Egypt 2022 – Cairo and Luxor

Part 1 – Cairo.

A very special long weekend with Matty B.

I fell in love with Egypt some years ago when I spent 3 magical weeks exploring the country “from Alexandria to Abu Simbel” in the company of a very special Egyptologist, who had attended primary school with Adam Ant – Matty B’s older brother.

I was determined to learn more about Egypt, and acquired a large number of books about Egypt, from history to coffee table pictorial publications to novels – modern and historical. Unfortunately I am a bit of a travel tart, so my attention span moved on to Iran, Eastern Turkey, Hittites, Mesopotamia, Caucasia, the Balkan States, Russia and Iceland – to name a few distractions from Egypt.

Nevertheless, a return to Egypt had always been a dream – though diminishing over the years. Imagine my delight and excitement when Matty B proposed a long weekend in Egypt during my visit to London in 2022.

Matty B could only manage four days away from family and work. For me, a return to Egypt was so magical, it didn’t matter . The best plan was to fly to Cairo late on a Thursday evening, stay in Giza overnight to visit the Pyramids in the morning and spend the rest of the day in Cairo, then fly to Luxor that evening. Matty B had booked us rooms at Mena House with a view of the Pyramids. The Pyramids are lit up at night, and I had planned have a glass of wine looking out over the Pyramids on arrival. That did not happen due to our flight from London arriving three hours late.

I woke on Friday morning to Matty B’s message “hello pyramids”. Diving out of bed to open my curtain, I was quite overcome to see a pyramid looming through the early morning haze – seeing the pyramids for the second time was just as overwhelming as seeing them for the first time.

Breakfast, with not only a view of a pyramid, but to see its reflection in the pool, was a very special experience. I almost forgot to eat.

Matty B and I had a lovely morning in Giza, viewing the pyramids, the Sphinx, the desert and the camels. We also saw, from a short distance, the new Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM) – I had been hoping that it would be open when we visited, but the opening date is now sometime in 2023. The building looked most impressive, and when it finally opens it will be worth another visit to Egypt. GEM will house over 4000 artifacts from Tutenkhamun’s Tomb, along with other collections from the Egyptian Museum in Cairo and other museums around Egypt. As GEM is only 2km from the Pyramids, I would be very happy to stay at Mena House again – this time for longer than one night – visiting GEM and seeing the pyramids .

With only an afternoon to spend in Cairo, we had to make every moment count – and we did.

As we had so little time in Cairo, we had considered that we could not do justice to a museum visit. I had spent many happy hours in the Egyptian Museum in Tahrir on my previous trip to Egypt, and been quite overwhelmed by the largest collection of Pharaonic antiquities in the world, but we did not have that many hours.

A visit to Egypt without including at least one museum, no matter how little time we had did seem a touch of a sacrifice. We decided that whether or not we could do it justice, we must visit the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization, (NMEC) which opened on 3 April 2021. Its collections cover all Egyptian history from prehistoric times to the present day, not just pharaonic time.

Left: About to enter NMEC: Right: Entry “tunnel” into NMEC

The NMEC also contains 20 royal mummies – 18 Kings and 2 Queens dating from the 17th dynasty to the 20th dynasty. The mummies had previously been in the Egyptian Museum in Tahrir Square. In April 2021, in a most spectacular performance – the Pharoah’s Golden Parade – the Mummies were transported from the Egyptian Museum to NMEC.

Descending down by way of a sloping walkway into a dark walled dimly lit hall is supposed to give the feeling of entering a tomb. It didn’t feel like that to me, in part due to the cacaphony emanating from the large number of excited happy schoolchildren, enjoying their heritage. They clearly did not see the sign requesting silence in order to show respect to the mummies.

The display and the signage was excellent and informative. The history of each King and Queen was displayed beside their Mummy. There were some CT scans, and exhibits of items considered necessary for life after death. A most impressive display. I am however torn between feeling so privileged to be able to see the Mummies and learn about the Kings and Queens to feeling that the display of the Mummies is a gross intrusion. The Kings and Queens went to a lot of trouble to prepare for their afterlife, and their tombs were sealed up – they would not have suspected that they would be displayed in this manner. Does it matter? It certainly ensures that they are remembered and after all what better afterlife could you have, being seen and remembered by so many people for so long after death.

LED screens on the floors and walls at the entrance to the Royal Mummies tombs give changing displays. There is a moving frieze above which show pictures of the Royal Mummies – seen left and centre below. Photo credit for image on the right Egyptian Museum Collection.

The Main Hall of the NMEC exhibits items which illustrate the evolution of Egyptian civilisation from Predynastic times through Pharaonic, Greco-Roman, Coptic, Islamic and up to modern day Egypt. In the time available we could do justice to what appeared to be a very comprehensive display of items from each of these periods. https://nmec.gov.eg contains images from the various civilizations, and a link to Pharoah’s Golden Parade, and is well worth a visit.

Images below: Left Mamluk Minbar from the Cairo Mosque of Abu Bakr bin Mazhar: Centre Islamic door of wood inlaid with ivory: Right Detail from door – the only photos I had time to take in the Main Hall, NMEC.

NMEC contains a lot more than we could see, including an Egyptian Textile Hall. An archaeological site beside NMEC contains a dye house, which dates back to at least AD969-1171.

Naguib Mahfouz is an Egyptian Nobel Prize winning writer, whose work I was introduced to by the special Archaeologist. I have since read a large number of his books, starting with the Cairo Trilogy (Palace Walk, Palace of Desire, Sugar Street) set in the Colonial period from 1917 and following three generations from World War 1 until 1952. On my previous visit to Cairo I shared a shisha at El Fishawy, where Mahfouz was said to be a regular, so I was happy to discover that we were having lunch at the Naguib Mahfouz Cafe in the Khan el Khalili – dedicated to the writer after he won the Nobel in 1988. He apparently also frequented this cafe.

Entering the Cafe, we were greeted by Tarboosh wearing staff. The Cafe although modern had an exotic feel, with its old Arab style decor. There were photographs of Mahfouz on the walls, some said to be of him writing in the cafe. The experience was so special that I cannot remember what we ate.

I was looking forward to revisiting the Mosque of Muhammad Ali which is situated inside the Saladin Citadel (a medieval Islamic era fortification) on the site of the Mamluk Palaces. The building of the mosque was commenced by Muhammad Ali Pasha in 1830 and was completed by Abbas Pasha in 1848 after the death of Muhammad Ali.

The mosque was constructed in the Ottoman style and is somewhat reminiscent of the Blue Mosque in Istanbul. The central dome is surrounded by four small domes and four semicircular domes. The windows around the dome, the ceiling decoration, the chandeliers and the lighting made for a vision splendid. The mosque has two Minbars – the original made of wood with green decorations, and the other made of marble. The Mihrab is most impressive, being three stories high.

Several bridal parties were being photographed in the open Courtyard. Apparently they come there for photos and celebrations – they actually enter into the marriage contract elsewhere.

The clock tower on the north western side of the courtyard contains a clock which is said to have been presented to Muhammad Ali Pasha by King Louis Philippe of France in 1845-46. In return, the Pasha presented to the King an Obelisk of Ramses II from the Luxor Temple. The Obelisk stands, rather sadly, in the Place de la Concorde in Paris. We were told that that clock had never worked, although there had been some attempts to repair it, none had been successful. There is some dispute around the facts – another story is that the presentation of the clock was not connected to the gift of the Obelisk, which had in fact been given to the King prior to the presentation of the clock. Whatever the truth, the clock doesn’t work, and the Obelisk looks totally out of place in the middle of Paris. I would suggest reverse presentations occur. The Obelisk would look so much more at home in Luxor.

No matter how little time is available, a visit to Cairo would not be complete without a visit to Coptic Cairo. Copts were converted to Christianity when St Mark arrived in Egypt in 62CE. Before Islam, the Coptic Orthodox Church was the dominant religion in Egypt, and we were to visit the Coptic St Virgin Mary’s Church, better known as the Hanging Church, (so called because it was built on the southern gate of the Roman Fortress) first built in 690AD.

