Yo-ho-ho and a Bottle of Rum

Cem called to ask us when we will be visiting him again. Those of you not lucky enough to know him, Cem happens to be a professional skipper and one of the most warm hearted and positive persons I’ve ever met. He also happens to live and work in British Virgin Islands which happens to be one of the top sailing destinations in the world.

British Virgin Islands, or BVI for short, are some 60 islands scattered around the Caribbean Sea. The area which was a hot bed for pirates between 16^th – 18^th centuries is now full of tourists, sailors and scuba divers. Oh, and the occasional smuggler.

The last time Cem called to ask this question it was a very cold winter day in Istanbul.  After we hung up, my husband and I looked at each other, said ‘why not ?’, found a charter company, packed our bags and spent two great weeks on a sailing boat at BVI.

Map of the BVI

The second worst thing about Caribbeans is going there.(The worst thing is coming back). It is a long flight with couple of stopovers. The plane takes you to Road Town in Tortola, which happens to be the largest island of BVI. The first night our boat was not ready so Cem mercifully took us to his motorboat harboured in Nanny Cay, a small marina with an incredible view. We spent the next day there with Cem and his friends to sample a bit of BVI’s beautiful beaches and night life and we ended up at Willie T’s, a boat that was turned into a floating restaurant & bar quite famous for its ‘jumping’ parties. It’s permanently anchored at The Blight on the Norman Island and serves decent pub food and strong cocktails. It seemed that it was a long standing tradition at Willie T’s to jump to the sea from the poop deck atop the bar area and if you do it naked you earn a free Willie T’s t-shirt!  How incredible, right? Wrong.

Cem with his hard earned T-Shirt

But sipping a Pain-Killer while listening to the beat and watching the jumping competition was definitely fun. Another not so pleasant aspect of The Blight was the rich Puerto Ricans who came to enjoy an afternoon at Willie T’s with their 1000+hp cigarette boats and cool girlfriends. For those of you land dwellers, this is a lot of horse power and a lot of noise. Although they were keeping the engines running at very low speeds while in the bays, they still sounded like thunder.

An ordinary sunset at Peter Island

The next day we got our boat and spent the following two weeks sailing our way around the islands. Sailing around the Virgin Islands is both easy and very difficult. It’s easy because except for the hurricane season the region is blessed with gentle trade winds that provide the ideal sailing conditions. It’s also very difficult because the whole area is teeming with shallow reefs and rocks popping from the sea. Night sailing is a no-no and mooring can be a challenge if you haven’t reserved first.

The Virgins are everybody’s idea of how Caribbean should look like, it’s almost unreal.

        / Beaches of white sand and palm trees? Check.

        / Small islands popping out of an azure sea? Check.

        / Sunshine,blue skies and ridiculously colourful sunsets? Check.

        / Friendly locals serving lobster and pina coladas? Check.

        / Privately owned islands for the uber rich? Check.

        / Pirates? Well, if you’re ok with Captain Blackbeard instead of Johnny Depp, Check.

Divers of the Caribbean

The history of the Caribbean is filled with shipwrecks and pirates. And nowhere is this truer than the BVI with their hidden coves and passages. Situated right on the treasure route from South America to Europe, the area was the playground for many notorious Caribbean Pirates such as Black Sam Bellamy, a fashion forward pirate who was known for his good looks and silk clothes, Calico Jack and his lady pirate lover Anne Bonny, Bartholomew Roberts who, on average, would capture fifty ships each year for ‘the love of novelty and change, not for plunder’ and the most famous of them all, Captain Blackbeard who would go into a fight with slow burning matches in his beard and hair to make himself look more devilish.

In 16^th century, Spain was the most powerful nation in the world and it was controlling the wealth of the Americas and West Indies. Other countries were afraid to challenge the mighty Spanish Armada directly but they were happy to see pirates siphoning the treasure ships full of Aztec gold intended for Madrid, as long as they could get their cut. So the English, French and Dutch started to give ‘letters of marque’ to the pirates offering pardons in exchange for a healthy percentage of the plunder. This was how the government sponsored pirating, in other words privateering (or bucchaneering for French) was born.

The most famous privateer of them all was Sir Francis Drake ( El Draque to his Spanish enemies), a pirate turned privateer who was so successful in bringing the Aztec gold to England, he was decorated with a special medal by Queen Elisabeth I and later defeated the Spanish Armada as an Admiral of the British Empire. Today the main sea channel between Tortola and the westernmost Virgin Islands is named after him.

He was also a bit of a poet.I came across the below among his notes, and it’s good enough to requote. (A pirate and a poet, no wonder why the Virgin Queen was swept off her feet!)

Disturb us Lord, when we are too well pleased with ourselves,

When our dreams have come true because we have dreamed too little,

When we arrive safely because we sailed too close to the shore.

Disturb us Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess,

We have lost our thirst for the waters of life, having fallen in love with life, we have ceased to dream of eternity, and in our efforts to build a new earth,

we have allowed our vision of the new heaven to dim.

Disturb us Lord, to dare more boldly, to venture on wider seas, where storms will show your mastery, where losing sight of land, we shall find the stars.

