A Paris bike ride

March 17, 2018

I grabbed a baguette and Velib (bike) and rode downriver from L'ile de la Cité towards the Eiffel tower. Shortly after starting my ride, a cold rain started, which soon became hail.

There was a detour on the bike path on the south bank of the Seine. Too late, I realized there was a small curb, and I went down in slow motion. While it was only about a 3 on a ten point wipe-out scale, a number of passers-by stopped to enquire about my condition. "Ca va" I replied, having just a scrape on my left palm (1).

The clouds cleared and the sun appeared while at the Eiffel Tower (2). The ride back upriver on the north bank was less busy and more pleasant.

I found a small place for lunch near the Pantheon. A number of people were coming down the hill carrying Irish Flags with shamrock painted on their cheeks and bagpipe music drifted in when the door opened. I realized it was St. Patrick's Day.

(1) The baguette was in my right pocket and was therefore unharmed.

(2) A statistic came to mind that I had learned while visiting Moldova a few years ago: the Eiffel Tower has more visitors on an average day than all of Moldova has in an average year.

Notre Dame at Night

Eiffel Tower, after the hail

Ouradour sur Glane

March 16, 2019

Ouradour sur Glane was a small town in central France. On June 10th 1944, a few days after the allied landing in Normandy, some SS troops in the Limoges area made the decision to make an example of a town to discourage resistance activity (1).

On the afternoon of that day, SS troops surrounded the village and swept everyone out of their houses and into the central part of town. The women and children were separated from the men and forced into the church.

The men were told their homes would be searched for weapons while were gathered in small groups around town. Upon a prearranged signal being given, the men were shot to death. The Nazi SS troops then set the church on fire and shot anyone trying to escape from the burning structure.

The Nazi troops then set the town ablaze. The whole Massacre was over in just a few hours. The French never rebuilt the town, the remnants of which are now a memorial.

I remember first hearing about Ouradour when I saw the documentary "The World at War" on PBS when I was a kid (2). The images somehow were filed in my brain as a town caught in the crossfire of war, with the town fought over by competing armies. Why else would the town itself have been physically destroyed?

When I had recently read a few books on the topic, I had envisioned some angry troops destroying the town to take revenge for a comrade killed by the resistance in the area. Visiting the site made me realize that the destruction of the town and its unarmed civilian inhabitants was deliberately planned by the commanding officer in the region to sow terror in the population.

My visit to the memorial town begin under grey skies. As I lingered the sun eventually came out came out. While there were a few other visitors, all was quiet as the visitors considered the events and paid their respects quietly.

The memorial is difficult to access by public transit, so I rented a car at Limoges to get to the site and then drove on to Paris (3) (4).

(1) The SS "das Fuhrer" division had recently transferred from the Russian front where little distinction was often made between civilians and combatants.

(2) The series was produced in 1974, so I was probably about 11 years old.

(3) I encountered a yellow vest (a) protest near the highway on-ramp. They seemed annoyed that I did not take their proffered flyer.

(a) Drivers in France are required to have yellow vests in their cars in case of a road-side breakdown. People protesting a proposed carbon/auto fuel tax donned the yellow vests, after which their protest movement has been named.

(4) I had had no fixed plan for the evening but I found last minute deal on a hotel in the latin quarter of Paris. When I arrived, the man at reception said they only had the "duplex room" left. This room had an entry and bathroom on the third floor while the bedroom was up a very narrow staircase on the fourth floor (a). It was quite charming.

(a) The furniture and mattress in the bedroom must have come in the window. They never would have made it up the narrow stairs.

Ouradour sur Glane 

Bullet holes, Ouradour Church

Ajaccio to Toulouse

March 15, 2019

A morning walk in Ajaccio unexpectedly brought me to the birthplace of Napoleon. I wandered to a large plaza and encountered a group of schoolkids on a field trip milling about (1) a large plinth with statues of Napoleon and his brothers. The statue was erected during the reign of Napoleon III, during the second empire period (2).

