I have realised only recently that I don't often 'promise' things. Of course. I do say that I will 'do' something (and pathetically, quite often 'don't') or, what's worse, 'talk about doing' something which, when you think about it is even more pathetic because it gives you an escape hatch to climb out of if you don't do it, because you never actually 'said you were going to do' this or that - you just 'talked about doing' this or that. Therefore, you can mount a case (albeit a pitiful one) that you were never 'committed to doing what you talked about doing' - you just 'talked about doing something' which is not the same, so therefore you could not be held accountable for 'not doing what you talked about doing'. Well, I am determined to change all of that. While I did not actually 'promise' to write about some particular things in the blog, I did say that I 'would write about some particular things', and from now on, that shall count as a promise. I am now and into the future, going to mean 'promise' when I say 'will do' and am going to try to remember to actually say the word 'promise' more often. 'Promise' is actually a very beautiful word, I think. So without any further delay (or more speech marks) I am going to fulfil a 'promise' (sorry, just one for the road - old habits are so hard to break...) and write about my and my family's connection with MMcK, just like I promised I would.
My mother is the keeper of all our family's MMcK stories but I think I remember how most of them go. I shall relate three but there are others. Not sure whether you call these events miracles really - to be honest, what they might or might be called really doesn't matter all at much anyway. I think I will just tell the stories.
Story No 1: When my younger sister was born (she is 8 years younger than I am), she had all manner of health issues as a consequence of her premature birth and my mother being sick for most of the the pregnancy. She spent much of it actually in the hospital. Things became desperate one evening when the doctors told my parents that my baby sister's life was in the balance. In the meantime, Mum or Dd (can't quite recall which one) had been in contact with our local primary school (St Jerome's Punchbowl) which was run by the Sisters of St Joseph because someone had told them that they had in their possession a relic of Mary MacKillop's habit which they sometimes loaned to those who might need 'special help'. They were right and after being loaned the relic by the Sisters, it was brought in to the hospital and pinned to my sister's clothing. They were also told to pray to MMcK - which she did. The next morning when my sister awoke, there was nothing wrong with her.
Doctors were dumbfounded - they could offer no explanation. She suffered no ill-effects from her ordeal, which had included a collapsed lung. Go figure... Mum was still pretty sick however, and it was a while before she was well enough to come home and bring my sister with her. She also had another 4 children to look after when she got home and she never did write up what had happened. That was something she always regretted.
Story No 2: This was my story, the one written up in the Daily Telegraph article. It goes something like this: Not long after starting Year 10, I contracted a staph infection above my right eye which my doctor did not know to treat. It became so nasty that my specialist (not a very good one) placed me 'in the hands of God', as he told it, which apart from giving me morphine, was probably the best thing he did for me. My local parish priest was called in and I was given that 'special blessing'. I had the relic which was pinned to my clothing, just like with my sister some years before. Meanwhile, Mum and Dad began furiously trying to find another specialist who didn't think I was a lost cause. When they came back the priest was gone and I apparently told him, and then them, not to worry any more because MMcK had just told me that I was going to be okay. Soon after, they did find a specialist (a very good one, as it turned out) who arrived at the hospital in the early hours of the morning and got to work. He figured out the source of the problem (sadly, not before a very painful lumbar puncture - man, they're nasty...), changed the antibiotics I was being given and things quickly improved. I was out of hospital in two weeks. Mmm...
Story No3: I think this one fits the category of being odd rather than miraculous. Again, it involved my mother and me. It was not all that long after my own ordeal. Mum was once more hospitalised but this time her condition was not critical. Still, each time one of us was in this situation, someone would pay a visit to the St Jerome's convent and borrow the relic until we got better, then take it back. Mum asked me if I would go and get it this time and bring it to her in the hospital.
When I went to the convent to ask for the relic again (I think we must have accumulated some serious frequent user points by this time), I was told by nun who received my request that it had already been borrowed by someone else. They just didn't have it. There was nothing to be done so, knowing that Mum would be dreadfully upset with this news, I jumped on the train and headed out to St John of God Hospital Auburn.
Bizarrely, my mother already had the relic pinned to her hospital gown when I walked into her ward. What was going on here? I told her that I had come to deliver to her the news that I couldn't get the relic for her because another family had already borrowed it, to which she replied that she did not know what I was talking about as I had brought it in the day before.
I had not done so although I can be so absent-minded sometimes that I started to entertain the notion that maybe I did bring it in the day before even though I distinctly remember being somewhere completely different at the same time (like school). Clearly it stood to reason that someone else had brought it in and mum had been mistaken - good drugs can cloud the judgment of the best of us. That all made good sense but no one in the family said it was them and when Mum recovered and came home, I tried to return the relic to the convent, only to be told that theirs had already been returned and this one did not belong to them. I told Sister what had happened and she advised me to keep the relic I had, which I did. It remained in the family for the next 30 years until quite recently when it was inexplicably got lost after being pinned to my father during one of the many operations he has had to endure over the years. Maybe someone else needed it more than we did now. It somehow seemed right.
So there. What do you make of all that! To be honest, I am not asking to be believed or disbelieved or challenged or ridiculed (particularly ridiculed!) for my recollection of these events. There seems little doubt to those of us who were players in the stories that for reasons we cannot explain, we have been granted some very special blessings. One day, the reasons for those blessings may become clearer. Mum told me the other day that she still has a conversation with MMcK every night before she goes to sleep and that she is her 'closest friend'.
I suppose it is not hard to see now (even for a dullard like me) why me being in Rome for the canonisation meant so very much to her. I am sure the two friends have had plenty to talk about lately...
Gratefully yours
Mark
Monday, November 8, 2010
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Starting again: The Final Daze:
I have now been back home in Sydney for just over two weeks and until now I still have not written about the event which really was at the centre of my reason for going to Italy in the first place - the canonisation of St MMcKotC. I really want to apologise for that. This is not the way that blogs operate, I know. My limited understand of how/why this medium works is because of its immediacy (and intimacy) - a sort of 'see it, think it, feel it, write it' kind of thing. That is what I always intended to do but unfortunately, it didn't quite work that way in the end. The last few days were a frenzy, and I didn't manage to quarantine writing time. I regret that. I know the moment is over in a way, but I am back at my computer and writing again. It won't be the same but it will be what it is, and I guess that will have to be enough.
I loved Rome but I don't understand it. Although I had spent no more than one or two days in each of the places I had visited prior to now, I felt each allowed me close enough to be able feel its heartbeat and know something of who it was. Maybe Rome knows itself too but it certainly didn't give much of itself away to me. If a city can have a personality, then Rome had multiple ones.
Traffic, loud and thick, welcomed our arrival in the Eternal City. We stayed in a huge hotel with lots of other tour groups. It was comfortable, clean, had four lifts, free internet access once you had purchased a USB cable from the hotel gift shop (that was odd..) and completely without character or charm. Staff were efficient, gave answers to my questions with polite indifference as well as the distinct impression they had one eye on the bundy clock that would tell them when they could go home. The most charming staff were the cleaning girls - every single one I spoke to was charming, smiled, wished me a nice day and seemed to mean it.
Almost as soon as I arrived at Hotel Indifference, and after purchasing my E5 internet cable from the Hotel Indifference Gift Shop (it was on display right next to a colorful handbag that cost E250 (on special that week), I jumped into a cab and headed down to St Peter's Square. It was early evening. I had been contacted back in Sydney by Tony Vemeer a journalist from the Sunday Telegraph who had heard that I may have had an interesting Mary MacKillop story to tell. I had met Tony before and thought highly of him so agreed to be interviewed and photographed for the story. There would be four of us in the piece and we were all to meet in St Peter's Square around 7ish. Anne, one of my fellow travellers, was also one of the four involved in the story so we taxied together.
I would strongly recommend that if you have not seen St Peter's Square, and one day get the chance to do so, see it first by night.It is breathtaking beautiful. Tony told me to meet him at the Obelisk in St Peter's. I had no idea if that would be hard to find (or, if I had to be honest, exactly what an obelisk was...) but I agreed. When the taxi pulled up at the top Via Conzilione (sorry Romaphiles, don't think I spelled that correctly), I looked up in wonder and awe at this achingly beautiful space. It was enormous in size but somehow didn't seem so. It was bathed in a soft light that allowed you see just about everything but only just. There were people wandering around talking and looking and taking photographs. The closer you walked inside the square, the more you realised how big it all was. There was the Obelisk right in the centre of the Square and there were two magnificent fountains positioned on either side about equal distance from it. There were already thousands of chairs out in the Square in preparation for the big event in a few days time and there were barricades everywhere, although not placed in any particularly strategic or purposeful order. I soon learned that was the Roman way.
Anne and I met up with Tony, the Herald Sun photographer Dave and the other two people who were part of the story, Fr David Catterall who had survived a rare form of breast cancer and the charming Amy Green who was now free of a once-debilitating epileptic condition. Both attributed their recovery to the intersession of Mary MacKillop. My friend Anne had also survived two encounters with cancer and while she doesn't claim miraculous intervention (actually, none of us do), she is in no doubt that she was given the strength she needed to cope with what she had to deal with through the support of MMcK - who she is in fact related to! With Australia warming to the notion of celebrating the proclamation of its first Catholic saint, there was now great media interest in the event.
We did the story and photo shoot (Herald Sun Dave took hundreds of photos before he was convinced he had enough - do you realise just how hard it is to smile non-stop for almost an hour?) and as I expected he would, Tony did a lovely piece which appeared in the Daily Telegraph the next day. It all felt a bit weird really. The nature of my work means that I get quoted in the media quite a lot but I have never had a story done 'about' me. People contacted me and were very kind with their comments. The one which moved me the most was from my mum. I guess like most mums, she has unfailing faith in her son (I would contend that in my case, this is misguided) and I could hear the emotion in her voice when I rang her. I can't explain to you in the here-and-now why this all meant so much to her but I will try to in subsequent entries. She's been through such a lot herself - I was reminded in all of this just how extraordinary a person she was, and moved (to tears, as it turned out) by the joy she was feeling.
Shoot over, and now back at Hotel Indifference, I set up things for the days ahead. The internet worked a treat, camera batteries and mobile phone were charging, I did a couple of quick radio interviews, made calls to two people I love a lot and then wrote a little bit. I then went downstairs to the hotel, waited 10 minutes to order a drink, realised that it would be some time soon before that order would be taken (there were glasses to be cleaned, after all) so went back up to my room to a shower and a sleep. I managed the first but not the second.
I shall stop now because as usual, I am writing too much. I had this notion when I opened the blog again that I would do one big entry that would cover Rome in a single sweep. I realise, not for the first time, that I have over-estimated and underachieved. Things just keep finding their way into my head and I keep saying to myself 'I should write about that...', and I now remember I have made promises to write about stuff that I have not honoured yet. Honour's not really my strongest suit but for I will try to stay focused!
In the intro to the blog, I wrote that, in the end, it might become important for reasons other than reporting on the events surrounding the canonisation. I now know that is true. Sorry, that's for another time too..
Chaotically yours
Mark
I loved Rome but I don't understand it. Although I had spent no more than one or two days in each of the places I had visited prior to now, I felt each allowed me close enough to be able feel its heartbeat and know something of who it was. Maybe Rome knows itself too but it certainly didn't give much of itself away to me. If a city can have a personality, then Rome had multiple ones.
Traffic, loud and thick, welcomed our arrival in the Eternal City. We stayed in a huge hotel with lots of other tour groups. It was comfortable, clean, had four lifts, free internet access once you had purchased a USB cable from the hotel gift shop (that was odd..) and completely without character or charm. Staff were efficient, gave answers to my questions with polite indifference as well as the distinct impression they had one eye on the bundy clock that would tell them when they could go home. The most charming staff were the cleaning girls - every single one I spoke to was charming, smiled, wished me a nice day and seemed to mean it.
