A Few Days In Paris, Then Home

I enjoyed the people of Italy. Friendly and hospitable, they often offered assistance even when challenged by an uncommon language. That language barrier did drive me a bit bonkers when I would find myself relegated to TV programing only available in Italian. There, everyone talks very fast and very loudly, gesturing constantly. It now occurs to me how terribly limiting it must be for an Italian to fully comprehend talk-radio programing without gesticulation.

On our return back to the outskirts of Palermo, we spent an evening in a hotel at the edge of the Mediterranean, where the blue sea and crashing waves mesmerized me for a day. Here's a view from my room.

Sophia identified directions to a terrific drivable family-owned restaurant only a town away. The owners catered to us so effectively at lunch that we were compelled to drive back for dinner. Also, their pizza oven was only operational in the evening and I couldn't resist one more opportunity for buffala topping. However, ordering that first meal proved an experience, as neither the waiter nor owner spoke anything but the native tongue. This was a tough negotiation for us, since the menu listed mostly new exotic seafood dishes of questionable origin. One by one, the owner brought out various teenage daughters and other mustached family members to aid in the dialogue, without much communicative success. Our rescuer was a local diner, named Louie. A native Sicilian now residing in New Jersey, Louie deciphered the menu and saved the day. That evening, with NJ Louie nowhere in sight, the owner proudly introduced his night waiter, who even more proudly regaled us with fractured, if charmingly semi-accurate, English. All turned out well, and I don't think I consumed anything that was seriously moving.  

A short plane ride from Palermo to Milan, and a shorter hop to Charles de Gaulle Airport, returned us to Paris, where this adventure began a month ago. In the ensuing weeks, summer has definitely concluded. It's now below freezing at night and although relatively dry, snow flurries appear. But what a beautiful time of the year to be in this city of lights. The holiday season is in full display. Last night, the Champs-Elysees was a wonderland of illumination. Each of the hundreds of trees lining the wide boulevard, from the Arc de Triomphe all the way to the Place de la Concorde, was covered with streams of soft white bulbs, some of which would seem to cascade flowing light down their branches as if falling slivers of ice. Really something to stop and appreciate, which we did from one end of this scenic boulevard to the other.

Today we spent the day exploring holiday decorations and street-side shopping. The city has set up a Noel street fair along part of the Champs-Elysee, and the flavor is "tres Internationale" in merchandise and cuisine. Although most of our public transport has been via the outstanding Metro subway system of Paris, we spent about an hour on the city bus system, motoring a final above-ground look at some of the trademark highlights.

A most bizarre way to conclude the visit was a lengthy walking tour through the Pere Lachaise Cemetery, itself a landmark for any number of reasons, principally its residents. Respects were paid to Callas, Piaf, Moliere and Wilde, where crowds still gather. The most popular gravesite remains the remains of Jim Morrison, of The Doors. Although he died here almost 40 years ago, folk of all ages crowd his site with flowers and remembrances. For me, Chopin's site here deserves more lasting reverence, but what do I know?

After a couple of days roaming about Paris, I'm ready for Stateside re-immersion, and will join my family on the east coast for about a week before returning to the Bay Area. It's been a memorable month. Here's a final look at Paris in a typical street scene.

And with that, "a bientot, Paris." The journal is closed.

Location:Paris, France

On the Ionian Sea

First, a word about my fellow drivers on these roads of Italy. The less said the better.

It's actually not as bad as anticipated, although challenges abound. I've been the designated driver for the trip, and our trusty rented Mercedes has negotiated with aplomb the curves of each narrow, twisting town street and inhumanly tight parking garage we've confronted. Other folks on the road, however, function under the assertion that defensive driving means you take the preemptive strike, then move on as quickly as your diesel engine will carry you. This is particularly true of the hoards of scooters and small motorcycles that appear from nowhere, commandeer any space available and consider each traffic sign, light and pedestrian crossing as an antiquated illusion. OK. Venting over. And I feel a lot better.

