Catalunya, (Spain?)

Catalunya, (Spain?)

Care for some luncheon meat?

Driving from the Basque country to Catalonia we couldn't help but notice the flags along the way.  They kinda looked like the flag on the region but these banderas were different. Instead of (boring) Spanish red and yellow stripes, these flags had an additional blue triangle and a star.  If you have not been following international affairs, you are most likely American.  (Just kidding, but possibly true.)  The richest province of Spain has a faction interested in outright independence. Even many of the locals believe this will not happen but political events have touched a nerve, thus the flags. Check the Google for more information.

Current political weather

When you are in the Basque country, another region that had gripes (sometimes violently) about being a part of Spain, you can't read the language. At. all.  Catalan looks very similar to Spanish: 'Ñ' is shown as the letter 'Y.'  Some words look a tad misspelled, some have a 'ç' and the letter 'x' can be seen in words like xocolata for chocolate.

The people of Catalonia (like pretty much everywhere in Spain) have a strong sense of Regionalism.  It feels in like, "Why would I live anywhere else?"  Our host said even the fish are better in Barcelona. (¿Como se dice smug?) And they are possibly right.  Barcelona is pretty damn awesome.

A MASSIVE Miro fabric work

Enough politics. I fibbed.  We went to the  Joan Miró Museum.  He distinctly considered himself Catalonian and wanted to be known as an international Catalonian. I find his art, well, strange. He was one of those artists trying to deconstruct the world.  The results were not pretentious but still interesting.  When he used color, it was colorful. When he used pencil, it looked scribbled.  My general response was, This one is pretty!  I got what he was trying to do but I guess it is just not me.

This sculpture was made for this location.  Without understanding the thing, you can admire the fact that this structure could only look this way with the backdrop of Barcelona, created by a proud Catalunyan Artist, Miro

I think she is a 'working robot' from the Jetsons

Barcelona is an amazing city.  It is expensive to stay here but the rest of the experience is quite affordable.  Perhaps a hostel for a few nights?  The place is a bit like London or Paris in the sense that you need a few days to even see it. We have been here a few times and this trip is still too short to quench our thirst.  Study Gaudi a bit before coming and read about the culture.  The place is seductive.  To me, it is very Spanish with its own flair.  To the locals, it depends who you talk to.

MEAT IS MURDER...
but  I'm sure it goes great with Wonder Bread at over 100$ a pound.

Art Nouveau along a walk

Another building on our walk

My what a big pepper

I Before E Except after Gipuzkoa

I Before E Except after Gipuzkoa

Guggenheim Bilbao

San Sebastian, or Donastia if you are speaking Euskara or Euskera, is a city located in the north-east region of the Basque region in Spain.  It sits on the Bay of Biscay and is a popular tourist destination.  It is known for its laid-back lifestyle and tapas called Pintxos. I failed to mention that the view of the water from the beach is breathtaking.  In between what appears to be two islands (one is connected to the mainland) there is a gateway to the sea.  At each hour of the day I would comment on the current color of blue such as: Prussian blue (my favorite), ultramarine, baby blue, navy, cobalt, cerulean, azure,  Phthalocyanine Blue BN, and PANTONE 281 C.  OK, I may have exaggerated a bit.  For most of our visit it was rainy, cold and sometimes very very windy.  Ironically, this can be the best time to capture blue.

One thing about the beach is that it is stunning--but not very photogenic. Maybe if you had a special lens?  I see two lumps in most of my images.  You can't see or feel the immense drama of the crescent beach with two giant land masses, together with hues of water, sand, and sky.  Did I mention the old town in the distance?  I sat on a bench with Stu in crummy weather and said, "Can we come back to the bench and grow old together?"  He said, "Deal".  We sat quietly and smiled while holding hands.  Time sucks--sometimes you want it to stand still--or at least until you need the loo (I hate GOMBS, getting older man-bladder syndrome).

