had come to admire his work of 25 years that surrounds his house just off the highway. It’s inspired, he told us, by his village in Mexico. Everything was crafted by him by hand, each tiny ball of concrete rolled between his palms, then painted. Even the sidewalks are decorated. That’s where we saw the “El Paso Strong” tribute added after the recent mass shooting – painted on the sidewalk. He’s no longer fabricating anything more, just continually refreshing the paint and talking with the steady stream of visitors drawn by what turned out to be a surprisingly cohesive or coherent or what have you folk art tribute to El Paso. For us, it was only the eyes that were a bit too intense, especially on the angels. We were glad we stopped by to talk with Mr. Loya and experience what he created. La Casa de Azucar. “Sugar House,” because people have told him that it looks like a decorated cake. Hmm. Perhaps.
The Magoffin family settled in El Paso when it was already a polyglot borderland community of but 700 souls making a go of it between worlds. At Christmas time they placed a menorah on the mantel to make sure their Jewish neighbors felt comfortable. (With that sensibility, it’s not surprising that they contributed more than their share of mayors to the city.) Built in 1875, the Magoffin Home is an adobe building and an exceptional example of Territorial architecture. The key disadvantage of adobe as a building material is, of course, that it melts in water, making it important to keep water away from the structure and to avoid floods at all costs (witness the fate of those missions). That’s why the rainspouts extend so far out. And, yes, it is adobe. Those lines in the exterior wall are just for show and to make it look like it’s not adobe. The Magoffins were wealthy enough to afford pretension.
The house stayed in the family into the 20th century when it was acquired by the State of Texas. The interior is remarkably well furnished with family pieces and due to the lucky break of having flourished after the invention of photography so that little authentic touches such as the blowfish hanging from the chandelier (photo lower left) could help bring the place to life.
Among the surprises El Paso has to offer is its relationship with the Kingdom of Bhutan. The campus of the University of Texas at El Paso (UTEP) has been built in a Bhutanese architectural style, complete with the only Bhutanese parking garage in the world. Despite the considerable differences in climate it looks very nice in its adopted home of the high desert.
The Crown Jewel of the UTEP campus, however, is the Lhakhang, a gift of the Kingdom to the people of the United States for a Smithsonian Folklife Festival in 2008 that was moved to UTEP in 2015, handcrafted on-site in Washington by Bhutanese craftsmen and monks.
With a population roughly the size of El Paso (700,000 ish), Bhutan has gone all in on its partnership, with about 40 Bhutanese students among the UTEP student body.
The great loop taking us from and back to Grand Junction, Colorado, and down through the Colorado Plateau and the Four Corners region also led us through the National Parks more known for devastating scenery than for dabbling in the human history of our continent. We revisited most of the itinerary Amanda and Ken followed last year, but with some different twists and in cooler weather. We also came across the delightfully unexpected, like these cattle in southern Utah being herded down a road we had begun to marvel at for the total lack of traffic. (Guess the locals knew.)
Throughout our trip we were fortunate to also see lots of rabbits, lizards and turkeys. Plus, those wild mustangs in Canyon de Chelly.
But, this is why people come to the National Parks on the Colorado Plateau!
Speaking of spectacular cinematic views, the Grand Canyon has long been the “must see” of the National Parks. The lore of our National Parks is deeply ingrained in the place.
Mary Colter (born 1869) was given some Sioux drawings (one, a piece of ledger art) as a child, sparking a life long and intent fascination with Native Americans and their art. She became first an interior designer and then chief architect for the Fred Harvey Company (restaurants and lodgings) and the Santa Fe Railroad. In the early years of the Grand Canyon, these were the developers who began bringing tourists in to the Canyon. Colter’s interest in Native Americans comes through strongly in her architecture and design.
Grand Canyon National Park can seem too groomed, tamed, with nature subdued for our contemplation, but it is spectacular scenery not to be missed. It also captures that age of Mary Colter, that wonderful early 20th century sensibility, the era of an evening stroll in your Sunday best on the seaside boardwalk to see and be seen, of the streetcar companies building amusement parks in the countryside at the end of their rail lines. Or, better yet, a retreat for the well-heeled to venture by train and stagecoach and be amazed at what nature hath wrought over millions of years.
