SvetaNYC http://svetanyc.com/ "Traveling - it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller" --Ibn Battuta Sat, 19 Apr 2025 15:55:22 +0000 en-US hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=5.5.1 The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. February 2025 https://svetanyc.com/2025/04/the-kingdom-of-saudi-arabia-february-2025/ https://svetanyc.com/2025/04/the-kingdom-of-saudi-arabia-february-2025/#respond Fri, 18 Apr 2025 00:04:46 +0000 https://svetanyc.com/?p=4128 Salam Aleikum. Have you ever dreamed of appearing in one of the magical tales of “One Thousands and One Nights” or personally witnessing the exploits of Lawrence of Arabia or camel crossing the Empty Quarter? I have, ever since I was a little girl! And my trip to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia brought my...

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]]> Salam Aleikum.

Have you ever dreamed of appearing in one of the magical tales of “One Thousands and One Nights” or personally witnessing the exploits of Lawrence of Arabia or camel crossing the Empty Quarter? I have, ever since I was a little girl! And my trip to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia brought my childhood dreams to life. This unique, vast and diverse country only recently opened its heavily guarded gates to foreigners, women including, swiftly transforming its society and norms from very closed one to somewhat cautious yet enthusiastic. There is very little tourist information about KSA and nothing but one travel book, hence I would like to share with you my journey through the Arabian Peninsula.  Yella!

Literature:

  1. Saudi Arabia by Grace Edwards, Bradt Guides
  2. Qur’an
  3. “The Kingdom” by Robert Lacey
  4. “MBS: The Rise to Power of Mohammed bin Salman” by Ben Hubbard
  5. “Behind the Kingdom’s Veil: Inside the New Saudi Arabia Under Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman” by Susanne Koelbl
  6. “Seven Pillars of Wisdom” by Lawrence T.E.
  7. Saudi Arabia – Culture Smart! by Cheryl Obal
  8. The Travels of ibn Battutah, edited by Tim Mackintosh-Smith
  9. “A Vanished World” by Wilfred Thesiger
  10. “Out of the Desert: My Journey From Nomadic Bedouin to the Heart of Global Oil” by Al-Naimi
  11. “Girls of Riyadh” by Rajaa al-Sanea
  12. “Cities of Salt” by Abdul Rahman Munif

Interesting facts:

  • Saudi Arabia doesn’t have a single river.
  • Slavery was abolished in 1962.
  • The country was named after its founder – King Saud. 
  • KSA covers about 80% of the Arabian peninsula and equates to about 1/3 the size of Australia. 
  • Rub’ al Khali (Empty Quarter), country’s southernmost desert (1,200 km long and 500 km wide) is one of the world’s driest land areas. 
  • Date farming goes back to 6th millennium B.C. and currently KSA produces more than 200 varieties; locals break their Ramadan fast with dates and it is by far the most offered treat (along with kahwa) throughout the country.
  • The House of Saud, the ruling royal family, is estimated to include about 20,000 princes and princesses.
  • NEOM
  • Beheading is the most common method of execution.

History. 

Given the large geography of the Arabian Peninsula, the history of KSA varies from region to region. I will go into more details when I describe each visited province, however, for general information, I would divide the history into 3 parts:

  1. Prehistoric times;
  2. Prophet Mohammed and Islamic caliphates;
  3. The three Saudi states.

Prehistoric times. Much of what is known about the earliest history of the peninsula goes back to artifacts uncovered in archeological digs but also in references of Greek, Roman, Persian and Egyptian accounts. One of the oldest examples are located in Jubbah and Shuwaimis – rock art that dates back to 10,000 years ago depicting life and land that was very different from modern time, when ostriches and horses roamed the area covered with lakes and rivers.
The Akkadian inscriptions of Dumat al Jandal, referring to five queens and female deities, go back to 10,000 B.C. while Tayma is considered to be the oldest settlement in KSA (8th century B.C.). The Rajajil columns, located near Sakakah, date back to 4,000 B.C. and are believed to be the remnants of the temple with sophisticated religious practices. The incredible petroglyphs of Hima Cultural Area located along the ancient caravan route from Yemen chronicle at least 7,000 years of a flourishing long-distance trade. While inscriptions in Jebel Ikmah (a mountain in Al Ula region which is referred to as the “Outdoor Library”) represent Dadantic, Thamudic, Miniac and Nabatean languages of people who traversed this territory over the course of many centuries from late pre-Christian times. Ancient Arab kingdoms, like Obaid, Dilmun, Midian, Qedarite, Dadan, Nabatean, Mai’in, Himyarite, Sassanid, Lakhmid, Ghassanid and Kinda, are just a few known ones that defined and influenced the Arabian Peninsula from 5300 B.C. to 550 A.D. They represented multiple tribes with polytheistic beliefs, early converts to Christianity and Judaism; nomads, traders and those who lived a settled lifestyle extending from Mesopotamia and Yemen to Levant and Sinai. 

Islamic Caliphates. The birth of Prophet Mohammed (PBUH) in 570 A.D. is undeniably the most important event not only in the history of the Arabian peninsula but in the world, as almost 2 billion people currently follow his teachings of Islam. Caliphates, the religious states, were established from the early days of Islam. Rashidun (632-661) was founded after the Prophet’s death and expanded its power into the Maghreb, north Caucuses, Pakistan and Central Asia. Disagreement about who should lead the caliphate resulted in civil war between Muslim allegiances and division of Islam into Sunni and Shi’a sects. After its 4th leader, Ali, was assassinated, the caliphate collapsed and in its place, Umayyad (661-750) became a central power in the region. With the capital in Damascus, it grew its territory further into north Africa, al Andalus, Portugal and France. Arabic became a common language. Religious tolerance, exchange of knowledge, advances in medicine and science, skilled translations and vast libraries of the Arab Middle East almost single-handedly contributed to the end of Europe’s Dark Ages. However, the continuous disagreements within Umayyad led to the rise of the rival Abbasid (750-1517) and return of the power to the descendants of the Prophet’s family with its capital in Baghdad. Abbasid established the Mamluk Sultanate of Egypt but lost power with the arrival of the Ottomans (1517-1918). Selim I conquered Mamluk Sultanate and with it  – the territories of Mecca and Medina, becoming the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques. Ottoman control extended all the way from Yemen and Red Sea to Persian Gulf and the territories of modern Kuwait. For the next 400 years, the Ottomans retained the power over this area to varying degrees, before losing control of al Hasa to ibn Saud in 1913. In 1916, the British (with help of Lawrence T.E. aka Lawrence of Arabia) planned and executed a pan-Arab revolt against the Ottomans, further weakening them by the end of the World War I.

The Three Saudi States. Led by Emir Mohammed bin Saud al Muqrin, the First Saudi state (1744-1818, aka the Emirate of Diriyah) was created by a powerful family in the agricultural village of Diriyah near Riyadh. In 1744, the family formed close ties with Mohammed bin Abdul Wahhab, leader of the religious group pursuing a stricter interpretation of Islam. This alliance’s key conditions were that the al Sauds would uphold the radical fundamentalism of Wahhabism for its support of rule and governance of the al Sauds. This affiliation led to the expansion of the al Saud’s power into Najd, Gulf cost and eventually to Asir. The remaining Hejaz continued to be ruled by the Ottomans until al Saud took control of Taif, Mecca and Medina in 1803. In retaliation, the Ottomans erased Diriyah and removed the al Saud Emir from power, causing the state’s collapse in 1818. The Second Saudi state (1824-1891) led a ghostly and amorphous existence in the interior of the Arabian peninsula, first sharing its power with the al Rashids in the north (Ha’il), but eventually getting absorbed by them and exiling its leader to Kuwait. The Third Saudi state (1902- Present) began with the recapture of Riyadh by Abdul Aziz bin Abdul Rahman ibn Saud, followed by retake of Najd. With help of the Ikhawan, a military force comprised of multiple Beduin tribes, ibn Saud slowly but surely gained control over the territory, in 1932 finally merging all the lands into the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. 23 September 1932 marks the unification and is officially called Saudi National Day. 

History of KSA cannot be completed without mentioning the discovery of oil near Dhahran in Eastern Provence in 1938. The new kingdom, heavily reliant on agriculture and religious pilgrimage was propelled into the future and richness virtually overnight. Until new sites were discovered in Venezuela in the early 21st century, Saudi Arabia was believed to have the world’s largest oil fields. Saudi Aramco, founded in 1943 and fully owned by the royal family since 1980, is the sole company that exploits and governs all of the Kingdom’s oil reserves and until recently, was the country’s main “breadwinner”, generating 67% of export revenues. Diversification into tourism and sustainability, partial separation from Wahhabism and slow emancipation of women have played, in my opinion, a positive role in modern Saudi society. In 2021 KSA opened the country for tourism (original 2019 opening was curtailed by COVID restrictions) and I used this opportunity to visit and learn more about it. 

After fairly easy obtaining my year-long multiple e-visa to KSA ($107), I started to plan my trip. Due to climatic and religious constrains, I decided to travel in February, a few weeks before the start of Ramadan. My trip was 11 days long and included 5 towns. I was traveling as a solo female with the US passport. After getting $8,000-10,000 quote for 7-8 days of car/driver trip, I optioned to travel by plane, which was inexpensive (most flights were under $120) and quick. I had my vaccination card (no one asked for it). I didn’t get a local sim card as I had a US mobile, used my Master and Visa cards everywhere with no issues, Uber app worked with my Amex. I wore mostly western clothes – long dresses or pants with a jacket or sweater on top. Most communication was done in WhatsApp.

Day 1. Medina.

Together, Mecca and Medina are one of the world’s holiest places as they form an origin of Islamic culture and civilization. And even though Medina is believed to be at least 3,000 years old, as it was populated by Jewish and Arab tribes for at least 1,500 years before the arrival of Prophet Mohammed, the city’s legacy and fame are closely tied to him. Yathrib, as it was known in pre-Islamic times is officially called al Medinah al Munnawwarah – “The Enlightened City”. While pilgrimages to Mecca predate Islam, Medina’s religious status rose only when the Prophet undertook the forced hijra (migration) from Mecca to Medina on 16 July 622 (which also marks the start of the Islamic calendar). After converting many residents into Islam, fighting key battles, spending time in the caves where he received a message from Allah, placing the first stone into the first mosque to be built (Masjid Quba), the Prophet returned to Mecca in 630 to reconquer it. He passed away in Medina in 632 in the house of his third wife Aisha and was buried in the exact place where he had died. Many of the Prophet’s family members and friends were also buried beside him or in the adjacent al Baqi cemetery. In 1279 the Green Dome was built over the Prophet Mohammed’s tomb and other tombs were also enhanced, however most of them were destroyed during the First Saudi state as according to Salafism they represented “idol worshipping”. Tomb of Fatima, the Prophet’s daughter, was one of many to be lost to history.

As a non-Muslim, I can never enter Mecca, but I could visit Medina. That is why I chose to fly from New York straight to Medina (via Cairo) and make it my first stop in Saudi Arabia. I wanted to dive into this inspirational, religious, historical and sacred place and feel it with my skin and soul. I also smelled it with my nose, as it was the most fragrant place in the world.
I timed to arrive in the morning and went straight to my hotel. I stayed at Pullman ZamZam right next to the Masjid al Nabawi (the Prophet’s Mosque) but outside the Haram area. The perimeter of the Prophet’s Mosque is a forbidden area for non-Muslims, but you can see the mosque from one of many hotels that are rising above the square. I paid extra for the view and it was absolutely worth it. Hotel was 4* with no frills and basic breakfast, but helpful staff. 

Many people come to Medina for ziyarat, a pilgrimage to the sites important to Islam, especially those related to the life of the Prophet and his family and associates. Via viator.com I hired a guide ($140) who promised to show me all those places and more. It came half true, as I was given very little information, even less directives and had to mostly rely on my travel book for help. Guide was just driving me around for 2 hours (not 3.5 hours as tour stated) without saying much besides quoting Qur’an (half time in Arabic, which I don’t speak) and zealously trying to convert me into Islam. He lent me an abaya (robe) and tarha (headscarf) for R50 which were handy because Medina is one of the most conservative places and appropriate clothes are highly advised. Tip: a hat or a beautiful headband placed on top of tarha, would keep it from sliding.
With my driver, I visited several interesting places:

  1. Masjid Sayyid al-Shuhada – home to Shuhada Uhud cemetery, the final resting place of Hamza ibn Abdul-Muttalib (Prophet Mohammed’s uncle), his nephew and 70 others who died during the Battle of Uhud in 625. The Prophet and his followers were defeated by Meccans who objected to the Islamic faith and its growing influence. The Archers’ Hill is right next to the mosque and I climbed it as most visitors do. A few kms north, in Jebel Uhud, it is possible to visit a cave where Prophet Mohammed stayed to recover from his battle-wounds, though I didn’t go.
  2. Bir Uthman – the gardens and well of Uthman ibn Affan, the 3rd Caliph of Islam. The legend says that during severe water shortage in Medina the only well with fresh water was owned by a Jew who sold water at high prices. Uthman, known for his generosity, purchased the well and turned it into public use, free for all, which gained him great respect among the locals. 
  3. We drove by Wadi al-Aqiq and I was told that the Prophet came and prayed there many times, calling it “The Blessed Valley”, which aspired many if his followers to build their homes around it. 
  4. Islamic University of Medina – my guide mentioned at least trice that everyone, including students from abroad, who want to come and study there pay nothing. All their expenses, as well as tickets home are covered by the university. 
  5. Masjid Al Qiblatayn – niveous elegant building known as the Mosque of Two Qiblas. Built in 623 it is one of the world’s three oldest mosques and the place where the Prophet, prompted by the jewish sneers, had a revelation to change the direction of prayer (qibla) from Jerusalem to Mecca and to reposition the mihrab accordingly. For a while, it was one of the very few mosques that contained two mihrabs, however, after mosque’s reconstruction in 1980s, only one, facing Mecca, remained. I was able to go inside and wander the women’s praying area – which was elegant but minimalistic with no view of the main mosque.
  6. We passed the Seven Mosques, as they were closed for renovation. It is a large complex of mosques located near the Cave of Bani Haram (where angel Gabriel appeared to the Prophet – also can be visited) and Jebel Sala, where the Battle of Trench took place. This battle was fought between the followers of the Prophet and a confederation of non-Muslim tribes and the Jewish Benu Qurayza. Muslims won this battle, executed many of the Banu’s men and enslaved women and children.
  7. Masjid Quba – this graceful and stately mosque is believed to be the first mosque erected during the time of Prophet Mohammed and where the Prophet himself laid the first stone upon arriving from Mecca. I went inside to meditate and the female quarters were full of worshippers. Behind the wooden separation, you can get a few glimpses of the mosque’s interior. A pedestrian avenue (Quba walkway), lined with shops and restaurants, conveniently connects the Masjid al Nabawi and Quba mosque, allowing a 3 km long stroll and people-watching opportunities. 

By early afternoon, I was back to my hotel and on my own, which is my favorite state to be. I still had a few places to explore – for ex. the Ottoman-built Anbariya mosque and Hejaz train station and museum. The train station was closed for renovation but it definitely deserves an admiration from outside. A man with two small boys, who I mistakenly identified as homeless, approached me with a few bottles of water – they weren’t selling it, but giving it away to people to prevent dehydration. Note, except for one area of Riyadh, I haven’t encountered a single homeless person anywhere in the country during my trip, and I also witnessed in multiple locations either people or stands distributing bottled water for free.

I walked about half way of Quba walkway and took a golf cart back (since it is a pedestrian promenade, only golf carts can shuffle people back and forth between two mosques). 

In the evening, I enjoyed the views of the Masjid al Nabawi or the Prophet’s Mosques – one of Islam’s holiest places. It was the second mosque built during the life of the Prophet in 622. Originally covering the area of 30m by 35m, the mosque had 3 gates – Gate of Mercy, Gate of Gabriel and Gate of Women. It was expanded many times, starting from 629 and as recently as 1992, when its space increased to 160,000 sq. m boosting capacity to half-million people (and becoming the second largest mosque in the world). There are total of 27 domes, ten minarets and 42 gates, all executed in sand stone color, which beautifully blends with surrounding buildings and the mountains in the back. Wudu station for ablution, as well as Zamzam water dispensers are everywhere to facilitate a smooth experience, while large umbrella-shaped awnings provide much needed shade. The mosque contains the Green Dome which covers the tomb of the Prophet Mohammed and the first two caliphs, Abu Bakr and Umar. Even from afar, I could fell the spirituality and inspiration this place brought to pilgrims, who seemed to enjoy calm and peaceful atmosphere, that at the same time felt both dignified and almost sacred. Muslims believe that a prayer at the Prophet’s Mosque is equal to a thousand prayers elsewhere, unsurprisingly, many pilgrims spend hours if not days there reflecting on their faith. 

In the evening, I ate at Zaitoon restaurant (huge portions) at the mall across the street from my hotel and visited As Safiyyah Museum inside the same mall. It was very interactive and modern but had very little memorable content. 

One of the highlights of my stay in Medina was the sound of adhan – call for prayer – at nighttime and before dawn. It reminded my of the time I lived in Beirut when it was an ordinary part of my daily life. But in Medina, it felt extraordinary. 

Day 2. Medina – Jeddah. 

After breakfast, I walked around the Prophet’s Mosque one more time before catching my 11.30 Al-Haramain speed train to Jeddah ($90 for the first class ticket). I sat next to a very interesting young man and we struck up a conversation. Moe was local to Medina but grew up and lived most of his life in Europe as his father was a Saudi diplomat. He attended college in Manchester, England but recently moved back to KSA for work. He was a carrier consultant at one of Medina’s universities and was on a way to Jeddah to board the first Saudi cruise-liner to explore possible industry-related employment opportunities for the students. He was bright, funny, very helpful in advising me on places to eat and explore in Jeddah, but also gifts to buy to bring home (for example, Medina dates and Medina mint, perfume infused prayer beads etc). Promptly at 13.10 we arrived to the Jeddah train station. Note: all stations and airports in the country are brand new, comfortable, airy and straightforward. 

Jeddah. 

Jeddah is known to be the most progressive and liberal city in KSA. If there are any social changes in the kingdom, Jeddah is the first place where they take their form and direction. It is the country’s second largest city and its most diverse as for over 1,400 years pilgrims were coming via Jeddah’s port to attend hajj in Mecca and some of them stayed or returned to build their new lives and businesses in old town (Al Balad). A trading and fishing metropolis for millennia (its origin goes back to the 6th century B.C.), Jeddah is known as the Bride of the Red Sea, however, some believe that its name derives from the Arabic word “jaddah” meaning “grandmother” in reference to the Tomb of Eve which is located in Jeddah. Yes, that Eve, of Adam and Eve.  

For centuries, Jeddah was under the control of Caliphates, from Rashiduns to Mamluks. The original walls were built in the late 15th century to protect the city from the Portuguese who dominated many sea routes during that time, and in 1521 they were fortified by the Ottomans who de facto controlled the city until the World War I. The short-lived Kingdom of Hejaz was declared by the Sharif Hussein bin Ali al Hashimi in 1916, however, it was defeated by al Saud at the end of 1925 and swiftly incorporated into the Third Saudi state in 1932 becoming the last area to become the part of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. 

I chose to stay at Assila Luxury collection hotel on Tahlia street, which according to a travel book is “the area known for its luxury hotels, upscale restaurants, shopping and is a great place to see how Jeddah’s elite live”. Tahlia St in Jeddah, I was told by Moe, had the first water treatment plant in the country, hence, consequent plants were located on the streets of the same name all over the country. Well, Assila hotel was wonderful (except for its subpar women’s gym that didn’t carry any weight equipment), it had a beautiful and very relaxing rooftop pool as well as the Siddharta Bar which was named the “Best Lounge” by the Time Out Jeddah. There were plenty of shopping malls and restaurants (including American chains of P.F. Chang’s and Cheesecake Factory) nearby, but there was virtually not a soul on the street. Note: stay in the hotel near Corniche or sea front. 

In Jeddah, I secured several guides because they kept ditching me. I researched and found those two ladies to be the best (though eventually I was passed on to a male guide) – Marwah and Ferial. My guide Suliman was supposed to pick me up at 5 pm for a 4h tour of Al Balad (R650 – $175), so I had time to check out the House of Islamic Arts (R60 – $16) located on the 4th floor of Cenomi Jeddah Park Mall (behind IKEA store). It is a collection of 6 different museums with very interesting exhibitions of archeology, pottery, metalwork, books, calligraphy and coins. Everything had a signage in Arabic and English as well as QR codes. 

One of the museums hosted a project called “Biting Between One’s Teeth” exhibiting the art of the young almost all female Arab artists, such as Zainab Anwar “The Migrant Worker”, Sarah Usef “If you fade, will I notice me?”, Manar Eisa Alsharyufi “Not as It Seems”, Rym Hass “My Anger is Not Red”, Sara Saad “A Fragmented Encounter”, Roaa Mofreh “No Politics at the Dining Table”, Ola Sephiran “Do You See Me?”, Natalie Al-Sarraj “Echo”, Mbarak Madhi “I Tasted You With My Eyes”, Malak Musa “Jaljalat Almajalis – Reverberations of Gatherings”, and others. 

However, my favorite museum was “Al Makkatan. Between the Brush and the Lens” which portraits the history of Mecca and Medina through historical paintings and engravings as well as photos –  the earliest photo of Mecca was taken in 1880. The gallery is divided into 3 parts: 

  1. Before the invention of camera (1550-1880)
  2. The first photographers of Mecca and Medina (1880-1920)
  3. The golden age of photography (1920- present)

Some of the highlights are the first imaginary drawings of Mecca and Medina in landscape style by French cartographer Alain Manesson Mallet, published in 1683 as well as the Uppsala painting (appx 1712), which is the earliest known three-dimensional representation of Mecca, which provided unique and important information about the topography of the region. 

Alshefaa Museum or the “Museum of Healing” was dedicated to the history and role of Arab/Muslim doctors and naturalists (including women) in the development of modern medicine and surgery. It shows the achievements of Muslim scholars and how they contributed to building the foundations of the treatment methods we use today. And the last museum “Milestones of Arabia” represented the work of Professor Abdullah Hussein Alkadi, who spent more than 15 years both in and out of the field researching, analyzing and reflecting on the significance of 55 milestones (dating from the 8th to mid-9th centuries A.D.) which guided travelers along the Caravan Trade Route. 

Suliman picked me up at 17.30 and, battling heavy traffic, we headed to al Balad, the historic old town, open-air museum and the UNESCO World Heritage site. Al Balad gained it cultural significance in the 7th century with the dawn of Islam when its importance grew as a port for Mecca (85 kms inland). The district’s unmistakable architecture such as coral-stoned multi-storied buildings, decorated with blue or green roshan (wooden balconies/windows) are world-recognizable and attract tourists from all over the globe. Roshan are also known as mashrabiyya, referring to the boxed window designed to facilitate air-flow in the hot and humid climate and served as a sort of air-conditioner. The entrance to al Balad is guarded by four gates: Bab Jadid (to the north), Bab al Makkah (east), Bab Sharif (south) and Bob al Furdah (west). During the day, al Balad is tranquil and ghostly, however, it springs to life in the evening, when souks, art galleries, numerous cafes and tea houses open their doors. We arrived just in time to soak up the festive atmosphere. 

Suliman didn’t disappoint, he was knowledgeable, very friendly and we spent fabulous 6-7 hours in al Balad, story telling, sharing opinions, visiting house museums, (Beit al Balad, Matbouli House Museum, Nassif House Museum, Salloum residence etc), rooftops, private prayer halls, drinking tea and food tasting at 2-3 different cafes and street stalls. Al Balad is a great place to take photos and learn about the history of old Jeddah however, it is virtually uninhabited and it feels like a soul was sucked out of it. Nearly escaping a wreaking ball just a decade ago, it needs locals to revive it, not just visitors and tourists. The highlight of my walk was a visit to the Al Shafi’i mosque. We were the last to enter and unlike any other mosque, I was allowed to go to the men’s part of the building. Lights went off and we stayed and prayed/meditated in the dark with some other worshippers. Not only were we not rushed to leave, but on opposite, we were invited by the caretaker to join him for some food and drinks in the adjacent room. Apparently, the wheat-colored abaya that was lent to me at the mosque suited me so well, that it was given to me as a gift with a complement that I looked like an “Arab princess”  along with 3 Qur’ans in every language that I speak. Suliman showed me the famous souks crowded with late night shoppers, the alleys filled with cats dining at the official city-sponsored cat-feeders, roshan-building workshops, the ruins of al Balad (for contrast) and the open-air movie theater that recently re-opened after many decades of misuse. It was an excellent adventure under the full-moon. 

I asked Suliman to take me to the Eve’s cemetery and he did, however, he refused to take a photo of me at the gates as Muslims in general frown upon the Western graveyard tourism. The original tomb was destroyed in 1926 and later the entire site was sealed as the religious authorities believed visiting tombs was idolatrous. Nonetheless, I felt a special connection to this place, after all, Eve is the mother of all of us. 

Before dropping me back at the hotel, Suliman stopped at the King Fahd’s fountain – the world’s tallest, reaching over 200m high – and the Corniche. 

I could finally check into my suite at 1 in the morning. 

Day 3. Jeddah.

On my second day in Jeddah I planned to attend two huge events happening in town – Islamic Arts Biennale at Western Hajj Terminal (free with prior online rsrv) and E-Prix formula race and Akon concert at the Jeddah Corniche circuit ($26).
The 2025 Islamic Arts Biennale goal was to “show the holistic view of Islamic arts from around the world”. It included 29 new commissions from the Gulf Area artists as well as the loans from over 30 major international institutions, such as University of Oxford, Museum of Islamic art in Cairo, Benaki Museum in Athens, Qatar Museum, Vatican Apostolic library in Rome, Prophet’s Mosque in Medina, The Al-Sabah collection in Kuwait, Uzbekistan Academy of Science, Victoria and Albert Museum in London, The National Museum in Sultanate of Oman, Bruschettini Foundation for Islamic and Asian art in Genoa just to name a few. The title of the Biennale was “And All That Is In Between” which is derived from the Qur’an verse “And God created the Heavens and the Earth and all that is in between”. By juxtaposing historical objects from Islamic cultures with the contemporary art, the exhibition analyzed how faith was experienced, expressed and celebrated through feelings, thinking and making.
I spent nearly 6 hours wandering 5 indoor and outdoor halls which included the Al Thani collection. My absolute favorite were the Monumental Qu’ran (India, 1890s), the 2024 Kiswah – black drapes that covered the Ka’bah in Mecca, Nour Jaouda’s “Before the Last Sky” – a textile installation evoking three stages of a prayer, Hayat Osamah’s “Soft Gates” – a passage made of colorful fabric rolls the artist collected from her neighbors which as a whole represent the Muslim connectedness across the world, Arcangelo Sassolino’s “Memory of Becoming” – a large steel disc coated with a highly viscous industrial oil which slowly rotates and splashes black drops,  Asif Khan’s “Glass Qu’ran”, Map of the Nile river and the surrounding areas (Egypt, 1611),  dagger with sheath (Turkey, 16th century) as well as Nicolas Fayad’s “al Mussalla” – nomadic sacred space and meditation hall made entirely from the reclaimed palm waste.

At 18.00 I took an Uber to the Corchine Circuit to attend the E-Prix Formula race. As the night before, traffic was absolutely painful and along with multiple road closures, it took me almost 90 minutes to make it to the race. It was the most wonderful and festive gathering of mostly young men (5:1 ratio to women) under 25 years of age. I grabbed a chicken sandwich and honey cake from Urth cafe (utmost delicious), enjoyed the race and then joined a huge crowd (5-6 thousand of people) for the Akon after-race concert. Despite my “ripe” age of 44 and 3 kids, I enjoyed the outdoor dance celebration. Who would have thought that I would be partying in Saudi Arabia of all places, like it was Miami circa 2004? Note: no-alcohol, sober crowd is the best crowd (though youngsters should cut on smoking as it was overwhelming).

I left around midnight and walked to the road to catch a taxi, which was hard but not impossible, but even at that late hour the roads were packed. Saudis really do live nocturnal lives.

Day 4. Jeddah – Al Ula

I spent a solo morning at the hotel rooftop pool enjoying some rays of sunshine, before catching my 14.40 direct flight to Al Ula ($140). Two and a half days in Jeddah were nearly not enough to see all the sights and get a full feeling of the city. More to see: 

Sadly, I missed to see the most important thing in the Bride of the Red Sea – the sea itself. I was so busy with other activities, that I absolutely forgot to seek the sea or walk one of the city’s many corniches.  

Once at the airport, I grabbed Mabel Sriracha Shrimp ($10) and pistachio kunafa with ice cream ($7) at Century Burger. It was so good, I couldn’t believe it was an airport meal.
On the flight, I sat next to an interesting Egyptian guy who was a Japanese-language tour guide from Riyadh. Hatem was a treasure trove of useful information about what to see (and at what hour) and where to eat in Al Ula. 

Al Ula. 

A few years ago Al Ula was completely unknown, today, it is the world’s newest and most talked about archeological site. It didn’t just appear out of nowhere, oasis near Al Ula existed for centuries and witnessed multiple civilizations crisscrossing it along the caravan trade routes. The archeological and historical significance of this place was evident to the Saudi kings for long time, however, it was kept out of people’s sight and away of researchers’ picks and shovels until the Kingdom decided to divest its oil portfolio and invest into tourism. For all those reasons, this place like a magnet attracts lots of visitors which has its cons and pros. Pros are that it is very developed (old Al Ula town is carefully reconstructed; new museums are built; art exhibitions, sport competitions and musical concerts are frequent; restaurants and carefully selected shops are plentiful), accessible (new airport, Uber and Careem) and organized (all important UNESCO sites are booked ONLY via www.experiencealula.com). Cons are that is it very expensive (mid-range hotels aren’t existent, private guides/drivers are a few and very pricey), restricted (you can’t enter most of the sites and never by yourself) and small (most excavations are in the beginning stages). Dadan, Jaba Ikmah and post-islamic cultures left their footprints there, however, it is most famously known for the Nabataean town of Hegra (Mada’in Saleh) – the Saudi Arabia’s first UNESCO World Heritage Site. They say that Al Ula is an open-air museum and it felt like one: sterile, extremely curated, constantly guarded (the “park rangers” won’t leave your side at any point) and costly. As a visitor, you will see only what the Royal Commission for Al Ula wants you to see and nothing beyond that. It is a boutique experience catered for upscale clientele so if you want to have a true “Indiana Jones” discovery adventure, go to Petra! Despite all of these, it is still a must-visit place. Caravan trade paths have passed through the region since pre-Islamic times and it has been settled by indigenous and migrant Arab tribes for millennia. Captivating history, rich intertwined culture, multiple excavation sites (many of which are in active discovery mode), ancient oasis, exotic mud houses, stunning dune scenery and rock formations in combination with ultra luxurious desert-themed resorts and Michelin star-worthy dining experiences are there for anyone who can afford it.  

I flew into Al Ula around 16.00, and as with all my flights within KSA, my luggage was already at the carousel and I was out of the airport 15 mins after landing. Unheard of! Black taxi to the old Al Ula town was about R100 ($27). I stayed at Dar Tantora hotel which occupies the southern edge of old town within a short walking distance to Al Jadidah Arts district. Painstakingly and carefully restored 30 mud houses are as close to authentic and traditional living in Al Ula as it can be. Each house is a suite which consists of multiple rooms and a spacious bathroom, the old streets are hotel’s lobbies and it even has the roof-top heated pool. To keep it original, Dar Tantora chose to keep it circa 12th century, skip the electricity and lit all the premises with thousands of candles. There is one light fixture in the bathroom and two electrical outlets in the suite, but mostly it is just candles. The experience was above and beyond my expectations, service was fabulous and mobile-butler was very helpful. Please, use the pool as it is perhaps the most under-used facility in the hotel and the self-powered gym (no electricity there either). 

The main issue planning a trip to Al Ula was my lack of driving skills, so I looked for a local driver to take me around. One that was highly recommended quoted me $240 (R900) per day. However, once I got to Al Ula, I realized that Uber was everywhere and it was very cheap (R12- $3.2 from my hotel to the Winter Park etc), so I decided to make a deal with an Uber driver which was much more reflective of real prices. Here are a few contacts Ahmad (+966 53 557 0946 – minimal English but he as very resourceful) and Arman Ali (+966 54 460 9037). 

During my visit, the town hosted the Al Ula Arts Festival, so pretty much every vacant square or building in Al Jadidah Arts district (part of old town) accommodated some sort of artistic/visual/acoustic exhibit or performance. So, I spent 3-4 hours in the afternoon attending multiple exhibitions –  by Maha Malluh: Reminiscence, Lebanese artist Tarek Atoui: Bayt al Hams, American James Turrell and a show-room of the all-girls Madrasat Addeera. Performances, workshops and lectures are also part of the festival however, I didn’t have enough time to attend. The old library is a beautifully restored building with co-working spaces, kids room, rooftop and a cafe that I would recommend to visit too. 

As I mentioned prior, the most important UNESCO sites can be visited only as a part of an organized group with a prior arrangement via www.experiencealula.com. I booked four different tours:

  • Hegra After Dark (2h15m)
  • Dadan and Jabal Ikmah (2h30m)
  • Hegra (3h)
  • Al Ula old town tour (1h)

Most tours start at the Winter Park where, by organized coach, everyone is bused (30 mins) to a visitor’s center. “Hegra After Dark” started at 21.00, 20-30 people were greeted with kahwa (Saudi coffee) and dates and offered warm blankets (temperature in the desert can drop to negative degrees). From the visitor’s center we took horse drawn carriages to Secret Garden (Al Khuraymat Tombs) that was beautifully lit with candle lights. There was a performance-narration of Nabataean history in Arabic (with English translation) and live music. Then we walked to a nearby site, a so-called “Theater of Life” where a Nabataean traditional market with foods, drinks and crafts was set up for us to try and taste. It was accompanied by another reenactment of traditional life. Ancient tombs, dramatic mountains, sound of oud under the full moon was a perfect welcome evening in Al Ula. Around 23.30 we were whisked away by horse carriages back to the visitor’s center and then to the Winter Park. I didn’t have any issues getting an Uber at midnight. Note: both sites can be visited only during “Hegra After Dark” and are not part of a regular Hegra day tour. 

 Day 5. Al Ula.

I had a full day carefully planned with activities. I started with a 7.30 tour of Dadan and Jabal Ikmah, then proceeded with a 10.30 tour of Hegra. Both tours started at the Winter park and were very conveniently timed back to back. Guides, activities and information, along with small museums were very informative, though there was no self-wandering or solo explorations. 

Dadan and Jabal Ikmah (R60 – $16) are two different sites near each other. Believed to have been carved out of the rock faces more than 2,500 years ago, hundreds of Dadan Tombs are a strong reminder of the ancient civilization of the Liyahanite and Dadan kingdom. From the Winter Park we (me and one other tourist) were bused to the Dadan South, where a small museum and a wonderfully knowledgeable guide provided a very good timeline of the area from the Paleolithic and Bronze Age to modern times, accompanied by the detailed history of Dadan kingdom and recent findings. There was also a very interesting explanation of the various alphabets used and found in the area. Our first stop was by the Lion Tombs (600 BC) – located 50m above ground those square-shaped grave openings are the tribute to the Minaean (current day Yemen) king who, while actively using the area as a trading route, purchased the mountain to bury the people of his own (Ma’in) tribe there. Four visible statues of lions are carved above some of the tombs and are indicative of the high status of their occupants, perhaps even royalty. We could only observe the tombs from 500m away and use binoculars for close ups. The tour’s second stop focused on the city of Dadan, where the ruins of a stone carved temple worshipping Dhu Ghaybah, the most important god of the Liyahanites, can be viewed. The outline of the temple, a massive, carved from one piece of rock, ablution basin as well as the footprints of many adjacent buildings are clearly visible. Multiple statues of difference sizes as well as incense and incense burners (traditional gifts to gods) were found in the temple proving its sacred status among locals and visitors alike. While walking back, we were pointed out the ruins of an early Islamic fort which once had a tower in each of its four corners and rooms surrounding an open courtyard. 

Our third stop was at Jabal Ikmah, known as “Outdoor Library”. It is an astonishing site of thousands of inscriptions in Aramaic, Dadantic, Thamudic, Manaic and Nabataean languages that gives a lasting testimony to the importance of these diverse historical kingdoms that go back at least to the 1st millennium BC. Those inscriptions are rich in both, content and form, providing us with valuable historical data as well as giving us a template for understanding the development of the Arabic language. Many of these inscriptions were paid for, upon which a stone crafters then created the requested message, often containing little more than what we would now consider graffiti (ex: “I was here”, “Pray for my safe passage” etc). There is also a rich display of rock art depicting people and animals in everyday scenes, musical instruments and leisure activities, however, journeys and pilgrimages are the most commonly portrayed themes. On the way back, we stopped by a workshop where we could practice our stone-chiseling skills by hammering out our names in Dadantic language on a flat soft rock surface  (and yes, I took my masterpiece with me).  

My second tour, Hegra Archeological site (Mada’in Saleh) started at 10.30 at the Winter park. This time, we traveled by 2 buses (60-70 people) and made 4 stops. Hegra is the most famous site in the area and indisputably the kingdom’s jewel. Mada’in Saleh was populated from Dadans to Romans during its early history, becoming an important commercial center along the Arabian Peninsula trade route to the north. It also served as a pilgrimage path to Medina and Mecca, however, already in the early days of Islam, local community had moved 25 kms away to Al Ula old town. The Nabataean Kingdom (3 century B.C. – 2 century A.D.)  stretched from what is now Jordan (with its capital in Petra) on the north, to Dumat al Jandal to the east, and to the modern-day Al Ula region at its southernmost edge. Hegra, the second largest city of the Nabataean Kingdom, was populated from the times of Noah and Moses, but declined after the beginning of the 1st century A.D. The downfall left the area effectively undisturbed for centuries, that is why many of the gravesites remain in the good condition and represent a fascinating site for new archeological discoveries. Most of the 2,000 monuments found in Hegra were built between 1 century B.C. and 1 century A.D. The area contains a total of 131 impressive tombs within an area of about 15 sq km, but also inscriptions, depicting the social status of their occupants and key elements of their lives, compete with dates, aiding archeological knowledge. Otherwise, most information came not from the Nabataeans themselves but from Greek, Roman and Egyptian records. The tombs were constructed by the Thamudic people – an Arab tribe who were considered to be idol worshippers – and were designed to contain family groups. The stairs at the top represent the ascent of the soul into heaven. The façades are hewn from sandstone rock, many are elaborately decorated with Nabataean inscriptions and symbols of life and afterlife, but also contain elements of Mesopotamian and Roman influence – eagles, griffins, sphinxes, medusa-like faces and snakes. Some of the inscriptions warn the intruders of fines and divine punishments for breaking inside or grave-robbing. There are a number of unfinished tombs, including some rocks that contain little more than a smooth façade, which helped archeologist deduct the process of building them – from top to bottom. 

On the bus, an audio recording recounted a historical narrative of Hegra and a visit plan, however, we were accompanied by a guide, Aziz, who gave us more illustrious descriptions in each of the visited places. First stop was at Jabal Ithlib (20 mins) – an area highlighted by a well-preserved diwan (meeting place) set in a dramatic setting at the entrance to a narrow passage between two sets of rock cliffs (Siq). Huge diwan is built into the rock and contains stone benches on three sides, it was used by Nabataeans for religious ceremonies, as well as for banqueting, entertainment and political gatherings. An oratory niche and a cartouche in the ancient Nabataean script can be seen directly opposite the opening of the diwan along with other cuneiform inscriptions on the rock face. You can’t step inside but you can proceed along the siq to a small open area on the other side of the mountain.

Second stop was at Jabal al Banat (45 min)  – a cluster of 29 tombs named “Mountain of a Woman” because it was owned by or created for women. We were able to walk around followed by “park rangers” who, while diligently keeping us away from going inside the tombs and venturing too far from the marked path, were helpful in taking pictures and answering questions. It was possible to peek into many tombs but #26 was the only one we were allowed to enter. Most façades of the tombs in Jabal al Banat were elaborately decorated with depictions of snakes, birds and other pre-Islamic symbols. By exploring the inside of tombs, you can see that initially bodies have been buried inside the chased niches, both on the ground and in the walls. Nonetheless, Aziz told us that some bodies, at later times, were simply left on the surface inside the tombs. Now, the gold-shimmering sandy host mountain naturally blends into its surrounding dunes, however, when the area was actively used, the tombs were painted in bright colors with hued fabrics covering its walls and doors and served not only as burial spots but also as gathering places for celebrations.

Third stop was at Qasr al Farid (Tomb of the Lihyan son of Kuza) (20 mins) – the largest monolith in the area towering nearly 22 m tall that was left unfinished. It is carved into its own separate sandstone outcrop and stands alone at the distance from other tombs (hence the name “Lonely Castle”). From the top down it contains steps, ledges, outline of four columns and a rectangular opening, have it been completed, it would have been the largest tomb in the area. No one knows who it was built for, a person or a family, whether they were rich merchants or military hero (one of the theories) will forever remain a mystery.

The last stop was by the Face rock (5 mins) – an excellent natural stone formation that looks like a person in profile, including the neck, lips, nose and even eyelids. 

We didn’t stop at Jabal al Ahmar, where more than 80 tombs are scattered on a plain in several clusters. This is a place where in 2014 the bones of Hinat  – the name given by archeologists to the skeletal remains of a 2,000 year old Nabataean woman – were found along with bits of fine-quality cloth and a necklace, revealing more information about the wealth of Nabataean culture. More information and facial reconstruction of this 40 year old woman are in the small museum at the Visitor’s center. 

In Hegra, our group encountered a privately -guided party of a few Russians with briefcases. They looked so out of place that even their suits looked menacing. Undoubtedly, they were visiting Al Ula prior to the Russian-Ukrainian peace talks that were supposed to start in Riyadh in a few days.

I finished both tours at 14.00 and took an Uber to Maraya. In order to see the world’s largest mirrored building (concert hall) you need either a hotel or restaurant reservation at one of the two hotels on the premisses (Banyan Tree or Habitats) or at Maraya itself (either a guided tour or at Maraya Social restaurant).  A day prior, I reserved a lunch at Harrat restaurant at the Banyan Tree hotel and received a QR code which was verified and reconfirmed by the security guard at the checkpoint. Maraya is a large rectangular box made of nearly 10,000 mirrored panels. It is located in a valley surrounded by stunning cliffs and I do see how conceptually it could be mind-blowing. However, concept and reality diverge here, because the infrastructure (a huge parking lot, delivery entrance), 4 parked buses as well as a few hundreds of people were all mirroring back into the desert, making the whole experience extremely underwhelming. Nonetheless, my lunch at Harrat restaurant was excellent. While at the restaurant (with a view of Maraya), a caravan of black and white camels traversed the nearby dunes making me think whether its herder also had a special permit to pass the checkpoint. 

After lunch, I made a 3-hour arrangement with my Uber driver (R100 – $27) to take me to two more places. First stop, Jabal al Fil (the Elephant Rock – open at 16.00). A beautiful rock formation in the shape of an elephant is one of the most famous landmarks in Al Ula. Stretching an imposing 52m into the sky, the warm-hued sandstone shows the history of its creation, revealing millions of years of erosion through rain, wind and sand. I arrived around 17.00 to see how the declining sun played with the desert shadows revealing different shades of gold. Multiple “dug-in-sand” cushioned banquets equipped with warm fire pits, a few cafes and food trucks nearby definitely invite you to stay, relax and watch as the sun fades away with music tunes echoing in the background.

However, I had a better plan. The sunset was at 18.23 and I wanted to be at the Harrat Viewpoint to witness it. At 1,219m it offers the best views of the epic landscape overlooking deep ravines, the oasis, the old Al Ula town and incredible rock formations as far as the eye can see. Time your visit and enjoy!

Day 6. Al Ula – Ha’il.

In the morning, after having an avocado toast and traditional foul for breakfast at Joontos restaurant in Dar Tantora, I joined the 8 am tour of Old Al Ula town (60 mins, R70-$19). Note: most of the original settlement, especially the part across the highway, remains in ruins and can be seen only from the outside. A maze of historic alleys and marketplaces, age-old mud-brick houses (900 in total) and gates, the old town looks like an impenetrable human honey comb with all the houses stacked next to each other. It was an ancient incense trading route back in the 12th century and was inhabited until the 1980s. People who lived here, occupied their homes only in winter season and left for oasis nearby in the summer. Lower floors of their houses were built in stone and served as storage and barn facilities, while upper levels were mud-made and were the living quarters. I personally thought it was a bad real estate investment if every time you come back home you have to rebuild the upper level which could sustained heat and cold, but was totally vulnerable to rains and winds. During the tour, we visited only the restored part of old town. We stopped by a 30-m deep well of al Hajjaj, explored some of the 14 gates (partially made with the stones from Dadan), visited a diwan and entered one of the houses. Then we climbed (45m) to the top of Mousa bin Nusair Fort (aka as Al Ula Historic Castle) which was built as defense for the settlement in the 6th century BC. Top of the Castle offers the best views of the ancient labyrinth of the old town and they are stunning.

Before returning to the hotel, I walked along the Old Town Walk, a pedestrian street with carefully selected stores and restaurants, did some gift shopping and went back to my hotel to pack. But before I left for the airport, I took a dip in my hotel’s swimming pool, I just must! 

There are other interesting things to do in Al Ula:

  • Gharameel stargazing or hiking with Husaak Adventures;
  • dune bashing;
  • oasis trekking;
  • taking a hot-air balloon;
  • rock-climbing or zip lining;
  • attending an event at Maraya;
  • eating muhalabiya (camel milk dessert) at Noug. 

In the afternoon, I caught a flight via Riyadh to Ha’il. I arrived in the evening and checked into my hotel – Holiday Villa – which was in the city center and only 10 mins drive from the airport. It was a standard 3* hotel but it came with a few surprises – my room was windowless and all toiletries in the bathroom were already unsealed and used by a previous guest. 

Day 7. Ha’il. 

I finally made it to the Najd region of Saudi Arabia where I spent the remaining days of my trip. Located in the center of the Arabian Peninsula, “najd” means uplands and describes the landscape that slopes downwards from the west to the east of the region. Home to the country’s second largest desert, al Nafud, it is generously dotted with wadis (river beds) and oasis that have sustained life here for millennia and till today provide a main source for agriculture, especially dates and grains. Provinces of Riyadh, al Qassim and Ha’il, which comprise the Najd region, are rich in history, cultural heritage and religious beliefs (Salafism originated in Najd). It contains evidence of some of the earliest civilizations in the Middle East and it is believed that local al Magar people, living during Neolithic period, were one of the first cultures in the world to domesticate wild animals, particularly the horse. Najd was home of the first Saudi state (1774-1818, Diriyah near Riyadh) and Emirate of Ha’il (1836-1921, Ha’il) up until the creation of the modern Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. 

Najd is also famous for its traditional architecture, which is both distinctive and esthetic. It features thick, orange-yellow or brown mud-clay walls, accented with rectangular windows usually painted white. Windows higher up are often triangular and may be arranged in different patterns. The external walls are usually topped with a row of white pyramid-like battlements which makes the entire structure look like a gigantic geometric puzzle. This impression is emphasized by the complex designs and elaborate patterns of the exterior doors, which, in my opinion, deserve their own entry into the UNESCO list. 

Ha’il Province is strategically located at the crossroads of historical trade routes between Mesopotamia and the ancient kingdoms in what is now Yemen, as well as the pilgrimage path between the Persian gulf and the Red sea. However, numerous stone tools discovered in the area go back to the Mousterian period (100,000-40,000 years ago) and it is very likely to be the first inhabited place in the Kingdom, some think as long as 1 million years ago. The rock art of the era depicts a semi-nomadic, hunter-gatherer civilization corresponding to the Neolithic times (9,000-7,500 B.C.). By the time of the Copper Age (from 5,000 B.C.), the lifestyle had become more settled, attested to by the differences in the stone tools that have been discovered here. These artifacts also signal major climate change from a fertile and green environment to the desertification and animal migration. 

Arab tribes lived in the province since pre-Islamic times, with the Ghassanids and Lakhmis dominant alongside the Nabateans. Diverse terrain, abundant resources and trade made this area rich and attracted many visitors (the Babylonian king Nabonidus), poets and historical figures. The ruler of the prominent Tayy tribe, Hatim al-Tai, lived in Ha’il and was so charitable that until now local people are known for their hospitality and expression “Hatimi generosity” is still commonly used throughout the country. When Islam spread across the Arabian Peninsula, many members of local Tayy tribe converted to Islam providing a crucial route for pilgrims, connecting Kufa (modern day Iraq) to Mecca – via Darb Zubaydah (Zubaida Trail). The city of Faid became the most important station on this pilgrimage road, gaining prosperity during the Abbasid Caliphate between the years 750 and 1258. In the 18th century, Ha’il region played a significant role in the political and cultural events. It was among the last regions to come under the rule of the First Saudi State in 1790 and the local Rashid dynasty of Shammar tribe completely ignored and sabotaged the existence of the Second Saudi State (which still makes many locals proud). It became part of KSA in 1921. 

I had one full day in Ha’il region so I went ambitious by arranging a private guide (R1500 -$400 via www.hailtour.net, Fraih +966 56543 5663) and discussing all the points of interest beforehand. I wanted to visit al Hutaymah, a pilgrimage city of Faid, castles of Ha’il and most importantly the UNESCO World Heritage site of Jubbah. My guide was abu Hamad –  a true bedouin, a former religious studies teacher, he was superbly erudite, knowledgeable and lived a life worthy of an epic-novel.  Abu Hamad and I started at 8 am and drove to Harrat al Hutaymah – a volcanic crater created after an explosion that took place 1.8 million years ago. I have never seen anything like it, so the views simply took my breath away. It is possible to descend 300m to the salt-crusted ring on the bottom (as locals do in the summer time to collect salt) or hike its 5km circumference. I would have loved to do both but we didn’t have time for it. However, we had time to throw an exotic picnic at the crater’s edge with some kahwa and dates. To my surprise, I found a lot of different flowers and plants growing on the rim of the crater, which immediately reminded me of a storybook “Field trip to Volcano Island” by John Hare that my 2 year old twins adore. In the story, the main character gets carried away by collecting different flowers near the volcanic crater and  eventually falls into it. 

Our next stop was Faid and its museum and archeological site (free, comes with a knowledgeable and very funny guide too). Generally Faid is associated with the Islamic era, particularly the Abbasid period, however, recent archeological excavations uncovered lithic tools, such as an Acheulean hand axe dating to the Paleolithic Era, approximately 250,000 years ago. Several stone structures of the Neolithic (10,000-3,500 B.C.) and the Bronze Ages (3,500-1,200 B.C.) were discovered around Faid fortress, including foundations and circular stone constructions. There are many rock arts and inscriptions engraved on the mountain faces surrounding Faid attesting to the active cultural, social and political activities in pre-Islamic days. At that time, Faid’s women held significant rights and high status, were able to dispose of their own money and chose their own husbands. A popular local proverb compares Faid women to Arab kings. Local poetesses such as Ghaniya ben Afif, Assiyya al- Bolaniyya, Abeyyah bent Uqba bin Zuhar and others thrived and achieved tremendous success and reputation. 

However, Faid is forever associated with the most famous pilgrimage route that connected Kufa (Iraq) to Mecca, aka Zubaydah Trail. It was only natural that a pre-Islamic caravan path, connecting Mesopotamian and Arab merchants, would grow into something bigger with the advent of Islam. The first Abbasid Caliph, Abdullah abul’ Abas, oversaw the building of stopping points along the way where pilgrims could rest and replenish supplies. The oasis of Faid was a perfect place as it carried abundance of water.  Once the Abbasid caliphs relocated the Islamic capital from Damascus to Baghdad, Faid gained even more importance as a vital stop halfway between the Caliphate and the Holy Mosques. Interestingly, the construction of Zubaydah trail is purely attributed to the wife of Caliph Harun al-Rashid and a granddaughter of the Caliph abu Ja’far al Mansour (the founder of Baghdad) Zubaydah – who after failing to reach Mecca from Baghdad ordered and paid for the development of a proper pilgrimage route. Best Arab and Byzantine architects and engineers participated in its construction. The route’s directions were sketched out, with sandy and muddy sections covered with stones, all obstacles were removed and it was designed and built in a professional architectural style with a precise system of water infrastructure such as dams, wells, reservoirs, canals and basins. Milestones, flags, and watchtowers were placed along the path to guide pilgrims at all hours of day and night. Zubaydah trail was 1,400 km long and passed through 29 town-stations equipped with accommodations, wells, protective walls, castles, palaces, mosques etc. It was well-organized and most importantly, safe.  Pilgrims and commerce convoys made all those stations, especially Faid, wealthy, as locals bartered whatever they produced (meat, animals, dairy) with visitors. The trail flourished for almost 500 years, until the fall of Baghdad in 1258 when it was abandoned due to lack of safety. Most of its stations, facilities and monuments were destroyed, leaving just a few vestiges. Notably, ibn Battuta visited Faid in 1327 as he continued his area explorations after leaving Mecca.
Now in ruins, by the side of the road of a tiny village with the same name, the entire site is unusual for the area as the structures are made of much darker basalt stone from nearby lava fields rather than the traditional light colored Najd mud brick. The entrance to the site is via a modern and well-designed Faid Archeological Museum. It contains various artifacts from pottery to coins and jewels. A few videos help to situate the visitors in place, time and importance of this place. Faid has an area of 2 sq km and was built in style of Islamic -Arab towns: the city’s core dominated by a large fort, a gated seat of government, residential, commercial and agricultural lands, water infrastructure and towers. The archeological site contains two concentric walls built to protect the settlement. The outer wall has 10 towers along its 750m length. Inside this wall used to be residential areas (40 houses) and shops along the internal roads. 5m high and 370m long interior wall was built as a military stronghold. Some of the walls have been restored, but almost most of the site remains in ruins while awaiting the UNESCO recognition. Excavations on the south side revealed ovens that are estimated to have produced food for as many as 1,000 people, large cisterns for gathering water (22m in circumference and 2m depth) and a mosque. It was such an interesting historical place to visit and incredibly fascinating to walk the roads and visit, barely the foundations, the residential area.   

Our third stop was in Ha’il town at Qasr Aarif (free). This fort was constructed during the reign of Mohammed bin Abdul Mohsen in the 17th century, with additions made by the al Rashid family during their rule. Built on a high hill in the center of Ha’il, it has been carefully restored and represents a beautiful example of Najd architecture. Qasr is 40m by 11m and named after the rooster’s comb due to the large piece of rock sticking out at the base of the fort. The walls are made of mud, straw and small pebbles, filled with tiny round and rectangular windows. Inside, there are several courtyards, balconies, storage rooms, living quarters, baths and even a toilet, as well as a praying area and a mosque. A gun platform has a German-manufactured Ottoman cannon which was mostly used to announce the start of Ramadan. From the upper terrace, there are wonderful panoramic views of the city. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a museum or any annotations within the castle for more information. 

Our next stop in Ha’il was at Al Qishlah Castle (free). Built, also in Najd style, in 1941 as an artillery and weapon depot, this enormous (143m by 141m) fortress was only briefly used for military services. Two stories accommodate 80 and 60 rooms respectively; equipped with a private kitchen, each room could house up to 15 people. There are a total of eight watchtowers, two gates to the south and east and a large mosque with an outdoor praying area. There is a pedestaled teal old jeep greets you at the entrance – it was confiscated from a Kuwaiti citizen who accidentally had a pack of cigarets (then a contraband) in his pocket while crossing to Saudi Arabia. A tale or a true story, judge for yourself.

It was almost 16.00 when we finally made it to Jubbah (free), a UNESCO World Heritage site famous for its rock art and petroglyphs. Jubbah is one of the oldest inhabited places in the Arabian Peninsula, evidenced by archeological findings on Mount Umm Sinman which date back to the Middle Stone Age (80,000-40,000 years ago). The area where Jubbah currently stands once was a large lake (presence of salt flats, sea shells and water markings on the surrounding rocks). The rocky mountains around Jubbah served as shelters for hunters who actively documented their way of life on the rock faces and their carvings still remain today for us to see. In the 4th millennium B.C., climatic changes led to the drying up of Lake Jubbah and gradual disappearance of its vegetations, decline in human activities and wildlife migration. Archeological data doesn’t show any residential structures from the Stone Age, indicating that early humans likely lived in caves and rock shelters, especially on Mount Umm Sinman. Key artifacts of that era are burial sites and rock art. During the second millennium B.C., camels were domesticated, trading routes became active, rainfall increased and kingdoms and empires emerged, leading to increase in human activities around Jubbah too. Populated mostly by Thamudic tribes since the first millennium B.C., the local mountains are excessively covered with Thamudic inscriptions which paint a detailed picture of their civilization, as well as those of many travelers and traders who passed through the area en-route from Mesopotamia to Levant (most notably, in Lihyanite, Musnad and Nabatean). One of the earliest mentions of Jubbah comes from Greek geographer Ptolemy in the 2nd century A.D., who referred to it by its Aramaic name “Aina” which means “spring”. Although Jubbah wasn’t a major stop on the pilgrimage routes during the Islamic period, relevant inscriptions were also found on its rock faces, including inscriptions in Kufic script reciting Qur’anic verses and prayers. 

I started my exploration of Jubbah at the Visitor’s center where a museum guide explained to me the significance of this site, its history and chronology, she also pointed out a few petroglyphs to watch out for as they were the oldest (10,000 years old) among hundreds of thousands of others. The UNESCO site consists of two different parks 3km apart and the Visitor’s Center is adjacent to one. Once I was outside, the rock paintings and writings were everywhere. My guide explained the most interesting ones to me, indicating their importance and message. Deer, gazelles, horses, ibex, lions, oryx and ostriches were easy to identify and knowing the history of the place, I knew they were the earliest depictions of life here when Lake Jubbah sustained all that diversity. The images of camels were probably added centuries later as the climate turned drier. Ones to pay special attention to are: two rows of dancing people wearing donkey masks, a king with a round necklace, a headless ox hunter (two paintings), an ibex, herd of oryx, an ox with a calf.

When we reached the second park (long after its 17.00 closing time), museum guide was waiting for us there to unlock and let us in. Two of the most important and oldest petroglyphs are located on the same rock. One is of a tall hunter and another is of a chariot/carriage pulled by two horses. My guide took me slightly to the side and sat me on a rock to explain the tradition and evolution of circular burials. Apparently, lots of them were recently discovered in Harrat Khaybar and Al-Hayit regions of Saudi Arabia and archeologists call them “pendant tombs”. Abu Hamad told me how the process of burial, position of the body and the visual adornment of the burial sites changed and progressed from era to era, starting from a small circular stone enclosure and growing into the ones hundred meters in diameter with 200-300 m long stone “tails”. I wasn’t quite sure why he was explaining this to me because we were nowhere near the excavations of Harrat Khaybar, until he told me to look around and I realized that I sat on one of the stones which comprised a perfectly circular burial. It has not been excavated yet, but preliminary study showed that the body inside is buried in a fetus position and a relatively modest size of the circle (6-8 m) indicates that it was built about 4,500 years ago. Next to the circular ruins was a rock with a clear early Islamic time inscription in Arabic, which was also very interesting.

Once we drove into orange sunset, I couldn’t stop thinking about how lucky I was to be in Ha’il and experience all those unique and captivating places, and how fortunate I was to have abu Hamad to share his knowledge with me and make me learn about and appreciate it even more. It was one of the highlights of my trip to Saudi Arabia.  

Other places/things to do in the area:

  • Barzan Castle in Ha’il.
  • camping in the An Nafud desert, not only it is so a-là Lawrence of Arabia, who crossed this desert many times, but also it is the place where the oldest human fossil (85,000) outside Africa and the Levant was discovered. 
  • Rata and Al-Majur in Ash-Shuwaymis – a UNESCO listed site with ancient rock art and petroglyphs. 
  • purchase some of the local arts and crafts. 

Day 8. Riyadh. 

You can’t visit Saudi Arabia and skip Riyadh – the country’s capital and home to 8 million people. Riyadh, which translates as “garden”, has been in existence since pre-Islamic times. Originally known as Hajr al Yamamah, it was first settled as early as the Paleolithic in about 1st millennium B.C. by Bani Hanifa tribe, who were also the early converts to Islam and came under the Rashidun Caliphate. Hajr then became a capital of al Yamama province during the times of the Umayyad and Abbasid empires, however it lost its status when the area was conquered by the Ukhaydhirites in 866 A.D. and went into decline for the next several centuries. Name “Riyadh’ first appeared in 1590 A.D. In 1737, it referred to the oases that were walled in for protection by Deham bin Dawwas, who took over the area from neighboring Manfuha. In 1744, the “al Saud and al Wahhab” alliance was formed, creating the First Saudi State and controlling Riyadh and other nearby settlements out of Diriyah (just outside Riyadh). After the destruction of the First Saudi State, the control of the region was held by the Ottomans. Riyadh was named the capital of the tempestuous Second Saudi State in 1823 and was ruled by Al Saud and his rival al Rashid tribe from Ha’il. During this period , the Masmak fortress of Riyadh was built, however, the state collapsed in 1891. 

In 1902, Abdul Aziz bin Abdul Rahman bin Faisal al Saud came back from exile in Kuwait. He captured the Masmak fortress, regained control of Riyadh and eventually (by 1932) consolidated all of the other regions of the modern Kingdom. The Najd region in central Arabia was so little known in the West at that time that the precise location of Riyadh was a mystery to Western cartographers who did not know the latitude and longitude of Riyadh. In his book “The Kingdom” Robert Lacey wrote that in Western maps of the early 20th century “Riyadh was a dot placed capriciously somewhere in the central wilderness”. It all changed since the discovery of oil in 1938, which propelled the country and its capital into the future.

I took the very first flight to Riyadh where I arrived at 7.30 am, checked into my hotel – Hyatt Regency on Olaya street. My local friend recommended me this location, however, any place along the new subway lines would be perfectly fine. The city is not pedestrian friendly, and despite great pavements and lots of malls and restaurants, the Olaya Street area was pretty much deserted for most part. Hyatt  Regency was a great 5* hotel with excellent amenities and restaurant. Its women’s gym – as most gyms in KSA are segregated – was the only one with the proper weight machines and weights as oppose to just cardio equipment, yet it was still not on par with the gym facilities for men. 

Knowing that souks would be closed around noon for the midday break, I took metro to Al Batha and Dirah areas  – Riyadh’s historic center that could be explored on foot. I got off “Al Owd” stop and first, visited the Maqbarat aloud cemetery known as the final resting place of many kings, queens, crown princes and royals of the second and current Saudi states. All graves are unmarked, humble and homogeneous, aline with the local traditions. Then, via King Faisal Road I walked through Dirah area – residential, not touristy, clean but haggard, with carpets hanging out of the windows and roofs. I stopped by the Kingdom Heritage store to get some souvenirs for kids and bedouin jewelry for myself. Masmak Fortress was closed for renovation, so I walked through the infamous Al Safat aka “chop-chop” square. This is a place where Saudi justice is executed, in the literal sense, by public beheadings. It was quiet in the morning, except for a few dozen workers who were setting up a big stage for the Founding Day celebration. As a non-muslim, I couldn’t go inside the Imam Turki bin Abdullah Grad Mosque, adjacent to al Safat Square, however, it is one of the largest and oldest mosques in Riyadh built in a beautiful Nadj architecture with a huge courtyard in the middle. They say that funeral prayers of kings and many other members of royal family upon their death are held here. The rest of my morning I spent browsing through Souk al Zel that sells fabrics, oud, perfumes, spices, shoes, carpets and other goods for local buyers. Obviously, morning isn’t the best time to visit souks but it was my only free time so I seised the opportunity. On the north of al Safat Square there was a building with a plaque I couldn’t ignore, it read “General Presidency of the Commission for Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice”, I had to take a selfie with it. 

Then I walked to al Batha area to the north, the street was lined with wholesale shops and trade was quite active. The area itself was a bit peculiar and I saw a few homeless men, the only ones during my entire trip, but it didn’t feel unsafe. People threw curious looks at me, but never failed to greet me with a smile. The area of interest in al Batha is King Abdulaziz Historical center – it comprises of King Abdulaziz library, al Watan park, the Murabba Palace and the Saudi National Museum. 

Murabba Palace (”Square palace”, free), built between 1936-1945, was home of King Abdulaziz from 1938 till his death in 1953. He lived there with one of his wives, Hussa bint Ahmed al Sudairi, whose life deserves its own story. The palace was constructed in Najd style, using mud bricks, straw, wood and palm tree fronds. The doors, windows and ceilings are made of wood with geometric patterns painted in black, red and yellow. There are two levels with a total of 32 rooms designed around an open courtyard with one lonely palm tree. The ground floor was used as government offices as well as workers’ rooms, while the second floor housed the king’s living quarter and reception halls. The palace, when it was built reflected all innovative features, like electricity, plumbing, air conditioning and the kingdom’s first elevator. I found the architecture itself and the photographs of the era to be the most fascinating pieces in the palace. 

Across the park from the Murabba palace is the Saudi National Museum (free, 6 rooms out of 8 were open for visitors, allow 2-3 hours).  I really liked this museum because it gave a very comprehensive look at the history of the peninsula including current and past excavation sites, different civilizations and writing systems. And it was all done in chronological order (starting with the Hall of Man and the Universe and ending with Hall of the Hajj and Two Holy Mosques), for someone with a minor OCD, it was just perfect. 

At 18.00 I went to Old Diriyah (free before 17.00, after R50, allow 2-3 hours) – home of the At Turaif UNESCO World Heritage Site. This village next to Riyadh is the historical capital of the Saudi kingdom and was recently extensively renovated. The al Sauds were the leaders of the Emirate of Diriyah during the First Saudi State, dating back to 1744. Old Diriyah’s historic structures, built from 1766, were once the center of their power, as well as the home of al Wahhab family whose religious influence can be felt to this day in the Kingdom and beyond, in the form of Salafism. The streets of at Turaif wind around a series of mud-brick and straw-walled buildings that range from huts to palaces, and from shops to mosques. Built in Najd style, lots of beautiful bright geometric designs can be spotted throughout the area. There are multiple museums to visit – the Diriyah Museum of Salwa Palace, the Military Museum, Arabian horse Museum, the Saudi Daily life Museum etc – that provide artifacts and details about the history of the Saudi royal family. 

Uber literally dropped me off at al Bujairi Terrace (restaurants, exhibition halls, outdoor stage), which I had to cross in order to get to at Turaif. In order to enter the terrace, you need to show either the restaurant reservation QR code or an online ticket to visit Diriyah. The ticket offers free guided tours but I had limited time, so I went to explore on my own. From the Bujairi terrace I approached a beautifully lit at Turaif village. I explored it for a few hours and loved how curators highlighted the meaning of the place, the ordinary life of its inhabitants, the traditions via palace and small-house museums and experiences (coffee ceremony, dance, musical performances). I visited Sibalat (charitable foundation), Endowment Mouhdi (accommodation for students), Horse Museum, Imam Abdullah bin Saud Palace, Military Museum, House of Ardah, Al-Majlis (the gathering house), the ruins of the original mosque and Diriyah History Museum that houses a huge family tree of the entire royal family. I also arranged to see the traditional ardah dance at al Turaif Nuzul, a theater where life performances are held, but was given a wrong time so I missed it. 

At 20.30 my Saudi friend and I celebrated my 45th birthday at Takya restaurant in Bujairi Terrace. I highly recommend this place, it serves Saudi cuisine with modern twist, which was delicious and plentiful. 

Day 9. Ushaiger.

I booked a trip to Ushaiger Heritage village ($260 via Viator, I paid for two people since I was alone) but Aziz’ number is +966 50 885 0930. Ushaiger was described as “a wonderful example of a typical Najd village that brings the past back to life”. Translated as “little blond”, describing the mountain to the north, it was settled by Bedouin tribes about 1,500 years ago as the land was rich with fresh springs, palms and olive trees. Since then, other prominent tribes lived there, including the al Sheikh and al Thani of the Benu Tamim tribe. The current Qatari ruling family Al Thani are descendants from Ushaiger. Currently, the village is in the process of restoration, there are about 400 houses and 25 mosques, all constructed with mud-brick and palm-roofs, decorated wooden doors and the distinctive triangular rooftops. We wandered along many of the pathways in the village, and discovered gardens and courtyards, historical Mahasiri market and governor’s house, multiple elaborate water collection systems/wells and houses exhibiting eclectic collections of the owners’ past glories, schools and mosques. And this all was set in the middle of a green oasis. This nearly abandoned town, with only one family-resident in situ was definitely worth a day trip from Riyadh – I enjoyed its beautiful architecture (some in ruins, but some carefully restored but not overdone), interesting history and few curious house-museums (Al Salem museum, al Nashwan House, Dar Alhumaid Heritage Museum, etc). Aziz was a wonderful guide and shared a lot of historical and personal details about this place which made it even more special. His dream is to buy and restore one of the houses in town, so he can bring visitors for overnight stays.

In the end of the tour, we had an early dinner at the Amassi Alreef restaurant in new Ushaiger town where we tried a few Saudi dishes like maqluba (upside down rice and chicken), jareesh with caramelized onions (oatmeal-like kasha) and margoog. Since alcohol is prohibited in the country, Saudis took juicing to a totally new level and I have to admit that nowhere in the world I have tried such fresh, delicious and unique combinations of difference fruits and vegetables.

Day 10. Riyadh.

Fridays are for prayers so until 2-3 pm there is absolutely nothing to do in Saudi Arabia as everything is closed and everyone is at the mosques. So, I spent my late morning exploring area around Olaya street – walked around Al Faisaliah Tower and took some photos of King Fahd National Library. Then took a metro to KAFD. The metro station “KAFD” is a museum of its own – designed and built by Zaha Hadid, it features multiple art installations including Alexander Calder’s Janey Waney and Robert Indiana’s LOVE. The Financial district is still very much under development but there were a few very architecturally interesting buildings and parks that were worth exploring. Interestingly, most buildings are connected via elevated bridges but also via monorail that is still under construction. In the afternoon, I visited Riyadh Park Mall and had lunch with my Saudi friend at Bateel cafe. 

At 20.00 I attended Al Nassr  (Ronaldo!) vs Al-Ettifaq football game at Al Awwal Stadium (R140 $37). Al Nassr team lost 2:3. Before buying tickets, I was asked which team I supported and my sex and the site generated the most appropriate seat options. Majority of fans were men, but everything went peaceful and cheerful. After the game, I met with my local friend for a late shawarma take out dinner at Mama Noura restaurant. Apparently, it is a very popular place. On the way back, we saw lots of cars flying Saudi flags and playing traditional songs on speakers in anticipation of the Founding Day celebration. 

Day 11. Riyadh.

Unlike many other countries, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia only recently introduced public holidays (four in total) and I was lucky to plan my trip during the Saudi Founding Day (February 22) – commemorating the establishment of the First Saudi State in 1727 by Imam Muhammad bin Saud. Many streets in Riyadh’s center were blocked for car traffic. No locals, including hotel staff, actually knew the exact time and locations of closures and that predetermined my plans. My flight to NYC (via Doha) wasn’t till 2 am but I checked out of the hotel at 3 pm, went to the airport (before they completely closed off the roads), and left my luggage at the T3 storage room (R110, $30 for one large/one small suitcase).

Then I went to the Saudi Cup 2025 ($50) at the King Abdulaziz racetrack. I am not that interested in the activities that use animals for human entertainment, but I thought it would be a unique cultural experience and it definitely lived up to my expectations. It felt like a healthy combination of sport competition, the Met gala and a high-end social club. Men and women were all dressed up in the most beautiful clothes from their places of origin within the kingdom (and it was ok to take photos of them). Foreign dignitaries, royal members, horse-lovers and simply tourists were all mingling together. The races, song and dance performances, social venues, exhibition halls and restaurant areas were very well designed and executed. There was a hall dedicated to modern Islamic dress design and I got to meet a few women – designers (Dawlah Alshehri) whose pieces of art were exhibited there.

The last race was around 20.30 and it bought a lot of attention mostly because of its prize money -$10,000,000 – the largest sum for one single race in the world, but also because the same horse, Forever Young, was competing to regained its crown of a champion. In a breathtaking race, it won the race. So after the crown prince MBS presented a trophy to the horse owner, it was time to leave. As with every event in KSA that ended late and involved lots of people, I had no luck in getting an Uber. A total stranger, leaving the Saudi Cup, stopped and offered me his help. He drove me to the airport and wished me a safe trip home. 

I spent a total of 4 full days in Riyadh, but there were so many more places I would have wanted to visit:

Some more comments:

1. I used Webook app to book tickets and find events. 

2. I wish I had time to try some of the hihome.sa activities.

3.  I found locals to be friendly, kind, curious, approachable and very nice. Majority spoke very good English. 

4. At no point during my trip I felt unsafe, harassed, asked for “bakshish”, cheated etc. It was one of the most relaxing trips I’ve taken. 

5. I enjoyed looking for tourists shops, not the other way around. 

6. Everything in KSA starts late and ends late, some museums and venues stay open till midnight. 

7. Useful sites: https://www.visitsaudi.com/en, https://www.timeoutriyadh.com/, https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowForum-g293991-i4477-Saudi_Arabia.html

More videos and photos.

Ma Salama! Best of luck to you, trip planners and remember, the time to visit the Kingdom is now.

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]]> https://svetanyc.com/2025/04/the-kingdom-of-saudi-arabia-february-2025/feed/ 0 Segorbe, Spain. August 2016 https://svetanyc.com/2016/08/segorbe/ https://svetanyc.com/2016/08/segorbe/#comments Mon, 15 Aug 2016 16:52:16 +0000 http://svetanyc.com/?p=4035 “Nine leagues from Valencia, on the old road from this city to Zaragoza, and five from Sagunto, where today the corridor connects with the railroad from Valencia to Barcelona to the west and near the famous Idubeda, there is a beautiful almost circular plain one and two leagues in diameter, surrounded by picturesque and even...

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]]> “Nine leagues from Valencia, on the old road from this city to Zaragoza, and five from Sagunto, where today the corridor connects with the railroad from Valencia to Barcelona to the west and near the famous Idubeda, there is a beautiful almost circular plain one and two leagues in diameter, surrounded by picturesque and even elegant mountains, irrigated by the Palancia river, with the copious fountain of Hope, which from its source carries more water than many streams called rivers, and by many other smaller springs. Within this valley on the north rises a hill almost vertically. Difficult to find a place more excellent and proper for the first settlers who came looking for pasture for their cattle, healthy and abundant food for their families, recreation for the eyes, stimulation to contemplate and safe and easy defense against all kinds of enemies…”

Bishop F. De Asis Aguilar in “News of Segorbe and its Bishophood”, 19th century.

Unless you are a hard-core Hispanophile with an itch to see every corner of Spain, you are unlikely to visit Segorbe, a small town in a mountainous province of Castellon, 50 kms from Valencia. However, there is a chance to end up there in September to witness the Bull Running Week (Semana de Toros), which allegedly attracts around 200,000 visitors each year or, like us, be invited to the friends’ wedding. Chris, our American-born groom, has paternal roots in the area near Segorbe so when we received an invitation, we got very excited. Short but very busy wedding weekend in Segorbe was a great start of our 10-day Andalusian vacation.

Literature.

History of Valencian Country.

Province of Castellon is a part of Valencian Country, 4th most populous autonomous community of Spain. The Greeks established colonies in the coastal towns of Saguntum and Dénia as early as the 5th century BC, where they traded and mixed with the local Iberian populations. After the end of the First Punic War between Carthage and Rome in 241 BC, the  Carthaginians occupied the whole region. The dispute over the hegemony of Saguntum, a Hellenized Iberian coastal city with diplomatic contacts with Rome, destroyed by Hannibal in 219 BC, ignited the Second Punic War, which ended with the incorporation of the region to the Roman Empire.

The Romans founded the city of Valentia in 138 BC, which throughout centuries overtook Saguntum in importance. After the fall of the Western Roman Empire, during the barbarian invasions, the region was first invaded by the Alans and finally ruled by the Visigoths, until the arrival of the Arabs in 711, which left a big footprint in the region, still visible in today’s Valencian landscape, food and culture. After the fall of the Caliphate of Cordoba, two main independent Taifas were established in the region, Balansiya and Dénia, along with a few other small and fleeting Taifas and the short lived Christian conquest of Valencia by El Cid.

But the origins of present-day Valencia date back to the Catalan–Aragonese colonization of the Moorish Taifa of Valencia, which was taken by James I of Aragon in 1238 during the Reconquista. The newly founded Kingdom of Valencia was granted wide self-government under the Crown of Aragon. The kingdom experienced golden age in the 14th-15th centuries, as it became the Crown’s economic capital (silk trade) and contributed with the most important works of medieval literature. It also acquired an immense political power with the ascension of the Valencian  House of Borgia in Rome. After the Expulsion of the Moriscos in 1609 by the Hispanic Monarchy, Kingdom of Valencia suffered an unavoidable decline as a third of its population and its main labor force were ousted out.

Self-government continued after the unification of the Spanish Kingdom, but was eventually suspended in 1707 by Phillip V of Spain due to the Spanish War of Succession. As the result, the institutions and laws created by the Furs of Valencia (Furs de València) were abolished and the use of the Valencian language was forbidden. Consequently, with the House of Bourbon, a new Kingdom of Spain was formed implementing a more centralized government and absolutist regime than the former House of Habsburg.

Valencian nationalism resurged towards the end of the 19th century, which led to the modern conception of the Valencian Country. However, the first attempt to re-gain self-government in modern-day Spain was during the Second Spanish Republic, in 1936, but the Civil War brought the project to a halt. Self-government under the Generalitat Valenciana was finally reestablished in 1982 after Spanish transition to democracy. The Valencian Statute of Autonomy states that Valencia is intended to be the modern notion of self-government combined with the traditional interpretation of Valencian identity, as being the successor to the historical Kingdom of Valencia.

August 11, 2016. 

My husband and I caught a very late flight from NYC to Madrid and arrived to Spanish capital at 9.05 on the following morning. At the customs, we were asked about our vacation plans and itinerary, and when we mentioned Segorbe as our first stop, everyone had a look of amusement or distrust. It isn’t hard to guess the follow-up question: “Why?”. After clearing the customs and picking up a rental car, we, tired after a sleepless overnight flight, but excited embarked on the 400 kms journey to the east. En-route, we passed innumerable fields of blooming sunflowers, which, depending on the time of the day and the sun location, would turn their “heads” always towards the sun.

About half-way to our destination, we passed through Molina de Aragon, dominated by one of Spain’s most spectacular castles. Located on a hill commanding the surrounding valley, it is formed by an external line of walls with four gates and numerous towers, which defends the internal fortress. It was built as a Moorish fortress in the 10th-11th centuries, over a pre-existing Celtiberian castle and was used as residence of the lords of the Taifa of Molina. El Cid resided here when he was exiled from Castile but when the castle was conquered from the Moors by Alfonso I of Aragon in 1129, it became the Lara family’s property.

After another 30 mins, we stopped in a small town of Monreal del Campo for lunch. The town of 2,636 inhabitants was established as a fortress somewhere between 1121 and 1124 by the King Alfonso I. It is home to the first military order founded in Spain as well as the scene of bloody battles in two of the Carlist wars of the 19th century. We went to La Dispensa de Monreal, a mix between a deli and a restaurant, which turned out to be a busy place for such an empty town. Because my husband went to the airport straight from his midtown Manhattan office, he was still wearing his formal suit pants and white office shirt. Humorously, not only did he look out of place at this deli but also some customers confused him with a waiter. Jamon (Spanish ham) & cheese sandwiches, topped by a slice of apple meringue pie were a hit with us. Undeniably, food tastes so much better once you enter Europe (or maybe leave the US). Refueled by food and strong Spanish coffee, we continued to our final destination.

Once we reached Segorbe, we found our hotel, Martin El Humano, parked the car (no problem with parking) and after checking-in, spent the entire afternoon napping. The hotel turned out to be very nice, a former convent converted into a hotel and spa, with large event facilities. The rooms and services varied but were very satisfactory. One comment though, the entire hotel had only one iron, which was really hard to get hold of as most of the 100 wedding guests stayed there and needed it at pretty much the same time. Our friend Joel, joined us in Segorbe from NYC and he brought his little Pomeranian dog Sam with him, which almost caused him a trouble. No, Segorbe isn’t a pet friendly place.

History and layout of Segorbe. 

Return to the epigraph, written by Bishop F. Aguilar at the end of the 19th century in his work “News of Segorbe and its Bishophood.” And, indeed, if one thing stands out about Segorbe, then it is its privileged geographic position, next to the Palancia river, on the natural route that unites the coast with the highlands of Teruel and on a wide hill (the hill of Sopeña) that rolls towards the valley, fertilized by abundant fountains and springs. Sopeña has been throughout the history focus of cultures and center of the population. Its plateau-shaped form, with pending pronouncements that offer a perfect defense against possible enemies and its dominion of the valley that surrounds it, give it an unbeatable strategic position, and explain why the summit was occupied permanently from the Pre-historical time. Although the scale of successive buildings at the top have covered or destroyed the oldest levels, the archaeological remains confirm the existence of the first settlement during the Bronze Age. Later, in the Iberian Period, numerous remains of ceramics corroborate the hypothesis that the summit continued to be inhabited, however, with the exception of ceramic fragments, there aren’t any other vestiges left.

The original name of Segorbe is thought to be Segobriga. The meaning of the root “Seg” (as that of the Germanic word “seig”) is “victory” or “force”, which, according to one theory, characterizes the city. The ending “briga”, meanwhile, is a word of Celtic origin that means “strength”. Another of the theories about the origin of the name of Segobriga is offered by Bishop Aguilar in his book “News of Segorbe and its Bishophood” (Aguilar, 1890) in which he reports that the Iberians called this city Segorb, which in that language would be equivalent to “Elevated City or City High”. Later, says Aguilar, with the arrival of the Celts and their fusion with the Iberians, it would form the  settlement, called Segobriga.

We can say that the Romanization of the Upper Palancia was profound. At the foot of the old causeway that connected the coast (Saguntum) with the interior on its way to Bilbilia (Calatayud), the Roman era brought an important development of the entire Palancian valley. Plenty of remains preserved in several regional towns and other artifacts currently missing but mentioned in ancient sources (ceramics, coins and tombstones) could testify this fact. And even though the hill of Sopeña continued to be occupied, most of the population descended towards the valley in search of the fertile lands of the plain. The most important fact of Segobriga in the Visigothic era, is the historical record of the existence of its episcopal seat, inasmuch as in 546 the Valentinian Council was celebrated and attended by the Segobrian prelate, according to various sources. When the king Reccared I renounced  Arianism in favor of Catholicism in 587, it was celebrated, in 589 at the 2nd Council of Toledo. The first known bishop of Segorbe was Proculo who occupied seat 28 in this council and from then on, there are references of the attendance to almost all the Councils of Toledo on the part of the bishops of Segorbe.

When in the 8th century Moors arrived from the North Africa, Segorbe was a small rural town that, protected by its castle, extended its territory along the skirts of the hill. Narrow alleys, squares, bends and houses clustered in the slopes do not hide today the Muslim origin of the old town. Segorbe was the residence of Zayd Abu Zayd, the last Almohad governor of Valencia, but after his conversion to Christianity, town turned into a base for the conquest of Valencia in 1238. Later, in 1245, James I incorporated Segorbe to the Aragonese crown after a pact with Zayd, in which it remained until the 15th century. In 1435 it became part of the royal estates of the Kingdom of Aragon, when the king Ferdinand I of Aragon made his eldest son, Enrique I, the first lord of Segorbe, duke of Villena, count of Empúries and count of Alburquerque. Among the most notable lords of Segorbe are Doña Maria de Luna, Queen of Aragon, wife to King Martin (through whom the Segorban Alcázar became a royal residence), and the first Duke of Segorbe, Enrique de Aragón y Pimentel, who was responsible for several improvements to the castle. These included building new quarters, decorating the chapel “Our Lady of La Leche” with rich ornaments, and adding columns of marble; Martín de Viciana noted it was “… very beautiful with many pieces and beautiful and well-styled rooms…”

After the Middle Ages, the city continued to be an urban center of some importance. The beginning of the 19th century, brought a slow decline, first to the central government, and later the failed industrialization (primarily textile base) led to economic stagnation. Nevertheless, the 19th century was still rich in facts  – Segorbe was the second Spanish city to have public electricity and the area gave Spain a lot of important characters, such as Canonigo D. Miguel Cortes, a liberal who participated in the Cortes de Cadiz, several Segorbinos gained the post of provincial governors (D. Gonzalo Valero or Mantero), some became scientists (botanist D. Carlos Pau) or famous explorers and engineers (D. Julio Cervera and Bavier).

Segorbe also contributed to be the Episcopal Seat that is associated today with famous personages like Benedict XIII (the Pope Moon), as well as Rodrigo de Borgia, later Alexander VI, the bishops Cano, Ahedo and Fray Luis Amigo. What I found to be very interesting is that Segorbe is still a duchy, and the present holder of the dukedom is Don Ignacio de Medina y Fernández de Córdoba, Duke of Segorbe, who is married to Princess Maria da Gloria of Orléans-Braganza.

The modern town of Segorbe (population is 9,000 people) is immersed in a fertile plain, washed by the Palancia river. It is a special place that takes you almost immediately to medieval times, yet still lurking in its corners are the remnants of different cultures – Romans, Muslims and Christians. Its medieval layout conceals several architectural gems, like the cathedral, and the vestiges of the ancient wall. The remains of the castle, located on the neighboring hill of La Estrella, recall the regal origins of Segorbe. The square of Agua Limpia (“Clean water”), so-named because of the plentiful springs found in the area, is the heart of the town. Plaza is framed by the City Hall, built in the 16th century to serve as the palace of the Duke of Medinaceli.

The cathedral was built in a Gothic style, and later remodeled following Neoclassical canons. Its interior has seven chapels and a beautiful cloister, and guards a precious codex down in the archives, as well as a collection of paintings in its museum. Several churches stand out in the medieval layout of the city: the churches of San Pedro, San Martín, San Joaquín and Santa Ana. From its defensive past, the town still preserves the circular tower of Botxí and the prison’s tower, which used to be a part of the ancient wall along with the arch of Verónica. But if you crave more sights to see, there are also Cathedral Museum and Crypts, the Museum of Archeology and Ethnology and Museum of Olive Oil.

After a well-deserved rest, we went out for pre-wedding drinks to  Gastroadictos, a very cozy and trendy “wine and tapas” place, located in the cul-de-sac Carrer Palau. Since we were attending a wedding of our Oxford friends, we expected to see a lot of classmates and it was true indeed. So, we had a fun night catching up with people.

August 12, 2016.

Today, all guests were invited to attend a “Paella + Jamon pre-wedding lunch” located in La Vall d’Uixó (30 mins drive). At around noon, we were all bussed to the covered pick-nick area right next to the Caves of St. Joseph (Coves Sant Josep). Apparently, it is home to Europe’s largest underground river (2,750 ms long), 800 m of which are suitable for tourist visits. We should have gone on a boat ride around the caves, had we known that the lunch would slowly turn into dinner and then into a post-dinner drinking party. However, when we figured out that we wouldn’t be leaving till late night, all tickets were already sold out.

On a high note, the groom’s uncle is a paella chef so the setting and food were an excellent way to savor the real Valencian paella (Valencia is where this dish originated, so don’t trust Sevillanos advertising their paella as “original”). The dish was cooked before our eyes on three large flat pans (another fun fact – ‘la paella‘ is the name for cooking pan itself and not the dish), and once it was ready and the legs of jamon were sliced, the fiesta began…. all the way till 23.00. I got to hang out with all my friends and meet the groom’s Spanish dad and his lovely Armenian mom.

August 13, 2016. 

Today I had a special treat, Carlos, a friend of mine from Barcelona, was going to drive to Segorbe to see me and meet my husband. We met in Venezuela, while trekking and paddling towards the world’s tallest waterfall, Salto Angel, but the  last time I saw Carlos was in 2007, when I came to visit him in Barcelona. So our meet-up was long overdue. And it was definitely a highlight of my trip to Spain too! Carlos came around 11 and since I had a few free hours, we ventured into the city, that I still saw very little of. We simply walked and talked.

First of all, we passed by the town’s botanical garden, then we reached the main square, plaza de Agua Limpia, home to Segorbe’s Town Hall (El Ayuntamiento). Former Palace of the Dukes of Segorbe, it was built in the first half of the 16th century by King Alfonso of Aragon and Sicily (who was the second Duke of Segorbe and son of the “Infant Fortuna”) and it was bought by the city council in 1864. Two Mudejas style pieces can still be admired inside: a door with a tracery pattern, and the coffered wooden ceiling of the assembly room, which is an impressive wooden craftwork with octagonal coffers and four-point stars. Both pieces reveal the splendor and luxury that the Mudejar style had in those days. Three marble and jasper entranceways from Cartuja de Valdecristo in Altura, rescued from the  ecclesiastical confiscation instigated by Mendizabal, can also be seen in the City Hall. The assembly hall of the Casino of Segorbe, with its Italian style wooden coffered ceiling with squared coffers and eight-point stars, is located just below the City Hall’s assembly room.

Once we reached Calle Colon, it was hard to miss the imposing Cathedral Basilica of Segorbe (aka Cathedral of the Assumption of Our Lady of Segorbe (Santa Iglesia Catedral de Segorbe) (p.12). Actually, it is a set of buildings comprised of the Cathedral (transformed from Valencian Gothic into  Neo -Classical style in the 18th century), the lower Cloisters (15th century) the upper Cloisters (16th century) and the adjoining premises of the old Archive (17th century), the New Library (18th century), the sacristies and the houses (19th century). The Cathedral built over the remains of the old mosque after the conquest of these lands by the Crown of Aragon, was designed in Gothic style around the 12th century. Attached to the southern wall of the city, the Cathedral was lengthened to the north in later centuries. The last major renovation work took place in the 18th century to suit the Enlightenment trend of the time. The cathedral is an artistic ensemble comprising church, Bell Tower, cloister and Cathedral Museum. The church has transformed its appearance in successive enlargements, adding new styles according to the trends of the moment in which they were made. Outstanding is the refurbishment carried out between 1791 and 1795 by architect Vicente Gasco, while Lorenzo Gomez de Haedo was bishop of Segorbe. Materials salvaged from the Castle of Sopena were used to rebuilt the church. It has become the only pure Academic style example of religious architecture in Spain. Inside the nave, visitors can admire paintings of Jose Vergara, and frescoes on the dome by Manuel Camaron and Luis Planes. Built between the 13th and 14th centuries on the trapezoidal ground-plan due to its proximity to the walls, the quiet and peaceful Gothic cloister invites the visitor to meditate. Seven of the original chapels are still preserved around the cloister. Particularly impressive is the Chapel of the Savior (16th century) which can be found behind the golden baroque door from Cartuja de Valdecristo, framed in a beautiful Gothic entranceway. Inside, visitors can also admire the breathtaking Valterra Tomb and the great main altarpiece of the Cathedral (16th century) which is considered a key work of the Spanish Renaissance by the famous Valencian painter Vicente Macip and his son Juan de Juanes. The Cloisters how house the Cathedral Museum and it is one of the most important collections of holy art in the Valencian community. It holds a major collection of religious art, including painting, sculpture, gold and silverware, ornaments and other objects. An essential collection of Valencian art of the Gothic, Renaissance, Baroque and Neo-Classical periods, with works by Joan Reixach, Pere Serra, Martin Torner, Rodrigo de Osona, Vincente Macip, Juan de Juanes, Juan Ribalta, Gaspar Huerta, Vicente Lopez, Jose Camaron, etc. as well as a relief by Donatello (15th century), a triptych of Limoges enamels (16th century) and religious ornaments and gold and silverware (15th to 20th centuries).

Following the old narrow streets, we came to another church – Church of San Joaquin and Santa Ana (Iglesia de San Joaquin y Santa Ana). Solemnly blessed in 1695, the church is all that remains of the former monastery of the Order of Mercy. It features a single nave and chapels between the buttresses. This Church is a prime example of Baroque exuberance in Segorbe for its rich Baroque decoration, the profusion of stucco carving, the ornamental motifs of leaves, rosettes, cherubs and supporters of coat of arms, as well as the abundance and beauty of its sgrafitto. The exterior shows an interesting play of proportions and a fine facade chapel flanked by the Bell Tower and a steep staircase that gives access to the church. Although the author is unknown, for style reasons the authorship could be attributed to Perez Castiel and his assistants.

We were at the foot of the hill-castle of Estrella (Cerro-Castillo de la Estrella) (p.9). Sopena hill was the center of power of the Alto Palancia district for more than 1000 years. Throughout its history, this enormous complex was inhabited by kings and nobles, surrounded by thick walls, watch towers and armed men for defense. Nowadays, it bears no resemblance to the idealized image depicted on the altarpiece of the High Altar of the Cathedral. Next to the remains of the last reconstruction made in the 19th century during the Carlist Wars, only old pine trees are solely dedicated to provide shade to a wonderful walks that run through the hilltop, making it the most tranquil place in Segorbe. It is, nevertheless, substantially different from the past: there are no kings or nobles fearful of their fate now, just ordinary citizens looking for the caresses of the wind in spring, for the summer shade, or the sounds of the slow paces of the autumn leaves, or even the solitude of silence in winter.

The Moorish leader Barani of the Sinhaya confederacy built the first Alcazar, which stood as an important stronghold for centuries here. The first document references to the Castle of the Star dates back to 1092, when the emir of Valencia, al-Qadir, ordered that his treasures were kept here. It was ceded to James I of Aragon by Muslim king Zayd Abu Zayd, when he became Christian and was declared an ally and the vassal of the king, becoming the governor of Valencia on his behalf in 1229. Another reference has survived from 1257, when James I charged Guillermo de Anglesola with the custody of the castle and obligation to keep an 8-men garrison there and to pay a certain annual rent. In the 14th century the old fortress was turned into a royal residence, when Dona Maria de Luna of Segorbe married the king of Aragon, Martin “the Humane”, who spent long periods of time here. When the king died without an heir, Segorbe Castle came into the hands of his grandson Don Fardique, an illegitimate son of Don Martin of Sicily, and it was immersed in the affair of the Caspe Commitment, during which Segorbe played an important role by taking the side of its legal lord, and in the historical records, the castle was mentioned repeatedly as a place where the treaty was signed. However, the real transformation of the castle into a permanent fortress and residence of dukes occurred during the rein of “Infante Fortuna” who reconstructed and expanded the castle.

When the dukes moved to the Aqua Limpia Palace, the Castle fell into disrepair. In the 18th century Bishop Lorenzo Gomez de Haedo decided to build a new hospital, by salvaging the stone from the Castle and using the materials for the new construction, thus completely destroying the Castle. Finally, over the course of the 19th century new defensive works were build on the Cerro de Sopena during the Carlist wars, the remains of which are all that is currently preserved. It was a truly serene place to walk around and enjoy the beautiful panoramic views of the city as well as the remains of the Castle.

At the top of the hill, Carlos and I met a recent refugee from Ukraine who with his family recently settled in the area. While my prior conversation with Carlos was about dire economical situation of Spain and its high unemployment rate, the Ukrainian man, who immigrated to a small village, was very content with his life and work, he was able to find. But he was especially fond of the Spanish history, culture and weather. I am sure, it was a big contrast with what he was used to in Ukraine.

We came down the hill and walked along the City’s Medieval Walls (Muralla) (p. 2). Almost a km long, walls extended from the castle were built sometimes prior to the 11th century. The growth of the city required constant restructuring of its walls and over the centuries they were modified and extended on multiple occasions. The remaining walls belong to the 14th century layout and can still be seen in Argen Street, where we found the panel framing the Moorish arches of the Portal of the Argen, the old gateway to the city, dating from the 11th century.

As we walked down, at the end of the wall, there are the remains of the Medieval Aqueduct (Acueducto) (P.4). The Arab world masterly resolved how to transport water from one place to another. The Aqueduct of Segorbe, dated between the 11th and 12th centuries, is another example of the exquisite works of engineering. However, the part which can still be seen today with its ogival arches belongs to the 14th century. One of its pointed arches was removed in the 19th century in order to widen the main road of the time. An iron channel was placed to allow the water flow from the Fountain of Hope.

That little square at the bottom of Del Argen Street, Plaza de los Mesones, was a busy place – beside the Aqueduct, its northern part is occupied by the Museum of Archeology and Ethnology (p.6), located in a magnificent building erected in 1892 by order of King Charles IV to house the troops defending the city. A tour around the museum shows the visitor the different cultures that have coexisted in these lands throughout history. The archeology section has 4 rooms grouped chronologically: Paleolithic, Copper and Bronze Ages, Iberian Culture and finally, Roman Age and Middle Ages. With clear descriptions of the specific characteristics of each era, exhibits range from utensils and tools used by humans almost since they appeared on Earth, to the materials used for their production and evolution. Flint and horn tools, bronze and ceramic utensils, traces of ancient customs, Iberian weapons, farming tools, vases, Roman coins, funerary inscriptions, medieval utensils, all take us back to the origins of the noble city of Segorbe. In the ethnological section, the archaic utensils reveal the rural culture, work and lifestyles of men and women of the Municipality throughout its existence. The section is subdivided according to craftwork and the materials used: pack saddles, wickerwork, crafted cane and wood, pottery, and a large collection of ceramics. Finally, visitors can find a room devoted to weights and measures in the times when a “codo” (elbow) was comprised of two plans, and a “palmo” (span) – twelve fingers: a journey back to the days when work required craft, patience and dedication. Still further down is the center of Re-enactment of the Medieval Towers (p.5)

As my time was running out, we proceeded back to the hotel and on the way stopped at the 14th century Prison Tower (Torre de la prisión). The doors are the weakest parts of the walls. In order to protect them, defensive towers were built on their sides. The clearest example in Segorbe is the Prison Tower, located next to one of the old city’s gateways, the Portal of Teruel. Externally, the tower is cylindrical with a lower body of larger diameter where the prisoner cells used to be located. The second body has a diameter of 8.7 m and it is internally divided into two-story octagonal sections, with cross Gothic vaults, arrow slits and communication to the terrace by a spiral staircase embedded in the wall. Its total hight is 21.3m.

By the time I got back to the hotel and said my goodbyes to Carlos, my make-up artist arrived. I was a bit skeptical about local beauty professionals (since I had a very bad experience in Venice), but the lady-artist, even though she didn’t speak English, did an amazing job for just €25, we communicated with pictures and gestures. After my husband and I got ready, considering the events of the previous night, we decided to drive to the venue, Hotel Masia Durba, ourselves. When we arrived, the place was beautiful – from the views to the set up and overall ambience.

It was a great fun to celebrate with Ingrid and Chris their nuptials and spend yet another evening with our old friends and classmates.

August 14, 2016.

Since Joel, was traveling with us in Andalusia, we had no time to waste, and after a speedy early brunch with a wedding party, we embarked on our next ride to Granada.

Segorbe photos. 

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]]> https://svetanyc.com/2016/08/segorbe/feed/ 2 Prague, Czech Republic. February 2016 https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/prague/ https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/prague/#comments Wed, 24 Feb 2016 16:10:10 +0000 http://svetanyc.com/?p=3606 “Whoever wants to live in Central Europe must never sober up.” Writer Bohumil Hrabal “Beer is a sign of national identity, a medium of camaraderie, a gift from heaven and a character from a story.” Craig Cravens The slim spires of Gothic architecture are the dominant feature of the Prague‘s centuries-old skyline, the city known as...

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]]> “Whoever wants to live in Central Europe must never sober up.” Writer Bohumil Hrabal

“Beer is a sign of national identity, a medium of camaraderie, a gift from heaven and a character from a story.” Craig Cravens

The slim spires of Gothic architecture are the dominant feature of the Prague‘s centuries-old skyline, the city known as “Hundred-Spired Prague”, (Stovezata Praha). And it was there I decided to spend a few days right after my 36th birthday, in February 2016. Beer, Bohemian glass and beautiful architecture are perhaps the first things that come to my mind when I think of Prague and Czech Republic in general. It was the first foreign country my mom visited in 1989 and back then, it seemed to her, as a Soviet citizen, to be the pinnacle of wealth and abundance. Of course, it felt different to me. One thing that caught me off guard was just how similar Belarusian, my mother-tongue, was to Czech language.

First of all, let’s get one thing straight – Czech republic is not located in Eastern Europe. Czechs never tire of pointing out that Prague lies to the west of Vienna and it is closer to Dublin than Moscow. It is indeed, the “Heart of Europe”! It is also the birthplace of Antonin Dvorak, Franz Kafka, the religious reformer Jan Hus, and the father of modern psycho-analysis Sigmund Freud.

Nearly three hundred castles and chateaux are scattered throughout the Czech lands and no other city possesses such a wealth of unspoiled historical structures from so many different periods. Countless European cities have been bombed and burnt and torn down and rebuilt again that their physical history survives in stray fragments or not at all. But Prague is the time’s showcase, exhibiting beautiful, eclectic bits from each successive era. Here, Gothic towers neighbor 11th-century courtyards, which lead to Baroque and Renaissance houses with 20th-century bullets embedded in their walls. Art Nouveau hotels abut formerly socialist department stores that now sell French perfume and American sneakers. Through a combination of luck, circumstance, and obstinance, Prague has stockpiled ten centuries of history.

Despite the manicured beauty of the city, I found its citizens to be depressed, indifferent or cynical. Czech national character was influenced by the small size and uncertain existence of the nation – a sense of national pride in an almost 300-year history of Hussitism and an acute sense of humiliation in another 300 years of subjugation. As a result, a pattern seemed to have developed: in times of assured statehood the Czech people strove for the ideals of humanity; in times of peril, they lowered their heads to save the national body. Pushing this argument even further, Chalupny, a Czech sociologist, suggested that the epoch of degradation created a sense of inferiority in the Czechs which is often repugnantly manifested as contemptuous rudeness to those beneath them and a fawning servility to those above them.

Literature.

History. 

The region was settled as early as the Paleolithic age. Around the 5th-4th centuries BC, the earliest inhabitants in the region of today’s Czech Republic were Celtic tribes known to the Romans as Boii, hence the word “Bohemia.” Around the area where present-day Prague stands, the 2nd century map of Ptolemaios mentioned a Germanic city called Casurgis. The first Slavs settled here in the 5th-6th centuries, having migrated from the northeast. The homeland of the ancient Slavs was present-day Ukraine and Belarus, however between the 4th and the 6th centuries, tribes of nomadic Huns invaded from the east pushing the Slavs down into the central and southeastern parts of Europe.

According to the Chronicle of Fredegar, some of the Slavs living on what is now Czech territory, mainly in southern Moravia, were exposed for a number of years to violence and marauding raids from the Avars, whose empire stretched across the territory of present-day Hungary. In 623, the Slavic tribes, united by the Frankish merchant Samo, revolted against the oppression. “So it happened that he self-founded the first Slavic empire. He married then twelve Slavic women, had with them twenty-two sons and fifteen daughters and happily ruled for 35 years. All other fights, which under his leadership Slavs fought with the Avars, were victorious,” the Frankish chronicler Reich (called Fredegar) wrote about Samo in the oldest extant written report by the Slavs in the Czech lands.

Later Samo and the Slavs came into conflict with the Frankish empire whose ruler Dagobert I wanted to extend his rule to the east, but Dagobert was defeated in the memorable battle of Wogastisburg in 631. After Samo’s death, his empire seems to have disappeared. Since it was created to unite Slavs to defend against Avars and Franks and to facilitate Slavic plundering expeditions against their neighbors, once the danger had passed, the united empire disintegrated. However, these remnants continued their further development and became the core foundation for the future Great Moravian Empire, which lasted until 907 and included Bohemia, Moravia, and parts of today’s Slovakia, Poland, Germany and Hungary.

In 863, the Great Moravian leader Rostislav (846-869) decided his denizens required the earthly and otherworldly benefit of Christianity. Fearing Germanic political expansion and moreover wanting the Gospel to be preached in Slavic rather than Latin, Rostislav asked the Byzantine Emperor Michael III (836-867) for religious and political aid, writing to him, “Though our people have rejected paganism and observe Christian law, we do not have a teacher who can explain to us in our language”. Emperor responded by dispatching two missionaries, the brothers Cyril and Methodius, to Moravia, who officially brought Christianity to the Slavs. Before their departure, Cyril, a linguist, philosopher, and diplomat, devised a written alphabet for the Slavic language called “Glagolitic” (during this early period, all Slavic languages were nearly identical). The alphabet was based on the Slavic dialect spoken in their hometown on the Balkan peninsula and was composed of a mixture of Greek and other eastern letters. Cyril’s followers created the simpler Cyrillic alphabet from Glagolitic, which is still used by Russia, Bulgaria, Serbia, Ukraine and Belarus.

Around 907 Germans and Hungarians destroyed the Great Moravian Empire. Bohemia became the seat of the Czech lands, and in 950 the Bohemian Kingdom became a fief of the Holy Roman Empire. Prince Borivoj presided over the new Czech state. He is the first historically documented member of the Premyslid Dynasty, which lasted from 870 to 1306. Borivoj was baptized by Methodius and moved his seat to Prague around 885. According to legend, Borivoj’s decision to be baptized was fairly pragmatic. Once on a visit to a Moravian prince, he was forced to sit beneath the dinner table and dine with other pagan guests since only Christians could sit at the table. When Methodius explained to Borivoj the manifold advantages and opportunities offered by Christianity, he had himself immediately baptized and returned to Bohemia with priests of the Slavic rite.

The next most renowned ruler of Bohemia is another Premyslid by the name of Prince Vaclav, or Wenceslas (in English), who was eventually canonized for his lifelong devotion to the church. Wenceslas was murdered by his brother and successor Boleslav I at a mass in 935 and was beatified as the patron Saint of the Czech lands. Wenceslas was not a warrior, and it was eventually his continual appeasement of the Germans that led his brother to take his life. Today his is a controversial figure, but most Czechs consider him a symbol of the essential “goodness” of the Czechs. His statue sits at the top of Wenceslas Square in Prague.

During the rule of the Premyslid dynasty, Prague became a major commercial area along Central Europe’s trade routes. In the 12th century, two fortified castles were built at Vysehrad and Hradcany, and a wooden plank bridge stood near where the stone Karlov (Charles) Bridge spans the Vltava today. Vaclavske namesti (Wenceslas Square) was a horse market, and the city’s 3,500 residents rarely lived to the age of 45. In 1234, Stare Mesto (Old Town), the first of Prague’s historic five towns was founded. Encouraged by Bohemia’s rulers, who guaranteed German civic rights to western settlers, Germans founded entire towns around Prague, including Mala Strana (Lesser Quarter) in 1257. Important to mention that the influx of German monks and priests into Bohemia proceeded apace and already by 1100, the Slavic Church officially ceased to exist, religiously and politically the Czechs allied themselves with Rome, and Latin replaced Slavic as the language of both liturgy and literature.

The Premyslid dynasty reached its zenith under Otakar II (1253-1278) when military conquests stretched Bohemia all the way to the Adriatic. In 1278, however, Rudolf of Habsburg killed Otakar. Bohemia and Moravia were plundered and occupied for 5 years, and all the southern territories were lost. Prague endured years of foreign occupation and invasion. Things eventually calmed down, and through various marriages and alliances, the Czech kingdom became an administratively sovereign state within the Holy Roman Empire. The Premyslid dynasty of the Czechs ended with the 1306 death of teenage Vaclav III, who had no heirs. After much debate, the throne was offered to John of Luxemborg, husband of Vaclav III’s younger sister, a foreigner who knew little of Bohemia. It was John’s firstborn son who left the most lasting marks on Prague.

The zenith of Bohemia’s medieval glory came under Karl IV (Charles IV), who was crowned King of the Czech lands in 1346, when his father died fighting in France, and is known as otec vlasti or the “Father of the Homeland”. He spoke and wrote in Czech, Latin, German, French, and Italian and is the only Czech to ever be elected Holy Roman Emperor. When Charles came to Prague, the castle was in ruins; he set about reconstructing the castle along with the entire city, summoning Europe’s foremost architects and transforming Prague into one of Medieval Europe’s preeminent cultural and commercial centers. He almost single-handedly ushered in Prague’s first golden age, making it the third-largest city in Europe (after Rome and Constantinople). He commissioned St. Vitus Cathedral construction at Prague Castle, as well as a bridge that would eventually bear his name. It was also King Charles who founded in 1348 the first university in Central Europe, Charles University, which was meant to follow the grand examples of the universities in Paris and Bologna.

While Charles IV was the most heralded of the Bohemian kings, the short reign of his son Vaclav IV was marked by social upheaval, a devastating plague, and the advent of turbulent religious dissent. One hundred years before Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the church door in Wittenburg, the Czech Jan Hus, a theologian and rector at the Charles University, preached in Prague (1369-1415) and led a proto-Protestant movement agitating for, among other things, church services conducted in Czech rather than Latin, communion in both kinds (with bread and wine) for lay persons, and a cessation of the selling of indulgences. Hus began preaching in the Bethlehem Church in Czech in 1402 and garnered a large following. Naturally, the ruling Catholics voiced their disapproval of Hus, and when he refused to obey, he was excommunicated. Hus was then summoned to Constance and promised safe conduct, but upon arrival, he was remanded into custody. When he refused to recant his teachings, Hus was accused of heresy and burned at the stake on July 6, 1415. Understandably, the Czechs were livid, the nobles proclaimed themselves Hussites, and the university publicly declared itself for communion in both kinds. The chalice became the symbol of the Hussite movement. Between 1416 and 1419 papal loyalists were expelled from churches in Prague and elsewhere and replaced by Hussites; church lands were seized and monasteries suppressed. This was the beginning of the Hussite revolution.

In response, the Catholic Habsburgs attacked in 1420, but the Hussites repulsed attack after attack by their better-armed foes, led by the one-eyed warrior Jan Zizka (1360-1424). Zizka made his army into the most feared in Europe. Simply the sound of his chanting soldiers was enough to strike terror into the opposing forces. Today, the statue of Jan Zizka on horseback, the largest equestrian statue in the world, sits atop Vitkov hill in Prague. Zizka began his military carrier blind on one eye, and an arrow eventually blinded the other. He fought his final battles totally blind and died of the plague in 1424 on the eve of a planned conquest of Moravia and Silesia. Procopius took his place and defeated the German in two great battles in 1427.

George of Podebrady was the last Czech kind, and his line was succeeded by the Belarusian-Polish Jagiellonian Dynasty. Then in 1526 the rule of the Czech lands passed to Ferdinand I of Habsburg, which began nearly four centuries of Habsburg rule over Bohemia, Moravia and Slovakia. Ferdinand undertook a process of centralization in his lands and tried to strike a balance between Protestants and Catholics. Habsburg Emperor Rudolf II (1552-1612) ascended to the throne in 1576 but uncharacteristically for a Hubsburg chose to live in Prague rather than Vienna. This led to what became Prague’s second golden age. Rudolf invited the great astronomers Johannes Kepler and Tycho Brahe to Prague and endowed the city’s museums with some of Europe’s finest art. The Rudolphinum, which was recently restored and houses the Czech Philharmonic, pays tribute to Rudolf’s opulence.

Rudolf was relatively tolerant to the city’s Jews, even hiring for a time the head of the Jewish community, Mordechai Maisel, to manage his financial affairs. Many of the splendors of Prague Jewish quarter, Josefov, were built during this time. Rudolf brought many benefits to Prague but ultimately failed to resolve the ever-present split between Catholics and Protestants, setting the stage for the coming Thirty Years’ War in Europe, a conflagration that eventually torched the entire continent and had no peer in terms of destruction until the World Wars of the 20th century. Prague has the dubious distinction as being the place where the war started. Conflicts between the Catholic Habsburgs and Bohemia’s ever-present Protestant nobility came to a head on May 23, 1618, when two Catholic governors were thrown out of the windows of Prague Castle, in the Second Defenestration.

Finally, on November 8, 1620, the Czechs were defeated at the battle of Bila Hora (White Mountain), the most devastating event in modern Czech history. The Habsburg Emperor Ferdinand quickly took revenge. He entered Prague and publicly executed 27 Czech nobles on the Old Town Square (27 crosses were installed on the ground of the square to commemorate this execution). The president of Charles University had his tongue cut out and nailed to the block before he was beheaded. The heads of 12 executed men were mounted on the tower of Charles Bridge for 10 years. Then the purges began. The indigenous Protestant nobility and intelligentsia were destroyed. Everyone either fled the country or converted to Catholicism, which became the only religion permitted in the kingdom. Bohemia’s population was reduced by half, its economy was in ruins, and German, rather than Czech, was made the official language of state. Czech was reduced to the language of cooks, peasants, and the countryside, while the Hubsburgs went on to rule over the Czech lands for the next 300 years.

In the late 18th century, a nationalistic movement swept across Europe, initiated primarily by a German philosopher, Johan Gottfried von Herder (1744-1803). Herder hypothesized that a nation was not simply a random group of people brought together by chance and ruled over by a leader. A nation was an ethnically distinct group, and each nation possessed its own specific characteristics. Naturally, this idea appealed greatly to the Czechs who were still under Habsburg rule and compelled to conduct their affairs in German. At the end of the 18th century, the Czechs began developing their own form of nationalism. In the 19th century, the Industrial Revolution drew Czechs from the countryside into Prague, where a Czech National Revival began. Some sought the salvation of the nation in the revitalization of the Czech language; others sought it in a revival of Hussitism and linked the people’s well-being to the spiritual demands of Christianity and its standards of morality; still others sought to capture in a romanticized poetic way the unique qualities of Slavdom.

As the economy grew, Prague’s Czech population increased in number and power, eventually overtaking the Germans by around midcentury. In 1866, the Czech people threw open the doors to the gilded symbol of their revival, the neo-Renaissance National Theater (Narodni divadlo), with the bold proclamation “Narod Sebe” (“The nation for itself”) inscribed over the proscenium. Then, in 1890, at the top of Wenceslas Square, the massive National Museum Building (Narodni muzeum) opened, packed with exhibits celebrating the rich history and culture of the Czech people.

During the National Revival, the Czechs were still under the Austrian Monarchy, and so they began agitating for more autonomy from Vienna. When WWI erupted in 1914, after the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand and his wife Sophie in Sarajevo, Czechs were in no way eager to fight for their Austrian overseers, although an estimated 1.4 million Czech soldiers fought in World War I, of whom some 150,000 died. When called up for service, many defected in droves and even formed a coordinated fighting force in Russia comprising of 90,000 volunteers, which became known as the Czechoslovak Legion. When the empire collapsed at the end of the war, the Czechoslovak republic was proclaimed in Prague on October 28, 1918, and on November 14, the National Assembly elected Tomas Masaryk (in absentia) the Republic’s first president.

Before the war, Masaryk was a famous public intellectual, philosopher, and proto-feminist (he took the last name of his American wife, Charlotte Garrigue, as his middle name). He taught philosophy at Charles University, and during the war fled first to Rome, then to Paris, where he, together with Edvard Benes (who succeeded Masaryk as president), founded the Czechoslovak National Council and then a provisional government in 1918. Viewed in retrospect, the audacity of this duo as it set out in the spring of 1915 to achieve an independent Czechoslovakia as manifest. There was no home front support. In Europe and America little was known about the Czech lands, and nothing at all of Slovakia. Of course, some readers of Shakespeare “knew” that according to “A Winter’s Tale”, Bohemia was on the shores of the Mediterranean Sea; lovers of music enjoyed the works of Smetana and Dvorak; and, most importantly of all, Prague ham was internationally popular. In the configuration of world politics, where expediency always gets more attention than justice, none of the Allied powers even considered dissolving the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Despite all odds, after prodigious work in Europe and America, Masaryk finally convinced the US, France and Britain of the workability of a united Czecho-Slovak State as a counterbalance to German and Austrian hegemony in Central Europe. The Pittsburg Agreement was signed in May of 1918, supporting the foundation of a united Czech and Slovak state. Finally on October 28, the new Czechoslovak Republic was declared with Prague as its capital, incorporating the lands of Bohemia, Moravia and Silesia and parts of the Kingdom of Hungary (Slovakia and the Carpathian Ruthenia) with significant German, Hungarian, Polish and Ruthenian speaking minorities.

Between the world wars (1918-1938), Czechoslovakia was an island of democracy, prosperity and freedom in Central Europe surrounded by authoritarian and fascist regimes. The First Czechoslovak Republic inherited only 27% of the population of the former Austria-Hungary, but nearly 80% of the industry, which enabled it to successfully compete with Western industrial states. In 1929 compared to 1913, the gross domestic product increased by 52%. It was the tenth most industrialized country in the world, comprising of more than 14 million people (with a nationality breakdown, according to the 1930 census, of 5,5 million Czechs, 3,5 million Slovaks and 3,2 million Germans, etc.). During the early years, the leaders of the republic devoted themselves to harmonizing the demands of these various nationalities and at the same time transforming the country in a modern European nation.

With the arrival of the Great Depression, however, industrial reforms lagged due to lack of money and resources, and ethnic conflicts exacerbated. The Slovaks and Ukrainians felt they had not been granted the degree of autonomy they have been promised, and by the middle of the 1930s, a large number of Czechoslovakia’s German-speakers – who were massed mainly along the German and Austrian borders in the so-called Sudetenlands – were claiming discrimination by the Czechs and agitating for secession from Czechoslovakia to link up with Greater Germany. In the 1935 elections, Konrad Henlein, the leader of the Sudeten German Party (which he founded in 1933), won 67.4% of all German votes, and the party thereby became the most powerful group in the Czechoslovak parliament. At the behest of Adolf Hitler, Henlein made increasingly racial demands on the Czechoslovak government, demanding complete autonomy for the Sudetenlands and that they be placed under Hitler’s direct protection. In May of 1938, his party won 92% of all German votes in Czechoslovakia.

Germany annexed Austria in March of 1938, and all the German political parties in Czechoslovakia, except the Social Democrats, refused to participate in the Czechoslovak government. In April of 1938, Henlein repeated and escalated his demands, and the Czechoslovak government offered yet further concessions. Henlein, however, refused to negotiate and fled to Germany. Hitler officially declared his support for a self-determined Sudetenland on September 12, 1938. When Hitler pressed, Britain and France, anxious to avoid war, urged Benes, then the president of Czechoslovakia, to relent and surrender the Sudetenlands. On September 29, 1938, the dictators of Germany and Italy and the PMs of Britain and France gathered together in Munich to sign the so-called Munich Agreement, according to which Czechoslovakia was to surrender to Germany its borderlands. The Czechs were neither invited nor consulted. The British PM Neville Chamberlain defended the decision to give the Czechs to Hitler in an infamous radio address: “How horrible, fantastic, incredible it is that we should be digging trenches and trying on gas-masks here because of a quarrel in a faraway country between people of whom we know nothing.” A little less than a year later, Britain was digging trenches.

The capitulation precipitated on outburst of national indignation. In demonstrations and rallies, the Czechoslovaks demanded the government stand strong and defend the integrity of the state. A new cabinet, under General Jan Syrovy, was installed, and on September 23, a decree of general mobilization was issued. The Czechoslovak army was highly modernized and possessed an excellent system of frontier fortification. The Soviet Union announced its willingness to come to Czechoslovakia’s assistance if the Western powers would join the fray. The West, however, declined, and the President Benes resigned, fled to London, and created a Czechoslovak government in exile. At the time of Munich both voices spoke: the one, to defend Czechoslovakia’s humanistic convictions by military means; the other, to preserve them by passive moral resistance. Of course, the dilemma was never that simple: there were too many unknowns. Benes had grave doubts about the army’s ability to offer meaningful resistance; he believed that resistance was suicidal, and he wanted the nation to live. His opponents saw in capitulation the preservation of the nation but without honor, without dignity, without ideals. What neither side fully realized was that in capitulation, the nation suffered both death and demoralization.

On September 30, 1938, at 17.00, General Syrovy went before the microphone to announce the nation’s capitulation to its people. He said that sometimes it was more difficult to live than to die for one’s country. Millions of people shared his view, unable yet to see that it would be more difficult to vegetate in the ruins of a country that for years had believed in freedom and progress. In 1918, Czechoslovakia gained independence without firing a shot, twenty years later, on October 1, 1938 the nation was conquered without firing a single shot.

In the final analysis, the decision to capitulate was exclusively the responsibility of the Czechoslovak government. Taking into consideration all the aspects of such decision, its immediate as well as its far-ranging consequences, the dilemma is fundamentally reduces to the question of political ethics. Does a nation have a moral obligation to defend its rightful position against violence, even in the most adverse circumstances? Or is it morally justified in attempting to assure its biological survival, to “live to fight another day”, at the cost of even the temporary loss of its moral integrity and fundamental values? Czechoslovak historians have engaged in the Munich controversy ever since the signature of their government appeared on the Munich dictate. Those who try to justify the capitulation point to what the devastating consequences of resistance would have been; those who favor opposition to German aggression find support for their position in the subsequent demoralization of the nation. Other scholars analyze the Munich disaster in the light of the class struggle and see the capitulation as a deliberate act of treason. It is certain that Munich was a catastrophe for Czechoslovakia, which haunts the conscience of its people whenever they country faces similar critical decisions, as it had on two occasions since 1938.

Czechoslovakia lost one-third of its territory along its western and northern borders, which included its best military reinforcements, natural defenses and vast economic resources. At the incitement of Hitler, Poland and Hungary took advantage of the situation to seize long-disputed border territories. Altogether, Czechoslovakia lost 4.8 million people, one-fourth of whom were Czechs. The Slovaks, too, benefited of the Czech’s weakness, and ancient and recent grievances against the Czechs came bubbling to the surface – Slovaks always felt like the second-class citizens in the First Czechoslovak Republic. So they declared an autonomous government and elected Josef Tiso as their president. On March 13, 1939 Hitler summoned Tiso to Berlin, and the following day the Slovak Diet convented and unanimously declared Slovak independence. Tiso immediately banned all opposition political parties and instituted Nazi-inspired censorship, as well as the deportation of Jews (during the war, over 73,000 Slovak Jews were sent to concentration camps).

Not content with the Czechoslovak borderlands, Hitler marched into Prague on March 15, 1939 and announced from the Prague castle the creation of the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia. Officially, the Protectorate was an independent state within the German Reich, but this was only on paper. The Czech government had no power in matters of defense, foreign affairs, or economics. In reality, the Protectorate was a puppet government under the Hitler’s control. Emil Hacha, the nominal Czech president appointed by Hitler, did his best to keep concessions to the Germans to a minimum. He compared the situation of the Czech people in the Protectorate to finding yourself in a locked room with a dangerous madman, advising: all you can do is obsequiously agree and pretend to follow orders, so the madman doesn’t throw himself on you; at the same time keep your eye on the door and wait for it to open to freedom. The people, though again humiliated, were this time clearly in no position to rebel and, with what was nearly a sign of relief, settled into the grim and total reality of occupation. From now on, there would be no burden of moral choice. However, in a world of crime it’s impossible to remain on the outside. Many things explain the attitude of the Czechs, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t affected by what happened. They bore a sense of shared guilt, though they might not have been aware of it.

The silver lining to occupation rather than military defeat, however, was that the city of Prague, unlike many capitals of Europe during WWII, suffered only minor damage. The Germans needed Czechoslovakia’s armaments industry and agriculture for their war. Thus, the widespread terror and destruction didn’t exist. Throughout the occupation, Czech books continued to be published, and films continued to be made. As under the Austrians, German was the officially recognized language of the Protectorate, but signs were in both Czech and German. Terror was used mainly against intellectuals, Communists and Jews. In September 1941, Reinhard Heydrich of the Nazi SS was appointed Deputy Reich Protector of Bohemia and Moravia. He established his headquarters in Prague and soon after created a concentration camp in the town of Terezin, or Theresianstadt, an old Bohemian fortress town 48 kms north of Prague. Heydrich expelled the Czech population of the town in November 1941 and transformed it into a camp for Jews from the Protectorate.

Terezin was seen by the world as a “model” concentration camp. In 1944 the Red Cross was invited to inspect it, and the results can be seen in the movie “Theresienstadt”. Actually, Terezin was a way station on the journeys to the camp at Auschwitz. Of 139,517 inhabitants of the camp between 1941 and 1945, 87,063 were transported to the east. Also 33,521 people died there over the same period. In a surreal twist, however, cultural life in the camp flourished. The inmates published newspapers and schooled their children. Classical music concerts took place, and 25 theatrical productions were performed, often with very elaborate set designs. One was Smetana’s “The Bartered Bride”, which had its Terezin premier in 1943. Please read more about it in my “Terezin, Czech Republic. February 2016” blog.

In May of 1942, Czech commandoes who had been trained in London parachuted into Prague and assassinated Heydrich. As a reprisal, the Gestapo and SS hunted down and murdered the Czech agents, resistance members, and anyone suspected of involvement in Heydrich’s death – over 1,000 people were executed. In addition, Hitler ordered the small Czech mining village of Lidice to be destroyed. All 172 men and boys over age 16 in the village were shot on June 10, 1942. The women were deported to Savensbruk concentration camp where most died. 90 young children were send to the camp at Gneisenau, with some taken later to Nazi orphanages if they looked German enough. The town itself was then destroyed, building-by-building, with explosives and then completely leveled until not a trace remained. Grain was planted over the flattened soil, and the name was erased from all German maps. Later, Germans would use the same method in Belarus and Ukraine, sans deportation, as it became too costly and time consuming – they simply burnt all citizens alive, eradicating over 5,295 villages in Belarus alone.

In May of 1945, as US army liberated the western part of the country, General George Patton was told to hold his troops at Plzen and wait for the Soviet army to sweep through Prague because of the Allied Powers’ agreement made in Yalta months before. On May 9, 1945, the Soviet army freed Prague and an estimated 140,000 Soviet soldiers died in liberating Czechoslovakia from German rule. On his return from exile in England, Edvard Benes ordered the expulsion of 2,5 million Germans from Czechoslovakia and the confiscation of all their property. Meanwhile, the Czechoslovak government, exhausted and bewildered by fascism, nationalized 60% of the country’s industries and many looked to Soviet-style Communism as a new model. It is easy to understand why. The Czechs and Slovaks recalled the betrayal by the West at Munich; they also recalled the problems of capitalism during the Great Depression; finally the Soviet Union had the psychological advantage because it was the Red Army that had liberated Prague. After WWII, Communism was extremely popular throughout Europe. Right-wing fascism was the great evil of the 20th century, and many thought capitalism had been instrumental in the rise of fascism.

After the war, the Soviet Union had taken over all of Central and Eastern Europe. As Winston Churchill put it: “From Stettin in the Baltic to Triest in the Adriatic, an iron curtain has descended across the continent. Behind that line lie all the capitals of the ancient states of Central and Eastern Europe.” In Czechoslovakia, the Communists were close to holding a majority in the parliament. Then in the parliamentary elections of 1946, the Czech Communist Party garnered nearly 38% of the vote, the largest share obtained by any party. At this point, it was simply another political party, but as soon as the Communists seized power, they arranged a putsch in February 1948 with staged demonstration and strikes. The non-Communist ministers resigned, as did president Benes; and Jan Masaryk, the son of the founder of Czechoslovakia who was at the time the Foreign Minister, fell from his office’s window to his death. It is not clear whether his death was a homicide or a suicide. After February 1948, Czechoslovakia became a Soviet satellite until November 1989. The government staged elaborate mock trials, imprisoning and executing thousands of innocent people in an attempt to secure its power through fear, intimidation and murder. The only woman to be officially executed was Matilda Horakova, a former member of Parliament and one of the most prominent Czech feminists of the interwar period. The most notorious political trial was the Slansky Process, 1951-1952, in which the Jewish deputy premier Rudolf Slansky, who had ordered Horakova’s death, was executed on charged of an antigovernment conspiracy. A mother of my friend Philip, Zuzana Justman wrote and directed a documentary based on this events, called “A Trial in Prague”.  Even after Stalin’s death in 1953 and Nikita Khrushchev’s historic denunciation of Stalin at the 20th Party Congress in 1956, political terror didn’t abate in Czechoslovakia until the 1960s and the advent of the Prague Spring.

The thaw finally came about in the Czech lands partially due to the agricultural disasters of collectivization of the 1950s; workers were unhappy that the enormous constructive activity did not lead to an improvement in their living standards or quality of life. By 1963, the economy was so bad that Czechoslovakia actually had a negative growth rate. Social criticism arose in the 1960s among students and the intelligentsia, who called for political and economic changes. A man named Alexander Dubcek became the head of the Communist party of Czechoslovakia in March of 1968, and this is technically the beginning of the Prague Spring. Censorship ceased to exist, and there was a great outpouring of public sentiment against the government. Over a few months, Czechs and Slovaks challenged the official policies of the Communist government and made plans for dramatic changes in public life. What they wanted was a form of socialism better suited to what they considered their own democratic traditions and their historic links with the West. Milan Kundera wrote of the Prague Spring: “The Czech nation tried to create at last (and for the first time in its own history as well as in the history of the world) a socialism without the all-powerful secret police, with freedom of the written and spoken word, public opinion that was heeded and served as the basis for politics, a freely developing modern culture, and people without fear; it was an effort in which Czechs and Slovaks stood again for the first time since the end of the Middle Ages in the center of world history and addressed their challenge to the world”.