On the bus to the Ajaccio airport (3) I noticed two sailboats that appear to have been tossed onto the seaside promenade, presumably by a winter storm. I caught a flight to Toulouse and had a nice visit with some dear friends who now live in the area.

(1) And attempting to climb on; some of the students were young boys.

(2) Lous-Napoléon Bonapart (a) was elected president of the Second French Republic in 1848. Not wanting to leave office at the end of his term, he staged a coup d'état in 1851, shortly thereafter proclaiming himself Emperor Napoleon III. Thus ended the second French Republic.

(a) He was the nephew of Napoléon Bonaparte: the son of Napoléon's brother Louis and Louis's wife Hortense Beuaharnais, who was the daughter of Napoléon's wife, Josephine, from her first marriage.

(3) Officially, the Aeroport D'Ajaccio Napoleon Bonaparte (mais oui!).

Napoleon's birthplace 

Napoleon Family Statue 

Plaque on plinth

Flight to Toulouse 

Corte

March 14, 2019

The city of Corte (1) is in the mountains of central Corsica. The city was the capital of the independent Corsican Republic (2). The train got me there by mid morning and I climbed up to the citadel overlooking the city.

The Corsican Anthropology museum here has two floors: country life and city life (3). Exiting an exhibit and movie about an old factory (in city life), I was rather jarred to see a display of life-sized figures clad in what appeared to be Ku Klux Klan outfits. These figures represent the Cunfraterna di San Teofalu Basti during their annual Holy Week Procession.

The central place of Corte has a large statue of Paoli (of course) and affords fine views of snow-clad Monte Cintu, at 8,878 feet, the tallest on Corsica.

The afternoon train climbed to the Corsican Railways summit at Vizzavona (4), 2,972 feet above sea level. We then descended back to sea level at Ajaccio.

(1) Also known as Corti. Many places in Corsica have both French and Corsican/Italian names, including L'ile Rousse/Isola Rossa. On one of the trains, there is a scrolling display of the destinations and procedures to alight (a) in French, while the oral announcements are in Corsican.

(a) Many stops (i) are on demand, so the train only stops if someone is getting on or off, which a passenger signals by pressing a button on the train.

(i) "Arret" in French, "Fermata" in Corsican.

(2) The Republic was founded and led by Pascal Paoli, known as "U Babbu a la Patria" (b) who led a rebellion against Genoese rule in 1755. The local forces gained control of most of the island, while the Genoese (a maritime power) retained control of some of the seaports. The Genoese gave Corsica (which they barely controlled anyway) to the French in lieu of cash payment of a debt. The French sent in large numbers of troops, who suppressed the Corsican Republic and establish French control, which continues to this day (c).

(b) "Father of the Country" in Corsican.

(c) Except for a period of British control during the Napoleonic wars (ii) and German control during World War 2.

(ii) Lord Nelson, later the commander of the British fleet at Trafalgar, lost an eye at the Siege of Calvi during the Corsican campaign.

(3) There was also a temporary exhibit on the image of Corsica as seen in French  advertisements, military recruitement posters, etc.

(4) I've been reading a book: "Rambles in the Islands of Corsica and Sardinia," published in 1858. The English author, Thomas Forrester (c), climbed to the Col on foot with his baggage carried by donkeys.

(c) He was definitely a product of his time and place. A few quotes:
" One of the men, who eyed us with suspicion, had just the physiognomy one should assign to a bandit."
"Great numbers of Corsicans, too indolent to work, were happy to lead a vagabond life..."

Ponte Leccia

Corte

Paoli Statue, Corte Central Square

Snow-clad Monte Cintu, view from Corte

Climbing the Col de Vizzavona

Paoli Statue, Ajaccio

Citadel at Ajaccio, still an active military site

Tram de Balagnade to Calvi

March 13, 2019

The train from Bastia follows the coast south to Cosamozza (1), where it turns inland to begin the climb up the Golo River Valley to the Junction at Ponte Leccia. The climb up the River Valley was very pleasant with rushing water with many stone bridges.

