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)

"The protean shapes of faith"

Thursday, February 28, London
Seb, Ian and Nonie have returned from a filming trip to Prague, Budapest and, as one of Ian's fine photos illustrates, Istanbul. We will post from each of these locations in the next few days, but meanwhile here are some wise words about travel from Colin Thubron, from his recent (and excellent) Shadow of the Silk Road:

Sometimes a journey arises out of hope and instinct, the heady conviction, as your finger travels along the map: Yes, here and here... and here. These are the nerve-ends of the world...
A hundred reasons clamour for your going. You go to touch on human identities, to people an empty map. You have a notion that this is the world's heart. You go to encounter the protean shapes of faith. You go because you are still young and crave excitement, the crunch of your boots in the dust; you go because you are old and need to understand something before it's too late. You go to see what will happen.

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)

"As perfect as the purest conceptions of the greatest workers in stone"

Saturday February 2 - Monday February 4, Tunisia

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do"
and
“I appreciate you’re in a hurry, but you’ll just have to come back after the weekend and collect it all then”

In my lexicon of phrases-to-fret-about these two refrains have a top-five placing – particularly when in the first instance they relate to lost filming-tapes, and secondly, to our impounded camera equipment.

It’s Saturday afternoon at Tunis Airport, and cameraman Ian Serfontein and I have arrived in Tunisia to film at Kairouan, a modestly-sized town 200 kilometers south of the capital. Widely acknowledged as the fourth most important Islamic city in the world (after Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem), Kairouan is home to one of the earliest architectural marvels of the Islamic faith, a mosque whose foundations go back to the 7th century.
Writing in 1889, the great French novelist Guy de Maupassant said of the site

"I know of three religious buildings in the world that have given me the unexpected and shattering emotion that was aroused in me by this barbaric and astonishing monument: Mont Saint-Michel, Saint Mark's in Venice, and the Palatine Chapel in Palermo. These three are reasoned, studied, and admirable work of great architects sure of their effects, pious of course, but artistic first, inspired as much or more by their love of line, of form, and of decoration, as by their love of God. But at Kairouan it is something else. A race of fanatics, nomads scarcely able to build walls, coming to a land covered with ruins left by their predecessors, picked up here and there whatever seemed most beautiful to them, and, in their own turn, with these debris all of one style and order, raised, under the guidance of heaven, a dwelling for their God, made of pieces torn from crumbling towns, but as perfect as the purest conceptions of the greatest workers in stone."

But neither my limited charm nor great French texts can move the customs officials. Our equipment remains captive.

Fortunately, help is at hand. The ominous sounding – but incredibly helpful – TECA (Tunisian External Communication Agency) smooths our passage; tapes are found, equipment is released, and we find ourselves in the company of Adel, our fixer for the next 24 hours.

We’re soon on the road – with our driver, Mohammed - and within minutes, Adel and I are engrossed in discussing Islam and Christianity. Adel tells me that a few months previously, a Swedish producer had come out for a few days filming with him, and had returned home a confirmed Muslim. I can’t claim impartiality, but as a committed Christian I’m delighted to be learning more about Islam and keen to exchange texts and world-views. The debate goes on and on and on.

A pause in the theological discussion is offered by a road-side stop, featuring delicious, freshly grilled lamb and local breads. Adel tells me that it’s not unusual for Tunisians to eat lamb three or four times a week. I’m overtaken with envy. Finally, we arrive at our hotel at about 10 am.
The next day and we’re up at 6am to film the sun-rise. Early morning fog frustrates our efforts but we do see the Mosque for the first time. It’s a sensational building -- elegant, straightforward, and possessed of immaculate scale and geometry. 145 metres long and 80 metres wide, the walls enclose a serene courtyard, bordered my arcades. At one end of the courtyard is the prayer hall and at the other is a single three-storey minaret.

Because neither Ian nor I are Muslims, we are unable to film within the prayer hall but our friends at TECA have kindly arranged for a cameraman from Tunis to drive down and help us out – I’m yet to see the rushes but I’m hoping that Ahmed will have captured the large wooden minbar (apparently, the oldest in existence, and dated at 862-63 CE) and the stunning mihrab – decorated with tiles, specially imported from Iraq.

