Travel – Page 3 – Grace Mattern

September 4, 2014

The Waldhaus Balance

Our trip to the Swiss Alps was inspired by my sister Jeanne and her husband John. They’ve been coming here for over 10 years to hike, most years staying at the Waldhaus Sils, a grand and historic hotel in the Engadin Valley. An independently owned hotel, it’s been operated by the same family for five generations. It’s comfortable and gracious, without being too luxurious (though it is an incredible luxury to be able to stay here) and the stellar location is matched by the bountiful and delicious food. We’re so happy we finally got here to spend time with Jeanne and John and understand why it’s a place they come back to again and again.

But there needs to be a balance when staying in a hotel with an enormous breakfast buffet (including plenty of food to take back to your room and pack for your hiking lunch) and a five course dinner every night. That balance for us is hiking — working off some of the excess eating while relishing the grandeur of the Alps.

Today’s hike was to an alpine lake, a direct 2,000 foot climb up from Maloja to Lunghinsee, then a long walk back along the descending ridge to the Waldhaus. Much of today’s hike looked like England, with open slopes colored by heather and other wildflowers. I enjoyed asking the hiking guide Cecile and Uda, a woman from Germany, what the German names were for the many flowers I recognized.

The valley where the movie Heidi was filmed.

So hopefully today’s walk helped worked off some of what I ate for dinner, all delicious.

Iberico ham with preserved fig and crisp bread

Fillet of pike perch with chervil crust, vegetable creams and kohlrabi

Poppy seed parfait and berry compote with rum

September 3, 2014

I Walked to Italy Today

The sun is setting behind the western wall of mountains in the Engadin Valley, making silver patches on the Silsersee lake, one of four lakes that stretch out along the Inn River as it flows through this area of the Swiss Alps. Yesterday we hiked up the eastern ridge along the shoulder of Mt. Bernina, the highest peak in this area, getting wonderful views of the Bernina Glacier. The first 2,000 feet of the trip was in a funicular (a cable tram that goes up steep inclines), then we climbed another 1200 feet and hiked across the open mountains at an elevation of 7,500 feet. We passed the Segantini hut (a hut used by the Italian landscape painter Segantini) with a cafe terrace serving hot and cold drinks and food. A chairlift carried us back down after 8 miles of hiking, a fantastically fun way to end a glorious hike.

Today we headed south into the Bregaglia Vally, traveling through the town of Maloja at the top of the Engadin, where the elevation drops 2,000 feet. The buses that shuttle hikers up and down the valleys deftly handle the long series of hairpin turns (and I mean truly hairpin) of the road. The bus rides into and out of the Bregaglia, like the funicular and chair lift yesterday, were a great way to book end another incredible hike, that included walking through several villages hugging the sides of the narrower Bregaglia Valley, like Soglio, brimming with the charm of old stone houses and narrow cobbled walkways. In Castasegna, on the Italian border, we walked into Italy and had espresso at a small cafe, enormous mountains surrounding us.

It’s a good thing we’re hiking so much, given how much rich and delicious food we’re eating staying at the Waldhaus Sils, a grand and historic hotel in Sils Marie. But that’s another whole post, so stay tuned.

September 2, 2014

Art is Therapy II

Below is what Alain de Botton and John Armstrong had to say, or thought we might learn, from Johannes Vermeer’s painting, The Little Street (1657-16580). The last paragraph, about the values of the Netherlands, is very true to the modest accommodations to foster happiness that we experienced from the friendly and reasonable people we met in Amsterdam.

I had a small plastic bottle of water in my purse when David and I went in to the Van Gogh museum. As I went through the security check, the woman checking bags saw my bottle of water. “You can’t drink that in the museum,” she said. “Okay,” I replied, happy that she did’t make me get rid of it. “Well,” she went on, “you can drink it on the stairways, just don’t drink it near the paintings.” Then when David and I got on the tram to catch our train at the Central Station on Sunday morning, the man collecting fares waved David’s money away. “It’s only two stops,” he said.

