Europe
By Beryl Darrah
WEDNESDAY 7 June 1995
How did all of this get started anyway? A trip to Europe would be
nice--but. Sure I told Sebastian that I would come to Germany to
see him, but wasn't I just being polite? Too polite, I guess,
because I already had my ticket and I was headed for Germany. I
had wanted make the trip ever since Sebastian left, but it never seemed
possible. Mainly, there was Abby to take care of. I felt
that I couldn't go off and leave her home. Then there was the
issue of money. But that could be worked out. Then there
was the problem of simply doing it.
At some point I seemed to definitely make up my mind and from then on,
there were few thoughts of ever turning back. Well, maybe after
Cindy Welborn, my travel agent, told me it would cost over one thousand
dollars. That's a lot of money. But after she called and
told me that she could get me a ticket for $750, the course was
set. Replacing my expired passport was the next problem. I
picked up application forms at the main post office in Topeka on a
rainy Saturday morning, although nobody was there to process the
application. So the next Saturday morning, I took my photos
(courtesy of Kinkos), my TWO birth certificates, my checkbook (for the
$60 fee), and my expired passport to the Gage Center Post Office to
file for my passport. It turned out that the most important thing
I had with me that morning was my expired passport. Neither
of my two birth certificates were acceptable. (I don't know why
they were accepted when I got my passport thirty years ago.) Then
there was the matter of getting an International Drivers License and a
Youth Hostel Card. With a little time and money, both of these
were a formality. Driver license from the AAA in Topeka, and a
Youth Hostel card from somewhere in Washington D. C.
So here we are getting ready to leave on Wednesday, 7 June. I
spent a minimum of time packing a large suitcase and two smaller bags
that I bought especially for this trip. My main concern was going
off and leaving Abby. Last night I sat down and started typing a
list of things I wanted Brett and Heather to do for her while I
was gone. But on this night when I sat down to finish the list,
the computer would not boot up. This did wonders for my
disposition and for my peace of mind. But I was too far into this
to back out now.
Brett Watson and Heather Michalk showed up late to stay all night and
to take me to the airport on Wednesday morning. They were tired
and not terribly concerned about my concerns. "Yeah, yeah."
"O.K." "Don't worry" Then they were off to bed, while I
spent a few minutes talking to Abby---who I suspect had some suspicion
that something bad was about to happen.
I got up at 0630 and did some last minute packing. I woke Brett
and Heather up at 0800. Heather left almost immediately because
she had to go to work. Around 0900 Brett and I left for KCI in my
pickup (so Brett could swing through Lawrence and pick up some stuff
for his dad) and got there about 10:15. There would be
plenty of time, however, because the plane was about an hour behind
schedule, and instead of taking off at 11:30, it was 12:30 before we
actually left. I told Brett to go on. There was nothing he
could do hanging around the airport.
I had a window seat from Kansas City to Newark, although there was very
little to see during the three hour flight. We landed in Newark
around 3:30 (CST), but it was 4:30 local time, which cut the waiting
time down to three and a half hours instead of the four and a half that
I had anticipated. It all went pretty well, much faster that I
had imagined. I read my book, The Other Mrs. Kennedy, worked a
crossword puzzle in Country Weekly magazine, and walked around until
the plane was ready to take off.
The plane was delayed for about 30 minutes because the front windshield
in the plane had to be replaced. Most of the passengers sat and
watched them do the repair work right outside the window of the waiting
area. That's just what everyone wanted to see---an airplane with
defective windshields.
The airplane, a DC-40, was large----two seats by each window and five
seats across the center. I had a right aisle seat in the
center. The flight, on Continental Airlines, was fairly
uneventful----just terribly long. About seven hours, in
fact. I couldn't do any visiting with my neighbors, because they
were Germans returning home from a trip to the U.S. The
plane was booked full: Germans returning home and a large tour
group traveling with Holiday Tours. I think the German group must
have been on a tour, too, because most of the people seemed to know
each other. But between reading, sleeping, eating, watching a
movie (Boys on the Side), and watching the screen that showed time,
altitude, temperature, speed, departure and arrival times, time
elapsed, etc, along with a map charting the plane's progress, we
finally arrived in Germany. One of the really weird things about
the flight was the amount of darkness that we had. Since we were
flying east, it got dark almost immediately, but the sun started coming
up again around 0200 (CST) which I kept my watch set on until I arrived
in Germany. Sleeping was almost impossible. A snack was
served shortly after the plane took off. Dinner was served at
10:00; the movie started at midnight; another snack (maybe it was
breakfast) was served around 0400. This is not to mention the
fact that my seat would only recline back partway and that the noise
level was pretty high, and people were constantly climbing over
me to get to the restroom.
All in all, it was a good flight and we were well cared for. I
guess they can't help it if it takes seven hours to fly across the
Atlantic Ocean. The German people who sat in the same row as I
did were nice, too, even though we were not able to talk to each
other. And I am sure that they couldn't help the fact they had to
go the restroom every half hour.
THURSDAY, 8 June 1995
After seven hours in the air, around 11:00 German time, the plane
landed at the Frankfurt Airport. The airport at Frankfurt is very
large and busy (the second largest in Europe and the largest on the
European mainland)---maybe not as busy as O'Hare Field in Chicago or
Los Angeles International, but nevertheless it is a huge and confusing
place, built on multiple levels. By following the crowd and by
reading the English "sub-titles", I was able to make my way through the
passport checkpoint and the customs check. Although I was a
little worried about each of them, neither of them was any big
deal. Both of them seemed to be a routine formality. This
was a big relief. The next question was, "Where do I find
Sebastian?" Again, I followed the crowd and the arrows, and to my
relief, there he was waiting as soon as I opened the door to the
airport waiting room.
What a welcome sight! He looked just like I remembered him.
His parents were there, too, and I met them for the first time.
Strange. Sebastian and his parents. I had wondered for two
years what they looked like (even though I had seen pictures of them)
and how Sebastian would look with them. Sebastian's parents had
always seemed very abstract to me, and now here we were together.
They turned out to be very nice people. They didn't say much
during the ride to Gottingen, Sebastian's home town, mostly, I suspect,
because they were afraid to try their English. But, just as I had
expected both of them are very nice, intelligent, and hospitable people.
After finding our way out of the airport and to the parking garage
where the car, a grey Peugeot, was parked, we began the two hour drive
north to Gottingen. This was my first taste of Germany and I
could tell immediately that this was not Kansas. Even though we
were on a busy four-lane highway, driving on the right hand side of the
road; even though there were modern cars and trucks speeding along, the
difference was apparent. Villages with red tile roofs dotted the
countryside---not just every ten or fifteen miles, but
everywhere. Church steeples replaced grain elevators and water
towers as the focal points of these villages. And, then there
were the signs, written in a language I didn't understand. Yes, I
was finally in Germany.
Sebastian’s home is located on Hauptstr., a busy street leading into
Gottingen from the south. In terms of busy streets in the U. S.,
it is very narrow and quite winding. Sebastian's apartment house
is located on the west side of Hapupstr., sort of on the southwest
corner of another intersecting street. It is covered with yellow
stucco, like countless other buildings in Germany. The garage for
their car is located across Hauptstr., almost directly across from
their house.
I guess to my surprise, their apartment looked much like any home in
the U. S. Up one flight of stairs, to the left, the door
opened into a sort of foyer or entryway. To the right were two
doors. One led into the bathroom, and the other led into the
kitchen/dining room area. Off that area to the west was
Sebastian's parents' bedroom. Straight ahead was a balcony that
overlooked the street below. Around the corner to the left from
the entryway was Sebastian's bedroom. Its north windows open to
the street which runs east-west past their house and connects with
Hauptstr. It is a fairly large room with his bed and closet;
stereo equipment; book shelves; and some painting equipment. Back
to the entryway, slightly to the right and through another door is the
living room with the guest room off to the south. Throughout the
house, there are many interesting art objects, pictures, souvenirs, and
memorabilia. In fact, I felt quite at home because it reminded me
a lot of my own house. I slept in the guest room, whose east
window opened onto the busy Hauptstr. The house was friendly and
hospitable; able to be lived in and enjoyed. I hoped that
Sebastian had found mine to be similar.
In the afternoon, Sebastian and I caught a ride downtown with his
parents to a large public square. Since Sebastian had sent me
some slides of his hometown earlier, I was not totally surprised by
what I encountered. But it was strange seeing everything written
in German and having no idea of what the buildings were, except for
what I could figure out by looking in the windows. I was also
struck by the design of many of the buildings---large cross timbers
which seemed to form a sort of grid, filled in with yellow or colored
stucco. It all appeared to be very quaint, almost transporting me
back to another day and age long ago.
As we walked along, I looked at the bakeries, the banks, the book
stores, the music stores, and the sidewalk cafes. Especially the
bakeries and the sidewalk cafes. Those were what gave the town
its initial distinctive look, its European look, and a certain charm
that does not exist in U. S. cities of this size. I felt vaguely
out of place in this exotic setting. We looked at churches that
were built before the American continent was even discovered. We
walked though the narrow brick and cobblestone streets as I snapped a
few pictures of the modern day scenes being played on the time worn
stage in front of me.
I wanted to go inside some of the old churches, built between 1300 and
1700, but none of them were open. I changed some money in one of
the local banks---$120 for 160 DM. We sat in a sidewalk cafe and
drank some cappuccino and ate some ice cream before catching a bus back
to Sebastian's house.
That evening for dinner I was able to choose from a large (to me, at
least) assortment of cheese, a variety of sliced meat, and bread.
Not just bread, but LOTS of bread. And good bread. I
decided then that I could probably survive most of my stay in Europe
eating just bread. And, of course, there was beer---German
beer. Normally, this is not part of my meal, but in Germany beer
and wine seem to be served as an integral part of the meal. The
meal was good, it was filling, and it was an indication of many more
meals to follow.
During supper we (well, Sebastian and his parents) talked about Paris
and what to see while we were there. After we had eaten, we drove
to a park in what I think was the west part of Gottingen and took a
stroll around a large lake. The temperature was starting to cool
off and the sun was starting to sink in the west, although it would be
another hour or so before the sun would actually set in the west.
Because Gottingen in further north than Valley Falls, darkness did not
truly set in until well after ten o'clock, just another one of those
odd things that made life interesting.
Back home, we went into Sebastian's room where we watched
Sebastian's pictures of his trip to Africa and his climb up Mt.
Kilimanjaro. Unfortunately, I don't seem to recall much about
them. I was tired; I felt beat. I think I fell asleep
almost as soon as the lights were turned out. Ten o'clock was
bedtime, and after 36 hours, more or less, with no sleep, it was a
welcome time of the day.
FRIDAY 9 June 1995
I woke up around 8:00 to my first full day in Gottingen.
And this was a big day in Sebastian's life: his high school
graduation day. I don't know about him, but I was pretty excited
about it and looked forward to attending, although I knew I wouldn't
understand much of what was going on. Sometime in mid
morning, we walked the 10 or 12 minute walk to the high school
for the ceremony. Judging by the many graduations I have attended
in the U. S., I was expecting to go to the gym to sit with several
hundred other people straining to hear what was going on while
dozens of little kids ran up and down the bleachers, and parents and
relatives clomped in and out in a steady stream going to and from the
rest rooms.
But, to my surprise, the ceremony was held in the lunch room, with
seemingly only the parents in attendance. There were very few
kids around, and those who were there sat silent and unnoticed.
After some remarks by the superintendent of schools and several
songs---all in English---and a few short speeches by some students,
diplomas were presented to the graduating class by their mentors
(or advisors). Thus, small groups of students came to the front
to be recognized and also presented with a small gift. There were
no caps and gowns, no lengthy speeches, no movies of baby pictures, no
Pomp and Circumstance. Although the proceedings lasted for more
than an hour, it all appeared to be dignified, yet quite
informal. I suppose the part that I liked the most was the
dignity of the event. No crying babies, no kids running around,
no relatives walking in and out. A short reception followed the
graduation exercise at which (real) champagne was served. This
was my first clue to even more surprising things to come later that
evening.
In the afternoon, after lunch, we drove to a village about 12 miles
from Gottingen to explore an ancient castle.
We walked about a quarter mile up a path, past an old church with sheep
grazing in the yard, to the massive stone fortress built around 1000
A.D. and added onto in 1200 A.D. Currently under renovation, the
major part of it was still as it was hundreds of years ago. We
walked up narrow, winding stairways to look at the towers with narrow
slots used for weapons. From the top floor, we looked out around
the surrounding country side. More villages with the ever present
steeples lay nestled in the peaceful fields and thick green
forests shaped the landscape stretching to the horizon.
From this vantage point, we could see the path which has been carved
through the forests and the farmland by the Communists to separate West
Germany from East Germany. For two or three decades strands of
barbed wire lined this dividing line creating a barrier that divided a
nation. Guard towers and land mines made the barrier
impenetrable, making a few feet of ground as distant as a different
world. But all of that is gone now, and in time, nature will
gradually erase any visible reminder of these man-made obstacles.
On the way back to Sebastian's house, we stopped in a nearby village so
Sebastian's dad could leave his bicycle at a friend's house. On
Saturday, he would participate in a 219 km bike race.---that's
about 175 miles and that's a long ways.
After we got back to Sebastian's house, we took a bus downtown and
walked around what used to be the "old city". This walk consisted
mainly of following portions of the old wall that used to surround the
city. Along the way, we past the building where Bismarck, the
Iron Chancellor, lived when he was student at Gottingen University,
where our walk eventually led us. Sebastian explained that most
universities are dedicated to teaching only a few subjects, unlike
universities in the United States where students are offered a wide
range of academic and vocational opportunities. Gottingen
University specializes in the teaching of mathematics and science to a
student population of approximately 30,000, a number slightly larger
than the University of Kansas. In contrast to K. U., where the
entire university is concentrated on a "campus", the University of
Gottingen is located in buildings spread around the city. We did,
however, walk though a gate which was the historic entrance to the
University and looked briefly at the university library before leaving
the campus.
We walked around the streets of the city some more, past the
mini-skyscraper city hall building, through the downtown area to the
statue of the Goose Maiden in front of the old city hall building,
where several punks with hair dyed in bright red, blue, purple, green,
etc. were hanging out. I wanted to take a picture of them, but
not wanting to stir up any sort of trouble, I decided not to. We
again checked out a couple of the old churches, but again they were
closed. One of our last stops was at the train
station---actually, I think we were looking for a rest room.
After walking up to the loading platform to see a couple of the
modern, high-speed electric trains arrive and depart, we stopped and
drank coffee in one of the many sidewalk cafes.
One fashion statement definitely in vogue with German women is red
hair. There can't be that many natural red haired women
concentrated on one spot on the earth. This leads to the
inescapable conclusion that red hair dye must be a hot item in Germany
these days. I was fooled at first, but upon closer (but subtle)
examination, it became apparent that much of the red hair is merely
fashion and not a natural phenomenon.
After supper, we went to Sebastian's graduation party. It was
unlike anything that I have experienced, very German---or maybe very
European---and interesting, to say the least. I arrived with
Sebastian's parents as the party was beginning to get underway.
We were seated with some of their friends---actually the parents of
Nicholas Hartmann. A four piece jazz band---a very good jazz
band---was furnishing the entertainment for the adults as they sat at
tables in the school cafeteria. Most of the students were in the
hallway listening to recorded music. Sebastian's parents soon
left to visit other friends and to mingle with the crowd and I was left
at the table alone with Nicholas's parents and kid sister. It was
awkward at first, but when they discovered that I could actually
understand most of their English, they loosened up and we sat drinking
beer and trying to communicate. During the course of the evening,
with the jazz band playing American jazz and Dixieland standards, I sat
at my table, drinking beer with the rest of the parents, students,
teachers and friends, talking to Nicholas's father and the other
parents who would drop by out of either courtesy or curiosity to say a
few words to me. Nicholas's little sister, who will be a sixth
grader, told me that she had been studying English for two years
(I think) and that I was the first American she had talked to.
She did a good job.
Kurosch's father sat at the table for quite some time, until he had to
leave in order to catch the last bus home, and talked about a variety
of things. Kurosch stopped a couple times, as did Nicholas and
maybe Marcus, to talk briefly before rejoining their friends in the
hallway. About 11:45, Sebastian's mother returned to the table
as everyone sort of started to drift away. The students and
many teachers were still going strong, still drinking beer and still
listening to music in the hallways.
I told Sebastian later it seemed almost unreal. I had spend
several hours helping to rewrite our own school district drug and
alcohol policy, strengthening it and making the consequences
tougher. And in Germany, in Sebastian's high school, all of our
rules were being broken---and under the sponsorship of the school
itself. How strange.
Sebastian's mother and I walked back to the apartment---his dad had
already gone back so he could get some sleep before his bike race---and
got there about midnight. We sat and talked for a few minutes and
I went to bed, again very tired and ready to fall asleep.
SATURDAY 10
June 1995
Late to bed, late to rise. I didn't get up until around
9:00. Sebastian's dad had already left hours before for his bike
race and it was so quiet that I didn't think anyone else was up.
I suppose Sebastian's mother had been up for quite some time, but she
had closed the door to the living room and the door to the kitchen so I
could not hear her. Sebastian had not gotten up yet,
either. He said that he had gotten home about 0100, which wasn't
very long after I had gone to bed, but I didn't hear him.
This was the last full day that I spent in Gottingen, and it was
primarily a day of sightseeing around Gottingen. After
breakfast---rolls, coffee, and cheese---we took the car around
town to see some of the things that we had missed the two
previous days. Our first stop was the hospital where Sebastian's
mother works. It is a large, sprawling complex composing most of
a city block. The hospital is operated by the university, and
thus is dedicated to research as well as treatment. Our visit was
limited to a quick look at the public areas in the lobby area.
After leaving the hospital, we drove to a city park where Sebastian
once came to play when he was a young child. Since it was still
fairly early in the morning and cool enough to wear a jacket, there
were not many people in the park---just a few people walking their
dogs. Of all the areas of the city that I saw, this was the only
area which was made up predominately of single family
homes. Sebastian told me that many professional people such as
doctors and attorneys live in this section of the city. These
large homes are a relatively uncommon sight in comparison with the
overwhelming number of apartment buildings which house most of the
town's residents. Someone told me that upwards to 80-85 percent
of the people live in apartment buildings.
After leaving the park, we parked the car and continued our journey on
foot. We walked through the Saturday morning marketplace on our
way downtown so Sebastian could buy some supplies he needed for the
trip. By this time, the streets and plazas of downtown were
beginning to fill up with people. Just like the past couple
days, there were entertainers performing in the downtown streets,
hoping that passers-by would give them a few coins for their
efforts. One group who was entertaining in front of the Old City
Hall near the Goose Maiden statue, was very good. They were collecting
money for some charitable cause. The clarinet player was talented
enough to play in a major symphony orchestra. I would have been
content to sit down (or even stand up) and listen to him for
hours. But the push of the crowd made standing still for very
long inadvisable. Along the way, there were other less talented
groups and individuals performing, also.
As one walks along the sidewalks and streets---and the two are often
the same---a common hazard for the unwary and the uninformed is bicycle
riders. Bicycles are a common method of transportation, not only
in Gottingen, but in many European towns. And they can be a real
nuisance (even a danger) to a person who is not accustomed to having
bicycles driving on the sidewalk. In the U. S., the law says that
bicycles are moving vehicles and they must drive in the streets with
other moving vehicles and obey the same traffic laws as all other
moving vehicles, while sidewalks are for pedestrians (who cannot walk
in the streets.) We feel safe from ANY moving vehicle while
we are walking on a sidewalk, just as vehicles are free from worry
about people walking down busy streets.
