BELGIUM
After a rather lengthy trip to Belgium, I finally made it! Luckily the plane from Chicago was not full and I didn't feel as if I was a sardine in a tin as I felt on the flight from California to Chicago. That flight was implausible. They must’ve moved the seats closer together because something was very different on that plane. They squeezed in a few more rows, maybe? Can they do that? My knees were hitting the seat in front of me and I couldn't use the communal armrest because as usual a man sitting next to me had to have it. I was miserable. So I slept most of the way, crammed into my corner against the window. Good thing I was tired to begin with. But the second leg of the flight was much better. I had an extra seat to spread to and I did some more much needed sleeping, since I hadn't slept at all the night I left.
Once in Brussels the train station in the airport was easy to find, I just followed the train emblem posted on the overhead boards, that is, as soon as I figured out what it was. It took a few minutes. Thank goodness for pictures, because I don't understand the languages. French is spoken mainly in Brussels, Dutch in Brugge. People are friendly and helpful, however, even in gesturing, so I was able to navigate well enough. I changed trains once in the center of Brussels (Brussels Nord) and found a comfy seat at a table on that second train and settled in to enjoy the remainder of the trip to Bruges or Brugge. (Spelled both ways.) However, that was short lived, for the conductor came through and told me I would have to go to the second class car because I was sitting in first class. Damn! So, I acquiesced and moved my luggage (one computer bag and one medium sized piece of luggage) to the space in between the cars and that's as far as I went . . . the second class cars were packed. More sardines. I opted to stand the duration of the trip in that space between first and second class, making me a no-class passenger. Standing felt pretty good, actually. I'd been sitting for over 13 hours as it was.
The ride through the countryside reminded me of the Austrian countryside. Very green, dotted with stone houses and farms, although no mountains as in Austria. The Belgian terrain is flat. Other than the occasional trips the passengers were making to the toilet, as it turned out I was standing by the toilet in that in between-space, I was alone to take in the lovely views through the narrow panes in the doors.
Once in Brugge I headed directly to a coffee concession in the train station. I hadn't had a cup since leaving Chicago. The flight from Chicago didn't have potable water, believe it or not, and they were unable to serve tea or coffee. They even asked that the passengers use the sani-wipes they provided in the restrooms for their hands, asked that they not use the water from the faucet. Evidently there'd been a problem and they didn't receive fresh water before we left Chicago. There was bottled water to drink, but they had to make a quick last minute special trip in the terminal to get enough of it for the duration of the flight. Now that was a first in all my flying time.
So, you can imagine how good that coffee tasted in that little concession stand in the train station. I sat there and enjoyed every drop of it while I got my bearings. Here I was in Belgium. What the hell was I doing here? That was the question that surfaced all of a sudden. I was having of moment of feeling alone, perhaps. Sitting in a strange land with my suitcases. Wishing I had shipped the 15 books anyway, regardless of the exorbitant cost, instead of carrying them in my bags that were way too heavy for me to maneuver. I finally got the clothing thing down pat, had that all figured out, and then I had to go and add the books that are heavier than the clothing. Something wrong with that picture. Never again. I'll definitely ship them if I have to carry them to a book signing again. So I'm still learning as I make this trip through life.
I got my second wind and decided to leave my safe spot in the train terminal and venture out into Belgium. First thing I noticed was how warm the weather was, and then saw the cobble stoned walkways and streets everywhere, as I made my way across the huge square to the taxi stand. I was carrying another cup of coffee with me and waved to a cab driver and waited for him to pull up to where I was standing. He told me I couldn't drink my coffee in his cab, that I'd have to dump it. Sadly I did so. He turned out to be a very pleasant driver however, told me a bit about the city as we rode, gave me a map, took me through the main part of Bruges - the Market Square - all within the Ring. Most European cities are situated within a Ring. There's always a ring road encircling the city and when you reach that road, you know you're moving into the outer limits. It comes in handy when you're a city-walker like I am. I usually walk everywhere I go. Or if it's too far, will take a subway (as in Paris or London or New York), or a cab at night. But I usually walk mostly in smaller towns, like Bruges.
The B & B where I'm staying is within the Ring. The town centre is maybe a 10 minute or less walk - a wonderful walk, over and alongside canals and shop-lined cobbled streets. Robert van Nevel and Lietjve Gevaert are pleasant and energetic hosts. Robert speaks English as well as French and Dutch and who knows how many other languages. His appearance reminds me of a bearded, long-haired professor, an intellectual. Lietjve is a charming woman, still learning English. Robert built all the furniture in my room - one of two rooms in their home they rent out to tourists. It's set up just like a small hotel, however. In the parlor are antiques and collectibles - an antique camera collection that caught my eye. Carmmerstraat is a very quiet street, a small market across the lane that I plan to venture into today. I'm on the second floor of their brick and stone 16th Century house, high ceilings, tall windows opening onto the street below. 265 Euros total for five nights. At last check, 1 Euro equaled $1.20. So, the accommodations are very reasonable. I'd stay here again in a heartbeat. But no elevator and very steep stairs. Getting my luggage up here posed a problem. It took Lietjve and me to carry the one. Robert wasn't here when I got here. And bless her heart she did her best to go over everything with me in her broken English. But we made it and I was very happy to finally be left alone in my comfy room with a bed I immediately sprawled across. At that moment I felt like I might never rise again. Felt like maybe I'd spend the next 5 days in Belgium in that bed.
LATER IN THE WEEK . . .
As I sit here eating a delicious jar of white Asperges (asparagus) in my room, I glance across the lane at the rooftops of the neighborhood houses, the front roofline is shaped like stair steps coming up each side meeting in the middle, topped with a chimney-like crest. And I notice that one of the pieces of furniture here in my room, the furniture that Robert built, has the same motif topping as do most of the houses in Bruges. It’s a design used throughout the town. Even on postcards. Stair steps that meet at a higher center apex.
Friday when I was taking the boat through the canals, viewing the buildings from the water’s perspective, it was beautiful, especially along the “green” canal where photographers congregate to snap the canal foliage and the attractive houses and cafes along the way. The boatman reminded me of the French actor Gerard Depardieu (“Green Card”) in size and looks, only his lengthy unruly hair was sunbleached and he was tanned from being exposed to the daily elements in his profession. He spoke four languages during that “cruise”. Something that is beginning to bother me about our U.S. school system . . . we only learn one language while growing up. I think that is a shame. The children here and elsewhere in Europe learn 2, 3, and sometimes 4 languages in their elementary school years. What is wrong with us? Why do we insist on teaching our children only one language? Incredible! That needs to be changed, our world is getting smaller and the knowledge of other languages would be to everyone’s advantage. I’m even changing my view on the controversy of Spanish being spoken in our schools. Why not have the non-spanish speaking learn the language right along with the Mexicans learning English? At least we’d be bi-lingual. Here everyone learns their neighbors’ languages. We seem to fight that in the U.S. A good case of what’s dumb and dumber.
In a few minutes I’m meeting with a magazine editor and the local newspaper editor to be interviewed. What a surprise that is! It came about through Robert, whose son in law is the magazine editor and wanted to interview me and decided to ask the local newspaper to be present also. Robert had told his son in law that I’m here to research for a novel I’m writing to be set in Bruges. So, I guess that’s what created the interest.
Speaking of doing the research . . . I’m making great headway. Have found the love interest for one of the main characters, he’s a waiter in the Braenenburg, a very popular restaurant on Market Square. Stefan is young, divorced, has a couple small children, and is living in an apartment near the Braenenburg Restaurant. “Amanda”, one of my lead characters will go to the restaurant to apply for a waitress position and there she’ll meet Stefan. Waitressing is the only job she knows, but is in search for something else to make her mark. After her husband disappeared on Christmas Day two years before, while they were living outside Las Vegas in a broken down trailer, her sister persuaded her to move to Bakersfield and live with her. She helped her find work as a waitress, the first time Amanda had ever worked. Over the next two years, she saved her money to go to Bruges. She’d read all about Bruges and fell in love with the photos and the romance of the place, and after she arrived she was drawn to lacemaking which is one of Belgium's national prides and is prevalent in Bruges. So she decides to take the classes offered in the sector near where she is staying. Etc. etc. Of course there is much more to the story and “Rachel O’Neill” my serial lead character comes into play again. And there’ll be another New Year’s Eve to end the novel . . . this time in Belgium. In the first novel, New Year’s Eve was in Trafalgar Square in London, second novel at the Eiffel Tower, third in Belgium, fourth in Moscow, and so on - Twelve novels in the series. But enough on that.
I walked into a church yesterday, the “Saint Saviour’s Cathedral” and was lambasted with the sounds of its huge pipe organ. The terrific, eerie sounds consumed the air space and I felt as if I was in a theatre on Broadway hearing the “Phantom of the Opera” organ. Wow! It was incredible. I swear the guy was playing a jillion extra notes that weren’t supposed to be in the number. It sounded as if he was pounding on all the keys at once. Mesmerizing! I wished I would have arrived sooner, for it had been an organ concert and that was the last song. The church was built in the gothic style of the 14th century and has been continually added to and restored ever since. After a disastrous fire in 1839 a major restoration was necessary, but the original rustic-ness is prevalent still. As in all these European cathedrals you can’t help but stand there and feel in awe for the years these buildings have been in existence and for the multitudes of people who’ve passed through their doors. I also visited an even older church, smaller, in “Burg” square which is right next to Market Square. Its huge rustic-hewn pillars were fascinating. You could see and touch the irregularity of the stones that were cut and mortared in place to create the columns that held up the church all these years. If they were flattened out it would resemble the pattern of the cobblestone streets. The diameter of those columns had to be at least seven or eight feet, or so it seemed. “Solid as a rock” certainly applies to these churches.
I plan to go into the Jerusalem cathedral in this section of town today – called the St. Anna section. The lace museum is at the Jerusalem church and the nuns run the center and the classes. I’d love to come back and take some lace-making classes. Maybe before I finish the Bruges novel, since “Amanda” will be taking the classes. I’ll need to know first hand how that’s done. And it’s something just to watch, believe me. The way they toss those bobbins around, weaving the tiny intricate patterns. Most of the lacemakers are elderly, you know, my age and over. One woman was tossing them back and forth so fast I couldn’t believe she knew what she was doing. It looked like she was shuffling the bobbins and moving her hands lightening fast just to be impressive. She definitely was impressive. The pattern was taking form right before my eyes. I don’t see how they do it. And they do give classes to school children in order to keep up the tradition. One of the makers just passed away at 102 years of age.
So I was looking in the shops, yesterday, for an affordable handmade lace tablecloth. Most are at least 100 Euros, but I saw a few that were around 40. The only problem is, and we’re warned of it, some shops sell machine-made pieces as well as hand-made pieces. So I would assume the 40 price is machine-made. The more intricate piece, with less linen, is the most expensive. I’d love to have one of those. But then I ask myself, why? I probably wouldn’t use it. And if I did I would be too terrified it would get stained. So, maybe I’ll pass on that and just buy a little doily as a memento. Although I could hang the tablecloth on one of my walls. Now which wall would that be, Rebecca? You have empty wall space somewhere? How about a ceiling?
I’ve already tested and tasted the authentic Belgian chocolates. So much so one day, it put me right to sleep. Had a long nap that day. The milk chocolate is my favorite, solid chocolate. But they have everything, crème filled, nuts, chewy, dark chocolate, name it they make it. Between the chocolate shops and the lace shops, that makes up a good 50 per cent of the business in Bruges.
And the fashion shops are in plenty, too - shoes, clothing, jewelry – it’s all here. The fashion trend is almost gypsy-like. Layers of colorful pieces, tufted pants and skirts with vests and scarfs and other adornment added to create a work of art, actually. Walking art pieces the wearers become. Then you have the simply dressed . . . non-trendy dressers. There are always those. And they are stylish, too. Mono-toned ensembles either in tans, browns, or olive greens. You can immediately pick up on who is affluent and who isn’t. Most times. Not always. And these people have tans! I’ve noticed that about Europeans. They do go to the beaches for relaxation and tans. Usually to Spain and the south of France. And some go to Florida, believe it or not.
Well, today’s my last day in Bruges. I catch the 6 a.m. train to Brussels in the morning, then change trains to go to Paris where I connect to go to St. Malo, France. I’ll arrive in St. Malo sometime in the early afternoon and will have a few hours till I get on a hover-craft ferry (Condor) that takes me across to Weymouth, England. I’ll arrive in Weymouth at 8:30 p.m. So Monday is going to be another very long travel day. I’m hoping I’ll be able to store my bags in St. Malo somewhere so I can roam around the port town, I hear it’s something to see.
Then on Tuesday I begin my stay in England. See you there . . .
Thursday, August 28, 2008
2006 - ENGLAND
TRAINS AND BOAT TO ENGLAND . . .
The day began a bit dodgy . . . I woke up at 4 a.m. and packed my bags, had some coffee, checked my email, and then went out to wait for the taxi that was to arrive at 5:30 a.m. to take me to the train station to catch the 6 a.m. train to Brussels. At 5:45, still no taxi. I rang the doorbell trying to roust out Robert, hoping to use his phone or find out why the cabby hadn’t arrived, but Robert must not wake so easily. Neither one of them responded to the doorbell or the frantic knocks. So, I figured I’d better shift to plan B and try and find a bus that would take me to the train station. I knew no taxis would be out and about that early. And it was too far and too difficult to walk to the train station at this point.
Pulling two bags over cobble stones is not the easiest trick to pull off. The sound alone was enough to wake up the neighborhoods through which I traveled. Finally I saw a bus coming along a canal and waved him down. He said yes he goes to the train station, but I would have to go to a bus stop to catch the next bus, said he couldn’t pick me up in the middle of the street like that. He pointed me in the direction of the nearest bus stop. I thanked him and he must have seen my desperate look because he felt pity and said, “Okay, I’ll take you this time.” I wanted to say, “don't worry, there ain’t gonnna be a next time,” but I smiled instead and said thank you.
So, I missed the train I was supposed to take and got there just in time to take the one leaving at 6:30 a.m. And of course, that threw me off schedule for the next train out of Brussels to Paris. When I got to Brussels there was another train leaving for Paris at 7:40 which was in 10 minutes. But I couldn’t just get on with the ticket for the train I’d missed, I had to go to the ticket counter and have them change it. That left me with 6 minutes to get to the train in time to leave for Paris. And of course the train platforms are always on another level, they’re never on the level where you are. Lucky for me, this one had an escalator to take me up a level, or else I wouldn’t have made that train. And they don’t wait for you. I made it, exactly at 7:40.
I think the most difficult part of traveling by train and the most distressing for me is getting from one train to another in the stations. Especially if luggage is involved. If I were traveling with just my purse, it would be a breeze. But since that’s not the case, it isn’t a breeze at all. It’s distressing. Once on the train, I’m all right, of course. I love the ride on the trains. It’s relaxing and neat to see the countryside. But I do not like the in-between segments. I need a baggage handler, I do.
I'm writing this on the train, by the way. And I'm thinking about when I get to Paris now. I have to take the Metro from the station I arrive in – Nord – to Montparnasse station where I’ll then board a train to Dol, wherever that is. Then in Dol I change trains to board the one that takes me to St. Malo. So, you see, I’ve some more distressing moments ahead of me today. It would be all right if all the stations had elevators and escalators, but they don’t. And it’s two flights of concrete stairs from one level to another. So that means if it’s up, I have to take one case up at a time. If it’s down, I carry one and drag the other on its wheels as it bumps down from one step to the next. So far the wheels seem to be sturdy enough. If they break, I’m @$##%@# out of luck.
When I get on the final train to St. Malo, I am really going to relax. I just hope the alteration in the times because I missed the first two trains doesn’t effect the next two trains.
This all would happen on a day that I’m fighting a cold. It hit me yesterday, Sunday, and I stayed in most of the day. Thank goodness I brought my Advil Cold & Sinus med. After the horrible experience I had last time in Paris with illness, I came prepared this time. And actually I feel pretty good right now.
Oh, just saw a beautiful manor house or chateau. Wow! Now that’s living! And all the green countryside around . . . beautiful. There’s a few rolling hills in this area. I’m not sure if we’re in France or still in Belgium. It’s hard to tell. I would think that someone would ask me for my passport going from one country to another, but no one has. Interesting. Lot of churches dotting the landscape, their steeples being the first thing you see.
No billboards or signs to let you know where you are. Fancy that. lol lol It’s grey today and cloudy. I wonder if it’s raining in Paris. I’ll be coming back to Paris in a week to stay for a week and I’m looking forward to that for sure. But first to England to revisit the sites of my first novel. I’m excited about that too. And after that my bags will be lighter, the books will hopefully be gone by the end of the week. Except I must keep one for Bob on the Simpatico in Paris.
FAST FORWARD TO ENGLAND - May 10, Wednesday
The remainder of the train trip to St. Malo wasn't as bad as I expected. In Paris it was easy to get to the Metro, I just took it in my stride, bumped up and down the stairs. Usually there was someone on hand to help with the heavy one. And of course once on the Metro it was easy to get to Montparnasse. Paris does have the best subway in the world, as far as I'm concerned. The routes make it very easy for you to see where you're going. And after I got to Montparnasse, it was two levels up to the main train station, then two more levels up to the train to St. Malo. As it turned out, I didn't have to change trains in Dol, that was just a ticketing situation.
I arrived in St. Malo, France 2 1/2 hours before I was to board the Condor so I didn't venture out into the city. Although I would have liked to. St Malo is very interesting. I must return there sometime. Maybe next time I'm in Weymouth I'll take the Condor over and spend the day. They do day trips to the islands of Guernsy (sp?), Jersey, and St. Malo. Any or all three would be worth the trip. Beautiful places. The Condor Ferry was enjoyable. I think it was a four hour trip across the channel. Of course all you could see was the sea all around you. The boat runs very smoothly on the water. A huge modern vehicle. Take a look at them on the Condor Ferry website.
And now here I am in Weymouth. And it has been a delightful, lazy couple days. I'm sitting at my window this very moment looking out over the beach and sea. The sounds of the waves lull me to sleep each night. I've a wonderful room with en suite this time, although I do miss my tiny little cubicle of three years ago with the toilet one floor up. Has it been three years? Oh my. Or four? I definitely have lost track.
Today we go to Abbottsbury to walk the village of thatched-roofed cottages and will have a cream tea before driving to Portland-Bill for lunch. I'll bypass the Abbottsbury Swannery this time, and the gardens. Just want to experience the village, didn't really do that last time. Those of you who've read my novel will remember that Paul and Belinda were married at the Swannery. Abbottsbury is one of those very peaceful small villages that would be a perfect place to live if one could find a cottage off the beaten track. But there's so much traffic through the center of town, you wouldn't want to live that close in.
I met a chef who is on holiday to see his mother in Portland Bill. He's originally from Weymouth and was having a pint at the pub where I was waiting for Ali and Martin before going to dinner last night. I love hanging out at the Weymouth Quay. Here the fishing boats dock and upload their catch of the day. It was lobsters today. Big ones. Then the trucks from Portugal arrive and truck them home for their populace. Funny that they would come all the way from Portugal to Weymouth for lobster.
Anyway, the chef I had a conversation with at the George's Inn on the docks, is the head chef at the derby (he pronounces it as the Darby). . . you know, the famous horse race track here in England. Where the women and men come out in all their finery and hats once a year. Like in "My Fair Lady." It was interesting talking with him, a huge man, obviously a lover of food. He may meet us for lunch today, depending on the schedule. Told us where to go for the best food. Ali and Martin are acquainted with the place, so that should be nice. I'm looking forward to the afternoon spent with the newly-wed Wallers. This time they've taken the day off to show me Portland-Bill, a town just a little west of Weymouth. They say it's very different. In fact I can see its cliffs from my window through the haze this morning. It'll clear up by the time we go, though.
Tomorrow morning I leave for Penzance on a coach. A bus. Decided to do something different once again. I did the train last time, so I'll do the coach this time. It's a 7-hour trip. Trains go through sections of hedges and trees on both sides as they amble through the country, and you do miss some of the sights. At least the buses are traveling the roadways that autos travel and you might be able to see more. Especially when traveling through the villages.
I'm still struggling with the darn cold at the moment, have been taking vitamin C and cold tablets as well as a healthy dose of Echinacea every few hours. I certainly do not want a repeat performance of the Paris of last year.
Well, off to have my morning coffee and maybe some toast.
It's 8 a.m. and the day's already begun.
NOW IT'S . . .
. . . my last couple hours in Penwith, the region of Penzance, Newlyn, Mousehole, etc., the southwest corner of England. In a couple hours I’ll be boarding a train for London, then will board the chunnel train to Paris.
This past six days have been full of memories and reminders of visits past and have even opened up new adventures and introduced new people into my life. More writing fodder, no less. Of course my serial lead character “Rachel” lives in Cornwall, so this region will most certainly be revisited in future books adding possibly some new people to the “cast of characters”. For instance Tom Ellery, who just so happens to be a past creative mate of Jim’s (hubby Jim), and lives in Mousehole with his significant other Peter Collier who is a painter and London physician. Tom comes to the cottage they’ve refurbished every other week, then returns to London on Sunday. He says he loves living in Mousehole. Loves tending his garden with the fish pond at the base of the fountain set in the center. Tom and Peter were having a disagreement as to how to tend the pond and the fish. Tom had added water and now the pond was all cloudy and muggy looking. Peter told him it was the way he’d added the water, and not to do it again. They were quite entertaining and interesting.
Their next door neighbor is one of Dean Koontz’s editors and is herself a children’s author. From what I understand the area is becoming full of successful artistes and I’m hoping to become one of them. Yes, Jim? We’re going to find a cottage in Mousehole to refurbish and come to whenever we can? There’s a direct train to and from London. This area is a great investment, so I hear. Anyway . . . back to “characters” . . . Tom and Peter will be excellent characters for my novels. Part of Rachel’s core group in Cornwall. Definitely.
I also visited the rock shop just a few steps up the lane from them to see if Ken Millward was in, the owner. He’s “Dudley” in my Trafalgar book. I wanted to give him a copy. Wasn’t there, but Tom and Peter know him. I would imagine everyone in this tiny village knows everyone else.