Food. A very special friend of ours who I can't wait to see, told us that San Sebastian has more Michelin Star restaurants than anywhere else.  We smiled and I thought, I'm not going to any Michelin Star restaurants.  Lord that would be expensive.  We missed the communication.  What she really meant was that there was amazing food everywhere (at least I think that's what she meant)? The Basque are known for their food--especially this form of tapas called pintxos if you were not paying attention.  More than a few restaurants had at least a dozen themed snacks on display from sardines to blood sausages served on French bread!  We opted for things like artichokes battered and deep-fried with cheese and ham and local seafood.  If you could handle the ingredients, you would enjoy the meal.  Every meal was less than 30$ for two people and you had a few things on your plate. It wasn't a ton of food but you always felt quite content. You could actually go on a diet here and eat like a king.  I can hear my surprised self, Is it Lent again---already?  Imagine twirling while chomping down on something delicious.  You might knock a wine glass or two off an unlucky couple's table but hell, no one knows you here.  After all, we did take shameless photos of the displays like Japanese tourists (but without the tell-tale big brimmed hats and short statures).

OOhh I guess it's art. I should be impressed.

The next day we went to Bilbao.  We heard things from "God yes!" to something Trump would say, "Overrated, terrible, unfair to <something>".  The city is the industrial powerhouse of the Basque region and is somewhat dull compared to fancier locations like San Sebastian, the resort town.  In the center lies the world-renouned Guggenheim museum.   The famous large sculpture of a dog outside the museum was in full bloom.  Walking up to the museum, the shiny tiles were a bit dirty and dingy.  I was expecting shine and shimmer--like the photos.  You generally see the museum from a distance on a bright and sunny day.  Up close I realized, how do you clean this thing?

We paid and went inside.  I found a piece in an entire wing, to quote Nan from Catherine Tate, What a load of old shit!  It was curved rusted steel exploring space blah blah blah more art babble steel.  The permanent collection for the museum was also quite small.  Where the museum shined was in its temporary exhibits.  There was one on Chinese art from '88 to the present and another...Chagall exhibit!

(Illegal photo, thus the bad angle) ...She was floating above us and she was...--Talking Heads

Fortunately, I had my personal audio tour for taking unauthorized photos.  The sound was horrible but the images were amazing.  The Chinese art was reflective and brilliant to total crap.  I can glue toys to a bathtub.  I can take pictures of whipping a woman. I can invent.....crap.  And then there was the wonderful art.  A hole in Manhattan with a TV showing a hole to China as the joke goes.  A dragon made of bicycle tires with the wild growth of automobile. There were also touching exhibits.  The Chinese government played down lied about the destruction from an earthquake.  The poor construction killed thousands. One artist created a "Vietnam-wall-style" memorial/exhibit naming the victims. it roused conversation. The artist was arrested for "crimes", beaten, and imprisoned.  Another display was pictures and suitcases of random people selected from different parts of society to travel to Germany.  The artist extensively journaled each person's experience.  It was moving as well as told a story.   Overall the exhibit was wonderful and thought provoking.

Chinese Shit. 

El Greco, Mary Gets the Word

Another El Greco

The Chagall exhibit filled in some gaps about the artist.  He moved to Paris and blossomed.  He had no money nor language but was in love with the city.  Overtime he established himself enough to ask for his love's hand in marriage.  Being just a man from a poor family, he had to win her parents over.  While visiting home, war broke out and he was trapped for eight years.  Bummer.

Endless choices

For only a few dollars more we also got a ticket to the traditional city museum.  There were a few surprises including what I consider to be a El Greco masterpiece of an Annunciation or as our friend Brian and his kids call it, "Mary gets the word".   On the top floor was a Halloween exhibit of Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights . It is thought that perhaps Bosch had hallucinations from something in the wheat. Was it a bad LSD trip? Look at the painting.  If I've learned on thing about a triptych (three panel piece of art) its that you don't want to end up on the right side.  Nice things happen to people of the left.  The right side, not so much.  Demons, fire, and torture awaits people on the right.  It's messy.  The exhibit was a room where each wall had a moving spooky image of the painting.  In the center of the room has a 5th panel moving.  The room was disorienting with the creepy music and spinning art.  Any children around to scare?...

My worst culinary nightmare, dried salted cod, but sinisterly cuter

Russian Erotic Boutique or Market?

Basque

Castilian

Museo Pompidou, the Marais, and Some Marys

Museo Pompidou, the Marais, and Some Marys

Our second day in Paris was a museum day at the 20th century Pompidou located in the Marais. The Marais also happens to be the gayest part of gay Paris.  Coincidence, oui ou non?  Although pretty queer it is also a bustling tourist area to people-watch while facing the street drinking Perrier around petite tables.

