A
month later,
it's not such a hot news item.
Think
not of
the
daily paper, or even the weekly review, but rather
a
thoughtful resume, cold-pressed just like a health food product.
I'll start with the last day before I left on my whirlwind tour of
three countries.
Oct
11, 2017
Last
day in Toronto; I fly tonight to Rome. It would
be nice to share it,
but ah well, this is my life. I'll
walk alone, as the song says,
see people, talk, learn,
and sing too,
hopefully. I'll
have a great time, damn it! Get new ideas, wash the mind, refresh
myself.
Yes.
I will.
Oct.
12 Rome
in early morning, digging out the sheet with directions to my
lodgings: train, not the express to Termini Station, but to
Trastevere; go outside, (ah, but which way? my Roman friend), ask a
few strangers, walk across an area to a tram stop. Find the right
one, strip off all my Toronto sweaters because it's hot, hot, hot.
Normally, that's great, but I've got a lot to juggle, so i tie my
lovely wool sweater jacket to my luggage. Buy
a ticket, get to my stop, find the street, cross over the
cobblestones to hear a woman
call
to me that my 'giacetta' is dragging on the ground. Grazie,
signora, I say, and then discover
my lovely sweater, ravaged and ripped as if by a crazed lion, and I
am very sad, there on the street in Trastevere.
But
I carry on, find my little apartment room, and Stefano directs me to
a tailor shop just down the street
for my poor garment.
Then I walk, and begin what will be my modus operandi for the
next eight days.
I stroll and look and eat and rest and marvel
at buildings and monuments, and drink
wine and rest, and then I do it all over again. People and eateries
on the streets everywhere, Rome is filled with the enjoyment of life,
and I am happy to take part.
I see the usual: the Spanish steps, the Trevi Fountain, the
Colosseum,
(it's colossal!),
the Pantheon,
the piazzas, the
pyramid, plus the
grounds at St. Peter's and the Vatican; but I also see the ancient
ruins of St. Clements Church, and
take a train ride to
sit
in the hot sun on the
beach at Lido, and to
visit
the
Villa Este, out in Torino. I'm always by myself, but I talk to people
everywhere,
and become more
Italian as I go. The
weather is like summer. When
I leave, my sweater has been invisibly mended, and likewise, my soul,
steeped in the healing consciousness of artistic mastery and style,
has been seamlessly
repaired.
Some Roman holiday shots:
|
A big fountain in a big piazza, and big, beautiful weather |
|
by the Tiber River (wasn't Caesar here too?) |
|
another bridge, and I have to sing... |
|
Sunday morning sunshine stroll in Trastevere, Rome |
|
Like I said: colossal! |
|
Pretty in pink; no lie |
|
St Peter's Square at night |
|
trip to very hot Lido Beach outside Rome; but very cool hat, si? |
|
At the very grand Villa Este, countryside of Rome |
|
People enjoying life at a cafe in Rome, sketched by the camera |
Oct.
20
El
cheapo flight to Budapest, and I am met by a man with a sign and my
name on it. I had decided to spare myself the discomfort and
aggravation of dragging my bags everywhere in a place and
language totally
unknown to me, and signed up for that luxury. The man turned out to
be the husband of the woman who ran my next 'home'. Very nice,
old-world room in a
grand,
old-world building that
had
once belonged
to
the prime minister of Hungary. I began my first night there by
bravely walking in the dark and cold down a
big
deserted
hill
to the
main street, eventually finding a restaurant that served traditional
food, along with traditional musicians. Good soup,
and I'm restored
again, ready for the next five days of once again exploring and
walking and eating.
Budapest
is grand and elegant, filled with history and impressive monuments
and buildings.
Like Rome, a beautiful river dissects the city, the immortal Danube
of Strauss fame. It's
romantic and efficient at the same time; one
subway
ultra-modern and glistening, all brass rails, clean-lined
high
ceilings, and
gigantic
escalators, and another that is the oldest one in Europe, with
decorated
tiles and attendants'
booths that are carved and polished wood. Church
spires, statues, and castles dominate the hills.
