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Austria Again!

7/10/2016

A few weeks back we returned from our summer holiday. We’ve picked the Austrian Tyrol five times over the past seven years. I assure you we are capable of imagining other destinations, yet the Tyrol remains an absolute dead cert for us, ticking all the boxes for two people inclined to overwork themselves. Sometimes, we’re not aware of how exhausted we are until we arrive and find ourselves taking extended afterrnoon naps over the first few days.

“Blimey,” one of us remarks, “didn’t realise I was this tired!”

The scenery is breathtaking, and taking a cable-car to the nearest mountain-top never fails to excite us - we’re easily pleased. This time we stayed for our first time at the relaxed and charming, family-run Schneeberger Hotel in Niederau, literally five minutes away from the Markbachjoch lift station. Every summer tourist is presented with a Wildschonau Valley Card which offers unlimited travel on two lifts, daily swimming at the local heated outdoor pool and entrance to the local museum - all free! Our main pastime is of course the daily walking; generally we start off with a few easy ones before tackling the mountain hikes. We always nip into the local tourist office when we first arrive and buy a copy of the best map available - an invaluable purchase if you mean to do any serious walking. Even so, map or no, we still seem to go wrong at least once or twice; this experience has been known to produce some exasperated sighs and even the odd bad word, especially when you realise the last 200m downhill descent you’ve been finding such an incredible doddle was completely wrong and you now need to entirely retrace your steps back uphill.

If your idea of a summer vacation includes wearing a pair of slingback heels (I’m thinking of the ladies here, please don’t imagine me shod in this way!), then you should probably avoid this destination. However, that’s not to say the holiday’s only fit for serious mountain hikers; not at all, there are good paths and walks for all ages, every fitness level and ability; even so, if you’re planning a walk, a pair of walking-boots, a hat, a rucksack containing waterproofs, something to eat, some sun-cream and a water bottle are all advisable - the weather can change very quickly in the mountains.

We generally avoid large towns, however, on this occasion we did a lovely round-trip walk from Niederau through woodland to Worgl. We bought some lunch in Worgl and became a tad overjoyed on spotting a C&A store; these have been long extinct in Britain and our excitement probably only serves to give away our age. I remember my mother taking me to Swansea C&A in the mid-sixties to buy my first off-the-peg suit for chapel. For old times’ sake I bought a linen shirt and a new pair of shorts, and Judith got herself some t-shirts.

The coffee, even when served at a hutte on the top of a mountain, is almost invariably good; we did however get an expensive cup of instant (surely a work of the Devil?) at one alm that we had instinctively wondered about before entering - the place was scruffy and seemed a bit grubby - so very untypical for sparkly-clean-in- every-way-Austria; we should have trusted our instincts, but let’s face it, a two-week holiday where the only bad experience is one lousy cup of coffee has to be a winner.

Apart from the walking, there was of course always time for daily reading. I happily devoured Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston (see review in previous blog),The Shape of Water by Andrea Camilleri, Oh Pioneer by Willa Cather and The Masters of Atlantis by Charles Portis - all different but all great reads and definitely recommended.

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A Trip to Wales and Another Good Welshman

4/3/2015

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The wife and I spent the weekend in Wales - most appropriate of course, to be back home for St David’s Day! We stayed with a newly reacquainted long-lost relative in Cardiff. One of my first engagements as a professional actor was for a theatre company, long defunct, based in Cardiff, called the Welsh Drama Company. I enjoyed working in the city then and have continued to do so whenever work or play have taken me back there. It has continued to improve as a city. When I worked there initially the magnificent St David’s Hall was simply a building site and the whole shopping area around it was in the process of being redeveloped. A great deal of Cardiff was rather grey, just as much of post-industrialised Britain looked back then. Its heyday as a port, at one time one of the world’s largest exporters of coal, was past, and this once economically vigorous city was struggling to find a new role for itself in the world. Of course Cardiff has seen many more great building projects since the late Seventies, including the redevelopment of the whole Bay Area which includes the Welsh Assembly Building and the Millenium Centre. And of course our national passion (bordering on obsession) for the game of rugby is now catered for at the magnificent Millenium Stadium, right in the heart of the city.