We tend to hate modern art museum.  We critically and vocally give our (unwelcome or solicited) opinions about what's in front of us and groan and explanations that try to sell you the interpretation of the 'masterpiece'.  We are Americans at our worst.

We actually love the Pompidou Center. Wuh?  The museum carefully curates the works in a manner that gives them meaning.  I remember on a previous trip seeing a head of lettuce on a marble stand in a room marked inane.  Yes, yes it was. The center has a massive collection and routinely rotates its repertoire so the museum is never the same experience twice.  In addition, the museum also has special exhibitions of works.  This time we viewed an exhibition covering the Russian avant-garde.

I think I mentioned before that art makes history come alive for me.  The Russian show taught me a lot about history, philosophy, and [insert another discipline to look smart here]. Did you know for most of history it sucked to be a Jew? And I'm not talking about that hideous unleavened bread.  The czar persecuted the Jewish population in ways like restricting travel and education and creating ghettos.  The overthrow of the czar meant Russian artists were allowed to gather and work in the fertile soil of The People!  Their art reflected the people: It should be art for the people that people can understand and created by the people who are artists of the people.  You get the picture.

Marc Chagall, El Lissitzky and Kasimir Malevich set up a school briefly in Vitebsk with the intent of creating art for the people!  Yeah, I covered that already. The goal was to collectively create art with no distinct personalities (how commie?)  Guess what?  Personalities clashed and Chagall left.  I thought it was so cool that the collective mentality of the revolution was so present in the art.  The people (and the Jews) were free!  It had to be an optimistic time for many (as long as you didn't know the future).  For obvious reasons, American history books do not get into this level on minutia.

Why am I boring you?  Marc Chagall.  He can paint stained glass on cardboard. Picasso once said that when Matisse dies, Chagall will be the last person to understand color. Seen it. Again. And Again. We have even seen actual stained glass by him. When we were in Vienna last year there was a section devoted to Jewish Russian Artists. Okay... Holy Poo!  There are several familiar faces with probably Marc taking center stage.  We have seen enough of his work to look for floating people and goats with luscious, rich color .  Don't ask.  Just reporting the facts.  Yes, I said luscious. Actually his floating wife was to express the love of his wife like being over the moon with happiness.  Don't you love him now?

We spent most of the day in the special exhibits and then quickly moved through the rest of the collection.  The day was tiring.  Museums wear me out.  Maybe if I had one of those WalMart scooters...

We left the museum and headed to dinner.  On our last hurrah in Europe we went to Paris, 2005.  Never ever, ever, go to Paris in August.  It was late July.  Paris is closed.  Fermé.  It is hot and everybody is on vacation.  We walk around looking for someplace open to eat and ran across a bar called Ave Maria.  It had Christmas lights and plenty of Mary's throughout the place without bathtubs. The menu was fun and the staff eclectic staff included a waiter who looked like Mr. Clean with a huge hoop earring.  We wanted to return.  It turns out the staff and menu have not changed.  It was exactly the same-Including dessert.  I had voted it possibly the best dessert in Europe. It was a moussy-pie with a coconut crust and a side of raspberry and passion fruit coulis.  Passion fruit is one of my favorite flavors.  It is similar to the flavor of Hawaiian Punch.  It is tart and sour and wonderful--seeds and pulp.

After dinner we went to a cafe to people-watch and have a drink.  I needed to use the restroom. (See a common bathroom theme yet?)  The waitress pointed so I went in that general direction.  There was a storage place under the stairs and a spiral staircase.  It is not unusual to see restaurant supplies in odd places like staircases.  Something felt amiss.  At the top of the stairs was an apartment.  It had an open floor-plan and white accents.  Yes, I was standing on the threshold.  Oops.  The toilet was the broom closet under the stairs.  I returned to my seat and retold the story.  Our host went to the toilette and came back in agreement.

We sat, we watched, and we headed back to prepare for our next flight.

Travel Mechanics- Planes, Trains, Automobiles...