Our track has motored us counterclockwise around the perimeter of Sicily, from Agrigento in the southwest, through Gela (nice panini, and I'm not being fresh), around Ragusa, then for overnights in Siracusa (Syracuse) and a couple of days in the beautiful sloping seaside community of Taormina, at the foot of Mt. Etna. We're near the northeastern corner of the island, on the Ionian Sea facing the toe of Italy's Boot.


Mt. Etna dominates the horizon for many miles. At its snow-topped crest is a constant white cloud, the probable result of either ongoing geologic activity at this active volcano or some Messianic event the Vatican is attempting to influence. Its proximity to the blue Mediterranean is striking, as these two bounties of nature compete for eye-catching wonderment.

LOTS OF WANDERING AROUND THE NEIGHBORHOOD
As the score from Rodgers and Hart's "The Boys From Syracuse" kept replaying in my addled brain, I meandered around Siracusa. We stayed on its island of Ortigia, another picturesque community, with views of the sea accessible from every alleyway. Greek ruins, in excellent repair, dominate. But the highlight of Siracusa is its duomo piazza. If I were to design a movie set of what a pristine baroque church square should look like, this would be it. The plaza is ringed with tall, white marble buildings in perfect condition. At night, each is lit dramatically. Quite a sight. A bus ride across to the mainland side of Siracusa afforded a visit to one of the more interesting archeological museums, where 18,000 artifacts, from Sicily's prehistoric habitation through the Greek period, are on display with descriptions in two languages, one of which I can speak.

The next day, in Taormina, was spent casually strolling through its busy shopping streets, Greco-Roman theater (still in use) and lovely gardens. Driving to the city center was an experience. Our GPS system had a hard time interpreting the constantly-renovated streets (nicknamed Sophia, her Italian pronunciations are a kick) and we found ourselves going up and down more than one long circuitous hillside path. It did give us the chance to get a panoramic sight of Mt. Etna, well-worth the detours. An unexpectedly humorous turn found me driving up a steep city hill, only to be accosted by two motorcycle cops (Italian variety), waving anxiously and shouting something to me in a foreign language. I was relatively confident I wasn't driving the wrong way on a one-way street (easy to do, trust me), but soon realized that we were facing the oncoming herd of Taormina's annual marathon race. As hundreds of runners, in various states of amusement and amazement, passed our car, all we could do was wave and wish them well. I'm sure they all were wishing us the same, but some of this might have been lost in the translation.

LOTS OF FRESH FOOD
Tomorrow, we head back to Palermo for our final day in Sicily. We've had a good draw of accommodations throughout Italy, mostly three to four star hotels or charming B&Bs, such as tonight's location overlooking the Med. We're splurging for our final night in Palermo at a resort about an hour out of town, with balcony rooms on the water. Then back to Paris for a final three days. As mentioned previously, our meals have been delectable. Happily, there's been so much exercise, the pasta has not taken permanent residence. But after all the activity, a good menu takes heightened significance. Here's a view of some of the fare, as displayed at one of the outdoor markets in Siracusa.


Bon appetit! Next: Paris Encore.

Location:Taormina, Italy

An Offer You Can't Refuse

Another WiFi find, so another report. We spent the greater part of yesterday motoring across half of Sicily, from Palermo to the town of Agrigento, site of the Valley of the Temples. No, this isn't a shopping mall sponsored by the United Jewish Appeal. It's an expanse of rich archeological treasures from the 5th Century B.C., all Greek temples in various states of ruin, stretching across a long ridge of almond and olive trees, with the Mediterranean at its feet. Today, we climbed through the site in detail.


But along the way, I couldn't resist a drive through the rocky hills leading to the town of Corleone. Throughout the journey, the love theme from "The Godfather" haunted me. Just as depicted in the film, the area takes your breath away with its verdant beauty: tall green hills patched with squares of vine stalks and other local produce; stone buildings, in different stages of wear, dating back centuries; herds of sheep crossing from one rolling hill to the next, encouraged by attentive dogs and meandering shepherds strolling lazily behind.

