Culture – Page 8 – Pat the Expat

Ravenna

Our last stop in Italy, a day trip back in time to the final days of the Western Christian Empire. Ravenna is a city near the Adriatic coast in the Emilia-Romagna region, north-east of Florence. As Rome became a punching bag for various barbarian tribes in the 5th century AD, the Romans moved the capital to Ravenna, which they felt was more defensible (they were misinformed) because it is surrounded by swampy lands. Ravenna was occupied by the Ostrogoth King Theodoric the Great, becoming his capital, before being liberated by armies sent by Justinian I, the Eastern Roman Emperor, in 540 AD. It was during this Byzantine period that most of Ravenna’s great monuments were completed.

Who needs Pisa? Yes, it is leaning that much

What you’ll find in Ravenna is a series of brick structures dating from the 5th and 6th centuries in odd patterns: not just the traditional cruciform shape with a long nave, but also small circles and octagons. Inside, the walls are decorated with immense, colorful mosaic depictions of the early Church: saints and Bible scenes and other religious imagery. They are vivid and spring to life in indirect sunlight. Most amazing is that many of the structures and art are intact and in situ: you are seeing the art where it was meant to be seen when it was completed over fifteen hundred years ago! I found the art more than a little overwhelming. First, there was so much to see, you’ll need an appreciation of art to take it all in. Second, you need time just to digest it all. And third, I was struck by the juxtaposition of mosaic art, which I associate with Eastern Orthodoxy, in ancient Roman churches. But this art style, which is Byzantine, predates by several centuries the Great Schism between Rome and Constantinople. It is a clash of styles, not beliefs.*

The Basilica of San Vitale:

Inside the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia, and the Baptistry:

Basilica de Sant’Apollonare:

Theodoric chartered this one

From the Bishop’s palace:

Oh and some famous guy called Dante lived here. We associate him with Firenze (he was Florentine, after all), but he was in exile when he wrote the Divine Comedy and died in Ravenna. They’ve kept him ever since, much to Florence’s regret.

Ravenna is off the beaten path, so you probably must make an effort to visit. Those who enjoy great art, architecture, or church history will find it a rewarding trip!

*somewhere out there is a fellow fervent believer who would quickly point out that these churches were dedicated by schismatic followers of the Arian heresy, which for a time dominated throughout the Roman Church. But let’s not get into an argument over homoousis, shall we?

Eataly

No, not the retailer, the real thing.

Our sojourn in France has ended, and we’ve made it safe and sound to our daughter and son-in-law’s place in Italy. Random thoughts:

Some places are pretty boring to fly in to. Atlanta is like that. There is a city center out there in the distance, and a lot of suburbia beneath you, and you land and . . . that’s it. Reagan National airport in DC sits on reclaimed land in the Potomac river, so you get an amazing view of DC or the Pentagon, and sometimes a bonus: a harrowing hard right turn at about 300 ft. above the river! Mexico City, like Tokyo, seems to stretch to infinity, especially landing at night. But Marco Polo airport for Venice is special:

Our daughter’s apartment is part of a former Palazzo in Vicenza (lucky her). The building is from the 16th century, but her apartment was just renovated. There are fifty-four steps just to get in, and parking is a squeeze. The doors close sometimes, the windows don’t have screens but do have shutters, the floors creak, there are odd power outlets and vents and switches, and things are almost never plumb. It’s marvellous in the way only an old European building can be.

It would be hard to top our experience eating in France, but of course Italy is up for the challenge. Judy posted pictures of our 4oth anniversary feast: fresh breads, French olive oils and tapenades, soft cheeses, salami & bresaola & proscioutto, Aperol and Lambrusco and Valpolicella. Just what we picked up at the local grocery. They do know how to live here.

Unlike France and Spain, it is still easy to find a church in Italy. Oh, there’s a church building every other block in all three countries, but in the first two, the church is now a museum, or a gallery, or a bar, or a . . . you get the picture. In Italy, while it’s just as secular, they insist on maintaining the local parishes, even if they’re only a few blocks apart. Not as many parishioners, not as many priests, not as many masses, but still some.

We took a day trip to Bassano del Grappa, home of the eponymous Italian liquor, grappa. It’s at the base of the Dolomites, what the locals call the first range of the Alps in Italy. The town has a famous old woooden bridge (Ponte Vecchio), many timber houses, a museum of the Alpini soldiers, and plenty of grappa.

I’m glad to see photographic evidence for the metal rhinocerous. After the grappa museum, I wasn’t sure whether it was just me or . . . And while studying grappa up close, I found this map of European liquors, which should answer all your questions about vodka and brandy and calvados, too:

No trip in Italy is complete without a meal, so here’s our selection from the local bruscheterria:

Ciao, for now!

