Thanksgiving in London and Speed-Tourism

Well, as it's the best holiday ever invented (in its current evolutionary phase--I entirely agree with anyone who wants to talk about indigenous rights), I wanted to spend Thanksgiving amongst friends. Tell me if you can think of anything bad about feeling thankful, cooking, eating, drinking, friends, family, singing, games, more eating, and napping. Impossible. So with that in mind, I decided to hop the ditch and spend my thanksgiving (yes, I know this blog is hopelessly out of date) with Sarah Galbraith and contingent. Unfortunately the trip was incredibly short, so I decided to make it simple and not try to catch up with all of the other lovely people in London--that will have to wait until May/June when I return next.

On arrival, I couldn't help but sing The Wombles on the train.

And then we were off for my first London pub--and some snooker playing amongst the hippest of hipsters. Wow, there were some great woolen jerseys in that dive.

The next 24 hours were full of Thanksgiving goodness. Markets for fresh ingredients, cooking, organizing the apartment to fit more people than it should . . .

The meal itself was amazing. Turkey, two types of stuffing (one with haggis), mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, apple/blueberry sauce, numerous roast vegetables, various salads, pies and cakes galore. The English contingent pulled out all of the stops. 

The night continued on into singing and music and laughter, until I fell asleep somewhat mid-sentence. Standard.

The next day was absolutely beautiful and sunny, and we went riding our bikes all over, ending up at Derek and Laura's place for pancakes and blueberries. It was awesome to meet Achilles Renoir--what a cool wee man. We also went for a wander in Hampstead Heath, catching up on the last few years of events, and kicking leaves. Unfortunately, I left my camera at home, so you'll have to take me at my word. It was a picture-perfect endorsement for moving to London--hmmm.

My last full day in London was spent attempting to fit in a variety of tourist-centered attractions in a haphazardly browsing fashion. I started out with my atlas and compass in hand, and headed for the South bank of the Thames. I tracked down a Banksy . . . covered in plexiglass it gives food for thought--is this how street art should be treated? On the one hand, it's worth a ton of money intact, and as is can be protected from further tagging and artworks. On the other, the nature of street art is ephemeral and often politically or socially motivated and pertinent to a moment in time, rather than preservation through the ages. Thoughts?

I also saw a series of these characters . . . which I thought were incredibly emotive, encircling a worksite. Looked like they were possibly commissioned.

I then trolled the bridges . . . Tower, London, Southwark, Millenium (which looks fabulously like a spine), Blackfriars, and Waterloo.

I spent several hours at the Tate Modern. As usual, dreaming of all the artworks and projects I could do.

In wandering about London, I was intrigued and excited by the juxtaposition and layering of different epochs and styles of architecture and art. What an interesting city.

With the light fading, I suddenly realised that my version of hitting the tourist spots didn't really fulfill the norm, and that I'd at least like to catch a glimpse of some of the more famous landmarks, so I speed-walked my way about, getting in the new Globe Theatre, Big Ben, The Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace and its famous guards, Trafalgar Square, a double-decker, a red telephone box, and a heartbeat's worth of the British Museum (which only fueled fire to my desire to return). . . all in just a few hours of severe ADHD.

And then I returned to the real-world, the London I was there to see . . . spending another lovely evening with Sarah and Brendan.

In the morning, we frequented the local tea shop--I promise I'll always remember to let you have the front section of the paper first, Brendan. I cede it to you for all eternity.  Look at that look he's giving me--it's just daring me to try for it. Also, the perspective in this shot is a *little* off, but yes, he is an extremely tall, lovable Scotsman, and Sarah is quite the compact model.

Thank you all for a lovely time. And you entirely succeeded in making me think very very seriously about London as a next sedentary location for this wandering minstrel.

Oh the decisions to be made . . .

Arles: more than just my painting.

So, as you've already read, I went to Arles with one thing in mind . . . to sit in my favourite painting. While there, I discovered so much more.

Arles is a city with a lot of history. It has some amazing Roman monuments, the earliest of which come from the 1st century BC. While there, I was able to visit both the gladiator's arena, and the theatre. Van Gogh painted a picture of a bullfight the arena, entitled Les Arènes. Bullfighting is still very popuular in Arles, thankfully I wasn't around for one, because that is definitely one sport that isn't my thing. These sites are listed under the UNESCO World Heritage site, and you can read more about them here.

