"O Jerusalem, the holy city"

Sunday March 2 - Thursday March 6, Jerusalem, IsraelA national carrier's check-in desk is frequently a microcosm of that nation, and the check-in desk for Israel's El Al Airlines at Heathrow is no exception: "Why are you going to Israel?", "For how long?", "Why have you recently been in Tunisia?" The questions continue, and then the X-rays and searches begin. My hand luggage is taken from me and only returned at the departure gate, and my bags are minutely examined. Fortunately, my father's instruction to "wear my smartest underwear" proves an unnecessary precaution.

It's all mildly irritating. and my schoolboy-before-the-headmaster over-politesse feels a compromise -- but it's a useful reminder of what I'll face in a few hours, and it's a small price to pay for visiting a country which has long been on my wish-list. The five-hour flight passes quickly and I'm met at Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv and driven to East Jerusalem. The journey takes just under an hour and our fixer, Sharon Schaveet meets me at the hotel.

Employing fixers is a somewhat risky business, and most production web-sites are flooded with the familiar request: "does anyone know of a good fixer in…(name of country here)". Find a poor fixer and the shoot can rapidly deteriorate into farce. Find a great fixer, and you'll start thinking that it's the best money one can spend on a production. Thankfully, Sharon is of the latter school. A wonderfully efficient tour-de-force, she allows nothing to defeat her -- police, soldiers, bureaucrats, crew-members, myself -- we're all cajolled, encouraged, charmed and threatened into line.
In an essential briefing Sharon warns me that the situation is particularly tense at the moment. Israel has launched a major offensive in Gaza and violence has spilled over into Jerusalem. Both Palestinians and Jews are extremely wary. It's going to be a fascinating few days.

My mission to Israel is two-fold. For the Islam film, I'm shooting perhaps the second most significant site (if we regard Mecca and Medina as one) in the Islamic world, the Dome of the Rock. And for the Judaism film, I'm spending a day at Masada, capturing one of the few remaining ruins of Second Temple Synagogues. In total I have three days.

Day One and we're blessed with sensational weather: an azure sky, a few clouds and no heat-haze at all. Perfect conditions. I'm picked up at seven in the morning and Sharon introduces me to the rest of the crew: driver Arie, director of photography Ofer and camera assistant Gabi. Later I'll meet the sound-man Nicholas. They're warm, relaxed and enthusiastic about the coming shoot.The Dome of the Rock is situated on one of the most contested sites in religious history -- a vast ancient platform known to Jews as the Temple Mount and to Muslims as the Haram al-Sharif or Noble Sanctuary. In Islamic history, the Rock is the location for the Prophet Mohammed's encounter with the angel Gabriel and his ascension to Paradise, while for Jews, the Temple Mount is the foundation for their holiest of sites, the Davidic Temple.

Although governed by a ruling Islamic body, the Noble Sanctuary is nevertheless carefully monitored by Jewish police. The dynamic between the two nationalities at the gate is fascinating -- my absence of Hebrew or Arabic impedes any thorough insight but the uneasy truce is evident; there is much gesticulating and gesturing, some shouting, appeals for calm, much pointing at the crew and our equipment, occasional laughter and of course lots of guns.

Amid the stand-off is Sharon -- occasionally vociferous, mostly pleading. She's warned us beforehand that anything can happen at the entrance to the Dome of the Rock -- there are no guarantees that we'll be allowed to film, nor for how long. But she keeps on pushing. "She'll call the prime minister next," quips Ofer, awed by her persuasive prowess. She's been negotiating our access with both sets of officials for weeks.
And then suddenly, we're admitted. The crew is asked not to speak Hebrew and we're led inside the Dome of the Rock and into one of the most sacred sites in Islam, to the cave itself where it's believed Mohammed met with Gabriel. The Waqf or ruling Islamic officials have offered us an incredible privilege - filming permission here is very rare, and almost never with a large broadcast camera (we're shooting on HD), let alone a tripod.

We do not have a great deal of time but what we do film is remarkable. After twenty minutes we're hurried upstairs and once again given permission to film the interior of the Dome.We film what we can -- but one could spend days here. The tiling and mosaic glass is exquisite and the designs so varied and complex, mostly patterning but discernible are trees, flowers, vegetation and fruits. In the middle of the dome is the stone roof of the cave but extensive scaffolding hampers our view. There's not enough time -- the call for prayer is approaching and the next minute Sharon tells us that we have to leave the site. I protest, entreating her that we need time to shoot exteriors, but the decision is out of her hands. As quickly as we've arrived, we find ourselves outside the entrance gate.

