so long, southern Italy.

The next day, seeing as we had a little time to kill before the wedding (and were well-located in Fasano, at most a 20-minute drive from most of these places, thanks to yours truly, whose research actually got the location right, for once!) we struck out for the seaside town of Monopoli, where we found the hottest, stillest weather yet. (Some of the other towns were hot, but offered both occasional shade and breezes; Monopoli, not so much. Sooooooooo sweaty.) But hey, fortress! And, of course, it's ridiculously pretty.

A little Liberty.

Heading into Monopoli's historic center.

Sooooo many taralli in a bakery whose oven-room door was flung wide open, the better to distribute the overwhelmingly delicious scent of baked goodies with. (Actually, I'm sure it was to get a cross-breeze in there, but still. Very effective sales technique.)

All these towns got a clock tower. Monopoli's is from the 16th century.

Frescoed, 11th-century crypt in the little church of Santa Maria degli Amalfitani.

The nave and aisles in the church above are from the 12th century (sheesh).

Some slightly more subtle lights on some very nifty between-building buttresses.

The castle of Carlo V, completed by the Spanish in 1552 (and incorporating a previous Roman wall, a medieval convent, and a Norman/Swabian castle partially destroyed in 1414, of course).

I don't know if that's a shop or a house or whatever, but I want to steal it and live in it and tend its ridiculously healthy balcony petunias for ever and ever. (Also, you could probably be friends with the people next door and use their awesome bourgeoisie balcony for cocktail hour..is what I'd do.)*

Wooooo, more buttresses! I guess I'm just fascinated by these things 'cause in no way are there buildings in the US that are old enough (or close enough together) to have them. They're neat.

I can assure you that I'd never, ever be brave enough to try to drive a car down the streets of Monopoli--most of which I'd assumed were for people only--but these brave souls were plunging ahead in their Smartcar. Even in such a tiny vehicle, they still had to make it a 3-point turn to get around the corner and into this street.

Next, it was over to Polignano a Mare, which turned out to be the beach destination in the area. (Good Lord. So many people, everywhere.) 

Polignano is also home to a portion of the Trajan Way, a Roman road from the third century BC.

Interesting fact: on the cliff edge in the distance, there's a platform for a Red Bull diving competition, and it can only be accessed through a private residence. (Unless you paid me absolutely obscene amounts of money, I would not have sandy/drippy divers, along with whatever production flunkies might accompany such a competition, tromping through my house.)

This used to be the town hall. I think it's now a restaurant and some sort of lodging, but the neat part is that that 19th-century clock is still wound by ropes.

Surprise! Polignano is full of winding, whitewashed alleyways. Uniquely, however, this small corner of town had been generously decorated by a local poet/artist.

Obnoxiously full of beach-goers, to be sure, but daaaaaang, if it ain't super pretty.

And with that, we headed back to Fasano to prepare for the wedding. 

Which was held here, next to this lighthouse. (Neat.) It was beautiful and elegant and sweet, but as it wasn't my wedding, I won't post photos of the bride and groom, both of whom looked absolutely fantastic (and very happy).

And the reception...oh, my. It was held at this gorgeous old farm, in the middle of this field of absolutely ancient olive trees, which was probably a center for olive-oil production at some point in time. It was beautiful and charming and magical, and, on this night, was set up for eating. There were little booths all around three sides of this massive, white stone patio--kinda like a street food festival, but classy--and they were full of food and drink.

There were not one, but two salumi booths: this one with various sliced prosciuttos (and some hard cheeses, of course)...

...and this one, with multiple types of salami (and more cheese--at least 5 different kinds!).

There was the marinata booth, with all manner of delicious seafoods...

...which was between this, the raw seafood booth...

...and this, the yakitori (most popular) booth. In that cabinet, in case you're wondering, is a couple of kinds of sausages; some pork belly; and several types of seafood, all for grilling.

There were also a few beverage stands--one for craft beers (and cheese) and two for water, wine, and bubbly--but obviously, this was the most fantastic booth of all: THE CHEESE PEOPLE. Not only were there plates of smoked mozzarella, and mozzarella with tomatoes, and all manner of other forms of mozzarella in front of them, but she was handing out the freshest ricotta...

