Sagrada Família

Posted on June 18, 2023 by admin

In a (mostly) low-rise town like Barcelona, high-rises stand out. Even unconventional high-rises. Even one of the world’s most unconventional high-rises, Sagrada Família.

You can see the basilica and its modern construction cranes from the roof of Barcelona Cathedral.

Or from Parc Güell.

From the Montjuïc Cable Car.

Or from the entrance of Recinte Modernista de Sant Pau, looking down the fittingly named thoroughfare Avinguda Gaudí.

In full, the structure is Basílica i Temple Expiatori de la Sagrada Família. Lauded around the world these days. Not everyone has had praise for basilica down the years, however.

George Orwell was not, of course, a tourist in Barcelona in 1937, but he did visit the Sagrada Família at one point, which he mentions in Homage to Catalonia.

“For the first time since I had been in Barcelona I went to have a look at the cathedral – a modern cathedral, and one of the most hideous buildings in the world. It has four crenellated spires exactly the shape of hock bottles. Unlike most of the churches in Barcelona, it was not damaged during the revolution – it was spared because of its ‘artistic value’, people said. I think the Anarchists showed bad taste in not blowing it up when they had the chance, though they did hang a red and black banner between its spires.”

Sage about much, but Orwell wasn’t right about everything. Still, before I visited Barcelona, I was a little skeptical myself. Something that receives that much praise inspires a bit of skepticism, or should, and the many pictures I’d seen didn’t quite convey greatness, at least to me. Oddness, yes. Maybe strangeness for the sake of strangeness, as envisioned by Antoni Gaudí and carried on for decades by his successors down to the present day, but not to completion just yet.

So on our first morning in Barcelona, May 18, after a pleasant breakfast in the hotel, and a walk of only a few blocks, we approached Sagrada Família from its western corner. Despite its height, basilica emerged into view only as we rounded the last neighboring block. Then it was time to gawk.

Often enough images don’t do a place justice. That is really the case for Sagrada Família. Whatever skepticism I had evaporated. It has a presence, rising there in front of you. It is still quite a strange church, but a great strangeness — a strange majesty? — expressed in innumerable details.

Naturally, despite realizing that seeing the structure with my own eyes is the best way to experience Sagrada Família, I proceeded to take a lot of pictures. We passed by the structure more than once, so I captured it at different times of day.

As I said, innumerable details.

One side is the Nativity Façade, mostly completed while Gaudí was still alive. He was fatally struck by a streetcar in 1926 at age 73, and is buried in the basilica’s crypt, which was closed when we visited. As you’d expect, that side celebrates the birth of Jesus.

The other side is the the more austere Passion Façade, a more recent completion, though expressing Gaudí’s ideas.

I didn’t know who Japanese sculptor Etsuro Sotoo was. Yuriko did, and she was keen to see the large door to the basilica that he designed, which is in the Nativity Façade. The door’s leaf motif not only includes many leaves in bronze and glass, but also some creatures that live in the underbrush.

That was the door through which we entered the basilica on the afternoon of May 19. These days, you have to book a tour to do so, which I did weeks before we arrived in Barcelona – the only thing I booked ahead of time for the trip besides the visit to the Book of Kells and the Long Room.

In we went.

Too many distinctive features to name, but what struck me most of all were the columns supporting the ceiling, which branched like trees toward the top.

There was no shortage of other tourists admiring the place, but the vast space inside held them all pretty well.

Everyone takes pictures.

I wonder how many tens or hundreds of thousands a day. Or an hour.

Basilica de Santa Maria del Mar

Posted on June 15, 2023 by admin

Scenes from a Barcelona grocery store.

Wasn’t a very big one. One of the many 24/7 jobs in the Eixample district.

I like that brand name, Fiesta Brava. Best to translate, Wild Party? Could be. Of course, the store had much more than sangria and boxed wine. Prices might be comparable, but I’d say the few we visited were a cut above U.S. convenience stores in selection.

I’ve read that sangria is considered a drink for tourists, but I have to wonder. I expect it’s mostly Catalans visiting these grocery stores and availing themselves of those rows of sangria bottles.

This is the entry at enciclopedia.cat about one Berenguer de Montagut, machine (Google) translated from Catalan.

Master of works

He worked preferentially in Manresa, where the New Bridge project is attributed to him (1318?); in 1322 he directed the works of the Carmelite convent and from 1328 he was master major of the seat. In Barcelona he contracted, with R. Despuig, the project of the church of Santa Maria del Mar (1329). Later, with Pere Baró, he began the construction of the sanctuary of Santa Maria de Lledó.