Entry to the Church is through a courtyard, the walls of which contain modern mosaics depicting biblical scenes. I love old mosaics, particularly Roman, Greek and Byzantium mosaics, although I enjoy viewing all mosaics, and those in the courtyard were interesting. I have written about mosaics previously on this site – see An Obsession with Mosaics and Mosaics: Villa Romana del Casale – Piazza Armerina, Morgantina, Sicily.

I have always enjoyed Coptic Art, the typical features of which are also apparent in Byzantine art. The icons are superb, and those in the Hanging Church are no exception. people generally full front on with flat faces, round wide eyes set well apart, thick dark eyebrows and often appearing rather out of proportion.

Left: Interior – Icons. Right: Church from Courtyard

I was keen to visit the Street of the Tentmakers – Sharia Khayamiya, which I had missed on my last visit. Traditionally famous for creating applique panels by hand to decorate tents and pavilions, the artisans now also cater for tourists, creating quilts, cushion covers and wall hangings, still hand made. There are very few artisans creating this work these days, as the demand for tents and pavilions has lessened, however those who still do can be seen hand stitching items in their stores.

The Street of the Tentmakers is one of the last medieval markets in Cairo. I found the architecture as interesting as the art of tentmakers. Overhanging latticed balconies bought to mind the female characters in the Cairo Trilogy – women watching life without being seen. The medieval gate of Bab Zuweila was impressive, as was the lighting of a mosque. The motor bikes, the donkey carts and the sheer mass of humanity in the area was not impressive. We risked life and limb to progress a metre in the area.

Fighting our way through a mass of humanity we finally found our driver. So ended a magical day in Cairo.

If you have enjoyed reading this, you may like to read my posts on my earlier trip to Egypt – visiting Alexandria, the Siwa Oasis and hot air ballooning in Luxor.

A Possible Home Town – A third possibility – Heart and Soul

London

Having concluded that I don’t really have a home town (in) travelwithgma.wordpress.com/2022/02/15 – it was suggested to me, by Dr Jody Thompson, that there could be a third possibility for claiming a place as a home town. Dr Thompson suggested that maybe a home town could be where your heart and soul I had previously concluded that a connection to a place where I had not lived was not sufficient for that place to be my home town. Nor could I claim the place where I grew up, because I hated that place with a passion.

Being a “head” person, not a “heart and soul” person, I had not considered the possibility of a home town being where my heart and soul was, although I had referred to London as my soul city on occasion.

I knew London well, long before I visited it. Growing up in a country colonized by the British, the school curriculum was very anglo-centric. Kings and Queens of England and the history of Britain were taught, rather than the history of New Zealand-Aotearoa. It was as if the history of Aotearoa only commenced with the British invasion. Geographic features of of Britain were familiar. Our reading books were generally set in England, written by British writers. Enid Blyton made Cornwall pretty familiar, Peter Pan bought Kensington Gardens to life.

My Nursery Rhymes were set in London and other areas in the UK. I was very happy to finally hear the bells of St Clemens (of oranges and Lemons fame), London Bridge (is falling down), York (The Grand Old Duke of York), and many many more.

Virginia Woolf and the Bloomsbury writers made Hyde Park Gate and Bloomsbury familiar. My first visit to the British Museum did not feel like a first visit. I had read about and seen images of a lot of the items held there.

The British Royal Family were revered in New Zealand – possibly because of the percentage of immigrants from the UK. Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle, Westminster Abbey and the Tower of London were constantly pictured in newspapers and magazines as were Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament and of course members of the British Royal Family.

My ancestors mostly came from the UK, (Ireland, Scotland and England, with one outlier from Portugal.) A lot of my English ancestors were born and lived in Southwark, London after their migration from Suffolk a couple of hundred years ago. I have previously written about my search for Uk ancestors – see travelwithgma.word.press.com/2020/02/09

I was an adult when I first visited London. The red double decker buses, with destinations such as, for example, High Street Kensington, Trafalgar Square, Oxford Street and Regent Street felt familiar, as did all the major landmarks. I was quite at home in London. I have visited London on numerous occasions, with new discoveries on each visit. Threadneedle Street, Poultry Lane, the various Royal Parks, Dulwich Gallery, Frederick Leighton’s House and the Wallace Collection.

I lived and worked in London for a couple of years. In some respects it felt like coming home. I lived in several different areas in London, so got to know those areas very well.

Mayfair

My first residence was a little apartment in Bruton Lane, Mayfair – joy. Bruton Lane was off Bruton Street, a few steps from Bond Street. Berkeley Square was at the other end of Bruton Street.

There was a mock tudor pub on the corner of Bruton Street and Bruton Lane, the Coach and Horses, which is apparently the oldest building on Bruton Street. The food served in that pub was excellent. A picturesque pub, serving good food and only a minute walk from home was a delight.

Coach and Horses, Barlow Place on the left and Bruton Lane on the right.

I have very happy memories of a visit from NZ cousins while living in Bruton Lane. We decided to go to dinner one night at a “restaurant” in Berkeley Square (A Nightingale Sang In Berkeley Square). We did not realise that the second floor restaurant which we had noticed was the dining room of a private club. The receptionist looked a touch startled to be confronted by 3 people, one on crutches, not dressed in accordance with the dress code, asking for a table. To her credit, she let us in, and didn’t tell us it was a private club. Pretty cool for Mayfair. I don’t recall what we ate, but I do recall cousin Ken asking the waitress if she had heard many nightingales singing. She looked blank. You know Ken said, “A Nightingale sang in Berkeley Square”. She was too young to remember a song written in 1939.

We were actually at Morton’s Club, which had a magnificent view overlooking the length of Berkeley Square, from north to south.

Middlesex Street

I then lived in Middlesex Street (Petticoat Lane) for a few months. Hearing the Cockney accents as the traders set up their stalls was quite surreal. I had not previously spent any time in this part of London. My explorations were an adventure. Spitafields market and Brick Lane with its Indian Restaurants were a quite different experience.

The spire of Christ Church Spitafields from my apartment

Putney Bridge

My longest time in an area was at Putney Bridge, in a beautiful Mews House in Church Gate alongside All Saints Church, Fulham, beside the River Thames. The tower of the church dates back to 1440. The Bishops Park and Palace in Southwark was over the back fence. I frequently walked or rode a bike along the Thames Path, sometimes cycling as far as Richmond.

The graveyard at All Saints came alive in spring. A host of golden daffodils appeared. Wordsworth’s Wandering Lonely as a Cloud came to mind every time I saw them. Although the graveyard did not contain ten thousand daffodils, those in the graveyard “tossed their heads in sprightly dance” and although “my heart with pleasure filled” I did not actually dance with the daffodils.

Mews Houses, Putney Bridge with Alms Houses on the left.

The second and third floor windows of my Mews House looked out over All Saints and Putney Bridge. The view over Putney Bridge was ever changing and I never tired of looking at it. Morning mists in winter and at night, when it was lit up with red London buses travelling across it provided the loveliest of visions.

I could have climbed over the back fence into the gardens of the Bishops Palace in Fulham, but I resisted the temptation, and walked to the entrance. The gardens are the second oldest botanical gardens in London, and contain riverside gardens and a walled garden. I spent a lot of time in those gardens.

Sloane Gardens, Sloane Square

My final residence in London was an apartment in Sloane Gardens. Sloane Square and the Kings Road provided much entertainment and interest.

How good was it to be able to walk to the Chelsea Flower Show. This was the year Mary Reynolds became the youngest person to win a medal. She created the Celtic Sanctuary.

It was from this location that I was dragged kicking and screaming back to the Antipodes, bound for Botany Bay.

Fortunately for me – it was not “farewell to England forever”. I visit London at least annually, sometimes for up to 3 months. During these visits, I have become familiar with Islington, Primrose Hill and Richmond. When my flight arrives at Heathrow, I feel as if I am home. I don’t feel like that when my flight touches down at Sydney on my return. It takes me weeks to recover from my my return.

What is it about London which makes it a contender for my home town of the heart and soul? Is it possible to claim a town as a home town on the basis of heart and soul?

Growing up in London would have provided a totally different life than the life I experienced in London. Post war London looks pretty grim. Rationing was still in place. Post war, a little village in New Zealand showed no signs of the destruction London experienced. There was no rationing. The air was fresh and clean, and the rivers were not polluted.