Sometimes Zion does feel like the Promised Land. For one thing, there are plenty of options for hiking in the dazzling landscape and the roads are closed to cars with a shuttle bus system conveying gawkers and hikers throughout the park.
Hoodoos are the defining feature of Bryce Canyon National Park. You can just look or you can go in amongst them. We trooped along the Queen’s Garden trail and the Navajo Loop and were stunned by the extravagance of it all.
If you visit the National Parks on the Colorado Plateau, it’s hard to avoid geology. It’s a wrinkle or a fold in the earth’s crust that defines the oddly named Capitol Reef (something about easterners, familiarity with the ocean, and the grandeur of capitol buildings, or something like that). In any case, it’s some odd looking combinations of rocks out there, let us assure you.
Established as a National Monument in 1937 and a National Park in 1971, one of the things that makes Capitol Reef special is the maintenance of the small 1880s Mormon settlement of Fruita by the Park Service. There are orchards, the Gifford homestead (selling delicious little pies), a schoolhouse and blacksmith shop harkening back to pioneer days along the Fremont River. In the transition to becoming a National Park, the Giffords were bought out. It must have been hard to leave such a beautiful spot.
They claim there are 2000 arches or natural bridges within Arches National Park. That’s not hard to believe. And, it’s funny how something so unique and unusual in nature can seem commonplace when you’re in the midst of such a crazy concentration of it. But, water has continued to do its work here and is continuing to do so. There’s a great photo at the beginning of the walk out to the one that’s at the top right in this montage showing that in 1930 the opening was half as big as it is now. In fact, throughout our trip we kept seeing those precariously balanced enormous pieces of rock that look like they’re about to break loose. Sometimes they do, like that stupendous piece of cliff that took out some of the back part of Pueblo Bonito down in Chaco Canyon. Fortunately, those folks had moved out over 700 years ago.
For the last hike of our trip, we decided to take on a hike that would take us by Sand Dune Arch and then through Broken Arch (it isn’t). We had to dump even more sand out of our hiking shoes than usual (which was a lot).
Each of the 19 Puebloan tribes, with different languages, traditions and genetics, has stories of what we call Chaco and of their time at Chaco as an important stage along the migratory path taken since their origins in this world from a unique “emerging place.” Some of those traditions speak of a golden age of brotherhood. Others speak of dark times, dread and slavery. What is clear is that from around 700 or earlier, settlement in significant surface dwellings began in Chaco Canyon by various Puebloan peoples, settlement that began modestly and ended with a monumentally complex and ambitious society and the public architecture to go with it. It is also clear that by 1300 all of those peoples had yet again moved on.
We found Chaco down a long, dusty, washboard of a road taking us on gravel and dirt for half of the 1 1/2 hour drive from the nearest place with a motel, Farmington, New Mexico. The only other option is staying at the campground where, thank heavens, they’re finally taking reservations. It was one of our many stops in the Four Corners as we carved a giant loop in and out of Grand Junction, Colorado, to enjoy the area and deepen our understanding of the inheritance of our country. To make some sense of this, we’ll start the telling with Chaco.
Although the area was sparsely populated from roughly 9300 BCE, from around 400 CE the development of pithouses (more on this later) allowed a year-round population to thrive by cultivating corn, squash and beans. By 1200 CE the population of the Four Corners region was greater than it is today. Pueblo Bonito was one of the first Chaco “great houses” and other above ground settlements on which construction began by 850.
As with most people of the era, the Chacoans were obsessed with the study of the heavens. The sun, moon and stars behaved in orderly and predictable ways that not only inspired humans, but provided invaluable tools by which to organize the timing of agriculture (especially, when it was safe to plant crops). The central figure in the panel, above, is a representation of a total eclipse of the sun and the panel is located at one of the many observation posts the Chacoans used for their observations.
Kivas are submerged dwellings with a standard architecture for a small family group and include, for instance, a hearth with a clever ventilation system and post holes for a loom. Great Kivas are public architecture and likely had a ceremonial purpose as a gathering place that could accommodate hundreds of people. This is a living tradition, carried on by contemporary Pueblo people. This Great Kiva at Casa Rinconada is the largest excavated kiva in Chaco Canyon. While other Great Kivas are placed in the plazas of great houses or along roads, this Great Kiva is on a prominent hill set among a large community of villages.