It has not worked out quite as we'd hoped, although the interior access was remarkable. But without filming the exteriors, we don't have a film. Sharon is concerned too, and we decide to talk everything though over a coffee -- we walk down the Via Dolorosa. It's my first sight of street-level Jerusalem and I can't help staring: there are Armenian priests, Orthodox Jews, nuns, hawkers, bodyguards, soldiers and of course coachloads of tourists -- the mix of people is astonishing.
Once we've relaxed a little, Sharon says she'll work hard to convince both the Israeli policemen and the ruling Waqf to allow us access for the following day. She refuses to be drawn on whether it's likely but she'll do everything she can. In the meantime, we can spend some time sourcing a suitable roof-top to film the interview with our Islamic expert. We explore various options and eventually decide on the roof of the Austrian Hospice. It affords us a wonderful view of the Dome and we set for the interview.

Dr Marwan Khalaf is an expert in Islamic art and architecture and proves a gentle and knowledgeable interviewee. Among much else, he explains about the evangelistic role of the Dome of the Rock -- it was partly constructed to compete with (and surpass) other religious structures in Jerusalem, and he tells us too about the mathematical symmetry of the Dome -- 4 doors, 8 sides, 16 columns, 52 windows etc. It's a very constructive couple of hours and we end the day with some sunset shots from the Mount of Olives before a 6 o'clock lunch.

Day Two and Sharon has decided that the best thing to do is just to pitch up early at the Dome and try our luck. We squeeze in a sunrise shot first thing and then head to the entrance. Ofer and I exchange ideas about the routine which dominates much of filming -- "Hurry Up and Wait" -- and we shoot some general footage while waiting to hear news of progress. Sharon calls. If we come this minute, she thinks we can get in. She's right and once again we get access. Other crews don't fare so well -- there's a media ban in place and among others, the BBC are turned away.
One of the privileges of filming is the opportunity to look at buildings in significant detail, courtesy of a long lens. And the Dome doesn't disappoint -- the golden cupola steals the headlines but the windows, walls, even guttering are just as remarkable. Again it's a day of blue skies, and the structure looks wonderful. We could spend all day here, and another day too, but we've pushed our luck already and the governing Waqf have indulged our schedule to an incredible degree. We say our thank you's and leave the Dome of the Rock.

Except of course we don't. Just by the entrance of the Noble Sanctuary, two abandoned rucksacks have been identified as suspicious. We and our equipment are held at the gate as an explosives robot rumbles into action. We're ushered out of the sight-line and hear six muffled shots -- the sound of the robot shooting the packages. Predictably the rucksacks prove to be only that, but the situation doesn't help tension levels.
A coffee later, and we're filming street scenes, market scenes and Jerusalem establishing shots. Our final location for the day is the Western Wall -- often referred to as the wailing wall. It's one of those scenes with which one has become so familiar, but up close, the whole experience is of course far more vivid. We film right by the wall and I feel a touch uncomfortable at our proximity to the worshippers. Not so Ofer and, seemingly, not so the Orthodox Jews who continue, indifferent to our presence. The early evening is spent having dinner at Restobar. "Oh this place," remarks the camera assistant, Gabi, "you may remember, it was decimated by a suicide-bomber a couple of years ago."
Day Three and leaving Jerusalem behind us, we're driving alongside the Dead Sea on our way to Masada. Ever since seeing Peter O Toole in the 1981 mini-series of the siege, I've wanted to come here, probably along with many thousands of others.
The story of Masada is an extraordinary one. In 66 CE a group of rebels from a Judaic extreme sect, the Sicarii, surprised and overcame the Roman garrison at Masada. With cliffs rising 400 metres above the desert, the site offered a near impregnable natural fortress (complete with huge food stocks and its own well). In turn, the Romans besieged Masada, constructing a vast rampart which enabled the defenses to be breached. When the Romans entered the fortress in 72 CE, they discovered that all 936 inhabitants had committed suicide rather than face captivity. Dramatically symbolic, Masada is now Israel's second most popular tourist site.
Our focus for the day is Masada's synagogue. Not much remains - a few broken walls, pillars and the steps bordering the walls where worshippers would sit, pray and listen to readings of the Torah. A converted stable, the building is incredibly simple and pure; a rejection of the rich colour-schemes and ornate construction of the surrounding Roman buildings. Nevertheless, I find it beautiful -- concise, straightforward and modest.

