Communion Of Dreams


Scotland 2018: 2) Edinburgh lows.

Being a photo-heavy travelog of our 2018 trip to Scotland.

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Friday, May 4.

After breakfast in the hotel (at which I confirmed that I didn’t care for black pudding), we caught a taxi back to the train station. Much like the two-hour ride from Manchester to York, it was a pleasant way to see the countryside.

Except for the boyos.

Yeah, there was a group of young 20-ish guys going to Edinburgh for some kind of sporting event/party, in their own little world of drink and unlikely anecdotes accompanied by a boombox and various videos they kept sharing on their phones. It was mostly amusing, until they had enough to drink to start singing along with the music, without benefit of much skill.

We relocated to the other end of the car for the rest of the trip. It was a good decision, even though the conductor came through to check tickets and told the guys to knock it off.

We got to Waverley Station, then hiked the mile or so north to our B&B. Met our host, dropped off our bags, and then decided to go for a bit of a walk. He had recommended one of the sites we had on Martha’s Marvelous Map: The Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh, which was just a quarter-mile or so away. It was great!

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Mr Blackbird’s successful photobomb.

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20180504_160801We finished at the Garden with a bite in the cafe, then went out to stroll along the Water of Leith, down toward Dean Village. It was a completely charming walk, and a good way to see a quiet part of the city. Here’s a bit of it.

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We ended the day with dinner at The Bailie Bar, just around the corner (and down a bit) from our B&B. Since it was a Friday night, it was noisy, crowded, and a little nuts, but the hostess found us a table and took care of us. The food & drink was excellent and the whole thing was enjoyable … for a while, at least. We left before my tolerance for crowds left me.

 

Saturday, May 5.

After breakfast, we got our bags ready to travel, but then went out to explore Dean Village a bit, we enjoyed the walk along the Water of Leith so much the day before. I enjoy finding these quiet parts of old cities:

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We got back to the B&B in time to meet our scheduled ride out to the airport, where we picked up our rental car. From there we drove west on the M9 to Falkirk.

Falkirk? Why Falkirk? The Wikipedia entry about the little town seems … kinda boring, to be honest.

Which is why we didn’t go to the town. No, we went to the Falkirk Wheel, just outside of it. This place:

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Yeah, I know, it looks weird. Like a couple of giant talons, or a birds head or something. But it does something revolutionary, and I have been intrigued by it since I first heard about the proposed project a couple of decades ago: it lifts boats (specifically, narrow-boats, for the UK canal system) some 24 meters (about 80 feet) from one canal system to another. Woo-hoo!

Yeah, OK, I have a thing for big weird engineering projects.

Speaking of which, there’s another such big weird engineering project there above the Falkirk Wheel, albeit one almost a couple thousand years older: a section of the Antonine Wall, and Rough Castle, both part of the Roman fortifications of the north. Well, even though we only had a vague idea of where the Wall/Fort were, and how far, we decided to take a hike and see what we could see.

It was a good decision:

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Trust me, this is impressive.

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And so is this.

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Even the sign says it’s impressive. Really!

But we browsed and walked around long enough, so decided to get back to the car and drive to Stirling, where our B&B awaited. We got there with little trouble, found the B&B, and settled in a bit. Then we decided to walk into town and get a bite to eat. Since our B&B was just below the castle, we got to see some great sights along the way:

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The “King’s Knot

We had a nice dinner, tried some of the local ales and scotches, and then walked back to the B&B for a good night’s rest.

 

Jim Downey

 

 

 

 



Excerpt.

It’s been a few months. Have another taste, from the chapter of St Cybi’s Well that I am currently writing (meaning that this is very much just a rough draft, subject to change or deletion). Links added for your amusement.

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“Here’s your fish,” said the girl as she placed the basket down in front of him. “Will ya be needin’ anything else, then?”

Darnell looked down at the golden planks of Haddock and the pile of chips. Then back to the girl. “I think that’ll do it. Thanks.”

