Posts Tagged With: travel

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Matera

When we decided to buy one-way plane tickets to Europe for our first prolonged foray to celebrate the second of the two retirements, we knew we wanted to return to Italy as a start, but the destinations within Italia, and certainly beyond, weren’t intuitive at the outset. We know we’d be in Tuscany because of the Brandts; we knew we wanted to visit the Amalfi Coast for the first time; we knew we wanted to spend time in Sicily; one of us knew he wanted to check out Herculaneum; the other knew she wanted to visit Portofino. But some locations we were familiar with, but were not on our list, nonetheless ended up on our itinerary simply because they were a convenient stopping point between one target and the next (like Orvieto).

Then, there’s Matera. Not only did Matera not rate a “let’s make sure we go there” spot on the aspirational list – it wasn’t even a town that was known to us. Instead, we stumbled upon this gem during trip planning.

As part of our planning process, the Chief Adventure Officer creates a Google Map with potential places of interest and – overlaid on top – hotels that are part of our favored collections (Relais & Chateau, Small Luxury Hotels, Design Hotels, Rosewood, and some others). If a location highlighted on travel sites or on Instagram looks appealing AND that is home to hotels from one or more of our collections, we figure it really is worth seeing, since boutique hotels wouldn’t be in some shit town. When we overlaid Design Hotels on the Italy map, the town of Matera was suddenly on our radar. And it was between the Amalfi Coast and Bari, where we’d be on a plane headed for Sardinia. So we started researching this new discovery.

Definitely the right choice

“Before its integration into the modern Italian state, the city of Matera had experienced the rule of the Romans, Lombards, Arabs, Byzantine Greeks, Swabians, Angevins, Aragonese, and Bourbons. Although scholars continue to debate the date the dwellings were first occupied in Matera, and the continuity of their subsequent occupation, the area of what is now Matera is believed to have been settled since the Palaeolithic (tenth millennium BC). This makes it potentially one of the oldest continually inhabited settlements in the world.” (From here.) (And we thought Cadiz‘ history was epic.)

Matera’s Sassi—neighborhoods of cave dwellings carved into soft limestone—provided shelter, water collection, and natural insulation. Over centuries, however, population growth and abandonment by the state turned this ingenious landscape into one of extreme deprivation: families lived packed into single-room caves, often sharing the space with livestock, with little ventilation, no running water, no sewage, and widespread disease. By the 19th and early 20th centuries, a stark social divide had formed – Matera’s poorest residents were confined to the Sassi while wealthier families, professionals, and institutions moved up to the piano, the healthier, flatter upper city with light, air, and services. This physical separation mirrored a deeper economic and social gulf, making the Sassi a powerful symbol of southern Italy’s poverty and exclusion. Only after World War II did national attention and government intervention begin to dismantle these conditions, setting Matera on a long path from neglect to preservation.

Carlo Levi, a fiercely anti-fascist doctor, was exiled by Mussolini’s regime to the Basilicata region in 1935 and he described Matera as proof that Italy was actually two civilizations: a modern, northern one and a forgotten, quasi-prehistoric southern one. “Inside those black caves that had walls made of soil, I could see the beds, the poor furnishings, the clothes hanging. Dogs, sheep, goats, and pigs were lying down on the floor. Typically, every family owns just one of those caves as a house, and they sleep all together: men, women, children, animals. There was an infinite number of children. . . sitting in the baking sun, on the doorsteps of their houses, into the dirt, their eyes were half closed and their eyelids red and swollen. This was due to trachoma. I knew that here people suffered from it: but seeing its effects in filth and in extreme poverty it is a different thing. . . it seemed to be in a city stricken by the plague.”

Despite the have and have not history of Matera and the primitive conditions of the sassi, this place has come into its own. Freaking amazing warren of troglodyte homes and alleys built into the soft limestone of the valley. It was like an inverted Gordes – picturesque and full of character.

At the edge of the sassi lies Chiesa del Purgatorio (Church of Purgatory).

The church was built in the 18th century and embodies baroque church architecture (which we’d see plenty of a couple of weeks later in central Sicily), but that’s not why it’s notable.

It’s notable for it’s embellishments everywhere that serve as reminders of mortality (memento mori),

and the need to pray for souls in pergatory.

The door is the coolest part.

“It’s decorated with four skulls of nobles and clergymen and just under these, four skulls representing common people, with four more on the side of the entrance.” (From here.)

But the skulls-on-a-plinth are a good look, too:

At the other end of town, a different religious institution: The Convent of Saint Augustine.

A relative latecomer, having been founded in 1591, it’s still a pretty impressive and monolithic structure, perched on a cliff at the very edge of the sassi.

And in its shadow, a humble rupestrian church (new term to us! we would have characterized this cave church as troglodyte [like we did in this post from Cappadocia], but rupestrian works too).

Founded in the 10th century, San Nicola Dei Greci originated as a Greek Orthodox church (see Byzantine Greek rule reference above

The triptych fresco depicting Saint Nicolas, Saint Barbara, and Saint Pantaleon (not to be confused with Saint Pantaloons, patron saint of trousers and culottes) dates from the 12th to 13th centuries:

The church was used as a burial site during the middle ages and there are two graves in the floor of the right aisle (similar to not only the Cappadocia cave churches but also the Abbeye de Montmajour in Provence).

This fresco dates from the 14th century:

Check this shit out! This is why Europe is so incredible; we were just wandering about a troglodyte church with 800-year-old frescos adorning its walls with the same casualness as walking into a Starbucks.