Archaeological expert Avner Goren is our guide. He's a fabulous contributor -- experienced in the trials of television, he's both patient and charismatic, content to wait in the sun while we tinker with our set-ups. He draws a vivid account of the siege and is alive to contemporary parallels with Gaza. He also highlights the fact that for many Israelis, Masada is a symbol with which they no longer wish to be closely allied -- they don't want to be isolated from other communities or nationalities; instead they want actively to engage with them.
We film until 4pm and then catch the final cable car down the slopes. A few last sunset shots over the desert and we drive back to Jerusalem. One last supper and a flight home. At the hotel, I'm asked whether, for the journey to the airport, I'd prefer a Jewish taxi-driver or a Palestinian taxi-driver. Only in Israel. (Seb Grant)

Bella Italia

Sunday March 2 - Thursday March 6, Rome and Ravenna, Italy
Sunday
Ian and I arrive in Rome in the late afternoon. What should have been no more than a thirty minute taxi ride from the airport into the city takes a staggering two and a half hours. The main route had been closed off because of an accident causing complete chaos. “Mamma mia! Tutto bloccato!” our driver informs us, and on several occasions along the way he crosses himself muttering under his breath whilst shaking his head.

Monday - Tuesday
We are here to film at St. Peter’s Basilica, which has entailed negotiating no less than three separate sets of permissions beforehand from London. Filming inside the basilica itself, filming in St Peter’s Square, and finally the right to put a tripod down just outside Vatican territory facing St Peter’s from a slightly greater distance on Italian territory.
The final paperwork and payments all have to be made prior to filming in offices in the Vatican (having first been vetted by the colourful Swiss guards), and then further away at the Comune di Roma, where it comically takes no less than three people to process, sign and stamp a six page document before handing it over.
I had forgotten how simply vast St Peter’s is. Conveying its enormous scale on film is almost impossible. On entering the building the eye is drawn down to the focal point of the interior, Bernini’s monumentally tall bronze canopy known as the baldacchino which stands over the altar. It's 98 feet high, the same height as a substantial building such as Rome's Palazzo Farnese, and yet it fits comfortably inside Michelangelo’s vast dome which rises above it.
TU ES PETRUS ET SUPER HANC PETRUM AEDIFICABO ECCLESIAM MEAM ... (You are Peter and on this rock I build my Church) ... reads part of the inscription of Christ’s words to Peter in gold lettering over 2 metres high around the base of the dome. Of course the pun doesn’t work in English, but it does in French, Italian and of course Latin. I look up musing on what the equivalent English first name would have to be. Rock perhaps, as in ... Rock Hudson? It doesn’t quite do it. (Diana famously called Paul Burrell her rock of course.)
The following morning our wonderful interviewee speaks movingly about what St Peter’s means to him. Monsignor Roderick Strange was a student priest in Rome for much of the 1960s. More recently he was a chaplain at Oxford University for some years, and has spent the last ten as Rector of the Pontifical Beda College in Rome.

When we have finished our interview outside we are accosted by a local busker who, for no apparent reason, seems keen to let off steam and rant for some time at us about Berlusconi amongst other things. It is a little difficult to disengage ourselves from him politely (he is like the ancient mariner), but he could of course have a point about Berlusconi.

Later that afternoon we leave Rome for Ravenna, a drive which takes over five hours, departing Rome in warm sunshine only to encounter snow and hailstones just three hours later on the final tortuous stretch of road beyond Florence.