My
first
day was cool and fall-like,
a
disappointing
contrast
to
the
warmth of Rome,
but I did
my sightseeing
duty
- Andrassy Street, the Opera House, Heroes' Square,
the
Museum of Art, the Matthias Church and
I
had
the fun later
of
singing
spontaneously alongside a musician playing nearby.
The second day I
saw more, including the Kiraly Baths, built in the 15th century by
the Turks. It
rained in the evening, when I went to a chamber
orchestra concert of classical music
at the enormous
(holds 8,000)
and splendid St. Stephen's Basilica,
drenching
me and
my boots, so that by Monday, when it rained the whole day, I gave up
and stayed in, finally getting to the writing of my book-in-progress,
and the chapter that had inspired the visit to Hungary in the first
place.
The rain stopped late in the afternoon, but my boots were still
soaked, so I had to create my own footwear out of plastic bags and
Chinese slippers, holding them together by elastic hair ties. (I
later saw an episode of Orange is the New Black for the first time,
and saw that the heroine had done a similar fashioning
in the jail showers).
Fittingly, perhaps, I went to see the "Shoes
on the Danube",
a moving memorial to the people shot by Arrow Cross militia in 1944/45,
with lights up and down the river
as darkness,
and more rain,
fell.
When the weather
finally cleared
the next day, I went to
the apartment where
Franz Liszt lived and taught music, and
read that he had
spent
a lot of time at the Villa Este that I had just visited
outside
Rome.
Me
and Franz, two pianists in a pod. All
this,
plus
devouring poppy seed cake and
riding
on the transit,
including charming
trams, for free!
Here are some of the highlights in photos:
|
Gotta sing; this was spontaneous fun; invited myself up; Janos, violinist, very gracious |
|
outside St. Stephen's Basilica |
|
Show of Contemporary Art about, you guessed it - shoes! |
|
Ceiling at Gellert Spa |
|
View of Danube from Castle walls |
|
Not everybody laughed at me, but almost |
|
The "Shoes on the Danube" Memorial |
|
Franz Liszt's drawing room and piano |
|
eating poppy seed pie on Andrassy Street |
|
subway booth on the oldest system in Europe |
|
this bridge was hell to walk on, & the Iron Man up there didn't have much to say |
|
this ceiling is from the Opera House |
Oct.
25 Back
out to the airport (for free now that I know), and the flight to
Cork, in Ireland. But before I get there, a stop for a connecting
flight in London, and the most amazing, wonderful happenstance, which
follows.....
Flying from Budapest to Ireland yesterday, had a stopover in London, & a 4-hour wait for a connecting flight. Emailed my son who had been on a film shoot there, saying too bad we cccouldn't meet. Email wouldn't go until I asked an info-man, who explained you had to do this, this, this, this, & many more taps later, I was connected in the secret Heathrow way. Email sent, thanks Taj, & I went to Netflix. An hour later my son called me skype-type & by some miracle we were both in the same terminal!!! He was upstairs, so Taj to the rescue again, he walked Chris to where we were. Then it was like a movie - sighting across the crowds, smiles that couldn't stop, giant hugs, loads o' love. Carl Jung called it synchronicity; my friends say it's Zoe's world. Here we are, our new family of 3. Taj's last name means "one who does good". Didn't he just!
And then I got on the plane,
all a-twitter from the miracle of being so far from our home to have
tea with my boy. I couldn't stop myself from telling the woman
sharing our row of seats, luckily no one in between the aisle and
window. We talked all the way, and she very kindly drove me to the
hostel I had booked. After she left, I again went in search of food
down the dark, not deserted, but not too appealing street. I decided
I hated the city - I often hate everything when I'm tired and hungry
- but shoveled in some good fish and chips, and the next morning,
voila! ready to go again on my travels.
Cork
turned out to be a very big,
busy
and attractive city, and the home of Mother Jones, a political
heroine
of mine from way back. And I learned about the
dairy
industry,
and the approved 'cattle raiding'
in history,
at the Butter Museum, housed in a very old and interesting part of
the city,
Shandon.