I find it astonishing that even the name of the man who – designed – oversaw construction – both, probably – of such an edifice as the basilica Santa Maria del Mar – is known at all. But apparently it is. Still, he didn’t do it alone.

“The neighbourhood’s inhabitants poured all their efforts into building… Santa Maria del Mar, successfully completing it in only 55 years,” says a surprisingly well-written item on the basilica, published in English by a Barceló Hotel Group, of all entities, which also notes that Santa Maria del Mar has been featured in recent novels, and a Netflix series.

“Although this monumental work was overseen by Berenguer de Montagut and Ramon Despuig, the real credit must go to the residents of La Ribera [the surrounding neighborhood] and, in particular, the bastaixos — in other words, those who carried on their own backs the stone from which the basilica was built. The stone had been brought from the royal quarry, located on the Hill of Montjuïc and transported by boat to the vicinity of the church.”

That’s the entrance, but for tourists (as opposed to parishioners), it was the exit. We entered from behind the sanctuary.

But soon enough, the vault appears overhead.

Looking back into the nave.

The chapels aren’t closed off.

The basilica has stood since the 14th century. It abides. Considering the vicissitudes of Barcelonan history, quite a feat. Another line from EB (1929) on Barcelona, on the political violence of the modern period: “ [E]specially serious were the uprisings of 1835, when 11 convents were destroyed, and of the “tragic week” in 1909, when over 60 churches and religious buildings disappeared from the city’s architectural heritage.”

And of course, 1929 Barcelona was completely unaware of other things to come, and soon.

Translated from the basilica’s web site: “One of the most important defeats [sic, incidents] took place at the beginning of the Spanish Civil War, when the basilica burned down [sic, was seriously damaged] after a group of anarchists caused a fire there. Part of the baroque altar, some of the stained glass, numerous elements of furniture and an important part of the archives disappeared under the flames.”

Also worth mentioning: the 14th century was one of the prosperous periods in the city’s history, as a port doing well on trade from around the Mediterranean. Just the sort of place to set your historical fiction.

A look at the floor.

If I went to a modern headstone maker and asked for this design, would he or she do it? I wonder, but I’m also certain I’d never actually do that.

Barcelona Cathedral

Posted on June 11, 2023 by admin

We were up and out early on our last day in Dublin, which was capped by downing Guinnesses, and we flew out that evening for a somewhat late arrival around midnight at El Prat Airport, Barcelona. Our energy reserves were low, riding one of the yellow-and-black cabs – the only legal colors – along the highway, looking out to indistinct nighttime streetscapes.

Some blocks from our hotel, we left the highway and crossed into the district known as Eixample, literally Expansion. That’s what it was, for late 19th-century Barcelona. The neighborhood features a regular street grid with buildings on all four sides of every block, a mix of residential and retail, with some offices as well.

We perked right up. At taxi speed, and at the midnight hour, details are fuzzy. The big signs and the bright lights and scattering of pedestrians on the sidewalks stood out. We passed a small grocery, brightly lit. A cafe. A small restaurant. A number of closed businesses, either for the night or for good. Another small grocery, just as bright. A closed bakery. A closed boutique with small lights illuminating mannikins. A bar with a few patrons out on tables on the sidewalk. A restaurant with a takeout business. Another grocery store.

What do you know, Catalonians were working on that whole walkability thing all the way back in the 19th century, especially one Ildefons Cerdà, the pioneering urban planner who designed neighborhood.

The next morning, May 18, we were fairly eager to take to the streets of Eixample, and wider Barcelona, and walk, and figure out the subways. By mid-morning found ourselves in the Barri Gòtic, the city’s oldest neighborhood. Put another way, the original location of the city, with many streets owing their origins to Roman thoroughfares, and many buildings owing their origins to a 14th- and 15th-century flowering of prosperity in the up-and-down history of Barcelona.

You can’t wander through the Barri Gòtic without encountering Barcelona Cathedral from one direction or another. We approached from the back.

Formally, the Cathedral of the Holy Cross and Saint Eulalia. A Christian site since the 4th century at least, and site of a Roman temple before that. Completed in 1420 after more than a century under construction.

Niches.

Details.

In the crypt beneath the high altar is alabaster sarcophagus of St. Eulalia, patroness of the cathedral and co-patroness of Barcelona. Martyred in the early 4th century, according to tradition.

