Pillars

How did we get to the Benedictine Cloister in Monreale at noon? It turned out to be the best time of the day, but it happened by chance and geography. We had breakfast at about 8 and got out before 9. We walked through the center of Palermo to the Royal Palace complex to get a bus. We fended off offers of taxi rides for a few hundred Euros and found a booth where we could buy tickets for the bus. We waited. We took the bus to Monreale, climbed up a stiff incline, rested briefly at a cafe on the square, found that the Cathedral was too crowded, and walked over to the Cloister. It was almost exactly noon.

The thing everyone tells you about the cloister is the quad surrounded by walkways where each slender column is different from the other. Incorporating the Arabic design elements which are an integral part of Norman architecture in Sicily, the hundred and four arches, supported by elegant columns, are either carved or inlaid with gorgeous Cosmati. In one corner is a wonderful fountain, Islamic in design but very much a product of Sicily, where modern nymphs gyrated as they took selfies. They don’t notice mere mortals, who have to wait until they are gone.

The perfectly vertical light made it easy for me to take photos. All I had to do was to adjust the exposure, and the warm stone and architects of the mid-12th century CE took care of the rest. Monreale was founded by William II in an attempt to undercut the influence of the bishop of Palermo. In 1176 when a hundred monks took up residence in the cloister, Byzantine and Turkish forces were engaged in their centuries long wars, Saladin had won over Syria and was ending his battles with the Hashishi (Assassin) sect, Mohammad of Ghor had completed his conquest of Iran and Khurasan, and in Kamakura and Nara the master Unkei was completing his masterpieces. The political intrigue of Monreale was therefore completely of its time.

I used my phone to take a few photos. It’s resident brain inspected the light entering from the silly little lens at its back, and computed a result which it thought would please me. Not a bad effort, I thought, but I don’t like the tremendous HDR effect it computes, and the colour it gave to the sky. But I don’t seem to convince even this little AI that I would like the sky is not to be so green and the grass not so yellow. But, as you can see, the cloister is a low building except for the one tower over the entrance, where the entrance to the current diocesan museum is located.

Thousand Buddhas

Was it worth it after all? You bet it was. A three hour drive from Lanzhou (because the road was being repaired) to the grottos near the Yellow River to the Temple of the Bright Spirit (Bingling Si) is definitely worth it. The sculptures were made over one and a half thousand years, from the time of the Northern Wei dynasty in the 4th century CE to the Qing dynasty which ended in the early 20th century. It is amazing to think that the road through which Buddhism travelled to China brought with it not only the texts, but the iconography of Buddhism.

There were some really impressive works. The one in the featured photo has figures which were chiselled away at some time, but what remains is magnificent. The 23 meter high statue of the Maitreya Bodhisattva (panel on the left above) is impressive, and not only because of its size. I spotted a small marble statue of the Sakyamuni (panel on the right above) which had a look of serenity that stopped me in my tracks.

I missed my Blue Guide, which would have told me more about the periods the various statues and paintings came from. I do think I will visit Gansu again, and stop here. And the next time I will remember to bring along a detailed guide book to the caves. But even without that historical context, and without my good camera to examine the details through, I was thoroughly absorbed.

Black-rumped magpie + Birds of the Week CXLIII

When I first saw what would today be called a Black-rumped magpie (Pica bottanensis), it was still known as a subspecies of Eurasian magpies. But even in that first photo of mine (above) the black rump was quite visible. The classification of magpies has gone through upheavals in recent decades, which have not yet settled down. There are said to be many intergrades and crosses, so the species boundaries are hard to draw.

According to the current understanding, Black-rumped magpies can be seen in arc around the southern and eastern part of the Tibetan highlands, from Nepal east and north to Lanzhou. This year I saw them in Bhutan in spring, and again in Lanzhou in autumn. I have yet to learn how to conclusively tell the difference between these and Oriental magpies, so expect a post some time in future.

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Birds of the Week CXLII

Santa Maria dell’Ammiraglio: Monday Mosaic

Martorana is what the Palermitans call the church of St. Mary, built in 1143 CE by the Sicilian admiral George of Antioch. Only a small part of it contains the old mosaics. The apse and its frescoes were destroyed in 1683 and frescos were made in its place, and bays were added to the west. Between them is the old church. Its dome has a mosaic of Christ Pantocrator surrounded by angels. In the photo above the figures of the angels are highly distorted because the dome is hemispherical.

Two beautiful mosaics on an arch near it caught my eye. Both depict Mary, to whom the church is dedicated. One is a scene of the adoration, another shows Mary with the infant Jesus in the manger. I found it interesting to see the horse and cow nudging at the newborn while the mother looks on unconcerned. There were lovely portraits of various saints in the surrounding mosaics, and beautiful flowers and vines climbing up the sides of external windows on one side.

As you enter this section of the church there are two mosaic panels. The one on the northern wall shows Mary with a tortoise at her feet. It has the face of a man. This is the face of George of Antioch, the only part of him left intact after an attempted restoration. On the southern wall is a portrait of Roger I being symbolically crowned by none other than Christ. Both portraits were made during their life.

One detail which I looked for but couldn’t find in the darkness of the interior is a remarkable frieze which contains a Byzantine hymn to the Virgin written in the Arabic script. If you see it please let me know.

The Sicilian

Mario Puzo’s other book is not what I had in mind when I started putting together this post. But the blood soaked board, the price on its head, all seemed rather suggestive. But the Sicilian speciality I’m talking about here is swordfish, called spada locally. I had it eventually, but not in the three days we spent in Catania, where I took a first tour of a Sicilian fish market. The price was a little higher than what other fish cost, but not by too much. Rather than a handwritten note, fish mongers prefer to advertise their catch by placing its head on display. I can think of little that is a more spectacular advertisement than this.

