Saturday, 15 February 2025
Flower center.
Georgia O’Keeffe: White Flower, 1929.
White Flower, super contrasty, altered. The “grooves” that section the petals are interesting; I didn’t notice them standing in front of the painting, although they are plain as day. Instead, I noticed the subtle shading of the colors…yellows, blues, blue-greens…and the background in the upper corners.
Thanks, MSM, for suggesting this High adventure.
Saturday, 8 February 2025
Clever signage from our trip that I neglected to post…as in, I already had too many photos selected for the day’s post…. The letters and symbol were cut from the sheet metal, when the light was bright, produced a…what’s the opposite of a shadow? A pass-through of light?
Thursday, 6 February 2025
We got to see the sunrise while at the airport…waiting.
Finally, we took off!
[Insert hours and hours of westward movement.]
What a relief to reach ATL, and land!
[Skip discussion of extremely flawed layout of ATL airport…necessitating an at least fifteen-minute walk to get to passport control from our gate, and a fifteen-minute bus ride to the “other side” of the airport from the international terminal to reach the MARTA station.]
Wednesday, 5 February 2025
Our departure…leaving from beneath the looming, snow-dusted Sierra de Ayllón, amid ice-crystals…mostly melted when we got going (lots of sun exposure).
We came upon these round structures in/near several towns, but I couldn’t figure them out. They seem clearly for storage, and the roof is vented, yet there’s only one door, and it’s small. My guess is they’re something to do with grain production…mystified.
Our first stop was Tiermes, which was a large CeltIberian fort that allied with Numancia (and others), and held out against the Romans for longer than other places (probably routed about 133 BC). The Romans remade the settlement, adding homes, a large aqueduct, a forum, temples, and more. The sandstone hill also had earlier Neolithic and Bronze Age occupations. Here’s the southeast gate; all the gates to Tiermes that I saw had a bend like this…I assume offering an additional level of security.
The southern face of the hill is mostly a wall of sandstone. The horizontal rows of holes held beams that made ceilings and floors of multi-story structures.
Here’s a look along the aquaduct from where it (presently) goes into the hill. This is just to the left and above the last photo.
This is the west gate, surely more eroded than when Romans and their CeltIberian predecessors used it…or maybe this was just a Roman gate.
The wheels of carts dug into the soft sandstone, and later eroded into deep trenches.
That vegetated (grassy?) area is the Roman forum. These photos do not do justice to the huge area of this settlement, and I mean huge in pre-Roman CeltIberian times especially. My walking track was almost two miles, and I missed some highlights. Of course, I have not seen the excavation reports, which may describe many unused (often trash-collecting) rooms, as often happens for Puebloan settlements in southwest North America.
Our last stop on the present Tiermes property was to step inside this Romanesque chapel/church, probably built in the late 12th C. I don’t know the date of the interior. There’s no longer any town nearby and I don’t know if there are scheduled services any longer.
Our next place of interest was the Cerros volcánicos de La Miñosa, a very small area that constitutes an unusual micro-environment.
One species typically mentioned is Erodium paularense, or the Paular geranium. This might be it. Interestingly, a few hundred meters away archaeologists have recorded six Paleolithic (meaning early) sites…perhaps because the ancients obtained something important to them from the volcanic zone. Dunno, just hypothesizing.
The pointy hill has a Castro atop, and the other is a Castillo. Off to the right on the slope below the Castillo is the Medieval (as in: most of the central buildings date to…) town of Atienza.
That’s enough for today. Tiermes remains among the most amazing pre-Roman/Roman sites I’ve yet seen.
Monday, 3 February 2025
This is maybe the third time we’ve seen a stand of these silver-barked trees. Dunno what they are…mystery arboles.
I’ve confirmed that this is Moncayo.
Wind turbine alignments. I’m trying to get my photographic fascination with them out of my system. Round hay bales can grab your eye this way, too.
We’ve seen plenty of large and small irrigation ditches, but rarely the valves. Here’s a split, where the flow is being directed two ways.
One of our goals today was to get a look at a large eroded area, or badlands, that is a park called Bardenas Reales.
We did find one place with a road we could safely try to get into (or towards) the heart of this sculpted landscape. You can see we didn’t get far, as farmed fields remain.
We partly circled Moncayo yesterday, and completed the loop today.
