Venice, and then some...

Tonight, just after sunset, we walked across Rialto Bridge over the Grand Canal and we again realised why we fell in love with Venice.

It's the most romantic, beautiful view there is.

The past two days has seen some sensory overload for us, as we spent most of time wandering around the Venice Biennale. It's a massive international design and architecture expo, well known in those industries.

The Biennale is set in various parts of the Venice island, a large part of it in the docklands and industrial area, in old, huge warehouses, which gave the exhibits a very 'renewal space' ambience. The other major part is set in a large, treed park with counry pavilions, which gives it the feel of the Easter Rand Show in the seventies. The exhibits were varied, ranging from very technical architecural designs and theoretical displays, through to heavy intellectual, critical and philosophical interpretations of architectural and urban design, and a large portion of modern and sometimes whimsical design and art forms.

The lasting impression we left with is how diverse and varied interpretations of the spaces we live in are. And that a brick is not just a brick.

We went out of our way to see the SOuth African pavilion, which was in a remote part of the expo, but it turned out to be closed. Eish...

++++++++++++++++

We visited an area early this morning known as the Ghetto. Like Ghetto areas elsewhere in the world, it was the space where urban Jews lived, often under less than ideal circumstances. It doesn't look much different from other parts of Venice, though the sound of Hebrew is in the air suddenly, as Israeli tour groups pass through. Sitting on the 'Ghetto Square' we were fascinated by the reception these groups received from the local Chabad. It was a kind of a welcoming ritual, which involved some singing, blessing and reading from the Torah. I got the impression for some of them visiting the Ghetto was a kind of pilgrimage.

There were also a few Jewish curio shops in the area. A tourist is a tourist is a tourist...

Venisie, dag een...

...en hoe beter om te begin as met 'n twee-smaak roomys. Maak nou nie saak of dit yskoud is en honde en katte reen nie (dit doen, en is), maar 'n pistachio en aarbei horinkie is 'n ritueel wat ons nie hier sal misloop nie. Lam-in-die-kniee lekker!

En waarna ons weer terug is uit in die reen, soos ware toeriste, sambrele in die hand. Ons is nerens eintlik heen nie, net rondgedwaal in Venisie se eindelose gangetjies, stilgestaan by eiendomsagentskappe (R2-4m vir 'n eenslaapkamer-woonstel) en ons verkyk aan die winkeltjies wat so eie aan Venisie is - pottebakkery tot drukkerytjies en koper-ornamente, en die alomteenwoordige Venisiese maskers.

Teen twee-uur was ons albei behoorlik papsopnat ten spyte van die sambrele. Voor huistoegaan het ons eers in 'n kafeetjie gestop vir 'n pizza en 'n glas rooiwyn. Die pryse was nie te sleg nie, maar die eienaars van die plek blyk toe Chinese Venisiers te wees. Dus was die pizza maar, sal ons se^, Chinees-Venisies. Eetbaar, maar nou nie vars uit Mama se kombuis nie.

Ons hotel is 'n hele ent van die hooftoeloop van toeriste in 'n stil deel van Venisie, 'n hanetree van die naaste Vaporetto-stasie af. Ons't gistraant aangekom sonder probleme, en is heel gelukkig met die kamer, wat tipies Venisies gemeublieer en versier is - ligblou gordyne en beddegoed, goue, fensie spieelraam en Murano glas plafonlig. Als lyk of dit nie te lank terug nie oorgedoen is, baie netjies en skoon. Ontbyt was die gewone Italiaanse affair - koffie, croissante, konfyt, en natuurllik, 'n Italiaanse onbyt is nie volledig sonder sjokolade-smeer nie.

