feldmanlarry

Margaret is really good at putting the brakes on bad ideas that I sometimes get. My job is to provide the gas pedal when she needs it. I was determined on this trip to at least think of why Margret would tell me not to do something before jumping in. I didn’t do that with the pigeons in Saint Mark’s Square. A Korean student asked me to take her picture so I asked her to do the same for me. I saw people feeding the pigeons out of their hands and thought a picture of me pretending to do the same would be fun. Just then someone gave me 2 biscuits and told me to crumble them up and put them in my hands. Of course, without thinking of what Margaret would say, I soon had pigeons landing on me and eating.

I was worried about tripping on the steep uneven steps to get to the balcony of St. Mark’s Cathedral but the view was worth it.

It really struck me how many people from different countries I meet every day. While having dinner, I sat right next to 2 MBA students in Coventry, England traveling together, one Indian and one Chinese and had a great conversation with them. While standing in line for a concert after dinner, I talked with 2 Danish Women. On one side of me in the theater were two Thai women (one married to an Italian man) and on the other side a Japanese man who lives in Sweden.

The concert was not up to the standards of the other concerts I’ve heard. With classical singers you have to come out and totally rule the world with your charisma and vocal power. The tenor came out and blew the room away. The soprano was a little timid. She hit the notes but didn’t knock us out. When she performed without the tenor, she brought her notes and didn’t act out the opera story. The tenor didn’t need notes and was all over the small stage.

After today, I felt the main attractions of Venice were checked off. I saw the Rialto Bridge, Saint Mark’s Square by day and by night, the beautiful bridges everywhere, the small passageways, the Vaporetto along the Grand Canal, live classical music, people passing by from a cafe, and of course, I rode in a gondola with the gondolier singing. Venice was everything I thought it would be and more.

Today I saw most of the typical tourist sites of Venice. I struggle with whether to post some of these typical scenes or whether to focus on the more unique things I saw and felt. It seems like my unique stuff is more interesting but let me know if you have any thoughts about this.

I was blown away more by the little alleyways than by the canals and bridges. Probably that’s because I had heard a lot about the canals and bridges and had very little idea about the narrow streets (really alleyways) with great names. My maps programs would give me directions to turn left at something like “Calle Gritti o del Campaniel” and maybe it would turn out to be a 5 foot wide hole in the wall. At first, I assumed it was a mistake but it always turned out to be the right turn. It was new for me to have the route taken to be not wide enough to write its name on the ground.

The highlight of the day for me was the opera I heard in the evening. It took place at a palace on the Grand Canal. They sat us in the large entry room. There were maybe 80 seats on one side and the performers were on the other side. There were only 4 musicians and 4 singers so it was not the full opera.

I recorded PBS’s Metropolitan Opera presentation of Rossini’s Barber of Seville years ago and probably watched it 15-20 times. For me to hear this same opera in Venice was a real treat. I knew the pieces and the story and could follow along with the Italian libretto in the booklet, which had the English translation. During the overture, a maid was dusting the room to the time of the music. She came through the audience and actually dusted my bald head!

After the first scene, they had an intermission and treated us to wine or my favorite, prosecco. They then actually moved the audience to a smaller salon for the next part. During this part, Bartolo sat on the lap of the person sitting next to me while singing. I gave him an encouraging pat on the back and while he was still singing he got up and tapped me on the head a couple of times. There must be something about my bald head that attracts people. They moved us to the bedroom for the last part.

(As I’m writing this, I’m listening to the Barber of Seville and the most famous aria is on, called “Largo al Factotum”. If you don’t like this piece you’ll probably never like anything in opera.)

I have to tell a story related to these travels only by my bald head. When I was in Minneapolis in the 1990’s, I saw a sign for Muhammed Ali pictures. It turned out Muhammed Ali just happened to be there on a book tour and instead of signing books, which was difficult for him, they were taking pictures with him that they then mailed to us. While waiting in line, I planned a long speech to say for probably the most famous athlete of all time. When it was my turn, he took one look at my bald head, gave a big smile and rubbed my head. That was the end of it. No time for my speech but what he did was much better than any speech I could have come up with.

Wandering around there were gems all over the place such as this amazing tower that normally you can climb but was under construction.

I ran into a museum that had created models of several of Leonardo da Vinci’s inventions. I sometimes wonder if he time travelled back from today.