Almost as soon as I arrived at Hotel Indifference, and after purchasing my E5 internet cable from the Hotel Indifference Gift Shop (it was on display right next to a colorful handbag that cost E250 (on special that week), I jumped into a cab and headed down to St Peter's Square. It was early evening. I had been contacted back in Sydney by Tony Vemeer a journalist from the Sunday Telegraph who had heard that I may have had an interesting Mary MacKillop story to tell. I had met Tony before and thought highly of him so agreed to be interviewed and photographed for the story. There would be four of us in the piece and we were all to meet in St Peter's Square around 7ish. Anne, one of my fellow travellers, was also one of the four involved in the story so we taxied together.
I would strongly recommend that if you have not seen St Peter's Square, and one day get the chance to do so, see it first by night.It is breathtaking beautiful. Tony told me to meet him at the Obelisk in St Peter's. I had no idea if that would be hard to find (or, if I had to be honest, exactly what an obelisk was...) but I agreed. When the taxi pulled up at the top Via Conzilione (sorry Romaphiles, don't think I spelled that correctly), I looked up in wonder and awe at this achingly beautiful space. It was enormous in size but somehow didn't seem so. It was bathed in a soft light that allowed you see just about everything but only just. There were people wandering around talking and looking and taking photographs. The closer you walked inside the square, the more you realised how big it all was. There was the Obelisk right in the centre of the Square and there were two magnificent fountains positioned on either side about equal distance from it. There were already thousands of chairs out in the Square in preparation for the big event in a few days time and there were barricades everywhere, although not placed in any particularly strategic or purposeful order. I soon learned that was the Roman way.
Anne and I met up with Tony, the Herald Sun photographer Dave and the other two people who were part of the story, Fr David Catterall who had survived a rare form of breast cancer and the charming Amy Green who was now free of a once-debilitating epileptic condition. Both attributed their recovery to the intersession of Mary MacKillop. My friend Anne had also survived two encounters with cancer and while she doesn't claim miraculous intervention (actually, none of us do), she is in no doubt that she was given the strength she needed to cope with what she had to deal with through the support of MMcK - who she is in fact related to! With Australia warming to the notion of celebrating the proclamation of its first Catholic saint, there was now great media interest in the event.
We did the story and photo shoot (Herald Sun Dave took hundreds of photos before he was convinced he had enough - do you realise just how hard it is to smile non-stop for almost an hour?) and as I expected he would, Tony did a lovely piece which appeared in the Daily Telegraph the next day. It all felt a bit weird really. The nature of my work means that I get quoted in the media quite a lot but I have never had a story done 'about' me. People contacted me and were very kind with their comments. The one which moved me the most was from my mum. I guess like most mums, she has unfailing faith in her son (I would contend that in my case, this is misguided) and I could hear the emotion in her voice when I rang her. I can't explain to you in the here-and-now why this all meant so much to her but I will try to in subsequent entries. She's been through such a lot herself - I was reminded in all of this just how extraordinary a person she was, and moved (to tears, as it turned out) by the joy she was feeling.
Shoot over, and now back at Hotel Indifference, I set up things for the days ahead. The internet worked a treat, camera batteries and mobile phone were charging, I did a couple of quick radio interviews, made calls to two people I love a lot and then wrote a little bit. I then went downstairs to the hotel, waited 10 minutes to order a drink, realised that it would be some time soon before that order would be taken (there were glasses to be cleaned, after all) so went back up to my room to a shower and a sleep. I managed the first but not the second.
I shall stop now because as usual, I am writing too much. I had this notion when I opened the blog again that I would do one big entry that would cover Rome in a single sweep. I realise, not for the first time, that I have over-estimated and underachieved. Things just keep finding their way into my head and I keep saying to myself 'I should write about that...', and I now remember I have made promises to write about stuff that I have not honoured yet. Honour's not really my strongest suit but for I will try to stay focused!
In the intro to the blog, I wrote that, in the end, it might become important for reasons other than reporting on the events surrounding the canonisation. I now know that is true. Sorry, that's for another time too..
Chaotically yours
Mark
Monday, October 18, 2010
Photos x 109!
Lots of photos of the Canonisation ceremony at St Peter's Square are ow on the blog. Just click 'Flickr Photostream' to check them all out.
7.30am Rome time. I check out this morning and head to the airport for the trip home. I am still not finished my post about the Canonisation - it looks as though that will be a job for the plane trip. If our journey over with Malaysia Airlines is anything to go by, I shall have plenty of time! Very weary now - hope I can sleep on the plane. I will also post a story I wrote for the Catholic Weekly on the big Mary MacKillop concert held the day before the Canonisation.
Ciao for now!
So wearily yours
Mark
7.30am Rome time. I check out this morning and head to the airport for the trip home. I am still not finished my post about the Canonisation - it looks as though that will be a job for the plane trip. If our journey over with Malaysia Airlines is anything to go by, I shall have plenty of time! Very weary now - hope I can sleep on the plane. I will also post a story I wrote for the Catholic Weekly on the big Mary MacKillop concert held the day before the Canonisation.
Ciao for now!
So wearily yours
Mark
The Postless Post
Sorry, I shall have to do a more detailed post for the cliff-top town of Ovieto in retrospect. I have put a few photos up though. That probably tells you more than more often incoherent ramblings ever could anyway. Just one more unique stop in this country of contradictions...
M
M
Selflessness and Sackcloth
Post no 9. Assisi is very difficult to describe. My first glimpse of it was from the bus on our way to Loreto. It was high in the distance as I looked out from my window and it was a majestic sight, even from so far away. It looked like a walled fortress city, purchased high up on top of a mountain. It was a misty grey mid-morning and clouds hovered around the top level of the city (I think it has three tiers). The sight was intoxicating.
Travelling back from Loreto, I was lost in thought about what I had seen that day. My eyes looked out from my window seat as we wound our way back down the mountain and then at one extraordinary little town after another. I know my descriptions are beginning to border on cliches but it all seemed so surreal. These little hamlets were of course built hundreds of years ago. A few of them looked as if their days of prosperity were over, but like I am about so many other things, I may be wrong. The walls of many of the houses were crumbling, gardens were over-run and there were few people out on the streets. There were quaint shops but I was unable to see if they were open or if anyone was in them. There was some building activity happening but it was mostly focused on road works. Outside the townships, as inside, the roads were narrow, winding and treacherous but our tour bus driver, the incomparable Fausto, was more than equal to every challenge!
We arrived at Assisi in the evening. I learnt that apart from the old fortress city on the mountain top, the main commercial part of the town is situated a little away from the base of the mountain, and that is where our very comfortable hotel was located. There were lots of shops - very expensive ones mostly - and I even found a laundromat at which I later did some 'emergency washing'. Here, with two of my tour colleagues Colleen and Therese, I met three young men from the Italian boxing team who had just returned from overseas after a successful international amateur tournament. Seemed ironic that we would meet a group of boxers here in Assisi but I have long since given up contemplating the peculiarities of life in Italy. They were very friendly, spoke no English and smiled repeatedly at my forlorn attempts to use the washing machine.
On this lower level of the town, there was also a another breathtakingly beautiful basilica inside which St Clare (see below) is buried. There is also a small museum that provides an account of her incredible life. We visited it just before leaving on the second day. There was a Mass taking place inside at the time for local hospital chaplains, welfare and support staff. There were about 200 at the Mass. The majority of these were habited nuns. There 71 con celebrating priests.
I stayed behind at the hotel for the first part of the tour of old Assisi and joined the group mid-morning. I estimated that they would be at our second tour destination by the time I got there - St Damiano's Church - so that is where I asked my taxi driver to take me.
St Damiano's is a small, simply adorned but strikingly beautiful Church (more of a chapel really) and the spiritual home of the the Poor Clare Sisters which were founded by St Chiarra (Clare) who based their charism on the example her dear friend and mentor St Francis. On the wall of a small entrance room just outside the main part of the Church is a mesmerising crucifix that I simply could not take my eyes off. I sat in one of the old wooden seats for about 10 minutes, by myself (there was no-one else in there at the time), and just looked at it. The representation of Jesus on the Cross was confronting but I remained transfixed by it. I tried to just sit, listen to my own breathing and think of nothing. There was a moment when I felt as peaceful as I had felt for some time, then some other people came in and that moment was gone. I got up and walked outside, took some pics and waited for the rest of my group to arrive.
During the day, we visited the rest of the St Damiano's, including the cloisters where St Clare and her community of nuns lived and prayed, the main township of old Assisi, including its magnificent churches, its quaint streets and shops and its many monuments. I stopped for a time to change some equipment on my camera when a man of about 40, dressed in sackcloth and barefooted, stepped out from a nearby laneway chanting something about Assisi over and over again. He wasn't asking for money, he smiled constantly and after a time, simply stopped chanting and stepped back into the laneway. I did not see him again for the rest of the day. I was later told that he was something of a town oddity but that he was looked upon with affection.
My favourite part of this tour was visiting the mountain retreat of St Francis himself and seeing the cave inside which he often stayed for days at a time in contemplation and prayer. I have such admiration for people of deep conviction where their focus is not on gaining or asserting power or privilege but on service to others. (I am sure you know people like that. My good friend Maya Cranitch, who has done so much in the cause of supporting refugees and asylum seekers and is currently working as a volunteer trying to bring education to desperately need refugees on the Thai/Burma border, is someone like that). St Francis had the most intense love of God that manifested itself in foregoing everything of material value to focus on prayer and the service of others. I felt completely inadequate being in what was once his space - I wanted to see it all but felt I had no right even to walk the same paths as he and his followers walked.
For me, this has been the most spiritual experience of the pilgrimage so far (there, I used the word pilgrimage). I guess it must be had to balance the notion of providing an opportunity for people like us to see and hopefully experience some of the sacredness of places like Loreto, Assisi et al and still ensure that their sacred, spiritual core is not swallowed up in the commercial realities of modern commerce. I wonder what St Francis himself might have thought about even those who so ardently admire and pray to him being here in this capacity. Don't quite have an answer for that question yet. All I can say at the moment is that it is a privilege to have spent time here.
Introspectively yours
Mark
Travelling back from Loreto, I was lost in thought about what I had seen that day. My eyes looked out from my window seat as we wound our way back down the mountain and then at one extraordinary little town after another. I know my descriptions are beginning to border on cliches but it all seemed so surreal. These little hamlets were of course built hundreds of years ago. A few of them looked as if their days of prosperity were over, but like I am about so many other things, I may be wrong. The walls of many of the houses were crumbling, gardens were over-run and there were few people out on the streets. There were quaint shops but I was unable to see if they were open or if anyone was in them. There was some building activity happening but it was mostly focused on road works. Outside the townships, as inside, the roads were narrow, winding and treacherous but our tour bus driver, the incomparable Fausto, was more than equal to every challenge!
We arrived at Assisi in the evening. I learnt that apart from the old fortress city on the mountain top, the main commercial part of the town is situated a little away from the base of the mountain, and that is where our very comfortable hotel was located. There were lots of shops - very expensive ones mostly - and I even found a laundromat at which I later did some 'emergency washing'. Here, with two of my tour colleagues Colleen and Therese, I met three young men from the Italian boxing team who had just returned from overseas after a successful international amateur tournament. Seemed ironic that we would meet a group of boxers here in Assisi but I have long since given up contemplating the peculiarities of life in Italy. They were very friendly, spoke no English and smiled repeatedly at my forlorn attempts to use the washing machine.
