Photo post: Roquebrune-Cap-Martin
Oct. 27th, 2013 05:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
highlyeccentricThe last and possibly the most memorable of the France expeditions. A town with no flat roads! Garroulous locals! Endless stairs! Castle of debatable vintage! This picture really sums it up:
First, we took a bus along the coast, through Monaco and out the other side.
We said unto one another: that is all the Monaco we ever need to deal with! I at least only said this because at the time I had not heard of the Monaco Oceanographic Museum. It has a Whale Room! And a Cabinet of Curiosities! Ergo, I must return.
Now, we were making this trip armed only with Lonely Planet and its promise of a 10th century castle. What Lonely Planet didn't feel the need to tell us was that Roquebrune-Cap-Martin is not a single town - it's actually two towns, the coastal one (to which the bus goes) being Cap Martin, and Roquebrune being the castle and its village clinging to the side of a very steep hill. We just... got off the bus when we saw a sign for the castle, and set off. Turns out that walking up the road, rather than taking the pedestrian stairs (pictured at top) was a foolish idea - no footpath, lots of whizzy cars. Also, when we EVENTUALLY reached the top, we couldn't find any refreshments, since there is almost nothing in Roquebrune and it was siesta time. Not the best-planned expedition, really.
BUT. Here is a castle viewed from some way down the hill:
Coastline. Lookit all that scenic value:
Here is where we got off the road and joined the 'deuxieme escalier', the pedestrian staircase from the coast road to the castle. The garden pictured is a bit scrubby, but basically, citrus and olives. That is what you grow on this hillside.
Stairs. Many stairs.
Finally approaching the lower edge of the village...
I think this is one of the few actually *good* photos I've taken of Jon. Yes, the t-shirt says 'Campaign for Surreal Ale' and apparently, although the example pictured is a long-treasured one, you can still get them online. You can even buy some Surreal Ale, although I don't know if the two are related in any way.
Once you reach the village, the stairs are no longer all up. Some of them go down again! Many go around or along or across.
Brief stretches of flat road are nevertheless brightened up by stairs.
At this stage of the day that we concluded there was no food to be had, and we'd go sit outside the castle until it opened for the afternoon. But rounding a corner, we came upon Julien des Bois, an extremely garrulous olive-wood sculptor, indulging in what was obviously a favourite hobby of his, telling tourists the castle wasn't open yet and they should walk around the village. We had a long chat to him, or rather, he had a long chat to us, telling us various tales of the village where he'd grown up. He's been carving in wood for fifty-odd years1, using only hand-powered tools, and is very smug about the fact that many of his peers have had to give up because of joint problems exacerbated by motor-powered tools.
Julien sent us off to see the Olive Tree, which he told us was 2000 years old, but the sign says only 1000.
Either way, I particularly enjoyed Julien's lively tales of having played in cubby houses amongst its roots, before it began to suffer from subsidence, and a wall was built underneath to hold it up.
On the way out to the tree, I spotted what is almost certainly a medieval doorway turned into cellar-window:
These too look promisingly historic, although later than the one in the hillside.
STAIRS.
COASTAL TOWNS (that's Monaco with the tall towers)
Gardens, more views. What makes people move up here, we wondered? Not in a modern sense - the town has apparently been a retreat for various moderately renowned authors and artists, and it's not hard to imagine why one might retreat up umpty-million stairs to work on one's art in peace. But why is there a town up here in the first place?
Incastellamento, I gathered from Dr J's mutterings, is a tricky historical business.2 Which came first, the castle or the egg? Do you plunk a castle up on the hill, and force or entice the locals to move up there? (The signage at Rochebrune seemed mostly to favour this theory, possibly because that would give them the earliest possible date for *a* castle, if not *the* castle.) Or are the people already there, and you plunk your castle next to them and the two become entangled?
I have no great insights here, but we looked down the hill, over the orchards to the coast road. That road's probably been there a loooong time. The castle can't possibly be there to tax or control the road - it's too far away. This stretch of coastline got handed back and forth and scuffled over by Sardinians, Ligurians, Lombards, Niçards, and Andalusian Moors throughout the 9th & 10th centuries. You, humble citrus-farmer that you are, might well prefer to live UP the hill from your groves, on the grounds that the nuisance involved in getting down to the coast is entirely worth it if it means passing troublemakers decide not to bother coming up to you.
Castle, village, and the new, high road along the hills. According to Julien des Bois, the road-building equipment for the stretch above Roquebrune, and the associated new village, was carted up through the old village and its stairs by hand-barrow. The new road, he reported, is a grand thing. He has a car now- he parks it with his friend (girlfriend? We couldn't determine the inflection on 'ami/e') in the new village. There are also dedicated carparks for old-village dwellers, and if we'd followed signs to those, we would actually have found food and beverages at lunchtime.
