Tommy says…

Sun Yat-sen Mausoleum

This is the first in hopefully a number of posts where I put up travel itineraries which have worked well for me. See notes below on my choice of sights and alternatives.

Where: Nanjing is a historic city located in eastern China, about 300km from Shanghai as the crow flies, or roughly 1.5 hours by bullet train. Today, Nanjing is the capital of Jiangsu province, but for centuries it was the capital of various regimes throughout Chinese history, and the capital of a unified China in the 14th century and again in the early 20th century. Its long history has given it many poetic names, but its modern name means, simply, “the southern capital”, mirroring the name of Beijing, “the northern capital”. Culturally and linguistically, Nanjing is a thorough mixture of northern and southern China, reflecting successive influxes of northern rulers and its location in the heartland of Wu culture. Visitors to Nanjing are usually attracted by its great monuments, including the tomb of Sun  Yat-sen, the “father of modern China”, but it is also famous for its food, boulevardes, lakes and mountains, and the legends that still echo from laneways to ruined palaces.

The Gate of Fraternity

Day 1:

• Train to Nanjing: I took the 8:00 am bullet train from Shanghai station to Nanjing station (about 1.5 hours travelling time). If you are travelling by train, note carefully the departure and arrival stations. If you are departing from relatively central Shanghai, I recommend choosing a train that goes from Shanghai station to Nanjing station, rather than from Shanghai Hongqiao to Nanjing South. Also be aware that Nanjing South station moved in 2011 from just south of the city centre to much further away, and now takes about 30-45 minutes longer to get to from central Nanjing.
  

  Shuttle "trains" and golf carts

• Purple Mountain (紫金山） / Zhongshan Mountain （钟山） area: the most impressive monuments in Nanjing are located in these hills just east of the city centre.  The three key attractions here are the Mausoleum of Sun Yat-sen, the tomb of the first Emperor of the Ming Dynast, and the Linggu Temple area, which was formerly the Nationalist war cemetary for the 1911 revolution and conflicts with Japan leading up to World War II. Each of these are arranged up the slope of a mountain, and there are golf carts / electric shuttle cars to convey tourists within the larger park area.
• From the railway station, take the Metro Line 1 to Xinjiekou station (新街口), then change to Line 2 to Muxuyuan station (苜蓿园). Leave the station from Exit 1, and follow the signposted boardwalk which runs parallel to the main road to a parking area next to the elevated expressway.
• Buy tickets for the park shuttles. Current prices are RMB 5 per ride, but I recommend the five-ride ticket for RMB 15 since you will most likely take at least three rides while in the park.
  

  Avenue of plane trees in Purple Mountain

• Find the park shuttle to the Mausoleum of Sun Yat-sen (中山陵). The tomb complex is free to visit. From the shuttle stop, follow the crowds to reach Fraternity Square, in front of the Gate of Fraternity. Directly across the square from that gate is an interesting bronze cauldron, which marks the southern tip of the tomb complex. Follow the stone steps up the hill to visit the tomb itself. The burial chamber (influenced by that of Napoleon) itself is currently closed to visitors due to the influx in visitors since the tomb complex stopped charging admission. (About 1 hour)
• Coming back to Fraternity Square, cross the square slightly to the left (while facing away from the tomb) and you will see a sign for the Music Bowl (音乐台). Here you can buy a ticket that covers admission to the other major sights in the Purple Mountain area for RMB 90. The Music Bowl itself is an interesting example of Republican architecture and design.
• Coming back to Fraternity Square, go right as you face the tomb to board the shuttle for Linggu Temple (灵谷寺). Take a walk  up the hill to see:
• the Hall of Infinite Strength (无量殿/无梁殿), a rare, brick-vaulted traditional Chinese building which was converted into a shrine to the war dead of the National Revolutionary Army;
• Linggu pagoda, an early 20th century construction decorated with works of calligraphy by artists who happened to have been leaders of the 1911 revolution, and which offers great views over the area and Nanjing generally;
• several interesting tombs, shrines and memorials of various styles, such as the tomb of Tan Yankai, a 20th century construction with classical Chinese elements; and
• Linggu Temple, a modern recreation of the temple from which this ensemble derives its name; and
• In the right season, sweet osmanthus blossoms.
• (About 2 hours in total)
  