Guns, Violence, and ‘merica

We all know why everybody is talking about gun violence. Rather than yelling “do something” (always a great excuse for being ineffective), rather than mouthing “thoughts and prayers,” (what does that even mean anyway? As a religious man, I truly believe in the efficacy of prayer, but what’s with the “thoughts”? Are we suggesting good thoughts do something?), instead try thinking, not “thoughts.” Consider these aspects of a truly wicked problem*:

First: America has a unique gun culture. Absolutely unique. I don’t know whether it has something to do with the “new world” and our British heritage and the pioneer spirit and the Wild West. But no country in the world has such a strong affinity for firearms. You (and I) may not have this affinity, but America undeniably does. Pretending it doesn’t is ridiculous, as is pretending it can be wished away. It is as American as the Colt M1911. If you don’t get it, that’s okay, but stop saying things like “Switzerland doesn’t have this problem” because, well, no, no other country likes guns as much as America does. Period.

Second, America has a lot of guns. Most estimates indicate there are over 400 million guns in America today, which is more than one per the 330 million Americans. Yet most American households don’t own a gun. Gallup has been polling gun ownership since 1960, and it has slowly declined from 49% to 42%, while the sale of guns has increased. Warning: math logic problem coming up! If the number of households owning guns has declined, but more guns are being sold, then we know the increase is due to gun owners collecting more guns. Some folks get all excited about the total number of guns, but a gun collector who has twenty rifles and buys twenty more is not the problem, is it? All those guns still exist, so when we want to solve the problem, you can’t pretend they’ll just go away.

Third, Americans have a unique right to bear arms. Some people used to question this. The reigning liberal orthodoxy interpreted the clause “a well-regulated militia being necessary to the maintenance of a free state” to mean that guns were necessary to a military organization (i.e., the militia) and thus a collective not an individual right. However, the US Supreme Court had never ruled on this view until the Heller decision in 2008. There, Justice Antonin Scalia devastated this orthodoxy with a well-researched bit of originalism. The Founders viewed an armed citizenry as a state-of-being (not an organized group) to be called upon by the government, so the right was indeed an individual one. You’ll see opinion writers still arguing this point, but Scalia prevailed, and his historical record is impeccable. Many people just don’t like the implication of his majority opinion (which is understandable). No one cares whether Mexico or Canada or Australia treats gun rights diffrently. It doesn’t matter, because it’s our Constitution that pertains, not theirs.

Fourth, gun technology has changed little in the past 50 years. Ditto for bullets. The first fully automatic weapon was the Maxim machine gun produced in 1884. The infamous AK-47 is from . . . (wait for it) 1947. The Armalite (hence) AR-15 semi-automatic rifle came out in 1959. While technology like 3D printing will make a difference in how weapons are produced, nothing has recently made them more deadly or difficult to control. In fact, some new technology (biometric trigger locks, for example) promises to do the opposite.

Fifth, America has a broad, disconnected mess of gun laws. In fact, as Scalia demonstrated in his Heller opinion, America has always had various restrictions on guns. The fact that the Second Amendment is an individual right does not mean it is unrestricted; voting is an individual right, and we restrict it, too. Don’t believe me? Read the Heller opinion or the opinion written by the clerk who assisted Scalia in drafting it! States have limited who could own a gun, where they could carry it, even when they could fire it, and they have done so from the very beginning. Yes, the same Founders who wrote the Second Amendment as an individual right recognized many restrictions on firearms. Prior to 1968, there were few federal laws restricting firearms. This is important to our current debate: America had many guns, few gun laws, and much less gun violence, as recently as fifty years ago!

Sixth, America has a violence problem. H. Rap Brown got it right when he said, “violence is as American as cherry pie.” Where do otherwise normal people get into fatal road rage incidents? Where do strangers push people onto the subway tracks as a train arrives? Where do groups of teenagers challenge each other to knock passers-by out with a single sucker punch? Where do robbers beat a victim to a pulp in addition to taking a wallet? Where do police use overwhelming force to subdue non-dangerous felons? Where do teens lob bricks off overpasses? Where do people completely lose it because a happy meal just ain’t right? ‘Merica, that’s where. It happens elsewhere, but moreso here than anywhere else. Some characterize this as a mental health issue; others call it a problem of evil. They are both right. Whatever you want to call it, you must acknowledge that Americans seem to have a tendency to go to violent extremes quickly and fatally. Guns just make that easier.

Yes, you really did see that; good thing she wasn’t packing!