Una Vida is another “great house” at Chaco, i.e. a large multistory public building with a Great Kiva. However, it has undergone only a small amount of excavation so that it looks like it did in the middle of the 19th century when the area was discovered by the modern world. The scattered building material on the ground in the foreground indicates that underneath lies a structure. Archeologists are, however, focused on stabilizing structures and trying to prevent damage rather than further ambitious excavation. Lidar is now used to locate structures and improve our understanding of what lies beneath the surface.
The unfortunately named Aztec Ruins lie about 70 current road miles north of Chaco Canyon. The dwellings and other structures there are, of course, not Aztec and calling them “ruins” offends the Pueblo who consider them to be current sacred dwellings. This substantial settlement is part of the same culture as Chaco and it is one of perhaps 150 great houses over a region of as much as 60,000 square miles connected by 30 foot wide engineered road beds, 400 miles of which have been documented.
Around 1100 C.E., Ancestral Puebloan people from Chaco migrated north and began construction at Aztec Ruins, an existing settlement known as the Place by Flowing Waters (the Animas River). Rather than the old term Anasazi, these master builders are now referred to as the ancestral Puebloans to make clear that they were the ancestors of the various Pueblo peoples and not a distinct tribe.
It may look like a theme park attraction, but this is a dwelling reconstructed from the ruins of a structure built between 1190 and 1260 CE by those ancestral Puebloans down below the rim of a canyon, part of a 700 year occupation begun around 600 of what is now Mesa Verde National Park. It’s the largest cliff dwelling in North America and it can be visited in the company of a Park Ranger.
Unlike Chaco Canyon and Aztec Ruins, the dwellings at Mesa Verde are nestled in cliffs. And, there are thousands of them throughout the region. Ancient dwellings are not restricted to our national park system. The cliff dwellings at Mesa Verde were built by people farming on the mesa – corn, beans & squash, of course. Why they chose to build there no one can say for certain. It’s all informed speculation as they did not have a writing system with which to communicate with the future.
It may not be photogenic, but this pithouse is an important part of the ancestral Puebloan story. It was roofed with an entry through the roof, as in the later-developed kiva structure. It had many of the kiva attributes, including a ventilated hearth and posts for a loom. In population centers as they developed into the stage of the cliff houses or great houses, it’s likely that most people still lived in pithouses. A typical pithouse is thought to have accommodated a nuclear family.
Mary Hemenway was a 19th Century Boston philanthropist who funded the first scientific archeological study in the Southwest, including of Mesa Verde. From our familiarity with Hemenway Landing in Eastham, we knew It must be a family with ties to our hometown.
In our visit to the Four Corners region, we discovered that cliff dwellings are everywhere, there are thousands of them of different shapes and sizes wedged into large and small openings up and down the canyons. Sometimes it seems that people accessed them from the mesa tops and sometimes from the canyon bottom or in some places both. It’s usually assumed that the Puebloans built there for defensive purposes, although that’s not a very satisfying explanation. Other perfectly good reasons would seem to be ready access to water when it’s seeping out of the canyon walls in the back of the openings, the moderating effect on temperature from living in a cave, and the thrill of accomplishment. After all, the people building the cliff dwellings did so on the backs of the significant accomplishments at Chaco.
Canyon of the Ancients National Monument is run by the Bureau of Land Management and they do a nice job. Their museum is small, but well thought through and helpful and they have some good introductory films, including one about the Wetherill family who were ranchers who conducted their own archeology in the 19th century in a careful and respectful way, recognizing that they had stumbled on something special and had a responsibility to protect it.
At Hovenweep (Ute/Paiute for “deserted valley”) dwellings are on the canyon rim, the canyon floor, and on the canyon walls of this relatively small and shallow, almost intimate, canyon and no one has lived there for over 700 years. Again, was it drought or the depletion of resources in this desert environment? While the area had long been populated, a great influx began around 1100 and by the late 1200s everyone was gone. Perhaps a newly fashionable area was ruined by its success.