  The front of the mound at the Ming Xiaoling Mausoleum

• Coming back out to the shuttle stop, look for the shuttle that goes to the Ming Xiaoling Tomb (明孝陵), the 15th century tomb of the first Emperor of the Ming Dynasty. The shuttle takes you close to the tomb complex itself, which is an interesting mixture of original elements and later reconstructions of buildings destroyed by war. After you reach the burial mound, come back out, and upon exiting the gate of the tomb complex there is a path that leads left. (Less than 1 hour)
• Optional: if you are doing well for time at this point, follow that path to the left, which takes you into the Zixia Lake (紫霞湖) area. A 20 minute walk up the mountain is rewarded with pretty views of Zixia Lake, a reservoir high up the mountain built at the time of the construction of the Mausoleum of Sun Yat-sen. It is a favourite swimming, fishing and picnicking spot for locals.  Walking around the lake takes you to some medieval ruins and also Zhengqi Pavilion (正气亭), which reputedly marks the spot that Chiang Kai-shek picked out for his own tomb. On the way up or down the hill you will also see the ruins of the tomb of the first crown prince of the Ming Dynasty, who predeceased his father and so was buried close to his tomb, and a gallery of Chinese calligraphy carvings. (About 1.5 hours)
• Coming back down to the front of the Xiaoling tomb, a road leads to the right as you stand before the bridges before the tomb (facing away from the tomb). Follow this road as it turns left and then left again to see the stone statues of civil and military officials who guard the “spirit way” of the Emperor’s tomb, and, after another turn to the left, paired statues of animal guardians both mythical and real. The camels and elephants are especially impressive. At the end of the “spirit way”, follow the path until you see a tall brick enclosure on your right. This is the official tombstone for the mausoleum, a giant granite block carried by a colossal tortoise-like creature. From here, take the pedestiran bridge across the main road to exit the mausoleum complex from its official entrance, the Great Golden Gate.
• At this point you will find yourself in a complex of shops, restaurants, and galleries capitalising on the tourist trade. If Republican history interests you, turn left here, exit the mall complex via the path marked by ornate columns on the left to return to the main road. Walk along the road to the right and you will come across Meiling Palace (美龄宫), formerly an official residence for the President of the Republic of China but in reality a villa used mostly by Generallissimo and Madame Chiang Kai-shek. The villa is ticketed separately.
• To get to your hotel or to the city, there are shuttle stops on the main road near Meiling Palace. The one across the road takes you back to Muxuyuan subway station but services are infrequent. You can walk back to Muxuyuan station by following the main road, it takes about 15-20 minutes.
• Gate of China (Zhonghua Men) / the Confucian Temple night markets / Hunan Road snack street
• The Gate of China (中华门) was the southern gate of Nanjing, and is well known for its formidable construction and elaborate defences. Unlike ordinary city walls which are defended by one barbican, the Gate of China has three, and an invader who chooses (unwisely) to attach the city here would have to breach four gates and face traps and arrows at every turn. From here, you have the option of walking or cycling along the city wall for quite a long way in either direction. The gate complex itself houses exhibitions as well as a temple to a treasure bowl that legend holds was buried under this gate. Note that the subway stop named “Gate of China” is some distance from the gate itself, the most convenient transport option is by bus. The “Tourism route 2″ or “Y2″ (游2) (see general tips below about the ”tourism route” buses) takes you to the gate.
• From the Gate of China, take the Y2 (游2) bus out (the bus stop is on the side of the gate complex, on your right if you are standing on the gate facing away from the moat and into the city) to the Confucian Temple (夫子庙). This is not just a temple – indeed the temple itself is quite small and not entirely authentic. In times past, this area housed one of the main imperial academies in China, and with the large concentration of students the area became a centre for restaurants, taverns, shops of all description, and brothels. The brothels are gone now but the other establishments have been re-established. Take a walk (and maybe a boat trip on the river) and absorb the bustling atmosphere.
• On the south side of the river are some historical neighbourhoods, including the newly constructed Ancient Residences of Wang and Xie (王谢古居). This is a museum which is intended to reflect the era when Nanjing served as the capital of several dynasties ruling over southern China. The museum is located in Wuyi Xiang (乌衣巷), or “Black Suit Alley”, named after a unit of elite troops of the Wu kingdom in the Three Kingdoms period which was stationed here. Their distinctive uniform – as you may have guessed – was black.
• Being so saturated with tourists, it is difficult to find good food near the Confucian Temple. From here, take a bus (e.g. route 31) or the subway (follow the signs) to get to Hunan Road. The closest subway stop is Xuanwu Men (玄武门). There are a number of “snack streets” off Hunan Road, which are packed with unique restaurants and food stalls. The most accessible is Lion Bridge, or Shizi Qiao (狮子桥). This street is perpendicular to Hunan Road and is marked by a large ceremonial gate on Hunan Road.
• Some recommendations for “local” flavour include:
• Huiwei Duck Blood Vermicelli (回味鸭血粉丝)  (past the McDonalds). Their signature dish, duck blood vermicelli souop, features mung bean vermicelli in a soup along with a variety of duck products, including blocks of duck blood (like tofu but with duck flavour), gizzards, cured liver and other delicacies. Great tasting (despite the organic sounding ingredient list). Goes well with a basket of their xiaolongbao (tiny steamed buns with soup). Order at the counter, pick up food from a window and take it to your chosen table.
• A Simple Diet  (粗茶淡饭) (before the McDonalds) serves a variety of down-to-earth but delicious regional cuisine.  Choose a table, catch a waitress to get your order form, then go to the counters to order. The menu is presented as plastic food so you can get an approximate idea of what you get even without speaking the language. I recommend the chicken soup with stirred noodles. The pastries (xiaolongbao and other steamed dishes) are also nice.
• To leave from Lion Bridge, walk back out to Hunan Road. Walking to the right takes you to Xuanwumen station. Alternatively, walk left until you reach Zhongshan Road, where you will find many bus lines.
• If you still have the energy, take the subway or a bus to Xinjiekou (新街口), the key modern shopping area in Nanjing, where you will find department stores and international brands.

Day 2:

Presidential Palace

• Presidential Palace: The Presidential Palace in Nanjing was the centre of political power during the periods of Kuomintang (Nationalist) rule in the Republic of China. It is a mixture of a classical Chinese yamen (as the office of the Viceroy of the Two Jiangs), Republican-era architecture and Communist era desecration.
• Take the subway line 2 to Daxinggong station and walk north across the open plaza, alternatively take the Y2 bus.
• There is plenty to see at the Presidential Palace and no single route. It roughly divides into three sections organised around the central, western and eastern axes. The most significant sights are along the central axis. This includes the restored presidential office and executive council conference rooms, all in the Zichao building at the northern end of the compound.
• The western axis features several gardens as well as the presidential office used by Sun Yat-sen as the first provisional president of the Republic.
• The eastern axis has a range of service buildings from the Viceregal era, as well as some early 20th century offices used by the executive government during the Republican era, restored to the way they were in the 1940s.
  