Venisie voel steeds soos 'n tweede tuiste. Die rustigheid is tasbaar, die verloop van die lewe waarskynlik getemper deur die eeue waartydens nie veel omwenteling anders as nuwe straatlampe gebeur het nie (Venisie is nog nooit in onlangse heugenis deur oorlog geteister nie). En natuurlik Internet, gratis in die hotel, waaroor ons baie bly is. Dit het gehelp om ons bietjie op te voed.... iets in die lug het gese^ more is 'n vakansiedag, en na 'n gegoogle het ons uitgevind dis 'All Saints Day' more, en Sondag 'Day of the Departed'. Amper soos Halloween, maar meer heilig. Dankie tog...

Tata Barcelona

We started off the day yesterday morning with a visit to the rental agent to negotiate the ridiculously high late check-in fee and report the broken bed we've been 'sleeping' on. Fortunately they were quite amenable and we reached a settlement that we were fairly happy with.

I'd woken up with a stomach bug that haunted me the whole day, giving it a strange Dali-ike quality as reality shifted in and out of focus as we negotiated rain, traffic, queues and sidewalk crowds. So it only seemed logical that we would take a two hour train journey to the town of Figueres to pay a visit to the Dali Museum and get a closer look at the native Catalonian artist life and work.

Figueres is Dali's place of birth, and without that notoriety, or fame, it would just be another provincial Spanish town. However due to the presence of the museum in the downtown area, it now has a fashionable shopping district, the usual curio and touristy shops, and neat, clean pavements. Maybe towns like Somerset East, birthplace and home to the Walter Battiss museum, should take a few tips.

While the museum, a mix of the grotesque, monumental, curious and artistically intrigueing is a visual experience, it was extremely overcrowded and noisy. Museums/art galleries lose their impact very quickly when you simply can't look at a painting for more than five seconds without being shoved or someone walking past in front of what you're trying hard to make sense of. So we had to continuously dodge out the door into the cosy garden courtyards to catch our breath and escape the camera flashes.

Also, and this may be part of the Dali-ousness of the museum, there is very little information given about anything inside it, nor is there a logical flow guiding one's visit, and nothing that feeds the visitor's innate need to 'know'. Having to constantly dodge people didn't help, so by the end of the visit, I felt compelled to buy a museum guide to give the whole experience a bit more meaning. Probably very un-Dali, but then, I also don't have such a great moustache, either.

Interestingly enough, a fairly small part of the the whole Dali collection was classic surrealist, 'mad' painting and sculpture; it seems he also did a lot of work in other styles. Live and learn...

After an uneventful return to Barcelona and early-to-bed evening, we got up early this morning, Adeline went for a run, and I shot a few last photos around town. We're packing for the flight to Venice this afternoon, going in a sense 'home' to the place we both love. Don't know what the Internet connectivity will be like there, but hopefully we'll be posting more updates!

Vensters van die Casa Battlo

Casa Battlo

Casa Battlo

Dak van die stoorkamer in die Batlo huis

Skoorstene van die Battlo huis

Casa Battlo

Miro in die reen

Dit reen in Barcelona.

Dit het begin toe ons op die dak van die Casa Battlo staan en onsself verkyk het aan die vloeiende lyne van Gaudi se geteelde skoorstene. Van vroegdag was die weer grys, maar dit het net voor ons daar aangekom fyn sproeisels begin neersak. Toe ons 'n uur of wat later die Casa uit is om die Metro na die Miro Museum te haal was dit deeglik sambreelweer.
Dis nou agt-uur die aand, en reen nog steeds. Hard.

Aangekom by die Miro Museum staan die ry mense wat wag om kaartjies te koop reeds so honderd meter ver by die deur uit. Reeds gewoond aan hierdie verskynsel by al die bekende toeriste aantreklikhede in Barcelona, val ons maar in die ry. Ons word stadig natter, al doen Adeline als om albei van ons sowel as die donkerskop meisie voor ons in die ry droog te hou.
SO veertig minute later kom ons uiteindelik onderdak, deurnat. Nogal snaaks dat die Museum nie iets doen om mense wat rystaan droog te hou nie - sekerlik is deurweekte mense wat soos nat hoenders die deur inkom nie so 'n seldsame verskynsel hier rond nie?

