Step by Step: On European Staircases

I've been putting off documenting the wonderful five weeks I spent in Europe this May and June, a bit overwhelmed by the 600+ digital pictures downloaded from camera to laptop upon my return. Such an extensive visual record is a significant shift for my husband Eddie and me, as we're infamous for failing to take pictures. In the days of print photography, we were film-phobic: after a 3-week trip to London and Spain, we finished our only roll of film (24 exposures) at home by photographing our dog; an 18-day driving trip through central Mexico to Guadalajara and then back up the Western coast netted us just four pictures. Today, with the sudden bounty of pictures brought about by the wonders of technology, where then to begin?

"One step at a time," I told myself in an early a.m. pep talk, determined to complete this post before calling it a night. While I was speaking figuratively--promising myself the freedom to comment on only a dozen or so pics, versus tackling the hundreds--I was suddenly struck by the literal value of my advice. I had, I discovered, photographed many staircases and stairwells during my travels. And, since most days included miles of exploration on foot, I had pretty strong feelings about the number of stairs encountered. Outdoor staircases, such as the Spanish Steps in Rome (above); outside the Duomo in Siena (below left); and at the entrance to Parc Güell in Barcelona (below right) usually had relatively few stairs, although the baking sun could make them seem more numerous. The great thing about these stairs is that they serve multiple functions, not only allowing access to higher ground, but also providing a space for people to gather and socialize. The people-watching opportunities of the Spanish Steps, for instance, are unparalleled: old ladies gossiping as the day began, business people lunching in the afternoon, and Italian and foreign teenagers drinking and flirting by night.













Outdoor stairs are the least spectacular type, generally speaking. It's the stairwells and flights of stairs inside European buildings that really attract me. Indeed, despite the relatively low buildings in Europe--6-8 stories seems to be the maximum in old structures--I'm always struck by the beauty of the stairs and banisters. Whether it's the simple staircase of our B & B in Rome (below 1), or the amazing work of Antoni Gaudí in Casa Batlló (below 2), there is a majesty to European staircases not often found in the US--and certainly not in Humboldt County, CA.

















And, there is certainly nowhere in the US that you can find anything like these stairs:


Look closely at the picture above and note that the center of each stair is worn down, creating a deep hollow in the marble. As I ascended the stairs I observed that the scooped-out section changed from left to center to right, and then back again--a result of the millions of visitors who have climbed these 296 steps for nearly 660 years, naturally gravitating (ahem!) to one side or the other as they circle the building. After all, this is the stairwell in La Torre di Pisa--known to most of us as the leaning Tower of Pisa.

As much as all these stairs thrilled me, though, it's the amazing spiral staircases that really make me catch my breath--and not just because I'm climbing up them. The grandeur and grace with which these stairs unfurl--like the inside of a shell--is stunning.

Arc de Triomphe, Paris, France:


Sagrada Familia, Barcelona, Spain:


Vatican Museum, Vatican City, Italy:


Maybe the thing that's so attractive about stairs--whether in Europe, at home, or in the Nancy Drew books I read as a young girl--is that they hold promise. There's always something waiting at the top of them: a mysterious attic, a special room, a spectacular view...

But I'll save that for my next entry.