Maintenance never ends.

The cathedral naturally counts as Gothic, but Gothic Revival as well. The Gothic-style exterior was a 19th- and early 20th-century addition, replacing a spare exterior that was the style for Catalan churches when the cathedral was originally built.

Part of the admission (€9) included a ride in a small elevator to a landing and a small metal staircase leading to a short series of walkways on the roof of the cathedral.

Thus included in the admission are expansive views of Barcelona.

Ordinary visitors don’t exit by at the place they came in, but rather through a door that leads to a cloister ringed with chapels that are behind iron bars, as they are in the cathedral itself.

The chapel next to the gift shop. They were on their way to visit St. Rita, patroness of abused and battered women.

I don’t remember which chapel this plaque fronted. It was the only memorial I saw in Barcelona to civil war dead, though I didn’t go out of my way looking for them. In this case clerics.

Not the only momento mori around. Burials in the floor.

A reminder of mortality before you step out of the cathedral grounds into the city streets. In case you needed one.

Dublin Castle

Posted on May 30, 2023 by admin

For someone who has been dead for over 800 years, even a monarch, King John of England is surprisingly well remembered. For signing Magna Carta, of course, but also losing most of France, trying to kill Errol Flynn, etc.

Another thing to remember about John: In the early 13th century, he ordered the building of a castle in Dublin to help consolidate Anglo-Norman rule, which it did. Over the centuries, via a convoluted and often violent path, the castle then buttressed English rule, then British rule, then famously the structure was turned over to the Irish Free State on January 16, 1922. These days, it houses various offices of the Republic of Ireland, including one whose antecedents were probably functioning from day one under King John.

To this day, the structure is called Dublin Castle, though it was mostly redeveloped into a Georgian palace after a major fire in the 17th century. Besides housing government offices, and rooms for state occasions, the Castle is a major tourist attraction.

We took a tour one afternoon. Our garrulous red-headed tour guide from County I-forget-which-but-not-Dublin had a lot to say, as you’d expect. We had a particularly interesting discussion about the theft of the Irish Crown Jewels from the Castle in 1907, a crime that has never been solved. I asked her if there had been any suspects, and she said yes, quite a few, including a ne’er-do-well brother of the explorer Ernest Shackleton.

The enclosure is expansive, and roughly the size it would have been in the early years.

Elements of the medieval castle do survive. Some stubs of its walls are now underground, which you climb down stairs to see, and two of the four original towers still stand above ground. One is the Record Tower, the crenellated structure in my image below that is currently closed and being restored as an additional tourist element.

Next to the Record Tower is the Chapel Royal, which was added in the 19th century as a private chapel for the Viceroy of Ireland and his family. That was open.

As befitting its era, it was built in the Gothic Revival style. There was a good deal more Gothic Revival in Ireland than I expected.

Next stop: the State Apartments. That is, the fancy rooms used for official functions. They are well trod, and not just with tourists.

“Over the centuries, those entertained at Dublin Castle have included Benjamin Franklin (1771), the Duke of Wellington (1807), Daniel O’Connell (1841), Queen Victoria (1849, 1853, 1861 & 1900), Charles Dickens (1864), Countess Markievicz (1905), Princess Grace of Monaco (1961), John F. Kennedy (1963), Charles de Gaulle (1969), Nelson Mandela (1990) and Queen Elizabeth II (2011),” says the castle web site.

The seven signatories of the Proclamation of the Republic, whose executions soon came to be seen not just as a crime, but a blunder, have a place of honor near the entrance.

The State Corridor, featuring portraits of the presidents of the Republic, none of whom I could say I’d heard of. Now I have.

The State Drawing Room.

Intriguing that officialdom of Republic has not, for the most part, scrubbed the Castle of reminders of Ireland’s past as part of the British Empire. There in the drawing room, for instance, is Queen Victoria, by John Partridge (1840).

Prince Albert, too (1841).

The Throne Room.

“[The Throne Room] was created in 1788 as an audience chamber in which the Viceroy received guests on behalf of the British monarch…” notes the castle. “The throne was made for the visit to Ireland of King George IV, in 1821. It was later used by Queen Victoria and King Edward VII during their visits to the Castle. The last monarch to use it before Irish independence was King George V, in 1911.”

The Portrait Gallery.

“This room takes its name from the collection of portraits of Irish Viceroys that have hung on its walls since 1849. The room’s main function was as a dining room where State dinners were held… The room continues to be used for State receptions by the Irish government today.”

