I just read this: George Will and Britt Hume mocking #bringbackourgirls as “an exercise in self-esteem.” How did they became so angry, at women in particular, that the don’t understand this? Also thanks to Joanne Bamberger for posting; with the gigantic time difference I don’t know that I would have seen it.
That’s the view from the deck tonight. We docked late so had just over an hour to visit the new immigration museum built in the former headquarters of the Red Star Line, which for years carried dreamers from the old world to the new. Here’s how they looked through the eyes of painter Eugene Van Meighan, whose parents owned a pub across the street.
This fellow stands watch just a block away, reminding us of those who trudged, carrying all their worldly goods, from the railway station at the end of a grueling trip to Antwerp to the embarkation point: the Red Star Line terminal. It was quite a trek.
The museum has managed to take a story we all know and, with the very ordinary tools of words and pictures, make it new again. There is a sweetness to the presentation, including portrayals of physical examinations, decontamination, and general misery, combined with respect for the travelers and pride in the role the company, and the city, played in so many futures .
Of course this city is more than an immigration hub. It’s also got a long history of its own, built around, among other things, the guilds that preceded trade unions. Their icons top several of the buildings that surround this lovely city hall.
Just down the street is the Cathedral and a flurry of chocolate shops, coffee houses and souvenir vendors. We could have gone to Brussels tomorrow, but have decided to stay here and enjoy where we are. We’re a bit weary of moving so fast, although grateful for all we’ve seen and learned. It’s time for a nice, slow day, and that we shall have.
This sweet carousel was deserted; buckets of rain would have discouraged even the most determined child. It sits outside the Rouen version of a Notre Dame cathedral. This one contains, we hear, the heart of Richard the Lionhearted, and is beautiful but not off the charts compared to some others we’ve seen.
Rouen was a surprise; lovely in a modest sort of way – even the H&M and Printemps stores were little. The history is profound however, for it was here that Joan of Arc was burned at the stake.
We have spent a lot of time on this trip with people with strong Catholic faith. Visiting cathedrals and shrines with them has really illuminated the meaning and depth of emotion they communicate. It’s been very moving.
The rest of the day we sailed down the Seine and out into the sea enroute to the Schelde River and Antwerp.
It was stormy and the ship bounced around a bit. Now we’re almost there and the River is calm and wide, giving us time to process all we’ve seen. Half of us leave the cruise in Amsterdam on Monday so we’re also preparing goodbyes to people we’ve come admire and care about. Yet another gift of life on the road (or water, really)
Sometimes, like the day we went to Mont-Saint-Michel, you don’t expect anything and are rewarded with beauty, magic and meaning. And sometimes you don’t get what you wanted but it’s really OK.
We meant to visit abbeys and chateaus but our guide was an Abbeys only sort of guy so we ended up at Jumieges Abbey about an hour and a half from Rouen. We found soaring beauty, like this archway. . .
And this Madonna , contemporary yet right where it should have been, in the Abbey Cloister, in the center, at the Abbey de Boscherville down the road, where she oversees a kingdom of her own.
We learned a great deal about Benedictine Monks, monasteries, the politics of moving from the election of the abbot (chief of the Abbey) to empowering the local Duke to appoint him, (you can imagine where that led.)
And then there was the French Revolution. To us, that means guillotines and The Terrors. In fact, there was a clear political philosophy and plan that informed the cause before it got away from the thinkers.
Some of France’s basic principles of governance were, in fact, established by the revolutionaries, who fanned out into the countryside to create more than 90 “departments” through which to govern. Each was required to be no larger in circumference than the distance a horse could travel in one day. This kept the people close to, and invested in, their government. It also provided the government with ample intelligence on neighborhood issues and plans.
The churches also faced challenges. Each town had to choose: They were permitted only ONE church since there was only ONE city hall. It was unacceptable for the Church to overshadow the state by setting up small parallel governments in or sphere of influence.
