Monday 14 July 2014
Wednesday 9 July 2014
Snapshot: The Estonian Open Air Museum, May 2014
The Estonian Open Air Museum is charming. Like a breath of pine-scented fresh air,
laced with a little wood smoke rising through the thatched roofs.
Glimpses of sun through the trees,
and unexpected dwellings under them.
Vivid colours inside,
and the sound of sea and sails outside ...
… with a counterpoint of women's voices singing.
Monday 7 July 2014
So, ah, back in the middle of May, before I cruelly abandoned my blog for WORK, the outrage, I had the happy opportunity to visit the beautiful city of Tallinn, capital of Estonia. I was in Estonia (third new country of 2014, hurrah!) to attend the European Museum of the Year Award, which is inspiring and great and you should go if you have any interest in museums. If you have any interest in beautiful old cities, you should visit Tallinn. May is a wonderful time to be there because of the light: it doesn't get dark till late and everything has a special gilded quality.
Tallinn is a former Hanseatic city and its medieval Old Town is a World Heritage Site. It's really a miracle of history that the old buildings survived the various invasions and occupations of the city (which included a change of name: the city was known as Reval for a chunk of its history).
As you walk through the walled centre, you'll see cobbled streets and houses with pointed gable roofs.
There are many references to Tallinn's medieval heritage, including guilds. Behind this facade, a passageway led to Katariina Kaik, or St Catherine's Passage, which houses the Guild of St Katariina - a collective of craftspeople.
This is a teeny, tiny, Orthodox chapel,
while this is the spire of the Lutheran St Olaf's Church.
I found it a delight to walk around with no fixed itinerary: as the Old Town is bounded by walls, it's almost impossible to get lost. Here's a view of one of the historic entryways to the city:
And here's the view from above:
Taking a turn, completely by whim, down Muurivahe, I discovered a door in one of the towers that led up to the ramparts. (You had to pay a nominal amount - maybe €3 to enter). Up at the top, I discovered my favourite spot in the city, and spent a happy hour there on a Sunday morning, basking in the sun, listening to the bells of the Old Town.
Friday 4 July 2014
Today is the 100th anniversary of the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo. It is also my birthday. The coincidence of these two events has always made me particularly conscious of the significance of the date – never more so than this year.
It is of course pure coincidence that I happened to be born on the anniversary of the day Gavrilo Princip shot and hit Franz Ferdinand and gave Europe the excuse it had been looking for to declare war. But, connected by a date, the two events overlap in my mind’s eye. Franz Ferdinand so formal with his uniform, his waxed moustache and plumed helmet; his wife Sophie in white, with flowers tucked into her belt. My mother in a stuffy, green-tinged hospital room, wearing a white nightie. I see myself, face scrunched up, howling the way I am in my earliest photos, held at arms’ length. I see – not the Archduke - but the man in the crowd; one of many who had taken potshots at various royals over the centuries. Two deaths, one birth.
The other day, walking around Thessaloniki – a city which has suffered more than its fair share from the conflicts of the 20th century – it occurred to me that perhaps we have needed a hundred years to make our peace with 1914. I know this is a thought based on instinct and not on science, but bear with me. Count a generation as thirty years and a century roughly equates to three generations. My four grandparents were all born before or during World War I; at least two of them were old enough to remember it though none, thank God, were old enough to serve in it. Now my grandparents are dead, and that generation is gone. There are no World War I veterans still alive. From here on out, our understanding of that war will be at a remove.
Hearing about the 1917 fire that devastated Thessaloniki and the outfall of the breakup of the Ottoman Empire and the population exchange of 1923 that seemed like some politicians’ idea of a solution to religious conflict (hint: it wasn’t) and the German occupation during WWII and the rounding up of the Jews who had made Thessaloniki their home since their expulsion from Spain in the 15th century … any one of these events could have put paid to the city and yet, somehow, it survived, adapted, endured. Perhaps the city takes its lessons from the traces of people who have gone before: the Byzantines, the Romans, the Macedonians. Given enough time, the edges of the past can be smoothed out. Still present, but no longer capable of causing so much pain.
