Daily Ramblings Archives -

Lake Garda Italy

January 10, 2019 By Jessica McAvoy Leave a Comment

Torri del Benaco, Lake Garda

I admit, Torri del Benaco on the east coast of Lago di Garda (Lake Garda, Italy) was not our first choice.

We had been planning on a few days in Venice before crossing the border into Slovenia and on to Croatia. But a heat wave took hold. Day after day of 100+ degrees traveling on the motorcycle was getting old, and frankly, no fun. The thought of Venice and all the crowds and smells in such thick summer heat didn’t sit well with us. So I did a quick weather search followed by a hotel search. We came up with a number of towns that would only be an early morning ride from Modena, Italy. Criteria: a few degrees cooler, had both pool and ac, and a walkable town for two days of no moto. Torri del Benaco fit the bill.

Located on the east side, where you could say is the ehhm shaft of the phallic shaped Lake Garda, Torri del Benaco is less congested than the other towns. It does not boast the major tourist sites of the lake. It does have a ferry service that connects visitors with those that do. The historic center is surrounded by fortress walls and features a castle, Il Castello Scaligero.

We walked down the steep hill from our rental condo and crossed the busy traffic on the main road and into the historical center of the city. It was hot, and even during dusk, we were sweating standing still. So, like any sane person, we opted for gelato instead of dinner.

The castle stood on one side of the U-shaped harbor, and restaurants and cafes the other. The center of town felt oddly fake and yet utterly real. Locations like this are where Disney gets inspiration from. The clean hues of blue, yellow, and crisp white adorned the dinghy fishing boats. They seemed to hover above the lake which was clear and almost had a mint green tint from years of rain and runoff filtering through the chalky mountains.

Fishing Boats on Lake Garda Italy

A vast stretch of pedestrian pathway separated the tables situated along the water’s edge from their restaurants and cafes. Waiters dodged in and out of the strolling people trying to get libations and delicacies to the tables. They too were soaking with sweat.

We picked our cafe and grabbed a seat. The sun was setting over the mountain opposite us, and the sky and water became one in zebra stripes of pinks, oranges, and yellows. Across the promenade, under a portico, a woman played a double tired keyboard on the accordion setting. Her mop of silver hair swept back and forth across her forehead and cheeks, soaking up the sweat as she excitedly serenaded the German and Austrian tourists. Largo di Garda had been their lake of choice for generations of getaways. A few older couples were dancing with slow, sluggish movement and happy-had-too-many-drinks-smiles. I can’t for the life of me remember the American song playing, but it was a lite rock of the love song type from my childhood, reinvented with a German accent. We were living in the middle of the credit roll from a 1980’s B rated movie.

Motorcycle Over Mt Subasio Italy, My Fears Melted Away

September 27, 2016 By Jessica McAvoy Leave a Comment

Jessica and Daryl McAvoy with BMW Motorcycle Over Mt Subvasio Italy

Taking the BMW GS over Mt Subasio in Umbria, Italy

I was still gripped by fear on many of our rides when we decided to take the motorcycle over Mt Subasio in Italy. Fear of falling off and fear of heights. Yes, I suffered from both when we first started the journey.

The Apennine mountains are like the spine of Italy. Mt Subasio is a park and links the two cities of Spello to the south, with Assisi to the north.

We had lunch in Spello and then decided to cross over to Assisi and catch a few Giotto frescoes in the late afternoon sunlight. The start of the ride consisted of a smooth uphill on paved asphalt. Cobalt blue skies with puffy cotton ball clouds surrounded. Hundreds of cows munched on the grass. It became easy to understand why cheese and gelato are so delicious in Italy when you’ve watched them graze.

The road then turned to loose chalk. I was panicked at first and frozen. Our BMW GS was sturdy, and Red had full command. Within a few minutes, I had confidence in my ability to be a passenger again… without saying oh fuck a million times.

I needed to get over my fears.

By the time we reached the peak, I was utterly calm. I no longer feared unpaved roads or heights. I thought for a split second I could learn to be the rider–then when I hopped on and my feet dangled in the air, I realized how ridiculous that idea was.

Me thinking maybe I can be the rider one day, then realizing my feet come nowhere near the ground.