  The steps seen in many official photographs of the Republican era

• Nearby is the Meiyuan Estate (梅园新村), some preserved villas from the Republican era which are today preserved mainly because the Communist party delegation to the capital was located here during the negotiations between the Communists and Nationalists in 1946-7.
• A new attraction which at the time of writing is yet to open despite having been completed more than 3 years ago is the Nanjing Zizhao Fu (南京织造府), or the Nanjing Weaving Works, intended to be a museum on the site of the former imperial weaving and embroidery works. The architecture is interesting as a combination of traditional elements juxtaposed onto contemporary forms. The building currently sits empty due to disagreements between the private sector developers, the city government and scholars as to its proper contents.
• Also in this area of the town are several universities such as Nanjing University (the former Nanking University) and Southeast University (the National Central University during the Republican era), which feature some interesting architecture from the Republican era. Also interesting is Yihe Road (颐和路), reputedly the best collection of Republican architecture in Nanjing.
  

  Jiming Temple viewed from the wall

• Jiming Temple (鸡鸣寺), or the Temple of the Crowing Rooster, is a historical temple built along the slopes of a hill to the north of central Nanjing. You can reach it by walking by buses including the Y2.
• While the temple itself is fairly small and mostly the result of modern construction, its most interesting features is original: a covered walkway at the back of the temple takes you from the hill on which the temple is built onto the city wall. This section of city wall gives some great views over the city, and also over Xuanwu Laketo the north.
  

  Xuanwu Lake from the wall

• From here, it is not too far to go to one of the eateries of Hunan Road for a late lunch and perhaps shopping for some souvenirs.
• Duck is a traditional specialty of Nanjing and often bought as souvenirs.  One particularly well known shop is the Halal Han Fu Xing (韩复兴) Cured Duck Shop, which makes great salt ducks and roast ducks, as well as the eponymous cured ducks and a variety of duck products and other types of roasted poultry. One unique product, sold from a window facing the street, is duck-oil pancakes. These come in both sweet and savoury varieties, and are delicious if eaten hot (or reheated). Han Fu Xing have branches on Hunan Road (No. 110 Hunan Road) and in several other places.
• When returning by train, the best way to get to the station is via subway Line 1, either to Nanjing Railway Station or Nanjing South Railway Station. The latter takes longer to get to, and should not be confused with the old Nanjing South Railway Station, now re-named Gate of China (or Zhonghuamen) Station.

Other notes:

1.  Nanjing is best seen on a 3-4 day trip, this is a compressed itinerary suitable for a weekend trip out of Shanghai.
2. I speak passable Mandarin; if language is a problem for you, you may want to ask someone to prepare printed tags for you and rely more on taxis and metros and less on buses, for example.
3. I don’t like wasting my travel time on political propaganda. Two major Nanjing “attractions” which fall into this category and therefore are excluded here are the Yuhuatai (“Platform of the Rain of Flowers”) Martyr’s Memorial and the Nanking Massacre Memorial.
4. I prefer eating local specialties at restaurants where taste comes first. While hygiene is important to me, decor is not, and I usually avoid foods which are from the wrong part of the world. For example, even though I make no mention of them above, Nanjing, like any other city in China, has a good selection of spicy restaurants if your tastes are inclined that way.

Happy travelling!

It was a grey morning with a light sprinkle of rain in Paris. G and I had been wandering the laneways near the Madeleine and the Palais Garnier looking for coffee, when we chanced upon a little store. We were intrigued by the window displays, an eclectic mixture of writing instruments, stamps and cards, all stylishly designed. We went in. It being fairly early in the morning and close to Christmas, we seemed to be the only visitors, although there were quite a few staff tending various departments. The store was modern and minimalist in decor, and was organised into several somewhat disparate departments. There was a philatelic department, equipped with mounted magnifying glasses for examining stamps; an area for designing (and printing) your own envelope and parcel wrappers; as well as a large range of pens, cards, writing paper, and equipment and material for creating your own stationery.

I especially liked the philatelic counter – where I bought my favourite piece of Paris souvenir. Le Carré d’Encre literally means “Ink Square”. The store brought to mind what a post office shop could be like if it was given a complete redesign by someone with both a sense of style and a love of writing, in all its forms. In fact, that seems to be how the store came to be – it is a project of Phil@Poste, the stamps and stamp-collecting section of the French postal authority, La Poste. They  took all the fun bits of a post shop (stamps, stationery, cards, even creative envelopes and parcel wrapping) and gave it the glamour treatment – but left out all the boring bits like the queues, teller-style counters, and computer-printed text labels.

Even surrounded by all the grand magasins of Avenue Haussman, this shop definitely stood out as my favourite.

Who: Le Carré d’Encre
Where: 13bis, rue de Mathurins, 75009 Paris (nearest Metro: Havre-Caumartin)
What: Stylishly designed stationery and stamp store
Website: http://www.lecarredencre.fr

Don’t get me wrong, I love the charming conservatism of the British nation. I like how milk is sold in 1.136L cartons because you can decimalise the pint but you can’t kill it. I like quaint holdovers like the House of Lords and the Royal Family. I love the way central London is peppered with garden squares instead of Westfields. I enjoy traditional pomp like the Lord Mayor’s Show or Trooping the Colours. It makes me smile when I hear peculiar pronunciations unpolluted by American verbal hegemony, like “Pantene” pronounced as “Pan-ten”, “Dae-woo” pronounced as “Day-oo”, or “vit-amins” instead of “vite-amins”.

The TV licence system, however, is retarded. It is not unique to Britain – some other European countries have also retained it. The British, however, have managed to run the system in such a way as to make it, frankly, ridiculous.

First, a brief explanation of the TV licence itself for those of us unfamiliar with such a backward system. Every year, each household which uses a television to receive TV broadcasts (whether directly or recorded) is required to pay a licence fee, currently £145.50 per year for a colour TV. The fee makes up the majority of the BBC’s funding, with the rest coming from commercial arrangements and topped up by government.

