Red Neck Ramblings –
The Andersons “do” Europe
By
Harold Anderson
My wife, Paula, and I have always
liked to travel. We have traveled
extensively throughout the United States, but had not cruised until 2011, when my
mother passed away and we were freed from the responsibility of caring for
her. I am an old sailor – literally and figuratively. I owned sailboats for years and am retired
from the US Navy Reserve. Most of my Navy experience was on riverine warfare
craft, but I have been to sea on a destroyer – and it was no luxury cruise!
Our
first cruise was from New Orleans to Cozumel, Mexico – and we were hooked. This was followed by two cruises to Alaska,
and another one to Central America. Last
summer, my cousin, Steve Anderson, who is a Mormon and greatly interested in
genealogy, suggested a “cousins’ cruise” of the British Isles to “trod the ancestral
sod” of Scotland, from which our ancestors immigrated in the 1600’s. Fourteen -- cousins and their spouses and
children -- made the trip. We toured all
of the British Isles except for Wales, and even had a side trip to Paris. We all enjoyed it immensely.
Paula
and I found advertisements for Viking river cruises of Europe enticing, and asked
the cousins if they were interested. Two
couples were – Steve and Daleen Anderson, of Madison, and Julie (Anderson) and
Craig Sutton, of Franklin, TN. Steve and
Deleen have traveled extensively in connection with his work as a financial
advisor, and Steve once owned a travel agency, so he was instrumental in
planning the trip.
We
selected a cruise from Amsterdam to Basal, Switzerland on the Rhine River. We timed it for the peak of tulip season (we
began on May 5) and spent three pre-cruise days in Amsterdam to enjoy the show
– and what a show it was!! Kirkenhauf Gardens, Oh my! Greenhouses of delicate orchids and other tropical
flowers and acres upon acres of fields of bulb-flowers, especially tulips –
tulips of every color, size and shape intermixed with wild abandon, seas of
single color, and beds of various colors and sizes woven into intricate
geometric patterns. A canal encircles
the garden, and we opted to walk – and I am glad we did. Kirkenhauf Garden is to the garden lover as
cotton candy is to a three-year-old.
The old
city of Amsterdam is an amazing place.
If is known as “The Venice of the North,” and for good reason. Like the Italian city, it is built over water
on wooden pilings – approximately 13 million pine trees gave their all to build
this capital of commerce in the 13th century. Like Venice, Amsterdam is a city of
canals. Concentric rings of large canals
arc through and around the city; and are intersected by smaller ones that
radiate from a hub – like spokes of a wheel.
The canals are busy with water traffic – sight-seeing boats, water taxis
and row boats. One seldom sees powered
pleasure boats in Europe, but sailboats and row boats abound. Another American
fixture that is missing is pick-up trucks.
I did not see a single one on this or my previous trip to Europe. Cars
and trucks are not allowed in the old city.
Transportation is via boat, on foot, or – most often – by bicycle. They even have freight bicycles. The front frame is greatly extended and in
this space between the handle bar and front wheel, is a box – maybe just a
utilitarian cube or a fanciful shape, like a wooden shoe. In these they
transport nearly everything – groceries, furniture, appliances and, especially,
children. Pedestrians, beware: Bicyclists rule the roost!
The
water-level of Amsterdam is falling, which exposes ancient wooden pilings, and
they decay, causing buildings to list drunkenly. When they get bad enough to be dangerous, the
city reworks the foundations, installing concrete pilings – an expensive process.
The water level in Venice is rising, often flooding the first level of
buildings. It does not make sense that
the same sea can be both rising and falling, but I think I have it figured
out: Amsterdam and Venice are of
opposite ends of the same tectonic plate.
The weight of millions of tourists in Venice are forcing that end down
and the Amsterdam end is, naturally, forced up – like a seesaw. Sounds about as
logical as a lot of the “climate change” theories.
Venice
is a fairy land rising from the sea – flung from the hands of a capricious
sprite, but Amsterdam is a neat and orderly place, obviously designed by, and
for, no-nonsense businessmen.
We
visited the Rijks Art Museum while in Amsterdam. I am no connoisseur of fine
art, but we had an excellent guide who explained the significance of various
painting. Several Rembrandts were
displayed – showing the development of his techniques, especially his treatment
of light, from his teen years to the painting of his masterpiece “Nightwatch.” This huge mural depicts the changing of the
night guard in 16th century Amsterdam. The guide explains that the entire museum was
built to showcase this one painting – everything else is just
window-dressing. Maybe. I am a fan of Vincent Van Gogh, and I was astounded to see some his
work displayed, including his self-portrait. It was a sublime experience to
gaze on that odd triangular face with its shrunken checks and combed-back hair;
to know that the very hand that painted it gave the world sunny fields of
sunflowers and a starry night where galaxies twirled and swirled at the edge of
infinity above an undulating landscape punctuated by columnar cypress trees: To
gaze into those intense eyes, longing for a bit of understanding of that
tortured soul.
The
Netherlands is a land reclaimed from the sea. The industrious Dutch did it
about 800 years ago by surrounding a shallow bay with miles of dykes made of
sticks and mud, then using huge windmills, pumped out the water. Ever since,
they have maintained a delicate balance between land and water, most of that
time using windmills. In the twentieth
century they switched to electric pumps, then recently added computer
controls. It’s a shame. I like windmills.
We went
to a windmill museum with 17 of the behemoths on display. 15 are leased out as homes (although the
blades still “turn for the king” – are not connected to the pumping machinery,
but spin free just for show.) Two actually pump water and the blades turn much
slower as they struggle to turn a massive “dip wheel” –a water wheel that splashes water over the dyke
and back into the sea. The windmill we visited once housed a family of 13
children. The family lived among the
massive wooden gears and slept in alcove beds built into the walls. The blades are huge lattice-work structures
that come almost to the ground. The
miller climbs the lattice to stretch canvas sails. The mother of this family was struck and
killed by a blade as she rescued a tot who was toddling into its path.
The
museums are only allowed to operate a few windmills: they pump so much water
they can easily confuse the modern computer controls.
Part 2: Cruising the Rhine River from Amsterdam to
Basal, Switzerland
First,
for the uninitiated, a word about cruising:
There are cruise lines that cater to nearly every taste (and budget) –
From young families to seniors, to popular tourists’ destinations -- from the Caribbean
Sea to exotic places like Antarctica.
The prices can be very reasonable – about like paying for a moderately
priced hotel room, with meals, entertainment, transportation and some shore
excursions thrown in for free, but some up-scale cruise lines can be
pricy. Large “mega-liners” are floating
cities, with restaurants, food courts open round-the-clock (the food is too
plentiful, but not particularly tasty), libraries, lounging areas, huge
theaters with elaborate stage shows, etc.
These ships hold about 4,000 passengers and 2,000 crew members. You are not going into the navigation or
machinery spaces, unless you purchase a pre-cruise behind-the-scenes tour.
The
boats like ours – the “Viking Kara” -- that ply the rivers of Europe are vastly
different. They are sized to fit the
locks of rather small rivers – about 440 feet long and 30 feet wide. They carry 190 passengers and 50 crewmembers.
Diners have the option of eating in a restaurant, with table service, or
serving themselves from a buffet in the lounge.
A mid-afternoon snack is offered, but there are no round-the-clock food
courts. Breakfast is, by far, the best
meal of the day, with a wide choice of fresh fruits, meats, cheeses, pastries,
cereals, juices and smoked salmon and pickled herring (my favorite, but my wife
won’t touch it. She eats Brussels
sprouts. Go figure.) I found the food in Europe (including the
boat) bland and disappointing. Only two
percent of the people from north of the Mason-Dixon Line can cook. Our Chef was from Croatia. Now, you readers who are transplanted
Yankees, undoubtedly fall into the two-percent category. How’s that for diplomacy?