Any visitor entering Cardiff’s Queen Street from the Castle end is met by the statue of Aneurin Bevan (1897 - 1960), or Nye as he’s more affectionately remembered in Wales. He was born and raised in the valleys town of Tredegar, the son of a coal miner. He left school to work in the pits himself at the age of thirteen, where he soon became active in the trade union movement, which sent him to Central Labour College in London. It was here that he gained in confidence as a speaker and began to overcome the stammer that he had been afflicted with since childhood. In 1929 he stood and became elected as the Labour MP for Ebbw Vale, and he was to remain in this seat for the next thirty-one years until his early death. He is perhaps best remembered as the founder of the National Health Service, which became fully operational on the 5 July 1948. He defined a civilised society as one that takes care of its weak and vulnerable. Those of us who have grown up in a happy time where health care was provided unquestioningly by the state have Nye Bevan to thank for this. The National Health Service wasn’t born without suffering the pangs of childbirth and was vehemently opposed by the Conservative Party, the British Medical Association and by some in Bevan’s own Labour Party.

The National Health Service is, we are currently told by too many of its workers to be just scare-mongering, splitting at its seams. It is one of the finest institutions this country has, and we would all be far poorer for its loss. I for one will almost certainly be considering it as one of the foremost issues to be considered when the time comes for me to cast my vote in the general election in May. My Great Aunt Mary had lived almost sixty years before the National Health Service and the Welfare State were fully in place for the protection of all British citizens. I was often amused as a young boy when she expressed her darkest fear of ending up in the workhouse - it seemed preposterous to me then; workhouses belonged to the world of Oliver Twist and Charles Dickens! Actually, the workhouse system was only abolished in 1930. But the kind of poverty experienced by the working classes of the past isn’t possible today, is it? Again, I am reminded of Food Banks and the 900,000 British people forced to resort to them last year.

In 2004 Aneurin Bevan was voted No 1 by the people of Wales in a poll to name 100 great Welsh men and women. After my recent visit to Wales, and seeing as it’s customary for this blog to present to its readers a Good Welshman or Welshwoman on St David’s Day - I give you Nye Bevan: “The National Health service and the Welfare State have come to be used as interchangeable terms, and in the mouths of some people as terms of reproach. Why this is so it is not difficult to understand, if you view everything from the angle of a strictly individualistic competitive society. A free health service is pure Socialism and as such it is opposed to the hedonism of capitalist society.”

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Bavarian Hols!

17/8/2014

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We've been away for the last few weeks, mostly walking in Bavaria, however, we found time to spend an evening and most of the following day with some old German friends we've known since our twenties, and lunched with another friend, a colleague of Judith's who was herself holidaying near Salzburg. It's always a lovely thing to see and revisit friends. We've been to Salzburg several times now but always in a hurry it seems, so can't claim to have explored the city beyond the level of a cursory glance. This situation is of course unacceptable and must be remedied at some point in the future once and for all! It's the birthplace of Mozart, for goodness sake! We did however bring back some Mozart Ball sweets for family and friends, though not the official ones that you can purchase at only one shop in Salzburg that always appears to have grafted to it an eternity-long queue.

Most of our other time in Ruhpolding, where we were based at the very agreeable Hotel Maigerschwendt, was spent walking and swimming. The hotel's meals were so unreservedly excellent, not to mention brilliantly varied, that exercise was most definitely required if we wished to return home with the same sized waistband we'd arrived with. We swam every day possible in the marvellous Vita Alpina swimming pool and gradually built up from zero to a respectable twelve lengths of their Olympic-sized open-air pool. Vita Alpina is really a swimming complex; it contains various outdoor pools to satisfy the requirements of all its visitors - swimming, diving, fun etc; its indoor facilities include a massive slide, wave pool, several pools for families with small children, and our favourite - the Wellness Pool. This is accessed from inside but is in the open-air, it's heated to something like blood temperature and contains all kinds of fountains, waterfalls and jacuzzi-like offerings - bliss! We generally finished off with ten minutes in the steam room before reinvigorating ourselves under the cold shower before leaving Vita Alpina in search of a coffee like a couple of inanely grinning Telly-Tubbies!