At Ponte Leccia, the one junction on the Corsican Railways, we reversed direction to climb further to the North before beginning our descent back to the sea at Ile Rousse. The railway line clung to the side of mountains. At one point we came to a halt where there was a worker doing some work on the line that appeared to be brush clearing. He had a small pallett-sized platform with railway wheels that he had taken off the tracks. I'm not sure if it was to help him carry his tools or if he could somehow hop on and ride downhill to Ile Rousse.

Ile Rousse looked like a pleasant place, so I got off intending to walk out to the Genovese Tower and The Lighthouse atop a hill on a Peninsula visible from the train. The winds were quite strong and as I begin to walk upwind with difficulty, I was assaulted by dried seaweed that was picked up and transformed by the howling winds (2) into deadly (or at least painful) projectiles. I therefore grabbed an earlier train to continue my journey to the end of the line at Calvi (3). As the single car train pulled into the station, some teenage girls got off and literally jumped into the their boyfriends arms as if they had not seen each other in years.

The ride along the coast was amazing with beaches and rocky outcropping as far as the eye could see. At one beach I actually saw a young woman in the water. While I do not know about the water temperature, the strong gale force winds would have inhibited me from swimming in the sea today. At least the swimmer was not alone; her friend was nearby (wearing a down coat).

I'm very glad I decided to go on to the end of the line at Calvi. It is a delightful city, although very quiet at this time of year. Apparently the place is jam-packed with beachgoers starting in May. The great majority of the hotels and restaurants were still closed for the winter during my visit.

The city's most prominent feature is the seaside citadel built during the years when Corsica was Genoese (4). The city claims to be the birthplace of Christopher Columbus (5). Although the historical record is ambiguous on this point, Columbus was Genoese. Behind the city and enclosing the bay, steep craggy mountains rise to over 6000 ft.

At dinner I was the only guest (6) and I did my best to keep the conversation going in French as the proprietress talked about how unusually strong the winds were. At the end of the meal they brought out some some L'eau de vie, which was some sort of hard liquor. Trying to keep the wind theme of our conversation going, I said in the best French I could muster that while the winds were very strong today, the liquor was stronger.

(1) There is frequent rush hour service from here to Bastia known as the Bastia Metro.

(2) The winds were steady at 41 knots with gusts close to 60 (strong Gale to storm Force). Méteo France issued a high wind warning cautioning people doing anything outdoors to use extra cautious today (a). I'm glad I decided to take the ferry yesterday; I'm not sure it was even running today and it would have been a very rough ride even if the ferry were running.

(a) At Calvi later in the day, I clambered out to a small rock-strewn penninsula via an overgrown path. The penninsula was exposed to the winds, which threatened multiple times to tear my mobile phone/camera out if my hands; I held on tight.

(3) The train from Ile Rousse to Calvi is known locally at the Tram de Balagnade. The train hugs the coast and is very popular with tourists in season because it stops at many beaches along the coast.

(4) The Italian state came into being in the mid 1800s. Before that time, what we know today as modern Italy was divided into various City States such as Genoa and Venice (which were fierce rivals), various Kingdoms, and of course the papal States centered in Rome and ruled by the Pope.

(5) In addition to the various hotels restaurants, cafes, and shops in every city in Corsica named Napoléon and/or Bonaparte, Calvi also has various hotels restaurants and shops named after Columbus.

(6) It was still low season and I was eating at the ungodly early hour of 7 p.m. A few other diners had come in by the time I left.

