Towering Above the Rest

The first thing we did on getting to Paris was eat lunch. Then we went to see the Eiffel Tower. Celebrated and clichéd as it is, I still got a huge kick out of it.

I feel an affection for the Tower. It was the tallest building in the world until 1929 and the inauguration of New York’s Chrysler Building. Not unlike our own CN Tower, which until recently (thank you Dubai), was the world’s tallest free standing structure.

We went there twice, the first on a Friday afternoon and the second late Saturday (the dual trips was due to my camera being on the fritz the first time and I wasn't going to the Eiffel tower camera-less). It was pretty packed both times. Even after reading about it, I was still shocked at how big it was. It’s really impressive. As we sat in the huge line waiting to go to the top we contemplated the tower. And seeing it in real life left me with some questions.

View from the top

Here’s one: What’s it made out of? Nicole made the good point that if it was made out of copper, it would have turned green over time. I didn’t know the answer. Until today. I found this really cool article about the Tower, explaining all the cool inner workings of the Tower like these:

"A 1,000-gallon tank full of water, which was once pumped in from the nearby Seine, provides the counterbalance needed to hoist the roughly 18,000 visitors per day up to the 377-foot-high second-level landing."

"Subterranean pumps send water shooting up to tower-top sinks and toilets. Dozens of miles of plumbing are integrated into the structure of the monument, exposing the pipes to the elements. Mini-heater coils prevent them freezing when the thermometer drops, so the sinks run and toilets flush even in the harshest winters."

Oh and in answer to Nicole’s questions, turns out it’s paint:

"It takes a team of 30 painters working full time over 18 months to spruce up the tower with a fresh coat of its signature bronze paint."

Nicole and I at the top

The fake island the Statue of Liberty is on

Cheira Lisboa--Smells Like Lisbon

As nice as Belem is, I was ten times more excited to go to downtown Lisbon. It is a gorgeous city. But be warned, it's made up of seven hills. Good for a thigh and bum workout, not so much for tired feet.

A Parisian store in Lisbon. It may have the flair of Paris, but we're in Lisbon baby.

My tour guide for this leg of the adventure was my cousin Rita and she was absolutely invaluable in showing me the sights and explaining history. We started our tour in the Chiado district of Lisbon, a trendy area home to charming boutiques, cafes and poets, especially Portugal’s Fernando Pessoa.

Fernando and I

Then we walked to Carmo square and over to the Santa Justa lift (which was made in 1900 by Raul Mesnier de Ponsard, an apprentice to Gustave Eiffel, of Eiffel Tower fame). Only, we didn't actually take the lift, we took the stairs.

Santa Justa Lift

From there we got a pretty good view of the streets of Lisbon that were redone after the 1755 Earthquake. Up until then, Lisbon had been rocked by a few earthquakes (eight in the 14th century, five in the 16th century and three in the 17th century) but this one was particularly bad. It destroyed 85 per cent of the city and killed 60 to 90, 000 people.

Lisbon, and that area on the hill is Alfama

The River Tagus

View of the Rossio square, one of the most important squares in Lisbon

As a result of the destruction caused by the earthquake, Lisbon had to be rebuilt. Instead of rebuilding according to the old plans, the Prime Minister at the time, Sebastião José de Carvalho e Melo, the Marquis of Pombal, rebuilt using modern urban planning. As a result, the streets in the Baixa Pombalina (Pombaline Downtown) area are grid like and symmetrical.

Straight streets are a trademark of Pombaline design

Beside the elevator was the Carmo Convent, a Gothic cathedral. The Convent was mostly destroyed in the 1755 Earthquake, except for its arched frames. It also has a modern significance. In 1974, it was the headquarters of dictator President Marcelo Caetano during the Carnation Revolution that removed him from power (via a military coup). A year after the coup, Portugal held its first free elections since the 1920s and restored democracy to Portugal (Caetano's Estado Novo, or "New State" regime was the longest authoritarian regime in Western Europe). The convent still shows the bullets used to "encourage" Caetano to surrender.

Convent do Carmo

Bullets from the attack on Caetano's headquarters in 1974

Now, it’s used as an archaeological museum that houses two Peruvian mummies (it was closed when we visited).

Holy Toledo

My trip to Toledo will stand out in my mind for two reasons. The first is for the gorgeous church; the second is for getting lost. My day started off so well too. I was pleasantly surprised to find that Atocha, the train station in Madrid, while a departure point for trains, was also a tropical rain forest.
After a beautiful train ride I got off at a very historic looking station. Toledo used to be the capital of the Roman Empire and Spanish empire and it’s very medieval, which is a nice change from the more modern (1500-1900) architecture I’ve been exposed to here in Europe. So after leaving the train, I set off for the tourist office (like I always do).

I had a little map from my Let’s Go Europe book, but where I was didn’t seem to be on the map. So I paid €2 for a map I didn’t really think was that good. Turns out, it didn’t even matter because I still got lost. And not just I-don’t-know-where-to-go lost, but I-have-absolutely-no-idea-where-I-am-and-where-I’m-going-and-I’m-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-and-could-very-easily-die-from-a-snake-bite-or-heat-stroke-and-no-one-would-ever-know lost. I ended up walking half down the Don Quixote trail—which I should have known, being named for an explorer was not somewhere that was going to lead me to civilization—and back and forth for an hour between the old and new section of Toledo not knowing where the heck I was. I finally crossed the Bridge of San Martin leading into Toledo and all was well.

