Panic on the Streets of London

ST LUKE'S: It's almost as if summer has disappeared. Where we were baking outside in the sunshine three weeks ago, now we huddle inside to avoid the rain. Running home from work is less a struggle to dodge tourists and keep hydrated than it is too keep warm. But regardless of the weather fellow joggers never, ever smile. Some things never change.

We were lucky on the weekend though. By all accounts London was drenched but we (me, Kate, Jaq, Libby Trew and Elerig) headed north for the bank holiday. After dodging most of the traffic we spent our first evening in a stunning converted hunting lodge in the Yorkshire Dales. Unfortunately we only really had time to enjoy the breakfast provided and then take in the dry walled fields of the dales for about fifteen minutes before we had to leave for Whitby.

Whitby is the town where Captain Cook spent his apprenticeship but we didn't have time to visit the museum. Instead we dined on greasy fish and chips (I don't think I'll ever like the English version of gourmet cuisine) and visited Whitby Abbey. An atmospheric collection of ruins on a windswept cliff, it is notable for having helped inspire Bram Stoker to write Dracula. Unfortunately we were forced to share the English Heritage sight with looniest collection of medieval revivalists you've ever seen. They'd lugged their medieval beds, to sit at hand made tables and eat gruel out of handmade bowls. Of course they had to drive to the abbey but then thats by the by.

We Were Dead Before the Gig Was Even Over

ST LUKE'S: We do this thing at work called Netmog. Basically you click through hundreds of pages of text reconstituted from websites. It is always tedious and, after a point, it becomes useless from a bonus perspective. So in an effort to save my eyes and my sanity, I thought I'd give you my thoughts on Modest Mouse at the Royal Albert Hall last night.

As one of the last of my favourite bands I've never seen I couldn't help but have high expectations. Ever since I discovered Good News For People Who Love Bad News I've been intrigued by singer Isaac Brock's singing style and in particular the yelps and howls that punctuate the record.

However, as is often the case with high expectations, I finished the gig slightly disappointed. The Royal Albert Hall is a stunning venue, huge ceiling, four balconies and all the trappings of a venue that regularly hosts Her Majesty. Unfortunately it wasn't a venue best suited to rock n roll. When we bought our first round of drinks the bartender asked "Is it interval yet?" I'm yet to hear of any rock show that included an interval. Then we weren't allowed to carry beer onto the floor and there weren't enough people to hide amongst and enjoy a sneaky cigarette.

As for the actual performance, parts of it were very good, even virtuosic. It's always fun to see a band with two drummers and Brock even plucked his guitar with his teeth. Johnny Marr, formerly of The Smiths, made a good side show and some of the songs were superb. However the sound was terrible and on some of my favourite songs, including "Float On", parts of the melody ended up buried beneath bass and crumbling guitars. And the singing was much less than I expected. He was able to replicate some of the sounds of the album but others are either the result of extensive computer work of simply selected from 50+ takes.

But, I got to visit the Royal Albert Hall, the show was far from terrible and I bought a bootleg Modest Mouse t-shirt from some bloke outside the gig for only £10.

The Rest of Florence

ST LUKE'S: So on this hot Champion's League Final day I'll try and bash out my final reminisces on my days in Florence. What else did I do? Without my photos to remind me - who knows I may retrieve them or I may have to steal somebody elses - I'll have to rely on that archaic device... memory.

On my last day in Florence, after leaving the Uffizi, I wandered over the Pontevecchio (the famous bridge) and down to the Pallazzo Pitti and then after baulking at the entrace price I walked down the river to some church/lookout point that provides some stunning views over the city. But it was raining and crammed with tourists so I smoked a couple of cigarettes then went back to winding my way through the streets.

I also visited the former home of Renaissance poet and all round nice guy Dante Aligheri. Dante, most famous for his trek into Hell with Virgil, has had his abode transformed into a small museum that provides small insights into his life but huge insights into life under the Medicis and the various feuds between the Guelphs and Ghibellines. (Doesn't make sense to you? Time to book a historical holiday!)

I'm sure I did some other stuff. I ate food. I know I did that. I drank. I definitely did that. There was some gelati. Wherever I went in Italy there was gelati. I don't need photos to remind me of that. I've got a waist line. Anyway if I think of anything else I'll post it on here in the vain belief that you might be interested.

At Least That's What I Said

ST LUKE'S: Saw Wilco on Sunday night at the Shepherd's Bush Empire. The Empire is a converted theatre with a three tiered balcony. Standing tickets had already sold out, but I was lucky enough to get a spot on the first balcony to the side. My seat was virtually on top of the stage affording me the most astonishing view of the band and, in particular, Mikael Jorgensen the pianist. His performance was worth the price of the ticket alone. They played most of their recent gear but I don't think they played anything off A.M.M or Being There. Then I met some Norwegian Wilco fans in KFC who'd travelled from Oslo. Fair play to that.