The remarkable thing about holidaying in Ruhpolding is that all this was absolutely free, because if you're a guest of one of the hotels you are given an Extra Card, which gives free daily entry to the pool and free bus travel as well as use of the local chairlift and cable-car - other things are free or at a reduced price too. I imagine this must make it a particularly appealing destination for families with children. We had some great walks, probably my favourite being a five hour round-trip along an old smugglers' route to Austria where you actually walk underneath a waterfall.

For the first time ever I forsook reading books (well, not really!). What I mean is, I took no printed books with me and relied on Kindle for my reading supply. The main book I read was The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. It is a mystery novel, published in 1859 - Collins is generally acknowledged to be the father of detective fiction. It is an epistolatory novel, with accounts given in the first person, much like testimonies, by different protagonists from the story. It also highlights the poor legal rights accorded to women once they were married - Collins had a legal training, so I daresay this was a point of some importance to him. The book's main character, Walter Hartright, a humble drawing master, assisted by the immensely characterful Marian Halcombe, assumes the role of 'the sleuth' throughout most of the story. We are never in any doubt about who the novel's baddies are - I mean to say, how could anyone called Sir Percival Glyde be viewed with anything but dark suspicion? And as for Count Fosco, an Italian no less - he seems to possess diabolically inspired powers at various times! The task Hartright commits himself to is uncovering a terrible secret, which, should it ever be revealed will undoubtedly ruin both men. Collins skilfully manages to make us wait until the very last chapters of the book before we are certain of 'the secret'. A hundred and fifty years after it was written the book remains a page-turner. Did I have any reservations? Well, yes, it's rather long-winded and probably contains a bit too much exposition and repetition for a good many modern readers - but of course we must always bear in mind whilst reading that the book first appeared in a serialised form which probably accounts for some of this. However, the book's overall effect and its place in literary history makes it well worth an occasional struggle with exasperation and impatience when the story decides to meander along for yet another fifty pages. I must admit I found the character of Laura Fairlie a little over-romanticised and sentimental - however, this is an accusation often made against Dickens' females too - I guess it was a requirement of Victorian fiction that its love interests were sweet and pure and accordingly rather brainless. Anyway, who would have the temerity to suggest Collins and Dickens were doing it wrong? They knew exactly what they were about and wrote specifically for the times they lived in. This is a great read and one that definitely contributed to my holiday pleasure!

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New York 2013/14

9/1/2014

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Taking the ferry to Ellis Island

When I see the weather reports for North America, I can't believe how lucky we were, flying home early on 2 January, just in the nick of time. It was already snowing quite heavily in the Bronx at 5.30 am, the time when our cab arrived to take us to JFK. However, at the airport it was still fairly clear by that time - only hours later a plane actually skidded off the runway (fortunately nobody hurt) and hundreds of flights got cancelled.

The dust rarely has time to settle on a Johnson and Johnson holiday. We always make the most of our time and try to see just as much as we possibly can, that is without applying any kind of religious zealousness to the experience - we like to wear our smiley faces best of all! This trip was planned to be a combination of sightseeing as well as an opportunity to reconnect with some old chums. I admit I was flabbergasted when I calculated the exact number of years that had passed since we all first met - this honest indiscretion on my part censured at once by the girls from my term at RADA with cries of, "Hey, don't remind us!".

It was truly great to see everyone.

We were actually staying with a friend Judith had made at the London City Lit back in 1975 who also remarkably enough had connections with my RADA group - it's a small world. Sharon was a wonderful host, generous and considerate, patiently explaining how to buy tickets for the subway, the metro-train and organising tickets online for us for certain things we planned to do. She's a peach!

Shortly before we left on our trip, I'd rung an acquaintance in Wales whose services I'd employed earlier in the year and who'd been very kind and had helped me out in several ways to do with my late mother's furniture that had put him to some trouble. I simply wanted to thank him again for his kindness and to wish him a Merry Christmas. In the course of our conversation I told him where we were headed, and he joked, "Well I have to admit I'm a bit envious ... you're going to love it ... it's a fantastic city!"

He was right. It is a fantastic city. I've never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve as it were, but I reckon I just might manage an "I ♥ NY" on the front of a T-shirt (well, someday perhaps!).

