Nottingham trams

The Nottingham tram network has been expanded – there are three lines now – and although the building has been absolutely agony, with roads closed for months and monumental traffic jams, and shopkeepers along the route nearly suicidal, the end result, I think, is excellent. Of course, being a city resident and old, I don’t  pay, and this probably sways my judgement.  They have thought to put    a park and ride car park at each end of all the lines, and one line is highly convenient for my daughter’s house, and that convinces me that it’s really well planned.

But what I’ve been particularly enjoying has been spotting the names of the trams. It’s kind of a crash course (not literally, thank goodness)  on the history of Nottingham people, and who is considered worthy of having a tram named after them.

Of course, there’s a Robin Hood, but there are a number of writers, which is quite appropriate since Nottingham has just become a UNESCO City of Literature. I have no idea why Nottingham, more than other cities, or what it means for the future, but it’s kind of nice. Anyway, the writers who have trams named after them are Lord Byron, Alan Sillitoe and D.H. Lawrence. None of the still living Nottingham writers have been honoured with a tram. Perhaps there’s a worry that they’ll go out of fashion. I really like Jon McGregor, but he wasn’t born in Nottingham. However neither was Byron. 

There’s also a tram called after a successful screenwriter, William Ivory, formerly a  Nottingham dustman, and one for Stephen Lowe the playwright and director. And while we’re on the stage, there’s a Vicky McClure, named for the actor. She was a member of the Childrens’  Television Workshop, along with Samantha Morton, Jack O’ Connell, Joe Dempsie , and many other successful actors. Oldest son went there – he loved it, and also made quite a bit of cash from doing  bit parts in TV dramas, although he ended up being an accountant.

Then there are scientists. There’s an  Ada Lovelace; she was Lord Byron’s daughter and a pioneer of computing (I did actually understand Bernoulli numbers when I took a little historical walk which included her grave, but as soon as I didn’t need to understand them, they went.)

 George Green has a tram and an engineering building at the university named after him – he was a largely self taught  mathematical genius, and  you can visit the windmill in Sneinton  where he was the miller, and which has been restored. The storage buildings on the site have been turned into a little science education centre. As a lot of his work is on electricity and magnetism, there are lots of fun things to do. It’s quite a good place to take children.

Another scientist with a tram is Sir Peter Mansfield, who developed the MRI scanner. He failed his eleven plus exam and failed to get into grammar school, which just shows how rubbish the system was, and how stupid it is for those Conservative idiots to want to bring back grammar schools. Not that grammar schools have gone away entirely. They are popular with parents who are sure their children will pass the exam and then won’t have to mix with the riff raff. Personally I think learning to cope with all sorts of people is an important part of education.

 There are trams named after quite a lot of different  sporting types. There’s Brian Clough, manager of the Nottingham Forest side who won the European cup two years in succession, and Viv Anderson who was the first black footballer to play for England. There is a tram called Torvill and Dean, after the Nottingham Ice dancers who scored perfect tens at the Sarajevo Olympics. Why they didn’t get a tram each, goodness knows.  Although they did move in perfect unison ha ha.

There are two boxers -  Carl Froch, the world super middleweight  champion, and one named  Bendigo after the all England bare knuckle champion. He was one of triplets who were named (naturally) Shadrach, Mesach and Abednego, and therefore became famous as Bendigo;    and had a serious drink problem in later life. I don’t think he can have been punchdrunk, as bare knuckle boxers couldn’t hit as hard. It would simply break their hand. But some of his fights went on for over a hundred rounds, which I shouldn’t imagine does your head much good. Anyway, later still, he stopped drinking, got religion and became a lay preacher.   So a happy ending of sorts. Bendigo in Australia is named after an Australian fighter who was named after the Nottingham Bendigo.

Sid Standard is also a sporting hero, but he isn’t famous for winning, but for getting kids into cycling. So really a more worthwhile hero than many others. And David Clarke of Nottingham Panthers ice hockey team has a tram.

The latest sporting hero is Stuart Broad, who took 8 wickets for sixteen runs in the Ashes here in Nottingham at Trent Bridge last summer. Actually, it was a bad thing for Nottingham in some ways, because all the people who’d travelled to Nottingham to see the match went home. Instead of five days it lasted two and a bit, so the city must have lost money on it. But I can’t tell you how satisfying it was to see the Australians collapse.  A tram was immediately selected as the perfect tribute to a wonderful display of bowling, and to everyone’s joy at thrashing the Aussies.

