Bergen (Norway)

Having enjoyed our jaunts to Denmark, Iceland, and very briefly, Helsinki, we thought we'd give Norway a go. Flying into Bergen, the shuttle bus is an easy choice into the city center... All the more easier with only half our luggage. Unfortunately, we spent the first part of our holiday wondering when or if my pack, with all its technical gear, would join us. The situation was more agonizing when we realized, yes, Norway is as expensive as everyone says, and shops could be closed for Sunday by the time I found out. Here's hoping the jacket and trousers I purchased for 2-3x what it'd cost in the U.S. gets reimbursed by the airline!

We quickly discovered the weather in Norway is very changeable so layers with water- or wind-proofing are essential. We imagine the city is pretty when the sun is out, but we also heard that Bergen typically gets about 20 days of sunshine a year. Visiting in August did mean that even on a cloudy day, there was good light well into the evening, with dusk beginning around 10:30 pm. This was handy as shopping delayed the start of our hiking on Mount Fløyen, one of the seven hills of Bergen. Catching the funicular near the city center, we hiked about 5 km of trails around little lakes and in the mossy forests 320 meters (~1050 feet) above Bergen. It was great seeing families setting off rain or shine with tiny kids in Goretex coveralls, climbing into canoes or swarming over ropes courses.

A haven from the cold and wet are the KODE museums, one of the largest art and design collections in Scandinavia. The docent persuaded us to join the free tour of Edvard Munch's works in KODE 2, and it was amusing to hear her obvious annoyance that Oslo insists on retaining all 3 copies of his most famous piece, The Scream.

Our favorite break from the weather came from a guidebook's interview with one of the members of the Norwegian band Kings of Convenience. We may have missed out on one of his guest dj spots in the city, but Eirik Glambek Boe knows his coffee. Kaffemisjonen served us up the best cups we've had since our trip to Italy, and his recommendation for a local roaster had us looking out for the brand elsewhere in Norway.

Bryggen is the historic quarter of the city, hearkening back to its days as a trading powerhouse in the Hanseatic League. Buildings in warm reds and yellows, dating post a 1704 fire, but in the style of the 12th century, line the eastern side of the wharf with wooden alleyways containing craftsmen workshops and plenty of souvenir shops. Directly opposite lies the Torget Fish Market, a fancier version compared to many we've seen. A selection of caviars, shellfish, and other treasures from the sea were on display. A salesgirl at one counter proffered curious tidbits of Norwegian land-based cuisine. We tried smoked sausage made from elk, reindeer, moose, and a small, furry weasel-like creature Google suggests might be a pine marten. Chewing on a greasy piece of whale sausage brought back terrible memories of hakarl (Icelandic rotten shark). For more al fresco dining, there were fishmongers - mostly Spaniards it seemed - in pop up tents selling seafood plates from the grill or flat top.

Bypassing these options, we struck gold with a restaurant recommendation from the bus driver. Although the prices were shocking, the presentation was decidedly upscale and the food superb. From the first bite, we knew we were in the hands of a master: arctic char with beautifully crispy skin on a bed of melted root vegetables, tender wolffish, creamy fish soup (a Bergen specialty), and a light and airy pavlova (meringue dessert) made with cloudberries (an amber-colored relative of raspberries that grows in the arctic wild in Norway). Compliments to the chef, indeed!

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San Francisco, CA (United States)

San Francisco's Chinatown is the oldest in North America and the largest Chinese community outside Asia. Even without the tiled roofs, watching the ladies doing tai-chi exercises and old men hunched over strange board games in the park makes you feel like you've stepped into another country. Lunch in the business district was tasty with a spicy conch salad, thin-sliced pickled beef, and perfectly steamed baby bok choi. After multiple shots of teas with names like Red Robe and Iron Goddess at a free tasting, we caved to an expensive purchase of a Lapsang Souchong - surprisingly delicate on the smoke - from what must have been the most jaded, yet knowledgeable, barista ever.
Me: “Which one's your favorite?”
Mr. Bore-ista: “This one here. It's not as astringent as the variety usually is.”
Long silence.
Me: “Er, can we try it?”
Long silence.
Mr. Bore-ista sighs.
Long silence.
Mr. Bore-ista: “I guess.”

Not content with your average Alcatraz trip, we opted to see the bay under sail. Eagerly boarding the 135-year-old scow schooner Alma, we learned the commands and helped raise the sails. This was not an easy task even with a dozen people hauling. There's something quite fantastic hearing some old salt roar, “Avast!” on the sea, and I learned “Heave!” and “Ho!” is a thoroughly valid call-and-response onboard. Rich even got to steer the big wheel for a while using that ancient combination of feeling the wind, keeping an eye to the sails, lining her up with coastal landmarks… and an app on a tablet tucked away on a shelf. Besides circumnavigating the prison from The Rock and other films, we also got to watch out for harbor porpoises playing in the bay. The rest of the San Francisco Maritime National Historic Park is well-worth a visit, too, as there are other restored ships to see. Like the Balclutha, which hauled cargo like timber to Australia, coal, and Alaskan salmon before her retirement, and on the day we visited, was being painstakingly re-caulked in traditional fashion: a guy on his hands and knees pouring hot tar from a metal pitcher. Sea lions were also resting on the docks with far fewer spectators than the famous ones that took over pier 39.