Leaving Bastia

The Golo River

Stop at Porto Novo

L'ile Rousse/Isola Rossa

Tram de Blagnade

Views from the Train

Calvi

Mountains behind Calvi Bay

Ferry to Corisica

March 12, 2019

The train from Parma to La Spezia on the Italian coast goes through the Ligurian Apennine Mountains. The line passes by mountain villages and towns, and through a number of tunnels. Passing through one tunnel, the feel of the train changed as we reached the line's summit and began our descent to the Sea. The southbound seaside train through Pisa brought me to Livorno, where a brisk 2-mile walk (1) ended at the ferry terminal.

I had planned to take the ferry tomorrow, but the high wind forecast suggested today was the better choice. The ferry ride was a pleasant 4 hours to the French Island of Corsica. Judging by its effects on the Sea, the wind was Force 3, "gentle breeze," (2) and the motion of the ship was relative mild. We arrived at Bastia as night fell.

I found a local place to eat (3). There was a group of women with dogs, kids running about and a local couple, well known to the waitress, who seemed to enjoy arguing with each other, including slamming their glasses on the table, then going out for a smoke. Whatever the argument was about (my limited knowledge of French was not up to the task), they seem to have had the same argument before.

In the main plaza of Bastia, there is a large statue of Napoléon Bonaparte, who was Corsican (4). He is presented as the Roman God Jupiter. The statue had been commissioned in 1814, shortly before Napoleon's defeat and exile to Elba (5), just off the Italian coast. After Napoleon's defeat, the statue languished in the sculptor's Italian studio until 1849, when he convinced the Corsicans to buy it.

(1) I had planned a leisurely stroll, but the train was 40 minutes late. I still had plenty of time upon arrival at the ferry terminal.

(2) The Beaufort wind scale is based on observable effects of wind, which can be difficult to measure at sea in a moving vessel. A gentle breeze/force 3 (a) wind is described by the following attributes: "Large wavelets; crests begin to break; foam of glassy appearance; perhaps scattered white horses" (b).

(a) A knot signifies nautical miles per hour. A nautical mile is about 1 1/6 statute miles.

(b) I checked later and the winds were recorded at 9 to 10 knots, which corresponds to a Force 3 wind.

(3) They seem to cater to a local crowd; the menu was in French and Italian only. I ordered my meal (as well as I could) in a combination of pidgin French and Italian.

(4) Sometimes spelled Buonapart (especially in older texts), reflecting his Corisican birth.

(5) He promptly escaped from Elba (c) and recreated his army, before ultimately being defeated at Waterloo and exiled to St Helena (d).

(c) Which the ferry had passed while steaming to Bastia.

(d) A small, inaccessible (i) island the mid Atlantic between Africa and Brazil from which Napoleon did not escape.

(i) The only way on or off the Island was by boat until 2016.

Glimpses from the Train, Ligurian Apennines

Little Venice, Livorno 

Departing Livorno

Dusk arrival at Bastia

Napoleon as the God Jupiter

Bitola to Parma, Italy

March 11, 2019

I woke up early to catch the 5:20 train from Bitola to Skopje. There was no sign of a train, any other passengers, or any railway personnel by 5:10 (1), so I took a crowded, bone-rattling 3 1/4 hour bus ride (2).

Skopje has undergone an extensive construction program complete with government buildings and grand museums befitting an empire. There were  enormous statues, presumably of Philip of Macedon and Alexander the Great. Incongruously,  affixed to the shallow river bottom, were reproductions of Spanish sailing Gallions used as restaurants and bars.

As the plane descended into Milan, I noted what at first appeared to be small brush fires. The bumpy ride soon made me realize there was a stiff Tramontana wind flowing off the Alps (visible to the north) that was blowing soil off the late winter fields.

A train ride brought me to Parma (3) where I ate some prosciutto di Parma at dinner. They were out of the eggplant parmesan, so the waiter convinced me to order the local horsemeat patty. It came almost raw; when I asked the waiter to cook it more, he exclaimed: "You won't even taste it that way."