Everything
on a riverboat is down-sized – including the staterooms. They are, uh, “convenient” i.e. one can reach
anything in the room from the bed. Since we did not realize these cruises
filled up so quickly, we reserved our room only a few months in advance, and all
that were left were on the lowest passenger deck – mostly below the
waterline. Only the top three feet of our
room was above water and there was a small slot window about five and a half
feet above the floor, just above the waterline.
Being relatively tall, I could see through it, standing
flat-footed. Paula could not, and her
only view was of the sky. Although tiny,
the room was comfortable, with a king-size bed, large screen TV, refrigerator,
small counter, a few drawers, a very small closet and doll-house-size bath and
shower. Much of our luggage stayed packed in suitcases stored under the bed. Upper-deck rooms were the same size, but had
picture windows. But, the room was comfortable and about the only time we spent
in it was for sleeping.
There
was no room on such a small ship for a theater, but the lounge was roomy and
comfortable. Each night our cruise
director – a Scottish lady named “Ria,” who was a very good stand-up comedian –
described the next day’s activities and regaled us with funny stories. The pianist was excellent (nearly as good as
Richard Boykin, the music director at East Philadelphia Baptist Church), so we
enjoyed wonderful background music. We
had access to books, cards and board games from the small library. It was all very civilized.
We
usually sailed all night, enjoyed a shore excursion in the morning, returned to
the boat for lunch and went ashore for another excursion in the afternoon. At times, these included supper ashore; but,
at times, we returned to the ship for the meal.
Being a
relatively small river (as rivers go – I would say about the size of the
Tennessee River), there were no large tows of barges as one sees on the
Mississippi River, but the amount of river traffic was amazing. It was mostly motorized barges. They haul everything imaginable – tankers
full of fuel, hoppers of asphalt, gravel, cement, etc. and cargo barges filled
with shipping containers, including on the deck. High-speed rail lines run
along both sides of the river and they are constantly busy. Since there are no draw bridges on the Rhine,
the boats are equipped with pilot houses on hydraulic lifts, which can be
lowered to go under low bridges. Crewmen
have to lower sun-deck awning by hand.
Our
captain was a very affable Dutchman with enormous skill and 36 years’
experience on river freighters and passenger boats. He invited those of us who were interested to
visit him in the pilot house (which I did).
Try that on an ocean-liner! I was astounded to see him put a 440-foot
boat into a lock with only 18 inches to spare on each side – and not touch the
wall. Now, THAT is boat handling at its
best!
Let me
say a few words about castles, cathedrals, palaces and art museums: There are as many of these in Europe as there
are honky-tonks in Mississippi. Once you
have seen one, you have seen them all (Well, art museums might be the
exception). I recommend selecting one of
each, examining it thoroughly, getting it out of your system then spending the
rest of your time exploring little villages, folk-life museums and admiring the
magnificent landscape. There was one stand-out cathedral: Cologne, Germany, for
it contained a gilded ossuary said to contain the bones of The Three Wise Men!
Some duke stole it from Jerusalem during the Crusades and brought it to
Germany. Now, how could one resist such a sight?
My
favorite part of the cruise was the French province of Alsace. It was once a state within the Holy Roman
Empire, but since the collapse of that confederation, has changed hands between
Germany and France several times. I can see why they would fight over it. It is a valley about thirty miles wide
between two mountain ranges about the height of the Blue Ridge Mountains in
Virginia.
The
fertile valley is covered with farm fields.
Farmers in Europe do not live on the land, but in small villages of a
few hundred to a couple of thousand people, so they were strung out like pearls
on a necklace. These orderly and
neat-as-a-pin little towns date from the 1200’s with cobble stone streets,
flowers and gardens everywhere and houses of “half-timber” construction.
Alsace
was occupied by the Nazis in WWII, and was the scene of heavy fighting. We
visited one little town that was totally obliterated. A post-war photo showed only a bombed-out
bell tower standing. But, thanks to very
hard-working and resourceful villagers, the Phoenix arose from the ashes, for
they scrounged through the rubble, salvaged as much building material as they
could and rebuilt the town in the medieval style.
A
touching moment was a visit to the Audie Murphy Memorial. Here is the “Readers’ Digest” version of his
monumental “One-Man-Stand:” In the winter of 1944, the Allies planned to
liberate Alsace from German occupation by sweeping down the mountain passes
with tanks, infantry and, with the assistance of aircraft, drive the Nazi’s
from the valley, but the winter of 1944 was the worst in years and the roads
through the passes were impassable. Plan
“B” involved a sixty mile end-sweep march and crossing a small river on a
rickety bridge. The commanders made a mistake: They sent the infantry over the river
first. The first tank that tried to
cross collapsed the bridge. Thick fog
and rain prevented aircraft from flying, so the foot soldiers were trapped
without support. Audie Murphy was a
19-year-old Lieutenant who led his men to the edge of the woods, were he
encountered Nazi infantry and tanks arrayed in a field before them. Knowing his large group would make an easy
target for the tanks; he ordered them to the rear and held the Germans at bay
with his rifle. When he ran out of
ammunition, he jumped onto a nearby burning tank with a functioning .50 Cal.
Machine gun and plenty of ammunition and continued to hold the Germans off
until a break in the weather allowed allied aircraft to fly and drive them back. Just as he retreated from the burning tank,
it exploded. His actions bought time for
the Allies to repair the bridge, sweep into Alsace and liberate it. Murphy won the Medal of Honor and was the
most decorated soldier in WWII. After
the war, he became an actor, staring in 40 movies, including “To Hell and
Back,” the award-winning movie about this event.
We
stood at the memorial where Murphy made his stand. Our female guide attempted to close her
recitation of events with a poem, but broke down in tears. The people of Alsace are still thankful to
the Americans for their sacrifice, and are quick to say so. They hold a Memorial Day ceremony in their
honor each year.
We
spent one day aboard ship cruising the middle Rhine. What spectacular landscape! The river valley
is narrow here, with just enough flat land for the railroads on each side, and
then there are bluffs and hillsides that rise up, at very steep angles, for
hundreds of feet. The tops are speckled with castles and forts, and the nearly
vertical slopes are clothed with vineyards. A guide explained that they cannot
plant on the contour because workers could not stand up on the side of the
mountain, so they plant straight up and down.
The fields are too steep to operate machinery, so the grapes are cultivated
and harvested by hand. Maybe that is why
they do not have an erosion problem. The
elevation, soil, climate and aspect combine to produce some of the finest white
wine grapes in the world.
We
passed through the Lorelei Narrows, where, according to legend, the mermaid
Lorelei sat on the jutting rocks and lured boatmen to their doom with her siren
song. Lorelei is still there – cast in
bronze. I listened intently for her
song, but she is as quiet as the Pascagoula Indians.
Our
final excursion was to the Black Forest.
As a forester, this was of great interest to me, for this is the oldest
continually managed forest in the world.
I had a head full of technical questions about silviculture, management
regimes, etc., but alas, the guide could not answer my questions. I just had to enjoy the beautiful
scenery. The forest was interspersed by
little open valleys that supported dairy farms.
The cows, with their tinkling bells, seemed to enjoy our attention. Their homes were the ground floors of very
large barns, while the farmers lived above.
Undoubtedly,
the forest produces an abundance of fine sawlogs, but firewood seems to be the
major product. All the homes, and even
businesses, are heated with wood; there are stacks of wood for sale everywhere
and every home and business has an enormous pile.
After
800 miles, we reached our final destination on the Rhine: Basil,
Switzerland. According to the map, this
is the source of the Rhine, and I expected it to just be a channel large enough
for a single boat at this point, but not so!
The Rhine is still a substantial river (probably due to the numerous
locks) and Basil is a busy port.
The
Suttons left at this point to fly back home to Tennessee, Steve and Daleen and
Paula and I continued on across Switzerland via rental car.