You know, there is something about England that completely captivates me, there’s a draw that holds me fast, a magnet. Other than the fact that I feel very comfortable here and feel as if I’m at home, I’m not quite sure why it appeals to me as much as it does. Could be the countryside that is so beautiful (in Cornwall – very dramatic), maybe it’s the fascinating stone houses, the oldness of them, the crudeness of them, and I love the stone fences and walls that separate gardens and land from one’s neighbors. The people are friendly, they speak my language, they look you in the eyes when they talk to you, the culture is absorbing, the books by British authors and the films by Brits hold my interest moreso than any others. The list goes on. Maybe it’s because I’m of British lineage. Maybe it’s because I may have lived here in another lifetime. Whatever it is, I’m spellbound.
Well, I hear Simon and Susan, the young owners of the Penzance Camilla House B & B stirring in the dining room, so I’ll wander in and have some fruit and juice and settle my tab for this 3-nite visit. My small single accommodation is just off the dining room. The cab will be picking me up at 8:45 a.m. because I want to get to the station to change my train ticket to a direct fare - no train changes. Hopefully I can do that. There is such a train, I’m told. As long as it doesn’t interfere with the departure time of the Eurostar chunnel train for Paris, I’ll make the change. I purchased all my tickets before I left the States. Did it all over the internet. But at the time I wasn’t able to find a direct route from here to London.
Yesterday, after taking it easy during the morning, shampooed my hair, lazed around watching TV, read . . . I walked to the bus station and boarded a bus for Marazion and St. Michael’s Mount. I’d been looking forward to that, wanted to walk back into the village farther than I’d ventured before. As it turns out, it’s a very small village, not much there. Quite a few B & B’s, a few shops, a couple pubs. Not much else. The main attraction is St. Michael’s Mount. When I arrived and while I was there, the causeway was covered with the sea, so I couldn’t hike up to the Mount. Only when the tide is out can you traverse the causeway out to the Mount, it’s an island with a medieval village at the base and a castle on top. I’d wanted to journey out to the gift/book shop and leave a couple of my books there. Maybe place them on the shelf next to Daphne DuMaurier’s. (sure) I know I spelled her name wrong, but have no way to look it up right now. She wrote “Rebecca” and several others that were made into movies by Alfred Hitchcock. She lived in Cornwall and most of her books are set here. In fact I noticed there was a lecture given this weekend in a town nearby about the relationship between her and Hitchcock, called “Daphne and Hitchcock.” Fancy that. Daphne’s father was a British film producer also.
Anyway, I wasn’t able to go to the Mount so I sat in the Godolphin Restaurant (in my book, also) and had a chocolate mousse. How’s that for soothing one’s disappointments? Then I walked through the village, looked in the real estate office windows at the properties for sale, saw one in Newlyn for £160,000 . . . now that is really inexpensive, equivalent to almost twice that in dollars. $1.80 to the British pound. Speaking of, it’s much less expensive to be in the Euro governed countries. So, I’ve held off buying much here. Will pick up what gifts I have left to buy in Paris, where it will be more in line with the American buck. $1.20 to a Euro.
I wasn’t able to find the spot from where the painting of St. Michael’s Mount was done that hangs in my kitchen at home. I was really hoping to stand in the same spot and see it for real, but it was too difficult to remember the view. I should have taken a photo of the painting and brought it with me. I know, it’s not all that important, but it’s those simple things that excite me. Knowing I was right where that English artist painted that landscape. He was an early 19th century artist I believe, and his name escapes me, but he was well known in Britain. I can’t believe I found it in a dusty corner of an antiques/used furniture/accessories shop on East Main in Visalia. Lots of neat shops there, by the way. I love browsing those on a Sunday afternoon. Of course my house is so full now, I’ll have to have another house to add any more. Lol lol It’s time to work on my English garden, and I notice there’s lots of great stuff in those shops that would be wonderful in a garden.
A FEW THINGS I FORGOT TO SAY ABOUT WEYMOUTH - DORSET
The day Ali & Martin Waller, the delightful owners of the charming Channel View B & B where I stayed, took me for an outing . . . we first went to Portland-Bill. Just a tad south west of Weymouth around the bay. It was originally a naval base, or at least was for quite a few years, I don’t know what it was before then. It’s a stone village, gray in colour, very drab and sterile looking, and has a much visited lighthouse and restaurant on the point and a rock formation called the Pulpit. Evidently going back to Biblical times, used then. And the entire region is not only built of stone, it’s built ON stone . . . there are working quarries there producing Portland Stone and shipping it all over the country as well as to other countries. I’m wondering if they’ll ever run out of stone and whether or not the village might fall off into the sea someday because of all the stone removal around and beneath.
The 2012 sailing portion of the Olympics is set to be held in its bay and they’re in the process of building to accommodate the event already. In fact, Martin said the entire region will be filled with people during that segment. He said it should be a boon to the real estate business, people buying and selling, readying for the event. He said if anyone offers him a mil for his place, he’ll take it. Says that does happen during those times.
We had a very tasty lunch at The Cove before we left the village. It was absolutely fantastic. The best meal I’d had so far. I had scallops and veggies and a salad. It was a very old pub on the pebble-filled beach. In fact, the night before, the chef I’d met at the George in Weymouth had recommended it. Remember? He was there that day, while we were at the Cove, with his mother . . . planning his own menu for the famous Ascot event coming up in England. I’d love to go to that. Martin and Ali said to come during the Ascot next time, and we’d go. They’ve been before.
Then we went to Abbottsbury and had dessert in one of the most quaint tea gardens ever. Abbottsbury is the village north of Weymouth with the thatched roofed cottages. If I can’t find a place in Mousehole, then it’s got to be Abbottsbury. Hey, maybe both. Lol lol Anyway, the tea garden is on the main street and was displaying an art exhibit as well as home-made cakes and pies. Oh boy! I had a coffee cake; I mean literally a coffee cake. The thick frosting was made from coffee and the cake was flavored of coffee, too. Wow! I wish I had some right now. The owner had a multi-tiered English garden – where everything appears to grow wild, untamed and untrimmed – with seating areas in hidden areas. We found a wonderful spot nestled in some flowering trees and plants at a table made from an old iron Singer sewing machine trestle, a marble top. The chairs were wrought iron with padded cushions. We sat and had our desserts and coffee and watched the birds and bees visit the flowers, a bumble bee or two got a bit too close, and we chatted about living in such a solitary town in the country. Marvelous way to live.
NEXT . . . OFF TO PARIS!
The day began a bit dodgy . . . I woke up at 4 a.m. and packed my bags, had some coffee, checked my email, and then went out to wait for the taxi that was to arrive at 5:30 a.m. to take me to the train station to catch the 6 a.m. train to Brussels. At 5:45, still no taxi. I rang the doorbell trying to roust out Robert, hoping to use his phone or find out why the cabby hadn’t arrived, but Robert must not wake so easily. Neither one of them responded to the doorbell or the frantic knocks. So, I figured I’d better shift to plan B and try and find a bus that would take me to the train station. I knew no taxis would be out and about that early. And it was too far and too difficult to walk to the train station at this point.
Pulling two bags over cobble stones is not the easiest trick to pull off. The sound alone was enough to wake up the neighborhoods through which I traveled. Finally I saw a bus coming along a canal and waved him down. He said yes he goes to the train station, but I would have to go to a bus stop to catch the next bus, said he couldn’t pick me up in the middle of the street like that. He pointed me in the direction of the nearest bus stop. I thanked him and he must have seen my desperate look because he felt pity and said, “Okay, I’ll take you this time.” I wanted to say, “don't worry, there ain’t gonnna be a next time,” but I smiled instead and said thank you.
So, I missed the train I was supposed to take and got there just in time to take the one leaving at 6:30 a.m. And of course, that threw me off schedule for the next train out of Brussels to Paris. When I got to Brussels there was another train leaving for Paris at 7:40 which was in 10 minutes. But I couldn’t just get on with the ticket for the train I’d missed, I had to go to the ticket counter and have them change it. That left me with 6 minutes to get to the train in time to leave for Paris. And of course the train platforms are always on another level, they’re never on the level where you are. Lucky for me, this one had an escalator to take me up a level, or else I wouldn’t have made that train. And they don’t wait for you. I made it, exactly at 7:40.
I think the most difficult part of traveling by train and the most distressing for me is getting from one train to another in the stations. Especially if luggage is involved. If I were traveling with just my purse, it would be a breeze. But since that’s not the case, it isn’t a breeze at all. It’s distressing. Once on the train, I’m all right, of course. I love the ride on the trains. It’s relaxing and neat to see the countryside. But I do not like the in-between segments. I need a baggage handler, I do.
I'm writing this on the train, by the way. And I'm thinking about when I get to Paris now. I have to take the Metro from the station I arrive in – Nord – to Montparnasse station where I’ll then board a train to Dol, wherever that is. Then in Dol I change trains to board the one that takes me to St. Malo. So, you see, I’ve some more distressing moments ahead of me today. It would be all right if all the stations had elevators and escalators, but they don’t. And it’s two flights of concrete stairs from one level to another. So that means if it’s up, I have to take one case up at a time. If it’s down, I carry one and drag the other on its wheels as it bumps down from one step to the next. So far the wheels seem to be sturdy enough. If they break, I’m @$##%@# out of luck.
When I get on the final train to St. Malo, I am really going to relax. I just hope the alteration in the times because I missed the first two trains doesn’t effect the next two trains.
This all would happen on a day that I’m fighting a cold. It hit me yesterday, Sunday, and I stayed in most of the day. Thank goodness I brought my Advil Cold & Sinus med. After the horrible experience I had last time in Paris with illness, I came prepared this time. And actually I feel pretty good right now.
Oh, just saw a beautiful manor house or chateau. Wow! Now that’s living! And all the green countryside around . . . beautiful. There’s a few rolling hills in this area. I’m not sure if we’re in France or still in Belgium. It’s hard to tell. I would think that someone would ask me for my passport going from one country to another, but no one has. Interesting. Lot of churches dotting the landscape, their steeples being the first thing you see.
No billboards or signs to let you know where you are. Fancy that. lol lol It’s grey today and cloudy. I wonder if it’s raining in Paris. I’ll be coming back to Paris in a week to stay for a week and I’m looking forward to that for sure. But first to England to revisit the sites of my first novel. I’m excited about that too. And after that my bags will be lighter, the books will hopefully be gone by the end of the week. Except I must keep one for Bob on the Simpatico in Paris.
FAST FORWARD TO ENGLAND - May 10, Wednesday
The remainder of the train trip to St. Malo wasn't as bad as I expected. In Paris it was easy to get to the Metro, I just took it in my stride, bumped up and down the stairs. Usually there was someone on hand to help with the heavy one. And of course once on the Metro it was easy to get to Montparnasse. Paris does have the best subway in the world, as far as I'm concerned. The routes make it very easy for you to see where you're going. And after I got to Montparnasse, it was two levels up to the main train station, then two more levels up to the train to St. Malo. As it turned out, I didn't have to change trains in Dol, that was just a ticketing situation.
I arrived in St. Malo, France 2 1/2 hours before I was to board the Condor so I didn't venture out into the city. Although I would have liked to. St Malo is very interesting. I must return there sometime. Maybe next time I'm in Weymouth I'll take the Condor over and spend the day. They do day trips to the islands of Guernsy (sp?), Jersey, and St. Malo. Any or all three would be worth the trip. Beautiful places. The Condor Ferry was enjoyable. I think it was a four hour trip across the channel. Of course all you could see was the sea all around you. The boat runs very smoothly on the water. A huge modern vehicle. Take a look at them on the Condor Ferry website.
And now here I am in Weymouth. And it has been a delightful, lazy couple days. I'm sitting at my window this very moment looking out over the beach and sea. The sounds of the waves lull me to sleep each night. I've a wonderful room with en suite this time, although I do miss my tiny little cubicle of three years ago with the toilet one floor up. Has it been three years? Oh my. Or four? I definitely have lost track.
Today we go to Abbottsbury to walk the village of thatched-roofed cottages and will have a cream tea before driving to Portland-Bill for lunch. I'll bypass the Abbottsbury Swannery this time, and the gardens. Just want to experience the village, didn't really do that last time. Those of you who've read my novel will remember that Paul and Belinda were married at the Swannery. Abbottsbury is one of those very peaceful small villages that would be a perfect place to live if one could find a cottage off the beaten track. But there's so much traffic through the center of town, you wouldn't want to live that close in.
I met a chef who is on holiday to see his mother in Portland Bill. He's originally from Weymouth and was having a pint at the pub where I was waiting for Ali and Martin before going to dinner last night. I love hanging out at the Weymouth Quay. Here the fishing boats dock and upload their catch of the day. It was lobsters today. Big ones. Then the trucks from Portugal arrive and truck them home for their populace. Funny that they would come all the way from Portugal to Weymouth for lobster.
Anyway, the chef I had a conversation with at the George's Inn on the docks, is the head chef at the derby (he pronounces it as the Darby). . . you know, the famous horse race track here in England. Where the women and men come out in all their finery and hats once a year. Like in "My Fair Lady." It was interesting talking with him, a huge man, obviously a lover of food. He may meet us for lunch today, depending on the schedule. Told us where to go for the best food. Ali and Martin are acquainted with the place, so that should be nice. I'm looking forward to the afternoon spent with the newly-wed Wallers. This time they've taken the day off to show me Portland-Bill, a town just a little west of Weymouth. They say it's very different. In fact I can see its cliffs from my window through the haze this morning. It'll clear up by the time we go, though.
Tomorrow morning I leave for Penzance on a coach. A bus. Decided to do something different once again. I did the train last time, so I'll do the coach this time. It's a 7-hour trip. Trains go through sections of hedges and trees on both sides as they amble through the country, and you do miss some of the sights. At least the buses are traveling the roadways that autos travel and you might be able to see more. Especially when traveling through the villages.
I'm still struggling with the darn cold at the moment, have been taking vitamin C and cold tablets as well as a healthy dose of Echinacea every few hours. I certainly do not want a repeat performance of the Paris of last year.
Well, off to have my morning coffee and maybe some toast.
It's 8 a.m. and the day's already begun.
NOW IT'S . . .
. . . my last couple hours in Penwith, the region of Penzance, Newlyn, Mousehole, etc., the southwest corner of England. In a couple hours I’ll be boarding a train for London, then will board the chunnel train to Paris.
This past six days have been full of memories and reminders of visits past and have even opened up new adventures and introduced new people into my life. More writing fodder, no less. Of course my serial lead character “Rachel” lives in Cornwall, so this region will most certainly be revisited in future books adding possibly some new people to the “cast of characters”. For instance Tom Ellery, who just so happens to be a past creative mate of Jim’s (hubby Jim), and lives in Mousehole with his significant other Peter Collier who is a painter and London physician. Tom comes to the cottage they’ve refurbished every other week, then returns to London on Sunday. He says he loves living in Mousehole. Loves tending his garden with the fish pond at the base of the fountain set in the center. Tom and Peter were having a disagreement as to how to tend the pond and the fish. Tom had added water and now the pond was all cloudy and muggy looking. Peter told him it was the way he’d added the water, and not to do it again. They were quite entertaining and interesting.
Their next door neighbor is one of Dean Koontz’s editors and is herself a children’s author. From what I understand the area is becoming full of successful artistes and I’m hoping to become one of them. Yes, Jim? We’re going to find a cottage in Mousehole to refurbish and come to whenever we can? There’s a direct train to and from London. This area is a great investment, so I hear. Anyway . . . back to “characters” . . . Tom and Peter will be excellent characters for my novels. Part of Rachel’s core group in Cornwall. Definitely.
I also visited the rock shop just a few steps up the lane from them to see if Ken Millward was in, the owner. He’s “Dudley” in my Trafalgar book. I wanted to give him a copy. Wasn’t there, but Tom and Peter know him. I would imagine everyone in this tiny village knows everyone else.
You know, there is something about England that completely captivates me, there’s a draw that holds me fast, a magnet. Other than the fact that I feel very comfortable here and feel as if I’m at home, I’m not quite sure why it appeals to me as much as it does. Could be the countryside that is so beautiful (in Cornwall – very dramatic), maybe it’s the fascinating stone houses, the oldness of them, the crudeness of them, and I love the stone fences and walls that separate gardens and land from one’s neighbors. The people are friendly, they speak my language, they look you in the eyes when they talk to you, the culture is absorbing, the books by British authors and the films by Brits hold my interest moreso than any others. The list goes on. Maybe it’s because I’m of British lineage. Maybe it’s because I may have lived here in another lifetime. Whatever it is, I’m spellbound.
Well, I hear Simon and Susan, the young owners of the Penzance Camilla House B & B stirring in the dining room, so I’ll wander in and have some fruit and juice and settle my tab for this 3-nite visit. My small single accommodation is just off the dining room. The cab will be picking me up at 8:45 a.m. because I want to get to the station to change my train ticket to a direct fare - no train changes. Hopefully I can do that. There is such a train, I’m told. As long as it doesn’t interfere with the departure time of the Eurostar chunnel train for Paris, I’ll make the change. I purchased all my tickets before I left the States. Did it all over the internet. But at the time I wasn’t able to find a direct route from here to London.
Yesterday, after taking it easy during the morning, shampooed my hair, lazed around watching TV, read . . . I walked to the bus station and boarded a bus for Marazion and St. Michael’s Mount. I’d been looking forward to that, wanted to walk back into the village farther than I’d ventured before. As it turns out, it’s a very small village, not much there. Quite a few B & B’s, a few shops, a couple pubs. Not much else. The main attraction is St. Michael’s Mount. When I arrived and while I was there, the causeway was covered with the sea, so I couldn’t hike up to the Mount. Only when the tide is out can you traverse the causeway out to the Mount, it’s an island with a medieval village at the base and a castle on top. I’d wanted to journey out to the gift/book shop and leave a couple of my books there. Maybe place them on the shelf next to Daphne DuMaurier’s. (sure) I know I spelled her name wrong, but have no way to look it up right now. She wrote “Rebecca” and several others that were made into movies by Alfred Hitchcock. She lived in Cornwall and most of her books are set here. In fact I noticed there was a lecture given this weekend in a town nearby about the relationship between her and Hitchcock, called “Daphne and Hitchcock.” Fancy that. Daphne’s father was a British film producer also.
Anyway, I wasn’t able to go to the Mount so I sat in the Godolphin Restaurant (in my book, also) and had a chocolate mousse. How’s that for soothing one’s disappointments? Then I walked through the village, looked in the real estate office windows at the properties for sale, saw one in Newlyn for £160,000 . . . now that is really inexpensive, equivalent to almost twice that in dollars. $1.80 to the British pound. Speaking of, it’s much less expensive to be in the Euro governed countries. So, I’ve held off buying much here. Will pick up what gifts I have left to buy in Paris, where it will be more in line with the American buck. $1.20 to a Euro.
I wasn’t able to find the spot from where the painting of St. Michael’s Mount was done that hangs in my kitchen at home. I was really hoping to stand in the same spot and see it for real, but it was too difficult to remember the view. I should have taken a photo of the painting and brought it with me. I know, it’s not all that important, but it’s those simple things that excite me. Knowing I was right where that English artist painted that landscape. He was an early 19th century artist I believe, and his name escapes me, but he was well known in Britain. I can’t believe I found it in a dusty corner of an antiques/used furniture/accessories shop on East Main in Visalia. Lots of neat shops there, by the way. I love browsing those on a Sunday afternoon. Of course my house is so full now, I’ll have to have another house to add any more. Lol lol It’s time to work on my English garden, and I notice there’s lots of great stuff in those shops that would be wonderful in a garden.
A FEW THINGS I FORGOT TO SAY ABOUT WEYMOUTH - DORSET
The day Ali & Martin Waller, the delightful owners of the charming Channel View B & B where I stayed, took me for an outing . . . we first went to Portland-Bill. Just a tad south west of Weymouth around the bay. It was originally a naval base, or at least was for quite a few years, I don’t know what it was before then. It’s a stone village, gray in colour, very drab and sterile looking, and has a much visited lighthouse and restaurant on the point and a rock formation called the Pulpit. Evidently going back to Biblical times, used then. And the entire region is not only built of stone, it’s built ON stone . . . there are working quarries there producing Portland Stone and shipping it all over the country as well as to other countries. I’m wondering if they’ll ever run out of stone and whether or not the village might fall off into the sea someday because of all the stone removal around and beneath.
The 2012 sailing portion of the Olympics is set to be held in its bay and they’re in the process of building to accommodate the event already. In fact, Martin said the entire region will be filled with people during that segment. He said it should be a boon to the real estate business, people buying and selling, readying for the event. He said if anyone offers him a mil for his place, he’ll take it. Says that does happen during those times.
We had a very tasty lunch at The Cove before we left the village. It was absolutely fantastic. The best meal I’d had so far. I had scallops and veggies and a salad. It was a very old pub on the pebble-filled beach. In fact, the night before, the chef I’d met at the George in Weymouth had recommended it. Remember? He was there that day, while we were at the Cove, with his mother . . . planning his own menu for the famous Ascot event coming up in England. I’d love to go to that. Martin and Ali said to come during the Ascot next time, and we’d go. They’ve been before.
Then we went to Abbottsbury and had dessert in one of the most quaint tea gardens ever. Abbottsbury is the village north of Weymouth with the thatched roofed cottages. If I can’t find a place in Mousehole, then it’s got to be Abbottsbury. Hey, maybe both. Lol lol Anyway, the tea garden is on the main street and was displaying an art exhibit as well as home-made cakes and pies. Oh boy! I had a coffee cake; I mean literally a coffee cake. The thick frosting was made from coffee and the cake was flavored of coffee, too. Wow! I wish I had some right now. The owner had a multi-tiered English garden – where everything appears to grow wild, untamed and untrimmed – with seating areas in hidden areas. We found a wonderful spot nestled in some flowering trees and plants at a table made from an old iron Singer sewing machine trestle, a marble top. The chairs were wrought iron with padded cushions. We sat and had our desserts and coffee and watched the birds and bees visit the flowers, a bumble bee or two got a bit too close, and we chatted about living in such a solitary town in the country. Marvelous way to live.
NEXT . . . OFF TO PARIS!