With that under our belt, we head out in search of some lunch.

Outside the sassi in the Piazza San Pietro Caveoso with the cathedral’s bell tower looming over town:

Chiesa di San Pietro Caveoso (The Church of Saints Peter and Paul, the latter of whom apparently went the way of Hamilton of Booz Allen Hamilton in the church name):

The original church dates to 1218, but the current appearance reflects a comprehensive overhaul in the 17th century. Picturesque, and with a well-positioned plaza facing the sassi (as noted above), it’s still not quite as cool as the rupestrian church above it.

“Dating to the 8th century, when it was built as the Benedictine Order’s first foothold in Matera, this cliff-face church has a number of 13th-century frescoes, including an unusual breastfeeding Madonna. The church originally comprised three aisles, with two later adapted as dwellings.” (From here.) We got to see the inside, which did indeed have multiple frescoes, as with the other rupestrian church, but no cameras were allowed in this one or in another one we popped into inside the sassi area.

A view of the other end of the sassi facing the valley:

What’s a town to do for a dump truck if most of the roads are narrow, up-and-down alleyways? This:

Also, a picture that captures the recycling specificity that uniquely characterizes Italy and no other country, European or otherwise, that we’ve visited:

We first encountered this during our second visit to Siena, and then at our AirB&B in Portofino. You’ve got to separate glass from metal from paper from food waste and from general refuse (not that there’s much left after all of that sorting). Which raises questions like, where do we deposit the paper coffee filter (paper) filled with coffee grounds (food waste)? Or this burnt out light bulb comprised of brass (metal) and glass (um, glass)? These are the challenges WolfeStreetTravel must cope with!

Heading out for aperitivos high up in the sassi and then dinner on our last night:

One of the best dinners of the visits, actually.

Pretty awesome conversion of a troglodyte church into a wine bar:

And some good freakin’ pesto:

Sassi day time:

Sassi night time:

The next morning, we retrieved our car for the drive to the Bari airport. In what appears to be a self-storage warehouse:

But behold! A bunch of tight garages for sassi residents who can’t bring their cars (for obvious reasons) into town:

And the weirdest car to date: a dr, which is an Italian car brand that uses Chinese auto bodies. Go figure. Regardless, this was our last day with it.

On to Sardinia!

Categories: A Prolonged Foray to Europe, Puglia | Tags: , , , , , , | 4 Comments

A Prolonged Foray to Europe: Palermo

After an overnight ferry ride from Sardinia, we arrived in Palermo, Sicily, early the next morning. This would be our first time ever setting foot on the island. An island with a remarkably layered history of conquerors and competition – perhaps more so than with any other region to which we’ve traveled.

During our time on the island, we read Sicily: Three Thousand Years of Human History, by Sandra Benjamin, which provided great context to the historical backgrounds of the locations we visited and the architecture we witnessed. Although super conversational and easy to digest (would 100% recommend), the history book nonetheless was, indeed, a history book. What we could have done instead was just roll up to a souvenir shop (this one located in the beach town of Taormina on the other side of the island) and get the Cliff Notes version of Sicilian history on this spectacularly informative T shirt:

Below, a brief overview of each of those helmets provides a reasonable starting point to Sicily’s millennia of history (plus the addition of two critical cultures by WolfeStreetTravel that are not included on the T shirt and represent egregious omissions – you’d think all tourist T shirts would have been subjected to a rigorous peer review process and thorough QC before being printed!):

  • Ancient Greeks (c. 750–241 BCE) – Greek colonists founded powerful city-states such as Syracuse and Agrigento, making Sicily part of Magna Graecia and a major center of philosophy, theater, and trade. Their legacy includes Doric temples (notably in the Valley of the Temples), urban planning, coinage, and a lasting imprint on Sicilian dialect, cuisine, and coastal settlement patterns.
  • Carthaginians (c. 550–241 BCE, western Sicily) – Carthage controlled western Sicily in a long struggle with the Greeks, using ports such as Mozia as strategic trade and naval hubs. They reinforced Sicily’s role as a Mediterranean crossroads and left Phoenician-Punic archaeological remains, maritime trade traditions, and early fortification systems.
  • Ancient Romans (241 BCE–476 CE) – After defeating Carthage in the First Punic War, Rome made Sicily its first province and a vital grain supplier to the Republic and later Empire. Roman rule brought roads, villas with elaborate mosaics, Latin language foundations, administrative systems, and early Christian communities.
  • Byzantines (535–827 CE) – Reclaimed under Justinian, Sicily became a key Byzantine outpost bridging Constantinople and the western Mediterranean. They strengthened Orthodox Christianity, introduced Greek liturgical traditions, fortified cities, and preserved classical learning during the early medieval period.
  • Arabs (827–1091 CE) – Muslim rulers transformed Sicily into a prosperous emirate centered on Palermo, then one of Europe’s largest cities. Their legacy is profound: irrigation systems, citrus and sugar cultivation, advances in science and mathematics, Arabic influences in Sicilian vocabulary, and architectural elements such as gardens, domes, and decorative geometric motifs.
  • Normans (1091–1194 CE) – The Norman conquest created the multicultural Kingdom of Sicily, blending Latin, Greek, and Arab traditions under rulers like Roger II of Sicily. Their architectural masterpieces (e.g., the Palatine Chapel in Palermo and the cathedrals of Monreale and Cefalù) fused Romanesque, Byzantine mosaics, and Islamic artistry into a uniquely Sicilian style.
  • Swabians (1194 – 1266) – After the Norman line ended with William II of Sicily in 1189, the crown passed through marriage to Henry VI of the Hohenstaufen dynasty, who became King of Sicily in 1194. His son, Frederick II, then ruled Sicily and turned it into one of the most sophisticated and culturally advanced courts in medieval Europe.
  • Angevins (1266 – 1282) – The Angevins, led by Charles I of Anjou, seized control of Sicily from the last Hohenstaufen ruler, Manfred of Sicily, in 1266 and ruled with heavy taxation and strong French influence, which bred deep local resentment. This culminated in the Sicilian Vespers, a popular revolt that overthrew Angevin rule on the island and shifted power to the Crown of Aragon.
  • Aragonese (1282–1479 CE; broader Spanish rule until 1713) – After the Sicilian Vespers, the Crown of Aragon ruled Sicily, integrating it into the Spanish Mediterranean world. They shaped Sicily’s feudal aristocracy, fortified coastal defenses, introduced Catalan-Gothic influences, and embedded Spanish elements in language, governance, cuisine, and Baroque artistic development.