Part 3: The Journey
Across Switzerland and Our First Experience with European Trains
Steve
had made arrangements with Parelli Tours for the second part of our journey. The Viking folks (who were very
accommodating) transported us and our luggage to the rental car office, where
we secured a small SUV, into which we crammed four adults and nine suite cases,
(one of which a doorman said had to contain a SmartCar!), and we headed off
across the Alps! Thank God for GPS! With the aid of this marvelous device, we did
not get (seriously) lost a single time! We drove for miles with Lake Aare on
our left, and the Alps rising in snow-capped grandeur on our right to the city
of Interlochen (It is built on a peninsular that juts into the lake, hence the
name, which means “between the lakes.”
Like the rest of Northern Europe, Switzerland is neat, clean and
orderly. The waters of the lake are clean and clear, and the steep hillside
across the lake is dotted with villages.
One can see, here and there, water roiling. I guess it is underwater springs welling up. Waterfalls cascade from the hills.
I
wonder is this was the sight that inspired Alfred, Lord Tennyson to write:
“The
splendor falls on castle walls
And
snowy summits old in glory
The
long light shakes across the lake
And
wild cataracts leap in glory.”
Daleen
received an ominous e-mail at 11:00 a.m. from our Perillo Tour driver who was
supposed to meet us at Lake Como at 10:00 that evening. His message was: Where are you? Daleen replied that he was supposed to meet
us at 10:00 p.m., not a.m. She received no response and tried to call, without
success. Oh well, we figured, we will
deal with it when the time comes, and we did (amid much confusion).
The
highlight of our Swiss tour was the little town and valley of
Lauderbrunen. It lies about 3,000 feet
up in the Alps and looks just like it should.
It is a long narrow valley with a beautiful rapid-filled stream
bisecting it, waterfalls and fools in parachutes and waterfalls in mass
profusion leaping from the cliffs above and a paved walking path that runs for
miles past little dairy farms, with fields of wildflowers instead of grass, and
tidy little farm houses and hostels. We
noticed that all the people who walked by gave us menacing glares and muttered
things in a language we did not understand.
Then one shouted, “Hey, you freekin’ red-neck. Get that blankedy-blank car off the walking
trail. What’s wrong with you? You from Mississippi or something? So we did.
We saw
a cable car that carried passengers to a peak about a thousand feet above. It looked like fun, so we bought a
ticket. That was just the first stop. It went from peak to peak (we had to change
cars) until it reached its terminus at 13,000 feet at a revolving restaurant,
where we found that part of the James Bond movie “On Her Majesty’s Secret
Service” was filmed. A serious snow
storm was in progress, so we ate our spaghetti as we slowly revolved in white
silence. On the return journey, at about 10,000 feet, I saw paths, goats and
shacks. I asked the operator is there
was a road that we could not see that the goat herders took to tend their
animals. “No,” he said. “They walk, but if the weather is bad they might stay
overnight in the shack.” They walk up a
10,000 foot mountain to work every day?!
No wonder these people look fit!
We
drove on to Lake Como, on the Italian border, later that afternoon. The lake was not nearly as pristine as Lake
Aare, and we found that Italy was vastly different from northern Europe. Gone were the neat, well organized medieval
towns. The towns were, indeed, medieval,
but they just looked old -- not in a fairy tale sense -- and disorganized. I think most people in Italy smoke, and the
ground was littered with cigarette butts. We took a short tour around a large
bay of Lake Como, and found it to be quite charming, with beautiful homes
dotting the lakeshore and entire villages climbing the hillsides. George Clooney has a home here, but it was on
a different part of the Lake, so we could not see it.
Due to
our guide’s confusion with a.m. and p.m., we had to find our way to the hotel,
could not find an entrance, double parked, ran up a brick walkway to get
instructions, only to discover that this was, indeed, the driveway. Once we
checked in, we faced the task of returning the rental car. We got directions to the rental car office,
which was at the train depot, got lost a few times (we did not know the
physical address, so the GPS was useless), but after much frustration, finally
found it. The rental car office was
closed, and we had no idea how to proceed. We told an idle taxi driver our
problem. He instructed us, led us to the
lot to deposit the car, and then drove us to the hotel. He got a NICE tip!
All the
hotels we stayed in were rated four-star.
If you ever want to move to Europe and open a four-star hotel, here is
how to do it: Buy an old run-down hotel
with small rooms. Spend a lot of money
on nice landscaping. Have the staff
dress in nice suits and adopt a snobbish mien. Give everything a nice coat of
paint, scatter some marble about here and there, install a bidet in a too-small
bathroom so it bangs your shin everything try to use the john, install six-inch
crown molding, triple your room rate and add three additional start to the one
already on your marque. Viola! You now
have a four-star hotel!
Benwalt, greatness awaits! (The “Benwalt” is an abandoned
1920’s hotel in Philadelphia, MS.)
The Parelli
guide who was to get us to our train the next morning actually showed up. He took us to the depot, unloaded our luggage
and said, “Your train leaves at 9:00 a.m. from track no. 2. He climbed into his cab and left. We had to drag nine suitcases, all of which
were getting heaver by the day as new souvenirs were added and had developed “Walmart
buggy wheel syndrome,” across the platform and over two tracks to the platform
on the other side.
There
we stood: A bunch of rubes from
Mississippi trying to figure out which car to board. We finally discovered that it was on the far
end of the train, so off we ran, dragging a quarter ton of uncooperative
luggage behind with one wheel turning crazy circles, and another refusing to
turn at all, just sliding along. There
was a young couple from Dubai ahead of us trying to get a stroller, with a baby,
on board. A railroad employee stood
beside the door, offered no help, and then spoke into a radio. The door closed in the face of the Dubai
couple, and the train left. The employee
laughed – He LAUGHED! The young man complained and he smirked, “you late –
missed train. Not my problem.”
“Well, what do we do now, I asked? How do we get to the next station? We will miss our train; can we get a transfer
to a later train?”
“Let me see ticket.”
I handed it to him
“Ticket no good,” he said, “This for reserved seat. You miss train. Gotta buy new ticket.”
“Well, just tell us how to get to the next station.”
He told us to take the subway, and gave a convoluted explanation
about how many times we would have to change trains etc. A bystander, who saw what was happening, said,
“A ‘local’ will be along in a few minutes.
It goes directly to the station.
Take it and tell the customer service agent what happened. He will give you a transfer and you will
probably have time to make your connection.
The ‘local’ came in a few minutes.
We got aboard the dirty, graffiti-covered car (a far cry from the sleek
“bullet train” we should have been on), and, after several stops, reached our
destination.
We found the customer service agent and Steve explained our
problem and he replied, “Oh, so your train arrived late!”
“No, Steve explained again, the train was on time, we just
could not figure out which car to get on, and it left.”
“So, your – train- was –late?” he again asked, this time
with emphasis and arched eyebrows.
“Steve,” I said, “just agree with the man!”
“Yes,” said Steve, “our train was late!”
“Aha,” said the agent, as he checked the appropriate box,
“Your train was late! I give you transfer!
The man looked for several minutes for the appropriate stamp,
but was unable to find it. Steve spotted
a stamp on the counter of the adjacent vacant booth and said, “Is that it?”
“Yes!” the agent said, as he grabbed it, inked it and
slapped in on our tickets. “Your train leave track 10 – three minutes.”
The race was on! Four
out-of-shape elderly Mississippians, dragging nine suite cases, two of which
had bad wheels, and one a doorman accused of containing a SmartCar made a mad
dash from track three to track 10! We made it – barely! And we were off to Venice!
A word
about European trains: Once we learned
the system, we had no further problems as we traveled by train from the Swiss
border to Rome. They are fast (about 150
MPH), silky smooth, roomy and comfortable, with four chairs arranged around a
table in a booth. The trouble is luggage.