We ask you to push back the horizon  of our hopes, and to push us into the future in strength, courage, hope and love.

Well, I said I like pirates

When I was a kid, one of my favourite books was Treasure Island by Robert Lewis Stevenson. When I found out that he got his inspiration from the Norman Island and many of the other places in the novel are scattered around the Virgin Islands, my inner child took control. We snorkelled at the Caves (the treasure point X in the book ), sang ‘15 men on a Dead Men’s Chest’ at the top of our voices while sailing around the island where Blackbeard left 15 of his men with a single bottle of rum to die and spent a night at Soper’s Hole, the favourite anchorage of the great pirate himself.  

The Virgins are overall blessed by nature, but some places were a bit more special than the others:

View from the Soggy Dollar bar

Soggy Dollar Bar on Jost van Dyke island, although crowded could always be trusted for an afternoon of fun. The beachside bar got its name from the wet (soggy) dollar bills that its customers were using to pay the bills, for the bar could either be reached by dinghy or by swimming. It’s popular for being the inventor of the Pain Killer, a BVI speciality made of black rum, pineapple and orange juices, cream of coconut, fresh nutmeg and lots of ice. They prepare it in huge gallons and serve in big glasses. It’s about 5000 calories, very delicious and a couple of them are enough to put you in an extremely great mood. We spent a day swimming, playing ring & hook with complete strangers – a huge challenge after one or two pain killers- and relaxing in one of the seaside hammocks.

The Baths

We liked the Virgin Gorda, meaning the ‘Fat Virgin’. Christophe Colombus named the island as such, because the island’s profile on the horizon resembles of a fat woman lying on her side. We spent couple of days around the island’s beautiful bays and at nights we sampled the restaurants and jazz bars in Spanish Town. Our favourite was the Rock Cafe, a restaurant serving fresh fish and lobsters a la Caribbean. The food was great but the real surprise of the night was at the bar, where a jazz pianist was playing whatever came to our minds in exchange for an occasional glass of Jack Daniels. Lot’s of songs, lot’s of Jacks, great memories.

The Baths

In Virgin Gorda, there’s an area of pools and grottos formed by giant boulders called the Baths. It’s like a natural fun park. There’s a nice route formed by the boulders which starts at the Dinghy Beach, named such because it can only be reached by dinghies, goes through many small pools and over rocks and ends at another -slightly less crowded- beach called Devil’s Bay. It's a good opportunity for a bit of adventure. 

Necker Island, North Sound

Another unforgettable place was the North Sound, a marine playground surrounded by islands and shallow reefs. Reaching it was quite tricky for the passage was both shallow and narrow, but definitely worth the effort. We spent the day swimming, snorkelling and visiting the surrounding islands on our dinghy. At night we had a lovely dinner at a restaurant on a tiny island called Saba Rock, ended up making friends with our fellow diners. I don’t remember the food but the conversations, which were warm and fulfilling.

If one day I win the lottery, North Sound is the place I’ll go to buy myself an island.

Approaching Anageda

Our absolute favourite was Anegada, an island surrounded by shallow coral reefs all around. Getting there by a boat is tricky, because the island is extremely flat – its highest point is about 8 meters above the sea level – and the only opening to the safest anchorage is narrow & when the weather is cloudy or the seas are high, difficult to see. Naturally, we chose the only cloudy day to sail to Anagada. But once we arrived, we were in heaven.

Anegada is actually a flat atoll guarded by the Horseshoe Reef, one of the largest reefs in the world. The reef is famous for its shipwrecks, there are hundreds of them spread around making it a must-go place for divers. Other things the island is famous for are its lobsters and its white sand beaches, so it’s no wonder we divided our time between the three.

Lazing at Loblolly Bay

After a full day of wreck diving and swimming at the Loblolly bay, we had a wonderful dinner at a restaurant on the beach. The restaurant was not crowded, because they were only taking reservations according to the number of fish or lobster that they caught during the day, and they were cooking it all on open fires, which were the main light source apart from the stars. We were sitting at a table barefoot on the beach, eating the superb seafood and listening to a guitar that somebody was playing under the stars. It doesn't come better than that.

Soon afterwards we had to come back to the real world, but Cem is still there, working as a skipper and creating small miracles as a relief worker for the survivors of the earthquake in Haiti. And occasionally calling us to remind us the magic of Caribbean. 

Well, maybe next time.

Last Mooring at Soper's Hole

Visite des Caves

Since we love travelling and we like booze, we ended up doing a lot of tasting tours on various countries that we’ve visited. Although the practices may differ from country to country and producer to producer, the basics remain the same. A typical tasting tour normally involves a ride in some beautiful countryside, listening to information about the producer and the product which could be entertaining / interesting / extremely boring depending on your guide, and finally the tasting so that you can understand what the fuss is all about.  Since good alcohol and good food goes hand in hand, as an added benefit, generally there’s a lovely restaurant or a pub around. Add the occasional cute village or art gallery and you might be in for a real treat.

Below are some of our tastings that were worth remembering.

