The Col Collective

Michael Cotty and crew have a new project underway: the Col Collective.  Highlighting many of Europe's greatest passes it will feature both a website and a YouTube channel.  The website is not really up and running yet but several videos can be seen already, including this one of the Galibier in France.  This is a monster of a climb, particularly if you get up to it after first riding the Col de Telegraphe as we did a few years ago.

The videos (introducing the Col Collective; the Galibier; the Stelvio) are beautifully photographed and there is nice accompanying music.  Designed to inspire and prepare you for the climbs, the videos have already convinced me to try to get back over the winter into the climbing form I once had.

La Conquète de la Corse: Day 3

June 26, 2012

Porto to Santo Pietro di Venaco

Leaving behind our excellent hotel in Porto, our third day in Corsica saw us leaving the coast and heading inland.  Of course the road immediately began climbing (I guess when it is so hot you don’t need a normal warm-up) and we were soon ascending steadily through a dry but, in many places, shady region, with fine views out over the valleys we passed.  Once again we saw very little traffic but as we passed seldom through any villages en route that was perhaps not so surprising.

After 12 kms or so of climbing we came into a forested reserve, the Aïtone, and I began to feel the effects of the heat and the climb quite a bit.  I eased back and watched as Greg and Tom easily cruised by me and I eventually joined up with Terry and we came to a village where the van was waiting with water and food for those who needed it, an excellent opportunity for a break.  Terry and I then set out for the push to the top of the next climb, the Col de Vergio, which is the highest pass in Corsica at 1477 m ASL. 

We arrived at the top and found a big parking lot with a few cars in it and a large statue.  It was time for photos but this time we were assisted by some passing tourists who actually knew how to take pictures.  The group photo was not entirely complete as Steve had zoomed off on his own and Bill was vanning but we were soon together again for lunch, which we reached with a rapid descent from the col and enjoyed looking out above a big reservoir.

After lunch we were back on the road and enjoying a fast descent on good roads.  Our route now took us through the Spelunca Gorge, which was dramatic and very, very hot.  As is typical with gorges, a hard wind was blowing through it and as soon as I turned the corner to enter I could feel my eyeballs dry out behind my cycling glasses.  I was beginning to have some considerable pain with my feet and was forced to stop at a spring and take off my shoes for a while.  This seemed to reduce the swelling and I dragged myself up the next climb which, in normal circumstances, would have been pretty easy.  

Everyone was waiting at the top and cheered me on as I came up to the summit.  I felt terrible and had to massage my feet for a while but after some Coke, which I normally never drink, things did not seem so bad and we had a marvellous descent into Corte, a university town.  I did not pass up the chance to stick my feet into another cool fountain, to the great merriment of the other Lost Boys, and then we stopped in town for a beer.

Ruining the drinking water in Corte

All that was left on Day 3 was a final climb to Santo Pietro di Venaco.  Although it was only 6 kms it seemed to take forever as there were some steep sections, coupled with the fact that the road was the N193, a main highway with a lot of truck and bus traffic.  I did not really enjoy this so much and by the time we pulled into our very quirky old hotel, Le Torrent, I was finished for sure.  

Basile giving us the evening briefing

We all sat outside and had some cold drinks on the terrace to recover.  Dr. Chef had already occupied the very small twin room and had done his laundry, which he hung from the window to dry.  Bill expressed the group’s disgust at the sight of Dr. Chef’s cycling gear drying on the balcony, ruining the aesthetic of our hotel, and we all had a good laugh over dinner.

Steve had heard that chestnuts were a specialty of the island and he had been nagging Basile to see that we would have some on the menu at some point.  At Le Torrent we enjoyed some excellent food (I had a mountain of pasta with fresh vegetables) and there was even a kind of chestnut pudding for dessert.

Stevie Z, content with chestnuts

We had done four climbs for the day and enjoyed an amazing 35 km long descent and a scenic gorge so I was able to forget my sore feet and collapse into bed after our fine dinner and look forward to another day coming.