The new brand of socialism became known as “socialism with a human face”. It was not capitalism they wanted, but socialism with no censorship and with no limitation of civil liberties. In June, 1968, came a statement called “2,000 Words” which became the most eloquent document of that period. It shook the top echelon of the Party, even among the supporters of the reform movement, and it created a furor in Moscow. The statement was addressed to “workers, farmers, scientists, artists and all people” and was signed by some 150 persons, including prominent scholars, writers, and artists, 3 Olympic champions, and most importantly, perhaps, by many workers and farmers. It contained a scathing attack on the past practices of the Party, which had caused it to become a “power organization… attractive to egotists, avid for rule, to calculating cowards and to people with bad consciences.” In this situation, it continued, “Parliament forgot how to proceed; the government forgot how to govern and the directors how to direct… Still worse was that we all but lost our trust in one another. Personal and collective honor declined.” Then pointing to the many officials who still opposed change, the appeal insisted that there must be no slackening of effort, that the “aim of humanizing this regime” must be fulfilled. “Let us demand the resignation of those who have misused their power… who have acted brutally or dishonestly… Let us establish committees for the defense of freedom of expression.” As to fears of outside intervention, “2,000 Words” stated, “faced with all these superior forces, all we can do is to start nothing but attempt to hold our own. We can assure our government that we will back it – with weapons if necessary – as long as it does what we give it the mandate to do, and we can assure our allies that we will observe our alliances, friendship, and trade agreements.” The statement concluded with what was to prove an ironic prophecy: “The Spring has now ended and will never return. By winter, we will know everything.”

Czechs and Slovaks began to air their grievances and came to terms with their Stalinist past, and art flourished like never before. But this didn’t last long. Dubcek and his supporters found themselves caught between the escalating radical appeals of their people and the increasingly conservative demands of the leader of the Soviet Union, Leonid Brezhnev. Finally on August 21, 1968, more than 200,000 Warsaw Pact troops rolled into Prague to bring the Czechs back into line. Believing that they’d be welcomed as liberators, these soldiers from the Soviet Union, Poland, East Germany, Bulgaria and Hungary were bewildered when angry Czechs confronted them with rocks and flaming torches. 58 people were killed and the hopes of an entire generation were crushed. Dubcek was forced to repeal his reform doctrines in Moscow, and when he returned to Prague, he was replaced by Gustav Husak. 14,000 Communist officials and 500,000 party members refused to renounce their beliefs in reform and were summarily expelled from the Communist Party. This was the end of the Prague Spring and the beginning of “Normalization”. There was little armed resistance to the invasion and subsequent totalitarian rule, but there was some passive resistance. In January 1969, a student named Jan Palach set himself on fire to protest the invasion, and his suicide was to be followed by the self-immolation of other students until Soviet forces withdrew. On his deathbed, however, Palach, in extreme agony, urged and finally convinced the students not to carry out the plan.

Husak’s regime demanded obedience and conformity in all spheres of life. He returned the country to an orthodox command economy, emphasizing industry and central planning, and increased ties with the Soviet Union. In the 1980s, nearly 80% of Czechoslovakia’s foreign trade was with Communist countries, 50% of which was with the USSR. Czech culture was stifled when strict censorship was reinstituted, and intellectual life in general was purged of critical thinking. An estimated half million people were removed from official positions, and thousands emigrated.

The most common attitudes toward public life after the 1968 invasion were apathy and passivity. Most Czechoslovak citizens ignored public political life and retreated during the 1970s into private consumerism, seeking scarce material goods – new cars, country houses, household appliances, and access to sporting events and entertainment. Unlike in other Communist countries such as Poland, the Czechoslovak resistance movement was small; but a few organized dissident groups were active. The most famous called itself Charter 77, a “loose, informal and open association of people” committed to human rights. On January 6, 1977, their manifesto appeared in newspapers throughout the West. It was signed by 243 people – among them, artists, former public officials, and other prominent figures, including the country’s most famous dissident, Vaclav Havel. The group became the focus for the regime’s reprisal, when signatories were arrested, interrogated, and dismissed from their places of employment.

In 1989 the Communist governments in Central and Eastern Europe collapsed. Following the reforms of Michail Gorbachev in the USSR in the mid-1980s – Гласность и перестройка – Poland and Hungary took advantage of the reformist mood of the region and began a series of protests of their respective governments. In East Germany, the citizens rose up and brought down the Berlin Wall. Czechoslovakia’s Communist Party, however, refused to bend. On January 15, 1989, a peaceful demonstration took place on Prague’s Wenceslaus Square in memory of Jan Palach. Then, on November 17, a student march in honor of Jan Opletal, who had been shot by the Nazis, became a massive anti-government demonstration. As part of marchers nonviolent campaign, they held signs calling for a dialogue with the government. Against police warnings, they paraded from the southern citadel at Vysehrad and turned up National Boulevard (Narodni trida), where they soon met columns of helmeted riot police. Holding their fingers in peace signs and chanting, “Our hand are free”, the bravest 500 sat down at the feet of the police. After an excruciating standoff, a crowd of 50,000 was cornered by police, over 500 were beaten and more than 100 arrested. Demonstrations spread throughout the country in the subsequent days, culminating in a massive march of 750,000 protesters on Letna Hill in Prague. Here the leading dissidents and opposition movements, with Havel at their head, formed the opposition group – and future governing party – Civic Forum. They demanded that the Central Committee of the Communist party resign and that all political prisoners be released. On Wenceslas Square, the protesters jungled their keys, a signal to the Politburo that it was time to go. On December 3, the government resignation was negotiated and this victory became known as the Velvet Revolution, named both for the nonviolent nature of the transition and for Havel’s favorite rock band, the Velvet Underground.

On December 29, a predominantly Communist Parliament met in Prague Castle and elected Vaclav Havel, a world-renowned playwright as a President of Czechoslovakia. A coalition government was created, and the first free elections since 1946 took place in June 1990 without incident. However, the economical reforms and modernization of the new republic didn’t come easy. In the early 1990s, the expected foreign investments failed to materialize on the required scale, and the economy fared more poorly than expected. Slovakia suffered disproportionally during the transition to a market economy and in June 1992, the Slovak parliament voted to secede from the Republic. On January 1, 1993 Czechoslovakia once again ceased to exist, becoming the Czech and Slovak Republics. The “Velvet Divorce” as it was called, was unexpectedly amicable. The truth to be told, the Czechs and Slovaks had never considered living together until Tomas Masaryk roped together the two nations to create the First Czechoslovak republic in 1918 after the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. But in the end, despite fundamental similarities in language and culture, the Czechs and Slovaks never really managed to create a common national Czechoslovak identity.

Prosperity eventually returned to the country by the end of the 1990s and the Czechs realized a long-held foreign policy goal in 2004 by joining the EU.

February 20, 2016

“You should travel to Prague when the days are long, so you will be rewarded by a fair view as the train crosses the placid River Vltava…You have had your first glimpse of Prague, and it was beautiful, so you set about endeavoring to enter into the spirit of the place, to absorb its atmosphere and to study its character. For every ancient city that has stood up against adversity and overcome it has a very definite character of its own. And it is a mysterious and wonderful thing this character, this cachet of a great city….”  wrote B. Granville Baker in “From a Terrace in Prague” in 1923. Forget the long days, as even in the midst of winter, the bands of German, Chinese, Russian and American tourists descend upon Prague in great quantities. However, the rainy and dark February days allowed me to duck onto narrow, cobbled side streets to find them deserted and to feel time straddling centuries the way Prague straddles its river.

I arrived to Vaclav Havel airport early in the morning and since I had no luggage, I decided to take a public transportation to my hotel, which turned out to be easier than easy. At the arrival hall, I purchased a transfer ticket (32 kc, appx $1.5) to bus #119 which took me to the metro stop “Divoka Sarka” and from there, by metro I went straight to “Mustek” station. It took me no longer than 90 minutes for this journey. I booked a room at the Hotel Liberty, located at the “border” of the Old and New Towns and literally 5 meters from the metro station. My room was available so, after taking a nap (my birthday party the night before went till the wee hours of the night), I walked out of the hotel, wisely equipped with an umbrella.

Even though over 1.2 million people live in Prague, the “tourist” area is relatively compact and consists of 5 neighborhoods organically merged together – Old Town (Stare Mesto), Jewish Quarter (Josefov) and New Town (Nove Mesto) lie to the east of Vltava River while Castle Quarter (Hradcany) and Little Quarter (Mala Strana) lie on its western side. With 4 full days in Prague I felt confident to see them all. Two things became apparent in Prague – the rain would never stop and anywhere I go, I would be surrounded by the beautiful architecture.

Since I brought DK Eyewitness Travel guide book with me, I decided to take advantage of its detailed Street-by-Street walking tours and headed straight to the Old Town (Stare Mesto) – the heart of the city and the first stop of every visitor. You can cross the entire area in 30 minutes, if you don’t get distracted by its charming ambience and picturesque buildings. When in the 11th century the settlements around the Castle spread to the right bank of Vltava, a marketplace appeared in what is now Old Town Square in 1091. Houses and churches sprang up around the square, determining the random network of streets, many of which survived till today. The area gained the privileges of a town in 1231, when it became an important stop on trade routes, and in 1338, it acquired its own Town Hall. The town’s original walls are long gone, but their line can still be traced along the streets of Narodni trida, Na Prikope and Revolucny, and the main gate – the Powder Gate – still survives. To ease the devastation of frequent flooding by the Vltava River, the level of the town was gradually raised, beginning in the 13th century, with new construction simply rising on top of older foundations (many of Stare Mesto’s buildings have Gothic interiors and Romanesque cellars). A huge fire in 1689 contributed to much rebuilding during Catholic Counter-Reformation of the 17th and 18th centuries, giving the formerly Gothic district a Baroque face.

My hotel was located on Na Prikope street, the name means “At the Moat” and harks back to the time when the street was indeed a moat separating the Old Town from the New Town (until it was filled in at the end of the 18th century). This was the haunt of Prague’s German cafe society in the 19th century. Today the pedestrian-only Na Prikope is prime shopping territory. Sleek modern buildings have been sandwiched between baroque palaces, and latter cut up inside to accommodate casinos, boutiques, and fast-food restaurants. The new structures are fairly identical inside, but a few are worth a look, such as Ziba and Slovansky dum (#22) – this late-18th building has been tastefully refurbished and now houses fashionable boutiques, restaurants and a Western-Style multiplex cinema.

Once I reached the small triangular Republic Square, I knew I arrived to the beginning of my “tour”. I have to admit, that I always get stressed when I see a map of a new place, as I have a need to visit every location, otherwise, it feels like a failure to me. That is why Prague was a perfect destination for me, as even in a few winter days, I could leisurely explore most of its historic sites.

The Divaldo Hybernia (Hybernia Theater) stands opposite to the entry to the Old Town. Originally built in 1652-1659 as a Gothic church and monastery of St. Ambroise by Irish Franciscans (“Hybernia” is Latin for “Irish”, hence the name), it was later abolished under the Josephine Reforms in 1785. Instead, it was turned into a Bouda Theater in 1792 and reconstructed into the present Empire style between 1808-1811. For years after, the building served as a large exhibition hall until it was rebuilt and refurbished as a Theater, starting its new page with a premier of a Czech musical “Golem” on November 23, 2006.

Across the street, the Prague’s most prominent Art Nouveau building – Municipal House (Obecni dum) (p. 2) stands on the site of the former Royal Court Palace, the king’s residence between 1383 and 1485. Abandoned for centuries, what remained was used as a seminary and later as a military college. It was demolished in the early 1900s to be replaced by the present cultural center (1905-1911) with its exhibition halls and auditorium, designed by Antonin Balsanek assisted by Osvald Polivka. The exterior is embellished with stucco and allegorical statuary. Above the main entrance there is a huge semi-circular mosaic entitled “Homage to Prague” by Karel Spillar. It is set between sculptures representing the oppression and rebirth of the Czech people. Inside, topped by an impressive glass dome, is Prague’s principal concert venue and the core of the entire building, the Smetana Hall, sometimes also used as a ballroom. The interior of the building is decorated with works by leading Czech artists of the first decade of the 20th century, including Alfons Mucha (who decorated the Hall of the Lord Mayor with impressive, magical frescoes depicting Czech history; however, it is accessible only as a part of a guided tour). There are numerous smaller halls, conference rooms and offices, as well as cafes and restaurants. On 28 October, 1918, the Municipal House was the scene of the momentous proclamation of the new independent state of Czechoslovakia.

Right next to the Municipal House is the big, black Powder Gate (Prasna Brana) (p.1). There has been a gate here since the 11th century, when it formed one of the 13 entrances to the Old Town. In 1475, king Vladislav II Jagiello laid the foundation stone of the New Tower, as it was to be known. A coronation gift from the city council, the gate was modeled on Peter Parler’s Old Town bridge tower built a century earlier. The gate had little defensive value; its rich sculptural decoration was intended to add prestige to the adjacent palace of the Royal Court. Building was halted 8 years later when the king had to flee because of the riots. On his return in 1485, he opted for the safety of the Castle and since then, the kings never again occupied the Royal Palace. The 65m-tall tower marks the beginning of the Royal Route, the traditional processional course along which medieval Bohemian monarchs paraded on their way to being crowned at Prague Castle. It also was the east gate to the Old Town on the road to Kutna Hora. The gate acquired its present name when it was used to store gunpowder in the 17th century. The sculptural decoration, badly damaged during the Prussian occupation in 1757 and mostly removed soon afterwards, was replaced in 1876. Early in the 20th century, the tower was the daily meeting place of Franz Kafka and his writer friend Max Brod. On the tower’s west side, facing Old Town, you can see a statue of King Premyslid Otakar II, under which is a bawdy relief depicting a young woman slapping a man who’s reaching under her skirt.

Inside, I bought a combined ticket (valid for 3 months, 300 Kc – $14) allowing me to visit all 4 towers of Prague – The Powder Tower, The Old Town Bridge Tower, The Town Belfry by St. Nicholas’ Church and The Little Quarter Bridge Tower. Even though, a look from one of either towers is enough to have an idea of Prague from the bird-view, I have no regrets visiting them all, especially since there were never any other tourists at the top.

One of the oldest streets in Prague, pedestrian Celetna Street (Celetna Ulice) (p.3) follows an old trading route from eastern Bohemia. Its name comes from the plaited bread rolls that were first baked here in the Middle Ages. Foundations of Romanesque and Gothic buildings can be seen in some of the cellars, but most of the houses with their picturesque signs are Baroque remodelings. At #34, the House of Black Madonna is home to small collection of Czech cubism, including paintings, sculpture, furniture, architectural plans and applied arts. The Knights Templar used to hold meetings at the Temple, at #27. After the abolishment of the Knights Templar in 1312, secret meetings were held by the Knights in the basement. The building then became a hospital, and later, a private home in 1784. #29 was a Golden Angel Inn, where Mozart used to stay and Jorge Luis Borges commemorated the street in his story “The Secret Miracle” assigning to the main character, Jaromir Hladik a residency on this street in March, 1939.

To the north of Celenta Street is the Church of St. James (Kostel Sv. Jakuba) (p.4). This attractive Baroque church was originally the Gothic presbytery of a Minorite monastery. The order (a branch of the Franciscans) was invited to Prague by Kind Wenceslas I in 1232. It was rebuilt in the Baroque style after a fire in 1689, allegedly started by agents of Louis XIV. Over 20 side altars were added, decorated with works by painters such as Jan Jiri Heinsch, Petr Brandl and Vaclav Vavrinec Reiner. The tomb of Count Vratislav of Mitrovice (1714-1716), designed by Johann Bernhard Fischer von Erlach and executed by sculptor Ferdinand Brokoff, is the most beautiful Baroque tomb in Bohemia. The count is said to have been accidentally buried alive – his corpse was later found sitting up in the tomb. Hanging on the right of the entrance is a mummified forearm. It has been there for over 500 years, ever since a thief tried to steal the jewels from the Madonna on the high altar. According to legend, Virgin grabbed his arm and held on so tightly it had to be cut off by the monks. (The truth may not be far behind: the church was a favorite of the guild of butchers, who may have administered their own justice.) Because of its long nave, the building’s acoustics are excellent and many concerts and recitals are given here. Don’t forget to check out a magnificent organ built in 1702.

The huge, traffic-free Old Town Square (Staromestske namesti) (p.7) ranks among the finest public spaces in any city. It has been Prague’s principal public square since the 10th century, and served as its main marketplace until the beginning of the 20th century, when rows of merchants’ stalls used to fill the cobbled plaza. Over the centuries, Old Town Square’s size and location has made it an epicenter for celebrations, cataclysms, political enunciations, and executions. In the 14th century, King Wenceslas threw massive parties here once the market had closed for the night; in 1422 the radical Hussite preacher Jan Zelivsky was executed here for his part in storming the New Town’s Town Hall three years earlier; in 1600 the square hosted the world’s first public dissection of a corpse. 27 white crosses embedded in the square’s paving stones, at the base of Old Town Hall, mark the spot where 27 Bohemian noblemen were killed by the Austrian Habsburgs in 1621 during the dark days following the defeat of the Czechs at the Battle of White Mountain. The square was the headquarters of the Resistance during the 1944 Prague Uprisings, in which 5,000 Czechs died in 4 days of fierce fighting against the Nazi occupation. In 1948, a time when Communists were still popularly viewed as the country’s liberators, massive crowds gathered here to hear the words of Czechoslovakia’s first Communist president. I haven’t witnessed any demonstrations on the Square during my visit, but definitely enjoyed the nightly open-air impromptu performances, in rain and fog. If you can ignore the tourists, it is a great place to stop and look around, absorbing all the beauty of this square. Dominating Art Nouveau monument of Jan Hus is a convenient meeting place for tourist and a focal point for souvenir hawkers and freelance guides. Cafes and shops the pastel shades of after-dinner mints line the square’s periphery. Their Baroque roofs are interrupted at one end by the Gothic tower of the 13th century bell-house and at the other by an ornate 15th century astronomical clock that every hour unleashes a mechanical morality play from 2 cuckoo-clock windows.

Some of Prague’s colorful history is preserved around the Old Town Square in the form of its buildings. On the north side, the Pauline Monastery is the only surviving piece of the original architecture. The east side boasts two superb examples of the architecture of their times: the House at the Stone Bell (built in the 14th century for the father of Charles IV), restored to its former appearance as a Gothic town palace, and the Kinsky Palace (p.9). This lovely Rococo palace, designed by Kilian Ignaz Dientzenhofer, has a pretty pink and white stucco facade crowned with statues of the four elements by Ignaz Franz Platzer. It was bought from the Golz family in 1768 by Stepan Kinsky, an Imperial diplomat. Franz Kafka’s father, Hermann Kafka, was a haberdasher, whose store was located on the ground floor of the palace. The palace also contained a German school – where Franz Kafka himself studied for 9 misery-laden years. The palace also served as a home to Baroness Bertha von Suttner, a secretary to Alfred Nobel and herself the first female recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize in 1905. In 1948 Communist leader Klement Gottwald, used the balcony to address a huge crowd of party members – a key event in a crisis that led up to his coup d’etat. Presently, the National Gallery uses the Kinsky Palace for art exhibitions.

Across from Kinsky Palace, on the northern end of the Square is a massive monument to the religious reformer and Czech hero – Jan Hus Memorial (Pomnik Jana Husa) (p.10). As I mentioned in the “History” part of this blog, Hus was burnt at the stake after being pronounced a heretic by the council of Constance in 1415. The present monument by Ladislav Saloun was unveiled in 1915 on the 500th anniversary of Hus’ death. It shows two groups of people, one of victorious Hussite warriors, the other of Protestants forced into exile 200 years later, and a young mother symbolizing national rebirth. One patriot holds a chalice (cup) – in the medieval Church, only priests could drink the wine at Communion. Since the Hussites fought for their right to take both the wine and the bread, the cup is their symbol. The dominant figure of Hus emphasizes the moral authority of the man who gave up life rather than his beliefs. This romantic depiction of Hus, who appears here as tall and bearded in flowing garb, is disputed, as historians claim that real Hus was short and baby-faced. Nevertheless, Hus looks proudly at Tyn Church which became the headquarters and leading church of his followers. A golden chalice once filled the now-empty niche under the gold bas-relief of the Virgin Mary on the church’s facade. After the Hubsburg victory over the Czechs in 1620, the Hussite chalice was melted down and made into the image of Mary that shines from that spot night over the square today.

The spiky-topped 80m high Church of Our Lady before Tyn (Kostel Matki Bozy pred Tynem) (p.8, no photos, free entry), or “Tyn church” is early Gothic, though it takes some imagination to visualize the original in its entirety because half of the building is strangely hidden behind the contemporaneous four-storey Tyn School. Hence, the entrance to the church is through the Old Town Square arcades, under the house at #14. One of the best examples of Prague Gothic, the church’s exterior is in part the work of Peter Parler, an architect responsible for many of Prague’s iconic sights (including Charles Bridge and St. Vitus’s Cathedral). The present church was started in 1365, however the construction of its twin black-spired towers began later, by King Jiri of Podebrad in 1461, during the heyday of Hussites. On the norther side of the church is a beautiful entrance portal (1390) decorated with scenes of Christ’s passion. Much of the interior, including the tall nave, was rebuilt in the Baroque style in the 17th century. Some Gothic pieces remain, however: look to the left of the main altar for a beautifully preserved set of early Gothic carvings, sculptures of Calvary and a pewter font (1414). The main altar itself was painted by Karel Skreta, a luminary of the Czech Baroque. The oldest pipe organ in Prague stands inside this church, built in 1673 by Heinrich Mundt, it is one of the most representative 17th-century organs in Europe. The Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe, one of Rudolf II’s most illustrious “consultants” (who died in 1601 a few days after bursting his bladder), is buried near the chancel.

Behind the church is the Tyn (or Ungelt) Courtyard (Tynsky Dvur), with its numerous architectural styles. This fortified courtyard was the commercial nucleus of medieval Prague, a sort of caravanserai for foreign merchants. Here, the traders (usually German, as “ungelt” means ‘customs duty” in German) would store their goods and pay taxes before setting up stalls on the Old Town Square. Notice that, for the purpose of guaranteeing the safety of goods and merchants, there are only two entrances to the complex. After decades of disuse, the courtyard had fallen into such disrepair by the 1980s that authorities considered demolishing it. But now, marvelously restored, the Ungelt courtyard is the most pleasant area in the Old Town for dining outdoors (weather permit) and shopping. And of course, it is a location of the House of the Golden Ring (Dum u Zlateho Prstenu) – City of Prague’s Gallery.

Church of St. Nicholas (Kostel Sv. Mikulase) (p.11 – don’t confuse with the Chram Sv. Mikulase, located in Little Quarter) stands on the northern part of the Square, separating the Old Town from Josefov (Jewish Quarter). One of the oldest churches in Old Town, St. Nicholas was originally built in 12th century in Gothic or Romanesque styles (remains of the old walls can still be seen in the cellar). In its glory days, the church used to have 16 altars, where up to 3 Holy Masses were served daily, sponsored by the most prominent Old Town families. It was used as a parish church until Tyn Church was completed in the 14th century, and as a place for meetings of the City Council until the Old Town Hall was built in 1338. During the Hussite Wars and in the 16th century the church was used by Hussites, however after the battle of the White Mountain in 1620, it became part of a Benedictine monastery. The present church was designed (1732-1839) by Prague’s own master of late Baroque, Kilian Ignaz Deintzenhofer. In 1781 after the religious reforms of the Austrian Emperor Joseph II, the monastery was dissolved and the church building was sold to the Old Town City Council for a small price. The building was then used as a storehouse and later as a music hall. In WWI the church was used to the troops of Prague garrison. The colonel in charge took the opportunity to restore the church with the help of artists who might otherwise have been sent to the front. After the WWI in 1920, the newly established Czechoslovak Hussite Church found its new home here. This church is probably less successful in capturing the style’s lyric exuberance that its namesake across town, however, its facade is pretty dramatic, studded with statues by Antonin Braun. The interior is compact, with beautiful, large crown-shaped chandelier and an enormous black organ that overwhelms the rear of the church. The dome has frescoes of the lives of St. Nicholas and St. Benedict by Kosmas Damian Asam. If you are in the mood, attend one of the evening concerts given in the church.

A colorful array of houses of Romanesque or Gothic origin, with fascinating house signs, graces the southern side of the Old Town Square. The block between Celetna Street and Zelezna Street is especially attractive, hosting a tourist information center, as well as a number of outdoor restaurants, cafes and galleries. The following houses I would describe from left to right (east to west). Storch House – the late 19th century painting of St. Wenceslas on horseback by Mikulas Ales appears on this ornate Neo-Renaissance building, also known as At the Stone Madonna. At the Stone Ram – the early 16th century house sign shows a young maiden with a ram. The house has been referred to as At the Unicorn due to the similarity between the one-horned ram and a unicorn. Next peach building is At the Stone Table, it is followed by a mint-colored U Lazara (At Lazarus’s) – Romanesque barrel vaulting testifies to the house’s early origins, though it was rebuilt during the Renaissance. The ground floor houses the Staromestska restaurace. Right before Zelezna Street is At the Golden Unicorn building.

Past Zelezna Street, buildings don’t get any less beautiful. White house At the Storks, is followed by At the Red Fox – a golden Madonna and Child look down from the Baroque facade of an originally Romanesque building. Next building is At the Blue Star, followed by a bright blue house – a home to Prague’s Starbucks Cafe. Entrance to Melantrichova Passage, which has been commemorated in a famous painting by Vaclav Jansa (1898), is guarded by an early 18th century stone statue of St. Anthony of Padua, located at the corner of At The Ox building, named after its 15ht century owner, the burgher Ochs. This passage leads directly to the New Town’s Wenceslas Square, passing a ton of shops.

The west side of the Old Town Square is adorned by the Old Town Hall, with its tourist-attracting Astronomical Clock and a small attractive building, called House U Minuty (#3 in the Old Town Square). This Gothic house was built at the beginning of the 15th century probably in the place of a broken alley as a two-storey small home with a backyard. In 1430 a part of the neighboring house was attached to it and in 1564, the low third floor with a lunette ledge was added. Sgraffiti, created in two stages – in 1600 and in 1615 and restored in 1920s, depict a mix of Biblical motifs, scenes from the Renaissance life and of ancient Greeks. Initially, the house served as a pharmacy called “The White Lion”, however, it was later converted into a tabacco store “U Minuty”. It was Franz Kafka who made this house famous, as he and his family lived here from 1889 till 1896.

Little street to the left of U Minuty leads into Little Square (Male Namesti) adjacent to the Old Town Square. Though, it can’t boast as much history as its larger companion, excavations have proven that Male Namesti was a prime piece of real estate as far back as the 12th century. Archeologists turned up bits of pottery, evidence of medieval pathways, and human bones from the late 1100s, when developers committed the medieval equivalent of paving over cemetery to build a shopping mall. There is a beautiful iron fountain dating from around 1560 in the center of the square. The colorful painted house at #3 (V.J. Rott) was originally a hardware store and now it hosts a hotel “U Rotta” and a Hard Rock Cafe. It is not as old as it looks and is decorated with colorful paintings by the 19th century artist Mikulas Alex. However, look around the square and you surely would be able to find some authentic Gothic portals and Renaissance sgraffiti that reflect the place’s true age.

Once I completed a circle around the Old Town Square and soaked in its pastel colors and atmosphere, it was time to check out its jewel – Old Town Hall (Staromestka Rodnice) (p.12). One of the most striking buildings in Prague, it was established in 1338 after King John of Luxemburg agreed to set up a town council. The councilors of the Old Town bought a magnificent patrician house of the Volflin family and adapted it for their purposes. Over the centuries a number of old houses were knocked together as the Old Town Hall expanded, and it now consists of a row of five colorful Gothic and Renaissance buildings, most of which have been carefully restored. The impressive 60m tall tower was first built in the 14th century and it offers a spectacular view of the city. The Town Hall has played a significant role in the history of both Prague and the Czech state – George of Podebrady was elected the King of Bohemia here and Jan Zelivsky was decapitated in its courtyard, it witnessed the execution of the 27 nobles in the Estates Uprising in 1620 as well as the destruction by the Nazis in 1945.

Presently, the far left building hosts the Temporary art exhibitions and serves as an entrance to the Tower. The next bright red building contains the Old Town Coat of Arms adopted in 1784, it sits above the inscription, “Prague, Head of the Kingdom”. The following building is a former house of Volflin of Kamen, the original owner of the building. Its late Gothic main entrance to the Town Hall was carved by Matthias Rejsek. And of course, the Tower with its Astronomical Clock is hard to miss.

Crowds congregate in front of Old Town Hall’s Astronomical Clock (Orloj) to watch the glockenspiel spectacle that occurs hourly from 8.00 to 23.00. Built in 1410 by the master Mikulas of Kadane, the clock has long been an important symbol of Prague. According to legend, after the timepiece was remodeled in 1490, clock artist Master Hanus was blinded by the Municipal Council so that he couldn’t repeat his fine work elsewhere. In retribution, Hanus threw himself into the clock mechanism and promptly died, leaving the clock out of kilter for almost a century. As strange as it sounds, but you have to be a rocket scientist to determine the time of day from this timepiece; it is easier to look at the other clock on the very top of Old Town Hall’s tower for this. This astronomical clock, with all its hands and markings, is meant to mark the phases of the moon, the equinoxes, the seasons, the days and numerous Christian holidays.

When the clock strikes an hour, a kind of politically incorrect medieval morality play begins. Two doors slide open and the statues of the Twelve Apostles glide by, while the 15th century conception of the “evils” of life – a skeleton, symbolizing Death, kneeling and turning an hourglass upside down, a preening Vanity admiring itself in a mirror, a corrupt Turk nodding his head, and an acquisitive Jew – shake and dance below. At the end of the WWII, the horns and beard were removed from the moneybag-holding Jew, who’s now politely referred to as Greed. The four figures below these are the Chronicler, Angel, Astronomer and Philosopher. Apostles parade past the windows above the clock, nodding to the crowds. One the left side are Apostle Paul (with a sword and a book), Thomas (lance), Jude (book), Simon (saw), Bartholomew (book), and Barnabas (parchment); on the right side are Peter (with a key), Matthew (axe), John (snake), Andrew (cross), Philip (cross) and James (mallet). Finally, a cock crows and a trumpet blares to mark the end of the spectacle, all to the ignorant enthusiastic applause from the crowds below.

On the upper face, the disc in the middle of the fixed part depicts the world known at the time – with Prague at the center, of course. The gold sun traces a circle through the blue zone of day, the brown zone of dusk (Crepusculum in Latin) in the west (Occasus), the black disk of night, and down (Aurora) in the east (Ortus). From this the hours of sunrise and sunset can be read. The curved lines with black Arabic numerals are part of an astrological “star clock”.

The sun-arm points to the hour of the Roman-numeral ring; the top XII is noon and the bottom XII is midnight. The outer right, with Gothic numerals, reads traditional 24-hour Bohemian time, counted from sunset; the number 24 is always opposite the sunset hour on the fixed (inner) face. The moon, with its phases shown, also traces a path through the zones of day and night, riding on the offset moving ring. On the ring you can also read which houses of the zodiac the sun and moon are in. The hand with a little star at the end of it indicates side-real (stellar) time.

The calendar wheel beneath all this astronomical wizardry, with 12 seasonal scenes celebrating rural Bohemian life, is a duplicate of one painted in 1866 by the Czech Revivalist Josef Manes (original is in the Prague City Museum). Most of the dates around the calendar wheel are marked with the names of their associated saints; 6 July honors Jan Hus.

Even though I didn’t catch one of the guided Old City Hall tours (which takes you to the Chapel of the Virgin Mary, Old Council Hall, Brozik Assembly Hall and Roman -Gothic underground cellars), I bought a ticket to the top of the tower (open 9.00 – 22.00, 120 Ks – $5.50). I slowly wandered to the upper floor, passing a spectacular entrance hall, filled with mosaics after designs by the Czech painter Mikulas Ales. I could have taken an elevator but I optioned for the ramp, which was adorned with posters infusing me with information about the Town Hall and the Tower, from its very creation to present day.

The tower’s viewing gallery offered perhaps the best views of the city – from Tyn Church to Prague Castle. It is a place to take a moment and look around!

It was already getting dark, so I slowly proceeded back to my hotel, passing by a few interesting sights. Prague’s oldest Estates Theater (Stavovske Divadlo) (p.5) was built by Count Nostitz in 1783 and is one of the finest examples of Neo-Classical elegance. It became an early symbol of the emerging high Czech culture with the Greek theme “Patriae et Musis” (Fatherland and Music) etched above its front columns. Patronized by upper-class German Praguers, it was later named after the local nobility, the Estates. It is a mecca for Mozart fans (sadly, I wasn’t able to get a ticket). On 19 October 1787, Mozart’s opera “Don Giovanni” had its debut here with the maestro at the piano conducing the orchestra. Prague audiences were quick to acknowledge Mozart’s genius: the opera was an instant hit here, though it flopped nearly everywhere else in Europe. “My Praguers understand me,” Mozart was quoted to say. He wrote some of the opera’s second act in Prage at the Villa Bertramka, where he was a frequent guest. In 1834 the musical “Fidlovacka” premiered here. One of the songs “Gde domoj muj?” (“Where is my Home”) became the Czech national anthem. Czech director Milos Forman returned to his native country to film his Oscar-winning “Amadeus” (1984), shooting the scenes of Mozart in Prague with perfect authenticity at the Estates Theater. But the statue of Mozart’s “Commendatore” character just outside the theater, is a haunting sight, especially after dark.

Right next to the theater is Karolinum (p.6) – the core of central Europe’s oldest university founded by Karel IV (Charles IV) in 1348. The chapel, arcade and walls still survive, together with a fine oriel window, but in 1945 the courtyard was reconstructed in Gothic style. In the 15th and 16th centuries the university played a leading role in the movement to reform church (after all, Jan Hus was its rector). On January 18 1409, in an effort to increase his voting bloc in maneuvering to regain the crown of Holy Roman Emperor, Vaclav IV slashed the voting rights of the university’s German students and lecturers. The “Decree of Kutna Hora”, as it was known, meant thousands of Germans left Bohemia in disgust, and the previously world-beating university became considerable more parochial. After the battle of the White Mountain, the university was taken over by the Jesuits. Charles University now has facilities all over Prague, and the original building is used only for some medical faculty offices, the University Club and occasional academic ceremonies.

Facing the Estates Theater is Church of St. Gall (Kostel Sv. Havla) (p.14). Dating from around 1280, this church was built to serve an autonomous German community in the area known as Gall’s Town (Havelske Mesto), which in the 14th century merged with the Old Town. In the 18th century the church was given a Baroque facelift by Giovanni Santini-Aichel, who created a bold facade decorated with statues of saints by Ferdinand Brokoff. Rich interior furnishings include paintings by the leading Baroque artist Karel Skreta, who is buried here.

Prague’s best-known open-air market has been held in Havelska Street since the middle ages, selling flowers, vegetables, toys and clothes. It is still there today, in case you want to get a healthy snack or souvenirs. It is a fun place to browse for crafts as the sellers would usually be the artists (or the farmers).

After getting some not-so-healthy Czech street-food for dinner and happily devouring it in my room, I grew restless so I left the hotel for an evening walk around Prague. And I have to say, the city looked even more attractive and romantic at night!

February 21, 2016.

After a good and very comfy night of sleep, I was ready to dive back into the streets of Prague. I got up before 7.00 to enjoy an early tourist-free walk in Old Town and to see the Astrological Clock “precession”. On my way to the Old Town Square, via Melantrichova Street, I stopped by the portal of the house called “At the Two Golden Bears” (Dum u Dvou Zlatych Medvedu) (p.13). The present Renaissance building was constructed from two earlier houses in 1567. The portal was added in 1590, when a wealthy merchant, Lorenc Stork, secured the services of court architect Bonifaz Wohlmut, who had designed the spire on the tower of St. Vitus’s Cathedral. This ornate portal with reliefs of two bears is one of the most beautiful Renaissance portals in Prague. Magnificent arcades, also dating from the 16th century, have been preserved in the inner courtyard. They say that there are corridors underground that go from the basement of the house to Church of Our Lady before Týn and the Old Town Hall. In 1885 Egon Erwin Kisch, known as the “Furious Reporter” was born here. He was a German speaking Jewish writer and journalist, feared for the force of his left-wing rhetoric.

Quiet morning by the Tower was indeed very enjoyable, even though I wasn’t the only person on the Square – a few dozen tourists already gathered by the Clock and the outdoor restaurants have started seating clients for breakfast.

Today, my plan was to continue exploring the old city, following the guidebook and perhaps, visit the Prague Castle. At night, I had a performance at the State Opera, which I was really looking forward to. From the Old Town Square, via Male Namesti, I proceeded towards my first stop – Marianske Square.

Marianske Square (Marianske Namesti), (p.20) is dominated by the two statues, located in the corners of the forbidding Town Hall, built in 1912. One illustrates the story of the long-lived Rabbi Low finally being caught by the Angel of Death. The other is the Iron Man, a local ghost condemned to roam the Old Town after murdering his mistress. A niche in the garden wall of the Clam-Gallas Palace houses a statue of the River Vltava, depicted as a nymph pouring water from a jug. There is a story that an old soldier once made the nymph sole beneficiary of his will. Municipal Library, located on the Marianske Square, was built between 1925 and 1928 and was originally intended to serve as a cultural institution with exhibition, lecture and concert halls. Today, the building houses a representative apartment of the Prague’s Mayor which is furnished in an Art Deco style and the 2nd floor is used as the City Gallery.

Clam-Gallas Palace (Clam-Gallasuv Palac) (p.19) is located on the corner of the Square with Husova Street. The interior of this magnificent Baroque palace had suffered during its use as a store for the City Archives, but has now been carefully restored. The palace, designed by Viennese court architect Bernhard Fischer von Erlach, was built in 1714-1718 for the Supreme Marshal of Bohemia, Jan Gallas de Campo. The Gallas family died out in 1757, and at that point the palace was inherited by Kristian Filip of Clam, son of Gallas’ sister, hence the hyphenated name. Its grand portals, each flanked by two pairs of Hercules sculpted by Matthias Braun, give a taste of what lies within. The main staircase is also decorated with Braun statues, set off by a ceiling fresco “The Triumph of Apollo” by Carlo Carlone. The palace has a theater, where Beethoven performed some of his works and twice a year it hosts a multi-genre festival “Opera Barocca”. Even if you don’t have a guide book, it would be very hard to miss the impressive giant statues looming over the narrow Husova Street.

Just 50m further, along the same street is Church of St. Giles (Kostel Sv. Jilji) (p.17). Despite a beautiful Gothic portal on the southern side, the inside of this church is essentially Baroque. Founded in 1371 on the site of an old Romanesque church, it became a Hussite parish church in 1420. Following the Protestant defeat in 1620, Ferdinand II presented the church to the Dominicans, who built a large friary on its southern side. It has now been returned to the Dominicans, religious order having been abolished under the Communism. The vaults of the church are decorated with frescoes by the painter Vaclav Vavrinec Reiner, who is buried in the nave before the altar of St. Vincent. The main fresco, a glorification of the Dominicans, shows St. Dominic and his friars helping the pope defend the Catholic Church from non-believers.

If you see a body hanging from a poll at the end of Husova Street, your eyes aren’t betraying you. If you look closer (and you are familiar with historical figures), you will recognize the father of psychoanalyses – Sigmund Freud, though in my opinion, the statue looks awfully like Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. So here he is, hanging in the wind. In fairness, I have to say that locals redesigned even the most boring and ordinary concepts to make them look new and appealing, like, for ex. the street water drain pipes.

If you turn right just under the hanging statue, you are at the charming, relatively quiet Betlemske namesti, a place of one of Prague’s most important churches – Bethlehem Chapel (Betlemska Kaple) (p.18). The present chapel is a reconstruction of a hall that served as a main chapel of Charles University in 1348. The followers of the radical preacher Jan Milic z Kromerize in 1391-1394 attended his masses here as well as those of Jan Hus’, between 1402-1412. Influenced by the teachings of the English religious reformer John Wycliffe, Hus condemned the corrupt practices of the Church, arguing that the Scriptures should be the sole source of doctrine. While meant primarily for students and faculty, services were open to the public, and standing-room-only crowds of more than 3,000 were the norm when Hus preached. After the Protestant worship was outlawed in 1620, the building was handed over to the Jesuits, who rebuilt it with six naves. In 1786 it was almost demolished, but excavations carried out after WWI uncovered the original portal and three windows. In 1950s, the chapel was reconstructed following old illustrations, descriptions and traces of the original work. Only the southern wall of the chapel is new. You can still see some original parts in the eastern wall: the pulpit door, several windows and the door to the preacher’s quarters. These quarters, including the rooms used by Hus and others, are also original, and now used for exhibits. Some remnants of Hus’s teachings can also be read on the inside walls. Unfortunately, I arrived too early and the chapel was still closed.

Just around the corner is Anenske Namesti, one of Prague’s smallest square and home to the former St. Anne’s Convent, a 14th century Baroque complex of Dominican Order which was in use since 1313 till 1782. After the convent was dissolved, its premises served as, among other things, a printing press for the publisher of the Journal of the Austrian Royal and Imperial Postal Service, and a paper store. It is now used by the National Theater.

On the spit of land besides the Vltava, a former Neo-Renaissance waterworks has been turned into Smetana Museum (Muzeum Bedricha Smetany) (p.24) a memorial to the father of Czech music. His museum contains documents, letters, scored and musical instruments detailing the composer’s life and work. However, my main intention was to check out a wonderful river-bank patio adjacent to the Museum which offered the incredible views of Vltava River, Charles Bridge and the Castle.

After taking a fare share of photos, I backtracked to Prague’s most important avenues – Charles Street (Karlova Ulice) (p.21). Dating back to the 12th century, this narrow, winding street was part of the Royal Route. Many original Gothic and Renaissance houses remain, most converted into shops. A cafe at the House at the Golden Snake (#18) was established in 1714 by an Armenian, Deodatus Damajan, who handed out slanderous pamphlets from here. It is now a restaurant. Look out for At the Golden Well (#3) which has a magnificent Baroque facade and stucco reliefs of saints including St. Roch and St. Sebastian, who are believed to offer protection against plagues. Among the cafes, antique shops and other decorated houses, be sure to look out for this Art Nouveau statue of the legendary Princess Libuse, surrounded by roses (#22/24). Legend says that Princess Libuse was a founder of Pemyslids and a head of a West Slavic tribe. She took notice of the discord among her clansmen, and succeeded her father to become the first woman ruler. Choosing a humble ploughman (Premysl-Orac) as a consort and ruler, she began a dynasty that was to last 400 years.

The morning Mass has just ended and people started to pour out of the Cathedral of St. Clement (Katedrala Sv. Klimenta), (free entry, no pictures allowed) located on Charles St. What was unusual is that every person in this parish was Ukrainian and all they talked about was the recent invasion of Crimea by Russia (later on I would see quite a few peaceful protests all over town, equipped with Ukrainian blue-yellow flags and banners condemning Russian aggression). I struck up a conversations with one of the attendees, an old Ukrainian woman, who told me the name of the church and despite heavy traffic heading out of the door, she pushed me into the church. On the site of the present cathedral was originally the Romanesque Church of St. Klement that was part of the Dominican monastery from 1432 to 1556 when the Jesuits took over. The present Baroque style the church acquired in 1712-1715 – outwardly sober outside, but very decorative inside, where a single-nave is illuminated by eight large windows. In 1931 the church of St. Klimenta was converted into a Greek Catholic Church and now serves as a main gathering place for the Ukrainians in Prague.

Cathedral of St. Clement is a part of a large historic complex, Clementinum (Klementinum) (p.23). In 1556 Emperor Ferdinand I invited the Jesuits to Prague to help bring the Czechs back into the Catholic fold. They established their headquarters in the mentioned above monastery of St. Clement, hence the name Clementinum. This soon became an effective rival to Carolinum, the Ultraquist university. Expelled in 1618, the Jesuits were back two years later more determined than ever to stamp out heresy. In 1622 the two universities were merged, resulting in the Jesuits gaining a virtual monopoly on higher education in Prague. They believed 2/3 of population were secret heretics, searched for books in Czech and then burnt them by the thousand. Between 1653 and 1723 the Clementinum expanded eastwards. Over 30 houses and 3 churches were pulled down to make way for the new complex. The Jesuits built a resplendent library, displaying fabulous ceiling murals that portray the three levels of knowledge, with the “Dome of Wisdom” as a centerpiece. Next door, the Mirror Chapel is a symphony of reflective surfaces, with acoustics to match. Mozart played here, and the space still hosts occasional chamber music concerts. The Astronomical Tower in the middle of the complex was used by Johannes Kepler, and afterward functioned as the ‘Prague Meridian” where the time was set each day. At high noon a timekeeper would appear on the balcony and wave a flag that could be seen from the castle, where a cannon was fired to mark the hour. When in 1773 the pope dissolved their order, the Jesuits had to leave Prague and education was secularized. The Clementinum became the Prague University library, today – the National Library.

Prague’s first Jesuit church, the Church of the Holy Savior (Kostel Sv. Salvatora) was built here in several stages from 1578–1714. Major artists contributed to the remodeling work. Initially these were mainly the architects Carlo Lurago and Francesco Caratti. The line of columns and stucco-work in front of the entrance was created by Giovanni Bartolomeo Cometa, while the statues in the portico are the work of Johann-Georg Bendl: Church Fathers, saints, evangelists, Christ and the Virgin Mary. They are dramatically lit up at night. Both towers were raised and a cupola was added to the roof in 1714. The Early Baroque interior is richly decorated with stucco; the confessional, decorated with statues of the twelve apostles, is particularly noteworthy. The underground crypt contains a large tomb for members of the Jesuit Order, including the guardian of the Czech language, Bohuslav Balbín.

The small picturesque square between the church and the Old Town Bridge Tower is Knights of the Cross Square (Krizovnicke Namesti) (p.25) and it offers fine views across the Vltava, if you manage to elbow your way to the bank. In the middle of the square is a Neo-Gothic statue of Charles IV leaning against a sword and holding the deed of foundation of Charles University in Prague. The women around the pedestal symbolize the school’s four subjects: the art, medicine, law, and theology. The statue was made in 1848 on the occasion of the 500th anniversary of Charles University. Vine column is the only part that was left from wine bureau located in Knights of the Cross Square in 1358 – 1783; it is topped with the statue of St. Wenceslas, who is the patron of wine-growers. The bureau was responsible for administering regulation in regard to wine production. From the square, you can also see the remains of the original paving of former Judith bridge, the predecessor of Charles Bridge, around the column.

On the north side is the Church of St. Francis (Kostel Sv. Frantiska), once part of the monastery of the crusading Knights of the Cross with the Red Star. The order was founded by St. Agnes of Bohemia in 1233. They built a Gothic church, a monastery and a hospital by the Judith Bridge. They maintained the bridge and collected customs and usage charges there. Their main activities were charitable – they took care of ill and poor people. That’s why their monastery was one of the few not destroyed by Protestant Hussites in the 15th century: Hussites appreciated their helpfulness in the society. The present church was rebuilt in Baroque style in the 17th century. The plans were made by French architect Jean Baptiste Mathey, who was probably inspired by the St. Peter’s Cathedral in Rome – it has a large cupola and a nave with a ground plan in the shape of a cross. Remains of the original Gothic church are preserved in the underground chapel, called “bottom church”. It is decorated with extraordinary artificial stalactites and contains tombstones of important figures of the order and some fragments of the former church. The statues of Bohemian saints are decorating the facade of the church, while its interior was decorated by the most important artists of the era (cupola is covered with a fresco painting “The Last Judgement” by V. V. Reiner.)

The striking Old Town Bridge Tower (Staromestska mostecka vez), dominates the western part of the square and serves as a grand entry to the Charles Bridge. It was also used as a passage for the royal coronation processions because it was located on the Royal Route. Its richly ornate 1357 design was made for Charles IV by Petr Parler, the architect who drafted the Gothic plans for St. Vitus’s Cathedral and built the bridge. The original east side of the tower (facing the square) remains pristine, with coats of arms of the Bohemian king and Holy Roman Empire. Shields also depict each territory under the auspices of the Bohemian crown at that time. Above the east-side arch, seated to the right of the standing statue of St. Vitus, is Charles himself, and on the left is a statue of his ill-fated son, Wenceslas IV, who lost the crown of the empire. Above them are a guarding Bohemian Lion and the statues of the Czech patrons St. Sigizmund and St. Adalbert. The tower’s western side was severely damaged in a battle against invading Swedish troops in 1648. The Swedes were never able to penetrate the gate and sack the Old Town, and in memory of that struggle, this side of the tower has never been fully repaired.

The tower is finished not only by the battlement but also by a tall slate roof, rising nearly 50m high. Since I had a “4 tower” pass which I purchased the day before at the Powder Tower, I took an opportunity to climb up and see the square, as well as the bridge from the Old Tower Bridge Tower gallery  (just 138 steps). The first and second floors have a unique beam ceilings, while the top floor contains the Gothic statue of tower keeper (Veznik). And the views…. a video speaks louder than words, so enjoy!

Historic pedestrian Charles Bridge (Karluv Most) is Central Europe’s longest bridge and Prague’s most celebrated structure, connecting the Old Town with the Little Quarter. In better weather it must be one of the most pleasant and entertaining 520m strolls in Europe, however on a rainy Sunday morning in February, I found it cold, wet and … walkable. I am still not sure where the anticipated crowds of tourists were at that time. Bridges had previously been built at this location, but all were washed away by floods. After a major surge in 1342, Emperor Charles IV decided against repairing the old bridge and instead commissioned an entirely new structure. Initially called the Stone Bridge, it was Prague’s only pass across Vltava for more than 400 years. According to legend (and the bridge has long fueled a local love of legends), Charles wanted to make the bridge as strong as possible and thus mixed egg in with the mortar. Czech citizens sent in hundreds of eggs from all over the country. Another Charles bridge legend is tied to numbers. According to medieval records, the bridge’s foundation was laid in 1357. In the late 1800s, an amateur astronomer noticed a curious combination of numbers, leading to a popular theory about Charles IV. Charles is known to have been interested in numerology and astrology, and was likely aware of the significance of this date: July 9 at 5.31 in the morning. Written out in digits (as a year, month, day, hour and minute) – it’s a numerical palindrome: 135797531. It is said that Charles must have chosen that precise moment (which also coincides with favorable positioning of the earth and Saturn) to lay the foundation stone of the bridge. Further “corroboration” of this remarkable hypothesis was provided by the discovery that the end of the bridge on the Old Town side aligns perfectly with the tomb of St. Vitus (in the Castle’s cathedral across the river) and the setting sun at summer solstice. In the absence of accurate 14th-century records, this intriguing proposition has delighted the modern Czech imagination. But even the most auspicious numbers couldn’t protect the bridge from periodic damage caused by floods, ice, and inept repairs.

Int he 17th century, there was no statues on the bridge – only a cross, which is still a part of the 3rd sculpture on the right. The gilded Hebrew inscription from the Book of Isaiah celebrates Christ (“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts”). The inscription was paid for by a fine imposed on a Prague Jew – the result of a rivalry within the Jewish community (fellow Jews turned him in for mocking a cross). In the space between the 3rd and 4th statues after the cross, there is a small brass relief depicting a floating figure with a semicircle of stars above him. This marks the spot where St. John of Nepomuk, the national saint of Czech people, was tossed off the bridge into the river. The relief is a replica of a Baroque original that was badly damaged by a flood in 1890, marred by protesters in 1920s, and finally removed by the Communists. Devout pilgrims believe that touching the relief of St. John will make a wish come true (which doesn’t explain a group of Chinese tourists eagerly rubbing it). Further down the bridge, there is a Baroque statue of St. John of Nepomuk which always draws a crowd. John was a 14th-century priest to whom the queen confessed all her sins. According to a 17th century legend, the king wanted to know his wife’s secrets, but Father John dutifully refused to tell. He was tortured and eventually killed by being thrown off the bridge. When he hit the water, five stars appeared. The shiny plaque a the base of the statue depicts the heave-ho. Notice the date on the inscription: this oldest statue on the bridge was unveiled in 1683, on the supposed 300th anniversary of the martyr’s death.

The statue was such a hit that the church commissioned another 21 of them, which were created between 1698 and 1713. Since then, the number has increased to 30 (and every guide book has a map of the bridge with detailed description of each statue). It is worth mentioning that the statues played an important propaganda role in helping the rulers at the time to introduce Catholicism to the Protestant Czech masses. The reasoning went something like: “We will dazzle them with art and they will convert.” It worked, as over the generations, the Czech gradually went back to Catholic belief and the statues became such a fixture on the bridge that it is impossible to imagine it without them.

Congratulations, we finally made it to another Prague’s area – Little Quarter (Mala Strana). This charming neighborhood is low on blockbuster sights but high on ambience as this part of the city was least affected by recent history. Hardly any new buildings have taken place here since the late 18th century and the quarter is rich in splendid Baroque palaces and old houses with attractive signs. Founded in 1257, it is built on the slopes below the Castle hill with magnificent views across the river to the Old Town. It was home to the merchants and craftsmen who served the royal court. The area was almost devastated twice in its history: during the battles between the Hussites and the Prague Castle garrison in 1419, and then during the Great Fire of 1541. Though not nearly as confusing as the labyrinth that is Old Town, the streets in Little Quarter can baffle, but they also bewitch, and today the area holds embassies, Czech government offices, historical attractions, best hotels (like Mandarin Oriental) and galleries mixed in with the usual glut of pubs (as they call bars), restaurants and souvenir shops.

The other end of Charles Bride is crowned with the Little Quarter Bridge Towers (Malostranske mostecke veze). The higher tower was modeled after the one across the bridge and was built under the rule of King George of Podebrady in the second half of the 15th century to replace an earlier Romanesque tower. It is 43.5m high and represents a rare surviving example of the post-Hussite Gothic style. Connected to it by a walkway is the smaller Judith’s Tower – the only remaining part of the original Prague crossing, Judith’s Bridge, which was destroyed by floods in 1342, and subsequently replaced by Charles Bridge. Inside the Tower is an exhibition dedicated to the eventful history of Charles Bridge, with graphic descriptions of the invading armies that have crossed it. And since it was also included into my ‘Tower package”, I got to climb it too!

Since the Middle Ages, the Bridge Street (Mostecká Ulice) has linked Charles Bridge with the Little Quarter Square. Throughout the 13th and 14th centuries, the area to the north of the street was the Court of the Bishop of Prague. It was destroyed during the Hussite Wars, but one of its Gothic towers is preserved in the courtyard of the house called At the Three Golden Bells (it can be seen from the higher bridge tower). The street is lined with a mixture of Renaissance and Baroque houses. As you walk up to Little Quarter Square, look out for the house called At the Black Eagle on the left. It has rich sculptural decoration and a splendid Baroque wrought-iron grille. Kaunic Palace, also on the left, was built in the 1770s. Its Rococo façade has striking stucco decoration and sculptures by Ignaz Platzer.

The focal point of this neighborhood is the cobbled Little Quarter Square (Malostranske Namesti). It has been the center of life in the Little Quarter since its foundation in 1257. It had started life in the 8th century as a large market place in the outer bailey of Prague castle. Building sprung up in the middle of the square dividing it in half – a gallows and pillory stood in its lower part. Most of the houses around the square have a medieval core, but all were rebuilt in the Renaissance and Baroque periods. The center of the square is dominated by the splendid Baroque church of St. Nicholas. The large building beside it was a Jesuit college. Along the upper side of the square, facing the church, runs vast Neo-Classical facade of Liechtenstein Palace. In front of it stands a column raised in honor of the Holy Trinity to mark the end of a plague epidemic in 1713. Other important buildings include the Little Quarter Town Hall with its splendid Renaissance facade. Beside it stands the Smiricky Palace (#18) – its turrets and hexagonal towers make it an unmistakable landmark on the northern side of the lower square. It was here that Czech nobles gathered on May 22, 1618. The next day they threw two Habsburg councillors out of a window in Prague Castle, setting off the Thirty Year’s War. The Baroque Kaiserstein Palace is situated at the eastern side. On the facade is a bust of the great Czech soprano Emmy Destinn, who lived there between 1908 and 1914. She often sang with the famous Italian tenor Enrico Caruso.

It was almost 11.00 and since I was trying to make it to the Changing of the Guard ceremony at the Castle (which takes place every hour, but includes the fanfare only at noon), I decided to skip a visit to the Church of St. Nicholas, but use my last ticket of the “Tower tour” to climb the church’s 79m tall Belfry. Although this Baroque belfry, which was also used as a fire tower and the night watchman residence, was constructed together with St. Nicholas’ church, its greater part was built after the church was finished by the outstanding Baroque architect, Kilian Ignaz Dientzenhofer (belfry was completed by Anselmo Lurago according to the original plans). The construction was completed in 1755, however two years later, the building was damaged during the Prussian siege of Prague. The tower’s height is the same as the adjacent cupola and the gallery, which is open to the public, is 65m tall and has 299 steps. At first, it may seem that the tower and the church represent the same building, however, the belfry has always been a standalone structure and, more interestingly, has always been the municipal property of the Little Quarter. Hence it has its own street address and a separate entrance from the square. In the 1960s, it served as an observation post of the state police, which monitored the western countries’ embassies residing nearby. The plaque on the ground floor informed me about 22(!!!) rules of visiting the Town Belfry and the spaces along the staircase contained an apartment staged with furniture and belongings of the municipal employee who often used to live there with his family during the time of his public service. It didn’t look very comfortable and according to the records, the inhabitants often complained about the cold and difficulties with heating. The apartment consisted of a few small rooms and a black kitchen. The panoramic views from the top were magnificent, of course!

After I came down from Belfry, I hurriedly proceeded towards the Castle hill, via a steep picturesque narrow street called Neruda (Nerudova Ulice), which used to be the last leg of the Royal Route. It is named after Jan Neruda, a famous Czech novelist who was born, lived in and wrote about Malá Strana (he lived in the house called “At the Two Suns” (#47) between 1845 and 1857). Up until the introduction of numbers in 1777 (in order to collect taxes more effectively), Prague’s houses were distinguished by signs. Nerudova’s houses have a splendid selection of heraldic beasts and emblems, carefully restored and protected by law. They represent the family name, occupation, or the various passions of the people who once inhabited the houses. As I made my way up slope, I saw “Red Eagle” (#6), “The Three Fiddles” (#12 – in the early 18th century three generations of the Edlinger violin-making family lived here), “The Golden Horseshoe” (#34), “The Green Lobster” (#43), “The White Swan” (#49) as well as the Old Pharmacy museum (#32). There are also a number of grand Baroque buildings in the street, including the Thun-Hohenstein Palace (#20, now an Italian Embassy) and the Morzin Palace (#5, now a Romanian Embassy). The latter has a facade with two massive statues of Moors (a pun on the name Morzin) supporting a semicircular balcony on the second floor. The archway at #13 is a prime example of the many winding passageways that give the Little Quarter its captivating ghostly character at night. On the corner with Jansky vrsek is Bretfeld Palace, which Josef Bretfeld made into a center of social gatherings starting in 1765. His guests included Mozart and Casanova. Another impressive facade is that of a Church of Our Lady of Unceasing Succour, the church of the Theatines, an order founded during the Counter-Reformation.

Once I reached the top of Neruda Street, I crossed into the Hradcany and the Castle area. This is where the history of Prague begun with the foundation of the Castle in 870s by Prince Borivoj. Its commanding position high above the river Vltava soon made it the center of the lands ruled by the Premyslids. The buildings enclosed by the Castle walls included a palace, 3 churches and a monastery. In about 1320 a town called Hradcany was founded in part of the Castle outer bailey. The Castle has been reconstructed many times, most notably in the reigns of Charles IV and Vladislav Jagiello. After a fire in 1541, the badly damaged buildings were rebuilt in Renaissance style and the Castle enjoyed its cultural heyday under Rudolph II. Since 1918 it has been the seat of the president of the Republic.

I arrived to Hradcany Square (Hradcanske Namesti) at 11.45 and had a few minutes to position myself for the best views of the Changing of the Guard ceremony and to look around. With its fabulous mixture of Baroque and Renaissance houses, Hradcany Square was the important point of medieval power – the kings, the most powerful noblemen and the archbishop lived here. Uphill from the gate is the Renaissance Schwarzenberg Palace (it has big, envelop-like rectangles scratched on the wall). This is where the Rozmberks “humbly” stayed when they were in town visiting from their Cezky Krumlov estates. The Schwarzenberg family inherited it and stayed there until the 20th century. The palace now houses the National Gallery. The flamboyant yellow Rococo palace across the square (with the three white goose necks in the red field – the coat of arms of Prague’s archbishops) is where the archbishop used to and still lives. Through the portal on the left-hand side of the palace, a lane leads to the Sternberg Palace, which presently hosts the European paintings of the National gallery’s collection. In his movie “Amadeus”, Czech director Milos Forman used the house #7 for Mozart’s residence, where the composer was haunted by the masked figure he thought was his father. For a brief time after WWII, #11 was home to a little girl named Marie Jana Korbelova, better known as Madeleine Albright. The black Baroque sculpture in the middle of the square is a plague column. Erected as a token of gratitude to the saints who saved the population from the epidemic, these columns are an integral part of the main square of many Habsburg towns. The statue marked “TGM” honors Tomas Garrigue Masaryk (1850-1937), a university professor and the first Czech president.

Promptly at noon a very ceremonial Changing of the Guard procession began and 10 minutes later, it was over. Until 1989, the guards wore rather drab khaki outfits, when Vaclav Havel asked costume designer Teodor Pistek (who costumed the actors in the film “Amadeus”) to redress them. Today, their smart navy blue outfits are reminiscent of those worn during the First Republic.

Standing on the square, I could also survey the Prague Castle (Prazsky hrad)– city’s most popular attraction. According to Guinness World Records, it is the largest ancient castle in the world – 570 m long and an average of 128 m wide – and it consists of a long series of courtyards, churches and palaces. During a formal renovation the main entrance to Prague Castle was stripped of some grand touches, but it was still impressive. Going through the wrought-iron gate, guarded at ground level by Czech soldiers and from above by the ferocious Battling Titans (a copy of Ignaz Platzer’s original 18th century work), I entered the First Courtyard, built on the site of old moats and gates that once separated the Castle from the surrounding buildings and thus protected the vulnerable western flank. The courtyard is one of the most recent additions to the Castle, designed by Maria Theresa’s court architect, Nicolo Pacassi, in the 1760s. Today it forms part of the presidential office complex.

The Matthias Gateway (Matyasova Brana), built in 1614 as a freestanding gate, was later incorporated into the castle itself. The gateway bears the coat of arms of the various lands ruled by Emperor Matthias. Once you go through it, notice the ceremonial white-marble entrance halls on either side that lead up to the Czech president’s reception rooms (closed to public).

I passed through the Matthias Gate into the 16th century Second Courtyard, centered on a Baroque fountain and a 17th-century well with beautiful Renaissance lattice work. Except for the view of the spired of St. Vitus’s Cathedral, the exterior courtyard offers little for the eye to feast on, hence most tourists quickly pass through it on the way to the ticket booth. Empress Maria Theresa’s court architect received imperial approval to remake the castle in the 1760s, as it was badly damaged by Prussian shelling during the Seven Year’s War in 1757. The second courtyard was the main victim of Pacassi’s attempts at imparting the classical grandeur to what had been a picturesque collection of Gothic and Renaissance styles. This courtyard also houses the rather gaudy, Chapel of the Holy Cross (Kaple Sv. Kruze), with decorations from the 18th and 19th centuries. On the courtyard left side is the entrance to the Castle Picture Gallery (p.1), featuring 16th-18th century European art, including the works of Rubens and Tintoretto. Just north of the gallery, the 1540 Power Bridge crosses the Stag Moat, where deer were raised for the royal table.

Two passages lead you to the following courtyard, take the left one (with arched roof) and once inside, look at your left. Here, easy to miss, is the remnants of the Church of the Virgin Mary. This church, the oldest at Prague’s Castle and the second oldest in Bohemia, was built between 882-884 at the wish of Prince Borivoj I. It is the burial place of Prince Spytihněv I (915) and his wife (918). It was rebuilt in the 11th century but then destroyed by fire in the 13th.

At the end of the passage I froze as the graceful soaring towers of St. Vitus’s Cathedral come into my view. And soaring they were, as I wasn’t the only one who tried, laying on the ground, to take a picture of a whole structure. It wasn’t immediately clear whether it was the courtyard that initially was built too close to the cathedral, leaving practically no space or the gigantic cathedral was erected in already existing courtyard. The outcome was grandiose and in many ways claustrophobic. Occupying the site of a Romanesque rotunda built in 929, it is the country’s spiritual heart and its largest church.

Once inside the Third Courtyard, I went into an 11th-century Old Provost building which housed the ticket office. Most of the outdoor spaces at the Castle are free to visit, however, St. Vitus’s Cathedral, Royal Palace, St. George convent, Golden Lane and others, require a ticket. I went for a combined ticket: entry (250 Kc – $11), 3 hour audio guide (350 Ks -$16 – requires an ID) and a photo-permit (50 Kc – $2.5). Allow at least 3-4 hours. I have to say that the audioguide was superb, I wish I had the time to get a “whole day audio tour”.

Tightly holding on to my ticket I joined a line of people trying to get inside the St. Vitus’s Cathedral (Katedrala Sv. Vita) (p.2) and looked at the western facade of the building. Begun in 1334, under the watchful eye of Charles IV, St. Vitus’s has undergone three serious reconstructions. The first architect was the French Matthew of Arras, and after his death, Swabian Peter Parler rook over the project. The tower galleries date from 1562, the Baroque onion roof was constructed in 1770, and the entire western part of the cathedral has begun in 1873 and was completed only in 1929, for the 1,000th anniversary of the death of St. Wenceslas. While it looks all Gothic, it is actually two distinct halves: the original 14th century Gothic area around the high altar and the modern Neo-Gothic nave. The western facade is decorated with statues of saints and guys in suits carved beneath the big round window (those are architects and builders who finished the church). The bronze doors are embellished with reliefs; those on the central door depict the construction history of the cathedral. The door on the left features representation from the lives of St. Adalbert (on the right) and St. Wenceslas (on the left). Inside the cathedral’s busy main body are several chapels, coats of arms of the city of Prague, a memorial to Bohemia casualties of WWI, and a Renaissance-era organ loft with an organ dating from 1757. According to legend, St. Vitus died in Rome but was then transported by angels to a small town in southern Italy and in 1355, to Prague. Since then, Vitus, the patron saint of Prague has remained among the most popular saints in the country.

Once inside the cathedral I paused to take in the vast beauty of its interior (p.26) – remarkable Gothic vaulted ceiling colored with lights filtered through the brilliant stained-glass windows, created by eminent Czech artists of the early 20th century. The cathedral was so big that despite hundreds of tourists it felt almost empty.

Mucha-Stained Glass Window (P.27) – this masterful Art Nouveau window was designed by Czech artist Alfons Mucha and executed in 1931. Notice Mucha’s stirring nationalism: Methodius and Cyril, widely considered the fathers of Slavic-style Christianity, are top and center. Cyril – the monk in black holding the Bible- brought the word of God to the Slavs. Methodius, the bishop, is shown baptizing a mythic, lanky, long-haired Czech man – a reminder of how he brought Christianity to the Czech people. Scenes from the lives of Cyril (on the left) and Methodius (on the right) bookend the stirring and epic Slavic story. In the center are a kneeling boy and a prophesying elder – that is young St. Wenceslas and his grandmother, St. Ludmila. In addition to being specific historical figures, these characters are also symbolic: the old woman, with closed eyes, stands for the past and memory; the young boy, with a penetrating stare, represents the hope and future of a nation. Mucha draws our attention to these figures through the used of colors – the dark blue on the outside gradually turns into green, then yellow, and finally the gold of the woman and the crimson of the boy in the center. In Mucha’s color language, blue stands for the past, gold for the mythic, and red for the future.

I continued to slowly circulate around the church. A slight incline near the middle marks the site where the 14th-century church merged with its more-recent half. The Royal Habsburg mausoleum (p.32) (within a black iron fence) contains the remains of the first Habsburgs to rule Bohemia, including Ferdinand I, his wife Ann, and Maximilian II. The tomb dates from 1590 when Prague was a major Habsburg city.

Close to the night altar (Neo-Gothic, circa 1910), there is the fascinating carved-wood “Flight of the Winter King” relief (p.34). It depicts the action after the Battle of White Mountain, when the Protestant King Frederic escaped over the Charles Bridge. Carved in 1630, 10 years after the famous event occurred, the relief gives us a pick at Prague in 1620, stretching from the Tyn Church to the Cathedral (half-built at the time, up to where I am standing right now). Notice that back then, the Tyn church was Hussite (hence the chalice is the centerpiece of its facade), the Charles Bridge didn’t have its statues and the old city walls stood strong.

Circling around the high altar, I passed graves of bishops, including the tomb of St. Vitus (p.38 with a rooster at his feet). The stone sarcophagi contain kings from the Premyslid dynasty (12th-14th centuries). Locals claim the gigantic, shiny tomb of St. John of Nepomuk (p.39) has more than two tons of silver. According to legend, when Nepomuk’s body was exhumed in 1721 to be reinterred, the tongue was found to be still intact and pumping with blood. This strange tale served a highly political purpose: the Catholic Church and the Habsburgs were seeking a new folk hero to replace the Protestant forerunner Jan Hus, whom they despised. The 14th century priest Nepomuk, killed during the power struggle with King Vaclav IV, was sainted and reburied a few years later with great ceremony in this luxurious tomb, replete with angels and cherubim (the tongue was enshrined in its own reliquary).

About 3 m after the tomb (above on the right) is a finely carved rood relief “The Plundering of the Cathedral by Calvinists” (p.40) circa 1630. It gives a Counter-Reformation spin on the Wars of Religion, showing the “barbaric” Protestant nobles destroying the Catholic icons in the cathedral after their short-lived victory.

Further ahead on the left is the biggest and most beautiful of the cathedral’s numerous side chapels – Chapel of St. Wenceslas (p.43, it is roped-off with two view-points, the best access is around the corner to the left). Constructed between 1344 and 1364, this fancy chapel houses the tomb of St. Wenceslas and is surrounded by walls encrusted with over 1300 precious and semiprecious stones. The scenes of the lower portions of the walls evokes heavenly Jerusalem to anyone entering with a 14th century mind-set. Above are frescoes, circa-1590, showing scenes of the saint’s life and a locked door leading to the crown jewels. A plaque outside the door in details describes each fresco. The Tupperware-toned stained-glass windows are from the 1950s. The Czech kings used to be crowned right here in front of the coffin, draped in red.

After about an hour in the Cathedral, I was ready to leave; I walked out of the door and turned left to the Third Courtyard. The contract between the cool, dark interior of St. Vitus’s Church and the brightly colored facades is startling. Noted Slovenian architect Josep Plecnik created the courtyard’s clean lines in the 1930s, but the modern look is a deception. Plecnik’s paving was intended to cover an underground world of house foundations, streets, and walls dating from the 9th through 12th centuries and rediscovered when the cathedral was completed (see a few archways through a grating in a wall of the cathedral). Plecnik added a few features to catch the eye: a granite obelisk to commemorate the fallen of WWI, a black-marble pedestal for the Gothic statue of St. George (original is in the National Gallery), an inconspicuous entrance to his Bull Staircase leading down to the south garden, and a peculiar golden ball topping the eagle fountain near the eastern end of the courtyard. Well, the 11 m tall obelisk was erected in 1928 – a single piece of granite celebrating the 10th anniversary of the establishment of Czechoslovakia and commemorating the soldiers who fought for its independence. It was originally much taller, but broke in transit – an inauspicious start for a nation destined to last only 70 years. Up in the fat, green tower of the cathedral is the Czech Republic’s biggest bell, nicknamed “Zikmund”. In June 2002, it cracked, and two month later, the worst flood in recorded history hit the city – the locals saw this as a sign.

The southern doorway of the cathedral is known as the Golden Gate (Zlata brana), an elegant, triple-arched Gothic porch designed by Peter Parler. Above is the 14th-century mosaic of the Last Judgement. It was commissioned in the Venetian style by King Charles IV, who, in 1370 was modern, cosmopolitan, and ahead of his time. The use of mosaic is quite rare in countries north of the Alps and this work was constructed from 1 million glass and stone tesserae. Jesus oversees the action, as some go to heaven and some go to hell. The Czech king Charles IV and his consort, Elizabeth of Pomerania kneel directly beneath Jesus and six patrons saints. On coronation day, they would walk under this arch, a reminder to them (and their subjects) that even those holding great power are not above God’s judgement. The royal crown and national jewels are kept in a chamber above this entry-way, which was cathedral’s main entrance for centuries while the church remained uncompleted.

The eastern side of the third courtyard is adorned with Old Royal Palace (p.4) – one of the oldest parts of the castle. From the time Prague Castle was first fortified in stone in the 11th century, the palace was the seat of Bohemian princes. The building consists of three different architectural layers. A Romanesque palace build by Sobeslav I around 1135 forms the cellars of the present building. Premysl Otakar II and Charles IV then added their own palaces above this, while the top floor, built for Vladislav Jagiello, contains the massive Gothic Vladislav Hall. During the period of Habsburg rule the palace housed government offices, courts and the old Bohemian Diet (parliament).

The best way to grasp the palace’s size is from within the Vladislav Hall (p.50) – the largest secular Gothic interior space in Central Europe. Benedikt Ried completed the hall in 1493. The room imparts a sense of space and light, softened by the sensuous lines of the vaulted ceilings and brought to a dignified close by the simple oblong form of the early Renaissance windows. In its heyday, the hall held jousting tournaments (even the staircase was designed to let a mounted solder gallop in – p.59), festive markets (giving nobles a chance to shop without actually going into town), banquets and coronations. In more recent times, it has been used to elect and inaugurate presidents.

To the right are the rooms of the Ludwig wing (p.51-53) which was built by Benedikt Ried only 10 years after the hall was completed, but it shows much stronger Renaissance influence. I passed through the portal into the last chamber of the Chancellery (bare, with nothing but the 17th century Dutch-style stove decorating the room). From these rooms two governors used to oversee the Czech lands for the Habsburgs in Vienna. In 1618 angry Czech Protestant nobles poured into these rooms and threw the two Catholic governors out the window. And old law actually permits this act – called defenestration – which usually targets bad politicians. Old prints on the wall show the second of Prague’s many defenestrations. The two governors landed, fittingly, in pool of horse manure. Even though they suffered only broken arms and bruised egos, this event kicked off the huge and lengthy Thirty Years’ War.

At the back of Vladislav Hall a staircase leads up to a gallery of the All Saint’s Church (p.58) – little remain of Peter Parler’s original work, but the church contains some fine works of art. Unfortunately, it was closed. The large room to the left of the staircase is the Diet Hall (Council Chamber) (p.57). It is a room with a fine Gothic ceiling, a crimson throne, and benches for the nobility who once served as the high court. It is interesting to notice the arrangement of the Diet’s furniture, which is all centered on the royal throne. To the sovereign’s right is the chair of the archbishop and benches for the prelates. Along the walls are seats for the federal officials; opposite the throne is a bench for the representatives of the Estates. The balcony on the left used to hold scribes recording the proceedings and not mixing with the aristocrats. By the window on the right is a gallery for the representatives of the royal towns. The portraits on the walls depict Habsburg rulers (including Maria Theresa), and the display case on the right contains replicas of the Czech crown jewels. The originals are locked up inside the cathedral.

Before exiting the Palace, pause at the door to consider the subtle yet racy little Renaissance knocker (you can play with it for a little sex in the palace). Across from the Royal Palace is Basilica and Convent of St. George (Bazilika Sv Jiri) (p.6). Founded by Prince Vratislav (915-921), the basilica predates St. Vitus’s Cathedral and is the best-preserved Romanesque church in Prague. It was enlarged in 973 when the adjoining St. George’s convent was established here by Benedictine nuns. The massive twin towers and austere interior have been scrupulously restored to give a good idea of church’s original appearance. However, the rusty red facade was a 17th century Baroque addition.

I went inside this beautiful-in-its-simplicity Basilica to see the burial place of Czech royalty. The effect is at once barnlike and peaceful. Notice the characteristic double windows on the gallery, as well as the walls made of limestone (the bedrock underlying Prague). In those early days, building techniques were not yet advanced, and the ceiling is made of wood, rather than arched with stone. Buried inside the church is St. Ludmila, widow of the 9th century ruler Prince Borivoj (her stone tomb is in the space just to the right of the altar). She became Bohemia’s first female Christian martyr when she was strangled on the orders of Drahomira, her daughter-in-law, as she knelt at prayer. Vratislav is another members of Premyslid dynasty buried here. His austere tomb stands on the right-hand side of the nave at the foot of the curving steps that lead up to the choir. The impressive Baroque grille opposite encloses the tomb of Boleslav II (963-999).

St. George’s Convent, the first convent in Bohemia, was established by Prince Boleslav II. His sister Mlada was its first abbess. Rebuilt over the centuries, the convent was finally abolished in 1782 and converted into barracks. In 1962-1974 it was reconstructed and today it houses the National Gallery collection of 19th century Czech art. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to check it out.

After leaving the St. George’s Basilica, I continued walking down hill to Golden Lane (Zlata Ulice) (p.7). The tiny, brightly painted ancient buildings of this picturesque, almost doll-like, street originally housed castle servants, perhaps goldsmiths, after whom the street was named. They were constructed in the late 1500s for Rudolph II’s 24 castle guards. A century later the goldsmiths moves in and modified the buildings. But by the 19th century the area had degenerated into a slum and was populated by Prague’s poor and the criminals. Well-written English texts explain the history of the lane and its cannon towers, which served as prisons. In the 1950s all the remaining tenants were moved and the area restored to its original intended state. These days, the dwellings are filled with a mix of shops and reconstructions portraying medieval life in the lane, including a pub and a goldsmith’s workshop. As a New Yorker, I could definitely learn from the former tenants about their ability to live in tiny spaces. Golden Lane has been home to some well-known writers, including the Nobel prize-winning poet, Jaroslav Seifert, and Franz Kafka who stayed at #22 with his sister for a few months in 1916-1917. He described his house on first sight as “so small, so dirty, impossible to live in, and lacking everything necessary.” But he soon came to love the place. As he wrote to his fiancee: “Life here is something special, to close out the world not just by shutting the door to a room or apartment but to the whole house, to step out into the snow of the silent lane.” Because of its name, legends have spread about the street being filled with alchemists huddled over the bubbling alembics trying to produce gold for Rudolph II. In fact the alchemists had laboratories in Vikarska, the lane between St. Vitus’s Cathedral and the Powder Tower.

Within the walls above Golden Lane, a timber-roofed corridor (entrance is between #23 and #24) is lined with replica suites of armor and weapons (some of them for sale), mock torture chambers, and the like.

Unfortunately, my 3 hours have expired and I really had to leave. Inconveniently, there is no ticket booth at the other end of Prague castle (though there is an exit), so I had to backtrack to the front in order to deposit my audio-guide and pick up my ID.

I have to admit that the best part of traveling in Europe in winter is that it is a theater season. Just a few weeks earlier, my husband and I attended Verdi’s “La Traviata” at La Fenice in Venice, and now, I was lucky to get a ticket to see another of Verdi’s opera “Macbeth” (I bought a ticket online a day before for 590 Kc – $27). However, there was a moment of confusion – while I thought I was buying a ticket for the Mozart’s Estates Theater (located 5 min from my hotel), the opera actually took place at the State Opera (Statni Opera). Once I realized that, I had to literally run to make it for my 16.00 performance. The first theater built on the same location, called The New Town Theater, was pulled down in 1885 to make way for the present building. This was originally known as the New German Theater, built to rival the Czech’s National Theater. A Neo-Classical frieze decorates the pediment above the columned loggia at the front of the theater. The figures include Dionysus and Thalia, the muse of comedy. With the most ornate interior of any venue in Prague, this theater has more than a touch of Phantom of the Opera – it is stuccoed and original paintings in the auditorium and on the curtain have been preserved. In 1945 the theater became the city’s main opera house.

And if my day wasn’t long and eventful enough, after the opera I wandered the streets of Prague for another couple of hours. Finally, it wasn’t raining, and tourists were congregating around the most important landmarks, so majority of the places and lanes in the Old Town were eerily empty. I walked back to the Charles Bridge (because every travel guide suggested taking a Bridge night stroll), I passed through Josefov (the Jewish town). Finally, Prague was exactly what I imagined it to be – ghostly, cold and beautiful.

February 22, 2016.

Absolutely unexpectedly, I found myself on a day tour to Terezin, Czech’s concentration camp. More about it you can find here.

I came back from the trip around 17.00 and spend a few hours browsing the New Town (Nove Mesto). Since my hotel was located on the border of two towns, almost facing the spacious boulevard-like Wenceslas Square, I really didn’t have to go very far. When the Old Town outgrew itself, the New Town, founded in 1348 by Charles IV, was carefully planned and laid out around three large central market-places: the Hay Market (Senovazne Sq.), the Cattle Market (Charles Sq.) and the Horse Market (Wenceslas Sq.). The high wall surrounded the newly developed 2.5 km2  area south and east of the Old Town, (twice as large as the Old Town) which was inhabited by tradesmen and craftsmen such as blacksmiths, wheelwrights and brewers. During the late 19th century, much of the New Town was demolished and completely redeveloped, giving it the appearance it has today. I started my tour around the New Town following the Street-by-Street guide of my travel book.

I started at the Wenceslas Square (Vaclavske Namesti) (p.1). This 750m long boulevard was originally built in the 14th century as a horse market; now its shops and hotels serve as a crash course in 19th-20th century architecture. Art Nouveau, Cubist, Functionalist, and new-Renaissance structures stand in unlikely cohabitation, beautifully ornamented facades neighboring blocky Communist building and post-Velvet Revolution constructions. At the head of the square stands a large equestrian statue of King Wenceslas. Erected in the same decade as the Jan Hus monument, it is one of Prague’s most symbolic sites, having served as a historical staging ground for a century of tumultuous events. The king (and his horse) witnessed Czechoslovakia’s declaration of independence in 1918, when thousands of Praguers filled Wenceslas Square to weep with joy as their first president announced the formation of the fledgling country. In 1938, the statue looked on as Czechs denounced the Munich Treaty, which offered up a piece of Czechoslovakia to Hitler in a futile gesture of appeasement; a year later, a staged rally would signify the arrival of Nazi fascism. Wenceslas Square was the place where throngs of student protesters were met by brute force during the country’s abortive and tragic attempt to temper Soviet totalitarianism in 1968, during which an 11 year old boy was shot dead on the steps of the statue as he pushed a Czech flag down the barrel of a Soviet tank. A year later, a Czech college student, Jan Palach became a national martyr when he burned himself alive here in protest of the Communist occupation; 800,000 Czechs joined his funeral procession when it filed past the statue a week later. When Vaclav Havel was still a dissident, he was arrested for placing flowers by the statue in commemoration of Palach’s death, and before Soviet Union dissolved in 1989, Havel stood before more than a quarter million Czechs who filled the square to witness Communism’s demised.

Diving into the first narrow alley on my right, I appeared on a side of the Church of Our Lady of the Snows (Kostel Panny Marie Snezne) (p.2). Charles IV founded this church to mark his coronation in 1347. The name refers to a 4th century miracle in Rome, when the Virgin Mary appeared to the pope in a dream telling him to build a church to her on the spot where snow fell in August. Charle’s church was to have been over 100 m long, but was never completed. The present towering building was just the presbytery of the projected church. Over 33m high, it was finished in 1397, and was originally part of Carmelite monastery. On the northern side there is a gateway with a 14th century pediment that marked the entrance to the monastery graveyard. In the early 15th century a steeple was added, but further building was halted by the Hussite Wars. The Hussite firebrand Jan Zelivsky preached at the church and was buried here after his execution in 1422. The church suffered considerable damage in the wars and in 1434 the steeple was destroyed. For a long time the church was left to decay, however in 1603 Franciscans restored the building. The intricate net vaulting of the ceiling dates from this period, the original roof having collapsed. Most of the interior decoration, apart from the 1450s pewter font, is Baroque. The monumental three-tiered altar is crowded with statues of saints, and is crowned with a crucifix. The Church’s southern perimeter is surrounded by the Franciscan Garden (Frantiskanska Zahrada) (p.3). Originally the physic garden of a Franciscan monastery, the area was opened to the public in 1950 as a tranquil oasis close to Wenceslas Square, with its fountain, rose-beds and a children’s playground. In the 1980s several of the beds were replanted with herbs, to match the ones cultivated by the Franciscans in the 17th century.

Via Vodikova Street I re-emerged in the middle of the Wenceslas Square, right across from the Hotel Europa (Hotel Evropa) (p.4). The Europa Hotel is a wonderfully preserved reminder of the golden age of hotels. It was built in highly decorated Art Nouveau style between 1903 and 1906. Not only has its splendid facade crowned with gilded nymphs survived, but many of the interiors on the ground floor have remained virtually intact, including original bars, large mirrors, paneling and light fittings. When I was there, the hotel was boarded up, apparently undergoing renovation.

The square is full of many other, unnoticeable at first, sights, such as Cafe Tramvaj (housed in a real red tram), standing next to Hotel Europa or a marble plaque “planted” at the edge of a flowerbed, dedicated to the victims of Communism. At the far end, right behind the Wenceslas’ Statue is National Museum (Narodny Muzeum) (p.5, closed for renovation in 2016). The museum is housed in the vast Neo-Renaissance building, designed by Josef Schulz as a triumphal affirmation of the Czech national revival and completed in 1890. The entrance is decorated with allegorical statues – seated by the door are History and Natural History.

Right before the National Museum I turned right on Mezibranska Street and then another right on Jecna to get to Charles Square (Karlovo Namesti). Prague’s largest square, since the mid-19th century it has been a park, hence it was covered by lawns, trees and statues of Czech writers. It was a quiet antidote to the bustling Wenceslas and Old Town Squares. The square began life as a vast cattle market when the New Town was founded. Other goods sold in the square included firewood, coal and pickled herrings from barrels. In the center of the market Charles IV had a wooden tower built, where the coronation jewels were put on display once a year. In 1382 the tower was replaced by a chapel, from which, in 1437, concessions made to the Hussites by the pope at the Council of Basle were read out to the populace. New Town’s Town Hall (Novomestska radnice), which stands on the eastern side, was the site of Prague’s First Defenestration – a violent protest sparkling the Hussite Wars in the 15th century.

By now, it was getting really late and the square and all the neighboring streets were unusually empty. I passed by the Church of St. Cyril and St. Methodius (Kostel Sv Cyrila A Metodeje). This Baroque church, with a pilastered facade and a small central tower, was built in the 1730s. It was dedicated to St. Charles Borromeo and served as the church of a community of retired priests, but both were closed in 1783. In the 1930s the church was restored and given to the Czechoslovak Orthodox Church, and rededicated to St. Cyril and St. Methodius. In May 1942 parachutists who had assassinated Reinhard Heydrich, hid in the crypt along with members of the Czech resistance. Surrounded by German troops, they took their own lives rather than surrender. Bullet holes made by the German machine guns during the siege can still be seen below the memorial plaque on the outer wall of the crypt, which now houses a museum of these times.

The north-east corner of the Charles Square is adorned with the gild and flamboyant stucco of the Baroque St. Ignatius’ Church (Kosetel Sv Ignace). It was built by the Jesuits to impress people with the power and glamour of their faith. The architects were the same two men responsible for the adjoining Jesuit College, Carlo Lurago, who started work on the church in 1665 and Paul Ignaz Bayer, who added the tower in 1687.

Innocently looking pastel-pink Faust House (Faustum Dum) frames the southern part of the Square. Prague thrives on legends of alchemy and pacts with the devil, and this Baroque mansion has attracted many. There has been a house here since the 14th century when it belonged to Prince Vaclav of Opava, an alchemist and natural historian. In the 16th century it was owned by the alchemist Edward Kelley. The chemical experiments of Count Ferdinand Mladota of Solopysky, who owned the house in the mid-18th century gave rise to its association with the legend of Faust. Luckily, it is closed to the public.

Accompanied by the full moon, I safely made it back to my hotel.

February 23, 2016.

It was gray and rainy again, so I chose to spend my last day in Prague by visiting the galleries and museums in Hradcany. Before coming to Prague, friends, who have stayed in the city before, recommended to skip the indoor “stuff” and enjoy the bounty of outdoor sights. However, by now I have crossed out most of the places and frankly, I was tired of being cold and wet. Nevertheless, I decided to stroll through the Little Quarter on my way to the Castle area. A beautiful Narodni street (which together with Na Prikope was used as a moat and was perimetered by fortification wall) took me to another bridge, Legii – place, where the gold crested National Theater (Narodni Divaldo) adorns the eastern bank of Vltava river. This place has always been an important symbol of the Czech cultural revival. The idea for a Czech national theater began during the revolutionary decade of the 1840s. In a telling display of national pride, donations to fund the plan poured in from all over the country, from people of every socioeconomic stratum. Work started in 1868 with the original Neo-Renaissance style designed by the Czech architect Josef Zitek. However, on August 12, 1881, days before the official opening, the National Theater was completed gutted by fire. It was thought to have been started by metalworkers on the roof. Just 6 weeks later, enough money had been collected to rebuilt the theater and Josef Schultz was chosen as its new architect. He attracted all the best Czech artists of the period to contribute towards the theater’s lavish and spectacular decoration. It was finally opened two years later in 1881 with a performance of Czech composer Bedrich Smetana’s opera “Libuse”. I couldn’t get in, but I enjoyed the statues representing Drama and Opera, which rise above the riverfront side entrances, and two gigantic chariots flanked figures of Apollo and the nine Muses above the main facade.

Once in Little Quarter, I chose to avoid large streets, and instead enjoy the architecture and ambience of the neighborhood’s 700 year old history. Just like most parts of old Prague, its houses were charming, lanes were tranquil and palaces were abundant. I passed by the Michna Palace (Michnuv Palace or Tyrsuv dum). In about 1580 Ottavio Aostalli built a summer palace here for the Kinsky family on the site of an old Dominican convent. In 1623 the building was bought by Pavel Michna of Vacinoc, a supply officer in the Imperial Army, who had grown rich after the Battle of White Mountain. He commissioned a new Baroque building that he hoped would rival the palace of his late commander, Wallenstein. In 1767 the Michna Palace was sold to the army and over the years it became a crumbling ruin. After 1918 it was bought by Sokol (a sport organization) and converted into a gym and sports center with a training ground in the old palace garden. The restored palace was renamed Tyrs House in honor of Sokol’s founder.

I continued via Karmelitsa Street and just ahead I noticed large music notebooks exhibited in the windows, it was the Museum of Music (Ceske Muzeum Hudby). House in the former 17th century Baroque Church of St. Magdalene, the Museum of Music seeks to present musical instruments not only as fine specimens of craftsmanship and artistry but also as mediators between man and music. The museum is run by the National Museum and boasts a magnificent atrium. Exhibits include a look at the diversity of popular 20th century music as preserved in film, television, photographs and sound recordings. Also examined is the production of handcrafted instruments, the history of musical notation and the social occasions linked to certain instruments. Earphones offer high-quality sound reproduction of original recordings made on the instruments displayed. The museum’s collection can be accessed via the study room and there is a listening studio for the library of recordings.

I turned right onto Harantova Street and then left into the Maltese Square (Maltezske Namesti), since I got married in Malta, I couldn’t not visit this place. It is easy to get lost in the numerous large and small squares of Prague, but you can’t miss this one, as the “stamp” of Maltese cross brands every building of the square. The place takes its name from the Priory of the Knights of Malta, which used to occupy this part of the Little Quarter. At the northern end stands a group of sculptures featuring St. John the Baptist by Ferdinand Brokoff – part of a fountain erected in 1715 to mark the end of a plague epidemic. Most of the buildings were originally Renaissance houses belonging to prosperous townspeople, but in the 17th and 18th centuries the Little Quarter was taken over by the Catholic nobility and many buildings were converted to flamboyant Baroque palaces. The largest, Nostitz Palace, stands on the south side. It was built in the mid-17th century, then in about 1720 a balustrade was added with Classical vases and statues of emperors. The palace now houses the Ministry of Culture. The Japanese embassy is housed in the Turba Palace (1767), an attractive pink Rococo building designed by Joseph Jager.

A street to the east goes straight to the buttressed Church of Our Lady beneath the Chain (Kostel Panny Marie Pod Retezem). This church, the oldest in the Little Quarter, was founded in the 12th century. King Vladislav II presented it to the Knights of St. John, the order which later became known as the Knights of Malta. It stood in the center of the Knights’ heavily fortified monastery that guarded the approach to the old Judith Bridge. The church’s name refers to the chain used in the Middle Ages to close the monastery gatehouse. A Gothic presbytery was added in the 13th century, but in the following century the original Romanesque church was demolished. A new portico was built with a pair of massive square towers, but work was then abandoned and the new nave became a courtyard between the towers and the church. This was given a Baroque facelift in 1640 by Carlo Lurago. The painting by Karel Skreta on the high altar shows the Virgin Mary and John the Baptist coming to the aid of the Knights of Malta in the famous naval victory over the Turk at Lepanto in 1571.

I took a narrow lane on the right of the church to get to the Grand Priory Square (Velkoprevorske Namesti). On the northern side of this small leafy square stands the former seat of the Grand Prior of the Knights of Malta. In its present form the palace dates from the 1720s. The doorways, windows and decorative vases were made at the workshop of Matthias Braun. On the opposite side of the square is the Buqouy palace, now the French Embassy, a delightful Baroque building roughly contemporary with the Grand Prior’s Palace. The only incongruous features are a painting of John Lennon and graffiti exhorting the world to “give peace a chance”. These have decorated the wall of the Grand Prior’s garden since Lennon’s death in 1980.

I tracked back to the entrance of the church and noticed a stunning coral-colored building, The House at the Golden Unicorn, which had a plaque commemorating the fact that Beethoven stayed there in 1796.

I turned around the house and after reaching the Bridge Street, turned left to the Little Quarter Square. Two days prior, I briefly slip through the area but now I came back to visit the Church of St. Nicholas (Chram Sv. Mikulase)(70 Kc – $3, pictures allowed, 30-40 mins). When the Jesuits came to Prague, they found the perfect piece of real estate for their church and its associated school – the Church divides and dominates the two sections of the Little Quarter square. Building began in 1703, and the last touches were put to the glorious frescoed nave in 1761. With dynamic curves, this church is one of the purest and most ambitious examples of High Baroque. It is an acknowledged masterpiece of father-and-son architects Christoph and Kilian Ignaz Dientzenhofer, although they never lived to see the completion of the church. Work on the building was completed in 1755 by Anselmo Lurago, who also added the bell tower. The juxtaposition of the broad, full-bodied dome with the slender bell tower is one of the many striking architectural contrasts that mark the Prague’s skyline. The statues, frescoes and paintings inside the church, by leading artists of the day, are impossible to take in with a single glance. Every corner bristles with life, guiding the eye first to the dramatic statues, then to the hectic frescoes, and on the shining faux-marble pillars. The ceiling fresco “Apotheosis of St. Nicholas” (1770) by Johann Kracker, is the largest in Europe. Clever trompe l’oeil technique makes the painting merge almost seamlessly with the architecture. However the most valuable monuments of art preserved in the Church are a set of paintings, created by Karel Skreta, exhibited in the gallery. The paintings represent the so-called “Passion cycle”, created during 1673-1674. Notice that at first glance the canvas are utterly dark, but as sun beams shine through the window, various parts of the painting brighten up. This painting technique represents a central Baroque belief: the world is full of darkness, and the only hope that makes it come alive emanates from God. Extensive renovation in the 1950s reversed the damage caused by 200 years of leaky cladding and condensation.

The western half of the square is dominated by the Plaque Column of the Holy Trinity (Morovy sloup Nejsvetejsi Trojice) designed by Giovanni Batista Alliprandi. It was erected in 1713 as a symbol of gratitude for the end of the Black Plague, but it also became a memorial dedicated to those who died in the famine of 1722. What I found unusual about this column was the The Eye of Providence (or the all-seeing eye of God) at its top. I could bet Freemasons had something to do with it.

This time around, I had plenty of time to browse around Nerudova Street galleries and shops. Check out Designum Gallery, definitely a place to find something authentic and uniquely Czech. I purchased Jiri Pelcl‘s Matreshka-shaped oil and vinegar jar. Another thing that no travel guide talks about – the one-of-a-kind paved roads of Prague. Each street is framed not only with marvelous palaces and houses, but also with the remarkable mosaic work on the ground. Judge for yourself!

15 minutes uphill walk took me to the Strahov Monastery (Strahovsky Klaster). When it was founded in 1140 by an austere religious order, the Premonstratensians, Strahov rivaled the seat of Czech sovereign in size. Destroyed by fire in 1258 it was rebuilt in Gothic style, with later Baroque additions. Important to remember that medieval monasteries were a mix of industry, agriculture and education, as well as worship and theology. In its heyday, the monastery had a booming economy of its own, with vineyards, a brewery, and a sizable beer hall. Its main church, dedicated to the Assumption of St. Mary, is an originally Romanesque structure decorated by the monks in textbook Baroque. Its famous library, in the theological and philosophical halls, is over 800 years old and despite being ransacked by many invading armies, is one of the finest in Bohemia. Both rooms are filled with 10th to 17th century books, shelved under elaborately painted ceilings. The theme of the first and bigger hall is philosophy, with the history of man’s pursuit of knowledge painted on the ceiling. The other hall focuses on theology. As the Age of Enlightenment began to take hold in Europe at the end of the 18th century, monasteries still controlled the books. Notice the gilded, locked case containing the libri prohibiti at the end of the room. Only the abbot had the key, and you had to have his blessing to read these books – by writers such as Nicolas Copernicus and Jan Hus, and even the French encyclopedia. The lobby outside the hall contains an 18th century Cabinet of Curiosities, displaying the grotesquely shriveled remains of sharks, skates, turtles and an elephant trunk. Strahov also escaped Joseph II’s 1783 dissolution of the monasteries by changing its library into a research institute. If the weather is nice, check out the monastery garden, that is among the finest in Prague.

From the monastery, I took Loretanska street to The Loreto (Loreta) (entry + photo permit 250 Kc – $11, allow an hour). Ever since its construction in 1626, the Loreto has been an important place of pilgrimage. It was commissioned by Katerina of Lobkowicz, a Czech aristocrat who was very keen to promote the legend of Santa Casa of Loreto. The legend said that the original house, where Archangel Gabriel told Mary about the future birth of Jesus, was in the small Italian town of Loreto. It was believed that angels transported the house from Nazareth to Loreto in 1278 following threats by infidels. After the Protestants’ defeat in 1620, Catholics promoted the legend, and 50 replicas of the Loreto were built in Bohemia and Moravia. The Santa Casa of Loreto was the grandest of them all. It was enclosed by cloisters in 1661 and 60 years later by the Baroque facade (designed and executed by Shristoph and Kilian Ignaz Dientzenhofer). And if standing on the Loreto Square and facing the complex you think that you came to see that building, you are wrong – you came to see a building within a building.

The balustrade above the Loreto’s front entrance is decorated with statues of St. Joseph and St. John the Baptist by Ondrej Quitainer. Loreta church has been a hit with pilgrims for centuries, thanks to its dazzling bell tower (a set of 30 bells cast in 1691-1694 in Amsterdam by Claudy Fremy), peaceful plush 17th century cloister, sparkling treasury and much-venerated Holy House. Once inside, I followed the one-way clockwise route around the cloisters (built originally as a shelter for the many pilgrims who visited the shrine), noticing that the ceiling was painted with the many places Mary has miraculously appeared to the faithful in Europe.

In the garden-like center of the cloister stands the ornate Santa Croce (Holy House), the “little Bethlehem” of Prague. It is the traditional departure point of Czech pilgrims setting out on the long, arduous journey to Europe’s most important pilgrimage site, Santiago de Compostela, in northwest Spain. Inside, on the left wall, hangs what some consider to be an original beam from the house of Mary. It’s overseen by a much-venerated statue of the Black Virgin. Stucco figures of many of the Old Testament prophets and reliefs from the life of the Virgin Mary by Italian artists decorate the chapel.

The small Baroque Church Of the Nativity behind the Santa Casa is one of the most beautiful in Prague. The decor looks rich – but the marble and gold are all fake. From the window in the back, you can see a stucco relief on the Santa Casa that shows angels rescuing the house from a pagan attack in Nazareth and making a special delivery to Loreto.

Recently, the church became a place of a fascinating discovery – the crypt revealed in 2011 unique Baroque mural paintings depicting motifs of Death and Resurrection – allegories of Time, symbols of fragility and transience of human existence. These frescoes of exceptional quality were created in 1664 and were commissioned by the then patroness of Loreto, Countess Elisabeth Apollonia of Kolowrat. The main scene depicting the Raising of Lazarus was based on the famous etching by Rembrandt, which later inspired numerous artists across the centuries, including Van Gogh – the Loreto fresco is remarkable because it is a very early reaction to Rembrandt’s work created while he was still alive. The crypt was closed but the 3D model of the crypt is located on the second floor of Loreto arcades.

I continued around the cloister. In the last corner is “St. Bearded Woman” (Svata Starosta). This patron saint of unhappy marriages is a woman whose family arranged for her to marry a pagan man. She prayed for an escape, sprouted a beard … and the guy said “No way!” While she managed to avoid marriage, it angered her father, who crucified her. The many candles here are from people suffering through unhappy marriages.

Fountain sculpture in the center of the courtyard is the copy of “The Ascension of the Virgin Mary” taken from Jan Bruderle’s 1739 sandstone statue, now in the Lapidarium.

Just before the exit, I took a left and headed upstairs, following sings to the treasury – a room full of jeweled worship aids (with great English descriptions). The highlight here is the monstrance (Communion wafer holder) from 1699, with 6,222 diamonds.

And of course, my favorite room was the promised 3D model of the crypt.

After leaving the Loreto, I proceeded towards the Hradcany Square, as three of Prague’s largest galleries are located there. First, I decided to visit Schwarzenberg Palace (Schwarzenbersky Palac) (combined entry ticket is 300 Ks – $14, valid for 3 months and allows entry to all 6 National Galleries throughout town, please allow 1,5-2 hours). From a distance, the facade of this grand Renaissance palace appears to be clad in projecting pyramid-shaped stonework. On closer inspection, this turns out to be an illusion created by sgraffito patterns incised on a flat wall. Built originally for the Lobkowitz family by the Italian architect Agostino Galli in 1545-1576, the gabled palace is Florentine rather than Bohemian in style. It was at that palace in 1601 the astronomer Tycho Brahe died of uremia during a banquet because he thought that going to the restroom before the host was bad form. The palace passed through several hands before the Schwarzenbergs, the leading family in the Hubsburg Empire, bought it in 1719. Much of the interior decoration has survived, including 4 painted ceilings on the second floor dating from 1580. The palace once housed the Museum of Military History, but now hosts “Baroque in Bohemia” collection.

Oddly enough, the numeration of the rooms starts on the upper floor, but driven by my habits, I went from the ground floor up, studying a very informative plaques along the way.

The ground floor contains rooms XV-XX. Room XV. Sculptor’s workshop in the Baroque Period. The Baroque sculptor’s workshop was probably the most numerous working group within the period art practice. It was headed by the master, who was an entrepreneur in the first place – he employed journeymen, and other assistants and apprentices to work on specific assignments. The commissions were executed in collaboration of the whole studio, with the use of new materials and a developing new method of collective work. Its basic principle was altering the discovered formulae of motion and expression (transformation). Sculptors of the 17th-18th centuries drew sketches and sculpted plastic studies of varied materials and in various stages of completion. The manner of work was not based on their own innovation only – a number of contracts explain the obviously common practice in the production of monumental sculptural works: the artist created the final work from an existing modello, whose creator was another artist, most frequently a painted or an architect, the author of the building’s design. Sculptors, in turn, supplied models for goldsmiths and bell-makers. The main support for their work was provided by a workshop’s collection of models, which contained model engravings, original drawings from travels, both ancient and modern-time casts, but particularly a set of small model sculptures, called bozzetti.

Room XVI “Painted Sketches”. In sketches – studies painted in oil – it is possible to see the background of a painter’s creative work and his initial ideas of the appearance of the planned work. Painted spontaneously in relaxed brushwork, these compositions reveal the personality of the artist much more intimately, for the painter’s approach is freer that at work on the final painting, in which he is often constricted by the taste and requirements of the patron. The sketch worked in several ways: it served the painter to record the initial intention, defining the composition and color scheme of the future work; it was a working basis for his assistants, who transformed it on a larger scale into the executed piece. It also played an important part in gaining the commission – the patron often demanded a drawn or painted design, on whose basis he could choose a suitable maker to meet his requirements. A great majority of the exhibits here represent designs for monumental altar-pieces. Reiner’s sketches were precursors for fresco painting in churches and monasteries in Prague. Painted in the grisaille technique, the sketch by Johann Georg Heinsch is a singular example of a study that was used as a model for a print with the university thesis.

Room XVII. Early Baroque Sculpture. The Baroque style stimulated Bohemia, like all Europe in fact, to an exceptional development of sculpture. Unlike in the preceding stage of northern Renaissance, sculpture achieved a position equal with that of painting on new assignments followed, both on a small and monumental scales. It was only the Baroque that brought with it the liveliness and richness of plastic forms, which swept the palatial fronts from the portal to the attic, enlivened the garden terraces and particularly, filled the interiors of the new churches of Counter-Reformist Catholicism. At first, the new style did not appear in Bohemia in its mature shape usual in the south of Europe, but in simple forms, which opened up various possibilities. Likewise, it arrived in the Czech lands with considerable delay. The most distinct protagonist of the early stage of the style were Ernst Johann Heidelberger and Johann Georg Bendl. From the mid-1680s, awareness improved locally of the dynamic illusive Baroque of Gianlorenzo Bernini in Rome, which was reflected in Prague in personally shaded versions of Jeremias and Konrad Max Sussners, Johann Georg and Paul Heermanns, and others.

Room XVIII. Sculpture of the High Baroque period. Baroque sculpture in Bohemia culminated before 1710, when the process of assimilation of the initially foreign style was completed. The most daring performances of local artists were reflected in the sculptural decoration of Charles Bride, which was provided with 24 new groups and thus became a rather prestigious venture. The position of Prague as a metropolis of art had been strengthened, and alongside Munich, Wurzburd, Salzburg and Vienna, the city became one of the creative centers of Central European Baroque. Well-staffed workshops – the tax-collection office list dating from 1725-1726 recorded 24 of them – managed to meet the increasing demands of the time. However, only two of the studios surpassed average standards, elevating sculptural production to a high level. The two were headed by figures of very different orientation and expression, whose production went in parallel for 20 years: Ferdinand Brokoff and Matthias Braun. Whereas the former was trained in the Prague studio of his father Johann, the latter left his native Tirol to finish his training in Italy. Their sculptural styles actually showed quite opposite efforts, and yet each in his own way, they formed the profile of Baroque sculpture in Bohemia. As opposed to Brokoff’s monumental weight, authentic plasticity and emphasis on the volume, Braun brought the excited dynamism of Italy, an expressive hyperbole and open pictorial modeling.

Room XIX. Sculpture of the Late Baroque. After the death of Matthias Braun in 1738, the running of the studio was taken over by his talented nephew Anton, whole most of the other assistants spread their master’s impressive style in the provinces, mostly in eastern Bohemia. This was also the area of activity of Braun’s most capable followers, such as Georg Pacak, Gregor Theny, Severin Tischler and Ignaz Rohrbach. In the 1730s, inspirational stimuli kept coming from abroad, as well, being absorbed by the youngest generation that had already grown on local art ground. These sculptors combined the new stylistic formulae with the illusive tradition of the High Baroque: sculpture went through a powerful wave of Rococo sentimental grace, accompanied by a distinct turn to interior carving. The best works of this wave, produced by the Prague workshops of Franz Ignaz Weiss, Karl Hiernle and Johan Anton Quitainer, showed the delicate refinement on a small scale. From the mid-18th century, Classicism began arriving in the form derived from the works of G.R. Donner in Vienna and taught at the Academy there. The sculpture grew in scale again, moving from the interiors to the facades and castle parks again. The Baroque pictorial modeling was replaced by smoothly shaped forms and according to the new canon, bodily proportions became elongated. For the last time, Prague became a center of new sculptural production with Ignaz Franz Platzer, who studied at the Academy in Vienna and was the last great figure of Baroque sculpture in this country.

Room XX. Monumental Sculpture: Matthias Braun and Ferdinand Maximilion Brokoff.

First floor contains the rooms VII-XIV. Room VII. Monumental paintings of the 17th and 18th centuries.

Room VIII. Petr Brandl and his predecessors. Brandl is one of the most distinct figures of Baroque art in Bohemia. He probably inherited some artistic inclinations from his uncle who was the court goldsmith. After 6 years spent at a Jesuit grammar school, he was apprenticed to the court painter Christian Schroder. The latter was a rather mediocre artist, but was also employed as a curator of the imperial picture gallery at the Prague Castle and could thus enable his pupil to explore Italian and Netherlandish masters. Brandl never studied abroad and rather than the influence of his teacher, he found inspiration in the works of his older colleague, the painter Michael Wenzel Halbax. In this artist he encountered mediated knowledge of Italian painting, for Halbax had been trained in the renowned Venetian workshop of Carl Loth. Brandl soon arrived at an individual painting expression characterized by dramatic contrasts of light and shadow, and paint applied in thick layers. Even as a young painter he had aristocratic clientele – in 1697 he became the court artist of Count Wenzel Adalbert of Sternberg. For a short time he was exempt from his duties to the guild, whose member he was, but he violated the guild’s statues and refused or forgot to pay his early contribution. His peculiar and Bohemian nature often caused trouble not only between him and his wife, but it also annoyed his patrons, who often had to be very patient as the artist rarely met the agreed deadlines.

Room IX. Masters of Portraiture: Johann Kupecky and Petr Brandl.  Kupecky is one of the eminent representatives of Central European portrait painting. His family was of the Czech Brethern confession and because of their creed, they left Bohemia for Slovakia. Kupecky then stayed in Vienna, from where he left for Italy to spend 3 years there, earning his living mostly by copying portraits. In 1707 he accepted an invitation by Count Liechtenstein to come to Vienna and there he built up a broad clientele, like he did during his intermittent sojourns in Germany and Bohemia. His various prestigious commissions made him travel all the time – he portrayed Peter the Great, tsar of Russia, in Carlsbad and the Elector Augustus of Saxony in Dresden. At the end of his life he settled in Nuremberg, where he shared his commissions with a number of collaborators. In some cases it is thus difficult to correctly attribute the paintings. Kupecky’s works were largely copied even in his lifetime, some of the copiers making use of the printed albums with reproductions of his paintings. Kupecky maintained friendly relations with Brandl, which is also proved by their join work in Room VII. As a portraitist Brandl expressed himself in two rather different ways. Some of the portrayals are conceived with informal moderation, without any attributes of pomp and artificial arrangement. Others clearly reveal his knowledge of the type of French prestigious painting. Brandl’s brushwork was more spontaneous and relaxed than Kupecky’s, but despite that it doesn’t lack elegance and charm.

Room X. Wenzel Lorenz Reiner, Anton Kern, Johann Molitor, Franz Palko, Ignaz Raab. This room represents the final stage of the High Baroque, with some paintings that are already Rococo in style. Wenzel Lorenz Reiner specialized particularly in wall painting, but he was also interested in making easel paintings with religious subjects, portraits and landscapes. He came from an artistic family – his grandfather was an architect, while his father dedicated himself to sculpture and his uncle traded in art. He maintained friendly relations with Michael Wenzel Halbax and Petr Brandl, who influenced his work more than his formal teacher, A.F. Schweiger. In his heroically conceived landscapes, Reiner mostly followed the works of Italian painters (S. Rosa and S. Ricci). Roughly from the 1730s the situation in art changed. Artists rather inclined to Vienna, where many of them studied at the Academy of Fine Arts. More lively contacts were made with Bavaria and Saxony: Anton Kern and Franz Karl Palko worked at the court in Dresden. A native of Decin, Kern was trained in the workshop of the renowned Venetian painter Giovanni Battista Pittoni, whose light color scheme he emulated. In his lyrical concept an non-dramatic rendition, he was a forerunner of the Rococo.

Room XI. The Hartmann landscape painters. The Hartmanns were among the first who specialized in landscape painting in 18th century Bohemia. Their work was based on a family workshop where the father, Jan Jakub, trained his sons Frantisek Antonin and Vaclav Jan in the art of painting according to his own style. This is also the reason why the brushwork of the painters is almost identical and hard to differentiate. Attributing the work to the correct Hartmann is even more difficult due to the fact that the painters neither dated nor signed their works. They built up their landscapes on the principle of three planes differing in color – the foreground was brown, with a green middle plane and blue background, which was the customary practice of landscape painters as early as the 16th century. They constantly repeated 3 basic types of composition: trees on the side and the prospect situated in the center; or a coulisse on one side (on the left or right) and vista on the other. The third type consists of 3 sets of coulisse revealing two vistas. The aim was to evoke in the viewer the feeling of looking into the distance, which was also supported by the elevated horizon and widened panorama. The Hartmann studio produced a large number of works to be able to meet the demand of its clients, recruited from wealthier aristocracy, the Church, and also foreign buyers. In their time, there was not much competition in this field, and they could satisfy numerous commissions asking for the earlier, Mannerist landscape concept.

Room XII. Picture cabinet. The room is supposed at least partially to evoke the picture galleries of the late 17th century, when the popularity of the so-called compagnons – pendant paintings was on the rise. As to their ideas and composition, these pendants form a whole. In picture cabinets, they were either hung side by side, or with an interval of several other paintings. The key role in the development of cabinet painting in Bohemia was played by Johann Rudolf Bys, who also worked in Prague as the curator of the picture gallery of Counts Czernin from 1689. In his own works, he not only followed the contemporary Netherlandish painting, but also did he draw on an earlier tradition of the turn of the 16th century. After a long pause, he re-introduced genres that had not been developed extensively in the country: landscape painting, still life and animal painting.

Room XIII. Still-life painting. Despite the fact that in academic rating still-life painting came actually last, it achieved great popularity with collectors. It was particularly the technique that was appreciated: the depicted objects were to resemble the reality as much as possible and the spectator was to perceive them as real. At the same time, still-life provided what was then called “intellectual exercise”. The various motifs represented specific symbols and the viewer was to decipher them and thus sharpen his mind. Most frequently, still lifes carried concealed messages of decay and ephemerality of all the living things, for example expressed by flowers, whose beauty and smell are only temporal. 18th century still-life painting in Bohemia represented in this room was based on the works of Roelant Savery, who had worked at the court of Emperor Rudolf II. At the end of the 17th century, still-life painting was distinctly promoted by Johann Rudolf Bys, who in turn was followed by Johann Adalbert Angermmeyer. His painstakingly executed minute painting found inspiration in the “Leiden fijnschilders” (Leiden fine painters), for whom the perfect execution of the painting was of paramount importance. One of Angermmeyer’s pupils was Caspar Johann Hirschely, who mostly achieved fame by his still lives with flowers – those of his late creative stage already reveal the Rococo aesthetics. Johann Seitz, who was trained as a goldsmith and was a self-taught painter, prolonged the tradition of the Baroque still life into the early 19th century.

Room XIV. Norbert Grund and the Painting of Architecture. Grund was a painter of a wide scope of genres, from mythological and religious scenes to scenes from everyday life, landscapes and seasides. He was first taught by his father, who was a painter in the service of Count Norbert Vinzenz Kolowrat. In his minute painting he responded to a number of stimuli from Italian works (Guardi, Tiepolo and others), and in the initial stage of his career he followed the style of the Viennese miniaturists, particularly Franz Paul de Ferg. As one of a few Bohemian artists, he represented the so-called “fete galantes” – outdoor entertainment, following the model popular with the French Rococo painters. The room also presents painters who were interested in painting architecture, which was one of the specialties of Joseph Platzer, who was famous as a stage designer in the Viennese theaters, where he went to study at the Academy. Later on, he was invited back to Prague to paint the sets for the newly-built Estates Theater.

The second floor consists of rooms I-VI. Room I. Artists at the Court of Emperor Rudolf II. In the early 1580s Emperor Rudolf II made Prague a foremost European center of culture. He was a generous patron and supporter of the activities of fine artists, but also natural historians, musicians, writers and practitioners of the occult. A rich international composition of his court was one of the important factors in the forming of a specific version of Prague Mannerism. Despite their different countries of origin, the artists were mostly trained in Italy, where they stayed in important art centers, such as Rome, Florence and Venice. The first of Rudolf’s court painters was Giuseppe Arcimboldo, who not only worked for the emperor as an original portraitist, but also designed costumes and concepts of magnificent festivals. During the Thirty Years War, his works were taken away from Prague to Sweden, and some of them are held in Vienna. Bartholomaeus Spranger began his work in Prague, painting erotically tinted mythological and allegorical scenes. His work immensely influenced the forming of the Mannerist style in the Netherlands and in Germanic lands, where they spread thanks to prints. Hans von Aachen came to Prague as an already renowned portraitist in the early 1590s. During his foreign trips as an unofficial diplomat, he acquired pieces for the famous collections of Rudolf II at Prague Castle. The emperor demonstrated his preference of painting as opposed to other art disciplines by issuing a privilege in 1595, in which he “elevated” the status of painting from a craft to an art.

Room II. Cabinet of Arts and Curiosities. From the 16th century, cabinets of arts and curiosities, the so-called Kunst-kammers appeared in the residences of magnates and houses of rich burghers. Besides paintings, sculptures, excavated ancient pieces and samples of crafts (artificalia), these collections regularly featured remarkable minerals, shells and various natural curiosities (naturalia). Characteristic of the late Renaissance cabinets were luxury products made of natural materials, such as vessels of horn, mosaics of colorful semiprecious stones (pietre dure), or carvings and engravings in ivory. Globes, astronomical apparatus and clocks were also obligatory. The collections primarily represented the social status of their owners, their wealth, views and taste. On the philosophical level, they symbolized the unity in diversity, an ideal model of the rationally arranged world, a microcosm ruled by peace and harmony. The most important collectors in Europe of the early modern age included the members of the Habsburg dynasty. In its time, the renowned Kunstkammar of Emperor Rudolf II at Prague Castle was highly appreciated both for its material value, and the aspect of exemplary representation of all conceivable creations of man and nature.

Room III. Cabinet of Graphic art.

Room IV. Karel Skreta. Skreta come from a Prague family of the Czech Brethern afflicted with the religious situation that resulted after the Battle of White Mountain. The family decided to leave the country and the first stop abroad was Germany, where in Stuttgart Skreta apparently met the important engraver Wenceslas Hollar. Subsequently, he traveled to Italy to study the works of the great Renaissance masters, but he also followed the contemporary development in the arts. Close friendship with some of the Italian painters can be conjectured from his portrait executed by the Venetian Tiberio Tinelli. In Rome, Skreta became a member of an anti-academic society of mostly Netherlandish artists, notorious for their boisterous and wild amusements, among other things. This is where he gained his nickname “slak-sweert” – loosely translated “one who draws his weapon fast”, which suggested his temperamental nature. In the late 1630s he decided to return home and converted to Catholicism for this purpose. In Bohemia he regained the confiscated property and began a career of one of the most sought-after painters with a clientele recruited from high aristocracy, rich burghers and the Church. The surviving inventory of Skreta’s estate attests to broad cultural views and good education – he owned a large number of books, musical instruments and a collection of artworks. His son Karel was trained as a painter in his studio and he also studied law at Prague University.

Room V. Michael Leopold Willmann and Johann Christoph Liska. Willmann’s painting expression was rather different from the usual production in Bohemia of that time, which can partly be explained by his training in the Netherlands and Flanders. In Amsterdam he learnt from the works of Rembrandt and he also met his pupils. In Antwerp, he got acquainted with the paintings of Rubens and van Dyke, the great masters of the Flemish Baroque. Willmann’s highly expressive style earned him interest from monastic orders – most of his commissions came from the Cistercians, the Benedictines and the Knight of the Cross. In Silesia, where he worked for most of his lifetime, he was supported by the Nostitz family. His stepson and pupil, Johann Christoph Liska undertook a study trip to Italy and when he returned, he shared in the commissions with his stepfather. Until 1692 he was recorded in the painters’ guild in the Little Quarter of Prague, with which he had some legal disputes. However, the title of “the painter of the Archbishop of Prague” protected him. Liska went in for painting altarpieces, portraits, murals, and he also distinctly influenced the development of the sketch. His impact was great not only in the case of the painters of the High Baroque – Petr Brandl and Wenzel Reiner, but he also influenced younger artists, his nephew Georg Wilhelm Neunhertz among them (who trained with Liska).

Room VI. Johann Georg Heinsch. He was the artist of many altarpieces, portraits, designs for illustrations and university theses. His ability to structure the narrative clearly and didactically, along with his sober and down-to-earth brushwork was in full accordance with the ideas of the Jesuits, who frequently commissioned from him. Heinsch met with important Jesuits, such as the writer and historian Bohuslav Balbin and Matej Tanner, who wrote treatises on the Jesuit order. Heinsch also collaborated with the sculptor Ferdinand Brokoff on the preparation of the designs for the Jesuit sculptural groups on Charles Bridge. He was exceptionally prolific, but his works sometimes fluctuated in quality, which is particularly noticeable in his multi-figural compositions.

The unique Baroque truss of the Schwarzenberg Palace contains the exposition of invaluable historic weapons from the Military History Institute collection – The Imperial Armory. It presents over 550 items from the period between 15th and mid-19th centuries.

The Schwarzenberg Palace’s lobby is attached to a beautiful Neo-Classical building of Salm palace (Salmovsky Palac), which after an extensive renovation, reopened as an exhibition space of the 19th century art from Neo-Classicism to Romanticism. The three-winged building was designed by Frantisek Pavicek and erected on top of an older, largely Renaissance development in 1800-1811. The building was commissioned by Prince Wilhelm Florentin Salm-Salm who gave the place its current name. Some sources call it the small Schwarzenberg Palace because in 1811 the palace became property of the Schwarzenberg family who connected it with their neighboring residence. Traces of the earliest dwellings on this site date back to the 9th or the 10th centuries. In the Middle Ages there were 3 buildings owned by different families who built various passageways and partitions between the buildings. In 1549 they were destroyed during the fire in Hradcany and the Little Quarter, but then they were gradually restored and renovated by a number of different owners, largely lower aristocrats. In the second half of the 17th century, they became property of Sternberg family who intended to connect them and convert them into one palace.  In 1796, Prince Salm-Salm purchased the buildings and launched the construction of today’s neoclassical palace. Several parts of the building still testify to the Renaissance development of the site, such as parts of the Eastern and Western wings and the cellars. The western building adjacent to Schwarzenberg Palace remained fully preserved, including the disposition of the main floor.

The palace served as a part of the Schwarzenberg residence until 1945 when it was nationalized and used as an apartment building and a center for foreign services. Towards the end of the 20th century, the palace was abandoned till 2004, when it became a property of the National Gallery of Prague and underwent an extensive renovation. The restoration of the original wallpaper in one of the rooms in the main wing and tile stoves is pretty remarkable.

Since I had a combined ticket, I went straight in (please allow 1.5-2 hours). First, I went to the basement which hosts a small exhibition, dedicated to the recent archeological excavations in and around the Salm palace and the Castle area. It covers the time of the first permanent settlement in the 9th century until the recent past. Due to the vastness of the examined area of Salm Palace site, archeologists were able to excavate the largest existing set of early medieval features in Hradcany in the 9th-11th centuries. These excavations resemble those in the previously excavated parts of Prague Castle or Little Quarter, where archeologists found fortifications of wood and clay, wooden residential buildings, stone churches and timbered roads. Traces of the earliest settlement were preserved in the form of scattered strata and foundations of variously-sized buildings or their parts disrupted by building activity in subsequent centuries. The excavations revealed rectangular parts of large pits, perhaps remains of former residential buildings; burnt wooden constructions of beams that were placed under ground; small ovens or fireplaces; small pits left by poles or posts; or pits that were filled with rubble after they had ceased serving their original function. Archeologists date these finds by using artifacts, in this case pottery, found on the site.  A unique fragment of a pointed moat was revealed leading in a north-south direction, in superposition with the wall of a Romanesque building. Judging by other archeological findings, the moat disappeared over the course of the 9th-10th centuries, the period in which the walls of Prague Castle were built.

In the period between mid-12th and mid-13th centuries, the existing houses of wood and clay gradually gave way to stone buildings and the center of the growing city moved from Little Quarter to today’s Old Town. Prague Castle was also rebuilt in stone. In the 12th century, Duke Sobeslav I built the Romanesque fortification wall, later followed by the Romanesque palace, the reconstruction of the Basilica and St. George Convent, also in the Romanesque Style. Non-ecclesiastic Romanesque stone buildings are rare in the area of Prague Castle and Little Quarter. Until the discovery beneath today’s sidewalk in front of Salm Palace, the Hradcany area was thought to contain only one Romanesque building, namely the remnant revealed in 1944 during excavation of the cistern in the middle of Hradcanske Square.

When dehumidifying the foundations of Salm palace, the workers discovered the remains of a corner of the second Romanesque stone building, at 1.3 m below street level. One side of the wall faced the soil of the trench, while the other probably in the building’s interior, featured fair-faced masonry. Six rows of ashlars have been preserved from the original wall. In light of the current knowledge, archeologists have connected the destruction of the building with urban development in mid-14th century. During the reign of Charles IV, the Hradcany area was transformed into a high-medieval city and the Romanesque building would have been in the middle of its town square. However, there is another possible cause of the building’s destruction – one of the walls (that ran in the north-south direction) was built above the deepest part of a moat which had been filled with rubble and soft soil in the 9th-10th centuries. At some point, the foundations of the building probably began to sink into the ground.

This time, my gallery tour I started from the second floor, and visited rooms according to their number, and thematic progression.

Room 1. Art of the Neoclassical Period. The turn of the 19th century was a period of great political turmoil but also one of important social, economic and cultural reforms. The European art scene was dominated by neoclassicism, which took on different forms depending on the milieu and traditions of individual countries. Based on Enlightenment philosophy, it drew inspiration from the art and culture of classical antiquity, and later also responded to the growing influence of romanticism. Neoclassicism came to Bohemia through Vienna, an artistic center abounding in wealthy patrons and home to an important Academy. The Czech milieu, influenced by its strong Baroque tradition, developed a unique reaction to the new artistic influences. In Prague, neoclassicism established itself at the newly-founded Academy of Drawing, which developed neoclassical principles, employing themes ranging from classical mythology to patriotic-religious scenes. The situation was more complicated in sculpture. Sculptors found work mostly in the field of funeral art, and their livelihood was usually tied to family-run workshops. Sculpture closely followed classical examples, emphasizing reserved elegance and the stylized harmony of the classical canon. The influence from international sculpture, represented by the neoclassical works of Antonio Canova and further developed by Bertel Thorvaldsen, soon spread throughout Europe.

Room 2. Lubdik Kohl (1746-1821). Ludvik Khol was born into a family of Prague sculptors and graduated from the Piarist lyceum led by Gelasius Dobner and later from Josef Schmatzer’s copper engraver’s class at the Viennese Academy. He was a life-long pedagogue. In 1775-1821 he worked as a professor of drawing at the Normal School, where he set up free evening classes for drawing from a model and Sunday courses for craftsmen. After the painters’ guild was abolished in 1782, Kohl’s classes became a substitute for the non-existent artistic education in Prague. Aside from altar paintings, portraits and historical themes, which he for the most part depicted in his print cycles, Kohl also devoted himself to painting popular historical architecture, both real and imagined. After 1800, he began capturing the interiors and exteriors of imaginary Egyptian, ancient Greek and Roman, and Gothic building, and created the designs for their reconstruction.

Room 3. Discovering the Middle Ages. The first impetus for the revival of Gothic style was a renewed interest in medieval architecture, which had been perceived as barbaric since the Enlightenment. Throughout the 19th century, Gothic monuments were gradually rehabilitated, interpreted and eventually conserved or reconstructed. At first, Gothic morphology was used in romantic park architecture and, from the end of the 1830s, in Neo-Gothic buildings. Painting reflected the new view of the middle ages in different ways: popular architectural paintings depicted fictitious and also real medieval buildings; history painting introduced new iconographic themes into emotionally-tinged religiously-patriotic works and the period of Charles IV became the exemplary epoch of the nation’s past and an inspiration to the patriotic movement. The stories of Czech history were at first depicted in print albums (Kohl, Machek) and later also in painting (Josef Bergler, Frantisek Tkadlik). It was only at the end of the 1820s that the Prague Academy started using Gothic morphology in model drawings from Gothic sculptures.

Room 4. Karel Postl (1767-1819) and the Late Neoclassical Landscape. During his studies at the Viennese Academy, Postl mastered the basic of the neoclassical landscape and the rapidly developing art of veduta, which he subsequently worked on throughout his life. In 1806, he came to Prague to apply for a teaching position at the Prague Academy’s school of landscape drawing, newly opened due to an increased demand for this type of paintings. He was accepted, and over the course of his 13 years with the school he trained a number of landscape painters, of which Antonin Manes was the most talented. Postl’s work, influenced by 17th century Dutch landscape painting and the Italian heroic landscape, oscillated between late neoclassicism and early romanticism. His cycle “Four Times of Day” (1810) depicts changes in the Vergilian landscape, and follows from the neoclassical tradition of the “Italian” type, which was popular in Central Europe up until the 1820s. This type is also well represented in the oeuvre of Ludwig Richter, the excellent Dresden artist, whose sojourn in Italy between 1823 and 1826 inspired a number of his late-neoclassical paintings, which Richter created after he returned home.