On this lower level of the town, there was also a another breathtakingly beautiful basilica inside which St Clare (see below) is buried. There is also a small museum that provides an account of her incredible life. We visited it just before leaving on the second day. There was a Mass taking place inside at the time for local hospital chaplains, welfare and support staff. There were about 200 at the Mass. The majority of these were habited nuns. There 71 con celebrating priests.
I stayed behind at the hotel for the first part of the tour of old Assisi and joined the group mid-morning. I estimated that they would be at our second tour destination by the time I got there - St Damiano's Church - so that is where I asked my taxi driver to take me.
St Damiano's is a small, simply adorned but strikingly beautiful Church (more of a chapel really) and the spiritual home of the the Poor Clare Sisters which were founded by St Chiarra (Clare) who based their charism on the example her dear friend and mentor St Francis. On the wall of a small entrance room just outside the main part of the Church is a mesmerising crucifix that I simply could not take my eyes off. I sat in one of the old wooden seats for about 10 minutes, by myself (there was no-one else in there at the time), and just looked at it. The representation of Jesus on the Cross was confronting but I remained transfixed by it. I tried to just sit, listen to my own breathing and think of nothing. There was a moment when I felt as peaceful as I had felt for some time, then some other people came in and that moment was gone. I got up and walked outside, took some pics and waited for the rest of my group to arrive.
During the day, we visited the rest of the St Damiano's, including the cloisters where St Clare and her community of nuns lived and prayed, the main township of old Assisi, including its magnificent churches, its quaint streets and shops and its many monuments. I stopped for a time to change some equipment on my camera when a man of about 40, dressed in sackcloth and barefooted, stepped out from a nearby laneway chanting something about Assisi over and over again. He wasn't asking for money, he smiled constantly and after a time, simply stopped chanting and stepped back into the laneway. I did not see him again for the rest of the day. I was later told that he was something of a town oddity but that he was looked upon with affection.
My favourite part of this tour was visiting the mountain retreat of St Francis himself and seeing the cave inside which he often stayed for days at a time in contemplation and prayer. I have such admiration for people of deep conviction where their focus is not on gaining or asserting power or privilege but on service to others. (I am sure you know people like that. My good friend Maya Cranitch, who has done so much in the cause of supporting refugees and asylum seekers and is currently working as a volunteer trying to bring education to desperately need refugees on the Thai/Burma border, is someone like that). St Francis had the most intense love of God that manifested itself in foregoing everything of material value to focus on prayer and the service of others. I felt completely inadequate being in what was once his space - I wanted to see it all but felt I had no right even to walk the same paths as he and his followers walked.
For me, this has been the most spiritual experience of the pilgrimage so far (there, I used the word pilgrimage). I guess it must be had to balance the notion of providing an opportunity for people like us to see and hopefully experience some of the sacredness of places like Loreto, Assisi et al and still ensure that their sacred, spiritual core is not swallowed up in the commercial realities of modern commerce. I wonder what St Francis himself might have thought about even those who so ardently admire and pray to him being here in this capacity. Don't quite have an answer for that question yet. All I can say at the moment is that it is a privilege to have spent time here.
Introspectively yours
Mark
Looking for direction in the Holy House of Loreto
Blog post no 8
Oh my, I am so far behind! There have been so many things happening over the past week that I have not been able to keep up-to-date with the blog. So sorry one and all (and I am sure that for some it s blessed relief!) There has been a great deal of Australian media interest in our travels and this has taken some time and energy. On occasions, we have not arrived back from our day's tours until quite late and this has left very little time to write. The days are quite draining. One or two internet connection problems haven't helped. Tried typing on the bus once (didn't work) and then had a go at writing longhand (and was almost sick) so I am trying to get back on track and doing the best to read my scrawly notes.
Loreto is one of the most visted sacred Catholic sites in the world. The main reason for that is that in its majectic Cathedral is what is believed to be the actual house that the Holy Family lived IN during their time in Nazareth. It had been transported here after being situated in other countries over the past two thousand years but it is now located in this exquisite little medieval town that is perched atop of a mighty hill.
The Holy House is right in the middle of the Cathedral. It is now a small chapel, with only a few candles for lighting. On the wall behind the altar is a stunning statuette of the Black Madonna with the infant Jesus in her arms. I was struck at once by this image of a black Mary and am determined to find out more about it. That investigation is still to come. I suspect that our very knowledgable guide probaby covered it in her commentary but I am sure it would come as no surprise to you to learn that I missed that.
I sat in the chapel for about 10 minutes listening and trying very hard to pray in a way that was approriate for where I was (I wonder why I think like that...). I placed my hands on the walls and tried to 'feel' or 'sense' the holy presence but nothing profoundly deep and spiritual registered within. Still, it was beautiful and serene. I was deeply moved by a young man with Downs Syndrome who stood sobbing quietly at the front of the altar with his hand also on the wall. He didn't want to leave when motioned to by his carer who I suspect was his father, but eventually he did go outside. When I got up to leave a few minutes later, he was coming back in.
Was there a spiritual conenction for me at Loreto? Kind of, but I have to be honest and say that it was a not a profound one. To understand what it means to be in what could have been the house where Jesus would have lived and slept is not an easy experience to descibe. The more humble structure somehow appealled to me more than the majesty of the massive cathedrals and basilicas that are so common in this extraordinary country. To be honest, I don't know what I should feel or even what I should expect to feel when I enter these sacred places. Maybe your reaction to what you come out with is subeject to what you take in with you. Can anyone help here?
I strolled around the town for an hour, bought a few little things, took some pics and then headed back to the bus. It was a greyish day and my own mood was unsettled. I am beginning to understand what many famous religious scholars and mystics mean when they talk about peace and contentment coming only when we are able to clear our mind of everything and focus on what matters above all - which for them is their love of and devotion to God. I am neither scholar nor mystic and when it comes to possessing a deep faith, compared to them, I am swimming in the shallow end of the pool (sometimes, when my head is above water, I can see the deeper end - it is very blue) but I sense that this is true. A cluttered mind full of the things unresolved really has no room for anything sacred...
Inadequately yours
Mark
Oh my, I am so far behind! There have been so many things happening over the past week that I have not been able to keep up-to-date with the blog. So sorry one and all (and I am sure that for some it s blessed relief!) There has been a great deal of Australian media interest in our travels and this has taken some time and energy. On occasions, we have not arrived back from our day's tours until quite late and this has left very little time to write. The days are quite draining. One or two internet connection problems haven't helped. Tried typing on the bus once (didn't work) and then had a go at writing longhand (and was almost sick) so I am trying to get back on track and doing the best to read my scrawly notes.
Loreto is one of the most visted sacred Catholic sites in the world. The main reason for that is that in its majectic Cathedral is what is believed to be the actual house that the Holy Family lived IN during their time in Nazareth. It had been transported here after being situated in other countries over the past two thousand years but it is now located in this exquisite little medieval town that is perched atop of a mighty hill.
The Holy House is right in the middle of the Cathedral. It is now a small chapel, with only a few candles for lighting. On the wall behind the altar is a stunning statuette of the Black Madonna with the infant Jesus in her arms. I was struck at once by this image of a black Mary and am determined to find out more about it. That investigation is still to come. I suspect that our very knowledgable guide probaby covered it in her commentary but I am sure it would come as no surprise to you to learn that I missed that.
I sat in the chapel for about 10 minutes listening and trying very hard to pray in a way that was approriate for where I was (I wonder why I think like that...). I placed my hands on the walls and tried to 'feel' or 'sense' the holy presence but nothing profoundly deep and spiritual registered within. Still, it was beautiful and serene. I was deeply moved by a young man with Downs Syndrome who stood sobbing quietly at the front of the altar with his hand also on the wall. He didn't want to leave when motioned to by his carer who I suspect was his father, but eventually he did go outside. When I got up to leave a few minutes later, he was coming back in.
Was there a spiritual conenction for me at Loreto? Kind of, but I have to be honest and say that it was a not a profound one. To understand what it means to be in what could have been the house where Jesus would have lived and slept is not an easy experience to descibe. The more humble structure somehow appealled to me more than the majesty of the massive cathedrals and basilicas that are so common in this extraordinary country. To be honest, I don't know what I should feel or even what I should expect to feel when I enter these sacred places. Maybe your reaction to what you come out with is subeject to what you take in with you. Can anyone help here?
I strolled around the town for an hour, bought a few little things, took some pics and then headed back to the bus. It was a greyish day and my own mood was unsettled. I am beginning to understand what many famous religious scholars and mystics mean when they talk about peace and contentment coming only when we are able to clear our mind of everything and focus on what matters above all - which for them is their love of and devotion to God. I am neither scholar nor mystic and when it comes to possessing a deep faith, compared to them, I am swimming in the shallow end of the pool (sometimes, when my head is above water, I can see the deeper end - it is very blue) but I sense that this is true. A cluttered mind full of the things unresolved really has no room for anything sacred...
Inadequately yours
Mark
The Wonder of Florence...
Dictionary.com lists 17 synonyms for 'wonderful'. Still 17 words sometimes don't say wonderful as well as 'wonderful' - and Florence is wonderful! We arrived in this city of wonder very late after a long bus trip that took in Padua and Ravenna. Just for the record, I was unable to convince Luciana to come back with me to Australia as there were more tour groups in Ravenna to tame yet, but I took away a few strategies, which I will try out on my return. Somehow, I don't think I they will have the same impact -I am sure it was all in the delivery...
I was not well during my first day in Florence so I stayed in the hotel for the first half of the morning and did some writing while my fellow travellers headed off for a tour and some shopping. Apparenetly the shopping is excellent in Florence , particularly for leather goods and gold jewellery. I know that I am completely out of my depth when it comes to shopping so I didn't miss anything there but I was sad to miss visiting some of the incredible places for which Florence is famous. Consequently, I am very light-on for photos of Florence. You may have even noticed that I put one photo up twice. I just want to clarify that I wasn't that short but simply put the same photo up twice and am too lazy to take it down.
I was feeling a little better in the afternoon so I headed off for a walk into the centre of the city. I only got about 10 minutes down the road when I decided that it was time to stop and eat. I settled on a sidewalk cafe and the table I chose allowed me to see the comings and goings of the busy street. It was 'wonderful'. Next to me were two Aussies - a mother and daughter, the latter of which had attaracted the serious attention of every waiter in the restaurant who, one by one, arrived at the table to offer her (without mum of course) a private and free tour of the city. Each offer was politely refused. It all became a bit tedious in the end and just before they left, Mum leaned over to tell me that she was in fact an international food critic for bestrestaurants.com , and although her carbonarra was excellent, the online review she was about to go back to the hotel to write wouldn't be pretty. Now that's a deadly combination - aggrieved mother and food critic! The waiters all had a good laugh together when they left but revenge was on the way!
I left the restaurant soon after and promptly got lost. I walked around aimlessly for about two hours until I found a travel agent who could tell me the name of the street my hotel was on (of course, I hadn't noted that before I left - that would be far too sensible...) and directions for how to get there. It turnded out I was just around the corner.
While lost, I was still able to see many things of immeasurable wonder and beauty (if only that is what we see when lost in life...) and took a few snaps that you see on the blog. It is just like walking around the 13th or 14th century sometimes except for when a street peddler tries to sell you something. That happened to me when I walked out of a beautiful cathedral right in the centre of the city to realise that it was raining. I was no sooner out of the door when approached by a vendor selling not freaky toys but freaky unmbrellas. Actually it wasn't really very freaky at all, it's just that as soon as a gust of wind got under it, it completely fell apart, and that happened 30 seconds after handing over my E5. I turned around to see if my seller was still there. He was, but I decided against going back and asking for a refund - somehow I suspected it wasn't going to be forthcoming.