Today's totals: 94 kms, 2550 m vertical.

La Conquète de la Corse: Day 2

June 25, 2012: The Road to Porto

Modelling our 2012 Lost Boys jerseys, with Dave going for the Jan Ullrich look instead

According to our route notes, our second day of cycling in Corsica would actually be the easiest, with 1300 m of climbing over a mere 80 kms.  After a very modest breakfast (ah, France, where people are happy with a croissant and a coffee because they don’t need to ride anywhere), we assembled for the traditional Lost Boys group photo in our new jerseys. 

This time the motif featured the French national coat of arms on the front and on the sleeves the Moor, the rather mysterious symbol of Corsica.  Once again the jerseys looked great and made everyone easily identifiable from a distance, particularly with the bright green sleeves.  With the heat I was a bit concerned that the jerseys were predominantly black but this turned out to be the least of my problems during the trip.

The directions were straightforward as we would follow the coastal ride from Calvi, turn right at 32 kms, do a big climb and then head towards Porto and our hotel.  Easy.  And in fact it was superb, at the beginning at least.  Leaving the hotel, we were presented with a beautiful day and an amazing road, with gentle climbs and descents, along the coast.  With fine views over the blue water and a surprisingly traffic-free road we cruised southwards.  However, we soon enough discovered the reverse of the great roads of Corsica: the really terrible roads of Corsica, which Basile had mentioned during the morning briefing. 

For the next 15 kms we bounced our way through terrible potholes and craters and it was with considerable relief when we came to the little bridge at 32 kms where we did the required turn and took a short break.  A tour bus started to go down the road we had just struggled over but the driver quickly thought better of it and beat a hasty retreat. 

We began the 10 km climb to the top of the Col de Palmarella, 408 ASL.  After the usual triumphant summit photos, we began the long long descent of nearly 30 kms that brought us to a scenic spot for our daily picnic lunch.  The road was narrow and we were entertained while eating by watching a bus get stuck in a curve below and snarling traffic in both directions.  But soon enough that was cleared up, and we were back on the bikes for a fast and final descent that brought us past the Genoese tower and into the town of Porto.

 

Our charming hotel in Porto

Our hotel was the most attractive one we stayed in during our trip and had an excellent swimming pool to boot.  It was ostensibly air-conditioned but Dr. Chef and I learned immediately that it was not working in our room.  At least it was fairly cool.  I felt great on the ride although I was having issues with my shoes, proving the old cycling adage of never using new equipment on a big ride.  My plan to get shoes half a size larger than usual to avoid hot spots backfired completely as after only 20 kms or so my feet began to hurt.

Some local colour: the Moor with an AK-47

After checking in, Dr. Chef was exhausted but we did enjoy the pool for a while before going for a short walk to buy our favourite Magnum ice cream bars.  The little bar where we stopped only had imitation-Magnums but any port in a storm…

Dr. Chef, a'hurtin' after Day 2

We walked to the harbour and enjoyed another nice dinner, this time with a view over the water.  I was beginning to notice that Corsica is not very vegetarian-friendly as I was beginning to notice that the only thing without meat that seemed to be offered everywhere was pasta with Brocciu, a Corsican cheese that is considered the national dish.  Corsicans seem particularly fond of boar and other game.

Stevie-Z concentrating on the ladling of the soup

79.63 kms today with a mere 1410 meters of climbing.  This was an easy day, apparently.

Now For Something Completely Different...Puppet Carnage!

Mimmo Cuttichio and his Sicilian Puppets

"Does your life revolve entirely around cycling?," people ask me. Distressingly often. In fact, there is usually eye-rolling involved. Or running away.

Just to indicate how well-rounded my interests are and given that the massive snowfall in Ottawa has meant the end of cycling for the time being, I have gone back to my Archive of Interesting Things, back to March 29, 2001. I was living in Berlin at the time and decided to go to a training camp put on by Mallorca-Aktiv, a German group generally setting up trips to Spain but this time they were offering a Southern Italian adventure: two weeks in Sicily.