Seventh and finally (on a related note), America has a personality disorder. As in sociopathology. Somwhere along the way, starting about fifty years ago, America’s worship of individualism morphed into sociopathy, the mental condition wherein the individual sees themself as supreme, and all others as not-people, just objects to be used. I don’t know why this happened, but it shows up in many ways. The lack of concern for the poor or homeless (them, it’s their fault), the notion some people are better off not being at all (abortion, euthanasia), the unwillingness to take collective medical responsibility (masks, vaccines, etc.) are all of a piece. I am important; you are either an obstacle to my desires or a tool for my use.

Getting back to guns, and schools, and massacres, what are we to do? I keep mentioning fifty years ago, because in the Sixties the federal government, alarmed by rising gun violence among militant groups, started introducing more gun restrictions. But before then, school kids used to ride the New York City Subway to school with rifles slung on the shoulder, and no one thought twice about it. No one can doubt the relationship between firearms and school shootings (pull trigger, fire bullet, kill children). But why now? For what reason? Guns are clearly the proximate cause in these attacks, but our collective, degraded culture is just as clearly the underlying cause.

So what do we do? Address both the immediate and long-term causes.

One, the federal government should require all states to create gun registries. No national database, but every state has to keep track. Own as many as you like, just fill out the forms. Unregistered guns are federal felonies with mandatory jail time. Why? To demonstrate it’s important, that gun ownership is a serious matter, like voting. You don’t just go down to WalMart and get some guns. And illegal guns are a very serious offense, whether they’re ever used in a crime or not.

Two, limit gun ownership by age: twenty-five, twenty-one? Let’s talk about it! Introduce a cooling off period for weapons purchases: 72 hours before you can receive the weapon (if we can impose delays on seeking an abortion, we can limit how fast one buys a weapon). Then you must meet with a local police officer (three) within one week of purchase (not for approval, just for recognition and discussion about gun safety and local ordinances). When Tim the Gun-guy buys his thirty-first rifle, it’s not a big deal for him to go down and have a friendly chat with Officer Jones about local gun safety laws. But when the angry, young, white supremacist shows up, the local police might want to be aware he’s now armed.

Four, borrowing a line from Chris Rock, “you don’t need no gun control, you know what you need? You need bullet control.” Some people like guns, and guns can be modified to shoot faster, so focusing on limiting or banning guns is difficult. Same for magazines. But bullets are a pressure point. They are more difficult to make, especially in bulk, and why not place restrictions on ammunition? Want to shoot at the range? Buy bullets there, and use them or turn them in. Want to hunt: same. Want to just keep ammo at home, ok, but now you have to record them, inventory them, secure them, report them, and have them available for safety inspection. And tax the heck out of bullets which fit semi-automatic weapons, perhaps not in the range of Chris’ “$5,000 per bullet” line, but you get the point. Want to use a semi-automatic weapon to hunt? Ok, it’s your right, but it’s also a luxury.

Five, the federal government needs to step in primarily where state laws come up short. Having tight restrictions in a blue state right next door to a loose red state is a problem. Interstate sale and transport of firearms needs to be strictly regulated (it once was). All those travelling gun shows? Ok, but with oversight and strict enforcement, patrolled by ATF attempting “straw-puchases.” Treat gun trafficking as a form of organized crime, and any dealer or seller caught forfeits everything under the RICO statutes. We know who the problem gun dealers are; take them down. Congress also needs to influence gun manufacturers to adopt technologies like biometric trigger locks: give the companies legal immunity for weapons with such tech, but not for other guns. See how fast the industry moves to a safety-first standard! States should pass safe storage rules (locked cabinets, trigger locks, etc.) that limit the availability of loaded gun with no safety features.

Six, if we want to ban bump stocks, or large magazines, or other similar things, it’s a temporary solution, as there are ways around the rules. Sometimes it is important to make symbolic gestures, so if someone thinks this is important now, ok, but understand this only sends a message, it doesn’t really deter anyone.

Up to this point I have focussed on guns, so let’s talk about another side of the issue: kids!

Seven, schools are the ultimate soft target, children our most precious gift. We owe them a safe learning environment. We used to board airplanes like busses until we realized what could happen. Then we changed dramatically. Every school should have only one entrance with a metal detector and armed security during school hours. Extra exits with one-way turnstiles; we can secure a pay-to-attend sporting event, why not our kids? We don’t need armed teachers or armed parents. We need well-trained police and very simple, well understood security. It’s not September 10th anymore.