Corleone is a moderately large village. We arrived just as school let out, and spent lunch at a popular pizzeria among lively high school students. The town itself is rather neural about its notoriety, and why not? I doubt if Vito Andolini or his prodigy ever walked these steps. But it was fun to see the surroundings from which the book emerged.


IN AND ABOUT PALERMO
This is a large metropolis, with the flavor of both Rome and Naples. Numerous large piazzas display grand sculpture, statues and architecture of many periods, dating back to the 11th C. Norman invasion. We wisely invested in a "Hop On/Off" tour bus ticket, and experienced two different touring routes with historical commentary. This allowed us to follow-up with return visits to favorite locales. The dock area was most interesting, as Palermo is a huge port for commercial and tourist activity. And not surprisingly, the seafood here and throughout Sicily is fresh and delicious.

One day we took an hour's bus ride out of town to Monreale. The cathedral there is a work of art in the field of mosaics, pretty much floor to ceiling (65,000 sq. ft.), by 12th C. Byzantine craftsmen. It's considered the art treasure of Sicily, and I wouldn't contest it. Here's a portion of the 42 ft. mosaic figure over the church's apse.


Another day we rode the rails 90 minutes eastward along the coast to the town of Cefalu. This was one of our favorite small cities in Italy, reminiscent of Orvieto. Its narrow cobblestone streets were filled with interesting small shops, with towering medieval stonework above. It was fun to wander through the streets and get a feel for the quieter life enjoyed by its residents. A tasty lunch of homemade pasta with crabmeat, in a small restaurant near the sea, was punctuated by the delightful vocal reaction to local seafood delicacies as expressed by a group of Japanese tourists. I'm guessing they enjoyed it, but since my Japanese is about as proficient as my Italian, there's no way to be sure.

Next: eastern shore of Sicily, and the city of Syracuse.

Location:Agrigento, Sicily

Getting Out of Napoli

WiFi again! We stopped at a resort near the airport in Palermo, and found the only WiFi extant on this island of Sicily! Here's a report written a few days ago. We're driving across the island; more later.

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Few Italian cities hold less charm than Naples. There are plenty of picturesque vistas in this ancient metropolis, and the cuisine is terrific (this is, after all, home town to the thin-crust pizza). But it's a high-tension experience compared with other areas of The Boot. One-third of all adult Neapolitans are unemployed. Pickpockets and beggars abound, as are mountains of garbage at every corner, a consequence of insufficient landfill space. Most guidebooks recommend that Naples is a town to pass through on the way to Pompeii and Sorrento, and although we stayed a couple of nights in town at a nice B&B, we didn't linger.

WHAT'S SMOKIN'?
Climbing through the ruins at Pompeii and Herculaneum is fascinating, and brings antiquity alive. We spent about four hours at each location, as they are very different. Although both cities were destroyed by the eruption of Vesuvius in 79 A.D., Pompeii succumbed from the rain of heavy ash and pumice that collapsed buildings and suffocated residents. Herculaneum fell a day later, when the blast of Vesuvian gases and molten materials racing through the area at 100 mph effectively petrified the buried city and any remaining citizens, Excavations at the latter reveal walls, gardens and even roofs of complete homes, displaying remarkably clear wall frescos and other artwork. Here I am at one of the restored theaters in Pompeii, surprisingly alert after several hours of cultural overkill, followed by a view of Herculaneum from the perspective of the height of its lava covering.






HOW ABOUT LUNCH IN SORRENTO?
That was the impromptu consensus after climbing out of the town of Pompeii. A short train ride later, we were wending our way through the hills of this magnificent coastal treasure. After a long walk down the curving road from the heights of the city, seen here, we discovered a delightful restaurant on the bay.