The most famous areas of Manhattan were jam-packed, some people were no doubt taking advantage of the post Christmas sales, others were most likely on their winter vacation and of course there were numerous sightseers like us. At times we found ourselves moving at a pace that might be considered slow even for a zombie in an old living dead movie. Traversing Times Square and experiencing first hand the huge crush of people there, decided us once and for all against any notion of seeing out the 'old' and in the 'new' at this most tradititional NY location.

I'm not going to give a blow by blow account of all we did, but I can honestly say that everything was worth it: Guggenheim; Metropolitan Museum of Art (American galleries); Tenement Museum; Ellis Island; a walking tour of Central Park (generously provided by its friends); Mediaeval Cloisters; the Christmas train show at the Botanical Gardens.

The thing that astonished both of us was how swiftly this massive city seemed to become familiar, and despite its vast distance from our own shores it gave the illusion that we were never very far away at all. Our tours of the Tenement Museum and Ellis Island were particularly informative and thought provoking; the starvation, poverty, persecution and oppression that so many of these newcomers were leaving behind in 'the old world', brought home to us just why so many immigrants to America (particularly of my parents' and their parents' generation) always spoke of their new homeland with such pride.

However, it wasn't only NY I ♥ 'd. After visiting the Mediaeval Cloisters with our friend Sharon, she suggested the Dominican buffet for lunch. Judith and I pictured a mediaeval style refectory with food served by Dominican nuns or friars perhaps. She actually meant to take us to a Dominican (as in the Caribbean republic) restaurant near the cloisters at Dyckman Street. The food was excellent ... the waitresses were very welcoming ... you can return to the buffet as many times as you like ... I ate plantain for the first time ... ♥ ♥ ♥.

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Hiraeth to Hamlet

23/10/2013

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We've had a busy few days recently and several late nights - but who cares? I no longer possess a complexion worth getting to sleep early to conserve!

Quite incredibly, it's been nearly a year since my mother passed away, and although my emotions aren't as raw as they were in the weeks immediately following her death, there remains a great sadness when I think of the almost constant loneliness she suffered during her final years. I have an old bureau that was originally purchased by my grandfather around the time of WW1 and which always held a prominent position in our family home. I associate it with my parents, and since I've inherited it, whenever one of its glass doors swings open unannounced (a matter of a worn-out locking mechanism, not ghosts!) my wife and I always greet it with a cheery, "Hallo Mam!" Occasionally both doors open simultaneously and when this happens we welcome my Dad too. It's comforting to own a piece of furniture that connects me to family - its very presence brings to me an incontrovertible sense of belonging at least somewhere in this great big world! I can only imagine how devastating it must be for refugees fleeing from an oppressor, still an all too frequent reality, people running for their lives and forced to abandon all else.

Yes, Tommy Cooper was born in Caerphilly!

Because of my long adopted practice of visiting my mother for several days at a time every six weeks, I'd recently found myself experiencing the phenomenon we Welsh call 'hiraeth' - it translates into English as 'longing' but this doesn't nearly do it justice - the word conjures-up in us 'Taffs' an umbilical link to hearth and homeland. Anyway. the opportunity to return home arrived by way of an invitation to a birthday party in Nailsworth, Gloucestershire - near enough to Wales to plan a long weekend! We left late on Thursday evening and stayed for two nights near the town of Caerphilly in south-east Wales. On Friday we explored the town and were both struck by the friendliness of its people. In the afternoon we visited Caerphilly's impressive, moated Norman castle, built by the immensely powerful Gilbert de Clare in 1268. We agreed that the quite extensively restored areas enhanced the experience positively, as too did some highly imaginative audio/visual presentations. It was well worth the visit and comes highly recommended. Later on that afternoon we got ourselves pretty much lost on top of a mountain whilst trying to navigate our way to Pontypridd. The mountain sheep eyed us with disinterest, a hill runner gave us a cheerful wave as we drove by, and the only car we passed stopped for a humorous exchange in true 'valleys' fashion.

On Saturday we drove the twelve miles into Cardiff, enjoyed its marvellous shopping precinct and met up with some friends for a chat. We were very lucky with weather, and just as it began to rain with a not unprecedented ferocity for Wales, we were fortunate enough to be heading east along the M4 towards our new accommodation in Wiltshire for Saturday night. We were given impeccable directions by our hotel receptionist to the birthday party's location, which turned out to be a terrific evening. The entertainment was provided by a really accomplished local band called The Dubious Brothers. They must've known I was coming because they covered just about every one of my favourite songs from the last four or five decades! We drove home on Sunday morning and after picking up the week's shopping, didn't overtax ourselves for the rest of the day.