I made it back to the hotel a little damp but much the better for the outing.
I know I other have written on other occasions of my desire to return to Italy. It remains as strong as ever. I am also getting to know my fellow travllers better every day. There are beautiful people in this group for whom this experience is both journey and pilgrimage.
Maybe the pilgrimage part of my journey is not far off. Perhaps...
Contemplatively yours
Mark
I was not well during my first day in Florence so I stayed in the hotel for the first half of the morning and did some writing while my fellow travellers headed off for a tour and some shopping. Apparenetly the shopping is excellent in Florence , particularly for leather goods and gold jewellery. I know that I am completely out of my depth when it comes to shopping so I didn't miss anything there but I was sad to miss visiting some of the incredible places for which Florence is famous. Consequently, I am very light-on for photos of Florence. You may have even noticed that I put one photo up twice. I just want to clarify that I wasn't that short but simply put the same photo up twice and am too lazy to take it down.
I was feeling a little better in the afternoon so I headed off for a walk into the centre of the city. I only got about 10 minutes down the road when I decided that it was time to stop and eat. I settled on a sidewalk cafe and the table I chose allowed me to see the comings and goings of the busy street. It was 'wonderful'. Next to me were two Aussies - a mother and daughter, the latter of which had attaracted the serious attention of every waiter in the restaurant who, one by one, arrived at the table to offer her (without mum of course) a private and free tour of the city. Each offer was politely refused. It all became a bit tedious in the end and just before they left, Mum leaned over to tell me that she was in fact an international food critic for bestrestaurants.com , and although her carbonarra was excellent, the online review she was about to go back to the hotel to write wouldn't be pretty. Now that's a deadly combination - aggrieved mother and food critic! The waiters all had a good laugh together when they left but revenge was on the way!
I left the restaurant soon after and promptly got lost. I walked around aimlessly for about two hours until I found a travel agent who could tell me the name of the street my hotel was on (of course, I hadn't noted that before I left - that would be far too sensible...) and directions for how to get there. It turnded out I was just around the corner.
While lost, I was still able to see many things of immeasurable wonder and beauty (if only that is what we see when lost in life...) and took a few snaps that you see on the blog. It is just like walking around the 13th or 14th century sometimes except for when a street peddler tries to sell you something. That happened to me when I walked out of a beautiful cathedral right in the centre of the city to realise that it was raining. I was no sooner out of the door when approached by a vendor selling not freaky toys but freaky unmbrellas. Actually it wasn't really very freaky at all, it's just that as soon as a gust of wind got under it, it completely fell apart, and that happened 30 seconds after handing over my E5. I turned around to see if my seller was still there. He was, but I decided against going back and asking for a refund - somehow I suspected it wasn't going to be forthcoming.
I made it back to the hotel a little damp but much the better for the outing.
I know I other have written on other occasions of my desire to return to Italy. It remains as strong as ever. I am also getting to know my fellow travllers better every day. There are beautiful people in this group for whom this experience is both journey and pilgrimage.
Maybe the pilgrimage part of my journey is not far off. Perhaps...
Contemplatively yours
Mark
Friday, October 15, 2010
Luciana - the Queen of Ravenna!
After my previous long entry, I shall do my best to be a little more succinct this time. I can promise nothing of course because as I am sure you would have noticed if you have been kind enough to continue reading, brevity is no one of my strengths. I shall try but I get distracted and caught up in things and well, you know, a thousand words later....
We travelled a couple of hours from Padua, resting place of St Anthony, to Ravenna. You may recall me mentioning earlier the lovely Patricia, our tour escort. Patricia arrived in Italy from South Africa as a backpacking hitch-hiker in the 1960’s and never went home. She is now married to a Roman, has four children and a few grandchildren and I reckon knows more about Italian history than anyone who ever drew breath. And she is a beautiful person to boot. As well as Patricia, at each place we visit we have a local guide to show us some of the town’s most sacred and historically significant sites. I mention all of this because I want to tell you about out tour guide for Ravenna – a 4’10” pocket dynamo and grandmother of four – the rampaging take-no prisoners, garrulous Granny from Ravenna, ‘Luciana the Incredible!’
When the bus pulled up at the place where we were to meet Luciana for our tour, her first words to Patricia were ‘Get off the bus!’ We did exactly as were told and were quickly led off to a beautiful old church containing the most exquisite mosaics and canvasses. Luciana left no one in any doubt who was in charge. “Follow me now please, no, not in a minute but now...we must hurry...did you not hear? Do not stand there...stand behind me, not in front...listen with your ears please! Time for photos and questions later, maybe...must hurry, no dawdle...do not look over there now, look here...” Once I recovered from the initial onslaught, I have to admit that I fell in love with Luciana. I wanted to see if she was free for a few months to come home with me and have a gentle word of two with my 17 year-old son. I think she would know just what to say. Sadly, I later discovered that she had already been to Australia numerous times and had seen more of my home country than I had. But you never know...
My favourite Luciana moment – in fact one of my favourite moments of the whole trip so far – occurred towards the very end of the Ravenna tour. We were waiting to go into a tiny but extraordinarily beautiful chapel whose walls were lined with the most exquisite mosaics – some of the finest anywhere in the world, I was reliably informed by Luciana (and as you might expect, there was no argument from me!). Luciana had begun telling us the story of the mosaics and the building’s history when a small group of German tourists who had been inside emerged and began chatting excitedly, I would imagine, about what they had seen. They were a bit noisy and made things a little more challenging for us to hear Luciana’s commentary.
And then all hell broke loose. Luciana stopped mid-sentence, turned sharply to our German friends who were less than five metres away and unleashed a blistering tirade. Of course I do not know exactly what she said (and I suspect neither did the Germans...) but I later learned from Patricia that it went something like: “Just who the hell do you think you are! You are not in the marketplace or piazza now! I am trying to work here so please go somewhere else so I can do my job. What is the matter with you people!”
There was silence, and not just among the stunned Germans. I am pretty sure that even the birds in the tree next to the entrance to the chapel stopped chirping. I was mightily impressed and decided immediately that as soon as I got back to the hotel I would see if there was an extra ticket on my flight back to Sydney and book Luciana on it. I was more convinced than ever that my 17 year-old didn’t stand a chance and I also suspect that there would be no issue with flight delays on any airline Luciana was travelling on – even Malaysia Airlines! Tirade over, the tour continued. Luciana had a captive audience.
As for Ravenna (I guess you wondering when I would get to that), it is yet another beautiful Italian provincial city. There were more stunning churches and in one a wedding was taking place and with camera in hand, I couldn’t help but take a few snaps. I have included one in the photo gallery. Sorry but it’s a bit blurry but at least I remembered to take the lens cap off. You can’t expect me to think of everything!
The late afternoon/evening in Ravenna was gorgeously mild and bright. I was particularly struck but the number of people out in the narrow streets, walking and talking, all dressed immaculately. Some had dogs on leashes, other pushed prams – sometimes there was what I suspect was a whole extended family walking together and many were eating gelato (the gelato is so good here!). My friend ‘sue-in-sydney’ had commented on the blog only the day before about something called ‘passegiata’ - the slow gentle stroll through the streets of a town, dressed to kill. I think this must have been what I had witnessed. I wanted to start passegiating right there and in then, but alas...
I know I haven’t included much about Ravenna itself here, and again, I have once again written more than I intended. I am sure you are not surprised but despite this, I wanted to finish this post with another very touching story about one of my fellow travellers. On the bus to Ravenna, I asked a few people if they would mind telling me on camera (I have a little Video ‘Flip’ camera with me on the trip with me). There were three beautiful reflections offered that day – all of them very moving. I have tried to put each video up on the blog a few times but the files are very large and YouTube is not being very cooperative. I shall keep trying as they are so worth seeing and hearing. I just very briefly wanted to tell you my friend Josephine’s reason for being on this trip. I think I willget thee in the end. Jo is not even Catholic but wanted to come on this trip because because her good friend Colleen needed a companion, and she also really wanted to be with good people in October (and I think see has found them). Jo’s husband passed away this year and their birthdays are on the same day – October 15. She needed to be somewhere good on that day. As I write this, October 15 has just dawned. The night before last night I sent an email on behalf of Jo to her son who also has been travelling but for work, just saying hello. Today, an email came back with a lovely message for his mum. Another moment of grace...
I am behind with my writing and I am doing my best to make up. So many special places here and we are now moving to the most important part of the journey – our witness to the canonisation of Blessed May MacKillop. I have so much I want to write to you about this. If you able to get a copy of Saturday’s Daily Telegraph, you are likely to see a photo and story of me and three other people whose lives Mother Mary MacKillop has touched in a special way. Lots of calls for media at home too for information and interviews. Trying hard to keep up.
Posts and photos from Florence, Loreto, Assisi, Ovieto still to come! And now Rome. No time for passegiata just yet!
Frantically yours
Mark
We travelled a couple of hours from Padua, resting place of St Anthony, to Ravenna. You may recall me mentioning earlier the lovely Patricia, our tour escort. Patricia arrived in Italy from South Africa as a backpacking hitch-hiker in the 1960’s and never went home. She is now married to a Roman, has four children and a few grandchildren and I reckon knows more about Italian history than anyone who ever drew breath. And she is a beautiful person to boot. As well as Patricia, at each place we visit we have a local guide to show us some of the town’s most sacred and historically significant sites. I mention all of this because I want to tell you about out tour guide for Ravenna – a 4’10” pocket dynamo and grandmother of four – the rampaging take-no prisoners, garrulous Granny from Ravenna, ‘Luciana the Incredible!’
When the bus pulled up at the place where we were to meet Luciana for our tour, her first words to Patricia were ‘Get off the bus!’ We did exactly as were told and were quickly led off to a beautiful old church containing the most exquisite mosaics and canvasses. Luciana left no one in any doubt who was in charge. “Follow me now please, no, not in a minute but now...we must hurry...did you not hear? Do not stand there...stand behind me, not in front...listen with your ears please! Time for photos and questions later, maybe...must hurry, no dawdle...do not look over there now, look here...” Once I recovered from the initial onslaught, I have to admit that I fell in love with Luciana. I wanted to see if she was free for a few months to come home with me and have a gentle word of two with my 17 year-old son. I think she would know just what to say. Sadly, I later discovered that she had already been to Australia numerous times and had seen more of my home country than I had. But you never know...
My favourite Luciana moment – in fact one of my favourite moments of the whole trip so far – occurred towards the very end of the Ravenna tour. We were waiting to go into a tiny but extraordinarily beautiful chapel whose walls were lined with the most exquisite mosaics – some of the finest anywhere in the world, I was reliably informed by Luciana (and as you might expect, there was no argument from me!). Luciana had begun telling us the story of the mosaics and the building’s history when a small group of German tourists who had been inside emerged and began chatting excitedly, I would imagine, about what they had seen. They were a bit noisy and made things a little more challenging for us to hear Luciana’s commentary.
And then all hell broke loose. Luciana stopped mid-sentence, turned sharply to our German friends who were less than five metres away and unleashed a blistering tirade. Of course I do not know exactly what she said (and I suspect neither did the Germans...) but I later learned from Patricia that it went something like: “Just who the hell do you think you are! You are not in the marketplace or piazza now! I am trying to work here so please go somewhere else so I can do my job. What is the matter with you people!”