...and THIS MAN WAS MAKING FRESH MOZZARELLA. RIGHT THERE. I'm not going to lie to you, I stood here, mouth agape, for probably 5 minutes, watching this guy. I was not subtle, but that may have been the most glorious thing I've ever seen in my life. Because cheeeeeeeeeeeeese.

And there were people circulating through the crowd with plates of various fried things (chicken, fish, veg)...and those were the starters, people. After some speeches and a little dancing, we all sat down and had a three-course meal of fregola pasta with veggies and seafood; some insanely good ravioli filled with eggplant, stracciatella, and almonds, in tomato-arugula sauce; and zucchini-wrapped fish fillets with prawns and veggies. 

And then, after more toasts and dancing (the band--and especially the male lead singer--was good!), the desserts came out. All the booths from earlier were suddenly covered in a mind-boggling array of sweet things, including various cream-puff iterations; freshly-filled mini cannoli and lobster-tail pastries; tiny baba al rhum cakes (holy smokes, so much rum, though!); all manner of marzipan- and fondant-covered cakes; fresh fruit; the wedding cake itself, of course; and one entire table covered in massive jars of candied almonds. (In Apulia, they're called confetti, and there were at least 10 different kinds, my favorite being the amarena--sour cherry and chocolate. HOLY MOLY, I could have eaten kilos of those. In retrospect, we should have bought any and all that we could find on our explorations the next day.)

Massive olive tree by night.

As Mike and I are old, we called it a night before the cocktail party started up (1:30? 2:00-ish?), and so were in slightly better shape than the friends-from-Zürich with whom we met up with the next day to explore Cisternino--a town we'd seen referred to as a "gem" on innumerable tourist publications, and therefore had to see, in order to determine whether, in fact, it was--and Turi, the wee town to which we'd relocated for our final night in Apulia.

Cisternino: yet another place in southern Italy in which I'd like to have a holiday home. (Actually, I don't think we've yet encountered a city in Italy where I wouldn't want a holiday home...)

I love the rather haphazard stacking of things in these cities.

Quiet...

...and so pretty.

Back in Turi, where we had the most darling B&B (tremendously friendly owner! amazing AC! compact, but sleeps 5! 2 bathrooms! a balcony! plus a darling breakfast nook, and all in a gorgeous building with an arched stone roof!)...

...we also found the rather spectacularly large (at least, for such a small town) Palazzo Marchesale, the history of which dates to Norman times, but the current form of which comes from the 17th century. (The guy on the far left here was selling veggies out of his car trunk, and I think the rest of these gentlemen were just hanging out, giving each other a hard time.)

Some nice baroque details.

Inside the palace courtyard.

Another civic clock tower, this time in red. (And this time from 1892.)

Interesting coat-of-arms spotted on our wanderings.

Art Nouveau pile near our B&B, just begging for me to buy it and fix it up. (Actually, it wasn't for sale, but a girl can dream.)

On our last night in Apulia, we were fortunate enough to be invited to a party at the residence of the groom's grandfather for dinner. Among other things, dinner included fava puree; the best cooked broad beans I've ever had; sandwiches made of beef that had to have been stewed for at least a day (so...fantastic...); and sangria made with the local peaches. (All followed by trays of various ice creams that made me want to collect them all.)

I guess I forgot to mention that said party was in the courtyard of a 16th-century castle ruin, which, you know, just happened to be on the olive-oil- and fruit-tree-producing property that the groom's grandparents bought however many years ago. (Produce was the selling point, and the castle merely an afterthought.)**

The next morning, we bid a sad adieu to our B&B, then caught our flight from Bari to Milano, where we had enough time before our train home to fit in a meal (and some browsing) at Eataly. On our way back to the train station, we came across these fantastical apartments:

...which I'd actually read about a few years ago, but never realized they'd been completed. (Amazing. Want.)

One last treat at the train station:

Gahhhhhhhhh, my new favorite thing, especially in the summer heat: crema di caffe, or espressino freddo, which is espresso blended with cream and sugar and then frozen like an Icee. Man, oh man, is it heavenly, and I must have had at least 10 of these during this particular trip.

And with that, we headed back to Zürich, with plenty of olive oil and taralli in hand. Thank you, Apulia and Basilicata: you were marvelous.

