Posts Tagged With: Europe

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Agrigento, Sicily

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

While our visit to Scala dei Turchi offered a little coastal sideshow during our stay in Agrigento, the Valley of the Temples (Valle dei Templi) provided the main event. We awoke to a pretty good view of our starting monument destination for the day: the Temple of Hera in the near distance.

Valle dei Templi is the site of ancient Akragas (now modern day Agrigento), a Greek colony founded around 582 BC by settlers from Gela and Rhodes that grew to become one of the most prosperous and powerful cities in the ancient Mediterranean world, with a population at its peak that ancient sources suggest may have rivaled Athens itself. The complex preserves seven Doric temples built primarily during the fifth century BC. Designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1997, the Valley of the Temples stands as one of the supreme monuments of Greek civilization outside of Greece itself, embodying the extraordinary cultural and artistic ambition of Magna Graecia — the network of Greek colonies across southern Italy and Sicily — and representing an irreplaceable testament to a moment when this corner of the ancient world was at the very center of Mediterranean civilization.

Getting closer. . .

Closer. . .

This is what we had been gazing at from afar.

The Temple of Hera (or Juno, if you prefer your gods Roman), is not actually a temple to Hera (or Juno). This attribution resulted from a misunderstanding of the location in a Greek text by Pliny the Elder during the much later Roman period.

No correction on the temple’s correct name was evident anywhere, though.

Regardless, the Greek colonists erected the temple in 450 BC, and was sacked and burned in 406 BC during a Carthaginian attack on the Greeks.

The Valley of the Temples is absolutely a misnomer: we’re actually on a ridge.

Partial remains of the city’s 6th-century-BC walls:

Which include early Christian, 2nd-century-AD arcosolium (arched, recessed) tombs carved directly into the walls themselves.

The star of the temple complex in the distance:

The Temple of Concordia is among the best-preserved Greek temples anywhere on earth — its remarkable survival owed largely to its conversion into a Christian church in the sixth century AD. “The temple was. . . dedicated to the apostles Peter and Paul by San Gregorio delle Rape, bishop of Agrigento and thus survived the destruction of pagan places of worship. The spaces between the columns were filled with walling, altering its Classical Greek form [we’d see the same thing in dramatic form when we hit Syracusa two stops later]. . . The Christian refurbishments were removed during the restoration of 1785.” (From here.)

But it was built 1100 years before that, between 440 and 430 BC.

Similar to the misnamed Temple of Juno, the temple was associated with Concordia, the Roman goddess of harmony, simply because a Roman-era Latin inscription that included Concordia was found nearby. It was unrelated to the temple, but this trend of blatantly misnaming the monuments here IS related to our growing sense of annoyance.

The Temple of Concordia is considered to be the best preserved Doric temple in the world, after the Parthenon.

WHAT characterizes a Doric temple, you ask? Question answered by a historical marker at the temple:

Yup, no Ionic or Corinthian columns here. Just a delightful density of Dorics.

But the Doric department hasn’t yet departed. Just down the path lies yet another temple.

Behold, the remains of the Temple of Heracles (or Hercules, you Roman). And yet another BS misidentification. This one from another Cicero screed, mentioning a temple dedicated to Hercules not far from the Agrigento forum. But no one is sure that this is the one he was referencing. No worrries! In the apparent expediency of historo-archeology, researchers stuck the moniker on this half stack of columns and called it a day.

Not to content themselves with just misNAMING temples, they (we’re not sure who they is at this point), thought it would be a great idea to reconstruct a temple using pieces from various OTHER temples.

Behold, the Frankenstein Temple of the Dioscuri (Greek for “Sons of Zeus” – the twin deities Castor and Pollux). Luckily, they just contended themselves with building a corner out of mismatched, supersized Legos found on site.

Lots of other pieces lying around, though.

And finally, Atlas Shrugged (and then sat for a bit, and then just lay down for good). This is one of a few massive Atlas statues extant on site from an aborted attempt to build a massive (really massive) Temple of the Olympian Zeus.

In its reclining position, you can’t tell, but this thing is more than 25 feet tall (long in its current orientation).

Here’s another, upright in the Agrigento museum, with a passer by for scale:

Had the Temple of Olympian Zeus been completed, it would have been the largest Greek temple ever constructed, featuring the Atlas’ serving as telamones supporting its entablature:

But, alas, the temple never really got off the ground. Construction commenced around 480 BCE (part of the base is below) after a major victory by Akragas Greeks over the Carthaginians at the Battle of Himera. At the time, Akragas was one of the richest Greek cities in the Mediterranean and the temple would be a statement of Akragas’s wealth and power.

But the Carthaginian invasion of Sicily in 406 BCE put an end to this. Akragas was besieged, many inhabitants fled, the economy collapsed, and monumental construction projects ceased. Leaving just this:

All of this is better viewed from a distance of both time and space from the comfort of our plunge pool at the end of a long day among ruins in the sun:

Our place was too inviting to venture out on either of the nights of our stay. Pretty good decision.

Next up: fast forwarding 2100 years and 90 miles from Agrigento to Modica and the first of our visits to the “Baroque Towns” of Sicily.

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Sicily | Tags: Agrigento, Akragas, Carthaginian invasion of Sicily, doric, Europe, Greece, history, Italy, Sicily, Temple of Concordia, Temple of Hera, Temple of Juno, Temple of Olympian Zeus, travel | Leave a comment

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Sicily’s Baroque Towns

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

From Agrigento, we headed to Siracusa, in Sicily’s southeast corner. But first, we’d spend a few days in the island’s “Baroque towns.” These towns, including Modica, Ragusa, Scicli, and Noto, were all leveled during the region’s catastrophic earthquake in 1693. All of the towns were rebuilt in the same, exuberant, late-Baroque architecture – which was the style at the time – creating some of the most visually cohesive historic towns in Europe.

Each of the towns have the same characteristic Baroque, honey-colored stone architecture, dramatic staircases, and sun-drenched piazzas. But really, it’s the ornate churches that capture the essence of the Baroque towns – a prime example can be found in Chiesa di San Giovanni Evangelista in Scicli, but its siblings across the region all possess identical architectural DNA:

Of all of the towns to choose from, we decided to base ourselves in Modica for three reasons:

It was centrally located among the Baroque towns
There was an AirBnB in town WITH A POOL, which is uncommon in town, and we were obsessed during planning with having access to a pool while traveling through Sicily’s (and Italy’s, and Malta’s, and Portugal’s) hot climate
Although the town looked small, it still hosted a Michelin-starred restaurant, seemingly an assurance that it would be a charming locale in which to base ourselves

We were wrong.

It was, indeed, centrally located:

It did, indeed, have a cool AirBnB with a pool:

But, although the restaurant was on point,

the town lacked a pedestrian core and was not the most charming locale in which to base ourselves. After visiting Ragusa, we wished we had stayed there and had relegated Modica to day-trip status, a sentiment we passed on to our safari friends who had advised us on Capri and Praiano when they asked our advice when planning their trip to southern Sicily after our return.

