Second Catch Up.

Next stop from Marseilles was Dijon. I needed to get here to jump on an over-night train to Venice. I had 8 hours in Dijon, which gave me just enough time to try some fine moutarde and Burgundy wine. I visited some interesting churches, all of which had fascinating roofs. Brightly coloured tiles seemed to be the local vernacular roof choice, and many of the churches shared in this. When I boarded my train for Venice an Italian took my passport and ticket away from me, which left me a little nervous, particularly because I don’t have enough Italian to have asked him why.

I suddenly found myself in Venice. We pulled up next to the Orient Express. I all of a sudden realised that this city was going to cost me. I walked out of the station very bleary eyed and disoriented. All I knew was that I was supposed to take a busboat to my hostel, which was on an island across from the Piazza San Marco. Be warned potential travelers, busboats are not cheap. I immediately dropped my articles in the hostel and went frolicking through old churches and ducal palaces.

My first observation of St. Mark’s, a church that I was really looking forward to seeing, was that I found the mosaics to be hideous. When I think of mosaics I think of lovely two-dimensional scenes portrayed in the typical byzantine style. But for some reason, probably that whole renaissance thing, somebody tried using perspective and other techniques to imitate three-dimensional paintings. I am arguing that this style of mosaic just doesn’t suit the medium. Because there is a break in each colour and line, mosaics are necessarily made with small pieces of glass, it must create a more simplistic and rough image. Which is great, because the glittering gold light mixed with the rich pastel colours make a lovely scene. However, these new fandagled mosaics were just too much, they are a renaissance inspired façade on a byzantine skeleton. I’m guessing they were added after the initial construction, but I’m going to have to research this later. The mosaic in perspective just doesn’t work because it has the elements of a fine renaissance painting, but stops far short because of the many broken lines and its bright golden shine – all of which looks unsuited to the rest of the byzantine mosaics inside.

At the hostel I met a poet from Oregon and an architecture student from Dalhousie, and the architecture student decided to continue on with me to the Trullo of Puglia in southern Italy after we met yet again in Florence. Im currently sleeping in a Trulli and I have been building some terraces straight out of bedrock. Tomorrow I start working with a local craftsman who has been restoring Trulli for over 40 years, his name is Giovanni, and my first opportunity is to the outer skin of stones on a Trulli cone, hopefully more work will follow this. Pictures to follow!

Moving On

Since I last wrote I have been through a whirlwind of activity. I decided to leave the comfortable womb like warmth of Dordogne, with its rich foods and eclectic history, and I have bulled my way through some incredible cities. I visited Toulouse, Carcassonne, Nimes, Avignon, Marseilles, Dijon, Venice, and Florence. Wow. 2 weeks of intense travel.

Carcassonne is basically the quintessential mediaeval castle. Eugene Viollet-le-Duc, France’s architect extraordinaire of the 19th century, rebuilt the castle. My hostel was literally placed inside of the old and sprawling city walls. Its ramparts have hundreds of hidden archer slits and holes for dropping hot pitch and large head crushing stones. There was no one else in the hostel except for a pilgrim who walked from a cathedral in Spain, and a class of young children learning Occitan, a traditional language of the south of France and north of Spain. So, of course, I ended up sharing a few beers with him in the only bar that was open before tourist season. We played soccer with a 9 year old and then snuck into the quartered off parts of the ramparts at night.

At Nimes I visited the best preserved amphitheatre in the world, it is now used for bullfights and concerts. It also has one of the best preserved Roman temples, Maison Carre. Right across the way is a new building by Norman Foster which makes for a strong juxtaposition of the ancient and the modern. That night I met two Japanese guys, who were really surprised to meet a white guy speaking Japanese to them in France. We spoke a mélange of Japanese, French, and English to understand each other; my mind has never been so schizophrenic. We decided to go to Pont du Gard, outside of Nimes, to visit that great Roman aqueduct the next day – which also happened to have many bories strewn about it.