Sicily feels palpably layered because each time one culture overcame the previous, that former layer just accreted – it was never supplanted. Unlike much of Europe, where one dominant power replaced another, Sicily’s conquerors often built on top of existing systems rather than wiping them out. The result is not a linear history, but a vertical one: Doric temples from the Ancient Greeks stand within sight of Roman villas, Byzantine domes, Arab garden layouts, Norman mosaics, and Spanish Baroque facades — sometimes within the same city block.

The island’s geography made this possible. Sitting at the center of Mediterranean trade routes between Europe, North Africa, and the Near East, Sicily was too valuable to abandon and too prosperous to dismantle; each incoming power adapted existing administrative systems, agricultural innovations, and urban frameworks rather than starting from scratch.

Our favorite example? When the Normans conquered the Muslim emirate, they retained Arab administrators and artisans, which is why you get Islamic muqarnas ceilings inside Christian chapels in Palermo. Case in point: the Arabo-Norman Church of San Cataldo in Palermo, dating from 1140:

This layering also explains Sicily’s cultural contradictions: citrus groves introduced under Arab rule grow beneath Norman cathedrals; Spanish street grids frame Greek archaeological parks; Sicilian dialect carries Arabic, Greek, Catalan, and Latin roots simultaneously. The island feels neither fully Italian nor fully Mediterranean in a single-direction sense — it feels like a distilled Mediterranean civilization.

Although Sicily’s long history is better witnessed in cities like Syracuse on the southeast coast, where the Greeks first settled and which dominated trade and politics, we began our stay on Sicily in its current capital of Palermo, in the northwest. After the Arab conquest in the 9th century, the focus shifted westward to Palermo, which became the administrative and commercial capital under Muslim and later Norman rule. Its superior harbor and position on Mediterranean trade routes cemented Palermo’s long-term dominance.

Palermo’s main drag of Via Maqueda, where we’d find ourselves each day at some point:

Cool little side street our first morning highlighting the cathedral bell tower:

Palermo’s Baroque Quatro Canti square at the intersection of the Via Maqueda and the Corso Vittorio Emanuele:

The ornate, 16th-century Praetorian Fountain on Via Maqueda, sporting 16 nude statues of nymphs, humans, mermaids, and satyrs (offending some delicate souls, who declared it Fontana della Vergogna [Fountain of Shame]):

Pretty awesome town in which to just wander around.

Sicily’s super-intriguing Trinacria flag, flanked by the EU and Italian flags on balcony in town. We’ll get into that little vexillological nugget in a future post, featuring beer. Cold, delicious beer. Mmmm; beer.

Palermo Cathedral:

We didn’t go in, but instead walked through, making a beeline to the much more interesting Palazzo dei Normanni (Palace of the Normans):

Inside the palace’s main courtyard:

The Norman Palace “was built on the highest point of the city, above a Punic [see?! Carthaginians!] structure discovered in 1984 beneath the Duke of Montalto Halls. During Arab rule, the earliest nucleus of the building arose between the rivers Kemonia and Papireto, designed with defensive features typical of fortresses. This building was also used during the Roman Byzantine era.

Following the Norman conquest in 1072, the Normans built a new building consisting of a castle, with the function of royal residence and administrative hub. In 1130, after the coronation of Roger II of Altavilla—the first Norman king of Sicily—the Palatine Chapel was constructed, becoming a symbol of Norman cultural and Christian religious.

The palace’s core was marked by four towers and included facilities such as workshops and textile laboratories (nobiles officinae or tiraz). It served as the seat of successive Norman courts, including those of Roger II, William I (known as “the Mean”), and William II (“the Good”), who oversaw a remarkable confluence of diverse cultures. Frederick II, grandson of Roger II and son of Henry VI of Hohenstaufen and Constance of Altavilla, continued this legacy. He played a pivotal role in its administration and in fostering cultural life, notably supporting the Sicilian School of poetry.” (All from here.) [BTW, we also would highly recommend the podcast “Norman Centuries” by Lars Brownworth; outstanding!]

The palace’s extraordinary (and super Byzantine) Palatine Chapel:

Commissioned by Roger II of Sicily in 1132, the architecture represents a blend of Byzantine, Norman, and Fatimid styles that is unique to Sicily (we’d see another, even grander example right after we left Palermo).