Canyon de Chelly is the intersection of different histories, some of which don’t actually intersect. The Ancestral Puebloans, the Hopi and the Navajo have all left their marks, although by the time the Navajo arrived, the Ancestral Puebloans (or Anasazi to the Navajo) were long gone. There had been conflict over the canyon and the Navajo now control it along with the National Park Service. There are many cliff dwellings in the canyon which the Navajo treat with respect as still containing the spirit of those who have departed. There are also a startling number of pictographs and petroglyphs. So, the Navajo now guide the outside world through their land to see artifacts of another time while they continue to live there with small scale farming and livestock. Mostly, it has become a summer residence for all except one woman who lives in the canyon year round. It’s a place to enjoy the traditional life. The ride out and back, by the way, makes Toad’s Wild Ride seem incredibly tame, as you careen through loose sand and plunge in and out of steep gullies, grateful that it’s not the wet season when they’re running with water for two months.
Of course, hogans are always round and the doorway always faces east. It’s the external structure to support the roof of this old stone hogan that is square. The Navajo moved into Canyon de Chelly around 1500 and it is an important home for them. While the federal government did establish a National Monument, the land is Navajo owned and about 80 families have rights on the land. Being a matriarchal society, land passes to and is owned by women. Our guide Eleanor’s great grandmother had owned land in the canyon and she has many friends there. As part of her business, she sets up campsites for non-Navajo people and provides Navajo guides (which are required at all times in order to be in the canyon). In addition to the occasional cow, small groups of mustangs (some branded, some wild), and the usual small animals, the canyon boasts bobcats, mountain lions and bears.
Spider Rock, an 800 foot sandstone spire, is an important part of Navajo tradition. The Spider Woman lives there. She brought the knowledge of the loom to women and is the great protector of humans, except for misbehaving children, that is. Naughty children she will capture with her giant web and eat. A double edged story if we’ve ever heard one. Eleanor likes to camp out by Spider Rock. That’s where we ate lunch.
All the cliff dwellings and rock art can become overwhelming after a while. It’s like the fatigue you can feel when visiting one of the great art museums of the world. You know that each of these things you’re trying to take in and understand and give its due is not being adequately appreciated because you only have so much capacity for wonderment at one go.
That made our time with Eleanor, hearing her stories about people, accidents, bear and mountain lion attacks on livestock, the destruction caused by invasive Russian olive and tamarisk, morning prayer with corn pollen, the work she does to maintain the rough track through the canyon, the somehow sad beauty of the cottonwoods turning yellow when they really don’t belong in the canyon (having been planted by the CCC to try to stem erosion) a wonderful balance. We already knew about the atrocity at Massacre Cave, the refuge sought by the Navajo at Fortress Rock and other intersections in the lives of people in the region that we’d like to forget, but mustn’t. It was just nice to hear about ordinary people living ordinary lives while we admired the work of people who had lived in the canyon long before our time.
Let’s face it, Prague is a beautiful city and there is little wonder countless tourists flock to it. After five years absence (see our April 3, 2014 post), it seemed busier than ever (although tourist season may not have started at the time of our earlier visit). It’s the incredible architecture, the very generous amount of green space, and the excellent public transportation that really set it apart. We preferred to ignore the large crowds in the oldest part of the city and wandered the city just to soak it in and enjoy some of the interesting shops.
Last time, we missed what’s left of the walled Jewish quarter (or “Josefov”) in Prague where Jews first settled in the 10th century. The Old New Synagogue (1270) is the oldest remaining medieval synagogue of twin nave design and the oldest active synagogue in Europe. The survival of the Josefov through WWII has been attributed to Hitler’s desire to create a museum of an extinct race.
Up a funicular (included with your transit pass) to the top of a ridge overlooking the city and the castle, there is another large park (one of many), this one including the remnants of a world’s fair. There’s an observatory, the Eiffel-inspired Petrin tower one can climb for an even better view and the “Mirror Maze,” i.e. a very old fashioned funhouse.