There was silence, and not just among the stunned Germans. I am pretty sure that even the birds in the tree next to the entrance to the chapel stopped chirping. I was mightily impressed and decided immediately that as soon as I got back to the hotel I would see if there was an extra ticket on my flight back to Sydney and book Luciana on it. I was more convinced than ever that my 17 year-old didn’t stand a chance and I also suspect that there would be no issue with flight delays on any airline Luciana was travelling on – even Malaysia Airlines! Tirade over, the tour continued. Luciana had a captive audience.
As for Ravenna (I guess you wondering when I would get to that), it is yet another beautiful Italian provincial city. There were more stunning churches and in one a wedding was taking place and with camera in hand, I couldn’t help but take a few snaps. I have included one in the photo gallery. Sorry but it’s a bit blurry but at least I remembered to take the lens cap off. You can’t expect me to think of everything!
The late afternoon/evening in Ravenna was gorgeously mild and bright. I was particularly struck but the number of people out in the narrow streets, walking and talking, all dressed immaculately. Some had dogs on leashes, other pushed prams – sometimes there was what I suspect was a whole extended family walking together and many were eating gelato (the gelato is so good here!). My friend ‘sue-in-sydney’ had commented on the blog only the day before about something called ‘passegiata’ - the slow gentle stroll through the streets of a town, dressed to kill. I think this must have been what I had witnessed. I wanted to start passegiating right there and in then, but alas...
I know I haven’t included much about Ravenna itself here, and again, I have once again written more than I intended. I am sure you are not surprised but despite this, I wanted to finish this post with another very touching story about one of my fellow travellers. On the bus to Ravenna, I asked a few people if they would mind telling me on camera (I have a little Video ‘Flip’ camera with me on the trip with me). There were three beautiful reflections offered that day – all of them very moving. I have tried to put each video up on the blog a few times but the files are very large and YouTube is not being very cooperative. I shall keep trying as they are so worth seeing and hearing. I just very briefly wanted to tell you my friend Josephine’s reason for being on this trip. I think I willget thee in the end. Jo is not even Catholic but wanted to come on this trip because because her good friend Colleen needed a companion, and she also really wanted to be with good people in October (and I think see has found them). Jo’s husband passed away this year and their birthdays are on the same day – October 15. She needed to be somewhere good on that day. As I write this, October 15 has just dawned. The night before last night I sent an email on behalf of Jo to her son who also has been travelling but for work, just saying hello. Today, an email came back with a lovely message for his mum. Another moment of grace...
I am behind with my writing and I am doing my best to make up. So many special places here and we are now moving to the most important part of the journey – our witness to the canonisation of Blessed May MacKillop. I have so much I want to write to you about this. If you able to get a copy of Saturday’s Daily Telegraph, you are likely to see a photo and story of me and three other people whose lives Mother Mary MacKillop has touched in a special way. Lots of calls for media at home too for information and interviews. Trying hard to keep up.
Posts and photos from Florence, Loreto, Assisi, Ovieto still to come! And now Rome. No time for passegiata just yet!
Frantically yours
Mark
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Some things just matter...
Post no 7. On to the beautiful city of Padua! It is only a short drive from magical Venice (ah Venice, when shall I return?) to Padua. Because our time at each venue is so short (have I mentioned that already?), and because, as usual, I was not paying close enough attention to our freakishly knowledgeable guide Patricia, I could not quite work out at first if Padua was a smallish city or a largish town. I think it's the latter.
We arrived on a coolish mid-morning and on alighting from the bus, the first thing I saw – literally right at the foot of the coach’s stairs – was Weird and Freaky Toy Man. Just to clarify, it was not that our merchant was weird and freaky but his toys certainly were! Spread out on and around his weird and freaky toy mat was an assortment of weird and freaky toys. There was a soldier crawling menacingly along the ground towards us – a la Toy Story. He seemed to crawl slowly sometimes and then all of a sudden he would scurry at twice his original pace as if being pursued by an enemy crawling toy soldier. Then there were these two baby dolls that lay on their stomachs, flexing their legs back and forward while screeching an incomprehensible and seriously freaky tune. There was also a freaky bear whose face bore a striking resemblance to Chucky the psycho ventriloquist doll, and there was the cyclist who did laps of the toy mat and every now and then fell over for no apparent reason only to be righted again by Weird and Freaky Toy Man before continuing. And yes, as you would expect, this was a special day, and should I be interested in purchasing a weird and freaky toy, there was a special price for me. Frankly, I could not think of anything I would want less than one of these toys. But I do admit, I had never seen toys quite like this anywhere else –until I walked into the main square of Padua to discover that these things were everywhere – exactly the same freaky whining babies, crawling infantrymen, Chucky look-alike bears and wobbly cyclists! Now I am not the sharpest tool in the shed, but can someone please explain to me from a commercial viewpoint how this arrangement is going to work? Maybe the whole idea of having 100 people selling exactly the same thing was to wear down buyers so by the time they got to the last display they give up and buy a freaky toy. I looked hard to ascertain if I could a see a single sale anywhere and I could not. Go figure.
Padua Square is a beautiful park that is lined with 39 statues of famous scholars and statesmen who had either lived in Padua or had stayed or taught at the University – the country's second oldest. It was an amazing sight (check out the pics) made all the more so by the fact there was a fun-run happening at the time of our arrival with a blow-up finish line situated right next to a statue of Copernicus. Too funny! The sight of joggers of all shapes and sizes trudging past statues of Copernicus, Galileo and co was just plain odd – but of course, in Italy odd is perfectly acceptable. There was also a vibrant fresh produce market that had the most exquisite and aromatic cheeses and salamis and sundried tomatoes and other oddly shaped root vegetables and herbs. It all looked wonderful. Would love to have bought something – anything – it all looked so tempting, but time was on the wing once again (sigh!) so not today!
Across the park and square and up the street, is the Basilica of St Anthony of Padua – the patron saint of lost things. The street leading up the Basilica – one of the most important Catholic shrines in the world – was just like my imagined Italian town street. There were people walking and riding, and talking with their hands and buying foods and eating in cafes. There were old men and ladies serving in tiny shops crammed full of wonderful things which almost always included huge tins of olive oil, bottles of grappa and holy pictures. Vespers and small cars dived in and around pedestrians who preferred to walk on the road than on the footpath and a very quiet tram ran laps of the square. It all looked so wonderfully Italian. I wanted to stop and drink coffee and eat pastries and just watch, but alas no time, no time...
In the forecourt outside the basilica there is activity everywhere. An Italian TV crew is filming a very old nun and a very old priest on their way inside. The look on both their faces told me this is a very important moment for both of them. I think they were dignitaries of some kind. Once I was inside this enormous church, I could see straight away why so many of the faithful come here.
Of course, St Anthony is the patron saint of lost things. He lived only a short life (he died at 36) but he made such an impression on those he worked with and for that he was made a saint within 11 months of his death – a catholic record! For so many of us, St Anthony comes immediately to mind when we cannot find something important. For those of you who know me, St Anthony would have needed to have put in some serious overtime over the years in search of my regularly misplaced car keys and wallet.
Inside the church, there was beauty and wonder everywhere; however, as extraordinary as the architecture and the art on the walls and ceilings were, what I was most moved by during my time inside was the reaction of two of my fellow travellers, Barbara and Ron. I was behind them when we approached the tomb of St Anthony which lies in a stone-encased coffin in a recess of the main church. They approached slowly and with great reverence, and as I saw Barbara place her hand softly on the cold stone I noticed tears well in her eyes. Her adoring husband Ron wept too, as much, I suspect, for Barbara as for how the experience touched him. Later I was privileged to have the chance to sit with Barbara and Ron after dinner, and Barbara explained to me why she reacted the way she did. It is a very touching story and longer than I could possibly relate or do justice to here, but essentially she had from a child, always felt closely connected to St Anthony, as had her family. As a result, in her many years as a teacher and school leader had always encouraged her students to pray to St Anthony. Now, and after some very tough years battling a number of serious health challenges, she was here in this beautiful church where he lay, and she was standing next to next to him. The emotional impact of the moment was deep and intensely spiritual for her, and for Ron.
During the trip so far I have so often stood in wonder and awe at the beauty of what I could see in these incredible places. Ron and Barbara’s grace-filled moment in the presence of the grave of St Anthony of beautiful Padua was full of its own beauty. And I was privileged to be there to see it.
Gratefully yours
Mark
We arrived on a coolish mid-morning and on alighting from the bus, the first thing I saw – literally right at the foot of the coach’s stairs – was Weird and Freaky Toy Man. Just to clarify, it was not that our merchant was weird and freaky but his toys certainly were! Spread out on and around his weird and freaky toy mat was an assortment of weird and freaky toys. There was a soldier crawling menacingly along the ground towards us – a la Toy Story. He seemed to crawl slowly sometimes and then all of a sudden he would scurry at twice his original pace as if being pursued by an enemy crawling toy soldier. Then there were these two baby dolls that lay on their stomachs, flexing their legs back and forward while screeching an incomprehensible and seriously freaky tune. There was also a freaky bear whose face bore a striking resemblance to Chucky the psycho ventriloquist doll, and there was the cyclist who did laps of the toy mat and every now and then fell over for no apparent reason only to be righted again by Weird and Freaky Toy Man before continuing. And yes, as you would expect, this was a special day, and should I be interested in purchasing a weird and freaky toy, there was a special price for me. Frankly, I could not think of anything I would want less than one of these toys. But I do admit, I had never seen toys quite like this anywhere else –until I walked into the main square of Padua to discover that these things were everywhere – exactly the same freaky whining babies, crawling infantrymen, Chucky look-alike bears and wobbly cyclists! Now I am not the sharpest tool in the shed, but can someone please explain to me from a commercial viewpoint how this arrangement is going to work? Maybe the whole idea of having 100 people selling exactly the same thing was to wear down buyers so by the time they got to the last display they give up and buy a freaky toy. I looked hard to ascertain if I could a see a single sale anywhere and I could not. Go figure.
Padua Square is a beautiful park that is lined with 39 statues of famous scholars and statesmen who had either lived in Padua or had stayed or taught at the University – the country's second oldest. It was an amazing sight (check out the pics) made all the more so by the fact there was a fun-run happening at the time of our arrival with a blow-up finish line situated right next to a statue of Copernicus. Too funny! The sight of joggers of all shapes and sizes trudging past statues of Copernicus, Galileo and co was just plain odd – but of course, in Italy odd is perfectly acceptable. There was also a vibrant fresh produce market that had the most exquisite and aromatic cheeses and salamis and sundried tomatoes and other oddly shaped root vegetables and herbs. It all looked wonderful. Would love to have bought something – anything – it all looked so tempting, but time was on the wing once again (sigh!) so not today!
Across the park and square and up the street, is the Basilica of St Anthony of Padua – the patron saint of lost things. The street leading up the Basilica – one of the most important Catholic shrines in the world – was just like my imagined Italian town street. There were people walking and riding, and talking with their hands and buying foods and eating in cafes. There were old men and ladies serving in tiny shops crammed full of wonderful things which almost always included huge tins of olive oil, bottles of grappa and holy pictures. Vespers and small cars dived in and around pedestrians who preferred to walk on the road than on the footpath and a very quiet tram ran laps of the square. It all looked so wonderfully Italian. I wanted to stop and drink coffee and eat pastries and just watch, but alas no time, no time...
In the forecourt outside the basilica there is activity everywhere. An Italian TV crew is filming a very old nun and a very old priest on their way inside. The look on both their faces told me this is a very important moment for both of them. I think they were dignitaries of some kind. Once I was inside this enormous church, I could see straight away why so many of the faithful come here.