Further down is tourist central – Fisherman's Wharf. We lingered long enough to fill our bellies with 2 local favorites: sandwich rolls packed with dungeness crab and shrimp and clam chowder in Boudin's sourdough bread bowls. But the real winner for Rich was the Musée Mécanique, a penny arcade filled with antique games. It's clear they were originally intended as adult amusements since a variety of machines showed a gruesome fascination with reproducing different methods of executions with puppetry. The mechanic fortune tellers spit out mixed forecasts of my future, and my luck definitely took a turn for the worse as I lost to Rich at wind-up races for horses, cars, and even firemen going up ladders. Still, a handful of quarters is pretty cheap entertainment by California standards.

Other great deals were nights at the museum. The DeYoung Museum was completely free with an experimental band playing in the hall. The tower afforded lovely views of the San Francisco skyline, and Rich and I got our hands dirty learning to make felt for an interactive project by the artist-in-residence. The California Academy of Sciences Nightlife was a reduced priced ticket for adults only to explore the wonders of the Philippine coral reef exhibit – hey, we just saw those guys! -, wander up the spiral walkway in the glass-encased tropical rainforest, or take in a show at the Planetarium. With the bartenders – or are they all mixologists in San Francisco? - serving up cocktail specials and a rooftop garden, it's the coolest night spot in town. As a nod to the Outside Lands Festival dominating the rest of Golden Gate Park, there were concerts in the back garden and even a DJ inside playing Damon Albarn's funky beats!

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North America

Savannah and Tybee Island, GA (United States)

Earlier this year, we decided on a whim to drive the 5 hours south to Savannah for the weekend. We'd never been to this city, the oldest in Georgia and featuring prominently in the bestselling book and film Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. Southern charm oozes on the streets lined with live oaks, artistically draped with Spanish moss, and any one of the 22 squares in the historic district. These quiet greenspaces are pleasant to walk around, and we even stumbled into some kind of Polish remembrance parade, complete with traditional costumes and brass band around the Casimir Pulaski Monument in Monterey square. In the much larger expanse of Forsyth Park, volunteers were setting up or tearing down the starting line to a 5k race, couples were picnicking and playing frisbee with their dogs, and families were buying fresh vegetables and cheeses in the morning's farmer's market.

Rich found us a room in one of the historic houses functioning as a boutique hotel. Built in 1847 as a private home, the Eliza Thompson House hosts wine and cheese get-togethers for hotel guests in the formal parlour, followed later by desserts and coffee, and port or sherry left out in a crystal decanter for a nightcap. Such posh digs almost compel you to look around for the bell to ring Carson for tea!

You could likely spend a week prowling preserved homes and antique shops should antebellum architecture and history be your passion. We also visited the Owens-Thomas House, as part of our Telfair Museums ticket. Designed by English architect William Jay, the Regency-style neoclassical building functioned as a residence by a wealthy merchant family and then as elegant lodging house, boasting the Revolutionary War hero Marquis de Lafayette as one of its illustrious guests. We were surprised to see large cisterns and indoor plumbing in such an old house, and even more curious, a humpback bridge connecting the two sides of the top floor! The docent-led tour begins in the intact slave quarters, where remnants of blue paint are visible on the wooden boards. In the Gullah (coastal enslaved Africans) culture, this distinctive haint-blue color was thought to ward off evil spirits.

The other two entries on the Telfair Museums ticket were for the Telfair Academy and the Jepson Center. The former is also a historic home, mostly used to display a selection of nineteenth-century portraits, landscapes, and sculpture. The Jepson Center, on the other hand, is a bright, modern space with contemporary art. On our visit, Andy Warhol was dominant in a pop art exhibit, and another gallery was inspired by jazz and the Harlem Renaissance. The accompanying music was catchy, but I had difficulty convincing Rich to thrown down some lindy hop moves with me in the middle of an art museum. The city is also home to the acclaimed Savannah College of Art and Design (SCAD). Besides passing campus buildings, you can also take a piece home as the gift shop actually sells textiles and other items designed by SCAD students and faculty.

Most visitors to Savannah find themselves along the riverfront. The long stretch along the Savannah River is home to restaurants, pubs, and souvenir shops. A frequent sight among the pedestrians is what is known as “to-go cups.” You can walk up to any bar and order alcohol in a to-go cup and just take it away. No need to confine yourself to one establishment or wait for everyone in your party to finish the round. It was convenient, but as such a novelty to most people, Rich felt the result was far more displays of public drunkenness. At times, the atmosphere could give you flashbacks to college keggers on the lawn.

Amid the candy barrels and demos of how to cook pralines in the brick-and-mortar stores, the riverfront also happened to be the site for a festival of sweets the weekend of our visit. Booths popped up to ply their wares of fancy chocolates, taffy, ice cream, and different honeys. As one charity - leading a small pig in a dress - took the mic on the mainstage, only we seemed to notice the irony of trying to raise awareness for diabetes amidst such sugary sales.

On our way out of town, we stopped off at a couple of places. In Bonaventure Cemetery, ornate Southern Gothic tombstones, statues, and mausoleums are laid out in winding paths on a bluff of the Wilmington River. Famous inhabitants include poet Conrad Aiken, lyricist and Capitol Records founder Johnny Mercer, and - temporarily - naturalist John Muir, who apparently camped out on the graves for several days in his Thousand Mile Walk. Lunch was on Tybee Island, a popular getaway for Savannahians. Enjoying a low country boil of mussels, crawfish, crab legs, shrimps, sausage, corn, and potatoes was an excellent end to our little holiday. 