To wit: a Norman church structure adorned with Byzantine-style mosaics and topped with a Fatimid-style muqarnas ceiling (identical in style to those we experienced at the Moorish Alhambra in Granada):

Byzantine-style mosaics dominate the walls of the ambulatory:

And geometric Fatimid Arab designs are evident along knee walls and other structures:

Although the mosaics covering the ceiling and dome date from the 1140s and were, indeed, created by Byzantine artists, others above the aisles were created in the 1160s and 1170s by local craftsman and are more Latin in style (including Latin inscriptions):

An abrupt transition to the 18th- and 19th-century Pompeian hall:

King Ruggaro (Roger II) Hall within The King’s Apartments, with its characteristic hunting scene mosaics:

Including its signature leopards, which now are not only the symbol of the palace, but, we found at a stay later, adorn a line of high-end Sicilian toiletries at hotels (the brand name itself is the urban island in Syracuse, which we’d visit later in the trip – this whole experience keeps folding in on itself).

Medieval painted wooden ceilings in King Ruggero’s Hall:

Climbing through one of the passageways in the fortified tower:

Back out on the street and in a street food tour!

A little nona at work:

Parading through the fabric district:

The highlight (lowlight?) of the tour? Spleen sandwich!

Would love (love!) to report that it’s splendid (hahahaha!), but 4/10 – would not recommend. And for context, we’ve had foal in Slovenia, brain in Hungary, and puffin in Iceland.  (But our niece, Tara, who visited Sicily during her time in Italy, apparently digs it!):

In a sharp contrast, we stopped last at a local convent, where the nuns earn a little walkin’ around money by baking treats for sale:

The treats in question:

Nice setting in the convent’s cloister for our dessert round:

One evening on the way from aperitivos on Via Maqueda to dinner, we stumbled into this performance in one of the (many) churches on the street:

The next day, the star of Arabo-Norman architecture, San Cataldo:

Built in 1154 during Norman rule, the church not only embodies the melding of Arabic and Norman French architecture, it also serves as an example of the severe, militaristic, almost-fortified forms that even religious structures of the Normans exhibited.

An inside view of the three domes (balls, bulbs, inflamed cysts, whatever):

The church interior felt very compact and vertical to us – not a lot of breadth here:

Down the street, Antonino Salinas Regional Archeological Museum:

The museum is home to one of the richest collections of Punic and Ancient Greek art in Italy, including this 2nd- to 1st-century BC statue of Zeus:

Oh, and turtles!

Taking in the frieze from a mid-6th-century BC temple from the ancient city of Selinunte:

Pretty awesome detail and workmanship from 7 millenia ago.

A helpful map of Punic (Carthaginian) and Ancient Greek cities from the period (Selinunte is in the west on the bottom of the island and was Greek, even though the Phoenicians and later Carthaginians occupied the same zone in the north):

Roof-edge drip stones from moldings on classical temples – in this case, from Agrigento, which would be our next stop on the island:

Very cool, later, Roman sarcophagus featuring Charon on the right and Hercules on the left:

And a 2nd-century BC gladiator-themed, painted terra cotta, urn:

All of which made us hungry. Hungry for pizza with, um, pistachios? This would be a staple on the island – the Sicilians LOVE their pistacios:

And with full bellies, and not a fear in the world of our lunch being returned to the outside world, we headed through town to the Capuchin Catacombs of Palermo, which contain around 8000 corpses and 1252 mummies; the last body was interred in 1939.

Aaaaah! There is a fear of the above occurring.

“Palermo’s Capuchin monastery outgrew its original cemetery in the 16th century and monks began to excavate crypts below it. In 1599 they mummified one of their number, the recently deceased brother Silvestro of Gubbio, and placed him in the catacombs.[citation needed]

Bodies were dehydrated on racks of ceramic pipes in the catacombs and sometimes later washed with vinegar. Some bodies were embalmed and others were enclosed in sealed glass cabinets. Friars were preserved with their everyday clothing and sometimes with ropes they had worn in penance.[citation needed]

Initially the catacombs were intended only for deceased friars. However, in later centuries it became a status symbol to be entombed in the Capuchin catacombs. In their wills, local luminaries would ask to be preserved in certain clothes, or even have their clothes changed at regular intervals. Priests wore their clerical vestments, while others were clothed according to contemporary fashion. Relatives would visit to pray for the deceased and to maintain the body in presentable condition.”

“The catacombs were maintained through donations from the relatives of the deceased. Each new body was placed in a temporary niche and later placed into a more permanent location. So long as contributions continued, the body remained in its proper place but if relatives stopped sending money, the body was put aside on a shelf until they resumed payments.” (All from here.)

The nudie fountain on our last evening in town:

And a final Aperol spritz (in Palermo, not on the trip!):

Ciao, Palermo – on to Agrigento (via Monreal):

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Protected: Christmas 2022 – Baltics and Back to the Netherlands: Haarlem

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Christmas 2022 – Baltics and Back to the Netherlands: Tallinn

After a couple of days in Haarlem, we headed to the first of our actual Baltic destinations: Estonia and its capital city of Tallinn. We were hoping for snow, and we got some! (Initially, anyway.)

Tallinn’s main square and Christmas Market on our first evening – perfect!

But the next day (and throughout our stay), the snow on many of the streets and squares turned a little slushy.

