In Beijing, I was told "Blue is for the Heavens, yellow is for the Emperor, green for the Empress, and grey for the people". Beijing is nothing if not sensory overload, but the colors mostly are the same. Blue is usually bright cobalt blue (except for beautiful ultramarine tiled roofs) and red is always bright red, "the color of blood". Buildings are a soft warm grey.
The yellow spiky fruit on the right is durian, which has a smell so objectionable it is banned from hotels and public transportation in Southeast Asia (but maybe not in China). A friend called it 'corpse fruit'.
When my father visited mainland China in 1980, it was so filthy they couldn't use the towels and brushed their teeth with Scotch whiskey. Not anymore. The parts of Beijing a tourist is apt to see are spotless. The Beijing airport, with its spit-and-polish officials, make most US airports look even worse than you thought. 
The Ishtar Gate on display is the smaller of two gates erected in Babylon around 575 BC. The gate is constructed of bright blue ceramic tile that was excavated in the 1930s; one wonders how they dug this out. This gate is roughly 45 feet high, and extends through a long gallery. The larger gate is in storage. 
Potsdam is the capital of the Brandenburg province, and a short train ride from metropolitan Berlin. I think they were geared up for the election, too. This crane lifted three guys at least 120 feet, we figured, for perhaps a signal relay to a venue behind the Potsdam Brandenburg Gate. 
On the way to the next museum on my list, I was feeling really smug about getting around in Berlin, when the bus stopped in front of the Reichstag - home of Germany's Parliament. The driver made a long announcement which of course I didn't understand, and most of the people on the bus (a big double-decker) got off. So I did too. I had noticed a lot of film crew trailers around; I walked up to the Brandenburg Gate, which looked like it was getting set up for a concert. Still not getting it, I saw they were blocking streets and barely letting any traffic, even busses through. Finally I find the bus to take me back to the station, which then gets stopped for a long time for a whole lot of police, mounted police, and finally a motorcade around a big black Mercedes, which slips into Bellevue Palace, which is the residence of the German president. (The flag flying indicates the president is in residence. I don't think those dogs are there for exercise) The blockades, platforms and film crews? Sunday is election day. Angela Merkel (who is exactly my age) is supposed to be the clear winner. Moral? Always scope out local events. The Berlin Marathon messed up everyone else last week.
Construction and bikes everywhere. Everybody in Berlin rides a bike (it's flat). Mostly 'step through' or what we think of as 'girl's' bikes: that includes macho looking guys with shaved heads.
The Charlottenburg Palace, in Charlottenburg, which before unification was the affluent part of West Berlin. Except for things like this it reminds me of Durham. The interior is overwrought Baroque, but with very fine Chinese porcelain. The clipped bay trees in painted whiskey barrels are very cool. 
My old friend Rosie (nom de blog) is the best, and certainly the most indefatigable, cook I know. Her recent posts on dealing with a pig's head are something other than else. Her recent posting on the Danville, Virginia, central market reminded me of this. Photograph in the Danville station, around 1972.
I thought espaliers existed only in gardening books. This is one of many pear trees espaliered in the garden of St Anne (a beautiful public garden and public library too.) The pear trees are underplanted with roses.
A galette Breton, which is a staple here. It's a buckwheat crepe about 13" or so, folded, with fillings. This had ham, onions, cheese, a few steamed pototo slices, and egg. The recipes I've seen use only buckwheat flour, not a mix of wheat and buckwheat flour like you usually see. The crepes are thin and crisp, not spongy. The fillings are not lavish so it makes a nice lunch.
A border near the bridge - probably 20' or so long. It contains scented geranium, lavender, Queen Ann's lace, maybe, artemesia, rubber plant, who knows what else. Lots of purple and blue annuals. What happens when they rip this stuff all out for the next season? You would think there would be armies of workers to maintain this perfection, but you don't see any.
One of the main bridges in the center of Lannion, which is a few miles inland from the Breton coast in northwest France. It is a mercantile town with a great deal of telecom (France Telecom, Alcatel) near by. It is also 'ville fleurie'. There are flowers everywhere, on lampposts, bridge railings, borders, corners, roundabouts, everywhere. Every single one perfect, not a wilt or weed anywhere. It is also the hydrangea capital of the universe.