One more eroded landform.
I finally got a shot of the Ebro when we crossed it. I think this is normal spring elevated levels.
We cut through a “corner” of the lower slopes of the Moncayo massif, and found what must be a relatively warmer area, as many orchards flaunted blooming trees. My guess was peaches or apples, but I couldn’t parse the tree shapes and figure out the species.
We went through/by many little towns. Amazingly, most had parked cars and evidence of active residents. I cannot figure out the economic support for these scattered villages.
Later in the day, I became fascinated with the variations in soil color…this is rather brick red, and the trees are not yet blooming (February, remember…snow on elevations, remember?).
Castle ruins above larger small town…note the white lenses in the far distance behind the jagged walls…Moncayo massif, again.
I counted one man and one dog with this substantial sheep herd. As we continued up the road, it was evident that they’d come down it for at least a mile. Transhumance underway? Earlier in the day, we saw a smaller herd, controlled by a man with a loaded mule and four dogs. Spring is springing for shepherds.
This is the second fox we’ve spotted. Neither was much concerned with our presence.
I just encountered a description of wheeling clouds of birds as resembling the billowing robes of a genie. As shown….
Sunday, 2 February 2025
Wind turbines on horizon. Strange color balance (through windshield).
Frost patterns…one shady place we saw frost as late as 11:30am.
Flags, bell tower.
Storks, backlit.
Horses, also backlit, with frost, tracks.
Medieval rock graves, Revenga.
Medieval rock graves, Regumiel. They antedate the 12th C church built partially atop them.
Medieval rock graves with ice skim, Duruelo. Some sources say this trend in this area, the Upper Arlanza Basin, say these graves are 7th/8th C. Others say 8th–10th C.
Stand-alone snow-capped mountain, perhaps Moncayo.
Wind turbine array, with Pyrennees in far distance and Ebro basin between.
Rioja territory grapevines.
This is the part of the Roman city of Graccurris, founded 179 BC, that has been “reconstructed.” I could make little architectural sense of what seemed to me to be mostly a wasteland. Of course, there was significant Medieval occupation here, too….
Largest church in Alfaro, essentially modern Graccurris.
Smaller Alfaro church.
Fuzzy moon out our hotel window, a few minutes ago.
Friday, 31 January 2025
Different day, different museum: Museo de Bellas Artes de Bilbao, established 1908. This is the “Old Building;” behind it, the new is being reworked—note crane. The collection focuses on Basque and Spanish works.
This is Ramiro Arrue’s (1892-1971) “Euskaldunak karta jokoan,” meaning Basques playing cards.
He did it about 1919. I was fascinated by the footwear, especially the boots on the left with exterior laces.
Aurelio Artete did this in 1930–35, and called it “Euskal arrantzaleak,” or Basque fishermen. Again: footwear…. I’m wondering if the short boots are of rubber? They do look globular. Also: bare feet.
We saw one Picasso on display: “Still life with glass/bowl of fruit,” dating to 1937 (don’t know the original language of the name). In English, it’s “still life,” but in Spanish it’s “naturaleza muerta,” or, literally, dead nature.
They had three Goyas on display, including the side of the shipping crate they came in from France…I didn’t get the full story. This was the middle painting of the three (yes, I cropped it), the esteemed Bernard Tavira, dated about 1787-88.
Here’s a detail of the Señora’s carnation and ruff.
A few smaller rooms displayed fascinating historical documents and the like that normally no members of the public get to see. These are a pair of pages from “Corpus Iuris Civillis;” it dates to before 1477, and is in Gothic script. This is a later copy of a compilation of Roman laws from AD 117–565; the compilation was ordered by Emperor Justinian I, who was emperor from AD 527 to 565. This copy was made for Pierre de Laval, who became archbishop of Reims in 1473, and died in 1493. Many modern legal systems relate back to these laws.
Here’s a small section of the official document of excommunication of Henry VIII of England by Pope Clement VII and the Holy Council of Cardinals. This is an authorized copy sent to the Spanish court, and dates to 1531.
And then we were outside enjoying the sun…we found groundskeepers at work—here the fountain cleaners.
Here’s Bilbao’s river, the Nerbioi (Basque), or Nervion (English). This view is toward the mouth. This area was once the port area. With larger ships, it’s moved to the bay at the mouth. Note also that Bilbao, the city, is along the river, and the higher elevations are forested.
