09 Saturday Nov 2013
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10 November, 2013
Some pics for the gearheads from the Peugeot and Mercedes Benz galleries on the Champs Elysees.
The Peugeot gallery where I watched the France-Italy semifinal in the 1998 Word Cup. I was on the street among several hundred people watching the televisions inside through the windows.
Peugeot
Gotta love custom cut tires on concept cars
DTM C Class
GT3 SLR
Mercedes Formula 1 show car. Bigger than I anticipated.
06 Wednesday Nov 2013
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6 November, 2013
“If Paris did not exist, the world would have to invent her.
If the world did not exist, Paris would not care.”
Hemingway
I arrived yesterday afternoon Gare Montparnasse, and after two different metro lines settled into my hotel. As nice as it was to finally arrive in Paris, it was one of my best friends popping up on a chat message that really made my day. The day was cold and grey, but chatting with her filled my heart with sunshine and joy.
I have wanted to come back to Paris since the day I left in early July of 1998. There is something about this city that is just fantastic. Everything seems better here. Perhaps it is two thousand years of being settled, perhaps it is the sense of fashion, perhaps it simply the je ne sais quoi of it all. There are things I want to see while I am here. This afternoon was the architecture museum near the Eiffel Tower and then a brief visit to Notre Dame. Tomorrow will be the Musee d’Orsay. Perhaps the Catacombs and the Rodin Museum on Friday. Then, I think the weekend will be for the Louvre. Monday will be the last day here, and I believe I will allow myself to simply be in Paris. Soaking it in on the Champs Elysees before I leave this great city again. It will not be fifteen years before I return, and I don’t plan to come back here alone.
Last night, after chatting, I headed into the city. My first stop was the Trocadero and the famous view of the Tower. All around there and closer to the tower the temptation to photobomb again and again was nearly overwhelming. I was good and didn’t make funny faces or do silly things in anyone’s vacation pictures.
From the tower I rode the regional express subway (Paris actually has two subway systems – the Metro and RER) to the Latin Quarter (Rive Gauche, as they say) to find something to eat and have a look at the Cathedral. After wandering around the district called La Sorbonne, I ended up having a simple baguette panini and sugared crepe from a storefront vendor. The monuments in the city are all wonderfully lit at night, and the streets are still full here at ten pm. I was out for a few hours, walking around, basking in the beauty, and taking pictures. When I returned to my room, I was able to video chat with the same friend back home. That ended my first day here with a huge smile.
Tonight, after walking what feels like several miles in the last two days, I am tired. Additionally, for the first time on this trip, I am a bit lonely tonight and wishing for someone’s company. If you know who you are, you know that I wish you were here with me. I enjoy the freedom that comes with traveling alone, but in this city I wish I had someone to share the experience with. I don’t think I can come back to this city again by myself. This is a place to be shared.
Time to parse through the pictures. It appears that in four weeks time, I have captured around two thousand frames. Of those, six hundred twenty six have made it onto these pages. Enjoy!
06 Wednesday Nov 2013
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6 November, 2013
Following up the post on the Cathedral at Chartres is a few pictures of two other Gothic churches in the city. St. Aignan’s is a late 16th-17th century chapel with glass that old. St. Pierre’s was once a monastery outside the old city walls. The other pictures are from various places along the Eure River that runs just to the east of the old city.
Gardens outside Cathedral
St. Aignan
St. Pierre
Ruins of medieval gate.
06 Wednesday Nov 2013
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5 November, 2013
This is going to be a tough one to sum up in words again. Chartres is a magical place for me that has been a part of this journey since I first started planning. I just left this morning, and already I am thinking about when can I return. My first visit was in 1998 to see the Cathedral. It is one of the best examples of the Gothic style in France, largely due to the speed of its construction – only 66 years. I’m not going to get into a history lesson or artistic analysis. Go read the Wiki article if you want to learn more. It’s well written and very informative. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chartres_Cathedral
It was the Gothic architecture and medieval windows that brought me to Chartres fifteen years ago. I was very impressed, but it was my experience at the end of that day that brought me back. The ground the Cathedral lies on has been sacred since before the Romans came to Gaul. There is a labyrinth in the nave of the church that could be walked at the end of the day (now one must wait until Friday – I might go back, not sure yet). I thought at the time, “Sure why not?” The path is something like 243 meters long, and takes a while to follow. I was totally unprepared for the experience. When I reached the middle, I waited for it to be my turn to stand in the center of the circle. When I got there I was completely overwhelmed with emotion to the point of tears. It was a very powerful experience. At the time I was not living in pursuit of a spiritual life. Today I count that as one of my first experiences with the power of the numinous. This time, there was no such experience, but I believe that is due to having conscious contact on a daily basis with the divine in my life.