Of course, St Anthony is the patron saint of lost things. He lived only a short life (he died at 36) but he made such an impression on those he worked with and for that he was made a saint within 11 months of his death – a catholic record! For so many of us, St Anthony comes immediately to mind when we cannot find something important. For those of you who know me, St Anthony would have needed to have put in some serious overtime over the years in search of my regularly misplaced car keys and wallet.
Inside the church, there was beauty and wonder everywhere; however, as extraordinary as the architecture and the art on the walls and ceilings were, what I was most moved by during my time inside was the reaction of two of my fellow travellers, Barbara and Ron. I was behind them when we approached the tomb of St Anthony which lies in a stone-encased coffin in a recess of the main church. They approached slowly and with great reverence, and as I saw Barbara place her hand softly on the cold stone I noticed tears well in her eyes. Her adoring husband Ron wept too, as much, I suspect, for Barbara as for how the experience touched him. Later I was privileged to have the chance to sit with Barbara and Ron after dinner, and Barbara explained to me why she reacted the way she did. It is a very touching story and longer than I could possibly relate or do justice to here, but essentially she had from a child, always felt closely connected to St Anthony, as had her family. As a result, in her many years as a teacher and school leader had always encouraged her students to pray to St Anthony. Now, and after some very tough years battling a number of serious health challenges, she was here in this beautiful church where he lay, and she was standing next to next to him. The emotional impact of the moment was deep and intensely spiritual for her, and for Ron.
During the trip so far I have so often stood in wonder and awe at the beauty of what I could see in these incredible places. Ron and Barbara’s grace-filled moment in the presence of the grave of St Anthony of beautiful Padua was full of its own beauty. And I was privileged to be there to see it.
Gratefully yours
Mark
Monday, October 11, 2010
Opening the Venetian Blind...
Post no 6. Greetings from Florence! It's an overcast day - hey but I'm in Florence! Also got a pretty bad cold as well but hey, I'm in Florence! I could do a few more '...hey I'm in Florence' sequences but that would become extremely annoying very quickly and would likely cause you to logout even faster than you might otherwise, so no more HIIF's although you probabaly did notice that the acronym is back!
Leaving behind the tribulations of the days past, which included indigestion from the late night Americano RealMeal Cheeseburger Deal secured at frightful expense while watching German revellers juggle full beer bottles outside an Irish pub in Milan, I really want to tell you about Venice. I am well aware I will become sidetrcked along the way (no surprises there!) but Venice is worthy of reflection, even the most inadequate ones, like mine.
I have posted on the blog a few pics of the city the Italians call the 'Queen of the Adriatic' and will add more over the next few days. Some of you may have been there youselves and these images are not unfamiliar. I was there only a day - oh, so not long enough - and despite the obvious focus on tourism and the commercialisation of the rich Venetion history, I found it hard not be swept away by its romance and poetry. A city built on water that never surrendered willingly and is slowly reasserting itself. Depending who you speak to, Venice is being reclaimed by the sea. Maybe the ingenuity of man will win out in the end but higher and higher tides mean that the city is having to readjust and reassess. For two hours when we first arrived on Saturday, we could not get to St Mark's square other than via the raised boadwalks that are now such a prominant feature of the city. To me, it made no difference - I was happy to get wet feet if it meant getting to see something special somewhere - and there were something specials everywhere.
I am not sure how much you know about the purpose of this trip but its focus is pilgrimage. While I have been travelling, I have asked a few people in my group what this means for them. Obviously their answers were not all the same but they were all pretty close: for them this is a journey to see sacred places and spaces as an act of religious devotion. I know I have not spent much time writing about my fellow travellers but I hope to do that at some stage. I want you to know that they are lovely people. I am inspired by their deep and rich faith that I can see is central to who they are and what matters most in their lives. But I am still trying to clarify what pilgrimage means for me. To be honest, I did not give enough (actually, any) thought to this before setting off. (As you have probably already realised, shallowness is one of my dominating traits!) But I will now because I suspect that it may be different to others in my group. Maybe in the course of writing, I will better know where may sacred spaces are...
We completed two guided tours in Venice - at the Palace of the Doges and at St Mark's Basicila. For those who know Venice, these are its two most dominant historical landmarks. Both are soaring structures that impose themselves on the landscape and dominate its history. The exterior of the Doges Palace belies the beauty of its interiors of exquisite mosaics, tapestries, tiles and canvasses. The wealth and power of the Venetian democacy, under its 120 Doges, is visable everywhere. Anything I write couldn't ever do justice to the beauty and mystery of this one-time seat of Venetian democracy and power.
And yet, despite the paegentry of its architecture and art, I could do no more than see the Palace of the Doges through the eyes only of a lover of history. I could not make any spiritual connection. I walked and looked and waited for a reaction but none came. Please don't get me wrong - I would have loved to spend the whole day exploring every room and asking questions and trying to work out the religious symolism in the Renaissance and Gothic art that adorns the walls and ceilings. But simply by its nature, being on a guided tour has, for all its benefits, the effect of opening up a door only to close it again just as quickly as time demands that you move on to the next room or exhibit. I guess I struggled to see the building as an 'exhibit'. I found that hard. For me, the experience was both overwhelminmg and unfulfilling. Now if that makes no sense to you, please forgive me. I hope I have better luck trying to explain other things more clearly.
As you might gather from the photos, St Mark's Basilica is a soaring and imposing structure. If I had been a better listener, I would now remember when it was first built and then rebuilt and whose art adorns the walls and ceilings as well as other things about its incredible history but, ah, I think I was in the bathroom at the time when some of this was revealed. Sorry about that. What I do remember is that we had arranged for us a private Mass celebrated by our tour Chaplin Fr Andre in a tiny underground crypt/chapel deep inside the Basilica. (Fr Andre's life is a story worth telling! With his permission I will try to find time to relate that to you sometime later...) I think that we actually become part of history when we do things rather than just observe things. So I suppose that in the smallest of ways, I and my felow travellers are now part of the story of this colossal Catholic shrine. Even though I know less about the history of the Basilica than I do about the Palace of the Doges, I actually have some cennection.
In the time between the tours, I walked the streets of Venice. Good grief, the place the busy! There were people everywhere! A bright cloudless warm Saturday meant that the place was crammed with people, just like me, clambouring to see and hear and feel. The presence of so may others did not dampen my enthusiasm or enjoyment at all, as it might at other times do. Apart from a visit to a shop to buy a camera battery (I discovered that the one in the camera was flat as soon as I tried to take my first picture of the day - apparently that happens when I didn't turn it off after a previous use. Who'd have thoght...), I had a wonderful time meanderng through the narrow cobbled Venetian laneways, watching the craft of the gondola operators as they guided their long ornate canoes through the laneways of water (Look, I accept that the word 'canoe' sounds tacky here but I have already used the word 'gondola' in the sentence and....well, they are big canoes, aren't they?). I was fascinated that the operators rarely ever spoke to their customers but instead conducted boisterous conversations with their fellow canoe-operators both near and far away. I particulaly pay my respects to those who were brave enough to keep their boater hats on while canoe-driving. That was impressive. I ate at a ridiculously priced cafe (and didnt care - would have paid double) where I was served by a very efficient and efficious waiter who was neither nice enough to be polite or gnarly enough to be rude. That cafe needed to churn through the customers on what could easily have been the 'day of the year' for local businesses, and by God he was the man for the job! I was lumping around my big camera bag, which was a bit of a pain but mostly it was in my hand ready for the next magic moment for me to destroy with an inadequate photo. So many shops full of frightfully expensive clothes, Venetian glass ornaments and jewellery (also, in the main, frigtfully expensive) and just about anything else a shopping tragic could want. There was even a Ferrari store with what I think was a real Formula 1 Ferrari inside. Then there were tacky souvenir carts selling everything from 'genuine' Venetian glass trinkets and masks to Michael Jackson t-shirts and Pele tea towels. Loved it all!
We were in Venice for one day - and just a fraction of its secrets revealed. On the boat ride back, we passed other extraordinary monuments that if located in just about any other world city would by be its landmark building. Such a city of mystery and riches!
I am not quite sure quite how to end this entry. I wrote at the start of my blog that I was mostly interested in how I would feel while when I saw things. I am beginning to realise that the feeling part is not something instantly acquired. That is just the start of the process. It may be well after the trip is over that I may actually start to 'get stuff' and maybe begin to unravel the puzzle posed by travelling to new places. Maybe I might even work out this whole pilgrimage thing too, but I certainly can't promise that. We'll see.
I am about to go for a walk to downtown Florence to see stuff. Tragically, most of the museums are closely on a Monday - what a bummer. Hey, but what the hell, it doesn't matter because (sory, one for the road...) I'm in Florence!!
Apologetically yours
Mark
Leaving behind the tribulations of the days past, which included indigestion from the late night Americano RealMeal Cheeseburger Deal secured at frightful expense while watching German revellers juggle full beer bottles outside an Irish pub in Milan, I really want to tell you about Venice. I am well aware I will become sidetrcked along the way (no surprises there!) but Venice is worthy of reflection, even the most inadequate ones, like mine.
I have posted on the blog a few pics of the city the Italians call the 'Queen of the Adriatic' and will add more over the next few days. Some of you may have been there youselves and these images are not unfamiliar. I was there only a day - oh, so not long enough - and despite the obvious focus on tourism and the commercialisation of the rich Venetion history, I found it hard not be swept away by its romance and poetry. A city built on water that never surrendered willingly and is slowly reasserting itself. Depending who you speak to, Venice is being reclaimed by the sea. Maybe the ingenuity of man will win out in the end but higher and higher tides mean that the city is having to readjust and reassess. For two hours when we first arrived on Saturday, we could not get to St Mark's square other than via the raised boadwalks that are now such a prominant feature of the city. To me, it made no difference - I was happy to get wet feet if it meant getting to see something special somewhere - and there were something specials everywhere.
I am not sure how much you know about the purpose of this trip but its focus is pilgrimage. While I have been travelling, I have asked a few people in my group what this means for them. Obviously their answers were not all the same but they were all pretty close: for them this is a journey to see sacred places and spaces as an act of religious devotion. I know I have not spent much time writing about my fellow travellers but I hope to do that at some stage. I want you to know that they are lovely people. I am inspired by their deep and rich faith that I can see is central to who they are and what matters most in their lives. But I am still trying to clarify what pilgrimage means for me. To be honest, I did not give enough (actually, any) thought to this before setting off. (As you have probably already realised, shallowness is one of my dominating traits!) But I will now because I suspect that it may be different to others in my group. Maybe in the course of writing, I will better know where may sacred spaces are...
We completed two guided tours in Venice - at the Palace of the Doges and at St Mark's Basicila. For those who know Venice, these are its two most dominant historical landmarks. Both are soaring structures that impose themselves on the landscape and dominate its history. The exterior of the Doges Palace belies the beauty of its interiors of exquisite mosaics, tapestries, tiles and canvasses. The wealth and power of the Venetian democacy, under its 120 Doges, is visable everywhere. Anything I write couldn't ever do justice to the beauty and mystery of this one-time seat of Venetian democracy and power.
And yet, despite the paegentry of its architecture and art, I could do no more than see the Palace of the Doges through the eyes only of a lover of history. I could not make any spiritual connection. I walked and looked and waited for a reaction but none came. Please don't get me wrong - I would have loved to spend the whole day exploring every room and asking questions and trying to work out the religious symolism in the Renaissance and Gothic art that adorns the walls and ceilings. But simply by its nature, being on a guided tour has, for all its benefits, the effect of opening up a door only to close it again just as quickly as time demands that you move on to the next room or exhibit. I guess I struggled to see the building as an 'exhibit'. I found that hard. For me, the experience was both overwhelminmg and unfulfilling. Now if that makes no sense to you, please forgive me. I hope I have better luck trying to explain other things more clearly.