There are no baggage cars or porters to assist with it. One has to lug it onboard and hope he can
find space on the crowded luggage rack on each car. One or more suit cases are likely to end up
stashed beneath the table – at the expense of leg room. A word to the wise: When traveling by train in Europe, pack
light!
Venice
is everything it is cracked up to be – an ancient city floating on the sea
(actually, on wooden pilings and several nearby islands), designed by the
greatest architects of all times, decorated by the greatest artist and artisans
who will ever live and paid for by families richer than a rock star. The great
castles and palaces of northern Europe are dowdy compared to the Palace of the
Doge of Venice.
There
is no bridge or causeway connecting Venice to the mainland. Access is only by boat, and the only wheeled
vehicles in the city are hand carts used for everything from garbage collecting
to food deliveries. The city is a
boat-lovers dream. Nearly all boats are
of wood, and most appear to be lovingly restored antiques, gleaming with
multiple layers of polished varnished.
The Gondolas are works of art:
Long, canoe-like crafts liquored gleaming black on the outside, with the
interiors of highly polished natural wood.
The seats are of plush red velvet. I would like to have ridden in one,
but time would not allow. Large, old, beat-up wood-planked boats function as
delivery vans.
A man
was passing out tickets for a free boat ride and tour of the glass works on the
nearby Island of Murano. We went. A restored antique Chris-Craft whisked us to
the nearby island, where we observed glass artisans at work, and then we were
given a tour of the show room. WOW! I now know how Edmond Dantes felt when he
walked into the treasure chamber of Monte Christo! Shelves and shelves of gleaming transparent
and translucent deep emerald and ruby blown glass richly decorated with 24
karat gold and hand-painted enamel and delicate etchings. Steve said it was the most beautiful thing he
had ever seen, and he bought some. Yes,
it was expensive.
Put a
trip to Venice on your bucket list.
On to Florence!
We had
a Perillo walking tour of Florence, the birthplace of several renaissance artists,
the most remarkable of whom was Michelangelo. We walked about the city and
visited yet another cathedral, but this one was different: It was built of colored marble and granite –
white, rose and green. It was one of the
largest in Europe, and could hold 30,000 people. It was not nearly as ornate on the inside as
some we saw, but the outside was striking, especially that part that had
recently been cleaned.
When
one thinks of Florence, he thinks of Michelangelo’s statue of David. Yes, we saw it, and yes, it is
spectacular. It is housed in the art academy,
which at first glance is a disappointment, for from the outside it looks like a
very old and unimpressive warehouse, but it is richly decorated inside and filled
with much more than a king’s ransom of magnificent art. The guide explained
several of Michelangelo’s works (painting and sculpture), but the highlight is
“David,” probably equal to the Sistine ceiling as a masterwork. It is big: probably 16 or more feet high and carved from
a single slab of marble. It is of a
young man at his peak of development and it exudes strength and
confidence. Every muscle and vein in
perfectly defined. The master used
skillful techniques to portray the power of David: The right hand that holds the pocket of the
sling with its stone is oversized to portray might and power. The neck and head are also oversize to
overcome perspective as one looks up, to again, portray power.
My
first thought on seeing “David” was: Someone get that boy a pair of undies!
The
best thing about Florence is that it is the gateway to Tuscany.
Tuscany! Perhaps the language of angles can sing your
praises, but not any language of man. God worked overtime when he created such
a beautiful place.
Tuscany
is rugged beauty. Verdant vineyards
burst forth from among the scrubby wooded hills and cascade to the gentle
slopes and valleys below. These lowlands are a patchwork of small, carefully
cultivated farm fields not big enough to be boring. The jumbles of small, irregular fields seem
to put the land in motion. It is
ocher-colored houses that seem to rise from the earth. It is a landscape of columnar cypress trees
and pines with urn-shaped crowns bathed in an ethereal light.
Tuscany
is God’s most beautiful creation and the little city of Sienna and the small
town of San Gimignano are its crown jewels.
Sienna
is a walled city dating from the middle ages.
It was once the richest and largest city in Europe, with a population of
150,000, but it never recovered from the devastation wrought by the Black
Plague, which killed three-fourths of its population, which now stands at
50,000. The city is divided into 17 neighborhoods,
each represented by an animal, and twice each summer the city square, which is
far from level, being about 20 feet higher at one end, is transformed into a race
track. Each neighborhood hires a horse
and jockey to represent them, as American cities hire professional athletes to
staff their local sports team. The horse wins, not the Jockey. This is no
genteel sport: it is a hell-for-leather bareback race over rough terrain, and
it is not unusual for a riderless horse to win.
There is no betting and no prize:
It’s all for the honor of the neighborhood. Well, that and an excuse to party. The town
holds pre-race festivals for two weeks, two weeks of victory parties, and then
it is time to start preparing for the next race!
San Gimignano, oh my! It is an assault on the senses: a blow to the
solar plexus that keeps one gasping. It
is the aroma of strawberries and oranges – perfectly ripe – wafting from a stand;
the stunning red of a rose against a blanket of white jasmine and roses of
pastel hues nestled in a bed of lavender; it is the soft music of Italian,
spoken by one who claims it as her mother tongue, punctuated by the tinkle of
wine glasses; it is the astringent, earthy taste of red wine, pungent cheese
and the saltiness of Prosciutto ham. It is the one place to which I would like
to return and just spend an entire day just sitting and bathing in the
ambiance.
Back to Earth. I had been fighting a cold the entire trip,
and I lost the battle that night. I did not sleep a bit, and I was exhausted
the next morning, with a tour of Rome on the itinerary. Rome is the eternal city, but it is also an
eternal mess. The drivers are insane. Markings on roadways mean nothing to them.
Traffic is a moving mass of tiny cars interwoven with bicycles and motor
scooters and motorcycles. Drivers appear
to obey no regulations. They just work
things out on the fly. Two drivers will
head for the same spot, but one will back down at the last minute. I did not see a single accident. We had a
tour of the coliseum. The guide was an archeologist who was intensely
interested in every brick and pebble and assumed we were, too. I heard ten times more than I wanted to hear
in an accent I could not understand and I was too tired and sick to try to
figure it out. I was more impressed with
the Tivoli Fountain. This massive
sculpture of lions on a ledge overlooks a large pool. Huge amounts of water flows around the lions
and falls into the pool. It is fed by a
restored Roman aqueduct that brings water from springs in the surrounding
mountains. We did not have time to visit the Vatican museums, but did walk onto
St. Peter’s square.
I was glad when the Rome tour was
over so I could get back to the hotel for some rest. We were up at 3:00 a.m. to catch the flight
home. Going through security and dealing
with overweight luggage at the Rome airport was a hassle, but not too bad. The real nightmare was changing planes in
Paris. That airport was the biggest mess
I have ever seen. No one was there to
answer questions. In fact no one seemed
to be in charge. We just got caught up
in a seething mass of humanity and moved along with them. There were three officials checking passports
of thousands of travelers. It was nearly
as bad as the worst lines at Walt Disney World. We barely made our plane, but
we were soon winging over the Atlantic on the way to Atlanta in the good old
USA. Eight hours later, we were
there. Everything in the Atlanta airport
was the opposite of Paris: It was a
model of efficiency, with plenty of employees to handle the crowds, check
passports, direct us to our luggage, etc.
Being south of The Mason-Dixon Line, we were finally able to get a
decent meal: a hamburger, fries and a coke – with all the ice we wanted (a rare
treat in Europe) at an Atlanta Braves restaurant. We soon boarded the Jackson-bound plane for
the short flight home, with a head full of memories, suite cases full of dirty
laundry and souvenirs, empty wallets – and a burning desire for a plate of
mustard greens, corn bread and tea, with PLENTY of ice!
