The original Orient Express Train Line (of Agatha Christie fame) ran from Paris to Istanbul, with a stop in Munich -- where we went a couple of weekends ago. We stayed with our French friends Martin and Elodie and their adorable three-year-old, Alice. In the interest of brevity, and given all the wonderful art in Munich, I thought I would recount our time there using old artists, mostly Bruegel.
Alice doesn't speak much English, so it was hilarious trying to communicate with her, but her body language mostly did the trick.
We also could understand her constant refrain of "la fête, la fête." She kept saying this because we went to their lovely suburb's Dorffest --
After a mix of French wine and German beer (ok, but not a bar fight)
I felt a bit like these guys the morning after.
As a result, we managed to go to Munich and not spend time in the iconic beerhalls.
Well, we did pop into Hofbräuhaus, just so J could see it, aber wir haben nicht ein Bier getrunken, in part because it was still too cold this weekend (the last in June!) to sit in their shaded garden. Surprisingly, the iconic Hofbräuhaus München is much smaller than their satellite location in Berlin we visited a few weeks ago, but as many Americans were there as in 1993. I've been joking here about how nationalists sit alone in beer halls in their Gamsbarts ... um, here's the evidence.
Even though it's impossible to put too much Bruegel into a blog entry, this is only a sampling.
|Ok this one is Jan Bruegel not Peter the Elder, but who's counting.|
The great masters in the Munich Kunsthalls aside, we highly recommend the new Lenbachhaus Museum. Its collection from the early-twentieth-century expressionists known as the Blue Rider Group (Wassily Kadinsky, Gabriele Münter, Paul Klee et al.) is tremendous. We saw August Macke's famous paintings from his trip with Klee to Tunisia in 1914 -- this one is a sentimental favorite of ours
-- and a bunch of paintings that members of the group (especially Münter) painted in Murnau, their southern Bavarian perch.
Plus, the Lenbachhaus has Hanuta Wafer art.
Given that the Orient Express ceased service in 2009 (and also that we have jobs), we came back home and then flew to Istanbul the following weekend. We flew to the cheaper, secondary airport, and then it only took three hours -- a long bus ride, a commuter ferry from the Asian to the European side of the city, a tram, and a commuter train -- to get from the airport to our hotel. But the upside here is that we got on the train at Sirkeci Station, the terminus of the Orient Express.
Riding the last mile of the Orient Express in reverse direction put J in a pensive mood.
As you know, I don't fear the long blog entry, but there's no way I'm even going to attempt to detail our five days in Istanbul. I'll just say this: go (and read Orhan Pamuk's Istanbul: Memories and the City before you do). It's an amazing place. And once you're done with the Hagia Sophia, the Anthropological Museums (Holy sarcophagi, and the second Ishtar Gate stuff on our trip!), Topkapi Palace and the Harem, the underground Byzantium cisterns, the Blue Mosque, Süleymaniye Mosque, the Grand Bazaar, and the Spice Bazaar, make sure to take a cab to the Chora Church and see the unbelievably well-preserved -- and unbelievable -- mosaics.
Our nominal reason for coming to Istanbul (not that the cheap flights from Germany were not reason enough) was to go the wedding of a childhood friend of J's. The party was on the Asian side, which required a private water taxi, courtesy of our new CFO friend.
The venue was was actually the ocean-side pool club of one of the leading Istanbul soccer teams (!).
Those who follow fashion should take note that we sat at a table with celebrity-gown designer Carmen Marc Valvo (we're talking Michelle Obama here, folks) and his Swedish partner, Christian. Sam, Christian said that Marcus Samuelsson is "the only Swede in New York I don't know, although we did dress his wife," the Ethiopian model Maya Haile. I think Jeanine really hit it off with them.
As I wrote, Istanbul was too extensive to narrate properly, so I'll just leave you with some images. Let's just say (first image) that at one point we got a little lost, and so now I can say that I have my finger on the pulse of the youth on the Arab Street (ok, except for the fact that most Turkish people are not Arabs). I will say that tea was shockingly cheap away from the touristical areas ... about 25 cents as opposed to $1.50. Unfortunately I didn't take a picture of the streets that hereafter suddenly got decidedly seedy and prompted us to, um, skedaddle like tourists.