Motorcycle on the Italy to Croatia Ferry

September 23, 2016 By Jessica McAvoy Leave a Comment

Ferry at the terminal in Split, Croatia

Motorcycles are a way of life in Italy. Everyone has one.

Or they have a scooter. Everbody’s immediate relatives certainly have a few. I read somewhere online–so it must be true–that Italy represents half of all registered two-wheelers in Europe. We are not talking Harleys, though we did see a few. We’re talking about Ducatis, Kawasakis, Yamahas, and of course, my favorite, BMWs. It was no surprise that there seemed to be the entire population of a small hilltop Tuscan village at the port getting ready to start a vacation with their motorcycle on the ferry from Italy to Croatia.

The level of fear I had about taking the ferry from Ancona, Italy, to Split, Croatia was ridiculous. Looking back now so many things that I genuinely feared on this journey were crazy. Travel on mass transit, as in the movement from A to B, has always given me anxiety. I am a control freak. So, I do what I can to control whatever I can. I look at lots of pictures online of the transportation we will be using. I read lots of forum and blog posts about other people’s experiences. And I usually arrive for departure stupid early.

Since I convinced myself from reading horror stories that if we were not crazy early, they would have no room for the motorcycle, even though we had a reservation, I made sure we would be first in line to board.

We were in Italy, so everyone was first to board, whether they arrived early, or right at boarding time.

You see my friends, Italians have a fantastic way of keeping organized chaos when it comes to queuing up for anything, especially transportation. Sometimes I think it’s the culturally accepted lack of personal space. Though, it probably stems from machismo. To my knowledge, I have no German genes, but I am a type A personality.

Give me punctuality and organized lines.

I expect people to listen when the gate agents say stay in your seats and not to get up until they call your boarding zone.

This is just not how the Italians are. Well, except for some peeps from Northern Italy. Their geographic location enabled German punctuality to wharf over and be absorbed.

Ancona Ferry Port

We arrived at the Ancona ferry port and checked in at the general ticket office for Blue Line Ferries. When we booked, we had two choices, Blue Line or Jadrolinja. We choose merely by which boat had the best price. They issued us our boarding passes, checked our vehicle documents, told us which terminal our ferry was departing from and what time we could go to the port. They told us in Italian, and we understood them!

You got this Jes, you are conquering the Italian language, I thought to myself.

Ferry offices and check-in at the Ancona, Italy Ferry Terminal

Camaraderie

There were motorcycles everywhere. We used our Italian language skills, and we did our best to converse with the riders. I quickly realized I was not conquering anything! We were only three weeks into class. I thought I knew what I was saying, but in reality, I was butchering the beautiful language. But you know what? It didn’t matter. They made do with bad English; we made do with nearly non-existent Italian.

The other riders told us what to expect on the boat, how to deal with the bike, what to leave behind and what to take with us to our cabin. We talked gloves, pants, and helmets, and about our sheepskin from Glengarriff, Ireland. Our blue alpine mountain goat (aka a BMW GS) was a looker, and everyone, everywhere on our journey stopped to talk to us about it.

Motorcycles just chillin’ at the Ancona Ferry Terminal

Once the conversation started, all we had to say was two things, and we were members of the cool club. It was like we were instantly invited to sit at the popular kid’s table at lunch in the cafeteria. The two things we had to say to get in were that we were 1. from NY (Ooos and Ahhhhs commenced) and 2. studying Italian in Umbria (bravas and fantasticos commenced). And then, all of a sudden a seriousness kicked in. Helmets went on, and motos took off. They dropped us. Like the kid with the bugger hanging from his nose.

We realized it wasn’t us. It was the machismo.

The drive to the port took us through the outskirts of the city along the water and over train tracks past the station. There was a mass of cars and motorcycles all over, wherever they could squeeze in, at every angle. A few traffic people in neon safety vests tried their best to yell commands–you this lane–you that lane. Horns blared, people shouted, arms flew about cutting through the air with directed precision.

This moment was the start of their vacations. As a result, they were in a rush to get on board to wait to depart. And as I mentioned earlier, it was organized chaos.

But on a motorcycle, things are a little different.