Room 5. Josef Bergler (1753-1829). Josef Bergler, a versatile artist, studied at the Milan Academy under Martin Knoller and in Rome under Anton Maron between 1776 and 1786. After his return to Passau where his father was employed as a court sculptor, Bergler worked for the Passau bishop. In 1800, he was offered a director’s position at the newly established Drawing Academy in Prague. The Society of the Patriotic Friends of Arts, a private organization founded by patriotic Czech aristocrats in 1796, established the Academy together with the Picture Gallery (consisting of artworks borrowed from aristocratic collections) in order to improve the artistic life of what was at the time a rather provincial Prague. Bergler accepter the offer and stayed in Prague until his death. He built an art school which, in many ways, was similar to the Academies in Vienna and Dresden. The training concentrated on a higher level of drawing; after the students mastered drawing from models and plaster casts, they proceeded to copying and paraphrasing historical compositions. Bergler became a distinctive figure on the Prague cultural scene and an important exponent of the neoclassical academic painting of the first third of the 19th century. In addition to his works with historical, religious and mythological themes, he painted portraits, made prints and designed memorials and fountains.

Room 6. Frantisek Tkadlik (1786-1840). Frantisek Tkadlik was the leading figure of the first generation of Bergler’s students and an artist of universal talent. Between 1803 and 1816, he studied at the Prague Academy and also attended lectures by Bernard Bolzano at the faculty of philosophy. He continued his studies at the Viennese Academy, where he would copy works of the old masters in galleries. He soon became the court painter to Count Jan Rudolf Cernin. In 1825-1832, Tkadlik received a scholarship to stay in Rome and in 1836 he was summoned back to Prague to become the Academy’s director. Aside from painting the occasional mythological scene, he specialized in historical themes and in the newly-formed religious-patriotic art. Tkadlik’s neoclassical art combined masterful linear-plastic painting and a distinct palette with a graceful, soft form. These characteristic features of what was later considered the “national style” became an inspiration for his students, especially the talented Josef Manes.

Room 7. Religious and Historical Painting, Sculpture. The gradual liberalization and emancipation of Czech society created a demand for a Czech “national style”. Art historians point to the oeuvre of Frantisek Tkadlik as foundational in this respect. His patriotic-religious paintings drew upon the classical harmony and the Nazarene tradition. His style influenced the early works of Josef Manes, Josef Hellich, and many others. Historical genres with a religious undertone dealt with themes from older Czech or European history. Stories from the life of famous artists were also popular. Religious painting, which was one of the most prestigious fields, didn’t just depict well-known biblical themes, but also patriotic stories of Czech saints, whose life and martyrdom were perceived as a symbol of love for the homeland. Tkadlik’s followers gradually abandoned their neoclassicist sources and turned towards romantic historicism.

Room 8. Portrait and Still Life in the Biedermeier Period. The Biedermeier style had far-reaching artistic and intellectual influence in the life and culture of Central Europe during the period from the Napoleonic wars until the revolutions of 1848. It formed a part of the last phase of neoclassicism, but its sentimentality and admiration for nature brought it closer to romanticism, without, however, the latter’s passion and exaltation. Biedermeier turned to everyday family life, entertainment and nature, and its down-to-earth character formed a counterpart to academic, high art. It especially influenced the applied arts and interior design, while in visual arts it focused on portrait, genre painting, still life and landscape. Portrait painting was a highly prestigious artistic field, which sought to accurately represent the social standing of the person depicted. It oscillated between capturing individual features and representing the social status, wealth and successes of the subject through rich clothing, jewelry and various attributes of the subject’s occupation. They depicted both local and exotic flowers and fruit in different arrangements, often bordering or trompe l’oeil painting.

Room 9. Antonin Machek (1775-1844). Portrait art in Bohemia followed the style of the late-Baroque aristocratic portrait, which was typically complemented with attributes of pedigree and power. This portrait type gradually turned into the most informal portrait of aristocrats and intellectuals or in the pragmatic and sober middle-class portrait, which used various attributes to call attention to the subject’s profession. Despite some typification in how qualities such as determination, vigor or self-confidence were expressed, the high-quality works involved a large degree of individual characterizations. Frantisek Horcicka and Antonin Machek rank among the best portraitists in Prague, even though each of them worked for a different clientele and each had a different manner of artistic expression. Horcicka was appreciated in Prague intellectual circles and his portraits show that he had a close relationship with his models and thoroughly studied their characters and physiognomies. Machek was a brilliant portraitist of middle class businessman, intellectuals and artists and was able to meet his patrons’ most difficult demands. His works are among the best portraits of Biedermeier. Aside from portraits, Machek’s artistic interests also included themes from Czech history, which he treated in both oil and print.

Room 10. Josef Navratil (1798-1865). Josef Navratil was a versatile painter with a strong sense of color, who worked outside the official artistic scene. He was trained as a house painter and decorator in his father’s workshop, and for 4 years he studied with Josef Bergler at the Prague Academy. In 1843 and later in the 1850s, he traveled to the Alps. His successful workshop decorated the rooms of chateaux and middle-class houses with landscape scenes and themes from history. He also created works independently of his commissions. Navratil painted romantic landscapes with Alpine scenes as well as intimate landscape. He became famous for his small-format richly colored gouache landscapes. He created realistic still-lifes of various kinds of fruit for the Prague Botanic Society and made shop signs for his friend and wine seller, Jan Chlumecky, as well as still-lifes of exotic delicacies. Navratil was a great figure painter and liked creating small genre works in which he commented on the everyday life of Prague streets, marketplaces, parks and wine bars. He was fascinated with the theater, and especially its artificially-lit atmosphere and the grand gestures of the actors on stage, which he would depict in small gouaches and oil studies. In the spirit of the second Rococo, he painted brilliantly colorful gallant scenes from aristocratic interiors.

Room 11. Landscape Painting and The Piepenhagen Family. From the 1820s on, the popularity of landscape painting increased and in subsequent decades it became one of the most sought-after fields in art. It was well represented at the Prague annual exhibitions where Czech artists exhibited next to outstanding landscape painters from Germany and Austria. Unlike other areas of painting, the landscape was open to artists outside the official circles and the Academy. August B. Piepenhagen was one of those artists who often combined art with craft. He became esteemed artist not only in Bohemia but also in Austria; his small, intimate romantic landscapes portrayed the moods of the largely mountainous and forest scenery at different times of the day and in different seasons. His two daughters were also successful painters: Charlotta specialized in landscape painting, of which she gave private lessons, and Louisa painted studies of nature as well as views of aristocratic interiors. Piepenhagen admired works by Munich painter Carl Spitzweg whose landscapes with minor figures were very popular in Prague. He was also friends with prominent writers and self-taught landscape painter Adalbert Stifter, master of small intimate landscapes.

First floor contains rooms 12 to 22.

12. Antonin Manes (1784-1843). The Manes family was an artistic phenomenon in the 19th century Czech painting. It yielded five distinct personalities in two generations. Antonin began the family tradition and was one of the prominent exponents of Czech landscape painting in the first half of the 19th century and a professor at the Prague Academy from 1836-1843. His brother Vaclav was a portraitist and painter of religious and historical themes. Antonin’s children, Josef, Quido and Amalie painted figural works and landscapes. Antonin studied with Karel Postl, and his early works draw on neoclassical sources. In the late 1820s, his pastoral idylls set in  Arcadian landscapes or his landscape vedute gave way to romantic themes of wanderers and landscapes with castle and ruins. Antonin’s later works aimed increasingly at depicting the actual appearance of the landscape. He created studies en plein air during painting trips around Bohemia with his children, and in these works he was able to evocatively express the mood and the natural light of the landscape.

Room 13. C.D. Friedrich and his Influence in Bohemia. In 1824, the organizers of the annual exhibition in the Clementinum in Prague included artworks of Caspar David Friedrich and Johan Christian Dahl, professors at the Dresden Academy. The exhibition caused a polemic between artists and critics in both Prague and Viennese magazines. The philosophically demanding works of Friedrich represented the progressive stream, the reception of which continued in Bohemia well into the next two decades. His symbolically-rendered romantic works were closely connected with Christian philosophy. They evoked a new relationship of human beings to the world and to nature, contemplating the eternal cycle of life and the place of the artist in society. Friedrich’s work strongly resonated with the Manes family. The thoughtful nature of Antonin and his son, Josef, led them to ask similar questions; their respective works reflected on the human condition. The relationship of Josef Manes for Friedrich is also evident from his trip to Dresden in 1842. Manes expressed his admiration for the Saxonian master in a small drawing which depicts the family in discussion in front of Friedrich’s Decin Altarpiece and a year later in a painting called “The Gravedigger”.

Room 14. German Romantic Landscape Painting. Due to the favorable political and historical conditions following the Napoleonic wars, Munich and Dusseldorf became European cultural centers. Their academies set artistic trends and were popular among young artists. From the 1830s on, many Prague Academy students headed abroad to study landscape painting, and they enrolled at the German academies. Landscape painting flourished as apolitical and widely popular genre. In most of its features it was romanticist, but its forms of expression went through a complex and multi-layered development from pre-romantic forms that still contained neoclassical residues to intensely emotional, dramatic and symbolical forms, that would later develop into the realistic depiction of an actual part of the landscape. In this room, there are selected works by distinctive figures of German landscape painting, as well as a monumental sculpture by Ludwig Schwanthaler who was commissioned to create a lot of sculptures for the Czech artistic milieu.

Room 15. Haushofer’s Landscape-Painting School. Maxmilian Haushofer, a landscape painter from Munich, led the Prague Academy between 1845 and 1866 and trained scores of students. Because of the artistic success of professor Haushofer’s students, landscape painting became one of the most prestigious and sought-after artistic genres in the mid-19th century. “Haushofer’s landscape-painting school” has become an art-historical term. Some of the students stayed on at the school for over ten years, whole others left after a few years for Munich or Dusseldorf. At first, Haushofer’s students imitated the works of their teacher, who introduced the Prague art world to the principle of Munich landscape painting. The students emulated his compositions, palette, his attention to detail, and his depictions of the natural atmosphere. The most talented of them transformed Haushofer’s ideas into their own style, creating landscapes with a realist feel or intimate idyllic scenes, sometimes influenced by patriotic-historical ideas. The themes range from Alpine or lake landscapes and picturesque rock formations to the melancholic and intimate depiction of Czech landscape.

Room 16. Landscape Painting and the Manes Family. In 1836, Antonin Manes became a professor at the Prague Academy. He was the founding figure of the school of Czech painting. His work progressed from the noble neoclassical landscape through romantic canvases towards the realistic plein air studies of the early 1840s, which influenced the work of his children. Josef Manes painted landscapes throughout his life, in addition to his figural works. In the 1840s, Josef created a number of plein air studies, concentrating on problems of light and color, atmospheric conditions and the moods in nature. These timeless works anticipated future development, and are foundational in Czech modern art. Josef’s late synthetic works bordered on a particular form of realism. His sister Amalie was a talented painter endowed with a great innate empathy for the perceived landscape. As a woman, she was not allowed to study at the Academy, yet she became an esteemed artist and, in 1853, she founded a private school of painting for aristocratic and middle-class women in Spalena Street in Prague.

Room 17. Josef Manes (1820-1871). Josef Manes was one of the greatest figures of Czech 19th century painting, an artist of great talent and versatility, a skillful draughtsman and colorist. He painted historical scenes, genre paintings, portraits and landscapes. Manes received his first artistic training from his father, Antonin, and at the age of 15 he enrolled at the Prague Academy, in Frantisek Tkadlik’s studio of historical painting. He studied under Christian Ruben for two years and between 1844-1846, he lived in Munich. He made a number of painting trips around Bohemia, and visited Dresden and Leipzig; at the end of his life, Manes traveled to Russia and also made a long-desired trip to Rome. His works from the 1850s and the beginning of the 1860s represent the apex of his oeuvre. Genre paintings in the style of the so-called second Rococo originated during his long-term sojourns at the Sylva-Taroucca chateau in Cechy pod Kosirem. They capture the idyllic life of the aristocratic residences. In his portraits, Manes depicted his friends or important figures of Prague cultural and social life. They show great psychological depth, emotion and a sophisticated palette. The painter’s personal involvement with some of the models of his female portraits went beyond the call of a standard social commission.

Room 18. Manes’ Minor Works. Various minor works formed a part of Manes’s artistic activity in the 1860s. Even though the members of the Manes family drew a strict line between “true” high art and minor works (low art), practical reasons forced them to deal with the latter as much as with the former. The extent of minor works within Manes’s oeuvre is disputable – they comprised of ornamental designs, festive letter-heads, letter papers, fans, diplomas, flags, prints, book illustrations, decorations for anniversary celebrations of important people, architectural adornments including the calendar panels for the Prague astronomical clock, designs for small applied-arts objects, etc. The patrons came from across the social strata, from the various clubs, corporations and institutions that fervently developed after the fall of Bach’s absolutism in 1860s. Manes received commissions through his social contacts among the art-loving public and through collectors, who admired his sensitive and thoughtful artistic work.

Room 19. Genre Painting in Bohemia. Genre painting began developing in Bohemia in the 1830s, reaching its apex around mid-19th century. In the 1940s, Josef Navratil painted many spontaneous studies of street and family life. However, genre painting aimed towards more careful arranged and detailed scenes, often with devotional or moral undertones. The paintings’ urban or rural settings did not involved dramatic situations, but rather minor incidents, which were seen through an idyllic lens, overlooking the reality of life. Popular themes emphasized the poetic and lacked a deeper meaning. Antonin Dvorak and Antonin Gareis Jr. were ones of the exponents of genre painting and later, Quido Manes would become its most important painter. Manes was an excellent figure painter who captured the events of everyday life with sensitivity, kind-heartedness and humor, inspired by Carl Spitzweg. Idyllic genre painting lingered in Bohemia until the end of the 1870s, when it became a subject of critique in art journals and magazines.

Room 20. Genre Painting in Vienna. Genre painting in imperial Vienna drew on an older tradition and develop different themes that in the works which would later appear in Bohemia. In the 1820s-1830s, works by Peter Fendi, Friedrich Gauermann, Joseph Danhauser, and others depicted stories from everyday life in cities and villages. They were often depicted with exaggeration and great sentiment, befitting the atmosphere of the Biedermeier period. Scenes from the life of young girls and families were especially popular. They showed everyday activities but also little incidents, and often with a moral message. Works by Ferdinand Georg Waldmuller, the most important exponent of Austrian genre painting, represent scenes from village life with an idyllic, moral or devotional tinge. His particular kind of realistic rendition brought about a new artistic perception of light and color.

Room 21. Sculpture and Historical Romanticism. Historical themes begin to appear in Czech sculpture at the end of the 1830s. They were drawn from French and German historical sculpture, which could be seen at the exhibitions of the Krasoumna jednota (Association of Fine Arts). Czech historical romanticism manifested itself most significantly in Baron Antonin Veith’s plans for a memorial to the Czech nation near Libechov. It was to be composed of the “Klacelka Cave” (1845-1848) and the “Czech Pantheon” (1845-1848), designed to present the most important figures in Czech history. The latter project remained incomplete, as only 8 of the larger than life-size figures were made (by Ludwig Schwanthaler). The other sculptures of both real and mythical figures included the “Series of Twelve Czech Rulers” by Josef Max, sculptures “Vlasta” and “St. Ludmila” by Emanuel Max and Levy’s sculpture of “Lumir”, the mythical bard. The boom in the production of public memorials to historical figures brought a number of remarkable works, such as “Radecky’s Memorial” by the Max brothers, or “The Memorial of St. Constantine and Methodius” by Emanuel Max. Tomas Seidan and Ludvik Simek, students of the Max brothers’ sculptural workshop, created the first memorials to the pedagogue J.A. Komensky and to the philologist Josef Jungmann.

Room 22. Ruben’s School of Historical Painting. The spread and popularization of historical painting in Bohemia in mid-19th century was connected with both the process of national identity formation and the pan-European popularity of the genre, which was considered to be the most prestigious area of painting. Czech artists treated themes from the beginnings of Christianity, the Premyslid and Luxemburg period, and later also from the Hussite period and the time after the Battle of White Mountain. They glorified important individual and state-forming ideas, celebrated military campaigns of kings, their political accomplishments as well as their marriages. The political and ideological meaning of the largely monumental paintings became increasingly prominent. The figural studio of the Prague Academy was the center for Czech historical romanticism. In 1841, Christian Ruben, a painter from Munich, was invited to become the school’s director and to implement extensive reforms. Ruben added new classes, such as anatomy, architecture and art history, and he employed new professors. He led the studio of historical painting throughout his ten years with the school and trained many painters. His pedagogical activity climaxed in the collective work on the cycle of murals in Queen Anne’s Belvedere at the Prague Castle, and in the illustrations for the publication of the “Manuscripts”.

My last Gallery for the day was the Sternberg Palace (Sternbersky Palac), which houses European art from Antiquity to Baroque. Franz Josef Sternberg founded the Society of Patriotic Friends of the Arts in Bohemia in 1796. Fellow noblemen would lend their finest pictures and sculpture to the society which had its headquarters in the early 18th century Sternberg Palace. Since 1949, the fine Baroque building has been used to house the National Gallery’s collection with its superb range of Old Masters. It is considered to be among the country’s best collections, with especially strong representation from Italian medieval art, Neapolitan artists of the 17th and 18th centuries, Dutch and Flemish works, and German art of the 15th to 17th centuries. There is also a fine collection of Renaissance bronzes and a unique Chinese cabinet. Of all visited galleries, Sternberg palace was my favorite (and it was the busiest of them all).

The gallery is arranged on 3 floors around the central courtyard of the palace. The ground floor could be reached from the courtyard (combined ticket, allow 2 hours).

Icons, Classical and Ancient Art. One small room in the gallery is occupied by an odd assortment of paintings that do not quite fit in the rest of the collection. These include a “Portrait of a Young Woman” dating from the 2nd century, discovered during excavations at Fayoum in Egypt in the 19th century. The majority of the exhibits, however, are icons of the Orthodox church – some are Byzantine, some Italo-Greek and some Russian. The finest examples on show here are two of the later 16th century works, “The Lamentation of Christ” from Crete and “Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem” from Russia. The icons on display offer examples from a variety of the most important Mediterranean and Eastern European centers.

German and Austrian Art (1400-1800). One of the most celebrated paintings in the Sternberg’s collection is Albercht Durer’s “The Feast of the Rosary”, painted during the artist’s stay in Venice in 1506. The work had particular significance for Prague since it was bought by Emperor Rudolph II. The two figures seen in front of the Virgin and Child are Maximilian I (Rudolph’s great-great-grandfather) and Pope Julius II. The collection also includes works by several other important German painters of the Renaissance, including Hans Holbein the Elder and the Younger and Lucas Cranach the Elder. Cranach is represented by works including a striking “Adam and Eve” whose nudes show the spirit of the Renaissance, tempered by Lutheran reform.

Italian Art (1300-1800). When you enter the Italian galleries, you are greeted by a splendid array of early diptychs, triptychs and other richly gilded panel paintings from the churches of Tuscany and northern Italy. Most came originally from the d’Este collection at Konopiste Castle. Of particularly high quality are the two triangular panels of saints by the 14th century Sienese painter Pietro Lorenzerri and a moving “Lamentation of Christ” by Lorenzo Monaco. A fascinating element of the collection is the display of Renaissance bronze statuettes. Fashionable amongst Italian nobility in the 15th century, these little bronzes were at first cast from famous or newly-discovered works of antiquity. Later, sculptors began to use the medium more freely – Padua, for example, specialized in the depiction of small animals – and producers also adapted items for use as decorative household goods such as oil lamps, ink pots and door knockers. This small collection has representative works from all the major Italian producers except Mantua and, while many variations can be found in other museums throughout the world, there are some pieces here that are both unique and outstanding examples of the craft. Among the 16th century Italian work on display, there are some delightful surprises. These include “St. Jerome” by the Venetian painter Tintoretto, and “The Flagellation of Christ” and “Portrait of an Elderly Man” by another Venetian, Jacopo Bassano. There is also an expressive portrait by the Florentine mannerist Bronzino, of “Eleanor of Toledo”, the wife of Cosimo de Medici.

Flemish and Dutch art (1400-1800). The collection of Flemish and Dutch art is rich and varied, ranging from rural scenes by Pieter Brueghel the Elder to portraits by Rubens and Rembrandt. Highlights of the former include an altarpiece showing the “Adoration of the Magi” by Geertgen tot Sint Jans. Other early works of great interest include “St. Luck Drawing the Virgin” by Jan Gossaert (c. 1515), one of the first works of art from the Netherlands to show the clear influence of the Italian Renaissance. The collection from the 17th century includes several major works, notably by Peter Paul Rubens who, in 1639, sent two paintings to the Augustinians of the Church of St. Thomas in the Little Quarter. The originals were lent to the gallery in 1896 and replaced by copies. The violence and drama of “The Martyrdom of St. Thomas” is in complete contrast to the spiritual calm of “St. Augustine”. Two other fine portraits are those of Rembrandt’s “Scholar in His Study” and Frans Hals’ “Portrait of Jasper Schade”. Also on display is a wide assortment of paintings by other, less-prominent, artists who nonetheless represent the enormous range and quality of this period.

Spanish, French and English Art (1400-1800). French art is represented chiefly by the 17th-century painters Simon Vouet (“The Suicide of Lucretia”), Sebastien Bourdon and Charles Le Brun. Spanish painting is even less well represented, but two of the collection’s finest works are a haunting “Head of Christ” by El Greco – the only work by the artist on display in the Czech Republic – and a noble half-length portrait of the politician “Don Miguel de Lardizabal” by Goya.

The Chinese Cabinet. After several years of difficult restoration work, this curiosity is once again open to the public. The richly-decorated little chamber was part of the original furnishings of the Sternberg Palace, and was designed as an intimate withdrawing room away from the bustle of the grand state rooms. In its plethora of decorative styles, Baroque mingles with Far Eastern motifs and techniques, which were fashionable at the turn of the 18th century. The vaulted ceiling features the Star of the Sternbergs among its geometric decorations. Black lacquered walls are embellished with cobalt blue and white medallions in golden frames, while gilded shelves once held rare Oriental porcelain.

After almost 5 hours of art-browsing, I was ready to call it a day. I slowly walked the Royal Route but only backwards – from the Castle area to the Old Town via Lesser Quarter and Charles Bridge –  enjoying this wonderful city. You can’t visit Paris and don’t go to Louvre, you can’t admire Rome without stopping by Vatican city, but you can surely walk around Prague, without setting a foot inside and rightfully claim that you’ve seen it all. In rain and cold, covered in fog and overcrowded with drunk tourist, Prague is still a stunning place to see.

Photos are here and here. 

 

 

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]]> https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/prague/feed/ 1 Terezin. Czech Republic. February 2016 https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/terezin/ https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/terezin/#comments Tue, 23 Feb 2016 16:07:33 +0000 http://svetanyc.com/?p=3648 “Anything can happen if we want to, if we just pull together, and we’ll be laughing on the Ghetto’s ruins”. Lyrics of a Karl Svenk’s cabaret song. “Beasts of burden, we shouldered bundled of what pieces of past we were allowed to keep as we joined the river of fear, a current of shuffling feet,...

The post Terezin. Czech Republic. February 2016 first appeared on SvetaNYC.

]]> “Anything can happen if we want to, if we just pull together, and we’ll be laughing on the Ghetto’s ruins”. Lyrics of a Karl Svenk’s cabaret song.

“Beasts of burden, we shouldered bundled of what pieces of past we were allowed to keep as we joined the river of fear, a current of shuffling feet, sobs, and whimpers that crept past dark mouths of archways and windows of Terezin” Paul Janeczko “Requiem: Poems of the Terezin Ghetto”.

I grew up in Belarus, where even in 1980s, the horrors of the WWII were engraved on everyone’s DNA and where history wasn’t just “somebody’s story”, but it was tightly intervened with my family and with families of everyone I knew or grew up with. Hence, I was a bit surprised to find out that Czech Republic, which submitted itself to the Third Reich without firing a shot, had a history of concentration camps. I absolutely had no idea about Terezin. Well, technically it was a transition camp for Jews, with no gas chambers, mass executions or medical experiments. Nevertheless, from November 1941 till May 1945, 139,667 people went through Terezin (not counting 1260 children from Belarusian Bielostok who, just 3 months later, were taken to Auschwitz for extermination). 86,934 of Terezin “inmates” were deported to the East (mostly to Treblinka and Auschwitz), with only 3,586 survivors. 35,384 prisoners died in Terezin. It is a story about a Nazi’s founded Czech “transportation hub for Jews” that very few people know about. I was especially keen on writing about it, because just a few months after visiting Terezin, I learnt that a mother of my old New York friend was a teenage prisoner at Terezin camp. Later she went on to tell the world about it in her documentaries.

Media.

History.

It is known that Terezin fortress was founded as a result of the 18th century Prussian-Austrian wars and was named after the mother of the emperor Joseph II, Maria Theresa of Austria. During those campaigns, the Prussian troops broke through the Austrian defense lines in a territory stretching between the towns of Lovosice, Litomerice and Budyne nad Ohri on several occasions, penetrating into Bohemia’s hinterland. Consequently, Terezin (or Theresienstadt as it was then called) whose construction commenced in the spring of 1780 faced the challenging task of creating an impregnable barrier blocking the advance of enemy troops not only along the roads but also on the river Labe. On October 6, 1780, six months after construction was launched, Emperor Joseph II symbolically laid a foundation stone to the Kavalier building, located in what was to become Terezin bastion #IV. Two fortresses (Main Fortress and Small Fortress) were built with state-of-the-art, star-shaped walls designed to keep out the Prussians. One of the largest and important buildings, Cavalry barracks, were completed in 1786 in the so-called Spanish style. The original planned number of men to be quartered in the Barracks was 626, and its stables meant to hold 396 horses.

The Barracks could accommodate an entire cavalry regiment and during the years of the Hubsburg monarchy (and after establishment of the independent Czechoslovak republic), it was, indeed, the seat of the First Dragoon Regiment and, alternately, of the Eleventh Lancer Regiment. No matter how prepared the fortresses were for the assault, the Prussian army bypassed the area altogether during the last Austro-Prussian conflict and in 1866 attacked Prague anyway. That spelled the end of Terezin Fortress charter, which was repealed in 1888. Terezin became a simple garrison town and its Small Fortress served as a prison for military and political convicts.

Following the Munich agreement, in October 1938 the demobilized Czechoslovak soldiers left the town, which became – virtually overnight – the very last Czech outpost near the new border of the German Reich. Thousands of Czech refugees came streaming from the border regions seceded to Nazi Germany, many of them finding temporary shelter in the Terezin barracks. As a result, for several months Terezin was a makeshift home to the families of Czechoslovak civil servants of northern Bohemia. But the darkest period in Terezin history was yet to come. Less than 6 months later, in the early hours of March 5, 1939, Terezin was occupied by the German troops who established a permanent garrison there a year later. On that occasion, the barracks was renamed into the Magdeburg Barracks. More than 50 years later, ironically, the town’s medieval walls, originally meant to keep Germans out, were used by Germans to keep the Jews in.

In 1940, the Gestapo created a prison in the Small Fortress. Anti-Semitic legislation had already begun in Germany when Jews were removed from the civil service in January 1939, and the decree of June 21 extended the validity of the Nuremberg Laws to the protectorate. Jews had to wear the yellow start as of September 19, 1941, three weeks after Heydrich had ordered this in the Reich, and when he came to Prague, systematic deportations commenced, the first transports going to Lodz and Minsk.

For a few weeks Prague’s Jewish Community and its Gestapo supervisors discussed a number of possibilities for establishing a ghetto either in Prague itself or in small towns – Stara Boleslav, Kujov, Cesky Brod, or Boskovice in Moravia – but Heydrich’s men distinctly preferred Terezin. This 18th-century garrison town had suitable fortifications and enough barracks, so the Jewish Community had no choice but to give in. On November 24, 1941, after all townspeople were evicted from the Main Fortress, Terezin was turned into a Ghetto serving as a reception and transition camp for Jewish prisoners from the then Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia, and later on also for inmates coming from Germany, Austria, The Netherlands, Denmark, Slovakia, and Hungary. Its Small Fortress also served as a prison to the Soviet and Allied POWs. The Magdeburg Barracks grew to be particularly important, housing the offices and flats of the Jewish Elders, offices of the various departments of the Jewish Self-Administration and its Secretariat as well as flats of some prominent personalities. But the Barracks was also noted as a venue of major cultural events, religious services, lectures and meetings. The Magdeburg Barracks played an enormous part in the history of Ghetto, that is why, it was decided to reconstruct the building and turn it into the Terezin Memorial.

The journey of all those people began with a transport to Terezin, a place on which they mostly pinned their hopes of surviving the war. That was why they were prepared to bear the harsh living conditions in the Ghetto – hunger, overcrowded rooms, diseases, and constant stress. Registered under the transport numbers, the inmates were symbolically (and later literally) turned into numerals that were meant to become part of the so-called “Final Solution of the Jewish Question”. As of November 24, 1941, transports carrying thousands of Jews from the Protectorate headed to Terezin. Close to 74,000 Jews from Protectorate were expected to pass through the camp, but very soon the nationality composition of the inmates turned out to be much more varied, as SS commanders decided to use Terezin also as a Ghetto for the old. This move was designed to forestall international criticism of the fact that even persons older than 65 years were being deported from the Reich to the East for what was called “labor assignment”.

Starting in the middle of 1942, transports from the Reich and later from some European countries occupied by the German armies began to arrive to Terezin Ghetto. All in all, 43,000 prisoners came from Germany, 15,000 from Austria, 5,000 from the Netherlands, 500 from Denmark, 1,400 from Slovakia, and 1,100 from Hungary. To make the picture complete, it should be added that at the end of the war the Ghetto’s ranks swelled by more than an additional 15,000 prisoners from the Nazi concentration camps evacuated before the advancing Soviet liberation army. These people arrived in Terezin in a terribly desolate state as part of “death marches”.

The Terezin Ghetto had to meet three key functions. The first one was that of a transition camp. The inmates’ hopes that this would be their final destination where they could live and work until the end of the war were soon dashed. The first transport to the East, with an initial “shipment” of a thousand people carried to an unknown fate, left Terezin as early as on January 9, 1942. Until October 1944, this was followed by another 62 transports which, with the exception of two going to Bergen-Belsen, took inmates to destinations in the occupied territories of Poland and Belarus. In this way, almost 87,000 people were deported, out of whom a mere 3,586 survived.

The other function of the Terezin Ghetto was decimation of its inmates. Even though no mass executions were carried out in Terezin, save for two exceptions, some 35,000 inmates (one in four prisoners) died in the Ghetto due to its living conditions, epidemics and SS terror.

The third role to be played by the Terezin Ghetto seemed to have made the greatest impact on the international community – its propaganda function. It was aimed at covering up the truth about the real nature of the “Final Solution” as well as the genuine reality of the life of Jews. On June 23, 1944, three foreign observers, two from the Danish Red Cross, came to Terezin to find out if the rumors of Nazi atrocities were true. They left with the impression that all was well, duped by a well-planned “beautification” of the camp. Germans carefully choreographed every detail of the visit. The observers saw children studying at staged schools that didn’t exist, and store shelves, which had been specially set up, stocked with goods. To make the camp look less crowded, the Nazis transported some 7,500 of the camp’s sick and elderly prisoners to Auschwitz. Children were asked to run up to an SS commandant just as the observers passed; the commandant handed the children cans of sardines to shouts of “What? Sardines again?” The trick worked so well that the Nazis made a film of the camp “The Fuhrer Present a Town to the Jews”. Anita Frankova, Terezin’s survivor wrote: “The most brutal thing was that they wanted to show a Terezin where there were nice healthy people. Each person was given a specific role to play. It was arranged beforehand down to the last detail, who would sit where and what they would say. Those people who looked bad were not to appear at all. The Nazis prepared Terezin so there weren’t people looking ill, old, emaciated, or too many of them. They created the illusion of a self-governing normal town where… people lived relatively decently”. Egon Redlich, head of the youth care department in the Jewish Self-Administration in Terezin noted bitterly in his diary: “Privileged Ghetto… a blood-soaked coat to cover up victims in the East. A privileged ghetto indeed, where more than a hundred people die every day.” 

In Terezin camp, work was compulsory for everyone above 14 years old, with the exception of the old and the sick. Work sometimes provided people with certain privileges, like better food rations and in some cases even protection from deportation (for people who were employed in areas vital for the Ghetto’s production and operation). Some prisoners worked in “war productions” – timber workshops, mica splitting, repairs of military uniforms, etc. Other inmates were used to build an infrastructure in Terezin: basic hygiene facilities, watercourses, sewage systems, as well as a railway link connecting Bohusivuce to Terezin and a camp crematorium. Some people were employed in agriculture, growing produce for the SS Command and the Army. Several special detachments also worked outside the camp – in forestry in the Krivoklat area, in mines of Kladno and Oslavany, and as a domestic help.

As the situation on the battlefield changed, so did the importance of Terezin’s propaganda role. This provided scope for authorizing various cultural activities, tolerated by the Nazis to a limited extend and pursued soon after the establishment of Ghetto. Camaraderie evenings, as these first cultural programs were called, were designed to relax the atmosphere and originally had a very amateurish nature. However, as more and more transports were arriving and bringing with them the Europe’s leading personalities in different walks of cultural life, the more diverse and professional those performances became. As the death sentences had long been passed over all the prisoners anyway, the SS administration of Terezin took a laissez-affaire attitude towards the inmates’ cultural activities. The prisoners published newspapers, schooled their children, staged classical music concerts and theatrical productions. Merry and upbeat melodies of the famous cabaret songs were whistled and sung by people who had been snatched from their homes and deported to Terezin, mostly with their families and relatives. Seen in this light, the optimism of such songs was a stark contrast to the everyday depressing reality. It was a sign of their determination to preserve their respect for others, to keep their faith for a better future after the war even under the harshest conditions. Terezin’s cultural life which flourished both in scope and diversity was not only an escape from a cruel reality, but also a way of spelling out one’s resistance to injustice and despotism, and a tool to promote the fellowship of prison community. It gave its inmates strength to preserve their personal integrity.

Preparation of cultural events was the responsibility of the Self-Administration’s department known as “Freizeitgestaltung”, which was in charge of organizing prisoners’ free time. Associating artists and cultural workers, this department prepared concerts, theater performances, a wide-ranging series of lectures and sporting events. Not only professionals but also budding artists and amateurs were given an opportunity to perform. Major works of art as well as unpretentious entertainment pieces were created and performed. But in the end, transports to the East carried away the protagonists of the plays together with their audiences to places of their extermination or slave labor. A case in point was a famous Terezin staging of Verdi’s “Requiem” which had to be rehearsed by the conductor Rafael Schachter in three different casts as transports gradually shipped away members of his choir and orchestra. Only with the knowledge of these facts are we able to approach and appreciate the phenomenon of culture at Terezin. And seen in this light, we can fathom the actual scope of the Nazi subterfuge involving visits to Terezin by delegations of the Red Cross and the shooting of a propaganda documentary in its Ghetto. On these occasions, cultural activities had a prominent role to play in creating an idyllic picture of a “self-administered Jewish settlement territory”. Immediately after those wool-pulling shows ended, their involuntary actors were bundled away to Auschwitz.

The last transport to the East was dispatched from Terezin on October 28, 1944. After the Battle of Stalingrad, the wave has changed and now, the Red Army slowly but progressively started to push Nazis back from the occupied territories. However, less than 17,500 inmates remained alive when the Soviet army liberated Terezin on May 9, 1945. The life of the Ghetto on the eve of liberation and in the first days after were marked by a new tragedy. In the final days of WWII, thousands of prisoners arrived to Terezin by transports from the concentration camps in Poland. Miserable, hungry, sick, often half-mad people, who had been on the road for several weeks without any help, they now needed all the attention. The newcomers, however, brought along typhus, which rapidly spread among all the inmates. Many prisoners attempted to leave the camp without medical check-up and doctor’s clearance, threatening to infect also the civil population living outside the ramparts of Terezin.

The Red Army undertook critical steps to manage this epidemic by establishing a well-equipped laboratory and medical hospital at the Fortress. On May 14, 1945 the camp was quarantined, but despite enormous efforts, hundreds of people still succumbed to the disease. In the end, not only Red Army soldiers but many Soviet doctors and medical staff gave their lives in this battle for Terezin and thanks to their immense contribution, thousands of former prisoners were saved from certain death.

February 22, 2016. 

Finally, it was a sunny and clear day, which, according to a long-time Praguer, was a rare occasion. When I woke up, I had no plans of going to Terezin, more – I didn’t even know what Terezin was. But everything happens for a reason. After exploring Prague on my own for a few days (read my Prague Blog here), I decided to join Royal Walk Free Tour. I showed up early and struck up a conversation with an American guy who was guiding the tour. After chatting for a bit, I realized that the tour would cover pretty much all the places I’ve already visited, so I was offered to join his Czech colleague’s day tour to Terezin Concentration Camp, located 60 km from Prague. I agreed, thinking that it was a great opportunity to learn something new. After paying a fee of 750 kc ($34), Petra, our guide, gathered the group (8 of us) and we proceeded towards Prague Masaryk railway station. There we had about 20 minutes to use bathrooms and get something to eat before boarding a train to a small town Bohušovice nad Ohří.

From there, we took a public bus to Terezin and were dropped off not far from the cemetery. Throughout the journey, Petra has been talking about the history of Terezin and its Ghetto. She also mentioned its uniqueness in terms of cultural life and as a “spa” town for Jews. However, it wasn’t all that clear to me until I reached the site and had time to explore it. The Terezin Memorial consists of several sites:

  • Jewish cemetery, Memorial to the Soviet Soldiers and Crematorium;
  • Small Fortress with its model Prison Cells, execution grounds and mass graves (which we didn’t visit), and
  • Terezin Town – Magdeburg Barracks, Museum of the Ghetto and hidden Synagogue on #17 Dlouha Street.

We approached the city from the side of the Jewish Cemetery (p.11), a sombre site flanked on both sides by the Memorial to Soviet Solders and the Monument to Russian Warriors “Who died in the foreign lands during the World War, 1914-1919”. Keep in mind, that no photos are allowed in any indoor spaces.

The northern side of the cemetery is occupied by the Crematorium, which was built by Ghetto’s prisoners, on orders of the SS Commandment, in the fall of 1942. The central part of it contains 4 oil-powered incinerators designed by Ignis Huttenbau from Teplice-Sanov. The front section served as a space to unload corpses from coffins. To the left, there was an autopsy room, while on the right, an annexed building housed the guards (who were Czech police officers) and prisoners working in the crematorium. At the peak of the Ghetto’s mortality rates, the crematorium had 18 prison-workers who rotated non-stop, while during the “slow” time, the number of workers would drop to 4. The crematorium was supervised by SS-Scharfuhrer Heindl, one of the camp’s most feared top officers, yet routine checks were carried out by other camp commanders as well.

As I already mentioned, there were no gas chambers or mass executions at Terezin, so the crematorium was used as a quick way to get rid of mounting dead bodies. Corpses were placed in the incinerators without coffins, resting only on the bottom board to which they were attached to. This way, the coffins could be reused. Autopsies were performed on some of the bodies before cremation in order to establish the cause of death. Once the body was cremated, workers, operating the incinerators, had to get all the human remains out one by one, placing them properly in the assigned urns, however, it wasn’t so easy. The SS officers demanded that all fragments of gold (mostly teeth) and dentures, to be brought and handed to them.

Crematorium records were kept in daily logs and each urn listed basic information about the deceased that were copied from a card attached to the corpse’s foot. According to the information at the crematorium, records contain approximately 30,000 names of people cremated here from 1942 to 1945. This information included the name, transport number and cremation number. Urns were first stored in the back of crematorium and then transported to the Columbarium, located in the casemates of the fortification embankment opposite the funeral ceremony rooms and the central mortuary. Thousands of urns were places in shelves there, as SS officers wanted prisoners to believe that the remains would eventually be buried.

Not only the Ghetto’s inmates were cremated here. Unfortunate prisoners from the Gestapo prison of the Small Fortress were also brought to the crematorium. Their corpses were accompanied by the prison police in order to make sure that crematorium workers wouldn’t catch a glimpse of the bodies. However, blood seeping from the coffins and soaked-through body-bags were hard to miss or ignore.

Just ahead, I could already see the walls of the fortress and the moats (p.4), where the prisoners used to grow fruits and vegetables for the camp command. Only after visiting the galleries of paintings, created by the inmates and hosted at the Magdeburg Barracks, I could see just how authentic their representation of those walls (and other parts of Terezin) were.

At the edge of the city there are a series of casemates and tunnels that served as a Mortuary, Columbarium and ceremonial rooms. Most of the rooms had only one item on display – a cart that was used to transport corpses, a stone memorial with the names of every city from where Jews came to Terezin, a casket and its removable wooden bottom. One room was staged as a mortuary, where the bodies were prepared to be cremated and placed in the coffins.

 

Across the street, the space was used as a columbarium, where the Nazis deposited cardboard boxes containing the ashes of dead prisoners, with a promise to rebury them after the war. However, in 1945, before abandoning Terezin, the ashes of all victims were dumped into the New Ohre River.

Just outside the Columbarium, there are railway tracks. In the very beginning, Jews arrived at the train station at Bohusovice (where we arrived just 30 min prior), and then had to walk the remaining 3 km to Terezin. This was too public a display for the Nazis, who didn’t want townspeople to observe the transport and become suspicious. So the Jewish prisoners at Terezin were forced to construct a railway line that led right to Terezin… and back out again to Auschwitz.

For some reason, Petra didn’t take us to the Small Fortress, though I would like to say a few words about this structure. During the second half of the 19th century, the fortress was already used as a political prison camp for thousands of Russian supporters. But the fortress’ most infamous inmate was Gavrilo Princip, who assassinated Franz Ferdinand, Archduke of Austria and his wife Sofia, and who died there of tuberculosis in 1918. Since 1940 it served as a Gestapo prison and over 30,000 people came through it during the war – Jews, Soviets, but also, Brits, New Zealanders and other Allied POWs. Even though, only 300 prisoners were executed, the appalling living conditions, with up to 1,500 people held in a cell designed to contain no more than 150, led to many deaths.

And now, we entered the city. I have to say that today, Terezin’s wide, empty streets seem more inhabited by history’s ghosts than contemporary townspeople. The city understandably carries the gravitas of the past, as its every building was utilized as a prison ward.

The sun was still shining, however dark clouds unexpectedly started to roll over the horizon, as if giving us a warning to stay away, or to take it seriously.

The very first building we visited in the city was the Magdeburg Barracks (p.3). It served as a seat of the Jewish Council of Elders and now, after renovation, it is the largest museum recreating the life of Terezin during WWII.

The entire first floor is taken up by permanent exhibition. The left-hand section houses a reconstruction of prisoners’ barracks from the time of the Ghetto, a true-life example of accommodation in a typical Terezin barracks. The next room houses an exhibition “Music in the Terezin Ghetto” highlighting the importance of music for the life of the Ghetto inmates as well as the main personalities of its musical life. The exhibition premises come complete with a study corner for visitors who have profound interest in these issues. Equipped with a sound system, the whole area is furnished with a small number of seats for visitor’s comfortable listening to recordings of compositions made by musicians who lived, worked and performed in the Ghetto. The main permanent exhibition on this floor is devoted to “Art in the Terezin Ghetto”, covering the whole central part of the floor. On display are works by the best-known artists in the Ghetto as well as many other lesser known authors whose works – in their entirety – offer a unique testimony of the life, hopes and anxieties of the prisoners. The right side of the floor features the displays  “Literary Work in the Terezin Ghetto” and “Theater in the Terezin Ghetto”. Employing various theatrical means, the latter exhibition, situated at the end of the corridor, opposite the reconstructed sleeping quarter from the time of ghetto, aptly recreates the atmosphere of the life in the primitive conditions of the Ghetto’s accommodation premises.

Reconstructed Prisoner’s Dormitory. The first exhibition hall to be built in Terezin’s former Magdeburg Barracks houses a reconstruction of prisoners’ sleeping quarters from the time of the Ghetto. And that is hardly accidental: before viewing other exhibitions, mostly relating the different sides of the cultural life, this hall gives an overall picture of the actual living conditions of the inmates. In fact, one of the salient features of the Terezin’s everyday life during the war was its overcrowding – absolute lack of privacy was just as traumatic as malnourishment. Almost 60,000 inmates had to be crammed into a town where just 7,000 civilians and troops had lived before the war. In the summer and fall of 1942, when the Ghetto reached its peak prison population, each inmate had at his or her disposal a mere 1.6 m2 of living space. Life in the crowded barracks was very harsh indeed, one of the reasons being, for instance, a catastrophic shortage of water and bathrooms (on average, there was one toilet per 100 people). No wonder that this inevitably resulted in a recurrent spread of contagious diseases.

The Ghetto SS Command had a single solution to the problem – deportations. Even though the Terezin prisoners had no precise information on what was actually going on in the East, the final destination of virtually all the transports, reports leaked out from time to time speaking of a high mortality rate in those camps. Another sinister sign was the loss of contact and communication with the deportees. That was why the Ghetto inmates were prepared to bear the hard but familiar living conditions in Terezin as a lesser of the two evils.

Initially, Terezin’s prison population was accommodated solely in the barracks (which were 11). Nevertheless, their capacity was extended to and beyond tolerable limits. People had to sleep in three-tier bunks stuck close to each other. A bunk was 65 cm wide, and the vertical space above each bunk measured as little as 80 cm, making it virtually impossible for the inmates to sit up. Three-leveled bunks were installed wherever possible. As many as 500 people managed to be “accommodated” in some large halls. Later on, as the whole town was turned into one large prison, the inmates also lived in former civilian houses. But that proved to be hardly sufficient either, and attics and cellars, former casemates in the fortress, various sheds and outbuildings had to serve as living quarters as well. Makeshift wooden huts without any insulation whatsoever were also put up. But the worst type of accommodation was in the attics of the barracks where as many as 6,000 prisoners, mostly old people, languished, sometimes without water, toilets, heating, and sometimes light. People lived on the floor which was sparsely covered with straw, often sleeping on their suitcases.

The reconstructed quarters in the former Magdeburg barracks represent a typical smaller barrack-type accommodation, in this case, containing 57 bunks. The largest part of the room is taken up by three-level bunk beds laid out in blocks separated by lanes. There are also benches, several tables and stools, with shelves hanging above the bunks. The room also has a small stove with a coal scuttle, several jugs, pots and pans. In addition, the whole room is full of prisoners’ suitcases, ready for transport. Prisoners’ clothes is hanging everywhere with various objects of daily use, books, glasses, etc. laying around. Laundry is “drying” on several clothes lines hung across the room which represents a women’s dormitory.

In an effort to make this room as authentic as possible, old window panes as well as doors were fitted into the frames. Windows are shaded with period hard paper as a black-out precaution. Equally authentic are the lighting fixtures with funnel-shaped metal shades, switches and plugs.

Music in the Terezin Ghetto. Despite the bulk of preserved documents on the Terezin’s musical life, this particular historical phenomenon has not been definitely described. It is known that when coming to Terezin, all those “racially marked” people found themselves in a close community, sharing their lot and encouraging one another in their belief that even in such an inhospitable separation from normal life they can survive until the end of the war. It was true, up to a point, that what they had been prohibited to do in their homes, villages and towns in Protectorate, they were now allowed to do in Ghetto. All of a sudden, they could devote themselves to activities and hobbies they had been denied outside – sing and play works by Jewish composers, rehearse choral cantatas with Jewish themes, perform cabaret with Jewish sketches, etc. They could now perform compositions by composers like Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy, Gustav Mahler, Arnold Schonberg and many others, banned anywhere else. Nobody understood the substance of that paradox but the prisoners didn’t seem to mind, since they were the one who benefited from that. Since there was nothing normal in their lives in the Ghetto in terms of living conditions, hunger for culture of all kinds was genuine, palpable, it was something worth living for, something that offset the poverty and hardship. The SS Command seem to have overlooked that cultural activities were not only a past time for the inmates but also a source of education, giving them valuable encouragement in their desire to survive.

Nevertheless, members of Jewish communities from different countries lived their own lives in keeping with their traditions and those of the country they came from and were connected with. That is why, there were Czech and German singing choirs, one group interpreted the operas mainly by Czech authors and Mozart (since Mozart’s works have been traditionally domesticated in Bohemia), while the other specialized in the so-called “world repertoire”. Only ensembles such as Municipal Orchestra, Ancerl’s Chamber Orchestra, the popular Ghetto-Swingers or opera soloists were nationally mixed ensembles, since music knows no ethic boundaries.

The first opera which demonstratively outlined the future trends in this particular field was Smetana’s “Prodana Nevesta” (“The Bartered Bride”), rehearsed by Rafael Schachter (1905-1944), a conductor who was immensely competent both in artistic and organizational terms. In the fall of 1942 he conducted Smetana’s opera from a half-broken piano set on several wooden boxes, accompanying the choirs and singers from a piano extract someone had smuggled into the Ghetto in his or her 50 kg luggage. Commenting on the premiere of the opera, Egon Redlich noted: “November 25, 1942 – Wednesday:… Milk froze in the pot. It is dangerous cold. Children don’t take their clothes off anymore, and lice keep thriving. The Bartered Bride had its premiere today. It was the nicest performance I have seen here.” Also the young writer Ivan Klima was enchanted by this opera. In his book “How to Survive Affluence” he recollects: “… visiting an attic of a barrack, I watched a performance of “The Bartered Bride”, a performance given in this small hot space, without costumes, without an orchestra, only to the accompaniment of an old piano – the impression was far stronger than in ordinary life, people were listening in utter exaltation, many wept… everything that had any connection with art lifted you above the horrors of the camp life, transporting you from your anxiety which accompanied you at every step.” But other performances were also so powerful and impressive that nobody wanted to miss them. “The Bartered Bride” was followed by Mozart’s operas “Figarova Svatba” (“The Marriage of Figaro”) and “Kouzelna fletna” (“The Magic Flute”) and Smetana’s “Hubicka” (“The Kiss”). Taking leaf out of the Czech ensemble’s book, the former conductor of the Viennese State Opera Franz Eugen Klein (1912-1944) rehearsed the opera “Rigoletto” by Verdi, “Tosca” by Puccini and “Carmen” by Bizet with his German ensemble. Working with a different group of singers, Hans Jochowitz (1920-1944) prepared Mozart’s early opera “Bastien and Bastienne”, while Karel Berman (1919-1995) rehearsed Vilem Blodek’s opera “V Studni” (“In the Well”).

Another outstanding artist was architect Frantisek Zelenka (1904-1944) who designed the stage and costumes for the performances. And even though his costumes had to be made from the simplest materials, they managed to add to the profound artistic impression of each production. Some of the costumes and production sets are on display at the museum.

Apart from operas starring adult singers, the best-known and best-loved work in the Ghetto was the opera for children voices “Brundibar”, composed by Hans Krasa and librettist Adolf Hoffmeister (1902-1973). It is hard to say whether its success was due to the unusual story which the Jewish children in the Ghetto experienced as part and parcel of their most contemporary world, or due to the musical concept which fascinated and enraptured the child performers. They could identify themselves with the story which seemed so familiar. In their eyes, the hurdy-gurdy man named Brundibar was no abstract, imaginary figure from a fairy-tale world but the very personification of evil which the children were encountering every day. They accepted the task of fighting against him with joy, getting used to their story and putting themselves into their roles with utmost earnestness. After all, each time they succeeded in conquering Brundibar, they won their own struggle.

But the true highlight of Terezin’s cultural life was “Requiem” by Verdi. The importance of its staging went far beyond the walls of the Terezin fortress. Only thanks to Rafael Schachter’s enormous, almost fanatical, dedication to the beauty of that work, this composition by the Italian master appeared on the repertoire of a Czech singing choir. With the foresight of a visionary Schachter envisaged that even in a concentration camp for the Jews it was necessary to demonstrate through artistic means the link connecting the cultural aspirations of Jewish artists with the Western Cultural traditions based on Christianity. While singing “Requiem” mass about death and redemption, the Christians were holding hands with the Jews in their joint struggle. The mass was supposed to be a memorial ceremony for all the victims of this horrible fight with the hydra of Nazism. After its premier in the camp, all the 120 members of Schachter’s choir who had rehearsed the mass were deported to death in gas chambers. Only the conductor and solo singers remained. With a good deal of passion and will Schachter rehearsed the requiem anew with another 120 singers. But after several weeks of the performances the entire choir was again deported to an extermination camp. Schachter’s third attempt didn’t attract enough participants, more and more it looked as a choir of condemned people singing a requiem mass for themselves.

But chamber music was also performed in Terezin. The Ledec and Terezin Quartets, together with other performing artists, played works by classical as well as modern composers, including pieces written in Terezin. It was really invigorating to see the tenacity and perfectionism with which orchestras worked in the conditions of a camp and the composers continued to write music. Is there an explanation to this phenomenon? Truly and briefly speaking, this was a tough struggle for the preservation of human dignity, it was a never-ending fight to accentuate the basic human attribute and objective to remain a cultural being when all the other attributes of normal life have failed.

Art in the Terezin Ghetto. Visual arts in the Terezin Ghetto grew out of the same ground as theater and music whose impact was, however, much more immediate, covering larger audiences. Works of graphic art were usually created in private, and could not be publicly displayed. As a result they were known only to their authors or their friends. Despite lasting material difficulties visual arts thrived in the Ghetto, being particularly widespread not only among professional artists but also among dozens and possibly hundreds of amateurs, both adults and kids.

In all their specific forms and genres Terezin’s fine arts were immediately linked with the conditions of their origin and their function in the life of the Ghetto. Only thanks to that, they served as an authentic evidence of the actual life in the Ghetto in all its diversity. The works by most of Terezin’s artists invariably display motifs of a rebellion against the loss of freedom and the inhumane conditions in the Ghetto, whether expressed by wholehearted efforts for a truthful depiction of the environment, by endeavors to differentiate and embellish one’s small living space or by a simple need to formulate a personal message in an impersonal and cruel world.

The genuine center of Terezin art was the Drafting Room of the Technical Office, located on the first floor of the Madgeburg Barracks. Most of the credit for its establishment goes to Otto Zucker (1892-1944), Deputy of the Jewish Elder, who was not only an accomplished architect but also a versatile and gifted scholar well-versed in music and arts. The Drafting Room prepared constructional and technical plans for various operations of the Terezin Self-Administration, however, its key mission was to compile charts, statistics, overviews and annexes to diverse reports and in-depth accounts on the activities of the Self-Administration required by the SS Command. As the time went by, as many as 15-20 graphic artists worked in the Drafting Room. Their admission into the staff made it possible for them to devote themselves at least partly to their profession but also to find time and scarce means for their own work.

During their official working hours, these artists tried to provide an image of the Ghetto corresponding to the Nazi ideas, emphasizing that all the Ghetto inmates worked at full tilt and that life in the camp proceeded along the strict organizational rules. They designed and overviewed the construction of the Buhosovice railway siding, Terezin’s waterworks and Crematorium. While drafting the illustrative annexes, the artists depicted workers and artisans in workshops. Some illustrations were used by the Self-Administration to draw the SS Command’s attention to a critical situation in the Ghetto’s health care, accommodation, supplies and hygiene. Those sketches eventually gave rise to a series of 25 illustrations to Zucker’s manuscript entitled “History of the Ghetto Terezin” made in early 1944 in which Fritta, Haas, Ungar, Kein and Spier participated. Without using any futile embellishments, these drawings show all the major manufacturing plants and workshops, public projects as well as health care facilities, and some cultural events undertaken by the Self-Administration.

The staff at the Drafting Room directly participated in the beautification campaign in preparation for a visit by the Red Cross committee on June 23, 1944. Posters and advertising slogans were painted, a children’s pavilion, built during the campaign, was decorated with wall paintings of exotic animals and regions, jolly scenes of old Prague were decorating the walls of barracks. Dutch painter Josef Spier had to draw a commemorative album “Views from Terezin” which was given out as a souvenir to the members of the delegation, foreign visitors and Nazi officials. In addition to exemplary run operations, such as bakery, steam kitchens and workshops, it contained a series of drawings showing the “make-believe” facilities which were built in the Ghetto solely for the visit  – Market Square with its beds of flowers in full bloom, the music pavilion housing a Municipal Orchestra, a town center with camouflaged shops where virtually nothing could be bought, save for things confiscated from the inmates’ luggage, etc.

Besides the official, made-to-order art production, completely different works depicting the most common reality and life in the Ghetto were made in Terezin, invariably in private, during evenings, and behind the drawn blackout blinds in the Drafting Room. These showed the omnipresent overcrowding in the Ghetto, its endless food lines, crowds of people from arriving and departing transports, a maze of numbered figures waiting for deportation, heaps of deserted luggage, burial carts drawn by people and carrying old, sick and dead, overcrowding sleeping quarters in the casemates and attics, the eery figures of the blind, the handicapped and mentally ill in Kavalier Barracks, the constantly rising heaps of coffins and corpses in the morgue. The motifs of the individual drawings supplement one another, creating a coherent cycle portraying genuine life in the Ghetto and capturing its suffering, absurdity and grotesqueness. Indeed, these works make up a modern “Danse Macabre” that grew to be an everyday reality.

The painters who worked in the Drafting Room kept in touch with Leo Strass, a merchant from Nachod and a passionate Czech art collector whose “Aryan” family maintained illegal contacts with him through Czech policemen. So, in exchange for food the painters often gave him their own drawings which were then smuggled out of the Ghetto. They came along the same route used to smuggle food and tabacco in the Ghetto. As time went by, the painters learnt that Strass’ relatives succeeded in establishing contact with foreign countries, and that their drawings had found their way into Switzerland. Buoyed up by the news, the painters worked with greater zeal and intensity.

However, in preparation to the announced visit of the Red Cross, Nazis searched all the premises and found some “unofficial” sketches in the Drafting Room and Leo Strass sleeping quarter. Whatever wasn’t found, artists buried in the ground, bricked in the walls or hid in the attics (many paintings were found during the reconstruction work at the Barracks in the 1990s). Right after the Red Cross visit, most of the artists at the Drafting Room were arrested and only few of them survived the interrogations.

The works by the leading Terezin artists reveal an affinity with the mainstream of modern art in the prewar period and during the Protectorate. Despite its adversities, the critical socio-political situation at the turn of the 1930s and 1940s eventually established similar conditions for life in an occupied country and in a camp. The same applied to some aspects of creative work in art. The art of the Terezin painters futures not only in the contemporary cultural context but also occupies its place in the history of 20th century art, providing a cogent answer to the profound question about the meaning and mission of art in extreme condition of human existence.

Seen in this light, the works of art created by the painters of Terezin during the WWII have made it quite clear that the role of fine arts in a captive society may be far more crucial and versatile than under normal circumstances. They have emphasized the importance of art as a way of protest, as a mark of human freedom and as an educational instrument strengthening human integrity in extreme situations, underscoring its great significance for man’s spiritual and physical survival. In this case, visual arts are also known to have played a major documentary role – primarily thanks to them, we can now clearly visualize the conditions in which the inmates actually lived in the Terezin Ghetto.

Literary work in the Terezin Ghetto. Czech literature in the Terezin Ghetto had its own destiny, sometimes interrupted and definitely unfinished. Yet it succeeded in cogently reflecting the spiritual attitudes of the prewar Jewish community, especially its links with the cultural life in the Czech lands. Characteristically enough, many Czechs took their books with them for the transports. They were allowed to carry a maximum of 50 kg of luggage, and so the question was: what to take and what to leave behind? Add another pair of shoes, a jumper, food or meds? But in the end, they found in their poor luggage enough space for a book, a sheet of music, or a musical instrument.

Terezin “Ghettobucherei” (Ghetto Library), ran by imprisoned philosopher Emil Utitz, contained some 130,000 volumes. These were mostly books brought in from the libraries of Jewish religious communities. But no small portion was accounted for by books brought by the individual inmates, especially in fiction, medical and technical literature, and books for kids. Unlike authors and performing artists involved in drama and music, whose art was deliberately addressed to their fellow prisoners, original literary work in Terezin mostly took form of hidden, confidential entries of a man who was being dragged along in a close formation of a noisy crowd but who was actually lonely in his heart. These were notes, diaries, rarely verse written without witnesses and usually disappearing with their authors in an unknown. It is impossible to estimate just how many prisoners, children included, wrote. The surviving diaries (for ex. those of Willy Mahler, Hana Platovska, Hana Steidlerova, Paul Weiner, Eva Ginzova-Pressburger and others) or their fragments spell out the author’s agony of the loss of personality, human dignity, family, friends, their fears of the threat of further deportation to the East, their foreboding of death.

Nevertheless, literature too, going beyond the framework of private expression, constitutes a strange chapter of Terezin’s prison culture. The Czech jews were the first and permanently the largest community in the Ghetto, sharing their multicultural traditions which were affected by their feeling that in Terezin they were still in their native country. That was why they could lean on a fairly imaginary but still existing and lively intellectual background that the other groups of inmates seemed to be losing faster and quite hopelessly.

Czech prison literature, whenever assuming more general forms, has always been characterized by its links to the traditions of Czech national and socially involved literature. This is quite evident, for ex., in Karel Svenk’s cabarets, which were inspired by Prague’s Liberated Theater and which are definitely original literary works in their own right, in the dramaturgy of literary programs and lectures in the Ghetto, in poetry-reading evenings in which actress Vlasta Schonova recited Macha’s romantic poem “May” in response to the works and personality of Karel Polacek, in the content of Terezin’s underground magazine “Vedem”.

The exhibition of literary works from the Ghetto doesn’t seek any outlines of a category that could be called prison literature. Instead, it would like to be an anxious and urgent call, a warning against apathy and indifference whose wounds often run much deeper that those left by injustice and violence.

Theater in the Terezin Ghetto. Theater in the Terezin Ghetton represents a truly specific phenomenon. Just like any other artistic activities pursued by the Ghetto inmates, theater, too, spelt out their human aspirations for meaningful self-assertion, a need felt in the Ghetto much more urgently than outside its walls. Prepared under extremely adverse conditions, stage performances in Terezin were severely affected by those circumstances. The early days of theater life were best characterized by what are known as small-form genres, such as poetry reading, songs, short turns and scenes, which made up the programs staged in the first weeks of the Ghetto. Known as “varied evenings”, these performances were held spontaneously by the inmates living in the individual barracks.

In Terezin, drama – which invariably portrays human life and destiny “here and now” – grew to be one of the few opportunities for people to meet in public. Even at times when the Nazis used theater for their propaganda presentation of the Terezin Ghetto, drama performances, thanks to their aesthetic, humanizing and resistance overtones and qualities, created islands of spiritual freedom in an otherwise straitjacketed Ghetto.

Growing out of its modest beginnings, theater life in Terezin gradually flourished into an organism that was both extensive and multi-faceted. There were many professional theater people as well as experienced amateurs, who were joined by dozens of enthusiasts who found their love for stage only in Terezin (some of the Ghetto survivors later became professional actors). Eventually, the theatrical events covered virtually all types and genres: drama, operetta, opera, cabaret, musical shows, puppet or marionette performances, combined poetry reading, drama programs, and dancing. Actually, Terezin’s theater life evolved along with the organization of Ghetto itself. Initially, the inmates were kept in closed barracks. However, after the town’s non-Jewish population was evacuated in June 1942, and the whole town was turned into a camp, could its inmates move and meet freely. This, in turn, helped them in pursuing artistic activities in public. Yet, each new staging was a very challenging project  – plays were limited, space for performance was even more scarce. As a result, performances were held in uninhabited attics, in a school gym in one of the children’s homes and in barrack halls. These premises were temporarily adapted for theater performances, and furnished with the simplest of equipment: usually only a few lines of wooden benches for spectators, a makeshift stage, and essential lighting device. With a lack of materials, the theater performances were extremely poor and modest, however, thanks to inventiveness and ingenuity of the authors, whatever it lacked in stage props and costumes, was more than made up for by wealth of fantasy, improvisation and enthusiasm.

The actual variety of stage programs reflected the ideological, cultural and linguistic milieu of Terezin’s heterogeneous community. The category of “speaking” stage performances, where the spoken word was the dominant factor, was divided into Czech-speaking and German-speaking. However, there was not language barrier in musicals and cabarets, which proved to be particularly popular because of their prompt response to current problems in the Ghetto. These productions reflected the need of addressing oneself to the current events, articulating one’s emotions, worries and hopes. Another important category was poetry-reading, combined with drama programs, and what was called “table theater”, i.e. spoken renderings of dramatic texts.

Not surprisingly, the Czech drama repertoire in Terezin was dominated by Czech plays including works by Czech playwrights normally banned during the Nazi era. However, the distinctly Jewish-oriented line undoubtedly enriched the spectrum of Terezin’s stage life, so richly diversified by the interpretations of Czech, German and Jewish traditions and influences.

After leaving the barracks, we proceeded to the city’s Main Square (Namesti Ceskoslovenske Armady) (p.1). During the war, the giant circus tent and barbed-wire fence once stood on the square. Jewish workers boxed special motors for German vehicles being used on the frigid Soviet front. As part of year-long (!!!) preparation for the famous Red Cross visit in 1944 (which lasted only 6 hours), the tent and fence were replaced by flower beds and a pavilion for outdoor music performances.

Just around the corner is Museum of Ghetto (p.2) whose two floors explore  the rise of Nazism, the development of the Nazis’ “Final Solution”, and daily life in the camp, using the discarded bric-a-brac of the time to evocative effect. Erected in the 19th century to house the local school, the building was used by the Nazis to accommodate the camp’s 10 to 15-year old boys. The children’s haunting artwork still decorated the walls. At the ground floor movie theater, we got to see the infamous propaganda movie “The Terezin Ghetto”, which after the war was renamed “The Fuhrer gives the Jews a City”.

Our last sight, Hidden Synagogue (p.9), was just off the main road, at Dlouha #17. Here, in a former farm house of one of the typical town courtyards, a bakery hid the synagogue behind. The atmospheric space is still inscribed with two Hebrew captions, which are translated as “May my eyes behold, how You in compassion return to Sinai,” and “If I forget Jerusalem, may my tongue rot and my right arm fall off.” These words indicate that the prayer room belonged to a congregation of Zionists, who, one would expect, were specifically targeted by the Nazis. While synagogue remained a secret place, other spaces in this building were converted into the prisoners’ quarters.

Only precious few people who had taken part in the Terezin’s history survived until the end of the war to “be laughing on the Ghetto ruins” as Svenk’s cabaret song went on. The fascinating history of this unique chapter in the annals of European culture constitutes a message with a very strong appeal to the people of today, an appeal that should never be forgotten. And today, the camp stands as a memorial to the dead and a monument to human depravity.

Photos of Terezin.

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]]> https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/terezin/feed/ 2 Venice, Italy. Part II. February 2016. https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/venice2016-2/ https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/venice2016-2/#respond Sun, 21 Feb 2016 00:12:04 +0000 http://svetanyc.com/?p=3552 “You will fall in love with the city itself. There is nothing left over in your heart for anyone else” – Peggy Guggenheim “Memory’s images, once they are fixed in words, are erased,” Marco Polo said. “Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at one, if I speak of it. Or perhaps, speaking of...

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]]> “You will fall in love with the city itself. There is nothing left over in your heart for anyone else” – Peggy Guggenheim

“Memory’s images, once they are fixed in words, are erased,” Marco Polo said. “Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at one, if I speak of it. Or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little.”

For the Part I of the Venice (History, Piazza San Marco, The Grand Canal, Sestieri di San Marco & Castello) click here.

Sestieri San Polo and eastern Santa Croce

San Polo is Venice’s smallest but oldest sestiere, dating back to the 9th century. The Rialto, as area near the bridge is known, takes its name from rivo alto (high bank) and was one of the first areas of Venice to be inhabited. A banking and then market district, it remains one of the city’s busiest and most bustling areas. Home to the number of colorful cicchetti pubs, it is a great place to explore and have lunch. I spent quite a lot of time in this part of town, because it is a beautiful, mostly residential area, has plenty of sights, museums and mask ateliers, but also because I saw a pair of earrings in a shop window so I kept coming back there, every single day, until the shop was finally open (Frederica Rossi). I became so acquainted with the neighborhood, that I no longer needed a map or street name to know where I was; the sestiere’s shop owners, consequently, got to know me as well. 

I begin the tour of those two areas (I combined San Polo with the very eastern part of Santa Croce, as they organically form a ” dog’s head” on the map of Venice), from the Rialto Bridge (p.63 on the map). Of Venice’s more than 400 bridges, only four cross the Grand Canal and Rialto was the first among them all. The original Rialto Bridge, dating from 1180, was a platform supported by boats tied together. It linked the political side (palazzo Ducale) of the city with the economic center (Rialto). When Venice was Europe’s economic superpower, this was where bankers, brokers, and merchants conducted their daily business. Rialto Bridge II was a 13th century wooden drawbridge. It was replaced in 1588 by the current structure, with its bold single arch (spanning 50 m) and arcades on top designed to strengthen the stone span. Its immense foundations stretch almost 200 m on either side; heavy buildings were then built atop the foundations to hold everything in place. This superb feat of engineering by Antonio da Ponte cost 250,000 gold ducal to construct – a staggering sum that puts Calatrava Bridge cost overruns into perspective. The Rialto remained the only bridge crossing the Grand Canal until 1854.

Marking the geographical center of Venice (midway down the Grand Canal), the Rialto is the most sensible location for retail shops. The government built it with an accurate expectation that it would soon pay for itself with rent from the shops built into it. Like the older Ponte Vecchio in Florence, the Rialto was originally lined with luxury gold and jewelry shops, but now its vendors sell cheap Chinese items of Venetian resemblance. The bridge is cleverly designed to generate maximum rent: three lanes, two rows of twelve shops each, with a warehouse area above each shop under the lead-and-timber roof.

Reliefs of the Venetian Republic’s main symbols, St. Mark and St. Theodore, crown the arch. Barges and vaporetti run the busy waterways below, and merchants vie for tourists’ attention atop. The Rialto has long been a symbol of Venice. Aristocratic inhabitants built magnificent palaces just to be near it. The poetic Lord Byron swam to it all the way from Lido island and thousands of marriage proposals have been sealed right here, with a kiss, as the moon floated over La Serenissima.

From the top, walk down the bridge (heading away from the St. Mark’s side) and about 50 m onward, until you see an old square with a fountain on your right  – Campo San Giacomo. The square looks like it did in the 16th century. After a fire devastated the area, this High Renaissance square was built, in 1520 – or “MDXX”, as it says on the arcade. The church San Giacomo di Rialto (p.28 on the map), which escaped the fire, had one of the oldest facades in town, with a clock that predates minute hands. Notice that the square sloped toward the center – originally, rainwater flowed to the center, filtered down through limestone, where it was collected in an underground cistern. Several thousand cisterns like this provided the city with its drinking water up until 1886, when an aqueduct was built (paralleling the railroad bridge) to bring water from nearby mountains. Back when the Rialto Bridge was a drawbridge, big ships would dock here to unload their spices, oil, wine and jewels. The line of buildings between Campo San Giacomo and the canal was once a strip of banks – the Bancogiro. Today it’s a line of popular eateries. Behind today’s trashy jewelry stands are real jewelry shops, which have thrived here for more than 500 years.

Opposite the church, find the granite hunchback supporting steps leading to a column. Back when this prosperous neighborhood was Europe’s Wall Street, the column was its “Wall Street Journal”. A man climbed the stair each noon, stood atop the column, and read aloud the daily news from the doge: which ships had docked, which foreign ambassadors were in town, the price of pepper, and so on.

Walk along the left side of the church and turn left, to the canal’s edge. Look back at the large white building behind the church (the city’s fiscal administration building). Notice how it tilts out, probably because the bridge’s huge foundation is compressing the mud beneath it. Now, walk along the canal to a little canalside dead-end, that is as close as you can get to the Rialto Bridge. Take in the great view of the bridge. The former post-office (directly across) was originally the German merchants’ hall but it is about to be reincarnated as a shopping center.

You are standing under a former prison, study the orin grills over the windows – notice the interlocking pipes with alternating joints – you couldn’t cut just one and escape. From the prison, walk back along the canal, through the triple archway, cross the square, and enter another one named Casaria (for the historic cheese market). Today, this is Venice’ produce market. Colorful stalls offer fresh fruit and vegetables, some quite exotic. Nothing is grown on the island of Venice, so everything is shipped in daily from the mainland. The Mercato Rialto vaporetto stop is a convenient place for boats to unload their wares, here in the heart of fish-shaped Venice. #203-204, the shop called Macellaria Equina sells horse and donkey (asino) meat, if you are looking for extreme, but I, as a pescaterian, followed my nose to Mercato del Pesce (p. 59 on the map). This market is especially vibrant and colorful in the morning. The opening stalls have the catch of the day – Venice’s culinary specialty. Find eels, scallops, crustaceans with five-inch antennae, and squid destined for tonight’s risotto soaking in their own ink. This is the Venice that has existed for centuries: workers toss boxes of fish from delivery boats while shoppers step from the traghetto into the action. It is a good peek at workday Venice. In the courtyard between market buildings, locate a square white Istrian stone on the wall between two arches. It lists the minimum length permitted for a fish to be sold. Sardines must be 7 cm, mussels (peocio) – 3 cm. When you are ready, follow Ruga dei Spezieri (Spicers’ Road) back toward Rialto. Along the way, pop into Antica Drogheria Mascari at #380, which hides a vast enoteca holding 600 different Italian wines arranged by region, plus spices and lots of gifty edibles. At the end of Ruga dei Spezieri, you will see a sign for Ruga Vecchia San Giovanni, turn right along it.

Here is a very antique Chiesa di San Giovanni Elemosinario (San Giovanni Elemosinario, p.5 on the map, Chorus pass, pictures are allowed). Nestled into the dense area near the Rialto Market (with your back to the Bridge, turn left just past the flea market booths; the entrance will be through the frescoed arch behind iron gates on your left). Founded in 1071, this soaring Renaissance brick church, was re-built by Scarpagnino after a disastrous fire in 1514, which destroyed much of the Rialto area. Cross the darkened threshold to witness flashes of Renaissance genius: Titian’s tender “St. John the Almsgiver” and gloriously restored frescoes of frolicking angels by Pordenone.

This busy Ruga street is lined with shops that get progressively less touristy and more practical. As you walk, you’ll see fewer trinkets and more clothes, bread, shoes, watches, shampoo, etc. The Ruga changes name as you go, but just keep heading basically straight (when in doubt, which is a permanent condition in Venice, follow signs pointing to Ferrovia train station). Shortly, you come to Campo San Polo – one of the largest squares in Venice – it is shaped like an amphitheater, with its church tucked away in the corner. The square’s shape was determined by a curved canal at the base of the buildings. Today, the former canal is now a rio tera. A few rare trees grace the square, as do rare benches occupied by grateful locals. The Chiesa di San Polo (Church of San Polo, p.6 on the map, Chorus pass, pictures are allowed) is one of the oldest in Venice, and dates from the 9th century. Rebuilt in the 15th and revamped in the early 19th century in Neo-Classical style, this church is worth visiting for the lovely Gothic portal and the Romanesque lions at the foot of the 14th century campanile – one holds a serpent between its paws, the other – a human head. The wooden, boat-shaped ceiling recalls the earliest basilicas built after Rome’s fall. While the church is skippable for many, art enthusiasts shouldn’t miss it. Under the carena di nave ceiling, Tintoretto’s “Last Supper” shows apostles alarmed by Jesus’ announcement that one of them will betray him. But also, there are Gianbattista Tiepolo’s “Virgin Appearing to St. John of Nepomuk” and his son Domenico’s “Stations of the Cross”, and Veronese’s “Betrothal of the Virgin with Angels”.

From the Church of San Polo, continue about 200 m, cross the bridge onto Calle dei Nomboli, until you see Casa di Goldoni (Carlo Goldoni’s House, p. 72 on the map, Museum pass, photos allowed). Casa di Carlo Goldoni was built in the 15th century and has maintained all the features of Venetian Gothic architecture of that period. The particularly interesting aspects of the building are the three-part canal facade with its richly-decorated four-arched window, and the entrance giving onto Calle dei Nomboli, which leads into an atmospheric courtyard with an external two-flight staircase bound by a banister in small columns of Istrian stone.

Initially owned by the Rizzo family, the palazzo was rented to the Centanni family and became the centre of a very active artistic and literary Accademia in the 16th century. Towards the end of the 17th century, Carlo Alessandro Goldoni – the playwright’s paternal grandfather and a notary from Modena – took up residence here. Carlo Goldoni himself was born here in 1707 (25 February), and the building would remain the family home until 1719. Playwright Carlo Gondoli mastered second and third acts as well: he was a doctor’s apprentice before switching to law, which provided handy when an opera buffa (comic opera) didn’t sell. In 1914 Aldo Ravà, a noted scholar of 18th century Venice – together with Count Piero Foscari and Commendatore Antonio Pellegrini – bought the palazzo from its owner, Contessa Ida Manassero Camozzo, with the idea of using it to house a museum dedicated to the great playwright and to the history of Italian theatre. The project came to nothing because of the outbreak of war, and then in 1931 Ca’ Centanni was donated to the City Council to be restored and – with a slight variation on the original scheme – turned into a Goldoni museum and a study centre for matters relating to theatre. Again, war held up the work, which was only completed in 1953. The building houses a small museum of Goldoni memorabilia and artifacts relating to Venetian theatre, but focuses primarily on its role as a study centre, with constant additions to its library and archive.

Across  from Casa di Goldoni, at #2800 is Tragicomica Mask shop, one of Venice’s best mask stores and a workshop that offers a glimpse into the process of mask-making. Venice’s masks have always been a central feature of the celebration of Carnevale – the local pre-Lent (the translation of the word means “goodbye to meat”, referring to the lean days of Lent). Many masks are patterned after standard characters of the theater style known as commedia dell’arte: the famous trickster Harlequin, the beautiful and cunning Columbina, the country bumpkin Pulcinella (who later evolved into the Punch of marionette shows), and the solemn, long-nosed doctor. My husband and I came to Venice to attend one of the Carnevale’s balls so Tragicomica became our masks and costume supplier, but we will talk about Carnevale later.

Continue along, cross the bridge and veer right till you bump in the back end of the Basilica di Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari. (Frari Church, p.7 on the map, Chorus pass, pictures are allowed. Rick Steves’ audio tour of the Frari, allow 60-90 mins). After the Basilica di San Marco, dei Frari is the most remarkable ecclesiastical complex in Venice, as well as one of the most important Franciscan foundations in Italy. For me, this church offers the best art-appreciation experience in Venice, because so much of its great masterpieces are in situ – right where they were designed to be seen, rather than hanging in the museum. Originally built between 1236 and 1338 by the Franciscan Conventual Friars, the structure was thoroughly re-modeled in the 14th century and given its present more grandiose form of central nave, two side aisles and seven apsidal chapels after Franciscan-Gothic designs. The Franciscan order was inspired by St. Francis of Assisi (c.1182-1226), who dedicated himself to a non-materialistic lifestyle. The spirit of St. Francis of Assisi warms both the church of his “brothers” (frari) and the art that decorates it. The Franciscan love of all of creation – Nature and Man – later inspired Renaissance painters to capture the beauty of the physical world and human emotions showing worshippers the glory of God in human terms. Over the centuries the basilica has become a veritable treasure-chest of exceptional works of art.

Enter the church and find the spot with a good view down the long nave toward the altar.

The simple, spacious (100 m long), well-lit Gothic church (p.1) – with rough wood crossbeams and a red-and-white color scheme – is truly a remarkable sight in a city otherwise crammed with exotic froufrou. Because Venice’s spongy ground could never support a real stone Gothic church (such as those you’d find in France), the Frari is made of light and flexible brick. Traditionally, churches in Venice were cross-shaped, but this T-shaped footprint featured a long, lofty nave – flooded with light and suited to large gatherings – where common people heard sermons. The wooden choir area in the center of the nave allowed friars to hold smaller, more intimate services. From the early 16th century, as worshippers entered the church and looked down the long nave to the altar, they were greeted by Titian’s glorious painted altarpiece – then, as now, framed by the arch of the choir entrance.

Walk prayerfully toward the Titian, stopping in the finely carved 1480s choir (p.10). Notice the fine inlay above the chairs, showing the Renaissance enthusiasm for Florentine-style depth and perspective. Approach Titian’s (Tiziano Vecellio) “The Assumption of the Virgin” (1516-1518) (p.2). Glowing red and gold like a stained-glass window, this altarpiece sets the tone of exuberant beauty found in this church. At the end of her life (though looking 17 here), Mary was miraculously “assumed” into heaven. As cherubs lift her to meet a Jupiter-like God, the stunned apostles on earth reach up to touch the floating bubble of light. Look around. The church is littered with chapels and tombs “made possible by the generous financial support” of rich people who donated to the Franciscans for the good of their souls (and usually for tomb-topping statues of themselves, as well). For the altar, they hired the new whiz artist, Titian, to create a dramatic painting. Unveiled in 1518, the work scandalized a Venice accustomed to simpler, more contemplative church art. The rich colors, twisting poses, and mix of saccharine angels with blue-collar apostles were unheard of. Most striking, this Virgin is fully human, not a stiff icon on a throne. The Franciscans thought this Mary aroused excitement rather than spirituality. They agreed to pay Titian only after the Holy Roman Emperor offered to buy the altar if they refused. In a burst of youthful innovation, Titian had rewritten the formula of church art, hinting at changes to come with the Mannerist and Baroque styles. He energized the scene with a complex composition, overlapping a circle (Mary’s bubble) and a triangle (draw a line from the apostle reaching up to Mary’s face and down the other side) on three horizontal levels (God in heaven, Man on earth, Mary in between). Together, these elements draw our eyes from the swirl of arms and legs to the painting’s focus – the radiant face of a triumphant Mary, “assumed body and soul into heaven”.

Flanking the painting are marble tombs lining the walls. On the wall to the right of the altar is the Tomb of Doge Foscari (15th century) (p.21). This heavy, ornate tomb marks the peak of Venice’s worldly power. Doge Francesco Foscari (1373-1457) assumed control of the city’s powerful seafaring empire and then tried to expand it onto the mainland, battling Milan in a 31-year war of attrition that swept through northern Italy. Meanwhile, on the unprotected easter front, the Ottomans took Constantinople and scuttled Venice’s trade. Venice’s long slide into historical oblivion had begun. Financially drained city fathers forced Foscari to resign, turn in his funny hat, and hand over the keys to the Palazzo Ducale.

In the first chapel to the right of the altar, you will find Donatello’s Statue of John the Baptist (1438) (p.6). In the center of the altarpiece, the cockeyed prophet of the desert – emaciated from his breakfast of bugs and honey and dressed in animal skins – freezes mid-rant when he spies something in the distance. His jaw goes slack, and he twists his face and raises his hand to announce the coming of…. the Renaissance. Florentine expatriates living in Venice commissioned Donatello to make this wooden statue, and it reflects their tastes. The Renaissance began in Florence in the 1400s, where Donatello (1386-1466) created realistic statues with a full range of human emotions. This warts-and-all John the Baptist is harshly earthy, with muted colors. By contrast, Venetian art is generally soft-focused and beautiful, with bright colors.

Enter the sacristy through the door at the far end of the right transept. You’ll bump into an elaborate altar crammed with reliquaries. Opposite that (near the entrance door) is a clock, intricately carved from a single piece of wood. At the far end of the room, you’ll find Giovanni Bellini’a “Madonna and Child with Saints and Angels” (1488) (p.8). The Pesaro family, who negotiated and acceptable price and place for their family tomb, funded this delightful chapel dominated by a Bellini masterpiece. Mary sits on a throne under a half-dome, propping up Baby Jesus (who’s just learning to stand), flanked by saints and serenaded by musician angels. Bellini (1430-1516), the father of the Venetian Renaissance, painted fake columns and a dome to match the real ones in the gold frame, making the painting seem to be an extension of the room. He completes the illusion with glimpses of open sky in the background. Next, he fills the artificial niches with symmetrically posed, thoughtful saints – left to right, find Saints Nicholas, Peter, Mark, and Benedict.

Bellini combined the meditative poses of the Venetian Byzantine tradition with Renaissance improvements in modern art. He made the transition from painting with medieval tempera (egg yolk-based) to painting in oil (pigments dissolved in vegetable oil). Oils allowed a subtler treatment of colors because artists could apply them in successive layers. And because darker colors aren’t so muddy when painted in oil, they “pop”, effectively giving the artist a brighter palette. Bellini virtually invented the formula (later to be broken by his precocious pupil, Titian) for Venetian altarpieces. This type of holy conversation between saints and Mary we already observed in Chiesa di San Zaccaria. Renaissance humanism demanded Madonnas and saints that were accessible and human. Bellini delivers, but places them in a physical setting so beautiful that it creates its own mood of serene holiness. The scene is lit from the left, but nothing casts a harsh shadow – Mary and the baby are enveloped in a glowing aura of reflecting light from the golden dome. The beauty is in the details, from the writing in the dome, to the red brocade backdrop, to the swirls in the marble steps, to the angels’ dimpled legs.

In the adjoining room, find a painting in the shape of a Gothic arch, it is Paolo Veneziano’s “Madonna and Child with Doge Francesco Dandolo” (c.1339) (p.9). Bellini’s Byzantine roots can be traced to Paolo Veneziano (literally “Paul the Venetian”), the first “name” artist in Venice, who helped to shape the distinctive painting style of his city. Veneziano paints Byzantine icons, then sets them in motion. Baby Jesus turns to greet a kneeling Doge Dandolo, while Mary turns to acknowledge the doge’s wife. None other than St. Francis presents Dandolo to the Madonna. Both he and St. Elizabeth (on the right) bend at the waist and gesture as naturally as 14th century icons can.

Return to the nave and head left, toward the far end. Turn around and face the altar. The Tomb of Titian (1852) (p.11) is in the second bay on your right. This enormous carved marble monument is labeled “Titiano Ferdinandus MDCCCLII.” The tomb celebrates both the man and his famous paintings (depicted in the background reliefs). Titian (1488-1576) sits center stage, with a beard and crown of laurels. Titian was the greatest Venetian painter, excelling equally in inspirational altarpiece, realistic portraits, joyous mythological scenes, and erotic female nudes. As a young man, he studied as a mosaic-maker and then a painter under Giovanni Bellini and Giorgione. Soon he established his own bold style, which featured teenage Madonnas, like the Frari altarpiece. He became wealthy and famous, traveling Europe to paint stately portraits of kings and nobles, and colorful, sexy works for their bedrooms. But he always returned to his beloved Venice (see winged lion on top)… and favorite Frari Church. In his old age, Titian painted dark, tragic masterpieces. His “Pieta” (see relief in upper left) was intended for his tomb but ended up in the Accademia. Nearing 90, he labored to finish the Pieta as the plague enveloped Venice. One in four people died, including Titian’s son. Heartbroken, Titian died soon afterward. The cause of his death was probably the plague, although his death was officially chalked up to influenza to keep his body from being burned – a requirement for plague victims. His tomb was built three centuries later to remember and honor this great Venetian.

On the opposite side of the nave is the pyramid-shaped Canova Monument (1827) (p.12). Antonio Canova (1757-1822, see his portrait above the door) was Venice’s greatest sculptor. He created gleaming white, highly polished statues of beautiful Greek gods and goddesses in the Neoclassical style. The pyramid shape is timeless, suggesting pharaohs’ tombs and the Christian Trinity. Mourners, bent over with grief, shuffle up to pay homage to the master artist. Even the winged lion is choked up. Follow me here. Canova himself designed this pyramid-shaped tomb, not for his own use, but as a tomb of an artist he greatly admire: Titian. But the Frari picked another design for Titian’s tomb, so Canova used the pyramid for an Austrian princess in Vienna. After his death, Canova’s pupils copied the design here to honor their master. In fact, Canova isn’t buried here – he lies in southern Italy. But inside the tomb’s open door, you can barely see an urn, which contains his heart, as if he would want it.

Head back toward the altar, halfway up the left wall is Titian’s “Madonna of Ca’ Pesaro” (1519-1526) (p.13). Titian’s second altarpiece for the Frari Church displays all his many skills. Following his teacher Bellini, he puts Mary (seated) and baby (standing) on a throne, surrounded by saints having a holy conversation. And, like Bellini, he paints fake columns that echo the church’s real ones. But wait. Mary is off-center, Titian’s idealized saints mingle with Venetians sporting five o-clock shadows, and the stairs run diagonally away from us. The precious keys of St. Peter seem to dangle unnoticed. These things upset traditional Renaissance symmetry, but they turn a group of figures into a true scene. St. Peter (center, in blue and gold, with book) looks down at Jacopo Pesaro, who kneels to thank the Virgin for his recent naval victory over the Ottomans (1502). A flag-carrying lieutenant drags in a turbaned captive. Meanwhile, St. Francis talks to Baby Jesus while gesturing down to more members of the Pesaro family. The little guy looking out at us (lower right) is the Pesaro descendant who administered the trust fund to keep prayers coming for his dead uncle. Titian combines opposites: a soft-focus Madonna and photo-realist portraits, chubby winged angels with a Muslim prisoner, and a Christian cross with a battle flag. In keeping with the spirit of St. Francis’ humanism, Titian lets mere mortals mingle with saints. And we are right there with them.

In the middle of the nave, Baldassere Longhena’s Doge Giovanni Peraso funereal monument (p.15) is hoisted by four burly black-marble figures bursting from ragged white clothes like Invisible Hulks.

Exit dei Frari and walk around it to a small campo, home to one of the artistic treasures of Venice – Scuola Grande di San Rocco and Chiesa di San Rocco (p. 124 on the map. €10 entry with audioguide, allow 60 min for the visit, pictures allowed). The building was the seat of a confraternity established in 1478, named after San Rocco, popularly regarded as a protector against plague. The members of the “Confraternity of St. Roch” were a group of wealthy Venetian citizens, who chose their site to be next to the church of San Rocco which houses the remains of the saint. It is the only brotherhood to have been spared by Napoleonic edicts and has continued its activities without interruptions up till modern times. It now counts about 350 capitular Brothers (women among them) who assemble in a General Council once a year.

In January 1515 the project of the building was entrusted to Bartolomeo Bon to whom we owe the ground floor. In 1524 his work was continued by Sante Lombardo, and after 1527 by Antonio Scarpagnino, who finished the upper part and harmonized the facade with double rows of pillars.  Following his death in 1549, the finishing details were executed by Giangiacomo dei Grigi, completing the construction in September 1560.

The design was similar to other scuole in Venice, characterized by two halls, one at ground floor level, the other at first floor level. The Sala Terra (lower) has a nave and two aisles, with the entrance from the campo outside. From this hall a stair (with a landing surmounted by a dome) led to the upper floor. The Sala Superiore (“Upper Hall”) was used for meetings of the fellows and had a wooden altar. It provided access to the Sala dell’Albergo, which housed the Banca and the Zonta (the confraternity’s supervisory boards). The 50-plus painting in the Scuola Grande di San Rocco – ofter called “Tintoretto’s Sistine Chapel” – present one man’s very personal vision of Christian history. Tintoretto spent the last 20 years of his life working practically for free, driven by the spirit of charity that the Scuola, a Christian organization, promoted. For Tintoretto fans, this place is the ultimate experience. Even for the art-weary, his large, colorful canvases, framed in gold on the walls and ceilings of a grand upper hall, are an impressive sight.

The art of the Scuola is contained in three rooms – the Ground Floor Hall (where you enter) and two rooms upstairs, including the Great Upper Hall, with the biggest canvas. Enter the ground floor, which is lined with big colorful Tintoretto canvases and begin with the first canvas on the left.

“The Annunciation” (a) – an angel swoops through the doorway, dragging a trail of naked baby angels with him, to tell a startled Mary she’ll give birth to Jesus. This canvas has many of Tintoretto’s typical characteristics:

  • The miraculous and the everyday mingle side by side. Glorious angels are in broken-down house with stacks of lumber and a fray chair.
  • Bright light and dark shadows. A bright light strikes the brick column, highlighting Mary’s face and the angel’s shoulder, but casting dark shadows across the room.
  • Strong 3-D sucks you into the scene. Tintoretto literally tears down Mary’s wall to let us in. The floor tiles recede sharply into the distance, making Mary’s room an extension of our real space.
  • Colors that are bright, almost harsh, with metallic “black-velvet” sheen, especially when contrasted with the soft-focus haze of Bellini, Giorgione, Veronese and sometimes, Titian.
  • Twisting, muscular poses. The angel turns one way, while Mary turns the other, and the baby angles turn every which way.
  • Diagonal composition. Shadows run diagonally on the floor as Mary leans back diagonally.
  • Rough brushwork. The sketchy pattern on Mary’s ceiling contrasts with the precise photo-realism of the brick column. And finally,
  • The Annunciation exemplifies the general theme of the San Rocco paintings – God intervenes miraculously in our everyday lives in order to save us.

Further down on the left wall is “The Flight into Egypt” (c) – there is Mary, Joseph and the baby, but they’re dwarfed by palm trees. Tintoretto, in his old age, returned to composing a Venetian specialty – landscapes – after years as champion of the Michelangel-esque style of painting beefy, twisting nudes. The leafy greenery, the still water, the supernatural sunset, and the hut whose inhabitants go about their work tell us better than any human action that the holy family has found a safe haven.

Over your right shoulder, above the door is “The Circumcision” (another name “The Presentation in the Temple”) (g) – this painting, bringing the circumcision of the Baby Jesus into sharp focus, is the final canvas that Tintoretto did for the Scuola. He collaborated on this work with his son Domenico, who carried on the family business. In his long and prolific career, Tintoretto saw fame and many high-paying jobs. But at the Scuola, the commission became an obsession. It stands as one man’s very personal contribution to the poor, to the Christian faith, and to art.

Climb the stairs (taking time to admire the plague scenes that are not by Tintoretto) and enter the impressive Great Upper Hall. Wow! Before I go over the big canvases in this huge room, let’s start where Tintoretto did – in the Albergo Hall – the small room in the left corner of the Upper Hall. On the ceiling of the Albergo Hall is an oval painting of San Rocco, best viewed from the doorway.

“San Rocco in Glory” (1564) (A). Start at the feel of San Rocco, a French medical student in the 1300s who dedicated his short life to treating plague victims. The Scuola di San Rocco was a kind of Venetian “Elks Club” whose favorite charity was poor plague victims. This is the first of Tintoretto’s paintings here and it is also the one that got him the job, beating entries by Veronese and others. Tintoretto amazed the judges by showing the saint from beneath, as though he hovered above in a circle of glory. This Venetian taste for dramatic angels and illusion would later become standard in Baroque ceilings. Tintoretto trained by dangling wax models from the ceiling and lighting them from odd angles.

On the walls are scenes of Christ’s trial, torture, and execution. Work counterclockwise around the room. Start with the one to the right of the door, (as you face it). “Christ before Pilate” (T) – Jesus has been arrested and brought before the Roman authorities in a cavernous hall. Although he says nothing in his own defense, he stands head and shoulder above the crowd, literally “rising above” the slanders. Tintoretto shines a bright light on his white robe, making Christ radiate innocence. At Chris’s feet, an old, bearded man in white stools over the record the events on paper – it’s Tintoretto himself.  “Christ Crowned with Thorns” (S) – Jesus beaten, whipped, then mocked by the soldiers, who dressed him as a king “crowned” with thorns. Seeing the bloodstains on the cloth must have touched the hearts of Scuola members, generating compassion for those who suffer. “Ascent to Calvary” (R) – silhouetted against a stormy sky, Jesus and two other prisoners trudge up a steep hill, carrying their own crosses to the execution site.

The cycle culminates on the opposite wall with “The Crucifixion” (V). The crucified Christ is the calm center of this huge chaotic scene that fills the wall. Workers struggle to hoist crosses, mourners swoon, riffraff gamble for Christ’s clothes, and soldiers mill about aimlessly. Scarcely anyone pays attention to the Son of God… except us, because Tintoretto directs our eye there. All the lines of sight point to Christ at the center: the ladder on the ground, the cross being raised, the cross still on the ground, the horses on the right, and the hillsides that slope in. In a trick of multiple perspectives, the cross being raised seems to suck us in toward the center, while the cross still on the ground seems to cause the figures to be sucked toward us. Above the chaos stands Christ, high above the horizon, higher than everyone, glowing against the dark sky. Tintoretto lets us appreciate the quiet irony lost on the frenetic participants – that this minor criminal suffering such apparent gradation is, in fact, triumphant.

Displayed on an easel to the left of and beneath “The Crucifixion” is a small fragment of three apples. This fragment, from the frieze around the upper reaches of the Albergo Hall, was discovered folded under the frieze in 1905. because it was never exposed to light, it still retains Tintoretto’s original bright colors. All of his paintings are darker today, despite cleaning, due to the irreversible chemical alteration of the pigments.

Now step back out into the Great Upper Hall. 34 enormous oil canvases, set into gold frames on the ceiling and along the walls of this impressive room, tell biblical history from Adam and Eve to the Ascension of Christ. Tintoretto’s story-telling style is straightforward, and anyone with knowledge of the Bible can quickly get the gist. Tintoretto’s success in the Albergo Hall won him the job of the enormous Upper Hall.

The ceiling displays Old Testament scenes; the walls show events from the new Testament. Beyond that, the layout is not chronological but symbolic, linked by common themes. Tintoretto shows how God leads mankind to salvation. Evil enters the world with the Original Sin of “Adam and Eve” (3). From there, man must go through many trials, as the ceiling shows – the struggles of Moses and the Israelites, Jonah, and Abraham. But God is always there to help. In the 3 largest paintings on the ceiling, God saves man from thirst (“Moses Strikes Water from the Rock” – 8), illness (“The Miracle of the Bronze Serpent” – 16), and hunger (“The Fall of Manna in the Desert” – 22). Christ’s story (along the walls) parallels the struggles of men (on the ceiling). But while the first humans succumb to Satan’s temptation, Christ does not (“Christ Tempted by Satan” – 7). And ultimately – at the altar – mankind is saved by Christ’s sacrifice (“The Passover” – 29 and “The Last Supper” – 32). The art captures the charitable spirit of the school – just as God has helped those who suffer, so should we.

Let’s look at a few pieces in depth. Start with the largest painting in the center of the ceiling. View it from the top (the Albergo end) “The Miracle of the Bronze Serpent” (16). The tangle of half-naked bodies (at the bottom of the painting) represents the children of Israel, wrestling with poisonous snakes and writhing in pain. At the top of the pile, a young woman gestures toward Moses (in pink), who points to a pole carrying a bronze serpent sent by God. Those who looked at the statue were miraculously healed. His work all done, God (above in the clouds) high-fives an angel. This was the first of the Great Hall paintings Tintoretto painted in response to a terrible plague that hit Venice in 1576. 400 people a day were buried. Like today’s Red Cross, the Scuola sprang into action, raising funds, sending doctors, and giving beds to the sick – and aid to their families. Tintoretto saw the dead and dying firsthand. While capturing their sufferings, he gave a ray of hope that help was on the way: turn to the cross, and be saved by your faith. There are dozens of figures in the painting, shown from every conceivable angle. Tintoretto was well aware of where it would hang and how it would be viewed. Walk around beneath it and see the different sides come alive. The painting becomes a movie, and the children of Israel writhe like snakes.

The rectangular panel at the Albergo end of the hall is “Moses Strikes Water from the Rocks” (4). Moses (in pink, in the center) hits rock in the desert with his staff, and it miraculously spouts water, which the thirsty Israelites catch in jars. The water spurts like a ray of light. Moses is a strong, calm center to a spinning wheel of activity. Tintoretto worked fast, and, if nothing else, his art is exuberant. He trained in fresco painting, which must be finished before the plaster dries. With these paintings, he sketched an outline right onto the canvas, then improvised details as he went. The sheer magnitude of the San Rocco project is staggering. This canvas alone is 28m2 – like painting a bathroom with an artist’s tiny brush. The whole project, counting the Albergo Hall, Great Upper Hall, and the Ground Hall together, totals some 790m2 – more than enough to cover a typical house, inside and out (The Sistine Chapel ceiling, by comparison, is 530m2)

“The Fall of Manna in the Desert” (22)  – it is knowing bread, as God feeds the hungry Israelites with a miraculous storm. They stretch a blanket to catch it and gather it up in baskets. Up in the center of the dark cloud is a radiant, almost transparent God, painted with sketchy brushstrokes to suggest he is an unseen presence. Tintoretto tells there Bible stories with a literalness that was very popular with the poor, uneducated sick who sought help from the Scuola. He knew how to bring imagination to life, to make the miraculous tangible.

You could grow old studying all the art here, so here are a few more of the New Testament paintings on the walls. “The Adoration of the Shepherds” (6) – Christ’s glorious life begins in a straw-filled stable with cows, chickens, and peasants who pass plates of food up to the new parents. It’s night, with just a few details lit by phosphorescent moonlight: the kneeling shepherd’s forehead and leggings, the serving girl’s shoulders, the faces of Mary and Joseph… and little Baby Jesus, a smudge of light. Notice the different points of view. Tintoretto clearly has placed us on the lower floor, about eye level with the cow, looking up through the roof beam at the night sky. But we also see Mary and Joseph in the loft above as though they were at eye level. By using multiple perspectives (and ignoring the laws of physics), Tintoretto could portray every detail at its perfect angle.

In the middle of the long wall, on the same side is “The Resurrection” (19) – Angels lift the sepulcher lid, and Jesus springs from in a blaze of light. The contrast between dark and light is extreme, with great dramatic effect.

Head for “The Last Supper” (32), and on the way there, look on the wall for a wood carving of Tintoretto (3rd statue from altar, directly opposite entry staircase, where the artist holds the tools of his trade. His craggy, wrinkled face peers out from under a black cap and behind a scraggy beard). A dog, a beggar and a serving girl dominate the foreground of Christ’s final Passover meal with his followers. More servants work in the background. The disciples themselves are dining in the dark, some with their backs to us, with only a few stray highlights to show us what’s going on.Tintoretto emphasizes the human, everyday element of that gathering, in contrast to, say, da Vinci’s more stately version. And he sets the scene at a diagonal for dramatic effect. The table stretches across a tiled floor, a commonly used device to create 3-D space. But Tintoretto makes the more distant tiles unnaturally small to exaggerate the distance. Similarly, the table and the people get proportionally smaller and lower until, at the far end of the table, tiny Jesus (with glowing head) is only half the size of the disciple at the near end. Theatrically, Tintoretto leaves it to us to piece together the familiar narrative. The disciples are asking each other: “Is it I who will betray the Lord?” Jesus meanwhile, unconcerned, hands out Communion Bread.

Browse the Great Upper Hall and notice the various easel paintings by other artists. Contrast Titian’s placid, evenly lit, aristocratic “Annunciation” by the altar with the blue-collar Tintoretto version downstairs. Once, you’ve had enough, head out of the building to visit the Chiesa di San Rocco (free entry, pictures allowed). Originally built by Bartolomeo Bon in 1489-1508, this church got a facelift in 1765-1771 with a grand portal flanked by Giovanni Marchiori statues. Bon’s rose windows were moved to the side of the church, near Bon’s original side door.

Inside the church’s Sala dell’Albergo are a couple of comparatively quiet Tintorettos, including “San Rocco Healing the Animals” and the bones of San Rocco.

From Campo San Rocco head straight north until you reach a relatively large square housing a Chiesa di San Giacomo dell’Orio (p.8 on the map, Chorus pass, pictures allowed). This church is a focal point of a quiet Santa Croce. The name “dell’Orio” may derive from a laurel tree (alloro) that once stood near the church (however, the church’s brochure indicates the the current name “Orio” derives from the name of the place “Luprio”, meaning “marshlands”). La Serenissima seems serene as ever inside the cool gloom of this Romanesque church, founded in the 9th-10th centuries. The 1225 re-building work incorporated within the structure Byzantine pieces that had been brought back from the Levant after the Fourth Crusade.

Notable 14th to 18th century artworks include luminous sacristy paintings by Palma Il Giovane, a rare Lorenzo Lotto “Madonna with Child and Saints”, and an exceptional Veronese crucifix. Don’t miss Gaetano Zompini macabre “Miracle of the Virgin”, which shows a rabble-rouser rudely interrupting the Virgin’s funeral procession, only to have his hands miraculously fall off when he touches her coffin. Architectural quirks include decorative pillars, a 14th century carena di nave (ship’s keel) ceiling and a Lombard pulpit perched atop a 6th century Byzantine green-marble column.

A short walk to the north of San Giacomo dell’Orio is the Museo di Storia Naturali di Venezia (Natural History Museum of Venice, p.81 on the map, Museum pass, photos allowed). Situated on the Grand Canal, this institution hosts numerous collections and a notable library. The museum’s staff also conducts monitoring and research into the lagoon of Venice and its fauna. If you are in Venice for a very short term, feel free to skip this Museum as perhaps, your hometown would have a similar one. However, I was interested not only in the collections but in the building itself – the Fondaco dei Turchi (former Turkish trade-house). The palace was constructed in the Venetian Byzantine style in the first half of the 13th century by Giacomo Palmier, for the Pesaro family. The Venetian Republic purchased it in 1381 for Niccolò II d’Este, the Marquess of Ferrara and later the palazzo served as a residency to many visiting dignitaries. From the early 17th century through to 1838, the fondaco served as a one-building-ghetto for Venice’s Ottoman Turkish population and represented a combination of home, warehouse, and market for the Turkish traders. A number of restrictions were placed on the fondaco and its residents, including certain times one was able to enter and leave the ghetto, as well as on trading (wax, crude oil and wool). After the Venetian Republic was abolished by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1797, the Turkish traders continued to live in the palazzo until 1838. The building was in a very bad state by the mid-19th century, and was completely restored and rebuilt between 1860 and 1880. Thereafter it housed the Museo Correr and later, from 1923, the Natural History Museum. Over time, the materials added up, through acquisitions and donations, to make up the present rich, varied and fragile collection that spans 700 million years, with 2 million finds, zoological, entomological and botanical collections, fossils and anatomic preparations, as well as ethnographic collections.

Never ming the doge: insatiable curiosity rules Venice, and inside the Museum it runs wild. The adventure begins upstairs with dinosaurs, then dashes through evolution to Venice’s great age of exploration, when adventurers like Marco Polo fetched peculiar specimens from distant lands. Around every turn, scientific marvels await discovery in luminous new exhibits. The obvious stars of the museum are the spotlit dinosaurs, including a terrifying Ouranosaurus nigeriensis from Sahara and a psittacosaurus mongoliensis, a 120-million-year-old baby dinosaur skeleton from the Goby Desert.

The curators and designers of the museum’s stunning new exhibit steal the show, leading visitors through evolution with a trail of dinosaur footprints and into galleries that follow the tracks of Venetian explorers. In hot pursuit of ancient legends from mummies to headhunters, macabre colonial trophies like elephant’s feet, and circus-sideshow curiosities including a two-headed goat, Venetian explorers like Giuseppe Reali and Giancarlo Ligabue stumbled across wondrous scientific specimens. As you might expect from this lagoon city, the marine-biology exhibits are especially breathtaking. The most startling ceiling in Venice isn’t a salon Tiepolo fresco but the Museo’s 19th century “cabinet of curiosities” covered with shark jaws, poisonous blowfish and other outrageous sea creatures. Corals and starfish fill glass columns in the glowing tidepool chamber, leading into a marine-blue room with deep-sea specimens encased in glass bubbles. This undersea journey is accompanied by a spooky soundtrack that brings to mind whale-song recordings.

The museum’s grand finale downstairs is comparatively anti-climatic: a fish tank of Venetian coastal specimens bubbling for attention. Still, don’t miss a close-up glimpse of the enormous dugout canoe at the water door – an unexpected sight for vaporetto riders along the Grand Canal.

Palazzo Mocenigo (p.102 on the map, Museum Pass, allow 45-60 min, pictures allowed) belonged to the Mocenigo family, one of the most important Venetian aristocratic clan. No less than 7 family members became doges and a considerable number of others became procurators, ambassadors, captains, priests and scholars. The main branch of the family lived in the huge palazzi in San Samuele, near San Marco. However, the descendants of Nicolo, brother to Doge Alvise I, moved to this palace of Gothic origin at the beginning of the 17th century. It then underwent significant restructuring and expansion, transforming it into the building we can still admire today. The external facades looking on to the street and San Stae canal are characterized by their large Serlian windows, a common feature in Venetian architecture during the 17th and 18th centuries: these are three-light windows with a central opening and a semi-circular arch above and two lower windows at the sides with entablature that also make it possible to alternate the piano nobile with mezzanines. The street facade, today the entrance to the palazzo, highlights its extension on the left side, which was the result of the acquisition of adjacent buildings. With a large central hall (portego) that was used for official functions and goes right through the building, flanked by the other rooms, its interior is typical of all Venetian patrician homes.

Until recently the Mocenigo family still lived in the palazzo and on the first piano nobile one can see Rococo or Neo-Classic style frescoes and furnishing that mostly go back to the 2nd half of the 18th century. Of particular note are also the root wood doors and engraved, gilded cornices. Many of the rooms are decorated with paintings celebrating the family glories, the climax of which was when Alvise IV was doge (1763-1778). Of considerable interest are the ceiling frescoes, completed in 1787 for the marriage of the doge’s nephew to Laura Corner. The family’s last descendent, in 1945 Alvise Nicolo bequeathed the palazzo to the city on the condition it became an “Art gallery to complete the Correr Museum”; 30 years later, following his wife’s death, it was then left to the city. Opened to the public in 1985, it became the Study Center of the History of Fabrics and Costumes, housing the vast collection of ancient fabrics and clothes.

Completely renovated and expanded at the end of 2013, the itinerary winds its way through 20 rooms on the first piano nobile. As a whole, the rooms skillfully evoke the different aspects of the life and activities of a Venetian nobleman between the 17th and 18th centuries, and on display are mannequins wearing valuable ancient garments and accessories. Made of patterned fabric embellished with embroidery and lace, they are testimony to the astounding expertise of scores of craftsmen and the refined, luxurious elegance for which the Venice was famous. A new section dedicated to a particular aspect of the history of Venetian tradition was added: perfume, which up until now, has not been studied in depth.

Portego. Flanked by the other rooms, this large central hall is typical of the structure of Venetian palazzi and was used for celebrations and official occasions. The paintings on display here are either nearly all portraits of the Mocenigo family or depict events in which they were involved. Four of the large portraits on the walls (1, 2, 4, 5) are of the sovereigns under whom the Mocenigo family were ambassadors, while two of the seven doges are located above the door (6, 7) and others (18, 28, 38, 40, 41) in the long frieze below the ceiling – inspired by the one in the Sala del Maggior Consiglio in the Palazzo Ducale. The walls were decorated with architectural motifs by Agostino Mendozzi Colonna in 1787.

Proceed to the room on your right, looking at the main entrance, with its marble double door – Room 1. The paintings in this room all belong to the palazzo and are of famous members of this family. The two that are set in Rome are reference to Pietro Mocenigo (1632-1678) who was first ambassador in London and then in Rome; the pastels portray of Doge Alvise IV, his headstrong wife and a brother.

Room 2. The 18th century carved, lacquered furniture belonging to the palace is on display with contemporary blown glass from Murano and the paintings on the walls are from the Correr Museum collections. The ceiling fresco goes back to the period of the extensive decorations carried out in the palazzo on the occasion of the wedding, as do all the frescoes in the other rooms. Here we can see the allegorical figures of Fame, Glory, and Hymen, god of marriages.

Room 3. On the table, decorated with a handmade lace is tablecloth from Burano, and on the consoles is 18th century Murano glass blown and worked by hand, while the Venetian made bottles and glasses are in “Bohemian” style, i.e. blown, cut and decorated in gold. The furniture belongs to the palazzo and is all from the 18th century, except for the screen which is dated later; the paintings on the walls come from the Correr Museum and Ca’ Rezzonico collection. The allegorical fresco on the ceiling alludes to military value, guarantor of peace, prosperity and good government.

Room 4. The carved, lacquered and gilded 19th century furniture belongs to the palazzo; the glass pieces decorating it – from the Murano Museum – go back to the 18th century with the exception of the multicolored filigree candleholder on the table, which is dated later. Of the paintings, the “Virgin” by the Bellini school belongs to the palazzo’s collection, as do the chandelier and multi-colored wall lights in the shape of bouquets of flowers (“a cioca”) from the 18th century. The Mocenigo coat-of-arms stands out on the Venetian stucco floor, while once again the ceiling fresco alludes to marriage, with Hymen coming down from heaven, the bride with the pierced heart, Cupid, Poetry and the fertility of Spring.

Room 5. The paintings in this room depict was scenes or Mocenigo family events. The naval battle (5) is for instance, a fight near the island of Sapienza in Greece between pirates and Venetians led by Zaccaria Mocenigo (1634-1665), who preferred to set fire to his ship and die than fall into enemy hands; the Contarini figure portrayed in the large painting (4) in the carved, gilded frame is Dove Alvise IV’s son’s father-in-law. The ceiling fresco is surrounded by extensive perspective tromp l’oeil and depicts pairs of allegorical figures that are the apotheosis of the family: the winged Knowledge inspiring its behavior, followed by political and religious Power, Justice with the scales, Peace with an olive branch, Fortitude and warrior Virtue. Of particular value is the chandelier – original part of this room’s furnishing- is blown glass and hand-worked into bouquets of flowers, attributed to the most important Venetian glassmaker in the 18th century – Giuseppe Briati (1686-1722)

Room 7. Paintings here again depict the stories of the family. Particularly striking is the large table that has been laid and is covered with valuable ancient 13-14th century fabrics. Of different kinds, there items have silver and gold thread, as can be seen in the extremely rare piece of allucciolato brocade (the 7th on the table when coming from room 6) reflecting the light and producing a sparkling effect. From the same period are the glass objects (chalices, fruit stands, plates), all of which are slightly fume, mould blown and worked freely by hand. They are from Murano as are some of the other pieces on display here that go back to the 18th century; the candleholders and mirror with frame (soaza) decorated with glass plated, enamel amorinos and racemes.

Room 8. All the portraits on display here are of Venetian patricians, some of which belong to the palazzo – as does the furniture. Others come from the Correr collection, such as the two original paintings on fabric dedicated to Doges of another important Venetian family, the Morosini, that not only produced four doges, but also bishops. The Morosini women were also of considerable interest: Tomasina (1250-1300), Queen of Hungary, Costanza’s aunt, Queen of Serbia and sister of Albertino, who therefore became viceroy of Illyria. In Mocenigo family, before becoming doge in 1414, Tommaso carried out delicate diplomatic peace missions including the one depicted here, with Sigismund, King of Hungary. The 17th century glass on the consoles is from Murano. Men’s clothes, the most of the garments in this room, abandoning the severe models of the 16th and 17th centuries of military inspiration, assumed looser and more refined forms, adopting many of the features present in female fashion, such as copious lacework and embroidery. The gown was the official form of dress for patricians. Made of black fabric with large sleeves, for the Savi, Adogadori and heads of the Quarantia, it had red lining while for the ducal Senators and Advisors it was completely red. All members of the nobility had to wear the gown when carrying out their institutional functions, or sitting in the Councils or staying in the entire area of Piazza San Marco.

Room 9. The paintings in this room, of which only some belong to the palazzo, evoke marine settings whilst continuing the series of famous portraits. On the left of the 19th century portrait of one of the Mocenigo’s doges, there is a meditative portrait of Gregorio XII, pope at the beginning of the 15h century, coming from the noble Venetian Correr family and one of the few to abdicate as pope. On the right is a portrait of the noble scholar Marcantonio Michiel. On the table are 16th century cisele soparizzo velvets and contemporary glass pieces, mould blown or worked freely by hand. The 18th century pieces of furniture belong to palazzo.

Room 10. The paintings by Antonio Stom on display here belong to the series of the “Splendors of the Mocenigo Family”. They refer to the visit of Princess Violante Beatrice of Bavaria (1673-1731), wife of Ferdinando de Medici, heir to the Tuscan throne, in the territory of the Republic of Venice, being received by a member of the Mocenigo family. The charcoal on the bureau depicts Costanza, wife of the last Mocenigo, who lived in the palazzo before turning it into a museum. The 20th century photos depict members of the Aosta branch of the Savoia family. On the table at the back of the room are 8 valuable ancient fabrics, of composite production (cisele and embossed – for example the 3rd from the right), and glass from different periods: the filigree plate and the 3 fume buckets go back to the 16th century, the fruit stands and candleholders – to the 18th, the chalcedony chalice – to the 19th and the goblet – to the 20th. The furniture is from the 18th-19th centuries and only some pieces belong to the palazzo.

Room 11. The room is dedicated to this classical garment with more than 50 samples on display. Knee long, completely buttoned up in the front and made of a valuable fabric, the waistcoat became common at the end of the 17th century. It was worn under the jacket; the front was usually made of silk and the back of linen or cotton. In that period it still had sleeves and was mainly meant as protection against the cold. It later changed form: in the 18th century, the period the models on display here were made, it was shortened and reached just below the waist, ending with two “tails”. At the end of the century it no longer had sleeves, but sometimes had a collar instead. Its decorative function was emphasized thanks to the embroiderers’ skill, as they were able to make each garment into a masterpiece, with perfect, realistic weaving.

Room 12. The Mocenigo legacy also included a complex of noble archives of outstanding importance. Carefully preserved on one of the palazzo mezzanines, it included the collections from different important families, covering a period from the 11th to the 20th centuries and which arrived in the Mocenigo collection as a result of marriages or bequests, although most of it has clearly separate inventories and ancient indices. This is a collection of outstanding historical and documentary importance that has not yet been studied in depth. Offering a selection of 205 archive bundles, rearranged at the beginning of the 20th century by the last owner, the room wants to evoke this importance.

Room 13. Decorated with paintings from the Correr Museum and Ca’ Rezonnico collections, this room is the beginning of the museum section that is devoted to a particular aspect of the history of Venetian costumes – perfume. This is also the beginning of a sort of “change of pace” in the exhibition: while still perfectly integrated with the evocative settings we have seen so far, there are now multimedia instruments in each room.

Room 14. Although not a perfect reconstruction, this room resembles what was an almost alchemical laboratory of the perfume maker or muschiere, who from the 16th century on in Venice was the keeper of the techniques and recipes to make soap, oils, pastes, powders, and liquids to perfume things, people, clothes, gloves and rooms. Expensive and much sought-after, perfume required raw materials that were often very rare and exotic, coming either from the plant, such as the benjamin tree, cinnamon, or from the animal, such as the zibet or grey amber. This room has an interactive wall panel with a scented map that demonstrates the fascinating, impenetrable routes that Venetians had to cover to obtain these raw materials. Original 19th-20th century instruments or reconstructions, such as the loom to extract essential oils from flowers or the chest full of white cold paste Venetian soap, filtered using an ancient process, give us a glimpse of the partially magical and partially industrial atmosphere of this great tradition. Of particular note is Pietro Andrea Mattiolo’s 16th century herbarium that illustrates, amongst other things, the technique of distillation.

Room 15. This room is also dedicated to raw materials and production techniques. The books on display, one of which (4) can be used virtually in the interactive totem next to the bookcase, were printed for the first time in Venice in the middle of the 16th century, revealing the “secrets” of an art of perfume – that also comprises cosmetics, medicine, science and magic. Some of the “real” raw materials are on display here, such as musk from animal glands or valuable grey amber – the intestinal secretion of the sperm whale – and, on the table, many of those mentioned in the ancient recipes exhibited here. Room 16. Founders of the Drom Fragrances in Munich, Bavaria in 1911, with great skill and passion the Storp family collected a rare and extremely important compilation of perfume phials and containers with a total of more than 3,000 pieces and spanning 6,000 years of history. Room 17. The “Fragrance families” are a sort of classification of perfumes on the basis of the elements they are made up of. On the large table are 24 containers with the same number of essences, forming six of the main families, all of which have fascinating names: citrus, floral, oriental…. Visitors may experiment with fragrances or study this intoxicating but rigorously scientific world in more depth.

Rooms 18 & 19. The paintings in room 18 are both intimate and private: of particular note is the rare “Perfume maker’s Organ”, an extraordinary instrument used to invent perfumes using the more than two hundred essential oil in the phials arranged in the shape of an amphitheater. In the small room 19 we can see two paintings with religious motifs that belong to the palazzo, as well as the 18th century furnishings.

A gift-shop on the ground floor is a great place to purchase some of the perfumes exhibited in the museum, so you have a small souvenir (and a smell) to take with you.

Another great place to explore in the area is the Galleria Internazionale d’Arte Moderna e Museum d’Arte Orientale, housed in Ca’ Pesaro along the Grand Canal (International Gallery of Modern Art and Oriental Art Museum, p.70, Museum pass, pictures allowed). The palace was built in the second half of the 17th century for the noble and wealthy Pesaro family, a project by the Venetian architect, Baldassarre Longhena, who also designed the church of the Salute and Ca’ Rezzonico. On Longhena’s death in 1682, the palace was still unfinished, so the Pesaro family entrusted its completion to Gian Antonio Gaspari who concluded it in 1710, in compliance with the original project. The palace still conserves some of the fresco and oil decorations of the ceilings, the work of artists such as Bambini, Pittoni, Crosato, Trevisani and Brusaferro. But the collections of the Pesaro family, as documented in the archives, must have been even more remarkable, including works by artists such as Vivarini, Carpaccio, Bellini, Giorgione, Titian, Tintoretto, as well as the most famous Venetian artists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. This great heritage had been completely dispersed by 1830, the year of the death of the last Pesaro family member, who auctioned most of the collection in London (sadly, many palaces in Venice met similar fate). The palace was passed on firstly to the Gradenigo family and then to the Armenian Mechitarist Fathers, who used it as a college. It was finally bought by the Bevilacqua family, and became the property of Duchess Felicita Bevilacqua La Masa, who bequeathing it to the city in 1898, as a museum of Modern Art. 

The first floor of Ca’ Pesaro contains important 19th- and 20th-century collections of paintings and sculptures, including masterpieces by Klimt, Chagall, Kandinsky, Klee and Moore, as well as a rich selection of works by Italian artists and an important section on graphic art. The second floor is home to temporary exhibitions and the third floor hosts the Museum of Oriental Art. Let me take you step by step.

1. Dialogues. Three fundamental exponents of not only the collection but also 20th century European sculpture, offer an impressive opening to the tour: August Rodin (1840-1917), the greatest French sculptor of his times, Medardo Rosso (1858-1928) and Adolfo Wildt (1868-1931). The monument to the Burghers refers to an event in the 14th century when six inhabitants of a besieged Calais offered the enemy their lives to save the city. Commissioned by the city council, the work met with resounding success although Rodin’s wishes were not actually respected: he had wanted it to be placed on the town hall steps without a pedestal so it would have encouraged a sort of immediate dialogue between the ancient burgher heroes and the current world. Medardo’s “The Concierge and the Child in the Soup Kitchen” belong to what was still a profound realist phase, in which the interplay of lights is given an emotive role, while the “Woman with a Veil” is the impression of an instant, a fleeting meeting on the street. The evocations that result from the combination of the sculptures in the room are around Rodin. According to reports, Rodin and Medardo both admired and respected one another and they even exchanged their works but this came to an abrupt end in 1898 when critics observed that Medardo might have influenced Rodin’s innovative style in his monument to Balzac. On the other hand, Wildt seems to have followed Rodin’s lessons in his experimentation of the infinite expressive possibilities that every part of the human body offered.

2. From the Macchiaioli to scientific Luminism. The latest French trends, from anti-academic Realism to the more recent examples of landscape following the Barbizon school were presented in Paris in 1855 at the Universal Exhibition. Various Italian artists visited it with great interest: in Italy art was experiencing the path of the “real” and the Academy was losing its role as guide; furthermore, painters of different origins were united in trying their hands at painting outdoors – elaborated by real facts and worked through in an innovative fashion – whilst also having an opportunity to meet on the battle fields of the Risorgimento, sharing the same patriotic ideals (and dying in great numbers too). It was in this context, between 1850 and 1860 that the Macchiaioli movement developed in Florence; its aim was to portray reality as seen by the human eye, in other words, through light and splashes of color. This led to the study of new values in painting that were founded on the relationship between colors and volumes expressed in synthetic contrasts of light and shadow. It was an innovative movement, and one that – owing to the clear differences in its studies, range and results – preceded but didn’t anticipated Impressionism (which was officially founded in Paris in 1874). The Tuscans Telemaco Signorini and Giovanni Fattori are outstanding exponents of the Macchiaioli movement, to which in many ways the Venetian Guglielmo Ciardi also belonged. Of Signorini’s two works on display here, the rigorous interior of the Florentine lunatic asylum surpasses the Macchiaioli instances, representing one of the greatest achievements of Italian painting of reality. Fattori’s canvas is almost like a snap shot of a military subject that has been treated with concise realism, without any rhetoric but with heartfelt participation.

3. From Realism to the Belle Epoque. Between 19th and 20th centuries, the most important European countries and the United States witnessed that proved to be staggering industrial development, accompanied by continuous fundamental technological progress, urban revolutions and great expansionist and colonial designs. Maker and protagonist of this new world, the bourgeoisie also expressed a demand for self-representation, thus encouraging the birth of new painting genres. Numerous universal exhibitions offered an opportunity for international exchange; in addition, it was in this context that art merchants began to play a new, decisive role – from Paul Durand Rouel to Goupil with his branches in many European capitals and in New York – in mediating and meeting their clients’ tastes and determining and promoting the success of artists. Amongst theses were the “Italians in Paris”: Giuseppe di Nittis and Federico Zandomenaghi – whose works on display here focus on female figures – interpreting the social circles with the greatest skill, and achieving both fame and success in the French capital. Noteworthy are also the painting by the Spaniard Zuolaga, purchased at the 1903 Biennale, with its great expressivity and elegance, and the family group that Giacomi Fevretto painted when he was barely 24 years old, skillfully paying great attention to detail, interplay of light and eyes. On the other hand, social themes were still receiving attention and being met with appreciation, with portrayals of scenes of a laborer’s or farmer’s life, filtered through the lesson of Impressionism but understood and reworked differently. For ex, the light in the splendid canvas by the Spaniard Sorolla is completely Mediterranean; it was displayed at the 1905 Biennale where the city of Venice made a considerable investment to purchase it, together with the “Peasant Girl” by the Dutch artist Toorp. Another example is Liebermann’s claim and delicate portrayal of the lacemakers.

4. Expressions of symbolism and secession. Positivist faith in industrial and technological progress was no absolute dogma. On the contrary, at the end of the 19th century in Europe intellectuals, artists and men of letters of different social standing all distanced themselves from these values; they were expressing the need to go “beyond” the rational-scientific fact of visual perception and to pay more attention to spiritual contents, the world of ideas and unfathomable nature of the abysses of the mind, the different possible network of sensations and their portrayal using evocation and symbolic synthesis. The roots of this symbolist aesthetics lie in Baudelaire’s poetry (his “Fleurs du Mal” published in 1857 was to be a source of inspiration for many painters in the following generation) whilst its theoretic support is to be found in the philosophy of Schopenhauer, Kierkegaad, Nietzsche as well as scholars much as Mallarme. It spread throughout Europe in greatly different forms that all shared that refusal of themes linked to topicality – preferring references to poetry, mythology and psychological studies – and the tendency to favor a sort of integration between the arts, taking Wagner’s total work of art as an example. It is precisely this idea of “total work of art”, in which elements of symbolism, painting, sculpture, architecture and decoration all come together, that was also the source of inspiration for artists in Central Europe who were fed up with academic authority and the official organization of the art system and thus detached themselves during the 1890s, creating alternative movements, the so-called “secessions.” The first (1892), established in Munich by Franz von Stuck, was followed in 1897 by the most famous one in Vienna under Gustav Klimt; the following year saw Berlin as protagonist, including artists such as Max Klinger and Edvard Munch. Many of their works are on display in this room (purchased by the city of Venice on the Biennale from 1899-1912). Von Stuck’s “Medusa” is characterized by dark tones, and a dense and allusive atmosphere while the continuous and sinuous line of Klinger’s “Bather” anticipates one of the dominant characteristics of Art Nouveau. With its strong emphasis on color, agonizing tension of the hands and restless sensuality, Klimt’s “Judith II” anticipates expressionist themes. The influence of Secessionism is also evident in Wildt’s marble and gold group of sculptures. On the ceiling: Cinolo Bambini (1651-1739) “The Glory of the Pesaro Family” (in the middle) and “Prudence and Fortitude” (at the sides).