And then we went to Honfleur, one of only a few towns in France that suffered no bomb damage during WWII. It’s had damage of a different kind, though — so many tourists — like Provincetown in August. We were ready to be snooty about the entire experience and then we came upon her:
She is Sainte Thérèsa de Lisieux, a 20th Century girl who died of tuberculosis. Her sister wrote a book about her and her good deeds and she was canonized during the papacy of John Paul II. This shrine is in the Wood Church of Ste. Catherine in the middle of Honfleur and the church, and the haunting Thérèsa were worth the trip.
Saint Joan was there too, so I’ve put her photo below. Tomorrow Antwerp.
We’re sailing from A Coruña to France today so no stops. It should be a lazy day be we keep sitting with people at meals and the four or six of us close the dining room every time – for every meal. Lots of interetsing people with amazing stories. Can’t miss any.
We’re up on deck now though, by the pool; it’s a bit chilly but they give us big orange blankets and the sun is shining. Right now Van Morrison is singing Have I Told You Lately That I Love You? and the pool has this soothing wave machine. There are waiters bringing us coffee to ward off the chill.
I am still in the first Game of Thrones plus Mark Leibovich’s story about the battle to succeed Henry Waxman so I’m set (except that I’m very guilty to be at Winterfell instead of somewhere more learned) but I am having such a good time with them!
We were really ready for this day after all that exploring! Tomorrow, Cherbourg and (depending on logistics, Mont St-Michel.
Pilgrims come here. They walk 100 km or bike 200 km in order to be certified as religious seekers. They walk slowly so they can think about their lives and their souls. They have been coming for centuries. It’s a beautiful old place, smaller than the grand cathedrals but fraught with meaning and swimming in ghosts and souls.
Why is this “porch” above the main section? So that pilgrims could sleep there and not have to pay for the privilege of coming from very far away to pray for forgiveness or a miracle.
The power of this place is exceptional. Statues that pioneer portrayal of textile surfaces for clothing, and statues with facial expressions. Golden altars, a bloody Christ, St. James’ beautiful silver coffin – combine to contribute to the soulful mystery that hovers over it all.
These columns, for example, are ornate and golden because they were meant to resemble those in Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem. A saint sits atop two open-mouthed lions who represent the (sadly premature) celebration of human victory over sin. Moses joins the Apostles on the “Portico de la Gloria” that rises over the main entrance.
And is now, as are so many other wonderful historic locations, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
It’s awesome no matter what brand of faith one carries to a visit here. It took centuries of prayer and construction and design and love to put this cathedral here and its power still surprises and moves visitors.
Portuguese is really hard; even they think so. It is also, and you better remember this, NOT just another kind of Spanish. They’d rather have you “mangle the Portuguese than try to use Spanish and think we’ll understand.” There’s a strong national pride here and “Spain is our only neighbor so sometimes we have to hate them.” It’s Spain and the ocean, actually – one on one side, one on the other.
In between language lessons today, as we wandered the Medieval town of Guimarães we learned even more about local feelings toward the Euro and the EU. Here are some of the opinions/facts (?) offered in the past two days:
Look again at this poster. It says “We Are Not the Debt” and complains that all Portuguese are being blamed for their country’s debt to the EU when, they say, it has largely been the EU’s policies that made the borrowing necessary in the first place.
Nobody will ever accuse this lovely, colorful country, with its passionate politics, of being a simple place; part of its charm is the passion with which their views are held. Our visit here as been a happy, enlightening surprise.
* NOTE: a couple of knowledgeable people on this trip have taken exception to this, claiming that it was not the Euro but the huge amount of public spending that has caused their debt.
**NOTE: These same knowledgeable people, one a CEO and the other an active environmentalist, maintain that the ban on fishing was instituted because the waters off Portugal have been massively over-fished and the only way to preserve the fish population was to cut off fishing and allow them to replenish. Yet another person, Chilean, told me he thought it was just that Portugal could not compete and so was encouraged to try other industries. Clearly, if I get that many opinions in one day, this country’s relationship with its economic future, and with the EU, is complicated.