In preparation for my imminent trip to Sicily for bicycle training, I decided to acclimatize myself by going to a performance by Mimmo Cuticchio, a traditional puppeteer from Palermo. This is probably a little like reading Julius Caesar in Latin to get ready for a trip to Rome, but I could not pass up any production named: "The Terrible and Frightening Story of the Prince of Venosa and His Beautiful Maria." On the other hand, I was alarmed by the idea that the accompanying music was described as a composition for human voice, saxophones and percussion. When I purchased my ticket at the box office the night before the performance, I had no difficulty getting an excellent seat (Row 7, in the middle) and I was distinctly worried about being the only audience member watching a baroque puppet show entirely in Italian.

The Hebbel Theater, where the show took place, is a very interesting building and was constructed in 1907, when Art Nouveau seems to have been going through a particularly organic, and slightly creepy, phase. The facade of the building is poured concrete set with various geometric patterns the height of the theatre. Inside, it is rather dark, with lost of curved dark brown wood panelling but very little ornamentation. In the lobby are pictures of various pre- World War II theatres in Berlin, most of them since destroyed. There seem to be no fewer than three coat check areas on the main floor, although the place is not all that large. On the second floor, there is a large lounge where you can have something to eat or drink.

The seats in the Hebbel are definitely not one of its highlights, being too close together and having too short cushions, but I thought that surviving the eighty minutes of the performance would not be too hard, particularly since I was going to be the only one there. But then I noticed that the theatre was beginning to fill quite rapidly and before I realized it, the place was quite full. The audience looked very artsy-trendy, with lots of black turtlenecks visible. As I was to soon learn, most of those present spoke Italian, as they were all laughing at the jokes before I could figure them out.

On the stage as the puppet theatre, which had brightly-painted wings of cloth and, over the proscenium arch, an inscription describing the Cuticchios as "Sons of Art" [Pupi Siciliani Della Compagnia Figli D’Arte Cuticchio]. With Italian punctuality (15 minutes late), the lights went down and the orchestra pit filled, if filled is the right word when applied to a female vocalist, four saxophonists and a percussionist. The woman began the overture, which was sung in Italian but whose meaning was unclear to me. Was this the famous impenetrable dialect of Sicily? The music was dissonant and pretty weird.

After this went on for a while and I was beginning to regret the 30 DM and the evening lost, out from behind the puppet theatre came Mimmo Cuticchio, a tall, sturdy man with a big grey beard, resembling Verdi with long hair. He was carrying a wooden sword.

Standing centre stage, he began to recite a story about the childhood of composer Carlo Gesualdo (c. 1561-1613). Carlo’s grandfather enjoyed telling the little boy stories about brave knights and famous battles, but one day he told a different story. This was about how King Pippin’s intended bride Bertha is kidnapped by hired assassins, who then release her in the woods to die, rather than kill her (Snow White Syndrome). She is rescued by a woodcutter and gratefully marries him, with several bambini resulting.

In the meantime, a serving girl has been fobbed off on King Pippin as Bertha and the result of this union is two sons. Eventually, Pippin learns of the deception and gets the real Bertha back (but what about the woodcutter?) and two more children, Carlo and Bertha, result from this now-corrected marital situation. But, alas, Pippin’s sons by his marriage to the servant want to usurp the throne and war breaks out. The young Carlo is sent to the Court of Spain, where he falls in love but then returns to claim his inheritance by killing his stepbrothers in fierce knightly battle and becoming Charlemagne, Charles the Great.

I followed this story, which is both a staple of Sicilian puppet theatre and a load of old cobblers, partially through reading the woefully slow and very limited German surtitles and through watching Mimmo Cuticchio very closely. The story went on for quite some time and, except for the reference to Carlo Gesualdo, seemed to have absolutely nothing whatever to do with the following puppet show. But to see Mimmo Cuticchio recite a story was to see a master at work. This method of reciting is also an old Sicilian art.