My promised land: the Bridge San Martin

The River Tagus which I crossed three times in my wild goose chase

The second most memorable part was the church. The Cathedral of Saint Mary of Toledo, is, by far, the most opulent church I’ve ever seen. I read in the guide book that it was ostentatious. I didn’t see what it could mean in a church until I went in. Sadly, I couldn’t take any pictures but here are some I found from Wikipedia.



That’s just one part of the church. Now, take that and apply it to a massive church: gold everywhere, intricate carvings, stain class everywhere. I sat in a pew and thought, “No wonder there was a Reformation. Look how much wealth is in this church alone.”

The back of the Cathedral

While some sacristies in most churches are just one tiny room, this had several large rooms filled with works from Goya, Vasquez and El Greco (he lived in Toledo for a while). In the Treasury, there are pieces of 3 feet statues made of solid gold. And there’s also the sword of fascist dictator Francisco Franco which was a real treat (it was much smaller than I thought it would be). But a really interesting part of the church is that it contains a Visigoth chapel (a form of Catholicism dating back to the 7th century), and is the only place the Visigoth mass is still celebrated. How cool is that? This church is, in a word: ostentatious. If you are ever in the neighbourhood, it’s worth the €7.

Toledo is also known for its excellent sword craftsmanship, so if you’re in the market for a sword of some kind, Toledo’s the place.

Sword makers in Toledo are artisans

An Egyptian in Madrid

The architecture in Madrid is very Mediterranean. It reminds me a lot of Portugal: Red roofs, stucco buildings and warm, multi-coloured houses to keep cool in the summer. That’s why this stuck out a bit.


It’s called Templo de Debod and is actually an Egyptian temple. It was a present to Spain from Egypt for its role in saving the temple of Abu Simbel from the floodwaters of Lake Nasser following the construction of the Aswan Dam in southern Egypt. Go figure.

I tried to go in but I happened to have hit the four hour window where it closes each day. I was leaving for Lisbon that night, so it remained a mystery to me. But I’m told from people who went in (my sister and brother-in-law) that it was quite something.

Ride the wave

An example of some trippy European new age architecture.

So That's What They Were Fighting For

Strasburg is a small town on the border of France and Germany. For a population of 270, 000 it has caused quite the international brew ha ha.

The city is in the famous Alsace-Lorraine region. Due to its rich mineral wealth, it has been passed back and forth between France and Germany for a century, before WWII finally gave it back to France.

We were only there for a day (less than 24 hours in fact), but it was enough to know that it was worth the fight. It is a beautiful city.

It is also home to the Council of Europe and the European Court of Human Rights which explains our time there.

A Little Piece of Home...

Frankfurt is North America. That is the best way I can think of to describe the city. I had read that during WWII Frankfurt had been almost completely destroyed but I never really understood that could eliminate a city. Well, after visiting Frankfurt (at least its streets and downtown) I believe it. There was almost no difference between the Frankfurt I saw and the Toronto of home.

Judge for yourself.

Give me an "A"

Saturday was a beautiful day spent in Antwerp—except for the fact that it was rainy and I was ill prepared for the cold.

We started the day in the red light district. We met with Patsy Sorenson, the founder of Payoke, Belgian NGO that provides assistance to victims of trafficking of human beings. Sorenson is an amazing woman. But more on that later.

After Payoke we had an audience with the mayor of Antwerp in the most beautiful city hall I’ve ever seen.

It definitely beats the hell out of Toronto’s or Ottawa’s. There were beautifully ornate woodwork ceilings and walls with wooden banisters, low hanging chandeliers, marble floors and gorgeous artwork on the walls.

Every room was more beautiful than the next. The chapel had five murals depicting marriage ceremonies throughout history: the druids, the Romans, Middle ages, medieval times and Renaissance. I took the time to get hitched myself

(Note to my family: Don’t worry, the groom is gay).

Walking through the building, my little historian’s heart fluttered in my chest.

Step outside city hall and it’s a huge square (Belgians seem to enjoy squares as there’s one in Brussels as well). On the left is a church, in front of you is a fountain that has no obvious drainage system. From one of the balconies you can see the spires of a church in the distance.

Walking around these buildings and squares, it’s a bit disheartening to think of the stone and concrete and glass that await me in Canada. Who would want to go back to modern architecture when you can live, eat and walk on your own history? North American buildings seem so boring and bland, almost cold in comparison. I do appreciate them in some ways (for example, like this (link the new ROM)). But I wonder if Europeans understand how lucky they are. They have something that North Americans never will: easy access to their own history.

More than shelter, architecture provides a collective sense of history, a communal memory. Germans can take pride knowing their style of lodging is different than the stucco of Mediterranean homes.

From my travels (both now and when I was younger visiting Portugal), I’ve been amazed at the daily reminders of history in various European cities: cobble stoned streets, coat of arms etched into buildings, gothic cathedrals on every corner. I wonder if Europeans are amazed by them as I am. What do citizens of Antwerp think when they go to City Hall? Are they as amazed as I am? Somehow, I doubt it. With buildings like most things, if you grow up with something, you take it for granted. Maybe it’s because I’m a history student, or because I’m from Canada—a infant nation compared to the old stewards in Europe—but I hope they appreciate it.