After a couple of hours, Ahmed returns to Tunis and Ian and I are left to film the courtyard, exterior details and some further shots of Kairouan. It’s a memorable first day and that evening we enjoy another lamb dinner before retiring to bed early.
A brighter morning on Monday means that we film a beautiful sunrise over the minaret and then drive to the offices of Mourad Rammah, the conservateur de la Medina de Kairouan. Rammah will be our chief interviewee and proves a most charming, relaxed and enthusiastic host. Having travelled extensively to all of the key Islamic sites around the world he is able to contextualise Kairouan and talk with great authority and passion about why the building is so remarkable. Rammah speaks in good jargon-free French and then persuades the authorities to allow us to film at the top of the minaret – it’s quite a coup.
Above all, Rammah talks in straightforward terms about the design of the mosque – how the builders incorporated Roman and Christian ruins into the stone-work, how the minaret could double as a fortification, how the courtyard is graded to collect water, why there are so many columns in the prayer hall -- the focus should not be on the Imam. Without any sort of recce, it’s always a great relief to find such a good contributor and we film with Rammah until 2pm.

A late lunch and a further interview accomplished we drive out of town to capture a final sunset over Kairouan. The only sadness of the trip is, over another dinner of excellent lamb, watching Tunisia crash out of the African Cup of Nations, losing to Cameroon 3-2 in extra-time. Ian and I triy to console our hosts with England’s loss against Wales in the Six Nations. (Seb Grant)

Art Nouveau and the art of Gothic

Tuesday January 29 - Friday February 1, Paris and Chartres, France

Our France shoot -- to film the Art Nouveau synagogue of Agoudas Hakehilos in Paris and then the cathedral at Chartres -- started smoothly… but swiftly descended into an irksome farce. This was a bit of a portent of what was to follow over the next couple of days!
The early morning sky was clear and full of wintery promise when Ian Serfontein and I met at the bright and breezy time of 6 am at London St Pancras. We carefully loaded the camera kit onto our trolley and strolled purposely towards our Eurostar set for Paris, confidently navigating our way through the throngs of our dawdling fellow passengers.

It wasn’t long before we understood their slightly hesitant behaviour – a computer error had swapped all the numbers of the carriages around, and no one knew which was their carriage. After wheeling the kit up and down the concourse more than once, we eventually plumped for a carriage which we calculated must be number 12 (even though it said it was number 5). A bit of reading and a doze later and we woke up in France.

Our first impressions of the exterior of Agoudas Hakehilos, or Synagogue Rue Pavée, were good. In the still largely Jewish area of Le Marais in Paris, it is a modest, tall and thin building, designed by Paris’ herald of Art Nouveau architecture Hector Guimard. The synagogue is still a very active place of worship, and the centre for all Orthodox Jews in Paris. Entering the interior of the synagogue however brought both visual and cultural surprises.
Despite some knowledge of Orthodox Judaism it was still difficult not to feel a little bit taken aback by my first meeting with my main contact at the building, the President of the synagogue, Daniel Altmann. He extended his hand to shake Ian’s, but because of my gender he could not take mine, and initially he barely looked at me.

It was however a real privilege to be able to be allowed to see inside the synagogue, which is usually out of bounds to the public. The design and furnishings are intricate and lovingly formed creations by Hector Guimard. It is amazing to contemplate the amount of time it must have taken him to create the synagogue and to recognise how proud he must have felt to have authored every single detail of it – even the keyhole plates are in the Art Nouveau style!
Commissioned and funded by the Agoudas Hakehilos society, which was made up of Orthodox Jews of primarily Russian origin, the building is testament both to their arrival in France at the beginning of the twentieth century and also to their intention to make Paris their permanent home. Daniel Altmann talked with pride about how the community came to have their synagogue built by Guimard. By choosing the most eminent contemporary French architect the society created for themselves a building to be proud of and signalled their intention to become an important part of France’s and future.

Our departure from Paris proved as challenging as our arrival. We planned to catch a taxi to our hire car and to whiz over to Chartres in time for an early aperitif, but this was dashed when we learnt that the pesky Parisian taxi drivers had decided to strike that afternoon and blockade the city.

