Touring Newfoundland: Part III

In the morning, we went to Cape Spear, the easternmost point of North America. In order to get there, we had to cross to the Southside of St John's, where the shipyards are, and ascend a hill in the dense fog. We passed the small community of Blackhead, with its one-room schoolhouse, and reached the head of the cape. In addition to the fog, there was a lot of wind. Mom took a picture of me, but then the camera gave out.

Next we went back through St John's up to Cabot Tower on the northern heights of St John's harbor. Here Marconi recieved the first transatlantic wireless message.The fog was so dense that Mom remained in the car while I looked over the site.

After we had descended gingerly and slowly, mowing down no hikers, we headed out of town past a grim industrial "park" called Logy Bay. We soon reached the more scenic outport of Outer Cove, which contended in the St John's Regatta with the men of Bay Bulls. The scenery held up through Middle Cove, and Torbay was also attractive. The outport of Flat Rock had a shrine modeled on Lourdes, a memento of John Paul II's visit to Newfoundland.

We went through at Pouch (pron. 'pooch') Bay. We didn't go berry-picking in Biscayan Cove, although it is known for that.

Evidence of building was rife throughout the ridge between Pouch Cove and Bauline, which lies on Conception Bay, down a steep and winding track, studded with pines.

We lunched at Portugal Cove, looking out at the ferry to Bell Island and the island itself. Bell Island features the longest submarine (=underwater) mines which extend for miles under the ocean. There are also some German subs sunk in WWII.

The drive from Portugal Cove to Holyrood was almost entirely suburban, but Mom did notice the lumpy misshapen bulk of the Butter Pot. Holyrood, at the head of Conception Bay, provided slightly askew of straight view of the bay. We did not return via the TransCanada Highway. but took the road to Witless Bay and Bay Bulls. The route was littered with RV parks and repurposed schoolbuses and more (fishing?) huts.

Touring Newfoundland: Part II

The next day we took to the road. We went south, past the outport of Bay Bulls to Witless Bay. There we had tea at the recommendation of Vernon, one of the fellow conference attendees. Gull Island was visible from the balcony of the Witless Bay cafe. It was rather chilly outside.

We continued south to Ferryland (which has nothing to do with fairies, Faery, or ferries - English Ferryland came from Portuguese Farilham from French Farillon, akin to California's Farallones). There we first came upon the RC church, currently under repair, and viewed the jagged, treacherous rocks on the north side of the cove. Isle au Bois was free of tree, but presumable made that way by man. Further south, there were several other islands, and to the south of all, the Downs, a massive headland extended from a narrow isthmus. On the north (leeward) side of the Downs, a small cluster of buildings huddled around a harbor, called the Pool.

The church was of much more recent provenance, but the two workman assented (with thick brogues) to let us survey their handiwork. I'd never seen so many statues of saints!

We found the Visitor Center for the Colony of Avalon, the archeological site and original settlement on the lee of the Downs. Our guide was a local young woman named Andrea, who admitted that today was unseasonably cold. We crossed the isthmus onto the Downs. The archeological site was still surrounded by the houses of locals, who, rather surprisingly, were cooperating with the archaeologists. The first Lord Baltimore had founded Avalon (from the Avalon Peninsula derives its name) as a utopian colony comprised of both Protestants and Catholics, with freedom of worship. The site on the lee of the Downs protected it from the worst of the Atlantic winds; there was only one (southern) safe passage into the harbor, and another into the Pool; the isthmus could be blockaded effectively. The admixture of the two sects didn't work. Baltimore's colony was hijacked by David Kirke, sparking a series of lawsuits which extended to the next generation; the second Lord Baltimore prefered his colony of Maryland, but never relinquished his claim on Avalon (look on the Maryland state seal). On a more prosaic note, the colony featured the first working lavaratory, which was tidally powered.