She nodded, turned and went back through the small chippy, which was still mostly empty, it being before the usual lunchtime. Her amber hair bobbed as she walked, and that jogged a memory in him. The memory of a dream he had had the night before. He had stayed at a little inn not far from the River Severn in Gloucester, and had eaten in the small pub there. While he sipped his ale, waiting for his dinner, he had read about the history of the inn, and the legend of the river’s name. That legend had evidently fueled his dream.

It was a strange dream. A real dream, during real sleep, but with … echoes … of the ‘dream’ he had experienced earlier in the day at Stonehenge.

He was standing on a high hill, looking down at what must have been the Severn, watching the bore surge coming up the estuary. Just behind him was a great temple, classical in design and almost new, but empty save for himself and the old man. The air still held the fragrance of burnt herbs and offerings, banners and ribbons still fluttered from standards marking some kind of ritual path down the hill.

And there, on the bank of the estuary below, was a wide wooden platform, covered in a bright and colorful canopy. It had a score or more of people on it from what he could see, and they were looking down on something on a smaller, lower platform just above the level of the river. The tidal wave swept up the estuary, two meters or more high, and swept over the low platform as the people watched. As it did, there was the distant sound of horns and the deep thrumming of drums.

“That’s it. She’s gone,” said Eleazer, standing next to him, watching the scene below.

“She?”

Habren. The river has claimed her, and henceforth will carry her name as well as her spirit.”

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Jim Downey



The Fort.

An excerpt I thought I would share. I had been planning on the current chapter being titled “Maen-Du Well”, but have decided instead on going with “Y Gaer”, which is just the Welsh name for “The Fort” — this fort, actually. The following happens there in the ruins:

A path led around past the buildings, then into a fair-sized rectangular terrace, the remnants of the Roman walls still clear and exposed in places. And the western and southern gate foundations were still surprisingly intact, from what he could see even at a distance of a hundred meters or so. He decided to cross the grounds of the old fort, go directly to the south gate.

As he approached the south boundary, he saw a man sitting on the gatehouse foundation, looking across the river. An old man, his aged leather rucksack on the wall ruins next to him. Eleazar didn’t look back, didn’t say anything as Darnell entered the small fenced-in area which protected the ruins from grazing sheep. He just looked out across the valley, until Darnell sat down beside him on the sun-warmed stone. “I thought I might find you here.”

Eleazar smiled. He pointed down the slope. “It was a good posting. The old road used to run just there, between us and the river.”

“You make it sound as though you were actually here,” said Darnell.

Eleazar shrugged. “For a while. It was good to get back to Britannia, and my passage was with a cavalry unit, part of which wound up here.”

Darnell studied the man. For a while, Eleazar just continued to look out over the small river valley. Then he turned, and considered Darnell in return. “You’re looking for miracles. Are you so surprised to see evidence of one?”

 

Jim Downey



Before and after.

Remember these?

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Well, yesterday afternoon I got around to prepping about half of them to dry:

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Overnight I dried the peppers.

* * * * * * *

An interesting take on incorporating an additional dimension into photography:

Photographer and historian Marc Hermann has done a beautiful job pulling historic crime scene photos from the New York Daily News archive to blend them with photographs of the same locations today. For those who live in New York now, it may be easy to forget just how rough the city was in the not-too-distant past.

Grisly violence is an undeniable part of New York’s DNA and the juxtaposition of the old, black and white images with the modern “Times Square” version of what most people expect today is incredibly fascinating – truly making ghosts walk amongst us.

* * * * * * *

Remember this?

What has also been my plan, but which I hadn’t quite been able to sort out how to accomplish, was that in St. Cybi’s Well much of the story will revolve around *how* this character came to have those dream-visions in the first place. This is further complicated by the fact that I don’t necessarily want the character to realize the full import of what he experiences within the context of the story – the reader should be able to draw out conclusions which the character wouldn’t, especially if the reader had already read Communion of Dreams.

