DECEMBER 2021. Going toward Train Station.NAPLES, ITALY. December 2021. Going to Train Station. ROME. NEXT TO THE RIVER. December 2021.ROME. THE RIVER. December 2021.
ROME. December 2021.
ROME. December 2021.RIMINI, ITALY. BEACH. ADRIATIC SEA. January 2022.RIMINI, ITALY. MOON OVER THE ADRIATIC SEA. January 2022.RIMINI, ITALY. January 2022.NAPLES, ITALY. December 2021. From seventh story of Hostel of the Sun.NAPLES, ITALY. December 2021.NAPLES, ITALY. Hostel of the Sun. Wall. December 2021.STREET PHONE. THIS IS IN BRESCIA, ITALY. THERE ARE OTHERS IN PISA. January 2022.ROME. ABANDONED CHURCH. December 2021.BOLOGNA, ITALY. DOORWAY OF HOSTEL I STAYED IN. January 2022.BOLOGNA, ITALY. SIDEWALK CAFE. January 2022.BOLOGNA, ITALY. STREET OF HOSTEL WHERE I STAYED. January 2022.BOLOGNA, ITALY. SIDE STREET WITH SETTING SUN. January 2022.MILAN, ITALY. YELLOW STREET CAR. Hooked up to overhead electrical grid. February 2022.MILAN, ITALY. Reminds me of Los Angeles in the 1950s where I grew up. Overhead electrical grids for street cars. Januar 2022.BRESCHIA, ITALY. January 2022.BRESCSHIA, ITALY. January 2022.RAVENNA, ITALY. January 2022/ITALY Rome December 2021Plant on train station. On the way to Marseille. February 2022.FRANCE Nice. 15 February 2022ITALY Genoa. A blustery day. February 2022FRANCE Nice. February 2022. When I left Italy and rode over the French border by train, I was reminded of being in Los Angeles, California, many years ago. I had been living in Westwood Village, Los Angeles, when the Village was really a neighborhood “village” and not the commercial nonsense it became. This was when I was working in Hollywood: an obscure era in my life. Crossing the border reminded me of an experience I had in that era. I had gone to various art houses, cinema places that specialized in silent movies and movies from the early twentieth century. One such movie was La Grande Illusion (1937). A film by Jean Renoir. (His father was a famous Impressionist painter). In the film, World War One French soldiers are kept as prisoners of war by Germans. It is a story of social class distinctions. The grainy film I saw all those years ago was in French with English subtitles. Class distinctions among the soldiers. But the most lasting impression I got from the film was the ending. The French soldiers escape on foot to Switzerland. Their German captors, on order of the commander, fire a few token shots from their rifles. But the Germans do nothing instead allowing the escapees to cross the border. A border, a line, a demarcation. Once over it, the escapees are safe. Not only was the film the illusion about social class distinctions; it was also, for me, about the illusion of what are considered actual borders. On land and between people. As I crossed the border between Italy and France, the movie La Grande Illusion sprung to mind. This photo is a straight street in Nice. Rail lines embedded in street.FRANCE Nice. February 2022During an obscure era in my life, in New Mexico, USA, I had easels. A wonderful item to have to place a canvas on and paint. As I wandered the Nice, France, I came across an art shop on a corner. Everything you need for art: easels, canvases, brushes, oils. Everything. This reminded me of my “easel” experience in New Mexico, USA. Up to that time and since that time, I had to “wing” it and improvise how I drew and painted. But during that short “easel” period, how I loved that wooden contraption. The best ones are heavy, sturdy, and allow for heavy-handed creative use of brushes, pastels, crayons, anything. And the easel would not move or bend. Seeing the art shop in Nice, France, reminded me of the easel period in my life. A high quality easel can be a challenge to carry and move. Me, being the itinerant that I am, had to leave it behind. How I miss certain items that are the staple of a static life.The only time I studied French formally was in high school in a French class. This was at Eagle Rock High School in Los Angeles. Now that I am in France, the language peeks at me and reminds me. There are phrases, words that speak to me. And I remember the French class with Miss Irwin. As I walk in Nice, France, I see signs and the words on them are a bit familiar. I bet in a short time, I can speak very basic childlike French much faster than learning Italian. As I walk the streets, I hear the chatter of those speaking French. Of course, I am in France! What else am I supposed to hear?! But my travels in France will be short and confined to the south. I have no intention or desire to go to Paris. French is French no matter where in France you are. This photo of a quick breakfast snack: a cappuccino and croissant with a tiny candy on the side keeps me going until dinner snack. Really, I can walk all day on just this.I arrived in Marseille in southern France. My first reaction is that: there is a magnetism to this place. I will have to explore on foot. On the train ride from Nice to Marseille, no one checked on my vaccination status. When I got to the hotel, the hotel agent looked at the one page color copy of my passport. He glanced for one second and that was all. One second! And he tells me “You are OK.” He took no information from it. The agent did not ask me for my vaccination status. This is in stark contrast to Italy. So, now I am in France. I breezed in under the radar. Everything I had heard about Americans traveling to Europe is basically bogus. There have not been any problems. In the 2 1/2 months so far (since 2 December 2021), until now, the journey is remarkably “smooth sailing,” without obstacle, hindrance, or delay. Now that I am in France I feel I am completely anonymous, not a foreigner or a citizen. I feel in limbo. Unaccounted for and free floating. This feeling is exhilarating and exciting.When I saw this at Gare Saint Charles, I thought “wow” this is bigger than the Spanish Steps in Rome. But then I realized that the circular stone steps leading up from the ground floor of the Leaning Tower of Pisa in Italy easily took the prize.An ancient bird’s eye view of ancient Europe. Straight streets. Curved vias. Circles. Oblique randomness. Getting lost as you try to walk. A bird laughing at me for getting lost. Centuries ago. Architecture improvised. Made up as you went along. What fun.