Standing in the crypt of St Demetrius’ Church, where you can see traces from the multiple cultures who have inhabited Thessaloniki, I had a sudden, strong instinct that the passing of a century might clear a bit of space around the memory of 1914. Give it some distance that would allow fresh air in to heal some of the wounds.
They say that it takes a year before we really start to come to terms with the death of a loved one. A year of events and anniversaries (birthdays, holidays, Christmas) to come and go before we lose the cold-water flinch when we are, once again, hit by the shocking realisation that someone is no longer with us. And now we have had a hundred years of the 28th June signifying – not the outbreak of the most devasting war the world had witnessed to that point – but the date of birthdays, weddings, holidays or even just happy, normal, event-free days.
Anniversaries – both the public and the private – are important. I was always struck by the decision to have the signing of the Treaty of Versailles on the 28th June 1919: a conscious acknowledgement of the symbolism of the date, an attempt to cauterise the wound. Five years was optimistically soon, but after the commemorations of the centenary of WWI pass, I think the significance of the date will also change. Its meaning as the harbinger of a long century of conflict will fade into history and, over time, some other event will take place on this date and that will be what we remember. For me, ultimately, the coincidence of public anniversary and birthday is a reminder to celebrate life and the good things it has brought.
Monday 26 May 2014
Saving the best for last: perhaps the most extraordinary thing we did/saw while in Lesotho was to visit Ha Baroane. It's not the easiest place to get to and eventually we abandoned the car and walked ... but luckily the way was scenic.
Here is my archaeologist sister getting very excited at the sign for Ha Baroane.
To our surprise (because nothing about the road in led us to expect it), just beyond the sign was a very picturesque interpretive centre - with car park, but (understandably) no cars.
But where was the rock art? To get to it, we followed a guide down a hill, through the fields,
over a narrow bridge across a gorge,
to our first view of some rock art. This being an example of the contemporary rock painting scene.
We then walked along the river for a few minutes, passing lots of wattle bushes on the way.
And finally we reached an overhanging slab and there, on the underside, were colourful animals,
not to mention people.
The art might be thousands of years old or hundreds of years old or simply decades old (or a combination of all of the above) - but it was wonderful. Detailed, vivid, witty - absolutely worth the effort to get to it.
Thursday 15 May 2014
In which LTLS and I walked in the footsteps of dinosaurs.
The museum and archive at Morija introduced us to the story of dinosaurs in Lesotho:
Inspired, we decided to hike up the nearby mountain where, we were told, you could see dinosaur footprints. Directions were a little on the hazy side though, and we had a few false starts just in finding the start of the track, though eventually we did. We had been told to follow the red arrows. And to begin with they took us along a pretty woodland path, leading to even prettier clearings like this one.
The lake proved to be a bit of an obstacle because this is where we lost the red arrows - for the first time. After slipping and sliding halfway up one mountain and slipping and sliding back down again when we realised we were well on our way to being lost, we finally refound the arrows on the other side of the lake.
We continued, up a steep path, pushing our way through trees, bushes and brambles. The views kept our spirits up ...
... right until the point where we lost the red arrows for the second time. The trail just stopped dead. We tried going straight - nothing. Tried going up - nothing. Tried going down - still no sign of dinosaurs. Eventually we retraced our route to the point where the arrows stopped.
Hey, wouldn't it be funny if the arrows stopped here because this is where the dinosaur footprints are - but we didn't notice?
I have to say that putting my hands into dinosaur footprints - which look as though Lesothosaurus had just run up the side of the cliff in a recent mudslide - was a real thrill.
So our scrambling was not in vain. Though by the time we lost the red arrows for the third time, we were ready to retire from dinosaur hunting.