We passed Renews, where the Pilgrims landed to restock. It is striking that the standard histories omit this, prefering to perpetuate the falsehood that the Pilgrims went straight to Plymouth Rock. Renews was also the home of a local Newfoundland hero, who swam twenty-seven times to a wreck, rescuing one person each time.

The road around Chance Cove towards Portugal Cove South (Portugual Cove is north-west) of St John's curved west through barren, boggy landscapes. There were, however, several huts in the midst of this wilderness. There is a track from Portugal Cove South to the ship-wrecking Cape Race and Mistaken Point Ecological Reserve, wherein lie the oldest fossils of North America.

Once we reached Biscay Bay (a town), we had lunch, looking south across the Atlantic, and then moved on to Trepassey. Trepassey's name comes from the use of "tre'passe'" by French fishermen to describe the departed. We climbed up to Trepassey Battery, built by the English. We continued through somewhat hillier country to Peters River (the town, St Stephen's and St Vincent's, where many whale-watching tours depart. The most striking feature of the region, however, is Holyrood Pond. 'Pond' in this dialect means a freshwater lake, but Holyrood Pond is so grand and extended so far into the bulk of the Avalon Peninsula that the town of Path End, which is on it, is the only inland fishing port (although Path End is connected to the outport of St Mary's.

After we had passed through St Mary's, we went north towards St Catherine's and Salmonier. We crossed the forested interion between Salmonier and Hawke Hill Archaeological Reserve, traversed the Butter Pot Barrens, and returned to St John's via Mount Pearl, "the city within a park".

Touring Newfoundland: Part I

I keep forgetting my notes, so I'll do it from memory. The first day of touring (after the conference, where my sparkling wit was absent from the podium) saw Mom and I going to see the puffins in the afternoon. In the morning, we walked around St John's, along the aptly named 'jellybean row' composed of houses, each a different color, and yet not provoking the apocalypse which neighborhood committees so fear. The close packing of the churches was conspicuous, and the names of the two cathedals (Anglican and RC) seemed a sign of silent provocation.

In the afternoon, we boarded a van with several other remnants of the conference and their significant others and headed south to the town of Bay Bulls. This was the first Mom and I had left the confines of St John's. At Bay Bulls, we embarked. Our guide ws Deirdre, a local young woman. We rounded the southern cape, because the destination was directly in front of Witless Bay, the next cove to the south, which possessed its own outport (which means "not St John's" in the Newfoundland dialect). Someone had seen whales off St John's the week before, but these were probably the first of the season.

We arrived at Gull Island, where the puffins resided, rather swiftly. There was no stench, despite the densely packed birds and the puffins' habit of reinforcing their burrows with their own excrement. The puffins were ungainly in flight, but masters of diving, even compared to the other birds in the island. The herring gulls knew the fishing superiority of the puffins, and therefore waited outside puffin burrows to steal the catch. A different species of gull specialized in consuming puffins mid-air; each of these gulls ate six puffins a day. A third species of gull, the kittiwakes, preferred the small ledges of the island to raise their young; even though the kittiwake egg was shaped to guard against calamity, the mothers hatched up to six per season - which raises some doubt about the evolutionary efficacy of egg shape.

Newfoundland

The coast of Newfoundland is rocky and wind-whipped, free of the scent of decaying vegetation. The outports hug the coast, like barnacles. The interior of the Avalon Peninsula is boggy, with thin soil and shallow "ponds", the local name for lakes. The people of the outports are Irish and very Catholic, only recently risen out of a subsistence lifestyle. These "baymen" are opposed to the "townies" of St John's, which is the closest thing to a metropolis on the Island. The Protestants moved to ST John's as it grew, abandoning the outports to their Irish fishermen (almost in peonage until confederation with Canada).

Spiderman 3

I finally saw Spiderman 3 this Sunday. It wasn't as good as I had hoped; neither was it as bad as I had feared. Some of the combination of humor and angst was ill-handled and ill-matched, but I am not at all convinced that that dissonance isn't appropriate for Spiderman. The movie did suffer from the common affliction of the third installation of a trilogy (both visual and written), where the complexity obscures the purity of the narrative. The biggest surprise for me was that a certain new character did not perish, nor did that character's counterpart. I've never been a big fan of the Sandman, however.