Red Neck Ramblings –
The Andersons “do” Europe
By
Harold Anderson
My wife, Paula, and I have always
liked to travel. We have traveled
extensively throughout the
United States, but had not cruised until 2011, when my
mother passed away and we were freed from the responsibility of caring for
her. I am an old sailor – literally and figuratively. I owned sailboats for years and am retired
from the US Navy Reserve. Most of my Navy experience was on riverine warfare
craft, but I have been to sea on a destroyer – and it was no luxury cruise!
Our
first cruise was from New Orleans to Cozumel, Mexico – and we were hooked. This was followed by two cruises to Alaska,
and another one to Central America. Last
summer, my cousin, Steve Anderson, who is a Mormon and greatly interested in
genealogy, suggested a “cousins’ cruise” of the British Isles to “trod the ancestral
sod” of Scotland, from which our ancestors immigrated in the 1600’s. Fourteen -- cousins and their spouses and
children -- made the trip. We toured all
of the British Isles except for Wales, and even had a side trip to Paris. We all enjoyed it immensely.
Paula
and I found advertisements for Viking river cruises of Europe enticing, and asked
the cousins if they were interested. Two
couples were – Steve and Daleen Anderson, of Madison, and Julie (Anderson) and
Craig Sutton, of Franklin, TN. Steve and
Deleen have traveled extensively in connection with his work as a financial
advisor, and Steve once owned a travel agency, so he was instrumental in
planning the trip.
We
selected a cruise from Amsterdam to Basal, Switzerland on the Rhine River. We timed it for the peak of tulip season (we
began on May 5) and spent three pre-cruise days in Amsterdam to enjoy the show
– and what a show it was!! Kirkenhauf Gardens, Oh my! Greenhouses of delicate orchids and other tropical
flowers and acres upon acres of fields of bulb-flowers, especially tulips –
tulips of every color, size and shape intermixed with wild abandon, seas of
single color, and beds of various colors and sizes woven into intricate
geometric patterns. A canal encircles
the garden, and we opted to walk – and I am glad we did. Kirkenhauf Garden is to the garden lover as
cotton candy is to a three-year-old.
The old
city of Amsterdam is an amazing place.
If is known as “The Venice of the North,” and for good reason. Like the Italian city, it is built over water
on wooden pilings – approximately 13 million pine trees gave their all to build
this capital of commerce in the 13th century. Like Venice, Amsterdam is a city of
canals. Concentric rings of large canals
arc through and around the city; and are intersected by smaller ones that
radiate from a hub – like spokes of a wheel.
The canals are busy with water traffic – sight-seeing boats, water taxis
and row boats. One seldom sees powered
pleasure boats in Europe, but sailboats and row boats abound. Another American
fixture that is missing is pick-up trucks.
I did not see a single one on this or my previous trip to Europe. Cars
and trucks are not allowed in the old city.
Transportation is via boat, on foot, or – most often – by bicycle. They even have freight bicycles. The front frame is greatly extended and in
this space between the handle bar and front wheel, is a box – maybe just a
utilitarian cube or a fanciful shape, like a wooden shoe. In these they
transport nearly everything – groceries, furniture, appliances and, especially,
children. Pedestrians, beware: Bicyclists rule the roost!
The
water-level of Amsterdam is falling, which exposes ancient wooden pilings, and
they decay, causing buildings to list drunkenly. When they get bad enough to be dangerous, the
city reworks the foundations, installing concrete pilings – an expensive process.
The water level in Venice is rising, often flooding the first level of
buildings. It does not make sense that
the same sea can be both rising and falling, but I think I have it figured
out: Amsterdam and Venice are of
opposite ends of the same tectonic plate.
The weight of millions of tourists in Venice are forcing that end down
and the Amsterdam end is, naturally, forced up – like a seesaw. Sounds about as
logical as a lot of the “climate change” theories.
Venice
is a fairy land rising from the sea – flung from the hands of a capricious
sprite, but Amsterdam is a neat and orderly place, obviously designed by, and
for, no-nonsense businessmen.
We
visited the Rijks Art Museum while in Amsterdam. I am no connoisseur of fine
art, but we had an excellent guide who explained the significance of various
painting. Several Rembrandts were
displayed – showing the development of his techniques, especially his treatment
of light, from his teen years to the painting of his masterpiece “Nightwatch.” This huge mural depicts the changing of the
night guard in 16th century Amsterdam. The guide explains that the entire museum was
built to showcase this one painting – everything else is just
window-dressing. Maybe. I am a fan of Vincent Van Gogh, and I was astounded to see some his
work displayed, including his self-portrait. It was a sublime experience to
gaze on that odd triangular face with its shrunken checks and combed-back hair;
to know that the very hand that painted it gave the world sunny fields of
sunflowers and a starry night where galaxies twirled and swirled at the edge of
infinity above an undulating landscape punctuated by columnar cypress trees: To
gaze into those intense eyes, longing for a bit of understanding of that
tortured soul.
The
Netherlands is a land reclaimed from the sea. The industrious Dutch did it
about 800 years ago by surrounding a shallow bay with miles of dykes made of
sticks and mud, then using huge windmills, pumped out the water. Ever since,
they have maintained a delicate balance between land and water, most of that
time using windmills. In the twentieth
century they switched to electric pumps, then recently added computer
controls. It’s a shame. I like windmills.
We went
to a windmill museum with 17 of the behemoths on display. 15 are leased out as homes (although the
blades still “turn for the king” – are not connected to the pumping machinery,
but spin free just for show.) Two actually pump water and the blades turn much
slower as they struggle to turn a massive “dip wheel” –a water wheel that splashes water over the dyke
and back into the sea. The windmill we visited once housed a family of 13
children. The family lived among the
massive wooden gears and slept in alcove beds built into the walls. The blades are huge lattice-work structures
that come almost to the ground. The
miller climbs the lattice to stretch canvas sails. The mother of this family was struck and
killed by a blade as she rescued a tot who was toddling into its path.
The
museums are only allowed to operate a few windmills: they pump so much water
they can easily confuse the modern computer controls.
Part 2: Cruising the Rhine River from Amsterdam to
Basal, Switzerland
First,
for the uninitiated, a word about cruising:
There are cruise lines that cater to nearly every taste (and budget) –
From young families to seniors, to popular tourists’ destinations -- from the Caribbean
Sea to exotic places like Antarctica.
The prices can be very reasonable – about like paying for a moderately
priced hotel room, with meals, entertainment, transportation and some shore
excursions thrown in for free, but some up-scale cruise lines can be
pricy. Large “mega-liners” are floating
cities, with restaurants, food courts open round-the-clock (the food is too
plentiful, but not particularly tasty), libraries, lounging areas, huge
theaters with elaborate stage shows, etc.
These ships hold about 4,000 passengers and 2,000 crew members. You are not going into the navigation or
machinery spaces, unless you purchase a pre-cruise behind-the-scenes tour.
The
boats like ours – the “Viking Kara” -- that ply the rivers of Europe are vastly
different. They are sized to fit the
locks of rather small rivers – about 440 feet long and 30 feet wide. They carry 190 passengers and 50 crewmembers.
Diners have the option of eating in a restaurant, with table service, or
serving themselves from a buffet in the lounge.
A mid-afternoon snack is offered, but there are no round-the-clock food
courts. Breakfast is, by far, the best
meal of the day, with a wide choice of fresh fruits, meats, cheeses, pastries,
cereals, juices and smoked salmon and pickled herring (my favorite, but my wife
won’t touch it. She eats Brussels
sprouts. Go figure.) I found the food in Europe (including the
boat) bland and disappointing. Only two
percent of the people from north of the Mason-Dixon Line can cook. Our Chef was from Croatia. Now, you readers who are transplanted
Yankees, undoubtedly fall into the two-percent category. How’s that for diplomacy?