Definitely more of a winter, Christmas atmosphere than Alexandria, but still. . .

Tallin’s settlement dates back thousands of years but the first fortress appeared around 1050 AD, demonstrating the importance of the town to the north Estonia region.

As a trading town on the Baltic coast, the town (then known as Reval) became a member of the Hanseatic League in 1285. We previously visited the Hanseatic towns of Lübeck and Hamburg in Germany and Bergen, Norway. (Riga, Latvia, another Hanseatic town, would be our next stop on this trip. Apparently, Berlin, Cologne, and Krakow also were Hanseatic towns due to the river system, but we have decided to ignore this because they’re not on the Baltic coast.)

Snow still covered some streets – very cool medieval town.

Tallinn Old Town is one of the best-preserved medieval cities in Europe and is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The spire of Tallinn’s Town Hall:

The town hall was first mentioned in 1322,

but the structure actually dates back to the 1200s.

It’s the oldest surviving town hall in Europe.

At the top of the spire stands Old Thomas, first placed there in 1530.

The figure memorializes a peasant who became famous for winning a crossbow competition held by the Baltic German Elite.

The tower – and Old Thomas – was damaged in 1944 during a bomb attack during the war. A new Old Thomas went up with the repaired tower in 1952, but it was weathering too much, and the Estonians put another one up there in 1996. The 1952 Old Thomas hangs out in the Tallinn City Museum. Nice codpiece.

Viru Gate – one of the original eight gates in Tallinn’s city walls.

The first wall around Tallinn was ordered to be constructed by Queen Margaret of Denmark in 1265 (Denmark controlled northern Estonia from the early 13th century until 1346, when the Danish king sold it to the Teutonic Knights).

Fully taking shape during the next three centuries, Tallinn’s city wall was one of the strongest defense systems in Northern Europe at the time.

Plus, there are chunks that are still intact and walkable (that’s Tower behind Monks in the background)

Not a lot of snow, but Tallinn proved to be pretty atmospherically wintery, nonetheless:

Located across town, we found Tallinn’s Great Coastal Gate, first mentioned in 1359:

The Great Coastal Gate was the most important gate when Tallinn was a Hanseatic town because it protected the main route for traffic between the port and the market square.

Above the gate stands an impressive dolomite carving bearing Tallinn’s coat of arms (from 1529):

Protecting the Great Coastal Gate? FAT MARGARET! Dating from the early 16th century, Fat Margaret not only served as a fortification against invaders of the town’s port but also a military monstrosity to impress visitors arriving by sea.

Michelin 2* dining experience at 180 Degrees:

Pretty good perch at the Chef’s Table

where we could watch all the cooking and prep work for multiple courses.

Heading up the next morning to Toompea, Tallinn’s central hill district, which is home to. . .

Estonia’s Parliament, the Riigikogu:

And also the Orthodox Alexander Nevsky Cathedral, built in the late 19th century:

Crests for local noble families along one wall:

Because the church was built when Estonia was part of the former Russian Empire, and because it represents Russian Orthodoxy, and because the Estonians are outraged by Russia’s aggression against Ukraine, there’s a movement in Tallinn to raze it and replace it with a park.

Back through the walls:

To yet another stretch of Tallinn’s extant city wall. Here, we have Kiek in de Kok (“Peek into the Kitchen”) on the left, an artillery tower so named because the garrison could see into the kitchens of the nearby houses; and Maiden’s Tower on the right.

And a creepy, faceless monk statue perched on one segment of the wall. This is one of three faceless monks in this area; this one is “Observing Monk.”

More city wall-and-towers action:

Loewenschede Tower:

Enough with the tower names; here’s a buttload of towers. Definitely a cool, preserved medieval town.

Heading to dinner one night; one cannot escape the walls, man.

Rataskaevu Street, where the novels featuring Melchior, the 15th-century Tallinn apothecary / amateur sleuth are set (or at least where his apothecary is located). The first book – pretty good! The second – should have been tossed down that well.

Featured in the Apothecary Melchior novels are Tallinn’s medieval guilds. The Great Guild hall, dating from the very early 15th century is right off the main square. It was used as the headquarters of various merchant and artisan guilds until as recent as 1920.

Aaand, the House of the Brotherhood of Black Heads. Also featured in the Melchior novels.

Described as a social club for single merchants and other tradesmen in the Melchior books, it “was a professional association of ship owners, merchants, and foreigners dating from the 14th century.

“The House of the Blackheads was visited by several Russian Emperors including Peter I, Paul I and Alexander I who also became honorable members the Brotherhood.

Just some Art Nouveau architecture down the street, which was pretty cool. (But NOTHING like we’d see later in Riga.)

Toompea at night.

Tallinn’s Victory Column on Freedom Square, commemorating the Estonian War of Independence at the end of WW I.

More winter scenes from Toompea’s stretch of wall.

Next stop: Riga!

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Christmas 2022 – Baltics and Back to the Netherlands: Riga

From Tallinn, Estonia, we headed slightly south to the capital of Latvia: Riga.

Although not a walled, medieval, historically preserved town like Tallinn, Riga nonetheless offered its own flavor of charm and architectural notability. Case in point, Riga’s own House of the Blackheads. As with Tallinn’s House of the Blackheads, Riga’s building housed the Brotherhood of Blackheads, a guild for unmarried merchants, shipowners, and foreigners in Riga.