Modica

Modica is one of Sicily’s oldest continuously inhabited settlements, with roots stretching back to the Sicels and later the Greeks, Arabs, and Normans — each leaving layers of cultural imprint before the 1693 earthquake prompted its dramatic Baroque rebuilding across two hillsides joined by a central corso. One hillside is densely settled and comprises Modica alta, the high town:

At the bottom lies Modica basso, the low town:

All of this viewed from Modica’s indominatable Castello dei Conti, a medieval fortress dating to 1272, perched on a rocky spur high above the town and reached via a long climb up steep steps.

A rather nice view of the castello from below, in Modica basso:

The town’s main drag:

And the tiniest car we’ve ever seen. This little Citroen model would pop up in several of the Baroque towns. Hilarious.

Our first (of way too many) Baroque churches. This one, a cathedral, the Duomo di San Pietro:

Put to good use hosting a wedding several days later:

And yet another, ALSO a cathedral (which we totally do not get), the Duomo of San Giorgio:

Of all of the towns and all of the churches we’d visit, we thought this one singularly captured the Baroque style – highly ornamented and be-columned, all built with the honey-tan marble:

Oh, okay – another one, this time the Church of St. John the Evangelist:

But they ain’t ALL baroque. To wit: the Rock Churrch of San Nicolo Inferiore. Discovered in 1987, the cave church dates to the 11th and 12th centuries and was abandoned following the Latinization of the island, when the Eastern (Byzantine/Greek) rite of Christianity was gradually replaced by the Western Roman (Latin) rite that followed the Norman conquest of Sicily in the 11th century .

This place was covered by the collapse of surrounding buildings during the 1693 earthquake. But check out what was preserved.

Cool carved apse:

Featuring yet another freakin’ Christ Pantocrator – clearly a fave of the Sicilians:

But we genuinely are engaged, entranced, and enthralled by troglodyte churches, with their openly exposed art applied a millennium ago and now just inches from you. Pretty incredible.

Five tombs are embedded in the center of the nave and likely date to the last phase of the building.

Outside on the streets of Modica, though, more Baroque elements – ornately carved balcony supports with lots of little characters (all of which we’d see in the other towns, too):

The town is perhaps most famous globally for its ancient chocolate-making tradition, inherited from the Aztecs via the Spanish and produced cold without cocoa butter, resulting in a grainy, intensely flavored bar that bears almost no resemblance to modern chocolate and is taken very seriously by locals. Modica’s chocolate is reputedly the closest thing one can get to the style of chocolate the Aztecs drank and ate. We tried some. Definitely an acquired taste. But we very much dug the provenance of chocolate and unique link to the Aragonese occupation of both central America and Sicily at the same time.

Our headquarters for Baroque barnstorming lay embedded in a cliff at the edge of town:

The place, both inside and out, offered LOTs of, well,

The place came with a pretty cute pool girl, which was nice:

Our post-beach lunch area:

With pasta feasts prepared by the pool girl, who proved to possess multiple talents:

The cave action outside extended inside with a cave bathroom, perhaps to complement the cave church down the street:

Although Modica was cursed with the absence of a true pedestrian core, it nonetheless sported plenty of car-free lanes in both Modica alta and Modica basso:

Ragusa

Our second Baroque town happened to be the one we SHOULD have stayed in: Ragusa. Much more charming and aligned with the WolfeStreetTravel style.

This is actually a view of Ragusa’s new town up on the hill; we did not visit.

Instead, we headed up to Ragusa Ibla – the burg’s Baroque old town.

And the passageways that typified this area of town:

Getting closer.

The heart of town:

Ragusa Ibla is the ancient, labyrinthine lower town of Ragusa, a UNESCO World Heritage Site rebuilt in glorious Baroque style after the 1693 earthquake, its honey-colored stone churches and palazzos tumbling dramatically down a rocky promontory surrounded by deep ravines.

The undisputed highlight is the Cathedral of San Giorgio, one of the masterpieces of Sicilian Baroque attributed to Rosario Gagliardi, its magnificent facade rising above a sweeping staircase and presiding over a graceful piazza that ranks among the most beautiful in all of Italy.

Another Citroen breadbox!

Above and behind the Cathedral of San Giorgio:

At last, a non-Baroque church. The Church of San Giacomo Apostolo is one of Ragusa Ibla’s oldest sacred sites, dating to the 13th or 14th century and built under the Chiaramonte family, though rebuilt into a single-nave Baroque structure after the 1693 earthquake absorbed the ruins of the adjacent church of San Teodoro. Tucked inside the beautiful Giardino Ibleo public gardens at the eastern tip of Ibla.

Dig the sundial:

And more Baroque balcony ballustrades:

And a mishap spotted on the hilly, serpentine alleys of Ragusa:

Not happy:

Portale di San Giorgio — the Gothic portal of the ancient Church of San Giorgio, which was completely destroyed in the 1693 earthquake. The original church dedicated to St. George existed as far back as 1120. The 13th-century doorway depicts St. George slaying the dragon and is now a UNESCO-protected symbol of Ragusa’s resilience — a solitary medieval portal standing alone as the sole survivor of an entire church.

Chiesa di San Giacomo Apostolo – definitely not Baroque. The church dates to the 13th century, hence its more Romanesque appearance.

Unlike our 3-month New England and eastern Canada sojourn the next year, we couldn’t run every day here, but we could walk on the coast. So we headed a few mornings to beach towns just south of Modica. Which, frankly, provided some really nice hikes.

Our first hike took us past Fornace Penna, a hauntingly beautiful industrial ruin perched on a promontory just meters from the sea near the beach town of Sampieri. The kiln was built between 1909 and 1912 to produce bricks and construction materials.

After only 14 years of operation it was destroyed by arson in 1926, and the owner chose never to rebuild it — leaving behind one of Italy’s most photogenic industrial ruins.

Little coastal view hiking into the beach town of Sampieri:

Not great.

Bodi’s out there performing for Point Break, we think.

Scicli

Our penultimate Baroque town to visit lay between Modica and the beach: Scicli.

Scicli is a UNESCO-listed Baroque town tucked dramatically into the junction of three valleys in southeastern Sicily, rebuilt in golden stone after the catastrophic 1693 earthquake and flanked by a rocky hill crowned by the abandoned Church of San Matteo.

Smaller and less visited than its neighbors Ragusa, Modica, and Noto, Scicli still offered charm and – unlike Modica – a pedestrian core.

But just like Modica alta, Scicli had plenty of steps.

Leading to a pretty decent view.

Chiesa del Rosario perched on the cliff above town.

Chiesa di San Giovanni Evangelista from the top of the post, exemplifying the Baroque style:

Jacaranda trees in Scicli, similar to those seen in another hilly town, Olvera, on our Catalonian bike trip.

Noto

And finally, a stopover in Noto, on the drive from Modica to Siracusa.

Noto is known as “the Capital of Baroque,” so our visits to its brethren apparently were just the warm up to the real deal. The main street, Corso Vittorio Emanuele, is, indeed lined with ornate churches and palaces that make the whole town feel like an open-air museum.

Little lunch in Noto, featuring both Neapolitan crusts and Sicilian pistachios.

Noto’s cathedral:

And more Baroque balcony buddies:

Pretty great view over town from the roof of the Church of St. Charles Borromeo:

St. Mary’s bells in Old Town are better. . .