5. Man and his thoughts. Auguste Rodin and Adolfo Wildt. Rodin’s thinker, Wildt’s silent man or faceless speakers and the essential spirituality of Chagall’s rabbi: these are all artists’ insights into the most profound identity of the human being, with his eternal questioning of material and spirit, life and death. The most famous exhibit here is probably Rodin’s in the plaster version that was presented at the 1907 Biennale. The initial idea of the “Thinker” goes back to 1880 when the artist was commissioned with a monumental gate for the Musee des Arts Decoratif (that was never completed). Inspired by the “Devine Comedy”, with no less that 186 different figures this “Gate of Hell” was meant to rise to the symbolic portrayal of human passion. Around 70 cm high, at the tip of the “Thinker” was Dante. Enlarged and exhibited as an individual sculpture in London and Paris in 1904, the work became a modern thinker, a naked man reflecting on his fate: it met with such success that the artist was asked to create a bronze version (now at the Paris Museum of Rodin). The works on display here by Adolfo Wildt include a selection from the important nucleus of 43 works that the Woldt-Scheiwiller heirs donated to the museum in 1990 and which reveal his unceasing formal studies and the dense web of different cultural references. In his abstract nude of “Silent Man” and the Phidian body resting on a Christian shield in “The Crusaders”, the alliance between classicism and symbolism is extremely close whilst the work “The Speakers” is remarkable: originally the two figures had their backs to one another and were looking backwards while speaking, but were later modified by Wildt so that only one of the figures remained, removing its head, foot and arm, and thus emphasizing the tension of the form. The bronze version of the “Vir Temporis Acti”, the highly dramatic tormented figure of a soldier, is based on another large marble bust without arms, the legs cut off at the knee and a sword at his side. The only painting in this room is the famous “Rabbi of Vitebsk”, that Chagall painted when he was 28 y.o. in 1914 when he returned to Belarus after 4 prolific years in Paris: here the traditional portrait theme is combined with more modern, revolutionary solutions regarding the geometrical simplification of the lines, the emphasized and contrasting whites and blacks, in which different shades define the lean face of the man in prayer.

6. Venice: exponents of the Italian Secession. Following an initiative of the Venice City Council, the Biennale originated in 1895. It was immediately met with resounding success and favored celebrated names and confirmed trends when selecting the works to exhibit. Ca’ Pesaro on the other hand, was founded as space that was to be dedicated to young people “who were often forbidden from entering great exhibitions”. The exhibitions “Bevilacqua La Masa a Ca’ Pesaro” were meant to be a sort of “field of young experimentation” as a collateral event to the main exhibition but almost immediately they took on such strength and identity that they were soon playing an alternative, antagonistic role. The “Ca’ Pesaro artists” – a significant selection of whom are on display here – vary greatly from one another; what they have in common is their interest in experimentation and reflection on the latest studies on the international scene. Umberto Boccioni is here because it was in Ca’ Pesaro that he had his first solo exhibition in the summer of 1910 – immediately after the futurist leaflets were dropped from the Clock Tower against “past-loving Venice”, causing a sensation – with 42 of his works (including “Portrait of Sister Reading”), documenting his studies of the previous five years, and in particular the divisionist lesson he learnt in Rome from Giacomo Balla, of whom there is a portrait from 1901. Within a very brief period both were to be the protagonists of the pictorial concretization of the futurist programme. However, the driving forces in the Ca’ Pesaro were Gino Rossi and Arturo Martini. Works on display here by the former, a restless artist who learnt much from Gaugin and Cezanne include a “Breton” portrait dated 1909 and an essential female figure painted shortly after; the latter, who worked together with Rossi in Paris was also open to the stimuli from the Viennese Secession, as can be seen by his extraordinary sculptures here, in which both expressionist and symbolist stylistic features are manifested. Felice Casorati’s famous painting, purchased at the Biennale, also echoes Secessionist and Central European evocations. On the ceiling: Giambattista Pittoni (1687-1767) “Jupiter Protector of Justice, Peace and the Sciences”.

7. Archaistic expression. The 1920s and 1930s. During the early 20th century diverse avant-garde artistic movements were founded and diffused, all united in the intransigence of their research and the primary importance of overcoming the norms that had guided artists’ work for centuries. Fauvism, Cubism, Futurism and Abstractionism – to name but a few of the artistic galaxies that were created and developed during this periods – the first 15 years of the century were characterized by an abundance of manifestos, declarations of intent, reviews, programmes of the total new foundation of art and effective, extraordinarily innovative results. However, it was inevitable that the tragedy of the WWI let to interruptions, conclusions, changes in direction and other actions and reactions. This is why in Europe the 20s also witnessed the birth of groups and movements that were striving for a “return to order”, wanting to question the methods and results of the avant-garde, whilst also reviving a reinterpretation of the great figurative tradition of the past, with particular reference to before the Renaissance. For ex., Picasso’s position in all of this was emblematic: after a trip to Rome in 1917, in this period he produced not only Cubist works but also figurative compositions of sculptural and mock-classical bodies. In Italy, under the Fascist rule that began in 1922 and lasted two decades, this trend found expression in Novecento, a movement founded by Margherita Sarfatti, a keep art critic who did her utmost to take advantage of her good relationship with Mussolini to launch an artistic project, the main objective of which was quality rather than ideology; the trend also found expression in several magazines, including “Valori Plastici”, which was published between 1918 and 1922, with articles by Carlo Carra amongst others. A former leading exponent of Futurism, he distanced himself in 1915 and set to work on Giotto and Paolo Uccello’s Primitivism before taking part in the most intense phase of metaphysical painting. The works on display by Carra are from the 1930s and synthesize the two fundamental moments of his research after 1915; there is also one of his works from the 1950s, places alongside Sironi’s “Figure with a Bowl” for comparison. However, the room also allows an immediate comparison of the “change in pace” of two outstanding artists on the Italian scene during that period: Arturo Martini and Felice Casorati, who were amongst the protagonists of the Ca’ Pesaro movement. In Martini’s works the expressionistic and almost grotesque intentions of his sculptures before the war make room for solemn meditation and solid, closed and essential forms. Casorati’s girls, on the other hand, which are so different to the young ladies he painted 14 years earlier, evoke a suspended dimension that is emphasized by pure forms, long shadows and apparent immobility. In a room full of Italian artist there is also a charcoal drawing, purchased at the 1924 Biennale, by the Belgian artist Constant Permeke; and original figure on the European scene between the two wars and indifferent to avant-garde experimentation, he found inspiration in the great Flemish masters, portraying the everyday life of fishermen and poor farmers with intense feeling.

8. Echoes of the metaphysical. Metaphysical painting expresses the subjectivity of vision, offering seemingly real facts to a variety of possible interpretations and perceptions: evoking the unconscious and dreams, it anticipates the surreal. The history of metaphysical painting can be divided into two stages: the first was from 1911 to 1914 and was dominated by Giorgio de Chirico, while the second was from 1915 to 1920, and was marked by the meeting between de Chirico and his brother Andrea with Carlo Carra, and later joined by Giorgio Morandi, Mario Sironi and Filippo De Pisis. It was never a real movement as such but rather a sort of close but temporary collaboration during the unfolding of the artistic development of theses different figures. On display here are the different unique results of their respective paths, with works after the years of their actual partnership in which “echoes of the metaphysical” are still loud and clear. Two versions of Giorgio de Chirico’s famous theme “Mysterious Baths” are here, it developed in the middle of the 1930s and originated on the one hand in the memory of a beach he had gone to as a child in Volos, Greece, where he was born, and on the other, in an association of ideas between polished floors and water. This was a return to the metaphysical, after the artist had devoted himself to other genres at the end of the 20s. On display here is also the beautiful portrait by de Chirico of Professor Lionello De Lisi (1885-1957), a great collector and famous neurologist who bequeathed an extensive collection to Ca’ Pesaro, now on display in different sections of the museum. In this room, the works from the De Lisi legacy include the “Urban Landscape” by Sironi from 1950, with clear metaphysical echoes in the cold, leaden colors chosen by the artist and a “Still Life” by Morandi from 1948. On the ceiling: Gerolamo Brusaferri (1677-1745) “Jupiter and Juno”.

9. The infinite research of color. All the works on display here are characterized by the fundamental, persistent role of an infinite, endless research on color. When he was still very young, Pierre Bonnard was a member of the Nabis group, which was active during the 1890s and aimed to overcome Impressionist naturalism and create a language that was based on color and formal synthesis; at the beginning of the 1900s Emile Nolde was part of the movement Die Brucke (the Bridge) that not only fought for coordination amongst the avant-garde striving to renew art, but also dedicated the greatest attention in painting to the role of color. This movement was founded in the same year (1905) as the group Fauve (wild beasts), led by Matisse and included Derain and then Dufy among its members. The name Fauve – coined by unkind critics during their first exhibition – comes from their use of bright, arbitrary colors in soft splashes to create smooth surfaces and achieve the total correspondence between emotive suggestion and expression in painting. It was the case with many other avant-garde groups in that period, these movements – founded in the wake of Gaugin, Cezanne and Van Gogh – were more or less organized and they soon dispersed, with each artist going his own way and achieving his own specific results. Emile Nolde’s painting is the only one that goes back to when he was a member of the group mentioned above. Despite the layout that was still linked to Impressionism, here the emphasis, energy, “storm” of colors and the simplification of the forms all herald the Expressionist works this artist was to go on to produce. Bonnard’s nude, on the other hand, is dated 1931. Purchased at the 1934 Biennale, it goes back to one of the artist’s favorite themes, offering a virtuoso portrayal of free light and color that unfold in the interior on both the objects and a figure, altering radically the Impressionist lesson of the imaginary dimension. Derain’s canvas also goes back to the 30s and is devoted to a theme – landscape – that became one of his favorites after his travels to Italy in 1921, and experiencing different phases and at times contrasting sources of inspiration. Works by the Italian painter and cultivated writer De Pisis are also on display here; after his metaphysical experience with De Chirico before the 1920s, he moved to Paris in 1925 where he remained for a good while, meeting the Fauves and studying the Impressionists, the influence of this experience is clear in the still life on display, while references to the 18th century strokes and coloring of painters such as Francesco Guardi can be seen in his large 1948 landscape. On the ceiling: Antonio Buttafogo (1772-1817) “Triumph of Hercules”.

10. Incumbent ghosts of power. The 1930s and 1940s. During this historically complex and dramatic period, totalitarian regimes established themselves throughout Europe. Before leading up to the appalling catastrophe of the WWII, the violence of dictatorship that is evoked in the name of the room also expressed itself in widespread ideological control from the ’30s on in particular, affecting artistic expression as well. The reaction to the avant-garde, some of the results of which we have seen in room 7, and the need to a return to order did not completely correspond to dictatorial policies. The movement “New Objectivity” (Neue Sachlichkeit) for ex., founded in Germany in 1925 with the aim to returning to figurative painting, included both instances of explicitly social criticism of some artists (that was to result in their being included in the “degenerates” in 1937), and the more “Classicist” aspirations expressed by others. Influenced by metaphysical painting and associated with the magazine “Valori Plastici”, this “Classicist” current was also known as “Magic Realism”. Two of its main ambassadors in Italy were Antonio Donghi and Cagnaccio di San Pietro, and their works are on display here. Their immobile figures portrayed with such detailed realism and emerged in limpid light and restless, and pensive suspension really do create the effect of an ambiguous, alienating enchantment. Several of the other works here deal with one of the regime’s favorite themes at the time, celebratory sports, but interpreted in a strange way: martinis “The Hundred-Meter Sprinter”, portrayed whilst still immobile before the start is both anti-monumental and startling; Martinuzzi offers a classical portrayal of the boxer’s muscles while he is realistically sitting on a stool in the ring whereas the black background and the lack of any details in the “Race” by the Russian painter Deineka are highly anti-realistic, drawing attention to the dynamism and tension of the pose. The room houses two other works that are radically different. One is by Armando Pizzinato, a staunch adversary of the Fascist regime who did not paint from 1943-1945 but played an active part in the partisan movement. On display here is a large canvas from 1949 with a realism that is mindful of not only Futurist and Cubist influence but also of symbolic meanings, which was part of the heated debated of that period, amidst political commitment, renewed hope and the new nightmare of the Cold War. The same is evoked by Henri Moore’s helmet, which is two interlocking pieces that have no meaning on their own. Here Cubism and Surrealism unite in the ambiguity of the portrayal of a figure that is no longer human. On the ceiling: Gianbattista Crosato (1697-1758) “Down on the Carriage”.

11. Expressions of Surrealism and Abstraction. This room is named after two of the most important and complex avant-garde currents in the past century that still focused on the fundamental relationship between art and reality, with articulate but diverse results. The concept of abstraction in art implies distancing oneself from any kind of imitation of nature of visible reality and instead, encouraging the expression of interiority by means of painting. Surrealism starts with portrayals of the real world that seem to have been transformed but are combined in associations that have absolutely no rational ties; on the contrary, they are aimed at liberating the unconscious, chance, dreams and amazement. While Wassily Kandinsky offers early 20th century Abstract art the most lucid theoretical contribution, Max Ernst was one of the founders of Surrealism. Other members of this movement included Tanguy, Miro and Jean Arp, the latter coming from another avant-garde experience, Dada. Paul Klee, on the other hand, was an Abstract artist friend, partner and colleague of Kandinsky in the Bauhaus movement and on display here is a pastel from the very year in which Andre Breton cited him in his first manifesto on Surrealism in 1924. The expressive research on these artistic trends continued until well beyond the middle of the century: on display here with a famous mobile from the early 1950s. Calder’s abstractionism in both playful and ironic; Picasso’s painting from the cycle “The Painter and the Model”, which was a constant theme in his work during the late 1950s, and in which Matisse’s influence can be seen. The works by some of the most famous exponents of Surrealism on display here go back to the 1950s as well: Max Ernst’s disquieting man-animal-bird, donated to the museum by the artist; Tanguy’s surreal landscape with meaningless objects; Miro’s watercolor evoking childhood visual associations. However, during this period Tapies was also close to Surrealism: offering a bunch of incongruous objects that are a little magical and little geometrical, the hand on display here seems to evoke both Miro and Klee.

12. Transition. This room represents a “transition” in both the true and metaphorical sense of the word. WWII was over, Europe was coming to terms with not only the material rubble but also contradictions and political failure, with human and civil drama, and with a new world to be built on a democratic basis while new threats were looming. Artists were seeking expressive forms that had nothing to do with the years of totalitarianism. A forerunner of the most innovative trends and sympathizing with “the right side”, on the democratic front, Picasso was the model of very many. Post-Cubism then became a dominant current, remaining as such until at least 1950. And this marked the new beginning. Purchased by the city, during the 1954 Biennale, Ben Nicholson’s large canvas represents one of the most successful works of this trend. Nicholson recaptures Cubism in its different phases but he revives it, transforming the work into a sort of contemporary event that is still able to encompass its own formal history. This is how the painting’s title should be understood; significantly, it includes not only the indication of the dominant color, but also the day on which it was completed.

13. Abstraction of signs. The 1950s. This room marks the start of a unique path, offering examples from the intricate galaxy of the particular expressive moment which affected European, American and even Japanese artists in the 50s and 60s, but with different nuances, trends and names: Informale in Italy – that returned to the European art scene in this period, Informel, Art Autre, Techisme in France, Auction painting or Abstract Expressionism in the US where New York became the most important reference point worldwide for creative innovation. The Informale is not a group and neither is it an avant-garde movement; it is instead a conception of the artistic act as something individual, unique and direct, overcoming any kind of mediation, preventive codification or linguistic formalization. It is both an existential and creative process, very closely linked to the terrible legacy of the WWII. It aims at the freest possible expression of passion, tension and sensations, by transforming them into signs, action, colors and materials. Although it goes beyond the meaning the avant-garde attributed to this expression 30 years earlier, the matrix is therefore basically abstract. Trends that were part of this field include the abstractionism of action and of material, but also the abstraction of signs and, to a certain extent, also Spatialism. Exponents of these tendencies on display here include Eduardo Chillida and Marc Tobey with works that were awarded prizes in the 1958 Biennale and then donated to the museum by the artists. Chillida’s sculpture is a sort of a graphic sign in space that he creates with the incisions and torsions of a single piece of metal; with his interest in the linear abstraction of Oriental calligraphy, Tobey’s work is also “graphic” and is combined with research that is similar to the of American abstractionism. Another artist who tried his hand at diverse styles during his development is Mirko: in the bronze sculpture on display we can see a combination of reworking of Oriental references with plastic and spatial research.

14. Gestures and colors. The 1950s. After the war, the Biennale reopened in 1948. The exhibition that year included a Picasso retrospective, a Peggy Guggenheim collection and, with its own room, the group Fronte Nuovo delle Arti. The latter had been founded in ’46 in Venice by several artists – Emilio Vedova, Renato Birolli, Ennio Marlotti, Armando Pizzinato, Giuseppe Santomaso, Alberto Viani, Bruno Cassinari, Renato Guttuso, Leonicillo Lleonardi and Carlo Levi – with the aim of understanding the diffusing the latest artistic researches in Italy. It was a moment of great visibility and success for the group that, however, in an internal and international political context that was characterized by stark ideological contrasts, soon found itself questioning the role of the artist and the social function of art. The “realists” believed that direct, orthodox political commitment was necessary for the transmission of contents, while the “abstract artists” asserted the primacy of the freedom of inspiration. It was against the backdrop of this diatribe that the Fronte broke up in 1950. Two years later, 8 non-figurative painters including Afro Basaldella, Renato Birolli, Ennio Morlotti, Giuseppe Santomaso and Emilie Vedova founded the Gruppo degli Otto. At the 1952 Biennale they were presented with the words: “They aren’t and don’t want to be abstract painters ….neither do they want to be realist painters; they want to get out of this antinomy. If reality may be included in their arabesque image of a boat or any other object, they do not forego the enrichment that that object may give. If…they find pleasure in a material…, a poetic harmony of color, the effect of a shade, they don’t renounce it. They aren’t puritans in art like the abstract artists: they accept inspiration on any occasion and they wouldn’t dream of denying it.” No less than 5 of the “Otto” are in this room: Emilio Vedova, one of the greatest Italians is here with a work of abstract expressionism in which color is the absolute protagonist; Giuseppe Santomaso and Renato Birolli, with two paintings reflecting the definition of the “abstract-concrete” that characterized the group: for both artists the starting point is an everyday life subject, becoming an occasion or pretext for a work of lyrical abstraction in which color plays a fundamental role. Moreover, in Morlotti’s painting the informal use of color and dense matter still convey an interpretation of recreation of nature. Afro joined the Otto after visiting the US. This experience gradually resulted in a transition, as can be seen in his work here, from a Cubist-style expressionism to the freer, more emotional ground of informal abstraction.

While the second floor of Ca’ Pesaro contains the temporary exhibits, the third is home to an unusual Museum of Oriental Art. Prince Enrico di Borbone, Count of Bardi was the son of Carlo III and Maria Luisa of Parma and Piacenza. In 1887, the Prince left with his wife and a small retinue for a “voyage around the world” which concluded in 1889. Enrico visited Indonesia, the Malay Peninsula, Indochina, China and Japan, and in these countries he acquired more than 30,000 items, which he sent back to Europe. On his return, he displayed his collection in Palazzo Vendramin Calergi where he spent part of each year as a guest of his grandmother, Carolina di Berry. Enrico died in 1906 and his widow placed the collection in the hands of an Austrian antique dealer, many items were sold while others were sent to the dealer’s shop in Vienna. With the outbreak of the WWI, the Austrian dealer was declared an enemy alien and his property was seized. When hostilities ended, the Italian government came into possession of this collection in partial reparation for war damages, and in 1925 it was installed in Ca’ Pesaro. On display are examples of Japanese art from the Edo period (1600-1868), including 6 full sets of armor, lacquerware, scroll-paintings, musical instruments and a porcelain sedan chair, but also a beautiful 18th century Chinese chessboard.

Just 2 mins walk north from Ca’ Pesaro is a small Campo di St. Stae housing the church of the same name – Chiesa di San Stae (San Stae, p. 9 on the map, Chorus pass, pictures allowed). English painter William Turner painted San Stae obsessively, capturing early-morning Grand Canal mists swirling around the angels gracing its Palladian facade, and I can totally see why, as it is one of the prettiest churches decorating the main avenue of the city. Founded in 966, it was already a parish church by 1127. Towards the end of the 17th century, in dire need of restoration, it was completely re-planned and therefore rebuilt by the architect Giovanni Grassi. The facade, projected by the architect Domenico Risso, was built in the 18th century, thanks to a donation from the Doge Alvise Mocenigo, now buried in the center of the nave. The large semi-circular windows allow the sunlight to stream in, light that, reflected by the predominately white decoration, makes the interior strikingly luminous. In the church you can admire important works by Nicolò Bambini, Giuseppe Camerata and Antonio Balestra. These works include such absolute masterpieces as “The Martyrdom of St. Bartholomew” by the young Giambattista Tiepolo, “The Martyrdom of St. James” by Giambattista Piazzetta and “The Liberation of St. Peter” by Sebastiano Ricci. In the Sacristy there are also some interesting works such as Pietro Vecchia’s “Dead Christ” and Giambattista Pittoni’s “Trajan ordering St. Eustache to adore Pagan Idols”.

Sestiere Dorsoduro

In order to get to Dorsoduro, Venice’s largest sestiere, you would likely cross Ponte dell’Accademia (Academia Bridge), a very busy bridge and rightfully so, as it offers the best view of the Grand Canal. So, come early in the morning or late at night (with a tripod as I did one dry night), but don’t skip this part or the visit to Dorsoduro, as it is home to Venice’s best art.

You won’t need to wander far to locate the art jewel of Venice – Gallerie dell’Accademia (p. 77 on the map, €9 – entry, €6-audioguide, pictures allowed, allow 2-3 hours) is the very first building you see, the moment you get off the bridge. The Accademia di Belle Arti di Venezia was founded on 24 September 1750 and it was the first institution not only to exhibit the collection of art spanning five centuries (from the 13th to 18th) but also study the art restoration. When Napoleon took power in the late 19th century, he disbanded many religious institution, including the Scuola della Carità (the oldest of the six Scuole Grandi formed in 1260 and the building dated back to 1343), the Convento dei Canonici Lateranensi (started in 1561 by Andrea Palladio) and the church of Santa Maria della Carità. All those buildings were re-assigned by Napoleon to become the permanent home of the Accademia.

There are many ways to explore this excellent, yet compact museum. You can follow the audio guide or Rick Steves’ “tour of Accademia”. For this blog, I go with the second one. The Venetian love for luxury shines through in Venetian painting. We’ll see grand canvases of colorful, spacious settings peopled with happy locals in extravagant clothes having such a great time, you will regret you weren’t born Venetian. The museum proceeds chronologically from the Middle Ages to the 1700s. But before we start at the medieval beginning, let’s sneak a peek at a work by the greatest Venetian Renaissance master, Titian, so head upstairs to a large hall filled with golf-leaf altarpieces. At the top of the stairs, turn left and enter the small Room 24.

(1) Titian (Tiziano Vevellio) “Presentation of the Virgin” (“Presentazione della Vergine”, 1534-1538). A colorful crowd gathers at the foot of a stone staircase. A dog eats a bagel, a mother handles a squirming baby, an old lady sells eggs and onlookers lean out the windows. Suddenly, the crowd turns and points at something. Your eye follows up the stairs to a larger-than-life high priest in a jeweled robe. But wait! What’s that along the way? In a pale blue dress that sets her apart from all the other colored robes, dwarfed by the enormous staircase and columns, the tiny, shiny figure of the child Mary almost floats up to the astonished priest. She’s unnaturally small, easily overlooked at first glance. When we finally notice her, we realize all the more how delicate she is amid the bustling crowd, hard stone, and epic grandeur. Venetians love this painting and call it, appropriately enough, the “Little Mary.”

The painting is a parade of colors. Titian leads your eyes from the massive buildings to the deep blue sky and mountains in the background to the bright red robe of the man in the crowd to glowing Little Mary. Titian painted the work especially for this room, fitting it neatly around the door on the right. The door on the left was added later, cutting into Titian’s masterpiece. This work is typical of Venetian Renaissance art. Here and throughout this museum, you will find: bright, rich colors; big canvases; Renaissance architectural backgrounds; slice-of-life scenes of Venice and 3-D realism. It is a religious scene, yes, but it is really just an excuse to display secular splendor – Renaissance architecture, colorful robes, and human details.

Now, that we’ve gotten a taste of Renaissance Venice at its peak, let’s backtrack and see some of Titian’s predecessors. Return to Room 1 “Medieval Art”, stopping at (2) Paolo Veneziano “Madonna and Child with Two Donors” (“Madonna col Bambino e Due Committenti” c. 1325). Mary sits in heaven, the child Jesus is a baby in a bubble, a symbol of his “aura” of holiness. Notice how two-dimensional and unrealistic this painting is. The sizes of the figures reflect their religious importance – Mary is huge, being the mother of Christ as well as the “Holy Mother Church”. Jesus is next in size, then the two angels who crown Mary. Finally, in the corner, are two mere mortals kneeling in devotion. The golden halos let us know who’s holy and who’s not. Medieval Venetian artists, with their close ties to the east, borrowed techniques such as gold-leafing, frontal poses, and “iconic” faces from the religious icons of Byzantium. Most of the paintings in this room are altarpieces, intended to sit in the center of a church for the faithful to mediate on during services. Many feature the Virgin Mary being crowned in triumph. Very impressive. But it took Renaissance artists to remove Mary from her golden never-never land, clothe her in human flesh, and bring her down to the real world we inhabit.

On the left side of the room, you’ll find (3) Jacobello dei Fiore “Coronation of the Virgin in paradise” (“Incoronazione della Vergine in Pasadiso”, 1438). This swarming beehive of saints and angels as an attempt to cram as much religious information as possible into one space. The architectural setting is a clumsy try at three-dimensionality (the railings of the wedding-cake structure are literally glued on). The color-coordinated saints are simply stacked one on top the of the other, rather than receding into the distance as they would in real life.

Enter Room 2 dedicated to Early Renaissance (1450-1500). Only a few decades later, artists rediscovered the natural world and ways to capture it on canvas. With this Renaissance, or “rebirth”, of the arts and attitudes of ancient Greece and Rome painters took a giant leap forward. They weeded out the jumble of symbols, fleshed out cardboard characters into real people, and placed them in spacious 3-D settings. (4) Giovanni Bellini “Enthroned Madonna with Child a.k.a San Giobbe Altarpiece (“Madonna in Trono col Bambino”, c.1480). Mary and the baby Jesus meet with saints beneath an arched half-dome, engaging in a sacred conversation (sacra conversazione). A trio of musician angels jams at her feet. In its original church setting, the painting’s pollards and arched matched the real ones around it, as though Bellini had blown a hole in the wall and built another chapel, allowing us mortals to mingle with holies. Giovanni Bellini takes only a few figures, places them in this spacious architectural setting, and balances them, half on one side of Mary and half on the other. Left to right, you find St. Francis, John the Baptist, Job, St. Dominic, St Sebastian, and St Louis.

The painting has a series of descending arches. At the top is a Roman arch. Hanging below that is a triangular canopy. Then comes a pyramid-shaped “arch” formed by the figures themselves, with Mary’s head at the peak, echoed below by the pose of the three musicians. Subconsciously, this created a mood of serenity, order, and balance, not the hubbub of the Coronation. Look at St. Sebastian – even arrows can’t disturb his composure. In Bellini’s long career, he painted many altarpieces in the sacra conversazione formula: The Virgin and Child surrounded by saints “conversing” informally about holy matters while listening to some tunes. The formula, developed in the 1430s and 1440s by Fra Angelico (1400-1455) and other Florentine artists, became a common Renaissance theme. Compare this painting with other sacras by Bellini in the Frari Church and the church of San Zaccaria.

In Room 4 (or room 24), find (5) Andrea Mantagna “St George” (“San Giorgio”, c.1460). This Christian dragon slayer is essentially a Greek nude sculpture with armor painted on. He rests his weight on one leg in the same asymmetrical pose (contrapposto) as a classical sculpture, Michelangelo’s “David”, or an Italian guy on the street corner. The doorway he stands in resembles a niche designed for a classical statue. Mantegna was trained in the Tuscan tradition, in which painters were like sculptors, “carving” out figures like this with sharp outlines, filling them in with color, and setting them in distant backdrops like the winding road behind George. When Mantegna married Giovanni Bellini’s sister, he brought Florentine realism and draftsmanship to his in-laws. “St. George” radiates Renaissance optimism – he’s alert but relaxed, at rest but ready to spring into action, humble but confident. With the broken lance in his hand and the dragon at his feet, George is the strong Renaissance Man splaying the medieval dragon of superstition and oppression.

In the same room, (6) Giovanni Bellini “Madonna and Child between St. Catherine and Mary Magdalene” (“Madonna col Bambino tra Sta. Caterina e Maria Maddalena”, c.1490). In contrast to Mantegna’s sharp-focus 3-D, this painting features three female heads on a flat plane with a black-velvet backdrop. Their features are soft, hazy and atmospheric, glowing out of the darkness as though lit by soft candlelight. It’s not sculptural line that’s important here, but colors – warm, golden, glowing flesh tines. The faces emerge from the canvas like cameos. Bellini painted dozens of Madonna and Childs in his day. This Virgin Mary is pretty, but she’s upstages by the sheer idealized beauty of Mary Magdalene (on the right). Mary Magdalene’s hair is down, like the prostitute that legend says she was, yet she has a childlike face, thoughtful and repentant. This is the perfect image of the innocent woman who sinned by loving too much. Bellini was the teacher of two more Venetian greats, Titian and Giorgione, schooling them in the new medium of oil painting. Mantegna painted “St. George” using tempera paint (pigments dissolved in egg yolk), while Bellini pioneered oils (pigments in vegetable oil) – a more versatile medium. Applying layer upon transparent layer, Bellini painted creamy complexions with soft outlines, bathes in an even light. His gift to the Venetian Renaissance was the “haze” he put over his scenes, giving them an idealized, glowing, serene, and much-copied atmosphere.

In Room 5, you will find (7) Giorgione (Giorgio da Castelfranco) “The Tempest” (“La Tempesta”, c.1505). It’s the calm before the storm. The atmosphere is heavy – luminous but ominous. There’s a sense of mystery. Why is the woman nursing her baby in the middle of the countryside? And the soldier – is he ogling her or protecting her? Will lightning strike? Do they know that the serenity of this beautiful landscape is about to be shattered by an approaching storm? The mystery is heightened by contrasting elements. The armed soldier contrasts with the naked mother and her baby. The austere, ruined columns contrast with the lusciousness of Nature. And, most important, the stillness of the foreground scene is in direct opposition to the threatening storm in the background. The landscape itself is the main subject, creating a mood, regardless of what the painting is “about”. Giorgione was as mysterious as his few paintings, yet he left a lasting impression. A student of Bellini, he learned to use haziness to create a melancholy mood of beauty. But nothing beautiful lasts – flowers fade, Mary Madgalenes grow old, and Giorgione died at 33. In “The Tempest”, the fleeting stillness is about to be shattered by the splash of lightning, the true center of the composition.

Browse through  several rooms till you reach Room 10 and Venetian High Renaissance (1500-1600), here you find (8) Paolo Veronese “Feast in the House of Levi” (“Convito in Casa di Levi”, 1573). Parrrtyyy! Stand about 10 m away from this enormous canvas to where it just fills your field of vision… and hey, you are invited to the party. Venice loves the food life, and the celebration is in full swing. You are in a huge room with a great view of Venice. Everyone is dressed to kill in colorful silk and velvet robes. Conversation roars, and the servants bring on the food and drink. This captures the Venetian attitude (more love, less attitude) as well as the style of Venetian Renaissance painting. Remember, the painters had mastered realism and now glories in it. I already mentioned the “Feast in the House of Levi” early, it is indeed a religious work painted for a convent. The original title was “The Last Supper”. In the center of all the wild goings-on, there is Jesus, flanked by his disciples, sharing a final meal before his crucifixion. This festive feast captures the optimistic spirit of Renaissance Venice. Life was a good thing and beauty was to be enjoyed. Renaissance men and women saw the divine in the beauties of Nature and glorified God by glorifying man. Uh-uh, said the Church. In its eyes, the new humanism was the same as the old hedonism. The false spring of the Renaissance froze quickly after the Reformation, when half of Europe left the Catholic Church and became Protestant. Veronese was hauled before the Inquisition, the Church tribunal that punished heretics. What did he mean by painting such a bawdy “Last Supper”? With dwarf jesters? And apostles picking their teeth (between the columns, left of center)? And dogs and cats? And a black man, God forbid? And worse of all, some German soldiers – maybe even Protestants! – at the far right? Veronese argued that it was just artistic license, so they asked to see his – it had expired. But the solution was simple. Rather than change the painting, Veronese simply changed the title “Fecit D. Covi. Magnv. Levi”.

(9) Titian “Pieta” (c.1573). Jesus has just been executed and his followers grieve over his body before burying it. Titian painted this to hang over his tomb. Titian was the most famous painter of his day – perhaps even more famous that Michelangelo. He was cultured and witty, a fine musician and businessman – an all-around Renaissance kind of guy. Titian was old when he painted this. He had seen the rise and decline of the Renaissance and had experienced much sadness in his own life. Unlike Titian’s colorful and exuberant “Little Mary”, done at the height of the Renaissance, this canvas is dark, the mood more sombre. The dead Christ is framed by a Renaissance arch like the one in Bellini’s “Enthroned Madonna”, but here the massive stones overpower the figures, making them look puny and helpless. The lion statues are downright scary. Instead of the clear realism of Renaissance paintings, Titian uses rough, messy brushstrokes, a technique that would be picked up by the Impressionists three centuries later. Titian adds a dramatic compositional element – starting with the lion at lower right, a line of motion sweeps up diagonally along the figures, culminating in the grief-stricken Mary Magdalene, who turns away, flinging her arm and howling out loud. The kneeling figure of an old, bald man is a self-portrait of the aging Titian, tending to the corpse of Jesus, who symbolizes the once powerful, now dead Renaissance Man. In the lower right, a painting-within-the-painting shows Titian and his son kneeling, asking the Virgin to spare them from the plague of 1576. Unfortunately, first the son and then the father succumbed.

(10) Tintoretto (Jacopo Robusti) “The Removal of St. Mark’s Body” (“Trafygamento del Corpo di San Marco”, 1562-1566). The event that put Venice on the map is frozen at its most dramatic moment. Muslim fundamentalists in Alexandria are about to burn St. Mark’s body (there is the smoke from the fire in the center), when suddenly a hurricane appears miraculously, sending them running for cover. (See the wisps of baby-angel faces in the storm, blowing on the infidels? Look hard, on the left-hand side). Meanwhile, Venetian merchants whisk away the body. Tintoretto makes us part of the action. The square tiles in the courtyard run straight away from us, an extension of our reality, as though we could step right into the scene – or the merchants could carry Mark into ours. Tintoretto would have made a great black-velvet painter. His colors burn with a metallic sheen, and he does everything possible to make his subject popular with common people. In fact, Tintoretto was a common man himself, self-taught, who apprenticed only briefly with Titian before striking out on his own. He sold paintings in the marketplace in his youth and insisted on living in the poor part of town, even after he became famous. Tintorettos abound here, in the next room, and throughout Venice. Look for these characteristics, some of which became standard features of the Mannerist and Baroque art that followed the Renaissance: heightened drama, violent scenes, strong emotion; elongated bodies in twisting poses; strong contrasts between dark and light; bright colors; diagonal compositions.

Spend some time in this room, the peak of the Venetian Renaissance and the climax of the museum. After browsing, enter Room 11, exhibiting Elegant Decay (1600-1800) to see (11) Giovanni Battista Tiepolo “Discovery of the True Cross” (“La Scoperta della Vera Croce”, c.1745). Tiepolo blasts open a sunroof and we gaze up into heaven. We stand in the hole where they’ve just dug up Christ’s cross, looking up dresses and nostrils as saints and angels cavort overhead. Tiepolo was the last of the great colorful, theatrical Venetian painters. He took the colors, the grand settings, and the dramatic angles of previous Venetian masters and plastered them on the ceiling of Europe’s Baroque palaces, such as the Royal Palace in Madrid, the Residenz in Wurzburg, and the Ca’ Rezzonico. This piece is from a church ceiling. Tiepolo’s strongly “foreshortened” figures are masterpieces of technical skill, making us feel as if the heavenly vision is taking place right overhead. Think back on those clumsy attempts at three-dimensionality we saw in the medieval room, and realize how far painting has come. The fresco fragments hanging around the corners of this room were salvaged from a church bombed in WWI.

Along the long corridor to your left, in Room 17, you’ll find works of the later Venetians. By the 1700s, Venice had retired as a wold power and became Europe’s number one tourist attraction. Wealthy offspring of the nobility traveled here to soak up its art and culture. They wanted souvenirs and what better memento that a picture of the city itself? Canaletto and Guardi painted “postcards” for visitors who lost their hearts to the romance of Venice. The city produced less art as it became art itself. Here are some familiar views of the city that has aged gracefully.

(12) Canaletto (Giovanni Antonio Canal) “Perspective with Portico” (“Perspettiva con Portico”, 1765). Canaletto gives us a sharp-focus, wide-angle, camera’s-eye perspective on the city. Although this view of a portico looks totally realistic, Conaletto has compressed the whole scene to allow us to seem more than the human eye could realistically take in. We see the portico as though we were  standing underneath it, yet we also see the entire portico at one glance. The pavement blocks, the lines of columns, and the slanting roof direct our eye to the far end, which looks very far away indeed. Canaletto even paints a coat of arms (at right) at a very odd angle, showing off his mastery of 3-D perspective.

(13) Francesco Guardi ” San Giorgio Maggiore and the Giudecca” (“San Giorgio Maggiore e Giudecca”, c.1774). Unlike Canaletto, with his sharp-focus detail, Guardi sweetens Venice up with a haze of messy brushwork. In this familiar view across the water from Piazza San Marco, he builds a boatman with a few sloppy smudges of paint. Guardi catches the play of light at twilight, the shadows on the buildings, the green of the water and sky, the pink light off the distant buildings, the Venice that exists in the hearts of lovers – an Impressionist work a century ahead of its time.

(14) Gentile Bellini “Procession in St. Mark’s Square” (“Processione in Piazza San Marco”, 1496). A fitting end to our tour is a look back at Venice in its heyday. Painted by Giovanni’s big brother, this wide-angle view – more than any human eye could take in at once – reminds us how little Venice has changed over the centuries. There is St. Mark’s: gleaming gold with mosaics, the four bronze horses, the three flagpoles out front, the old Campanile on the right, and the Doge’s Palace. There’s the guy selling 10 postcards for a euro (but there is no Clock Tower with two bronze Moors yet, the pavement’s different, the church is covered with gold, and there are no cafe orchestras playing “New York, New York”. Every detail is in perfect focus, regardless of its distance from us, presented for out inspection. Take some time to linger over this and the other views of old Venice in this room…. The get out of here and enjoy the real thing….

But not for long, as we are heading to Peggy Guggenheim Collection (p.73 on the map, €15 – entry, allow 60 min or more if you are a fan of Modern Art, pictures allowed). After tragically losing her father on the Titanic, heiress Peggy Guggenheim (a niece of Solomon Guggenheim, who built New York’s modern art museum of the same name) befriended Dadaists, dodges Nazis and changed art history at her palatial home on the Grand Canal. Peggy’s Palazzo Venier dei Leoni is a showcase for surrealism, futurism and abstract expressionism by some 200 breakthrough modern artists. As a gallery owner, she introduced Europe’s avant-garde to a skeptical America. As a collector, she gave instant status to modern art that was too radical for serious museums. As a patron, she fed (and slept with) starving artists such as Jackson Pollock. And as a person, she lived larger than life, unconventional and original, with a succession of lovers that enhanced her reputation as a female Casanova. In 1948, Peggy “retired” to Venice, renovating a small, unfinished palazzo. Today it is a museum decorated much as it was during her lifetime, with one of the best collections anywhere of 20th century art. It is the only museum where the owner (and her multiple Tibetan Lhasas dogs) are buried in the garden.

You’ll enter a garden courtyard sprinkled with statues. There is a wing to the left (with a cafe) and a wing to the right (with the main collection, where we start), plus a modern annex. The collection is very roughly chronological, starting to the left with Cubism and ending to the right with post-WWII artists. The collection’s strength is its Abstract, Surrealist and Abstract-Surrealist art. The placement of the paintings may change, so I am going to give the overview, and not painting by painting, description. What makes this collection unique is that it hangs here in Peggy’s home, much as it did in her lifetime. So, head through the black iron-grille doors, into the Entrance Hall: Meet Peggy Guggenheim. Picture Peggy greeting guests here – standing before the trembling-leaf mobile by Alexander Calder, flanked by two Picasso paintings, surrounded by her yapping dogs and meowing cats, and wearing her Calder-designed earrings, Mondrian-print dress, and “Cat-woman” sunglasses. During the 1950s and 1960s, this old palazzo on the Grand Canal was a mecca for “Moderns”, from composer Igor Stravinsky to actor Marlon Brando, from painter Mark Rothko to writer Truman Capote, from choreographer George Balanchine to Beatle John Lennon and performance artist Yoko Ono. They came to sip cocktails, tour the great art, talk about ideas, and meet the woman who had become a living legend.

Pablo Picasso “On the Beach” (1937). Curious, balloon-animal women play with a sailboat while their friend across the water looks on. Of all of Peggy’s many paintings, this was her favorite. By the time Peggy first became serious about modern art (about the time this was painted), Pablo Picasso – the most famous and versatile 20th century artist – had already been through his Blue, Rose, Fauve, Cubist, Synthetic Cubist, Classical, Abstract, and Surrealist phases, finally arriving at a synthesis of these styles. Peggy had some catching up to do.

1900-1920: Cubists in the Dining Room. Peggy’s dining room table reminds us that this museum was, indeed, her home for the last 30 years of her life. Most of the furniture is now gone, but the walls are decorated much as they were when she lived here, with paintings and statues by her friends, colleagues and mentors. Here, she entertained countless artists and celebrities from Paul Newman to Allen Ginsberg, from sculptor Henry Moore to playwright Tennessee Williams, from James Bond creator Ian Fleming to glass sculptor Dale Chihuly. Most of the art in the dining room dates from Peggy’s childhood, when she was raised in the lap of luxury in New York, oblivious to the artistic upheavals going on in Europe. Her grandfather, Meyer Guggenheim, had emigrated from Switzerland to America and then had the good fortune to invest in the silver mines at Leadville, Colorado. When in 1912, Titanic went down taking Peggy’s playboy tycoon father with it, 14-year old Peggy was left with small but comfortable trust fund. Approaching adulthood, Peggy rejected her traditional American upbringings. She started hanging out at a radical bookstores, got a nose job (a botched operation, leaving her with a rather bulbous schnozz) and began planning a trip to Europe. In 1920, 21-year-old Peggy arrived in Paris, where a revolution in art was taking place. Pablo Picasso “The Poet” (1911). Picasso, a Spaniard living in Paris, shattered the Old World into brown shards (“cubes”) and reassembled it in Cubist style. It’s a vaguely recognizable portrait of a man with the waist up – tapering to a head at the top, smoking a pipe, ad cradling the traditional lyre of a poet. While the newfangled motion-picture camera could capture a moving image, Picasso suggests motion with a collage of stills. Marcel Duchamp “Nude” (Study”), “San Young Man on a Train” (1911-1912). In self-portrait, Duchamp poses gracefully with a cane, but the moving train jiggles the image into a blur of brown. Duchamp is best known not for paintings like this, but for his outrageous conceptual pieces: his urinal-as-statue (“Fountain”) and his moustache on the “Mona Lisa” (titled L.H.O.O.Q., which when spoken aloud in French – is a pun that translates loosely as “she has a hot ass”). In a 2004 poll of British artists, Duchamp’s urinal was named the most influential modern artwork of all time. Constantine Brancusi “Maiastra” (c.1912) – for the generation born before air travel, flying was magical. This high-polished bird is the first of many by Brancusi, who dreamed of flight. But this bronze bird just sits there. For centuries, a good sculptor was one who could capture movement in stone. Brancusi reverts to the essential forms of “primitive” African art, in which even the simplest statues radiate mojo.

Head next door, into the Kitchen – Marc Chagall “Rain” (1911). The rain clouds gather over a farmhouse, the wind blows the trees and people, and everyone prepared for the storm. Quick, put the horses in the barn, grab an umbrella and round up the goats in the clouds. Marc Chagall, a Belarusian living in France, reinvented scenes from his homeland with a romantic, weightless, childlike joy in topsy-turvy Paris.

1920s: Abstraction and Various “-isms”. In the Roaring Twenties, Peggy spent her twenties right in the center of avant-garde craziness: Paris. For the rest of her life, Europe – not America – would be her permanent address. In Paris, trust-funded Peggy lived the bohemian life. Post-WWI Paris was cheap and, after the bitter war years, ready to party. Days were spent drinking coffee in cafes, talking ideas with the likes of activist Emma Goldman, writer Djuna Barnes, and photographer Man Ray. Nights were spent abusing the drug forbidden in America (alcohol), dancing to jazz music into the wee hours, and talking about Freud and sex. One night, at the top of the Eiffel Tower, a dashing artist and intellectual nicknamed “The King of Bohemia” popped the question. Peggy and Laurence Vail soon married and had two children, but the partying only slowed somewhat. This thoroughly modern couple dug the wild life and the wild art is produced. Vassily Kandinsky “White Cross” (1922) – I see white, I see crosses, but where’s the white cross? Oh, there it is on the right, camouflages among black squares. Like a jazz musician improvising from a set scale, Kandinsky plays with new patterns of related colors and lines, creating something that’s simply beautiful, even if it doesn’t “mean” anything. As Kandinsky himself would say, his art was like “visual music – just open your eyes and look”.

Continue across the hall, into the Living Room, Piet Mondrian “Composition with Red” (1938-1939). Like a blueprint of Modernism, Mondrian’s T-square style boils painting down to its basic building blocks – black lines, white canvas, and the three primary colors (red, yellow and blue) arranged in orderly patterns. This stripped-down canvas even omits yellow and blue. Mondrian started out painting realistic landscapes of the orderly field in his native Holland. Increasingly, he simplified things into horizontal and vertical grids, creating rectangles of different proportions. This one has horizontal lines to the left, vertical ones to the right, The horizontals appear to dominate, until we see the they’re balanced by the tiny patch of red. For Mondrian, who was heavily into Eastern mysticism, up vs. down and left vs. right were metaphors for life’s ever-shifting dualities: good vs. evil, man vs. woman, fascism vs. communism. The canvas is a bird’s eye view of Mondrian’s personal landscape.

Head next door, into the Library. 1930: Abstract Surrealists. In 1928, Peggy’s marriage to Laurence Vail ended, and she entered into a series of romantic attachments. Though not stunningly attractive, she was easy to be with, and she truly admired artistic men. In 1937, she began an on-again, off-again sexual relationship with playwright Samuel Beckett. Beckett steered her toward Modern painting and sculpture – things she’d never paid much attention to. She started hanging out with the French Surrealists, from artist Marcel Duchamp to writer Andre Breton to filmmaker Jean Cocteau. Duchamp, in particular, mentored her in modern art, encouraging her to use her money to collect and promote it. Nearing 40, she moved to London and launched a new career. Yves Tanguy “The Sun in its Jewel Case” (1937) – in May of 1938, this painting was featured at Guggenheim Jeune, the art gallery Peggy opened in London. Tanguy’s painting sums up the turbulent art that shocked a sleepy London during that first season. Weird, phallic, tissue-and-bone protuberances cast long shadows across a moody, dreamlike landscape. (Peggy said the picture “frightened” her, but added, “I got over my fear… and now I own it”.) The figures are Abstract (unrecognizable), and the mood is Surreal, producing the style cleverly dubbed Abstract Surrealism. Peggy was drawn to Eves Tanguy and had a short but intense affair with the married man. Tanguy, like his art, was wacky and spontaneous, occasionally shocking friends by suddenly catching and gobbling up a spider and washing it down with white wine. The Surrealists saw themselves as spokesmen for Freud’s “id”, the untamed part of the personality that thinks dirty thoughts when the “ego” goes to sleep. The Guggenheim Jeune gallery exhibited many of the artists we see in this museum, including Kandinsky, Mondrian, and Calder. Guggenheim Jeune closed as a financial flop after just two years, but its shocking paintings certainly created a buzz in the art world, and as the years passed the gallery’s failure gained a rosy glow of success. Salvador Dali “The Birth of Liquid Desires” (1931-1932). Salvador Dali could draw exceptionally well. He painted “unreal” scenes with photographic realism, making us believe they could truly happen. This air of mystery – the feeling that anything is possible – is both exciting and unsettling. His med explores the caves of the dream would and morph into something else before out eyes. Personally, Peggy didn’t like Dali or his work, but she dutifully bought this canvas (through his wife, Gala) to complete her collection.

1939-1940: Peggy’s Shopping Spree in Paris. Peggy moved back to Paris and rented an apartment on the Ile St. Louis. In September, Nazi Germany invaded Poland, sparking WWII. All of France waited…and waited.. and waited for the inevitable Nazi attack on Paris. Meanwhile, Peggy spent her days shopping for masterpieces. Using a list compiled by Duchamp and others, she personally visited artists in their studios – from Brancusi to Dali to Giacometti – often negotiating directly with them. (Picasso initially turned Peggy down, thinking of her as a guache, bargain-hunting house-wife. When she entered his studio he said, “Madame, you will find the lingerie department on the second floor.”) In a few short months, she bought 37 of the paintings now in the collection, perhaps saving them from a Nazi regime that labeled such as “decadent”. In 1941, with the Nazis occupying Paris and most of Europe, Peggy fled her adopted homeland. With her stash of paintings and a new companion – painter Max Ernst – she sailed from Lisbon to safety in New York.

1941-1945: Surrealists invade New York. Trees become women, women become horses, and day becomes night. Ball dangle, caves melt, and things cast long shadows across film-noir landscapes – Surrealism. The world was moving fast, and Surrealists caught the jumble of images. They scattered seemingly unrelated things on the canvas, leaving us to trace the connections in a kind of connect-the-dots game without numbers. Peggy spent the war years in America. She married Mex Ernst and their house in New York became a gathering place for exiled French Surrealists and young American artists. In 1942, she opened a gallery/museum in New York called Art of This Century that features, well, essentially the collection we see here in Venice. But patriotic, gung-ho America was not quite ready for the nonconformist, intellectual art of Europe. Max Ernst “The Antipope” (c.1942) – the horse-headed nude in red is a portrait of Peggy – at least, that’s what she thought when she saw it. She loved the painting and insisted that Max give it to her as a wedding present, renamed “The Mystic Marriage”. Others read more into it. Is the horse-headed warrior (at right) Ernst himself? Is he being wooed by one of his art students? Is that Peggy’s daughter, Pegeen (center), watching the scene, sadly, from the distance? And is Peggy turning toward her beloved Max, subconsciously suspicious of the young student… who would (in fact) soon steam Max from her? Ernst uses his considerable painting skill to bring to light a tangle of secret urges, desires, and fears – hidden like the grotesque animal faces in the reef they stand on.

Paul Delvaux “The Break of Day” (1937) – full-breasted ladies with roots case long shadows and awaken to a mysterious down. If you are counting boobs, don’t forget the one reflected in the nightstand mirror.

Rene Magrite “Empire of Light” (1953-1954) – Magritte found that, even under a sunny blue sky, suburbia has its hard side. The improbable combination of daylight sky and nighttime street in one scene is the kind of bizarre paradox that Surrealists loved.

1945-1948: The postwar ynypears. Pollock in the Guest bedroom. Certain young American painters – from Mark Rothko (from Belarus) to Robert Motherwell to Robert de Niro Sr. – were strongly influences by Peggy’s collection. Adopting the Abstract style of Kandinsky, they practiced Surrealist spontaneity to “express” themselves in the physical act of putting paint on canvas. The resulting style (duh): Abstract Expressionism. Jackson Pollock “Enchanter Forest” (1947) – “Jack the Dripper” attacked America’s postwar conformity with a can of paint, dripping and splashing a dense web onto the canvas. Picture Pollock in his studio, jiving to the hi-fi, bouncing off the walls, throwing paint in a moment of alcohol-fuel enlightenment. Peggy helped make Pollock a celebrity. She bought his earliest works (which show Abstract-Surrealist roots), exhibited his work in her gallery, and even paid him a monthly stipend to keep experimenting. By the way, if you haven’t tried the Venetian specialty spaghetti al nero di seppia (spaghetti with squid in its own ink), it looks something like this. In 1946, Peggy published her memoirs, titles “Out of This Century: The Informal Memoirs of Peggy Guggenheim”. The front cover was designed by Max Ernst, the back by Pollock. Peggy herself was now a celebrity.

1950: Peggy in the Bedroom. As America’s postwar factories turned swords into kitchen appliances, Peggy longed to return “home” to Europe. The one place that kept calling to her was Venice, ever since she visited here with Laurence Vail in the 1920s. “I decided Venice would be my future home”, she wrote. “I felt I would be happy alone there.” In 1947, after a grand finale exhibition by Pollock, she closed the Art of This Century gallery, crated up her collection, and moved to Venice. In 1948, she bought this palazzo and moved in. This was Peggy’s bedroom. She painted it turquoise. She commissioned the silver-headboard by Alexander Calder for her canopy bed, using its silver frame to hang her collection of earrings, handmade by the likes of Calder and Tanguy. Venetian mirrors hung on the walls, along with a sentimental portrait of herself and her sister as children. Ex-husband Laurence Vail’s collage-decorated bottles sat on the nightstand. The same year she moved in, Peggy showed her collection in its own pavilion at the Biennale, Venice’s world’s fair of art, and it was the hit of the show. Europeans were astounded and a bit dumbfounded, finally seeing the kind of “degenerate” art forbidden during the fascist years, plus the radical new stuff coming out of New York City. In 1951, Peggy met the last great love of her life, an easygoing, blue-collar Italian with absolutely no interest in art. She was 53, Raoul was 30. When Raoul died in 1954 in a car accident, Peggy comforted herself with her pets.

The tiny room adjoining the bedroom displays paintings by Pegeen, Peggy’s daughter, who inherited some of Laurence Vail’s artistic talent, painting childlike scenes of Venice, populated by skinny Barbie dolls with antennae. She married twice, had four children, suffered badly from depression, and died of a barbiturate overdose in 1967.

The guest bedroom (where the Pollocks are) was a busy place. Pegeen and her brother, Sinbad, visited their mother in Venice, as did Peggy’s ex-husbands and their new loves. Other overnight guests ranged from sculptor Alberto Giacometti (who honeymooned here), to author and cultural explorer Paul Bowel.

Now, return to the Entrance Hall, the go out onto the Terrace, overlooking the Grand Canal. The obvious exuberant figure in Marino Marini’s equestrian statue “The Angel of the City” (1948), faces the Grand Canal, spreads his arms wide, and tosses his head back in sheer joy, with an eternal hard-on for the city of Venice. Every morning, Peggy must have felt a similar exhilaration as she sipped coffee  while taking in this unbelievable view. Marini originally designed his bronze rider with a screw-off penis (which sounds dirtier that it is) that could be removed for prudish guests or by curious ones. Someone stole it for some unknown purpose, so the current organ is permanently welded on.

The palazzo – formally Palazzo Venier dei Leoni – looks modern but is old. Construction began in 1748, but only the ground floor was completed. Legend has it that members of a rival family across the canal squelched plans for the upper stories so their home wouldn’t be upstaged. The Palazzo remained unfinished until Peggy bought it in 1948 and spruced it up. She added the annex in 1958. The lions (leoni) of the originally palace still guard the waterfront entrance.

Peggy’s outlandish and rather foreign presence in Venice – drinking, dressing up outrageously, and sunbathing on her rooftop for all to see – was not immediately embraced by the Venetians. But for artists in the 1950s and 1960s, Peggy’s palazzo was the place to be, especially when the Biennale brought the jet set. Everyone from actor Alec Guinness, to political satirist Art Buchwald, to gossip columnist Hedda Hooper signed her guest book. Picture Peggy and guests, decked out in evening clothes, hopping into her gondola to ride slowly down the canal for a martini and a Bellini a Harry’s Bar.

So far, we’ve seen the core of Peggy’s collection and home. But the museum complex also houses two other collections donated by Peggy’s fellow art lovers, as well as a fine garden. The recently acquired Schulhof Collection brings the museum into the late 20th century. It is exhibited in the small wing perpendicular to the main house. In the 1950s and ’60s, the trend was toward bigger canvases, abstract designs, and experimentation with new materials and techniques. Enjoy the simple lines and colors of big, empty canvases by Americans such as Ellsworth Kelly, Barnett Newman, and Mark Rothko. They were following the footsteps of Abstract artist such as Mondrian and Kandinsky (whose work they must have considered busy). Calder’s mobile is like a hanging Kandinsky, brought to life by a gust of wind. The geometrical forms here reflect the same search for order, but these artists painted to the 5/4 asymmetry of Dave Brubeck’s jazz classic, “Take Five.” Other painters explored a new dimension: texture. Some works, such as those by de Kooning, have very thick paint piled on. Some, by Dubuffet or Tapies, applied material such as real dirt and organic waste to the canvas. Fontana punctured the canvas so that the fabric itself (and the hole) became the subject. The canvas is a tray, serving up a delightful array of substances with interesting colors, patterns, shapes and textures.

In the psychedelic ’60s, Pop Art (Warhol) raised popular cultural icons to the level of hight art, and Op Art (Riley) featured optical illusions that mess with your mind when you stare at them. Cy Twombly added crayon-scribbled doodles to the canvas, suggesting handwritten messages with mysterious meanings. Also in the collection are a number of sculptures by Chillida, Calder, Hepworth and Arp. By the war, many of the Schulhof artists – Calder, Fontana, Chillida, Riley and Twombly – were first introduces to the world at the Venice Biennale.

The Mattioli Collection, normally housed in the cafe/shop building across the garden from the main palazzo, features paintings and sculptures by well-known Italians, as well as the less-famous postwar generation of young Italians who were strongly influenced by Peggy’s collection. You’ll see a lone canvas by Modigliani, pieces by the Futurists, and some fine sculptural works by the father of Futurism, Umberto Boccioni. His “Dynamism of a Speeding Horse” + Houses” (1915), assembled from wood, cardboard, and metal, captures the blurred motion of a modern world – accelerated by technology, the shattered by WWI, which would leave 9 million Europeans dead and everyone’s moral compass spinning. (In fact, this statue was shattered by the destructive force of Boccioni’s own kids, who scattered the cardboard “houses” while using it as a rocking horse.) Boccioni’s “Unique Forms of Continuity in Space” (1913) seems inspired by the flowing works by Picasso and Duchamp we saw earlier. The energetic cyborg speeds forward, rippled by the winds of history, as it strides purposefully into the future. This work may look familiar – check you pocket for on of Italy’s 20 cents coin and compare. Peggy’s sponsored young artists, including Tancredi – just one name, back when that was odd – who was given a studio in the palazzo’s basement. Tancredi had a relationship with Pegeen, with her mother’s blessing.

Sculpture Garden. Peggy opened her impressive collection of sculptures to the Venetian public for free. It features first-rate works by all the greats, from Brancusi to Giacometti. After so much art already, you might find the trees – so rare in urban Venice – more interesting.

Finally, in the southwest corner of the garden (along the brick wall), there is Peggy and her dogs’ graves. “Here lie my beloved babies” marks the grace of Peggy’s many dogs, her steady companions as she grew old. Note the names of some of these small, long-haired Lhasa Apsos. Along with “Cappuccino”, and “Baby”, you will see “Pegeen” and “Sir Herbert” (for Herbert Read, the art critic). Peggy’s ashes are buried alongside, marked with a simple plaque “Here Rests Peggy Guggenheim 1989-1879″. Over your right shoulder, the olive tree is a gift from one of Peggy’s old traveling buddies – Yoko Ono. In the nonconformist 1960s, Peggy’s once shocking art and unconventional lifestyle became more acceptable, even common-place. By the 1970s, she was universally recognized as a major force in early modern art and was finally even honored by the Venetians with a nickname “The Last Dogaressa” (L’Ultima Dogaressa).

Once you finish your visit of Peggy Guggenheim Collection, walk out of the courtyard and turn left, in just a few minutes, you will reach Campo Salute with an impressive Chiesa di Santa Maria della Salute (Our Lady of Health, p.40 on the map, free entry, pictures allowed). Likely, you have already seen this church from multiple points in the city, as it is one of the most imposing architectural Venetian landmark, and a huge one! Henry James likened it to “some great lady on the threshold of her salon.” Baldassare Longhena started the church in 1630 at the age of 32, and worked on it for the rest of his life. It was not completed until 1683, five years after his death. La Salute was his crown achievement, and the last grand Venetian structure built before Venice’s decline began.

The white stone church has a steep dome that rises above the octagonal structure. It is encrusted with Baroque scrolls, leafy Corinthian columns, and 125 statues, including the lovely ladies lounging over the central doorway. The architect conceived of the church in the shape of a crown. During the bitter plague of 1630, the Virgin Mary took pity of the city of Venice, miraculously allowing only one in three Venetians (46,000 people) to die. During this terrible time, Venetians built this church in honor of Our Lady of Health. Her statue tops the lantern, and she’s dressed as an admiral, hand on a rudder, welcoming ships to the Grand Canal. Even today, Mary’s intercession is celebrated every November 21, when a floating bridge is erected across the Grand Canal so Venetians can walk from San Marco across the water and right up the seaweed-covered steps to the front door. Architect supported the city’s heaviest dome by sinking countless pilings (locals claim over a million) into the sandy soil to provide an adequate foundation. The 12 Baroque scrolls at the dome’s base function as buttresses to help support the mammoth structure.

The Madonna provided essential inspiration, but La Salute draws its structural strength from a range of architectural and spiritual traditions. Architectural scholars note striking similarities between Longhena’s unusual dome octagon structure and both Greco-Roman goddess temples and Jewish cabbala diagrams. The lines of the building ingeniously converge beneath the dome to form a vortex on the inlaid marble floors, and the back dot at the center is said to radiate healing energy. Join me on a tour around La Salute.

(1) View from the Entrance. The church has a bright, healthy glow, with white stone (turned gray because of a fungus) illuminated by light filtering through the dome’s windows. The nave is circular, surrounded by six chapels. In contrast to the ornate Baroque exterior, the inside is simple, with only Corinthian columns and two useless balcony railings up in the dome. The red, white and yellow marble of the floor adds a cheerful note. Longhena focuses our immediate attention on the main altar. Every other view is blocked by heavy pillars. A master of “theatrical architecture”, Longhena reveals the side chapels only one by one, as we walk around and explore. Viewed from the center of the church, the altar and side chapels are framed by arches. Some of the “marble” is actually brick (lighter material) covered with marble dust; the windows, with clear glass in a honeycomb pattern, bring in maximum light. (2) Bronze Plaques. The church is dedicated not just to physical health but to spiritual health as well. The plagues relate that on September 16, 1972, Albino Luciani, the future Pope John Paul I, visited here and paid homage to the Virgin of Health (6 years later, he fell sick and died only after 30 days in office).

(3) Main Altar. The marble statues on the top of the main altar tell the church’s story: The Virgin and Child (enter) are approached for help by a kneeling, humble Lady Venice (left). Mary shows compassion and sends an angel baby (right) to drive away Old Lady Plague. The icon of a black, sad-eyes Madonna with a black baby (12th century Byzantine) is not meant to be ethnically accurate. Here, a “black” Madonna means an otherworldly one.

Find the entrance to the (4) Sacristy (€3 – entry) – along one wall is Tintoretto’s big and colorful “Marriage at Cana” (1551). The receding dinner table leads the eye to Jesus, who is surrounded by the bustle of the wedding feast. On the right, the host (in gray) orders the servant to bring more wine. The apostles at the table portray leading Venetian artists of the day. On the ceiling are three ultra-dramatic paintings by Titian, with gruesome subjects: “Cain Clubbing Abel”, “Abraham Sacrificing His Son” and “David Slaying Goliath” (c.1543-1544). The panels – featuring stormy clouds, windblown hair, flat tones, and overwrought poses – date from Titian’s “Mannerist crisis”. After visiting Rome and seeing the work of Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel, Titian abandoned his standard, sweet, and tested style to paint epic, statuesque, and dramatic works in the Mannerist style. To appreciate his range of genres, contrast the ceiling panels with the painting over the altar, Titian’s stately “St. Mark Enthroned with Saints” (c.1511).

Luca Giordano (1632-1705) celebrates the Virgin in three paintings with similar compositions – heaven and angels above, dark earth below. Giordano, a prolific artist from Naples, was known as “Luca fa presto” (Fast Luke) for the speed (some would say sloppiness) with which he dashed off his paintings. In the chapel to the right of the main altar is (5) Giordano “Birth of the Virgin” (1674) – little baby Mary in her mom’s arms seems like nothing special. But God the Father looks down from above and sends the dove of the Holy Spirit. In the middle chapel (on the right side), look for (6) Giordano “Assumption of the Virgin” (1667) – Mary, at the end of her life, is being taken gloriously, by winged babies, up from the dark earth to the golden light of heaven. The apostles cringe in amusement. A later artist thought his statue was better and planted it right in our way. In the chapel closest to the entrance, see (7) Giordano “Presentation of the Virgin in the Temple” (early 1670s) – notice how the painting fits the surrounding architecture. It’s great to enjoy art in situ. The child Mary (in blue, with wispy halo) ascends a staircase that goes diagonally ”into” the canvas. Giordano places us viewers at the foot of the stairs. The lady in the lower left asks her kids, “Why can’t you be more like her?!”

Across on the other side of the nave is (8) Titian “Pentecost (1546) – the dove of the Holy Spirit sends spiritual rays that fan out to the apostles below, giving them tongues of fire above their heads. They gyrate in amazement, each one in a different direction. Using floor tiles and ceiling panels, Titian has created the 3-D illusion of a barrel-arched chapel, with the dove coming right into the church through a fake window. But the painting was not designed for this location and, up close, the whole fake niche looks…. fake.

After leaving church, we continued east to Punta della Dogana (p.65 on the map) – located between the Grand and Giudecca Canals at the tip of an island. The point was used for docking and customs as early as the beginning of the 15th century. The temporary structures built to store merchandise and customs workers were replaced by a permanent custom house – Punta della Dogana (construction 1677-1682). Atop the building are statues of Atlas, built to represent the supremacy of the Republic of Venice. The two slaves hold a golden ball upon which Giuseppe Benoni‘s “Fortune” stands. True to its hame, this 17th century statue turns in the wind. A massive renovation (at the cost of €20 million) was completed in 2009 and now, Punta della Dogana houses an art museum, called Dogana da Mar. The day we visited the Peak Dorsoduro, on early February morning, the entire Venice was blanketed in such heavy fog, that it was difficult to see Piazza San Marco, hardly over 100 m away. Though, it added even more mystery to this romantic city.

Walk around Punta della Dogana and continue via Fondamenta Zattere along the Giudecca Canal to the first vaporetto stop. Here you find Santa Maria Del Rosario, commonly known as I Gesuati (p.13 on the map, Chorus pass, pictures allowed). At the Zattere, in the parish of Sant’Agnese, in 1397 some lay brothers took up residence in order to form the Company of the Poveri Gesuati and build a small church dedicated to the Visitation of Mary. After the Council of Trent fell into decline and the Order was suppressed in 1668, the premises were taken over by the Dominicans, who soon realized that the church of the Gesuati was too small to accommodated the pilgrims and the faithful who flocked there. Thus a new one was built dedicated to Santa Maria del Rosario, without sacrificing the little church of the Visitation – still standing today next to the new bigger one.

The new church was built thanks to the contribution of three great Venetian artists of the 18th century: the architect Giorgio Massari, the sculptor Giovanni Maria Morlaiter, and the painter Giambattista Tiepolo, who, in the splendid ceiling frescoes, executed the iconographic plan dictated by the Dominicans and based on the theme of the Rosary. The result, as we can clearly see, was a great artistic and spiritual coherence. 270 piles had to be driven into the soil to support the weight of the facade, while giant Corinthian pilasters support a heavy triangular pediment. The main entrance door, surmounted by a curved pediment with an inscription above, is flanked by four niches with large statues representing the four cardinal virtues: Prudence, Justice, Fortitude and Temperance. The decoration of the interior commenced in 1736, ten years after building started. Although the outside walls make a plain rectangle, the interior of the nave (surrounded by Corinthian columns supporting an entablature with rounded corners) has the apparent shape of an ellipse. There are three altars set behind the line of the pillars on each side. The nave is lit on both sides by large high windows, which show off the contrasting tones of the white walls and grey stone.

The ceiling decoration was entrusted to Tiepolo who signed a contract with the Dominicans in May 1737. It was completed two years later. There are three frescos in the ceiling. Nearest the entrance is the “Glory of St. Dominic” (his assumption into heaven) and nearest the altar is the “Appearance of the Virgin to St. Dominic”, while in the centre is a large fresco, a great masterpiece, representing the “Institution of the Rosary“. The Virgin, in a blue sky with clouds, angels and cherubs, is supporting the Christ child who holds out the rosary to St. Dominic. The saint stands at the top of a long flight of marble steps from which he is making the rosary available to the people, both rich and poor, including a doge and a pope. At the bottom, the darkest part of the painting, damned souls (heretics) tumble out of the picture frame. This was one of Tiepolo’s first large fresco commissions.

After leaving Santa Maria del Rosario, turn right and then another right before the bridge to Fondamenta Nino, right across the Rio de San Trovaso you will see Squero San Trovaso (p.66 on the map). Today, Venice has about 425 gondolas in active service, and all are made by hand. A typical gondola is built from nine different types of wood and several hundred parts, including a carved oarlock called a forcola and a weighted bow ornament known as a ferro that helps to counterbalance the weight of the gondolier who rows while standing on the boat’s stern. A gondola isn’t a cheap purchase (hence, the ride fees are high too) and it can cost upwards of €20,000, depending on its amenities, and it requires regular maintenance. Gondola construction and repairs are supplied by a handful of squeri, or boatyards, in Venice and the Venetian Lagoon. Most of these boatyards are in locations that tourists seldom see, but you are in luck today, as you are standing in front of the oldest and most famous yard – the Squero di San Trovaso. Although the squero isn’t open to the public, you can enjoy a view of the gondola craftsmen at work from the opposite bank of the San Trovaso Canal.

Another place to check out along the Grand Canal is Ca’ Rezzonico (p.71 on the map, Museum pass, pictures allowed, audioguide)  – a museum dedicated to 18th-century Venice. The building began by the Bon family, who commissioned it to Baldassarre Longhena in 1667, but the funds of the Bons ran dry before the second floor was started. In 1712, the unfinished palace was bought by the wealthy Rezzonico family of Genoa, who spent a large portion of their fortune on its completion. Today, the Ca’ Rezzonico (a.k.a. The Museo del Settecento Veneziano) contains furniture, decoration, and artwork from the period. The grand home on the Grand Canal is the best place in town to experience the luxurious, decadent spirit of Venice in the Settecento (the 1700s).

If you are arriving by water, step onto the dock on the Grand Canal and admire Ca’ Rezzonico’s heavy stone facade. This dock was, of course, the main entrance back in the 1700s. Next, appreciate the 1700s-era covered gondola in the courtyard. Picture this arriving at the Ca’s dock for a party during Carnevale. A charcoal heater inside kept the masked and caped passengers warm, as they sipped Prosecco and chatted in French, enjoying their winter holiday away from home…

Go inside and from the ground floor ascend the grand staircase to the first floor, entering the ballroom. From here, simply follow the one-way route through the numbered rooms:

(1) Ballroom – this would be a great place for a wedding reception. At 520 m², it could be the biggest private venue in the city. Stand in the center and the room gets even bigger, with a ceiling painting that opens up to the heavens and trompe l’oeil (optical illusion) columns and arches that open into fake alcoves. Imagine dancing under candlelit chandeliers to Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons”. Servants glide by with drinks and finger foods, the gentlemen wear powdered wigs, silk shirts with lacy sleeves, tight velvet coats and breeches, striped stockings, and shoes with big buckles. They carry snuffboxes with dirty pictures inside the lids. The ladies powder their hair, pile it high and weave in stuff – pictures of their children or locks of a lover’s hair. And everyone carried a mask on a stick to change identity in a second. The chandeliers of gold-covered wood are original. But while most of the furniture you’ll see is from the 1700s, it is not from the Rezzonico family collection.

(2) Nuptial Allegory Salon – in fact, there was a wedding here – see the happy couple on the ceiling, arriving in a chariot pulled by four horses and serenaded by angels, cupids and Virtues? In 1757, Ludovico Rezzonico exchange vows with Faustina Savorgnan in this room, under the bellies of the horses painted for the occasion by Giombattista Tiepolo. Tiepolo, the best known decorator of Europe’s palaces, was at the height of his fame and technique. He knocked this off in 12 days! His bright colors, mastery of painting figures from every possible angle, wide knowledge of classical literary subjects, and sheer, unbridled imagination made his frescoes blend seamlessly with ornate Baroque and Rococo furniture. The Rezzonico were a family of nouveaux riches who, in 1687, bought their way into the exclusive club of Venetian patrician families. The state, which needed money for its military adventures, actually sold noble status to parvenue families like the Rezzonico. These upwardly mobile families then followed a strategy to be accepted by the old nobility. Over the course of several generations, the Rezzonico bought and decorated this fancy palazzo, married into high society, managed to secure a prestigious Venetian office, and even put one of their relatives on the papal throne. In early times, art was about scoring religious points to gain the way into heaven. In the 18th century, wealthy people commissioned art like the works in this palace simply to gain respect. The “Portrait of Clement XIII”, pink-cheeked and well-fed, shows the most famous Rezzonico. As pope (elected in 1758), Clement spent his reign defending the Jesuit society from anti-Catholic European nobles. A prayer kneeler (in the tiny (3) adjoining chapel) look heavily used, dating from the sin-and-repent era of Settencento Venice.

(4) Pastel Room – Europe’s most celebrated painter of portraits in pastel was a Venetian, Rosalba Carriera (1675-1757). Wealthy French and English tourists on holiday wanted a souvenir of Venice and Carriera obliged, with miniature portraits on ivory rather than the traditional vellum (soft animal skin). These were products of narcissism – the 18th century photos that proclaimed, “Look how charming/interesting I am”. She progressed to portraits in pastel, a medium that caught the luminous, pale-skin, white-haired, heavy-makeup look that was considered so desirable. Still, her “Portrait (Ritratto) of Sister Maria Caterina” has a warts-and-all-realism that doesn’t hide the nun’s heavy eyebrows, long nose, and forehead vein, which only intensifies the spirituality she radiates. At age 45, Carriera was invited by tourists whom she’d befriended to visit them in Paris. There she became the toast of the town. Returning triumphantly to Venice, she settled into her home on the Grand Canal and painted until her eyesight failed. Also in the room is a “Portrait of Cecilia Guardi Tiepolo”, wife of Giambattista Tiepolo, sister of famous painter Francesco Guardi, and mother of not-very-famous painter Lorenzo Tiepolo, who painted this when he was 21.

(5) Tapestry Room – tapestries, furniture, a mirror, and a door with Asian themes that shows an opium smoker oh his own little island paradise (lower panel) give a sense of the Rococo luxury of the wealthy. In a century dominated by the French court at Versailles, Venice was one of the few cities that could hold its own. The furniture ensemble of gilded wood chairs, tables, and chests hints at the Louis XIV (claw-foot) style, but the pieces were made in a Venetian workshop. Despite Venice’s mask of gaiety, in the 1700s it was a poor, politically bankrupt, dirty city. Garbage floated in the canals, the streets were either unpaved or slippery with slime, and tourists could hardly stand visiting Basilica di San Marco or the Palazzo Ducale because of the stench of mildew. But its reputation for decay and sleaze was actually romanticized into a metaphor for adventures into shady morality.With licensed casinos and thousands of courtesans, it was a fun city for foreigners freed from hometown blinders.

(6) Throne Room – “Nowhere in Europe are there so many and such splendid fetes, ceremonies and public entertainments of all kinds as there are in Venice”, wrote a visitor from France. As you check out the view of the Grand Canal, imagine once again that you’re attending a party here. You could watch the Forze d’Ercole (Force of Hercules) acrobats, who stood in boats and kept building a human pyramid – of up to 50 bodies – until they tumbled, laughing into the Grand Canal. At midnight the hosts would dim the mirrored candleholders on the walls, so you could look out on a fireworks display over the water. The ceiling fresco, again by Tiepolo, certainly trompe l’oeil (best viewed from the center). Tiepolo opens the room’s sunroof, allowing angels to descend to earth to pick up the Rezzonico clan’s patriarch. The old, bald, bearded fellow is crowned with laurels and begins to rise on a cloud up to the translucent temple of glory. The angels hold Venice’s Golden Book, where the names of the city’s nobles were listed and Tiepolo captures the moment just as the gang is exiting through the “hole” in the ceiling. The leg of the lady in blue hangs over the “edge” of the fake oval. Tiepolo creates a zero-gravity universe that must have astounded visitors. Walk in circles under the fresco, and watch the angel spin.

(7)  Tiepolo – the ceiling painting by Tiepolo depicts Nobility and Virtue as a kind of bare-breasted duo defeating Treachery, who tumbles down. The painting – which is on canvas, not a fresco like the others – was moved here from another palazzo. Portraits around the room are by Tiepolo and his sons, Lorenzo and Giovanni Domenico. The paintings are sober and down-to-earth, demonstrating the artistic range of this exceptional family. Tiepolo was known for his flamboyance, but he passed to his sons his penchant for painting wrinkled, wizened old men in the Rembrandt style. In later years, Tiepolo had the pleasure of traveling with his sons to distant capitals, meeting royalty, and working on palace ceilings. Giovanni Domenico contributed some of the minor figures in the Ca’ Rezzonico ceilings and went on to a successful artistic career of his own (his works are upstairs). This was the game room, and you can see a card table in the center. The big walnut cabinet along the wall is one of the few original pieces of furniture from the Rezzonico collection.

(9) Library – Ca’ Rezzonico was the home of the English poet Robert Browning (1812-1889) in his later years. Imagine him here in this study, in a melancholy mood after a long winter, reading a book and thinking of words from a poem of his: “Oh to be in England, now that April’s there…”

(10) Lazzarini – the big, colorful paintings are by Gregorio Lazzarini (1655-1730), Tiepolo’s teacher. Tiepolo took Lazzarini’s color, motion, and twisted poses and suspended them overhead.

(11) Brustolon – Andrea Brustolon (1662-1732) carved Baroque fantasies into the custom-made tables, chairs, and vase stands that he crafted in his Venice workshop. In black ebony, redding boxwood, and brown walnut, they overwhelm with the sheer number of figures, yet each carving is a gem worth admiring. The big case stand is a harmony of different colors: a white vase supported by ebony slaves in chains and a brown boxwood Hercules. The slaves’ chains are carved from a single piece of wood – an impressive artistic feat. The room’s flowery Murano glass chandelier – of pastel pinks, blues and turquoise – is original.

(12) Portico (Portego) – the funny little cabin in the room is a sedan chair, a servant-powered taxi for Venetian nobles. Four strong-shouldered men ran poled through the iron brackets on either side, then carried it on their shoulders, while the rich rode in red-velvet luxury above the slimy streets.

Take the stairs to the second floor.

You emerge into (13) Painting Portego- Canaletto. Rich tourists wanting to remember their stay in Venice sought out Canaletto (1697-1768) for a “postcard” view. “The Grand Canal from Palazzo Balbi to Rialto” captures the view you’d see from the Palazzo two doors down. With photographic clarity, Canaletto depicts buildings, boats, and shadows on the water, leading the eye to the tiny, half-hidden Rialto Bridge on the distant horizon. The “View of Rio dei Mendicante” chronicles every chimney, every open shutter, every pair of underwear hanging out to dry. Canaletto was a young theater-set painter working on Scarlatti operas in Rome when he decided his true calling was painting reality, not Baroque fantasy. He moved home to Venice, set up his easel outside, and painted scenes like these two, directly from nature. It was considered a very odd thing to do in his day. Despite the seeming photorealism and crystal clarity, these wide-angle views are more than any human eye could take in without turning side to side. Canaletto, who meticulously studied the mathematics  of perspective, was not above tweaking those rules to compress more of Venice into the frame. In the “Grand Canal from Palazzo Balbi to Rialto”, notice there are shadows along both sides of the canal – physically impossible, but more picturesque. His paintings still have a theater-set look to them, but here, the Venice backdrop is the star. To meet the demand for postcard scenes of Venice, Canaletto resorted in later years to painting from engravings or following formulas. But these two early works reflect his pure vision to accurately paint the city he loved. Grant Tour visitors routinely reposted that Venice pleased the eye but not the heart or mind. Just as they experienced the city without feeling any real passion, these paintings let you see it, marvel, and move on.

(14) Giovanni Domenico Tiepolo’s Frescoes from the Villa Zianigo. The son of Tiepolo decorated the family villa with frescoes for his own enjoyment. They are far more down-to-earth that his father’s high-flying fantasies. “The World” features butts, as ordinary folk crowd around a building with a peep-show window. The only faces we see are the two men in profile – Giovanni Domenico Tiepolo (far right with eyeglass) and his father (arms folded) – and baby brother Lorenzo (center). The “Pulcinella Room” has several scenes (including one overhead) for the hook-nosed, white-clothed, hunchbacked clown who, at Carnevale time, represented the lovable country bumpkin. But here, he and his similarly dressed companions seem tired, lecherous, and stupid. The decadent gaiety of Settecento Venice was at odds with the Liberté, Egalité, Fraternité erupting in France.

The 18th century was a time of great change. The fresh ideas and innovations of the Enlightenment swept more adaptable societies upward into a thriving new modern age. Meanwhile, a Venice in denial declined. Venetians bought into their own propaganda. The modern ideas coming out of France threatened the very foundation of what La Serenissima was about. Over time Venetians stopped trading, stopped traveling, and became stuck in the mud. Like Marie Antoinette retreating into her little hamlet at Versailles, the aristocracy of Venice withdrew into their palaces. Insisting their city remained exceptional, Venetian society chose to dance rather than to adopt. As Venice fell, its appetite for decadence grew. Through the 18th century, the Venetians partied and partied, as if drunk on the wealth accumulated through earlier centuries.

(15) Spinet Room – the 1700s saw the development of new keyboard instruments that would culminate by century’s end in the modern piano. This particular specimen has strings that are not hammered (like a piano) but plucked. At this point, a pluck was just a pluck – always the same volume. When hammers were introduces shortly after this, the novelty of being able to play both soft and loud sounds prompted Italians to name the instrument the fortepiano (loud-soft).

(17) Parlor – Francesco Guardi (1712-1793), like Canaletto, supplied foreigners with scenes of Venice. But Guardi uses rougher brushwork that casts a romantic haze over the decaying city. “The Parlor (Il Parlatorio delle Monache di S. Zaccaria)” is an interior landscape featuring visiting day at a convent school. The girls, secluded with their servant girls behind grills, chat and have tea with family members, friends, ladies with their pets, and potential suitors. Convents were like boarding schools for aristocratic ladies, where they got an education and learned manners before re-entering the world. Note the puppet show (starring spouse-abusing Pulcinella). Guardi’s “Il Ridotto di Palazzo Dandolo” shows partygoers in masks at a Venetian palace licensed for gambling. Casanova and other claimed that these casino houses had back rooms for the private use of patrons and courtesans. The men wear the traditional bautta – a three-piece outfit consisting of a face mask, three-cornered hat, and cowl. This getup was actually required by law in certain seedy establishments to ensure that every sinner was equally anonymous. The women wear Lone Ranger masks, and parade a hint of cleavage to potential customers.

(18) Longhi – there is no better look at 1700s Venice than these genre scenes by Pietro Longhi (1702-1785), depicting everyday life among the upper classes. See ladies and gentlemen going to the hairdresser or to the dentist, dressed in the finery that was standard in every public situation. These small easel works provide a psychoanalytic insight into society. They come with an overwhelming sense of boredom. There is no dynamism. There aren’t even any windows. It is a society closed to the world, without initiative, and, it seems, with no shortage of leisure time. Contrast these straightforward scenes with Tiepolo’s sumptuous ceiling painting of nude gods and goddesses. The Rococo fantasy world of aristocrats was slipping increasingly into the more prosaic era of the bourgeoisie. (21) Alcove – Casanova daydreamed of fancy boudoirs like this one, complete with a large bed (topped with a Madonna by Rosalba Carriera), a walnut dresser, Neoclassical wallpaper, and silver toiletries. Even the presence of the baby cradle would not have dimmer his ardor.

The 3rd floor of the museum is a large collection of Venetian paintings amassed by a local scholar name Egidio Martini. Most are by lesser-known artists from the 1600s and 1700s, but there is one room of 19th and early 20th century works, including a few Impressionists.

A few doors north, along the Grand Canal, there is another interesting palazzo (actually three) to visit – Ca’ Foscari University  (p. 69 on the map, €5.50 – entrance, guided tours only, booked here, pictures allowed). Home to the headquarters of the University of Venice, this building has a very interesting history and destiny. A Byzantine palace, known as the “House with the Two Towers”, it was bought by the Republic of Venice in 1429 from Bernardo Giustinian, to serve as the main residence of the vice-captain of the Republic, Gianfrancesco Gonzaga. However, in 1439, the palace was given to another captain, Francesco Sforza. who, just 8 years later betrayed the Republic and was deprived of the residence. In 1453 the Republic of Venice regained possession of the palace and sold it by auction to the Doge Francesco Foscari; who had the palace demolished and rebuilt (by the architect Bartolomeo Bon) on the bank of the Grand Canal in late Venetian Gothic style. Remember, that doges lived in Palazzo Ducale till their deaths, but it looks like Foscari sensed that his Venetian expansion in the mainland and endless wars wouldn’t end well for him. And he was right, in October 1457 the Council of Ten forced him to abdicate and he retired to his new home… but died there just a week later.

Not much is known about the building from that time till 1868, when it became home to the School of Commerce (Regia Scuola Superiore di Commercio), except that in 1574 king Henry III of France was housed in the second floor of the building. As the reputation of the school grew, so did the student numbers (which are nearly 20,000 today) and very shortly, Ca’ Foscari was joined by Ca’ Giustinian (the palace adjacent to Ca’ Foscari) and Ca’ Dolfin (across Rio de Ca’ Foscari). All buildings were recently renovated and now anybody can take a 60-min guided tour around the premisses of the Ca’ Foscari University, which takes you to the most beautiful halls, such as the “Aula Baratto” and the “Aula Berengo”.

The portal of Ca’ Foscari is today the main entrance of the building and was restored in 2008. It is made of Istrian marble in rectangular shape and surmounted by a lunette; on its perimeter it is decorated with checkered patterns. The coat of arms inside the lunette is composed of a central blazon and three putti (one on each side and one on the top); inside the blazon is depicted the winged lion of St. Mark holding an open book. In 1797, following the forced surrender of Venice and overthrow of the Republic by Napoleon, family blazons were abolished; consequently, they were hidden, taken down or, as at Ca’ Foscari, covered with whitewash.

Ca’ Foscari is a typical example of the residence of the Venetian nobles and merchants. The structure is one of the most imposing buildings of the city and its external patio is the second biggest courtyard of a private house after that of the Palazzo Ducale. In common with other palaces, Ca’ Foscari’s principal and most decorated facade and entrance faces the Grand Canal and its façade is characterized by a rhythmic sequence of arches and windows (style, known as Floral Gothic). At Ca’ Foscari, the tops of each column are decorated with carved quatrefoil patterns; the Gothic capitals are adorned with foliage, animals and masks. Above the Gothic window is a marble frieze with a helmet surmounted with a lion couchant representing the role of the doge as the captain of the republic; at each side of the central helmet we can find two putti holding a shield symbolizing the Foscari’s coat of arms with the winged lion of Saint Mark, symbol of Venice.

Since most locals were traders, many Venetian palaces served their practical purposes, that of the “fondaco” –  the headquarters for the family’s trading ventures. The main features of these early palaces were two-storey arcades or loggias along the waterfront; on the ground floor was portal for loading and unloading merchandise. The portal often led into an entrance hall (portigo) used for business negotiations, with storerooms and offices on either side and a kitchen at the back. The living quarters (“piani nobili“) were upstairs, with the rooms leading off great T-shaped central room; a well and an open staircase were placed in the courtyard. The loggias, tied one above the other, are now glazed and light the large halls behind. Through the portigo, our guide took us to the courtyard of Palazzo Giustinian.

The building edifice was built in the late 15th century, perhaps with the participation of Bartolomeo Bon. The palace consisted originally of two separated sectors, one for each branch of the family (Nicolò and Giovanni Giustinian), which were later harmonized through a central section in the façade; these are known as Ca’ Giustinian dei Vescovi (now housing part of the Ca’ Foscari University) and Ca’ Giustinian dalle Zogie (which is still privately owned). Behind the façade, they are separated by an alley which, through a sottoportego (portico-tunnel), connects to the central portal. The two sub-palaces share numerous decorative features with the annexed Ca’ Foscari. They have an L-shaped plan with four floors, the upper ones having mullioned windows. At the “piano nobile” they form a six-arches arcade with an interwoven motif of multi-lobes circles. The single windows are ogival, or decorated with a three-lobe motif. Ca’ Giustinian dei Vescovi has in the rear a court with a Gothic staircase, while Ca’ Giustinian delle Zogie has a large garden. The family sold the palazzo in the 19th century. Since then, personalities such as painter Natale Schiavoni, German composer Richard Wagner (who wrote the second act of Tristan und Isolde here between 1858 and 1859), the last Duchess of Parma, Louise d’Artois, Hungarian violinist Franz von Vecsey and American novelist William Deal Howells have lived here.

Then, we ascended to piano nobile – the Great Hall dedicated to Mario Baratto (a professor of Italian literature and antifascist, who died in 1984). The Aula Baratto is used today to host conferences, conventions, formal ceremonies and other important events of Ca’ Foscari University. Scarpa designed the Great Hall in order to replace the Museum of Commerce. A massive portal with the Latin inscription ″STUDY DECUS ORNAMENTUMQUE VITAE″ introduces the hall. Our guide pointed out a few most interesting features of this room: two frescos painted by Mario Sironi and Mario Deluigi, (1936-1937) and the enhancements made by Carlo Scarpa (the window, the boiserie and the footboard), however everybody’s eyes were glued to the views from the windows – the palace is located on the widest bend of the Grand Canal. Here, during the annual Regata Storica (Historical Regatta), held on the first Sunday in September, a floating wooden observation platform known as La Machina is placed; this also the site of the finishing line, and the venue for prize-giving.

Between 1935 and 1937 Mario Sironi was asked by the rector Agostino Lanzillo to decorate the Great Hall of Ca’ Foscari. He was chosen because he was considered an artist able to convey the faith and the fervor of the Italian Fascist youth of that period. The “Italy, Venice and Studies” fresco includes a student athlete holding a book and a musket, the allegory of Technique, the allegory of Medicine, the city of Venice sitting on a throne, the lion of St. Mark and the domes of the basilica. It also shows a figure in chains called Motherland, which represents the victory of Italy in Ethiopia. There is an inscription over the Motherland figure: “Italy will do by itself”; it refers to the autarky pursued by Italy and to its ambition to become an imperial power.

The second painting “La Scuola” represents the school of philosophers by Mario De Luigi.  In the middle there is the thinker surrounded by the students. The painting presents traces of cubism, but there is also the three-dimensional element.

We left Ca’ Foscari and crossed a small rio de Ca’ Foscari to reach Ca’ Dolfin, another of the University’s property, acquired in 1955. From 1961 till 1973 it housed the College, while the main hall became the university’s Aula Magna. This splendid room is dedicated to the memory of Silvio Trentin, one of the most influential and important figures in 19th century Veneto history. He was a great academic from Ca’ Foscari, a pioneer of regional politics and a resolute opponent of the Fascist regime. Like many other palazzi on the lagoon, Ca’ Dolfin, emerging from the area of San Pantalon, is also closely linked to the history of the family who inhabited it. The Dolfin family was one of the 24 “case vecchie” or founding families of La Serenissima. Among its members were cardinals, senators, ambassadors, scholars, admirals and one doge. By the end of the 13th century, Giacomo Dolfin (1283-1285), son of the forefather Gregorio Dolfin, Duke of Candia, had a palace built “in confinio S. Pantaleonis.” The current palace was constructed in the 16th century on foundations dating back to the 9th century. Originally from the Secco family, it was acquired by Cardinal Giovanni Dolfin (1545-1622) in 1621. It was renovated at the end of the 1600s by architect Domenico Rossi (1657-1737), who brought extensive modernization and enhancements to the ground and first floors. On February 11, 1709, Girolamo Dolfin (1679-1715) organized a gathering at Ca’ Dolfin in honor of Federick IV, king of Denmark and Norway who had embarked on a tour of Italy.

The restoration to the palace was completed in the years immediately following by the addition of upper floors and completion of the hall on the first floor, where Nicolo Bambini (1651-1739) painted an apotheosis of the Dolfin family on the ceiling. The frescoes were completed by 1721, as by then, the English writer Edward Wright saw and described them after the visit to the palace. Antonio Felice Ferrari (1667-1720) worked on the illusionistic quadraturas, other frescoes and stuccos including the ten architectural frameworks on the walls which remained blank for several years. Upon the wishes of Daniel Giovanni Dolfin (1656-1729), Giambattista Tiepolo painted ten large canvases, depicting memorable episodes in the history of Rome, from its foundation until the rule of Italy: “Mucius Scaevola before Porsenna”, “Brutus and Arruns”, “Veturia Pleading with Coriolanus”, “Cincinnatus Offered the Dictatorship”, “Fabius Maximus before the Senate at Carthage”, “Hannibal Contemplating the Head of Hasdrubal”, “The Triumph of Marius”, etc. The intention was to conceive a sort of temple to the Dolfin family able to honor the dedication of its members to their country and their moral and civil rectitude. In any case, it dealt with subjects who were all part of a single iconographic theme collectively with the large fresco on the ceiling and the pre-existing artwork on the walls.

After the death of the last male descendant of the Dolfins of San Pantalon – Daniele Andrea Dolfin (1748-1798) – the palace passed down along the female line to Gasparo Lippomano, and then in 1854 to Giovanni Querini Stampalia, who then left it to the Querini Stampalia Foundation in 1869. The consecutive passages of property were so convoluted that the lack of one owner led to the early deterioration of the palace and the depletion of its most previous decorations. In 1871, the entire residence was acquired by the Venetian antiquarian Moise Michelangelo Guggenheim, who immediately sold the ten canvases by Tiepolo: five went to the Stieglitz Museum in Saint Petersburg and were then passed on to the Hermitage in 1934, two canvases were sold to the Kunsthistorisches Museum in Vienna and three – to the Met Museum in New York. The palazzo, stripped of all its furniture and all its paintings, and by now in dismal condition was bought in 1876 by Milanese architect Giambattista Brusa, and underwent a renovation. Among other things, he had placed mirrors in the places left by the removed Tiepolo’s canvases.

The palace was bought by the university in 1955 and was intended to house the College of merit for men only. After the acquisition, the building underwent a restoration (1958-1960) and till 1971 hosted students from all over Italy, free of charge based on their merit. Therefore, almost a century after it ceased to be the residence of one of the oldest Venetian noble families, stripped of all its beauty and grace, Ca’ Dolfin had the opportunity to host a group of young academics who then went on to distinguish themselves in the field of science and business. With its spacious and evocative rooms, its ceilings and wall adorn with magnificent frescoes, medallions with allegorical figures, Murano glass chandeliers and mirrors, the Aula Magna is still the setting for official events and university ceremonies.

Sestiere di Cannaregio

The last sistiere on my tour is Cannaregio – Venice’s northernmost and the most populous one (over 13,000 residents). Deriving its name from the Cannaregio canal, the area dates back to the 11th century when local swamps were drained and parallel canals were dredged. Since elegant palazzi were built facing the Grand Canal, the area grew primarily with working class housing and manufacturing, which is still very visible today.

Beginning in 1516, Jews were restricted to living in the Venetian Ghetto. It was enclosed by guarded gates and no one was allowed to leave from sunset to dawn. However, Jews held successful positions in the city such as merchants, physicians and money lenders. Restrictions on daily Jewish life continued until Napoleon Bonaparte conquered the Venetian Republic in 1797; he removed the gates and gave all residents the freedom to live where they chose. In the 19th century, civil engineers built a street named Strada Nuova through Cannaregio, which is the “Broadway” of the sestiere. Today, the areas of the district along the Grand Canal from the train station to the Rialto Bridge are packed with tourists, but the rest of Cannaregio is residential and relatively peaceful, with morning markets, neighborhood shops, and small cafés. There are no palazzi here, but very simple and straightforward residential quarters. In a few hours that I spent browsing the area, I’ve heard half of a dozen European languages, Russian and Polish including, spoken not by tourists, but locals, busily running about their daily chores.

I reached Cannaregio by vaporetto #4.2 and got off at S. Alvise stop, location of Chiesa di Sant’Alvise (p.10 on the map, Chorus pass, pictures allowed). The northern area of the city of Venice, formed by long and narrow “insulas” between parallel canals, is an environment that is still fascinating today. In this place, solitary and remote at the edge of the lagoon, once full of gardens and parks, a small hermitage of Augustinian nuns was established in 1388. Tradition has it that St. Louis of Toulouse, appeared in a dream to the patrician lady Antonia Venier to convince her to build a convent bearing his name. The simple facade, in bare brick, presents a profile that is unique in Venice: it is cadenced by six pilaster strips and crowned by suspended arches, with inclined roof surfaces in the central part. The only decoration on the facade are an oculus in Istrian stone and a Gothic portal with the 15th century statue of St. Louis in the lunette, attributed to the Florentine Agostino di Duccio, present in Venice around 1442. In 1456 the monastery acquired three important relics of the Flagellation that turned this tip of the city into a palace of devotion and pilgrimage.

In the years to follow the Passion of Christ inspired the church’s artistic heritage: in 1735 the nuns commissioned from Giambattista Tiepolo “The Road to Calvary” that together with two other masterpieces, “The Flagellation” and “The Crowning with Thorns”, artistically enriched the church and at the same time invited visitors to reflect on the episodes of the Passion. A soon as you enter the church, the eyes are attracted by the perspective illusions of the ceiling – highly evocative but out of keeping with the Gothic environment  – which gives the impression of breaking through the roof: the real walls of the church seem to support the unreal walls of a “Heavenly Jerusalem”, frescoed by Pietro Antonio Torri and Pietro Ricchi.

Above the main entrance there is the nuns’ choir gallery resting on two columns with capitals and 15th century barbacani (wooden beam supports). Below, on the entrance facade, we can admire the 8 panels with “Episodes of the Old Testament” (previously erroneously attributed to Carpaccio), painted by Lazzaro Bastiani in the late 15th century, coming from the suppressed church of Santa Maria delle Vergini. We are struck by the narrative condor of these works, accompanied by a graphic rigidity reminiscent of Mantegna. The painting in the chancel is the most dramatic: the scene is lively and of great tragic effect, inspired by the luministic dynamism of Tintoretto and the engravings of Rembrandt. Most striking in this large canvas is the prostrate body of Christ, with an expression of intense suffering and extremely contorted posture. The characteristic common to the three altarpieces of the “Passion” is the reference to theater, in particular to the many melodramas presented in the city at that time, to which Tiepolo was greatly attracted, as we can see in the costumes of the depicted characters.

Once I left the church and walked towards the Jewish Ghetto, I realized that I was in the most residential part of Venice: washed clothes was drying on the strings, kids were playing football on the field, mail was delivered to homes and fruit vendors were curiously glancing at me. It might not be the most picturesque neighborhood, but it was definitely the most “Venetian” one.

I have already mentioned Venetian Ghetto (p.57 on the map) a few times. Indeed, both, the word “ghetto” itself and the concept of secluded living arrangement came from this place – Venice’s Jewish population once lived here, segregated from their non-Jewish neighbors. Today, this small area has centuries of history and a few Jewish-related sights and eateries. In medieval times, Jews were grudgingly allowed to do business in Venice but in 1516, the doge restricted them to this area near the former foundry (“ghetto”). In time, the word caught on across Europe as a term for any isolated neighborhood. At one time, Venetian Jews were obliged to wear red or yellow marks sewn onto their clothing and distinctive-looking hats. However, keep in mind that unlike most European cities of the era, pragmatic Venice granted Jewish communities the right to practice certain professions key to the city’s livelihood, including medicine, trade, baking, fashion and publishing. When the Inquisition forced Jews out of Spain, many fled to Venice. Campo do Ghetto Novo is the ghetto’s center. In the 1600s – the Golden Age of Venice’ Jews – the Campo had 70 shops and 5,000 Jews lived nearby, many packed into the six-story “skyscrapers” that still surround the square. To save space, the synagogues were built atop these tenements. Though it was home to a large number of Jews, they never assimilated to form a distinct, “Venetian Jewish” ethnicity. Four of the five synagogues were clearly divided according to ethnic identity: German, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese, and Levantine Sephardi communities. The fifth, the Scuola Canton, was built as a private synagogue for the four families, one of them the Fano family, who funded its construction, and also served the Venetian Ashkenazi community. The ghetto two bridges were closed at night, but in 1797 Napoleon ended the ghetto’s isolation and in 1860s the Italian republic granted Jews full citizenship.

Today the square is quiet. Only 500 Jews live in the former ghetto, and the Jewish people you may see are likely tourists. The main sight is the Jewish Museum at #2902b – it has silver menorahs, cloth covers for Torah scrolls, and overview of ghetto history. From the Campo, you can see two synagogue exteriors (with their five windows) and three cistern wells. The large “Casa Israelitica di Riposo” is a Jewish senior community center that is becoming a hotel. It is flanked by two different Holocaust memorials, marking where the Nazis rounded up 200 Jews for deportation. Only 37 of them returned.

I have been told by a regular, that cafes and restaurants near the Jewish Ghetto were the best in town, so I stopped at one for a cup of tea and a delicious cannoli, and while slowly moving back to the Rialto area, I finally met one of 3 (!!!!) boat-women in whole of Venice – Chiara Curto. She isn’t a gondolier as she doesn’t navigate a gondola, but sandolista – she operates one of only 40 sandoli in Venice. Please reach out to her here (her tel is +34 958 70150) as we MUST support women in every trade!

Another interesting place to check out in Cannaregio is Chiesa di Santa Maria dei Miracoli (p.4 on the map, Chorus pass, pictures allowed). Unlike all the other churches in the city, which have all been overlapped by different styles, the church of Miracoli was practically untouched: founded later than the others, it was designed, built, and decorated by father-son team, Pietro and Tullio Lombardo and their workshop in one only stage. This Venetian architecture masterpiece, also known as the “Marble Church” (it was built of creatively repurposed polychrome marbles plundered from Egypt to Syria from the sides of Basilica di San Marco), comparable for its distinctiveness to an extraordinary treasure chest sculpted and redressed of marble. It is also the church where many Venetians like to get married.

The church was built between 1481 and 1489 upon commission of Angelo Amadi, who intended to hold an image of the “Virgin Mary with Child and Two Saints” in his possession – an image which, after Pope Sextus IV’s declaration of the Immaculate Conception Cult, has been declared miraculous. The façade, with the original semicircular front adorned by rose windows, was realized on two orders of arcades carved in marble, and the cylindrical roofing, perfectly enclose the volume of the church. The arrangement in the underlining of the spaces, throughout pillar sheets of different colors and cornices, resend a Florentine Renaissance style, but the decoration of the chromaticism clearly responds to a Venetian taste.

The interior, a single nave with a raised presbytery, is decorated even more sumptuously with pink, white and grey sculpted marble. On the altar stands Zanino di Pietro’s supposedly miraculous work of the “Virgin Mary and Child” (15th century). The imposing barrel vault is decorated with wooden coffering and fifty panels depicting “Prophets and Patriarchs”, painted by Pier Maria Pennachi and assistants. The pendentives of the cupola houses statues of the “Four Evangelists”, probably the work of Pietro Lombardo himself – as is the splendid transenna in front of the presbytery. Above the entrance is still preserved the old wooden choir stalls (barco) of the nuns from the nearby convent, who used to gain access to the church by means of a raised passageway that has been demolished.

By mid 1980s, the church’s marble cladding contained 14% of salts, and was on the point of bursting. The New York based Save Venice, Inc raised $4 million for the restoration of dei Miracoli, which took ten years to complete (from 1987 till 1997) and required all marble cladding to be removed, and then cleaned in stainless steel tanks, in a solution of distilled water. And today, you can safely enjoy the church whose angles aren’t going to fall on your head!

Isola di San Michele. Despite strict funeral laws in regard to non-Venetians, I knew that Venice was the last resting place to a long list of celebrities and artists, but I had a particular interest in visiting the local cemetery (Cimitero di San Michele), to pay my tribute to three great Russians buried there – composer Igor Stravinsky (1882-1971), founder of Ballet Russe Sergei Diaghilev (1872-1929) and Nobel prize winning poet Iosif Brodsky (1940-1996). Until Napoleon established a city cemetery on Isola di San Michele, Venetians had been buried in parish plots across town – not the most salubrious solution, as Napoleon’s inspectors realized. Today, incorrigible romantics, music-lovers and Russophiles like myself pause here with flowers in hand to pay their respect. Architecture buffs stop by to see the Renaissance Chiesa di San Michele (begun by Codussi in 1469) and the smaller San Cristoforo. You can also visit the ongoing cemetery extension, including the recently completed Courtyard of the Four Evangelists – a sunken bunker, with a concrete colonnade and basalt-clad walls engraved with the Gospels.

From Piazza San Marco I took vaporetto 4.1 and 45 minutes later got off the stop “Cimitero”. It was a very cold, misty and foggy day, but I still chose to ride outside, trying to soak in the barely visible views of industrial Giudecca, recreational Santa Elena and guarded Arsenale, and I almost missed it! And by “it” I mean a ship, a very familiar ship even though I’ve never seen it with my own eyes – Sea Shepherd “Bob Barker” was docked just near the “Bacini” stop. “Keep up with the great work that you do” I wanted to scream, but I knew, they didn’t need my encouragement to go on protecting the seas from illegal fishing practices.

The entire island is a cemetery, so the moment I got off, I was already inside (entry is free, no pictures allowed). By the entrance, there was a flower shop and according to my tradition, we always bring flowers to the graves, so I bought 3 yellow roses for 3 masters. The cemetery is divided up into many sections, and without a map it is a very confusing site (however, it wasn’t easy to find with a map either).

Signs conduct visitors to the Orthodox and Protestant cemeteries; other sections are harder to locate. Wandering around can be an interesting and touching experience. One area is given over to the humble memorials of nuns and the sometimes less humble graves of priests. According to the Time Out guidebook, there is a section for gondoliers, although I haven’t found it.

The Orthodox area is a charming walled garden which traps late sunlight and seagulls. Against the far wall, almost next to each other, visitors will find the tombs of Sergei Diaghilev and Igor Stravinsky, festooned with the offerings of ballet and music-lovers. Other graves around the walls are also fascinating, bearing testament to the lives of exiles in Venice of days gone by – Russian princesses and counts, for example.

Joseph Brodsky is also buried in the same area but closer to the left wall.

Right at the entrance to the compound, there is a small wooden box, reminding me of the bird houses I used to build as a child. When I opened it, I realize it was a sort of “farewell box” filled with notes addressed to Brodsky – in Italian, English but mostly in Russian. Some contained just a few lines but some were the 4-5-page long letters.

Ezra Pound and his mistress Olga are buried in the Protestant section – his tomb is hard to spot; it’s to the left of the central path and resembles a flowerbed. However, if you wish to visit the place he lived last in Venice, head to Dorsoduro, his house address is 252 Calle Querini (on the Rio Fornace).

Space is limited on the island, although an enlargement is under way, and burials are squeezed in tightly. Nowadays dead Venetians are only guaranteed a few years of rest on San Michele – after a period of around ten years, remains are exhumed and stored in an ossuary. Discreet noticeboards around the entrance list the timetable for exhumations.

Carnevale di Venezia

But of course, my husband and I arrived to Venice to witness and be part of the Carnevale! Celebrated 10 days before Lent (and ending on Throve Tuesday), “carnevale” literally means “farewell to meat”. First mentioned in 1162, it became particularly famous in the 17th and 18th century, when well-headed revelers came from all over Europe to take part in the festivities. Masks became ubiquitous, affording anonymity and pardoning 1,000 sins. They permitted the commoners to attend the balls and mingle with the Venetian nobility. Important to mention that Carnevali of the 18th century tended to last 2 and even 3 months, starting as early as November, so no wonder the doges condemned and the popes denounced them. However nothing could spoil the Venetian Carnevale spirit until Napoleon arrived in 1797 and put an end to the party. Resuscitated in 1980, by local tourism powers to fill the winter months, Carnevale isn’t as promiscuous as in its heyday, however the smart branding policy helped establish Carnevale’s image as neither a free-for-all outdoor party nor a continuation of the exclusive private balls in the Grand Canal palazzi available to only a few.

Today, with or without a ball, there are plenty of fun things to do in the streets. The moment you land, an airpot usher would hand you a schedule and a map of all the events taking place in town. You’ll find a patchwork of musical and cultural performance, many of them free of charge, that appeal to all tastes, nationalities, ages and budgets. At any given moment, events are staged in many of the city’s dozens of piazzas and special art exhibits are mounted at numerous museums and galleries. However, keep in mind that Carnevale is not for those who dislike crowds, as the crowds are what it is all about. All of life becomes a stage, and everyone is on it. Whether you spend months creating an elaborate costume or hire one from multiple ateliers in town, Carnevale is about giving in to the spontaneity of the magic and surprise around every corner, the mystery behind every mask.

Masks and costumes are everywhere, with the emphasis on the historical, because Venice’s Carnival is a chance to relive the glory days of the 1700s, when Venetian life was at its most extravagant. But you might encounter everything from male geisha to Three Musketeers, so be prepared. In my opinion, the city is the quintessential set and the perfect venue as even Hollywood couldn’t create a more evocative location. This is a celebration about history, art, theater and drama. Venice and Carnevale were made for each other!

I guess there are several ways to experience the festival. You can buy a mask at one of hundreds of mask shops, put it on and blend in with the crowd. You can even add a cape to make it more dramatic. Nevertheless, my husband and I wanted to have an ultimate Venetian Carnevale experience, that is why we decided to attend a traditional Venetian ball. A few months prior, we researched the site related to the festivities which indicated many activities, including information about private balls. Since Il Ballo del Doge organized by Antonia Sautter (she designed and executed all the costumes for “Eyes Wide Shut”) was sold out, we optioned for the second best – The Grand Masquerade Ball at Palazzo Flangini that fell on Saturday, February 6.

After booking our tickets online (€880 per person), we received a few follow-up emails: we were to inform the ball organizers about our food preferences and allergies, as well as languages spoken or preferred to be spoken at the table. Another email requested our detailed body measurements and once we provided all the information, we were sent a catalogue of costumes in our sizes to pick. Dimitris and I selected a few to match each other’s outfits and luckily, our first choice was available. We were given a set time to come for the costume trial. A tip -try to arrange a trial as soon as possible as by the time we were booking, there were very few open time slots left if any. A few days before the ball, we stopped at Tragicomica shop in San Polo at 8 am to try out our costumes and choose accompanying items  – powdered wig, a cape and a mask for me and trendy shoes with a buckle for my husband. Price €1100 for the 24-hour costume rentals. I want to point out that the “costume” wasn’t really a costume, it was a real dress (weighing about 10 kg with multiple underskirts and blouses), professionally and very carefully done. It was a state-of-an-art dress, both, mine and my husband’s.

The very next day, the concierge at the hotel arranged a costume pick up for us, while we were getting ready for a photo session with Pietro Volpato (€300 for 4 hours). Indisputably, Venice was a perfect place and Carnevale was a perfect opportunity to capture this beautiful moment of us, dressed as the 18th century nobility promenading the city’s alleyways. It was the last Saturday of the Carnival so Piazza San Marco and every street in Venice was full of masked merry people, many dressed up in period costumes! Pietro was a perfect photographer, very knowledgeable and respectful of others and believe me, it is not an easy task to take pictures when you are just one of 50 other guys with a camera!

Violin d’Oro organized a small party at the hotel’s restaurant so before heading out to the Ball, we came down and had a few glasses of Prosecco. We took a water taxi to Palazzo Flangini (built in the 17th century by a Greek Cypriot family) and got to its main Grand Canal entrance at around 20.30.

After checking in my cape and making sure I was looking my best, we entered the main hall on the ground level. For the next 45-60 minutes we were entertained by multiple performances, from dancers and musicians to violin players and satirical artists, with Casanova in charge! And trays with petit fours and Prosecco were coming in, ceaselessly. At around 21.30, the maitre d’hotel announced that dinner was going to be served shortly and asked everyone to proceed to “piano nobile” named after Giuseppe Sardi (the architect of the palace). 

The room was decorate on par with our costumes and in perfect accordance with everybody’s mood. We weren’t fools to expect to dine with the real nobility of Venice. Everyone at the Ball was a tourist, just like us, but we all got caught in a moment… one moment that took place somewhere in the 18th century. Once we got seated at assigned tables (we got an English speaking one), I had a chance to look around and scan both the guests and the decorations. The place held about 150-200 guests. And even though, majority of people wore masks, I still could tell that the most of them were between 25 and 45 years old. Our table had another American couple from San Francisco and a few New Zealanders. Every woman openly paraded the excitement of being dressed in the most elaborate costume she had ever wore in her life (including her wedding dress), and I felt exactly the same way. And if women took full advantage of all those skirts and high wigs, men looked very proper and even sombre, as if the shoe buckles or thick frock coats with gold embroidery lent them more dignity, power, or wealth!

Chandeliers, crystals, exquisite china, romantic candlelit ambience were all matched by a very delicious dinner. And all throughout the courses, we were entertained by opera singers and Casanova with his gang of masked artists.

After dinner was over, at around 23.30, we went downstairs for some proper dancing and more drinks. I assume the period music would have been a perfect match for our mood, but I am glad the DJ played something from our, 21st era. We left at around 2.30 and it took me some time to fall asleep that night. We spent a day in a magical city, dressed in magnificent clothes, dancing at a private Ball in one of the Grand Canal Palazzi. It was worth every penny and every moment of planning.

Food

Venice might be a compact town but during our 10-day stay, we hardly saw any grocery stores or street vendors, so keep in mind to research shop locations in advance, if you are planning to buy food and cook at your AirBNB. However, Venice has plenty of restaurants, cafes and little eateries. Map of “Food in Venice”. We found Fuori (Calle dello Spezier, 2764) and Bar Redentore (Via S. Maurizio, 30173) to be perfect places to grab a quick breakfast or a cup of coffee with Venetian biscuits. Vino Vino (Ponte delle Veste, 2007/A) was one of our regular places – no-frills, always busy and always serving good quality food at more than a reasonable price. Hotel recommended us to try Trattoria alla Scala (Corte Lucatello, 571) and even though it wasn’t easy to find, their fish carpaccio and grilled sardines are totally worth it. Well, the service and ambience were excellent too. During the Carnevale, we literally got caught in a concert right in the middle of our dinner.

If you are in for something more posh and “dressy”, try Antico Martini (Campo Teatro Fenice, 2007), on the same campo as La Fenice. Founded in 1720 as a spot to enjoy the new trend of drinking coffee, we were told that this is one of the best restaurants in Venice. We dined there on the night we attended an opera.

For drinks, I recommend Terrace at the Gritti Palace as service was impeccable and the views – like nothing else in the world. For the taste of the true local Venetian cicchetti paired with excellent Italian wine – try Cantine del Vino gia Schiavi (Fondamenta Nani, 992). But when our friends Brooke and Till came to visit us in Venice, we all went to Cantina do Spade (San Polo, 859), founded in 1448!!!! And the food was superb! However, if those are not enough, check out the list Francine Segan (food author) sent me:

  • Ca’ d’Oro/ Alla Vedova, Cannaregio, 3192 – run by the same family for over a century, most beloved bacaro in Venice
  • La Cantina, Cannaregio – very near alla Vedova, specialties: beef tongue; fresh ricotta
  • All’Arco, San Polo 436 – pesce-crudo-topped toasts, near Rialto fish market, favorite with locals
  • Al Merca, San Polo 213 – terrific lo spritz
  • Al Timon, Cannaregio- favorite with locals
  • Anice Stellato, Cannaregio – frittura mista
  • gia Schiavi, Dorsoduro 922 – superb porchetta sandwiches, near Guggenheim Museum
  • do Mori, San Polo 429 -near the Rialto, try “francobolli” (postage stamp)-mini sandwich of chicory, gorgonzola cheese & cold cuts. Other specialty is musetto (pork snout) sandwich
  • do Spade. San Polo 860 – dating to 15th c
  • Osteria Alla Ciurma San Polo – meatballs & stuffed zucchini flowers
  • Osteria Bancogiro Campo San Giacometto, 122, 30125 Rialto – black polenta topped with baccalà mantecato
  • da Fiore, San Marco 3461 Calle de le Boteghe, 3461 – Polpette di carne
  • Rosticceria Gislon ,Calle della Biscia, 5425, San Marco – inexpensive, excellent lunch favorite with locals
  • Torrefazione Cannareggio/ Marchi,–favorite local coffee shop– Cannaregio, 1337, near the Jewish Ghetto

Centuries ago, in an effort to flee barbarians, Venetians left dry land and drifted out to a flotilla of “uninhabitable” islands in the lagoon. Survival was difficult enough, but no Venetian has ever settled for mere survival. The remote ancestors of the present inhabitants created the world’s most beautiful city. To your children’s children, however Venice might be nothing more than a legend. The city is sinking at an alarming rate of about 5 cm per decade, and at the same time, the damp climate, mold and pollution are contributing to the city’s decay. Estimates are that if no action is taken soon, one-third of the city’s art will deteriorate within the next decade or so. Clearly, Venice is in peril and we must do everything in our power to save it.

As our stay came to an end, I realized that I still had a long list of places to visit. But I was also deeply and utterly in love with this place, home to Casanova, Titian, Vivaldi, Marco Polo and Helen Cornaro, the first woman to get a University degree in the 17th century. I knew, that Henry James was write when he wrote: “A visit to Venice becomes a perpetual love affair”, and mine has just begun.

Pictures.

Part I, part II, part III and professional photoshoot with Pietro Volpato is here.

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]]> https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/venice2016-2/feed/ 0 Venice, Italy. Part I. February 2016 https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/venice2016-1/ https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/venice2016-1/#comments Fri, 19 Feb 2016 03:01:48 +0000 http://svetanyc.com/?p=3557 “When I went to Venice, my dream became my life.” – Marcel Proust “Venice opens her arms to all whom others shun. She lifts up all whom others abase. She welcomes those whom others persecute. She cheers the mourner in his grief and defends the disposed and the destitute with charity and love. And so...

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]]> “When I went to Venice, my dream became my life.” – Marcel Proust

“Venice opens her arms to all whom others shun. She lifts up all whom others abase. She welcomes those whom others persecute. She cheers the mourner in his grief and defends the disposed and the destitute with charity and love. And so I bow to Venice with good reason. She is a living reproach to [papal] Rome.” – Pietro Aretino in his address to Doge Andrea Gritti, 1527

If you have never been to Venice, you haven’t seen the most beautiful city in the World. When people ask me about my favorite place, I always tell the truth – Beirut –  because this is where my heart is. However, I can’t deny the uniqueness and charms of Venice, it is a perfect place to fall in love with and it absolutely deserves all the fuss! A truly Byzantine city built by refugees on mud banks amid the marshy lagoons of the Adriatic in the 5th century, it rose to acquire a rightful title of the Empire and to rule the seas for over a thousand years! Successful leadership and trade brought immense wealth and with that wealth the Venetians built a magnificent city, a stunning composition of stone and waves that still evokes wonder today, and called her – La Serenissima!

Strangely, I have never had an urgent desire to visit Venice, maybe because so many people have already been there and I always preferred the “roads less traveled”. However, to mark my first anniversary of successfully completing a chemotherapy, my husband and I decided to attend a Carnevale di Venezia (Venetian Carnival), perhaps one of the World’s most famous affairs. So, in February 2016, we flew to Venice and spent 10 days there, half of which fell on a very hectic and colorful end of the Carnival and half, on a quiet and very local post-Carnival time.

It doesn’t take long to figure out what makes Venice so special and unique – it is a fact that since the 12th-14th centuries, when the success of the Venetian Empire was celebrated in art and architecture throughout the city, very little of the essential fabric of Venice has been altered. The city’s sounds are still those of footsteps and the cries of boatmen. The same streets, without any sight of modern traffic lights, are still trodden. It is, as if living in those times! So come and succumb to the magic of this improbable place whose streets are full of water and where the glories of the past are evident and alive at every turn.

Literature.

History.

In the 5th century A.D., at the head of the Adriatic Sea, the lush plains and hills of the Veneto were hard hit by successive waves of Germanic and Hun invasions, for they stood at the crossroads of the eastern and western halves of the broken Roman empire. In the old days of the Pax Romana this area had been one of great beauty and wealth. Patavium (modern Padua) had boasted of its affluent citizens who reaped rich profit from the wool and wine afforded by the verdant countryside. Noble Aquileia, the “eagle city”, was a place of opulence with heavy fortified walls surrounding magnificent forums, palaces, monuments, and harbors. Its markets and homes spilled over with every luxury and delicacy that a vast empire could afford. But in 452 Attila the Hun came to Aquileia…. A few survivors of this devastation searched for refuge but found none. Where could one flee when even Rome itself was in danger? With no secure retreat on the mainland, ragged bands of refugees made their way to the marshes of the nearby lagoon, a brackish hideaway between the land and the Adriatic sea. They loaded their families and what possessions they could scrounge onto boats and rowed out to the sandy islands of a new watery world. There they found safety from the barbarians. There, they hoped, they could survived the end of their world. Although they could never have known it, the desperate men, women, and children in those lonely boats were the founders of one of history’s most remarkable cities. From an archipelago of sand, trees, and marsh they would bring forth the extraordinary beauty that is Venice – a city unlike any other. It didn’t happen all at once or easily. For centuries the lagoon remained a collection of small island communities. Even after settlements began to cluster around Rialto, Venice was still a place of wood and mud. But that, too, would change. By the 13th century Venice was no longer simply a town built on the water, it had become western Europe’s second largest city with a maritime empire that stretched across the Mediterranean Sea. Venice and wealth would become hindered concepts. (Some late Roman sources reveal the existence of fishermen on the islands in the original marshy lagoons. They were referred to as incolae lacunae (“lagoon dwellers”). The traditional founding of Venice is identified with the dedication of the first church, that of San Giacomo on the islet of Rialto (“High Shore”) — said to have taken place at the stroke of noon on 25 March 421 – the Feast of the Annunciation.

According to John the Deacon, a Venetian chronicler writing some four centuries later, it was Patriarch Christopher of Grado who first suggested that the scattered lagoon dwellers elect a leader to help bring peace and unity to the region. In 697, we are told, the 12 tribunes elected a dux (or “doge” in Venetian dialect), who was a Byzantine official with a power base in Eraclea. Depending on the tradition one accepts, that first doge was either Paolo Lucio Anafesto or Orso Ipato. And so the Venetians had a leader – the first of 118 doges that would govern the city-state.

Orso’s successor, Deusdedit, moved his seat from Eraclea to Malamocco in the 740s. He was the son of Orso and represented the attempt of his father to establish a dynasty. Such attempts were more than commonplace among the doges of the first few centuries of Venetian history, but all were ultimately unsuccessful. During the reign of Deusdedit, Venice became the only remaining Byzantine possession in the north and the changing politics of the Frankish Empire began to change the factional division of Venice as well. One faction was decidedly pro-Byzantine, with a desire to remain well-connected to the Empire. Another faction, republican in nature, believed in continuing along a course towards practical independence. The other main faction was pro-Frankish; supported mostly by clergy (in line with papal sympathies of the time), they looked towards the new Carolingian king of the Franks, Pepin the Short, as the best provider of defence against the Lombards. A minor, pro-Lombard, faction was opposed to close ties with any of these further-off powers and interested in maintaining peace with the neighboring Lombard kingdom, which surrounded Venice except on the seaward side. Due to the Lombard conquest of other Byzantine territories, settlement on the islands in the lagoon increased, as more refugees sought asylum there.

During the reign of pro-Lombard Domenico Monegario (756-764), Venice changed from a fisherman’s town to a port of trade and center of merchants. Shipbuilding was also greatly advanced and the pathway to Venetian dominance of the Adriatic was laid. Also during his tenure, the first dual tribunal was instituted – each year, two new tribunes were elected to oversee the doge and prevent abuse of power. Succeeded by pro-Byzantine Maurizio Galbaio, the new doge’s long reign (764-787) vaulted Venice forward to a place of prominence not just regionally (he oversaw the expansion of Venice to the Rialto islands) but internationally, and saw the most concerted effort yet to establish a dynasty, as he was succeeded by his equally long-reigning son, Giovanni.

Dynastic ambitions were shattered when the pro-Frankish faction was able to seize power under Obelerio degli Antoneri in 804. Obelerio brought Venice into the orbit of the Carolingian Empire. However, by calling in Charlemagne’s son Pepin to his defence, he raised the ire of the populace against himself and was forced to flee during Pepin’s siege of Venice. The siege proved a costly Carolingian failure – it lasted six months, with Pepin’s army ravaged by the diseases of the local swamps that eventually forced them to withdraw in 810. A few months later Pepin himself died, apparently as a result of a disease contracted there. In the aftermath, an agreement between Charlemagne and the Byzantine Emperor Nicephorus in 814 recognized Venice as Byzantine territory and granted the city trading rights along the Adriatic coast. 

As the community continued to develop and as Byzantine power waned, Venice autonomy grew, leading to eventual independence. And so it was that in the midst of this troubled medieval lagoon a republic, founded on the authority of the “people of Venice”, was born. It was the only one left in the world – and it would last for a thousand years. It grew and thrived uniquely there because Venice itself was unique. Land was scarce in that watery world, status and wealth, therefore, were based not on a landed aristocracy, but on entrepreneurial skill. The Venetians were exporting no ideology to the world, they weren’t hoping to found lesser states in their own image, they had no missionary zeal. They were not great builders, like Romans, they were not fanatics, like the Spaniards. They were above all money-people – every Venetian, wrote Pope Pius II in the 15th century, was a slave to “the sordid occupation of trade”.

The successors of Obelerio inherited a united Venice. During the reigns of Agnello Participazio (811-827) and his two sons, Venice grew into its modern form. Though Eraclean by birth, Agnello was an early immigrant to Rialto and his rule was marked by the expansion of Venice towards the sea via the construction of bridges, canals, bulwarks, fortifications, and stone buildings. During his reign, the ducal seat moved from Malamocco to the highly protected Rialto, the current location of Venice. The monastery of St. Zaccaria, the first ducal palace and basilica di San Marco, as well as a walled defense between Olivolo and Rialto, were subsequently built here. Agnello was succeeded by his son Giustiniano, who brought the body (or parts of the body) of Saint Mark the Evangelist to Venice from Alexandria and made him the patron saint of Venice.

At that time, Venice had all the makings of an independent trading center – ports, defensible positions, leadership – but no glorious shrine to mark the city’s place on the world map. So Venice did what any ambitious, God-fearing medieval city would do: it procured a patron saint. The story goes that in 828, two Venetian merchants with the help of two Greek monks, stole the relics, believed to be the body of Saint Mark, from Alexandria (at the time controlled by the Abbasid Caliphate) and brought them to Venice. In order to avoid Muslim custom officials, who were notified of the alleged robbery and suspected the Venetian in committing this crime, the relics were wrapped in cabbage leaves and placed in barrels between the layers of pork, thus preventing the inspectors from thoroughly examining the ship’s cargo. Once the relics reached Venice, instead of being used to adorn the church of Grado, which claimed to possess the throne of Saint Mark, it was kept secretly by Doge in his modest palace. Possession of Saint Mark’s remains was “the symbol not of the Patriarchate of Grado, nor of the bishopric of Olivolo, but of the city of Venice.” In his will, Doge Giustiniano asked his widow to build a basilica dedicated to Saint Mark, which was erected between the palace and the chapel of Saint Theodore Stratelates, who, under Byzantine rule had been the original patron of Venice. There are multiple versions of why St. Mark, in particular, was made the main religious symbol of the city (a local legend says that St. Mark had visited the lagoon islands and been told by an angel that his body would rest there) but none of the stories I’ve researched could pass a litmus test. After reading multiple historical accounts, I came to a conclusion that St. Mark was chosen simply because his relicts got into the hands of the Venetians before any other relics. The story of St. Mark’s bones wouldn’t end there. Matters came to a head in 976, when a war between the factions broke out in the streets and canals of Venice. The Morosinis and their supporters won the day, pursuing their enemies all the way to the Ducal Palace. There they set fire to houses built around the fortified structure. The fire grew into a mighty blaze that cut across the San Marco area, consuming not only the Palace, but also the wooden chapel of San Marco, the old church of St. Theodore, and some 300 other buildings. The body of St. Mark, so carefully purloined from Alexandria and installed in the newborn Venice, was forever lost in the flames. However, even today, every time you see a symbol of winged Lion of St. Mark holding an open book with words “Pax Tibi Marce Evangelista Meus” written on it – know, you are either in Venice or in one of the lands, that historically belonged to Venetian Empire. And lions you will see… plenty!

By the late 11th century Venice has become a city that scarcely resembled the muddy archipelago of islands to which Doge Angello Partecipazio had led his people in 811. It now teemed with a population of some 50,000 souls, making it the second largest city in western Europe. Within a century it would double again in size. To sustain that kind of growth in a lagoon, additional land was necessary. As rivers were filled in, marshes drained, and bridges built, parish boundaries in Venice came to separate neighborhoods (sestieri) rather than independent island communities. Although Venetians retained their parish identities, their various patron saints, once a sign of prestige and independence, were now displaced by devotion to St. Mark, the patron of the doge and the state. It is not surprising, then, that the Venetians decided to build a new church of San Marco, one that would better reflect the wealth and prestige of their vibrant community. 