See, cars part way for motorcycles in Italy. Wherever you are (except crazy-ass Naples which is a whole different tale), they naturally move to the right or left when they see you in their rear-view mirror. The man in the car with the kids in the back seat starting his family vacation has been in your boots–riding on a hot summer day on a fully geared up stuffed pig. And someone moved over for him to pass.

All the bikes clustered together at the front. Yes, the asphalt has painted lanes, but these are suggestions. Italy is not Germany (Ok, Germany is one place that I have not been yet, it’s on my list though, so I’m not speaking from any personal experience, just hearsay). Some toughly looking Italians directed the bikes onto the boat and indicated where they wanted each rider to go–right side, left side, next level up, etc. Only half pay attention. The rest do what they want and load up when they feel like it, and park where they want.

When we took the ferry from Ireland to France, we were one of only three motorcycles on board. And English was spoken. Easy peasy. Each bike rider received chock blocks, and we were instructed to park in between the built-in clips on the floor. A guy then came over and strapped the bike to the floor clips. He was kind, made sure we had what we needed, made sure he gently but securely fastened our GS in place.

Again, we come back to the fact that this is Italy.

Italians were talking; we will say, loudly, and throwing hand gestures because we were not quick enough to get our stuff off and get ourselves situated.

My thoughts at this moment: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!

I was starting to have a panic attack with full on sweats and a head swirly-I’m-going-down sensation. I tried to ground myself–fixate my gaze on something. I know, gross, but lick my salty, sweaty hand for taste and smell my sweaty shirt — anything to bring me to that moment, right then, and to try to stop panicking.

Daryl could see my face and calmly said take the bags and wait by the door. He knew by the look in my eyes. From 13 years of marriage, he can always recognize that when I quietly start to acknowledge my surroundings, my anxiety is through the roof. The workers strapped the bikes. Basically from one to the next and back rapidly. And I guess eventually to the clips on the floor? Well, there were over 100 motorcycles on board, probably close to 200, all parked in neat and organized rows. It amazed me to look over and see the rows after all the craziness. Looking back, I was ridiculous to think these gentlemen did not know what they were doing.

Motorcycles parked in an organized fashion on the ferry.

We headed up to the registration desk and got our cabin key. The rest of the trip was mostly uneventful except for the funny sign in the cabin bathroom. And the floor full of Italians with all their cabin doors opened singing pop songs or folk songs in unison throughout the night.

A sign reminding you not to flush chips–or your times–yes, it says times, my photo stinks, down the toilet.

Then like arrival, the hour leading up to departure was much of the same chaos.

Everyone started emptying into the general areas near the stairs, escalator, and elevator. Staff had to stand guard so people would not sneak down. Announcements were made over and over again in Italian, Croatian, and English not to go down until directed. Once directed, only motorcyclists could go down. That’s right; motorcyclists go first.

Down we went, then we loaded up. All bikes tried to exit at once because everyone had to be first. Passengers walked down and off the boat–their riders didn’t have time to wait for them to get their shit together and get on the bike. It would prohibit them from being first. Barely on, the riders would back up in a quick fit, and rush down the ramp. A woman with a stroller probably made it past one of the elevator people and got down to the vehicle level before non-motorcyclists were allowed. Seems like she had a death wish because no one gave two shits that she had a stroller and was trying to get to her car. It was like their engines were yelling at her “Lady, it’s not your turn yet!”

The funniest part about everyone having to exit first? Everyone grouped once exited and allowed each other to get in front of the passport check line. Nobody wanted to be first for that part.

Everyone has to be off first.

Complications of Settling on the Big Island of Hawaii

May 13, 2016 By Jessica McAvoy Leave a Comment

We have been residents on the Big Island of Hawaii for over three months now. Warm and sunny every day really suits us well. Even though we had well over a year to “decompress” with our travels through Europe and the US’ east coast, we realized that living as nomads was in no way decompressing. For two NYers, the move to a rock in the middle of the Pacific has in not been simple. Although, I’m sure no relocation out of state is easy.

For the first two months, every day revolved around the essentials–finding jobs, securing a place to live, registering the car–and on it goes. Again, I am sure this is the case with any move. But, things happen slowly here. Getting the basics figured out has been challenging. Beach? What beach? There’s no time for that.

Life is complicated on a rock in the Pacific.

