In Praise of Islands

A couple of years ago, I was inspired to write a life list - a kind of to-do list for life.  This was on the back of two years of adventure, when I'd taken a leap of faith, packed up my flat and packed in my job in London and set off around the world.  The life list was written in the spirit of trying to keep that sense of adventure present in my life, even if my travels wouldn't always be to such exotic places.

I can't remember exactly what prompted number 21 on my list: visit all of Ireland's inhabited offshore islands.  It's true that I have a love of islands.  It's true that I think that one of the most romantic and exciting things in the world is to get on a ferry (luckily, since I grew up on and have returned to live on an island, albeit a relatively large one.)  It's true that my metaphor-reflex finds islands very useful - in fact I based an entire museum concept on the idea of stories being islands, which in turn could form archipelagoes, through which visitors would navigate, following different currents depending on their interests.  But island-love notwithstanding, I think that no. 21 was written without much forethought and it was almost by accident that I decided to visited island #1, Cape Clear, a couple of years ago.

At the time I was struggling with some mixed emotions about Ireland.  Having lived overseas most of the time since I was 19, I felt like a stranger in Ireland and Ireland felt strange to me.  I wasn't sure if I 'got' it anymore or, if I did, if I liked what I was getting.

Cape Clear (albeit it on an idyllic summer's day) helped to remind me what is special about this country.  I'm beginning to realise that Ireland's islands represent a kind of distillation of some of Ireland's most amazing qualities.  The unique beauty of the landscape (the distinctive blend of greens, greys, blues I've never seen anywhere else); the sense of community; the sense of ancientness - because there are places in Ireland that look more or less as they have for the past thousand years.  Though not all of the islands are Gaeltachts (areas where Irish Gaelic is the first language), many of them are - reinforcing the impression of timelessness.

None of this is to say that I want the islands to remain preserved as some kind of heritage theme park.  What's wonderful to see are the ways in which the ancient and the modern combine: when we saw the yurt camp and the goat's milk ice cream parlour on Cape Clear, or heard some locals on Rathlin discussing the best online shopping.

I've recently added two islands to my list (for a grand total of four, so I still have quite a way to go) and am loving the discoveries I make with each one.  Not only am I exploring hitherto unknown parts of the country, everytime I'm on a ferry heading back to the mainland, it's as though I'm arriving in Ireland for the first time - excited and full of anticipation.

So this week's posts (delayed somewhat because of moving house, sorry about that) are all in praise of islands.

Overseen: Inisboffin

Overseen, Donegal, July 2013:

This is Inisboffin, a small, sometimes-inhabited island of the coast of Donegal, which we passed by on the way to Tory.  One day I will hopefully visit it.  One day when the sky is a little less grey and the sea  a little less choppy ...

Overseen, Overheard: Best Parade Ever

Overseen and heard, Dublin, July 2013:

Running an errand, I walked slap into this parade, which was led by the Garda band:

Which reminded me of the parade in Flight of the Doves (sadly no longer on Youtube, but it's amazing: Gardai marching, a Guinness bus, comely maidens waving flags, people on bicycles - yes, Irish people could rock a St Patrick's Day Parade c. 1971) so clearly I was charmed.

Overseen: Box of Delights

Overseen, Paris, July 2013.

The window display at Diptyque, 34 Boulevard St Germain.  Yes, I was lured inside, where I bought a Maquis-scented candle.  My sister to the contrary, it didn't smell of grimy Résistance fighters, but of the herby, sun-warmed countryside of the South of France.

MuCEM

My trip to Marseille a couple of weeks ago was centred around a visit to the new MuCEM: Musee des Civilisations de l'Europe et de la Mediterranee.  Long name aside, this is a museum devoted to the Mediterranean: people, places, culture.

You can approach the museum from several directions and several levels, but I would recommend crossing one of the metal bridges that connect the MuCEM complex with the surrounding area.  What a fantastic way of priming visitors for the museum visit, evoking the idea of crossing cultures, crossing continents, crossing the sea ... as well as nodding to the working history of the port.

I landed at Fort St Jean, a historic fortress with lots of cool, dark spaces, many of them featuring interpretation about the site.  There is also a temporary exhibition space, a shop, a cafe and terraced seating.

Oh, and amazing views -

- not least of the new museum building, which, I may as well tell you now, I fell completely in love with.