To construct a new Basilica di San Marco – the third and final version of the doge’s great chapel – a battery of builders, craftsmen, and artists were hired in Constantinople during the reign of Doge Domenico Contarini (1043-1070). The Greek architects modeled the new stone structure on the Church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople – a now-lost building that had served as the burial site for emperors since the time of Constantine the Great. San Marco was probably the first stone church to be built in Venice, and it was certainly the grandest to be found anywhere in the region, perhaps in the entire West. While stunning, the new San Marco conspicuously lacked the body of St. Mark, lost in the fire that destroyed the first church in 976. An insurmountable problem to the modern mind, perhaps, but it was nothing of the sort in the Middle Ages. If God wished to preserved the body of St. Mark, he would very well do so. After all, had he not sent his angel to foretell that the Evangelist would one day rest in Venice? A variety of stories soon developed to explain the “rediscovery” of St. Mark’s body after the dedication of his new church. In most of them, the doge, patriarch, and citizens prayed fervently to have the relics restored, now that a suitable temple had been built to house them. The body was then miraculously revealed by the falling away of plaster or stone from a wall or (in most versions) a column in the new church. Behind the broken material could be seen either the arm or the whole body of the patron saint. Even today, citizens of Venice would ardently argue that the bones of St. Mark are the original ones, which I found amusing.

From the 9th to the 12th century, Venice developed into a city state (the other three were Genoa, Pisa, and Amalfi). Its strategic position at the head of the Adriatic made Venetian naval and commercial power almost invulnerable. The Republic of Venice seized a number of places on the Dalmatian coast of the Adriatic before 1200, mostly for commercial reasons, because pirates based there were a menace to trade. The city became a flourishing trade center between Western Europe and the rest of the world (especially the Byzantine Empire and Asia) with a naval power protecting sea routes from Islamic piracy. The Doge began to carry the titles of Duke of Dalmatia and Duke of Istria. Later mainland possessions, which extended across Lake Garda as far west as the Adda River, were known as the “Terraferma”, and were acquired partly as a buffer against belligerent neighbors, partly to guarantee Alpine trade routes, and partly to ensure the supply of mainland wheat, on which the city depended. In building its maritime commercial empire, the Republic dominated the trade in salt, acquired control of most of the islands in the Aegean, including Cyprus and Crete, and became a major power-broker in the Near East. It was an empire of coasts and islands, distributed along the republic’s trading routes to the orient and it was changing all the time. It was never, so to speak, definitive as it had no moment of completion, and Venice’s possessions varied enormously in style, size and longevity. Its entire population was probably never more than 400,000, but it extended in scattered bits and pieces from the Adriatic in the west to Cyprus in the east. Venice remained closely associated with Constantinople, being twice granted trading privileges and exemption from taxes in the Eastern Roman Empire, through the so-called Golden Bulls or “chrysobulls” in return for aiding the Eastern Empire to resist Norman and Turkish incursions. Those Golden Bulls were a considerable factor in the city-state’s later accumulation of wealth and power serving as middlemen for the lucrative spice and silk trade that funneled through the Levant and Egypt along the ancient Kingdom of Axum and Roman-Indian routes via the Red Sea.

By then, the institute of the Doge, his role, election process and duties were very much established. Despite a labyrinth of regulations surrounding the doge, some of the most effective checks were informal – including a tacit consensus on the age requirement. No legal minimum for holding the office had to be enacted, since it was unthinkable that he should be young. The average age of doges at their election was 72. This reflected a general attitude toward age that made political careers in Venice culminate late in life. Thus, nobles strove to let only tested and trusted men enter the higher office. There were long years of seasoning and observation, of service at lower posts, of diplomatic or military assignments, preceding elevation to the government’s central positions. Men rarely reached the Senate until they were in their 50s or 60s. The highest offices were kept beyond a man’s expectable reach, in Venice, until he was old and had little time to build any power base separate from those who had elected him.

In Venice, the age criterion was strengthened by supplementary considerations. It was better for a doge not to have sons holding office or showing ambitions. In fact it was best to have no sons at all, who might use their father’s power to increase their own. It didn’t hurt, either, for a doge-elect to have outlived his wife (if any) – which meant there was often no dogaressa whose relatives could gain advantage from her connection. Other things being equal, the ideal candidate for doge would seem to have been an 80 y.o. man who had no surviving relatives, who had never married (to acquire relatives on his wife’s side), and had no children who could marry into other families. Celibacy could not actually be required but the conditions was sometimes approximated.

There were four main stages in the checking of a doge’s power – first at his election, followed closely by his renunciatory oath, then during his tenure of office, and finally in the punitive scrutiny after his death. After 1172 the election of the doge was entrusted to a committee of forty, however after a deadlocked tie at the election of 1229, the number of electors was increased from forty to forty-one. And so, the election went the following way:

  • From the Larger Council, 30 men were chosen by lot;
  • then 9 were chosen by log from 30;
  • then the 9 voted for 40;
  • then 12 were chosen by lot from the 40;
  • then the 12 voted for 25;
  • then 9 were chosen by lot from the 25;
  • then the 9 voted for 45;
  • then 11 were chosen by lot from the 45;
  • then the 11 voted for 41;
  • then the 41 elected a new doge. I hope I didn’t lose you here.

In a ceremonial formula for consulting the Venetians, when a new doge was chosen, before he took the oath of investiture he was presented to the people of Venice with the words: “This is your doge, if it please you.” This practice came to an end in 1423, after the election of Francesco Foscari, who was presented with the unconditional statement: “Your doge”. The Doge of Venice’s Oath of office (as of 1192) was: “We will consider, attend to, and work for the honor and profit of the people of Venice in good faith and without fraud”.

Elected for life (unless forcibly removed from office), doges had great temporal power at first, however after 1268, the doge was constantly under strict surveillance: he had to wait for other officials to be present before opening dispatches from foreign powers; he was not allowed to possess any property in a foreign land, etc. After a doge’s death, a commission of inquisitori passed judgment upon his acts, and his estate was liable to be fined for any discovered malfeasance. The official income of the doge was never large, and from early times holders of the office remained engaged in trading ventures, which kept them in touch with the requirements of the grandi.

One of the ceremonial duties of the doge was to celebrate the symbolic marriage of Venice with the sea. The ceremony, established in about 1000 A.D. to commemorate the Doge Pietro II Orseolo‘s conquest of Dalmatia, was originally one of supplication and placation, when Ascension Day was chosen for the doge to set out on his expedition. It took a form of a solemn procession of boats, headed by the doge’s ship (from 1311 the Bucentaur), out to sea by the Lido port. A prayer was offered that “for us and all who sail thereon the sea may be calm and quiet”, whereupon the doge and the others were solemnly aspersed with holy water, the rest of which was thrown into the sea while the priests chanted “Asperges me hyssopo, et mundabor” (“Sprinkle me with hyssop, and I will be clean” – Psalm 51:7). The ceremony took its later and more magnificent form after the visit of Pope Alexander III and the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick I to Venice in 1177. The pope drew a ring from his finger and, giving it to the doge, bade him cast such a one into the sea each year on Ascension Day, and so wed the sea. Henceforth the ceremony, instead of placatory and expiatory, became nuptial. Every year the doge dropped a consecrated ring into the sea, and with the Latin words “Desponsamus te, mare, in signum veri perpetuique domini” (“We wed thee, sea, as a sign of true and everlasting domination”) declared Venice and the sea to be indissolubly one. Despite the end of the office of the doge and the destruction of the Bucentaur, the ceremony of the marriage of the sea continues to this day – it is performed by the mayor of Venice aboard a smaller ceremonial barge called the Bissona Serenissima.

The doge took part in ducal processions, which started in the Piazza San Marco, when he would appear in the center of the procession, preceded by civil servants ranked in ascending order of prestige and followed by noble magistrates ranked in descending order of status. Until the 15th century, the funeral service for a deceased doge would normally be held at St Mark’s Basilica, where some early holders of this office are also buried. After the 15th century however, the funerals of all later doges were held at the Basilica di San Giovanni e Paolo, and twenty-five doges are buried there.

Outsiders could only wonder at this mystery: the most stable government had the most kaleidoscopic system of governing. What held the whole thing together? Not any agency of government, but the single source – a compact patrician class that had a secure monopoly on all the shifting positions.

I brought the topic of Doge into attention in order to discuss an event that, in early 13th century, made Venice a truly imperial power – the Fourth Crusade  and the role old and blind Doge Enrico Dandolo played in the destruction of the Byzantine Empire. Venice was involved in the Crusades almost from the very beginning; 200 Venetian ships assisted in capturing the coastal cities of Syria after the First Crusade, and in 1123 they were granted virtual autonomy in the Kingdom of Jerusalem through the Pactum Warmundi. In 1110, Ordelafo Faliero personally commanded a Venetian fleet of 100 ships to assist Baldwin I of Jerusalem in capturing the city of Sidon. In the 12th century, the republic built a large national shipyard that is now known as the Arsenal – this installation, toward the east of the city, was in its time the largest industrial complex in the world. At the beginning, it was still a modest eight-acre naval depot. But as the Venetian empire spread, and a high-efficiency fleet became an urgent necessity, all of the city’s ship-related production activities were concentrated here behind protective walls. By the 16th century the Arsenal had grown to its present extent – 60 acres (a circumference of 5 km), and it could, in a crisis, produce 50 galleys in a month, besides servicing, periodically inspecting, and repairing the ships that were Venice’s muscle and bone as a world power.

The Fourth Crusade led by Franks originally intended to conquer Muslim-controlled Jerusalem through invasion of Egypt. Venice would provide a fleet of more than 500 galleys to carry 30,000 Crusaders, but not for less than 84,000 silver marks – approximately double the yearly income of the king of England at the time. When only one-thirds of the proposed Frankish forces turned up in Venice, it became obvious that the Crusaders would never be able to pay their debt to Venice, so their leaders made a deal to follow the orders of the cunning and manipulative Doge Dandolo instead. The fleet bypassed Egypt and went straight to its main target – the greatest city of Christendom and the richest metropolis in the world – Constantinople, and…. sacked it in 1204. After the fall of Constantinople, the former Roman Empire was partitioned among the Latin Crusaders and the Venetians. Venice subsequently carved out a sphere of influence in the Mediterranean known as the Duchy of the Archipelago. When you read historical accounts, the Fourth Crusade doesn’t seem logical at all – Venice was a Byzantine city, its merchants had extensive trading routes and posts in Constantinople and the Republic was often granted a tax-free status by the Empire, however, Dandolo’s greed went beyond that. He wanted all the treasures and glory to himself, at the expense of one of the supreme cities of the Christian faith. This was Dandolo’s moment of fulfillment. He assumed yet another title, that of Despot, and hobbled around the city, we are told, wearing the scarlet buskins of an emperor himself. He was the true hero of the hour, the strategist of the expedition, the inspiration of the assault, the disposer of the spoils – Blind old Dandolo! as Byron was to apostrophize him. Th’octogenarian chief, Byzantium’s conquering foe! Constantinople’s capture and destruction was described as one of the most profitable and disgraceful sacks of a city in history.

Venetians knew exactly what they wanted from Constantinople. They took the head of St. Stephen, to go with the martyr’s feel already enshrined in the monastery of San Giorgio at home, and a multitude of lesser sacred relics, with the prodigious gold, silver and enameled reliquaries which the Byzantine craftsmen had made for them: shared out among the Venetian churches, these would vastly increase the profitable allure of the city as a pilgrim port. They took a series of exquisite enameled cameos from the Pantocrator Monastery, to make the Pala d’Oro even more magnificent, and a pair of great carved doors to make the entrance to the Basilica still more impressive. They took a few of marble columns, floridly decorated, to enrich the Piazzetta. They took a quartet of little porphyry knights, probably Roman tetrarchs of an Augustus and a Caesar, to embellish a corner of St. Mark’s. They took stones and panels from all over Constantinople, classical fragments, plinths of lost statues, streaked slabs of alabaster, to be shipped home as ballast and built into the texture of Venice. A visitor today to Basilica di San Marco will witness much of what Dandolo sent home. Indeed, it is impossible not to see it as the church had sparse ornamentation in 1200. Today, it is encrusted with marble slabs, arches, columns, and sculptures placed in an almost haphazard fashion wherever they might fit.

Most deliberately of all, the Venetians snatched two supreme treasures of the city which would forever afterwards be associated with their own power and providence. The first was the miraculous icon of the Nikopoeia, the Victory-worker: this they spirited away from the Church of the Virgin, where it made its weekly revelation, to be enshrined in a new chapel within the Basilica, and brought it forth in glory or in supplication whenever a victory had been won, or a disaster was to be averted. The second was the grand quadriga of bronze horses from the emperor’s box at the Hippodrome: from these they removed the harnesses and detached the horses’ necks and heads as they couldn’t transport them in one piece. The horses are a Roman copy of a Greek masterwork, and were probably cast around the time of Christ or a century or two after. In the 4th or 5th century they were moved to Constantinople, where they pulled their triumphant charioteer for centuries. We can imagine the surprise with which the Venetians unpacked this strange gift as for a few years they argued over where to place them, but finally decided on the facade of San Marco. There is no connection between neither St. Mark and horses, nor between the horses and the Piazza, however they were to be associated always with the independence of Venice from Constantinople as from all other suzerains, never to be bridled again, but to stand side by side until the end of the Republic.

From that day, Venice became the thief and the chief repository of Byzantine art and craftsmanship. Constantinople was left stripped of its glories. “Oh city, city, eye of all cities”, mourned Nicetas. “Thou hast drunk to the dregs the cup of the anger of the Lord”. Needless to say that when Venetian ships opted to head home loaded with booty and forgetting all about the Crusades, the Franks were left alone to struggle onwards to the Christian duty.

A year after the Crusade, in 1205, in his 90s by now and in the plentitude of his triumph, Dandolo died. He had never gone home to Venice again, but of all the Doges of Venice, he remains the best-known to this day as a supreme champion to the Venetian, and an absolute rough to all philhellenes. He was interred, of course, in St. Sophia, in a pillared sarcophagus on the south balcony. Nobody quite knows what happened to his bones when, two centuries later, Constantinople fell into the hands of the Turks, and the cathedral was turned into a mosque. Some say they were thrown to the dogs, others suggest that when in 1479 the Venetian painter Gentile Bellini was fulfilling a commission from the Sultan of Turkey in Constantinople, he was allowed to take the old warrior’s remains home to Venice, together with his sword and helmet. Anyway, his tombstone remains in Hagia Sophia to this day – a plain oblong slab carved crudely with his name, so next time you are in Istanbul, make sure to stop by and kick it, hard! He was a terrible old man but he loved his city and the city still loves him: there is a monument to him in Latin, on his modest house near the Rialto bridge, No 4172 San Marco!

It is true that Dandolo and his Venetians, more absolutely than anyone else, had destroyed the Byzantine civilization. The Latin Empire didn’t last long, as Greek emperors were restored to the throne within half a century, and presided over a late revival of the Byzantine genius. But the city and its empire were never the same again. The spirit had gone, the heritage was dispersed, and in the 15th century, when the Turks took it in their turn, they found it half-ruined still. Greeks everywhere never forgave the Venetians, whom they regarded as the instigators of this tragedy. The Venetians themselves actually considered moving their capital to Constantinople – “truly our city”, is how an official document described it – but lost their share of sovereignty there, and their patriarchate too, when the Greek emperors came back in 1261. They were not finished with the city, however. They maintained a trading colony there for two centuries more, and were to fight battles in its waters, against one enemy or another, on and off until the 17th century. But they left no monuments on the peninsula above the Golden Horn. The Venetian quarter that Dandolo acquired left no trace, the covered bazaar now called the Spice Bazaar, is on the site of the Venetian market, but not a sprocket is left, not a machicolation, to show that they were even there.

Having taken Constantinople for all it was worth, Venice set it sights on distant shores. Through the overland trip of native son Marco Polo in 1271-1291, Venetian trade routes extended all the way to China. Rival Genoa’s routes to the New World were proving slower to yield returns, and the impatient empire cast an envious eye on Venice’s spice and silk-trade routes. In 1372 Genoa and Venice finally came to blows over an incident in Cyprus, initiating 8 years of maritime warfare that took a toll on Venice. Genoa’s allies Padua and Hungary took the opportunity to seize Venetian territories on the mainland, and in 1379 a Genoese fleet appeared off the Lido. Venetian commander Carlo Zeno‘s war fleet had been sent out to patrol the Mediterranean, leaving the city outflanked and outnumbered. But the Genoese made a strategic mistake: instead of invading, they attempted to starve out the city. With stores of grain saved for just such an occasion, Venice worked day and night to built new ships and defences around the islands. Venetian commander Vittore Pisani mounted a counter-attack on the Genoese fleet – but his forces were inadequate. All hope seemed lost for Venice, until ships flying the lion of St. Mark banner appeared on the horizon: Carlo Zeno had returned. Venice ousted the Genoese, exerting control over the Adriatic and a backyard that stretched from Dalmatia to Bergamo.

As ships came and went through Venice’s ports daily, carrying salt, silks, spices and an unintentional import: rats infested with fleas carrying bubonic plague. In 1348 the city was still recovering from an earthquake that had destroyed houses and drained the Grand Canal, when the plague struck. Soon as many as 600 people were dying every day, and undertakers’ barges raised the rueful cry: “Corpi morti! Corpi morti!” (Bring out your dead!) Within a year, more than 50,000 Venetians died. No one was sure how the disease had spread, but Venice took an unprecedented step of appointing 3 public health officials to manage the crisis. Observing that outbreaks seemed to coincide with incoming shipments, Venice decided in 1403 to intercept all arriving on Isola di Lazzaretto Buovo. Before any ship was allowed to enter the city, it was required to undergo inspections, and its passengers had to wait for a quarantena (40-day period) while Venetian doctors monitored them for signs of plague. This was the world’s first organized quarantine station, setting a precedent that saved untold lives. While the plague struck Italy’s mainland as many as 50 more times before 1500, the outbreaks often seemed to miraculously bypass Venice. The city’ faithful chalked up their salvation to divine intervention, and built the spectacular churches of Il Retendore and Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute as monumental thanks.

Despite all, the Venetian empire was dazzlingly cosmopolitan as Venice turned arrivals from every nation and creed into her trading partners – as long as everyone was making money, cultural boundaries need not apply. Armenians, Turks, Greeks, Germans and Persians became neighbors along the Grand Canal and Jewish and Muslim refugees and other groups, widely persecuted in Europe at that time had a chance to peacefully settled into established communities in Venice. By the late 13th century, at the peak of its power and wealth, 300 shipbuilding companies in the Arsenale had 16,000 employees and Venice had 36,000 sailors operating 3,300 ships, dominating Mediterranean commerce. It was the time when Venice’s leading families vied with each other to build the grandest palaces and support the work of the greatest and most talented artists.

By the mid-15th century, Venice’s maritime ventures had left the city swathed in golden mosaics, rusting silks and incense to cover mucky summer smells that were the downsides of a lagoon empire. In case of trade disputes or feuds among neighbors, the Republic retained its calm through a complex political system of checks, balances and elections. The city was governed by the Great Council, which was made up of members of the noble families of Venice. The Great Council appointed all public officials and elected a Senate of 200 to 300 individuals. Since this group was too large to be efficient, a Council of Ten presided by Doge (also called the Consiglio dei Dieci or the Signoria), controlled much of the administration of the city. This, what many regard, shadowy secret service, thwarted conspiracies by deploying Venetian spies throughout Venice and major European capitals. Apparently, Venice had no qualms about spying on its own citizens to ensure a balance of power, and trials, torture and executions were carried out in secret. Still, compared with its neighbors at the time, Venice remained a haven of tolerance – the state was notable for its freedom from religious fanaticism and executed nobody for religious heresy during the Counter-Reformation. This apparent lack of zeal contributed to Venice’s frequent conflicts with the Papacy, which threatened Venice with the interdict on a number of occasions, and twice excommunicated the city (the second, most noted, occasion was in 1606, by order of Pope Paul V.)

Despite Venice’s role in the decline of Byzantine Empire, or the fact that Constantinople sided with Genoa against Venice – warfare wasn’t enough to deter two powers from doing business with one another for centuries. Even when Constantinople fell to Ottoman rule in 1453, trade carried on as usual and the Venetian dialect was still widely spoken across the eastern Mediterranean. After Suleiman the Magnificent took over Cyprus in 1571, Venice sensed its maritime power slipping, and allied with the papal states – Spain and an arch-rival Genoa – to keep the Ottoman sultan at bay. The same year a huge allied fleet (much of it provided by Venice) routed the Turks at the battle of Lepanto in Greece. However, it was too late to stop Ottomans from expanding their territory.

Legend has it that when Turkish troops took over the island of Paros, one of the prisoners was Cecilia Venier-Baffo, who was apparently the illegitimate daughter of Venice’s noble Venier family, a niece of the doge, and possibly the cousin on Sebastiano Venier (hero of the battle in Lepanto). Cecilia became the favorite wife of Sultan Salim II of Constantinople, and when he died in 1574 she took control as Sultana Nurbanu (Princess of Light). The regent of Sultan Murad III, she was a faithful pen pal of Queen Elizabeth I of Britain and Catherine de Medici of France. According to historian Alberto Toso Fei, the Sultana’s policies were so favorable to Venetian interests that the Venetian senate set aside special funds to fulfill her wishes for Venetian specialties – from lapdogs to golden cushions. Genoa wasn’t so thrilled by her favoritism, and in 1582 Sultana was poisoned by Genoese assassins.

In the end, if the Venetians needed Islam, Islam didn’t greatly need Venice, and in four fierce wars and innumerable skirmishes the Turks gradually whittled away the republic’s eastern possessions. One by one the colonies fell, until at the moment of Venice’s own extinction as a state, in 1797, she had nothing much left but the Ionian Islands, off the coast of Greece, and a few footholds on the eastern shore of the Adriatic – properties useless to her anyway by then, except as reminders of the glorious past. World was changing as well. Christopher Columbus discovered the New World in 1492. Then Vasco da Gama of Portugal found a sea route to India by rounding the Cape of Good Hope during his first voyage of 1497–99, destroying Venice’s land route monopoly. France, England and the Dutch Republic followed. Venice’s oared galleys were at a disadvantage when it came to traversing the great oceans, and therefore Venice was left behind in the race for colonies.

While many European city-states continued to plot against one another, they were increasingly eclipsed by marriages cementing alliances among France, England and the Habsburg Empire. As it lost ground to these nations and the seas to pirates and Ottomans, Venice took a different tack, and began conquering Europe by charm. Venice’s star attraction were its parties, music, women and art. Nunneries in Venice (where nuns admitted male “clients”) held soirees to rival those in its ridotti (casinos), and Carnevale lasted up to 3 months. Claudio Monteverdi was hired as choir director of San Marco in 1613, introducing multi-part harmonies and historical operas with crowd-pleasing tragicomic scenes. Monteverdi’s modern opera caught on: by the end of the 17th century, Venice’s season included as many as 30 operas, 10 of which were usually brand new composed for Venetian venues.

New orchestras required musicians, but Venice came up with a ready workforce: orphan girls. Circumstances had conspired to produce an unprecedented number of Venetian orphans: on the one hand were plague and snake-oil cures, and on the other were scandalous masquerade parties and flourishing prostitution. Funds poured in from anonymous donors to support ospedaletti (orphanages), and the great baroque composers Antonio Vivaldi and Domenico Cimarosa were hired to lead orphan orchestras. Socialites began gifting snuffboxes and portraits painted by Venetian artists as fashionable tokens of their esteem, and salon habitues across Europe became accustomed to mythological and biblical themes painted in luminous Venetian colors, with the unmistakable city on the water as a backdrop. On baroque church ceilings across Venice, frescoed angels play heavenly music on lutes and trumpets – instruments officially banned from churches by Rome. Venetian art became incredibly daring, with Titian and Veronese bringing voluptuous red colors and sly social commentary to familiar religious subjects.

With maritime trade revenues dipping and the value of the Venetian ducat slipping in the 16th century, Venice’s fleshpots brought in far too much valuable foreign currency to be outlawed. Instead, Venice opted for regulation and taxation. Rather than baring all in the rough-and-ready streets around the Rialto, prostitutes could only display their wares from the waist up in windows, or sit bare-legged on windowsills. Venice decreed that to distinguish themselves from noblewomen who increasingly dressed like them, ladies of the night should ride in gondolas with red lights. By the end of the 16th century, the town was flush with some 12,000 registered prostitutes, creating a literal red-light district. Today, red beacons don’t mean much but you can still enjoy a decadent dinner at Antiche Carampane (Old Streetwalkers) near Ponte della Tette (Bridge of the Tits).

Beyond red lights ringing the Rialto, 16th to 18th century visitors encountered broad grey areas in Venetian social mores. Far from being shunned by polite society, Venice’s “honest courtesans” became widely admired as poets, musicians and taste makers. As free-spirited, financially independent Venetian women took lovers and accepted lavish gift from admirers, there became a certain fluidity surrounding the definition of a cortigiana (courtesan). During winter masquerades and Carnevale, Venice’s nobility regularly escaped the tedium of salons and official duties under masks and cloaks, generating enough gossip to last until the summer social season in Riviera Brenta villas provided fresh scandals. By the 18th century, less than 40% of Venetian nobles bothered with the formality of marriage, and regularity of Venetian marriage annulments scandalized even visiting French courtiers.

In January 1789 Lodovico Manin, from a recently ennobled mainland family, was elected doge, as it would turn out – the last one! The expenses of the election had grown throughout the 18th century, and now reached their highest ever. The patrician Pietro Gradenigo remarked: “I have made a Friulian doge; the Republic is dead.” C. P. Snow suggests that in the last half century of the republic, the Venetians knew that the current of history had begun to flow against them, and that to keep going would require breaking the pattern into which they had crystallized. Yet they never found the will to break it. By the year 1792, the once great Venetian merchant fleet had declined to a mere 309 merchantmen.

When Napoleon arrived in 1797, Venice had been reduced by plague and circumstances from 175,000 to fewer than 100,000 people. Even though, Venice declared its neutrality in the war between France and Austria, it didn’t stop Napoleon, who with a claim, “I want no more Inquisition, no more Senate; I shall be an Attila to the state of Venice”, entered the city. Venetian warships managed to deter one French ships by the Lido, but when Napoleon made it clear he intended to destroy the city if it resisted, the Maggior Cosiglio (Grand Council) decreed the end of the Republic. The doge reportedly doffed the signature cap of his office with a sign, saying, “I won’t be needing this anymore”. Though Napoleon only controlled Venice sporadically for a total of 11 years, the impact of his reign is still visible. He grabbed any Venetian art masterpiece that wasn’t nailed down, and displaced religious orders to make room for museums and trophy galleries in the Gallerie dell’Accademia  and Museo Correr. Napoleon’s city planners lifted remaining restrictions on the Jewish Ghetto, filled the canals and widen city streets to facilitate movement of troops and loot.

When Napoleon lost control of Venice in 1814, Austria had grand plans for it – locals were obliged to house Austrian solders, who spent off-duty hours carousing with bullfights, beer and their new happy-hour invention – the spritz (a Prosecco and bitters cocktail). Finding their way back home afterwards was a challenge in Venetian calli (alleyways), so the Austrians implemented a street-numbering system. To bring in reinforcements and supplies, they dredged and deepened entranced to the lagoon and began a train bridge in 1841. Under the Austrians, the population of Venice fell from 138,000 to 99,000. When a young lawyer Daniele Manin suggested reforms to Venice’s puppet government in 1848, he was tossed into prison – sparkling a popular uprising against the Austrians that would last 17 months. Austria responded by bombarding and blockading the city and in July, it began a 24-day artillery bombardment, raining some 23,000 shells down on the city and its increasingly famished and cholera-stricken populace, until Manin finally managed to negotiate a surrender to Austria with a guarantee of no reprisal. Yet the indignity of Austria’s suppression continued to fester, and when presented with the option in 1866, the people of Venice and the Veneto voted to join the new independent kingdom of Italy under King Vittorio Emanuele II.

Glamorous Venice gradually took on a workday aspect in the 19th century, with factories springing up on Giudecca and around Mestre and Padua, and textiles industries setting up shops around Vicenza and Treviso. When Mussolini rose to power after WWI, he was determined to turn the Veneto into a modern industrial powerhouse and a model Fascist society. Venice emerged relatively unscathed from WWII, however the mass deportation of the city’s historic Jewish population in 1943 shook Venice to its very moorings. When the Veneto began to rebound after the war, many Venetians left for the mainland, Milan and other economic centers. Recent demographical studies indicate that only 55,000 people live in the historic city of Venice which spread out across a group of 118 small islands. Today’s Venice traditions are upheld by art institutions such as La Fenice, Goldoni Theater, The Biennale and a dozen world-class museums. Venice’s admirers have been the heroes of its story many times, not only funding vital restorations after the devastating flood of 1966 (Save Venice Inc), but also filling its concert halls and galleries, keeping its signature arts and crafts traditions alive and providing a steady stream of outside inspiration.

I would like to end the history of Venice with the sonnet of Wordsworth “On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic”:

Once did She hold the gorgeous east in fee;
And was the safeguard of the west: the worth
Of Venice did not fall below her birth,
Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty.
She was a maiden City, bright and free;
No guile seduced, no force could violate;
And, when she took unto herself a Mate,
She must espouse the everlasting Sea.
And what if she had seen those glories fade,
Those titles vanish, and that strength decay;
Yet shall some tribute of regret be paid
When her long life hath reached its final day:
Men are we, and must grieve when even the Shade
Of that which once was great is passed away.

 

Don’t expect to have the city to yourself. Even in February, Venice has its admirers. More accessible than ever and surprisingly affordable given its singularity, Venice remains a self-selecting city: it takes a certain bravery to forgo the convenience of cars and highways for slow boats and crooked calli. However, lack of traffic was something my husband found very relaxing and refreshing. There is a chance that the fellow travelers share the same passions for art, music, history, architecture, food and drink, since Venice really isn’t big on business conventions, nightclubs or extreme sports (unless you include glass-shopping).

If you are coming in winter, like us, make sure to bring comfortable and water-resistant shoes (I went for a pair of Aqua Italia boots). If your visit falls on the Carnevale, don’t forget to book tickets for a traditional Venetian Masquerade Ball or at least acquire a costume and proudly parade it on Piazza San Marco. A good paper map or an app, combined with an excellent sense of direction are must, but even then I ran into the city’s resistance to allow me to locate, and sometimes, reach my destination. While packing, make sure to bring only the most important and necessary items as you most likely will end up hauling your luggage through narrow alleyways and multiple bridges from vaporetto (water-bus) stop to your hotel and back. Otherwise, keep your camera ready, your eyes wide open… and always remember to turn around!

Logistics.

Before leaving for Venice, I pre-booked online the tickets to AliLaguna – a public water bus servicing airport with the rest of Venice (€25 round trip, €16 – one way). So after landing at the Marco Polo airport, we received our tickets at the AliLaguna booth and boarded a blue line to Piazza San Marco stop – about 90 minutes away. During our stay, we used Vaporetto just a few times, #1 and #2 to travel along the city’s main thoroughfare, the Grand Canal, which perhaps is the best way to get acquainted with Venice, its palaces and remarkable life-on-the-water. On one occasion I took vaporetto #4.2 to travel to Cimitero San Michele (St. Michel cemetery) and on the way back, it took me around all of Venice, giving me yet another understanding of the fact, that the city was indeed built on multiple islands.

We split out 10 day stay into two hotels. The first one, Hotel Violino d’Oro, is a boutique hotel situated in a restored 18th century Palazzo Barozzi on a small campiello (square with a marble fountain). Conveniently located (just one bridge to cross), this very comfortable and moderately-priced hotel is just 5 minutes walk from Piazza San Marco. The room was small, like everywhere in Venice, but handsomely furnished. Service was friendly and very accommodating (concierge flawlessly arranged a delivery of our rented costumes from the shop to our room). During the last Saturday of the Carnevale all guests received an invitation to join the masked soiree. It took place in the hotel’s restaurant where for several hours the guests were served cheese, petit-fours, unlimited Prosecco and were entertained by musicians. P.S. Masks were provided gratis and we got to keep them too. I would definitely recommend this hotel.

The second half of our stay we spent at the Castello Suite (room 410-411) of the Gritti Palace, in my opinion, the most elegant hotel I have ever stayed. This recently renovated palazzo of 15th century doge Andrea Gritti was Hemingway’s “home in Venice”. He described it “as the best hotel in the city of great hotels”. Judging by hundreds of wall photos, its museum aura has drawn some of the world’s greatest theatrical, literary, political and royal figures. The Palace definitely evokes a well-tailored, well-upholstered private home of Venetian nobleman – discreet, tranquil and utterly upscale. Located along Grand Canal, it has a very easy and short access to AliLaguna and vaporetto stop, but also has a private dock in case you want to arrive in style on one of the gondolas or water-taxis. The suite was impeccably designed to resemble the time period when palace was built, every room and common space were tastefully decorated and adorned with gilt mirrors, the antiques, the hand painted 18th century-style furnishings and even Archimede Seguso’s glass. My three favorite places were the black-marbled bathroom of our suite, the library and the deck with fantastic views of the canal. Staying at the Gritti Palace highlighted all the experiences of Venice, as every day, I woke up in a palace and felt both – like a Venetian and a Noble woman. Nothing can replace this feeling or add to it!

Since we had ten days in Venice (I still found it not long enough), our stay, in terms of sights, was pretty hectic and dispersed. So, unlike my usual chronological reviews, I split my review into two parts and organized this blog entry according to “sights not to miss” and neighborhoods, which I would describe in details. I will use the original Italian names for all the sights, providing their English equivalents in parenthesis. Below is a map of Venice with all its areas clearly marked and I will start with one, you can’t and should not miss – Piazza San Marco.

Piazza San Marco

Piazza San Marco (St. Mark’s Square) – the heart of Venice then and now – it is one of the world’s most beautiful public squares, full of historical sights, cafes and tourists. It is a place where Venice rewards its guests with treasures even if they never duck inside a museum or church. If you have only one day in Venice – spend it at Piazza San Marco as it is home to city’s major attractions – Basilica di San Marco, Campanile, Palazzo Ducale, Torre dell’Orologio, Museo Correr, and more. Together with the Piazzetta, they form the social, religious and political centre of Venice and are commonly considered together. When Napoleon arrived in 1797 he called the square “the finest drawing room in Europe”, and it may very well remain today, with its elegant buildings, symmetrical colonnades and elegant shops.

The Piazza is dominated at its eastern end by the west facade of Basilica di San Marco with its great arches and marble decoration, the Romanesque carvings round the central doorway and, above all, the four horses which preside over the whole piazza and are such potent symbols of the pride and power of Venice that Napoleon, after he had conquered Venice, had them taken down and shipped to Paris.

The Piazzetta dei Leoncini is an open space on the north side of the Basilica and is characterized by an elevated level with a further elevated well in the center that is flanked by two crouching lion statues. These two lions (called Leoncini) were fashioned by Giovanni Bonazza in 1722 from red marble originating in Cottanello, a municipality in the province of Rieti. The unique aspect of this area is that the well within is the lone public well throughout all of Piazza San Marco. It has since been capped but still stands as a beautiful testament to its design as part of the square. The neo-classic building on the east side adjoining the Basilica is the Palazzo Patriarcale, the seat of the Patriarch of Venice.

Beyond that is Torre dell’Orologio, completed in 1499, above a high archway where the street known as the Merceria (a main thoroughfare of the city) leads through shopping streets to the Rialto, the commercial and financial centre. To the right of the clock-tower is the closed church of San Basso, designed by Baldassarre Longhena (1675), sometimes open for exhibitions.

To the left is the long arcade along the north side of the Piazza, the buildings on this side are known as the Procuratie Vecchie, the old procuracies, formerly the homes and offices of the Procurators of St. Mark, high officers of state in the days of the republic of Venice. They were built in the early 16th century. The arcade is lined with shops and restaurants at ground level, with offices above. The restaurants include the famous Caffè Quadri, which was patronized by the Austrians when Venice was ruled by Austria in the 19th century, while the Venetians preferred Florian’s on the other side of the Piazza.

Turning left at the end, the arcade continues along the west end of the Piazza, which was rebuilt by Napoleon in about 1810 and is known as the Ala Napoleonica (Napoleonic Wing). It holds, behind the shops, a ceremonial staircase which was to have led to a royal palace but now forms the entrance to the Museo Correr (Correr Museum).

Turning left again, the arcade continues down the south side of the Piazza. The buildings on this side are known as the Procuratie Nuove (new procuracies), which were designed by Jacopo Sansovino in the mid-16th century but partly built (1582–86) after his death by Vincenzo Scamozzi and finally completed by Baldassarre Longhena in about 1640. Again, the ground floor has shops and also the Caffè Florian. This famous cafe opened in 1720 by Floriano Francesconi and was patronized by the Venetians when the hated Austrians were at Quadri’s. The upper floors were intended by Napoleon to be a palace for his stepson Eugène de Beauharnais, his viceroy in Venice, and now houses the Museo Correr. At the far end the Procuratie meet the north end of Sansovino’s Libreria (mid-16th century), whose main front faces the Piazzetta.

Opposite to this, standing free in the Piazza, is the Campanile of St Mark’s church (1156-73, last restored in 1514), rebuilt in 1912 ‘com’era, dov’era ‘ (as it was, where it was) after it suddenly collapsed on 14 July 1902. Adjacent to the Campanile, facing towards the church, is the elegant small building known as the Loggetta del Sansovino, built by Sansovino in 1537-46, and used as a lobby by patricians waiting to go into a meeting of the Great Council in the Doge’s Palace and by guards when the Great Council was sitting.

Across the Piazza in front of the church are three large mast-like flagpoles with bronze bases decorated in high relief by Alessandro Leopardi in 1505. The Venetian flag of St Mark used to fly from them in the time of the republic of Venice and now shares them with the Italian flag.

At the corner near the campanile, west side is occupied entirely by the Biblioteca Marciana designed by Jacopo Sansovino to hold the library of St. Mark. Building started in 1537 and it was extended, after the death of Sansovino, by Vincenzo Scamozzi in 1588-91. The building was said by Palladio to be “the most magnificent and ornate structure built since ancient times”. The arcade continues to the end of the building with cafés and shops and also the entrances to the Archaeological Museum, the Biblioteca Marciana and the National Library, which occupy the floors above.

If Piazza San Marco is Europe’s drawing room, then the Piazetta (also known as the Molo) is Europe’s antechamber. Hedged in by the Palazzo Ducale, Sansovino’s library and a side of Basilica, this tiny square faces the Grand Canal. Two giant granite columns, brought back from Greece by the ill-fated Doge Michele, grace the square. The former doge had actually returned with 3 columns in all, yet when the Venetians tried to raise one of them, it slipped out of their control and fell into the water, sinking deep into the mud of the Bacino, where it presumably still lies. Determined to put up the other two, Doge Ziani spread the word that he would handsomely pay anyone who could manage the feat. After some month, an engineer presented himself who claimed that he could do the job. All that he asked in returned was the right to set up a gambling table between the columns for the rest of his life. The favor was granted, the columns were raised (by some method unrecorded in the chronicles), and the gambling commenced. Unfortunately, the engineer lived rather longer than many expected. It is said that to discourage his clients the state later decreed that all hangings should occur between the two columns, leaving the dead bodies swinging gently over the determined gamblers. On the western column Ziani placed a statue of a winged lion, the symbol of St. Mark, probably the same bronze statue that rests there today. It is an ancient, over 2300 years old work, perhaps from China or Persia, the original likely depicting a basilisk to which the Venetians simply added wings. The other column may have received a statue of St. Theodore taming a dragon, the original patron of the city, although the current statue was produced in the 14th century and the dragon looks very much like a crocodile. The Columns that hold the statues of St. Mark and St. Theodore stand on stone bases with almost totally effaced carvings on them – but when they were still decipherable, there were identified as reliefs showing craftsmen at their work. There 12th century figures represented, on the Theodore column, smiths, fishermen, basket makers and wine sellers. On the Mark’s column – there were fruit sellers, butchers, and cattle dealers.

On the far side of the Piazzetta is the side wall of the Palazzo Ducale (Doge’s Palace) with Gothic arcades at ground level and a loggia on the floor above. Up to the seventh pillar from the front, this is the building as rebuilt in 1340, while the extension towards the Basilica was added in 1424. The capitals of the columns of the extended part are mostly copies of those in the front of the Palace. The seventh pillar is marked by a tondo (circular sculpture) of Venice as Justice above the first floor loggia. To the left of this, there are two red pillars in front of the first floor loggia, contrasting with the other pillars which are of white Istrian stone. The red pillars are made of red Verona marble. They may have framed the Doge’s chair on ceremonial occasions, but it seems that important malefactors found guilty of crimes against the state would sometimes be executed there.

On the rear corner of the Doge’s Palace is a sculpture of the Judgment of Solomon with the archangel Gabriel above (the sculptors are not known). Set back from this corner is the Porta della Carta, the ceremonial entrance to the palace, built in fine Gothic style in 1438-43, probably by Giovanni and Bartolomeo Bon. At the top is a figure of Venice as Justice, the theme of fair judgment and justice being much emphasized on this side of the palace. Below this, the head of Doge Francisco Foscari and the lion before which he is kneeling, were replaced in 1885, the originals having been destroyed on French orders in 1797. The statues on either side of the gateway represent the cardinal virtues of Temperance, Fortitude, Prudence and Charity.

Next to this, on an outside corner of the basilica of St Mark, are four antique figures carved in porphyry, a very hard red granite. They are usually known as the Tetrarchs and said to represent the four joint rulers of the Roman Empire appointed by Diocletian and were formerly thought to be Egyptian. It is now known that they represent the sons of the Emperor Constantine, praised for their loving co-operation on his death in 337. The work originally stood in the Philadelphion in Constantinople, where the missing foot of one of the figures has been recently found.

Beyond this, in front of the South wall of the Basilica are two rectangular pillars always known as the Pillars of Acre. Wrongly thought to be booty taken by the Venetians from Acre in 1258 (hence the name), the pillars actually came from the church of St Polyeuktos in Constantinople (524-527), and were probably taken by the Venetians soon after the fourth crusade in 1204. The ruins of this church, discovered in 1960, revealed the capitals matching the pillars in Venice. Beyond these pillars, opposite the corner of the Basilica, is a great circular stone of red porphyry known as the Pietra del Bando (Proclamation Stone) from which official proclamations used to be read. It has been suggested that this may have formed part of a column on which the so-called Tetrarchs stood.

During the Carnevale, the Piazza serves as a center-stage of the events and is always filled with people (in costumes and without) – drinking, dancing, staring, sightseeing, performing or simply, promenading.

Basilica di San Marco (St. Mark’s Basilica). (Free entry, no video or photos. Large bags have to be checked-in. Modest attire required, no shorts or short skirts. I used Rick Steves’ free audio guide to navigate through the Basilica and its treasures – highly recommend it. Allow 1-1.5 hours) Basilica di San Marco is a treasure chest of booty that was looted during Venice’s glory days, which is ironically most appropriate for a church built to enshrine the stolen bones of a saint. Older than most of Europe’s churches, it feels like a remnant of a lost world.

Present Basilica was constructed in 1063 in its third “re-incarnation”; the first one, built in 832 to host newly “acquired” bones of St. Mark burnt in a rebellion in 976 (together with the relics), but was rebuilt in 978. Originally connected to the Palazzo Ducale, it served as the Doge’s private chapel, however during the 13th century the emphasis of the church’s family function changed to that of a “state church”, with increased power for the procurators. The Bishop’s throne was installed opposite the Doge’s. It was the location for the public ceremonies of the state, such as the installation and burials of Doges, though as space ran out and the demand for grander tombs increased, from the 15th century Santi Giovanni e Paolo (Church of St. John and St. Paul) became the usual burial place. The function of the basilica remained the same until the end of the Venetian Republic, when by Napoleon’s order the church finally became subject to the Patriarch of Venice and became the main Basilica of Venice.

A close look at the facade of the Basilica might very much surprise you – it is a wild mix of East and West, Orthodox and Catholic, Roman-style arches over the doorways, golden Byzantine mosaics, a roofline ringed with pointed Gothic pinnacles and Constantinople – inspired onion domes (wood covered with lead) on the roof. The brick-structure building is blanketed in marble that came from everywhere – columns from Alexandria, capitals from Sicily, and carvings from Constantinople. The columns flanking the doorways show the facade’s variety – purple, green, gray, while, yellow, some speckled, some striped horizontally, some vertically, some fluted – all topped with a variety of different capitals. What is amazing isn’t so much the variety as the fact that the whole thing comes together in a bizarre sort of harmony. Doubtless, it is the most interesting building in Europe, a church that (to paraphrase Goethe) “can only be compared to itself.” 

The mosaic over the far left door shows the theft that put Venice on the pilgrimage map. Two men (in the center, with crooked staffs) enter the church bearing a coffin with the body of St. Mark, who looks pretty grumpy from the long voyage.

Magnificent quadriga of horses as well as the multiple religious portals still decorate the facade. And even though the horses are no longer the original ones (they finally succumbed to pollution and had to be moved inside) and many pieces of mosaic had to be replaced, the stories depicted on portals didn’t change and neither the facade – giving Venice an aura of tradition. Please pay attention to the main entrance – it is a 6th century bronze-paneled Byzantine door, which likely once swung in Constantinople’s Hagia Sophia.

Since there is no-camera policy, the moment we walked-in, I became all eyes and ears. Gold!!! Gold!!! So much gold!!! Golden tiles cover 8000m2 of the ceilings and the floors of the church. After about 10 minutes of stillness (luckily, we came after the Carnevale and there were very few people), I realized that I was transported back in time to the long lost Byzantine empire. The Fourth Crusade and looting of Constantinople paid off and resulted in this not only remarkably preserved but also living and breathing small Byzantium universe. I have to admit that Istanbul’s main historical Christian sites always make me feel sad and nostalgic, but not the Venetian Basilica – it still is a thriving glory of the Orthodox Byzantium. I won’t go into lots of details (please listen to the audio guide), but will mention a few I found the most interesting.

The Atrium, built a century after the rest of the church, was decorated during the 13th century with mosaics covering the small cupolas, vaults and lunettes. These are some of the oldest and finest mosaics in the church. A detailed Old Testament story, chosen from the books of Genesis and Exodus, starting with the Creation, decorates part of the Atrium. The other part is dedicated to the scenes from the story of the Great Flood and Noah’s Ark. Venetians – great shipbuilders themselves – could definitely appreciate the fable of Noah, and if you look closely at the scene where Noah is putting all species of animals into the Ark, two by two, the lions head the line!

The entire upper part of the Nave is decorated in mosaic – nearly 4,200m2. These golden mosaics are in the Byzantine style, though many were designed by artists from the Italian Renaissance and later. The often-overlooked lower walls are covered with green, yellow, purple and rose-colored marble slabs, cut to expose the grain, and laid out in geometric patterns. Even the floor is mosaic, with mostly geometrical designs. It rolls like the sea, as Venice is sinking and shifting, creating these cresting waves of stone.

The church is laid out with 4 equal arms, topped with domes, radiating out from the center to form a Greek cross (+) which symbolized perfection, rather than a Latin cross which emphasizes man’s sinfulness. As an Orthodox, I found the church to be very familiar in design and decoration: central floor plan, domes, mosaics, and iconic images of Mary and Christ as Pantocrator – ruler of all things. In this part of Basilica, the mosaics start to give off a “mystical, golden luminosity”, the atmosphere of the Byzantine heaven. The air itself seems almost visible, like a cloud of incense – it is a subtle effect, one that grows on you as the filtered light changes. Perhaps, there are holier churches, but none is as stately.

Pentecost mosaic (4) is one of the oldest in the church (c. 1125), and it has distinct “Byzantine” features: a gold background and apostles with halos, solemn faces, almond eyes, delicate blessing hands, and rumpled robes, all facing forward. This is art from society still touchy about the Bible’s commandment against making “graven images” of holy things. The Byzantine style emphasizes otherworldliness rather than literal human detail.

Right in the heart of the church (5), Christ – having lived his miraculous life and having been crucified for man’s sins – ascends into the starry sky on a rainbow. He raises his right hand and blesses the universe. This isn’t the dead, crucified, mortal Jesus featured in most churches, but a powerful, resurrected son of god, the ruler of all. Christ’s blessing radiates, rippling down to the ring of white-robed apostles below. They stand amid the trees of the Mount of Olives, waving good-bye as Christ ascends. Mary is with them, wearing blue with golden Greek crosses on each shoulder. From there saints, goodness descend, creating the Virtues that ring the base of the dome between the windows. In Byzantine churches, the window-lit dome represented heaven, while the dark church below represented earth – a microcosm of the hierarchical universe.

Beneath the dome at the four corners, the four Gospel writers (Matev, Marc, Lica and Ioh) thoughtfully scribble down the heavenly events. This wisdom flows down like water from the symbolic Four Rivers below them, spreading through the church’s four equal arms (the four corners of the world), and baptizing the congregation with God’s love. The church building is a series of perfect circles within perfect squares – the cosmic order – with Christ in the center blessing us.

The rod screen (6), topped with 14 saints, separates the congregation from the high altar, heightening the mystery of the Mass. The pulpit on the right (7) was reserved for the doge, who led prayers and made important announcements. The Venetian church service is a theatrical multimedia spectacle combining music, words, images, costumes, props, set design and even stage directions. Coincidentally or not, the first modern opera – also a multimedia theatrical experience – was written by St. Mark’s maestro di cappella, Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643).

In the north transept (the arm of the church to the left of the altar), today’s Venetians pray to a painted wooden icon of Mary and baby Jesus known as Nikopeia or “Our Lady of Victory”. Located on the east wall, it is a small painting crusted over with a big stone canopy and was brought to Venice as the trophy of the Fourth Crusade. Supposedly painted by the evangelist Luke, it was once enameled with bright paint and precious stones and Mary was adorned with a crown and neckless of gold and jewels (now on display in the Treasury). Now the protector of Venetians, this Madonna has helped the city persevere through plagues, wars, and crucial football games.

Tresoro (Treasury, entry €3) holds an amazing collection of precious items, most of them stolen from Constantinople. Byzantine chalices, silver reliquaries, monstrous monstrances, and icons done in gold, silver, enamels, gems, and semiprecious stones. As Venice thought of itself as the granddaughter of Rome and the daughter of Byzantium, Venetians consider these treasures not stolen, but inherited. This is marvelous handwork, but all the more marvelous for having been done when Western Europe was still mired in mud.

In the display case of the main room, the hanging lamp with the protruding fish (sea creatures) features 4th century Roman rock crystal framed in 11th century Byzantine metalwork. In fact, several Treasury items represent the fruits of labor by different civilizations over a thousand-year period. Just behind the lamp, a black bucket, carved with scenes of satyrs chasing nymphs, epitomizes the pagan world that was fading as Christianity triumphed. Also in the case are blue-and-gold lapis lazuli icons of the Crucifixion and of the Archangel Michael – standing like an action hero, ready to conquer evil in the name of Christ. See various chalices made of onyx, agate, and rock crystal, and an incense burner shaped like a domed church.

The glass cases contain the bowls and urns from the 3 medieval cultures that cross-pollinated in the Eastern Mediterranean: Venetian, Byzantine and Islamic. Next, on a wooden pedestal, comes the Urn of Artaxerxes I, an Egyptian-made object that once held the ashes of the great Persian king who ruled 2,500 years ago (465-425 B.C.) The next case holds religious paraphernalia used for High Mass, including the 600-year-old crosier (shepherd staff) still used today on holy days.

Next is the small marble Ciborio di Anastasia. It may be a gift from “Anastasia”, the name carved on it in Greek. She was a lady-in-waiting in the court of the Byzantine emperor Justinian (483-565). Legend has it she was so beautiful that Justinian (a married man) pursued her amorously, so she had to dress like a monk and flee to a desert monastery. On the next wall, there are two large golden altarpiece panels, flanked by two golden candlesticks with amazing details – from the smiling angels on top all the way down to the roots. The relics room contains the glowing alabaster altar with a reliquary showing Christ being whipped (from 1125). It also holds a stone (supposedly) from the column he was tied to.

Under the green marble canopy, supported by four intricately carved alabaster columns, sits the high altar. Inside the altar is an urn (not visible) with, what Venetians believe to be the mortal remains of Mark, the Gospel writer. There, he rests in peace, as an angel had promised him.

The Pala d’Oro (11) (Golden Altarpiece, €2 to enter) is a stunning golden wall made of 250 blue-backed enamels with religious scenes, all set in a gold frame and studded with 15 hefty rubies, 300 emeralds, 1,500 pearls and assorted sapphires, amethysts and topaz. The Byzantine-made enamels were part of the Venetian’s plunder of 1204, subsequently pieced together by Byzantine craftsmen specifically for St. Mark’s high altar. It is a bit much to take in all at once, but get up close and find several details you might recognize. In the center of all, Jesus sits on a golden throne, with a halo of pearls and jewels. Like a good Byzantine Pantocrator, he dutifully faces forward and gives his blessing while stealing a glance offstage at Mark and the other saints. Along the bottom row, Old Testament prophets show off the books of the Bible they’ve written. With halos, solemn faces, and elaborately creased robes, they epitomize the Byzantine icon style. Mark’s story is depicted in the panels along the sides. In the bottom left panel, Mark meets Peter (seated) at the gates of Rome, to receive his call. In the bottom right panel, the two Venetian merchants return by ship, carrying Mark’s coffin here to be laid in rest. This magnificent Pala d’Oro sits on a swivel and is swung around on festival Sundays so the entire congregation can enjoy it.

Byzantium excelled in the art of cloisonné enameling: a piece of gold leaf is stamped with a design, then filled in with pools of enamel paint, which are baked on. Some saints even have pearl crowns or jewel collars pinned on. This kind of craftsmanship – and the social infrastructure that could afford it – made Byzantium seem like an enchanted world during Europe’s dim Middle Ages.

To get to the Museum (€5), you have to ascend the staircase near the main entrance. In the first room, there are several models of the church at various stages of its history. Notice how the original domes, once squat, were made taller in the 13th century, leaving today’s church with a dome-within-a-dome structure. The museum has three highlights – view of the interior from the loggia, view of the Piazza San Marco from the outdoor balcony, and the famous bronze horses.

From the indoor loggia, take another look at the Basilica’s interior and its thousands of meters of mosaic. The Pentecost mosaic, described earlier, is right above you. Its unique design at the very top signifies the Trinity: throne (God), Gospels (Christ), and dove (Holy Spirit). The couples below the ring of apostles are the people of the world (try to find Asia, Judaea and Cappadocia), who, despite their different languages, still understood the Spirit’s message. The loggia was reserved for women only, while men stayed in the Nave, and not only provided the close-up view of the ceilings, but also gave a better appreciation for the patterns of the mosaic floor – one of the finest in Italy – that covers the ground like a Persian carpet.

Museum also contains the mosaic fragments that once hung in the church – from the earlier days c.1070 to more recent c.1700. The mosaics, made from small cubes of stone or colored glass pressed into wet clay, were assembled on the ground, then cemented onto the walls. Artists draw the pattern on paper, lay it on the wet clay, and slowly cut the paper away as they replace it with cubes.

Further on is Sala dei Banchetti. This large, ornate room – once the doge’s banquet hall – is filled with religious objects, tapestries and carpets that once adorned the church, Burano-made lace vestments, illuminated music manuscripts, a doge’s throne, and much more. In the center of the hall stands the most prestigious artwork here, the Pala Feriale, by Paolo Veneziano (1345), with scenes from Mark’s life.

La Quadriga is undoubtedly one of the most famous treasures of the Basilica. These bronze statues were not hammered and bent into shape by metalsmiths, but were cast from clay molds by using the lost-wax technique. The bronze is high quality, with 97% copper. Originally gilded, they still have some streaks of gold, but the ruby pupils that gave the horses the original case of “red eye” are long gone. While four-horse statues were once relatively common, this is the only intact group to survive from ancient times. This, in its own right, is a miracle, as bronze work like this almost always ends up being smelted down by conquerors. Originally, la quadriga was placed on top of the atrium, in a specially built pedestal and the doge, speaking to the people, always stood between the horses. However, in 1975, after the threat of oxidation from pollution became eminent, they were sent for cover inside the church.

Once you reach the balcony (pictures are allowed), take your time to enjoy one of Venice’s best views. However, don’t forget to look at the facade, if it isn’t covered with scaffolding, to see how cleverly all the looted architectural elements blend together. Ramble among the statues of water-bearing slaves that serve as drain spouts. Be a doge, and stand between the modern copies of bronze horses overlooking Piazza San Marco – under the gilded lion of St. Mark and in front of the four great Evangelists. Admire the mesmerizing, commanding view of the city, which so long ago was Europe’s only superpower, and today is just a small town with a big history.

Palazzo Ducale (Doge’s Palace). (Pictures allowed, combined ticket is €20, allow 2-2.5 hours). Venice is a city of beautiful facades – palaces, churches, carnival masks – that can cover darker interiors of intrigue and decay. Palazzo Ducale, with its frilly pink exterior, hides the fact that La Serenissima was far from serene in its heyday. The Doge’s Palace housed the fascinating government of this rich and powerful empire. It also served as the home of Doge and for four centuries (1150-1550) this was the most powerful half-acre in Europe. Destroyed by fire on multiple occasions, the early day Palazzo was nothing very grand. It was rather like the palace of an Arab sheikh or African king – a jumble of buildings around a yard, some private, some public, with fortified towers forming part of the defences along the Riva degli Schiavoni. Its southern outlook, over the Basin, was magnificent even then; its eastward prospect, over the often muddy Piazzetta, gave the Doge a view of the public bakeries across the way, and the mishmash of money-changers stalls that clustered around the base of the Campanile.

Exterior. “The Wedding Cake” or “The Pink House” are just a few of the Palazzo Ducale other names. A style is called Venetian Gothic – a fusion of Italian Gothic with a delicate Islamic flair. Originally built in 800, but most of what we see came after 1300, as it was rebuilt and expanded to meet the needs of the empire. If we compare this lacy, delicate and top-heavy structure with the massive fortress-palaces of Florence, we realize the wisdom of building a city in the middle of the sea – they have no natural enemies except for gravity. This unfortified palace in the city with no city walls was the Doge’s way of saying, “I am an elected and loved ruler. I do not fear my own people.”

Before arriving to Venice, I purchased The Secret Itineraries through Palazzo Ducale guided tour (€14 per person, with a right to stay after the tour and explore the Palazzo on my own, 75 minutes). According to their brochure, “The Secret Itinerary covers the rooms and chambers where the delicate work of some of the most important bodies in the Venetian administration was carried out. It offers an interesting insight into the civil and political history of the city, its public organizations and administration of justice.” Our itinerary was the following:

My husband and I were pretty excited to see the underbelly of the Palazzo before exploring its more visited rooms, so we arrived about 30 minutes prior to the start of our private tour at 10.45. We entered Palazzo Ducale via the waterfront entrance and appeared in a splendid Renaissance courtyard, one of the most recent additions to a palace that has benefited from works of many architects with widely varying tastes. The Palazzo is attached to the church, symbolically welding church and state.

Far side of the courtyard contains Scala dei Giganti (Stairway of Giants). Imagine yourself as a foreign dignitary on business to meet the Doge. In the courtyard, you look up a grand staircase topped with two nearly nude statues of Neptune and Mars (representing Venice’s prowess at sea and at war). The Doge and his aides would be waiting for you at the top, between the two statues and beneath the winged lion. No matter who you were – king, pope or emperor – you’d have to hoof it up, as the powerful Doge would descend the stairs for no one. It also was a place of Doge’s coronation, right between the two statues.

Midway along the tourist entrance and the first-floor loggia, there is a face in the wall, called the Mouth of Truth. This fierce-looking androgyne opens his/her mouth, ready to swallow a piece of paper, hungry for gossip. Letterboxes like this (some with lions’ heads) were scattered throughout the palace. Originally, anyone who had a complaint or suspicion about anyone else could accuse him anonymously (denontie secrete) by simply dropping a slip of paper in the mouth. This quiet act set the blades of justice turning inside the palace…

At 10.45 Raffaella, our knowledgeable yet very arrogant guide, arrived and led us (a group of 8) through a narrow door on the ground floor, into the Pozzi (Wells). (My advice – take as many pictures on the go as you can because the guide won’t wait for you). Those were terrible places of detention, consisting of small wet cells, barely lit by oil lamps, ventilated only through round holes in thick stone walls and closed in by locked doors with solid bolts. In each cell there was a wood litter, a shelf for a few things the detainee could keep and a wooden bucket with a lid to contain human excrement. From some writings and drawings on the walls, those cold in winter and hot in summer wells were a pretty desperate places to be.

A narrow staircase took us up to the two small rooms that housed important officers of the institutional machinery: the Ducal Notary and the Deputato alla Segreta. Interconnected, these led into the Square Atrium. The Notary functioned as a sort of secretary to the various magistrature within the Republic, whilst the Deputato alla Segreta kept a special archive for the Council of Ten, containing reserved material. From here we proceeded up to the Office of the Great Chancellor, head of what today would be known as the General Archives. Due to the delicate nature of his work, this was the only public figure to be elected directly by the Great Council.

This staircase led to the large and beautiful Chamber of the Secret Chancellery, whose walls are lined with cabinets containing public and secret documents relating to the work of most of the Venetian magistrature.

Passing through the small room of the Deputy to the Chancellery one comes to the Torture Chamber, also known as the Chamber of Torment; this disturbing place is linked directly with the Prisons. Though torture was practiced in Venice, it was not particularly savage or gruesome, and from the 17th century onwards it was gradually abandoned; by the 18th century it had practically been abolished altogether.

From the Torture Chamber you pass to the so–called Piombi. The name comes from the lead (piombo) covering on the roof. These cells were used exclusively for the prisoners of the Council of Ten, either those accused of political crimes, those awaiting sentence or those serving short prison terms. Located directly under the roof, the 6 or 7 cells were formed of wooden partitions to which were nailed sheets of iron. Though so vividly described by Giacomo Casanova (who spent some time there himself – read here), the Piombi did in fact offer prisoners much better conditions than those in the pozzi (the wells).

From the Piombi we passed directly under the roof to the attic with cabinets located at the corner of the building between the waterfront and canal–side facades. This was the site of one of the corner towers of the much earlier castle occupied by the Doge. The cabinets contain a number of weapons, most of them 16th century.

From this attic, two long flights of stairs brought us to the Chamber of the Inquisitors, a much–feared magistratura that was set up in 1539 to protect state secrets (its full title was Inquisitori alla propagazione dei segreti dello Stato). Two of the three inquisitors were chosen from the Council of Ten, the third from among the district councillors who attended upon the Doge. The ceiling is decorated with works by Tintoretto, painted in 1566–1567.

From there we passed through to the Chamber of the Three Head Magistrates, chosen every month from amongst the members of the Council of Ten. They were responsible for preparing court cases and seeing that the Council rulings were carried out as quickly as possible. The decoration of the ceiling dates from 1553–1554. The octagonal central panel with “The Victory of Virtue over Vice” is the work of Giambattista Zelotti, whilst the side compartments are by Giambattista Ponchino and Paolo Veronese.

After we were done with the Secret Itinerary tour, my husband decided to return to the hotel for a short break, while I, following Rick Steves “Doge’s Palace Tour”, went on exploring the rest of the palace. I returned to the courtyard and this time around, followed the regular tourists to the Scala d’Oro (Golden Staircase). If the palace was architectural propaganda, designed to impress visitors, this 24-karat gilded-ceiling staircase was something for them to write home about. Once you move on, don’t forget to turn around and enjoy the 3-D pattern.

Midway up, at the first landing, turn right and exit into Appartamento del Doge (the Doge’s Apartment). The dozen or so rooms on the first floor are where the doge actually lived. The blue and gold-hued Sala dei Scarlatti (room 5) is typical of the palace’s interior decoration: gold-coffered ceiling, big stone fireplace, silky walls with paintings, and speckled floor. There’s very little original furniture, as doges were expected to bring their own. Despite his high office, the doge had to obey several rules that bound him to the city. He couldn’t leave the palace unescorted, he couldn’t open official mail in private, and he and his family had to leave their own home and live in the Palazzo Ducale.

The large room 6, the Sala dello Scudo (Shield Hall), is full of maps and globes. The main map illustrates the reach of Venice’s maritime realm, which stretched across most of the eastern Mediterranean. With the maps in this room you can trace the eye-opening trip across Asia – from Italy to Greece to Palestine, Arabia, and “Irac” – of local boy Marco Polo (c.1254-1325). Finally he arrived at the other side of the world. This last map (at the far end of the room) is shown “upside-down”, with south on top, giving a glimpse of the Venetian worldview circa 1550. It depicts China, Taiwan (Formosa), and Japan (Giapan), while America is a nearby island with California and lots of Terre Incognite.

In room 7, the Sala Grimani, are several paintings of the lion of St. Mark, including the famous one by Vittore Carpaccio of a smiling lion with the Doge’s Palace and the Campanile in the background (on the long wall). After exploring a dozen or so private rooms of the Doge’s Apartments, via Scala d’Oro, I ascended to the 3rd floor.

Here begins the long series of Institutional Chambers within the Palace, those rooms which housed the highest levels of a political and administrative system that was the object of widespread admiration for centuries. The very immutability of the system was amazing: without any written constitution as such, it was efficient enough to last over time and guarantee social peace. After the mid 1300s, the city was entirely free from riot or rebellion, and no one questioned the rights and abilities which enabled the city’s aristocracy to monopolize management of the State; in fact, the regime symbolized by the Lion of St. Mark enjoyed extraordinary popular support and skillfully nurtured the myth of itself. These chambers housed not only the main organs of government within the Republic – from the Great Council to the Senate and the more restricted Full Council – but also the most important bodies for the administration of justice, from the Council of Ten to the three Councils of Forty.

Atrio Quadrato (Square room) is the first room on the 3rd floor. The ceiling painting, “Justice Presenting the Sword and Scales to Doge Girllamo Priuli” is by Tintoretto. The palace is wallpapered with Titians, Tintorettos, and Veroneses. Many have the same theme as here – a doge, in his ermine cape, gold-brocaded robe, and funny one-horned had with earflaps, kneeling in the presence of saints, gods, or mythological figures.

Sala della Quattro Porte (Room of the Four Doors) was the central clearing house for all the goings-on in the palace. Visitors presented themselves here and were directed to their destination – the courts, councils, or the doge himself. The room was designed by Andrea Palladio (after the fire of 1574 severely damaged this room and those located immediately nearby), the architect who did the impressive Church of San Giorgio Maggiore, across the Grand Canal. On the intricate stucco ceiling, notice the feet of the women dangling down below the edge (above the windows), extending the illusion.

On the wall to the left of the door is a painting by Titian, showing a doge Antonio Grimani kneeling with great piety before a woman embodying Faith holding the Cross of Jesus. Old Venice is in the misty distance under the cross. This is one of many paintings of doges in uncharacteristically humble poses – paid for, of course, by the doges themselves.

Giambattista Tiepolo’s well-known “Venice Receiving Neptune” is displayed on an easel, but it was originally hung on the wall above the windows. The painting shows Venice as a woman (Venice is always a woman to artists) reclining in luxury, dressed in the ermine cape and pearl necklace of a dogaressa. Crude Neptune, enthralled by the First Lady’s beauty, arrives bearing a seashell bulging with gold ducats. A bored Venice points and says, “Put it over there with the other stuff.”

Sala dell’Anticollegio (Ante-Collegio Hall). It took a big title or a bribe to get in to see the doge. Once accepted for a visit, the person would wait here before entering, warming his hands at the elaborate fire-place and looking at some of the paintings – among the finest in the palace, worthy of any museum in the world. “The Rape of Europa” by Paolo Veronese most likely shocked many small-town visitors with its risque subject matter. Here Zeus appears in the form of a bull with a foot fetish, seducing a beautiful earthling while cupids spin playfully overhead.

Tinotretto’s “Bacchus and Ariadne” (1578) is another colorful display of Venice’s sensual tastes. The God of Wine seeks a threesome, offering a ring to mortal Ariadne, who is being crowned with stars by Venus, who turns slowly in zero gravity. The ring is the center of a spinning wheel of flesh, with the three arms like spokes.

Salla del Collegio (Collegio Hall). Flanked by his cabinet (executive branch) and six advisers – one for each Venetian neighborhood – the doge would sit on the wood-paneled platform at the far end to receive ambassadors, who laid their gifts at his feet and pleaded their countries’ cases. All official ceremonies, such as the ratification of treaties, were held here. At other times, it was the “Oval Office” where the doge and his cabinet met privately to discuss proposals to give to the legislature, pull files from the cabinets (along the right wall), or rehearse a meeting with the pope. The wooden benches around the sides (where they sat) are original. The clock on the wall is a backward-running 24-hour clock with Roman numerals and a sword for hands. The ceiling is 24-karat gold, framing paintings by Veronese. These are not frescoes like those in the Sistine Chapel, but actual canvases painted by Veronese’s studio and then placed on the ceiling. Within years, Venice’s humidity would have melted frescoes like mascara.

The T-shaped painting of the woman with the spider web (on the ceiling, opposite the big window), represents the Venetian symbol of “Discussion”. You can imagine the webs of truth and lies woven in this room by the doge’s scheming advisers. In “Mars and Neptune with Campanile and Lion” (the ceiling painting near the entrance), Veronese presents four symbols of the Republic’s strength – military, sea trade, city, and government (plus a cherub about to be circumcised by the Campanile).

Sala del Senato (Senate Hall). While the doge presided from the stage, senators mounted the podium (middle of the wall with windows) to address their 120 colleagues. The legislators, chaired by the doge, debated and passed laws in this room. Venice prided herself on her self-rule (independent of popes, kings, and tyrants), with most power placed in the hands of these annually elected men. In Venice, every branch of government really ruled – it was an elaborate system of checks and balances to make sure no one rocked the gondola, no one got too powerful, and the ship of state sailed smoothly ahead.

Tintoretto’s large “Triumph of Venice” on the ceiling (central painting) shows the city in all its glory. Lady Venice is up in heaven with Greek gods, while barbaric lesser nations swirl up to give her gifts and tribute.

On the wall are two large clocks, one of which has the signs of the zodiac and phases of the moon. And there is one final oddity in this room – in one of the wall paintings (above the entry door), there is actually a doge… not kneeling.

Sala del Consiglio dei Deici (Hall of the Council of Ten). By the 1400s, Venice had a worldwide reputation for swift, harsh, and secret justice. The dreaded Council of Ten – 10 judges, plus the doge and his six advisers – met here to dole out punishments to traitors, murderers, and “morals” violators. Note the 17 wood panels where they presided. The secret council eventually had their own security force of guards, spies, informers, and assassins. It seemed no one was safe from the spying eye of the “Terrible Ten”. You could be accused anonymously (by a letter dropped into a Mouth of Truth), swept off the streets, tried, judged, and thrown into the dark dungeons in the palace for the rest of your life without so much as a Miranda rights reading. Occasionally, the Council made example of lawbreakers. Denunciations of wrongdoers were nailed to the door of the Palazzo Ducale and when that failed to convey the message, the Council of Ten ordered the bludgeoning or decapitation of those found guilty of crimes against the doge. Severed heads were placed atop columns outside the Palazzo and sundry parts distributed for display in the sestieri (neighborhoods) for exactly 3 nights and 4 days, until they started to smell. It was in this room that the Council decided who lived or died, and who was decapitated, tortured, or merely thrown in jail.

The small, hard-to-find door leading off the platform (the fifth panel to the right of center) leads through secret passages to the prisons and torture chambers. The large, central, oval ceiling painting by Veronese (an original is in Louvre) shows “Jupiter Descending from Heaven to Strike Down the Vices”, redundantly informing the accused that justice in Venice was expeditious and severe. Though the feared Council of Ten was eventually disbanded, today their descendants enforce the dress code at Basilica di San Marco.

Sala della Bussola (The Compass Room). This is the first room on this floor dedicated to the administration of justice; its name comes from the large wooden compass (bussola) surmounted by a stature of Justice which stands in one corner and hides the entrance to the rooms of the three Heads of the Council of Ten and the State Inquisitors that we visited in the Secret Itineraries tour. This room therefore was antechamber where those who had been summoned by these powerful magistrates waited to be called; and the magnificent decor was intended to underline the solemnity of the Republic’s legal machinery, some of the most famous and efficient components of which are housed in these rooms. The decor dates from the 16th century, and once again it was Veronese who was commissioned to decorate the ceiling. Completed in 1554, the works he produced are all intended to exalt the “good government” of the Venetian Republic – the central panel with “St. Mark Descending to Crown the Three Theological Virtues” is a copy (original is in Louvre).

Within the Palace, all the rooms which served in the exercise of justice were linked vertically. From the ground-floor Wells, to the Advocate’s Offices on the loggia floor, the Councils of Forty and the Hall of the Magistrates of Law on the first floor and the various courtrooms on the second floor, the progression culminated in the prisons directly under the roof – the infamous Piombi. All of these spaces were interconnected by stairways, corridors and vestibules.

L’Armeria (Armory Museum). The aesthetic of killing is very interesting and this museum contains a very good collection of halberds, falchions, ranseurs, targes, morions, and brigandines. The weapons in these three rooms make you realize the important role the military played in keeping the East-West trade lines open.

  • Room 1: In the glass case on the right, there is the suit of armor worn by the great Venetian mercenary general, Gattamelata (far right, on horseback), as well as “baby’s first armor”. A full suit of armor could weigh 30 kgs. Before gunpowder, crossbows were made still more lethal by turning a crank on the end to draw the bow with extra force.
  • Room 2: In the thick of battle, even horses needed helmets. The hefty broadswords were brandished two-handed by the strongest and bravest solders who waded into enemy lines. Suspended from the ceiling is a large triangular banner captured from the Ottoman Turks at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571.
  • Room 3: At the far left end of the room is a very, very early (17th century) attempt at a 20-barrel machine gun. On the walls and weapons, the “C-X” insignia means that this was the private stash of the “Council of Ten”.

  • Room 4: In this room, rifles and pistols enter the picture. Don’t miss the glass case in the corner, with a tiny crossbow, some torture devices (including an effective-looking thumbscrew), the wooden “devil’s box” (a clever item that could fire in four directions at once), and a nasty, two-holed chastity belt. These disheartening “iron breeches” were worn by the devoted wife of the Lord of Padua.

Quarantia Civil Vecchia (The Chamber of the Quarantia Civil Vecchia). The Quarantia (Council of Forty) seems to have been set up by the Great Council at the end of the 12th century and was the highest appeal court in the Republic. Originally a single forty-men council which wielded substantial political and legislative power, the Quarantia was during the course of the 15th century divided into three separate Councils: the Quarantia Criminal (for sentences in what we would call criminal law); the Quarantia Civil Vecchia (for civil actions within Venice) and the Quarantia Civil Nuovo (for civil actions within the Republic’s mainland territories). This room was restored in the 17th century, the fresco fragment to the right of the entrance is the only remnant of the original decor.

The Guariento Room‘s name is due to the fact it houses a fresco painted by the Paduan artist Guariento around 1365. Almost completely destroyed in the 1577 fire, the remains of that fresco were, in 1903, rediscovered under the large canvas Il Paradiso which Tintoretto was commissioned to paint.

Sala del Maggiore Consiglio (Hall of the Grand Council).

It took a room this size to contain the grandeur of the Most Serene Republic. This huge room (53 m by 24 m) could accommodate up to 2,600 people at once. The engineering is remarkable, the ceiling is like a deck of a ship – its hull is the rooftop, creating a huge attic above that. The doge presided from the raised dais, while the nobles – the backbone of the empire – filled the center and lined the long walls. Nobles were generally wealthy men over 25, but the titles had less to do with money that with long bloodlines. In theory, the doge, the Senate, and the Council of Ten were all subordinate to the Grand Council of nobles who elected them.

On the wall over the doge’s throne is Tintoretto’s monsterpiece “Paradise”, the largest oil painting in the world (53m2). Christ and Mary are at the top of Heaven, surrounded by 500 people. It’s rush hour in heaven, and all the good Venetians made it. Tintoretto worked on this in the last years of his long life. On the day it was finished, his own daughter died, so he got his brush out again and painted her as saint number 501. She’s dead center with the blue skirt, hands clasped, getting sucked up to heaven.

Veronese’s “The Apotheosis of Venice” (on the ceiling at the Tintoretto end) is a typical unsubtle work showing Lady Venice being crown a goddess by an angel.

Ringing the hall are portraits, in chronological order, of the first 76 doges. The one at the far end that’s blacked out is the notorious Doge Marino Faliero, who opposed the will of the Grand Council in 1355. He was tried for treason, beheaded, and airbrushed from history. Along the entire wall to the right of “Paradise”, the “Siege of Constantinople” (by Tintoretto’s son, Domenico) shows Venice’s greatest military victory, the conquest of the fellow-Christian city during the Fourth Crusade. The sneaky Venetians (in the 5th painting) attacked the mighty city from the water. They cozied their galley right up to the dock and scooted across the masts to the city walls. The gates open, the Byzantine emperor parades out to surrender, and tiny Doge Dandolo says, “Let’s go in and steal some bronze horses.” 

Sala dello Scrutinio (The Chamber of the Scrutinio). The Scrutinio Room is in the wing built during the dogate of Francesco Foscari (1423–57), facing the Piazzeta. It was initially intended to house the precious manuscripts left to the Republic by Petrarch and Bessarione (1468) and was originally known as the Library. In 1532, it was decided that the Chamber should also hold the electoral counting and/or deliberations that assiduously marked the rhythm of Venetian politics, based on an assembly system whose epicenter was the nearby Great Council Chamber. After the construction of Biblioteca Marciana though, this room was used solely for elections. The present decorations date from between 1578 and 1615, after the 1577 fire. Episodes of military history in the various compartments glorify the exploits of the Venetians, with particular emphasis on the conquest of the maritime empire; the only exception being the last oval, recording the taking of Padua in 1405.

Sala della Quarantia Criminale and Sala dei Cuoi (The Chamber of the Quarantia Criminale and the Cuoi Room). Housing one of the three Councils of Forty, the highest appeal courts in the Republic, this is another room used in the administration of justice. The Quarantia Criminale was set up in the 15th century and, as the name suggests, dealt with cases of criminal law. It was a very important body as its members, who were part of the Senate as well, also had legislative powers. The room beyond this served as an archive, and was presumably lined with shelves and cabinets, similar to that one can now see on the far wall. This was not part of the original furnishing, nor were the corridor, the gold-embossed leather paneling one can see on the other walls.

Prisons. As we already know, the palace had its own dungeons. In the privacy of his own home, a doge could oversee the sentencing, torture, and jailing of political opponents. By the 1500s, the dungeons were full of political prisoners, so new prisons were built across the canal connected with a covered bridge. I circled the cells – indeed, medieval justice was harsh. The cells consisted of cold stone with heavy barred windows, a wooden plank for a bed, a shelf and a bucket. Carvings, made by prisoners are everywhere – they date from older days up until 1930 – on some of the stone windowsills of the cells, especially in the far corner of the building.

Ponte dei Sospiri (Bridge of Sighs). A corridor over the Bridge of Sighs, was built in 1614 to link the Doge’s Palace to the structure intended to house the New Prisons. Enclosed and covered on all sides, the bridge contains two separate corridors that run next to each other. The one visitors use today linked the Prisons to the chambers of the Magistrato alle Leggi and the Quarantia Criminal; the other linked the prisons to the State Advocacy rooms and the Parlatorio. Both corridors are connected to the service staircase that lead from the ground floor cells of the Pozzi to the roof cells of the Piombi. According to romantic legend, criminals were tried and sentenced in the palace, then marched across the canal here to the dark prisons. On this bridge, they got one last look at Venice – they gazed out at the sky, the water and the beautiful buildings. And they sighed! Stop here and sigh too!

From the outside, the Bridge of Sighs doesn’t seem so menacing, au contraire, in the last four centuries, anyone who’s ever come to Venice (from Casanova, to Byron to Hemingway), has stood on this very spot to enjoy the views:

I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs;
A palace and a prison on each hand:
I saw from out the wave her structures rise
As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand:
A thousand years their cloudy wings expand
Around me, and a dying glory smiles
O’er the far times when many a subject land
Looked to the winged Lion’s marble piles,
Where Venice sate in state, throned on her hundred isles!

(Lord Byron)

Torre dell’Orologio (St. Mark’s Clocktower). Any self-respected Renaissance city wanted to have a fine formal entry and a clock tower. In Venice’s case, its entry was visible from the sea and led from the big religious and governmental center to the rest of the city. The clock, designed by Zuan Paolo Rainieri and his son Zuan Carlo in 1493-1499, had one hitch: the clockworks required constant upkeep by a live-in clockwatcher and his family from the end of 15h century till 1998. After a nine-year renovation, grâce à Swiss engineering, the clock’s works are in independent working order: 132-stroke chimes keep time in tune, moving barrels, indicate minutes and hour on the world’s first digital clock face (c.1753), and wooden statues of the three Kings (Magi), accompanied by an angel with trumpet, emerge from side panels annually on Epiphany and the Feast of the Ascension.

The two hardest-working men in Venice stand duty on a rooftop around the clock, and wear no pants – the bronze “Moors” were originally built to be Caucasian Giants (or shepherds), and they only switched their ethnicity when their metal darkened over the centuries (though it doesn’t explain their lack of attire). At the top of each hour they swing their giant clappers. The clock dial shows the 24 hours, the signs of the zodiac, and in the blue center, the phases of the moon – important fixture, as a maritime city with a shallow lagoon needs to know the tides and the captains of coming ships – the right time to enter or leave the city.

I have arranged a Tour of Torre dell’Orologio (€7 per person via http://torreorologio.visitmuve.it) and at 14.00, my husband, I and another two clock-enthusiast met at the entrance to the Correr Museum, walked towards the eastern end of the Piazza and climbed the Torre via a small and easy-to-miss door. Our guide, Elena was exceptionally good – very knowledgeable, enthusiastic, “articulate and animating” (as I recorded in my notes). A true Venetian she was both – a proud citizen of her city and its biggest critic. Our tour, which lasted about an hour went in the following phases: the clock machinery room, the barrels, the Magis (three Kings), the Moors and the bell.

The clock machinery. The heart of the clock is a complicated system of gear wheels located within a large cruciform metal framework at the center of the Tower. The true “engine” of the entire timepiece, this can be broadly divided into 4 distinct sections; along with these there is the machinery for the astronomical clock face and the workings of the clock barrels. Also known as “clock trains”, these 4 sections are similar in appearance and basically comprise: a barrel around which is wound a chain (formerly a rope) to which is attached the motor weight (100 kgs); an intermediate wheel; a rotating fan that serves as an aerodynamic brake to regulate the weight’s speed of descent and thus the interval between clock strokes. The fans are equipped with a ratchet that makes a very recognizable sound; this is activated at the end of each series of strokes and serves to disperse the accumulated kinetic energy when the rotating mechanism comes to an abrupt halt.

The clock train transmits the impulses which enable the pendulum to continue its isochronic oscillations. It also comes into play at fixed intervals to trigger the other trains of wheels and pins. By means of thin vertical rods, it activates the barrel machinery every 5 minutes; as a result the minute barrel rotates through 30° (1/12 of a turn). Every 60 minutes, the hour barrel does the same. Upon each hour, the train mechanism for the Two Moors is activated. Two minutes before the hour, the Moor on the right strikes the bell; two minute after the hour, it is the turn of the Moor on the left.

This is why the mechanism is described as a “re-striking” one. With the hammers they hold, each Moor strikes the bell on the top of the tower a total of from one to twelve blows, depending upon the hour. Finally, every 12 hours, the 132-stroke train is set in motion. These 132 “meridian” strokes occur at midday and midnight before the Moors strike the bell. They are rung by 2 supplementary hammers placed around the circumference of the bell; the number of strokes corresponds to that of the strokes hit by the two Moors in the previous 11 hours. The barrel mechanism also operates the astronomical machinery via the Moors wheel, which goes through a complete rotation every two hours, and a 22-tooth pinion. This latter goes through 12 rotations a day, turning all 264 teeth (22×12) on the large wheel, which turns the sun clock-hand through one entire circuit per day. Finally, via a return mechanism and a long axle under the clock machinery, the Barrel Mechanism also operates the hour hand on the clock face giving onto the Mercerie Street.

The whole thing is driven by means of 5 train mechanisms, periodically recharged by the raising of the weights. The pendulum and the anchor escapement regulate the perfect release of energy, so that the mechanism works in a constant, even manner. Still perfectly functional, the entire structure dates back to 1753-57, when Bartolomeo Ferracina significantly modified the original machinery built at the end of the 15th century by Ranieri.

The barrels. The two rotating frames with the panels showing the hours and minutes were created and installed in 1858 by Luigi De Lucia; designed to make it easier for those down in St. Mark’s Square to get a more precise idea of the time, they are among the first examples of this kind of mechanism in a public clock. The two barrels each bear twelve panels of 80 cm by 50 cm; one with the hours in Roman numerals, the other with intervals of five minutes in Arabic numerals. Once lighted from inside the barrels, the panels are made of sheets of blue-tinted zinc. The installation of this mechanism blocked the movement of the Three Kings, so twice a year a special mechanism to raise and lift it backwards comes into play, freeing access to the doors and the notched circle along which the Three Kings and the Angel move in procession before the statue of the Madonna.

The three Kings and the Angel. When the Clock Tower was built in 1499, the Three Kings and the Angel with the Trumpet were designed to come out every hour from the loggia on the second storey of the structure and pass in procession before the statue of the Madonna and Child. However, the delicacy of the complex mechanism meant it was subject to great wear and tear over time, so eventually the procession had to be reduced in frequency or stopped altogether. After Ferracina had re-designed the clock mechanism, he also worked on that governing the procession (1758-1759); still in use today, it comes into operation only twice a year. The actual wooden statues of the Three Kings and the Angel were re-done by Giovanni Battista Alviero in 1755; as stratigraphical tests – and various inscriptions in the machine housing – show, these rather crude works have been restored and completely repainted on several occasions.

Originally, the doors from which the Three Kings and the Angel emerged in procession were wooden structures covered with painted and gilded metal and decorated with two gilded angels in embossed metal. In 1858, these doors having been absent for most of the year, were replaced by two metal openings decorated with gilded geometric motifs.

The Moors and the bell. The two giant statues in bronze were cast in 1497 by Ambrogio della Ancore; the body is hinged at the waist to permit the movement made in striking the bell. In spite of their function, the modeling of the statues deliberately exaggerates their mass, so that their form is unmistakable, even from a great distance. The bell, surmounted by a gilded sphere and a cross, was also cast in 1497. It was the work of a certain Simeone, who has signed his name with a fine inscription in the bronze. During the mid 19th century replacement of the roofing on the Tower, the bell and the two Moors were raised about a meter above their original level. We arrived to the roof exactly a few minutes before 15.00 to hear/see the Moors hammer the bell. It is also a very unique and intimate place to see the rest of the Piazza and the Merceria Street from above.

Campanile (St. Mark’s Campanile). (€8, pictures allowed). The top of Campanile (98.6 m), high above the Piazza, indisputably offers the best views of Venice, lagoon and even the peaks of the Alps. If until today I walked around the city and wondered why it, seemingly small on the map was so huge and confusing in reality, I found the answers on top of Campanile. It was from this viewpoint that Galileo demonstrated his telescope to Doge Leonardo Dona in 1609. To do so, he had to climb the internal ramp, but these days, visitors could access it via lift.

The first tower, completed in 1173, was built as a light-house to assist navigators in the lagoon. It took on a less benevolent role in the Middle Ages, when offenders were imprisoned (and in some cases left to die) in cage hung near its summit. With the exception of several 16th century renovations, the tower survived unharmed until July 14, 1902. It started to groan ominously the night before, sending people scurrying from the cafes. The next morning, its foundations gave way and it crashed in the middle of the Piazza. The only casualties were the Loggetta at the foot of the tower and, to my biggest regret, the custodian’s cat. The golden angel on top landed right at the basilica’s front door, standing up.

Donations for reconstruction came flooding and already ten years later (25 April 1912), it was completely rebuilt with golden archangel Gabriel again braving the breeze. You may see construction work around the Campanile’s base. Hoping to prevent a repeat of the 1902, they’ve wrapped the underground foundations with a titanium girdle to shore up a crack that appeared in 1939.

Because Piazza San Marco is the first place in town to start flooding, there are tide gauges at the outside base of the Campanile that show the current sea level. There is also a stone plaque (near the exit) that commemorates the high-water 195.6 cm level from the disastrous floods of 1966. In December 2008, Venice suffered another terrible acqua-alta, cresting at 155 cm. If the tide is mild (around 50 cm), the water merely seeps up through the drains. But when there’s a strong tide (over 100 cm), it looks like someone’s turned on a faucet down below. The water bubbles upward and flows like a river to the lowest points in the Piazza, which can be covered with 10 cm of water in an hour or so. When the water level rises one meter above mean sea level, a warning siren sounds, and it repeats if a serious flood is imminent. Many doorways have a meter high wooden or metal barriers to block acqua alta, but the seawater still seeps in through floors and drains, rendering the barriers nearly useless.

On one occasion during our stay, we were warned by the hotel staff about acqua alta, and right away, the entire city center was covered with wooden benches, which serve as elevated sidewalks during high water. In 2006, the pavement around Piazza San Marco was taken up, and the entire height of the square was raised by adding a layer of sand, and then replacing the stones. If the columns along the ground floor of the Palazzo Ducale look stubby, it’s because this process has been carried out many times over the centuries, buying a little more time as the sea slowly swallows the city.

The acqua alta siren hit the city during the Carnevale week and it was on that evening (around midnight), when Piazza San Marco was solemnly quiet and empty. I used the “excuse” to come back to the Square with my camera and enjoy this unique, yet menacing sight of rising water. That night the Piazza sunk in 35 cm of water (the tide was 115 cm), while shops, houses and hotels had their high guards up. I have to admit, it was one of the most majestic moments of my trip.

Museums on Piazza San Marco (combo ticket with Palazzo Ducale, if you don’t have a particular interest in Venetian history, you might skip these museums. Please allow 2-3 hours, pictures allowed). Before coming to Venice I have purchased a MUVE Museum Pass €24 which gave me access to 11 different museums, including 3 on Piazza San Marco: Museo Correr, Archeological Museum and Monumental Rooms of The Biblioteca Marciana.

Museo Correr is situated in the Napoleonic Wing of Piazza San Marco and, in part, in the Procuratie Nuove. It was born from the private collection that Teodoro Correr left to the city in 1830, and offers various areas of interest: the neoclassical rooms, with major sculptures by Antonio Canova; the historical collections throwing light on the city’s institutions, its urban affairs and its everyday life; the picture-gallery, one of the most fascinating collections of Venetian painting from its origins to the early 16th century, with works by Lorenzo Veneziano, the Bellini family, Carpaccio, Cosmè Tura, Antonello da Messina and Lorenzo Lotto, in a striking arrangement by Carlo Scarpa. Museum also serves as the Library of Venetian Art and History and contains collections of codices and archives, the famous cabinet of prints, drawings and photographs.

I started my tour with Il Palazzo Reale (The Royal Palace, or the Sissi’s (Empress Elisabeth of Austria) Rooms from I to IX). Room 2 is a sumptuous and opulent ballroom in Empire-style decor (1822-1838). At either end, the room is bound by loggias intended to house the orchestras; above the gilded Corinthian capitals of the fluted columns shape the upper area into an oval. The center of the ceiling is frescoed with “Peace, surrounded by the Virtues and the Geni of Olympus” by Odorico Politi.

Room I – Dining room for weekday lunches. This room had two functions, as dining room for non-official occasions such as daily work meetings of the government cabinet, and as an antechamber to the Throne Room. It was rebuilt as a Reception Hall in 1836 and decorated in the neoclassical style. On the walls exquisite multicolored candelabra-shaped frescoes are framed by mamorino (a particular kind of Venetian plaster) inlays in delicate grey-viola and green-gold hues, with winged relief figures in gilded stucco in between. Of interest is not only the original neoclassical furniture, but also the lavish French table in gilded bronze.

Room II – Lombardy-Venetia Throne Room. The decoration of this room was carried out in 1838 prior to the arrival of Emperor Ferdinand I, as the King of Lombardy-Venetia. Designed as the Throne Room, over the years it actually had different functions. In particular, it was used as a waiting room when the next, larger room was used for private audiences first by the emperor or viceroy, and then by Empress Elisabeth. At the base of the ceiling, you can see panels with classical arms and two coats of arms of the Lombard-Venetia kingdom, with the Biscione (glass snake) of the Milanese Visconti family and the Venetian Lion of St. Mark’s. The red and gold wall hanging is a faithful reproduction of the one that was placed here in 1854 (probably French). The elegant imperial furniture is all original, the large glass chandeliers with multicolored flowers was made on Murano in the 18th century.

Room III – Audience Room. The corner room is one of the last “public” rooms and is adjacent to Sissi’s private apartment. It was here that the empress would receive visitors during her stay in Venice in mid 19th century. The ceiling decorations are highly elegant but simple, with background paintings in delicately colored stucco and a broad fascia with plant motifs and classical griffons in gilded stucco against a green background. Dating to the end of the 18th century, those rooms initially belonged to the Procurators of St. Mark’s. The wooden floor and the red and cream colored hangings in the rooms were renovated in mid 19th century, before Sissi and Franz Joseph’s visit. The ten large 18th century engraved, gilded Venetian armchairs in the room still have their original velvet brocades. The engraved gilded mirror over the fireplace (19th century) is a valuable revival of the baroque Venetian style. The painting “The swearing-in Ceremony of the First Doge Paolo Anafesto” is by Paolo Menegatti (1845).

Room IV – The Empress’ bathroom. Once a bathroom, it used to contain a marble tub discretely hidden behind silk curtains. Oddly positioned next to the Audience room (are we missing something here?) at that time, it could only be accessed through the empress’ private apartment. The decoration is simple, with cream-colored marmorino inlays and dainty classical-Renaissance motifs. The chandelier dating from the end of the 18th century with cut crystal pendants is probably from central Europe.

Room V – The Empress’ Study. Formerly used by the Vice-Queen of Lombardy-Venetia, this room was also used by Sissi as a private study for reading and writing. The decoration dates from different periods. The light fake marble wainscoting on the walls with panels above probably goes back to the Napoleonic period. On the shorter walls, in the corners and to the sides of the doors, there are colored paintings of figures and motifs of classical Renaissance; they can also be seen on the frieze running along the ceiling. When renovation was carried out in 1854-1856 the decorations were also retouched, partially replaces and modified by the decorator Giovanni Rossi, who added groups of allegorical figures on the walls, albeit not with great success.

Room VI – The Empress’ Boudoir. This small dressing room was decorated especially for young Elisabeth. The walls and ceiling are all in an extraordinary grey-blue marmorino with shining micro-crystals. There are light garlands and “capricious” motifs around it, created by the interweaving of slender white stuccoes, colored or gold decorations in slight relief and, above all, various small multicolored flowers. Amongst them are lilies of the valley and corn flowers – a clear homage to Sissi’s favorite flowers. There are also gilded metal lilies of the valley interwoven with the stuccoes in the corners of the ceiling and between the inlays of the buonagrazia canopy. At the height of the door on the cornice stucco eagles are supporting the coats of arms of the kingdoms of Austria and Bavaria. Unfortunately, the figurative parts in oil are now in poor condition: in the medallion in the center of the ceiling is “The Protective Goddess of the Arts” (looking awfully like the Empress) whilst on the wall is “The Toilet of Venus”. The “bell-shaped” chandelier with Bohemian cut crystal is from the early 19th century.

Room VII – The Empress’ Bed Chamber. From 1856 this spacious room was used as Empress Elisabeth’s bedroom. As there was no fireplace, there used to be a large “column-shaped” majolica stove to heat the room. The neoclassical decoration on the ceiling vault is from the Napoleonic period and was completed around 1810. The geometrical panels, possibly by Giuseppe Borsato, are interspersed with frescoed figures by Giovanni Belvacqua in pleasant soft colors (“Venus and Peristera with Cupid”, “Venus before Jupiter”, “The Toilet of Venus”, “Judgment of Paris”.) The lavish Neo-Baroque hangings in blue and light gold were added in 1854 during the renovation. Although no longer present, we know that the empress’ bed was in rococo style, surrounded by curtains hanging from a metal baldachin; today an outstanding piece of historical furniture commemorated the function of this room: the pure imperial style bed of Napoleon’s step-son, Eugene Beauharnais.

Room VIII – Antechamber of the apartments. This room was the private passageway that went from the rooms of Empress Elisabeth, and those of Emperor Franz Joseph. The balcony offers a breath-taking view of the Royal Gardens, looking towards the Basin of St. Mark’s and the nearby island of San Giorgio. The vault dates to Napoleonic period (1810-1811); with a regular geometrical pattern in large fake coffers with tondos and octagons, the remarkably neoclassical decoration is a work of Giuseppe Borsato. In the octagons, against a delicate green background are small figurative mythological groups inspired by the Roman paintings of Erocolano. The neoclassical chandelier is in gilded bronze.

Room IX – Oval Room (Dining Room). This harmonious oval-shaped neoclassical room was the junction between the “public” rooms of the palace overlooking the Piazza San Marco and the royal apartments. Furthermore, various secret passageways intersected here, created to avoid going through the living quarters and rooms of staff. When Franz Joseph and Elisabeth were staying here, the imperial family would also have their breakfast, lunch and dinner here. The room was designed and decorated for the Napoleonic court by Borsato in 1810-1811. The “umbrella” vault is airy; the decorations are inspired by Pompei, with slender stylized racemes, plaques and medallions with birds and divinities (Neptune, Apollo, Juno and Apis”). The remarkable marble busts are the portraits of Napoleon Bonaparte.

After I completed the Sissi’s apartment, I retraced my steps back to the room 3 of the Museum. It contains Canova’s pyramid-shaped model of the “Monumento a Tiziano” (Monument to Titian, 1795). Canova intended this designed (based on the Pyramid of Gaius Cestius in Rome) for a tomb for the painter Titian. But it was used instead for the tomb of an Austrian princess in Vienna, as well as for Canova’s own memorial in the Frari Church.

Room 4. Canova’s “Daedalus and Icarus” (1778-1779) is the highlight of this room. Serious Daedalus straps wax-and-feather wings, which he’s just crafted, onto his son’s shoulders. The boy is thrilled with the new toy, not knowing what we know – that the wax in the wings will soon melt in the sun and plunge him to his death. Daedalus’ middle-aged, slightly saggy skin contrasts with Icarus’ supple form. Canova, a stonemason’s son, display the tools of the family trade on the base. Cavona was only 20 when Venice’s procurator commission this work; the final result was so realistic that it caused a stir – skeptics accused Canova of not really sculpting it, but making it from plaster casts of live humans.

Room 5. Canova “Cupid and Psyche” (1878). Through not a great painting, this is Canova’s 2-D version of a famous scene he set in stone (now in the Louvre). The two lovers spiral around each other in the nerve-ending circle of desire. The two bodies and Cupid’s two wings form an X. But the center of the composition is the empty space that separates their hungry lips. Canova “Paris” (1807). The guy with black measles is not a marble statue of Paris; it is a plaster of Paris, a life-size model that Canova used in carving the real one in stone. The dots are sculptor’s “points”, which tell the sculptor how far into the block he should chisel to establish the figure’s rough outline. The other large statues in the Canova’s rooms are either lesser works or more plaster studies for works later executed in marble.

Room 6. Lazzaro Bastiniani “Portrait of Francesco Foscari” (c.1460). Foscari, dressed in the traditional brocaded robe and cap with cloth earflaps, introduces us to the powerful, regal world of the doges, the “elected princes” who served as ceremonial symbols of the glorious Republic of Venice. Foscari (1373-1457), buried in the Frari Church, became doge when Venice was at its historical peak as a prosperous sea-trading empire, with peaceful ties to eastern Ottomans and mainland Europeans. He has a serene look of total confidence…. a look that would slowly melt away as he led Venice on a 31-year war of expansion that devastated northern Italy, embroiled Venice in messy European politics, and eventually drained the city’s coffers. Meanwhile, the Ottomans captured Constantinople. By the time the Venetian Senate “impeached” Foscari, forcing his resignation, Venice was sapped, soon to be surpassed by the new maritime powers of Spain and Portugal.

In the glass case, find doge memorabilia, including the funny doge cap with a single horn at the back, often worn over a cloth cap with earflaps. High on the wall opposite the room’s entrance, there is a large painting by Andrea Michieli “Arrival at San Marco of Dogaressa Morosina Grimani” (c. 1597). Although doges were men, several wives were crowned with ceremonial titles. This painting shows coronation ceremonies along the water by the Piazzetta. The lagoon is jammed with boats. The dogaressa (left of center, in yellow, wearing her doge cap tilted back) arrives to receive the front-door key to the Palazzo Ducale. The doge’s private boat, the Bucintoro (docked at lower left with red roof), had brought the First Lady and her entourage of red-robed officials, court dwarves, musicians, dancers, and ladies in formal wear. She walks toward the World Theater (on the right, in the water), a floating pavilion used for public ceremonies.

Rooms 7-10. I have been told that the displays of those rooms changed often, so enjoy its current content. Some of the rich furnishings in these rooms – pictures of doge processions, rare books in walnut bookcases and a Murano chandelier under a wood-beamed ceiling; and portraits of political bigwigs – are reminders that this wing once housed the administrative office of a wealthy, sophisticated republic.

“Ducal Processions in St. Mark’s Square” – a woodcut by Matteo Pagan and a painting by Cesare Vecellio. The woodcut shows the doge and his court parading around the St. Mark’s Square in the kind of traditional festivities that Venetians enjoy even today. At the head of the parade (to the right) come the flag bearers and the trumpet players sounding the fanfare. Next are the nabobs, the archbishop, the bearer of the doge cap, the doge’s chair and finally Il Serenissimo himself, under an umbrella. The ladies look on from the windows above. The painting has exactly the same building windows of the room you are standing in, while the Piazza looks very much like it does today.

Room 11. Coins and the Treasury. The Venetian ducat weighed only a bit more than a US penny, but was mostly gold (by decree, 99% pure gold, weighing 3.5 grams). First minted around 1280 (Dandolo’s zecchino, or “sequin”), it became the strongest currency in all Europe for nearly 700 years, eventually replacing the Florentine florin. In Renaissance times, 100 ducat would be an excellent salary for a year, with a single ducat worth about $1,000. The most common design shows Christ on the “heads” side, standing on an oval of stars. “Tails” features the current doge kneeling before St. Mark and the inscription “sacred money of Venice” (SM Veneti).

Hanging above the newest coins, there is Tintoretto’s painting of three red-robed treasury officials who handled ducats in these offices (“St. Justina and the Treasurers”, 1580). The richness of their fur-lined robes suggests the almost religious devotion that officials were expected to have as caretakers of the “sacred money” of Venice.

Room 12. Venice and the Sea. Venice’s wealth came from its sea trade. Raw materials from Europe were exchanged for luxury goods from eastern lands controlled by Muslims and Byzantine Christians. This room contains the models of galleys. These fast oar-and wind-powered warships rode shotgun for Venice’s commercial fleets plying the Mediterranean. With up to 150 men (4 per oar, some prisoners, most proud professionals) and three horizontal sails, they could cruise from Venice to Constantinople in about a month. In battle, they specialized in turning on a dime to aim cannons, or in quickly building up speed to ram other ships with their formidable prows. Also displayed are large lanterns from a galley’s stern.

“The Battle of Lepanto” (1571). The two paintings capture the confusion of a famous battle fought off the coast of Greece in 1571 between Muslim Ottomans and a coalition of Christians. This battle ended Ottoman dominance at sea. Sort it out by their flags (the turbaned Ottomans fought under the crescent moon). On the Christian side, Venetians had the winged lion, the pope’s troops flew the cross, and the Spain was marked with the Habsburg eagle. The fighting was fierce and hand-to-hand as the combatants boarded each other’s ships and cannons blasted away point-blank. Miguel de Cervantes fought in this battle, he lost his hand and had to pen Don Quixote one-handed. The Christians won, sinking 113 enemy ships and killing up to 30,000 people. It was a major psychological victory too, as it was a turning point in the Ottoman threat to Europe, but for Venice, it marked the end of an era. The city lost 4,000 men and many ships, and never fully recovered its trading empire in Ottoman lands. Moreover, Spain’s cannon-laden sailing ships proved to be masters of the waves, making Spain the next true naval power. Venice’s shallow-hulled galleys, so swift in the placid Mediterranean, were no match on the high seas.

Room 13. The Arsenale shipbuilding center, located near the tail of Venice, was a rectangular, artificial harbor surrounded by workshops were ships could be mass-produces as though on a modern assembly line (but it was the workers who moved). If needed they could crank out a galley a day. Look for various sketches and paintings of the Arsenale, including a 17th century pen-and-ink plan by Antonio di Natale showing a bird-eye view. The Arsenale’s entrance is still guarded today by the two lions (which Venetians “brought” from their trip to Greece).

Room 14. Old maps show a city relatively unchanged over the centuries, hemmed in by water. Find your hotel on Jacopo de’ Barbari’s big black-and-white, woodcut map from 1500. There is the Arsenale in the fish’s tail. There’s Piazza San Marco with a church standing where the Correr Museum entrance is today. The Accademia Bridge hadn’t been built yet (nor had the modern train station). You’ll see more about Barbari’s impressive map upstairs. Room 15-18. Armory – there are weapons, from medieval times to the advent of gun-powder – maces, armor, swords, Ottoman pikes, rifles, cannons, shields, and a teeny-tiny pistol hidden in a book.

National Archeological Museum –  is home to an important collection of Greek and Roman sculptures, bronze objects, ceramics, jewelry, coins, and a collection of Egyptian, Babylonian and Assyrian antiquities. Its origins date back to the legacy of Domenico Grimani and a donation by Giovanni Grimani who, respectively in 1523 and in 1587, bequeathed most of their collections of antiquities to the Serenissima Republic of Venice. The statues, most of them with 16th century additions and restorations, are exhibited in 12 rooms, divided according to period, artistic school and subject-matter, offering a selection of Greek and Roman works from the 5th century B.C. to the 3rd century A.D.

Marciana National Library designed by Jacopo Sansovino, it was built and decorated between 1537 and 1560 on commission by the Procuratori di San Marco, to offer a worthy home to the Greek and Latin codexes donated to the Republic of Venice by Cardinal Bessarione in 1468. Today, along with the Zecca, the former Mint that now houses the reading rooms, it is the monumental seat and part of the Biblioteca Nazionale Marciana, which preserves precious manuscripts such as the sixteenth-century Breviario Grimani and Fra Mauro’s Map of the world, as well as antique books, including those of Aldo Manuzio. On the first floor is the Vestibule, with the ceiling decorated by Titian’s painting of “La Sapienza”, and the Library, with a vaulted ceiling that constitutes a veritable “manifesto” of Venetian Mannerist painting, consisting of 21 tondi painted by seven artists selected for the occasion including Titian and Sansovino himself (the most famous are the three tondi by Paolo Veronese). The walls are decorated by canvases portraying the Philosophers who twist and turn in their niches in classical Baroque style.

The smaller room beyond the large hall features Roman copies of Greek statuary and a trompe l’oeil ceiling that tries to make the wood-beam ceiling appear even higher. The painting in the center of the ceiling by Titian shows Lady Wisdom seated in the clouds reading a book and a scroll. A huge, pre-Columbia map of the world is that of Fra Mouro. It is one of the most famous and important extant cartographic documents completed in Venice in the Monastery of San Michele around 1450. It is a broad summary of geographical knowledge of that period, in which ancient traditions (classical and post-classical authors), recent news, cartography of different origins, and description by travelers (Marco Polo and Nicolo de Conti) converge and intertwine. It is annotated with about 3,000 inscriptions. Drawn and painted on parchment sheets glued on wooden panels, the work was conserved on the island of San Michele until 1811, when it was given to the Marciana Library with great difficulty, following the Napoleonic suppression of monasteries. It remained there for just a several months, however, before being moved to the Sala dello Scudo in the Palazzo Ducale. In 1924, following the restoration of the ancient Sansovino Library, it was finally returned to the Marciana.

Second Floor. Rooms 25-26. Venetian Paintings.

The painting highlights (the Bellinis) are located at the far end of this wing, and as you walk there, trace the development of Venetian painting from golden Byzantine icons to Florentine-inspired 3-D to the natural beauty of Bellini and Carpaccio. Paolo Veneziano “Six Saints” (1340s) – gold-backed saints combine traits from Venice’s two stylistic sources: Byzantine (serene, elongated, sombre, and iconic, with gold background, like the mosaics in Basilica) and the Gothic of mainland Europe (curvy, expressive bodies posed at a three-quarter angle, colorful robes, and and individualized faces). Lorenzo Veneziano “Figures and Episodes of Saints” (second half of 14th century). Influence from the mainland puts icons in motion, adding drama to the telling of the lives of the saints. St. Nicholas grabs the executioner’s sword and lifts him right off the ground before he even knows what’s happening.

Room 27. Flamboyant Gothic – architectural fragments of Gothic buildings remind us that Venice’s distinctive architecture is Italian Gothic, filtered through Eastern exoticism. In this room, there are examples, in both paint and stone, of pointed arches decorated with the flame-like curlicues that gave the Flamboyant Gothic style its name.

Room 29. International Gothic. Master of the Jarves Cassoni “Story of Alatiel” (first half of 15th century). As humanism spread, so did art that was not exclusively religious. These scenes, painted on the panels of a chest, depict a story from Boccaccio’s bawdy “Decameron”. Done in the elegant, detailed naturalism of the International Gothic style, the painting emphasizes decorative curves – curvy filigree patterns in clothes, curvy boats, curvy sails, curvy waves, curvy horses’ rumps – all enjoyed as a pleasing pattern.

Room 31. Ferrarese Painters. Baldassare Estense “Portrait of a Young Man” (1475). The young man in red is not a saint, king or pope, but an ordinary citizen painted, literally, wart and all. On the window ledge is a strongly foreshorten book. And behind the young man, the curtain opens to reveal a new world – a spacious 3-D vista courtesy of the Tuscan Renaissance.

Room 32. Jacopo de’ Barbari “Perspective View of Venice” (1500). How little Venice has changed in 500 years! Barbari’s large, intricately detailed woodcut of the city put his contemporaries in a unique position – a mile up in the air, looking down on the rooftops. He chronicles nearly every church, alleyway, and gondola. But the final product and the carved wood block from which it was printed are on display, a tribute to Barbari’s painstaking labor.

Room 33. Flemish Artists. Pieter Brueghel II “Adoration of the Magi” (1617-1633). The detailed, everyday landscapes of Northern masters strongly influences Venetian artists. Lost in this snowy scene of the secular working world is Baby Jesus in a stable (lower left), worshipped by the Magi. Venetians learned that landscape creates its own mood, and humans don’t have to be the center of every painting. Room 34. Antonello da Messina “Pieta” (1475). The Sicilian painter Messina wowed Venice with this work when he visited in 1475, bringing a Renaissance style and new painting techniques. After a thousand years of standing rigidly on medieval crucifixes, the body of Christ finally softens into a natural human posture. The scene is set in a realistic, distant landscape.

Room 36. The Bellini Family. One family single-handedly brought Venetian painting into the Renaissance – the Bellinis. Jacobo Bellini “Crucifixion” (1450)- father Jacobo had studied in Florence when Donatello and Brunelleschi were pioneering naturalism. Daughter Cecilia married the painter Mantegna, whose precise lines and statuesque figures influenced his brothers-in-law. Gentile Bellini “Portrait of Doge Mocenigo” (1478-1485) – elder son Gentile took over the family business and established a reputation for documenting Venice’s rulers and official ceremonies. His straightforward style and attention to detail capture the ordinary essence of this doge.

Giovanni Bellini “Crucifixion” (1453-1455) – younger son Giovanni became the most famous Bellini, the man who pioneered new techniques and subject matter, trained Titian and Giorgione, and alone invented the Venetian High Renaissance. If we compare the “Crucifixion” of the father Bellini with the painting of his son, we right away see the difference. Young Giovanni weeds out all the crowded, medieval mourners, leaving only Mary and John. Behind, he paints a spacious (Mantegnesque) landscape, with a lake and mountains in the distance. Our eyes follow the winding road from Christ to the airy horizon, ascending like a soul to heaven.

Giovanni Bellini “The Dead Christ Supported by Two Angels” (1453-1455). In another early work, Giovanni explores human anatomy, with exaggerated veins, a heaving diaphragm, and even a hint of pubic hair. Mentally compare this stiff, static work with Antonello da Messina’s far more natural “Pieta”, done 20 years later. To see how far Giovanni still had to go. In fact, Giovanni was greatly influenced by Antonello, appreciating the full potential of the new invention of oil-based paint. Armed with this more transparent paint, he could add subtler shades of color and rely less on the sharply outlines forms we see here.

Giovanni Bellini “Madonna and Child” (1470-1475). Though the canvas is a bit wrinkled, its subject is one Giovanni would paint again and again – lovely, forever-young Mary holding rosy-cheeked baby Jesus. He portrayed the holiness of mother and child with a natural-looking pastel-colored, soft-focus beauty.

Room 38. Vittore Carpaccio “Two Venetian gentlewomen” (1490). Two well-dressed Venetians look totally bored, despite being surrounded by a wealth of exotic pets and amusements. One lady absentmindedly plays with a dog, while the other stares into space. Romantics imagined them to be kept ladies awaiting lovers, but the recent discovery of the once-missing companion painting tells us they’re waiting for their menfolk to return from hunting.

Walking along the halls of these three interconnected museums, I kept looking out of the windows to the nice views of Piazza, where lots of Carnival-related performances took place on the city’s main stage.

If you are in Venice for some Murano glass shopping, look no further than Piazza San Marco as it is a location of one of Venice’s most famous glass-makers – Archimede Seguso. Located near Torre dell’Orologio, the content of Seguso shop is museum-worthy and obviously I couldn’t leave the city without purchasing a thing or two from his collection. The convenience of the shop saved me a trip to Murano island.

The multiple restaurants on Piazza are nothing more than tourist traps with hardly mediocre food, but one night, having been lazy to look for a proper place to eat, we stopped for a quick bite in one of them. We were harassed for more food, drinks and desserts all throughout the night. However, if you look for a true Venetian experience near Piazza, try one of the old-time cafes. We’ve heard about Caffè Florian even before we came to Venice, so one night, after dinner, we went and indulged ourselves in Cioccolata in Tazza, Coppa panna Amarena and a couple of desserts – Casanova and Tiramisu for €53.50, hardly a cheap visit. Caffe opened in 1720 and since then, its white-coated garçons waited on everybody from Carlo Goldoni, Goethe and Casanova to Lord Byron, Marcel Proust, and Charles Dickens. It would have been a more enjoyable experience, have we not ended up in the same room with a large group of very loud Chinese people. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful place that is definitely worth a visit (and a drink).

In summer, I’ve heard, each of the caffes had their own orchestra to entertain patrons (and the part of the music fee would be included in the bill), but in winter we had to enjoy a different, yet, equally beautiful type of performance by a young Russian violinist – Ivan Kazanskiy (ivankazanskiy@gmail.com).

The Grand Canal

The second best thing to do in Venice, after visiting Piazza San Marco, is to take a vaporetto #1 and for a price of a bus-ride, explore and admire the city’s main street – The Grand Canal (allow 45 minutes one way, make sure to position yourself at the bow of the boat for the best views and don’t forget to listen to Rick Steves’ free audio tour-guide, as the vaporetto slowly moves from Ferrovia railway station to the last stop beyond Piazza). This 3.8 km long and barely 5 m deep canal is truly grand as it is lined with over 170 Byzantine and Gothic palazzi demonstrating the welfare and art “accumulated” throughout a thousand year history of the Republic of Venice, when the noble Venetian families faced huge expenses to show off their richness in suitable homes.

1. Ferrovia. The Santa Lucia train station, one of the few modern buildings in town, was built in 1954, however, it has been gateway into Venice since 1860, when the first station was built. More than 20,000 people a day commute in from the mainland, making this the busiest part of Venice during rash hour. The Calatrava bridge, just upstream was built in 2008 to alleviate some of the congestion. This bridge draws snorts from Venetians – its construction was expensive (€11 million), and the modern design runs counter to Venice’s trademark medieval and Renaissance architecture. Opposite the train station, atop the green done of San Simeone Piccolo, St. Simeone waves “ciao” to whoever enters or leaves the “old city”. The pink church with the white Carrara-marble facade, just beyond the train station, is the Chiesa degli Scalzi (Church of the Barefoot, named after the shoeless Carmelite monks), where the last doge rests. It looks relatively new because it was partially rebuilt after being bombed in 1915 by Austrians.

2. Riva de Biasio. Venice main thoroughfare is busy with all kinds of boats: taxis, police boats, garbage boats, ambulances, construction cranes, boats delivering mattresses, food and mail. And somehow, they all manage to share the canal in relative peace (during our stay we’ve never seen an accident on the water). About 20 m past the Riva de Biasio stop to the left, a broad Cannaregio Canal leads to the Jewish Ghetto. The twin, pale-pink, eight-story “skyscrapers”- the tallest buildings on the canal – are reminders of how densely populated this neighborhood once was. Founded in 1516 near a copper foundry, this segregated community gave the world the word “ghetto”.

3. San Marcuola. At this stop, facing a tiny square just ahead, stands the unfinished church of San Marcuola, one of only five churches fronting the Grand Canal. Centuries ago, this canal was a commercial drag of expensive real estate in high demand by wealthy merchants. About 20 m ahead on the right stands the stately gray Fondaco dei Turchi (Turkish “Fondaco” Exchange), one of the oldest houses in Venice. Its horseshoe arches and roofline of triangles and dingleballs are reminders of its Byzantine heritage. Turkish traders in turbans docked here, unloaded their goods into the warehouse on the bottom story, then went upstairs for a home-style meal and a place to sleep. Venice in the 1500s was very cosmopolitan, welcoming every religion and ethnicity, so long as they carried cash. Today, the building contains the city’s Museum of Natural History and Venice’s only dinosaur skeleton.

Just 100 m ahead on the left, Venice’s Casino is housed in the palace where German composer Richard Wagner died in 1883. See his distinct, strong-jawed profile in the white plaque on the brick wall. As I mentioned in the “History” part of his blog, in the 1700s, Venice was Europe’s Las Vegas, with casinos and prostitutes everywhere. Casinos (“little houses” in Venetian dialect) have long provided Italians with a handy escape from daily life. Today they’re run by the state to keep Mafia influence at bay. Notice the fancy front porch, rolling out the red carpet for high rollers arriving by taxi of hotel boats.

4. San Stae. The San Stae Church sports a delightful Baroque facade. Opposite the San Stae stop is a little canal opening – on the second building to the right of the opening, look for the peeling plaster that once made up frescoes (barely distinguishable remains of little angels on the lower floors). Imagine the facades of the Grand Canal at their finest. Most of them would have been covered in frescoes by the best artists of the day. As colorful as the city is today, it is still only a faded, sepia-toned remnant of a long-gone era, a time of lavishly decorated, brilliantly colored palaces.

Just ahead, jutting out a bit on the right, is the ornate white facade of Ca’ Pesaro (which houses the International Gallery of Modern Art). “Ca” is short for casa (“house”), but because only the house of doge could be called a palazzo, all other Venetian palaces are technically “Ca”. In this city of masks, notice how the rich marble facades along the Grand Canal mask what are generally just simple, no-nonsense brick buildings. Most merchants enjoyed showing off, however, being smart businessmen, they only decorated the side of the buildings that would be seen and appreciated. But look back as you pass Ca’ Pesaro, it is the only building you’ll see with a fine side facades too.

5. Ca’ d’Oro. The lacy Ca d’Oro (House of Gold) is the best example of Venetian Gothic architecture on the canal. Its three stories offer different variations on balcony designs, topped with a spiny white roofline. Venetian Gothic mixes traditional Gothic with Byzantine styles, filled with Islamic frills. Like all the palaces, this was originally painted and gilded to make it even more glorious that it is now. Today the Ca d”Oro is an art gallery.

Look at the Venetian chorus line of palaces in front of the boat. On the right is the arcade of the covered fish market, with an open-air produce market just beyond. It bustles in the morning but it is quiet the rest of the day. This is a great scene to wander through – even though European Union hygiene standards have made it cleaner but less colorful than it once was.

6. Mercato Rialto. The long and officious-looking building at this stop is Venice’s courthouse. Straight ahead in the distance, rising above the huge post office, is the tip of the Campanile, crowned by its golden angel, where the tour ends. The German Exchange (100 m ahead on the right side) was the trading center for German metal merchants in the early 1500s (once a post office, it will soon be a shopping center). Boat cruises by some trendy and beautifully situated wine bars on the right, but as we round the corner, we see the impressive Rialto Bridge come into view. A major landmark of Venice, the bridge is lined with shops and tourists. Constructed in 1588, it’s the 3rd bridge built on this spot. Until the 1850s, this was the only bridge crossing the Grand Canal. With a span of 50 m and foundations stretching 200 m on either side, the Rialto was an impressive engineering feat in its day. Earlier Rialto Bridges could open to let big ships in, but not this one. When this new bridge was completed, much of the Grand Canal was closed to shipping and became a canal of palaces. When gondoliers pass under the fat arch of the Rialto Bridge, they take full advantage of its acoustics.

7. Rialto. Rialto, a separate town in the early days of Venice, has always been the commercial district, while San Marco was the religious and governmental center. Today, a winding street call the Mercerie connects the two, providing travelers with human traffic jams. This is the only stretch of the historic Grand Canal with landings upon which you can walk. They uploaded the city’s basic necessities here: oil, wine, charcoal, iron. Today, the quay is lined with tourist-trap restaurants. Venice’s sleek, black, graceful gondolas are symbol of the city. With about 500 gondoliers (only 3 of whom are women) joyriding amid the churning vaporetti, there is a lot of congestions on the Grand Canal. While the Rialto is the highlight of many gondola rides, gondoliers understandably prefer the quieter small canals.

100 m ahead on the left, two gray-colored palaces stand side by side (the City Hall and the mayor’s office). Their horseshoe-shaped, arched windows are similar and their stories are the same height, lining up to create the effect of one long balcony.

8. San Silvestro. Now, the boat enters a long stretch of important merchant palaces, each with proud and different facades. Because ships couldn’t navigate beyond the Rialto Bridge, the biggest palaces – with the major shipping needs – line the last stretch of the navigable Grand Canal. Palaces like these were multifunctional: ground floor for the warehouse, offices and showrooms upstairs, and the living quarters above the offices on the “noble floors” (with big windows designed to allow in maximum light). Servants lived and worked on the top floors (with the smallest windows). For fire-safety reasons, the kitchens were also located on the top floors. I liked peeking into the noble floors to catch a glimpse of their still-glorious chandeliers of Murano glass.

I mentioned earlier, that Venice’s palazzi are most striking for their open doors and windows, designed to facilitate communication, commerce, and the circulation of air. Elsewhere in Italy, aristocrats built fortified compounds with iron bars on the doors and windows, thick walls, and mighty towers to defend the family during the factionally warfare that so often raged across their cities. Such precautions were unnecessary in Venice. Nothing speaks more eloquently of the genius of the Venetians republican system that the rows of rich and utterly defenseless palazzi that still crowd the sides of the Grand Canal, and every other canal in Venice.The owners of these ornate palaces were powerful men with all of the enemies that power brings. Yet they never conceived of the idea that those enemies, who were fellow Venetians after all, would wage war against them in their homes. Venetian politics was rough and often treacherous, but it rarely turned to violence. Allegiance to the republic, rather than to any one man or dynasty, served Venice very well.

9. Sant’Angelo. Notice how many buildings have a foundation of waterproof white stone (pietra d’istria) upon which the bricks sit hight and dry. Many canal-lever floors are abandoned as the rising water level takes toll. The posts – historically painted gaily with the equivalent of family coats of arms – don’t rod underwater. But the wood at the waterline, where it is exposed to oxygen, does. On the smallest canals, little blue gondolas signs indicate that these docks are for gondolas only.

10. San Toma. 50 m ahead, on the right side (with twin obelisks on the rooftop) stands Palazzo Balbi, the palace of the early 17th century captain general of the sea. These Venetian equivalents of five-star admirals were honored with twin obelisks decorating their palaces. This palace, like so many in the city, flies 3 flags – Italy, the European Union and Venice. Today it houses the administrative headquarters of the regional government.

Just past the admiral’s palace, to the right, down a side canal, there is a traffic light and the fire station (the 1930s Mussolini-era building with four-arches hiding fireboats parked and ready to go). The impressive Ca’ Foscari, with a classic Venetian facade (on the corner, across from the fire station), dominates the bend in the canal. This is the main building of the University of Venice, which has about 20,000 students. Notice the elegant lamp on the corner – needed in the old days to light this intersection.

The grand, heavy, white Ca’ Rezzonico, just before the stop of the same name, houses the Museum of 18th century Venice. Across the canal is the cleaner and leaner Palazzo Grassi, the last major palace built on the canal, erected in the late 1700s. It was purchased by a French tycoon and now displays a contemporary art collection.

11. Ca’ Rezzonico. Up ahead, Ponte dell’Accademia (Accademia Bridge) leads over the Grand Canal to the Galleria dell’Accademia  (right side), filled with the best Venetian paintings. The bridge was put up in 1934 as a temporary structure. Locals liked it, so it stayed. It was rebuilt in 1984 in the original style.

11. Accademia. From here, look through the graceful bridge and way ahead to enjoy a classic view of La Salute Church, topped by a crown-shaped dome supported by scrolls. This Church of Saint Mary of Good Health was built to thank God for delivering Venetians from the devastating plague of 1630 (which had killed about a third of the city’s population).

The low white building among the greenery (100 m ahead, on the right) is the Peggy Guggenheim Collection. The American heiress “retired” here, sprucing up a palace that had been abandoned mid-construction. Peggy willed the city her fine collection of modern art.

Approaching the next stope, we notice on the right how the fine line of higgledy-piggledy palaces evoked old-time Venice. Two doors past the Guggenheim, Palazzo Dario has a great set of characteristic funnel-shaped chimneys. These forced embers through a loop-the-loop channel until they were dead – required in the days when stone palaces were surrounded by humble, wood buildings, and a live spark could make a merchant’s workforce homeless. Notice this early Renaissance building’s flat-feeling facade with “pasted-on” Renaissance motifs. Three doors later is the Salviati building, which once served as a glassworks. Its fine mosaic, done by Art Nouveau in the early 20th century, features Venice as queen being appreciated by the big shots of society.

13. Santa Maria del Giglio. Back on the left stands Gritti Palace hotel, our elegant “home away from home” in Venice.

14. Salute. The huge La Salute Church towers overhead as if squirted from a can of Catholic Reddi-wip. Like Venice itself, the church rests upon pilings. To build the foundation for the city, more than a million trees were piled together, reaching beneath the mud to the solid clay. Much of the surrounding countryside was deforested by Venice. Trees were imported and consumed locally – to fuel furnaces of Venice’s booming glass industry, to built Europe’s biggest merchant marine, to form light and flexible beams for nearly all of the buildings in town, and to prop up this city in the mud. As the Grand Canal opens up into the lagoon, the last building on the right with the golden ball is the 17th century Custom House, which now houses the Punta della Dogana Museum of Contemporary Art. Its two bronze Atlases hold a statue of Fortune riding the ball. Arriving ships stopped here to pay their tolls.

15. San Marco. Up ahead on the left, the free pointed tip of the Campanile marks Piazza San Marco, the center of Venice… but it is not our final destination. Take your time and survey the lagoon. Opposite Piazza, across the water, the ghostly white church with the pointy bell tower is San Giorgio Maggiore, with great views of Venice. Next to it is the residential island Giudecca.

As we leave the San Marco stop, prepare for a drive-by view of Piazza San Marco. First comes the bold white facade of the old mint (marked by a tiny cupola, where Venice’s golden ducat was made) and the library facade. Then come the twin columns, topped by St. Theodore and St. Mark, who’ve welcomed visitors since the 15th century. Between the columns, catch a glimpse of two giant Moors atop the Torre dell’Orologio – they’ve been whacking their clappers every hours since 1499. The domes of Basilica di San Marco are soon eclipsed by the lacy facade of the Palazzo Ducale. Next you’ll see the Bridge of Sighs, many gondolas with their green breakwater buoys, and then the grand harbor-side promenade – the Riva. Follow the Riva with your eye, past elegant hotels to the green area in the distance. This is the largest of Venice’s few parks, which hosts the annual Biennale festival. Much farther in the distance is the Lido, the island with Venice’s beaches. Its sand and casinos are tempting but its car traffic disrupts the medieval charm of Venice.

16. San Zaccaria. This is the last stop….. Get off and enjoy the walk via the Riva back to Piazza.

As I intended, I mentioned the most important things to see and visit in Venice, which is Piazza San Marco and the Grand Canal, and now, I would like to discuss in details the sights located in different Sestieri (neighborhoods) of Venice. I begin with San Marco area (with a help of the map I used in Venice).

