From Rome To Naples: By Train

I’m intrigued by the fact that, when exploring unfamiliar places, particular landmarks become prominent in the navigation process.

Or at least they did for me.

As I’ve mentioned, Seville’s Torro del Oro became my compass in Spain, Lake Geneva in Switzerland, and the Donaukanal in Austria. In Athens the Acropolis assumed this role, and in Rome, it was the slightly less inspiring Termini Station.

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In all fairness the interior wasn’t bad, and there was a lovely bookshop.

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However, like most of Rome it was busy, raucous and not exactly clean.

On that final morning, I must confess, I was glad to be leaving Italy’s famous capital.

Rome certainly has some wonderful historical sites and buildings, but the atmosphere makes it very difficult to engage with either. Inevitably big capital cities are going to be chaotic and bustling, but I wasn’t able to find enough quiet spots here. Furthermore, following sunshine and warmth upon arrival, the weather quickly descended into grey mediocrity – warm, but dull and, at times, wet also.

Ironically, as in Geneva, my hour of departure was greeted by bright, inviting sunshine. Darn it. I kept missing all the good weather!

There was no time to explore Rome anew, under the sparkling summery weather – instead it was straight to the station, to catch a morning train to Naples – the next destination on my itinerary.

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Seated alongside a lively Chinese family and their voluminous suitcases, the journey was both pleasant and picturesque. The scenery was glorious – regular glimpses of the sea and plenty of rural countryside. The train fare had been a wonderfully affordable €9 for a journey several hours long. I’d probably pay over ten times this amount for a journey of equivalent length in the UK.

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Feeling relaxed I was glad to leave behind the touristy madness of Rome, and hoped that Naples would offer some much needed respite. Indeed, I harboured romantic notions of what this dreamy seaside city might be like, and Italy was the only country in Europe within which I was making not one, but two different stops.

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Upon arrival I decided to make straight for the hostel, so as to leave my heavier items and explore in comfort.

It was pleasantly hot – finally a chance to wear a t-shirt!

The walk from the station, however, was a long one. I had hoped to walk by the sea, envisioning luscious beaches and blue ocean waves. The sea, however, was hidden behind a bleak industrial landscape. To my right were shabby buildings, and I was nearly run over by mopeds on several occasions.

Many riders take great delight in riding onto the pavement, frightening pedestrians in the process. One lad even gave an animalistic roar at me. Yeah. Really mature.

A less than scenic walk brought me to a tall building, in which the hostel was located.

Little did I know what awaited me here…

See also:

Europe

Beginning At The End

Across The Alps

After an unexpected extended laundry session at my hostel in Geneva, I finally emerged into the daylight, discovering that, only now, on my final day in the city, had the sunshine decided to make an appearance. And a clear blue sky too.

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There was no time to enjoy this change in weather – instead it was straight to the train station, and then to the airport, which, as I noted upon initial arrival, is incredibly posh. It was also now exceptionally busy, and teeming with expensive shops and upmarket eateries. There was little to suit my own frugal tastes, but I did manage to assemble an obscure lunch consisting of: a large doughy pretzel, a banana yoghurt, an apple, and a bar of Swiss dark chocolate, which totalled around ten francs. Munching on this mismatched meal I was able to admire lovely views of the mountains from the airport windows.

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The flight was even better – the route took in some fabulous scenery, and I was fortunate enough to have secured a window seat this time.

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Seeing all those epic landscapes made me determined to see more of Switzerland in the future. Perhaps during warmer months!

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Once again, darkness had descended before the plane made its landing, and I was greeted in Austria with even colder temperatures.

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Indeed, the Vienna part of this trip got off to an inauspicious start – I mistakenly caught the ludicrously overpriced CAT airport train (the cheaper local train takes only a few minutes more for less than half the price, found it incredibly difficult to get my bearings in the freezing city, and realised that my accommodation was several miles from the station. Cold and tired I faced a long and slippery walk – the river was pretty though; the bridges glowed in different colours.

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Thankfully the Vienna Meininger Hotel (Meininger Hotel Wien) was slick, modern, clean and warm – I’d found a four bed dorm there, via Hostelbookers (the site I used to find most of my accommodation). The lobby area was spacious, with plenty of places to sit, and my Japanese roommate was very friendly – I didn’t get to meet any of the others properly as they all came in late most nights.

The WIFI was a bit ropey and the single kitchen was far too small for multiple floors of residents, but things could have been worse, as I discovered in Seville.

Fortunately I’d grabbed some groceries from a Spar at the airport (the Viennese version of this supermarket chain seems to offer better quality products than the UK equivalent), so was able to squeeze through the busy hostel kitchen to prepare a quick meal before enjoying another long, satisfying sleep.