One tram is named William Booth, after the founder of the Salvation Army, born in 1829 in Sneinton, Nottingham. There are lots of local people you won’t have heard of, but who have trams named after them as a tribute to their charitable work, which is a really nice thank you to them. One is named after a lady who has volunteered for Homestart, which provides support for struggling families, and when the Nottingham Evening Post asked for nominations for people to have trams named for them, the family she has supported for years immediately nominated her.  And some are named for nurses and midwives who won nurse of the year awards.

A very important  businessman commemorated with a tram is Jesse Boot, founder of Boots the Chemist, still a big employer in the city, and an important city benefactor, helping to get the university started and giving it a great deal of land.

Then there’s the tram called George Africanus. He ran various businesses in Nottingham, including a servants’ registry. He was brought  to Britain from Sierra Leone as a slave in 1766, when he was about three, but died in 1834, a well known and prosperous businessman.  And there’s Sat Bains, who runs a Michelin starred restaurant.  I haven’t been there - whenever I suggest a posh restaurant, Phil says he won’t pay that when he eats better at home. Huh. Flattery.  And stinginess. Still, he's lovely really.

Catch up, October.

I have got really out of the habit of my blog, but I'm away in France, visiting friends, and I have time to catch my breath and spend time reflecting and recording. First, why I haven't kept writing: I think I lost interest a bit, and it became a chore rather than something I do for my own pleasure. I have never cared much whether anyone reads what I write, but the act of writing encourages reflection and enhances memories. Also, I have been extremely busy and usually too tired by evening to do much but flop.

The reason for the hard work is that suitable new premises suddenly became available for youngest son's fancy dress shop. It is very well positioned and has excellent windows, and really rather good shop fittings. So all that was good. We did have to get a joiner in to build some changing cubicles, and a locksmith as one of the double doors wouldn't open, and a plumber to fit the washing machine, and such like. But the only problem was that it was extremely dirty. Luckily August is a quiet time in the fancy dress trade, so Phil, Dan and I turned to, and scrubbed and cleaned, and second son and his lovely wife painted, and between us all we got the place clean, fresh, and, although I say so myself, looking great. And can I recommend Barkeeper's Friend for brass and Sticky Stuff remover as sold in John Lewis? They are amazing. And if you want to see the result:

http://www.themagicmirror.co.uk/

The new shop isn't quite as big as the old one, so Dan had to cull the hire costumes. It hurt him, but a lot of old uniforms went to be sold, as they won't wash, and anyway,  rather few modern people have sufficiently narrow shoulders and waists, even if they are not too tall.  He also decided that he really didn't need two pantomime horses, and then, in accordance with Sod's Law, the third customer across the threshold of the newly opened shop wanted - guess what? - two pantomime horses. Dan managed to convince them to have a pantomime horse and a pantomime cow.

Anyway after hours of work, seven days a week, the shop opened and we went immediately into the university freshers’ fair, which nowadays involves themed fancy dress parties, so Dan was still working seven days a week, and our contribution was to look after Atlas, who was not able to go to the students' union. He is getting really good at the agility course, or the dog adventure playground as we consider it. He really can jump, thoroughly enjoys walking the beam and going over the seesaw, comes through the tunnels like a rocket, but can't see the point of threading through the poles, and has to be lured through with a treat in front of his nose.

We took the grandsons to the Lakes but also the dog, because Dan was still so busy. We enjoyed ourselves although the weather wasn't great.

Ullswater

Eden Valley

 It was better if we went west into Northumberland, so we discovered the Eden Valley, which is lovely and went to Vindolanda, which is excellent. A lot has happened since we last went with our children and a lot more of the vicus has been excavated, and the museum was well themed and displayed. We also went rock climbing, with a good instructor. Thomas turned out to be quite good at it, Marc was nervous, and I don't have a decent power to weight ratio. I was quite pleased with myself, when I got to the top, because it was much, much harder than a climbing wall. But I was less pleased with the photos Marc took. As Phil was off with Atlas, Marc was in charge of the camera, and as he was below me, his photos mainly consisted of an enormous bottom, outlined with climbing harness as emphasis.