Champagne, France

Lagerfeld recreated the bol-sein for Dom Perignon , using Claudia Schiffer as inspiration

Who doesn’t like a glass of champagne? It’s the perfect drink for a celebration or at the start of an evening. It goes wonderfully with fresh strawberries and sometimes the mere sight of a flute of champagne can evoke mouthfuls of hidden delights.

But tasting the bubbly in Champagne, its original home in France is not just sipping from a couple of different bottles, it can even border on a holly experience.

First of all, you have to remember that the prestigious word champagne can only be used for the sparkling wine produced at the Champagne region in Northern France. All the other producers must use names such as Cremant (elsewhere in France), Prosecco (in Italy), or Sparkling Wine (in US) to brand their produce.  Every producer in Champagne repeats this at least twice, so that we can all appreciate:

• Champagne was originally produced by monks .The most well known of them is Dom Perignon , a 17^th cc Benedictine monk who had redefined the champagne making process and had his name given to Moet & Chandon’s prestige cuvee. He’s famously quoted as calling to his brothers one day ‘Come quickly! I’m tasting the stars.’
• Champagne was the favourite drink of gods like Louis XIV and Napoleon Bonaparte. Marie Antoinette enjoyed sipping her favourite bubbly from bol-sein, a cup modelled after her own breasts.
• The producers of the Champagne region are blessed to be making this heavenly drink worthy of royalty and they’re doing a huge favour by allowing mere mortals like us to drink it.

The caves at Mumm

Well, they are correct on all accounts but some of them just overkill while delivering the message.

Having said that, tasting is a great experience in Champagne and every major house tries to add a twist to make the experience even more attractive. The major estates are working or worked with artists like Lagerfeld, David Lynch and Andy Warhol to create images and objects to capture our imaginations as well as our taste buds. As a result, Moet & Chandon has great stories to tell ranging from Dom Perignon to Bonaparte; Mercier has the underground laser operated train; Veuve Clicquot has the designer goodies and Mumm has a great cellar and Formula 1.

After tasting champagne at a few of the great names, you can also visit a couple of the hundreds of small producers in the region who produce great champagne and anxious to introduce you to their world with very attractive prices.

Bordeaux, France

The vineyards of Medoc

In a typical wine tour at a chateau in Medoc, the guide first takes you the vineyards to talk about the soil and exact percentages of the different varieties of grapes and average ages of the vines. Then you move on to the Vat room where they explain how meticulously they clarify and mix the wines. Afterwards you continue to the cellars to learn about the precise age and origin of the barrels and the aging process. Finally when you find yourself in the tasting rooms, your head is bursting with all the information and you really need a drink.

Naturally after visiting a couple of Chateaux, we started to have very weird arguments with my husband, such as ‘No no, you never listen! It was 4% of Cabarnet Franc and 2% of Petit Verdot, not the other way around.’ Luckily, both of us were feeling quite happy from all the wine so the argument didn’t escalate to the best wine aging methods.

One of the main problems of wine tasting in Bordeaux is the other people wine tasting there. 

If you happened upon a Chinese or Japanese group (I say group because it seems they’re forbidden to travel alone), just step aside and wait for them to pass on. They would be extremely noisy and rude, and they have to take photographs of absolutely everything at least three times. If, in the process they block your path or step on your foot, tough luck. Luckily, they would not be interested in anything other than their cameras so they will not listen to their guides and move fast to the next photo opportunity.

If you share a tour with American wine enthusiasts, you might be in for a treat. I’m not talking about the average tourist or the true enthusiast. There’s another breed, rich and in-the-know, and they are a joy to watch from a distance. We recently shared a wine tour at a Grand Cru Chateau in Medoc with such a couple and they made my experience memorable. It was just us and them et bien-sure their own private wine expert. Poor guy.

Chateau Haut Brion - from inside

At the beginning of the tour, even before the expert of the chateau started her sermon on the precise age and varieties of the vines in this particular vineyard, one of them asked their expert about a recent article on Robert Parker’s web site on Bordeaux wines.  ‘Ah the web site’ replied the expert, giving us a knowing smile. Their continuing monologues were serving one purpose only, to show how much they know about ‘this wine stuff’.  In about two minutes later, the two French wine guides started to chat among themselves, my husband decided to imitate the Japanese with his camera and I was left to suffer and occasionally nod.

When we finally arrived at the tasting room, the woman asked the local guide why they were offering the wine in bottles instead of carafes.  Even before the guide could open her mouth (who would probably say ‘because this is not a restaurant, dumbo’), the husband commented rather rudely about his wife’s carafe addiction. Since I was the only one around, the woman went on explaining to me how she liked purchasing different styles of wine carafes and using them as decorative items in the house. Feeling slightly sorry for her, I told that I prefer serving reds in carafe as well. The husband then asked me:

'So you buy a different carafe every time you go to shopping?'

'Well, no.'

'Do you also put full carafes around the house, all filled with expensive wine from your husband’s personal cave ?'

' ...?'