Cache Canyon Troop 14 Whitewater

I went whitewater rafting with Troop 14 this weekend. I ended up paired with Bruce, the boss man. There were fourteen Scouts and six adults - it was even numbers or no going. The first day was my very first day doing whitewater, even though I had canoed, kayaking, and sailed many times before. Each river vessel requires its own techniques, and rafts are no exception. Unlike canoes, however, rafts bounce off rocks. I found the first half of the first day extremely stressful with a precipitous learning curve; later, however, I relaxed a bit. In the evening, Rick, who runs Cache Canyon whitewater trips, put on games and a slideshow. On the second day, I enjoyed myself immensely. The second day featured rapids that required scouting (not Scouting). The two of our boys who were doing Whitewater Merit Badge (Rick, in addition to being an Eagle Scout, is a merit badge counselor) passed.

Good Turn 2007

Friday night, I got a call from Bruce about the Troop's weekend 'The Good Turn'. Ordinarily, we would go up to our summer camp for the whole weekend and make repairs; the weather, however, was prophesied to be so severe that he had decided the Troop would go up for the day. So we did. The overcast sky provided a cool environment, muting all colors. As yet it was not drizzling. Then at eleven it started. Everybody worked at something; some dug post-holes and put up signs for the nature trail; others fit the boards to the metal frames of the non-wood platforms; yet others repaired the the cabins in Pioneers, where the Troop stays in summertime. Our customary coordinator for this venture, Chuck, had injured himself severely in recent months, but his absence was noticeable. Although it was only a day, an impressive amount of work was accomplished, and, most importantly, the ranger had a better attitude towards the troops who participated.

Boondocks

Last night, which was Thursday, I went to the JCC to hear Aaron McGruder in dialogue with Jeff Chang. Every seat was sold, altough not all were occupied. I sat near one of the JCC preschool teachers (married to a non-Jew) who grew up in San Francisco and learned to swim in the old JCC pool. Perhaps Ruth knows her? McGruder seemed quite pleasant, but he did not delve too deeply into politics and eschewed invective.

Khristos Anesti secundum Marcum

I realize the absurdity of posting twice in such a short period of time, but there are some thoughts which would be expressed too late, were I to delay their expression further. It is true that I did not attend a Good Friday service, but by this omission I mean no disrespect. For many years, dwelling on the service of Good Friday struck me as morbid, whether that of devout Catholics or dour Scottish Calvinists. I was made to understand, however, that this apparent morbidity, when applied in moderation, was an attempt to incorporate into the person of the individual believer that anguish which Luther felt all too keenly.

I still prefer the emphasis on the resurrection, however, for Christ was not the only one who died for the sins of others (for many luckless animals without blemish had done that for lesser numbers 0f individuals) but rather the only one who came to life again for the sins of others.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Heady Days

The last three days have seen much intellectual ferment, and I should put my thoughts to the pixels ere the hot winds of change wipe away the notes on my tabula erasura.

On Wednesday, I attended the SFSU Classical Students Association lecture, the last of the season, at which the topic was 'Religious War in the Ancient World'. Although it was argued that western monotheism allowed the full flowering of religious war, there are certain counterexamples of Buddhist kings no less military and missionary. Sadly, the lecturer omitted for reason of time, a comment on my beloved Donatists.

On Thursday, I went with Joan and Joe Sutton to Stanford that I might hear Patrick Hunt, vir illustris of the archeological world, speak on his expedition to the Alps and his seeking of the pass by which Hannibal, with his men and elephants, crossed the mountains. Hunt suggested that the choice of such an unfavorable route was not only plausible, but likely, for a member of Hannibal's lineage. Hannibal's god was Baal, a god of heights and storms; where better for the general to seek his god's protection than the place where he would choose to dwell?