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North America

Montreal, QC, Part II (Canada)

Despite what it may seem from the previous post, there is more to Montreal than just eating. The oldest part of the city, Vieux-Montréal, is lovely to walk around. We wandered onto the grounds of Château Ramezay, the 18th century residence of the eponymous governor. The small, formal gardens create a tranquil spot right in the heart of the city.

Marché Bonsecours was a historic market and briefly housed Parliament under its shiny, silver dome. Today it has an arty cafe on one end and modern shops, including Hatley (the Quebec purveyor of adorable animal-themed pajamas) and a place to buy products that harken back to French Canadian history of fur trade (moccasins, coats, etc.)...  reminding me of the old Kids in the Hall sketches with fur trappers Francois and Jacques, but I digress.

A few blocks away the Basilica de Notre Dame draws big crowds. The façade of the Gothic Revival architecture bears a passing resemblance to the French Gothic one in Paris, but the interior in Montreal is much more colorful with blues and reds and silver and gold on every surface. Curiously, everyone has to pay 5 CAD (~3.50 Euros) to enter regardless. No exceptions for the devout except during actual mass times. We declined paying the upcharge though for an up close and personal concert in the balcony from the organist. Walking in, we quickly realized those 7000 pipes can be heard loud and clear from nearly any spot in the church. It's a wonder the paying audience wasn't deafened! General admission to the Basilica includes entrance on the back side of the altar to the also-ornate-but-in-a-completely-different-way Chapelle du Sacré-Cœur. The warm, wood tones and massive, modern bronze behemoth by Quebecois sculptor Charles Daudelin makes for nearly as jarring a contrast with the main church as the Subriachs's Passion Facade does on La Sagrada Familia. One strange sight I don't suppose I'd see in a European church, however, was a stained glass window depicting conversion of Native Americans... or First Nations folk, I should probably say since this is Canada, eh?

The Musée des Beaux-Arts near McGill University has different riches on offer. It sprawls into four-going-on-five pavillions, and the permanent collections boast 40,000 pieces. Our afternoon was a mere dip of the toe into these waters, and we waffled enough deciding between special exhibitions. In the end, we passed on the finale of an extended Fabergé visit, and instead, opted for opening day of Van Gogh to Kandinsky. There were fewer works by the headliners and greater emphasis on the lesser-known artists encompassed by the exhibit's subtitle "Impressionism to Expressionism 1900-1914." More fascinating than the pieces themselves was the section describing how World War I affected these passionate artists, breaking up the creative communities, and sadly, drastically cutting short many a young life. 

Washington, D.C. (United States)

We were in D.C. years ago, but I had adamantly vetoed the National Air and Space Museum since, at the time, it seemed like the only attraction I'd ever seen in my childhood trips to the nation's capital. My denial probably constituted cruel and unusual punishment for an astrophysicist and former Air Cadet. When work took Rich to Washington, it seemed like a good time to make amends.

The National Air and Space Museum is the country's most visited museum with roughly 8 or 9 million people annually oohing and aahing the world's largest collection of air and spacecraft. It's a madhouse inside, of course, but really, in these times of STEM funding under fire, who can begrudge kids of all ages getting excited about science?! The rockets and displays with gear from the Gemini and Apollo missions are always a big draw, and we really enjoyed the exhibit celebrating over 10 years on Mars. The high def images from the Spirit and Opportunity rovers are gorgeous, and the full-size replica gives you an appreciation for the engineering and design involved. 

Air & Space is only one of the 19 wonderful - and free! - museums that are part of the Smithsonian Institution. Luckily, our visit also coincided with the Smithsonian Folklife Festival. Each year, the institution highlights the cultural heritage of different countries by hosting performances, discussions, and demonstrations. This year China and Kenya were showcased in a massive camp set up on the National Mall. We watched a troupe from Fujian Province with marionette puppets, stepped inside a traditional pokomo hut, and tried Kenyan coastal and upland cuisine. In short, it is what all international festivals dream to be.

In what is rapidly becoming a bad habit for us in visiting big cities, we hit the art hard in D.C. Rich wandered into a private tour with a docent at the Phillips Collection, which he was still raving about the next day. The National Gallery of Art filled that impressionist hole in our hearts with a fine exhibit on Mary Cassatt and Edgar Degas. A video montage loop at the Hirshhorn Museum questioned whether any art is new, and the juxtaposition of Christopher Robin from "Winnie the Pooh" and Mowgli from "The Jungle Book" in eerily identical animation clips blew our minds.

Washington is also a fantastic place to see performing arts. For our indie buzz, the Source Festival was putting on 10-minute plays, chosen from over 500 nationwide submissions. The 6 plays in the series on mortality were alternately absurd and funny and moving with a cult, cancer, and the zombie apocalypse. "Dressing Bobby Strong," about a funeral director's assistant preparing the body of her unrequited first love, managed to be not at all creepy, deeply touching, and our favorite of the bunch. For a distinct contrast, we saw "Shear Madness" at the Kennedy Center. It's a murder mystery set in a hair salon. To explain more would ruin it, suffice to say it was hilarious, so much fun, and easy to understand why it's one of the longest running plays in the world.