Largest of all is St. Patrick’s Hall, where events for state visitors are held, and the presidents of the Republic are inaugurated. Ceiling by Italian artist Vincenzo Waldré, who made his living in England and Ireland.

Not too long ago, President Biden was the guest of honor at a banquet at St. Patrick’s Hall. I understand he was well received in Ireland, but not quite everyone was happy about his visit.

A leftover poster we spotted nowhere the Castle, but rather on a wall on an otherwise colorless street not far from the Guinness brewery.

Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin

Posted on May 29, 2023 by admin

During our visit to Ireland, we made the acquaintance of Strongbow.

That is, the tomb of Richard de Clare, 2nd Earl of Pembroke, Lord of Leinster, Justiciar of Ireland, which can be found in the nave of Christ Church Cathedral in Dublin.

Strongbow was an important figure in Irish history, being one of the first and certain most forceful of the Anglo-Normans to show up in the 12th century to take over the joint. Or most of it, anyway, which they no doubt saw as carrying on the profitable work of their predecessors who conquered Saxon England.

Except that the effigy and tomb aren’t actually his. As the cathedral itself notes: “In 1562, the nave roof vaulting collapsed and Strongbow’s tomb was smashed, the current tomb being a contemporary replacement from Drogheda. The cathedral was in ruins and emergency rebuilding took place immediately. This temporary solution lasted until the 1870s!”

Centuries pass, things get lost or kicked around. Strongbow didn’t found the cathedral – that was the work of the Viking Sitric Silkenbeard, he of another fine sobriquet, ca. 1028 – but the Anglo-Norman enlarged it into a stone structure.

We walked by Christ Church Cathedral our first day in town, after visiting St. Patrick’s. One major church per day is usually enough, so we didn’t come back until the next day. The cathedral took its current form in (no surprise) the 19th century, thus becoming another uncertain amalgam of Gothic and Gothic Revival, with Romanesque elements thrown in for grins.

The flooring is 19th century, though perhaps a recreation of earlier designs. Whatever the case, I liked it a lot.

Something unique to Christ Church for reasons I haven’t discerned, and maybe don’t quite need to know: Floor tiles showing foxes dressed as pilgrims, complete with hats, walking sticks and back packs.

The figures exist elsewhere, too, in what look to be newer iterations.

The cathedral has a sizable crypt, something St. Patrick’s doesn’t, presumably because of the water table, though the two aren’t that far apart.

A number of artifacts are on display, such as worn statues of Charles I and Charles II.

Also, the cathedral’s copy of Magna Carta, which isn’t a distinct document, but part of a lawyer’s handbook probably brought to the church ca. 1300 that contained copies of many important legal documents, including important English statues of the 13th century.

Christ Church Cathedral, formally the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity, is curiously one of the Church of Ireland’s two cathedrals in Dublin. It isn’t entirely clear why the second one (St. Patrick’s) was built, but built it was, and eventually the church sorted things out by making Christ Church the cathedral of the Dioceses of Dublin and Glendalough, while St. Patrick’s is the national cathedral.

To make things even more interesting, the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin nominally claims Christ Church as his cathedral, though uses St. Mary’s, elsewhere in Dublin (we didn’t make it there) as his pro-cathedral.

Organized religion wouldn’t be nearly so interesting if it were more organized.

St. Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin

Posted on May 25, 2023 by admin

In America, we have Gothic Revival churches, no more than 150 years old if that. In Europe, there are actual Gothic churches, and stepping inside takes you into sacred space many centuries older. You count as distant, unimaginable posterity for the builders or rebuilders of a place like St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Dublin.

The cathedral was the first place we went in that city. Actually, no. We ate at a spot called Wowburger first, partly because it was one of the few places open late morning on a Sunday. Though clearly inspired by American hamburgers and only around since 2015, I’d argue that Dublin-originated Wowburger is just as Irish as the cathedral. Go back far enough, after all, and cathedrals aren’t native to Ireland, either. Neither were the Anglo-Normans who built St. Patrick’s in the 13th century.

Wowburgers were really good. No wonder the chain is expanding beyond Ireland.

I used Google Maps, but we could also hear the ringing of its bells to guide us to the cathedral.

Adjoining the cathedral is a St. Patrick’s Park, created at the dawn of the 20th century. Nice place for a short stroll ahead of entering the cathedral.