On this wall, probably behind three rows of people, hangs one of the most famous works of art in the world.

This is bad news. The extreme frame of a work of art is almost always unhelpful because, to touch us, art has to elicit a personal response – and that’s hard when a painting is said to be so distinguished. This painting is quite out of synch with its status in any case because, above all else, it wants to show us that the ordinary can be very special. The picture says that looking after a simple but beautiful home, cleaning the yard, watching over the children, darning clothes – and doing these things faithfully and without despair – is life’s real duty.

This is an anti-heroic picture, a weapon against false images of glamour. It refuses to accept that true glamour depends on amazing feats of courage or on the attainment of status. It argues that doing the modest things that are expected of all of us is enough. The picture asks you to be a little like it is: to take the attitudes it loves and to apply them to your life.

If the Netherlands had a Founding Document, a concentrated repository of its values, it would be this small picture. It is the Dutch contribution to the world’s understanding of happiness – and its message doesn’t just belong in the gallery.

September 1, 2014

Art is Therapy

David and I had tickets for the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam, and every intention of spending Saturday afternoon exploring its significant collection, particularly of art from the Netherlands. But it was an unpredictable day, and we ended up not getting to the museum until 4:30, just before it’s 5:00 closing time. We quickly made our way upstairs so David could see Rembrandt’s The Night Watch. As we went through the main gallery, I noticed posted signs on the walls.

The signs are part of an Art is Therapy exhibit at the museum. From 25 April, British writers and philosophers Alain de Botton & John Armstrong will be showing in the Rijksmuseum what art can mean to visitors. And not so much from an (art-)historical point of view, but focusing rather on the therapeutic effect that art can have and the big questions in life that art can answer.

Here is what they had to say about the painting above, by Pieter Saenredam, Interior of the Church of St. Odulphus, Assendelft, painted in 1649.

The architects of the building depicted here, and the artist himself, were convinced about a challenging idea: if you want to get close to the important things, you will need a lot of calm, of whiteness, of emptiness, of peace. Serenity, concentration and order aren’t luxuries, they aren’t a superficial concern for a particular style of interior decoration; they are preconditions for a thoughtful, balanced life. The picture sends a slightly stern, but welcome message: you have to flight off distraction, it can ruin your life; you have to prioritize ruthlessly; entertainment is the enemy; simplify, get rid of what you don’t really need, don’t check your email all the time; focus is an achievement. Saenredam didn’t just paint a church, he painted an attitude to life.

A stern but welcome message indeed.

August 30, 2014

Six Centuries of Women-Only Space and A Magnificent Library

Imagine over six centuries of women-only space. Then go see it at the Begijnhof in Amsterdam. This quiet courtyard in the busy city center was first settled by Beguines, pious, single and Catholic women who wanted to do good works but didn’t want to enter a convent. Women have been living here since 1346. It was literally a “woman’s island” as the courtyard used to be surrounded by a canal. Over the centuries, single women, including many widows, continued to live in the Begijnhof, committing themselves to lives of Christian poverty, simplicity and prayer. They spun wool, made lace, taught and cared for the sick and poor. The last Beguine died in 1971 but the Begijnhof still houses single women, mostly Catholic seniors and students.

Now imagine a library built with modern technology and architectural sensibilities. Opened in 2007, the nine-story “tower of knowledge” as it’s called is the Netherlands’ largest library. It’s bright and modern and full of free internet terminals and an entire floor that appeared, as we floated by on escalators, to be devoted to CDs and DVDs. The cafe on the top floor has the best views in the city.

And is favored by pigeons too.

August 28, 2014

Put Amsterdam On Your List

If you have a travel wish list, and Amsterdam isn’t on it, I’d suggest you add it. At the top of the list. With its canals and bridges and beautifully preserved if decidedly tilting houses and classic European architecture, it’s lovely. Bells chime all day and night (in the Jordaan district, where I’m staying, anyway), the sidewalks and canal banks are full of cafes that are full of people eating and drinking, talking and smoking (whatever they want) and there is the excellent coffee and fresh, diverse and tasty food you’d expect of any city.