The licence fee system is fundamentally unfair. It falls disproportionately on the young, because it is imposed by household, meaning that a single person household is taxed (it is legally a tax) at the same amount as a large family. It falls disproportionately on working people, because it is a set fee, not “pay per view”. This means that a household is required to pay the same fee if they watch even 5 minutes of television when they get home from work, as someone who has the television available to them at all times. It falls disproportionately on the poor, because it discounts the number of television sets in a household. Someone with just one TV between a family of six pays the same licence fee as a household with a TV in every room. Finally, of course, the tax is a set amount, not means tested and not income-progressive, and so it falls disproportionately on those with a lower income. £145.50 is not a small sum – it’s about $250-300 (depending on exchange rates), quite a bit to save up in austerity Britain.

By now you can probably imagine what kind of person benefits most from such a system – someone called Lord Faroutford who has bred like a rabbit, lives in a palatial mansion, has a stack of servants, and who doesn’t need a day job. In other words, the tax is exactly the kind of class oppression you’d expect from the kind of government loaded in favour of the rich and the landed that gave us rotten boroughs or corn laws. Not what you’d expect from a country that brands itself a liberal democracy. Even if we presuppose the necessity of maintaining a public broadcaster not funded by advertising, it is far fairer to fund said broadcaster out of consolidated government revenue funded primarily by a progressive tax system with a primarily individual-based tax unit.

What makes the British system especially ridiculous, though, is the tactics of quasi-legal intimidation it employs to make people pay up. The TV licence system is backed by a joke of an enforcement system. At some point, the government must have realised that, unlike electricity, you can’t actually cut someone off from receiving television broadcasts out of the air. It can criminalise unlicensed TV viewing, but the only way to obtain evidence of this in most cases would mean invading personal privacy. Not a problem at all, of course, for Lord Faroutford, for whom the local constable would have to knock cap-in-hand at his gate for permission to walk up his mile-long driveway and then ask to inspect his television. But even for your average Joe (or whatever they call it in Britain. The man on the Clapham omnibus?), it really isn’t much of a problem if you keep your wits about you and don’t open your door to someone who says they are here about your TV licence. So enforcement generally means sending threatening letters about the heinous crime you are committing by stealing TV signals out of the air, and how they will rip you apart if you gave them a chance. If the system was vicious before, the toothless intimidation makes it absurd.

To add insult to injury, the other day I clicked on a link hosted at http://www.bbc.com/, and it told me – and I will quote it verbatim because it is almost Kafkaesque:-

We’re sorry but this site is not accessible from the UK as it is part of our international service and is not funded by the licence fee. It is run commercially by BBC Worldwide, a wholly-owned subsidiary of the BBC, the profits made from it go back to BBC programme-makers to help fund great new BBC programmes. You can find out more about BBC Worldwide and its digital activities at www.bbcworldwide.com

So let me get this straight. Because I have to pay an exorbitant and unfair tax that would not exist in any civilised democracy - because of this tax, I am blocked from accessing content provided for free by the very broadcaster I am helping to fund, content that is free to access by anyone who doesn’t have to pay this tax?

It boggles the mind.

Name: Bécasse
Address: 204 Clarence Street, Sydney 2000, Australia
Website: http://www.becasse.com.au/
Phone: +61 2 9283 3440
Type: Restaurant
Cuisine: French/modern European
Opening hours: 12:00pm-2:30pm (Mon-Fri), 6:00pm-10:30pm (Mon-Sat)

Bécasse is well known in Sydney for its unique combination of culinary innovation with traditional tastes. After several tries and eventually booking a month in advance, G and I visited it for the first time – and it did not disappoint. The restaurant is located at the Druitt Street end of Clarence Street, a quiet location that is mere minutes from the hustle and bustle of Town Hall. At dinner time, the muted external decor makes the restaurant almost hard to spot amongst the half-lit low-rise office buildings and shuttered cafes – especially when one’s eye is drawn to the spectacular white stair case of the award-winning Alliance Française building across the street.

The understated ambience is continued in-doors – while the gentle light of the street lamp filters through the Romanesque arch windows, frosted glass makes it clear that the interior is a world away from the common street outside. Behind a heavy glass door and dark drapery, the restaurant is divided into three areas: a sunken area close to the kitchen, from which diners can watch dishes being plated at a counter; the entry-level area with a series of relatively small tables, generously spaced from each other; and an upstairs area for larger groups. The colour scheme tends towards the warmer end, with dark drapery accentuated here and there with mirrors and simple abstract art. The candle at the table (not, Cafe Sydney should note, a flickering light bulb) sits in a glass bowl of water and sprig of flower. G and I were seated in the entry-level section.

The menu is pricey, and I got the impression that most diners were there for an occasion of some kind. The menu offers the options of a la carte or degustation. The two of us chose the (carnivorous) degustation (as opposed to the vegetarian option) at $130 per person. Optional matching wines with every course is an additional $60 per person.