Services had just ended, so St. Patrick’s opened to tourists. A good many besides us were there.

Much of the current interior appearance of the cathedral has a Victorian look, following a major 19th-century restoration and renovation funded – and directed – by Benjamin Guinness, a grandson of Arthur Guinness, and non-architect. Beer money to revive sacred space. Standards of documentation were a bit lax in the 1860s, so it isn’t entirely clear now what is renovation and what is older. So in a real sense, St. Patrick’s is both Gothic and Gothic Revival.

Because I am ignorant about much, I assumed going in that St. Patrick’s, a major religious edifice in the heart of Ireland, was Roman Catholic. But no: it is part of the Church of Ireland, a member of the Anglican Communion. That fact made me a little more amenable to paying the admission of €8 (the 60+ senior rate), not because of its Anglicanism specifically, but because there are so few members of that denomination to support such a grand church. The Guinness family can’t presumably be counted on to maintain the place in our time.

That discovery made me wonder: just how Catholic is Ireland these days? Not as much as I’d have thought, just like Mexico. According to the latest census (2016) by the Republic of Ireland, 78.3% of the population nationwide claims membership, down from about 95% the year I was born. The Church of Ireland counts 2.8% of the population as members these days. Those Irish claiming no religion came in at just short of 10%, way up from next to none during my lifetime.

Food for thought among these ancient stones and glass.

Another fascination for me of churches of this age are the burials and memorials, mostly of people mostly forgotten. St. Patrick’s has many. I looked for Jonathan Swift, among other things dean of the cathedral for many years, and who is not forgotten, but I didn’t take a good picture of his stone on the floor.

One Capt. John Boyd, on the other hand, commander of the HMS Ajax and lost in a storm off Dublin in 1861, has a life-sized statue right at the entrance. No one else was paying him any mind.

Poignant reminders of those lost in the Great War.

Is there anything to remind us of St. Patrick himself in his namesake cathedral? At least one thing I saw, which is found in the gift shop in the back of the cathedral.

St. Patrick socks. Wear them to keep snakes away? Could be.

More From the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania

Posted on April 16, 2023 by admin

Our most recent trip took us to fully 25% of the nation’s commonwealths, to celebrate a famed example of a distinction without a difference.

It wasn’t quite full spring in Pennsylvania last month, but warm enough most of time.

We drove the National Road (U.S. 40) in Pennsylvania, from where it crosses the border near Wheeling, through to Uniontown, and later drove the segment that goes into Maryland.

Didn’t quite make it to the eastern terminus, in Cumberland, Maryland. Once upon a time, maybe a small detour during a late ’90s return from Dallas, we saw the western terminus in Vandalia, Illinois.

One minor landmark along the way.

Searight’s Tollhouse, built in 1835 by the commonwealth of Pennsylvania to collect tolls, since the federal government had turned the road over to its various states that year. The structure, near Uniontown, is one of two surviving tollhouses, out of the six built. No tolls have been collected there since the 1870s.

The structure was built near the tavern of William Searight, the state commissioner in charge of the roadway, per Wiki.

Barman and toll collector. There’s an idea for a Western revival limited series on streaming: Will Searight, Frontier Toll Collector. I’m thinking a comedy, in the same Shakespearean writing style as Deadwood, but no one gets killed.

A church on the National Road, east of Uniontown: Mount Washington Presbyterian, founded in 1842.

The church cemetery provides a view of the National Road.

In Uniontown itself, I stopped by briefly at Oak Grove Cemetery, originally the Union Cemetery of Fayette County, which has been accepting permanent residents since 1867.

Famed permanent residents? I checked with Find-A-Grave (just now), and the pickings are slim: mostly forgotten members of the U.S. Congress, though there is a Civil War officer, Silas Milton Bailey (d. 1900). I just made his acquaintance. Quite a story. Uniontown jeweler in civilian life; solider that didn’t let getting shot in the face keep him from action for long.

Fort Necessity is just off U.S. 40 and thus the National Road. Something I noticed there, featured on a park service educational sign. Of course. How could they not be involved?

The camp, Pennsylvania SP-12, existed from 1935 to ’37, with about 800 men, planting trees and laying out trails and roads. This is the first time I’ve seen the CCC seal depicted at any of its sites, though of course the men sometimes rate bronze recognition. There is evidence that the seal dates back to the active period of the corps.