Yesterday we had another late night as we'd booked to see 'Hamlet', an NT Live encore production to mark the National Theatre's fiftieth anniversary. We were told that the showing marked exactly fifty years since Peter O'Toole's performance as the Dane in the National's very first production of the play, then staged at the Old Vic and directed by Laurence Olivier. The central role in our version was comfortably inhabited by Rory Kinnear, Patrick Malahide brought the corrupt Claudius to sleazy life, James Laurenson was a powerfully moving ghost and David Calder brought much warmth and humour to Polonius. I shan't go on with listing, it was directed by Nicholas Hytner with crystal clarity, and for this reason might have been especially worth seeing for anyone coming to the play for the first time. I for one found myself totally engaged throughout the entire performance.

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Innsbruck and Emperor Maximilian's Tomb

16/10/2013

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Street performers taking a rest in Innsbruck

This summer we opted for two weeks, mainly walking, in the Tyrol. The only real variation in this plan was a daytrip to Innsbruck by bus and train for a day of 'culture cramming'. This was the second time we've visited Innsbruck, and hopefully not the last, as we still have more to see. We spent the morning at the Ferdinandeum Art Gallery/Museum where they have a collection that is well worth viewing, notably a Rembrandt and a charming painting by Peter Brueghel the Younger. We also particularly enjoyed the paintings of Austrian artist Albin Egger-Lienz.

After a break for lunch we revisited the Hofkirche, to be once again awed by the magnificence and artistry of the Tomb of the Emperor Maximilian 1. The tomb, as its intended to do, dominates the central nave of the church. However, the Emperor himself is actually buried elsewhere and had already been dead for many years by the time this monument to the greatness and the might of the Holy Roman Empire was completed. The work has understandably and deservedly been hailed as the finest example of German Renaissance sculpture. At the centre of the monument is a massive black marble sarcophagus (presumably empty). Sited at the top of this structure is a bronze statue of the Emperor Maximillian, proudly kneeling in humble supplication before God. It is a truly marvellous piece of propaganda!

The skill of the many master craftsmen who produced this incredible work of art has to be seen to be believed. To produce such a masterpiece, the Habsburgs employed many of the finest artists and craftspeople at work in the sixteenth century. The intricacies of the wrought iron screen around the tomb were achieved by a Prague master craftsman called Schmiedhammer, and the bronze statue of the Emperor himself and the 24 (quite stunning) marble reliefs around the tomb, depicting scenes from Maximilian's life, were mostly the work of Alexander Colin. However, there is still more to see: surrounding the tomb, standing in a kind of homage, are 28 larger-than-life-size statues of Maximillian's ancestors and contemporaries, with a few mythical characters like King Arthur of England thrown in for good measure. This particular statue and several others were designed by the artist Albrecht Dürer, and it is widely regarded as the finest depiction of a knight found anywhere in Renaissance Art.

The bronze statues have acquired an austere dark patina over time. But I have to admit to taking a little profane delight when I saw the shining bright codpiece sported by Rudolph 1 - irresistibly prominent and within easy reach, Rudolph's lucky charms, polished to a fine sheen by countless touching fingers over the centuries. What an ignominy!

The following images which concentrate on the workmanship and detail rather than the overall majesty of the tomb, which no photograph could ever really capture, were taken by Tom Johnson and are presented here with his kind permission.

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Riva Del Garda

21/8/2013

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I occasionally do a piece about somewhere I found interesting on a past holiday. A few years back Judith and I took a holiday at Garda, Lake Garda, Italy. There was plenty to do with lots of swimming, some enjoyable walking, several inexpensive day outings on the local service bus to fabulous Verona (about an hour and a quarter away) and a few boat journeys to different towns sited along the lake. We were tired when we arrived as I recall, and unusually for us slept a lot for the first few days, took only the gentlest strolls, a few daily swims in the lake and read our books between periods of dozing off. Slowly we were restored to our normal state of acute interest in the world around us. Occasionally it must be confessed, our enthusiasm has contributed to the evident
annoyance of an occasional couple, who might define 'daily exercise' as a gentle amble to the local patisserie, unfortunate enough to find themselves on the breakfast table alongside us.