On our final night in the Baroque towns, we finally checked the Michelin-starred box for dinner in Modica at Accursio – one of the four best dining experiences of the trip, and our introduction to Sicily’s orange wine:

Wrapping up for the night before hitting the road the next morning:

Next up: Syracuse / Siracusa.

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Sicily | Tags: Baroque Towns, Europe, Italy, modica, noto, photography, ragusa, Ragusa Ibla, scicli, Sicily, travel | Leave a comment

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Syracuse / Siracusa

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

After a little less than a week barnstorming Baroque burgs, we headed further east, to the palpably historic quasi-island of Syracuse.

Founded by Corinthian Greeks (not the Doric Greeks) in 734 BC, Siracusa (Syracuse) rose to become one of the most powerful city-states in the Mediterranean. At its peak under the tyrant Dionysius I in the 4th century BC, it rivaled Athens itself in wealth, population, and military might. It was here that Archimedes was born and conducted his legendary experiments, here that the Athenian fleet suffered one of history’s most catastrophic military defeats in 413 BC, and here that Cicero served as quaestor, later calling it the most beautiful city in the Greek world. All concentrated on the small island of Ortigia (and the surrounding mainland).

View from the bridge between the mainland and Ortigia (although you’re never really aware that you’re on an island, inasmuch as this is the extent of the separation):

Siracusa’s extraordinary layering of Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Arab, Norman, and Aragonese civilizations (and Baroque architecture) earned it UNESCO World Heritage status in 2005.

Exiting our hotel, we immediately run into ruins: ironically a Doric temple to Apollo from the 6th century BC:

The Greek temple, unintentionally functioning as a snapshot of Sicily’s many cultural and religious layers of history, served later as a Byzantine church, an Arab mosque, a Norman basilica, and the Aragonese Church of Sanata Maria della Grazie as part of a Spanish barracks. It was finally demolished in 1864 – all of those layers of history reduced now to a mere archeological vestige of its prior history.

Our little Sicilian trinacria buddy embossed on a nearby building:

The winding alleyways of Ortigia in Syracuse:

One of which brought us here, to Chiesa di San Filippo Apostolo:

But our interest here lay not in the plain-Jane church (not even Baroque ornamental!). . .

but what lies beneath:

Immediately under the church floor lies an initial, pretty standard subterranean crypt level with 18th-century frescoes, burial chambers, and funerary chapels. This space was occupied by a confraternity, a Catholic religious brotherhood attached to a church — essentially a lay religious society rather than monks or priests — that frequently used underground burial and meeting space beneath the church.

Some pretty wild mortality imagery throughout the crypt.

Then, descending below this initial subterranean level, we come to a more unusual underground labyrinth: WWII bomb-shelters beneath Chiesa di San Filippo Apostolo. These tunnels originally were part of an ancient Greek and Greco-Roman underground water and hypogeum network that stretches beneath Ortigia toward the sea.

During the Allied bombing campaigns of 1943, the tunnels sheltered more than 10,000 civilians, and the walls still preserve wartime graffiti including drawings of British aircraft and parachutes sketched by people hiding underground during the raids.

Pretty accurate.

Heading further in and down.

There’s a well carved into the rock that dates to around 734 BC, when Corinthian settlers first founded Syracuse. But in the 15th century, Jews living on Ortigia built a spiral staircase leading down to the well 18 meters below their synagogue on the street level above.

And converted the ancient Hellenistic freshwater spring well to their mikveh, a bath for ritual immersion to achieve purity. It is considered among the oldest surviving mikvehs in Europe.

The community abandoned the mikveh after the 1492 expulsion of Sicily’s Jews under Spanish rule, and it was gradually forgotten for centuries until it was rediscovered and formally identified in 1977 beneath the church built atop the former synagogue site.

More layers of Sicilian cultural history that we definitely dug during our time on the island.

But wait, there’s even more!

Check out the Cathedral of Syracuse (Duomo di Siracusa). Just another ornamental Baroque church in Sicily, no?

Maybe from the front facade, but when you peek around the corner. . .

Look at this shit! It’s actually a 5th-century BC Doric temple originally dedicated to Athena by the tyrant Gelon after his victory at the Battle of Himera. A quick note on “tyrant” because we’ve used it twice in one post now and it probably gives the wrong impression. As articulated effectively in Sicily: Three Thousand Years of Human History (read while here, as noted in our Sicily leg intro post), a tyrant in the Greek colonies was simply someone who had seized or inherited sole rule rather than governing through the established aristocratic or democratic institutions of the city-state. In the Sicilian colonies, tyranny was often a pragmatic response to the intense pressures these communities faced: constant military threats from Carthage, competition between rival Greek cities, and the need for swift, unified military leadership that deliberative bodies could not always provide. So, not a tyrannical ruler; just one who took sole rule for himself.

The best part about the temple-cum-duomo is the side wall, where the Normans simply filled in between the Doric columns of the Greek temple to create a Christian church, leaving them in place, rather than razing the place and rebuilding as was the norm. Oh, and in between, of course, the Arabs repurposed the temple as a mosque, of course.

Inside the duomo, which was palpably medieval and beefy.

But still with the visually evident Doric columns of the original Greek temple.

And more cool mortality motifs.

Out in the piazza of the duomo – pretty great day.

Dunno – some other picturesque church. With twisted columns like we saw in Lecce while biking through Puglia in 2013.

At the extreme southern tip of Ortigia lies Castello Maniace, a citadel named after the Byzantine general George Maniakes who seized Syracuse from the Arabs in 1038, although the present structure was built between 1232 and 1240 under Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II.

With four cylindrical corner towers, the massive castle later served as the site where Frederick of Aragon signed a truce with the Angevins in 1302.

And just up the promenade? A casual joint for early aperitivos.

With a nice view of the aquatic activities available in the castle’s shadow.

Some decent oysters, to be expected, with a first-time-encountered ginger spray, which was not expected.

And now for something completely different: Greek and Roman ruins in Syracuse adjacent to Ortigia.

The Greeks built a theater at Syracuse around 470 BC, with a capacity of around 15,000 spectators and a diameter of nearly 140 meters.

It was among the largest theaters in the ancient world, and served as the premiere venue for works by Aeschylus — including the world premieres of The Persians and The Women of Etna — as well as tragedies by Sophocles and Euripides.

Carved directly into the rock of the Temenite hill, the theater was rebuilt in the 3rd century BC and renovated again in the Roman period, when traces of adaptations for gladiatorial battles and beast spectacles were added, and it continues to host a celebrated summer festival of classical drama to this day.

A necropolis above the Greek theater:

Containing the Via dei Sepolcrri – the Street of Tombs.

One of the tombs.

And the Grrotta del Nifeo, where the waters of the Anapo flow and where actors once prepared before performing in the theater.

The Latomie del Paradiso — ancient stone quarries to the east of the Greek theater.

The Ear of Dionysius, a multistory-tall cave carved into the limestone:

The cave’s extraordinary shape amplifies sound to remarkable effect.

They were once used to imprison captured enemies of the tyrant Dionysius I, and are now lush with lemon groves and fragrant vegetation.