As you might gather from the photos, St Mark's Basilica is a soaring and imposing structure. If I had been a better listener, I would now remember when it was first built and then rebuilt and whose art adorns the walls and ceilings as well as other things about its incredible history but, ah, I think I was in the bathroom at the time when some of this was revealed. Sorry about that. What I do remember is that we had arranged for us a private Mass celebrated by our tour Chaplin Fr Andre in a tiny underground crypt/chapel deep inside the Basilica. (Fr Andre's life is a story worth telling! With his permission I will try to find time to relate that to you sometime later...) I think that we actually become part of history when we do things rather than just observe things. So I suppose that in the smallest of ways, I and my felow travellers are now part of the story of this colossal Catholic shrine. Even though I know less about the history of the Basilica than I do about the Palace of the Doges, I actually have some cennection.
In the time between the tours, I walked the streets of Venice. Good grief, the place the busy! There were people everywhere! A bright cloudless warm Saturday meant that the place was crammed with people, just like me, clambouring to see and hear and feel. The presence of so may others did not dampen my enthusiasm or enjoyment at all, as it might at other times do. Apart from a visit to a shop to buy a camera battery (I discovered that the one in the camera was flat as soon as I tried to take my first picture of the day - apparently that happens when I didn't turn it off after a previous use. Who'd have thoght...), I had a wonderful time meanderng through the narrow cobbled Venetian laneways, watching the craft of the gondola operators as they guided their long ornate canoes through the laneways of water (Look, I accept that the word 'canoe' sounds tacky here but I have already used the word 'gondola' in the sentence and....well, they are big canoes, aren't they?). I was fascinated that the operators rarely ever spoke to their customers but instead conducted boisterous conversations with their fellow canoe-operators both near and far away. I particulaly pay my respects to those who were brave enough to keep their boater hats on while canoe-driving. That was impressive. I ate at a ridiculously priced cafe (and didnt care - would have paid double) where I was served by a very efficient and efficious waiter who was neither nice enough to be polite or gnarly enough to be rude. That cafe needed to churn through the customers on what could easily have been the 'day of the year' for local businesses, and by God he was the man for the job! I was lumping around my big camera bag, which was a bit of a pain but mostly it was in my hand ready for the next magic moment for me to destroy with an inadequate photo. So many shops full of frightfully expensive clothes, Venetian glass ornaments and jewellery (also, in the main, frigtfully expensive) and just about anything else a shopping tragic could want. There was even a Ferrari store with what I think was a real Formula 1 Ferrari inside. Then there were tacky souvenir carts selling everything from 'genuine' Venetian glass trinkets and masks to Michael Jackson t-shirts and Pele tea towels. Loved it all!
We were in Venice for one day - and just a fraction of its secrets revealed. On the boat ride back, we passed other extraordinary monuments that if located in just about any other world city would by be its landmark building. Such a city of mystery and riches!
I am not quite sure quite how to end this entry. I wrote at the start of my blog that I was mostly interested in how I would feel while when I saw things. I am beginning to realise that the feeling part is not something instantly acquired. That is just the start of the process. It may be well after the trip is over that I may actually start to 'get stuff' and maybe begin to unravel the puzzle posed by travelling to new places. Maybe I might even work out this whole pilgrimage thing too, but I certainly can't promise that. We'll see.
I am about to go for a walk to downtown Florence to see stuff. Tragically, most of the museums are closely on a Monday - what a bummer. Hey, but what the hell, it doesn't matter because (sory, one for the road...) I'm in Florence!!
Apologetically yours
Mark
Saturday, October 9, 2010
London Calling!
Post no 5. It is been a couple of days since I have had the opportunity to write. Dodgy internet connections, haste to make connecting flights and general pandamonium have meant that I have not even turned the computer on for 48 hours (yes, I know, many of you would argue that that is a very good thing for everyone!) Suffice to say, the fun of international travel as outlined in my previous posts just kept on coming, but in the end we made it to Venice! A summary follows:
a)Flew out of KL pretty much on time. The reason that our our dear friends at MA (acronyms rule!) had said that we would need to stay in KL for two full days was because every other connecting flight to Rome or London was fully booked. As you know, 'somehow' our tour company Harvest managed to sqeeze us on a flight to London. Bizarrely, the plane was only one third full. I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation for this but seeing that it is 5.30am here in Venice and I am not very good at working out perfectly good explanantions at any time anywhere, I can't think of one. I am sure that our dear friends at MA would have done their best - sometimes the words 'seats available' and 'all seats fully booked' can look very much the same, I suppose. But we did get on and the extra space meant that many of us were able to get a row of seats all to outselves which meant for some a few hours of desparately needed sleep!
b) On arrival at HA (okay, Heathrow Airport), we learned Harvest had booked us on a flight to Milan whioh is about 2.5 hours from Venice. Excellent! Things were on the 'up' which quickly tranferred back to the 'down' when we tried to check in for the flight and the stony-faced CSA (okay, Customer Support Attendant - this acronym thing is not working very well, is it...) for Alitalia Airlines (AA - Oh forget it!) said we couldn't get on the flight because we did not have a paper ticket. Unlike our friends from the previously discussed airline, this gentleman made no attempt to soften the blow with an untruthful 'we-are-doing-all-we-can-to-help' explanation but preferred instead the 'who-cares-not-my-problem' approach. Weary from previous battles and no sleep, our much beset-upon but stoic Tour Co-ordinator Elizabeth flew straight back into battle, and in the end, got us onto the flight with only minutes to spare.
The flight itself proved uneventful. We were met at the airport in Milan by the charming Ricardo - a lovely gentleman who spoke no English and had no idea where the hotel we were booked to stay for the night was. After numerous stops to talk with stangers (who also had no idea where the hotel was) and lots of u-turns where u-turns should never be made, we found it. I am not sure if the fact that the building was 6 stories high made it easier or harder to find but I can assure you there were 14 very relieved people when we checked in and were given our room keys. Time: 12.20am.
c) Despite my fatigue, I needed a walk so I went for a wonder down-town and stumbled (literally) on an Irish pub outide which was an American hamburger van and a group of German revellers trying to juggle full bottles of Becks beer. Considering my previous two days, this all made good sense to me, so I bought the 'Americano Cheeseburger RealMeal Deal' and tried to convince one of the German revellers that the beer was much drunk than juggled - which I was more than prepared to demonstrate for him. Of course, as a drunk German outide an Irish pub in Milan, he had no idea was what I was talking about and keep on trying to juggle until one of the bottles broke. After that he went back into the pub, I think to get another bottle. I decided that I wouldnt follow him in and instead headed back to the Hotel Uno to eat my Americano Cheeseburger and fritters (aka fries). It tasted like I would have expected an Americano Cheesebuger would taste and despite myself I enjoyed it. Back in my room - time 1.30am.
Things have gone to plan since! We made it from Milan to Venice in under two hours (speed limit - what speed limit?) and caught up with the rest of our group at around 10.30am yesterday (at least I think it was yesterday...) Our extraordinary day in Venice I will keep for my next post which will try to make up for lost time by completing today but in the meantime I will attempt to put some photos up on the blog before I have to go to breakfast.
So we finally made ot Venice! Can't wait to write to you about that. Wow!!!
Reflectively yours...
Mark
a)Flew out of KL pretty much on time. The reason that our our dear friends at MA (acronyms rule!) had said that we would need to stay in KL for two full days was because every other connecting flight to Rome or London was fully booked. As you know, 'somehow' our tour company Harvest managed to sqeeze us on a flight to London. Bizarrely, the plane was only one third full. I am sure there is a perfectly good explanation for this but seeing that it is 5.30am here in Venice and I am not very good at working out perfectly good explanantions at any time anywhere, I can't think of one. I am sure that our dear friends at MA would have done their best - sometimes the words 'seats available' and 'all seats fully booked' can look very much the same, I suppose. But we did get on and the extra space meant that many of us were able to get a row of seats all to outselves which meant for some a few hours of desparately needed sleep!
b) On arrival at HA (okay, Heathrow Airport), we learned Harvest had booked us on a flight to Milan whioh is about 2.5 hours from Venice. Excellent! Things were on the 'up' which quickly tranferred back to the 'down' when we tried to check in for the flight and the stony-faced CSA (okay, Customer Support Attendant - this acronym thing is not working very well, is it...) for Alitalia Airlines (AA - Oh forget it!) said we couldn't get on the flight because we did not have a paper ticket. Unlike our friends from the previously discussed airline, this gentleman made no attempt to soften the blow with an untruthful 'we-are-doing-all-we-can-to-help' explanation but preferred instead the 'who-cares-not-my-problem' approach. Weary from previous battles and no sleep, our much beset-upon but stoic Tour Co-ordinator Elizabeth flew straight back into battle, and in the end, got us onto the flight with only minutes to spare.
The flight itself proved uneventful. We were met at the airport in Milan by the charming Ricardo - a lovely gentleman who spoke no English and had no idea where the hotel we were booked to stay for the night was. After numerous stops to talk with stangers (who also had no idea where the hotel was) and lots of u-turns where u-turns should never be made, we found it. I am not sure if the fact that the building was 6 stories high made it easier or harder to find but I can assure you there were 14 very relieved people when we checked in and were given our room keys. Time: 12.20am.
c) Despite my fatigue, I needed a walk so I went for a wonder down-town and stumbled (literally) on an Irish pub outide which was an American hamburger van and a group of German revellers trying to juggle full bottles of Becks beer. Considering my previous two days, this all made good sense to me, so I bought the 'Americano Cheeseburger RealMeal Deal' and tried to convince one of the German revellers that the beer was much drunk than juggled - which I was more than prepared to demonstrate for him. Of course, as a drunk German outide an Irish pub in Milan, he had no idea was what I was talking about and keep on trying to juggle until one of the bottles broke. After that he went back into the pub, I think to get another bottle. I decided that I wouldnt follow him in and instead headed back to the Hotel Uno to eat my Americano Cheeseburger and fritters (aka fries). It tasted like I would have expected an Americano Cheesebuger would taste and despite myself I enjoyed it. Back in my room - time 1.30am.
Things have gone to plan since! We made it from Milan to Venice in under two hours (speed limit - what speed limit?) and caught up with the rest of our group at around 10.30am yesterday (at least I think it was yesterday...) Our extraordinary day in Venice I will keep for my next post which will try to make up for lost time by completing today but in the meantime I will attempt to put some photos up on the blog before I have to go to breakfast.
So we finally made ot Venice! Can't wait to write to you about that. Wow!!!
Reflectively yours...
Mark
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Where's Wally??
Post no 4. Sorry about the abrupt end to the last post. After waiting an additional 5 hours for the flight, I wasn't going to be asked twice to form a queue for entry onto the plane. Obviously the NRMA bloke knew what he was doing - he had that big bird purring pretty quickly and he even offered a free jump start if it didn't kick over the first time around. Not needed - not too long and we were up, up and away - destination KL International Airport!
And that's when he fun really started. Malaysia Airlines apparently have a pretty interesting customer service policy for in-flight service attendants (ISFAs as apparently they are called in 2010). That policy is to avoid speaking to customers as much as possible. Highly efficient, beautifully dressed, immaculately groomed - but mostly invisible and when in eyeshot, conspicuously mute, other than the one occasions when a member of the crew told us (again with a smile - or was that a smirk) that we were no chance of us getting out of KL that night while pointing to the message on the screen that that Malaysia has the death penalty for convicted drug felons. I was hoping that there was no inferred link between the statement and the gesture but for the next 8 hours I wondered what to expect once we got to Kualar Lumpar International Airport (KLIA).