The rest of the weekend was filled up with working all day Saturday, trying to find a non-smoking pub for baby Milo on Friday night, playing cricket for about four hours for Elerig's birthday on Saturday night and watching a pitiful F.A. Cup final.

The other great highlight was a visit to the Imperial War Museum in Elephant & Castle on Sunday arvo. (I finally saw the Elephant and the Castle. It's a crap pink Elephant with an even crapper castle turrent on it's back. The crap ensemble aloft an even crappier shopping centre overlooking possibly the crappest roundabout in London. Pretty crappy huh?) It was much bigger than expected and we really only had time to check out some tanks, a V2 Rocket, the World War 1 exhibition, an exhibition on children during World War 2 and a big display on the Holocaust. But we do have enough saved up for a return visit.

Anyway I should get back to work. Hopefully I'm off to see Zodiac tonight and then Modest Mouse tomorrow night and then the North East for the Bank Holiday weekend.

Michelangelo in Florence

ST LUKE'S: Obviously the first play for Michelangelo in Florence is the Galleria d'Academia which is basically a purpose-built display case for the world's most famous sculpture. First glimpsing David is one of those exciting art moments where you round a corner, instantly feel a shock of recognition and then turn away in an instant in an attempt to preserve the 'freshness' of your eyes.

The statue is immense. On my first look I wasn't particularly impressed but I wandered around other parts of the museum, including an extensive and very interesting exhibition of Renaissance-era musical instruments, and then returned for a second go. That's when it got me. Round and round David I went like merry go round. With each new pass another detail would reveal itself. The contours of his calves, flexed but tentative, the cords in his neck rising with the turn of the head, the perfectly sculpted muscles. Even the pose, one of fear and trepidation, of youth on the verge of an immense challenge, is perfectly captured. Later in the week, in Rome, I would see sculptures that far surpassed it, but for the moment it was probably the greatest sculpture I had ever seen.

I also visited several other sculptures hidden in a Medici Chapels and an immense staircase that advanced improbably through a room like a marauding army. What is so amazing about these Renaissance artists is their ability to transfer their aesthetic skills and apply their talents across an array of media.

Anyway this might be shite but I've banged it out at warp speed at work on a Saturday listening to England v. West Indies in the Test match and my mind feels foggy after a few cheeky beers at Flo and Lou's place last night.

The Week That Was

ST LUKE'S: It's been a busy week at work. I'm trying not to skive off too much so I can collect a juicy bonus to make up for all the overtime I've missed. So other than working all I've really done is go to the movies. Twice. 28 Weeks Later on Monday night and Spiderman 3 last night. The former was ordinairy while the latter was extraordinairy. Last night I also slaved away at a review of John Ashbery's A Worldly Country which I seem to have been working on for months. It's a difficult book to learn how to review on.

In other news my memory card has corrupted so I might have lost all my photos of Italy. I'm still trying a few things so I'll let you know how I get on. Otherwise I'll construct an album out of random Flickr pics and Jaya's pics.

My Days in Florence

ST LUKE'S: So what did I do in Florence when I wasn't wandering around buying €9 ice creams or galavanting around Tuscany? Some of the following:

Foodmarkets: After sitting in a coffee shop reading the IHT for an hour and a half waiting for the rain to pass, a pleasureable enough way to idle away the hours in itself, I walked across a piazza and into a giant food market with fresh produce on the second floor and a full range of delis on the bottom. I wandered around trying dried fruits, cheeses and hams before settling on a place for a delicious ham and cheese pannini, made from the ham and cheese of my choice. Sadly my hostel didn't have a kitchen so I couldn't stock up on stuff to take home and cook.

The Uffizi: When I tried to book tickets I was told they were booked out. This condemned me to three hours standing in line despite arriving half an hour after the doors opened at 8:30. And the massive queue meant I missed the finish to the Florence Marathon which was being run on the same day.

Inside the Gallery was a slight disappointment. It's poorly maintained, especially compared to its illustrious Western European rivals. It's art collection is ok but focussed almost entirely on the Renaissance. And it's absolutely packed with tourists wondering which pictures they're supposed to be looking at and for how long.

Despite this the Botticelli Rooms were absolutely stunning. The painter's reputation rests, largely, on the paintings in this gallery and it is a reputation thorougly deserved. There were also some stunning Raphael's, a lovely terrace and sundry other wonderful paintings by the Great Masters. But from a gallery I'd hoped to deliver so much, I was left longing.