What did London have that I would have found far more to my taste than what was offered by life in a village in New Zealand?

I have always loved cities. I was always in my happy place in a city, be it a small city like Hastings (which I attempted to appropriate as my home town), or better still, Auckland – when we arrived in Auckland in summer, I used to wind the car windows down (yes, wind) to smell the melting bitumen. Very evocative for a kid from the country where the roads were not sealed.

Visiting the Auckland Museum was one of the pleasures to be had in that city. There were shops, a lot of shops. The Farmers Trading Company, with a rooftop playground was a little paradise. There were lots of people. The anonymity of living in a city would have been so much more to my taste than the curtain twitchers reporting on my every move to my parents.

Living in a small village provided little exposure to culture. The first ever live performance I experienced was attending a performance by the World Famous Hogarth Puppets at the Municipal Theatre in Hastings. I was entranced – not just with the puppets, but with the whole experience. The Art Noveau interior felt very fancy.

Municipal Theatre, Hastings 1937: Spanish Mission style with Art Noveau interier.

The New Zealand Ballet Company came to Putaruru once. I can’t remember what they performed, but I do recall the thrill of “going to the ballet.” Attending a performance of Lay Bayadere at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden a lifetime later, bought back the memories of my very first ballet attendance in Putaruru.

The only musical I ever attended in Aotearoa was a performance of My Fair Lady in Auckland, in about 1961. I have never forgotten the magic of that night. Travelling to Auckland, dressing up and attending a plush theatre (well plush after the corrugated iron picture theatre I attended), and savouring every moment of the performance.

Live music performances were almost non existent, unless you can count one of the West boys playing a guitar and mouth organ simultaneously at the local hall.

Compare these cultural experiences with those available in London. I had a friend who had grown up in London at the time I was living it a little village. Coincidentally, she had lived around the corner from my house in Putney Bridge, so the Fulham Bishops Palace, park and garden were in her back garden. She went to the theatre and attended concerts. She visited the British Museum. The movie theatre she attended was not made of corrugated iron. She frequented the wonderful royal parks and gardens. London was always her home town, despite not having lived there for a long time.

If I had grown up in London, I would very happily claim it as my home town, but I didn’t grow up in London. I am sorry Dr Thompson, the head has overruled the heart and soul – I could not in all honesty claim London as my home town, but I rejoice in the fact that Charlie, the newest member of the family can claim London as her home town.

A comment on My Home Town blog (published 2002/02/15) has provided me with a home town. “Allover” is my home town. Thank you mitchteemly.

Capri

Chiesa San Michele, Anacapri

Churches in Italy never fail to impress. Architecture, paintings, sculpture, mosaics, history and so much more.

Chiesa San Michele has something I had not previously seen in the numerous churches I have visited. It has a ceramic floor of Majolica tiles, called the Garden of Eden. Dating from 1761 there are approximately 1,500 tiles showing Adam and Eve as they are expelled from the garden. Leonardo Chiaiese was the craftsman who created this masterpiece, depicting the serpent in the tree, the expulsion and some of the most glorious animals described in the bible.

Facade of the Church of San Michele, Anacapri.

To properly appreciate the entire floor, it is necessary to climb up to the gallery.

Having viewed the entire floor, I then descended down to the ground floor to examine the floor in detail. My favourite animal/creature I think was the unicorn, closely followed by the elephant, the camel and the owl.

There is, of course more to see in Chiesa San Michelle, but the majolica tiled floor is unique – the art and general decor is secondary.

Looking over the majolica tiles toward the altar.

Capri is so beautiful, has so much to offer historically and is so much more than just the blue grotto. This church was an unexpected delight.

Orkney Islands – further travels with Lolly Girl.

Skara Brae, a stone built Neolithic village on the Orkney Mainland, had been on my must see list for nearly 20 years.

I first became aware of Skara Brae when I viewed Simon Schama’s “A History of Britain” in the early 1990’s. Part of the village had been unearthed in 1850 when a storm battered Orkney, causing the sand which had covered the village to be stripped.

Lolly girl was up for a trip, and was happy to increase her knowledge of Neolithic civilisation, and as it turned out we learnt a lot more about the Vikings as well.

Flying in to Kirkwell, the main town on the Mainland we could see the causeways built between the Main Island, Burray and South Ronaldsy Islands – white ribbons threading across the blue sea. Approaching Kirkwall the patchwork of fields and rolling hills provided a taste of the beauty of the Orkney Islands.

Locating our apartment in Finstown, 6 miles northwest of Kirkwell, was a challenge. We were looking out for “a narrow driveway on our right, white house on one side and grey house on the other, and if you get to the cemetery, you have gone too far”. We got to the cemetery. To describe the narrow alleyway between the two houses as a driveway was a leap of faith.

The apartment had a changing view across the Bay of Firth, depending on the weather. On calm sunny days, the bay was like a mirror reflecting the buildings and trees. Other days, it was moody grey and rough with whitecaps whipping across the surface.

The drive from Finstown to Skara Brae required great self discipline. There seemed to be something that must be explored around every corner.

Skara Brae was inhabited between around 3100BC and 2500BC.

There are nine surviving Neolithic houses, which were connected and consisted of one room. They still contain stone dressers and box-beds. These beds would possibly have been lined with fur, straw or maybe dried seaweed. One of the houses, house eight, is different to the others. It does not contain beds or dressers, and is not connected to other structures. Schaama suggested it may have been the equivalent of the local pub. This suggestion was met with scorn by a scholar friend, and refusal to watch any more of the Schaama series, on the basis he was trivialising history. I tended to the view that he was making it accessible and interesting to an audience other than scholars.

Archaeologists are unsure of the use to which this structure was put, but there is a view that it may have been a workshop. There is also speculation that it may have been a later addition.

There was a great deal more than Skara Brae to explore. The Orkney Islands have been inhabited for about 8,500 years, originally by Mesolithic and Neolithic tribes, then Picts. They were annexed by Norway in the early 8th and 9th centuries, and settled by the Vikings. The Orkneys became part of Scotland, when James III of Scotland received them from Christian I, King of Denmark, Norway and Sweden in lieu of a dowry.

Skara Brae was probably part of a group of Neolithic Monuments in the area. The Stones of Stenness and the Ring of Brodgar, both ceremonial stone circles are within a few miles of Skara Brae and the Stones of Stenness can be seen from the chambered Cairn at Maeshowe. There are numerous standing stones between the sites, which suggest some kind of ceremonial walkway.

Standing stones can be found in numerous parts of the world. Gma and Lolly girl track them down with the tenacity of hounds on the scent (of standing stones). There is a lot of debate about their purpose. A place of rituals and other ceremonies is a prevalent theory. Another theory is that they could have been astronomical sites. I visited an ancient stelae field of carved standing stones in Tiya, Ethiopia. Those stones appear to be grave markers.

We were accompanied on our visit to the Stones of Stenness by a group of fat woolly sheep, one of whom used a stone as a back scratcher. There are only four stones still standing, on a flat grassy site overlooking the Loch of Stenness. The site dates from around 3100BC, and is one of the earliest stone circles in Britain.

The Ring of Brogdar is a candidate for the theory that stone circles were used as astronomical observatories. Another theory suggests that due to its size, it was built to accommodate a larger number of people than Stenness. The theories are almost as fascinating as the stones themselves.

Lolly Girl is a keen birdwatcher. While Gma is content to photograph the birds, Lolly Girl is more interested in identifying them. The Orkney Islands are an ornithologists heaven. There are hides around, which anyone can use. There is generally a list of birds recently spotted, and one we entered had numerous bird books. Although the puffins proved to be elusive when we visited the Brough of Birsay, we did see some Auks

One evening in Kirkwall, the peace was shattered by the most ear shattering din. A dilapidated old truck came careering down the street, carrying a very strange assortment of people on the tray, including a man wearing few clothes, tied up and with a gooey looking black paste on his face and body and feathers everywhere. Other people had feathers in their hair, or very weird wigs on their head. There was much shouting, screaming, jumping up and down, beating of drums, and whistle blowing. Several people were banging the side of the truck with sticks. Wine was involved – lots of it, generally drunk from the bottle.