Planes, trains and automobiles; boats, buses and BlaBla

Getting from Point A to Point B these days is nothing like it used to be. When I had an international job, based in Amsterdam, I had a travel agent, a pile of miles for lounge access and upgrades. I have a whole village of ceramic Dutch houses, filled with genever (Dutch gin), a parting gift given by KLM to business class flyers as they de-plane. I used my generous luggage allowance to transport materials for my job.

Those days are gone.  I have not had a mile to burn in over a decade so trying to go to Europe and not go broke has required a lot of time on the internet. I wanted to recap the process we used in cobbling together this marathon. As I said in my last installment we had some tourist destinations (Venice; Split, Croatia; San Sebastian, Spain) and some friends to visit (Amsterdam; Mainvault, Belgium; Paris; Barcelona; Tenerife). The practicality of all this depended a lot on how we could order the cities and connect the dots.

For the transatlantic segment we decided to leave from the east coast for a few reasons. There are several new low-fare transatlantic options from the northeast, and my family is there, providing a chance to spend some time with my parents before and after the trip. Last year we flew from Hartford on Aer Lingus. A traditional legacy carrier, Aer Lingus was flying a 757 from Hartford to fill a niche in the market and connect my hometown directly to Europe. It remained a good deal but there was a new player, Norwegian. Another option you might here is WOW Air, an Icelandic newbie. If you poke around, you can find others, depending on where you are. XL, a French airline, just launched some affordable flights to Paris.

Norwegian is a regional airline that has, over the last few years, begun flying ultra-cheap flights across the Atlantic and elsewhere. This year they announced that would begin to fly from Hartford (and a few other smaller airports in the Northeast)  to Edinburgh for stupid low fares, as low as $99 one-way. Yep, that got my full attention. We booked that trip as soon as we could reasonably nail down dates. Adding bags, and seat selection and meals, we paid less than $500 each to go to Europe. We would begin and end of journey in Edinburgh, 5/8-6/19.

Norwegian flies from a few cities near us in Albuquerque, notably Denver, to London and Paris. It is a deal, though not as tantalizing as those trips from the east coast. A few friends have already taken advantage of those flights. But buyers beware. Norwegian has not been shy about abruptly starting and ending service. A couple of months after we booked Hartford to Edinburgh we got a message that our flight, three months away, had been cancelled. They offered options from another airport in New York State, 90 minutes away, on dates that did not synch with the rest of our travel arrangements. After a little cold sweat and some collaborative work with their call center in Oslo, we found suitable flights on Norwegian from Providence with a schedule that matched the Hartford flights exactly. So long as I could twist my sister's arm to get us to T.F. Green Airport, we could proceed as planned.

I like a travel planning challenge, but this trip never would have happened without  www.rome2rio.com. I don't recall how I found r2r, but it is amazing. You can plunk in any two places and r2r will give all of the different travel modalities you can  use to get between any two places on the planet. The site let me model all different combinations of dates, and ways of traveling.  Connecting Venice to Split seemed to involved an epic and pricey train ride through Lubjlanja and Zagreb and only one flight happened a week, r2r suggested the train-to-ferry combination we found magical. Google Flights also proved helpful, particularly with locating cheap airfare options.

R2r was big on offering intercity buses. Europe is full of cheap high-tech bus systems, the biggest of which at present is Flixbus. We used Flixbus from Amsterdam to Brussels. We ordered our tickets onto the Flixbus app on my phone and ubered over to Sloterdijk Station where the long-distance buses pull up. The drivers were the ticketing staff. Our bus was express to Brussels Gare du Nord, and arrived a little early, with a time better the Intercity train that day, and at less than half the price. You even got a an hour of free wifi. Getting from the bus platform into the BGdN station proved difficult, due to a lack of helpful signage as we made our way to our train to Ath.

We did trains in Italy from Venice to Ravenna, then Ravenna to Ancona, the starting point for our overnight ferry to Split, Croatia, then again in Belgium from Brussels to Ath to meet Gerard, and then from Lille to Paris.R2R gave us the idea, but the actual trips had to be booked through the various national rail companies. The Italian and Belgian tickets were easily bought same-day. The Lille-Paris trip was on the TGV, high speed, and required reservations. In that case it was easiest to download their app and buy the tickets. You could do this at home and print the tickets, as many people had.