In Europe, a section of the sidewalk is usually designated as a bike
path, and the bike riders can become very impatient and annoyed with
people who violate this space. It took me quite some time before
I could remember that bicycles are just another form of pedestrian and
could (and probably would) sneak upon me with little or no
warning. Even though it was frustrating and extremely annoying to
me, it is simply the "way things are done" and the only thing to do was
to try and adjust to it. It seems that a more common sense
solution would have been to locate the bicycle lanes at the edge of the
streets, on the inside lane next to the curbs. But, they didn't
ask me for my advice.
By the time we had started back to the car, the market place was
beginning to close down. We stopped and drank some coffee in a
street cafe in the marketplace while watching the vendors close up
their shops for another week. On our way out of the market
street, Sebastian stopped and bought some Persian candy, before we
headed back home for lunch.
After lunch, we took a bus back downtown. By this time, the
stores were closed and the streets were much less crowded than they
were in the morning. Whereas in the United States Saturday
afternoon and evening are probably the busiest shopping times of the
week, the stores in Germany close around noon on Saturday and remain
closed until Monday morning. There are some exceptions, of
course, like eating establishments, bars, and service stations; but
generally speaking, everything else is closed. This, Sebastian
told me, is not completely voluntary, but the result of government
legislation which mandates that businesses be closed during that
period of time. Having not grown up in such a restrictive
environment, and being one of those people who, by necessity, must do
the bulk of shopping on Saturday afternoon, I viewed the closing of the
stores as being inconvenient and unnecessary, and as an unwelcome
intrusion by the government into the free enterprise and into the
personal lives of the people. But, this is just another cultural
difference that makes life interesting while visiting in a foreign
country.
While in the downtown area, we stopped first at Marcus's apartment,
located on an upper floor of a retail building in the center of
Gottingen. Then we proceeded to one of the churches whose tower
happened to be open on that afternoon. We climbed the steep,
narrow steps to the top of the tower where I was able to look out over
the city of Gottingen, and even into the territory beyond.
To the northeast was some new construction; to the west lay the
railroad station; to the south, where Sebastian's house is located is
the towering new city hall building; and to the north was a TV tower in
the distance and also the university library.
I bought a souvenir cup at the gift shop in the old city hall
building. We lingered briefly to drink a cup of coffee before
walking through the nearly deserted streets to a bus stop for the ride
back to the apartment.
Shortly after we got home, Kurosch (Khansari) stopped by for a short
visit. The visit with him was fun, interesting, and just a little
spooky. While I was in the process of choosing my first exchange
student, I narrowed my choices down to two students---Sebastian and
Kurosch. At the time, I was aware only that they both came from
Germany. It was only as time went by and as I heard Sebastian
talking to him on the telephone that I finally began to put the pieces
together. I began to first suspect when Sebastian told me that
Kurosch's father was Persian (from Iran) and that his mother was
German. One day I dug out the old resumes that I had kept and
confirmed that my suspicion was correct. At the time, I dismissed
the matter from my mind, never thinking that I would ever meet him.
But now, here I was sitting across from him in Sebastian's living room,
looking into his brown eyes and talking to him. I couldn't escape
thinking, "What if I would had chosen him instead of Sebastian?"
Quite possibly, he would have been my exchange student for nine months
and I would have been visiting him instead of Sebastian. I was
impressed by Kurosch. He was calm; he looked straight at me when
he talked; he answered questions and asked questions like he was really
interested. He had a good sense of humor and he smiled a
lot. I really don't remember why I made the choice that I made
the evening Marie Plensky, from EF, came to my house. It would
have worked out well either way. But, I am glad that I made the
choice that I made that night. I have no second thoughts; no
"What if's?", no regrets. Sebastian was the best choice for
me at the time, and he will be the one against whom all other exchange
students will be judged.
That afternoon will certainly stand out in my memory as one of the most
pleasant of coincidences that I have encountered in recent years.
Some friends of Sebastian's parents who are living in the United States
and are teaching math at Louisiana State University also stopped by for
a visit that afternoon.
Sebastian's mother prepared a large, delicious meal for supper that
evening. It consisted of (and I list these in no particular
order) olives, dried tomatoes, tuna with olives, onion and peppers,
beef, salad, and bread. It was delicious, and I hope very
German. The only problem concerning the meal was that Sebastian's
dad had not gotten home yet, and after some waiting, we went ahead and
ate the first part of the meal without him. He arrived home
minutes later, though, and was able to finish the meal with us.
He also brought me a shirt that he picked up at his bike race.
Later, after supper, we looked at the slides Sebastian had taken on our
trip to the West Coast while he was living at my house. I think I
stayed awake for this presentation.
SUNDAY 11 June
1995
This was the last morning I spent in Gottingen. I was somewhat
disappointed. I would like to have come back for a couple days
before I left, but that was not in the plans. Kurosch's dad had
planned to invite us to their house for dinner when we returned.
Joan Baez was giving a concert in Gottingen on the day before I
left Germany I would like to have taken one last look
around the town before I left. But those things were not to be.
After getting up around 8:30 and eating breakfast, both Sebastian and I
did some last minute packing. I took some pictures of
Sebastian with his parents; we said some lingering good-byes, and
then Sebastian and I drove away, as I waved some more good-byes, a
little sad that I did not have the time to get better acquainted with
Sebastian's parents. But I had enjoyed my short stay. They
had made me feel welcome, like part of the family. I felt good
because I certainly did not want to be an inconvenience, and I
didn't want to be subjected to an artificial life style---one enacted
only for my benefit. I felt comfortable during my entire visit
and enjoyed the experience of how a German family lives.
It was about 11:30 when we stopped to fill the car with gas (at over
$4.00 per gallon) and then headed to the north on the highway leading
out of Gottingen. After some miles, we curved back to the east
and headed for Berlin, our next destination. Probably the most
interesting sights I saw during the three hour drive were the old East
German border checkpoints and the ever visible line carved though the
countryside where the border between East and West Germany had once
been. Of course, there were the multitude of small villages
strewn about the country side, each with its watchful church steeple.
Sebastian and I spent time catching up on old news and gossip, as well
as talking about the scenery as it passed us by.
Berlin did not prove to be as much of a challenge as I had
expected. I suspect that Sebastian was a little bit nervous as we
approached the city from the south. But after stopping briefly to
consult the map, Sebastian made all the right turns and we found
ourselves driving down a wide avenue in the midst of Berlin. At
the time, I was too nervous (and lost) to even notice where we were
going. I certainly didn't know where we were going. I had
never seen anything like it before, and I certainly could not read the
signs. But later, this street would become my most lasting
impression of Berlin.
We found the Berlin Youth Hostel with a minimum of difficulty. If
was different from what I had expected. Much larger, much more
modern. It turned out to be a large hotel-like building with
about 450 beds in a dorm like setting. Our room had eight beds,
and there were probably five or six such rooms on our floor. Our
floor, by the way, was the fourth floor, which meant that we had to
carry our luggage up four flights of stairs. We each had a locker
in which we could secure our belongings. There was one shower to
serve everyone on our floor. This did not turn out to be the
problem I had anticipated because I don't think very many of the guys
even bothered to take a shower anyway.
The Youth Hostel was a busy, bustling place with people of many
nationalities, races, and ages coming and going, milling around,
checking in, checking out, running around, sitting around in the lounge
areas, talking, laughing, shouting, playing ping-pong (Why do you go to
Berlin to play ping-pong?), playing volleyball (Why would you go
anywhere to play volleyball?), trying to impress each other---some of
them even acted like they might want to see a little bit of Berlin.
Sebastian and I were in that group. We had no sooner checked in
and locked up our belongings, than we decided to go out and explore a
little bit of the city. We bought a three day pass for two
persons for the subway and found ourselves in the middle of downtown
Berlin on the Kurfurstendamm, the wide, fashionable avenue that runs in
a general east-west direction through Berlin. As I walked out of
the subway station and out into the city, there it lay before me---the
street we had driven down earlier in the day, the street that would
become the focal point of our stay in Berlin. It was
magnificent. A wide, tree-lined avenue, a busy thoroughfare, wide
sidewalks, fashionable shops, chic bars and nightclubs, casual sidewalk
cafes, along side corporate offices for such household names as
Mercedes-Benz, BMW, and Volkswagen.
Just a short walk from the subway station is the striking remains of
the bombed-out Kaiser Wilhelm Church, left standing as a
memorial. Along side the ruins is a modernistic tower, topped
with a cross, and constructed with thousands of plates of stained
glass. On the other side is a companion structure, a chapel also
constructed of an uncountable number of stained glass windows.
Each building is built in simple rectangle form, and derives it beauty
from the light that plays on the wall of blue and red glass. At
night the building take on an almost eerie quality from soft light
which illuminates from within.
We walked around a lot that evening---and so did hundreds of other
people. The Kurfurstendamm is Berlin's street for
strolling. At the plaza near the Europa Center, a huge shopping
complex near the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial, street entertainers were
showcasing their talent near a large Oriental style fountain. In
the sidewalk cafes, people sat sipping beer and coffee while they
talked or watched the street scene in front of them. Cafes and
bars were packed. Couples, both young and old, walked aimlessly
hand-in-hand; young people with backpacks strode purposely toward
somewhere; teenagers congregated in clusters; others looked in the
store windows. Many people licked ice cream cones as they walked;
some ate pastries. At the 10:00 hour, it was still light; but even as
the hour grew late and darkness took over, the activity did not
subside. It was a crisp, cool evening; an evening made for
walking.
Sebastian and I sat in a couple sidewalk cafes and watched the people
passing by before finding a quiet cafe on a side street in which to eat
supper. After we finished our meal, we sat in a corner cafe and
watched as a hooker tried to pick up men on the corner opposite
us. I was tempted to ask her how much she was charging, but,
that, of course, was only wishful thinking. Instead we took the
subway back to Potsdamer Str, about a ten minute walk from the Youth
Hostel. This three or four block area would become known as "our
neighborhood" in the subsequent two days because we walked it so
often that it became a comfortingly familiar sight. It was a few
blocks of sidewalk markets, small groceries stores, an ice cream shop,
several small local bars and bakeries, the bank we used to get money,
and one obviously important theater, judging from the appearance of its
clientele and their automobiles.
As we approached the Youth Hostel that night, one or two other women
were "working" the nearby side street in search of male
customers. We passed up that chance, too.
Our first day in Berlin had just about come to an end. I had
crossed from West Germany into East Germany; I had gotten my
first glimpse of an historic city; I had taken my first subway ride;
and now I was about to sleep in my first Youth Hostel.
MONDAY 12 June 1995
Last night wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. My worst fear
was that we would be in the same room with a bunch of noisy, rude
kids. But as it turned out, they were very considerate.
Even though I did wake up when they came in, they were obviously doing
their best to be quiet and not to disturb those of us who had already
gone to bed. Even the shower worked out better than I had dared
to hope. Nobody seemed to be using it when Sebastian and I got
up, so we were able to take showers without any waiting. And the
water was actually hot.
Breakfast was included in the price of the room. Breakfast
consisted of rolls, bread, cheese, sliced meat, tangerines, and
coffee. Not the most imaginative breakfast, but we ate plenty of
it so we would not be hungry for a while.
We climbed back to the fourth floor, got our cameras, and started out
for our first full day in Berlin. We took the ten minute walk
through "the neighborhood" to the subway station and rode it into the
city center. Subways in Berlin are quick and efficient. The
underground stations were relatively clean and apparently safe,
too. It is a no nonsense method of getting around. The
subway arrives, it stops briefly, and then it take off again.
There is no lingering; there is no interaction with drivers or
conductors, except for the two or three times that we were
checked to make sure that we had tickets (and this was two or
three times out of the dozens of rides we took on the subway while we
were in Berlin.) Everyone rides the subway, too: adults,
kids, businessmen, tourists, students, workers, and little old women
going downtown to shop.
Anyway, downtown on the Kurfurstendamm, we looked more closely at the
chapel at the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial. The amount of stained
glass used in that building is overwhelming. Today we saw it from
the inside with the sunlight illuminating the glass from the
outside. It was too dark inside the church to take a picture, and
flash pictures were not allowed.
After only a short time, we took the subway back to the Youth Hostel
(station) and started on a long walk to the Brandenburg Gate, one of
the historic dividing points between East and West Berlin. We
walked along Potsdammerstr battling the roar of the never ceasing snarl
of traffic, past the Berlin Museum of Modern Art, past the Berlin
Philharmonic Hall, past the State Library, the Museum of Arts and
Crafts, and the National Library. The noise of the traffic
finally won. We cut through a quiet park and found ourselves on
the Avenue of the 17th of June. Looking behind us on the busy
street leading to the Brandenburg Gate was the Victory Column;
ahead of us, but still out of view was the famous Gate.
We were among hundreds of people walking on the Avenue that
morning. Sebastian said that before the Wall was torn down, the
street was almost deserted, because it led to nowhere. But now it
seems to be an important and meaningful street. As we walked
along, I tried to take great care of stay off the bicycle paths, having
already learned this lesson fairly well. I also watched the other
people as they walked along---most of them probably tourists, judging
from fact that many of them were carrying cameras or backpacks.
There was a remarkable similarity in many of their facial
features. I called it the "Zsolt Look", after another exchange
student who lived here in Valley Falls. Zsolt was a remarkably
good looking kid from Hungary, but he also had a certain unique look
that slightly, and only slightly, set him apart from the typical
American citizen. It is not easily explained, in fact, I can't
explain it at all. But it has something to do with the eyes, and
perhaps the structure of the face. I don't really know. It
is just a "look", however subtle, that identifies a person as being
European, and maybe Eastern European, at that. I don't think
Sebastian understood what I meant. I don't think he was capable
of recognizing it, because, as a European, it is NOT unique or
different.
We crossed over to the opposite side of the street in order to walk by
the Soviet Memorial. To me the Soviet Memorial stands out as a
misfit on this wide avenue dedicated to freedom. Its statues of
guns, tanks, and soldiers seem oddly out of place in city that seems to
want to forget its recent past and looks forward to living in
peace. From this memorial, a reminder of war, it is only a short
walk to the Brandenburg Gate. Today the gate stands as a symbolic
gesture of a united Berlin and a united Germany---surrounded by tour
buses, dozens of vendors hawking trinkets ranging from T-shirts, pieces
of the Berlin Wall, Soviet military paraphernalia, and other assorted
junk, along with hundreds of picture-taking tourists, much like
myself. We walked though the gate into the former East
Berlin, took a few photographs, trying to dodge the tour busses, and
then we left.
A short distance away is the German Reichstag Building, once the seat
of German government and soon to be again. This massive stone
building has been darkened by years of exposure to the elements of
nature and to destruction by man, but it is being renovated
and spruced up for the important role that it will soon assume.
The building had been cordoned off, and hundreds of workmen were
scurrying around busily doing whatever it was that kept the building
closed to the public. The artist Christol was in the initial
stages of "wrapping" the building, and this probably accounted for part
of the frenetic activity. This was obviously an important event
to most Berliners, judging from the amount of advertising and publicity
that was apparent throughout the city. Even the huge gardens in
front of the Reichstag Building were being replanted and
refurbished. For all its historic significance, and this is
obvious, the day we visited it, it was really a mess.
One need not be a German citizen to appreciate the importance of such
important historical sites. Even with a minimum knowledge of
history, a person can transport his imagination back in time and
see and feel the terrifying events that had once taken place on these
now peaceful grounds. I wish they had left at least a portion of
the Wall standing in this area, just as a reminder to future
generations, or as a reminder to those, like me, who have never
encountered or endured such oppression and violence. Even as I
walked around Berlin (and as we drove through the countryside) I tried
to imagine what it must have been like in the days of the late 1930's
and during the Second World War: what the terror, the fear, and
the heartbreak must have been like in this city and country that now
bears few, if any, scars of those years.
Back down the Avenue of the 17 of June, back through the quiet,
peaceful park, and back up Potsdammerstr, where the traffic was
becoming even more heavy and confused. Through "the neighborhood"
and downtown where I tried to call Brett for the first time, only to
find out that my Sprint Calling Card would not work. I ended up
calling him collect in a round about way---but who cares? He says
everything is O. K. Abby is O. K. The weather is O.
K. The house is O. K. He and Heather are O. K. What
more definite and reassuring information could I possibly ask for?
Light rain had started to fall by early afternoon, moving most of the
sidewalk cafes inside. We searched briefly for some travel books
written in English, but like the old truth goes, "When you are looking
for something, you will never find it." And we didn't.
Sebastian forgot to bring the city guides for Berlin, Vienna, and Paris
with us. He called his mother yesterday and she promised to mail
them by Priority Mail the first thing this morning. We were
looking for others, just in case the ones she mailed did not arrive
before we left Berlin on Wednesday.
We ate lunch on the top floor of the Ka-De-Wa Department Store.
The food looked delicious, but I had no clue as to how much it
would cost, how it was paid for, or even what I was eating. I
suspected that it was not a buffet as we know it in the United
States. It was embarrassing to be caught with a plate full of
food and not understand the method of paying for it. But with
some prompting from the clerk (and impatient prompting, at that), it
turned out that food was sold by weight. But, hold on, not ALL
the food, just certain food. Some was sold individually.
This was reason enough not to eat in any more "serve yourself"
places. It is just another hazard of not knowing the customs or
the language. There was no choice but to accept it like a stupid
American tourist and let it go as a lesson learned. The food was
good, I suppose, but the distress caused by all the uncertainty took
some of the edge off. Think of how easy it must be for a foreign
tourist to walk into The Golden Corral or The Roost, for example.
You just pay one price and eat everything in sight, no questions asked.
While we were in this so-called cafeteria, we met some people from
Indiana who were in Germany for some reason.
Located on Kurfrustendamm on a fasionable corner is the Kranzler Coffee
Shop. Sebastian told me that it is THE coffee house in
Berlin. So wanting to be seen in all the right places, we stopped
for our afternoon coffee. Since it was raining, we had to go
inside and up to the second floor to find a table. The large room was
filled with fashionable people such as ourselves who had ducked in out
of the rain to socialize, or perhaps transact a bit of business, or
maybe just to see who else was there. We sat and drank our coffee
(at $3.00 a cup), and listened to the American music in the background
while we planned the rest of our afternoon.
Our plans led us to the Kreuzberg section of Berlin. This is a
small district of Berlin, crowded with workers, students, and migrants,
primarily from Turkey. One guide book describes Kreuzberg as
being "the largest Turkish city outside Istanbul." Sebastian
explained that this district is home to a sort of counter-culture, and
has been the scene of much unrest and student protest in the
past. It also serves as the hangout for many of the artistic and
literary figures of Berlin. On the surface, however, it is a
collection of pre-war apartment buildings and retail businesses, with
an abundant offering of bars, cafes, night clubs, and coffee houses.
We randomly chose a corner cafe as a place to rest and as a refuge from
the continuing drizzle. It was a pleasant place, an obvious
neighborhood favorite, run by an Italian, or maybe he was a Turk.
But they seemed to appreciate our presence and made us feel
welcome. Restored by a couple beers, we spent some time exploring
the streets and taking pictures of old churches and fountains. We
came upon a small bar down a short flight of steps and no bigger than a
large closet (well, maybe a little bigger). It was the perfect
place to conspire against all those bicycle paths that posed a threat
to my life, or maybe to plot a demonstration against all that old
American rock music that was threatening my sanity. But it takes
at least two to plot, and I am only one. Instead we planned where
we would eat our supper. We found ourselves back in the corner
bar and grill, the one operated by the Italian (or maybe he was a
Turk.) He was obviously surprised, but very pleased, to see us
again---to think that we had chosen HIS cafe over dozens of
others in the Kreuzberg district. The meal was good, and so was
the funky Middle East music in the background.
To top off the day, we took the subway back downtown to the
Kurfurstendamm and bought an ice cream cone, so we could also walk
along the avenue eating ice cream. We found the Hard Rock Cafe,
although we decided to save that for the next night on the town.
We took the subway back to our neighborhood station, walked back to the
Youth Hostel, past the girl who was still hustling customers, and went
to bed.