Now we know. We arrived at 2.30am. The airport was deserted, except for us. Our ISFA was on the money - we were going nowhere tonight. And this was the offer:
# Accommodation in a KL hotel for the night (no worries)+ a rescheduled flight to Rome (no worries), in two days time (big worries). That didn't sound like such a good idea. We would miss the first two days of the Pilgrimage and the initial level of concern shown by our 'Customer Support Attendant' (CSA) was at the lower end of indifferent. And thus began 3 hours of negotiations with our CSA and her four Assistant Customer Support Attendants (ACSAs) about 'where to from here'. Elizabeth, our wonderful Harvest Tour Coordinator, showed every bit of her law background in negotiating an outcome for we weary travellers. The final result: we are now booked on a flight to London (not Rome) handled by a wonderfully helpful (and communicative!) Booking Attendant (that's a BA - all is forgiven Malaysia Airlines!), we are sitting having breakfast in the Premium Club Lounge (Malaysia Airlines rock!,)we still don't have a connecting flight to Venice or Rome of Milan or anywhere else, we have all been up for more than 24 hours, and spirits remains high. Ah the rollercoaster of international travel!
We have a wonderful travelling group who have remained positive and resilient throughout the whole experience. Harvest have been great when we've needed their help. I know I am going to crash as soon as I get on the plane to London but what the hell. If I can't sleep (and I usually don't) maybe watching the Twilight Triology that is now showing on the in-flight movie channel will bring on a deep and lasting sleep. It usually does.
A big thank you to all who have been kind enough to follow the blog to date and post a comment. There are many lovely comments and messages of support so thank you so much. Going to try for a video message before I leave KL airport so wish me luck and please be kind when/if you see it. It will look pretty ugly.
All for now. Hope the weather where you are is cheerier than this grey and hazy Malay morning.
Exhaustedly...
Mark
And that's when he fun really started. Malaysia Airlines apparently have a pretty interesting customer service policy for in-flight service attendants (ISFAs as apparently they are called in 2010). That policy is to avoid speaking to customers as much as possible. Highly efficient, beautifully dressed, immaculately groomed - but mostly invisible and when in eyeshot, conspicuously mute, other than the one occasions when a member of the crew told us (again with a smile - or was that a smirk) that we were no chance of us getting out of KL that night while pointing to the message on the screen that that Malaysia has the death penalty for convicted drug felons. I was hoping that there was no inferred link between the statement and the gesture but for the next 8 hours I wondered what to expect once we got to Kualar Lumpar International Airport (KLIA).
Now we know. We arrived at 2.30am. The airport was deserted, except for us. Our ISFA was on the money - we were going nowhere tonight. And this was the offer:
# Accommodation in a KL hotel for the night (no worries)+ a rescheduled flight to Rome (no worries), in two days time (big worries). That didn't sound like such a good idea. We would miss the first two days of the Pilgrimage and the initial level of concern shown by our 'Customer Support Attendant' (CSA) was at the lower end of indifferent. And thus began 3 hours of negotiations with our CSA and her four Assistant Customer Support Attendants (ACSAs) about 'where to from here'. Elizabeth, our wonderful Harvest Tour Coordinator, showed every bit of her law background in negotiating an outcome for we weary travellers. The final result: we are now booked on a flight to London (not Rome) handled by a wonderfully helpful (and communicative!) Booking Attendant (that's a BA - all is forgiven Malaysia Airlines!), we are sitting having breakfast in the Premium Club Lounge (Malaysia Airlines rock!,)we still don't have a connecting flight to Venice or Rome of Milan or anywhere else, we have all been up for more than 24 hours, and spirits remains high. Ah the rollercoaster of international travel!
We have a wonderful travelling group who have remained positive and resilient throughout the whole experience. Harvest have been great when we've needed their help. I know I am going to crash as soon as I get on the plane to London but what the hell. If I can't sleep (and I usually don't) maybe watching the Twilight Triology that is now showing on the in-flight movie channel will bring on a deep and lasting sleep. It usually does.
A big thank you to all who have been kind enough to follow the blog to date and post a comment. There are many lovely comments and messages of support so thank you so much. Going to try for a video message before I leave KL airport so wish me luck and please be kind when/if you see it. It will look pretty ugly.
All for now. Hope the weather where you are is cheerier than this grey and hazy Malay morning.
Exhaustedly...
Mark
Grounded!
Post no3. Things are not begun quite as well as I had hoped. Malaysian Airlines Flight MH122 - scheduled departure time 3pm - has not got off the ground yet. It is now 8pm. I think the plane's radiator might have run out of water or it needs a few new spark plugs or perhaps the battery's flat (I bet MA is not with the NRMA). They were the three main issues with my much-despised 72 brown Kingswood station wagon when it wouldn't go. Mind you, that wasn't all that ever went wrong with it. Just ask my mate John Wilson - I am sure he would remember the occasion when the mongrel thing stopped halfway up Bulli Pass and we nearly got smashed up by the world's biggest coal truck being driven by the South Coast's crankiest truckie. We only just got out of that one. I think that was the alternator that day. If only my 17 year-old son was here. He would know what to do. He's 10 weeks into an automotive course at TAFE so he'd have it covered.
The problem now is that I think I am going to miss both of my connecting flights. I had a scheduled stopover in KL arriving at 8.30pm. Even if we left in the next half an hour that would mean that the plane wouldn't get in until about 1am. Don't think I am going to make it out of KL for Rome tonight somehow. As for the connector form Rome to Venice - got Buckley's there. Speaking of Buckley, is there anyone who can actually tell me who Buckley was and why his name is referred to in such a cruel and disparaging way? I know a couple of Buckley's and they are very decent people.
Sorry to break off abruptly but it looks like we are about to go. Can you believe that! I have just heard that Malaysian Airlines is in NRMA after all and the problem was the NRMA service vehicle bringing the new battery (told you) was simply stuck in the M5 tunnel. Who'd have thought!
Update to follow...
Wearily..
Mark
The problem now is that I think I am going to miss both of my connecting flights. I had a scheduled stopover in KL arriving at 8.30pm. Even if we left in the next half an hour that would mean that the plane wouldn't get in until about 1am. Don't think I am going to make it out of KL for Rome tonight somehow. As for the connector form Rome to Venice - got Buckley's there. Speaking of Buckley, is there anyone who can actually tell me who Buckley was and why his name is referred to in such a cruel and disparaging way? I know a couple of Buckley's and they are very decent people.
Sorry to break off abruptly but it looks like we are about to go. Can you believe that! I have just heard that Malaysian Airlines is in NRMA after all and the problem was the NRMA service vehicle bringing the new battery (told you) was simply stuck in the M5 tunnel. Who'd have thought!
Update to follow...
Wearily..
Mark
Sunday, October 3, 2010
MMMacK: Courage under fire...
Post no 2 - It's Sunday night - 3 more sleeps. The Dragons are the Premiers, outside is grey and wet and there's not much on the tv. Good time to jump online to thank those of you who have already sent messages of support for the trip or have been kind enough to post a comment on the blog. I really appreciate that a lot.
I am beginning to see how much the canonisation of BMM will mean to so many people - Catholic and non-Catholic alike. There is such love and warmth for her. That she is Australian is a factor I guess but I think it is more than that. Maybe it is that she had qualities that Aussies admire: courage, humility, standing up for those with no power or voice, and that she was prepared not to back down to the authorities when she had everything to lose rates her very highly with so many of us. I reckon that even non-Catholics admire her because she did good things for people. Others may never have her personal faith or even be religous at all, but they love her because she brought hope to those who had little or nothing. She had a crack. For me it's more than that and I will write about that at another time.
For now, I just wanted to say a big thanks for the comments and calls. Please keep them coming. I just hope I can give you something worthy of your interest in the days and weeks ahead.
x M.
I am beginning to see how much the canonisation of BMM will mean to so many people - Catholic and non-Catholic alike. There is such love and warmth for her. That she is Australian is a factor I guess but I think it is more than that. Maybe it is that she had qualities that Aussies admire: courage, humility, standing up for those with no power or voice, and that she was prepared not to back down to the authorities when she had everything to lose rates her very highly with so many of us. I reckon that even non-Catholics admire her because she did good things for people. Others may never have her personal faith or even be religous at all, but they love her because she brought hope to those who had little or nothing. She had a crack. For me it's more than that and I will write about that at another time.
For now, I just wanted to say a big thanks for the comments and calls. Please keep them coming. I just hope I can give you something worthy of your interest in the days and weeks ahead.
x M.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Your time starts now...
Post no 1 - my last day at work. Leave for Rome on Thurday next (7th). Still so much to finish before then. I wish I had spent more time in the past weeks just thinking about this trip. (Is there anything better than dreaming of what could be? I don't think there is but it does sometime get me into trouble...) I am looking forward to what I might see while I am away but more to what I might feel. I have never been to Rome or in fact to any mainland European country. I spent a week in London a few years ago for work and spent most of my free time walking and listening to this amazing city. I really loved that. I looked in awe at the British Museum and the 19th century theatres and Westmintger Abbey, but what I remember most was just sitting in tiny pubs or non-descript coffee shops trying to hear the city's pulse and watching, watching. In a week or two I will be in Rome or Florence or Venice and or Assisi or somewhere or nowhere. That's amazing isn't it? One day we are here, then we are there. I wonder if I will feel different there...
As I have been writing, my press accreditation for the Vatican pinged through on my email. Go figure! I am an officially accredited journalist for the Holy See! I have no idea what they means really but am dead keen to find out. I am pretty sure that the Holy Father doesn't hold too many press conferences so I expect that it will get me into the press centre and up a bit closer to take a photo or two. I must remember to take the lens cap off this time. If I get any decent pics I will post them on the blog. Please be kind. Maybe I will meet a real photograper over there who will give me one or two nice photos I could put up.
I will do my best to write about what I see (and what I feel) while I am away. I hope some of you are able to write or tweet back. I am also going to test my technology skills by loading a video or two. That should be interesting! LOL!
Mary MacKillop has a very special place in my heart. I think I might be alive because of her intervention. I shall try to explain to you why over the next few weeks. I can't quite believe that I will be at St Peter's Square at the moment she will become a saint. As my mate Trish Thomas would say - 'What a blessing!'
Ok, that's the end of post no 1. I hope you are not expecting too much because I know that I am likely to fall short of the mark. What I will promise is that I will be honest. I hope that will be enough for you to return to the blog and maybe comment occasionlly.
Warmly...
Mark
As I have been writing, my press accreditation for the Vatican pinged through on my email. Go figure! I am an officially accredited journalist for the Holy See! I have no idea what they means really but am dead keen to find out. I am pretty sure that the Holy Father doesn't hold too many press conferences so I expect that it will get me into the press centre and up a bit closer to take a photo or two. I must remember to take the lens cap off this time. If I get any decent pics I will post them on the blog. Please be kind. Maybe I will meet a real photograper over there who will give me one or two nice photos I could put up.
I will do my best to write about what I see (and what I feel) while I am away. I hope some of you are able to write or tweet back. I am also going to test my technology skills by loading a video or two. That should be interesting! LOL!
Mary MacKillop has a very special place in my heart. I think I might be alive because of her intervention. I shall try to explain to you why over the next few weeks. I can't quite believe that I will be at St Peter's Square at the moment she will become a saint. As my mate Trish Thomas would say - 'What a blessing!'
Ok, that's the end of post no 1. I hope you are not expecting too much because I know that I am likely to fall short of the mark. What I will promise is that I will be honest. I hope that will be enough for you to return to the blog and maybe comment occasionlly.
Warmly...
Mark
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