Here we are coming around the base of the castle toward the entry.
Helpfully provided defibrilators. Although we note they only provide them at the TOP of the precipitious ascent.
Narrow entry to the castle proper, above. And from above:
I was delighted by these, having not encountered them - perfect for pouring hot tar on your enemies! - since the Dorling Kindersley Medieval Life was my key sourcebook. Sadly, the Machicolations (that's what we call them when we're out of Dorling-Kindersley stages, apparently) here are not original - that particular part of the castle was rebuilt in the early 20th century.3 But I am reassured by wikipedia that the term comes from the Old French machechol, and therefore they have legit historical cred.
Here we are in the castle gardens, where someone has installed an informative garden of medicinal plants and so on. Cool, but not as cool as the one on early modern medicine which I saw in Bloomsbury Square Gardens (London) this year.
This is an awesome cactus.
Looking up at the castle from the grounds. I kept this over-exposed shot in because, well, the air really was that bright and stark. And at the same time everything seemed over-saturated:
Auditorium installed by one of the more recent Grimaldis. Good place for a play, I'm guessing.
Here is where we looked over the edge and realised there had been beverages available all along - just - down - there... *stretches*
Castle, meet cliff. That's tertiary puddingstone, for the geologically inclined.
Let this family of tourists stand for the Grimaldis of 1528+, who put the lattice window in.
The main room here originally had a vaulted ceiling, but it collapsed in 1506 and Augustine Grimaldi put a wooden roof in in 1528, along with the lattice window.
And here's the view. There's nothing much down there - no harbour until you get around the cape. This irritated me for a while - there's not even good landing space for fishing craft on this side of the bay. What's this castle DOING?
Well, as it happens, the town may claim that the castle is 10th century in origin, but the first specific date they have to offer is 1157, when Genoa began appointing castellans to live here. I think Dr J found a sign somewhere which said there's a charter reference for the place in the 10th century, before Genoa had hold of it, and the location would make sense if you (the Earl of Vintimille, according to the castle brochures) wanted advanced warning in the event of a Moorish fleet sailing roading the point near Monaco. What Genoa were defending against, I'm less certain. Angevins in Nice, perhaps?
I am completely enamoured of the rooftop view of the village, too. How closely packed together the houses are! How cute and curly the streets, and how uneven the house-heights (goes with the uneven road level).
JJ Abrams has blessed this photo. Here we're just above the level of the erstwhile roof; in front of us, 16th century artillery loopholes; above, the most recently rebuilt part of the castle. You can sort of see where the material changes, just above the arch.
Little bitty artillery hole looking down to the village.
The Roundwalk, which goes right around the keep.
Medievalist, balancing carefully above the keep. I find it amusing that a chap who specialises in documents produced by people living in vertiginous places in fact has vertigo. I'm not too fond of heights myself (ladders, not-solid stairs, tree-climbing, glassbottomed boats, etc), but give me a nice stone castle under my feet and I'll scamper around happily. So this expedition just accentuated our natural exploring pattern, wherein I scamper around while Dr J proceeds steadily through things in a logical order.
New road, newer parts of town.
Vertiginous village!
This is the view the castle is here to protect...
Much-relieving clouds coming in overhead. It rained on us while we ate icecream outside a strawberry-themed shop, and we did not care one bit.
Stairs, village.
You can see quite clearly in this shot where the reconstruction took place, and also how the Machicolation sticks out from the wall.
... then we went flop in the strawberry shop. And after that, climbed aaaaaalllll the way back down again. Tired Amy was tired after all that.
We obviously found it aggravating that the town overstated the age of the present fortification (mostly. Some signs said 12th c, some 10th), but that aside, the exhibition / curating of the castle was really quite good. Here's a shot of the inside, in the 'Common Room':
They call this part of the castle 'The nobleman's dwelling' but are quite clear that the population, including castellan, are soldiers. Some rooms - the kitchen and armoury - you can't enter, but they've set up furniture and household items as well as metal sillhoutte shapes of the castle occupants. None of these did I get good photographs of - nor of the lavatory, wich of course I went looking for - but they're all set up in such a way as to be quite informative and visually appealing.
~
1. Dr J and I debated, later, whether he'd said he'd been carving for 50 years, or that he was fifty years old. Turns out I was right, he's had his shop for just over 50 years.
2. I can't find a good explanation online, not even on Dr J's blog, for *why* it's tricky or which side the cool kids are on these days. Most of the online uses go back to a chap called Toubert, and where all the evidence goes back to one scholar I suspect we have a case of Duby-syndrome. DUNNO. Dr J's going chasing the cites for the foundation of this place, because for some reason he needs them for an article about Catalonia, so I expect a blog post on it some time this decade.