OK, got all that? So, here’s what I experienced at Baia Castle: the revelation that the classical sculptures of Greek and Roman mythology could themselves be the conduit for the dream-visions. I got this by walking through the collection – not just walking through it, but by seeing the juxtaposition of different sculptures within the somewhat under-lit and under-stated layout of the museum.

See, like in most of the museums we had visited, the climate control there was non-existent. And whether in order to keep down temps a bit, or just to save money on electricity, the only lighting throughout the space was from windows along one side of the building. And the layout of the building was a series of almost cave-like ‘bunkers’ – rooms which were kinda long & narrow with a relatively low ceiling, and done up in neutral grey tones.

It was perfect. And in a moment my mind made the leap to imagery for St. Cybi’s Well. Because, like many of the different ‘holy wells’ in Wales, it dates back to the middle of the 6th century – not that long after the fall of Rome. And, in fact, the spread of Christianity to the Celtic lands was part of the cultural transference which took place. It’d be easy to tweak the history just a bit to include ‘lost’ sculpture & myth.

I felt in that moment the same way I feel now: like laughing maniacally.

And an appropriate (and somewhat telling) image from that same blog post:

Prometheus. Not Ridly Scott's version. The original.

Prometheus. Not Ridly Scott’s version. The original.

* * * * * * *

A passage from an excellent essay on the roots of Enlightenment thought about justice.

Rarely in the history of thought do I have a chance to say the outcome was so simply good, but it worked.  Within their lifetimes, Voltaire and Beccaria saw real reform, a sincere and solid transformation of the legal codes of most of Europe, the spread of deterrence-based justicial thought.  Within decades, judicial torture virtually vanished from European law.  The laws of America, and of the other new constitutions drafted in the latter 18th century, all show the touch of Beccaria’s call.  It worked.  The change was not absolute, of course.  Torture, the primary target, retreated, as did the notions of retributive justice, avenging dignity, and purging sin.  But prisons were still squalid, punishments severe, and other things Beccaria had campaigned against remained, capital punishment primary among them.  But even here there was what Beccaria would call progress.  The guillotine lives in infamy, but it too was a consequence of this call for enlightened justice: a quick, egalitarian execution, death with the least possible suffering, and equal for all, giving no advantage to the noble, who had long been able to hire an expert and humane headsman while the poor man suffered the clumsy hackings of an amateur who might take many blows to sever a writhing neck.  Most states judged death still necessary, but agreed that law and punishment should bind all men equally, and that unnecessary pain did not serve the public good.  It is strange to call the guillotine a happy ending, but it was in a small way, and even more victorious was the dialog it that birthed it.

* * * * * * *

Overnight I dried the peppers. Here they are this morning:

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Why, yes, all of these things are connected.   😉

Jim Downey



Reflecting (on) reality.

Any work of literature is, to some extent, part of the society in which it was written, and needs to be understood within that context. Whether you’re talking The Bonfire of the Vanities or On the Beach or Life on the Mississippi  or just about any novel you care to name, it is, to some extent, a reflection on the culture surrounding it.

Writers react to the events around them. Even science fiction authors like yours truly. We really can’t avoid it.

I mentioned events in Boston the other day.  Just a blog post. But it is some measure of what has gotten my attention. So it would be safe to assume that to some degree it will show up in St. Cybi’s Well. And it will. But perhaps not exactly as you might think.

Almost five years ago I wrote this:

This is nothing more or less than the peace of the gun. This is the abrogation of civil liberties as a solution for incompetent governance. Of course people like it – let things get bad enough that they fear for their lives more than they value their liberties, and you can get people to do almost anything.

Now, I don’t think that what happened in Boston was anything like what led to that blog post about HELENA-WEST HELENA, Ark. in August of 2008. In that instance, it was chronic problems with crime rather than a couple of domestic terrorists which brought about de facto martial law.

And I think that the police agencies involved in determining who was responsible for the attacks, and then seeking the suspects in a major metropolitan area did a very professional job. Just compare it to another recent dragnet and you’ll see what I mean.