Long Meg and her Daughters stone circle, Cumbria

Then when the shop was open and going rather well, Dan completed on the house he is buying. We knew the previous owners smoked and had a dog, so we sort of knew it didn't smell good, but went we went to see it all the windows and doors were open and it was OK. Once it was empty and closed up we realised the extent of the problem. Poor Dan said he lay awake all night thinking he had made a terrible mistake. But the next day, Phil took up the living room carpet and took it to the tip, and I started to wash walls, celings, inside cupboards, light fittings and in fact everything I could see. So we’re half way towards the house being as nice as we thought it could be when Dan bought it, but had to break off for our trip to France which was actually well timed, as it enforced a rest.

We had a lovely time with our friends, who live not far from Orange. There’s one little hilltop town after another, where the Gallo-Romans retreated as the barbarians swept in, and they are all charming. There’s some great wine, too. I have extremely happy memories of a bottle of Gigondas at the restaurant we ate at in Fontaine de Vaucluse. We had a lot of sunshine, too.

Fontaine de Vaucluse

The sausage stall, St Cecile des Vignes

I also had time to read. We recently went to see the Oresteia at The Globe. Clytemnestra was wonderful. Not quite so sure about the way they managed the chorus. But it pushed me into reading Barry Unsworth’s  “Songs of the Kings”, about the sacrifice of Iphigenia. It’s wonderful – slyly commenting on modern politics. I do hope Tony Blair ends up at The Hague – it’s the one policy of Jeremy Corbyn, the new Labour leader, that I am wholly in favour of. 

Anyway, we got back to England rested and ready to get stuck in again. Autumn is definitely well under way.

Cornwall

It is suddenly summer, and we decided to have a trip away, in Cornwall. We drove down as far as Bristol in the evening after grandparental duties, so that the first proper day of the trip was fun. We had a look around Truro which is a pleasant town, if not particularly distinguished. The cathedral is Victorian in perpendicular Gothic style, again, pleasant without being special.

Then we went to Trelissick. The National Trust has started to open the house but it's the gardens and the site which are worth seeing. The gardens have lots of subtropical plants such as tree ferns, and they have winding shady paths which open onto spectacular vistas over Falmouth Roads. 

Trelissick gardens

We pottered around them for ages, and really enjoyed the orchard, which had an old cider press and was full of unusual apple varieties with weird and wonderful names, such as the variety Pigs Snout. It isn't the most appealing name for something one plans to eat, although I think it is a cider apple.

We had dinner at the hotel, because we were quite tired and didn’t want to go out again. We didn’t expect the food to be anything great, and it wasn’t, but that was as expected. What was annoying was the service - it was shockingly slow, even though they clearly had us down as trouble makers, and were doing their best to get us out. We got a tenner off the bill, but would far rather have had a swifter meal.

The next morning, at breakfast, it seemed beyond the staff to replenish supplies of croissants, supply boiling water for tea, or pots to make it in, or clear tables. Luckily we had opted for a continental breakfast. This was a good decision, as the English breakfasts took forever, but I was beginning to feel really stressed, as Phil spent too much time in the US to tolerate slow service, and isn't inhibited by the usual English terror of causing a fuss and complaining. I still am. I was itching to take over and organise the useless crew, although to be fair, the physical arrangements of seating, the kitchens, and the buffet were working against the staff. So I was beginning to feel that a holiday punctuated by regular rows with the serving staff was not going to be fun. But, apart from that one hotel near Truro, the service was fine and we had some really excellent meals.

After breakfast, we went to the National Maritime Museum in Falmouth. This is the Cornwall branch. It's pretty newly built and is just brilliant. We particularly wanted to see the exhibition on Viking seafaring, because we went to a talk in Nottingham by the curator of this particular exhibition. He is the Curator of Coins at the British Museum; he was talking about assessing treasure trove, and it was a very interesting talk. He mentioned the exhibition and we thought it sounded good, and so it was – really lively and informative.  But there was much else in the museum that was completely fascinating, and we were in there for ages. 