Evidence of quarrying:

And across the archeological park, the remains of the Roman amphitheater:

The Roman Amphitheater is largely excavated into the rock, utilizing the slope of a rocky crag, with a central arena featuring a large rectangular space originally covered and connected by underground passages to house the machinery and animals used during spectacles.

In the 16th century the Spanish, indifferent to its archaeological value, quarried much of the amphitheater’s large stone blocks to build the defensive city walls of Ortigia, leaving it in the partial, overgrown ruin visible today.

And on the way back from town? A little stop at the Catacomba di San Giovanni. The site sits beneath the ruined Basilica of San Giovanni — itself a place of extraordinary sacred history, where St. Paul is said to have preached and St. Marcian founded the first Christian community in Syracuse — and the catacombs were later used as an air-raid shelter during World War II, which is why no bones remain there today.

The Catacombs of San Giovanni were excavated for the most part between 315 and 360 AD, following the Edict of Constantine that established freedom of Christian worship, and remained in use as an early Christian cemetery until the end of the 5th century — making them, for size, the second largest catacombs in Italy after those of Rome.

Unlike the subterranean adventure under Chiesa di San Filippo Apostolo, the catacombs here required us to don a little liability-reducing protective gear. (Also, we weren’t supposed to take pictures, just like at the monastery of creepy corpses in Palermo, but some urges cannot be resisted.)

To save labor, the tunnels were initially opened along the route of a disused Greek aqueduct, traces of which are still visible on the ceiling of the main gallery, while existing cisterns along the route were converted into funeral chapels for distinguished families — a characteristically Syracusan layering of Greek infrastructure repurposed for Christian use.

The layout of the catacombs mirrors the Roman military camp, with a central gallery (the decumanus maximus) from which ten secondary corridors branch off, leading to four large circular rooms — the Rotonda di Antiochia, the Rotonda Marina, the Rotonda di Adelphia, and the Rotonda dei Sarcofagi — that were once the ancient cisterns of the Greek aqueduct.

A nested set of at least 12 tombs in a niche along one wall of the catacombs; the whole labyrinth was pocked like this.

Back in town for some lunch – pretty atmospheric place.

The last of our two nights here, with a few nightcaps on the hotel rooftop.

Onward to Mount Etna!

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Sicily | Tags: blog, Catacombs of San Giovanni, Chiesa di San Filippo Apostolo, Europe, Italy, mikveh, Ortigia, Sicily, siracusa, syracuse, travel | Leave a comment

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Taormina, Sicily (Prima Parte)

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

The charming town of Taormina was to be the final stop on the Sicily leg of our prolonged foray. (Map and overview of the full foray is posted here.) If you’re following along, we have only three legs left after Sicily.

Perched high above the Ionian Sea, Taormina was founded by the Sicels and later became an important Greek settlement after refugees from the nearby colony of Naxos just south of Taormina’s current location relocated there in the 4th century BC (stay tuned later this year for a post covering travel to Naxos the Greek island, which is upcoming). The town flourished under Greek and then Roman rule, leaving behind its most famous monument, the spectacular Ancient Theatre of Taormina (which we’ll get to in the next post), whose stage frames views of both the sea and Mount Etna. Through the Byzantine, Arab, Norman, and Spanish periods, Taormina retained its strategic hilltop position and developed into one of Sicily’s most historically layered and visually dramatic towns.

Taormina’s 12th-century Porta Messina on the north end of town (where you would enter the town if you were coming from Messina to the north in the olden days; or from the gondola at sea level now):

And on the other end of town, the 15th-century Aragonese Porta Catania (replete with the Spaniards’ coat of arms), facing south to Catania (where we’d fly out of in several days):

And snaking between the two? Corso Umberto, Taormina’s main street.

Like the one-road Baroque town of Noto visited a week or so earlier, Taormina indeed is replete with streets, but there’s only one main drag and singular main event.

But what a fantastic main drag it is – way more restaurants, bars, and shops than Noto and incredibly appealing. Beginning in the 19th century, Taormina became a celebrated stop on the European Grand Tour, attracting artists, writers, aristocrats, and intellectuals drawn by its scenery, mild climate, and classical ruins. Today it remains one of the Mediterranean’s most stylish destinations, combining luxury hotels, elegant boutiques, refined dining, and breathtaking views in a setting that feels both sophisticated and timeless.

The corso appears packed here, but everything’s flowing and there was never any sense that we had embroiled ourselves in an overtaxed Positano-type situation.

Plus, the occasional religious festival procession winding its way down the corso – in this case, celebrating the Feast of Saint Anthony of Padua (that’s him on the litter); we think maybe they’re taking the lazy way out of this by proceeding with a litter on wheels instead on shoulders, like in Godfather II and Godfather III:

And around the midway point on Corso Umberto lies Piazza IX Aprile and Porta di Mezzo – the midway tower:

Because Taormina is perched on a cliff, Piazza IX Aprile offers a great belvedere with views of the coast below:

View into the corso under the clock tower:

Medieval palazzo off the corso, with a vibrant jacaranda tree in bloom, to boot.

Taormina’s second square (second to Piazza IX Aprile, of course): the Piazza Duomo:

There’s the duomo. And, uh, there’s the Quatro Fontanes (Four Fountains):

Topped by a female centaur – apparently the historic emblem of Taormina. She wears a crown and holds a scepter in one hand and a globe surmounted by a cross in the other—symbols of civic authority and power. Regardless, super weird.

Heading to the duomo, the Cathedral of Saint Nicholas of Bari, the popular bishop-saint whose cult spread widely throughout southern Italy and Sicily.

The duomo looks more like a castle than a church. Built from massive stone blocks and topped with battlements, it was designed as an ecclesia munita—a fortified church capable of providing refuge during periods of instability. This defensive appearance earned it the nickname “Cathedral Fortress” and reflects the turbulent medieval history of Sicily.

But the interior of the 13th- and 14th-century duomo looks pretty standard.

Down (and to the left) we encounter the 2nd-century AD Roman “Naumachie,” a long brick wall punctuated with niches, likely to house statues. Buried and unknown for a millenia and a half, the moniker was incorrectly (just like in Agrigento) applied by a Dutch scholar in the 18th century, who figured – and why not? – that the structure hosted naval battles.

The massive wall did function as the barriers of a reservoir to supply a gymnasium or massive municipal fountain complex.

But enough history; aperitivo hour is approaching with the setting sun and we needed to locate a decent perch.

This will do.

With a great view over the coast and also a glimpse of what once was a 14th-century Dominican monastery. . .

But now houses the Four Seasons and the setting for Season 2 of White Lotus (they were closed to outside visitors due to a private event when we were there, otherwise we would have checked it out).

Pretty great town.

To actually reach town (through Porta Messina), we had to walk about 2 blocks from our AirBnB to catch the gondola at this station, since Taormina is high up on a cliff, visible at the top of the pic:

You grab your tickets while in line, and head on up; we never had to wait more than a few minutes – pretty efficient system.

Why would we stay a gondola ride from town instead of nestled within centro storico? Because this:

Pretty great setting in the Sicilian heat.