In Chartres our first day was occupied with filming general views in The Cathedral of Our Lady of Chartres, and the time was enjoyable and relatively straightforward. This impressive example of Gothic architecture is genuinely awe-inspiring and we were relieved that the previous night’s rain had cleared and a bright blue sky illuminated the stained glass windows within the cavernous and fairly dark interior. We also had a good amount of time to play around with our Wally Dolly – a small trolley on tracks which allows Ian to glide the camera through objects on location. Gothic artistry and big pillars make fantastic foregrounds for gloriously coloured stained-glass window backdrops.
Day two began with an early morning canonical mass in the Cathedral. This was a small gathering, but an important way to demonstrate that although sometimes it is hard to tell, this historic building is more than just a tourist site and is still a functioning place of living worship.

The rest of our day was spent interviewing Rudy Moriniere, who is in charge of the care and restoration of various elements of the cathedral, including the Triforium (upper gallery) and the Crypt. My interview with Rudy was supposed to only take an hour or two and in the end took over five hours to complete. We were constantly interrupted by the eruption of drilling, hammering and banging. The otherwise helpful Tourist Office and Centre of National Monuments had conveniently failed to tell us that one side of the cathedral was actually being restored in these months. Consequently, despite Rudy’s valiant attempts to influence those workers whom he knew to stop work for ten minutes or so, just as a favour to him, and our attempts to wait for silence in their lunch break (only to discover different groups broke for lunch at different times) we were repeatedly interrupted by noise. After we had returned from our first break to wait for silence and we had persuaded some stained-glass window restorers to pause their work for us, it was tempting to throw ourselves off the Triforium in despair when the organist arrived and started practising his scales. "Oh yes, here is the organist now! He has come to practise. He is usually here for two, or two and a half hours," chirruped our translator cheerfully.
Our perseverance, however, was worthwhile to get a glimpse of what this great building meant to Rudy. He shared his privileged access to the Triforium with us and his excitement was clear when he got up close to the columns and pointed out traces of medieval red and ochre paint, or speculated on all the legions of workmen who had come into contact with the same walls before him. Having been a timid youth, Rudy revealed the power of this building on atheists as well as Christians, explaining that his new adult self-confidence is a result of working within the walls of the Cathedral – he really feels that the majestic spirit of the building has emboldened and changed him.

After concluding our interview, while eating a traditional Chartres macaroon and taking a final tour of this incredible cathedral, all memories of annoying building works were forgotten. Soon it was time to head back to Paris for a last delicious French supper, before returning to the UK… taxi strikes and erroneous carriage numbering notwithstanding. (Nonie Creagh-Brown)

An early test edit

Wednesday January 31, London

Two days editing with Holly, one of the two editors we'll work with later, and we've assembled a rough, seven and a half minute sequences from the St Mary Redcliffe rushes. It's very raw but it's not bad -- and it's an immensely useful lesson for the filming to come.
Father Simon's interview feels very strong (we'll be lucky if we find many contributors as good as him) and some of the shots look great. Also, the footage of worship in the church feels very welcome. But we don't use the jib shots as much as we thought we might -- trying to put the interview as the soundtrack to these feels somehow wrong -- and Holly is concerned about whether we have enough static shots of the interior. Note to everyone not to neglect these in the buildings to come.

Plus the assembly reveals that you really have to work carefully to establish on the screen the space, the layout, the basic configuration of a building. Not that we ever thought it was, but filming architecture is far from trivial. (John Wyver)

"The goodliest parish church in England"

Sunday January 27, Bristol, England

In fact what Queen Elizabeth I is supposed to have said, when she came on a visit in 1574, was that she thought St Mary Redcliffe "the fairest, goodliest and most famous parish church in England". We've chosen it as a representative of the glories of the English parish church. Glorious it certainly is, with the second (or third, depending on which architectural historian you believe) highest spire in the country and a soaring nave into which light streams from lofty windows. All over the church there are astonishing details: a porch built in an oriental style; a roof with more than a thousand stone bosses, each one individually designed; 15th century tombs; and connections through history with Handel, Hogarth and the boy poet Thomas Chatterton, who committed suicide in London at the age of seventeen.

We have Saturday to film the church, and this is the first day that we put the camera on a jib arm. This really smart piece of equipment allows us to raise the camera up to about 12 feet above the ground and also to swing it (carefully!) in arcs and circles. At one point director of photography Ian Serfontein and I discover that we do a 360-degree shot about which we get boyishly excited. The downside of the jib is that it takes a long time to set up and is tricky to manipulate, but we have the luxury of two full filming days here, and it unquestionably helps bring out the "goodliest" qualities of the interior.