What’s so striking though, is the way the element of bikes, as a mode of transportation as common as walking and more common than cars, transforms the central city. Here, on the narrow streets, there are three-way checks for oncoming traffic all the time — walkers check for cars and bikes, bikers check for walkers and cars, cars check for bikes and walkers. The dance of transportation has the extra element of bikes, which completely changes the steps for everyone. Not only does it give pedestrians more clout in the jostle for street space, it changes the sound — fewer motors, more talking.

Then there are the boats, which are in abundance also. The hosts of our AirBnB flat have a small boat on the canal in front of the building, and took us for a ride on Wednesday afternoon, one of the first sunny days in what has been a cold and wet summer. Everyone seemed to be out, and it was a treat to get introduced to Amsterdam by riding in a boat, getting dropped off at the other side of the city, then working our way back, via many wrong turns and at least one circular trek, to our place.

Today we visited the Anne Frank house which a friend told me was “the best museum in Europe.” It is quite astonishing to stand in the rooms where 8 people lived in hiding at the back of a canal house for two years. The world knows Anne Frank through her diary. At the Anne Frank house you get to know her as one of the threads in a web of courage and horror and fierce kindness on the part of the Dutch resisters who worked every day to keep the hiding Jews safe.

Then on to the Van Gogh Museum, another outstanding visit. The curation of Van Gogh’s paintings in a simple structure and design make the museum accessible, both as a way to understand Van Gogh’s development as a painter, and as a museum that doesn’t leave you on art overload.

And to get to all of these places we walk along canals and cross bridges and more bridges and more canals. It’s a city of waterfront galore.

And more.

August 26, 2014

Welcome to Europe

We’re heading into our second week in Europe, and the first week has been so full of sights and stories and amazing food I hardly know which adventures to recount. Anny has been a great friend and hostess, her door always open, both metaphorically and literally, because in Normandy during the summer windows and doors and shutters are open so there’s no barrier between the outside and the inside. A stream runs through Anny’s yard with a hearty gurgling, and our last night there we slept with the windows and shutters open, even though it was cool. We wanted to be able to listen to the water talk.

I’ve been running a lot (marathon training is moving right along), gardening (Anny has extensive and wildly imaginative gardens at her home and it’s been so satisfying and fun to be part of her living creation), eating (so many outrageously excellent meals and so many chunks of crusty baguette slathered with local butter or creamy cheese), and wishing, yet again, that I’d taken my intention to become more fluent in French (because I’m about 0.5 on a 1 – 10 scale for fluency) seriously and maybe after this trip I will.

Yesterday we took a train from Lisieux to Paris and this afternoon we leave for Amsterdam. It was raining hard yesterday as we walked through Paris but that didn’t keep us from appreciating what a beautiful city it is.

A few more photos from our wonderful week.

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August 21, 2014

A Normandy Birthday

Today started with a long (only needed to do 6 but ended up doing over 7 miles) training run through the pastures of Normandy, green fields full of cows or apple trees rolling up and down small, sharp hills. Normandy is famous for its dairy products — Camembert cheese probably being the best known, but there are innumerable local cheeses, excellent butter and some kind of yogurty delicacy that Anny gave us for dessert last night, topped with a dollop of creme fraiche and blackberries from her garden, all sprinkled with fair trade golden sugar from Britain.

Yes, we’re eating well on this trip, so I’m happy to be running a lot, working off some of the extra richness in my diet right now. After running I helped Anny weed her gardens, which are abundant and amazing. Then a trip to a small local museum for an exhibit on the history of childhood in this area of France. Now a few moments at a cafe in Vimoutiers, the nearest wifi to Anny’s house.