He portrayed the little Carlo Gesualdo, he played the wise old grandfather. The wooden sword became a potent multiple prop, as it metamorphosized from a sword in battle scenes to a cross in a church. But I was completely transfixed by the seductive beauty of the Italian language as Mimmo Cuticchio played it like a violin. It cajoled, it laughed, it trumped, it regretted, it wept–all in a completely hypnotic music. I really only know Italian from bad opera libretti, a few phrases at a time and I was unprepared for its teasing subtlety, its incomparable attractiveness. I forgot about the not-yet-seen puppets and the weird music and the uncomfortable seat and just wanted Mimmo Cuticchio’s story never to end.

But end it did, as the puppetmaster replaced the storyteller and we learned that Carlo Gesualdo, a nobleman, went on to became the Prince of Venosa and a celebrated composer and musician and that we would now see his (and the Beautiful Maria’s) Terrible and Frightening Story.
In the opening scene, Carlo Gesualdo and his beautiful wife, Maria d’Avalos, are guests of honour at a party to celebrate his latest madrigal. Carlo lives for his music and has begun to take Maria for granted. Carlo’s wicked uncle, seeing a golden opportunity, makes a pass at Maria, who rejects him forcefully. She tells him to join the others, who have left for a hunt.

Carlo is an excellent huntsman, and when his uncle’s attempt to kill a wild boar fails, the nephew returns shortly afterwards with the kill. This angers Uncle even further. In the meanwhile, a band of brigands waits in the woods for a likely victim to waylay. Ignoring a poor old man with a donkey–to rob him would be dishonourable–they instead attack a wealthy young nobleman, Fabrizio Carafa, who is travelling with his cowardly servant on horseback. Using the time-honoured Let’s-Attack-One-At-A-Time style so beloved of movie villain gangs, the brigands attempt to do battle with Fabrizio Carafa, who kills all but one single-handed. This is quite a remarkable thing to see when do with marionettes. The FX (Special Effects) marionettes are used, with heads and various appendages flying off when struck with swords.

The surviving brigand admits he is not the leader of the group but works for the notorious Sciarra. "You steal from the rich and give to the poor, don’t you?" asks Fabrizio. He is impressed by this socialist attitude enough to let the brigand go, taking a message to the notorious Sciarra that if he ever wanted to fight, Fabrizio Carafa was ready to meet him man-to-man.

Carafa’s servant comes out of hiding to tell him that the horse has run off. They walk through the forest to reach yet another party chez Gesualdo. Everyone is delighted to see the popular Fabrizio Carafa and for the bored but beautiful Maria, it is love at first sight. And reciprocal. "You are as beautiful as an archangel," she coos to Fabrizio. This line, which even sounds corny in Italian, provoked huge amusement amongst the audience. For Maria, this is no slavering uncle-by-marriage: this is Hot Stuff indeed! Uncle notices Maria and Fabrizio’s mutual attraction and really goes around the bend. And a Spanish nobleman offers Fabrizio the use of his nearby hunting lodge, so we know that Big Trouble is Brewing.

Having failed with his words of honey, Uncle turns to the obvious alternative: sorcery. Casting spells in the basement, he summons up a remarkable array of demons who fly off to their assignment of poisoning the minds of all those at the court of Carlo Gesualdo. Then Uncle goes to tell the poor Prince of Venosa all about the affair.

Unable to believe what he hears, Carlo demands confirmation, asking his trusty chamberlain if the sordid story is true. At this moment, a demon stands behind the chamberlain and directs his every word, spewing out the whole dreadful story. Carlo, now himself possessed by a particularly original red-and-black winged demon, feels that court etiquette demands that his honour can only be salvaged in one way: Italian Revenge!!