For starters, Mother Nature puts on a show 24×7. She never waivers in Hawaii. Finding focus is difficult while surrounded by her glory at every turn. For my readers that live in a climate with a defined summer season, think about the way you feel all summer. Long warm days that linger into the night. Time feels like it is always on your side; every day moves slowly in the summer.

Yeah, that feeling, but 365. In the scheme of things, this a big plus, and one of the main reasons why we wanted to live on the Big Island. For settling-in, this is a big negative and partly why so complicated. There is no rush for anything anywhere.

Mother Nature is always giving a show with amazing displays of color and light in the sky over Hawaii.

It is difficult to establish an address until you have an address.

You cannot get a US postal box without an address in the state and proof of said address. Technically, the same applies to UPS boxes, but luckily it just depends on the person at the counter. The chances that you will get a call back for a job here without a local address on your application are super slim. Registering and insuring a car can be just as complicated for the same reasons. Luckily, the woman that owned the Airbnb we stayed in was willing to let us use her address to get the ball rolling.

Although there is help wanted signs everywhere, securing a job is not that easy here.

Assume your resume will be ignored until you live here. There is the matter of the address part above. Then, when you get past that, and the interviewer asks you how long you’ve been here, and you answer… they will sigh. Finally, consider yourself lucky if you make it to the grilling on how determined you are to stay.

What if you don’t know? What if maybe for now, or maybe forever? Really, what does it matter if you will live on the Big Island for one year, or three, or more, if you’re qualified for the job?

As it turns out, here on the Big Island, the population is either transient or generational. What we have experienced is a lack of qualified people for many open positions and an over-abundance of over-qualified people for others. We thought, “oh we will just get jobs, like washing dishes or ringing up groceries.” Well, in more major towns like Kona or Hilo this may be the case, but elsewhere it’s less the case.

No, they are not going to call you to be a dishwasher at the local restaurant or cashier in the local grocery store. Even though those jobs are vacant, they are vacant on a rolling basis, until a local person applies. Local being that you have lived here forever, or know the right person that has and can make a call on the good ol’ coconut wireless on your behalf. I understand this, and frankly think it’s essential to the existing communities.

Once we started looking at the transient tourism hubs, we found opportunities all around. The key we have learned is to be persistent. You have to be willing to work for opportunity and show it means something to you. Follow up, follow up, follow up.

Highway through lava field on the Big Island of Hawaii.

Driving 40 minutes through Hawaii’s lava fields with only cows and goats as your companion is completely different than sitting in 40 minutes of Long Island traffic to get to work.

We have noticed the system on the Big Island seems to make it difficult to sink your heels in and get settled. The island can chew people up and spit them out.

Take housing for example. It is an incredibly tight rental market, but there are many places like that. With some cash in the bank, we did not arrive worried. Then reality hit us.

Rentals operated through agencies require two months of pay-stubs showing 3x rent as income. That is right, 2 full months of 3xs rent. What does that mean? It means that if you get a job on the day you arrive, you must have that job for two months before applying for a place to live. That’s assuming you then find a place you want to be, and that you get a good paying job on day one.

Thinking this was no problem for us and that we would just pay a six month or 12-month lease in full. Nope. Rental management agencies will not even consider it. Having a job but short the 3xs rent in income still is a no-go for pre-payment.

So what did this mean for us?

We lived in an Airbnb rental for two months and scoured the s out of craigslist for a private apartment. We were in a beautiful studio owned by a lovely woman, but a vacation rental at vacation rental prices, in Hawaii. No Bueno. We had initially planned this situation for one month with the intention of paying a lease in full. We ended up there for two. Each month was equivalent to about three month’s worth of rent in one swoop. And there went a good portion of our safety net.

Scouring craigslist in a tight rental market is a ball of fun. You might call and email a dozen listings the day they are posted only to get no reply. If they do respond, they tell you space is no longer vacant. Or, as we experienced a few times, no response, then a re-listing a few days or a week later of the same unit. Why? Because there was no rush to call people back, no rush to fill their vacancy. They might want a tenant who has been on the island for more than a year or two. Or even more than six months. Worry about it another day; the surf is good today kind of way about things. Womp, womp, womp.

From this, we learned to be quick and persistent. We started emailing, texting, and calling the instant we saw a listing. Then, if we didn’t hear back, our NYerisms would kick in, and we would reach out again the next day, and the next. At least we’d have the opportunity to view spaces and be considered for them.