#  

Bourgogne, France

One bunch out of a hundred

Since we had done the ‘Route des Chateaux’ very recently in Bordeaux, we decided to skip the ‘Route des Grand Crus’ in Bourgogne this time and decided to visit a wine cellar instead. We chose one of the biggest cellars of Beaune, the ‘Patriarch Pere et Fils’ which turned out to be a very different experience.  In exchange for 10 Euros per person, they gave us a couple of tasting cups and let us loose in the cellars. The Patriarch cellars turned out to be a 5-km long underground labyrinth filled with thousands of bottles around which we were free to wander without a guide. It was slightly thrilling to find our way in the dark maze of bottles, most of which were not even labelled.  We wondered if somebody was taking a bottle here and putting it there, just for fun.

When we finally found the tasting rooms, the experience got even more interesting.  We found out that they opened some bottles and put them on top of barrels in four or five different rooms which we were free to taste as we like. It was a refreshing experience to taste in the order and amount of our choosing, without an expert explaining how the wines were supposed to taste.

So we took our time and try not to drink all of the 15+ bottles left for our pleasure. Needless to say, we ended up getting drunk and buying more wine that we intended to, but we had a great time.

Hospice des Beaune

Another interesting thing in Beaune was the Hospices des Beaune, a 15^th century hospital and refuge for the poor and a beautifully crafted building. It offered treatment and comfort to the sick, elderly or the destitute non-stop from the Middle Ages to present day. Many rich people, including the Sun King himself, have made rich donations to the Hospice, farms, buildings and of course vineyards; therefore the Hospice started to produce it’s own wine, which is very good and highly prized.

The Hospice is also organizes an annual wine auction since early 18^th century, which is used to define the annual prices of the regional wines.

Chateauneuf-du-Pape, France

Sunset over Rhone

Chateauneuf-du-Pape is a lovely town surrounded by vineyards which produce some very good wines. There indeed is an old chateau, from which the little town – and the wine- get their names.

We’ve visited the town at a Sunday afternoon in late autumn and enjoyed an exceptional sunset over the Rhone valley. Afterwards we stopped at a small wine cellar for a bit of tasting and shopping and went to a bar for a bit more. Nice town, friendly people, good wine, a wonderful ending to an unforgettable weekend.

Napa Valley, California, USA

Couldn't resist putting this

First founded by the Italian and Swiss immigrants in early 1900s, Napa Valley today has become one of the most important wine growing regions in the world.  As in most things, when it comes to wine making the Americans are making their own rules and as a result they start to beat French and Italian wines in their own game in international competitions.

Years ago while driving around California, we’ve spent a day there visiting the Mondavi estate and listened to the tricks of wine tasting (you have to smell it before drinking!). There was also a rather lengthy comparison of New World Wines against Old World Wines, which sounded a bit like a preparation for WW3. We were quite young then and taking the tour with close friends, so it was a day of laughter and fun, accompanied with some decent wine and a picnic basket. I’m pretty sure their tours have improved in the meantime to catch up the quality of their wines.

Santorini, Greece

A typical wine tasting at Santorini

While spending a week in Santorini a few summers ago, we decided to visit one of the wine producers which turned out to be a very fun experience.  When it comes to wine tasting, the Greek have the rather admirable philosophy of ‘Cut the crap and let’s get drunk’.  They basically take your money, give you 3 or 4 very full glasses of wine with some crackers and invite you to drink them at the terrace. The wines were decent and the views from the terraces were breathtaking. We liked the experience so much; we did a lot of wine tasting at sunset on our way from the beach to the hotel.

Stellenbosch, South Africa

Africa is beautiful and the wine region of Stellenbosch was no exception. We spent an excellent day driving the Wine Root and stopping at the estates advised by our local friends. South African wines were shunned by the West because of the Apartheid and only in the last decade they started to become popular.  I loved their white wines, managing to be fruity and dry at the same time. The reds were also quite good with heavenly smells, but I’d pick a South African Sauvignon Blanc any day.

Wine tasting was a friendly affair, nothing pretentious, mostly about promoting their award winning wines rather than explaining the philosophy of the wine producer.  Most of the estates either have their own restaurants or offer picnic baskets with the wine of your choice in their lush gardens.  We opted for the second option and had a great picnic under the trees overlooking the beautiful countryside.  

Afterwards we spent some time in the town of Stellenbosch, which turned out to be a pretty little town with Cape/Dutch style buildings, art galleries and shops selling everything you don’t need but want to buy anyway.

                                               

Scotland

I started to drink whisky when I was nine or ten years old and it’s still one of my favourite drinks. My father owned a large collection of whisky & cognac that he obtained from all around the world and as a curious kid who was always looking for mischief I started to have my private tasting tours to his whiskey cabinet at a very early age. I was mainly tasting from the small bottles that were given as presents and filling them with tea afterwards so I didn’t go into a lot of trouble but I developed a taste for great whisky and learned the differences between a blended whisky and single malt.

My favourite method of whisky sampling in Scotland turned out to be finding a good bar with a friendly barman, preferably in a small village or town, and start ordering the local favourites. It would be a challenge to pronounce the brands like Dahlwhinnie or Bunnahabhain especially after a couple of rounds, but the pleasure of drinking those great malts will worth the effort.