After some canapes and amuse bouche, here were the dishes we sampled:

Salad of marinated heirloom vegetables with sugar snap mousseline, black olive and lemon balm: beautifully arranged plate of simple vegetables, with subtle sauces that well-complement the natural flavours
Confit miso blue-eye and smoked scallop with sauteed cuttlefish, cauliflower and buckwheat: lightly sauteed seafood, almost sashimi-like; best part is the sauce. Toasted buckwheat adds a nice surprise
Forgotten vegetables slow cooked in smoking cedar with aged pork jowl, scratchings and jus gras: like a rustic pork dish, but with the pork reduced to a hint and the vegetables enlarged to become the main part. Presented with a slice of lit cedar wood.
Roast Palmers Island mulloway with king prawns, soubise puree and smoked crustacea emulsion: familiar taste of fish and prawn given new meaning by the sauce
Caramelised suckling pig and braised pork tail with roast parsnip and compressed apple: a deconstructed variation on a roast pork dish, with a bite of roast pork and a bite of braised pork
Daube of Blackmore’s full-blood wagyu shin with potato baked in ash, Jerusalem artichoke and jus Bordelaise: the ash-wrapped potato was an interesting taste; the fattiness of the wagyu was well-used
Orange and cardamon pannacotta with blood orange, beetroot and vanilla: a thin panna cotta covered with the intersecting textures and flavours of the toppings. Beautifully presented and a refreshing transition into the dessert courses
Banana creme brulee with salted peanut brittle and milk coffee sorbet: a deconstructivist interpretation of the creme brulee. Banana in creme brulee is a little rich and quite sweet, but combines well with the fairly salty peanut brittle
Zokoko 70% Bolivia chocolate and caramel ‘cadeau’ with organic vanilla and milk sorbet: the cadeau is a perfectly formed dome. The sorbet is surprisingly nice – and tastes very different to vanilla ice cream

We finished with tea and petit fours (included in the meal).

Conclusion: Quality food, at once adventurous yet familiar, perfectly managed production

Food: 9/10
Service: 9/10
Ambience: 8/10
Value for money: 7/10
Overall: 9/10

The Chinese Law Students Society at the University of Sydney, in conjunction with UNSW Law Society and the ACYA have published the 2010 Hong Kong Law Careers Guide. Must read for aspiring lawyers who want to work in the region and not just in Australia. I especially recommend the candid accounts of work hours at different levels and handy (human) hints about life as a Hong Kong lawyer — stuff you won’t get from firm brochures.

Travel tip #15: To avoid tourist trap restaurants, make sure you are at least two blocks from any tourist attraction.

The next day – our last day in Rome and my last day on the continent – we woke to the newspaper headline: “Shootout at Chinese-Italian Trattoria: dispute over inferior wine and salty spaghetti.” Not wishing to repeat our mistakes, this time we decided to go far, far away from any tourist destinations. After a day of literally running from sight to sight, we ended up at the base of the Spanish Steps (Zegna was on 50% off). We searched in vain for a restaurant with any semblance of normal pricing, and concluded that our rule needed to be modified to “to avoid expensive restaurants, make sure you’re at least 25 blocks from the nearest Zegna store.”

That was when we spotted the entrance to the Spagna metro station. “By my projections, if we go into the metro station and come out the other side, we should be at the other end of the Spanish steps – i.e. at the top of the hill and far enough away from Zegna and Armani,” I said. We were both too tired at that point to think of an alternative plan, so in we went to the station. At the end of the concourse was a set of escalators. Score! I thought. We rode the escalator up, but instead of an exit at the top of the hill as I expected, we saw another set of escalators. Well, the hill must be taller than we thought. We took that. At the end, another set of escalators. And another. And another. And another. Five sets of escalators, twenty minutes, and a bizarre tunnel full of miniature shop windows later, we finally made our exit, and found ourselves on the Champs Elysee.

No kidding – the plane trees, the road side seating, the Third Empire buildings – all the restaurant names were in French. We had the strange feeling of having crossed half the continent in 20 minutes. We found a street sign eventually – this was the Via Veneto – indeed the “Champs Elysee of Rome”. The escalators had taken us halfway across Rome, yet we were even deeper into luxury territory.

Tired, hungry, cursing the lack of consideration of the builders of Spagna station to link one luxury shopping district with another, we admitted defeat and trudged back towards our hotel near the station. Gioanna, the local dragon head who doubled as the kindly proprietress of our hotel, had been right – eat right here around the station. Any problem, she said, call Gioanna and I sort them out.

Well, that’s it folks. Tomorrow I fly home via London. Despite all the fun, I’m kind of looking forward to my own bed.

Until next time from home,
Tommy

Travel tip #10: Swiss efficiency extends only as far west as the last German-speaking town.

French-speaking Geneva feels like an entirely different country. Street signs are in the familiar blue metal of Paris. Road directions are the same fat, black-on-white light boxes as those found in France. We’ve seen the last of our hauptbahnhofs – here it’s a gare. At the centre of the city stands – not a rathaus, but l’hotel de ville. On the square is the Notre Dame, and further down, the Opera (“deisgned by the same architect who built the Palais Garnier opera house in Paris!” enthused the young man at the tourist information centre). In a word, this is France.

With it comes the laissez-faire attitude of the French. In Zurich, jaywalkers are mown down like broken clocks. In Geneva, motorists and pedestrians go about their own ways, seemingly oblivious to each other, in an elegantly chaotic dance.

Geneva railway station is organised mayhem. Here, I saw my first late train since stepping on the Continent. Stations announcements went like this: “The 4:24 train to Prague is delayed by approximately 20 minutes. We apologise for any inconvenience caused.” “Attention passengers on Platform 15 waiting for the 4:36 train to Milan. This train will now be departing from Platform 18. Please make your way to platform 18″. Sound familiar? It was just like Strathfield station on a bad day. I’ll be honest – they did make me a little homesick.

When the delayed train finally arrived, the train was further delayed by people getting on and off the train – there were still people jumping on and off even as the train began moving away from the platform.

Old Geneva is a little hill-top town, combining French bon-vivre with Alpine charm. Just across the lake, however, it feels much less like a little mountain town, and much more like the alternative capital of the world it is. Charmless concrete apartment blocks flank an avenue leading to the Palais des Nations – which houses many of the UN’s instrumentalities.