On Friday, I joined Joan again unexpectedly for the reading of the 'phad' at the Asian Art Museum. The museum not only had borrowed a display of the art of the state of Mewar in Rajasthan, India, but it had also brought a bhopa and bhopi, indigenous storytellers specializing the reading of the phad, a painting and portable temple which aids the bhopa and bhopi in telling the stories of the local god Pabuji and the much more renowned Ramayana. For those who care to know, the bhopa and bhopi will be performing at 2:30 at the museum through the 15th. I strongly encourage those who can to go.

The Purimspieler

One of the advantage of a shorter winter work week and setting your own hours is that you can go to events during the day you might otherwise miss. So today I went to the JCC to see the Purimspieler, a 'classic Yiddish film'. The room was full of elderly Russians, and the presenter was speaking in Russian. I was pleased to note that my Russian aural comprehension, although spotty, had not vanished entirely. The film itself was in Yiddish with English subtitles. My rudimentary German allowed me to understand portions of the original dialogue.

Borderlands and Amazons

I finally made it to Borderlands, the science fiction and fantasy store on Valencia. As usual, it is invisible while walking down from 18th, although that seems appropriate for a bookstore of its kind. Ripley, the hairless Abyssinian, the confluence of tradition and practicality in bookstore animals, was at home, and I decided not to buy a post card of that peculiar cat. I bought a copy of Naomi Kritzer's third book in her trilogy. I had been meaning to buy Freedom's Sisters since June, since I had promised I would. My biggest thrill is that Kritzer makes Alexander imprison Zeus (if any mortal would, Alexander would).

I've been reading a book on the history of the state of Israel. It's very complicated.

Yale, Yale, Yale

I don't think I'll do this on a regular basis, but I'll forget the details if I don't post now. I'll just have to post the investigation into Trinidadian Benedictine identity theft. After a day in the quiet confines of the Mechanics Institute Library, where I finished reading the Canaanite mythological corpus so that I could return the book on Wednesday, I mounted the hill to the University Club via Powell. I was temporarily is blocked by the incessant crimson of the cable cars. Then I arrived at the University Club, where there was to be a Yale group singing - without a brawl. It turns out that one of the female members of Red, Hot, and Blue, was the friend of Andrew, who is a fellow CSB alum. The only girl in jeans there was a friend of Andrew's friend; she had gone to a familiar local school on the other side of the bay.

The 300

I finally saw the 300. I loved it. It was what a movie about a glorious last stand should feel like. I can forgive the abundant free license in the source material (courtesy of Frank Miller) if it encourages the appropriate katharsis. The one thing, however, which does worry me, is the vivd racial distinction in the film. Since the graphic novel from which the images were taken was intended to invoke the black, white, and red of Greek pottery, in that format it is logical. The portrayal of Xerxes as the big black menace, howver, is more provocative in a movie than a graphic novel.

Palace of Legion of Honor

Today I went to the Palace of the Legion of Honor. I don't like the cabbageware in the ceramics room; I prefer two-tone patterns when I think about such things at all. The multicolored ones offend me greatly. I also visited the dark little room next to the cafeteria, in which There was an exhibit of paintings inspired by a rambling country preacher. The jewelry exhibit was what I was there for, but Art Deco still does nothing for me. The necklace of Mumtaz which Elizabeth Taylor recieved from Richard Burton interested me more for its historical value than than its entertainment value (unless I'm watching Blue Velvet, I don't give a fig for Elizabeth Taylor). A jewel associated with the Taj Mahal, on the other hand, is fascinating.

Great Caesar's Ghost

In honor of Caesar's demise, I have decided to blog on the chthonic spirits of the Roman people. Ghosts and ancestors are universal and particular; no culture lacks tales of the dead and undeed, and yet each culture provides its own perspective. In the Romans' case, the line between ancestors and divinities was ambiguous. The 'lares', of which so many who have studied Rome have heard, were domestic guardian spirits (a word, incidentally, which encapsulates perfectly the aforementioned ambiguity). The 'manes' were the ancestors of the household paterfamilias.