As an added bonus, we saw an SUV double park and block traffic, thereby, pissing off the van behind him. The drivers got into a honking and shouting match, ending in the SUV driver trying to deck the other guy through the window. Unfortunately for him, the driver and passenger of the van were undercover cops, who hauled him off in cuffs in seconds!

Paris (France)

Since Rich was going to be working outside of Paris for some time, I decided to tag along so I could actually see my husband and some more of the city. This was my third trip to the City of Light, and let me say straight out (and hope not to earn your eternal ire): Sorry, folks, I'm still not quite feelin' it. Maybe it is because there are so many expectations from films and literature and pop culture, it would be impossible to live up to. The architecture is impressive but not really my style. People rave about strolling along the bridges on the Seine, but my attempts to capture this romantic interlude have been more gray Paris than gay Paris. And while I am sure that dining in the hallowed halls is everything I would dream it could be, for most meals, it seemed to my mind (and budget) that you had to pay dearly for it... But maybe also, Barcelona has spoiled me - give me Catalan modernisme, eternally sunny beaches, and affordable gastronomy by chefs named Jordi!

That is not to say that I found nothing of interest in Paris. Indeed, we were so dazzled by one place that we went twice. E. Dehillerin is a dark, unassuming spot in the 1st arrondissement (as neighborhoods in Paris are called). Inside, what looks like a dusty hardware store is, upon closer inspection, a veritable treasure trove. For a chef, it would be easy to believe this place has everything your heart desires. The ceiling-high warren of shelving holds every conceivable size and shape of pans (bundt pans the size of a half dollar!) and utensils for which you could only hazard a guess at their purpose. Should your preference run to copper, cast iron, or stainless steel, E. Dehillerin is like a fine armory from which to choose your gleaming weapons. The styles and options are myriad, but for the uniquely French cook, there were such specialized items as soft-bristled croissant brushes (they look like something you should groom a horse with) and escargot dishes (not unlike those dented platters for devilled eggs). To add to the temptation, none of the wares are marked with prices. Each shelf or container has a coded number that you look up in one of the three binders in the store, and one of the aproned old men will wrap up your selections in brown butcher paper. We managed to tear ourselves away with a particularly fine chef's knife, fierce-looking shears, and a French rolling pin.

The other reason for visiting Paris, for me, is the art. I had been to the Louvre (overwhelming) and the Musée d'Orsay (wonderful) previously, but this time, I wanted to try to make it to some of the other 204 (!) art museums in the city. The Musée d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris and the Petit Palais had some nice, free permanent collections of modern and fine art, respectively. The Musée de l'Orangerie is small but superb for contemplating Monet's series in water lilies. Again, I have to admit the artistic high point reveals my slight Catalan bias. The Centre Georges Pompidou had a phenomenal Salvador Dalí exhibit occupying almost the entire expanse of the sixth floor. We were a little concerned that having waited for 1.5 hours in line and having been to his museum in Figueres, we'd be disappointed. How wrong we were! With some ridiculous number like 400 of his works on display, there was plenty to amaze, astonish, and just plain be weirded out by. Although I may not always understand it, I am always fascinated... and as a much bigger fan, Rich, who gave up the chance to sleep before his next shift, thought it was totally worth it!

San Sebastián and Bilbao (Spain)

The Basque Country is an autonomous community in the northeast corner of Spain. The Basques have an immense pride in their ancient culture and language - Euskara bears no relation to Latin languages and throws in a lot of x's and k's to boot. The resulting differences culminate in repeated calls for Basque independence from Spain, and in the past, nationalists in the separatist ETA sometimes punctuate the struggle with incidences of violence and terrorism, not unlike the IRA in Northern Ireland. Nevertheless, many people are drawn to the region for tourism because, as some Spaniards simply put it, it IS like visiting a different country.

San Sebastián, or Donostia in the Basque language, is only about 20 km from the French border. The city has a population of only about 180,000, but its reputation as a holiday destination far exceeds its size. The biggest draws stem from the sea. San Sebastián is gorgeously picturesque with its own perfectly curved stretch of sandy beach in La Concha and the small island of Santa Clara in the middle of the bay. If sunbathing seems a little too tame for your tastes, the beach of Gros (or Zurriola) regularly puts San Sebastián on the list of best surf cities. Finally, you can learn more about the long tradition of Basques as whalers and fishermen at the aquarium and sample the bountiful briny catch at Bretxa market.

The express bus from San Sebastián to Bilbao (100 km to the west) made it quite convenient for a day trip. Along the way, we passed sheep-dotted mountains, snug farmhouses, and a few vineyards - not surprising, since Spain's most famous wine region La Rioja includes a slice of the Basque Country.

With about 1 million inhabitants, Bilbao has a distinctly more metropolitan flair than little San Sebastián. But we braved the steady rain for one reason and one reason only - the pièce de résistance  of Bilbao -  the Guggenheim Museum. Flowing and shimmering metalwork from Frank Gehry houses contemporary art on the banks of the Nervion River. Inside, there were exhibitions on droopy plugs and bathtubs from Claes Oldenburg as well as disturbing drawings from Viennese artist Egon Schiele who may or may not have been a pedophile. We also really enjoyed wandering through the giant, metal labyrinth by Richard Serra (and I got excited when I recognized another of his pieces in the Toronto airport!). But let's be honest, even on the inside, most of the museum's actual contents were out shown by the swooping and soaring spaces of Gehry's architectural wonder... so, go, see it for the building, just not for the art! 