The truck did several circuits of the town. I was expecting the police to arrive, to at least restrain people from jumping on and off the truck.

We later discovered this was a “Wedding Blackening”, and is a tradition. Hence the police don’t view it as a breach of the peace, and let them be. The man stripped, tied up and covered in black goo (treacle, flour and feathers) is the groom to be. He is then paraded about on the back of a truck, and can end up in the sea.

We had seen strange sign in the public toilets earlier in the day, saying no to lasses clarted in molasses. After witnessing the wedding blackening, we realised the sign was forbidding people from cleaning up in the public toilets after a blackening.

There are several sites of interest in Kirkwall. St Magnus Cathedral was founded in 1137 by the Viking Earl Rognvald, in honour of his Uncle, St Magnus who was martyred in the Orkneys. The stained glass windows are beautiful, and when the sun shines through them, they cast an intricate mosaic like pattern on the wall. The window’s are relatively new, having been installed between 1913 and 1930.

St Magnus Cathedral

I loved the numerous gravestones on the walls, a number featuring skulls and crossbones. The medieval collection of stones with the symbols of death – bones and coffins are among the best I have seen.

The gravestone of a merchant in Kirkwall, who died in 1673 was possibly my favourite. The detail below shows death dancing and piercing an urn with a dart. A cherub is blowing into a long trumpet.

In contrast to medieval stones was a modern painting commemorating the 900th anniversary of the Martyrdom of St Magnus by Norwegian artist Hakon Gullvag. I enjoyed this painting so much, it inspired me to search out more of his art. I loved his Biblical Cycle, particularly the Tower of Babel and Noahs Ark.

A little fortification was required before exploring the Bishop’s Palace and the Earl’s Palace. Lolly Girl is partial to a drop of fine whisky, and was keen to visit the Highland Park Whisky distillery. Gma wanted to compare a local gin to her current favourites. Highland Park was full of tourists, so Lolly Girl made do with a miniature bottle of 20 year whisky to take home. The gin distillery did not have any gin to taste. Neither did they have any small bottles. Fortification by way of a less than sublime coffee didn’t quite put us in a nice floaty place.

I prefer my Palaces to be in ruins. The Bishop’s Palace and the Earl’s Palace were entirely to my taste. The Bishop’s Palace is a medieval 12th Century palace, originally built for the first Bishop, William the Old. In the early 1600’s the Bishop’s Palace was incorporated into a Renaissance Palace – the Earl’s Palace. The buildings are no longer co-joined.

A lot of cruise ships spend a day at Kirkwell or Stromness. We chose a non cruise ship day to visit Stromness. Wise choice. We almost had the place to ourselves. Even so, driving through the village was a challenge. The streets are mainly only wide enough for one car, but are not one way. We had to back up to wider spots several times to allow another car through.

It was a grey damp day, but the boats and their reflections in the still harbour were far from grey.

Stromness, around the harbour, is very quaint and picturesque. After wandering around the narrow little streets, devoid of people we had a splendid lobster lunch at a pub on the waterfront. Seafood is exceptionally good in this part of the world.

Lolly Girl decided to compile an album of images of ruined cottages. There was no shortage of subjects, and she built up a most impressive collection. I tended to favour ruined palaces. The site of the Earl’s Palace at the Brough of Birsay contained excellent ruins. The Palace was built between 1569 and 1579 and was the residence of Robert Stewart, 1st Earl of Orkney, a half brother of Mary Queen of Scots. Robert was apparently a harsh earl, with royal pretensions who oppressed the people of Orkney. His son Patrick Stewart, the 2nd Earl of Orkney was apparently even less likeable than Robert.

Above – Earl’s Palace, Birsay.

We had been very keen to visit Maeshowe, a neolithic chambered cairn which had been built some 5000 years ago. The Cairn looks like a mound in the field until the entrance comes into view.

The low entrance passage is aligned with the setting of the midwinter sun, which allows light to illuminate the interior. Entering the tomb from the entry passage we emerged into the large central chamber. There were too many people in the group for us to really get a feel for the site, but the structure was most impressive.

Vikings broke into the Cairn through the roof in the mid 1100’s. They left graffiti, carved in runes. It was impossible for most people see this graffiti while the guide explained it. A quick single file view later was less than satisfactory.

Left – approaching Maeshowe. Right – entrance to passageway.

The Tomb of the Eagles is on South Ronaldsay, and is another example of a stone age chambered cairn. The long entrance tunnel had to be negotiated by lying flat on what appeared to be a large skateboard, and pulling yourself along by a rope on the ceiling. A panic attack would have overwhelmed me if I tried to enter the cairn. Lolly Girl decided she would have a go. She lasted for all of 20 seconds.

Entry to the Tomb of Eagles – note skate board to the right of the entrance.

The walk to the site more than made up for our cowardice. The sheer cliffs dropping to the sea below were inhabited by dozens of seabirds nesting. Wildflowers carpeted some areas, and all had identification tags. Coming across a field of pink, or white, or purple was a vision splendid.

We stopped off at a most extraordinary Chapel on Lamb Holm on our way back from South Ronaldsay. The Italian Chapel was constructed by Italian Prisoners of War during the Second World War. The Italian POWs had been sent to Lamb Holm to construct the causeways to protect the British fleet in the Skapa Flow. The Chapel was created with two nissen huts. Italians with the requisite skills created the interior. It was a most moving experience to stand in this Chapel, seeing that even the chaos of war, such beauty was created from very little.

We decided to spend a day visiting two more Viking sites. The archaeological remains of Earl’s Bu and Church at Ophir consist of the foundations of a large drinking hall, a romanesque round church and the remains of a horizontal water mill. The Orkneyinga Saga, which is the story of the Earls of Orkney, refers to a feast given by Earl Paul in Ophir – and describes a large drinking hall and a magnificent church. The Orkneyinga Saga Centre is situated alongside this site. A video, and paintings around the walls tell the story of the Norse Earls of Orkney. As there is so little left on the site, it was useful to visit this centre to gain a better understanding of what we were seeing.

The Brough of Birsay is an island, connected to the Orkney Mainland by a causeway. Access is limited to a couple of hours either side of low tide. The Picts were there before the Vikings, but there is little visible of the Picts settlement -600 -700AD.

The Norse settled on the Brough of Birsay during the ninth century AD. The archaeological site quite clearly identifies a church, with a rectangular nave, chancel and apse. The remains of long houses are also visible.

Viking Archaeological Site, Brough of Birsay

The art and craft scene in the Orkney Islands is very vibrant, innovative and creative. From exquisite, interesting jewellery, yarn crafts to art print and photography, and much more, there is so much to view.

Hoxta Tapestry Gallery at St Margaret’s Hope, South Ronaldsay was my favourite. A local Orkney artist, Leila Thomson creates unique large woven tapestries. Her work “is inspired by the rhythm of life and landscape of Orkney”. (https://hoxtatapestrygallery.co.uk) As well as tapestries, art prints are created. Printed images are photographic taken from the original art work and are hand signed.

I could have acquired numerous art prints. I finally chose “Ribbon of Life”. The tapestry itself is huge, and apparently hangs at the top of a stairway in a stately home. My art print brings the Orkneys into my less than stately home, and is much loved and commented on.

Lolly girl and I barely touched the surface of the Orkney Islands. We are planning another trip to explore other islands, and to learn more of the history of the Orkneys. We shall go in Puffin season.

Portugal – In Search of Ancestors – Part 2.

Those of us whose ancestors emigrated to the new world in search of a better life generally have a very mixed ancestry.

My ancestors were predominantly from Ireland. I also have English, Scottish and Portugese ancestry. Searching for them, and travelling to the places they came from and researching what their lives may have been like, has been most enjoyable. Particularly the travel.

The Portugese ancestors are elusive.

I have been unable to verify where in Portugal my great grandfather, Antonio Joseph Thomas came from. One branch of the family say he was from Portalegre. A person bearing the same name as my great grandfather, was naturalized on 16 June 1886, in Auckland. That Antonio is stated as having been born in the Azores. His occupation at that time was a painter.