The deeper culture rot that affects America will be harder to fix. Red-flag laws are all well and good, but how about fixing what makes young men (it is primarily young men) decide killing children, or others, or themselves is a thing to do? Mass shootings are actually a tiny fraction of the problem, although they are stark example. Mass shootings generally account for less than 1,000 of the 45,000 gun deaths annually, of which slightly more than half are suicides. The absolute numbers have increased in the last half-century, but remember, there were 200 million Americans in 1968, and 330 million today. Pew Research data show the gun suicide and murder rate barely changed over the time period:

Eight, we need a variety of cultural programs to support the family as the basic unit of society, where decency, honesty, and respect for authority are first learned. We can’t treat families as a hindrance, and expect schools to teach all the basics of ethics and morality AND math, science, and literature. We tried, and it didn’t work. Yes, we need to fund more mental health efforts (nine), because we have multiple generations who have grown up without a moral compass, with heightened anxiety and little respect for our traditions and history. This is a debt we will bear for generations, but we have no choice. More importantly, we need federal policies (ten) which advantage marriage as an institution. No, that’s not fair to single people, or single parents, or a host of others. It’s what’s best for two-parent families, which remain the single best way to form a new generation of responsible adults.

For those who think, “what if we banned assault rifles” or “all guns” or repealed the Second Amendment: remember, our gun culture precedes these things. It will not change quickly, nor does it necessarily need to. As I pointed out earlier, we had many guns and few laws and almost no mass shootings, once upon a time.

The greatest school massacre in American history involved no guns. Look up the Bath, Michigan, incident of 1927. A disgruntled school adminstrator mined a school house, his home, and his car with explosives. He killed 44, injured 58, and would have killed twice that many if all his explosives had ignited. Call it a terrible case of American ingenuity, but it serves the point that evil, or mental illness, finds a way. So yes, let’s accept some common-sense gun restrictions, avoid grand-but-meaningless gestures, and really work on the culture problem.

*For those unfamiliar, a “wicked problem” is one so complex and multifaceted that it is really “wicked” (not in the sense of evil, but rather difficult) to solve. In the case of gun violence, the term wicked works both ways.

Mont St. Michel

As a friend, you know we travel a lot. We like to go places, and we like the places we go, and we enjoy the experiences of new lands, new foods, new adventures. But many places, while being nice to visit, just fail to live up to the hype. Which makes others stand out even more.

Mont St. Michel is in the latter category. There’ll be no Mont St. Michel replica in Vegas. It just wouldn’t work. The real thing is so amazing on so many levels: visually, historically, religiously, environmentally, that it simply stands alone.

Literally:

Bishop Aubert directed monks to start building the first abbey and church here in the 10th century. They kept building it higher and grander, first by expanding the footprint of the original site, then adding in domed and reinforced rooms to act as support for another level of larger church on top of the existing one. After many modifications and three levels, they ended up with the site as we see it today.

It sits atop a rocky island at the mouth of the Coueson river, which divides the Normandy peninsula from its Brittany counterpart. It became a national symbol of France when it withstood attacks for thirty years during the Anglo-French Hundred Years War. During the Middle Ages, it was an important center for learning and manuscript writing, but later its influence waned. During the French Revolution, it was seized (as was all Catholic church property), ransacked, and gutted. The Revolutionary government turned it into a prison for priests, a function for which it was to continue for seventy years of neglect.

During a French cultural renaissance in the late 19th century, the government began the long and difficult process of restoring the abbey. They built a causeway and tramway to the island to enable tourism, and started repairing the buildings. In 1969, Benedictine monks returned, and in 2001, sisters and brothers of the Monastic Communities of Jerusalem took over.

The aforementioned causeway had several negative effects. It greatly increased tourism, leading to a rash of tawdry shops and cafes along the single main street. The causeway changed the silting deposits of the river, threatening to turn the island into a part of the mainland. The French government spent millions determining a solution, which involved a new dam/sluice gate and a new casueway, which leave the island with its unique blend of massive sandy tidal flats at low tide.

I whined a bit about things that went wrong when we visited Chartres; here everything went right, with a nod to the French government for its well-designed and executed plan for the abbey. We bought tickets online (timed) and arrived in the parking lots (huge) on schedule. The free trolleys kept on schedule and got us to the base of the island quickly, if crowded. We managed the less traveled back road up to the abbey and got seats in the main chapel for Sunday mass. Lucky us, for a group of French Catholic Scouts had arrived, with two Bishops in tow (nary a rook or knight in sight)! Afterwards, we completed our “timed” visit to the abbey at our leisure, just before the holiday crowds jam-packed the main street.

It was an unexpected, albeit wonderful time. One caution: There is no French-with-disabilities act. The abbey was built as an agglomeration of several styles and editions, so there are literally about five hundred stairs (both up and down) within the abbey itself, after doing another five hundred or so to get to the abbey. And these are ancient stairs, with odd sizes and shapes, sometimes with added hand rails but more often none. It’s a challenge to the young and healthy, so you need to plan extra time; there is no hurrying along at the Mont!