The Royal Fleet Auxiliary Mounts Bay

One nice touch – there’s a lookout tower to see right across the harbour, with an useful crib sheet to help one spot interesting vessels. There is HMS Tyne, a fisheries protection vessel and a Royal Fleet Auxiliary landing and transport vessel; there’s the Ernest Shackleton, a scientific survey vessel; there’s all the little ferries crisscrossing the river, and there are some J class racing yachts, with vertiginously tall masts. We saw one sailing, with about eight men out on trapezes balancing her up.

At last, we were museumed out, and had a very late lunch at Rick Stein’s restaurant. What we had was good, but I was quite disappointed at the choice of fish. If you are eating in a posh fish restaurant you'd expect a wider range of fish on offer than cod, mussels and crab. I mean, I personally can’t stand skate, but it was on the menu elsewhere. And we also had bream, hake, mackerel, sardines and squid at other meals.

The following day we went back into Falmouth and took the ferry across to St Mawes, and then a second, smaller ferry to Place. It was a morning of heavy sea fret, so that the lighthouse fog horn was sounding, but we still really enjoyed the boat trips. 

The Lighthouse. The small white building is the former store
for paraffin, to keep the light burning. 

Falmouth is one of the largest natural deep water harbours in the world (if you look on the internet there’s some agreement, but also there’s obviously quite a bit of disagreement about  how “size” is measured when it involves a sea inlet). The ferry trip across takes about twenty minutes, and was a bit splashy, which made it all quite exciting.  By the time we got to Place, it was brightening up, and we set off for a circular walk, the second half of which was on the South West Coastal path, and took us past the lighthouse, still honking away,  and a thirteenth century church. It was thoroughly good, with profusions of wild flowers and larks singing.

At the end of the walk, we got the ferry back to St Mawes, and watched the Falmouth Diving Club getting volunteers to go into the water in an old fashioned diving suit. It took ages to manoeuvre a volunteer into the suit, and the helmet was fixed in place with wingnuts. It wasn't for anyone who had even the slightest tendency to claustrophobia.

We spent a while looking at St Mawes Castle, 

which was built by Henry VIII as a state of the art artillery fort to protect the entrance to the port. There's a matching fort on the other side, and other sixteenth century fortifications. It's interesting because most of the Tudor stuff has survived. Of course it was the site of Victorian and World War Two artillery batteries, but they left the fort much as it was. We enjoyed seeing it more than we expected. There are some World War Two pillboxes left, and the Fisherman's Quay at Falmouth is huge, so I think it must have been enlarged for D Day. The Pickle landed here bringing the news of Trafalgar, but the main memorial is to the naval and commando forces involved in the St Nazaire raid - the raid which denied a dry dock to Tirpitz, so that it spent the rest of its war uselessly in a Norwegian fjord, until finally sunk by the RAF. 

WW2 pillbox

In fact we're enjoying Falmouth very much. Last time we came to Cornwall, we went to St Ives, and it was full of pretentious London yahs, who seemed happy to pay silly prices for very mediocre meals, and having given their children idiotic names like Orlando and India, felt that paying the poor kids any further attention was unnecessary. We didn't enjoy it. Although to be fair, we did see a sunfish. So Falmouth is delightful. Also we have had excellent food which always makes us happy.

For the next two nights We moved from Truro to Bodinnick, across the river from Fowey, and stayed at the Old Ferry Inn. It's great. 

 Polruan - the view from the Old Ferry Inn

The food is seriously good and imaginative, and it has fantastic views. Our bedroom is pretty low ceilinged though - it wouldn't do for a six footer. But it's fine for us.

A nice point is that both Falmouth and Fowey rivers are really busy. There are always boats moving about, and the ferries alone create a sense of purpose and interest. Not like most places, where the marinas are dead and alive, not a boat moving. You can sit and watch, while enjoying a drink. I had a pint of Rosie Pigg, which might be too much, as the stairs up and out of the pub were steep and irregular and presented something of a challenge afterwards. 

 

A traditional Cornish stile. It presented
problems to bipeds, so it would
certainly keep quadrupeds in their field. 

Because we are near the Eden Project, we decided we ought to go there. I don't think either of us had great expectations, but it was really remarkable, we’re so glad we went. The rain forest biodome was amazing. It's so huge you lose sight of the fact that actually you are in a massive greenhouse. 