On Sunday we film, as unobtrusively as we can, the 9.30am Sung Eucharist. Afterwards we shoot exteriors and many more details of the architecture before spending the afternoon with Revd Dr Simon Taylor who takes us around the church and speaks (beautifully!) about his sense of worshipping in such an architectural masterpiece. We are also graced on Sunday with a clear blue sky, and our only frustration is that we can't talk our way into a building site across from the church to take some shots from the balcony of a new block of offices. "Sorry, mate, more than my job's worth…"

The highlight of the two days is a boat trip on the local ferry that takes tourists and commuters around the Bristol docks. We want some shots of St Mary from the water to bring out its historical connections with the docks and trade. As we walk down to the boat stop at Saturday lunchtime the disappointing grey sky of the morning begins to break up and blue patches to shine through. By the time we're shooting, and despite the bitter cold, the sky looks glorious and the spire of St Mary is magnificent. Inevitably, as everywhere, people want to know what we're filming. "A series about architecture and faith," we explain, "for Sky Arts." Sometimes the response is a disappointed, "Oh we don't have Sky" but an older couple on the boat promise to look out for the programme. "We really enjoyed your programmes on the National Trust," they say. So we should be able to count on two viewers. (John Wyver)

First thoughts from abroad

Monday January 21, New York and Philadelphia

The night before the series’ first shoot, at Central Synagogue in New York, apocalyptic blizzard warnings were being broadcast on the news, the radio and across the internet. The warnings informed us that travel was not recommended, ‘IF YOU MUST...KEEP AN EXTRA FLASHLIGHT... FOOD... AND WATER IN YOUR VEHICLE IN CASE OF AN EMERGENCY.’
So it was with trepidation that woke up on the morning of the shoot and with relief that I drew the curtain to see a snow-free, dismal and grey day outside. Day One of filming at Central Synagogue was glorious… a whole day of just myself and our cameraman Ross Keith at liberty in the Sanctuary. We were somewhat amazed - and grateful - to be allowed hours on end let loose inside this historic building with our camera.
On the second day we were joined by John, our soundman, for the shoot and the main purpose of the day was to interview the Senior Rabbi, Rabbi Rubinstein. Rabbi Rubinstein is a man whose name Major Giuliani made synonymous with ‘Hope’ after the Synagogue burned down in 1998 and was restored under his watchful eye, then rededicated just two days before the 9/11 atrocities. The Rabbi was excellent at telling us not only about the history of the Synagogue, but also about the decisions that he had had to take about keeping the restoration true to the old design, whilst also bringing it in line with worship in the twenty-first century, and simultaneously trying to future-proof it for centuries to come…
Days Three and Four of the US shoot were spent in Frank Lloyd Wright’s final architectural gem, the Beth Sholom Synagogue in Elkins Park, a suburb of Philadelphia. This incredible building was designed to look like a glowing Mount Sinai and we’d heard much about how its appearance changed in different light and weather conditions. A really early start found us in position at 06.50 and ready to film the sun rise over the Synagogue. We were both happy and surprised to be present for the arrival of a crisp but beautifully sunny day. The effects of the sunlight on the outside of the building just about outweighed the frosty cold of a Philadelphian winter morning.
Our next day and a half was spent filming the awesome building – arresting both in its exterior and interior - whilst also marvelling at some of the impractical design elements that Lloyd Wright has prescribed for the Synagogue. The entire Sanctuary, for example, (which seats over 1000 people, so isn’t small) is carpeted in light sand-coloured carpet, to represent the desert of Sinai. Conceptually great, but not so convenient for the Synagogue which has to clean it regularly and replace it every couple of years!

We also filmed an interesting early morning Torah reading, with a surprisingly full congregation for 7.20am and a very diverse congregation. This service was overseen by the Senior Rabbi Glanzberg-Krainin who also gave us a fascinating tour of the Sanctuary and an insight into how it works on a day-to-day basis as a place of worship.
By the end of our stay in Philly we’d not only had a thoroughly enjoyable time at Beth Sholom, but we’d also had two tremendous and memorable breakfasts at a roadside diner we discovered. Who could resist our irrepressibly smiley waitress, Frahanna (which she told us means ‘Happy’ in Arabic), when she insisted we tried the Southern speciality of ‘grits’? Grits is a cornmeal dish, a bit like slushy white polenta and surprisingly, we found ourselves enjoying it. In Philly the snow also caught up with us, but luckily just as we were getting our final shots and about to drive off into the speckley distance and back to New York. (Nonie Creagh-Brown)

So just how worried are we?

