-
Collage of photos, tickets, pamphlets, flyers, etc. from my trip to Paris in fall 2009, completed by my sister.
-
…get lost in a good book (festival).
The Guardian Hay Festival is perhaps one of the most amazing literary festivals in the UK, so of course when I found out I’d still be in the country for it, I looked up events, bought tickets, and made my way to Hay-on-Wye, town of books.
There was sun, there was grass, there were books.
Someday, I will have Penguin Classics mugs for every single one of my favorite books. For now, I’ll just covet them.
I want this. Except it could be made slightly more comfortable. (It’s apparently used in the SkyArts television program called “The Book Show,” which I, not possessing a television, have never encountered.)
This is what Hay is about: finding a lawn chair, kicking back in the sun, and reading a good book whose author you’re about to meet.
Honestly. Some part of heaven must look at least a little like this. (Though with even more books.)
-
…discover bluebells in graveyards.
I learn new things about the flora of England on a daily basis. In March, it was daffodils. Now, in mid-May, it appears to be bluebells — but only in graveyards.
The Jewish Cemetery in the middle of campus.
Bunhill Fields Cemetery, the final resting place of William Blake.
I fondly remember the moment someone first taught me what the “macro” mode on my digital camera was for.
Some people are afraid of cemeteries. I actually find them rather aesthetically fascinating.
And there’s so much history to be learned there. Reading these grave stones is really moving in a way no textbook can ever be. It’s one thing to know the statistics of infant mortality in the 1700s, another to see a family gravestone listing the deaths of more than five children who never lived to see their third birthdays.
Sometimes I wonder about gravestones — who reads them, and what use they can be, whether they can ever reflect the lives of the people they represent. Sometimes I think the confined space of a grave marker is such a restriction. But sometimes it produces moving simplicity. Two daughters in this family died within 2 days of each other; what remains is their name and an inscription: “Lovely and pleasant in their Lives, and in their Death they were not divided.”
-
…picture Berlin.
We arrived in Berlin at the end of a long day of travel and made it to our hostel just as the sun was starting to think about setting. We were staying in the north-eastern part of the city, not very far from Alexanderplatz, in what turned out to be a pretty genial and residential area of the city. It really surprised me, actually, to see a residential area like this so close to the city’s center; while in some respects Berlin felt like London (clean, coherent, and effective public transit, fluidly cosmopolitan atmosphere, full of culture and history) in this respect it was totally different. The only places in London that feel like this are far beyond where the average tourist strays. But I’m not complaining at all. I really loved the area where we stayed — there were lots of neat restaurants nearby, and trees everywhere.
We were only in Berlin for two nights, so after eating dinner we made our way into the center of tourist Berlin, intent upon seeing the city at night…and from a height! (There should be no surprises there.) The Reichstag building, which houses the German Parliament, was originally built in the late 1800s but before being put back into use after German reunification, it went through an architectural overhaul. In the process, it gained a giant glass-and-steel dome. You can take an elevator to the roof and climb the dome from there for a view of the whole city.
Frankly, I’ve seen better views, but the message of the dome’s construction really struck me. Directly beneath it lies the chamber in which the representatives of the German people actually meet to discuss policy; the ceiling of that room is transparent, so that at any moment a German citizen can look down upon the workings of his government and a German parliamentarian can look up and be reminded of exactly who he serves (and what their power relation ought to be).
The next day was our only full day in Berlin so we got up and got out of our hostel to see the sights, starting with Brandenburg Gate and Pariser Platz. It’s strange to see something that looks so historical in the middle of what is really a modern city — but what I found even more strange was how empty the city felt. I learned later that Berlin as a city was built to house 6 million people; the most it ever held was about 5 million, directly before the Second World War, and its current population is around 3.5 million. There are buildings in Berlin that were damaged during WWII that are still boarded up and haven’t been reopened, and even more from the communist era. The more I think about it, the more I realize that some of my confusion at not being able to “figure out” Berlin comes from the fact that there at least two Berlins: the modern, cosmopolitan, London-esque major national capital, and the city of has-beens, never-weres, traces, and ghosts.
Like London, Berlin is aware of its ghosts — but it memorializes them in very different ways. This image is of Berlin’s controversial Holocaust memorial. It’s entirely non-symbolic and generally non-representational, just a number of concrete “stelae” (as the English translations at the site helpfully inform me they are called) arranged in an orderly grid at even distances from one another. From this angle the stelae look to be of relatively equal heights, but the truth is that the further you go into the center of the space, the lower the ground dips (though not following any predictable sloping pattern) and soon you’re lost amidst concrete slabs almost twice your height. Sounds travel differently, when they travel at all; the noise of outside is almost blocked out. I found it to be one of the most effective and affecting memorials I have ever visited.