Wednesday - Thursday
It is freezing in Ravenna and our hotel resembles a mortuary. Our interviewee, a local art historian, Verdiana Conti Baioni, tells me that it was once a mausoleum, which only goes to confirm the ghostly feeling of the place.
The Basilica di San Vitale, however, is more than worth the journey here and the sub-zero temperatures. It is a tour de force. Here is a legacy of 6th century mosaic work arguably without equal anywhere in the world. Images, almost certainly decorated by Greek artists, include the retinues of the Byzantine emperor Justinian and his belly dancer-turned-empress wife Theodora. Sex and power at the court of Constantinople. And the vibrant colours – the gold backgrounds, the rich green meadows and deep blue skies – are dazzling. We think of the period when these mosaics were done as the dark ages, and yet San Vitale was a breathtakingly original departure and is quite simply exquisite.
In contrast with the distinctive octagonal shape of San Vitale, the next morning we film also at San Apollinare Nuovo built only a little earlier but in the basilican form with a long nave and side aisles (one of which helpfully has a tall scaffold tower obscuring a large section for restoration work). After those of San Vitale, the mosaics at San Apollinare Nuovo are the finest in Ravenna. One of them depicts urban scenes of the city, a reminder that Ravenna was once the capital of the declining Roman empire for more than seventy years in the 5th century and was later an important outpost of the Byzantine empire. It’s hard to believe today that this city’s career was so remarkable. It declined slowly and gracefully in the following centuries to be overtaken largely by Venice, and indeed it’s perhaps because the city was little heard from for a thousand years that most of Ravenna's art was left in peace.
It is still inhospitably cold and windy as we leave, and I am looked at with disbelief when I tell the hotel that we will be returning to significantly warmer and brighter weather in London.

And despite the blog editor's strictures ("enough food already"), the culinary highlight of the trip would have to be, for those that are interested, a small family-run fish restaurant that we came across in Rome’s Borgo Pio. “You have discovered Rome’s best kept secret,” an obviously well-heeled fellow Roman diner tells me. There are photos on the walls of a plethora of Italian celebrity regulars past and present, including Fellini and Marcello Mastroianni. I’m not sure I should reveal to you where it is, but I could be persuaded.
(Linda Zuck)

2 days in Singapore

Wednesday February 27 - Thursday February 28, Singapore
It's Wednesday so it must be Singapore. The excellent Julie Delpy movie 2 Days in Paris has brightened my 12-hour flight and I arrive at a sparkling Changi Airport.

The reason for my visit is a visionary piece of Islamic architecture, the Assyafaah Mosque (pronounced Ash-ee-far). Designed by Tan Kok Hiang, the principal partner of Forum Architects, it's a building which aims to converse with the traditions of Islamic architecture while simultaneously embracing the values and aesthetic of contemporary Singapore. Having spent much of last weekend filming at Istanbul's more conventional Blue Mosque, I'm intrigued.

The schedule is extremely tight. HD camera equipment is a rare commodity in Singapore and its consequent hire-costs mean that we'll have to shoot everything in a single day. The forecast is promising clouds, gloom and rain.

To steel myself for the next day, I meet up with an old university friend, Nick Handel. An advertising executive, Nick provides a few useful pointers to the Singaporean mentality -- "it's looking to establish itself as the Switzerland of Asia." "Here you wear your wealth on your sleeve." Certainly the high level of cleanliness, efficiency and countless shopping malls appear to reinforce his conclusions. Nick also kindly indulges my passion for cliché -- we head to Raffles for a Singapore Sling (overly sweet, overly red and overly priced, but of course you still need to order one).
The day of the shoot, and it's an early start. We've decided to employ a local crew rather than take Ian out with us and so at 6.15 am, Malaysian-born camerman Yaw, and the Singaporean driver James arrive at the hotel. We head to the Esplanade (part of Singapore's waterfront) to catch the early morning sun and film some establishing shots of the city. There's more sunshine than I dared hope, and three-quarters of an hour later we're driving to the north of the city to the Assyafaah Mosque.
The mosque is immediately arresting by virtue of what's not there. No conventional minarets, no dome and seemingly no sides to the construction. It feels inclusive, relaxed, informal -- as much social centre as religious building -- an impression confirmed in an enthusiastic welcome by the mosque's manager, Abdul Aziz Awang.
Yaw warns that we won't have the sunshine all day so we take advantage of some bluish skies to film wide shots of the building. It's an opportunity to examine the mosque with a little more care and to think through some further questions with our interviewee, the mosque's architect , Tan Kok Hiang. There's also the chance to meet Micky, the affable sound-man for the day. But of course it's all working a little too smoothly. Blue skies, methodical cameraman, on schedule...
In this case, it's sound which proves our undoing. A surprise for seemingly everybody, a women's conference has been organised for the morning and the Imam's voice is amplified throughout the entire building -- there will be no chance to film the architect on site. We're all disappointed -- particularly as we've just met Mr Tan and have found him to be passionate, charismatic and extremely well-versed in religious architecture. Fortunately, he's gracious and agrees to be filmed in the open air amid the heat and humidity.