Just as we left Pennsylvania for the last time, I was able to stop at the border with Maryland on U.S. 219, just south of Salisbury, Pa. Not just any border, but the Mason-Dixon Line. It’s one thing to cross it, as I have who knows how often. It’s another thing, according to my eccentric lights, to stand on it.

Yuriko had never heard of it. I explained a little about its history and its wider but not quite literal meaning as a line between free and slave, North and South, but she didn’t find it all that impressive.

Ohio Timbits

Posted on April 13, 2023 by admin

Finally, a string of warm days here in northern Illinois, as in 80s in the afternoons. The grass is green and some bushes are coloring up, too. Trees are a little more hesitant, but it won’t be long. Of course, come Saturday, weather from up north will end our balmy run.

One thing I was glad to learn during our recent trip east was that Tim Hortons territory in the U.S. extends as far as Columbus, Ohio.

What is it about TH doughnuts that is so good, even in small form? The excellence of the dough, presumably, but that doesn’t really answer the question.

Another ahead-of-the-road-foodies discovery: Tudor’s Biscuit World. From a recipe dating back to the kitchens of Hampton Court Palace in the time of Henry VIII?

Of course not. The 20th-century founders were named Tudor. Though there’s a scattering of Biscuit Worlds in Ohio and Kentucky, and an outlier in Panama City, Florida, it’s largely a West Virginia operation. As we drove south through that state, we kept seeing them along the way. That inspired me, the next morning, to visit one and buy breakfast sandwiches for us.

Its sandwiches are much like McDonald’s breakfasts, the best thing that fast-food giant makes, except more variety, and Biscuit World’s various sandwiches were larger. Pretty much the same high quality. I can see why they can compete with McD’s.

The Basilica and National Shrine of Our Lady of Consolation rises over the small-town streets of Carey, Ohio (pop. 3,500). I spotted it as a point of interest on one of my road atlases.

I’ve read that a lot of people show up for Assumption Day, but in mid-March, only a few other people were in the basilica.

The next day, we saw St. Nicholas Catholic Church in Zanesville, Ohio, a handsome church that needs a grander setting, one not hemmed in by busy streets.

Zanesville is known for its Y Bridge, and I have to say driving over the thing was less interesting than driving down any of the other streets in Zanesville. As Wiki states: “It has received criticism for a tunnel-like effect due to its solid railings, providing hardly any view of the scenery.”

I agree. I know public budgets are tight in a place like Zanesville, median household income, $26,642. Still, there has to be a way that’s not too expensive to make experiencing the bridge genuinely distinctive, like the Tridge in Midland, Mich., except with vehicular traffic.

(Chin up, Zanesville. The Midwest is going to rise again, with its cooler temps and access to water. You or I might not live to see it, but still.)

West of Zanesville – where you can find the National Road & Zane Grey Museum – you can also stand in front of this pleasant house in New Concord, Ohio.

Behind the white picket fence, the John and Annie Glenn Museum.

Then.

Now.

Leaving that early sign outside is a nice touch. Not every artifact needs to be behind glass.

Both the Glenns and Zane Grey were closed for the season. I didn’t need a museum to tell me that we were partly following the route of the National Road as we drove on U.S. 40 in Ohio and more so in Pennsylvania.

Route 66 has had better publicity, but the National Road – the original stab at an interstate – now that’s a traveler’s road, a route to seek glimpses of a past remote and tough. Well, from the vantage of today’s macadamized roads.

A mile marker on U.S. 40 in Ohio, but only 25 miles from Wheeling, West Virginia – as the marker tells us, and the fact that Zanesville is 50 miles west.

At the courthouse square in Newark, Ohio, bronze Mark Twain can be found looking Mark-Twainy except – no cigar. Come now, he even smoked cigars when he made an appearance on Star Trek: The Next Generation. Or maybe this is the reformed Mark Twain, who promised to give up cigars after the 1910 arrival of Haley’s Comet. No, that’s not it. I made that last part up. But he did in fact give up cigars that year.

Outside the Ohio Statehouse, a couple danced and was photographed. For reasons, presumably. A spot of romantic whimsy, I hope.

The capitol grounds are well populated with bronzes, including from just after the Great War.

And a little earlier, historically speaking. Quite a bit, actually: Columbus, as in the Admiral of the Ocean Sea, in a 1892 work.

See him, and reflect on the vicissitudes of history.

Columbus (the city) has a good skyline, at least from the capitol grounds.