And wow, lots of birthday greetings once I got online and opened up Facebook. But the best was the message from Sam. Look in the upper right hand corner. Essential learning for any students in that classroom today, wouldn’t you say?

June 20, 2014

“More Alone, Less Pathetic”

My first 36 hours in Portland, Oregon I wasn’t impressed. When I arrived Tuesday afternoon the city was wrapped in a gray mist. After checking in to my hotel, I went out for a run and to explore the city. It was damp and dreary and looked more grimy than fun and funky, which was what I’d expected, after all the wonderful things I’ve heard about Portland. I ran along the west side of the Willamette River, crossed a pedestrian and biking bridge to run along the east side, then looped over the Hawthorne Bridge to get back to the hotel. Sure, there were lots of groovy things to see, as I’d expected, and the anything-goes fashion that rules in Portland was interesting to observe, but many of the weirdly-clad people I saw in the park along the river seemed to be living on the street and they looked cold. And gray, like everything else.

Then on Wednesday the sun came out, I had a tasty and inexpensive lunch from one of the many food carts that line the streets and cluster on a few blocks, sat with my colleagues in a sunny park to eat amid a pleasant bustle, underscored by music from buskers, and I changed my mind. Portland is lovely and funky and fun.

After an invigorating day discussing prevention of sexual violence as a member of the Advisory Council of the National Resource Center on Sexual Violence (the meeting that brought me to Portland) a group of us went to a restaurant where I could be sure my chicken was “happy”. The vegetables were all locally sourced, the cocktails creatively concocted, the food plentiful, delicious and artfully presented, and the atmosphere was open and friendly. The restaurant seemed like the perfect Portland spot to me — unpretentious, generous, genuine and decidedly not stuffy.

Yesterday morning I went for another run, this time heading further north on the west side of the river, along the Greenway Trail. It was beautiful, a path right over the water, condos with gardens and balconies spilling flowers along the bank, big ships and city activity on the river and bridges spanning overhead. Turning back toward the hotel, I had to stop at a railroad crossing and wait ten minutes for a train to go by. Watching the cars trudge past was a moving art show, with all the different forms and shapes of the train cars and cargo, and frequent, colorful graffiti.

“More Alone, Less Pathetic” was written on one car in plain white letters. Is someone learning better how to be more centered in her or himself? I hope so because that’s always a good thing. I took it as a good sign.

February 12, 2014

Above the Rainbow

The intention David and I continued into this new year, of getting above tree line once a month, or hiking to at least a 180 degree view, was doubled for February. Not only did we hike to a view two days in a row, we got above a rainbow.

On Saturday we drove a steadily climbing and seriously winding dirt road into the Appalachian Mountains between Knoxville and Asheville to a short trail up Max Patch, a bald mountain top along the Appalachian Trail in North Carolina. We were taking a side trip from our Knoxville vacation to visit friends in Asheville, and a detour through the mountains seemed like the perfect route. It was.

Originally cleared in the 1800’s for pasture land, and kept open ever since, Max Patch has incredible views of the Smoky Mountains to the south and the Black Mountains to the east. We started off on a trail around a grand slope of dried grasses, then followed the white blazes of the AT up to the summit. We were surrounded by mountain ridges drawing a horizon in every direction.

On Sunday we drove back to Knoxville through Smoky Mountain National Park, and met up with Sam and a friend at Newfound Gap. There we followed the AT once again, this time for a few miles to a trail to Jumpoff, a spur of ridge that ends in steep, brush covered cliffs with a view of mountains to the north. As we ate some snacks at the edge of the ridge, the clouds that had been blocking the sun off and on all day rolled into the ravine below us. Now instead of forested mountain sides, we were looking down into a sheets of mist. Which suddenly picked up enough light to create a circle of rainbow below us.

There is no tree line in the southern Appalachian mountains — trees grow right to the peaks, even though many of them are higher than the mountains in New Hampshire. So instead of getting above tree line this month, we got above a rainbow. I’ll take it.