We see the hunting lodge, where the naked Maria (!) and Fabrizio (!) cavort in innocence (actually, they are cavorting in bed, so perhaps it is not so innocent). Then there is the arrival of Carlo Gesualdo’s hired assassins, who shoot Fabrizio, a nicely modern touch for 1590, although I suppose they needed two killers as the guns were so unreliable then. The Prince of Venosa finishes the crime by personally stabbing his wife repeatedly.

Horrified, and apparently shed of his winged demon, Carlo Gesualdo is contrite for what he has done. He tells his chamberlain that he will never leave his castle again and will receive no one for the remainder of his days. And so ends "La Terrible e spavantosa storia del Principe de Venosa e della bella Maria." The curtains fall and we are left to reflect on the Depravity of Mankind yet once again.

The puppets used to portray this story (which is a true one, incidentally) are marionettes about 80 cm tall and fairly heavy. Generally, a rod is used to operate the left arm and a string is used for the right, but others of the puppets are controlled only by the highly-visible rods. Some of the puppets have been used by three generations of Cuticchios and there must be a fair amount of repair work needed, particularly after the fight sequences which are a notable feature of Sicilian puppetry. In the scene where Fabrizio fights the brigands, the puppets crash together with swords or spears in their hands. One puppet is decapitated, another is cut in half through the torso while the others just collapse dramatically into heaps.

The scene where Uncle summons the demons was also very memorable. Not only were the demons wonderfully creepy to look at, but their entrance was marked by a blinding flash of light as a fiery comet crossed the stage, leaving a strong brimstone (cordite?) smell in the Hebbel-Theater.

The music, by Sicilian-born Salvatore Sciarrino, was based on works by Carlo Gesualdo and Domenico Scarlatti and was surprisingly very good. The four saxophones, of assorted ranges, sounded almost like trumpets and gave a properly baroque feel to the proceedings.
After the show was over, the wings of the puppet theatre were pulled down to reveal the core structure and the puppets on their stands. Mimmo Cuticchio returned to the stage to invite us all not only to see the company perform in Palermo, but also to come on stage and exam the marionettes up close and personal. (As I suspected, the semi-nude Maria puppet was a stand-in). The audience accepted with alacrity and there was soon a big crowd of Italian-speaking party animals, including the musicians, the five puppeteers and, of course, me–except for the Italian part--, on the boards.

Puppetry was first imported from Naples in the 19th Century, but the Sicilian variety, with its emphasis on tales of chivalry, including the stories of Orlando Furioso and Charlemagne battling the Moors, has achieved its own reputation. Its popularity survived the advent of the movie theatre, but television threatens it with extinction. It is performed now primarily for tourists. Mimmo Cuticchio has worked to revive this traditional art since 1977 and his apprentices all must undergo a difficult four years of learning.

Puppetry has a very long history and is a powerful metaphoric tool that is rarely used now in the modern world. Unless you count the brilliant and hilarious film "Being John Malkovitch." Watching the fairly simple Sicilian puppets, whose rods were visible and whose facial expressions cannot change, we accept them for who they are meant to portray. In their movements, they come alive for us and their fates are interesting and meaningful. I remember reading a quote from someone involved with the Salzburg Marionettes, who pointed out that when using puppets to perform opera, you are not limited by the physical appearance of a particular singer. A puppet can look exactly as you expect the character to look.

I was reminded of this as well during a visit to London when I saw "Shock-Headed Peter," where puppets are used as a complement to the human actors. As one reviewer wrote, the puppets actually seem more real and sympathetic than the people. The most frightening moment came when the Boy-Who-Sucked-His-Thumbs, portrayed by a rather forlorn and harmless marionette, had his thumbs cut off by a pair of scissors wielded by Mr. Snip-Snip, just as his mother warned would happen. This was done to a puppet, yet you could sense the frisson that went through the appalled audience, an audience inured to the violence on film and television present every night.

So there you have it: non-cycling on my blog. But I will post an account of my trip to Sicily in 2001 since it was a lot of fun too.