Nietemin is die Miro Museum soos ander Europese kunsplekke uiters goed georganiseer, goed gemerk en toegerus, wat natuurlik'n peperduur kafeteria en aandenkingwinkel insluit. Dit vat ons verder ook tien minute om uit te vind mens moet 'n een Euro munstuk in die sluitkassie se slot sit voor jy dit kan gebruik. G'n mens weet eintlik hoekom nie, want jy kry dit weer terug as jy jou goed uithaal as jy klaar is met jou besoek. Snaaks.

Daar's redes hoekom die oorgrote meerderheid van kunstenaars wat 'n paar strepe op papier trek - 'abstrakte kuns' maak - nie museums in hul naam het nie. Dit het te doen met staying power net soveel as met insig, tegniek, en daardie een persent geluk (ryk mense wat jou kuns aanhang en koop). Die skilder Joan Miro se kuns werk, behalwe vir 'n paar glipse hier en daar. Om abstrakte, 'deurmekaar' kuns te kry om te 'werk' moet die kyker 'n plan kan sien, een wat dikwels dekades, of 'n leeftyd neem om na vore te kom in die werk van 'n kunstenaar. 'Jy kan ook so teken', se^ Adeline op 'n stadium, terwyl ons na 'n 'deurmekaar' werk staan en kyk. Seker, se^ ek, maar hy het, en ek nie (Ek skryf in my notaboek: Begin werk aan museum.). Dis nie so eenvoudig nie, maar 'n leeftyd van skilder, beeldhou en 'n sielsverhouding met jou kuns opbou laat mens hier respek kry vir die man.

En duisende mense stroom deur die museum, te oordeel aan die menseverkeer hier. Ek wonder hoeveel 'doen' die museum omdat dit aanbeveel word in die Barcelona gidse, die toeriste-busse reg voor die deur stop, of iemand in die familie gehoor het Miro is 'goed'. Ander doen dit waarskynlik vir hul spruite se onthalwe. Almal hier kan beswaarlik kunsfundis wees.

In ieder geval, besluit ek waar ek sit en een van die skilder se draderige tekeninge 'ontleed', dis gaaf van iemand om sy indrukke van die werklikheid, met saamgaande gevoelens en visuele insigte, hier vir die nageslag te laat, waar dit vir almal wat wil te siene is, en nie in 'n hogere se sitkamer hang as 'n trofee of afshowstuk nie. Immers vertel meer as een van die beskrywings teen die muur van Miro se pogings om 'physical reactions' of 'imagination' by die kyker te skep.
En ja, dit werk, Miro.

Ten spyte van die reen was ons stap na die Miro-ervaring ligter en varser, asof ons geweet het ons het iets gekoop wat wag om weer, en weer, en weer oopgemaak te word as ons tuis is. Herinnering is immers die beste deel van 'n kunsmuseum besoek, en iets wat mens saam huistoe neem na 'n kuns-pelgrimstog.

Monserrat, the have-to-see monastery

The monastery of Montserrat, set in dramatic mountain surroundings an hour's drive from Barcelona, takes the idea of pilgrimage to its logical conclusion by melting sightseeing tourism with the holy journey to a place of worship.

In most guidebooks Montserrat is listed as the one-day outing from Barcelona visitors should'nt miss. so early Monday morning we set out by metro and train for the visit.

Describing Montserrat as a 'monastery' is a little bit of a misnomer. Even though the cable car only ferries 35 people at a time from the railway station in the valley up five hundred metres into the mountain enclave where it's located, the complex is a hive of tour groups, school outings, and a throng of elderly Spanish there to pay respects and be blessed by the community's monks.

But at least, especially from down in the valley, the buildings have the look and visual appeal of a monastery, with dusty pink, artistically sparse structures that are camouflaged into the surrounding boulders and rocky ridges of the mountain. One doesn't have to read the guide books to realise that long, long ago there was a human being with a longing for solitude in majestic surroundings who was inspired to create a monastic community who could follow a path of spiritual contemplation and instruction that has lasted despite wars (the monastery was badly damaged during the Civil War) and natural disasters (the mountain often sees floods and rock falls).