What I'm reading: I know, I know, I've been hopelessly unhelpful in this category for a loooong time, but I feel like my current reads are worth mentioning. Those are, concurrently, The Road to Little Dribbling, by Bill Bryson, and I Hear the Sirens in the Street, by Adrian McKinty, the former of which periodically makes me cackle out loud (oh Bill Bryson, how I love--and 100% identify with--your curmudgeonly thoughts!), and the latter of which--based in Troubles-era Northern Ireland--is the latest in a long, long line of UK-based crime novels on which my friend Lindsey got me started. And then promptly addicted. (You may not believe this, but the best, by far, have been those written by Robert Galbraith...a.k.a. J.K. Rowling. It's insanely unfair how she can be so good in two such different genres! Supposedly she's working on another in that series, and I cannot wait for its arrival.)

Up next: yet more London and Barcelona. Maybe. I don't want you to get bored of those places, though--we certainly haven't!--so we'll see how I feel.

*Ok, no, not really, I don't want to live there. A), because the doors are way too small for my husband, and B) the heat is oppressive, even right there on the beachfront. Nope, nope, nope. But it is so, so pretty.

**Um...I guess this is just how one lives in the heel of Italy. Sign me up, please.

not much to see here, folks.

Ha, ha, just kidding. You know there are SO many photos ahead, right?

Hello, my dears. I apologize for the radio silence, but it's been rather quiet around here since the New Year. Naturally, you wouldn't know it in reading the sheer quantity ahead of you right now--wordiness abounds!--but just so you know: I've recently realized that I've spent the first quarter of the year at home. THIS WILL NOT STAND, PEOPLE, although as luck would have it, the travel season is coming up quickly. THANK GOODNESS. Cabin fever is not my favorite.

At any rate. We delve now into the relatively recent past, for a quick run-down of the most exciting events in January and February!*

January: nothing but a bunch of fondue (wooo!), and a visit to Maison Manesse**, which was a really delicious and enjoyable meal, but exorbitantly expensive even by Zürich standards. (A great touch, though: at the end of the night, we ordered a round of gin-and-tonics for the table, and they brought us each our own flavor of house-infused gin. The mandarine [mandar-gin? gindarine?] was a standout.) Also in January, I got super snowed-on during a lovely evening of vegetarian food and cocktails with our dear friend Lori.

The snow that started around of Christmas (and continued into January) did not thaw from the Uetliberg until last month. It was insane.

February: ok, so, in retrospect, it was quite action-packed. We ate waaaaay more fondue (it seems to get tastier every winter!) and had a wonderful evening at Herzbaracke...which, in case you don't remember, is the little turquoise-floating-cabaret-and-dining boat that parks at Bellevue for 4 months in the winter. We opted for dinner again--their food is shockingly good, and about as local as it can be in the winter months--and the music, just like last time, was absolutely tremendous. The evening's entertainment was Swing de Paris--a four-piece, all Swiss band--that played quite a bit of Django Reinhardt, as well as swingy-jazzy versions of 'Sing, Sing, Sing' and 'Try A Little Tenderness,' the latter of which was genuinely impressive, as the lead singer (and drummer, and song-writer) had quite a voice. At times, he sounded a bit like Sinatra, Jamie Cullum, Harry Connick Jr., Tony Bennett, and even Otis Redding and Ray Charles. It was another tasty and truly enjoyable experience from Herzbaracke, which I think is maybe my favorite way to spend a wintery evening in Zürich. 

It's such a charming little boat.

In the middle of the month, we went to check out Adam Lambert and Queen. Yes, I know Freddie Mercury departed this world in 1991, thank you, but Mr. Lambert has got some serious pipes on him, and so I figured that if anyone could front Queen sufficiently flamboyantly and do the vocals justice, it would be him. On the up side, Lambert was great, the two touring original members of Queen still seriously rock out, and I got to hear every song I wanted...but for this particular concert, the negatives outweighed the positives. For one, it was a stadium show where we didn't get to select our own seats, and so ended up stuck in more-or-less the worst seats in the house; Messrs. May and Taylor did ridiculous extended solos (the drums I can handle, the weird 10-minute guitar jam, not so much); and they threw to video way too often. People, if you're going to perform  'Bohemian Rhapsody' live, you cannot start the song and then cut to an enormous screen showing the music video as the conclusion to your concert. (This was a tactic they employed a couple of other times in the night so that Freddie Mercury could 'sing' with the band.) Seriously?? I was genuinely curious to see if, and how, they would perform that song live, but ugh. We left slightly early, but not early to miss that particular travesty.