Bayeux, Normandy

For such a small town in an out-of-the-way place, Bayeux is at the center of so much history. Bayeux lies just inland from the English Channel in the Normandy peninsula, where great apples, great cheese, and great history collide.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any cuter

First off, it was a seat for the Norman Duke William (the Bastard), before he set off in 1066 to conquer the Anglo-Saxon throne promised him by King Edward, but subsequently denied him by Edward’s brother-in-law, Harold. At the battle of Hastings, Harold got an arrow through the eye and William got the English throne, which came with a great improvement in nickname, as in William the Conqueror. Take that, Conan the Barbarian!

All of this history is captured in the Bayeux Tapestry, a real work of artistry in embroidered linen which tells the tale in seventy illustrations which make the story come alive even for an illiterate audience, as it was completed (probably) shortly after the Norman Conquest to celebrate William’s victory and substantiate his claim to the throne.

Next there’s the fact that Bayeux lies at the center of the line of beaches which gained World War II fame as the site of the Normandy invasion (great trivia question: how many US Marines landed in the largest amphibious invasion in history? None. The Marine Corps fought the Pacific campaign, while D-Day was a European Theater operation. No slight intended; just a great bar bet!).

We took a tour of all the famous American sites (sorry, only had one day, so we neglected our British and Canadian allies, let alone the Germans!). Random thoughts and photos:

Everyone has heard of the hedgerows in Normandy. They feature prominently in D-Day films and accounts of the battle. I never realized what made them so special. Nor did the Allies. Seems the simple translation for the French term bocage is “hedgerow,” something common also to England. But in England the hedges are purpose-built as fences. It seems the hedgerows in Normandy serve the same function, but they are the remnants of the original forests which covered the peninsula in antiquity. As farms and fields and roads were built, the builders simply cleared to the edge but left the forest strip at the edge: instant hedge. Except it is entirely natural, so it grows extremely dense, as in impenetrable. People can’t see through it, and have difficulty traversing it. Vehicles bounce off; even tanks are forced into an unnatural elevation which exposes their weaker belly-armor. Which made Normandy a battlefield with close-in surprise engagements. Enough of that!

Utah beach landing site went fairly easy

You can easily see the differences between the US landing beaches. Utah has a gentle dune with less fortification. Omaha has a steep bluff with interlocking German military positions. My Omaha picture is the pathway made famous as Dog Easy Sector in Saving Private Ryan.

I was really excited about visiting St. Mere Eglise, the first town liberated in France. But it’s become some kind of Paratrooper-Disney production, complete with a paratrooper dummy hanging from the belfry! Now that really did happen the morning of June 6th, but why is the square filled with tourist kitsch, US Army Jeep rentals, and military surplus stores?

The American cemetery is a favorite of all nations, as it is well-kept by US taxpayer dollars!

On the other hand, the American military cemetery is a treat: well-planned, manicured, with excellent monuments and art, all set on the bluffs overlooking the beaches. This is a can’t miss site, and make sure and visit for the flag lowering/taps at 5:00 pm sharp!

Normandy is famous for its apple ciders (especially Calvados) and Camembert cheese, a decidedly delicious combination! And of course seafood galore!

We thoroughly enjoyed our days in Normandy, which by chance happened just before the annual commemoration of the June 6th landings. While a few sites were closed for preparations, and the crowds were beginning to swell, the weather was excellent (helpful hint: it’s the coast, there are always tremendous winds, so the temperature usually feels 10-15 degrees colder than it reads).

Lisieux

You may never have heard of it. Or know why it’s famous. But it’s a story worth sharing.

Once upon a time, in the late 19th century, there was a young girl named Marie Françoise-Thérèse Martin. She went by Thérèse, and grew up in the little French town of Lisieux. She decided to enter the Carmelite convent at age fifteen in 1888, following the path of her two older sisters. There she served the quiet, dedicated life of personal and collective prayer of the Carmelite order. After nine years of working, reading, and praying, she endured an eighteen-month battle with tuberculosis, from which she died. And she would have passed unnoticed into the hereafter. Except she also wrote, and her writings held great signifcance.

Thérèse had always felt a call to be holy, but as she learned more about her Catholic faith and the lives of the Saints who went before her, she felt discouraged. She was not called to lead armies like Jeanne d’Arc, or to counsel Popes like Catherine of Siena. She simply followed the rules set down by Saint Theresa when she reformed the order, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed. But she pondered her situation mightily, and wrote down those thoughts she developed. She called it her “little way” and described it thusly:

“I will seek out a means of getting to Heaven by a little way – very short and very straight little way that is wholly new. We live in an age of inventions; nowadays the rich need not trouble to climb the stairs, they have lifts instead. Well, I mean to try and find a lift by which I may be raised unto God, for I am too tiny to climb the steep stairway of perfection. […] Thine Arms, then, O Jesus, are the lift which must raise me up even unto Heaven. To get there I need not grow. On the contrary, I must remain little, I must become still less.”
St. Thérèse

She committed to doing everything she did so as to show love to others. No great deeds, no miracles, no deeply-developed theology. Just her little way. She lived by this creed, and wrote about it in a journal which was published posthumously as The Story of a Soul. Her final months were agonizing but she embraced the suffering with the same joy she embraced her life.