The Bargello: I'd never even heard of this little gallery but the Rough Guide said it was Florence's best sculpture musuem so I got up early to beat the crowds, stopping for a cappucinno and croissant at my local breakfast joint (1.70 - the price fluctuations in this country!!!), and braved the rain. When I got there the place was virtually empty. It boasts the best collection of Donatello, some Bernini's, and a couple of Michelangelo's.

It was a small, idiosyncratic gallery built around an open forecourt. It was lovely to be able to wander and enjoy the sculptures and the other objects unmolested by the tourist crowds.

Churches in Florence: I visited a few churches in Florence. Beginning with the Duomo, with its enormous dome and stadium sized interior, then moving on to a church boasting the tombs of Machievelli, Dante, Gallileo and Marconi, the inventor of the radio.

This isn't everything I did in Florence but it's a lot of things. I'll finish the rest of shortly.

Travelling the World in Pursuit of Cider

ST LUKE'S: Like I said, I probably need to note what I did in Brittany, both for your enjoyment and my memory, before I get on to the long saga of my week and a half in Italy. The task is complicated by the fact that we spent most of Easter blinded by local cider and the sun glinting off the ocean opposite our accommodation.

I might have mentioned that we were staying in Elerig's family's holiday house in Kerity on a southern tongue of Brittany. The place was across the road from the ocean. The shore was littered with rocks and little pools so there wasn't a beach (it was too cold to swim anyway) but the view was stunning.

Our visit coincided with some of the best spring weather of the year and we were able to sit around in shorts and skirts sunning ourselves and imbibing the local beverages. For wine lovers in France this generally means endless bottles of cheap, but gloriously quaffable, muscadet. For variety we had Kroenenburg and bottles of Breton cider. It was the cider that made the trip. Not mass produced Magners or Strongbow, stripped of the earthy flavours of its production. But not that thick, undrinkable West Country crap. Instead it's a deliciously sweet brew, highly reminiscent of apple juice, but with a definite alcoholic kick. I should know. I got pissed on the stuff. Just about every village we'd drive through

Of course where there is booze, there's food. And it is France. So we enjoyed some fantastic butter ("the best butter in the world"), spread across some fresh bread, a lovely dish of mussels, plates of galets and crepes, fresh mackerel bought from the local market, salads, chocolate and the various other fruits of Brittany. We had crabs at a local restaurant and ham on the beach. We stopped at various boulangeries for pain au chocolate and Elerig introduced the Antipodeans to a wonderful French speciality... steak and chip baguettes.

Aside from the food and drink, we had an Easter egg hunt with eggs cunningly stashed by yours truly, a couple of abortive games of Scrabble, long scrambles over rocks, a ridiculous attempt at pedalling some type of stupid tourist contraption and some long, contemplative beers watching the sun set. To the bemusement of the natives there was also a game of beach cricket with a fence post.

It might be true that I spent most of Brittany in a cider haze and other things happened. But I don't remember them. Only the endless fields of tulips and rapeseed rolling by the windows.

Farewell Pasta, Hello Black Pudding

ST LUKE'S: I'm back. Some of you might think I absolutely hated Florence after my last rant. I didn't. I hate Eddie Jones. There is a difference. I just thought Florence was irredeemably shabby. Rome was astounding. Obviously give the slapdash way this blog is written and published it will take me a while. I still have to finish Brittany and that seems like months ago. Anyway until that moment, good night and good luck.

Day Trip in Tuscany

FLORENCE: Yesterday was my excursion day. For about two weeks now I've been tossing up between visiting Lucca, north west of the city, or Siena and San Gimignano to the south. I've tried all the usual channels but I still couldn't make up my mind. In the end I left it to fate. Whichever train came first I'd take. In the end the train to Siena was leaving an hour and a half earlier so there was no contest.

San Gimignano isn't on any train lines and to get there you have to get off the Siena train at a small industrial town called Poggibonsi and then take a bus. From there it's a local bus through the Tuscan countryside. Unfortunately I'd just missed the bus, so I was condemned to a lazy hour reading the paper, drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. There are worse ways of passing the time.

When the bus finally did arrive, all the passengers got on, the locals moved towards their seats and myself and American couple asked the bus driver for tickets. He told us we needed to go into the shop at the station so in a panic we jumped off the bus, our bags still on board, and bolted to the kiosk for tickets.

San Gimignano enjoys part of its reputation from the twelve tours the fill the city. Perched on a hilltop, it makes for a stunning sight when first glimpsed in the distance as you round a corner. Arriving at the town my first priority was a tourist information desk and a bus timetable so I could plan my escape. With that accomplished I was free to wander the town, refreshing myself with more coffee and pizza. (Did I do anything else in Italy other than eat or drink?)