Sestiere di San Marco (west of Piazza San Marco)

Not marked on my map, but easily located (look for S. Marco Vallaresso point at the beginning of the Grand Canal), on Calle Vallaresso is Harry’s Bar. Home of the Bellini and Carpaccio, two things any New Yorker can’t leave without, this bar is a true landmark. Opened in 1931 by a bartender named Giuseppe Cipriani (another famous name in New York), since then it has been frequented by famous people, and it was a favorite of Ernest Hemingway. Unfortunately, we never felt dressed up enough to visit the bar but it is on our list for the next visit.

Heading inland down Calle Vallaresso, very narrow yet one of Venice’s most exclusive streets, past fancy boutiques such as Pucci, Gucci and Roberto Cavalli. At the T intersection turn left and before reaching the first bridge, you will see Chiesa di San Moise (San Moise Church, p.45 on the map, free entry, no photos allowed), on your left (across the canal from Hotel Violino d’Oro). This is the parish church for St. Mark’s, because of tourist crowds at the Basilica, this is where the community actually worships. While it is one of Venice’s oldest churches, dating to the 9th century (note the old tower on the right), its busy facade is 17th century Baroque. It is dedicated to two Moses – the one from the Old Testament and Moisè Venier, the aristocrat who funded the reconstruction during the 9th century. The latter’s bust is in the center of the facade, while former one caps it. However, in the 19th century, several statues had to be removed from the church’s “positively lickable” facade to prevent it from collapsing under the combined weight. Inside, the altarpiece depicts Mount Sinai, with Moses (kneeling) receiving the two tablets with the Ten Commandments. The alcove to the left of the altar has Tintoretto’s 16th century “Christ Washing the Disciples’ Feet”, while the chapel on the right has Palmo il Giovane’s “The Supper”.

The modern building on the right is the 5-star Bauer Hotel, an 18th century palace which was re-built during the Mussolini era in an unusual Fascist-deco style. You can actually wander through the hotel for a James Bond-meets-Italian-dictator architectural experience.

Continue past the bridge (don’t forget to check out a fantastic Murano glass jewelry shop of Marina and Susanna Sent – #2090, the first shop on the right, at the end of the bridge). Calle Larga XXII Marzo is perhaps one of the widest streets in Venice. It was created during the 19th century by filling in a canal. Halfway down the street, turn right on tiny Calle del Sartor da Veste and continue ahead, across the bridge. At the next square, there is Gran Teatro alla Fenice (La Fenice Opera House, p.128 on the map). One of the most famous and renowned landmarks in the history of Italian theatre, and in the history of opera as a whole, La Fenice till today rightfully lives up to its name – The Phoenix. In 1774, the Teatro San Benedetto, which had been Venice’s leading opera house for more than forty years, burned to the ground. Re-built in 1792 as a business venture by a group of nobles, it “roses from the ashes” to host the operas by Giovanni Paisiello, Rossini, Bellini and Donizetti. The second fire came in 1836, however, by then Venice without opera was unthinkable so La Fenice once again rose from its ashes to open its doors on the evening of 26 December 1837, just a year later. The interior displayed a late-Empire luxury of gilt decorations, plushy extravagance and stucco. Giuseppe Verdi premiered “Rogiletto” and “La Traviata” at La Fenice, and international greats Stravinsky, Prokofiev and Britten composed for the house. However, the third fire was the result of arson. It destroyed the house in 1996 leaving only the exterior walls. When the news broke, the donation poured in not only from the wealthy theater patrons or art organizations and foundations, but from regular citizens living half the way around the world. And in 2003, a €90-million replica of the 19th-century opera house reopened to the delight of the music lovers.

La Fenice offers private tours but I decided to surprise my husband and get us the tickets (€165 per ticket) to see the famous “La Traviata” which premiered at La Fenice on 6 March, 1853. Seated in one of the central loggias, surrounded by the opulence, glamor but most importantly, the original acoustic system of the 19th century, it was one of the highlights of our trip.

Continue north along the same street (though it changes its name to Calle de la Verona), to a small bridge over a quiet canal. Pause at Ponte de la Verona and look around, see bridges of stone propping up leaning buildings, and there’s a view of the “Leaning Tower” of San Stefano. Notice, that despite million of tourists people actually live in Venice – rooftop gardens, drying laundry, electrical lines snaking into the apartments and the rusted iron bars and bolts that hold their crumbling homes together. On one building, there is centuries old relief carvings – a bearded face and a panel of an eagle with its prey. People once swam freely in the canals but now, there is a sign here “Divieto di Nuoto” (“swimming isn’t allowed”). The swimming is discouraged not only because of the relative cleanliness of water but also because most of the canals aren’t deeper than 1-1.5 m, hence, you don’t really need to swim, you can simply walk on the bottom. All throughout the city you will see some private boats. Italian law stipulates that a luxury tax is levied on all boats – except in Venice, where they’re considered a necessity.

Continue north and at the T intersection, turn right on Calle de la Mandola. Cross the bridge into a spacious square dominated by a statue and an out-of-place modern buildings. This is Campo Manin (p.87 on the map). The centerpiece of the square is a statue of Daniele Manin (1804-1857) with a whinged lion, Venice’s fiery leader in the battle for freedom from Austria and eventually a united Italy. The statue faces the red house Manin lived in.

Scala Contarini del Bovolo (p.87 on the map) is a block south of here, but be careful not to miss the right turn. Facing Manin Statue, turn right and exit the square down an alley, follow yellow signs to the left, then immediately to the right, into a courtyard with one of Venice’s hidden treasures…. In 1499 when the Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo was built, in order to save space, the external staircase, in a shape of a “snail shell” was added. “Bovolo” means “snail shell”, and in this case, the staircase impressed Venetians so much, that they gave the name to this branch of the family “del Bovolo”. Scala is a cylindrical brick tower with five floors of spiral staircases faced with white marble banisters. For a small fee, its 113 steps to the top, are available for a climb.

You can return to Campo Manin and proceed either to Teatro Goldoni and Rialto Bridge or walk south to see 2 remarkable churches and 1 former one. Before coming to Venice, I purchase a Chorus Pass (€12) allowing access to 16 different churches throughout the city. The first one is Chiesa di Santo Stefano (Church of St. Stephen, p.2 on the map, Chorus Pass, no photos allowed). After the Frari and the Church of Saints Giovanni e Paolo, Santo Stefano is the third largest monastery church in Venice. Built by the Augustinian Hermits in the 13th century, it was re-structured a century later, and subsequent embellishments made it into one of the finest examples of Venetian Flamboyant Gothic. The free-standing bell-tower behind it leans disconcertingly, but this brick church has stood tall since 1325. Credit for ship-shaped splendor goes to Bartolomeo Bon for the marble entry portal and to Venetian shipbuilders, who constructed the vast wooden carena di nave (ship’s keel) ceiling that resembles an upturned Noah’s Ark. The whole arrangement, within the mystic significance of the church, recalls an inverted galleon where the columns are the masts of the ship and the beams the decks. The bell tower is one of the most beautiful and tallest in Venice (60 m). Its lower part dates to the early 15th century, while the upper part collapsed in July 1585 when struck by lightning but was shortly rebuilt.

Enter the cloisters museum to see Canova’s 1808 stelar featuring gorgeous women dabbing their eyes with their cloaks, Tullio Lombardo’s wide-eyed 1505 saint, and three brooding 1575-1580 Tintorettos: “Last Supper”, with a ghostly dog begging for bread; the gathering gloom of “Agony in the Garden”; and the abstract, mostly black “Washing of the Feet”. Observe a moment of silence near the apse, and you may even hear the subterranean canal burbling under the choir stalls.

Chiesa di San Vidal (Church of San Vitale, p.17 on the map, Chorus Pass, pictures allowed) is a former church, and now an event and concert hall located at southern end of the Campo Santo Stefano. The first church at the site was erected in 1084 by Doge Vitale Falier, however it was destroyed by fire in 1105. The reconstruction work drugged on for almost 4 centuries. Poor foundation of the original church required more work and using designs of Antonio Gaspari, it acquired its Palladian facelift  in 1696 to commemorate Doge Francesco Morosini‘s victory over Turkish foes. On the facade (1734–37), designed by Andrea Tirali, are sculpted portraits of the Doge Carlo Contarini and his wife Paolina. San Vidal has a 29 m church bell tower, which along with the rest of the church was reconstructed and restored multiple times.

The main altarpiece is a “San Vidal on Horseback with eight saints” (1514) by Vittore Carpaccio; in the painting, four of the saints flank the saint on a white horse, while four are in the balconies above. The altar is flanked by two marble statues of the allegories of Faith (veiled) and Fortitude by Antonio Gai. The interior also houses an “Immaculate Conception” by Sebastiano Ricci, a “Crucifixion and Apostles” by the female painter Giulia Lama, a “Trinity with Saints Peter and Francesco di Paola” by Giovanni Antonio Pellegrini, and a “Guardian Angel with St Anthony of Padua” and “St. Cajetan of Thiene” by Giovanni Battista Piazzetta. Although there is no gravestone, the famous composer Baldassarre Galuppi is buried here. His funeral was held in the nearby church of Santo Stefano.

Walking back from Campo San Stefano, towards Piazza San Marco, on your left is an impressive Baroque-styled Chiesa Santa Maria del Giglio (Church of St. Mary of the Lily, p.1 on the map. Chorus pass, no photos allowed). Experience awe through the ages in this compact church with a 10th century Byzantine layout, charmingly flawed maps of Venice’s territories c.1678 on the facade. Admiral Antonio Barbaro commissioned this reconstruction of the original 9th century church by Giuseppe Sardi for the glory of the Virgin, Venice and of course himself. The exterior lacks any Christian image statues or reliefs. It shows only the marble maps of various places in which Antonio Barbaro served, including Candia, Zadar, Padua, Rome, Corfu and Split. His own statue, as the chief benefactor, in the center, sculpted by Josse de Corte, is flanked by representations of Honor, Virtue, Fame and Wisdom. The other statues are his brothers. At the top of the facade is the Barbaro family arms carved in relief. This self-glorifying architectural audacity enraged 19th century architectural critic John Ruskin, who called it a “manifestation of insolent atheism”. Three intriguing masterpieces to pay attention at the church are Veronese’s “Madonna with Child” – behind the altar, Tintoretto’s four evangelists – flank the organ, and Peter Paul Rubens’ “Mary with St. John” – in the Molin Chapel -features a characteristically chubby baby Jesus.

Sestiere di Castello (east of Piazza San Marco)

Sestiere di Castello is the largest of the six districts of Venice and is home to the final resting place of most Doges – Basilica dei Santi Giovanni e Paolo, the Arsenale, the Biennale gardens and many more.

We start our exploration with the Chiesa di Santa Maria Formosa (p.3 on the map, Chorus Pass, photos are allowed). The foundation of this church goes all the way back to the 7th century, when, according to tradition, the Virgin in the form of a beautiful matron (hence the term “formosa” – meaning both beautiful and buxom) is said to have appeared in a dream to San Magno, Bishop of Oderzo, ordering him to erect a temple dedicated to her, on the spot where he saw a white cloud take shape. It could be no accident that Veronica Franco (1546-1591), one of Venice’s most famous courtesans and an accomplished poet, frequented literary salons at Ca’ Vernier opposite the church, and the stage-set campo was lively hub, often used for open-air theater. The building, of course, underwent numerous reconstructions in the successive epochs, particularly in the 9th and 12th centuries, finally coming to assume a Byzantine plan with a Greek cross and central cupola, still legible today. The current structure, in fact, dates back to the late 15th century and is the masterpiece of the mature work of Mauro Codussi, an architect from Bergamo who organized the interior space according to calculated geometrical relations that lend the building balanced harmony. Upon Codussi’s death the external facades were not yet complete, and both were built in the 16th and 17th centuries with the money given by the Cappello family. Maybe that the reason why this church has two main facades – one overlooking the campo, the other – the canal. The bell tower, added in 1688 is noted for the grotesque face at its base.

The interior hosts masterpieces by Bartolomeo Vivarini and Palma il Vecchio. On the right of the main door we find the Virgin of Lepanto, a Byzantine icon of great antiquity that accompanied the Commander Sebastiano Venier in the battle of Lepanto against the Turks in 1571. In the first chapel of the nave on the right, the marble altar includes the Triptych of Mercy by Bartolomeo Vivarini, a masterpiece depicting “The Madonna of Mercy” in the center, “The Meeting of St. Joachim and St. Anna” on the left, and “The Birth of the Virgin” on the right. In the next chapel we see a canvas by Jacopo Palma il Giovane depicting “The Pieta and St. Francis of Assisi”. On the right-hand wall of the transept, over the mullioned windows, we find Leandro Bassano’s “The Last Supper”. Across from it, on the altar of the School of the Bombardieri, we see the marvelous polyptych by Palma il Vecchio representing St. Barbara surrounded by Saints Anthony Abbot and Sebastian. In the chancel, behind the high altar, we see “The Virgin and Saints Mark and Magnus” by Guilia Lama, an allegory of the foundation of the church and “The Presentation to the Doges of the Brides Abducted by the Narentine Pirates” by Giovanni Segala.

Just behind Santa Maria Formosa is Palazzo Grimani (p.97 on the map, combined ticket with Galleria dell’Accademia – valid for 3 months, pictures allowed, please allow 60 mins). At the beginning of the 16th century, the doge Antonio Grimani gave his sons the family house at Santa Maria Formosa: later, Antonio’s grandsons – Vettore, a Procurator of St. Mark’s and Giovanni, the Patriarch of Aquileia – substantially altered the building and gave it a classical stamp. The latter allegedly collaborated with Michele Sanmicheli, who had been usually credited as the designer of the whole construction. The palace was completed in 1575 by Giovanni Rusconi. The palazzo housed Giovanni Grimani’s archaeological collection (now are the Museo Correr), one of the finest of the time, which was strikingly displayed on shelves, mantelpieces and plinths. The decoration of the rooms is of extraordinarily high quality, with outstanding stucco-work and frescoes reflecting the confidently unconventional taste of the Grimanis and executed by Mannerist artists such as Giovanni da Udine, Francesco Salviati, Camillo Mantovano, Francesco Menzocchi and Federico Zuccari. I found it very relaxing and inspiring to wander around this well-preserved yet unpretentious palazzo. If Galleria dell’Accademia overwhelms you with its content, Palazzo Grimani allows your eye to enjoy the original decorations and sparse exhibits.

1. Courtyard. The original palace, an ancient casa da stazio, was an L-shaped building located at the intersection of the rios of San Severo and Santa Maria Formosa. In the 16th century overall alterations were carried out for 30 years at the expense of Giovanni Grimani; two new wings were added to the building, doubling its size and gaining an inner courtyard, Roman-style, with loggias of marble colonnades, unusual in 16th century Venice. At the time, the vast space of the courtyard, with its asymmetrical porticoes laden with artfully arranged sculptures, reliefs and inscriptions, must have appeared a stunning invitation to visit the rest of the collection and the pictorial wonders held in the upper floors of the palace.

2. Staircase. Between 1563 and 1565 the vault of the monumental Staircase, which leads to the portego (the traditional main room of the Venetian house), was richly ornamented with stuccoes and painted figures by Federico Zuccari. The subjects seemed to represent religious allegories; the painted decoration was completed with “grottesche” and floral arabesques while the stuccoes represented various sea creatures, based on ancient gems in the family collection. The magnificence of the Grimani glyptic collection originated two sets of prints of the gems, publishes in the 1550s and 1560s; the match between the engravings and the staircase stuccoes leads us to assume that Giovanni Grimani had the engravings reproduced in these stuccoes, expecting observant visitors to discover their connection with his gems.

3. Camaron d’Oro. In the 16h century the 3 rooms preceding the Tribuna provided a gradual approach to its vista. The walls of the large room at the north-west corner of the palace, already known in the 16th century as the Camaron d’Oro – Large Gold Room – were entirely covered with tapestries featuring Bible scenes. They formed a backdrop for the painted terra-cotta vases over the doors and the marble sculptures, including some statues of Pallas, Mercury and a colossal Apollo.

4. Foliage room. The second room from the Tribuna, decorated with a lavish woods motif, for which it was called Sala a foliami – Foliage Room – displayed lunettes with symbolic figures and Latin mottoes referring to Giovanni’s struggles with the church authorities. Ceiling and walls are awash with remarkably convincing plant and bird life. They even include New World species that had only recently been discovered by Europeans, including two that would come to be staples of Venetian life: tobacco and corn. It was Camillo Montovano’s major work in the Grimani palace. This room contained a monumental chimneypiece and many antique busts; its over-doors were adorned with fragments of Roman sarcophagi.

5-6. Anteroom to the Tribuna and Tribuna. The ceiling of the Anteroom to the Tribuna in the 19th century still presented a painting, by Guiseppe Porta – the “Contest of the Attica between Athena and Poseidon”. The room contained various antiques, outstanding among which was a long relief with a sacrificial scene (Suovetaurilia), now in Paris. The Palazzo Grimani Tribuna was probably designed by Giovanni himself as a central-plan museum. It was a stylistic unicum, as Venice has seen nothing like it. Severe, solemn, lit by the light falling from the central lantern, the room had a vaulted ceiling decorated with lacunars and the walls displayed niches and shelves for housing statues and busts. When it was dismantled in 1594, for the removal of the marbles to the Public Statuary, the room contained over 130 sculptures including Greek and Roman works. A key sculpture has been brought back from the Archeological Museum: “The Abduction of Ganymede” returned to its original position in the air space of the Tribuna vault.

7. Neoclassical Room. This room was refurbished at the end of the 18th century on the occasion of the wedding between the Roman princess Virginia Chigi and Giovanni Carlo Grimani, celebrated in 1791. The pictorial decoration of the ceiling was executed by an artist from Verona, Giovanni Faccioli. The subject of the wedding was illustrated by the mural painting above the entrance door which is a copy of the famous scene known as the “Aldobrandini Wedding”, a Roman fresco discovered during excavations in 1601 and purchased by Cardinal Pietro Aldobrandini.

8. Dining Room. Camillo Mantovano painted the ceiling of the Dining Room, decorated with the fish and birds motifs. The 17th century painting in the center of the ceiling, portraying “St. John Baptizing the People”, is derived from a painting by Nicolas Poussin, conserved at the Louvre, and replaced the painting with the “Four Elements” attributed to Giorgione. The oval shape is taken up again in the decoration of the pavement in pastellone, a characteristic type of crusted marble floor widely used in Venetian buildings.

9. Room of the Doge Antonio, Vestibule and Chapel. In a decorative style quite alien to Venetian culture a sumptuous display or rare marbles set in stucco frames adorns these rooms which belonged to the final phase of the construction of the palace concluded in 1568. The Chapel was used by Patriarch Giovanni Grimani for private celebrations of the Mass. The splendid marble altar, missing now, is still recorded in the 19th century inventories of the palace. On the ceiling of the Vestibule are small frescoes framed with stuccoes. On one side a small window overlooks the spiral staircase of probable Palladian inspiration and on the other side a monumental marble portal leads to the room devoted to Doge Antonio. In this room, located between the east and the south wings of the palace, the space was dominated by two walls, facing each other, treated with the same decorative motif. The fireplace wall was adorned with marble vases and portrait busts, including two modern reproductions of Vitellius and Caracalla. It was devoted to the figure of Doge Grimani (as an inscription, still visible, placed at the top of the wall, indicates) and was apparently the privileged place for honoring him. The wall across from it displayed various antiques: two sleeping Eros, a group of Greek statuettes of female figures and also two landscape reliefs with a sheep and lioness suckling their offsprings, purchased on the Roman antique market. These works surrounded and surmounted a group with “Dionysus and Satyr”.

10. Chamber of Apollo. Situated in the area of the medieval building, the chambers of Apollo, Callisto and Psyche were decorated between 1537 and 1540 by mannerist artists. As we enter, the vault reproduces a scheme from the ceiling of a Roman tomb showing the dispute between Apollo and Marsyas, as narrated in Ovid’s “Metamorphoses”. The four frescoes are by Francesco Salviati from Florence. The stucco works are by Giovanni da Udine, and so are the small figures of deities, the grotesques and the extraordinary birds. In the lunette on the back wall an allegorical representation of Roman setting refers to the origins and the glories of the Grimani Family. The only sculpture placed in this chamber is the head of the muse Thalia.

11. Chamber of Callisto. The chamber dedicated to the nymph Callisto and her metamorphosis is also related to the famous text by Ovid depicted in the Chamber of Apollo. The story unfolds through 5 panels with gold background, starting from the first – on the wall opposite the windows – where the nymph seduced by Jove whilst in her sleep, to the epilogue – at the center of the ceiling – where Callisto and her son Arcas are both transformed into constellations. Here Giovanni da Udine, who studied the classical ruins in Rome and rediscovered the technique of antique stucco, demonstrates his great still by reproducing animals, still life scenes as well as twelve putti. The latter symbolize the months of the year and are accompanied by four signs of the zodiac which refer to the four seasons. Round mirror embedded in the stucco frames embellish the composition and, in accordance with the story narrated, recall the stars of the firmament.

12. Chamber of Psyche. This room and the next once formed the Chamber of Psyche. It was divided into two separate rooms in the 19th century. In the original layout, which dates back to the 1530s, the ceiling was decorated with 5 paintings dedicated to the story of Cupid and Psyche by Apuleius. The octagonal oil painting on the wall is probably a copy of a painting by Francesco Salviati dated 1539. It was once the center of the pictorial composition and represented Psyche worshipped as a goddess for her beauty.

13. Bosch Room. The Grimani were important patrons of contemporary art too. Their collection not only embraced Venetian painters – such as Giorgione, Titian, Veronese, Jacopo Bassano and Tintoretto – but also northern artists, like Memling, Patinir, Bosch and Durer. They probably owned some Bosch’s most celebrated images – “Vision of the Afterlife” – which is still on display at the Palazzo.

14. Room of the Fireplace. This large room was frescoed in the 1560s with the decorations composed of monochrome columns, only few fragments of which survived. Dominating the space is the monumental fireplace in colored marble and white stucco. The elegance and the quality of some details, such as the garlands and the wide-open mouth-monster visible in the center, recall the mannerist geniality and inventive extravagance of the solutions Federico Zuccari adopted in his private residence on the Pincio Hill in Rome.

Basilica di Santi Giovanni e Paolo (Church of Saints John and Paul, p.31 on the map, €3.50 entry, no photos allowed). When the Dominicans began building Zanipolo (as Basilica is commonly known) in 1333 to rival Franciscans’ Basilica dei Frari, the church stirred a lot of passions. Both structures feature red-brick facades with high-contrast detailing in white stone. But since Zanipolo’s facade remains unfinished, the Frari won a decisive early decision with its soaring grace and Titian’s “Assunta” altarpiece. However, over the centuries, Zanipolo had at least tied the score with its pantheon of ducal funerary monuments and the variety of its masterpieces. Named after the two Roman officials beheaded in 363 by Julius the Apostate, who later acquired the status of “blessed martyrs” (and not after Jesus’ disciples, as one can assume) – the structure was designed to make worshippers small and reverential. Little can prepare you for its cavernous interior (90 m by 38 m), suffused by a soft pink glow.

Completed in 1430s in classic Italia Gothic style, the basilica could accommodated virtually the entire population of 14th century Castello (and still is the largest church in Venice). Its 33m-high nave is reinforced by a clever series of cross-beams – necessary because of Venice’s waterlogged soil. Typical of Italian Gothic, its exteriors and interiors have a barn-like simplicity. Rarest of all is the surviving 15th century stained glass in the south transept, created on Murano, it richly illuminates designs by Bartolomeo Vivarini and Girolamo Mocetto. For centuries, Zanipolo was the site of doge’s funerals, and the walls are punctuated by 25 of their lavish tombs. From Pietro Lombardo’s three-tier monument celebrating the “Ages of Man” for Pietro Mocenigo (1409-1476) to the Gothic tomb of Michele Morosini (1308-1382) and Andrea Tirali’s bombastic “Tomba dei Valier” (1708), they provide an overview of the stylistic development of Venetian art.

In 1867, a fire destroyed paintings by Tintoretto, Palma di Giovanni, Titian and Bellini. Anti-Catholic arson was suspected, but nothing was proved. A second Bellini polyptych, on the second altar in the right aisle, survived. Depicting “Vincent Ferrer, Christopher and Sebastian”, the work has a vivid sensuousness that was to become a hallmark of Venetian painting. Guido Reni’s “San Giuseppe” is a rare expression of holy bonding, with Joseph exchanging adoring looks with baby Jesus. The dome on the southwest end of the nave boasts Giambattista Lorenzetti’s “Jesus the Navigator” – Jesus scans the skies like an anxious Venetian sea captain. In the Cappella del Rosario, Paolo Veronese’s “Assunta” ceiling depicts the rosy Virgin ascending a staggering staircase to by crown by cherubs.

To the right of the church is one of the world’s best-known equestrian statues, that of Bartolomeo Colleoni, sculpted in the 15th century by Andrea del Verrochio. This bronze has long been acclaimed as his masterpiece, even though it was completed by another artist. The horse is far more beautiful that the armored military hero, who looks as it he had just stumbled on a three-headed crocodile.

Adjacent to church’s north corner is the Scuola di San Marco (p. 123 on the map) with its stunning Renaissance facade that you can’t move your eyes from. In was built in 1260 by the Confraternity of San Marco to serve as the home to one of the six major sodalities or Scuole Grandi of Venice. Three of the greatest Italian explorers of the fifteenth century: Giosafat Barbaro, Ambrogio Contarini, and Alvise da Mosto were members of the Scuola. In 1485, however, it was destroyed by a large fire, and rebuilt in the following twenty years under a new design by Pietro Lombardo, with a fund established by the members. The façade, a masterwork with delicately decorated niches and pilasters, and with white or polychrome marble statues, was later completed by Mauro Codussi. While decorated with the polished marble elements of Renaissance classicism, the proliferation of arches and niches adds a retrogressive Byzantine flavor, an architectural feature of many conservative Venetian styles. 

Jacopo Tintoretto furnished the Scuola with three paintings “Miracle of the Slave” (also known as “The Miracle of St. Mark”, 1548), “St Mark’s Body Brought to Venice“, painted between 1562 an 1566, both paintings are currently housed in the Gallerie dell’Accademia, and “Finding of the body of St Mark” also painted between 1562 an 1566, and now held in the Pinacoteca di Brera in Milan. In 1819 it became an Austrian military hospital and it is still a functioning and perhaps the most beautiful civil hospital in the world.

I really enjoyed exploring the narrow alleyways of Castello, the area seemed both, very residential and very quiet. Eventually, I reached the Venetian Arsenale (Arsenal, p.67 on the map, unaccessible to visitors). Since 1104 Venice had possessed, in her famous Arsenale, the greatest shipyards, and probably the chief industrial undertaking in Europe. When Dante, descending into his “Inferno”, wanted images to express the awful turmoil and congestion of purgatory, he drew upon his memories of the Arsenale, for hardly less than the wonders of Venetian architecture and display, the shipyard captured the imagination of everyone: every old map, print and drawing shows it – fairly hazy as a rule, for security was tight, and draughtsmen with easels were hardly encouraged, I imagine, at its heavily battlemented gates. Sustained by an enormous 10% of the city’s income and employing up to 16,000 skilled arsenolotti, it was the very heart of Venice’s mercantile and military power. A unique pre-industrial example of mass production, its centralized organization, standardized processes and stringent quality control all anticipated the modern factory. Not only was the Arsenale capable of turning out a new galley in a single day, its 45-hectare physical footprint occupied 15% of the city. Even today, it is completely surrounded by 3.2km of crenellated walls.

At its peak, the Arsenale must have made an enormous impression, with its boiling black pitch, metalworking and timber cutting. Many streets in Castello are still named after its activities: Calle della Pece (pitch), del Piombo (lead), delle Ancore (anchors) and delle Vele (sails). Perhaps the most revolutionary aspect of the Arsenale was that it used canals as moving assembly lines. The growing ship would move through the canals from one stage of construction to the next – a system that was not reproduces at such a scale until Henry Ford’s “revolutionary” car factory in the 20th century. As a result of this innovation, as many as 100 galleys could be in production at a single time. In addition, special consultants, such as Galileo, helped the Venetians rationalize production and build ships that could be equipped with increasingly powerful munitions. The treatise he later wrote, drawing on his experience, is considered a seminal text of material science.

The physical appearance of the yards was also a matter of prestige and cutting-edge design. At the core of the complex is the Arsenale Vecchio, which included storage for the bucintoro, the doge’s ceremonial galley. In 1303-1304 came the first expansion, known as La Tana. Occupying almost the whole length of the southern side of the Arsenale and performing essential rope-making work, it was refashioned in 1579 by Antonio da Ponte. The Arsenale Nuovo was added in 1325, followed in 1473 by the Arsenale Nuovissimo. In the 16th century, production of galaezze (large vessels with deep draught) required the creation of a deeper Canale delle Galeazze along with further workshops and sheds, such as the Gaggiandre (dry dock), which were fashioned from designs attributed to Jacopo Sansovino. Now, large parts of the Arsenale have been retooled for use as exhibition space during the Art and Architecture Biennales and other special events. Outside of these exhibits the area remains off-limits to visitors.

Capped by the lion of St. Mark that somehow eluded destruction by Napoleon’s troops, the Arsenale’s land gateway is considered by many to be the earliest example of Renaissance architecture in Venice; it was probably executed in 1460. A plaque was installed commemorating the 1571 victory at Lepanto, and the fenced-in terrace was added in 1692. Below the statues is a row of carved lions; the biggest one, regally seated, was taken as a booty by Francesco Morosini from the Greek port of Piraeus, which must have taken some doing. One the right flank of the lion, you will notice some Viking runes, said to be a king of 11th-century war-trophy inscription left behind by Norwegian mercenaries. They boast of their role in helping Byzantium quell a Greek rebellion – the mercenary equivalent of leaving behind a resume.

Since the Museum Storico Navale (Naval Museum, p 83 on the map) was closed but the weather was warm and sunny, I proceeded to the far east part of Castello. Walking along, by Venetian measurements, very wide via Garibaldi, I stumbled into my first park in Venice – Giardini Pubblici. Venice’s public gardens were laid out between 1808 and 1812 on the orders of Napoleon, who decided the city needed a little breathing space. Never mind that an entire residential district had to be demolished or acres of swampland reclaimed. A winning combination of formal gardens and winding pathways, the park now stretches from via Garibaldi, past the Garibaldi monument with a punk-haired lion, through the Napoleonic gardens and past the Biennale pavilions to Sant’Elena, making this the largest park in Venice. It is a perfect and unusual place to sit down and contemplate about the history and present of Venice, to observe the slow-paced locals, who, after the Carnivale ended and tourists dispersed, finally came out to the streets. One of the interesting discoveries I made was that most Venetians had pets – you could always see a cat on the window of this or that palazzo, but once the city’s tourist traffic slowed down, the Venetians other pets, for some reason very large dogs, came out, on the leashes or without. I also noticed that despite its compact size, the city wasn’t forgiving to elderly people – multiple bridges you need to cross even during the shortest walks, the complicated building maintenance, constant flooding, boat navigation – it would take a toll on anybody, yet on an older person. I have to tip my hat to those who haven’t abandoned La Serenissima for a more convenient town.

From Giardini Pubblici, I leisurely strolled back towards Piazza San Marco, and near “S. Zaccaria” vaporetto stop turned right to get to Campo San Zaccharia where my next pit stop was located – Chiesa di San Zaccaria (Church of San Zaccaria, p 54 on the map, Chorus Pass, photos allowed). I instantly liked the place as it had a very nice ambience and to my surprised, hosted second to the Piazza’s Carnevale’s costume party. Back in the 9th century, when Venice was just a collection of wooden houses and before there was Basilica di San Marco, a stone church and convent stood here. This is where the doges worshipped, public spectacles occurred, and sacred relics kept. Today’s structure dates mostly from the 15th century. The tall facade, by Mauro Codussi, who also did Santa Maria Formosa, Torre dell’Orologio and Scuola di San Marco, is a mix of Flamboyant Gothic with early Renaissance. The “vertical” effect produced by the four support pillars that rise up to an arched crown is tempered by the horizontal, many-layered stories and curved shoulders. In the northwest corner of Campo San Zaccaria is a plaque from 1620 listing all the things that were prohibited “in this square”, including games, obscenities, dishonesty, and robbery, all “under grave penalty” (sotto gravis pene).

The church was originally attached to a Benedictine monastery of nuns founded by Doge Giustiniano Participazio and various other doges of the family. When 15th-century Venetian girls showed more interest in sailors than saints, they were sent to the convent adjoining San Zaccaria. Hence, the nuns of this monastery mostly came from prominent noble families of the city and had a reputation for laxness in their observance of the monastic enclosure. However, the wealth showered on the church by their grateful parents is evident. The abbess was usually related to the doge. In 855, Pope Benedict III took refuge in the monastery while fleeing the violence of the Antipope Anastasius, whose election his supporters had challenged. Out of gratitude, Pope Benedict gave the nuns a large number of relics which was the foundation of a large collection for which the monastery was famed, among which were those of Athanasius of Alexandria and a piece of the True Cross.

In 1105, a devastating fire destroyed the entire monastic complex and, according to chronicles of the time, some one hundred nuns, who had taken refuge in the cellars of the monastery, died from smoke inhalation.

The monastery had the tradition of being visited by the doge and his entire court annually at Easter in a ceremony which included presentation of the corno ducale (ducal cap), insignia of his office. This tradition is said to have begun in the 12th century after the nuns had donated land for the building of a ducal chapel, now Basilica di San Marco, and ended only in 1797, at the end of the Republic, when the monastery was suppressed by the invading forces of Napoleon’s army.

When you enter the church, the second chapel on the right holds the body of Zechariah (San Zaccaria). Of the two bodies in the chapel, the lower one in the glass case is the reputed body of Zechariah, the father of John the Baptist. Back when mortals remains were venerated and thought to bring miracles to the faithful, Venice was proud to own the bones of St. Zechariah.

However, the church is blessed with fine art too. On the opposite side of the nave (second chapel on the left), there is Giovanni Bellini’s “Madonna and Child with Saints” (1505). Mary and the babe, under the pavilion, are surrounded by various saints interacting in a so-called Sacra Conversazione (holy conversation), which in this painting is more like a quiet meditation. The saints’ mood is melancholy, with lidded eyes and downturned faces. A violinist angel plays a sad solo at Mary’s feet. This is one of the last of Bellini’s paintings in the sacra conversazione formula, the newer type of altarpiece that liberated the Virgin, Child and saints from the separate cells of the older triptych style. The life-size saints stand in an imaginary extension of the church – the pavilion’s painted columns match those of the real church. We see a glimpse of trees and a cloudy sky beyond. Bellini established a 3-D effect using floor tiles. The four saints pose symmetrically, and there’s a harmony in the big blocks of richly colored robes – blue, green, white and yellow. A cool white light envelops the whole scene, creating a holy ambience. The ever-innovative Bellini was productive until the end of his long life – he painted this masterpiece at age 75. The German artist Albrecht Durer said of him:”He is very old, and still he is the best painter of them all”.

Many worthwhile works lie in the main body of the church, but for a view of even more of them, apply to the sacristan for entrance to the church’s museum, housed in an area once reserved exclusively for nuns. Here, you will find works by Tintoretto, Titian, Il Vecchio, Anthony van Dyke and Bassano. On the right-hand side of the nave is the entrance (€1,5 fee) to the Crypt. Before descending into the crypt, look at the Tintoretto’s “Birth of John the Baptist” located in the first room (Chapel of Sant’Atanasio). Painted in 1560s, the masterpiece tells the backstory of Zechariah. In the background, old Zechariah’s wife, Elizabeth, props herself up in bed while nurses hold and coo over her newborn son, little John the Baptist. The birth was a miracle, as she was past childbearing age. On the far right, Zechariah – the star of this church – witnesses the heavens opening up, bringing this miracle to earth.

The five golden thrones, displayed in this room, were once seats for doges. Every Easter, the current doge would walk from Piazza San Marco to this religious center and thank the nuns of San Zaccaria for giving the land for the square.

The small room next door contains religious objects as well as an engraving of the doge parading into Campo San Zaccaria. Next comes the Chapel of San Tarasio, dominated by an impressive 15th century prickly gold altarpiece by Antonio Vivarini. The predella (seven small scenes beneath the altarpiece) may be by Paolo Veneziano, the 14th century grandfather of Venetian painting. This Chapel also contains the faded frescoes of Andrea del Castagno.

Look down through the glass in the floor to see the 12th-century mosaic floor from the original church. In fact, these rooms were parts of the earlier churches.

Finally, go downstairs to the crypt – the foundation of the church built in the 10th century, and since it is one of the oldest churches in Venice, the remains of various doges were buried here. The crypt is low and the water table high, so I was told that the room would be flooded (and it was), submerging the bases of the columns.

I exited the Campo at the far end, and headed south – until I reached the waterfront. The corniche is called Riva Degli Schiavoni (or simply, Riva) and it was built not for tourists but as part of the port of San Marco in the 9th century. Its name “schiavoni” actually mean “Slavs”, referring to Slavic men who brought cargo to Venice from across the Adriatic Sea. For centuries, vessels would dock and disembark here, the waterfront of Babel of languages, as traders, dignitaries and sailors arrived from ports around the Mediterranean and beyond. Paolo Veronese’s “Feast in the House of Levi” (in the Galleria dell’Accademia), gives you some idea of how the crows might have looked and dressed, with Turkish, German, North African and Greek merchants wheeling and dealing along the banks. The great poet Petrarch was among those who found lodgings and inspiration at #4175 east of Rio della Pieta. Now many of the grand old mansions serve as the town’s finest hotels, so you too can bunk here like the merchants of yesteryear.

The big equestrian monument depicts Victor Emmanuel II, who helped lead Italy to unification and became the country’s first king in 1861. Beyond that (over the bridge) is the four columned La Pieta Church, where Antonio Vivaldi once directed the music and where you can easily purchase tickets for today’s performance for Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons”. Despite crowds and many stalls selling cheap stuff, the Riva is lined with many of Venice’s most famous hotels, one of which is Daniele Hotel (former Palazzo Dandolo). Since we stayed at another SPG Luxury Collection hotel in town, The Gritti Palace, a tough-looking security allowed me to enter the hotel and browse around. It was indeed, very impressive.

Approaching Piazza San Marco, if you are lucky and aren’t swept off your feet by millions of tourists, don’t forget to stop and look at Bridge of Sighs, only from the outside, this time. It still remains breathtakingly romantic.

To be continued……for Part II click here.

The post Venice, Italy. Part I. February 2016 first appeared on SvetaNYC.

]]> https://svetanyc.com/2016/02/venice2016-1/feed/ 1 Boca Raton, Fl. November 2015 https://svetanyc.com/2015/11/boca-raton-2015/ https://svetanyc.com/2015/11/boca-raton-2015/#respond Sun, 15 Nov 2015 20:52:51 +0000 http://svetanyc.com/?p=2904 When I think of Florida, I always remember the amazing experiences I have when visiting it, from the amusement parks in Orlando to Winter Music Conference in South Beach and from diving in one of the most exciting places in the US (and the world) – Key Largo to ecological diversity of Everglades and the history of...

The post Boca Raton, Fl. November 2015 first appeared on SvetaNYC.

]]> When I think of Florida, I always remember the amazing experiences I have when visiting it, from the amusement parks in Orlando to Winter Music Conference in South Beach and from diving in one of the most exciting places in the US (and the world) – Key Largo to ecological diversity of Everglades and the history of Florida Keys. Hence, when my husband had to attend a business conference at Boca Raton, Fl, I tagged along, especially since we were to spend 5 days at the world famous Boca Raton Resort and Beach Club, A Waldorf Astoria Resort.

I didn’t venture much outside the resort, except to check out Mizner Park in Boca Raton’s downtown and to visit Gumbo Limbo Nature Center, however, I spent lots of quality time utilizing every facility and eating at every restaurant the resort had to offer. So, here is my adventures at Boca Raton Resort and Club.

History of Boca Raton.

The earliest known inhabitants of the Boca Raton area were the Tequesta Indians, who lived in communities near the ocean as long ago as one thousand years until being “discovered” by the Spanish voyagers in the 18th century. “Boca Ratones”, the original name given by the Spaniards, meant “a shallow inlet of sharp-pointed rocks which scrape a ship’s cables.” And it was originally located to the south, in present-day Biscayne Bay in Miami. In 1823 a mapmaker, while copying the documents, mistakenly moved its location to the north and began referring to the city’s lake, today known as Lake Boca Raton, as “Boca Ratone Sounde.” The name stuck to the area and it is known today as Boca Raton. It didn’t take long for the Spanish and the Brits to clear the area from the indigenous people but for a long time, it largely remained uninhabited. The first significant settler to this area was Captain Thomas Moore Rickards in 1895, who resided in a house made of driftwood on the east side of the East Coast Canal. The Florida East Coast Railroad (FEC) hired Rickards to promote the area to farmers who would ship their crop via the FEC. Rickards produced the first survey of Boca Raton; he subdivided several hundred acres of land and sold the lots to northerners for growing pineapples and orange trees. Rickards planted 50 acres of his own land, called “Black Cat Plantation”, however, after his groves and fields were destroyed in a hurricane in 1903, he moved to North Carolina. The expansion of the Florida East Coast Railway, connecting West Palm Beach to Miami made the region accessible to a group of resourceful pioneers. Amongst these were a group of Japanese immigrants under the leadership of Joseph Sakai, who formed a community along today’s Yamato Road in 1904. Japanese farmers of the Yamato Colony converted the land west of the city into pineapple plantations, however, the colony never grew very large due to a blight that destroyed much of their crops and subsequent competition from Cuban production. By the 1920s, many of the colonists had returned to Japan, but the Japanese heritage of the Yamato Colony survives in the name of Yamato Road and in the Morikami Museum and Japanese Gardens, located northwest of the city limits.

In May of 1925, the Town of Boca Raton was incorporated at the height of the Florida land boom, when several investors were interested in turning it into a resort town. Most famously, Addison Mizner had several projects for resorts and mansions in the area. His exclusive hotel Ritz-Carlton Cloister Inn was built in 1926, later renamed the Boca Raton Resort & Club, and is still one of the only “5 star” hotels located in Florida. Although many of Mizner’s plans for the young community were squelched by the demise of the land boom in 1926, a few survive today—and his architectural style continues to influence the city (ex. Town Hall – the home of the Boca Raton Historical Society and its History Museum).

In the 1930s and 1940s, Boca was known for its winter vegetable crop, particularly the green beans which commanded a premium in northern markets. In 1942, the Army Air Corps established its only war-time radar training school at the site of what is today Florida Atlantic University and the Boca Raton Airport. The facility brought thousands of servicemen as well as families and civilian employees to the tiny community of Boca Raton, with a population of 723 people in 1940.

In the 1960s, South Florida experienced another great land boom, with developments pushing the Everglades and former farmlands increasingly westward. The population grew to almost 30,000 residents by 1970, continuing to increase well outside city limits to this day. In 1962, Boca Raton attracted the newest state university, Florida Atlantic, to the site of the old army airbase. IBM moved one of its computer facilities to Boca Raton in 1967, and in 1981, it was there the first IBM PC was developed.

During the 1980s and 1990s, the city focused much of its attention on downtown redevelopment, and a number of important historical properties, such as Boca Raton’s original Town Hall and F.E.C. Railway Station were restored and opened to the public. In 1991, the new downtown outdoor shopping and dining center, Mizner Park, was designed over the site of the old Boca Raton Mall. It has since become a cultural center for southern Palm Beach County, featuring a landscaped central park between the two main roads (collectively called “Plaza Real”) with stores only on the outside of the roads. In 2001, it became home to the Boca Raton Museum of Art, and as of 2002 – a location of the new Count de Hoernele Amphitheater – a large-capacity outdoor venue for concerts and other performances. Completed in 2013, Mizner Park was designed as a classical Mediterranean revival town center and presently features many restaurants, boutiques and galleries. On one afternoon when my husband and I decided to drive “to the city”, Mizner Park looked more like a “trying too hard wanna-be” Mediterranean outdoor mall (if there are any of that kind in Europe) with virtually all of its residents taking siesta. We stopped at Villagio Restaurant for lunch and it was pretty ordinary – from food to service to ambience.

Many buildings in town have a Spanish Colonial Revival architectural theme, initially inspired by Addison Mizner. Still today, Boca Raton has a strict development code for the size and types of commercial buildings, building signs, and advertisements that may be erected within the city limits. For ex., neither outdoor car dealerships nor billboards are allowed in the municipality. Go figure!

Well, from a farming community of 18 souls in 1903, modern-day Boca Raton is one of the wealthiest communities in South Florida and home to over 93,000 people, most of whom are white, well-educated and well-off or, should I say, rich. According to Forbes, Boca Raton has three of the ten most expensive gated communities in the U.S. – The Royal Palm Yacht and Country Club holds the #1 spot, The Sanctuary – #6, and Le Lac – #8 spot.

Boca Raton Resort and Club.

To tell a story of Florida’s most famous and luxurious hotel, we have to begin with a story of its mastermind – Addison Mizner – a so-called “Society Architect”. Mizner’s Palm Beach mansions for the wealthy and socially prominent created both a new architectural style and a new life style for America’s preeminent winter resort. Born in 1872 in Benicia, California to one of the state’s pioneer families, Mizner, like most members of his profession in those years, didn’t have a university degree, but received his formal training as an apprentice in the office of Willis Polk, later a prominent San Francisco architect. After a decade as a country house architect on Long Island, Mizner came to Palm Beach with sewing machine heiress, Paris Singer, during the winter of 1918. It was his design for Singer’s Everglades Club that introduced Mediterranean style architecture to the resort. The success of the club lead to commissions for resort mansions for the socialites of Palm Beach (Mizner Boca Raton Development Brochure)

To help draw the wealthy away from Palm Beach, Mizner planned to build a large ritzy hotel right on the beach and call it – The Castillo del Rey. This hotel was part of his plan to create “the world’s most architecturally beautiful playground” with miles of “paved and landscaped streets, golf courses, polo fields, elegant shopping vistas, and luxurious mansions for the crème de la crème of world society.” Along with his brother, Addison formed The Mizner Land Development Company, which included such investors as T. Coleman du Pont, Elizabeth Arden, William K. and Harold Vanderbilt, Clarence H. Geist, Irving Berlin, the Duchess of Sutherland, and Paris Singer. The Mizner Development Corporation took in over two million dollars on the first day of sales and an additional two million at the second offering of lots. However, when Ritz-Carlton group was brought on board to run the Castillo del Ray, the hotel had to be redesigned in order to meet the Ritz-Carlton’s exacting standards, and it significantly delayed the start of construction. With the money from lot sales, Mizner decided to immediately build a smaller 100-room Cloister Inn on the west bank of Lake Boca Raton. He also started construction of the many amenities he had promised for the new city of Boca Raton, including the miles of streets, the administration buildings, and a number of houses.

Built in the Mediterranean Revival style, with glorious decor and landscaping, complete with gardens and courtyards, The Cloister Inn opened on Christmas Eve, of 1925, with a dinner party, hosted by Addison and his brother. The dinner guests and critics alike fell in love with Mizner’s dream hotel. “The Cloister was simple to severity in its whole yet rich in delights.” Another critic asked: “What could make forms of wood, or stone, or stucco so beautiful that they trouble the imagination?” The entire hotel, constructed in a few short months, was decorated in a stark almost monastic appearance. It featured original antiques, tapestries, and artifacts from Mizner’s personal collection in addition to products of Mizner Industries. Besides offering a gloriously beautiful hotel, inside and out, Addison wanted to extend the tradition of having a high standard of service as well, by anticipating the amenities and comforts of the hotel’s guests. To do so, all service employees were carefully picked and trained. Description of the hotel from a historical record.

However, already by the autumn of 1925, Florida’s great land boom began to unravel. Bad publicity was generated by the fraudulent practices of many promoters and transportation embargoes that kept building supplies from reaching the state. Members of America’s middle class traveling to Florida during the summer found its hotels and restaurants closed and its heat, humidity, and mosquitoes unbearable. These factors all contributed to an uncertain real estate climate. Unfortunately, Mizner had entered the real estate market just as it began to collapse. By the time the Ritz-Carlton Cloister Inn formally opened in February 1926, the corporation had serious problems. The hurricane of September 1926, sealed the fate of the Florida land boom and of Mizner’s dream for Boca Raton. By spring 1927, suits were filed asking recovery of property sold to the Mizner company, which led to bankruptcy. In November, Clarence H. Geist, an original Mizner backer and wealthy Philadelphia utilities company owner, purchased the assets for $71,500 in cash and the assumption of around seven million dollars in debts. Nevertheless, Clarence H. Geist, embracing architect’s vision of having a high quality resort hotel, built upon Mizner’s beginning efforts, doubling the size of The Cloister Inn and constructing the Cabana Club, thus expanding the hotel into the Boca Raton Club. Geisth also hired Ohan Berberyan, a Palm beach art dealer to complete the decoration of the hotel. Subsequently, the U.S. Army used the club as barracks during World War II. Touted by officials as “the most elegant barracks in history,” it housed soldiers during the Boca Raton Army Air Field’s operation.

Throughout the years, owners of this resort built on the plans of Mizner, adding their own improvements, and always keeping the service to guests as a priority front and center. The Schine family, owners of the Biltmore and McAllister hotels, purchased the hotel in 1944, renaming it the Boca Hotel and Club. Arthur Vining Davis and his Arvida Corporation modernized the hotel, and built The Boca Raton Club Tower in 1969, that is 91m tall, has 27 floors, and is colored in a lovely “Boca pink”. In 1980, Davis and his Arvida Corporation built the resort’s large Beach Club Hotel on the prime oceanfront property where Mizner originally had planned to build his Castillo del Ray. The hotel resort was bought by VMS Realty, in 1983 and after the 2009 renovation, it made an attractive property for the Waldorf Astoria Collection Corp, who bought the whole resort in the spring of 2009.

Since its opening, Boca Raton Resort and Club  has been a top destination on southern Florida’s Gold Coast. Occupying 356 acres fronting the Atlantic Ocean, it has a private stretch of beach, two 18-hole golf courses, 30 tennis courts, 5 pools, croquet, baseball, basketball and a 27-slip marina. A wide variety of restaurants (13, to be exact) and lounges can be found here, as the Spa Palazzo offers signature treatments like Arabian Ritual Bath. Hmmmm….

The Boca Beach Club is a gorgeous waterfront property where I was “shuttled” to every day from The Cloisters. At 10 am, I would attend a Hydro-Fitness pool class, in a company of a dozen 70+ year old ladies and even make friends with some of them. Both, the beach and pool facilities were impeccable, service was friendly but not annoyingly intrusive, and fitness instructors were supportive but not super demanding. I was happy that my husband managed to free a half-day to spend it with me at the Club.

The Cloisters, or the main building by the lake, is a true Spanish-styled eye candy, where everything, starting with a lobby and finishing with the multiple bars and reception areas, are done in a Mediterranean style. Many parts of the hotel looked like the private premisses of an old European house and multiple plaques with the original photos of the hotel and its rooms, spread out around the hotel, made me feel like staying in a museum.

The Lobby was bright and very tastefully decorated. Front desk employees, despite our very late arrival (after 23.00) were very warm and accommodating, expediting the check-in and accompanying us to the room, which took a while to find in a labyrinth of buildings. However, the current lobby wasn’t the original one of the Cloister Inn.

Entrance to the main lobby of the Cloister Inn was through a large Romanesque arch, “reminiscent of the entrance gate to the University of Salamanca, near Madrid”, according to one newspaper report. The doorway with cypress exterior and walnut interior was created in the Mizner Industries workshops in West Palm Beach. It is important to mention, that in order to provide materials for his projects, Mizner established Mizner Industries, a series of factories producing hand made tiles, pottery, cast stone products and architectural features, wrought iron and tin items, and indoor and outdoor furniture. Inspiration often came from actual antiques which he sold as is or as reproductions. The latter were “distressed” to give them an aged appearance. Mizner Industries products and furnishings were used extensively in the original Cloister Inn, from the tiles on the roof to the chairs in the dining room. The two-story lobby of the Cloister Inn featured heavy cypress beam ceilings and a “medieval style” balcony that wrapped around two walls with arched doorways in the interior. The original Cloister Inn lobby, now called the “Mizner Lobby”, still has an ambience of medieval castle. Originally an Andalusian lantern and Spanish style iron sconces provided lighting in the Lobby; however, in 1930 they were replaced by wooden chandelier and hand stamped metal sconces in a floral design.

Presently, the “Mizner Lobby” contains several items worthy attention: the mirror, the chest and the hammered sconces. The antique cabinet and mirror have stood here since 1930, when the Boca Raton Club open (the Club was more luxuriously appointed than the Inn; many of Mizner’s furnishings were reused but in different placement.) The cabinet is of solid oak in a baroque style with stylized carved cartouches on five front panels. It appears to have its original finish and dates to the 18th or 19th century. This cabinet may have been part of the original collection of antiques Addison Mizner provided for the Cloister Inn.

The late 19th century mirror is constructed from about 12 different sized and shaped moldings of ebonized and gilded hardwoods. Nothing is known about its history other than it is featured in old photos of the Boca Raton Club. This combination of antique cabinet and mirror has precedence in historic Spanish homes.

Another antique piece of furniture in the “Mizner Lobby” is the vargueno desk. It is a chest on stand popular in Spain and other countries since the 15th century. The top consists of a full front portable desk, often equipped with sturdy handles and locks and an interior of small drawers and pigeon holes. Vanguenos could serve as jewel or sewing chests as well as writing desks. Many antique vanguenos once graced the public areas and guest rooms of the Cloister Inn and Club. The vangueno in the “Mizner Lobby” is an antique from the 18th or 19th century, the exterior shows much greater wear than the interior. The bottom stand of it could be small chest of drawers or a travel table known as a pie de puente.

Three styles of Mizner Industries chairs can be seen in the “Mizner Lobby” today. The chairs around the trestle table are Savonarola style chairs. The wood and upholstered iron chairs mimic an antique Spanish style chair known as a frailero or “monk’s chair”. These were often decorated with nailheads, featured leather or upholstered seats and backs, and rustic and often elaborate carved stretchers. The carved wooden armchairs with baroque style backs and stretchers are another example of the Spanish influence on Mizner’s products.

Most rooms and dining facilities were tastefully done within the same style. Bar Luna, Palm Court and 501 East Kitchen and Bar radiated sophistication, history and class. It didn’t hurt that the hotel accommodates a lot of conference goers and very few tourists, who prefer to stay at the Club.

In the evenings, my husband and I would enjoy the beautiful outdoor spaces – patios, courtyards and gardens – and thanks to the warm November weather, it did feel like Spain.

The Pool by the Tower was a great option when I felt lazy to go back to the Club, it was always very quiet and free of children who, luckily for me, preferred to spend their time at FlowRider – a surfing simulation pool.

Even though, our room wasn’t easy to find, it had an advantage of being located in a section of the hotel, closest to the Tennis and Health club. When we checked into hotel, I was given a weekly schedule of classes at the Health Club (free for the guests to attend) and it looked very impressive and… intimidating. I optioned to work out on my own, which was no less fantastic, as I’ve got to try machines and equipment, I never knew even existed.

The Spa Palazzo requires its own separate praise as it is a Palazzo indeed! Having read that it was ranked #1 in the World in Conde Nast Traveler’s Readers’ Choice Award a year before, I couldn’t skip the treat! I signed up for a ritual bath with a massage and it beat all my expectations. First of all, once you arrange any treatment, you have an access to all Spa facilities – that is a special rest/dining area and its own pool, set in Andalusian or Moroccan style.

Pictures don’t lie, so you can see that I was the only person by the pool all day long! However, for the first few hours, a fashion photo-session took place right next to my chaise-lounge and I felt more pleased than guilty to dive into the pool thus halting their work.

I guess lack of people enhanced my spa experience by many folds. The Ritual bath treatment took place in a phenomenally beautiful Moorish bath chamber and consisted of several traditional bath procedures.

I started by soaking in a hot tub for about 20-30 minutes – I was given oils and salts to scrub myself squeaky.

Then I was invited to go into one of the compact showers where high-pressured hoses gave me a good beating. I have to say that this particular experience was a bit scary, especially when the attendant asked me to keep my head above water. Even though I knew I was standing in a shower and water wasn’t gathering around me, the intensity and quantity of water sprayed out of the hoses made me feel as if I were drowning, very much like waterboarding, only standing up. Well, the feeling did go away after a few minutes, but the bath attendant was always there to guide and to see whether I was ok.

After that experience, I was invited to go into another chamber-tube where other types of hoses, placed along my spine gave me a very relaxing 20-minute hydro-massage.

I finished my Ritual bath in the mild spa pool, alone, just as I started it! Shortly, I was escorted to the Spa’s waiting area, which was a beautiful room supplied with all sorts of fruits, nuts and teas. I didn’t wait long to be called for the massage which was simply superb! After that experience, I did feel like a Million Dollar baby!

Gumbo Limbo Nature Center is one of a few interesting places to visit in Boca Raton. Founded in 1984, it is a unique cooperative project of the City of Boca Raton, Greater Boca Raton Beach and Park District, Florida Atlantic University (FAU), and Friends of Gumbo Limbo, to protect and preserve coastal and marine area and educate locals and visitors about the environment.

This center had 4 huge salt-water tanks brimming with sea life, from coral to stingrays to spiny lobsters and sharks, and we came right for the feeding time to see them all out and “hunting”. There is also a nature trail and butterfly garden, a 400 m boardwalk and a 12-m observation tower, where you’re likely to see brown pelicans and osprey. But the most impressive, in my opinion, was the Center’s Turtle Rehabilitation unit where individual pools contained rescued turtles that for whatever reason needed medical help or assistance. Each pool had an information plaque citing the name, weight, age and the medical condition of the turtle. When we were there, at least half-dozen turtles were getting a treatment. At the Center, we spoke with many attendants who seemed to be volunteers and they all were very eager to share with us their knowledge and experience. We especially liked a lady at the turtle rehabilitation clinic, who came to Florida from Switzerland when her husband was relocated there for work, and who found her calling by helping the turtles to recover from the man-made injuries. Please, visit Gumbo Limbo and donate to them as they are truly doing a great job!

Picture of Boca Raton.

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]]> https://svetanyc.com/2015/11/boca-raton-2015/feed/ 0 Mexico City, Mexico. September 2015 https://svetanyc.com/2015/09/mexico-city/ https://svetanyc.com/2015/09/mexico-city/#respond Sun, 20 Sep 2015 23:06:55 +0000 http://svetanyc.com/?p=2743 “In Mexico, Spaniards encountered history as well as geography. This history is still alive: it is a present rather than a past. The temples and gods of pre-Colombian Mexico are a pile of ruins, but the spirit that breathed life into that world has not disappeared: it speaks to the hermetic language of myth, legend,...

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]]> “In Mexico, Spaniards encountered history as well as geography. This history is still alive: it is a present rather than a past. The temples and gods of pre-Colombian Mexico are a pile of ruins, but the spirit that breathed life into that world has not disappeared: it speaks to the hermetic language of myth, legend, forms of social co-existence, popular art, customs.”      

            Octavio Paz in his Nobel Laureate address in 1990

The home of tequila, Aztecs, sombreros and Maya pyramids –  not to mention Pancho Villa, Diego Rivera, El Chapo and Carlos Slim (though of Lebanese ancestry) – almost everyone on the planet knows something about Mexico. One of the greatest civilizations, Mexico offers an alluring blend of cultures, landscapes, tastes and adventures. Even though I have visited Mexico a half-dozen times, I’ve never ventured beyond the Maya land, hence I was immensely thrilled to accept our friends’, Valeria and Jon, wedding invitation and spend a weekend in Mexico City. One of the most populous megapoli in the world, Mexico city sprawls across a 2,240 meter-high valley surrounded in every direction by even taller mountains. To be exact, the valley is a bed of Lake Texcoco, drained in the 17th century, and its heavily saturated soft clay base is slowly causing the city to collapse. It is both the oldest capital in the Americas and one of two founded by Amerindians (Native Americans), the other being Quito. Sadly, the first associations with Mexico city aren’t always positive – corruption, pollution and frequent earthquakes, but let me assure you that it is much more than that – this very unique, colorful and vibrant city is a gem for history buffs, art lovers and adventure seekers. This is a city that has transformed itself into a modern metropolis without shedding its traditional charms.

dsc_9699-pano

Literature.

History.

Mexico’s story is always extraordinary and at times barely credible. How could a 2700-year tradition of sophisticated indigenous civilization crumble in two short years at the hands of a few hundred adventurers from Spain? How could Mexico’s 11-year war for Independence from Spain lead to three decades of dictatorship under Porfirio Diaz. Mexico’s past is present everywhere you go and is key to any understanding of Mexico today. The Aztecs were glorious and great. The Spanish were evil conquerors. The United States stole half of Mexico. La Malinche sold out. There were enemies and there were victims, there was pre-Hispanic Mexico and postcolonial Mexico. The Conquest, the Colonial period, the Inquisition, Independence, the Reformation, the Porfirian period, the Revolution, the era of modernization and authoritarian rule under the Institutional Revolutionary Party – all makers in a story of multiplying layers, where Mexico city is not only a stage of Mexican mixing but of historical mixing as well. Nothing in the history of Mexico City can be presented simply in black and white, it is a parade of gray – for it can trace its existence continuously from Paleolithic site to cradle of ancient civilization, and from colonial stronghold to contemporary megapolis.

The city now known as Mexico City was founded as Tenochtitlan by the Aztecs in 1325 and a century later became the dominant city-state of the Aztec Triple Alliance, formed in 1430 and composed of Tenochtitlan, Texcoco, and Tlacopan. There are two overlapping narratives about the founding of Tenochtitlan. The first is told by the archeological and historic record, and the second comes from the Mexica (Aztec) themselves, which is both mythological and historical.

The central highlands of what is now Mexico were occupied for many centuries before the founding of the city. It is hard to imagine now but less than 500 years ago the downtown area was on islet criss-crossed by canals, or that the communities who inhabited this island and the banks of Lake Texcoco spoke a patchwork of languages that had as little to do with Spanish as Malay or Urdu. A loose federation of farming villages had evolved around the lake by approximately 200 B.C., the biggest of which, Cuicuilco, was destroyed by a volcanic eruption three centuries later. Breakthrough in irrigation techniques and the development of maize-based economy contributed to the rise of a civilization at Teotihuacan, 40 km northeast of the lake. For centuries, Teotihuacan was the capital of an empire whose influence extended as far as Guatemala. However, it was unable to sustain its burgeoning population and mysteriously disappeared around A.D.750. Over the following centuries power in central Mexico came to be divided among varying locally important cities, including Xochicalco to the south and Tula to the north. Their culture is known as Toltec (Artisans), a name coined by the later Aztecs, who looked back to the Toltec rulers with awe. In particular, the cult of Quetzalcoatl  (“Feathered Serpent”) assumed new importance as in Tula, Toltec capital, the god was depicted everywhere, perhaps embodied as a king or dynasty of kinds, and it was from here that he was driven out by the evil god Tezcatlipoca. The prediction of his return was later to have fatal consequences for the Aztecs. The Toltecs ruled the area in and around the Valley of Mexico until about A.D.1200 and after their fall, large migrations of people moved into the Valley, bringing with them the concept of city-state (known in Nahuatl as altepetl). This led to the founding of a number of semi-autonomous urban centers around Lake Texcoco each claiming legitimacy as descendants of the Toltecs. By the early 16th century, at least a dozen of these city-states had reached 10,000 in population with Tenochtitlan by far the largest at 150,000 and perhaps as high as 200,000. The Aztec (aka Mexica) who founded Tenochtitlan were part of the last wave of migration of Nahuatl-speaking peoples into the valley. Their presence was resisted; however, taking advantage of the nearly-constant conflict among the city-states along the lake shores, the Aztecs of Tenochtitlan and their allies since 1430 of Texcoco and Tlacopan conquered the Valley of Mexico, exacting tribute from the same powers that resisted their migration in the first place.

The second narrative of the founding of Mexico City commences from the mythological record left by the Aztecs and is related to the tribe’s origin. The Aztecs were the last of the mainly barbarian tribes who drifted southwards into the Valley of Mexico. They traced their tribal origin to a nebulous enclave called Aztlan located somewhere in northwest Mexico. Aztlan is described in the ancient Aztec annals as a complex of cave on the rim of a lake, where fish and wild game abounded:

There they feasted on great numbers of ducks of all kinds, storks, sea crows and water hens. They enjoyed the melodic songs of the red-and-yellow-headed little birds. They gorged themselves on a variety of great and beautiful fish. They rested in the cool shade of the trees that grew on the water’s edge…. But later, when they left this delectable land, everything turned against them. The underbrush bit at them, the stones scraped them, the fields were filled with burrs and spines… and were impassable, with no place to sit or rest.

The description of Aztlan doesn’t match any locale in the arid, mountainous terrain of northwestern Mexico, and archeologists have long ago given up efforts to uncover it. Just why the Aztecs fell from grace and departed from Aztlan is not revealed in their chronicles. Perhaps it was the depletion of food, maybe a more powerful tribe routed them – an event the Aztecs were not likely to record since their annals display acute embarrassment over any defeats.

In any case, after abandoning Aztlan in 1064-1065, the Aztecs wandered for centuries in the wilderness, on a zigzag course that slowly moved them southwards in search of a new promised land. They were guided, they said, by their chief deity, Huitzilopochtli, which means “Hummingbird-of-the-left”. The significance of the “left” lay in the fact that the sun set in the west, and if one stood facing that sacred directions, the left hand pointed to the south, where the new Aztec homeland would presumably be found. But Huitzilopochtli was not originally an Aztec god. The Aztecs probably began to worship this deity only after having temporarily settled west of the Valley of Mexico, in Michoacán, where a tribe called the Tarascans had already placed the hummingbird in their own pantheon of deities. As had happened to them everywhere, the Aztecs were eventually expelled from Michoacán. They departed carrying off an effigy of Huitzilopochtli in a portable, cage-like shrine made of clay. The deity was supposed to have whispered to their priests the likeliest location of game and edible plants. But whenever the Aztecs lingered too long in one place, Huitzilopochtli allegedly ordered them to continue their quest for the promised land, which they would recognize as a lake with a small island where an eagle perched on a cactus plant was devouring a snake. This divinely appointed scene unfolded on a lake in the Valley of Mexico, and it was there that the Aztecs built their great city-state Tenochtitlan, the precursor of Mexico City. This legendary version of the Aztec arrival in the Valley of Mexico is still taught as factual history to Mexican schoolchildren. And the central emblem on the Mexican flag is an eagle clasping a serpent in its beak and talons.

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But divine guidance played a lesser role than the Aztecs would have us believe in their appearance in the Valley of Mexico. A closer approximation of the truth is that the Aztecs arrived at the lake’s edge in a hungry and savage state around the middle of the 13th century, where they were scorned by the already established tribes. The Aztecs stumbled into the Valley almost a hundred years after the fall of the Toltecs when the area was living through an unsettling era of both political turmoil and economic prosperity. The land was partitioned among several powerful, warring tribes. It was a time of shifting alliances and constant treachery, with vassal groups seizing every opportunity to revolt against their masters and each dominant tribe claiming to be the rightful heir to the Toltec legacy.

The Aztecs must indeed have seemed as primitive people to the valley’s tribes, as nowhere in their travels had they come across the wealth and sophistication they encountered here. The only commodity they could trade upon was their skill as fighters, an expertise honed by their peripatetic hunting life and the constant skirmishes with tribes who had chased them away from temporary sanctuaries elsewhere in the country. And so the Aztecs offered themselves as mercenaries to the Tepanecas, the strongest tribe among the valley’s lakeside inhabitants. The Tepanecas allowed the Aztecs to settle in what is now the Chapultepec district of Mexico City, and what was then a patch of wooded high ground located just west of the lakes. It was around 1280 that the Aztecs began the difficult transition from a hunting-gathering existence to a sedentary agricultural way of life. Chapultepec (“Hill of Grasshoppers”) was infested with insects, but its sloping land was fertile and watered by underground springs. The Aztecs were fierce fighters, and quickly gained a reputation for cruelty. They transformed Huitzilopochtli, their relatively benign hummingbird deity, into a god of battle, and regularly offered him sacrificial victims from the warriors they took prisoners. Human sacrifice and cannibalism were by no means considered loathsome by the other tribes in the valley, but they objected to the fact that the Aztecs elevated these practices from occasional ritual to regular feasts.

Around 1300, the tribe of Culhuacan, who lived on the southern periphery of the lakes and emerged as the chief rival of the Tepanecas, sent an expedition into Chapultepec to subdue the hated Aztec mercenaries. Many Aztecs were slaughtered, and the defeated remnants of the tribe were herded back to Culhuacan as slaves. At first, the Culhuacan lords seemed intent on humiliating the Aztecs, they relegated them to menial tasks, as porters, messengers, servants, and fieldworkers in the chinampas. They were forced to live in a stark terrain strewn with boulders and jagged volcanic stones and infested with poison serpents. Impressed by their hardiness, the Culhuacan lords decided to send the Aztecs into battle against a nearby rival tribe, the Xochimilcas. If the Aztecs triumphed, their masters promised to raise their status from slaves to mercenaries. The Aztecs crushed the Xochimilcas, and brought back hundreds of enemy ears as victory trophies. Though aghast at the barbaric methods of the Aztecs, the Culhuacan ruler, Coxcoxtli, released them from bondage and when the Aztecs requested that one of his daughters marry their chieftain, Coxcoxtli complied, hoping to maintain the loyalty of these brutes.

But the Aztecs had secretly been nursing their grudge against the Culhuacan tribe. They had not forgotten the massacre at Chapultepec, their twenty-five years of servitude, or the long seasons of bare subsistence in the volcanic wasteland where only snakes thrived. When Coxcoxtli arrived at the crude, foul-smelling, and smoky Aztec temple to witness his daughter’s wedding ceremony, he was greeted by a priest dressed in a freshly flayed human skin. Only after his eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness of the temple did Coxcoxtli scream and recoil in horror: it was his own daughter’s skin draped around the priest. She had been sacrificed to one of the Aztec gods. Rather than risk being annihilated by the superior forces of Culhuacan, the Aztecs fled before Coxcoxtli could rally his army. They paddled across the lakes northward to a small uninhabited island a short distance from the western shores where their former Tepanec masters had their stronghold and could guarantee them protection.

This was the island which the Aztec legends described as the promised land of the eagle devouring the serpent. They named it Tenochtitlan – meaning “place of the nopal”, and their settlement there in 1325 is now considered the official founding date of Mexico City. The migration lasted around 260 years.

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Tenochtitlan rose in the midst of Lake Texcoco, one of five interconnecting water bodies that spread south to north across the floor of the Valley of Mexico. Texcoco was the largest and most centrally placed of the lakes. Because of its location at the very bottom of the valley, it constantly received the nitrate soils washed down from the surrounding slopes by the rains, and its waters were too salty for human consumption or irrigation. But the Aztecs were more concerned with their island’s strategic potential than the quality of the surrounding water. They wanted a natural barrier between themselves and the tribes on the mainland. And although the lake was brackish, it was by no mean lifeless. It teemed with fish, frogs, turtles, and algae that could be dried and rolled to a cheese-like consistency, and billions of mosquito eggs that were skimmed off the lake’s surface and beaten into a protein-rich paste. All of the lakes were a stopover for the countless numbers of birds migrating from the northern hemisphere. Ducks, geese, storks, and egrets were so abundant that they could be trapped by the dozen simply by setting up large nets between clumps of reeds. The island itself had enough fresh water in underground springs to satisfy the Aztecs’ drinking and irrigation needs, at least for a few decades after their arrival.

Soon after settling in Tenochtitlan, the Aztecs had to somehow deal with the very cramped conditions of their small island. They put to used the chinampa techniques they had learned from their former Culhuacan masters. By building artificial isles, they were able to incorporate more land into Tenochtitlan and expand the inhabitable area. The lake was shallow, ranging in most places from 1-3m deep. Still, the chinampas required enormous expenditure of time and labor, timber and stone had to be brought over from the mainland, where they were purchased with the fish, birds, and other animals caught by the Aztecs in their lake.

In 1375, Acampichtli – a young Calhuacan nobleman, whose mother was Aztec – became the first Aztec monarch. His enthronement served as an excuse to radically reorganize Aztec society and politics. The leaders of the Aztec clans joined Acamapichtli’s court as a new order of nobility with far more privileges and powers than the commoners. Multiplying prodigiously over the next two generations, their offsprings monopolized the administrative, commercial, military, and religious bureaucracies in Tenochtitlan. By the beginning of the 15h century, almost nothing remained of the egalitarian clan system that had served the Aztecs so well during their lengthy nomadic existence, Tenochtitlan society had become as centralized and stratified as any in the Valley of Mexico.

Tenochtitlan roughly correlates with the historic center of modern Mexico City. During the pre-Hispanic era, the city developed in a planned fashion, with streets and canals aligned with the cardinal directions, leading to orderly square blocks. The island that the city was founded on was divided into four calpullis or neighborhoods that were separated by the main north-south roads leading to Tepeyac and Iztapalapa respectively and the west-east road that lead to Tacuba and to a dike into the lake, respectively. The intersection of these roads was the center of the city and of the Aztec world. Here were the main temple, the palaces of the tlatoani or emperors, palaces of nobles such as the “House of the Demons” and the “House of the Flowers”. Also located here were the two most renowned Aztec schools: the Telpuchcalli for secular studies and the Calmecac for priestly training.

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In the years following the establishment of monarchy, the population of the city expanded greatly, not only among the sexually prolific nobles, but among commoners as well. A high birthrate was officially encouraged because the island-state strength was linked to its growing citizenry. More laborers were required to extend and maintain the land reclamation and hydraulic projects. More warriors were needed to mount a credible defense against encroachments by the hostile tribes who surrounded the Aztecs on the mainland. At its height, just before the Spanish arrived, Tenochtitlan was the center of the vast Aztec Empire, stretching from the Atlantic to Pacific coasts and south towards the Yucatán Peninsula and Oaxaca. This was an empire of 38 provinces, 370 cities and about 5 million people, geared to extracting tribute (tax in kind) of resources absent from the heartland – items like jade, turquoise, cotton, tobacco, cacao, etc. With a vast income of tribute, Tenochtitlan grew to become one of the largest (more than 200,000 people) and richest urban areas in the world at that time. The city had services and infrastructure that was unheard of in the rest of the world: potable water brought in by aqueducts, drainage systems and wide, paved streets. Their markets boasted of products from nearly every part of Mesoamerica. But inevitably, Tenochtitlan began to reach its ecological limits – new cultivable land was scarce, underground springs were depleting.

With the growth and development of Tenochtitlan, the Aztec rulers now had to reinterpret religion to justify the expanding empire and their brutal treatment of conquered peoples. The key to the new religious orthodoxy was Huitzilopochtli, the hummingbird god. Initially, he had been a harmless deity – a tiny, beautiful bird who guided the Aztecs in their search for wild game and an eventual homeland. Once the Aztecs settled in the Valley of Mexico and became mercenaries, Huitzilopochtli metamorphosed into a god of battle. For a century, he remained only one of numerous gods worshipped by the Aztecs, but soon he raised above all other deities. He became the lord of creation, the all-powerful god of sun. He was chosen for this exalted role because he was the oldest of the Aztec gods, the one they could most comfortably claim as their own. His bloated stature was well suited to the Aztecs’ new imperial notions. It became the divine duty of the Aztecs to force all peoples of the world to worship Huitzilopochtli. The conquered tribes not only would have to supply a constant stream of sacrificial victims (prisoners of war, slaves, young women, children), whose blood and flesh would nourish Huitzilopochtli, thus ensuring that the sun moved across the heavens every day, but they were also required to carry out sacrificed among their own people in the local temples that were built to honor the sun god. While the Aztec pipiltin (nobles) largely confined their cannibalism to victims selected from other tribes, the provincial lords were forced to eat their own subjects. And to ensure that these gruesome practices were carried out, thousands of priests were sent from Tenochtitlan to villages and towns throughout the Aztec realm.

Not only the pipiltin but also merchants and artisans could stage their own bloody festivals, hardly a week went by without sacrificed and cannibalism in the Aztec capital and its vassal provinces. Merchants, artisans, and other professional groups each had a patron deity associated with their trade or craft, and some of these gods were important enough to be honored by sacrifice several times a year. The feasts that followed these religious ceremonies were an opportunity for the merchant or professional to flaunt his wealth. The host who served his guests the most sumptuous banquet of human flesh and other meat greatly enhanced his prestige. As cannibalism spread to these newly privileged social classes, it spawned a culinary tradition with an assortment of recipes: human flesh stewed in corn, or squash, or chili. The victim’s thigh, considered the most delectable part, was frequently offered as a gift to the Aztec rulers. In 1487, when Herman Cortez, the future conqueror or New Spain, was two years old, up to 80,000 people may have been sacrificed during the dedication of a new temple in Tenochtitlan. Beaten nonstop during the four-day bloodbath, snakeskin drums marked the rise and fall of flint knives as black-painted priests, their long hair matted with blood, sacrificed victims to the god Huitzilopochtli (Mel Gibson’s movie “Apocalypto”  accurately depicts a similar ceremony).

By the time a Spanish expedition under Hernan Cortes arrived on Mexico’s east coast in 1519, Tenochtitlan was feared, respected, and hated almost as much by its allies as by its subject states and enemies. Only this far-flung hostility made possible one of history’s most amazing conquests. Another important factor was timing. According to legend, Quetzalcoatl had sailed eastward five centuries before, promising to return in the year 1 Reed. Cortes arrival in that very year convinced the Mexica ruler, Moctezuma II of the god’s return. A priest, poet, and a philosopher, Moctezuma had been chosen king in 1502 based on his courage in battle, sagacity, and clarity of mind. Ironically, it was his indecision and unwillingness to acknowledge and engage the enemy that led to the downfall of the Aztec Empire, and ultimately, to the conquest of Mesoamerica.

In 1492, the year Christopher Columbus arrived in the Caribbean, Spain was an aggressively expanding state, fresh from completing the 700-year reconquista in which Christian armies had gradually recovered the Spanish mainland from Islamic rule. With their mix of brutality and bravery, gold lust and piety, the Spanish conquistadors of the Americas were the natural successors to the crusading knights of the Reconquista. Seeking new westward trade routes to the spice-rich Orient, Spanish explorers and soldiers first landed in the Caribbean, establishing colonies on the islands of Hispaniola (present day Dominican Republic) and Cuba. They then began seeking a passage through the land mass to the west, and soon became distracted by tales of gold, silver and a wealthy empire there. Spain’s governor on Cuba, Diego Velazquez, asked a colonist named Hernan Cortes to lead one such expedition westward. As Cortes gathered ships and men, Velazquez became uneasy about the costs and Cortes’ loyalty, and tried to cancel the expedition. But Cortes, sensing a once-in-history opportunity, ignored him and secretly set sail on the night of February 15, 1519, with 11 ships, 550 men and 16 horses.

After landing near the modern-day city of Veracruz, Hernan Cortes heard about the great capital of Aztecs and also learned of long-standing rivalries and grievances against it. It is hard to imagine than only two years later, the Spaniards would defeat the Aztecs and effectively establish control over most of Mexico. Before proceeding any further, I would like to mention a few factors that historians believe enabled Cortes to do so. First was Cortes himself: within a few days of his arrival to Veracruz, Cortes ordered all the expedition boats to be burnt, literally cutting the way out. In addition, his men had little to lose and much to gain, and their metal weapons and armor were greatly superior to anything the Aztecs had. Their gunpowder and cannon could also wreak havoc on opposing armies, both physically and psychologically. The horses and attack dogs, too, terrified Aztecs who had never encountered such animals before. However, the most important factor was the Cortes’ ability to form alliances with tribes who were chaffing under Aztec subjugation.

Details of the Spanish battles, alliances, and eventual conquest were recorded by Bernal Diaz, a solder, who later described them in a fascinating narrative entitled “True History of the Conquest of New Spain”. One detail not overlooked by the sagacious solder was the importance of the two translators – Jeronimo de Aguilar and la Malinche. The former was a Spanish solder shipwrecked on a previous expedition and enslaved by the Maya. When returned to Cortes, he spoke Mayan and Spanish. A young girl of noble descent, la Malinche, had been sold into slavery in Tabasco and thus spoke Maya and classical Nahuatl, the Aztec tongue. La Malinche, baptized and renamed dona Marina by the Spaniards, proved especially helpful to them, with her well-worded translations, grasp of politics, and ability to turn potential foes into allies. Despite horses, cannon, and other military advantages, the Conquest would not have been possible without the allied strength of Aztec adversaries.

Moctezuma II could certainly have destroyed the Spanish before they left their first camp, since his spies had brought news of their arrival almost immediately. Instead, he sent a delegation bearing gifts of gold and jewels, which he hoped would persuade them to leave in peace. This served only to inflame the greed of the Spanish. By all accounts Moctezuma was a morose, moody and hesitant man, but his failure to act had deeper roots: he truly thought that the invaders were the returning god Quetzalcoatl – fair-skinned and bearded, as was Quetzalcoatl, coming from the east, where the deity had vanished. When Cortes finally reached Tenochtitlan on 8 November 1519, Moctezuma welcomed him and his Spanish army as his guests, while 6,000 indigenous allies were left to camp outside the city.

Tenochtitlan was the product of imperial strategy, based economically on trade and agriculture as well as a regular tribute of incoming goods and labor. The subject towns that were required to send men and products at established times numbered in the hundreds, from lands on the coast and highlands which the Spaniards had hardly yet envisioned. The imperial tribute system was enforced by the terror of retribution from a fierce army, whose victories were proclaimed in the capital by skull-racks of sacrificed victims. Yet Tenochtitlan was not simply the product of a state-organized agriculture, traders and markets, and a ruthless series of conquests. What the Spanish didn’t see and could not have understood were the deeper historical and symbolic relationships between the city and its inhabitants. The city’s plan, its buildings and monuments, and its place in the natural setting, were visible expressions of religious and aesthetic forces that flowed through the life of the people. In great measure the Aztec state drew its power from the early round of seasonal rites and their panoply of signs and symbols. No aspect of Aztec life was more carefully orchestrated than these religious activities. In art such ceremonies celebrated individual achievements and specific historic events, but more importantly they brought the community into direct contact with the elemental life of the land – the mountains, clouds, rain and thunder, the wind, the lakes and the sun. In this communal religious system, Moctezuma himself was chief.

Legend goes that Cortes asked Moctezuma to show him Huitzilopochtli’s temple. The monarch agreed to meet Cortes at the top of the great pyramid the following day. In the morning, Cortes and some of his conquistadores were guided around Tenochtitlan and its adjoining island-city, Tlatelolco. They were astonished at the wealth and size of an urban civilization that was superior in many ways to anything they had encountered in Europe. With its 200,000 inhabitants, Tenochtitlan was several times more populous than any city in Spain. The great marketplace of Tlatelolco was “twice as big as that of Salamanca,” wrote Cortes, “with arcades all around, where more than 60,000 people come each day to buy and sell, and where every kind of merchandise produced in these lands is found.” And the city was so clean and orderly, with streets swept of all debris and whole blocks reserved for specific trades and professions. With their intricate network of canals and avenues, the inhabitants appeared none the worse for the lack of wheeled carts (a wheel was never discovered by the Aztecs). There were palaces and villas more splendid than the residences of Spanish aristocrats. The towers of the largest temples rose higher than the Cathedral of Seville. Intoxicated by the smells, sights, and sounds of the Aztec capital, Cortes and his entourage entered the great religious precinct and scaled 114 steps of Huitzilopochtli’s pyramid for their rendez-vous at the summit with Moctezuma. And at that moment, their euphoria vanished. Two slabs of stone in front of Huitzilopochtli’s chapel were bathed with blood from victims who had been freshly sacrificed by Moctezuma to appease the hummingbird god for the unprecedented invitation of foreigners to his temple. Inside the dark chapel, the walls “were so splashed and encrusted with blood that they were black, the floor was the same and the whole place stunk so vilely…. that in the slaughter houses of Spain there is no such another stench,” recalled Diaz de Castillo. On his altar, Huitzilopochtli stood twice the heigh of a man, with “a very broad face and monstrous and terrible eyes, and the whole of his body covered with precious stones, and gold and pearls… and girdled by great snakes made of gold and precious stones, and in one hand he held a bow and in the other some arrows.” His hollow mouth, dripping blood, had been stuffed with the hearts of the recent victims. Repugnant, one of the Cortes’ first actions after conquering the city would be the destruction of the temples and establishment of Christianity.

From their vintage point on the pyramid of Tlatelolco, the Spaniards saw a city that would seem to be invulnerable. Yet on the long march to the capital they had already begun to understand the inner tensions and instabilities – in Tlaxcala, in the streets of Cholollan, and even now, while standing next to the emperor Moctezuma. In his person all power and decisions were concentrated, and it would be in their dealings with him that their future would be decided.

Before waging outright war on the Aztec, a large contingency of conquistadors was entertained by Moctezuma in the fortified city. However, knowing that they were being vastly outnumbered, Spaniards promptly repaid king’s hospitality by taking him prisoner within his own palace; in this way, Cortes hoped to rule through the emperor. However, Moctezuma’s power was dwindling in the eyes of his people. The Aztecs grew ever more resentful of the Spaniards’ attacks on their religion and their relentless demands for gold. Resistance broke out on one of the lakeside settlements, which Cortes tried to quell by having a formal ceremony where the emperor swore allegiance to the Spanish king. To add to Cortes’ troubles, the Spanish governor of Cuba sent an arrest party for Cortes, as his orders were not to conquer but simply to trade. This forced Cortes to leave Tenochtitlan in the hands of Pedro de Alvarado as he went to Veracruz to confront this party.

While Cortes was gone, tensions exploded when Alvarado ordered a massacre of priests during the religious ceremony dedicated to Huizilopochtli. When Cortes returned on June 24, 1520 the situation was dire, as he had to fight his way back into the city only to find himself trapped as well. Communications and entrances to the city were cut off. Cortes had Moctezuma try to pacify his people by speaking to them from the palace, but the emperor was greeted with a storm of stones and arrows, wounding him badly. On June 27, Moctezuma died, but whether he died from his injuries or whether the Spanish killed him, seeing that he was no longer of use to them, is unknown. The news of Moctezuma’s death caused uproar in the city and the Spanish tried to flee unnoticed but were caught. Hundreds of canoes closed in on the city from all sides, while the Aztecs recaptured their city with Cortes’ men fleeing. Some Spaniards found their way to a causeway out of the city. Some others, like the troops of Juan Velázquez, were forced to retreat toward the center of the city, where they were captured and sacrificed. Cortes took advantage of the night time to cross the causeway to a place called Popotla. Here is still found an ahuehuete tree called the tree of Noche Triste (“Tree of the Sad Night“) because Cortes supposedly wept here after his defeat. At least 600 of the Spanish were killed (some estimates state over 1,000), many weighed down by the gold and booty they were carrying; several thousand Tlaxcalans were probably lost, too. Once more, though, the Aztecs failed to follow up their advantages and the Spanish survivors managed to reach their allies in Tlaxcala, where they regrouped and rebuilt their military force. The Aztecs thought the Spaniards were permanently gone so they elected a new king, Cuauhtemoc, who was an experienced leader in his mid-20s and the son of Moctezuma’s uncle, Ahuitzotl.

When the 900 Spaniards re-entered the Valle de Mexico in May 1521, they were accompanied by some 100,000 indigenous allies. The defenders resisted fiercely, but after three months, the city suffered from the lack of food and water as well as the spread of smallpox – disease brought by the Europeans. Cortes and his allies landed their forces in the south of the island and fought their way through the city, street by street, and house by house, pushing the defenders to the northern tip of the island. Finally, Cuauhtemoc had to surrender on August 13, 1521. Aztec king asked Cortes to kill him, but instead he was kept alive as a hostage until 1525, undergoing occasional foot-burning torture as the Spanish tried to force him to reveal the whereabouts of Aztec treasure.

Although the fall of Tenochtitlan was a swift and definitive occurrence, this did not imply that the Spanish domination of the entire city, or the rest of Mexico, would be a rapid process. Indian cooperation in the destruction of Aztec power ensured that Cortes would have to take allied interests into consideration as well. In a number of ways, this made the Spaniards another factor in the ongoing political conflicts between rival native peoples, not to mention that Spanish were vastly outnumbered. For much of the colonial period, parts of Mexico City would remain very indigenous in character, with elements of these cultures surviving into modern times. Two separate parts of the capital were under indigenous rule, San Juan Tenochtitlan and Santiago Tlatelolco, with Nahua governors who were intermediaries between the indigenous population and the Spanish rulers, although the capital was designated a ciudad de españoles (Spanish city).

Cortes did not establish an independent, conquered territory under his own personal rule, but remained loyal to the Habsburg Emperor Charles V, who was also King of Spain and its associated European territories. By dint of his success, Cortes was appointed a temporary governor of this new territory, although in practice he was watched over by minders from Spain and never had much real freedom of action. Albeit Cortes was portrayed to the Spanish court as an ambitious and untrustworthy adventurer by his enemies, he sought to prove his loyalty. First, he wrote the Five Letters to explain what he had done and why, and between 1528 and 1530, he traveled to see the emperor in Toledo, Spain. However, the emperor decided not to appoint him as governor of New Spain, he gave him the noble hereditary title of Marquis of the Valley of Oaxaca, with vast numbers of tributary Indians there and elsewhere. Cortes was to die a wealthy but embitter man back in Spain in 1547. The first viceroy Don Antonio de Mendoza arrived in Mexico City only fourteen years later (as Nueva Espana was formally established only in 1535) when it had long since been the major settlement of “conquerors and immigrant Spaniards, who for their own reasons already made … Mexico City their principal seat” before the establishment of the high court (Audiencia), the archbishop, and the viceroy. 

There followed nearly three centuries of direct Spanish rule, under a succession of 61 viceroys responsible to the Spanish king. Spain’s policy toward all its conquests in the Americas can be summoned up in one word: exploitation. The Spanish crown saw the New World as a silver cow to be milked to finance its endless wars in Europe, a life of luxury for its nobility, and a deluge of new churches, palaces and monasteries that were erected around Spain. The crown was entitled to 1/5th of all bullion sent back from the New World. Conquistadors and colonists saw the American empire as a chance to get rich themselves. Cortes granted his soldiers encomiendas, which were rights to the labor or tribute of groups of indigenous people.

In the chaotic early years of the colony, plebeians who has suffered under the Aztec regime saw one harsh reality replaced with another. And while they would avoid the dreaded sacrificial slabs, they were statistically more likely to be worked to death in a mine or dispatched by smallpox, measles, or some other imported disease (there were 19 major epidemics in the century following the Spanish victory). Millions of indigenous people died in the first hundred years of Spanish domination, possibly more than 90% of the original population. Although relatively few Spaniards succumbed to the Old World illnesses, there was one native American disease – syphilis – that spread among Europeans as rapidly as their microbes had overcome the Indians. There is no mention of a disease with syphilis’s symptoms in European literature prior to the New World discoveries. The remains of ancient Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, and Asians show none of the bone lesions left by the illness in its last stages. On the other hand, such evidence has been uncovered in a few pre-Columbian grave sites. Syphilis appears to have been brought back to Spain in 1493 by sailors on Columbus’s first expedition. Many more European contacts with the disease were made in Mexico. In the first few decades of the 1500s, syphilis spread so quickly throughout the Old World that neighboring countries accused each other of originating it. In Italy, it was known as French disease; the French called it the disease of Naples; Middle Easterners named it the European pustules: and the Japanese referred to it as the Portuguese disease. But as fearsome as syphilis was in the Old World, there was no wholesale annihilation of communities, no alteration of the entire social structure, as occurred in Mexico and throughout the Americans in the wake of European epidemics. Epidemic disease was the most dramatic element of what one recent historian has called the greatest biological revolution in the Americas since the end of the Ice Age more than 10,000 years ago.

The conquerors were given girls and women by the tribes they bested in battle, and by the Aztec who initially treated them as honored guests, producing a caste called mestizos (part European, part Indian). The settlers kept concubines, or less often, took Indian women as legitimate wives. However, unlike the Aztec nobles, who accepted the offspring of their mistresses and raised them in privilege, most Spaniards refused to recognize their bastard children. Consequently, the first generation of mestizos enjoyed no legal status whatsoever. Largely spurned by both Indians and whites, a renegade class was created, with no cultural group and no place within the emerging colony. Even among the wealthy Spanish-descended landowners there was growing resentment, fueled by the status of those among them born in Mexico: only peninsulares or “gachupines”, Spaniards born in Spain, could hold high offices in the government or Church. Of the 6 million people in Mexico in 1800, only 40,000 were gachupines – the rest were criollos – born in Mexico of Spanish blood, who dominated the lower ranks of the Church, army and civil service, or lived as anything from shopkeepers and small ranchers to bandits and beggars. Important to mention the presence of thousands of black slaves brought by Spaniards to help run the numerous ranches, plantations, and mills. Colonists believed that the Indians were lazier and less hardworking  than the blacks, but those beliefs lose credibility when one considered the enormous accomplishment of native labor in the construction field alone. In the first 80 years of Spanish rule, the quantity of structures built by forced Indian labor far exceeded the total volume of construction during the entire Aztec era. The Mexican landscape was transformed by churches, government palaces, private villas, townhouses and irrigation projects.

The indigenous peoples’ only real allies were some of the monks who started arriving in 1523. Of course, the missionary work helped extend Spanish control over Mexico – by 1560 they had converted millions of people and built more than 100 monasteries – but many of them also protected local people from the colonists’ worst excesses. First to arrive were the Franciscans followed shortly by the Dominicans, Augustinians, and others. The Jesuits were expelled from New Spain in 1767 by King Charles II, who was convinced by rival orders that they were becoming too influential.

Criollo discontent with Spanish rule really began to stir following the expulsion of the Jesuits (many of whom were criollos). The catalyst for rebellion came in 1808 when Napoleon Bonaparte occupied Spain, and direct Spanish control over Nueva Espana evaporated. The city of Queretaro, north of Mexico City, became a hotbed of intrigue among disaffected criollos who were plotting rebellion against Spanish rule. The rebellion was finally launched on September 16, 1810, by Padre Miguel Hidalgo in his parish of Dolores. The path to independence was a hard one, involving almost 11 years of fighting between rebels and loyal forces, and the death of Hidalgo and several other rebel leaders. But eventually rebel general Agustin de Iturbide sat down with Spanish viceroy Juan O’Donoju in Veracruz in 1821 and agreed on terms for Mexico’s independence.

Mexico’s first century as a free nation started with a period of chronic political instability and wound up with a period of stability so repressive that it triggered a social revolution. A consistent thread throughout was the opposition between liberals, who favored a measure of social reforms and conservatives, who didn’t. Between 1821 and the mid 1860s, the young Mexican nation was invaded by three different countries (Spain, USA and France), lost large chunks of its territory to the US, and underwent nearly 50 changes of head state. It was an indigenous Zapotec from Oaxaca who played the lead role in Mexican affairs for two tumultuous decades after the halfway point of the century. Lawyer Benito Juarez was a key member of the new liberal government in 1855, which ushered in the era known as La Reforma, in which the liberals set about dismantling the conservative state that had developed in Mexico. Juarez became president in 1861. With the French intervention almost immediately afterward, his government was forced into exile in provincial Mexico, eventually to regain control in 1866. Juarez set an agenda of economic and social reform, which started with the appropriation of monasteries and churches, their subdivision and sale. Schooling was made mandatory, a railway was built between Mexico City and Veracruz, and a rural police force, the rurales, was organized to secure the transportation of cargo through Mexico. Juarez died in 1872 and remains one of the few Mexican historical figures with a relatively unsullied reputation.

A rather different Oaxacan, Porfirio Diaz, ruled as president for 35 of the following 39 years, a period known as the Porfiriato. Diaz brought Mexico into the industrial age, stringing telephone, telegraph and railway lines and launching public work projects. He kept Mexico free of civil wars – but political opposition, free elections and free press were banned. Peasants were cheated out of their land by new laws, workers suffered appalling conditions, and land and wealth became concentrated in the hands of a 3-4% of the population. All this led in 1910 to the Mexican Revolution.

The Revolution was a tortured 10-year period of shifting conflicts and allegiances between forces and leaders of all political stripes. The conservatives were pushed aside fairly early on, but the reformers and revolutionaries who had lined up against them could not agree among themselves. Successive attempts to create stable government were wrecked by new outbreaks of devastating fighting. All told, one in eight Mexicans lost their lives in the Revolution.

Francisco Madero, a wealthy liberal from Coahuila, would probably have won the presidential election in 1910 if Porfirio Diaz hadn’t jailed him. On his release, Madero called successfully for the nation to renew an uprising which spread quickly across the country. Diaz resigned in May 1911, and Madero was elected president 6 months later. But Madero couldn’t contain the diverse factions that were now fighting for power throughout Mexico. The basic divide was between liberal reformers like Madero and more radical leaders such as Emiliano Zapata, who was fighting for the transfer of hacienda land to the peasants, with the cry of “Tierra y Libertad!” (Land and freedom). In 1913 Madero was deposed, brutally executed and replaced as a president by one of his own top generals, Victoriano Huerta. The revolutionary forces united (temporarily) in opposition to Huerta and three main leaders in the north banded together under the Plan de Guadelupe: Venustiano Carranza, a Madero supporter in Coahuila, Francisco “Pancho” Villa in Chihuahua and Alvaro Obregon in Sonora. Zapata also fought against Huerta.

But fighting then broke out again between the victorious sides with Carranza and Obregon (the “Constitutionalists” with their capital at Veracruz ) pitted against the radical Zapata and the populist Villa. Zapata and Villa never formed a serious alliance, and it was Carranza who emerged as victor. He has Zapata assassinated in 1919, only to be liquidated himself the following year on the orders of his former ally Obregon. Pancho Villa was killed in 1923.

The conflict dragged on until 1920, when the ideals of the Constitution of 1917 were adopted. The country was economically devastated by years of war. Political unrest reigned, and subsequent transfers of presidential power through nominal elections were accompanied by revolts and instability. From 1920 to 2000, Mexico was ruled by the reformers who emerged victorious from the Revolution and their successors in the political party they set up, which since the 1940s has borne the name Partido Revolucionario Institucional (Institutional Revolutionary Party), or PRI as it is universally known. Starting out with some genuinely radical social policies, these governments became steadily more conservative, corrupt, repressive and self-interested as the 20th century wore on. Mexico ended the century with a bigger middle class but still with a yawning wealth gap between the prosperous few and the vast numbers of poor.

The problem of land ownership was addressed by redistributing more than 400,000 sq. km from large estates to peasants and small farmers between the 1920s and ’60s. Nearly half the population received land, mainly in the form of ejidos (communal landholdings). Meanwhile, Mexico developed a worrying economic dependence on its large oil reserves in the Gulf of Mexico. The 1970s and ’80s saw the country veer from oil-engendered boom to oil-engendered slump as world prices swung rapidly up then just as suddenly down. The huge government-owned oil company Pemex was just one face of a massive state-controlled economic behemoth that was established as the PRI sought control over all important facets of Mexican life.

During the revolution, thousands fled to rapidly industrializing Mexico City in search of jobs and a better life. Between 1910 and the mid-1940s the city’s population quadrupled and the cracks in the infrastructure quickly became gaping holes. Houses couldn’t be built quickly enough to cope with the 7% annual growth, and many people couldn’t afford them anyway, so shantytowns of scrap metal and cardboard sprung up. Most neighborhoods had little or no water supply and sanitation was an afterthought. Gradually, civil leaders tried to address the situation by improving services and housing in existing shantytowns, while a new ring of slums mushroomed just a little further out. This expansion strained the transport system, necessitating the construction of a Metro system in the late 1960s.

The PRI was discredited forever in the minds of many Mexicans by the Tlatelolco Massacre of 1968, in which an estimated 400 civil-liberties protestors were shot dead. The PRI came to depend increasingly on strong-arm tactics and fraud to win elections. Mexicans’ cynicism about their leaders reached a crescendo with the 1988-1994 presidency of Carlos Salinas de Gortari, who won the presidential election only after a mysterious computer failure had halted vote-tallying at a crucial stage. During Salinas’ term, drug trafficking grew into a huge business in Mexico, and mysterious assassinations proliferated. Salinas did take steps to liberalize the monolithic state-dominated economy. The apex of his program, the North American Free Trace Agreement (NAFTA), boosted exports and industry, but was unpopular with subsistence farmers and small businesses threatened by imports from the US. The last year of Salinas’ presidency, 1994, began with the left-wing Zapatista uprising in Mexico’s southernmost state, Chiapas, and shortly before Salinas left office he spent nearly all of Mexico’s foreign-exchange reserves in a futile attempt to support peso, engendering a slump that he left his successor, Ernesto Zedillo, to deal with.

It was also left to Zedillo to respond to the rising clamor for democratic change in Mexico. He established a new, independently supervised electoral system that opened the way for the country’s first ever peaceful change of regime at the end of his term in 2000, when Vicente Fox of the business-oriented Partido Accion Nacional (PAN) won the election. Vicente Fox’s election itself – a non-PRI president after 80 years of rule by that party and it predecessors – was really the biggest news about his 6-year term. He entered office backed by much goodwill, however in the end, his presidency was considered a disappointment by most. Lacking a majority in Mexico’s Congress, Fox was unable to push through reforms that were key to stirring Mexico’s slumbering economy.

Fox was succeeded in 2006 by another PAN president, Felipe Calderon. During his term Mexico’s economy sprang back surprisingly fast after the recession of 2009, and Mexico became something of a global environmental champion when it enshrined its carbon-emissions targets in law in 2012. But Calderon’s presidency will be remembered far more for his war on drugs. Calderon declared war on the drug cartels and put 50,000 troops plus naval forces and several police forces into the field against them, predominantly in cities along the US border. Some top gang leaders were killed or arrested, and drug seizures reached record levels, and so did the killings – an estimated 60,000 in the 6 years of Calderon presidency. The gangs’ methods grew even more shocking, with street gun-battles, gruesome beheadings, torture and even, allegedly, human sacrifices. The northern city of Ciudad Juares, with over 3,100 killings in 2010, became the world’s murder capital. When the total number of killings finally started to fall at the end of Calderon’s term, many people believed this was simply because the two most powerful cartels – the Sinaloa cartel in the northwest of Mexico and Los Zetas in the northeast – had effectively wiped out their weaker competitors.

Against this background, the PRI managed to convince enough Mexicans that it had cleaned up its act for them to vote it back into power, in the shape of its candidate Enrique Pena Nieto, in the presidential election of 2012. President Nieto has had some success reducing drug cartel violence since 2012; some drug bosses were killed and the Mexico’s most-wanted man – Joaquin “El Chapo” Guzman was captured in 2014. Nevertheless, the Iguala mass kidnapping of September 2014, when 43 students from Ayotzinapa were abducted and later murdered by a drug gang in collusion with local police in Guerrero horrified the nation; the case led to national and international protests and a string of high-profile resignations and arrests. And in 2015, after barely a year in Mexico’s top prison, El Chapo escaped yet again in what was a massive embarrassment for the Nieto administration.

Mexico City continued to grow in the 1970s, as the provincial poor sought economic refuge in its thriving industries, and the metropolitan area populations surged from 8.7 to 14.5 million. The result of such unbridled growth was some of the world’s worst pollution and traffic, but also an unenviable list of major social and physical problems, including an extreme vulnerability to earthquakes – the last big one, in 1985, killed over 5,000 people and made 100,000 homeless. At last count, the greater Mexico City area had more than 20 million inhabitants.

If the history of Mexico hasn’t yet inspired you to visit its capital, a simple but endless list of its sites, would. I had only 1.5 days to see what a traveler could spend months exploring – the museums, monuments, plazas, colonial buildings, monasteries, murals, galleries, archeological finds, shrines and religious relics that this encyclopedia of a city has to offer. What I did have was a plan and a local guide and as I stepped off my early morning Mexico City bound plane, I could only think of the Greek poet C.P. Cavafy’s lines, in which he counsels Homer Odysseus:

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca

then pray that the road is long….

I found Jorge Mendoza information (email: jorgemendozaturismo@live.com, cell # 0445536608182) on www.tripadvisor.com – he was a local guide with excellent credentials and multiple recommendations. And when I reached out to him with my dates and itinerary, he was happy and very enthusiastic to help. On my very first day in Mexico City, I wanted to go to Teotihuacan – an ancient Mesoamerican city located about 40 kms outside the capital and on the second day I thought to explore the Zocalo (city center) and see some famous murals by local artists, before heading to the wedding reception! Jorge services with a car were appx. $110 per day.

Jorge was already waiting for me at the airport when I arrived so we didn’t waste any time leaving for Teotihuacan. The traffic was heavy, as it was Friday morning, but I used this opportunity to get to know Jorge and through him – the history of Mexico City. My guide had a truly remarkable memory and affection for his home country, which is always a great combination. On a few occasions though he came across as a nationalist or, it would be better to say – anti-American. Oh well!

It took us over an hour to get to Teotihuacan and by then, I already learnt a lot about this majestic city that peaked in A.D.100- 450 and housed the world’s most architecturally significant Mesoamerican pyramids built in the pre-Columbian Americas. Please allow 5-6 hours, entry is $4 plus extra for taking videos, hours 7.00 – 17.00.

The World Heritage Site, Teotihuacan is the most visited yet the least understood pre-Hispanic site in Mexico. Its original name, early history and the ancestry of its founders until now remain a mystery. It’s present Nahuatl name, which means “the place where gods were born”, was given by Aztecs when they discovered the ruined city. Even 700 years after it was abandoned, it must still have been an extraordinary site as the Aztec lords made multiple pilgrimages to the ruins to consult with the gods and to bring home relics for their own palaces and altars. And until now, the impressive pyramids of Teotihuacan – The Piramide del Sol and Piramide de la Lune – remain the tallest in Western Hemisphere, and the site – the largest archeological ground in Mexico.

Scholars today know very little about the people who constructed this magnificent city except that while Europe stumbled through the Dark Ages, Teotihuacan’s culture shone like a beacon. Around 300 B.C., people of the central and southeastern area of Mesoamerica began to gather into larger settlements. By the 1st century B.C., the true agricultural revolution and sustained irrigation led to a greater food production, abundant crops and greater population. Around A.D. 500 Teotihuacan had a population of more than 100,000 people and sprawled over 20 sq km, a larger area than imperial Rome. It was a religious and trade capital, drawing pilgrims and merchants from as far away as the Maya region in Yucatan and Guatemala, and Monte Alban in the Oaxacan highlands. Closer to home, Teotihuacan dominated the Valley of Mexico by trade and through tribute exacted by its powerful armies.

What is remarkable about Teotihuacan is how closely its spatial development and social structure repeated the pattern of the first cities of the Old World. Between A.D. 100 and 200, Teotihuacan’s most impressive building, the Pyramid of the Sun (the 3rd largest pyramid in the world, after Cheops in Egypt and Cholula in Mexico), was completed. Rising to the height of more than 65 m, it has a broad base that extends over an area as great as the Pyramid of Cheops. But at some later date, after A.D. 200, the focus of religious activity shifted just south of the Pyramid of the Sun to an enormous walled enclosure of temples, palaces, and granaries. This was the classic citadel found in all the ancient capitals of the Old World. Here the ruling class of king, aristocrats, and priests created a sacred precinct, monopolizing political and religious powers, and dispensing grain to their subjects in time of famine. Adjoining the citadel was a huge marketplace, where the normal distribution of food and merchandise was carried out under the supervision of the authorities.

Around this political-religious-commercial center, along a grid of well-defined streets, arose more than 4,000 stone and mudbrick buildings where the artisans, merchants, and warriors resided. They were one-floor structures, each consisting of several connecting rooms. To the narrow streets, they presented only a door and a windowless walls, but on the other side, the rooms led to inner, sunlit, airy patios where residents could enjoy their privacy. Archeological evidence indicates that the quarters immediately surrounding the citadel were associated with specific professions. Some neighborhoods had a heavy concentration of potters. Other districts were identified with weavers, animal-skin and featherworkers, and artisans of obsidian, the black volcanic glass used for tools and weapons. Teotihuacan controlled one of the largest obsidian quarries in central Mexico and apparently established an important commerce in the unworked and finished glass over a region extending hundreds of kilometers away.

On the outskirts of Teotihuacan, beyond the citadel and the merchant-artisan-warrior quarters, lived the farmers in far less imposing houses built of mudbrick, reed and cornstalks. They outnumbered the rest of the urban population by as much as 4 to 1. Although they continued to tend their fields, they were forced to live within the city limits where they could be more easily brought under political control.

It bears repeating that the Teotihuacanos created a great city despite the total absence of some of the most essential ingredients associated with the rise of urban civilization in the Old World. They had no animals to plow their fields, to transport people and goods, or to aid in their huge construction projects. Because there were no mules, donkeys, cattle, or horses, the Teotihuacans didn’t bother to “invent” the wheel. Their mountainous terrain rendered even hand-pushed carts almost useless. They lacked the rivers of the Old World civilizations, rivers that made transportation and irrigation so much easier tasks. And for reasons that are harder to explain, they had no metal implements, even thought they had enough metallurgical knowledge to work gold and copper into jewelry and ornaments. The Teotihuacanos, did, however, have one comparative advantage over the Old World civilizations: the possession of that miracle crop, maize. Uniformity meant efficiency.

As Teotihuacan’s population expanded, its society became more stratified. The ruler needed extensive bureaucracies – religious, political, economic, and military – to regulate the affairs of so many subjects. The elites were rewarded with status and by wealth, in the form of tribute collected from commoners and subjugated peoples. The commoners were ultimately held in check by fear and reverence of the ruler and his state, whose powers were boundless. The same authority that directed people to dig new irrigation works was used to harness thousands of laborers behind grandiose plans to build majestic palaces and temples, broad avenues and streets. The same power to command was used to create large standing armies, as protection against enemies outside and within the city-state and as instrument of conquest.

At the peak of its efficiency, the city-state of Teotihuacan could ensure food supplies even to its lowliest subjects. We know this because the population tripled between 100 B.C. and A.D. 650, reaching 150,000 (some say 250,000) people. No form of encouragement or coercion could have caused such an increase if food was scarce. Of course, their diet was almost exclusively vegetarian and as in any other ancient society – and many recent ones as well – meat was the prerogative of the wealthy. Virtually all the animal bones uncovered in Teotihuacan are found in the royal and priestly quarters, and in the refuse piles of the artisan, commercial and warrior neighborhoods. Archeological data indicates that the relatively sparse wild game accounted for less than 1% of the caloric intake of all Valley of Mexico’s inhabitants. To some extent, cannibalism may have compensated for this meat shortage. 5 km west of Teotihuacan in its subject village of Maquixco, human bones, mandibles, and skull fragments have been found scattered through the kitchen refuse and even in cooking pots. In Teotihuacan itself, the evidence is less conclusive. The presence of pyramids with platforms at their summits – like the religious structures used by the Aztecs centuries later to immolate uncounted thousands of victims – hints at large-scale human sacrifices. But the midden heaps that have been unearthed thus far within the city limits contain no human remains.

Teotihuacan could have survived without any meat at all. But it was vulnerable to water shortages. Water – the essential ingredient of agricultural and urban development – began to dwindle in the second half of the first millennium A.D. Perhaps a long era of repeated droughts – a frequent enough occurrence in Mexican history – lowered the flow of the underground springs around Teotihuacan. The intense slashing and burning of the hillside forests, either to recover more farmland or to obtain wood for construction, was also a contributing factor. Once denuded of their trees, the hills failed to absorb the rain runoff that partially fed the underground springs. As food production fell, a demographic decline began in Teotihuacan after A.D. 650. The peripheral areas of the city show signs on abandonment about this time. Building projects are less numerous, and far less spectacular in scale, reflecting a smaller labor force. Even the pottery is of a lesser quality.

In the wake of droughts, Teotihuacan’s military power and population diminished, making the city more vulnerable. The morale of the inhabitants, particularly the poorest subjects, must have declined as food supplies grew scarcer. The king ruled both by force and moral suasion. He was the keeper of the granaries, the great provider, the divine agent who interceded with the gods of fertility, water, and agriculture. But he could no longer deliver enough food. The gods obviously no longer listened to him. If the droughts produce stains within the great city-state, its effects must have been catastrophic elsewhere in the Valley of Mexico. Vassal tribesmen were forced to contribute greater portions of their crops as tribute to Teotihuacan. Those who escaped starvation reverted to a semi-nomadic existence, harvesting what they could, hunting and trapping the scarce wild game, gathering any wild plants and fruit that could be found.

By A.D. 700, the northern barbarians were showing temerity in their attacks on the weakened state-city of Teotihuacan. Their raids on the farmlands were more frequent, and carried out by larger numbers of warriors. They gathered allies among the starving tribes further south in the valley of Mexico. And eventually they may have even won support among the disaffected subjects within the city-state. Around A.D. 750, just a few centuries after it reached its golden age, Teotihuacan was devastated. Theories include overpopulation, rampant disease, internal power struggles, and rebellion of the masses, however systematic burning of ceremonial buildings points to the purposeful destruction of the city.

It was about this time that the two other great Mexican civilizations – the Oaxacans and the Maya – also collapsed. All those were civilizations that expanded to the point of ecological disaster and carried intensive agriculture to its natural limit. So thoroughly did the Teotihuacanos destroy their environment that the center of their civilization failed to regain the population density of their era of splendor until modern times.

Jorge and I parked the car, paid the fees and accessed the archeological site near Entrance #4. There are three things that become obvious the moment you see the site – its scale, order and perfect alinement. Framed by the looming mountain Cerro Gordo (“mother stone”) and built on an almost geological scale, the ceremonial architecture echoes the shapes of the surrounding landscape. Two vast quadrangles lie in the middle of the urban zone, symmetrically arranged on an east-west axis. On the eastern side the Ciudadela (Citadel) is dominated by the Feathered Serpent Pyramid; this was the ritual seat of government, commanding the broad expanse of the open plaza with its flanking pyramid platforms and ranged stairways. The western quadrangle is believed to have been the central marketplace. Running on a north-south axis between these two enclosures, a wide Calzada de los Muertos (Avenue of the Dead) traverses the length of the city. Lined by the remains of ritual platforms and walled apartment compounds, this ceremonial avenue leads north past the immense Pyramid of the Sun before ending in a broad plaza at the foot of Pyramid of the Moon; the line of sight extends beyond to the summit of Cerro Gordo. The southern end lacks monumental definition, where the avenue leads into an open zone of springs and agricultural fields. The Pyramid of the Sun is aligned to the place on the eastern horizon where the sun rises on the equinox. This orientation, together with that of the Avenue of the Dead, determined the layout of a grid-like system of residential and manufacturing compounds, covering a 20 sq.km area. The abandoned pyramids and plazas were viewed with awe by the Aztecs. Teotihuacan was invested with mythological significance, portrayed in Aztec creation stories as the place where time began. The narrative describes a primeval setting of silence and darkness; a council of gods was convened and a great bonfire was lit; two of the deities cast themselves into the fire to be immolated, before being reborn as the sun and the moon. Hence the Aztec names “Piramide de Sol” and “Piramide de la Lune”, for the buildings they saw as memorials to the god’s self-sacrifice in the remote time of beginnings. This cosmological layout of Teotihuacan, expressed by the east-west line of the Pyramid of the Sun, and the north-south line, visually stretching from the top of the sacred mountain to the Pyramid of the Moon and down the Avenue of the Dead through the city to the agricultural fields, was to remain a fundamental feature of highland urban planning, to be expressed again at Tula and eventually in the design of Aztec’s capital of Tenochtitlan.

Centuries ago, Calzada de los Mortos (Avenue of the Dead) – a broad (some 40 m wide), straight avenue paved with volcanic stone, set with dazzling mica and aligned with the stars – must have seemed absolutely incomparable to its inhabitants, who were able to see the fine palaces and temples adorn with bas-relief sculptures at their best. It was so called because the later Aztecs believed that the buildings lining it were vast tombs, built by giants for Teotihuacan’s first rulers. The design, seen in the many reconstructions, is fairly uniform: low 3-4 storey platforms consisting of vertical panels (tableros) supported by sloping walls. They were often covered in lime and colorfully painted; some of them contained elegant frescoes. Today, many of the ceremonial buildings have been partially reconstructed, although without their colorful stucco facades.

At the southern end stands La Ciudadela (The Citadel), the enormous sunken square, surrounded by stepped platforms and with a low square altar in the center. It formed Teotihuacan’s administrative and ceremonial center and also the principal secular royal palace for generations of unknown kings. Across the open space stands a tall pyramid construction, inside which, during excavations, was found the Templo de Quetzalcoatl, built around A.D. 250 in honor of the Feathered Serpent, worshipped as the god of water, the dawn, and agriculture. Skeletal remains of 137 human victims have been found under and around this temple, showing that they were brought from diverse parts of Mesoamerica to be sacrificed. With the back of the newer pyramid demolished, the elaborate temple structure was revealed. Pyramid aside, this is one of the most impressive sections of the whole site, rising in four steps (of an original six), each sculpted in relief and punctuated at intervals by the stylized heads of Quetzalcoatl and Tlaloc. Imagine their eye sockets laid with glistening obsidian glass and the pyramid painted blue, as it once was. Although fanged serpent sculptures originally covered the lower level, those on three sides were pulled down not long after its inauguration. The intact west wall is impressive, with rows of stone serpent heads interspersed with images of Tlaloc and feathered shells. This theme – with goggle-eyes, almost abstract mask of Tlaloc and the fanged snake Quetzalcoatl, its neck singed with a collar of feathers – recurs in later sites throughout the country.

At the far extreme of the 4 km avenue is the second largest pyramid of Teotihuacan – Piramide de la Luna (Pyramid of the Moon), a royal funerary monument with tombs dating back to the first century A.D.; the oldest of these may be that of the founder of the royal dynasty. Completed around A.D. 300, its summit is nearly the same height as Pyramide del Sol because it’s built on higher ground. The Pyramid of the Moon has 6 layers of construction; in contract, the earlier Pyramid of the Sun was built mostly during a single phase. A slope in front of the staircase gives access to the Avenue of the Dead, a platform atop the pyramid was used to conduct ceremonies in honor of the Great Goddess of Teotihuacan, the goddess of water, fertility, the earth, and even creation itself. This platform and the sculpture found at the pyramid’s bottom are thus dedicated to The Great Goddess. It is worth scaling just over a hundred tall, narrow steps to the top, where you will be rewarded with a view of the Avenue of the Dead, sacred Cerro Gordo to the north, and lonely plains dotted with prickly pear cacti and pepper trees. The views from above also put into perspective just how dominating the larger pyramid is.

Opposite the Great Goddess’s altar is the Plaza de la Luna (Plaza of the Moon) – one of the most important sacred spaces within the city of Teotihuacan. It holds a strategic position in the overall urban plan, as it is the starting point of the city’s main road – the Avenue of the Dead. Another characteristic of this group is that it has an open layout, as distinguished from the Pyramid of the Sun and the Ciudadela, both of which are spaces circumscribed by a platform. In this sense, it is likely to have been an area dedicated to public ceremonies. The Plaza contains a central altar and an original construction with internal divisions, consisting of four rectangular and diagonal bodies that formed what is known as the “Teotihuacan Cross.” Plaza of the Moon consists of a handsome arrangement of 12 temple platforms. Some experts attribute astronomical symbolism to the total number of 13 (made up of the 12 platforms plus the pyramid), a key number of the day-counting system of the Mesoamerican ritual calendar.

Smaller, related structures are symmetrically arranged on both sides of the Avenue of the Dead. The most impressive is the Palacio de Quetzalpapalotl (Palace of Querzalpapalotl), thought to be the home of a high priest and located to the left of the Plaza de la Luna, behind the low temples that surround it. Wholly restored, it is virtually the only example of a pre-Hispanic roofed building in central Mexico and preserves a unique view of how the elite lived at Teotihuacan. Important to mention that the Teotihuacan houses and buildings had an intricate drainage system which was designed prior to the construction, thus avoiding floods within the city. Additionally, some of the rainwater was stored in large wells to be used during dry seasons. In many places, it is easy to observe how the drainage network runs underneath the floors of the patios and rooms, but it could also be found inside the rooms, leading the experts to believe that they were used as a network for bathroom facilities.

The rooms are arranged around a patio whose elaborately carved pillars are decorated with low-relief sculptures of the building’s namesake, the Feathered Butterfly. Within the building’s rooms, open patios, and antechambers are some well-preserved murals, all very formalized and symbolic, with the themes reduced almost to geometric patterns. The remains of bears, armadillos and other exotic animals were discovered here, showing that the area was used by the elite for cooking and rituals.

The mural art was clearly very important in Teotihuacan, and almost every building has some traces of decoration, though much has been removed for restoration. Two earlier buildings, half-buried under the palace, still have substantial remains. In the Palacio de los Jaguares (Palace of the Jaguars), jaguars in feathered headdresses blow conch shells from which emerges curls of music, or perhaps speech or prayers to Tlaloc (who appears along the top of the mural).

In the Templo de los Caracoles Emplumados (Temple of the Plumed Shells), the pyramid on which the temple rests is decorated with multicolored mural on three sides, where its panels represent a procession of green birds in profile. From their orange beaks streams water curving toward three-petaled yellow flowers. The bird is found symmetrically placed with respect to the central stairway and have been assumed to be quetzal, although the shapes of their bodies lead one to believe they could be macaws or parrots. Today, the panels are found in an advance state of deterioration but were also originally painted with concentric circles.

Other murals, of which only traces remain, were found in the temples along the Calzada de los Muertos between two pyramids. For ex. Mural del Puma (The Mural of Puma), which was discovered during the archeological exploration in 1963. It is a part of a group of platforms and temples that comprises an architectural unit known as The Puma Complex. In the scene shown here, there is a profiled portrayal of a large cat, probably puma, with open jaws and large claws protruding from its paws. It is painted over a background of slanting bands alternately colored red, white and green, symbolizing an aquatic atmosphere. The panel molding is decorated with green circles that represent “chalchihuites,” or precious stones.

Templo de la Agricultura (The Temple of Agriculture) was the first building to be discovered by the archeologist Leopoldo Batres in 1886 and restored around 1922 by Manuel Gamio and his team. In the research, two fragments of wall paintings were discovered – one in front of the main facade, composed of images of seeds, plants and water streams, which gave the name to this building. It was established that the building had 3 construction stages. The oldest, from A.D. 150 is a low platform with a central staircase facing east, where its remaining 5 steps and balustrade are still preserved. Around A.D. 200 the platform was covered by a tall building with a sloping wall and its facade changed to face the west. Finally, around A.D. 250, the building acquired its current appearance, by adding a hall with four columns in front.

Across the avenue, the third largest pyramid in the world, Piramide del Sol (Pyramid of the Sun) squats like an immense behemoth. Although its base, 222 m long, is nearly as broad of that of the Great Pyramid of Giza, at 70 m tall, it is less than half of height of the Egyptian pyramid. Underneath the tremendous structure winds a honeycomb of tunnels and caves, which the Aztec considered the birthplace of the world. Its accurate alignment with the cosmic bodies is also quite remarkable: two days a year (May 19 and July 25) the sun is directly over the pyramid at noon, and the main west facade faces the point at which the sun sets on these days. This alignment just off the cardinal points determined the line of the Calzada de los Muertos and the entire city. Equally remarkable is the fact that the 2.5 million tonnes of stone and earth used in its construction were brought here without benefit of the wheel or any beast of burden, and shaped without the use of metal tools. When Teotihuacan was at its height, the pyramid’s plaster was painted bright red, which must have been a radiant sight at sunset. The pyramid we see was reconstructed by Leopoldo Batres in 1908, in a thoroughly cavalier fashion. He blasted, with dynamite, a structure that originally abutted the south face, and stripped much of the surface in a search for a more complete building under the present one. In fact, the Piramide del Sol, almost uniquely was built in one go at a very early stage of the city’s development (about A.D. 100) and there is only a very small older temple right at its heart. As a result of Batres’ stripping of the stone surface, the temple has eroded considerably more than it might otherwise have done. He also added an extra terrace to the original four.

We approached the pyramid via a broad esplanade, the Sun Complex, where stand the ruins of several small temples and priests’ dwellings. The main structure consists of five sloping layers of wall divided by terraces – the large flat area at the top would originally have been surmounted by a sanctuary, long disappeared. Evidence of why this massive construction came to be raised here emerged in 1971 when archeologists stumbled on a tunnel (closed to public) leading to a clover-leaf-shaped cave directly under the center of the pyramid. This, clearly, have been some kind of inner sanctuary of holy of holies, and may even have been the reason for Teotihuacan’s foundation and the basis of its influence. Theories abound as to its exact nature, and many fit remarkably well with legends handed down through the Aztecs. It is most likely that the cave was formed by a subterranean spring and came to be associated with Tlaloc, god of rain but also a bringer of fertility, a sort of fountain of life. Evidence supporting this interpretation includes the presence of child burials at the building’s corners, characteristic of offerings to the water god. So much for being a Temple of the Sun! Alternatively, it could be associated with the legendary “seven grottos”, a symbol of creation from which all later Mexican people claimed to have emerged, or to have been the site of an oracle, or associated with a cult of sacrifice – in Aztec times the flayed skins of victims of Xipe Totel were stored in a cave under the pyramid.

Although the five-level, 244-step pyramid has more than twice as many steps as the Pyramid of the Moon, it is slightly easier to climb as the steps are shorter. Thousands of people converge on the structure hoping to receive a supercharge of celestial energy and enjoy the views.

Unfortunately, after 16.30 the clouds started to gather very quickly and Jorge rightly rushed us to leave, as the pouring rain began just a few minutes after we got into a car. However, there are more sites to see at Teotihuacan. The priest’ residence Palacio de Tepantitla (Palace of Tepantitla), 500 m northeast of the Piramide del Sol is home to Teotihuacan’s most famous fresco, the worn Paradise of Tlaloc. The rain god is shown attended by priests, people, animals and fish. Just above is the sinister portrait of the Great Goddess of Teotihuacan, thought to be a goddess of the darkness and war, she is often shown with jaguars, owls and spiders – underworld creatures. Her fanged nosepiece and spiderweb shields are quite memorable.

A group of palace lies west of Teotihuacan’s main area. Many of the murals were discovered there in the 1940s and are well preserved or restored and perfectly intelligible. Inside the sprawling Palacio de Tetitla, no fewer than 120 walls are graced with murals of Tlaloc, jaguars, serpents and eagles. Some 400 m west is the Palacio de Atetelco, whose vivid jaguar or coyote murals – a mixture of originals and restorations – are in the Patio Blanco in the northwest corner. About 100 m further northeast are Palacio de Zacuala and Palacio de Yayahuala, a pair of enormous walled compounds that probably served as communal living quarters. Separated by the original alleyways, the two structures are made up of numerous rooms and patios but few entranceways. Don’t forget to check out a small museum on premisses.

About 90% of Mexicans are Catholics and there is no more powerful image for Mexican Catholics than La Virgen de Guadalupe. She is so beloved that girls and boys are named after her, and millions of pilgrims visit her each year, some crawling the last kms on hands and knees. Her titles include “Queen of Mexico”, “Patroness of the Americas”, “Empress of Latin America” and even “Heavenly Patroness of the Philippines”, among others. Her image is everywhere in Mexico – tough looking tattooed macho guys will cross themselves as they pass her image, taxi drivers have her as a constant passenger, dangling from the mirror, and her altar protects every neighborhood market. It is almost impossible to overestimate her influence. That is why our next stop was at the Mexico’s most famous Basilica of Our Lady of Guadelupe, located north of Mexico City and on the way from Teotihuacan.

They say that the visions of Mary appeared to a recent Catholic convert –  a local peasant named Juan Diego Cuauhtlatoatzin at a place called the Hill of Tepeyac on December 9, 1531 (ten years after the conquest). Speaking to Juan Diego in his native Nahuatl, the maiden identified herself as the Virgin Mary and asked for a church to be built at that site in her honor. Based on her words, Juan Diego then sought out the archbishop of Mexico City, Fray Juan de Zumárraga, to tell him what had happened. As the bishop did not believe Diego, on the same day, Virgin Mary appeared before him for a second time. She told him to gather flowers from the top of Tepeyac Hill, which was normally barren, especially in December and Juan followed her instructions. The Virgin arranged the flowers in Juan’s tilma, or cloak, and when Juan Diego opened his cloak before archbishop Zumárraga on December 12, the flowers fell to the floor, and on the fabric was the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe. The same cloak is presently enshrined at the New Basilica which is considered to be one of the most important pilgrimage sites of Catholicism.

Obviously, the story is hardly believable for many reasons. Though in an exceptional decision, the Church hierarchy gave its blessing to Juan Diego’s vision, but the cult remained controversial for many clergymen and white colonists of that time, who viewed it as a dangerously independent native reaction to Spanish Christianity. In addition, a fact that Nahuatl language doesn’t contain neither the “g” nor the “d” sounds, makes the story of “Virgin of Guadelupe” even less credible.