Then, one day, it all seemed to gel.

We found the perfect listing and instantly connected with the owner. And just like that, one phone call, one in-person meeting, and we had a place to live. We were ok that it was in a suburban neighborhood–even though suburbia was originally on the top of the NO list–we envisioned a rental house in the middle of the country with fruit trees out back and a walk to the main street. Oh, and we weren’t even scared when we realized the keys didn’t work…. hahaha that was a funny moment!

For now, we are pleased in our studio 10 minutes from the beach in the middle of a lava desert. It is a good space and suits us well. We are adjusting and enjoying the slow pace. It is not so shocking now to drive for 40 minutes through a lava field and only see cattle or goats. I have since left that commission job and focus on my copywriting business www.bestdarncopywriter.com. We are starting to feel settled and even beginning to make some friends.

Now that the live/work part seems to be under control we can focus more on the play part. That is, after all why we moved halfway around the world.

Hanging out at A-bay on the Big Island of Hawaii.

Motorcycle travel? The idea was nuts to me.

August 9, 2015 By Jessica McAvoy Leave a Comment

If you would have told me a year ago this journey for art would involve motorcycle travel I would have said you were crazy. The secret is out; before this trip, I had only been on Daryl’s BMW GS at home maybe a dozen times. The longest was a whopping hour at most, and on the highway only twice and I was a nervous wreck. Daryl had always wanted to do a trip like this but it seemed really impossible to me. We had never even rented a car in another country except the one time we ended up with a pickup truck in Mexico…

Fast forward or rather rewind to a friend’s 2014 holiday party. We started talking to a man named Chico that rode in various countries around the globe and the conversation reminded my husband of how awesome it would be to see Europe by moto. So the idea was re-energized and the rabbit hole of the internet grabbed hold. He quickly learned it didn’t make sense to ship his existing bike over nor to rent one for as long as we were planning on traveling. The economical option was to buy a second motorcycle already in Europe.

Motorcycle travel is huge around the world, especially in Europe.

There are enthusiasts all over the world that store motorcycles for a small fee and will put people that want to purchase one in contact with people that want to sell one. Daryl researched and settled on Motofeirme in Cork, Ireland. Flying in and out of Ireland from New York is quick (6 1/2 hrs or so) and is dramatically less expensive than other European cities. Plus, throw in no language barrier for the transaction making it an easy start to the process. A process that is 99.9% build on trust.

The entire transaction goes against what you learn as a New Yorker.

No, the world is not out to get you, and yes, you can trust people. After studying some photos, having a bunch of calls with the gentleman Martin that stores the bike in Cork and the gentleman living in Florida that was selling the bike we decided this was the one, the BMW GS that we would put our faith in for five months. Money exchanged through bank transfer, titled through the good old mail system, and we crossed our fingers and focused only on positive thoughts from the day we transferred the money in January until we arrived in Cork on Good Friday.

Picking up our BMW GS for our motorcycle travel from Motofeirme in Cork, Ireland

Picking up our BMW GS from Motofeirme in Cork, Ireland

Daryl selected this particular motorcycle (2003 BMW R1150 GS) knowing it is very reliable and that he could work on it on the side of the road if he needed to. After all, it is one of the few motorcycles that come with a tool kit.

The journey is not over yet, but so far our blue alpine goat as we lovingly call her has only had a few hiccups. They’ve all been Daryl-fixable. Hiccups like a battery that decided not to start when we stopped at a rest stop after we drove for 2 hours in pouring rain and hail to Ravenna (which caused us to ride around with jumper cables for a few weeks). Or the fuel quick connect that busted on a Saturday night, around midnight, in Dubrovnik, a place where everything is closed on Sunday. Plus of course we had a ferry back to Italy to catch – luckily the owner of the apartment we were in had a friend with miscellaneous plumbing parts that he and Daryl were able to use to fix it. And then, a replacement battery which we replaced ourselves in the BMW Motorrad Parma Italy parking lot.

As we wind down and make our way back to Ireland we are hopeful for continued smooth sailing. Motorcycle travel has been amazing. After a good washing, she will be ready to go up for sale. It will be time for her to become someone else’s journey. But for now, we still get to enjoy the ride.