The spirits of which I wish to write, however, are the less benign variety. As is common in Roman religion, these malicious forces were mentioned in the plural. Today most would associate the word 'lemur' with wide-eyed Malagasy mammals, but the (white) naturalist who discovered them named these strange and fascinating animals 'lemurs' after 'lemures', the spirits whom the Romans propitiated during the holy days of the Parentalia (in Latin, 'parentes' means 'relative' rather than 'mother and/or father'). The innate cuteness of the mammal has dissipated much of the dread and deathliness the Roman would attach to the name, but the other designation of the Parentalia threats retains a visceral and mortiferous response for the English-speaker: 'larvae'.

In short, there is no single word for 'ghost' in Latin, and yet referring to 'a ghost' in the singular is contrary to Roman usage. If Caesar wishes to haunt the classicists of today, he will have choose a companion!

Aeneas and Dido

In consideration of the sad ignorance of many of my friends of the glorious language of Cicero and Caesar, I have established a separate blog into which my attempts at recreating that noble tongue shall reside.

I went down to the JCL (Jewish Community Library) yesterday and discovered that it was hidden, oh so cleverly on the second floor of a high school. Although I had come there originally in search of a Hebrew primer and a Harry Kemelman mystery, I rejoiced upon discovering a collection of the four extant Ugaritic myths. I love mythology, I devour it, but this was the first time I had found a volume of these myths unencumbered by apparatus critici, or too precious to read at leisure. I also checked out Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet.

Christianus ad Purim

Die Iesu Xpi dno nro post in templo Divi Didaci a nostra presbytera alteram partem sermocinii de persona et umbra secundum Iuuenum doctorem mentis audissem, post in domo meae matris eius canem salutassem et pianoforte lusissem, tunc ad Centrum Civitanum Iudaeicum Franciscopolitanum et ad dies festivales nomine Purim celebrandos et spectaculum eorundem Purim spectandum iter feci, ubi matri obuiam iui. Multae hamantasae comesae sunt. Puella partem Esther actura pulchra corpore secundum suum genus in atrio Centri matri de sua imagine capta photographice querabatur. Hoc anno ista aula ubi omnes more maiorum spectaculum Purim spectent sedibus eleuatis egit.

SVU and Greek Tragedy

I like Law & Order: SVU, despite a bookish sort. I was contemplating why this cop show would so draw me, when many others have no effect whatsoever. I have decided that there is a particular reason beyond good writing and acting. As a Classics scholar, the materials regarded as fundamental reading in the field cover such distasteful subjects as incest, rape, and cannibalism. The ability to treat the bllody kin-slaughter of the house of Atreus as a routine matter desensitizes the most empathetic classicist to some of the graphic occurances on the television and in the movies. If you've read the history of the late Roman Republic, the violence and treachery of the Sopranos are mundane occurences. SVU, however, still retains the capacity to intrigue me. It can only thrive by increasingly complex carnal mysteries which surpass those established in the Greek classical canon.

Adventus Penitentiae

Hoc vespero ad templum Divi Didaci ad diem Martis penitentiosum celebrandum veni. Multi liberi media in aula ludunt, mulieres flexibilibus in sedibus garriunt, aliae mulieres un culina coquunt. Post Iesum Christum dominum nostrum nostra pastrix Maria Maura invocaverat, omnes ieiunaturi edunt. Dicuntur fratres graecos non edere nec carnem nec caesum aetati penitentiae.

Diebus recentibus videre mutationes de ictibus casuum Danaum conatus sum, volvens ascensus descensusque et lingua et voce, legens meum Novum Testament Latine et Graece. Differt maxime saltatio syllabarum Graecarum itinere de itinere facto Latinarum.