What is known is that the original Chapel dedicated to Virgin Mary was built on the sacred site devoted to a temple for Tonantzin (Tanontsin), an important indigenous mother goddess, after the Spanish conquerors destroyed the temple. In the latter year, a shrine had been constructed at the foot of Tepeyac Hill, which served the people for ninety years. It was adapted as part of the parochial sacristy of the new basilica and in 1622 a rich shrine was erected. It was replaced in 1709 by what is presently known as the old basilica. It is characterized by its doric interior and marble statues of Fray Juan de Zumárraga and Juan Diego. These are featured in the altarpiece that originally held the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe till 1974. In 1921 a bomb planted in a flower vase near the altar by an anticlerical terrorist exploded, causing great damage to the interior of the building. (In memory of this incident, the New Basilica displays an iron crucifix called “the attempt on Christ”.) However, the cloak survived undamaged. As much of Mexico City was built on a bed of former lake, the land is unstable and the old basilica eventually started to sink. A new, more spacious basilica was built right next to the old one to house the cloak and accommodate up to 10,000 visitors.

We parked in the underground parking lot, that also served as a huge religious shopping center and in order to get to the main square, we had to pass by thousands of images of the Virgin. It was getting dark and even though rain hasn’t stopped, I clearly saw a beautiful baroque-styled building…. which happened to be the sinking Old Basilica and my guide, Jorge had no desire to go there. Later, I realized that he was skipping all the sites built by Spaniards and if I showed the interest to go and visit them, he never accompanied me, but stood and waited for me outside. Well, instead we proceeded towards a huge round building that looked more like a terminal at the airport than a religious structure – the New Basilica.

I bought a few candles inside but had to go back out, as the stands for candle offerings were built outside the Basilica (which I thought was very strange). I find modern churches to lack holiness or that special spiritual presence that many old or traditional religious places possess. Basilica of Our Lady of Guadelupe wasn’t an exception, unfortunately. It didn’t feel godly, it didn’t smell like votive candles, it wasn’t neither miraculous nor divine. It looked very much like the Belarusian Philharmonic Hall, with a cloak of the Virgin Mary on the wall, comfortably hiding behind the bullet-proof glass! I frankly felt cheated.

After the visit to Basilica, Jorge dropped me off at my hotel – JW Marriott Mexico City. It was a nice hotel with an impressive lobby located just by the large city park – Bosque de Chapultepec, home to the Museo Nacional Antropologia – world’s largest museum of pre-Columbian heritage. Sadly, I wasn’t able to visit the museum, but we enjoyed the views of the park as it served as a wedding venue for Valeria and Jonathan.

In the evening, wedding guests all gathered for a rehearsal dinner and drinks at the Hennessy bar at the JW Marriott. It was a good opportunity to catch up with our friends and meet other guests.

The very next morning, my husband decided to stay and hang out with his friends in the hotel, while I arranged with Jorge another tour, this time of the Centro Historico with focus on the Zócalo. We left at 10 and spent about 5 hours visiting just a handful of places. Packed with magnificent buildings and absorbing museums, the 668- block area defined as historical center was the obvious place to start my explorations. More than 1,500 of its buildings are classified as historic or artistic monuments. The UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is a place where Spaniards’ modern Mexico City sprung out of the ruins of the conquered Tenochtitlan.

At the center of it all lies the massive Zocalo, downtown’s main square, where pre-Hispanic ruins, imposing colonial-era buildings and large scale murals convey Mexico City’s storied past. 220m long and 240 m wide, it is the 3rd largest square in the world after the Tiananmen Square in Beijing and the Red Square in Moscow. Officially called Plaza de la Constitucion, the square acquired its present nickname, Zocalo (meaning “base”) in the 19th century, when plans for a major monument to Independence went unrealized, leaving only the pedestal. The ceremonial center of Aztec Tenochtitlan, known as Teocalli, lay immediately northeast of the Zocalo. In the 1520s Cortes paved the plaza with stones from the ruins of the complex. And today, the Zocalo is home to the powers that be. On the east side is the Palacio Nacional (the presidential palace), on the north the Catedral Metropolitana and on the south the city government office; hotels and Portal de Mercaderes, shopping arcade, adorns the western side. The square has variously served as a forum for mass protests, free concerts, a human chessboard, a gallery of scary Dia de Muertos (Day of the Dead) altars and an ice-skating rink. Today wasn’t an exception as the Zocalo was full of people, military and emergency vehicles – it was September 19. That day in 1985, an earthquake of 8.0 magnitude struck Mexico city early in the morning, taking lives of more than 5,000 people. So today the square served as a training and drill ground for the earthquake responders and general population, and even though the event had a serious and important message to deliver, it looked very festive, engaging and child-friendly as whole families came out to climb the fire walls, to dress in policeman uniforms or even to take a photo with an austringer and a hawk. If you happened to be in the Zocalo in the evening, don’t forget to check out the change of flags ceremony!

The most important archeological site and museum, Templo Mayor (entrance 84 pesos) is the center of the ancient Aztec teocalli, located just northeast of the Zócalo. Over 700 years ago, the pyramid rose in the middle of the sacred enclosure, as the social, religious and geographical center of the Aztec universe. Hernan Cortes and Bernal Diaz described it with four superimposed platforms rising in stepped-back tiers and a pair of steep stairways on the west facade; the forth tier formed a broad ceremonial level at the top of the building, upon which the dual temples of Tlaloc and Huitzilopochtli were built. These twin temples faced west. Tlaloc, on the northern side, was painted with blue and white symbols of rain and moisture. Huitzilopochtli, to the south, was colored with red and white symbols of war and sacrifice. By the time the Spanish arrived the entire pyramid rose some 45 m, offering a sweeping view of the city, the lake and the surrounding countryside. It was demolished by Hernán Cortés in the 1520s and its location was forgotten until the 20th century, when the small-scale archeological excavation began. In February 1978, workers for the electric company were digging at a place near the Zocalo then popularly known as the “island of the dogs” – it was slightly elevated over the rest of the neighborhood, and when the area was flooded, street dogs would congregate there. Just over two meters down, the workers struck a pre-Hispanic monolith. This stone turned out to be a huge disk of over 3.25 meters in diameter and weighing 8.5 metric tons. Dating to the end of the 15th century, it depicted the decapitated and dismembered Aztec goddess Coyolxauhqui who, it will be remembered, was killed by her brother Huitzilopochtli on the hill Coatepetl according to the Aztec migration legend. Further excavation unearthed one of the most unusual archeological projects in the history of Mexico – the Great Pyramid built in multiple layers. This was the spot where, according to legend, the Aztecs saw their sign to settle from their wanderings, an eagle perched on a nopal cactus with a snake in its beak.

The project, directed by Eduardo Matos Moctezuma, presented an unprecedented opportunity to answer questions about the nature of the pyramid and the dynamic role it played in the development of the imperial state. The first phase of the project was to demolish and remove the 19th century buildings and colonial remains superimposed on the site. Gradually, the Aztec foundations appeared. The structure seen by Cortes, razed soon after the Conquest, was revealed to have been constructed in a succession of layers. Each of these layers completely enclosed the earlier version of the pyramid, like dolls of Matreshka. As excavations continued to disclose the concentric foundations, vast quantities of offerings, about 7,000 items, buried in foundation-caches were also unearthed.

Layering is one of the unique features of Mesoamerican pyramids. In this way an original sacred place, marked by a small construction, would later be completely enclosed – together with its sculptures, offerings, and related artifacts – by new superimposed structures. Containing vast accumulations, such buildings became living architectural fetishes in the minds of their makers. The Tenochtitlan pyramid reflects this tradition, exhibiting 7 layers of construction. The most primitive foundation thus far unearthed probably dates from the reign of Acamapichtli, as suggested by the stone date-glyph 2 rabbit (1390). This date marker was found embedded in the stairway of the Huitzilopochtli side. An earlier platform, perhaps dating from the time of the founding of Tenochtitlan (1325), has been located within this structure. This first pyramid is only known through historical records, because the high water table of the old lakebed prevents excavation. According to these records, the first pyramid was built with earth and perishable wood, which may not have survived to the present time. A sacrificial block in the platform in front of the Huitzilopochtli temple, and a crude but colorful recumbent sculpture found on the Tlaloc side, confirm that the two deities were already being worshipped at this early time.

Few changes were made to the Tenochtitlan pyramid during the reigns of Huitzilihuitl (1390-1417) and Chimalpopoca (1417-1427), when the Mexica were still paying tribute to the Tepanec city of Atzcapotzalco. The upper part of this temple has been excavated, exposing two stone shrines covered in stucco on the north side. A chacmool was uncovered as well. On the south side, there is a sacrificial stone called a “téchcatl” and a sculpted face.

It was after the formation of the Triple Alliance in 1428 that Itzcoatl commissioned a more ambitious temple for the Aztec capital. A date-glyph of 4 reed (1431) marks this construction phase. The pyramid grew and was equipped with stone figures in the form of standard-bearers, which reflect Tenochtitlan’s rising status. Two of the eight figurines have their arms crossed over the chest. The six remaining have one closed fist forming an opening. Due to the lunar nose ornament that some of them wear, they have been interpreted as representation of the huiznahuas or “stars”, siblings of Huitzilopochtli and Coyolxauhqui.

The next addition corresponds to the reign of Motecuhzoma Ihuilcamina, as is indicated by the fate-glyph 1 rabbit (1454) incorporated in a new wall on the rear of the Huitzilopochtli temple. At this time the pyramid was embellished with large-scale incense braziers and offering-cysts on all four sides, and a new grand stairways was added over the old one on the west facade. The next excavated date-glyph 3 house (1469) corresponds to the year of Axayactl’s coronation. It is almost certain that during his reign (1469-1481) a platform was extended in front of the stairways, adorned by two serpents with enormous (6m long) undulating bodies that can be seen at either end of the stairway, displaying remains of the original coloring. In the middle of the north side of the platform, dedicated to Tlaloc, there is a Frog Altar.

This stage also set one of the most powerfully expressive sculptures of Mesoamerican art, such the disk of Coyolxauhqui carved in high relief with an assurance of design and a technical virtuosity not previously seen at the pyramid. Although it is probable that the Coyolxauhqui Stone dates from Axayacatl’s reign, the theme had already appeared by the time of Motecuhzoma Ihuilcamina – as shown by another, stylistically more primitive Coyolxauhqui carved on a greenstone slab beneath the new larger Coyolxauhqui disk. A third Coyolxauhqui, the famous greenstone head in the Museum of Anthropology was carved at a later date.

The disk of Coyolxauhqui is carved with her dismembered limbs displayed in a dynamic pose, and her ritual attire is outlines in meticulous detail. The fearsome image shows the Aztec genius, developed by the middle of the 15th century, for translating traditional two-dimensional forms seen in manuscript paintings into an extraordinary effective sculptural medium. Eduardo Matos Moctezuma first noted that the placement of the sculpture at the foot of the stairs was to commemorate the legend of Huitzilopochtli defeating Coyolxauhqui in the battle on Mt. Coatepetl. Positioned at the landing of the stairway leading up to Huitzilopochtli’s temple, Coyolxauhqui lay as the forbidden sign to the enemies of Tenochtitlan. Sacrificial victims were paraded across this terrifying monument on their way up the stairway to the block in front of the Huitzilopochtli’s grim shrine. In remembrance of the legend, the pyramid was named Coatepetl.

The north side of the pyramid supported the Temple of Tlaloc, and the structure was therefore also identified with Tlaloc’s mountain of life. Tlaloc, the rain god, has been venerated by the Mexicas and by many other groups in Mesoamerica since remote times. This deity was responsible for bringing rain, which enabled crops to grow, however, he could also bring storms, easily destroying them. The image of the god probably once stood on the bench inside the shrine. Outside the entrance, there is a polychrome sculpture of a chacmool, bearing the attributes of Tlaloc and still retaining its original color. In 1989, a tunnel was excavated in the middle of the stairway leading to this shrine, where the head of another, earlier chacmool was found. Till now, it is the oldest Mexica piece found so far in the Great Temple, dating to 1350. In this part of the building, the best preserved mural painting can be found (it is reproduced in the museum as well). Within this temple chamber stood an effigy filled with seeds of all the important cultivated plants. The pyramid foundations on both sides contained offering-caches with thousands of artifacts. Tlaloc-masked pots and ceramic vessels with the image of the water-deity Chalchiuhtlicue were used as containers of ritual water, and hundreds of seashells, different coral species, and a splendid necklace of mother-of-pearl and jade carved with figurines of aquatic animals, similarly alluded to these cults. Also recovered were miniature fish of mother-of-pearl, model canoes of greenstone with implements of a lacustrine economy, as well as the skeletons of water-birds and fish. The crocodile skeleton found brings to mind the ancient mythic image of the earth floating in the sea. The skeleton of a jaguar alluded to leadership, for the jaguar was “lord of the forest”. Trophy objects from conquered regions, antiquities such as an Olmec mask and another mask carved in the manner of Teotihuacan, alluded to the pyramid as an imperial symbol and to the Aztec nation as the heir to the past. Analyzing these objects, Matos Moctezuma and other archeologists show that the pyramid was at one a replica of Huitzilopochtli’s mountain and Tlaloc’s eternal mountain of life. In the heart of Tenochtitlan the pyramid rose as an architectural fetish, charged with the powers of all the offerings, and the blood from thousands of sacrificed human beings. The structure was the terrifying center of the Aztec world, and an architectural hieroglyph of the term atl tepetl, “water mountain”, the Nahuatl word for “city”.

The next layer (1481–1486) is dated during the short reign of Tizoc. During these five years, the platform was recovered in stucco and the ceremonial plaza was paved. The final temple was built during the reign of Ahuizotl. He finished some of the updates made by Tizoc and made his own; as shown on the carvings of the “commemoration stone of the huei teocalli”, showing the two tlahtohqueh celebrating the opening of the temple during the last day of the month Panquetzaliztli dedicated to Huitzilopochtli; day 7 acatl of the year 8 acatl (Dec 19th, 1487). At the inauguration of this Great Temple, Ahuizotl ordered the sacrifice of some 4,000 victims over a four-day period. Each day blood ran like a river onto the pavement of the Great Plaza, and the stairs of the great pyramid were literally bathed in blood. The Sacred Precinct was walled off and this wall was decorated with serpent heads. He built three shrines (North Patio) and the House of the Eagle Warriors. The patio has several superimposed floors, laid to counteract the sinking of the land and the constant floods that plagued Tenochtitlan. The three small buildings, aligned with the wall of the Great Temple platform, have been given letter designations: A, B and C. Building A has two stairways leading to the upper part. Only stucco plaster remains on the surface.

Building B or the Tzompantli (Skull Wall) has an altar decorated with rows of human skulls carved in stone. Arranged in rows, 240 stone skulls covered with several layers of stucco decorate the back and sides of the structure. The main facade has a stairway flanked by balustrades. Its interior contained spectacular offerings, including representation of musical instruments, along with puma and wolf skeletons and other elements.

Building C or the North Red Temple of the Eagle Warriors displays well preserved mural painting. It was built in the talud-tablero system, with a sloping base surmounted by a rectangular panel, inspired by the constructions at Teotihuacan. The main facade is composed of a vestibule with a small round altar in the center. The area is limited by walls painted with red and white ribbons and topped by large stone rings also painted red. The small temple in the back is completely covered with designs painted in red, yellow, blue, black and white. This building definitely stands out for its mural painting on a stucco base, with well-preserved, finely drawn designs.

On the sides of the Templo Mayor, archeologists have excavated a number of palatial rooms and conjoining structures. One of the best preserved and most important is the Palace (or House) of the Eagle Warriors, a place where Mexica elite held their ceremonies, including meditation, prayer, penitence, and the rendering of offerings. The building was built and then enlarged three times between 1430 and 1500, but only 2nd and 3rd stages remain visible. It is a large L-shaped room with staircases decorated with sculptures of eagle heads. The construction of the second phase is the best conserved, so that we can see the stairways, porticos, rooms and a small interior patio. This patio allowed the entrance of light and rain and facilitated the circulation of air. The inner rooms reflect the influence of the Toltec style, which was dominant four centuries before this building was constructed. Some examples are the banquettes and the braziers bearing the face of the god Tlaloc. The flowers with four petals, located at the doorways to the rooms on the east of the building, symbolized the four corners of the universe. In the southern part, there is a colonial oven that destroyed part of the building. To enter this main room, one had to pass through an entrance guarded by two large sculptures – the representations of the Eagle Warriors, a privileged class who were dedicated to the god Huitzilopochtli, and dressed to look like eagles. Almost all the interior walls of the House of the Eagles are decorated with beautiful paintings and contain long benches, which are also painted. These benches are composed of two panels. The upper one is a frieze with undulating serpents in bas-relief. The lower panel shows processions of armed warriors converging on a zacatapayolli, a grass ball into which the Mexica stuck bloody lancets during the ritual of autosacrifice. This palace specifically imitates much of the style of the Burnt Palace, located in the ruins of Tula. A number of important artifacts have been found in this area, the most important of which are two nearly identical large ceramic sculptures of Mictlantecuhtl, the god of death. Despite being found in fragile pieces, they were both reconstructed and are on display at the on-site museum. The house of the Eagles was destroyed during the Conquest and was buried beneath the church of Santiago Apostol (the Apostle James).

The Templo Mayor is just a part of a larger Sacred Precinct encompassing an area of almost 4,000 sq.m. and surrounded by a wall called the “coatepantli” (serpent wall). Among the most important buildings were the ball-court, the Calmecac (area for priests), and the temples dedicated to Quetzalcoatl, Tezcatlipoca and the sun. The temple of Ocelot Warriors, dedicated to the god Tezcatlipoca, lies under the current Museo de la Secretaría de Hacienda y Crédito Público to the south of the Templo Mayor. The Calmecac was a residence hall and a school for priests, administrators and politicians, where they studied theology, literature, history and astronomy. Its exact location is on one side of what is now Donceles Street. The Temple of Quetzalcoatl was located to the west of the Templo Mayor. It is said that during the equinox, the sun rose between the shrines dedicated to Huitzilopochtli and Tlaloc and shone directly on this temple. Due to the god’s serpentine nature, the temple had a circular base instead of a rectangular one. The ball field, called the tlachtli or teutlachtli, was similar to many sacred ball fields in Mesoamerica. Games were played barefoot, and players used their hips to move a heavy ball to stone rings. The field was located west of the Templo Mayor, near the twin staircases and oriented east-west. Next to this ball field was the “huey tzompanti” where the skulls of sacrifice victims were kept after being covered in stucco and decorated. The Temple of the Sun was located west of the Templo Mayor also and its remains lie under the Metropolitan Cathedral.

The on-site Museum del Templo Mayor houses a model of Tenochtitlan and artifacts from the site, and gives a good overview of Aztec civilization. By the time Jorge and I finished exploring the archeological site, the fire drills forced the people out of the museum and we had to wait for a while before entering. It gave me time to look at the site one more time and realize the irony – the sombre ruins of the Aztec empire were imprisoned by the majestic post-Conquest buildings and rising spires of the lavish Spanish cathedrals, just as Cortes would have wanted it.

Since we didn’t have much time, we decided to move on and check out the next attraction – Palacio Nacional.  More the 200 m long, this grandiose colonial palace occupies the entire east side of the Zocalo. The so-called New Palace of Moztezuma stood here before Cortes destroyed it in 1521. He reused the original Aztec stones to construct himself a fortress with three interior courtyards on the exact same spot. In 1562 the crown purchased the building from Cortes’ family to house the viceroys of Nueva Espana, a function it served until Mexican Independence, and later for the presidents of the republic. The present building, for all its apparent unity, is the result of centuries of agglomeration and rebuilding – the most recent addition was the third storey, in 1927. It still holds the office of the president, who makes his most important pronouncements from the balcony – especially on September 15, when the Grito de la Independencia, signals the start of the country’s Independence celebrations. Part of this ceremony includes ringing the bell that hangs above the balcony. This bell is the original one that Father Miguel Hidalgo rang to call for rebellion against Spain. It originally hung in the church of Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato, but was relocated here. In the niche containing the bell, there is the Mexican coat of arms. On each side there is an Aztec Eagle Warrior and his Spanish counterpart. These were sculpted by Manuel Centurion and symbolize the synthesis of Mexican and Spanish cultures.

The Palace has fourteen courtyards but only a few of these, such as the Grand Courtyard beyond the central portal, are open to the public. The National Palace also houses the main State Archives, with many interesting historical documents, and the Biblioteca Miguel Lerdo de Tejada, one of the largest and most important libraries in the country. The facade is bordered on the north and south by two towers and include three main doorways, each of which lead to a different part of the building. The southern door leads to the Patio of Honor and presidential offices (no public access). The northern door is known as the Mariana Door, named in honor of Mariano Arista who had it constructed in 1850. The area next to this door used to be the old Court Prison, with courtrooms and torture chambers. It is now occupied by the Finance Ministry and contains the Treasury Room. The central door leads to the main patio which is surrounded by Baroque arches.

Only the balustrade of this area has been remodeled, conserving the murals by Diego Rivera that adorn the main stairwell and the walls of the second floor. This is the only area accessible to tourists (free of charge), though you have to submit your officially issued document and check your bag before entering. In the stairwell is a mural depicting the The History of Mexico from 1521 to 1930, that covers an area of 450 m2. Rivera painted these murals between 1929 and 1935, jointly titled “The Epic of the Mexican People”, and they rank among the best of his work. The mural is divided like a triptych with each being somewhat autonomous, containing an unbelievable wealth of details with savage imagery and a masterly use of space.

The right-hand wall contains murals depicting pre-Hispanic Mexico and centers around the life of the Aztec god Quetzalcóatl. Quetzalcóatl appears in the mural as a star, a god, and a human being. Created by serpents, he sails through space as a star that accompanies the sun at night. Quetzalcóatl then assumes a human body to teach the Aztec people as their king and patriarch. Last, when he sacrifices his blood to give life to men, he returns to the sky having completed his earthly cycle. Once he leaves the earth, Quetzalcóatl assumes the shape the morning star, called Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli. The cycle that he undergoes signifies the continuous cycle of life.

In the middle and largest panel depicts the Conquest with its ugliness, such as rape and torture, as well as priests defending the rights of the indigenous people. It also portrays oppression, war, Inquisition, invasion, Independence and eventually Revolution. Almost every major personage and events of Mexican history is here, from the grotesquely twisted features of the conquistadores to the national heroes; balding, white-haired Hidalgo with the banner of Independence; squat, dark Benito Juarez with his Constitution and laws for the reform of the Church; Zapata, with a placard proclaiming his cry of “Tierra y Libertad“; and Pancho Villa, mustachioed and swaggering. The battle for independence occupies the uppermost part of this panel in the arch. The American and French invasions are represented below this, as well as the Reform period.

The left-hand panel is dedicated to early and mid-20th century and the future (as Rivera envisaged it), with Karl Marx pointing the way to adoring workers. Businessmen (Plutarco Elías Calles, John D. Rockefeller, Harry Sinclair, William Durant, J.P. Morgan, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Andrew Mellon) stand clustered over their tickertape in front of a somewhat ironic depiction of the metropolis with its skyscapers and grim industrial waters. Rivera’s wife, Frida Kahlo, is depicted, too, behind her sister Cristina (with whom Rivera was having an affair at the time) in a red blouse with an open copy of the Communist Manifesto.

A series of smaller panels was intended to go all the way round the upper (now middle) floor, an over-ambitious and unfinished project. The uncolored first panel lists the products that the world owes to Mexico, including maize, beans, chocolate, tobacco, cotton, tomatoes, peanuts, prickly pears and chicle (the source of chewing gum). The remainder of the 11 completed paintings reach halfway around and mostly depict the idyll of aspects of life before the Conquest – market day (“Tianguis of Tlatelolco”), dyeing cloth, hunting scenes and so on. The last, completed in 1951, shows the arrival of the Spanish, completed with an image of La Malinche bearing Cortes’ blue-eyed baby – the first Mexican mestizo! This mural reflects Diego’s own personal views about Mexico’s history and the indigenous people of the country in particular. According to Jorge, this Rivera’s creation of a Mexican identity helps to continue the reform that began with the Mexican Revolution of 1910 dismissing any idea of inferiority based on somebody’s origin.

Those murals were unquestionably one of the most impressive pieces of art I have ever seen! Not only did it make me almost effortlessly see the story of Mexico in its entirety, but also did it make me feel it with my eyes, ears and even my skin. On the upper floor is what once was the Theatre Room of the viceroys, which became the Chamber of Deputies from 1829 to August 22, 1872, when the room was accidentally destroyed by fire. In this parliamentary chamber the Reform Constitution of 1857 was written. This and the Constitution of 1917 are on display here.

Before leaving the Zocalo, we stopped by the Metropolitan Cathedral, the largest cathedral in the Americas, and seat of the Roman Catholic Archdiocese of Mexico. Mexico City’s most iconic structure, this cathedral is a monumental edifice: 100m long, 59m wide and 65m high. As I mentioned earlier, Jorge refused to accompany me inside so I ventured there on my own.

Mexico City’s cathedral, like so many of the city’s older, weightier structures, has settled over the years into the soft, wet ground beneath – the tilt is quite plain to see, despite extensive world to stabilize the building. The first church on this site was constructed only a couple of years after the Conquest, using stones torn from the Temple of Huitzilopochtli, but the present structure was begun in 1573, to provide Mexico City with a cathedral more suited to its wealth and status as the jewel of the Spanish Empire. The towers weren’t completed until 1813, though, and the building incorporates a plethora of architectural styles. Even the frontage demonstrates this: relatively austere at the bottom where work began soon after the Conquest, it flowers into full Baroque as you look up, and is topped by Neoclassical cornices and a clock tower. The main facade of the cathedral faces south. The main portal is centered in the main facade and is the highest of the cathedral’s three portals. Statues of Saint Peter and Paul the Apostle stand between the columns of the portal, while Saint Andrew and James the Just are depicted on the secondary doorway. In the center of this doorway is a high relief of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, to whom the cathedral is dedicated. The coat of arms of Mexico is above the doorway, with the eagle’s wings outstretched. There is a clock tower at the very top of the portal with statues representing Faith, Hope and Charity, which was created by sculptor Manuel Tolsá.

The first thing you notice upon entering is the elaborately carved and gilded Altar de Perdona (Altar of Forgiveness). There are two stories about how the name of this altar came about. The first states that those condemned by the Spanish Inquisition were brought to the altar to ask for forgiveness in the next world before their execution. The second relates to painter Simon Pereyns, who despite being the author of many of the works of the cathedral, was accused of blasphemy. According to the story, while Pereyns was in jail, he painted such a beautiful image of the Virgin Mary that his crime was forgiven. There is invariably a line of worshippers at the foot of the Senor del Veneno (Lord of the Poison), the dusky Christ figure attained its color when it miraculously absorbed a dose of poison through its feet from the lips of a clergyman to whom an enemy had administered the lethal substance.

Inside, although the size of the cathedral is striking, the main impression is that it is a rather gloomy space, with rows of dimply lit side chapels. It is enlivened mostly by the Altar de los Reyes, a vast gilt reredos built of wood between 1718 and 1735. It’s located behind a main altar that features effigies of European kinds and queens as well as two early 18th century oil paintings, the Asuncion de la Virgen and Adoracion de los Reyes by Juan Rodriguez Juarez. Also quite impressive are the detailed gold-and-wood work of the Choir and the sound of the two of the largest 18th-century organs in the Americas.

El Sagrario (the Metropolitan Tabernacle), despite its heavy, grey Baroque facade and squat, bell-topped towers, feels both lighter and richer inside, with exuberant churrigueresque decoration and liberal use of gold paint. Situated to the right of the main cathedral, it was built by Lorenzo Rodríguez during the height of the Baroque period between 1749 and 1760, to house the archives and vestments of the archbishop. Today it performs most of the day-to-day functions of a local church, such as baptism and marriages. La Piedra del Sol, the 22 ton Aztec “calendar” stone now seen in the Museo Nacional de Antropologia was discovered in El Sagrario’s courtyard.

From the Cathedral we proceeded west via Ave 5 de Mayo, towards the Casa de Azulejos (House of Tiles). The streets were very crowded and even though it was a short walk, it took us more than 10 minutes to get there. Center of Mexico City looked like a small town sunday market with happy local people shopping and getting together, but on an exaggerated scale! The Casa de Azulejos is currently on the Callejón de la Condesa, between 5 de Mayo Street and what is now Madero Street. It is hard to miss it as it really stands out from the rest of the architectural ensemble and because of the dozens of tourists with cameras gathered around it. Dating from 1596, it was built for the Counts del Valle de Orizaba. Before 1793, there were two houses on this site, which were joined through the merger of two rich and noble creole families of New Spain, when Graciana Suárez Peredo and the second Count del Valle de Orizaba married. The mansion was remodeled a bit later, and was covered on three sides by blue and white tile of Puebla state (another version is that most of the tiles that adorn the outside walls were produced in China and shipped to Mexico on the Manila naos – Spanish galleon used until the early 19th century). This caused a sensation and gave the house its popular name.

There are two conflicting explanations of how this building got its current appearance. The more reliable version states that the fifth Countess Del Valle de Orizaba, who resided in Puebla, decided to return to the capital after her husband’s death and remodeled the house with Puebla tile in 1737, to show the family’s immense wealth. The other version is more colorful and tells of a son whose lifestyle caused his father to state that if he didn’t change his ways he would “never build his house of tiles,” meaning that he would never amount to anything. As an act of defiance, the young man had the tiles put on when he inherited the house.

The Casa’s windows, balconies and doors are framed in carved stone and French porcelain crowns on the Callejón de la Condesa and Madero Street facades. Inside, the main courtyard contains a fountain crowned with mosaics. The fountain is surrounded by highly decorated columns and topped with more French porcelain crowns as well as a stained glass roof that was added in the 20th century. The overall look to the courtyard is generally Baroque but also somewhat Oriental or Moorish. There are two large murals in the interior. The first one is a peacock mural by Romanian painter Pacologue done in 1919. In the main stairway is one of the earliest works by José Clemente Orozco titled Omniscience and done in 1925. The three symbolic figures appearing in it represent masculine values, with their feminine counterparts and Grace presiding over them both. On the second floor, the facade of what was the chapel has a set of gold frames bedecked with angels, it also contains a collection of porcelain art.

The Counts of the Valley de Orizaba sold the house to attorney Martinez de la Torre in 1871. Upon Torre’s death, the Russian de Yturbe Idaroff family moved in, the last to keep the building as a private residence. Near the end of the 19th century, the house lost 90 sq.m. on the north side, to make way for 5 de Mayo Ave. In 1881, the top floor was rented to the Jockey Club, the most exclusive social club between 1880 and 1914, and the lower floor housed an exclusive women’s clothing store. In 1914, supporters of Porfirio Díaz held a banquet here in honor of Victoriano Huerta to celebrate the assassination of Francisco I. Madero after the Decena Trágica. An indignant Venustiano Carranza then seized the property in 1915, holding it for a number of months. However, the original owner, Francisco-Sergio de Yturbe managed to regain possession of the house before government-hired workers were able to finish remodeling it. In 1917 the building was bought by the Sanborns brothers who expanded their soda fountain/drugstore business into one of the best-recognized restaurant chains in Mexico. Today the house serves as their flagship restaurant and a popular place to have a meal in luxurious surroundings. The restaurant looked very busy, but unfortunately, I didn’t have time to brunch there. Jorge recommended me to take a few minutes and wander around, checking out the shopping stalls dating to the early 20th century. So yes, don’t miss this opportunity, and spend some time just browsing around and enjoying the cosmopolitan atmosphere of the first half of the 20th century.

Right across from the main entrance to the Case de los Azulejos, the Church of San Francisco and its monastery complex slowly sink in the earth. The building is stunning and perhaps, has one of the finest baroque facades in the city. This complex was the headquarters of the first twelve Franciscan monks headed by Martín de Valencia who came to Mexico in 1524 after receiving the first authorization from the Pope to evangelize in New Spain. Built on the site of the Moctezuma II’s zoo, in the early colonial period, this was one of the largest and most influential monasteries in Mexico City, at its peak, covering a total area of 32,224 sq.m. In the patio of the first cloister, there was a cross that was reputedly taller than the highest tower in the city and made from a cypress tree from the Chapultepec Forest. 

The church and monastery saw a number of historic events in its time. A funeral mass for Hernán Cortés was here when it was thought that he died in Central America. In 1629, the Marquis of Gelves arrived in disguise to hide after quarreling with the archbishop. In 1692, the Count of Galve and his wife were granted refuge there due to a large-scale rebellion in the city. The end of the Mexican War of Independence was celebrated with a Te Deum at the monastery as the Trigarante Army of 16,000 troops marched past on Madero Street headed by Agustín de Iturbide. After the Reform War, the monastery of San Francisco, like many others, was disbanded and most of the property seized by the government. Much of the old monastery was demolished for the construction of new roads and those buildings that still exist, do so only because it was more expensive to demolish them than to leave them standing.

The today’s church is the third to be built on the site. The first two sunk into the soft soil underneath Mexico City and had to be torn down. This church was built between 1710 and 1716. Although the entire building is known as the San Francisco Church, the entrance on Madero Street is actually the entrance to the Balvanera Chapel, then into the main church. In front of this is an atrium with several sets of stairs leading down to the church building because it, too, is sinking. The church’s main facade, dating from 1710, is walled in and cannot be seen. The facade of the Balvanera chapel was constructed in 1766 and it is not sure who constructed it but most think it was the work of Lorenzo Rodríguez, best known for his work on the Metropolitan Tabernacle. The chapel’s statues were removed when the chapel was in the hands of an Evangelical sect, but it kept other decorative elements such as volutes, sculpted leaves and flowers and the estipite (inverted truncated pyramid) columns with medallions. Inside there is an 18th-century altarpiece dedicated to the Virgin of Guadalupe as well as the entrance to what was once the Chapel of the Second Station of the Stations of the Cross. In the main church, there is a large gilded main altar, reconstructed based on the drawings of Jeronimo Antonio Gil, an artist who built the original Baroque one. The old cloister on Gante Street has survived but it is now a part of Methodist church that stands there.

It was already afternoon, so Jorge and I had enough time to explore just one more site, and of course, it had to be the Palacio de Bellas Artes – the wedding cake of a building containing the most delicious filling – murals by Diego Rivera, Rufino Tamayo, David Alfaro Siqueiros and José Clemente Orozco. While struggling to push through the crowds, we ran into a topless demonstration of several thousand people. Even though I don’t speak Spanish, (and people weren’t chanting anything) the giant signs with portraits of, what I rightly assumed, local Mexican politicians, spoke for themselves. The square before the Palacio got very crowded with the protesters and with even larger group of onlookers. I could tell that Jorge felt embarrassed and tried to pull me away from the scene, but for me it was just as much of experience as anything else, so I stuck around for 20 minutes to watch them peacefully dance.

Palacio de Bellas Artes is Mexico’s main venue for opera, concerts and ballet. The earliest known structure here was the Convent of Santa Isabel, which it its turn was built on top of the Aztec sacrificial site. In the late 19th century the Convent was torn down and replaced by the National Theater. During the late 19th century and very early 20th, this theatre was the site of most of Mexico City’s high culture, presenting events such as theatre, operettas, Viennese dance and more. It was then decided to replace this building with a more opulent one for the upcoming Centennial of Mexican Independence celebrations in 1910. The old theatre was demolished in 1901, and the work on the new theatre, preliminary called the Gran Teatro de Ópera, has began by the Italian architect Adamo Boari in neoclassical and art nouveau styles. The first stone of the building was placed by Porfirio Díaz in 1904 and despite the 1910 deadline, by 1913, the building was hardly begun with only a basic shell standing. One reason for this was that the project became more complicated than anticipated as the heavy building sank into the soft spongy subsoil. The other reason was the Mexican Revolution when full hostilities suspended construction of the palace completely. The project would sit unfinished for about twenty years, until 1932, when construction resumed under Mexican architect Federico Mariscal. Mariscal completed the interior but updated it from Boari’s plans to the mixture of Art Deco style with Aztec and Maya influence. The building was completely finished in September 1934.

The first floor is decorated with crystal lamps, created by Edgar Brandt and hold murals by Rufino Tamayo. The Adamo Boari and Manuel M. Ponce halls hold music and literature events, while the National and International halls are for exhibitions. The second floor has smaller exhibition halls as well as murals by José Clemente Orozco, David Alfaro Siqueiros, Diego Rivera, Jorge González Camarena, Roberto Montenegro and Manuel Rodríguez Lozano. The third floor is occupied by the Museum of Architecture. Then it gets confusing! At the entrance of the theatre, there are mascarons in bronze with depictions of Tlaloc, and Chaac Mol, the Aztec and Maya deities of water, meanwhile the arch over the stage is decorated with various Roman mythological personas such as the Muses with Apollo. The stage “curtain” which is a stained glass foldable panel and a glass dome were created out of nearly a million pieces of iridescent colored glass by Tiffany’s in New York. The design of the curtain has the volcanos Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl in the center, around them is a Mexican landscape surrounded by images of sculptures from Yautepec and Oaxaca. I told you, it is confusing!

Palacio is truly the “Cathedral of Art in Mexico” as it hosts all important cultural events from music, dance, theatre, opera and literature as well as exhibitions of painting, sculpture and photography. However, we didn’t come there to experience an opera, but check out the floors dominated by a number of murals painted by most of the famous names of Mexican muralism (entry – 45 pesos). On the 2nd floor are two early-1950s works by Rufino Tamayo: México de Hoy (Mexico Today) and Nacimiento de la Nacionalidad (Birth of Nationality), a symbolic depiction of the creation of the mestizo (person of mixed indigenous and Spanish ancestry) identity.

At the west end of the 3rd floor is El Hombre En El Cruce de Caminos (Man at the Crossroads), originally commissioned for New York’s Rockefeller Center in 1933. A giant vacuum sucks up the riches of the earth to feed the factories of card-playing, hard-drinking white capitalist thugs, including John D. Rockefeller himself while workers rally behind the red flag of socialism and its standard-bearer, Lenin. The Rockefellers were not happy with the painting and had it painted over and destroyed. Rivera recreated it here in 1934.

On the north side of the third floor are David Alfaro Siqueiros’ three-part La Nueva Democracía (New Democracy) and Rivera’s four-part Carnaval de la Vida Mexicana (Carnival of Mexican Life).

To the east is José Clemente Orozco’s La Katharsis (Catharsis), depicting the conflict between humankind’s ‘social’ and ‘natural’ aspects.

Those impressive murals were the perfect way to whet my appetite for future visits and conclude a short tour of central Mexico city. Jorge drove me back to the hotel, where I had an appointment with a make up artist. For some reason JW Marriott concierge couldn’t find my reservation, even thought I called a few months in advance to make it. Luckily, everything got resolved and after a few hours by the pool and a make up session, I was ready to attend a wedding.

The wedding took place at El Lago Restaurant inside the Bosque de Chapultepec. It was a great fun to celebrate this special day with Valeria and Jon, learn about all the props that Mexicans use during their weddings and dance the night away. The special and so much awaited treat was a performance, at 3 o’clock in the morning, by a Mariachi Band. A perfect ending to our short trip to Mexico City.

The very next morning we had just enough time to pack up and leave for the airport! And I want to end my review with the words of Carlos Fuentes, as they reflect the exact feeling I had while visiting Mexico City: “What I thought was the dead had come back to life. I realized that while I had believed that I was walking over a cemetery of a culture, the culture had been abiding beneath my feet.” 

Photos of Teotihuacan and Mexico City.

 

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]]> https://svetanyc.com/2015/09/mexico-city/feed/ 0 Georgia. July 2015 https://svetanyc.com/2015/07/index-html/ https://svetanyc.com/2015/07/index-html/#respond Tue, 28 Jul 2015 17:50:46 +0000 http://svetanyc.com/?p=2606 The Alps we already knew, and the Pyrenees, but this was finer than anything we had ever seen or even imagined in our wildest dreams! This was the Caucasus….How I wish I had brought my copy of Aeschylus! Alexandre Dumas père (1858) “It is a magical place, Georgia,” wrote John Steinbeck during a visit in...

The post Georgia. July 2015 first appeared on SvetaNYC.

]]> The Alps we already knew, and the Pyrenees, but this was finer than anything we had ever seen or even imagined in our wildest dreams! This was the Caucasus….How I wish I had brought my copy of Aeschylus!

Alexandre Dumas père (1858)

“It is a magical place, Georgia,” wrote John Steinbeck during a visit in the late 1940s, “and it becomes dream-like the moment you have left it.” Georgia’s landscape, wine and extravagant people consistently win it friends. John Steinbeck heard from Russians about Georgia’s charm long before he set foot here. “Wherever we had been in Russia, in Moscow, in the Ukraine, in Stalingrad, the magical name of Georgia came up constantly….. They spoke of the country in the Caucasus and around the Black Sea as a kind of second heaven.” Indeed, Georgia perhaps is the world’s most beautiful country – from sublimely perched marionette churches and fantastic mountain scenery to green vineyards and sunny beaches. It is the second oldest Christian state in the world and the most “Caucasian” among its neighbors, Armenia and Azerbaijan. Equally special are its proud, high-spirited, cultured, loyal and compassionate people, whose generous spirit was rightfully captured in the 12th century Georgian poet Shota Rustaveli‘s aphorism about his people “What you give is yours, what you keep is lost”. If I were to write about hospitality, Caucasian and, particularly, Georgian hospitality would have neither boundaries nor equivalents in the world, it is the very stuff of life. Locals will greet you as the most-welcome guest, and often, as a blessing, and see you off as the dearest sister (or brother). Even though USSR dissolved over 20 years ago, everywhere I went, Georgians considered me as their fellow country-woman – we spoke the same language, Russian (lingua franca of Soviet time) and we shared the same history. For old and young (unlike in Azerbaijan) I was one of them and all of them had a few good things to say either about Belarus or my people.

A deeply complicated history and location, at the Eurasian crossroads, have given Georgia a wonderful heritage of architecture and art, from cave cities to the inimitable canvases of Pirosmani. Georgia claims to be the birthplace of wine, but without doubt, as the inheritor of an ancient culture, it produced Byzantine-era emperors as well as remarkable figures, such as -Ioseb Besarionis dze Jughashvili, known by millions as Joseph Stalin and George Balanchine – the founder of the American ballet. Georgian beautiful polyphonic singing is genuinely unique, a seldom claim among other Caucasian cultures, that look outward to Iran and the Middle East; its writing is like a re-arrangement of flower petals; its karakul sheep papakhas and chokhas can never be mistaken with any other national dress, and its traditional dance is like nothing you’ve seen in your life.

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My very first encounter with Caucasus and Georgia, as I mentioned in my Azerbaijan blog, was through literary works of A. Pushkin, M. Lermontov and L.Tolstoy. However, the image of Georgian people also came from the movies inspired by the WWII events – as there was always a Georgian solder, fighting alongside his Red Army comrades. Despite the context and the tragic events of the Great Patriotic War, the Georgian character was always the luminous one, the most uplifting, friendly and humorous. In the reality of war, and in my childhood movies, all characters would eventually die, but I remember mourning the death of a Georgian solder the most. Another childhood memory I cherish was the one of my grandmother, who as a doctor in Kapyl, a small town in Belarus, was entitled to a yearly 30-day state-sponsored vacation at a sanatorium (recreational area) in Batumi, Georgia’s main Black Sea resort. It was her favorite place on earth, and according to her – a “paradise”. That is why and how my 11-day trip “Baku to Batumi” came about. My travels around Azerbaijan can be found here and could be considered as prequel to this blog.

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Literature.

In Sheki (Azerbaijan) I hired a taxi for about $90 to take me to Tbilisi via Balakan – Lagodekhi (Azerbaijan-Georgia) border post. We left Sheki early in the morning and it took us about 2-2.5 hours to reach the border crossing. As I mentioned in my Azerbaijan blog, the part of the Azeri customs I had to walk with my suitcase in hand, though my newly purchased carpet remained in the car with a driver and when he mentioned that it was a new (and not antique) carpet, custom officers let him through without any problems. Crossing the Georgian customs was a bit more hassle, simply because they wanted to know how much cash and gold I was bringing with me to Georgia. After everything was cleared, off we went without any delays. For 160 kms and almost 3 hours I enjoyed the splendid views of Georgia’s countryside before finally catching the first glimpse of the capital – Tbilisi.

History.

The discovery of fossilized skulls, 1.8 million years old, in Dmanisi, in 1991-2005, sent Georgians into a frenzy. Stenciled images of “Zezva” and “Mzia”, as these newly imagined first European settlers were nicknamed, proliferated on Tbilisi’s walls. Dmanisi proved that the earliest human settlers in Europe were in Georgia, and without extra modesty they were classified as Homo erectus georgicus. Diauehi, a tribal union of early-Georgians, first appeared in written history in the 12th century B.C. Archaeological finds and references in ancient sources reveal elements of early political and state formations characterized by advanced metallurgy and goldsmith techniques. As a result of cultural and geographic delimitation,by the end of the 8th century B.C. two core areas of future Georgian culture and statehood formed in western Georgia, as the Kingdom of Colchis and as the Kingdom of Kartli (also known as Iberia) in eastern Georgia. The Georgians know themselves as Kartvelebi and their country as Saqartvelo (land of the Kartvalebi), tracing their origins to the nation of Kartli and Noah’s great-great-grandson Kartlos. A definitive etymology of European term “Georgia” has never been established, but it has been explained by various theories as derived from the Greek words γεωργός (“tiller of the land”) and georgicus (“agricultural”), the name of St. George, the Persian designation for Georgians, or the confluence of several of these theories. Word “Gruzia” (“Грузия”) as the country is known in Russian and several other languages, comes from “Gurjana”, “Gurzan” of Arab-Persian and Syrian origins.

The kingdom of Colchis, which existed from the 6th to the 1st centuries B.C. is regarded as the first early Georgian state formation. In Greek mythology, Colchis was home to sorceress Medea and held the famous Golden Fleece, sought by Jason and the Argonauts in the epic tale “Argonautica“. According to several modern scholars, the incorporation of the Golden Fleece into the myth may have derived from the western Georgian practice of using fleeces to sift gold dust from the mountain rivers. Starting around 2000 B.C., northwestern Colchis was inhabited by the Svan and Zan peoples of the Kartvelian tribes, along with Greeks who between 1000 and 550 B.C. established many trading colonies in the coastal area. Between 653 and 333 B.C., both Colchis and Kartli survived successive invasions by the Iranian Median Empire and the Achaemenid Empire, remaining independent. At the end of the 4th century B.C. southern Kartli witnessed the invading armies of Alexander the Great. Even though neither Kartli nor Colchis was incorporated into the empire of Alexander or any of the successor Hellenistic states of the Middle East, the culture of ancient Greece still had a considerable influence on the region, and Greek was widely spoken in the cities of Colchis (in Kartli – Aramaic was dominant language).

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In 66 B.C., the Roman Empire completed its conquest of the Caucasus region, incorporating Colchis as one of its provinces. The political arrangement was different for Kartli which became a vassal kingdom – it enjoyed significant independence and, with the lowlands frequently raided by fierce mountain tribes, paying a nominal homage to Rome in exchange for protection was a worthwhile investment. As a result of these processes, the early Georgian kingdoms were intermittently Roman client states and allies for nearly 400 years.

From the first centuries A.D., the cult of Mithras, Greco-Roman mysteries, paganism, Zoroastrianism, idolatry, and various local mythical beliefs were commonly practiced in Georgia. In the 4th century, a Greek-speaking Roman woman, Saint Nino, began preaching Christianity in the kingdom. Having cured the queen Nana of a mysterious illness, St. Nino convinced her and her husband, King Mirian to accept Christian faith. In A.D. 337, a quarter century after Armenia, Mirian officially declared Christianity as the state religion, a move that effectively tied the kingdom to the neighboring Eastern Roman Empire – which exerted a strong influence on Georgia for nearly a millennium, determining much of its present cultural identity. Christianity also gave great stimulus to the development of Georgian literature, arts, and ultimately playing a key role in the formation of the unified Georgian nation. In the 5th century, western Georgia became tied to the expanding Byzantine Empire, while Kartli fell under Persian control. At the end of the 5th century though, Prince Vakhtang I Gorgasali (447-502) orchestrated an anti-Persian uprising and restored Kartli statehood, proclaiming himself the King and moving his capital from Mtskheta to Tbilisi. After this, his armies launched several campaigns against both Persia and the Byzantine Empire, however, his struggle for the independence and unity of the Georgian state did not have lasting success. In 591 Byzantium and Persia decisively agreed to divide Kartli between themselves, with Tbilisi to be in Persian hands and Mtskheta to be under Byzantine control. By the late 7th century, the Byzantine-Persian rivalry for the Middle East had given way to Arab conquest of the region.

Resistance to the Arabs was spearheaded by the Bagrationi dynasty of Tao-Klarjeti, a collection of principalities straddling what are now southwest Georgia and northeast Turkey. They later added Kartli to their possessions and when in 1001 these were inherited by King Bagrat III of Abkhazia (northwest Georgia), most of Georgia became united under one rule. The Seljuq Turk invasion set things back, but the Seljuqs were gradually driven out by the young king David IV (Davit Aghmashenebeli, “David the Builder”) (1089-1125) who defeated them at Battle of Didgori in 1122, recaptured nearby Tbilisi and made it his capital. David IV made Georgia the major Caucasian power and a center of Christian culture, however it reached its zenith under his great-granddaughter Queen Tamar (1160-1213), whose writ extended over much of present day Azerbaijan, Armenia, part of Turkey and southern Russia. Tamar became the first female ruler of Georgia, and her 29-year reign is considered to be the most successful in the nation’s history. She managed to shield much of her Empire from further Turkish onslaught and successfully pacified internal tensions, including a coup organized by her Russian husband Yury Bogolyubsky, prince of Novgorod. The temporary fall of the Byzantine Empire in 1204 to the Crusaders left Georgia and Bulgarian Empire as the strongest Christian states in the whole East Mediterranean area. The same year Queen Tamar sent her troops to take over the former Byzantine Lazona and Paryadria and in 1205, the occupied territory was transformed into the Empire of Trebizond, which was dependent on Georgia (and Tamar’s relative Prince Alexios Komnenos was crowned as its Emperor). Additionally, she pursued policies that were considered very enlightened for her time period, such as abolishing state-sanctioned death penalty and torture. Tamar is still so revered that Georgians today call her, without irony, King Tamar.

The golden age ended violently with the arrival of Mongols in the 1220s. King Giorgi the Brilliant (1286-1346) shook off the Mongol yoke, but then came the Black Death. Georgia’s geopolitical situation worsened after the Fall of Constantinople, which effectively marked the end of the Eastern Roman Empire and turned Georgia into an isolated Christian enclave, surrounded by hostile Turco-Iranic neighbors. Renewed incursions by Timur (Tamerlane) from 1386 led to the final collapse of the kingdom into anarchy and its split into multiple kingdoms by the end of the 15th century. Large neighboring empires were quick to exploit Georgia’s weakness, and from 16th to 18th centuries, the Ottoman Turkey and Iran subjugated the western and eastern regions of Georgia, respectively. For these few centuries, Georgia would become a battleground between these two great rival powers and the Georgian states would sink into poverty and despair while struggling to maintain their independence by various means. Since at least the mid-15th century, rulers in both western and eastern Georgian kingdoms have repeatedly sought aid from Western European powers to no avail. A notable episode of this type of effort was initiated in the early 1700s by a Georgian diplomat Sulkhan-Saba Orbeliani, who was sent by his former pupil, King Vakhtang VI, to France and the Vatican in order to secure assistance for Georgia. Orbeliani was well received by King Louis XIV and Pope Clement XI, but no tangible support could be secured. Lack of Western assistance not only left Georgia exposed but sealed the personal fates of Orbeliani and King Vakhtang – pushed by the invading Ottoman army, both were eventually forced to accept the offer of protection from Peter the Great and escape to Russia, from where they never returned. In modern-day Georgia, the story of Orbeliani’s diplomatic mission to France became a symbol of how the West neglects Georgian appeals for protection. In 1744 a new Persian conqueror, Nader Shah, installed local Bagratid princes as kings of Kartli and Kakheti. After Nader Shah’s assassination, the Persians were expelled and for the first time in 300 years, King Erekle II, ruled unified eastern Georgia as a independent state from 1762 till 1798.

In 1783, Russia and the eastern Georgian Kingdom of Kartli-Kakheti signed the Treaty of Georgievsk, in which they recognized the bond of Orthodox Christianity between the Russian and Georgian people, established Georgia as a protectorate of Russia, and guaranteed Georgia’s territorial integrity and the continuation of its reigning Bagrationi dynasty in return for prerogatives in the conduct of Georgian foreign affairs. Georgia at the same time, according to the terms of the treaty, abjured any form of dependence on Iran or another power, and every new Georgian monarch would require the confirmation and investiture of the Russian tsar. However, despite the commitment to defend Georgia, Russia rendered no assistance when the Iranians invaded in 1795, capturing and sacking Tbilisi while massacring its inhabitants, as the new heir to the throne sought to reassert Iranian hegemony over Georgia. Despite a punitive campaign subsequently launched by Russians against Qajar Iran in 1796, this period culminated in the 1801 Russian annexation (signed by Tsar Paul I of Russia on January 8, 1801 and confirmed by Tsar Alexander I on September 12, 1801) of eastern Georgia, followed by the abolition of the royal Bagrationi dynasty, as well as the autocephaly of the Georgian Orthodox Church.  A part of the Georgian nobility did not accept the decree until April 1802 when General Knorring compassed the nobility in Tbilisi’s Sioni Cathedral and forced them to take an oath on the imperial crown of Russia. From 1803 to 1878, as a result of numerous Russian wars against Turkey and Persia (ex. Russo-Persian War (1804-1813) and the Treaty of Gulistan) as well as the suppression of King Solomon II‘s resistance, eastern, southern and western (Imereti) Georgian territories were annexed to the Russian Empire and together with Batumi, Artvin, Akhaltsikhe, Poti, and Abkhazia, they represented the majority of the territory of the present state of Georgia. The country was finally reunified for the first time in centuries but at the price of its independence.

The Russian Revolution of October 1917 plunged the Empire into a bloody civil war during which several outlying Russian territories declared independence. Georgia was one of them, proclaiming the establishment of the independent Democratic Republic of Georgia on May 26, 1918, which was recognized by major Western powers, as well as Soviet Russia itself (Treaty of Moscow (1920)). To maintain its fledgling sovereignty and keep both Russia and Turkey at bay, Georgia became a protectorate of the German Empire, whose involvement was short-lived but effective – Berlin pressured Turkey into respecting Georgia’s ethnic borders and by July 1918, Turkey handed over all Georgian ports and railways it had controlled up to that point. Germany also lent millions of deutschmarks to the new republic. Despite cordial German-Georgian relations, Germany had to retreat from the country shortly after Germans lost in World War I. Following the German defeat, Georgia came under British protection and influence, however, Britain’s sole aim was to prevent Bolshevik Russia from acquiring oil fields near Baku and the British General Cooke-Collins appeared to care little as to what happened inside Georgia. As a result of this myopic attitude, the British were less liked than the Germans, nevertheless, the locals continued to view Britain’s presence as a stabilizing force.

Due to the terms of the Moscow Treaty, Britain had to withdraw from Georgia in 1920. With both Germany and Britain now out of the picture, the Red Army attacked Georgia in February 1921, defeating its army and sending the Social-Democratic government into exile to France. On 25 February 1921, the Red Army entered Tbilisi and installed a communist government loyal to Moscow. At first, Georgia was incorporated into the Transcaucasian SFSR, which united Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan. Later, in 1936, the TSFSR was disaggregated and Georgia became the Georgian SSR. Soviet rule was harsh – more than 150,000 were purged under Stalin and his secret police chief, the Georgian Lavrenty Beria between 1935–1951, nevertheless, Georgian nationalism was still at its height when on March 9, 1956, about a hundred Georgian students were killed when they demonstrated against Nikita Khrushchev‘s policy of de-Stalinization. The WWII didn’t reach Georgia, but along with other Caucasian countries, it contributed over 700,000 fighters to the Red Army, 350,000 of whom never returned home. Controversially, but not-unknown, a number of Georgians fought on the side of the German armed forces, forming the Georgian Legion. The decentralization program introduced by Khrushchev in the mid-1950s was soon exploited by Georgian Communist Party that actively and tacitly supported a thriving pseudo-capitalist shadow economy which emerged alongside the official state-owned economy. While the official growth rate of the economy of the Georgia was among the lowest in the USSR, such indicators as savings level, rates of car and house ownership were the highest in the Union, making Georgia one of the most economically successful Soviet republics. Widespread and blatant corruption in Georgia became an embarrassment to the authorities in Moscow.

Georgia’s independence movement became an unstoppable force after the death of 19 hunger strikers when Soviet troops broke up a protest in Tbilisi on 9 April 1989. Georgia’s now anti-Communist government, led by the nationalist Zviad Gamsakhurdia, declared independence on 9 April 1991. Almost immediately the country descended into chaos and by December 1991 the newly elected president, Gamsakhurdia, was overthrown and replaced by a military council, led by invited from Moscow retirement Eduard Shevarnadze, a former leader of Soviet Georgia and the Soviet Minister of Foreign Affairs. Shevarnadze’s presence did wonders for Georgia’s reputation abroad but didn’t diminish the internal conflict – the hampered economic growth, staggering corruption, allegations of vote-rigging, bomb attacks are just few to mention. But things got much worse when two internal wars, first in Abkhazia and then in South Ossetia, broke up in early 1990s. Both Georgian territories, supported and, perhaps, instigated by neighboring Russia were lost to Georgia and became de facto independent, with its budgets full of “Moscow money” and its citizens traveling on the passports of the Russian Federation. The famous resorts of Sukhumi and Gagra even today are a no man’s land, its buildings and streets scarred by the war and its population (hundreds of thousands) refuged either to Georgia or to Russia. Together with Nagorny-Kharabakh, wars in Abkhazia and South Ossetia constituted the only military conflicts evoked by the collapse of Soviet Union.

For a decade after the Abkhazia disaster, Georgia oscillated between periods of relative peace and security and terrible crime waves, gang warfare, kidnappings, infrastructure collapse and rampant corruption. Shevarnadze staved off a total collapse into anarchy, but by the early 21st century Georgians had lost all faith in him. In 2003, Shevardnadze (who won re-election in 2000) was deposed by the peaceful Rose Revolution led by Mikheil Saakashvili, Zurab Zhvania and Nino Burjanadze, former members and leaders of Shevardnadze’s ruling party. A US-educated lawyer Mikheil Saakashvili was elected as President of Georgia in 2004. The 36-year-old Saakashvili appointed a team of young, energetic, outward-looking ministers and set about liberalizing the economy, and announced campaigns against the plague of corruption. The Saakashvili government had a strong pro-Western, especially pro-US, foreign policy, with ambitions to join NATO and the EU. Within a short period of time almost the entire notoriously corrupt police force was sacked and replaced with much better paid, better trained officers. Foreign aid and investment in telecoms, electricity, transport and construction improved and electricity shortages ended, however such achievements could only result from the use of unilateral executive powers, failing to achieve consent and initiating a trade-off between democracy-building and state-building.

In August 2008 Russia and Georgia engaged in the 2008 South Ossetia war, leading to the 2008–2010 Georgia–Russia crisis, which is still very much a reality. In October 2012, Saakashvili’s party lost in parliamentary elections and in November 2013, Giorgi Margvelashvili won the Georgian presidential election with 62.12% of the votes cast. With this, a new constitution came into effect which devolved significant power from the President to the Prime Minister. Stephen Jones in his book “Georgia: A Political History since Independence” gives a very detailed account of the times from Gamsakhurdia to Saakashvili, but for me, it was a huge revelation to speak with local Georgians who, despite passed time, were still very much living in Saakashvili’s time, demonizing or idolizing him. I was told quite a few anecdotes about his rule, some of which were downright scary and personal, and some were quite humorous. They say that after Saakashvili left power, the very next day people didn’t show up for work, as they were fed up with his idea that every Georgian must possess US work ethics, which isn’t necessary a bad thing, but it didn’t go well with a relaxed Caucasian mentality. However, I was also told the stories of hanged, gunned down and vanished, often business people, who shortly prior their death came into conflict with Saakashvili.

Tbilisi.

After 6 hours of driving, I was happy to finally check into my hotel, located just above Meidan, in the heart of Old Tbilisi. The views were fantastic, as were the service and the room. Home to a quarter of Georgian population (1.5 million), Tbilisi (or as it is also commonly called – Tiflis) brims with history and has a dramatic setting on hillsides of either side of the swift, but muddy Mtkvari River. Its Old Town is still evocative of an ancient Eurasian crossroads with meandering lanes, old balconied houses, silent mosques, leafy squares, graceful churches, and countless cafes, shisha-bars and restaurants overlooked by the 17th century-old Narikala Fortress.

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However, Tbilisi is also a modern city that tries to distant itself from the Soviet past, and move forward in the 21st century in style, judging by the new lavish constructions and flagship building projects that sprung up by the river not far from the Old Town. For the next 5 days, beautiful and authentic Tbilisi became my town too.

History of Tbilisi.

Evidence of settlement in the area stretches back to the 4th century B.C., but the Georgians like the legend that King Vakhtang I Gorgasali of Kartli (r. 447-502) went hunting in this heavily wooded region with a falcon. The king’s falcon caught a pheasant, but both birds fell into a nearby hot spring and died. King Vakhtang was so impressed with the discovery that he decided to build a city on this location, calling it “Tbilisi”, a word derived from the Old Georgian for “warm location”. The name was given to the city because of the area’s numerous sulfuric hot springs, which are still heavily exploited, notably for public baths, in the Abanotubani district at the foot of Narikala Fortress. This mythical account is very popular, but archaeological evidence shows that Vakhtang revived, or rebuilt parts of the city (such as Abanotubani, or the Metekhi palace, where his statue now stands) but did not found it.

King Dachi (beginning of the 6th century), the son and successor of Vakhtang Gorgasali, is said to have moved the capital of Kartli from Mtskheta to Tbilisi to obey the will left by his father. During his reign, Dachi finished the construction of the fortress wall that lined the city’s new boundaries and Tbilisi started to grow at a steady pace due to the region’s favorable location, which placed the city along important trade and travel routes between Europe and Asia. However, its strategical location had also become a reason for most major regional powers to struggle during the next centuries for its control. In the 7th century, the city was conquered by the Arab conquerors who established the Emirate of Tbilisi. The following four centuries of Arab rule brought a certain order to the region and introduced a more formal and modernized judicial system into Georgia, while Tbilisi prospered from the trade with the whole Middle East. The Arab rule heavily influenced the cultural development of the city, as even though few Georgians converted to Islam during this time, Tbilisi became a mainly Muslim city.

In 1122, after the battles for Tbilisi that involved at least 60,000 Georgians and up to 300,000 Turks, the troops of the King of Georgia David the Builder stormed Tbilisi. He concluded his victory by moving his residence from Kutaisi to Tbilisi, making it the capital of a unified Georgian State and thus inaugurating the Georgian Golden Age. From 12–13th centuries, Tbilisi became a dominant regional power with a thriving economy (well-developed trade and skilled labour, known for its production of weapons, jewelry, leather and silk clothing) and a well-established social system. By the end of the 12th century, the population of Tbilisi had reached 100,000. The city also became an important literary and a cultural center not only for Georgia but for the Eastern Orthodox world of the time. During Queen Tamar‘s reign, Shota Rustaveli worked in Tbilisi while writing his legendary epic poem, The Knight in the Panther’s Skin.

The golden age ended with a vengeance by the Mongols in 1235, followed in turn by the plague in 1366, then by conqueror Timur, who destroyed the city in 1386 and by the Persians who captured it in the 1540s. Tbilisi recovered somewhat under the Persians during the 17th and 18th centuries, and in 1762 it became a capital of an independent eastern Georgia under King Erekle II. Erekle’s protector, Russia, however, withdrew its troops to fight the Turks allowing Agha Mohammad Khan to inflict Persia’s most devastating assault in 1795. His army killed tens of thousands and burnt Tbilisi to the ground: few buildings today predate 1795 in any substantial form. Russia annexed Georgia in 1800 and re-built Tbilisi laying out wide streets and squares and erecting new buildings, mainly of European style, building few roads and railroads connected Tbilisi to other important cities in Russia and in Transcaucasia. By the 1850s Tbilisi once again emerged as a major trade and a cultural center, visited by Pushkin, Lermontov, Tolstoy and the Romanov Family. Important to mention that by 1899, Tbilisi had 172,000 people, one-third of them were Armenians and a quarter each Georgian and Russian.

During Soviet rule, Tbilisi’s population grew significantly and the city became more industrialized. Stalinist buildings such as the current Parliament of Georgia were built on the main avenues, but most ancient neighborhoods retained their character. Many religious buildings were destroyed during anti-religious campaigns, and in their sites came new places for culture and entertainment. New standardized residential areas (mikrorayen) were built from the 1960s and a Metro system was developed to link them all with the old city center. The 1990s were dark years in Tbilisi – literally, with frequent power cuts blacking out the city – as living standards sank and corruption and crime became rife. However, since 2003, Tbilisi has experienced considerably more stability, decreasing crime rates, improving economy, flood of investments and refurbishment and a booming tourist industry. However, bear in mind that prosperity is still barely trickling down to the less advantaged population, so please support local Georgian tour agencies, hotels, vendors, entrepreneurs by buying local services and goods.

In the evening, I was meeting Levan, a friend of a friend who, never having met me, helped to plan my trip to Georgia and whose Georgian hospitality shone even through his facebook messages. After a brief shower and one-hour rest, I still had a few free hours to be lured to the winding streets of the Old Town with a quest to buy a Caucasian carpet or two.

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About 10 m down the very steep hill from the hotel was the large Armenian Cathedral of St. George, founded in 1251, although the current structure is mainly 18th century. Built in brick on a traditional plan of a partitioned, open cross with a rectangular perimeter, in July 2015 it was still under restoration, due to open in October. Nevertheless, the most important site of the cathedral, the tomb of the King Erakle II’s fame Armenian court-poet Sayat Nova, killed here during the Persian invasion of 1795, is just outside the main door.

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Following the main road down, I passed by a few souvenir shops and hotels and in 2 mins appeared at the small yet very much engaged Meidan. Formerly, the setting of Tbilisi’s bustling bazaar, it is a very busy, traffic-infested junction bringing both, people and cars from one bank of Mktvari River to another. It is also a perfect place to grab a lunch or dinner, as I did at the perpetually busy two-storied Machakhela restaurant, enjoy the galleries, live music, drinks and shisha at one of the places on Jan Chardin, Bambis Rigi or Erakle II Streets, buy yourself a day-tour at one of the multiple travel agencies (I used travel agency “Holidays”, located next to the Chateau Mukhrani Wine shop and bar), chat with fellow-travelers or simply enjoy its hustle and bustle.

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Across the river from Meidan Square, perched on the elevated cliff is the Historic Neighborhood of Metekhi, with its eponymous Metekhi Church of Assumption and the equestrian statue of King Vakhtang I Gorgaslan. Many legends are associated with this elevated bank of the river. According to one, King Vakhtang I Gorgasali (447-502) erected here a church and a fort which served as a king’s residence; hence its name “Metekhi”, dating back to the 12th century, means “the area around the palace”. They also say that it was a site where the 5th-century martyr lady Saint Shushanik, tortured by her husband in 475 for refusing to convert to Zoroastrianism, was buried. However, none of the mentioned above structures have survived the Mongol invasion of 1235.  Legend has it also that the Metekhi cliff was a site of the martyrdom of Habo (8th century), Tbilisi’s patron saint and a small church in his honor is now under construction at the foot of the cliff. The extant Metekhi Church of Assumption, resting upon the top of the hill, was built by the Georgian king St. Demetrius II circa 1278–1284 and is somewhat an unusual example of domed Georgian Orthodox church. King Rostom (r. 1633-1658) fortified the area around the church with a strong citadel garrisoned by some 3,000 soldiers. Under the Russian rule in 1801, the church lost its religious purpose and was used as a barrack, the citadel was demolished in 1819 and replaced by a new building which functioned as the infamous jail up to the Soviet era, and was closed only in 1938. Amid the Great Purges, Beria  intended to destroy the church, but met an opposition by a group of Georgian intellectuals led by the painter and art collector Dimitri Shevardnadze, who was later executed but the church stood. In the late Soviet period the church was used as a theatre until it returned to its original function in 1988. The statue of King Vakhtang I Gorgaslan by the sculptor Elguja Amashukeli was erected in front of the church in 1961.

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While keeping an eye on the antique carpet shops, I continued walking along Kote Abkhazi Street, the main thoroughfare of the Old Town, winding down from Tavisuplepis Moedani (Freedom Square). In the middle ages this street was called Shuabazaari, meaning “middle Bazaar”; it divided the city into the upper and the lower parts and served as an unofficial centre of trade. You can spend a whole day on this 800 m stretch and never have a need to leave as it is strung with assorted shops and eateries, wine tastings ($5 all you can drink) and hostels, churches and synagogues, street vendors selling cheap but delicious churchkhela (try to pronounce it!) and souvenir shops. In the next few days, I will walk up and down this street but never get tired of its alluring authentic vibe.

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Almost at the beginning of the Kote Abkhazi Street is Tbilisi’s main synagogue, also known as the Great Synagogue. It was founded by Jews from Akhaltsikhe, who settled in Tbilisi in the late 19th century, and sometimes referred to as “synagogue of the people of Akhaltsikhe”. Adjoining it was another prayer house founded by the Jews of Tskhinvali. The synagogue was built with bricks, in an eclectic style, between 1895 and 1903 and surmounted by a dome and a lantern. The two-story structure measures 24.5 m (length) x 15 m (width) x 14 m (height) and contains two prayer halls. The upper hall, the bigger of the two, is used for services on Sabbath and festivals and has a gallery for women. Its walls and the ceiling were painted in the 1940s with geometric and vegetable motifs, biblical verses and prayers. The smaller lower prayer hall is used for daily services and doesn’t have a women’s section. There is a Holy Ark – heikhal in each prayer hall with Torah cases covered with a small garment (kabah) which resembles a Torah mantle. The Torah staves on top of the cases are adorned by kerchiefs donated by women of the local community. The scrolls are crowned by pairs of engraved and soldered silver and wood carved Torah finials (rimonim), made in Tbilisi, and reflecting an earlier artistic tradition.

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Further up the street stands the large, disused, cracked in the middle Armenian Norashen Church. Norashen Holy Mother of God Church was founded by Sadat in 1467 and renovated in 1650 by Khoja Nazar, when the cupola was created by the master Petros (the church was repeatedly restored in 1795, 1808 and 1875). The interior of the church was decorated with frescoes by Ovnatan Ovnatanian, who was a court-artist of Erekle II. In the western part of the church there is an untouched tombstone on the grave of the merchant and patron of art Tamamshev and his wife. The names of this branchy merchant’s clan are often met in Tbilisi toponymy (place-name study). In Soviet times Norashen church was converted into a library and nowadays it remains closed. Recently the church has been the subject of dispute between Armenians and the Georgian Orthodox Church which has sought to convert it into a Georgian Church – it was enclosed with a concrete fence, the Armenian inscriptions on tombstones were defaced, and Georgian tombstones were brought in.

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Right next door, sharing the same courtyard, is a smaller Jvaris Mama Church sitting on the site of a 5th-century church which was built by King Vakhtang I Gorgasali but destroyed by Mongols. Named after the Georgian church in Jerusalem, the current structure dates from the 16th century (renewed in 1825) and its interior is almost completely covered in recently restored frescoes in striking reds, golds and blues. Its lack of visitors brought an atmosphere of piety and calmness. In the church’s hall, I met a woman who I thought was a local attendant since she knew lots of things about the church and spoke with me for 15-20 minutes about its history and frescoes. In the end, she asked me for money to pay for her godson’s cancer treatment. Not for a second I doubted her story, and as a recent cancer-survivor myself, I asked her to say a prayer for all of those who succumbed to it. Church’s leafy and cozy courtyard was a perfect place to relax before jumping back onto the busy street.

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Slowly, I reached the end of the Kote Abkhazi street, where old Tbilisi meets modern Tbilisi -a photogenic Tavisuplebis Moedani (or Freedom Square), where Georgia’s last Lenin statue, toppled in 1991, used to stand in place of the golden St. George spearing his dragon. The square was originally named after Ivan Paskevich, the Count of Erivan, a Ukrainian general of the Russian Imperial Army, who earned his title in honor of his conquest of Erivan (present-day Yerevan) for the Russian Empire. Under the Soviet Union, the square was renamed, first “Beria Square”, and then “Lenin Square”. Freedom Square was the site of the 1907 Tiflis bank robbery and of various mass demonstrations including those for Georgia’s independence and the Rose Revolution. In 2005 from here, U.S. President George W. Bush and Georgian President Mikheil Saakashvili addressed a crowd of around 100,000 people in celebration of the 60th anniversary marking the end of WWII. During this event, Georgian-Armenian Vladimir Arutyunian threw a live grenade at President Bush in an unsuccessful attempt to assassinate him. It is still a pretty dangerous place taking into account mad traffic, so, I made sure to use one of the pedestrian underpasses to cross it. The Square is adorned with beautiful buildings of Tbilisi City Hall, the former headquarters of Bank of Georgia and the Marriott hotel and serves as the beginning of Tbilisi’s main artery – Rustaveli Avenue. 

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In the evening, Levan with his friend Davit picked me up near Meidan and together we caught a Funicular to the top of Mount Mtatsminda. There, at the edge of the Mtatsminda park, Tbilisi offered its most splendid views – the falling asleep city unwrapped before our eyes like a Caucasian carpet with its myriad of lights and patterns. At the top, we settled at a very fashionable but cozy Lounge bar of the Funicular restaurant where Levan ordered us a little wine tasting of his favorite, and I presume the best Georgian wines and delicious seasonal fruits that this country grows – watermelons, peaches, grapes, melons and raspberries. We were enjoying the wonderful mountainously fresh evening outdoors but don’t forget to check out the inside the Lounge, which is decorated with the historic fresco created by Koka Ignatov in the 1960s, entitled “Tribute to Pirosmani”, that has been carefully restored to its original condition. I had a fantastic first day in Tbilisi and instead of a perfect carpet, I found a perfect city and a new friend.

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The very next day I spent walking around Tbilisi and visiting many of its tourist sights, except for the museums (which are fantastic, but I simply didn’t have time). But first of all, I finally found my preferred carpet shop – Caucasian Carpets Gallery on 8/10 Erekle II street, near Sioni Church (for information call: +995 577 75 30 69 or email:gallerycarpets@yahoo.com). Manana Arkania, the owner, carefully learnt my carpet “requirements” – size, color and fabric – before showing me at least a few dozen of full carpets and kilims. While in Caucasus, you will notice that red, blue, green and yellow are the happy colors and many carpets have very geometric patterns and designs, however, I was looking for something neutral to go well with the furniture and paintings in my New York City apartment. Instead of one, I obviously got two carpets (without a bargain as I thought they were very reasonably priced) and together with the one that I purchased in Azerbaijan, I just had enough to cover the entire floor in my apartment and give somebody as a gift too! Many carpets at Caucasian Carpets Gallery are antique (which means they are handmade) but don’t try to get the exact year of their manufacturing or the region; however, Manana’s and her employees have enough experience and knowledge to tell with a certain degree of confidence many facts about the carpets. While some of them have an easily identifiable ornaments belonging to a specific carpet-making region, many – don’t. The same applies to the exact year of production. Manana told me that during tough 1990s old people would bring and sell their inherited carpets, antique furniture, jewelry without giving much details about when and where they acquired those items, hence each carpet has its own story to tell.

So, if you are buying a carpet in Georgia and taking it outside the country, there are several things you need to know:

  • If it is an antique carpet (made before 1950s-1960s, after which carpets were mostly machine-manufactured), you would need to get a separate permit from a Ministry of Culture of Georgia for each carpet or kilim. Many carpet shops would do this for you (as did Caucasian Carpets Gallery) however, you can apply for permits yourself. Call the Ministry for the exact address and hours and bring with you a copy of your passport, the invoice from the shop and a few printed pictures of the purchased carpets. Permits are free and usually issued within 24 – 48 hours. I got permits for all my carpets including the new one I bought and brought from Azerbaijan, just to be on a safe side.
  • If you are taking the carpets with you – bring permits (and carpets) to the airport and be aware that the customs might ask you to unrolled the carpets so they can compare them to the ones on the permits (which would have a picture attach to it) before they let you pass.
  • If you are shipping the carpets, as I did, use www.lasare.ge (+955 32 245 03 30) a shipping company located at the Tbilisi airport (for the taxi, as it is not easy to find, please tell to go to the old airport building with the columns). Even though Lasare is open 24 hours, they have to run all shipments through the airport cargo customs, so make sure to call them (or the customs – +955 32 226 28 10) to confirm the customs’ business hours. I think I got a pretty good deal – 2 large and 1 small carpets, 37 kg for $216 and it took me about 3 hours on a Saturday morning.

With clean conscious and “task accomplished” attitude, I could finally relax and leisurely enjoy my time in Georgia. I came up with a 1,500 m long Narikala Tourist Route that runs from the Old town to the foot of the Mother Georgia monument on top of Narikala hill. Let’s walk it together as it offers stunning views at every turn.

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The very first place I went to were the famous Sulphur baths in Abanotubani. They are easy to find on the map (Abano Street), in person (look for the hive-like domes) and by the trail of strong sulphuric egg-like smell they release. Both, the founding of the city and its name, originated in this very place (see the legend of Tbilisi above), however, some archaeological evidence has found Roman-style baths in the city that date as far back to the 1st century A.D. Today’s hub of thermal baths is based on the Persian tradition and became a draw of the city at the height of the Silk Road, when there were 63 baths back in the day. During the period of the Russian Empire, there were 10 baths and they were widely popular and visited by famous bathers like A.Pushkin and A.Dumas. The hot springs along the river attracted both the healthy and the infirm. “I must not omit to mention that the baths of the city cannot be surpassed even by those of Constantinople”, write a visitor in 1840. “They have also the additional recommendation of being remarkably clean and well kept”. Today there are only five baths, most of them are subterranean, with delicate cupolas rising at ground level. Some of baths are public – simple and inexpensive, where you share the washing areas and the pools with everyone of the same sex and some have private bath-suites consisting of 3 or more rooms and accommodating up to 10 people. You can also hire a masseuse or order a body scrub for just a few extra lari. And the benefits of the sulphur baths are plentiful – it gives you perfect skin, rid you of skin diseases, calm nervous system, solve insomnia problems, help with arthritis, etc. The most beautiful, adorned in turquoise, royal blue tiles and mosaic is the Orbeliani Bath, that looks more like a mosque than a bathhouse. Unfortunately, it was under renovation when I visited it. However, I took a tour of the private rooms at The Royal Bath House (just ask an attendant). There are also “Sulphur Baths”, “Bakhmaro Baths” and “Bathhouse #5” so, I am sure you will find the one to suit your taste and budget.

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The excavation work in the area that started in 2011-2012, enabled public access to the exceptional sites of Old Tbilisi which had been restricted to visitors since the mid-20th century. As the result, the historical Tsavkisistkskali river-bed was opened and cleaned from earth making old bath houses, hidden portions of the so-called “multicolored bathhouse”, a blind arcade leading to bathhouses, fragments of an old bridge and other elements visible. A historical water-supply and reservoir system that served the city were uncovered in the depth of the gorge which culminates with a beautiful waterfall. The tourists paths, bridges and resting place along this original river bed is an excellent quiet alcove to rest. P.S. In order to reach Dzveli Tbilisi Sulphur waterfall, walk along the left back of the river bed till the end and if you are lucky, you will be the only person there.

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Up the hill and across the street from the Sulphur baths is Tbilisi’s red-brick Jumah Mosque, the only one that survived Beria’s purges in 1930s. It was built in 1895 and, unusually, Shia and Sunni Muslims pray together here. Interior is prettily frescoed and visitors are welcome to enter, after removing their shoes and covering their heads (for women). Please do not confuse the Orbeliani Bath with a Jumah mosque.

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I simply followed the Botanikuru street up to the hill toward the Narikala Fortress and it was, perhaps, my favorite city walk. There were old and renovated houses, beautifully decorated in-and-out and just the sad carcasses of somebody’s long ago well-beloved residencies, but all of them were living and breathing in a unique and authentic way. In my blog about Azerbaijan, I mentioned that I was very surprised to find Icheri Sheher, the old Baku town, looking as new as if it was fixed just a few years ago, but in fact, it was rebuilt in 2010-2012. Tbilisi was original, pure, old time Georgian! And so were its people who stopped me on every corner and chatted in Russian as if we were the best of friends, and not in an annoying but in affectionate grand-fatherly manner, suggesting me some restaurants to visit for lunch or inviting for a glass of Georgian tea.

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At the top of the street, there is an entrance to the expansive 300 year old Botanical Gardens, a place of easy wander and extensive waterfall-dotted gardens. It occupies the area of 161 hectares and possesses a collection of over 4,500 taxonomic groups. First described, in 1671, by the French traveler Jean Chardin as royal gardens, they might have been founded at least in 1625 and were variably referred to as “fortress gardens” or “Seidabad gardens” later in history. Pillaged in the Persian invasion of 1795, the garden was revived in the early 19th century and officially established as the Tiflis Botanical Garden in 1845. Between 1896 and 1958 it was expanded by acquiring the territory around the former Muslim cemetery. Several graves have survived till today, including that of the prominent Azerbaijani writer Mirza Fatali Akhundov (1812-1878).

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But as much as I would liked to visit the Gardens, I was attracted by the views opening on the other side of the path – that are of the city from the top of the hill. I held Tbilisi on the palm of my hand.

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Here I reached the Narikala Fortress, also called the Mother Fortress of Tbilisi. It was established in the 4th century, around the period when the city itself was founded and you can still see the oldest remains of the original fortress (tower and the north-east part). It was then known as Shuris-tsikhe (Invidious Fort); the name “Narikala” is said to derive either from a Persian or Mongol word “Narin Qala” meaning “little fortress”. It was considerably expanded by the Umayyads during the 7th and 8th centuries, when the Arabs built the Emir’s palace within its walls. King David The Builder further extended the fortress in the 11th century, however most of the fort’s existing fortifications date from the 16th and 17th centuries. In 1827 it was damaged by an earthquake and was not resorted till modern time. According to the Tbilisi Plan of 1800, the Narikala Fortress had two underground tunnels connecting the citadel to the Mtkvari River and Tsavkisi Water, it also hosted an observatory, however, only a solar clock was found so far. Parts of the fort still stand and serve as a most recognizable Tbilisi’s landmark, while others vanished in the jungle of the Botanic Gardens below.

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In the 1960s, during the archeological work, St. Nicholas church was discovered inside the fortress walls. It was built in the 13th century by Demetrius II and represented a construction of excellent curved stone with blue glazed tiled-roof, frescoes and inscriptions. Archeologists also found a part of stone iconostasis that dates back to the 5th-6th centuries implying that perhaps, there was even an older church in its place. Destroyed in a fire long ago, St. Nicholas church was restored in 1996-1997 in a “prescribed cross” style, having doors on three sides. The internal part of the church is decorated with the frescos showing scenes both from the Bible and history of Georgia.

aaaTo the east of the church, there are the remains of a big structure called Emir’s Palace and a lot of interesting things such as water clay pipes, reservoir, different types of pottery, royal vessels, coins, bath and other administrative structures. It is hard not to notice, but Narikala also offers some of the best panoramas of the city and I guess the number of churches in sight, 4-5 at the time, wouldn’t fail to remind you that after all, Georgia is the second oldest Christian country in the world. Well, take a moment or two and enjoy the views!

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I continued to follow a path west to the Statue of Mother Georgia – Kartlis Deda. Erected in 1958, this 20-m tall aluminium woman symbolizes the Georgian character – it holds a sword in one hand and a cup of wine in the other – warmly welcoming guests and passionately fighting off her enemies. Past Kartlis Deda are the ruins of the Shahtakhti (Shah’s Throne) fortress which housed an Arab observatory. Interestingly, there were a few plaques here and there, claiming the land to be a property of the Greek government. I wonder?!

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My map wrongly showed that I could actually descend from the hill into the city, but after 20 mins of solo walking, I decided to turn around and take a cable car back to the old town.

There is a wonderful area that runs along the west embarkment of Mtkvari River, from Meidan on the south to Nikoloz Baratashvilli street on the north. During the medieval times, this string of narrow, traffic-free streets was the heaving commercial hub of Old Tbilisi. At the north end, there is a quirky  Clock tower. Just south stands the lovely little Anchiskhati Basilica – Tbilisi’s oldest surviving church, build in the 6th century. Further south, there is a peaceful little park, Erekle II moedani, facing the walled residence of the Catholicos-Patriarch, head of the Georgian church. From here, you can cross the river via the Peace Bridge which opened in 2010, or continue along Erekle II street towards Meidan. This is an area of endless cafes, art galleries, modern design shops, loud bars and the Sioni Cathedral, which was originally built in the 6th-7th centuries. It has been destroyed and rebuilt many times and present building is mainly 13th century, though the southern chapel was built and the cupola restored in 1657. The stone iconostasis, which replaced the wooden one burned during the Persian invasion in 1795, dates to the 1850s. To the left of the altar is the venerated Grapevine cross which, according to tradition, was forged by Saint Nino, who baptized the Caucasus in the early 4th century. The Sioni Cathedral was where the Russian Imperial manifesto on the annexation of Georgia was first published on April 12, 1802, and the nobles, assembled in church, were forced to take an oath to the Russian Imperial crown or be taken into custody. Interestingly, Sioni Cathedral remained functional through Soviet times, and was partially renovated between 1980-1983.

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After all the walking, I finally stopped for lunch at the busiest place on Meidan – a two storied Machakhela restaurant. Georgian food is original, organic, delicious and very filling, so if you want to try khachapuri, make sure you have a friend to share it with, and if you want to order khinkali – start with 2 or 3 pieces and see how it goes. In reality, Georgian cuisine as well as Georgian cheeses, chacha, wine, fruits and veggies deserve a whole separate culinary tour. While at the restaurant, I struggled to order the dishes I’ve never heard of, and a lady with a child at the next table offered to help me. We started talking and one hour slowly turned into two. Natalia T. turned out to be a fascinating person, a Russian women’s team basketball coach from Moscow, she was visiting her son and granddaughter in Tbilisi. She was powerful, outspoken, extremely smart and charismatic, a type you can either be put off by or fall in love and become immediate friends with. We instantly clicked and she asked me whether I wanted to come with her to see her son at his restaurant, called Famous in Old Tbilisi. The restaurant was hard to find however, the space turned out to be very stylish and cozy, petit fours and desserts were delicious. Natalia and her granddaughter Lilu were just too adorable together and they gave me very well-needed energy boost!

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After we parted our ways, it was almost 17.00 but I decided to stroll along Rustaveli avenue, Tbilisi’s main thoroughfare. Laid out by the Russians in the 19th century, its entire length of 1,5 kms represents an eclectic mix of Modern and early-19th century important buildings, a large number of governmental, public, cultural, and business structures along with historical luxury hotels, high-end shops, elegant restaurants and theaters. It starts at the Freedom Square and runs north.

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Georgian National Museum, reopened in 2011, displays a wealth of pre-Christian gold, silver and precious stone work from burials between the 3rd millennium BC and the 4th century A.D., along with the fabulous adornments from Colchis (8th-3rd century B.C.). Across the street is the Parliament building, built between 1938 and 1953 for Georgia’s Soviet government, it served as the seat of Georgia’s Parliament after independence till 2012 (when the government moved to Kutaisi). It has seen momentous events in Georgian history, including the deaths of 19 Georgian hunger strikers in 1989, Georgia’s independence declaration on 9 April 1991 and the Rose Revolution in 2003.

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Further north Kashveti Church stands on a spot where it is said pagan rituals used to take place. The first church here is supposed to have been built in the 6th century by Davit Gareja, one of the ascetic “Syrian fathers” who returned from the Middle East to spread Christianity in Georgia. According to legend, a nun accused him of impregnating her, to which he replied that if this were true, she’d give birth to a baby, and if not, to a stone, which duly happened. Hence, “Kashveti” means “Stone birth”. The current building was built in 1910 as a copy of the 11th century Samtavisi Church, 60 km away from Tbilisi.

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Brand new National Gallery is located just beside the Kashveti church and houses the wonderful canvas by Georgia’s best known painter Niko Pirosmani as well as other top 20th century Georgian artists. Still further up is Tbilisi’s Opera and Ballet Theater, founded in 1851, it is one of the oldest establishments of this kind in Eastern Europe. Following the country’s annexation in 1801, in order to better integrate Georgia into the Russian Empire, new Viceroy of the Caucasus, Count Mikhail Vorontsov, implemented a number of cultural initiatives, one of which was the foundation of the opera. To satisfy Georgians, Vorontsov went on to patronize Georgian-language theater performances and did everything Saint Petersburg would permit to win over locals. On 12 April 1851, the theater held its grand opening, attended by the high society of Tiflis. As the theater stage was not yet complete, instead it held a masked ball and charity fundraiser for the Saint Nino Women’s College. Several months later the popular Parisian newspaper L’Illustration (issue 25 October 1851) printed a large article by Edmond de Bares with two pictures of the interior of the theater. The author wrote, “This is the only theatre in the city, the interior of which is totally Moorish in style, and is doubtless one of the most elegant, beautiful and fascinating theatrical constructions, conceived by man.” Rustaveli Avenue is a lively street to stroll during the day or at night, even if you aren’t visiting any of the above places, simply enjoy the walk.

Day Trip to Kazbegi via Georgia Military Road.

They say people are generally divided into those who like the sea or those who prefer mountains. I belong to the second category. As much as I love to put my scuba gear and dive into the blues, I still choose graceful royal silence of the mountains over anything else. The famous quote from Vladimir Vysotsky‘s song says that “Better than mountains could be only mountains… where you haven’t set your foot yet”. I grew up watching the legendary Soviet movies (for ex. 1967 “Vertikal”, in Russian – “Вертикаль”) about the conquest of the arctic circle or heroic ascends of the snowy peaks, and they always made me dream of accomplishing those things myself. And of course, Kazbegi (other version – Kazbeki or Kazbek) has always been on my list, and if not to climb then just to visit.

The Greater Caucasus chain is the highest mountain range in Europe – marking a barrier with the Russian plains to the north, it curves in a magnificent arc for 1,300 kms from the Black Sea to the Caspian Sea. Among the crowning peaks are the two extinct volcanic cones of Mount Elbrus (5,642m) on the Russian side of the mountains and Mount Kazbegi (5,033m) in the north of Georgia. For centuries, the name Caucasus was synonymous in Europe with wild cold mountains and with the myth of Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods and was punished by being chained to the icy peaks. In two references to the mountains, Shakespeare asked, “Who can hold fire in his hand / By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?” and wrote of a lover “And faster bound to Aaron’s charming eyes / Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.” But two centuries later people still had a very vague idea of where the mountains actually were. French consul in Tiflis, recorded his impressions on first passing through the mountains in 1820, “Italy, the Tyrol, Switzerland: none offers anything more admirable and romantic than the valley of the Aragvi….. After the steep crags which continually threatened to crash travelers under their debris, after the mountains covered in snow and ice….now came hills and prairies of the most beautiful verdure…. Before us, the landscape was alive with a throng of villages set amid well-tended agricultural lands.” The Caucasus has never been one place but many, including arid plains, semitropical foothills, craggy gorges, and alpine peaks. Moving through these varied landscapes – crossing rivers or coming down out of the hills – literally means exiting one world and entering another.

I purchased a day trip to Kazbegi (69 lari, $31) from travel agency “Holidays” located on Meidan. It was cheap, even by Georgian standards, so I didn’t expect anything but basic transportation and a bit of information from a guide. Luckily, we had Galina as our guide and even though her “delivery” was a bit rehearsed, she was very competent and friendly. At 8.45 in the morning, a group of 10-12 people gathered by the agency’s office on Meidan and promptly at 9.00, our mini-bus took off for Kazbegi. It is a whole day trip (about 160 km each way) so make sure to seat by the window and enjoy the world’s most breathtaking views. Also, while doing day-trips keep in mind that sooner or later you would make a stop by one of the many churches, so dress appropriately – skirt below the knees and a scarf, to cover your head are must, no pants – otherwise, you would be denied entry.

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We traveled via famous Georgian Military Road which many travel books describe as “one of the most beautiful mountain roads in the world”. It is 212 kms long and runs from Tbilisi (Georgia) to Vladikavkaz (Russia) along the Great Caucasus Range. Clinging to the side of the turquoise Zhinvali Reservoir it passes below the walls of the sublime medieval fortress of Ananuri, follows the Tetri Aragvi River from the town of Pasanauri up to Mtiuleti, before reaching the Russia–Georgia Friendship Monument and the ski resort of Gudauri. After, it heads through the Georgian region of Khevi to the Jvari (Cross) Pass (Крестовы перевал), where it reaches its maximum altitude of 2,379 meters. It descends the Tergi valley to Mount Kazbegi and Gergeti Trinity Church and heads through the Darial Gorge (which marks the border between Russia and Georgia) north towards Russian Vladikavkaz.

Mentioned by Strabo in his “Geographica“ and by Pliny, the Georgian Military Road has existed as a route for traders and invaders since before the 1st century B.C., but had only evolved into a crude horse trail by the time the Russians finally converted it, through the Herculean efforts of 800 soldiers, into a carriage road in 1783. It was properly engineered as a road in the 19th century when Georgia joined the Russian Empire and by 1876 it was of a high quality with two or three lanes and “iron bridges over the torrents”, something that was considered astonishing given that within Russia proper at this time decent roads were virtually non-existent. Today it serves as the best route via which we all can enjoy the dramatic scenery, crystal-clear air and indescribable grandeur of the mighty Caucasus Mountains. The local landscape – formidable mountains, great defiles of gorges and isolated valleys – inspired Leo Tolstoy, Alexandre Dumas and Maksim Gorky to feature it in their writings. For the most part, the road was smoothly paved, but some parts desired some repair, luckily, nobody expected it to be a perfect German highway.

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The very first stop we made by the site where Tetri Aragvi (“White aragvi”) that flows from Gudauri down to the town of Pasanauri joins Shavi Aragvi (“Black aragvi”), the main river of Gudamakari. There is a myth associated with the junction of these rivers. Once upon a time, two beautiful sisters lived in the highest mountains in the Caucasus, one of them was blonde, the other – brunette. Both of them fell in love with the same Prince but he chose the blonde girl to be his wife. A brunette sat by the edge of a mountain and cried for many days until her tears turned into the Black Aragvi river. Heart-broken, she plunged into the black abyss and disappeared forever. When the blonde princess learned about her sister’s death, she sat on the opposite side of the mountain and cried till his tears turned into the White Aragvi, after which, she jumped into the river and drowned. The moral of the story is that sisterly love was so strong that they couldn’t be without each other neither in life, nor after their death. That is why, both rivers meet and continue across Georgia together. 

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Our next stop was by the picturesque Ananuri fortress. It’s location, on the bank of the Zhinvali Reservoir, and a compact size make you wonder whether it was indeed a fort, and not just a duke’s dacha (country home). However, Ananuri was a castle and seat of the eristavis (dukes) of Aragvi, a feudal dynasty which ruled the area as far as the Tergi valley from the 13th to 18th centuries. The fortress was built in the valley between the two rivers, so that no enemy army could pass by unnoticed. In the 16th – early 19th centuries, Ananuri was the main stronghold on the way from Russia to Georgia and it played a critical role in numerous wars between local feudal eristavis. In 1739, Ananuri was attacked by forces from a rival duchy, commanded by Shanshe of Ksani, its towers and churches were set on fire and the entire Aragvi clan was massacred. However, four years later, the local peasants revolted against a new ruler, killed the usurpers and invited King Teimuraz II to come and govern directly over them.

The fortifications consist of two castles joined by a crenellated curtain wall. The upper fortification with a large square tower, known as Sheupovari, is well preserved and is the location of the last defense of the Aragvi against the Shamshe. The lower fortification, with a round tower, is mostly in ruins. Our guide told us that it was possible to climb the tallest of the fortress towers, the tower where the last defenders of Ananuri were burnt alive, however, it was closed that day. The small fortress also contains two churches. The older Church of the Virgin, which abuts a tall square tower, has the graves of some of the Dukes of Aragvi. Built of brick, it dates to the first half of the 17th century. The interior is no longer decorated, but of interest is a stone baldaquin erected by the widow of the Duke Edishera, who died in 1674. The larger Church of the Assumption (Ghvtismshobeli) was built in 1689 for the son of Duke Bardzem. It is a central dome style structure with richly decorated façades, including a chiseled north entrance and a carved grapevine cross on the south façade. It also contains the remains of a number of frescoes, including a Last Judgement, most of which were destroyed by the fire in the 18th century. It is a functioning church, so please be dressed appropriately and cover your head before entering.

qqqJust outside the fortress, you could have your picture taken dressed in a traditional Georgian costume with tall sheep hat (papakha) and long heavy sheep coat. From Ananuri, we drove further north, through Gudauri, a place of Georgia’s most famous ski resorts and hillsides of different degrees of difficulty – blue, red and black. Between Gudauri and Jvari Pass, we stopped at the Russia-Georgia Friendship Monument  (however, I am pretty sure the word “Russia” was omitted by our guide). Built in 1983 to commemorate the bicentennial of the Treaty of Georgievsk and ongoing friendship between Georgia and Soviet Russia, it is a large 3/4 round stone and concrete structure overlooking the Devil’s Valley. Inside, the large tile mural depicts scenes from Georgian and Russian history. It was an interested monument, but it was the Devil’s Valley and the mountains around it that brought tears to my eyes – I believe this is where I realized that it was the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.

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We were given a short break to walk around and take pictures before we proceeded to our final stop – Stepantsminda village and Gergeti Trinity Church. On our way, we stopped by the Iron Water Spring, slowly flowing from the top of the hill towards the Georgian Military Road, mineralizing and bleaching everything on its way.

DSC_7142Village Stepantsminda (“Saint Stephan”) was named so after a Georgian Orthodox monk Stephan, who constructed a hermitage at this location, which later became the border-town between Russia and Georgia. For most of the 19th and 20th centuries, it was called Kazbegi, however in 2006 the name was changed back to Stepantsminda. Today, it is a tidy village with multiple home accommodations for travelers who come here to climb Kazbegi, hike Caucasus, enjoy horse-riding, paragliding, water-rafting and other mountain activities. Unfortunately, we didn’t get a chance to walk through the village as we switched our mini-bus for a 4-wheeler and immediately drove off to the top of the nearby mountain to visit Gergeti Trinity Church – the highlight of the trip to Kazbegi and an unofficial symbol of Georgia. Note that you can also walk to the top which might take 2-3 hours, time that we didn’t have. Our jeep driver, Gia, was very talkative and didn’t mind answering to all my questions about the people in Kazbegi and their winter activities, when no tourist come to town, primary education and family traditions. He seemed content to find a traveler who could speak the same language with him. Gergeti Trinity Church (also known as Tsminda Sameba Church), located at an elevation of 2170 meters, under Mount Kazbegi, was built in the 14th century, and is the only cross-cupola church in Khevi province. The separate bell tower dates from the same period as the church itself and living quarters for monks, from the 15th century. The beautifully weathered stone of the church and bell-tower are decorated with intriguing and seemingly accidental carvings, one of which (above the window) very much resembles two kissing dinosaurs. Its interior is modest and pious (pictures are not allowed inside).

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Its isolated location on top of a steep mountain surrounded by the vastness of nature has made it a symbol for Georgia. The 18th century Georgian author Vakhushti Batonishvili wrote that in times of danger, precious relics from Mtskheta, including Saint Nino’s Cross were brought here for safekeeping. During the Soviet era, all religious services were prohibited, but the church remained a popular tourist destination. In 1988, authorities constructed a cable-car line to the church, but the people of Kazbegi felt it defiled their sacred place and soon destroyed it. The church is now an active establishment of the Georgian Orthodox and Apostolic Church. We were given about 20-30 minutes to enjoy the views of the mountains and villages; sadly, the top of the Mount Kazbegi remained covered with clouds.

aaaAnd of course, at some point we had to re-fuel our energy and stuff our stomachs, so we stopped at the Khevi restaurant for lunch. Food was delicious, it was served quickly and efficiently, which is essential for long day-trips. Don’t forget to ask for Tarhun – Georgian carbonated drink flavored with tarragon or woodruff.

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On the way back, half the people on the mini bus passed out, however, I continued to enjoy the views from my window. When we reached Tbilisi, around 19.00 -20.00, Stepan from St. Petersburg, Nancy from New York and I crashed at one of the shisha bars on Erekle II street. It was a long, tiring but very revelating day!

Day trip to Gori, Uplistsikhe, Mtskheta and Jvari.

I guess a visit to Georgia wouldn’t be complete without a trip to Mtskheta – the holiest place in the country, where St. Nino converted the Iverian kingdom to Christianity, and Gori – the birthplace of the (in)famous Soviet leader – Joseph Stalin. I purchased a day-trip from the same “Holidays” travel agency (49 lari – $20) and found out that pretty much everyone from the trip to Kazbegi also came to this trip. It was sort of a small reunion of friends.

Our first stop was in Gori. I frankly don’t like bus tours as I feel like bus-tourists always descend on the cities or sites like the locust on the field – they orderly run to see one or two places before vanishing into abyss and not learning a bit about the town or site itself. Well, that is how we toured Gori too, unfortunately. The territory of Gori (from the word “gora” which means “hill”) has been populated since the early Bronze Age. According to the medieval Georgian chronicles, the town of Gori was founded by King David IV (r. 1089-1125) who settled refugees from Armenia there. However, the fortress of Gori (Goris-Tsikhe), appears to have been in use already in the 7th century, and archaeological evidence indicates the existence of an urban community in Classical Antiquity. In 1299, Gori was captured by the Alan tribesmen fleeing the Mongol conquest from their original homeland in the North Caucasus, however, the Georgian king George V recovered the town in 1320, pushing the Alans back over the mountains. With the downfall of the medieval Georgian kingdom, Gori – strategically located at the crossroads of major transit routes – was frequently targeted by foreign invaders, and changed its masters on several occasions. From the late 15th till mid 18th centuries it was successively occupied by either Persians or Ottomans, until it returned to the Georgian control under the kings Teimuraz II and Erekle II whose efforts helped to advance economy and culture in the town. Following the Russian annexation of Georgia, Gori was granted the status of a town within the Tiflis Governorate in 1801. It grew in size and population throughout the 19th-20th centuries and turned into an important industrial center in Soviet times. After independence, Gori suffered from an economic collapse and the outflow of the population. In the 2008 war over South Ossetia (whose border is just 30 km north of the city), Gori was bombed by Russian Air Force; 20 people died and most of the population fled before the town, for 10 days fell under Russian control. This is how Gori was when we visited it – clean, quiet, war-scarred and very Soviet-like.

The only place foreigners come to visit in Gori is Joseph Stalin Museum  (entry fee, pictures are allowed, exhibits are in Russian and Georgian languages only), a museum, as you have guessed correctly, dedicated to the life of Stalin who was born in Gori in 1878. People of Georgia never talk about Stalin, however we were warned that Gori was full of citizens who still revered their home-town boy who made such an indelible mark on human history. We were advised to take the words of the official museum tour-guide with a bit of salt, however, I have to admit that the delivery was pretty fair and covered not only Stalin’s achievements but also his shortcomings and brutality that caused millions of deaths. Museums consists of 3 sections: the impressive main building, the tiny wood-and-brick house where Stalin was born and Stalin’s train carriage. The main complex is a large palace in Stalinist Gothic style, begun in 1951 as a local history museum, but clearly intended to become a memorial to Stalin, who died in 1953. The exhibits are divided into six halls in roughly chronological order, and contain many items actually or allegedly owned by Stalin. They chart Stalin’s journey from the Gori religious seminary to leadership of USSR up to his death in 1953. There is also much illustration by way of documentation, photographs, paintings and newspaper articles. Upstairs, the first hall details Stalin’s childhood and adolescence, including his rather talentless religious poetry, and then his early revolutionary activities in Georgia, organizing unions and setting up illegal printing presses. One of the exhibit takes us through Stalin’s seven jail terms under the tsarist authorities (six of them in Siberia), the revolution of 1917, the Civil war and Lenin’s death in 1924. The hall displays the text of Lenin’s 1922 political testament that described Stalin as too coarse and power-hungry, advising Communist Party members to remove Stalin from the post of General Secretary.

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One of the rooms is devoted to one of twelve copies of the bronze death mask of Stalin taken shortly after his death. In itself, it doesn’t make a statement, but the lighting and bizarre, personality cult-chic, red velvet display will surely remind you of the mausoleums of long-dead leaders (ex. Lenin, Ho Chi Minh and Mao Zedong) .

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Other rooms contain the reconstructions of Stalin’s first office in the Kremlin, as People’s Commissar for Nationalities in 1918 and his personal memorabilia such as his famous pipes, glasses and a large collection of tributes and gifts from world leaders. At the foot of the first-floor staircase, there are few rooms that are dedicated to the victims of Stalin’s purges, Gulags and political repressions under his regime. However, when we visited the museum, some of the rooms hosted a picture gallery of Gori during the Russian occupation in 2008.

In the museum’s courtyard, “enshrined” within a marble Greco-Italianate pavilion with a stained glass roof, is a small brick-and-wood hut, in which Stalin was born in 1878. The rest of this poor neighborhood in which it once stood was demolished in the 1930s but the hut, with its “Here I.V. Stalin was born on 21 December 1879, and here he spent his childhood until 1883” remained. Stalin’s father Vissarion Jughashvili, a local shoemaker, rented one room on the left hand side of the building and maintained a workshop in the basement. You can’t walk in, but feel free to peek inside the room.

aaaNext to the hut is Stalin’s personal armor-plated Pullman train carriage. He didn’t like flying and used this train from 1941 onwards, including his attendances at the Yalta Conference and the Tehran Conference. The train’s elegant interior was specially designed to accommodate the Soviet leader’s requirements of comfort and included a modest bedroom with a single bed and a desk, a bathtub and a small conference room. The train carriage was recovered from the railway yards at Rostov-on-Don in 1985 and was sent to the museum.

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Our next stop was at the fascinating and once enormous stone-hewn cave city – Uplistsikhe (entry 2 lari, $0.90; please allow 45-60 mins). Located along the Mtkvari valley, just 10 km from Gori, it is truly one of the most interesting sites in Georgia. ‘Fortress of the Lord’ (as it translates), is an ancient town which played a significant role in Georgian history over a period of approximately 3,000 years. Founded around 2nd millennium B.C. Uplistsike has been identified as one of the oldest urban settlements in Georgia. Back then, the city was a very important cultural centre for pagan worship in the Kartli (Iberia) region. Archaeologists have unearthed numerous temples and findings relating to a sun goddess, worshipped here prior to the arrival of Christianity. After the 4th century A.D., the city lost importance in favor of the new Christian centers, most notably Mtskheta and Tbilisi. Nevertheless, life continued in Uplistsikhe. Christian structures were built, and for a short time Christianity and the old faith coexisted together here. After the Arabs occupied Tbilisi in A.D.645, Uplistsikhe reemerged as a principal Georgian stronghold and became the residence of the kings of Kartli, during which the town grew to a size of around 20,000 inhabitants. However, its importance declined after King David the Builder retook Tbilisi in 1122 and it was irrevocably destroyed by the Mongols in 1240. Since then, the site was virtually abandoned, used only occasionally as a temporary shelter in times of foreign invasions.

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Uplistsikhe is remarkable for the unique combination of styles from rock-cut cultures of the region, most notably from Cappadocia (in modern Turkey) and Northern Iran. What is visible today is 40,000m2 Shida Qalaqi, or Inner City, less than half of the original whole. Almost everything here, including numerous artifacts belonging to different time periods, such as gold, silver and bronze jewelry, and samples of ceramics and sculptures, has been uncovered by archeologists since 1957, when only the tops of a few caves were visible. You will appreciate the site more if you visit it with a guide; even though many caves have plaques, describing their “purpose”, it is still hard to make up things and imagine what it was like 10 centuries ago. The rock-cut structures include dwellings, a large hall, called Tamaris Darbazi (Queen Tamar’s Hall, where she allegedly accepted the crown of Georgia), pagan places of sacrifice, and functional buildings, such as a bakery, a prison, storage rooms, apothecary, wine cellar and even an amphitheater (1st or 2nd century A.D.), all connected by stone-curved alleys and tunnels. Some of the fronts of the caves have been carved into house-like shapes with triangular roof peaks. In some areas you can tell there were columns standing from floor to ceiling, but they are nowhere to be seen now. The majority of the caves are devoid of any decorations, although some of the larger structures have coffered tunnel-vaulted ceilings, with the stone carved in imitation of logs. Some of the larger caves also have niches in the back or sides, which may have been used for ceremonial purposes.

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The church near the top of the hill is Uplistsikhe Eklesia (Prince’s Church), constructed of stone and brick in the 9th-10th centuries. This triple-church basilica was built atop the ruins of what was probably Uplistsikhe’s most important ancient pagan temple to the Caucasian sun god.

After the lunch at Gamarjoba Restaurant, located just outside the cave-town, we proceeded towards our next stop – the Georgia’s spiritual heart – Mtskheta. The UNESCO World Heritage Site, the birthplace of Christianity in Georgia in 337, and the “Holy City” proclaimed by the Georgian Orthodox Church, Mtskheta holds a near-mystical significance in Georgian culture. Founded in the 5th century B.C., it was capital of the early Georgian Kingdom of Iberia (Kartli) from the 3rd century B.C. to the 5th century A.D. It was the location where Christianity was proclaimed the state religion of Kartli and till now it remains the headquarters of the Georgian Orthodox Church. Even when the capital was moved from Mtskheta to the more easily defensible Tbilisi (in early 6th century), Mtskheta continued to serve as the coronation and burial place for most kings of Georgia until the end of the kingdom in the 19th century. The old city lies at the confluence of the rivers Mtkvari and Aragvi. The rare blend of cultural values had ruled in this part of the world since the Bronze Age until prosperous Christian era offers the unique eclectic lifestyle creating the mood of the town which is as old as the history of Georgia itself.

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Mtskheta is home to Georgia’s two most important religious sights – Svetitskhoveli Cathedral and Jvari Church. The grand (and for its time, enormous) Svetitskhoveli Cathedral  is the UNESCO site and the second largest church in Georgia, famous to have been built on top of the Christ’s mantle. According to Georgian hagiography, in the 1st century A.D. a Georgian Jew from Mtskheta named Elias was in Jerusalem when Jesus was crucified. Elias bought Jesus’ robe from a Roman soldier at Golgotha and brought it back to Georgia. Returning to his native city, he was met by his sister Sidonia who upon touching the robe immediately died from the emotions engendered by the sacred object. The robe could not be removed from her grasp, so she was buried with it and with time, everyone forgot the exact site. When King Mirian was baptized by St. Nino in the 4th century and decided to built the first church in Mtskheta, the wooden column designed to stand in its center could not be raised from the ground. But after an all-night prayer vigil by St. Nino, the column miraculously lifted and moved on its own to the burial site of Sidonia and the robe. They say that the column worked many miracles and gave its name to this cathedral (Svitiskhoveli means “life-giving column”). An icon portraying this event can be seen on the second column on the right-hand from the entrance. Reproduced widely throughout Georgia, it shows Sidonia with an angel lifting the column in heaven. Saint Nino is in the foreground, King Mirian and his wife, Queen Nana, are to the right and left.

In the 5th century Vakhtang Gorgasali replaced Mirian’s original church with a stone one, whose modest remains are visible to the left of the cathedral today. The present building was constructed between 1010 and 1029 under Patriarch Melqisedek, and is still one of the most beautiful churches in the country. The defensive wall around it was built in 1787. Built in a cross-dome style, two bulls’ heads on the east façade, remnants of the 5th-century church, attest to the folk influence on Christian iconography in that early period. The cathedral interior walls were once fully adorned with medieval frescoes, but many of them did not survive. Today, after much careful restoration, some frescoes survive, including a 13th-century depiction of the “Beast of the Apocalypse” and figures of the Zodiac. The decoration of the church stonework also features carved grapes (as in many churches of Georgia), reflecting the country’s ancient wine-making traditions.

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On the right side from the entrance of the Cathedral is a stone baptismal font dating from the 4th century. It is thought to have been used for the baptism of King Mirian and Queen Nana. Immediately behind the font is a reproduction of the relief of Arsukidze’s right hand and bevel found on the north facade. On the south side there is a small stone church built into the Cathedral. This is a symbolic copy of the Chapel of Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. Built between the end of the 13th and the beginning of the 14th centuries, it was erected here to mark Svetitskhoveli as the second most sacred place in the world (after the church of Jerusalem), thanks to Christ’s robe. In front of this stone chapel, the most westerly structure marks Sidonia’s grave. Remains of the original life-giving pillar, built in the 17th century, are also here. Scenes of the lives of King Mirian and Queen Nana, and portraits of the first Christian Byzantine Emperor, Constantine I, and his mother Helena, were painted by G. Gulzhavarashvili at that time.

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Svetitskhoveli was not only the site of the coronation of the Georgian kings but also served as their burial place. Ten are known to have been buried here, although only six tombs have been found, all before the altar. The tomb of King Vakhtang Gorgasali can be identified by the small candle fortress standing before it. King Erekle II’s tomb is identifiable by the sword and shield upon it. His son, George XII was the last king of Georgia and his marble tomb is next to his father’s. Also in front of the altar are tombs of David VI, George VIII, Luarsab I and various members of the Bagrationi royal family including Tamar, the first wife of George XI, whose epitaph dating from 1684 is written both in Georgian (Asomtavruli) and Arabic script.

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Visible for kms around on its hilltop overlooking Mtskheta and at the confluence of the Mtkvari and Aragvi rivers, the Jvari Church (monastery)  (Church of Holy Cross) is, to many Georgians, the holiest of holiest. According to a legend, on this exact place in the early 4th century Saint Nino erected a large wooden cross on the site of a pagan temple. The cross was reportedly able to work miracles and therefore drew pilgrims from all over the Caucasus. Between 585 and 604 Stepanoz I, the eristavi (duke) of Kartli, constructed the church over the cross. The importance of Jvari church increased over time and attracted many pilgrims. In the late Middle Ages, the complex was fortified by a stone wall and gate, remnants of which still survive. During the Soviet period, the church was preserved as a national monument, but access was rendered difficult by tight security at a nearby military base. After the independence of Georgia, the building was restored to active religious use.

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Jvari is a beautifully symmetrical little building and a classic of early Georgian “four-apsed church with four niches” domed tetra-conch design. It has a cross-shaped plan with four equal arms, the angles between them being filled with corner rooms, and the low dome sits on a squat, octagonal drum. Varied bas-relief sculptures with Hellenistic and Sasanian influences decorate its external façades, some of which are accompanied by explanatory inscriptions in Georgian Asomtavruli script. The entrance tympanum on the southern façade is adorned with a relief of the Glorification of the Cross, the same façade also shows an Ascension of Christ. Our guide pointed a treasure room whose entrance was located on the outside wall, high above the cliff and accessible only by a narrow stone path. She offered us to take a peek inside the room but I didn’t feel like taking a risk.The interior of the Jvari church is rather bare and the wooden cross inside reminds us of the origin of this site.

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Perched high on the hill, the location had the most spectacular views over Mtskheta and the convergence of the Aragvi and Mtkvari rivers. It was a perfect picture to take with me back to Tbilisi.

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My last day in Tbilisi, I spent with friends. I could have taken another day trip to the alpine Svaneti or to medieval Vardzia, to cave monastery of Davit Gareja or to the wine country in Kakheti, but I decided to spend my day surrounded by wonderful, generous, hospitable Georgian friends. I met Levan in Vake Park where we took a stroll around Mediathek – local media/library space free for everyone to use. After that, we drove to Levan’s dacha, just 15-20 mins outside Tbilsi and spent a few hours there, before going out for late lunch.

In the evening, we stopped by a famous Georgian artists’ country house, which they turned into an upscale outdoor restaurant, with fabulous amenities like indoor pool and fantastic views of the ravine. I ended my 4 days in Tbilisi on a high note and I wish I will be given a chance to reciprocate to my Georgian friends for their unbelievable hospitality.

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Batumi, Adjara. I took the very first morning flight from Tbilisi to Batumi (with Airzena, $69) and 50 mins later landed in the capital of Adjara and the final stop of my journey. This gorgeous region with the semitropical climate and beautiful green hills rising behind the Black Sea coast is my grandmother’s most cherished memory and now, it is my memory too. I stayed at the Dzveli Batumi Hotel in the center of a small old Batumi. Hotel’s owner was very nice to come and meet me at the airport (free to charge) at 7 in the morning and drop me off two days later (also for free).

History. Adjara (also know as Adjaria) is an autonomous province located in the Georgia’s southwest corner on the coast of the Black Sea, north of Turkey. Occupied by an ancient Georgian tribe of Moskhs from ancient times, the territory of Adjara was a province of Colchis from the 7th to 3rd centuries B.C. Colonized by Greeks in the 5th century B.C., the region fell under Rome in the 2nd century B.C. Bathus (the present day Batumi) and Apsaros (Apsaruntos) (modern Gonio) were the key cities and fortresses at that time. By the 2nd century A.D., Bathus was an important military base for Roman legions, while Apsaros was famous for its theatre. In the 11th century, Adjara became a part of the unified Georgian Kingdom, however shortly the region was ravaged by Seljuks and by Mongols in the 13th century. After the disintegration of Georgian monarchy and subsequent internal wars, Adjara was passed from hands to hands until it became a part of the Principality of Guria in 1535.

The Ottomans conquered the area in 1614, which was divided into two sandjaks and submitted to the Pasha of Childir (Akhaltsikhe). While some of Adjarians fled to other Georgian regions, those who remained were converted to Islam. The Ottomans had little direct control of Adjara and local Muslim Georgian nobility, such as the Khimshiashvili, ruled as semi-autonomous beys until the Ottoman government’s centralizing reforms tanzimat eliminated them and brought the region more closely within the empire by 1850. In March, 1878, the Ottomans ceded Adjara to the Russian Empire and under the new rule, thousands of Muslims fled the region to Turkey in an immigration process called Muhajiroba. The same year, Batumi was declared a porto franco (free port) and the city became one of the world’s most important seaports. At the turn of the 20th century, Batumi was linked to the oil fields of Baku by one of the earliest pipelines (Baku-Batumi pipeline) and a railway, and on June 22, 1892 the “Markus”, a huge tanker ship departed Batumi for Bangkok, becoming the first oil tanker to transit the Suez Canal.

After a temporary occupation by Turkish and British troops during WWI, Adjara became part of the Democratic Republic of Georgia in 1920. The Soviet Union established the Adjar Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic in 1921 as a component part of Georgia, but with considerable local autonomy. After the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991, Adjara became part of a newly independent but politically divided Republic of Georgia. It avoided being dragged into the chaos and civil war that afflicted the rest of the country between 1991 and 1993 due largely to the authoritarian rule of its leader Aslan Abashidze. Although he successfully maintained order in Adjara and made it one of the country’s most prosperous regions (though the majority of the Adjarians remained poor), he was accused of involvement in organized crime—notably large-scale smuggling to fund his government and enrich himself. The central government in Tbilisi had very little say in what went on in Adjara during the presidency of Eduard Shevardnadze. Adjarian leadership often refused to pay taxes to the central budget and Abashidze took control over the customs, Batumi seaport and other strategic objects. He created his own semi-official armed units and had full control over the Batumi-based 25th Brigade of Georgia’s Defense Ministry. This changed following the Rose Revolution of 2003 when Shevardnadze was deposed in favor of a new president, Mikheil Saakashvili causing Aslan Abashidze declared a state of emergency in the region. Saakashvili told the Adjarian leader to comply with the Georgian constitution and start disarming. In response, in May 2004, Abashidze claimed that Georgian forces were preparing to invade and ordered his forces to blow up bridges connecting the region with the rest of Georgia. Eventually, Saakashvili’s ultimatums and mass protests against Abashidze’s autocratic rule forced the Adjaran leader to resign in May 2004 and flee into exile in Russia. On January 22, 2007, the Batumi city court found Abashidze guilty of misuse of office and embezzlement of more than $57,3 millions in state funds, and sentenced him to a 15-year imprisonment in absentia. He also faces a charge of murder of his former deputy, Nodar Imnadze, in 1991.

Batumi, the capital of Adjara and the second largest city in Georgia, is a beautiful holiday spot full of charm and fin-de-siècle elegance of its original boom time a century ago. Despite new constructions and American hotel chains sprouting by the Boulevard (known as Batumis Bulvari) like mushrooms after the rain, I am sure it changed little since the times when my grandma used to vacation here in the 60s and 70s. Many buildings and monuments were restored or given facelifts, but I felt that the people of Batumi, the Batumians, remained the same and only because of them, the city preserved its character and unique charisma of a Soviet resort town. I guess, having never been there before, but through my grandma’s stories, I felt strangely nostalgic about this place, but at the same time, I thought the city brought us together and gave us more shared memories to cherish.

The history of Batumi is inextricably bound with that of Adjara. Founded on the site of the ancient Hellenic colony of Bathus (means “deep harbor”), it was a small fortified town in the medieval kingdom of Georgia. Hardly mentioned during that time, it reemerged in both Georgian and European accounts in the 15th century as “Batumi Vati” or “Vathi”  –  one of the two ports of the lord “Bendian” (the title of the Dadiani princes who governed several western Georgian provinces). Between late 15th and 17th centuries, Batumi exchanged rulers but was finally conquered by the Ottoman Empire, the city’s population was Islamized and its port served as a big center of the Caucasian slave-trade. After becoming the last Black Sea port annexed by the Russian Empire in 1878, Batumi grew into a major port city on the crossroads of Eurasia. It quickly developed as the western terminus of a railway from Baku that then carried one-fifth of the world’s oil production. A pipeline and refinery built by Ludwig Nobel, soon followed and Batumi bloomed into a fashionable resort town at the souther tip of the Russian empire. During 1901, Joseph Stalin, the future leader of the Soviet Union, lived in the city, work at the Rothschild’s refinery and organized strikes. After the region passed to the Democratic Republic of Georgia in 1920 Batumi became a capital of an autonomous republic of Adjara within the Soviet republic of Georgia and now, of independent Republic of Georgia.

On the way from the airport, the hotel owner pointed out interesting things and buildings along the main Sherif Khimshiashvili Street (becoming Rustaveli St in Old Town) for me to come back and explore later. This compact town is easy to see on foot in one day, but of course, you need many more to enjoy everything it has to offer. The conveniently located tourist information offices have plenty of brochures and day-trip suggestions, however, I’ve also got a very elaborate and detailed answer to my question of “what are the best things to see in Batumi in one day?”. Their suggestions were:

  • promenading along Batumi Bulvari
  • exploring the Old town
  • taking a Cable way to the hill
  • Architectural stroll along Rustaveli Street
  • visit to the Batumi Aquarium
  • and of course, sunbathing on the beach, attending a music event (Snoop Dogg was giving a beach concert the same evening), eating well and drinking Georgian wine, shopping for souvenirs, etc.

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It was an overcast and the perfect morning weather to start exploring the town. First of all, I went to the Batumis Bulvari (Batumi Boulevard) –  the park strip fronting the main beach. First laid out in 1884, it is now stretches for over 8 kms along the coast. With its trees, fountains, paths, arts, cafes, performances, free outdoor libraries (where you can borrow a book while lounging by the sea), bars, ice-cream stalls, outdoor stages, recreational areas, a Ferris Wheel and a kaleidoscope of original buildings scattered throughout its length, Bulvari is the perfect place to spend a few hours or a few days. You will definitely be drawn to the multiple nightly singings and dancing fountains or to the Alphabetic Tower – a 130 meter-high structure, designed in a familiar double helix pattern of DNA, with each of the helix bands holding 33 letters of the Georgian alphabet, symbolizing the uniqueness of Georgian people and their language. Don’t miss the mid 19th century Light House and a 7m-high ethereally moving metal sculpture of a man and woman by Tamar Kvesitadze, universally known as Ali and Nino after the protagonists of Kurban Said’s love novel of the same name. I was thrilled to find on Bulvari another beverage of my childhood – kvas, a fuzzy bread drink sold out of huge metal barrels and is known to easily quench the thirst. Hmm, delicious.

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At the northern end of Bulvari, I stood in a long line to get on a Cable car (5 Lari – $3, allow 15 mins each way) which took me for 2,586 m-long ride to the hill 252 m above the city. From the top, you have the best views of the old town, the new town, the port and yacht club, the Black sea and the lush green hills adorning the city. There was a cafe on the top with cozy sitting area and wonderful views.

Once I came down from the hill, I went to explore the old Batumi, street by street. Even though this is a tiny area of a dozen cobble-paved streets with 2-3 storied houses built in the 19th century, the area is very original and densely occupied by shops selling handcrafted goods, beer gardens and cafes, private mansions and small museums, churches and a few squares. The old city is known for the variety of architectural subtleties: buildings are decorated with chimeras, mermaids, atlantes and other mythical creatures. The architecture features the combination of European and Asian styles and it is possible to see buildings with elements of Georgian, Turkish, Imperial Russian, Soviet, English, French and colonial architectures. Please allow 3-4 hours.

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In the very heart of the old town stands the St Nicholas Church, built in 1865 by the Greek community of Batumi, it is one of the oldest churches in the city. An initiator and the main contributor of the Church was Batumi’s Greek mayor – Ilya Efremidi, who sought and received the Turkish authorization for the construction of the church, though sans bells. From 1894 till 1898, there operated male and female schools as well as a cantorial which was considered one of the best choirs in Batumi. In 1878 Russian military troops brought a bell, which still decorates the church up to date. Early in the 20th century, the Greeks from Keros island presented the Church with the icons of St. Nicholas, Blessed Virgin Maria and St. George. On the western wall of the Church there is a memorial stone bearing an inscription in Greek “The Greek Church of St. Nicholas. Construction period is 1865-1871”.

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Right next to the St. Nicholas Church is Piazza – an interesting, Venice-inspired square built in an unmistaken Italian style with a real Clock Tower (housing a hotel), fashionable boutiques and street cafes.

A few blocks south, there is The Cathedral of Christ the Savior (aka Armenian Apostolic Church). Batumi has always been a multinational city where the representatives of different religions among which are the Orthodox Armenians lived. The church was constructed between 1885 and 1887 by the Austrian architect Robert Marfeld, and operated up to the beginning of the 20th century. In the Soviet time, it was closed by the communists and used as a storehouse, until 1959 when the building was converted into an observatory. After disintegration of the Soviet Union, in 1992 the structure was given back to the Armenian Diaspora and in 1995 it reopened again as a church. The Armenian Apostolic Church is small and rather simple in its decoration and décor. One of the features of the Church is glass painting with eight-pointed stars which are not normally characteristic for Christianity in general. However, since the Armenians were the first orthodox Christians, their symbolics is more ancient and close to the original (number eight in the Christianity has a meaning of the future, since God created the Earth in six days, the seventh day will last till the Judgment Day and the eighth day represents the Paradise or Eternity). Another feature of the Armenian Church is the tree planted by the well-known artist, collector and art patron Ivan Aivazovsky in the Church yard.

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Old town hosts other religious sites – a catholic church, a mosque and a synagogue to accommodate the diversity of its citizens. One of the most original and my favorite places was Evropis Moedani (Europe Square), a broad attractive open space surrounded by restored facades and modern architecture of unique and exquisite buildings. After Adjara joined the Assembly of European Regions in 1997, the square was re-named Europe Square, highlighting Georgia’s aspirations towards Europe. Completed in 2007, the statue of Medea is a symbol of Georgia’s ancient ties to Europe, and is also a reminder of Georgia’s cultural connection to many ancient civilizations. That is a good place to sit down and contemplate the history of civilizations.

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Then I strolled along the main Rustaveli Street trying to figure out what were the building the hotel’s owner was talking about earlier today. They were easy to locate simply by their design  – The White Restaurant (as an up-side-down White House), curved Radisson Hotel, the unusual building of the Batumi Technology University, building with human face by Vahan Abrahamyan, etc. Just don’t forget to cross the street back and forth to appreciate the original ideas of the architects.

aaIt was already evening, so I stopped by the Batumi Dolphinarium, located in the 6 May Park, to see if they had tickets for today’s 21.00 performance and indeed, they did. I got my ticket (20 lari, $11.5, 45 min show, 3 times a day, closed on Mondays) and walked in. I have been told a story that after the collapse of USSR, shortage of money almost caused the closure of the Dolphinarium. However, the children of one powerful government official really loved coming to Batumi and visiting its Dolphinarium and hence, it was given a new chance and full financial support – a new building opened in 2011. Since childhood, I always wanted to be a marine biologist or at least a dolphin coach – a curse of a person born in a landlocked country – which explains my enthusiasm and excitement about visiting this place. However, I have to admit that the show was impeccable with 4 performers and 8 dolphins flipping, dancing, racing, pushing, playing, etc. Well, except for one dolphin who was still a baby and for whom it was her first performance ever. She did whatever she wanted in the pool which made it even more interesting and hilarious.