TUESDAY 13 June 1995
We got up at 0800, took a shower, and went downstairs to a breakfast of
bread, cheese, cereal (some stuff called
Musli), some sort of pudding, a roll, and some coffee. The
highlight of this breakfast was not the food, but meeting some girls
who had recently graduated from college somewhere in Florida and were
on a see-everything trip thru Europe. One of them was going to be
a special education teacher. They had their backpacks with them
and were ready to catch a train to another destination.
This turned out to be a major sight-seeing day. And it was just
as well, because it rained almost the entire day without
stopping. We bought a ticket which admitted us to a variety of
cultural places. Our first stop was the National Art Museum which
houses Berlin's major collection of modern art. We walked through
two floors of modern art looking at paintings done by Degas, Picasso,
Beckman, Otto Dix and Munch, among others. It was an interesting
place. Some of the paintings were good, some not so good.
Some were spectacular, some were weird; some were not even art, in my
opinion. But it was by no means a
disappointment.
Next we stopped at the Museum of Music, a part of the Berlin
Philharmonic complex. After hanging up our rain soaked jackets,
we walked through the two floors of historical musical
instruments ranging from flutes, to tubas, to guitars, to pianos
and pipe organs----all this under the watchful eyes of an army of
"guides". Actually, except for the occasional listening stations,
I didn't find much of interest in this museum, and certainly nothing
that I would liked to have played, much less stolen. It is sort
of like looking at the collection of guns at the Bill Cody Museum in
Cody, Wyoming: the first one hundred guns are fairly interesting,
but the next one thousand look pretty much the same. The best
part of this building was the little coffee shop in the basement where
a bored looking college girl took time out from her reading to
serve us coffee.
Next came the "exciting" National Museum of Design which was
crammed full of all sorts of things that I didn't particularly want to
see. To really get the visit started off on the wrong foot, a
girl came running after us to tell us we couldn't wear our
jackets while touring the museum. Maybe because they were wet;
maybe because they were afraid we would put something in our pockets;
maybe because they were not the right design. This building, also
built on two or three floors, had lots of miscellaneous items,
including furniture, dishes, clothing, vases, glassware, and various
religious items which demonstrated the evolution of design from ancient
times up through the present. Maybe I was just getting a little
burned out on museums, or maybe it was just dull, but I have already
crossed it off my list of places to visit next time.
In the early afternoon, we took a short break from sightseeing to take
care of some housekeeping chores. We stopped at a grocery store
somewhere in our "neighborhood" and bought some food to take with us on
our drive to Vienna the next day. Then we went back to the Youth
Hostel and loaded most of our luggage back into the car so we would not
have to disturb the people in our room by doing it the next
morning. Having done this, we returned to our day of sightseeing.
Most of the afternoon hours were spent at Checkpoint Charlie, one of
the few places (maybe the only place) where people could cross from
West Berlin to East Berlin. Maybe it was the rain that gave Checkpoint
Charlie its eerie aura and an almost spooky mystique, but the guards,
the guns, and the barriers are gone for the most part. A single
guard station remains. The site is now the scene of a massive
construction project obviously intended to turn this place of bad
memories into a thriving commercial area.
We walked a short distance across this once forbidden border and then
returned to spend some time browsing through the Checkpoint Charlie
Museum. This museum is devoted to depicting the story of
Communist rule in East Berlin and recounting the bravery, heroism, and
ingenuity which a few fortunate people of East Berlin used to escape
communist domination. We were able to see many of the actual
escape devices which these people used. There were large
mural-like accounts, written in both English and German, showing and
telling of successful (and some not successful) flights to freedom. We
also watched a tape recounting the fall of communism and the end of the
Berlin Wall. Looking at these displays was both depressing, yet
satisfying. I still do not understand how the people of one
country---of one city---can treat each other with such cruelty for so
many years, with no apparent reason and then change so abruptly and
want to be their brothers so suddenly. To me the lesson to be
learned somehow involves resisting blind acceptance of following
someone who offers something that comes too easily; something that
comes without work and effort; something that comes without the
determination and struggle of all the people.
From Checkpoint Charlie, we took the subway back downtown---the last
time I would see downtown Berlin on this trip. We had planned to have a
beer at the Hard Rock Cafe, mostly just to say we had been there.
But beer was served only at the bar (and not at the tables, which were
reserved for their expensive food). The bar was already crowded
with noisy, obnoxious kids. It was no big loss,
however. We stopped to have a beer at the Old Berlin Beer
House, also one of those fashionable "places to be seen." For the
last time, we sat and watched the red haired women lead their dogs up
and down the KKurfurstendamm while we listened to American music in the
background. For the last time we watched the busy rush hour
traffic make its way down the tree-lined avenue.
After lingering a while on the downtown streets, taking one last look
at the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial, at the towering Mercedes-Benz Building,
and the rest of the cosmopolitan scene, we took the subway back
to the Youth Hostel neighborhood so we could check to see if Sebastian
had received his city guides in the mail that day. Fortunately, they
had arrived, which was a big relief for him (and for me).
We had already decided to eat at a Greek restaurant around the corner
from the Youth Hostel. From its appearance in the daytime, we
thought it was a quiet, out-of-the-way place which would serve as a
relaxing place to eat and talk. Although it was a nice place, it
was also a popular place and was much more crowded than we had
expected. I ate a supper composed mostly of chicken livers.
It was certainly delicious, but was it Greek? I don't
know. As they say around here, "It's Greek to me."
Back at the Youth Hostel, I wrote mandatory post cards to Monica,
Evelyn, and Scott and Suzie before going to bed at 11:30, very, very
tired.
WEDNESDAY, 14 June 1995
We got up about 0600 this morning
to
get an early start for our drive to Vienna. We tried not to wake
anybody else in the room while we were taking a shower and getting
dressed. Sebastian wanted to get an early start to avoid the
morning rush hour traffic. The streets were almost deserted as we
drove back down Kurfurstendamm for the final time of this trip. I
sort of hated to leave Berlin. I enjoyed my visit and felt that
there are so many more things to be done and so many more things to
see. But this will give me an excuse to return to Berlin someday
and take up where I left off on this trip. Berlin is an orderly
city with lots of different moods and styles. We just barely
scratched the surface of exploring this city of 3.5 million people. I
am sure that the constant rainfall slowed us down some. Not having
a Berlin city guide book probably didn’t help any, either. But
the things that we saw were interesting and worthwhile. I would like
to get to know this city better---to forget about the obvious tourist
attractions and move around the city to see what “lesser”, but
perhaps more typical attraction it has to offer.
It look about ten hours to drive
from
Berlin to Vienna, including all the stops for gas, for eating, for
resting. We didn’t make any tourist stops at all, although I would
like to have had pictures of the Elbe River and perhaps some of the
German and Austrian villages along the way. I think that one gets to
know a country not so much from its large cities where the tourists
flock, but from its small towns, its villages, its farms, and its
work places.
We drove past Nuremberg in
Germany,
sight of the famous (or infamous) war crimes trials which followed
World War II. As we drew closer to Vienna, the forests seemed to
grow thicker and the land seemed to become hillier. Most Austrian
villages and small towns are hidden from view of the highways by high
fences which have been constructed in front of them, or by thick rows
of trees which have been planned to shield them from sight. It was
barriers such as these that made it impossible to take good pictures
from the car window. So it turned out that the only town that I saw
in Austria was Vienna.
There was lots of road
construction and
repair taking place, especially in Germany. This often slowed
traffic down. At times, traffic was extremely heavy, especially with
large 18 wheelers clogging the highways. The trip, however, was
smooth and routine, and we encountered no problems. Sebastian does a
good job of driving. He is attentive, watchful, and cautious, as
well as being a skilled driver. I think that driving does seem to
make him somewhat tense at times, however, as it does to me when I am
driving in unfamiliar surroundings.
I am not sure we were quite
prepared
for the traffic situation in Vienna, especially after the fairly
orderly traffic in Berlin. To begin with, Vienna is laid out in an
entirely different pattern than in Berlin, and it is impossible to
drive directly to any destination without following a more or less
circular route to get there. We arrived in Vienna at their rush
hour, and the traffic was heavy and disorderly. After struggling to
find the Youth Hostel in Vienna, we made an almost instant decision
that this was not where we wanted to spend the next three days. It
was up three flights of stairs in a crowded neighborhood where
parking places were almost nonexistent. The Hostel was operated by a
church, and it was not a casual, friendly place like the one in
Berlin. We checked out a rooming house close to the Youth Hostel,
but the shifty eyed owner obviously thought we were a couple of
naïve
suckers.
By using the Vienna city guide, we
located an inexpensive hotel on the west edge of Vienna. Sebastian
called them on the telephone to make sure there was still a room
available. This turned out to be a good choice. The hotel was
located in a quiet, middle-class neighborhood made up of mostly
single family homes. The hotel was operated by a husband and wife
who proved to be friendly and pleasant. Our room was located on the
second floor in the right hand, or south, wing, at the end of the
hallway on the left. It had two beds, a sink, a table with two
chair, and a closet. A window opened into the yard below. From our
room we could hear a bubbling brook somewhere nearby. We had to go
downstairs to take a shower, but this was only a small inconvenience.
A suburban commuter train station
was
located about a ten-minute walk from the hotel. After checking in
and resting for a new minutes, we decided to check out the area and
to find the train station so we could go into town the following
morning. The walk from the hotel to the train station was pleasant
and quiet through a winding street lined with trees and attractive,
well-kept family homes. We crossed the small stream which we could
hear from our window, and also crossed in and out of the city of
Vienna on this short walk.
Just a couple blocks beyond the
train
station was a pizza place where we decided to eat. The place was
packed. Obviously, this was a popular place in this neighborhood,
and it turned out that the pizza was not only good, but it was very
large, also. We left the restaurant feeling stuffed and knowing that
we had gotten our money’s worth.
Just a few doors further down the
street was a Shell station. The walk back to the hotel felt good,
even though it was mostly uphill and took about twice as long as the
trip down.
THURSDAY, 15 JUNE 1995
We got up around 0745 and got
dressed
and went downstairs to take a shower. Breakfast was served in the
small hotel dining room. It was the same breakfast that had become
familiar by this time: rolls, cheese, sliced meat, jelly and coffee.
While we were eating, the owner’s dog small puppy kept the diners
entertained. The woman acted like the puppy was a nuisance, but we
could tell that she really liked the dog very much, and that the dog
could do just about anything it wanted and get away with it. The
other hotel guests were amused and entertained by the puppy and
petted it and talked to it, just like Sebastian and I did.
We walked the ten minute walk to
the
Weidlingau-Wurzbachtal train station in order to catch the 10:05
train to the Vienna West Train Station where we could catch the
subway to St. Stephen’s Square in downtown Vienna.
As I stepped out of the subway
station
at St. Stephen’s Square, the difference between Vienna and Berlin
were striking. There was no wide, tree-lined avenue, but instead we
found ourselves in a large crowded plaza surrounding the towering and
opulent St. Stephen’s
Church. Except for one modern building, the building here
were old and historic, radiating outward from the church like spokes
on a wheel. The large public square was crowded because this was a
religious holiday and nobody was working. There was a religious
service taking place outside the cathedral, also.
Since we could not look inside the
cathedral because of the service, we decided to start looking around
some of the surrounding territory. As we were walking through a
narrow street near St. Stephan’s Church, quite by accident, we came
upon the house where Mozart used to live. Today it is called Figaro
House. We walked through the outside door which I thought would take
us inside the house. But, like many things in Vienna, things are not
as they appear. The door opened onto an interior courtyard where
several more doors and a stairway awaited. We walked up two flights
of stairs to his apartment. There were several displays telling
about Mozart’s life, along with a few pieces of furniture and
cases containing copies of some of his music
manuscripts. Small pieces of the walls had been peeled away to show
the dozens of coats of paint which had been applied over the years. We
were able to look out the window onto the cobblestone streets
below, just as Mozart had done two hundred years before. There was
nothing really special about that seven room apartment, except the
fact that we were standing in the same rooms where some of the most
beautiful music in the world had been written by a musical genius two
centuries earlier.
As we continued our walk around
the
inner city, we discovered that Vienna is a maze of small streets and
alleyways which open into small courtyards, which in turn branch out
into more winding, narrow streets and passageways which lead to even
more squares or plazas. That is part of the charm of old Vienna.
Walking through the narrow alleys and passageways gives the modern
tourist some sense of what Vienna must have been like hundreds of
years ago. It is often difficult to believe that today people really
do live on these streets, in these apartments which were built so
many years ago, if it were not for such tell-tale signs of modern
society as mailboxes, electric lights, and door bells. In the midst
of such ancient surroundings, with streets that were not built for
modern transportation, I was not accustomed to watching out for
automobiles or the ever present bicycle or motorbike. But to do this
is a mistake, because I learned that a car can make it down even the
narrowest of “streets”, and if a car cannot squeeze through, a
motor bike certainly can.
The narrow streets are crowded
with
small coffee houses which spill out onto the sidewalk, along with
bars, cafes, small galleries, book stores, and boutiques selling
deceptively expensive clothing. We stopped at one such café,
called Little Café, and drank coffee while watching the people
read newspapers and books, write, and visit. Actually, this became a
favorite past time of ours----to sit in the outside bars and coffee
shops, drink the strong coffee and watch the people as they walked
past us.
The umbrella-covered sidewalk
cafes
came in handy on this morning. They became a shelter from the rain
that fell through the mid-morning hours. During one of these rain
breaks, I ate some apple strudel, which is really German, I guess,
but Vienna is close enough. We sampled some ice cream at another
café. It tasted suspiciously like the ice cream that I eat
here in the United States, for some reason.
After the rain had stopped, we
continued our sightseeing by walking past various statues and old
churches---the Plague Column and St. Peter’s Church, for
example---and eventually ended up at the Hofburg,
the palace of
the Hapsburg dynasty. We paid for tickets, (which,
looking back, cost much too much money) to walk through the rooms
which housed the treasures which the family had accumulated, at the
expense of its citizens, during the years of its collective rein. We
saw the crowns, the tiaras, the robes, the jewels, etc., all under
careful scrutiny of an army of guards. Having finished this, we paid
some more money to walk through part of the royal apartments. This
essentially turned out to be a series of rooms that were furnished
and decorated in an opulent manner, befitting a king who apparently
liked to spend money on a plush lifestyle. The rooms were still
furnished with the chairs, tables, and beds which the kind, queen,
and their family and friends sat on and slept in during the days they
were in power. Original priceless art and chandleries hung on the
walls and ceiling. Murals and gold guilt decorated the walls.
I am sure there is a great deal of
historical significance to those who are interested in the Hapsburg
family, or even to those interested in antiques. But somehow the
significance was lost on me. It seemed like a huge waste of time and
money. We only saw a fraction of the palace and its grounds. The
entire estate covered several acres with lavish gardens and lawns to
compliment the sprawling complex of royal palaces and associated
buildings. With additional time (and additional money, of course) we
could have spent much more time looking at even more of the same. But
we didn’t choose to do this. Maybe the saving factor about all
of this ostentatious display of wealth is that today the palaces are
museums and lawns and gardens are free public parks where people can
come to enjoy the beauty that was created at public expense long ago.
In Vienna, nothing is free.
Everything
has a price: even using the public restrooms. It is the only place
in the world I have been that has routinely charged for using the
restroom. There is a rest room in St. Stephen’s Square located
down a flight of stairs that is fancy and designer decorated beyond
any practical need. I didn’t feel so bad about paying to use this
one. But even the restrooms located in the rest stops along the
highway are not free. If you want to use a public restroom, you pay
or you wait until later. To make matters worse, the people who take
the money are invariably women who sit inside the restroom and
collect the money. What a job! “What do you do for a living,
Mrs.?” “Oh, I sit inside the men’s restroom all day and
collect money from those guys while they are taking a piss.”
We took the subway from downtown
to the
Vienna open marketplace. But the market was closed because of the
holiday. The subways in Vienna are newer and somewhat nicer than the
subways in Berlin (and this is not saying that Berlin does not have a
good subway system). And it is equally as efficient. Once we had
parked the car at the hotel, we never drove it again until we left
the city. We did all our travel within the city on the subway.
We walked through some of the busy
streets away from the city center from the marketplace to the Vienna
Opera House. People were arriving for an opera which was about to
begin. We walked back to St. Stephen’s Square and prowled through
some more of the narrow passageways which honeycomb the old part of
the inner city. By this time it was getting to be late in the
afternoon, and we were getting hungry. Sebastian thought that I
should eat some wiener schnitzel for supper. We decided upon
a “quaint” café on one of the narrow streets about two or
three blocks from St. Stephen’s Church and ate our supper there. I
wish I could say that the place left a lasting impression on me and
that it was some of the best food that I have eaten. But, in truth,
it was just an average eating establishment with low prices we could
afford.
It was starting to get late, and
the
sun was starting to hide behind the church towers and steeples. St.
Stephen’s Square was crowded with people enjoying their holiday,
relaxing in the outside bars, walking their dogs, and just strolling
though the streets. We decided it was time to go back to the hotel
on the outskirts of the city. We walked through the nearby deserted
streets from the train station to the hotel, a sharp contrast to the
noise and confusion we had just come from.
We bought some vodka at a Shell
station
near the pizza café and spent the evening drinking vodka and
apple juice.
FRIDAY 16 JUNE 1995
Thursday night we bought a bottle
of
vodka at a Shell station near the place where we ate pizza, and we
ended up drinking quite a bit of it. It was the first serious
alcohol that have drunk since we started on vacation, and I woke up
at 0745 feeling fairly well. So I guess there was no harm done. After
going downstairs to take a shower, we again ate breakfast at
the hotel. It was identical to the one we ate yesterday----good, but
very German (or Austrian, I guess), and the little puppy was still
running around entertaining everyone in sight.
We caught the 10:10 train to the
West
Vienna Train Station and from there took the subway to the
Shonbrunn Palace. The palace was first started in the
year 1311, and was added to by successive rulers. It was probably
constructed to its fullest glory by Emperor Franz Joseph and Maria
Teresa. The sprawling yellow stone building, which once housed over
1000 people, is set on over 400 acres of land about 4 miles from the
Vienna city center. At one time, it was a royal hunting lodge in a
rural setting, at sharp contract from the busy city streets that
surround it today.
On this particular day, workmen
were
busy building a large, ugly stage which would be used for a Luciana
Pavarotti concert to be held that night. This made taking a good
picture of the front façade of the building impossible. So
for the time being, we contented ourselves by walking through the
geometric designs of the shrubbery, through the rose garden, and
under the canopy of a thousand trees to the gardens behind the
palace. We walked through the ornate flowers that had been planted
in unique patterns at the east of the palace and extending to the
statue of Neptune, and then on to the Gloriette Monument (which was
being renovated) still further up the hill which overlooks the palace
grounds---and also offers a look at the flat skyline of Vienna which,
from that viewpoint, is broken only by dozens of church spires.
There is an outside coffee shop
near
the front entrance to the palace. We passed up the Snapple which
was on sale there and instead refreshed ourselves with a cup of $3.00
coffee before starting the tour of another vacant royal palace. Since
the English-speaking tour was already full, the best we could
do was to pick up an English language handbook to guide us on our own
tour of twenty-two rooms that once served as home to Austrian kings
and queens. This palace, like the one we toured earlier, is vast,
richly decorated with paintings and furniture, and no doubt reflects
the total disregard that rulers of that era must have had for the
common person.
Obviously we only inspected a
small
fraction of the palace, but it was enough to convince me that once a
person has seen one palace, he has probably seen them all. The most
interesting thing was watching the tourists who flock through places
such as this. There is a sign posted in every room which says “No
Flash Pictures”, but that does little to deter the frantic
tourists. Flashbulbs erupt constantly, giving the guards fits. And,
these aren’t even American tourists. At least the American
tourists can read!