Two of the birds introduced into the biodome to control
pests. There are lizards and another species of bird, too.

And the outside gardens are just wonderful, not just for beauty but also for education, such as the displays of plants used for dyeing or for medicines. The only slight disappointment was the Mediterranean biodome. There was a cafe in there, and the smell of the food drowned out the smell of the herbs, and spoiled the experience. But in general, it was great, much better than we had anticipated.

The we went for a walk down to the beach which was at the end of the gardens of  Menabilly, the house occupied by Daphne Du Maurier, with the boathouse that features in “Rebecca”. It was a lovely walk and a pretty cove, and I had a swim, which I enjoyed very much.

The following day we walked a route from Bodinnick via Pont to Polruan, where we got the ferry cross to Fowey, and then walked through Fowey to the ferry back to Bodinnick. It's a well known walk and is very beautiful, walking through woods which sometimes open on to superb views of the river. Fowey is another deep water natural harbour and has been important port since the thirteenth century. It was another D Day port -apparently there were so many landing craft in the river that you could walk across dry shod. Polruan has the remains of a blockhouse dating from the fourteenth century. It has some artillery emplacements and there was a chain across the harbour entrance to a matching blockhouse on the Fowey side. There's not much left of the Fowey one.

Fowey

Fowey is very pleasant. It has lots of shops for well heeled tourists, of which there are lots. What with the narrow lanes for driving and the narrow streets in the villages, I would definitely avoid high season.

We bought Cornish pasties, because we hadn’t had one so far and picnicked on them at the car park for Lantic Bay. It is a lovely beach and the view down from the cliff was glorious. Going down to the beach was very hard on the knees and climbing back up was hard on the lungs. We felt feeble, as there were families with small children, buckets and spades, picnics, barbecues, parasols – you name it, toiling up the path. The weather is sunny and quite hot, although there's a very pleasant breeze, and between larks, wild flowers, and views over a sea shading from a navy blue, through deep turquoise, to light blues and greens, it was most beautiful.

Lantic Bay

I had a swim and Phil sat patiently. He is good, accommodating my desire to swim even though he hates swimming himself.

There was thrift growing on the rocks - those pink pompom flowers that used to be on the reverse of the threepenny bit. Growing in profusion, they made a fine show.

On our final day, we went for another walk – you can easily cut across inland and return by the South West Coastal Path – had a really good lunch in Falmouth, and then went down to Readymoney cove so I could have a last swim. As I walked down the beach and entered the sea my internal monologue went something like this:

“ Oh, look, a jellyfish. Oo, that’s a big jellyfish. Heavens, that’s a massive jellyfish. Oh look, a purple jellyfish. That big one is more red than purple, it’s like a plate of liver. Actually, I’ve never seen so many jellyfish ever before. I’m not swimming in that lot.”

And I had to plod back up the beach, having only got in up to my knees, and even that was too far, as I have a large sting just above my knee. I shall have the sore patch for weeks, it’s like a burn. So that’s an unfortunate memento of what otherwise was a brilliant short break.  But at least we are sold on Cornwall again. 

The sea, and home

The next day was our last of touring and we had to drive to a seaside hotel in Acireale. Just outside Siracusa we stopped at the ancient Greek fort of Castello Euryalo. It was the protection of Syracuse on the landward side. Syracuse is very roughly in the shape of a triangle with two very long sides and a short one along the sea. The Tyrant Dionysos built huge walls along ridges and this fort was the euryalos  - the head of the nail. It was terrifically impressive, with huge blocks and a deep moat carved from the rock, and yards and yards and yards of underground tunnels, again carved out of the rock, leading to sally ports, so men could rush out in large numbers from a number of concealed exits, as at Selinunte. 

Euryalos

Entrance to one of the tunnels.

The moat and supports for the drawbridge.

These tunnels were so extensive and so atmospheric we were both glad not to be alone - we couldn't help thinking of the Minotaur. We managed to find our way out without too much difficulty though. The fortifications are said to have been designed by Archimedes. Certainly there was an impressive ingenuity and engineering skill. But it fell to the Romans without even putting up a fight. Perhaps the Greeks felt there was no hope of fighting the Romans. But the Romans overwhelmed Greek culture. They used the Greek theatres for gladiatorial spectacles. There were two rebellions against Roman rule, which ended in massacres.