See also:

Europe (for previous European locations including Seville and Geneva)

Some Practical Matters

Beginning At The End

 

A Day By The Lake: Park II

In Seville, the Torre del Oro became my primary point of reference; it was opposite this impressive stone tower that my journey began, after alighting the airport shuttle at the wrong stop, and consequently my navigational memories of the city developed from there.

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Although I didn’t actually get lost in Geneva, per se (I had a proper map and street navigation was more straightforward), the immense lake around which the city’s buildings huddled, became a homing beacon of sorts.

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After my early morning walk, the next few hours were somewhat frustrating. First, I had hoped to visit MAMCO (Musée d’art moderne et contemporain) but discovered that, due to changing exhibitions, the pricy entry fee would only warrent access to a limited amount of art. Certain that I could find better mileage for my francs elsewhere, I tried and failed to find somewhere that sold cheap coffee, and spent most of the morning ducking in and out of shops when my fingers started to resemble icicles. It was so very cold.

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However, my wandering continued, and eventually, a few parks and historic sights later, I arrived at the other side of the lake; opposite the places I’d visited in the morning.

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It was wonderful to walk past the harbour, and the boats, wondering why the Jet d’Eau was not piercing the air with its long flume (I later found out that in cases of extreme ice or wind, the fountain does not operate).

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It was thrilling to watch the waves dash against the barriers, and to observe the icicles growing from railings.

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There was even a beach (Baby-Plage) – presumably a much cosier spot during the summer!

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Further up there was a huge park (Parc de la Grange), and nearby, the stand where the water taxi would presumably arrive on better, warmer, calmer days.

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The best parts of travel inevitably come down to the most simplest of elements. For me the pleasure comes from walking – simply exploring a new place. It’s nice to have a lake or a river; historic buildings, striking architecture, gardens or public art, but ultimately it’s just about being in a landscape that isn’t your own.

See also:

A Day By The Lake: Part I

Flying to Geneva

Europe (includes Seville, which I visited prior to Geneva)

Some Practical Matters (planning the trip)

Beginning At The End (introduction of sorts)

 

A Day By The Lake: Part I

Before I sing the praises of Lake Geneva, I’d like to do the same for Geneva’s City Hostel.

If you’re looking for a small, intimate type of hostel, this is not it. City Hostel is large, the common room seems barely used, and there’s a general sense of this being a passing place. People entering and leaving on the way to the mountains, some chasing winter sports, others simply seeking an affordable place to sleep on the way to another European destination. However, I liked it – it was clean and comfortable, reasonably quiet, and the deserted common room became one of my favourite places to chill out and charge my phone/camera.

Hostels provide the perfect opportunity to meet new people, but it’s also nice when there are places for introverts like me to enjoy some ‘alone’ time. Bizarrely enough I was worried, pre-trip, about how lonely I’d feel, travelling alone for six weeks, but in fact one of the things I missed most whilst away was having my own private little space to retreat to.

Anyway, moving on…

Having been blessed with a peaceful first night in the city, I woke up feeling refreshed and ready to go. It was still dark when I emerged from the hostel, so I went in search of my grocery shopping for the next few days. Unlike Seville, Geneva offers a multitude of places to buy delicious, healthy, and surprisingly affordable healthy food.

There was also a Lidl just around the corner from the hostel.

A reasonably priced cup of coffee is hard to come by, but substitutes were available, however…

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As darkness unveiled a grey misty morning, I was making my way up to the edge of Lake Geneva.

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It was wonderfully serene, this dawn stroll, and I enjoyed the mixture of modern and traditional Swiss buildings along the way. However, whereas history seemed to prevail in Seville, Geneva appeared to sway more towards the modern, the new, the future.

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The waters of the lake were turquoise, punctuated by angry waves, and every view across this blue expanse was framed by the delicate shapes of leafless tree branches. The mountains were invisible (obscured by mist), as were the farthest reaches of the lake, but all was tranquil, serene, and beautiful. Clenched in their new gloves, my fingers started to hurt – the temperatures were extremely low, and ice was everywhere.

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In spite of this, Geneva felt more like my kind of place than Seville had. Seeing different places was starting to reveal travel preferences I never knew I had…

See also:

Flying To Geneva

Europe (including thoughts on my previous location – Seville)

Some Practical Matters

Beginning At The End

CAAC – Contemporary Art in Seville

Deep within the grounds of a cavernous old monastry, the Centro Andaluz de Arte Contemporáneo (CAAC) is a wonderful asset to the city of Seville.