Paris (France)

The fast train that goes under the English Channel can get you from London to Paris in a scant 2 hours and 15 minutes. High walls obstruct your views of a lot of the English countryside, but the ride was very smooth, and the security obligations were much less onerous than any airport.

In another railway station, the beautiful Musee d'Orsay houses mid-1800 to early-1900 art. The Impressionists and post- artists (Monet, Degas, Renoir, Van Gogh, etc.) were out in full force, and though the place was still fairly humming with visitors, I prefer the atmosphere and artwork here than at Paris's most famous museum. The Louvre, aka home of the Mona Lisa, is simply overwhelming. The place is a 12th century palace with all the ostentation one might expect of housing royalty for 500 or so years, and that's just the architecture! Once you pry your eyes away from the ornate ceilings, gallery after gallery holds the roughly 35,000 objects on exhibit everyday. Even with an art student leading another guy and us on a 3 hour crash course tour, we barely saw all the headliners.

For a country so renown for food, we had quite a few so-so and subpar meals, including some truly awful crepes (pre-cooked with underdone eggs and canned mushrooms). This was entirely our fault. Strolling in the crowds along the chestnut-lined Champs-Élysées and realizing suddenly you are all hungry is a deck stacked against you. Our two best meals were from proper planning and spontaneity, respectively, and above all, following the cardinal rule of eating in regular neighborhoods - or arrondissements as they're known - away from the tourist sites.

Luckily, our plans included a safeguard for Parisian patisseries. We took cooking classes! For 3 hours, we labored in the high art of croissant-making. Our floury, handwritten notes and diagrams covered both sides of the recipe sheet. Hint: The dough requires not a pat, but what could only be described as a whole frickin' tile of butter! The results were golden crisp on the outside and flaky soft on the inside. Besides your plain ol' croissants, we also made them with fillings of chocolate (the ever-luscious pain au chocolat) and almond (the divine croissant aux amandes). Another day and another cooking class saw us preparing our own Cafe Gourmand, which is a fanciful way of saying dessert tasting menu. We had fun with the blowtorch, making our tiny dishes of crème brûlée, and got messy coating chocolate onto our madeleines. The shell-shaped Proust favorite is actually a little cake, not a cookie as many Americans might think.

With so much butter and cream in our system, it's a blessing that Paris is a lovely city to walk. Magnificent churches like Notre Dame and Sante-Chapelle rise with glorious stained-glass windows, and the beautiful basilica of Sacre Couer towers over Montmarte, which fans of Amélie will recognize from the film. Of course, most visitors to Paris will want to check out that most dominant feature of the  skyline - the Eiffel Tower. But for a different look, the Tuilleries Gardens are a fantastic greenspace and sculpture park along the Seine, and if that doesn't do it for you, surely you'll find at least one of the 37 bridges over the river picturesque. 

Brisbane, Part III (Australia)

We returned to Brisbane and met a racist on the train. In less than 15 minutes, a conversation Rich was having with a random old man turned from his recent holidays in Europe to the state of the Spanish economy to how the immigrants are all to blame. Uh, what?! The man merrily went on about the blacks [the indigenous Aborigines] and the boat people [Asian immigrants] being a drain on Australia (curiously enough, a couple of our Australian friends had recently posted some statistics refuting these on Facebook) and how Australia should be only for Australians. Whatever assumptions the man could have made about Rich, what I found even weirder was his expectation that I - clearly of Asian descent - would be in agreement! We had heard others talk about coming across racist Australians, but never did we expect one would be so openly vocal... and to complete strangers no less. It boggles the mind.

We had a couple of days to kill before the departure of our long flights home. Avoiding the masterpieces on loan from the Prado (well, we had devoted a whole day there when we were in Madrid), we wandered around the paintings from Australian artists in the Queensland Art Gallery. Next door the Gallery of Modern Art also had a fantastic exhibition on sculpture involving everyday objects, including Vespa scooters customized to look like stags, a mesmerizing set of whirling car wash brushes, and inner tubes suspended like clouds in the air. In the same neighborhood, the Southbank Parklands Lifestyle Market featured probably 100 open air stalls selling arts and crafts, clothes, and decor to peruse.

Taking advantage of the availability of theater in the English language, we managed to score tickets to one of the last performances of "The Harbinger" at La Boite Theatre. It's an adult fairytale about an old man with his dreams and memories featuring live actors and... puppets! (Oh, how we miss the annual giant puppet shows in North Carolina!) The Australian company goes by the clever name of the Dead Puppets Society, and the themes were considerably darker. We enjoyed it thoroughly. The only downside was that our slight age difference meant that Rich got a substantial discount, and I had to come to terms with paying the much higher old people's price!

Auckland (New Zealand)

The curse of the discount airlines struck down our plans to reunite in Auckland for a day of sightseeing. With Julie stuck in Sydney for an extra 24 hours, I was forced to go it alone. Unfortunately, being accustomed to being under her boot, I was unable to fully let my hair down and spent most of the day walking around aimlessly.