Right after attending Mass in the monastery's richly adorned basilica (the world 'opulent' is not out of place) we start queuing to see the statuette of the black Mother and Child that sits high above the apse, reached by climbing a narrow staircase. Judging by the length of the queue it's clear that the icon is highly revered among Roman Catholics, especialy the local, older people. Be, who form the larger part of people in the queue. However right behind us is a young Asian girl, probably from the Catholic communities of the Phillipines or Taiwan, patiently waiting her turn. We stand in line for about half and hour before reaching the icon, housed in a small, splendidly decorated enclave. She reverently kisses the statuette's dark outstretched hand, before standing back, holding out her small digital camera and taking two seconds to aim and snap, flash thoughtfully switched off, before hurrying along with the queue.

A moment of revenance, a Kodak moment. Her pilgrimage moment.

Later, stting across from the monastery's 'shopping complex' I watch a priest in the long, black robe of the Jesuit monks leave the gift shop, a small plastic back and his camera in hand. He walks in the direction of cable car station, stopping to consult a layout map of the complex on the way before heading further. Religious tourism, or pilgrimage?

The gift shop as well as the monastery's well-stocked cafeteria and R80-a-ride funicular probably goes a long way to helping the monastery balance the books, in addition to income from CDs and tours by its internationally renowned boys choir.

We find the real Pilgrim's Moment two hundred metres above the busy monastery, high up in the peaks of the mountains that we reach after a five minute ride on the funicular. Outside the funicular station we step into quiet, chilly mountain air, where various footpaths winding along the perimeters of granite peaks take the pilgrim into the solitude of nature. Our only companions on the footpath we choose are two or three hikers, who are generally not talkative folks. We hear nothing more from them but a shy 'Hola' as they pass us.

Back at the monastery, where it's now just before dusk, the tourist buses have departed and there's only the last few tourist stragglers left making their way to the train station below. We promise ourselves that, should we visit Barcelona again, a stay at the monastery's hotel, and a day or two of hiking in the mountain would be the perfect pilgrimage in which to find the solitude space Monserrat has - at least before and after the tourists leave.

Cable car to Montserat

Hallo Sagrada Familia, sien jou in 2026

Op reis is daar plekke wat mens sien, net om te hoop jy sien dit weer, eendag.

Barcelona bou die afgelope 120 jaar aan 'n katedraal, die Sagrada Familia. Hulle vorder fluks, hoop om in 2026 klaar te wees. Dis 'n 'labour of love', befonds deur die duisende toeriste wat dag na dag deur die halfklaar gebou stroom.

Dis ook 'n soort huldeblyk aan Gaudi, die argitek-ikoon van Barcelona. Wat beteken dat behalwe vir die gotiese torings van die gebou, dit ook tierlantyntjies met keramiekteels, golwende fasades en akkedisse het.
Wat op enige ander plek ter wereld hopeloos mal sou lyk, maar in Barcelona so tuis soos biltong in Benoni is.

Ons arriveer tien-uur die oggend, terwyl die oggendmis nog aan is. Dit word gehou in een hoek van die Sagrada, tussen die bou-toerusting, gips-vorms en scaffolding. Mens sien dit nie gebeur nie; dis verskuil agter plankafskortings. Die singende stemme skep 'n half-uit-plek atmosfeer, asof engele hard probeer om kerk te skep uit die chaos.

Soos alle groot katedrale van die wereld is die Sagrada indrukwekkend. Buite is die afwerking eklekties, binne nog meer asemrowend as die Duomo wat ons 'n week terug in Milaan gesien het. Meer indrukwekkend omdat die geometrie meer doelbewus, wetenskaplik, vloeiend is. G'n wonder die kerk is op verskillende stadiums deur ideologiee en standpunte van die dag veroordeel as godslasterlik nie.