Except that next door to the mosque, three pile-drivers have started their thunderous rhythm. Micky goes to the construction site to see whether they'll take a break, but to no effect. It's no win -- Mr Tan has to be away by 11.30 and we're left to choose between deafening amplification and the pile drivers. The pile drivers win-out and we film the interview outside.
Without wishing to flatter the architect (or the film we're making) too outrageously, Mr Tan proves a fantastic guide. He talks through the tensions of a non-Muslim designing an Islamic building. He explains about the absence of a dome (Middle-East tradition, and impossible to maintain amidst the rigours of the Singaporean climate). He enages us with his decision to embrace the Arabesque in much of the design and he's frank about the challenge of working with an artist to realise the single minaret. Chatty and charming, we enjoy a very good couple of hours in his company.
The rest of the day, we're filming details of the interior and it's an opportunity to see the mosque in use. I'm incredibly impressed with Mr Tan's design -- the ablutions space is sleek, stylish and beautifully achieved. The mihrab and sloping qibla feel modern and relevant and there is a community feel to the building -- a breeziness and lightness -- completely different to the other mosques I've visited.
The day rushes on. Yaw applies himself tremendously and takes infinite care over his framing and moves. We break for a quick noodle-lunch and then it’s another three hours of filming interior details.
6pm comes and we rush to Orchard Road, a sort of Singaporean Bond Street to film shoppers and brand-names -- it's just a notion that we might be able to contrast the Assyafaah Mosque with the commercialism of Asia's Switzerland. We'll see...

We wrap at dusk and I head to my friend, Nick's house for supper. It’s not a late night -- Nick's wife is heavily pregnant and I'm flying out early next day. A taxi is ordered and right there I have the smallest insight into life in Singapore. "Your taxi will be with you in exactly four minutes." Sure enough, four minutes later, the taxi arrives. Only in Singapore. (Seb Grant)

Mosques, minarets and meze

Saturday February 23 - Monday February 25, Istanbul, Turkey
"You see these wires? They're connected to a bomb and I'm going to kill British people."

The man fixed his eyes on our cameraman.

"Good idea," responded our cameraman. "I'm South African."

This little exchange occurred in 2003, the last time Illuminations filmed in Istanbul. We were working on a BBC/Canada co-production entitled The World in Art and we had been accosted while shooting in the Sultan Ahmed Mosque. Five years on and we are filming there once again.
Istanbul is, without doubt, one of my favourite European cities: jaw-dropping architecture, incredible food (particularly the sauces, meats, fish and bread), a complex history -- and a generous, warm-hearted, proud population. We (Ian, Nonie and myself) are delighted to be making the journey. (Sorry, but this isn't just one of those paragraphs written to mitigate an uncomfortable opening story.)

Arriving late from Budapest, we are met at the airport by our fixer's colleague, Tunjay, and taken to our hotel just across the square from the mosque. One late meze supper later and we have agreed to meet early to film the sun rising from behind the minarets.
Time-lapse sequences (which can be sped-up to make time pass quickly) are frequently shot by resentful cameramen in isolated surroundings, at unearthly hours in challenging temperatures. Not this one. The hotel's breakfast room overlooks the Mosque and we enjoy the perfect view while stuffing our faces with exotic mueslis, fresh bread, juices and a few Turkish sweets. Oh yes, and of course there's the mosque...Frequently known by tourists as the the Blue Mosque because of its interior blue ceramic tiling, the Sultan Ahmed Mosque is one of the must-see attractions of Istanbul. There is little question of its remarkable contribution to the Istanbul skyline -- constructed between 1609 and 1616, its six 60-metre minarets challenge the dominance of its older neighbour, the Hagia Sofia.