Northern Ireland

Recently we visited Northern Ireland for a few days. A very friendly Irish barman (is there another kind?) told me that while the Scotch can produce some great whiskey some of the time, the Irish can do it all the time. He also told me that the Irish spell whiskey with an ‘e’ (the correct way) while the Scotch pronounce it as whisky (the poor way).  At least that’s what I gathered from his accent.  A few days later we visited the Jameson distillery to learn about why it’s triple distilled (I still have no clue) and to taste some of their great samples.

With all due respect to my friend the Irish barman, I still prefer to drink Scotch malt and order a Guinness at an Irish pub.

Belgium

Abbeye Notre Dame d' Orval

It’s impossible to live in Belgium and not to enjoy beer. There are over 450 different types of local beers, most of them served in their own special glasses which are supposed to enhance the flavour of the particular beer for which they’re designed. My personal favourites are the Trappist beers that are produced by the Trappist monks at monasteries and abbeys. There are six monasteries in Belgium which are producing this special beer, together with cheese and other local products. I prefer Orval and Westvleteren among others.

The Westvleteren 12 is regularly rated as one of the best beers in the world. It’s extremely good but almost impossible to find, there’s even a black market for it.  Drinking Westvleteren beer is truly a unique experience for two reasons; it tastes great and it’s very difficult to buy. It is brewed by a tiny abbey named St. Sixtus of Westvleteren, some 150 km outside Brussels.  The abbey makes only three kinds of beer (the 12, 8 and 6, the names are corresponding to the alcohol percentages – yep, Belgium beer is strong stuff!) and in miniscule quantities.

So why didn’t you hear about it before? The problem is the supply. The monks are producing beer only 72 days a year and sell it either directly to individual buyers or at the visitor centre just outside the abbey. Buying the beer directly from the abbey is almost as difficult as, say, going to heaven. They only sell their beer two days a month by reservation only and in limited amounts (two cases per car). Or you can always drive up to the Visitor Centre, which in fact is a huge bar in the middle of nowhere and order as much as you can drink. As bars go, it’s not too bad and always crowded. In the little shop inside the bar you can even purchase beer by the bottle, although the 12 is rarely on sale.

The monks of St. Sixtus are not interested in increasing the revenue or winning awards, because a- the money they earn is enough to cover the annual expenses of the abbey and b- their patron saint St. Benedict advises against greed and teaches humility.  In this capitalist era, they somehow manage to keep their faith as strong as the beer that they produce.

One thing I enjoy more than drinking these wonderful drinks is to share it with my loved ones. Whatever we choose to drink always tastes better than any Grand Cru accompanied with laughter or gossip or even tears, as long as I can share it with my family and friends.  

So this one is for you guys. Şerefe !

A very surrealist love affair

The Persistence of Memory

When I first saw the melting clocks, I was hooked.  I was in the middle of one of my time & alternative realities obsessions, reading my way through Cortazar and Borges to Einstein (which I had to give up in about 2 minutes due to apparent lack of brains) and here was a visual representation of my newly formed ideas.

Then came the Venus of Milo with Drawers, another very visual demonstration of the secrets we all bury inside; the Hallucinogenic Toreador, a painting that I can look into for hours; the Space Elephant and many other paintings, furniture, objects and sculptures. Like his heros the Renaissance artists, Dali refused to confine himself to only one medium.

After observing Dali’s work in as many museums around the world as possible and reading about him and his life, I reached the obvious conclusions:

- Dali was an egomaniac genius whose works make me understand and appreciate surrealism.

 - He was either incurably crazy or had a very unique sense of humour. Or both.

  - I envy Gala.

The second feeling got stronger after I’ve visited their houses in his native Costa Brava and caught a glimpse of the life they built together.

When Dali met Gala in late 1920s in Paris, the city was full of artists, writers and jazz musicians from around the world creating works that would shape the 20^th century. Hemingway, Scott Fitzgerald, Bunuel, Picasso, Miro, Cole Parker, Joyce and Stein were among a group of young people who survived the Great War and came to Paris to paint or write or compose or do whatever they wanted to achieve and the city gave them the freedom to try. The Russian born Gala was very much at home in Paris and an influential member of the Surrealist movement, being married to one of them. She also had a daughter, dozens of admirers, a ménage a trois and a passion for young artists. Dali was a budding artist ten years her junior, without money and the mustache. They all would come later, together with Gala.

Shortly after they had met, Dali invited a group of artists, including Magritte, Bunuel, Gala and her husband to his childhood home in Cadaques for a summer holiday. He later wrote in his autobiography Ma Vie Secret that when he met Gala, he knew that only with her he could reach his true potential and true life goals. All his life Dali was no stranger to exaggeration but this time he was correct; they were never separated after that summer in Cadaques and Gala became his muse, model and beloved wife all of her life. 

I read somewhere that when he declared his undying love for her, Gala told him ‘My dear boy, from this day onwards we shall never be parted’. I always thought that finding the one person that you just feel that is right for you and acting on that impulse against all odds is the stuff one reads about or watches in romantic movies. It is inspiring that it also happens in real life, albeit a surrealist one.

There are three museums in Costa Brava where the memories of Dali & Gala are still very much alive, for these are the places where they actually worked, lived and played. The Dali Theatre Museum in Figueres; Castell de Pubol, the castle Dali bought for Gala in their later years and their seaside house in Portlligat, Cadaques.