My great grandfather’s occupation was stated on his marriage certificate as a Labourer. At the time of my grandmother’s birth he was recorded as a painter, on her marriage certificate a house painter, and his death certificate recorded his occupation as a retired painter. His death certificate also recorded the name of his father as Antonio Joseph Thomas.

Antonio Joseph Thomas (Tomaz) is a very common name in Portugal, and sifting through the records available is as difficult as tracking down the numerous Irish ancestors who carried the same name as hundreds of Irish non ancestors.

Antonio was 16 when he came to New Zealand. He was said to have been a seaman who jumped ship in Auckland. There are a lot of records of a seaman named Antonio Thomas, who worked on coastal cargo boats around Australia, before and after his arrival in New Zealand.

My great grandfather married my great grandmother, Matilda, in Auckland in 1880. The marriage record does not record his place of birth. Portugal was noted as his place of birth on my grandmother’s birth certificate, and on Antonio’s death certificate. So – Portalegre or the Azores.

My visits to Portugal have not been in an effort to trace ancestors. Not speaking or reading the language makes that impossible. Rather, it was to experience a part of the world my ancestors had come from. I had always enjoyed the thought of having Portugese ancestry, and was interested in visiting places and seeing things my great grandfather may have visited and seen.

I first visited Lisbon some years ago when I was working in London. I had booked a hotel by Eduardo VII park. When I gave the taxi driver at the airport the address he indicated that was a very bad choice. I should not, under any circumstances, set foot in that park, as it was a very seedy part of Lisbon. I should take a taxi wherever I wished to go. His taxi of course.

I thought the park was a very pleasant place, and my first explorations of Lisbon were on foot, and through the park.

Antonio would not have seen The Castelo de Sao Jorge as it is now. The ramparts remained in ruins after an earthquake in 1755. What I saw was a result of a complete renovation began in 1938.

The views over Lisbon and the Tagus River from the Castelo are magnificent. Perhaps Antonio enjoyed the view from the ruined ramparts.

Antonio would have seen the triumphal arch on the north side of the Praca do Comercio.

I did take a taxi to Belem. Not my airport taxi, and not because I was scared. With only three days in Lisbon, I needed to move about as quickly as possible.

Lisbon’s shipyards and docks were situated in Belem in the estuary of the Tagus River. The early Portugese explorers set out from these shipyards in the 15th-16th century. Antonio was a seaman. Did he embark on a ship in Belem when he left Portugal? If he did, he would have seen the Torre de Belem, completed in 1519. It was built as a fortress which guarded the estuary. It is a gem of a building, with openwork balconies and North African inspired watchtowers.

The Monument of the Discoveries was built at Belem to celebrate the 500th anniversary of the death of Henry the Navigator, who died in 1460. The eastern side of the monument has statues of Portugese great explorers, and the western side has statues of of those people who empowered the 15th century age of discovery.

Of those explorers commemorated on the eastern side of the monument, I knew about Vasco da Gama who had discovered the sea route to India, Ferdinand Magellan, the first to circumnavigate the world and Bartolomeu Dias, the first to navigate the Cape of Good Hope. Perhaps my Portugese ancestry is responsible for my restless spirit and need to travel.

St Jeronimos Monastery in Belem was commissioned by Manuel 1 in 1501. It was built to commemorate Vasco da Gama’s voyage, and to give thanks to the Virgin Mary for the success of the voyage. Vasco da Gama is entombed in the monastery. The monastery is a symbol of Portugal’s power and wealth during the Age of Discovery. It is a most pleasing confection of a building. Antonio would have been aware of this monastery if he had embarked from Portugal at Belem, but I doubt if he would have appreciated the architecture.

I love gargoyles. St Jeronimo has some wonderful examples.

I came across the Gulbenkian Museum quite by accident. It is situated north east of the supposedly dangerous Eduardo VII Park. What started as an accident turned into a magical experience. Think classical art including Egyptian, Greco Roman, Mesopotamian, Eastern Islamic, Armenian and Far eastern art, and so much more.

The museum is set in a park, and contains the private collection of an Armenian oil Magnate, Calouste Gulbenkian. The collection is outstanding.

I did not have enough time on this visit to spend much time in the Museu Nacional de Arte Antiga, but I did manage to see Hieronymus Bosch’s “Temptations of St Anthony” triptych. Hieronymous Bosch is one of my all time favourite artists, and St Anthony was wonderfully gruesome.

There is an abundance of blokes on top of poles in Lisbon. There may have been a woman somewhere, but I didn’t see one.

I visited Portugal again a couple of years ago, this time with KT. I enjoyed revisiting Lisbon, and experienced a different Lisbon. KT was happy to accompany me on trawls of those parts of Lisbon which Antonio may have seen. She was also interested in the food and wine, and so I enjoyed much better dining and drinking experiences, although custard tarts are not up there on my list of favourites.

I had been very keen to visit Sintra. Lord Byron visited in 1809, and referred to Sintra in Childe Harolde’s Pilgrimage “Lo! Cintra’s glorious Eden intervenes in variegated maze of mount and Glen”. I wanted to see that glorious Eden.

KT and I caught a train to Sintra. We took so long to locate the correct railway station that by the time we got to Sintra it was nearly lunch time. Sharing the sites with the multitudes meant that the queues for entry to the palaces were were up to an hour long.

We headed to the Palacio Nacional da Pena which is situated in the hills of the Serra de Sintra. This palace is a fantastical colourful extravagance. It has domes, towers and a drawbridge. It is very brightly painted, yellow here, red there. It sits on a rocky outcrop, where once a castle stood.

The palace has an entrance guarded by a magnificent mythical gargoyle. Elaborate stone carvings and beautiful tiles add to the fantasyland feel of the palace.

L to R: Mythical gargoyle, decorative door, stone carvings.

I could not imagine that Antonio would have visited the palace. From what I have heard of him, even if he had, he would have had no appreciation for the art and architecture.

Our late arrival, and the hoards of people resulted in not having the time to explore other fabulous palaces, but we did see some of them whilst driving out to the coast. Monserrate was one of these.

KT and I caught a train from Lisbon to Porto. The lift up to the platform was very slow. I don’t do slow if there is an alternative. The escalator beckoned. While sailing regally up the escalator, suitcase safely tucked beside me, the suitcase decided it would prefer to stay in Lisbon, though not on its own. It flipped backwards and knocked me down with it. What followed was a most spectacular backflip. Two backward rolls later, I end up sailing feet first up the escalator. KT had the grace not to laugh at the sight of Gma coming up the escalator feet first.

Bleeding profusely, I arrive on the platform, with people flocking around suggesting calling an ambulance. The injuries were minor and I was not planning on missing the train to Porto.

Our hotel in Porto had been alerted to the arrival of the wounded Gma. An upgraded room was a great consolation prize.

If Antonio had visited Porto, there is much of Porto that he would recognise today. The riverside district, medieval Ribeira with its cobbled narrow streets would not have looked much different.

Ribeira District and River Douro, Porto.

The Cais da Ribeira, with its bustling restaurants and bars is a perfect place to stroll along, eat or sit with a drink, watch the river traffic and observe people. The raised embankment which facilitates the riverfront promenade, would post date Antonio, so he would not have experienced the leisurely stroll KT and I had. I suspect he never experienced an icy cold gin and tonic in his life, let alone in Porto.

Gin and Tonic on the Cais da Ribeira, Porto.

I love ceramic tiles. I have been collecting them on my travels for years. Portugal produces blue and white tiles like I have never encountered. Porto is a tile lover’s heaven.

The Igreja do Carmo was built between 1756 and 1768 in the Rococo Baroque Style. It is adorned with blue azulejos tiles. The tiles pay tribute to “our lady” and tell the story of the church’s foundation.

The Igreja de Santo Ildefonso is a church built in 1739, but the azulejo tiles were only added in 1932. The tiles represent the life of St Ildefonso.

Portugal is known for its catholic culture. It is doubtful that Antonio was a catholic. His children from his relationship with my great grandmother, Matilda were not catholic.

Igreja Sao Francisco is a gothic style church with an opulent baroque interior, which appears to be covered in gold, due to the gilded wooden carvings. A particularly gruesome carving of the Martyrs of Morocco took my eye. Heads were being severed from the unfortunate martyrs bodies. Those already severed were rolling about at the feet of those yet to lose their heads.

