Walkacrossitall 28/03/2024 Walkacrossitall 28/03/2024

BACK FOR MORE OF LA DOLCE VITA.

Leica Cameras for travel.

Embarking on a journey to Rome is like agreeing to a truce with your feet: "You let me wander where I wish, and I promise to ignore every blister and ounce of fatigue that comes our way." Such was the pact I made, knowing well that to truly experience La Dolce Vita, one must do so on foot, covering an average of 15 miles a day. This is a tale of such an endeavor, a quintessentially quixotic quest through the Eternal City, where every cobblestone has a story, and every gelato shop is a trap of delightful calories.

Day 1: The Vatican – Where St. Peter Keeps an Eye on the Sky

Our journey begins at the Vatican, not just because it's a place of divine significance, but also because it feels right to ask for blessings before subjecting one's feet to such an ordeal. St. Peter's Basilica is not merely a church; it's a heavenly gate, grand and imposing, where the sheer size makes you wonder if St. Peter was expecting giants rather than humble humans. Inside, the opulence is such that it could make a billionaire blush. The art, the architecture, and the sense of serenity make it a place where even the most devout atheist might find themselves whispering a prayer, if only not to feel left out.

As for the Vatican Museums, they are a labyrinth of human genius, where you can walk in circles admiring everything from ancient Egyptian mummies to Michelangelo's masterpieces. It's a place where you're constantly torn between awe at humanity's capabilities and a vague sense of inadequacy about your own greatest achievement being your high score on Tetris.

Day 2: The Trevi Fountain – A Splash of Hope

No visit to Rome is complete without seeing the Trevi Fountain, a monument so lavish it could only have been designed by someone who never had to pay a water bill. Tradition dictates that one must toss a coin over their shoulder into the fountain to ensure a return to Rome. This is a clever ploy by the city, ensuring a steady income from people who are notoriously bad at throwing. Nonetheless, the beauty of the fountain at night, illuminated and majestic, makes you feel like part of an ancient world, momentarily forgetting the selfie sticks and gelato stains on your shirt.

Day 3: The Colosseum and the Piazza del Pollo – Gladiators and Chicken

Ah, the Colosseum, Rome's magnificent ode to a time when men were men and lions were nervous. Walking into the Colosseum, you half expect a gladiator to emerge and challenge you to a duel, only to remember that the most fighting you've done recently was with a can opener. Even in its ruined state, the structure is awe-inspiring, a testament to what humanity can achieve when we're not busy arguing on the internet.

As for the Piazza del Pollo, it's worth noting that this might be a slight mistranslation on my part, as "pollo" indeed means chicken in Italian, and I'm not entirely sure the Romans dedicated a whole piazza to poultry. However, Rome is full of delightful squares, each with its own charm, from the grand Piazza Navona to the intimate Piazza della Rotonda in front of the Pantheon. Speaking of which...

Day 4: The Pantheon – Rome's Time Capsule

With its grand dome and ancient doors, the Pantheon feels like a time machine. As you step inside, the oculus at the top of the dome casts a celestial spotlight that moves across the room, like the world's slowest disco ball. It's a place of quiet power, where you're reminded that once upon a time, this was the height of innovation and architectural prowess. It's also delightfully cool inside, offering a much-needed respite from Rome's summer heat.

Day 5: Hidden Gems – The Other 900 Churches

They say Rome has as many churches as there are days in the year, and on our final day, we set out to explore these lesser-known sanctuaries. Each church, from the Basilica di Santa Maria in Trastevere to the tiny, tucked-away chapels, is a world unto itself, filled with art, history, and a palpable sense of peace. These are places where you can sit and reflect on the literal and metaphorical journey and perhaps light a candle for your poor, beleaguered feet.

In the end, Rome is not just a city; it's an experience, a vast, sprawling museum of history, art, and life. It teaches you resilience (mostly foot-related), appreciation for beauty, and, most importantly, the value of a good pair of shoes. La Dolce Vita, it turns out, is not just about the sweetness of doing nothing; it's about the joy of exploring everything, one step at a time. So, lace.