The decision to walk rather than drive got some strange looks from the hostel staff, but I'm glad I did. The half hour walk to the city centre was a nice one with good views of Auckland and the iconic sky tower all the way in. I also stopped in at a Asian-run Italian coffee shop that baked pastry shipped frozen from France. To my surprise, it was the best coffee I've had so far this trip. They also recommended I go to the port to check out the seafood market (see Julie's previous post regarding Asians and seafood). Although it was nice to see, it made me appreciate how lucky we are in Barcelona to have bigger seafood markets in every barrio!

My only other adventure was going to the Auckland Art Gallery. The new gallery (completed in time for the 2011 Rugby World Cup) showcases the best of Kiwi contemporary art. A big surprise came while I was puzzling over the toilet seat glued to the ceiling next to a row of framed O's. A tall, well dressed, and very excited man (who later turned out to be the museum's curator) came running through the exhibits telling people to get upstairs as quickly as possible. An award winning performance artist was coming on a surprise visit and about to do an impromptu show! I sauntered upstairs trying to pretend I was too cool be be excited about such things. Only when I got there did I read that this artist tries to “explore the relationship between artist and audience.” I think it's clear to everyone what that means. Yes, we would be called upon to “do stuff.” I hid quietly in the corner and prayed that she didn't pick me for some kind of embarrassing act, and prayed harder that the person next to me wasn't some kind of secret performer that was about to jump up and cause the crowd to look in my general direction. Fortunately, I was let off the hook, free to ponder the artist-audience relationship that arises from shoulder wrestling to the strains of an upside-down string quartet. Hmmmmm.

All in all, I had an interesting day in Auckland by myself. I was glad to pick Julie up later that evening, though, so we could continue our adventures together.

Sydney (Australia)

Rich pushed on with work so I headed down to New South Wales to play. Sydney is Australia's most famous city though it isn't the capital (purpose-built Canberra is). Conceptually, I knew it was a harbor town though I was still unprepared to find it riddled with wharfs, harbors, and quays.

Circular Quay (pronounced “key”) is the main dock for the green and yellow public ferry system as well as home to the famed Sydney Opera House.  Jørn Utzon, the Danish architect who submitted the winning design, fell out of favor with the city when the build took 10 more years and 14x the amount of money that he estimated. He died, never seeing the completion of this Australian icon.  Opposite the Sydney Opera House are The Rocks district (the first settlement in Sydney and now home to artsy cafes and boutique shops) and the impressive Harbour Bridge.

The 18th Biennale, an international art festival that happens every two years, provided a good opportunity to get on the water. There was a free ferry to Cockatoo Island, the site of a former shipyard run on convict labor, where the industrial buildings of the museum were transformed into a contemporary art walk. With an Alcatraz kinda feel – and maybe I've watched too many movies - some of the impromptu galleries were a little eerie... like an abandoned warehouse that would be the perfect location for the someone to be tied up in a chair and tortured by the bad guys. More exhibitions were free (!) to the public at the excellent Art Gallery of New South Wales as well as the Australia Museum of Contemporary Art for the Biennale festivities.

Helsingør and Humlebæk (Denmark)

The pretty little harbor town of Helsingør, or Elsinore, is less than an hour's journey north of Copenhagen. In medieval times, the fortress and castle of Kronborg Slot protected an important waterway between what was then western and eastern Denmark (the latter is now southern Sweden). The very narrow sound controlled access to trade routes for Germany, Poland, the Baltics, Finland, and Sweden. When the Danish kings decided to toll everyone coming through, the money started pouring in. In the ballroom, kings and queens showed their munificence by hosting week-long parties. The food and drink were so abundant that guests took little sips of a sweet alcohol and forced themselves to throw up just so they could keep on eating (à la Hunger Games). No one could or would leave the party, of course, so the men took care of business just outside, and the women just squatted in their hoop skirts in the alcoves. Boy, times were different then.

Medieval comforts being what they were, most of the interior of the castle itself is pretty stark. It is really hard not to draw Game of Thrones comparisons when the mock-up of the castle looks just like the cog-y title sequence in the HBO series and the tour guide tells you that people needed professional sleepers to warm their beds just to survive the cold ("Winter is coming!"). It didn't help that later, back in Copenhagen, our waiter was a dead ringer for Theon Greyjoy (but don't worry, he didn't make us pay the iron price for lunch).

But the biggest draw to Kronborg Slot comes from another author - Shakespeare. He took an old tale about a prince of Jutland, made him a prince of the entirety of Denmark, and moved the story of Hamlet to Kronborg Castle... and the castle has been putting on performances of the Bard's works since 1816. The Shakespeare at Hamlet's Castle summer performance series has allowed Kronborg to name drop some of the most famous actors - Laurence Olivier, John Gielgud, Christopher Plummer, and Jude Law - in the title role.

Another stop for the cultured crowd is the hamlet of Humlebæk. About 30 minutes north of Copenhagen, it is home to the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art. The property - originally owned by some guy whose three wives all happened to be called Louise, hence, the name - doesn't look like any other contemporary art museums. No sweeping structures. No soaring glass facades. Not even a single minimalist restroom with uber-cool sinks. The place looks like a rambling country house. There are unseen basements and sub-basements and low-ceilinged passageways covered with ivy that integrate with nature so smoothly that it feels like a Frank Lloyd Wright design. Random doors open onto nook gardens with sculptures or terraces with a view of Sweden across the water. The art itself is top-notch. Picasso, Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein, and Alexander Calder are some of the artists in the permanent collection. One of the coolest exhibits during our visit was by Andreas Gursky, whose massive photographs can mesmerise like an ultra-high def Where's Waldo in real life. While Rich didn't care for Gursky's mislabeling of his Supernova piece, the physicist was really taken with the photographer's image of the sci fi-like Kamiokande detector in Japan.