Her memorial crypt (no, those are not her remains)

After her death, her “little way” became an international sensation. She was canonized (recognized as a Saint) only twenty-eight years after her death. The meaningful way she relates the call to holiness to everyday life has found welcome reception among the faithful on every continent. Then-Pope John Paul II named her a Doctor of the Church (one of the four women so honored out of thirty-three total doctors), a title given to those Saints whose development of theology or doctrine has special authority.

The little girl from Lisieux has a profound worlwide following, and a great basilica in her honor. She answered the question “what has prayer ever done?” by changing millions of lives with hers. She also proved that while being great may be good, being good is always great.

Chartres

When you travel, you have many plans, with many options and even more contingencies. You try to put all the pieces together, and you work hard to make all the various components fit. Sometimes it all works perfectly. Other times, well, were today.

Irony alert

We got an early start from the Meuse valley and headed across Paris to visit Chartres, home of the famous 12th Century Gothic Cathedral. Not just any church, or even any Gothic Church: THE crème de la crème of Gothic Cathedrals: Notre-Dame de Chartres. We planned to arrive around noon, tour the Cathedral, eat late dinner, catch the evening illumination, and be off the next morning. This was certainly a one-and-done leg of our trip, consciously so, but it was also the only such leg.

Alas, we were using two forms of driving directions: Waze (which includes traffic) and a rental car GPS system (which doesn’t). Unfortunately, we had the latter (not the former) on for voice instructions, and the GPS took us straight into a massive traffic jam. We recognized our mistake and switched, but by then we were only one of many Parisians and tourists trying to maneuver down backroads, across parking lots, heck trying anything to get where we were going. This should have been a clue: why so much traffic around noon on a Thursday in France?

Thus we ended up arriving closer to two in the afternoon, but still with plenty of time to tour the Cathedral. We went to a little cafe across the square, obviously a favorite of locals and tourists, to get some lunch before the tour. While we were lunching, I glanced at the visiting hours for the Cathedral, which read: “Holiday: some hours may be changed or restricted.” “Holiday? What holiday?” I mused. Now as serious Catholics (Judy & I liken ourselves to Shi’ite Catholics, to borrow comedian Jim Gaffigan’s line), we knew it was Ascension Thursday, but this is secular France, for Godssake! Even back in the States most of the dioceses have conveniently moved the celebration from Thursday to the next Sunday, to avoid putting too much burden on the faithful.

But in France? It’s a national holiday! Holy day? Maybe. Holiday: Tout à fait! So there was heavy traffic headed out of Paris in all directions (especially to Chartres, which is just an hour away by autoroute). And there were crowds and tour groups all over the place. English-langauge guide books: nope. Guided tour headsets? No. Wait, what if we wait for some to be turned in? Nope, no more today (at 3:30 pm). There was free concert planned due to the holiday, so the Cathedral was closing early. Mind you, we weren’t missing out on the tour because obligatory Mass was planned on a holy day; we were missing it for a public concert on a holiday!

We were able to walk around with the crowds and get some happy snaps:

The Cathedral is as impressive as advertised. Built with flying buttresses around the sides, it enabled the ceilings to be higher and the walls to be thinner, and to include larger windows, which were filled with original stained glass. Despite its antiquity, the building is mostly “as was,” never bombed out and replaced like so much of Europe.

Even our room was unique, and had a view:

In the evening, the town illuminates twenty-one different historic structures, but of course the Cathedral is the main attraction. The illumination was about twenty minutes long and took on several different (sometimes whimsical) themes. They were all amazing, as you’ll see:

In the end, we had a good meal, got to experience the Cathedral–if not learn much about it–and witness the illumination. Worth the marginal pain and suffering!

Verdun

After a quick rental car pick-up from the Mediterranean coast, we reversed our river cruise up the Rhône valley, then continued north (eight hours on autoroutes or toll roads) into the Meuse valley and ended up in the little village of Ancemont. There we chose to stay at Chateau Lebessiere while we visited the Verdun battlefield. First, the chateau. Run by René and his wife Marie, the chateau was a real ducal retreat even unto the 1950s, when US Air Force Colonels used it as quarters for the then-American airbase at Étain-Rouves. But the Americans left (President DeGaulle impolitely asked them to go) and the Chateau fell into disrepair, until René decided to buy it (it was a wreck filled with squatters). It took him and his wife seven years to evict the squatters and restore the chateau to its former glory. And glorious it is!