Unlike Tallinn’s modest townhouse (albeit with a very cool door and lunette), Riga’s House of the Blackheads is huge and ornate. The original building erected in 1334 was the largest public building in Riga at the time.

Unfortunately that building, updated over the centuries, was bombed out of existence in 1941 during a battle between Germany and the Soviets. The Soviet government razed what was left in 1948, but it was rebuilt in the late 1990s based on extensive archeological studies.

Right around the corner from the Blackheads lies Riga’s capitol building. Very unassuming, we thought.

Riga’s Christmas market in the shadow of the Dome Cathedral was pretty great.

But some stalls were actually branded, which we’d never seen before, and gave areas of the Christmas market a commercial taint that we didn’t welcome:

Nonetheless, the overt booziness of the place was pretty cool – not just glühwein, but all sorts of booze, including – weirdly for both time and place – gin stalls.

Lots of food. . .

which had a distinct eastern Europe flair – check out the pig snout:

Or maybe it’s an entire pig submerged down there? Who knows.

Pigs a poppin’ in this place:

Riga’s Powder Tower, originally built in 1330 as part of the defensive wall system, that one was destroyed during an attack by the Swedes on the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in 1621. (Livonia [which encompasses parts of multiple modern Baltic nations including Latvia] was a fiefdom at the time).

The current iteration dates from 1650.

Next door lies Jacob’s Barracks, built in the 18th century to house the garrison, the structure continued to be used until 1997 by various militaries as the area’s geopolitics evolved over time. The length of the barracks are now home to bars and restaurants, but the end, with its depiction of the coats of arms of Latvian towns and municipalities, was the most intriguing to us.

Portions of the old city wall running along the barracks:

The Swedish Gate – the only portal in the medieval city walls to still exist. Beyond lies Trokšņu iela (Noisy Street) which ironically is one of the quietest and most charming street in Riga now. I’m sure we walked through here and down this apparently amazing street, but we have no visible evidence of this. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Instead, here’s some pics of Riga’s mammoth Central Market.

Absolutely any variety of food one could desire is available here.

The Riga Central Market (there’s a bird’s eye view later in the post) is composed of multiple, massive, hanger-like structures and is not only the largest shopping destinations in Latvia, but one of the largest markets in Europe.

The aforementioned bird’s eye view would come courtesy of St. Peter’s Church steeple.

Built in chunks over centuries, the first St. Peters was constructed as early as 1209; then a few decades later, in the middle of the 13th century; then the early 15th century; then at the end of the 17th century. Pretty plain brick church though, much like the Scandinavian Gothic brick churches encountered in Denmark.

As with Tallinn’s cathedral, portions of the interior are adorned with local noble family coats of arms (one of which looks dangerously close to the esteemed crest of the Connells):

Something in the crypt we think? Dunno – pretty cool though.

Views from St. Peter’s steeple observation deck – pretty awesome perspective on the town.

Renaissance facades in front of the Dome Cathedral:

Another, higher view of the Powder Tower:

Riga’s Central Market hangers:

Down the street lies Riga’s Freedom Monument. A large statue of Peter the Great astride a horse once occupied this plaza, but it disappeared during WWI and the Latvians weren’t eager to replace it. Instead, the Freedom Monument was erected in its place in 1935.

Flowers are allegedly placed at the foot of the monument each day (we didn’t see any) as an act of defiance – such a gesture was punishable by deportation to Siberia during the Soviet era.

Dinner at 3 Pavāru Restorāns – definitely the dining highlight of our stay.

Riga’s Art Nouveau district on our Christmas Day walk. Riga’s period of peak prosperity happened to coincide with the Art Nouveau arts and architecture movement between 1890 and the outbreak of WWI. Although not at all unique to Riga, the town benefited from not being bombed into oblivion during WWII, resulting in a concentration of buildings in this style not seen anywhere else in Europe.

Perhaps the coolest: No. 10b, with a peacock (the symbol of art nouveau) flanked by big-ass faces.

Perfect winter weather in Riga for a Christmas visit.

On to our final stop of the trip: Amsterdam.

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Turkey and Back to Greece: Paros Part 3 – The Final Reckoning (Or, Parikia, a Lighthouse Hike, and the Linguistically Exact Opposite of Paros)

The final post on the Turkey and Back to Greece trip (finally!). And just in the nick of time: we’re hitting the road (and the Adriatic Sea) tomorrow, and so won’t be posting any of the other backlogged trips for a while. These are all the long trips (versus week-long trips that we responsibly posted immediately after getting back from each), and include the following:

We’ll eventually post the detailed content on each of these trips here on WolfeStreetTravel.com; in the meantime, we’ll be posting pics in real time during two upcoming extended trips over the next 5 months @wolfestreettravel on Instagram, if you’re interested.

Back to our final post on Paros. . .

Although we chose not to stay in the largest town on the island (for reasons obvious here), we nonetheless headed to Parikia one day during our stay on Paros as a day trip.

Very cool, bustling burg. With equally cool, wooden-framed bikes to boot.

The absolute most intriguing site in town has to be the Frankish Castle.

Built by the Venetians in the 1200s on the site of the town’s ancient acropolis, the “castle” (actually the remains of a tower that was part of a castle wall) was constructed Jenga-style using the vestiges of classical temples from around the island.

Little remains of the original fortification, and nearby structures incorporate what remains into their own walls.