Terwyl ons deurstap, nekke gekrink om die grootsheid in te neem voel dit skielik of ons terug is iewers in Europa vyf eeue gelede, in die heyday van katedraalbou. Vir 'n oomblik beleef ons die grootsheid van alles wat die mensdom ingesit het om iets van so skaal te bou in dae sonder elektriese bore en betonmengers, 'n proses wat tgoe ook leeftye geneem het, nog meer as in die geval van die Sagrada.

Klaar deurgestap, op pad na die parkie oorkant die straat vir middagete bevestig ons kopknikkend dat ons gaan terugkom oor twintig jaar, net om te sien hoe Barcelona vorder.

Of dalk, as als goedgaan, hoe 'n klaar Sagrada lyk, in 2026, 100 jaar na Gaudi se dood.

Striking a pose...

Adeline by Placa de Catalunya.

Barcelona

Welcome to the city where everyone's an artist! Here a sidewalk is not just a sidewalk, a door isn't just a door, its all art. Barcelona is in fact little more than one big art gallery; every open space an opportunity to exhibit, build, sculpt, paint. All of which seems to attract every single tourist from all corners of the world - Barcelona's sidewalks are, even more than Rome, we thought, filled with rucksacked, pale-skinned people wandering around with cameras around their necks and city maps in hand.

So these two rather palefaced South Africans have joined in, camera in hand, rucksack packed with extra jersey, water bottle and city map, gawking through shop windows, queueing at museums and munching sandwiches while sitting on benches in city parks. When in Barcelona, do as all Barcelona tourists do!

We're staying in a rooftop flatlet in the old part of Barcelona, in a building that opens up into the classical narrow, no, NARROW alleys that criss-cross ancient cities, and that were designed before the motor car was invented. Our neighbouring buildings include a chocolate shop, a quaint stationery seller, sundry pastry shops and a place that sells tassles. Yes, tassles.

Who'd have thought one can make a living selling tassles...

Tomorrow we're joining the sightseeing circuit, taking in the major sights, which should take us about two days. Then we're off to Figureres, about an hour from Barcelona, to see the Dali House and museum. So we're looking forward to three days of arty overdose!

Wiele!

Wonder bo wonder, 'n huurplek in die dorp het hulle oor ons ontferm en ingestem om ons 'n kar te huur vir 'n dag. Wat beteken dat ons na brekfis in ons hemelblou Fiat Panda gespring en begin het om die omgewing te verken.

Teen ses-uur die middag, toe ons die kar moet teruggee, het ons 'n streep besienswaardighede gesien en 'n goeie beeld gekry van hierdie deel van Sardinie wat hoofsaaklik uit plase bestaan wat olywe, wingerde en vrugte verbou. Dis 'n omgewing wat herinner aan Oudtshoorn tot by Calvinia. Dis droog hier, se^ die mense, selfs die normaalweg geharde plantegroei sukkel. Dis bergagtig, en al die paaie wat ons ry slinger tussen valleie en oor berghange, van een stil dorpie tot die volgende.

Ons stop 'n ruk in Orgosolo, 'n dorpie wat vir homself naamgemaak het as 'n 'kunsdorp' nadat kunstenaars jare gelede muurskilderye met 'n sterk politieke en sosiale bookskap oral in die dorp geverf het. Dis as't ware 'n opelug kunsmuseum, en te oordeel aan die busvragte toeriste wat daar aankom, heel gewild. Ten spyte hiervan het Orgosolo als behalwe die aura van 'n toeristeplek. Daar's net een klein curio winkel, niks byderwetse kafees nie, en die koeldrank wat ons by 'n kafeejie drink kos helfte van wat dit elders kos. Die plek voel nog soos 'n 'rerige' Sardiniese dorpie.

Vroegaand eet ons aandete op ons hotelkamer se stoep - druiwe, kaas, brood, en 'n eg Sardiniese bier. Daar's 'n sterk bries, en die see praat harder saamS as gewoonlik. More begin ons die terugtog Alghero toe, weereens met openbare vervoer, weereens 'n avontuur....