BMW GS on the Great Saint Bernard Pass in Switzerland

Time to Head Back to Ireland

July 21, 2015 By Jessica McAvoy Leave a Comment

We find ourselves right smack in the middle of Europe’s peak travel season. For years I have worked hard to avoid the phenomenon of traveling when everyone else in the world seems to be doing the same. And yet here we are, in Baška on the Island of Krk at the end of July. Beautiful as it is, it is also hot and crowded!

This is the 3rd heat wave we have had the pleasure of experiencing on this journey by motorcycle. They have all been exhausting, but this one more so in particular because we are stationed at the beach, on an island, with what feels like every tourist from neighboring Slovenia, Italy, and Germany. The beach is elbow to elbow and I hide the days away in the beautiful and brand new Heritage Hotel Forza while Daryl dives.

Elbow to elbow at Baška Beach

It is the type of hot out that makes even going to dinner feel like a chore – it is as if you just move in an algorithm, one big wave of hot smelly people, all speaking a mix of German, Italian, and Croatian, men without shirts and their beer bellies flowing liberally over the tops of their ill-fitting banana hammocks. Everyone smoking as they move along, and small sun-soaked sopping wet kids wiggle there way through the masses leaving ice cream trails as they go. I imagine it to be serene and peaceful when in the offseason.

It has been averaging between 36-40 degrees c (97-104 f) which is dangerous weather to ride in. You risk heatstroke as unlike in a car you are fully exposed to not only the sun above, but the heat radiating off the asphalt below you. Wearing safety gear only adds the degrees and heat exhaustion. You have to lane split when riding (which I hate because it feels so unsafe). You could have a heatstroke sitting still in all of the safety gear in the sun, and the bike starts to overheat as well. Frankly, it is no fun hiding from the heat, or hoards of people.

Wearing full safety gear in 100 degrees is no fun but necessary!

So, what now? Well, as we like to say, if you don’t like your situation, change it. We made the tough decision to slowly start making our way back to Motofeirme in Cork, Ireland where our moto is stored. This means we head out of Croatia this week and pull the plug on attending the D.Fleiss East West Artist Residency in Romania during the first week of August.

This was a hard decision. We have been looking forward to participating for over a year now. I have had many emotions about it – everything from feeling like a wimp to not be able to ride the 7 hours in the heat from Zagreb to Satu-Mare, to feeling like I let myself and the residency down by backing out of my commitment. If you know me at all, when I am committed to something I always come through.

In the end though, we have to follow our hearts, and our hearts are saying we are satisfied with our experience thus far. We met beautiful people and experienced wonderful cultures over the past 4 months starting in Ireland, to France, to Italy, and Croatia. Now we will meander back enjoying and savoring every minute of the journey. We will wake up at the crack of dawn and ride until noon the latest, and hide from the sun in a different place daily. Eventually we will make it the 1,600 miles we need to go. After all, in just 4 short months we have rode well over 6,000 miles, learned conversational Italian, and made friends that will last a lifetime. I feel pretty good about all that.

Key Keepers – Protecting Istria’s Frescoes

July 20, 2015 By Jessica McAvoy Leave a Comment

While we were visiting the Chapel of Our Lady on the Rocks (Crkvica svete Marije na škriljinah, S. Maria delle Lastre) located in Beram, Istria, a group of people wandered up to the church and tried to convince the woman that since they were a group, they should pay less. The entry fee is 20kuna ($2.85) per person. I found this incredibly disrespectful. Spaces such as these are essential pieces of culture and history to the respective country. They too need funding to maintain them. The roof needs to be maintained as well as the grounds kept clean.

The door is open for those willing to work to get inside.

The first few days we were in Istria I found it incredibly frustrating that everywhere I read discussed the amazing frescoes and churches and that they should not be missed, and yet they felt so inaccessible. The tourism board has a map geared towards “culture” that has about 20 sites with frescoes listed, and the first handful we sought out, if we found the church, we could not locate the key keeper or get inside.