This is what inconceivably overpriced stadium seating looks like. That giant black thing across the top of the picture is the catwalk across the ceiling, right next to the electronic scoreboard they use for hockey games here.

At least things got better after that: next came Fasnacht, which is the Swiss version of Carnival. It's a smallish event in Zürich, to be sure, but genuinely huge in Basel, which is where we went to catch the main parade, as well as to revisit the Chienbäse in Liestal the night before. Sooooo much festivity...

Basel has its own official Fasnacht beer brewed just for this event.

A Native American and a Viking, together at last: our first costume sightings in Liestal.

No idea what these puffy people were supposed to be, but I love how naturally they're just hanging out dressed like this.

A Gugge band performing the Offspring's 'I Want You Bad.' 

Another band performing between the daytime parade and the fire parade. Those masks were major.

The fire parade begins with a few pipe-and-drum corps and then the Laternen, which are these big lantern-y (...duh...) constructions decorated with various political and satirical statements.

And then the main draw: marchers carrying bundles of lit firewood, as well as the huge fire carts.

Yeah, your view may be better from the less-crowded side of the street, but when the cart stops nearby, you get roasted. Heh.

Post parade, the Gugge bands take to the streets and set up little performances in restaurants and squares. These people work hard this time of year. Here, a band of sea monsters...

...led by this incredible figure. Sorry 'bout the terrible quality of the photo, but this guy was too good to pass up.

Stopped in to check out one of the indoor performances, which was deafening, but fun. This trombone player took a shine to our little group and invited us to sing along with 'Can You Feel the Love Tonight.' 

Coincidentally enough, they were playing 'Fat Bottomed Girls' when we walked in.

A band of pirates out on the street...

...marching off to the beat of their own drums, if you will.

After the fire parade, Mike and I headed to Basel, where we had a hotel room for the night. A quick bit of background: in Basel, the celebration of Fasnacht in some form or other dates to 1376. In its current form, it's about a hundred years old, and is commonly called the "drey scheenste Dääg," which, in Baseldeutsch (...even crazier than Zürideutsch!), means "the three most beautiful days." This city does, in fact, party and march and parade for three whole days. Fasnacht officially begins at 4:00 AM on the Monday morning after Ash Wednesday, with a cannon shot and the extinguishing of all the lights in the city, followed by a parade of pipe-and-drum bands; then come major brass-band-and-float parades on Monday and Wednesday, and a children's parade on Tuesday; singers and satirical poets performing in various restaurants in the evenings; a central exhibit of all the Laternen; and general revelry everywhere, with pipe-and-drum corps marching all the while. Which all sounded rather charming, until we figured out that our hotel was right on the parade route, and that those crazy people who begin at 4:00 in the morning do not stop parading until the big parade begins at 1:30 in the afternoon. So much for getting any sleep.

View from our hotel window in the morning.

We dozed as long as we could, then headed out through the festively-decorated Old Town...

...to find some breakfast, which ended up being a slice each of the cheese and onion tarts that are a special food associated with Basel's Fasnacht celebration. 

Somehow we ended up in Basel's oldest bakery, where the employees were truly friendly and gave us (in German) a brief education on the baked goods they make for Fasnacht. Really nice people, really good tarts.

We then had an hour or so to kill until the parade, and as it was freezing and raining, we ducked into the cathedral for a little shelter and Gothic architecture.

Grumpy guy on the misericords.

Happiest cathedral statues ever. (These guys are copies, but the originals are from the late Middle Ages.)

View of the Kleinbasel district of old town, from across the Rhine.

As we headed back towards our hotel--the better to see the parade from, my dear!--all sorts of parade-y things were happening around us. Because Fasnacht is a major holiday in Basel, lots of places were closed--but it seemed like everyone who wasn't working in the few open restaurants was out on the street in costume, marching in some sort of band or pulling a float or involved in the parade in some way. Masks, costumes, and marchers everywhere!

Seemingly endless pipes and drums marching through old town.

These guys were quite good, and just kept on going.

A marcher guarding his stash of giant bags full of confetti.