With that, I want to get out of this hotel room. The sun is shining now and again here in Paris, and there is much to do, starting with some coffee and lunch. So, here’s the pictures from the Cathedral in Chartres.
03 Sunday Nov 2013
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3 November, 2013
Trying to catch up to today.. Yesterday in Le Mans had quite a variety of sights and subsequently pictures. After the museum at the racetrack I took the tram to the old part of town. In the states, that means somewhere from the turn of the 20th century. In Le Mans it means the turn of the 12th century. This is one of the best preserved medieval towns in France. The City Walls date to the 3rd century, at the end of Roman period in Normandy. Much of the old part of the city is 14th & 15th century. The narrow and winding cobbled streets lined with houses 500 years old are very charming. I love these parts of France.
Le Cathedral Saint Julian du Mans is an interesting combination of styles. These monumental churches took generations to build, and this is a perfect example of that. The evolution was to build ever higher with bigger windows. This meant more mass, and the technique was perfected in the high Gothic with pointed arches in the wall perforations and flying buttresses taking the weight of the stone vaulting and roof away from the walls of the building. The nave at St. Julian was completed in the 12th century in the Norman/Romanesque style. 100 years later saw the coming of the Gothic. The transept and apse have the higher vaulting and large windows of the later 13th and 14th century style. This has the interesting effect of the newer areas around the altar and choir – the space for God – feeling more open and more full of light, while the nave – the space for the people – is dimmer. (For a more complete history, please see the Wikipedia page http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Le_Mans_Cathedral )
Romanesque nave with early Gothic buttressing added to support stone vault
View from outside Old City wall
Doubled flying buttresses around apse
Nave vault
Columns and arches at transept crossing
Apse clerestories and vaults
These places amaze me. Not just for the spiritual energy collected within their walls, but just the walls themselves. The beauty of the harmonies of line and proportion – the sacred geometries that are the ancient secrets of the masons who built them. These are massive constructions of countless tons of stone standing firm through the centuries held up by gravity. The form, while embellished with decoration glorifying the almighty and the lives of the saints, is dictated by the function. That function is to support massive weight while allowing light to come in through the glorious windows. Like at Chartres, much of St. Julian’s medieval stained glass has survived. The windows illustrate the lives of the Saints and stories of the scripture for a populace that was illiterate. Prior to Gutenberg’s invention of the press books, and the ability to read them, were something only found in the monasteries. The light they let in, as a result, is full of color, and it’s wonderful.
Saint Julian window
Chapel to the Virgin Mary in apse
Window detail, Chapel of the Virgin
Window detail, Chapel of the Virgin
Chapel of Saint Martin
Window detail, Chapel of Saint Martin
Window detail, Chapel of Saint Martin
Enough of my words. Time to let the pictures do some talking.
03 Sunday Nov 2013
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3 November, 2013
In 1998 I was in Tours at the western end of the Loire Valley on the third weekend in June. Serious racing fans will know what happens that weekend every year — The 24 Hours of Le Mans. I was so caught up in art, chateaux, and World Cup Soccer that I didn’t realize until Monday morning that I had been that close (50 miles) to the race. I came to Le Mans this year to visit the museum at the race track. Here’s a few picture of the collection there.
Overview of the 8 1/2 mile Circuit de la Sarthe
Mazda 787B in front. Jaguar XJR behind — holds the record for highest speed recorded on Mulsanne Straight at 390 kph (241 mph)
Bentlyspeed
Audi R8, three times winner. The first of the all conquering Audi machines
2012 winning Audi
Porsche 917K
03 Sunday Nov 2013
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02 Saturday Nov 2013
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Arromanches, Bayeux, France, Gold Beach, Normandy, Omaha Beach
Stones and sand I collected at Omaha Beach
1 November, 2013
All Saints Day finds me writing in Le Mans, France. I took a train today from Bayeux via Caen. I have a very nice room next to the station with a view overlooking the platforms. There will be some train spotting, as this is a Grande Ligne with TGV service. Already I have seen a parade of TGV Reseau double headed (two sets coupled in tandem), a TGV Duplex double level, and many TER regional and intercity trains. It’s been raining all afternoon, so I have taken time to nap and have been planning out the remaining two weeks of this grand journey. From here I travel to Chartres on Sunday afternoon. I plan to return to the beautiful Cathedral where I had a very moving experience when I visited and walked the labyrinth in 1998. From there I will head to Paris. Not sure how long I will stay there. Eurostar is most affordable on Tuesdays, so it may be for a week. I have been entertaining the idea of perhaps checking out Brussles for a day next weekend.