Thursday January 10, Islington, north London

As well as recces, there is a pile of other preparations to make: visas and hotels, pinning down access to places and finding contributors, arranging insurance and equipment, pulling in other members of the production team. At present we are planning to film in the UK, USA, France, Spain, Italy, Poland, Hungary, Turkey, Russia, Egypt, Tunisia, Israel, Syria, Iran, India and Singapore, all before Easter.

We negotiated access to most of our sacred sites before Christmas, but there are one or two late choices still to pin down and inevitably problems come up with one or two of those that we thought were fine. St Basil's Cathedral on Red Square in Moscow begins to look flakey because, our local fixer explains, of the forthcoming elections in Russia. And then we run into difficulties for filming at the Chapel of our Lady of Rosary in Vence.

We hoped to finish the Christianity film at the exquisite chapel designed and decorated by Henri Matisse for a house of Dominican sisters near Nice. The convent itself is welcoming and the Matisse estate give permission but it proves impossible to work out an appropriate and affordable arrangement for rights and permissions with DACS, the copyright society that collects reproduction fees for artists.

To date, losing the Matisse chapel is our only disappointment in the planned schedule. Even so, the logistics at this stage feel a touch overwhelming. To better prepare ourselves, we watch together some films that have touched on this territory before. There can be something quite consoling about a collective viewing of someone else's documentary about the subject you're working on, especially if it was made a few years ago. Apart from anything else, you can make a note of the spectacular shots which work and promise yourself and your colleagues that you can do better than the rest of what's on the screen.

We look at parts of the series "Heaven on Earth", six half-hour programmes made with the presenter Christy Kenneally by Tile Films in 2003 and at Wag TV's "Divine Designs" series with Cambridge academic Paul Binski. Both series visit two or three of our sites, although they treat them far more as places of architectural interest than as contexts for religious belief today.

Another reference point is the recent David Dimbleby series "How We Built Britain". Among the things we take from this is that a seemingly limitless budget for helicopter shots in a wondrous thing and that buildings look a hundred times better in sunlight framed against a blue sky dotted with white clouds. We of course are filming not at the height of summer in most of countries but in the winter months with a light that will be pale, grey and even. One more thing to worry about. (John Wyver)

Tomorrow the world, but today… Woking

Friday January 4, Woking, England

If you are setting out to make three ambitious documentaries about art, architecture and faith, with HD filming in sixteen countries, where else to begin but Woking? At least that's where Nonie Creagh-Brown and I go a couple of days after New Year to Britain's first purpose-built mosque.

Surrounded by an indisutrial estate on the edge of Woking is the Shah Jahan Mosque which was built as part of Wilhelm Leitner's Oriental Institute in 1889. As the mosque's website explains, "The purpose of the Institute was to enable visiting dignitaries from India to stay and study in culturally sympathetic surroundings. It also enabled Europeans being posted to India to learn the language and culture." It's an entirely surprising and beautiful building in the strangest of surroundings, but importantly it remains today an active centre for Islamic worship and study.

The Shah Jahan Mosque is one of 27 buildings that we have chosen to feature in a series of three films about the art and architecture of the Abrahamic faiths: Judaism, Christianity and Islam. We're setting out to explore the cultural riches of these traditions but also to attempt to understand aspects of these faiths in the world today. So we want to see the sacred buildings not only as architectural wonders but also as places of lived faith. At each site we hope to find a contributor to the films who can tell us about the history and art but also about what the church or mosque or synagogue means to them in their life.

Our recce on a dismal, rainy Friday afternoon goes well, and we agree to return early in March to film. We will not have the luxury of visiting in advance the locations where we're filming abroad, so in early January we use trips to Bristol, to Brick Lane and the City of London, and to Cheadle in Staffordshire to think through not only the specific possibilities (and challenges) of these places but also how we are going to approach shooting in general. (John Wyver)