I walked the town walls, explored the remains of a fort at the top of the hill, craned my neck upwards to observe the towers, wandered up and down forgotten little backstreets and watched the crowds milling around the cafes and the fountain in the piazza. After lunch I waited for them to open a museum that contained some lovely Etruscan art and then climbed a tower for what, I was later told, was the most wonderful view of Tuscany. And then, as the rain pissed down upon me, it was time to leave. I was grateful for the rain actually. It rained when I left Florence, stopped for most of the morning, and then rained briefly, though heavily, as I left. However the weather probably did much to keep the crowds away. After all the town enjoys a reputation as the most visited small town in Italy.

After a bus back to Poggibonsi it was another wait on a train station platform for the onward journey to Siena. I met a fellow tourist, a photographer from Brazil, who had been travelling on her own for six months so we swapped stories on the train and then wandered around Siena. The town itself isn't as impressive as it's smaller cousin. Like Florence the influx of tourism has left quite a stain on the place, something I was surprised wasn't repeated in Rome. We checked out the Duomo, just the outside - it was closing when we got there, the Campo, and its steep winding streets. It is a nice place, it just doesn't have the natural beauty or the relaxed vibe of San Gimignano and even though the smaller town is probably more kitschy it absorbs it better. In a way I wish I'd visited Lucca but then I might have been disappointed there and there wouldn't have been a side trip like SG.

Then it was time for a bus back to the train station, a train back to Florence and another carafe of wine accomplished by a bowl of spaghetti carbonara. Bellissimo!

My Rant

FLORENCE: I'm sitting in an Internet cafe killing time until my 6:30 train to Roma. It's raining outside like it has been since I got here. Rather than post my day-to-day adventures of Florence, which I will do soon, I thought I'd put my general thoughts on the city to paper while they're still fresh.

I've cycled through a number of adjectives to describe Florence. Seedy, but that doesn't work because there's too many middle aged tourists, no armies of touts and no strip clubs. Crass, but even though it heaves with tourists you can't escape the fact that this is THE city of Dante, the Medicis and the Ninja Turtles. No the best adjective for Florence is shoddy.

Shoddy in that the tourist attractions aren't up to European standards. The Uffizi is an absolute wreck. Totally incomparable to anything in Spain, England, Germany or the Netherlands. Shoddy in the fact that the streets are a twisted web of cheap internet places, cut price restaurants, souvenir stalls. Think of it as a Renaissance version of Surfer's Paradise.

And the tourists. Everywhere you look somebody is rushing off to see David, tour groups are following a flag brandishing leader, some middle aged American woman is whinging about pizza. The odd thing is that it there aren't, comparatively speaking, a lot of tourists under thirty. It is the most middle-aged tourist destination I've ever visited.

On the bright side though, the artworks are fantastic. The city looks fantastic when viewed from above. The river is beautiful and the gellati is fantastic. But I don't think I'll be visiting Florence again.

Eddie Should Go

FLORENCE: Just looked at The Courier Mail. Friends of mine who have conversed with me about rugby know that I dislike Eddie Jones. In fact if he were to get hit by bus, I would wish him a slow and painful death in the gutter. That whole thing about the Wallabies having every rugby trophy under the sun, then deciding to give them back. That wasn't cute. That wasn't funny. And now I read about his latest performance with the Reds. How can one many so thoroughly ruin my enjoyment of a game I've loved for about eighteen years?

Drinking Alone

FLORENCE: So the sun had barely risen on Thursday morning when I set out for the Tube, pack across my shoulders, to catch the first train, change catch another train to north London before getting on still another train on why way to Stanstead. Then it was on a plane, an hour wait at a train station and another train from Pisa to Florence before I could get to my hostel. Why is it that even if you're only flying for an hour or two, you end up being in transit for about seven hours?

That said the plane ride did provide me with some of the days highlights. Flying over the Swiss Alps, still covered with snow on the cusp of summer, was incredible. I think I was able to pick out Lake Lucerne, Mont Blanc in the distance towering far above the clouds and possibly Lake Como as we crossed in to Italy. I've often heard people say that when you fly past Everest you look down instinctively, but to see it you actually have to look up. Mont Blanc was like that.

When I got to Florence it was largely overcast and since most of the museums keep odd hours I decided to wander around. First visiting the massive Duomo which, despite being incredibly impressive on the outside, is somewhat underwhelming inside. Then I paid 9 Euros for an ice cream. Seriously.

And then I walked down towards the Arno, across the river on the Ponte Vecchio and then on the Piazza Pitti which includes the Renaissance-era Boboli Gardens. The sun was straining against some oppressive cloud cover but it wasn't raining so I spent the next two hours climbing these steep gardens for an impressive view of the city. There's an old fort, Belvedere, at the top of the hill at it has some of the most wonderful views of Florence.






For dinner I had osso bucco, beans and bruschetta in a restaurant overlooking the river and proceeded to get thoroughly sozzled on my own before staggering back to my hostel.