This was the relaxing atmosphere of southern Italy that I looked forward to. Next time, it's nix on Naples, and Sorrento all the way.

TRAINS, PLANES, AUTOMOBILES AND . . .
We decided that an enjoyable means of traveling to Sicily, our next destination, would be by sea. So we booked accommodations on the outbound overnight ferry from Naples to Palermo. I expected something north of a deck chair in a cold, rusty room, but was pleasantly surprised to find that we each had private staterooms, much like any cruise ship. The rather large vehicle (12 decks) had a restaurant, wine bar, disco and tiny casino. Not the Staten Island Ferry anticipated. A bright half-phase moon guided us through the Mediterranean. We departed at 8:30 p.m., and disembarked in Palermo the next morning at 7 a.m. A short cab ride later, and we were at our first hotel on the island of Sicily.

More to follow.

Location:Naples, Italy

Antiquity Amid the Bustle

Roma. A city like New York, with palpable energy. So different from the country feel of Tuscany. Hoards rush through the streets here with purpose, alongside placid romantics, whose contrasting attitude is more a perennial stroll. Like most of Italy, dinner is enjoyed late into the evening, by which time the hustle is over; one savors the night air, and lights caressing tired, if noble, buildings, and grand sculptured fountains by Bernini powered by aqueduct-driven water. Outdoor dining is often accompanied by a street entertainer performing passionate folk music on violin, or concertina or even saxophone. Rain may be intermittent, but each respite brings the strollers back into the night.

The cuisine has been one discovery after another. First course for dinner is generally a variety of pastas supported by another variety of sauces. Occasionally there's a minestrone or special regional soup. Last night I succumbed to a delicious salad course that included cukes, greens, melon and baby shrimp under a sweet vinegar dressing. Second courses have included the protein of the day: dishes of chicken, beef, pork or seafood. One night we went to the Ghetto area (still so named) and I enjoyed oso buco "Hebrew Style." Of course, there are many pizza opportunities daily, and the number of ways that dish can be presented is staggering. I stick to the popular buffala (buffalo) cheese among my toppings and I'm a happy puppy. Breads in Italy are not so hot. Bland is more accurate, as the locals avoid adding much salt, sugar or taste. I'll compensate when I get back to Paris is a few weeks. Desserts, so I'm told, are phenomenal (and full of butter). But for me there's always sherbets, choice gelato and incredible dark chocolates.

ART AND ARCHITECTURE
Two of my favorite places in Rome on this visit were the Borghese Gallery, for an overdose of art treasures, and the good ol' bloody turf of the Colosseum. The former takes your breath away with the elegance of Renaissance masters; the latter just takes your breath away. The scale of carnage on the acreage of the Colosseum supports its claim as the bloodiest soil on earth. One example is its inaugural celebration in 80 A.D.: 100 continuous days of scheduled "events," where a total of 2,000 humans and 5,000 animals were slaughtered. And that was just the beginning; similar public merriment continued well into the 6th Century.


Pictured here are views of the tunnel system under the main staging area, where gladiators, wild animals and the unfortunate expendables awaited entry into the arena. One can only imagine what was going through those minds. (There's a scene in "Spartacus" that recreates those moments.) Public access to these areas have only become available recently, following extensive excavations. Likewise the uppermost tier of the gallery. It was a new experience at a site I've visited many times.


VATICAN MUSEUM: NOT BAD
If you're seeking the world's largest "private" collection of anything, you want to pay a courtesy visit to the Vatican. The Pontiff won't mind. This time I booked a guided tour of just the "highlights," which took us around two hours. It's estimated that a hit of all the Museum's publicly displayed artifacts and art would take 10 years. And what about the vaults and private library? (I've got Dan Brown in hold.) Just admiring and examining the walls and ornate gilded ceilings of endless hallways ... is dizzying.

We rounded out our three days in Rome with lots of roaming. I can attest that the Spanish Steps have the same number of stairs going up (138) as it does going down (138). And climbing around the ruins of the Roman Forum is as evocative as ever. And the fountains at night rival Paris.