Everything
on a riverboat is down-sized – including the staterooms. They are, uh, “convenient” i.e. one can reach
anything in the room from the bed. Since we did not realize these cruises
filled up so quickly, we reserved our room only a few months in advance, and all
that were left were on the lowest passenger deck – mostly below the
waterline. Only the top three feet of our
room was above water and there was a small slot window about five and a half
feet above the floor, just above the waterline.
Being relatively tall, I could see through it, standing
flat-footed. Paula could not, and her
only view was of the sky. Although tiny,
the room was comfortable, with a king-size bed, large screen TV, refrigerator,
small counter, a few drawers, a very small closet and doll-house-size bath and
shower. Much of our luggage stayed packed in suitcases stored under the bed. Upper-deck rooms were the same size, but had
picture windows. But, the room was comfortable and about the only time we spent
in it was for sleeping.
There
was no room on such a small ship for a theater, but the lounge was roomy and
comfortable. Each night our cruise
director – a Scottish lady named “Ria,” who was a very good stand-up comedian –
described the next day’s activities and regaled us with funny stories. The pianist was excellent (nearly as good as
Richard Boykin, the music director at East Philadelphia Baptist Church), so we
enjoyed wonderful background music. We
had access to books, cards and board games from the small library. It was all very civilized.
We
usually sailed all night, enjoyed a shore excursion in the morning, returned to
the boat for lunch and went ashore for another excursion in the afternoon. At times, these included supper ashore; but,
at times, we returned to the ship for the meal.
Being a
relatively small river (as rivers go – I would say about the size of the
Tennessee River), there were no large tows of barges as one sees on the
Mississippi River, but the amount of river traffic was amazing. It was mostly motorized barges. They haul everything imaginable – tankers
full of fuel, hoppers of asphalt, gravel, cement, etc. and cargo barges filled
with shipping containers, including on the deck. High-speed rail lines run
along both sides of the river and they are constantly busy. Since there are no draw bridges on the Rhine,
the boats are equipped with pilot houses on hydraulic lifts, which can be
lowered to go under low bridges. Crewmen
have to lower sun-deck awning by hand.
Our
captain was a very affable Dutchman with enormous skill and 36 years’
experience on river freighters and passenger boats. He invited those of us who were interested to
visit him in the pilot house (which I did).
Try that on an ocean-liner! I was astounded to see him put a 440-foot
boat into a lock with only 18 inches to spare on each side – and not touch the
wall. Now, THAT is boat handling at its
best!
Let me
say a few words about castles, cathedrals, palaces and art museums: There are as many of these in Europe as there
are honky-tonks in Mississippi. Once you
have seen one, you have seen them all (Well, art museums might be the
exception). I recommend selecting one of
each, examining it thoroughly, getting it out of your system then spending the
rest of your time exploring little villages, folk-life museums and admiring the
magnificent landscape. There was one stand-out cathedral: Cologne, Germany, for
it contained a gilded ossuary said to contain the bones of The Three Wise Men!
Some duke stole it from Jerusalem during the Crusades and brought it to
Germany. Now, how could one resist such a sight?
My
favorite part of the cruise was the French province of Alsace. It was once a state within the Holy Roman
Empire, but since the collapse of that confederation, has changed hands between
Germany and France several times. I can see why they would fight over it. It is a valley about thirty miles wide
between two mountain ranges about the height of the Blue Ridge Mountains in
Virginia.
The
fertile valley is covered with farm fields.
Farmers in Europe do not live on the land, but in small villages of a
few hundred to a couple of thousand people, so they were strung out like pearls
on a necklace. These orderly and
neat-as-a-pin little towns date from the 1200’s with cobble stone streets,
flowers and gardens everywhere and houses of “half-timber” construction.
Alsace
was occupied by the Nazis in WWII, and was the scene of heavy fighting. We
visited one little town that was totally obliterated. A post-war photo showed only a bombed-out
bell tower standing. But, thanks to very
hard-working and resourceful villagers, the Phoenix arose from the ashes, for
they scrounged through the rubble, salvaged as much building material as they
could and rebuilt the town in the medieval style.
A
touching moment was a visit to the Audie Murphy Memorial. Here is the “Readers’ Digest” version of his
monumental “One-Man-Stand:” In the winter of 1944, the Allies planned to
liberate Alsace from German occupation by sweeping down the mountain passes
with tanks, infantry and, with the assistance of aircraft, drive the Nazi’s
from the valley, but the winter of 1944 was the worst in years and the roads
through the passes were impassable. Plan
“B” involved a sixty mile end-sweep march and crossing a small river on a
rickety bridge. The commanders made a mistake: They sent the infantry over the river
first. The first tank that tried to
cross collapsed the bridge. Thick fog
and rain prevented aircraft from flying, so the foot soldiers were trapped
without support. Audie Murphy was a
19-year-old Lieutenant who led his men to the edge of the woods, were he
encountered Nazi infantry and tanks arrayed in a field before them. Knowing his large group would make an easy
target for the tanks; he ordered them to the rear and held the Germans at bay
with his rifle. When he ran out of
ammunition, he jumped onto a nearby burning tank with a functioning .50 Cal.
Machine gun and plenty of ammunition and continued to hold the Germans off
until a break in the weather allowed allied aircraft to fly and drive them back. Just as he retreated from the burning tank,
it exploded. His actions bought time for
the Allies to repair the bridge, sweep into Alsace and liberate it. Murphy won the Medal of Honor and was the
most decorated soldier in WWII. After
the war, he became an actor, staring in 40 movies, including “To Hell and
Back,” the award-winning movie about this event.
We
stood at the memorial where Murphy made his stand. Our female guide attempted to close her
recitation of events with a poem, but broke down in tears. The people of Alsace are still thankful to
the Americans for their sacrifice, and are quick to say so. They hold a Memorial Day ceremony in their
honor each year.
We
spent one day aboard ship cruising the middle Rhine. What spectacular landscape! The river valley
is narrow here, with just enough flat land for the railroads on each side, and
then there are bluffs and hillsides that rise up, at very steep angles, for
hundreds of feet. The tops are speckled with castles and forts, and the nearly
vertical slopes are clothed with vineyards. A guide explained that they cannot
plant on the contour because workers could not stand up on the side of the
mountain, so they plant straight up and down.
The fields are too steep to operate machinery, so the grapes are cultivated
and harvested by hand. Maybe that is why
they do not have an erosion problem. The
elevation, soil, climate and aspect combine to produce some of the finest white
wine grapes in the world.
We
passed through the Lorelei Narrows, where, according to legend, the mermaid
Lorelei sat on the jutting rocks and lured boatmen to their doom with her siren
song. Lorelei is still there – cast in
bronze. I listened intently for her
song, but she is as quiet as the Pascagoula Indians.
Our
final excursion was to the Black Forest.
As a forester, this was of great interest to me, for this is the oldest
continually managed forest in the world.
I had a head full of technical questions about silviculture, management
regimes, etc., but alas, the guide could not answer my questions. I just had to enjoy the beautiful
scenery. The forest was interspersed by
little open valleys that supported dairy farms.
The cows, with their tinkling bells, seemed to enjoy our attention. Their homes were the ground floors of very
large barns, while the farmers lived above.
Undoubtedly,
the forest produces an abundance of fine sawlogs, but firewood seems to be the
major product. All the homes, and even
businesses, are heated with wood; there are stacks of wood for sale everywhere
and every home and business has an enormous pile.
After
800 miles, we reached our final destination on the Rhine: Basil,
Switzerland. According to the map, this
is the source of the Rhine, and I expected it to just be a channel large enough
for a single boat at this point, but not so!
The Rhine is still a substantial river (probably due to the numerous
locks) and Basil is a busy port.
The
Suttons left at this point to fly back home to Tennessee, Steve and Daleen and
Paula and I continued on across Switzerland via rental car.
