OM Word Journey

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE:July 28-JULY 30Venice

2013-10-18T21:00:00.000-07:00

Wednesday July 28 evening train to Venice

We arrived in Venice at dusk. Since it was already 9 pm, Shirley and Donna left me on the Piazza outside the station, literally holding all the bags, while they searched for some reasonably priced accommodation for the three of us. While waiting, I watched the crowds and soaked in the atmosphere of the Venetian evening.

Eventually the girls returned, having secured one small room for $5 each, and that was without a breakfast or even a shower. But, since we were so late in arriving, we were grateful for even this expensive room as it sure beat the alternative of sleeping rough!

First, we all dropped our back packs off at our pension. Then we headed out to dine 'al fresco', finally relaxing over yet more pizza and a carafe of wine, in a tree-shaded courtyard whose lights twinkled late into that night.

http://www.outoftheblue.in/images/WINE-IN-CARAFE-IMG.jpg

The ambiance improved noticeably when Shirley treated us all to a second carafe of Italian vino! And our ensuing hilarity in that outdoor location ensured that we all left there in a semi-drunken stupor, which definitely helped us all to fall fast asleep later.

Thursday July 29

Venice

We awoke at 9 am, and ate breakfast and diligently sought a cheaper hotel with bathroom facilities, where we finally were able to shower and wash our clothes and hair. Just before noon, refreshed in body and spirit, we finally emerged from our hotel and made our way to the Piazza de San Marco

http://dsphotographic.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/venice-30.jpg

We arrived in time for the noon chimes of the clock-tower
https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTNDv4UlVTupR8vaowD4Tm7oiowI1if734-IdcDdmZJBzOXIXmS

and the bells of the Campanile, which were very, VERY loud.

To hear the bells for yourself, press here for a 6-minute Youtube of St Mark's Square in Venice

http://www.cntraveler.com/daily-traveler/2013/08/how-to-avoid-an-expensive-cafe-bill-in-venice-italy-082213/_jcr_content/par/cn_contentwell/par-main/cn_colctrl/par-col2/cn_blogpost/cn_image.size.st-marks-square-venice-getty.jpg

Afterwards, we treated ourselves to a rather expensive lunch in the Piazza's outdoor cafe, amid the pigeons, and the view of St Mark's amazing Basillica.

https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRMdy7KFFKclAM8vHtz1Z7e_72c2WWWpymX8qS64GOb0l5pBDePYg

Murano

Having staved off hunger, we caught the next boat to Murano, an island just outside Venice that is famous for glass-making.
https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQHPl1itvCyKeWm6DTGzxWDUvVgPJHytjx5gGpdc7N30HEhUEwf

http://p2.la-img.com/305/962/425778_1_l.jpg

There we enjoyed an educational tour, and demonstration, of the centuries' old techniques of glass making.

To mark the occasion, I purchased a small, but perfect, red and white Murano Swan.

At this point, I had not yet considered the problems inherent in transporting this gorgeous but delicate keepsake across the rest of Europe, much less carrying it flying it safely across the Atlantic at 37,000 feet.

http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=2746752

When I next visit Venice, I shall make a point of bringing back one of these exquisite millefiori glass paperweights that would travel safely wrapped within a thick sock inside a suitcase.

Press here for a Youtube

of Glass-making in Murano

Burano

Leaving Murano, we caught another boat to the island of Burano island where they hand-make items in exquisite lace.
http://www.venice-travel-secrets.com/image-files/burano2water.jpg

Though I drooled over each lace edged 'kerchief and these 'oh-so-feminine' parasols, the price of even the meanest item lay well beyond the capability of my meagre travel allowance.

http://www.venice-travel-secrets.com/image-files/buranolace2water.jpg

So, while I could, I feasted my eyes on these lovingly hand-wrought works of art. Then, I heaved a soulful sigh and reluctantly moved on, carefully preserving to memory the gorgeousness of Burano's brightly coloured houses and intricate lacework.

http://cloneslace.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/clones-burano-masque0044.jpg

Torcello

I found central a restful haven after a hectic day of touring in our last boat stop. We had arrived at Venice's oldest residential area, the now sparsely populated Torcello.
https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTwdqDJezvUvNufLVCebkHvHjcvEk-n6Tb70IdKANma84yM5--J

We appeared to have arrived in a central area, which contained the Cathedral of Santa Maria Assunta and the Church of Santa Fosca. And after a hectic day of touring, I found both of these edifices very restful, and spent a good hour meditating there in the evening sunshine.

Donna was very popular in Venice, and accumulated many male admirers including Mike and Dave from USA with whom we all had supper.

Afterwards, the six of us walked back through the Rialto area and back to our hotel. Shirley had picked up Renato, a local Italian boy, with whom she later disappeared for the night. Donna and I, meanwhile, went dancing with Chris and Dave, who eventually escorted us back to our hotel at 1 am.

Friday July 30

Venice

http://www.seat61.com/images/luggage-lockers-station2.jpg

Since Shirley had not returned to the hotel in time, Donna and I packed her backpack for her. And since we were all booked on the overnight train to Vienna later, we also transported all our belongings to the lockers at the train station.

Doges Palace

Donna and I then caught a water taxi to St. Mark's Square and spent the rest of the morning feasting our eyes on the treasures of Venice.

http://venicefan.com/var/images/palazzo-ducale-doges-palace-venice-italy-p4057959.jpg

Our first stop was the Doges palace, the official home of the top elected official in Venice till the late 18th century.

Each wall, ceiling and room is so lavishly painted and decorated that the mere act of viewing such opulence makes your senses swim.

Press here to see inside the Doges Palace and The Basillica San Marco

At the Doges Palace, we spent an inordinate amount of time just gazing at the frescos and marbles and works of art that graced its interior.

http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mdc1m7AdEm1r9u7bqo1_1280.jpg

But upon entering San Marco Basillica, I was asked to cover my shoulders! So I took my small cotton scarf off my head, and used it as a make-shift shawl instead.

It was all most perplexing since I had been taught - by Catholic nuns no less - that ladies should always cover their heads in Catholic churches. Apparently a lady's naked shoulders are equally offensive in such places!

Abiding by the strange rules, in no way detracted from my enjoyment of the Basillica's interior. And this video gives you a sense of the atmosphere and enormity of the building.

Press here for a video of the St Mark's interior

http://galleryplus.ebayimg.com/ws/web/331044083771_1_0_1.jpg

Escaping from the crowds in St Mark's Square, Donna and went looking for a particular blue glass duck that I had glimpsed en route to the Piazza the previous morning, before our trip to the Murano glass works. Having now realized that this duck had also been a Murano product, I was even more determined to find and purchase it.

Donna also encountered more issues with her Mastercard! And since she was just as lost as I, we accompanied each other on that impromptu but extensive walking tour of Venice.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/3/3a/Venice,_Grand_Canal,_Rialto_Bridge.jpg

I eventually located and purchased my blue duck for the princely sum of $5.00 CDN. Where had it been hiding? In plain sight, of course, right near the bridge over the Grand Canal, next to water buses or vaporati that connects Venice to the International Train Station.

Enough said.

All three of us we scheduled to catch the night train to Vienna at 9 pm and I, for one, was relieved to leave the frenetic crowds far behind us. Shirley joined Donna and me at the last minute, so loathed was she to bid farewell to her new Italian boyfriend, Renato.

The next morning we would arrive in a new country, and contend with its different customs, language and currency in an attempt to absorb some smattering of its culture in the few days we'd allotted. But Austria, land of music, held happy surprises for all of us that we could not possibly have anticipated as we boarded the express northwards to Austria.

Next Time

July 31 - August 9

AUSTRIA

Vienna

Salzburg

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 31 - August 9: Austria

Vienna, Salzburg

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 26-28Italy - Florence and Pisa

2013-10-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

Sunday July 26 Florence, Italy When our train pulled into Bologna at 9 am, four extremely tired, but thankful young women disembarked, grateful for the long walk that stretched out our aching leg and back muscles. Bidding farewell to Diane, Shirley, Donna and I immediately sought a train that would take us to Florence.

We booked into our hotel by noon, but only to drop off our backpacks. After several days of pizza or other finger foods, we needed - and unanimously decided - to treat ourselves to a first-class food at a first-class restaurant! To our delight, each delicious three-course meal cost us only $3.00 CDN.

Happily satiated, we strolled back to our hotel, through ancient streets and green spaces that seemed tailor-made for lovers. There we cleansed ourselves and hand-washed our dirty clothes, leaving them to dry in our room, before the three of us went exploring for the remainder of the day.

Pisa

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/5d/Pisa_180.jpg/800px-Pisa_180.jpg

We caught a local train to Pisa, which lies about 100 km west of Florence. The journey of an hour or so, was quite eventful, since the three of us had been well fed and thus had sufficient energy to entertain all aboard with song and laughter.

The Leaning Tower was, of course, the main attraction. But, of the three of us, I was the only one to climb the 238 spiral steps to the very top of it.

http://www.beachcomberpete.com/travelogue/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/View-from-the-top-Leaning-Tower-of-Pisa-Italy.jpg

It felt most odd to be standing at such a rakish angle to the ground. Yet I remained there for a full half an hour, taking in the view while waiting for the sun to set so that I could take a photograph of the architectural details of the 800 year old Cathedral and Baptistry that lay immediately to the west of the slanted Bell Tower.

Descending the Tower's stone staircase, after my brain had adjusted to the slant of the building, was very peculiar. The degree of slant meant one both ascended and descended during each complete turn of the spiral. So when I eventually did reach the bottom, I was completely discombobulated and had trouble standing upright for a good few minutes. Thank heavens Donna met and waited with me there, until my inner ears informed my brain that all was, indeed, well.

Shirley, meanwhile, had attracted the attention of six Aussie boys who had offered all three of us a ride back to Florence. So, at twilight, we all dutifully piled into their van for an hilarious 2 hour journey. But the hilarity stopped rather quickly, when the van ran out of gas on the outskirts of Florence.

Our ever-resourceful Australian friends soon hailed another van of Aussies who drove all but the dead van's driver to a nearby campsite for some beers. After an hour or so of partying with them, Donna, Shirley and I walked and hitch-hiked back through Florence to the comfort of our hotel, finally arriving there at midnight. All three of us fell into bed and slept like logs!

Monday July 27

Florence

We woke at 9 am, to a breakfast of rotten coffee and worse bread rolls. After taking care of our ablutions and packing up our dried laundry, we all left for a tour of Florence: our first stop was

Michelangelo's David

http://lifedrawingplus.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/michelangelos_david.jpg

This sculpture of David shows the Bible story of David defeating Goliath with a slingshot and a rock.

It is unspeakably beautiful, three times the size of a human being, crafted by a Renaissance Master for the glory of God and the eternal joy of onlookers.

Michelangelo's David was commissioned in 1501, by the city government of Florence. Originally it was meant to be seen from very far below, as a top-piece for the dome of Florence's Duomo (cathedral). So Michelangelo created the statue with a larger head and hands than that of a normal human.

But his patrons were so astounded by the beauty of the piece, and changed their minds about its being placed above the dome of the Duomo. Instead they put it in the piazza (square) in front of the Signoria - the government building of Florence, where all might freely see and admire it.

David became a potent symbol of the Republic of Florence, in its opposition to the notion of tyranny. By this time, the Di Medici family had infiltrated and subverted the Republic ideals of the city. So the David represented a brief resurgence and a brief re-flowering of the democracy of Florence and was beloved by the city and its citizens.

Academy of Fine Arts, Florence

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/37/David_by_Michelangelo_in_The_Gallery_of_the_Accademia_di_Belle_Arti.jpg/512px-David_by_Michelangelo_in_The_Gallery_of_the_Accademia_di_Belle_Arti.jpg

Today the statue is housed in the Academy of Fine Arts of Florence. In 1976, there were no line-ups to see David, we three girls simply walked into the Academy and stayed as long as we wished. I was, uncharacteristically, speechless in the presence of this incredible sculptured masterpiece. And as I slowly walked around it, my mind memorizing every chiselled and polished plane, tears of joy pricked my eyes. It was such an honour to even be in the same room as David!

As a girl, I had devoured many books and

photos of Renaissance art and sculpture.

And they certainly gave me an idea of the

beauty and craftsmanship of this piece.

But to actually be there, so close that I

could have touched the toes of David,

THAT was a dream come true for me!

To this day I relish that

precious moment, tears and all.

Press here for a 2-minute YouTube

of Florence and Michelangelo's David

We finally emerged from seeing David, overwhelmed by the need to quickly find somewhere to eat an early lunch. En route, we met Aussie Brian and John from USA and then picnicked with them at Independence Piazza before heading for the Uffizi Gallery in Signioria Square.

Uffizi Gallery

http://www.virtualuffizi.com/uffizi1/loggiatouffizi.jpg

This gallery hosts works of art by great Italian artist such as Botticelli, Giotto, Cimabue, Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and Raffaello, just to name a few of the most famous. Its large collection has works from all centuries, but a large part dates back to the periods between the 12th and 17th centuries.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0b/Sandro_Botticelli

The Uffizi is thus where Botticelli's Birth of Venus and Primavera are kept. Here we caught up with the crowds, who were being escorted through the palace by guided tours delivered in multiple languages. There was no cordon around these exquisite paintings, so I was able to stand within inches of the painting, close enough to examine each brush strokes and almost to smell the paint.

http://www.paintinghere.org/UploadPic/Sandro%20Botticelli/big/La%20Primavera.jpg

Acting on impulse, I surreptitiously touched the painting of the orange grove beneath the foot of beauty, one of the three graces in the Primavera. Sadly, I was not psychically transported back in time to Botticelli's studios, nor was I magically endowed with the graces of chastity, beauty or love. But I did have one huge smile on my face for the remainder of that long day!

After being ushered through the Uffizi at an astonishingly fast pace, we three girls left the gallery, intent on purchasing our own artwork in the form of leather and silken goods that would be easy to carry through the rest of Europe with us in backpacks.

http://www.relaispiazzasignoria.com/img/apartments4_b.jpg

Hot Chocolate

http://us.123rf.com/400wm/400/400/olenka/olenka0803/olenka080300009/2672181-hot-chocolate-with-cream-in-tall-glass-on-brown-rustic-background.jpg

But the minute we stepped into the centre of the Piazza, the heavens opened up, forcing us to run for cover! We three dashed into a coffee shop at one corner of the square, where thoroughly enjoyed the most delectable hot chocolate EVER, made with globs of real cream.

There's nothing quite as glorious as getting drenched with your pals in a Florence cloudburst, and then warming up together over a delicious glass of piping hot chocolate...mmmm

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d2/Il_Duomo_Florence_Italy.JPG

We then visited Piazza del Duomo (Cathedral Square), once of the most visited places in Europe.

Here we saw the Florence Cathedral, The Basilica of St Mary of the Flower and Brunelleschi's Cupola. We also visited Giotto's Campanile, a 14th Century Belltower, and the Florence Baptistry.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Florence_Baptistery

The di Medici Chapel and the Church of San Lorenzo

The Medici Chapels were built as a personal sepulchre of the Medici family, right in the Basilica of San Lorenzo, considered the "official" church of the Medici family.

The sculpted works began in 1520 by Michelangelo and finished by Giorgio Vasari in 1546 when Michelangelo was ordered to Rome.

The Capella Medici are two structures at the Basilica of San Lorenzo that date from the 16th and 17th centuries. They were built as extensions to Brunelleschi's 15th century church, with the purpose of celebrating the Medici family, patrons of the church and Grand Dukes of Tuscany.

http://cache.graphicslib.viator.com/graphicslib/page-images/360x240/135291_Florence_MediciChapels_749.jpg

The Sagrestia Nuova (New Sacristy) was designed by Michelangelo. The larger Capelle dei Principi (Chapel of the Princes) though proposed in the 16th century was not begun until the 17th century, its design being a collaboration between family and architects.

above extract from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medici_Chapel

I was able to enter all the exhibits for free because of the International Student Card I'd purchased in Athens. But Shirley and Donna each paid the 'exorbitant' fee of $0.25 per exhibit.

We all arrived back at the Bed and Breakfast by 8 pm. We were definitely foot-weary but still ready to party. Donna even mentioned that she'd like to go drinking with three congenial guys.

I mumbled from the bed, where I was massaging my feet, that the prospect of meeting any guys inside our hotel bedroom was extremely slim.

At that precise moment, Shirley entered the room, escorted by three of the Aussies we'd met the previous day. Luckily I was already sitting down, because I just about collapsed in shock.

http://www.restaurantsinflorence.com/brac_vegetariano_firenze.html

Donna, Shirley and I then spent the next hour pruning and preening and were collected, eventually, at 10 pm. The late hour and our group's lack of colloquial Italian resulted in our drinking beer in a milk bar till the management kicked us out at midnight. The boys escorted us back to the Bed and Breakfast, where a stern looking landlady was waiting on the doorstep for our return at 12.45 am.

Wednesday July 28

Florence

Slept fitfully till 9 am, then dressed, packed bags and waited till 11 am for the Aussie boys to return to collect Shirley. When they did not show, the three of us headed to the station where we deposited our backpacks in the large lockers for the day. We planned to leave for Venice that very afternoon.

Divested of our heavy packs, we then headed to the Ponte Vecchio the famed covered bridge that spans the Arno River in Florence.

The Ponte Vecchio

http://italydreamtour.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/ponte-vecchio.jpg

The Ponte Vecchio means "Old Bridge" and is a medieval, stone, closed-spandrel segment arch bridge over the River Arno in Florence.

http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/ce/37/e6/roberta.jpg

Butchers once occupied the shops that was then (1976) home to many merchants selling jewellery, art, leather, silk and other souvenirs. I bought two silk scarves and a pair of the softest leather gloves I've ever worn.

We all ate far too much pizza, ice cream, lasagne and other foods today, partly because the Pitti Palace with its collections of Raphaels was closed and we'd planned no other activity in its place.

Luckily we bumped into Brian (Aussie) and John (American) again with whom we chatted till it was time to catch our train for Bologna.

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/df/Italia_ferrovie_1870_09_20.png

Unbeknown to us, our train to Bologna, where would transfer to the Venice train, was a Trans European Express. This meant that a 2900 lire supplement was added for each passenger, despite the fact that we all carried Eurail passes. Although 2900 lire is barely $2 in today's devalued currency, in 1976 the supplement represented more than our daily living allowance.

So we were unceremoniously thrown off the train once the ticket inspector discovered that we had boarded it illegally, and then refused to pay the excess charge. An hour later, we completed our journey in a less luxurious train and transferred, in Bologna, to the evening train bound for Venice.

Next Time

July 28-30

ITALY

Venice

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 28-30 Venice Italy

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 22-25 The Peleponnese and Corfu

2013-10-04T00:00:00.000-07:00

Thursday July 22

The Peleponnese

Diros Caves

Next morning, we awoke, a bit bone weary but eager to see the much vaunted Diros Caves, which lie in the extreme south western corner of the Peleponnese. There are 5000 meters of subterranean caves that can be explored by boat and on foot. It is said to be one of the most beautiful lake caves in the world.

by kind courtesy of http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/e7/5b/95/caption.jpg

Everyone travelling with us that day was hushed into silence by the sheer magnificence that surrounded us.

There are no words that adequately describe being totally encompassed by a natural masterpiece. We puny humans simply had no choice but to surrender to our overwhelmed feelings as we floated in the beauty of Mother Nature's subterranean world.

Awestruck, we silently glided across that vast, still, clear water. I dipped my hand into the cold, velvety clean water and tasted it. Though the lake had formed all those millenia ago, the water deep inside the caves was fresh and sweet tasting.

by kind courtesy of http://www.cruiserswiki.org/images/0/03/S_Peloponnese_Diros4.jpg

The atmosphere in our small boat was hushed and reverend. We were visiting the inside of a hugely vaulted Gothic Cathedral, created without bricks and mortar. This was Mother Nature's cathedral an enduring testament to the implacability of a single drop of water, repeated endlessly over time.

The air within the caves was very still, and so quiet that you could hear people breathing - and if you focused your eyes outwardly, you could almost believe that the walls of the cave were breathing. Only the occasional sound of dripping water interrupted my reverie, as we floated silently past more fascinating natural artistry.

Press here for the Official

Greek video of Diros Caves

This 40 min. documentary is very detailed and gives a complete history of the caves from their discovery to present day.

In 1976, the caves had been open to the public for only a decade, so Donna and I were among the first to climb into those small boats, and glide silently beneath countless living sculptures that had each been fashioned by eons of time and a single drop of water.

Areopolis

by kind courtesy of http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/4/4e/1976_Summer_Olympics_logo.svg/220px-1976_Summer_Olympics_logo.svg.png

At 2 pm we went back to Areopolis in order to catch the bus to Gillion. But Donna and I arrived during siesta time, so nothing was moving, once our bus had left.

All around us were houses, with windows wide open, and televisions blaring the latest news from the Montreal Olympics.

We could hear the English commentary only faintly beneath the Greek translation. But even though it was masked, hearing that familiar accent was enough to make us feel suddenly very homesick for Canada.

Karpouzi

by kind courtesy of http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/40/Watermelons.jpg/220px-Watermelons.jpg

Feeling extremely thirsty, I purchased a medium sized karpouzi (watermelon) and shared it with Donna while we sat, sweltering in the shade of some trees.
by kind courtesy of http://www.fivestargreece.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/045-Areopolis-a.jpg

And it's just as well that we did. For on that particular day, in that deserted town square, or plateia, the temperature soared way beyond 100 F.

We didn't realize till much later that Areopolis was actually a coastal town! We could have been exploring its rocky shoreline and wading through tidal pools instead of sweating gallons!

Ah, the advantages of checking one's map ahead of arrival in a new place.

Gillion to Sparta

More than three hours after our arrival in Areopolis, Donna and I gratefully boarded our bus to Gillion where we changed to the Sparta bus, arriving there at 8.15 pm. Without hesitation we returned to the Cyprus Hotel for our overnight stay.

I, personally, was only too ready to shed my dusty and travel worn clothing, thoroughly enjoying a top to-toe wash at the sink before dressing in fresh attire. Donna also washed up and we both changed clothes before stepping into the square in search of food!

Sparta

by kind courtesy of http://www.renespizza.net/images/flash-header.png

For Pizza and Coke, we paid the exorbitant amount of 50 drachmas each - one-third of the total cost of our hotel room for that night! But we were so hungry, we paid whatever was asked!

We then took our food to an empty table near the edge of the square, to more fully participate in the evening ritual of people watching.

Wardrobe malfunction
Seeking only to cool my still overheated body, I had changed into shorts and the crocheted bikini top that I had purchased at the Plaka in Athens.

by kind courtesy of http://www.crochetconcupiscence.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/il_570xN-1.185060628.jpg

But while I felt deliciously cool in the still, warm air of Sparta, my revealing outfit garnered a lot of disapproving stares from women, and way too much attention from some of the males that night!

by kind courtesy of http://www.globecraft.com/WebProductsS/45-02.jpg

I was about to capitulate to the clear yet unspoken pressure by returning to the hotel in order to change clothes yet again, when two men approached our table.

They had recognized the small Canada pin that I had strategically placed on my bikini top, and introduced themselves to us as Christos and Pete, very polite and attentive Canadian Greeks from Montreal, who spoke perfect English.

Sparta walkabout

We were so thankful when these two offered to act as our guides and bodyguards for the rest of that evening! After the mandatory walkabout in the square, the four of us enjoyed a few hours of disco dancing at a local club, till our stalwart defenders returned Donna and me to the Cyprus Hotel at 2 am.

Friday July 23

Patras to Corfu

We awoke at 7.30 am, despite our very late night. We leisurely showered, breakfasted and split a $50 traveler's cheque between us before catching the 10 am bus to Patras. That trip took all day to complete, and with no air conditioning, felt like were encased in a travelling steam bath. But our experience improved markedly when Canadians Seymour from Montreal and Garth from Vancouver introduced themselves to us.

Ferry to Corfu

by kind courtesy of http://www.ferries.gr/booking/images/greekferrieseast1.gif

At Patras, we four enjoyed an early supper together then headed to the dock to catch our ferry to Corfu. Donna and I had purchased our tickets the week before, in Athens, and so had not realized there might be more than one ferry leaving that night.

We were thus chagrined to learn, after queuing for an hour, that we had been booked on a totally different ferry from our companions. We were in the wrong place to catch our ferry.

Reluctantly bidding Seymour and Garth farewell, we eventually boarded the correct ferry, where we had pre-purchased a cabin. I luxuriated in a hot shower and change of clothes before going on deck. The trip would take all night, and our pre-paid fare included a typical Greek supper, which was to be served at 11 pm.

Damsel in Distress

by kind courtesy of http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/25-damsel-in-distress-granger.jpg

While awaiting the Greek supper hour, we were enjoying cool sea breezes after a stiflingly hot day on deck, Donna and I met Shirley, a 20 year old from New Zealand.

She looked panic-stricken, unkempt, wild-eyed and in dire need of rescuing. For it seemed her voluptuous charms had fired the passions of an amorous middle-aged Greek businessman who had purchased a first-class cabin 'for her'.

Being young and somewhat naive, Shirley had not realized the kind of price she would be expected to pay him for sharing that expensive cabin. Before we met her, Shirley had felt trapped and obligated by this man's unseemly generosity!

Donna and I reassured her, as gently as possible, that her only obligation on this journey was to herself. We also told her of our own experiences regarding the alarming expectations of licentious males, and how we'd learned to handle them.

Though horrified by our frank revelations, Shirley got the message and was determined not to become that particular rich Greek's 'late night dessert'. And since Donna and I had two sets of bunks in our cabin, we naturally invited Shirley to spend the night with us - for her safety and our peace of mind.

Greek supper

by kind courtesy of http://static.ow.ly/photos/normal/1NtUT.jpg

Once Shirley's rescue and sleeping arrangements were completed, we all relaxed and enjoyed a most sumptuous supper on board. Then somewhere around 2 am, we all tried to sleep.

But Shirley, obviously very upset by her close call with a sleazebag, became physically nauseous and spent all night running back and forth to the bathroom. Since she had taken the top bunk of my bed, every time she hurriedly climbed down, I woke up.

Saturday July 24

CORFU

Donna slept like a log throughout the night and was the first one awake next morning. Shirley, and therefore I, had finally fallen asleep around dawn and were both snoozing peacefully when Donna woke us up because the ferry was entering the harbour at Corfu.

Kontakali Hostel

by kind courtesy of http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7108/7442329904_411eb9a402_h.jpg

We docked at 9.30 am and the three of us caught a taxi to Kontakali Hostel, arriving there at 10 am.

The hostel was in an abysmal state. The bunk mattresses were black and stank of who knows what! And the sheets they offered to cover the mattresses were equally disgustingly filthy. Still, we were grateful to have a roof over our heads, as well as somewhere to actually do laundry.

After hanging our freshly washed clothes on the washing line to dry, the three of us headed into Kerkyra for the rest of the morning. And while we were there, a fierce thunderstorm drenched us, forcing us to return to the hostel to change into the few dry clothes we still had left.

Since it was still raining, and she was still feeling poorly, Shirley decided to remain at the hostel for the afternoon, and volunteered to look after our things so that Donna and I could continue exploring.

Deciding that we couldn't possibly get any wetter that day, the two of us put on our swimsuits and headed for the beach. If we couldn't sunbathe, at least we could swim, or play in that azure blue water.

Water polo

by kind courtesy of http://us.123rf.com/400wm/400/400/sportlibrary/sportlibrary0708/sportlibrary070800031/1518487-a-male-water-polo-player-goes-after-a-loose-ball-during-a-game.jpg

A few minutes later, five brawny, athletic Dutch boys cavorted with us in the shallows and then invited us to play water polo with them. They neglected to mention till later that they were members of an amateur Dutch water polo team!

During the half hour that followed, Donna and I discovered two very important things:

playing water polo with muscular young men can also be hugely exhausting as well as exhilarating
a fashion bikini is not the recommended garment to wear while participating in this energetic sport

Despite having had two hefty guys helping on our side, the team Donna and I were on was well and truly thrashed! But we had enjoyed a good laugh and our bodies were grateful for that gruelling workout, especially after enduring several days of sedentary bus travel through the Peloponnese.

Shirley was fast asleep on the bottom bunk, when we returned to Kontokali Hostel rescue our laundry and change into shorts and t-shirts. We left her a note and went to share "Afternoon Tea" with two Scottish hostelers in an adjoining dormitory.

The rain, that began long before our afternoon polo game, increased steadily intensity during the evening and continued overnight.

Kontokali Youth Hostel Cafeteria

Disappointed that our plans to explore the island had been scuttled by the weather, Donna and I headed to the Youth Hostel cafeteria to mingle with other sullenly sodden students. Shirley woke up and joined us there, but still felt too ill to mingle, and so returned to her bunk for the night at 8 pm.

There was a motley crew at the cafeteria that night. First we met Dave from Houston who was hitting on all the ladies. There was no live entertainment, just a juke box. So there was nothing to do but dance and drink, which we did till our stomachs began to growl in hunger.

by kind courtesy of http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/02/cf/56/0e/alobar.jpg http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/02/cf/56/0e/alobar.jpg

Oddly, this cafeteria served no food, only booze. So, our minds might have been a little befuddled when Donna and I decided to join Dave on a semi-drunken trip to Kontokali Village.

As it turned out, Dave had an inspired idea! The three of us shared kalamari (squid) and yet another bottle of retsina in an outdoor restaurant that flanked the beach.

Upon our eventual return to the now over-crowded Youth Hostel cafeteria, I ordered a Coke then graciously declined Houston Dave's amorous but highly indecent proposition.

Instead I danced, and later chatted amiably with a 7'4" Dane, who happily protected me from any further indelicate suggestions from Dave.

Oozo, karpouzi and dance
by kind courtesy of http://www.revistaair.net/Birth%2014_archivos/image008.jpg

The evening included endless shot glasses of ouzo, Coke chasers, karbusi and a lot of dancing.

Later, some locals joined us and showed us all how real Greeks dance. So, of course, we all had to give it a go - with frequently hilarious results.

Press here to see how to do a Greek Dance

The noisy party wound down slowly, sputtering to a close around 3 am. Apparently, we hostelers had needed a lot of alcoholic coaxing in order to overlook the disgusting state of our sleeping quarters.

Saturday July 25
Corfu to Brindisi

In my case, the coaxing worked, since I completely disregarded the state of my bed! I climbed up to the top bunk, collapsed on my mattress and slept like a log for three hours. Then I turned over and promptly fell 5 feet, landing in a heap on the floor.

My sudden descent had jarred awake everyone in that room! But their rude awakening was a blessing in disguise, since it was just after 6 am and our ferry for Brindisi would leave at 8 am.

Donna, Shirley and I packed up our belongings, and 'treated' ourselves to a breakfast of dry bread and stale coke before heading for the dock. It was as much as our beleaguered digestive systems could handle.

Dock at Corfu

by kind courtesy of http://www.corfu-hotels.travel/data/420/unknow_general/vidos.jpg

The sun was rising as we began walking to the dock, and we arrived there in plenty of time for the ferry to Italy.

Unfortunately our ship was nowhere to be seen. It had been delayed by 3 hours. So we spend most of the morning just waiting for it to arrive.

The weather had finally become hot and dry, and we all wanted to stay in Corfu. But Donna and I had no choice but to leave because we had pre-purchased those darn ferry tickets in Athens.

Shirley had decided to travel to Italy with us, as she felt herself too naive to negotiate Corfu without us watching out for her.

I will return to this magical island to spend

several weeks exploring its secret places,

plus another couple of weeks sunbathing

and swimming in its pristine water.

The sun will be shining then, and I will

be there with someone I adore!

So let it be written, so let it be done!

We passed a restful day en route to Brindisi and by mid afternoon Shirley's tummy bug, thankfully, seemed to have passed, so she felt more sociable. We girls then relaxed together by the pool, shared that day's meals and generally got to know a little more about Shirley and her life in Dunedin, on the South Island of New Zealand.

Brindisi
by kind courtesy of http://central.languagepod101.com/stockphoto/media/10910&v=fit512.jpg

By 8 pm, Italian time, we docked at Brindisi. There we chose to eat a mediocre meal, at horribly inflated prices, close to the railway station from which we later caught the night train to Bologna.

We met an English girl, named Diane, in our compartment, and we all chatted amiably but intermittently through a pretty rough train voyage.

No couchettes had been available, so the four of us were forced to sit up for the entire 25 hour journey, dozing as and when we could. Despite using my trusty Burberry as a warm blanket, I had thus startled awake several times during the night.

Being awake while our train ploughed through the darkness of an endless Italian night was miserable. The moon was barely a sliver, so I could see nothing but shadows outside my window and, sadly, was far too tired even to read.

Instead, I kept my mind focused on the architectural and artistic glories upon which we would feast our eyes the very next day in the northern cities of Florence and Pisa.

Next Time

July 26 - 28

ITALY

Bologna

Florence

Pisa

Venice

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 26-28 Florence, Pisa and Venice Italy

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 19 - 21 Athens, Corinth, Sparta

2013-09-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

Monday July 19

Athens

We disembarked from our Greek Island cruise in Piraeus at 8.30am. Dropping our backpacks off with Kosta at the Olympus Hotel, Donna and I then caught a bus to Acropolis Hill where we discovered to our dismay, that The Parthenon itself was closed, because too many tourists had destabilized its floor.

Parthenon and Acropolis from Philopappos Hill

by kind courtesy of http://imgc.allpostersimages.com/images/P-473-488-90/27/2724/YHYND00Z/posters/anders-blomqvist-parthenon-and-acropolis-from-filopappou-hill-athens-greece.jpg

Never daunted, another intrepid tourist, a German History Professor, and I were determined to witness this wonder of the ancient world with our own eyes, and feet.

The Parthenon looked huge and imposing then, especially since its magnificence was not then sullied by the supportive scaffolding that has since been erected.

The Parthenon today

by kind courtesy of http://www.thomascooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/4203491.jpg

In the short half-hour that the fates allowed us, the Professor very efficiently related to me a canned version of Acropolis and Parthenon history.

He was a good teacher who spoke excellent English, so we strolled together around as much of the Parthenon as we could manage before irate guards threw us off the entire site.

Below is a painting of the Acropolis Hill as it once looked as depicted by artist Leo von Klenze in 1846.

by kind courtesy of http://www.thomascooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/4203491.jpg

The Acropolis of Athens is an ancient citadel located on a high rocky outcrop above the city of Athens that contains the remains of several ancient buildings of great architectural and historical significance, the most famous being the Parthenon.

I thanked the Professor for a most informative tour of Acropolis Hill and bid him adieu. Then Donna and I left the Parthenon and went to explore the Philopappos Monument atop Mouseion Hill (the hill of the Muses) also known as

Philopappos Monument

The highest, 147 m., and farthest east of the group of hills on the south-west side of the city, the Mouseion, was so called by the Ancient Greeks after the legendary priest, seer and minstrel Museaus, a contemporary of Orpheus and Eumolpus, whose tomb, according to Pausanias, could be seen there. An earlier tradition associates this hill with the Muses; or the "Hill of the Muses".

Situated opposite the Acropolis, it is commonly known nowadays as the Hill of Philopappus from the monument erected on its summit by the Athenians early in the second century AD in honor of Gaius Julius Antiochus Philopappus, a philhellene Syrian prince, citizen of Athens, Roman consul and praetor. This monument, which was in fact a mausoleum, was about 12 m. in height by 10 m. in breadth, and was built of Pentelic marble on a poros platform. It was destroyed in the seventeenth century and only two-thirds of the north-east facade remain today.

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/932967

Philopappos Hill of the Muses

Philopappos Hill is the highest of the three hills just west of the Acropolis, and is named after a monument erected at the top of the hill in honor of the Roman senator Philopappos.

In antiquity the hill was known as the Mouseion (Hill of the Muses). The Greek believed that the hill was inhabited by the nine muses and that Musaeus, a poet and disciple of Orpheus, was buried here.

The hill has a height of 147 meters (482 ft) and offers spectacular views of the Acropolis. Towards the south you can see as far as the sea.

The other two hills are known as the Hill of the Nymphs - formerly the site of a shrine dedicated to the nymphs - and the Hill of the Pnyx, where people assembled in the sixth century BC. The three hills now form one large park with a network of paths that lead along ancient monuments.

Philopappos Monument

The Roman consul and senator Gaius Julius Antiochus Epiphanes Philopappos, a powerful aristocrat and friend of the Roman emperor Trajan, admired Greek culture and long lived in Athens. He was seen in Athens as a benefactor, and often sponsored theater plays.

After he died, the Athenians built a marble tomb and monument for the senator. The monument, completed in 119 AD, is twelve meters high and was built at the highest point of the Philopappos Hill.

Now a ruin, the niches with statues of Philopappus and his grandfather Antiochus IV are still visible. The frieze below the niches depict Philopappos's entrance in 109 AD in the city of Athens as Roman consul.

excerpt taken from http://www.aviewoncities.com/athens/philopappos.htm

Press here for a video of the Monument plus panoramic view of modern Athens and the Aegean Sea.

Amphitheatre of Herodes Atticus

by kind courtesy of http://www.geolocation.ws/v/W/File%3AAcropolis%20-%20Herodes%20Atticus%20theatre.jpg/-/en

At Philoppapos Hill, I met Helvecio from Brazil,who walked with Donna and me to view the amphitheatre of Herodes Atticus from above.

The acoustics here remain impressive, even after all these millenia. From the upper stands, I could hear Helvecio whispering on that circular stage.