A closing photo: the floor of the Pantheon, the oldest continuously functioning building on earth (over 2,000 years). Most of this beautiful marble floor is original.


I'm now in Naples, and will report on this intense city, unlike anything we've experienced to date, next time.

Location:Naples, Italy

The Hills Of Tuscany

We picked up a BMW sedan on exiting Florence (I doubt if the owner will mind) and began several days of motoring around the hill towns of Tuscany and Umbria. It was fun to drive these well-maintained roads, although speed limits seem to be respected as mere recommendations by the locals, and not for the faint of heart. But with six gears, I had more than enough to work with.



What eye candy this area of Italy offers. I can try to describe the continuous panoramas of rolling hills of grapes, hay and winter wheat, punctuated by silver groves of olive trees and lines of vertical Italian cypress seeming to stand at attention. A couple of shots here will provide some justice. Many times, I simply had to pull over so that we could experience the impact in repose.



Favorite medieval walled towns, maintaining their protective posture atop tall hills overlooking valleys of greens and gold, included San Gimignano (long, narrow cobblestone streets climbing and falling into intricate mazes of antique beauty), Siena (perennially a favorite, with its bustling, shell-shaped sloped Campo and soaring town hall), Pienza (built by a pope in honor of himself, but unfinished when his successor had other fiscal plans; its main square seems set for a Renaissance play), Montalcino (a great place for a slow, rainy walk, terrific food and its hometown Brunello vineyards) and the incredible Assisi, site of all things St. Francis.

We capped our driving program with an overnight in Orvieto, about 75 miles north of Rome, where I spent two weeks a few Novembers ago. I dined with a collection of friends who reside there, and once again was dazzled by the magic of the place.



This town has a duomo of rare Gothic beauty, and everything about Orvieto is enchanting, from its charm to its inhabitants.

With our arrival today in Rome, the car is gone (one does not voluntarily drive in Rome) and I'm back in the sightseeing mode. We spent a delightful evening walking around some of the nighttime sights of this Eternal City, marveled again at the Pantheon, found a delightful outdoor "osteria" for yet another superb meal and braved the circuitous city bus system. Tomorrow, the Borghese Gallery, some additional antiquity and dinner with a group of friends, including my Bay Area cantor, Roz Barak, who's in town to perform at a papal concert next week.

Location:Rome, Italy

Treading Stones of the Renaissance

I've spent the past few days basking. I don't bask all that often, so it's been a particularly rewarding experience. This is Florence, a city of treasures, and itself a treasure of a city. The bell tower of the duomo is pealing, the sky is bright blue against that building's unusual green and burnt orange marble highlights and fantastic ochre dome, and I'm in one of my favorite places.



This is my fourth visit to these narrow, curving cobblestone streets of Galileo and Michelangelo. As beautiful as the surroundings may be during its brisk days, you can feel the aura of the Renaissance here at night. The bustle of Florence may be 21st Century vitality; the atmosphere for me is pure Vivaldi.

After meeting my friends Kay and Ken in Paris, we flew to Pisa (great discount rates on EasyJet), then railed the short distance to Florence. Our hotel, on the site of one of the Medici family gardens, is around the corner from David, to whom we paid our respects a couple of days ago. Lest there be any debate, let me flatly assert that that sculpture is simply number one. How Michelangelo could conceive and liberate such a magnificent, seemingly breathing work of art out of 17 feet of imperfect marble is astounding. Every visit to that sculpture amazes.

We also spent a long morning navigating the layout of the Uffizi Gallery, one of the great museums of Renaissance art. You name the master, they've got him, in works stretching along long hallways whose ceilings and floors are pieces of art in themselves.