We had lunch that day in the Columbus neighborhood of German Village, or maybe more formally, German Village Historic District, which has the hallmarks of fairly far along gentrifying, an old ethnic neighborhood revived some years after its ethnicity melted into the population.

We got takeout from a small-chain chicken wing joint, which was packed with a youngish crowd at the brunch hour on Sunday, and ate with gusto in our car, out of the wind and collecting enough sunlight to warm the inside of the car.

Across the street was a sizable park.

After eating, I took a look around. Schiller is honored in German Village. Check.

Then there’s Umbrella Girl, a fixture in a fountain still dry for the season.

Instructions.

I’d say bilingual, but I don’t see that dogs have a lingua, as expressive as they can be.

The Palace of Gold

Posted on April 3, 2023 by admin

What do you know, today’s the 141st anniversary of the assassination of Jesse James by the coward Robert Ford. We happened to watch the movie of that name over the weekend, and found it slow-moving but impressive. Nothing like a high-verisimilitude work of historical fiction to take you into the past, especially if there are no outrageous anachronisms.

Frank Lloyd Wright on Monday, Hare Krishnas on Tuesday. That’s possible in southwestern Pennsylvania and West Virginia.

Some years ago, I was poring over a road map in anticipation of a road trip that didn’t happen. Looking roughly where we eventually did go last month, I noticed the Palace of Gold at a spot in rural West Virginia, in the odd northern panhandle of that state. Such a thing cannot go un-looked up, so I found out that it is part of a complex run by the International Society for Krishna Consciousness.

We’d been to ISKCON Chicago. Time to drop by the Palace of Gold, I thought, as long as we were in the neighborhood. The palace is part of a larger settlement known as New Vrindaban, which was founded during the heady early days of the Hare Krishna movement in the New World, namely 1968. You know, when the Beatles were hanging out with sect founder His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Prabhupāda, or vice versa.

This isn’t the Palace of Gold, but it is a major part of the New Vrindaban complex, Sri Sri Radha Vrindaban Chandra Temple (RVC Temple).

ISKCON had a lean period after its counterculture heyday, but someone is paying for the vigorous reconstruction at the temple, as well as plans to restore the Palace of Gold.

Maybe Alfred Ford kicked in some dosh. I didn’t know till our visit that a great-grandson of Henry Ford, also known as Ambarish Das, is a member of ISKCON, and is a major donor for a major project in India.

You can’t go too far in the temple without encountering Swami Prabhupāda.

Many depictions of Krishna and his flute.

The centerpiece. At least, that’s what I assume; it was front and center.

I heard the story of the founding of the ISKCON from two different Anglo monks, two of about 200 people who live in the settlement, one young and at the visitors center, the other old and at the Palace itself. Their stories had a mythical quality to them, emphasizing the travail of the founder of the sect, especially his sea voyage from India to New York by cargo steamer, under hardscrabble circumstances, age nearly 70, to bring Krishna consciousness to the West.

Swami Prabhupāda thus brought one of the many branches of the massive flowering tree that is Hinduism to America, and at an auspicious time – 1965. Not only had U.S. immigration laws just been loosened, one of the periodic effusions of bohemianism was just then under way in the West, making for a receptive audience. Double good fortune for the swami, or perhaps the timely intervention of Lord Krishna, made exponentially greater when he caught the attention what we would now call influencers.

The founder did not, however, live to see New Vrindaban come to full fruition, since he died in 1977 – cast off his body for another, presumably – and his followers took up the task of developing the place. As you’d expect with a new religion, any religion really, not all went smoothly. Violence, murder plots, a racketeering conviction. New Vrindaban spent a period in the late 20th century excommunicated from ISKCON, but it is back in the fold now.

The grounds of New Vrindaban are extensive, including a pond and other structures, such as a dorm and cabins for monks and visitors. And a concrete elephant and cattle.

Krishna consciousness gazebos, by golly.

These are Gaura and Nitai, I‘ve read, but I can’t pretend I understand their function or which is which. The one on the left, recently refurbished. The one on the right, awaiting new paint.

The Palace of Gold itself is on a slope overlooking the rest of the complex, and looks to be on one of the higher points in this part of West Virginia, surrounded by the sect’s roughly 1,200 acres. Why West Virginia? Cheap land would be my guess. The monks had a story about that, too, formalized in its details as much as the story of the swami’s passage to America. Something about answering a random ad in a newspaper. Anyway, here it stands.

“Palace of Gold Leaf” might be more accurate, but also an exercise in literalism.

Nice detail.