2006 - PARIS
MOTHER’S DAY . . . ANOTHER WILD DAY OF TRAINS!
Okay, so I was able to change my ticket to a direct route to London, which meant I wouldn’t have to change trains anywhere along the way. Oh, there would be stops, yes, but I wouldn’t have to get off one train and get on another. Hallelujah! I was elated. No stairs to climb up and down, no carrying my bags again until I got to London. Hooray!
That was all well and good until we got nearly to Bristol and the damn train broke down. Hell, yes! Now, remember, I was on a tight schedule, had to make it to London to catch the Eurostar on time to get through the chunnel to Paris at least by 9 p.m. Didn’t want to keep Robert waiting for me to arrive at the boat, my next accommodation. Left Penzance at 10 a.m., by the way. Okay. So they fixed the train and she limped in to Bristol where we all had to get off and load onto another train especially brought into service for this trip. The original train from Penzance was full, not one seat available. So that meant everyone had to move from one train to the other. Craziness, as you can well imagine. Need I tell you I ate junk food all day?
So now we’re off to London. But we’re 30 minutes behind schedule and that is going to put me at Paddington station in London with just 30 minutes to spare to get to the Eurostar which is on the other side of London at the Waterloo station. No way. It was impossible. There was no way I could get to the Underground system (subway) which is levels down and buy a ticket and get to a train that would take me to Waterloo and then go through all the stops and possibly another train change before getting to the Eurostar station which was on the top level of the Waterloo station. My stomach was churning and spewing. But . . . there was nothing I could do, so I just sat back and tried to get the worrisome thoughts out of my head. But before I got to London I made the decision to exit the Paddington station, once there, and hail a taxi. Maybe that would work. It was Sunday, no business traffic in London. It might just work. Skip the Underground, take a cab.
Sooooooo, that’s what I did. In the taxi as the driver was hurrying to get me to Waterloo, aware of the dilemma, a news bulletin was broadcast on the radio saying that there had been a fire and a fear of possible explosion near the Eurostar run between London and the international station at . . . oh darn . . . I forgot the name of it. Begins with an H. So, all Eurostar trains out of London had been cancelled. Can you believe that? What is this with me and trains?
I told the driver to get me there anyway, that’d I see what I could do and find out more. So he did and I arrived at the Eurostar doors where hoards of people were filling the sidewalks. They weren’t being admitted into the building. A lot of angry people. Some had been there for hours. I pushed up to the front and asked what one could do to get to Paris. The nice guy told me to take my tickets and go upstairs and they were organizing trains to transport people to the International station in H and then we’d board the Eurostar from there to travel on to Paris. He said to just use my Eurostar tickets. I said, I don’t have them yet, but they’re paid for, I was supposed to get them from the machine inside - the machine that was just behind him in the Eurostar station. So, he let me in, turned me over to another guy, and I got my tickets. That guy took me over to the escalators . . . I was the only person in the station at that level and he directed me where to go, said to hurry, a train was going to be loading right away. I hurried like crazy and was one of the last ones to be let through to go on this first train to H. Others had to wait for the next one.
So . . . I arrived in H at the Eurostar station. Here people filled the entire complex. It was chaos. They had sent attendants around to give people water, the station was so suffocating and hot. Too many people. They would only let 100passengers through at a time so there wouldn’t be a bottleneck upstairs in the terminal. After standing nearly an hour, I was in the 100 to go upstairs next on the escalator. Then we were herded through security, in fact they were really lax with some of us, sent us on through without putting the luggage through the X-ray machine. Then we entered a huge terminal where everyone before us was waiting. But there were plenty of seats, tables and chairs, and the food and concession stand was inundated with disgruntled passengers. I found a seat at the bar counter next to a young traveler who was going to Holland via Brussels. We both watched the people, commenting and talking about the situation, and talking about life in general.
Then they called the Eurostar personnel to board the train that was to be departing for Paris. A huge Chinese touring group that had been on the train from London with me and was bound for Paris, too, quickly formed before the gateway leading across the walkway to the trains. A voice came over a speaker telling them to please sit back down, not to block the area, but they didn’t understand and continued to stand there. Well, another announcement came over the speaker system about 20 minutes later saying that boarding was now available to the Eurostar bound for Paris. I began to gather my things and then had second thoughts about it, the line was so full, especially with the tour group crowding there. I decided to just sit right where I was and wait for the line to get through. It seemed to never get smaller, however. Then after about 20 more minutes an announcement came over the system and it seemed all hell broke loose, the entire room cleared out across the walkway to the trains. I grabbed my bags and got to the entry and was told that that was the announcement for the train to Brussels, that the train to Paris had boarded nearly 20 minutes ago and was getting ready to leave right at that moment. That I’d missed it. The gal said I could try to make it, but she doubted it. I ran, I ran, I ran!
The train was already boarded, but still sitting there. All the doors were closed and they will not open them once they’re closed. Off down the track were two attendants standing outside one open door. Door number 12. They yelled at me to run. Lordy, lordy! Have you ever done a 40 yard dash pulling two pieces of luggage behind you on rough terrain? I was a mess. I couldn’t miss this train! How could this have happened? Well, there were two Chinese tour groups – one going to Paris, one to Brussels. I had been watching the one going to Brussels to make their move.
The luck of the Irish, the Scots, and all the Brits was with me! I made it to door number 12. The nice Frenchman told me to sit in the car up ahead which happened to be First Class. Ha! I rode to Paris First Class!
Sitting at the table across the aisle from me was a young Frenchman who just bought a house in Croatia and who travels Europe selling costumes to strippers. And I’ll leave it at that.
What an incredible Mother’s Day I had! I arrived in Paris at 10:30 p.m., and at the houseboat on the Seine under the Eiffel Tower at 11.
I’M IN THE CITY OF LIGHTS! SAFE AND SOUND! MY COLD IS GONE!
PARIS PARIS PARIS
Paris is truly a city of lights, whether it is day or night. Lights not necessarily meaning the electricity type, lights meaning the glowing type. A city of glow. It’s a city of glowing magnetism. A person has to be here much longer that a week, longer than two weeks, a month would still not be enough. You would have to be here at least six months to truly feel this city and its people and learn your way around. There is no city like it on the planet. Everybody should experience Paris at least once in their lives.
Just in the last few days I’ve discovered the best ways for me to get around the city. Finally! But then I’m told by Robert that the best way is the bus and the RER – another trainline. Well, I’ve only just mastered the Metro. I’ll have to tackle those transportation systems next time around. I have only one more full day in Paris - tomorrow. I’m slow on the uptake today, so I don’t imagine I’ll be doing any more nosing around until tomorrow, unless it’s right here in this area. Maybe this afternoon. Omigosh! It’s afternoon now. But I’m tired because I tossed and turned most of the night last night. Couldn’t sleep.
In the morning I’ll be moving off the boat to a hotel for my last night’s stay in Paris. Robert had booked another lodger here on the boat tomorrow, which is okay, I don’t mind at all. Besides his next guest is a paying lodger. Robert was so kind to give me these days because of the last visit. (Thank you, Robert and Kim.)
The hotel where I’ll be staying tomorrow night is in the Marais section, so that’ll give me another area to explore after I check in tomorrow as well as a return trip to the Louvre, since when I went there on Tuesday, it was closed.
I arrived in Paris late Sunday night (Mother’s Day), but of course had to walk over to the Eiffel Tower as soon as I met Bob on the boat and deposited my bags. The tower is lit up at night and is a terrific sight! I can see it from the boat, but I wanted to go stand under it, my statement that I’d made it to Paris. Of course late at night is the time the hawkers are out in full force and are most insistent. I ended up buying a little Eiffel keychain just to get the guy to go away. I hadn’t switched to Euros in my purse yet, but there was one mixed in with the British coinage. So, that’s what he got. I held out my hand full of change to prove to him I didn’t have any Euros on me. He wasn’t interested in Brit money. Although a Brit pound is worth much more than a Euro. Foolish boy. Lol lol So, I have another Eiffel Tower piece to add to my collection at home or to give to someone.
Oh, that’s what I’ve got to do today, no later than tomorrow. Pick up some gifts. It’s been a very busy week for me, traipsing through several sections of Paris. And I haven’t been thinking of gifts.
Monday I stayed on the boat to do some writing and to recuperate from the 12 hours of travel from England to Paris the day before. Amazing it took that long. But then, that’s what happens when you’re traveling by train. You can’t be in a hurry, that’s for sure. Delays can and will happen. By auto it would have been much quicker, but I’m just not one to want to travel by auto in a foreign country. A plane would have been quicker. I could have flown from Cornwall, I suppose. Or from Southampton. But then, I had some amusing experiences on those trains I had never had, so it was worth it after all is said and done.
I’m looking out the portholes as I’m sitting here on the Bateau Simpatico - http://www.quai48parisvacation.com - watching a huge tour boat go by. My gosh, some of those boats are humongous. In fact when they pass they create waves that travel to the boats tied to the quayside and rocks them silly. The most violent rocking happens between 10 p.m. and midnight. I don’t know why that is. Maybe the tide is coming in or something, from where I don’t know, though. I need to look at a map and see how Paris is situated to the sea and where the Seine runs. I don’t think it’s caused by an increase of tour boats, but then again, maybe it is. Additional dinner boats and the citylights-view boats are always a big tourist thing here. But the rocking isn’t a negative. I’ve become quite accustomed to it. (Although last night while up on Montmartre in a ladies room, I thought I was rocking as I was sitting there.) I remember on the last trip how I was a bit afraid at first that the boat might tip over. Hubby Jim didn’t seem to be bothered at all by it at the time. But then that’s his M.O. It takes quite a bit of anything to disturb him. Oh, to be so calm in a storm. Lol lol Anyway, now I’m only aware of the degree of rocking throughout the day and night. Doesn’t bother me. It’s lulling, actually. However it didn’t lull me to sleep last night. Four aspirin finally did the trick.
By the way, Bob has asked me to do a page for his website . . . a regular byline . . . I’m not exactly sure what it’ll be just yet, but will definitely look into it and consider it when I return home. A travel page, maybe? I’d love to do a travel page. Maybe we can talk about it some more tonight at dinner as well as find out more about him since he’s in my next book. He and Kim are my guests for dinner at one of their favorite restaurants. They’re such good hosts, and last time when I was so sick he and Kim really went out of their way to accommodate me, called the doc, etc. Lovely people. And what a difference it is to be on this boat when you’re not ill. What a difference a day makes . . . and so it goes. I’ve truly enjoyed it and want to do it again. Definitely! (Jim, let’s buy a houseboat here . . . ????? I know you’re thinking . . . “You want to live every place you go.” Me thinks you’re right.)
I don’t feel as isolated this time, though, as I felt last time. Of course now I’m learning where everything is and am learning the transportation system. Again, it just takes time and tips from those who are knowledgeable. Cabbing it from here isn’t really an option. But one can walk up to the Eiffel and get a cab as long as it’s during the busy part of the day and night. In fact that’s what I’ll do tomorrow when I move from here to the hotel. It’s just a five minute walk, if that much. I won’t tackle the RER or bus or Metro with my bags. Too many damn stairs as usual from one train to another to be lugging bags. It’s simple as I do my bit going from place to place during the day with only my shoulder bag. Very simple. In fact I love getting around the city that way. Although I do do a lot of walking, too. You have to walk to actually see the city and all the cozy parks and “places” (squares) and lanes and shops, galleries, etc. I could eat and drink myself daffy, though, if I stopped in every interesting café, brasserie, and bistro along the way. I think that’s what I did yesterday that made me have such a restless night. I ate too much during the day. More than usual. Did I say to someone that I’d probably lose weight on this trip because of all the walking? Well, disregard that one, because I only work up a friggin’ appetite by walking.
Yesterday morning I had fun shopping in a little food market in the Trocadero area – fruit, juice, sardines, cheese, ahem . . . chocolate with raisins (my favorite). Off the main Tracadero square and the beaten path is the Place de Mexico - believe it or not. Mexico? I suppose that works, Tracadero is Spanish, is it not? I browsed the cafes of the Place de Mexico and decided on the Le Mexique Brasserie. I had a delicious lunch, although a bit different, hamburger with egg on top, French fries, and a very good sliced tomato salad. They didn’t have anything on the menu written in English as most of the touristy restaurants do, but then this appeared to be truly a brasserie for the locals. (Remember, I’m only visiting all these cafes and brasseries for “Shelley” in my novel. Have to know where she goes, you know. Lol lol)
The waitress in Le Mexique was very friendly and with her broken English we were able to decide on my lunch choices. Then I had a slice of cherry pie, which of course is not like our cherry pie. It’s custard on crust with small white cherries mixed in, still having their seeds intact. Very different and very good. From a distance you’d think it was Quiche. In fact that’s what I thought it was. I really liked it. I’m going to duplicate it when I get home. Only I’ll use the larger seedless cherries. The custard is different from ours, too. Thicker in density. And the egg on the hamburger steak was good, too, I was worried about whether or not I’d like it together. With a bit of mustard spread on it, I enjoyed it. (no catsup) Hey, I’m learning to try different foods, at last. Funny thing, when the waitress realized I was American, she said “You want beef?” Now why would she ask such a thing? Lol lol Actually, I wasn’t thinking beef. But there wasn’t anything else on the menu that appealed to me. I made out the words that meant duck and smoked salmon . . . not my cup of tea for sure.
I must say I’m finding the French very friendly. A few exceptions: one was the checkout gal at the market up the street from the boat. But then it was my fault for not knowing the procedure. In that particular market you have to have the fruit and vegetables weighed and priced in the department. I didn’t know that and took the stuff up to the checkout stand, not weighed or marked. She wasn’t very happy. She took it back herself when I didn’t understand what she was saying, and took care of it. Then came back and threw the items on the counter and commenced to ring them up. There you have to provide your own bag for your groceries items, too. I didn’t know that either. So I stood like an idiot asking for a bag, with four lines of French people staring at me. Well, as it turns out there are bags available at the checkstand, but they cost .80€, which worked for me when she finally offered and I finally understood. Now I carry the bag with me, folded up in my purse, for those unexpected purchases in that type of market. Again, I’m learning, I’m learning. But now I look for smaller markets that are more intimate. The one in Tracadero was one of those. Nice guy, couldn’t understand a word of English. But we got on very well. He bagged my groceries in his own nice orange-colored plastic bags, with a pleasant smile. I think he short-changed me though, but I couldn’t seem to communicate that. Oh well, it wasn’t much. I thanked him and went on. I hope he enjoyed the tip.
Yesterday the goings on at the Trocadero were something else. It’s the Festival of Champions. I’m not sure what it’s about yet, it’s been going on for 24 hours, all hours of the day and night . . . has something to do with football or soccer - I can’t tell the difference between the two sports over here. It’s between Barcelona and Paris, I think. At least that’s what the banners were saying. A lot of Barcelona fans. And of course the TV shows on this set on the boat are only in French, no CNN or FOX stations, only local. (Bob says it’s a good way to learn French. Just keep listening to the rhythm, etc.) I haven’t found anyone who can tell me what the celebration is all about, yet. Maybe today. I’ll ask Bob and Kim tonite.
Canons were going off, or some such fireworks at the Eiffel into the night. And across the bridge at the Trocadero there were activity booths, huge cages for kicking balls into baskets, and a portable football field had been erected at the top of the Trocadero Gardens below the “palace”, what used to be the palace, at the square. The trees in the parks surrounding the gardens are all in bloom with purple, pink, white blossoms. Just beautiful. And I remembered the carousel at the foot of the steps leading up to the palace, from when we were here last time. In fact I have some footage of Jim riding one of the ponies on the carousel that first day before I fell ill. The colorful, ornate carousels are all over the city in the squares, a Parisian tradition.
In the midst of the beauty, contrasting music was blaring, festival food and drink booths lined the perimeter of the gardens and fountains, and droves of people flooded the bridge from the Eiffel and the Trocadero area. A very huge screen had been erected for all to view what was happening on the portable field. Players were amateurs, of course, I don’t know the criteria for their getting to play, but the area was inundated with mostly young and old male species donned with scarves, hats, T shirts, banners, capes . . . depicting Barcelona or Paris. I’ll fill you in on this later when I find out exactly what it was.
On Tuesday afternoon I decided to walk to the Louvre from the houseboat Simpatico, not realizing what a walk that would be. I traced how I should go on the maps in my DK Eyewitness TravelGuide, which is the guide with all the colorful pics and sketched street maps of the 14 quarters in the City of Paris, as well as regular section maps. There are more than 14 quarters, called Arrondisments (SP?), but this guidebook covers only the most popular ones. For instance I was in the Invalides and Eiffel Tower Quarter when I was staying on the riverboat, and then last night I moved to a hotel in the Marais Quarter.
So I walked down or up the river (don’t know which) past the Eiffel to a boulevard I figured would be a good one to cut across to other boulevards that would end up at the Louvre. Ha ha ha ha! I made it as far as the Hotel des Invalides, that used to be the Louis XIV Hotel. After the two World Wars it was converted back into what it was originally, a hospital for veterans. In fact I began to run out of steam as I walked past the American admittance entrance and thought maybe I should just check myself in. Very appropriate timing. Then I told myself ... all right, you win, I’m going to do the Metro. There’s no way I can do this walking today.
I had been putting off using the Metro, it was unfamiliar to me; sometimes I’m not as brave as I portray myself. Sometimes it takes a little self pushing to do something I’m not accustomed to doing. You can imagine all the self-pushing I've done traveling as much as I do. So, that’s exactly what I did. I went into the first Metro entrance I came to and took the steps I thought I should I take, and that broke the ice, it got me going. You have to take those first steps. Sure I went on the Metro when I was coming from Belgium a couple weeks ago, to get to St. Malo, but that was different. Now I was to learn how to get around the city on it, and believe me, as it turned out, it is quite simple. The worst part is understanding the French pronunciation of the stations. It had to be repeated to me several times in every instance. Again, though, Bob ... my host ... says it’s best to do the RER and bus lines. Next time, Bob.
I was at the Louvre in no time. In fact the Palais Royal Station is basically under the Louvre, you come out in the carousel: the shopping and restaurant mall at the Louvre. But much to my dismay, like I mentioned before, the Louvre was closed. And I just found out from my daughter-in-law, Elaine, that the ABC, NBC, CBS? . . . one of them . . . was there that day televising from inside. The network that Katie Couric is on, she’s being replaced by Vierra of Millionaire fame and The View. I can’t remember the names of the other newscasters. Four of them. I did see the red carpet and wondered about it. And all the media trucks and equipment. But I didn’t stick around to see what was happening. As soon as I found out at the Pyramid gate that the Louvre was closed, I walked over to a fountain and sat down and pulled out my trusty guidebook to trace where I’d go next.
So I headed for Pont Neuf to cross over to the other bank, but got sidetracked, took a river cruise from the Neuf - an hour ride up and down the river, listening about the historical places and info on the many bridges. Cost about 10€, as I recall. So it’s a must when you visit Paris. I do it every time I come here; it’s just an enjoyable ride. I bought an ice cream cone before I got on, so that made it even more pleasurable. The nite cruises are good, too. I didn’t do that this time. Just did the one.
After the cruise I continued on into the St. Germaine des Pres Quarter. Bypassed Notre Dame and that area - hve visited it several times before. Wanted to see something different this trip. St. Germaine is full of celebrated cafes, and I was looking for the two most famous РCaf̩ de Flores and Les Deux Maggots. Both were literary and artist haunts and although the patronage has changed somewhat today, people still go there just in case they might see someone famous or whatever. There were a few people sitting there writing in notebooks, me for one. It was a terrific experience. Very atmospheric cafes. But then most of the Paris cafes are. The old ones.
I was disappointed, however, when I went up to Montmartre on Wednesday afternoon. I’d been wanting to go to the Au Lapine Agile, a famous old café where the literary and music greats have congregated since 1910. So that on my list for Montmartre, along with getting a feel for the area since Shelley and Adrian (my characters in "Midnight at the Eiffel") work there. Adrian lives in Montmartre, he’s an artist who sets out his wares in the Place du Tertre . . . the famous tourist square on the mount. So I needed to see it all again, and also select a café where Shelley would be working. I found it. I had dinner there in a sidewalk cafe. A shrimp and avocado salad, very American, yes, I know. That was the only thing on the menu that appealed to me. Then afterward as I was looking for the rabbit place (lapine means rabbit, the agile rabbit) I had a double decker sorbet cone . . . ummmmm good! (I am being so bad!)
Well, two of the waiters I asked did not know where the rabbit place was. That’s not a good sign, especially when it’s in the guide for one of the places to go to in Montmartre. So no one could tell me how to get there. I'm sure it was the way I was pronouncing it. But, I figured out where it was with a bit of trial and error and came across an interesting situation on the way to it.
Outside the Musee de Montmartre which has some Modiglianis and other works by famous painters and sculpturers (it was closed that late in the evening), a paneled truck was being loaded by caterers ... evidently the food concessionaires of the museum. They were blocking the narrow cobbled lane, four men carrying things out, going back and forth, a woman standing up inside the truck giving instructions. Two taxi drivers, who had become impatient with the wait for the truck blocked the street, had wanted to travel on down the lane. So they got out of their taxis and began yelling at the caterers. Oh boy, was that a squabble. Finally one of the caterers threw down his pans and went after one of the cabbies, the smaller of the two cabbies, I noticed. The woman jumped off the truck and got between them. They were all screaming and yelling. I stood back, of course, didn’t want to risk trying to walk on by and being knocked over if the skirmish worsened. I do play it safe, you know. Well they calmed down somewhat, still flinging gestures and insults at each other, and then the caterer finished loading and drove on. The rest of us followed.
Down around the corner from the museum was the Au Lapine Agile place. What a disappointment, like I said. It wasn’t open, and only signs were posted in French (I’ve got to learn this language.) It's a caberet, sort of run down. Only open in the evenings with a cover charge. I’m going to have to create a make believe jazz venue for my Shelley after all. I can do that.
Well, more later. I’m going to watch some of the countryside pass by, I’m on the Eurostar to London as we speak. It’s Saturday. Oh, by the way, the train was delayed one hour. See? You just can’t be in a hurry when you’re traveling by train in Europe. My previous posts attest to that.