There was some car rental here-- in Croatia and Spain, but that deserves its own discussion. As I write this we are in the middle of the second rental episode and we are mightily ambivalent-- we love the chance to see the countryside but the costs... more later. Another four-wheeled mode, a ride-share system called BlaBla Car got consulted, but those rides never have jibed with our desired schedules.

Much of the travel was to be done within Europe on planes. Hey, we had to get to and from Tenerife that only happens by plane... We did this by booking oh so early on the trinity of cheap airlines of Europe- Easyjet, Norwegian and Ryanair. As I monkeyed with the schedule and the order, a cheap flight on KLM popped up, from Split to Amsterdam.

These fares can be ridiculously low-- the lowest in this itinerary was $22 from Tenerife to Barcelona. The most was $120 from Edinburgh to Venice, and that had been lower, but I had lagged on buying that ticket. As both Mark and I had a checked bag, it was another 25-30 for that, but still, this was cheap. These airlines, particularly Ryanair, have lousy reps for customer service in general and on-time departures in particular. This can be nerve-racking when you have plans at the other end. I worked hard to ensure that a single airline screw up would not cause much in the way of knock-on failure. There are days between flights, in case Ryanair fails on Sunday, I have two days to sort out getting to Edinburgh for our trip home... for example. Still everything thus far has been hassle-free and on-time. I do tend to prefer early morning travel, as delays due to airport complications are fewer then. These airlines rarely fly these routes every day nor at the same time each day, so getting rebooked without your vacation suffering some major setback is a matter of luck and planning. As I said, so far, so good.

I give full marks to Easyjet for have a comfortable, professional product-- Norwegian as well. I am not looking forward to our date with Ryanair on Sunday, but I would be happy to be proven wrong.

When the dust settled the air, bus and train for the entire six weeks came in around $1200 each. The air was all spent by February 1st. All of it was non-refundable. Some people wouldn't like that but we thoroughly had discussed the parameters. We also knew that we could cut losses with refunds for the AirBnb and hotel nights being refunded.

Overall, this travel itinerary has worked like a gem, with just a few legs left. I would be happy to help anyone sort out this kind of travel, as the result, some great tourism and time with friends, has been so rewarding.

A Stroll in the City of Light

A Stroll in the City of Light

Stu, contemplating the Metro by the Louvre

We arrived at the train station and were picked by our friend Patrick. We met him years ago when we lived in Amsterdam.  Back then he was uncomfortable with English but the years of working for Air France created an Anglophone. (I can hear Patrick laughing.  His English sounds A-M-A-Z-I-N-G next to my high school French). We briefly discussed Brexit and chuckled at the state of Europe and the world.

We drove to his new home (that he moved to six years ago) slightly outside the city in his Beetle with an Automatic Transmission! (Everyone drives a stick here.) The car ride was memorable.  I think it gave me PTSD.  I heard on TV that Paris has one "stop" sign.  I believe it.  Years ago a bus ride went like this:  Drive as fast as you can in the right lane, cut off the traffic instead of running into a bridge.  Repeat, but let's try it at a higher speed.  Intersections are opportunities to go around people.  Who needs lanes?  Oddly, no one honks and it all works out. No one screams, Mange merde et morte!  Fortunately, we made it to his flat safely.

We only had two days in Paris this time. I remember wanting to see Europe as a child and thinking, My great grandparents crossed that ocean once.  Europe could be on the moon.  It (getting to Europe) was never going to happen to a boy from Youngstown, Ohio.  Not even Youngstown, Ohio, USA because isn't everyone you know in 'USA'?  I am blessed to be back in Europe again. I do not take it for granted.  I love Paris.  I am sure a lot of people say that. But I really love Paris.  When a security question like, "What's your mother's maiden name?", or "City you were born in?", or "What is your favorite city?", Paris jumps to mind. Stu loves me in Paris too. I am goofy, silly, and full of boundless energy.  Kiss me like an idiot.  Dance with me.  I'm going to lick you. You get the picture. Paris makes me happy.  To quote Dr. Evil, "What the French call,  I don't know what".

We decided to walk around the city one day and see the 20th century modern art museum, the Pompedieu Center the next.