Helsinki, Part II (Finland)

Finland ranks first in the world for coffee consumption per capita so café culture is important. One great spot where they seem to congregate in Helsinki is Esplanade Park. Two streets line a broad greenspace in the city center from the market square to the sea. There were so many cafés that it was hard to pick one. So in the end, we visited three. There was a chic hotel bar-looking one (I had tea, but it was 8 euros for a draft beer!), the quirky glass box construction with local art on the walls, and the glorious glass conservatory style of Cafe Kappeli. Rich was against such luxury until someone vacated a popular corner enclosure, which he then ran to claim. I sampled the cinnamon rolls Finns seemed to hanker for (more sweet, less bitter, and less glazed than Cinnabon). The place also happened to have the most excellent handmade apple-filled donuts, which were almost worth the 4 euros a piece. Locals seemed to get around the expensive prices by buying drinks (beer, strangely enough, at 10 am) and bringing their own snacks into the café, and none of the staff seemed to mind.

Esplanade Park and the surrounding neighborhood also seemed to be a good place to shop. There were high fashion brands and boutiques. Finnish design prevailed in the bright textiles and smooth metal finishes. If it weren't for the steep price tags (easily 2-3x what they would be in Spain) and the strict limitations of carry-on luggage on a discount airline, we would have been sorely tempted. Rich was chuffed to see an echo from his childhood - a whole store devoted to The Moomins... and alternately, exasperated at me for having no idea who they are. Created by a Swedish-Finn illustrator, they are a family of hippopotami-like creatures of a cartoon series that was popular in the U.K. and abroad. They reminded me a little of Babar the Elephant in style. We were lucky to get away from the empire of merchandise with just a magnet. There is also a Moomin World theme park elsewhere in Finland.

We checked out Finnish art of a different nature at the fabulous Kiasma Museum of Contemporary Art. Contents continually shifting, the exhibits during our visit seemed to be perfectly in line with our tastes. There was a three-dimensional comic exhibition from Finnish artists and a foley editor's dream of a sound installation telling a rich story with just a forest of speakers. Several floors in the labyrinthine Kiasma were devoted to "Thank You for the Music." The collection from different artists explored the relationship between music, musicians, and fans. Some were predictable (e.g. an homage to vinyl or people solemnly putting on KISS makeup) but still highly personal (e.g. interviews with concert-goers about why they follow their favorite band). A band playing traditional Turkish music improvises after hearing divergent clips of the Chemical Brothers, Nirvana, etc. A jihadi-styled video of a man reading from a Koran fascinatingly subverts expectations when he stops, picks up a guitar, and starts belting out that patriotic American hymn, "This Land is Your Land" from the depths of his headscarf. By far, the most haunting piece was a parody of Gwen Stefani's "What You Waiting For?" video. Maybe it's because the artist explores gender issues with the viewer reacting to all the careless nudity of the men in the music video with something akin to a prude's shock, yet seeing that many scantily-clad women would be a prevailing norm on TV. Maybe it's because the song recast in the locker room setting could be interpreted as a commentary on pro athletes ("You got your million dollar contract!"). Then again, maybe it's because the song is just too frickin' catchy. Could someone get it out of my head, please?

Tallinn, Part II (Estonia)

There is more to Tallinn than the Old Town. We ventured out to the wooded neighbourhood of Kadriorg Park. Meaning "Catherine's Valley" in Estonian, Kadriorg was named for Catherine I of Russia, wife of Emperor Peter the Great. Their 18th Century baroque palace now houses the foreign art collection of the Art Museum of Estonia.

The star of Kadriorg Park, though, is the KUMU. The Kunstimuuseum, or "Art Museum" in Estonian, is an impressive glass building, sharp and soaring (designed by a Finnish architect), at the end of a long, tree-lined boulevard. And we couldn't get in. One of the problems with traveling during the holidays is that places of interest - say, one of the largest art museums in Northern Europe - might not be open when they should be. We had trudged through the snow of that long, tree-lined boulevard only to stare in disbelief at closed doors. Eventually, a young German couple and an older German lady joined us in the hopes that we had all been mistaken, our watches might be a little fast, and maybe it was a little earlier than the 11:00 opening. After 20 minutes of shifting and stamping our feet to stay warm and peering into the darkness of the hallways, we had to admit defeat and retreated.We returned the next day and were triumphant! We even exchanged a nod of victory with the older German lady when we met again - indoors - at the coat check. The permanent collection is large, and we didn't see everything. Of particular interest were Difficult Choices (an exhibit on art and propaganda during Estonia's period as a Soviet state), the hall with works by Kaido Ole (an Estonian artist curiously obsessed with caster wheels), and the highly disturbing exhibit by Lithuanian artist Šarūnas Sauka. Originally drawn in by the thumbnail of his "Man with Problems" in the KUMU brochure, we quickly realized this was probably one of the only pieces they could have put on such a public piece of paper without someone being disgusted or offended. Sauka's paintings and sculptures evoke the details and religious themes of Hieronymous Bosch, except more twisted and graphic in its sexual and food fetishes. I was kinda  appalled that some parents brought their 7 year-old son in with them. That kid was probably going to have nightmares... because I certainly was! 