It was built in 161 AD by the Athenian magnate Herodes Atticus in memory of his wife, Aspasia Annia Regilla. It was originally a steep-sloped amphitheater with a three-story stone front wall and a wooden roof made of expensive, cedar of Lebanon timber. It was used as a venue for music concerts with a capacity of 5,000. It lasted intact until it was destroyed and turned into a ruin by the Heruli in 267 AD

Modern concerts are still held here. The audience stands and the orchestra(stage) were restored using pentelic marble in the 1950s. Since then it has been the main venue of the Athens Festival, which runs from May through October each year, featuring a variety of acclaimed Greek as well as International performances

excerpt taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Odeon_of_Herodes_Atticus

The Cat Came Back

by kind courtesy of

http://www.edholden.com/images/photos/20071017-0184%20-%20Athens%20-%20Kittens%20in%20Plaka.jpg

Bidding adieu to Helvecio, we then enjoyed a leisurely lunch in a small cafe. But as we strolled back to the hotel, I heard a kitten meowing.

To my ears it sounded really forlorn and unhappy. So of course, I had to stay and rescue the kitten from the storm drain, much to the amusement of nearby workmen.

With the tiny creature safely in my arms, Donna and I then walked it to a nearby park, following directions delivered by the helpful workmen with the aid of much mime and hand waving. Once there, we released the starving creature to its feline family.

There was a brief show of happiness at the reunion. Then the entire feline family ran at full speed straight towards the park's storm drain into which they promptly vanished.

Donna and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She had just spent 90 minutes watching me rescuing a wild kitten from what turned out to be its family home!

On the upside, a nubile Canadian girl kneeling on the sidewalk, with her arms reaching into a manhole for over an hour, presented a view that probably made time pass much more quickly for those young Greek workmen!

So what if the cat came back

the very next hour?!

Press here for The Cat Came Back video

Still laughing, Donna and I returned to our lunchtime restaurant washroom, where I was able to wash both myself and my filthy dress before exiting. Not for the first time on this Grand Tour did I walk about a European town in a soaking wet cotton frock.

The Peleponese

Collected stuff from hotel and caught bus to Corinth by 7.30 pm. Donna had earlier met and received an invitation from a Corinthian, Paul, to visit the ancient ruins with him. He had promised to meet our bus at the Corinth Depot at 7.30 pm. But he failed to materialize.

Instead, Good Samaritan John helped us to find accommodation in Corinth and then escorted us both for a drink. We desperately needed food and were about to bid John adieu and go in search of a restaurant when we unexpectedly bumped into Paul, who had been looking for us.

Paul then took us in his car on wild goose chase to find one particular restaurant, returning us to our pension at 1.30 am. By this time I was beyond livid with Paul! It had been a very long day, and both Donna and I were SO tired by the time we hit the sack.

Tuesday July 20

Corinth

by kind courtesy of

http://tribesports.com/challenges/swim-the-corinth-channel

I awoke rested and relaxed at 8.10 am. Donna had to sort out a MasterCharge problem. So took the opportunity to go swimming alone in the warm, clear, blue waters of the Corinth Channel.

It was an awesome experience, swimming alone in that narrow strip of deep clear water, with the channel sides looming above me. And I also enjoyed the sheer exercise of traversing its 70 ft width several times before returning to the hotel to shower and dress, wash some clothes and write a letter to my Mom.

At 3.30 pm, after we'd eaten lunch, Donna's friend Paul collected and drove us to the ruins of Ancient Corinth where we three wandered about the huge yet deserted place for about 2 hours. There were no guides, or booksellers on site. We were the only live humans in evidence.

Ancient Corinth

by kind courtesy of

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:CorintoScaviStrada.jpg

by kind courtesy of

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:GR-korinth-tempel-octavia.jpg

by kind courtesy of

http://www.planetware.com/i/map/GR/corinth-center-of-an-ancient-city-map.jpg

After an exhausting afternoon soaking in the ancient vibes in the open air in 104 F heat, Donna and I raced back to our room, to collect our backpacks just in time to catch the bus to Nafplion. Thankfully the heat abated significantly after sunset.

Nafplion

by kind courtesy of

http://www.greece-map.net/maps/nafplion-map.gif

We arrived at Nafplion at 8 pm but could not find any suitable accommodations at that hour.

The Youth Hostel was already full for the night, but had permission to rent out space on the roof for 20 drachma per person. Both of us were so tired that we both slept soundly, despite the discomfort. Breakfast was a further 20 drachma, and after a night spent on concrete we needed it.

Wednesday July 21

Bus to Sparta

From Nafplion, we took the bus to Argos, and from there caught our connection to Sparta.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.groundedtraveler.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/Traveling-600x450.jpg

The journey to Sparta was bizarre, since the vehicle carried local passengers as well as tourists. All was calm until the road rose to the plateau in a series of bends rendering the trip more precarious.

To avert panic, our bus driver put on a tape of lively, and very loud, Greek music. As if on cue, several people left their seats to dance in the narrow aisle.

I watched, spellbound, as they nimbly side-stepped, or otherwise avoided, a number of small children, squawking chickens and one oddly calm goat all of whom travelled in the aisle that day.

Every time the bus negotiated a sharp bend in the road, the heavy load fastened to its roof shifted sides, and the bus travelled precariously on two wheels till driving into the opposite bend cancelled the problem. Yet inside the bus, those intrepid dancers never missed a step!

The Greeks brought us everything else,

why not the Party Bus?!

by kind courtesy of

http://thumbs1.ebaystatic.com/d/l225/m/mCaZ9y947MC4jCI2c5Kn1EQ.jpg

When I was not watching the scenery outside or enjoying the antics of the locals inside, I passed time by attempting to pronounce impossible phrases in Greek.

When my brain grew weary of company I attempted to solve the Greek puzzle ring I had purchased on a whim while in Athens. It was simply too noisy and the road too bumpy for me to even attempt to read.

by kind courtesy of

http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7150/6700326445_1820ff82a5_o.jpg

We stopped en route for refreshments that were provided by ex-pat Greeks who had returned home and set up businesses along the Greek bus routes. So we were well hydrated and fed by the time we reached Sparta.

Happy to be able to stretch our legs, Donna and I shopped for souvenirs before looking for lodging for the night. Then, once the sun had set, we joined the rest of the town in the square in the international pastime of people watching. Body language surpassed all other dialects that evening!

For tips on local etiquette in Greece press here

The next day we would travel to Diros to visit the famed Diros Caves, then return to Sparta before making our way to Patras and the ferry back to Corfu and Italy. But that night, we both slept like babies after a long day of travelling through the Greek countryside.

Next Time

July 22 - 24

GREECE

Peleponnese

Diros Caves

Sparta

Patras

Corfu

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 22-24 The Peleponnese and Corfu

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 18 Crete, Santorini

2013-09-20T00:00:00.000-07:00

Sunday July 18

Crete

As is often the way after an epic storm at sea, the dawn broke clear and hot, with not a trace of the electromagnetic violence through which our ship had just passed. We arrived at Crete after eating a nourishing breakfast on board. It was to be a long day sightseeing in relentless heat, so we really needed a good head start.

Heraklion

by kind courtesy of

http://www.achtypistours.gr/sites/default/files/imagecache/galleryformatter_slide/11/04/4150200420_9efcfe4dae_zvenetian_harbour.jpg

At 8 am, we disembarked ship at the historic Heraklion harbour, which was first established during the 13th Century by wealthy Venetian merchant families seeking a sunny, warm winter escape.

Knossos

From the harbour, we were bused to the nearby ancient palace city of Knossos.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.travel-greece.org/crete/heraklio/knossos/map.png

My first impression of Knossis was its immense size which totals 10 sq. km, [3.9 square miles]. That's three times larger than New York's Central Park [1.3 square miles].

by kind courtesy of

http://i.obozrevatel.ua/11/1397501/gallery/264859.jpg

Above is an artist's rendition of the Palace as it was originally designed and built on top of a hill to maximize both the view and its security.

My second impression of Knossos was of the overwhelming heat there. Though not yet 9 am, the thermometer registered at 37 degrees Celsius. That's blood heat! And since the temperature climbed steadily all day, I was very glad that I'd worn my coolest cotton frock and sturdy sneakers.

This palace was an ancient holy site, which supplied for all the needs of those using it, including indoor plumbing and reliable access to fresh water. Its infrastructure has remained in tact for 5000 years, mainly because it was not designed for public use.

by kind courtesy of

http://tourguides.viator.com/Images/Sightseeing/Large/007d6aed-9d36-4abc-af54-868f1b9f4758_ad0e970c-22cb-432e-9e66-0c8fff16052d.jpg

With my ceaseless drive to touch, smell, psychically sense and photograph everything I saw in Knossos, I soon lost sight of our cruise ship's touring party. So I joined a touring German group instead.

Not that I spoke German, in this lifetime, but with the aid of the guide's hand gestures, I was able to glean quite a lot of information. But the German group moved on while I was busily investigating Knossos' indoor plumbing system, so amazed was I to discover that they really did have efficient plumbing 3000 years BC!

The next group to which I attached myself spoke only Japanese, but after a few minutes of trying to decipher meaning, I realized that even their hand gestures did nothing to clarify the information being imparted. So I left that group and searched for a secluded, shaded place in which to relax and meditate.

The place I found located was on a slight promontory so it must have, at one time, commanded an imposing view of the sea. In 1976, it was almost overgrown by olive trees, whose leafy boughs provided plenty of shade and privacy, both of which I desperately needed.

by kind courtesy of

http://img1.etsystatic.com/011/0/6676879/il_570xN.443608789_92o9.jpg

Meditating was as easy as breathing in that peaceful place, and I was quickly transported back in time to witness Knossos as it used to be.

In that altered state, I easily experienced synesthesia, the ability hear colours and see sounds. Thus my experience of the art and music still felt as fresh and relevant to me then, as it had once been 5000 years ago.

History of Knossos

Knossos was inhabited for several thousand years, beginning with a neolithic settlement sometime in the seventh millennium BC, and was abandoned after its destruction in 1375 BC which marked the end of Minoan civilization.

The first palace, on the low hill beside the Krairatos river was built around 1900 BC on the ruins of previous settlements. It was destroyed for the first time along with the other Protopalatial palaces around Crete at 1700 BC, probably by a large earthquake or foreign invaders. It was immediately rebuilt to an even more elaborate complex and until its abandonment was damaged several times during earthquakes, invasions, and in 1450 BC by the colossal volcanic eruption of Thera, and the invasion of Mycenaeans who used it as their capital as they ruled the island of Crete until 1375 BC.

above excerpt taken from http://www.ancient-greece.org/archaeology/knossos.html

The palace of Knossos was undoubtedly the ceremonial and political centre of the Minoan civilization and culture. It appears as a maze of workrooms, living spaces and storerooms close to a central square. And approximate graphic view of some aspects of Cretan life in the Bronze Age is provided by restorations of the palace's indoor and outdoor murals, as it is also by the decorative motifs of the pottery and the insignia on the seals and sealings.

The palace was abandoned at some unknown time at the end of the Late Bronze Age, ca. 1380–1100 BC.^[7] The occasion is not known for certain, but one of the many disasters that befell the palace is generally put forward. The abandoning population were probably Mycenaean Greeks, who had earlier occupied the city-state, and were using Linear B as its administrative script, as opposed to Linear A, the previous administrative script. The hill was never again a settlement or civic site, although squatters may have used it for a time.

Except for periods of abandonment, other cities were founded in the immediate vicinity, such as the Roman colony, and a Hellenistic Greek precedent. The population shifted to the new town of Chandax (modern Heraklion) during the 9th century AD. By the 13th century, it was called Makruteikhos 'Long Wall'; the bishops of Gortyn continued to call themselves Bishops of Knossos until the 19th century.^[8] Today, the name is used only for the archaeological site now situated in the expanding suburbs of Heraklion.

above excerpt taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knossos

by kind courtesy of
http://powerplaces.com/images/photo/crete_dolphins.jpg

There is more about the Knossos Palace at these links:

Knossos Background, Legend and History
Ancient Greece: Knossos
The Palace of Knossos
Knossos as it looks and functions today
An interactive virtual tour of Knossos today

Our cruise passengers were fortunate enough to spend a good few hours in ancient palace of Knossos. Even though several groups toured at the same time, the place was so huge, one could easily find a place to be alone. So my next 'perfect' quiet meditation spot was more centrally located. Taking off my sneakers, I sat cross-legged between a giant sculpture of bull horns that represented might and power of the Minoan culture.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.stevewatson.info/travel/Greece/images/KnossosHorns_edited.jpg

Modern day photos show that this sculpture has now been roped off to prevent further public access. But in 1976, I felt most privileged to take a precious 'time-out' to meditate literally upon this ancient artifact. From there, with eyes open, I could also view much of the central area of Knossos.

Too soon, it was time to leave Knossos and head back to Heraklion. But our time in Crete was not yet at an end. The buses next deposited us at Heraklion Archeological Museum, which houses the treasures of Knossos.

Heraklion Archeological Museum

by kind courtesy of

http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3131/2924756949_39f3bf8b7f.jpg

It is one of the greatest museums in Greece^[1] and the best in the world for Minoan art, as it contains the most notable and complete collection of artifacts of the Minoan civilization of Crete

It houses representative artifacts from all the periods of Cretan prehistory and history, covering a chronological span of over 5,500 years from the Neolithic period to Roman times.

The singularly important Minoan collection contains unique examples of Minoan art, many of them true masterpieces. The Heraklion Museum is rightly considered as the museum of Minoan culture par excellence worldwide.

Santorini

We were all exhausted when, after the museum, we finally returned for a late lunch aboard ship. Donna took a nap for the duration of the journey across the Cretan trough to Santorini. But I took advantage of our last afternoon aboard ship to swim and sunbathe on the pool deck.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.santorini.com/santorini/santorini1.jpg

Our ship could not anchor at Santorini because the waters were just too deep!

Santorini is essentially what remains after an enormous volcanic explosion that destroyed the earliest settlements on a formerly single island, and created the current geological caldera. A giant central, rectangular lagoon, which measures about 12 by 7 km (7.5 by 4.3 mi), is surrounded by 300 m (980 ft) high, steep cliffs on three sides. The main island slopes downward to the Aegean Sea. On the fourth side, the lagoon is separated from the sea by another much smaller island called Therasia; the lagoon is connected to the sea in two places, in the northwest and southwest. The depth of the caldera, at 400m, makes it possible for all but the largest ships to anchor anywhere in the protected bay; there is also a newly built marina at Vlychada, on the southwestern coast. The island's principal port is Athinias. The capital, Fira, clings to the top of the cliff looking down on the lagoon. The volcanic rocks present from the prior eruptions feature olivine and have a small presence of hornblende.^[3]

excerpt taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santorini

Donkey Ride

Passengers leaving to explore the island were ferried to shore in small groups by a few motor launches. Once on terra firma, we were advised to climb the steep cliff via donkey. The alternative would have been using Shank's Pony.

I loved the idea of taking a donkey ride up to the top, taking photos of the view along the way. Yet I'd inexplicably worn a light summer frock instead of more sensible shorts or jeans. So modesty demanded that I walk!

But, after one glance at the sorry state of those stout, stone steps that the donkeys used - and regularly soiled - this young lady's modesty was quickly abandoned in the name of expediency.

by kind courtesy of

http://e9b99f2b5ed9294eceb2-67426f45d3c99fadb5a62382d46a425c.r96.cf3.rackcdn.com/1608-Danica-shows-off-bronzed-thighs.jpg

With consummate glee, I boarded that Cadillac of ancient conveyances, the donkey, and spent the journey trying to ignore the lecherous comments the view of my bronzed thighs elicited from delighted males.

Even though I didn't understand Greek, their intent was all too clear! So for the 12 minutes it took for our donkeys to ascend that cliff, I knew exactly what Donna had endured on our first morning in Athens. And I also knew that I'd have to go through it all over again on the way down.

Press here for video which captures the spirit of the Santorini donkey ride.(12:24 minutes)

by kind courtesy of

http://www.maverick.co.id/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/Santo-5.jpg

The winding view up to the town of Fira was spectacular, gradually revealing the surrounding islands as well as our waiting cruise ship and the busy shuttle launches.

What a wonderful treat this gentle introduction Santorini was, and must have been, even in Minoan times. Today, less able travellers have the option of ascending via cable car to the top

by kind courtesy of

http://www.panoramio.com/photo/90288703?source=wapi&referrer=kh.google.com

Fira is the capital of Santorini, part of the archipelago of the Cyclades. Nowadays Fira is modern town, built mostly during the 19th century after the old Venetian capital at Skaros disappeared due to earthquakes. The architecture is a combination of Cycladic and Venetian, with whitewashed houses and blue domed churches.

Excerpt taken from

http://www.santorini360hotels.com/landmarks/fira/fira-church

Press here more information and for 360 view from Santorini

Pistachio Ice Cream

by kind courtesy of

http://www.farmersdaughtersdrivein.com/pics/p istachio_ice_cream_cone.jpg

Duly deposited near the town of Fira, I looked for something to drink.

The streets were filled with tourists, so I looked to the advertisements for visual signs of impending relief. That's how I chose a triple decker ice cream cone to slake my thirst, instead of water!

I had never even seen pistachio ice cream before and so was first attracted by its minty green colour. The taste was out of this world, and the sheer quantity of the unexpected treat certainly cooled my body! But I still needed water afterwards.

Eager to escape the crowds, I walked through the main street to the edge of town where I spied this fabulously romantic spot for a dinner for two, similar to the one shown, whilst searching for a drink of water!

by kind courtesy of

http://www.mcowen.net/GreekPhotosForWeb/Sphinx.gif

Alas, the time passed too quickly and before I could venture further, it was time to return to the ship. Our last evening aboard awaited, a splendid celebration of life in food and spirits, yet it was bitter-sweet farewell to passengers we had befriended as well as to the islands of Greece.

Craving some alone time after a wondrously happy but noisy, plate-crashing supper, I walked to the stern of the boat to watch the setting of the hot Aegean sun. It felt and looked like all that a sunset should be, except that I seemed to be the only passenger on that huge vessel to witness it.

The wonder of a sunset

is in no way affected by

a lack of onlookers

Behind us the sun was also setting on Santorini, and I could only dream of being there. I knew in my heart that one day I would again visit this most romantic of islands, but next time in the company of someone I loved.

by kind courtesy of

http://photoblog.mlemieux.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/Santorini_09_10_20_09064_DSC_0097.jpg

What are you waiting for?

Press here to plan YOUR dream

Greek Islands Cruise

Next Time

July 19 - 23

GREECE

Athens

Acropolis Hill - Parthenon - Fillopopous Monument - Sewer Cat

Peleponnese

Corinth - Nafplion -Sparta

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 19-21 Athens and The Peleponnese

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 17 Rhodes

2013-09-14T12:30:00.000-07:00

Saturday July 17

Rhodes

The gentle rolling of our cruise ship had lulled me to dreamland. So I was startled to awaken and discover it was already 9.30 am. Since we were nearing Rhodes harbour, I hurriedly breakfasted on fresh rolls and hot coffee, then disembarked with half the passengers, to spend the whole day exploring this historic island!

Rhodes is an island located northeast of Crete and southeast of Athens. And though Greek, it is closer to the Anatolian coast of Turkey. It is the largest of the Dodecanese islands, both in land area and population.

by kind courtesy of http://www.worldatlas.com/webimage/countrys/europe/grdodecanese.htm

Historically, Rhodes was famous worldwide for its Colossus, which protected the island and its harbour till it was destroyed by an earthquake in 226 BC.

The Colossus astride the ancient harbour of Rhodes once stood over 30 meters (98.4 ft) high, and must have been an imposing sight for merchant boats entering or leaving the island's ancient harbour.

Built to honour the Greek Titan, Helios, It was one of the tallest statues of the ancient world and is, today, considered one of the Seven wonders of the Ancient World

by kind courtesy of http://www.aycalifeclub.com/colossus-of-rhodes.html/colossus-of-rhodes-16

press here for more on the Colossus of Rhodes.

Today, the medieval Old Town of the City of Rhodes has been declared a World Heritage Site. And I was totally thrilled to be spending the day there.

Grand Master's Palace

by kind courtesy of http://travelsort.com/blog/history-beautiful-views-and-nightlife-in-rhodes-greece

Our first group excursion was to the Grand Master's Palace where an English speaking tour guide enthusiastically educated us around the edifice.

The Palace of the Grand Master of the Knights of Rhodes is a medieval castle in the city of Rhodes. The site was previously a citadel of the Knights Hospitaller that functioned as a palace, headquarters and fortress.

by kind courtesy of http://www.visitgreece.gr/deployedFiles/StaticFiles/Photos/Castello_The%20Grand%20Masters'%20Palace_%20Rhodes%20Old%20Town_510.jpg]

Some parts of the palace were damaged by an ammunition explosion in 1856. When the Kingdom of Italy occupied Rhodes in 1912, the Italians made the palace a holiday residence for the King of Italy, Victor Emmanuel III, and later for Fascist dictator Benito Mussolini, whose name can still be seen on a large plaque near the entrance.

by kind courtesy of http://cdnfiles.hdrcreme.com/29344/medium/inside-the-grand-master-palace.jpg?1310108148

On 10 February 1947, the Treaty of Peace with Italy, one of the Paris Peace Treaties, determined that the recently-established Italian Republic would transfer the Dodecanese Islands to Greece. In 1948, Rhodes and the rest of the Dodecanese were transferred as previously agreed. The palace was then converted to a museum and is today visited by millions of tourist annually.

Above excerpt taken from
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palace_of_the_Grand_Master_of_the_Knights_of_Rhodes

My favourite surprise discovery at the Grand Master's Palace was a marble mosaic floor that featured a detailed astrological map. It's solid, ancient presence, still preserved in this palace, reassured me that ancient princes had respected and revered Astrology.

by kind courtesy of http://cdn1.vtourist.com/4/4709904-Nostalgic_streets_of_Old_Rhodes_Town_Rodos_City.jpg

Leaving the Grand Master's Palace, Donna and I strolled the picturesque back streets of Rhodes, getting lost among the quaint old roads of the Medieval town. The shadows cast by the buildings provided excellent shade, most efficiently shielding us from the searing noonday sun.

Eventually we re-joined the crowds in the main street that stretched towards the harbour, beneath the outer walls of the Grand Master's palace. Here the atmosphere was definitely more lively with a street fair in full swing with independent merchants selling their wares.

Press here for a video of walking through the streets of Rhodes.

Though this video conveys the feeling of walking through the streets of Rhodes

Closer to the harbour many street vendors were selling freshly cooked food, which smelled heavenly to me. It had been many hours since my bread roll and coffee before leaving the ship. So I was ready to risk freshly cooked souvlaki wrapped in flat bread. But since Donna was not willing to trust her stomach to rough local cuisine, we parted ways by the water, agreeing to meet on board our ship later.

I spent the rest of that afternoon in blissful solitude, eating my simple yet delicious lunch sitting on a wall overlooking Elli beach. Today, swank resort hotels provide beach loungers and drinks service to attract younger, more active tourists. But back then, those hotels had yet to be built.

In 1976, very few pale-skinned tourists braved the town's nearest beach that midday. But since I tan to bronze quickly, I rarely used lotions. After lunch, I moved to the water's edge and stripped to my bikini, leaving shoes and outer clothing in a pile close to the water's edge. The Aegean and Mediterranean seas have no tides so there was no risk that my clothes would not be swept into it.

The cobalt blue water felt warm and silky on my skin, and was so clean that I initially spent several minutes time floating face down, mesmerized by schools of small fishes darting about in the shallow water.

But when I turned my face to the sky, the shock of the water on my back informed me that the hot noontime Greek sun was, indeed, a force to be reckoned with. While I had been happily chasing fishes, my neck, shoulders and upper arms had been sizzling like steak on a barbecue.

In an effort to literally save my skin, I spent the rest of that afternoon immersed in the water, diving under it, treading water and swimming - anything but passively floating on the surface. Unused to the intensity of Greek sunshine, I realized I was very, very lucky to have escaped getting sunstroke that day!

For an overview of modern day Elli beach and its amenities press this link.

Too soon, it was time to head back to the harbour and rejoin my cruise. But my afternoon of solitary play in that warm and welcoming salt water had revitalized me, giving me the strength I needed to withstand the remainder of (what would be) our cruise's rigorous sightseeing schedule.

Storm at sea

Everyone was on board before the supper rotation began. And most ate very heartily after a day of sightseeing and shopping in old town Rhodes. Oddly, I had very little appetite for a big meal that night, despite the always tempting menu. Instead I chose a meal of cold cuts, a freshly made salad and some fresh fruit, washed down with a couple of glasses of wine.

by kind courtesy of http://origin-ars.els-cdn.com/content/image/1-s2.0-S0025322707000400-gr2.jpg

During the night, as our ship plied the waters between the southernmost Greek Isles, the weather gods stirred up a classic Aegean storm, very like the ones faced by ancient Greek heroes in Homer's Odyssey.

We were passing through the Cretan Trough, an undersea depression between Rhodes and Crete known for its undersea volcanic activity and earthquakes. This area frequently tested the nerve and talent of those who plied its waters. And, that night, it blew us a storm of epic proportions!

Fortunately, I already encountered gale force winds whilst travelling to the mainland of Scotland from the Outer Hebrides in the summer of 1971. But then, the townsfolk of Stornaway, who had seen the storm forecast, took care to warn us to limit our food intake before boarding that ferry.

On this Grecian journey, however, we passengers had received no such warning, whatsoever, So, following a day of exploration, many had eaten and drunk to excess at supper, oblivious of the violent storm that was fast approaching.

As the storm intensified, and the ship began pitching into the mighty waves, many people began to look rather green around the gills, and thus chose to return to their cabins. Donna, unfortunately, was one of them.

Montreal Olympics begin

by kind courtesy of http://www.pinsandthings.com/546-660-large/ioc-olympic-logo-montreal-1976-pin-badge.jpg

I was glad to have eaten so sparingly during the day, and again at supper that my own stomach was not at all affected by the waves. Apart from two glasses of wine at supper, I'd drunk only water for that entire day. Thus when tumultuous waves raised our ship high into the air, it felt like - to me - as if we were riding on an endless slow motion roller coaster.

The ship pitched so violently, that its much anticipated televised reception of the 1976 Olympics was frequently interrupted by static.

The opening ceremonies of the Olympics were actually taking place in Montreal at that very moment. But since Greece is 7 time zones ahead of Montreal, we were watching them on board during a dark and very stormy night.

I have a wonderful, if rather bizarre, memory of our national anthem 'Oh Canada' being sung by several strong-stomached Canadians on board, who had gathered by the lounge television to wait out the storm. In fact, the only consistent rendition of our national anthem that night was ours since our ship's television reception disappeared intermittently whenever our vessel pitched into a wave.

At such auspicious moments, it was a matter of pride for us, Canadians, to fill in the gaps of our anthem. And we did so enthusiastically - in both our national languages, no less!

Sleep, when it came, was fitful, even after a day of activities in Rhodes. In that continuing storm, I was mightily grateful that our berths were designed with sturdy side barriers that kept us from being tossed to the floor during the night.

The next morning we would be in Crete, an island that lies only 50 miles from the coastline of Africa.

Next Time

July 18 - 20

GREEK ISLANDS CRUISE

Crete

Palace of Knossos
Heraklion Museum

Santorini
Donkey Rides
Churches
Triple decker Ice Cream cones

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 18 Crete and Santorini

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 15-16 Athens, Piraeus, Mykonos

2013-09-06T00:00:00.000-07:00

Thursday, July 15

Shopping in Athens

Donna and I were both awoken, rather abruptly, shortly before dawn. Right beneath our window, street vendors were noisily setting up their wares, shouting directions to helpers bearing heavy sacks and boxes. Protected from the sun beneath linen canopies, the daily commerce in the streets of Athens had already begun.

by kind courtesy of http://www.true-athens.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2008/02/friday_marke_small.JPG

Since the cacophony showed no signs of diminishing, Donna and I decided that our meagre amount sleep would just have to be sufficient. Dressing quickly, we left our backpacks in our room and headed outside to experience this noisy outdoor Greek street market scene for ourselves.

by kind courtesy of http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41XdqA3zF0L.jpg

Though we hadn't intended to go sight-seeing within a few feet of our hotel that morning, I decided that the opportunity to do so was a gift - a small 'Welcome to Greece' for us, from Hermes, the Greek god of commerce and travel!

Donna and I had markedly different tastes in most things, including how and where to shop in Athens. So we agreed to go our separate ways at the edge of the market and meet back at the hotel in an hour or so.

I remained near the edge of the market, perusing food stalls, browsing for breakfast. But Donna, still full from her midnight snack with Kosta, wanted to shop for souvenirs, and had thus ventured further along the street and into the ever-thickening crowd.

by kind courtesy of http://www.travelwizard.com/asia/media/images/caution.jpg

In retrospect, our decision to go our separate ways was ill-informed. Although there were a lot of locals in evidence, few other tourists were about at that hour.

Donna's cries for help were audible from almost half a block away, and were so strident that I wasted no time in elbowing my way through the crowd to find her.

All the blood had drained from her face, so shaken was she by her experience. A concerned group crowded closely around her, offering help. But all the attention was just too much for Donna who collapsed in tears as she staggered towards me.

It seemed that Donna had been mobbed by several male admirers who had tried to caress or pinch her as she browsed for her wares. Her shapely legs and really short shorts had, evidently, ignited their ardour!
by kind courtesy of cdna.lystit.com/photos/2012/12/21/nightcap-clothing-70s-blue-denim-short-in-70s-blue-product-3-5884841-787066983_large_flex.jpeg

I immediately took charge of my poor, distressed and sobbing companion, shepherding her off the street and back to the relative quiet of our hotel room, where I helped her to breathe deeply until she felt calmer and happier.

Crisis averted, we both became suddenly aware that the heat, even at that hour, was quite oppressive. Over glasses of tepid water, I quietly discussed with Donna how to avoid a repetition of this particular situation in future.

Poor Donna had only wanted to wear her short shorts to go shopping. In both town or country in Canada, US or UK, and indeed in most European countries, her cute jean cut-offs would have been the perfect choice. But they were evidently not the smart choice in countries, where male passions ignite more quickly, and more blatantly, than in the more sedate west.

Though we had been warned to dress modestly in Athens, my heart still went out to Donna. The city heat was definitely oppressive, and she had grown up in a hot, arid region in rural BC. It had thus made sense to her to wear only what climate necessitated.

Yet her choice not to dress according to Greek custom had drawn more male attention in five minutes than she had known how to handle! Feeling trapped and vulnerable, she had, understandably, become badly frightened.

On the plus side, Donna now understood that those 'travel warnings' were more than mere suggestions.

Eventually I remembered that while Hermes was the Olympian god of commerce and travel he could also be a 'trickster' whenever it benefited mankind. Since her alarming experience, Donna had indeed learned what NOT to do in Greece.

In 1972, I, too, had been trapped and vulnerable while visiting Morocco. Perhaps innocent souls have no way to learn such things but the hard way.

Press here to read about my 1972

'travel warning' experience

by kind courtesy of http://www1.artflakes.com/artwork/products/958784/poster/morpheus-and-iris.jpg?1344756870

By the time Donna had regained her confidence, we were both exhausted. After sunrise, the heat of the city had grown increasingly oppressive. And each increasing degree sapped more and more of our energy.

We'd had precious little sleep the previous night, following a hectic few days of intense travelling by rail, ferry and bus. Now, we were physically drained and too emotionally exhausted even to manage food. So we agreed to let the world turn without us for a few hours, while we each succumbed to the arms of Morpheus.

by kind courtesy of http://www.vacationstogo.com/images/ports/maps/12_w.gif

At 4 pm, freshly showered and dressed, we left our hotel and walked to Thomas Cook travel agency. There we inquired about bus routes within Greece and also arranged our ferry berth for our return trip from Patras to Brindisi a week hence.

Then, we headed for the student offices, where I acquired an International Student Card. These cards were available to anyone who held a valid student card in their own country. They allowed the holder to enjoy major discounts on everything from meals to museum entrance fees, from selected merchandise to short flights on planes holding dubious safety records.

by kind courtesy of http://greekfood.about.com/od/eggplant/r/moussaka.htm

Hungry for food after our afternoon of foraging for information, we enjoyed a hot, delicious moussaka at a restaurant right next door to the student offices.

Long refectory tables were set in a tree-shaded courtyard, off the main road. The food was served, canteen style, and you took your meal, sitting on one of the long benches on either side of the table, conversing with other students from all over the world.

It was from those students that I learned one could book a round trip flight from Athens to Cairo for $21 US. Of course the plane was a clunker, so you'd literally be putting your life into the hands of an unknown airline and possibly an under-trained pilot too! Plus you'd need to arrange pesky things like a visa and shots first.

by kind courtesy of http://www.youshouldtravel.com/images/content_images/egypt.jpg
Can you even imagine it costing only $21

to fly to the land of the Pharaohs?

Pondering that thought actually made me quite giddy till I remembered that while this flight might get off the ground, a safe landing was not necessarily to be expected.

Happily, I did not fantasize about boarding one of those dubious flights to Cairo for too long.

Sensible Donna brought me back to reality when she asked if anyone at the table had actually purchased a cut-price plane trip to Cairo. Nobody had, though everyone thought it a wonderful notion. So, for me, the entire idea was literally just flight of fancy. Egypt would have to wait for another trip.

Leaving the table chatter behind us, Donna and I then went shopping in the Plaka District, where I bought myself some beautifully embroidered and crocheted items - a shimmering evening dress, a string bikini, a long-fringed lacy shawl and an embroidered evening bag all for a mere $31. By the time we'd finished shopping, the sun had almost set.

Press here for a video about sightseeing in Athens with particular emphasis on shopping in the Plaka District. (8 minutes)

We then caught a taxi and dragged our purchases to the restaurant atop Lykavittos Hill.

by kind courtesy of http://www.aviewoncities.com/img/athens/kvegr0695s.jpg

There, we watched the last rays of the sun hitting the Acropolis Hill and the Parthenon as the lights of Athens twinkled to life.

Though it would have been so romantic to have sipped on glasses wine while contemplating this scene with a friend or lover, Donna and I contented ourselves by toasting each other with cups of hot tea instead.

by kind courtesy of http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/bc/View_of_the_Acropolis_from_Lykavittos_Hill.jpg

Back at the hotel, after a busy afternoon and evening in the dusty city, I really needed a shower. So, using my Burberry trench coat as a robe, I grabbed my towel and headed down the hall to the bathroom. There I discovered that our hotel's plumbing was a mystery known only to initiated few.

The shower was not the expected cramped cubicle but a small room that could have showered several bodies at once. It sported one single hot tap, a single cold tap, one small shower head and one large drain in the floor. In addition to these fixtures, there was a small window, opened to let the steam vent.

I tried for several minutes to turn on the water, but nothing would come out at all not even dust! Feeling frustrated and grimy beyond belief, I put my robe back on and padded, barefoot, down the stairs to the front desk, where the handsome Kosta flashed me an impossibly white smile, and asked, in broken English, what he could do for me.

by kind courtesy of http://www.plumber-medford-oregon.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/plumbing-300x230.jpg

When I explained that there was no water - of any temperature - spouting of my shower, Kosta informed me that only he was allowed to turn it on.

Confused but delighted, I blinked twice, then followed the young Greek back up to the bathroom, wondering if there was some plumbing technique I'd somehow overlooked. Once there, Kosta produced a wrench, with which he literally turned on the water for me.

There's something about a virile young man wielding a wrench that caused sparks of another kind to fly. But I managed to keep my focus and thanked Kosta kindly for his help, while ushering him out of that tiny room.

After 20 minutes of abandoning myself to the hotel's deliciously hot water, I felt totally regenerated and so clean that my hair squeaked. On exiting, I discovered a note that Kosta had secured to the outside of the shower room, asking me to join him for a drink when I was ready.

A drink sounded like the perfect way to wrap up my first full day in Athens. But I hadn't wanted to abandon Donna after her upsetting experience at the beginning of our day. Upon returning to my room, however, I found that my companion was sleeping so peacefully that she wouldn't even notice my absence. Dressing quickly, I scribbled Donna an explanatory note, in case she woke up and worried about me.

It was time for that quiet drink with Kosta, who was 'on duty' in the hotel's reception all night. Although we drank only unadulterated Coca Cola, our long, and mostly uninterrupted, conversation was pure joy.

by kind courtesy of http://www.tias.com/stores/adsbydee/pictures/123a.jpg

At 2am, I returned to an oblivious Donna and silently tried on the garments that I had earlier purchased from the Plaka. Finally declaring myself satisfied with the way they looked on me, I packed them away for a special occasion. We'd be at sea the next day, and who could say what kind of apparel one might require on board a cruise ship? I now felt prepared for anything!

Friday, July 16
Greek Islands Cruise

At noon, the Olympus Hotel bus deposited us at the entrance to Piraeus Docks, an enormous place, where several equally enormous cruise ships were docked. Walking through the corridor of ships made one feel curiously tiny, like an ant lost in the Parthenon.

Backpacks slung over our shoulders, Donna and I slowly navigated through throngs of passengers assembling in front of two very large ships, that would leave before our own. Eventually locating our own vessel, the spring returned to our step, and we almost ran up that gang-plank.

by kind courtesy of http://www.cruiseshipodyssey.com/orphfot.jpg

It had taken the Epirotiki Line two years to transform a somewhat spartan Irish ferry into a Aegean cruise ship. Yet The Orpheus was small, sleek and low by today's humongous cruise ship standards.