It was at this point that we discovered that the camera battery I had plugged into the wall the night before had not charged...and that none of our convenient spare batteries had much, if any charge at all. I cannot even tell you how disappointing it was, during the parade itself, to have to keep running into our hotel to change out the camera battery, one of which was charging in their lobby at all times, and to be unable to take any video of the parade, which was incredible. These photos and my descriptions will have to suffice until next year, when we CHARGE ALL THE STUPID BATTERIES BEFORE WE EVEN LEAVE HOME. Ahem. (And also...near the end, because it was so wet outside and I was tired of trying to manipulate both the camera and umbrella, I gave up and switched to using my phone for photos. So those are mingled throughout: APOLOGIES.)

Anyway, the big parade (cortège, as they call it in Basel). We learned quickly that the thing actually proceeds along both sides of the street in different directions (similar to normal traffic), and so at times it was entirely chaotic. Made it harder to photograph, but it was insane and I loved it all.

Most of the marching bands were led by someone in an oversized costume:

There were a handful of these old-timey horse-drawn carriages scattered throughout, and the people riding in them had the most gorgeous masks. (I'm just sorry I couldn't get more photos of these--these were few and far between, and across the street from us, but so very pretty...!)

Lots of kids' pipe-and-drum groups in the parade, too: it seemed like the entire city was marching, regardless of age. (Srsly...so many marchers...)

I felt kinda bad for everyone, though, since the weather was so terrible--you can see how many of them are wearing plastic ponchos over what one can only assume are really great costumes.

I'm fairly certain that most of the costumes are supposed to make some sort of statement (or probably did at some point in time)...but I have no idea what on earth any of it meant. To be fair, lots of the groups (cliques, which function quite similarly to the Krewes of Mardi Gras) had marchers handing out these loooooong strips of paper (Zeedel) printed with their subject matter summarized in satirical verse, but it was all written in Baslerdeutsch, which, as previously mentioned, is virtually indecipherable to us mere mortals. The variety in costuming was staggering, though.

What we saw most frequently were these crazy big-nosed masks. And the characters in the floats were hurling things into the crowds: flowers, candy, oranges, miniature bottles of various alcohols, and--my absolute favorite--soup fixin's. We came home with a few oranges, a handful of candy, a mini of Appenzeller Alpenbitter, a couple of leeks, a potato, an onion, a zucchini, and a packet of vegetable bouillon. (We had some fine veggie-beef stew for dinner the next night.)

More than anything, however, the guys in the floats were absolutely dousing the crowd with confetti. Some would just throw it in spectators' faces with their hands or with buckets; others went more large-scale, with confetti guns like t-shirt cannons, and this guy below had his confetti hooked up to a shop-vac on reverse. Others were more circumspect, and would distract you by conversing with you, or acting like they were getting your attention so they could throw something to you, while their cohorts got you with a load of confetti from the side. Post-parade, the streets are so littered with the stuff that it looks like it's snowed blue and pink and yellow. We came home with it in our clothes,, bags, etc., and I even found some in my underwear. (Why? How? I have no idea.) To date, there's still some in our refrigerator. (It got stuck in the leek, and I'm enjoying having it look like someone threw a wee Fasnacht parade in the fridge.)

Shooting confetti into the crowd.

Manning the confetti cannon.

They got Mike. (Bonus points for the confetti-throwers: it rained off and on throughout the day, so the stuff stuck to everything.)

As we were leaving, this was the ground where we had been standing.

We watched there for an hour and a half, then headed indoors to warm up with some fantastic Rösti (topped with cheese, ham, and a fried egg!!!) and a bowl of the "flour soup" particular to Fasnacht. (Mehlsuppe, which is awesome and is kinda like eating a bowl of beef gravy with a smattering of cheese bits throughout.) Even from indoors, I kept seeing new groups march by, which, considering the fact that we saw zero repeats the entire time, I found genuinely impressive. It even seemed that, perhaps due to the nasty weather, the dearth of spectators meant that there were actually more marchers in the parade than people watching! (Or at least, more than those of us dumb enough to be watching outdoors.) I think it also meant that those of us pressed up against the sides of the route with cameras and mouths agape and obvious enthusiasm gathered far more attention--and thus, more confetti and soup ingredients--than we would have on nice day, with a real crowd. Then again, this being our first Basler Fasnacht, who even knows. Ah well...the weather was rough on the camera and my poor, freezing feet, but what a grand event in spite of it! And next time, folks, I will have fresh camera batteries. Just imagine the quantity of photos then. Ooh, and even some video.