Part 3: The Journey
Across Switzerland and Our First Experience with European Trains
Steve
had made arrangements with Parelli Tours for the second part of our journey. The Viking folks (who were very
accommodating) transported us and our luggage to the rental car office, where
we secured a small SUV, into which we crammed four adults and nine suite cases,
(one of which a doorman said had to contain a SmartCar!), and we headed off
across the Alps! Thank God for GPS! With the aid of this marvelous device, we did
not get (seriously) lost a single time! We drove for miles with Lake Aare on
our left, and the Alps rising in snow-capped grandeur on our right to the city
of Interlochen (It is built on a peninsular that juts into the lake, hence the
name, which means “between the lakes.”
Like the rest of Northern Europe, Switzerland is neat, clean and
orderly. The waters of the lake are clean and clear, and the steep hillside
across the lake is dotted with villages.
One can see, here and there, water roiling. I guess it is underwater springs welling up. Waterfalls cascade from the hills.
I
wonder is this was the sight that inspired Alfred, Lord Tennyson to write:
“The
splendor falls on castle walls
And
snowy summits old in glory
The
long light shakes across the lake
And
wild cataracts leap in glory.”
Daleen
received an ominous e-mail at 11:00 a.m. from our Perillo Tour driver who was
supposed to meet us at Lake Como at 10:00 that evening. His message was: Where are you? Daleen replied that he was supposed to meet
us at 10:00 p.m., not a.m. She received no response and tried to call, without
success. Oh well, we figured, we will
deal with it when the time comes, and we did (amid much confusion).
The
highlight of our Swiss tour was the little town and valley of
Lauderbrunen. It lies about 3,000 feet
up in the Alps and looks just like it should.
It is a long narrow valley with a beautiful rapid-filled stream
bisecting it, waterfalls and fools in parachutes and waterfalls in mass
profusion leaping from the cliffs above and a paved walking path that runs for
miles past little dairy farms, with fields of wildflowers instead of grass, and
tidy little farm houses and hostels. We
noticed that all the people who walked by gave us menacing glares and muttered
things in a language we did not understand.
Then one shouted, “Hey, you freekin’ red-neck. Get that blankedy-blank car off the walking
trail. What’s wrong with you? You from Mississippi or something? So we did.
We saw
a cable car that carried passengers to a peak about a thousand feet above. It looked like fun, so we bought a
ticket. That was just the first stop. It went from peak to peak (we had to change
cars) until it reached its terminus at 13,000 feet at a revolving restaurant,
where we found that part of the James Bond movie “On Her Majesty’s Secret
Service” was filmed. A serious snow
storm was in progress, so we ate our spaghetti as we slowly revolved in white
silence. On the return journey, at about 10,000 feet, I saw paths, goats and
shacks. I asked the operator is there
was a road that we could not see that the goat herders took to tend their
animals. “No,” he said. “They walk, but if the weather is bad they might stay
overnight in the shack.” They walk up a
10,000 foot mountain to work every day?!
No wonder these people look fit!
We
drove on to Lake Como, on the Italian border, later that afternoon. The lake was not nearly as pristine as Lake
Aare, and we found that Italy was vastly different from northern Europe. Gone were the neat, well organized medieval
towns. The towns were, indeed, medieval,
but they just looked old -- not in a fairy tale sense -- and disorganized. I think most people in Italy smoke, and the
ground was littered with cigarette butts. We took a short tour around a large
bay of Lake Como, and found it to be quite charming, with beautiful homes
dotting the lakeshore and entire villages climbing the hillsides. George Clooney has a home here, but it was on
a different part of the Lake, so we could not see it.
Due to
our guide’s confusion with a.m. and p.m., we had to find our way to the hotel,
could not find an entrance, double parked, ran up a brick walkway to get
instructions, only to discover that this was, indeed, the driveway. Once we
checked in, we faced the task of returning the rental car. We got directions to the rental car office,
which was at the train depot, got lost a few times (we did not know the
physical address, so the GPS was useless), but after much frustration, finally
found it. The rental car office was
closed, and we had no idea how to proceed. We told an idle taxi driver our
problem. He instructed us, led us to the
lot to deposit the car, and then drove us to the hotel. He got a NICE tip!
All the
hotels we stayed in were rated four-star.
If you ever want to move to Europe and open a four-star hotel, here is
how to do it: Buy an old run-down hotel
with small rooms. Spend a lot of money
on nice landscaping. Have the staff
dress in nice suits and adopt a snobbish mien. Give everything a nice coat of
paint, scatter some marble about here and there, install a bidet in a too-small
bathroom so it bangs your shin everything try to use the john, install six-inch
crown molding, triple your room rate and add three additional start to the one
already on your marque. Viola! You now
have a four-star hotel!
Benwalt, greatness awaits! (The “Benwalt” is an abandoned
1920’s hotel in Philadelphia, MS.)
The Parelli
guide who was to get us to our train the next morning actually showed up. He took us to the depot, unloaded our luggage
and said, “Your train leaves at 9:00 a.m. from track no. 2. He climbed into his cab and left. We had to drag nine suitcases, all of which
were getting heaver by the day as new souvenirs were added and had developed “Walmart
buggy wheel syndrome,” across the platform and over two tracks to the platform
on the other side.
There
we stood: A bunch of rubes from
Mississippi trying to figure out which car to board. We finally discovered that it was on the far
end of the train, so off we ran, dragging a quarter ton of uncooperative
luggage behind with one wheel turning crazy circles, and another refusing to
turn at all, just sliding along. There
was a young couple from Dubai ahead of us trying to get a stroller, with a baby,
on board. A railroad employee stood
beside the door, offered no help, and then spoke into a radio. The door closed in the face of the Dubai
couple, and the train left. The employee
laughed – He LAUGHED! The young man complained and he smirked, “you late –
missed train. Not my problem.”
“Well, what do we do now, I asked? How do we get to the next station? We will miss our train; can we get a transfer
to a later train?”
“Let me see ticket.”
I handed it to him
“Ticket no good,” he said, “This for reserved seat. You miss train. Gotta buy new ticket.”
“Well, just tell us how to get to the next station.”
He told us to take the subway, and gave a convoluted explanation
about how many times we would have to change trains etc. A bystander, who saw what was happening, said,
“A ‘local’ will be along in a few minutes.
It goes directly to the station.
Take it and tell the customer service agent what happened. He will give you a transfer and you will
probably have time to make your connection.
The ‘local’ came in a few minutes.
We got aboard the dirty, graffiti-covered car (a far cry from the sleek
“bullet train” we should have been on), and, after several stops, reached our
destination.
We found the customer service agent and Steve explained our
problem and he replied, “Oh, so your train arrived late!”
“No, Steve explained again, the train was on time, we just
could not figure out which car to get on, and it left.”
“So, your – train- was –late?” he again asked, this time
with emphasis and arched eyebrows.
“Steve,” I said, “just agree with the man!”
“Yes,” said Steve, “our train was late!”
“Aha,” said the agent, as he checked the appropriate box,
“Your train was late! I give you transfer!
The man looked for several minutes for the appropriate stamp,
but was unable to find it. Steve spotted
a stamp on the counter of the adjacent vacant booth and said, “Is that it?”
“Yes!” the agent said, as he grabbed it, inked it and
slapped in on our tickets. “Your train leave track 10 – three minutes.”
The race was on! Four
out-of-shape elderly Mississippians, dragging nine suite cases, two of which
had bad wheels, and one a doorman accused of containing a SmartCar made a mad
dash from track three to track 10! We made it – barely! And we were off to Venice!
A word
about European trains: Once we learned
the system, we had no further problems as we traveled by train from the Swiss
border to Rome. They are fast (about 150
MPH), silky smooth, roomy and comfortable, with four chairs arranged around a
table in a booth. The trouble is luggage.