Next we took the subway to the
Vienna
Market Place. It was crowded with people, mostly natives, I think,
buying their fresh produce for the day, Although there are other
items, most of the small booths were selling food. There were fruits
and vegetables of every description, many different varieties of
fresh meat and an endless variety of prepared foods were just waiting
for someone to buy. When it started raining, we slipped into one of
these little food shops and sampled some tasty (plum) pancakes and
coffee while waiting for the rain to subside enough for us to
continue our journey. We tried to wait out the rain, but it kept
falling, although much lighter as the minutes passed by. We made a
dash across the street to a grocery store so Sebastian could buy some
shaving cream, and then we continued on to the Opera House. We had
looked forward to taking a tour of the building, but it was too late.
We walked across the street to the Austrian Film Museum, not to
waste our time going through it, but to take some pictures from its
elevated plaza. From there we could look down on the Mozart
Café,
appropriately situated beside the Vienna Opera House.
We discovered, to my amazement,
that we
were located right next to the good old Hofburg Palace again. Of
course, I rarely ever knew where we were. I knew we were somewhere
in Vienna, but that is where my knowledge of our location ended. We
spent a few minutes walking around the Palace grounds again, this
time in a light rain. Many of the old palace buildings have been
converted into museums. There were still a lot of people---probably
tourists---milling around in the gardens and grounds of the palace.
Many of the local citizens were exercising their dogs on the vast
lawns of the palace, either by walking them or simply by letting them
run loose. We heard and saw several dog fights, but fortunately, the
dogs were people-friendly and seemed to have little or no interest in
harming humans.
On the way back to the subway
station,
we walked past the Austrian
Parliament Building, the Vienna City Hall, and the Brug
Theater. Now I know what the outside of all these buildings look
like. We did try to go inside the Burg Theater, but it was closed. We
took the subway back to the Vienna West Rail Station and caught
the commuter train back to our quiet, little neighborhood.
We had already decided to eat our
supper in the hotel dining room. Not really knowing what any of the
other dishes were, I ordered the wiener schnitzel to compare
it with what I had eaten in the city the previous night. The wiener
schnitzel at the hotel turned out to be much better (and much
cheaper, too.) We even had a cute little puppy to watch at the
hotel. After supper we walked to the Shell station and bought some
more vodka and orange juice and took it back to the hotel room to
drink, while we played some cards before going to bed.
SATURDAY 17 JUNE 1995
I got up at 0740 this morning and
went
downstairs to take a shower. Nobody ever seems to be around at this
hour of the morning, but I guess this is because most of the other
guests are in the north “wing” of the small hotel, and we are in
the south “wing”. After our usual breakfast, we began our last
full day in Vienna.
Our first visit was to Beethoven’s
apartment. We walked directly past this place yesterday when we were
looking at the Vienna City Hall and the Parliament Building, but we
didn’t know it. Both of us commented on a Subway Sandwich Shop,
not knowing that Beethoven’s apartment was located almost next door
to it. The outside door led to a small inner courtyard off of which
opened several other doors leading to a series of apartments, most of
which seemed to be lived in even today. We walked up four flights of
stairs to a three room apartment, much smaller than Mozart’s
apartment, but much nicer (at least, in 1995 it seemed to be much
nicer). The piano that Beethoven used to compose his music was still
there, along with a few other pieces of furniture. But most of the
rooms were filled with displays, pictures, copies of musical scores,
and other such trivia. There were listening stations available, but
a bunch of loud, rude kids were monopolizing them. Finally the guide
(or guard) brought Sebastian and me each a pair of remote earphones
so we could listen to the music as we looked around. This is the
place where Beethoven composed his Symphonies 5, 7, and 8, as well as Fidelio,
Leonora, and Egmont. The music was great,
and
we lingered around for quite some time listening to and enjoying this
wonderful music. Even though Beethoven’s home seems to be less
visited than Mozart’s apartment (probably because Mozart’s is
right downtown in the city center), the music made our time at
Beethoven’s apartment much more enjoyable.
I had never heard of Hundertwaser
House, but this was one place that Sebastian was eager to
see. It is an apartment complex designed by a famous artist who has
turned some former stables, garages, and service stations into an
unusual art deco apartment complex. Each apartment is painted a
different color, and there are trees, bushes and other shrubbery
growing from balconies, rooftops, and boxes, making the apartments
look almost “park-like”. The entire complex was designed to be a
work of art, and the different colors make it possible to say, “I
live in the blue apartment on the third floor.” This appeared to
be another major tourist attraction, and the street beside the
apartments was crowded with souvenir shops and coffee shops and
cafes. It is certainly not one of the “run of the mill”
apartment buildings, and I bet it is not low cost housing, either.
We returned to the Vienna
Opera House in time to take an English language tour,
after having missed it yesterday. Our guide was a good-looking young
man who spoke excellent English. He took us on a quick tour of the
huge, lavishly decorated building. He told us that the Opera House
had been 80 percent destroyed during World War II, but had been
restored to its original splendor in the years following the war. The
main auditorium seats 3000 people, all of whom must be properly
dressed to be admitted entrance. Seats in the Opera House are very
expensive, but there are seats in the balconies that are offered to
the public on a first come, first served basis for each opera. Although
operas are performed three hundred days of the year, no
single opera is ever performed two times in a row. The provides an
incredible variety of operas for the people of Vienna to attend---and
also for those opera lovers who are willing to line up in front of
the Opera House hours in advance to purchase the left-over tickets.
The stage of the Opera House is 18
stories high (counting the basements and sub-basements). This makes
it possible to move and change scenery quickly and efficiently. In
the days of royalty, the Emperor had his own private box, his own
private stairway, his own private intermission room, his own private
tea room, and his own private entrance: all of this so he could
avoid coming into contact with the “people”. Does this help to
explain the vast amounts of money he also spent on his palaces? Anyway,
the Emperor’s private tea room can be rented for around
$12,000 per opera to entertain friends or clients.
The Opera House is large, ornate,
and
impressive, with lots of space wasted on lobbies and hallways. In
the front lobby, the only original part of the building, there are
statues of each of the men who have served as conductor of the Vienna
Opera House. Even though the building was interesting, it was not
the place that I thought I thought I would see. It was not the place
on the album jackets featuring the Vienna orchestras. It was not the
place where I see Walter Cronkite hosting the New Year’s Day
concert of Viennese waltzes and polkas. That place will have to
remain undiscovered until a later date. This was the first place
where we came into extensive contact with Americans, and this was no
doubt because we were all together as a group in the English language
tour.
One final sightseeing stop of the
day
was at The Prater, an amusement park. The landmark of this
old park is its giant Ferris
wheel which was constructed at the end of the nineteenth
century. It is not the usual Ferris wheel like we see here in the
U.S.A. It stands about 250 feet high and it has enclosed boxes or
cabins which hold ten or twelve people. From the top of this ride,
one probably has the best view of Vienna that is available anywhere
except in an airplane. From here I could see the United Nations
European Center, which comes as close to being a modern skyscrapers
as anything in the city, and something that I didn’t even know
existed until I was on this ride. And a person can confirm again
that Vienna is a city of honeycombed streets, alley ways, and
secluded courtyards which lead into more of the same. It is a city
where looking up an address in a telephone book and then setting out
to find it would be a difficult, if not impossible, challenge. We
spend a few minutes walking through this historic park which looked
much like the midway at a state fair: lots of rides, mostly for
kids, “scary” animated side shows, casinos, slot machines, and
plenty of food stands. It was crowded with families and young
people, and a few tourists like ourselves, checking the place out and
relaxing, if one can relax in this noisy carnival atmosphere.
Before calling it quits for the
day, we
took a subway to the Danube
River. I doubt if Sebastian really wanted to see it, but
this is a place that I have heard about both in music and history. Who
can go to Vienna and not see the Danube River? The river is much
wider and faster flowing than I had expected. We walked across the
river on a sidewalk beneath a long automobile and subway bridge,
competing for our space on the sidewalk with the bike riders and kids
on in-line skates. The walls were covered with graffiti just like
they were in Germany. I found out that certain four letter American
words are part of almost every vocabulary. Some of the graffiti was
carelessly and quickly sprayed, but some of it was done very
artistically. Along the Danube itself were many tour boats and
passenger boats boarding and letting off passengers. In fact, one of
the families which was staying in our hotel had come to Vienna by
boat on the Danube River.
On our way back to the hotel via
the
subway, we met a young couple from California who were confused about
the subway system and didn’t know which train to take. Sebastian
did his good deed for the day and pointed them in the right
direction. I, personally, was glad we helped them, because I know
exactly how they must have felt.
We ate our supper at the
Borodolino’s
Pizzeria---that is the same place where we ate earlier. This time,
however, we ate in the outside courtyard. I ate some sort of pasta
and as usual I had very little idea of what I was eating, but as long
as it was food, I was beyond caring at this point in the trip. It
was good and that is what counts, I guess.
We stopped at the Shell station
and
bought some Austrian beer to drink and then walked back uphill to our
hotel. It’s about a ten minute walk down to the pizza place, and
about a twenty minute walk back to the hotel. We put our bags into
the car and then drank our beer.
SUNDAY 18 JUNE 1995
This is Sunday, so it must mean we
are
on the road again---to avoid the truck traffic which is prohibited on
Sundays. We got up early and took a shower. The lady who owns the
hotel had packed a lunch for us to take with
us,
which I thought was pretty nice of her. We had already put our stuff
in the car, so all we had to do was leave quietly through the
kitchen.
What is there to say about the
trip
from Vienna to Zurich, Switzerland? We crossed from Austria into
Germany and then into Switzerland. I guess the main thing that
stands out in my mind is all the tunnels. Somehow I had pictured the
drive through the Alps as a beautiful, if not harrowing, ride up and
through miles of rugged mountains. I had planned for a lot of slow
driving as we rounded hundreds of hairpin curves. I had even
pictured mountain sheep grazing along the sides of the steep mountain
slopes. And---I had anticipated taking lots of beautiful pictures of
the Alpine scenery. But this was merely wishful thinking. Highways
in Switzerland and in Austria do not go over mountains like highways
in North America; they go through them. We drove through seemingly
dozens of tunnels, ranging from 100 meters to around fourteen miles
in length. It was not a very exciting ride. Nor was it a very
beautiful ride; nor was it at all dangerous or harrowing.
It rained for most of the trip,
and
this certainly did not add anything worth remembering, either. As we
got nearer and nearer to Zurich, we started following a large lake. The
mountain sides on both sides of the lake were heavily populated
with a string of picturesque villages, which merged one into another
forming a rather large metropolitan area---albeit a quaint,
rural-looking metropolitan area.
We arrived at the Youth Hostel in
Zurich about 3:30. This hostel is located in the south part of the
city along a busy street which leads into the city. The hostel is a
pleasant, clean place, and it also gave us a feeling of security
since we had to unlock not only the door to our room, which turned
out to be Number 6, but also unlock the door to the floor in order to
get to our room. The room was small but adequate, and we were issued
a sort of sheet/sleeping bag combination when we checked in. I used
it merely as a cover, though.
We took a brief walk around the
area
shortly after we arrived. (Actually we were looking for a telephone
booth because the one at the Hostel was being used.) About two
blocks south of the Youth Hostel was a large United Methodist Church. I
was surprised, but pleased, to know that these even existed
outside the United States. If we had gotten there earlier, we could
have gone to church---except the service would probably have been in
German.
We looked up Martin’s (Zhender)
telephone number in the telephone book (not directory! to the guy
working behind the desk) and called him. He was not there when his
father answered the telephone. I then found myself talking to his
sister, who told me that he was working, but just as I was about to
hang up, he walked into the house. Happy coincidence. He and his
father came and picked us up to take us to his house for supper. (I
hadn’t planned on doing this, but Martin insisted.) Before going
to their apartment, we drove to a hill overlooking Zurich, and Martin
and his dad pointed out some of the landmarks and sights of the city.
Again, it was the church steeples which dominated the skyline, along
with the lake and the soccer stadium.
Martin’s apartment is located on
the
third or fourth floor of a large apartment complex overlooking a
large, green lawn, and almost next door to the large soccer stadium
which we had seen earlier. They live in a small, but nice two story
apartment. Martin’s room was about one third the size of
Sebastian’s room, but he had it very functionally arranged. His
books, computer, and desk seemed to dominate the room with several
items from Kansas that he had taken home with him. He even showed me
the KU cap that I had given to him for graduation.
His sister, whose name is Karin,
is a
husky girl in her last year of high school. She had spent a year in
Illinois as an exchange student, so she speaks English quite well. She
had once been (and maybe still is) a member of the Swiss National
Women’s Soccer Team. She is friendly, outspoken and
self-confident---much more extroverted than Martin, with whom she
seems to have a very comfortable relationship. She seems very
street-wise, and I suspect that she could become just a little
overbearing if she got the chance. Martin’s father is a big man
who speaks only a limited amount of English. He is also outgoing and
seemingly a very intelligent man. Martin’s mother is a neat,
nice-looking woman. She doesn’t speak English, so I didn’t get
to say very much to her. She is an excellent cook, though. She
served us a meal consisting of lettuce salad, asparagus, beets,
croissant with some sort of meat inside them, coffee and chocolate
ice cream. I always feel self conscious eating with someone I don’t
know, but Martin assured me that this was a normal meal and that they
had not gone to any extra trouble for us. This made me feel better. We
had a pleasant conversation during our meal. Martin’s family is
still laughing about some previous visitors from the USA and their
visit to Switzerland---how they walked around with their bright,
gaudy crimson and blue Kansas Jayhawk jackets, shirts, and sweats. What
a sight they must have been on the streets of Zurich (and other
cities) wearing such strange American tourist costumes in a place
where nobody has ever heard (or cares) about Kansas University. It
probably gave people something to chuckle about for a while, I
suppose.
After supper, Martin, Karin,
Sebastian,
and I took the tram to downtown Zurich. Martin and Karin walked us
through some of the historic sections and showed us some of the
ancient Roman ruins which are still standing We walked across the
river that flows through the city, stood and looked at the lake
around which much of the city is built and admired, once again, the
churches which we could see rising above much of the city skyline. We
walked past the church which supposedly has the largest clock on a
church steeple in Europe. This church serves as a sort of unofficial
trademark or landmark for the city of Zurich, and is seen
on many postcards and tourist brochures.
Martin’s girl friend met us
somewhere
in the downtown area. Her name is Alexandra. She is a sweet girl in
her mid-twenties, very British, having been born to British parents,
but was born and raised in Switzerland. She is attending the
university and is studying English and media science, but she teaches
English at the International English School in the evenings. The
contrast between her and Karin are sharp. Alexandra is a rather
short young lady who has red hair, is very polite and soft-spoken,
and smiles a lot. This was also the first time she and Martin’s
sister, Karin, had met. They seemed to get along quite well, which,
I suppose, pleased Martin, although he pretended mock surprise.
The five of us walked through the
now-familiar narrow, twisting streets to one of Martin’s favorite
hangouts to have a few drinks and to talk. The hangout was a
colorful Spanish bar, crowded, smoky, and noisy with the din of
conversation and music from the people packed inside. A short
Spanish waiter, with a slight limp, took our order of Spanish beer,
and we spend the rest of the evening visiting, catching up on the
latest news and gossip, and trading other meaningless pleasantries. It
was an interesting and fun evening, however, sitting in that old,
intimate bar with its out-dated wood stove and wooden tables.
Around 10:30 we took the tram back
to
the Youth Hostel, said good bye to Martin, his sister Karin, and his
girl friend Alexandra. Up in our room I met a guy from Hong Kong. He is
doctor who was traveling alone through Europe before going to
the U.S.A. to spend a year studying at the University of Michigan to
become a cardiologist. We talked for a few minutes about Hong Kong,
about the United States, and about what we had seen so far in Europe.
He was a nice young man, I wish now that I had gotten his name.
Sebastian was already in bed, and I went to bed at 11:15.
MONDAY 19 JUNE 1995
I got up at 7:30 and took a
shower. Sometime later in the night other people had arrived at the
Youth
Hostel---two brothers from the U.S.A. among them. At the Hostel, we
ate breakfast of bread, jelly, cheese, coffee, and some strange stuff
made from fruit and nuts. We loaded our stuff back into the car
(this time I had taken out only what I would need to get dressed),
and then took a bus to downtown Zurich. Our tram stopped in the
middle of the Zurich banking district, and while the buildings were
not particularly impressive, the entire area exuded an aura of wealth
and prosperity. What better place to change some money?
Again, the large clock on the
church
steeple seemed to be the focal point of the downtown area, being
visible from several points in the city. The sun was shining
brightly now, giving the river, the lake, and the rest of the city a
brighter, cheerier look. Wandering though some of the back streets
and alleys, we passed some of the exclusive, and expensive, shops
selling designer clothing, jewelry, cameras, and works of art. Zurich
in many ways was like Vienna with its outside coffee shops and
cafes, its small boutiques and galleries, and its brick and
cobblestone streets. But Zurich has more order and method to its
arrangement. It seems more manageable, while still retaining its
charm and fascination. We stopped at a coffee shop or two to have
something to drink and to escape the ever-present sun, and then
walked down some of the wide, tree-shaded avenues lined with
fashionable shops and stores.
We looked inside an historic
church
with stained glass windows which were designed by Chagall. We walked
along the wide promenade beside the lake, looked at the statues of
naked men and women without the usual fig leaves attaches at
strategic points, and looked at the exclusive apartment buildings
which bordered the lake on both sides.
The morning was starting to slip
away,
so we caught a tram back to the Youth Hostel, got into our waiting
car, and said good-bye to Zurich.
Zurich is on my list of places to
visit
again when I am able to return to Europe. As in Berlin, we were able
to give Zurich only the most superficial attention. Someday I would
like to return and spend a few days getting to know this city and its
people better. It has a charm which is missing in Vienna, maybe
because Vienna is so hectic and hurried, and Zurich seems to move at
a much slower and leisurely pace. Maybe its because Zurich is
smaller; or maybe it is because of the lake and the river that run
through the center of Zurich, giving it a more casual look.
We proceeded to drive south toward
Lugano, Switzerland, our next destination. Again, this was a drive
which went through the mountains, instead of over them. Although we
could see snow on the high mountain peaks, the temperature on the
highway was hot as the sun beat down upon us. Dozens of small
villages are scattered along the slopes and foothills of the Alps,
each appearing to be quaint and postcard pretty. In reality, they
were probably no more than what we call suburbs here in the U.S.A. But
their charm and beauty made up, in part, for the heat and the
weariness of the long stretch of highways, traffic and tunnels.
We did make one stop in a small
village
along the lake sometime in the afternoon. (But since I lost the
pictures of this part of the trip, I don’t remember very much about
it.) The only other stop that I recall was at a rest station where I
tried to call Brett, only to discover that the telephone only makes
calls to places inside Europe. Just one of the many rinky-dink
things I had already encountered and would encounter again throughout
this trip.
After driving through one of the
longest tunnels of the trip, we emerged on the other side of the
mountain to an entirely different landscape and atmosphere. Sebastian
said we had left the “German” part of Switzerland only
to find ourselves in the southern “Italian” section. It was no
longer charming and picturesque, with Alpine villages, but it was
flatter, dirtier, and more industrialized and developed. We had
entered a different world, a world where “old” is an industry.
Lugano sounds like the name of a
small
village: a laid back place with quiet, lazy streets. But names can
be deceiving. Lugano turned out to be a bustling city which catered
to the thriving tourist trade. After some difficulty, we found the
Youth Hostel where we would spend the night. Although it was located
in a small complex of old attractive buildings, it would prove to be
a busy, noisy place, full of obnoxious kids on class trips. Our room
was in a building which opened onto the swimming pool. There were
six beds “downstairs” and a couple beds in a sort of upper loft
with barely enough room to stand up straight. These were the beds
which Sebastian and I took.