After the initial impact of the giant three-legged chair standing on the square (a monument to victims of land mines – and not, as I thought, a monument to the death of the USSR set up by the other three powers) – I realised that on the other corners of the square were WIPO – the World Intellectual Property Organisation – and the UN High Commission for Refugees. Suddenly, I felt like I’d come face to face with the world that I’d only seen through text books.

The other international organisation that makes Geneva one of the most significant corners of the Earth is most famous for a giant hole that runs beneath it. The hole is the Large Hadron Collider, and the organisation is CERN, the European Centre for Nuclear Research. It turns out that a visit to the LHC – and a guided tour of CERN – had to be arranged months in advance. Nevertheless, the visitor’s centre was fascinating, and I got an inordinate amount of pleasure from just being near greatness.

Geneva’s Frenchness does carry with it one boon – French food. I had a duck dish and snails at a little restaurant in the old city. It also gave us a chance to enjoy a breackfast of pastries and coffee. From Geneva, we officially switched our evening meal beverage from beer to wine – we will soon be out of the Alps, and tomorrow we will be in Italy.

Written at Geneva station, en route to Milan.

P.S. The train tracks are bumpy, just like CityRail.

Until next time,

Tommy

Travel tip #7: Exchanging money in Switzerland attracts a SFr 6 admin fee – easily avoided if you are a UBS or Credit Suisse employee or client.

Switzerland is a clockwork country. This was apparent as soon as we crossed the border from Germany. The timetable showed that we had 2 minutes to make a connection between the international train and an intercity express to Zurich – and 2 minutes were exactly what we got. Everything runs exactly on the dot – trains, ferries and buses.

The flip-side of this, though, is that every person is expected to operate like clockwork. The pedestrian crossing light is timed precisely for the amount of time it takes to cross the street. Dally a little, or cross on an amber light, and you are likely – if you are lucky – to be stuck in the middle of the road. Jay walking is as good as any other form of suicide. You see, in a less precise country like ours, drivers and pedestrians allow for the other to not always follow the rules of the road, that some people act like idiots – that people are human. Not so in the clockwork country – here, every person is expected to follow the rules with precision. Anyone who doesn’t won’t do so for long. When I foolishly walked onto a road, the oncoming car did not slow at all – it honked and – I kid you not – actually sped up. I have it on reliable authority that Swiss driver training teaches them to mow down jay walkers, for the good of the nation.

If Switzerland is a giant set of clockwork, then the Swiss banks are the grease that keep the machine happily humming away. I wanted to find the main UBS building on Bahnhofstrasse – “Station Street” – the main street of Zurich – and noticed a curious thing: everywhere there was a UBS branch, there would also be a Credit Suisse within sight. Though there are a variety of other banks, such as the cantonal banks, the two banking giants control the system in Switzerland. I’m not sure whether it is a result of their concrete power in Switzerland, or simply another symptom of this being the clockwork country — but the bank counters were not sealed off behind glass like every other country, but instead simply a free standing white table, looking more like a demonstration area in an Apple store than a cashier’s window.

One result of their virtual duopoly is that foreign exchange transactions here attracted a SFr 6 exchange fee. The first time I needed to change money, the man at the counter asked me whether I was one of their clients. “No,” I replied truthfully. The second time around, I figured I’ll try my luck: “no, but I’m an employee back in Australia. Does that help?” The cashier fiddled a little with his computer, and told me, “yes, it does this time” — the fee was waived, though the exchange rate I got was quite a bit worse than the first time.

Somewhat paradoxically, the mechanical efficiency of Switzerland also results in the preservation of both history and the environment. Zurich is at once quiet and efficient, and the town centre is an eclectic mixture of modern office buildings, 19th century neo-classical edifices, and winding medieval passages.

The river teams with wildlife. Next to the busy offices where vast sums are moved across the globe, pristine white swans glide under medieval stone bridges free from grafitti. From the shore, one can counter every pebble on the bottom of the river. As might be expected, littering is unknown here. Presumably, in this perfect land litterers are packed off to the forest to be fed to the bears.

The only downside, though, is that the mechanical efficiency seems to have robbed the city of its soul, like a perfectly proportioned marble sculpture but devoid of expression. The saving grace in that regard, for me, was the discovery of Sprüngli.

That name is probably best known as the other half of Lindt. Both trace their origins to the chocolate business founded in 1845. When the founder, Rudolf Sprüngli-Ammann, retired in 1892, one son received the chocolate factory, which grew to become the global industrial production line that is Lindt today (with its products found in supermarkets throughout Europe and the world), while the other son received the two stores that have stayed true to their roots – and remain, today, boutiques in central Zurich specialising in chocolates and candied fruits. The Paradeplatz store features a charming cafe, a format which seems to have inspired Lindt’s cafe ventures downunder.

So it was with the satisfaction of having discovered the sweet side of Zurich – and gingerly carrying a stack of its tin-boxed products – that we hopped on the train (running precisely on time, of course) westwards, and upwards.

Travel Tip #6: Navigating a foreign city without a map? All you need is a camera – and the ability to take photos of local area maps posted at bus stops.

Munich is a city of many contrasts. The industrial brutalism of its main station leads across a tree-lined, bustling and jumbled avenue to the simple lines of the Selingor Tor, one of the city’s several gates, and narrow, winding streets filled with medieval houses and baroque churches. A blue-and-white striped maypole makes it seem like a small Bavarian town, yet just down the road, the sprawling Gothic New Town Hall and the disproportionately lofty towers of the cathedral reminds the visitor that this was the capital of one of the great German kingdoms. A short subway ride away are reminders of Munich’s modern claim to fame: the stately curves of the BMW headquarters, and the more fluid shape of the BMW museum, sit snug against the graceful web-like canopies of the Olympic Park. Then there’s the curious mixtures of the old and new. The Residenz, the Munich palace of the Bavarian kings, is all Italiante splendour on the outside; but closer inspection reveals that that facades are painted on. Much of the palace burned down during the war, and reconstruction efforts have tried their best to connect surviving parts of the original, with mixed success. For me though, Munich stood out for its food, food, food, and drink. One of the city’s key attractions is the Hofbrauhaus, a temple to beer. The Ratskeller, a beer hall underneath the town hall, is one of my all time, worldwide favourites. Here are sausages like you’ve never had them before. For a carnivore like me, it was heaven.