All sorts of myths have grown up around the disproportionally high number of these minarets (most mosques have four or less). One of the most popular is that the architect Sedefhar Mehmet Aga misunderstood Sultan Ahmed I's instructions for the design and confused the word "gold" with "six" -- in Arabic the words are phonetically very similar. At the time the Sultan was accused of presumption -- only Mecca had six minarets -- but Ahmed I eventually pacified his critics by financing the construction of a seventh minaret at Mecca.
Expounding truth, and exposing myth, our interviewee for the mosque is Dr Feridun Ozgumus, a Byzantine expert who is able to talk in great depth about both the Sultan Ahmed Mosque and the Hagia Sofia. I should have been smarter about picking interview locations (just too much human traffic) but once we're settled in the interior of the Blue Mosque itself, I feel that the interview becomes far more focussed and intimate. Feridun is extremely open in talking about his faith and what it means to actively worship in this incredible building. He's also kind enough to explain the various rituals involved in the Islamic act of worship. Interview complete, there's just time to snatch some final interior shots before we lose the sunlight. We enjoy a late supper and retire early.

The next day, Sunday, and we spend the morning filming at the Hagia Sofia. The building predates the Sultan Ahmed Mosque by almost a thousand years and yet to my eye, it's the more remarkable of the two buildings -- and this despite extensive scaffolding supporting the main dome.
Perhaps I'm just more accustomed to an ecclesiastical aesthetic - the Hagia Sofia was formerly a basilica before being transformed into a mosque (and now a museum) but somehow the proportions feel more appropriate - and yes, I suppose I've grown used to appreciating something figurative in buildings of worship (there are some exquisite mosaics still left in the first floor gallery, and on the ceiling and above the mihrab).

We spend the morning filming there and hear rather a good story about the scaffolding -- there's a popular rumour that the scaffolding will never be taken away; not because the restoration process is endless, not because it's structurally supporting the roof -- but simply it's a means of preventing any discussion on whether the museum should be returned to a place of worship. It's an engaging theory.
The afternoon and our fabulous fixer, Munir, pulls off something of a coup; he arranges for us to go to the top of the central minaret of the Sultan Ahmed Mosque and take some shots of Istanbul and the Hagia Sofia. It's a real privilege, although once we're gasping for breath on a pitch-black stairway, we feel slightly less grateful. The views though prove worth it -- and when we get our feet back on the ground, we're exhilirated. Finally, there's a dash for the ferry which takes us across to the other side of the Bosphorus - partly to get some shots of the skyline and partly to boast that we've visited Asia.
Prague, Budapest, Istanbul - it's been a sensational experience to film in all of these cities, but on the final morning, the real pressure kicks in… what to buy other halves at the end of a shoot? For a trip like this one, somehow the airport shop just won't do. (Seb Grant)

Filming and fine dining in Mitteleuropa

Sunday February 17 - Tuesday February 19, Prague, Czech Republic
“This would be so perfect,” we agreed, “if one was here on a romantic break.” It was a twilit Sunday evening, an hour or so after landing, and Ian, Seb and I were wandering through the Old Town Square in Prague and marvelling at the extraordinary ancient buildings surrounding us. As it was we there for a shoot for the Judaism film.

Prague’s architecture is multifarious and fascinating. Romanesque, Baroque and Gothic buildings sit cheek-by-jowl with an Art Nouveau part of the city, the ‘Josefov’ area, which is the old Jewish Quarter. And right in the middle of the Josefov area is the Old New Synagogue. It is a wonderful, compact Gothic building from the 13th century and the oldest active synagogue in Europe. Josefov was a Jewish ghetto from the 12th century until 1848, when the Jews were granted permission to move out. By the turn of the century the old ghetto had become a slum and was in such a decrepit state that it had to be completely demolished, bar six synagogues, the old Jewish cemetery, the Ceremonial Hall and the Jewish Town Hall. These buildings now make up the “Jewish Museum” of Prague. They remain proudly in situ in the Jewish Quarter, although they are now somewhat dwarfed by the lofty Art Nouveau buildings that usurped their previous neighbours.
Contrary to what the constant trail of tourists might suggest, the Old New Synagogue is more than an important element of the “Old Jewish Town” tour. It is still an active place of worship and of gathering for Prague’s Orthodox Jewish community. Through filming with our contributor, Jakub Svab, we learnt about the history of the building and equally importantly about how it functions as a synagogue today. A tour guide and the Head of the Synagogue Assembly, Jakub was a great interviewee. He has attended the synagogue since he was a boy, had his Bar Mitzvah there and was married there. From his named seat he was in a more than qualified position to share with us the honour he felt to be worshipping in such an historic structure, but also to reveal the challenges of worshipping in a building put up 700 years ago.
Other highlights of our shoot here seemed to involve spending our limited free time sampling the local gastronomy. On our first evening in Prague, our main course included Czech beer, a whole roast duck for Seb, a gigantic portion of crispy “pork knuckle” for Ian and no less than two marinated chicken breasts for me. That of course was before the traditional selection of dumplings and cabbage. We swiftly learned that starters are not a necessity here.