Once aboard, we learned that the Orpheus' tentire passenger accommodation area had been completely rebuilt. The ship could now carry 372 passengers in 155 cabins, all with private bathroom facilities.

I was most delighted to discover that a brand new swimming pool had been also been added. In Vancouver, I was used to swimming 20 laps during my lunch hour in Canada, and had missed doing so on this trip. And while I didn't expect to find an Olympic length [50 meter] pool aboard ship, I very much welcomed the opportunity to get any watery exercise on this cruise.

Donna and I had arrived earlier than necessary, but we were still enthusiastically greeted and directed to our cabin. We'd chosen a humble interior cabin, since we didn't expect to do anything there, other than sleep, shower and dress. We would be on board for 3 nights, and were looking forward to an exciting cruise around the Greek Islands of Mykonos, Rhodes, Crete and Santorini.

Shortly after our ship set sail, we were all invited to join the Captain for a 'welcome aboard' drink on a spacious upper deck. It was a cordial though casual affair, lasting less than half an hour. Afterwards, we passengers were taken through the ship's mandatory safety procedures, at the lifeboat station assigned according to the location of one's cabin.

by kind courtesy of http://www.cruisesrfun.com/images/Image2-TMonaco/DSCN3126.JPG

An hour later, Donna and I gratefully deposited our backpacks in our windowless interior cabin. Then we took a leisurely tour of the ship till our allotted meal time. I noted, with delight, that there was a large area around the pool with lounging chairs specifically for sunbathers.

Dinner was managed in shifts, according to which deck held one's cabin. But schedules aboard were flexible, so one could taken an earlier meal, if one had an appointment or excursion planned.

Our first planned excursion was a sunset trip to the tiny island of Mykonos - right after dinner.

The Orpheus docked in a picturesque harbour on the tiny island of Mykonos. Unable to locate Donna, I reluctantly left the ship on a launch, in the company of a few dozen nameless passengers.
by kind courtesy of http://www.greece-travel.gr/images/mykonos-evening-gt.jpg

Since childhood, I had dreamed of experiencing the sunset here, on Mykonos. I intended to view it from between the huge white windmills that were visible from the dock.

But in my eagerness to disembark, I had overlooked the importance of finding a map that would help me to navigate the maze of narrow passageways that led to my destination.

The shadows were lengthening, and I knew only that the windmills were set close to the coast. There was no time to spare as the sun would soon be setting. So, trusting totally to fate, I headed towards the nearest likely location.

Short of time, I sprinted past buildings whose white-washed walls provided just enough reflected light for me to find my way through the undulating passageways without difficulty. My pace quickened when I neared the site, as if my feet knew exactly where they were going. And, as it happens, they did!

Moments later, I sprinted around one final corner and came upon the windmills from behind.

by kind courtesy of http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/4/4f/Mykonos_sunset_3.jpg/220px-Mykonos_sunset_3.jpg

There were those longed-for ancient sails etched against a golden-pink horizon. And beyond, the hot Aegean sun plunged into the azure sea.

My childhood dream

had come TRUE!

Most of them [windmills] were built by the Venetians in the 16th century, but construction continued into the early 20th century. They were primarily used to mill wheat. They were an important source of income for the inhabitants. Their use gradually declined until they ceased production in the middle of the 20th century.

above excerpt taken from by kind courtesy of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mykonos_windmills

Quietly, respectfully, I walked to the base of the nearest windmill and made my way around it till I was able to stare directly out at the western sea, with the warmth of the fading sun on my face.

With eyes closed, I took in all the sounds and aromas of this island and made a heart promise to myself. One day, I would visit this island again. But next time, my beloved would be standing by my side.

Of course, I had no idea, then, who that person would be. Yet, deep in my soul, I was certain that I would meet him....and that we'd visit Mykonos - and many other Greek Islands - together.

by kind courtesy of http://www.smithsonianjourneys.org/images/uploaded/photo_entries/large/7828_image_file.jpg

Retracing my steps, I returned to the dock with enough time to enjoy a demi-tasse of strong Turkish coffee at an outdoor cafe before climbing aboard the launch and returning to the ship.

Most of those milling about the streets were fellow tourists from other ships, who, like us, had docked only for an hour or two. But even the frantic auras of these harried shoppers could not detract from this island's delightful appeal.

A few lucky holiday-makers were there for the season. They must have been the calmer visitors!

To see what Mykonos offers the modern visitor, press this video

Back on board the ship, I eventually found Donna, much to my relief. She had decided to skip the Mykonos excursion because even Greek sunsets held no particular joy for her. I was dumbfounded that anyone could be blasé about a sunset. But then I hadn't grown up surrounded by mountains that prevented a true appreciation of the setting sun.

Since it was still early evening, I enjoyed a couple of hours of the ship's evening of entertainment before returning to my berth to sleep. Donna had long since disappeared, but I was not worried about her. Every girl needs to find some fun in her life!

Our short cruise would be crammed with exciting but exhausting sightseeing tours. So I took the opportunity to have a really good night's sleep while I could. Early the next morning, we would arrive at the island of Rhodes and spend a day discovering the markets and historical architecture of that island.

Next Time

July 17-18

GREEK ISLANDS CRUISE

Rhodes

Crete

Santorini

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 17-18 Rhodes, Crete and Santorini

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 13-14 Italy to Greece

2013-06-28T00:00:00.000-07:00

Tuesday July 13

Milan to Brindisi

by kind courtesy of

http://www.grandistazioni.it/cms-file/immagini/grandistazioni/MI_p_1900_533x350.jpg

At midnight in Milan, we finally boarded the train for Brindisi. Our busy day had begun with an early morning 5 km walk in Switzerland and not stopped till now and we were eager for sleep.

We had prepaid and reserved a first class cabin with couchettes! So imagine our dismay at finding two rather portly Italian Grandmas squatting in our fully rented cabin!

When we informed the ladies that they needed to find another compartment, they cheekily pointed to the "Reserved" sign!

Of course it was 'Reserved'. For us!

I was rendered speechless by their hubris. But sensible Donna simply went looking for a guard to rectify the situation.

by kind courtesy of
http://www.seat61.com/images/Italy-comfort-night4.jpg

Couchettes were crucial that night, since they would enable us to sleep horizontally for a good portion of our 22 hours journey down the Adriatic coast of Italy. But, before we could settle for the night, we had to search for someone needed to explain to these ladies that they were, indeed, in the wrong cabin.

Donna returned with a bevy of male guards. She then produced the requisite paperwork, showing that we, and not the portly impostors, were the rightful occupants of said cabin. I was SO proud of her!

After conferring with each other for 5 minutes, the guards seemed to have reached a decision. The main guard delivered the important announcement, as if he were a Shakespearean stage actor delivering a soliloquy. The cabin, he declared, was unequivocally and rightfully ours. Furthermore, his decision was unanimous and binding!

There was one blessed moment of silence, while the information sunk in. Then all hell broke loose! The two ladies gesticulated and wailed their objections, imploring the implacable guard to let them stay. Somehow Donna and I had been drawn into an impromtu drama akin to an Italian Opera!

Viva Italia!

After much waving of arms and loudly expressive insults hurled in our direction, the ladies grumpily shuffled out of our cabins. For once I was glad that I could not understand a word they said.

As if by telepathy, every travelling train official had instantly become aware of our situation. So for the rest of our VERY long trip, we were guarded assiduously by 5 very intense Italian guards.

Donna slept like a baby. Alas, I was not so lucky since I had not remembered to re-stock a crucial medical aid before we left Lucerne! Having finished my Montreux companions' gift of 'wonder pills', I now had to endure, without aid, the full effects of the dreaded stomach virus.
by kind courtesy of
http://media.tumblr.com/8f214d430f1401ecdf023fd0b1a7cbb6/tumblr_inline_mgh3pch81U1rcf064.jpg

To compound my misery, our train seemed to stop every village en route, where train staff chatted endlessly with distant family members employed at various stations down the line.

Had I not spent an inordinate amount of time visiting the washroom during this trip, I would have been asleep in my couchette, and would not even have noticed these interruptions. I certainly would not have been inconvenienced by them!

In Italy, in 1976, most distance trains had no tank in which to collect bathroom sewage, so it was directly dumped onto the track below. Apparently Nature would ensure that all such refuse became well composted!

To keep remote villages clean and hygienic, Italian train authorities simply requested that all passengers refrain from using or flushing toilets, whenever the train was stationary. Yikes!

Thankfully, by dawn, the virus seemed to have worked its way out of my system - along with the remainder of my wine. So I was finally able to rest for a few hours.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.keycamp.co.uk/images/sites/ia014-cavalino-garden-paradiso-campsite-the-adriatic-images/gallery/IA014-Cavalino-Garden-Paradiso-Campsite-The-Adriatic-Beach-A-Second.jpg

The view of the Adriatic Coast from the train, though beautiful soon became painfully monotonous as it was our ONLY view for hour upon hour.

Believe it or not, one cannot gaze upon mile after mile of unblemished white beaches for long, when one is trapped in a hot, steel vehicle.

A part of me dearly wanted to escape that train to walk barefoot on that soft sand and swim in those warm azure waters.

But we had miles to go before we could indulge in such hedonistic pleasures. And perhaps my body's greatest need was that I rest and allow it to recuperate. I would need all my strength to truly appreciate the glories of Greece that awaited us!

Brindisi to Kerkyra 11 hours 41 mins

https://maps.google.ca/maps

Twenty hours later - almost two hours overdue - we arrived in Brindisi a port city situated on the eastern peninsula (heel) of Italy, on the coast of the Adriatic sea. We were bound for Patras in Greece. And getting there would require us to book passage on an overnight ferry.

Donna and I were so grateful to finally hike our packs onto our shoulders and escape our multi-wheeled prison, that we practically ran from that train.

But our relief was short-lived as we were greeted at the exit by a throng of smiling boys, all jabbering at us in broken English.

At 8 pm, a multitude of travel-worn tourists filled the streets of Brindisi, each intent on purchasing a ticket for the ferry ride to Greece. The scene was chaotic as well as deafening. We eventually followed a smiling, but most vehement, pied piper to his place of employment.

The small man behind the counter of this well-lit but shoddy looking establishment efficiently sold us two tickets for a ferry that would be leaving for Patras in a matter of minutes.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.adriaticandaegeanferries.com/uffizi/proudionian/3213.jpg

To our immense relief, our ship looked more like a 70s pleasure cruiser than any humble ferry of our acquaintance.

It even sported a salt-water swimming pool!

By the time Donna and I had dropped our backpacks off in our overnight cabin, it was close to supper-time. Those living and travelling in the warmer climes of southern Europe tend to eat their main meal after 10 o'clock at night.

by kind courtesy of http://static.ifood.tv/files/images/editor/images/Greek%20food.jpg

Donna and I thus enjoyed a delicious 4-course Greek meal for the ridiculously low cost of $5, including the table wine.

Our supper was delicious. But the dining room itself was also a joy to behold. It reminded me of one of London's 5-Star hotel dining rooms.

Our introduction to this 'ferry' was, indeed a successful culinary experience.

Wednesday July 14 Aboard ferry bound for Corfu

After supper, Donna declared herself ready to sleep. But having slept for most of the day, I was wide awake, ! So, I quickly freshened up, changing into a dress and heels. Then I left Donna to dream alone in our cabin, while I visited the Esmerelda Lounge. It was past midnight, and I was ready to search for the company of other young travellers.

Our ferry temporarily housed a veritable United Nations of young adult passengers from United Kingdom, New Zealand, Canada, Norway, United States, Sweden and Denmark, in addition to its all-Italian crew. Before I had time to order a lemonade, half a dozen Norwegians arrived, toting a keg of ice cold German beer.

by kind courtesy of http://rlv.zcache.com/german_man_on_beer_keg_stickers-r67ba1409210d483ebdbbb50565a35d22_v9waf_8byvr_512.jpg

The beer was quickly shared among us all. And soon passengers with guitars joined us. Before we knew it, a party had broken out in the Esmerelda Lounge!

by kind courtesy of
http://oliverartscouncil.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/70s.bmp

Initially, a couple of the crew charmed us with some of their Italian songs. We listened politely. But as more beer flowed, the guitar players and passengers soon took over.

From my vantage point, we delivered passable renditions of (then) recent popular songs by Crosby Stills and Nash, The Byrds, Simon and Garfunkel, the Beatles, Donovan and more. And a few of us even danced!

by kind courtesy of
http://www.deliciousmagazine.co.uk/images/articles/3468/3468_2.jpg

By 4 am, we were all quite merry and nobody cared if anyone was singing in key any more. Then the ferry's baker, instructed by the wise and compassionate Captain, supplied us with hot, fresh-baked crusty bread.

It was a most welcome interruption and a very wise move since the bread helped to soak up the excess alcohol in our systems. Also, one cannot successfully sing and eat bread at the same time! So, the bread also served to let us know it was time to quit partying and get some sleep.

Donna, who had missed the entire party, was one the few passengers aboard who actually got any sleep that night. The rest of us were happy just to let down our hair and socialize with each other!

At 8 am, about twenty of my new 'party friends' disembarked while a new batch of travellers joined our ferry. We had reached Corfu (Kerkyra), a small island that stretches past the coasts of what is currently three separate countries - Albania, Macedonia and Greece.

Vehement promises were exchanged to meet in Corfu when Donna and I stopped there, after we'd visited Greece. And then my new tribe shouldered their backpacks and vanished.

Corfu to Patras 4 hours 53 mins

by kind courtesy of http://www.greece-ferries.com/images/pics/map_international.jpg

Returning to my cabin, long after dawn, I found Donna cheerfully preparing to leave the cabin to spend the morning on deck.

by kind courtesy of

http://thestudiobymdm.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/classicfrench-950x712.jpg

I showered, washed and set my hair and gave myself a manicure and pedicure before snoozing undisturbed till 1 pm. Utter Bliss!

The first casualty of travel is privacy. Thus, to have a secluded space to myself for several hours, without interruption, was a real treat!

Officially 1 pm was lunchtime, but I decided to wear my new bikini, and sunbathe instead. Perhaps my excessive partying contributed to my decision to avoid food, but I'll never tell!

To my delight, fellow party friends, Suzanne and Keith, had not disembarked in Corfu but were also travelling to Patras. They both looked and felt a little worse for wear, after their night of debauchery. So they, too, had decided to sunbathe by the pool.

But the early afternoon sun became progressively hotter by the minute, so the pair decided to cool their overheated bodies with a dip in the salt-water pool.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.visualphotos.com/photo/2x4629470/woman_diving_into_water_BLD039735.jpg

Great idea!

I immediately dived into the pool with them. But a split second before my body entered the water, I realized, in horror, that I had forgotten to remove my brand new contact lenses!

Despite the most assiduous efforts of ship's crew and passengers around the pool, my expensive lenses were hopelessly lost to the waters of the Adriatic that day.

Apparently the water for the ship's swimming pool was siphoned directly from the sea and returned directly there after use. Neither incoming nor outgoing waters were ever filtered.

I like to think that my bio-indestructible lenses have been enjoying a permanent vacation in the sunshine of Greece for the last 37 years!

I spent the rest of that ferry ride seeking shade on deck, anywhere but in that filter-less pool which had lost its appeal for me after it swallowed my lenses without mercy. And what Brainiac had decided against using a pool filter? Really!!??

The day had begun really well, with laughter, song and free flowing booze. But, since I had taken several weeks to carefully break-in a new pair of lenses before flying to Europe, I was quite upset with myself for so carelessly losing them.

I would now be forced to wear my hated spectacles during what promised to be the hottest leg of our journey through Greece. Oh well, at least both Donna and I had finally overcome our Montezuma's Revenge of the past few days. [Montezuma's Revenge is a jocular term for traveller's diarrhea] That was a blessing we both could count!

At 3 pm, I returned to the cabin, showered - again - changed, and went to the bar for a lemonade. Two Swedish guys, that I didn't recognize, were playing a game of chequers at one of the tables. So I challenged them, winning once and then, diplomatically, losing one game. When Donna joined us, the guys broke open a bottle of Corfu Firewater before we all packed and left the ferry.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.ferries.gr/italy-ferries/images/wonderful_greece.gif

We docked at Patras about 5pm, to a slightly less chaotic scene than the one we'd left in Brindisi.

It seemed no buses had yet arrived to meet our ferry. And since, at that time, there was no other way to transport our ship's few dozen passengers to Athens, this was a very big deal! Today's travellers can now take a train there.

All those wishing to reach the capital were forced to stand, with their luggage, for over an hour in the still-blazing afternoon heat! And, despite our united misery, it made me chuckle to see English travellers quietly queueing for the bus, even in that unrelenting sunshine.

In 1976, the traveller abroad could not always depend on travel companies to take care of their needs. Where we had disembarked, there was no shade, no seating and not even a concession stand where one might have purchased cold drinks or an ice-cream. But Suzanne generously shared a glass of her orange juice with me, so that I could remain hydrated.

We spent an uncomfortable hour waiting. But, upon further consideration, I decided that the general lack of liquid refreshment was a blessing in disguise since there seemed to be no bathroom facilities available.

Eventually the buses did arrive to chauffeur us to Athens. But fate had not yet finished messing with me! The very moment I stepped onto the bus, the remains of the Corfu Firewater that our Swedish chequer-playing friends had given to us slipped from my hands.

That bottle smashed upon the ground, its contents forever lost. But, before I could lament its passing, I stubbed my toe climbing the bus step, and spilled my remaining orange over and through my thin skirt.

After my recent experience with an exploding coke bottle in Trier, I at least knew how to walk in a sodden skirt. But this time, I had no opportunity, either to wash or to change my clothes.

I was NOT amused!

To keep from screaming in sheer frustration with the insanity of it all, I reminded myself that some of our most enjoyable adventures had begun the day following a particularly trying experience. So I figured the Greek Gods must have something really spectacular in store for Donna and me.

Despite my irritation, I easily napped on the bus, and dreamed I was chatting with the cotton fabric of my skirt, begging it to PLEASE not do its own laundry, especially while I was still wearing it. Thankfully Donna woke me, before my skirt could respond.

by kind courtesy of

http://goodfoodgoodfriends.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/2012-06-22_18-44-50_281.jpg

Our bus was pulling off the road into a dusty area next to a rough looking shack, from which delicious aromas emanated. The driver was first in line to buy souvlaki, or lamb skewers, and suggested that we do likewise.

Donna refused to eat, afraid that this roadside cafe might not adhere to safe food practices. But I had experienced similar roadside treats in Morocco and survived. Also, I had skipped lunch so my stomach was loudly growling. I risked buying 3 skewers, which proved so tender and delicious that I quickly went back for more!

It was dark by the time we resumed our journey, and I noted with interest, that it was only 9 pm. Three weeks earlier, in Sweden, the summer night had been almost non-existent. But because Greece was closer to the equator, we lost several hours of scorching daylight but gained hours of dark, warm, spice-scented nights. No wonder dark-starved Scandinavians headed for Greece each summer.
by kind courtesy of
http://farm1.staticflickr.com/131/409078576_99c50c5890_z.jpg

At 11 pm, we reached Athens, and immediately sought out a hotel for that night. Our driver was very helpful in suggesting a hotel where one of his relatives worked.

Travelling in the seventies really was just that casual and trusting, even in Greece!

We had been warned not to wear short shorts or tank tops in public, so as not to over-excite the hot blooded Greeks. And one had to be careful to travel with someone one already knew, when catching a taxi. Apart from taking these sensible precautions, we had no fear of being molested or harmed in Greece.
by kind courtesy of
http://www.hostelsclub.com/pics/3791/003791-1220288581.jpg

Our tall ceilinged room at the Hotel Olympus, in the heart of the city, was a cool, spacious and most welcome reprieve after spending so many hours travelling in sunshine. And that luxury cost us each the "exorbitant" sum of $6.50 CDN per night!

Donna, of course, was hungry and went down to the lobby to ask where she could find food at midnight. Figuring that she would not be gone for long, I immediately monopolized the sink, finally cleaning my legs after my orange juice bath at Patras.

I then hand-washed my sticky clothes and hung them to dry over my bed's iron head and foot boards. In that wonderfully spacious room, all my clothes dried in less than one hour!

Unbeknownst to me, at the time, Donna had eaten her supper with the handsome green-eyed blond Greek named Kosta. He ran the hotel's front desk and didn't speak English well. But he did order food for her and help her to understand what she was eating.

Upstairs, I revelled in my solitude, watching the street scene below our window till my eyelids drooped. I, thus, only vaguely registered Donna's return to our room around 2 am. I had hit the sheets right after finishing my laundry and re-organizing my backpack for our upcoming tour of the Greek Islands.

Next Time

July 15-18

GREECE

Greek Islands Cruise

Mykonos

Rhodes

Crete

Santorini

I am taking a break from writing about my past

to live in the here and now for the summer!

See you in September for the remainder of my

1976 Grand Tour of Europe

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 10-12 Switzerland to Italy

2013-06-21T00:00:00.000-07:00

Saturday July 10

Montreux, Switzerland

Donna awoke from her long sleep, bright and cheerful and raring to go. Even though she had been feeling quite out of sorts the previous evening, she now felt confident she could manage an entire day of activities.

I did wonder if Donna had exaggerated her symptoms in order to manipulate my decision. But regardless what her agenda might have been, I made a pact with myself that

wherever we travelled,

I would have a marvelous time

Bill had pretty much taken over our schedule during our time in Switzerland, bless him! But we knew we would have to relinquish him soon.

by kind courtesy of www.cartoonstock.com

We would miss his endless stream of information about the places we had visited. Yet I was also looking forward to the Greek Cruise that Donna and I had planned months ago.

Our ship would be waiting for us in Athens next weekend. But first we had to travel there, and that journey, by train, ferry and bus, would take at least a couple of days.

Meanwhile, Bill had one last surprise in store for us.

And he had saved the best for last!

We all bid farewell to the streets of Lucerne and caught a train heading westwards. Bill was most mysterious about our destination, keeping it a complete secret until we had almost arrived. Then, almost casually, he asked if we'd ever been to Montreux before?

Montreux, a pretty town on the north eastern end of Lake Geneva (Lac Leman), has long been a favourite Swiss Riviera summer destination, that was once enjoyed by notables such as Lord Byron and Charlie Chaplin.

by kind courtesy of https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6Dw7gu50JvQElj6MOEe3-KozOnLTSEzp3e3lzFrM7dr8GI0Yi0clSibHEKO-9thqavDPM2DsrNmqKnSVQYZxaeeqv9qBEoYkKk9r4QG3H29pOd7wdhCJYFzIyA2bkv7l2ia-0Xi3djIN/s1600/100_2434.JPG

On this warm July day, its narrow streets were already teaming with a medley of tourists - from shoestring travellers to the wealthy. They had all arrived with one purpose in mind. Music!

Each summer Montreux celebrates different genres of music in its popular annual festivals. And Bill had guided Donna and me here to enjoy the final moments of 10th Montreux Jazz Festival.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.montreuxjazzfestival.com/2013/sites/default/files/styles/w-265/public/page/images/1976.jpg?itok=vjU3Tkgl

Bill was on assignment, taking photos at the Festival. Thus, as soon as he knew that we had found safe accommodation, he bid us each a fond, but speedy farewell, and promptly vanished into the crowd.

His departure was as sudden and unexpected as his arrival had been. Yet his impact on our enjoyment of the Alps was beyond measure.

During our long trip to the boot of Italy, Donna and I would recall all the adventures that Bill had made possible for us.

Without his intervention, we would not have enjoyed the serenity and beauty of Liechtenstein. We would not have noticed how each garden joins a tapestry of living colour, whose fragrance carries high into the mountains.
Without Bill, we might not have taken that small guage railway to see the Reichenbach Falls. Even though they were dry during our visit, the scenery along the way was spectacular.
Without our guide and mentor, we would never have climbed 187 stone steps to meet Frau van Euw in Lucerne, just when we most needed her solicitous care.
And without Bill, we would not now be at the 10th Montreux Jazz Festival!

by kind courtesy of http://toptravellists.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/Montreux-Nature-Landscapes-Switzerland.jpg

Thank you, Bill, for befriending, educating and challenging us to reach beyond the guide book. Thank you for taking care of our mundane needs, even when Donna fell ill. And thank you most of all for being good-natured and treating us with the utmost respect and kindness.

You are our angel!

Around lunchtime, Donna and I booked in at the Montreux Youth Hostel, thanked and hugged Bill "au revoir" and then - most importantly - claimed our bunk beds for that night.

The hostel was packed to the rafters with music lovers from all over the world. Some had brought guitars, flutes and other instruments with them and I could hear them playing in an adjacent room

That afternoon I had a happy time learning new songs, making new friends and chatting with others about their lives in different countries. And I discovered that, no matter where we are from, or where we've grown up, we're more alike than different from one another, in that music brings us all together.

While doing dishes, we met two French girls who had also suffered the same debilitating stomach virus that had assailed Donna. Unlike us, they carried effective anti-diarrhea medicine, which they generously offered to shared with us. Donna declined, but I happily accepted two of their 'wonder-pills' - just in case!

Towards sunset, Donna and I joined a slowly-moving human throng snaking its way towards town. Everyone's soul wanted to stroll at dusk in this "Swiss Riviera" town, to enjoy how that warm, gentle lakeside evening coaxed the fragrance from each exotic bloom just for them...

The day had been hot and humid, but the night was magical and enticing, perfect for listening to music. It had occurred to me that, on my limited budget, I might not be able to buy a ticket for any of the venues. But where there was a will, there would be a way. And I definitely had a will!

One cannot take advantage of an opportunity unless one is there, in person, to greet it.

Knowing this to be true, I implored the god of music to thrill me with an opportunity.

by kind courtesy of http://shareasimage.com/service/quotes/pro/06-11-12/to-travel-hopefully-is-a-better-thing-than-to-arrive.png

Donna decided to tag along with the French girls, so we agreed to meet back in the hostel dormitory later. I was thus free to wander around the perimeter of the buildings, perchance to find an unlocked door.

To my amazement and delight, I discovered that every EXIT door had been thrown open for the comfort of performers and audience alike.

I joined a number of tie-dyed tourists, crowding around an open doorway, soaking in the silken sounds of a sexy saxophone softly wafting towards us.

And it wasn't only music wafting through the air that evening.

Between sets, I searched for an alternate venue that might allow me to see, as well as hear, the talented performers. But as I passed a large, white TV truck-trailer, I stumbled over some thick electrical cables, that were invisible in the growing darkness.

Losing my footing I braced for a fall, when two hands grabbed me around my waist and set me on my feet again. I turned to thank my rescuer, only to find my knees buckling under me.

He was French, dark-haired, green-eyed, not too tall, and totally gorgeous! He worked inside that big white TV trailer whose snaking electrical cable had "introduced" us. His job was to help broadcast the show, live, to millions of viewers in France.

We talked animatedly during the break, then, against all regulations, he invited me inside the trailer, to listen to and watch the the rest of that night's show on his monitor.

He led me to a swivel leather chair, put headphones over my ears and then set to broadcasting the show.

I was in 7th heaven - listening to the best jazz music via the best technical equipment available. And knowing that the musicians were playing literally a few meters from me added a deliciously piquant flavour.

To experience for yourself the music of 10th Montreux Jazz Festival press here

When the broadcast ended, I enthusiastically thanked Andre' for inviting me to listen to the best concert ever with him. Then I floated back to the hostel with several, equally ecstatic back-packers, who also had special permission, from the hostel authorities, to be out late for the festival.

It was 2 am when I crept into my dorm room. Donna looked like she had been sleeping for hours. Within minutes, my head hit my pillow, and though I thought myself far too excited to sleep, I slept like a log.

Apollo had indeed rewarded me gently for my boldness - as gently as a god can!

Sunday July 11

Chillon Castle

About a mile from Montreux, eastwards along the north-east coast of Lac Leman lies the Castle of Chillon.

The castle consists of about 100 independent buildings

that were connected to become the cohesive building it is today.

For a brief history of Chillon press here

For a video overview of Montreux and Chillon Castle press here

To appreciate the atmosphere, art, architecture and archaicness of Chillon press here

Whilst standing in the dungeon of Chillon, I had a most unsettling experience.
by kind courtesy of http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4096/4799289029_b92af55fc7.jpg

I had entered the dungeon alone, and was standing still, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Tall narrow windows cut into the thick stone permitted very little light into the room.

Outside, the afternoon temperature had risen well into the nineties. But in this place, there was a permanent chill, as if the devil had drained all the light and goodness from the stones themselves.

I shivered inspite of myself.

Nobody else was in that dungeon with me. At least, nobody that I could see. Yet I had a strong impression that I was being studied very carefully.

My first instinct was to turn and run away from there. Yet my feet walked determinedly towards one particular stone column. There my eyes fell on the heavy rusted iron circlet to which prisoners were once chained.

With my palms flattened against this column, a 'rush of ancient memories' flooded into my consciousness. Again, my instinct was to disconnect and vacate this premises. But a hand on my shoulder stopped me.

I could feel deep emotions in that hand grip, yet there was no physical hand to be seen. The pain, isolation, loneliness and despair had finally found someone who could 'hear' it's anguished cry - or in my case, 'feel' it.

An energy had 'found' me, but was not interested in me, as a person, only in my ability to 'read' it.

It meant me no harm, but had apparently needed to 'vent'. And I had been available.

After what felt like forever, I was able to let go of that column and make my way out of the dungeon. After conveying its message, the 'entity' had completely released my consciousness. But the experience remains as fresh in my memory today as when it happened, 37 years ago.

Feeling as wrung out as a dishrag, I left Chillon Castle after visiting the dungeon. My heart went out to the trapped soul who was still suffering in limbo in that place. And I prayed he would find peace. Then, suddenly, I could not bear to be indoors any longer. I needed to cleanse in sunshine.

I joined Donna near the entrance, close to the washroom, where she had spent the entire time. Though her stomach had finally settled, she had not felt confident enough to risk a long tour without having a bathroom close by.

by kind courtesy of http://mappery.com/maps/Jungfrau-Grindelwald-region-summer-map.jpg

We walked back to Montreux and caught our first train south-east through Valais to Brig.

From Brig we changed to a small guage railway to travel through the Bernese Oberlandover to Spiez and then it was back to the main line for the final trip into Interlaken.

Both of us were grateful for the efficiency and cleanliness of Swiss trains, especially their immaculate bathrooms!

Along the way, we met two fellows from Toronto who invited us to share a picnic lunch with them, in Grindelwald, under the Jungfrau.

By the time we arrived at our rural destination, a storm was threatening. So we all took shelter in a nearby barn and enjoyed our picnic there instead.

The view from this barn was quite spectacular.

Happy, happy cows!

EIGER MONCH JUNGFRAU

by kind courtesy of

http://www.nationsonline.org/maps/switzerland-admin-map.jpg

After lunch, we bid farewell to Earl and Dave and took a train back to Interlaken, from where we strolled the 5 km to Interlaken Youth Hostel.

At the Youth Hostel, our happiest discovery was their pay laundry machines. It was ridiculous how delighted we were not to have washed our clothes by hand and propped them on chairs hoping they'd dry overnight. When you travel, small conveniences mean a lot!

Monday July 12 Interlaken
After a lazy breakfast, Donna and I strolled back through tree-lined lanes, to Interlaken Station for our connection to Lucerne.

by kind courtesy of

http://untourscafe.com/photo/the-old-church-in-meiringen

We stopped at Meiringen again, but this time were not tempted to visit the still dry Reichenbach Falls.

Instead, we ate an early lunch, then re-boarded the train to the town of Stans, close to Lake Lucerne. For a change of pace, we decided to take a ferry ride to a small cafe along the shoreline that served a most welcome cup of English tea.

Though quite incongruous, I found it very restorative to sip tea from china cups whilst exulitng in the picturesque lake and mountain views.

By the time we boarded the train to Lucerne later that day, I was ready to shop. We had been warned that we might not be able to procure more film for our cameras in Southern Italy or Greece. So I stocked up on that, as well as some hard fruit and bottled water for our journey south. And, on a whim, I bought a stars and stripes bikini to mark the Bicentennial year of Canada's nearest neighbour.

http://www.cartoonstock.com/newscartoons/cartoonists/rmg/lowres/rmgn214l.jpg

Before boarding our train in Switzerland, we had ensured our couchettes for the Italian leg of our journey. At only 10 Sw. Fr. each, ($4 CDN), they promised us a long rest during a day-long journey.

Then we'd treated ourselves to a fine restaurant meal in Lucerne before catching the evening commuter train to Milan.

Finally able to relax, knowing we had only one final transfer to manage before travelling to the heel of Italy, Donna and I cracked open a bottle of wine on the train.

Italy would be the 11th country we'd visited in less than one month on our Grand Tour. That, alone, was worth celebrating!

In true 'European Style', we split a bottle of German Liebfraumilch, whilst travelling from Switzerland to Italy. Donna had, wisely, remembered to pack her Swiss Army Knife, complete with corkscrew!

by kind courtesy of

http://www.clickndrink.co.uk/shop/products/liebfraumilch-schmitt-sohne-qba-white-wine-75cl.htm#.UcP1QTs3srU

Mind you, we had no wine glasses. But one gets used to handling those flimsy conical paper cups after spilling the first two or three refills. I probably spilled more than I drank on that trip. But the wine we did manage to drink, plus our clumsiness with those glasses just made us both laugh hysterically. But to this day, I have no idea why!

By the time our train pulled into Milan Central about 10.30 pm, our excesses had made us both feel rather fragile. So we sought refuge from the crowd, which is not easy to do as that enormous station was still busy, even that close to midnight.

We had anticipated sleeping off the worst of our night of debauchery. But we had failed to realize that we'd traded the efficient cleanliness of Swiss transport for an Italian train. Nothing was as we might have expected it to be in Switzerland.

But you will have to wait till next time to find out why!

Next Week

July 13-15

ITALY to GREECE

Milan to Brindisi

Reservation Hassles

Our bodyguards

Adriatic Coast

Brindisi to Athens

Ferry Feast

Esmerelda Lounge

Corfu

Pool Disaster

Hotel Olympus

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 13-14 Italy to Greece

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 7-9 Switzerland and Liechtenstein

2013-06-14T00:00:00.000-07:00

Wednesday July 7

ZURICH

After leaving the Schloss Hegi hostel in Winterthur, Donna and I caught a bus and train to Zurich. We parked our backpacks in the station locker there, before treating ourselves to a guided tour of the city. It was on this bus tour that we met a very helpful English fellow named Bill.

Bill, who worked in Europe as a photographer, shared information with us about current events in the countries through which we planned to travel. And since he also had a working knowledge of German, Italian and French, he later helped me to find some quality sunglasses - an item I'd neglected to buy during my sisterly shopping spree in London.

by kind courtesy of http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/f3/f0/a1/city-tours-in-zurich.jpg

Zurich is the largest city in Switzerland and the capital of the canton of Zurich. It is located in north-central Switzerland at the northwestern tip of Lake Zurich.

The municipality has approximately 390,000 inhabitants, and the Zurich metropolitan area 1.83 million.

Zurich is a hub for railways, roads, and air traffic. Both Zurich Airport and railway station are the largest and busiest in the country.

excerpt taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zurich

Meiringen

by kind courtesy of http://i1.dailyrecord.co.uk/incoming/article1867997.ece/ALTERNATES/s615/Travel-Switzerland.jpg

During our Zurich shopping trip, Bill suggested that Donna and I catch a fast train to Lucerne. And from there, take the small guage train up the mountain to Meiringen home of the world-famous Reichenbach Falls.

What a fabulous way to spend the afternoon!

Our smaller train would take almost an hour to climb the steep mountainside to Meiringen, which afforded the photographer in me stunning lake views and bucolic country scenes. These Swiss Alps reminded me of the mountains of British Columbia.

For a short Youtube showing a panoramic view of Meiringen, press this link

I was so excited to be seeing this part of Switzerland that it was only when Bill attached himself to Donna's side that I finally realized he had intended to join us on our day's excursion. At his suggestion,we collected our backpacks on our way out of Zurich station, since Bill doubted that we'd want to return there to that city that night.

It was all very mysterious. Yet neither Donna nor I sensed malice in Bill. He was very like a jovial, unkempt English sheepdog in both manner and appearance. He also seemed genuinely delighted by our company, as he enthusiastically shared pertinent information with us and escorted both of us through the beautiful Swiss Alps.

Meiringen is a town and municipality in the Interlaken-Oberhasli administrative district in the canton of Bern in Switzerland.
The town is famous for the nearby Reichenbach Falls, a spectacular waterfall that was the setting for the fictional presumed death of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's character Sherlock Holmes. The town is also known for its claim to have been the place where the meringue was first created.

taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meiringen

by kind courtesy of http://www.traveljournals.net/pictures/l/26/266888-off-to-the-reichenbach-falls-meiringen-switzerland.jpg

Reichenbach Falls
by kind courtesy of www.sherlock-holmes.com

The Reichenbach Falls (Reichenbachfall) are a series of waterfalls on the Reichenbach stream in the Bernese Oberland region of Switzerland. They have a total drop of 250 metres (820 ft).

At 90 meters (300 ft), the Upper Reichenbach Falls is one of the highest cataracts in the Alps. Today, a hydro-electric power company harnesses the flow of the Reichenbach Falls during certain times of year, reducing its flow

In popular literature, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle gave the falls as the location of the final confrontation of his hero Sherlock Holmes with the criminal Professor Moriarty in "The Final Problem

taken fromhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reichenbach_Falls

Unbelievably, these famous falls had completely dried up the year we were there! Record low rainfall combined with record heat throughout Europe to restrict water flow to a mere trickle. No gushing falls for us in Switzerland!