In Venice, it’s required to ride a gondola with a singing gondolier. It cost 80 euros ($86) for 30 minutes, which seemed expensive for one person and also a little creepy. A couple the same age as my son were negotiating a cheaper price and they got it down to 60 euros and I asked if they’d like me to come along and pay my share. They were glad to save the money so it only cost me 20 euro. It was definitely worth it.

The problem I’m having talking about Venice is that all the classic things to do are truly worthwhile and amazing so it’s hard to say something new. So here are unapologetic pictures of my gondola ride.

On the way back from the opera, I thought about buying this outfit in the Louis Vutton window for Margaret to have something to lie around the house in. The dress cost 2200 euro ($2378), the footwear was a mere 1350 euro ($1459), and the purse was 2980 euro ($3221) for a total of $7058. Maybe I should get two sets for when one’s in the wash.

A thrill for me is that my apartment was just 3 minutes from where Mozart stayed in 1771 when he was 15 years old. He came for the world famous carnival. I was in my French village when I was 15. I stared dreaming about my 15 year old self time traveling to 1771 Venice and spending the carnival hanging out with Mozart.  He was a wild partier and I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to keep up with him for more than a couple of minutes.

Unfortunately, there was no Mozart for me to hang out with or anyone else for that matter. For some reason, being alone was bothering me a little in Venice, much more so than anywhere else. Something about the magic of Venice.

The line for Notre Dame was very short, because it was a rainy day. When I went a few days ago the line looked like it would be hours. Inside Notre Dame, I remembered going there with Margaret and Keith in 2003 and Keith accidentally knocked over a man who was kneeling in prayer. It was so dark he didn’t see him. Where do you start with apologizing for that?

As I was taking the Metro to the old airport of Paris (Orly), I wondered if it was a mistake to leave France. A big goal of mine for this trip was to improve my French and 11 days in France really has made a difference. In particular the 3 nights in the countryside where no one spoke English helped most. I had tried very hard in Paris not to speak English even if they started speaking English to me. Now in Italy, I would have to go back to English and the few words of Italian I can drum up.

My apartment was beautiful and way too big for just me. It had 2 bedrooms, a dining room, a kitchen and bath. However, it didn’t cost much more than a hotel would have. Airbnb.com is a great way to go.

I met the owner at the Venice opera house (Teatro Fenice) and he gave me a lot of information about Venice and the apartment.

The apartment was a 1-minute walk from the opera. My entrance was the door on the left.

The apartment was at a courtyard where the artists entered the opera house.

A window in my bedroom looked out over a canal where I heard singing from gondolas going by.

Instead of using the nice cooking facilities, I ate out, including going to this outdoor café right outside the opera house each day for coffee, lunch, or an afternoon prosecco.

Sometimes in travelling, things move almost too quickly. It was hard to adjust going from the tranquility of the countryside to the crazy streets of Paris to the canals of Venice.

I was ready to leave the land of my “brother’s” serfdom. He warmed up to me after a while and I think he enjoyed my visit, maybe not as much as I did though. It was back to the windy roads and the stick shift.

In Clermont-Ferrand, I stopped at the house where I stayed for a week in 1966 before going to the countryside. The small house had turned into a large rental by Marc’s family but the backyard was as beautiful as before.

I had a coffee at the train station and got a kick out of the ancient style toilet. Once again, there are some advantages to being a man.

I stayed in a small hotel in Paris just a few steps from the apartment I had rented earlier. The streets of Paris looked nothing like the roads of Solignat or Herment over the last two days.

I rediscovered tonight how much I love the city. It felt good to be in Paris with all its human energy rather than the natural energy of the countryside, much as I loved my time in the bush.

On this day, I was imagining Marc as the seigneur or lord of the region. We had a little surprise at the beginning of the day.. Marc met up with what he called a “stoner” called William. It really tested my French to keep up with him. He was convinced a helicopter followed him one day. His pose below is imitating a satellite dish. He was just walking around this village where Marc lived now of 4 houses. What he was doing here is a good question. He was carrying around a small cart with who knows what, maybe marijuana that he was collecting from nearby plants? He was a very educated stoner. His conversation was filled with Rousseau and Moliere and stuff I couldn’t keep track of.

We had lunch in a restaurant in a nearby village that was mostly all local food (not the kiwi or oranges though). Lots of cured ham and pate. Here’s the creme brûlée and of course the cheese.