3. Or, well, the guidesheet says 'early in this century'. I think, given that the text on the guidesheet matches word-for-word that on the signs, and nothing about the display screamed 'all new and sponsored by...', that it is most likely to be out-of-date text.
First, we took a bus along the coast, through Monaco and out the other side.
We said unto one another: that is all the Monaco we ever need to deal with! I at least only said this because at the time I had not heard of the Monaco Oceanographic Museum. It has a Whale Room! And a Cabinet of Curiosities! Ergo, I must return.
Now, we were making this trip armed only with Lonely Planet and its promise of a 10th century castle. What Lonely Planet didn't feel the need to tell us was that Roquebrune-Cap-Martin is not a single town - it's actually two towns, the coastal one (to which the bus goes) being Cap Martin, and Roquebrune being the castle and its village clinging to the side of a very steep hill. We just... got off the bus when we saw a sign for the castle, and set off. Turns out that walking up the road, rather than taking the pedestrian stairs (pictured at top) was a foolish idea - no footpath, lots of whizzy cars. Also, when we EVENTUALLY reached the top, we couldn't find any refreshments, since there is almost nothing in Roquebrune and it was siesta time. Not the best-planned expedition, really.
BUT. Here is a castle viewed from some way down the hill:
Coastline. Lookit all that scenic value:
Here is where we got off the road and joined the 'deuxieme escalier', the pedestrian staircase from the coast road to the castle. The garden pictured is a bit scrubby, but basically, citrus and olives. That is what you grow on this hillside.
Stairs. Many stairs.
Finally approaching the lower edge of the village...
I think this is one of the few actually *good* photos I've taken of Jon. Yes, the t-shirt says 'Campaign for Surreal Ale' and apparently, although the example pictured is a long-treasured one, you can still get them online. You can even buy some Surreal Ale, although I don't know if the two are related in any way.
Once you reach the village, the stairs are no longer all up. Some of them go down again! Many go around or along or across.
Brief stretches of flat road are nevertheless brightened up by stairs.
At this stage of the day that we concluded there was no food to be had, and we'd go sit outside the castle until it opened for the afternoon. But rounding a corner, we came upon Julien des Bois, an extremely garrulous olive-wood sculptor, indulging in what was obviously a favourite hobby of his, telling tourists the castle wasn't open yet and they should walk around the village. We had a long chat to him, or rather, he had a long chat to us, telling us various tales of the village where he'd grown up. He's been carving in wood for fifty-odd years1, using only hand-powered tools, and is very smug about the fact that many of his peers have had to give up because of joint problems exacerbated by motor-powered tools.
Julien sent us off to see the Olive Tree, which he told us was 2000 years old, but the sign says only 1000.
Either way, I particularly enjoyed Julien's lively tales of having played in cubby houses amongst its roots, before it began to suffer from subsidence, and a wall was built underneath to hold it up.
On the way out to the tree, I spotted what is almost certainly a medieval doorway turned into cellar-window:
These too look promisingly historic, although later than the one in the hillside.
STAIRS.
COASTAL TOWNS (that's Monaco with the tall towers)
Gardens, more views. What makes people move up here, we wondered? Not in a modern sense - the town has apparently been a retreat for various moderately renowned authors and artists, and it's not hard to imagine why one might retreat up umpty-million stairs to work on one's art in peace. But why is there a town up here in the first place?
Incastellamento, I gathered from Dr J's mutterings, is a tricky historical business.2 Which came first, the castle or the egg? Do you plunk a castle up on the hill, and force or entice the locals to move up there? (The signage at Rochebrune seemed mostly to favour this theory, possibly because that would give them the earliest possible date for *a* castle, if not *the* castle.) Or are the people already there, and you plunk your castle next to them and the two become entangled?
I have no great insights here, but we looked down the hill, over the orchards to the coast road. That road's probably been there a loooong time. The castle can't possibly be there to tax or control the road - it's too far away. This stretch of coastline got handed back and forth and scuffled over by Sardinians, Ligurians, Lombards, Niçards, and Andalusian Moors throughout the 9th & 10th centuries. You, humble citrus-farmer that you are, might well prefer to live UP the hill from your groves, on the grounds that the nuisance involved in getting down to the coast is entirely worth it if it means passing troublemakers decide not to bother coming up to you.
Castle, village, and the new, high road along the hills. According to Julien des Bois, the road-building equipment for the stretch above Roquebrune, and the associated new village, was carted up through the old village and its stairs by hand-barrow. The new road, he reported, is a grand thing. He has a car now- he parks it with his friend (girlfriend? We couldn't determine the inflection on 'ami/e') in the new village. There are also dedicated carparks for old-village dwellers, and if we'd followed signs to those, we would actually have found food and beverages at lunchtime.
Here we are coming around the base of the castle toward the entry.
Helpfully provided defibrilators. Although we note they only provide them at the TOP of the precipitious ascent.