Milaan tot Sardinie

En so is ons toe gaap-gaap drie-uur die oggend weg by Hotel Nettuno in Pedinostraat, tien minute se stap van Centrale stasie waar ons die Autostradale bus kry vir die uurlange rit Orio Lughawe toe. Behalwe vir die enkele laatnagverliefdes was die strate doodstil, so die stap het vinnig gegaan. Albei van ons het 'n uiltjie op die bus geknip om die vier ure slaap wat ons vroeer ingekry het by te werk, so chop-chop was ons by die lughawe.
Om Ryanair te vlieg is 'n ritueel wat amper voel soos om skoonouers te vra: 'n groot, hol kol op die maag voor die tydoor tasse wat te swaar gaan wees. Buitendien is Ryanair bekend vir hul humorlose check-in personeel, so ons verwag altyd die ergste. Maar vanoggend was die gode van vlieg ons genadig - geen tou mense, tasse binne die gewigsgrens, en voor jy kan se^ 'budget airline' sit ons en wag om aan boord te gaan, 'n hele uur en twintig minute te vroeg.

Die negentig minute vlug het goed verloop. Alghero se lughawe is klein maar modern en goed georganiseer. Eers het ons twee goeie caffe lattes geniet by 'n kafeteria en toe 'n motor te huur gaan soek. Ongelukkig wil niemand ons 'n kar huur sonder 'n internasionale lisiensie nie - wat ons nie byderhand het nie. Ons was verbaas want dis die eerste maal dat motorhuurplekke so-iets vereis. Wat ons dus sonder 'n kar laat, iets wat ons nie opgereken het nie.

Ons hotel is heeltemal op die teenoorgestelde kus van die eiland - omtrent twee uur se ry - so ons voorland is dus busry.

Die vriendelike toeristekantoorbeampte het ons mooi verduidelik watter busse om te neem, waar ons hulle kry, en so aan. Ons neem 'n minibus tot op die dorp Nuoro, en daarna 'n plaaslike bus tot op die kusdorp Cala Gonone, waar ons die volgende drie nagte gaan oorstaan.

Als gaan goed tot op Nuoro se busstasie. Dis 'n interessante, oninteressante plek, 'n groot teerblad met 'n enkele - toe - kaartjieskantoor en jare se graffiti op die mure. Dis so stil soos net 'n Italiaanse dorpie rondom siesta tyd kan wees. Doodstil. En g'n bus in sig nie.

Niemand weet einlik wanneer die volgende bus vertrek nie, maar dit klink na omtrent twee-uur die middag, wat ons so uur van rondsit gee.

So skeef na twee kom die bus aan, en begin ons die laaste skof Cala Gonone toe. Die rit is interessant, veral omdat mens oor 'n berg, of eerder met 'n tonnel deur 'n berg ry, en dan ver met 'n bergpas afry tot by die see. Baie skilderagtig, baie mooi.

Cala Gonone is 'n vakansiedorpie wat bestaan uit 'n oulike klein hawetjie, 'n streep hotelle langs die see af, en 'n paar dosyn pizza-restaurante. Ons hotel is nie meer as vyftig meter van die strand af nie, en kyk uit oor die hawe. Dis soos Margate, maar Meditereens.

Ons gebruik die res van die middag om die dorp te verken, strand toe te stap, en uit te vind oor bootritte en ander dinge om te doen. Later die aand, terwyl ons op ons stoep sit en luister na die golwe - golfies! want dis die Middelandse See hierdie - is dit moeilik om te glo ons was vanoggend nog in Milaan.

En hier sit ons nou in Sardinie, tussen see en berg.