If you ever decide to visit Verdun, or the American World War I battlefields near St. Mihiel, or Bastogne, or the Meuse river valley, stay here. It is spectacular, fairly priced, and incredibly welcoming. And the food (dinner & breakfast included)? Beyond belief!

But one does not travel to this area for the food (although it is good), the wine (ditto), or even the cheese; one travels for the histoire. Americans should be forgiven for not knowing too much about the Great War. Our experience was late and short, and it shows even in our language. We refer to World War I or the First World War, making this epochal event into some kind of prequel. An American version of the history of this period, if it is taught at all, goes something like this: corrupt, tottering European kingdoms stumbled into a disastrous war which stupidly cost millions of lives, but eventually the Americans joined in to save the day and democracy flourished. All of which has elements of truth. But the history is so much more than this.

Verdun is firstly a battlefield, and there is quite a story there. By 1916 (two years in to the war), the trench lines on the Western Front ran from the Swiss border to the English Channel. There was literally nowhere to maneuver, so the Germans decided to launch a massive attack on Verdun, a French fortress city which the Germans had managed to surround on three sides earlier in the war. The German high command hoped to use suprise and an unprecedented artillery bombardment to take high ground overlooking the city itself, which they believed would goad the French into suicidal counterattacks that would bleed the French Army dry.

The little village of Fleury was the deepest penetration by the Germans, and it changed hands sixteen times. Nothing is there today but archeological markers, like it was a settlement from a thousand years ago, not one hundred years ago.

The German offensive began with four million artillery shells: that is not a typo. The sound of the unrelenting multi-day bombardment was heard one-hundred miles away as a continuous thunder. Everything along the French front lines was destroyed: forests, towns, bridges, trenches. The Germans made steady initial progress, but the French rushed reinforcements and counterattacked before the Germans secured the high ground. The battle went back and forth for ten months: the longest single battle of the war. In the end, the German plan failed, with unfathomable results: over 700,000 dead or wounded on both sides along a thirty-mile front. In the end, little territory was gained or lost.

That is the military story of Verdun, but there is a world-historical story, too. Verdun represented the high-water mark of a civilization. The apogee of European civilization wasn’t found in the enlightened salons of Paris, nor in the hedonistic cabarets of post-war Berlin. It was found among the forests, farms, and villages of the Meuse valley near Verdun. People of that day and age were cosmopolitan: they travelled, imported items, argued over new ideas. They followed the current scientific breakthroughs and sought to perfect mankind and men. The governments may have been monarchies, but the armies were thoroughly democratic: doctors and doormen, poets and plumbers. The rich may have sought officer ranks, but they served on the frontlines nonetheless. The soldiers were not brutes: they knew early on what the war was like, and yet they continued to show up, and serve, and die.

They enlisted for something bigger than themselves, they fought for each other, and they died for little reason. But the armies which fought around Verdun in 1916 were still committed to causes, and they refused the “there’s nothing worth dying for” sentiment. Level any criticism you want at the inept political leaders. Do the same for the Generals. But what can one say about a culture that can produce such young men?

On 9/11, a few Americans aboard Flight 93 took matters into their own hands, and heedless of the consequences, they stopped the slaughter in one day and at something less than 3,000 dead. Now imagine that slaughter continued: new flights, new fights, more crashes, more deaths, every day for ten months. And with that outcome, you would equal what the French and Germans experienced at Verdun.

All subsequent 20th Century history grows from the Great War: America’s rise, Russia’s instability, the “German problem,” the end of the British Empire, France’s loss of elan, de-colonization, the rise of fascism and communism, demographic catastrophe, the roaring ’20s, therapeutic psychology, consumerism, atheism, and on and on. We very much live in a world determined by what happened during the “war to end all wars.” Europe was never the same after the Great War, and Verdun was the battlefield where its heroes became the ghosts who haunt it to this day.

Arles

Our last port on the river cruise was the ancient city of Arles, on the Rhône river but also practically on the Mediterranean coast in Provence. The Romans first saw the strategic value in a settlement here, controlling the river route into Gaul. The city lies near marshes and a nature preserve (the Camargue) that helps it retain a certain out-of-the-way, reserved character.