A company that makes wood pallets asked to buy the rights to cut down some trees for timber. Here is Marc going through maps with people from the company to make sure they stay on his land.

Another task of a “seigneur” is to check up on his many animal traps.

The wine collection was bigger than the gun collection but not by that much.

He cleaned out the exit grate on one of the ponds he owns.

We talked through some of his lands and adjoining ones, talking to several people along the way.

A “celibitaire” asked us to join him for a bottle of Alsatian white wine and I couldn’t say no. He had an ancient farmhouse and had lived by himself since his mother died. He was a great guy, full of stories and questions about the US political system. I was the first American he had met. A British couple bought a nearby farmhouse and he had met Dutch people before but never an American. Most of the people I talked with while walking around today seemed amazed to find an American in their midst.

Marc and I were paired up in 1966 to be “brothers” and enjoy shared interests together. His interests are fishing, hunting, walking in the woods, and working to maintain his lands. My main interests do not overlap his at all. We are totally different people. But this was a wonderful day. I got a chance to see something that not many Americans get to see — a French seigneur overseeing his lands. I wouldn’t want to trade places with him but I totally respect and appreciate his life. He’s living his dream. Not many people can say that.

My visit in the hinterland of the Auvergne region was definitely a big highlight of the trip. Marc Cubertafont was a very gracious host. He’s a couple of years older than me which must have been a big deal when I was 15 and saw him last. So much had happened in 49 years. Possibly I have more deep memories of my visit in 1966 than he had. I felt bad when I found out that this week he was with his wife, daughter and grand-daughters in Montpellier on the Mediterranean. He had to come back early to meet up with me. Maybe I hadn’t made it clear that I could have come other times but it wasn’t worth revisiting that now. He didn’t complain to me.

A few centuries ago, Marc would have been a nobleman. He owned about 50 plots of land and had been the assistant mayor of the area. His full-time job had been head of the tax collection office in the area until his retirement a couple of years ago. He would have been very much a hands-on nobleman. He rented out lands, sold timber, and oversaw his traps. He loved more than anything else being in the country. Walking in the woods, hunting, and fishing were his favorite pastimes. It’s possible much of his land came from his wife’s family. His wife preferred the city and they had a house in Clermont-Ferrand which she liked going to.

I have several strange small memories of my trip here in 1966. One was that the coffee was served in large bowls. Back then they added milk which was not homogenized and therefore lumpy. Marc served me coffee in the same type of bowl without milk. The milk is normal now.

We drove to Herment, which was my home town during that time. It’s population was closer to 400 then and probably below 300 now. Marc’s mother prepared a fabulous meal for us. There were maybe 6 courses, starting with a beautiful salad, continuing with pate, steak, cauliflower in cheese sauce, a couple of things I forgot, and of course cheese at the end.

We then walked all around Herment, which was a thrill for me. Our first stop was at the “Promenade des Anglais” or English Promenade. I remember asking a friend of Marc’s back in 1966 what people do in Herment and his answer was “On se promene”, meaning people walk around. We played what I thought was called “joue de boules” or bocce ball but Marc corrected me that what we played was called “petanque”. It’s essentially the same game but joue de boules is played in a formal court with very strict rules while petanque is played anywhere you want with looser rules. In 1966, we went with some of his friends to this Promenade and threw a little ball forward. Then the two teams would try to take turns throwing larger balls with the objective of having the ones you threw be closer to the small ball. After throwing all the balls, we would start from where we left off and advance along the Promenade. After a few hours we would have gone through that entire Promenade, maybe more than once.

Marc and I passed the central park where there was a memorial to 16 Jews who were taken from Herment to their deportationin 1942-1943. The sign says at the bottom “Only Ernest Nives came back. Remember this as you pass by.”

Hard to believe it had been 49 years since Marc and I walked around Herment.

This plaque describes a tradition of the village that Marc did when he was 18. Every year, eight 18 year olds proceed in a procession carrying rifles and shoot at several locations and people are supposed to give them money. They do it to honor the patron saint of the village, St. Roch. He knew several of people in this plaque.

I stayed three weeks in this hotel / restaurant that Marc’s grandfather started. Marc’s brother ran it until last year but had to close it down when Herment’s economy like many rural economies were struggling. Now it’s the residence of his brother and his wife and daughter.

Marc, his mother, and me in Herment.