One of the many enjoyable days of the holiday as I recall was spent cruising along the lake. By doing so we were following in the watery footsteps of nineteenth-century writers and thinkers like Thomas Mann and Franz Kafka when the spa towns of the lake were amongst the most acclaimed in central Europe. Our destination that day, at the northernmost point of the lake, was the town of Riva Del Garda. Before the end of the 1914-1918 World War, Riva Del Garda was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and something about the look and feel of the town
and its people, suggested to us its Austrian pedigree.

As soon as we got off the boat we immediately corrected the fact that we had missed our morning coffee. The coffee (a locally roasted brand previously not heard of), was excellent and we subsequently bought half a kilo to bring home. We bought lunch from the delicatessen counter of a superb local supermarket and dined al fresco in a local park.

The afternoon was spent in the pleasant informative surroundings of the Museo Riva Del Garda. The lake has enjoyed a rich and varied human association, the very oldest split flint artefacts dating back to the mid Palaeolithic period (120,000 - 33,000 BC). There is a very good reconstruction of a lakeside stilt house from the Bronze Age (2,200 - 1,000 BC) which demonstrates the skill and competence of their carpenters, along with an interesting selection of everyday objects made in clay and metal. There was, of course, a large collection of Roman archaeological finds (unfortunately the Romans left us so much to see, I'm ashamed to say we always feel a little blasé in this area! Shame on us!), and some artwork dated between the 15th and 19th centuries that was worth looking at.

However, the exhibits that excited us most of all were a series of stone statues from around 4000 - 3000 BC. These were discovered at the nearby town of Arco and represent human-like figures, making clear references to clothing that was worn at the time, ornaments and weaponry. It is speculated that the statues may have represented high-ranking people who actually existed at the time, ancestors, or divinities to be worshipped.

We returned to our hotel in the town of Garda on the service bus in time for a quick shower before dinner, after a long but satisfying day.

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Two Visits to Pompeii

18/7/2013

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Scala

The first time we visited Pompeii was some years ago when we were staying in a village called Scala (literally 'Steps' - and they weren't fibbing!) on the Amalfi Coast. Scala itself is roughly about three or four miles from the nearest bit of coast at Amalfi, reached by pursuing a torturously winding road which snakes its way through the steep hillsides.

Heading towards Amalfi

Until the 1930s, when the road was built, the only way down was via the numerous steps that run up and down the hills, on which you might still encounter the occasional farmer riding a mule carrying water bottles. We found it was possible to get to Amalfi from our hotel in the village in under twenty minutes. We waved goodbye to a nice Italian couple one morning who had rushed through breakfast, intending to get a bus from the village to Amalfi, in order to catch a coach to Sorrento. We finished our breakfast in a leisurely fashion and took the steps. We were waiting at the coach stop in Amalfi as they alighted from the village bus - trying hard not to look too smug!

We took a day-trip organised by our tour operator to see Pompeii and the volcano Vesuvius. The one and a half hour guided tour of Pompeii, with a commentary in English and Italian because the group was mixed, was inevitably disappointing. It was a bit like taking a trip to the British Museum and finding you only have enough time to look around the foyer and bookshop!

The Amalfi Coast because of its terrain is not an easy place to get to and from without difficulty. The coach to Sorrento, probably a distance of less than twenty miles, takes over an hour and a half for example, as there is just one narrow road that weaves and bends its way along the coast. The trip to Pompeii convinced us to enjoy Scala as a place for walking amongst lemon groves and spectacular scenery. After a few days of going up and down literally hundreds and hundreds of steps we also developed calf muscles worthy of Popeye. However, we did formulate a plan to 'do' Pompeii properly sometime.