Viljandi (Estonia)

The bus ride from Valka/ Valga to Viljandi was mostly uneventful, despite the promising moose-crossing signs on the roads. While the Latvian countryside had continued to evoke the Midwestern U.S. (flat, snowy farmland unbroken except for the occasional small copse or windbreak of trees and decrepit barn), the rolling landscape around Viljandi reminded Rich of a postcard England. The town helped, too. Cottagey buildings and village greens were tucked into winding, narrow streets. All that was really missing were the thatched roofs.

Castle Park (yes, more castles!) is the star of Viljandi. There are ruins of a 13th Century Teutonic Knight castle, plunging ravines where the ancient moat lay, and a picturesque suspension bridge. There is also a lake at the foot of the park - frozen currently - that in the summer sees all manner of water sports.

The Kondas Centre showcases famous local artists. The eponymous Estonian artist Paul Kondas is best known for Strawberry Eaters, an oil painting which for me looks like sunburned folks with creepy smiles all going for a bowl of fruit just before they go after YOU! It's true - you can tell by the glint in their eyes! Needless to say, we appreciated the offerings from other Viljandi artists more, including whimsical pieces from a children's book illustrator, stylish drawings from a graphic designer, and an impressive selection of traditional wooden and woolen handicrafts made by the local schoolchildren. Actually, it was encouraging that there were several places throughout our trip where we saw arts education and the learning of traditional crafts by the younger generation were being promoted. One of our favorites was an amusing series of paintings of animals with donuts decorating the walls of a donut shop (names, ages, and grades of the artists on proud display).

Madrid (Spain)

Although Catalunya is lovely, it's a little disappointing that, after over a year, I haven't seen more of Spain. Madrid, the capital, made for a great getaway. For some unfathomable reason, the fast AVE train (2.5 hours) between the two cities was ridiculously more expensive than the flights (1 hour) from any of a handful of discount airlines. Later, a quick poll of Barcelonins revealed the AVE to be far and away the preferred method of travel, which explains how this business model thrives.

With Madrid being Barcelona's rival in all things, it's difficult not to make constant comparisons. Right away the architecture tells you that you're not in Barcelona any more. Whereas Barcelona's Modernisme delights are full of color and whimsy, the edifices of the capital are imposing, wanting you to cower before their might and money. The city's bigger and sprawling, with an extensive subway system and an enviable amount of greenspace, like the Parque del Buen Retiro (300 acres), near the center. Even with the size, we still opted to walk to the tourist haunts. Puerta del Sol, famous all over Spain for its televised New Year's Eve celebration à la Time Square, was dominated by a giant Christmas tree light structure. Plaza Mayor was packed with a Christmas market selling mostly tat and overrun with Bob Esponja (that's Spongebob Squarepants) and other odd characters available for photo opps - at a price, of course.

You can also visit the Palacio Reial, the official residence of King Juan Carlos... although the royal family actually live in another "more modest" palace? (Somehow, those words don't really jive.) It is oppulent with a grand staircase, a mile-long table in the state dining room, countless gold clocks, and five Stradivarius instruments!

The real jewel in Madrid's crown, though, is the Museo del Prado. In visiting one of the world's best art museums, we knew we had to pace ourselves... so we spent nearly an entire day there. It is impressive. In an average museum, you might be lucky to see a few paintings from each master. In the Prado you can wander through gallery after gallery devoted to the different periods of Goya, El Greco, Velazquez, and others. [It was really cool seeing Velazquez's Las Meninas in person, especially after seeing Picasso's labored deconstruction of it in our Barcelona museum]. The Prado's permanent collection is so extensive that it allows for interesting arrangements. One room might contain a formal family portrait alongside complementary ones of each member at their own hobbies, all by the same artist. Another room had portraits of dwarves that had been associated with the royal court. Of course, this being Spain, one would expect to see many religious-themed pieces. What I didn't expect to see was so many representations of breast-feeding, at least 2 dozen. Amongst the most disturbing variations on this theme were a heavily bearded lady nursing... and the Virgin Mary dribbling her "bounty" onto the fires of souls in purgatory! And while we're talking disturbing, Heironymous Bosch's Garden of Earthly Delights also figures prominently among the Prado's collection. If it wasn't so strong an assertion against temptation and sin, it would have been Exhibit A in the case for burning at the stake back in its day (the late 1400's). The wild and trippy masterpiece has more in common with surrealists like Dalí - heck, it could even grace a Pink Floyd album - than anything else you've seen in a church.

Lastly, the food... While Barcelona has some fantastic eats, everyone agrees Madrid has superior tapas. Consequently, we went out for a tapas pub crawl in the La Latina neighborhood. There were a couple of false starts, including some croquettes that we later saw featured randomly in a Spanish foodie magazine (disappointing). But we had some fine beers and cheap beers (not the same ones though): and hit the motherlode in a bar where each tapa was so big, it was a challenge to put in your mouth. Bacalao (salt cod) and other seafood was piled 2.5 inches high, and other tasty treats needed the old knife and fork. Other typical Madrid treats we got to try were cocido madrileño (lovely chickpeas and different meats stewed until tender) and gulas (baby eels)! All in all, we had a nice taste of Madrid, but we definitely would like to go back.