Our last hotel is dead posh (it's not a hotel, it's a Palace) with a lovely big seawater infinity swimming pool. 

The seaside here is the point at which one of Etna's lava flows met the sea, so it's all black rocks, and you can see how each wave of lava curled over the previous one. There is a little stony beach just a little down the road and this I have been down to it for a sea swim, because sea swimming is glorious. The hotel had an arrangement to swim off the rocks but it seems to have collapsed, and the sea is quite choppy for the Mediterranean, so getting in and out of the sea off the rocks could be dangerous. There are shoals of small silver fish (sardines, maybe). But the pool is also very nice, and nicer to sit around than on the beach. The hotel is not too busy although there is a convention of hairdressers in for tonight and tomorrow. The women favour the most hideous shoes -high platforms with turned up soles, and very high chunky heels, which make their feet the most obvious thing about them.

 

The view from our room

Late in the day there was a thunderstorm with dramatic flashes of lightning over the sea. It's really hot so we rather welcomed the rain than otherwise.

Although the couple of days in Acireale were for a rest, we did venture to Taormina for a day. It's busier than where we are. We liked the little island, Isola Bella, and the beach there. 

On Isola Bella

We met old friends for lunch - a little while ago, we discovered that we were all going to Sicily and would overlap for a day or two. It was very enjoyable, if slightly odd, meeting somewhere so relatively exotic. Phil took pleasure in pointing out that I have known Yvonne for more than fifty years, which made me feel ancient!

The journey home was fairly uneventful. The ground handlers at Catania loaded us onto buses three quarters of an hour early - before the plane even landed. We have complained, because anyone who left a dog locked in a car in that heat would be prosecuted. But when we got back to England, much as I like to look down  and see all the green fields, I have to admit it was freezing. 

Agrigento and Syracuse

We stayed in another agriturismo B&B at Agrigento. I had a nice dip in the small pool, but apart from the pool this was more of a proper country villa than the previous place. There were lots of hens, a couple of dogs, one large, one small, peacocks, and in the morning we were woken, first by the doves on the roof over our heads, and then by something emitting tremendous honks like someone having fun with a tuba. In the evening, we could see the temples across a dip on the ridge illuminated. It was quite a sight.

 

The temples from our B&B 

It was another really good breakfast with fresh smoothies and bread, which while solid, was tasty.

Agrigento is a massive site, so we concentrated on the temples, and although there are some interesting churches in the town proper, we had had enough of the traffic yesterday, and decided to give them a miss. The drive was harder than expected, because the viaduct is closed - some of the supports are unsafe. This keeps happening, and sometimes tunnels are closed. We are then sent on long detour through difficult roads. They are unsafe under normal conditions, and bear in mind that this is an earthquake area. I believe the shoddy workmanship is mafia related. 

The main sight at Agrigento is the Temple of Concord. It's the one whose front is used as the badge for UNESCO  World Heritage sites. It survived becaus it was turned into a church, and also because it is on a bed of clay which acted as a shock absorber in the earthquake that brought down the other temples. It's thought that the builders knew this.

Temple of Concord (not the original dedication.)

It was pretty hot and not much shade, and both Phil and I were amused by the way experienced guides crowded their groups into what shade there was before embarking on the lecture. It made us sad, too, remembering our guide in Syria, Adnan, who seemed to know every patch of shade. Goodness knows what's happened to him. There certainly won't be any western tourists. Mind you, he did tell us how he couldn't stand Shiá muslims. I can't say I was surprised when Syria fell apart - it seemed a really unhappy country when we were there. And remembering  all that depressed us more than ever, because I recited "Ozymandias" on the stage at Palmyra Roman theatre to test the acoustics, and apparently it's now being used for executions.

The museum was wonderfully cool and had some red figure and black figure Greek vases of superb quality and one or two excellent sculptures. It also had a reproduction of one of the telamons from the Temple of Zeus, erected so one could properly appreciate its gigantic proportions.