During our fresco workshop with local artist Hari Vidović we were discussing the difficulty in finding them. Me, always a solution finder, started rattling ideas off such as a card you purchase at the tourist office for 3 or 7-day access that has the addresses of the key keepers and detailed location maps etc. Daryl suggested each of the churches having a lockbox with the key that a few different people in a town would have the code. Even the tourism board having ‘certified’ guides with keys would be a great solution as it also proved very difficult for me to find a private guide. Options are as limitless as the sky.

My feelings changed after visiting Beram and seeing this group try to haggle the price. The key keeper explained to me that her family has lived in Beram for centuries. She feels it her duty to protect these frescoes. They are the heritage of her family and their neighbors. She also feels it is important to share them with people that desire to see them enough to seek her out. She doesn’t want anyone just wandering in and leaning on the walls. She doesn’t want unattended people thinking they are pulling a fast one and taking a few quick no-one will know photos with flash.

I agree. These spaces are delicate. These spaces need to remain difficult to access. They should not be a checklist item of the casual traveler, guidebook in hand, just wanting to see them because someone said they should. I told her to keep them difficult for people to see. Keep them protected.

Instead, they need to be viewed by guests of Istria that want to know about them. Guests of Istria that want to talk to local people and want to learn about the frescoes from the very people that have been entrusted with guarding them for centuries.

People with a real passion for seeing them will find her, and the frescoes.

When Being Tech Ruins the Museum Experience

June 3, 2015 By Jessica McAvoy Leave a Comment

Sometimes in a museum I want to scream “MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!”

Let’s face it, art museums (and even cathedrals) are rarely quiet anymore, and rarely are you able to really look undisturbed. As technology becomes more readily and affordably available loud distracted spaces are becoming the norm. For years now devices resembling payphones with digital screens have been sneaking their ugly heads into Europe’s beautiful sacred spaces. Portable devices have been available in museums for forever in my mind.

Full disclosure: I work on developing a number of art programs and exhibitions in various settings from museums to galleries to public pop up spots. I fully understand the need to appeal to the general public as well as the need to be accessible to them. That doesn’t change my feeling that there is a time and place for technology in these spaces and it is not all the time in all spaces. Second disclosure: I do rent the devices at times. But I have 2 personal rules I follow. See below for my rules.

Paris.

One of my favorite cities in the world with outstanding museums. I love everything about Paris; except for how packed it gets in the spring. It is elbow to elbow everywhere. If there is a big show and you sleep in, just forget it. It is not worth the hassle. This past April we were in Paris and I was ecstatic that the Musee d’Orsay had a Bonard exhibition. We did not go first thing in the morning and we were s@!t out of luck. Elbow to elbow I can deal with sometimes – I just squirm in and out. Elbow to elbow with people busy dealing with trying to figure out the portable audio device with commentary is another story.

It is like this – Oh you are looking here… well, this is the next painting on my audio commentary so I am just going to stop, right here, DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF YOU, screw around with this thing for a minute, adjust the volume, look for the right track, nope not the right one, try again, nope still not right, oh that’s why, this painting is not featured on the track. I guess since it’s not on there it must not be worth looking at, sorry if I blocked your view, but you don’t want to look at this painting anyway, if it was worth looking at there would be a track for it.

The whole time their eyes did not glance once at the painting. Only at the label to see if it was included on the audio guide.

This year in Paris the situation was taken to a whole new level. The Louvre has Nintendo DS handheld devices available. I was there last in 2000 and do not recall their presence.

Patrons are now not only listening, they can fidget with screens as well. They actually can stand in front of you, in front of a painting, go thru the whole exercise above and actually look at the painting on the device the entire time and never look up. When is enough, enough?

These are the 2 rules I personally follow when I decide if I will get a device.

Only if I actually feel like listening. Depending on how I feel about this determines if a guide is a good idea. Many times I want to look and develop my own thoughts.

Only if the exhibit or museum is not crowded. If it is crowded no matter how hard you try you are always in the way when fiddling with the device.

As I said in the beginning, I understand the need for these. I also understand that they are a much needed revenue source for increasingly underfunded spaces. The next time you rent one, please be considerate of the person you are standing in front of. You may be blocking their view.

For the Love of Butter!