One of the altarpieces represents the family tree of Jesus, showing his descent from the Kings of Judah and Israel. At the top of the tree is Jesus, with Mary and Joseph. The 12 Kings of Judah are connected through the branches. Jesse of Bethlehem is reclining at the foot of the tree.

Left: The Martyrs of Morocco. Right: Tree of Jesse
Igreja Sao Francisco, Porto

Igreja Sao Francisco was deconsecrated in the 19th century. It has been said that the opulence of the interior became a bit of an embarrassment to an order who take a vow of poverty.

The narrow cobbled streets, churches, shops, merchants houses and cellars for storing port along the banks of the Douro river would have looked very much the same to Antonio as they did to me. Only the Dom Luis 1 bridge, which was completed in 1886 was built after his departure from Portugal.

I enjoyed looking at the graffiti around Porto. I wonder if there was a version of modern graffiti around in Antonio’s days.

Antonio, by all accounts, was not a very nice man. He deserted my great grandmother and their 8 living children in around 1900. He failed to comply with a court order requiring him to support my great grandmother, Matilda, for which he received a three month suspended jail sentence. He had several more children from another relationship. His descendants from that relationship say he was born in Portalegre, Portugal. They also say that he returned to Portugal in order to obtain money which was his share of of his father’s property in Portugal. If this is so, he may well have been in parts of Portugal I visited.

I am inclined to believe that the descendants of Antonio’s second family would know more about him than I do. They would have known him for longer than his first family knew him, and he may have shared more details of his life with them. They also may well have a different view of his character.

As more records become available, I may find out more about Antonio. I certainly plan to visit Portugal again, even if I do not.

Caucasus Part 2 – Joy in Georgia.

Crossing the road border into Georgia from Azerbaijan was my first experience of walking through a border. We got off the bus in Azerbaijan, joined the queue at the border post to have passports and baggage examined. We then walked across a bridge and along a road, bordered by a fast flowing river, to the Georgian border post.

Another queue, another passport check, and we walked into Georgia.

What could be more appropriate, and what could set the scene better for the joy of Georgia than a visit to a historic wine house.

This wine house contained a wine press, said to be 2 centuries old, earthern crocks in which wine would have been fermented and traditional wine making equipment. An old still in the wine house is still used for making chacha – a Georgian version of grappa.

A sip, or maybe more, of chacha followed by wine tasting left me unable to actually remember what the chacha actually tasted like. It was strong. Floating would be a polite way to describe my next few hours.

I floated through magnificent scenery. Snow capped mountains to the right, fertile plains, sheep and goats wandering about. Pomegranites in flower, copious mulberry trees. Watermelons, cucumber and beans were being planted. A large number of horses were being herded by a man on a horse and a young boy running. Beehives scattered about.

The next day we were driving through oak and linden forests on our way to Sighnaghi. There are a lot of churches in Georgia. I think we visited half a dozen or more of them that day. All very beautiful, and some with interesting art and history. The first church of the day, at the convent of the Khakhuli Theotokos, New Shuamata, it felt as if we were entering a little paradise. The convent was set in a field of wildflowers, bordered by tall trees. The church was tiny, with the remains of old frescoes on the walls.

I am very keen on St George and his dragon slaying activities. I have enjoyed viewing a large and varied number of St George depictions, killing all manner of dragons, and occasionally Diocletian, in numerous countries. I was delighted to find a depiction of St George and the dragon, with god’s hand descending from the top corner, in this church.

A candle was lit for Jonathen in this serene and beautiful place. Under the influence of such serenity, I purchased a couple of icons. These eventually ended up on Sal’s market stall, at which she sells all manner of things to raise money for Jigsaw the moon bear. Sal sounded a little doubtful about their saleability, but she kindly took them off my hands.

Another St George was found at the Ikalto Monastery complex in the church of the Transfiguration, killing a multicoloured dragon. Among the ruins of the old chapel further evidence of historical wine making was visible. Rows of old pottery wine jars were lying against the old stone walls, and the remains of an old wine press could be found in the old winery.

Onward to the next establishment – The Alaverdi cathedral. The cathedral had a St George, killing yet another dragon on the tympaneum. The bishop’s throne was magnificent. It had lion arms, and a big bird on the footplate. Wine was also produced here, as evidenced by the old pottery wine jars lying about.

We went to Lily’s place for lunch. Since we were tourists, we had to sing for our supper. That is, we had to view Lily’s carpets before eating. Lunch was magnificent. Dumplings, cheese pie, eggplant with walnut paste, eggplant with mayonnaise, tomatoes which tasted like tomatoes, vodka and honey and home made wine. I suspected I may be floating permanently in Georgia.

After lunch we passed through more magnificent scenery. Braided rivers flowing down from the Caucasus, walnut farms, vineyards (well of course) farms with crops of corn and beans, and shepherds watching their flocks – generally from a horizontal position under a tree.

Just as the effects of Lily’s vodka and home made wine was wearing off, we arrived at the Tsinandali Estate, a historical winery and an old wine cellar containing wine dating back to Napolean’s time. A wine tasting followed by a float around a European style garden, and a Persian style house, fortified me for the drive to Signagi.

The landscape passing by was lovely enough to stave off any eyelid closing, even for the most avid wine taster. We drove through very fertile plains, a lot of little villages where the gardens contained beautiful roses, and then a rather hilly area with a narrow winding road containing a lot of nasty narrow hairpin bends. Sighnaghi is entered on a narrow road through an arch in the old city wall. Watching large vehicles negotiate this entry later in the day I thought it a miracle that the archway had not been involuntarily enlarged.

A night in the picturesque town of Sighnaghi included more wine tasting, walks around cobblestone streets, lined with houses whose wooden balconies, some richly decorated with lacelike wooden ornamentation, hung out over the street. Pigs were snorting and grunting in courtyards, and a laneway opened onto a view across the plains to the snow capped mountains. Carpets were inspected at the local factory, and the obligatory carpet weaver was wheeled in to sit at a loom to illustrate traditional carpet weaving. Of course the carpets are all made by hand, dyed with natural dyes and made with traditional Georgian patterns!

An excellent St George killing Diocletion featured in the church in the Bodbe Nunnery complex near Sighnaghi. Another delight was a depiction of the last judgment – I find last judgments endlessly fascinating. I am intrigued by the different visions of heaven and hell over the centuries. None of them have pleasant hells, but some are more gruesome than others. The visions of heaven are not particularly encouraging either. Sitting about looking sweet and maybe flapping ones wings for exercise for eternity doesn’t seem enticing either.

Tbilisi provided the opportunity to discover more churches and several museums. The State museum was the most interesting. It contained an archaeological room, full of gold recovered from graves over about 4 centuries. It is interesting to view the changes in jewellery design and use over the centuries.

The old city is a great place to explore, have a coffee and people watch, rounded off by a visit to a mosque, the sulphur bath houses and a synagogue. The sculptures in the streets in Tbilisi varied between the usual memorials to blokes, sometimes on poles and one on a horse to modern, some of artistic merit and others not, but all interesting. My all time favourite was one of the most joyful depictions of women having fun I have ever seen – dancing peasant women.

Despite my best endeavours, I only discovered two St Georges. A glittering gilded version of St George on top of a pole, and a painting above a church door. There may well have been further wine tastings.

The Jvari Monastery of Mtskheta (the ancient capital of Georgia), on the road to Kutaisi had a very rude monk guarding the door. The view which overlooked Mtskheta and the confluence of two rivers made up for the less than welcoming attitude of Mr Grumpy monk. Another grumpy monk was sprawled on the steps of Svetitskhoveli cathedral in Mtskheta, taking photos with an ipad, and talking on his phone, ignoring all “pilgrims”.

Stalin was born in Gori. I did not find Gori joyful. I would have happily sat and read a book rather than visiting the Stalin museum, his birthplace and his private railway carriage. I became grumpy. I did not go into the railway carriage. I stalked around the museum, all exhibits seemingly glorifying Stalin. On enquiring whether there was anything to see that did not glorify him, I was directed to the basement, where a couple of rooms had been set up, showing a jail cell, an interrogation area and posters on the walls describing vast numbers of people killed.