Then we had a good meal quite close to the temple site; the restaurant was patronised by many local business people which is always a good sign. We set off to drive all the way to Siracusa. For all the reasons I've mentioned it was quite tiring and we were very glad to reach the hotel, which is a modern business type hotel although since it is French owned, a French bus tour is here.

Breakfast was really good - there was a ricotta tart which Phil actually sampled and a choice of almond, coffee, or lemon granita, on top of all he more expected stuff.. We are down to two meals a day, the breakfasts are so good.

It was a short walk to the main archaeological site. The Roman amphitheatre is closed, and so is the early church, but you can see the large cistern under the church, which stored water for cleaning or flooding the amphitheatre.

There is a simply vast altar on which well over a hundred oxen could be sacrificed at one time.

The Greek theatre is really terrific and one can't help be impressed to think that it showed the first production of Aeschylus' plays, and Plato and Archimedes attended plays in this very theatre. There are three plays showing at present  - Iphigenia in Aulus, The Supplicants and Medea. We did think of going but it's The Supplicants the night we are here, which we don't know, and of course they are performed in Italian. So we decided against it. But the theatre was so evocative and the setting so dramatic that we started to regret it, although we know that after we have walked all around Syracuse, we'll be too tired to enjoy a play while sitting on backless stone seats.

The sacred spring.

The Nymphaeum with niches for offerings around it.

There is a very impressive fountain at the top of the theatre. The Greeks and later the Romans seem to have made use of numerous springs coming through faults in the rock from miles away in the hills. 

Later, on Ortigia, the island end of Syracuse, we saw the spring of Arethusa, named after one of Artemis' followers who was turned into a spring in an attempt to shake off an importunate lover. It's in Ovid's Metamorphoses. Nelson's fleet watered at this spring on its way to beat the French at the battle of the Nile. It's very pretty, in spite of the Italian blindness to litter, with a large clump of papyrus in the basin, ducks and carp. In a couple of steps is the sea. No wonder the site appealed to the Greeks.

The fountain of Arethusa

The stone quarries are well worth seeing - they have turned into gardens full of lemon trees, acanthus, baobabs and edible figs, oleander and bougainvillea. They are lovely to wander through, marveling at the size of the caverns and blocks which have been removed, and being careful not to think too hard about the 7000 Athenian prisoners of war, who died here of heat and starvation. There are lots of tombs cut into the rock - one is said to be that of Archimedes. It obviously isn't, but it's a nice walk.                 

 

The quarries - Dionysos' ear - named
By Caravaggio because of its shape,
and because he believed the Tyrant used
its strange acoustics to listen in on people.

We had a look at a modern church, built because in 1953 a statue of the virgin is alleged to have started to weep. This was followed by miracle cures. It's round, like the RC cathedral in Liverpool, known as Paddy's Wigwam, although the altar is not in the centre, but to one side. It's nice though  -not overdecorated, and the architecture is allowed to speak for itself.

Then we wandered along the sea front and around Ortigia, the island at the very tip. There are many restored palazzi and a few crumbling ones. The Duomo is completely amazing. It took over the temple of Athena, dated fourth century B.C.,  and although a baroque front has been stuck on, you can see the original Doric pillars built into the walls, where the peristyle was simply bricked up.

It was very exciting to think we'd actually been in a Greek temple.

The fortress at the tip of Ortigia

We had a superb lunch late and, very full indeed, waddled back to the hotel to collapse.

Monreale, Segesta and Selinunte

Monreale is later than the Palatine Chapel, but a similar Norman-Arab style with Byzantine mosaics, although probably the mosaic artists were Sicilian, presumably trained by artists from Byzantium. 

We were a bit discouraged by the number of tour buses in the car park, but it turned out that there was a special service for women from all over Sicily, and so the tour buses had had to arrive early before the church service started. We got a whole hour to study the church, so although we had to share the church with the bus tours, we were lucky that we had arrived early. The mosaics are wonderful. We particularly liked the story of the conversion of Paul, with the scene on the road to Damascus and then Paul being baptised by Ananais, because the details were lovely and, I think, since we actually went to the house of Ananias in Damascus, and it seemed quite personal.

The bronze doors, designed by the architect
Who designed the leaning tower of
Pisa. Not sure that's a recommendation.