My room in 1966 looked out the back garden and every day I enjoyed looking at a rabbit in a cage. One day the rabbit was gone. When I was eating dinner, I asked them what the meat was and of course it was rabbit. I couldn’t eat and was very sad about the rabbit. I told this story to them today and they found it funny. I could laugh about it now.

Herment’s claim to fame is its church, which goes back to the 13th century. It’s really beautiful and has great acoustics. \

In 1966, my mother was sick of me hanging around Ithaca getting into trouble and signed me up for a visit with a French family. There were 20 of us from New York State, Connecticut, and Massachusetts. We went by boat from New York to Le Havre. As I remember, the boat was only for students. This was probably near the time when airplanes became so much cheaper than boats that no one took boats anymore. The alcoholic drinks were 15 cents each and I partook of them significantly even though I was just 15 years old. My best memory is listening to the song “Black is Black” on British radio at sunrise just as we were able to see Land’s End in England. Here’s the newspaper article about our arrival in Clermont-Ferrand, France. In 1966, I drew an arrow to me, my “brother” Marc Cubertafont, and his father.

On this day in 2015, I was on my way to meet Marc Cubertafont after 49 years. Margaret was worried that this could be a disaster in that I would be imposing on someone who barely knew me so long ago. I started to worry about it too. The train took 3 and a half hours and was much more fun than the train in 1966, which I remember as being a coal train. I was full of dust and probably the smell of alcohol.

Clermont-Ferrand has a population of about 140,000 and is best known for the manufacture of Michelin Tires. There was no need to spend any time there. I was led to believe that the car rental place was right in the train station. No one seemed to know where it was and it turned out to be a 10-15 minute walk, which wasn’t fun with my heavy bag and backpack. I hadn’t driven stick shift in probably 30 years but it’s almost impossible to find an automatic car in France. I’m proud that I did’t stall at all but I did ride the clutch a “tiny bit” at the beginning. I thought I had messed up when the engine went off when I was in neutral but when I returned the car they told me that it was an energy saving feature. Now they tell me! My drive was a little over 1 hour, through heavy traffic in the city, then very windy mountainous roads with many traffic circles. I was told to follow signs for Solignat and when I got there I thought I was lost. I turns out Solignat is a collection of 4 houses of which Marc Cubertafont, my “brother” from 1966 lived in the third one.

One amazing highlight today. I saw this poster for another classical concert and immediately bought a ticket when I saw that not only were they playing Mozart’s Requiem but the stunning piece “Exsultate, Jubilate”.

I spoke of this piece in my blog about India. One point in this piece is very calm but then suddenly breaks out into the soprano singing “Alleluia”. In the blog I compared it to coming to the craziness of India from the calm of South Korea. I’ve always associated this musical moment with an exact spot next to a waterfall just a few steps from where I lived in Ithaca, NY. The water is calm until all of a sudden it breaks into this powerful waterfall.

This concert was a much bigger deal than the previous one. It was at St. Germain-des-Pres church wiis located on the square named for Jean-Paul Sartre and Simon de Beauvoir. The two of them hung out in this area along with many other authors.

I paid extra and begged so that I got third row seats.

My favorite classical music means so much more to me than my favorite rock music. I’d trade all the songs of Paul Simon and all other of my favorite musicians for the Exsultate, Jubilate in that amazing church. I felt the emotions of the soprano going up and down and loud and soft. I was moved to tears for the second time this trip. The other was at the Anne Frank House for very different reasons. I got to shake hands with the soprano. Her charisma stayed with her even when not singing.

I was in the IUP Men’s Choir for a year and realized how hard it is to hit really low notes. The bass didn’t just hit those notes, he owned them and played with them. I also shook his hand afterwards. His charisma was also stunning.

This was the best way possible to end the week in Paris. My ears will be ringing with that concert for the rest of my life.

Just being in Paris is wonderful. When I was a teenager, I was with my parents in Paris and found the book “Tropic of Cancer” by Henry Miller. At that time it was not available in the US since it had been censored. I bought the book in Paris and somehow got it sent home. It may have been one of the few copies in the US. In January of this year, Michael and I went to the Henry Miller library on the coast between LA and San Francisco. Michael bought me a copy of the book as a souvenir. This story came back to me as I walked among the book sellers along the Seine.

This person looked so interesting I asked to take a picture. He/she said it was OK since I asked so politely.

Hearing live classical music in a church in Paris was one goal of mine.

There was a string quartet plus the soloist / director. This is the soloist warming up and trying to decide whether the sound was better if they moved back a little.