Though disappointed, we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that British Columbia had many wonderful waterfalls that we had yet to discover, though none of them would likely be connected with Sherlock Holmes.

Lucerne
by kind courtesy of http://inserbia.info/news/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/lucerne.jpg

At the end of a long day of travelling, by bus and various trains, all three of us boarded our final train back to Lucerne.

Bill had insisted that we stop for a couple nights at the city of Lucerne. He had a particular Pension in mind for Donna and me.

He also neglected to tell us that reaching meant hauling ourselves and our backpacks up 187 steep steps up the side of a mountain!

We were learning to expect the

unexpected where Bill was concerned.

True to his word, Frau Von Euw's Pension had a view that was totally worth the exhausting climb. Donna and I hauled our backpacks up the stairs to the largest room in the her establishment. Our window overlooked the rooftops, towers and spires of Lucerne.

God Bless Bill!!

Due to its location on the shore of Lake Lucerne (der Vierwaldstättersee), within sight of Mount Pilatus and Rigi in the Swiss Alps, Lucerne has long been a destination for tourists. One of the city's famous landmarks is the Chapel Bridge (Kapellbrücke), a wooden bridge first erected in the 14th century

Since the city straddles the Reuss River where it drains the lake, it has a number of bridges. The most famous is the Chapel Bridge (Kapellbrücke), a 204 m (669 ft) long wooden covered bridge originally built in 1333, the oldest covered bridge in Europe, although much of it had to be replaced after a fire on August 18, 1993, allegedly caused by a discarded cigarette.

Part way across, the bridge runs by the octagonal Water Tower (Wasserturm), a fortification from the 13th century. Inside the brdige are a series of paintings from the 17th century depicting events from Lucerne's history. The Bridge with its Tower is the city's most famous landmark.

excerpt and photo taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kapellbr%C3%BCcke

Thursday July 8

LEICHTENSTEIN

Donna hogged the bathroom again! I hoped that she was feeling well. Being ill is difficult enough at home, but on vacation, it can be downright miserable for all concerned.

Descending those 187 steps was a lot less troublesome than climbing them, even whilst carrying our backpacks. Bill had a photo shoot in Liechtenstein that day, so suggested we visit it too. We thus all caught the bus to Vaduz the capital of Switzerland's tiny neighbouring country, the

PRINCIPALITY OF LIECHTENSTEIN

Liechtenstein is the smallest yet richest (by measure of GDP per capita) German-speaking country and the only country to lie entirely within the Alps. It is known as a principality as it is a constitutional monarchy headed by a prince.

excerpt taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liechtenstein

Schlossvaduz is the castle that overlooks the capital of Vaduz. It is home to the current Prince of Leichtenstein, Hans-Adam II.

TRIESENBERG

From Vaduz we changed buses and ventured into the mountains to our destination of Triesenberg.

Triesenberg is a municipality in Liechtenstein,with a population of 2,564.Its 30 square kilometer area makes it the largest municipality in Liechtenstein.

The centre of the municipality rests at an elevation of 884-1000 meters (around 3000 ft). The village is noted for its distinct dialect, dating from the influence of Walser migrants in the Middle Ages.

This dialect is actively promoted by the municipality. The existence of this dialectis one eveidence of remarkable linguistic diversity within the small Principality, as it is spoken alongside Standard German and the Alemannic dialect common to the country. excerpt taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triesenberg

In Vaduz, we asked about accommodation and thus found the Hotel Schadler - a private residence that rented holiday rooms by the night. It was central and, like most of the houses in 1976, located close to the main street. But the entire area was so quiet, it felt we'd landed in a luxurious country retreat.

We were shown to a spacious, comfortable room at the back of the house, that sported a small wooden balcony. From here Donna and I could enjoy a panoramic view of the Swiss Alps and the rolling valley below.

At 3000 ft elevation, the air was clear and cool, beckoning me to take a stroll outside. But I had to hand-wash some clothes before going walkabout.

Donna left without a word before I'd finished. So, expecting that I would return in a couple of hours, I pocketed our one and only room key.

It was lunchtime on a beautiful, warm, sunshiny summer's day in paradise. I strolled up the street (since there are no flat areas in Triesenberg!) lured by the aroma wafting from a nearby pub. There I ordered a lemonade and listened to the music and German commentary on the bar radio.

Once my eyes adjusted to the darkness within, I noticed there were only a few others dining there. The luncheon special was German sausage, for which I was not in the mood. So I ordered an omelette and then studied the others.

I noticed a small Canadian Maple Leaf lapel pin on a lone traveller at another table, and moved to it, smiling and introducing myself. Her name was Joan, and she hailed from Toronto. Small world, eh?!

Joan was ending her time in Europe, and had many tales to share - as I did with her.

She had trekked up the mountains in Liechtenstein before, but was more than happy to join me on my first trek that day. The weather was perfect for walking and talking and for enjoying Liechtenstein's beautiful gardens whose colours seemed to glow in the rarefied mountain air.

And before we knew it we'd reached the 5000 ft level, where only sturdy cows seemed to roam.

Apart from an embarrassing incident briefly involving an electrified fence that I hadn't realized was electrified, the walk was idyllic. When we were tired, Joan and I would simply settle in a field till we recovered. That is, if one can 'settle' on a field that slopes up 45 degrees from horizontal?!

The views further up the mountain were breathtakingly beautiful, it felt like we were standing on top of the Alps! And we were! Only in British Columbia's Rocky Mountains had I ever before seen such amazing views.

Time stood still that day! Joan and I truly did not realize how late it was getting till we heard the church bells chiming in the valley.

From our lofty vantage point, we could hear all the church bells in the valley ringing simultaneously, and the result was mesmerizing. There's something about mountain air that clarifies and beautifies the sound of bells.

Joan broke the spell first, when she realized that the church bells rang every evening at 7pm - the exact time that she'd promised to meet someone in Triesen, a further hour's walk from the pub at which we'd met that noon.

By the time I bid Joan farewell and returned to my room, it was 8 pm. Donna was annoyed for two reasons: because I had taken the only room key, effectively locking her out for many hours! And secondly, Bill had NOT taken her dancing, as he had, apparently, promised. She was a very unhappy camper!

I had missed supper, but didn't care. Exhausted from my day's exertions, I enjoyed a hot shower and was sound asleep by 9 pm.

At 11pm exactly, I awoke to find Donna asleep beneath the bedclothes as a spectacular thunderstorm rained fire across the valley. Despite the lashing rain, I stood on our balcony and embraced the elements. One could taste the electricity sparking through the air.

This was the first thunderstorm, with fierce rain, that I'd experienced since leaving UK on June 18. I hoped its waters would wend their way west and help to restore the dwindling Reichenbach Falls.

Friday July 9

Though we rose early and breakfasted lightly, we still needed to rush to catch the 10:20 am bus from Triesenberg to Vaduz, transferring to a train bound for Zurich. Donna became ill during this leg of our journey from Vaduz to Zurich.

Upon arrival, I took her straight to the station rest room, where she lay down on the sofa. I fetched water and a Red Cross nurse for her, and sadly noted that she was way too ill to sight-see that day.

After an hour or so, when Donna felt better, we agreed to return to Lucerne and Frau Von Euw's establishment so that she could get proper rest.

I'd forgotten we'd have to ascend those 187 steps.

I soon remembered when I had to carry two backpacks up them! Not that I envied Donna at all. She looked very green around the gills by the time we arrived back in our rooms.

It seems that Donna had succumbed to some kind of stomach bug that had her running to the bathroom every half hour. No wonder she'd been so miffed with me for locking her our of our room the previous day. She'd probably needed to rest.

I made sure that Donna was comfortable, then went downstairs to chat with Frau Van Euw who told me of a shopping area in Lucerne that I might like to visit while Donna slept.

With Frau Van Euw's directions in hand, I strolled there and spent some of the time window shopping until I was drawn to enter "Trend Decor".

It was a Danish store that sold small items of furniture and other Danish home wares. This business was owned and run, in Switzerland, by a Swedish woman, married to a American man, whose son attends the French school! She spoke 8 different languages, fluently, including English.

I was in awe!

Again I spent an idyllic afternoon chatting with a charming, new-found but short-lived friend. We shared tea (bless her!) and I purchased Danish teak-ware gifts for Mom and self. The shipping costs, to my Mother's home in UK, almost exceeded the total of my purchases.

I returned to our hotel around 5pm to find Donna still slumbering. When she woke I would encourage her to drink some water, or perhaps some clear soup - as suggested by Frau Van Euw.

Bill visited our hotel room for a chat between 9 pm and 2 am. His shoot had lasted longer than anticipated, which caused him to miss his 'dancing date' with Donna. He had already booked his room at Frau van Euw's pension, and visited us immediately he'd heard about Donna's illness. But Donna was too drowsy to chat, so I engaged Bill in a conversation about travel.

We discussed my wish to travel through the Balkans to surprise Erik in Greece. It would mean travelling through Balkan regimes that, even in 1976, were far from stable. Given Donna's weakened condition, I decided such a plan would be foolhardy. What if she should require medical - or surgical - intervention?

In his turn, Bill informed me of the dangerous political situation in southern Italy. Then, just as I was about to ask him to go back to his own room for the rest of the night, Copenhagen Erik phoned me from Yugoslavia! It was 1.20 am, and he'd been trying to phone me for four hours.

Apparently, Erik was on his way overland to Greece and wondered if I'd like to join him there for a few days! He must have read my mind!!! Could I get myself to Yugoslavia? Is so, we could also travel together from there to Greece. He didn't mention what he thought I should do with Donna!

Timing is CRUCIAL!

photo of Dubrovnic by kind courtesy of www.marri-rc.org

Had Donna been fit and healthy, I probably would have attempted to join Erik in Dubrovnik. And Donna would most likely have tagged along.

Had we chosen this option, we would then both have become embroiled in the aftermath of 6.5 Fruili earthquake that had assailed north-eastern Italy in May.

When 15,000 residents are living in tents, having lost their homes to a natural disaster, one should probably not plan to travel through their area, unless one is willing and able to offer assistance.

So, with great reluctance, I declined Erik's very tempting offer to travel into Greece with him, via Dubrovnic. It seemed that a relationship with this handsome Dane was simply not destined to be!

Donna had been woken when Frau van Euw knocked on our door. On seeing Bill sitting in our room, she rallied enough to chat with him when I had left to speak to Erik. After my call, Donna told me that though she was more rested, she still felt very weak and really needed time to recuperate.

It was apparent that someone had to watch out for and feed my companion till she felt more physically able to care for herself. And since neither of us could depend on newcomer Bill, that person had to be me. Despite missing an opportunity to reunite with Erik, I felt confident I had made the right decision!

Next Week
July 10-12

SWITZERLAND

10th Montreux Jazz Festival

The Castle of Chillon

Brig

Spiez

Interlaken

Picnic in Grindelwald

Meiringen revisited

Stadstad, Lucerne - and finally Milan

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 10-12

Switzerland to Italy

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 5-6 Switzerland - Schaffhausen to Lucerne

2013-06-07T00:00:00.000-07:00

Monday July 5

SCHAFFHAUSEN

A visit to the city of Schaffhausen

is like a journey through time

Schaffhausen came into being at the location where trading ships had to set anchor because the Rhine Falls made it impossible to travel further.

The houses of the Old Town are richly decorated with oriel windows and lavishly painted facades with innumerable bay windows that were built in the Renaissance period. But for modern people, shops and electric light in the narrow streets of the Old Town, one might imagine having been transported back to those times.

The town located on the Upper Rhine between the Black Forest and Lake Constance, and surrounded by vineyards, is a popular destination for holidays and day-trips.

The town of Schaffhausen is in the northernmost corner of Switzerland, in the 'knee' of the Rhine in Eastern Switzerland on the border with Germany. It owes its origins to the Rheinfall waterfall: the settlement arose where shippers needed somewhere to unload and stack their goods when avoiding the rapids that were impassable for ships.

by kind courtesy of www.myswitzerland.com/en/schaffhausen.htm

The traffic-free Old town of Schaffhausen is considered one of the prettiest in Switzerland, on account of its many oriel windows and lavishly painted facades. Many of the fine guild-houses and merchants' houses date from Gothic and Baroque times.

The lively Old town is very good for shopping. The town began with the street market in what is now the Vordergasse. This is also where you will find the High Gothis St. Hohann church with its remarkable acoustics.

above excerpts from www.myswitzerland.com/en/schaffhausen.htm

by kind courtesy of bstatic.com/images/hotel/org/803/803378.jpg

Upon arriving in Schaffhausen, we immediately booked into Hotel Steinbock at the [1976] price of 44 Swiss Francs per night, including breakfast. [2013 price = 88 Euros] Despite my earlier misgivings about travelling with Donna, I had to admit that our sharing accommodation costs certainly did help to stretch both of our budgets.

Though not as luxurious and welcoming as Frau Wahr's superlative establishment, this hotel was pleasant and clean and efficiently provided for our needs. A mediocre ravioli supper was my only disappointment.

After supper, while Donna read her book, I reveled in a solitary sunset stroll through the picturesque mediaeval town. There were so many beautiful buildings and I easily spent a couple of hours taking many photos of its story-book architecture and unique decorations.
by kind courtesy of
http://upload.wikimedia.org/Wikipedia/commons/5/5b/Schaffhausen_IMG_2689.jpg

By the time I returned to the Steinboch, angry clouds had rolled in, making the evening feel warm and sultry.

Other guests also surmised that a thunderstorm might be brewing. But Donna and I enjoyed a peaceful sleep with no atmospheric interruptions.

by kind courtesy of
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/ba/Zum_Ritter_Schaffhausen.jpgThis amazing building, whose facade features stunning Renaissance frescos, is called Haus zum Ritter, which means "House at Knight"

The facade of the Haus zum Ritter features one of the most important Renaissance frescoes north of the Alps. The original frescoes by Tobias Stimmer were taken off the facade in 1935, preserved and displayed in the Museum zu Allerheiligen. The mural depicts and praises the civil virtues.

press this link to see an amazing 360 degree view

of a walk in Schaffhausen centred at Haus zum Ritter .

Tuesday July 6

Castel der Munot

by kind courtesy of
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Schaffhausen_-_Kloster_Allerheiligen_IMG_2705.JPG

Early the next morning, Donna and I visited the mediaeval Munot Fortress that guards the town of Schaffhausen.

Over the mediaeval Old Town of Schaffhausen looms the imposing Munot fortress.

The city's landmark, the Munot, towers high above the town. The ring-shaped fortress was built in the 16th century. The position of the guard is even older than the fortress itself. The list of guards dates back to the year 1377, and it is nearly complete.

above excerpt taken from www.myswitzerland.com/en/old-town-and-the-munot-fortress-schaffhausen.html

Even after Donna and I had completed our visit to the Fortress, we were still unsure of our direction of travel for that day.

We could not even decide on our

destination for that night !

Without realizing it, Donna and I had both slipped into the bliss of holiday mode.

When you're in 'holiday mode', even if matters around you go horribly wrong, you have

Positive expectations

which leads to better brain functions

which leads to better interactions and decisions

which lead to a successful outcome

which leads to a healthier, happier you

I knew the power of a positive mindset because I had often experienced its results, in my own life.
On my "Grand Tour of Europe", fate had already intervened to remind me that, despite a limited daily allowance, we had been able to find enough food during the day, and a bed for the night. So I had no doubt that this situation would continue for the rest of our trip.

From the moment we ran from that luckless hotel in Luxembourg, even though the train was delayed and we'd had to stand all the way to Switzerland, we had survived.
And when we'd missed our connection, that turned out to be a blessing since we caught the empty, luxury TEE instead. And the Trans European Express had comfortable reclining seats that finally allowed us to sleep.
We'd needed that sleep for our trip to and from Trier, with its Black Gate, Rococo Church and exploding coke bottle!

Is there nothing this girl won't do to remain cool on a hot day?!

And then, strangers had helped us to find the road leading up the cliff to Ehrenbreitstein Fortress aka Koblenz Youth Hostel. And a little child led us down again. Then, aboard the Rhine Cruise had partied in sunshine with Americans in an impromptu Bi-Centennial celebration.
Even after I collapsed with sunstroke in Stuttgart, Donna and I not only survived, but thrived when a good Samaritan procured a wonderful night's rest for us, in Frau Wahr's luxurious establishment.

Before we left Canada, Donna and I had already booked and paid for a cruise around the Greek Islands. So, beyond being in Athens by mid-July, we were free to relax and indulge our whims.

Having no idea when, or from where, our next train would leave, we knew only that our backpacks with would travel everywhere with us that day in Switzerland. And it promised to be a sweltering afternoon.

Our need to escape the city heat

was matched by our unwillingness to

sight-see while carrying a backpack.

So we were delighted to discover that our Eurail passes permitted us to ride on the local ferries without extra charge. Donna and I made good use of these passes that afternoon, to tour the Bodensee - also known as Lake Constance.

Noon: Bodensee (Lake Constance) Ferry
by kind courtesy of http://stadtwerke.konstanz.de/en/mobility/ferry-friedrichshafen-romanshorn.html

The Lake Constance ferry which can also be used by pedestrians and cyclists, runs back and forth between Friedrichshafen and Romanshorn all year round and by the hour.

[Operation of the ferry is shared by Bodensee Schiffsbetriebe GmbH and SBS Schifffahrt AG.]

I had boarded the ferry, anticipating a restful summer's afternoon mini-cruise of an historic and picturesque region of Europe. Donna had, however, quickly found a quiet corner and returned to reading her book.

So, as I had done on the Rhine River, I left my backpack with hers for safe-keeping, and sought out the company of more sociable people. My ensuing chats with travelling locals, and other tourists, taught me more about the towns at which our ferry would eventually dock.

For the next several hours, our ferry gallantly criss-crossed Lake Constance. And, in so doing, the ferry, and all its passengers, travelled out of Switzerland.

At each destination on the Bodensee, we had to show our Eurail passes and have our passports checked as well as have separate currencies to spend in each different country.

We briefly visited towns in both Germany and Austria before returning to Switzerland the city of Constance. Our first stop was Romanshorn, and from there we travelled to Friedrichshafen and Bregenz before disembarking at Constance (Konstanz) on the Swiss-German border.
by kind courtesy of http://www.nmaffei.com

Romanshorn, (Switzerland)
photo by kind courtesy of
http://stadtwerke.konstanz.de/en/mobility/ferry-friedrichshafen-romanshorn.html

Romanshorn is a municipality in the district of Arbon in the canton of Thurgaubin Switzerland.

It was probably settled in the 7th Century, and is first mentioned in 779 as Rumanishorn in a land grant from Waldrata to the Abbey of St. Gall.

Friedrichshafen (Germany)

photo by kind courtesy of
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Friedrichshafen_panorama.jpg

Friedrichshafen is a university city on the northern side of Lake Constance in Southern Germany, near the borders with Switzerland and Austria. It is the district capital of the Bodensee district in the federal state of Baden-Württemberg

taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Friedrichshafen

Bregenz (Austria)
photo by kind courtesy of http://www.nmaffei.com

Bregenz is the capital of Vorarlberg, the westernmost federal state of Austria. The city is located on the eastern shores of Lake Konstanz, the third-largest freshwater lake in Central Europe, between Switzerland in the west and Germany to the northwest.

The city is situated on a plateau falling in a series of terraces to the lake at the foot of Pfänder mountain. It is a junction of the arterial roads from the Rhine valley to the German Alpine foothills, with cruise ship services on Lake Constance.

After many hours of sunshine aboard the ferry, we finally disembarked at

Konstanz (German-Swiss border) aka Constance
by kind courtesy of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Konstanz_Blick_vom_M%C3%BCnsterturm.jpg

Konstanz (English: Constance) is a university city with approximately 80,000 inhabitants located at the western end of Lake Constance in the south-west corner of Germany, bordering Switzerland. The city houses the University of Konstanz.

From Konstanz, we again caught a train to the (then rural) town of

Oberwinterthur

by kind courtesy of www.brodyaga.com

Oberwinterthur is a district in the Swiss city of Winterthur that comprises the quarters Talacher, Guggenbuhl, Zinzikon, Reutlingen, Stadel, Gruze, Hegmatten and Hegi.

Oberwinterthur was formerly a municipality of its own, but was incorporated in Winterthur in 1922.
taken from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oberwinterthur
by kind courtesy of
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/a/ae/Wiener-Schnitzel02.jpg/240px-Wiener-Schnitzel02.jpg

At 7.15 pm, we arrived at Oberwinterthur and, as we were extremely hungry, immediately visited the pub for a delicious Weiner Schnitzel supper

After supper we enjoyed a short trek to Winterthur a city in the canton of Zurich in northern Switzerland. It has the country's sixth largest population with a [2012]estimate of more than 100,000 people.

photo and above excerpt by kind courtesy of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winterthur

Our destination was the

Schloss Hegi Hostel

by kind courtesy of http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/7/76/Winterthur_-_Schloss_Hegi,_Hegifeldstrasse_125_2011-09-10_13-20-42.jpg

by kind courtesy of http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e9/Schloss_Hegi%2C_Hegifeldstrasse_125_in_Winterthur_2011-09-10_12-56-10.jpg

The mediaeval Schloss Hegi Youth Hostel was a delight to behold, peacefully nestled between fields in (what was then) a Swiss country town. The two-tier beds in the women's section had all been pushed together to eliminate entry passageways between bunks. While this allowed for more bodies to sleep there overnight, this practice was far from hygienic.

So, despite this idyllic setting, I remained sleepless at the medieval Schloss Hegi Youth Hostel after discovering a bedbug on my mattress. I passed the time meditating, writing postcards to family and friends and bringing my travel journal up to date.

About 5 am, the warm, melodious sound of approaching cowbells drew me to the window. There I saw a small herd of cows placidly plodding towards the milking sheds.

Ahhh...Swiss chocolate in the making...

Next Week
July 5-6

SWITZERLAND and LIECHTENSTEIN

Zurich

Meiringen

Reichenbach Falls

Lucerne

Frau von Euw
Leichtenstein

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE

July 7-9 Switzerland and Liechtenstein

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 4-5 Germany - Koblenz to Stuttgart

2013-05-31T00:00:00.000-07:00

Sunday July 4 River Rhine Cruise

by kind courtesy of

http://s3.otherpeoplespixels.com/sites/22773/assets/zJQILYUcN17Ac9dd.jpg

The next morning, one of the young schoolgirls befriended me, wanting to know more about "my travels through Europe and where I had learned to infiltrate German strongholds - and was I a spy?!"

Gulp!

We compared memories of our lives in the home counties of England for a few minutes. I also told her about my adventurous camping trip in the Rockies, and what happened when I came face to face with a black bear cub - and his very protective Mother.

It seemed my new friend shared my reckless spirit, because some moments later, she asked if I knew about the short cut that led to the river. After Donna's and my twilight trek up the winding road to the fortress, a short cut off the hill sounded like a perfect idea!

So I collected Donna, and we followed this precocious 10-year old down a steep, overgrown wooded pathway that seemed to lurch down one side of the hill.

Just as I was wondering if the child, herself, had ever travelled this path before, a magnificent panoramic view of the Rhine river opened up before us. Our tangled path had led us right to the entrance gate to the Rhine Castle River Cruises.

by kind courtesy of

http://rhinerivercruise.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/the-rhine-river.gif

Donna and I had already planned on taking a Rhine Cruise! And this clever schoolgirl had led us right to where we needed to be to make it happen!

Our Angels really do come in all shapes and sizes!

After expressing our delight at arriving at the river's edge in record time, we hugged our youthful guide "auf wiedersehn" and wished her well on her travels. Her school group had already gathered nearby, for their continuing bus tour of the Rhine Valley.

Meanwhile Donna discovered that our 1st Class Eurail passes allowed us free passage on this particular Rhine Cruise. So we anticipated getting some much needed rest and relaxation that morning.

by kind courtesy of
http://vanriggins.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/silly_cat.jpg

Silly us!!

Though we were oblivious to the fact,
an adventure was about to unfold

After that rather swift descent from the Fortress Ehrenbreitstein, all I really craved was a glass of cold mountain water.

I had expected that a cruise boat would carry some variety of ordinary bottled water.

by kind courtesy of

http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2261/2259510253_0710d3fde2_z.jpg

I was wrong. They offered only mineral water, and further informed me that tap water was unsafe to drink.

Oh dear!

What to do?...What to do?

by kind courtesy of

www.picturesof.net/_images_300/A_Woman_Sitting_In_an_Easy_Chair_Reading_Royalty_Free_Clipart_Picture_110208-147168-926053.jpg

Donna had walked to the rear of the boat, and already settled into an easy chair to read her book. We'd both eaten a hearty breakfast before leaving the hostel, so we really did not need to interact till it was time to disembark from the ferry.

Perhaps Donna was right and I would forget about being thirsty, if I just relaxed and read my book. But, the boat had scarcely pulled away from the dock, when three young American men - in their early twenties - strode purposefully into the aft lounge...and loudly announced:

"Today is July 4, 1976

It's America's Bicentennial!
and the beers are on us!

Everyone is invited!"

by kind courtesy of

http://photos1.meetupstatic.com/photos/event/8/1/6/c/event_194553132.jpeg

It was exactly 9 am! I hadn't even had time to open my book. And I was indeed VERY thirsty.

In the absence of water, I was aware that beer could also quench thirst. The only problem was, I didn't much LIKE the taste of warm, thick English beer.

But these were American lads in Germany, so their beer would at least be ice cold.

And wasn't I also in Germany. And wouldn't it be sacrilegious to travel all the way here and not even sample a good German beer!

With very little hesitation, I asked Donna to keep watch over my back pack, passport and travellers' cheques for the remainder of our Rhine cruise. Then I followed the pied pipers of pale ale, to the bow of the vessel.

by kind courtesy of

http://activerain.com/image_store/uploads/4/4/1/6/9/ar13163703696144.jpg

By 10 am, our hosts Geoff, Charlie and Hank had the party in full swing and several more passengers had heard the music and decided to join in the fun.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.newrig.co.uk/img/image1.JPG

By chance, a Bavarian Oom pah band, complete with a dirndl skirted lady and men in lederhosen, was also travelling up the Rhine on our ferry. Without hesitation, they had unpacked their instruments, and played on the front deck for all the party-goers.

The heat was merciless, but we all braved the sunshine to sing along with the loud, cheery music. It didn't seem to matter that nobody knew the lyrics!

Close to noon, the ship's captain provided free refreshments of bratwurst, heavy bread and more beer for the merry-makers. The food kept the party buzzing for the next couple of hours of Rhine travel.

My first ever German beer, drunk on that hot Bi-Centennial Sunday morning, afloat on the River Rhine, was surreal, but it certainly helped to quench my thirst.

But my first beer led to a second, then a third, then another...and another. With all the fun we were having, taking photos and laughing with the boys as well as singing with the band, I hadn't paid attention to how many beers I drank.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.ratestogo.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/05/river11.jpg

I did, however, spend a lot of that time enthusiastically taking photographs of as many castles as I could spy along our route.

It was only when I later developed those photos and saw how 'skewed' they were, that I realized my level of intoxication had, indeed, been great.

That I hadn't stumbled and fallen overboard was it's own small miracle.

My three, stalwart, American hosts took very good care of me for the five hours it took to get to our destination. Relentless sunshine baked our ferry and its passengers, as it bore almost continuously southwards. Going UP-stream by river, it seems, takes a good deal longer than travelling downstream.

by kind courtesy of

http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p273/dannyjbixby/128741722206137389.jpg

I vaguely remember insisting on carrying my own backpack as we left the boat. But the pain it inflicted on my sun-scorched shoulders soon convinced me to accept Geoff's help.

The train to Stuttgart was practically empty except for the three American guys, Donna, myself plus a couple of others who had also disembarked there.

Geoff had an inkling that sunburn wasn't my only problem that afternoon, as led the two of us and both our back packs into a vacant carriage.

Away from the hot glare of the sun, I became aware of just how much my head hurt and how sore my eyes were. Even after removing my contact lenses, my eyes still felt puffy and prickly.

Geoff was apparently more concerned about my burned and scuffed shoulders, than my ability to see clearly. But my eyes and throbbing head felt much better in the relative coolness of the train's interior.

From his own back-pack, Geoff produced some ointment, turned my back to him, and proceeded to gently massage it into my skin. It was a very sweet and timely action that magically took away most of the pain, while instantly cooling my skin.

Being separate from the group, and now free from pain. also gave Geoff and me our first opportunity to talk quietly and discover what had brought each of us to this place at this particular moment in time. We enjoyed it so much, we spent the rest of our train journey sharing youthful ideas and trading travel news.

An hour or so later, the train neared Stuttgart, where Donna and I were to disembark, leaving our generous hosts to continue their journey by train. Geoff and I rejoined the others in time to take photos, exchange mailing addresses and say goodbye.

Then Donna and I stepped onto the platform and out of the lives of three American strangers with whom we'd shared Bi-Centennial Celebrations.

by kind courtesy of

http://blogs.sfweekly.com/exhibitionist/studies_in_crap_bicentennial_needlepoint_1976.jpg

It had been hours since either Donna or I had eaten a proper meal. So, before searching out a place to stay for the night, we treated ourselves to some refreshments in Stuttgart Station.

I began to feel shaky and dizzy while negotiating the wide stone staircase that descended to the street exit. My legs became less and less steady, till I finally collapsed at the bottom.

Donna managed to wrestle me and both backpacks to one side of stairway. Meanwhile, I was just praying that my head would stop spinning.

Donna then left me there, alone, as she ran to call the Red Cross.

A passing physician saw our predicament and, immediately, came to my aid. When I opened my eyes, the room had stopped spinning. Now I was staring into the most beautiful blue eyes I had ever seen.

by kind courtesy of

http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/20000000/Doctor-Grover-grover-monster-20091698-1097-1600.jpg

A quiet, male voice asked me several questions, in English, then politely told me that I had drunk too many beers and too little water, on a very hot day.

His advice for my dehydration was to rest quietly for the night and drink lots of water.

I concurred wholeheartedly with the idea of drinking water! But where DID one find plain, non-sparkling water in Germany?

We had only just arrived in Stuttgart so, along with drinking water, we also needed accommodation for that night.

Once again, my medical knight in shining stethoscope came to the rescue!

He recommended the Hotel Wahr on Vogelstandstrasse, and even phoned the proprietor to secure snacks, breakfast and a room overnight for Donna and me.

Then, my angel of mercy picked up my backpack and led Donna and me to the bus stop outside the station.

The gorgeous doc then waited with us for the 55 bus arrive. When it arrived, he quietly paid for our fares while telling the driver exactly where to let us off. Happily the driver seemed eager to comply.

I thanked my new friend for appearing precisely when I'd most needed him, and for going out of his way to help a stranger. Then I wished him well, and stepped onto the bus and out of the life of the good doctor.

It occurred to me that while learning my life lessons

in a series of short-lived dramas had its merits,

saying goodbye still sucked lemons!

Whoever he was, I was thoroughly impressed by my Good Samaritan's professionalism. In his solicitous care of me, an ailing tourist, this Doctor went above and beyond his Hippocratic Oath to "first, do no harm".

by kind courtesy of

http://winwinhr.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/First-Do-No-Harm.jpg

Not only had this good man tended to my urgent medical need, but he had also helped Donna and me to find a very respectable establishment. And, as we were to learn, his generosity did not stop there.

We were met at the door by Frau Wahr, and led into a large, comfortable 'drawing' room, furnished in heavy brocade draperies, gold filigree mirrors, rubber plants and plush furnishings. While our room was being made ready for us, Frau Wahr served us tea there, in china cups and saucers.

Tea was just what the doctor ordered!

One had a sense that this room hadn't changed in half a century or more. But any Victorian dwellings of my acquaintance always featured dusty curtains and dark, musty-smelling corners. Frau Wahr's establishment was spotlessly clean. Every mirror gleamed. Even the air sparkled.

Lydia Wahr greeted us warmly, making me feel instantly 'at home' and very welcome. After our tea, we were led to a spacious and very comfortable room containing two comfortable double beds, with lamps on each side table, a large pine wardrobe, a cocktail table, set between two easy chairs, a large chest of drawers and, in the corner, in lieu of an en suite, was a sink.

The bathroom was down the hall and featured a large claw-footed iron bath - deep enough to submerge your entire body. And we were assured there was enough hot water available for us to wash some clothes as well as each enjoy a hot bath ! Frau Wahr was true to her word!

But most importantly for me, there was an abundance of clear, clean drinking water. Since I managed to consumed about a gallon's worth of the precious fluid during the following two hours, I soon recovered from that day's excesses.

July 5: Stuttgart
I felt so pampered and well-rested at Frau Lydia Wahr's guesthouse that I just didn't want to leave. So, during breakfast, Donna and I discussed the possibility of staying an extra night there.

Frau Wahr tactfully explained that the good Doctor had not only reserved our room, but also paid our overnight stay for us, because he had (correctly) surmised that the room might be beyond our budget.

It was yet another reason to be thankful to that Good Samaritan for being our angel! After more than two week's of haphazard travel, we'd certainly needed - and had both thoroughly enjoyed - this single night of unabashed old-world luxury.

Soon after breakfast, we reluctantly vacated our tall-windowed room, slung our packs over our shoulders and bid Frau Wahr, "auf wiedersehen"!

It was Monday morning and the stores were open in Stuttgart! But first, Donna and I caught the bus back to the train station, dropped off our packs at the station lockers and double checked our departure time for that afternoon.

Then we went shopping!

Donna needed a drug store, and I needed to buy a bikini before we headed to Greece the following week. Stuttgart was a very modern city with all the usual stores. And the way those stores were set up, in 1976, I had the feeling they expected a lot of their customers to be American.

Browsing in Stuttgart would have been fun for me. But we had simply run out of time. Our train to Schaffhausen left at 12:41 pm. Our next stop would be SWITZERLAND!

Next Week
July 5-6

SWITZERLAND

Schaffhausen
Castel der Munot
Bodensee Cruise
Oberwinterthur
Schloss Hegi Hostel

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE
JULY 5-6 SWITZERLAND

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 2-3 France to Germany the scenic route

2013-05-24T00:00:00.000-07:00

Friday July 2

PARIS

Another 110F (44C) scorcher.

by kind courtesy of http://www.honeymoonlane.com/guide/paris/

We walked to the Eiffel Tour very slowly in overwhelming heat. Our tour cost 14 fr. to the summit. And for a few glorious minutes, we experienced darkness and its relative coolness.

But when we got out of the elevators at the top, the temperature was even hotter. Heat rises! Duh! And with not one single wisp of air in Paris, it felt like being baked alive in an oven.

Our expedited tour of the "Stifling Tower" took us less than an hour. Then we walked back to the Place de la Concorde. Sticking to the shadows helped lessen the sun's onslaught. But even though wearing only a sleeveless cotton dress, I was still uncomfortably hot.

by kind courtesy of by kind courtesy of
http://www.wusa9.com/images/640/360/2/assetpool/images/080606113826_heatwave.jpg

Unbeknownst to me, at the time, the whole of Europe was experiencing the hottest summer on record, with very little rain, or wind, to lower temperatures.

by kind courtesy of

http://celebritybackstage.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/shenae-grimes-wet-blue-dress.jpg

To cool myself down, I soaked my feet and legs, and, where possible, my entire body, in the several fountains that were strategically placed at each intersection along our route.

Between fountains, the heat was so intense that my clothes literally steam-dried on my body. My watery antics shocked Donna. But I remained cool during most of our walk whilst she did not. C'est la vie!

We had both booked out of our Pension before embarking on our sightseeing tour that morning. And, as per usual, we'd stashed our backpacks in lockers at our departing station, and ascertained the correct time of our train away from Paris. We'd had MORE than enough of this city's unrelenting heat and were looking forward to leaving the sizzling capital by the 17.48 train to Luxembourg.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.gothereguide.com/Images/France/Paris/Place_de_la_Concorde_paris.jpg

By the time we'd walked the short distance from the Eiffel Tower to the fountain at Place de la Concorde, we were exhausted. There was no way that either of us wanted to join the queues sweltering at the Louvre.

Instead, we spent the remainder of that afternoon seeking the shade and relative coolness of porticos. We also sipped expensive cold drinks in as many air-conditioned establishments as we could find.

by kind courtesy of

http://0.tqn.com/h/goparis/1/H/Y/F/-/-/stein-exhibit.jpg

My personal artistic and historical exploration of Paris was far from complete. But Paris is crazy hot in July when the extreme heat saps your energy, making simple activities - like walking - twice as difficult. I would simply have to ensure that my next trip to the City of Lights was scheduled during cooler weather!

With a heartfelt sigh of relief, Donna and I boarded an air-conditioned train and left Paris near suppertime. Arriving in Luxembourg a few hours later, we immediately sought out a hotel for a some much needed horizontal sleep.

by kind courtesy of
http://vintage.johnnyjet.com/photos/Luxembourg-to-Frankfurt-Train-2009-1.jpg

Sadly, the only available room was dismal with creaky uncomfortable beds, no air conditioning, no view and only a cold-water shower. After enduring a couple of hot and sticky days of washing ourselves and our hair in a Parisian sink, having a warm shower was a very high priority for both of us. Though very tired, we were disappointed enough to demand our money back and leave that Luxembourg hotel!

Despite the late hour, since we expected to sleep on the train overnight, we treated ourselves to a huge spaghetti supper. But upon arrival at the station at midnight, we discovered that neither couchettes nor seats would be available. Much loud groaning ensued.