In Avignon, home of the papacy for over a hundred years around the 1200’s, it was more history like Nimes, but there was no one to speak with which made it less fun. This combined with a really crummy hostel which took me over an hour to walk to made me kind of bummed out, but it was still fun to walk around the papal palace. The next day I went to Marseilles where I met Sandra again and visited with her parents for a few days. It was nice to relax after hectic traveling, plus it gave me an opportunity for good food, wine, champagne, and the opportunity to wash smelly clothes. Sandra’s parents were great people, very nice to me, and they had an exceptionally tasteful house. It was furnished with impressionist paintings, African sculpture, large well bound literature, and lots of good music. They were more than happy to explain everything to me, including the head of a 600lb Marlin.

les Jardin des Marqueyssac

This allee is absolutely divine. All you can smell at this time of the year is that sweet acidic and pleasantly skunky fragrance of the boxwoods where ever you walk. In the woods to the left is a drystone wall carpeted in thick rug-like moss that runs perpendicular to the allee. Here, I have been reminded of what a great time this is to visit France. The temperature was well into the 20's in the sun, being on top of a rocky ridge and surrounded by limestone cliffs, yet there was a cool breeze and a very soft landscape that surrounded me. When I was in Paris I had the galleries, the streets, the architecture, the city almost to myself, there were at times crowds, but not the bustle of tourists, just the rustling of locals.

Here at Marqueyssac I wandered for atleast 2 hours, and for an hour I didn't encounter one person! Because this photo highlights just one person in the distance it seems even lonelier, and it helps to put the sweet solitude of this place into perspective, before the hideous crowds in summer. This garden sees over a million visitors in the summer and is the most visited in the Dordogne.

This mass planting of boxwood (Buxus sempervirens) becomes a theme of this garden, the melody that is constant throughout the bones of this garden.  Just to the side and back of the chateau is this labyrinthine essay in topiary.  It is notable for its billowing organic shapes and lack of strict geometry.  This garden was radically altered by its 19th century creator, Julien de Cervel, who was  deeply influenced by Italianate gardens and decided to imitate their relaxed formality and do away with the previous design which followed in suit with the designs of Andre Le Notre (known for Versailles).  He planted over 150,000 boxwoods, and also built a few cabannes as follies, or eye-catchers, following in the romantic tradition.  The photo I included in this post was at the end of a long allee and was called the Asile du Poete, or the Poet's Hut - inside it had an unspecified poem by Diderot written in, to me, incomprehensible french.  I can struggle out a basic conversation, but I can't read Enlightenment french.  

I am pretty sure that these are not original stone carvings, although they do have a little look of age as moss and a slight patina has set in.  There are other modern sculptures that dot about this garden, and they are mostly anachronistic and jarringly out of place.  These little phantasmagoric heads poking out of the ground are kind of eerie, but suit the woods.  It reminds me of the Italian garden Il Sacro Bosco which I think of often.

Perigord 101.

Yar, this here be the city gates.  A castle was established here in the late 12th century by Phillip the Bold, the Roi of France, they then "encouraged" the locals to settle on top of this hill to make it a proper village.  Im not sure if encouraged means (a) threatened by sword point (b) incentive by way of goats OR an alternative (c) Get out of Jail (Hell) card.  Anyways, in 1307 a few Templar Knights were stuck here until the culmination of their persecution (the other, more fearful, "-tion" word, execution) and in the process they inscribed crosses and holy maps all over their jail cells.  Locals call it graffiti, but maybe this kind of cheapens the last days of these knight, just a thought.  I feel that there is not a subtle difference between me tagging my name on a highway pass for props from my buddies compared to painfully inscribing holy writ onto stone walls in light of most certain impending doom.

This photo has a very expensive looking car in it, which is on purpose.  Just as I was walking up to gates, on a beautiful sunny afternoon, around 18 degress in the warming rays, an entourage of ridiculously expensive cars flew by.  One by one, BMW's, Audi's, and bunches of other convertibles and sports cars flew by - the rich coming to their quaint provincial cottages in their pretty medieval town.  Its really sad that this town is almost dead until summer, other than a cafe, a restaurant, a tabac, a boulangerie, and a small market that runs every thursday, this town is almost ghost like right now.  The gorgeous stone homes that compose this village are mostly owned by the rich, and many of them English.