I digress, however. The freedom that I am enjoying today in France all stems from one decisive and horrific morning on the beaches of Normandy in June of 1944. Yesterday I visited several sites of the invasion with Victory Tours. This is a “one man, one van” company that I highly recommend if you find yourself in Bayeux wanting to visit the invasion sites. We covered nearly 60 miles of the Normandy coast, from Arromanches to Pointe du Hoc. It is impossible in eight hours to truly get an idea of the scale of events that day, and that summer nearly 70 years ago. I find it almost as difficult to put the experience to words tonight.
Leaving Bayeux, the first stop was at Arromanches. Just west of Gold Beach, this was the site of the artificial Mulberry Harbor for the British sector. There are still Phoenix breakwaters outlining the harbor, and several pontoons from the floating piers that are washed up on the beach in a line at the access road.
Phoenix breakwaters
Pontoons
Access road with US Anti Aircraft gun and one section of floating roadway
M4A1 Sherman tank
Seven seen at Arromanches
Leaving Arromanches, we stopped at a bunker complex that was operational on D-Day. The cannons are still there in two of the bunkers. The third took a direct hit to the ammunition magazine, and sustained heavy damage. At the end of the day we visited Pointe du Hoc. A gun emplacement that never actually had any guns. Here the Rangers scaled 100 foot high cliffs sustaining heavy losses to capture a point that had been continually bombed for a month prior to the invasion. The German forces had largely abandoned the position, but it was still defended by infantry. The site is preserved today with bunkers that were never finished, and a landscape still scarred with bomb craters.
After a brief stop for lunch at a small park on one of the access roads, we visited Omaha Beach. Bloody Omaha, as it is called, for that morning the sea was red with the blood of fallen soldiers, and every year in June the sands run red again. The beach remembers the thousands of Americans who died there. The pictures cannot capture the feeling that is there. The sands are sacred. There remains little evidence of what transpired that morning. As I stood on the sand, I tried to imagine the events of June 6, 1944. Explosions, gunfire, screaming of the wounded, smoke and the smell of death in the air, the chaos of war. I could not. The actualities of that day defy my imagination. Before me lay five miles of sparsely populated sands between the bluffs and the sea. This is not a beach for recreation. This is a hallowed ground. A place to remember. A place to ponder mortality. A place to give thanks for freedom. I collected a small packet of sand, and a handful of stones before we left. I cannot begin to give a history of that morning so long ago. I refer you to the pages of Wikipedia – http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Omaha_beach
Returning to the van, we drove up the narrow access road to the top of the bluffs and the town of Colleville. Here there are 172 acres of American soil overlooking Omaha Beach where marble crosses mark the graves of 9,387 fallen Americans who never got to return home. Three hundred and seven of the crosses mark the graves of men never identified. The names of another 1,557 who were killed and never found are inscribed on a wall in a sunken garden to the east of the memorial. While the memorial and reflecting pool are on the east end of the cemetery, the names on the crosses all face west – back to the United States. I have visited Arlington in the nation’s capitol, and it is massive and staggering in the number of graves, but the experience paled in comparison to this. Row after row of names and states and dates that they lost heir lives. All in summer of 1944. There are no dates of birth or ages on the markers, but these soldiers were all 18 and 20 years old. Still boys, theirs was the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the freedom of Europe. My head spun as I walked through the grounds looking at the names and their home states. I saw several that were from Colorado. Several who died on July 4. A few who died on my birthday, July 8. The graves are random. They are not placed by name, location, state or date, but there is one day that is seen again and again: June 6, 1944.
360 panorama — click to embiggen
180 panorama — click to embiggen
Here Rests In Honored Glory A Comrade In Arms Known But To God
The day, All Hallow’s Eve, was very heavy and emotional. I had long felt a calling to visit Omaha Beach and walk on the sands, and to visit the American Cemetery. I still don’t understand what it was about, but I can say with some certainty that between the time I first set foot on Omaha and when I left the Cemetery something in my soul shifted. I left Bayeux a changed man. Perhaps in time I will understand, but maybe not. I don’t think it’s important that I do. It’s just important that I was there.