Since it was still early in the
afternoon, we took a short walk to see if there was anything
interesting to look at near the Youth Hostel. After a few blocks, it
became apparent that there was nothing interesting to see around that
area. We stopped at a sidewalk bar about a couple blocks from the
Hostel and had a drink. Later we ate supper on the open terrace of
an Italian restaurant across the street from the Youth Hostel. Included
in my meal were meat, ground corn (I’ve heard of mashed
potatoes---but mashed corn??), salad, and fruit. The meal was good
and it gave us a chance to get away from the screaming kids at the
Youth Hostel for a while. It was our first experience (or at least
it was MY first experience) with an Italian speaking waitress,
although she spoke enough English to understand what we wanted.
After returning to the Youth
Hostel, we
sat in the front yard at a small table and played rummy, disturbed
frequently by the obnoxious high school kids: the girls acted like
two-bit tramps, and the boys acted like ignorant rural hicks. Oh, to
be back in the U.S.A. around all those “well-mannered” teenagers. It
turned out that the two brothers whom we had seen in Zurich were
also here in Lugano----and in our room. Coincidence! Also there was
a biker and his girl friend (or maybe it was his wife) who pulled in.
It turned out that he would also be assigned to our room. At 10:00
some guy came out and told us that it was curfew time and that
everyone had to go to their rooms and go to bed.
TUESDAY 20 June 1995
Last
night went better than I had hoped. Once we had gone to bed, it was
fairly quiet. The two brothers kept pretty much to themselves and
didn't say much to anybody. Sebastian said that once in the night he
woke up and heard some kids in the swimming pool, but it only lasted
until someone told them to go back inside and be quiet. I didn't
hear anything. When the alarm went off at 0630, I sat up in bed and
saw the biker's girl friend leave the room in a hurry. I guess she
must have stayed with him all night, which is surprising, considering
the size of the beds. Either they were very uncomfortable or very
happy.
After
we
ate breakfast---the usual, unchanging stuff---we set out on what
would be a long and tortuous trip to our next destination. After
crossing into Italy at mid-morning, the scenery took on a distinct
agricultural tone. Between Milan and Torrino, we drove past fields
of corn, sunflowers, some beans, and even fields of rice. I was not
aware that rice was grown in this part of the world, but there were
several flooded rice paddies visible from the highway. This was the
first major agricultural region I had seen thus far. Of course, a
lot of the land simply lay idle, overgrown by trees and brush. Most
of the small villages we passed were obviously farming villages,
although we didn't stop and look at any of them.
We
began
to face another reality of European life, too: the toll road. It
costs to drive on most of the highways in Italy. In fact, we had to
pay to drive on every road we traveled in Italy. This must generate
a huge amount of revenue, judging from the amount of traffic using
the highways. Just as in Switzerland, tunnels are drilled through
mountains, so the trip was not one of beauty or excitement.
As
we
drove along northern Italy and into southern France, I noticed that
growing vegetables must be a major industry. With a subtropical
climate, several crops can be harvested each year. There were huge
fields of various vegetables and also huge greenhouses, which must
supply food to a great deal of that area, if not all of Europe. I
would liked to have seen some of these, but we did not take the time
to stop for a close inspection.
The
vegetation is lush and green, hedges separate the two sides of the
four lane highways. This is probably a valid safety precaution, but
it obscures the surrounding scenery and does nothing to make the trip
interesting. From what was visible from the highway, the people in
this region appeared to be quite poor---while the rich people
appeared to be quite rich. The villages were basically dreary little
towns with small, red tiled houses. There were occasional large
villas of the rich land owners, but these were out numbered by the
cookie cutter architecture of the poor. After a while, the
quaintness wears off, and there becomes a "sameness" about
the country, about the villages, about the church steeples. The
novelty wears off. A narrow street becomes just another narrow
street, indistinguishable from any other narrow street. The quaint,
yellow stucco buildings look the same, even if they were built
centuries ago. The flowers are pretty, but so are flowers no matter
where one goes to look at them.
Things
are expensive---everything: food, gas, lodging, drinks, highway
fees. And even more expensive when considering that everything
bought here comes in the smallest size possible. Probably a lot of
this is due to the fact that this is tourist country, and tourists
are ripped off world wide. But here, it has been elevated to an art
form and they have mastered the technique. "Old" is the
major industry. One does not come to see natural wonders, but rather
to see the remains of what was done in centuries past. For this
reason, things are rarely changed, progress is not made. Because
what would the tourists look at if there is nothing old? The
crowded, narrow streets which honeycomb the towns and villages, give
the illusion of being quaint, of being pretty, of being of another
world. They are all of this. But more than anything else, they are
expensive tourists traps, just the same as Las Vegas, Atlantic City,
or Orlando. If one likes crowds; if one likes traffic in places
where only pedestrians should be; if one likes preserved
disorder---then this is a place they would love.
Well,
anyway, returning to the story---we drove past Milan, Genoa, Nice and
Monaco. We did stop ever so briefly so I could take a picture of
Monaco, only to find out minutes later that the film had not been
advancing each time I took a picture. It appears that I lost all the
pictures taken between Zurich and somewhere in southern France. We
drove along miles of Mediterranean beaches, but we saw them only from
afar. I tried to call Brett again on the rinky dink phone system,
but he didn't answer.
Sebastian
found a campground somewhere near St. Tropez. I really don't know if
we were IN St. Tropez, or merely in a village nearby. It might have
been a place called Ramatuelle.
But, it doesn't make a lot of difference, it all looks pretty much
the same no matter where one is located. The campground is exactly
what is says: ground to camp on! There are no picnic tables, no
camp fires, nowhere to sit---just a place to pitch a tent.
After
setting up our tent and checking out the showers (which you have to
pay to use) we drove into town and walked around a bit. By now the
new had worn off. It just appeared to be more of the same. We
stopped at another sidewalk cafe and drank some Perrier water
($3.50). I bought some bread so I could get filled up with something
filling, but not expensive or sweet---two adjectives which describe
almost all the food around here. We bought some food in a grocery
store, took it back to the campground and fixed it on Sebastian's
portable camp stove. It was some canned ham and beans, I think.
Sebastian "borrowed" a couple chairs from a vacant
neighboring campsite so we would have a place to sit while we enjoyed
our evening meal, using the back of the car as our table.
WEDNESDAY
21 June 1995
Although
we got up at 0740 this morning, I might as well have stayed up all
night. We slept in the tent last night, and I didn't get much sleep
at all. The air mattress had too much air in it; it was too short;
and I had no pillow. I guess I did manage to get a few minutes of
sleep, even though I tossed and turned all night trying to find
something that resembled a comfortable position. We had to wait for the
married couple that runs the place to come to work in order to
buy some tokens for the hot water in the showers. It was sort of a
toss up about what shower to use. There is no distinction between
men and women's showers. There were no women (or men for that
matter) taking showers, so it ended up not making a lot of
difference. Surprisingly, the showers were not bad. The hot water
actually worked---one of the few good surprises thus far.
Our
campground was shaped something like a horseshoe, with a one-way loop
going clockwise around it. The road was typical of this
region---narrow, bumpy, and not well marked. There were a few sites
for tents, but most of the campground was occupied by small cabins
which vacationers could rent. The sites both above us and below us
(I forgot to mention that it was also built on a hill) were those
sort of cabins. The cabin above us was home to about seven or eight
people: a couple or three kids and the rest adults. They sat on
their porch (such as it was) and talked loudly while drinking their
wine and eating their supper. But they went to bed quite early and
we would never see them again until the next morning. A middle age
couple lived in the cabin below us. I think he was some sort of
officer, at least he wore a uniform. He spent most of his time
walking around nude or in his underwear. His wife came out and
washed the windows each morning and then she disappeared for the rest
of the day.
After
eating breakfast---some cookies, bananas, and bread that we had
bought the day before---we drove into some small village and walked
through some more winding, narrow streets and took some pictures. These
were probably the first village pictures that I took, because
it was the first village in which we spent any length of time. Many
of the old buildings were crumbling and were in the process of being
renovated, probably so they could be rented out to tourists who were
willing to pay for the privilege of staying in an old historic house.
While we were in this village, we had our morning coffee ($3.50 per
cup).
Next
we
visited St. Tropez,
a bustling town on the French Rivera. After we had parked the car,
we bought some French pastries which we ate as we were looking at
the large expensive yachts that were anchored in the harbor. The
water front was a jungle of cafes, souvenir shops, sidewalk vendors,
and banks. Oh, yes, banks! This was my introduction to French
bureaucracy. Changing money had been only a routine matter. I would
walk into the bank, show them my passport, sign the travelers check
and they gave me the money. But not in France. To begin with, there
are electronic doors which are controlled by security guards and
allow only one person to enter the bank at a time. I could not take
my camera into the bank, and after I got into the bank, no money was
handed over until the clerk pompously entered all the information
from my passport and from the travelers check into a computer, and
waited for it to print out two or three forms, which I had to sign.
This, I suppose, was done either to provide employment for more
people, or because they want to feel important.
After
looking around briefly and paying $4.00 for a cup of coffee so I
could use the rest room inside the cafe, we went back to the
campground.
I
got my
swimming trunks, my glasses, and my book, The Other Mrs. Kennedy,
so we could go to the beach. Before going to the beach, however, I
called Brett to make sure everything was O.K. He told me that Greg
Markowitz has resigned as high school principal. This was a
surprise, in a way, because I figured it would be either Monica or
Dave DuBois.
We
drove
to a public beach on the Mediterranean Sea---the French Rivera. We
parked the car under a canopy to shade it from the sun and then
walked down to the beach. We changed into our swimming trunks on the
beach. Nobody cared since this seemed to be the accepted practice.
About half of the women were topless, which seemed to be a welcomed
tradition, also. One of the first thing many of the women did after
arriving at the beach was to take off their bikini top. There was a
really well built babe lying only a short distance from Sebastian and
me. I guess I should have had some sun glasses, because I couldn't
seem to keep my eyes off her. And every time I looked at her, she
seemed to be looking at me. I really wasn't staring at her, either,
but it was hard to keep from looking that way.
There
were lots of people on the beach, but it was not as crowded as I had
expected it to be. But it was still early in the season. For two
hours, from 3:00 until 5:00, I read my book, watched the other
people, and slept. Even though I had expected to get a fairly bad
sunburn, it wasn't bad at all. We never did go into the water. In
fact, for the most part, only the children did any swimming. Most of
the adults were there to sit in the sun.
On
the
way back to the campground, we stopped at the grocery store to buy
some food for supper. Believe it or not, I actually saw a couple
things that make sense in this country where basic logic seems to get
lost in out-dated tradition. In order to use a grocery cart, one
must insert a coin to unlock it. When the cart is returned, the
coin is also returned. This discourages people from leaving carts in
places where they do not belong, or from stealing them. The other
good thing that I saw was the scales that print out a price label for
fresh produce so the checker, who is always sitting down, does not
have to stop and weight all the produce that people buy. It is
rather strange to see dogs in the stores with their masters. Maybe
they figure the dogs are just as clean and sanitary as the people,
and maybe they are in this country with no toilet paper in the rest
rooms. This is another adjustment a foreigner has to make. Always
take your own roll of toilet paper when going to the rest room. This
little courtesy---and a healthful one, at that---is not provided in
most places in France.
Back
in
the campground, we bought some tokens for the hot water and took a
shower after lying on the sandy beach in the sun. We made sure that
we bought some tokens for the next day, also. We ate our supper of
sliced meat, unsliced cheese, bread, and water without ice---because
the stores do not sell ice in Europe. Maybe this is one way I can
make my fortune: just a simple thing like selling ice. Are we ahead
of times here in the U.S., or are they still living in the past with
their old buildings?
We
played some rummy and Trivial Pursuit while we drank some gin and
orange juice without any ice, and then we went to bed.
THURSDAY
22 June 1995
This
morning when we got up, we already had our tokens for the hot water,
so we were able to take a shower without having to wait. We ate
breakfast, packed up our tent and headed north.
Our
drive took us through the Moures Mountains, at least that is what
Sebastian told me. I have never heard of them before. They really
aren't mountains, just large tree covered hills. They reminded me a
lot of the Ozarks. The road snaked around the bends of this
uninteresting scenery, only to be broken by the constant stretches
of vineyards whose straight and narrow rows give some meaning and
order to this hot, dry region. It is easy to tell that this is wine
country. Vineyards, both large and small, abound. Each village,
sometimes each vineyard, has its own winery, with its own unique name
and brand. Right now the grapes vines are still young and are still
growing, so there wasn't much activity around the fields or the
wineries. But the vast number of acres of grapes does give character
to the landscape, much like the wheat fields of Kansas, or the corn
fields of Nebraska and Iowa, although maybe corn and wheat are not
quite as exotic as wine.
In
places the vineyards share space with olive trees. These were the
first olive trees that I have ever seen. These short trees have
leaves of a lighter shade of green, and they are planted in small
orchards in orderly rows. They are a common sight in this region,
thriving in the same subtropical climate as grapes do.
Around
noon, we stopped in a town called Brignoles
to have our laundry done. I had assumed that we would go to a
Laundromat much like the ones in the United States, although much
more expensive. But this turned out to be an old fashioned laundry,
where a person leaves the clothing and someone else washes them,
dries them, and folds them . It took two or three hours for the
woman to complete this job. In the meantime, Sebastian and I walked
around the town. Sebastian had been to this town before since he and
his parents had come here on vacation. One of the things that he
pointed out was an old fountain in the town square that had gradually
filled in with dirt and had moss and other vegetation growing out
from it. He said his family checks it each time they visit to see
how much more dirt and moss have collected on it. We sat at the end
of the town square near the fountain and drank coffee. We wandered
around town some more using up time until our laundry was done. We
looked in store windows, checked out the pictures in real estate
offices, looked in a book store----and of course, walked through some
more narrow streets and courtyards, before stopping at another
outside cafe to drink something cold. As we sat in some of these
small cafes, I couldn't help notice policemen on duty in the town
squares or at traffic circles. They didn't seem to be doing anything
special. They would talk with the "locals", all of whom
they probably knew, and they would sometimes give information to
tourists. I don't recall seeing many uniformed policemen in the
larger cities. It was sort of refreshing just to see a cop hanging
around talking to the people, even if there was no apparent need for
him.
Finally
the two hours were up and we went back to the laundry to get our
clothes. It cost about $25 to have the clothes washed---something
that would have cost us $5.00 at the most here in the U.S.
Our
final destination for the day was a village called Cotignac. We camped
at
the municipal campground just outside the village. As
we were driving to and from the campground, we could look down on the
ancient village, with its red tiled roofs and its confusing web of
streets. On a cliff at one edge of the village was the skeleton of a
castle, which had long since fallen into ruin and only a few ghostly
walls remain.
The
campground, although it had no picnic table, chairs, or other
amenities, was somewhat more comfortable that the previous
campground. There was hot water in the showers, although there still
was no toilet paper. There was a sink near our camp site where we
could wash dishes. At the registration office, there were some
tables and chairs. This became our private dining area. It was a
little inconvenient, but it offered a pleasant change from eating
from the trunk of the car. There were several other campers in the
campground. A young guy and his wife were in the spot next to ours. A
biker and his wife were across the road. They were a rough look
couple and they never seemed to leave the campground. They always
spoke to us when we would meet on the way to the rest room, but they
pretty much kept to themselves both day and night.
Changing
money was just as complicated and labored here as it was St. Tropez. I
guess this must be their way of feeling important and proving their
authority. It was another one of those locked doors, one at a time,
no camera in bank, type bunches of information in computer, wait for
receipt, sign receipt ordeals again. But, at least I got the money.
It
didn't take us long to "adopt" a favorite bar. The place
was called "Modern Bar". It was located on a corner near
the edge of the town square. We sat at our sidewalk table and drank
two or three beers, just sort of watching the local villagers come
and go. It was apparent that this bar had its regular clientele and
was a place where the people knew each other well. Of course, I had
no idea what the people were talking about, but some fairly lively
conversations were taking place. When we got ready to leave, the
waitress, who was probably the owner, tried to charge us for an extra
drink, but with a little persuasion, she relented, although I am not
sure she really believed us. Like many of the waiters and waitresses
in France, she looked like she could have been selected by a
Hollywood casting director.
Around
11:00 we went back to the campground and went to bed.
FRIDAY
23 June 1995
Another
delightful night in the tent! No pillow, an air mattress that I keep
falling off. Around 0300 I got up and went outside for a little bit.
Nobody else was up and it was cool and quiet. Maybe I could sleep
better sitting up in a chair. I did fall asleep for awhile after I
went back into the tent.
After
eating breakfast at the table up by the office, I took a picture of
the small vineyard next to the campground. We set out for a day of
sightseeing, first driving north to the Canyon
of Verdon--the Grand Canyon of France. This was to be the
first natural feature we had visited. The day was dark and gloomy as
we started our ascent into the mountains. As we wound our way up the
mountain around the hairpin curves, it began to look like we were in
Colorado. The mountains were not as tall and there was no snow. But
these were real mountains. And below us was a river which cut
through the mountains forming a deep canyon. As we continued to
drive higher and higher through the green forest-covered mountains,
the canyon became deeper and deeper. It didn't look as much like the
Grand Canyon as it did the Yellowstone Canyon, perhaps. But, for
France, it is a spectacular sight.
The
clouds became heavier as we gained in altitude, and soon it began to
rain. Not a heavy rain, but a steady, grey rain that often occurs
high in the mountains. We stopped at the summit and walked out onto
a bridge spanning the canyon to take some pictures. Then we followed
the diesel smoking tour buses back down the mountain to where we had
first started. We stopped at the base of the canyon where the river
begins flowing through the mountains. The water was almost an
emerald green color. We paused briefly and watched a motor boat
skimming over the river before moving on.
We
had
planned to "lay out" at the lake, Lake St. Croix, but the
clouds were blocking the sun, so we abandoned that idea and drove on.
Lying in the sun for a couple hours would have been a welcome break
considering the lack of sleep I had experienced, but instead we drove
on to Le Thoronet Monastery near the town of Carces. When we first
approached this old monastery, I thought it was still
active. When we walked into the reception area to buy our tickets
(of course), there was the haunting sounds of chants in the
background. "Oh, this is exciting," I thought. But, the
music was all recorded, and the place had been empty for years. The
monastery was started in the 1100's and was completed over the next
seventy years. It became the home for Benedictine Monks for the next
few centuries. The place was a massive building built of huge stones
and possessed a simple elegance which gave it a Spartan look in
comparison with St. Stephens, for example. The place was dedicated
to prayer and study rather than to public worship. There was no
impressive pipe organ in the loft and no gold ornaments or statues. In
the chapel there were wooden benches to sit on. The other
dependencies such as the dormitory, the dining hall, and the library
were dark and cool and quiet----almost spooky. Sebastian remarked
that it would make a good setting for a murder mystery, maybe for Murder,
She Wrote.
There
were plaques which described each portion of the large structure. It
had been not only a religious institution, but also a self sufficient
agricultural village with workers who cared for the surrounding land.
In back of the buildings was an olive grove, which perhaps had been
planted during this medieval period. The plaque said that the monks
used to walk along the edges of the passage ways in order not to wear
down the stones in the middle.
We
stopped in the town of Carces for a cup of coffee before we returned
to the campground. Very near the entrance to the campground, there
is a very large vineyard----the kind only a rich person would own. In
the middle of this prosperous vineyard was an impressive mansion. We
paused briefly so I could take a picture of this colorful sight.
After
we
got back to the campground, we sat in the tent and played Trivial
Pursuit for a while before driving back into Carces to the grocery
store to get some food for supper. Again, we bought some sliced
meat, some cheese, some bananas and some bread. I guess that
contains most of the food groups, doesn't it? The
clouds throughout the day had kept the temperatures quite cool and as
the sun started to set, there was a definite chill in the air. I
changed into jeans and put on a jacket before we drove into the
village of Cotignac to the Modern Bar. We sat in the corner bar
under the green Heineken umbrellas and drank a couple beers. By this
time, the waitress, the woman who owned the bar, recognized us and
served us with a smile. The same people were here again tonight,
sitting in their usual places. We were probably the only tourists,
except for the couple who was camping beside us. But they didn't
stay very long. Even with the jeans and jacket, it was still cool,
so we also didn't stay long, but went back to the tent and went to
bed.