Wednesday February 20 - Friday February 22, Budapest, Hungary
After two days in Prague we flew to Budapest, where our next location was the Dohany Street Synagogue -- a magnificent, unique synagogue built in the Moorish style, and currently the largest synagogue in Europe.
The sun was shining on our first morning there as we were let into the complex by a friendly maintenance man called Alexander. Alexander, who spoke no English, remained our companion throughout our filming at the synaogue, and by the end of two days we had developed quite an advanced level of dialogue with him, consisting of sign language, smiles and a sprinkling of German. On arrival Alexander let us enter the synagogue from the bimah, the elevated platform at its centre. As we went in all three of our heads craned up in awe. The building is enormous and even in the semi-darkness the structure, the ornamental designs, the patterns and the chandeliers were incredibly impressive. Casually, one by one, Alexander flicked on all the light switches and slowly the synagogue lit up to reveal its full glory.
During our first day of filming general views of the synagogue we decided to see if any of the inhabitants of the nearby high-rise buildings might allow us to film a shot from one of their windows. Several hours of climbing staircases and trying to doorstep slightly suspicious Hungarian homeowners later, we thankfully stumbled across a girl in a travel agent who kindly decided to adopt our top-shot challenge. Seb and I adopted what we hoped were our most charming and innocent facial expressions and without saying a word we followed our kind helper as she went from office to office and house to house, trying to find someone with an appropriate window.
Eventually she left us at a doctor’s surgery. The doctor spoke little English but what he lacked in linguistic finesse he made up for in mesmerising facial hair. He communicated something about his room being busy at the moment but we could get five minutes inside as soon as it became available. For the next twenty minutes Ian and I shared his waiting room with a group of sick Hungarians slightly nonplussed by our pile of kit and general air of expectancy. Occasionally the outside bell rang and I found myself opening the door and pulling apologetic facial expressions to Hungarians who came in and directed questions at me. Just as we were about to give up and seek out an alternative location, the doctor emerged from his room and gave us permission to film. Phew.
Our contributor for the Dohany Street Syagogue was a wonderfully warm and open rabbi called Robert Frolich. Brought up as an Orthodox Jew, Rabbi Frolich was very aware and honest about the varied architectural influences on the building and consequently some Jews’ criticism that the it resembles a church rather than a traditional synagogue. Indeed the Rabbi made it abundantly clear that nothing about the synagogue’s design is typical at all and he explained very interestingly how the church-like structure and Moorish design elements were introduced to make the building more accessible and familiar to a greater number of people. His ethos regarding leading such a large congregation was also surprisingly liberal, revealing that he was quite happy to have his massive congregation chatting amongst themselves during his services, just as long as they were there and happy to be part of the synagogue's community. Indeed, after spending time in that glorious building and with the rabbi it easy to see why they would want to stay that way.
The comedy moment of the Budapest trip would have to be our meal out on the second night. Ian and the Time Out Guide were charged with the task of finding us a choice restaurant at which to sample authentic Hungarian cuisine. We jumped into a taxi to go to our exciting surprise destination. Not only did our taxi smell curiously of wet dog, but our chain-smoking driver spoke as much English as we did Hungarian (none) and had no idea how to find Ian’s restaurant. “Small street” we just about deduced from some choice gestures -- but really his slightly baffled face spoke volumes -- which we finally understood as he pulled up. He dropped us off in Buda (we were staying in Pest), at a restaurant beside some tram tracks in a deserted middle-class suburb.

Outside lights on and tea lights expectantly lit on every table, the restaurant was completely empty. Our waitress spoke no English and simply giggled. At one point in her attempt to communicate mid-giggle she led us to believe we might have teeth in our soup -- until we realised she meant garlic, which of course is tooth-coloured! When our return taxi came to pick us up, we were pleased we’d eaten authentic Hungarian food in a non-touristy restaurant but we were just as happy that two more customers had arrived and our smiley waitress had some other people to giggle with. (Nonie Creagh-Brown)

Taj Mahal? Been there, shot that

Sunday February 17 - Tuesday February 19, Agra, India
"Mehtab Bagh. Mehtab Bagh."