The Dali Theater Museum, Figueres

The Dali Theatre Museum is a huge and crazy place built on the remains of an old cinema that was burned down by the Franco troops. Later when Spain became a republic, Dali insisted to build his dream theatre there; by then he had the money and the connections so he got his wish. I guess he wanted to create an inspiring playground, so he filled the building with his installations, paintings, sculptures, optical illusions and his favorite pet project, the Mae West room. Today it's full of tourists and school children who came with their teachers to see the works of an artist as imaginative as any of them. His tomb is also in the museum.

In an adjacent building, there’s the Dali Joiles, a small museum showcasing 38 extraordinary jewels Dali have designed. It's a must-see for all my girl friends. Some of the pieces took my breath a way but unfortunately – or shall I say luckily? – they are for exhibition only.

Pool of Castell de Pubol

The Castell de Pubol is a small castle in the beautiful village of Pubol, that Dali bought, designed and presented to Gala. Apparently this was something he promised her earlier when they got married. He also signed a legal document detailing the ownership rights; stating that Gala was the Lady of the Castle to live as she wanted and visitors – including Dali himself – would only be allowed at her invitation.  It was known that Gala had a very active sex life and had many extramarital affairs throughout her life including her ex-husband so Dali, with this gift, was presenting her the perfect playground with utmost understanding and freedom. One can only imagine the fun she had there.

The castle is an odd mix of period furniture, Gala's paintings by Dali where she is shown as an angel and a Warrior Queen, a giant piano, books, diaries, letters, records and lots of dress gowns that Gala wore to parties. Almost all of them are couture and some are just horrible. Some of the rooms have a fresh lived-in air so one almost expects to see an old and eccentric woman to walk around. The gardens are filled with  Dali sculptures hidden among exotic trees and a small labyrinth ending at a pool decorated with a couple of Roman goddesses and Beethoven's faces. In fact there are fourteen of them, all in different colors. The old horse carriage that she used to drive around the village next to her beloved Cadillac are still in the garage. She was buried at her castle.

Portlligat House

The Boat Tree @ Portlligat

The house in Portlligat is my favourite among all, most probably because it’s on the lovely Med coast with gardens adorned with olive trees. In other words, it’s a white house near the blue sea with gardens full of silver-green trees. I can’t imagine better colors.

Portlliagat is five minutes away from Cadaques , a very lovely seaside village. Dali lived in the area all of his life and when you see the light, you understand why the area attracted a painter. The house was actually made of nine fishermen’s huts that Dali bought and expanded over time, so it’s a bit of a maze. Having said that, I found the interiors shockingly normal. Of course there are the expected giant stuffed animals and the Oval Room with the strange acoustics that Dali designed for Gala, but it’s also full of light, lovely Catalonian furniture and the yellow wildflowers that Gala liked so much. 

  

Pool Furniture ?

The gardens are as big as the interiors and there are many niches and half openings in the gardens to enjoy the long Spanish summers.

The real Dali effect is in the swimming pool. Which swimming pool is complete without a couple of thrones to sit on, Michelin dolls, Pirelli tyres and a Mae West coach? Well, this one had all and some more.

When he heard about Gala’s death, Dali was at Portlligat. He left his house to live at Castell de Pubol because he didn't want to leave her all alone. He didn't take a single thing with him and he never returned back. The two unfinished paintings he was working on are still hanging in his workshop at Portlligat.

Dali once famously said ‘Surrealism ? It is me.’  He had a point. 

A tale of times

I am getting old. The passing years start to show their effects on my face and my body. I once found joy in every season, now I prefer the hot days of summer. But there are not many who lived what I had been through and still stand. After all, I’m 2000 years old.

Maison Carre, Nimes

I was young and beautiful once. It was like yesterday when they opened the doors for my first ceremony. Everything was more glorious then.  I was dedicated to two young men, Gaius and Lucius Caesar, grandsons of the mighty Augustus , emperor of Rome! They sacrificed two bulls on my steps; one was white as the clouds and the other as black as the wings of the raven. What a wonderful day it was. The priests were singing and burning sweet smelling incense, the consuls were scheming as usual, the legionnaires walking around in their shining armour while the common people were trying to catch a glimpse of someone important .One of the senators, I forgot which one, even threw silver coins to the crowds filling the Forum. The merchants and the prostitutes at the Agora did good business that day, I knew. They all came to me with their offerings afterwards.

Arena of Nimes

I remember another ceremony, not long after the first one. It was the day the Arena opened. Many people travelled to my city to see the animal fights and the gladiators. I never saw them fighting of course, but came to know most of the gladiators. I used to hear their names chanted by the thousands filling the arena. There was the brave Calistus for example, young Eros the Secutor and the mighty Retiare Xantus. They seldom came themselves, but their concubines were making many offerings for their victory, so were the gamblers who betted on their blood. Some won their freedom and riches, but most became memories on the sands of the arena.