One thing that really got to me me in the station was, I needed to change $100 to British pounds. It came to £40. That just made me sick! I’m glad I’ll only be in London one afternoon. Am leaving for home tomorrow morning. I think I’m ready. I'll write more later ...
I’M HOME.
I’d planned to finish the Paris segment the last night I spent at the hotel in the Marais section of Paris, but I ended up going for a walk and didn’t return to the hotel till 3 a.m. And since I had to get up early for the taxi ride to the Eurostar taking me to London, I didn’t spend any time at all on writing. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
But before I tell you about my last night in Paris, I did go to the Louvre earlier that day as planned. So on Friday afternoon I finally made it into the Musee de Louvre and spent quite a bit of time there. If any of you have been to the number one museum in Paris, you must know how easy it is to get lost and end up wandering through the many halls and salons filled with art, not having a clue where you are. Oh sure, there’s a map to follow, but really. A lot of good it does when you don’t know which floor you’re on or which section you’re in, and it isn’t clearly explained. And not being one to ask (foolish me), I meandered from one exhibit to the next, hopefully heading for the Mona Lisa, knowing I’d get there eventually.
When I was tired, I would stop and sit on a bench or a sofa along the way to watch the people and of course to gaze upon the works of art. The Italian paintings (my favorite) - the giant paintings, capture my interest the most. Mona Lisa was nearby all the time, but I made a wrong turn and it took me in the opposite direction through an entire floor. I gave up and got smart - asked where the damn thing was. How easy was that? Then went directly to it. I was surprised there weren’t throngs standing before the Italian lady. A lucky moment for me, I was able to get right up to it, or rather, to the cordoned off section and view the very small painting once again. I've been there many times before, each time is like the first time. But I must say ... I am not quite sure why this particular painting is so important. Popularity? Painter?
The Mona Lisa is also known as “La Joconde”, in case you didn’t know. The wife of Francesco del Giocondo. Her name was Monna and married Francesco in 1495. Although there are other speculations about who the woman is. Some even say it’s a man, a lover of Leonardo’s. Painted as a woman. Whatever the gender and who it was, the primary reason it draws so much attention is the mysterious expression on the face – the slight smile, the eyes. Leonardo used the sfumato technique – “a gradual dissolving of the forms themselves, continuous interaction between light and shade and an uncertain sense of the time of day.” He loved this painting and carried it with him everywhere he went, until he sold it to the French king, Francois I. It became even more famous when it was stolen from the Louvre in 1911. One of his paintings that is even more famous is “The Last Supper.” You may have heard of that one?
In the salon that holds the giant paintings there is another version of “The Last Supper”, different title, which really drew me in. Oh, wait a minute . . . I think it was in the same room as the Mona Lisa. It portrayed more of a party than just a last supper, but the basic table with Jesus and the disciples was the focal point in a banquet room of many other people and merriment. I could kick myself for not taking the time to write down the painter’s name and a more detailed description of it. Even in this painting, the person sitting to the right of Jesus was very feminine – leading to the question once again . . . was the person next to Jesus, John or Mary Magdalene? What I want to know is, who drew the original of the Last Supper? Who was there and saw it happen? It certainly wasn’t DaVinci. So how do we know the descriptions of the disciples? Through Biblical history? But isn’t the painting from DaVinci’s imaginations? I’ve never really delved into it like many others, am a bit uneducated in that area, so I’m probably sounding very stupid. Well, that’s okay. I suppose I’ll survive it.
But, I do know, with the books by several authors, in addition to Dan Brown’s “The DaVinci Code” the painting has become an even more famous icon. Take a look at this website . . . http://quest.eurostar.com/en-us/quest.php . . . I mean, the hype and promos on it all is amazing. You want to get noticed? Write a book about the Mona Lisa or controversial fiction about religion.
Well, most of you know my next book is called "MIDNIGHT AT THE EIFFEL." In it are scenes at the Louvre, since one of the leading characters is an artist. He spends all his free time at the Louvre studying the masters when he’s not drawing portraits in Montmartre for the tourists. And his romance liaisons are also spent mostly at the Louvre. Meeting there for lunch, a glass of wine, an embrace. Which is why I was there this time, of course. Not for the lunch or wine or embrace, but to get the feel of the place. I’ve been there several times, but this time I was on a mission. Mission accomplished. I hope to have the book written, edited, and ready for submission by the middle of July this year (2006).
It was raining when I left the Louvre, so I didn’t do much of anything, other than go through the trinket shops on the way back to a Metro station past Pont Neuf. Decided to walk down the boulevard rather than take the Metro from the Louvre. Didn’t want to make any train changes, so I walked to where I could catch a direct one to the part of the quarter where I was staying. By then I was tired, anyway. I wanted to go back to the hotel and take a nap and then decide if I was going to go to the “New Morning” jazz venue which was a taxi ride away.
But, first . . . the day before. Thursday, the last night on the houseboat Simpatico. I stayed on the boat all day, relaxing and writing. Then at 8 p.m. Bob knocked on my door, we were going to dinner at one of his favorite places a walking distance away. We met his lady, Kim, there. It was a wonderful evening - excellent food, wine, conversation. He provided lots more info and color for his character in my book. Yep, I enjoyed every minute of that evening. The dinner was my gift to Bob and Kim for being such lovely hosts and for offering their boat to me for the week, gratis.
You know, I’ve met some astonishing people in my travels. And I can’t go any further in this epistle without also thanking Ali and Martin Waller for hosting my stay in Weymouth UK. A more thoughtful pair is hard to find. Martin picked me up at the Condor Ferry at the beginning of my stay in England this time and delivered me to the coach at the end of my stay in Weymouth. They took me on a day trip to Portland Bill and to Abbottsbury, taking time from their busy schedule as B & B proprietors. I felt honoured (British spelling) and pampered.
So I want to extend a grateful and sincere thank you to Ali and Martin, as well as to Bob and Kim. My home is your home, remember that. Anytime you want to come over, you’re most welcome. (Visalia, you say? Where is that, and why?)
And if any of my readers want to spend some time in Paris, do book the Bateau Simpatico. I’m looking forward to doing it again. I’m becoming quite accustomed to river living. AND . . . if you make a trip to Dorset on the south coast of England . . . do book a room at the Channel View in Weymouth. It is heavenly there on the sea shore, looking out across the bay from your room. And it’s heavenly to be fussed over by Ali and Martin. Martin does the cooking, by the way. He prepares the English breakfast which is included in the reasonable rate.
MY LAST NIGHT IN PARIS . . .
I freshened up after a rest, and decided not to go to the “New Morning.” I didn’t want to spend the money for a cab. I had it figured down to the Euros I had left on me, and didn’t want to have to go to a money changer and get more Euros just for a cab to a jazz club. So, I decided to take a walk to the Arts de Metiers café near the Metro station I’d been using all day on the same street of the hotel. I hadn’t been to the café yet, but it looked interesting and was always packed, so that’s a good sign. I wanted to people-watch more than anything else, anyway, and have some dinner. I’d asked the desk clerk at the hotel if he knew of any jazz places nearby, and he said there were only clubs for dancing. I didn’t want that. So off I went to the café that was two blocks away.
As I was walking, all of a sudden a hoard of skaters flew by. It grew into hundreds. I’m not exaggerating. Hundreds. They kept coming. I couldn’t believe it. Then I noticed the police cars and the skater security patrol blocking the side streets. I stood and watched till they all passed. It was incredible. Online skaters, or whatever that skate is called . . . line skates, oneline, inline? What is it? Line something. Anyway, that was an unexpected exciting start of my last evening in Paris.
Did I ever make a right choice of restaurant in Arts de Metiers!? People, they had jazz! Omigosh! It was wonderful. But they call it “Acid Jazz.” To my Cambria friends, it sounded like Jason Farrar and his band at their most vigorous. And I could just see Jason bouncing at the keyboard, his speedy fingers racing all over the keys making his own brand of music. The bass player of this particular band was evidently the lead person. He was fun to watch. His every move and expression was in tune with the music. He smiled and grinned all the time. You could tell he loved his music. It radiated from his face and eyes. They were all young guys. Most of the audience was also. I sat there through all their sets, till they quit, and truly enjoyed listening to the music and watching all the different people and their antics. The band didn’t have any CDs with them, but the bass player is going to send me one. I’ll be looking forward to that.
Soooooooo . . . the trip was winding down. I headed back to the hotel, stopped in a local pub on the corner to have some dessert advertised in the window (what is it with me and food on this trip?) and met a business woman from Germany, my age, who’d stopped in for a drink before retiring. We talked for at least an hour, exchanged cards. Another character for one of my books? You’ll have to wait and see. I’m not telling everything, you know. Have to save some for my books.
MY LAST STOP - LONDON
The next morning I took the cab to the Eurostar that was an hour late . . . ha ha . . . back to trains again. And when in London, I checked into the Hyde Hotel a couple blocks from the beautiful Hyde Park. I changed my clothes and headed for Harrods Department Store. On the map it said it was just across the park, on the opposite side from where I was staying. I figured, hell, I can walk that (even though the cab driver had said I should take a cab.) Ha! It’s much farther than it looks on the map. Luckily I took my umbrella with me. It ended up raining very hard as I walked through the park. But I’m telling you, that is one fantastic park! Lake, gardens, just beautiful! I’d love to be there when the weather is good. I enjoyed it anyway. Got a bit wet and chilly, my umbrella turned inside out a few times, but I didn’t care.
WHICH REMINDS ME ... I forgot to mention I’d left my favorite black wool coat on the train from Penzance to London before going to Paris . . . remember when the passengers had to be transferred to the second train after the break down? I left it on the first train. So I did the Paris segment of the trip without a coat. Luckily I had taken a dressy loose knit, three-quarter length, black coat-of-sorts with me, with sequins sparsely spaced throughout, one that was purchased for New Year’s Eve in Cambria from Dinah and Chris’s shop in Cambria. Not really a street coat, more of an evening wrap. But it had to do.
Only thing is . . . one day I was looking into a window as I was walking and noticed something sticking out in back. I took it off to see what it was, and it was the ragged edges of the seam. They’d sewn the back on inside out. Lol lol So, Chris and Dinah, I traveled all over Paris with the middle back seam reversed. Oh well. Didn’t bother me, did it? Maybe we can trade it for the proper one next time I’m over, though. Okay? Funny I never noticed that before. Maybe it's supposed to be that way.
Okay . . . I made it to Harrods and once again enjoyed my regular visit. I immediately went to the laminated shopping bags and made my selection. Got one with cats on it, this time. I’ve almost purchased all the patterns, now - I collect them. They’ve got to come up with some new ones so I’ll have more choices. I buy one every time I’m in London. Then I did as I always do, I headed straight for the food court and had a fabulous meal at one of the counters. This time a Rueben sandwich. Ummmmmm, good. Which reminds me, it’s time for lunch.
I’ll end this quickly . . . after Harrods I went back to the hotel and attempted to get on the Internet, no luck. Went right to bed, watched TV, fell asleep before it was dark.
Opted to take a cab to the airport the next morning rather than deal with the trains again. The flight home took 14 hours from start to finish. A very smooth trip, by the way. Virgin Airlines is the best! All’s well that ends well. Who said that? Well, I’m saying it this time.
This was one of the best trips I’ve taken - the one in 2006. I hope you enjoyed my accounting of it. You’ll have to read my books to find out more . . . the rest of the story.
Okay, so I was able to change my ticket to a direct route to London, which meant I wouldn’t have to change trains anywhere along the way. Oh, there would be stops, yes, but I wouldn’t have to get off one train and get on another. Hallelujah! I was elated. No stairs to climb up and down, no carrying my bags again until I got to London. Hooray!
That was all well and good until we got nearly to Bristol and the damn train broke down. Hell, yes! Now, remember, I was on a tight schedule, had to make it to London to catch the Eurostar on time to get through the chunnel to Paris at least by 9 p.m. Didn’t want to keep Robert waiting for me to arrive at the boat, my next accommodation. Left Penzance at 10 a.m., by the way. Okay. So they fixed the train and she limped in to Bristol where we all had to get off and load onto another train especially brought into service for this trip. The original train from Penzance was full, not one seat available. So that meant everyone had to move from one train to the other. Craziness, as you can well imagine. Need I tell you I ate junk food all day?
So now we’re off to London. But we’re 30 minutes behind schedule and that is going to put me at Paddington station in London with just 30 minutes to spare to get to the Eurostar which is on the other side of London at the Waterloo station. No way. It was impossible. There was no way I could get to the Underground system (subway) which is levels down and buy a ticket and get to a train that would take me to Waterloo and then go through all the stops and possibly another train change before getting to the Eurostar station which was on the top level of the Waterloo station. My stomach was churning and spewing. But . . . there was nothing I could do, so I just sat back and tried to get the worrisome thoughts out of my head. But before I got to London I made the decision to exit the Paddington station, once there, and hail a taxi. Maybe that would work. It was Sunday, no business traffic in London. It might just work. Skip the Underground, take a cab.
Sooooooo, that’s what I did. In the taxi as the driver was hurrying to get me to Waterloo, aware of the dilemma, a news bulletin was broadcast on the radio saying that there had been a fire and a fear of possible explosion near the Eurostar run between London and the international station at . . . oh darn . . . I forgot the name of it. Begins with an H. So, all Eurostar trains out of London had been cancelled. Can you believe that? What is this with me and trains?
I told the driver to get me there anyway, that’d I see what I could do and find out more. So he did and I arrived at the Eurostar doors where hoards of people were filling the sidewalks. They weren’t being admitted into the building. A lot of angry people. Some had been there for hours. I pushed up to the front and asked what one could do to get to Paris. The nice guy told me to take my tickets and go upstairs and they were organizing trains to transport people to the International station in H and then we’d board the Eurostar from there to travel on to Paris. He said to just use my Eurostar tickets. I said, I don’t have them yet, but they’re paid for, I was supposed to get them from the machine inside - the machine that was just behind him in the Eurostar station. So, he let me in, turned me over to another guy, and I got my tickets. That guy took me over to the escalators . . . I was the only person in the station at that level and he directed me where to go, said to hurry, a train was going to be loading right away. I hurried like crazy and was one of the last ones to be let through to go on this first train to H. Others had to wait for the next one.
So . . . I arrived in H at the Eurostar station. Here people filled the entire complex. It was chaos. They had sent attendants around to give people water, the station was so suffocating and hot. Too many people. They would only let 100passengers through at a time so there wouldn’t be a bottleneck upstairs in the terminal. After standing nearly an hour, I was in the 100 to go upstairs next on the escalator. Then we were herded through security, in fact they were really lax with some of us, sent us on through without putting the luggage through the X-ray machine. Then we entered a huge terminal where everyone before us was waiting. But there were plenty of seats, tables and chairs, and the food and concession stand was inundated with disgruntled passengers. I found a seat at the bar counter next to a young traveler who was going to Holland via Brussels. We both watched the people, commenting and talking about the situation, and talking about life in general.
Then they called the Eurostar personnel to board the train that was to be departing for Paris. A huge Chinese touring group that had been on the train from London with me and was bound for Paris, too, quickly formed before the gateway leading across the walkway to the trains. A voice came over a speaker telling them to please sit back down, not to block the area, but they didn’t understand and continued to stand there. Well, another announcement came over the speaker system about 20 minutes later saying that boarding was now available to the Eurostar bound for Paris. I began to gather my things and then had second thoughts about it, the line was so full, especially with the tour group crowding there. I decided to just sit right where I was and wait for the line to get through. It seemed to never get smaller, however. Then after about 20 more minutes an announcement came over the system and it seemed all hell broke loose, the entire room cleared out across the walkway to the trains. I grabbed my bags and got to the entry and was told that that was the announcement for the train to Brussels, that the train to Paris had boarded nearly 20 minutes ago and was getting ready to leave right at that moment. That I’d missed it. The gal said I could try to make it, but she doubted it. I ran, I ran, I ran!
The train was already boarded, but still sitting there. All the doors were closed and they will not open them once they’re closed. Off down the track were two attendants standing outside one open door. Door number 12. They yelled at me to run. Lordy, lordy! Have you ever done a 40 yard dash pulling two pieces of luggage behind you on rough terrain? I was a mess. I couldn’t miss this train! How could this have happened? Well, there were two Chinese tour groups – one going to Paris, one to Brussels. I had been watching the one going to Brussels to make their move.
The luck of the Irish, the Scots, and all the Brits was with me! I made it to door number 12. The nice Frenchman told me to sit in the car up ahead which happened to be First Class. Ha! I rode to Paris First Class!
Sitting at the table across the aisle from me was a young Frenchman who just bought a house in Croatia and who travels Europe selling costumes to strippers. And I’ll leave it at that.
What an incredible Mother’s Day I had! I arrived in Paris at 10:30 p.m., and at the houseboat on the Seine under the Eiffel Tower at 11.
I’M IN THE CITY OF LIGHTS! SAFE AND SOUND! MY COLD IS GONE!
PARIS PARIS PARIS
Paris is truly a city of lights, whether it is day or night. Lights not necessarily meaning the electricity type, lights meaning the glowing type. A city of glow. It’s a city of glowing magnetism. A person has to be here much longer that a week, longer than two weeks, a month would still not be enough. You would have to be here at least six months to truly feel this city and its people and learn your way around. There is no city like it on the planet. Everybody should experience Paris at least once in their lives.
Just in the last few days I’ve discovered the best ways for me to get around the city. Finally! But then I’m told by Robert that the best way is the bus and the RER – another trainline. Well, I’ve only just mastered the Metro. I’ll have to tackle those transportation systems next time around. I have only one more full day in Paris - tomorrow. I’m slow on the uptake today, so I don’t imagine I’ll be doing any more nosing around until tomorrow, unless it’s right here in this area. Maybe this afternoon. Omigosh! It’s afternoon now. But I’m tired because I tossed and turned most of the night last night. Couldn’t sleep.
In the morning I’ll be moving off the boat to a hotel for my last night’s stay in Paris. Robert had booked another lodger here on the boat tomorrow, which is okay, I don’t mind at all. Besides his next guest is a paying lodger. Robert was so kind to give me these days because of the last visit. (Thank you, Robert and Kim.)
The hotel where I’ll be staying tomorrow night is in the Marais section, so that’ll give me another area to explore after I check in tomorrow as well as a return trip to the Louvre, since when I went there on Tuesday, it was closed.
I arrived in Paris late Sunday night (Mother’s Day), but of course had to walk over to the Eiffel Tower as soon as I met Bob on the boat and deposited my bags. The tower is lit up at night and is a terrific sight! I can see it from the boat, but I wanted to go stand under it, my statement that I’d made it to Paris. Of course late at night is the time the hawkers are out in full force and are most insistent. I ended up buying a little Eiffel keychain just to get the guy to go away. I hadn’t switched to Euros in my purse yet, but there was one mixed in with the British coinage. So, that’s what he got. I held out my hand full of change to prove to him I didn’t have any Euros on me. He wasn’t interested in Brit money. Although a Brit pound is worth much more than a Euro. Foolish boy. Lol lol So, I have another Eiffel Tower piece to add to my collection at home or to give to someone.
Oh, that’s what I’ve got to do today, no later than tomorrow. Pick up some gifts. It’s been a very busy week for me, traipsing through several sections of Paris. And I haven’t been thinking of gifts.
Monday I stayed on the boat to do some writing and to recuperate from the 12 hours of travel from England to Paris the day before. Amazing it took that long. But then, that’s what happens when you’re traveling by train. You can’t be in a hurry, that’s for sure. Delays can and will happen. By auto it would have been much quicker, but I’m just not one to want to travel by auto in a foreign country. A plane would have been quicker. I could have flown from Cornwall, I suppose. Or from Southampton. But then, I had some amusing experiences on those trains I had never had, so it was worth it after all is said and done.
I’m looking out the portholes as I’m sitting here on the Bateau Simpatico - http://www.quai48parisvacation.com - watching a huge tour boat go by. My gosh, some of those boats are humongous. In fact when they pass they create waves that travel to the boats tied to the quayside and rocks them silly. The most violent rocking happens between 10 p.m. and midnight. I don’t know why that is. Maybe the tide is coming in or something, from where I don’t know, though. I need to look at a map and see how Paris is situated to the sea and where the Seine runs. I don’t think it’s caused by an increase of tour boats, but then again, maybe it is. Additional dinner boats and the citylights-view boats are always a big tourist thing here. But the rocking isn’t a negative. I’ve become quite accustomed to it. (Although last night while up on Montmartre in a ladies room, I thought I was rocking as I was sitting there.) I remember on the last trip how I was a bit afraid at first that the boat might tip over. Hubby Jim didn’t seem to be bothered at all by it at the time. But then that’s his M.O. It takes quite a bit of anything to disturb him. Oh, to be so calm in a storm. Lol lol Anyway, now I’m only aware of the degree of rocking throughout the day and night. Doesn’t bother me. It’s lulling, actually. However it didn’t lull me to sleep last night. Four aspirin finally did the trick.
By the way, Bob has asked me to do a page for his website . . . a regular byline . . . I’m not exactly sure what it’ll be just yet, but will definitely look into it and consider it when I return home. A travel page, maybe? I’d love to do a travel page. Maybe we can talk about it some more tonight at dinner as well as find out more about him since he’s in my next book. He and Kim are my guests for dinner at one of their favorite restaurants. They’re such good hosts, and last time when I was so sick he and Kim really went out of their way to accommodate me, called the doc, etc. Lovely people. And what a difference it is to be on this boat when you’re not ill. What a difference a day makes . . . and so it goes. I’ve truly enjoyed it and want to do it again. Definitely! (Jim, let’s buy a houseboat here . . . ????? I know you’re thinking . . . “You want to live every place you go.” Me thinks you’re right.)
