Supermoon in Avignon

 Hello!

 Shortly after my return to Avignon from Lyon came the night of the November supermoon. I had forgotten about it but luckily happened to be in town with my camera. 

 Before being bewitched by the glory of the moon, I spent some time wandering and admiring the bunting advertising the Millévin Wine Festival, which was coming up.

 At the Place de l'Horloge the pavilion for the Festival was taking shape.

 I admired the carousel, which was all lit up and beautiful. A couple of cats were padding around the square; I often see them by the carousel and think of Dougal and the Blue Cat (a very weird but wonderful Magic Roundabout film).

 I headed towards Place Pie and was drawn to a window of gently shifting lights in what I think is the Conservatory. They changed from blue to purple to pink to red and back so subtly that it was hard to pick out the moment of change. The effect was warm and soft.

 I then went down to the river. After being awed by the vastness of the stretch of Rhône in Lyon, I was looking forward to returning to my favourite point on the Avignon stretch and enjoying the stillness and calm. Then I saw it. The supermoon.

 It sat above the lanes of traffic, yellow and round and bright, and it was such a "wow" moment that it found it way into a story I wrote, "The moon and river".

Moon in the centre

Moon below the leaves

The Pont d'Avignon looking elegant

Photogenic streetlamps

The moon above the walled town

 In my head I kept playing "Share the Moon" by Indigo Girls...

 ...but instead of "I wish I could be there to share the moon" I would think, "I wish you could be here to share the moon" because I so, so did wish that I could magic my loved ones to that spot to see the river and the old town and how amazing it all was. 

 I guess the thing about the moon is you can see it in a lot of places at once, but seeing it in Avignon by the Rhône was such a special experience.

 It was a memorable night, and after the grandeur of Lyon it was nice to so quickly have a chance to see Avignon again at its quiet, romantic, mysterious best.

 Thanks for reading,

 Liz x

Inside the Casa Lis

 Hello!

 If you are a regular reader of this blog you will know that one of my favourite sights in Salamanca is the Casa Lis illuminated by night. I also mentioned it in my Mole Guide to Salamanca on Third Year Abroad. I haven't yet, however, done a post about the inside of the house. That is about to change! 

 I left visiting the Casa Lis, an Art Nouveau/Deco museum, to pretty late in my nine weeks in Spain. I dropped in one late afternoon after having had a good day wandering around the city. I intended to have a quick look and maybe return to tour the Casa more thoroughly if I liked what I saw.

 After paying my entry fee I walked into the main foyer with its beautiful stained-glass ceiling. I wish I could show you but photos weren't allowed. Trust me, it is very pretty; blue and sky-like.

 The Casa has several levels all looking out via balconies onto that foyer. There was an exhibition about Coco Chanel but as I have little interest in fashion I skipped it and focussed instead on the standard exhibits.

 For me Art Nouevau/Deco is a bit hit and miss - sometimes I like it, sometimes I hate it. Generally I enjoyed the work on show in the Casa. There was such a variety: ornaments, jewellery, portraits, blown glass and more. The whole of a large room was devoted to a huge number of dolls, which ranged from elegant to creepy.

 Then there was my favourite thing: collages of lots and lots of old photos. As a fan of the Chalet School, the early installments of which are set in the twenties and thirties, it was fascinating to see the clothes and hairstyles of the time and to know that was how the charcters might have looked.

 I had a break in the little café, one wall of which is the famous green stained glass you see from outside. For me the glass front of the Casa Lis had become a beacon, an angel - something magical and distant. To be inside it was very, very surreal. 

 I chose hot chocolate, which was lovely, and a raspberry muffin which oozed with cream but tasted a bit artificial. Still, it made a decent snack and the whole experience was very memorable.

 I had a last look around the Casa and watched part of a film on glass-blowing. Then the announcement sounded that the Casa was closing. I had a quick glance around the gift shop but didn't have time to buy anything before we were all thrown out into the rain.

 And it was raining! Extremely heavily. Knowing by now Salamanca's propensity for violent electric storms I was slightly scared. I was about ten minutes from my residence and was torn between making a run for it or waiting out the storm in my shelter - a shop that just consists of vending machines.

 I have to say, scary as it was, it was very atmospheric standing there waiting, surrounded by wind and the smell of rain. It was also strange and new seeing Salamanca with nobody in it. I hadn't realised until that point that it was always bustling, always loud. Now all I could see were the buildings, the streets, and all I could hear was the storm.

 When the rain eased off a little I decided to go for it and half-walked, half-ran back. It was good to be safe and snug indoors but the storm had had a beautiful quality. Scary but beautiful.

 So, that was the Casa Lis. I never did go back as I saw everything (apart from Coco) and, impressive as it was, for me the real beauty of the Casa Lis can be seen for free from the outside any night.

 Thanks for reading,

 Liz x

Gods and glass

 Hello.

 This is going to be a more lyrical, abstract post than usual, to fit the events it describes. I hope you enjoy it.

 One night I leave home as Two Gods are rising, silent and wise. Venus, Goddess of Beauty and Love. Jupiter, God of Sky and Lightning. Gods of all that night is.

 I scamper up into the Old Town. It greets me as usual, lit and alive. During the day it is so beautiful, so fascinating, yet one moment of noche salamantina eclipses all of that.

 Across the Anaya Square, green and waiting, lanterns beckon, like fairies of the night. Kind or sinister, or both, it's hard to tell. But I must follow.

 They lead me down to the base of the mountain; the bottom of the walls of the city. I will look up, I know, and I will see the Casa Lis, all green and yellow and orange, and I shake with fear and delight. 

 And there it is. Almost like a person, a being, so powerful and real. Breathing.

 She perches on the edge, the Queen of Salamanca.

 The Gods are still watching; they have followed me and guard me. They will not leave as long as I may need them. Above is Regulus, the Prince and the Heart of the Lion. The Summer Star.

                                      

                              

 Blinded by Gods and glass I turn reluctantly away and walk down past shields and lavender to a poet, singing of the river and the wall and the olive trees.

 From the Convent to the Cathedral I go, back from that powerful realm of green light to the ordinarily extraordinary Salamanca night. 

 Then to the edge of the city I run, to where I always stand and where I always see the constellation I cannot identify, the Little Leo as I call it. Later I will search star maps, desperate to find its name. 

 Eventually I decide it is probably Scorpio plus Saturn, making one of the stars Antares, the Autumn Star. Two Royal Stars and three planets in one night: Salamanca's sky is indeed rich. I can understand why Fernando Gallego saw fit to paint it.

 I look around for reassurance, one last time, before leaving. To my side the eternal Casa Lis juts out, a green angel with wings spread wide, over the river, facing the stars.

 Thanks for reading,

 Liz x