Most of the time in Florence has been enjoyed roaming, eating, shopping, more eating and absorbing the spirit of this town. For related atmosphere, add "A Room With A View" to your Netflix queue. Of particular pleasure: local gelato (nondairy variety), of which I have become quite the proficient. I located my favorite gelato shop, Grom, which hides on one of the small side streets near the duomo. It is known to be the best in the world and I, politely, have never disagreed. There is now a second Grom shop, in the heart of Manhattan.

LEAN ON ME
Today, we spent a balmy day back in Pisa. With temps in the mid-60's, it was perfect weather for the not-so-vertical climb to the top of the "Torre Pendente."



I can attest that the Tower has 300 steps to the very top, having now made that silly ascent twice. However, I did note that the experience was a tad less breathy some 40 years ago. Did the damn thing grow in the interim? In any case, it was fun once again to notice how the wear on its marble steps moves back and forth as the center of gravity keeps shifting. No carillon of bells on the hour this time, thankfully. In 1973, I was caught climbing the thin rail ladder to the top "layer," just as the four huge bells tolled the hour. Being able neither to hold my ears nor let go of the railing, I just froze there screaming along with the gongs. Finally on top, I looked down to the plaza below and saw my father pointing up at me. Later I learned that someone in our tour, seeing me at the summit, asked him, "Isn't that your son?," to which my father, peering up, shook his finger in my direction, and called, "Alan, you come down here, this instant!" Good old Papa Sid.

We depart Florence with regret in the morning. But it's on to three days driving around the hill towns of Tuscany and Umbria. I can take it.

Location:Florence, Italy

Reflections on Normandy

It's a Monday afternoon in Bayeux, another "Bank Holiday" in France. Between the regular general strikes, typical five weeks of paid vacation and multitudinous federal holidays, it's a wonder anything is accomplished. But everyone seems in good spirits, it being the day after All Saints Day (another holiday?!?) My three days here are over, and I'm railing my way back to Paris for tomorrow's transport to Italy.

There are many experiences to savor in Normandy, including the Bayeux Tapestry exhibit and this charming medieval city itself. But the main event, a gut-wrencher, was the D-Day landing area and surrounding towns integral to the liberation of France.

THOSE WHO SERVED
You study history, and if lucky enough to walk in the steps of the fallen in calmer times, can try to imagine how these events unwound. But there's no way to truly comprehend what these men and women went through beginning in June 1944; how total was the dedication of our citizens towards a united goal for the common good; how unilaterally committed were the thousands of men in those landing parties, dragging gear across 200 yards of beachhead under open enemy bombardment. There are many fine films that eloquently recreate some of this trauma. For me, it was simply an honor to be in that space and try to comprehend the vastness of the operation. My tour retraced the landings at Omaha (seen here) and Utah Beaches, and other pivotal locations of airborne and naval activities in Normandy.


I never understood how thick and dangerous the Normandy farmland hedgerows can be, as the Allies crept through this area under constant sniper fire. We spent time in many of the key adjacent towns that were recaptured during those grueling first three months, and lingered at the manicured Normandy American Cemetery at Colleville-Sur-Mer, where close to 9,000 rest. In all, the tour was a 10-hour indoctrination that provided much to consider.

A TAPESTRY
Back in Bayeux, there's a lot to see in the only city in northern France that was not leveled during the liberation. This city dates back to Roman occupation, but took its "current" style only a millennium ago, during the residency of its Duke, who became William the Conquerer. The embroidered scroll that chronicles events leading to the Battle of Hastings is lengthy enough to stretch completely around the interior of the massive cathedral pictured here, which in itself is quite a monument.


I enjoyed the museum now dedicated to displaying the Tapestry, as the entire work is open end-to-end, with commentary at each of the embroidered panels designed to enhance the illusion of animation. The town itself is fun to meander through. Its narrow, cobblestone streets reveal little pockets of French medieval history via landmark plaques. The city's tourist office provides a "treasure" map, allowing historical discoveries as you make your way through the winding city streets. As the weather has been typically balmy, there's been much walking and many discoveries.