So, in conclusion, I could have gone on to put you to sleep much faster with countless additional tidbits about Roman life and why it draws us back time and time again. Life is sweet here. Not unlike Athens, it reminds us where we came from. The mastery and brilliance of the people that inspired the future. What they accomplished without iPhones and Snapchat is amazing. Don’t drag one foot behind you like a slack-jawed troglodyte to the Olive Garden for bottomless bread sticks when you crave an unbelievable Carbonara, Tiramisu, or Lemon Gelato. Don’t tell yourself it’s the same. It isn’t. Planes from all over the world land at FCO airport daily. Get on one, and I guarantee you won’t regret it.

Live Well!

M. Comments are most welcome.

All images were captured with the new Leica Q3 and downsampled to work with the Squarespace platform.

Walkacrossitall 27/03/2023 Walkacrossitall 27/03/2023

THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SMALL TOWN IN THE WORLD!

According to Travel & Leisure magazine, in 2023, Gordes is considered the world’s most beautiful small town. Right off the bat, I have to tell you we do not live here, so we have little room to boast. But, and this is a big but, when we open our bedroom shutters in the morning, we do stare directly at Gordes across the Luberon valley. In many ways, I owe Gordes a big thank you for playing a massive role in bringing me to this valley in the first place. It was, in fact, Gordes and the village that we currently call home that forced our hand.

I may have mentioned this several times in the past. Still, without stumbling over a movie written by my literary hero, directed by Ridley Scott, starring Russell Crowe and filmed almost entirely in both villages, this would have never happened. That movie is called “A Good Year.” Some, like me, have watched and re-watched it countless times to admire the scenery through the lens of masterful cinematographers. Conversely, some folks didn’t enjoy it very much. Now, I will be the first to say that if you lust after movies about transforming robots, car theft or Keanu Reeves jumping through the space-time continuum to safely evade bullets, you should absolutely give a Good Year a miss.

This is what Gordes really is. Gordes is surely the most captivating hilltop village in Provence, with a rich and intriguing history. Dating back to the Roman era, Gordes was once a significant center for agricultural production and commerce in the region. Over the centuries, the village has seen its fair share of conflicts and upheavals, including wars and invasions. Today, Gordes is a charming destination that attracts visitors from all over the world with its stunning architecture, quaint cobbled streets, and breathtaking views of the Luberon mountains. As a travel photographer, I find myself drawn to the village's unique beauty and fascinating history, and I never tire of capturing its essence through the lens of my Leica.

As I sit here writing, the mistral winds are blowing a gale and it is time for us to close the shutters to both stop the chilly drafts as well as protect the windows. I can’t begin to describe how ferociously the wind can gust here. As legend has it, the mistrals are the cause for many locals to plunge into the depths of despair during the winter months when the winds last for weeks. For those who recover, the knowledge that warmth and calm are soon to restore life to normal in the Luberon, is all they can ask.

Thank you so much for dropping by and I look forward to hearing from you in the comments below.

Live Well!

p.s. All of these photos were captured with both the Leica Q2 Ghost and SL2-S.

Walkacrossitall 25/03/2023 Walkacrossitall 25/03/2023

GET A LOOK AT THESE KNOCKERS.

I want to apologise immediately if you clicked on this post assuming you were going to see something completely different. You probably assumed that this post would be directed more towards those starved for news of this season’s Mediterranean swimwear fashion trends. Perhaps some images captured beachside while wandering along the Promenade des Anglais. Nope, not this time. No-one more than I loves a couple of dozen pictures of well cared for and proudly displayed knockers. To some, these bits of old brass are nothing more than inanimate objects. I see the patina of several bygone eras, and try to imagine the conversations that took place at each of these doors over so many years. Why not try embracing my passion for some of the prettiest knockers in Provence!