Bustling St. Patrick and Oliver Plunkett streets had much to offer,
including the English Market, my first stop for some soda bread,
which I craved and hoarded for the rest of my stay. The weekend was
taken up by the jazz festival, which I had come specifically for -
lots of great music and craic, as they say, and crowds, crowds,
crowds. I got to sing twice, with a jazz band, and with a boogie
piano player's band - both fantastic experiences, and a treat to be
part of the scene. I left on Monday evening with Mairead, the woman
from the airplane ride, who had very generously offered me an
overnight at her beautiful house in the country. So instead of the
madding crowd, I woke up the next morning to the mooing cows. Mairead
left me to sleep in, then came back at lunch to drive me to the bus
station. Unbelievable
kindness,
plus,
she was a lot of fun.
Pics:
|
Mairead the very generous, and myself |
|
a quiet moment of thought |
|
very unquiet moment singing at Reardon's in Cork with the Ben Waters band, Cork Jazz Fest |
|
Meself, Richard, bass player, and Ben Waters, piano magician |
|
with the Harry Connolly band, Cork Jazz fest |
|
and another tune, with flute by Brian Hyland |
|
George Hasson, trumpeter extraordinaire, and he sings like nobody's business |
|
The Butter Museum in Shandon, Cork |
|
Story of the cattle raiding that was common |
|
an arts centre in Shandon |
|
Never knew Mother Jones came from Cork. She was a great human rights worker. |
|
Got tired of being alone at Elizabeth Fort in Cork, but this guy was hard as nails |
|
Likewise this one; no fun at all |
Oct.
31 Straight
to Tra Li, on the west coast, where I met Josie, the house-minder of
my Toronto friend Marian's home, where, again very kindly, I had
permission to stay, even though Marian herself was back in Canada.
Josie drove me out to the wind-blown far edge of Ireland, and the
house overlooking the wild Atlantic, and I settled in for a week's
visit to Kerry. Josie herself didn't stay on the weekends, but we had
a few evenings of chat and chowder before I went into town with her
on the Friday, to take a day trip to An Daingan, - the main town on
the Dingle peninsula. It was in waiting for the bus and on the trip
out there that I got to know a young man from New York state,
studying in Dublin, and himself taking a little tour of the country.
He was delightful, and interesting and we became quick friends. We
split up and went our own ways while in Dingle, - I explored again,
took a walk out to a lighthouse through fields of cows, and along the
breakwater; I found the little cafe that I had been to thirty years
prior - amazingly, it was still there. I bought a
book about wild Irish women, and a calendar of Irish writers, and
drank more Guinness, which is my drink of choice even in Toronto. My
new friend Jerry
and
I once again shared the bus trip back, and decided we would meet for
lunch the next week when I would
be
in Dublin.
Meanwhile,
I had met another woman that I really liked, who ran a B and B, but
one in a grand and beautiful Georgian house on an Atlantic bay,
which
I discovered on a short walk from where I was staying. She was great
fun, an interesting, bright woman, and she invited me along to a
dinner outing with her and a couple she was friends with. One wild
night in my travels,
would
be great, I decided;
up to that time it
had
been pretty tame, albeit interesting. Fancy place, good wine, lots of
conversation and laughs, then we went to a pub next door to continue
the night out. Of course, I had to get up and sing when invited by
the duo performing there, and we all got more crazy.
I
had three more days in the solitude
and gorgeous views
of
the ocean's edge in Marian's
house, broken on my last day by a visit with Daragh at her B and B,
and then a car tour with
history
lesson and lunch in a pub, offered to me by a good friend of
Marian's, who did that solely out of the goodness of his heart. Am I
lucky? Pictures are not in order but you can See Tralee:
|
Trip to An Daingean - just off the bus, with Jerry |
|
Loved this little river under the house |
|
Walking on the wharf |
|
Sunset at Dingle before the bus back to Tralee |
|
Dinner in Tralee's Croi Restaurant: Damien, Aine, Daragh and Zoe |
|
Singing in the pub after dinner, with Mickey |
|
Barrow House |
|
Barrow House view of bay |
|
Information at well that cures eyesight |
|
View of Atlantic from Marian's house |
|
Sunset from Marian's house |
|
Walk to the lighthouse in Dingle |
|
All the wind and rain-swept coast turned me Swedish |
Nov.