Since we have been to the city a few times, we decided just to walk like a herd of two in any direction and at any moment.  Left? Sure.  Right here?  OK.  Part of what makes Paris so special is the mass transit and the ability to walk much of the city. You can pretty much walk until you drop. No block disappoints from the tiniest alley to the grandest boulevard, you can find something if you are willing to do the looking.  Stay in a strange neighborhood off the beaten path and explore open-air markets and shops then hop on the Metro to see the rest of the loud Americans in shorts.

I posted a picture on Facebook from the French part of Belgium and my aunt thought I was in France. I get a text something like "Get me something". What if I were in Martinique, then what?  I read about a fascinating Art Nouveau  building that happened to be across from the Eiffel Tower.  This was the perfect area to "get her something".  We started texting her the nastiest tourist "finds" we could locate and get her opinions. I would act sincerely interested in an object and we would take photos pretending to select the right item. See you in a bit! Be back later! A bientôt!   On a previous phone call my unnamed aunt said, If it fits Stu I can always alter it! Perhaps we will take her up on it instead of the beret and mime paint.

Shopping for Auntie

More shopping for Auntie

I found the ultimate Tour d'Eiffel. I called her and told her I didn't love her enough to buy her the WIFI one with 50 color settings standing at least a full foot tall.  Perhaps something pink with rhinestones would be more in order...

29 Avenue Rapp

The view from 29 Avenue Rapp

We walked around the Tower, then along the Seine, up the Champs-Élysées, and towards the Louvre.  At one point along the Champs-Élysées, we ran across a salsa dance party.  Stu salsa-ed as a bystander and I stood their like a white guy.

As an aside I crazily mispronounced something at Starbucks in Albuquerque and caught myself.  The cashier said, It must suck when are not Latin.  I loved her.

Men, splashing about near the Louvre

The Louvre, entering from the Tuilleries

How French... a Deux Chevaux... a baguette, a beret and a bottle of wine in the boot for sure

It was starting to get late so we headed to an Art Nouveau Metro station when I suggested we walk over to Notre Dame.  It was only three blocks away.  Can you see a medieval cathedral enough times?  One thing about old things made of stone.  They are always restoring them.  This time around, the work was being done near the back side of the church so we could actually see the front of the church.  In my opinion there is a much nicer chapel hidden on the island than Notre Dame but the chapel lacks the grand square.  After our pilgrimage, we headed to the Metro for our ride home--once we traversed the underground labyrinth to reach our train platform.

Got Any More Toads?

Got Any More Toads?

Chocolat and King Kong at petit dejeneur

Hopital Notre-Dame à la Rose

Did you know that an Android phone can translate text on the fly?  I had so much trouble with this feature that I have up on it. Mostly?

We went to a hospital that treated patients from the 13th to the 20th century in rural Belgium.  The fortress (more or less) was designed to keep the good air in, and the bad air out.  The place was designed to be fully self sufficient including a garden to grow food and medicine along side surgical theaters and recovery wards. Where else could you treat the humors of the body with therapies like blood letting?

If you were a daughter from a rich family (and were perhaps the ugly one?), you had the great honor of becoming a bride of Christ.  Along with a life-long devotion of curing for the infectious was a dowry. Remember the bride of Christ expression?  A good catch for Christ could mean a handsome dowry for the hospital.  The much-needed cash brought prestige to the family and a much needed infusion of cash to take care of the sick and very poor.

The garden is a fascinating collection of plants and herbs designed to treat the ill.  I wonder how much of this stuff actually works?  We paid for the audio guide to the garden and entrance to the museum. As I feared, pretty much everything , including the audio guide were in French or Dutch.  She said we could always listen to the pretty music.

Anywho... Each plant had one of those signs with a name--but only much larger and in French and Latin-ie. Medical terms can be pretty easy to understand with my French, Stu's Latin, and half of each of our brains made the task do-able.  (We recognized that the Goggle translate feature actually worked---after we already finished the tour).  My favorite plants had WARNING written on them with the text stating the plant was toxic thus no longer used.  My favorite is probably oleander.  It is so toxic the internet says to keep a second set of clippers and disposable gloves when handling it.  Those nervous Nellies for some reason discontinued using the plant.  Some said by prescription only.  I figured those had efficacy. They had a plant to cure just about anything but the common theme was This plant will likely give you the sh*ts.