The history of old French brass door knockers traces its roots back to the medieval period when castles and large manor houses started using these ornamental yet functional devices. Crafted with intricate designs, these door knockers often reflected the architectural styles prevalent during various periods such as Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque. French artisans used their skill and creativity to forge unique designs, often inspired by mythology, heraldry, and nature. These exquisite brass door knockers not only served as a way to announce a visitor's arrival but also became a symbol of wealth, prestige, and artistic prowess.

The use of old French brass door knockers transcended their primary function, evolving into a form of art that embellished the entrance of a home. Given the high-quality craftsmanship and the durable nature of brass, many of these door knockers have withstood the test of time. Today, they are highly sought-after by collectors and enthusiasts of vintage decorative objects. The old French brass door knockers, with their undeniable charm and intricate detailing, continue to captivate the imaginations of both historians and artists alike, ensuring their lasting legacy as a testament to the mastery of the artisans who created them.

For those who are interested, and I know that is very few, the following images were captured with a Leica Q2 Ghost. I trust you will enjoy staring at these knockers, I know I do!

Live Well!

p.s. What knocker is your favourite? Leave the number below with your thoughts in the comments section below.

Walkacrossitall 05/01/2022 Walkacrossitall 05/01/2022

ONLY MAD DOGS & ENGLISHMEN.

I am writing todays blog while hunkered down inside a fully shuttered Provençal village house. Outside, the wind is gusting at a swift measure of knots. This is my first really nasty “Mistral”. Rudyard Kipling was the man responsible for today’s title. It is the passage from his book “Kim” written in 1901 which refers to devils, madness and Englishmen that proved timeless. Kipling’s words later prompted Noël Coward to use them along with going out in the noon day sun as lyrics for his 1931 musical cabaret number. What is left to explain now is why I have stolen it for this tale of misadventure. The simple answer is, yesterday, this Englishman (by birth) felt like a wee bit of a physical challenge. So, just before noon, I put on my bright red wind breaker (more on that later) and left the house on foot bound for the village across the valley. There are several tracks that one can take to get from Bonnieux to Lacoste. Given yesterdays weather, I thought staying off the trails and sticking to the road might be best to keep out of ankle deep mud. Along with wearing the bright red jacket, staying out of the trees was the second life saving decision I made without even realizing it.

I may have mentioned in earlier blogs that it is wild boar hunting season in the Luberon. Unlike back home where the vast majority of hunting goes on far from any population or paved roads, here in France safety does not come first. First comes having enough wine for the after party. Second comes having enough diesel in the white Renault Kangoo mini-van for the hunter, his weapons and a first class lunch. Third and most importantly is having enough mad dogs to scent, chase, and run down these not so elusive Sanglier (wild boar). Now, when I say mad dogs, I don’t mean rabid or distempered, I mean really fucking angry. These dogs have seen how aggressive and offensive these boars can get and what kind of damage their tusks can do when the chips are down.

I was not even 100 meters along the road from Bonnieux when I was nearly run down by a speeding Kangoo. It was not more than 200 meters further when I was deafened by the packs of hunting dogs. I never quite laid eyes on them but they seemed to be moving in the same direction I was. Every 30 seconds or so their incessant barking became quite high pitched. Those changes were typically followed by one or more rifle shots and then moments of silence. The French hunters all wear bright orange. The wild boars are the colour of the bush and scrub. I was thankfully dressed like a shitty dollar store Santa in bright red. Next time I make fun of Donald T. I will have to remember his genius & consider using the orange spray tan myself. It certainly has prevented him from being shot in any wayward hunting accidents.

My return journey was near enough 17 kilometres. For all of it, save my time wandering in a very quiet and coffee free Lacoste, the dogs bayed and gun shots rang out through the valley. I do love Lacoste. The art college and its student galleries. The former home of both the Marquis de Sade and Pierre Cardin is a very cool place. Sadly, both cafes in Lacoste were closed for refurb and I was forced to turn back to Bonnieux through bandit country. This unfortunate decision had to be made much too soon and without even the whiff of a double espresso.