Bon nuit.
31 Thursday Oct 2013
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30 October, 2013
I spent the day today in seeing some of the town of Bayeux. I learned at the Battle of Normandy Museum that this was the first town liberated in France, and survived the invasion largely undamaged, while many of the nearby towns were more or less completely demolished.
Tagging, early 18th century style
Model showing 10th -12 th century construction of a cathedral
I started at the Cathedral. This is a fantastic example of the early Gothic style. It was started in the 12th century, but the majority of the work was in the 13th century. The large majority of the glass and the domed crossing tower stem from a major renovation in the 19th century.
From the Cathedral I walked to the Battle of Normandy Museum on the edge of town. This is a comprehensive presentation that covers not just the landing, but the events of the summer of 1944. Displays contain uniforms and equipment from all forces involved in the fighting. I found it interesting to see these things first hand. It gives me some kind of reference for my tour tomorrow of the different sites of the invasion.
Leaving the Museum, I crossed the road to the Bayeux War Cemetery. Here 4,648 soldiers and sailors are buried – 3.935 British, and 466 Germans. I have been to military cemeteries in the US, and this one was similar. Rows of simple headstones with rounded tops in neat rows on immaculately kept grounds. There’s one major difference. The men lying here were all young – mostly early 20’s – and all died in the short period of the summer of 1944. Stone after stone in the sections I walked through all shared the same date – 6 June, 1944. The American Cemetery at Omaha Beach has twice the number, and I am assuming that I will be much more impacted by the experience tomorrow.
Back to the centre ville, and I went to see the Bayeux Tapestry. A monumental piece of Norman history, this cloth is 70 meters long, and depicts the victory of William the Conqueror over the usurper to the English Crown, Harold, at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. The embroidery is nearly 1000 years old, and is remarkable not just in its storytelling, but in its physical condition. There is a very comprehensive museum built around it that details the fabrication of the Tapestry, as well as some of the armament and construction techniques of the 11th century.
Time to load some pics and get set for the day.
29 Tuesday Oct 2013
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29 October, 2013
I made the Channel crossing from Portsmouth last night on the Brittany Ferry, MV Normandie. I haven’t ever been on a ship this size – 161 meters long, displacing just over 27,500 tonnes. While I missed the epic storm of Sunday night, the seas were none too calm last night. It was interesting walking around as the ship pitched and rolled. I was reminded of nights in the life I used to live; last night, however, the floor actually was moving around under me. The ship docked at Ouistreham and I disembarked in the predawn light. I took a bus to the Gare SNCF (train station) in Caen, and then a train to the small city of Bayeux, where I am currently in a laundromat as I write.
On the shuttle across the ferry terminal to the boat
My cabin aboard MV Normandie
On the top deck heli-pad, crazy windy hair
Spinnaker Tower, Portsmouth, UK
Old harbor front buildings, Portsmouth, UK
Looking back at London, I can say I am glad to have had the experience of my four nights there, but if nothing else, it has confirmed once again that I am just not a city person. London is big, and busy. Very crowded streets, sidewalks and trains. Too many people for me. However, unlike when I left Paris in the summer of 1998, I can’t sit here today and say that I want to go back. I am sure that I will, there are many things that I didn’t see while I was there, but it will be a few years.
It was very moving to visit sacred spaces of Westminster Abby and St. Paul’s Cathedral. This journey seems to be centered around visiting places sacred and holy. It was pointed out to me last week that three times I have claimed here to not be a religious man, yet I visit these magnificent churches as much for prayer and meditation as for the history and architecture. After reflecting on this (in prayer and meditation, of course) for several days, I think I must revise and/or qualify that statement. I feel that I am a deeply spiritual man of great faith, ever seeking to improve my connection with the divine and experience of the numinous. I do not, however, subscribe to the dogmas or rituals of an organized religion. I attended Anglican services twice over the weekend in London: A choral service called Evensong at Saint Paul’s, and an evening service at Westminster Abbey. At St. Paul’s I was able to sit in one of the ornate quire seats near the high altar, and it was very magnificent to hear the space filled with music and song. At Westminster Abbey, it was a spoken service and the address was on varying perspectives in interpretation of the scriptures, which was very thought provoking. I enjoyed contemplating the message while soaking in the feeling of the space which has been holy for so many hundreds of years. I was an acolyte in the Church of England when I was young, and while I appreciate the Episcopal Church’s progressive stand on social issues, the church is still a little too close to Catholic in its rituals and tradition for my taste. I cannot confine the God of my understanding to the walls of a church, one day a week, or the tangible form of one man. In truth, my understanding is that God is completely beyond my understanding and is an integral part of all existence. As was told to Moses on the mountain, God is “all that which is” and cannot be named. I will continue to visit these holy sites on my journey, using them as powerful places for prayer and meditation – there is great energy in these places. I will also continue to walk in the light and live in the kingdom as I ever pursue my own spiritual growth.