There are no baggage cars or porters to assist with it. One has to lug it onboard and hope he can
find space on the crowded luggage rack on each car. One or more suit cases are likely to end up
stashed beneath the table – at the expense of leg room. A word to the wise: When traveling by train in Europe, pack
light!
Venice
is everything it is cracked up to be – an ancient city floating on the sea
(actually, on wooden pilings and several nearby islands), designed by the
greatest architects of all times, decorated by the greatest artist and artisans
who will ever live and paid for by families richer than a rock star. The great
castles and palaces of northern Europe are dowdy compared to the Palace of the
Doge of Venice.
There
is no bridge or causeway connecting Venice to the mainland. Access is only by boat, and the only wheeled
vehicles in the city are hand carts used for everything from garbage collecting
to food deliveries. The city is a
boat-lovers dream. Nearly all boats are
of wood, and most appear to be lovingly restored antiques, gleaming with
multiple layers of polished varnished.
The Gondolas are works of art:
Long, canoe-like crafts liquored gleaming black on the outside, with the
interiors of highly polished natural wood.
The seats are of plush red velvet. I would like to have ridden in one,
but time would not allow. Large, old, beat-up wood-planked boats function as
delivery vans.
A man
was passing out tickets for a free boat ride and tour of the glass works on the
nearby Island of Murano. We went. A restored antique Chris-Craft whisked us to
the nearby island, where we observed glass artisans at work, and then we were
given a tour of the show room. WOW! I now know how Edmond Dantes felt when he
walked into the treasure chamber of Monte Christo! Shelves and shelves of gleaming transparent
and translucent deep emerald and ruby blown glass richly decorated with 24
karat gold and hand-painted enamel and delicate etchings. Steve said it was the most beautiful thing he
had ever seen, and he bought some. Yes,
it was expensive.
Put a
trip to Venice on your bucket list.
On to Florence!
We had
a Perillo walking tour of Florence, the birthplace of several renaissance artists,
the most remarkable of whom was Michelangelo. We walked about the city and
visited yet another cathedral, but this one was different: It was built of colored marble and granite –
white, rose and green. It was one of the
largest in Europe, and could hold 30,000 people. It was not nearly as ornate on the inside as
some we saw, but the outside was striking, especially that part that had
recently been cleaned.
When
one thinks of Florence, he thinks of Michelangelo’s statue of David. Yes, we saw it, and yes, it is
spectacular. It is housed in the art academy,
which at first glance is a disappointment, for from the outside it looks like a
very old and unimpressive warehouse, but it is richly decorated inside and filled
with much more than a king’s ransom of magnificent art. The guide explained
several of Michelangelo’s works (painting and sculpture), but the highlight is
“David,” probably equal to the Sistine ceiling as a masterwork. It is big: probably 16 or more feet high and carved from
a single slab of marble. It is of a
young man at his peak of development and it exudes strength and
confidence. Every muscle and vein in
perfectly defined. The master used
skillful techniques to portray the power of David: The right hand that holds the pocket of the
sling with its stone is oversized to portray might and power. The neck and head are also oversize to
overcome perspective as one looks up, to again, portray power.
My
first thought on seeing “David” was: Someone get that boy a pair of undies!
The
best thing about Florence is that it is the gateway to Tuscany.
Tuscany! Perhaps the language of angles can sing your
praises, but not any language of man. God worked overtime when he created such
a beautiful place.
Tuscany
is rugged beauty. Verdant vineyards
burst forth from among the scrubby wooded hills and cascade to the gentle
slopes and valleys below. These lowlands are a patchwork of small, carefully
cultivated farm fields not big enough to be boring. The jumbles of small, irregular fields seem
to put the land in motion. It is
ocher-colored houses that seem to rise from the earth. It is a landscape of columnar cypress trees
and pines with urn-shaped crowns bathed in an ethereal light.
Tuscany
is God’s most beautiful creation and the little city of Sienna and the small
town of San Gimignano are its crown jewels.
Sienna
is a walled city dating from the middle ages.
It was once the richest and largest city in Europe, with a population of
150,000, but it never recovered from the devastation wrought by the Black
Plague, which killed three-fourths of its population, which now stands at
50,000. The city is divided into 17 neighborhoods,
each represented by an animal, and twice each summer the city square, which is
far from level, being about 20 feet higher at one end, is transformed into a race
track. Each neighborhood hires a horse
and jockey to represent them, as American cities hire professional athletes to
staff their local sports team. The horse wins, not the Jockey. This is no
genteel sport: it is a hell-for-leather bareback race over rough terrain, and
it is not unusual for a riderless horse to win.
There is no betting and no prize:
It’s all for the honor of the neighborhood. Well, that and an excuse to party. The town
holds pre-race festivals for two weeks, two weeks of victory parties, and then
it is time to start preparing for the next race!
San Gimignano, oh my! It is an assault on the senses: a blow to the
solar plexus that keeps one gasping. It
is the aroma of strawberries and oranges – perfectly ripe – wafting from a stand;
the stunning red of a rose against a blanket of white jasmine and roses of
pastel hues nestled in a bed of lavender; it is the soft music of Italian,
spoken by one who claims it as her mother tongue, punctuated by the tinkle of
wine glasses; it is the astringent, earthy taste of red wine, pungent cheese
and the saltiness of Prosciutto ham. It is the one place to which I would like
to return and just spend an entire day just sitting and bathing in the
ambiance.
Back to Earth. I had been fighting a cold the entire trip,
and I lost the battle that night. I did not sleep a bit, and I was exhausted
the next morning, with a tour of Rome on the itinerary. Rome is the eternal city, but it is also an
eternal mess. The drivers are insane. Markings on roadways mean nothing to them.
Traffic is a moving mass of tiny cars interwoven with bicycles and motor
scooters and motorcycles. Drivers appear
to obey no regulations. They just work
things out on the fly. Two drivers will
head for the same spot, but one will back down at the last minute. I did not see a single accident. We had a
tour of the coliseum. The guide was an archeologist who was intensely
interested in every brick and pebble and assumed we were, too. I heard ten times more than I wanted to hear
in an accent I could not understand and I was too tired and sick to try to
figure it out. I was more impressed with
the Tivoli Fountain. This massive
sculpture of lions on a ledge overlooks a large pool. Huge amounts of water flows around the lions
and falls into the pool. It is fed by a
restored Roman aqueduct that brings water from springs in the surrounding
mountains. We did not have time to visit the Vatican museums, but did walk onto
St. Peter’s square.
I was glad when the Rome tour was
over so I could get back to the hotel for some rest. We were up at 3:00 a.m. to catch the flight
home. Going through security and dealing
with overweight luggage at the Rome airport was a hassle, but not too bad. The real nightmare was changing planes in
Paris. That airport was the biggest mess
I have ever seen. No one was there to
answer questions. In fact no one seemed
to be in charge. We just got caught up
in a seething mass of humanity and moved along with them. There were three officials checking passports
of thousands of travelers. It was nearly
as bad as the worst lines at Walt Disney World. We barely made our plane, but
we were soon winging over the Atlantic on the way to Atlanta in the good old
USA. Eight hours later, we were
there. Everything in the Atlanta airport
was the opposite of Paris: It was a
model of efficiency, with plenty of employees to handle the crowds, check
passports, direct us to our luggage, etc.
Being south of The Mason-Dixon Line, we were finally able to get a
decent meal: a hamburger, fries and a coke – with all the ice we wanted (a rare
treat in Europe) at an Atlanta Braves restaurant. We soon boarded the Jackson-bound plane for
the short flight home, with a head full of memories, suite cases full of dirty
laundry and souvenirs, empty wallets – and a burning desire for a plate of
mustard greens, corn bread and tea, with PLENTY of ice!