But I keep coming back to that earlier blog post. Why? Because seeing a major city shut down, and then para-military operations going house to house searching for a suspect, gives me pause. I certainly can’t fault the police for taking precautions intended to protect their own lives and the lives of citizens. SWAT equipment and tactics have been shown to be very effective.

Yet …

… I feel somewhat like the owner of a couple of highly trained and massive guard dogs, who has just watched those dogs chase off/control a threat. There’s a satisfaction in watching them do the task so well. But there’s also a nagging fear that maybe, just maybe, things could be bad if they ever decided that they no longer wanted to obey commands.

Nah – no need to worry. That has never happened before.

 

Jim Downey

 

 

 



Quintessence.

“V”, it is said, is for “victory.”

It’s also for Vendetta.

No, it’s not for that dreadful miniseries. Or the TV series. Gah. Why did you have to remind me of that???

It’s also for “5“. As in Babylon. As in the number of days remaining in my Kickstarter.

And as in elements. I think this Fifth Element bit says it best:

Yes, some things *are* worth saving.

Jim Downey



In a Jungian frame of mind.*

Today is October 8th.

October used to be the 8th month. That it is now the 10th month played havoc with my mind when I was a kid, since I knew damned good and well that “octo” meant “eight”. It wasn’t logical. It didn’t make sense. This may well have been my first conscious awareness that reality was kinda screwed-up. Seriously.

It is also, as it happens, day 8 in our little count-down. No, I didn’t plan it that way.

At least not consciously.

So, that brings us to this:

Have a good Monday.

 

Jim Downey

*Just in case. And yeah, Jung’s ideas run all through my fiction. Obviously.

 



Italy, 2012: Rome Alone.

We left the villa early on Monday morning, since it was a drive of some hours back to Rome and we needed to get there about noon to allow some members of the group to make travel connections.

There had been rain overnight. When we left, this was the view of the sea from the villa:

 

 

Taking the inland interstate-style highway, we got to see part of the country we hadn’t before.

 

 

And I discovered that the rest stops in Italy are much like rest stops anywhere, complete with baffling toys…

 

No idea . . .

…and various products to help you stay awake:

Actually, I bought some of the “pocket espresso” things – and they weren’t bad. About an ounce of high-density caffeine with a lot of chocolate, in liquid form like an extra-small juice box.

* * * * * * *

We got to Rome, dropped off several people at the main train station. Most of the rest of us were back in the hotel we had stayed in the first few days of the program. We got checked in, dropped off bags and then made plans for the afternoon.

Most of the remaining group were leaving the next morning, just a few staying on to Wednesday. The bulk of the group made plans for dinner together that evening. But Steve & Amy needed to get a number of things done to wrap up the trip (and plan for the next one), so they were inclined to not join in on another big dinner.

In all honesty, I think they were also tired of being “in charge” and just wanted a little down-time. I know that when I have been in such a role for a week or two, I feel wiped out, and no offense to the people in the group but I am usually ready for a break.

So we spent the afternoon hitting a couple of different sights, mostly giving Steve and Amy time to do something of a post-mortem on the workshop – discussing what worked, what didn’t go so smoothly, how to perhaps change the schedule. I mostly kept my mouth shut, though occasionally I was able to offer some perspective as a tag-along. We had coffee & conversation on the Piazza Navona, then eventually Amy went off to take care of some errands and Steve and I went to see the Carravagio paintings (The Calling of St Matthew, The Inspiration of Saint Matthew, The Martyrdom of Saint Matthew) at the nearby San Luigi dei Francesi. Naturally, I had seen reproductions of these pieces, but seeing them actually in the space they were intended for was breath-taking.

Following this, we wandered back to the hotel room. We both wanted a chance to rest and shower before getting back together with Amy for drinks and dinner that evening.

Dinner that night was worth mentioning: a place which specializes in dishes with porcini mushrooms. We ate heartily, washed the food down with some local artisanal beer. According to Amy & Steve, such beer is a relatively new thing in Rome – but it was quite good, though it was odd to have it served in what was basically a champagne bottle.