8 I
arrive at Heuston Station,
in Dublin,
tired and overwhelmed by the confusing melee of traffic and busses,
and no clear maps or attendants to help. It took an hour before
I got to the area of my hotel, and then I had to walk too far to
maintain
my
normally cheerful
outlook.
Again, I cursed everything until I got rested and fed. But I
recovered, and the
next day went
out to Howth, a fishing and cliff village on the outskirts of Dublin
on
the Irish sea, the other side of the country altogether. Saw a seal
in the harbour, walked along the quay and by the many restaurants and
seafood shops, ate delicious smoked salmon on soda bread, then threw
myself into the cliff walk, where you pass the house that Yeats lived
in for a while, and climb and climb the rock.
My
last day was the arranged
lunch
at O'Neill's with the sweet young man, and then he was off on a
weekend outing and I wandered the capital's streets and museums,
ending up lounging against the rock in Merrion Square which had the
stone sculpture of Oscar Wilde in his
slightly insolent
pose.
I read the famous quotes attributed to him, one of which put into
perspective my earlier question of "Am I lucky?" - He said
"Who,
being loved, is poor?" It's
maybe not luck, but richness I enjoy,
and an abundance of love from people I meet.
About
Oscar Wilde, whose tomb I had visited in Paris ten years prior: I
had read, in my wild Irish women book, that Oscar's mother Jane was a
well-known and successful author in her life,
1821-1896, (Will
real history,
which includes so many talented and brilliant
women,
ever be widely taught and known?)
She was also very provocative in conversation, and Oscar's pithy
epigrams resembled her style, according to the author. Just saying.
Here it is for your vicarious voyaging:
|
Me and James Joyce on O'Connell Street |
|
The seal at Howth quay, outside east shore outside Dublin |
|
The windy pier before the cliff walk |
|
House where Yeats lived overlooking the Irish Sea |
|
The house I stayed in - now a hotel in Dublin |
|
My friend Jerry, whom I met going to Dingle, in front of the National Gallery, Dublin |
|
Crowds on Grafton Street |
|
In the National Museum; prehistoric power to the people; St. Lachtin's arm |
|
And mucho gold, from 800 BC, found in Ireland |
|
Sculpture of Oscar Wilde and moi, Merrion Square, Dublin |
Nov.
11 Remembrance
Day, and at 11:11 am, I'm on the plane destined for Toronto,
remembering the thousands who fought and died or were injured, and
being thankful for their love.
I arrive at the Toronto
airport on a cold Saturday afternoon, met by my son, and I say, "We
must stop meeting at airports this way." Then he takes me to my
grandson and granddaughter, who have come along, and it's just so
great to see and be with them again.
Tra la la la. Home is where
the heart is.
And when I got home, there was a postcard from a friend travelling in the U.S., sent while I was away, who wrote "Wish you were her."
Ha ha. Either a typo or an unconscious wish for someone else. I
could be nasty and say "Wish you were him", but even though the same friend
had not traveled with me because of lack of money, but somehow managed his trip, (and an earlier one too), what would be gained by quibbling? Guess funds were available
after all. All's fair, etc. & I had fun on my own.
Now I'm happy to be
tired-but-happy at home, and out having fun again in the Toronto
beaches with my friend Jerelyn, then
hearing wonderful singers at the Women's Blues Revue.
|
I think I'm happy....do I look happy? |
|
Queen Street Beaches, with Jerelyn |
|
Selling stuff for the Toronto Blues Society at the Women's Blues Revue, Massey Hall
AND THAT IS THE END!!! |
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