Beyond all of that, I was impressed by both of these places for entirely different reasons. I am much more an aficionado of all stages of the Gothic than the late Renaissance Classical Revival and Baroque. Saint Paul’s is beautiful, no doubt, but to me the style’s simple shapes with heavy lines and lavish adornment leaves me wanting and somewhat unimpressed. The Gothic’s evolution as a structural form based on the harmonies and intervals of sacred geometry and music stir me at a deep level. Even without color or gilding, the slim, simple lines provide exquisite illustration of the function defining the form.
Today I am very happy to be writing while I sit atop a washing machine in a small French town. After the last two weeks of riding the privatised and expensive networked rails of England, it was wonderful to board a sleek, modern Alstom Intercite for a smooth and quick ride from Caen to Bayeux on the nationalized rails of SNCF (Societe Nationale de Chemin de Ferre – Socitey National of the Iron Horse). Walking around the town to the laundry and back this afternoon, it was so nice and calm after five days in London.
I have come to Normandy for several reasons, one in particular I don’t fully understand. This town is home to the eponymous Tapestry (which is really an embroidery) depicting Norman victory at the Battle of Hastings in 1066. I plan to try to see it tomorrow, as well as the Museum of the Invasion.
Bayeux is at the heart of, and is the called the Porte d’entree to the D-Day Beaches. Nearly seventy years after the Occupation and Liberation of the town in WW II, there is still evidence of the conflict in the streets here. Walking to the city center today, I could see patched stonework around windows and doors showing evidence of firefights in the streets as American forces fought to take control of the village and its important road and rail links. I saw at least one building with two distinct ages of masonry evidencing the partial destruction and rebuilding of the structure. The history of the invasion is also part of why I am here. I am a student of human history – the arts and humanities, the philosophies and spiritualities, the conflicts and wars. The invasion of Omaha Beach in particular is the reason I am here that I don’t fully understand. For many years I have wanted to visit this region of Normandy. In 1998, I was close – Rouen – but somehow knew that I didn’t have the time or maturation. When I started planning this trip, Normandy was apparent as a destination. I have known two things about coming here. I had to approach the region from the water, and I need to walk in the surf on the hallowed ground of Omaha Beach before visiting the American Cemetery that sits at the top of the seaside bluff. Places Sacred and Holy. I do not have any family connection to the invasion, so the reasons for this strong desire – need – to carry my journey here in this manner are not self-evident. Perhaps it will be clear to me when I get there, maybe I will never understand. I don’t know what the tour I have signed up for on Thursday will reveal within me. It has been suggested to me by two people whose guidance and intuition I trust, that perhaps I was there on 6 June, 1944. That in a previous incarnation I died in that surf, never making it across the beach or up the hill beyond. Perhaps it is my duty in being here to deliver a part of my soul across the sands to that now sacred and eternally hallowed ground where my fellow countrymen lie silently in eternal rest. I plan to visit the Cathedral tomorrow morning and pray, asking for knowledge and guidance around the reasons and the journey that has brought me here. More, I hope, will be revealed.
Cathedral de Bayeux
I am long on words and short on pictures tonight, having many thoughts and just a few snapshots from the crossing. Thank you for reading, thank you for following. What I originally thought would be just a journal to record my experience on this journey, and perhaps share with a few people, has gotten much more traffic than I anticipated. My site statistics show that in the three weeks I have been traveling and posting here, there have been nearly 1000 page views from people in eleven different countries around the world. Eighteen of you have subscribed to follow, and I do not know the majority of you personally. I am humbled by the numbers and the comments and feedback I have received. Thank you all.
Bon nuit.
savagemythology 