Just over an hour later I was home and stretching. I popped into Apt for a few groceries an hour or so later and returned to use the air fryer to prepare a dinner fit for a survivor. It’s not easy making it across miles of open country under fire. It is these kind of harrowing stories that fill the pages of dozens of books by former SAS commandos. The stuff of Chris Ryan or Andy McNab. I’ve always fancied the life of Ernest Hemmigway. I realize running with the bulls in Pamplona is not even close to briskly walking aside mad dogs in the Luberon, but you have to start somewhere. My last stolen quote from Kipling is as follows, “This is a brief life, but in its brevity it offers us some splendid moments, some meaningful adventures.”.

Please leave a comment if you have a moment.

Live well!

Mark

Here is a link to a recent article regarding hunting in France! https://www.rfi.fr/en/france/20211204-tribute-to-victims-of-hunting-accidents-as-french-senate-begins-inquiry

p.s. all images except the last two taken with the Leica Q2

THE TOP CHURCH THROUGH THE TREES.

THE BAT CAVE HAS NEVER LOOKED SO SCRUFFY.

Walkacrossitall 31/12/2021 Walkacrossitall 31/12/2021

GET UP! GET OUT OF BED! THERE’S GONNA BE A CLOUD INVERSION!

This morning I invoked a recently learned life hack I heard on a podcast. Mel Robbins (NO, NOT TONY ROBBINS) said if you are having a hard time motivating yourself to do something, then you should use the 5 second rule. Simply put, just count down from 5. 5-4-3-2-1 and away you go. Your mind commits you at that point to what you want or need to accomplish. Whether you feel lazy or apprehensive, 5-4-3-2-1 tells your brain you have committed. Now this could be psycho-babble but I swear to god it works for me.

This morning at 7:30 it was pitch black outside but I had studied the weather for daybreak and noticed that there may be a decent chance of a cloud inversion in the valley. Sunrise was at 8:10 so I 5-4-3-2-1’d and got to my feet, cleaned up my act and grabbed the camera and tripod. After what happened a few days ago when the fog was thick and I ended up in Maubec, this morning was gonna be a different kettle of fish.

I got as high I could and watched the end of the blue hour give way to golden. I have committed to never let a day pass while I’m here without getting in my 10,000 or more steps. What better way to kick that off this morning than to climb 400 or so stone steps up to the highest point in the village. That slog got me up to the top church, and with that a bird’s eye view of the Luberon Valley. The inversion didn’t last for long but it gave way beautifully to the morning sun trying its hardest to warm stone walls and terracotta roof tiles. The church bells rang on cue for the top of the hour and all I needed was a light sweater given the ambient temperature.

When I came back down into the village below I walked home through the Friday market. Much smaller than during the summer months, but everything you could need was on hand in the way of fresh vegetables, meat, fish and cheese. Even my favourite carpet and pillow cover salesman was set up for business. He spotted me coming from a distance and was on me like white on rice to show off his new wares. What he really wanted to know was where Deanna was, because she loves to pay retail!

Tonight brings New Years eve but most of the local restaurants are closed. Good and bad really. For those that felt like an extremely good meal, must now take on those duties themselves. On the other hand, it becomes a great opportunity to enjoy your family with a special meal in front of the fire at home. As I am in the “all by my lonesome camp” on this trip, a night at an extremely good restaurant was what the doctor ordered. Oh well, a selection of local sausage and goat cheeses will suffice and obviously pair well with a spot of local red. I will more than likely be fast asleep hours before midnight ticks over to 2022 anyway. I am not sure what this afternoon will bring but it will require a ton of walking to get me over the daily line. Here are a few early morning images captured while up high searching for low cloud. Happy New Year from Bonnieux! All the best in 2022..

Live well.

Mark

Please leave a comment if you have time.

Walkacrossitall 30/12/2021 Walkacrossitall 30/12/2021

THIS IS RUSTREL. WAYFARERS ON!