* * * * * * *

The next morning we mostly went our separate ways. Steve & Amy needed to check out a couple different museums for the next program. I was tired of “Roman Stuff” and opted to do a bit of exploring on my own.

Starting with a completely delightful exhibit I had noted on previous wanderings: Leonardo da Vinci’s “Big Machines”. I had seen that there was a traveling version of this show which made it to the US, but I hadn’t had a chance to see it for myself. Here are a few images of the fun items in the exhibit:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

OK, this *was* shown to be a fake entry – but it’s still fun to see it produced in da Vinci’s style.

This was mostly geared towards kids, but it was still fun to see actual mock-ups of a number of da Vinci’s drawings. And one thing which was completely new to me was the octagonal closet which was completely lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrors. You stepped into this closet, closed the door, and were able to see an infinite regression of images – like being in a room with two facing mirrors. Except that in this case, because of the placement of all 8 mirrors, you were able to see yourself from every angle – and it is a very odd thing to see your own back full size, in real time. What’s most impressive about this is, of course, that during da Vinci’s time it was impossible to make mirrors of sufficient size or quality to demonstrate this effect – he had done it all through basic knowledge of optics, applied as a thought-experiment. Very cool.

* * * * * * *

I got some lunch from a street vendor, then decided to go see this:

 

 


Yeah, the Trevi fountain. I’d promised a friend I would toss a coin in for her, and fulfilled that promise.

Two things I want to note about seeing the Trevi fountain: one, it was crazy with crowds. Seriously, just a block away there were few tourists. But in the square with the fountain it was packed. Nuts. Worst crowds I had seen anywhere in Rome.

And two, I had gotten to know my way around Rome well enough that it was pretty easy for me to dead-reckon with minimal reference to a street map. This got me to and from the Trevi fountain with minimal problems. This made me inordinately happy.

* * * * * * *

I made my way back to where the hotel was, stopping by once again to just stand inside the Pantheon. It was the sort of place I could probably visit a hundred times.

Along the way back to the hotel, I noted this interior courtyard:

 

 

No idea what that was. But it was cool.

* * * * * * *

After dropping off my bag at the hotel, I popped over to the Campo de’ Fiori – the little market square I mentioned previously. I got a beer and some snacks, sat down to write some notes and just observe what was going on in the square.

And what was going on was the take-down of the market stalls and subsequent clean-up:

 

 

 


One thing in particular I want to point out:

 

That’s one of those little motor-cycle carts as seen in “Roman Holiday”. I was a bit surprised to see that they’re still very much in use in Rome, since that movie is even older than I am. But quite a number of the different merchants had them, and they seem quite practical for such use given the narrow winding streets in the heart of the city.

* * * * * * *
Dinner that evening was again just the three of us: myself, Steve, Amy. We ate at a place not far off the Campo, which is to say not that far from the hotel. This was by design, since we had to be up early to catch a private van to the airport.

Which we did the next morning, leaving about 6:30. My flight was later than the other’s, but it made the most sense for me to just get to the airport a bit early.

Of course, as it turned out, things all ran late at the Rome airport for me, and I could have gone over much later in the day. And the delays meant missed connections and the usual travel-foo. But I got in to St. Louis eventually, and in time to catch the shuttle home.

Yes indeed, “I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.”  I almost don’t believe it, myself.

Jim Downey



Italy, 2012: The ghosts nearby.

“Finally we stood in a level, narrow valley (a valley that had been created by the terrific march of some old time irruption) and on either hand towered the two steep peaks of Vesuvius. The one we had to climb – the one that contains the active volcano – seemed about eight hundred or one thousand feet high, and looked almost too straight-up-and-down for any man to climb, and certainly no mule could climb it with a man on his back. Four of these native pirates will carry you to the top in a sedan chair, if you wish it, but suppose they were to slip and let you fall, – is it likely that you would ever stop rolling? Not this side of eternity, perhaps. We left the mules, sharpened our finger-nails, and began the ascent I have been writing about so long, at twenty minutes to six in the morning. The path led straight up a rugged sweep of loose chunks of pumice-stone, and for about every two steps forward we took, we slid back one. It was so excessively steep that we had to stop, every fifty or sixty steps, and rest a moment. To see our comrades, we had to look very nearly straight up at those above us, and very nearly straight down at those below. We stood on the summit at last – it had taken an hour and fifteen minutes to make the trip.”