Narrow entry to the castle proper, above. And from above:
I was delighted by these, having not encountered them - perfect for pouring hot tar on your enemies! - since the Dorling Kindersley Medieval Life was my key sourcebook. Sadly, the Machicolations (that's what we call them when we're out of Dorling-Kindersley stages, apparently) here are not original - that particular part of the castle was rebuilt in the early 20th century.3 But I am reassured by wikipedia that the term comes from the Old French machechol, and therefore they have legit historical cred.
Here we are in the castle gardens, where someone has installed an informative garden of medicinal plants and so on. Cool, but not as cool as the one on early modern medicine which I saw in Bloomsbury Square Gardens (London) this year.
This is an awesome cactus.
Looking up at the castle from the grounds. I kept this over-exposed shot in because, well, the air really was that bright and stark. And at the same time everything seemed over-saturated:
Auditorium installed by one of the more recent Grimaldis. Good place for a play, I'm guessing.
Here is where we looked over the edge and realised there had been beverages available all along - just - down - there... *stretches*
Castle, meet cliff. That's tertiary puddingstone, for the geologically inclined.
Let this family of tourists stand for the Grimaldis of 1528+, who put the lattice window in.
The main room here originally had a vaulted ceiling, but it collapsed in 1506 and Augustine Grimaldi put a wooden roof in in 1528, along with the lattice window.
And here's the view. There's nothing much down there - no harbour until you get around the cape. This irritated me for a while - there's not even good landing space for fishing craft on this side of the bay. What's this castle DOING?
Well, as it happens, the town may claim that the castle is 10th century in origin, but the first specific date they have to offer is 1157, when Genoa began appointing castellans to live here. I think Dr J found a sign somewhere which said there's a charter reference for the place in the 10th century, before Genoa had hold of it, and the location would make sense if you (the Earl of Vintimille, according to the castle brochures) wanted advanced warning in the event of a Moorish fleet sailing roading the point near Monaco. What Genoa were defending against, I'm less certain. Angevins in Nice, perhaps?
I am completely enamoured of the rooftop view of the village, too. How closely packed together the houses are! How cute and curly the streets, and how uneven the house-heights (goes with the uneven road level).
JJ Abrams has blessed this photo. Here we're just above the level of the erstwhile roof; in front of us, 16th century artillery loopholes; above, the most recently rebuilt part of the castle. You can sort of see where the material changes, just above the arch.
Little bitty artillery hole looking down to the village.
The Roundwalk, which goes right around the keep.
Medievalist, balancing carefully above the keep. I find it amusing that a chap who specialises in documents produced by people living in vertiginous places in fact has vertigo. I'm not too fond of heights myself (ladders, not-solid stairs, tree-climbing, glassbottomed boats, etc), but give me a nice stone castle under my feet and I'll scamper around happily. So this expedition just accentuated our natural exploring pattern, wherein I scamper around while Dr J proceeds steadily through things in a logical order.
New road, newer parts of town.
Vertiginous village!
This is the view the castle is here to protect...
Much-relieving clouds coming in overhead. It rained on us while we ate icecream outside a strawberry-themed shop, and we did not care one bit.
Stairs, village.
You can see quite clearly in this shot where the reconstruction took place, and also how the Machicolation sticks out from the wall.
... then we went flop in the strawberry shop. And after that, climbed aaaaaalllll the way back down again. Tired Amy was tired after all that.
We obviously found it aggravating that the town overstated the age of the present fortification (mostly. Some signs said 12th c, some 10th), but that aside, the exhibition / curating of the castle was really quite good. Here's a shot of the inside, in the 'Common Room':
They call this part of the castle 'The nobleman's dwelling' but are quite clear that the population, including castellan, are soldiers. Some rooms - the kitchen and armoury - you can't enter, but they've set up furniture and household items as well as metal sillhoutte shapes of the castle occupants. None of these did I get good photographs of - nor of the lavatory, wich of course I went looking for - but they're all set up in such a way as to be quite informative and visually appealing.
~
1. Dr J and I debated, later, whether he'd said he'd been carving for 50 years, or that he was fifty years old. Turns out I was right, he's had his shop for just over 50 years.
2. I can't find a good explanation online, not even on Dr J's blog, for *why* it's tricky or which side the cool kids are on these days. Most of the online uses go back to a chap called Toubert, and where all the evidence goes back to one scholar I suspect we have a case of Duby-syndrome. DUNNO. Dr J's going chasing the cites for the foundation of this place, because for some reason he needs them for an article about Catalonia, so I expect a blog post on it some time this decade.
3. Or, well, the guidesheet says 'early in this century'. I think, given that the text on the guidesheet matches word-for-word that on the signs, and nothing about the display screamed 'all new and sponsored by...', that it is most likely to be out-of-date text.