We did some research, and two years later we chose to book a hotel as base in Sorrento. We discovered an excellent thing called an Arte Card, which for a reasonable price included bus and train travel anywhere in Campania, and free entry at a certain number of historical sites. The ancient ruined city of Pompeii is only about twenty minutes on the Circumvesuviana train route, which runs from the centre of Sorrento to Pompei Scavi. We spent about fifteen hours at Pompeii over the two-week holiday and literally only scratched the surface - but inevitably there were other places we wanted to see and of course had to find time for relaxation too. It is the most incredible place, a city that met a sudden irrevocable end, and has been frozen in time since that moment. The human plaster casts (some of which are on display) were made by filling the space in the ash left where the two thousand asphyxiated victims of Vesuvius, including their domesticated animals fell and rose no more. They lay buried for the next fifteen hundred years beneath approximately 16 or 17 feet of volcanic ash.

A bar Pompeii style

You can picture wives gossiping on the streets of the easily imagined porticoed shops. Or see whole families as they go to the theatres, or revel in their municipal excellence at the games put on for their appreciation by the city fathers. Or imagine craftsmen, or businessmen, or the many visitors the town must have had, sitting around in the various bars with a glass of wine: or chilling-out in its marvellous baths (I think the only place in the city where its curved and corrugated ceilings remain intact), or indulging in more carnal pleasures at the brothel with its pictorial menu of sexual offerings ( because not every tourist and visitor to the city spoke Latin). Apparently, the townsfolk of nearby Herculaneum ( also destroyed and equally worth visiting) found the people of Pompeii a little garish and vulgar - snobbery it seems is nothing new. Pompeii was renowned for its 'Garum', a kind of sauce made from the fermentation of fish, pretty stinky and probably a bit unpalatable to modern tastes, but the Roman world loved the stuff and Pompeii was famous and rich from the export of it.

House of the Faun

However, conservation at Pompeii and the vast area it covers is a major headache, and every year the site deteriorates a bit more. For over fifteen hundred years the molten ash that had destroyed and buried it was its protector, but exposed to the sun, air and the 2.5 million tourists that visit annually, the site is under huge pressure. When we visited the Villa of Mysteries, beyond the Necropolis and outside the city walls, decorated with the most exquisite wall paintings, we were horrified to see our walking boots scuffing the ground and unintentionally kicking-up pieces of two thousand year old mosaic floor tiles. Pompeii is a marvellous piece of human heritage, a place where people lived, played, worked and died. I felt like they were reaching out across two millenia and saying to me, 'we were much the same as you, had similar ambitions and passions, vanities and foibles'.

The ancient Roman city of Pompeii lies close to the modern and similarly named suburb of Naples, Pompei. Together with the neighbouring town of Herculaneum, it was destroyed when Mount Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD. The population of Pompeii is estimated to have been about 20,000, and it's thought about ten percent actually died there. An eye-witness account of the eruption exists, written by Pliny the Younger who watched the whole thing from across the Bay of Naples.

There is currently a major exhibition about Pompeii on at the British Museum.

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Vlaho Bukovac

30/1/2013

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View from Atelier Window, Cavtat

I thought I might do an occasional blog piece about museums/interesting places I've visited that may not always get the attention they deserve. I mean, there's little or no point at all in me singing the praises of really well known tourist spots is there? Let's face it, finding out about somewhere that's well-known is a bit like trying to get a book about one of the top-twenty artists - basically, just pop along to any remaindered bookshop and I can almost guarantee they'll have books on Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Gaugin, Cezanne, Rodin, Vermeer and all the other usual suspects. However, the work of so many exceptional artists is often astonishingly badly represented on our high streets.

How about the work of Vlaho Bukovac for instance? Unless you've been to Dubrovnik you've quite possibly never heard of him. His family home was only sixteen km from Dubrovnik in the beautiful coastal town of Cavtat. He was born there in 1855 and from his earliest years showed a definite precociousness as an artist. In 1877 he went to Paris where he was swiftly accepted as a talent. He travelled widely in his lifetime, however Bukovac retained his link with Cavtat all his life. He took a post as professor of fine Art in Prague in his late forties and spent the final twenty odd years of his life working there before his death in 1922. He was prolific and produced over 2000 works of art in his lifetime.