 

Christ Pantocrator in the apse

We went up the roof terraces, where the views down into the cloisters and across the Conca dÓro (the horn of plenty) to Palermo and the sea were terrific, even though the Conca dÓro, the wonderfully fertile land that helped to make Palermo rich, is almost entirely covered in buildings. The cloisters are fascinating- we spent ages looking at the carved capitals, which were wonderfully lively and varied. We circumnavigated the exterior of the church, which has elaborate Arab style decorations on the Gothic style building.

Arab decorations

The cloisters

Cloister capital 

Then we drove to Segesta. Driving through towns is fraught because double and triple parking is common, even though the streets aren't that wide to start with. But on the whole the driving is less aggressive than in northern Italy and some people pootle along so slowly that even we, strangers and happy to have longer to check directions, get frustrated. One does get fed up of protecting idiots on scooters or motorbikes from their own stupidity.

Segesta has a very complete temple peristyle; it may never have been completed because there is no evidence of a cella  (the inside room or rooms). Or it may have been dedicated to some unusual cult, but the dates seem too early. At the top of the hill is the main part of the town with an evocative theatre. It's Greek style, without the back wall favoured by the Romans and so behind the stage is a wonderful view over the mountains and to  the sea.

 

The temple, Segesta

We stayed the night at an Agriturismo place ; I can't really describe it as a B&B because it was pretty posh. It did weddings and such. But it was a lovely room and surrounded by olive trees which produce prize winning olive oil. I do like the effect of a pomegranate tree with its small scarlet flowers against the silvery green olives. It had a really smashing swimming pool and I had a brilliant swim both morning and evening. The morning one was bliss, loud with birdsong.

There was a set menu in the evening which was wonderful, a terrific parade of Sicilian delicacies.  The breakfast was really excellent with superb cooked meats and cheeses, the only let down being the bread, which made me think of Terry Pratchett's dwarf bread. The next day Phil bought me a Sicilian cook book which I think may be a very broad hint, but actually I do want to find out how to do the sweet and sour vegetables and the stuffed aubergines and the twice cooked pasta. Maybe not the ricotta sweet pastries, though - I'm beginning to find them cloying. Phil is really enjoying them - he had a doughnut stuffed with sweet ricotta for breakfast. You need an extremely good appetite to eat that.

We chose the agriturismo place as it was close to Selinunte. Selinunte was a large Greek city which called in the Phoenicians to help them with their struggle for dominance with Segesta.  Bad move - it was sacked by Hannibal.

There is one enormous temple which was never completed thanks to the Carthaginians, and in the nearby quarry you can see columns which were being cut ready for the building. An earthquake brought the temples down and one is huge. The Sicilian Greeks seemed to value size, maybe over artistry. 

Another temple, to Hera, dating from the fifth century BC, was re-erected in 1957 and is still being worked on

The temple of Hera, Selinunte

The fortifications were enormous but mostly built after the sacking. Whole areas of the old town had been abandoned and the stone used to improve the walls. There were columns from a temple which had been sawn in half lengthways to strengthen the walls, which had tunnels through and along them, and these ended in a series of disguised sally ports eight in a line, so that a large number of soldiers could emerge more or less simultaneously, rather than one at a time, when they could be much more easily overwhelmed.  The two main streets have been excavated and one can see wheel tracks.

There weren't that many other tourists. Its a large site, so we drove from one bit to the other.  Touts were trying to sell rides in golf buggies but that wasn't at all necessary. It would perhaps have been useful to get a ride to the farthest sanctuary, for Demeter, which was about 25 minutes walk each way without much shade. But about half way there was the remains of a Byzantine church with a baptism pool. So that was interesting, and then we crossed the river, which is more of a powerful stream, with thickets of bamboo and oleander and ferns, and loud birdsong, and dragonflies, some of which were scarlet. That was lovely. Then there was no one else at all at the sanctuary, and we much prefer being alone and working out what was what. There were some signs which helped us, and it was all very atmospheric.  Apparently Demeter and her daughter Persephone inspired a great deal of devotion in Sicily.

 

The gateway into the Temenos at the sanctuary.

After the walk back we drove to Lido Marinella and had an excellent buffet lunch. Then, much restored, we drove to Agrigento.