If you want to draw a parallel to Mario Puzo’s book, do not look at the fish market. Pay attention instead to the rapid depletion of this migratory species of the Mediterranean. Traditionally this fish was hunted from a boat called a Feluca. This had a tall mast from which the fish was spotted, and a long boom on which a harpooner stood to spear the fish with a trident. The crisis started when these boats were replaced with driftnets. They are now banned, but draglines are used instead, and most of the catch is of fish which are too young to have spawned. Knowing all this, we ate swordfish only thrice in the two weeks that we spent on the island. The least we can do is not to eat a dying species of fish too often.

Icarus

I came upon Icarus on a day of wispy clouds. The sun flashed through gaps to light up the sky. I stood in the shadow of the headless winged man.

Bronze statue of Icarus in Ortigia: Ikarus Grande by Igor Mitoraj

October ends

A long and hectic month draws to an end. I still have a flight to go, and a long drive after that before I reach home. But my favourite airports are those which, like Hong Kong, give you a nice restful place to wind down before you enter the twilight zone of life inside an aluminium tube. I have my favourite pub in this terminal, and my favourite table happened to be available. I could have my beer, call home, and then just stretch out to take in the sight of the hills that surround the airport. The scene before me had a spot of warmth and a spread of bleak evening light. A perfect capture of the atmosphere of this little restaurant.

The oldest church in Western Europe

Germanus was a Christian bishop in Syracuse in the early 4th century CE when his religion wasn’t yet accepted by the emperor of Rome. About fifty years before it did, he is said to have asked his followers to build a church in the island of Ortigia in Syracuse. When it began to be used in 326 CE, the situation must have been, well, complicated. By many accounts this is the oldest extant church in Western Europe. We followed a maze of lanes to find the Church of San Pietro Apostolo in the middle of the island. It had been used as a venue for music concerts for a while, but apparently it is back to being used as a church.

In a building so ancient, it was not hard to find the remnants of many ages. The barrel vaulted ceiling over the space which is currently used as an Orthodox place of worship could well have been one of the oldest features of this church. The marble arch over a doorway was likely to be Aragonese, and therefore from much later. Before that would have come the carved capital we saw at some place, a Norman remnant. Elsewhere bits of polychrome murals were visible; clearly Byzantine. I looked at the material used in the construction. Some of the columns and walls were rubble filled. At other places I could see well dressed stone. Elsewhere there were Roman bricks, or less well cut stone.

The space was quiet. The two of us were the only tourists for a while. Then, as we got up to look around, another small group of tourists came by. From outside the building looks rectangular. The cruciform layout had to be imagined through the arches which divided the space into three aisles. What would have been the main door was now shut, and entry was from the side.

As we left we took a photo of the young men who look after the church. They were enthusiastic about their job.

At the Yellow River in Frost Descent

China recognizes twenty four seasons. At the beginning of Frost Descent (shuāng jiàng 霜降) I wended my way to the banks of the Yellow River, near the Zhongshan Bridge in Lanzhou. The Yellow River is narrow here; hardly recognizable as a river which was once called The Sorrow of China. There is a storied bridge, completed in 1909 CE by a German company to the design of an American firm, to replace a pontoon bridge which had stood at the spot since the 14th century. It was called the First Bridge until its renaming in 1928.

In warmer seasons this would be a lovely place, but even now it was a good place to hang out in. People were stretched out in comfortable chairs by the river bank holding mugs of Three fort tea (sānpàotái 三泡台). This is a local speciality which I got to like: made with green tea, dried chrysanthemum flowers, chunks of crystal sugar, Chinese red dates, dried apricots, raisins, Goji berries, and whole Longan with its skin on. If you wanted action you could walk up and down the promenade, or buy some peanuts and feed the pigeons. Or you could try to take group photos with friends. But, no matter what you do, there will be tourists waiting in ambush. Ambush photography, taking photos of unsuspecting photographers and their subjects, is a great way to start a conversation. In this town language fortunately was not a large barrier.

I met up with the people I was supposed to have dinner with. They had reserved a private room in a restaurant (that’s a common thing in China) overlooking the bridge. When the sky was dark the lights came on in the bridge. Party boats cruised up and down the river; I’d last seen such boats on the Pearl river in Guangzhou. It was a pleasant evening at the very beginning of winter in this northern town in China.

Himalayan swiftlet + Birds of the Week Invitation CXLII

Himalayan swiftlets (Aerodramus brevirostris) are the highest living swifts that I’ve seen. The photo you see here was taken at an altitude of about 5000 meters above sea level. It was one of my worst times at that height; we’d made an early morning dash, gaining 3000 meters of altitude in four hours. I was starved for oxygen, and took photos of things which I promptly forgot about. This photo of a large flock of the swiftlets perched on wires was one of them. I met them again later, but these are my only photos of the species. They must have been roosting in caves nearby.

Later, when I’d encountered them again, I found that swiftlets of this genus navigate within their caves by echolocation. They fly in and out of caves without making a sound, but inside they emit clicks to find their way: two double clicks, a wait, and then two double clicks again. The wait time decreases as they navigate into deeper shadows.

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This is an invitation to share your post about birds, their photos, or their behaviour. If you post about birds this week (starting today and up to next Monday), you could leave a link in the comments, or a pingback, for others to follow. You don’t have to have a recent photo, nor do you have to post a photo of the same bird as mine. Do use the tag “Bird of the Week” to help others find your post, and remember to visit other people’s posts. For more information see the main landing page for this invitation.

Birds of the Week CXLI