Como meer

Lake Como

Adeline started the day with a run through a park located a few blocks from our hotel. At 8am hardly a soul on the streets, not only because it's Italy but it's also Saturday. After that we started getting ready for the trek out to Lake Como, a day trip away from downtown Milan where we're staying. It was a bit of a schlep to get there, but the beautiful scenery and fun of experiencing Lake Como by boat was well worth it. It's a kind of Swiss-German-French-Italian ambience; romantic beyong belief, opulent, simply the ideal setting for a fifties, black and white Hollywood girl-fall-for-rich-Italian-stud movie (was that ever made and who starred?). Stopped off at a small lakeside village whose name sounds like Tremazini, where we ogled the five star lakeside hotels - one with floating pool INSIDE the lake - before taking a quick walk around the most amazing, exquisite villa with a botanic garden to die for. Again, see note about Hollywood Italian stud movie.

We're kind of sad to be leaving Milan tomorrow. Another two days would have been ideal, just to get more of the city's cultural offerings, and maybe go see the Last Supper. It's not the most to-die-for Italian city we've ever been to, but it's, well, Italian. And the search for the perfect Milan pizza has to continue on the next journey, since we've not really come across anything that's really pizza-pizza-pizza. Not for lack of trying though...

A 6am flight to Alghero in Sardinia takes us out of Milan tomorrow, so it's an early night tonight. Looks like no Internet over in Sardinia, so don't worry if the blog lies fallow for a few days, we haven't eloped everyone, that may only happen later on in the trip....

Useless stats and facts:

** Ordered the strongest hot chocolate I've ever had in Como.
** Photo count standing on 350.
** The hand sculpture is at the entrance to Como station.
** Avoid Milan Central station, they're renovating.
** Italian trains are super comfy.
** En ja Karen ons het baie aan julle gedink by Como.

Charl in Lake Como

Lake Como

Adeline en Charl raak betrokke by 'n betoging...

Wow, it was just like the sixties! On our very first day in Milan we got caught up in a protest march, complete with red communist flags and slogan shouting union leaders! We're not sure what the protest was about, but it was fun anyway. The riot police was even present, but they looked decidedly bored and uninterested.

Then it was on for a stroll through the decidedly capitalist Corso Vittorio Emanuel II, a mall to top all malls, and the only mall where MacDonalds is gold in colour not red, and located across the corridor from Prada and Louis Vuitton. So Adeline went and bought four pairs of.... oh well, no, so just posed in front of the entrance to Prada for a photo. With the Euro at R12, that's about as much as we could afford.

Modieus is die tweede naam van elke Milanees. en stove pipe jeans, groot donkerbrille en helderkleurige kouse met kort rokkies is in, wat beteken dis die mode in SA vir Julie volgende jaar. Julle het dit eerste hier gelees!

So ons twee in T-shirts en jeans voel baie uit. Ons lyk en voel soos toeriste. Selfs die bedelaars lyk opgedress.

En wag ons die sonsondergang in op die 'lovers grasperk van Parco Sempione, nadat ons vroeer die Castello Sforzesco museum kafgedraf het. Ons is omring deur omtrent vyfig paartjies, almal in verskillende omhelsings wat ons so bietjie mff mff mmmmm....

Dubi, Dubi, Dubai

Daar's nie veel anders om te doen op Dubai lughawe om 5vm nie, anders om te shop nie. Nie KOOP nie, SHOP. Groot verskil - met koop haal jy 'n kredietkaart uit en skaf iets aan, maar met shop se^ mens net oe, a, oe, sjoe, nice, oulik, en koop dan net twee Cokes en gaan sit iewers en drink tot dit tyd is vir die volgende vlug.

Nadat ons omtrent tien keer gese^ het 'ons moet dit of dat kry met die terugkomslag'. KOOP.

Die hiernatoe vlug was, wel, OK, hoewel ons met verlangende oe" na die besigheidsklas sitplekke gekyk het. Die kinders langsaan het na 'n uur of twee van kwaai woel gaan slaap, die kos was nie te sleg nie, en vir 'n verandering het die gewoonlik masochistiese kajuitpersoneel nie die temperatuur afgestel na minus twintig toe as dit bedtyd is nie.

Wat ons dus nou bring, hier in die geselskap van eindelose vlugaankondigings in meganiese Arabiese vroustemme, tot twintig minute voor ons Dubai-Milan vlug.