Two Nudes From His Time in Paris

During his life his work attracted the interest of a couple of Northern British Industrialists, the LeDoux and Fox families of Liverpool and Harrogate. The National Museum, Liverpool and the Mercer Art Gallery, Harrogate still have examples of his work which you can see by following this link http://www.bbc.co.uk/arts/yourpaintings/artists/vlaho-bukovac

There is however a feast of Bukovac's work in various churches and galleries around Dubrovnik. It's possible to see some very good paintings of his at the excellent Museum of Modern Art, Dubrovnik. But for my money, and best of all, is to see his work in his own charming house at Cavtat where you can enjoy a large number of his paintings from just about every period of his life (even childhood doodles!). His painting ability was really exceptional, somehow managing to combine a light impressionistic touch with an almost photographic quality.

A Late Self-Portrait of Vlaho Bukovac

If you're not planning a Croatian holiday in the near future, then why not search images for Vlaho Bukovac on Google?

Definitely worth a look!

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Catching Some Summer Rays!

5/9/2012

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The Roman Amphitheatre Verona

It is widely acknowledged that 'a change is as good as a rest'. Which about sums up the kind of holiday we go for here in the Johnson house. Judith and I are incapable of sitting on a beach in brilliant sunshine for more time than it takes to dry-off after a swim, get the shorts and t-shirts back on and toddle off to do something else. We tend to choose places for our holidays within easy reach of at least one cultural centre. Last year in Lake Garda we explored Verona thoroughly, as well as many of the interesting places along the lakeside like Riva Del Garda, which have either a museum or an historic site to visit.

They say travel broadens the mind - pretty often the holiday food is so good it can broaden the waistband too! But you do learn some useful things - I now know where to find the best take-away pizza in Verona! In fact I plan to write a short story some time about this particular pizza business: the honest diligent husband who was always hot, busy cooking and serving; while his wife, immaculately turned-out and looking like she'd just had a massage and manicure only appeared when the shop was full. This woman had developed a highly efficient way of accounting, because she never rounded a price down but always up to the next 50 cents. Although we came away from her shop after a week of pizzas a couple of pounds heavier and a few Euros lighter she did give me a lovely idea for a story - so, fair exchange I reckon!

Us in Austria (how do they always know we're British?)

This Summer we went back to the Tyrol, Austria, to a little village called Soll. We'd had a really lovely time there a couple of years back. The hotel we stayed at last time has since changed hands so this visit we took accommodation at the Tyrol (Tyrol Am Wilder Kaiser if you want its full name). Josef and the rest of the family team who run the hotel really looked after us well. Our room was spacious and comfortable and like everywhere in Austria it was kept extremely clean. If you like walking in beautiful mountains, swimming in mountain lakes and riding on cable-cars to your heart's delight (like we do) then I'd highly recommend both Soll and the Hotel Tyrol.

The Heldenorgel, Kufstein

We meant to go to Innsbruck (we've been before but had always felt we had unfinished business with the city having visited last time on a Monday when the art gallery was shut! And we hoped to see lots of other stuff too!) but this year we were enjoying the wonderful mountain walks and sunshine too much and ran out of time to get there. However, we did go to Kufstein on our one rainy day to see the Heldenorgel being played. The organ is set at the base of an old fortress and has been played twice daily (midday and 6pm) in memory of Ausrtria's war dead since 1931. It is an incredible piece of machinery with the organ pipes at the top of the tower (most easily reached via the funicular railway!).

The four main villages of the Wilder Kaiser region, Soll, Schefau, Elmau and Going go out of their way to make their Summer visitors welcome. Many visitors return time and time again and all the Gondola/ cable-car half-stations have great playgrounds for entertaining children. They allow the children to create their own world without imposing too much that's been thought up by adults. Our son would have loved it there I know had we discovered it when he was a child. Incidentally, I didn't see one screaming child or irrate parent during the whole two weeks.

Yes, they always know. But how?

So a change, a rest, lots of fresh air, lots of walking up and down mountains (phew!), great food, great hotel, great village and lots of nice Austrians, Germans and British people.

Now I'm back at home again and it's down to some serious writing. Lovely jubbly!

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Austria Again!

A Trip to Wales and Another Good Welshman

Bavarian Hols!

New York 2013/14

Hiraeth to Hamlet

Innsbruck and Emperor Maximilian's Tomb

Riva Del Garda

Two Visits to Pompeii

Vlaho Bukovac

Catching Some Summer Rays!

M J Johnson

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