SATURDAY
24 June 1995
After
getting up and doing all the usual things, we got into the car and
drove through some heavily forested countryside to a town called
Lorgues. I
was
running a little short on money, so I went through the long,
bureaucratic process of changing some American dollars for French
francs. Most of this town seemed to built along one main street,
although there was the usual intricate pattern of narrow streets
webbing the inner part of the village. We sat beneath an umbrella on
the main street and drank some Perrier Menthe, a green mint drink
which tasted like Nyquil cough medicine, while Sebastian told me
about the Entre Casteaux, a large, hotel-like building across the
street from us. It seems that it is owned by a wealthy (former) East
German. After we finished our drink, we walked across the street to
look at it, but it was closed for renovation. The building is
located near a sort of community center, complete with a playground,
an outside dance floor, and picnic and meeting areas. There were a
few kids playing on the equipment, but not many.
While
we
were sitting in the little sidewalk cafe, I began to notice the
number of people who greet each other with a kiss. Woman to woman and
man to woman, but not man to man. I had also seen this in other
places in France, but it seemed to stand out more in this small
village. Sebastian told me that this is fairly traditional in most
European countries.
It
must
have been sometime in the late morning and the sun was starting to
get warm. The atmosphere in this small town seemed to be very lazy
and laid back. Several people were lounging in the street cafes and
bars, some people were leaning out their windows staring with
expressionless eyes, dogs were drinking from the public fountain on
the main drag. Nobody seemed very energetic.
We
looked briefly in an old church whose corner stone was dated 1788. It
was cool and dark inside the old stone structure. Like many other
churches we looked in, this church also had a beautiful pipe
organ in the rear loft.
A
small
village called Tourtour,
further up in the hills was our next stop. This village was one of
the towns where Sebastian and his parents have rented a vacation
house in the past. In fact, as we walked around the village, we
found the exact house where they had once vacationed for a month. I
took a picture of Sebastian standing in front of it. It was, indeed,
for rent again for this summer. We walked through a small outside
market and looked at the fruits and vegetable, the crafts, and the
other trinkets that were for sale. From a walkway along the
hillside, we could look out over the forested surroundings and see
more small villages and farms in the distance. Sebastian said there
had been a bad forest fire in that area about 12 years ago and some
of the hills were still barren from this fire.
Some
of
the streets are so narrow that only one car at a time can drive
through them. There is, however, a stoplight which controls the
traffic to avoid collisions. In the center of the town is a
fountain, which also doubles as a drinking place for the dogs of the
village. We drank some coffee and ate some rolls as our lunch.
Back
in
the campground, we played Trivial Pursuit and took a nap before going
back into the village of Cotignac for some beer and also some tomato
juice at our favorite corner bar. We were waited on by our now
familiar waitress. She probably thinks we have moved to town. Many
of the same people were already sitting there, under the green
umbrellas, drinking beer and talking to each other, often loudly, about
subjects that I did not understand. Whoever owns that bar has
an ill tempered dog---a very ugly dog with buck teeth. I don't
recall ever having seen a dog that ugly before, and I kept wondering
why anyone would have gotten a dog that was so ugly. It lay around
until it found someone or something, like another dog, to bark at,
and then it would bark until someone told it to shut up.
For
supper we drove to a village north of the campground, to a place I
think was called Sillans La Cascade. We got there early. The
restaurant didn't open until 7:00, so we walked about a half mile
down a dirt path, through a field to the base of a tree covered hill
to see a water fall. I am sure this is where the name of the village
must have come from. The waterfall was just sort of "there";
I suppose it could have been located somewhere along the Columbia
River. After looking at it, there wasn't much to do except to walk
back to the village to see if the restaurant had opened. While we
were standing around waiting to be seated, hundreds of sheep were
herded from a pasture adjoining the water fall down the highway in
front of the restaurant and then out of sight. It was one of the
neatest and most spectacular sights of the trip---watching real
shepards and real sheep dogs move hundreds of sheep right there in
front of my eyes.
When
we
were finally seated, a private party was still in progress. The
owner of the restaurant was throwing a party for someone. Or maybe
she was just one of the guests. Nevertheless, it was a loud,
boisterous affair encouraged by endless bottles of wine. So we sat
patiently and sipped our beer under the large canvas canopy that
covered the tables on the terrace. Finally the raucous celebration
broke up, and the members of the party started to drift away as the
restaurant began to fill with diners.
Meals
were always awaited with great anticipation, because I was never
exactly sure what I was ordering. Fortunately there were no
disasters; in fact, some of them turned out to be quite tasty and
delightful, as did the meal that I ordered this night. Fish, ham,
salad, french fries and melon. It cost about $35.00, about twice
what if was worth, but what the heck. It was a genuine French meal,
eaten in a genuine French restaurant, served by genuine French
waiters. And those French are elegant, classy people.
Following
the meal, we drove directly to the Modern Bar. Instead of beer, I
drank hot chocolate. It was another very cool night, much too cool
to be drinking anything cold. The hot chocolate helped warm me up a
little, but the chill of the night finally won out and we drove back
to the campground, even though several other people, tougher than us,
I suppose, were still drinking when we left.
As
we
sat in the many sidewalk bars and cafes in the towns and villages
along the trip, one thing that seemed unusual was the lack of kids,
young people, teenagers. We have seen them on their way to school in
the mornings, so I know there are some around. But I rarely ever saw
them downtown, at least in numbers similar to those who prowl the
streets of the towns and cities of the U. S. The fact that
teenagers cannot drive an automobile until they are eighteen years
old probably accounts for part of this, But there must be other
cultural differences which also would help explain it.
SUNDAY 25 June 1995
At
0730 we were up and taking a shower, taking the tent down, and
packing everything into the back of Sebastian's car getting ready to
leave this place behind. We paused, however, to eat an elegant
breakfast of bread, cheese, and some sort of fruit at our own little
"sidewalk cafe" up near the office. Although we left the
campground at 8:30, we couldn't leave the village of Cotignac without
having our morning cup of coffee at the Modern Bar. Our regular
waitress was not working, which saddened us a little, but we were
brave and endured this misfortune. Since she owned the place, and
since this was Sunday morning, she was probably sleeping in.
We
stopped in Brignoles for gas, but for some reason that I do not
remember, we didn't buy any. I did buy a real estate magazine,
however, mostly to remind me of the kind of houses the (rich) people
live in and just a bit about the prices and kinds of houses
available. We also bought some bread to munch on while we were
driving on the four lane highway. Speaking of four lane
highways----The French do many things in a strange manner that often
defies logic. Instead of picking up a ticket where ever one gets on
the highway and then paying for it at the exit where you get off, the
French have toll booths set up almost at random. You pay the toll,
and then immediately get another ticket to pay again a few miles
down the road. I never figured out the advantage of the system, unless
they are afraid people will cut across the fields and
vineyards in order to escape paying the toll. Or, I suspect, it is
another way for the government to hire needless workers. It must be
quite expensive to operate so many toll booths, when one at each of
the exits would be sufficient.
Another
unusual sight along the French highways are the restaurants and cafes
which are built over the highways. Unfortunately, we didn't stop at
any of them, but making a cafe or restaurant as an "overpass"
seems like a neat idea. It might be fun sitting above the highway
drinking coffee, or eating a meal, and looking down at the traffic as
it passes below.
We
stopped for gas somewhere along the highway, but other than that it
was a routine drive. There were vineyards along the highway, but I
had already taken pictures of them. There were also the usual
villages strung out along the highway, and I had already seen some
French villages. It was the castles and fortresses that caught my
attention. It might have been interesting to have looked in one or
two of them, or at least to have taken a picture of them. There must
have been some interesting history to be learned from some of them:
of knights, warriors, land barons, and nobility. But we didn't stop
and look at any of them.
After
some hesitation, Sebastian finally decided to stop in the town of
Orange to
camp. We found a large campground at the edge of the town, and that was
where we would spend the next couple days. The camping spaces were
located between two rows of hedge. On this particular afternoon the
sun was beating down relentlessly.
Much
of the downtown area seemed to be built around a series of circular
plazas. We sat in one such plaza whose focal point was a fountain
with some large granite or marble balls. It was Sunday, and it was
hot. There were several people sitting idly around talking or
drinking. Lots of people from North Africa, the Middle East, and
even a few blacks. Most of these people appeared to be poor; many of
them were also quite young. I speculated that they probably lived in
very small, hot, uncomfortable apartments, and it was cooler and more
pleasant to sit in the town square. The rich people were probably
home watching TV and enjoying their own drinks on their own
comfortable patios.
Since
there was not much else to do on this Sunday afternoon---all of the
stores were closed---we started walking around. Sebastian had been
here before and knew his way around. Our walk took us first to an
ancient amphitheater which was built during the Roman rule of France.
There wasn't much to be seen from the outside, and, of course, it
was closed. We strolled back to the long shaded line of sidewalk
cafes, which adjoined an equally long parking lot in the center of
the town. We sat under the shade of the trees in order to escape
the hot sun and drank mineral water, something which I could never
quite seem to enjoy. After wandering into the tourist information
office located just to the side of the strip of sidewalk cafes, we
started walking toward the Arch, looking for a place to eat along the
way. The Arch, which also dates back to Roman rule, is in a traffic
circle on the busiest street in town, a major highway which runs
through the center of the business district. The street was choked
with weekend traffic as we walked west on the narrow sidewalk toward
the Arch. We stopped briefly and looked into the window of a
Vietnamese or Thai restaurant on a corner across from a bar where an
old man was playing a piano on an outside terrace. After glancing
briefly at the Arch, we walked back on the other side of the street,
but found no restaurant on that side of the street either.
As
we
were walking down what I thought was an alley---silly me, of course,
it was really a street---we came up on a hole-in-the-wall pizza
place. The prices were fairly reasonable (around $11.00), so we
stopped there to eat. There were only two small tables in front, but
it appeared to be a quiet place to eat and rest. Silly me again. We
sat down at our table, ordered a beer to drink while we were waiting
for our pizza, and then they found us! A steady line of strollers,
motorcycles, bicycles, and an assortment of cars. Maybe THIS was the
main thoroughfare of the town. Cars squeezed confidently down the
cobblestone street, missing us by only inches, something that I am
sure the drivers never even gave a second thought to. The pizza,
which was baked in an old stone oven, turned out to be quite good,
and I even grew accustomed to the cars which passed so close that
they could have easily shared my pizza. I was puzzled by guys who
would come roaring up on the motorcycles and then just hang around
talking to the two young men who ran the place. This must have been
primarily a carry out place, because they all seemed to leave
carrying a pizza. Actually, it was a pretty nice, unusual, out of
the way place to eat. The owners were friendly, as they are in most
neighborhood places such as this.
After
finishing our pizza, we walked to a large open air plaza with a
merry-go-round in the center and with the usual assortment of
sidewalk bars. We sat in a bar near the Hotel De Ville and watched
the kids ride on the merry-go-round while the adults took their dogs
on a late afternoon walk.
Back
at
the campground, around 7:15, we played more Trivial Pursuit and
rummy until we went to bed around 10:30.
MONDAY
26 June 1995
Around
0730 we got up and walked to the showers. I took a shower in one
cramped stall, and then combed my hair and brushed my teeth in
another stall. They don't believe in shower rooms here, either. We
then ate some bread and jelly and some zwieback for breakfast and
then went into Orange to a sidewalk cafe near the old amphitheater to
have a cup of coffee. Morning is a busy time in Orange with trucks
making their deliveries, people hurrying to work, and school kids
walking and riding their bikes to morning classes. We sat and
watched the busy scene for a while before finding a bank to change
some money.
The
amphitheater, our first stop, was built by the Romans in
approximately 36 B.C. Built against a hill for better acoustics, it
seats 7000 people for a variety of events ranging from rock
concerts, to opera, to modern drama. Although it is apparent that
parts of it has been renovated---some of the seating for example---it
still remains much the way it was built centuries ago. Workmen were
constructing what appeared to be a new stage, or perhaps some
scenery. We made the mistake of walking through the work area, much
to their displeasure. A "new" statue of Emperor Caesar
Augustus stands high in center stage, where the original statue once
stood.
We
paid
another visit to the old Roman arch after leaving the amphitheater. The
arch, erected in 20 A.D., was also built by the Roman
conquerors and once served as the main entrance to the city of
Orange. Now it stands in the center of a busy traffic circle along
the highway which is still the main entrance to the city. The arch
was carved with scenes depicting the Roman conquest of the Celts.
Although many of the scenes are still visible, the arch is beginning
to show signs of deterioration and wear. When we looked at it
yesterday, the area was deserted, but today tourists and groups of
school children were there, along with the ever present traffic.
We
walked back through the side street in order to take a picture of the
pizza place where we ate yesterday. It wasn't open yet, and traffic
was sparse. We walked back through the plaza with the merry-go-round
and the plaza with the large round rocks in the fountain. It was
approaching 11:00 and many of the shops and stores still had not
opened. We bought some rolls to eat and then drove back to the
campground.
Orange
is a town of about 35,000 people, although it gives the appearance of
having more people than that. It is obviously a very old city
with an interesting history. The Amphitheater dates back to the
years before the birth of Christ. But one does not get the feeling
that time has purposely stood still like one gets in many of the
places we had been previously. There are modern buildings; there are
modern streets, even though we found ourselves walking in the street
much of the time because the sidewalks are wide enough (or narrow
enough) for only one person to walk.
Back
at
the campground, the sky was cloudless and the sun was again hot and
without mercy. Sebastian and I lay in the sun for about an hour. I
read more of my Kennedy book and slept briefly, although it was too
hot to sleep comfortably. An hour was all we could take. We took a
quick shower and drove to an aqueduct somewhere in that area. The
aqueduct, also built by the Romans to carry water, was more or less a
tourist trap with a fee of $10.00 to walk across it. We paid the
$10.00, walked across the lower level and then walked back across the
upper level. The upper level was the part that carried the water. It
was barely tall enough to stand up and certainly too narrow for a
fat person to walk through.
The
landscape reflects a drier climate. The trees are short and scrubby
and much of the land is rocky wasteland. There are still vineyards,
but the look and feel is different. It is hot and dusty. One gets
the feeling that this might also be a poorer region, too. We are
further from the Mediterranean Sea now, and the lush forests of a few
miles back are no longer present.
New
is
still "old", so I know we must still be in southern France. Even new
buildings are patterned after the style of the old,
tourist, picture post card buildings of long ago. Old gets to be
almost a state of mind, it seems. It's like these people do not want
to leave the past; they want to remain lost in what used to be. The
yellow stucco buildings with their wooden shutters do offer some
relief from the overbearing sun, I suppose. But, mostly it seems
that these people are looking backward instead of forward.
TUESDAY
27 June 1995
Hooray!
My last night in a campground. I have been sleeping better since I
let some of the air out of the air mattress. At least I don't roll
off it anymore. And I have been using one of my smaller bags as a
pillow. Such luxury. I wish I had thought of this long ago. We got
up at 0730, went up and took a shower and then ate some rolls for
breakfast. After we packed away the tent for the last time, we drove
into downtown Orange for some coffee to get us started for the
day----and what a long day it would turn out to be.
Our
route took us in a northerly direction toward our final destination
of Paris. Sometime after we bypassed Lyon, we stopped at a rest area
and ate a lunch of bread and cheese, and also filled the thermos
bottle with real water. The sun was still showing no mercy as the
temperature began to climb into the mid eighties. We stopped in
Macon and I used my credit card to get 300 francs. This money was
spent mostly at the randomly placed highway toll booths, which I
described earlier.
As
we
drove along, the landscape gradually changed from the semi-tropical
climate with its endless miles of vineyards into more conventional
farmland with field crops such as wheat and hay. Trees changed from
scrubby bushes that covered wasteland to forests of green leafy
trees. As we drove further into the interior of France, the more
reminiscent of Kansas it became---with a few hills added, of course.
Even the hills began to flatten out as we drove, and large fields of
wheat began to replace vineyards as the chief type of agriculture.
Large herds of cattle---especially charlaois---began to appear in the
fields, signaling the fact that this was dairy country. This must be
where the dozens of kinds of cheese in France come from. Wine,
bread, and cheese. We passed them all today.
As
we
sped along the highway, waiting until we would come to the next toll
booth, villages came and then disappeared into the distance. More
castles, fortresses, and churches loomed in the distance, as we past
them by. Getting a good picture from the car was impossible, not
because of the barriers like the Austrians had constructed, but
because of the never ending guard rails along the highways. It
became almost like both the French, as well as the Austrians, were
saying, "If you want to take pictures, you've gotta go into the
villages." We didn't, and I didn't get any pictures. The
appearance of the villages began to change, also. The yellow
sun-baked stucco Mediterranean look had all but vanished, and white
again became the dominant color, along with the red tile roofs that
are common everywhere. We crossed the Rhone River and followed it
for a while, but it and the highway soon parted.
Finally,
somewhere in the early afternoon we got off the busy, and boring,
four lane highway, and drove a few miles to the west to a small
village called Vezelay,
where we would spend the night. The centerpiece of Vezelay was a
very large, and very old, stone church and abbey which stood like a
fortress on the crest of a hill and overlooked the farmland and
villages that lay below. We walked through the enormous church built
of massive stones, but built with simplicity and great dignity. There
was no large organ, no gold gilded alter, no lavish
chandeliers. The mood was simple and somber, as the visitors spoke
in hushed voices. In the dark, dank basement was a crude chapel
where some people were bowed in prayer. This was possibly the
largest church we had seen thus far, and its cool interior was a
welcome relief from the afternoon heat that was building outside. We
walked around the grounds inspecting the church from the outside and
looking off into the distance at the rich farmland. A farmer on his
tractor was busy bailing hay, and herds of cattle grazed lazily in
the fields.
We
stopped at a small grocery store down the main street from the church
and bought some food for supper: some sort of stew, some bananas,
some bread. Two young backpackers were also in the store buying
food. We would see them later camping at the Youth Hostel. This was
also the afternoon that Sebastian locked his keys in the car by
mistake. But by using a "secret" method of pounding on the
door, the lock began to ease its way up, and a crisis was averted. He
said it was an old trick that his dad had taught him.
When
we
first stopped at the Youth Hostel, it was closed, so we drove downtown
to look around and pass time until it opened. Vezelay,
even though it is a very small village in comparison to some we had
been in, was a tourist town. This was evident by the large number of
people who were touring the old church. Much of the four or five
blocks of the main business district was devoted to art shops, and
religious art at that. There were also souvenir shops, bakeries, and
other small art galleries off on the side streets, along with a
number of eating places and drinking establishments and wine shops.
Many of the places appeared to be expensive, and after looking at
some of the prices posted in the windows, our suspicions were
confirmed. We stopped in a shaded outdoor cafe located on a deck up
a short flight of steps from the sidewalk and drank another green
mint---NyQuil---drink before we drove back to the Youth Hostel.
The
Youth Hostel was located at the edge of the village, tucked back away
from the road a few hundred yards. The hostel was combined with a
campground, both apparently operated by the same man. There were
actually three buildings. One was the office, kitchen and dining
room building. The other two buildings were dorms. I had supposed
that one was a men's dorm and the other was a women's dorm. But I
was wrong again. When a couple American girls checked into the Youth
Hostel, they were housed in the same dorm as Sebastian and I. This
meant that we would be sharing the showers, the rest rooms, and the
room where we brushed our teeth and combed our hair. However, once
the girls had checked in to the dorm, I don't recall ever seeing them
again while we were there. The door to their room was always open
and their light was always on, but we never ever saw them come in or
go out. They must have taken a shower while we were eating our
supper and playing Trivial Pursuit and rummy. I was tempted to look
in their room, but decided this would not be the intelligent thing to
do. Maybe they left the door open and the lights on for
protection----because they were afraid to stay there by themselves. We
will never know, I guess.