Speaking of effective memorials, this one’s also near the top of the list. This bronze plaque in Bebelplatz is set into the ground a few meters away from a glass window through which viewers can see rows upon rows of empty bookshelves — enough to hold all of the books the Nazis burned in this square. The quote on the plaque reads, “Those who begin by burning books will end by burning men” — a powerful and apt sentiment, especially for a man who did not even live to see the twentieth century.
To finish, some pictures from the East Side Gallery, the longest portion of the Berlin Wall still standing. As its name may suggest, it’s been turned into an art venue. The German government recently invited back those artists they could find who had (in)famously decorated the wall with their images in the days and weeks surrounding its collapse as a symbol of communist authority. The Wall is also a memorial now, but it doesn’t just look backwards to the injustices of the past.
This may just look like awesome art — and it is — but in the banner, the word “frieden” means “peace.”
“You have learnt what freedom is, and you will never forget.” The words combine the figurative “cracks” in the wall through which the Earth from space is seen to suggest both the specific freedom felt by the East Berliners after the fall of the Wall and a more global sense of what it really means to be free. For me, the image of the Earth, just hanging like that in space, equates freedom with responsibility: this is a view only visible when “freed” from Earth itself, but what is the point of experiencing it if you don’t take that experience back down to the ground?
-
…understand where poetry comes from.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
(Text by William Wordsworth, images by me. Because the unbelievable thing about late March in London is the sudden upwelling of daffodils.)
-
…picture Prague.
Prague is simply a beautiful city. I can’t imagine being there during the real high season, seeing its narrow streets crowded to bursting with tourists, because even after only spending two days there, I have a feeling that that’s nothing like the real Prague (or, as they say in Czech, Praha — is there a cooler name for a city?). I’ve got a ton of pictures (as usual) but rather than post a ton of the touristy ones (astronomical clock, anybody?) I’m probably going to include more that show the kind of Prague that I could feel there under all the souvenir shops and tour groups. The kind of Prague that shows in this picture, looking down the river from Karluv Most (that’s Czech for the Charles Bridge, which is admittedly very touristed, but provides fabulous views in either direction). It seems so calm and unhurried, bursting with old-world charm side by side with new-world conveniences.
Most of the pictures that follow are going to be from the complex known as Prague Castle — most specifically, they are going to be from inside St. Vitus’s Cathedral, because it possesses the most stunning stained glass I have ever seen. I first entered the cathedral right before sunset, when the light threw colors in patterns all through the building.
(I can’t possibly caption this. Words don’t do it justice. There is light on the floor!)
I am so in love with gothic after this trip that it is almost impossible to relate how much. Gothic arches and stained glass windows and flying buttresses consume my architectural daydreams.
Oh look, it’s me!
1930s Art Deco stained glass window designed by artist Alfons Mucha, who is one of my new favorite human beings for designing something as glorious as this. There’s actually a lot of Art Deco and Art Nouveau going on in Prague, right alongside the Gothic, and it’s hard for me to say which of them I loved more. Probably the best part was seeing all the ways they contrasted and complimented each other.
On the castle side of the river, in the so-called “Lesser Quarter,” is a wall entirely covered in graffiti devoted to the Beatles, in particular John Lennon. After Lennon’s death in the 80s, Czech teens began spray-painting homages to him on this (formerly unadorned) stretch of wall — greatly against the wishes of the communist police forces, who would whitewash it every day, only to find the graffiti had returned every morning. Eventually, the police gave up, and the wall flourished as testimony to Czech restlessness under communist control and longing for greater contact with the culture and ideals of the western world.
People to this day leave their mark on the wall. Based on the oldest dates that I could see, I’d say that the wall gets almost entirely re-graffitied about every five or six years. Some people come with paintbrushes, some with magic markers, and even some with spray cans and stencils to leave their mark on this continually growing piece of history.
The paint is so thick in some places that it’s beginning to flake off, exposing the many layers underneath.
The obligatory picture containing me! And before you ask, of course I left my own mark on the wall — though since all I had was a regular ballpoint pen, the result was not too visible and probably won’t last very long. However, I feel like that’s a large part of the point. This is a changing landmark, an expression of the power of free speech and unity across cultural and political divides. It won’t look the same the next time I see it, and that’s beautiful.
I have managed to combine the obligatory clock tower picture with the obligatory “look I have climbed something tall!” picture without actually showing the face of the astronomical clock! This is the view from the top of the clock tower in Old Prague Square, right before the last clock-ringing of the evening (the clock works all year round, but the chimes only go off from 7am-9pm).
A final picture from the clock tower, with the Church of Our Lady Before Tyn in the background. It’s a Catholic church now, but back in the day it started out life as a Hussite church (protestant reformer and generally awesome guy Jan Hus was a Czech who did much of his work in Prague in the 1600s). Why is there a ridiculously bright light in the background, you ask? That’s the floodlight they use to light up the outside of the clock tower!