Designed by Algerian/French architect Rudy Ricciotti, the building is a cube of glass and metal overlaid with a skin of cobwebby concrete.  I know that's an oxymoron but the structure manages to be both delicate and industrial.

The play of light in, through and around the concrete super-structure is beautiful and particularly apt, given the strong, pure light Marseille enjoys for much of the year.

And of course the light creates lovely dappled effects.

Most of these photos were taken from the rooftop terrace (you can enter from the roof or the ground), complete with chairs and sunloungers for enjoying the view.

You then follow a ramp down and around the building (think ziggurat) with glimpses into different spaces and offices - what would normally be behind the scenes is very much on view.

So far, so magnificent.  But on the ground floor the problems began.  Poor orientation led to many confused visitors wandering around looking for somewhere to start.  Though there is no prescribed route, most people seemed to choose to visit the two permanent galleries first (dedicated to the culture/s of the Mediterranean).  These, I'm afraid to say, I found disappointing.  Little reference to the stunning architecture, bland exhibition design and often quite generic content.

The exhibition was themed around four 'singularities' of the Mediterranean: 'the birth of agriculture and invention of gods', 'Jerusalem - thrice-blessed city', 'citizens and citizenship' and 'beyond the known world'.  For me the problem was that the narrative veered uncomfortably between wide generalisations and odd specifics - and that the objects very often didn't support the narrative.

There were a couple of honorable exceptions - for example a display about bread and breadmaking, which included these beautiful moulds from all over the Mediterranean:

I also liked these talking heads within the citizenship area - a mixture of ancient, modern and virtual portrait busts.

The final area - 'beyond the known world' - was, perhaps, my favourite as it seemed to be more truly focused on issues of Mediterranean culture and identity.  I also fully acknowledge that my disappointment was largely because what I was hoping to find (exhibitions engaging with what Mediterranean culture and identity were, are, might be; exploring links and connections between Mediterranean cultures) wasn't present.  That's not to say that others wouldn't be delighted with the content, though I still think the exhibition design is distinctly underwhelming.

But I did take a few encouraging things away.  First, the museum felt somewhat underripe - it had only opened a few weeks before I visited.  So it is very possible that the exhibitions will develop and mature - and that the collections will do likewise.  I note that the museum plans to change the permanent exhibition every 3-5 years, which may also account for the temporary feel.

I would still recommend a visit to the MuCEM.  Even if I might be tempted next time to skip the exhibition and get my dose of Mediterranean culture by enjoying an aperitif on the roof.

La Dame de la Garde et la Dame Blanche

When I revisit a city, I like to do something new - and go back to somewhere I loved the first time.  In Marseille, the choice for revisit was a toss up between Le Corbusier's Cite Radieuse apartment block or the church of Notre Dame de la Garde.  The church won, perhaps because it was on my mind as soon as I left Marseille-St Charles train station.  You can see it from almost everywhere in the city, perched on top of the highest hill, the gold statue of the Madonna like a beacon.

Notre Dame de la Garde is a very clear example of the psychology of faith.  In a city that was founded by sea-farers, build a beacon that can be seen from way out to sea. (The French word for lighthouse, 'phare', and the nickname for Marseille, 'la cite Phoceenne', are tangled in my head, so that I want to call Marseille 'la cite Phareenne', the city of lighthouses.)  When you come safely back to shore, pay your respects - and in cases of near-escape from death, leave a token of gratitude for your delivery.

The ex-votos hanging in the church - models of ships, paintings of ships, plaques with names and dates - are endlessly fascinating to me.

Be warned, it is a long walk up the hill and this time, rather than cycle, I got the bus.  I did walk back down though and, in what has become something of a birthday tradition, ordered a Dame Blanche to replenish my strength.

Vanilla ice cream, creme chantilly, hot chocolate sauce.  Oh la la.  One bite and I was twelve years old again.

From Notre Dame de la Garde to la Dame Blanche.  Two forms of spiritual pilgrimage, you might say.

Overseen: Go via Paradise

Overseen, Marseille, July 2013.

At first I thought it was some kind of art installation (there are lots of them dotted around Marseille on account of the city being European Capital of Culture 2013) but no - it's an honest-to-goodness road sign.  Which translates as 'detour via Paradise'.

Disappointingly, Paradise turned out to be an unexciting shopping street but still - what promise!