It's golden hour in Agra, India. The hour before sunset so precious to cinematogaphers the world over.

"Mehtab Bagh. Mehtab Bagh."

We're chasing the light, all too aware of the sinking sun. And we're racing in a minibus through streets crammed with tuk-tuks, carts drawn by bullocks, colourful lorries, battered buses and a swarm of motorbikes. Every so often our driver Ramesh leans out of the window demanding directions.

"Mehtab Bagh. Mehtab Bagh."
No-one seems to know how to direct us across the Yamuna river to the gardens with a view of the Taj Mahal at sunset. But somehow we find the bridge, a narrow, two-lane iron structure (with a railway above) built under the Raj and seemingly not mended since. Traffic hurtles towards us as we manoeuvre around anything that presumes to move more slowly than our camera car.

Then, after one wrong turning, there's the sign and then an official at a gate stopping us from taking the car any further. We jump out and hump the gear down to the river bank. Across what at this time of the year is little more than a stream ("you should see it during the monsoon!") is the magnificent mausoleum of the Taj Mahal, with soft sunlight rounding the curves of its white marble.
Truth to tell, we're just a few minutes too late. A glimpse of the Taj's domes from the road had shown them glowing a subtle orange, but now the sun has sunk a touch too low. Nonetheless the sight beats most tourist vistas and cameraman Nandu shoots happily, catching reflections and snatching the red globe as it sinks away.
I arrived in India yesterday morning, travelling on the same flight as Paul Merton. He has come for a 9-week shoot for a Five follow-up to last year's Paul Merton in China. Paul travelled first-class. I didn't. But then again I'm only here for three days.

Having met up with Ramesh, we do the four hour-plus drive to Agra. I was last in India (as a tourist) more than twenty years ago, but India remains India. We stop for a moment and there's a monkey on the car and a man wanting money for a photo. There are beggars at every traffic light, camels on the highway and an unrelenting soundtrack of horns.
Monday morning Ramesh and I drive to Fatephur Sikri, the extraordinary city built by Mughal emperor Akbar in the late sixteenth century and abandoned after only 14 years. We meet our Indian crew, Nandu and Subu, and scope out the vast mosque here -- which is one part of the story I've come to shoot. The only frustration is that because a previous crew damaged the building in some way we're not allowed to use a tripod inside the courtyard. We try persuasion, tricks when we think the guards are not looking, as well as other means, but we have to make do with the camera on the ground, on ledges and Nandu's steady shoulder.
Another problem is that our contributor, a cultural historian who was to talk with us about the Taj Mahal, has had a bereavement in her family, and so we have to to find a replacement in Agra in the next few hours. The resourceful Ramesh makes it happen.
That evening there's the frantic drive to Mehtab Bagh and next morning we're at the Taj Mahal main entrance at 8am. What of course you never see in documentaries is the palaver of getting past security, especially if you have camera equipment. There are soldiers with guns everywhere. The kit is subjected to a detailed scrutiny and we, like every other visitor, are patted down for concealed weapons. The process, like so much in India, is both rigorous and ramshackle.

Inside, jostling with the crowds, there's an intensity to the way everyone needs to have their picture taken with the Taj. And there is perceived to be one perfect spot, dead centre, for which people constantly compete and for which -- when we manage to manoeuvre the tripod there -- we receive disapproving looks and not-so-subtle shoulder barges.
Filming is permitted only from a single wide platform just inside the entrance to the garden. Our two minders make sure we don't trespass any further forward, and then when we start the interview, we're only one question in before one of them challenges our permit. "No casting," it states on page three of the form but, the minder says, the interviewee is "casting". No, no, we all argue, "casting" refers to drama shoots. My plea that I have flown thousands of miles for this moment makes little impact, at least until Ramesh takes him away for a quiet word and an understanding between them. We film the interview.
Despite all this, the mausoleum -- completed around 1648 by emperor Shah Jahan in memory of cherished wife Mumtaz Mahal -- is a magnificent sight. Serene, glowing, glorious. Looking at it, staring at it on our monitor, and then walking around (beyond where the camera can go), none of the minor hassles mean a thing. It is, simply, a sublime achievement of faith and beauty. (John Wyver)