Churches
Signs, Signs, Everywhere Are Signs
Apr 10th
In the last few weeks I’ve been enjoying looking through the literally hundreds of pictures that daughter Jenny has posted on her Facebook page from her European adventures. I can see that she really has quite a good eye for lighting and a nicely framed shot, but she also has an eye for spotting the delightful and sometimes ridiculous in signs posted everywhere from Ireland to Italy. Anyone who’s traveled much has certainly spotted those informational signs posted in several languages which, in the translations, can often have unintended if amusing messages. Several of Jenny’s sign pictures, though, don’t involve words at all, while others are amusing in their context or in spite of the fact that they were written in the “native” tongue.
One of Jenny’s early encounters with such eye-catching messages came on a trip to the beach here in Oregon. She and I were walking on the boardwalk in Seaside and came upon a large blue-and-white tsunami zone warning sign. It depicts an enormous, three-story wave cresting over a tiny stick figure fleeing from the shore, and arrows point in the direction of a “tsunami evacuation route.” She insisted that I snap a photo of her next to the sign, posed in that same position of running from the threat with a terrified expression on her face. Amused not by the very real danger of tsunamis but by the exaggeration necessary in the sign to get its point across to we silly humans, she has kept an eye out for similar messages ever since.
While visiting the grounds at Versailles in January, she snapped a photo of a sign apparently meant to warn of the risk sloping pathways pose to the wheelchair-bound. A wheelchair (empty) in silhouette zooms down a 45-degree slope (three short lines behind the chair indicate the rapid rate of its descent). It’s really quite alarming — and amusing — in its stark depiction of man vs. terrain.
At the Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, Jenny saw that all the signs in the world, exaggerated or otherwise, simply won’t deter some folks from risking life and limb for a photo opportunity or a little rebellious thrill. The Cliffs rise to a maximum height of 700 feet straight up from the crashing waves of the ocean below (if you’ve seen The Princess Bride, you’ve seen the Cliffs of Moher). Most sane people would not require any kind of warning to stay back from the edge, but Jenny’s picture of the long string of signs telling visitors to stay on THIS side of the fence, do not go beyond this point, etc., etc. would suggest otherwise. That, and the fact that in that same frame one can clearly see some crazy soul trekking along the cliff edge well beyond the safety zone.
Another favorite of mine from this particular subset of travel photos is one taken in Vatican City. I myself have been to plenty of churches and mosques where visitors are requested to dress modestly via written notices, but I’d never seen a graphic depiction of that message like the one Jenny found. At the top, above the stern words “No Entry” and their equivalent international symbol are two of those generic male and female figures usually found on restroom doors. The female here, however, is dressed not in her usual A-line dress but in what appears to be a sleeveless mini with a plunging neckline — complete with cleavage! The male wears short shorts and a sleeveless tank top. The bottom half of the sign depicts a lady in a below-the-knee dress with sleeves and a modest neckline, while the gentleman seems to be attired in neck-to-ankle long johns. They are accompanied by “YES” and an arrow helpfully directing one to the entrance. No quibbling here; if your clothing doesn’t match the picture, it’s No Entry for you!
Got any sign stories you’d like to share?
– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader
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Small World
Sep 13th
One of the challenges I’ve encountered when moving from one place to another is finding a new circle of friends with whom to enjoy winetastings, movies, evenings out and excursions outdoors. As we get older, Harry and I find the challenge has increased, too. In the past, one automatic introduction into a group of people of similar age and interests has been parents of kids of our daughters’ acquaintance. You meet at ball games, rehearsals, PTA meetings and back-to-school nights; and the casual and frequent meetings can readily grow into closer bonds as you get to know more about each other. With our girls all grown up and out of the house, that avenue no longer exists. And, as newcomers, we enter in to a social web where virtually everyone we meet already has well-established, long-lasting friendships, and their lives may not readily accomodate a whole new tangle of “dates” and getting-to-know-you events.
To that end, we take advantage of volunteering opportunities in our area, neighborhood gatherings and church events to make connections. On Friday night we attended a fundraising auction and winetasting event at our new parish, both to support a good cause and to feel less like strangers. Things didn’t seem too promising at first as I observed the easy laughter and banter between folks who obviously had known each other a long time. There were pleasant smiles directed my way, but I felt that uncomfortable twinge of not quite belonging.
Once the silent auction items had been bid upon, the crowd settled at assigned tables, and the seven at our table introduced ourselves to each other. In between the auctioneers’ jests and the live bidding, we exchanged tidbits of information (how long have you been a member here, what do you do for a living, how many kids do you have, etc.). Pat Barry, sitting next to my husband, glanced several times at Harry’s name tag and finally asked if he might be related to a John Vanikiotis. (One of the blessings of having such a unique last name is that it is just that — unique — and therefore easy for others to identify/remember and make connections. It can also be a curse if one wishes to be a bit more anonymous!) It turned out that Pat was a fraternity brother of Harry’s brother at Oregon State University back in the ’70s. Pat is a few years younger than John and so didn’t know him very well, but we found he was familiar with several people we still see on a regular basis. We continued to share information and stories with Pat and his wife, Ann, throughout the evening (largely ignoring the auction going on) and really enjoyed their company.