And now, for my photos…

Munich’s Town Hall, built from 1867 to 1908, houses council offices, shops, and a restaurant in the cellars. In the main tower is the Glockenspiel – “story clock”

The working parts of the Town Hall are just like any other government office building, but quite suddenly the drab corridor would break into a little landing, framed by Gothic fireplaces and arched windows.

Munich has a habit of keeping its modern institutions of government in great buildings from the past – the Palace of Justice is another example (this time, in Baroque)

Whereas the town centre feels very Germanic with a dash of Baroque, the area around the Residenz is firmly Italianate, from the Feldherrnhalle modelled after Florence’s Loggia dei Lanzi, through the Italian high Baroque Theatine Church, to the neo-classical concert hall.

Read more…

Tip #5: Don’t let the fear of a public loss of dignity get in the way of doing something crazy. Remember, you don’t have a reputation to maintain in this country*!

* (Unless you actually do)

We knew something was up as soon as we stepped aboard the train to Füssen, in the foothills of the Bavarian Alps. The carriage, you see, was full of Asians. I was pretty sure we hadn’t got onto the express to Beijing via Moscow. Or did we?

The slightly surreal feeling from being surrounded by Mandarin, Cantonese, Korean and Japanese speakers on a German train became a full blown Escheresque moment when we arrived at our destination and joined a line dominated by Asians of all nations – including a party of Mongols in full traditional regalia.

Neuschwanstein, you see, is the archetypal Romantic castle. Situated atop a hill in the Bavarian Alps, the castle was commissioned by King Ludwig II of Bavaria (1845-1886) as a homage to the fantasy world of German romanticism, especially as represented by the operative works of Richard Wagner (1813-1883)

Though today regarded as one of the most important composers of the 19th century, until 1864 Wanger darted from physical exile to artistic isolation, his lack of income exacerbated by a political ban imposed by the royalist Saxony government due to Wagner’s involvement in republican politics.

In 1864, the 19-year-old Ludwig had been freshly crowned King of Bavaria the year before, and was popular for his youthful energy and brooding good looks. Ludwig was introduced to Wagner’s latest wrok Lohengrin, the tale of the Swan Knight. Ludwig was immediately captivated by this fantasy world, and asked to meet Wagner. The king and the composer left a deep impression on each other. Immediately, Ludwig facilitated the performance of Wagner’s latest work, Tristan unde Isolde in his capital Munich. He paid off Wagner’s debts, and installed him in a large villa.

However, the world in the 1860s was very different from the world of the Swan Knight. The realities of being a head of state soon caught up with young Ludwig. Within the complex political world of 19th century German states, Bavaria was a middle power sandwiched between the stronger states of Prussia and Austria. The Seven Weeks’ War between Prussia and Austraia was fought in 1866. Bavaria sided with Austria, but was forced to accept a mutual defence treaty with Prussia after the war. This brought it into the midst of the brewing conflict between Prussia and France, later to culminate in the Franco-Prussian war. Though Bavaria was formally on the winning side, the war helped Prussia become the overwhelmingly dominant German state, and subsequently the creation of the German Empire. Amidst the celebration of the German victory over the French, Luwdig had to sign a humiliating proclamation giving away Bavaria’s sovereignty to the new Empire headed by Prussia.

1867 was no more pleasant for Ludwig on the personal front. Wagner’s extravagance scandalised conservative Bavaria, and the king was forced to ask him to leave the country. Pressure to produce an heir led to an engagement with his cousin, the Duchess Sophie in Bavaria. This made Ludwig even more morose – he longed, he wrote, to be with Wagner instead. After much dithering, he broke off the engagement. He wrote to Wagner: “Thank God I am alone at last. My mother is far away, as is my former bride, who would have made me unspeakably unhappy. Before me stands a bust of the one, true Friend whom I shall love until death. . . If only I had the opportunity to die for you.”

It was during this difficult period that Ludwig retreated to Hohenschwangau, a castle built by his father on the ruins of a knight’s castle first built in the 12th century. Ludwig had spent many summers with his family there, and he enjoyed the seclusion offered by the castle, nestled between the mountains and a pristine lake.

Hohenschwangau castle (still owned by the Bavarian royal family) is only a short stroll from the village of Hohenschwangau, a short bus ride from Füssen. Visits to the castles are carefully timed, so we used the short time we had before our scheduled entry into Neuschwanstein to run up the hill and look around the older castle. Painted yellow, the castle gives an impression of medieval solidity – with its square keep and stout turrets. One interesting flourish was a set of brightly painted knights installed on the outer wall of the castle facing away from the village. However, one is constantly reminded of the real star of the show – the eye is almost involuntarily drawn to the brilliant white jewel that is Neuschwanstein, seemingly perched far above, with its elegant tower and many-faceted ridgeline.

From Hohenschwangau, Neuschwanstein is approached via a long, sloping carriageway through the woods. Horse-drawn carriages convey visitors close to the top, though we chose to walk (and had to pick our way carefully between the mounds of horse manure).