Mark Twain, Chapter 30 of The Innocents Abroad.

 

* * * * * * *

 

Yeah, it isn’t quite that bad climbing Mount Vesuvius today. There’s now a very good path which switchbacks a couple of times, then winds around the mountain a fair amount, making for a longer walk but one which is still fairly steep, climbing the final 200 meters of elevation from the parking lot. Take a look:

 

 

 

 

Then once you’re to the top, you can walk about a third of the way around the lip of the crater. On one side, you look down into the crater, on the other out over the volcanic plains to the Bay of Naples:

 

 

 

 

Looking towards Naples.

 

There’s a dark patch of green surrounded by buildings directly above the corner post: that’s Pompeii.

 

 

At the top – at the very end of the public trail – there’s a little hut selling refreshments and souvenirs. And the prices are more reasonable than you might expect. But I decided that I didn’t really need either an ashtray or a skull carved out of black pumice.

Standing there on what’s left of Vesuvius, looking out over the plains below, I felt a bit melancholy. It could have just been the exertion to climb to the top. Or that I knew the trip was coming to a close. But looking out over the misty cities, it was easy to picture another eruption. There are millions of people within potential reach of the volcano. Naples – a city of some 4 million – is conceivably at risk. In the immediate area around the volcano some 600,000 people are subject to possible pyroclastic flows. Current scientific models indicate that there would probably be two to three weeks of warning before a serious eruption, but no one is entirely confident of that. And at best, it would take 5 -7 days to evacuate those most at risk.

 

* * * * * * *

 

We came down off the mountain, but in some sense didn’t leave it. It lurked there on the skyline as we went to Herculaneum.

I said that visiting Pompeii was “sobering,” but the primary thing that going there did for me was to help me envision what a Roman city was like.

Herculaneum was different. It was even more immediate – more “real.” That’s because of the way the city was destroyed.

When Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, Herculaneum was mostly out of the immediate ash cloud. In Pompeii, the city was largely buried by ash and small rock debris to a depth of several meters in the first few hours. This caused roofs to collapse, and entombed people in ash after they suffocated or died from blunt trauma.

Not so in Herculaneum. They only got a few inches of ash initially. This meant that they had a lot more time for the city to be evacuated. But when the blow came to Herculaneum, it came very swiftly – in the form of a pyroclastic flow of molten rock and debris moving at 100 mph and at a temperature of over 900 degrees Fahrenheit.

Those who were in the city died almost instantaneously, their flesh vaporized in the heat. All that was left was bone.

Likewise, structures were encased in the molten mass, and it happened so quickly that wood didn’t burn – it was carbonized, turned to charcoal, sealed in super-heated rock. Roofs didn’t collapse, as the structures were filled inside as well as covered over on the outside. Eventually, the entire city was covered to a depth of more than 20 meters. The result was a city which was even better preserved than Pompeii. Better preserved, and because of that more tangible. You couldn’t help but walk the streets, enter the houses, and feel like you were in a living city, one which had just misplaced its populace. The ghosts were still close here:

Vesuvius waits.

 

The boathouses where the final refugees died.

 

Courtyard of the baths.

 

Temple paintings.

 

Temple paintings.

 

Temple paintings.

 

Carbonized rafters.

 

Street scene.

 

At the wine merchant’s.

 

Wood on the outside of the wine shop.

 

A local snack bar.

 

Another street scene.

 

Wooden screw press, now carbonized and behind glass. This was probably used in the making or cleaning of cloth.