Lisbon is a gorgeous city with a tough history. We spent today with a specialist in Jewish life here – which went from a quarter of a million souls to 700 between WWII and today. Between the Axis and Salazar they never had a chance, and before that…. well the stories of abuse and expulsion are too hideous to describe.
It’s enough to say that through the centuries Jews were permitted in Lisbon and Portugal for short periods of time and then expelled. When the economy tanked and needed a boost, the king always invited them back. For a while. Then the cycle began again. Each time it was “convert or leave.” And if you do leave, you go without your money, your goods or anything else. Those who remained, as “cryptojews” (secret Jews or those practicing old Jewish ways even though they were no longer identified as Jews,) or were unfortunate enough to be around during one of the angry Jew-banning periods, retribution was swift and terrible. Torture, burning at the stake, slow, Game of Thrones deaths by other means and, more than once, forceable seizure of children who were then either adopted by Christians or enslaved. One particularly terrible story involves 1506, right around Passover, when thousands faced grisly, dramatic trials, sentencing and death. It is not a pretty story.
It took until the early 21st Century for anyone to acknowledge and commemorate this terrible time.
There’s lots more, all of it sadly familiar, although in many ways the Portuguese were more horribly creative than most in what they did to the Jews in their midst.
There are also stories of enormous courage, including Aristides de Sousa Mendes, a diplomat who saved thousands of Jews by issuing visas and exit papers to them after having been forbidden to do so. Mostly though, even today the terrible stories outweigh the good ones. By a lot.
We learned all this, and so much more, from a spectacular guide named Paolo Scheffer whose knowledge is exceeded only by his passion for sharing it.
That knowledge, although focused on Jewish history and art history, also covers the politics surrounding the EU and the Portuguese economy, the days of dictator Antonio Salazar and the wonders of the 1974 “Carnation Revolution” whose 40th anniversary was celebrated on April 25th. The uprising against Portugal’s fascist dictator killed only four, and featured carnations in gun barrels and on demonstrators.
It’s wonderful to recall, but this day has been replete with memories of uprisings of a different sort, always with the Jews as targets. Perhaps recalling the carnations and all they stood for also reminds us of the vulnerability of all minorities in all cultures and the need for all of us to rise up to protect them.
It’s 3:30 in the afternoon and we’ve just returned from a trip to the barren cliff of Sagres, which was, until the 15th century, the end of the world.
It was there that Henry the Navigator, the third son of King John of Portugal, sent the explorers he trained and financed out to explore what lay beyond the lands they knew.
It’s an inspiring story – a charismatic royal, never to be king, transforming Portugal and, really, the world. Sadly, all this wonder emerged despite, not because of, our guide. It’s tough to overestimate the power of a guide on a bus full of eager learners. She can seduce, enchant and mesmerize, or she can issue rote descriptions, lecture on the virtues of diversity to a crew of people who are on the trip because it’s what they already value, and, eventually, become toxic force within the community. And that’s what she was. Which wouldn’t be worth mentioning except that by the time we left the bus we were so bummed we were sniping at each other. Agitated and angry, disappointed and dismissed. OH and she forgot to show us where the statue of Henry was and wouldn’t turn around the one roundabout between us and his lovely presence pointing out to sea.
When you travel, every day is a jewel to be burnished, full of potential experiences and lessons and joys to share. So when someone violates the trust of leading this crew of nomads, it’s a grave offense, particularly painful in such a bleak, beautiful, Wuthering Heightsish landscape.
Fortunately, we rallied, went into the Portimāo for lunch, met some cool expats and saw trees wearing granny squares, 
some crazy ceramic benches with one tale of the history of Portugal illustrated on each one and a couple of really interesting political posters. Tomorrow: Lisbon!
Amazing day. Of course Rick found Said (center,) the guide who worked with Bruce Springsteen and Sting during the 80’s Amnesty tour. He was a trip and a pleasure. Tangier is not as romantic or exotic as I had expected but it certainly was interesting.
We went to see the old Sephardic synagogue but the guard had lost the key (seriously !) We did look in through the open windows though, which actually offered a pretty good view.