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The Cartuja Monastery – once a ceramics factory, offers an ideal setting for contemporary art. Even before entering the building(s) visitors are greeted by an exciting array of outdoor, site-specific pieces.

 

Examples of art in the CAAC grounds © Sarah Coggrave

A giant Alice-in-Wonderland-esque face and hand protrude from windows. Cabinets and oddities teeter precariously in treetops, rather like obscure little treehouses. Blue buoy-like objects create contours in the lake, and a curious male figure stands bedecked with gadgets.

The buildings themselves were full of historical surprises. Secret alcoves paved with fading Spanish tiles, and more, unexpected spectacular ceilings.

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1) The Social Construction of the Landscape

This sprawling exhibition explored multiple themes, as described on the CAAC website below:

Landscape is not the natural scenery or location within our field of vision; it is what we make of it, a cultural construct requiring an interpretation that takes existing physical elements and turns them into a landscape. In this case, it is something forged in the creative process, where the artist’s intention, intervention and interpretation of a territory yield a vision or an idea.

(From the CAAC website)

The highlight for me was a short film, in which the anthropomorphic qualities of rocks are described; forms, which, at certain times of day (when the light falls in a particular way) resemble faces and animals. Humanity and detailed scenes, embedded in crevasses and craters – reminded me of searching for faces in clouds, or seeing shapes in patterned wallpaper. Of course there was much, much more to the exhibition than this – all kinds of inventive sights and installations…

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2) Maria Thereza Alves: The Long Road to Xico (1991-2014)

This exhibition showcased various projects conducted by Alves, my favourite being her exploration of a lost lake in Mexico, which members of a Native community sought to recreate. The original destroyer of the landmark – a Spanish colonist, was hailed a hero, the true costs of his conquests overlooked.

Maria Thereza Alves invites us to debate two issues of critical importance for contemporary culture and for Spain in particular: the need to develop a new awareness of and respect for nature, and the urgency of rewriting colonial history. She has brought these two pressing tasks here, to the island in the River Guadalquivir where Columbus was buried and his son planted a centuries-old ombu tree whose branches still provide welcome shade today, a place ideally suited for rethinking “where and who we are at this moment in time”.

(From the CAAC website)

 Contemporary art spaces such as these frequently provided a refuge during my trip; from the crowds, the noise of the city and the more predictable tourist attractions. It was comforting to be around the work of artists I was familiar with, in settings and spaces that varied little across countries. Yet at the same time there was something disconcerting about this invariability – the white cube, the superfluous text, the pervasiveness of this contemporary art ‘model’ and the ways of displaying art this seemed to dictate.

I digress.

Following my visit to CAAC I wandered along the banks of the Guadalquivir River once more, until darkness fell. Then I returned to the hostel, bracing myself for yet another, sleepless night of noise.

See more:

Beginning At The End

Some Practical Matters

The Road To Seville

Spanish Tiles And Spectacular Ceilings

Spanish Tiles And Spectacular Ceilings

A dreary wet morning christened the first proper day of the trip. Whilst I’d been gifted with a lovely roommate (and a two bed dorm to myself for the remaining couple of nights) the other guests at the hostel rendered sleep virtually impossible.

Loud music and (bad) singing throughout the night.

The hostel layout didn’t help – all rooms overlooked a basement courtyard of sorts; a living room with no curfew and boundless accoustics. As a result, my initial explorative hike through Seville’s rush hour traffic was a weary one.

Map of Seville (source)

This quaint Spanish city is not a place for maps or directions. Arguably the best way to navigate the rabbit warren of winding streets and twisted alleys is to simply to wander and hope for the best. It starts to make sense after a few days, somewhat. Placing blind intuition over geographical guesswork I somehow managed to locate the Plaza de España, where I soon forgot fatigue and frustration.

Plaza de España, © Sarah Coggrave

Early morning was the perfect time to visit what would inevitably become a tourist trap during the day. A vast semicircular building surrounding a plaza – a moat of sorts intersecting the two and some of the most wonderful tiles and decoration I’ve ever seen. Historical scenes played out on painted ceramics, and bridges and steps adorned with intricate patterns.

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Past groups of men – waiting hopefully for tourists with horses and carriages – more tiles awaited in the Maria Luisa Park (Parque de María Luisa) – a sprawling green haven thick with luscious trees and fallen oranges. Again so peaceful in the early morning. Nearby a free museum (Museo de Artes y Costumbres Populares) celebrating local crafts and traditions offered insights to the artwork across the city.

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Next I visited the Museo de Bellas Artes de Sevilla – only minutes from the hostel in which I was staying.

If endless walls filled with religious scenes, dutifully imagined by the paintbrush of an artist from centuries ago, is your kind of thing, then this art museum is the perfect venue.