I watched my city grow around me with new buildings but I was always the most beautiful. My priests used to adorn me with offerings and images of the Gods they were praying.  At first, my people were worshiping many different gods; I was -mais bien sure- dedicated to the mightiest of them. Then they started to pray for the One that was killed at the cross and changed me to one of His temples. I didn't object. I wanted to tell my people that as long as they had love in their hearts they would be heard by whichever God they prayed for.  I've never spoken the words, but I think some have heard me when they left their worries behind after spending time in my peaceful halls.

Pont-du-Gard

There was a young man once, an architect who came often to pray. He whispered in his prayers that he wished to build the world’s highest aqueduct. He stopped coming to me one day, later I heard he died at his work. But his dreams came alive soon afterwards; the waters of the Gard river flew into the ancient baths just two streets from where I stand today.

Don’t think it was all celebration and prayers; I had my share of wars too. The soldiers always came to me to pray, one day this group and the other day the next. They all prayed for the same things though, for the health of their families and to see their lovers once again. I watched many of them die on my steps. I shouted them to stop hurting each other, but nobody heard my voice. I did what I do best then, restored their memories in my stone body, so they could be remembered as long as I stand here.

Talking about my steps, it wasn’t always humans who climbed them. There was a time when my people killed their kings and killed the ones who killed the kings until they found a new kind of king, the one who called himself Nap. During that time they were using me as a shelter for their horses. I didn’t mind it, I always liked horses. I didn’t like the smell tough. Afterwards they gave me a new facelift and some new accessories, et voila, I became gorgeous once again.

The Arena survived through the worst of it as well, people were using it as a garrison in their wars once; but now they started to use it for bull fights. I’m hearing people shouting ‘Ole’ every once in a while , even see the new gladiators – they are called matadors now – in their beautiful clothes. Although I’m not a fan of any kind of violence myself (you know the old saying : once a temple - always a temple), I prefer it to the memories of the past wars.

So many things happened till then, sometimes I’m getting confused. But then I realise that things are changing for the better. Now children play on my grounds while young boys and girls come to sit on my steps. They laugh and dance and make a lot of noise. I always liked the sound of laughter.  Instead of soldiers and politicians, students are coming to me now. They sit under my columns for hours and study. If I listen carefully I can hear their thoughts like I used to hear the prayers of the past.

Still beautiful

And every once in a while someone comes from far away who is willing to listen to my stories. To her, I open my secrets.

I am Rome. I am the legionnaire praying for glory and I am his wife praying for safe return. I am the wisdom of the poet and the genius of the architect.  I am the blood at the Arena and the laughter at the Agora.

I am also Nimes. I am the wine on the table and the camera of the tourist. I am the perfume of the beautiful woman shopping on my back alleys and the noise of the kid on his skateboard. I am the spirit that shook a kingdom and changed the word.

I am eternal. And I plan to be here for another 2000 years. If you are around, stop by. I’ll have some new stories by then.

Knights & Witch Hats

Witch Hats of Carcassonne

Both in France and Spain, one thing in abundance is the castles. It seems every feudal lord built one in his time and today many are beautifully restored.  Most of them are protected as historical buildings but some of them have hotels and restaurants built inside. Twice in our road trip we stayed at such hotels.
By a nice coincidence one of the books I'm currently reading is from George RR Martin's Game of Thrones series which is full of knights, evil queens and dragons so I was in the mood for my own castle experience.

The first one was in Spain, the wonderfully named Parador de Tortosa.  Parador means ‘inn’ in Spanish and that castle-hotel belongs to a Spanish boutique hotels chain, the Paradores.  So, the hotel’s name literally means ‘the inn at Tortosa’. Although Tortosa has a few nice looking buildings (most of them left from the Moorish era), the town itself is quite ugly and we found the Parador as one of the few attractions. The hotel was built on the entire interior of the 10^th cc castle so the sense of history was quite alive, not only in the building but also in some of the staff who were probably working in the castle since the time of the original owners. 

Two things are worth mentioning about this place, the castle’s history and the regional cuisine:

The Parador’s restaurant was placed in the Common Hall of the Castle, which was a good touch. The menu was mostly Catalan and some of the dishes were based on very old and traditional recipes. We tried some of them and believe me when I say that if a recipe doesn’t survive through times, there’s usually a good reason. Having said that most of our choices were pretty tasty like the paella with game & meat or the Fisherman’s Dish which is basically day old bread pan-fried with olive oil, spices & herbs and served with small portions of fish. It may sound weird, but the taste was there. And to wash all off, bottles of Rioja. Not bad.

Hotel Entrance

The castle of Tortosa was originally built by the Moors during their 700 years of occupation of Spain. In early 13^th cc the Lords of Spain said enough was enough and took the city back with the help of the Order of the Knights Templar. Then they gave this castle together with two others to the Order as a reward and extra protection of the region. From that day to their demise, they managed the castles at  Tortosa, Peniscola and Miravet.