Taking some time off from their push to complete end-of-term projects, Kyle and Hui followed up on an instructor’s recommendation and we headed off to the DOX Centre for Contemporary Art in Prague 7. Although much of the museum was a bit heavy on the ironic and of questionable esthetics, we did enjoy what we’ve posted here, especially the work of Eva Jiricna for whose 80th birthday the exhibit had been arranged to celebrate a stellar career as one of the few women in the upper ranks of architecture.
Sometimes our adventures seem to be chosen for us, determined by such things as the timing for returning a rental car. Looking at where we were (Pau) and where we needed to be by 3:00 in the afternoon (Bordeaux Airport), we figured that St. Émilion would offer the chance of a decent lunch and a walk about an interesting town. We didn’t anticipate the quite extraordinary drive along narrow country roads twisting through the countless vineyards of the region. It was beautiful, poppies along the side of the road, vines just leafing out, and picturesque villages and buildings along the way. Too bad there was absolutely nowhere to stop for a photo.
The shocker for us was just how charming a town it is. We should have believed the Michelin Green Guide (2 stars). The downside of that acclaim is that it was loaded with tourists (like us, but in large groups). Parts of town also feel like a wine bazaar, with one shop after another mostly representing individual vineyards. Even our restaurant (so-so, with an overbearing owner/waiter and an undisclosed cash only policy) was owned and run by a vineyard. Make no mistake, however, it remains a town worth visiting and those 2 stars are merited.
That need to return our car kept us from enjoying a tour of the largest sanctuary in Europe carved out of rock, taking advantage of some existing natural caverns and grottoes, that was transformed between the 8th and 12th centuries.
As we got on our way, we were glad there had been a car park outside the ramparts.
Henry IV was a monumental figure in the history of France. He brought a halt to the Wars of Religion and unified the country (forgive the gross oversimplifications). It takes some effort to imagine back to the 17th century when the Kings of Navarre controlled parts of the Gascon Pyrénées wedged between territories controlled by the French crown to the north and east, the English in territories to the west, and the Spanish to the south and when savagery ruled in the struggles coming out of the Protestant reformation.
Henry was born in the fortified château at Pau to Jeanne d’Albret, Queen of Navarre (1553). The Queen was a staunch Protestant and Henry became an inspiring military leader in the Protestant forces. Abridging the story beyond reason, Henry switched sides a couple of times (he also had a claim to the French crown) became King of France as a Catholic, didn’t persecute the Protestants, and unified France (ta da!). Popular guy.
Restored in the 19th century, the interior of the Château is (as you can see) quite sumptuous with seemingly innumerable tapestries from the Royal storehouse, many of them Gobelins tapestries.
Pau has been fortified since the 11th century and became the capital of Béarn. The fortified castle was constructed overlooking the Gave de Pau in the 14th century by the Count of Foix, Gaston Fébus. If you’re like us and never heard of the term “Gave,” it’s a local word for “river,” pronounced with an “a” as in “cat.” Anyway, the Count seems to have been an interesting fellow, a Gascon who wrote the “Book of the Hunt” in French as he was one of the leading huntsmen of his day and died of a stroke while washing his hands after a bear hunt (or so the story goes). The castle was subsequently transformed into the Renaissance Château and then completely remodeled in the 19th century with furnishings chosen by Louis-Philippe and Napoleon III.
Pau remains a very pleasant small city and was a good base from which to explore the French borderlands. We enjoyed purchasing components for a lunch at our rental house from the merchants of the recently opened Les Halles, one of the most sparkling and nicest food markets we’ve seen. We also enjoyed poking in lots of shops and admired the window display of the umbrella maker. Pau is known for its artisanal umbrellas and we regretted not having an important reason to splurge on one. The aptly named item pictured above certainly seemed like one of those things businesses offer for sale but never expect anyone to buy (we hope). [We also hope you recall the political assassinations with poisoned umbrella tips for which the Bulgarian spy agency was notorious.]
In this most Basque of French towns, a charming seaside town just down the coast (where it starts bending west to outline the Iberian peninsula) from the much larger and glitzier Biarritz, the central historical figure is Louis XIV. He wasn’t born here, but here is where he got married.