Saturday July 3

LUXEMBOURG - BASEL - TRIER - KOBLENZ

Our train was supposed to depart Luxembourg train station at 12.30am.
But it had been delayed. And we were unable to discover why.

To while away the waiting time at Luxembourg, I bought some beautiful stamps and wrote yet more postcards to friends and family.

Two hours later, the train to Basel clanked noisily into the station at 2.30 am.

Apparently thieves had boarded the train further up the line, and the ensuing police inquiry had caused the cancellation of subsequent trains. Our lone train thus held three trains' worth of passengers, jostling cheek-by-jowl for standing room only.

Each 6-seat compartment was smoky (despite regulations), and crammed with 6 or more bodies. Windows were shut tight, and much loud snoring was heard. Still wearing my backpack, I found a tiny space for myself, wedged in the narrow corridor, dwarfed by big, burly men on all sides. I stood 5'3" in my stockinged feet. It didn't take much to dwarf me!

by kind courtesy of

http://www.visionthisworld.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/over-crowded-train-andrew-biraj-650x433.jpg

At such times, it helped me to remember that daily conditions were a lot more stressful in other parts of the world. Having been born in India, I had heard the tales my parents told about trains being draped with people there.

In later years, I would travel to India with my Mother and see such sights for myself.

Were I not already exhausted that night, the conditions of this inter-continental train might have irritated me. Instead, I made the happy discovery that one can, indeed, sleep standing up on a moving train - just not for an extended period of time.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.walking-in-germany.co.uk/images/NBYmap.gif

At Basel, Donna and I enjoyed a hearty breakfast, during which we missed our our original choice for our connection to Koblenz.

We thus caught the relatively empty Trans European Express (TEE) at 08.18 instead. This was a luxurious ride during which we reclined our seats, and slept till 10.45am. But a couple of hours of sleep did not quite refresh us after a hideous night of 'standing room only'.

At the suggestion of fellow-travellers, we changed to a smaller train in Koblenz, for a 'must see' 2-1/2 hour side-trip down the Mosel Wine Valley to see the Porta Nigra in Trier.

Some weeks later, we discovered that Trier is located less than five miles from the border of Luxembourg!

Because of our insistence on a hot shower,

we had travelled, often painfully,

for 18 further hours,

only to return to

within walking distance

of our

starting point

!?!

Evidently we'd needed to

get there via "the scenic route"

---...---...--- The Mind Boggles! ---...---...---

by kind courtesy of

http://www.welterbe-trier.de/uploads/pics/porta_aussen_ma2.jpg

Trier is famous for its Porta Nigra, which was one of four city gates, constructed during ancient Roman times. The graphic shows the existing "Black Gate" (in dark grey) and the rest of the structure, as it looked when built between 186 and 200 AD.

Once our train had pulled into the station at 4pm, we both raced out to see the sites.
by kind courtesy of
http://carverphoto.wordpress.com/2011/03/03/kunstgeschichte/

Rococco RC Church

After the Porta Nigra, we stopped in to admire the Rococo decor at St Paulin's church.

Then we ate a very German supper of sauerkraut and sausage, washed down with some bottled water. I quickly learned that if you asked for a glass of water (in 1976) in Germany, you would be handed a glass of seltzer water.

by kind courtesy of www.yumsugar.com

With precious little time to spare, Donna and I stepped into Germany's equivalent of a 'corner store' to buy some ice cold cokes for the journey back to Koblenz.

The Coke bottle handed to me had evidently been put into the freezer section because, when I tried to open it, it exploded all over me.

by kind courtesy of

http://images.ientrymail.com/tutorialsbeware/www/tutorial/thechuck/coke.jpg

Both Donna and the shop attendant howled with laughter at the look of shock and horror on my face. And I remember thinking, briefly, how nice it was that Donna could laugh, even if it were at my expense.

I, alone, was NOT amused for I, alone, had rapidly warming coke dripping from my hair and eyelashes. It also ran down my face, to soak the entire front of my blue dress and open-toed leather shoes.

This sticky, nasty mess necessitated a complete, immediate and speedy wash-down, if we were to board our return train on time. I accomplished this feat in the tiny, and less than sanitary, wash-basin, which was situated at the back of the shop.

I removed and washed my dress, squeezing it dry between the available towels. Then, after rinsing as much of the soda as possible from my hair, body and shoes, I gingerly pulled the still sopping garment over my head and onto my body.

While this was a normal occurrence for me - in a dry dress - that wet dress fabric clung to my form. If you've ever tried to wriggle out of a wet swimsuit, you'll have an idea of the challenge I faced.

We had a train to catch,

there simply wasn't time

to wait for my dress to dry!

by kind courtesy of

http://sovereignlogos.wordpress.com/2012/09/28/coke-pepsi-and-the-gospel-by-davey-ermold/

Feeling like a bedraggled urchin, in ruined shoes, I summoned my dignity to request, a replacement coke. Then, with wet skirt flapping between my thighs, I practically ran out of that hapless place.

Donna, bless her, tried very hard not to chuckle at my continuing misfortune. But the sales lady showed no mercy as she merrily chortled away.....such a cruel, wicked woman!

Okay, I admit my wet shoes did squeak like a mouse as I slithered sideways with every step I took! Wet high heels (in 1976) were notoriously unstable, especially when one walked very quickly in them. So, as I could no go barefoot in Trier, I merely attempted to slither and slide with dignity.

This day had been tediously long, hot and beyond bizarre. But at least I was finally clean(ish) as well as a lot cooler than I'd expected to be! What did it matter if my dress flapped like a demented chicken with my every footstep?

by kind courtesy of

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Riesling_Kabinett_1975_in_glass.jpg

Our return journey from Trier to Koblenz was, happily, a great deal quicker than our outward journey, which had stopped at every single village along the Mosel Valley.

After my rude baptism by Coke, I slept in my wet dress for a further 1-1/2 hours before we reached our destination for that night. While I slept, my dress dried into a rumpled mess that wouldn't be considered fashionable for several more decades.

But, one doesn't associate with models without learning a thing or two about presentation. So I wore my crumpled wreck of a garment as if it were a Givenchy original! Mother would have been SO proud of me!

Donna and I had been anticipating a cold glass of Reisling in the relative quiet of our hotel in Koblenz. But we arrived in the city at 8pm, to discover that there were NO inexpensive hotels in Koblenz, nor even a Pension that would fit our meagre budget.

Our only option for that night was the Youth Hotel. But first we had to discover its location and the road that would get us from here to there. Eventually, a local couple guided us towards the Koblenz Youth Hostel. Another hailed a kindly bus driver, who took pity on two travel-worn females. We were standing by the side of the road, shocked by our first sight of the impossibly steep hill we'd have to scale to reach it.

It's my guess that our driver was used to rescuing damsels in distress, since he refused to charge us for the ride. A few minutes later, he stopped to let us off at the bottom of hill on the road that led to the hostel.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.loreley-info.com/images/burgen/ehrenbreitstein.jpg

The Koblenz Hostel was, at that time, housed in the Ehrenbreitstein Fortress, whose steep-sided hill looked even more daunting in the waning light.

It took all of Donna's and my remaining mental and physical strength to climb that hill, whilst still wearing our backpacks.

We arrived at the entrance well before the 9 pm curfew. Unbelievably, the outer gates of the hostel had already been locked, effectively shutting Donna and me outside for yet another night.

Something inside me snapped -

to quote Popeye the Sailor Man

by kind courtesy of

http://i.perezhilton.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/03/popeye46704__oPt.jpg

"That's all I can stands, cuz I can't stands n'more!"

We had travelled through 4 countries,
with different currencies, immigration and customs,

So I was determined to sleep horizontally that night.

In a bed that didn't shake!

In the previous 24 hours I had:

endured a heatwave in Paris with Donna

refused a cold-water hotel room in Luxembourg

slept standing upright in an overcrowded, overdue train

missed a planned train connection North from Basel (a blessing in disguise)

enjoyed several hours aboard the luxurious Trans European Express to Koblenz

travelled the Mosel Wine Valley to Trier to see an historical site that turned out to be less than one hour's walk from our Luxembourg starting point of the previous night!

experienced being forcibly shampooed by an exploding coke bottle

washed my soda-soaked self and dress in a filthy shop bathroom

tried to find humour in walking about publicly in a sopping wet dress

negotiated a steep cliff climb to a refuge only to discover it had CLOSED??!!

Much to Donna's chagrin, I pounded on those heavy wooden doors with my bare fists, all the while wailing that I would not stop creating a disturbance, until they let us both in. Had the ground opened and swallowed Donna whole, I think she would have been grateful to escape the embarrassment. I, myself, was beyond such qualms.

It took 20 minutes for someone in authority to respond, by which time I was tired and quite hoarse!

A sour faced woman led Donna and me to beds in different rooms, giving Donna refuge in the quieter adult room. I didn't care. At least tonight we would both sleep.

After brushing my teeth, and washing the remaining sticky Coke from my person, I was ready for sleep. That's when I discovered that my bunk was situated in a large room filled with giggling 10-year old English schoolgirls.

It was, apparently, the only bed available for me, but I didn't mind. The girls reminded me of when my sisters were little. I was extremely tired and very grateful I had earplugs!

Too tired to care what my pint-sized roommates were saying or doing, I caught only a snippet of their conversation as I pushed earplugs home for the night.

....she just successfully

infiltrated a German fortress!

that was way cool to hear from 10-year olds!

I smiled to myself as I fell asleep. It had been a bizarrely busy and embarrassing day. But weI was thankful that I was strong, well-balanced and healthy enough to be able to handle it all. I was looking forward confidently, to the rest of my European Grand Tour.

After 22 hours of continuous travel, with its delays, missed connections, sight-seeing and exploding soda bottle, Donna and I deserved to sleep like a logs. And we did. And - though that glorious night's rest should have prepared us both for a leisurely Sunday Cruise up the Rhine River -

my personal Rhine Cruise experience

was to destined to be anything but leisurely!

NEXT WEEK!

GERMANY

Rhine Cruise Surprises

German Beer, Brats & Bavarian Music

Sunstroke Solutions

Angels to the rescue

Train to Stuttgart

Hotel Wahr, Stuttgart

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE
July 4-5 GERMANY

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: June 30-July 1 France

2013-05-17T00:00:00.000-07:00

Wednesday June 30
EURAIL TO PARIS

by kind courtesy of\
http://scotterb.files.wordpress.com/2012/09/compartments.jpg

During the journey southwards, I passed the time by chatting with an American, named Bill, and a Japenese fellow with an unpronouncable name.

Bill and I discussed his girl, marriage, Astrology and Danish smorrebrod. He departed at Hamburg.

The man from Japan and I then shared a pleasant but technically difficult conversation for a few hours. Luckily, he carried a Japanese-English dictionary. Afterwards we put up the armrests and stretched horizontally across 3 seats each, in our compartment. We then enjoyed blissfully uninterrupted sleep, except when woken by 4 passport and 6 ticket checkpoints.

Donna met my train at Gare du Nord at 10am. She complained bitterly about her solo night in Paris, having worked herself up to near hysteria, whilst awaiting my arrival. I heard snatches of "Rip-off City" and how she had spent $27 on one meal and the 'rental' of a sub-standard bed for a single night in a shady area of town.

My overriding focus was not, however, on Donna's meltdown but on getting myself a much-needed drink of water. My overnight train had run out of drinking water long before we'd arrived in Paris. So, I was far too thirsty to do more than listen to Donna, whilst watching for fall-out.

She soon attracted uniformed attention on the platform, so I walked Donna, my thirsty self and my backpack, briskly towards the exit. By the time Donna had run out of steam we were both standing outside Paris' Gare du Nord station.

by kind courtesy of

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Gare_du_Nord_Paris.jpg

Gently nudging my psychically wounded companion towards a place likely to sell soft drinks, I was finally able to quench my thirst. Only then was I able to de-fuse the situation, by talking Donna out of getting a taxi to Orly Airport in order to catch the next flight back to Vancouver.

Truth be told, I was sorely tempted to hail an airport cab for her, myself. But, I understood that Donna was only feeling spooked by the big city and its demands. And since I had been the one who had insisted that she try to manage alone, I now felt somewhat responsible that she'd endured such a miserable introduction to Paris.

It was difficult for me, then a confirmed city girl, to realize just how vulnerable, and out of her depth, a practical country girl really can feel in the bigger cities. Not everyone adjusts to city situations at lightning speed, as I had grown up doing. And Donna's Circadian rhythms were clearly better attuned to country life than to the insane hustle and bustle of a metropolis.

It was thus up to me to calm Donna down and prevent her from making an erroneous and irrevocable decision about her once-in-a-lifetime trip. And since one has always to live with oneself, I chose to take the high road rather than risk creating regrets later on. Though I was neither fond of, nor even particularly liked, Donna, helping her regain equilibrium was just the right thing to do.

The temperature approached 100F (40C) that day, far too hot for strife and contention. So, with Donna keeping pace, and without a single clue of where we would sleep that night, I strode, confidently, southwards.

It was good to walk on terra firma again, after spending 19 hours in a rocking train. Donna was silent for the hour or so that we walked through Paris to find a Pension near Luxembourg Gardens.

Our room was small, dark and airless, had no air conditioning and its solitary ceiling fan offered only the sparsest relief. We had to share a toilet with anonymous others in the pension. But that room was affordable on our $10-a-day budget - at least for a couple of days. Plus it did have its very own washbasin and bidet and it looked out over a pretty garden in the shady courtyard below.

Something about this area of Paris gave me comfort, and a sense of knowing and belonging. It was odd since I had no recollection of visiting there before. Yet the feeling persisted. And my feet had brought me here without hesitation. Perhaps they knew better than I what this place meant to me?

My 'knowing' was not to be confirmed until a few days after my entire European adventure ended, while I was relating my Parisian adventures to my Mother, in her home in England.

I knew that my parents had emigrated from India to Paris when I was barely a toddler. What I had NOT known was in which area of Paris they had made a home. So, when I described Donna's and my Pension, my Mother, at once, recognized the address. Our hotel room lay directly across the courtyard from the lodgings I had shared with my parents, 25 years earlier.

Without conscious knowledge, I had found

- and was then gazing upon -

the very same courtyard in

which I'd played as a baby.

HOW COOL IS THAT?!

This black and white picture of me standing on the balcony of
our Luxembourg Gardens lodgings was taken by
my Father on our arrival in Paris in 1950

Silently, I smiled an ecstatic thank you to my angels for awakening a timely spacial memory in me in such an unexpected way. While I focussed on preventing Donna from panicking and getting us both away from Gare du Nord, my ego was effectively in 'neutral', and I was doing nothing, 'energetically-speaking', that interfered with the unfolding of a small miracle.

My angels had used my meagre compassion plus my 'take charge' attitude, regarding Donna and her needs, to lead me back - in time as well as space - to where I might re-visit my younger, more vulnerable and tender self. Why? To re-ignite and expand my capacity for compassion.

I knew all this to be true, in all its complex simplicity, in less than an instant. Since being struck by lighting as a small child I had had many such 'revelations' - or upgrades, as I like to think of them.

I would dearly treasure this new "upgrade" in days to come, when the rigours of continuous travelling exacted a punishing physical toll from Donna - and, in a different way, also from me.

In our Parisian Pension, Donna and I freshened up and changed, quickly, into shorts, sandals and tank tops. Then we exchanged our 'steam-bath' of a room for the Rue de Rivoli and the relative coolness of a 3-hour city air-conditioned city bus tour.

The trouble with 70's air conditioning is that it could only lower the temperature inside the bus by about 10 degrees Celsius, compared with the outside temperature. And on that day, the outside temperature was already well beyond 40C!

PRESS HERE for a modern 'open top' bus tour of Paris

photo by kind courtesy of www.bigbustours.com

I had taken a similar ride 4 years before en route back to UK from Morocco. We had been short of time then, and the weather was a good deal cooler, so we'd not left the bus at all.

This time, I was determined to leave the bus, along the way, and spend some time visiting a few of the sights. It was the best way I knew to soak in the atmosphere of a place.

After a wonderfully long and explorative bus ride, we both sauntered back towards Gare du Nord, to collect Donna's pack.

In my haste to steer her away from the station, that morning, I hadn't realized she'd stowed her backpack in a locker, prior to meeting me on the platform. She insisted that she had, but that I hadn't seemed to hear her.

Ooops...perhaps I should have listened more closely to Donna's litany of complaints?! So, now I would pay for my decision to ignore them, and dutifully accompany her to reclaim it. Fair's fair and one lives and learns, but did this latter lesson have to take place on what was surely the hottest day on record in this Parisian summer?

Ah but when you're crazy, what's another trek

through the sauna that was Paris that day?

Back at the hotel, Donna and I both drank gallons of bottled water, in lieu of food, since it was way too hot to imbibe anything solid. After a few hours' nap, we changed into dresses and heels for a sedate evening cruise up the Seine on the "Bateau Mouche".

PRESS HERE for information on Bateau Mouche

It was a perfect evening, warm and sultry. And Donna seemed, finally, to be enjoying herself in Paris. How could one resist being seduced by all the attractions along the Seine, bathed in glittering lights? What a romantic ride that cruise would have been in the company of "Mr Right".

It was almost 11pm by the end of our Bateau Mouche tour. Mercifully, the heat had abated sufficiently for us to walk UP the Champs Elysees towards the Arc de Triomphe.

by kind courtesy of
commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Avenue_des_Champs-%C3%89lys%C3%A9es_July_24,_2009_N2.jpg

Slightly ahead of us strode two lone males, who turned around, and waited for us to catch up with them, when they heard the clicking of our heels on the pavement. I was surprised by how very quiet the streets of Paris were, an hour before midnight.
photo by kind courtesy of http://www.inspiredinfrance.com

Walking a few blocks together, we discovered that our companions were both from the USA. They claimed to be chefs who owned their own restaurants in Indiana. Yet, on the road - or rail - one can claim to be anything one wants. It isn't necessarily true. And I had already learned to be polite, but accept nothing as reality unless it bears scrutiny.

To prove their culinary prowess to Donna and me, the two men invited us to dine with them in the shadow of the Arc de Triomphe. Our budget did not extend to such luxuries, so we were hesitant about accepting. But the delicious aromas wafting from the restaurant plus our hosts's insistence on footing the entire bill, sealed the deal for both of us. The magic of Paris made us throw caution to the wind as we smiled and said: "Mais oui, merci"

Thursday July 1
Out on the town in PARIS

Supper was superb, and our hosts were courteous, cheerful and flirtatious as well as very knowledgeable in a culinary sense. We enjoyed the luxury of speaking English to others who understood the same idioms. It was close to 1am when the pair took us dancing in a club off the Champs Elysee. There, when asked, I requested champagne. And we all toasted to Paris!

by kind courtesy of

http://www.unlockparis.com/2011/05/ritz-bar-terrasse.html

Everyone was having a great time, dancing and chatting, till the bill arrived. Tom was charged a whopping $75 for a single bottle of Champagne - and we'd all eventually consumed two magnums! Tom proceeded to get seething mad with me for having had the temerity to request Champagne in Paris!

My view was if he hadn't wanted to pay for it, he shouldn't have ordered it. But I could see Tom was way too angry for a logical argument. So I suggested dancing might help him find his balance again - literally and otherwise.

We danced for an hour or so, but the atmosphere was far from joyful. Tom's mood remained dour till he took my hand, and, without explanation, pulled me off the dance floor. Then casually announcing that we were going for a walk, he practically dragged me around the block and into a nearby hotel.

My turn to seethe!

Who the *&^% did he think he was??

While I certainly felt bad about the awkward situation that had shaken Tom to his core, I was not about to single-handedly make him 'feel better'. On the other hand, I did feel badly for my part in creating Tom's obvious stress.

He and his friend had given Donna and me a wonderful memory of a summer's night in Paris. We had feasted and enjoyed a good few laughs at the restaurant and club last night.

So, I put my own anger on hold to help my new friend. Ordering him to sit astride a chair, leaning forward against the seat-back, I quietened him down by giving him a back, neck and head massage. It worked like a charm because Tom's rage had exhausted him and he had quickly fallen fast asleep. So I covered him with a blanket and let him sleep.

by kind courtesy of www.getfitwithmelody.org

Twice in 24 hours I'd had to de-fuse a

situation I'd unintentionally
helped to create.

Obviously, something was trying to get me to pay closer attention to conversations, but I would need to do so later.

At that moment, I needed only to find Donna and make sure she was safe. Quietly evacuating the hotel, I retraced my steps to the dance club. But the club had closed and Donna was nowhere to be found. I sincerely hoped she had made it back to the Pension.

It was dawn and I needed to return to Luxembourg Gardens. So I walked DOWN the Champs Elysees on the shady side of the street, avoiding the sun, even at that hour. My clicking heels created a staccato beat that accompanied the early morning birdsong.

The sun was already warm, promising yet another sultry hot day. Blousy Parisian women "d'un certain âge", who might have stepped out of a movie set, were already on their knees, vigorously scrubbing their red door stoops. They grinned up at me 'knowingly' and bid me "bonjour" as I passed. I smiled back, and bid them a cheerful "bonjour" back again, allowing them their amorous fantasy of my 'nuit d'amour' in Paris!

by kind courtesy of

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Champs_Elys%C3%A9es_trees.jpg

Eventually the beautiful old horse chestnut trees that shaded the dusty, walking path across the road beckoned, so I crossed the street.

That morning I was accompanied by cheery birdsong, sunshine and the whisper of a breeze through those wonderful old trees. At the end of the Champs Elysees, I caught the early morning metro towards Luxembourg Gardens and our hotel.

Donna was, thankfully, at the Pension when I got there, having been escorted 'home' by her dinner date. She looked both relieved and irritated to see me. And I surmised from her expression that she hadn't been impressed when I'd left the nightclub without her.

Since I was far too tired to coherently explain myself, I didn't even try. Instead, I used the bidet creatively to give myself a reverse shower. I then opted to air-dry my body on top of a towel on the bed, beneath the laziest ceiling fan ever made.

At dinner, the previous evening, Donna and I had loosely agreed to spend Canada Day (July 1) with Tom and his friend. We were to meet them in the queue outside the Louvre Museum. We did go there, after I'd reluctantly dressed. But the crowds and soaring temperatures convinced us that it was just too hot to stand in any line up - even one that led to the Mona Lisa. Besides, I was reasonably sure I never wanted to see Tom again.

by kind courtesy of

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Mona_Lisa.jpg

The heat was merciless and, although it was only lunchtime had exhausted us both. So we chose to return to the Pension, where we slept during the heat of the day. Our plan made perfect sense!

In the cool of our CANADA DAY evening, Donna and I 'celebrated' by washing our clothes in our tiny sink. Incredibly, they took less than half an hour to to dry on a make-shift clothes line strung across the room.
by kind courtesy of
http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxutz5rQ0E1r3c79uo1_500.jpg

It was while writing postcards that I discovered my address book was missing. My camera was safe, but two rolls of used film were also missing. Those pictures documented my amazing week of activities in Scandinavia, along with my new friends, the sights I'd seen, and even photos of an elderly relative I'd probably never see again. I was beyond heartbroken! How could this have happened?

Mon Dieu!

Who would take such specific items?

NEXT WEEK!

PARIS - GERMANY
via LUXEMBOURG
Paris:
The Difficult Decision
The Eiffel Tower

Luxembourg:
The Great Un-Welcome
The Not-So-Great Train Robbery

Germany:

Mosel Wine Valley
Ancient Roman Ruins in Trier
Explosion in Trier
Trial and Tribulation in Koblenz

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE
July 2-3 PARIS, FRANCE

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: June 27-29 Denmark

2013-05-10T00:00:00.000-07:00

Sunday June 27
COPENHAGEN

The day dawned clear, bright and warm. By 9am, the temperature was already in the high 76 F (23C) so I chose to wear a sleeveless blue-printed cotton dress and my navy blue sling-backs. I knew I could walk in comfort all day in those medium-heeled shoes, if need be. And should I require a shade hat for my blue-black locks, I would purchase one at Tivoli.

It was important, to me, that I looked good for my very first 'date' in Denmark. Teeth brushed, hair neat, no perfume, just gold ear studs, gold and blue filigree ring, and a thin gold and blue bangle as jewelery. I carried very little in my purse: kleenex, a comb, lipstick, my EurRail pass, my doorkey for later plus a few Danish krone for refreshments, or that sunhat. I felt light, bright and happy, anticipating a day of new adventures with a new friend.

I breakfasted lightly, partly because the day's heat was already building, and partly because of the 'butterflies' in my stomach.

by kind courtesy of

http://lilienthalusa.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/butterflies_stomach-940x626.jpg

Leaving Auntie Stine and Donna deliberating their Sunday schedule together, I caught the train to Copenhagen, eager to begin my day with Erik.

He was standing on the station platform when I arrived, but would not tell me his plans. He promised that my day would unfold like a flower eager for Denmark's friendly sunshine.

Who could resist such a promise?

Copenhagen is Northern Europe's cosiest capital, packed with cafes, shops and the best restaurant in Scandinavia. From the winding streets of the beautiful old town and grand royal palaces to the city's cutting-edge buildings and attractions, Copenhagen is the perfect blend of old world and new.

To start our day right, Erik treated me to a
Canal tour of Copenhagen

by courtesy of

http://www.stromma.dk/en/SIGHTSEEING-TOURS/The-grand-tour-fr-Nyhavn

Departing from Nyhavn, our guided tour, conducted in both Danish and English, took us around the harbour and through the idyllic canals, past Copenhagen's beuatiful churches, castles, old listed houses, new buildings and all the other sites of interest.

It warmed my heart to know that Erik had been listening carefully when I'd confessed a love of architecture and antiquities and had then chosen this particular tour specifically for me.

After leaving the canal tour, we took a short walk to Langelinie Quay to see The Little Mermaid statue that was inspired by Hans Christian Andersen's story.

by kind courtesy of memoirofamermaid.com

We also stopped near Langelinie Quay for a cooling drink and to collect refreshments for later, then explored Copenhagen's suburban S-train network. This train sysem connects the city centre with the suburbs of Copenhagen, and trains depart every 10 to 20 minute, making it an easy and efficient choice when you need to cover distances.

Disembarking near a large shaded area, we chose an area under the comparative coolness of the tree canopy closer to the river bank. Many others had apparently had the very same idea that day since the park was filled with people.

Our picnic lunch was simple but filling. So we ate as we conversed, then lay back on the cool grass, watching glints of sunlight playing through the leaves, all the while still chatting.

The noon day temperature soared beyond expectations, and I found myself very grateful for Erik's sensible plan to spend a couple of hours there, quietly relaxing and talking, whilst learning more about each other's lives.

Erik was a divorced man with one small daughter who now lived in Greece. He was an engineer, who had been laid off from his job. But in 1976, in Denmark, he was still able to accrue 95% of his pay through insurance. This enabled him to maintain his home, his family, his dignity and even some of his whims. Danish labour laws must have worked well for him, because Erik was the most generous and laid-back laid-off person I'd ever met!

We were both very conscious of the preciousness of our sudden encounter. We were strangers, living several thousand miles apart. So we knew that we would probably never meet again. And, though sad, knowing that our time together was limited, upgraded the intensity, quality and content of that afternoon's conversation for both of us.

Time simultaneously stretched and shrank, as both of our minds busily quested for more knowledge. Erik and I ferretted out details about each other's lives with vigour and purpose, as if we meant to hold them as memory treasures that would provide an emotional bulwark for dark days ahead.

In those rare moments of silence between us, I felt as if I were a fisherman's wife, waiting for the fleet to return home with their night's catch. It was an unexpected and poignant 'imagining' for so simple an afternoon's chat! But I didn't have time to ponder the ramifications of why it has arisen until much, much later.

Before leaving that riverbank, we had investigated topics ranging from architecture to astronomy, zoos to zahleas, electronics to extra-terrestrials. Everything and anything was open for discussion.

by kind courtesy of http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1004/1337887265_76677d0526.jpg

We had laughed joyfully with the innocence and spontaneity of best-friend 8-year olds in a playground. I could almost see us and hear echoes of us in that long-ago scenario - but the details were faint, as if viewed and heard through a fog. The experience, itself, arrived so unexpectedly that it was disorienting and left me feeling a bit dizzy.

About 5pm, our stomachs began to growl and the mercury had mercifully dipped below 25C. So we returned to Tivoli via the S-train, where Erik treated me to a fantastic meal eaten outdoors on tables with white cloths and lit candles.

by kind courtesy of

http://funfixins.com/gallery/?level=picture&id=365

The Danes are famous for the 'hygge' - a perfect concept for a romantic dinner, creating atmosphere by lighting some candles and making sure you are comfortable.

excerpt taken from

http://www.visitcopenhagen.com/eat-and-drink/romantic-restaurants

Erik was attentive and considerate through our relaxed and romantic supper completed with a bottle of Niersteiner. But the endless Scandinavian summer sunset soon beckoned us both to the water, and more specifically Amager Beach.

You don't have to look far for great beaches in Denmark as the Danish coastline itself is a long sandy beach. However, there are some popular beaches in certain areas of Denmark that simply overshadow all others, with their superb water quality, safety and facilities.
excerpt taken from
http://goscandinavia.about.com/od/thingstodo/tp/scandinavianbeaches.htm

We strolled along Amager Strandpark, the beach right outside Copenhagen, that is easily reached and today has a view across the Oresund Sound to Sweden. When we were there, the bridge had yet to be built.

by kind courtesy of http://s3-media2.ak.yelpcdn.com/bphoto/-rM0Ms7hJIBJytcuX6llug/l.jpg

After a scorching 32C (95F) day, we treated our over-heated bodies to a leisurely swim in Amager's surprisingly cool waters.

This beach had soft white sand with tufts of grass growing out of it, in low dunes, separating swimming from walking areas. This made Amager a very private area in which to relax, especially at night. Having no swimsuit, I stripped down to my undies, while Erik un-selfconsciously ran into the water butt naked.

Having cooled down our bodies, we returned to beach to let the off-shore breezes dry us while we searched for the evening's first stars and listened to Abba singing "Fernando" on Erik's transistor radio. Bliss! Then, all too soon, the sky darkened slightly and our day ended. I was a sad moment, when Erik escorted me to the station to again catch the last train of the day back to Helsingor.

Monday June 28
JULEBEK BEACH
Another scorching Scandinavian summer's day dawned hot and clear. I breakfasted with Donna and-Auntie Stine, for the last time. Then Erik phoned, asking me to bring my backpack and meet him at Helsingør station. How intriguing! I'd thought we'd already said our goodbyes the previous evening. But Erik, apparently, had other plans for us.

So Donna and I both left, with our backpacks bound for the lockers at Helsingør station. She and Auntie Stine would stay in town, as Donna wanted to buy souvenirs there. Later that afternoon, Donna and I were scheduled to leave Denmark for Paris by the overnight train.

Erik greeted Auntie Stine and Donna politely, and assured them both that he'd get me to the Paris train on time. Then whisked me away to another train for a short journey to Julebek Beach, about 4km west of Helsingør.

In 1976, the local train dropped you off near a small beech tree forest, that separted the beach from the tracks. One had to hike about 200 yards to the beach itself. The area has since grown, and the forest has, no doubt, matured. But Julebek remains a pretty, sandy beach that faces north-east, across Oresund towards Sweden.

Despite Erik's stellar human companionship, the sand flies and biting mosquitoes shortened the length of time we had intended to stay at this beach. Those insects had flustered us so much, that we accidentally caught the train going in the opposite direction from Helsingør. By the time we discovered and rectified our mistake, we both knew I would not be on time for my connection to Copenhagen for the Paris train.

Before returning to Helsingør, I phoned Auntie Stine's home to apologize for worrying her and also to let Donna know about my change of plans. Donna was most unwilling to do so, but I urged her to catch the Paris train without me, that very evening. I promised to meet her at Paris Nord station, 24-hours after she, herself would arrive there. Surely she could manage one single day without me!?

Somehow, the Norse gods had

arranged that Erik and I should

enjoy one final glorious evening together

I was not about to refuse their gift.

Erik then spoke to Auntie Stine in Danish, convincing her that - next evening - he would make sure I made the Paris train. By the look on his face, I am certain Auntie Stine had some strong words for him!

Temporarily released from all our obligations, Erik and I retrieved my backpack, then headed inland to Hillerød where we booked into two rooms in a bed and breakfast on the edge of town. By then it was late afternoon, but not yet time for supper.

Erik led me to the lake, where we enjoyed a magical boat ride, in a swan-shaped boat, to see the exterior of Fredericksborg Castle. Built as a royal residence for King Christian IV, this castle is now a museum of national history. The current edifice replaced a previous castle erected by Frederick II and is the largest Renaissance palace in Scandinavia. The palace is located on three small islands in the middle of Palace Lake (Slotsøen) and is adjoined by a large formal garden in the Baroque style.

above excerpt from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Frederiksborg_Palace

by kind courtesy of

http://grandcanyon.free.fr/images/chateau/original/Frederiksborg%20Castle,%20Hillerod,%20Denmark.jpg

After the romantic boat ride, Erik and I strolled arm in arm, in the direction of our B&B, enjoying a delightful supper in a secluded bistro along the way.

Upon arriving at the B&B, we entered the garden, where we chatted till just before midnight. Then, hungry again, we walked a few blocks to find a a local inn where we gorged on midnight smor brod and beer.

Tuesday June 29 HILLERøD
After breakfast, we vacated our lodgings then Erik escorted me around Fredericksborg Castle with the finesse of a tour guide.

He presented each grand room, as if it were his very own, giving me a potted history of its main events and characters. Even though English was a foreign language to him, Erik's words and explanations made our 'private' tour come alive for me. But the highlight of the visit happened when Erik asked me to close my eyes, then led me to the entrance of the grand room, where I re-opened them.

by kind courtesy of http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/frederiksborg?language=fr_FR

Before me was an enormous room, with groined vaulting, carved chests and cabinets. The Knight's Hall was a grand hall decorated by large portraits of Christian IX and other Danish kings, and lit by tall windows. It had originally been designed as a Ballroom, above the castle church. But to my eye, it still looked more like a ballroom.

excerpt taken from http://www.planetware.com/hillerod/frederiksborg-castle-dk-z-hilf.htm

by kind courtesy of http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lzit2du3dr1qiz8nio1_500.jpg

With a dramatic, flourishing bow, Erik asked me to dance with him. I curtsied my reply whereupon he led me onto the floor beneath that magnificent ceiling with its enormous crystal chandeliers.

Then, unexpectedly, he hummed a Mozart melody as we floated together - quite alone - over those intricately inlaid floor. His eyes never left mine for a moment, and I knew that we were each creating a memory here that would last us a lifetime (Mine certainly has!)

Too soon, we had to make our way back to Copenhagen, via Helsingor. Though I was in good time for the Paris train, there were no more couchettes available for rent. I did not relish having to endure the 19-hour ride sitting upright for the entire journey. But at least I had a seat!

Erik insisted on accompanying me onto the train and finding me an empty compartment. Not wanting me to wait there alone, he made sure my back pack was safely stowed, but only after I'd relieved it of my towel, bath bag and essential overnight gear. Then we sat holding hands together, in comfortable silence, looking out at the skyline of Copenhagen till the guards announced the train's imminent departure.

He stood on the station platform, waving goodbye for the entire time it took my train to completely navigate the long, slow 90-degree bend out of Copenhagen station. It was such a sweet gesture that I finally broke down sobbing, knowing that Erik had been my own courtly knight who had gone to amazing lengths to give me the most romantic and interesting weekend of my life.

Tusind tak for en fantastisk weekend, Erik.

Jeg vil aldrig glemme dig!

NEXT WEEK!

June 30 - July 1
FRANCE

Train journey to Paris

Donna's Meltdown

Luxembourg Gardens Pension
Bus Tour

Paris by night

Bateau Mouche
Midnight dining

Nightclubbing in Paris

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE
June 30-July 1 PARIS, FRANCE

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: June 25-26 Denmark: Helsingør and Copenhagen

2013-05-03T00:00:00.000-07:00

Friday June 25
HELSINGøR and COPENHAGEN

Bruised and a weary but alive, we arrived in Copenhagen, where we changed from the International train to a Danish train. We had been invited to spend the weekend with an elderly female relative of mine in Helsingør, which is situated on the north east coast of the island of Zealand in eastern Denmark

by kind courtesy of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helsing%C3%B8r

Donna and I eventually arrived at "Auntie" Stine's home around noon. She lived close enough to town to be near shops, yet far enough away from it to escape uninvited tourists. Auntie had prepared a tasty Danish brunch of open-faced sandwiches for us, from dark rye bread, unsalted butter, pickled herring, cold cuts and her own home grown vegetables and herbs. After so much eating on the run, and picnicking in trains, it felt really good to sit still at a table to eat and eat a real meal.

And what a delicious spread it was too!

by kind courtesy of http://www.wonderful-denmark.com/Danish-food.html

After lunch, Donna summoned what was left of her energy to take a trip back to Copenhagen in order to research her family genealogy in Copenhagen.

I stayed behind, to chat with Auntie Stine and help clean up the dishes after lunch. Then I took a long relaxing hot shower, tidied up my backpack and strolled around my Auntie's pretty flower garden, while she tried to teach me the Danish names of some very familiar blooms. It was a special shared time with a genteel lady, in her peaceful and serene garden that totally soothed my soul.

Slowly but surely, Auntie Stine led us both toward her cosy garden summerhouse, where, over cups of hot tea, we shared a long chat about our family members, who had moved to England. But by 4pm, my mind and body, having endured too many sleepless nights, now demanded immediate sleep.