Because we were fixated on lodging with pools, we snagged this thing probably 6 months before we headed off for our prolonged foray.

Great view of Isola Bella – Beautiful Island. King Ferdinand I of the Two Sicilies donated the island to the town of Taormina in 1806. In 1890, Florence Trevelyan purchased it, built a small retreat, and transformed the island into a botanical sanctuary filled with tropical and subtropical species that thrived in Sicily’s climate. The Sicilian government acquired the island in 1990, and it later became a protected nature reserve. And unofficial symbol of Taormina.

Oh, and we’d occasionally see the goofy tourist sub (ubiquitous in coastal towns, it seems) go out and back from our place.

And also the occasional yacht.

Definitely the right place to stay for our Taormina tour.

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Sicily | Tags: Cathedral of Saint Nicholas of Bari, Corso Umberto, Europe, Feast of Saint Anthony of Padua, Isola Bella, Italy, Naumachie, Piazza IX Aprile, porta catania, Porta di Mezzo, porta messina, Quatro Fontanes, Sicily, taormina, travel | 2 Comments

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Valletta Area, Malta

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

From Taormina, Sicily, we flew a very short hop to the island nation of Malta, country no. 79 for WolfeStreetTravel (and one we’d been eying ever since planning The Smallest 5 for the Big 5-0 trip to Europe’s micronations in 2017).

Malta also represents the third-to-last leg of our post-retirement prolonged foray to Europe trip, the overview and map of which are posted here. We’d spend 4 nights in Malta, and the dry little island nation did not disappoint.

Malta’s Grand Harbor upon arrival:

The island’s history includes Phoenician, Carthaginian, and Roman occupation before the Arabs transformed it between 870 and 1090 AD, leaving a lasting imprint on the Maltese language, which remains Semitic at its core.

The Normans then took Malta, beginning a long stretch of Christian rule that culminated in 1530 when Holy Roman Emperor Charles V granted the island to the Knights Hospitaller after the order lost their previous base of operations, the island of Rhodes, to the Ottoman Turks. (The emperor also granted them the city of Tripoli in modern Libya, but the Ottomans ran them out of town there, as well, leaving them with only Malta [and a small town in the Holy Roman Empire, which they controlled until the early 19th century and Napoleon]).

While under Hospitaler control, the Ottomans continued their westward expansion across the Mediterranean, and targeted Malta as their next conquest. In 1565, the Hospitallers – left essentially to fend for themselves – repelled a prolonged Ottoman siege in one of history’s most dramatic defensive stands. Pretty epic tale. (And a good read – we finished Empires of the Sea: The Siege of Malta, the Battle of Lepanto, and the Contest for the Center of the World before we arrived to give us a good feel for what we were getting into; definitely recommended if you’re into that sort of thing.) After fending off the siege, the Hospitalers transformed some fortifications opposite the Grand Harbor into their capital city and named it Valletta after Jean Parisot de Valette, their Grand Master, who led the defense of the island.

Britain took control of Malta in 1800 after helping the Maltese expel the French forces that had occupied the island following Napoleon Bonaparte’s invasion in 1798. Although Britain initially intervened as an ally, it retained Malta because its central Mediterranean location and excellent natural harbor made it a vital naval base for protecting British trade routes and projecting military power. Britain refused to return the island as required by the Treaty of Amiens, and Malta remained a British colony until it gained independence in 1964.

During Britain’s rule of the island in WWII, Malta became a critical naval hub and endured one of the most sustained aerial bombardments of the entire war, earning the troops the George Cross collectively from King George VI in 1942. Fort Angelo on the peninsula of Birgu, which was manned by the British Navy during WW II, seen from across the harbor from the peninsula of Senglea (we’d eventually visit it):

Malta gained independence in 1964, became a republic in 1974, and joined the European Union in 2004, completing a journey from ancient temple-builders to modern European democracy in one of the Mediterranean’s most strategically contested stretches of rock.

Our hotel in the background was located in a decommissioned fortress on Senglea, one of Malta’s historic Three Cities on a spit of land across the Grand Harbor from Valetta, the capital city.

First lunch in town on Senglea – pretty great start to our stay (we’d return there for our final dinner):

Walking along the Grand Harbor; we stayed on the left, the peninsula of Senglea; the parallel peninsula of Birgu is to the left, and Valletta itself is straight ahead.

The fortifications around Valletta, passed as we arrived from the water taxi stand many stories below the city elevation (there’s an outdoor elevator to get you from there to here):

The narrow and atmospheric streets of Valletta:

Punctuated by the city’s uniquely characteristic and multicolored gallarija:

“The gallarija is considered a descendant of the Maltese muxrabija, and it is closely related to the mashrabiya which are typical in Arabic architecture. . . [which consist of] an ornate timber screen, perforated with an intricate network of holes, tightly fitted into a window or loggia. . . Muxrabijet had the task to keep the interior of the building cool by allowing circulation of air through the carved wood. They were also used as cooling device for storing water, and as a security measure to observe the outside without being seen.“

Pretty much every single street in Valletta was flanked by gallarija.

A city of limestone, punctuated by brightly colored wood elements. Pretty picturesque.

Water taxi ride back to Senglea:

Our hotel occupied one of the Hospitalers’ old fortresses, which was freakin’ awesome. The walls in the rooms were 3′ thick and you could feel the history. Plus, this pool:

Pretty great perch of the Grand Harbor.

View from our room’s cannon embrasure-cum-window:

Very cool little harbor area off the Grand Harbor on Birgu that was, um, harboring a very nice restaurant.

Access to the restaurant was gained through the abandoned tunnels of Fort St. Angelo.

After walking around, sailing around, and walking under Fort St. Angelo, we finally decided to actually visit the place.

“The fort was garrisoned by the British from 1800 to 1979, at times being classified as a stone frigate known as HMS Egmont or later HMS St Angelo. The fort suffered considerable damage during World War II, but it was later restored.“

Map of the fortifications with dates delineating the evolution of the fort from the Hospitalers’ era in the 1500s (and even earlier to 1091 for one of the chapels that predated – by a long stretch – their arrival) to the 1940s:

View over to Senglea across the harbor:

Inside a watchtower on the very tip of the fort and of Birgu; the tip of Senglea is out the right window, but you can’t tell.

Another evening in Malta after a day trip to Mdina, which will cover in another post. Unbelievable weather the entire time, though.

Unexpected fireworks towards the end of dinner:

The dome of Hospitalers’ (Order of St. John’s / Knights of St. John’s) St. John Co-Cathedral in Valletta:

St. John’s Co-Cathedral was built between 1573 and 1578 by the Knights of St. John as their conventual church following the Great Siege of Malta, with its austere exterior designed by Maltese architect Girolamo Cassiere concealing one of the world’s most lavish Baroque interiors.

It’s a co-cathedral (we had never heard of this before) because the original (and still) bishop’s seat on Malta was in the interior town of Mdina at St. Paul’s Cathedral. But the Hospitalers new one got recognized by the Pope, as well, and he granted it equal cathedral status, as a co-cathedral. One bishop, two cathedrals. Pretty wild.