I don’t feel as isolated this time, though, as I felt last time. Of course now I’m learning where everything is and am learning the transportation system. Again, it just takes time and tips from those who are knowledgeable. Cabbing it from here isn’t really an option. But one can walk up to the Eiffel and get a cab as long as it’s during the busy part of the day and night. In fact that’s what I’ll do tomorrow when I move from here to the hotel. It’s just a five minute walk, if that much. I won’t tackle the RER or bus or Metro with my bags. Too many damn stairs as usual from one train to another to be lugging bags. It’s simple as I do my bit going from place to place during the day with only my shoulder bag. Very simple. In fact I love getting around the city that way. Although I do do a lot of walking, too. You have to walk to actually see the city and all the cozy parks and “places” (squares) and lanes and shops, galleries, etc. I could eat and drink myself daffy, though, if I stopped in every interesting café, brasserie, and bistro along the way. I think that’s what I did yesterday that made me have such a restless night. I ate too much during the day. More than usual. Did I say to someone that I’d probably lose weight on this trip because of all the walking? Well, disregard that one, because I only work up a friggin’ appetite by walking.
Yesterday morning I had fun shopping in a little food market in the Trocadero area – fruit, juice, sardines, cheese, ahem . . . chocolate with raisins (my favorite). Off the main Tracadero square and the beaten path is the Place de Mexico - believe it or not. Mexico? I suppose that works, Tracadero is Spanish, is it not? I browsed the cafes of the Place de Mexico and decided on the Le Mexique Brasserie. I had a delicious lunch, although a bit different, hamburger with egg on top, French fries, and a very good sliced tomato salad. They didn’t have anything on the menu written in English as most of the touristy restaurants do, but then this appeared to be truly a brasserie for the locals. (Remember, I’m only visiting all these cafes and brasseries for “Shelley” in my novel. Have to know where she goes, you know. Lol lol)
The waitress in Le Mexique was very friendly and with her broken English we were able to decide on my lunch choices. Then I had a slice of cherry pie, which of course is not like our cherry pie. It’s custard on crust with small white cherries mixed in, still having their seeds intact. Very different and very good. From a distance you’d think it was Quiche. In fact that’s what I thought it was. I really liked it. I’m going to duplicate it when I get home. Only I’ll use the larger seedless cherries. The custard is different from ours, too. Thicker in density. And the egg on the hamburger steak was good, too, I was worried about whether or not I’d like it together. With a bit of mustard spread on it, I enjoyed it. (no catsup) Hey, I’m learning to try different foods, at last. Funny thing, when the waitress realized I was American, she said “You want beef?” Now why would she ask such a thing? Lol lol Actually, I wasn’t thinking beef. But there wasn’t anything else on the menu that appealed to me. I made out the words that meant duck and smoked salmon . . . not my cup of tea for sure.
I must say I’m finding the French very friendly. A few exceptions: one was the checkout gal at the market up the street from the boat. But then it was my fault for not knowing the procedure. In that particular market you have to have the fruit and vegetables weighed and priced in the department. I didn’t know that and took the stuff up to the checkout stand, not weighed or marked. She wasn’t very happy. She took it back herself when I didn’t understand what she was saying, and took care of it. Then came back and threw the items on the counter and commenced to ring them up. There you have to provide your own bag for your groceries items, too. I didn’t know that either. So I stood like an idiot asking for a bag, with four lines of French people staring at me. Well, as it turns out there are bags available at the checkstand, but they cost .80€, which worked for me when she finally offered and I finally understood. Now I carry the bag with me, folded up in my purse, for those unexpected purchases in that type of market. Again, I’m learning, I’m learning. But now I look for smaller markets that are more intimate. The one in Tracadero was one of those. Nice guy, couldn’t understand a word of English. But we got on very well. He bagged my groceries in his own nice orange-colored plastic bags, with a pleasant smile. I think he short-changed me though, but I couldn’t seem to communicate that. Oh well, it wasn’t much. I thanked him and went on. I hope he enjoyed the tip.
Yesterday the goings on at the Trocadero were something else. It’s the Festival of Champions. I’m not sure what it’s about yet, it’s been going on for 24 hours, all hours of the day and night . . . has something to do with football or soccer - I can’t tell the difference between the two sports over here. It’s between Barcelona and Paris, I think. At least that’s what the banners were saying. A lot of Barcelona fans. And of course the TV shows on this set on the boat are only in French, no CNN or FOX stations, only local. (Bob says it’s a good way to learn French. Just keep listening to the rhythm, etc.) I haven’t found anyone who can tell me what the celebration is all about, yet. Maybe today. I’ll ask Bob and Kim tonite.
Canons were going off, or some such fireworks at the Eiffel into the night. And across the bridge at the Trocadero there were activity booths, huge cages for kicking balls into baskets, and a portable football field had been erected at the top of the Trocadero Gardens below the “palace”, what used to be the palace, at the square. The trees in the parks surrounding the gardens are all in bloom with purple, pink, white blossoms. Just beautiful. And I remembered the carousel at the foot of the steps leading up to the palace, from when we were here last time. In fact I have some footage of Jim riding one of the ponies on the carousel that first day before I fell ill. The colorful, ornate carousels are all over the city in the squares, a Parisian tradition.
In the midst of the beauty, contrasting music was blaring, festival food and drink booths lined the perimeter of the gardens and fountains, and droves of people flooded the bridge from the Eiffel and the Trocadero area. A very huge screen had been erected for all to view what was happening on the portable field. Players were amateurs, of course, I don’t know the criteria for their getting to play, but the area was inundated with mostly young and old male species donned with scarves, hats, T shirts, banners, capes . . . depicting Barcelona or Paris. I’ll fill you in on this later when I find out exactly what it was.
On Tuesday afternoon I decided to walk to the Louvre from the houseboat Simpatico, not realizing what a walk that would be. I traced how I should go on the maps in my DK Eyewitness TravelGuide, which is the guide with all the colorful pics and sketched street maps of the 14 quarters in the City of Paris, as well as regular section maps. There are more than 14 quarters, called Arrondisments (SP?), but this guidebook covers only the most popular ones. For instance I was in the Invalides and Eiffel Tower Quarter when I was staying on the riverboat, and then last night I moved to a hotel in the Marais Quarter.
So I walked down or up the river (don’t know which) past the Eiffel to a boulevard I figured would be a good one to cut across to other boulevards that would end up at the Louvre. Ha ha ha ha! I made it as far as the Hotel des Invalides, that used to be the Louis XIV Hotel. After the two World Wars it was converted back into what it was originally, a hospital for veterans. In fact I began to run out of steam as I walked past the American admittance entrance and thought maybe I should just check myself in. Very appropriate timing. Then I told myself ... all right, you win, I’m going to do the Metro. There’s no way I can do this walking today.
I had been putting off using the Metro, it was unfamiliar to me; sometimes I’m not as brave as I portray myself. Sometimes it takes a little self pushing to do something I’m not accustomed to doing. You can imagine all the self-pushing I've done traveling as much as I do. So, that’s exactly what I did. I went into the first Metro entrance I came to and took the steps I thought I should I take, and that broke the ice, it got me going. You have to take those first steps. Sure I went on the Metro when I was coming from Belgium a couple weeks ago, to get to St. Malo, but that was different. Now I was to learn how to get around the city on it, and believe me, as it turned out, it is quite simple. The worst part is understanding the French pronunciation of the stations. It had to be repeated to me several times in every instance. Again, though, Bob ... my host ... says it’s best to do the RER and bus lines. Next time, Bob.
I was at the Louvre in no time. In fact the Palais Royal Station is basically under the Louvre, you come out in the carousel: the shopping and restaurant mall at the Louvre. But much to my dismay, like I mentioned before, the Louvre was closed. And I just found out from my daughter-in-law, Elaine, that the ABC, NBC, CBS? . . . one of them . . . was there that day televising from inside. The network that Katie Couric is on, she’s being replaced by Vierra of Millionaire fame and The View. I can’t remember the names of the other newscasters. Four of them. I did see the red carpet and wondered about it. And all the media trucks and equipment. But I didn’t stick around to see what was happening. As soon as I found out at the Pyramid gate that the Louvre was closed, I walked over to a fountain and sat down and pulled out my trusty guidebook to trace where I’d go next.
So I headed for Pont Neuf to cross over to the other bank, but got sidetracked, took a river cruise from the Neuf - an hour ride up and down the river, listening about the historical places and info on the many bridges. Cost about 10€, as I recall. So it’s a must when you visit Paris. I do it every time I come here; it’s just an enjoyable ride. I bought an ice cream cone before I got on, so that made it even more pleasurable. The nite cruises are good, too. I didn’t do that this time. Just did the one.
After the cruise I continued on into the St. Germaine des Pres Quarter. Bypassed Notre Dame and that area - hve visited it several times before. Wanted to see something different this trip. St. Germaine is full of celebrated cafes, and I was looking for the two most famous РCaf̩ de Flores and Les Deux Maggots. Both were literary and artist haunts and although the patronage has changed somewhat today, people still go there just in case they might see someone famous or whatever. There were a few people sitting there writing in notebooks, me for one. It was a terrific experience. Very atmospheric cafes. But then most of the Paris cafes are. The old ones.
I was disappointed, however, when I went up to Montmartre on Wednesday afternoon. I’d been wanting to go to the Au Lapine Agile, a famous old café where the literary and music greats have congregated since 1910. So that on my list for Montmartre, along with getting a feel for the area since Shelley and Adrian (my characters in "Midnight at the Eiffel") work there. Adrian lives in Montmartre, he’s an artist who sets out his wares in the Place du Tertre . . . the famous tourist square on the mount. So I needed to see it all again, and also select a café where Shelley would be working. I found it. I had dinner there in a sidewalk cafe. A shrimp and avocado salad, very American, yes, I know. That was the only thing on the menu that appealed to me. Then afterward as I was looking for the rabbit place (lapine means rabbit, the agile rabbit) I had a double decker sorbet cone . . . ummmmm good! (I am being so bad!)
Well, two of the waiters I asked did not know where the rabbit place was. That’s not a good sign, especially when it’s in the guide for one of the places to go to in Montmartre. So no one could tell me how to get there. I'm sure it was the way I was pronouncing it. But, I figured out where it was with a bit of trial and error and came across an interesting situation on the way to it.
Outside the Musee de Montmartre which has some Modiglianis and other works by famous painters and sculpturers (it was closed that late in the evening), a paneled truck was being loaded by caterers ... evidently the food concessionaires of the museum. They were blocking the narrow cobbled lane, four men carrying things out, going back and forth, a woman standing up inside the truck giving instructions. Two taxi drivers, who had become impatient with the wait for the truck blocked the street, had wanted to travel on down the lane. So they got out of their taxis and began yelling at the caterers. Oh boy, was that a squabble. Finally one of the caterers threw down his pans and went after one of the cabbies, the smaller of the two cabbies, I noticed. The woman jumped off the truck and got between them. They were all screaming and yelling. I stood back, of course, didn’t want to risk trying to walk on by and being knocked over if the skirmish worsened. I do play it safe, you know. Well they calmed down somewhat, still flinging gestures and insults at each other, and then the caterer finished loading and drove on. The rest of us followed.
Down around the corner from the museum was the Au Lapine Agile place. What a disappointment, like I said. It wasn’t open, and only signs were posted in French (I’ve got to learn this language.) It's a caberet, sort of run down. Only open in the evenings with a cover charge. I’m going to have to create a make believe jazz venue for my Shelley after all. I can do that.
Well, more later. I’m going to watch some of the countryside pass by, I’m on the Eurostar to London as we speak. It’s Saturday. Oh, by the way, the train was delayed one hour. See? You just can’t be in a hurry when you’re traveling by train in Europe. My previous posts attest to that.
One thing that really got to me me in the station was, I needed to change $100 to British pounds. It came to £40. That just made me sick! I’m glad I’ll only be in London one afternoon. Am leaving for home tomorrow morning. I think I’m ready. I'll write more later ...
I’M HOME.
I’d planned to finish the Paris segment the last night I spent at the hotel in the Marais section of Paris, but I ended up going for a walk and didn’t return to the hotel till 3 a.m. And since I had to get up early for the taxi ride to the Eurostar taking me to London, I didn’t spend any time at all on writing. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
But before I tell you about my last night in Paris, I did go to the Louvre earlier that day as planned. So on Friday afternoon I finally made it into the Musee de Louvre and spent quite a bit of time there. If any of you have been to the number one museum in Paris, you must know how easy it is to get lost and end up wandering through the many halls and salons filled with art, not having a clue where you are. Oh sure, there’s a map to follow, but really. A lot of good it does when you don’t know which floor you’re on or which section you’re in, and it isn’t clearly explained. And not being one to ask (foolish me), I meandered from one exhibit to the next, hopefully heading for the Mona Lisa, knowing I’d get there eventually.
When I was tired, I would stop and sit on a bench or a sofa along the way to watch the people and of course to gaze upon the works of art. The Italian paintings (my favorite) - the giant paintings, capture my interest the most. Mona Lisa was nearby all the time, but I made a wrong turn and it took me in the opposite direction through an entire floor. I gave up and got smart - asked where the damn thing was. How easy was that? Then went directly to it. I was surprised there weren’t throngs standing before the Italian lady. A lucky moment for me, I was able to get right up to it, or rather, to the cordoned off section and view the very small painting once again. I've been there many times before, each time is like the first time. But I must say ... I am not quite sure why this particular painting is so important. Popularity? Painter?
The Mona Lisa is also known as “La Joconde”, in case you didn’t know. The wife of Francesco del Giocondo. Her name was Monna and married Francesco in 1495. Although there are other speculations about who the woman is. Some even say it’s a man, a lover of Leonardo’s. Painted as a woman. Whatever the gender and who it was, the primary reason it draws so much attention is the mysterious expression on the face – the slight smile, the eyes. Leonardo used the sfumato technique – “a gradual dissolving of the forms themselves, continuous interaction between light and shade and an uncertain sense of the time of day.” He loved this painting and carried it with him everywhere he went, until he sold it to the French king, Francois I. It became even more famous when it was stolen from the Louvre in 1911. One of his paintings that is even more famous is “The Last Supper.” You may have heard of that one?
In the salon that holds the giant paintings there is another version of “The Last Supper”, different title, which really drew me in. Oh, wait a minute . . . I think it was in the same room as the Mona Lisa. It portrayed more of a party than just a last supper, but the basic table with Jesus and the disciples was the focal point in a banquet room of many other people and merriment. I could kick myself for not taking the time to write down the painter’s name and a more detailed description of it. Even in this painting, the person sitting to the right of Jesus was very feminine – leading to the question once again . . . was the person next to Jesus, John or Mary Magdalene? What I want to know is, who drew the original of the Last Supper? Who was there and saw it happen? It certainly wasn’t DaVinci. So how do we know the descriptions of the disciples? Through Biblical history? But isn’t the painting from DaVinci’s imaginations? I’ve never really delved into it like many others, am a bit uneducated in that area, so I’m probably sounding very stupid. Well, that’s okay. I suppose I’ll survive it.
But, I do know, with the books by several authors, in addition to Dan Brown’s “The DaVinci Code” the painting has become an even more famous icon. Take a look at this website . . . http://quest.eurostar.com/en-us/quest.php . . . I mean, the hype and promos on it all is amazing. You want to get noticed? Write a book about the Mona Lisa or controversial fiction about religion.
Well, most of you know my next book is called "MIDNIGHT AT THE EIFFEL." In it are scenes at the Louvre, since one of the leading characters is an artist. He spends all his free time at the Louvre studying the masters when he’s not drawing portraits in Montmartre for the tourists. And his romance liaisons are also spent mostly at the Louvre. Meeting there for lunch, a glass of wine, an embrace. Which is why I was there this time, of course. Not for the lunch or wine or embrace, but to get the feel of the place. I’ve been there several times, but this time I was on a mission. Mission accomplished. I hope to have the book written, edited, and ready for submission by the middle of July this year (2006).
It was raining when I left the Louvre, so I didn’t do much of anything, other than go through the trinket shops on the way back to a Metro station past Pont Neuf. Decided to walk down the boulevard rather than take the Metro from the Louvre. Didn’t want to make any train changes, so I walked to where I could catch a direct one to the part of the quarter where I was staying. By then I was tired, anyway. I wanted to go back to the hotel and take a nap and then decide if I was going to go to the “New Morning” jazz venue which was a taxi ride away.
But, first . . . the day before. Thursday, the last night on the houseboat Simpatico. I stayed on the boat all day, relaxing and writing. Then at 8 p.m. Bob knocked on my door, we were going to dinner at one of his favorite places a walking distance away. We met his lady, Kim, there. It was a wonderful evening - excellent food, wine, conversation. He provided lots more info and color for his character in my book. Yep, I enjoyed every minute of that evening. The dinner was my gift to Bob and Kim for being such lovely hosts and for offering their boat to me for the week, gratis.
You know, I’ve met some astonishing people in my travels. And I can’t go any further in this epistle without also thanking Ali and Martin Waller for hosting my stay in Weymouth UK. A more thoughtful pair is hard to find. Martin picked me up at the Condor Ferry at the beginning of my stay in England this time and delivered me to the coach at the end of my stay in Weymouth. They took me on a day trip to Portland Bill and to Abbottsbury, taking time from their busy schedule as B & B proprietors. I felt honoured (British spelling) and pampered.
So I want to extend a grateful and sincere thank you to Ali and Martin, as well as to Bob and Kim. My home is your home, remember that. Anytime you want to come over, you’re most welcome. (Visalia, you say? Where is that, and why?)
And if any of my readers want to spend some time in Paris, do book the Bateau Simpatico. I’m looking forward to doing it again. I’m becoming quite accustomed to river living. AND . . . if you make a trip to Dorset on the south coast of England . . . do book a room at the Channel View in Weymouth. It is heavenly there on the sea shore, looking out across the bay from your room. And it’s heavenly to be fussed over by Ali and Martin. Martin does the cooking, by the way. He prepares the English breakfast which is included in the reasonable rate.
MY LAST NIGHT IN PARIS . . .
I freshened up after a rest, and decided not to go to the “New Morning.” I didn’t want to spend the money for a cab. I had it figured down to the Euros I had left on me, and didn’t want to have to go to a money changer and get more Euros just for a cab to a jazz club. So, I decided to take a walk to the Arts de Metiers café near the Metro station I’d been using all day on the same street of the hotel. I hadn’t been to the café yet, but it looked interesting and was always packed, so that’s a good sign. I wanted to people-watch more than anything else, anyway, and have some dinner. I’d asked the desk clerk at the hotel if he knew of any jazz places nearby, and he said there were only clubs for dancing. I didn’t want that. So off I went to the café that was two blocks away.
As I was walking, all of a sudden a hoard of skaters flew by. It grew into hundreds. I’m not exaggerating. Hundreds. They kept coming. I couldn’t believe it. Then I noticed the police cars and the skater security patrol blocking the side streets. I stood and watched till they all passed. It was incredible. Online skaters, or whatever that skate is called . . . line skates, oneline, inline? What is it? Line something. Anyway, that was an unexpected exciting start of my last evening in Paris.
Did I ever make a right choice of restaurant in Arts de Metiers!? People, they had jazz! Omigosh! It was wonderful. But they call it “Acid Jazz.” To my Cambria friends, it sounded like Jason Farrar and his band at their most vigorous. And I could just see Jason bouncing at the keyboard, his speedy fingers racing all over the keys making his own brand of music. The bass player of this particular band was evidently the lead person. He was fun to watch. His every move and expression was in tune with the music. He smiled and grinned all the time. You could tell he loved his music. It radiated from his face and eyes. They were all young guys. Most of the audience was also. I sat there through all their sets, till they quit, and truly enjoyed listening to the music and watching all the different people and their antics. The band didn’t have any CDs with them, but the bass player is going to send me one. I’ll be looking forward to that.
Soooooooo . . . the trip was winding down. I headed back to the hotel, stopped in a local pub on the corner to have some dessert advertised in the window (what is it with me and food on this trip?) and met a business woman from Germany, my age, who’d stopped in for a drink before retiring. We talked for at least an hour, exchanged cards. Another character for one of my books? You’ll have to wait and see. I’m not telling everything, you know. Have to save some for my books.
MY LAST STOP - LONDON
The next morning I took the cab to the Eurostar that was an hour late . . . ha ha . . . back to trains again. And when in London, I checked into the Hyde Hotel a couple blocks from the beautiful Hyde Park. I changed my clothes and headed for Harrods Department Store. On the map it said it was just across the park, on the opposite side from where I was staying. I figured, hell, I can walk that (even though the cab driver had said I should take a cab.) Ha! It’s much farther than it looks on the map. Luckily I took my umbrella with me. It ended up raining very hard as I walked through the park. But I’m telling you, that is one fantastic park! Lake, gardens, just beautiful! I’d love to be there when the weather is good. I enjoyed it anyway. Got a bit wet and chilly, my umbrella turned inside out a few times, but I didn’t care.
WHICH REMINDS ME ... I forgot to mention I’d left my favorite black wool coat on the train from Penzance to London before going to Paris . . . remember when the passengers had to be transferred to the second train after the break down? I left it on the first train. So I did the Paris segment of the trip without a coat. Luckily I had taken a dressy loose knit, three-quarter length, black coat-of-sorts with me, with sequins sparsely spaced throughout, one that was purchased for New Year’s Eve in Cambria from Dinah and Chris’s shop in Cambria. Not really a street coat, more of an evening wrap. But it had to do.
Only thing is . . . one day I was looking into a window as I was walking and noticed something sticking out in back. I took it off to see what it was, and it was the ragged edges of the seam. They’d sewn the back on inside out. Lol lol So, Chris and Dinah, I traveled all over Paris with the middle back seam reversed. Oh well. Didn’t bother me, did it? Maybe we can trade it for the proper one next time I’m over, though. Okay? Funny I never noticed that before. Maybe it's supposed to be that way.
Okay . . . I made it to Harrods and once again enjoyed my regular visit. I immediately went to the laminated shopping bags and made my selection. Got one with cats on it, this time. I’ve almost purchased all the patterns, now - I collect them. They’ve got to come up with some new ones so I’ll have more choices. I buy one every time I’m in London. Then I did as I always do, I headed straight for the food court and had a fabulous meal at one of the counters. This time a Rueben sandwich. Ummmmmm, good. Which reminds me, it’s time for lunch.
I’ll end this quickly . . . after Harrods I went back to the hotel and attempted to get on the Internet, no luck. Went right to bed, watched TV, fell asleep before it was dark.