We
fixed
our stew in the kitchen and ate it in the dining room, all alone.
Sebastian and I were the only people at the Youth Hostel, aside from
the girls. After we did the dishes, we took a walk to get some
exercise. A short distance from the hostel, we saw a goat standing
on an embankment beside the road. We apparently startled it and it
turned around and began running. It must have run into something,
because we heard a crash followed by bellows of pain. We decided
that taking a walk might not be such a good idea after all and we
returned quickly to the safety of the dining room until around 10:00
when we went to bed.
While
we
were playing rummy, we looked out and saw some hot air balloons. We
stood and watched them for a while, as did the people who were
camping in the campground. The two guys whom we had seen in the
grocery store were camping right outside the dining room. Poor guys
had to fix their supper over some sort of portable cooker similar to
Sebastian's. The guy who ran both the Youth Hostel and the
campground left around eight or nine o'clock and did not return
until the next morning. I suppose we could have stayed free if we
would had known he was leaving. This experience wasn't so bad, but
this is probably because we were the only ones there.
WEDNESDAY 28 June
1995
Today we drove from
the
Youth Hostel in Vezelay to Paris. We got up and took a shower. The
showers had transparent curtains. Some privacy. Too bad the two
American girls weren't in there. After I got dressed, I went into
the other room and combed by hair and brushed my teeth. Then I went
to the rest room in the third room---the one with no toilet paper. All
of these were co-ed rooms, but like I said, I never saw the
girls again after they checked in.
The trip to Paris
took
three hours or so. We stopped at a rest area along the way
enroute so we wouldn't get there during the busy noon hour. Paris is
located in a major agricultural area of France. In fact, the
agriculture was probably the most interesting thing about the entire
trip. It was almost like being back home in Kansas. Huge wheat
fields spread out over the land just like they do in Central and
Western Kansas.
The rest of the
trip was
not much different from what we have seen the past couple days. The
traffic became heavier the nearer we got to Paris. But the villages,
the church steeples, the castles, and fortresses were still out there
in the wheat fields----and, of course, the toll booths. It was the
kind of trip that is easy to sleep through---hot and monotonous.
We arrived in Paris
around 2:00. The traffic was wild, but after some searching, we found
our
hotel, Hotel Le Fleur, and checked in. Our room was on the top floor
of the small hotel. It was small and it had only one bed. This
would not have been so bad, but this was a very small bed. There was
a sink and some sort of device the French must use to wash their
balls. Oh, well.
After resting for
just a
few minutes, we walked west and then north from the hotel to Avenue
Le Clerc, one of the major thoroughfares of Paris. Of course, at
the time I didn't have a clue where I was. I only knew we were
sitting in a busy sidewalk bar, on a busy sidewalk, near a busy
street. But even though traffic was heavy, this was no Vienna, with
its curving, unpredictable streets. Paris is a city that someone
actually planned and there is a sort of order and method to its
madness. During those first few minutes that I sat drinking a beer,
I kept telling myself, "This is Paris? Yes, I am really in
Paris." At that particular place and at that particular time,
it could have been almost any large city in the world, I suppose.
People hurrying along the sidewalks, the streets jammed with traffic,
taxis and busses filled with people. The scene was impersonal, but
at the same time, it seemed to reach out and grab you and make you a
part of it.
Later that
afternoon we
walked west from our hotel beginning our exploration of what was to
become the Paris version of "our neighborhood." We walked
up and down some of the streets like the wide Boulevard Du
Montparnasse, Avenue Du Maine, Boulevard Raspail, and Boulevard
Edgar-Quinet. We walked past the huge Montparnasse Cemetery, with
its high walls guarding the its ancient memories. Probably the most
important location in our neighborhood was Montparnasse Train and
Subway Station. This large, almost unmanageable building was about a
10 minute walk from our hotel and was adjacent to an impressive
"skyscraper" called Tour Main-Montparnasse. By New York
or Chicago standards, it was just an average building which would be
lost in a sea of taller buildings. But in Paris, it towers above any
and all buildings for blocks around. The building itself is home to
hundreds of offices, but attached to it is a large modern shopping
center with dozens, possibly even hundreds, of stores and shops. It
also contained the bank and the post office that we would use most
frequently while we were in Paris. It would be the point of
reference in future days as we would look out across the skyline of
Paris. Around this tall building and the train station, was a
public square, a hangout for all sorts of people: tourists,
travelers, shoppers, and probably even the homeless.
It was while we
were on
this walk that we made another important discovery, one what would
affect our lives for the next three days. It was a bar called The
Musketeers. From 6:00 until 8:00 each afternoon there was a
Happy Hour when drinks were half price. This meant that we only had
to pay $2.50 for a beer and not $5.00. Outside our window the rush
hour traffic was inching its way along the busy Avenue du Maine. On the
sidewalk a parade of colorful people crowded the sidewalks as
people left work and headed for home. Our friendly waiter, another
one of those "Hollywood casting character" types, kept
bringing us the beer. After an hour or so and three or four beers, we
were getting hungry (and I decided I had enough alcohol on an
empty stomach) so we walked down some more streets trying to make a
decision on where to eat. Our decision was a Chinese restaurant
just off the Avenue du Maine. The food was adequate, but not
sufficient in quantity. I tried some Chinese beer, but decided that
Chinese food is vastly better than Chinese beer.
We walked up the
street to
the north of the Chinese restaurant past a series of shops
advertising a variety of sexual oriented merchandise and
entertainment. The streets were crowded with people, the sidewalk
cafes and bars were filled with people relaxing and drinking. We
stopped in one of the cafes and drank a cup of coffee. By this time
is was approaching 10:00. It was still light outside and the
streets of Paris were just beginning to come alive. We barely made
it into our neighborhood grocery store to buy a six pack of beer
before it closed at 10:00. With darkness just starting to set in, we
went back to our hotel and drank our six pack before going to bed.
THURSDAY 29 June
1995
Last night was a
miserable
night. The room was too small, too hot, and too noisy. There was
only one bed in the room. I wouldn't mind both of us sleeping in one
bed, if the bed was a queen size bed or a king size bed. But the bed
in our room was more or less a single, making it impossible for
either of us to turn over or even change positions. It was hot, and
there was very little circulation in the room. Even that would not
have been so bad if it hadn't been for the noise. Obviously we were
near some bars or cafes that stayed open very late into the night.
There was loud laughing, talking, and music into the early morning
hours. I got up and looked out the window, and I could see two or
three places where the sound was coming from. I tried to open the
window to get more air into the room, but, like every thing else, the
French have their own kind of peculiar window, which Sebastian
neglected to tell me about. So, as a result, I did not get much
sleep.
Around 0730, we got
up. We didn't have a shower, so I washed my face in the sink. On our
way
out of the hotel, we asked to have our room changed to one with a
shower.
We walked down the
street
two or three blocks from the hotel and ate our breakfast in a
sidewalk cafe. It was the same old thing: coffee, rolls, and French
bread with butter and jelly. By this time, I had resigned myself to
this kind of "European" breakfast. There weren't many
people eating, but the streets were starting to wake up with the
traffic of people going to work.
We moved
Sebastian's car
into a parking garage a few blocks from the hotel in the area of the
Tour Maine-Montparnasse and the Montparnasse Train and Subway
Station. Sebastian said it would be cheaper than leaving it parked
on the street and also safer. Then we went to the train station and
bought a three day subway pass and a three day museum pass. This
would turn out to be a good deal because it provided admission to
sixty five different attractions in the Paris area. Of course, we
didn't go to all sixty five of them, but we did use it enough to
make it a good investment.
Our first major
stop of
the day was the Louvre.
This truly huge building which was formerly a royal palace,
stretched for at least two or three city blocks on two sides with
long hallways connecting the two main parts. The entire building is
three or four stories tall, making it the largest, or at least one of
the largest, museums in the world. If a person wanted to look
thoroughly at every work of art in the entire building, it would take
literally days to finish. We really were not interested in much of
the art which is housed in the Louvre. Like many other people, the
two works that I really wanted to see were the Mona Lisa and
the Venus de Milo. It was not difficult to tell when we
approached either of these works of art, because they are by far the
most popular exhibits, and they attracted more people than anything
else in the museum. There are many signs warning people not to use
flash bulbs when taking pictures, but the signs were to no avail.
Flashbulbs were flashing freely and there were no security guards to
stop them. However, the Mona Lisa was encased in a special
protected frame, for this very reason, I suspect. No other pictures
were in special protective cases.
The
main entrance to the Louvre is a glass pyramid designed by the
American architect Ieoh Ming Pei in 1988. The pyramid gives a
modern look to a building which was started in the late ll00's and
added to by various French kings until the eighteenth century. Most
of the art housed here is "old" masterpieces, much like can
be seen in the Nelson-Atkins Museum, for example----just lots, lots
more.
Anyway, we had a
cup of
coffee in the coffee shop on the second floor terrace. From here we
could look down on the entrance to the museum with the pyramid, the
fountains, and the pools with all the people wading in it or dangling
their feet in it. There is a large courtyard at the entrance which
extends back to the Tuileries Gardens.
After an hour or
two in
the Louvre, we took the subway back to the hotel and happily found
out that the hotel had given us another room. Our new room was one
of eight or ten rooms located in a courtyard on the street level. It
had two beds AND a shower. Even though the room was so small that both
of us could barely walk around at the same time, it was a vast
improvement over the room we slept in last night. Just having
another room was enough to brighten our spirits.
We walked back to
our
neighborhood skyscraper, and I went through the long process of
calling Brett again to check up on things. I could never call
directly, so I ended up placing all the calls collect.
The Montparnasse
station
is adjacent to the skyscraper, so it was just a short walk to catch
the subway. The Paris subway system is very complex and is built on
several levels. We often had to walk two or three city block in
underground tunnels and corridors in order to get on the subway
trains. There is a life of its own in these underground passageways. In
order to gain access to the subway system, we
inserted our three day ticket into a slot at the turnstile. Once
"inside" we followed the signs directing us down the
various corridors and tunnels to the subway deck. Small shops
hawking everything from food, to souvenirs, to newspapers can be
found. Independent vendors selling their wares line the passageways.
Poor people begging for money, blind people asking for handouts,
people entertaining by singing or playing some sort of instrument are
everyday sights in the subway system. And hardly a subway ride went
by that someone was not on board begging for money, selling something
for money, or "entertaining" for money. And, surprisingly enough, many
people gave them money.
In the early
afternoon we
made our first trip to downtown Paris. We walked west on the Champs
Elysees, a wide tree lined avenue with fashionable shops, banks,
and leisurely sidewalk cafes. This is really Paris, I felt. The
only street in Paris that I had really ever heard about. And ahead
of us was the Arch
of
Triumph, standing alone in a large traffic
circle. From a distance it didn't look very impressive, but as we
got nearer, it took on a greater majesty and certainly a greater
magnitude. We crossed over to the north side of the Champs Elysees,
went through a tunnel beneath the street and found ourselves standing
directly in front of this stately Arch. We took the elevator to the
top and got our first view of the Paris skyline. We looked out over
this huge city with all of its historic buildings and monuments. The
skyline of the "old" Paris is flat, broken only by the huge
public buildings and of course, the Eiffel Tower slightly to the
southeast. The Paris "skyline" is in the suburbs. Modern
skyscrapers loom in the distance to the east where the banking,
insurance, and financial institutions are headquartered. Skyscrapers
also rise up on the western perimeter in the area of the Grand Arch of
Defense. The Seine River, bordered by former palaces,
public gardens, monuments, and upscale apartment buildings, bisects
Paris into two uneven halves. Stretching to the east for a mile or
so to the Royal Palace is the bustling Champs Elysees. Twelve
avenues leading in from the four corners of the city converge at the
Arch, making it one of the unifying landmarks of Paris. Marshall
Foch Avenue radiates to the southwest with its expensive apartments
and town homes shaded under a canopy of green. The Grand Arch of
Defense is in perfect symmetry to the west.
Down from the Arch
of
Triumph, we walked back toward the east along the north side of the
Champs Elysees. In the very shadow of the Arch is a McDonalds. We
stopped here, mostly for the irony of the situation, to get something
cold to drink. This is one sidewalk cafe that does not have table
service. I stood in line for about twenty minutes just to pay $3.00
each for two diet Cokes. So much for history meeting the present! I
will take the equally expensive, but more conventional sidewalk cafe
any time.
Continuing our
stroll up
the avenue, we stopped briefly to inspect a Mercedes-Benz
mini-museum. After this short diversion, we continued our stroll along
with hundreds of others to the end of the Champs Elysees where
the American Embassy is located along side the Grand Palace and the
Place de la Concorde. From here we walked through the Tuileries
Gardens where people were relaxing on benches and on the grass
sipping their drinks, chatting, and even sleeping. We continued on
past a carrousel taking excited children for rides, and then on past
the Louvre to the subway station for a welcome chance to rest on the
ride back to the station.
By this time, it
was 7:00
and happy hour was half over at our Musketeers Bar, but we managed to
drink three beers to quench our thirst---served of course, by our
regular waiter, who recognized us immediately and brought the first
two beers almost without being asked. While we were there, I ate a
salad for supper. It was a time to relax after a full day of walking
and looking. It was well after 8:00 when we left this bar to walk
around the streets some more and soak up some more of the evening
atmosphere. By this time, the people of Paris were starting to fill
the streets and sidewalks of the city, relaxing and unwinding in the
cafes and bars along the sidewalk. We stopped briefly at a corner
bar and drank a quick beer before finding an Irish Pub on an
out-of-the-way side street. We sat at an outside table and drank a
bottle of dark Irish Guinness Beer. Even though it was still fairly
early we started back to the hotel, stopping along the way to pick up
a six pack of beer to drink in our hotel room. Later on, midnight at
least, we walked out through the streets again. Even at 1:30 in the
morning the streets were active and people were still sitting in the
bars and cafes drinking and talking.
FRIDAY 30 June 1995
We got up at 0730
this
morning after what was restful and refreshing sleep compared to our
first night in this hotel. And I actually got to take a shower and
not just rinse off the underneath part of my body. We ate breakfast
in the hotel. I think it was included in the price of the room, but
we didn't know this yesterday morning. There was nothing special or
original about the food, just the fact that we did not have to look
for a place to eat.
Our morning was
occupied
mainly by taking a tour of Notre Dame Cathedral. This huge church,
built in the Gothic style, dominates the religious architecture of
Paris. It was built during the years of 1163 - 1330 on the site
where Paris was originally built, actually an island in the Seine
River. Like so many other buildings we have visited along the way,
Notre Dame is receiving a major facelift. Its front facade is
covered with scaffolds while workmen are busy sandblasting its
ancient stones. However, the entire exterior of the building is
beautiful and exquisite. Its sides are supported by several flying
buttresses, and its south facade is decorated with beautiful and
intricate stained glass windows.
The inside is
lavishly
decorated with huge carved stone columns, sculptures of important
church and religious leaders, a large pipe organ, and beautiful
colored windows. Along each side of the church are small alcoves
containing historical displays and private places of worship. A
worship service was being conducted in the front part of the
cathedral. Many tourists wandered in and out of the worship service,
seeming to regard it as just another sightseeing event. There were
hundreds of tourists both inside and outside the church. It is
difficult to truly appreciate the beauty and grandeur of such a
magnificent building which is dedicated to the worship of God when
so many loud, hurried, and insensitive people are crowding through in
order to snap a picture just to say they have been there.
On the outside,
dozens of
tour busses were lined up and parked in the streets to the rear of
Notre Dame. There were dozens of Japanese scurrying around taking
pictures of each other and their groups. Even though they probably
do not mean to, they are often very obnoxious and rude. They walk in
front of cameras, rarely wait their turn at anything, and seemingly
rarely ever appreciate the historic or ascetic implications of what
they are looking at. Before leaving the vicinity of Notre Dame, we
spent some time in the underground catacombs where the remains of the
earliest settlement of Paris have been unearthed and preserved in an
underground museum exhibit. All that is left of this ancient
settlement are the foundations and a few partial walls of long
destroyed and toppled buildings.
We walked along the
Seine
River for a short distance before walking back to the subway station.
Along the way we stopped at a film store so Sebastian could buy a
roll of film for his camera. We also walked past the police
headquarters for the city of Paris, one of the few heavily guarded
buildings that I observed. This is perhaps partly due to the fact
that this is also the Interpol headquarters. Also along our route we
saw the Palace of Justice and the palace of Charles IV, but after
the royal residence was moved to the Louvre, it eventually became a
prison, housing such famous prisoners as Marie-Antoinette.
The constant
walking was
starting to take its toll on my feet. A blister was starting to develop
on my left heel making it increasingly difficult to walk. We
stopped at a drug store somewhere in the neighborhood not far from
the subway station where I bought some bandages. This helped some;
at least the shoe was no longer rubbing directly on the blister. With
that taken care of, we pressed on to see the sights of Paris.
And the next sight
we saw
was the Museum
d'Orsay
which is home to an impressive and priceless collection of art
from the recent past. Paintings by Monet, Degas, Toulouse Latrec,
Gaugin, Renoir, Cezanne, Van Gogh and Manet are all on display. It
seemed that almost every famous painting that I have seen in art
books and magazines is hanging on the walls of the d'Orsay. I
walked through the expansive galleries saying, "Oh, I have seen
that one." or "That one was in our social studies book.". It is
difficult to believe that these are the original paintings,
the ones that the artists actually painted with their own brushes.
The Museum d'Orsay
was
formerly a railroad station which was converted into an art museum. It
does not seem as forbidding as the Louvre in either size or
content. Although it is a very large building, it is more manageable
than the sprawling palace which the Louvre once was. And, to me, the
contents of the d'Orsay are much more friendly and familiar than the
conglomeration of mostly very old art that is housed in the Louvre. The
main hall on the ground level is devoted to statuary----some of
it even without the customary fig leaves. A huge gold clock is the
dominating feature of the statuary hall. Among the visitors this day
were many Americans and also many Japanese. I was surprised by the
large number of people who were there. I had expected that this
would be one of the places where we could browse around in relative
solitude. It turned out that there are more art lovers than I had
anticipated. But these are artists that anyone with even a basic
knowledge of art has either seen or heard of. They are the artists
who painted the pictures we now think of as the masterpieces of art.
In the afternoon we
visited another masterpiece: the Eiffel
Tower. This exquisite structure was built in
1887-1889 for the Paris International Exhibition of 1889. It
contains over 12,000 individual steel sections and it is constructed
in such a way that each square centimeter of ground area is subjected
to no more than about 4 lbs. of pressure. It is not at all difficult
to see why it is one of the most visited attractions in the world.
After paying about $12.00 per person to ride the elevator to the
top, we were able to look out over the city of Paris from an
unparalleled viewpoint. From this vantage point the city stretches
into the distance, and it is easy to pick out most of the famous
landmarks of Paris. Looking directly down from our 980 feet height,
the Seine River gently cuts Paris into two halves. The Arch of
Triumph stands stately, although dwarfed in size, slightly to the
northwest. The expansive Ecole Militaire, the French military
school, whose most famous student was Napoleon, lies to the east. On
top of the Eiffel Tower is an array of radio and television
transmission towers, air traffic control equipment, radar dishes, and
weather collecting apparatus. In fact, the first trans-Atlantic
radio waves were sent from this tower in 1916.
After descending
from the
Eiffel Tower we walked across the street to the Trocadero and
the Palais de Chaillot, which was started as a palace for Napoleon's
son, but was not completed until early this century. It is shaped
like an amphitheater with a long pool and lawns stretching in front
of it. The pool and its green lawns were crowded with hundreds of
young people, mostly teenagers, wading in the water, sitting with
their feet dangling in the water, or sunbathing or sleeping. The
most impressive views of the Eiffel Tower are from the vast stone
terrace of the Palais de Chaillot.