Though I tried desperately to stifled my yawns, Auntie noticed and instantly cleared away our cups and saucers, while insisting that I stay there and nap. Lying down in her pretty summerhouse in its garden setting, with the delightful scent of pansies, and with birdsong wafting through the open windows, made it easy for me to sleep like a baby.

by kind courtesy of www.naturesrights.com

Donna had not yet returned to Helsingør by the time Auntie Stine and I ate supper together at 6pm. So, after the dishes were done, I left for Copenhagen excited to experience the magic and promise of Tivoli on my own.

by kind courtesy of

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Kopenhaga_tivoli_jan2004_ubt.jpeg

Tivoli Gardens is more than a Danish amusement park. It is equally as popular as a place to go dining and people-watching. In the seventies, several different types of public dance venues were also offered as specific sites around Tivoli

by kind courtesy of

http://www.fotovoyager.com/istock/lightbox_copenhagen.jpg

by kind courtesy of

http://media-cdn.tripadvisor.com/media/photo-s/01/0b/72/83/the-castel-in-tivoli.jpg

This 21-acre park is beautifully landscaped with fountains and flower beds containing half a million colourful flowers. At night, thousands of custom-designed lights illuminate the park, giving it the holiday feel of a European Disneyland.

by kind courtesy of
http://images.nikonians.org/galleries/data
/500/105057Tivoli-Gardens-Denmark.jpg

It was a balmy, warm Friday night in summer, in Copenhagen, and I was young, single and female. So, it was inevitible that someone would speak to me! All I had to do was wait.

He stood next to me when I stopped to watch two swans swimming on a man-made pond, with their babies. And for a little while, he watched them with me. Then (in English), he asked me what baby swans were called in English. Initially, mesmerized by the magical surroundings, and Erik's Scandinavian good looks, I temporarily forgot that the offspring of swans are cygnets.
by kind courtesy of
http://www.dannygreenphotography.com/media/Iceland%20Gallery/Whooper%20Swan%20and%20Cygnets.jpg

Amused by my flustered state, Erik pressed his advantage, and asked if he could take me dancing. Having slept well that afternoon, my train travel aches and pains now a distant memory. I happily agreed. He took me to a discotheque inside Tivoli, where we enjoyed an evening of loud music, shouted conversations, furious dancing and cold drinks.

After making an official date to meet Donna and me inside Tivoli for drinks the following evening, Erik gallantly escorted me to the Helsingør train. An hour later, I caught a taxi to Auntie Stine's home, arriving quietly at 1.15am. Donna had returned earlier and so was fast asleep by the time I returned. Sleep came easily that night. It seems my body had needed the exercise of Disco dancing!

Saturday June 26 KRONBORG CASTLE and COPENHAGEN
In the morning, I washed some clothes and left them to dry while we breakfasted at Auntie Stine's kitchen table. Afterwards, she announced that she had arranged to take the two of us, plus a picnic lunch, to visit her local tourist trap:

Kronborg Castle
Known all over the world as Elsinor Castle, this Helsingør castle, is the setting for William Shakespeare's tragedy HAMLET, one of the most famous and frequently performed stage plays in the world.

by kind courtesy of
http://billcainonline.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/kronborg-castle-denmark-or-hamlet-castles.jpg

Kronborg Castle was named after King Frederik II in 1577, but its history goes right back to the 1420s, when Erik of Pomerania built the strongly fortified castle known as "Krogen" ("The Hook"). From here the king's men controlled the shipping in the Sound and collected the unpopular Sound Dues.

above excerpt taken from http://www.kronborgcastle.com/en/KronborgsHistorie.aspx

by kind courtesy of
http://www.danishnet.com/photos/b6/kronborg-castle-5.jpg

It was a long visit, involving a lot of walking after which Auntie Stine, Donna and I strolled outside for a picnic lunch on Kronberg Castle's eastern beach. We came upon a large grassy area, where most people had gathered. Beyond, a narrow strip of beach bordered the shallow sea.

Whilst there, we were amused - and a little shocked - to witness full-on Kronberg Castle sex antics. By the water, in broad daylight, an amorous young man and his more than eager young lady were so engrossed in each other that they seemed quite oblivious to the fact that young families were also present, at the beach with them. To their credit, the adult Danes simply ignored the couple. Only the youngest children and I stared at them in complete and utter disbelief! That's just not something you see every day on beaches in Canada!

Lunch was light, nutritious and delicious, as is usual with Scandinavian fare, and Auntie Stine certainly did us proud! Somehow, sea air always seems to ramp up one's appetite. But it also makes one very sleepy. So, we were all ready for a long nap by the time we returned to Auntie's home that afternoon.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.welcome-to-my-copenhagen.com/images/danish_food_head_compos.jpg

Donna and I awoke around 5pm, eager for an evening out on the town. We had intended to eat at Tivoli. But, knowing the prices there would be well beyond our budget, Auntie Stine insisted that we eat a light supper with her, before leaving for the station and our train to Copenhagen.

Upon arrival in the big city, Donna accompanied me to Tivoli and then stuck by my side like glue - for the entire evening. I had hoped that she would be brave enough to risk striding out on her own, after having visited Copenhagen by herself the previous day. But Donna had grown up in a small village and was not as used to large cities as I was. She thus needed the reassurance of my company.

Erik met us both at the pre-arranged outdoor Tivoli drinking place, that served cold pitchers of beer along with individual glasses of wine. He had erroneously concluded that Donna was my 'chaperone Auntie', with whom we were staying, and about whom I'd told him the previous night. He thus graciously provided us both with wine for the entire evening.

by kind courtesy of http://www.thelocal.se/articleImages/22200.jpg

Unfortunately, the free-flowing wine only seemed to amplify Donna's discomfort, as all she had to offer, by way of polite conversation, were her many complaints about travelling with me.

Listening to her comments, I concluded that Donna must have been overwhelmed by the insane pace of our Scandinavian tour. I did, however, feel sad that she seemed unable to relax and enjoy herself in this amazing place designed for light-hearted fun.

We had a further 7 weeks of high-paced travel to enjoy (or endure!) together, and I was quickly becoming apprehensive about how our busy European adventure would unfold.

by kind courtesy of

thisbrowngirl.wordpress.com/2010/07/emerson-quote.jpg?w=560

Most of all, I was perplexed by Donna's insensitivity towards Erik. He had been guilty only of behaving like a real gentleman as he quietly, and generously, footed the bill for our many, many drinks. The wine, however, had revealed a side of Donna I'd not known about, when we had only ever been colleagues.

But my main focus that evening was Erik and what he must have endured. Though his manners were always impeccable, he looked understandably confused by Donna's open irritability towards him.

So, when my travel companion eventually summoned the courage to visit the washroom alone, I took the opportunity to reassure Erik.

I explained that Donna was neither my 'aunt' nor my 'chaperone', but only my travelling companion. Erik's countenance visibly brightened and he immediately moved a little closer to me, sweetly begging me to join him on a solo date, beginning early the following morning. Of course I agreed!

Donna would have to fend for herself! And I would not miss her at all. Nonetheless, I found myself hoping she would spend some time relaxing her body, mind and spirit, in Auntie Stine's garden fragrant summerhouse, that I had so thoroughly enjoyed the previous afternoon. It had been a healing and beautiful place in which to spend a few delicious hours.

Erik dearly wanted to show me around his beloved Copenhagen and I was delighted to go. To be shown around a European city by someone who truly loves living there, is a rare treat, And I suspected that the warm summer weather plus Erik's congenial company would create the kind of magic that might, perhaps, extend beyond one single day.

That special day was going to be filled with charm and magic for both of us. Despite Donna's sour mood, I smiled quietly within myself during our return train journey to Auntie Stine's home.

NEXT WEEK!

DENMARK June 27-29

WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL COPENHAGEN

JULEBEK BEACH

FREDERICKSBORG
CASTLE in HILLEROD

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE June 27-29 DENMARK

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: June 24 Norway

2013-04-26T00:00:00.000-07:00

Thursday June 24
OSLO, NORWAY
At 7.30am we arrived at Oslo East Station, now amalgamated into Sentralstasjon, Oslo's Central Station. Here Donna and I sorted out our finances over a cafe breakfast. It was delicious and just what we had both needed after spending overnight on a train.

We then wasted a frustrating hour, or more, trying to find the Tourist Information Centre, finally locating it, a mile from the station, through a maze of city streets. I sincerely hope that it has since been moved to a more convenient location to Oslo's Central Station - one that tourists can find without needing to be language or cypher experts!

By 9.30am, Donna and I were finally armed with pamphlets, and a map of the city and our earlier frustrations soon evaporated in the excitement of a busily culture-laden day of activities.
Full of youthful enthusiasm and confidence, we headed directly for the Munch Museum to Edvard Munch's masterpiece "The Scream"

Edvard Munch

by kind courtesy of

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Scream

Edvard Munch was never married. But he referred to his paintings as "his children" and could not bear to be parted from them. He lived a solitary life on his estate outside Oslo for the last 27 years of his life. Although his reputations inceased, he chose to remain isolated, surrounding himself with the entire panoply of his lifetime of creations.

When he died in 1944, at the age of 80, the authorities discovered, hidden behind locked doors on the second floor of his house, a collection of 1,008 paintings, 4,443 drawings and 15,391 prints, as well as woodcuts, etchings, lithographs, lithographic stones, woodcut blocks, copperplates and photographs.

The final irony of Munch's life is that today, he is famous as the creator of a single image that has all but obscured his lifelong influence and achievements as a pioneer painter and printmaker.

The Scream is the artist's most famous image. He reproduced it many times, and in different media: painting, drawings and prints. In his diary, in an entry headed, Nice 22 January 1892, Munch described his inspiration for the image:

One evening, I was walking along a path, the city was on one side and the fjord below. I felt tired and ill. I stopped and looked out over the fjord - the sun was setting and the clouds turning blood red. I sensed a scream passing through nature; it seemed to me that I heard the scream. I painted this picture, painted the clouds as actual blood. The colour shrieked. This became The Scream.

the above excerpt taken from:

www.artic.edu/aic/collections/exhibitions/Munch/resource/171

THE SCREAM (press link)
by kind courtesy of http://www.edvard-munch.com/Paintings/anxiety/scream_3.jpg

It was an epic moment for me to be there just feeling the raw emotion of Munch's masterpiece. It was centrally placed, commanding an uninterrupted view from two adjacent directions. Initially, I was surprised by its size, and gazed at it for a long time. The subject matter itself soon commanded all my attention, inexorably drawing me, inviting me to identify with Nature's Scream.

Donna's tap on my shoulder brought me back to reality, reminding me that it was time for us to leave the Munch Gallery, and walk back to the centre of Oslo to see the famous City Hall.

OSLO CITY HALL

photo by kind courtesy of www.ardenwebsales.com

Every year, on December 10, the Nobel Peace Prize is awarded during a ceremony at Oslo's impressive City Hall, a modern structure that captures the history and culture of Norway.

photo by kind courtesy of www.mayang.com

The brick facade of Oslo City Hall is decorated with historical themes. Two tall towers and an enormous clock echo the design of traditional northern-European town halls.

the above excerpt taken from

http://architecture.about.com/od/greatbuildings/ss/OsloCityHall.htm

The warm sunshine beckoned us both outdoors. So after taking in the glorious interior of the Oslo City Hall, we took the tram to

FROGNOR PARK

by kind courtesy of http://oslo-norway.ca/attractions/frognerparken.html

The tram ride was short. And the 26C (82F) sunshine, tempered by a warm breeze, ensured that our extended ramble through Frognor Park was a most enjoyable outdoor experience.

This beautiful urban park in Oslo is where the world-famous Vigelandsparken is situated. The park contains 200 amazing fountains and sculptures created by Gustav Vigeland, that are integrated into the beautiful setting.

Gustav Vigeland (1869-1943) worked on the sculpture park from 1924 until his death in 1943. Frogner Park is a "must-see" for all visitors to Oslo.

As I had done many times in the parks of central London, I shed my shoes and walked barefoot through the soft, cool grass. For the few minutes it took to reach Vigeland's Sculptures, my feet were cool, relaxed and happy. Then it was back to concrete walkways which necessitated sneakers. But seeing Vigeland's epic outdoor exhibit close up was worth all the effort involved in getting there.

VIGELAND SCULPTURES

The Vigeland Sculptures depicts human experience, and expresses through bronze, granite and cast iron, the joys and sorrows, frailty, hardship, hopes and humour of everyday life. Each figure, or group of figures, evocatively depicts human emotion to convey how friendships and family connections create meaning in the Circle of Life.

Vigelandsparken is one of Norway's most visited attractions. The unique sculpture park is the life work of sculptor Gustav Vigeland, who also designed the Nobel Peace Prize Medal. With more than 200 sculptures, in three different media, Vigeland was also responsible for the design and architectural outline of the park: a monumental artistic creation with a human message that is well worth seeing.

above excerpt taken from
http://www.visitoslo.com/en/product/?TLp=181601&Vigeland-Sculpture-Park

photo by kind courtesy of www.activistchat.com

Press here to see more photos of the inspirational Vigeland Sculptures

Frognor Park is so extensive that it took several hours for us to properly appreciate the sculptures. Indeed, we became so engrossed with the massive exhibit that we'd completely missed having lunch. So we decided to take the tram to the town centre, where we enjoyed an early smorbrod supper.

by kind courtesy of scandikitchen.typepad.com

Suitably fortified, Donna and I decided to spend the rest of that afternoon and evening in separate pursuits and meet at the train later. I then caught the ferry to the

Bygdoy Peninsula

home of the Kon-tiki, the raft used by Thor Heyerdhal to sail across the Pacific Ocean.

by kind courtesy of
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Bygd%C3%B8y_lovely.jpg

KON-TIKI

Because I had lingered in Frognor Park, I arrived at the Kon-Tiki with only a few minutes to spare before the exhibit closed for the day.
by kind courtesy of www.kon-tiki.no

I would have dearly liked to spend more time in the presence of Thor Hyerdahl's iconic raft. But revelling in its voyage and adventure was not to be. How quickly time seemed to vanish that day.

Reluctantly leaving the museum at 6.30pm, I rambled along the coastline to the

Norsk Folkemuseum
which is part of the Norsk Museum of Cultural History
by kind courtesy of
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Norsk_folkemuseum_0.jpg

There I saw Norwegian national houses in picturesque village setting, and happily watched lively displays of folk dancing till 8pm

by kind courtesy of
http://www.bestourism.com/img/items/big/7382/Norwegian-Museum-of-Cultural-History_Folk-dances_11484.jpg

Thoroughly exhausted and quite time-disoriented, I left the museum. Then, I climbed a cliff, clambering over rocks like a mountain goat.

Upon arriving at the top of that 'cliff', I inadvertently entered private property and, worse, gate-crashed someone's grand garden party.

by kind courtesy of

http://www.victoriana.com/gardening/images/victorianagardenparty.jpg

Almost a hundred people were gathered in an exquisitely tended garden. Women were dressed in long Victorian laceand wore splendid hats in addition to the obligatory parasol. I thought perhaps a theatre group were practising a play there, till I noticed the lavish spread that had been provided.

Couples and small groups of friends were quietly sharing refreshments at large ornate iron tables that perched at the edge of the manicured lawn. Except for the quantity and style of food upon the table, the entire scene felt more English than Norwegian to me!

My body was living in 1976, yet my mind was witnessing
an idyllic scene from a hundred years earlier.
Was the long Scandinavian summer twilight
playing tricks on my perception of time?
Where was I?
Or more precisely - WHEN was I?

Time seemed to be slipping, slipping....
but into the past, not the future!

I had had no intention of intruding upon this, or any, gathering. And much as I was curious about what exactly was happening there, time was of the essence. To catch the last ferry of the day back to the city, I had to navigate a path through that garden to the entry gate of the property. I could not return from whence I had come. There simply wasn't enough time!

Moving hurriedly and awkwardly through the throng of polite society, I mumbled abject apologies for my intrusio. Then I walked, as quickly as possible, towards the ornately carved gates of what seemed to be an extensive country estate. Later, when I looked at my map for its name, it seemed not to exist.

With no time to ponder where or 'when' I had visited or what had just happened, I reached the road and thumbed a ride to the 8.20pm ferry. It was the last ferry of the day off that peninsula.

For once in my life, I was at a loss for words, but very happy not to have been asked to explain myself! How could I, when I didn't have any idea what had just happened to me.

by kind courtesy of
http://www.visitoslo.com/en/product/?TLp=181623

FERRY WEDDING
I anticipated using the short ferry journey to centre myself and make sense of my odd experience.

But it was a small boat, and I was the only 'tourist' on board. So when the other three passengers struck up a friendly conversation in English with me, it would have been churlish not to reply.

Dagfin, Ghost and Anna were three English-speaking Norwegians who were working and studying in Oslo.

Dagfin was very playful and amusing, and he was also unabashedly attracted to my dark looks. Announcing to his friends that fate had brought us together 'at sea' so that we could be married, Dagfin tied together our sneaker shoelaces. Once we were both thoroughly immobilized, he jokingly announced that, by Norwegian Maritime Law, we were now officially married! Amazingly, my participation in this event had been totally unnecessary!

In the space of 10 minutes, our brief encounter had precipitated an umpromptu maritime wedding! Very weird indeed! But then my entire evening felt like I'd stepped into an alternate dimension.

The ridiculousness of Dagfin's execution of our brief and highly irregular marriage ceremony made all aboard chuckle, which was the perfect way to break my reverie and end a very busy day of sight-seeing.

Dagfin's antics aside, my three new friends seemed like a level-headed, interesting group of intellectuals with whom to converse for an hour or so that evening. So, when the ferry docked and they invited me for drinks, I happily agreed to accompany them. My only request was that they escort me to Sentralstasjon for my train connection to Copenhagen on time....which they did.

10.40 TO COPENHAGEN
by kind courtesy of http://grist.files.wordpress.com/2009/10/scandinavia_map.jpg

As I was retrieving my back pack from the station locker, my travel companion met me with vexing news. Donna had arrived early, intent on reserving our couchettes for that night's journey. But she discovered that there were not enough couchettes for all the passengers travelling first-class. On the contrary, they were at a premium and thus available only on a first-come-first-served basis.

More practised travellers knew this, so all couchettes on the Oslo to Copenhagen train had sold out that morning, while Donna and I were eating a leisurely breakfast! No wonder the cafe had been so empty!

Donna and I were thus forced to travel in a 2nd class carriage, since all 1st class carriages were made up with couchettes. Instead of a horizontal and restful night's sleep after our busy day of sight-seeing, we had to catch naps whilst sitting upright on the incredibly uncomfortable second class seats. There were no reclining seats in 2nd Class, and not much padding on them either.

I tried to meditate, but in vain. Between crying infants and partying teenagers, there was little peace to be had in our carriage. It was even difficult to ponder the experiences of my busy but interesting day in Oslo. And when I finally did sleep, my dream was downright bizarre!

I was at a lavish outdoor Victorian wedding, set in Frognor Park. Half the guests were in Victorian finery while the rest were dressed like ancient Vikings. The latter somehow managed to sail their full-sized ships through each of the fountains in Frognor Park, whilst simultaneously carousing with tourists amid the Vigeland sculptures. There was more, but you get the gist!

Despite the vivid adventures of my technicolor dream world, to say we enjoyed the ride to Copenhagen would be a gross overstatement. But Donna and I did have some amazing memories of our jam-packed day in Oslo to share, during the first part of our journey south above Oslo harbour and Fjord.

Donna had been stunned enough to learn that I had been "married" on a ferry! So I decided not tell her that I gate-crashed a Victorian Garden party. She already thought of me as weird and reckless, and I was in no hurry to confirm her assessment of my character!

The scenery was spectacular and Scandinavia's summer sunshine meant we could actually see the view, even though it was almost midnight.

by kind courtesy of oslo-norway.ca

To pass time, I mentally calculated the distance travelled from London to Copenhagen, our next destination. Discounting the miles we walked around towns and cities, to-from-or-within their exhibits, I estimated we covered a staggering 5395km or 3270 miles of territory by rail, ferry and airplane.

That distance is equivalent to one-eighth of our planet's circumference. And we'd only been travelling for one week.

No wonder we were so tired!

Thankfully, relief was at hand. We were going
to Denmark specifically to relax and play!

At least that was my intention

NEXT WEEK!

June 25-26
Denmark

Auntie Stine's Cottage

Kronberg (Hamlet's) Castle

Sex on the Beach

Tivoli

Romance

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE June 25-26 DENMARK

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: June 22-23 Sweden North to South (956 miles)

2013-04-19T00:00:00.000-07:00

Tuesday June 22:
Kiruna to Luleå (163 miles)

I returned to my Ferrum hotel room to sleep for a few of hours, after Kurt left for work at 5am. Donna and I then shared a leisurely, silent, breakfast before we boarded the 10am train to Luleå on the

GULF OF BOTHNIA

by kind courtesy of www.worldatlas.com

My companion did not say much at all during that trip. And I was simply too tired to ask why. Discovering the reason for her lack of conversation would have to wait until I'd slept off the rigours of the previous night.

At 2.30pm we arrived at Luleå (Loo-lay-oh) a university city on the coast of northern Sweden, not far from the border with Finland.

by kind courtesy of www.newfriends.se

Our overnight train connection to Stockholm was not due to leave till 9 pm. So Donna and I secured our couchettes for later, stowed our packs in the station lockers for the day and then decided to spend a few hours apart from each other.

Ostensibly, we would later be able to share our individual experiences during the long journey to Stockholm. But, privately, I knew we both required an extended 'time-out' from each other.

THE UNIVERSITY TOWN OF LULEA

by kind courtesy of www.mtu.edu

NORBOTTEN MUSEUM

by kind courtesy of

http://www.swedishlapland.com/en/Activities/Sights/Museum-of-Norrbotten

This is one of 24 regional museums in Sweden. It is the county museum which serves the vast Norbotten area of Northern Sweden.

There are always changing temporary exhibitions on display, many in the fields of contemporary art, photography and local cultural history. Permanent collections deal with archaeological finds and the history of the area.

The main building in Luleå was built in 1936, but the museum has projects all over the north involving archeology, archive and photo, documentation, art, cultural tourism and education.

I enjoyed the detailed archeological history of the area. And the simple yet vivid Lapp history that lives on through their weaving and domestic crafts warmed my heart. A nation that preserves, with such care, the contributions of their ancestors, teaches its children the true value of family.

by kind courtesy of: www.potolkimaker.com

It was odd to stroll alone through a town where few spoke, or even understood English. Here, I was a stranger in a strange land that looked like a cross between a town in America's wild west and a traditional Swedish village, like the one re-created in Skansen.

Its shops were modern, and the people on the street were conservative and quiet in both dress and manner. The town seemed to have escaped the social chaos of the 60s and early 70s.

Buildings seemed purpose-built to withstand the extremes of weather. And I especially admired the civic common sense that provided a sheltered boardwalk, alongside but, necessarily, higher than the road. Pedestrians thus have access to shops throughout the heaviest snowfalls of Luleå's long, dark winters.

The Gulf of Bothnia borders at the eastern edge of Luleå. Here, I selected a sun-warmed rock upon which I sat cross-legged and meditated for an hour. Listening to the waters lapping against the rocks whilst breathing in the heavenly aroma of flowers that emanated from this unexpected jewel of a town was a real pleasure. And being happily alone in my reverie was an added bonus.

BEAUTIFUL LULEA

by kind courtesy of www.isep.org

On that first full day of summer, however, flowers bloomed in the smallest nooks and crannies of that little seaside town. And their sweet fragrance continue to waft into memory, beckoning me back to Luleå.

Tuesday June 22:

Luleå to Stockholm (521 miles)

Donna and I were later reunited on the station platform in plenty of time to board the overnight sleeper. We had both stocked up on food and drinks, since we had discovered that the journey back to Stockholm would take 16 hours or more.

The long, bright evening, played havoc with my internal clock, so I spent much of the night awake. It gave me the opportunity to write up my journal, after which I found a way to get some air.

Precariously perched between the moving carriages, I enjoyed the breeze created by the moving train, and listened, for a while, to the clickety-clack of the rails.

EURAIL THROUGH SWEDEN
by kind courtesy of http://www.eurail.com/trains-europe/trains-country/trains-sweden

The train travelled almost due southwards through Norbotten. The scenery changed only gradually, the dry winds and treeless mountains of this northern zone resembling those of Dornoch on the North East coast of Scotland.

NORBOTTEN SCENERY
by kind courtesy of commons.wikimedia.org

But this open landscape yielded first to evergreens, then to birch forests and finally, to well-tended farms and larger towns. Sweden's traditional red houses, with steep pitched roofs, were in evidence throughout the country.

TRADITIONAL SWEDISH RED HOUSE

by kind courtesy of commons.wikimedia.org

It is a tribute to the sensibilities of the Swedes that long before our train entered each humble town or hamlet, the heavenly fragrance of its blooming summer gardens would welcome us.

This warm, floral greeting from one household to another was a visible overture of friendship. It took time and effort to produce such gardens.

I applaud their dedication and found the results as tender as they were was stylish. But this combination of soft yet strong, distant yet welcoming, sensitive yet stylish is - as I was learning - typical of Swedes. When they can neither see nor touch those with whom they are connecting, they simply utilize their remaining senses to explore alternate ways of communicating.

After eight uninterrupted hours of sleep on the train, Donna and I reached Stockholm at 1pm in fair condition. Since we would catch the overnight train to Oslo that same night, we again parked our back-packs in the station lockers. Then we reserved our couchettes and headed out for the day.

Wednesday June 23 1pm: Stockholm

Our attempt to tour Stockholm without a guide was a totally disastrous experience! Happy to be walking instead of riding in a train, we had wandered through the city streets, and soon become hopelessly lost. Happily a friendly Frenchman helped us to choose a tour, then gave me his phone number and address in Paris, for whenever we arrived there!

STOCKHOLM FROM THE HARBOUR
by kind courtesy of http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g189852-Stockholm-Vacations.html

We finally decided to take a Canal and Harbour Tour of Stockholm, ending at the Vasa Museum.

The view of the city from the vantage point of a canal cruise is not to be missed. Donna seemed to have shaken off her depression. And we had come to a wordless truce upon stepping off the train at Stockholm.

Truce is good!!

MODEL OF THE VASA
by kind courtesy of commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Vasa_stern_color_model.jpg

We were standing in front of the original timbers of an ancient Viking warship.

The Vasa is the world's oldest boat, and was dredged up from the bottom of Stockholm harbour in 1961.

Built in 1628, the Vasa was designed to be the jewel of Sweden's navy. BUT, on the very day it was launched, it tragically sank, right in front of a cheering crowd of thousands.

There is still something haunting about this ship, perched on its stand inside the museum, bristling with hundreds of baroque carvings, and the massive guns that dragged it to its watery death.

More here: www.answers.com/topic/djurg-rden#ixzz2Q8j5J2Ro

Now reclaimed from the watery grave, the Vasa currently resides in its own specially-built edifice. The humidity level within this museum is kept uncomfortably high, to preserve the centuries' old timbers. Without this important precaution, the ancient wood would disintegrate and turn to dust.

After Vasa, Donna and I amicably decided to go our separate ways for the day. Solo exploration was no hardship for me, especially since I had originally intended on taking this trip solo. I find it easier to know my true responses to new places when I am completely alone. Of course, being alone in Europe was not going to be easy. Especially with a travelling companion in tow.

Donna was a colleague whom I had known only peripherally, until the day she 'decided' she would 'join me' on my carefully planned, and much anticipated, solo Grand Tour of Europe. At first her decision thoroughly irritated me. But, eventually, I reasoned that sharing lodging and some food expenses might lessen both of our expenses. With little fanfare, my plan to travel solo was thus expanded to include another.

My Mother had been ecstatic that I would not be travelling the length and breadth of Europe alone. And since Donna spent most of her travelling hours reading, she was hardly much of an imposition. We had only ever been professional acquaintances, never friends, so it was inevitable that our personalities might clash from time to time.

And clash they did for the frenetic pace of our first four days of travelling together, though exciting, had also been stressful. It was inevitable that cracks would appear in our relationship. Donna and I had grown up in different worlds, and had radically different approaches to life and how to live it.

by kind courtesy of motivationalplus.com

My purpose in travelling was two-fold:

to know each nation's soul through its contributions to its citizens and humanity via SCience, the Arts, Edu-ca-tion and Architecture.
to learn new ideas and customs through interactions with dwellers and other travellers.

I had no idea why Donna was travelling.

I suspected that this trip would test us both to the core. It would either cement our friendship or we would part ways, never to meet again. And, oddly, I was ambivalent about the outcome.

DJURGARDEN

After we separated at the steamy Vasa museum, I thoroughly enjoyed the warm, breezy walk through the leafy pathways of Djurgarden. With nobody else around, I focused on the intense colours of the leaves and grasses on the banks of the stream, wondering what made them so incredibly vibrant.

I concluded that the same shallow angle of the sun in these northern latitudes that permits almost 24 hour of summertime sunshine, alters the way in which our eyes see colour. We get the same effect at lower latitudes but it is only at sunrise and sunset that sunlight slants in on the same shallow angle. But the light levels in the mid-latitude sunset and sunrise are far weaker than those that created the brightly glowing greens I witnessed that afternoon in Djurgarden.

My spirit felt very peaceful in this place of magical light and bright translucent colour.

Even the songbirds were happy and the whole forest was alive with sound. So, when I was sure no-one could hear me, I whistled a song back to them. Then I remained very still, as a curious male thrush hopped into view to check out the even more curious human who was singing to him.

Although it was once the game park that fed the household of Sweden's Royalty, Djurgarden was donated to the government in 1948. It is now open for everyone to wander through and enjoy, and is a delightful place in which to unwind during the early summertime.

by kind courtesy of www.galleryforslund.com/webshop.htm

"Djurgarden", an original painting by Marcus Forslund, perfectly captures the translucent greens and carefree spirit of Djurgarden for me.

Standing proudly at the edge of The Baltic Sea in the grounds of Djurgarden is

WALDEMARSUDDE
Home of Sweden's "Painter" Prince

by kind courtesy of panoramio/photos/medium/63389301.jpg

The youngest of Oscar II's four children, Prince Eugen (1865-1947) was more interested in becoming an artist than in inheriting the throne. Turns out he was no Sunday painter; he became one of the great landscape artists of his day, referred to as the "The Painter Prince" by Swedes. Today, his former home and studio, one of the most visited museums in Sweden, serves as an art gallery and a memorial to his talents.

This lovely three-story mansion on the water was acquired by the prince in 1899, and he lived here until his death. The house and park were willed to the Swedish government upon his death and opened to the public in 1948. The rooms on the ground floor are furnished just as the prince left them. You can see the prince's paintings upstairs and in the gallery adjoining. The prince was not only a painter, but a collector, acquiring works by such great Scandinavian artists as Edvard Munch, Carl Larsson, and Anders Zorn. The prince's studio is on the top floor and is used for temporary exhibitions.

The garden has centuries-old trees and panoramic views of Stockholm harbour. That's not all: The park is filled with sculptures by some of the greatest masters in Europe -- Carl Milles to Auguste Rodin -- and is also studded with classical Roman and Greek sculptures acquired by the art-loving prince.

taken from http://www.frommers.com/destinations/stockholm/A21031.html

What joy it was to saunter slowly through the perfumed flower-laden grounds to the waterside villa, which now houses the Prince's paintings.

WALDEMARRSUDE WINDMILL

by kind courtesy of commons.wikipedia.org

From Waldemarsudde, I noticed the Old Mill, a windmill built in the 1780s by the water's edge in Djurgarden.

This windmill somehow felt very familiar to me! Although I knew I had not seen it before that very moment, just the sight of it elicited very deep, real feelings of joy and good fellowship.

It would be several weeks before I was

to discover WHY I had such strong
feelings about this place

And that process of discovery would blow my mind!

After thoroughly gorging myself on nature and art at Waldermarsudde, I caught a bus to the station, where I met Judy from Australia, who had also booked passage on the same overnight train to Oslo. We shared a meal together, chatting amiably about our travel experiences to date.

Wednesday June 23 10pm: Stockholm to Oslo (270 miles)
Before the train was to depart, I was also reunited with Donna. Still disinclined to engage her in a meaningful discussion about whatever was bothering her, I spent the first part of the journey in conversation with Judy. Then, around midnight, I bid them each a goodnight, put in my ear-plugs, curled up in my couchette, and slept like a baby till the train pulled into Oslo early the next morning.

NEXT WEEK!

June 24

Norway

OSLO
Munch Museum

Frognor Gardens and
Vigeland Sculptures

The Kontiki

Fjord-climbing
Garden Party

Surprise Wedding

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE June 24 NORWAY

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: June 21 Sweden's Lappland (770 miles)

2013-04-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

Monday June 21, 1976:

Kiruna

I dreamt that I needed to phone to check which of Stockholm's two domestic airports we needed that day. And it was just as well I did, or we would have chosen the wrong airport and missed our flight to Kiruna.

A few hours later, our SAS flight north left Stockholm via Arlanda Airport and we ate lunch at 25,000 feet. Kiruna is located within the Arctic Circle, about 770 miles (1240 km) north of Stockholm.

map photo by kind courtesy of steelguru.com

photo by kind courtesy of www.docstoc.com

We arrived at our windy northern destination to discover that Kiruna airport had only one taxi available in which to chauffeur visitors into town and to their hotels. So Donna and I joined Bo and Hans whom we had met on the flight.

It was a short, but friendly, ride to town, squished together in that taxi. So much so that, by the time we reached Hotel Ferrum, both men had invited us for supper that evening.

photo by kind courtesy of http://www.hrsstatic.com/fotos/0/3/255/255/80

HOTEL FERRUM, KIRUNA, SVERIGE

Our pre-booked room was spacious and airy and had a magnificent view of the mountain and mine. Donna and I changed into jeans and then enjoyed an escorted trip to the town's Iron Ore Mine - the largest deposit of Iron Ore on the planet world.

photo by kind courtesy of www.kirunashotell.se -

The excavation of Kiruna's iron ore is a gigantic engineering feat that, sadly, involves the gradual levelling of the the town's mountain. Our tour took us underground, where we wore hard hats and saw a drill, the size of a house, in operation. It was very impressive but also extremely noisy!

photo by kind courtesy of barentsobserver.com

Nature does not quietly

surrender her mineral bounty

After taking photos of people beside the 8ft. diameter wheels on those huge mining machines, I walked around Kiruna, and breathed in the crisp, cool, clear air that was blowing in from the west. Then, I returned to the Ferrum for a bastu - which is what the Swedes call a sauna.

photo by kind courtesy of www.tumblr.com

The hotel's unisex bastu was deserted. Located on the top floor, it was the first one I had ever seen that had a window in it - with a view of the mountain.

The solstice sun's long flirtation with the horizon, on this longest day of the northern year, made it very easy to lose track of time.

I had travelled a thousand miles already, learning new customs, language basics and currencies along the way. While I welcomed the challenge, there was still far to go, and we had not scheduled much time for relaxation. So I happily surrendered to the restorative dry heat of that deliciously silent bastu. After all the hustle and bustle, being there alone was exactly what my soul had needed.

After returning to my room, I had a quick shower and remained in my towel, allowing my body to cool down naturally whilst folding my now dry lingerie.

So, when Hans opened the door without knocking, and then let himself in, I shrieked in surprise.

The poor man looked as shocked to see me as I was to see him. He immediately turned his back and explained that he just wanted me to have what was in his hand. Keeping my composure, I put on my hotel robe, then bid Hans turn around and show me what it was he had in his hand!

photo by kind courtesy of http://fleursflorist.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/Rose_and_Freesia_Handtied-300x200.jpg

He had brought Donna and me a fragrant vase of pink miniature roses with some fragrant freesia. What a sweet welcome to Lappland!

I was sincerely moved by his flower gift, and thanked him, assuring him that we were both looking forward to having supper with him.

Hans then left, but returned a few minutes later to inform us that Bo had to work and was thus unable to accompany us to dinner that night. By way of an apology for breaking the date, he had sent a bottle of wine, which Hans quickly opened.

He poured 3 glasses, then we all toasted to Bo's health and our upcoming evening with Hans before ushering him out of our room so that we could get finish getting ready for dinner!

Donna and I also needed time to recover from the distinct pleasure of receiving both flowers AND wine from two complete strangers! We simply had not expected to be treated like royalty in Kiruna. Who knew that Swedes were so romantic?! Maybe it's their hot Viking blood?!

Our vase of pink roses had alerted me that Donna's
and my stay in Kiruna was sure to be a lot more
meaningful than either of us could have anticipated.

The dining room at the Ferrum Hotel looked like an IKEA store on steroids. It could have comfortably seated several dozen people. And the magnificent floor to ceiling windows faced the town's raison d'être, its mountain and mine.

The furniture was ultra-stylish, reasonably comfortable and very Swedish. There was even a small dance floor with a surprisingly accomplished dance band playing that night.

Hans welcomed Donna and me, pulling both of our chairs out for us. This simple act of courtesy instantly alerted every male there to the fact that at least one of us was potentially available!
photo by kind courtesy of http://whynotbook.com/hotels/view/Scandic-Ferrum-Hotel-Kiruna-Sweden-56388

We ordered our meal, and sipped the wine that Hans provided for the table. His manners were impeccable, as one would expect from a Swede.

But around us, things were rapidly becoming quite bizarre! A couple of dozen men had quietly occupied the tables around us. And, when they thought we were not looking, were quite openly leering at Donna and me.

