Travel Snippets 3 of 9

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If RV travel looks interesting to you, please don’t make your first long RV trip, in Europe — take trips close to home to make sure it’s your “cup of tea.” One time we met people who were making their first-ever RV trip, planning to spend a year in Europe. We met them again on their way home after only a few weeks in their Van. They had been sick and tired of camping before their first month was over. Their normal way of travel was to spend nights in Starred hotels, and eat in expensive restaurants. Why they thought that prepared them for the joy of the extravagant Ten-Star mode of travel in a campground, we don’t know.
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If someone says, “Let’s play a game,” the first thing you do is find out which game; chess, checkers, baseball, or football. Once you recognize the game, you now know the rules. Same thing with driving in Europe. Once you know which country you are in, you must now drive with their rules, and their driving habits. Or else.
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If we have time to see only one town in the Alsace of France, it must be Kaysersberg, with a castle ruin on the hill, and the birthplace of Dr. Albert Schweitzer. To paraphrase the old potato-chip ad, “Bet you can’t see only one.” There is no way to get here without driving through other Alsace villages, and we wouldn’t even if we could. Pictures can’t completely describe the Alsace, it has a warmth, a charm of its own that must be experienced. Smell the flowers, enjoy the fountains, absorb the flavor of the Alsace. Half-timbered and stone buildings; magnificent churches; interesting roof patterns created with multi-colored tiles; bridges over streams and small rivers; castle ruins; vineyards by the mile; wineries by the dozens; courtyards covered with flowers; clean, clean stone streets; and walls; and gates; and fountains; and storks making love in especially constructed nests high above the town. The Alsace is unique, picturesque, a must visit goal. (1985)
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If we watch the drivers in Paris, Berlin, or Rome, we can see how their Army acted and reacted during WW II.
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The German drives as if the street is his, and the law says this lane goes here, and that stop-sign means they will always stop, so he pays little attention to the needs of others, he just follows orders and plows ahead. On the Autobahn, that means speed.
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The Italian drives as if there are no rules, and when there is a traffic jam or some other problem, he just gives up, throws his arms in the air, smiles as if to say, “No big deal, I wasn’t going anywhere anyway.”
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We have seen traffic jams in Paris, where, if one driver backed up a little, and the other driver turned a little, the jam would disappear. But when the Paris driver arrives at, or causes a traffic blockage, he will not employ any initiative to solve the gridlock, he just sits there with a pained expression on his face, waiting for someone to help him out of the mess.
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If you are able to get in your car, or take a bus, train, or plane, and visit the US on your own, there is no good reason why you can’t do the same in Europe. If you speak the language, you will still have difficulties at times, and if you don’t speak the language it can be more confusing, but that’s part of the fun. Just make allowances for what you don’t know, and look for a place to sleep before it gets too late in the afternoon. Remember, after a good night’s sleep you can put up with most anything the next day.
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If you describe a “thousand” year old city surrounded by a high stone wall with gates, with cobbled streets, a beautiful cathedral — a city still alive with stores, banks, churches and schools for the residents, are you describing Carcassonne, France; Dubrovnik, Yugoslavia; or Rothenburg, Germany? Or perhaps Urbino, Italy; Sarlat, France; York, England; or maybe Toledo, Spain. Could be one of the several hundred other towns and villages that fit that description in England, Italy, France, Germany and other European countries. They really are very different to the eye, but the English language doesn't know that.
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If you look carefully at a map, you will see the “Eastern” entrance to the Panama Canal is west of the “Western” end of the Canal. That is, we sailed from west to east to get from the Caribbean to the Pacific Ocean. Well, more accurately, we sailed in a south-southeasterly direction. We could not get off the M/S Golden Odyssey at Colon, Panama, at the Atlantic Ocean end of the Canal, but late afternoon and early evening we visited Panama City, at the Pacific Ocean end of the Canal. It’s not the most beautiful place we have ever seen. We felt uncomfortable just walking around this city in daylight, so we made sure we returned to the ship before sunset. Located at the Pacific entrance of the Panama Canal, the Bridge of the Americas, a 5,007-foot-long arch bridge, serves as an important part of the Inter American Highway. (1978)
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If, like Emmy, you have never met a Marché Aux Puces (flea market) you didn’t like, Paris is for you. Perhaps the idea of the Marché Aux Puces started in Paris sometime in the middle ages. A wide assortment of junk dealers and rag pickers presented their goods for sale in an open field near Paris, and we would venture a guess that some of those same “goods” are still for sale. From the looks of things, some of these dealers sell real live puces.
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Imagine the millions of man-years spent building walls, gates, fortresses, palaces, and cathedrals, one, two or three thousand years ago. Those huge buildings, and walls with defensive features, sometimes took hundreds of years to build. Thirty-five hundred years ago, the Palace of Knossós, on Crete, had 1,300 rooms, with pressure piped fresh water. Twenty-five hundred years ago, Siracusa, Sicily, with half a million inhabitants, was surrounded by a fourteen mile wall, when Rome was a little village. But what else was there to do? When asked why he built so many palaces, one King replied, “Who else would feed my people?” Work fare, rather than welfare. There has always been a need for housing, clothing, and food, but in those days no one spent their time assembling automobiles, airplanes, televisions, computers, and telephone systems, there were no WalMarts, Sears Roebucks, Macy’s, or General Motors, to keep millions of people employed.
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Imagine us looking out the “bedroom” window in our RV, and seeing the floodlit 800 year old walls of Aigues-Mortes, France, walls that protected members of the Seventh and Eighth Crusade, all those centuries ago. The town of Aigues-Mortes (Dead Waters) is phenomenal. The rectangular city is small, we can walk from one side to the other in 10 minutes. The wall has four straight sides, and there are fifteen towers to guard the nine gates. The idea of a “ready” defense is not new, in the Tour de la Méche (Wick Tower), a fire was kept lit at all times to light cannon fuses if needed to repel a surprise attack. After being a seaport centuries ago, and the largest salt producer of France, this area is now a swamp from here to the sea. It was gradually filled by silt deposited by the Rhone River. We’ve visited here four times. (1980)
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In a flea market in Michelstadt, Germany, I had a book in my hands I wanted to buy, but when I laid it down to reach for my wallet, a woman picked it up and would not let me have it back. The book contained photographs taken from the Hindenberg as it flew over major cities of the world. The book, printed in the early 1930's, contained actual photographs pasted in the book, not printed ones. In the early 1930's, a cigarette company in Germany published a book on Zeppelins, but without pictures. The idea was to buy the cigarettes, mail in a coupon and they would send you one or more of the 265 pictures needed to finish the book. Some of the pictures are of Zeppelins being built, others were taken from above the US Capitol building, New York City, London, Cairo, Moscow, Rio de Janeiro, Japan, Monaco, and other places all over the world.
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In “Innocents Abroad,” published in 1867, Mark Twain said “See Naples and die. Well, I do not know that one would necessarily die after merely seeing it, but to attempt to live there might turn out a little differently.” After three visits to Naples, we think people would agree with Mr. Twain. Naples has such a reputation, the manager at the campground told us not to drive through Naples, even on a Sunday morning. But we did. The drive through Naples was scary and fascinating, a paradox. We bought strawberries from children at a sidewalk stand — they appeared to be a caricature of street urchins, ready to star as the Bowery Boys, in a “Dead End Kids” movie. They seemed frightened, drew back and would not respond when Emmy offered some candy and tried to be friendly with them. A sorry picture we saw in more than one block in Naples. (1989)
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In 1297, during an invasion by the Tarters (Russians), an arrow was shot through the throat of the Polish bugler, in mid-note. After a few moments of silence another man picked up the bugle and completed the call. It's reenacted each hour at St. Mary's Church in Kraków, Poland, we’ve heard it several times during our two visits to that city. As we sailed across the Atlantic on the TS/S Stefan Batory, at noon on Saturday, that bugle call — the “Hejnal Mariacki” — was broadcast over the ship’s PA System. It is broadcast on radio stations all over Poland at noon on Saturday. A national symbol for Poland. (1985)
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In 1970 as we were approaching the Checkpoints we needed to navigate on our way to West Berlin, we expected the worst from the East German Government. We had two teen-age Lindas with us, our daughter and a friend, and we did not want problems with the East German Military. I stopped at a U.S. Army guard house, and asked about the trip. They said “It’s OK, just be careful and follow the orders you are given.” They also showed me photos of signs I was to look for, that would direct us to West Berlin. We were so queasy and flustered about what we did and how we did it while we were doing it, that it wasn’t until a couple of years later when we talked about, and reviewed that portion of our trip in exact detail, that we realized that four very friendly, very unexpected, very neighborly actions on the part of East Germans, had occurred.
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In 1970 at Checkpoint Able they directed us to a parking lot and told us to enter the little barracks-like buildings to fill out papers needed to apply for permission to travel across East Germany, to West Berlin. Daughter Linda had completed a year or so of high school German, so with her help we were able to fill out the forms, just as if we were natives. After waiting in line we presented the forms to a young lady in a military uniform. She very politely informed us that we had indeed filled them out just like natives, only we were supposed to have filled out a different form for non-natives, but she smiled and said, “… you filled them out beautifully.”
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In 1970 at Checkpoint Able we found we must buy new license plates for our VW Van, remove the West German plates, and then mount the new plates, which would be valid for the entire two hour drive to West Berlin. (We had to buy another set of plates when we returned to the West, a few days later.) While we waited in that days mandated 45 minute “irritation factor” line (no real need, nor good reason to wait, just government policy), for our turn to continue across East Germany, I helped a lady who had an overheated car. I got some water for her car, and I crawled (a little) under the car and got the radiator cap that had fallen. The East German officer in charge liked that so much he waved us on, before our “aggravation time” had expired, ahead of others who were still waiting in line.
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In 1970 at Checkpoint Baker the East German guard looked again at the two Lindas, at Emmy, then held up three fingers, and asked me, “Drei frauen?” (Three women?) I answered “Yes.” Whereupon the guard rolled his eyes skyward, clasped his hand to his cheek like Jack Benny, as if to say,“You poor fellow.” That was so out of character from his looks, and his earlier actions. When we first arrived at this border crossing, he appeared to be, and acted, really mean and nasty, almost as if preparing for a role in a movie. He didn’t just ask to see our passports, he snarled to see them. I guess seeing the three lovely ladies transformed his deportment.
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In 1970 at Checkpoint Baker young East German guards, high in a gun tower, held their guns in one hand, and threw kisses to the Lindas with the other. Boys will be boys, just as long as blond and brunette teen-age girls continue to look like teen-age girls.
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In 1970 we headed for the campground located next to the Olympic Stadium in Amsterdam, Netherlands. We saw a tall vertical sign that said “CAMPING,” but missed the turn, then found another campsite in Amstelveen. After three intense weeks as driver, tour guide, waker-upper, and motivator deluxe, Amstelveen is where, to the relief of Emmy and the two Lindas, I finally collapsed and slept for 10 solid hours. Several years later I recognized the huge sign with the word CAMPING positioned vertically on the 30 or 40 feet high sign, we spent the night. One other year we had driven past here, on our way out of the country, when we weren’t looking for a campsite. One year we drove into Wroclaw, Poland, and found the campground was right next to the Stadium. Built in 1926, the 40,000 seat Stadium held several events of the 1936 Olympic Games, it’s now called the Olympic stadium.
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In 1970, while we were in Europe, a couple of airplanes had been hijacked to the Arabian desert and set afire. New and stringent security regulations were in effect at the Frankfurt, Germany, airport when we arrived for our flight home. No one had yet invented metal-detectors and baggage X-ray equipment, but furniture had been arranged in such a manner that passengers were directed into small groups. They had areas blocked off at the terminal building to help control passengers and non-passengers. Men and women were sent into rooms to be physically frisked, and searched very thoroughly. All luggage was put on the tarmac near the plane, and as one identified their luggage, they were escorted directly onto the plane. If you packed a bomb, you rode the plane.
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In 1979, there was a large tour-group on our boat from Tangiers, Morocco, to Spain, so I strongly suggested to Emmy that we be among the first off the boat, to beat the crowd. (“Strongly” you can believe, but the word “suggested” might be a little hard to accept.) By high-speed Hydrofoil we returned halfway across the Strait of Gibraltar, and after an engine failure, by slow-speed Hydrofoil we completed the twelve mile trip to Spain. A hydrofoil normally rides high above the water on small “wings,” but without all its engines, the hydrofoil settled back into the water, and now went even slower than a normal ferry boat. In Algeciras, Spain, we ran across the large parking lot with our suitcase, the rug and the trays, and got near the front of the line, so we wouldn’t have to wait for the large tour group to be processed.
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In 1979, while looking for tickets to tour from Algeciras, Spain to Morocco, I had pointed out a broken water pipe I had seen through a window in a closed Spanish government office, to a man in uniform. He thanked me and ran for help. As a complete surprise to him, and the two of us, he was the Customs official in charge of the customs station at Algeciras, Spain, when we returned from Morocco. As we entered the building, he remembered us from a few days earlier, smiled, saluted, shook our hands, thanked us, and personally escorted us past the long, complicated customs inspection stations, through the gate without even a glance at our passports or packages. Cast your “bread” upon the broken water pipe, and it will come back to bless you.
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In 1980, in the Berlin grocery store, toy-size carts with few food items were lined up at cash registers, in 1991 full-size carts were heaped to the brim with a grand variety of food. In 1980 we said, “The fruits and vegetables were small and scrawny, … there were long lines of people, each with two to six items in grocery carts so small they looked like a child’s toy.” But in 1991 everything was different. This is now a beautiful large grocery store, one that would be acceptable in any town in the US. Of special attention were the hundreds of chickens (we counted) turning on the several bar-b-que cookers, with two clerks waiting on the line of customers. Somehow it doesn’t seem so bad to wait in line for a lot of food in 1991, but it did seem a shame to see them wait in line for a little bit of nothing in 1980.
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In 1980, in West Berlin, near the Potsdamer Platz we climbed a flight of stairs to a platform that permitted us to look over the Berlin Wall into East Berlin. We could see the tank-traps, the barbed wire, the killing zone, concrete “dragons’ teeth,” and the guard towers that protected the Wall that imprisoned the East Berlin citizens. A terrifying sight. There were always two guards, so one could shoot the other if he tried to defect. We were told they were never the same two soldiers, because if they became friends, they might both defect at the same time, or at least not shoot their friend when he left. Thousands of people died as they tried to cross the Berlin Wall. In spite of the armed guards, mines, and automatic shooting devices, other thousands succeeded in escaping, one way or another.
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In 1980, while in Camping Wien Süd (Camping Vienna South) on Breitenfurter Straße, not far from downtown Vienna, a family from Poland was camped next door — two boys, and mother and father. The older boy (16 years) spoke a little English. A year later they escaped from Poland, we helped them come to the USA. They have been wonderful friends and citizens ever since. The parents are now retired, the boys have been very successful, and each hold a prestigious position, with large important national firms.
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In 1985 we sailed from Rotterdam to Monteral on the Polish ship Stefan Batory. Something about the name of this ship caught my eye, and I just knew there was something historically important that I should remember. In 1991, with the help of the late Congressman Patrick J. Hillings,I researched the story. May 23, 1949 Time Magazine said, ”Gerhart Eisler, the head of the US Communist party in the 1940’s, was under indictment, and was free on a $23,500 bond. One day he bought a 25¢ ticket to visit on board a Polish ship, named the “Batory.” He hid on the ship, until it arrived in International waters, then identified himself, and paid his fare. The US Government ordered the ship to return, the Captain refused. The US then decreed that this ship could never return to a US port.” So that’s why we are in Montreal rather than New York City, I’m sure.
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In 1985 we watched as the Dodge RV swung on a cable as it was loaded on the TSS Stefan Batory in Rotterdam, again on a cable as it was unloaded in Montreal, Canada, then we stopped in Indiana to visit family, stopped in Dallas to take care of business, stopped a dozen other places to visit friends and just because, as we drove towards home in California. The RV still had the German license plates, so when we stopped at the Fruit Inspection station at the Arizona/California border, the inspector asked, “Have you been east of Phoenix?” I said, “Oh yeah, we were in Prague, Warsaw, Vienna, Berlin, Rome, and a hundred other places.” The inspector’s jaw dropped, he waved us on without even asking if we had any fruit, which is the reason he stopped us in the first place. We wonder what he really thought about what we said.
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In 1991, at the newly opened Spar Supermarket in Dresden, (former East) Germany, we saw people who were just sightseeing, enjoying their first look at how the West had lived all these years. The look on their faces reminded us of kids looking at gifts under a Christmas tree. A rather new, several-floor building, formerly an East German Government Konsum Store, was now a Karstadt Department Store, a member of the West German chain. The store name was a cloth banner hung from the roof. Clerks, customers, and carpenters wandered among racks of clothes and piles of lumber, the clatter of jack hammers competed with the jingle of cash registers. The customers were happy, they weren’t inconvenienced by the construction work. When we visited in 1995, business had been so good, Karstadt was in the process of building a larger store just across Prager Straße from the original.
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In 1995 as we strolled on Wenceslas Square, in Prague, Czech Republic (where the crowds gathered to overthrow the government in 1989) we saw a sign with arrows pointing both right and left, that said there was a McDonald’s 150 meters in either direction. A Kentucky Fried Chicken store was nearby.
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In a bakery in Andalsnes, Norway, I saw a long flat cinnamon roll, and tried to buy half. They said all or nothing, and later we were happy we had bought the whole thing, it was excellent. We should have purchased two of them. (1979)
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In a Brussels, Belgium, super market we found a large oven with a continuously moving belt. The customer places dough on one end, and gets a fresh-baked loaf of bread or rolls at the other end. We had a bread, butter, and peanut butter snack in our RV, sure was delicious. (1979)
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In a German hardware store in Essen in 1995, I experienced an example of how a language sometimes explains, and sometimes confuses. The young man who helped me find the tube of silicone, held it up, and asked (in English), “Why did they name a town after silicone?” It took but a few moments to determine he was thinking of Silicon Valley, California, the area near San Francisco where there are many computer companies. The silicone I was buying was was a glue, silicon used to build computer chips, is made from sand.
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In a grocery store in Pátra, Greece, two men from Germany came to me, each with a small package of soup in their hand, and a few bottles of beer in their grocery cart. They said they didn’t have enough money to pay for the food, and would I pay for it. I said, “Don’t take the beer.” They said some nasty words in German (well that’s a guess, there was no one to interpret to English) turned abruptly and left. They would never have guessed that with the beer in the cart, they could have asked almost anyone else in the world, and received a more favorable response than they would get from me. (1989)
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In a jewelry store in Dubrovnik, Yugoslavia, Emmy was told an attractive silver ring would cost $15. A few moments later when she decided to buy the ring, a different clerk, now in charge, was shocked. The ring, a “national treasure,” was for display only, not for sale at any price, and would cost over $300 if it were for sale. Makes one wonder, doesn’t it? (1985)
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In a small grocery store in Titograd, Yugoslavia, Emmy wanted to buy some eggs, and after going “cluck, cluck” they pointed to a small booth outside the store, where she bought her eggs. Titograd is a nice town, with wide streets, plenty of stores, and several large parks. Only no one thought of mowing the grass, pulling the weeds, and tending to the flowers. The mountains along here are very unusual. The rocks look like they have been set in place like huge jagged stone blocks, for miles, and for hundreds, or thousands of feet high. Plants and trees are growing in the crevices. Very peculiar. (1989)
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In a small market in Gyor, Hungary, Emmy wanted to buy some eggs and was having a problem presenting her request. I heard a familiar voice “crowing like a rooster,” but she should have “cackled like a hen.” She did get her eggs, and some laughter. The store didn’t have much of anything to sell, when Emmy wanted some rye bread, they cut off a piece and weighted it for her. We also shopped at a nearby roadside fruit market. (1980)
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In a woolen mill in Scotland, a mannequin was dressed in a skirt Emmy liked, another had a skirt with pleats she loved even more, and yet another had the plaid material she preferred. She couldn’t make up her mind right then, but a few days later, while driving across the countryside we wrote a letter to the wool mill, explaining how we wanted them to combine the preferred elements from each mannequin. We included our Visa number, and just a few weeks later a beautiful skirt, in the style and material Emmy wanted, arrived at our home in California. I don’t remember the exact exchange rate in 1980, but the skirt, including shipping and customs was rather expensive, but it was a beautiful item of clothing for my Love. (1980)
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In Alexanderplatz, formerly East Berlin, I commented to a lady at a market booth that she was a beautiful young lady, dressed in an attractive manner, with a pleasant hair style, and she looked nicer then many young ladies, with “bed hair, and thrift store clothes,” we see in the US and in West Germany. Her response, “We can’t afford to have our hair styled like that, and can’t afford the new style of clothes, but just as soon as we can afford it, we will.” A good reason to rebuild the Berlin Wall. (1991)
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In all our travels we have not had an unexpected or an undesirable event that was potentially a catastrophic accident, or even an injury crash. I have driven well over a million miles with no accident, just a few flat tires, and I remember calling a tow truck a couple of times. There was never a problem with the hundreds of rental cars. One time Emmy made a left turn a little late, but the other driver admitted he changed lanes and was not paying attention, so $1,000 worth of damage, but no injury. We drove across the San Francisco/Oakland bridge a week before it collapsed in the 1989 earthquake. Even the flat tires were of no travel consequence, and the few mechanical problems happened in the most convenient place possible.
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In Amberg, Germany, we stopped to talk to a US Army man who was driving a fancy civilian jeep, with a beautiful, well dressed German Fräulein at his side. She knew exactly where the campground was and how to get there, so we found it OK. The very friendly campground manager welcomed us, and helped us get settled and get our electricity connected. He wanted to show Emmy the women’s facilities, so he walked right into the very busy ladies shower room without knocking, to show her around. Emmy was shocked, but no one else seemed to care. The dozens of small trailers in this campground appeared to be used as a permanent home, or a long term vacation home. (1983)
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In an antique shop in Baddeckenstedt, Germany, Emmy’s eyes were riveted on a boxed set of six serving spoons. Even though they were sterling, and engraved with her initials, she hesitated, so no sale, that day. However, the next day Emmy insisted I find the proprietor’s home, and for that week, the shop was open three days, instead of its normal two days a week. Inside the box was the name “Franz Jenrich Juwelier, Quedlinburg,” a town located in East Germany. A few years after the Berlin Wall fell, we visited that jewelry store and met the wife of a grandson of Franz Jenrich. She was delighted to hear our story, and Emmy was tickled to find the origin of her serving spoons. High on the outside of the building, the name “Franz Jenrich” and the date 1904, indicate this jewelry store dates from early in the twentieth century. (1985-1991)
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In an antique store in Auxerre, France, I bought the book called “Paris Atlas,” the first, of several heavy books I bought, printed by “Librairie Larousse, Paris.” This book has 28 detailed maps of Paris, and 595 pictures from the early 1900’s. There’s neither a car nor a truck in any picture in any of the books, horse drawn vehicles only. Carefully clipped newspaper stories about Paris, were found between the pages. In Chaumont, France, I found L’Italie Illustrée, with 35 maps and 784 pictures of Italy. There was a two volume set about Germany, that I didn’t buy. Later I wished I had spent the money. Volume II of La France, Géographie Illustrée, (500 pages, 1017 photographs, 29 maps) was found in Montleul, and the 772-picture book “L’Espagne et Portugal Illustrés,” was purchased at the old book store of Jacques Lévy, Libraire Expert, at #46 Rue D’ Alésia in Paris. (1980)
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In Assisi, Italy, a two-story canopy covered escalator leads up the hill from an upper parking lot, toward town. Can you imagine an escalator climbing the hill in a medieval city? At the top of the escalator we walked higher through the town, then turned and walked down, down, and down the hill, snaking through this most unusual city. Fruit and vegetable vendors filled market squares, pink stone houses and stores lined the narrow walkways. As we walked down street after street past buildings that are a thousand years old and look it, we admired the window and store displays, and found stylish things for sale, exhibited in an attractive manner. It was a short bus ride to where we had parked. It turns out that parking in that upper lot, riding the escalator up the hill, then walking those miles down the hill through Assisi, was one of the best travel ideas we ever had, even if it was just a happenstance. (1995)
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In Assisi, Italy, small buildings with shops that sell all kinds of things — clothes, costume jewelry, tourist mementos, and bric-a-brac galore — line the lower parking lot just below the St. Francis’ Basilica. One year I bought Emmy a nice embroidered cotton dress for $15 and paid $5 for a purse. Years later that beautiful “parking lot” dress was still in use. That’s because it was still a pretty dress, not because I hadn’t bought her another one. Among other reasons, there hadn’t been a pretty dress for sale in a California department store for many years, everything there was black, dark, and ugly. Camping Fontemaggio, where we have stayed on two of our four visits to Assisi, is miles above the city, reached by an almost impossibly misshapen mountain road.(1980)
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In Béziers, France, we watched as waiters with glasses and bottles on a small tray, and customers with burgers and fries, scurried among the vehicles as they went from bars and restaurants (one with Golden Arches), to tables and chairs in the park, on the opposite side of this busy street. As happens at so many places, Béziers is more impressive when viewed from across the river, than what we saw once we were inside the town. The arched stone Pont Vieux (Old Bridge) with flowers in the foreground, buildings at the riverside, the cathedral high on the hill, all combine to make another of those postcard pictures. (1983)
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In both 1979 and in 1985, on the main walking street in Copenhagen, there were young people collecting money to feed the “poor children in America.” They advertised, and invited people to see a film that showed hungry children in gutters, people being shot, and all other kinds of problems in the US. Wonder what they really did with the money they collected. Their hate for America matched their lack of knowledge about America. We had a large “coffee table” book about the US that we had purchased in Vienna. In Copenhagen the young people just could not imagine the photographs were real. They said they had never been told that the US looked anything like that. The fact that the book was printed in the German language, in Vienna, gave it some validity in their mind.
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In Bracknell, England, we spent a night, in 1970, with Peggy, Emmy’s WW II Pen Pal, just west of London. We arrived at her home about 9:00 PM, well after dark, and visited until 1:30 AM, talking with Peg, husband Don, and son Tim. Don worked for the Royal weather bureau (he had been involved with weather forecasting for the Normandy landings in WW II), Tim later became a dentist. The two Lindas slept in the VW in the driveway, while Emmy and I slept in the house. We also visited with Peggy, Don, Tim and his family, another year. During this visit Don showed slides of their vacation in Yugoslavia. That’s when we were reminded — wow, were we ever — Don was the president of the British Nudist Society. No we didn’t join. We had seen those campgrounds in Yugoslavia, but Sweetie said, “No we will not spend the night.”(1980)
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In Brussels, Belgium there’s a large square that’s been used as the flea-market for many years. It looks like a place where they sell real live “fleas.” We bought a few small items (drawer handles and door hardware). If you went to the house where we lived 25 years ago, you would find several beautiful brass door handles, a couple of which were purchased in Brussels, and others in Greenwich, a suburb of London, England, and the home of the famous Greenwich Observatory. We then walked to another Brussels market a few blocks away, in another open square nearer downtown. Things are very different here, and much more expensive. This market square is an antique market, not a flea market. (1980)
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In Buna, Yugoslavia, we met a lady from England, who was an elected official with the Labor Party. She had recently visited a college in New York City, and said everyone there hated President Reagan, and he was going to be impeached. I told her, “Going to a college in New York City to learn about the political health of the US, is like going to a Doctor for a physical exam, and he only looks at your armpits.” And I was being polite when I said “armpits.” (This story was published as a “Letter to the Editor” in the Los Angeles Times.) (1985)
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In Calcutta, India, we had loaded the troopship with soldiers for the trip back to the USA, but just as we were about to leave the dock, a convoy of Army trucks came speeding to the dock blowing their horns, the troops yelling for us not to leave. Their commander had said if they could get on the ship, they could go home right now. Well my ship was already loaded to capacity, but the Captain announced over the loud speaker that if the troops already on board didn’t mind sleeping on deck, standing in longer lines to eat their meals, and eat a little less, the other guys could come along. Everyone already on board yelled their approval, The gangplank was again extended to the dock, and on came the extra men. All day long, and most of the night, there were lines of people waiting to eat, but I never heard a complaint. (1946)
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In Carcassonne, France, Emmy managed to find a cute something (other than the driver) on which to spend her money. It took but a little while for her to make up her mind to buy a coffee pot in copper with brass trim. The storekeeper said it was made in France in the late 1800’s. The shiny “hammered” copper pot is about 13 inches high to the top of the lid handle, and has a brass handle and spout. On the bottom it says, 1-1/2 with the letter “Z” next to a quarter-inch circle with two fish headed in opposite directions. (1979)
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In Carcassonne, France, we saw the antique store where Emmy bought that copper coffee pot several years earlier. After we stopped for a Coke and a dish of ice cream at a castle-side cafe, Emmy did find another little brass object she couldn’t resist. It is a round 4 inch diameter, 2 inch high box with a lid, all woven of alternating 1/4 inch wide brass and copper strips. (1988)
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In Dinan, France, on our way down the hill to visit the wharf near the Rance River, I reminded Emmy that she must walk up, just as far as she walks down. About the only activities at the port now are pleasure boats, motor boats available for river trips, and Sweetie and I walking along the quay, enjoying the ambiance. Well, to coin a phrase, her eyes were almost bigger than her feet, but we did enjoy the walk, the view of the river, and we did make it back to the center of town, on top of the steep hill. (1985)
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In downtown Vienna, Austria, we walked along the Ringstrasse, then to the US Embassy on Boltzmanngasse, near Roosevelt Platz. As we talked to the Marine Guard, and the Austrian who was in charge of security, we found the Austrian had been in the German army, and had fought in Russia as a tank commander. We asked when he first knew they had lost the war. He said he was within sight of the smoke of burning Moscow, out of gas, out of ammunition, and had to walk and ride a horse to get back to Germany. He had been drafted for two years, but had to stay for many more, and had been wounded several times. (1985)
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In Edinburgh, Scotland, we toured the Holyrood House, where the Queen of England spends part of each year. It’s beautifully kept, and had been recently refurbished. They told all kinds of stories as they took us through the place. There are secret passageways between this room and that at Holyrood House, and they told stories that this one killed that one, another slept with someone’s somebody, and all those kind of things. I would assume that over the nearly 1,000 years of its existence, some people must have led normal lives while living here, but we didn’t hear many of those stories. (1980)
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In El Salvador our taxi stopped at a park that was filled with food stands. They were serving a lot of different kinds of foods that looked interesting to Emmy, but she resisted, almost. When a woman saw Emmy staring intently at a fuzzy piece of fruit, she offered Emmy her very first taste of a Kiwifruit. It was years before we saw them in the stores in the US. In 1988, in the campground in Florence, and a few days later in Venice, Italy, our next door neighbors were Ross and Barbara, Kiwifruit farmers from New Zealand. A New Zealander, and a bird in New Zealand are both called a Kiwi, they insist the fruit be called Kiwifruit. (1978)
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In El Salvador we had the only personal attack we have experienced in our travels. We were holding hands (as we always did) while walking through the marketplace in San Salvador, when someone reached between us, and tore my watch from my arm. At first I started after him, but then decided that all I really wanted was to be on our Cruise Ship, M/S Golden Odyssey, when it left El Salvador. I didn’t want to spend time in a police station or a hospital, and the watch was of small importance. Some old ladies who had seen what happened, apologized, and were so sad we had been treated that way in their country. (1978)
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In Europe, a pointing thumb stands for “one,” add the forefinger for “two” and add the middle finger for “three,” etc. I laughed the first time I held up an index finger and someone handed me two of something — the clerk thought I just had a lazy thumb.
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In Europe, most countries have distinct and interesting cultural communities. When cultural groups are living the way they wish to live and are not bothered by, or fighting with others, these background enrichments can make a trip interesting and stimulating.
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In Évzoni, Greece, we bought some cherries, a melon, bananas, tomatoes, and received an extra handful of cherries as our change. We needed to buy some meat, and in the butcher shop all the meat was in the cooler, none was on display, so it was difficult to make the lady butcher understand what we were looking for. Finally I “mooed” like a cow, and that was all she needed to know to grind us some hamburger. She spoke a few words of English, but she didn’t know the word “beef,” at least not the way we pronounced the word. (1989)
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In Évzoni, Greece, when we stopped for fuel, the station owner heard us speaking English, so he smiled and mentioned “Margaret,” meaning Margaret Thatcher, Prime Minister of Great Britain. When I said, “California” and “President Bush,” the Greek really liked that. And he liked it even more when I said “President Reagan.” Quite a nonverbal conversation — well, a few words, but mostly gestures. (1989)
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In Florence, Italy, we met a WW II, US Army GI with his Italian bride of 40 years, and a couple of their grown children. It was her first visit to her homeland in nearly 40 years, but she said she wanted no part of it anymore. She was not happy that her sisters still lived much as she had lived 40 years earlier. She was concerned about the way they must buy food each and every day, and in their homes they lacked conveniences that are considered indispensable and normal in her home in the USA. (1985)
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In France, Poland, Yugoslavia, and in a couple of other countries, we saw a full-size tourist bus pulling a huge four-wheel trailer. The trailer contained a “walkup” kitchen in the rear, where cooking went on for hours. The bus was used as a tour bus, and took the travelers to see the sights of the area. When parked for the night, one side of the trailer opened, then was covered by canvas that provided a little privacy as people crawled into bed. Each bed was in a little cubical, and we would suppose that one or two of the 42 little windows were available for each sleeper compartment. But we never inquired as to how many people were permitted, or required, for each compartment. Looked awfully crowded to us, but what a wonderful way to provide low cost travel accommodations for Europeans who seem to have an itch to wander. (1985)
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In Fréjus, France, we found no parking space within a distance from the shopping area that appealed to Emmy’s spirit of adventure, as modified by her gumption for walking. She demands some reasonable association between effort and excitement, even in shopping. We finally found a place to park near the amphitheater, so walked around inside the Roman Arena in Fréjus. This is the oldest amphitheater in France, and it held about 10,000 spectators, about half as many as the Arenas in Arles or Nimes. We had seen the remains of the Roman aqueduct, as we arrived at Fréjus. (1995)
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In front of a supermarket in Macaire, France, someone had a little automatic donut machine, making tiny donuts. We bought a dozen or so, covered with powered sugar, for 10 ff. Delicious. As we tried to leave Macaire, I could not find my way out of town in the direction we wanted to go. Emmy says that I now know a little about how most people feel when they drive in a strange place. No one said I was the perfect driver all the time, just most of the time. I guess I just feel “at home” most anywhere. (1988)
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In front of the castle in Heidelberg, Germany, as we have seen many times, fifty Japanese tourists were standing in three rows, as if they were a choir. Tourists took their turn to run from the choir, snap a photo, and return to their place in the group. I stood in front of them, raised my arms as if I was the choir director, and started to lead. I heard no music, but did hear and see the people cheer, and heard a lot of laughter. I asked the guard at the Huntington Library in San Marino, CA, “Is a Japanese tourist permitted on the grounds without a camera?” He laughed. Each and everyone of them, has at least one camera. It's difficult to see art in the Louvre Museum in Paris, France, without also seeing a Japanese tourist taking a photo of their mother. When they get home, they tell people, “Didn't mother look nice in front of … … !”
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In Germany, a Bakery is called a Bäckerei, a pastry shop is called a Konditorei, a butcher shop is a Metzerei, so it was not much of a shock to see a store in Berlin with the name, Computerei. (1991)
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In Gíthio, Greece, we talked with a restaurant owner who had lived in San Jose, California for 15 years. He recently visited with his brother who still runs the family restaurant in San Jose. He said if all the Greeks came home, the Americans would starve because all the Greek restaurants would be closed. His restaurant, with tables both inside and on the sidewalk, was about empty this night. That is also true for several others, while some cafes are busy (midweek, out of season). This man said the empty chairs would be cause for concern in San Jose, but his Gíthio restaurant will be filled tomorrow, or some other day, and that’s all that matters. He said, “Here I am sitting at a sidewalk cafe talking with my friends, and what could be better.” For that evening we were his friends. (1989)
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In Grasse, France, we telephoned Renie. We had met in Oradour-sur-Glane, she had translated for us, and asked us to visit her home. She came to the campground in her Renault, took us on a tour of the city, and a visit to her beautiful home. She had been a member of the French underground, and was imprisoned by the Germans for eighteen months, during WW II. Our next visit we telephoned Renie, again accepted her invitation. She said, “I’m sure you remember where I live.” We had been at her home, in her car, after dark, seven years earlier, we couldn’t find her street on the city map — she had more confidence in my navigational skills, than we did. As we drove down the hill, at one intersection, out of the corner of my eye I saw something familiar. We turned, drove a mile, asked once, and — well, the amazing homing pigeon was successful again. (1995)
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In Gubbio, Italy, we ignored the signs saying “No Camper Parking” and drove through those narrow, narrow, curvy, steep, exciting streets. We usually try to stay on streets where we can see trucks bigger than our RV, so now when we saw none, asked a man if we could continue up, and up, and wherever in Gubbio. He motioned and said in English, “No problem,” and he was right, a little, for awhile. The next few blocks were “No problem.” But when the street became a dead end, it sure became a problem. A teen-aged girl who helped us get turned around, was born in Texas, but has lived in Gubbio for four years (she said she missed McDonald’s the most). The Texan found a lady and asked her to move her car, before we could pirouette, and get out of there. (1989)
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In Hall in Triol, Austria, we saw a huge man who sure looked funny. He had a tiny (for him) hat with a feather, short pants, and a huge belly that stuck far in front of him. Wonder if he ever got close enough to a door to reach the door knob. He hasn’t seen his shoes (among other things) for many years. The town of Hall in Triol is colorful. There are three special towers, one is octagon shaped, with windows clear to the top. Looks like a small castle. Could be apartments and a restaurant in the building, but we’re not sure. (1989)
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In Hallstatt, Austria, a street goes through a low-roof one lane tunnel for autos. Traffic one way at a time, light changes every seven minutes. We had to drive the RV across the mountain. Town is bunched on a narrow space between the steep mountains and the lake. Populated since 1500 BC, photos of Hallstatt are often pictured on calendars, jigsaw puzzles, and other such things. The lake is surrounded by mountains, on one there is a funicular railway that goes to the entrance of a salt mine, near the top of the mountain. Next to one church the cemetery has a hundred or more graves, each a separate, detailed, trimmed, beautiful flower garden. The “gravestones” are metal crosses with a little roof, and many with the photograph of the person buried there. As we walked from campground to downtown, six or eight waterfalls and streams flowed down the mountainside. (1988)
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In Hameln, Germany, we watched the Pied Piper play, called the “Die Rattenfängersage” or “The rat catcher fable,” that lasted about 1/2 hour. They had a lot of people dressed like townspeople of centuries ago, with many children dressed like children in those days, and many children dressed (and crouched) like rats. Like someone (me) said, “Hameln, the home of the Piper, and the former home of rats and kids.” Several times each day doors open high on the side of a building, and fairy-tale figures make an appearance, going round and round to act out the fable. Some historic references says that on June 26, 1284 a Pied Piper actually lured 130 children of Hameln away from home. It doesn’t say what happened to the rats. The official web site of the German town of Hameln makes no mention of it, they attract a herd of tourists, and make a ton of hay from the legend. (1991)
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In Honfleur, France, we bought a useful gadget, a shoulder yoke made of wood and carved to fit over my shoulders so I (Me?) could carry whatever might need carried. In a town nearby we saw two ladies using similar yokes so each could carry two buckets of water. (1980)
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In Istanbul, Turkey, a nice young man stopped and talked with us. I guess he could tell we were tourists — perhaps most Turks don’t walk around with a camera hanging around their neck. He said he had worked for NATO for 12 years, is now a tailor, and this is his day off. He asked if we were taking a tour of the city, and we thought he was about to try and sell his services. But not at all, he was just a friendly young man, happy to answer the questions of American tourists. Emmy asked his help to buy a Coke to take a pill for her toothache, but instead, the young man got her a glass of water at a little restaurant. He understood her unasked question, and said, “Everyone can drink Istanbul water,” and she did, and it was fine. (1989)
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In July 1983 we arrived at the Arc de Triomphe, at Place Charles de Gaulle, in Paris, France, at 9:00 AM on a Sunday morning and were shocked to find the Champs Elysées 99% clear of cars and people, with the few remaining cars being towed away. The “Tour de France” bicycle race was to end in Paris that afternoon, so there would be no room for parked cars and the million spectators. To the French, the Tour is the Super Bowl and the World Series combined in a month-long 2,500-mile race across their country. Later that day we rode the elevator to the top of the Tour (tower) Montparnasse. From the 59th floor we could see the whole city, including the crowds for the bicycle race in the distance, but we were too far away to see the individual bike riders.
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In June 1998, the battleship USS Missouri arrived in Pearl Harbor, Honolulu, Hawaii, and was docked within sight of the ruin of the battleship, USS Arizona. The two memorials, in unique juxtaposition, seize visitors in radically different ways. The Arizona is a symbol of the start of America's war in the Pacific, while the Missouri, represents the other bookend of World War II — its conclusion. When we visited in 1968, there was an unfortunate occurrence on the ferry boat that took us to the Arizona. Two elderly men, from an unnamed country, far west of Hawaii, were making funny gestures and apparently making jokes in their foreign language. Someone (not me) reported this to the guards at the memorial, who firmly let those two men know that if they didn’t stop what they were doing, they most likely wouldn’t make it back to shore. They stopped the nonsense, right then and there.
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In Landivisiau, France, a shaft of sunlight shining through a high stained glass window in St. Thivisiau’s, spot-lighted the bouquet of gladioli in front of the altar. Our photo shows two large candlesticks to the left, and the scene was backlit by the stained window beyond the altar. Emmy’s Cousin Monika was married to Henri in St. Thivisiau’s, which is just across the street from where Henri’s parents lived above their grocery store. (1980)
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In late 1879 an almost new railway bridge across the Firth of Tay, collapsed and 75 people died in the Dundee Rail Disaster. When they proposed to build a bridge over an even wider part of the Firth (body of water), they came up with the most unique bridge design ever. The Firth of Forth Rail Bridge, a cantilever bridge over the Firth of Forth (a wide inlet of the North Sea near Edinburgh, Scotland), opened in 1890. It is one of the strongest, one of the strangest, and some people say that perhaps it is one of the ugliest, ever built, but everyone agrees it is safe. We drove across the nearby Firth of Forth Road Bridge, a long-span suspension bridge with 494 feet towers, that was opened in 1964. (1980)
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In Limoges, France, Emmy liked a 4.5 by 6.25 inch enameled porcelain picture, in a nice frame, and went back to see it time and again. When she was finally ready to buy, the store was ready to close for lunch. That only stopped Emmy for an hour though. We had lunch in our RV near the river, then came back to buy ($135) her picture. It is signed on the front, “A-Bureau, Limoges.” On the reverse is a label that says, “EMAILLEUR D’ ART, certifie sur l’honneur que ses émaux sont entiérement exéutés A LA MAIN.” (1988)
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In London we found a Mrs. Thornton’s Special English Toffee store, and it really is. We don’t know if that Toffee will spoil after a few days or not, as it has never lasted long enough to find out. We’ve made Toffee at home, we have purchased many different brands of Toffee, but none compare with Mrs. Thornton’s. (1980)
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In many cities in Europe, and in the United States, people just don’t pay much attention to speed limits, the needs, or the desires of other drivers on public streets. For example in Los Angeles, and in Rome, Italy, people will be driving at 50 mph, on a street with a posted limit of 30 mph, and regardless of how much I blow the horn, they won’t move over and let me pass. (A letter in the Los Angeles Times.)
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In March 1946 I spent my 18th birthday as a member of the Merchant Marine, on a troopship, SS Marine Cardinal, in the harbor of Singapore, on my way from Manila, Philippines, to Calcutta, India. We were to bring home a shipload of US Military, Army Nurses, Red Cross ladies, and Army War brides (many with their husband on the ship). A portion of one deck was reserved for the husbands who had wives on board, and no one was allowed to even think of observing the stimulating blanket activity on that deck during the day and well into the night! On our return from Calcutta, we again stopped near Singapore overnight, for some repairs. There were hundreds of sunken ships in Singapore’s harbor, and flattened buildings on shore. We were not allowed to leave the ship either coming or going.
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In March 1946 we had to wait for another ship to move from our docking space, when my ship first arrived in Manila. When we docked, I noticed the name of the ship that had just left was still shown on a pedestal on the dock, and it was the ship my brother Johnny was sailing on, the SS Flyaway, on its way to Shanghai, China. A couple of days later, near the Island of Corregidor, as we waited for a ship to leave the tanker so we could refuel, the name of that ship was the SS Flyaway. I saw this at the last moment, there was no time to communicate with the Flyaway and find my brother. He didn’t know I was on the Marine Cardinal.
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In March 1946 when I returned to my ship after visiting downtown Manila, Philippines, the second day we were docked in that city, I saw a newly docked ship, covered with barbed wire, in the dock next to my ship. I knew my brother-in-law was serving as a guard on a prison ship, taking Japanese “Prisoners of War” from Manila to Japan. I ran and quickly asked the gangplank guard if he knew Harold, and he pointed and said, “That’s him, riding on that Jeep, just going down the street.” Harold was also one of the guards at the War-Crimes Trial of several Japanese Admirals and Generals.
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In Mazatlan, Mexico, while sailing on the cruise ship SS Fairsea, Emmy was shopping, while I sat on the seawall, waiting for her. I noticed a woman walking on the sidewalk near the seawall, carrying one child, and holding the hand of another. I soon noticed that the child would skip along just as happy as could be, until they reached another person sitting on the wall, then the mother would squeeze his hand and signal the kid to wail and cry until either something was donated, or they were rejected and were on their way to the next person. Can’t say I can blame her, but on the other hand, … … . Sweetie found my story hard to believe, but a few months later we visited Tijuana, Mexico, and saw the exact same scene during our walk. That convinced her that not all my stories, and none of my Snippets, are fabricated. (1972)
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In Nimes, France, it was interesting to note that while we were parked next to an old house, built in 16 BC, that was part of an Empire created by the Romans, we were just down the street from a store that is part of an Empire created by a Mouse. Mickey, that is. A Disney Store is just a few blocks from the Maison Carrée. An item of trivia. The cloth ‘denim,’ is named for “de Nimes,” meaning, in French, “from Nimes.” (1995)
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In Odessa, Ukraine, a sign on a post said in English, “Camping,” but we were traveling by cruise ship, SS Odysseus, at this time. I used my Visa card to buy a telescope at the Intourist Store, and we stopped at an Intourist Hotel just to use the ancient restrooms. There were plenty of sidewalk cafes, and a drink vend