They played three of my very favorite pieces: Vivaldi’s “4 Seasons” (the highlight piece), Mozart’s” A Little Night Music”, and Pachelbel’s “Canon”. I got a seat in the very first row and was maybe 4 feet from one of the violinists. Two of the performers looked at me and smiled.

After the concert, I ran into the Pont Neuf where people put their names on locks and attach it to the fence. I called Margaret on FaceTime so she could see me putting our locket on the fence. My goal now is to return to the same spot and find it sometime in the future. I’m not sure if they remove them after a while.

I used Patricia Wells’ “Food Lover’s Guide to Paris” that Francisco recommended to me to find a gourmet restaurant near the Pont Neuf and came up with Les Bouquinistes with a famous chef called Guy Savoy. Instead of ordering an entrée, main dish and desert, I ordered a “Degustation”, which is half orders of 6 dishes. Since French portions are small anyway, it wasn’t way too much food. It cost 113 Euros or about $120 plus a tip, including wine. The server recommended 2 glasses of white wine and 2 glasses of red wine. I cut it down to one of each. For my own sake, I’m going to show each of the 6 dishes so probably you’re going to want to skip this.

The first dish was foie gras made with red wine and spices with apricot grape chutney

The second dish was whiting fish and tartar of oysters, curdled cheese, and garden peas.

The third dish was Ravioli of gambas and lemon zucchinis with a ginger and lemongrass emulsion.

The fourth dish was called “Pollock of line with mushrooms, romanesco cabbages, and razor clams” I think they mean Pollock freshly caught.

The fifth dish was Braised Suckling Pig with mashed potatoes.

Finally, Fresh Strawberry, tea matcha meringue, with strawberry and tea matcha sorbet.

This was worth $125. Every dish was a flavor I had never had before, except the strawberries. I’m used to interesting food having strong spices. Nothing was spicy but everything was filled with flavor.

Paris is beautiful. I took this on my walk back to the apartment.

I have very few memories of a trip to Europe in 1955 before our family went to Sri Lanka but I do remember falling in the pond at Luxembourg Gardens in Paris while using a stick to push little boats around. Of course, I had to return here and pretend to fall in again.

My neighborhood, the Marais, is known for its Jewish culture and even though I had walked around it quite a bit I hadn’t seen this corner with several Jewish restaurants and delis.

Months ago when I planned this I searched for concerts in Paris and discovered that Paul Simon and Sting were playing together in Paris while I was there. I think of Paul Simon’s fans being a little older than Sting’s fans but Paul Simon has had more than one career. I saw Simon and Garfunkel at Ithaca College in probably 1965. In the 1990’s I saw Garfunkel by himself at IUP. Paul Simon wrote the songs, played guitar, and sang. Garfunkel didn’t write any songs or play any instruments but he had the supposedly beautiful voice. I heard Simon once comment about how he felt snubbed when everyone was cheering loudly for Garfunkel and not for him.

One thing both Sting and Paul Simon have in common is their love of world music. I have an album somewhere of South African music, which I used to play over and over again. I loved the African influences and singers on the Graceland album.

Surprisingly, there was no attempt to stop people from taking pictures, videos, using flash photography, etc. It felt funny to be taking videos but everyone else was doing it. I got 30 second clips of several songs Simon sang. I didn’t bother so much with the Sting songs except for the few I recognized. I don’t think I can upload video clips in WordPress unfortunately.

At first I gained a lot of respect for Sting’s poetry and musicality. His voice is very expressive and unique but after a while I found he used the one vocal phrasing he has too much. Of course, Simon doesn’t have a great voice but it’s so distinctive and the songs are so wonderful that it much more than makes up for it.

This was truly an amazing concert. What a treat to see these greats! They seemed to really love each other’s music and sang together for part of the time. Here are some of the songs.

Paul Simon with Sting

These are the days of Miracles and Wonder

Mother and Child Reunion

Mrs. Robinson (with French accent, son)

The Boxer

Cecelia

Bridge Over Troubled Water

When Will I Be Loved

Paul Simon by himself

50 ways

Graceland

Still Crazy

Me and Julio down by the school yard

New York city winters are bleeding me

Louisiana type song

Whisky Train

Diamonds on the Soles of her shoes

You can call me Al

Sting by himself

Roxanne

Message in the Bottle

Sting with Paul Simon

Every Move You Make