Domme is now considered a plus beau village, from which you get a sweeping view of the Dordogne valley, which is also famous for its many caves.  The caves contribute to it as one of the first, and most prestigious, caveman cultural centres of pre-history, Lascaux is in the Dordogne along with many other lesser known painted caves.  The immediate area around Domme is also blessed with Castles, and a great number of other plus beau villages, a coveted designation among tourist frenzied France.  The Dordogne, or Perigold, is also the place of truffles, foie gras, wine (from Cahors and Bergerac), it is a lush and fertile lowland country.

This is the market at Sarlat-la-Caneda. But, wait a second (thinks the reader) this just looks like some dingy old church.  Well, it ends up that this IS an old dingy church, but it has been converted into the most beautiful place to sell truffles, sausages, wine, and fine nuts.  They took out a wall and inserted a 50 foot high metal door, to allow this church-market to become completely open air.  Architecturally speaking it is a funny mix of both gothic and romanesque - having both roman and gothic arches.  The gargoyles/grotesques on this church were few, but very well done and very large in size.  Otherwise it had simple rib vaulting, few adornments, and the stained glass rose window has been exchanged (or not restored accurately) for a massive circular clear glass pane.  A very clean and simple looking church that really screams out its structural features.  This city has incredible windy little medieval streets, and is one of the best examples of the medieval town in France.

Because I'm such a hard working tourist sometimes I get really sleepy.  So I usually just find closest dry stone cabanne or borie to fall asleep in.  This one was about 4 kilometres into the woods off of a hiking path.

I recently visited Marqueyssac, a phenomenal garden, it REALLY blew me away.  My next post will wax about its virtues, but in the mean time I include this photo to induce architectural salivation.  Im swallowing spittle just seeing this little photo.  This borie is named cabanne de cloche, or the bell hut.  The name is self evident, it was restored just over a decade ago now, but it was included in the original plans of this garden's RE-designer in the 19th century.  It's all stone, no mortar, roof included, fantastic construction.

Halt the Presses!

This just in, Evan Oxland completes his premiere sculptural piece named, “Dragon Lady.” It immediately struck critical acclaim (although not necessarily good claims) with his peers (albeit the other two blokes stuck on the volcano with him).



In a recent interview Oxland reflects on his influences, “Well, you see Jim, I had just finished reading Michael Crichton’s Jurrasic Park when I it struck me… Or, should I say SHE struck me. I mean the stone I was in the business of mutilating with hammers and chisel or reordering into neat looking little piles was all the product of this woman… this age of mighty beasts, their very bones were providing me with the medium I made a living on. In this way Crichton’s dinosaur’s are that chthonic force, that primeval feminine, but a tragic one at that. Jurrassic Park really helped me to conceptually grab the essence of this. I mean, there was so much killing, death, and misery in that Park that Ian Malcom warns us of. Malcom is always talking about the forces of chaos, which in many ancient religious texts whether they are ancient Babylonian or Greek Mythic traditions, is represented by the female, the chthonic. And when human intervention, that foolish masculine pride of science, wontedly penetrates prehistoric amber to gather dinosaur DNA, and thus neglects to respectfully acknowledge that ancient sacrifice, the forces of chaos are released. In this sculpture I see a peace offering, a pre-emptive reconciliation, and a ward against an ambiguous future apocalyptic world tyrranised by Velociraptors and Pterodactyls.”

Getting the Arch out of Ardeche.

Well, I’ve left the Art Farm, and with it the Ardeche. It was a good fun learning experience, experiencing mortar work for my first time, and it was great to be able to do a little bit of walling again, but the cold was getting me down and I was luckily offered a ride and a place to stay in the Dordogne, especially because it is in a “plus beau village,” named Domme.