One of the three “Mavrogenus’ Fountains” found around town. ” Nicolaos Mavrogenus was one of the prodigal sons of Parikia, Paros Island main town in the Greek Cyclades. Missing his native Aegean and as Wallachia governor decided benefit his hometown providing a public drinking water supply [in 1777]: three beautiful marble fountains.” (From here.)

And another (we never came across the third):

Finally getting a gyro at a local place in Parikia’s port (the empty plate would soon be filled):

The Byzantine-era church complex of Panagia Ekatontapiliani (The Church with 100 Doors):

According to tradition, the church currently has 99 doors and a secret, 100th door will open when the church of Hagia Sofia in Constantinople become Orthodox Christian again.

The original church dates back to 326, during the reign of Roman Emperor Constantine, and purportedly was founded by his mother, Helene (whose sarcophagus we came across during the micronations road trip).

We think the church elders employed third graders to carve the church’s tombstones:

In the 6th century, Byzantine Emperor Justinian enhanced the church and added a dome.

Another view of the Frankish Castle as we head out of town.

The best hike we experienced on the island took us to the Korakas Cape Lighthouse at the northwest tip of the island.

Another field trip, this time a short ferry ride to the polar opposite of the island of Paros: Antiparos (it’s just a smaller island than Paros).

With a really picturesque main town:

Bye, Antiparos.

And bye, Paros, and Cappadocia, and Istanbul. Trip posts complete!

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Turkey and Back to Greece: Paros Part 1 – Naousa

This, at long last, represents the final tranche of posts for our September 2022 Turkey and Greece trip: a week on the Greek island of Paros in the Cyclades archipelago.

The Turkey and Back to Greece trip, as originally planned, was to be our first post-retirement travel excursion. The second WolfeStreetTraveler would retire in mid-August 2022 (the first had retired the previous year), and then we’d immediately spend a full month on the road – leaving in late August and returning in late September. After a week in Turkey, we’d spend 3 weeks island hopping in the Cyclades:

  • Paros for 1 week
  • Milos for 4 days
  • Folegandros for 3 days
  • Naxos for 1 week

But a perpetually problematic NOAA weather forecasting supercomputing support contract in the otherwise optimally operating Science & Engineering business run by on of the WolfeStreetTravelers had other plans. The recalcitrant actions of the most uncooperative data center and the most incompetent supercomputing vendor to ever play a role in weather forecasting would require, it turns out, another 6 months to address. So that WolfeStreetTraveler postponed retirement, canceled the Milos / Folegandros / Naxos legs of the trip (for which both the ferry fares and the hotel / AirBnB reservations were refundable, which was a relief), enjoyed the remaining first legs of the trip, then returned to work to dig in for another half year to pound on pernicious program problems.

But that’s okay – a week in Paros was unbelievably great. And we’d get to the other Cyclades islands later (in fact, they were supposed to comprise the second half of a 6-week trip planned later this year, but earthquakes in the area scared us off, so we’re hitting Mallorca and Andalusia instead, which should be pretty great, too). We’ll get back to the remaining Cyclades soon enough.

In Paros, we based ourselves in the town of Naousa at the north end of the island. Although the main city and ferry port on the island, Parika, held some appeal, our research suggested that Naousa offered more of what we were looking for; and we could always day trip to Parika (which we did).

And Naousa was absolutely perfect for us:

Although definitely a tourist town, Naousa still operated as a working fishing port

where the catch of the day would appear on your table for lunch and dinner.

For the entire week, we’d begin each evening with sunset cocktails on the water, then wander into town to find dinner. The best of these, which we’d patronize three evenings during our stay, was called – fittingly enough – Come Back. So we did. Again and again.

And for obvious reasons.

Sunset in Naousa from the Come Back beach:

And thence, into Naousa for some seafood.

Pretty great weather – mostly – during out stay. We did have a day and a half of super windy weather that was part of the normal weather cycle in the Cyclades, but that also was strong enough that it curtailed some activities.

Fishing wasn’t one of them.

Our time on Paros also encompassed our anniversary, which was great.

Pretty good AirBnB digs.

Another evening, another round (or three) of cocktails at Come Back.

And another sunset. Pretty good routine.

A break from fish with some moussaka.

One of the most photographed spots in Naousa, based on our Instagram feed before the trip. Colorful, yes, but empty.

And then night falls:

Another sunset, and our second favorite cocktail spot.

Maybe they should name this place “Also Come Back Here.”

Full moon over Naousa.

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Turkey and Back to Greece: Cappadocia Part 6 (the Final One) – Göreme Cave Monastery

As you may have discerned from the flurry of recent (but paradoxically still dated) posts on a trip back in September 2022, we’re trying to get our act together and get WolfeStreetTravel.com up to date. (@wolfestreetravel on Instagram is always current, for what it’s worth, inasmuch as we post there in real time during our travels.)

With that context, this post mercifully is our last one on the Cappadocia leg of the Turkey / Greece trip, before we pivot to the trip’s second leg in Greece. (We’re trying to address the entirety of the remainder of this trip before we take off soon for another long jaunt in Europe, when where posting will once again cease for a while. Upon our return we’ll get to the other four backlogged trips (which will have grown to five by then).)

Our flight departing Cappadocia for Athens took off in the afternoon, so we spent the morning of our last day wandering through the Göreme Cave Monastery complex down the road from our base town. Founded in the 4th century on the instruction of Saint Basil of Caesarea, this complex of monasteries, nunneries, churches, and chapels existed for a thousand years. It was far and away the coolest of the troglodyte settlements we visited in Cappadocia for reasons that will immediately become apparent.