It was during his self-imposed exile at Hohenschwangau that Ludwig began contemplating bringing his fantasy into reality. He chose the top of a hill above Hohenschwangau, where centuries ago there were two small knights’ castles, a complete ruin by this time. To realise his fantasy of the castle of the Swan Knight, he hired a stage designer to supply the design (and the royal architect to supply the technical expertise that would keep the castle standing at its perilous location). Constrution began in 1869, while Ludwig lived in seclusion in Hohenschwangau – and as the new castle became more complete, Neuschwanstein itself. He became increasingly eccentric, obsessively trying to retreat into his fantasy world. So much so that Ludwig earned the nickname “the Mad”. The Bavarian establishment became increasingly dissatisfied by his extravagance – although he did not use state funds, he borrowed heavily from his own family, and when that source ran low, wanted to borrow from all the royal families of Europe.

The castle in winter presents a unique perspective. While the surrounding fields of snow made the castle’s pure white exterior seem especially brilliant, the snow also means that a number of more picturesque paths up the mountain are closed. For example, the Mary Bridge, across a gorge behind the castle, offers a postcard overview of the castle – but is closed in winter. We decided to chance it up a closed path that wound around the back of the castle, despite the warning signs. I soon realised why it was closed – covered in ankle-deep snow, the path was steep and narrow, with nothing to hold onto except barbed wires (okay, nothing to hold on to, period.) The end of the path was blocked by a fence which we had to climb over. Still – it was worth it for the view of the back of the castle.

After clambering over the fence, we found ourselves in the small court at the gate of the castle. It was here that the Neuschwanstein castle saw its only siege – or something like it. The year was 1886. The conflict between Ludwig and his ministers were boiling over. His ministers, Luwdig felt, were cramping his (opulent) style, while his ministers saw little use for a monarch who held power over them but did nothing on matters of state. Ludwig considered dismissing the whole cabinet, which prompted the ministers to act first. They assembled a medical report from four psychiatrists who had never met the king, which diagnosed him of paranoia. With this as pretext, a group of government commissioners went to Neuschwanstein to demand Ludwig’s capitulation. Tipped off by a loyal servant, Ludwig summoned the local police, who held off the commissioners at the castle gate with bayonets. He held the commissioners prisoner, but released them soon after. One enthusiastic local baroness rushed to the castle at the news of the siege, attacked the commissioners with her umbrella, and then ran into the castle to identify the assailants to the king.

Immediately inside the castle gate is the main, outer courtyard. From here, stairs lead into the main buildings of the castle. The strange juxtaposition of the ancient and the modern was immediately apparent. The castle was built in a fantasy medieval style. Just 100 years later, most of the stonework still seems new, giving the sensation of being in a medieval castle newly built – or, more accurately, still under construction. Alongside Gothic dragon gargoyles are electric lights: Ludwig pioneered electricity in Bavaria. This juxtaposition was all the more apparent in Ludwig’s own bedroom. A posted bed was topped by a carved wooden top which represented all the prominent towers of every cathedral in Bavaria, a massive wooden hybrid between a beehive and a wedding cake. Yet, within the same chamber, is a basin (in the shape of a swan) fed by running water delivered via modern plumbing, and even a flushing toilet.

One of the grandest completed rooms in the castle is the Singer’s Hall. Intended as a place for Wagner to write and perform his plays, the hall is gloriously decorated with murals and frescoes. Though Ludwig never saw the hall put to use, the hall is today regularly used for musical performances.

However, the comical scene of the siege at the castle gates quickly turned serious. After the first attempt at deposing him, Ludwig took no measures to strengthen his position. Less than a week later, the government, now better prepared, arrested him at Neuschwanstein and deposed him. The crown, ingeniously, passed to his brother Otto, who was genuinely insane, and power passed to Prince Luitpold, his uncle, as regent, and a willing supporter of the conspirators. The next day, June 13, 1886, Ludwig went for a walk with the psychiatrist who diagnosed him, and both were found dead in the lake. Debate rages to this day about the circumstances of his death.

At this death, the interiors of the structurally complete parts of the castle were only 1/3 finished. A main structure, the Keep, was intended to be built in the upper courtyard (in front of the main structure seen today), but only the foundations had been laid. The new government halted all works on the site, and the castle later became state, rather than royal, property.

Ironically, however, a project lambasted at the time as an extravagant and lunatic waste of money is today one of the most iconic symbols of Bavaria and Germany. In parts of Asia, for example, it has become almost the symbol of the romantic Europe. As the inspiration for fantasy castles such as Disney’s Sleeping Beauty Castle, it is perhaps not a far stretch to say that Neuschwanstein has become a worldwide cultural motif. The castle is visited by 1.3 million people annually, generating hundreds of millions of Euros in revenue for the state and far outstripping the maintenance cost of the castle.

Ironically, too, for Ludwig, whose death was in a significant part caused by his extravagant spending on Neuschwanstein and other projects, the castle has become the legacy by which he is remembered. Hardly anyone remembers the few political and social decisions he made, and were it not for the castle, Ludwig would only be a footnote in the history of a regional dynasty.

For the hordes of foreign tourists, though – I wondered whether they stopped and thought about what they were seeing. Here they were, at the archetypal “European” castle, unmistakeably solid in all its gleaming splendour. Yet the castle was as much make-believe as the papier-mache that its designer would have been more accustomed to working with. The castle has no defensive purpose, and its beauty comes from the manipulation of traditional defensive forms – turrets, keeps, battlements – into aesthetically pleasing forms. The interiors, with pencilled-in drawings and unfinished plaster walls, intensify the feeling of walking through a stage set, especially when a roughly whitewashed corridor leads into a spectacular completed room. Perhaps, it’s best to see the castle, not as an archetype or a symbol, but a sui generis creation of its times and circumstances. That it remains unfinished is, in a sense, a blessing: it offers us a glimpse into 19th century Romanticism, whereas the finished product would have simply been an imitation of a real medieval castle. It is beautiful, and it is unique, and that’s what counts.