Opted to take a cab to the airport the next morning rather than deal with the trains again. The flight home took 14 hours from start to finish. A very smooth trip, by the way. Virgin Airlines is the best! All’s well that ends well. Who said that? Well, I’m saying it this time.
This was one of the best trips I’ve taken - the one in 2006. I hope you enjoyed my accounting of it. You’ll have to read my books to find out more . . . the rest of the story.
2004 - NEW YORK - START OF OUR TRIP
April 26
Well, tomorrow's the big day. We leave at 8:15 in the morn to go over the hill and rent a car in Paso Robles, then we drive east on Highway 46 to I-5 and head for Ontario first to take a look at some theatre seats that have been donated to the Pewter Plough Playhouse. Jim needs to give the okay, if they're suitable. So, that's the first stop. I'm hoping the weather cools down tomorrow somewhat in that neck of the woods because it can really be hot and sultry in the L.A. area. IT'S EVEN TOO HOT HERE ON THE CENTRAL COAST!!!! In the 90s today. Give me some cool weather, please!
After Ontario Jim wants to go downtown L.A. and see the Disney Center, that great big metal, stone, wood and stucco work of what’s art. My son Barry works for the company who built it. Last time we saw the new L. A. Cathedral, which was certainly impressive; the Disney Center was still under construction. Soooooooo, after being L.A. tourists for the afternoon, we'll head to our hotel in beautiful downtown El Segundo (The Hacienda) and discover what we've forgotten.
Wednesday we leave for New York City, HOORAY!!!! Then Zurich for a few days, on to Salzburg for a few, then to Vienna, then 10 days in Russia - St. Petersburg and Moscow. Total of 33 days traveling. Exciting trip, huh?
April 27
The theatre seats were all in a pile, huge pile, some of the backs were connected, some seats connected, but not to each other. They were red and pale gold, metal framed, with white plastic arms. Not encouraging. Jim wasn't impressed to say the least, but he's thinking about it. Hasn't made a final decision. If he were to take them, we'd have to arrange a U-Haul rental, then assemble them, clean them, cover the arms with fabric, etc. Quite a chore. But, they're free. So, who knows.We may be bringing a sample back with us, have made arrangements to do so if that's the case when we return to the States, if Jim wants to bother. Up to him, of course.
Ontario was quite surprising. We both felt the same. Beautiful residential areas, roses in abundance, shrubbery, trees, unbelievable actually, in spite of being so close to all the crud. The older houses in the downtown area, where the theatre was, were charming, and the theatre was quite a surprise. Huge. We had to climb down a very dark, steep flight of concrete stairs into the bowels of the theatre . . . a very old building with a high ceiling-ed basement. I was expecting the Phantom of the Opera to jump out at us any moment. Oh by the way . . . took us almost seven hours to get there. I made the mistake of taking the route suggested over the phone by the guy in Ontario . . . and got lost out in the middle of the God-forsaken desert. Took 138 East to the 15 south to the 10 West to Ontario. At least that was the plan. Best laid plans . . . saw Palmdale, though, and Lancaster and some other lost-in-the-wilderness type towns. Out where the Manson family had lived was fun! Lost in the desert in the heat is the worst punishment ever. Okay, God, that's enough! I get it!
May 1
Our second night in New York City.Tonite we went to the show "20th Century" starring Alec Baldwin and Anne Heche. Well, of course it was wonderful to see Baldwin and Heche in person, but it was such a slap-stick sort of comedy, we really didn't enjoy it and left at the intermission. The set was wonderful, however, interior cars of a train, beautifully done. And my gosh, when they slammed the doors the doors would actually stay shut, wouldn't bounce back . . . ha ha ha . . . we both noticed that (unlike our PPP sets). Boy, Alec is a bit of a portly guy . . . and sweats profusely; his shirt sleeves were wet down to his elbows. Anne is skinny as a rail, still not wearing bras.
Then we walked all up and down Time Square, spent about 45 minutes viewing all the gigantic electronic signs and video on the buildings, after which we hired a bicycle buggy guy to take us to 38th Street to Keen's Chop House (steak and chops). In the old days, Jim's pipe (he used to smoke pipes) was among the hundreds of pipes on the ceiling of Keen's. They were numbered then, and one could always retrieve his pipe, but it's changed now. It's only for decoration and they're not numbered anymore. But, the ceiling is quite unique . . . solid rows of pipes. Food was fine, it was okay, maybe not as good as expected. Everything changes. We all know that. And the area was a bit run-down, but, all in all it was a fun evening. Different.
Tomorrow we have lunch with some of Jim's family here at the Hudson Hotel, and then we go to see "Hairspray" tomorrow night with our friends Dinah and Chris, who are here from Laguna Beach. They're here displaying their line for "Fashion Week", being the clothing designers that they are.
Oh yes . . . we also went to Ground Zero today. We had been on top of the World Trade Center when we were here in 2000, the year before the tragedy. So today was quite confusing, shocking, and sad, to see nothing but girders stacked and what looked like a construction site. It was difficult to imagine the WTC as it was. In 2000 I had taken great photos of the tall buildings and we have pictures of us on top of one of the buildings. So tragic. Then we went to The Battery. I was thinking we might take a boat out to the Statue of Liberty, but we got there as the last boat left. So we stood and walked and then sat in the sweltering heat (yes, it's still too damn hot), and I get a bit crabby when I'm hot. So when it and I cooled off a bit, we took a cab to 42nd street where we bought the tickets for tonite's performance.
This hotel (The Hudson) is so fun, just a block from Columbus Circle, right off Central Park. The hotel is very unusual, very artsy, very contemporary. A boutique hotel, actually, and trendy. It has quite a young nite-life clientele. Last night we hung around people-watching in the lounge bar, but it's really too much for us. Loud music, lots of hip yuppies and under. One night was enough. I must be getting old.
May 2
It's 6 a.m. on Sunday, can't sleep.On Friday, we had a delightful lunch here at the Hudson with Jim's sister Marie (from Vermont), his neice Barbara (who is a runner by the way, was in a New York Marathon on Saturday) and her daughter Jessica (who is still in school). Marie's grandson Jerry joined us for a short while too, which added to the interest. He is a marketing maniac (that's what his card says) for an incredible Teddy Bear company. The Vermont Teddy Bear. Check out the web site. Nice New York family and very pleasant/fun visit.
Then later on Friday we saw "Hairspray" at the Neil Simon theatre. Wow, what a show! Dinah, Christopher and I thought it was fabulous, ranking up there with the best, but Jim wasn't so easily impressed, thought it was silly. Oh well. To each his own. But, it was soooooo full of energy and color with such talented singers and dancers, and I bet no one dozed off during that show. Dynamite performances, and Harvey Fierstein (spelling?) was fantabulous! He'll be difficult to replace, supposedly this is his last weekend, so I hear. We sat on the second row, came out with crooked necks, but it was worth it, no complaints.
Yesterday, Saturday, we took a short walk to the Brooklyn Diner for lunch, interesting place on 57th and 8th (?), and then took a cab to Radio City Music Hall, hoping to see a performance, but the Rockettes aren't there until November. A bit early in the day anyway. A Raggae group is playing there now. We’ll pass on that one. Jim didn't want to take the one-hour tour without seeing the Rockettes performing, so we'll leave that to next time. After that we walked down to Rockefeller Plaza and hung around there for awhile, rested and took a few pics. A Ferrari display was the item of the day throughout the plaza, along with droves of people. Jim spent the rest of the afternoon browsing Saks Fifth Avenue (nostalgic for him, he did their window display way back when), but not me, I walked back to the hotel, via Central Park, took a nap and then read till he returned at 6 pm. I don’t know where that man gets his energy. You’d think at his age (92) he’d be prone.
Last night we met with his neice Tina and her fella Tim at “Shelly's”, a wonderful jazz restaurant on 57th and 6th/7th. I found this one. Chris and Dinah joined us also, and we had a great time. Now I was in my element.
I have to say it's been good getting to know Jim's niece Tina and her Tim, as it was the day before becoming more acquainted with the Vinall branch of the family and Jim's sister and grandson. Tina works for Schumacher fabrics and wallpaper, by the way, is a designer, and is Jim's brother Bill's only daughter. She leaves for Italy on Monday, for a week - a working trip visiting fabric mills and archives, so Tim will stay home in Manhattan. Tim is part of the film industry, has worked on many major movie productions as a grip, and is Gene Kelly's son, looks like him too. They are such a beautiful couple, and I'm hoping to see more of them, hoping they come to Calif to visit as Barbara and hubby may be doing next year, also.
Soooooooooo, today we leave Manhattan and move on to East Hampton for a couple of days to visit Jim’s brother Bill and his wife Linda.That's it for now . . . I can't believe this is only the start of our trip. I'm already exhausted.
May 3
Well, we ended up driving to East Hampton instead of riding the Long Island Railway. I was a bit concerned about the change of trains midway, about being able to make the train with all our damn luggage fast enough to catch it. I remember how difficult it was doing the south coast of England last summer when I traveled by train back and forth, jumping from one train to the other. It was hard enough by myself, without Jim. So, I felt it might not be the best thing to do, since that would have been the last train to East Hampton till late in the evening. At least in England when I missed one, another came along in 30 minutes or so. Not the case with Sunday trains to EH. So, it was a pleasant drive, I do well driving in Manhattan, it's just like L.A. No problems at all. And we made it to EH in 2.5 hours. A breeze.
Last night we had dinner at the Laundry. No, not a real laundry. It used to be one. Now it's a steak house . . . Jim had liver and onions, delicious stuff. It was what he'd remembered from the last time we were here, same chef. Bill and Linda are wonderful hosts. They're filling us with too much food, however. We had a lovely breakfast this morning, which we normally don't eat . . . an unusual, very tasty, oven pancake. I'm coming back with this recipe. It's an old family recipe that she's had for years. Very very nice.
Then when we returned from the post office, where I mailed two bundles of my clothing home, took it all out of my suitcase - yes, I brought too much once again . . . then, Linda made lunch. My god, we'd just eaten! But we ate again anyway. ha ha Beef and Turkey sandwiches. Now she's preparing food for tonite's soiree . . . she's invited guests in for a gathering. I have a feeling my plans to diet on this trip are all in vain. She said don't worry about it, I can make up for it in Russia. The food evidently is not good in Russia. We've heard that from several people now. That's okay, we aren't going there for the food, anyway.
It's been raining all day, which suits me just fine. It's cooler this way. And rain is nice. On our way to town earlier, down the street from here, we passed the Breyer's home - the ice cream guy - you know, Breyer's Ice Cream. And of course Eli and Anne Wallach live next door to Linda and Bill. I wish they were home, we'd go see them. We hung out with them a bit when we were on our cruise 3 years ago. They were part of the entertainment on the ship.
Okay, it's back to Manhattan tomorrow to dine with Ted Snowden, producer of the show we're going to see starring Isabelle Rosselini and Richard Thomas (the Walton's John Boy). I'm truly looking forward to that. Then we leave for Zurich on Wednesday.
PS . . . Jim must have had waaaaaaay too much food yesterday because during the night he was ill. I was concerned, as you might well suspect, because here we were in New York embarking on an extensive trip to Eastern Europe and Russia, and sick doesn’t work. Although we did purchase a health/emergency policy to cover Jim while we are out of the States, I wanted him to enjoy all the places to which we were heading. It must have been just a 24-hour bug, because he recuperated quickly. It wasn’t fun for him having to be near a toilet for 24 hours, though. No fun at all.
I must remember to add the drug store disagreement Jim and I had.)
May 4
Our last night in New York.Zurich, here we come! Yes, we leave for Switzerland tomorrow (Wednesday), will be leaving from NY Pennsylvania Station (across the street from us here at the hotel and Madison Square Garden) on Amtrak at 4 pm to Newark Int'l Airport, departing on a 10 pm flight. Yes, that’s lots of time hangin' out at the airport, but to make the connection we had to do it. I'm sure we'll find something to occupy our time.
Earlier tonite we saw 2 one-act plays with Richard Thomas and Isabella Rossellini called THE STENDHAL SYNDROME. Very very interesting plays by Terrence McNally. We met McNally afterwards which was a treat. Looks like a regular guy and acts like one, although he wore the classic artsy wool scarf around his neck. And I even had a brief conversation with Richard Thomas, who is absolutely one of the best actors you'll ever see, and didn’t wear an artsy wool scarf around his neck, thank god. He was in tennis shoes, jeans and a shirt. Nice guy. And he really put on a FINE performance. It was an avant garde play, one that certainly is out there on the ledge. A lot of sexual dialogue, would never work in Cambria. At least not for the locals. Maybe a room full of tourists from SF and LA. We both liked it, however. But then we're maybe a bit more lenient than most.
Seeing that show made me think I should pull out my one-woman show VIAGRA DIALOGUES (my answer to "Vagina Monologues") and develop it some more. Right now it’s a bit too crass, even for me. Maybe after my novel, and then after I've written my play about Catherine Cookson, the British novelist. So, VD will be a project down the line. Oh dear, that doesn't look good . . . VD. Well, you know what I mean. Isabella looked fabulous, by the way. Reminds me of her mother . . . Ingred Bergman. She performed well, but her roles were a bit more subdued than John Boy's.
We had dinner at "Paper Moon" with Ted before the play across the street from the theatre. It's a new theatre complex - PRIMARY STAGES - on 59th between Madison and Park Ave. There are 3 stages in the building. A couple of 99 seaters and the larger one where we were.
This hotel we're staying in for tonite only is huge, quarters a multitude of ethnic travelers and businessmen. An older hotel, but nice enough. Big rooms. And a Lindy's downstairs, which is a bit nostalgic. Jim had to have a souvenir menu, of course. He's stacking Zs right now, and I'm about to.
May 5
Cinco de Mayo . . . no celebrants in sight, I guess they don't celebrate the Mexican holiday here in New Jersey. Oh well. We're near our gate at the airport, waiting for departure on Alitalia Airlines to Milan then on to Zurich. A four-hour stopover in Milan, Italy. I wish we had more time in Milan so we could see that city. I wonder what we can do in two hours. No, probably not a good idea to stray from the airport. Mustn’t take a chance. Nah, won't do it.
I just roamed around this part of the terminal here in Newark Int'l airport into the duty-free shops and trinket shops. We had some cheese and crackers in a place called Formaggio's a few minutes ago. Jim is still sitting there reading the New York Times. I don't know what he'd do without his newspapers. I see a character for a story there, always reading newspapers, especially the ads. You'd think he was an ex-ad man the way he peruses them. His brother Bill was an ad-man, that was his life, with a top advertising agency in New York for years. In fact he and Jim sat for several hours going over his portfolio, all the ads he'd done those many years ago. Some very creative ones. It was humorous when Jim began asking him why he would design one this way instead of that way. Linda and I were in the kitchen laughing about it. Brothers. Still competitive in a way.
This flight to Milan should be a nice flight; we're seated at the window and aisle, no one traipsing over us. I can't really tell how long the flight is, however, because of the time differences. If it's according to the times indicated on the ticket, it's a 14-hour flight to Milan and a 2-hour to Zurich. I don't think the Milan segment could be that long. Might be. We'll see. I hope not. Cripes! Talk about tiring. Maybe I should buy another book to read in addition to my own. I'll be through editing MIDNIGHT AT TRAFALGAR SQUARE long before that flight is over, that's for sure.
After we had breakfast at lunchtime this morning in Lindy's at the Pennsylvania Hotel, we requested a later checkout and went across the street to pick up our train tickets to Newark Int'l. Boy, am I glad we did that. It is not the easiest terminal to get around in. If I were by myself, yes. But so many steps and distances to walk. Impossible for Jim. By the time we got the tickets, it was time to go back and get the luggage and return to the train. It took that long. We'd planned to go to the Empire State Building before leaving, which was just down the block. But it was too late at that point.
So we went back after the luggage and hauled it around looking for elevators to get down into Penn Station. None from the street level, not good. Finally a policeman took Jim's baggage down the escalator for him, after I asked him where the elevators were because it would be too difficult for Jim to carry his bags down the steps. And then we finally found one on the lower level, after taking a couple more short flights of stairs to get us closer to the gates. But at the door of the elevator a fellow was kind enough to suggest we get a "red cap", that it would still be quite a hike to the train. We didn't think there were any "red caps" anymore. We hadn't seen any. Well, come to find out, the info booth person telephones them and they appear.
So that's what we did, and thank goodness, because we were heading to the wrong gate, and would have missed our train to the airport. How simple it was with a "red cap" directing us and transporting our luggage on a cart. He took us right on the train before boarding time, we didn't have to wait. Great move. Just that one little scare and a bit of confusion, all cleared up by a construction worker suggesting we get a "red cap". Nice guy. Nice New Yorker. Hey, what do we know? We're just stupid Californians. And here we are in the airport, we made it on time, and now we're waiting for our plane near the gate. No stairs, no escalators, no elevators to worry about anymore. We're here. Whew! I’m telling you, I’m tired already.
Well, tomorrow's the big day. We leave at 8:15 in the morn to go over the hill and rent a car in Paso Robles, then we drive east on Highway 46 to I-5 and head for Ontario first to take a look at some theatre seats that have been donated to the Pewter Plough Playhouse. Jim needs to give the okay, if they're suitable. So, that's the first stop. I'm hoping the weather cools down tomorrow somewhat in that neck of the woods because it can really be hot and sultry in the L.A. area. IT'S EVEN TOO HOT HERE ON THE CENTRAL COAST!!!! In the 90s today. Give me some cool weather, please!
After Ontario Jim wants to go downtown L.A. and see the Disney Center, that great big metal, stone, wood and stucco work of what’s art. My son Barry works for the company who built it. Last time we saw the new L. A. Cathedral, which was certainly impressive; the Disney Center was still under construction. Soooooooo, after being L.A. tourists for the afternoon, we'll head to our hotel in beautiful downtown El Segundo (The Hacienda) and discover what we've forgotten.
Wednesday we leave for New York City, HOORAY!!!! Then Zurich for a few days, on to Salzburg for a few, then to Vienna, then 10 days in Russia - St. Petersburg and Moscow. Total of 33 days traveling. Exciting trip, huh?
April 27
The theatre seats were all in a pile, huge pile, some of the backs were connected, some seats connected, but not to each other. They were red and pale gold, metal framed, with white plastic arms. Not encouraging. Jim wasn't impressed to say the least, but he's thinking about it. Hasn't made a final decision. If he were to take them, we'd have to arrange a U-Haul rental, then assemble them, clean them, cover the arms with fabric, etc. Quite a chore. But, they're free. So, who knows.We may be bringing a sample back with us, have made arrangements to do so if that's the case when we return to the States, if Jim wants to bother. Up to him, of course.
Ontario was quite surprising. We both felt the same. Beautiful residential areas, roses in abundance, shrubbery, trees, unbelievable actually, in spite of being so close to all the crud. The older houses in the downtown area, where the theatre was, were charming, and the theatre was quite a surprise. Huge. We had to climb down a very dark, steep flight of concrete stairs into the bowels of the theatre . . . a very old building with a high ceiling-ed basement. I was expecting the Phantom of the Opera to jump out at us any moment. Oh by the way . . . took us almost seven hours to get there. I made the mistake of taking the route suggested over the phone by the guy in Ontario . . . and got lost out in the middle of the God-forsaken desert. Took 138 East to the 15 south to the 10 West to Ontario. At least that was the plan. Best laid plans . . . saw Palmdale, though, and Lancaster and some other lost-in-the-wilderness type towns. Out where the Manson family had lived was fun! Lost in the desert in the heat is the worst punishment ever. Okay, God, that's enough! I get it!
May 1
Our second night in New York City.Tonite we went to the show "20th Century" starring Alec Baldwin and Anne Heche. Well, of course it was wonderful to see Baldwin and Heche in person, but it was such a slap-stick sort of comedy, we really didn't enjoy it and left at the intermission. The set was wonderful, however, interior cars of a train, beautifully done. And my gosh, when they slammed the doors the doors would actually stay shut, wouldn't bounce back . . . ha ha ha . . . we both noticed that (unlike our PPP sets). Boy, Alec is a bit of a portly guy . . . and sweats profusely; his shirt sleeves were wet down to his elbows. Anne is skinny as a rail, still not wearing bras.
Then we walked all up and down Time Square, spent about 45 minutes viewing all the gigantic electronic signs and video on the buildings, after which we hired a bicycle buggy guy to take us to 38th Street to Keen's Chop House (steak and chops). In the old days, Jim's pipe (he used to smoke pipes) was among the hundreds of pipes on the ceiling of Keen's. They were numbered then, and one could always retrieve his pipe, but it's changed now. It's only for decoration and they're not numbered anymore. But, the ceiling is quite unique . . . solid rows of pipes. Food was fine, it was okay, maybe not as good as expected. Everything changes. We all know that. And the area was a bit run-down, but, all in all it was a fun evening. Different.
Tomorrow we have lunch with some of Jim's family here at the Hudson Hotel, and then we go to see "Hairspray" tomorrow night with our friends Dinah and Chris, who are here from Laguna Beach. They're here displaying their line for "Fashion Week", being the clothing designers that they are.
Oh yes . . . we also went to Ground Zero today. We had been on top of the World Trade Center when we were here in 2000, the year before the tragedy. So today was quite confusing, shocking, and sad, to see nothing but girders stacked and what looked like a construction site. It was difficult to imagine the WTC as it was. In 2000 I had taken great photos of the tall buildings and we have pictures of us on top of one of the buildings. So tragic. Then we went to The Battery. I was thinking we might take a boat out to the Statue of Liberty, but we got there as the last boat left. So we stood and walked and then sat in the sweltering heat (yes, it's still too damn hot), and I get a bit crabby when I'm hot. So when it and I cooled off a bit, we took a cab to 42nd street where we bought the tickets for tonite's performance.
This hotel (The Hudson) is so fun, just a block from Columbus Circle, right off Central Park. The hotel is very unusual, very artsy, very contemporary. A boutique hotel, actually, and trendy. It has quite a young nite-life clientele. Last night we hung around people-watching in the lounge bar, but it's really too much for us. Loud music, lots of hip yuppies and under. One night was enough. I must be getting old.