Arles is proud of its Roman heritage, and the ancient local language, Provençal, is more akin to Latin then French, although of course French predominates today. Arles retains a Roman coliseum, a theater, baths, an aqueduct: all the trappings of Imperial Rome. Its coliseum has an interesting history. In the Middle Ages, it was occupied by locals who made it into a small walled-town-within-the-town, full of little houses and shops. Eventually, the city government evicted everyone and re-established the arena. In fact, they still use the coliseum for bull fights, either of the Spanish (killing the bull) or French (irritating the bull) variety.

Arles is as charming as a painting, as in a van Gogh painting. He spent a few troubled months here (as everywhere) generating over 300 hundred paintings of landmarks still visible today. Oh, and yes, he cut off his ear here, too. Picasso and Gaugin also spent productive time here, but left bodily intact. Few if any of these great artists’ work remains here.

We also visited the remains of the historic fortress village of Les Baux de Provence. This was an independent town nestled in formidable, rocky hills north-east of Arles. This one-time principality held out for hundreds of years before finally being sacked and destoyed by the French under Cardinal Richelieu. To keep the fort from ever proving a problem again, the French army leveled it, although the town itself remains. Unfortunately, to add insult to injury, the town has become a tourist trap where only a few people actually live, the prices are high, and the tour groups run non-stop. C’est la vie! At least real history happened here, and the views are amazing. There was one hidden gem: we found a small 12th century church (intact) with some amazing stained-glass windows, donated by the Prince of Monaco (who once held title to the area) as a peace gesture. Somehow the modern glass fits perfectly well in the ancient setting:

Arles and Provence have much to offer. We didn’t get to visit any lavender fields, but we did get to taste some Provençal olive oil, which is hard to find outside of France. They export some (to the States) but mostly produce fresh for the French markets, as locals prefer the lighter, softer tastes (compared to Italian or Greek olive oil). Hard to blame them, but I guess that makes them, well, provincial and Provençal!

A: Ex-cursing

Q: what do you call the action of going on excursions?

As we’ve sailed down the Saône and Rhône, we’ve had the chance to take several group tours (excursions in the parlance of cruises) and a few personal side trips, too. This being France, and wine country to boot, we’ve done a few vintners.

The first was called Château de Chasselas, near the town of Mâcon. The village of Chasselas lies literally on the dividing line between the Bourgogne (Chardonnay) and Beaujolais areas. One could look at the hillside fields on one side of town and see grapes destined to be Chardonnay, while on the other side of town the grapes were headed to Beaujolais. We tasted Chardonnay while learning of the travails of the vintner, who left the high-intensity world of Paris fashion to start a family-run winery, which is also high-risk. I guess the grapes are less temperamental than Parisian fashion critics!

Next we tried Beaujolais at a winery called Domaine Paire, a family-run affair for over 400 years! Jean-Jacques recently turned over the business to his son, but he happily gave us a lesson in Beaujolais, especially the difference between the Nouveau (which has turned into something of an event despite being of, shall we say, “fresh” quality) and Cru Beaujolais which has all of the body, depth, and aroma of great French wine. We practiced the subtle art of wine tasting (first eye, then nose, then mouth) under the master’s friendly tutleage. Nothing beats a little learning reinforced with practical exercise. I looked forward to the homework!

Of course, excursion tours also involve following the flag (your cruise tour guide), while listening to a receiver hanging from your lanyard connected to an earpiece in your ear! We visited the tiny hamlet of Oingt. Bonus if you guess how to pronounce it: like a baby’s cry: “WAAH.” Once an abandoned medieval ruin, Oingt was gradually reclaimed and rebuilt by artisans and now serves as charming–albeit touristy–photo op. Still, it does provide amazing set-pieces, so why not?

Another mandatory tour stop was at Les Halles de Lyon, to which the name of chef Paul Bocuse was added after he died in 2018. This market is filled with the very best of wine, meat, fish, cheese, chocolate, bread and all things culinary. You can shop, sample, or just browse, but I guarantee you will gain five pounds even just looking!

We went off on our own to brave the wild transport system of Lyon (actually very easy to use) and visit la Maison des Canuts: the silk-weavers museum. It was a small affair, jam-packed with information about the centuries-long history of silk weaving associated with Lyon. The Canuts, or weavers, were mainstays of Lyonnais working culture, and even famously rebelled in the 1830s over government regulation (such rebellions are a passion in France). Canut culture inaugurated the bouchons (which we covered previously), the traboules (ditto), and are essential to understanding Lyon, although the Canuts themselves are in the main long-gone.

In Avignon, we ditched the crowd to find a church for Sunday Mass. Now you might think finding a church in Catholic France, let alone the one-time seat of the papacy (French Kings held various Popes hostage in Avignon for sixty-seven years) would be easy, and you would be . . . right. Despite France’s increasing secularization, we easily found the 10:00 am Sunday Mass at Avignon’s Cathedral Notre-Dame Des Doms.