The Uplistsikhe cave town resored my joy, though it too had its horror spots. The places where humans and animals were sacrificed, a one person jail, being a narrow deep hole in a rock, where a prisoner had to stand all the time. Exiting the cave town through a long tunnel which bought us to the river, we were now entering Jason and the Argonaughts country.

Driving to Kutaisi we passed through chestnut and hazelnut forests, wooded hills and sparkling rivers in deep gorges. Pottery workshops and markets were abundant, the potters attracted by the clay soils. We visited the house of a pottery maker, and watched him make a wine jug and a bean pot. A glass of homemade wine was provided. The potter acquires the clay from the hill behind his house. He had a woodfired kiln, and his garden contained fruit trees, vegetables, and a pig sty with two baby piglets. Roadside snacks of sweet bread, still warm from the oven, and cheese pie cooked on a bbq were consumed.

Kutaisi and its surroundings have plenty of churches and monasteries, all of which were duly examined. The Cathedral of the Virgin at Gelati, a monastery complex on a wooded hillside contained an 1130’s mosaic of the virgin and child and archangels Michael and Gabriel. The big wooden front door to the complex had what appeared to be a rather large dog door cut into it. Apparently the reason for the dog door is to allow people in and to stop cows.

The agricultural markets offered a vast array of fresh food. Every herb I knew, and plenty that I didn’t, different types of potato, and all the varieties of fruit, nuts, beans and vegetables imaginable.

We were staying in a guest house on top of a hill, with lovely views across the town for some, and a lovely view of the verandah of the house next door for me, which seemed to contain a large lady, dressed in black, asleep on a couch – well I prefer to think she was asleep, and not dead, but she didn’t move for hours.

Jason and the Argonaughts were commermorated by a fun fountain, containing bright sparkling gilded horses, and golden fleece.

As the guesthouse did not serve alcohol, I went down into the town with Sal to hunt and gather wine, this being Georgia after all. While in town we had one of those lovely unexpected unplanned experiences – a puppet theatre about to start a rehearsal. We were invited to watch the rehearsal. The puppets were delightful, and although we couldn’t understand a word being said, we could follow the story. A fox kidnapped a chicken. The chicken’s rabbit friends put on a disguise and visited the foxes house, lulling the fox by singing to him. Fox is then pushed into a bag, and chicken rescued. The music was good, and the fox had the best tail ever, big red and bushy.

The next day we were leaving for Armenia, via Tbilisi, the third country to explore in the Caucasus.

So ended the visit to Georgia, such a happy bountiful destination.

Churches and Caravanserais on Silk Roads

Continuing Silk Road Explorations

My recent travels have not specifically been along the route of a silk road, as my earlier travel in China was. Rather, I have been on parts of routes said to have been taken by Marco Polo.

Describing the various trade routes as “The Silk Roads” is is a comparatively modern development. In around 1877, a German geographer and historian Ferdinand von Richthofen called the routes used by traders the Silk Roads, although a great deal more than silk was traded along these routes.

Travelling in Eastern Turkey provided many opportunities to explore places where traders, travellers and adventurers had been before. Possibly even Marco Polo had visited some of these places.

Approaching Kars, it became apparent we were travelling along a road which silk does not travel today. Along both sides of the road for miles stood army tanks, guns all pointing one way – towards Armenia, although Armenia would not be in range. I would have preferred camels. Head down, no photographs.

Armenian Church of the Holy Apostles, Kars (Mid 940)

I did not find much to inspire me in Kars. Obviously influenced by Orhan Pamuk’s novel, “Snow”, I had expected a somewhat miserable place. It wasn’t particularly miserable, and did offer the Armenian Church, a 15th century Ottoman bridge and citadel and an interesting old hamam.

The purpose of my visit to Kars was to explore Ani, a ruined Armenian city, 43km east of Kars, on the Armenian border.

Ani, now in eastern Turkey, was Armenia’s capital city from 961 to 1045AD, although the first settlement on the site dates back to the 3000’s BC. The city was almost totally destroyed by an earthquake in 1319.

Ani was known as the city of 1001 churches. The site contains the ruins of dozens of churches, which are considered to be among the masterpieces of of Armenian Medieval architecture.

Church of St Gregory of Abugramentz
Church of Holy Redeemer
Church of St Gregory of Tigran Honets
Church of holy Apostles

Ani was also known as the city of 40 gates. As I approached the site, the remains of the city wall loomed above me. Apparently more than 1km of the wall remains.

Remains of city wall
Remains of city wall.

On entering the site, through one of the gates, I was met with a landscape of a windswept plain, dotted with the ruins of what was once a great city. The extant ruins were overwhelmingly places of worship.

Most of the places of worship were of christian churches. There was however the remains of what was thought to be a zoroastrian fire temple. Ani cathedral became the Fethiye mosque in 1064, and returned to christian worship in 1124. The mosque of Minuchihir was probably named after the ruler of Ani in around 1072. The minaret predates the mosque itself.

The mosque of Minuchihir.

Ani was once on various trade routes. Did Marco Polo visit? There is a path leading down to the Akhurian river (the border between Armenia and Turkey) described as the silk road. The path leads to an ancient bridge, sometimes referred to as the Marco Polo bridge. There is no evidence that Polo himself was at Ani, but the city was situated on several trade routes, all of which could have been part of the silk road network. A walk along the path, thinking about the great caravans of the past, fulfilled another dream, adding a further part of the silk roads to my experiences.

Remains of old bridge over the Akhurian River – Armenia on right, Turkey on left

The presence of Armenian watchtowers and border guards just across the river was a reminder that borders are a moveable feast. Where I was standing was formerly part of Armenia.

I was reminded of this fact again on approaching Mt Ararat, now in Turkey. Marco Polo described a very high mountain, shaped like a cube, in Greater Armenia, and said it was the mountain on which Noah’s Ark is said to have rested. Polo said the mountain was called the Mountain of Noah’s Ark.

Mt Ararat, with its snow covered top glistening in the sun, invited a far closer inspection. We drove past the best viewing spot. Apparently the young men of Dogubeyazit, the nearby town, tended to take a dim view of tourists and were inclined to arm themselves with large sticks with which they beat the sides of any vehicles which stopped there.

No such threat occurred in Armenia, and on a visit to Yerevan we could view the mountain from wherever we wished.

Mt Ararat from near Dogubeyazit, Turkey.

Mt Ararat, from Yerevan, Armenia.

Doğubeyazıt is close to the border with Iran, and is situated on the main road between Turkey and Iran.

Groups of the PKK live in the mountains in between Turkey and Iran. The market in Dogubeyazit is a centre of drug trafficking. Ataturk’s reforms apparently never reached this area, with men still having more than one wife. Women are known to fall out of windows to their death, apparently while cleaning the windows. Well, that’s what I was told by a female archaeologist from Istanbul, who had been on a dig in the vicinity. She also told me that because of her age – late 20’s, she would only be considered as a second or third wife in this area. An offer had been made to her father when she was working near Dogubeyazit – a man who wanted a third wife would consider her, despite her age.

With this information in hand, I was interested to experience the town first hand. Women did not rain down on my head – no window cleaning that day perhaps. Groups of young boys were very unpleasant. Older men were openly hostile. I didn’t feel particularly threatened, but it was a less than pleasant experience. No venturing out after dark for me.

I did not see any caravanserais in Eastern Turkey.

I visited numerous caravanserais in Iran and the Caucasus. I scrambled around semi ruined caravanserais, I ate and slept in converted caravanserai and was mesmerised by the variety and intricacy of ornate brickwork in others.

Converted Caravanserai in Zanzan, Iran.

Caravanserais were a roadside inn, and were built a day’s camel trek apart. They look a bit like forts, with thick walls, drum tower like structures on the corners of some and could withstand a siege for several days. Merchants and their animals could eat and sleep in a caravanserai, and the merchants could safely trade.

Marco Polo would certainly have stayed in these establishments, but I can find no evidence that he mentioned them.

The caravanserai Ribat-I Sharif is on the old Merv-Nishapur desert trade route. It was constructed during the Seljuk period and contains a remarkable variety of brickwork and plaster motifs. It also contains 2 mihrabs, still intact.