It was obvious that the news of our arrival

had reached the ears of every man in town

since all the iron-men were seated all around us.

I'd half-finished my glass of wine, when a smiling stranger approached our table and politely asked Hans if he might dance with me! Hans wisely deferred to my judgement. And seeing no harm in dancing, I smiled and rose to my feet.

We chatted as the stranger guided me across the floor. He spoke perfect English and, of course, wanted to know why we two ladies were in Kiruna. I explained that I was a university student in Canada and so had wanted to see, with my own eyes, the planet's largest operational iron ore mine.

At the end of our dance, my partner thanked me and returned me to my table and Hans. Donna had also accepted a dance, so poor Hans had been sitting there patiently watching us while awaiting our food orders. He seemed genuinely content with his role as our chaperone.

Hans further explained that for us to refuse to dance, would be considered bad-mannered as all the men were there only because we two young single women were dining there that night!

by kind courtesy of http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lxcy18EDnq1r4k8uuo1_500.png

He spoke the truth! No sooner had Donna and I taken our seats and a quick sip of wine than we received more dance requests. Subsequent invitations followed, as quickly as we were deemed sufficiently refreshed to dance.

Thankfully most of my partners spoke English. Being able to converse with them took my mind off the pain of having my toes - and shoes - so cruelly crushed!

Without realizing it, Donna and I had injected ourselves into 'testosterone-ville'!! Like most mining towns in the 1970s, Kiruna was comprised primarily of young, strong, healthy males, many of whom regularly spent months at a time separated from their wives and/or families.

We scarcely had time to eat, much less digest our meals. Each man took turns at respectfully approaching our table to ask one or other of us to dance. Some men were flirtatious, others painfully shy and some just hungry for the scent of a woman. Yet all of our partners behaved like perfect gentlemen. Unfortunately, most of them danced like engineers with two left feet!

That night of dancing brought me face to face - quite literally - with the intense loneliness that is often experienced by those who work in geographically isolated locations. Most of these men staunchly deny the depths of their loneliness, which is another noble act of sacrifice for their family. Thus their pain and selflessness often goes unnoticed and under-appreciated.

photo by kind courtesy of http://www.fishershotelpitlochry.com/images/dance-weekend-breaks_thumb1.jpg

I saw varying degrees of loneliness in the eyes of my dance partners that night. And I gasped to suddenly realize the toll it takes on a person's psyche to spend a lifetime away from their loved ones - especially when it is for the sake of providing for those very same loved ones.

What a cruel, lonely fate!

We need to honour those men and women
who quietly labour, in emotionally barren conditions, to provide for loved ones

Tack från djupet av mitt hjärta
by kind courtesy of http://cfaithholland.files.wordpress.com/2012/12/your-heart-and-my-heart.jpg?w=300&h=236

Somewhere between our entree and dessert, as I was pondering the psychological effects of loneliness on the human body, Kurt asked me to dance. I dutifully followed him to the floor, expecting the worst, but was delighted to discover he really could dance the foxtrot!

Both my parents had been keen ballroom dancers, so I had grown up dancing on my Daddy's feet. Dancing with Kurt reminded me of the way it had felt to dance with my now deceased Father. And I enjoyed it so much that, custom or not, I refused to dance with any other partner for the remainder of that night.

Hans was very good natured about Donna's and my popularity with the other males, thanking us for sharing dinner was him then bidding us both a genteel goodnight when it was over.

Kurt then invited both Donna and me outside to witness the midnight sun for ourselves. After an evening of dancing, we wisely decided against climbing the mountain in our dresses and heels. Instead, we traded a slightly improved solar view, for the opportunity to chat quietly with this knowledgeable man, whilst slowly walking around this now deserted town. Everyone, except us, seemed to be asleep!

My mind rebelled against the sky's being so bright at 11.30 at night. Though the sun was dipping downwards to almost touch the horizon, tonight there would be no sunset at all.
photo by kind courtesy of tripwow.tripadvisor.com

Midnattssolen lyste mjukt färgning molnen rosa, Välkomna Sommaren!

The 24-hour bright sky, following days of non-stop activity, played havoc with all of my senses. How does one get their bearings, when the sun never sets?

Even though I'd helped to consume a few of bottles of wine with and after dinner, I was not in the least bit drunk or sleepy. All that dancing must have exercised the alcohol right out of my system! Donna, on the other hand, was quite weary and so returned to our room.

I chose to spend the rest of that awesome night with Kurt.

photo by kind courtesy of http://www.eos.ubc.ca/academic/careers/geolengineering.html

In public, being with Kurt had felt more like a one-on-one tutorial than romance! As a Geological Engineer, he was eager to explain all the intracacies of iron ore mining in Kiruna. And since I was already a 3rd year geology student, ours was an intellectual match made in tectonic heaven!

But Kurt was also a fit, handsome, and very sexy, divorced, 34-year old Viking man. And I was a fit, divorced, emancipated 27-year old Canadian woman. We knew we had only a few hours to share before I would forever leave Kiruna. So, we did not waste time in being shy!

Though short and sweet, our time together was so compelling that, upon my return to Canada, Kurt and I remained friends and communicated, via snail mail, for many years.

I had spent less than 48 hours in Sweden,but was
already in love with this country and her people!
Tack för den varmt välkomnande, Kiruna,
och för de underbara minnen

by kind courtesy of jenlemen.com

My crazy adventures in Sweden had only just begun.

for the very best was yet to be!

NEXT WEEK!

June 22-23

Sweden

LULEA, Lappland

Norbotten Museum
Coastal Lappland

STOCKHOLM

Harbour Cruise
The Vasa Warship
Waldemarssude in Djurgarden
Painter Prince Museum

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE - June 22-23 SWEDEN North to South to NORWAY

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: June 18-20 England to Sweden (1303 miles)

2013-04-05T00:00:00.000-07:00

Friday June 18 6.30AM:

Amersham to Paris (260 miles)

Amersham Station

photo by kind courtesy of

http://www.inconvenientmule.co.uk/commuter/wp-content/uploads/2010/1/140920083131.j0g

Donna and I awoke excitedly at 6.30am! After we had showered and eaten breakfast, John drove us both to Amersham to catch the train to London.

photo by kind courtesy of:
http://arailwayrunsthroughit.files.wordpress.com/2011/07/sandwiches.jpg?w=497

At Marylebone, we joined the rush-hour throng, arriving at Victoria Station by 8.30am. There, we shopped for lunch-time sandwiches to eat en route to our connection in Folkestone. Our train arrived there by 12.30pm, and we were efficiently shunted onto the cross Channel ferry by 1pm.

All went smoothly till our ferry arrived in France at 2.30pm [1.30pm British time] local time. Industrial strikes had closed those docks preventing us from disembarking at Calais. Instead, our vessel was re-routed to Boulogne, where, after much ado, we caught a train back to Calais, so as to make other connections within France.

We used our 2-month Eurail passes for the very

first time on this short trip between French ports.

We now had 8 weeks in which to travel the length

and breadth of Europe before our time ran out.

After much ado, we finally arrived at Calais at 6pm [5pm British time]. Having finished our British Rail rations before reaching Dover, we were now both very hungry. But we had not one French franc between us.

photo by kind courtesy of

http://images-02.delcampe-static.net/img_large/auction/000/160/902/043_001.jpg

We desperately needed to exchange some traveller's cheques so that we could eat. But, because of the strike, the exchange at Calais had remained closed that day.

With stomachs growling and patience dwindling, we then wandered into the nearest 'bar', intending to plead for some help. Despite months of copious and detailed planning, we could not have imagined that political unrest in France would so complicate the very beginning of our trip.

photo by kind courtesy of

static.freepik.com/free-photo/red-wine-roses-toasts-alcohol-drink_3139593.jpg

Seeing our predicamment, a kind and very observent gentleman simply gave us 2 francs, with which we bought one glass of red wine each. We immediately made a toast to our benefactor's health and saw this event as a good omen for the beginning of our Grand Tour of Europe!

We had, however, yet to learn just how very long this 'beginning' would take.

At 7.30pm, we considered our options and decided to catch the train to Paris, because connections through France into Scandinavia were more plentiful from the capital.

Once underway, we had plenty of time to eat, but found the rate of exchange on French trains to be as exorbitant as their food prices. So Donna bought us each a drink, paid for with her remaining English notes. And happily, that second glass of wine temporarily eliminated most of our stress.

photo by kind courtesy of:
eurail.com/sites/all/files/eurail.com/maps/eurail-traveltimes-2013-lightbox.jpg

Our lack of skill in conversational French was no obstacle when we eventually arrived at La Gare du Paris Nord at 10.30pm.

By now quite dizzy with hunger, we were relieved and grateful to be aided by another gallant Frenchman. This amazing gentleman first interceded with station booking clerks on our behalf. He then ensured that our continuing journey to Stockholm remained worry-free. We were both extremely grateful that this kind soul was there to rescue two damsels in distress that evening.

Our angels were
already working overtime!

photo by kind courtesy of:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6d/Demitasse_set.jpg/220px-Demitasse_set.jpg

While our angel of mercy arranged our travel schedule, Donna and I stowed our backpacks in the station lockers. After what seemed like forever, our kind interpreter informed us of our travel times and connection points, wished us a happy trip and then disappeared into the night.

Donna read her book, till I suggested that we jay-walk through the Parisian traffic to the open sidewalk cafe I had spotted across the street from Paris Nord. If nothing else, the adrenaline rush would keep us awake!

Once there, we discovered that the cafe served only demi-tasses of thick, bitter Turkish coffee. But I knew from my experience with Turkish coffee in Spain, that it would keep us awake long enough to board the 11.37pm overnight train to Koln.(Cologne)

Friday June 18 11.37PM:

Paris to Cologne

(266 miles)

photo by kind courtesy of

http://www.seat61.com/images/Europe-couchette-6.jpg

Our French 'protector' had booked us each a couchette for our overnight comfort. We were both quite surprised that anyone could have designed, much less fitted, 6 sleeping berths into that one small 7 x 8 foot compartment.

But, despite a long day of travel, I was able to sleep only intermittently; partly because of the train made many lurching stops along the way, but also because the other four berths were occupied by males whose snores drowned out all other sounds.

Determined to overcome this annoyance, I made a mental note to buy earplugs before booking my next overnight train journey.

Saturday June 19 6.30AM:

Cologne Cathedral

photo by kind courtesy of:

http://fc07.deviantart.net/fs70/f/2010/227/d/1/Cologne_Cathedral__II_by_NikkoTheNerd.jpg

We were duly deposited at the station near the entrance of Cologne's great Gothic Cathedral at 6.30am German time.

Sadly the great doors to the Cathedral were closed, so we had to content ourselves with its external architecture of soaring stone spires and Gothic arches.

To learn more about Cologne Cathedral press here

Thankfully the money-exchange was open, so we each cashed about $10 (one single day's allowance) then parked our backpacks in a locker at the station and went sight-seeing around the Cathedral. The morning was warm and sunny, which considerably brightened my spirits. And the first order fo the day was to find something to eat.

For breakfast, we simply ate whatever was available!

Strudel was available!!
photo by kind courtesy of:

primetimefoods.com

YUM!!

I took many pictures of the Cathedral and the picturesque roadways and shops around it. Then we both stocked up on soft drinks and snacks for our continuing journey to Denmark and Sweden.

Saturday June 19 9.00AM

Cologne to Copenhagen

(434 miles)

The Trans Europe Express train

The train that took us to Copenhagen was first-class all the way! It had fully reclining seats that turned the normally 6-person compartment into one enormous 7 x 8 ft bed! Donna and I wasted no time in storing our back-packs overhead so that we could get horizontal and catch up on our missed night of sleep.

Happily we were to enjoy a glorious 9 hours of uninterrupted snoozing, before our train boarded the train-ferry that links Germany to Denmark. Then the usual call of "Passports" told us it was time to check out the buffet in the Puttgarden Ferry.

Danish Smørrebrød

6.00PM

photo by kind courtesy of www.biteandbooze.com

This ferry had an international reputation for giving travellers who had the good fortune to arrive on the 6pm T.E.E. train, a delicious banquet called Smorrebrod.

After 34 hours of non-stop travel, Donna and I each happily paid the reasonable price of six Danish krone to gorge ourselves on everything in sight. Only when we were sated, did we notice that other, more savvy, travellers brazenly spooned second and third helpings of this delicious fare into personal sized tupperware containers - no doubt for midnight feasts!

Aboard the Ferry, we exchanged traveller's cheques for Danish and Swedish krone. And then, as the ferry was docking, we re-boarded our TEE for the short trip to Copenhagen. We were steadily heading north, so our daylight hours were slowly increasing.

The sun had not yet set when we arrived in Copenhagen at 8.10pm. I had time to purchase a cup of tea for the inflated price of 6.60 Danish krone. *gulp!* That was more than our Smorrebrod had cost us.

We had to remain close to the station in order to catch our connecting night-train through Southern Sweden. As before, Donna chose to read while I preferred to walked up and down, stretching my legs while window-shopping and people-watching.

Saturday June 19 9.00 PM:

Copenhagen to Stockholm

(343 miles)

For our second overnight train journey, this time from Copenhagen to Stockholm we purchased almost-comfortable couchettes, which, with the addition of newly purchased wax ear-plugs, resulted in my first full night's sleep since leaving England. I was so exhausted, I could have slept standing upright!

Sunday June 20 7.20 AM:
Stockholm
photo by kind courtesy of nidalsouvenirs.ecrater.co.uk

Our train pulled into a Stockholm's deserted Centrallen station the next morning at 7.20am. Donna and I immediately rented a station locker for our back-packs then treated ourselves to a cup of tea each before heading outside to discover Stockholm.

Even for a Sunday morning, the streets of Stockholm sported very little vehicular traffic. Except for Donna and myself, they seemed to be entirely devoid of life.

photo by kind courtesy of

http://kkimagery.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/Stockholm-Central-Station.jpg

Where were all the people?

We had heard that Swedes were clinically clean, and most particular about keeping their streets clean. So, why were there papers and streamers strewn about everywhere?

Two enormous full-colour photos that adorned the walls of the building across from Centrallen provided a clue. They depicted a happy couple who radiated importance - since their faces alone stood 10-feet tall! But, apart from their names, we could not translate what was written about them.

Stockholm was eerily quiet that morning, feeling more like a scene from "Outer Limits" than a summer Sunday in a thriving 20th-century European metropolis!

Still perplexed, Donna and I walked the several blocks to the Information Center, where two cheerful, English-speaking ladies explained why the city had been so deserted that day.

photo by kind courtesy of

http://svspb.net/images/foto/kf/silvia-carl-xvi-gustaf-2.jpg

On Saturday June 19, 1976, Sweden's King Gustaf XVI had married his Silvia. We had only just missed being uninvited guests at a city- and country-wide celebration of their Royal Nuptials

Twenty-four hours earlier, these same streets had been filled with merry-makers, celebrating their King's marriage. We had planned our trip, blissfully unaware that our arrival in Stockholm was to have coincided with this joyous occasion.

We had tried so hard to arrive in Stockholm on 19th. Thankfully labour strikes and ill-perceived train schedules had detained us just long enough for the revelry to end and accommodation to, once again, become available.

After a sleep-deprived weekend, beset with challenges, I doubt if Donna or I would have felt much like negotiating a street-party upon our arrival in Stockholm. So we were both incredibly grateful to have arrived the day AFTER the Royal Wedding. With overnight revellers vacating their rooms, we had no trouble booking a pension for that night.

Those irritating travel delays now seemed to me to be ordained by angels.

An hour later, we had reclaimed our luggage and pre-paid 2 nights at the rear of an establishment that looked rather dubious from the outside. But in Europe, one cannot judge a hotel by its facade. Though our room had only a partial view of the courtyard, it was deliciously quiet, our beds were comfortable, and there was plenty of hot water for showers.

Duly refreshed, I gave my jeans and sneakers a rest, dressing instead in a skirt and sling-backs. Then, armed with information pamphlets from the Visitor's Centre, I negotiated the bus to Skansen. 2kr bought a ticket that lasted me an hour on Stockholm's bus system - regardless of direction travelled.

Skansen

photo by kind courtesy of
http://www.anr2010.com/anr2010_data/images/Midsommar.Yanan%20Li%20-%20Stockholm%20Visitors%20Board.jpg

Skansen is the world's first outdoor museum, displaying a variety of Stockholm's heritage buildings, as well as the old-time skills that once provided inhabitants with clothing, food and entertainment. Being surrounded by ancient houses, with men, woman and children dressed in traditional costume was fascinating. And, after so much time in a train, I enjoyed spending the cool, windy afternoon, soaking in the living history.

Walking across the hilly coastal terrain upon which Skansen was created was quite a work-out. No wonder Swedes have such marvellous legs. They have a passion for walking and for stone steps!

by kind courtesy of

http://cdn3.vtourist.com/4/5060056-Skansen_Zoo_Stockholm.jpg

The open air museum, known as Skansen, features original houses and features village life from Lapp and Swedish culture.

I saw reindeer in their zoo, and was amused to discover that are the same animal as Canada's caribou! But somehow the thought of Santa's sleigh being pulled by a team of caribou just doesn't have the same ring of romance, does it?! Rudolph the red-nosed caribou......um, perhaps not!

At scheduled times, young folk-dances in national costume entertained visitors, their firey red and blond heads glinting in the slanted northern sunlight. On looking around myself, I was surprised to notice that there were as many red-headed people in the crowd as there were blonds.

To learn more about the creation of Skansen, press here

After several hours of walking and taking happy photos at Skansen, I stopped to rest my complaining knees and ate a shrimp salad at Cafeteria Solliden. Duly restored, I was ready to return to the pension. I had a yen to go dancing. But the dance-hall at Skansen was closed. And facing the crowds at Grona Lund, Stockholm's Amusement Park, did not appeal that night.

I felt quite proud of myself for creating an educational open-air day, after such a long rail journey from England. But I had been having so much fun in Skansen that I completely lost track of time.

Stockholm lies 59 degrees north of the equator, and experiences its longest day each year on June 21. Without realizing it, I had stayed out for many hours longer than intended. So it was almost suppertime before I returned to the Pension and a somewhat worried travel companion.

In record time, I changed into my dancing clothes, then Donna and I caught buses to Stockholm's Mocambo Club to listen to some good blues music. There we met Anildo from Cape Verde Islands who helped us to pronounce some of the more impossible Swedish phrases. Later, he escorted us through tunnelbana (underground) and showed us the massive information board at Centrallen.

Centrallen Stockholm's underground was a surreal experience, especially for a girl who had grown up with London's dull and dirty tube system.

photo by kind courtesy of enviromeant.com

Here the platforms were wide and clean, featuring artistically painted natural rock walls. There was a hop-scotch area for children, a safe distance from the rails, automatic escalators and a lift for disabled people or those with heavy loads. And, best of all, the trains were bright, clean and on time.

Donna and I returned to the pension, and were in our beds within an hour of midnight. And we sorely needed to sleep because early the next morning, we would fly into the Arctic Circle to celebrate the Summer Solstice in Sweden's Lappland city of Kiruna.

NEXT WEEK!

June 21

Sweden

Midsummer Dinner and Dancing

A Midnight Sun Adventure

The World's Largest Iron Mine

The Arctic Circle

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE
June 21 SWEDEN's ARCTIC and Journey South

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE June 3-17 Britain

2013-03-29T00:00:00.000-07:00

The two weeks after my arrival in Britain were a flurry of activity that, as expected, began and ended with family. But when the matriach of my family arranges matters, the process may be convoluted but the result is rarely accomplished 'as expected'.

Thursday, June 3:

Within 24 hours of my arrival in England, Mom and John were again driving me, through rush-hour traffic.

This time we travelled from Buckinghamshire to England's capitol city where I was duly deposited at the front entrance of the British Museum. John had a lengthy errand to run that day, and so would not be able to join us at lunchtime. But Mother arranged to meet me outside the Museum at noon. Moments later, the morning traffic swallowed them whole.

The British Museum

Having been in Canada when the troubles in Ireland began to have physical repurcusions in England, I had not been aware that stringent security measures were in effect throughout public buildings in London. I was thus very surprised when a cheerful security guard bid me a hearty good morning, all the while noting my clothing and manner, and then respectfully enquired if I was a "Reader".

I was shocked into silence by his question! How could he possibly know that in Canada, I had been a "Reader" of other people's Astrology charts and Tarot cards to supplement my income while atttending SFU. And why, on earth, should he care to know?

But before I had a chance to recover myself, this most deferential fellow begged my permission to examine my bags. Luckily, that day, I was carrying only a lightweight tote and not my full backpack. This guard was so exceptionally polite that it wasn't till later that I realized he'd been looking for weapons and incendiary devices. He had made the invasive act of being searched for contraband an almost painless experience for me.

Present-day examining authorities

please take note!

White Gloves

Mother later explained that in the Museum Reading Room Archeology graduate students, authors or professors wear 'white gloves' to reverently examine ancient rare and precious documents. No wonder the guard had wanted to know where my white gloves were!

What a rare opportunity I had missed to actually touch an ancient book or authentic relic - not to read its contents with my eyes, but to psychically glean information about our world's ancient past. Since childhood, with or without white gloves on my hands, I have been able to glean historical information about the objects I handled.

Museum Reading Room

photo by kind courtesy of guardian.co.uk

Though chagrined that I'd been unable to see, first-hand, the manuscripts of the Museum's vast round Reading Room, I was determined to enjoy the rest of my time at the museum.

For the remainder of the morning, I wandered, completely alone, through cavernous rooms filled with artifacts from the civilizations of Egypt, Greece and Rome. Press here to see the treasures housed in these rooms online.

Yearnings
So many whispers emanated, energetically, from the artifacts that loomed over and around me, I felt as if I were eaves-dropping on private conversations from ancient times. And though I did not understood their language, their 'messages' were abundantly clear. Some artifacts conveyed feelings of such intense yearning that I became overwhelmed and had to leave the Museum, lest I softly and suddenly vanished away. Ancient objects ofttimes exert a very real pull on those with ears to hear and eyes to see.

The British Museum

photo by kind courtesy of Jon Sullivan of PDPhoto.org

Outside I grounded myself by sitting on the Museum's reassuringly solid stone steps, my back against the base of one of the lofty Ionic columns that grace the entrance.

I waited there for the return of my Mother, and let the city noises slowly re-connect me to the 20th Century.

As usual, Mother was late, so late that I wondered if I'd correctly remembered where we should meet. But before I could further second-guess myself, I spotted the familiar blue Mini slowing down outside the Museum gates.

Lunch at a small but elegant restaurant off Oxford Street was to be Mother's treat. To get there, while obeying traffic laws, we were forced to navigate three sides of the vast edifice that is the British Museum. But behind the museum Mother slammed on the brakes and ordered me to get out of the car!

Chance Encounter

Perplexed by her command, yet ever the obedient daughter, I did as I was told. But when I looked into the car to ask why I was standing on the pavement instead of sitting in the car with Mother, she merely pointed at the windscreen and mouthed "walk".

So I walked. And suddenly my younger sister appeared, out of nowhere, grinning from ear to ear as she approached me, arms outstretched. Mother had obviously arranged this 'chance' meeting between us. And, once we were both safely inside the mini, she explained that Viv would lunch with us and then she and I would go shopping to purchase my travelling 'wardrobe' and other "Grand Tour" needs.

The Shopping Trip
After a delicious lunch of catching up on my sister's news and views over delightful French cuisine, Mom chauffered Viv and me to Regent Street. There we had the entire afternoon to shop, and the best shops in the world at our disposal, within easy walking distance!

Regent Street, London

roger4336 / Foter.com / CC BY-SA

I was, secretly, very relieved to be searching for clothes with my sister, instead of Mother. During our childhood, our Mother's clothing choices for us were on the conservative side and entirely inappropriate for teenagers who had been raised in England during the fashionable, swinging 60s.

My sister had wisely ignored Mom's grooming, studying modern fashion trends instead. From her early teens, she designed and then created her own stylish clothing choices. I had always admired my sister, Viv's fashion sense, and so was more than delighted to spend the afternoon with her.

As expected, Viv was both efficient and diligent about choosing the correct attire for me. Three hours later I emerged with all that a lady could possibly need for a 3-month tour of Europe that would include browsing Europes many museums and art galleries, hiking in Bavaria, vising family in Scandinavia and sightseeing whilst cruising the Greek Isles! Yes, I had everything, except one all-purpose skirt.

Travel Wardrobe:

My big ticket item was a navy blue gaberdine Burberry trench coat, with a detachable hood - for those unexpected mountain squalls. Though it never encountered a drop of rain during my entire trip, this coat was my most valuable purchase in a myriad ways - as you will discover in future chapters!

Burberry Trench Coat 1976

photo by kind courtesy of www.etsy.com/listing/82835351

Footwear
Any shoe, sneaker or sandal had to be as lightweight, practical and elegant as possible. In addition to being physically able to run for trains while carrying a 30lb back pack, I also needed to climb mountain trails in Leichtenstein, sit in a concert-hall in Vienna, dance wildly in Paris, and tour Athens. I thus required the spring of a sneaker, the sturdiness of a hiking boot and the romance and sparkle of a dancing shoe. And clearly, the qualites I sought could not be found in one single pair.

With my new, lightweight trench coat in tow, I eventually decided on three quality pairs of foot-gear.

Heavy duty sneakers would negotiate trails, shopping trips, and museums.
Flat leather sandals for seated travel, casual occasions, indoors, or on the beach.
One pair of navy blue, open-toed sling-backs, with 3" heels for dancing or special occasions. If sparkle was necessary, I'd decorate each shoe with a clip-on rhinestone earring.

My blue suede shoes

photo by kind courtesy www.colehaan.com

My colour theme was to be navy and white, with an accent of peppermint green. So the purchase of my classic coat and selection of sensible shoes were quickly followed by the purchase of appropriate separates to mix and match according to activity and mood.

And after a refreshing cup of tea, my sister and I shopped for those ever-important accessories. Scarves, costume jewelry, beret, gloves and even nail polish must all coordinate. Happily, my sister was well versed in all the details that can transform even the simplest outfit into a knock-out.

Vivienne did me proud! We were bone-weary but very happy that the day had gone so swimmingly. At 5pm, Mom and John arrived to drive Viv to the station for her train back to her Luton home. I bid my sister a fond farewell and then napped while John and Mom chauffeured me back to Buckinghamshire.

Friday June 4: Domestic Day in Buckinghamshire

Had my hair cut, and got my antihistamine prescription, did my laundry, wrote postcards, chatted with mom, ate pizza and played Scrabble. Still very jet-lagged.

Saturday June 5: to London Crematorium with family

I shopped at Mothercare the played the piano at home. Viv, husband Ron, Mom and I drove to Crematorium to honour Dad, who died on this date in 1964. This Golders Green Crematorium is the site of Amy Winehouse's creamtion. Others cremated here inclue Keith Moon of The Who, Sigmund Freud and Bram Stoker. Dad's got interesting souls there to keep him company.

Hoop Lane Crematorium from 1976

photo by kind courtesy of http://www.zimbio.com

We all shared supper with relatives in Finchley then my Mother, sister and brother-in-law left, while I remained in London with my Uncle and his family.

Sunday June 6: from London to Peterborough and back again

Travelled with Finchley family to Peterborough where 9-year old Cheryl and I went for a cycle ride in LongthorpeWoods.

Pepperpot supper in garden was followed by 1/2 game of Risk with the children. I then travelled back to London with Lilian at 11pm

photo by kind courtesy of www.etsy.com/listing/101770880

Monday June 7: to best friend in Ashford

After breakfast, Lilian drove me to the North Circular Road. Thumbed a ride to Ashford where I stayed overnight with girlhood friend, now single Mom, Gloria, my 8-year old twin God-daughters and their brother.

Tuesday June 8 to sister and family in Luton

I hitch-hiked to Luton via M1 and my ride treated me to a pub garden lunch at The Farmer's Boy pub in Dunstable. Later that same day, I took Viv and Ron out for steak dinner at Red Lion hotel and pub, while Ron bought the drinks.

photo by kind courtesy of www.theredlionhotel.net

We Played cards till 2am, then I browsed my sister’s photo album before finally able to sleep.

Wednesday June 9: Luton

Enjoyed time with my sister in her town and country home, where we rescued a sparrow and a pheasant chick.

photo by kind courtesy of www.treknature.com/gallery/photo169068.htm

Later we successfully shopped for my skirt - the only item missing after my Grand Tour shopping trip in central London.

Thursday June 10: Luton to London, then leafy Bucks.

Caught 6.30am ride from Luton to London with Ron then rode the rush hour Tube to visit with my former work-mates at the Govt. offices at Waterloo.

Purchased Youth Hostel Association card that would allow me more affordable accommodation on my upcoming Grand Tour. I then took the tube to Sloan Square for a reunion with my old school friend, Peggy, then better known as the model, Melissa.

We enjoyed a delicatessen lunch courtesy of Solle from Guys and Dolls and caught up on more of each other's news whilst walking up and down Kings Road in Chelsea.

photo by kind courtesy of www.lth-hotel.com/images/london-guide/london_shopping/Kings_road.jpg

At 2pm, I bussed to Hangar Lane and then hitch-hiked to wonderful welcome at Mom's home in Buckinghamshire.

Friday June 11: Buckinghamshire to Peterborough family

I visited the hairdressers while John studied for his exam. Bought travel supplies from chemist then returned home around noon. After lunch, I hitched to Peterborough to spend the weekend with my Uncle and his family.

Saturday June 12: Peterborough

Uncle took me to his work club for lunch. Later, the adults attended the Church fete and the evening disco with the children. And still later, we enjoyed drinks at the club without the children.

Klondike Board Game 1976

photo by kind courtesy of http://www.worthpoint.com/worthopedia/klondike-gold-rush-board-game-gamma-172407475

Sunday June 13: Peterborough

Simon and his friend played Klondike board-game with me. Then I borrowed Simon's bike to explore area till tea time. Cheryl was away all day. Uncle and Aunt spent day together after a week's absence, as Lilian stayed in London, working during the week.

Monday June 14: back to London and Buckinghamshire

Lilian, the kids and I drove back to London so that Simon and Cheryl could attend school. Later, I hitched via the North Circular Road to Buckinghamshire to spend some more time with Mom and John.

Tuesday June 15: Domestic Day and Neighbourly Visit

Domestic morning, washed and set hair, played variations of Patience (Solitaire) card games that Viv taught me. Then made lunch for John and self and later on visited Mom' neighbour for tea and delicious home-made scones. Returned at 5pm and made herb-roasted chicken for Mom, John and myself.

Home made scones and tea

photo by kind courtesy of: http://www.2stews.com/2009/12/please-come-for-tea-and-scones.html

Wednesday June 16: to London for Donna then back to Bucks.

I hitched a ride to Villiers Street in London, where I purchased a Youth Hostel Association card for my travel companion. John and I enjoyed a post-exam lunch before we greeted my travel-mate, Donna, and chauffeured her home to Buckinghamshire from Victoria Station. Donna met Mom, had tea and went directly to bed after supper and a bath.

Thursday June 17: Last minute pre-trip purchases in Bucks

Donna and I packed and sorted our wares in readiness for trip. At 3pm, we cashed some traveller's cheques then John drove all four of us to Wycombe to shop: Donna wanted to buy a coat, Mom and John were looking for a new fridge. And I made the proprietors of Boots the Chemist very happy indeed.

We returned home via the hospital, for my allergy shot, then watched John's European slideshow which proved most helpful in the final hours of our pre-journey planning.

NEXT WEEK!

June 18-20

Encountering Eurail Trains and exorbitant

exchange rates from England through

France,
Germany
Denmark

Sweden
GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE - June 18-20 ENGLAND TO SWEDEN

GRAND TOUR of EUROPE: June 1-2 Vancouver, Canada to Buckinghamshire, England

2013-03-22T00:00:00.000-07:00

dep. Vancouver June 1, arr. Gatwick June 2, 1976
4765 miles (7645km)

Vancouver Canada to Buckinghamshire, UK
The plane was filled to capacity with mostly adult holidaymakers and older students embarking on a European summer vacation. On the surface, our flight promised to be quite ordinary, but this particular transatlantic trip was anything but!

Fraught with difficulties

Our plane’s water supplies had been improperly replenished between flights, and nobody had noticed. Our drinking and bathroom water had both run dry before we'd cleared even British Columbia’s air space. Adding insult to injury, neither stereo headsets nor movies had been brought aboard our hapless flight.

photo by kind courtesy of Wikipedia.com

We were most disgruntled travellers! And with a total of 8 hours of being forced to endure such shabby treatment, we became more indignant by the hour.

Laker's Solution
Sensing our dissatisfaction, the sullen crew sheepishly offered Laker Air’s sincere apologies for our inconvenience – along with free liquor for all adult passengers, for the duration of the trip.
At least we'd feel no pain!

Two hours and several drinks later, we were served an unappealing meal with an equally unsavory announcement: the bar had run dry of both rum and gin. But happily, though the whisky and vodka would not last long, plentiful soft drinks were available.

Loud and incessant grumbling promptly ensued.

How much more could Laker torture us?

The Passenger's Solution
To prevent anarchy, Mark, my inventive seat-mate challenged each passenger to a tongue-in-cheek limerick contest about the “joys and advantages” of flying with Laker Airlines. The devious creativity of this exercise kept saner minds occupied, which allowed the flight crew time to attend to the more belligerent travellers. I decided that

Mark was my first good omen for my forthcoming trip.

When the limericks were complete, they were duly passed, seat by seat, to Mark who then read out each one aloud, for all to hear. His resonant tones and theatrical delivery presented each limerick in style. And the eventual winner was decided by applause and laughter.
This was my contribution...

Fly to UK with Freddie Laker

And you're making a HUGE mistak-e

First, the water runs dry,

Then bland food makes you cry

And infrequent drinks make your head ach-e!

As Mark was busy projecting his voice so the whole plane could hear him, I fashioned a crown from paper dinner napkins, and later we both held a “coronation” ceremony for the eventual winner. This and other 'group entertainments' helped to alleviate our boredom for the several hours it took to fly across Canada's endless frozen north.

Even though we passengers were having a blast and steadily getting more inebriated drinking whatever liquor was still available, I imagine that, for our beleaguered crew, it was a very long flight indeed.

Happy Landings
Much to the delight of everyone on board, our plane caught a tail wind over Baffin Island! We briskly rode the jet stream across Greenland, and catapulted into Britain to arrive at Gatwick over an hour earlier than scheduled.

News of our bedevilled flight must have reached the eyes and ears of the airport authorities, because we passengers were – uncharacteristically – shepherded through British Customs in less than 30 minutes. Not one bag was searched!! I was thus ignobly ejected into the Arrivals area of Gatwick a full 90 minutes before my family would arrive to chauffeur me home.

Caffeine Please!
Having remained awake drinking the flight's tiny bottles of spirits while helping to maintain sanity aboard, I was weary, somewhat hung-over and in desperate need of caffeine. Even though it meant risking airport coffee in a country whose national drink is tea, only caffeine would do!

In sudden horror, I realized that I had no British currency on me, and the airport bank had not yet opened for the day. What to do, what to do?!

photo by kind courtesy of creattica.com

In desperation, I caught the eye of a kindly looking older gentleman, and asked him if he would be so kind as to treat me to a cup of coffee, since I had no English money but needed to sober up in a hurry. He not only shared several cups of coffee with me, but also listened politely as I described my bizarre “Laker” flight.

An hour or so later, satisfied that I was capable of handling myself without further incident, he left me to my own devices. I decided that my rescuer was a most chivalrous knight, and that

his kindness was a second good omen

for my forthcoming EurRail adventure

I usually get 3 such omens before important events!

Mother makes an entrance
My head was almost clear when Mother arrived, a mere 2 hours later than expected. There was something oddly comforting in knowing that even my 3-year absence from England had not in the least improved her punctuality.

Gatwick to Hazlemere, Buckinghamshire

27 miles (67km)

En route home, we stopped at a Little Chef Restaurant for lunch, which Mom and John seemed to enjoy. As my stomach was still lurching from the flight, I refrained from eating anything till it settled. After battling traffic for a few hours, we eventually arrived at our Buckinghamshire home, just in time for tea.

photo by kind courtesy of worldoftak.ning.com

The Importance of Being Darjeeling
Tea is revered in my Mother's household. Whenever welcoming a prestigious guest - or, in my case, the prodigal daughter - the best china tea service and silverware was always used. Having spent the previous three years in what Britons like to call 'the Colonies', it gladdened my heart to see that Mama still retained England's olde worlde customs.

photo by kind courtesy of afternoonteatable.com

Mother moved to England, and became a permanent British citizen in 1952. And now, she was welcoming me home for the first time since I emigrated to Canada. Within an hour of our arrival in Buckinghamshire, she had indulged me with neat triangles of crustless cucumber sandwiches, sliced angel cake and a quantity of delicious Bourbon biscuits. Along with these delectable treats, she also served Indian tea so strong you could stand a spoon up in it!

It might have been the relief of ending 16 hours of travelling that caused my appetite to return. Or perhaps it was the thoughtful splendour and charm of Mom's English teatime table, for she had procured all my childhood favourite foods to welcome me home.

Good omen number 3 was now fulfilled which

boded well for my forthcoming adventure!

1973-1976
The tumultuous beginnings of my relationship with my Canadian sweetheart had evolved into a snail-mail, long-distance, summer romance. He had returned to Britain in the Fall and asked me to marry him.

Our Valentine's Day marriage and my emigration from UK to Canada, had shocked my family.