April 7, 2015 By Jessica McAvoy Leave a Comment

Anyone that knows me can attest to my love for eating quality food. Bring on the organic and non-gmo. Artisan chickens that have been named and stroked, animals that have lived their lives wandering from pasture to pasture or dashing through the wilderness, and if it is dairy, bring it on naturally with all its intended fats, thank you very much. We try hard to find balance in our diet and what we consume. By no means are we perfect. We do eat more than I’d like to admit that I do not know the practices behind its production. That being said, we do try as hard as possible to be aware and make ethical choices regarding what we eat, how it was produced, and how it all impacts the world around us. We are always striving to be better consumers and humans.

Now, here we are in Ireland surrounded by cows that are continuously munching away on some of the greenest pastures I have witnessed. They never seem to stop eating and are munching away even while laying down. They do not miss a green munch even with a calf at their teet. There is no exaggeration in the slogans that say the ‘Emerald Hills of Ireland ‘and I believe that in order to describe the grass here is the reason why variations of the word green were invented. A normal everyday breakfast for me consists of steamed green beans, or an egg on a bed of arugula, or mixed leaf salad with nuts and fruit. As someone that craves food of many shades of green, I can relate to the pleasure the cows must be in.

The past week I have pushed the green stuff away in the morning and have been in a love affair with bread and scones. This, of course, is mostly for the butter. I spread it on in a layer as thick as if making a pbj. “Bread is really just a vehicle for butter…” a very wise friend told me this once. Though I have enjoyed some truly fantastic bread in my life thus far, I tend to have difficulty digesting it and as a result I have to say I mostly enjoy what I am slathering on it or sopping it up with more. Sauces, tapinades, hummus, spreads, oils of all types, and yes, who can forget beautiful, silky, golden butter.

Growing up, only margarine and vegetable oil could be found in my family’s kitchen. I remember as a teen going to the bagel store and ordering a salt bagel with margarine. M-A-R-G-A-R-I-N-E! GASP! I had no idea what I was missing nor what I was ingesting. You will be happy to know the younger generation in my family now enjoy and consume butter – my sister is raising her children to appreciate good food. When my nephew was little I would mind him a few times a week and the snacks he raided my fridge for were “gapes,” green “bens,” and “aweples.” Never junk by choice.

In my sister’s fridge you will usually find a stick of butter with 3 year old teeth nibbles hiding under the wrapper. My niece Abi sneaks away and quietly opens the fridge door. “But which one do I want” she ponders but only for a second – time is not on her side. She picks one up quietly and gently peels back the waxy paper. She clumsily moves her hair out of her face with now greasy teeny-tiny fingers. One nibble, two nibble, three… then hears her name called, quickly wraps it back up and closes the fridge door. No one is the wiser until dinner time. I did not really discover and enjoy butter and olive oil until my first trip outside of the country in 2002. I even remember the first bite of stale crusty bread with a slabber of butter all over it that forever changed my tastebuds. I wonder if Abi will remember any of her sneaky nibbles?

Surprise! Abi was in the fridge again!

Back to Ireland and the right place to be to enjoy butter. We found our way to the Butter Museum in Cork because after all why would one not pay to look at old timey photos of farmers and antiquities of the butter producing type? Well, it was really quite fascinating. We paid our entrance fee to a man that was very excited the sun was shining and was sure to point out how lucky we were to enjoy the sun here in Ireland. Everywhere we went the small talk consisted of how beautiful the weather is. It would go like this, as if it was script that all folks learned for small talk with tourists – “Oh, well, hello there! Are you enjoying your holiday here? Isn’t the weather simply beautiful? You are very lucky, it is really beautiful… oh I do hope it stays this way for you to enjoy the rest of your holiday. We may get some weather in a day or so but I do hope it holds out for you…” then we would finish whatever we were doing, such as paying our entry in this case, and agree “Oh, yes it is quite lovely.”

Butter aside, the food here (with the exception of Dublin) has been quite good. We have had more outstanding meals than not, and at a variety of places from hole in the wall cafes, to pubs, to restaurants. On the recommendation of two separate friends we found our way to Ballymaloe and rather than just sit for a meal we decided to join in on a cookery demonstration in which were able to watch as they prepared and instructed students of their cookery school. Following the 4 hour presentation and preparation of approximately 30 pub dishes and desserts we were able to sample them all. Outstanding. If we had more time in the area we certainly would have been back for their multi-course dinner. Have I mentioned we are convinced food will be our financial funeral?