The façade of this building stood out to us both. It appears to be a private business…. BTW, that’s a pedestrian bridge to the left.
And, our riverfront trajectory brought us back to…this sculpture/building by Frank Gehry (born Frank Owen Goldberg, in 1929).
I very much enjoyed seeing Anish Kapoor’s “Tall Tree & The Eye” (2009) without raindrops.
Here’s this combo moto and lift that I posted yesterday from the other side.
Guggenheim detail. I think this is employee parking on the “back” side.
And, for giggles, a totally different façade, in town, away from the former port area.
Thursday, 30 January 2025
When in Bilbao…and especially if it’s rainy…. This famous Frank Gehry-designed museum opened in October 1997, riverside where the port was, opening up this part of the city with a major international attraction. Alternatively, people come to see “Puppy” by Jeff Koons, a flowering-plant bedecked West Highland terrier behemoth.
We joined a HS group crowded under a meager overhang waiting for the museum to open. They were speaking French and English, perhaps from a posh school over in Bayonne…I didn’t ask.
It took just a moment to scan our phone-born tickets, and another moment for a brief uncurious security inspection of my purse, and in we were. Entry hall, empty and quiet, so different subsequently.
We went directly to the top/third floor, and our amazing first stop was to be closed in a room, just the two of us, with lights and reflections…guaranteed to make anyone smile. It’s called “Infinity Mirrored Room—A Wish for Human Happiness Calling from Beyond the Universe” (2020), by Yayoi Kusama. Her works are very diverse and include novels; she has done many Mirrored Rooms. The vibrancy of the space seems appropriate to someone who experienced hallucinations beginning at age 10.
The rooms and spaces elsewhere tend to be huge. Five pieces only are in this room, e.g., a Warhol multi-Marilyn to the right, and a Roy Lichtenstein on the far wall, with a Jeff Koons flower bouquet in the middle.
Making art with art…selfie of the two of us…and a different school group.
A whole wing held this Richard Serra eight-piece composition called “The Matter of Time” (1994–2005). My favorite section was the fifth one, called “Torqued Spiral (Right Left).”
The steel walls framed a passage that kept going and going. This was the view looking out from the dead end.
Much of the second floor was dedicated to the works of Hilma af Klint (1862–1944), a pioneer (almost everyone uses this word about her, so don’t call me a copycat) in abstract art. This is her “The Ten Largest” (1917), showing the four stages of human life: childhood, youth, adulthood, and old age/being elderly.
Her other pieces are smaller, sometimes much smaller. This is one of a series called “Tree of Knowledge” (1913–1915).
It was just too wet/windy to comfortably visit the many sculptures outdoors, so we glimpsed them through the windows.
Life outside the museum—endlessly eye-catching. Hopeful umbrella vendor and two museum patrons, already equipped.
Bridge view, by river.
Bridge view, with lift and moto.
Building detail—nuts and bolts of it, and the beams they join.
Wednesday, 29 January 2025
We stayed last night in the Baztán Valley, deep in the mountains. One of the routes of the Camino de Santiago de Compostela comes through here, so there were buildings here in the 10th C.
Later, residents historically went to the USA to work, returning with enough wealth that the buildings are relatively spiffy—and not just homes. This is the monastery that was across the street from the church in yesterday’s post—ornate and expensive, no?
One other cultural anthro detail about this valley and the general area, including into France, was that from at least the 13th C, a marginalized population lived in separate hamlets from the “regular” people, with stringent social restrictions imposed on them that varied by time and place. Interested? WikiP has entries in Eng, Fr, and Spn, under cagots for the first two and agotes in Spn.
We set off, happily on a faster road, with these limited access criteria. No knowledge of Basque needed to get the meaning.
I managed to get a shot of this building as we motored along, with no idea what it was. In general, we passed through areas with some abandoned, and many active factory zones, so I figured this was another. Turns out it had something to do with the electrical distribution system.
There was a ford here for cattle long ago, and a bridge by 1736. This is thought to be a 19th C re-build. Folklore has it this bridge was built by the Sorginak, Basque for witches, a term taken from that of the assistants of the Basque goddess Mari (she controls the weather and dispenses justice). The stories vary about how all this came about.