A year before that marriage (1559) Louis, alas a persecutor of Protestants, achieved a notable success in concluding the Treaty of the Pyrénées which divided the Navarre between France and Spain, signed on Pheasant Island in the middle of the river that continues to form the border between the two countries (about midway between St. Jean de Luz and St. Sebastián). But, it’s the wedding to Maria Theresa (the Infanta of Spain) that put St. Jean de Luz on the map. It was a major diplomatic event made possible in part by Cardinal Mazarin (Louis’ chief minister) prevailing upon the King to give up his passion for the Cardinal’s niece (who the Cardinal sent into exile). There were Swiss Guards lining the route, companies of Gentlemen-at-Arms, the King’s mother Anne of Austria drawing the curtain on the nuptial bed and the walling up of the door through which the royal couple left the door after the ceremony. Against all odds, it seems to have been a happy marriage. We toured the house where the King stayed and brought his bride (now known in his honor as the “Maison Louis XIV” and where photographs aren’t permitted) which was built in 1643 by a shipowner in whose family it remains. It was well worth visiting even by those of us with limited French. The imposing and well furnished house pretty much remains in original but well-maintained 17th century condition, with barely noticeable concessions to modernity such as a microwave in the enormous kitchen discretely draped over with a cloth.
After falling on hard times for quite a few centuries, the town has regained its population of about 15,000 and is a great place to soak up some atmosphere. The name “de Luz” is derived for the Basque word for a swamp. The city long suffered from catastrophic flooding until sea walls were installed, allowing it to flourish.
As mountains are wont to do, the Pyrénées play favorites and provide more rainfall on the windward side as the air rises and releases its moisture as it cools. Somewhere behind Amanda and the two people checking out the recent avalanche is a somewhat more arid Spain. The place is the Cirque de Gavarnie, a modest hike (but, a hike nonetheless) up from the village of Gavarnie.
There is a very extensive national park all through the Pyrénées and we were impressed with how organized it is. One of our biggest surprises was how massive the mountains are and how wild.
Indeed, it wasn’t until we were back down the mountain, nearing Gavarnie itself that we could again appreciate the full scope of this natural amphitheater that Victor Hugo described as a coliseum in his poem Dieu, “c’est l’édifice le plus mystérieux des plus mystérieux des architectes; c’est le colosseum de la nature : c’est Gavarnie.”
Man cannot survive on natural beauty alone. Fortunately, a 24 hour fresh bread dispenser was available before we headed back down the mountain and onto the autoroute beyond Lourdes.
It’s nice to be back in France, but to someplace we’ve never been. Bordeaux wasn’t on our “must see” list, but we decided to spend a few days before heading south to the Pyrenees. Wouldn’t you know, we really like the city.
The Garonne is navigable up to Bordeaux and the waterfront is quite attractive with a long and very popular promenade. There are also passenger boats offering a sort of taxi experience at a few points along the bank.
Although wandering aimlessly is quite relaxing, it doesn’t offer much of a story line. We’ll get better organized!
Our first day after sleeping in a bed was May Day, a public holiday made for demonstrations. On our way out in the morning for a time we were following a group of 6-8 young men carrying yellow vests, some were also carrying the large poles news coverage shows being used to break windows. The evening before we had noticed another young man on a bicycle wearing a black bandana over his lower face cruising through the central city neighborhood where we were staying, apparently part of a group of violent far left provocateurs. A number of times during the day we ran into intense police presence, lots of very heavily padded and protected police with visored helmets and those large shields on the march or sitting in transports, with guns for firing tear gas canisters. The photo above shows the least intimidating police barricade we saw. Another we walked through had a fire hose at the ready. We were very alert for trouble, but saw none. It was a very peaceful day and the people wearing yellow vests tended to be middle aged or older, joining the parade and clearly enjoying the nice weather.
Meandering near the Hotel de Ville we noticed what Jim thought at first might be some sort of industrial building because from a distance it looked a little like the tanks in which vinegar is made. Looking at the signage and then investigating online, we confirmed that we were looking at the Bordeaux Courthouse (built in the late 1990s). The seven courtrooms are each an individual pod accessed by the judges and the public by different gangways. The thought is that somehow justice should be in the open. (Makes you wonder whether it just makes justice look more elitist.) Here’s the architect’s website: https://www.rsh-p.com/projects/bordeaux-law-courts/ (the same firm that designed the Pompidou Center). The whole area is a justice ministry complex and if you simply turn around you see the medieval looking round building in the bottom photo with access at the top that seems to prefigure the architectural idea for the courts. Too obvious?