On the far side of
the Trocadero we walked up Kleber Avenue, one of the streets
which
fans out from the Arch of Triumph. We took some time out from our
walking to rest in a sidewalk cafe and drink a glass of beer. As we
sat and watched the people hurrying by, we were increasingly aware
(and amused) by the green jackets which seems to be in fashion with
the men of Paris. In the United States, green jackets are something
out of the 1960's or early 70's. An American male wearing a green
jacket would probably bring curious stares, if not amused smiles or
snickers. "Like, where did you find that jacket, old man?" But they are
very much in vogue with the fashion conscious Parisian
men.
We continued our
walk to
the Arch of Triumph and then took the subway to the Louvre and the
Avenue Rivoli, one of the best places we found to buy souvenirs. We
browsed through the merchandise which cluttered the sidewalks looking
for some cheap T-shirts. I finally settled on some shirts which cost
50 marks (around $12) each. At this point, I was willing to settle
for about anything, although these shirts turned out to be of rather
good quality. It was getting late, not only in our trip, but also
late in the day, and we were in a hurry to take our place in the
Musketeers Bar on the Avenue du Maine. By this time the waiter
already knew us and brought us 2 beers immediately after we sat down.
We sat, rested, talked, and looked at the pictures of old time
American movie stars hanging on the walls, while we waited for our
waiter to bring us the sandwich and salad which we ordered.
As we were riding
the
subway to the Louvre, a man entered the subway frantically looking
for his dog that had gotten away from him and was lost. He was
almost in a panic and I was getting just a little nervous, for both
him and his dog. At first everyone looked at him in amazement and
perhaps pity, but it soon became evident that he was another subway
entertainer, with a truly novel, and ultimately, amusing approach to
asking for money. (To which several people responded.)
Having eaten supper
and
having drunk three or four beers, we were ready to head back to our
hotel for the evening. We stopped along the way at a grocery store
and bought a bottle of vodka and some orange juice to keep us company
until bed time.
SATURDAY 1 July 1995
We stayed up pretty
late
last night---until about 0200, to be exact-----drinking vodka and
orange juice and talking. It was pretty hard to get out of bed this
morning at 0730. But after taking a shower and eating our as-always
breakfast in the hotel dining room, I was ready to go forth and
enjoy my last day in Paris.
After breakfast, we
took
the subway to the old Bastille area. Actually we were looking for a
good place to buy some more souvenirs, but this definitely was not
the place for that. The stores in this area of the city are too
conventional and most of the stuff they sell in the few blocks we
walked was not the kind of stuff to take back home and give to
friends. But while we were in the area, we stopped and looked at
the place where the Bastille had once stood. It has long since
been torn down, but the outline of the building has been painted on
the street. Simply translated, there wasn't much to see.
I was running low
on francs, so we took the subway to the Louvre area to the Avenue
Rivoli
where we had seen a no-commission exchange office. But as luck would
have it, it was closed. So we got back on the subway and went to the
Champs Elysees to an exchange office we had gone to a couple days
ago when we first arrived in Paris. The matter of money was frustrating
here in France, to say the least. There are eight
different coins in their money system, and except for the 10 franc
coin, none of them are easily recognizable. Although it remained an
annoyance to me during the entire time I was in France, I finally just
wrote it off as another illogical French excess and learned to
live with it. It might not have been so irritating if there had
been more logic to the denominations of the coins. Instead of using
coins as a fraction of their major unit of currency (which I suppose
is the franc), their money ranges all they way from one "something
or other" all the way up to a ten franc coin.. Here in the
United States, there are only four coins, each distinctly different
in appearance and size. But, I did eventually learn to recognize the
10 franc coin, and the rest of them I regarded as basically
worthless and kept them for souvenirs.
The trip downtown
was also
an opportunity to take one last look at the famous and beautiful
avenue. We stopped at the Cafe of Paris and ordered a cup of coffee
and I watched the bustle of activity in the street and on the
sidewalk with some sadness, knowing that it would be only a memory
after we left it behind.
Another ride on the
Paris
subway took us to the National Center for Art and Culture, more
commonly known as the Pompidou
Center. This fantastic futuristic
building is one of the top tourist attractions in Europe,
surprisingly enough, and houses a breathtaking collection of modern
and abstract art. There are paintings by Picasso, Braque, Matisse,
Renoir, Paul Klee, Otto Dix, and, making the entire visit
worthwhile, Jackson Pollack. Again, I walked around with a sense of
wonder that I was really looking at the original paintings, and not
just some well done reproductions. These pictures contained the
actual paint, the actual brush strokes that the artists had put there
with their own hands. Especially fascinating to me were the
paintings of Jackson Pollack.
Most of the art in
this
building is different, to say the least. Some of it is really far
out. Some people would argue that some of it is not art at all. But
no matter what you think of it or how you perceive it, it is not dull
or ordinary. It is not pictures of half dressed women sitting in a
chair; It is not pictures of sissy looking men sitting at a desk. Nor
is it idyllic landscapes with trees and flowers. Some of it is
surrealistic; some of it is abstract; some of it requires an
imagination; and some it defies the imagination. But it was time
well spent.
The building
itself, which
is named after former French President George Pompidou, is made
entirely of glass and is surrounded by a white steel grid. It looks
most unusual because its services and structure have been exposed
externally and painted in primary colors. To reach the fourth and
fifth floors where the Museum of Modern Art is located, one rides
escalators located in giant glass tubes located on the outside of
the building. This is definitely an appropriate setting for such a
collection of modern art.
The streets and
sidewalks
outside the Pompidou Center are busy with tourists and Parisians
milling through the carnival like atmosphere of shops, booths, street
entertainers, cafes, bars, and souvenir stands. The atmosphere is
casual and informal. This is a place to come to relax, to look, to
walk, to eat and drink---and even to buy something if strikes your
fancy and you have the cash to buy it. This is a place for tourists,
for young people with nothing else to do, for the artsy crowd, and
for the adventurer and excitement seeker.
Our final
destination of
the day was the Grand
Arch of Defense, located in the western part
of Paris. After spending the better part of three days touring old
museums, old churches, and other old buildings, the Grand Arch of
Defense was like a breath of fresh air. Here the setting is modern,
up to date, clean, and spacious. Tall skyscrapers, home to insurance
and oil companies, banks and hotels rise up with their clean, simple
lines giving the area a sense of progress, of growth, of the present
day, if not the future. In front of the Arch is a wide, open plaza,
complete with a skateboard path for the young at heart. Modern
eating establishments and fast food cafes coexist with attractive
sidewalk cafes. A large indoor shopping center makes shopping
convenient and pleasant.
The Arch itself is
360
feet high and 345 feet wide and is constructed of marble and glass. It
is built in a direct line with the Arch of Triumph and provides a
sharp, but fitting, contrast of old and new tributes to military
defense and glory. The new Arch, as is fitting, serves a more
functional use, however. It contains office space for a variety of
commercial and non-profit organizations. The view from the top of
the Arch gives a different perspective of Paris since it is located
in the western suburbs and not in the center of the city. The entry
level of the arch serves as a mini museum and art gallery with
several interesting displays.
We paused briefly
at a
sidewalk cafe to drink something cool and take some pictures before
taking the subway back to the neighborhood and then to our hotel.
We paid our hotel
bill of
1120 francs---more expensive than I had anticipated, but, on the
other hand, everything is more expensive that I had expected. We
headed for our favorite bar, the Musketeers Bar, to enjoy Happy Hour
and to eat our evening meal. It was later than usual and we managed
to drink only two beers before Happy Hour expired.
Back at the hotel,
we
didn't do much. I ended up falling asleep on the bed for a while,
but around 11:OO we decided to go out and see what was happening. But
by this time it was raining steadily. We dashed across the
street to a small bar on a corner near our hotel mostly to get out of
the rain. The woman who owned the place was just about ready to
close it for the night, but she brought us each a glass of beer. This
beer had a very sweet taste, and it was the worst beer I have
ever tasted---and I am not very particular about my beer, either. Since
it came in a glass, we had no way of knowing what brand it was
(or, maybe, if it was even beer). This beer was impossible to drink,
which became sort of a problem. Did we just pay for it and leave it
sitting on the table? Or did we try to ignore the awful taste and
drink it? Fortunately, the woman went outside to bring in the chairs
from the sidewalk. While she was out there, we both poured our beer on
a plant which was sitting near our table. THEN, we paid for it
and got out of there quickly.
The rain was
beginning to
let up and it was sort of exciting to be walking on the streets of
Paris late at night in the rain. First we went to the street where
the skyscraper and the train station are located and then sort of bar
hopped for the next two or three hours. This was Saturday night in
Paris, and even at 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, Paris is still
active with people. In one cafe we ordered some toast with cheese
melted on it along with some beer. Sebastian said that it was called
croque monsieur. You couldn't prove it by me, but it was
good, and I thought, very French.
In another cafe, we
had to
go inside because of the rain. I think we disturbed a couple of
middle age lovers who were sitting alone in an otherwise empty
"overflow" room of a bar. But there are lots of bars, and
they would find another one. On Montparnasse Avenue, we sat outside
and watched the late theater crowd as they stopped for coffee (or
more likely beer) after the movie had ended. People, both young and
old, were still walking on the sidewalks; the streets were busy with
traffic. Lovers walked hand in hand on the cool evening. Small
knots of teenagers hung out on the corners. We walked past our
favorite hangout, the Musketeers Bar, but it was far too crowded to
find a seat. Music was blasting and the crowd was oblivious to the
fact that it was approaching 2:00 in the early morning.
It was late when we
finally got to bed, but it was a good way to end our stay in Paris. It
was a good way to remember the city, too: pleasant, exciting,
busy, cosmopolitan.
SUNDAY 2 July 1995
We had already
gotten the
car out of the parking garage where we had put it when we first
arrived and had parked it about four or five blocks from the hotel.
After getting up around 0630, taking a shower and getting dressed,
Sebastian got the car and parked it in front of the hotel so we could
load our bags into it and head for Frankfurt.
Our only problem
leaving
Paris was one wrong turn, but it was nothing major, and soon we were
heading east toward the German border, leaving Paris for another
visit yet to come. We drove past Euro-Disney in the far eastern
suburbs of Paris, but we were never close enough to actually see it. We
did see a great deal of productive farm land, however. Large
fields of wheat, hay and sugar beets, along with hundreds of herds of
grazing cattle again reminded me of Western Kansas. Paris, with all its
sprawling metropolitan suburbs, is located in the bread basket
of France. Gone, for the most part, were the castles and the
fortresses. The church steeples were still there, of course, but
somehow it just didn't matter any more. The trip was essentially
over, and it was just a matter of getting to the airport now.
We stopped once at
a rest
area to fill up with gas and to eat a breakfast of rolls and coffee. We
stopped another time for some orange juice. But mainly it was
just driving. We played some Trivial Pursuit to make time go faster
as we drove along. About 2:00, we stopped at a small village called
Grunstadt, about 60 miles outside Frankfurt. Sebastian didn't want
to drive into Frankfurt until we met the plane on Monday morning.
Hotels were expensive in this little village. We checked with three
or four different hotels before checking into a hotel which cost
around $80.00 located on the south side of the village square.
Looking around the
town
didn't take very long, and it didn't take long to discover that there
was nothing to do and nothing to see. There were a few local
residents relaxing in some of the outside cafes, but, of course, all
the stores were closed and the streets were bare. I got about $35.00
from a nearby ATM so we could eat supper. That was probably the most
exciting thing that we did. I slept from 4:00 until about 6:00 with
a feather pillow folded up about four times under my head. We ate
our supper in the hotel dining room. We ordered a dinner for two
which consisted of 2 kinds of meat, some vegetables, french fries,
apple strudel, and beer. It was more and better than I had dared to
expect, which was a pleasant surprise. After supper, we drank some
vodka and orange juice and went to bed.
At last I had my
chance to
see a German village. Other than the fact that it was a Sunday
afternoon when all the stores were closed and all the streets were
bare, it was a pleasant experience, I guess.
MONDAY 3 July 1995
We got to bed
around 11:00
last night, which is fairly early for us. The hotel room had wall to
wall windows with only white curtains covering them. It was very
light in the room during the night, but still I got plenty of sleep,
even though I heard the bells from the nearby churches ring almost
every hour during the night. The main problem was the feather
pillow, which was as bad as no pillow at all. We watched the news on
TV---in French, of course. But we got to see the German Parliament
Building after it had been "Wrapped" by Cristol. Over a
million Germans had turned out to see it. It didn't look very
impressive, but it was one of those "events" that people
want to see and one that always makes the news.
We got up at 0630,
took a
shower, did the last minute packing, ate breakfast in the hotel
dining room (the same old stuff), put our things in the car and got
ready to leave. By this time, the school kids were starting to go to
school and the village was starting to come back to life again. But
it was too late for us. We were heading for the airport in
Frankfurt.
Along the highway
we
passed an American Air Force base. As we approached Frankfurt,
traffic was backed up for three or four miles because of an
accident. I had expected to see demolished cars, ambulances, dozens
of police cars, and perhaps a Life Star Helicopter, but instead all
of the delay and confusion seemed to be caused by a minor fender
bender in which nobody could have possibly been hurt. This was the
only distraction along the way. This morning as we drove along,
Sebastian and I talked about the fact that very few people in Europe
own pickup trucks. Now and then I would see one; for example, like
the one parked in front of a house in the neighborhood of our hotel
in Vienna. That is the one that stands out in my mind, but there
were probably more. But, in general, they are rarely seen. And
certainly they are not as common as they are in the United States.
We arrived at the
Frankfurt airport at 9:30. Shortly after we arrived, Sebastian's
parents also arrived. Sebastian's mother was wearing the sunflower
shirt that I had given to her. They had come down on the train
yesterday and stayed overnight. Sebastian's mother gave me a key
chain with the Goose Maiden on it. I sat and drank coffee with
Sebastian and his parents and took pictures until we thought it was
time for me to check in for my flight home. We had checked by
telephone and had been told that the flight left at 11:20. But it
had been changed and there were some tense moments as immigration
officials hurried me though the customs process. Although the
customs official was courteous, it was not as routine as it is the U.
S. There was no problem, obviously, because I was carrying nothing
that would have given me any problems. It is just a little nerve
racking to be treated with such urgency: Who all has handled the
luggage? Where have you been? Have you left it unattended? Who had
access to it? Had anyone asked me to carry anything for them? The
only embarrassment that I suffered was when my carry on baggage went
through the X-ray machine. The six beer and wine bottles I was
carrying showed up crystal clear, but the woman never batted an eye,
so I guess everything turned out well.
Thinking that the
plane
was about to take off, I said a quick good bye to Sebastian and his
parents and hurried to the gate of my flight: Continental flight #51
(Seat E-2), only to find out that it had been delayed. So it was
another example of hurry up and wait. I thought that only happened
in the U. S.
It was sad leaving
Sebastian and his parents. I was happy to see Sebastian again, and I
had enjoyed being with him for almost a month. I had enjoyed meeting
his parents after all these months and had enjoyed that, too. But, I
was also looking forward to seeing Abby again, and I knew that she
was probably looking forward to seeing me even more.
On the flight to
Newark,
which took about eight hours, I sat between a guy from Germany who
had just graduated from college with a degree in economics and was
heading to the U. S. to visit a friend in Chicago and an woman from
the United States who was returning from Germany where she had
presented some sort of taped retrospectives at an arts festival. She
was from California, I think, and teaches English as a Foreign
Language. I really didn't talk to either of them very much. A movie
called The Brady Bunch was showing on the screen, and there
was taped music through the earphones. There was also my book about
Ethel Kennedy. But none of this seemed to make the eight hours go by
very fast. It was a long and boring eight hours, broken only by the
meager meals that were served along the way. Maybe I should have
followed the example of the woman next to me and drink a steady
stream of cocktails. Sometime before we landed we were required to
fill out some forms for U. S. Customs stating the value of any
merchandise we were bringing back into the U.S. Customs was no big
deal. I was waved though with no problem. They could probably tell
by looking at me that I am not rich enough to bring anything of real
value back with me. And the trinkets that I brought back for my
friends far from exceeded the legal limit.
The plane landed in
Newark
around 3:30 EST and I had to wait until 7:55 EST to take off. There
wasn't a lot to do except read, doze, walk around, and wait. There
was an American girl from the Netherlands waiting to take the same
flight as me to Kansas City. She had just graduated from high school
and was going to visit her grandmother before going to college
somewhere in the U. S. to study medicine.
Brett and Heather
were in
Kansas City to meet me we (with my pickup) when I arrived around
11:00. Brett left with Heather leaving me to drive back to Valley
Falls by myself. I was expecting them to spend the night at my
house again, but they said they were going to Lawrence for the night. I
bought some gas at a Casey's in Platt City, and drove on home. It
was around midnight when I got home. Abby was overjoyed to see me. She
had not even finished eating the food from the boxes that were
open when I left about a month ago. The house was a mess. The
floors needed sweeping, the furniture was dusty, and dishes were
stacked up in the sink. After petting Abby for a few minutes and
unloading the luggage from the pickup, I ran the vacuum sweeper over
the floor, mostly because I couldn't stand to see it so dirty.
Around 0100 I
finally got
to bed, exhausted from being up more than twenty four hours. No
sooner had I fallen asleep when the telephone rang. It was Jeff
Brown wanting to speak to Brett about why he didn't come to a party
earlier that night. I wonder how long that has been going on? At
7:30 in the morning, the telephone rang again. This time it was
Stephen telling me he was coming back to the Kansas the first week
in August. It was not worth the effort to try and go back to sleep,
so I got up. I guess the vacation was finally over.
Some final remarks
about
Europe before I wrap this up.
I was a great trip
and I
am very glad that I went. It was money well spent. And it is surely
easy to spend money in Europe. Sebastian had told me that prices
were higher in Europe, but I was not prepared for exactly how high
they really are. I had expected that such items as clothing, CD's,
books, etc. would be more expensive. I was not expecting the price
of food to be so outrageous, however. Also, I was not expecting the
Europeans to be quite so money hungry. Nothing, absolutely nothing,
is free. In Austria a person even has to pay to use a public rest
room. Even churches charge tourists to walk through them.
Regardless of what
the
Europeans say about the people of the United States; regardless of how
much they may criticize us; regardless of how superior they
feel----I get the feeling that most of it stems from jealousy and
envy. Throughout the five countries that I traveled in, I doubt if I
saw more than a dozen t-shirts when local or native writing on them. I
saw literally thousands of shirts emblazoned with advertisements
from everything from every professional sports team in the U. S. A.,
to college shirts, to American products, to American rock groups, to
American slogans and flags, to American geographic places. They
seemed to be obsessed with things American.
The same was true
of the
music. France was the only country where I ever heard any "local"
music with any regularity. Even France, much of the music was in
English and was American. At Sebastian's graduation, no German songs
were sung, only American songs---and in English, not German.
Another noticeable
difference among the teenagers was the fact that most of them depend
on public transportation or a bicycle to get around their town. Large
numbers of teenagers ride the subway, the busses, and the
commuter trains. And, in Germany, especially, special bike paths are
set aside on the sidewalks for bicycle traffic. Most of this is the
result of the fact that the legal driving age is 18 in the countries
which I visited.
As we walked the
streets
of Berlin, Vienna, and Paris, there were always quite a few teen
agers on the streets in the after school hours. But in the small
villages, the teenagers were noticeable absent. I don't know if they
were at home or just somewhere besides the downtown area. But there
were never large numbers of teenagers hanging out on the streets in
the villages.
I was shocked at
the
amount of unsightly graffiti which is painted almost any place and
every place in Germany and Vienna. Of course, I suppose I do not
have a lot of honest comparison here in the U. S., but simply
judging from Topeka, Kansas City, Wichita, and places were I have
been on vacation, the graffiti in these places does not compare with
what I saw in Europe.