A sign at the entrance says that restoration will soon be underway. The palace needs it.

We did our little part for the restoration, each taking an $8 tour in turn. No one else was on either of our tours, since even at New Vrindaban, mid-March would be the slow season, though a few other people were visiting at the same time as we did, including a sizable, multi-generational South Asian family.

The interior is as ornate as the exterior, even more so, with crystal chandeliers, mirrored ceilings, marble floors, stained-glass windows and plenty of gold leaf and semi-precious stone accents. Not bad for a structure that is entirely nonprofessional architecture.

No photography inside, except I took some pictures in the lobby waiting for the tour.

“I’m old enough to remember Hare Krishnas at the airport,” I told my guide when he asked whether I knew anything about ISKCON.

“Yes, we used to do that,” he said with what I took to be a wistful smile.

My guide was an old hippie. That’s probably unfair to the fellow, a lanky gentleman perhaps in his early to mid-70s, dressed in the Hare Krishna robes we’re all familiar with, head mostly shaven. Who would want to be described by stereotypical youthful attributes more than 50 years out of date?

Still, as he told me about his wanderings as a young man in the late ’60s, and his discovery of ISKCON – he was happy to say that he’d taken classes from Swami Prabhupāda himself – the thought kept occurring to me.

Ohiopyle State Park

Posted on March 30, 2023 by admin

The curious name Ohiopyle has naught to do with Ohio, which is apparently from a Seneca word meaning “big river” – but rather apparently a Delaware (Lenape) word meaning “frothy waters.” Standing on the banks of the Youghiogheny River, looking at Ohiopyle Falls in Ohiopyle State Park in southwestern Pennsylvania, that’s easy to see.

For its part, Youghiogheny, also Lenape, apparently means “flowing backwards,” and so it seems to at times, as it twists along, including in the park. I say apparently each time because I only know what I read, and am not an authority on any Native American language, or the place names that evolved from Indian words, which have a long history of being mangled or given over to (apparently) fanciful translations.

The state park is large – more than 20,000 acres – and Fallingwater is just outside its bounds. After visiting Fallingwater, we sought lunch in the town of Ohiopyle, which is actually the borough of Ohiopyle. Pennsylvania has counties, cities, boroughs and townships, but not towns, according to the Pennsylvania Manual, Volume 125, page 6-3. Boroughs form a middle rank of populated areas between cities and townships.

Anyway, the borough of Ohiopyle is only a few blocks in any direction, and clearly a tourist town, but not on the order of Gatlinburg in Tennessee or Wisconsin Dells or Hannibal, Mo. Rather, it caters to visitors to the park, who are mostly there for rafting, kayaking, and canoeing on the waters, and hiking, horseback riding, cross-country skiing, mountain biking and snowmobiling on land. I have a feeling the place is best known to Yinzers and unpleasantly crowded on summer weekends.

Mid-March is low season, and so pleasantly uncrowded. Only one place that served food seemed to be open, and we got sandwiches to go. There must be some full-time residents. Someone goes to Ohiopyle United Methodist Church.

Across the street from the church is a former train station, these days a tourist office with public bathrooms that serve recreational travelers on the Great Allegheny Passage. I don’t think I could think of a more Pennsylvania-y name than that for a trail. If we had a mind to – or more to the point, time for it – we could have walked to Pittsburgh. Or to Cumberland, Maryland, going the other way.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the trail was formed from a series of abandoned railway lines: Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, Pittsburgh and Lake Erie Railroad, Union Railroad, and Western Maryland Railway. Standing in Ohiopyle, all you see is that the trail crosses a cool old railroad bridge.

Love locks. Not many, though. Guess that beats graffiti.

Yuriko and the dog went on ahead. I paused here and there to push my camera button, and take in the views of the Youghiogheny in that better way, with your eyeballs.

I’d just planned to cross the bridge and come back, but they found a trail at the bottom of the stairs, one leading off onto the Ferncliff Peninsula.

Looked easy enough. Mostly the trail followed the river.

Eventually the trail lost its through-the-woods vibe and offered us rock surfaces and large underfoot stones and mud patches, which slowed us down.

Better shoes and our walking sticks were back at the car, so eventually we turned around, but not before getting a close look at the top of Ohiopyle Falls.

Just another bit of turbulence destined for the Gulf: Youghiogheny, Monongahela, Ohio, Mississippi.

Been There, Seen That

By Dees Stribling

Category Archives: Religious Sites