It was quite interesting to reflect on the legends surrounding Knights Templar while staying in one of their castles. There were (and still are) many religious orders in Christianity, but none of them aroused the legends that surrounded the Knights Templar nor become the favourite of Hollywood, and with good reason.   It all started with the Crusades. After the Christians took Jerusalem from the Muslims, many knights and believers flew to the Holy Land either for pilgrimage or to fortify the Christian hold in the region. As usual, some were just looking for riches and fame. Among them were nine knights who approached the King of Jerusalem and proposed to form an order to protect the pilgrims from Muslims’ attacks. The King agreed and gave them some space in the premises of the captured Al-Aqsa Mosque, which was believed to be built on King Solomon’s Temple.  The tiny order of nine knights took the impossibly long name of ‘The Poor Fellow Soldiers of Christ and of the Temple of Solomon’ and the emblem of two soldiers riding on a single horse to emphasize that they were indeed poor. For the next nine years they didn’t do much fighting but spent most of their time digging. What exactly they have found was never confirmed but whatever it was, after a decade or so later, they suddenly became one of the most popular orders in Christendom.

The seaside castle of Peniscola

Many rich and powerful families got in line to join the order, which had one small condition. The knights had to be poor to join; therefore they had to donate their wealth to the Order. And many of them did. The Poor Soldiers of Christ become incredibly rich both in cash and in land. As if these were not enough, the Pope decided that the Knights Templar (someone thankfully shortened their name along the way) could pass borders freely, were exempt from taxes and answered to no earthly king but only to Pope himself.

Then came the combatant knights, the military successes and the international banking. The Knights Templar got so rich, they started to give loans to Kings and even the Pope himself. Well, somebody had to finance the Crusades. Since Christ himself forbade interest earnings, the Templars were collecting operating income in return for their services.  As a result, they not only become the first ever international corporation managing lands and business across borders, they became the first international bankers as well. Come to think of it, they also opened the way to Islamic banking which frowns upon interest earnings but rewards its clients with operating income. The ways of money don’t care about religion.

One of the few nice views from Tortosa

The Knights Templar also facilitated the first cross border fund transfers.  Imagine that you were a knight wishing to travel to Holy Land for a bit of pilgrimage and infidel-killing to guarantee your place in heaven. But the roads were long and dangerous especially around Constantinople, where the Turks were hunting anyone that came their way.  In order not to lose your life and your money, you gave your money to Knights Templars in return for a coded letter which confirmed who you were and how much money you gave to them. If you managed to arrive at the Holy Land alive, you could stop at any one of the Templar castles and withdrew your cash minus the ‘operating fees’. Sounds familiar?

In the end, money prepared their end. The Muslims, united around Saladin, managed to take back Jerusalem, decreasing the military importance of the Knights Templar.

The Templar castle at the cute village of Miravet

More importantly, the King of France ,  in order to finance his war with the Brits, was heavily in debt to the Knights Templar and didn't see a reason why he should pay them back. so he convinced the Pope (who was borrowing from the Templars as well) to look into some of their religious practices. As a result, by the Papal order and with incredible secrecy, almost all of the French Templars were arrested on Friday 13th October, 1307. (Ever wondered why Friday the 13^th was unlucky?).  After an investigation involving very innovative types of torture, most of the arrested knights confessed to whatever their inquisitors were asking and sometimes more.  They were all found guilty, their assets confiscated by Church without any mention to their debtors.  Their punishment was death by fire.

Their rise and dramatic fall fuelled many legends. My favorite ones are around the treasures they’ve found while digging the Temple of Solomon. According to the popular myths they have found The Holy Grail / The True Cross / Veronica’s Veil / Solomon’s treasures / Arc of the Covenant and took it (them ?) to America about 200 years before Columbus. But wait, didn't they bury most of the same under Roslyn Chapel ? Hmm, maybe they found two of each.

Cite de Carcassonne

Our second castle was in Carcassonne, France.  And what a beautiful fairy tale castle it is.  It is so big, the correct way to call it is a fortified city (La Cite) instead of a castle. With its Witch Hat towers & bastions and high double walls, Cite de Carcassonne seems like a Pixar animation come to life in giant proportions.It has quite a history as well, starting with Romans in 1^st cc and ending with a very skillful architect called Eugene Viollet-le-Duc around 150 years ago.  The region had it share of feudal and religious wars where Cite de Carcassonne came under attack more than once. 

Lovely at dusk

It was once an important border city between France and Spain. Later when the countries agreed to rearrange the borders in line with the Pyrenees the importance of the city was diminished and its Castle was left to ruin. Then one day in late 1800’s a brilliant architect was commissioned to restore it to its former glory. There was one hitch tough: The fortifications were very large & very old and every single owner added or changed something during the centuries which then got ruined, so Viollet-le-Duc had no idea how it looked like originally. Therefore he did the best he could and used some imagination. In the end, he decided to give the castle’s towers the pointed cones which were never used in that region before. The result is a beautiful castle with romantic fairy tale towers and an old town with lively restaurants, luxurious hotels and shops all placed inside its fortifications, so I guess he did well.

My knight in his (non) shiny armor

We spent a lovely day there visiting the Castle and walking on top of its high labyrinth of walls. Carcassonne has the additional advantage of being in Languedoc region, which is famous for its wines. After our tour in Bordeaux and Spain we were a bit spoilt by choice, but nevertheless the regions’ Corbieres were worth a try.