Today, the co-cathedral is Malta’s most important religious and artistic monument, symbolizing the power and legacy of the Knights Hospitaller while serving as one of Europe’s finest examples of Baroque architecture and a centerpiece of Valletta’s UNESCO World Heritage status.

Spectacular ceiling of the co-cathedral

Way better to us was the floor – the entire place was occupied by elaborate tombs of the Knights of St. John:

Most of which included macabre elements, to our delight:

One of the greatest treasures of St. John’s Co-Cathedral and one of the masterpieces of Western art is Caravaggio’s The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist (1608). It’s the cathedral’s most famous work and the reason many art lovers travel to Malta.

It’s significant for the following reasons:

It is Caravaggio’s largest painting. Measuring roughly 3.6 × 5.2 meters (12 × 17 feet), it is the largest canvas he ever painted and one of the few works created specifically as an altarpiece.
It is Caravaggio’s only signed painting. If you look near the pool of blood beneath John the Baptist’s neck, you’ll find the artist’s signature: “f. Michelangelo” (“Fra Michelangelo”), written in the blood. He signed it this way because he had just been admitted as a Knight of the Order of St. John—a unique moment in his tumultuous life.

Saint Jerome Writing, also by Caravaggio, painted around 1607–1608 during his stay in Malta, depicting Saint Jerome translating the Bible into Latin, with the skull symbolizing the fleeting nature of life.

Check out the discrete Maltese cross Caravaggio included in the bottom right of the painting, paying homage to the patrons who funded it. . .

Next up: Mdina, Malta, and then, finally, some biking.

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Malta | Tags: Birgu, Europe, Fort St. Angelo, Gallarija, history, Hospitalers, Malta, Senglea, St. John Co-Cathedral, travel, Valletta | Leave a comment

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Mdina, Malta

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

While staying in the Valletta area, we grabbed an Uber for a field trip to Mdina, the Maltese capital’s forerunner until the 16th century. After the Knights of St. John made the new fortified town of Valletta their capital after the Great Siege of 1565, Mdina faded in significance and slid into backwater status significantly enough to be nicknamed the “Silent City.” Based on our stroll throughout town, this is pretty apt, although Silent Sunburnt City may be even more on brand.

Founded as a fortified settlement by the Phoenicians around the 8th century BC, the town later became the Roman city of Melite. Under Arab rule beginning in the 9th century, it was reduced and fortified into the compact medieval city that became known as Mdina. (The Arabs also separated the fortified city from the surrounding area—creating what became Mdina, literally the city, while the adjoining suburb became Rabat, meaning suburb or quarter in Arabic. We’d visit both during our little field trip.)

Mdina’s Baroque Main Gate, dating from 1724. Built during the rule of the Hospitallers, it replaced the medieval entrance that was destroyed during the 1693 Sicily earthquake nearby (which gave rise to the Baroque Towns we visited just prior, in Sicily).

The gate is flanked by two lions, which are associated with Antonio Manoel de Vilhena, the Grand Master of the Order of St. John in Malta during the late 18th century, as well as Vilhena’s coat of arms over the gate proper.

Extant fortifications of the city on either side.

Inside Mdina proper, on the other side of the Main Gate:

And this is what the entire town is like: sun-baked, narrow alleyways flanked by golden limestone:

Punctuated occasionally by colorful doors and knockers:

Heading back through the Main Gate, and down the street. . .

to Rabat, the ancient suburbs of Mdina. Replete with Valletta-style gallarija.

And down the street, much to the excitement of one and definitely not the other WolfeStreetTravler, to. . .

More catacombs! This will be our fourth set on this trip alone; first in Matera, then, the absolute grossest in Palermo, and TWO in Syracusa.

St. Paul’s Catacombs, located in Rabat just outside Mdina, form one of Malta’s most important ancient burial complexes, dating primarily from the Phoenician, Roman and Byzantine periods, but they continued to be actively used into the 7th or 8th century AD.

Carved into the island’s soft limestone, the underground complex contains an intricate network of burial chambers, corridors and rock-cut tombs that once formed part of a much larger cemetery outside of what was the Phoenician (and later Roman) settlement of Melite that predates Mdina and Rabat.

Hundreds of tombs across a complex of 24 interconnected catacombs are down here.

Most are now empty.

Some most certainly are not.

Every space was optimize to fit more bodies in.

Although tradition associates the catacombs with St. Paul, who was said to have been shipwrecked on Malta in AD 60, there is no archaeological evidence that he ever visited or was buried here. What makes the site especially compelling is the coexistence of pagan, Jewish and Christian burial traditions, offering a remarkable glimpse into Malta’s religious and cultural transformation during late antiquity.

Heading back out.

What to do now that we’re back in the glorious sunshine of a Maltese afternoon?

More catacombs! This time St. Agatha’s, just down the road. (This pretty much put an end to the catacomb visits; one of the WolfeStreetTravelers definitely had enough of this nonsense during the current trip, although her indulgence up until now was pretty amazing.)

Unlike St. Paul’s, which has one central entrance, the catacomb complex at St. Agatha’s offered multiple, small individual entrances / access shafts.

Entering each catacomb was a little reminiscent of Maxwell Smart and the phone booth at the start of the show.

As with St. Paul’s, St. Agatha’s catacombs complex contain a mixture of Phoenician/Roman, Jewish and Christian burials.

Some of which had fresh tomb tops (not to be confused with mummy tube tops).

One of the occupants:

Back on Senglea and the Grand Harbor, our final dinner before heading to France for our penultimate leg. We bookended our stay on Malta by dining at the same restaurant at which we had our first, awesome lunch upon our arrival. Good call.

The experienced enhanced by these dudes rowing by in a plastic crate.

Next up: back to France!

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Malta | Tags: catacombs, Europe, history, Malta, st-agathas-catacombs, st-pauls-catacombs, travel, Valletta | 1 Comment

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Chantilly, France

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

The penultimate leg of our prolonged foray to Europe: France! We’ve already hit mainland Italy, Sardinia, Sicily, and Malta (trip overview, including legs, is here).

We flew from Malta to Paris to bike through Normandy with Thomas and Lisa, but left a day early to guard against any flight issues or other delays that might impact our connecting with them when they arrived from Atlanta the next morning. Rather than stay in Paris, which we had visited three times and which, frankly, we didn’t particularly like, we headed about 30 miles north to the Chateau de Chantilly and its little town.

We checked in to our hotel a short walk away from the chateau, headed down the street for some lunch, then headed to the chateau itself.

The chateau largely dates from the 19th century, when the Duke of Aumale rebuilt the structure on the foundations of a medieval fortress.

The chateau’s formal gardens were designed by the same landscape architect credited with designing the grounds of Versailles.

Pretty cool rival to the chateaus we visited during our bike trip through the Loire Valley back in 2015, but they offered a deeper history than Chantilly.

The chateau’s chapel, right inside the gate:

Barrel-vaulted, highly decorated ceiling above the grand staircase:

Mosaic above the fireplace in the Salle des Gardes depicting the Rape of Europa by Jupiter:

But it’s not just a 19th-century French mosaic, it’s a Roman mosaic dating to the 1st century AD recovered from around Herculaneum, where we wandered just a month or so ago on this trip. Freakin’ crazy to have this just mounted here.