Walking Bordeaux, we kept noticing intriguing distractions down side streets. In this case, it was a well hidden and pretty extraordinary late 17th century Baroque church. Having been visually bludgeoned by the baroque cathedral in Valletta, it was wonderful to take in the delights of baroque done with restraint.
Notre Dame de Bordeaux is also where the artist Francisco de Goya’s funeral was held in 1828. He had fled to Bordeaux after some especially subversive works critical of Ferdinand VII made his situation precarious in Spain.
All through the city are wonderful door knockers that leave us guessing what lies beyond them. The one on the left is easier. It belongs to an historic monument, the Petit Hôtel Labottière, a late 18th century example of the “art de vivre.” Nor could we go into the home sporting the knocker on the right. We found it at the intersection of two small streets and then looked back to see that there was a lush garden growing on the roof a level up. We could tell it was beautiful without seeing it.
City gates throughout Europe didn’t fare well over time. We were delighted to see so many in Bordeaux that had survived both war and urban renewal (for sticklers, a few are medieval triumphal arches). Indeed, it’s a very nice city for walking not only for what has survived, but because they’ve created extensive pedestrian zones with quiet electric trams and buses.
Having trudged through more churches, cathedrals, temples and shrines than we care to remember, we had been ignoring them. Our stumble onto Bordeaux’s Notre Dame, however, tempted us back.
Most of the cathedral is 11th-15th century, although there are bits as recent as the 18th century. All that aside, it’s actually quite beautiful when you take a look.
Complete with an 11th century crypt, Saint Seurin is darker all around, but fascinating. It’s also at the site of the ancient necropolis where Charlemagne laid Roland’s horn on his return from Spain in 778 and before undertaking a pilgrimage (at least that’s what the plaque says).
We didn’t venture inside this 14th and 15th century basilica. We were in the neighborhood before we went into Notre Dame. It is, however, pretty imposing and the “flèche” is the tallest in southern France. We understand that these separate belfries were intended to better safeguard the structures of the attendant basilicas and cathedrals from fire and other misadventures. Together with the Cathedral and Saint Seurin, St. Michel is on the Way of Saint James and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Ending on a sweet note, how can we write about France and not talk about food? Our experiences in Bordeaux were consistently good. Jim even had a chance to have some razor clams with garlic and parsley. The one exception would be the sweet concoction for which Bordeaux is known and that is sold everywhere. The canelé (pictured) has a dense rubbery texture and a pleasant taste. All we can figure is that nostalgic tradition keeps it popular (although we noticed clear inroads by cookies, brownies and other barbarian treats).
One odd thing about blogs is that you read them (or perhaps should read them) backwards, but no one does. There’s no beginning and (you’re thinking) no end. But, it’s the blogger who’s left with tasty tidbits that haven’t fit into any of the stories that have been cooked up to try to make sense of what we see. So, here are some of those tasty bits and pieces.
Trying desperately for a decent segue, we offer our first taste of a spiny lobster. We were talking with Antonio, our van driver for the run out from town to the lagoon in San Ignacio and learned that he also ran a restaurant on the square and, yes, he would make ceviche for us if we gave him an hour’s notice and, yes, he had some lobsters. Keeping it short, it was fun and they have an earthy taste halfway between a Maine lobster and a blue crab. They were big for spiny lobsters according to independent witnesses.
Water is a dominant theme when trying to understand the Baja Peninsula or the entire southwestern region of North America. Consistent with what Amanda and Ken learned when exploring the canyons of the southwest in the US, water usage is a zero sum game where the numbers keep getting smaller. The Colorado River no longer empties into the Sea of Cortes and the large delta it used to feed is no longer a delta, all with implications for the quality as well as the abundance of water. Of current interest is the fate of the vaquita, a small (5’ at most in length) porpoise that lives only in the Sea of Cortes and has been reduced in numbers to perhaps 10 individuals, where the water quality is a big concern in addition to the loss of these mammals in gill nets or for their very valuable swim bladders on the black market.
Adios for now.