Haven’t been unable to wash my clothes, or my body for that matter, for weeks I was longing for the comforts of central heating, showers, and laundry facilities. I’m all for camping and roughing it, but after a few weeks of it I’ve usually had my fill.  Particularly when you don't get the benefits of camping in the open air.  I was waking up to the cold frosty mist of my own breath each morning, our only wood was scavenged from scrubby land and was too wet so it smoked rather than gave off heat, so around day 20 it got to be enough. I quickly finished pointing my newly constructed arch, finished the stone staircase going around the side of the house, and I built up the terrace/retaining wall from a 6 foot corner to 9 feet, including returns.

You can see what I built in the before and after photo. I built the wall to the right to create a sense of harmony, an echo of its mortared brethren to the left. I decided to simply level off the terrace at the back to create a more restful look. Johnny wanted a staircase on either side, but there weren’t enough appropriate stones readily available for the right hand staircase. He had some stones but they needed to be dug out of the barn floor – no time.

Before building the arch we first had to dismantle the mess that was already there.  However, only having one proper support strut I decided to improvise.  This is where modern appliances come in handy, A fridge with a tire and a stump of wood with wedges held one floor joist while a strut held the other.  An oil drum cut in half was our falsework, which was in turn supported by a bar-fridge with a washing machine on its side.  Since Johnny had left us with almost no wood, and a hungry fire that barely kept the house at 9 celsius, we knew that precious lumber could not be spared for false work or struts.  This was our answer:

To get to Domme, Dordogne, we needed to drive from the Coiron plateau in the Ardeche, across the southern Central Massif, a 6 hour drive fuelled by the desire of two men to get sun in their faces and warmth in their bones. When we left the Art Farm, with its 1000metre elevation, it was 1 celsius and blustery and cold. When we arrived at Dordogne it was 15 celsius! What a difference, while the Hellebores were beginning to grow at the Art Farm, here in Domme, at the top of a limestone hill surrounded by stone buildings and fortifications, bulbs had already popped! I can smell life all around me, grass is sprouting out, Snowdrops have been blooming for quite some time. Daffodils, Crocuses, Irises, and even some Forsythia are flashing their colours with the same exuberance as inner-city gangs at the local baseketball court!

Dordogne is one of the richest areas of France, it has a very high concentration of “plus beau villages” a designation that only villages under 1000 can attain, and it is one that is highly desirable for the sake of tourism. However, why I consider it to be one of richest areas in France is because it specialises in the most important things, listed in order from greatest to least importance: Excellent gardens with Bories (or dry stone Cabannes), the fine wine of Bergerac and Cahors, Orchids, foie gras, truffles, and fairy tale castles.

The Necessity of Boiling French Wine

An evening after Johnny left, master of the art farm, before the builder Brit Andy arrived, someone needed to do some cooking. Well, I decided to get cracking at it. I thought about a soup. A soup to end all soups, really, and it was fantastic. Unfortunately, one thought usually begets another, but not necessarily good ones. “Well Nick, how about we continue this soup? What do you think, we could add some beans and fire this thing up again tomorrow?” Nick enthusiastically agrees. Neither of us know what we are in for but we dump the can of white beans in nonetheless. We bring them to a short boil and assume that would suffice.

The next day, after a good few hours of laying stone and shoveling mortar, we get set for some nutritional uptake. However, the beans are strangely, “Al dente.” For those not culinarily savy enough to understand this, it means to the tooth - a bit of a crunch. It usually refers to pasta, and a pleasant texture, but with beans its not a good thing. Nick and I ended up sucking up the noodles, soup, and veggies, but we moved the compost bucket in front of the fire and spat the watermelon seed-like beans out of our mouths all afternoon long.

Moral of the Story: Cook your beans before you eat them.

Other culinary oddities here at the art farm include boiling bottles of red wine before drinking them. Most of the house sits at about 5 celsius, except around the fire. To get a bottle of Bordeaux to room temperature takes a bit of coaxing.