I would love to wax lyrical about my morning in Rustrel, but I can’t be asked (to coin a British phrase). I am simply going to wish you well and gloat that it was 20 degrees C at lunch time today. Here are a few snaps taken while wandering the streets of this pretty little village on the edge of the Colorado mountains in the North Luberon Valley.

Cheers!

Mark

Cat seemed happy to sit and have his “environmental portrait” taken.

Walkacrossitall 29/12/2021 Walkacrossitall 29/12/2021

MY 9TH EPISODE OF THE VILLAGE DIARIES. BEAUTIFUL MAUBEC AND HAVE YOU READ THE NEWS TODAY?

I got up early this morning because the forecast predicted clear skies and a cloud inversion down in the valley. I grabbed the camera and tripod and climbed to the top of the village with high hopes. Unfortunately, hopes dashed quite quickly upon arrival at the Haute Eglise. The fog was thick, and it looked like hours before it would clear. By that time, I would have sadly missed the spectacular light of sunrise.

I quickly decided what needed to be done was to minimize my to-do list before the New Year arrived. As of this morning, my top two on the list were to pay my municipal taxes and my home insurance. Taxes are collected at the government office in Apt, and my Allianz insurance broker is in a small town 20 minutes away in the opposite direction. So I tried the taxes first and arrived early enough to be first in line when the miserable-looking middle-aged lady unlocked the door and grunted, what do you want (en Francais)?

Less than 60 seconds later, I was ushered from the office because I did not have the one document that miserable Marie required to make this transaction possible today. So I skipped back to the psycho mobile AKA the "RENAULT MEGANE" and began the short journey home to Bonnieux to see if the notaire that looked after the sale of our place had the form La Miserable grunted for.

Job done & a big thanks to Quenton's legal secretary. It seemed like the best thing to do then was not return from where I just left, but instead to pay Nathalie a visit at Allianz. Fifteen minutes later, my TD Visa was racking up a few more Aeroplan points. So now what? Maubec is on the way home. I should drop by and wander the village, stop for an espresso and read La Provence. La Provence is the primary newspaper for the region and is published and printed in Marseille. Marseille is the second biggest city in France, so I was expecting the worst as I thumbed through today’s crime section.

As expected it was terrible. Way worse than I had predicted. We who spend most of our time in the southwest corner of British Columbia are used to reading about gangland murders, junkies robbing everything that moves or stands still. Thefts from unsuspecting homes & yards of everyday tax paying homeowners. Pensioners are being thrown to the ground for their purses. But in Provence, it gets way worse. I won't even try to paraphrase the article I read this morning over coffee, but sufficed to say it's not pretty. Take a deep breath. If you are squeamish, perhaps today is not the day to continue this blog.

Words do fail me. I hope Logotto recovers from the trauma of this most horrific experience. I also hope that those who can stomach today's crime blotter will later enjoy the photos of Maubec. She's a peach!

Please leave a comment if you have time.

Live well!

All photos were captured with the Leica Q2.

If you were able to get though that. Here are some photos of this morning’s coffee spot!

HE ASKED WHY I WAS PHOTOGRAPHING HIS HEDGE.

COME JULY THIS FIELD WILL BE VIVID PURPLE.

Walkacrossitall 26/12/2021 Walkacrossitall 26/12/2021

BACK IN BLACK AND WHITE (BONNIEUX)

This has not been easy. We planned a family Christmas here in France several months ago. We watched for flights and made sure to create itineraries that worked for all six of us. There was no such thing as Omicron when we were all booked and the arrangements were made. Life was as normal as it could be in November. Even though the two year long Covid nightmare was still haunting us, there was no reason to cancel what we imagined to be a perfect way to meet and enjoy the trappings of an understated provencal Noël.