 

City above, city below. (Ercolano – the modern city, and Herculaneum).

 

* * * * * * *

It was our last night at the villa. Usually this is something of a party night for everyone, and for much of the group this was true. But somehow I just wasn’t really in the mood.

Jim Downey
PS: there’s an excellent collection of additional images from this trip, taken by Angie Bohon, another member of the group. They can be seen here, here, and here.



Italy, 2012: Arc of a Diver.

It’s funny the connections that your mind makes.

More on that later.

* * * * * * *

Saturday, July 21, was an all-day outing. This in large part due to the fact that to get to the site we were visiting required a couple hours on the bus.

So we had breakfast, gathered our things, picked up a picnic lunch prepared for us by the villa staff, and headed to Paestum, about 50 miles the other side of Naples. But to get there isn’t simple and involved dealing with a huge amount of “beach traffic.”

I don’t have a great deal to say about Paestum itself. Which is surprising, because I found it to be a pretty damned impressive site. The Wikipedia article linked above covers everything better than I could off the top of my head, and the simple facts of the place are pretty basic: settled by the Greeks sometime around 550 BC, with a strong Oscan influence/component. The Romans took the city over about two hundred years later, and made it their own (mostly by leveling the extant city and starting over – but doing so by covering over the older city, and leaving the three major temples). The city survived until the early Middle Ages, then was lost for about a thousand years.

What’s impressive – striking, even – is that those three temples are so damned BIG. Seriously, you look at something like this:

The Second Temple of Hera.

and it’s hard to get a handle on the scale of the thing. But here’s the same structure with people in front of it:

And it’s the same with the other temples. Which were all built from 550 BC to 450 BC. That’s 2,500 years ago.

Damn.

I also just didn’t know that Paestum existed. I thought I would have to go to Greece to see such temples. That also impressed the hell out of me.

So, without further ado, here are some images to share from the site:

Temple of Athena.

 

Temple of Athena.

 

Second Temple of Hera – side view.

 

Another view of the Second Temple of Hera.

 

Temple of Hera.

 

Temple of Hera – another view.

 

Steve lecturing as we sit on the Roman ruins.

 

The Roman amphitheater.

* * * * * * *

We finished up on the archeological site of Paestum, and then went across the street to the museum. There’s a lot in there to see, but we were primarily there to see an incredible collection of tomb paintings dating back to about 470 BC. These are notable for several reasons, including being some of the earliest renderings depicting gladiatorial games. One painted tomb in particular stands out: the Tomb of the Diver.

Here are a series of images from the collection, starting with my pictures of the Tomb of the Diver paintings:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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After spending a nice long while sweating in the museum (this is Italy, remember, and the place was without any real climate control. Hell, most of the galleries only had one or two working lights on the track lighting systems, with another 20 – 30 bulbs burned out. Given that this included the tomb paintings, which have to be somewhat light-sensitive, I wasn’t too upset.) We were free to do a bit of souvenir shopping, and this was a good place for it. Near the museum/across from the archeological site there were a whole series of shops offering all manner of stuff ranging from the worst kind of kitsch to better kinds of kitsch to some actually halfway decent items. I completed some small purchases, then went off in quest of a beer.

Several other members of the group had the same idea. And before long we had a nice chat & drink session going across the parking lot from where the bus was to pick us up.

There was a lot of snoozing on the way back to the villa.

Jim Downey

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Addendum: So, odd connections.

When I first saw the images of the Tomb of the Diver, it rattled something deep in my memory. It took me a while, but in poking around online after I got back, I sorted out what it was. This:

Now, Winwood’s Arc of a Diver came out in 1980. The album cover was the work of Tony Wright.

Did Wright see the main image from Tomb of the Diver, and so draw inspiration from it? No idea. But the discovery was made in 1968, and so it is certainly possible. And while the album cover is clearly in a different style, there are some similarities I find curious. Note the stylized human form. The depiction of the plant limbs. The general orientation of the diver.

It’d be fun to ask Wright, see if he remembers.