harika holidays from florence

If I don't get a chance to post a "Happy New Year" to you all in a week or two— have a very happy New Year! May it be a harika year of happiness and good health, inspiration and fulfillment. When I find a moment, I have so much to show you— Artemisia, Botticelli, Lippi, Titian, Raphael, Leonardo... Magical names to invoke for 2018. Until then, ciao my friends!

the yellows of fès

Somehow I thought lugging my eighth month swollen belly around a medieval city under the bright North African sun was something that I would enjoy— and I did, mostly. I say mostly because after a morning of sightseeing my feet and ankles had swollen to an uncomfortable degree, and the heat had me nearly seeing stars. We had been saving the large, popular tourist cities like Fès and Marrakech for when we had visitors, and with Pedro's family in town at the time, Fès became our first stop.



Apparently the medina of Fès is the largest pedestrianized urban area in the world. I had been warned that you can lose yourself in its labyrinthine alleys without a guide, but to be honest, we had a guide for a morning and I not only found him to be a bore, I thought a good map would do just fine. Fès is one of Morocco's four imperial cities (the other three being Meknès, Rabat, and Marrakech), and served as the country's capital from the 9th Century until 1912, when it was Rabat's turn.

Part of me dreaded going to Fès— I expected a noisy, smelly tourist trap where I'd be hassled at every turn, but I was happy to find stunning architecture, nice people, and so many shades of yellow. Yes, the amount of tourists clogged some of the smaller alleys to a standstill, but it was April. Perhaps a return in November would be a quieter (and cooler) experience— the next time however, will be with Baby being carried on the outside of me!

it's in the details

the colours of tangier

White, blue, and yellow colour the buildings of Tangier. Gulls laugh in the sky, and salt scents the Atlantic breeze.

tunnels of mud and concrete

As temperatures can rise to a maximum of near 40º in Figuig with an unforgiving sun, the older part of the town is a small labyrinth of narrow alleyways that are often covered, forming cool tunnels of relief. More modern homes and walls are made of concrete, but it seems that mud was traditionally used, casting a familiar orange glow when struck by light— the orange of the earth.



Though there isn't much to Figuig other than the palmeraie and humble homes, I was quite taken by the little town. It just felt good— people were warm and kind, the atmosphere was relaxed, and the bleak surrounding landscape is something that appeals to me. Thoughts of returning danced around my head before I even left...

tones of red and rust

Cáceres, located in the Extremadura region of Spain, is home to a stunning medieval town that boasts Roman, Islamic, Gothic and Renaissance architectural styles. We decided to take a drive up from Marvão on New Year's Eve to wander Cáceres' tiny streets.



The setting sun cast a redness upon the buildings, which were primarily stone, some carpeted in spots of rusty-coloured lichen. I was not aware of it until this visit, but many of the Spanish conquistadors who ravaged the Americas came from Extremadura, and within the walls of Cáceres stands a building called the Palacio de Toledo-Moctezuma.

The daughter of Moctezuma II, Tecuichpoch Ixcaxochitzin (later baptized Isabel), founded a line of Spanish nobility in what seems to be a complicated series of marriages and widowing in which Hernán Cortés was involved— who fathered an illegitimate daughter with Doña Isabel. Her sixth and final husband came from Cáceres, and one of their sons eventually returned to the Spanish town to marry into a notable family, later constructing the palacio. Regrettably, my photos of the palacio's exterior are not very exciting, so we'll return to some eye-catching details in between the narrow streets.



The feet of San Pedro de Alcántara are polished golden by passing palms wishing for luck.

pantheon

I could have spent all day watching the sunlight move across the floor in beams of dust-speckled blue, under your oculus.



On the cool stone floor polished smooth by thousands upon thousands of feet, I would sit beside Raphael's bones, and watch.



Your perfect lines, your perfect curves. Your perfect shadow.

trevi

Magnificent from any angle— creamy marble against a black sky and pale green water— the light and shadows ever-changing from the ripples in the pool beneath. A dream carved in stone, growing out of the facade of the stately building the way clouds take on the shapes of battleships then rabbits.



On the edge of the crowd, we found a spot to sit where I could dip my hand into the cool green water, where light gently reflected from the glittering coins that represented the many hopes of returning to Rome. I tossed a dirham in.

roma pink

Rome is pink.

marble made flesh

Light cuts through the cool darkness inside St. Peter's Basilica, illuminating the curves of figures carved in stone, and everything glows gold. Were it not for the legions of ecstatic travellers who made their pilgrimages from all corners of the world, it would be a sombre place. I was moved by the tears in so many eyes, the wide grins, the brides in marble-white, knowing how important this moment was for so many under the same bright dome. I felt an empathy, for it was my pilgrimage too.



Thirty-odd years since I first saw its image in a weathered book, I had come from North Africa for the Pietà, to look upon the miracle of marble made flesh and fabric by Michelangelo's hands over five hundred years ago. I came for the gravity captured in the little bulge of skin made by Mary's thumb under her dead son's sinking arm, for his ankles, for the grief in her young face and outstretched hand.

embellish

At every turn of your head: frescoes, sculptures, mosaics, woodwork, tiles— embellishment beyond belief! The Vatican clearly spared no expense in decorating. There are the monumental works of art (the Raphael Rooms and the Sistine Chapel), and there are the various halls that are painted from nearly top to bottom in figures, beasts, and lots of colour.



The tiled floor above reminded me so much of Portugal... like walking up azulejo-covered walls, defying gravity. Then there was this little fellow, whom we discovered perched atop a line of red: