SUMMER 2007 WESTERN ROAD TRIP:
ANOTHER HOT SPRING IS JUST DOWN THE ROAD
After meticulously recording the story of the first four days our trip from Boston to San Anselmo, California in my semi-immortal prose, I managed to leave my notebook on the flight from Oakland to Salt Lake City. Despite several pleas to Southwest Airlines, the notebook has not surfaced.
Thus, the following account may not have the immediacy of the original version, but it represents my best shot.
The much advertised “extra legroom” on JetBlue planes is true. On our non-stop flight from Boston to Oakland, California, our window and aisle seats on the left side of the plane, near the front, were quite comfortable. What I hadn’t anticipated was my seat companion on the window - a five foot tall young lady weighing at least 350 pounds.
She overspread her seat, making my every move a very cautious one, as mounds of flesh extended in all directions. The poor young lady ate almost continuously from the time we took off, crunching M&Ms and a variety of morsels from her handbag, which I picked up for her on the several occasions she couldn’t bend over far enough to get it.
Aside from that, the flight was uneventful, and on time.
Knowing there would be no dinner on the flight which left at 7:45 p.m., Carol had thoughtfully prepared a healthy meal of borscht, salad and fruit. Unfortunately, the borscht was confiscated by the ubiquitous TSA employees, as an impermissible liquid.
I hope they enjoyed it.
We were on our way to visit Carol’s daughter Tami, and her family. Tami Miller Vasquez, her husband Edmundo, and teenage children Julia and Jacob, live in San Anselmo, in Marin County, north of San FRancisco. They were flooded out of their home in the flood of 2005.
According to Wikipedia, “Heavy rains caused the creek to flood in 1982, as well as recently on December 31, 2005. Significant creek flooding occurs in San Anselmo every 20-23 years, in 1940, 1963, 1982 and in 2005. 1982 was the worst, with up to 5 feet of rapidly moving water traveling down the main street. 2005 was only 2-3 feet. Traditionally after the flood, the town cleans up, changes little in building codes to mitigate water damage in new construction and remodels in the affected flood plain area and waits another 20 years.”
Tami and Edmundo chose to refurbish the house, which had about two feet of water on the first floor, and to raise the house itself four feet in the process. Landscaping remains to be done, but the interior itself is much improved. Carol and I were seeing the reconstruction for the first time.
We arrived on a Thursday evening, as Tami was getting Jacob ready to depart early Saturday morning for a month in Barcelona, studying Spanish, as his sister had done a year ago.
By mid-afternoon on Friday, Tami had finished what needed doing, and with the rest of the family occupied, Tami, Carol and I drove northwest to Point Reyes Station, a small town which is the gateway to Point Reyes National Seashore, and which retains the frontier flavor of its origin as a railway junction in the early days of the the 20th century.
Sir Francis Drake landed on a beach in the area in 1579, on his voyage around the world. Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, running from Tiburon to Point Reyes National Seashore, is among the many commemorative designations which celebrate his landing.
Tami had been there often, and we ran into several of her friends as we wandered around the few streets in the village.
Saturday, once Jacob was safely on his way to Spain, we drove south to Tiburon, sited at the north end of San Francisco Bay. Here, ferries leave frequently for the city as well as for Angel Island, less than a mile to the south. Having missed the hourly ferry to Angel Island, we opted for the San Francisco ferry which docked at the Ferry Building, where we debarked into an astonishing array of restaurants, bistros, cheese shops, bakeries, and assorted food emporiums. Carol and Tami did the heavy investigation, while I sat in the sun, which finally came out of the fog after playing hide and seek with the city most of the day.
After a superb Thai lunch, we took the ferry to Angel Island, for a tour by tram of the site of an army hospital, a prisoner of war camp in World War II, and the West Coast version of Ellis Island. In the 1920’s, when the door was closed by the United States to immigration from the Far East, only family members of Asians already in the country were allowed in - and Angel Island was where they were held while each case was investigated.
The island is now a state park, with a myriad of activities, and frequent ferry service from both Tiburon and San Francisco. We barely scraped the surface, and the place deserves a couple of days of exploration. It’s history includes its use by Native Americans, and Spanish occupation in the 17th and 18th centuries.
Sunday, Tami, Carol and I drove north again, but this time, I dropped them off in the hills above Stinson Beach, a resort south of Point Reyes, at about one thirty in the afternoon. The idea was for them to hike down a trail, four and one half miles, to Stinson Beach, where I would be waiting for them.
Tami estimated the walk would be about two hours, and we agreed that I would wait at the general store in Stinson Beach.
I found the store with no difficulty, - the town has only one of anything - got out my book, and settled down for a couple of peaceful hours, with occasional glances at the California girls, who were so poor they could only afford tiny strips of fabric for bathing suits.
At three thirty, I spoke with a county sheriff’s deputy - Stinson Beach has no police force and a volunteer fire department - who was on traffic duty. He assured me that the trail leading down to Stinson Beach (which I mistakenly thought they had taken) was very popular, and would have lots of hikers on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. “Not to worry”.
At about four forty-five, with no word, I decided to call 911, got the sheriff’s office which connected me to the Forest Service, and told them my tale. After hearing they would send out an alert for the two hikers, I settled down to wait.
At about five thirty, my cell phone rang. It was Tami - they had lost the trail (which was a fire road rather than a trail). They had been forced retrace their steps to their starting place, the first place which had service for her cell phone.
I called the Forest Service with the news, and started off to pick them up. A few miles up the mountain, at a Forest Service garage, several men in two trucks were in conversation.
Either by brains or luck, I pulled into the parking lot, and found them talking about us. One of them was sure he knew where they were, based on my less than perfect description of where I had let them off.
He took off to that location. I was sure he was going in the wrong direction, and stubbornly decided to set off again on my own. The second ranger said, “We already have two people lost. I am going to follow you to make sure we don’t have a third.”
Within five minutes, I became aware that I was traversing an area I hadn’t seen before, and shortly, the ranger tailing me honked, pulled over, and told me they had been found.
Much chagrined, I followed him for a few miles, realized that I had completely missed a vital turn in the road, and was happily reunited with Carol and Tami.
Lesson to be learned: identify in very specific terms - names of roads and intersections - the starting place, with sufficient information to get back to it. My nonchalance was my undoing. I apologized profusely to the rangers, whose attitude was very forgiving, and an indication to me that my kind of behavior was not an unusual occurrence.
We celebrated the happy outcome with broiled oysters at a recommended restaurant in Olemah, a tiny town in the area. Our conclusion: better to eat ‘em raw with sauce and horseradish.
Monday morning, Southwest Airlines took us to Salt Lake City, where we picked up a rental car and headed north. We had chosen Lava Hot Springs, Idaho, as our destination the first night, and checked out the bed and breakfasts on the Internet.
No one could tell us where our first choice was located, and the proprietor was in a yoga class and unavailable. The second choice was in the center of town, and not very prepossessing. Carol went to check out the rooms, and came back with a doubtful expression on her face.
We were parked behind a fence, on the other side of which was a hot springs pool at least one hundred feet by twenty, with several smaller pools - one with hotter water, the other with cold water. On the left was an institutional looking building which was the b and b.
In an earlier life, we learned, it had been a rest home for injured veterans of World War I; then, a community hospital run by a couple, both of whom were doctors; and finally, in the 1980’s, when the town’s population had shrunk to the point where the hospital could not longer be supported, it had become a bed and breakfast.
The room we were shown was large and clean if somewhat meagerly furnished. At one end was an alcove - without a door - in which sat a toilet and opposite it was a jacuzzi tub.
Despite the unusual features of the place, we decided it would suffice.
There were few other visitors - our room was the only one of about six on our end of the floor that was occupied. After dinner at one of the town’s two restaurants, we tried the hot spring.
We learned the water originates in an artesian well, and is about 140 degrees Fahrenheit when it reached the lodge. Diluting it with cold water keeps the pool temperature about 110.
The spring is also the source of heating for the place, with multiple plastic pipes in each room replacing radiators or vents. The showers and drinking water come from the same source.
The pool appears to have some characteristics of social club. Half a dozen middle-aged men were in the shallow end for what appeared to be a nightly congregation where, I suspect, the town’s affairs were conducted.
The owner made and served breakfast the next morning, providing us with a little of the history of the place.
The Greyhouse bed and breakfast is twelve miles south of Salmon, Idaho, a Victorian mansion that had been moved from Salmon, where it had once served as hospital (we were getting into a rut). Victorian was the theme of the furnishings as well, with a profusion of Victorian hats, lamps photos, etchings and a wild and unorganized assortment of knickknacks.
Sharon, the co-owner with her husband - he was not visible - is the archetype of a pleasant, motherly b and b hostess, The house sits a few hundred feet from the Salmon River, on which her son runs rafting trips.
At least in the parts we saw, the Salmon does not appear to be a serious white water river - but the scenery is wonderful. We got to Greyhouse about six in the evening, after a very long day on the road, following the river up from Lava Hot Springs,
We had taken a wide detour from Lava Hot Springs to see Craters of the Moon National Monument, the creation of thousands of year of volcanic eruptions that spewed cinders and lava over a wide area.
Carol had seen it forty-five years ago, and remembered it as much less raked over and smoothed out.
Our route entered the Sawtooth National Recreation Area, with beautiful woods and streams, and very little man-made interference except for the roads. There was far less traffic than I would have expected. My speculation that tourism is down this year - gas prices? - was confirmed later in the trip by inn owners who were experiencing a lean season.
We headed north again, out of the Area, surrounded by mountains, and it was here, late in the day, with the sun behind us, shining on the mountains, that I understood “purple mountain majesties” - because the mountains rising on each side of the highway were indeed purple in the late afternoon light.
With the light traffic, the typical car was cruising at well over the 75 m.p.h. speed limit on major roads. Even secondary roads are posted at 65 m.p.h. Our slower travel made it politically wise to pull over into a layby occasionally to let faster traffic pass on the narrower highways.
The river was no more crowded than the highway - we saw only several pairs of kayakers and two eight-person rafts.
Wednesday was to be our slow day. It began at a leisurely breakfast at which I refused the offer of french toast - forsaking it for poached eggs on toast.
Sharon said several times, “But we have french toast!” Evidently I was missing a special treat and she was clearly not very happy with me.
As is usually the case in bed and breakfasts, the conversation with other guests begins: “Where are you from?” “Wow, that’s a long way from here. Did you drive all the way?”
Once the locality exchanges take place, the conversation tends to lag. However, a boy of twelve or thirteen at our table asked Carol, “What did you do for a living?”
She considered it an unusual question from a youngster, but answered it without much elaboration. When I thought about it, it seemed he had probably heard the same question asked by his parents - and asking it himself established his bona fides as a seasoned traveler.
After breakfast, we loaded up and spent an hour walking about Salmon, which has 3012 people and at least twice as many retail establishments as Lexington. It is a center for river and forest activities, as well as for the ranchers and farmers in the area.
After lunch in the town of North Fork, we headed east, crossing the Great Divide at Chief Joseph's Pass, and then heading down slope to the site of the near-final chapter in the history of the Nez Perce Native Americans’ struggle to maintain their way of life.
At the Battle of Big Hole, the Nez Perce decisively defeated the U.S. Army troops, only to be pursued and driven north by that same army.
The Nez Perce were trying to avoid being herded onto a reservation in what is now Idaho. They were desperately trying to reach sanctuary in Canada - and about 150 finally made it.
Chief Joseph. with the remaining band of women and sick children and his few remaining warriors, finally surrendered and were put on reservations, where they survive to this day.
Chief Joseph’s words are remembered to this day, as he ended his last speech, "Hear me, my chiefs. I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands I will fight no more, forever."
The government erected a monument in 1883 to the Army soldiers who died at Big Hole - but the Native Americans didn’t get the same treatment until recently.
At the battle field site, the movie depicting the battle and the fate of the Nez Perce affected both Carol and I deeply - we spent the rest of the day in a state of depression, brought on by the realization once again of the incredible cruelty inflicted on Native Americans throughout our country’s history.
By four in the afternoon we had reached Jackson, Montana, a wide place in the road. with 232 residents. It featured a garage, which appeared to specialize in farm and ranch machinery; a barroom, open on weekends: a “mercantile store” which was essentially a deli; an antique store; and our destination. the Jackson Hot Springs Lodge.
Clearly, an architect had never been allowed with a mile of the place. But despite its failings as an example of well-designed western style, it had a hot springs pool, 75’ by 25’. As with the inn at Lava Hot Springs, the water, which came from a well nine miles from the lodge, was used for washing, dining and heating.
The pool was being refilled - it is drained weekly - but there was enough water after dinner for Carol to get wet.
The pretentious restaurant at the lodge, with the only alternative a sandwich at the deli, managed to combine mediocre food with high prices. But a morning dip in the now filled pool restored our good humor - until I went to start the car and found the battery dead.
The previous evening, in closing up the car, I had inadvertently hit the alarm button on the remote control, sending the horn blaring and the lights flashing. I eventually got the horn to cease wailing but could not douse the lights.
Foolishly, I assumed they would stop on their own.
And they did - at 2:06 a.m. when the the battery died, as evidenced by the dashboard clock.
The garage across the street was kind enough to send a truck with jumper cables to immediately get us going. The man who brought them refused any compensation, a not unusual response in the West.
(We had ordered a compact car from National but were given a full size - it was a Montana registered car that the company as sending towards home from Salt Lake City. It had a keyless starting system I hadn’t seen before. Get in the car using the remote to unlock the car, press a button on the dash with a foot on the brake and voila! - a keyless start!)
Without further problems, we drove on through Dillon, Twin Bridges, Sheraton, Virginia City, Nevada City and Ennis (home of the now famous house that Mara designed for Fred Goldberg).
By four thirty, we had picked up one of Mara’s cars at the farm on Cobb Hill Road, returned our rental to the Bozeman Airport at Belgrade, picked up some groceries, and were napping when Mara got home about six.
The place has been altered substantially since we last visited in June 2006. Mara has performed extraordinary effects with the property, both in the main house and in the “cabin”.
The cabin, designed for vacation rentals,- now with two bedrooms, a new kitchen, new furnishings throughout, high end linens and towels, and gorgeous lighting - will have its first month long tenant beginning the day after we left.
The main house is air conditioned, for which we were grateful after several days of 100 degree heat. With Mara busy with appointments on Friday, we were happy enough to flake out and recover after four days on the road, in very hot weather.
People we talked with on the way indicated that the extreme temperatures in the high ‘90s were unusual for such an extended period. Fortunately for lawns and farms, there seems to be no serious water shortage in Western Montana, with plenty of water for irrigation.
Some other areas of Montana are not so fortunate, with water restrictions in place.
Mara’s farm on Cobb Hill Road is about as far from downtown Bozeman you can get and still be in the city limits. The road past the house has been paved since we were here last, cutting down on the noise and dust created by the former gravel surface. The three and one half acre plot sits about a half mile from the main road south to Big Sky Resort and the Gallatin River Valley.
In addition to the main house and the cabin, there is a smaller building which will eventually be a one-bedroom guest house. Next to the cabin, there is a long low building now used as a workshop and for storage.
There are several paddocks enclosed with jack fencing (horizontal poles held in place at each end by a pair of X-crossed poles), and a weather shelter for the horses which once occupied the paddocks, along with the tack room.
The main house has a deck on all four sides, with a step or two to the lawn, which is shaded by a grove of tall cottonwood trees.
Mara’s original thought had been to lease the paddocks to horse owners looking for space, but with vacationing tenants coming to the cabin, that concept has been put on hold. Non-horse people might find the odors off-putting.
The land looks south to mountains and north to mountains. Less than 15 minutes brings you to downtown Bozeman, but the feeling is completely rural.
Friday evening we had dinner in Bozeman with Lark Smotherman, the professional photographer who has done pictures of most of Mara’s projects, and whose work can be seen on Mara’s website.
We learned that Lark has taken a position as Artistic Director of a major international advertising firm. It gives her a measure of financial security she needs at this point, but her leaving later this fall to live in San Antonio will deprive Mara of a very good friend.
Saturday morning, we drove north to Helena, stopping for lunch there and then driving on to The Gates of The Mountains, an opening in the mountains seen and named by Lewis and Clark.
“It was mid-July, 1805, when Captain Meriwether Lewis first viewed the Gates of the Mountains along Montana's Missouri River. His journal entry describes the scene this way: "we entered the most remarkable clifts that we have yet seen. These clifts rise from the water's edge on either side perpendicularly to the height of 1,200 feet. Solid rock for the distance of 5 miles." This view is still available for today's adventurer and it looks virtually the same as when Capt. Lewis and his Corps of Discovery first laid eyes upon it.”
Tour boats now leave from a dock on a lake at the Hilger Ranch and travel downstream through the canyon. The lake, formed by a dam, has a marina and appeared to be a popular boating area.
The Hilger Ranch, on the south side of the Gates and on the west side of river, has been preserved and protected from development since it was established in the 1850’s, and the present owner appears to adhere to the same philosophy.
The boat trip took us past campgrounds maintained by the Bureau of LAnd Management and the Forest Service, most accessible only by water. The cliffs enclosing the river are spectacular, and for the first time on the trip, my camera was out and working.
With us was Chere Jiusto, executive director of Montana Preservation Alliance, the organization of which Mara has been president and is now treasurer. As its title indicates, it is “working to preserve historic resources and places in Montana through education, advocacy, technical assistance, awards and partnerships with like-minded preservation groups.”
The tour took us past Mann Gulch, the site of the 1949 forest fire that claimed the lives of 12 fire jumpers, trapped in a box canyon when the fire exploded. The story was told in a book called “Young Men and Fire” by Norman MacLean, the author of “A River Runs Through It”.
I had read the book many years ago, and have never forgotten the story of the 15 elite jumpers who parachuted into the gulch. Ten were dead within an hour of the drop and two more died the next day. Only three survived, scarred for the rest of their lives by the experience.
On a bright sunny day, with scarcely a cloud in the sky, it was difficult - actually, impossible - to look up the canyon from the water and imagine what happened nearly sixty years ago.
Saturday evening, Mara’s friends, Les and Margie Reeves had us as their guests for dinner, along with Les’ son and daughter-in-law. Designing the interior of their home in an up-scale development on the south side of Bozeman had been one of Mara’s first jobs, and she formed a friendship with the couple that has continued.
The Reeves had come to Lexington earlier this summer on their way to a sailing trip in Maine, and we had given them lunch.
Bozeman has continued to grow commercially and residentially, but sitting on the deck that runs on all four sides of Mara’s main house on a quiet Sunday afternoon, none of that activity impinged on the our vision.
The heat and the forest fires in the general area made for a good deal of haze. The mountains to the south, in the direction of Yellowstone Park, were barely visible.
Sunday night, our last evening, was spent with Mara’s friend and across-the-road neighbor, Lynne and her husband, the real estate broker who found the property for Mara. Lynne’s contagious sense of humor made the evening go all too fast.
In a state of great contentment, I said, “We are coming for a month next year.” I suspect Mara wrote it down to hold me to it.
+
Sunday, September 30, 2007
SPAIN 2003
In the fall of 2003, Carol and I went to Spain. These are the notes I made on that ill-fated trip.
October 15-16. A cramped seat on a moderately full flight from Philadelphia to Madrid. Uneventful, uncomfortable, and glad to be in Madrid. Sitting in the airport cafeteria after a mediocre salad, waiting for the flight to Bilboa on Spanair.
As Carol comments, it doesn’t feel very Spanish yet - except for the language and the people smoking. I’m exhausted - I can’t wait for to get to the hotel in Bilboa for a shower and a nap.
Getting ready for the trip really taxed my resources - I had too many deadlines to meet before we left. and the stress is just beginning to ebb from my mind and my body. Hopefully, more sense next time.
October 21. It is now about 8 p.m. on Tuesday, and we have been here in Marbella since Sunday, hostage to a flu-like illness that has dogged me since Saturday afternoon in Bilboa.
This is the first moment I felt the energy required to start writing again. An upset stomach, a sore throat and aching limbs - fairly classic flu, either picked up on the flight or the result of the flu shot I got the day we left
Bilboa was all we expected and more. The Guggenheim Museum is the main attraction, but it is a lively city with music and good restaurants, and a funicular that rises to a hill overlooking the city.
We managed to get in a good deal of sightseeing before I took to bed on Saturday afternoon. The hotel was funky but but clean and pleasant with an affable owner whose English was quite lovely to listen to.
We had expected to take a night train from Bilboa south the breadth of the country to Malaga, but I misread the timetables on the Internet. It ran only on Fridays and was sold out when we tried to book.
We ended up with a very expensive flight on Iberia, the national airlines, because the regional airline - with fares 40% less - was also completely;y booked on Sunday.
Despite my ills, we made it to Malaga on Sunday around noon, got the car - a Citroen Clio with stick shift, cheap bastard that I am - and eventually found our way to Carol’s apartment in the SKOL complex in Marbella.
The Costa del Sol stretches along the Mediterranean, and it is almost impossible to conceive of the incredible number of apartment buildings lining the coast for miles and miles.
In the three building complex we were in, there were 300 units. From the windows in our unit on the 6th floor, we could see dozens of similar buildings, most on the water but some set back a few streets.
Parking is a major issue - there was no provision made for parking when the original buildings went up. Only in recent years have developers been required to put in underground facilities. The Englishman who manages Carol’s apartment arranged for us to park underground, because finding a casual space is
Back from the sea, the mountains rise quickly, and the country retains much of its traditional character with gorges, forests, national parks, and a rich history going back to the Moorish invasions in the 7th century.
The ruins of Moorish castles still can be seen and visited, and I have been told the country has been little altered in many areas away from the coast. I hope to be well enough to spend a couple of days exploring, before we leave.
Carol has been taking very good care of me. While I rested, she has shopped and prepared meals, and generally been a generous caregiver, while I have been the cantankerous self that becomes most evident when I am ill.
To add to our woes, the caps on the jugs of maple syrup we brought to give as gifts worked loose in my suitcase - almost half my clothes were effected as well as some books.
The good fortune we had experiences our other trips over the past year had made me sloppy and careless. It would have been easy to put each jug in a sealable plastic bag.
The same sloppiness meant I hadn't brought anything to counteract my stomach woes. Eventually, everything got sorted out but my self esteem has taken several blows.
Marbella is a strange place for an American, with few others in sight. The town in full of Brits, who have been coming for almost a century to spend their holidays - and in many cases, to retire.
The complex we are in is strongly British - Kelly’s Pub, on the ground floor has Premier League soccer games from the United Kingdom every evening on television. (I suspect that one of the reasons there are few Americans is that Miami Beach offers the same amenities and atmosphere without the problem of language and transport.)
For the British, there are direct flights from Heathrow to Malaga, an hour from Marbella., while Americans have to fly via London, Paris, Lisbon or Madrid.
The city has kept control of the waterfront itself, with a beach along the entire coast open to all, and machines that daily smooth and groom the sand.
A walking road lines the back of the beach for miles, shaded by palm trees, lined with restaurants as well as vendors grilling sardines on open fires to be served at tables in the open.
The area we are in can be classified as a middle class neighborhood. Early today. in search of a yoga studio, we walked west into an upper-class area where the apartment buildings resembled castles, and the stores were showing leather jackets for men for 1295 euros (about $1600). And since there is underground parking in these newer buildings, there were actually empty parking spaces on the streets.
DIVERGENCE
I have committed every sin of omission imaginable. I packed no aspirin, no Tylenol except PM, no diarrhea or constipation medicine. Based on the exceptionally problem free two earlier trips this year, I ignored any possible glitches and have been beset by most.
Since last Saturday in Bilboa, I have been battling the remnants of the flu which put me down while there. The major leftover is congested chest, which I have tried to cure with OTC medications to little avail.
I left my blazer at the hotel in Bilboa, and despite the hotel’s promise to send it on , it hasn’t shown up and I have given it up for lost.
Yesterday, we drove to Gibraltar. Despite the warnings of long queues to exit the Rock, (it is British territory and you are crossing a country’s borders when you enter or leave) I decided to drive over the border on the basis that there didn’t seem to be a queue in sight.
Once in Gibraltar, we managed to drive nearly to the top of the mountain. Taxis have a monopoly on the last mile or so. We managed to get to St, Michael’s Cave, where a dinner party was being set up within the cave body.
Two Gibraltar ar apes - a mother and child - set themselves up as a grooming tableau across the road from where we parked the ca r, as though cued to do so.
We spent a pleasant couple of hours roaming the shopping streets, saw the ancient synagogue - locked tight - had coffee in the main square, and headed back to Spain.
Immediately, we were imprisoned in the artificial delays that the Spanish government has instituted on cars leaving the Gib, to show the government’s unhappiness with the political status of the island.
We spent over an hour in line, with some cars being searched to slow things down . It was clear phony - when we finally got to the guard post, we ere waved through without a glance at our passports.
The rock is indeed impressive, rising as it does from the sea just off the mainland, although there are similar mountains in the area. The nature reserve that covers most of the upper half of the rock appears poorly maintained despite the high fee charged to get onto the Rock - 23 euros (more than $30) for the two of us and the car.
There are tour buses available but we chose to be on our own - not necessarily the best choice in the circumstances.
The town, built on the more gently sloping western side of the Rock, is typical of many Spanish mountain towns - narrow streets, vertically joined together houses, everyone living it each other;s shadow. A very busy collection of shopping streets with imports from around the world. There is nothing of significance made in Gibraltar but it attracts foreign tourist and Spaniards on a huge scale.
English is spoken by almost everyone. Four synagogues - the one we visited was closed - a windowless building with sturdy doors and a combination lock on the front door.
The Jews have a long history in Gibraltar and continue to have a significant presence in the retail business, if the store names we saw were of any significance.
I am sure a more protracted visit would have altered my perception, but aside from the historical connections, there is little about the present community to admire.
Gibraltar has its own airport on a stretch of flat land between the island and the mainland. The single runway is sited approximately east and west, and runs at right angles to the road to the border.
Traffic shuts down when a plane prepares to land or take off.
You don’t see a lot of that .
A major British military presence continues in the harbor, with Gibraltar in the south and the port of Alegsirus on the north and west, with perhaps a dozen tankers and containers ships waiting to load and unload.
My journal ended at that point, as illness overtook me. We went on to spend a few days in Madrid, where we stayed with Karen Einstein. She got me to a hospital and a diagnosis of bronchitis.
We flew home early, and found the bronchitis was actually pneumonia.
October 15-16. A cramped seat on a moderately full flight from Philadelphia to Madrid. Uneventful, uncomfortable, and glad to be in Madrid. Sitting in the airport cafeteria after a mediocre salad, waiting for the flight to Bilboa on Spanair.
As Carol comments, it doesn’t feel very Spanish yet - except for the language and the people smoking. I’m exhausted - I can’t wait for to get to the hotel in Bilboa for a shower and a nap.
Getting ready for the trip really taxed my resources - I had too many deadlines to meet before we left. and the stress is just beginning to ebb from my mind and my body. Hopefully, more sense next time.
October 21. It is now about 8 p.m. on Tuesday, and we have been here in Marbella since Sunday, hostage to a flu-like illness that has dogged me since Saturday afternoon in Bilboa.
This is the first moment I felt the energy required to start writing again. An upset stomach, a sore throat and aching limbs - fairly classic flu, either picked up on the flight or the result of the flu shot I got the day we left
Bilboa was all we expected and more. The Guggenheim Museum is the main attraction, but it is a lively city with music and good restaurants, and a funicular that rises to a hill overlooking the city.
We managed to get in a good deal of sightseeing before I took to bed on Saturday afternoon. The hotel was funky but but clean and pleasant with an affable owner whose English was quite lovely to listen to.
We had expected to take a night train from Bilboa south the breadth of the country to Malaga, but I misread the timetables on the Internet. It ran only on Fridays and was sold out when we tried to book.
We ended up with a very expensive flight on Iberia, the national airlines, because the regional airline - with fares 40% less - was also completely;y booked on Sunday.
Despite my ills, we made it to Malaga on Sunday around noon, got the car - a Citroen Clio with stick shift, cheap bastard that I am - and eventually found our way to Carol’s apartment in the SKOL complex in Marbella.
The Costa del Sol stretches along the Mediterranean, and it is almost impossible to conceive of the incredible number of apartment buildings lining the coast for miles and miles.
In the three building complex we were in, there were 300 units. From the windows in our unit on the 6th floor, we could see dozens of similar buildings, most on the water but some set back a few streets.
Parking is a major issue - there was no provision made for parking when the original buildings went up. Only in recent years have developers been required to put in underground facilities. The Englishman who manages Carol’s apartment arranged for us to park underground, because finding a casual space is
Back from the sea, the mountains rise quickly, and the country retains much of its traditional character with gorges, forests, national parks, and a rich history going back to the Moorish invasions in the 7th century.
The ruins of Moorish castles still can be seen and visited, and I have been told the country has been little altered in many areas away from the coast. I hope to be well enough to spend a couple of days exploring, before we leave.
Carol has been taking very good care of me. While I rested, she has shopped and prepared meals, and generally been a generous caregiver, while I have been the cantankerous self that becomes most evident when I am ill.
To add to our woes, the caps on the jugs of maple syrup we brought to give as gifts worked loose in my suitcase - almost half my clothes were effected as well as some books.
The good fortune we had experiences our other trips over the past year had made me sloppy and careless. It would have been easy to put each jug in a sealable plastic bag.
The same sloppiness meant I hadn't brought anything to counteract my stomach woes. Eventually, everything got sorted out but my self esteem has taken several blows.
Marbella is a strange place for an American, with few others in sight. The town in full of Brits, who have been coming for almost a century to spend their holidays - and in many cases, to retire.
The complex we are in is strongly British - Kelly’s Pub, on the ground floor has Premier League soccer games from the United Kingdom every evening on television. (I suspect that one of the reasons there are few Americans is that Miami Beach offers the same amenities and atmosphere without the problem of language and transport.)
For the British, there are direct flights from Heathrow to Malaga, an hour from Marbella., while Americans have to fly via London, Paris, Lisbon or Madrid.
The city has kept control of the waterfront itself, with a beach along the entire coast open to all, and machines that daily smooth and groom the sand.
A walking road lines the back of the beach for miles, shaded by palm trees, lined with restaurants as well as vendors grilling sardines on open fires to be served at tables in the open.
The area we are in can be classified as a middle class neighborhood. Early today. in search of a yoga studio, we walked west into an upper-class area where the apartment buildings resembled castles, and the stores were showing leather jackets for men for 1295 euros (about $1600). And since there is underground parking in these newer buildings, there were actually empty parking spaces on the streets.
DIVERGENCE
I have committed every sin of omission imaginable. I packed no aspirin, no Tylenol except PM, no diarrhea or constipation medicine. Based on the exceptionally problem free two earlier trips this year, I ignored any possible glitches and have been beset by most.
Since last Saturday in Bilboa, I have been battling the remnants of the flu which put me down while there. The major leftover is congested chest, which I have tried to cure with OTC medications to little avail.
I left my blazer at the hotel in Bilboa, and despite the hotel’s promise to send it on , it hasn’t shown up and I have given it up for lost.
Yesterday, we drove to Gibraltar. Despite the warnings of long queues to exit the Rock, (it is British territory and you are crossing a country’s borders when you enter or leave) I decided to drive over the border on the basis that there didn’t seem to be a queue in sight.
Once in Gibraltar, we managed to drive nearly to the top of the mountain. Taxis have a monopoly on the last mile or so. We managed to get to St, Michael’s Cave, where a dinner party was being set up within the cave body.
Two Gibraltar ar apes - a mother and child - set themselves up as a grooming tableau across the road from where we parked the ca r, as though cued to do so.
We spent a pleasant couple of hours roaming the shopping streets, saw the ancient synagogue - locked tight - had coffee in the main square, and headed back to Spain.
Immediately, we were imprisoned in the artificial delays that the Spanish government has instituted on cars leaving the Gib, to show the government’s unhappiness with the political status of the island.
We spent over an hour in line, with some cars being searched to slow things down . It was clear phony - when we finally got to the guard post, we ere waved through without a glance at our passports.
The rock is indeed impressive, rising as it does from the sea just off the mainland, although there are similar mountains in the area. The nature reserve that covers most of the upper half of the rock appears poorly maintained despite the high fee charged to get onto the Rock - 23 euros (more than $30) for the two of us and the car.
There are tour buses available but we chose to be on our own - not necessarily the best choice in the circumstances.
The town, built on the more gently sloping western side of the Rock, is typical of many Spanish mountain towns - narrow streets, vertically joined together houses, everyone living it each other;s shadow. A very busy collection of shopping streets with imports from around the world. There is nothing of significance made in Gibraltar but it attracts foreign tourist and Spaniards on a huge scale.
English is spoken by almost everyone. Four synagogues - the one we visited was closed - a windowless building with sturdy doors and a combination lock on the front door.
The Jews have a long history in Gibraltar and continue to have a significant presence in the retail business, if the store names we saw were of any significance.
I am sure a more protracted visit would have altered my perception, but aside from the historical connections, there is little about the present community to admire.
Gibraltar has its own airport on a stretch of flat land between the island and the mainland. The single runway is sited approximately east and west, and runs at right angles to the road to the border.
Traffic shuts down when a plane prepares to land or take off.
You don’t see a lot of that .
A major British military presence continues in the harbor, with Gibraltar in the south and the port of Alegsirus on the north and west, with perhaps a dozen tankers and containers ships waiting to load and unload.
My journal ended at that point, as illness overtook me. We went on to spend a few days in Madrid, where we stayed with Karen Einstein. She got me to a hospital and a diagnosis of bronchitis.
We flew home early, and found the bronchitis was actually pneumonia.
THREE GENERATIONS IN DENMARK
THREE GENERATIONS IN DENMARK
Home exchanges require a suspension of distrust - how else can you turn over your house and its contents, as well as, perhaps, your car, to a family you know only by name and address, plus the sparse details that come through on the International Vacations website (www.intervac.com)?
But urged by friends who have had a number of exchanges, and buoyed by the thought of being able to spend enough time in one place to begin to understand it, we embarked on our Danish adventure on July 2, 2003.
Having been incautious enough to promise my granddaughter a trip to Europe upon high school graduation, when time came to make good on the promise, a house exchange to Italy appeared to satisfy the spirit and the letter of the commitment.
Alas, as I sifted through the Italian exchanges offered, Bush’s Iraqi misadventure was in the offing. Italians appeared to want nothing to do with America, and a number of inquiries produced no results.
But from the listing on-line of my own house, I began to get e-mails from Ireland, England and Scandinavia. Northern Europe evidently didn’t share Southern Europe’s distaste for America and its foreign policy.
Denmark won out over the others - it would be a little more foreign, but we heard that virtually everyone spoke English (which turned out to be accurate) - and Copenhagen, where we would be living, was very high on the list of “best places” of most people we talked with about the trip.
So, the trip began to take on a life of its own. Both ourselves - me, my daughter Jo Hannah, my granddaughter Stanzie, and my friend Carol Miller - and the exchanging family would fly Iceland Air via Reykjavik, arriving in each other’s communities on the same day.
Iceland Air has a single gate at the Copenhagen Airport, and we were able to spend a brief time after our arrival with the departing family that would be coming to Lexington. Given the six hour time difference between Boston and Copenhagen, they still got to Lexington on the 3rd.
Denmark has, so far, refused to adopt the euro, the new currency which is supposed to replace all the traditional European marks, and pounds, and pesetas, and lire. Kroner (crown) is used in all the Scandinavian countries - but to make life as complicated as possible, each kroner has a different value, both against the dollar and against each other.
The taxi ride into the Bronsjoi (pronounced approximately ‘brounshoy’)
section of Copenhagen, our new home, confirmed Denmark’s reputation as one of the most expensive countries in Europe.
But we were there at last, and the house was very much as our hosts had described it in the e-mails we had exchanged - three bedrooms, one bath with a second lavatory in the finished basement, a kitchen/dining room, living room, and the prize: a garden with a covered patio off the kitchen where we often ate.
Lots in Bronsjoi are small by our standards, but virtually every one is alive with flowers, small trees, bushes, and shrubs. Sitting in our garden, we could see only the roofs of neighboring houses, despite their nearness.
The surrounding streets were quiet, with little through traffic and few pedestrians - but many bicycles, about which I will have more to say.
Streets are narrow and not generally laid out in easy-to-understand patterns. Our first venture to the food markets recommended by our hosts resulted in our getting lost, despite the excellent maps we were left. Getting lost became the norm, at least in part because the street names were so unfamiliar.
Copenhagen, and most of Denmark, is much farther north than Boston, and we were blessed with light until after ten o’clock in the evening in July. Unfortunately for the Danes, in winter the day ends before four o’clock in the afternoon, the other half of the cycle.
Our marketing venture that first day brought us our initial instance of Danes going far beyond the norm to help us out. As we wandered the unfamiliar aisles of the small supermarket, trying to understand kilos and liters amid the array of never-before-seen labels, another customer became our guardian, with advice and comments that were very helpful. That experience was replicated with almost no exceptions throughout our stay.
Unlike many major cities in the United States, Copenhagen has a superb transportation system, with buses everywhere. Between excellent public transit service, the nearly universal use of bicycles, and gasoline priced at nearly $5 a gallon, the automobile is not nearly as ubiquitous as here.
Housewives carrying their groceries home from the market, businessmen in suits and ties, children of all ages, grandfathers and grandmothers on errands - all ride bikes. With the country predominantly flat - the highest point in Denmark is just over 500 feet above sea level - highly geared bikes are a novelty, and many looked very much like the single speed balloon-tired affairs I learned to ride on seventy years ago.
Major streets are laid out with sidewalks for pedestrians, then a parking lane for cars, next a bicycle lane and finally two or four traffic lanes. A driver from the U.S. finds it unnerving to need to watch for the thousands of bikes that are running along on his right. (They do drive on the right side of the road, however, so we avoided the learning curve needed in some other countries with a different orientation.)
Stanzie was fascinated by the variety of automobiles - Russian,
Spanish, Czech among other imports - many with brand names we knew but models we had never seen in America. As a corollary to the price of gasoline, most cars are small by American standards, which may be why so many were new to us.
When we arrived back in Lexington, we learned that the exchange family rested and relaxed for two or three days before venturing out into the wilds of New England. But that is not the mode of Americans in Europe, even those like us with four weeks ahead of us.
Making the most of every day and opportunity seems to me peculiarly American. Perhaps it is just a carryover from the felt need of immigrants and children of immigrants, like my parents and myself, to work extra hard to gain recognition and acceptance.
From my experience traveling a month in New Zealand, ‘time out’ becomes a necessity after a while. But we wanted to waste no time getting into the experience of living in Denmark. Although we all tended to sleep later in the morning than was our habit at home, our first full day included shopping for food, and a trip south of Copenhagen to a contemporary museum, at Arkan on the beach. The building was memorable - the collection was not - and we had accomplished something on our first day! (There were few people in the museum, and when we later told Danish acquaintances that we had been there, some expressed surprise - it evidently doesn’t rank very high on the ‘must see’ list. For us, finding it was a rite of passage which somehow gave us confidence for more complicated expeditions.)
The above was written shortly after our return, but left unfinished.
Rather than try to recapture the impressions and emotions that were fresh in 2003, I decided to finish the story by transcribing my journal notes.
Wednesday, July 3, 2003 - A heavy, steady rain is falling at 7:30 p.m. on our first day in Bronsjoi, a Copenhagen neighborhood west of downtown.
We overlapped for an hour at the airport with our Danish hosts, who were flying out of the same gate we came in on. They have two very attractive adopted Korean daughters, and the couple themselves seem very pleasant.
The taxi ride in from the airport was uneventful - we saw some of the city but had no idea what we were seeing!
Saturday and Monday, July 5 and 7 - I’m having trouble finding the time and energy to write. Without a set schedule, we have been staying in bed until nine - it is now 9:40. Stanzie has not yet emerged, JH is reading more
travel brochures and Carol is making breakfast.
We were fortunate to contact Sam Berman’s first cousin, Paul Bergmann, the day after we arrived on Friday. An invitation to his daughter’s summer home for Saturday turned into a sumptuous Danish lunch for nine: smoked herring, smoked halibut, smoked salmon in phyllo dough, potato salad, egg salad, wonderful bread and SCHNAPPS and beer.
We stayed until seven in the evening!
Friday, we had shopped for food and visited a contemporary art museum at Arkan on the beach south of Copenhagen. Food prices seem high, mostly due to the 25% VAT (Value Added Tax) which is tacked on to virtually everything.
There were showers on and off on Friday, but Saturday was a gorgeous summer day. Before going north to the Bergmann’s home in Dronningsmolle, a resort town north of Copenhagen on the Kattegat, the bay separates Denmark from Sweden, we spent a couple of hours at a craft fair in downtown Copenhagen, navigating the streets and figuring out the parking issues.
Virtually everyone we met in Copenhagen speaks English and we have encountered nothing but help. Yesterday, Sunday, a friend of the Schultzes (our hosts) came by. He is a journalist who has been working for one of the political parties, but has quit to become a full time freelancer. He will take us on a tour of Parliament later in the trip.
His take on Danish society: not much “vertical space”. People tend to all reach about the same level, and the very high taxes, and the socialistic society keeps ambition at bay, since accumulating capital is very difficult with the high tax level.
We have met part of the Bergmann family - two of Paul’s daughters were at the Saturday luncheon, along with his wife and one son-in-law, and eventually two grandsons turned up, alas, a little too old for Stanzie.
I had forgotten how many people smoke in Europe, including Paul’s daughters and son-in-law - but at least they do so outside the house, but not quite far enough away.
Everyone was most hospitable - Paul seemed to welcome the diversion of having Americans around to show off his family and city to.
He is coming in half an hour to take us on a tour of the town.
Tuesday, July 8th, 4 p.m. - I write sitting at a table outdoors in a square in downtown Copenhagen near the canal and Parliament buildings. The ladies have gone off shopping, leaving me half an hour to myself. The sun has been out and is still - not always the case. But there is a breeze off the water which keeps the temperature in the low 60’s.
To get downtown, we took a bus this morning, walking half a mile to reach the stop in the shopping street nearest the house. The initial day’s object was the Round Tower -one of the taller buildings in a city where there are no skyscrapers and four or five stories is the norm.
Rundetaarn (The Round Tower) was built on the initiative of King
Christian IV (1588-1648) with Hans Steenwinkel the Younger as the architect. On July 7th -1637, the foundation stone for Rundetaarn was laid. The tower was the first stage of the Trinitatis complex, which was to gather three important facilities for the scholars of the seventeenth century: an astronomical observatory, a student church and a university library.
The internal spiral walk is reportedly unique in European architecture. The more than 600 foot long spiral ramp winds itself 7.5 times round the hollow core of the tower, forming the only connection between the individual parts of the building complex.
From the platform, more than 110 feet above the street, we had a magnificent view of the old part of Copenhagen. Rundetaarn is the oldest functioning observatory in Europe. Until 1861 it was used by the University of Copenhagen, but today, anyone can observe the night sky through the fine astronomical telescope of the tower in the winter period.
A gallery in the building featured paper art, some of which was quite lovely and some I found indecipherable. Lunch was atop the Post and Telegraph Museum outdoors - a great view but pricey, as is almost everything we do.
Yesterday, Paul and Gerda came to pick up us - in two cars we drove north to Hillebro to the Fredensborg Slot (castle) in the town of Fredensborg on the river Esrumo. We toured the castle, the spring and summer home of the Danish Royal Family, and the magnificent surrounding grounds, and had a lovely lunch with the Bergmanns.
On the way back, we stopped for coffee at the home of the Bergmann’s third daughter, in Rungsted. She and her family were in France on holiday. Paul proudly showed us the masonry and carpentry he had performed on the place. He is quite skilled with his hands, and appears to have much more energy than I do.
We got home about nine, completely exhausted after taking a couple of wrong turns on the way. I’m learning my way about Copenhagen, but the road system outside the city is still baffling at times. Street signs are on buildings, not freestanding, and difficult to make out in many cases.
JH, the designated driver in most circumstances, is not always willing to take direction.
I have had my free half hour - time to join the ladies if I can find them.
A long discussion took place today on when and how to go to Sweden, just across the water by either bridge or twenty-minute ferry. The plan originally was to drive to Stockholm in two days, stay there for two days and drive back, again in two days.
We looked at taking the train - but the fare turned out to be $200 each for the round trip. That put a crimp in the plans to take the train -
and then we learned that John Godoy (who grew up in Lexington and played soccer with Harry) lives about 2 1/2 hours southwest of Stockholm.
JoHannah dispatched an e-mail to him tonight to see if he is available to see us either coming or going to Stockholm. That will determine the travel mode.
I am having trouble with how expensive this trip has become, and I guess it is showing to JH and Carol as well. Although I was aware that Denmark was going to be costly, the exchange rate has worsened in the past six months.
But the real culprit is the VAT (value added tax) of 25% and which is tacked onto virtually everything we buy.
In contrast to New Zealand where we were interacting with the local people continually, our contacts so far have been only with the Bergmanns, and with our host’s friend Ebbe, a journalist who escorted us through Parliament. It has been difficult for us to grasp the essential elements of Danish society and culture.
The number of museums and castle is overwhelming - we will never cover half the things we would like to see, even in a month here.
July 9, 2003 - 6:05 p.m. A sunny but breezy day - Carol freezing one minute when the clouds obscured the sun and taking off her sweater the next. But it has been a lovely day anyway.
We got a very late start for Roskilde, a very ancient town just 25 kilometers west of here; it took just a half hour. There was a grand cathedral we chose to ignore to concentrate on the Viking Ship Museum, containing the reconstructed remains of five Viking ships dating from 1000 to 1050, which had been sunk in the harbor of Roskilde to deter invaders.
In 1960, the what remained of the ships was dredged up and the boats put together from hundreds of pieces. Shipwrights employed by the Museum are also building new ships, using the same types of materials and same tools and methods employed a thousand years ago.
The highlight of the day for me was a visit to a summer home/palace built 250 years ago and still lived in and owned by the same family. There were few visitors around, plenty of space and a sense of human scale in both the building and grounds surrounding it.
Totally relaxed, I even sacked out for twenty minutes on the soft grass in the garden. (For some reason, I neglected to record the name of the place, possibly the result of too much relaxation.)
We chatted briefly with a Danish couple who had a child who looked like my great nephew, Eli, but who turned out to be Filipino rather than
Guatemalan like Eli. Adoption of children from the Far East is apparently as
prevalent in Denmark as in the States.
STOCKHOLM
July 12/03 Saturday 3:35 p.m. I am sitting on a bench, drinking coffee, in the square in front of the Nobel Museum. I have a blessed half hour to myself with everyone else off shopping - the same thing we have been doing since ten this morning.
We arrived in Stockholm yesterday afternoon after shopping at the IKEA superstore in Linkoping with John and Marita Godoy. It is an amazing store - capable of furnishing and entire home - as well as providing the lumber to build it with.
Even I succumbed to temptation and bought a cheese slicer, pot holders and rubber gloves! A real shopping spree, for me. JH spent serious money.
After a battle with the directions from Linkoping to Stockholm, we found the hotel at which we had made reservations. It was adequate, with its prime attraction being situated on a quiet square where we were able to leave the car safely on the street.’
A half hour walk down hill brought us to the harbor for a two hour cruise around the islands which make up Stockholm. Lovely evening, good commentary during the ride with much history, well edited.
A poor choice of restaurants for a cheap dinner and back to the hotel about ten - a shower and oblivion.
Here in the square as I write, a Japanese tour group has raised their umbrellas - against the sun, which has finally come out after a day of clouds and showers.
Most of today we have been in Old Town, an island which was the original site of the city. We lucked out and happened on the changing of the guard at the royal Palace, complete with a band concert by a wonderfully professional band.
This is an area of very narrow streets and four and five story buildings, with the town hall at one end and the Royal Palace at the other. Thousands of shops with some great values - prices are lower than in Denmark and the exchange rate is 10% better. Carol is having a wonderful time shopping.
CONTRAST: Stockholm is much larger, noisier and dirtier than Copenhagen, but less accessible in of a feeling of community. Our impression is that Danes are friendlier, but that is based on very short observation.
Lots to see and do but we won’t get more than a brief sample. We leave late tomorrow to spend Sunday night with the Godoys, displacing their children once again.
Our visit with the Godoys on Thursday and Friday was very warm and comfortable. John and Marita have two daughters and a son - 19, 17, 15. We were late getting in on Thursday because of a screw-up at the ferry from Helsingfor (Denmark) to Helsingbor (Sweden). The ferry ride is only twenty minutes, but the attendant put us in the wrong line and we missed getting on the proper boat .
The Godoys live in a small town called Ljungsbro near a small city called Linkoping, about 200 kilometers from Stockholm, and a four to five hour ride from the ferry.
A barbecue awaited us, with Peruvian rice and Guatemalan schnapps and Spanish wine in a box. Grilled steak, grilled chicken to go with the rice and salad and great bread.
The children stayed elsewhere with friends to make room for us.
Marita is a district nurse, working nights and weekends. John multitasks - he teaches optometry at Kalmar University, four hours away by train, and works at an eye clinic two hours away. In his spare time, he founded Vision For All, a non-governmental organization which provides eyeglasses for unserved poor populations in various places around the world.
He was just back from a stay in Guatemala, where Marita worked with him. His work has taken him to other countries in South America and in Africa. He is particularly interested in Eritrea, where he hopes to establish a school for optometrists.
In his garage are not automobiles but thousands of pairs of donated eye glasses, which are carefully cleaned and labeled - John has a portable device which determines the diopters of each lens, and his train time is often spent testing and labeling the glasses.
He and the other volunteers - opticians, optometrists, and opthamologists - take the glasses along in large, hard-sided suitcases when they make their trips abroad.
A walking tour began our short stay in Stockholm, covering both the main city and Old Town, situated on another of the islands that make up the capital.
Saturday was walking, walking, and drinking coffee. Dinner was in a small restaurant near the hotel. The hotel itself was on a quiet, garden square on the north side of the city.
Breakfast was very generous and included in the price of the room - hard and soft boiled eggs,a dozen kinds of bread,meat , cheeses, cereals, fruit juices and coffee, tea and breakfast] pastries. On Sunday morning, we walked away with the basics for lunch, which no one seemed to mind.
With too many choices and only a day to see the rest of what the
town had to offer, we chose the VASA ship museum and the
Dronninghom Castle.
The VASA was a great war vessel which was built - overbuilt, actually, because the king of Sweden overruled the naval architect and added upper decks that could not be supported. She was launched in 1628, and sank in the outer harbor of Stockholm after sailing just over a mile.
The vessel was raised from the bottom in 1961, virtually intact, and is now housed in a permanent museum on the waterfront. The ship is spectacular, and certainly rank as one of most memorable sights of the trip for me.
I succumbed to the blandishments of the rest of the party, and let them buy me a baseball cap and a tee shirt celebrating the great vessel.
The palace grounds were equally spectacular, and then it was two hours on the road back to Ljungsbro, where John and family had prepared an outdoor dinner party for seven or eight friends, mostly people involved with his Vision foundation.
Among them were Jane and Frederick Bernhardt, their closest friends. She grew up in Connecticut and is a professor of environmental studies at the local university at Linkoping. Her husband is an architect.
As with the Bergmanns, alcohol is a very important part of any festivities. In the case of the Godoys, Guatemalan run was the drink of choice, along with wine and beer.
Since daylight continues until almost eleven at that latitude, we all sat outdoors until late, in an astonishingly bug free atmosphere - so much so that most windows don’t have screens.
After a breakfast of muesli, strawberries and yogurt - which is standard for many Scandinavians, we were told - we walked to the Bernhardt’s home, about 2 1/2 miles away. The route lay along a canal which forms part of the waterway that extends from Stockholm on the east coast to Gothenburg on the west.
The canal was dug by Russian prisoners of war in the early 19th century, for boats carrying freight from one side of the country to the other. It is maintained now for pleasure boats and swimmers, with paths for walkers and bicycles lining both sides of the canal.
The path led us by a series of locks to the tiny town of Berg, and from there to a large lake with a series of seven locks stepping the water down. There were lots of sailboats, including a Hallberg-Rassy hull similar to the Weiss’ craft.
The lock keepers were teenagers, and the canal was full of swimmers of all ages.
Another outdoor lunch, this time at the Bernhardts, who live in a 1911 home which they have added to and updated, but kept the the porcelain fireplaces, five in all - that were torn out and discarded from many homes in the past.
It is bright airy house with wonderfully proportioned rooms and a small outside deck on the second floor facing the lake.
Visiting the Bernhardts was a wonderful coda to our Swedish excursion.
Thursday, July 17, 2003 - We drove back Monday afternoon from the Godoys, catching the Scanlines ferry to Helsingfors from Helsingborg, across the narrow strait separating the two cities. We avoided the H and H Line on which we had had such a poor experience on our way to Sweden
(Despite our having had a reservation for the trip to Sweden, the clerk at the loading kiosk sent us to the unreserved lane - unknown to us - and we were the first car not to get on the next ferry, which was already half an hour late.
To add to my frustration, the clerk was quite rude when we remonstrated with her. Clearly, I was very annoyed, still steaming a week or more after the event.)
Scanlines did a much better job - at a 20% higher price - and we were home by 9:30 p.m.
Tuesday was a layday (the term is used primarily in series yacht racing like the America’s Cup to indicate a day with no racing - but it seems to fit here) - laundry, walking the neighborhood, a little shopping, catching our breath. The side mirror on the car was hit in Stockholm and needed replacement. The mechanic Ebbe suggested came through and will replace it.
Thursday, July 17, 2003 - 7:30 p.m. The storm that hit Texas some days ago has landed in Denmark, and the warm sunny day we have been enjoying is about to disappear as the storm comes in.
I am having trouble keeping this journal up-to-date, because I don’t seem to be able to leave time to do so. I keep starting the write and then I get pulled away onto something else that seems to have a higher priority.
Wednesday, we headed west a short ride to Trelleborg, Zealand, A preserved fortress from the reign of Harald Bluetooth. Trelleborg was probably built around 980. The circular compound is remarkable for the mathematical precision of its construction.
The ramparts of the compound have been preserved. They originally enclosed a military base from the end of the first millennium, and now have enclose a sheep pasture with the concomitant dung spread far and wide.
A small stream evidently served as a means of provisioning the soldiers stationed at the site. There were some rudimentary reenactments of Viking activities, not done very realistically - but it was pleasant couple of hours.
Trelleborg is not very high on the to-do list, but it does give a sense of how long people with well-defined skills have been living in Denmark.
From Trelleborg to a nearby glass artifacts factory, where I made one of my few purchases: a pair of blown glass salt and pepper shakers, with the artisan who created them sitting nearby.
Finally, we headed south in the afternoon to the island of Mons, due south of Copenhagen. Our destination was the tall chalk cliffs - calcenious deposits from eons of clam shells, lifted high in the air when the earth’s crust shifted.
They rise nearly 200 meters in the air from the edge of the sea, and a 497 step stairway has been built from the top down to the beach. It is an extremely popular attraction - more people than we had seen anywhere along the way.
I made it back up the stairs after deciding a lengthy walk along the beach and a steep trail up - the only alternative to the parking lot - was the greater of two evils. With moral support from Carol, and lots of rest stops, I made it to the top without incident, but my right knee feels it today, two days after the climb. particular attraction of the cliffs is finding sea fossils in the chalk. (I think we pried some loose, but if we did, they have disappeared.)
With distances much shorter in Denmark, we did all that and were back in Bronsjoi by 9:30 in the evening.
On Wednesday, Paul called just at 8 in the morning, and invited us to their summer house for a swim - our first, a lovely, wide, fine grained sand beach and cool water - 17 to 18 degrees Centigrade (62-64 F).
Not unexpectedly, there was a certain amount of toplessness among the bathers. But I guess I am getting old - no turn on.
We would have stayed longer in the water, but Paul was impatient for lunch. Back to the house we went, for a long, wet lunch with a wine I had not had before, “Vino Frisante”, a light Italian white with a mild amount of bubbles.
It began with herring, of course, - three kinds, now that the Bergmanns know we like herring. In addition, there was salad nicoise, cheese, quiche,and the usual wonderful bread.
They would have kept us all day, but JH was a little restless and we left about four for a quiet evening. Carol and I watched an old Western - “For Few Dollars More”, we think, but we never saw the title. Clint Eastwood starred, in a bloody opus that would be laughed at today, but it still gripped our attention.
This morning, rain. The car was repaired in quick order and we were on the road to the west a little after nine, for a more extended trip, Odense the first stop. A couple of museums which were not particularly interesting .
My impression is that there are too many museums with not enough material to keep them all in business. Carol suggested they are started to attract tourists rather than to fill a real need. We seem to be a little museumed-out at this point. The smaller museums have very little English on
their placards and often don’t have adequate English printed materials, despite the fact that the overwhelming number of visitors are much more likely to speak English than Danish.;
Tonight, we are in a five star hotel in Valje we found through the local tourist office. JH is delighted, as I think the rest of us are. Dinner shortly.
We are having problems setting daily agenda, mostly because everyone makes way for the others. which makes decision making difficult. Out in the countryside, it isn’t as clear as it is in Copenhagen what the priorities ought to be, so we waste some time trying to figure out what to do each day.
After the weekend our days are numbered. We go to Oslo, Norway, Monday night, returning Wednesday morning. We then have Thursday and Friday to see what else we want to see, and then fly out Sunday to Iceland.
Paul wants to see us again, Carol has a friend she wants to have lunch with, and the time is almost gone. Stanzie has been quite willful and moody at times, creating a certain amount of tension. I am sure it is difficult to be without someone her own age to interact with, for this long a time.
Monday morning, 7/21/03. It is cloudy with light showers. A minor problem with the left car door was fixed without incident by the family mechanic, and JH and I went off to do some interim food shopping.
OBSERVATIONS: (1) Danes almost never jaywalk - all the corners with lights have audible signals for pedestrians.
(2) As drivers in the open countryside, Danes leave much to be desired. As with other Europeans, they tend to rush up from the rear, well over the speed limit, and pass as quickly as possible, often honking in the process, impatient on the road generally.
(3) Bicycles are everywhere and there are bike lanes not only in the cities and towns, but in the countryside as well. National bike routes are shown prominently on road maps. There is no age limits on riders - we saw people who appeared well into their 70s and 80s, riding sedately with groceries in the front basket. With the terrain essentially flat, many bikes are gearless or of the three-sped variety now obsolete in the US. But there are plenty of racers on the road as well.
Bikers are generally very well mannered and riding appears much safer than in the US, with more space for the bikes and more attention paid by motorists.
We are now sitting down to lunch at a Danish IKEA, a second visit which resulted in a hugh purchase by JH . (I found a garlic press I like better than the one I have.) It is an amazing store. (At the time, IKEA had only a single store in the US, in Maryland, as I recall, so none of us had been exposed to the IKEA experience.)
At five this afternoon, we will set sail for Oslo, Norway, to spend 16 hours at sea - with all four of us in one cabin. It should be interesting. We will have 8 hours in Oslo, using the boat as our hotel. We have been told we can leave our belongings aboard.
I would not have chosen to add Oslo to the trip but JH had her heart set on the visit. In doing so, we will have bagged the capitals of Denmark, Norway and Sweden - only Finland remains to be conquered.
ASIDE: I have learned almost nothing of spoken Danish, but I can now recognize many words and can decode most signs. It doesn't appear to be an extraordinarily difficult language to learn, once the pronunciations have been sorted out. The Danish tend to slur their words, which doesn’t help.
Fortunately, as we have learned, almost everyone in Copenhagen speaks English - and people is shops and service positions often speak quite good, even colloquial language.
Tuesday evening - 7/22/03. Catching up seems unlikely. We spent 8 hours in Oslo, and as much as I was doubtful about the utility of this three-day mini-cruise, the sculptures at The Vigeland Sculpture Park absolutely floored me.
The 80 acre park in which the sculptures are placed was secured by the city and given over to Vigeland’s work. Vigeland entered into an agreement with the Oslo City Council in 1921. He made over to the city all his sculptures, drawings and woodcuts as well as the original models of all future works. In return, the council agreed to build him a studio and support his work.
In 1924 Vigeland moved into his new studio which included living quarters above. This was his home until his death in 1943. According to his own wish, his ashes are kept in the tower of the building.
The more than 200 full size works are stunningly life-affirming, focused as they are on all the stages of man’s existence, from babyhood top the decrepitude of old age.
Our city tour by bus included a visit to the Folk Museum - with its ancient buildings brought from all over Norway to be re-erected. We ended the day walking from the center of the city back to the boat, where we had left our belongings.
I haven’t paced it off, but our cabin measures no more than 8 feet in width and 9 feet in length, with a bath atone end. It is an inside state room but the air conditioning is excellent.
The whole tab was DK 1914, a bargain in Danish terms, about $300, but eating aboard the ferry was very expensive. We managed to have
dinner from the bread, cheese, and fruit we brought aboard, replenishing the fruit at a stand near the Folk Museum.
There was lots of drinking and lots of drunks, and lots of families with shrieking kids. Danish laws on alcohol consumption are much looser than the rest of Scandinavian countries and the Swedes and Norwegians stock up on a Danish boat.
ASIDE: There are museums everywhere in Denmark, - even the little suburb of Bronsjoi where we are staying has a little three-room museum into which Carol and I poked our noses in Monday.
Many are poorly maintained, with signage in English on a hit or miss basis, in most cases. Many of the sites we have visited seem to suffer from a lack of money or indifferent management or both.
Given how few visitors speak the native languages in Scandinavia, and the universality of English in the world, it is odd that more effort isn’t put into rending at least minimal information for those us unversed in the local languages.
On the return voyage, we again passed through the fjord of Oslo, and then out into the Skaggerat with a lighthouse to starboard. The wind is very strong out of the west, but the ferry, at 500 plus feet in length, doesn't feel the motion.
Only the muted throb of the engines can be felt away from the open decks. “Ferry” is a bit of a misnomer. With nearly a dozen decks, three or four different dining areas, and hundreds of cabins, it is very much an ocean liner.
OSLO IMPRESSIONS: Looks like wonderful public transit. Lots of impressive public buildings. A summer palace that is a working farm as well as a royal residence. Lots of greenery in Oslo - and easy to get out of the city.
I’ve been getting lots of walking exercise, and despite the bread, which is so good I eat more than I should, I don’t think I have gained much weight.
Often there have been stairs to climb, starting with 500+ at Mons Klint. That wa followed by by 200+ at the hotel at Valje. Today, there were many at the sculpture park, as well as up and down to the top boat decks.
The ferry has eleven decks in all with elevators that take one to the point where two fairly steep outdoor flights of stairs lead to the top sun decks.
OBSERVATION: We have heard a lot of American speech on the boat, and we have noted Americans in Copenhagen and Stockholm. But once we leave the major cities, the tourists are from Scandinavia or Europe, not the US or England.
I have managed a lot of walking and my hip has not felt this good in a long time. I’ve been taking my medications regularly, for a change, and perhaps that is making the difference.
OBSERVATION: The tall handsome women of Sweden made me feel short for the first time in my life. Stockholm was a sea of shapely blonde goddesses, each more comely than the last.
Copenhagen is in Denmark’s easternmost province, on the island of Zealand, and the early part of our stay was occupied with day trips around Zealand. To reach the other provinces required longer journeys, complete with relatively short ferry trips from island to island, and finally to the western peninsular of Jutland, an extension north of the European mainland.
I left out the details of the trip beyond Odense (the major city of the island of Fyn) to Jutland. Our first night was at a great hotel in Vejle, which we stumbled across by calling the local tourist bureau.
It was situated high above an arm of the sea, with 200 or more steps leading down to a trail which ends up on the beach. Then in the morning, we were off to Legoland, which is an amusement park promoting Legos, and catering to hordes of children.
But for adults, there were fascinating miniature representations of Copenhagen harbor, Amsterdam, complete with canals and Copenhagen airport.
That evening, we found a hotel in Arhus, the second largest city in Denmark. It was a lovely old building, but situated on ab busy street and an all night party across the street woke us at various times during the night.
I managed to spill beer on JoHannah’s clothes bag, which rightfully infuriated her.
OBSERVATION: As in most of Europe, breakfast is included in the price of the room., and depending on the hotel, it can be a great deal. At Vejle, the four-star hotel we were directed to apparently caters to businessmen. Faced with slow business on weekends, it offered a bargain - dinner and breakfast with a double room at DK975, which meant we paid the equivalent of about $5.00 for an enormous buffet dinner. I pigged out on dessert for the first time on the trip.
We wandered around Arhus, heard some jazz, had a good supper at a bar. The next day we split up. JH and Stanzie went off to see a nature park at Randers, a small town due north of Arhus, while Carol and I went sightseeing around the city.
After lunch, we found our way to a beach on Jutland’s east coast for a swim in water than seemed warmer - or perhaps less cold - than we had experienced at the Bergmanns on Zealand.
Finally, a ferry back to Zealand and 108 kilometers to Copenhagen.
On Wednesday, Paul called just at 8 in the morning and invited us up to the summer house for a swim. A lovely wide fine sand beach and cool water - 17-18 degrees Celsius. As expected there was a certain amount of toplessness. Most who went topless certainly did it for the sake of the sun on their skins - in most cases, I found it a turn off, not a turn on.
We were happy to stay for the day, but Paul was a little impatient for lunch. We returned to the house for a lazy, wet repast, featuring vino frisante, an Italian wine with a slight fizz I had not tasted before. Three kinds of herring, now that the Bergmann’s know we like herring, salad Nicoise, cheese, quiche, and the usual wonderful bread.
They would have liked to keep us all day, but by four, JH was getting nudgy - and we left. A quiet evening - Carol and I watched an old Western - “For Few Dollars”, I think - but we never saw the title. Clint Eastwood starred in a bloody opus that would be hooted at today, but gripped our attention anyway.
This morning, rain, but we had the car repaired with little difficulty and we were on the road to Odense a little after nine., to visit a couple of museums that were not particularly interesting.
My impression is there are too many museums with not enough material to keep them all in business. Carol suggested they are started to attract tourists rather than to fill a real need.
I think we are a little museumed out, at this point - particularly as the smaller museums have very little English in their placards and often don’t have adequate English printed materials.
We are having some problems setting daily agendas - mostly with everyone making way for others, which makes decisions slow to evolve. Out in the countryside, it isn’t as clear as in Copenhagen what the priorities should be. We spend time trying to get agreement on what to do each day.
After the weekend, our days here are numbered. We go to Oslo Monday night, and return on Wednesday. That leaves the rest of the week to do and see what else we want before flying out Iceland on Sunday.
Paul wants to see us again, Carol has a friend she wants to have lunch with, and the time is almost gone.
Monday morning, 7/21/03. (I suppose, since it is Denmark, I should be writing 21/7/03.) It is cloudy with light showers. A minor problem with a left passenger door, which the mechanic fixed without incident, while JH and I did some food shopping.
OBSERVATION: Danes almost never jaywalk. All the corners with traffic lights have audible signals for pedestrians. But as drivers in the open country, the Danes leave much to be desired. As with other Europeans, they tend to rush up from the rear, well over the speed limit,and pass as quickly as possible, often honking in the process - impatient on the road, generally.
Bicycles are everywhere, and there are special bike lanes not only in the cities and towns, but through the country, with the national bicycle routes shown prominently on road maps.
There is no age limit - we saw people who appeared well into their seventies and eighties riding sedately with groceries in the front basket. With the terrain essentially flat, many bikes are gearless or the now obsolete 3-speed variety that was the object of desire when I first learned to ride.
Bur racing is not neglected, and we saw many club riders on the roads.
I write this in an IKEA in Denmark, where we are having lunch, a second visit which resulted in another huge purchase by Jo Hannah. It is an amazing store.
One of the most moving experiences of the entire trip was a visit to the Resist Museum in Copenhagen, and I left wanting to know much more about Denmark’s role in World War II. Paul and his family escaped to Sweden in 1942 when someone in the German administration warned the small Jewish population of about 7000 that deportations were coming.
Most of the Jews got out - less than 500 ended in concentration camps. The Danes generally treated the Jews well but as always, there were those who collaborated and many of those were liquidated by the resistance movement.
In our last week, the weather continues warm and pleasant, and the vegetation is very lush here in the garden, where I am sitting and writing. We ate outdoors tonight as we have done on a number of occasions.
Although the homes in the area are built on what we would think of as small lots, they ten to be surrounded by hedges in addition or instead of fences in many cases, and most houses are surrounded by a variety of flowers and shrubbery - the gardens are very informal.
Saturday, 7/26/03 - 5:45 p.m. Stanzie has zonked out, holding our plans for dinner in downtown Copenhagen in abeyance. We may get there - but who knows?
Today was cleaning and packing day. We have ended up with three banana cartons, courtesy of John Godoy., who uses them to store his eyeglasses. Jo Hannah is using them to transport that fruit of her IKEA forays.
Hopefully, along with the rest of our luggage, everything will fit into the cab we will take to the airport in the morning. The other issue is whether we can check our luggage at there airport in Iceland, rather than take it into Reykjavik where we will spend a few days.
Since Icelandic Airlines doesn’t answer the phone on weekends, we were left without an answer.
We leave behind a house with lots of stuff - two desk top computers, at least three laptops, all connected to the Internet. A fax machine. TWo printers. A scanner.
Monday, 7/28/03 - The last leg - Reykjavik, Iceland. We have a very funky apartment close to the center of the city - one block from the main shopping street, Laugavegur.
Tuesday, 7/29/03 - Next to the last day. Iceland has ben a mixed bag. Stanzie has not been feeling well, and while we managed to get things done the day we arrived and yesterday, she has sp[ most of today sleeping or watching her DVD player, pretty much out of it.
Our first afternoon, we walked around the town center and got oriented. Reykjavik, in many ways, resembles an small American city in the West, with a facade of kept up buildings on the main shopping street and sleaze behind.
The older part of town is full of buildings built of vertical aluminum siding and stucco covered cement block. There is virtually no native lumber in Iceland - the standard joke: if you are lost in the woods, stand up!
The government buildings are in good shape, and the new industrial area and housing estates to the east of the older parts of town are very modern, attractive and well kept.
Prices are the highest I’ve every experienced, particularly for food and lodging, but for virtually everything else as well. The cab ride in from the airport, about 25 miles, was close to $100 - with the luggage we were carrying (we were unable to check anything at the airport) there was no practical alternative.
We had not planned to rent a car but it turned out to be the thing to do. Prices for rental cars have dropped recently. While daily tours for four people can easily run $200, we got a car for about $80 a day.
Yesterday, we took off midmorning for the so-called Golden Circle - a series of stops east of Reykavik. beginning with the site of Iceland’s first parliamentary, the Althing, nearly 1000 years ago, a place called Thingvellir.
Running through the area is the rift between the tectonic plates separating Europe from the Americas. The place is rife with Icelandic history, There were tourists galore, but we walked extensively over the area and happened on the Secretary General of NATO holding a meeting on his final visit to Iceland.
Stanzie and JH were thrilled when the Secretary of State of Iceland said hello to them! We talked at length with a helpful policeman who filled us in on some details.
At our next stop, a hot springs, there were a dozen “suits”, arriving and leaving by helicopter. The original GEYSER which lent its name to all subsequent geysers, is out of business, but a companion merrily spouts away.
Unfortunately, for Americans who have been to Yellowstone, Iceland’s area of hot spots is not impressive. A few miles away, the truly impressive double waterfalls at Gullfoss make up for it. Behind the falls was a a brief rainbow, which shown before the sun went behind the clouds.
Weather in Iceland can change from minute to minute. We have been lucky to have two comparatively mild days on Sunday and Monday, with lots of sunshine yesterday.
This morning, we awoke to drizzle that hung around until late morning. Since then, it has been cool and windy. Jacket weather for the first time on the trip. Now, about five in the afternoon, the sun has come out - but will disappear shortly, I am sure.
A highlight of yesterday was a visit to a contemporary church, built on a site where churches have stood since 1000 AD. Inside, a magnificent mosaic behind the altar and stained glass everywhere.
Serendipity: in the church, a string ensemble with harpsichord was rehearsing Beethoven under the direction of a Dutch musician in what is evidently a summer music school program. We sat for twenty minutes listening to the group of very talented musicians, entranced.
The place is called Skatholt. By arriving very late in the afternoon, we avoided the tour busses, which arrive in hordes to see the mosaic, and got the unexpected bonus of the music.
A long day - and we split up for dinner as Stanzie wanted lobster, expecting the Maine variety. Carol and I opted for a seafood buffet that was adequate, but no more. At $26, it was about double what we could expect to pay in the States.
Today has been walking and exploring Reykjavik, including the National Gallery with a few wonderful things by Icelandic artists, but not much else of note. A photo exhibit by a French-Vietnamese photographer featuring Icelandic scenes was better.
But one picture at the National Gallery struck me - it depicted Thingvellir in 1901 - and perfectly caught some of the landscape we had seen yesterday. I broke down and bought a poster.
Lots more walking today - my hip seems to be working fine.
On balance, perhaps adding Iceland for three days was overkill but the countryside has some wonderful vistas - including a huge ice field we saw from the road yesterday. - and we have seen only a tiny portion of this country.
Ideal would be a a week to ten day tour along Route 1, a ring road around the entire country. The interior is uninhabited and uninhabitable - and many roads need four wheel drive.
Probably, I will never make it back to Iceland. Too many other things to do. But the pictures in my mind from the day out on the land are very strong. Amazing how often I was reminded of sites in Montana.
Transcribing the notes I made four years ago reminded me of the superb hospitality of the Bergmanns. In so many ways, they were major contributors to my very positive impressions of Denmark. Paul is about my age and as Sam Bermans first cousin, brought with him much of Sam and Sam’s background.
Three generations traveling together worked pretty well I think it was hardest for Stanzie, with no one her own age around, but she handled it well.
Carol and I have done one more house exchange since 2003 woih great success, and would probablydo more, if the opportunity arose. Again, what made a huge differebce was a local family (in France this time) who adopted us for the time we were there, and provided the backbone of our experience.
Another trip to Scandanavia is not likely - but I still think about Iceland, and am still reading about the country and its history and its people. Perhaps ---
Home exchanges require a suspension of distrust - how else can you turn over your house and its contents, as well as, perhaps, your car, to a family you know only by name and address, plus the sparse details that come through on the International Vacations website (www.intervac.com)?
But urged by friends who have had a number of exchanges, and buoyed by the thought of being able to spend enough time in one place to begin to understand it, we embarked on our Danish adventure on July 2, 2003.
Having been incautious enough to promise my granddaughter a trip to Europe upon high school graduation, when time came to make good on the promise, a house exchange to Italy appeared to satisfy the spirit and the letter of the commitment.
Alas, as I sifted through the Italian exchanges offered, Bush’s Iraqi misadventure was in the offing. Italians appeared to want nothing to do with America, and a number of inquiries produced no results.
But from the listing on-line of my own house, I began to get e-mails from Ireland, England and Scandinavia. Northern Europe evidently didn’t share Southern Europe’s distaste for America and its foreign policy.
Denmark won out over the others - it would be a little more foreign, but we heard that virtually everyone spoke English (which turned out to be accurate) - and Copenhagen, where we would be living, was very high on the list of “best places” of most people we talked with about the trip.
So, the trip began to take on a life of its own. Both ourselves - me, my daughter Jo Hannah, my granddaughter Stanzie, and my friend Carol Miller - and the exchanging family would fly Iceland Air via Reykjavik, arriving in each other’s communities on the same day.
Iceland Air has a single gate at the Copenhagen Airport, and we were able to spend a brief time after our arrival with the departing family that would be coming to Lexington. Given the six hour time difference between Boston and Copenhagen, they still got to Lexington on the 3rd.
Denmark has, so far, refused to adopt the euro, the new currency which is supposed to replace all the traditional European marks, and pounds, and pesetas, and lire. Kroner (crown) is used in all the Scandinavian countries - but to make life as complicated as possible, each kroner has a different value, both against the dollar and against each other.
The taxi ride into the Bronsjoi (pronounced approximately ‘brounshoy’)
section of Copenhagen, our new home, confirmed Denmark’s reputation as one of the most expensive countries in Europe.
But we were there at last, and the house was very much as our hosts had described it in the e-mails we had exchanged - three bedrooms, one bath with a second lavatory in the finished basement, a kitchen/dining room, living room, and the prize: a garden with a covered patio off the kitchen where we often ate.
Lots in Bronsjoi are small by our standards, but virtually every one is alive with flowers, small trees, bushes, and shrubs. Sitting in our garden, we could see only the roofs of neighboring houses, despite their nearness.
The surrounding streets were quiet, with little through traffic and few pedestrians - but many bicycles, about which I will have more to say.
Streets are narrow and not generally laid out in easy-to-understand patterns. Our first venture to the food markets recommended by our hosts resulted in our getting lost, despite the excellent maps we were left. Getting lost became the norm, at least in part because the street names were so unfamiliar.
Copenhagen, and most of Denmark, is much farther north than Boston, and we were blessed with light until after ten o’clock in the evening in July. Unfortunately for the Danes, in winter the day ends before four o’clock in the afternoon, the other half of the cycle.
Our marketing venture that first day brought us our initial instance of Danes going far beyond the norm to help us out. As we wandered the unfamiliar aisles of the small supermarket, trying to understand kilos and liters amid the array of never-before-seen labels, another customer became our guardian, with advice and comments that were very helpful. That experience was replicated with almost no exceptions throughout our stay.
Unlike many major cities in the United States, Copenhagen has a superb transportation system, with buses everywhere. Between excellent public transit service, the nearly universal use of bicycles, and gasoline priced at nearly $5 a gallon, the automobile is not nearly as ubiquitous as here.
Housewives carrying their groceries home from the market, businessmen in suits and ties, children of all ages, grandfathers and grandmothers on errands - all ride bikes. With the country predominantly flat - the highest point in Denmark is just over 500 feet above sea level - highly geared bikes are a novelty, and many looked very much like the single speed balloon-tired affairs I learned to ride on seventy years ago.
Major streets are laid out with sidewalks for pedestrians, then a parking lane for cars, next a bicycle lane and finally two or four traffic lanes. A driver from the U.S. finds it unnerving to need to watch for the thousands of bikes that are running along on his right. (They do drive on the right side of the road, however, so we avoided the learning curve needed in some other countries with a different orientation.)
Stanzie was fascinated by the variety of automobiles - Russian,
Spanish, Czech among other imports - many with brand names we knew but models we had never seen in America. As a corollary to the price of gasoline, most cars are small by American standards, which may be why so many were new to us.
When we arrived back in Lexington, we learned that the exchange family rested and relaxed for two or three days before venturing out into the wilds of New England. But that is not the mode of Americans in Europe, even those like us with four weeks ahead of us.
Making the most of every day and opportunity seems to me peculiarly American. Perhaps it is just a carryover from the felt need of immigrants and children of immigrants, like my parents and myself, to work extra hard to gain recognition and acceptance.
From my experience traveling a month in New Zealand, ‘time out’ becomes a necessity after a while. But we wanted to waste no time getting into the experience of living in Denmark. Although we all tended to sleep later in the morning than was our habit at home, our first full day included shopping for food, and a trip south of Copenhagen to a contemporary museum, at Arkan on the beach. The building was memorable - the collection was not - and we had accomplished something on our first day! (There were few people in the museum, and when we later told Danish acquaintances that we had been there, some expressed surprise - it evidently doesn’t rank very high on the ‘must see’ list. For us, finding it was a rite of passage which somehow gave us confidence for more complicated expeditions.)
The above was written shortly after our return, but left unfinished.
Rather than try to recapture the impressions and emotions that were fresh in 2003, I decided to finish the story by transcribing my journal notes.
Wednesday, July 3, 2003 - A heavy, steady rain is falling at 7:30 p.m. on our first day in Bronsjoi, a Copenhagen neighborhood west of downtown.
We overlapped for an hour at the airport with our Danish hosts, who were flying out of the same gate we came in on. They have two very attractive adopted Korean daughters, and the couple themselves seem very pleasant.
The taxi ride in from the airport was uneventful - we saw some of the city but had no idea what we were seeing!
Saturday and Monday, July 5 and 7 - I’m having trouble finding the time and energy to write. Without a set schedule, we have been staying in bed until nine - it is now 9:40. Stanzie has not yet emerged, JH is reading more
travel brochures and Carol is making breakfast.
We were fortunate to contact Sam Berman’s first cousin, Paul Bergmann, the day after we arrived on Friday. An invitation to his daughter’s summer home for Saturday turned into a sumptuous Danish lunch for nine: smoked herring, smoked halibut, smoked salmon in phyllo dough, potato salad, egg salad, wonderful bread and SCHNAPPS and beer.
We stayed until seven in the evening!
Friday, we had shopped for food and visited a contemporary art museum at Arkan on the beach south of Copenhagen. Food prices seem high, mostly due to the 25% VAT (Value Added Tax) which is tacked on to virtually everything.
There were showers on and off on Friday, but Saturday was a gorgeous summer day. Before going north to the Bergmann’s home in Dronningsmolle, a resort town north of Copenhagen on the Kattegat, the bay separates Denmark from Sweden, we spent a couple of hours at a craft fair in downtown Copenhagen, navigating the streets and figuring out the parking issues.
Virtually everyone we met in Copenhagen speaks English and we have encountered nothing but help. Yesterday, Sunday, a friend of the Schultzes (our hosts) came by. He is a journalist who has been working for one of the political parties, but has quit to become a full time freelancer. He will take us on a tour of Parliament later in the trip.
His take on Danish society: not much “vertical space”. People tend to all reach about the same level, and the very high taxes, and the socialistic society keeps ambition at bay, since accumulating capital is very difficult with the high tax level.
We have met part of the Bergmann family - two of Paul’s daughters were at the Saturday luncheon, along with his wife and one son-in-law, and eventually two grandsons turned up, alas, a little too old for Stanzie.
I had forgotten how many people smoke in Europe, including Paul’s daughters and son-in-law - but at least they do so outside the house, but not quite far enough away.
Everyone was most hospitable - Paul seemed to welcome the diversion of having Americans around to show off his family and city to.
He is coming in half an hour to take us on a tour of the town.
Tuesday, July 8th, 4 p.m. - I write sitting at a table outdoors in a square in downtown Copenhagen near the canal and Parliament buildings. The ladies have gone off shopping, leaving me half an hour to myself. The sun has been out and is still - not always the case. But there is a breeze off the water which keeps the temperature in the low 60’s.
To get downtown, we took a bus this morning, walking half a mile to reach the stop in the shopping street nearest the house. The initial day’s object was the Round Tower -one of the taller buildings in a city where there are no skyscrapers and four or five stories is the norm.
Rundetaarn (The Round Tower) was built on the initiative of King
Christian IV (1588-1648) with Hans Steenwinkel the Younger as the architect. On July 7th -1637, the foundation stone for Rundetaarn was laid. The tower was the first stage of the Trinitatis complex, which was to gather three important facilities for the scholars of the seventeenth century: an astronomical observatory, a student church and a university library.
The internal spiral walk is reportedly unique in European architecture. The more than 600 foot long spiral ramp winds itself 7.5 times round the hollow core of the tower, forming the only connection between the individual parts of the building complex.
From the platform, more than 110 feet above the street, we had a magnificent view of the old part of Copenhagen. Rundetaarn is the oldest functioning observatory in Europe. Until 1861 it was used by the University of Copenhagen, but today, anyone can observe the night sky through the fine astronomical telescope of the tower in the winter period.
A gallery in the building featured paper art, some of which was quite lovely and some I found indecipherable. Lunch was atop the Post and Telegraph Museum outdoors - a great view but pricey, as is almost everything we do.
Yesterday, Paul and Gerda came to pick up us - in two cars we drove north to Hillebro to the Fredensborg Slot (castle) in the town of Fredensborg on the river Esrumo. We toured the castle, the spring and summer home of the Danish Royal Family, and the magnificent surrounding grounds, and had a lovely lunch with the Bergmanns.
On the way back, we stopped for coffee at the home of the Bergmann’s third daughter, in Rungsted. She and her family were in France on holiday. Paul proudly showed us the masonry and carpentry he had performed on the place. He is quite skilled with his hands, and appears to have much more energy than I do.
We got home about nine, completely exhausted after taking a couple of wrong turns on the way. I’m learning my way about Copenhagen, but the road system outside the city is still baffling at times. Street signs are on buildings, not freestanding, and difficult to make out in many cases.
JH, the designated driver in most circumstances, is not always willing to take direction.
I have had my free half hour - time to join the ladies if I can find them.
A long discussion took place today on when and how to go to Sweden, just across the water by either bridge or twenty-minute ferry. The plan originally was to drive to Stockholm in two days, stay there for two days and drive back, again in two days.
We looked at taking the train - but the fare turned out to be $200 each for the round trip. That put a crimp in the plans to take the train -
and then we learned that John Godoy (who grew up in Lexington and played soccer with Harry) lives about 2 1/2 hours southwest of Stockholm.
JoHannah dispatched an e-mail to him tonight to see if he is available to see us either coming or going to Stockholm. That will determine the travel mode.
I am having trouble with how expensive this trip has become, and I guess it is showing to JH and Carol as well. Although I was aware that Denmark was going to be costly, the exchange rate has worsened in the past six months.
But the real culprit is the VAT (value added tax) of 25% and which is tacked onto virtually everything we buy.
In contrast to New Zealand where we were interacting with the local people continually, our contacts so far have been only with the Bergmanns, and with our host’s friend Ebbe, a journalist who escorted us through Parliament. It has been difficult for us to grasp the essential elements of Danish society and culture.
The number of museums and castle is overwhelming - we will never cover half the things we would like to see, even in a month here.
July 9, 2003 - 6:05 p.m. A sunny but breezy day - Carol freezing one minute when the clouds obscured the sun and taking off her sweater the next. But it has been a lovely day anyway.
We got a very late start for Roskilde, a very ancient town just 25 kilometers west of here; it took just a half hour. There was a grand cathedral we chose to ignore to concentrate on the Viking Ship Museum, containing the reconstructed remains of five Viking ships dating from 1000 to 1050, which had been sunk in the harbor of Roskilde to deter invaders.
In 1960, the what remained of the ships was dredged up and the boats put together from hundreds of pieces. Shipwrights employed by the Museum are also building new ships, using the same types of materials and same tools and methods employed a thousand years ago.
The highlight of the day for me was a visit to a summer home/palace built 250 years ago and still lived in and owned by the same family. There were few visitors around, plenty of space and a sense of human scale in both the building and grounds surrounding it.
Totally relaxed, I even sacked out for twenty minutes on the soft grass in the garden. (For some reason, I neglected to record the name of the place, possibly the result of too much relaxation.)
We chatted briefly with a Danish couple who had a child who looked like my great nephew, Eli, but who turned out to be Filipino rather than
Guatemalan like Eli. Adoption of children from the Far East is apparently as
prevalent in Denmark as in the States.
STOCKHOLM
July 12/03 Saturday 3:35 p.m. I am sitting on a bench, drinking coffee, in the square in front of the Nobel Museum. I have a blessed half hour to myself with everyone else off shopping - the same thing we have been doing since ten this morning.
We arrived in Stockholm yesterday afternoon after shopping at the IKEA superstore in Linkoping with John and Marita Godoy. It is an amazing store - capable of furnishing and entire home - as well as providing the lumber to build it with.
Even I succumbed to temptation and bought a cheese slicer, pot holders and rubber gloves! A real shopping spree, for me. JH spent serious money.
After a battle with the directions from Linkoping to Stockholm, we found the hotel at which we had made reservations. It was adequate, with its prime attraction being situated on a quiet square where we were able to leave the car safely on the street.’
A half hour walk down hill brought us to the harbor for a two hour cruise around the islands which make up Stockholm. Lovely evening, good commentary during the ride with much history, well edited.
A poor choice of restaurants for a cheap dinner and back to the hotel about ten - a shower and oblivion.
Here in the square as I write, a Japanese tour group has raised their umbrellas - against the sun, which has finally come out after a day of clouds and showers.
Most of today we have been in Old Town, an island which was the original site of the city. We lucked out and happened on the changing of the guard at the royal Palace, complete with a band concert by a wonderfully professional band.
This is an area of very narrow streets and four and five story buildings, with the town hall at one end and the Royal Palace at the other. Thousands of shops with some great values - prices are lower than in Denmark and the exchange rate is 10% better. Carol is having a wonderful time shopping.
CONTRAST: Stockholm is much larger, noisier and dirtier than Copenhagen, but less accessible in of a feeling of community. Our impression is that Danes are friendlier, but that is based on very short observation.
Lots to see and do but we won’t get more than a brief sample. We leave late tomorrow to spend Sunday night with the Godoys, displacing their children once again.
Our visit with the Godoys on Thursday and Friday was very warm and comfortable. John and Marita have two daughters and a son - 19, 17, 15. We were late getting in on Thursday because of a screw-up at the ferry from Helsingfor (Denmark) to Helsingbor (Sweden). The ferry ride is only twenty minutes, but the attendant put us in the wrong line and we missed getting on the proper boat .
The Godoys live in a small town called Ljungsbro near a small city called Linkoping, about 200 kilometers from Stockholm, and a four to five hour ride from the ferry.
A barbecue awaited us, with Peruvian rice and Guatemalan schnapps and Spanish wine in a box. Grilled steak, grilled chicken to go with the rice and salad and great bread.
The children stayed elsewhere with friends to make room for us.
Marita is a district nurse, working nights and weekends. John multitasks - he teaches optometry at Kalmar University, four hours away by train, and works at an eye clinic two hours away. In his spare time, he founded Vision For All, a non-governmental organization which provides eyeglasses for unserved poor populations in various places around the world.
He was just back from a stay in Guatemala, where Marita worked with him. His work has taken him to other countries in South America and in Africa. He is particularly interested in Eritrea, where he hopes to establish a school for optometrists.
In his garage are not automobiles but thousands of pairs of donated eye glasses, which are carefully cleaned and labeled - John has a portable device which determines the diopters of each lens, and his train time is often spent testing and labeling the glasses.
He and the other volunteers - opticians, optometrists, and opthamologists - take the glasses along in large, hard-sided suitcases when they make their trips abroad.
A walking tour began our short stay in Stockholm, covering both the main city and Old Town, situated on another of the islands that make up the capital.
Saturday was walking, walking, and drinking coffee. Dinner was in a small restaurant near the hotel. The hotel itself was on a quiet, garden square on the north side of the city.
Breakfast was very generous and included in the price of the room - hard and soft boiled eggs,a dozen kinds of bread,meat , cheeses, cereals, fruit juices and coffee, tea and breakfast] pastries. On Sunday morning, we walked away with the basics for lunch, which no one seemed to mind.
With too many choices and only a day to see the rest of what the
town had to offer, we chose the VASA ship museum and the
Dronninghom Castle.
The VASA was a great war vessel which was built - overbuilt, actually, because the king of Sweden overruled the naval architect and added upper decks that could not be supported. She was launched in 1628, and sank in the outer harbor of Stockholm after sailing just over a mile.
The vessel was raised from the bottom in 1961, virtually intact, and is now housed in a permanent museum on the waterfront. The ship is spectacular, and certainly rank as one of most memorable sights of the trip for me.
I succumbed to the blandishments of the rest of the party, and let them buy me a baseball cap and a tee shirt celebrating the great vessel.
The palace grounds were equally spectacular, and then it was two hours on the road back to Ljungsbro, where John and family had prepared an outdoor dinner party for seven or eight friends, mostly people involved with his Vision foundation.
Among them were Jane and Frederick Bernhardt, their closest friends. She grew up in Connecticut and is a professor of environmental studies at the local university at Linkoping. Her husband is an architect.
As with the Bergmanns, alcohol is a very important part of any festivities. In the case of the Godoys, Guatemalan run was the drink of choice, along with wine and beer.
Since daylight continues until almost eleven at that latitude, we all sat outdoors until late, in an astonishingly bug free atmosphere - so much so that most windows don’t have screens.
After a breakfast of muesli, strawberries and yogurt - which is standard for many Scandinavians, we were told - we walked to the Bernhardt’s home, about 2 1/2 miles away. The route lay along a canal which forms part of the waterway that extends from Stockholm on the east coast to Gothenburg on the west.
The canal was dug by Russian prisoners of war in the early 19th century, for boats carrying freight from one side of the country to the other. It is maintained now for pleasure boats and swimmers, with paths for walkers and bicycles lining both sides of the canal.
The path led us by a series of locks to the tiny town of Berg, and from there to a large lake with a series of seven locks stepping the water down. There were lots of sailboats, including a Hallberg-Rassy hull similar to the Weiss’ craft.
The lock keepers were teenagers, and the canal was full of swimmers of all ages.
Another outdoor lunch, this time at the Bernhardts, who live in a 1911 home which they have added to and updated, but kept the the porcelain fireplaces, five in all - that were torn out and discarded from many homes in the past.
It is bright airy house with wonderfully proportioned rooms and a small outside deck on the second floor facing the lake.
Visiting the Bernhardts was a wonderful coda to our Swedish excursion.
Thursday, July 17, 2003 - We drove back Monday afternoon from the Godoys, catching the Scanlines ferry to Helsingfors from Helsingborg, across the narrow strait separating the two cities. We avoided the H and H Line on which we had had such a poor experience on our way to Sweden
(Despite our having had a reservation for the trip to Sweden, the clerk at the loading kiosk sent us to the unreserved lane - unknown to us - and we were the first car not to get on the next ferry, which was already half an hour late.
To add to my frustration, the clerk was quite rude when we remonstrated with her. Clearly, I was very annoyed, still steaming a week or more after the event.)
Scanlines did a much better job - at a 20% higher price - and we were home by 9:30 p.m.
Tuesday was a layday (the term is used primarily in series yacht racing like the America’s Cup to indicate a day with no racing - but it seems to fit here) - laundry, walking the neighborhood, a little shopping, catching our breath. The side mirror on the car was hit in Stockholm and needed replacement. The mechanic Ebbe suggested came through and will replace it.
Thursday, July 17, 2003 - 7:30 p.m. The storm that hit Texas some days ago has landed in Denmark, and the warm sunny day we have been enjoying is about to disappear as the storm comes in.
I am having trouble keeping this journal up-to-date, because I don’t seem to be able to leave time to do so. I keep starting the write and then I get pulled away onto something else that seems to have a higher priority.
Wednesday, we headed west a short ride to Trelleborg, Zealand, A preserved fortress from the reign of Harald Bluetooth. Trelleborg was probably built around 980. The circular compound is remarkable for the mathematical precision of its construction.
The ramparts of the compound have been preserved. They originally enclosed a military base from the end of the first millennium, and now have enclose a sheep pasture with the concomitant dung spread far and wide.
A small stream evidently served as a means of provisioning the soldiers stationed at the site. There were some rudimentary reenactments of Viking activities, not done very realistically - but it was pleasant couple of hours.
Trelleborg is not very high on the to-do list, but it does give a sense of how long people with well-defined skills have been living in Denmark.
From Trelleborg to a nearby glass artifacts factory, where I made one of my few purchases: a pair of blown glass salt and pepper shakers, with the artisan who created them sitting nearby.
Finally, we headed south in the afternoon to the island of Mons, due south of Copenhagen. Our destination was the tall chalk cliffs - calcenious deposits from eons of clam shells, lifted high in the air when the earth’s crust shifted.
They rise nearly 200 meters in the air from the edge of the sea, and a 497 step stairway has been built from the top down to the beach. It is an extremely popular attraction - more people than we had seen anywhere along the way.
I made it back up the stairs after deciding a lengthy walk along the beach and a steep trail up - the only alternative to the parking lot - was the greater of two evils. With moral support from Carol, and lots of rest stops, I made it to the top without incident, but my right knee feels it today, two days after the climb. particular attraction of the cliffs is finding sea fossils in the chalk. (I think we pried some loose, but if we did, they have disappeared.)
With distances much shorter in Denmark, we did all that and were back in Bronsjoi by 9:30 in the evening.
On Wednesday, Paul called just at 8 in the morning, and invited us to their summer house for a swim - our first, a lovely, wide, fine grained sand beach and cool water - 17 to 18 degrees Centigrade (62-64 F).
Not unexpectedly, there was a certain amount of toplessness among the bathers. But I guess I am getting old - no turn on.
We would have stayed longer in the water, but Paul was impatient for lunch. Back to the house we went, for a long, wet lunch with a wine I had not had before, “Vino Frisante”, a light Italian white with a mild amount of bubbles.
It began with herring, of course, - three kinds, now that the Bergmanns know we like herring. In addition, there was salad nicoise, cheese, quiche,and the usual wonderful bread.
They would have kept us all day, but JH was a little restless and we left about four for a quiet evening. Carol and I watched an old Western - “For Few Dollars More”, we think, but we never saw the title. Clint Eastwood starred, in a bloody opus that would be laughed at today, but it still gripped our attention.
This morning, rain. The car was repaired in quick order and we were on the road to the west a little after nine, for a more extended trip, Odense the first stop. A couple of museums which were not particularly interesting .
My impression is that there are too many museums with not enough material to keep them all in business. Carol suggested they are started to attract tourists rather than to fill a real need. We seem to be a little museumed-out at this point. The smaller museums have very little English on
their placards and often don’t have adequate English printed materials, despite the fact that the overwhelming number of visitors are much more likely to speak English than Danish.;
Tonight, we are in a five star hotel in Valje we found through the local tourist office. JH is delighted, as I think the rest of us are. Dinner shortly.
We are having problems setting daily agenda, mostly because everyone makes way for the others. which makes decision making difficult. Out in the countryside, it isn’t as clear as it is in Copenhagen what the priorities ought to be, so we waste some time trying to figure out what to do each day.
After the weekend our days are numbered. We go to Oslo, Norway, Monday night, returning Wednesday morning. We then have Thursday and Friday to see what else we want to see, and then fly out Sunday to Iceland.
Paul wants to see us again, Carol has a friend she wants to have lunch with, and the time is almost gone. Stanzie has been quite willful and moody at times, creating a certain amount of tension. I am sure it is difficult to be without someone her own age to interact with, for this long a time.
Monday morning, 7/21/03. It is cloudy with light showers. A minor problem with the left car door was fixed without incident by the family mechanic, and JH and I went off to do some interim food shopping.
OBSERVATIONS: (1) Danes almost never jaywalk - all the corners with lights have audible signals for pedestrians.
(2) As drivers in the open countryside, Danes leave much to be desired. As with other Europeans, they tend to rush up from the rear, well over the speed limit, and pass as quickly as possible, often honking in the process, impatient on the road generally.
(3) Bicycles are everywhere and there are bike lanes not only in the cities and towns, but in the countryside as well. National bike routes are shown prominently on road maps. There is no age limits on riders - we saw people who appeared well into their 70s and 80s, riding sedately with groceries in the front basket. With the terrain essentially flat, many bikes are gearless or of the three-sped variety now obsolete in the US. But there are plenty of racers on the road as well.
Bikers are generally very well mannered and riding appears much safer than in the US, with more space for the bikes and more attention paid by motorists.
We are now sitting down to lunch at a Danish IKEA, a second visit which resulted in a hugh purchase by JH . (I found a garlic press I like better than the one I have.) It is an amazing store. (At the time, IKEA had only a single store in the US, in Maryland, as I recall, so none of us had been exposed to the IKEA experience.)
At five this afternoon, we will set sail for Oslo, Norway, to spend 16 hours at sea - with all four of us in one cabin. It should be interesting. We will have 8 hours in Oslo, using the boat as our hotel. We have been told we can leave our belongings aboard.
I would not have chosen to add Oslo to the trip but JH had her heart set on the visit. In doing so, we will have bagged the capitals of Denmark, Norway and Sweden - only Finland remains to be conquered.
ASIDE: I have learned almost nothing of spoken Danish, but I can now recognize many words and can decode most signs. It doesn't appear to be an extraordinarily difficult language to learn, once the pronunciations have been sorted out. The Danish tend to slur their words, which doesn’t help.
Fortunately, as we have learned, almost everyone in Copenhagen speaks English - and people is shops and service positions often speak quite good, even colloquial language.
Tuesday evening - 7/22/03. Catching up seems unlikely. We spent 8 hours in Oslo, and as much as I was doubtful about the utility of this three-day mini-cruise, the sculptures at The Vigeland Sculpture Park absolutely floored me.
The 80 acre park in which the sculptures are placed was secured by the city and given over to Vigeland’s work. Vigeland entered into an agreement with the Oslo City Council in 1921. He made over to the city all his sculptures, drawings and woodcuts as well as the original models of all future works. In return, the council agreed to build him a studio and support his work.
In 1924 Vigeland moved into his new studio which included living quarters above. This was his home until his death in 1943. According to his own wish, his ashes are kept in the tower of the building.
The more than 200 full size works are stunningly life-affirming, focused as they are on all the stages of man’s existence, from babyhood top the decrepitude of old age.
Our city tour by bus included a visit to the Folk Museum - with its ancient buildings brought from all over Norway to be re-erected. We ended the day walking from the center of the city back to the boat, where we had left our belongings.
I haven’t paced it off, but our cabin measures no more than 8 feet in width and 9 feet in length, with a bath atone end. It is an inside state room but the air conditioning is excellent.
The whole tab was DK 1914, a bargain in Danish terms, about $300, but eating aboard the ferry was very expensive. We managed to have
dinner from the bread, cheese, and fruit we brought aboard, replenishing the fruit at a stand near the Folk Museum.
There was lots of drinking and lots of drunks, and lots of families with shrieking kids. Danish laws on alcohol consumption are much looser than the rest of Scandinavian countries and the Swedes and Norwegians stock up on a Danish boat.
ASIDE: There are museums everywhere in Denmark, - even the little suburb of Bronsjoi where we are staying has a little three-room museum into which Carol and I poked our noses in Monday.
Many are poorly maintained, with signage in English on a hit or miss basis, in most cases. Many of the sites we have visited seem to suffer from a lack of money or indifferent management or both.
Given how few visitors speak the native languages in Scandinavia, and the universality of English in the world, it is odd that more effort isn’t put into rending at least minimal information for those us unversed in the local languages.
On the return voyage, we again passed through the fjord of Oslo, and then out into the Skaggerat with a lighthouse to starboard. The wind is very strong out of the west, but the ferry, at 500 plus feet in length, doesn't feel the motion.
Only the muted throb of the engines can be felt away from the open decks. “Ferry” is a bit of a misnomer. With nearly a dozen decks, three or four different dining areas, and hundreds of cabins, it is very much an ocean liner.
OSLO IMPRESSIONS: Looks like wonderful public transit. Lots of impressive public buildings. A summer palace that is a working farm as well as a royal residence. Lots of greenery in Oslo - and easy to get out of the city.
I’ve been getting lots of walking exercise, and despite the bread, which is so good I eat more than I should, I don’t think I have gained much weight.
Often there have been stairs to climb, starting with 500+ at Mons Klint. That wa followed by by 200+ at the hotel at Valje. Today, there were many at the sculpture park, as well as up and down to the top boat decks.
The ferry has eleven decks in all with elevators that take one to the point where two fairly steep outdoor flights of stairs lead to the top sun decks.
OBSERVATION: We have heard a lot of American speech on the boat, and we have noted Americans in Copenhagen and Stockholm. But once we leave the major cities, the tourists are from Scandinavia or Europe, not the US or England.
I have managed a lot of walking and my hip has not felt this good in a long time. I’ve been taking my medications regularly, for a change, and perhaps that is making the difference.
OBSERVATION: The tall handsome women of Sweden made me feel short for the first time in my life. Stockholm was a sea of shapely blonde goddesses, each more comely than the last.
Copenhagen is in Denmark’s easternmost province, on the island of Zealand, and the early part of our stay was occupied with day trips around Zealand. To reach the other provinces required longer journeys, complete with relatively short ferry trips from island to island, and finally to the western peninsular of Jutland, an extension north of the European mainland.
I left out the details of the trip beyond Odense (the major city of the island of Fyn) to Jutland. Our first night was at a great hotel in Vejle, which we stumbled across by calling the local tourist bureau.
It was situated high above an arm of the sea, with 200 or more steps leading down to a trail which ends up on the beach. Then in the morning, we were off to Legoland, which is an amusement park promoting Legos, and catering to hordes of children.
But for adults, there were fascinating miniature representations of Copenhagen harbor, Amsterdam, complete with canals and Copenhagen airport.
That evening, we found a hotel in Arhus, the second largest city in Denmark. It was a lovely old building, but situated on ab busy street and an all night party across the street woke us at various times during the night.
I managed to spill beer on JoHannah’s clothes bag, which rightfully infuriated her.
OBSERVATION: As in most of Europe, breakfast is included in the price of the room., and depending on the hotel, it can be a great deal. At Vejle, the four-star hotel we were directed to apparently caters to businessmen. Faced with slow business on weekends, it offered a bargain - dinner and breakfast with a double room at DK975, which meant we paid the equivalent of about $5.00 for an enormous buffet dinner. I pigged out on dessert for the first time on the trip.
We wandered around Arhus, heard some jazz, had a good supper at a bar. The next day we split up. JH and Stanzie went off to see a nature park at Randers, a small town due north of Arhus, while Carol and I went sightseeing around the city.
After lunch, we found our way to a beach on Jutland’s east coast for a swim in water than seemed warmer - or perhaps less cold - than we had experienced at the Bergmanns on Zealand.
Finally, a ferry back to Zealand and 108 kilometers to Copenhagen.
On Wednesday, Paul called just at 8 in the morning and invited us up to the summer house for a swim. A lovely wide fine sand beach and cool water - 17-18 degrees Celsius. As expected there was a certain amount of toplessness. Most who went topless certainly did it for the sake of the sun on their skins - in most cases, I found it a turn off, not a turn on.
We were happy to stay for the day, but Paul was a little impatient for lunch. We returned to the house for a lazy, wet repast, featuring vino frisante, an Italian wine with a slight fizz I had not tasted before. Three kinds of herring, now that the Bergmann’s know we like herring, salad Nicoise, cheese, quiche, and the usual wonderful bread.
They would have liked to keep us all day, but by four, JH was getting nudgy - and we left. A quiet evening - Carol and I watched an old Western - “For Few Dollars”, I think - but we never saw the title. Clint Eastwood starred in a bloody opus that would be hooted at today, but gripped our attention anyway.
This morning, rain, but we had the car repaired with little difficulty and we were on the road to Odense a little after nine., to visit a couple of museums that were not particularly interesting.
My impression is there are too many museums with not enough material to keep them all in business. Carol suggested they are started to attract tourists rather than to fill a real need.
I think we are a little museumed out, at this point - particularly as the smaller museums have very little English in their placards and often don’t have adequate English printed materials.
We are having some problems setting daily agendas - mostly with everyone making way for others, which makes decisions slow to evolve. Out in the countryside, it isn’t as clear as in Copenhagen what the priorities should be. We spend time trying to get agreement on what to do each day.
After the weekend, our days here are numbered. We go to Oslo Monday night, and return on Wednesday. That leaves the rest of the week to do and see what else we want before flying out Iceland on Sunday.
Paul wants to see us again, Carol has a friend she wants to have lunch with, and the time is almost gone.
Monday morning, 7/21/03. (I suppose, since it is Denmark, I should be writing 21/7/03.) It is cloudy with light showers. A minor problem with a left passenger door, which the mechanic fixed without incident, while JH and I did some food shopping.
OBSERVATION: Danes almost never jaywalk. All the corners with traffic lights have audible signals for pedestrians. But as drivers in the open country, the Danes leave much to be desired. As with other Europeans, they tend to rush up from the rear, well over the speed limit,and pass as quickly as possible, often honking in the process - impatient on the road, generally.
Bicycles are everywhere, and there are special bike lanes not only in the cities and towns, but through the country, with the national bicycle routes shown prominently on road maps.
There is no age limit - we saw people who appeared well into their seventies and eighties riding sedately with groceries in the front basket. With the terrain essentially flat, many bikes are gearless or the now obsolete 3-speed variety that was the object of desire when I first learned to ride.
Bur racing is not neglected, and we saw many club riders on the roads.
I write this in an IKEA in Denmark, where we are having lunch, a second visit which resulted in another huge purchase by Jo Hannah. It is an amazing store.
One of the most moving experiences of the entire trip was a visit to the Resist Museum in Copenhagen, and I left wanting to know much more about Denmark’s role in World War II. Paul and his family escaped to Sweden in 1942 when someone in the German administration warned the small Jewish population of about 7000 that deportations were coming.
Most of the Jews got out - less than 500 ended in concentration camps. The Danes generally treated the Jews well but as always, there were those who collaborated and many of those were liquidated by the resistance movement.
In our last week, the weather continues warm and pleasant, and the vegetation is very lush here in the garden, where I am sitting and writing. We ate outdoors tonight as we have done on a number of occasions.
Although the homes in the area are built on what we would think of as small lots, they ten to be surrounded by hedges in addition or instead of fences in many cases, and most houses are surrounded by a variety of flowers and shrubbery - the gardens are very informal.
Saturday, 7/26/03 - 5:45 p.m. Stanzie has zonked out, holding our plans for dinner in downtown Copenhagen in abeyance. We may get there - but who knows?
Today was cleaning and packing day. We have ended up with three banana cartons, courtesy of John Godoy., who uses them to store his eyeglasses. Jo Hannah is using them to transport that fruit of her IKEA forays.
Hopefully, along with the rest of our luggage, everything will fit into the cab we will take to the airport in the morning. The other issue is whether we can check our luggage at there airport in Iceland, rather than take it into Reykjavik where we will spend a few days.
Since Icelandic Airlines doesn’t answer the phone on weekends, we were left without an answer.
We leave behind a house with lots of stuff - two desk top computers, at least three laptops, all connected to the Internet. A fax machine. TWo printers. A scanner.
Monday, 7/28/03 - The last leg - Reykjavik, Iceland. We have a very funky apartment close to the center of the city - one block from the main shopping street, Laugavegur.
Tuesday, 7/29/03 - Next to the last day. Iceland has ben a mixed bag. Stanzie has not been feeling well, and while we managed to get things done the day we arrived and yesterday, she has sp[ most of today sleeping or watching her DVD player, pretty much out of it.
Our first afternoon, we walked around the town center and got oriented. Reykjavik, in many ways, resembles an small American city in the West, with a facade of kept up buildings on the main shopping street and sleaze behind.
The older part of town is full of buildings built of vertical aluminum siding and stucco covered cement block. There is virtually no native lumber in Iceland - the standard joke: if you are lost in the woods, stand up!
The government buildings are in good shape, and the new industrial area and housing estates to the east of the older parts of town are very modern, attractive and well kept.
Prices are the highest I’ve every experienced, particularly for food and lodging, but for virtually everything else as well. The cab ride in from the airport, about 25 miles, was close to $100 - with the luggage we were carrying (we were unable to check anything at the airport) there was no practical alternative.
We had not planned to rent a car but it turned out to be the thing to do. Prices for rental cars have dropped recently. While daily tours for four people can easily run $200, we got a car for about $80 a day.
Yesterday, we took off midmorning for the so-called Golden Circle - a series of stops east of Reykavik. beginning with the site of Iceland’s first parliamentary, the Althing, nearly 1000 years ago, a place called Thingvellir.
Running through the area is the rift between the tectonic plates separating Europe from the Americas. The place is rife with Icelandic history, There were tourists galore, but we walked extensively over the area and happened on the Secretary General of NATO holding a meeting on his final visit to Iceland.
Stanzie and JH were thrilled when the Secretary of State of Iceland said hello to them! We talked at length with a helpful policeman who filled us in on some details.
At our next stop, a hot springs, there were a dozen “suits”, arriving and leaving by helicopter. The original GEYSER which lent its name to all subsequent geysers, is out of business, but a companion merrily spouts away.
Unfortunately, for Americans who have been to Yellowstone, Iceland’s area of hot spots is not impressive. A few miles away, the truly impressive double waterfalls at Gullfoss make up for it. Behind the falls was a a brief rainbow, which shown before the sun went behind the clouds.
Weather in Iceland can change from minute to minute. We have been lucky to have two comparatively mild days on Sunday and Monday, with lots of sunshine yesterday.
This morning, we awoke to drizzle that hung around until late morning. Since then, it has been cool and windy. Jacket weather for the first time on the trip. Now, about five in the afternoon, the sun has come out - but will disappear shortly, I am sure.
A highlight of yesterday was a visit to a contemporary church, built on a site where churches have stood since 1000 AD. Inside, a magnificent mosaic behind the altar and stained glass everywhere.
Serendipity: in the church, a string ensemble with harpsichord was rehearsing Beethoven under the direction of a Dutch musician in what is evidently a summer music school program. We sat for twenty minutes listening to the group of very talented musicians, entranced.
The place is called Skatholt. By arriving very late in the afternoon, we avoided the tour busses, which arrive in hordes to see the mosaic, and got the unexpected bonus of the music.
A long day - and we split up for dinner as Stanzie wanted lobster, expecting the Maine variety. Carol and I opted for a seafood buffet that was adequate, but no more. At $26, it was about double what we could expect to pay in the States.
Today has been walking and exploring Reykjavik, including the National Gallery with a few wonderful things by Icelandic artists, but not much else of note. A photo exhibit by a French-Vietnamese photographer featuring Icelandic scenes was better.
But one picture at the National Gallery struck me - it depicted Thingvellir in 1901 - and perfectly caught some of the landscape we had seen yesterday. I broke down and bought a poster.
Lots more walking today - my hip seems to be working fine.
On balance, perhaps adding Iceland for three days was overkill but the countryside has some wonderful vistas - including a huge ice field we saw from the road yesterday. - and we have seen only a tiny portion of this country.
Ideal would be a a week to ten day tour along Route 1, a ring road around the entire country. The interior is uninhabited and uninhabitable - and many roads need four wheel drive.
Probably, I will never make it back to Iceland. Too many other things to do. But the pictures in my mind from the day out on the land are very strong. Amazing how often I was reminded of sites in Montana.
Transcribing the notes I made four years ago reminded me of the superb hospitality of the Bergmanns. In so many ways, they were major contributors to my very positive impressions of Denmark. Paul is about my age and as Sam Bermans first cousin, brought with him much of Sam and Sam’s background.
Three generations traveling together worked pretty well I think it was hardest for Stanzie, with no one her own age around, but she handled it well.
Carol and I have done one more house exchange since 2003 woih great success, and would probablydo more, if the opportunity arose. Again, what made a huge differebce was a local family (in France this time) who adopted us for the time we were there, and provided the backbone of our experience.
Another trip to Scandanavia is not likely - but I still think about Iceland, and am still reading about the country and its history and its people. Perhaps ---
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
TUSCANY - OCTOBER 2004
TUSCANY - October 2004
Sunday, October 2, 2004 - Terminal 2, Charles de Gaulle Airport, 9:20 a.m. Standing near me are two uniformed soldiers with sub-machine guns. Carol is off at the other end of the terminal, shopping without European money - we haven’t changed any yet.
Suddenly, more soldiers materialize as well as police - and we are herded out of the middle section of the terminal - an unclaimed package equals a bomb scare.
We go outside and eventually make our way to the other end of the terminal, where all is quiet.
Welcome to Paris!
There is no panic, everyone obeys the orders of the authorities, and we go on to our gate to await the flight to Paris. (The layover in Paris is too short for us to go into the city - an hour each way - but long enough for both of us to resent the scheduling.
Sunday night - All went smoothly all the way into Montecantini Terme, a very pleasant city an hour by train west of Florence with a large park right in its center. The hotel is 3 star - which seems to mean it has all the usual amenities but no extras. Soap is dispensed from a large bottle - no more of the little bottles of soap and shampoo and mouthwash I have collected over the years.
The town is famed as a spa, with hot springs public baths in the central park.
The hotel and town will be our base for this Elderhostel trip. We arrived in late afternoon by bus from the Florence airport, had a light meal, and rested until dinner.
Poor Carol - the first meal was thin sliced English style roast beef with a roast potato. She filled up on salad. Roast chicken for the evening meal suited her much better.
Monday - We had thought we would awake this morning without a call - but at nine, an hour after breakfast, we were still abed. At ten after nine, we had hurriedly dressed, and sitting at our first meeting, and then strolling out on our orientation walk.
My back vigorously protested the walk, and I took medication which helped a great deal. After lunch, a rest and then three hours of lectures, followed by a moderately good dinner. (I bought a bottle of wine which stays on a near by table until I finish it.) Wine, coffee and tea are extras, not included in the trip price.
There are 38 in the group. The most interesting so far are two Jewish couples, the Sokols from Cleveland and the Kalkenbergs from (I never jotted it down).
Lecture this afternoon on Renaissance sculpture by Kevin Murphy, a Ph.D. Englishman resident in Florence for 12 years. Brilliant, funny, engaging. He brought Donatello and Michaelangelo to life. We hear him twice more, and he will be doing some museum guiding as well. Good choice.
Our trip leader is a gorgeous American married to an Italian - totally bilingual and quite pleasant.
The hotel is on a short street, a couple of blocks from the main square. It has a large courtyard in front of the building and chairs and tables and a small pool, currently overfull from recent rains. Only one member has tried it so far.
Tuesday, 1 p.m. - Nearly two-thirds of the group has been laid low temporarily by a stomach virus, lasting 8-12 hours. It happened during the night, and only 13 of the 38 members of the group showed up to go to Pisa this morning.
Carol was not terribly sick or terribly well - and she simply stayed in bed for the day. I was untouched.
Pisa is a 45 minute bus ride from Montecantini Terme, and tour buses now park on the outskirts of town. People then either walk into the center or take a “tram” - Toonerville trolley type - as we did.
The reason to come to Pisa is the “Field of Miracles” - a grassy rectangle inside the old city walls containing the largest baptistry in Italy. (Baptistry, a circular building, sometimes detached from a church, in which the rite of baptism is administered; the most remarkable, that of Pisa (Wikipedia). The open plain also has the Pisa cathedral, and the focus of all eyes, the round bell tower.
The famous Leaning Tower of Pisa is usually photographed as though it was a free standing structure in an open area. Actually, it sits very close to the cathedral, and along the longer side of the rectangular field, not far from the tower, is a passageway for pedestrians and bicyclists that is lined with street vendors, selling uniform junk to tourists.
The buildings in the area are magnificent combinations of Byzantine, Gothic and Romanesque architecture. We never got to see the city of Pisa itself, but after the previous day in Florence, I was perfectly happy to get on the bus and return to Montecantini for lunch.
Monday was our first excursion into Florence for a walking tour of some of the major attractions we will be seeing in detail ail over the next ten days. We had a great guide and used “whisperers” - a hearing device each of us wore over one ear, tuned to a wireless broadcast by the guide, making communication much easier on both sides.
We walked about three hours and were relatively beat by the time we got back to our hotel. The weather has been warm - high 70s, low 80s - and Florence seemed jammed with tourists, despite the lateness of the season .
Tomorrow, the group goes back to Florence, but we go to visit Carol’s friends in Arezzo, two hours southeast by train, via Florence - a definite test of our traveling skills.
So far, we have made no particular friends in the group. I had forgotten that most Elderhostelers I had met previously are relatively unsophisticated (although many have traveled widely) and generally conservative in their social and political views.
At this point, it does not appear that we will be exchanging addresses with many couples. There are several second marriages in the group, but no other unmarried couples, like us, that I have detected.
I am not sure I will do this again. Home exchanges appear to be a more attractive option if we can find people in places we want to go who also want to come to Boston.
(As things have turned out, this was our first and last Elderhostel trip together - we have found Overseas Adventure Travel, also aimed at seniors, to work better for us, with smaller groups and a clientele we seem to better adapt to.)
Wednesday, 7 p.m., on the train from Arezzo back to Montecantini Terme. - We started early this morning to visit Carol’s friends, Barbara and Paul Zinn, who live in New York City, and Barbara’s son Arthur and his wife and two very young children, who live currently in a penthouse in the small city of Arezzo, while rebuilding t wo 16th-17th farm houses on six acres in the mountains of Tuscany.
The project has been underway for four years, and they expect to finish one house by June. It will operate as a country guest house for large groups - it will have eight bedrooms, several kitchens, half a dozen baths. The site is high on a hill, with magnificent views to the west
The houses had been lived in and the surrounding land farmed until 1969, when the deteriorating economics of farming in Tuscany caused the abandonment and deterioration of the buildings.