We did pause to bid on a few items, one of which was a package which included two tickets to the Oregon State-Stanford game in October. Harry, a Beaver alum, hasn’t been to a game since he left school (we lived out of state most of that time), and we decided it would be fun to go. It didn’t hurt that the OSU package was being offered at the same time as a University of Oregon game package, and the auctioneer was playing up the rivalry to boost the bids. Harry’s competitive spirit ensured that we came away with the tickets in the end, but it wasn’t until the bidding was over that we learned that the Barrys had contributed their season tickets for that game to the auction. They were excited that we had purchased the package and filled us in on where our parking pass would put us and where our seats were located.
We ended the evening with an exchange of phone numbers and comments on what a small world it is. I know we all have those moments when a brief chat with a seatmate on a flight or a quick introduction at a meeting leads to the discovery of something or someone which connects us to each other. There is a glow of warmth as we find a touchpoint which makes us feel a little less anonymous or alone in the wide world we navigate. It is part of what I find writers expressing in their Mail Call letters to Global Traveler when they describe what they have learned in their travels: We are all connected, and in spite of differences in backgrounds and culture, we share that basic humanity which leads us to reach out to each other and find we are not so very different, after all.
–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader
Barcelona, Part III
Aug 23rd
Knowing how limited our time in Barcelona was, we decided we’d need to focus in on one aspect of the city for the day. We all agreed that we were shopped out, so we didn’t feel compelled to spend time in any more stores or shopping districts. Fairly quickly we agreed that we ought to zero in on something that was unique to this lovely city, and from there it was easy to choose to visit some of the Modernista architecture which is so emblematic of Barcelona. Barb had been doing some reading, so we followed her lead as we struck out, deciding to visit Sagrada Familia first, and then proceed from there to other, primarily Antoni Gaudi-designed sites.
I was determined to venture into the Metro, and Julie gamely joined me while Barb and Ann shared a cab. Having used subway systems in Chicago, London, New York and Germany, I found that Barcelona’s was fairly easy to negotiate. Signs and route maps, when not in English (and most were), were simple to decipher, and the system seems to provide routes to every corner of the greater metropolitan area. We bought a one-day pass for two zones from a vending machine, confirmed the line we wanted and the stop for Sagrada Familia, and arrived at the station across the street from the church not long after Barb and Ann had departed their taxi on the same corner.
I had seen plenty of pictures of this amazing church before, but none of them had adequately communicated the size and mass of this yet-unfinished structure. Its multiple towers stretch high into the sky, accompanied now by immense construction cranes being used to continue Gaudi’s great final project. We never ventured inside the gates, crowded as they were on this Sunday afternoon with visitors, but limited ourselves to circling the massive building and trying to take in just a fraction of the details of its unique facades. I added it to my mental list of places I will need to re-visit on my someday return trip here: I think one would need at least half a day to even begin to delve into this treasure.
Leaving the church behind, we crossed the street into a lovely, quiet park block shaded by purple-flowered jacaranda trees under which families with babies in strollers enjoyed their day off and couples walked hand in hand. The immediate sense of peacefulness which decended on us was a welcome contrast to the noise and crowds surrounding the landmark across the way. From there we decided to stroll onwards; it appeared from our maps that it wouldn’t be too great a distance for us to reach other iconic Gaudi projects: Casa Battlo and Casa Mila (also known as La Pedrera — “the quarry”). Bad news (for our feet): it was a longer walk than we initially thought. Good news: there were plenty of unexpected architectural treasures along the way which we enjoyed at least as much as those we had purposely sought out.
Towards mid-afternoon, Julie, Ann and I grabbed a cab to deliver us to Park Guell while Barb struck off on her own. The park, another Gaudi-designed project, was created on the site of a barren, rocky hillside and completed in 1914. We spent much of the rest of the afternoon exploring the paths and stairways which offered wonderful views south over the city. All sorts of trees, shrubs and flower beds make this a wonderful oasis, and Gaudi’s fanciful colonnades, benches and other structures provide one with delightful surprises throughout.
Late in the day our party regrouped at our hotel and decided to quickly tour the Museu Picasso in the Gothic Quarter before searching out a tapas bar for a late supper. The museum is located in adjoining medieval stone palaces and contains a permanent collection of a number of works primarily from Picasso’s early career, plus some wonderful pottery he did much later (colorful and delightful pieces!). We arrived only about an hour before closing and found that the entrance fee was waived–great! (By this point in our nearly two-week sojourn, we were doling out our euros carefully and trying to figure out if we could avoid visiting an ATM one more time.) From there we meandered down narrow streets and alleys of this very old part of Barcelona and rather randomly chose a tapas restaurant based partly on the menu board and partly on the looks of the place. At 8 p.m., we had our choice of nearly every table in the place, but before our first dishes arrived, nearly every one was full. We really enjoyed everything we ordered and shared; I only wish I could tell you what we had, but the evening is a bit of a blur. With our wake-up calls set for 3:30 a.m., we did not make too late a night of it, though I know we all wished we could have extended our stay in this lovely, vibrant city much longer.
–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader Â