I've had a good time trying to communicate in my fractured French. Everyone seems to be affable and forgiving, at least until my back is turned. I certainly have managed to be well-fed, despite my cow-dairy intolerance. Tough to do in a country whose national symbol is butter. It should be much easier in the weeks ahead, where olive oil is king, and mozzarella cheese can be a water buffalo product.

So now, I'm changing to the Italy guide book, anticipating three weeks in The Boot. Bring on the pizza.

Location:En route to Paris

Bonjour Paris; Zooming to Normandy

I designed this trip to be less frenetic. Four weeks in France and Italy, with little scheduled except destination points and a few advanced bookings at popular cultural events. I'll be in the company of friends Kay and Ken, travel buddies since 2005 Serengeti.

Well, K&K don't arrive until next week, and I've used my solo time in typical fashion, cramming as much atmosphere as this addled brain can tolerate. What else could be expected? Paris is an enchantress. As soon as I stepped off yesterday's flight to Orly, at 7 a.m. local and God-knows what Pacific time, I knew my pent-up energy would not tolerate a day of restful time-zone adjustment. My program would be to spend the next 12 hours roaming the City, stopping to smell the roses and making it to dinnertime without napping. It's a kind of 12 Step force-feeding protocol for jet-lag withdrawal, accelerated to 1 Step. I'm now in Day 2 of the protocol, and will confirm success as soon as my eyes uncross.

After dropping off luggage at my quaint Montmartre hotel, I headed out, fortified with a new Paris Museum Pass, a "carnet" of ten Metro tickets and the wise counsel of Rick Steves at hand. Frequently reminding myself that napping was not in the protocol, I Metroed to the Place de la Concord, emerging from underground to a beautifully brisk and sunny Parisian morning. Since that guillotine was removed, the Place has a more spacious feel. Up the Champs-Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe beckoned. To my left, the Tuileries Garden. Poking its girdered top over the skyline, the Eiffel Tower. Welcome to Paree.

I filled the day revisiting some of my favorite places: walking along the quays of the Seine where young artists proudly displayed their latest sketches; checking out how many remaining Impressionist paintings at the Orsay are not on tour in San Francisco (the answer: lots); spending a couple of hours visiting Venus de Milo, her friend Mona and other associates at the incredible Louvre; luxuriating in the dazzling stained glass colors of the gothic Sainte-Chapelle; absorbing the impact of Notre-Dame inside and out; and, just walking the curved and cobblestoned streets of Paris. As stunning and diverse as the timeless buildings of this City may be, I paid particular attention to the otherwise ignored top levels of these architectural wonders, each displaying a singular ornate beauty of its own.

Mission accomplished. Last evening, a very restful sleep prepared me for today's morning jaunt to the Jewish Art and History Museum and then the garish Pompidou Center, a remarkably ugly structure of steel chutes, pipes and framework that houses France's great collection of modern art. Not my favorite artistic period, but worth the time. Some of the more adventurous pieces reminded me of an excursion to a modern art museum some years ago in the company of my mother. After several hours of forced culture, she quietly studied a free-standing sculpture of a man's necktie, turned my way, and observed, "I've been a good sport through all of this, but ... what the hell is that?" Regarding the Pompidou, I couldn't agree more.

At the moment I'm on a high-speed train en route to Normandy. Autumn in northern France is calm and colorful. Rolling hills are blanketed green following plentiful rain; trees are of a richer green, burnished with reds and gold. I'm pulling into the town of Bayeux now, where I'll be spending the next few days. More to follow.

Location:Northern France

On The Road Again

Beginning October 27, travels this fall will take me to France and Italy, with time in Paris, Bayeux, the D-Day beaches, Mont-Saint-Michele, Florence, Pisa, various Tuscany towns, Orvieto, Rome, Naples, Pompeii and a week in and around Sicily. You can link to this page at your leisure for journal and photo entries.

Enjoy!