Personally I prefer contemporary art, although particular older pieces continue to fascinate me. In this case it was the building itself that captured my imagination. Deep within the circuit of curving corridors and courtyards was an immense space with the most spectacular ceiling I’ve ever seen.

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Later I headed for the Guadalquiver River; flickering with canoeists and the occasional rowing crew; colourful buildings lining its grassy banks.

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Across these waters, grey mixed with blue (like the uncertain sky above) was a former monastry, once a pottery and now, a home for Seville’s contemporary art. This was to be my next stop.

See also:

Beginning At The End

Some Practical Matters

The Road To Seville

The Road To Seville

The journey began on a cold black night – February 1st 2015. January had brought snow to Glossop – where I’m staying temporarily – and February seemed to threaten the same. Waiting for the last Sunday train into Manchester, my fingers rued the absence of warm gloves – forgotten, discarded at home.

Glossop, January 2015 © Sarah Coggrave

For some reason planes don’t fly direct from Manchester to Seville. Ryanair was the cheapest option; from Stansted. This meant an overnight journey to London first.

London – a city I’ve visited often © Sarah Coggrave, 2011

The Megabus has long been my transport of choice to London – usually it’s possible to buy a return from Manchester (or Leeds) for around £10; a bargain when you consider train travel can cost hundreds of pounds. It’s sweaty, smelly, and a battle to get a seat (especially at night when everyone decides to treat double seats as single beds), but cheap is cheap.

 

The creepy Megabus mascot – reminds me of Terror of the Autons (source)

In London the next day, my Terravision bus followed sunrise to the airport – Big Ben silhouetted against a colourful winter sky.

Big Ben © Sarah Coggrave, 2011

I’ve never flown from Stansted before. On February 2nd it resembled a building site. The air rang with cockney accents, and passengers clamoured for seats. Hours too early, I faced a long wait. I bought new gloves with the remainder of my British pounds.

Stansted – not really in London at all (source)

Spain was announced by palm trees, and sky that growled a grey threat of rain. Warmer than London, but not the cosy oasis of warmth I expected. An overcrowded bus took me towards Seville, where I naively followed fellow Brits…by alighting at the wrong stop.

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During several hours of futile navigation, I passed beautiful buildings and gardens, but rapidly grew frustrated by the winding streets and my crumpled, seemingly nonsensical map. Finally a narrow path became a courtyard and my hostel emerged, accessed via a door I never quite figured out how to open.

One of several confusing maps I’d brought with me (source)

A tiny nearby supermarket furnished me with basic food supplies (no bread though) and after a primitive feast of instant noodles and fruit I settled into the two-bed dorm, awaiting the arrival of my roommate and hoping for a long, deep sleep.

See also:

Beginning At the End (summary of the journey)

Some Practical Matters (organising the trip)

Beginning At The End

Yesterday I arrived home.

Manchester was surprisingly sunny – a great deal warmer than Boston, the city I left the night before.

The last week was spent trudging sludgy streets in sodden boots, supposedly waterproof (but not). Dirty piles of snow melting everywhere and colder temperatures than I would have experienced back in England, at this time of year.

Only a week before that I was buying suncream at Walgreens and getting sunburnt walking across the Golden Gate Bridge. Repeatedly. It’s not enough to traverse the famous landmark once, nor is it ever enough to take just one photograph, as unfortunate followers of my Instagram will well know (!).

Even rain couldn’t ruin vists to shrines and temples in Kyoto, although I was rewarded with sunshine and a more gentle warmth in Tokyo (and during a visit to Osaka Castle).

I’ve been blasted by fierce snowstorms in Vienna, and was shocked to feel so cold in Seville and Athens. Geneva’s mist concealed nearby mountains and Rome was warm but grey.

At the last minute I swapped predicted thunderstorms in New Orleans for clear blue skies (but icy temperatures) in Chicago, a decision I somewhat regret in retrospect, since I’ve always wanted to visit the famous Louisiana city. But after an earlier flight cancellation, the fear of getting stuck during a whistlestop trip was never far from my mind.

Of course it’s not all about the weather, but being away has made me feel all the more British than I felt before leaving. Consequently it seems like an appropriate place to begin talking about this trip.

I can’t promise that this won’t contain elements of a predictable touristy travel blog, nor can I promise that it’ll be witty and insightful. What follows are attempts to remember a journey; bits and pieces that I intend to recycle and reuse in my work as an artist.

 

(Above image is compiled from my own photographs, © Sarah Coggrave)

Hopefully I’ll do some of the amazing places I visited some justice, although words and photographs will inevitably be insufficient in describing them.