There were so many structures here to appreciate – predominantly cave churches – that it became a little overwhelming to take everything in. One delineation of cave church decoration helped us contextualize things, though: did the cave feature rudimentary symbols and patterns (representative of the iconoclastic era) or were the walls and ceiling drenched in richly illustrated frescos of saints and other religious themes that characterized the post-iconoclastic era? The former represented an era in the 8th and 9th centuries, when while the Byzantine church found religious images to be idolatrous, and the latter were created later, when the iconophiles won out in arguing that these depictions were acceptable – and even desirable – for enlightening the illiterate (similar to western European medieval church frescos and, later, stained windows).

The first church we encountered (which we forgot to identify for later review) exemplified the iconoclastic style:

Just red ochre symbols and patterns:

But that was just the beginning.

St. Barbara

The iconoclastic style also adorned the raw rock walls of this much more ornately decorated cave church.

Decorated almost entirely in red ochre geometric designs and religious symbols, every soffit, cornice, and pendentive (triangles supporting the domes) are embellished.

These mostly are manifested as triangles, checks, lightning-bolt-looking things, and Maltese crosses.

Oh – and there’s a boxing pheasant on one end of a barrel vault in St. Barbara? Or something? Definitely the most amusing yet mysterious of the images.

Below the boxing pheasant, of course, is a very post-iconoclastic images of Saint George and Saint Theodore. Not sure what to say about this juxtaposition.

Whether iconoclastic symbols or lush paintings, we found these churches to be so compelling because of the incredible age of the art and the palpable presence of everything so present with you, where you could reach out and touch a symbol that a monk applied to an arch more than a millennium ago.

Our hometown is old and, with a founding date of 1749, we pass by centuries’ old buildings and artifacts every day. Hell, our house is 100 years old. But St. Barbara dates to ~1100 (don’t ask how to reconcile how this falls after the iconoclast era), and being so casually close to religious art that old and yet so accessible elicited a pretty palpably powerful feeling of awe.

Dark Church

At the opposite end of the spectrum is the foreboding-sounding “Dark Church” (so named not for serving as the unholy site of arcane acts and an upside down cross, but because the only illumination of the church results from a small window in the church’s narthex). As a result of this paucity of sunlight, the paintings inside have been remarkably preserved.

The Dark Church definitely had the most ornate exterior. While the other churches’ exteriors were simply the rocky hillside, the Dark Church exterior featured a carved façade, including a series of keyhole niches with Greek crosses.

The entrance:

Very different interior from the iconoclastic churches!

The central dome features the very Byzantine Christ Pantocrator image and the four archangels (Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, and Azrael) occupy the four small domes surrounding it.

These paintings all date from the latter half of the 11th century.

Amazing that this work from 1100 years ago still remains, unaltered, to appreciate:

Snake Church

Although the Snake Church clearly demonstrates full illustrations representative of the post-iconoclasm period, it nonetheless also represents something of a transition in its liberal use of simple drawings and symbols, including on the outside of the cave church:

“The mural painting on the left has five figures—St. Onesimus standing in a red robe, Saints George and Theodore on horseback, and Saints Constantine and Helen holding the True Cross.

The figure nearest the door is St. Onesimus, mentioned in the New Testament letter Philemon. He was a first-century slave who escaped from his master in Colossae (near modern Pamukale/Denizli). As Onesimus was hiding in Rome, he encountered the apostle Paul and became a Christian. To restore their relationship, Paul sent Onesimus back to his master Philemon (who happened to be Paul’s friend), requesting forgiveness. According to church tradition, Onesimus was later martyred, as symbolized by the white cross that he holds.” (From here.)

Inside, along one side of the nave, can be found the reason behind the name: an image of Saint George and Saint Theodore slaying a dragon, here depicted as a snake (you can make out the scaly body on the right bottom and the tail on the left, but there’s not a lot left to make out of the head):

More of the mix of iconoclastic and post-iconoclastic imagery on the barrel-vaulted ceiling of the nave.

At the far end, a rudimentary apse with Jebus on the lunette above:

And a cool checkerboard pattern above the entrance:

St. Basil’s Chapel

“The left wall has two panel icons. The tall image on the left is St. Basil the Great, the famed bishop of Caesarea (d. 379 AD) who defended Nicene Orthodoxy and pioneered Byzantine monasticism.

The larger square image is St. Theodore on a red horse, spearing a snake. His clothing mimics Roman military attire, but has subtle Persian designs. Theodore Stratelates (“The General”) was martyred in 319 AD in Pontus (northern Turkey).” (From here.)

“The large, square icon is St. George riding a white horse. He was a Roman officer from Cappadocia who died in the early 300’s, in Nicomedia (the first capital of the Eastern Roman Empire, modern Izmit).” (From here.)

The coolest aspects of St. Basil’s though had to be the tombs. In a cave. (Cave graves, if you will.) The acrosolium (arched recess with grave) below was part of the original church design:

However, twelve more were later carved into the stone floor of the church – adults in the middle and infants on the side:

The occupants of the cave graves are unknown. This one was reminiscent of the crystal skeleton in the ATM cave in Belize.

On our way out, a familiar sight over the valley:

Cappadocia complete! From here, we hightailed it back to our place in Göreme, grabbed our luggage, and headed to the airport – and thence to the Greek Cyclades island of Paros.

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