May 2
It's 6 a.m. on Sunday, can't sleep.On Friday, we had a delightful lunch here at the Hudson with Jim's sister Marie (from Vermont), his neice Barbara (who is a runner by the way, was in a New York Marathon on Saturday) and her daughter Jessica (who is still in school). Marie's grandson Jerry joined us for a short while too, which added to the interest. He is a marketing maniac (that's what his card says) for an incredible Teddy Bear company. The Vermont Teddy Bear. Check out the web site. Nice New York family and very pleasant/fun visit.
Then later on Friday we saw "Hairspray" at the Neil Simon theatre. Wow, what a show! Dinah, Christopher and I thought it was fabulous, ranking up there with the best, but Jim wasn't so easily impressed, thought it was silly. Oh well. To each his own. But, it was soooooo full of energy and color with such talented singers and dancers, and I bet no one dozed off during that show. Dynamite performances, and Harvey Fierstein (spelling?) was fantabulous! He'll be difficult to replace, supposedly this is his last weekend, so I hear. We sat on the second row, came out with crooked necks, but it was worth it, no complaints.
Yesterday, Saturday, we took a short walk to the Brooklyn Diner for lunch, interesting place on 57th and 8th (?), and then took a cab to Radio City Music Hall, hoping to see a performance, but the Rockettes aren't there until November. A bit early in the day anyway. A Raggae group is playing there now. We’ll pass on that one. Jim didn't want to take the one-hour tour without seeing the Rockettes performing, so we'll leave that to next time. After that we walked down to Rockefeller Plaza and hung around there for awhile, rested and took a few pics. A Ferrari display was the item of the day throughout the plaza, along with droves of people. Jim spent the rest of the afternoon browsing Saks Fifth Avenue (nostalgic for him, he did their window display way back when), but not me, I walked back to the hotel, via Central Park, took a nap and then read till he returned at 6 pm. I don’t know where that man gets his energy. You’d think at his age (92) he’d be prone.
Last night we met with his neice Tina and her fella Tim at “Shelly's”, a wonderful jazz restaurant on 57th and 6th/7th. I found this one. Chris and Dinah joined us also, and we had a great time. Now I was in my element.
I have to say it's been good getting to know Jim's niece Tina and her Tim, as it was the day before becoming more acquainted with the Vinall branch of the family and Jim's sister and grandson. Tina works for Schumacher fabrics and wallpaper, by the way, is a designer, and is Jim's brother Bill's only daughter. She leaves for Italy on Monday, for a week - a working trip visiting fabric mills and archives, so Tim will stay home in Manhattan. Tim is part of the film industry, has worked on many major movie productions as a grip, and is Gene Kelly's son, looks like him too. They are such a beautiful couple, and I'm hoping to see more of them, hoping they come to Calif to visit as Barbara and hubby may be doing next year, also.
Soooooooooo, today we leave Manhattan and move on to East Hampton for a couple of days to visit Jim’s brother Bill and his wife Linda.That's it for now . . . I can't believe this is only the start of our trip. I'm already exhausted.
May 3
Well, we ended up driving to East Hampton instead of riding the Long Island Railway. I was a bit concerned about the change of trains midway, about being able to make the train with all our damn luggage fast enough to catch it. I remember how difficult it was doing the south coast of England last summer when I traveled by train back and forth, jumping from one train to the other. It was hard enough by myself, without Jim. So, I felt it might not be the best thing to do, since that would have been the last train to East Hampton till late in the evening. At least in England when I missed one, another came along in 30 minutes or so. Not the case with Sunday trains to EH. So, it was a pleasant drive, I do well driving in Manhattan, it's just like L.A. No problems at all. And we made it to EH in 2.5 hours. A breeze.
Last night we had dinner at the Laundry. No, not a real laundry. It used to be one. Now it's a steak house . . . Jim had liver and onions, delicious stuff. It was what he'd remembered from the last time we were here, same chef. Bill and Linda are wonderful hosts. They're filling us with too much food, however. We had a lovely breakfast this morning, which we normally don't eat . . . an unusual, very tasty, oven pancake. I'm coming back with this recipe. It's an old family recipe that she's had for years. Very very nice.
Then when we returned from the post office, where I mailed two bundles of my clothing home, took it all out of my suitcase - yes, I brought too much once again . . . then, Linda made lunch. My god, we'd just eaten! But we ate again anyway. ha ha Beef and Turkey sandwiches. Now she's preparing food for tonite's soiree . . . she's invited guests in for a gathering. I have a feeling my plans to diet on this trip are all in vain. She said don't worry about it, I can make up for it in Russia. The food evidently is not good in Russia. We've heard that from several people now. That's okay, we aren't going there for the food, anyway.
It's been raining all day, which suits me just fine. It's cooler this way. And rain is nice. On our way to town earlier, down the street from here, we passed the Breyer's home - the ice cream guy - you know, Breyer's Ice Cream. And of course Eli and Anne Wallach live next door to Linda and Bill. I wish they were home, we'd go see them. We hung out with them a bit when we were on our cruise 3 years ago. They were part of the entertainment on the ship.
Okay, it's back to Manhattan tomorrow to dine with Ted Snowden, producer of the show we're going to see starring Isabelle Rosselini and Richard Thomas (the Walton's John Boy). I'm truly looking forward to that. Then we leave for Zurich on Wednesday.
PS . . . Jim must have had waaaaaaay too much food yesterday because during the night he was ill. I was concerned, as you might well suspect, because here we were in New York embarking on an extensive trip to Eastern Europe and Russia, and sick doesn’t work. Although we did purchase a health/emergency policy to cover Jim while we are out of the States, I wanted him to enjoy all the places to which we were heading. It must have been just a 24-hour bug, because he recuperated quickly. It wasn’t fun for him having to be near a toilet for 24 hours, though. No fun at all.
I must remember to add the drug store disagreement Jim and I had.)
May 4
Our last night in New York.Zurich, here we come! Yes, we leave for Switzerland tomorrow (Wednesday), will be leaving from NY Pennsylvania Station (across the street from us here at the hotel and Madison Square Garden) on Amtrak at 4 pm to Newark Int'l Airport, departing on a 10 pm flight. Yes, that’s lots of time hangin' out at the airport, but to make the connection we had to do it. I'm sure we'll find something to occupy our time.
Earlier tonite we saw 2 one-act plays with Richard Thomas and Isabella Rossellini called THE STENDHAL SYNDROME. Very very interesting plays by Terrence McNally. We met McNally afterwards which was a treat. Looks like a regular guy and acts like one, although he wore the classic artsy wool scarf around his neck. And I even had a brief conversation with Richard Thomas, who is absolutely one of the best actors you'll ever see, and didn’t wear an artsy wool scarf around his neck, thank god. He was in tennis shoes, jeans and a shirt. Nice guy. And he really put on a FINE performance. It was an avant garde play, one that certainly is out there on the ledge. A lot of sexual dialogue, would never work in Cambria. At least not for the locals. Maybe a room full of tourists from SF and LA. We both liked it, however. But then we're maybe a bit more lenient than most.
Seeing that show made me think I should pull out my one-woman show VIAGRA DIALOGUES (my answer to "Vagina Monologues") and develop it some more. Right now it’s a bit too crass, even for me. Maybe after my novel, and then after I've written my play about Catherine Cookson, the British novelist. So, VD will be a project down the line. Oh dear, that doesn't look good . . . VD. Well, you know what I mean. Isabella looked fabulous, by the way. Reminds me of her mother . . . Ingred Bergman. She performed well, but her roles were a bit more subdued than John Boy's.
We had dinner at "Paper Moon" with Ted before the play across the street from the theatre. It's a new theatre complex - PRIMARY STAGES - on 59th between Madison and Park Ave. There are 3 stages in the building. A couple of 99 seaters and the larger one where we were.
This hotel we're staying in for tonite only is huge, quarters a multitude of ethnic travelers and businessmen. An older hotel, but nice enough. Big rooms. And a Lindy's downstairs, which is a bit nostalgic. Jim had to have a souvenir menu, of course. He's stacking Zs right now, and I'm about to.
May 5
Cinco de Mayo . . . no celebrants in sight, I guess they don't celebrate the Mexican holiday here in New Jersey. Oh well. We're near our gate at the airport, waiting for departure on Alitalia Airlines to Milan then on to Zurich. A four-hour stopover in Milan, Italy. I wish we had more time in Milan so we could see that city. I wonder what we can do in two hours. No, probably not a good idea to stray from the airport. Mustn’t take a chance. Nah, won't do it.
I just roamed around this part of the terminal here in Newark Int'l airport into the duty-free shops and trinket shops. We had some cheese and crackers in a place called Formaggio's a few minutes ago. Jim is still sitting there reading the New York Times. I don't know what he'd do without his newspapers. I see a character for a story there, always reading newspapers, especially the ads. You'd think he was an ex-ad man the way he peruses them. His brother Bill was an ad-man, that was his life, with a top advertising agency in New York for years. In fact he and Jim sat for several hours going over his portfolio, all the ads he'd done those many years ago. Some very creative ones. It was humorous when Jim began asking him why he would design one this way instead of that way. Linda and I were in the kitchen laughing about it. Brothers. Still competitive in a way.
This flight to Milan should be a nice flight; we're seated at the window and aisle, no one traipsing over us. I can't really tell how long the flight is, however, because of the time differences. If it's according to the times indicated on the ticket, it's a 14-hour flight to Milan and a 2-hour to Zurich. I don't think the Milan segment could be that long. Might be. We'll see. I hope not. Cripes! Talk about tiring. Maybe I should buy another book to read in addition to my own. I'll be through editing MIDNIGHT AT TRAFALGAR SQUARE long before that flight is over, that's for sure.
After we had breakfast at lunchtime this morning in Lindy's at the Pennsylvania Hotel, we requested a later checkout and went across the street to pick up our train tickets to Newark Int'l. Boy, am I glad we did that. It is not the easiest terminal to get around in. If I were by myself, yes. But so many steps and distances to walk. Impossible for Jim. By the time we got the tickets, it was time to go back and get the luggage and return to the train. It took that long. We'd planned to go to the Empire State Building before leaving, which was just down the block. But it was too late at that point.
So we went back after the luggage and hauled it around looking for elevators to get down into Penn Station. None from the street level, not good. Finally a policeman took Jim's baggage down the escalator for him, after I asked him where the elevators were because it would be too difficult for Jim to carry his bags down the steps. And then we finally found one on the lower level, after taking a couple more short flights of stairs to get us closer to the gates. But at the door of the elevator a fellow was kind enough to suggest we get a "red cap", that it would still be quite a hike to the train. We didn't think there were any "red caps" anymore. We hadn't seen any. Well, come to find out, the info booth person telephones them and they appear.
So that's what we did, and thank goodness, because we were heading to the wrong gate, and would have missed our train to the airport. How simple it was with a "red cap" directing us and transporting our luggage on a cart. He took us right on the train before boarding time, we didn't have to wait. Great move. Just that one little scare and a bit of confusion, all cleared up by a construction worker suggesting we get a "red cap". Nice guy. Nice New Yorker. Hey, what do we know? We're just stupid Californians. And here we are in the airport, we made it on time, and now we're waiting for our plane near the gate. No stairs, no escalators, no elevators to worry about anymore. We're here. Whew! I’m telling you, I’m tired already.
2004 - SWITZERLAND
May 6
The flight to Milan was 7.5 hours. 7.5 long long hours. For the last two hours of the flight I was completely miserable. Just tired and sleepy, I guess. My legs hurt, my back hurt, my mind hurt. We left New Jersey at 10 pm, so that means we arrived without any sleep in Milan at 5:30 a.m. New York time. 12:30 p.m. Milan time. And now it's 1:30 p.m. and still no sleep. Our plane doesn't leave Milan for Zurich until 4:15 p.m. Needless to say, I think we'll be hitting the hay very early tonite. I know it's best to stay up as long as you can, so you can get on European time, but I don't know. Jim is dozing right now next to me here in the Milan terminal. So, hopefully he'll be able to catch a few more winks. He can sleep sitting up, though, I can't. Lucky him.
We can sure tell we're in Italy. The airport shops definitely reflect that. A world of difference from the shops in the Newark airport. Well I guess! Beautiful stuff here. All the Italian designer shoes, accessories, clothing, jewelry. Expensive too, of course. It's a lookie-loo world. I love watching the people, seeing the differences in dress and manners.
I think I could go to sleep if I could just lie down. All these seats here in the lounge have arms that don't raise up. If you're very thin, you could slip under them and stretch out, like a few young girls are doing. But that leaves me out of the equation. Maybe, If I lie flat on my back, I could do it. And then maybe not. Jim probably could, but then it would probably feel too vulnerable I would imagine. Oh well, just 2.5 more hours of waiting.
May 7
Finally, we're in Zurich. I've spent the worst night of the trip, a doggone "bug" of some kind. Not good. Must be like the one Jim had in East Hampton. He must be healthier than me, because his didn't last as long. Anyway, we just returned from a very light meal downstairs - two spoons of soup and some bread for me, Jim finished my soup and his - our first meal after sleeping 22 hours, yes, we slept 22 hours after we arrived. Neither of us has much energy, the altitude, no doubt. But, we're here! In Switzerland. And it's almost 9 pm. We haven't seen anything yet, will begin tomorrow. Today was totally missed. Tomorrow will be a much better day, I'm sure.
May 8
Well, today we finally stayed awake long enough to take a look around town. Got downstairs about 1:30 or 2 pm, had some coffee, no breakfast. Food isn't too appealing on the menu in the CRAZY COW restaurant, which is next door to the hotel. Although like I said, the tomato soup was delicious yesterday, didn't sound good for breakfast today, though. After coffee we took a trolley, a cable car, usually two or three hooked together, down to the river which leads into the lake. Don't ask me which lake it is at this moment, I really don’t care. The river is Lemmat. Goes right through town.
We walked around gazing into windows and venturing into some of the stores until 4 pm, everything closes at 4 pm on Saturday through Sunday. Only restaurants stay open, and we found a really quaint coffee/wine bar where we both had apple strudel and coffee. Jim can't quite handle these prices, 3.50 for one cup of coffee, and "not even a mug" (he says) “and no refills”. Ayeeechee wawa! He's having a hard time dealing with the price of everything (but then, what's new, he's that way at home too), and I just keep reminding him we're only in the most expensive country in Europe - Switzerland. The bottled water, a quart size, is around $5.00. That is really burning his arbuckle, and I find it a bit steep myself, as a matter of fact. But, we're leery of drinking local water. Of course, we're doing it in the coffee, but it's heated. Maybe we should take a chance. Who knows? I know we aren't supposed to drink the water in Russia, all the literature says that.
We've decided to stay another night in Zurich. Since we lost our first day here to jet lag and sickness, we didn't really get to see anything. So, we'll be heading for Saltzberg on Monday instead of Sunday.
So, tomorrow we're going to JUNGFRAUBAHN. We leave early in the morning around 8 a.m. and will be away for eleven hours. The web site to the most beautiful place we're going is: http://www.jungfraubahn.ch/
Jungfraubahn is only the highest point a person can travel in Europe and is called The Top of Europe. We're so excited, and we're all ready, have our warm stuff laying out ready to jump into in the morning. An Alp adventure! We had to stay to see it. Can't be this close and not do it.
Anyway, after 4 pm today when all the shops closed, we went to the train station to pick up our train tickets to Saltzberg for Monday, and I'm here to tell you that Zurich's train station beats every station and airport I've ever seen. Very upscale restaurants and high design as well as regular and low design shops. Really nice. It has the most extraordinary underground shopping mall, and they were having a professional volleyball competition in the center of the ground floor. Amazing! Most of the trains leave from the ground floor where the ticket booths are, but there are other levels of departure too. Just incredible, the stuff to see there.
I lost Jim for about 45 minutes while he was down one floor, thinking that's where the ticket booths were. He takes his time looking at every single tiny little item in every single friggin’ window, so sometimes I'll go on ahead, but I'll let him know where I'm going. This time he thought I motioned to the down escalators. Nope. I motioned to the opposite right where the ticket booths were. He went down.
Anyway, it's great that everything stays open at the station for the tourists (and Locals, evidently), so at least they have a place to hang out & shop on Saturday evening and Sunday.
We shared some potato skins and salad later (nothing in the potato skins, only potato, I guess that's why they call it a potato skin), but it hit the spot, and probably was just as well it wasn't stuffed like Americans stuff them, because we're both still not all that hungry yet. Appetites are still lacking, probably because of the altitude and our sickly tummies. (By the way , we'll be up 11,333 ft. tomorrow in the Alps. Yikes!) But, we're eating bread with the soup and skins and salad.
Jim brought all his vitamins with him too, so, he’s fine. I'm sure each day we'll gain it back more and more. Hey, in New York we ate like pigs. As for me, I wish I'd entirely lose my appetite. That wouldn't be such a bad thing. For a month at least. That should do the trick, get me where I belong, weight-wise.
AND we had a special treat, there was a young pianist playing a grand piano in the very chic grille in a hotel where we lunched. He played the piano well, but couldn't sing worth a dime, poor guy. Or maybe it's just the style over here, I don't know. His tone was mellow, just couldn't hit any of the upper notes he sang. Interesting. Sounded like what's his name who recorded WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD. Remember how he ended the song? Missed the notes, but it was left on the recording because it was charming? Well, this wasn't charming. But he must have thought it was. And he did it in every song. No, not charming.
We left there and took a trolley which was different from the one we took down to the river, we thought it was the right one, wasn't sure, someone had suggested it. But it seemed to travel on forever, went to a terminal and beyond. Just about the time we'd decided to get off and find a cab, we saw our hotel looming ahead. So, the directions we were given were correct. But we were wondering there for awhile. I'm glad we stayed on it, even though we'd thought about getting off, but Jim figured why not take advantage and get a free tour of the city, even though we were lost. Oh, by the way. No one has collected any money from us on the trolleys. We've ridden several and no one comes to collect. It must be the honour system. Hummmmm . . . crazy irresponsible Americans have no honour. We'll order an extra cup of coffee to boost the economy.
May 8
Well, I can't go to sleep. Not that I need any sleep after all that I've had over the past 2 days. It's most likely because I'm afraid we won't wake up in time for the trip to the Mount this morning. I finally called the desk and asked for a wake up call for 6:30 a.m., but it's 5:30 now, so what the heck. I've been editing my book most of the night, and honestly making attempts to sleep on occasion, but to no avail. Probably the excitement of the upcoming tour to the Alps. Anyway, when the last attempt left me thinking of cows, yes cows, not sheep, that was it! Up up up, and here I am.
Let me explain the cows. Inside this hotel, The Leoneck Hotel in Zurich, we're inundated with cows. 101 Dalmation cows. I know, I know . . . they're not, but they're black and white spotted cows, and certainly more than 101. I can't remember the name of the breed. It's not Angus, it's not Guernsey (?), Jersey? What the heck is it? What do I know from cows? Anyway, there are cows all over the place.
In the lobby alone, wooden and metal cows are hanging from the ceiling. Glass, ceramic, pottery, porcelain, and whatever you can think of, are in the glass cases and on table tops. They're painted on the walls, single and in murals. An 18-inch band of fake black and white fur cowhide (which definitely looks like dalmation print) borders the top edge of the L-shaped frontdesk counter. (Jim says it’s authentic cowhide, I’ll have to take a closer look. He’s probably right, usually is.) Cow horns are attached to some of the chair backs, and the furniture is upholstered same as the counter.
Even the rooms have cows . . . on the shower curtains and bath tiles and on the bedroom walls. Wait a minute! Our bedroom wall has a St. Bernard painted on it. What's that all about? Why didn't we get a cow?
There are tiny black and white spotted cows painted on wooden cutouts that are used for tokens to exchange for breakfast in the CRAZY COW restaurant next door. Even the room key is held by an oversize cow wooden cutout. There is another discrepancy however, on one side of the hotel entrance, in the planter, a gaggle (?) or flock (?) of chickens. Flock. (Hey, so I'm rummy from no sleep!) Hummmm. The chickens must be by the same metal sculpturer that did the huge metal cow on the other side of the entrance. They all look like they've been done by the same artist.
THEN . . . in the Crazy Cow Restaurant there are cows. I don't mean the two-legged kind, either. It's loaded with them. This is all quite an eye full, believe me. I'm going to keep two of the tokens and I've got my eye on one of the cute little cows in a glass case, must have that one too for our meager collection of cows on top of our fridge at home. A collection I add to occasionally, a collection that was there before me.
Now you ask, did you pick the place because of the cows? Hell no! I didn't even know they were here. But, you know what? It's a fun place, and we'll never ever see another place like this as long as we live, unless we come back to this one. Which we won't. Once is enough, wouldn't you think? However, it's been a pleasant experience, friendly hosts, clean as we were told the Swiss accommodations would be, and a very unique presentation of the beds, with a bath towel shaped like a swan holding our chocolates for the night, not a small towel, a large one. Beautiful. I think I can even do the swan now. And the way they fluff the feather pillows, oversize pillows (king-size), standing up on the long side, then taking the hand and creasing it right down the center, making two peaks like mountains on each side of the crease. Two Matterhorns. Very clever. Now I know how to make Matterhorns and swans for guests at home, if I want.
Okay, Jim is up now too. At least he got some sleep. We're about to embark upon our 11,333 ft high Alp adventure.
May 10
SWITZERLAND IS THE PLACE TO BE!
It is all the most beautiful scenic spots in the U.S. and Canada, Europe and the UK and everywhere else I've ever been put together and more. I would live in the foothills of the Alps in a heart beat! It's that beautiful! Heidi country and Sound of Music country (I know, it was Austria, but they escaped to Switzerland, didn’t they?). Of course I'd have to learn these languages, so that might be a determining factor. Don't know how difficult that might be, but I do have a clue. DIFFICULT! The language is similar to German, but is softer sounding.
Those Alps are absolutely unlike any mountainous region I've ever see. I haven't seen the mountains in Tibet or in South America (Tibet's on my list), so I can only compare them to the higher ranges in the U.S. and Canada. Most other countries don't compare, don't have mountains that high. Italy, France and Austria share the Alps with Switzerland, so I imagine they're all as beautiful.
(Austrian Alps are. We just went through those today on the train. Can you imagine? Fantastic trip. We were in a panoramic car, could see everything. Six hours from Zurich to Saltzberg on the train. Loved it.)