Part of the covert NATO stockpile

Inside the hospital the audio guide was in English with waaay too much chanting.  It felt like the introductory music was longer than the description of the rooms.  In addition, I would have like to have known what each item did what?  Which one for for trepanning (drilling a hole in the head)?  Which saw do you use to amputate the arm? Along the way were modern art exhibits as well.  This only made the tour more confusing.  Why did they attach cables to a head piece to have a patient sit up?  Oh, that was just art.

We think that this was a piece of art, amid the medical exhibition

Plague doctor- Mark got the mask in Venice

One room described common medical cures. There was a great one about placing a toad under one's armpit, chest, or abdomen.  I asked Stu to remember the cures.  He forgot. I tried to find them on the internet but failed but I did find these goodies.

Remedies you might not want to try

rheumatism – wear a donkey skin
deafness – mix the gall of a hare with the grease of a fox. Warm the mixture and place it in the ear
baldness – shave head and smear it with the grease of a fox or bear. Or, smear the head with beetles’ juice
jaundice – swallow nine lice mixed with ale each morning, for a week
asthma – swallow young frogs
for a swelling – take a knife and cut out the infected part
gout – boil a red-haired dog in oil, add worms, pig’s marrow, and herbs. Make a mixture and rub it into the affected area
ringworm – wash hair in a male’s urine
internal bleeding – wear a dried toad in a bag around the neck

If you were too squeamish to try any of these techniques, you could always go on a pilgrimage. Many medieval people believed that diseases were punishments from God, and could only be cured through faith and prayer.

Post a comment with your own fun treatment.  Who knows?  The earth is still flat.

St.Elsewhere, Wallonia

Notice the Eyes for "Checking Up" on the Sisters

Packing back into the car to head back to Ath we discussed the experience.  One of us only spoke French so the conversation felt like a game of charades with no cheating at times.

Mainvault

Our friend Gerard lives in a small village in the Belgian countryside, Mainvault, outside Ath. He knows everyone from the butcher to the baker.  This year he has a room mate, Florent, who has really made a big difference in his life.  Florent helps with tasks around the house and is great company for Gerard.  Florent also is able to laugh at Gerard's rude risque gay comments meant to tease him. (Florent is straight.) The night before our arrival we heard one of his Newfoundlands, Chocolat, was dying.  Chocolat and King Kong (the black one shaved like a lion) are both ten years old. That is very old for the breed.  Like Christ with Lazarus, the Vet (this time) brought Chocolat back from the dead. He went from being unable to stand to certain something on your plate belonged to him as you ate next to his nose.

Gerard's country house is idyllic. He was an architect in a previous life and his touch is visible throughout the house.  There is roofed porch to the side of the kitchen that looks out over the countryside.  The view is from a table that abuts a large fish tank with goldfish.  Around the yard are figs, berries, grapes, chickens, and empty (and full) bottles of Moinette. Bier is serious stuff in Belgium.  The Germans have purity laws but the Belgians make the best beer. Each village has its own favorite.  Ath is Moinette country, the local tipple. A beer, it comes corked like champagne and you must fend off every new bottle. I can't and don't drink so partaking is out of the questions.  Besides, the stuff is strong yet they guzzle it like water.  Life, she is a good with a nice bottle.

We get to mix it up with the characters in Gerard's life while in Mainvault. Of course, we speak no discernible French and, other than Gerard, few spoke any English. If we intend to return here, which we do, we will have to begin to speak and listen French. Michel and Nadine are an octogenarian couple down the Rue du Calvaire. Our confusing tee-totaling aside, we have spent some lovely afternoons together, stammering through French and English respectively, and occasionally singing. Nadine makes a mean mousse au chocolat and an elderflower liqueur. This year's new characters included Chocolat's vet, who was stopping by for a beer while looking in on his convalescing patient and Eric, the proprietor of The Clandestine Barbershop, a tiny house trailer barber shop in the next town over. Of course we will be back, and we will work on our French.

Belgian steer

King Kong, the big mooch

Michel, Nadine and Gerard, with flowers from G's garden

The Clandestine Barbershop- Eric, the barber, and Gerard