To be honest, though, it was the medieval streets that drew me into Arles. The winding layouts, ingeniously engineered (like Montpellier's) to minimise the effects of the heavy Mistral winds and reduce problems with wind tunnels  . . . beautifully coloured shutters, and winding plants creeping up the sides of walls, giving the houses character and life.

In addition to this, perhaps because of Van Gogh's legacy, here and there throughout the city you can find evocative street art.

This is the first time I've seen JR's street art in real life (watch the Ted Talk if you don't know who JR is). Turns out, this is actually one location he was invited to . . . but regardless, it was really exciting for me to see and recognise his art (although, it's incredibly recogniseable, so that's not much of a badge of honour). Here's a link to a facebook album showing some of the work that went on behind the scenes of the Inside Out project in Arles.

And, it was really quite fun to see the other Van Gogh locations . . .

Starry Night Over the Rhone . . . although not seen at night (my train to go back to Montpellier left at 7:30pm, before nightfall in the lovely summertime).

Café Terrace at Night (again, seen not at night)

And last but not least, I found, and ate, something like a GIANT Griffins Shrewsberry. I asked the woman at the patisserie the name for this delicacy, but I can't remember what she said . . . so instead, you just have to look and salivate in ignorance. Put your hands together to make a circle, and that's the size of this beast!

Sitting in the midst of my favourite painting

My favourite painting isn't one you'll probably know. It is, however, by an artist you know well. A lesser known Van Gogh, painted in Arles (also where he painted some of his better known pieces such as The Yellow House, Bedroom in Arles, Self-Portrait, The Night Cafe, Starry Night Over Rhone, Still Life: Vase With Twelve Sunflowers, Cafe Terrace at Night, and Van Gogh's Chair . . . Incidentally, Arles is also where Vincent Van Gogh cut off his ear.

My favourite is called The Poet's Garden (or sometimes Public Park with Weeping Willow). It was painted in 1888, and is a massive oil panting on canvas (you can see it at the Chicago Institute of Art).  The poet's garden series were painted and used to decorate Gauguin's bedroom when he came to visit Van Gogh in Arles. Also, the scene itself reminds me a little of how I feel in my parents' garden at home in New Zealand. The colours are bright and lively, and I just want to lie in that grass with a book and breathe in the scents of all of those leaves and flowers.

Van Gogh wrote about this painting in a letter to his brother, on September 16th 1888.


He wrote:
"There is a square size 30 canvas, a corner of a garden with a weeping tree, grass, round clipped cedar shrubs and an oleander bush. The same corner of the garden, that is, which you have already had a study of in the last parcel. But this one is bigger, there is a citron sky over everything, and also the colours have the richness and intensity of autumn. And besides it is in even heavier paint than the other one, plain and thick. That is picture number one this week."

I decided, in a fit of romanticism, that I wanted to spend my birthday in this painting, take a picnic, and just experience it. So, I headed on the train for Arles. I had differing information as to which park this actually depicted. One source said that it is directly outside of where the Yellow House used to be, in Place Lamartine, the other that it was the main public park in the center of Arles. Place Lamartine has pretty much been destroyed. There's a decrepit Monoprix (France's Walmart), a bank, and a token fountain with a heavily trafficked roundabout. So, whether or not it is actually the main public park (the woman at the tourist office said it was, but I didn't really believe her because she didn't actually know the painting I was asking about), this is the one I ended up at.

The park seemed to have a shrine dedicated to Van Gogh, which seemed promising (however much of the town revolves around either Van Gogh or the beautiful Roman ruins that still exist in Arles).

It was missing the lush grass of my dreams . . .

And there was far too much concrete . . .

And the flowers almost seemed to be forced, like they were attempting to put Van Gogh's bright colours into the world, when really, Van Gogh brought those bright colours out of everyday vegetation. . . 

But when I lay down on the grass, and looked up . . . there was my garden. The darks and the lights, and the beautiful lush green leaves. It was exactly the time of the year that Van Gogh was painting here, too.

Whether or not it was actually his garden, I may never know. But it is nice to know that if I find a patch of grass, and some beautiful trees, I can lie down and imagine my way into my favourite painting anywhere and at anytime.