Libery:

The Rotunda of the Musée Condé at Château de Chantilly, created by the Duke of Aumale to display his art collection, with Henri Chapu’s marble Joan of Arc at Domrémy beneath Paul Baudry’s ceiling painting of the Abduction of Psyche

Just your normal decorative French fire screen; nothing to see here. . .

Heading to the stables. . .

Just as grand as the chateau itself.

Stables: huge. Horses therein: not so much.

Old-school carriages:

Just a pretty cool suspension and paint job.

Stage coach driver uniform:

His boots were not worn, but instead affixed directly to his saddle.

We spent the night at a nice Relais & Chateau hotel next to Chateau de Chantilly, then woke up the next morning to meet Thomas and Lisa upon their disembarkation in CDG from their redeye from ATL. But WolfeStreetTravel’s Chief Adventure Officer, who’s in charge of the entire itinerary, mistook their takeoff time (at around 6:30 PM) for their landing time (at around 9:00 AM) and so we left the hotel WAY too early, missed a nice breakfast, and ended up trying to sleep a little more in the lobby of one of the airport hotels at CDG while we waited for Thomas and Lisa. One more screw up, but luckily a minor one (although the WolfeStreetTravel Navigator was pretty annoyed that she lost sleep over this, literally).

Next: Bayeux and biking!

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Paris | Tags: Europe, France, history, Paris, travel | Leave a comment

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Normandy Biking Day 2 – American Cemetery and a Disquieting Chateau

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

After 2 nights in Bayeux and a loop ride to the coast and the British and Canadian Normandy beaches on Day 1 of biking, Day 2 took us back to the coast to the American beaches, and then inland.

Some historic estate or other a few miles outside of town:

Passing by the Église Saint-Romain de Étréham, the Church of Saint-Roman.

Originally built in the 11th century, but renovated over time, it still retains its Romanesque west facade.

And 12th-century tower.

Highlight of the day’s ride, at Omaha Beach:

Cool map of the Normandy landings at the cemetery:

Yesterday, we were there:

Today, we are here:

Sobering but serene.

Cool mosaic capturing the cycle of Americans traveling to and fighting in Normandy on the ceiling of the cemetery’s chapel:

Massive mural of the landings and subsequent beachheads:

And a short distance away. . .

the entire European theater (from the non-Soviet POV, anyway):

Both with handy legends.

Onward (and more tanks!).

The Abbey of Saint Vigor, founded in 1032 by Duke of Normandy, Robert the Magnificent (father of William the Bastard, who went on to become William the Conqueror). (Robert the Vigorous would have been much funnier and more apropos.)

In the 12th century, the abbey extended its powers over nearby, former Merovingian abbeys, and also founded several priories, becoming more influential and wealthy in the process.

“In 1337, the dynastic rivalries between the Valois and the kings of England precipitated the country into the Hundred Years War, which plunged the country into misery, aggravated by epidemics of plague. The abbey was fortified and a garrison settled there. In 1418, Richard de Silly, knight and captain of the abbey, was obliged to cede the abbey to the King of England. However, after the victory of the constable de Richemont over the English at Formigny in 1450, Normandy returned definitively to the kingdom of France.” (From here.)

The monks left the abbey during the French Revolution, and the abbey became the unique parish church of the village of Cerisy-la-Forêt in 1790.

The abbey was built on the ruins of an older monastery destroyed by the Normans during their invasion.

Of the French. When the Normans were still Vikings and did not yet benefit from Rollo’s permanent settlement here. . .

Final (and very long) stretch of the day’s ride.

But with a pretty cool conclusion: Chateau de Canisy, our lodging for the evening.

About which we have much to discuss – both the very cool (its history) and the very bizarre (our actual stay).

First, some history. Chateau de Canisy dates to the freakin’ 11th century. Definitely the oldest and most historic place we’ve stayed (just off the top of our head – we did stay in a Welsh castle 2 years earlier, but we think that was built maybe 100 years later (by Normans, as it happens)).

AND there’s a connection to Billy the Conq and the first of the two invasions referenced during our Day 1 post of the trip. In 1066, Hughe de Carbonnel participated in the conquest of England alongside William the Conqueror. At that time, Hugues de Carbonnel already was Lord of Canisy. Of the medieval chateau, one fortified tower and part of the living quarters remain. The family also remains – the current occupants, the Count and Countess Denis de Kergorlay, are direct descendants of Hugues de Carbonnel. The Countess, we would learn, is quite a piece of work.

Most of the Chateau de Canisy’s present architecture dates from the time of Henry IV, when Herve de Carbonnel (1558 – 1625) undertook the construction of a castle to mark his illustrious alliance with Anne de Matignon, daughter of the Count of Thorigny, Marshal of France. In 1588, he commissioned much of the rest of the chateau to be built by architect François Gabriel, (the ancestor of Ange-Jacques Gabriel, one of the architects of the Château de Versailles). A monumental granite staircase was designed by Gabriel, as well as “the addition to the magnificent Cotentin stone of the pudding stone, a purple stone with amethyst reflections, for creating bosses and door and window frames.”

And who wouldn’t want to adorn their chateau with pudding stones?!

In the 20th century, Chateau de Canisy remained a stronghold of the Kergorlay family. From generation to generation, the family has lived in the chateau and has preserved and restored it. Damaged by the fighting during the allied landings in 1944, the chateau was restored with the help of the Historical Monument administration and classified as “Monument Historique” in 1945. Therein ends the cool, historical aspect of our visit.

On to our stay itself. We were the only guests there. The good news? Both couples got massive, luxurious, royal accommodations with tons of character. That was pretty much the only good news. The first bad news was that only a receptionist, manager, and cook were in residence. No bar, no bartender, and no one spoke English. Using Google Translate, we ended up ordering the beers we so desperately needed after the long last leg of the ride. When we stay we ordered the beers, we ordered all of their beers. They had maybe 3/4 of a case? Maybe? We had them bring all of them out, where they were rapidly consumed.

Then the receptionist left, and we were served dinner (in the music room located in a turret, which was cool, although we have notes on the meal itself). After this, the manager announced the second bad news: they were leaving and that we should lock the front door when we went to bed.

We’ll be alone here by ourselves, we asked?

Oui.

So, because nightfall came so late in Normandy in July, our first act of our now-independent stay was to take a walk all around the grounds, which were very nice.

The chateau’s 16th-century ice house (minus roof and “entrance airlock”), discovered in the 1850s.

Then, we reentered the chateau to explore there. On our own. Alone and unsupervised.

We explored every inch of this place, from the barrel-vaulted basement (no dungeon or torture chamber was evident, but there could always have been a secret door that we missed. . .), to the 1980s era bar (!) and disco, to the unused hallway of standard hotel rooms on the second floor, to the attic space above.

And also the inside of this original tower from the 11th century.

After all of the exploring, and because we had consumed the entire chateau’s supply of booze, we decided to turn in.

As we locked the front door per the creepy – and now absent – manager’s instructions, and resigned ourselves to spending the night in a deserted, 11th-century chateau, we truly and sincerely turned to each other and somberly pronounced “see you tomorrow to whoever makes it through the night here alive.”