Here’s proof that we made it to the Atlantic (yucky picture over the guardrail, yet evidence). Today was windy, especially along the highway paralleling (but not adjacent to) the coast…we noticed wind socks at most gaps/bridges over rivers flowing north to the sea.
We scrapped a stop at a lighthouse: windy, and went on to another mountain point-of-interest. However, at elevation, it was blowing rain, so we didn’t walk around. I did see the door was open on this structure and thought: bathroom (rarely to be passed up).
I went in and discovered yes, toilets, but also it was a bunker for outdoor adventurers needing refuge from bad weather. The least noise echoes, but the bunker-like engineering seems safe.
We stopped in this mountain park, Urkiola, because I was interested in a land-counting/measuring system called by a specialist “a pre-decimal metric metrological system characterized by septenary units of measure as well as the material and immaterial instantiations of these units, including the way they were manipulated and integrated into social practice.” Septenary means seven is the key figure, especially simply seven, but also 49, etc.
The areas had an upright stone in the center, with a diameter measured around them; this system was in use into the 20th C. This satellite view figure shows four that academics have identified; I put stars where it looks to me like two more may be.
Leaving to descend back to the coastal highway, I was surprised to see Durango on the sign…Basque shepherds in Colorado, hence the name used there?—I hypothesize.
We had good views of this distinctive Rocky Mountain (not Colorado) on our descent. BTW, 30 km/h is 18.6 mph—slow is careful on tight hairpin turns.
Some of the highway was a toll road. Here’s a special elevated payment machine for semis (some from Eastern Europe). There’s a camera on the tall pole to the left.
For our three nights in Bilbao, we splurged on a wee apartment downtown. It’s fabulous to have the extra space—and a mini-kitchen!
We braved light rain to walk about the area. This is a theater—upstairs.
At street level, it’s this cavernous open space…well, the lower ceiling has thick pillars, each one different.
Evidence we’re in a city….
Another architecturally interesting building….
Proof we got some sunshine….
Night view from our abode….
Tuesday, 28 January 2025
Our room last night had a pair of those arched windows on the third story (second above ground floor) that have gold framing. I learned that if you live in a place with narrow streets and multi-story buildings, like this neighborhood, you may not see much sunshine.
Ah, there is sunshine after last night’s rain.
Is MaNachur offering some kind of irony in lighting up the wind turbines?
I wanted to see this church-castle-tower combo for the massive high walls on the tower. I did not expect to have the quirky bonus of arriving when the grounds crew was taking a break, leaving their equipment to mark the spots where they should resume, and highlighting that the priests rely on so much outside labor to strut their stuff.
This is the Castle of Xavier (Basque: Xabierko gaztelua), and the name Xavier/Javier is derived from the Basque Etxeberri meaning new house. [However difficult we thought Catalan was to grasp, I find Basque words impossible.] The Basque Jesuit cleric and famous proselytizer Francis Xavier (1506–1552; canonized 1622) was from here, taking the name of his hometown as his priestly cognomen (or whatever they’re called). Xavier is now used by many institutions, including Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio, to honor the man.
Changing gears, the is the entry area for the Villa Romana de Liédena, which was occupied from the 1st through 4th Cs AD, with its greatest size and decorative opulence at the end, including various mosaic floors. This was a villa, so an agricultural complex and a fancy dwelling complex merged together.
A visitor, it seems to me, would pass through the agricultural entry area and into this impressive patio that featured an open-water pool (the narrow-double-stones outline it) that drained toward the lower left of the photo and away from the house.
This large room was perhaps the core of the elite dwelling.
The villa’s location was chosen with this fabulous view of the Foz de Lumbier, or Lumbier Canyon, with the Río Irati in between, as well as the fields this villa controlled.
Next, we followed the Río Urrobi upstream a long ways. We had some precip, but thankfully it was too warm for the snowflake warning signs at the higher elevations to reflect our current situation.
Despite many signs cautioning us about open range animals, this is one of the first we’ve seen, only a trifle worried that we’ve stopped moving.
This is the typical domestic architecture in these parts…very different.
Sometimes, the homes are slightly fancier.
Our guesthouse is to the right, with the green shutters.
Next door is a church, with a portico over the entrance (seems unusual). Goodnight.