(1) I had done my normal due diligence about the train schedule the night before: checked the departure board at the station and asked the ticket seller, having written the destination, date and departure time. After the bus ride, I checked again in Skopje, and the first posted schedule I checked had the same information. Another schedule posted inconspicuously had a footnote hand written on it in Cyrllic, presumably indicating the the train had been cancelled. The train is still on the official railway website.

(2) I had a flight out at 1:00, so I had to get to Skopje this morning.

(3) While on the train, I received an urgent call from the office. "Someone from Macedonia has hacked into your email account." They were surprised that someone was me.

Skopje

Grand Statuary, Skopje 

Saints Cyril and Methodius, Skopje

Kliment of Ohrid, hard at work on the Alphabet. From Statue Plinth, Skopje

Ohrid to Bitola, North Macedonia

March 10, 2019

A cloudless and quite warm day today. I walked up to the Church of Saints Kliment and Pantelaimon this morning. The site, called Plaoshnik, was at the top of the hill overlooking the lake. The site is rich in history, with the remains of three Roman Basilicas. The Church was originally dedicated to Saint Pantelaimon, a physician. As with many religious buildings in the area, the building was converted to a mosque during the Ottoman era.

Kliment of Ohrid established a university nearby in the 800s C.E. Kliment was a student of Sts. Cyril and Methodias, who created an alphabet more suited for the Slavic languages (1) than the Latin Alphabet which had previously been used. Kliment simplified the writing of the characters and dropped a few letters to encourage its wider use. The alphabet, still used in much of southeastern Europe (and in Russia), is known in English as Cyrillic.

I had a nice conversation with a local guide, Veska, who provided some local knowledge, including a detailed description of the full-immersion Baptistry. The Baptistry had been in the Basilica courtyard, and featured very detail mosaics, including swastikas, which was one representation of  the cross in early Christianity. She also showed me a Muslim tomb on the site, with rose bushes maintained by a local Turk.

She told me the lake was so clean (2) because it is fed by underground rivers from another lake on the Greek Border (3). The underground rivers pass through Carbon deposits, which act as a natural filter removing any impurities in the water.

A bus ride brought me to Bitola, near the Greek Border. A police office waved the bus driver away from the road to the bus station. He then drive around confusedly until stopping a few blocks from the station and opening the door. I alighted and begin walking towards the train station where I saw a crowd of people.

I had stumbled upon the "March of the Living: Israel-Macedonia 2019." The crowd was remembering the deportation of the Jews from Bitola to Treblinka by the Nazis on March 11, 1943. A rabbi travelling with the group offered a prayer for the many things Jews and Christians have in common, followed by young Israelis offering reflections, and singing a song. The Macedonian head of the local Jewish Cemetery and Memorial project told of her grandmother, whose dear friend was taken away that cold March morning 76 years ago (4). The Israeli ambassador (5) then led the crowd in placing flowers on the tracks to remember the dead.

I strolled to the center of town where there is a bell tower and some mosques. Bitola was an important city in the late Ottoman era, hosting a number of foreign consuls. The Russian consulate is still present on the main square. 

(1) Called South Slavonic at the time and today sometimes called High Church Slavonic.

(2) Visibility is said to be over 20 meters/60 feet down into the water of Lake Ohrid.

(3) Called Lake Prespa, on the shores of which the Greek and Macedonian Prime ministers signed the deal late last year changing Macedonia's name and ending Greece's veto on North Macedonia joining NATO and the EU.

(4) I understood what was happening because when Israelis and Macdeonians talk to each other, they speak in the one language they have in common: English. The Macedonian woman who was the local host spoke in English without notes for about 15 minutes.

(5) The Israeli Ambassador's attendance explains the police waving the bus away from the road and the heavy police presence.

Ohrid Street scenes

Old Basilica Ruin, Plaoshnik, Ohrid

Church of Saints Kliment and Pantelaimon

March of the living, Bitola

Russian Consulate, Bitola

Sunset at Bitola