And then the latest and greatest variant was thrust among us. We were left in limbo to see how things would evolve and what that was going to mean for those of us in Canada with plans to travel to France. Each of our sons had different work and school commitments, and with those came pressures around being covid free upon return to Canada. All of these issues needed to be addressed, but I also felt the importance of getting over here to check on the house and make sure all was well. I know that seems frivolous to some, and I could have probably assumed, given the place is well over 250 years old, it was probably going to be just fine. I had not been back to France since the end of September, so the distance and the change in seasons kept me worrying that something with the house could have gone wrong. I have not slept well for the last couple of weeks, tossing and turning & thinking that putting off this visit was tantamount to throwing away our retirement investment.

So off I went. I stood in line at YVR to get my must-have antigen test. Next, I spent a few hours in the Air Canada lounge. Then, I boarded my Lufthansa flight to Munich where I ate, drank & slept like a baby for the entire duration. My connector to Marseille was not for six hours after I arrived in Germany, so I wandered duty-free and then took up residence in the Lufthansa business lounge. There, I ate and drank a little bit more of every German food and wine on offer. It was lovely and I am now a huge fan of Spätzle.

My flight to Marseille was late leaving Munich but with a good tailwind over the Alps we arrived almost on time. I ran to passport control (they never asked for my covid passport or negative antigen test) and then I hustled to Avis to pick up my Renault Megane. For those of you that followed my adventures on this blog last summer, rest assured that I am going to need to see about my psychiatric condition ASAP. It was just 15 minutes until Christmas day became official, and three smiling Avis employees were waiting for me to pick up my keys before they closed. They all yelled Joyeux Noël Mr. Catto as I ran in the door, and that was an awesome greeting after such a long trip.

I loaded the car and set off with the Sat Nav screaming at me in French. I had a couple of small redirects along the way, but overall it was a fantastic festive and pretty drive through several small villages on my way to Bonnieux. To be the only car on the very narrow mountain roads was a new experience for me. The summer is drastically different around here. But it was one in the morning on Christmas day, and I was nearly home.

https://youtu.be/EvDxSW8mzvU (Journey’s soundtrack)

As I arrived in our village, I was treated to lovely silver decorations strung across the village lanes from the rooftops. There was no mistaking the season and what it clearly means to the locals.

The house was freezing when I got the shutters and front door open. I made my way through every room, turning on the new electric heaters we had installed in the new year but never had the reason to turn them on last summer. It has taken nearly two full days to warm this old stone village house, but now I am toasty and enjoying the place to the fullest. Yesterday was slim pickings for any kind of food. Thank god for France's most civilized of laws ensuring that every french citizen can not be deprived of their baguettes etc on any day of the year. I confirmed that the local Boulangerie was open for 3 hours on Christmas morning. A massive carb coma ensued, and it has taken me well over 24 hours and a ton of exercise to ward off the effects of pain au chocolat.

I slept well on Christmas night, and this morning, I was woken by the phone. After a workout, and a quick shower I jumped in the car to find out if the Sunday farmers market in nearby Coustellet was still going on, given the holiday. The sun was shining, and the diesel fumes from the Renault were vaguely familiar and marginally intoxicating. Fifteen minutes later, I was pleasantly surprised to find several farmers selling their produce in the local market parking lot. I hit the goat cheese stand like a Mac truck and left with quite a selection. As I wandered to the next stall for some Mediterranean treats, I failed to see that the lady's stall awning was about 5'11", and as I am 6'2', the ensuing head gash stopped bleeding around 15 minutes later.

I shook off the concussion as best as I could and then moved on to the nearby Super U grocery store for some bits for dinner. I am now safely home, and the fridge is no longer empty. I went out with my camera for a few hours this morning and and then again later this evening and as a result put on a few thousand steps. The weather was fantastic, and the coffee at Cafe Bonalis was even better. I made a reservation there for tomorrow night at 7:30. The menu outside convinced me that truffle and duck ravioli followed by tiramisu could be the OMAD of the week. I wish Deanna, Mac, Angus, Liam and Allistair were here. Unfortunately, FaceTime will just have to do over the remainder of these holidays.

Provencal life is still good!

Live well and leave a comment if you have a moment.

Mark