I'll say this one more time . . . the Alps are something everyone should see at one time in their lives. And where we were yesterday, up at The Top of Europe, JUNGFRAUBAHN, the feeling was of unbelievable awe. I took pics on the way up, so I'll send some when we get home. (I brought the wrong digital camera for this laptop.) Although we were disappointed that we couldn't see anything from the viewpoint (which was what we were looking forward to) because it was snowing and cloudy, the trip UP the mountain was abundant of wonderful views. We traveled straight through the mountains in tunnels, mostly. Lots of tunnels, long ones. And when we'd come out of a tunnel it was like seeing Shangri-La each time. Every valley was lush green with charming towns, houses dotting the landscape, cows and sheep grazing . . . Hallmark moments. Then the higher we climbed the more the snow fell, until the entire landscape was snow and snow covered trees, an occasional wooded shed would peek out from under the blanket of snow. No visible roads, no inhabitants except those in the few mountain train stations. We changed trains three times, climbing to the Observatory. The trains are pully trains, or trams, not cable cars, look more like trolleys, cog trains.
Once there, we walked right through the glacier in a section called the Ice Palace where they had carved out animal ice sculptures for added interest, then we took elevators up (two) through the rock or ice, I'm not sure what it was at that point . . . rock or ice, to the observation point. It was there we would have been able to see all the way across Switzerland and the mountain ranges, I'm told, and see the largest glacier field. But darn it, it was snowing, so there wasn't any view or sun, only clouds.
Jim did really well. We both lagged behind a bit, held up the group somewhat, but we made it. Two younger kids in their 30s stayed behind with us to assist if we needed it. The guide was appreciative of that. So was I. Especially in the ice palace, the floor was ice, an ice cave, slippery. We walked on it though. It was like walking on an ice rink in your shoes. So, I was glad someone was with us who had the strength to pick us up if we fell. And who knows which one of us would have keeled over first. Well, surprise surprise! Neither of us did. I got lightheaded a few times, thought I was going to faint, so did Jim. But they'd tell us to breathe deeply and go slow. We did do that. Slow we did do. And we went everywhere everyone else did. Well, almost everywhere. Some went up a bit higher, took the outside stairs in the blizzard. Nope, not for us. We saw enough from our vantage point.
When the weather is good there, you can even go snowboarding, skiing, take a husky/sled ride, mountain climb . . . all sorts of physical things. We were happy doing just what we did. And taking the elevators was an option. The rest of them hiked through the mountain to get to the different points. Silly people. Our two helpmates stayed right with us though.
So, we had a wonderful day on the mount! And the bus and train rides were comfy and warm. I'd picked up some gloves and scarves for us on our way up the mountain in Interlaken, we hadn't allowed for weather at 12 below zero. That's what it was up there. But it didn't feel that cold, it really didn't. Jim had on plenty of layers, even wore one of my tops under two of his and a jacket top. So, he was warm. Neither one of us feel a cold coming on, or have the sniffles, or feel any sickness at the moment. That's good.
SALTZBERG
Okay . . . we just had our first meal in Saltzberg, Austria (home of the Von Trapp family) at a very quaint restaurant in Old Town at 10 pm. Can't remember the name of it, but it was something. Very very very good food. Best meal I've had since we hit European soil. I had red trout (looked like salmon to me) and cream cabbage (yum) and boiled potatoes with a fantastic flavor. Soooooo good, it was. I think I was hungry. We didn't eat very well in Zurich. Jim had spinach pasta and smoked salmon. And then we shared the best Apple Strudel ever!!!!!!!
We've booked a city tour bus and boat for tomorrow morning, to get our bearings . . . so that's it for now. We'll start seeing Saltzberg tomorrow.
Oh yes . . . this morning back in Zurich was rather hectic. We decided since Jim wanted to the see the church windows that Chagal did in Old Town Zurich, that he should go do that by himself, because I needed to go to the post office and mail another package of clothes home (am forever lightening my load, when will I ever learn). We couldn't do both together and still get to the train on time, so off he went, after exact instructions on where to meet me at the train station and at what time. I must tell you I worried about that from the moment he left. The train station and old town are at opposite ends of that part of town.
Then I packed up all our stuff, checked out of the hotel, called a cab to take me to the Post office to mail the package (which took at least 45 minutes of packaging and waiting). And then had the cab driver take me to the station and drop me near a baggage cart rack, the kind you rent, you know, like in the airport. I had 4 suitcases, couldn't carry them all myself. So, as he was taking them out of the cab, I told him I'd go get one of the carts and went to do that. Well, the cart accepted the two francs, but wouldn't come loose from the rack. So I went to get the cabbie to help me. He was nowhere in sight, and my bags were piled on the sidewalk all by themselves, alone. I couldn't believe it. Anyone could have taken them. I was in utter disbelief that he would do that to me. I even gave him a tip, dammit! which I wished I hadn't given him. So, I bundled up the luggage, two and two, and managed to get them back to the cart stand. In the meantime someone must've seen my struggle trying to pry the cart loose, because it was standing by itself, disengaged, waiting for me. There are nice people in the world after all.
Then I hurried to where I'd told Jim to meet me, and within 15 minutes he was there, just 5 minutes late. He’s incredible. I was all ready to start worrying. He'd walked all the way from Old Town, he said, couldn't get a cab that was going in the right direction. They have to be going in the right direction, because they don't want to double back. The streets are very tricky that way. Especially if the trip isn't worth it. Obviously that one wasn't. Just to go from the post office, which was right next door to the train station, my cabbie had to go through a different section of town. Crazy. Anyway, Jim was happy he saw the windows, and I was happy I got the package mailed. And then we left Zurich.
The flight to Milan was 7.5 hours. 7.5 long long hours. For the last two hours of the flight I was completely miserable. Just tired and sleepy, I guess. My legs hurt, my back hurt, my mind hurt. We left New Jersey at 10 pm, so that means we arrived without any sleep in Milan at 5:30 a.m. New York time. 12:30 p.m. Milan time. And now it's 1:30 p.m. and still no sleep. Our plane doesn't leave Milan for Zurich until 4:15 p.m. Needless to say, I think we'll be hitting the hay very early tonite. I know it's best to stay up as long as you can, so you can get on European time, but I don't know. Jim is dozing right now next to me here in the Milan terminal. So, hopefully he'll be able to catch a few more winks. He can sleep sitting up, though, I can't. Lucky him.
We can sure tell we're in Italy. The airport shops definitely reflect that. A world of difference from the shops in the Newark airport. Well I guess! Beautiful stuff here. All the Italian designer shoes, accessories, clothing, jewelry. Expensive too, of course. It's a lookie-loo world. I love watching the people, seeing the differences in dress and manners.
I think I could go to sleep if I could just lie down. All these seats here in the lounge have arms that don't raise up. If you're very thin, you could slip under them and stretch out, like a few young girls are doing. But that leaves me out of the equation. Maybe, If I lie flat on my back, I could do it. And then maybe not. Jim probably could, but then it would probably feel too vulnerable I would imagine. Oh well, just 2.5 more hours of waiting.
May 7
Finally, we're in Zurich. I've spent the worst night of the trip, a doggone "bug" of some kind. Not good. Must be like the one Jim had in East Hampton. He must be healthier than me, because his didn't last as long. Anyway, we just returned from a very light meal downstairs - two spoons of soup and some bread for me, Jim finished my soup and his - our first meal after sleeping 22 hours, yes, we slept 22 hours after we arrived. Neither of us has much energy, the altitude, no doubt. But, we're here! In Switzerland. And it's almost 9 pm. We haven't seen anything yet, will begin tomorrow. Today was totally missed. Tomorrow will be a much better day, I'm sure.
May 8
Well, today we finally stayed awake long enough to take a look around town. Got downstairs about 1:30 or 2 pm, had some coffee, no breakfast. Food isn't too appealing on the menu in the CRAZY COW restaurant, which is next door to the hotel. Although like I said, the tomato soup was delicious yesterday, didn't sound good for breakfast today, though. After coffee we took a trolley, a cable car, usually two or three hooked together, down to the river which leads into the lake. Don't ask me which lake it is at this moment, I really don’t care. The river is Lemmat. Goes right through town.
We walked around gazing into windows and venturing into some of the stores until 4 pm, everything closes at 4 pm on Saturday through Sunday. Only restaurants stay open, and we found a really quaint coffee/wine bar where we both had apple strudel and coffee. Jim can't quite handle these prices, 3.50 for one cup of coffee, and "not even a mug" (he says) “and no refills”. Ayeeechee wawa! He's having a hard time dealing with the price of everything (but then, what's new, he's that way at home too), and I just keep reminding him we're only in the most expensive country in Europe - Switzerland. The bottled water, a quart size, is around $5.00. That is really burning his arbuckle, and I find it a bit steep myself, as a matter of fact. But, we're leery of drinking local water. Of course, we're doing it in the coffee, but it's heated. Maybe we should take a chance. Who knows? I know we aren't supposed to drink the water in Russia, all the literature says that.
We've decided to stay another night in Zurich. Since we lost our first day here to jet lag and sickness, we didn't really get to see anything. So, we'll be heading for Saltzberg on Monday instead of Sunday.
So, tomorrow we're going to JUNGFRAUBAHN. We leave early in the morning around 8 a.m. and will be away for eleven hours. The web site to the most beautiful place we're going is: http://www.jungfraubahn.ch/
Jungfraubahn is only the highest point a person can travel in Europe and is called The Top of Europe. We're so excited, and we're all ready, have our warm stuff laying out ready to jump into in the morning. An Alp adventure! We had to stay to see it. Can't be this close and not do it.
Anyway, after 4 pm today when all the shops closed, we went to the train station to pick up our train tickets to Saltzberg for Monday, and I'm here to tell you that Zurich's train station beats every station and airport I've ever seen. Very upscale restaurants and high design as well as regular and low design shops. Really nice. It has the most extraordinary underground shopping mall, and they were having a professional volleyball competition in the center of the ground floor. Amazing! Most of the trains leave from the ground floor where the ticket booths are, but there are other levels of departure too. Just incredible, the stuff to see there.
I lost Jim for about 45 minutes while he was down one floor, thinking that's where the ticket booths were. He takes his time looking at every single tiny little item in every single friggin’ window, so sometimes I'll go on ahead, but I'll let him know where I'm going. This time he thought I motioned to the down escalators. Nope. I motioned to the opposite right where the ticket booths were. He went down.
Anyway, it's great that everything stays open at the station for the tourists (and Locals, evidently), so at least they have a place to hang out & shop on Saturday evening and Sunday.
We shared some potato skins and salad later (nothing in the potato skins, only potato, I guess that's why they call it a potato skin), but it hit the spot, and probably was just as well it wasn't stuffed like Americans stuff them, because we're both still not all that hungry yet. Appetites are still lacking, probably because of the altitude and our sickly tummies. (By the way , we'll be up 11,333 ft. tomorrow in the Alps. Yikes!) But, we're eating bread with the soup and skins and salad.
Jim brought all his vitamins with him too, so, he’s fine. I'm sure each day we'll gain it back more and more. Hey, in New York we ate like pigs. As for me, I wish I'd entirely lose my appetite. That wouldn't be such a bad thing. For a month at least. That should do the trick, get me where I belong, weight-wise.
AND we had a special treat, there was a young pianist playing a grand piano in the very chic grille in a hotel where we lunched. He played the piano well, but couldn't sing worth a dime, poor guy. Or maybe it's just the style over here, I don't know. His tone was mellow, just couldn't hit any of the upper notes he sang. Interesting. Sounded like what's his name who recorded WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD. Remember how he ended the song? Missed the notes, but it was left on the recording because it was charming? Well, this wasn't charming. But he must have thought it was. And he did it in every song. No, not charming.
We left there and took a trolley which was different from the one we took down to the river, we thought it was the right one, wasn't sure, someone had suggested it. But it seemed to travel on forever, went to a terminal and beyond. Just about the time we'd decided to get off and find a cab, we saw our hotel looming ahead. So, the directions we were given were correct. But we were wondering there for awhile. I'm glad we stayed on it, even though we'd thought about getting off, but Jim figured why not take advantage and get a free tour of the city, even though we were lost. Oh, by the way. No one has collected any money from us on the trolleys. We've ridden several and no one comes to collect. It must be the honour system. Hummmmm . . . crazy irresponsible Americans have no honour. We'll order an extra cup of coffee to boost the economy.
May 8
Well, I can't go to sleep. Not that I need any sleep after all that I've had over the past 2 days. It's most likely because I'm afraid we won't wake up in time for the trip to the Mount this morning. I finally called the desk and asked for a wake up call for 6:30 a.m., but it's 5:30 now, so what the heck. I've been editing my book most of the night, and honestly making attempts to sleep on occasion, but to no avail. Probably the excitement of the upcoming tour to the Alps. Anyway, when the last attempt left me thinking of cows, yes cows, not sheep, that was it! Up up up, and here I am.
Let me explain the cows. Inside this hotel, The Leoneck Hotel in Zurich, we're inundated with cows. 101 Dalmation cows. I know, I know . . . they're not, but they're black and white spotted cows, and certainly more than 101. I can't remember the name of the breed. It's not Angus, it's not Guernsey (?), Jersey? What the heck is it? What do I know from cows? Anyway, there are cows all over the place.
In the lobby alone, wooden and metal cows are hanging from the ceiling. Glass, ceramic, pottery, porcelain, and whatever you can think of, are in the glass cases and on table tops. They're painted on the walls, single and in murals. An 18-inch band of fake black and white fur cowhide (which definitely looks like dalmation print) borders the top edge of the L-shaped frontdesk counter. (Jim says it’s authentic cowhide, I’ll have to take a closer look. He’s probably right, usually is.) Cow horns are attached to some of the chair backs, and the furniture is upholstered same as the counter.
Even the rooms have cows . . . on the shower curtains and bath tiles and on the bedroom walls. Wait a minute! Our bedroom wall has a St. Bernard painted on it. What's that all about? Why didn't we get a cow?
There are tiny black and white spotted cows painted on wooden cutouts that are used for tokens to exchange for breakfast in the CRAZY COW restaurant next door. Even the room key is held by an oversize cow wooden cutout. There is another discrepancy however, on one side of the hotel entrance, in the planter, a gaggle (?) or flock (?) of chickens. Flock. (Hey, so I'm rummy from no sleep!) Hummmm. The chickens must be by the same metal sculpturer that did the huge metal cow on the other side of the entrance. They all look like they've been done by the same artist.
THEN . . . in the Crazy Cow Restaurant there are cows. I don't mean the two-legged kind, either. It's loaded with them. This is all quite an eye full, believe me. I'm going to keep two of the tokens and I've got my eye on one of the cute little cows in a glass case, must have that one too for our meager collection of cows on top of our fridge at home. A collection I add to occasionally, a collection that was there before me.
Now you ask, did you pick the place because of the cows? Hell no! I didn't even know they were here. But, you know what? It's a fun place, and we'll never ever see another place like this as long as we live, unless we come back to this one. Which we won't. Once is enough, wouldn't you think? However, it's been a pleasant experience, friendly hosts, clean as we were told the Swiss accommodations would be, and a very unique presentation of the beds, with a bath towel shaped like a swan holding our chocolates for the night, not a small towel, a large one. Beautiful. I think I can even do the swan now. And the way they fluff the feather pillows, oversize pillows (king-size), standing up on the long side, then taking the hand and creasing it right down the center, making two peaks like mountains on each side of the crease. Two Matterhorns. Very clever. Now I know how to make Matterhorns and swans for guests at home, if I want.
Okay, Jim is up now too. At least he got some sleep. We're about to embark upon our 11,333 ft high Alp adventure.
May 10
SWITZERLAND IS THE PLACE TO BE!
It is all the most beautiful scenic spots in the U.S. and Canada, Europe and the UK and everywhere else I've ever been put together and more. I would live in the foothills of the Alps in a heart beat! It's that beautiful! Heidi country and Sound of Music country (I know, it was Austria, but they escaped to Switzerland, didn’t they?). Of course I'd have to learn these languages, so that might be a determining factor. Don't know how difficult that might be, but I do have a clue. DIFFICULT! The language is similar to German, but is softer sounding.
Those Alps are absolutely unlike any mountainous region I've ever see. I haven't seen the mountains in Tibet or in South America (Tibet's on my list), so I can only compare them to the higher ranges in the U.S. and Canada. Most other countries don't compare, don't have mountains that high. Italy, France and Austria share the Alps with Switzerland, so I imagine they're all as beautiful.
(Austrian Alps are. We just went through those today on the train. Can you imagine? Fantastic trip. We were in a panoramic car, could see everything. Six hours from Zurich to Saltzberg on the train. Loved it.)
I'll say this one more time . . . the Alps are something everyone should see at one time in their lives. And where we were yesterday, up at The Top of Europe, JUNGFRAUBAHN, the feeling was of unbelievable awe. I took pics on the way up, so I'll send some when we get home. (I brought the wrong digital camera for this laptop.) Although we were disappointed that we couldn't see anything from the viewpoint (which was what we were looking forward to) because it was snowing and cloudy, the trip UP the mountain was abundant of wonderful views. We traveled straight through the mountains in tunnels, mostly. Lots of tunnels, long ones. And when we'd come out of a tunnel it was like seeing Shangri-La each time. Every valley was lush green with charming towns, houses dotting the landscape, cows and sheep grazing . . . Hallmark moments. Then the higher we climbed the more the snow fell, until the entire landscape was snow and snow covered trees, an occasional wooded shed would peek out from under the blanket of snow. No visible roads, no inhabitants except those in the few mountain train stations. We changed trains three times, climbing to the Observatory. The trains are pully trains, or trams, not cable cars, look more like trolleys, cog trains.
Once there, we walked right through the glacier in a section called the Ice Palace where they had carved out animal ice sculptures for added interest, then we took elevators up (two) through the rock or ice, I'm not sure what it was at that point . . . rock or ice, to the observation point. It was there we would have been able to see all the way across Switzerland and the mountain ranges, I'm told, and see the largest glacier field. But darn it, it was snowing, so there wasn't any view or sun, only clouds.
Jim did really well. We both lagged behind a bit, held up the group somewhat, but we made it. Two younger kids in their 30s stayed behind with us to assist if we needed it. The guide was appreciative of that. So was I. Especially in the ice palace, the floor was ice, an ice cave, slippery. We walked on it though. It was like walking on an ice rink in your shoes. So, I was glad someone was with us who had the strength to pick us up if we fell. And who knows which one of us would have keeled over first. Well, surprise surprise! Neither of us did. I got lightheaded a few times, thought I was going to faint, so did Jim. But they'd tell us to breathe deeply and go slow. We did do that. Slow we did do. And we went everywhere everyone else did. Well, almost everywhere. Some went up a bit higher, took the outside stairs in the blizzard. Nope, not for us. We saw enough from our vantage point.
When the weather is good there, you can even go snowboarding, skiing, take a husky/sled ride, mountain climb . . . all sorts of physical things. We were happy doing just what we did. And taking the elevators was an option. The rest of them hiked through the mountain to get to the different points. Silly people. Our two helpmates stayed right with us though.
So, we had a wonderful day on the mount! And the bus and train rides were comfy and warm. I'd picked up some gloves and scarves for us on our way up the mountain in Interlaken, we hadn't allowed for weather at 12 below zero. That's what it was up there. But it didn't feel that cold, it really didn't. Jim had on plenty of layers, even wore one of my tops under two of his and a jacket top. So, he was warm. Neither one of us feel a cold coming on, or have the sniffles, or feel any sickness at the moment. That's good.
SALTZBERG
Okay . . . we just had our first meal in Saltzberg, Austria (home of the Von Trapp family) at a very quaint restaurant in Old Town at 10 pm. Can't remember the name of it, but it was something. Very very very good food. Best meal I've had since we hit European soil. I had red trout (looked like salmon to me) and cream cabbage (yum) and boiled potatoes with a fantastic flavor. Soooooo good, it was. I think I was hungry. We didn't eat very well in Zurich. Jim had spinach pasta and smoked salmon. And then we shared the best Apple Strudel ever!!!!!!!
We've booked a city tour bus and boat for tomorrow morning, to get our bearings . . . so that's it for now. We'll start seeing Saltzberg tomorrow.
Oh yes . . . this morning back in Zurich was rather hectic. We decided since Jim wanted to the see the church windows that Chagal did in Old Town Zurich, that he should go do that by himself, because I needed to go to the post office and mail another package of clothes home (am forever lightening my load, when will I ever learn). We couldn't do both together and still get to the train on time, so off he went, after exact instructions on where to meet me at the train station and at what time. I must tell you I worried about that from the moment he left. The train station and old town are at opposite ends of that part of town.
Then I packed up all our stuff, checked out of the hotel, called a cab to take me to the Post office to mail the package (which took at least 45 minutes of packaging and waiting). And then had the cab driver take me to the station and drop me near a baggage cart rack, the kind you rent, you know, like in the airport. I had 4 suitcases, couldn't carry them all myself. So, as he was taking them out of the cab, I told him I'd go get one of the carts and went to do that. Well, the cart accepted the two francs, but wouldn't come loose from the rack. So I went to get the cabbie to help me. He was nowhere in sight, and my bags were piled on the sidewalk all by themselves, alone. I couldn't believe it. Anyone could have taken them. I was in utter disbelief that he would do that to me. I even gave him a tip, dammit! which I wished I hadn't given him. So, I bundled up the luggage, two and two, and managed to get them back to the cart stand. In the meantime someone must've seen my struggle trying to pry the cart loose, because it was standing by itself, disengaged, waiting for me. There are nice people in the world after all.
Then I hurried to where I'd told Jim to meet me, and within 15 minutes he was there, just 5 minutes late. He’s incredible. I was all ready to start worrying. He'd walked all the way from Old Town, he said, couldn't get a cab that was going in the right direction. They have to be going in the right direction, because they don't want to double back. The streets are very tricky that way. Especially if the trip isn't worth it. Obviously that one wasn't. Just to go from the post office, which was right next door to the train station, my cabbie had to go through a different section of town. Crazy. Anyway, Jim was happy he saw the windows, and I was happy I got the package mailed. And then we left Zurich.
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