Arthur is a lawyer with no previous construction experience, but he has been a laborer, a contractor, a general contractor, doing everything with the help of his brother-in-law and other locals. Only the plumbing and electricity have been farmed out.
This will eventually be an upscale resort aimed at weddings, family birthday parties and corporate events. Even with Arthur’s “free” labor, the investment will be close to one million dollars, I would guess. The furnishings have been accumulated from local second hand stores and from English auctions. Martha, Arthur’s wife, is doing in the interiors. Along other things, she has employed a local seamstress, setting up a workroom in their Arezzo apartment to make draperies, slipcovers and covers of all kinds.
For a family planning a major birthday celebration - that is, a family with plenty of money - this will be as beautiful and private place as one could imagine.
Arthur and Martha are delightful, and Barbara and Paul are very pleasant to be with. We left with reluctance, after eating fresh ripe figs from a tree on the estate.
(When we left the hotel this morning, there were new casualties from the virus which attacked the group and lots of absentees from the trip planned to Florence. We seemed to have been among the fortunate few who escaped.)
Friday morning - We roamed the Thursday market in Monte during the morning before a lecture on Leonardo by the least interesting speaker so far - a near monotone and a rush to get through the material in the allotted time.
Lunch yesterday was at a hotel in Montecantini Alto, the “old town” high above the spa city, reached by funicular. Another lecture in the late afternoon on the bloody history of Florence in the Renaissance period, then dinner and finally, a movie I hadn’t seen - “Tea With Mussolini”, set in 1935 in Florence.
This morning, we are off to Florence to imbibe more culture.
Tuesday - Today is a free day until 3 - and I’ve just finished lunch (1:35). Carol is off having a massage, and I am sitting in the front courtyard of the hotel under a cloudy sky with the temperature in the 50s.
We had inclement weather over the weekend, particularly on Sunday in Lucca. I had been carrying a jacket and umbrella in anticipation of continuing storms, but S Sunday seemed better. I left both at the hotel and wound up soaked before I bought a “brolly” from a street vendor.
More churches - I have finally realized that my early anti-church bias, inculcated in most middle class Jews in my generation, means I have no Christian frame of reference which to put what we are seeing and hearing. The speakers all assume a much greater knowledge of Catholicism - in particular - than I can provide.
We have established closer relationships with several couples. On man, now retired, worked for an Oregon company I once called on . We must have met, since he had been to the Velcro headquarters in Manchester several times.
His wife is a born-again Christian, but he doesn’t seem to have been impacted.
My back and hips and calves are not very comfortable, and I have been popping pain pills. I need to get to the bottom of whatever in behind these pains as quickly as possible when I get back.
I am trying hard not to complain but the act of walking itself has become difficult at times - not a position I want to be in.
(I had surgery to repair a herniated disc that December.)
Yesterday, Monday, was easily the best day of the trip. We bussed to Vinci, the original home of Leonardo. An American architect, married to an Italian woman and living in the area, was our guide.
There is a wonderful museum filled with models built from the many drawings he created. It turns out he built almost nothing himself, and many of his drawings and ideas were conceived using the ideas of others. But the broad range of his work is totally astounding, encompassing land, sea and air travel, construction machinery, lifting hoists and dozens of other facets.
Lunch was in a villa in Vinci, followed in the drawing room of the villa by a lecture and concert by a British musician who has devoted his life to the the music of Liszt. The room was a circular vaulted chamber in which the piano sounded absolutely wonderful.
Thursday, 1:30 p.m. Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris. - I haven't finished recording a single day’s activities- at least that is what it feels like - and now we are on our way home. Two weeks away and i suspect the world hasn’t changed much in our absence. Did we have a “good” time? One question - another: would we do it again?
The pluses: (1) Elderhostel provided truly excellent lecturers, all of whom were more than adequate and some who were outstanding. They brought insights which only an enormous amount of reading beforehand would have provided. (2) All the logistics were taken care of with virtually no glitches - the busses showed up on time, the tickets to museums materialized at the right times, the choices of venues was good, overall. (3) We probably got to see some places and things we wouldn’t have found on our own.
The minuses: (1) Of the 38 people in our group, we connected with two or three couples we really liked and would enjoy seeing again. In my usual intolerant way, I found some of the group truly objectionable.
I realized, too late, that what I was missing was some discussion of what we were seeing. The lecturers did just that - lectured. What I could have tried to do was start discussions about what we were seeing and hearing.
No one took the initiative, perhaps because no one was interested in doing so. From that point of view, I can’t say much of the experience will stay with me - too much surface and not enough depth.
Minus #2: I realize that that is typical of Elderhostel programs - they don’t seem to attract people who want to know anything very deeply or thoroughly. I think it is doubtful that I would try another.
Having said all that, there were several days that stood out as experiences I wouldn’t have wanted to miss. One was the visit to the Zinns in Arezzo, another the day at Vinci, and the third the trip to Lucca.
(A fourth which I find not mentioned in my journal occurred when we skipped one of the Florence visits to takea city bus from the Florence train station to a hill town north of the city whose name I did not record.
The bus ride was less than 30 minutes, depositing us in the town square in this elevated community. The square had several restaurants with tables set out under umbrellas or canopies, one of which we chose for lunch.
The main attraction, other than the views over the countryside, dazzling in themselves, was the Roman amphitheater which opened just off the main square. In amazing good condition, and virtually unvisited while we were there, I got a photo from the top tier of seats of Carol singing on the stage below.
We spent most of the day in the town, visiting a number of sites, including a school (?) at the very top of the hill, reached on a cobblestone road which appeared to be as ancient as the amphitheater. We walked on stones laid more than 2000 years ago.)
Florence itself I found exhausting - there were crowds everywhere we went, and although Elderhostel made sure we didn’t stand in lines as long as many others did, seeing orginals of which we had only seem copies before doesn’t do much when most are behind glass, and you are standing crowded in a room with hundreds of others.
It was in the small towns that I felt most comfortable, and had the time to absorb what was around us, at a lesiurely pace.
Sunday, October 2, 2004 - Terminal 2, Charles de Gaulle Airport, 9:20 a.m. Standing near me are two uniformed soldiers with sub-machine guns. Carol is off at the other end of the terminal, shopping without European money - we haven’t changed any yet.
Suddenly, more soldiers materialize as well as police - and we are herded out of the middle section of the terminal - an unclaimed package equals a bomb scare.
We go outside and eventually make our way to the other end of the terminal, where all is quiet.
Welcome to Paris!
There is no panic, everyone obeys the orders of the authorities, and we go on to our gate to await the flight to Paris. (The layover in Paris is too short for us to go into the city - an hour each way - but long enough for both of us to resent the scheduling.
Sunday night - All went smoothly all the way into Montecantini Terme, a very pleasant city an hour by train west of Florence with a large park right in its center. The hotel is 3 star - which seems to mean it has all the usual amenities but no extras. Soap is dispensed from a large bottle - no more of the little bottles of soap and shampoo and mouthwash I have collected over the years.
The town is famed as a spa, with hot springs public baths in the central park.
The hotel and town will be our base for this Elderhostel trip. We arrived in late afternoon by bus from the Florence airport, had a light meal, and rested until dinner.
Poor Carol - the first meal was thin sliced English style roast beef with a roast potato. She filled up on salad. Roast chicken for the evening meal suited her much better.
Monday - We had thought we would awake this morning without a call - but at nine, an hour after breakfast, we were still abed. At ten after nine, we had hurriedly dressed, and sitting at our first meeting, and then strolling out on our orientation walk.
My back vigorously protested the walk, and I took medication which helped a great deal. After lunch, a rest and then three hours of lectures, followed by a moderately good dinner. (I bought a bottle of wine which stays on a near by table until I finish it.) Wine, coffee and tea are extras, not included in the trip price.
There are 38 in the group. The most interesting so far are two Jewish couples, the Sokols from Cleveland and the Kalkenbergs from (I never jotted it down).
Lecture this afternoon on Renaissance sculpture by Kevin Murphy, a Ph.D. Englishman resident in Florence for 12 years. Brilliant, funny, engaging. He brought Donatello and Michaelangelo to life. We hear him twice more, and he will be doing some museum guiding as well. Good choice.
Our trip leader is a gorgeous American married to an Italian - totally bilingual and quite pleasant.
The hotel is on a short street, a couple of blocks from the main square. It has a large courtyard in front of the building and chairs and tables and a small pool, currently overfull from recent rains. Only one member has tried it so far.
Tuesday, 1 p.m. - Nearly two-thirds of the group has been laid low temporarily by a stomach virus, lasting 8-12 hours. It happened during the night, and only 13 of the 38 members of the group showed up to go to Pisa this morning.
Carol was not terribly sick or terribly well - and she simply stayed in bed for the day. I was untouched.
Pisa is a 45 minute bus ride from Montecantini Terme, and tour buses now park on the outskirts of town. People then either walk into the center or take a “tram” - Toonerville trolley type - as we did.
The reason to come to Pisa is the “Field of Miracles” - a grassy rectangle inside the old city walls containing the largest baptistry in Italy. (Baptistry, a circular building, sometimes detached from a church, in which the rite of baptism is administered; the most remarkable, that of Pisa (Wikipedia). The open plain also has the Pisa cathedral, and the focus of all eyes, the round bell tower.
The famous Leaning Tower of Pisa is usually photographed as though it was a free standing structure in an open area. Actually, it sits very close to the cathedral, and along the longer side of the rectangular field, not far from the tower, is a passageway for pedestrians and bicyclists that is lined with street vendors, selling uniform junk to tourists.
The buildings in the area are magnificent combinations of Byzantine, Gothic and Romanesque architecture. We never got to see the city of Pisa itself, but after the previous day in Florence, I was perfectly happy to get on the bus and return to Montecantini for lunch.
Monday was our first excursion into Florence for a walking tour of some of the major attractions we will be seeing in detail ail over the next ten days. We had a great guide and used “whisperers” - a hearing device each of us wore over one ear, tuned to a wireless broadcast by the guide, making communication much easier on both sides.
We walked about three hours and were relatively beat by the time we got back to our hotel. The weather has been warm - high 70s, low 80s - and Florence seemed jammed with tourists, despite the lateness of the season .
Tomorrow, the group goes back to Florence, but we go to visit Carol’s friends in Arezzo, two hours southeast by train, via Florence - a definite test of our traveling skills.
So far, we have made no particular friends in the group. I had forgotten that most Elderhostelers I had met previously are relatively unsophisticated (although many have traveled widely) and generally conservative in their social and political views.
At this point, it does not appear that we will be exchanging addresses with many couples. There are several second marriages in the group, but no other unmarried couples, like us, that I have detected.
I am not sure I will do this again. Home exchanges appear to be a more attractive option if we can find people in places we want to go who also want to come to Boston.
(As things have turned out, this was our first and last Elderhostel trip together - we have found Overseas Adventure Travel, also aimed at seniors, to work better for us, with smaller groups and a clientele we seem to better adapt to.)
Wednesday, 7 p.m., on the train from Arezzo back to Montecantini Terme. - We started early this morning to visit Carol’s friends, Barbara and Paul Zinn, who live in New York City, and Barbara’s son Arthur and his wife and two very young children, who live currently in a penthouse in the small city of Arezzo, while rebuilding t wo 16th-17th farm houses on six acres in the mountains of Tuscany.
The project has been underway for four years, and they expect to finish one house by June. It will operate as a country guest house for large groups - it will have eight bedrooms, several kitchens, half a dozen baths. The site is high on a hill, with magnificent views to the west
The houses had been lived in and the surrounding land farmed until 1969, when the deteriorating economics of farming in Tuscany caused the abandonment and deterioration of the buildings.
Arthur is a lawyer with no previous construction experience, but he has been a laborer, a contractor, a general contractor, doing everything with the help of his brother-in-law and other locals. Only the plumbing and electricity have been farmed out.
This will eventually be an upscale resort aimed at weddings, family birthday parties and corporate events. Even with Arthur’s “free” labor, the investment will be close to one million dollars, I would guess. The furnishings have been accumulated from local second hand stores and from English auctions. Martha, Arthur’s wife, is doing in the interiors. Along other things, she has employed a local seamstress, setting up a workroom in their Arezzo apartment to make draperies, slipcovers and covers of all kinds.
For a family planning a major birthday celebration - that is, a family with plenty of money - this will be as beautiful and private place as one could imagine.
Arthur and Martha are delightful, and Barbara and Paul are very pleasant to be with. We left with reluctance, after eating fresh ripe figs from a tree on the estate.
(When we left the hotel this morning, there were new casualties from the virus which attacked the group and lots of absentees from the trip planned to Florence. We seemed to have been among the fortunate few who escaped.)
Friday morning - We roamed the Thursday market in Monte during the morning before a lecture on Leonardo by the least interesting speaker so far - a near monotone and a rush to get through the material in the allotted time.
Lunch yesterday was at a hotel in Montecantini Alto, the “old town” high above the spa city, reached by funicular. Another lecture in the late afternoon on the bloody history of Florence in the Renaissance period, then dinner and finally, a movie I hadn’t seen - “Tea With Mussolini”, set in 1935 in Florence.
This morning, we are off to Florence to imbibe more culture.
Tuesday - Today is a free day until 3 - and I’ve just finished lunch (1:35). Carol is off having a massage, and I am sitting in the front courtyard of the hotel under a cloudy sky with the temperature in the 50s.
We had inclement weather over the weekend, particularly on Sunday in Lucca. I had been carrying a jacket and umbrella in anticipation of continuing storms, but S Sunday seemed better. I left both at the hotel and wound up soaked before I bought a “brolly” from a street vendor.
More churches - I have finally realized that my early anti-church bias, inculcated in most middle class Jews in my generation, means I have no Christian frame of reference which to put what we are seeing and hearing. The speakers all assume a much greater knowledge of Catholicism - in particular - than I can provide.
We have established closer relationships with several couples. On man, now retired, worked for an Oregon company I once called on . We must have met, since he had been to the Velcro headquarters in Manchester several times.
His wife is a born-again Christian, but he doesn’t seem to have been impacted.
My back and hips and calves are not very comfortable, and I have been popping pain pills. I need to get to the bottom of whatever in behind these pains as quickly as possible when I get back.
I am trying hard not to complain but the act of walking itself has become difficult at times - not a position I want to be in.
(I had surgery to repair a herniated disc that December.)
Yesterday, Monday, was easily the best day of the trip. We bussed to Vinci, the original home of Leonardo. An American architect, married to an Italian woman and living in the area, was our guide.
There is a wonderful museum filled with models built from the many drawings he created. It turns out he built almost nothing himself, and many of his drawings and ideas were conceived using the ideas of others. But the broad range of his work is totally astounding, encompassing land, sea and air travel, construction machinery, lifting hoists and dozens of other facets.
Lunch was in a villa in Vinci, followed in the drawing room of the villa by a lecture and concert by a British musician who has devoted his life to the the music of Liszt. The room was a circular vaulted chamber in which the piano sounded absolutely wonderful.
Thursday, 1:30 p.m. Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris. - I haven't finished recording a single day’s activities- at least that is what it feels like - and now we are on our way home. Two weeks away and i suspect the world hasn’t changed much in our absence. Did we have a “good” time? One question - another: would we do it again?
The pluses: (1) Elderhostel provided truly excellent lecturers, all of whom were more than adequate and some who were outstanding. They brought insights which only an enormous amount of reading beforehand would have provided. (2) All the logistics were taken care of with virtually no glitches - the busses showed up on time, the tickets to museums materialized at the right times, the choices of venues was good, overall. (3) We probably got to see some places and things we wouldn’t have found on our own.
The minuses: (1) Of the 38 people in our group, we connected with two or three couples we really liked and would enjoy seeing again. In my usual intolerant way, I found some of the group truly objectionable.
I realized, too late, that what I was missing was some discussion of what we were seeing. The lecturers did just that - lectured. What I could have tried to do was start discussions about what we were seeing and hearing.
No one took the initiative, perhaps because no one was interested in doing so. From that point of view, I can’t say much of the experience will stay with me - too much surface and not enough depth.
Minus #2: I realize that that is typical of Elderhostel programs - they don’t seem to attract people who want to know anything very deeply or thoroughly. I think it is doubtful that I would try another.
Having said all that, there were several days that stood out as experiences I wouldn’t have wanted to miss. One was the visit to the Zinns in Arezzo, another the day at Vinci, and the third the trip to Lucca.
(A fourth which I find not mentioned in my journal occurred when we skipped one of the Florence visits to takea city bus from the Florence train station to a hill town north of the city whose name I did not record.
The bus ride was less than 30 minutes, depositing us in the town square in this elevated community. The square had several restaurants with tables set out under umbrellas or canopies, one of which we chose for lunch.
The main attraction, other than the views over the countryside, dazzling in themselves, was the Roman amphitheater which opened just off the main square. In amazing good condition, and virtually unvisited while we were there, I got a photo from the top tier of seats of Carol singing on the stage below.
We spent most of the day in the town, visiting a number of sites, including a school (?) at the very top of the hill, reached on a cobblestone road which appeared to be as ancient as the amphitheater. We walked on stones laid more than 2000 years ago.)
Florence itself I found exhausting - there were crowds everywhere we went, and although Elderhostel made sure we didn’t stand in lines as long as many others did, seeing orginals of which we had only seem copies before doesn’t do much when most are behind glass, and you are standing crowded in a room with hundreds of others.
It was in the small towns that I felt most comfortable, and had the time to absorb what was around us, at a lesiurely pace.
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