After the show, I walked along Bulvari back to the old town. I expected it to be packed with tourists like Atlantic City’s boardwalk usually is during the summer months, however, there weren’t lots of people – some visitors from Turkey, a few from Russia and former Soviet republics, but mostly Georgians. After speaking with some local business owners and residents, I learnt that it was a very slow summer season for them and they all blamed the Russian annexation of Crimea earlier that year as a cause, as many Russians were “forced” by their employees to go and spend their vacation in a newly acquired Black Sea peninsula. On my way home, I stopped at the Snoop Dogg’s open-air theater concert and even though it was a ticketed event, the doors were wide open for everyone to come in. I wish i stayed longer but it started to rain so everyone ran for the cover, and I – back to my hotel.IMG_7814

Next day I spent with my school friend Olga who happened to be in Batumi as well. We met in the morning for brunch at one of the cozy little outdoor cafes run by a family who recently escaped the Russian-Ukrainian war. I struck up a conversation with our waitress, the owner’s daughter, who told us how they were slowly settling in a new place and trying to make their cafe work, until we noticed a few mobster-looking men come in and, what I think it was, try to extort money or favors from the cafe’s owner, a middle-aged woman. By the time we finished our syrniki with sgushenoe moloko, the situation inside grew very hostile. I am not the kind of person who hides behind somebody’s back or passes by a situation without reacting (I don’t suffer from the Stockholm syndrome), in addition, I knew the fear, or likely reservation the locals feel when they encounter an American in their country. So I came inside and addressed the owner in English, inquiring whether everything was ok and if I needed to call the cops. I don’t know whether she understood what I said (likely not), and neither did the extorters, however, they packed up and left almost immediately. I am pretty sure that one day I will get hurt for my blunt actions, but until then, I am going to use all my privileges backed by the passport issued by the most powerful country in the world. That’s the truth, no one wants to get into a conflict with an American.

That afternoon, Olga, her friend Lena and I spent on a beach, and I finally completed what I intended to do at the start of my trip – swim in both seas – Caspian and Black. Pebble beach has never been my favorite but it was clean and almost empty.

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In the evening, I went out shopping for wine and some souvenirs (check out Georgian House at 11B Gorgasali Street that offers distinctly Georgian souvenirs, clothes and delicious churchkhela). And at night, my friends and I met up at San Remo restaurant for dinner. The service was slow, the outdoor sitting was no frills but the food was good. Unlike the beach earlier that day, the restaurant was very busy and an all-men table next to us, kept screaming the toasts (in Georgian) and getting up every time they did it (which was every 10-12 minutes).

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That was the end of my 11 day adventure that took me from Baku to Batumi. I’ve seen places that made me cry, I’ve learn things I’ve never heard of, I ate foods that I still dream of and I’ve met the most incredible and amiable hosts – the Georgians.

Pictures of Tbilisi and Kazbegi

Pictures of Gori, Uplestsikhe, Mtskheta and Batumi

 

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]]> https://svetanyc.com/2015/07/index-html/feed/ 0 Azerbaijan. July 2015 https://svetanyc.com/2015/07/azerbaijan-july-2015/ https://svetanyc.com/2015/07/azerbaijan-july-2015/#respond Wed, 22 Jul 2015 21:54:58 +0000 http://svetanyc.com/?p=2445 The countries of the South Caucasus have always been the “lands in-between”. In between the Black and Caspian seas, Europe and Asia, Russia and the Middle East, Christianity and Islam and, more recently, democracy and dictatorship. Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia and the territories around them have the mixed blessing of being at the crossing-place of...

The post Azerbaijan. July 2015 first appeared on SvetaNYC.

]]> The countries of the South Caucasus have always been the “lands in-between”. In between the Black and Caspian seas, Europe and Asia, Russia and the Middle East, Christianity and Islam and, more recently, democracy and dictatorship. Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia and the territories around them have the mixed blessing of being at the crossing-place of different cultures and political systems. However, in my memory, those 3 nations were a part of one country I was born in – USSR. The beauty of the land, hospitality and heroism, three things that are always associated with Caucasus, I learnt in childhood by reading Alexander Pushkin, Mikhail Lermontov, Leo Tolstoy and watching the all-time famous Soviet comedy by Leonid Gaidai “Kidnapping, Caucasian Style”.

I don’t think I’d ever considered visiting the Caucasus until I met an Azeri girl at the all-inclusive resort in Cancun who, in very favorable manner told me about her home town, Baku, and how it was becoming the “new Dubai”, backed by world’s growing demand for Azeri oil and gas. Thank you, Ulviya, for kindling my interest and assisting me with planning this trip to the “Land of Fire”. Azerbaijan wasn’t my only destination, as I was thrilled by an idea to swim in both seas – Caspian and Black – on the same trip. That is how my 11 day “Baku to Batumi” journey came about and until now, it is one of my favorite trips.

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Literature.

History.

The ancient history of the Caucasus is fairly mysterious. However, two statements can be made with confidence: the region is a treasure trove for archeologists, and its ancient past has very little bearing on the present. Some of the earliest-ever skulls, dating back 1.8 million years and named (with more than a hint of patriotism) Homo georgicus were discovered by archeologists in Dmanisi in southern Georgia. A Neanderthal jawbone found in a cave at Azykh in Karabakh has been dated as over 300,000 years old. There was a flourishing Stone Age culture in the region around 6,000 B.C. that may have invented wine-making. There are rock engravings at Qobustan (Gobustan), south of Baku, that are almost 4,000 years old. All these indicate continuous patterns of settlement since ancient times.

Azerbaijan is the largest country in the South Caucasus, with a population of almost nine million people, of whom about 90% are ethnic Azeris. It is also the least studied and its name is much less recognized internationally than its two neighbors, Armenia and Georgia, whose historical narratives are more easily told. Many more cultural threads have formed the weave that makes up contemporary Azerbaijan. The name “Azerbaijan” has been traced back to Atropatenes, a Persian lord in the time of Alexander the Great or, more poetically, to azer, the Persian word for fire, on the grounds that it describes the Zoroastrian fire-temples of the region. Until modern times, the word “Azerbaijan” was more often applied to the northern Turkic-populated part of Iran than to the modern-day state of Azerbaijan. Before the 20th century, outsiders tended to call Azerbaijanis either “Shirvanis”, “Caucasian Tatars”, “Turks”, or just “Muslims”. Their own self-identification was flexible. In the 19th century, Brenda Shaffer writes,“Azerbaijanis could consider themselves as both Turks or Iranians, or Russian subjects, with little conflict. Some where active in political movements in all three of the regions, concurrently or at different times of their carriers.”

The earliest evidence of human settlement in the territory of Azerbaijan dates back to the late Stone Age and is related to the Guruchay culture of the Azykh Cave – which is considered to be the site of one of the most ancient proto-human habitations in Eurasia. Remnants of the pre-Acheulean civilization, found in the lowest layers of the cave, are at least 700,000 years old. It was here, in 1968, Mammadali Huseynov discovered a 300,000-year-old partial jawbone of an early human. Carved drawings etched on rocks in Qobustan demonstrate scenes of hunting, fishing, labor and dancing, and are dated to the Mesolithic period.

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Following the overthrow of the Median Empire, all of what is today Azerbaijan was invaded by the Persian king Cyrus the Great in the 6th century B.C. This earliest Persian Empire had a profound impact upon local population as the religion of Zoroastrianism became ascendant as did various early Persian cultural influences. Many of the local peoples of Caucasian Albania (no link to the present-day Balkan republic) came to be known as fire worshipers. This empire lasted for over 250 years and was conquered later by Alexander the Great which led to the rise of Hellenistic culture. The Seleucid Greeks, who inherited the Caucasus following Alexander’s death in 323 B.C., ultimately allowed local Caucasian tribes to establish an independent kingdom for the first time since the Median invasion. However, the Albanian kingdom wasn’t given much time to coalesce around a native Caucasian identity and to forge a unique state. Already in the 2nd or 1st century B.C. the Armenians considerably curtailed the Albanian territories and very soon the region became an arena of wars when Romans and Parthians began to expand their domains. Most of Albania came, very briefly, under the domination of Roman legions under Pompey  –  rock carving of what is believed to be the most-eastern Roman inscription survives at the site of Qobustan. It is inscribed by Legio XII Fulminata at the time of emperor Domitian. Subsequently, Caucasian Albania came fully under Persian rule.

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Ruins of many churches confirm that from A.D. 325 Albanians started to convert to Christianity. Albanian king Urnayr was baptized by Gregory the Illuminator of Armenia and accepted Christianity as his kingdom’s official religion, however Christianity spread only gradually, and a large part of Albanians and Persians remained Zoroastrian until the Islamic conquest.

While fully subordinate to Sassanid Persia, Albania retained its monarchy and remained an entity in the region until the 9th century. In the first half of the 7th century, the Islamic Umayyad Caliphate repulsed both the Sassanids and Byzantines from the Caucasus region and turned Caucasian Albania into a vassal state after the Christian resistance, led by King Javanshir, was suppressed in 667. The decline of the Abbasid Caliphate resulted in the inception of numerous local dynasties such as the Sallarids, Sajids, Shaddadids, Rawadids and Buyids. However, at the beginning of the 11th century, the territory was gradually seized by waves of Turkic Oghuz tribes from Central Asia. The first of these Turkic dynasties was the Ghaznavids from northern Afghanistan, who took over part of Azerbaijan by 1030. They were followed by the Seljuqs, a western branch of the Oghuz who conquered all of Iran and the Caucasus and pressed on to Iraq. The Seljuqs became the main rulers of a vast empire that included all of Iran and Azerbaijan until the end of the 12th century and Azerbaijanis consider the 11th and 12th centuries to be a golden age in their history. During the Seljuq period, the influential vizier of the Seljuq sultans, Nizam ul-Mulk helped to introduce numerous educational and bureaucratic reforms; great progress was achieved in different sciences and philosophy, the region experienced a building boom and the unique architecture of the Seljuq period was epitomized by the fortress walls, mosques, schools, mausoleums, and bridges of Baku, Ganja and Absheron. This period gave birth to such notable figures of Azerbaijani culture as poet Nizami Ganjavi, the scholar Khatib Tabrizi and the architect Ajami. Locally, Seljuq possessions were ruled by Atabegs, who were technically vassals of the Seljuq sultans, but de facto – rulers themselves. Under their rule from the end of 12th to early 13th centuries, Azerbaijan emerged as an important cultural center of the Turkic people. Important to mention that the pre-Turkic population that lived on the territory of modern Azerbaijan spoke several Indo-European and Caucasian languages, which were gradually replaced by a Turkic language, the early precursor of the Azerbaijani language of today. 

The next ruling state of the Jalayirids, that came to power in 1225, was short-lived and fell under the conquests of Timur. The local dynasty of the Shirvanshahs became a vassal state of Timur’s Empire, and assisted him in his war with the ruler of the Golden Horde Tokhtamysh. Following Timur’s death, two independent and rival states emerged: Kara Koyunlu and Ak Koyunlu, but not for long. The Shirvanshahs returned, maintaining a high degree of autonomy as local rulers and vassals from 861 until 1539. The state of the Shirvanshahs was famous for its exports of silk and gave rise to a material and intellectual culture that was highly respected in its time and whose creators are major figures in the history of Azerbaijan. Among them was a poet Nasimi, who wrote his ghazels (poems) in Azeri language, unlike his predecessors who wrote in Persian and Arabic.  In 1501 the Iranian dynasty of Safavids, who ruled the territory of Azerbaijan, imposed Shia Islam upon the formerly Sunni population, as it was battling against the Sunni Ottoman Empire. This, in combination with another series of events, laid the foundation for the fact that both the contemporary Republic of Azerbaijan and Iran are the only Shia majority countries ever since. Despite efforts of the Safavids, the Ottomans briefly managed to occupy swaths of present-day Azerbaijan twice over the centuries.

In the early 18th century, a collection of autonomous Muslim khanates emerged across Azerbaijan. De jure these khanates were the subjects of the Iranian Shah; however they exercised self-ruling control over their affairs via international trade routes between Central Asia and the West. To preserved their independence against a rebounding Persia, several khanates united and asked Russia for assistance, the Empire, that by the late 18th century and forward, led a more aggressive geo-political stance towards its two neighbors (and rivals) to the south, namely Iran and Turkey. Following a chain of events that started with the re-subjugation of Georgia into Iran in 1795, Russia actively contested and battled with Iran over possession of the Caucasus region. The successful Russian campaigns in the later stages of the Russo-Persian War (1804–13) were concluded with the Treaty of Gulistan, in which the shah’s claims to some of the Khanates of the Caucasus were dismissed by Russia on the ground that they had been de facto independent long before their Russian occupation. Per Gulistan Treaty, Iran was forced to concede suzerainty over most of the khanates  to the north of the river Aras (alongside Georgia and Dagestan) to the Russian Empire. Under the subsequent Treaty of Turkmenchay which finalized the Russo-Persian War, Iran was forced to recognize Russian sovereignty over the Erivan Khanate, the Nakhchivan Khanate and the remainder of the Lankaran Khanate. After incorporation of all Caucasian territories from Iran into Russia, the new border between the two was set at the Aras River, which, upon the Soviet Union’s disintegration, subsequently became part of the border between Iran and the Azerbaijan Republic. One of the results of that cession was a separation of the Azerbaijani ethnic group between two nations: Iran and Azerbaijan.  Furthermore, the present number of ethnic Azeris in Iran (20 million people) far outnumbers that in neighboring Azerbaijan (9 million).

Azerbaijan can lay claim to being the most historic oil region in the world as in 1848 the first oil well in the world was drilled in Bibi Eybat near Baku, which was soon followed by the Azeri equivalent of the Gold Rush. The discovery of oil didn’t come as a surprise. Travelers had recorded the oil seeping through the ground on the shores of the Absheron Peninsular by the Caspian Sea for centuries. Azerbaijan’s ancient Zoroastrian fire-temples burned on flammable gas issuing from oil deposits underground. Oil-impregnated sand, scrapped of the beaches, was a valuable fuel send by camel for hundreds of miles around. In 1872, the czarist government allowed the oil-producing land to be auctioned off to private companies, and businessmen from around the world flocked to Baku to make their fortunes. The Swedish businessmen Robert and Ludvig Nobel invested in a small refinery and laid the groundwork for the rise of the Nobel brothers’ petroleum empire. The industry would soon attract financiers such as the  Rothschilds and international firms such as Shell. The world’s first oil tanker “Zoroaster” sail off the Caspian coast in 1878 and the Baku-Batumi pipeline was built in 1897-1907. By the beginning of the 20th century, half of the world’s oil production was located in Baku. The oil boom led to a period of unprecedented prosperity and growth in the years prior to World War I but also created huge disparities in wealth between the largely European businessmen and the local Muslim work force. Today, Baku owes its European looks to the magnificent buildings built with early oil money in the late 19th- early 20th centuries. New York Times wrote in October 28, 1900: “As a business center, Baku was acquired considerable wealth, and the new city, which had naturally extended in all directions, contains substantially built, indeed elegant, stone houses and large shops, which would do credit to any city of Europe. The streets are rapidly being paved, and they will soon be better, in this respect, that any other town in Russia, with the exception of St. Petersburg. Evidences of wealth are not only to be seen in the appearance of the city itself, but also among many of its inhabitants.” By 1900, the population of Baku increased from 10,000 to roughly 250,000 people as a result of worker migration from all over the Russian Empire, Iran, and other places.

At the collapse of the Russian Empire in 1917, an independent Azerbaijan Democratic Republic was proclaimed in Ganja on May 28, 1918 following an abortive attempt to establish a federal Transcaucasian Republic with Armenia and Georgia. This was the first modern parliamentary republic in the Muslim world. In July 1918 the local coalition collapsed and was replaced by a British-controlled government known as Central Caspian Dictatorship. Researching the history of Azerbaijan I was surprised to see Brits there, however, their stakes in Azeri oil were very high. British forces under General Dunsterville occupied Baku and helped the mainly Dashnak-Armenian forces to defend the capital from the ongoing Turkish invasion. However, Baku fell on September 15, 1918 and an Azeri-Ottoman army entered the capital, causing British forces and much of the Armenian population to flee and massacring ethnic Armenians  who couldn’t escape. The Ottoman Empire, however, capitulated on October 30, 1918 and the British occupational force re-entered Baku. Azerbaijan was proclaimed a secular republic and its first parliament opened on December 5, 1918. Among the important accomplishments of the Parliament was the extension of suffrage to women, making Azerbaijan the first Muslim nation to grant women equal political rights with men. Another important accomplishment of ADR was the establishment of Baku State University, which was the first modern-type university founded in Muslim East.

Independent Azerbaijan lasted only 23 months until the Soviet Red Army invaded it, establishing the Azerbaijan SSR on 28 April 1920. It was incorporated into the Transcaucasian SFSR along with Armenia and Georgia in March 1922 and by an agreement signed in December 1922, the TSFSR became one of the four original republics of the Soviet Union. The TSFSR was dissolved in 1936 when its three regions became separate republics within the USSR. Like other union republics, Azerbaijan was affected by Stalin’s purges in the 1930s. During that period, sometimes referred to as the “Red Terror”, thousands of people were killed, including notable Azeri figures such as Huseyn Javid, Mikail Mushvig, Ruhulla Akhundov, Ayna Sultanova and others. Directing the purges in Azerbaijan was Mir Jafar Baghirov, the first secretary of the Communist Party of Azerbaijan. His special target was the intelligentsia, but he also purged Communist leaders who had sympathized with the opposition or who might have once leaned toward Pan-Turkism or had contacts with revolutionary movements in Iran or Turkey. As a result of Baghirov’s brutal purges, over 100,000 Azeris were shot or sent to concentration camps, never to return.

During the 1940s, the Azerbaijan SSR supplied three-quarters of the Soviet Union’s gas and oil during the war with Nazi Germany and was thus a strategically important region. When Hitler’s German invaded the Soviet Union in June 1941, the Germans identified Baku oils as a vital asset. In August 1942, the Germans occupied the western side of the North Caucasus and planned a push south to Azerbaijan. Saying “Unless we get the Baku oil, the war is lost,” Hitler diverted divisions away from the battle of Stalingrad toward the Caucasus. That summer, Hitler’s staff famously had a cake made for him that had a shape of a Caspian sea in the middle. Film footage shows delighted Hitler taking a slice of the cake, which had the letters “B” “A” “K” “U” written on it in white icing and chocolate made to look like oil spooned over it. The debacle at Stalingrad in the winder of 1942-1943 meant that Germany never invaded the South Caucasus, but even the threat of attack was a death-sentence for the Baku oil industry. Stalin, who knew the Baku oil fields from his revolutionary days of 1905, had the oil wells shut down so they would not fall into German hands. Almost the entire Azerbaijani oil industry and its experts were transferred to the oil wells of Volga and Ural. After the war, Russian’s oil fields received the major investment, and Azerbaijan suffered. The on-land fields dried up and in order to reach the trickier offshore fields a small town of Oily Rocks (Neft Daşları, Нефтяные Камни) was built 55 kms out in the sea – reached across the causeway built on sunken ships. Cramped and polluted, Oily Rocks eked out what could still be drilled of Azerbaijan’s oil within the capacity of Soviet technology. By the time Soviet Union ended, Azerbaijan was producing only 3% of the Soviet oil output. Important to note that even though the battles of WWII didn’t reach Azerbaijan, a fifth of all Azeris fought in the war from 1941 to 1945 and some 250,000 people were killed on the front.

Policies of de-Stalinization and improvement after the 1950s led to better education and welfare conditions for most of Azerbaijan. This also coincided with the period of rapid urbanization and industrialization. During this period of change, a new wave of сближение (reapprochement) policy was instituted in order to merge all the peoples of the USSR into a new monolithic Soviet nation. However, in the 1960s, the signs of a structural crisis in the Soviet system began to emerge. As Azerbaijan’s crucial oil industry lost its relative importance in the Soviet economy, republic had the lowest rate of growth in productivity and economic output among the Soviet republics, with the exception of Tajikistan. Ethnic tensions, particularly between Armenians and Azerbaijanis, began to grow, but violence was suppressed. In an attempt to end the growing structural crisis, in 1969, the government in Moscow appointed Heydar Aliyev as the first secretary of the Communist Party of Azerbaijan. A Major-General of KGB, he would later become the non-replaceable leader (or likely – “khan”) of post-Soviet Azerbaijan.

Perestroika (Перестройка) in the late 1980s was also a time of increasing tension with Armenia. Tit-for-tat ethnic squabbles between Armenians and Azeris over the status of Nagorno-Karabakh bubbled over into virtual ethnic cleansing (pogroms of the Armenian population in Baku and Sumgait), as minorities in both republics fled escalating violence. On 20 January 1990, the Red Army made a crassly heavy-handed intervention in Baku, killing dozens of civilians and turning public opinion squarely against Russia, a sentiment that is still very much alive in Azerbaijan. Azerbaijan declared its independence from the Soviet Union on 18 October 1991, and the Soviet Union itself officially ceased to exist just a few months later, on 26 December 1991. Even though, the dissolution of the USSR was the most peaceful break-up of the state in the history of humanity, it did have violent repercussions in Caucasus. The sovereign borders established by Russian Empire in the 19th century and by Soviet government in the 20th century were so artificial that multiple wars for land broke up as soon as there was no more central government. The early years of Azerbaijan’s independence were overshadowed by the Nagorny-Karabakh war with the ethnic Armenian majority of the region backed by Armenia.  By the end of hostilities in 1994, Armenians controlled up to 14% of Azerbaijani territory, including Nagorny-Karabakh itself. As a result, an estimated 17,000 people had been killed and more than a million Azeris and Armenians (750,000 Azeris and 350,000 Armenians) had been displaced. The truce was signed between Armenia and Azerbaijan over two decades ago but until present day, the news of the escalating tension and military provocations show up from time to time. Sadly, the most culturally and religiously diverse republic in the Caucasus became very homogeneous as many Russians and Armenians left Azerbaijan in the 1990s. I would like also to note that it wasn’t the first intercommunal bloodshed on the territory of Azerbaijan. The 20th century saw several attempts of Azerbaijanis to annihilate their Armenian neighbors, the most appalling events happened in February and September of 1905 (well documented in Henry’s book “Baku. An eventful history”), as well as events of 1988 – 1990 (Sumgait pogrom), resulting in the first wave of Armenian refugees leaving Azerbaijan. Despite the centuries of peaceful co-existence, no Azeri would tolerably speak of Armenians anymore. Sad.

Another thing I would like to mention before moving on to the fun stuff is the Aliyev’s clan. In 1993 Heydar Aliyev overwhelmingly won a presidential election and his position as supreme leader was now secure, although armed uprisings, which the president harshly suppressed, threatened social stability. Actual or alleged coups d’état became an almost annual occurrence – in 1994, 1995, 1996 and 1998 – but in the aftermath of each one, Aliyev was able to augment his power over both rivals and old associates. He preferred not to experiment with democracy and began to built a strong semi-authoritarian state to replace the fragile but pluralistic country he had inherited. Unlike his many opponents, Aliyev stood at the center of a vast network of friends and colleagues from his days as Communist Party leader and, even more crucially, from his earlier career as head of the Baku branch of the KGB. The president began building a base of support within the legislature through the creation of his own pro-presidential organization, the New Azerbaijan Party. During the years following Aliyev’s rise, the party emerged as the preeminent faction in successive elections, none of which was believed by international observes to meet democratic standards. However, party politics turned out to be far less important than the clan politics that encouraged loyalty to Aliyev. His base of support remained the cadre of old friends and personal connections from the particular part of Azerbaijan – Nakhichevan, his home region.

Due to the limited reforms and the signing of the so-called “Contract of The Century” with British Petroleum in October 1994 (over the Azeri-Chirag-Guneshli giant oil field) that led to increased oil exports to western markets, the economy began improving. Aliyev’s loose community worked to secure control over state institutions, and its members also emerged as critical players in the booming energy sector. Aliyev’s son, Ilham, became vice-chairman of the state oil company, which negotiated with Western investors for access to Azerbaijan’s oil fields. Backroom machinations, not the dialectic of reform and reaction, defined Azerbaijani politics well into the early 2000s. Political and economic success was largely a function of personal loyalty to the president. During his tenure Aliyev created a personality cult – his image still adorns billboards across Baku and the countryside, his visionary leadership was credited with bringing Azerbaijan back from the brink of civil war and nurturing international interest in the country hydrocarbon reserves. None of this was exactly untrue as Aliyev’s iron hand no doubt played a role in preventing chaos. However, in the process of preserving order he forged the most clearly authoritarian state in the south Caucasus.

When Aliyev announced that he would not run for another term in 2003 (he died later that year), he chose a method of political succession familiar to authoritarian leaders around the world – he handed power to his son. Ilham Aliyev was duly elected president in a race that was again viewed by both local and international monitors as deeply flawed. Shortly, the long-awaited Baku-Tbilisi-Ceyhan oil pipeline and Baku-Tbilisi-Erzerum gas pipeline opened up in 2005 and 2006 respectively, and Azerbaijan’s position as a stable country with oil/gas resources shoot up. However, extreme levels of corruption and nepotism in the state system created by Aliyev’s clan prevent Azerbaijan from more sustained development, especially in the non-oil sector. The plummeting oil prices decreased Azerbaijan’s growth from a whooping 16% in 2008 to -3.5% (negative) in first quarter of 2016. So, welcome to the country where Aliyev’s giant photo will stare at you from every corner, and where oil rigs at sea and land will never let you forget what makes up the large chunk of Azerbaijan’s GDP.

I flew Minsk-Baku via Moscow and would like to mention a pretty cool campaign ran at that time by the WWF.ru called “Feed the fish, make a wish” where for 100 rubles ($1.5) you can throw some food into a giant aquarium, full of gold fish. I think we need more interactive initiatives like this to raise money and awareness about our planet.

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I arrived to the Heydar Aliyev International Airport and was pleasantly surprised to find out that some of the oil money went to build one of the most impressive airports I’ve got to travel through – uber-modern, glassy and sleek, it looked like many other giant modern buildings in Baku, which, unlike Dubai, weren’t lacking the national element. At the airport, I was greeted by my Baku hotel co-owner who took me to the hotel (22 manat ($21) to the city center).

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Along the highway, I got a glimpse of other examples of Azerbaijan’s new architectural bang – from Baku Olympic Stadium to Baku Expo Center, from Buta Palace to the new 2015 European Games Athletes Village and from SOCAR Tower (to be the tallest building in Azerbaijan after its completion) to Zaha Hadid‘s Cultural Center named after Heydar Aliyev, of course.

BakuHistory of Baku.

“Baku” is derived from the Persian words باد-کوبه Bād-kube, meaning “the city where the wind blows”, referring to a place where wind is strong and pounding. Indeed, the city is renowned for its fierce winter storms and harsh winds even in summer, that’s why its nickname is “City of Winds”.

Rock carvings discovered near Bayil, as well as a bronze figure of a small fish found in the territory of the Old Town have led some to suggest the existence of a Bronze Age settlement within the city’s territory. Further archeological excavations revealed various prehistoric settlements, native temples, an observatory, statues and other artifacts within the territory of the modern city and around it. Roman inscriptions found in Gobustan dating from 84-96 A.D. prove that in the 1st century, Romans reached Baku too. The remnant of this period is the village of Ramana in the Sabunchu district of Baku. In the Life of the Apostle by Bartholomew, Baku is identified as “Armenian Albanus” called Albanopolis. Local church traditions record the belief that Bartholomew’s martyrdom occurred at the bottom of the Maiden Tower within the Old City, where according to historical data, a Christian church was built on the site of the pagan temple of Arta. A record from the 5th-century historian Priscus of Panium was the first to mention the famous Bakuvian fires, due to which Baku became a major center of ancient Zoroastrianism. 

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There is little or no information regarding Baku in medieval sources until the 10th century, when Baku was a domain of the Arab Caliphate and later of Shirvanshahs. After a devastating earthquake struck Shamakhy, the capital of Shirvan, Shirvanshah’s court moved to Baku in 1191. Between the 12th and 14th centuries, a massive fortification was undertaken in the city and around it. The Maiden Tower, castles of Ramana, Nardaran, Shagan and Mardakan, and also famous Sabayil castle (Bayil Castle) on the island of the Baku bay were built during this period. Despite the attacks by Mongols, the biggest problem of Baku during this time was the transgression of the Caspian Sea. The rising levels of the water from time to time engulfed much of the city and the famous castle of Sabayil went completely into the sea in the 14th century. These led to several legends about submerged cities such as Shahriyunan (“Greek city”). After visiting the part of the exhibit at the Shirvanshahs Palace dedicated to the Bayil Castle and seeing the artifacts recovered from the sunken island, I asked a few locals about it and sadly, no one knew what I was talking about. The Shirvan dynasty was ousted in 1501 when Shah Ismail I sacked Baku and then forcibly converted the previously Sunni city to Shia Islam. When Peter the Great captured the place in 1723, its population was less than 10,000, its growth hamstrung by a lack of trade and drinking water and for the next century Baku changed hands several times between Persia and Russia, before definitely ceded to the Russians.

Oil had been scooped from surface diggings around Baku since at least 10th century. However, when commercial extractions was deregulated in 1872 the city rapidly became a boom town. Workers and entrepreneurs arrived from all over the Russian Empire and Europe, swelling the population by 1200% in under 30 years. In the wake of two Russian revolutions Baku’s history became complex and very bloody with a series of brutal massacres between formerly neighborly Armenian and Azeri communities. When the three South Caucasus nations declared their independence in 1918, Baku initially refused to join Azerbaijan’s Democratic Republic, a position bolstered by a small British force that secretly sailed in from Iran hoping to defend the oilfields against the Turks (Britain’s WWII enemies). In the end game of WWI, the Turks were forced to evacuate too and Baku became capital of independent Azerbaijan for almost two years until, on 28 April 1920, it became the capital of the Azerbaijan Soviet Socialist Republic, within USSR.

In 1935 the search for oil moved into the shallow coastal waters of the Caspian. A forest of offshore platforms and derricks joined the tangle of wells and pipelines on land. Investments dwindled after WWII and only really resumed in earnest after Azerbaijan’s independence in 1991. Since 1994, however, foreign oil consortia have spent billions exploring these resources and for reasons as much political as economic and Baku has boomed once again – fountains and enormous flagpoles, countless towers and futuristic skyscrapers have mushroomed while those grand older buildings have been cleaned and up-lit. The city’s resurrection is truly one of the most impressive in the modern history.

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Baku’s old town and the neighboring areas deserve to be explored on foot and in detail. Luckily, the main places of interest are very accommodating in regard to pedestrians and could be visited within a few days. I stayed at the Baku Palace hotel and Hostel, a 5 mins walk to the old town. It was a very decent accommodation considering the location and price, however, the owners came across as a bit shady. The hotel is run by two brothers, one of whom was constantly partying and drinking in the hotel’s common room, which sadly happened to be next to my room, and another brother, who was very helpful but still tried to scheme a deal out of me and my www.booking.com reservation. Displeased but not surprised by his tricks, I refused to bend. Despite all, I had 3 full days in Baku and I wanted to take a full advantage of my time.

The streets and buildings closest to the hotel were in an artistic state of dilapidations. There were many old uninhabited houses with broken windows and untidy courtyards, many 3-4 stories walk-up buildings with neon signs advertising massages that turned out to be the places for men looking for “happy ending”, some bars with forever closed doors, etc. However, the area didn’t lack charm, as every morning a lonely shoe master set up his sewing machine right on the street and busied himself with work till very late night, as well as multiple “hole-in-the-wall” eateries with check-out windows or 2-3 small tables. I ate the most delicious food at those tables and met the most amazing hosts there too. The Baku Palace was located just a few blocks from the Fountain Square (Fəvvarələr meydanı, Площадь Фонтанов), an endlessly popular leafy boutique-ringed piazza. In 1864, the plan of Baku assigned this place for the exercise and as a parade ground. Until now known and referred to as “Parapet”, it was built in 1868 by the city architect Kasim Bey Hajibababayov and served as the business and social center of Baku. Along the square there were two-storey caravanserais (now the “Araz” cinema and the Museum of Azerbaijan Literature), residencies and two hotels – “Grand Hotel” and “Metropol”. During the Soviet times, the square of Karl Marx (as it was called then), turned into a spacious, well-landscaped area. The current name of the square derives from the presence of dozens of fountains throughout the square constructed during the 1980s and it is an attractive tourist and local destination with many boutiques, restaurants, shops and hotels.

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Outside the large McDonald’s (whose faithfully transliterated menu includes dabl cizburqers), there is a bronze statue of a young lady with an umbrella, bare midriff and a cell phone, I guess representing a modern Bakuvian.

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Approached down a wide tree-shaded fountain-adorned stairway from the southwestern side, the square is given an artistic aspect by the Nizami Literature Museum (Nizami Gəncəvi adına Azərbaycan ədəbiyyatı muzeyi, Музе́й азербайджа́нской литерату́ры и́мени Низами́ Гянджеви́), whose exterior facade is a series of the nation’s literary giants – Muhammad Fuzuli, Molla Panah Vagif, Mirza Fatali Akhundov, Khurshidbanu Natavan, Jalil Mammadguluzadeh, and Jafar Jabbarly. The museum contains one of the greatest and richest treasuries of Azerbaijani culture, as its collection has more than 3000 manuscripts, rare books, illustrations, portraits, sculptures, miniatures, memories of poets and other exhibits stored in 30 general and 10 auxiliary halls of the museum’s exposition.

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The main place of interest for a history junkie like myself was Icheri Sheher (İçəri Şəhər, Old town, Ичери́-шехе́р, Внутренний город) – the historic heart of Baku that in December 2000 became the first location in Azerbaijan to be classified as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO. The name Icheri Sheher literally means Inner City (I will refer to it in the blog also as Old City), and the modern Baku grew outside and around this area. It is the crown of the cultural heritage of Azerbaijan and the capital of the ancient state of the Shirvanshahs. The walled area of 22.1 ha encompasses hundreds of historical sites, 4 of which are included in the list of World Heritage Monuments and 28 of which are listed as national heritage. There are 1300 families presently residing in Icheri Sheher, several museums, 18 hotels and more than 100 businesses, shops and restaurants. This carefully-restored and well-maintained unique site is one of the best places to glimpse into life of ancient city.

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It is widely accepted that Icheri Sheher, including its Maiden Tower, date at least to the 12th century, with some researchers contending that construction dates as far back as the 7th century. However, the peculiar bronze fish figure discovered at an archeological excavation on the northern side of the Maiden Tower suggests that Icheri Sheher was populated many centuries before Christ. Located on a beautiful natural bay at the crossroads of caravan trade routes, and rich with natural resources of oil, copper, iron ores and other minerals, the Inner town has attracted traders from all over the world since ancient times. Extracted oil and salt, as well as saffron exported to various Eastern countries were a major impetus for the growth of Baku. The population of ancient town was comprised of a feudal aristocracy (who ruled the city and owned oilfields, crop lands and salt lakes) and the urban population – craftsmen, merchants and priests, considered to be the third most important profession after the ruler and the Commander in Chief. Thanks to its unique location, Icheri Sheher contained a rich diversity of different cultures which impacted the Turkic origin of its architecture with the elements of Zoroastrian (Muhammad Mosque), christian (Bartholomew’s Church) and islamic art (mosques, caravansarais, madrasas etc). In the second half of the 11th century, as a result of the collapse of the Abbasids’ caliphate, an independent state of Shirvanshahs emerged as one of the most significant with its new capital in Icheri Sheher. It was the time of prosperity, development of new crafts and construction of architectural monuments that still adorn the old town today – two rows of fortress walls, the Palace of the Shirvanshahs, multiple mosques, hamams, etc. During the 16th-18th centuries, handicraft, including carpet weaving developed which in 2010 was added to the Representative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity.

In 1806, when Baku was occupied by the Russian Empire during the Russo-Persian War. There were 500 households,707 shops, and 7,000 inhabitants in Icheri Sheher (then the only neighborhood of Baku), almost all of whom were ethnic Tats. Once the port was re-opened for trade, and in 1809 a customs office was established, Baku started to extend beyond the city walls, and new neighborhoods emerged, as well as the terms Icheri Sheher and Bayir Sheher (Outer city). Referring to the early Russian rule, Bakuvian actor Huseyngulu Sarabski wrote in his memoirs:”Baku was divided into two sections: Ichari Shahar and Bayir Shahar. The Inner City was the main part. Those who lived in the Inner City were considered natives of Baku. They were in close proximity to everything: the bazaar, craftsmen’s workshops and mosques. There was even a church there, as well as a military barracks built during the Russian occupation. Residents who lived inside the walls considered themselves to be superior to those outside and often referred to them as the “barefooted people of the Outer City”. With the discovery of oil the traditional architectural look of the Old City changed. Many European buildings in Baroque and Gothic styles were constructed during the 19th century and early 20th century, which, in my view, added to the charm and diversity of Icheri Sheher.

During my 3 days in Baku, I kept coming back to Icheri Sheher over and over again, browsing its narrow crooked streets and discovering more hidden gems. I found the Icherisheher audio-guide (rent at the booth next to the Maiden Tower, allow 2-3 hours, 5 manat – $4.75) to be very useful to get a comprehensive and detailed information about the old city. It came with a precise map and well-marked sites throughout the city. Well, I have to admit that despite its history that goes to the times before Christ, Icheri Sheher doesn’t look very old, au contraire, it has a very modern feel to it. I guess after being “schooled” by the UNESCO for the poor conservation and “dubious” restoration efforts, Azerbaijan’s attempt to “make it right” went so far as to convert the old city into authentic yet a movie set.

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I start the exploration of Icheri Sheher from the most recognizable (and convenient) place – The Maiden Tower and follow the route given by the audio-guide.

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The Maiden Tower (p.2 on the map) (Qız Qalası—Гыз галасы, Девичья башня) – 2 manat ($1.90), allow 20-30 mins. Built in the 12th century, this 29.5m high tower is one of Azerbaijan’s most distinctive national emblems and a UNESCO Historical monument. There are a number of competing explanations for the name, the most prominent of which is the legend of a wealthy ruler (Khan of Baku) who fell in love with his own daughter and asked her to marry him. Revolted by the thought of incest but unable to disobey her father she commanded that he build her a tower high enough to survey the full extend of his domain. On a wedding day, when the tower was finally completed, she climbed to the roof and threw herself off to her death in the waves below. In some sources she is said to be the sister, rather than the daughter, of the king who came to be incarcerated by her brother. A better translation of Qiz Qalasi would be “virgin tower”, metaphorically alluding to military impenetrability rather than any association with tragic females. It was certainly an incredibly massive structure for its era, with walls 5 m thick at the base and an unusual projecting buttress.

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One of the oldest buildings in Baku, it was believed that the tower foundations, which extend 15m below ground level and the bottom three stories above ground, were originally built between the 4th-6th centuries and then later in the 12th century. However, recent discoveries of the wooden girders at the base of the tower, used to resist earthquakes, imply that the tower was built at one go. Scientists and historians have long been unable to reach common ground concerning the Maiden Tower’s purpose, which still remains a mystery.

  • Its location at the center of Baku Bay, its hight and thickness of its walls, the protected entrance area and several other factors lead scientists to believe that the tower was built, along with the city walls, during the Shirvanshahs rule for defensive purposes. At the same time, the Maiden Tower lacks certain features characteristic of defensive buildings, such as floors within the tower.
  • The space, as well as the positioning of the windows and the structure as a whole, indicates that it was a religious building, important for rituals and ceremonies. The bird-eye view of the tower recalls the shape of a “buta”, a symbol of fire, light and sun which has been in wide use in Azerbaijan since ancient times. Further, the placement and layout of the upper four windows allow sun rays to penetrate directly into the tower on December 22, the winter equinox. Some theories propose that on that day, the shortest day of the year, the augurs (local rulers) held rituals at the tower to restore the sun’s power and renew its cycle. Historians who pursue this point of view insist that the tower was built in the 8th century B.C. by local tribes who worshipped fire and the sun.
  • According to some hypothesis the Maiden Tower was an astronomical observatory. Proponents of this theory believe that the current Tower was built on the remains of a 2,500-3000 old construction. It is suggested that the tower was built mainly to observe the annual cycle of the sun and to study the most important moments in this process, such as the winter and summer solstices and the autumnal and vernal equinoxes. Thus, it may be that the fact that some structural features of the tower – its windows and buttress – face the rising sun on important dates is no coincidence at all. Since there was no fundamental difference between science and religion in those times, the observatory hypothesis doesn’t contradict the belief that the tower was used to carry out rituals or had a defensive function.

The tower’s 8 stories are divided by stone floors which are connected by a staircase in the south-eastern section of the wall (once there was no staircase between the first and second floors). There are two vertical shafts within the tower wall. One is a stone-cased water-well opening onto the third floor. The second narrow shaft, running down from the top floor through the whole tower, includes ceramic pipes slotted into each other; their purpose is still unclear. Today, the Maiden Tower interior contains some old photographs, a souvenir shop and a costume photo opp, but its highlight is the rooftop viewpoint surveying Baku Bay and Icheri Sheher.

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To the right of the Maiden Tower is one of the most beautiful buildings of old Baku – House of Isabek Hajinsky (İsa bəy Əbdülsalam bəy oğlu Hacınski, дом Исабека Гаджинского) – built in the years 1910-1912 in the style of German Gothic. At the time, the building was quite shocking and stood out against the background of the flat roofs of Baku’s traditional houses. There is a funny story associated with this building. It is said that during its construction the workers forgot to build a sewer and this unfortunate mistake was discovered only during the inauguration of the building. Hadjinsky’s architect admitted the mistake and promised to correct it however, for a long time, the building was called “the house without a sewer.” By the way, important to mentioned that Charles de Gaulle stayed at this very building during his visit to the Soviet Union. It is said that on the occasion of the visit, a huge French tricolor of Sheki silk was woven to impress an important guest.

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Haji Bani Hammam (p.3 on the map) (Hacı Qayib hamamı, Баня Хаджи Гаиба) is a bathhouse built in the late 15th century that carries the name of its architect. In the old city, each mahalla (community) had its own hammam. According to their architectural design, the lower half of the hammam was underground to ensure that the building was warm in winter and cool in summer. The hammam also served as a place for conversations and in many ways assumed the role of a social club. In addition to their sanitary and hygienic functions, hammams were also the best place to spend relaxing, leisure time. For long time, this bathhouse had remained underground and was discovered during the archaeological works of 1964.

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Close to the Maiden Tower, the remains of Saint Bartholomew Church (p.4 on the map) (Церковь Святого Варфоломея) can be found. Bartholomew was one of the Twelve Apostles of Jesus Christ, who in the 1st century A.D. came to Baku to evangelize the Gospel. He preached Christianity where fire-worship traditions had been deep-rooted and for that in A.D. 71 he was crucified in front of the Maiden Tower. In 1892, Saint Bartholomew Church was built on the area of an ancient temple, but unfortunately it was destroyed during the Soviet period, as were many other religious monuments. However, fragments of the chapel foundation still remain to this day.

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Market Square, Arcades and Burial Places (p.5 on the map) (Khanegah, Bazar meydanı, Базарная площадь). This is the place where Sufi sheikhs lived and preached. Khenegahs were typically situated on caravan trade routes and included a complex of monuments such as mosques, tombs, hammams, caravaserais and other religious and public buildings. After their death, sheikhs were usually buried here and their followers were often buried next to them. After time, Khanegah were perceived to be sacred and became the places of pilgrimage. During archeological digs conducted on this site in 1964, more than 50 graves were discovered here. Presently, you could see multiple tomb stones placed on the square as well as funerary slabs orderly displayed on the walls. It reminded me more of a meditative Japanese garden than a Sufi burial place, many of which that I visited in India.

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Bukhara and Multani Caravanserais (p.6 on the map) (Buxara karvansarayı, Multani karvansarayı, Бухарский и Мултанский Караван-сараи). These caravanserais, or medieval hotels, were situated on caravan routes and were temporary places of trade and residence for Multani (present Pakistan) and Bukharan (present Uzbekistan) merchants. Built for the travelers protection but also for the newcomers who were trying to fit together or get to know the region better, this kind of caravanserai served as embassies and cultural hubs, as well as one or another of the region’s market places. By the 20th century, Multani Caravanserai was completely destroyed but fully restored to its original plan in 1973-74, while original parts of the west facade, south-west rooms and entrance portal remained of Bukhara caravanserai.

The Multani Caravanserai (dating from the 14th century) is located on Qulle (Tower) Street and was built in a traditional style as an octagonal courtyard (35m by 35m) with a simple facade and isolated living quarters. Its name is related to the frequent visits of fire worshippers from Multan city to Baku and their construction of the “Ateshgah” temple in Surakhany on Absheron. Caravanserai had a total of 10 rooms – some of which were covered with a hexagonal arched canopy that went through the courtyard, while others were of the same height, width, and had their own balconies. Multani caravanserai cellar is one of the most interesting parts of this monument –  now in the basement of the house, it used to be the first floor of the caravanserai – and was designed to keep animals and store merchandise. Decorated with the ancient Azeri carpets, jewelry, carpets and kilims, old cisterns and paintings, this place makes you become a part of the story of Ali Baba and forty thieves.

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The Bukhara Caravanserai, located opposite the Multani Caravanserai, was built in the late 15th century along a commercial road passing through the Shamakhy Gate. This is a one-storey caravanserai, but it is assumed that other floors remained underground. The Bukhara caravanserai, which consists of 17 rooms, has a circular shape with an original 15th century pool in the middle of the courtyard. It is a perfect place to sit down and enjoy some traditional Azerbaijani tea.

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Moving further along Qulle Street (house #18), you can visit the House Museum of Kamil Aliyev (Дом-музей Камиля Алиева), who was a national carpet artist of Azerbaijan. It is impossible to express the uniqueness of the Azerbaijani carpets with words! The riot of colors, the motives rich in ornaments, and unique mixture of themes are all hallmarks of the detailed, long time work of Azerbaijani carpet makers. In every Azeri home, carpets are always in plain view, whether displayed on a floor, hung on a wall, provided as a dowry, inherited or given as a gift for a special occasion. Carpets are also presented to diplomats and heads of state. Exactly the carpets of this kind were woven by Kamil Aliyev (1921-2005). His house-museum is situated in a four-storeyed stone building where the artist lived only for 11 months before his death at the age of 83. The museum displays 127 of Aliyev’s carpets, including miniatures and patchworks as well as some works that were never completed.

“House with Chains” and “House of Sailor” (p.7 on the map) (Дом с цепями и Дом моряка). The estate named “The house with chains” (because of the statue with chains decorating the roof of the building) was constructed in late 19th – early 20th centuries and owned by a merchant Hadji Mammadhuseyn Mammadov. In 1928 the estate was bought by famous brothers merchants Melikov, however, already in 1930 the estate was confiscated by the government and converted into a clothing factory. However, it is still commonly known as the Melikovs’ estate. Owing to the architectural style and aesthetic appearance the “House with chains” has special place among the architectural monuments constructed in Icheri Sherer in early 20th century. Presently the building serves as the Museum of Archeological and Ethnography Institute of the National Academy of Sciences of the Republic of Azerbaijan.

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Right next to the house of Melikov, on the left side, there is a “House of Sailor” of Abdul Manaf Alekperov. Abdul Manaf was a military navigator who spent so much time at sea, that he decided to built his house in a form of a ship’s deck. They say that he was very strict with his children, making them salut him and raised the flag every time he returned home from the sea.

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The narrow street between “The House with Chains” and “The House of Sailor” is also home to the well-known “house with cats”. Story goes that this house once belonged to a judge, who was very cruel. One day his two children were playing at home with a cat who ran out and jumped out of the window. Children tried to stop the cat and fell out of the window themselves. The cat, of course, survived, but children didn’t, which led people believe that God sent a punishment to the judge for his cruelty. Again, these are legends of the Icheri Sheher and whether it is true or not, no one knows …

On the same side with the “House of Sailor” are the remains of the Baku Khans Residence (p.8 on the map) (Bakı xanlarının evi, Дом бакинских ханов), an architectural monument of the 18th century. This complex, consisting of five enclosed courtyards, gardens with pools and flowers, was a residence of the last Baku khan – Husayn Quli Khan, his family members – Abdurrahim bey and Mehdigulu bey between 1747 to 1806. The entrance, in the form of a curved arch, still exists and contains an inscription with the alleged date of its construction. In 1806 when the Baku Khanate was annexed to Russia, general Bulghakov lived at the residency; he ordered the gilded oil paintings on the walls of the Khans residence to be removed. Now only the entrance portal and a small restored mosque have survived. The underground bathhouse in the low part of the fortress walls in the territory of the Khans’ palace still remains unearthed. The latest excavations of 1985- 86 revealed a lot of cultural samples, a water supply system and underground architectural constructions. Sadly, the Palace Complex is in ruins and presently serves as a workers’ warehouse while the Official Administration of State Historical-Architectural Reserve “Icherisheher” informed media that they have whatsoever no intentions to repair the palace.

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Building of National Encyclopedia and remains of St. Nicholas Church (p.9 on the map) (AMEA- Milli Ensiclopediya, Здание Национальной Энциклопедии, Müqəddəs Nikolay kilsəsi, развалины Собора Св. Николая Чудотворца). The Soviet-looking building of AMEA isn’t of much interest to us, but it stands on/or near the site where the Orthodox Church of St. Nicholas was built between 1850-1857. Until 1818 Baku had no permanent church, except for one mobile military parish, called the Orthodox Church of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker Miro-Lycian, and housed on the site of mosque in the so-called “dark ranks” in the fortress. In January 1831 the Orthodox population of the city petitioned for the construction in Baku of the new stone church of St. Nicholas and two decades later, on March 18, 1950 a ceremonial laying of the temple finally took place. Constructed and completed in 1858 by the Tbilisi architect Belov the St. Nicholas church was made of surface-tooled stone in an Eastern architectural style. The cathedral was about 45m high, built in the shape of a four-armed cross in the Georgian-Byzantine style and had an altar to the north and two thrones. The church had five bells on a three-tiered bell tower and was able to accommodate 500 prayers. Unfortunately, in 1930 the church was partially destroyed and only its lower part has survived.

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And finally I got to the main attraction of the walled Icheri Sheher – the actual City Walls (Городские стены) and The Double Gates (Qosha Qala Gapisi, Shamakhy gates, Şamaxı qapıları, Шемахинские ворота) (p.10 and p.11 on the map). Of the 500-m section of Baku’s fortress walls (8-10m in height and 3-3.5m in width) which remains intact, the grandest and stateliest feature stands at the junction of Nizami Square and Youth Square. The very well-preserved  Double “Shamakhy” Gate connects two of the city’s most beautiful areas – ancient Baku and the “Outer City”. And even today, the sumptuous mansions built outside the city walls by Baku millionaires during the “oil boom”, compete for their wealth of appearance, the delicacy of their architecture and the beauty of their wall motifs with the houses inside Icheri Sheher. The fortress walls, which now separate medieval city from capitalist city, have a unique history. The most ancient part of these walls was erected in the 12th century, by order of Shirvanshah III Manuchehr (A.D. 1120-1160). This was discovered during restoration work when a three-line text was found on a stone of the wall. Written in Arabic script, it read: “The construction of this wall was ordered by the glorious, wise, just, victorious, ruling monarch… supporter of Islam and of Muslims, the great Shirvanshah Abdul Khoja Manujohr”.

So, the fortress wall encircled Baku three centuries before the famous Palace of the Shirvanshahs was built. And until the middle of the 19th century, the city was surrounded by a double fortress wall on land and a single earth barrier on the sea side. In addition, in the southern part of the earth barrier, there were two further walls, perpendicular to the barrier – bent towards the sea and extended into the Caspian, they created a very reliable sheltered harbour for ships. The outer part of the walls was surrounded by moats, and in case of an attack, the moats were filled with water through special canals. In addition, there was also a moat between the outer and inner fortress walls. The moat was filled with oil and set afire during enemy attacks. Thus, in order to try to capture the city, one had to go through fire and water. While the inner wall of the Baku fortress, the higher of the two, was built in 12th century, the lower outer barrier was erected in 1608-1609, during the reign of Shah Abbas, of the Safavid dynasty by the then ruler of the city, Zulfuqar khan. However, from 1826 Baku’s fortress was no longer used for its original purpose and the walls were “renovated” to facilitate the installation of artillery mountings (the current merlon crenellations were restored in the 1930s).

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The “oil boom” of 1872 brought an influx of workers and migrants that the ancient Oriental fortress city could no longer accommodate, hence a question of the city’s extension emerged. At first it was planned to tackle the problem by means of an apparently simple expedient – demolishing Baku’s ancient fortress walls, to which his Majesty Tsar Aleksandr II responded “on 1 August of the same year, 1870, showed high courtesy and allowed: the filling of the ditch and demolition of the field fortification… in front of the Baku fortress; and to preserve the old walls as a monument of the ancient period”. Now, we can only imagine the external appearance of the Baku fortress walls, however, certain traces of them still remain. The Shah Abbas gate (the right-hand side of the present-day Double Gate) located right in front of the Shamakhy gate in the inner wall was the main gate in the outer wall. After instructions were received to demolish the outer wall, city craftsmen, in order to preserve the Shah Abbas gate, decided to move it to the inner wall of the Baku fortress. Nowadays, when you look closely at the fortress’s double gate, you can see that the color of the coating stone in the left-hand arch is lighter. This is the only sign that it was built later.

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The craftsmen were able to preserve the bas-relief, Baku’s medieval symbol, on both gates. This symbol existed long before the development of industry in Baku and the flurry generated by oil extraction. Down to the present day, on both – the Shamakhy gate and the Shah Abbas gate – there is a stone “clew” with two small circles around it, made by a skillful artisan. This graphic and very interesting sample of medieval oriental heraldry contains many elements. When the German traveller and scientist Engelbert Kaempfer was in Baku in 1683, he tried to unravel the meaning of this ancient city coat of arms with the help of local experts. Kaempfer believed that the bull’s head depicted on the coat of arms is a symbol of the ancient city of Baku itself. Since the land was very dry here and it was often crossed by very strong winds, people living in the city were unable to grow crops and so they bred cattle instead. Many scientists believe that the bull and the cow were the most ancient totems of the Absheroni population. These images can be found in rock paintings, in places where people lived and, later, on money. Therefore, the image of a bull’s head on the ancient coat of arms is a local symbol. As for the lions, their depiction on Baku’s coat of arms is probably designed to maintain West Asia’s heraldic traditions and links to oriental culture. The unique feature of the lions on Baku’s coat of arms is that they have no swords in their hands. However, this does not detract from their grandeur at all. Along with the bull, the Sun and the Moon are also often depicted on ancient city heraldry. The Sun is a symbol of day and the Moon is a symbol of night, it could be that the small circles near the bulls’ head bear the same meaning. Hence, according to Kaempfer, the meaning of the coat of arms on the main entrance gate to the fortress is as follows: “The lions (meaning the fortress walls) guard the Bull (meaning the city) both at night (the Moon) and in the day (the Sun)”. Take a walk along those walls as they represent a living historical thread, linking ancient Baku with old and modern Baku.

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If you are facing The Double Gate, you are probably standing in a wide open square known as Meydan. The Old Customs Building (Здание старой таможни) (p.9 on the map) was situated here, just to the left of the Gate. In the old days, in addition to customs procedures, travelers and animal caravans were allowed to enter the city through these gates only after going through the sanitary and hygienic procedure of washing: people were required to take a bath, while animal legs were treated with goudron (tar oil).

While leisurely walking and admiring the walls along the Kilchik Qala, pay attention to the water wells, dating back to 16th-17th centuries. They were discovered during the wall restoration in 2012-2013, proving that Icheri Sheher has its water supply system in the 9th-13th centuries that was later improved and enlarged. The wells turned out to be treasure troves for the archeologists as they contained lots of tangible items dated to the 11th-17th centuries – clay polychrome and monochrome plates, bowls, pans, as well as fragments of other dishes, etc. The walls, the wells, the tea-houses, the carpet and souvenir shops and art, all located on the same street, could definitely win your heart and make you come back again and again.

aaOnce you reach a very attractive square, where well-manicured garden, jolly decorated with pieces of Modern Art, diversifies the landscape of round domes of mosques and The Flame Towers, it means you arrived to the second most important historical place in Icheri Sheher – Palace of the Shirvanshahs (Şirvanşahlar Sarayı, Дворец ширваншахов) (p.12 and 13 on the map). Entrance – 2 manat ($1.9)/6 manat ($5.7) with a private guide, allow at least 1 hour. This golden, hard to miss, limestone complex was the seat of northeastern Azerbaijan’s ruling dynasty during the Middle Ages. Mostly 15th century in essence, the Palace was painstakingly over-restored in 2003.

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Palace of the Shirvanshahs was the last residence of the rulers of Shirvan State, a dynasty with a thousand year history. At medieval times Shirvan was the most powerful state, and while in the south of Azerbaijan old and new feudal states frequently replaced each other, in the north, the borders of Shirvan state continued to grow. History of Shirvanshahs’ state could be divided into four periods: the first Shirvanshahs, Mazyadids, Kesranids and Derbendis. There is very little know about the first Shirvanshah dynasty. Mazyadids dynasty, founded by Heysam ibn Khalid, in 861, was of Arabic origin but it quickly assimilated with local nobility and gradually turned into Kesranids dynasty known for its traditional way of life. Shirvanshahs of that dynasty – Manichohr, Akhsitan, Fariburz – were wise and well-educated rulers. The last ruler, Shirvanshah Hushenge ibn Kavus, left no heir after his death in 1382 and according to tradition, feudal lords of Shirvan elected his distinct relative Sheikh Ibrahim as the new Shirvanshah. This poor, but well-known feudal lord from Sheki founded the last Shirvanshahs dynasty of Derbendi. Sheikh Ibrahim ruled in very uneasy period linked with the wars of Timur with Tokhtamish for the seizure of Azerbaijan. Military campaigns passed through Shirvan and inflicted serious damages and losses to the country. However, a wise ruler and smart diplomat, Ibrahim I took the side of Timur, and was entrusted with the protection of the northern borders of the country. In 1405 after the death of Timur, Ibrahim I achieved the independence of Shirvan state and for thirty five years of his reign, not only did he manage to keep Shirvan independent, but also he expanded the territory of the country to the great extend.
The first capital of Shirvanshahs’ state was the city of Shamakhy. However, after the devastating earthquake of 1197, Shirvanshah moved the capital to Baku. The 12th and the first half of the 13th centuries saw the great economical, political and cultural development in Shirvan state. Baku also developed as a port city, while Sabayil castle, fortress walls, Shirvanshahs’ Palace were constructed. During the reign of Sheikh Ibrahim I (1382-1417), Khalilullah I (1417-1462), Farrukh Yasar (1462-1500) military fortifications of Derbend, Akhti, Tsakhur were restored, Farrukhiyye madrasa was built in the Mosque complex of Derbend. However, in 1538 Shirvan state was conquered by the Safavids.
The Complex of Shirvanshahs’ Palace, occupying 1 ha, was erected on one of the highest points of Icheri Sheher, in a densely populated area. The construction work was not confined to the single architectural plan. However, taking into consideration the purpose of each building of the Complex, the masters could place them in order of importance creating a beautiful scenery. If you look carefully, you can see that the buildings don’t contrast with each other, au contraire, they complete and complement each other. Because of rough topography of its area, the territory of the Complex was purposefully divided into three functioning courtyards with the level difference of 5-6m. So, lets go and explore the Complex.

  1. Screen Shot 2016-05-19 at 2.37.28 PMDwelling House
  2. Divan Khana
  3. Dervish Tomb
  4. Foundation of Key-Gubad mosque
  5. Eastern Portal
  6. Palace Mosque
  7. Shirvanshahs’ family tomb
  8. Palace Bath-house
  9. Shah’s Ovdan

The upper courtyard, where Dwelling house and Mausoleum of Farrukh Yassar or Divan Khana are located, is called ceremonial yard. My very young but talented female guide and I started our tour from the masterpiece of the Complex – Memorial Tomb (Mausoleum) of Farrukh Yassar or Divan Khana (Khan’s Court) (p.2) – reached via a small gateway on the left from the main courtyard. Until now, historians can’t decided whether this building was a court house (and a very small one), used to accept the visitors and delegations or it was a mausoleum of Farruck Yassar, the last Shirvanshas. It is located in a quadrangular yard enclosed by arched pillar gallery from three sides. In the center, comfortably elevated on the high stylobate there is an octangular rotunda, surrounded by the open arched arcade. Its main western entrance is emphasized with the magnificent richly ornamented portal, decorated with oriental carpets’ carved ornaments. The ribbed semi cupola of the portal is rested upon seven rows of stalactites adorned with a foliage motif. The portal is framed on both sides with the hexagonal medallions which look like simple geometrical decorations but in fact, are full of meaningful inscriptions. The left inscriptions, written in very ancient Kufic Arabic script, read: “There is no God but Allah”, “Prophet Mohammed is the messenger of Allah” and “Imam Ali is close to Allah”. The hexagonal medallion on the right, which contains twelve small rhombs, reads “Allah is single” and the name “Mohammed” 6 times each.

AAThe portal leads to small quadrangular vestibule. In the corner of this vestibule there are two premises laid one on top of another with both halls delicately decorated with leaves of fig and grape, typical to the flora of Azerbaijan. There is another inscription written in Arabic, which is the dictum from Koran: “The highest and most honest God said – may He be praised – Allah calls people to the world of peace, to the paradise. He directs whoever he chooses to the blessed road. Those who do good will get the good, and neither dust nor infamy will not cover their faces. They will be rewarded with paradise, in which they will stay for ever”. This inscription referring to the life hereafter, forgiveness of sins, etc led the historians believe that Shirvanshah Farrukh Yassar got this building constructed as his own mausoleum. The architectural structure of the monument also supports this idea as it was built in a style similar to Timur’s own tomb. What is evident is that the last Shivanshas Farruck Yassir was not buried there as in 1500-1501 his army lost a battle with Savafids and captured Farruck was later burned with arms and legs tied.

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The octangular hall is covered with a beautiful cupola of unusual outline. Originally all six doorways were decorated with stone lattices -“shebeke”. In winter they were covered with carpets, and in summer – with curtains. The outside frames of these doorways are also decorated with plant and geometrical ornaments. At the sharp point of arch of each door there is one hexagonal medallion with the name of Imam Ali repeated six times: three in raised form and three in sunk. However, if you pay attention to some capitals, basis of the columns and doorway frames, you notice that the carving work was left unfinished, probably due to the war of 1500-1501.

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Two-storeyed Dwelling House (p.1) is the oldest building of the Complex, built in late 13th – early 14th century. In this two-storied palace of irregular form, floors are connected by three stone staircases built in the thickness of the walls. Originally the palace had 52 rooms; 27 of them were on the ground floor, 25 were on the second floor (presently, only 16 rooms on the second floor were reconstructed). The ground floor with narrow windows was intended for servants and as a storehouse. The Shirvanshah and his family lived in the rooms on the second floor with large windows decorated by “shebeke”. The main entrance into the Palace is emphasized with high pointed arch. Its high, modest portal is distinguished by the play of light and shade, caused by the masterful rotation of masonry rows which made stones acquire different tint. In comparison with the richly ornamented portal of Divan Khana, the simple portal of Dwelling house looks very sordid and signifies the inviolability of this Palace as a fortress.

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The portal leads to the octangular entrance hall topped with a high cupola. This hall served as the reception room of Shirvanshahs. Narrow holes in the walls were intended for communication with the ground floor (and I was encouraged to shout something out in it). The main rooms of the Dwelling house are Throne hall and Banquet hall. Throne hall, located to the left of the reception room has an inscription from Zilzar sura of Koran over its entrance door: “People who do good things will get it back at the end”. The Throne Hall was the center of State representation. Badr Shirvani, the court poet who lived here in the 15th century wrote: “It is blue as the sky and golden as the sun here. When light passes through the windows to fall upon the ceiling full of decorative designs, the stars shine from within the blue glow of the dome”. Archeological finds made historians believe that the palace was covered with cupolas decorated with blue tiles. In the Banquet hall the windows covered with stone lattices “shebeke” overlook the beautiful panorama of the bay. Presently, both rooms display items discovered during the archeological work within the Palace and Icheri Sheher, such as musical instruments of the 15th century, various household items, coins of 12-15th centuries, copper utensils, weapons and ornaments of the 19th century. Also among the exhibits are female costumes and embroidery of the 19th century, Shamakhy carpets and carpet woven in the 17th century in Baku. Look for the “mustache keeper”, I bet you’ve never even imagined that thing existed!

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Among all the buildings of the Complex, the Dwelling house suffered the most destruction. After the death of Shirvanshah Farrukh Yassar in 1501, the Palace was seized and looted by the troops of Safavids. Until now, it is not known who occupied the palace between 16th and the 18th century. In 1723 when the troops of Peter the Great bombarded the city from the sea, the upper part of Dwelling house was damaged and its cupolas were destroyed. After becoming a part of Russian Empire in 1828, the Complex was handed over to the Russian military department who transformed the palace into the storehouse for military equipment and ammunition. At that time when the repair-construction works were carried out in Dwelling house, its cupola decorated with glazed tiles of turquoise color, some walls, as well as the mosaic plaster of arches were completely demolished. In the late 19th century the Place was destroyed and derelict, until 2004 when it was re-constructed and rebuilt as close to its original plan as possible.

Dervish’s tomb, remains of Sabayil castle, foundation of Key-Gubad mosque are located at the middle courtyard. Eastern Portal (p.5) is the last construction of the Complex. Known as “Murad’s gate”, it was erected by the architect Amirshah Valiankuhi in the 16th century during the occupation of Baku by Ottoman Turks. The upper part of the Portal is decorated with the inscription written in Arabic: “Ulu Radgab baba Bakuvi ordered to build this noble building during the reign of fair and majestic Sultan Murad khan in 994 year of hijri history” or in 1585-86. Judging by the wording of the inscription (“building” and not the “gate”), the portal is likely to have been the entrance of the building which either didn’t survive, or was not built at all. The semi cupola with stalactites forms a deep hollow at the bottom of the portal.

Remains of Sabayil Castle. In the middle courtyard there is a great number of stone slabs with the inscriptions and images. They were discovered at the bottom of Baku bay and represent all that remains of Sabayil castle, one of the unique architectural monuments of medieval times hidden under the water for many centuries. Archaeological work carried out in 1946 and 1962 years, established the existence of a small island known as “Sabayil city” within 300 m of the coast. The oblong rectangular castle, resembling a Gulustan fortress, was erected on this island between 1234-1235 during the reign of the Shirvanshah Fariburz III. Castle was 175m long and 35m wide, with 1.8m thick walls connecting 3 circular and 12 semi-circular towers. Three towers in the corners served as entrances into the castle. However, in 1306, as a result of earthquake the level of the Caspian Sea rose, the island was flooded, and Sabayil castle collapsed and submerged under the water for more than 4 centuries. As the level of the Caspian Sea began to drop in 1722 till present time, stones and rocks emerged out of the sea. As a result of a 30 year long work, about 700 stone slabs were lifted from the bottom of the bay. All these slabs with inscriptions and images were in frieze which encircled the upper walls of the castle from outside. Even though the inscriptions written in Arabic, mostly in Persian were badly preserved, the researchers could read names of some cities – Baku, Shamakhy, titles – shah, sultan, names of Shirvanshahs ruled till that time – Muhammed ibn Yazid, Khalid, Ali, Manuchohr, Gushtasb, Fariburz and so on. The inscription carved on two stone slab reads: “That is the work of the master Zeinaddin ibn Abu Rashid Shirvani”. Besides the stone inscriptions, there are a lot of stones with images of animals, realistic and symbolic, human heads and pictures of fabulous creatures carved in bas-relief. Images of lion and bull carved on the stone slabs are the heraldic symbols of Shirvan state. Pictures of realistic animals depicted on the stones might be served as a calendar of that time – showing the years of reign of Shirvanshahs (it is known that at medieval times in Near East each year was named after a certain animal). Human heads carved on the stone slabs could be identified as the portraits of Shirvanshahs. The research of the castle also proved the fact that it was a defensive fortress with a fleet moored at its walls. During the archaeological excavation scientists also found here the remains of rooms, fire places, pottery and coins.

aaDervish’s Tomb (p.3) is wrongly considered to be the mausoleum of a medieval scientist and philosopher Seyid Yahya Bakuvi. The dervish buried in this tomb lived and worked as a “muezzin” in the Palace of Shirvanshah Ibrahim I long before the arrival of Seyid Yahya Bakuvi to Baku. The octangular tomb is covered with 7.5m high pyramid-like cupola. The mausoleum consists of subterranean (the vault of the dervish) and upper parts, intended for religious ceremonies, and believed to be covered with grey plaster. On both sides of the mausoleum, there are three small windows carved in solid slabs of limestone, and, like in the old days, representing a cross-cutting stone lattice consisting of multi-rayed stars.

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Foundation of Key-Gubad mosque (p.4) There was once a madrasa-mosque adjoining the dervish’s tomb. Named after Shirvanshah Key-Gubad, it was built in the 14th century and consisted of a rectangular prayer-hall with a small vestibule. In the center of the hall there were four columns on which the cupola was rested. The facade of the mosque was simple, strict without ornaments and inscriptions. Unfortunately, in 1918 Key-Gubad mosque burnt down, leaving only three bases of columns and a part of the wall to the roof untouched. In the 1920s, while examining the ruins of the old mosque, archeologist Pakhomov found that the pedestal of one of the column bases hid a narrow neatly plastered subterranean corridor leading to the mausoleum crypt. While the corridor contained several gravestones, an examination of the crypt revealed scattered bones of twenty human skeletons. It was concluded that a mosque was built on a site of a former cemetery and the digging of trenches for foundation disturbed a number of graves.

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Shirvanshahs’ family tomb and Palace mosque are situated at the Lower court, called worship yard, while Palace bath-house and Ovdan are located in the lowest terrace of the Complex. The lower yard is separated from the other yards of the Complex by a blind wall with arched doorway.

Shirvanshahs’ family tomb (p.7) is a rectangular building topped with hexagonal cupola decorated with distinct polygonal stars. In the past, those star-shaped hollows were filled with light-blue glazed tiles. The entrance –  a richly ornamented portal adorned with leaves and petals of oleander – considered to be one of the most beautiful models in Azerbaijan architecture. The top of the portal contains two inscriptions written in nash script. The first, the 12th sura of Koran, reads: “Allah, the holiest and highest, said, on that day he will forgive you, because he is the most merciful”. The inscription below is a hadissa: “The Prophet said, may Allah be blessed and greeted, You will certainly see your Lord with your own eyes”. On the tympans of the portal there are two tear-drop shaped medallions, wrongly considered to have the name of the architect carved inside. In fact, the inscription written here says: “Thanks to the God for the gifts that he gives us”. The inscription over the entrance informs about the functional purpose of the building: “The Highest Sultan the Great Shirvanshah, the namesake of the Prophet, protection of Islam, Khalilullah I, may his reign and power be immortalized by Allah, ordered to build this sacred burial vault for his mother and son, may Allah bless them”, dating to 1435-36. According to the divan written by poet Badr Shirvany, the mausoleum also served as a final resting place to Khalilullah I himself, his mother Bika khanum, his sons – Farrukh Yamin, Sheykh Saleh, Emir Bahram, Ibrahim and Khalilullah’s cousin, Chief Commander of Shirvanshahs’ Army, Emir Tahmuras. Archeological excavation of 1946 revealed another 14 untouched burials within the tomb, tentatively of people related to Khalilillah. The Family mausoleum consists of the burial hall and two small rooms to the right and to the left, that were intended for mullah. In 1500-1501, when the troops of Safavids occupied Baku, Shah Ismail Khatai destroyed all the graves in the Shirvanshahs’ family tomb, however, as it became clear later, he only managed to destroy the tomb stones, leaving the graves untouched.

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Palace Mosque (p.6), the second monument located at the lower courtyard, is covered with two sharp-pointed cupolas and is emphasized by well-proportioned 22m-high minaret raised in the north-eastern part of the building. The top of the minaret is adorned with a balcony-sherefe, intended for muezzin and supported by stalactites with an inscription written in Arabic: “This minaret was built by order of Sultan Khalilullah I, may Allah exalt the days of his government”. (1441-1442). According to the Shariat law, no one can enter the mosque without doing ablution and taking their shoes off, hence always look for a small pool or water fountain near the mosque. It has three entrances – the main northern entrance, decorated with a portal and niches for shoes, leads to the praying hall for men. From the middle-level yard, there is the eastern entrance intended for the Shirvanshah. The western, most simplest one, entrance leads to the women’s praying hall. There is a simply decorated mihrab on the southern wall of the praying hall for men while an ordinary niche serves as a mihrab for women. To enhance the acoustics, the big clay jugs were built into the upper corners of the men’s praying hall, with their small necks turned to the hall. Notice the wall niches, they served to store prayer-mats, beads, Koran books and lamps. At some point, chandeliers, hung from the cupola, used to illuminate the mosque.

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The 15th century Palace bath-house (p.8) is located in the lowest courtyard of the Complex and has no less than 26 rooms. Like all oriental bath-houses, it was built with half of the construction located under the ground to maintaining temperature regime. After the Shirvanshahs dynasty collapse, the Palace hammam was out of use and was gradually buried under the soil where it stayed for many centuries. Rediscovered in 1939, it underwent a thorough restoration work in 1960s. Originally all rooms of the bath-house were covered with cupolas with slits for day-light and ventilation, typical for the hammams of Baku and Absheron. It had two types of rooms: “bayir” for undressing and “Icheri” for bathing. The reservoirs of cold and hot water, called “Khazna” were connected with the soap rooms. Water came from the “Shah Ovdan” (p.9) (water reservoir) located behind the Palace walls – 70 steps deep, it was one of the largest ovdans in Absheron and supplied with drinking water both the Palace and some residential blocks of the city. In order to supply hot water, the cold water from Shah ovdan went through ceramic pipe to the boiler-room and after being heated by white oil, it was distributed among soap rooms via stone wash-basins cut at the walls. While steam canals under the floor of soap rooms heated the Icheri rooms, bayir rooms were warmed by hot air coming from the washing rooms. Until today, you can see the stone benches, round pools and holes for shoes. In the past, both the exterior and interior of the bath-house were decorated with glazed tiles.

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Once you leave the Palace of the Shirvanshas, turn left and walk along its walls. Shortly, on your right, you will see The Museum of Miniature Books (free admission), opened in 2002, it is the only privately owned museum of this kind in the world. Mrs. Zarifa Salahova, its founder, has collected more than 6,000 miniature book from 62 countries. She started with a purchase of a book, that is cited and re-cited on daily basis by everyone who speaks Russian – Fables by Ivan Krylov, published in 1835. However, the museum also exhibits the works of prominent Azeri classical poets – Nizami, Fizuli and Nasimi, Koran and other religious books as well as books by Jack London, Honore de Balzac, Gustave Flaubert, etc.

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Following the same street, you will come to a handkerchief of Vahid garden dominated by one of Baku’s most imaginative busts, that of a poet Aliagha Vahid incorporating characters from his work in the lines of his hair. The simple stone cube behind him is the 1375 Chin Mosque (Çin məscidi, Чин-мечеть) (p.14), now used as a tiny coin museum. The mosque is called “Chin” (True), due to the belief that all the wishes and desires of its attendees will become true. The mosque portal is considered to be the oldest in the city made in eastern style.

AAFrom the square, there are several ways to explore Icheri Sheher, you can either continue along the city walls and visit, or at least see from the outside, Baku’s historical hammams, or dive into one of the multiple crooked streets for more authentic experience. Since I’ve visited the old town on a few occasions, I’ve done both. So, at first, I walked along a very pretty Kichik Qala – a perfect place for street photography with its old Soviet Zaporozhets, playing children and both, ferrel and domesticated, cats.

222To you left, there is an old Gileyli mosque (Gileyli məscidi, Гилек-мечеть) with two domes and carved bars on the windows, it is located at the top of the fortress. Built in two stages – in 1309 during the period of the Shirvanshahs, and in 1805 by Haji Shams al-Din Beg, the grandson of Salim Khan – it received its name from the word “Gilan” – silk merchants who were primary residents of the area. Just a few meters further, there is Agha Mikayil Hammam (Ağa Mİkayıl hamamı, Баня Ага Микаила), a bath-house opened by the resident of Shamakhy, Hadji Agha Mikayil, in the 18th century. The area is popularly known as a “settlement of bathhouse attendants” and even though it has several hammams, Agha Mikayil is indisputably everyone’s favorite – open on Mondays and Fridays for women and the rest of the week for men. Before reaching the end of the city wall, on the left side there is another bathhouse – Gasim-Bek Hammam (Qasım bəy hamamı, Баня Касум-бека), that was constructed in 17th century near the Salyan Gate. It is popularly known as “Shirin” (Sweet), because it was famous for its tea served with delicious sweets. It has traditional layout that consists of a vestibule, dressing and washing premises as well as the treasure and fire chambers. Water supply and the heating system were implemented through the angle pipelines inside the walls and under the floor. Both hammams are functioning bath-houses and the official monuments of national value of history and culture of Azerbaijan protected by state.

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If you continue straight, you will exit in front of the Four Seasons hotel, but instead, lets turn left and dive into the small, curved like oriental dagger, streets. The oldest monument of Islamic period in Icheri Sheher is the Mohammad Mosque (p.15 on the map) (Məhəmməd məscidi, Мечеть Мухаммеда). According to an Arabic inscription, it was built in the 1078-1079 and acquired its second name Synyk Kala – “Broken Tower” in 1723, when military squadron of Russian Army, consisting of 15 warships approached the city from seaside and demanded its surrender during the Russo-Persian War (1722-1723). When the Khan of Baku declined, Russian warships began to bomb the city until one of shells hit the minaret of Mohammad Mosque and damaged it. As the legend goes, immediately, the stormy winds, interpreted by Bakuvians as a divine scourge sent to the occupants, blew the Russian ships further out to sea, allowing the residents to rebuild the city walls. They still lost the war but until the middle of the 19th century, the minaret of the mosque wasn’t reconstructed, remaining a symbol of the persistence and courage of the defendants of the tower. Artifacts found at the time of the restoration work on the Mohammad Mosque in 1980s revealed that the mosque was constructed on the site of a fire temple which functioned during the pre-Islamic period. Formidable and slightly thinning minaret adjoins new mosque, which was constructed on the basis of the older one’s plan. Coarse and flat stalactites of tabling retain sherefe – muezzin’s balcony enclosed by stone plates. Ligature with Koranic inscription was traced under the tabling with archaic kufi alphabet. However, the Mohammad Mosque brought entirely different associations for me as I recognized it as a place from a famous Soviet movie “Бриллиантовая Рука” (“The Brilliant Hand”). A Russian production of 1969, this comedy gained cult status and people like to insert whole passages of dialogues in conversations. It is a story of clumsy Semyon Gorbunkov, who accidentally gets involved in a diamond smuggling, while on a trip to Turkey. But director Leonid Gaidai resolved to shoot several scenes in Baku – one of them right here, in front of the Mohammed Mosque.

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Continue towards the sea and you appear at one of the largest and busiest pedestrian streets of Icheri Sheher – Asaf Zeynalli. You are probably standing at the T-shaped intersection with a historical monument in each corner – Juma Mosque, Madrasa and Small Caravanserai. Immediately on the right corner is Madrasah (P.16) (Mədrəsə, Медресе́). Built in the 15th century in the courtyard of Juma Mosque for educational purpose, presently, it serves as one of the chapels and no longer functions as a religious school for mektebs. Juma Mosque (p.16) (Cümə məscidi, Джума мечеть), located just across the street, has been repeatedly and radically restored and rebuilt. It is believed that the mosque was constructed over a fire-worshiping temple and later restored in 1309-10. In the 1437-38, during the reign of Shirvanshah Khalilullah I the present minaret was built to function as balcony for summoning the believers, however the text engraved on the gravestone at the foundation of the minaret discovered during archaeological work make us believe that the minaret was built even before the completion of Juma Mosque. Due to natural causes, the building of the first mosque was completely destroyed and in its place, in the 17th century, during the reign of Shah Abbas I, the second building was built. The lower part of the minaret until now contains the inscription of 1614 with the decree of Shah Abbas I about collection of taxes.

According to its floor-plan, the mosque was an irregular hexagon with truncated southern and western corners. It had a small room with a domed hall, which was designed for men, and prayer rooms for women. A distinctive feature of the Jama mosque was a conical dome, decorated with glazed tiles and imported decorative materials, a rare example in the Azerbaijani architecture, which really stood on the monotonous background of medieval Baku. They say, the building and the second mosque were destroyed by fire. At the beginning of the 20th century, one of the rich Bakunians – Sheikhan Dadashov Haji – had the mosque rebuilt and its version you can now enjoy in Icheri Sheher. You can follow my steps and visit the female section of the mosque (behind the minaret), just don’t forget to cover your head and leave your shoes out.

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Small Caravanserai (p.16) (Xan karvansarayı, Ханский караван-сарай). Also known as “Khan’s caravansaray”, it was constructed in the late 15th -early 16th centuries, however some sources date it to the 12th century. A square building, it has a large quadrangular yard with cut corners inside. The entire perimeter is covered with balconies behind which the residential premises were located. It has 3 entrances, however, the main one, located in the Middle Ages on the seaside, looks nothing less but a formidable two-storeyed bastion. Before becoming a caravanserai, this building probably served as another madrasa of the Juma Mosque, however, once it was converted into the guest house its outer walls turned into a shopping gallery for residents and visitors.

Ashur Mosque (p.17) (Ləzgi məscidi, Ашур или Лезги-мечеть) was constructed by master Najaf Ashur Ibrahim in 1169. It acquired its own second name “Lezghin” during the oil boom of late 19th, when workers from Dagestan came to Baku in order to earn money and the inhabitants of Icheri Sheher allow them to pray in this mosque. The mosque is a parallelepiped with two small windows on its southern facade. The small cross-shaped entrance in the northeast part of the mosque leads to the one-chamber praying hall. During the archaeological work and restoration process in 1970s, two semicircle arches and rooms belonging to the Sassanid’s period were discovered under the southern part of the building. As many other religious building in the city, it is also believed to be built on the site of an ancient fire-worshiping temple.

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Completing the historical circle around Icheri Sheher is Two-Storeyed Caravanserai “Mugham Theater” (p.19) located on the right side of Asaf Zeynalli street, right next to the Maiden Tower. This 17th century “hotel” presently functions as a restaurant and theater where visitors can experience traditional Azerbaijani cuisine and folk songs. I, frankly, didn’t go in so I can’t vouch for the quality of performance. After visiting all the sites, you can either continue exploring less visited streets of Icheri Sheher, as they are definitely full of charm and Soviet nostalgia, or you can check out the busy main avenue running along the Caspian shore – Neftchilier Prospekt. Since it was still a day time, I decided to take some pictures of the city from above, so I headed towards the Funicular. I have to warn you, that once you are in the open space by the sea, it becomes clear that the country suffers from “Azeri Flag-Mania”. Not only Azerbaijan, until recently, had the world’s tallest, according to the Guinness Book of Records flagpole, but also did they make sure you will have at least two (or maybe three) National flags in your line of sight at all times. I can guarantee you that the colors of Azeri flag will forever cement into your memory.

aaAnother thing worth mentioning is drivers’ lack of respect for pedestrians, so if you don’t see a traffic light, look for an underpass, but do not try to run across the street, even if there is a “zebra” painted over it, because the cars would not stop. Well, I guess it was a way to make us all check out one of the wonders of Baku – “the white underpass” – as I called it. I thought I was pretty accustomed to marble subway stations of Moscow and Minsk, or to superb cleanliness of public spaces everywhere in Japan, but I’ve never used an underground path that looked like the inlaid with precious stones tunnel leading to Taj Mahal. I know I looked silly while taking pictures there but frankly, it was one of the most unusual and impressive things I’ve seen. However, I do suspect that Four Seasons Hotel located at the corner of the same street has something to do with it – how more can you impress your customers but letting them pass to Bulvar (Caspian corniche) via such a magnificent route. That would definitely make you believe in the might of Azeri oil and gas.

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Funicular Lower Station (open 10.00 – 22.00, “dinner break” from 12.00-14.00) is located 500 m to the south of Icheri Sheher and in less than 4 mins and free of cost, it will take you to the foot of the Dağüstü Park offering spectacular panoramic views of the city and Baku bay.

Once you get there, you can explore the park, visit the Martyrs’ Lane – cemetery and memorial dedicated to those who were killed during the Black January and the conflict in Nagorno-Karabakh, enjoy the close proximity with the current symbol and the tallest buildings of Baku – The Flame Towers, or simply take a moment to savor the scenery. At night, you can visit a very popular Dagustu Park Kafe and indulge yourself in very strong and very good tea with preserves (yes, this is how they do it)! I’m pretty sure on the evening we were there (with an American, Russian and Ukrainian guys I met at the hotel), the president Ilham Aliyev was in attendance.

aaAs soon as you descend from the hill and safely cross the street towards the Baku’s waterfront – called Bulvar (corrupted French “Boulevard”) – you are going to see a few interesting things. If you are facing the sea, to your very right is the lotus-like building of Caspian Waterfront mall, occupying its own peninsular, then, in a form of unfolding carpet – Azerbaijan Carpet Museum, followed by Mugham center and a very strange Venice-inspired amusement park with canals and gondolas, and to your very left is be National Flag Square with the world’s second largest Flagpole. If there is one thing to bring home from Azerbaijan, then it would be a carpet (or a few, in my case). In 2010 Azerbaijani carpets were proclaimed a Masterpiece of Intangible Heritage by UNESCO and they are definitely worth exploring and learning about. I couldn’t praise the Azerbaijan Carpet Museum more. Entry – 10 manat with audioguide, ($9.5), additional for picture permit, but you can take photos with a phone without a permit. You can easily spent 2-3 hours exploring the museum’s vast collections, reading detailed annotations, enjoying the wonderful space and leave heavily loaded with new knowledge. On the first floor, besides the regular museum shop, there is a carpet gallery where you can buy authentic Azerbaijani carpets, but keep in mind that you would need the Azerbaijan Ministry of Culture permit to take the carpets outside the country (not so hard to get!)

aAnd of course, over 100 years-old, 6 km long well-paved Bulvar (official name is Dənizkənarı Milli Park) is a place to see and be seen and no matter how many days you stay in Baku, the lively water promenade will draw you every evening like a drug. I, advantageously, happened to come to Azerbaijan during the last week of Ramadan (or Ramazan as it is known here) when the corniche would fill in with families and attractions at the sundown. I might be wrong, but Azeri didn’t strike me as very pious Muslims and I assume that 70 years as a Soviet Republic have something to do with it, however, I was sure it was busier than ever. Oil rigs and yacht clubs, flagmasts and shopping centers, big-wheel and 5-D cinemas, lavish cafes and simple food stands, hotels and business centers, rich and not-so-rich all melange in its own authentic but strange way on Bulvar. And if you want to see Baku from the water, you can even take a 45 mins pleasure-boat cruise (3 manat, $2.85), but make sure to stay away from the oil-filmed waters of Caspian sea. Everything comes with a price!aa

Since I was traveling alone, I didn’t get to eat in many restaurants but I definitely tried many street-served qutabs (gutab) – very thin round tortilla folded in two and filled either with ground lamb or with greens – and drunk plenty of tea served in small pear-shaped armudi stakan (“stakan” means “glass” in Russian). One night, American Andy, Ukrainian Volodymyr, Russian Igor and I went out for dinner at Firuze restaurant located right on the Fountain Square and I don’t think I’ve ever tried Azeri plov that was as tasty as theirs (we took 4 pictures and on all of them, Igor had food in his mouth, this is just how delicious it was!)

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Qobustan (Gobustan). If you have a few days in Baku, a half-day trip to the Qobustan’s mud volcanoes and rock petroglyphs is a must, as you probably have never seen anything like it. I’ve heard it’s possible to get there by public bus and a taxi, however, when I asked the owner of my hotel about the trip, he offered to take me there for 80 manat ($76). Allow 6-7 hours.

Qobustan National Park (Qobustan Milli Parkı, Гобустанский государственный исто­ри­ко-ху­дожественный заповедник) is a hill and mountain site occupying the southeast end of the Greater Caucasus mountain ridge about 64 km south of Baku. Its entire territory is cut up with numerous, rather deep ravines, called “gobu” in Azerbaijani, which suggests the origin of the name. After the accidental discoveries of ancient rock petroglyphs and inhabited caves by miners in 1930, the area was declared a national historical landmark of Azerbaijan and in 2007, it was added to a UNESCO’s list of World Heritage Sites.

Throughout many centuries under impact of the sun, wind, seismic activity and various atmospheric precipitation, blocks of stones broke away from the edges of a vast limestone layer and rolled down the slopes, forming about 20 big and small caves and the canopies serving as a natural shelter for the inhabitants. In 1930 a group of miners went there to quarry gravel and noticed the elaborate carvings and man-made caves. Apparently, around 12,000 years ago, when the Caspian coast was a lush savannah and sea levels far higher, Stone Age hunter-gatherers settled in a series of caves that they etched with around 6,000 stone engravings. The site also features the remains of inhabited caves, settlements and around 40 kurgans (burials), all reflecting an intensive human use during the wet period between 10th millennium B.C. and the 5th-15th centuries. Now, high above the shore, the cave sites, which cover an area of 100 km2, have crumbled into a craggy chaos of boulders but the ancient petroglyphs remain, protected as a part of the Qobustan Reserve.

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When we arrived, firstly, I visited The Petroglyph Museum (entry – 1 manat), where an eager English-speaking guide took me around a very well-designed exhibit consisting of a dozen halls. Many walls were decorated with the photographs of the rock engravings found in the Reserve and information – from the general knowledge about prehistoric rock art to the “dissections” of particular Qobustan petroglyphs – was detailed, educational and far from boring. Derived from the Greek words “petros” (rock) and “glyphe” (carving), petroglyphs, in a wider sense, are images engraved or drawn on the rock. Scientists would use this word exclusively for denoting engravings in the rock, and not paintings or drawings. It is considered to be a very fragile form of art as it is located in the natural environment and exposed to the forces of nature. In addition, people intentionally or inadvertently damage the painted or engraved surfaces of the rocks, microorganisms and man-made pollution of the air and water wear the ancient art down too, so it does require protection. A few museum rooms were dedicated to the discovery and exploration of the site, while others explore in details recording, tracing, photographing, outlining, measuring and mapping petroglyphs. Most of the rock engravings in Qobustan depict primitive men, animals, battle-pieces, ritual dances, bullfights, boats with armed oarsmen, warriors with lances in their hands, camel caravans, pictures of sun and stars. The petroglyphs are an exceptional testimony to a way of life that has disappeared, graphic representations of activities connected with hunting and fishing at a time when the climate and vegetation of the area were warmer and wetter than today, that is why they require deep analysis and interpretation. The museum guide pointed out a few places where rock engravings were easy to miss and sent me off.

If you need to use bathroom, do it in the museum, another opportunity (at the site) might not be too comfortable to even consider. After we left, we drove for another 10 minutes before we reached the so-called “Roman Graffiti” – a small plaque with inscription in Latin – surrounded by fence and a dozen of happy grazing bulls and cows of Qobustan. This petroglyphs is considered to be the easternmost Roman inscription ever discovered and it is believed to be chipped out by Julius Maximus, a centurion of the 12th Legion, probably on a reconnaissance mission from Roman Syria during the reign of Emperor Domitian (A.D. 51-96).

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After 5 minutes of driving and we finally reached the main entrance to the Petroglyph Reserve. An outdoor cafe, a policeman, who also checked out tickets, and a paved path through the Reserve – everything was done to facilitate my pleasant time here – all I needed to do was to keep my eyes wide open. It is impossible to get lost, but very possible to miss the petroglyphs. Please allow 1-2 hours there and watch out for snakes.

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Along the path, I’ve discovered at least 30-40 petroglyphs and a few caves, some of which were marked and some weren’t. I have to admit that every rock carving came to me as it was I who discovered it, that is just how excited I was to located them on the flat surfaces of the huge boulders. Some of them were very obvious and easily stood out on the yellow background of the stone, but many weren’t, so I had to twist my head left and right, up and down all the time. Well, at no moment was I disappointed!

As I pointed out earlier, it is not everything to find a rock carving, it is also important to “decipher” it in order to understand the people who carved it. Although it is very hard to interpret individual petroglyphs, there is good reason to assume that many of them had a complex spiritual meaning for their creators and played some role in the ritual behavior of prehistoric people. Religions in the modern sense of the word didn’t exist in the Stone Age but there are aspects of petroglyphs that can be interpreted as religious. Just like in contemporary traditional cultures, people of prehistoric societies probably believed that their environment was inhabited by different kinds of spirits. They were not the gods of later religions, nor were they humans. Some of the petroglyphs depict spirits in the shape of animal-like or human-like figures. Evidence indicates that several rocks near the Firuz settlement on Kichikdash Mountains served as place of worship. There is a large concentration of petroglyphs here, especially images of boats. Archeologists have discovered several solar images with remains of fire close to them which suggests it was a place for solar rituals; a hole in the rock nearby could have been used for sacrificed or other ritualistic purposes. Even though many of petroglyphs were found near the settlements, it is still impossible to tell whether all of theses images could be seen or worshipped by everybody or the sacred places and rituals were hidden from a large part of the community. Magic is one of the most ancient forms of religious belief – the possibility of influencing the worlds not directly, but by indirect and supernatural means – particular words, ritualistic behavior, objects and images like petroglyphs that are believed to possess supernatural power. It is possible that hunting magic was particularly “popular” among prehistoric people. Veneration of spirits and the placed they dwell often included sacrifices and other votive rituals. Evidence of these rituals can also be found in Qobustan. It is most likely that prehistoric humans considered the well-being and benevolence of local spirits to be crucial for their own survival. One of the most debated contemporary hypotheses on the meaning of petroglyphs is the so-called “shamanic theory”. According to it, petroglyphs depict the experiences of a shaman during the state of trance. Supporters of this hypothesis point to the similarities in prehistoric images around the world. For ex., spirals like the ones of Kichikdash Mountain can be found in many other petroglyph sites and might represent a place of passage between this and other worlds. Although prehistoric people perceived the whole universe as inhabited by spirits, there were some special places where the presence of the supernatural world could be especially vivid. It seems that Qobustan was and to a certain extent is still considered to be such a place.

I chose three Qobustan petroglyphs to show how they were interpreted by the archeologists and scientists. For example, there are 4 interpretations of a “Boat” petroglyph:

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  1. These are depictions of something like the technological achievements of the group. Since fishing was important for the survival of the inhabitants of Qobustan, knowledge of making boats was very important and was celebrate in the petroglyphs.
  2. Boats are often appear in ancient myths as a vehicle for transporting the dead to the afterworld.
  3. It is possible that these images represent some important ritual in the life of the prehistoric people of Qobustan. There may not be boats for everyday use, suggested by the symbol of the sun at one end of the boat.
  4. The symbol of the sun also suggests as interpretation of the petroglyph having had a mythological and cosmological meaning. The everyday trip to the sun from the East to the West is represented by various cultures in many different ways, including as a journey in a boat.

Or 6 interpretations of “Aurochs” petroglyph:

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  1. Images of aurochs have been discovered in caves where prehistoric people actually lived, so it is possible that these petroglyphs were not meant for worship but rather represented the world prehistoric people were engaged with and the animals they were most familiar with and hunted.
  2. Prehistoric people didn’t make petroglyphs of all animals they encountered, they concentrated on some particular animals they considered significant for some reason. It is possible they represented their totem. A totem isn’t something people worship, it is rather an animal or plant that the particular group of people identify themselves with. Usually, this totem is considered an ancestor in some sense. Therefor, it is possible people who lived in Qobustan considered themselves people of the auroch.
  3. Aurochs or ancient oxen are often depicted together with female figures in the petroglyphs of Qobustan. It is possible that aurochs were associated with fertility, and their representation served some magic role in ensuring the fertility and well-being of the group.
  4. Some scientists have suggested the possibility of images of animals having a magical function, in the sense that they were meant to foster the fertility and well-being of the animals that were important for the survival of the particular group of people. These petroglyphs were an attempt to ensure that the numbers of animals in the area wouldn’t decrease.
  5. Many archeologists have considered images of animals to be part of hunting magic. Ancient hunters began their hunting expeditions with a ritual in front of the images of animals they were looking for. Some of the petroglyphs in Qobustan have little cuts in the rock which could have been created during such a ritual.
  6. In Ancient religions the ox is associated with the sun and the supreme deity of the sky. In seems there was a cult of the ox in ancient Turkey, India, Egypt and Greece. It is possible the Stone Age petroglyphs of the oxen are evidence of the early development of mythological and religious beliefs about the ox.

And 4 interpretations for “hunters”:

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  1. The petroglyphs literally depicts their creators – ancient hunters. It is possible such images could have been created to commemorate important events in the life of the group, and the deeds of its leaders.
  2. These images could depict the venerated ancestors of the group.
  3. Maybe these are not images of humans at all, but rather spirits; for example, spirits looking after well-being of animals.
  4. Contemporary scientists think than many of the petroglyphs were related to the myths and legends of the group and interpretation of these images is problematic simply because we don’t know the stories there images are based on.

Comparing all the Qobustani petroglyphs with similar ancient designs in Norway let controversial ethnologist Thur Heyerdahl to suggest that Scandinavians might have originated in what is now Azerbaijan. Interesting, huh? Anyway, even if you have no particular interest in ancient doodles, Qobustan’s eerie landscape displaying the fantastic scene of destruction, the huge blocks of stones and rocks chaotically pressed against each other, the hilltop views toward distant oil-wells and the prison of maximum security (at the bottom of the hill) are still fascinating. By the exit, there are a few muslim grave-stones sitting on top of the pavement, however, due to lack of information, I don’t know who they belonged to and why they were there.

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Some 10 km south of Qobustan, the Caspian coast is home to nearly 400 “baby” mud volcanoes, (Palçıq vulkanları, Грязевой вулкан) more than half the total throughout the world. Mud volcano (or mud dome) refers to formations created by geo-exuded mud or slurries, water and gases. They may range in size from merely 1-2m high and 1-2 m wide, to 700m high and 10 km wide. However, mud volcanoes aren’t true volcanos as they don’t produce lava. The mud produced by these volcanoes is most typically formed when hot water, which has been heated deep below the earth’s surface, begins to mix and blend with subterranean mineral deposits, thus creating the mud slurry exudate. This material is then forced upwards through a geological fault or fissure due to local subterranean pressure imbalances, that is why mud volcanoes are highly associated with subduction zones. The temperature of any given active mud volcano generally remains fairly steady in a range from near 100 °C to occasionally 2 °C, some being used as popular “mud baths.”

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In Azerbaijan, eruptions are driven from a deep mud reservoir which is connected to the surface even during dormant periods, when seeping water shows a deep origin. On the average, every twenty years or so, a mud volcano may explode with great force, shooting flames hundreds of meters into the sky, and depositing tonnes of mud on the surrounding area. In 2001, one mud volcano 15 km from Baku made world headlines when it started ejecting flames 15 m high. Historians and scientists connect the appearance of the Zoroastrian religion in Azerbaijan almost 2,000 years ago with these geological phenomena.

I consider any volcano to be a bit scary, but to see this geologically flatulent little conical mounds to gurgle, ooze, spit, bubble, and sometimes erupt with thick, cold, grey mud was pretty eerie.

While driving through Gobustan, I noticed black muddy pools everywhere as if it recently rained however, the rest of the desert remained dry. I asked my guide/hotel owner what it was and he told me that it was oil seeping from the ground. I honestly didn’t believe him because I thought it was already outrageous to have so much oil and gas underground and offshore, but it was true. He stopped the car so I can inspect a few “pools” myself. Petroleum seep is a place where natural liquid or gaseous hydrocarbons escape to the earth’s atmosphere and surface, normally under low pressure or flow. They generally occur above either terrestrial or offshore petroleum accumulation structures. Petroleum seeps are quite common in many areas of the world, and have been known to mankind since paleolithic times. In the 9th century, oil fields near Baku were already exploited and its existence was chronicled by the Arab geographer Abu al-Hasan ‘Alī al-Mas’ūdī in the 10th century, and by Marco Polo in the 13th century, who described the output of those wells as hundreds of shiploads. My guide told me that even during his grandparents’ time, people used to come and collect bitumen, pitch, asphalt and tar from the seeps into the buckets with bare hands. Well, I simply took a picture of it.

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On the way back to Baku we passed the locals’ favorite Shikhov Beach (Şıxov çimərliyi, пляж Шиховa). It has been a traditional resort area for Bakuvians, though the polluted water and the view of large oil rigs both in the surrounding land area and offshore make it look very surreal. You have to be really brave to take a dip there. Then, we passed the Baku Shipyard, before stopping at Bibi-Heybat Mosque (Bibiheybət məscidi, Мечеть Биби-Эйбат), which was for centuries the region’s holiest mosque. The Bibi-Heybat Mosque built in the end of the 13th century over the tomb of Ukeyma Khanum – the daughter of the seventh Shiite Imam – Musa al-Kazim, who fled to Baku from persecution of caliphs, and today it is the spiritual center for the Muslims of the region and one of the major monuments of Islamic architecture in Azerbaijan. Famous French writer, Alexandre Dumas, who visited the mosque in the 1840s, in his book “Tales of the Caucasus” wrote: “The mosque of Fatima – a place of worship for infertile women, they come here on foot, worship, and within a year gain the ability to give birth.” The mosque was blown up in 1934 as result of the Soviet anti-religious campaign, however in 1994, after Azerbaijan gained independence, the Bibi-Heybat Mosque was re-constructed in the original plan and at the same place where it used to stand. In 2005 it was enlarged, new halls were added to insure the convenience of pilgrims.

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The modern restored mosque is a classic example of the Shirvan architectural school. It has three domes, which have kept the traditional corrugated galvanised iron shape of the old mosque and two minarets. The domes are decorated with the green and turquoise mirrors, which are bordered with gilded inscriptions from Quran. The men’s praying room is located on the south side of the complex, while women – on the north side with mausoleum separating the rooms. Since I consider mosques to be the esthetically perfect architectural structures, I didn’t want to miss a chance to see its interior, so I removed my shoes, covered my head and went in. It was cool and peaceful inside, with half-dozen women quietly praying next to the tomb or in the corners of the room. Beautiful green-gold walls, decorated with calligraphic inscriptions looked all too new. Before leaving, a lady approached me in the mosque’s hall and gave me a handful of candies. I am not sure what it meant but it felt as sort of a blessing.

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The Mosque’s square is a perfect place to explore the sea shore with its busy Caspian shipyard and oil wells, known as the James Bond Oil Field after it appeared in the opening scene of the movie “The World is not Enough”. The area has been considerably tidied up since then but there are still plenty of nodding-donkey oil pumps at work.

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Unfortunately, the nearly perfect day-trip to Qobustan was offset by hours- long heated argument between me and my guide in regard to our different views of world politics, Muslim-Christian relationships and especially Nagorno-Karabakh and Armenians. You can’t win the argument with a man who thinks that he was made of special dough superior to women. Uh, Azeri men!

Absheron Peninsula (Abşeron yarımadası, Апшеронский полуостров), from Persian “place of salty water”, confounds easy definition. Former agricultural land is blanched by salt lakes, sodden with oil runoff and poisoned by pesticide abuse. Platoons of rusty oil derricks fill horizons with metallic carcasses, and everywhere you look, new gated compounds for ultra-rich are filling up the remaining areas of former sheep pasture. Still, despite all, Absheron peninsula remains Baku’s seaside playground and is still known for its flowers, horticulture, mulberries and figs. Several historic castle towers peep between the dachas (Russian for “country home”), fires that inspired Zoroastrian and Hindu pilgrims still burn, and beneath the cultural surface lie some of Azerbaijan’s oddest folk beliefs. It is a perversely fascinating place to spend a day or two.

On my last day in Baku I decided to visit a few sites on Absheron peninsula and more importantly, get into the waters of Caspian sea, as it was a part of my “Baku-Batumi” plan. After some research, I reached out to Yelchin from Gobustan Private Tours and I wish I have hired him earlier for the trip to Qobustan, as he was accommodating, friendly, humorous and very knowledgable. He also gave me by far the most compelling offer – 55 manat ($52). Yelchin frankly told me that due to lack of time we can’t visit all the places in Absheron. In addition, some of the local villages, like Nardaran, were very traditional, where even my long summer dress would be considered inappropriate; and natural-gas flames of Yanar Dag, mentioned by Marco Polo in the 13th century, according to Yalchin, were not worth visiting at all as they weren’t as impressive as they sounded. After all, I had just one day so we settled on Ateshgah Fire Temple, Qala and a visit to the beach.

Ateshgah Fire Temple (Atəşgah, Атешгях), located 26 km from Baku, is a unique part caravanserai, part fire-temple sacred to Zoroastrians and Hindus for centuries. The Persian toponym ateshgah literally means “home of fire”, referring to the fact that the site is situated atop a now-exhausted natural gas field, which once caused natural fires to spontaneously burn there as the gas emerged from seven natural surface vents. Until now, there is no consensus among the scientists and historians about the date and origin of the first temple. Fire is considered sacred in both Indo-Iranian branches of Hinduism and Zoroastrianism and there has been debate on whether the Ateshgah was originally a Hindu structure or a Zoroastrian one. Some say that Zoroastrians, who regarded the fire as holy attribute, built their temple at this place approximately in the 3rd century A.D. The inscription by high priest Kartir found at “Ka’ba ye Zartosht” in Iran asserts the spread of Zoroastrianism over the whole territory of Caucasian Albania (modern Azerbaijan) and resettlement of tribes of Persian-Zoroastrians here, for the reasons of strengthening of the new religion. In the 4th-5th centuries, when some Albanians became Christians, both Zoroastrianism and Christianity were simultaneously practiced. It all changed with the arrival of Islam when Zoroastrians who had not taken a new religion, were persecuted and had to leave the country. People gradually stopped visiting Zoroastrian temples which began to decline but the saddest fate fell on mobeds, the priest – keepers of the holy fire, who were obliged to protect and defend the fires by every possible mean, including the use of weapons. As Islam was conquering the country, many mobeds were killed while trying to shield the fires, and this was considered to be one of the main factors of the rapid decline of Zoroastrianism in Azerbaijan.

However, Sanskrit or Punjabi inscriptions found in Ateshgah, the bustling Indian community of Baku in the late Middle Ages, as well as conclusions by some world-renown academics make us believe that it was a Hindu temple whose Brahmins (priests) used to worship fire. Or, Ateshgah Fire Temple could be both. The temple’s current incarnation was built in the 17th century by Indian Shiva devotees around the time of the fall of the Shirvanshah dynasty and annexation by the Russian Empire. In the early 19th century the temple acquired not only its final appearance that has remained unchanged since but also a world-wide fame, when various famous writers, travelers, scientists and painters came to see the unique fire phenomenon of Ateshgah. French author Alexandre Dumas was one of them and he dutifully recorded his experience in one of his books. The religious community of the Ateshgah was struggling, as the trade with India had gone in decline and the temple lost its most important patrons. In 1886, the Ateshgah ceased to function as a temple but continued attract visitors – for ex., in 1888 it was visited by the family of Russian Tsar Alexander III. It was not all gone when in 1964, the Temple was taken under the protection by the state and given the status of a historical and architectural monument.

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We parked our car, got the tickets (2 manat – $1.9) and went in. Ateshgah Fire Temple didn’t look a moment older than the 2009-built walls of Icheri Sheher, but according to my guide, it was as authentic as you could get. The temple is surrounded by a dented wall with an intake portal leading to the pentagonal courtyard. Part caravansearai, it had 26 wall-cells which served as the accommodations for arriving pilgrims and merchants, but now it hosts the museum of the temple, displaying everything from the origins of Hinduism and Zoroastrianism to the oil boom that depleted the underground gas that for centuries fed the temple’s eternal flames. In some rooms, a number of mannequins depicts extreme ascetic practices of the temple’s devotees, such as lying on hot coals and carrying unbearably heavy chains. However, the temple’s centerpiece is the flaming stone altar with four stone side flues spitting “dragon breath” (which is now provided via main gas line from Baku).

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At the Ateshgah Fire Temple, I also met a wonderful group of six Oxford dons who travel twice a year to different places around the world. One of them, a professor of Muslim architecture at Oxford, allowed me to join their group and listen to his fascinating story of Zoroastrianism and other, similar fire temples he visited in Iran.

It took us 20 minutes to get from the Ateshgah temple to the center of historic little Qala village (İkinci Qala), that since 2008 has been dominated by an impressive Ethnographic Museum Complex, a brand new box of Qala Antiques Museum and recently restored medieval-style stone Fortress. Allow 2-3 hours, entrance is 6 manat ($5.7) for all three sites. This open-air historical and ethnographic park, founded at an archaeological site located in the same-name village, is dedicated to the history of the Absheron Peninsula. Here, you can see how the Azeris lived, what they ate and drank and how they managed a household over the period from the 16th-19th centuries. The territory of 1.2 ha hosts portable tents made of animal skins, subsequently replaced by stone and beaten cob works with cupolas, an ancient blacksmith shop, market, pottery, bakery, threshing mill and other interesting medieval buildings. Most of the monuments and exhibits were acquired in different corners of the Absheron. The scientists have found the evidence of the first settlements on the site of Gala village dating to at least 5,000 years ago. Rare exhibits of antiquity as well as cave paintings of primitive people with pictures of hunting and ritual sacrifice, also found their place in the museum exposition. Altogether there are 216 monuments in the territory of Qala Village; among them are 5 mosques, 3 baths, 4 ovdans (water reservoirs), dwelling houses, agricultural premises, burials, tombs, tumuli, fortress ruins, etc.

The foundations for the Medieval Dwelling houses evidently demonstrate the centuries-old town-planning traditions existing in the village. From structural standpoint, these fundaments are rectilinear and rectangular constructions. In the rooms, there are niches, in the living-room – a hearth (kursu), in the kitchen– a clay oven for baking bread (tandir); there is also a bathroom (suakhan). Each room had its own exit to the yard.

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The systematic scientific study of the Eastern Absheron’s monuments started in the 1960s and resulted in the discovery of petroglyphs dating back to the Bronze and Iron Age. They reflect the ideology and world-view of ancient people, describe scenes of hunting, human sacrifice, sacred marriage, etc., while central place of some petroglyphs is occupied by the female deity depicted in detail. The paintings of dog, lion and other wild animals are similar to the traditions of the ancient art of the Near and Middle East. Among these petroglyphs are many geometric symbols and diamond-shaped signs.

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One of the most attractive parts of the Museum Complex is the archaeological gallery, which contains examples of the household ceramics dating back to the 3rd-2nd millennia B.C., antiquity and the Middle Ages. Among other exhibits are a stone idol, grain threshers, woman’s ornaments (a copper bracelet, copper earrings, glass and clay beads), coins of the Azerbaijan khanates and fragments of books.

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Discovered at the primitive nomadic campsite of Agdashduzu not far from Shuvelan Village, the dolmen dating back to the 3rd millennium B.C. is one of the constructions proving that building stone was the most widespread material on the Absheron since ancient times. In addition, there are the ancient stone quarries located in different parts of the Absheron.

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Due to the climatic conditions of the Absheron as well as to the local traditions, the medieval dwelling houses in Qala Village were enclosed by high stone walls. However, the timber imported from the Transcaucasus and Russia in late 19th – early 20th century resulted in the formation of new architectural compositions – two-story dwelling houses. The first story of the so-called Merchant’s House dates back to 1810, while the second – to the end of the 19th century. There is a stone reservoir in the small yard. The first story was used for everyday needs of a family while rooms of the second floor – for guests and as a bedroom. In these rooms, there are a hearth (kursu), niches (takhcha) and shelves (lyama). Located in a yard, the detached kitchen had a tandir (a clay oven for baking bread) and a hearth for cooking.

aaIn Azerbaijan, the temporary dwellings of the nomadic tribes engaged in stockbreeding had different shapes. Ethnographic researches reveal that the Azerbaijan nomads preferred a tent-shaped dwellings that were mostly placed in pastures and were easily assembled and disassembled. They had either an oblong or a round form; straw, reed, animal skins and any wood were used as a building material.

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The architectural style of the Absheron ancient settlements features a round shape of buildings. One of those constructions is the ancient settlement of Zira. The settlement reinforced on the north side by big stone slabs has a hearth in its centre. There are small detached constructions located outside, near the walls. The inner side of the walls is traditionally covered with topical petroglyphs depicting various scenes of religious rituals of the Absheron ancient inhabitants. Additionally, there are depictions of people, animals and different geometric symbols. The eastern side of one of the walls bears a depiction of a deer and a man with a staff in his hands. It is believed that a deer with branched horns symbolizes the sun and a figure of a man with a staff in the religious pantheon – one of the gods. The settlement dates back to the late 3rd – early 2nd millennia B.C.

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The territory of Azerbaijan has an abundance of copper deposits and a part of the museum demonstrates all kinds of copper utensils, which, besides being practical and useful, exhibit high level of artistic skill. Here, one can see artifacts dating back more than 300 years.

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The tumulus located between Govsani and Tyurkan Villages was explored in 2005. Before being cleared, the mound, surrounded by stones, was 15 m in diameter and 1 m in height. Presently, it is a 9-m-diameter circle of stones with a chamber in its center. An anthropomorphous 245cm-high stele dating back to the early Bronze Age (3rd-2nd millennia BC) is one of the most interesting finds with no analogues in the world. On the stele, there is petroglyph of an upper part of a human body, decorated with perforations, and a small oblong hollow, made in the belly area. Among other artifacts found in the tumulus are human bone fragments and small-sized pale red crockery.

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Numerous burials differ from each other in a geographic location, building materials, social status, ethnic origin and religious beliefs of the deceased. The gorgeous and exquisite ornaments of stone art were revealed both in civil and sacred architecture where the Absheron tombstones are notable for their original forms, imitating stone sarcophaguses decorated with geometric and floral ornaments stylistically similar to the architectural décor of the Shirvan architectural school.

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The Absheron ancient settlements date back to the 3rd millennium B.C. It can be confirmed by the tumuli discovered during the archaeological excavations, the remains of hearths and burials. One of the dwelling types – Khaki-khana (“clay room”) is such a monument dating back to 2000-1000 B.C. Visually, it resembles a tent whose lower part is located below ground level while the upper one slightly towering above the ground consists of a mix of clay and straw.

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The blacksmith’s work was one of the most popular crafts in many regions of Azerbaijan, including Baku and its production was subdivided into agricultural tools, household utensils and tools for using in other crafts. Traditionally, 3-4 men worked in the blacksmith’s shop: a master, journeyman or journeymen-in-training. Their products were sold in the town and country markets. Among the blacksmith’s shops, those specialized in making horse-shoes were widely spread; located along roadsides, they were engaged in horseshoeing and minor repairs.

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The Ethnographic Museum Complex also contains a replica of Market place, Tumulus in Dubendi, grain threshing floor, menhir (stone idols), the two-domed classical one-story dwelling houses and plenty of pottery. But besides viewing the exhibits, you can also participate and interact with them – by weaving a carpet or feeding a camel.

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The three glassy floors of the Antiques Museum, which opened in 2011, contain various decorative and applied art objects from the private collection of Shahid Habibullayev, “an engineer, restorer and philanthropist” (according to the museum description). Only 800 items from his collection are presented at the museum. The 1st and 2nd floors display various collectables created by the Azerbaijani people, while items gathered in various regions of the country but produced in USA, Germany, Austria, Russia, France, England, Belgium, Iran, Uzbekistan, Poland, Turkey are exhibited on the 3rd floor. Yelchin told me to go inside and check out the samovars, as indeed, the museum collection has over 150 different samovars of all forms, shapes and styles, manufactured between the 18th and 20th centuries.

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The last place to visit was a small Fortress with a tower. Its well-restored halls contain a small exhibit of petroglyphs, pottery and household objects. Simple mihrab points that perhaps the fortress also served as a mosque however, lack of any information, allows me only guess. Spiral staircase took me all the way to the top of the tower and I was blown away, not by the views of a small sleeping, modern Qala village, but by the mighty winds blowing from all directions. As my visit to Absheron was coming to an end, I truly understood the meaning of “the land of fires” and “a city of winds”.

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Despite the strong winds, Yelchin lived up to his promise to stop by the beach for a swim. We drove to a long stretch of sand near Bilgah town, where a few adventurous locals fearlessly fought the huge waves. I shortly followed suit.

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The very next morning, the hotel owner drove me to Baku’s bus terminal where he negotiated with a taxi driver a ride for me to Sheki. It was 35 manat ($33) for 4,5 hours drive and I was the only passenger. A word of warning, if you are taking a taxi, try to come to the station with a local, as the moment we stepped out of the car, we got surrounded by a few dozen of drivers and some of them looked pretty shady. I was very thankful to my hotel owner for negotiating with the drivers for me. The driver got me to Sheki in under 4 hours, this is just how fast he drove, luckily, the road was good. On the way, we passed the old Shirvanshah’s capital of Shamakhy, town of Ismayilli, and a few dry riverbeds. Meadows and hills slowly replaced the monotonous landscape of the desert, I could tell that we were approaching the Greater Caucasus mountains.

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History of Sheki. Snoozing amid green pillows of beautifully forested mountains 675 m above sea level, Sheki (also spelled Shaki, Şəki, Шеки) is Azerbaijan’s loveliest town, dappled with tiled-roof old houses and topped off with a glittering little khan’s palace. Rich in Islamic architecture, Silk Road history, good food, and friendly people, it is an example of a small Caucasian town at its finest. Historic Sheki was originally higher up the valley around the site now occupied by Kiş, where traces of large-scale settlements date back to more than 2700 years ago. The Sakas (which gave Sheki its name) were an Iranian people that wandered from the north side of the Black Sea and settled in Asia Minor in the 7th century B.C. They occupied a good deal of the fertile lands in South Caucasus in an area called Sakasena, part of which was the city of Sheki.

Sheki was one of the biggest cities and an important political and economic centers of the Albanian states in the 1st century. The main temple of the ancient Albanians was located there as well. However, as a result of the Arab invasion, Sheki was annexed to the third emirate. Before the Mongol invasion, the city was ruled by the Kingdom of Georgia, the Atabegs of Azerbaijan and the Khwarazmian Empire. After the collapse of the Mongolian yoke in the first half of the 14th century, for over 100 years, Sheki was able to rule independently, before being annexed to the Safavid Empire in 1551. Sheki Khanate was established in 1743, during the reign of a powerful khan of Sheki, Haji Chelebi, and it was one of the strongest feudal states among the Caucasian khanates. During existence of Shaki khanate, the local population of the city was engaged in silkworm breeding, craft and trade. Khan built a second fortress as Nukha as well as a famous Khansarai. As a result of a flood in the river Kiş in 1772, the city of Sheki was partially ruined and the population was resettled in Nukha, which became a new capital. Sheki’s independence did not last long, it was absorbed into Russian Empire in the early 19th century, however it continued to flourish as a silk-weaving town and was a trading junction between caravan routes to Baku, Tbilisi and Derbent (Dagestan) with five working caravanserais at its peak. In 1960s Nukha was renamed Sheki. Due to the town’s rather tumultuous political history, the majority of city’s preserved historic and architectural monuments date from only the 16th to 19th centuries, however, they are definitely worth exploring.

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Well, I spent only 24 hours in Sheki but I chose the right place to stay – Sheki Caravanserai Hotel. Staying there is justification enough to visit Sheki. It is one of the two remaining Silk Road caravanserais that still exist in town, but the only one that is functioning as a hotel. You shouldn’t consider it if you can’t live without European comfort and American amenities, but it was definitely one of the most exciting places I’ve ever stayed. Beautifully restored and maintained, it is a tourist’s attraction on its own. Swift development of trade in the Middle Ages enhanced importance of guest-houses existing in the territory of Azerbaijan at that time and favored construction of new ones. Generally caravanserai were built in form of castles with one gate, closing of which made them impregnable. “Caravanserai historical complex” in Sheki consists of two magnificent caravanserais, built in the 18th century and traditionally named “Yukari” (“Upper) and “Ashagi” (“Lower”) caravanserai.

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The hotel since 1988, Yukari caravanserai has a rectangular (55m by 85m) shape with a large inner yard and a pool. It has 242 rooms and its total area is 8000m² with four entries leading to the courtyard from the corners of the buildings. Earlier there were merchant stores and storage rooms in the coaching inn, the upper floor was intended for guests. Each room had a manhole, connected to the ground floor with a stepladder, and it was very comfortable for merchants who wanted to control the safety of their products, stored underneath their accommodations. Small, and certainly not luxurious rooms have wonderful brickwork ceilings and for a day or two, they would take you back in time, making a wealthy merchant out of you. There is a garden, a tea house and a restaurant of Azeri cuisine at the hotel – plenty to do while you wait for your internet to start working. Just down the road is the larger trapezium-shaped Ashagi caravanserai which is now under renovation.

I arrived to Sheki at 11 am and after lunch and a thorough tour around the Caravanserai, I went out to explore the Haji Chelebi Nukha Fortress, that was just 5-7 minutes walk up the hill. The Nukha Fortress, built by Haji Chelebi Khan in the middle of the 18th century, is located on the southern foothills of the Caucasus and in the highest part of modern Sheki town. The fortress walls are 1,200 m long and over 2 m thick. Protected by numerous bastions, you can enter the fortress via two main gates – from the north and south. At the height of the khanate, the fortress contained a gated palatial complex and public and commercial structures of the city, while the residential quarter was situated outside its walls. It was restored extensively between 1958 and 1963. For many years Nukha fortress safeguarded approaches to the city, and bravery of its defenders is immortalized in many historical books. Even Leo Tolstoy selected Nukha fortress as a place of events for his well-known Hadji Murat novel. Presently, the sturdy stone perimeter wall of the Fortress encloses an 18th century khan palace, tourist office, craft workshops, several museums and a decent cafe-restaurant, all set in patches of sheep-mown grass.

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I first visited the tourist office located in one of the 3 storied warehouse-like buildings on the right. It is hard to find, so look out for the signs. There, I had a very pleasant conversation (in Russian) with an employee who provided me with a very detailed map of the city and a few recommendations. I skipped the Historical-Regional Ethnography Museum and approached an unusual looking cylindrical Russian church. It was built in late 19th century, on the site of a 6th century Caucasian Albanian church, which explains its unorthodox shape. Now, it hosts a Museum of Falk and Applied Arts but the building itself was more interesting to me than what was inside of it. I walked around the church, noticing a few grave stones with Georgian inscriptions, but mostly enjoying the views and a cool mid-summer air of the mountains.

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Further up the road, about 5 mins walk, there is Khan Sarai (Şəki xan sarayı, Дворец шекинских ханов) – the Palace of Sheki’s Khans. Admission – 2 manat ($1.9), wait in the courtyard of the palace till your name is called, visits are guided and only in Azeri language; no pictures allowed inside. This small but vividly colored palace is Sheki’s foremost site and one of the South Caucasus’s most iconic buildings. When completed in 1762 (alternate date – 1797), it was used as the khan’s administrative building (or as a summer residency), just one of around 40 royal structures within the fortress, though none of the other survived. It is set in a walled rose garden behind two huge plane trees supposedly planted in 1530.

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The Khan sarai features decorative tiles, fountains and several stained-glass –  shabaka – windows. The delicate facade combines silvered stalactite vaulting with strong geometric patterns in dark blue, turquoise and ochre tiles and the murals, colored with tempera and inspired by the works of Nizami Ganjavi. Note the lower floor panels with stylized images of once-sacred birds – peacocks, adorning the “tree of life”. Measuring 32 m by 8,5 m on the exterior, the Sarai is a two-story masonry structure covered with a wooden hipped roof with long eaves. The layout of both floors is identical; three rectangular rooms are placed in a row, separated by narrow, south-facing iwans that provide access to the rooms. The floors are accessed separately to accommodate their public and private functions. Entered from the south through the two iwans, the ground floor was used primarily by clerks and petitioners. Two stairways attached to the northern façade gave access to the top floor, which was reserved for the khan’s family and their guests.

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The interior walls of the Khan Sarai are covered entirely with frescoes painted at different times during the 18th century. Remaining surfaces are decorated with floral tile panels and tile mosaics. It is believed that by using the rich interior decorations the architect was able to create the illusion of high spaces in relatively modestly – sized rooms. Most designs are floral but in the central upper chamber you’ll find heroic scenes of Haji Chelebi’s 1743 battle with Persian emperor Nader Shah complete with requisite swords, guns and severed heads.

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*google images

After visiting the Khan Sarai, I wanted to learn more about the art of shabaka (Şəbəkə) made without any glue or nails, so I visited the Şəbəkə workshop. An apprentice came out to show me some of the examples of şəbəkə doors, windows and even table-tops. He explained to me how by slotting together hundreds of hand-carved wooden pieces, it is possible to create intricate wooden frames without metal fastening. Apparently, besides me and a few sleepy cats, no one else was interested in this laborious skill.

Well, it took me about 2 hours to see everything in Nukha Fortress, so I was ready to leave when I saw an old man carrying a stuffed wolf. The man was old and drunk, and the animal has also seen its best times perhaps a few decades ago. I stopped to have a chat with a man, but immediately a huge noisy crowd of Azeri tourists surrounded us, so I just handed a few manat to him hoping he would spend it on something worthy. He quietly thanked me in Russian. Azerbaijan’s oil has yet to reach the virgin corners of its land.

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I returned to the hotel where friendly stuff explained to me what marshrutka I had to take for Teze Bazar located in the western part of the city. After a short tea break, I took a walk along Axundov pr, which was all prepped with halva and Azeri pottery shops. The stores closest to the Caravanserai and the Fortress were nicer and represented an eclectic mix of expensive Longines and Tossot boutiques and tourist-trinket merchant holes.

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At one of the bus stops along the way, I boarded marshrutka #11 that took me to the Teze bazar. Looking at the modern Sheki through bus window, I realized that it looked just like any town of post Soviet republic – the same gray blocks of dilapidating high-rise buildings. Even though all I wanted to buy was saffron, I still took a walk around the bazar, checking out the stalls with fruits, vegetables, dry fruits (called “suhofrukty”), spices and asian sweets. I walked into a blacksmith’s shop and had a friendly conversation with the only blacksmith I’ve ever met in my life. I checked out a few carpet shops, but mostly enjoyed the ambience and nice little chats with vendors. For the very first time in my life, local people were very enthusiastic about my hometown – Minsk. It actually applies to both Azerbaijanis and Georgians in general because everywhere I went and mentioned that I was from Minsk, Belarus, no one felt indifferent about it. The older people either served in the Soviet army in BSSR or were engaged to Belarusian girls at some time in the past, and they always spoke Russian to me. The younger Azeris, spoke English, but didn’t regard me as an expansionist Russian, knowing that I came for a small but peaceful country with no oil. Young and old, all of them were blessed with a wonderful gift of Caucasian hospitality and generously shared it with me.

After I returned to the hotel, a manager helped me to arrange a taxi ride to Tbilisi (4-5 hours ride + time at the border) for 95 manat ($90). I was leaving early next morning, but I wished I could stay in Sheki for a few more days and hike one of its wonderful mountain trails, so famous in Azerbaijan. The night in Caravanserai was mystical, as my second-floor window was on the same level as a road, so I could hear all voices and noises that seemed to belong to the days of Khans and caravans.

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My driver and I left Sheki at 7 in the morning the next day. The drive was easy and picturesque as we passed mountain rivers, beautiful Caucasian terrain and old churches perched on top of the hills. After town of Balakan we stopped for breakfast. I went to a small shop but couldn’t find there anything but chips and soda, so I asked the owner if he had something more breakfast appropriate. He invited me to his garden (on the private side of the house), where his wife served me a whole Azeri feast with freshly baked tendir chorek, home-made cheese, fried eggs and a pot of perfect freshly-brewed sweet Azeri tea. I knew that the driver and I were in a rush to cross the border with Georgia, but I couldn’t be rude and leave right after finishing my food, so I stayed for about an hour. When I finally got up to leave and asked the owner about how much I owed him, he simply but with great pride replied: “You are my guest from Belarus, may your route to Georgia be safe. Please come again.” I might visit many countries and encounter many kind people but nowhere in the world will I be greeted with such generosity and warmth as in the Caucasus.

At the Azerbaijani border, according to their procedure –  I got out of the car, took my luggage and walked with it through the customs, meanwhile my driver took the car to a vehicle lane. Luckily, there were only a few people ahead of me so after my passport was stamped, I was free to go. Driver and I agreed to meet at the beginning of the bride separating Azerbaijan and Georgia, and the moment I stepped on the bridge, my driver pulled in too. The Georgian rules didn’t require from passengers to leave the car and walk, so the custom officer came over, inspected our car and the carpet that I bought in Sheki, asked if I acquired any gold or jewelry in Azerbaijan (which I thought was odd) and waved us in. Goodbye Azerbaijan and welcome to Georgia!

I would like to end my blog with a paragraph from Kurbain Said novel “Ali and Nino”. “We were a very mixed lot, we forty schoolboys who were having a Geography lesson one hot afternoon in the Imperial Russian Humanistic High School of Baku, Transcaucasia: thirty Mohammedans, four Armenians, two Poles, three Sectarians, and one Russian.

So far we had not given much thought to the extraordinary geographical position of our town, but now Professor Sanin was telling us in his flat and uninspired way:”The natural borders of Europe consist in the north of the North Polar Sea, in the west of the Atlantic Ocean, and in the south of the Mediterranean. The eastern border of Europe goes through the Russian Empire, along the Ural mountains, through the Caspian Sea, and through Transcaucasia. Some scholars look on the area south of the Caucasian mountains as belonging to Asia, while others, in view of Transcaucasia’s cultural evolution, believe that this country should be considered part of Europe. It can therefore be said, my children, that it is partly your responsibility as to whether our town should belong to progressive Europe or to reactionary Asia.””

Pictures of Azerbaijan.

Pictures of Sheki.

 

 

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