And now: March! Yeah, I know this post is turning out to be another long one, but bear with me: only one thing happened in March, and it was Sonnwendfeier. In case you haven't heard, it's an hour-long fireworks show that occurs only every three years. I have no idea how this got on my radar, but since I am a bit of a fireworks fanatic, and we missed it the first time it happened after we moved here, I was not going to miss it again. Kids, it was so worth the effort and the wait! 

The show itself is fairly unique, in that it is created by two local, quasi-competitive clubs in and around the city of Oensingen, about an hour west of Zürich by train. It occurs at two ends of a long ridge line above the town--one end for each group--and as long as one is standing on the road that runs parallel to the ridge, there absolutely is no bad view of the show.*** It's my kinda fireworks, people. I won't bombard you with too many photos and videos, 'cause that's kinda painful and pointless if you weren't there, but I need to throw in a few for my own sake. Please enjoy.

Heh...this one looks like a face.

Just off-center here, under the base of the fire trails, you can see a tiny red 'VCO.' Each club had its name in neon on its respective end of the ridge, so VCO is the abbreviation for the Vogelherdclub, whose fireworks shot from the eastern end of the ridge.

Some nifty shapes from VCO.

A giant sequence from RCO (Ravellenclub), on the western end of the ridge. And this wasn't even the grand finale to the show. As they went back and forth between displays from each club, the fireworks got progressively larger and more impressive...and there was an hour of this, people!!

Ooh, and one more thing in March: Mike's rugby games started back up. During the first match, Rugby Union Zürich absolutely massacred the poor team from Schaffhausen...and to add injury to insult, Mike punched a guy. OK, OK, NOT REALLY, but tell me what you see when you look at this photo:

See?!?

With a little bit of context, though, you can kinda see that he was just using his forearm to protect the ball:

...more or less. I believe him.

Either way, look at him go. DEAD BODIES, MIKE! DEAD BODIES! WOOOO! And all that.

Well. I was going to include the standard "What we're watching/eating/reading" filler here, seeing as how it usually fits well at the end of "Not much to see here, folks!"-style posts, but since this one's gone on long enough, I'll sign off. 

Next up: lots of really good food, and then...I can't tell you anything more. You'll find out why later.

*Sad confession: I still have a few things left to say about Egypt. These are absolute non sequiturs, but I somehow forgot to record them when they were pertinent, and so now I want to make sure they are not lost to history. Indulge me, if you will. (Hey, at least I managed to contain this to the footnotes...)

• Finding weird chips the world over, I got to sample Lay's kebab-flavored chips in the Luxor airport. They were quite smoky and beefy up front, with a nice touch of bell pepper flavor, but the aftertaste, sadly, reminded me of the artificiality I taste in things involving Liquid Smoke. (We also tried out a can of sour apple Fanta, which tasted exactly like a Jolly Rancher. Undrinkably sweet, but as is obvious, I am compelled to try out these sorts of things.)
• Did I tell you that Egyptians love their air conditioning? 'Cause they do. Boy, do they. Everywhere we went that was fully enclosed had the AC on full blast, and it was generally freezing indoors. Good thing I packed layers.
• I learned a grand total of three Arabic words while we were there: midan (square/plaza), yalla (let's go, hurry up), and shukran (thank you). Obviously, only the last was actually useful.
• Even if I've mentioned this before (and in all honesty, I can't remember), it bears repeating: the sky over the Valleys of the Kings and Queens, out in that intense desert, were absolutely and hands-down the bluest I've ever seen. A remarkably deep, almost jewel blue, the likes of which I haven't even seen in my own home state, which was the previous "Bluest Skies" titleholder. It was astonishing, especially in contrast to the earth and the huge banks of red, pink, white, and orange bougainvillea lining the roads near the Nile. So much color.

And with that, I feel like I've finally and officially brought Egypt to a close! Which is quite pathetic, considering that we returned from that trip over four months ago. Worst...blogger...ever. 

**THEIR INTRO PAGE IS HILARIOUS. Totally reminds me of Jimmy Fallon: "You like fine cookin'? I got a Swanson's dinner in the freezer with yo' name on it."

***Naturally, this being Europe, there's a 13th-century castle in the middle of the ridge, but for our purposes here, it's of no consequence. "Pay no attention to the castle there, folks. Just watch the show." Who lives like this??