Seriously. It was like retiring for the night knowing that you’re in an unsettling horror film where something bad is going to happen. But you don’t know what; or to whom.

But with fewer cobwebs.

*The intrepid group of ghost hunters who dared to spend the night alone in a medieval chateau.*

There’s a postscript to this adventure: WolfeStreetTravel posted a review a few months later on TripAdvisor, on which we’ve posted many of our stays to that point (we submitted 290 reviews). The review reflected the narrative above, complementing the chateau’s history and architecture but also expressing bewilderment and unease over being left alone there overnight. The countess decided to respond to the review by denying all of this and stating that staff were there during our entire stay. Which, all four of us will contend, was patently untrue.

TripAdvisor apparently lets the hotel – not the guest reviewing the hotel – have the last word, and so we were not provided the opportunity to rebut the blatant fiction peddled by the countess. We were annoyed, but that was that.

Then, when, 3 years later, WolfeStreetTravel FINALLY gets around to posting this experience to our blog, we went to copy the review to simply paste it here only to find that TRIPADVISOR HAS REMOVED OUR REVIEW ENTIRELY.

We’re going to try to confront TripAdvisor about this, but it’ll take some effort to navigate through the turrets and walls they (and every other corporate entity on the web) have erected to delay, deny, or distract an actual person from contacting them. But we’re pretty annoyed, so we’ll give it a shot. If this effort bears fruit, we’ll post a follow up here.

On to the next day of biking!

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Normandy, Normandy, France | Tags: Abbey of Saint Vigor, biking in normandy, Chateau de Canisy, Church of Saint-Roman, Europe, France, history, Normandy, normandybiking, photography, travel | Leave a comment

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Normandy Biking Days 3 and 4 – Tidal Extremes and the First Sight of the Prize at the End

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

Despite our fears, all four bikers survived the night alone and abandoned in the haunted chateau.

We woke to another perfect Normandy morning.

The riders prepare in the shadow of the chateau for the day’s excursion to the coast.

So long, Chateau de Canisy, you crazy gal.

Not too much to see on the day’s ride, but nice scenery.

We actually stopped for lunch on the coast about 5 miles (if that) away from Granville, where we’d be spending the night, but didn’t take any pics there. Notably, we feasted once again on Normandy oysters, and when we asked where they were from, he hooked his thumb behind him, pointed to the shoreline about 50 yards away, and said, “right there.” Pretty awesome, as were the oysters.

The beach town of Granville. Two items of interest here:

The first is the saltwater pool, there in the middle. Very cool; refreshed twice a day as the tide comes in and overwhelms it before heading back and and revealing the pool once again. We had a nice swim there, as well as in the ocean proper.
The second is the insane tidal extreme. Granville boasts some of the most dramatic tides in France. The combination of the bay’s shape, the shallow seabed, and tidal forces of the Atlantic-facing English Chanel produce tidal ranges of up to 46 feet.

To wit, the same view at high tide:

Low tide:

High tide.

And these two:

The little port area of the town, where some festival offered the opportunity for a bunch of beers on picnic benches in a tent.

A little entertainment by the locals:

On the road the next day:

First stop, Abbey de Lucerne.

The abbey itself was founded in 1143, but in a different location that was too remote and too damp, apparently. So they reestablished it here in 1164.

The abbey was partly destroyed during the Hundred Years’ War, then restored in the 15th century.

The abbey is home to this rather smarmy little 16th-century depiction of Saint Sebastian, who was martyred under Emperor Diocletian in the 3rd century.

On the left, a recumbent effigy of Guillaume de Saint-Jean Limestone from the first half of the 13th century unearthed during archaeological excavations of the church’s northern chapels in 1990. He financed the construction of the abbey in the 12th century and was then buried here. The dog lying to the right at his feet is a symbol of fidelity, obedience, and gratitude.

O the right, a recumbent effigy of Hasculphe de Subligny from the 13th century, also unearthed during archaeological excavations of the church’s northern chapels in 1990. His feet rest medieval salamanders, a creature believed to be an elemental being linked to fire, and also the emblem of Francis I, which we encountered during a previous French bike trip in the Loire Valley.

The abbey was sold as national property during the French Revolution.

And then transformed into a cotton spinning mill,

and then a limestone sawmill.

Cool-ass dovecote:

Reaching the coast again, we get our first glimpse of our objective the next (and final) day – Mont Saint Michel.

It would be with us on and off for the next 2 days of biking.

And there are pilgrims that depart across the tidal plain (which becomes boot-sucking mud when you get our further) each day:

Heading back inland to our destination for the evening. . .

Avranches. The liberation of Avranches during WWII was led by Patton and began on the very auspicious day of July 31 (1944).

The Donjon d’Avranches:

The castle was built in 950 on the remains of an old Roman fort.

The view from the donjon over a very Normandy-looking town:

And some hydrangeas.

Pretty good bites that night.

On to Mont Saint Michel and the last bike day of the trip!

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Normandy, Normandy, France | Tags: Avranches, biking in normandy, Donjon d'avranches, Europe, France, La Lucerne Abbey, Normandy, normandybiking, travel | Leave a comment

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Normandy Biking Day 5 – Mont Saint Michel

Posted on June 10, 2023 by WolfeStreetTravel

Our final day of biking in Normandy entailed riding from Avranches to the final major sight on the itinerary: the quasi-island abbey of Mont Saint Michel.

Route for the day, from Avranches to Mont Saint Michel (we forgot we had all of these and are adding them to previous Normandy biking posts):

Just a short distance out of town we came upon an air show at the Aerodrome d’Avranches:

Where Thomas immediately took advantage of the beer tent:

Onward!

Our destination for the day, looking every bit like a sand castle in the distance:

The heretofore unknown-to-us German War Cemetery in Normandy:

It’s an unassuming columbarium containing the remains of 12,000 war dead from western France and the Channel Islands.

With another view of Mont Saint Michel from the top:

The little hamlet of La Rive, with a trailhead to the monastery:

On the causeway, site of an individual time trial in the 2013 Tour de France:

The place is like a wedding cake.

Once inside the walled abbey and its little encircling town, we made a beeline to the top of the complex.

Mont Saint-Michel’s history began in 708 AD, when, according to tradition, the Archangel Michael appeared to Aubert, Bishop of Avranches, and instructed him to build a sanctuary on the rocky tidal island.

Benedictine monks established an abbey there in 966, transforming it into a major medieval pilgrimage destination.

An extraordinary Gothic complex, known as La Merveille (“The Marvel”) was built on the abbey’s north side in the early 13th century.

During the Hundred Years’ War, its formidable fortifications helped it withstand English attacks, making it a powerful symbol of French resistance.

Cool capitals on the church columns:

“A marvel within the “Merveille,” the cloister offers a timeless experience, between sky and sea. The Merveille is a group of Gothic buildings, built on the north side of the rock, composed of three levels, a magnificent testimony to the know-how of the 13th century builders.” (From here.)

After the French Revolution, the abbey was converted into a prison, which operated until 1863, before restoration efforts revived its religious and historic significance.