Marco Polo is said to have found Isfahan in Iran a very large and beautiful city. I thought it among the most beautiful cities I have visited. The beauty of the mosques with their exquisite tiling made me weep. The bridges over the non flowing (when I visited) Zayandeh River are of varying designs, each one of interest. The carpets and the miniature paintings are among the loveliest I have seen, and totally irresistible. Carpets and miniature art accompanied me home.

I stayed in a converted caravanserai in Isfahan, the Abassi Hotel. What a lovely building that is, and its courtyard gardens and fountains are of great beauty. However, single travellers beware. Even though you have paid a hefty single supplement, you may still get a dog of a room. Mine overlooked a car park. I took my bag back to reception, and advised them that a view of the carpark was not acceptable. “Oh, but you can see part of a fountain from the balcony.” After a fairly robust discussion, I got a room with a view over the beautiful courtyard.

Marco Polo described what was obviously Baku in Azerbaijan, when he described oil gushing, while not edible, was good for making fires and as a salve for men and camels affected with an itch or a scab. Polo also observed that men come from a long distance to collect this oil. Nothing much has changed in this regard as Baku, on the Caspian sea still has oil, and men still come from a long distance to collect it.

The prehistoric petroglyphs at Gobustan, about 40 miles from Baku, would obviously have been there when Marco Polo visited, but he would not have seen them as either they were exposed by an earthquake during the 20th century, or they were discovered in the 1930’s by quarry workers. I, on the other hand, saw them. The carvings are on rocky boulders, arising out of the flat plain, and they depict ancient peoples, animals, hunting scenes and boats. I thought one of the boats resembled an Egyptian solar boat, but apparently the boats have been interpreted as being Norwegian reed boats.

Gobustan Petroglyphs, Azerbaijan.

A converted caravanserai was my home for 2 nights in Sheki, in north western Azerbaijan. It had a most impressive entrance, and for a short person, a quite challenging stone staircase up to my room. I had to sit on a step, and then pull my legs up to that step, and then drag myself up to the next step. Such steep stairs would provide a good defence, provided the attackers were short people.

Converted Caravanserai, Sheki, Azerbaijan.

Marco Polo described Tbilisi (Tiflis) in Georgia as a fine city of great size and as a place where silk was woven. It is a fine city. I do not know if silk is still woven there, but it is a most joyous place, and I hope Polo found it as happy and bursting with life as I did. I also hope he sampled as much of the wonderful Georgian wine as I did.

Metekhi Church, Tbilisi

The Metekhi church, in this form would not have been seen by Marco Polo, but there would have been a church on this spot.

This modern sculpture encapsulates the joyous experience I had in Tbilisi and Georgia overall.

Whether or not there was a Marco Polo, and whether he ever travelled beyond Constantinople doesn’t matter because his story has inspired so many adventures for others. The large number of travel companies who arrange tours of Silk Roads, and the numerous hotels and restaurants bearing Marco Polo’s name attest to an enduring interest in the ancient trade routes, and Marco Polo’s travels – whether or not some of those travels are a myth.

Off the beaten track in Iran

Continue reading →

A Recent Journey into the Distant Past.

Eastern Turkey – From the Black Sea Coast to Tarsus

Some Snapshots

I was positive I heard Aunt Dot offering me her camel for my journey from Trabzon to Kars, and beyond. My camel, patiently waiting for me at the door, turned out to be a small bus. Possibly for the best, since I only had three weeks to explore Eastern Turkey, and the camel may not have been up to it. I had obviously been influenced by Rose Macauley’s Towers of Trebizond.

Kars, a city on the Turkish border with Armenia was a huge disappointment. Where was the snow? My vision of Kars had been formed by Orhan Pamuk’s description of the city in his novel “Snow” and because the word Kar means snow, I did not think my expectation of the snow experience was at all unrealistic. I was not prepared for the reality of Kars in late spring sans snow. There was no doubt at all that the border was close by. Armoured vehicles lined the road in to Kars, and military personnel were thick on the ground.

No such disappointment with the archeological site of Ani, 43 km from Kars, on the Armenian border. As I wandered around this site, the capital of Armenia 12 or 1300 years ago, I was truly thankful on two counts. Firstly, that the rulers of Ani clearly decided that religion was a good thing, because it gave me the opportunity to explore a large number of houses of god in varying states of repair, including a mosque and a fire temple. Secondly, that I do not live in a time where the number of houses of god are of any particular relevance. Having travelled on the Silk Road in several countries, I was very happy to walk along another portion of it at Ani.

I visited Abraham’s birthplace – in two different places. Firstly in Sanliurfa, previously Edessa (Alexander the Great) and Urfa (the Ottomans). Secondly in Harran, a small town of beehive style mud houses said to be one of the oldest continuously occupied places on earth. If there was in fact an Abraham, I think I will put my money on Sanliurfa as his birthplace. Illogical reasons inform my view. Firstly, there is a rather nondescript cave in which it is said, Abraham was born. The devout enter, pay their respects and then crawl out – backwards. Why would you do that, if it were not really the true birthplace. Secondly, the site of a fire which had been lit for the purpose of casting Abraham from the castle above to his death became a lake, and so Abraham lived.

I have little time for St. Paul. Anyone who believes that women are inferior to men does not deserve any attention from me. On the other hand, I did enjoy the story of Daniel in the lion’s den, so a visit to Tarsus was scheduled. St Paul may well have been born in Tarsus, but there is nothing in Tarsus to associate it with St Paul. There is an old well, named St Paul’s well. On closer investigation, I found a sign saying there was no evidence that St Paul had any connection with the well. It was merely a very old well of the type that would have been around when St Paul was. Disappointingly, there were neither lions or dens to be seen. I did see a site which was said to contain Daniel’s tomb. Claims that Daniel is buried in Susa in Iran, Kirkuk in Iraq and in Egypt and Babylon mean that I cannot be confident that I saw the site of Daniel’s tomb.

The drive to Nemrut Dag from Kahta winds and climbs through part of the ancient Greek kingdom of Commagene founded by Mithridates. The Roman Bridge of Septimus Severan, constructed in 200AD is still in constant use. Walking over it, with cars and buses driving by, it was difficult to visualize the Romans walking and riding over this graceful structure. The path down to the river was lined with yellow wildflowers in full flower, adding to the beauty of the site.

P1070746 — Roman Bridge of Septimus Severan.

Passing by ruined castles, and burial tumulus, the road wound its way upwards towards Nemrut Dag, the roadside ablaze with wildflowers.

P1070766 — The head of Zeus, Nemrut Dag.

Standing at the foot of Nemrut Dag contemplating the stairs which lead to the tomb of King Antiochus I, 1 kilometre directly up, a voice from behind called “taxi, taxi.” Somewhat tempted, I turned to see a group of people leading donkeys to the foot of the stairs. Watching the donkeys slipping and sliding up the pebble/rock route made the ascent by stairs decidedly attractive. After numerous pauses to admire the view, photograph wildflowers and get my breath I finally made it to the top. Scrambling up the path of gravel at the top of the stairs, I reached the east terrace, cut into the mountain top. The tombs of Mithridates and his son Antiochus are said to be in the mountain top. If I had any breath left after the climb, it would have been taken away by the sight of huge seated headless statues. The various heads, having toppled off at some time, were on the ground just below the statues. The heads are around 2 metres high, and the seated figures are 8 to 10 metres high. The statues blend Persian and Greek deities, reflecting Antiochus claim that he was descended from the Persian King Darius the Great, and also from Alexander the Great.

My journey had taken me along the borders of Georgia, Armenia, Iran, Iraq and Syria, sometimes so close that I could see over the border. Soldiers and armoured vehicles lined part of the route, adding a not altogether comfortable dimension to the day. I looked out across the Mesopotamia plains. I put my toe in the waters of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. I saw spectacular kurdish dancing at a wedding. I ate a lot of kebabs and I enjoyed one of the most stimulating holidays I have ever experienced.

Archaeologists, artists, historians, adventurers and dreamers alike will all find plenty to challenge and excite them in eastern Turkey.

travelwithgma

Journeys of all kinds

Category: Churches