We had married in London and had a 48-hour honeymoon in Brighton before he left for Canada, leaving me to complete my medical and say my goodbyes to colleagues, friends and family. Having too little time to sell my belongings, I simply gave away my lifetime's accumulation of 'stuff'. The surprise and delight on the faces of the recipients gladdened my heart, and made the whole process much easier than I'd feared. So, 3 weeks later, when I emigrated to join my groom in Vancouver, I was carrying only 2 suitcases and a treasured original oil painting.

I spent 1973 trying to be "The Good Wife", but - to my chagrin - soon discovered that my new husband and I had completely different views about life. Surpringly, I had genuinely welcomed the challenge of integration, of understanding my in-laws and of learning the ways of my new country. But despite the seriousness of our wedding vows, my husband later confessed to marrying me only to prevent my dating anyone else. He neither wanted nor needed, a permanent commitment with me. At first devastated by his announcement, I eventually resolved to make the most of a less than stellar situation.

So, in Autumn 1974, I enrolled in Vancouver's Simon Fraser University, as a full time student. I loved the mental discipline of learning new material. But my soul deeply craved the avant guard element that had been the heartbeat of my London existence, but was absent from my more sedate Canadian life.

photo of Simon Fraser University by Christobelle in 2010

At University, I thus gravitated toward Bohemian types with razor-sharp minds juxtaposed by a zany wit. Those who recognized a kindred spirit in me also devoured books, loved classical music, indulged in "Be-Ins" "Theatre in the Park" and other artistic weekend excursions.

My husband's mood grew darker and more brooding as I spread my mental wings and began to fly! My love was simply not strong enough to 'save' our marriage. So we separated in May 1975, almost amicably.

photo by kind courtesy of www.guarding.co.uk

I was then free to do my own bidding. But that freedom demanded a full-time job so I could eat and keep a roof over my head. My scholarships and bursaries did not cover everyday living costs.

Night classes at SFU, after a full day of work in the downtown sector, provided me with regular academic infusions. And, more importantly, introduced me to a new people, who gave my life depth and filled it with humour.

The rush-hour bus commute from downtown Vancouver to the campus on Burnaby Mountain was crazy in those pre-Skytrain days. I was the one strap-hanging and catching up with my reading assignments during the 90-minute journey. Of course, after the insanity that was London Transport, I welcomed busses that were clean and ran on time.

SFU operates on a trimester system, so I was able to maintain my small connection with sanity, throughout the glorious summer months. I revelled in the beautiful mountain view that is visible from many parts of the campus, and also enjoyed the modern award-winning architecture of the 7-year old university.

Despite my dedication to my formal education, it was my self-taught job skills that reaped the best and most unexpected benefits. My bosses discovered that huge, clunking computers didn't scare me. So they offered me a generous financial package to remain in their employ for the entire year that it would take for them to pack up the whole company and move to Ontario. They offered, but I declined a position at Head Office, in Toronto. My soul belonged in the west and I was totally in love with my new province!

British Columbia had extended me an opportunity
that would take much hard work and perseverence

but promised to be a lot of fun

I blessed my good fortune!

In addition to three academic evening courses, I familiarized myself with the brand new computer that my company had purchased prior to their cross-country move. I was part of the team that made sure important company documents were magnetically backed up. As a result, 1975-6 proved to be an extremely busy and highly successful year of learning for me.

With proper economies, and my end of job severance package, I calculated that I would be able to indulge my dream of travelling overland throughout the continent of Europe. For the first time since arriving in Canada, I felt like a woman in charge of my own destiny! How ironic that my first concrete travel plan involved leaving my beloved chosen country. But, I definitely return...for the Fall Trimester.

My difficult and often lonely marriage had been a blessing in disguise. It had brought me to Canada, where I immediately felt that I'd finally "arrived home" - a feeling I'd first experienced in Alhambra during my 1972 trip to Morocco.

At 26, I had learned that I could survive on a new continent, without the support of family, and despite the treachery of some who proclaimed friendship but whose actions were those of enemies. Though their untrue words and cruel actions had wounded me at the time...

My life

now resembled

a plant

through cracks in the asphalt
towards the warm sun for the
first time. And suddenly,
I realized how much my
entire being needed the
warmth of that sunshine

Making Decisions
So, I put together a plan to travel all over Europe in the summer of 1976.
Below are my decisions:

traded my spacious one-bedroom apartment, close to work, for the cramped quarters of shared digs, closer to the University. I thus travelled less far in darkness after my evening classes.
allocated my accommodation savings towards buying my return plane ticket to London, UK.
purchased the book "Europe on $10 a day" and made a list of countries and towns to see.
pre-purchased a second plane ticket with hotel, in northern Sweden, to see an iron mine.
pre-paid a luxurious 3-day cruise to the Greek Islands in July

The die was cast once I had committed

time, energy - and money - to my dream!

Travel Plans

photo by kind courtesy of inkwells.net

My mode of travel was to be via EuRail, not because I loved train travel, but because it was economical, and frequently the quickest way to travel from town to town within countries in Europe.

Prior experience of British Rail's delays and breakdowns had negatively coloured my expectations of EuRail. But, with few choices available for student paupers, I staunchly decided to be brave and hope for the best!

My SFU student card permitted me to purchase a cheaper second-class EuRail pass. But since I anticipated spending hundreds of hours on trains in Europe, I treated myself to the 'luxury' of first class upholstery and seat suspension. Unknowingly, I had made a very wise decision.

Phone calls
The hallway phone began to ring shortly after Mother had poured my third cup of tea, as old friends and family members welcomed me back home to England. Having abandonned the comfort and familiarity of the country that had been my home for 20 years, I soon discovered that others knew as little about my new homeland as I once had - before I'd emigrated.

But though I had grown to love my new province and country, I was shocked to realize how deeply my leaving had impacted others. To comfort and reassure them, I told them about my life in Canada.

* * * *

Beautiful British Columbia

photo by kind courtesy of bcpowersports.com

British Columbia, to the west of the Rocky Mountains, is a mountainous province, filled with picturesque lakes and rivers thanks to the effects of plate tectonics. Its broad valleys were gouged out during the Ice Age. And, for over 20,000 years, its many terrains were inhabited by bands of Native People, who walked gently upon it and left only footprints.

On BC's prairies and northern region, the harsh climate imposes its iron will upon all who live there. Ignore it and you die. Fail to stock your winter pantry and you will go hungry for months on end. Fail to procure firewood, warm parkas and boots for winter and you will freeze.

photo by kind courtesy of maijasmommymoments.com

The people who live this way, tend to be straightforward and practical, in both speech and habit. They are good neighbours, when someone is in need, not out of pity, but simply because it would be unthinkable to watch your neighbour die.

Captain Cook was the first known white man to see British Columbia a mere 200 years ago, when he sailed the west coast of North America, looking for a North-West sea Passage. Explorers and government agents later followed the overland route, travelling along the same river that Scottish Simon Fraser traced, from its source to the ocean. The mighty Fraser River that bisects the province bears his name.

British Columbia, though politically younger and less sophisticated than England, has its own charms, and I had grown to love being there. Her people were mountain people, observers of ever changing weather patterns, and the movement of animals, as they hunted, fished and farmed the land. With nature in abundance, BC's main industries were resource based: Forestry, Fishing, Mining and Farming. Life in Canada was very different from my experience of life in industrial Britain. Here, Nature cannot be subdued, only respected.

My BC university built in 1967 atop Burnaby Mountain, near Vancouver, boasted a magnificent view of the Coastal Mountains and the temperate rain-forest that covered them. I loved to walk the trails around the campus because my heart truly felt 'at home' amongst those tall evergreen trees. So much so, that I had gallantly taken a skiing course the previous winter.

photo by kind courtesy of www.allposters.com

But sad to say, I was absolutely dreadful at skiing! Any serious mountain escapades would need to be conducted during the other three seasons. Winter was definitely not my season!

* * * *

By the time I finished chatting on the phone, sharing my adventures and listening to those of my callers, both my body and mind were spent and begging for sleep. So I skipped supper, took a long, hot shower and headed to bed early.

Mother was to drive me into London the next day, and with the many surprises in store, I would need an undisturbed and restful sleep.

Coming Soon!

June 3 - 17
England to France
At the British Museum
Shopping in Regent Street
Getting about in Britain

Leaving for the Continent

GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE - June 3-17 ENGLAND TO FRANCE

Chapter 16: Epilogue

2013-02-15T00:00:00.000-08:00

Epilogue

By the time we arrived at the Victoria Bus Terminal, we had exchanged phone numbers and addresses and made promises to 'keep in touch'. I broached the idea of a party in my West London flat in June, to exchange photos and the trip memories they evoked. Then we had enjoyed poignant individual hugs before going our separate ways - most of us tearfully.

It was difficult to leave the adventure behind. But real life awaited us!

My job
I returned to work the very next day, fully aware that my job might no longer exist as I might already have been fired. Thankfully, my boss looked more relieved than angry to see me. Against all odds, she had received my postcard from Fes, and her Bohemian spirit had understood my very human need to escape the cold, dark and passionless English winter.

She knew that I was grieving the sudden departure of my Canadian boyfriend and that a Moroccan trip had been an excellent tonic for what ailed me. So she had already forgiven me, which was quite remarkable, under the circumstances! But then, Miss M was a truly remarkable educator.

In return, she expected my full cooperation, and then some, in future workaday matters. And, in my sincere gratitude, I was more than willing to oblige.

Each afternoon, Ms M invited me to make us both a cup of tea, and while she sipped, I recounted a different chapter of my bus trek to Morocco and back. My travel tales entertained us both for the several weeks it took the British climate to come close to matching the warmth we had experienced during our trip.

My Canadian boyfriend

Also waiting for me, when I arrived home, were several long and loving letters from my erstwhile Canadian boyfriend. He had simply refused to accept that our time together was well and truly over, and was not about to let me dismiss him in a letter.

He wasn't interested in our being "just friends". He said that being separated from me, even for only a few weeks, had helped him to realize that leaving England had been a colossal mistake. Thus, he was working for his return to England that Autumn, when he would discuss our future with me, in person.

Strangely, I was ambivalent both about his declaration and his plans to return, even though I had bid him goodbye, emotionally, only a few weeks before. So much had happened to and for me since we had parted. Ah, but Autumn was many months away yet and I had time to think in depth about our romantic connection before his return.

My Moroccan trip had shown me the joy of independence. And I now knew that I had to define my own life, and not be pressured into a role prescribed by someone else - no matter how well-meaning that person, nor how promising that role, may appear to be.

2 months later

My party

Two months later, I contacted everyone from the bus trip and arranged for those attending to bring their photos to my party, at my Olympia flat. As fate would have it, my Mother was still out of the country. But her boyfriend, John, happened to be in London on the Saturday of my party, and had dropped by my apartment with news from my travelling Mater.

Having prepared masses of food for that afternoon's gathering, I invited him to chow down. Then he continued to wait with me, for the crowd to arrive and the party to begin.

We waited.........

And we waited......

But only one fellow traveller ever arrived. And that one was a rather drunken Len.

John had not thought it safe to leave me alone with Len, having been told of his attitude towards me during the trip. He did, rather callously, suggest dropping Len off under the nearest road-bridge to sleep it off. But I protested that while Len might sometimes behave like a reprehensible human being, he was not a sewer rat! John then capitulated and chauffeured all of us to his parents' home near Gerrard's Cross, in Buckinghamshire.

Len promptly passed out in the car, and took to the guest bedroom as soon as we entered the home of the "Aged Parents" - as we called them. John's parents were also away travelling, so we three spent the evening and night alone in their abode. John was none too happy about that situation. It wasn't HIS home, and Len was, after all, a total stranger.

As it happened, John's instincts about Len's being 'weird' were to prove 100% correct. In the middle of the night, Len had visited the home's only bathroom, opened the top drawer of the vanity. Then, for reasons known only to Len, vomited into the drawer and then closed it again.

what the #!@&?

John's parents kept their personal bathroom items in those drawers, so neither John nor I would have dreamed of opening it. Our good manners thus prevented us from deciphering the cause of the acid stench that assailed our nostrils the next morning, putting it down to 'plumbing' problems that will often unaccountably assail older abodes.

It wasn't till a week later that Lens 'contribution' was discovered, by John's Mother, when his parents returned to their home again. What a disgusting "welcome home" gift!

Len had vanished by the time John woke up the next morning. I'd slept in, exhausted after my cooking spree and the disappointment of my failed party the previous day. So John did some gardening for his parents before waking me with a cup of tea and the news that Len had disappeared. And that was, thankfully, the last time I would have to endure Len's weirdness.

Still, I was sad that my party plans had failed. I had been looking forward to seeing the others again, as well as the pictures they were to have brought with them. I was also annoyed that not one of them had had the grace to phone and let me know they were cancelling on me.

Ah well, it was my fault for expecting everyday civility from people who were only "vacation" friends!

But that was not even close

to being the end of this matter.

Anton's party

Later that same week I was surprised to receive a phone call from Anton, telling me that his 'live in girlfriend' would be hosting a Morocco theme party in their North London home, later that same month. And I was invited.

At least I now knew why the only one attending MY party had been Len! No wonder he'd had to get so drunk. The alternative would have meant telling me about Anton's party, which, to his credit, he had refused to attend! Poor loyal, yet highly disturbed, Len!

Anton told me that 'their' party was to be held on a weekday night, and would include some of their personal friends. Knowing it would take me longer to travel there and back, than I'd actually spend at their home, he would definitely understand if I chose not to attend.

Shocked both by Anton's collusion in the sabotage of my party as well as by the cold, business-like tone of his voice, I had simply asked for time and date of HIS party, thanked him politely for the invitation, and then hung up.

My impression of Anton began to falter from the moment he issued that heartless invitation. I thought I had begun to know him pretty well on our trip. But, apparently, I didn't know him well enough. If I had, I would have realized that he was being coerced into phoning me, and that his coldness was his attempt at warning me to stay away.

He needn't have bothered.

I had no intention of attending Anton's party.

And that should have been an end to it. But during those few intervening days, curiosity got the better of me. Having lost my camera and the exposed film in it, I desperately wanted to see the photos Anton had taken for me. And, of course, I wanted to see him again too, and was curious to meet his lady-friend.

On the day of the party, the nurses were all working various shifts in their northern hospitals, but had mailed Anton their photos along with their apologies. Our two Aussie drivers were leading another trek through Europe, and so were also absent. And the New Zealand brothers had moved onto greener pastures across the Atlantic. Thus, apart from myself, only George and the other business man from our tour actually attended Anton's party.

I arrived late, parked and locked my moped outside their home, and then rang the doorbell. The party sounded as if it were in full swing when Anton greeted me at the door, wearing an apologetic smile. He then led me, somewhat reluctantly, directly into his den by the kitchen at the back of the house.

She was tall, blonde and willowy and pounced on me before I even had time to say hello.

"So YOU are the predatory bitch who slept her way thru Europe with MY husband!"

GASP!!

Momentarily flabberghasted, I began by agreeing with her. Yes, we'd slept together - in the same tent - the same bed even - but not in the way she'd meant it, and.....

HUSBAND?!!

what the #!@&?

You're her HUSBAND?!?!?! I accused, spinning around, glaring at Anton for a few seconds, too stunned and mortified to look at his wife at all.

Anton, at least, had the grace to look guilty. He'd lied to me, of course, and played me like a fiddle all through Europe. He was so good at it, that I hadn't realized I'd been just a pawn in a game to him.

Standing before him, in his own home, I finally saw Anton in his true colours for the first time. And I did not like the person I saw! I had believed him when Anton told me he was single. And I had believed him again, when he told me he was just 'living with' a woman. It was the 70s, a lot of couples hooked up for a while and then moved on, myself included.

Was I really so naive that it had taken sharp words from Anton's wife to slap me back to reality?! Apparently so. But I'd also WANTED to believe Anton was telling the truth. And WANTING to believe him had been my biggest mistake.

Mistake or not, a part of me very much wanted to scratch HIS eyes out, apologize to his wife, then run out of the house and never look back.

But I still had to accomplish what I had travelled all that way to do!! So I literally collared Anton and, almost hissing at him, said

"You promised you'd take pictures FOR me, after my camera was stolen in Fes. So just let me have MY pictures, and I will leave you to enjoy THIS gathering without me."

Then I turned to see his wife, still glaring at me, moving towards a bunch of photos that sat on the tabletop. She looked about ready to combust as she stared down at them. My eyes followed hers to several 8x10 glossies that showed me, dancing practically naked in the wind atop that Tangier sand dune, at sunrise of our first full day in Morocco.

Grasping the photos in her fist, she waved them in my face, accusing me of deliberately planning to seduce her husband. Then she promised to burn all Anton's photos rather than let me keep a single trophy.

Seeing those 'whirling dervish' photos made me feel as if I'd just been sucker punched!

I had truly not noticed Anton hunkered down in those Tangier dunes, secretly taking one lurid photograph after another - of ME! In black and white, they were very arty, but also quite explicit, since my thin djellaba perfectly silhouetted my dancing form against the rising sun.

In a flash, I understood the reason for his wife's venomous attack.

Those photos weren't MY trophies,
they were HIS!

Anton's photographic masterpiece was proof positive that this man she adored, her beloved husband, had actively lusted after another woman during his long trip away from her.

She loved Anton, of that I had no doubt. Yet he had hurt her very deeply - much more than he had hurt me.

Of course, in her eyes, it was all MY fault. That's why she had insisted he invite me to her home. I was the unwitting mouse in her vicious game of cat and mouse.

The music tape had stopped, and everyone had become suddenly very still and silent. The atmosphere in that room was thick enough to cut with a knife. And it was obvious no photos were going to be exchanged on that, or any other, night.

Again, I felt sick to my stomach and needed to leave. Right away!

So, with no further ado, I turned on my heel and left Anton, his wife and the others far behind.

Unlocking my moped, I somehow managed to drive myself home, and cry myself to sleep that night. What a horrendously calculated and painful evening I had endured.

My time on the trip with Anton had been so sweet and tender by comparison. And I had certainly gained from our shared travels. But those gains had seemed all but eradicated in a single evening of deliberate cruelty.

Anton's party was the last time I was to see
any member of our Moroccan tour group

It took many months to recover from the shock of Anton's betrayals - both of his wife, and of me. So it wasn't till the end of summer that I understood how necessary both the trip and its unsavoury finale had been - for my own growth and my future understanding of human nature.

I had filled the void left by my absent Canadian with Anton's company, and we'd enjoyed our trip together. But as we were both wounded puppies in the love department (or so I had been led to believe), neither of us was hoping for, or expecting, more than just a shared fun time.

After the trip, I had returned home to the same world that I'd left - minus the electrical blackouts. Hooray!   So I found great solace in working hard to make up for worrying my boss half out of her mind during my absence. And, since she hadn't fired me, I was eager to show my gratitude by working overtime whenever asked.

Summer 72
During my walks home through London's parks in those long summer evenings, I was able to examine my emotional relationships with my Canadian and with Anton. And eventually I filtered out whatever rang false and internalized what felt real and true.

I became much stronger after my Morocco trip - physically, emotionally and mentally! And that strength had been due to Anton's unfailing good humour as well as his solicitous care and protection of me.  Because he had shielded, educated and honoured me on that trip, I had regained my lost confidence and was thus better able to face my problems at home upon my return.

Ironic, huh?

Eventually I forgave Anton - and myself - for the pain we'd caused each other after the trip. Nobody is perfect. And yes, he had lied to me. But I had chosen to believe him, no questions asked. So I had allowed his lies.

I came to realize that nothing and nobody is perfect, and that we can only do our best. And that when we know better, we do better. (Thank you Oprah!) And, as long as we are honest about our feelings and willing to learn from our mistakes, we're on the right track. We just have to learn how to be truthfully gentle with ourselves and each other.

Silently I thanked Anton for being such a fun catalyst for me. And I sent him and his wife my heartfelt good wishes for a long, happy and loving life together. And then I set about expanding my diary memories of our fun times on the road so that I would never forget the valuable lessons they had brought me.

Forty years on....

Life has thrown me many, many
challenges which I have faced with

hopefulness,

humour

and courage,

aided and abetted by the many
experiences and often difficult lessons
I learned during

"My Road to Morocco"

May your travels also create memories and lessons that last you an entire lifetime!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Christobelle's next trip

GRAND TOUR of EUROPE

13 weeks * 1976 * 14 Countries
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
begins March 22, 2013
mark your calendar!

Chapter 15 - Days 19-20 Bordeaux to Paris to London

2013-02-08T00:00:00.001-08:00

Day 19 Bordeaux to Paris (300 miles)

My first night camping alone on this trip was oddly restful, despite the damp weather and damper atmosphere, it being cold and lonely without Anton's cheery presence.

I had fallen into a deep reverie during our mountainous journey out of Spain. And my inward focus continued as our group breakfasted and struck camp in readiness for our journey through France. The others wisely avoided conversing with me, perhaps sensing my deep need to figure things out for myself.

An hour into our northward journey, my mood unaccountably brightened, and I began to look forwards instead of backwards. Our tour was right on schedule, yet our amazing drivers still had a few amazing treats in store for us.

Instead of returning us and the Love Bus to Belgium, as planned, they arranged a wonderful surprise for our group. We would arrive in Paris that afternoon, and remain there all evening and overnight! This meant that we were free to explore the City of Love and enjoy one last relaxed communal meal before heading home the next day.

On the following morning, however, a different driver and vehicle would meet us at our Parisian Pension, who would drive us all back to London via the Dover Ferry.

Eager not to waste any time upon our arrival, we broke the "no eating in LOVE BUS" rule with a lunch of bread, cold meats, apples and cheese, whilst travelling. As a result, we were able to check into our rooms in the City of Lights at just past 3pm.

Our drivers needed to arrange for repairs to the Love Bus, so we were each free to spend a few hours doing whatever we pleased before reuniting at the Pension for one last supper as a group. The two drivers promised to make all the arrangements for that final meal before re-joining our group later.

The late hour and relentless rain made us reconsider a much anticipated trip up the Eiffel Tower since the view from the top would be all but obscured by low cloud. And visiting any other Parisian landmark would demand more time than we had that day. Yet none of us was disappointed.

We couldn't believe we were actually in Paris!

And in the Springtime too!

How lucky were WE?!!

Despite our short time allocation, there was a lot that we were still able to do and see. But we had no time to waste! So we headed, en masse, for the Visitor's Information Office.

PRESS HERE for stunning views of Paris from the Eiffel Tower

photo by kind courtesy of https://twitter.com/YourEiffelTower

Armed with advice and the relevant brochures, the nurses, a couple of the men and I happily stepped onto a waiting open-topped, double-decker bus to go Sightseeing in Paris.

Climbing to the open top deck, we spent the next couple of hours enjoying the sites.

It being the early seventies, our bus tour was unescorted, but the brochures helped to inform us of landmarks along the route.

The Eiffel Tower, for instance is an iron lattice tower was built in 1889 by Gustave Eiffel and, at 324 metres, is the tallest building in Paris and one of the most visited monuments in the world.

PRESS HERE

for a modern 'open top' bus tour of Paris

photo by kind courtesy of www.bigbustours.com

PRESS HERE to visit the Louvre

photo by kind courtesy of

http://kenkaminesky.photoshelter.com/image/I0000w0vrVOi9mRQ

Our bus took us past The Musee du Louvre,
originally a royal fortress, that would take several hours to explore, since the world renowned museum houses a total of 35,000 works of art.

After the Louvre, our bus circumnavigated the Arc de Triomph, this time - thankfully - with a more knowledgeable French driver at the wheel.

PRESS HERE to see the Arc de Triomph

photo by kind courtesy of http://www.inspiredinfrance.com

From the Arc de Triomph, we made our way past the cathedral of Notre Dame and L'Hotel des Invalides to Palais Garnier, Paris' Opera House and the Grand Palais, around the Place de la Concorde to the Church of the Madeleine, Trocadero, Place Vendome, Ecole Militaire and Sacre Coeur.

Please press each of the links below, for more information

about the different Parisian sites we saw.

PRESS HERE to visit Notre Dame

photo by kind courtesy of http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/france

PRESS HERE to see L'Hotel des Invalides

photo by kind courtesy of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Les_Invalides

PRESS HERE to see the Palais Garnier Opera House
photo by kind courtesy of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palais_Garnier

PRESS HERE to experience the Grand Palais
photo by kind courtesy of www.telegraph.co.uk

PRESS HERE for more on Place de la Concorde

photo by kind courtesy of www.wikipaintings.org

PRESS HERE for info about La Madeleine photo by kind couresy of http://www.sacred-destinations.com/france/paris

PRESS HERE for more on Trocadero

photo by kind courtesy of tourbytransit.com

PRESS HERE for information on Place Vendome

photo by kind courtesy of http://courses.umass.edu/latour/2010/vendome

PRESS HERE for information on L'Ecole Militaire

photo by kind courtesy of en.wikipedia.org/wiki/École Militaire

PRESS HERE for information on Sacre Coeur

photo by kind courtesy of commons.wikimedia.org

At the end of our comprehensive tour, we returned to our modest Pension to change clothes and meet the others, including our drivers, in readiness for a night on the town. It was the first time since Fes that I'd worn anything resembling a dress!

PRESS HERE for information on Bateau Mouche

Our drivers had organized a surprise dinner cruise for us aboard a Bateau Mouche. Although nowhere near as fancy as the one shown here, our stalwart craft glided under the bridges of Paris with ease, showcasing the city's history for our still-hungry eyes.

The evening sun made an appearance, just before it set, as we were helping ourselves to the "menu à la carte".

Today's menu is quite extensive, including
starters of Pan-fried slice of foie gras, roasted pears and licorice juice or Tender crab cake, dill and red onions.
Main course options include Fillet of squab confit with sweet potato and parsnip purée or Pan-seared thick-cut beef with truffled mashed potatoes or Sea bass roasted on its skin with carrot tournedos. And the
dessert options include Milk chocolate dome with salted butter caramel, Puff pastry strips and lemon yogurt, Vanilla bavarois with chocolate ganache or a Trio of seasonal cheeses.

We were each able to relax and share our experiences whilst our bateau glided beneath the several gilded bridges of Paris - each a work of art in its own right.

What a thrill it was to glide past the Notre Dame Cathedral and other Parisian landmarks, whilst sipping wine aboard a floating restaurant. For me, this final experience was the perfect way to wrap up our magnificent three-week adventure.

Tomorrow, we would return to
London and our 'normal' lives,

but for that one memorable evening,
j'etais une Parisienne!

Day 20 Paris to London (282 miles)

Morning brought blue skies and warmer temperatures, just in time for us to bid farewell to the City of Lights. Despite the delectable food, our romantic trip down the Seine had been a bitter-sweet experience for me without Anton to share it. But I had made the most of it, enjoying the tales my travel companions shared about their trips.

Following a modest continental breakfast at our Pension, we met our new driver and new bus. Our two regular drivers had unloaded our back packs and personal items onto the new bus, before disappearing to get some much needed repairs done on the Love Bus.

Happily, we had been able to spend our final evening in Paris, aboard the bateau with them, and had all raised a glass and heartily toasted them for creating such a wonderfully memorable trip for all of us.

And what a trip it had been!

From a shaky start, driving in endless circles around the Arc de Triomph, our road had led us through the picturesque wine country of Southern France. The very next day, we encountered Nature's wrath in the form of washed out roads, bridges and campsites in mountainous Basque country. Never daunted, we persisted and within 24 hours were to enjoy Paella and Sangria in Madrid, which was quickly followed by total immersion in the marvels of Toledo. And then came the piece de resistance, The achingly beautiful Alhambra in Granada, followed by a night on the beach and sunrise over the Mediterranean. Spain had greeted us with a tantrum but bid us a brief farewell with a smile.

Morocco was a crazy week of exploration, excitement and excellent food. Despite my unpleasant encounter at the tannery, I had enjoyed myself immensely, swimming in the outdoor pool, haggling in the Medina, seeing and meeting the artisans at work, learning about the national food and culture of this ancient land, all the while being romanced by Anton. What more could a vibrant young woman want?

Back across the Straits of Gibraltar, we had then driven through the historical cities of Andalusia, en route to the endless party and visual spectacle that was Seville at Feria. And what a marvelously uplifting time we had all enjoyed there! To this day, I can still manage the basic claps of Flamenco, though I confess my feet no longer manage the steps.

Salamanca was a pleasant surprise, even though I already knew that Spain's educational heritage was extensive and encompassed many centuries. The hotel was a special treat for everyone, even though most spent the night camping.

I was very glad that the rain had stopped for our second visit to San Sebastian. That city has since become a much loved destination for British holiday goers, ironically for its many hours of sunshine as well as its extensive views of the beautiful Bay of Biscay.

Our return trip through France might have proven quite mundane, had our Love Bus not needed urgent repairs in Paris. But, since it had, our drivers had turned disaster into opportunity by ensuring that our European excursion ended in HIGH style, in the City of Love.

But now they, and our stalwart Love Bus, had vanished, never to be seen again! It was a wild gipsy life our drivers had chosen, but what an exciting way for two Aussies to explore Europe! I would miss their cheery smiles and off-beat viewpoint that was always able to see the upside of any dire situation.

Our new driver wasted no time in chauffeuring us to Calais, and onto the cross-channel Ferry to Dover. The 90-minute crossing was the last opportunity for the 10 of us to exchange addresses and phone numbers before reaching England.

It was far too late for lunch by the time we reached Victoria Station - the starting and ending point of our adventure. So, rather than spend what was left of our cash on what passes for food in British Rail stations, we all opted to go our separate ways, promising to meet when our photos had been developed and printed.

Though the trip itself now

SEEMED to be over,

fate still had some bizarre

twists in store for me.

But you'll have to wait

for the Epilogue to

find out how and why!

* * * * *

Coming Soon!

Parties, Photographs and Peculiar People
IN

Section 3
My Road to Morocco: EPILOGUE

* * * * *

Chapter 14: Day 17-18 Salamanca to San Sebastian to Bordeaux

2013-01-25T00:00:00.000-08:00

Chapter 14 - Day 17 Salamanca to San Sebastian 250 miles

After a wonderfully relaxing sleep, Anton and I were the only ones who were rested enough to be animated the following morning. We woke early but prolonged our enjoyment by breakfasting at the hotel before seeking out our weary travel mates.

Our destination was San Sebastian, a coastal town 250 miles to the north east, on the Bay of Biscay. Most of our companions slept through that journey, which allowed Anton and me a peaceful day of scenery watching together, as our Love Bus bridged the distance.

We did not stay at the same campsite that had welcomed us during our first visit to San Sebastian! It was closed, understandably, considering a goodly portion of the upper mountainside now covered it. Our drivers had successfully located an alternate site, that overlooked the ocean and was also open for business. And most of our group stayed there overnight.

Having enjoyed a wonderful night's sleep on real beds in Salamanca, Anton and I decided our bodies required continued comfort and ease. So he found us both a room in a clean and comfortable 'pension' in San Sebastian.

Sensing that this would be our last opportunity to enjoy uninterrupted time together, we shunned the group's company and ate one last private supper together, at a local restaurant. We then spent the evening quietly sipping wine and re-living all of the wonderful things we'd done, places we'd seen and memories we'd created on our very special 'hippie' trip.

From the bottom of my heart, I thanked Anton for being a kind, sensible and caring gentleman who had tried so hard to protect me from bodily harm during our trip. We had had a glorious adventure so far, experiencing so many wonderful places, cultures, and people in an amazingly short period of time.

He had also been a wonderful tonic for my doldrums. And he brought out the best in me, as I sensed I had in him, most of the time anyway. I told him, truthfully, that I would never forget the sweetness and enthusiasm with which he had shared his considerable architectural knowledge with me, and how lucky we all were that he had been there to keep up group morale whenever it flagged.

I was grateful to him for minding his manners and always acting like a gentleman towards me, even though I’d flirted madly with him and knew that he’d really wanted more than just my 'friendship'. I also thanked him for the opportunity to earn (with my bargaining skills) those many souvenirs and gifts with which he had showered me, and which would forever remind me of this wonderful trip that would be abruptly ending in a few days' time.

Though we both knew that we would soon return to our 'real' lives, we would always have this trip as a beacon of happiness, should our future lives ever seem dark or hopeless. This trip would serve to remind us what magnificent, strong and luminous beings we were as young adults.

I then confided in Anton about my deep sorrow at my failed relationship with my Canadian man; about my feelings of inadequacy in my new job; and my antipathy about my recent move to a new neighbourhood where I was now the stranger. And, more for my own illumination than his, I explained how these inner stresses had been magnified by blackouts and loneliness - all of which had precipitated my impulsive booking of this trip to Morocco, mere hours before it had departed.

Anton listened in silence, nodding as I illuminated each point. And when I asked why he had not seemed surprised by anything I told him, he confessed that he already knew much of it since I had apparently talked in my sleep!

It took him long enough to mention that!

In his turn, Anton then confessed to me that he had been living with the same woman for more than two years before booking this trip. As an architect, he had yearned to see and experience different cultures and the buildings they created. Yet, because his lady disliked travelling outside of Britain, they had never taken a foreign trip together.

Eventually, frustrated by her inability to share something so vital to his well-being, Anton had booked this overland trip to Morocco without her. She had not been pleased, of course. But travelling slowly was his preferred way to deepen his understanding and appreciation of a foreign culture and its many styles of architecture.

He had not expected to meet anyone on this trip who would share his same depths of passion for art and architecture. And yet our paths had collided and we had become each other's magic catalyst for change! And we were still both in awe of that small miracle.

Once back in England, we would go our separate ways and likely never see each other again. And perhaps that was how it needed to be.

Anton had no idea what kind of reception he would receive when he returned to the North London home he shared with his girlfriend. And I now knew that I had a lot of thinking to do about what I wanted to accomplish in my life. Only then would I know the direction my life was to take, and how I would 'make it so'.

Because it had been the elephant in the tent, Anton and I had been forced to accept and face our fascination for each other head on, and without pretense. Animal magnetism had drawn us to together, its power undeniably seductive and persistent.

Under different circumstances, our sleeping in such close proximity, night after night, might have precipitated much more than just respectful togetherness. But neither one of us was prepared to jettison our precious new friendship for the sake of a fling. We simply wouldn’t risk the passion because we were both reluctant to lose each other's respect by making promises that we'd couldn't keep in the light of day.

Holiday romances are, by their nature, ephemeral. But by remaining conscious of the deeper needs of the other, we’d each been able to enjoy our holiday flirtation without losing ourselves, or each other, to the allure of 'forever'.

Had we crashed and burned that last night together, it might have spoiled all the memories we had just created, and now treasured. So we sipped wine and talked till we fell asleep, gently cradled in each other's arms, two carefree strangers, delighted that we had found each other, if only for the duration of this three-week trip.

Though our own compatible energies were protected by the time warp of our trip, an ocean of discordant energy awaited each of us back home, and we both knew it.

Chapter 14 - Day 18 San Sebastian to Bordeaux 150 miles

photo by kind courtesy of judybellwatercolors.com

The next morning, I awoke to find a single pink rose on my pillow, and next to it a note that read:

Thank you for all you are, and for all you have inspired in me.

Meeting and being with you these last weeks was a joy that I never expected, nor thought I ever deserved. Being and talking with you has given me the courage to face my life head on. So I have decided to leave the tour and catch a flight back to London today, to sort things out at home, one way or the other. Wish me luck!

Forgive me for not waking you to say goodbye, you were sleeping so peacefully I didn't have the heart to disturb you.

Thanks again, my precious friend, for choosing this particular Tour so that we could meet; for always being your REAL self; and most of all, for creating such beautiful forever memories with me.

love always, A

p.s. When printed, I will send photos of our trip to you, via the Overland Tour Company.

After days of waking before dawn, I could not believe that on this, of all mornings, I’d slept in!

I sighed and smiled through my tears reading his note over and over again, because I knew what he said was true. Anton was also a joy that I had also never expected nor thought I would ever deserve. And now he had left my life as suddenly as he had entered it, a mere 18 days earlier.

I would miss Anton's winning smile, his quirky humour and his complete obsession with photography, art and architecture. But in a very real way, his idiosyncrasies and the lessons they taught would always be with me. And, in my heart, so would he.

Dressing, I gathered my few belongings, and with rose in hand, slowly made my way back to the Love Bus. There I discovered that, earlier that morning, Anton had collected his backpack and sleeping bag, and bid everyone farewell before departing for the airport and his plane to England.

During our journey to Bordeaux, I came to realize that Anton must have booked his plane fare to London from San Sebastian while we were still in Salamanca. I wasn't sure how to feel about that realization. My emotions were just too fresh and raw to trust. So I let it all simmer, hoping I'd understand more later.

We all missed Anton, in our own way, on our return trip through the Pyrenees to Bordeaux. Everyone seemed a little more pensive and self-absorbed than before. But even George and Len seemed to understand that I was currently rather fragile and they should try hard not to irritate me more than usual.

An insecure part of me felt horribly abandoned when Anton left. And while it was true that I'd now have to pitch my own tent for the next couple of nights, that fact alone did not explain the depths of my very mixed feelings about him, or about his current living situation.

As the bus climbed higher and higher through the mountains, my reflections grew deeper and deeper. By the time we neared our destination I had become aware of many unresolved feelings of abandonment lingering from childhood days. Those same feelings had re-surfaced when my beloved boyfriend had suddenly left for Canada in February. And now that Anton had also left so abruptly, those ugly feelings of rejection had surfaced once again!

Though young in years, I already knew that when something we don't like surfaces again and again in our life, we have to find out why, if we are ever to find peace within ourselves.

I found it slightly ironic that the very method of Anton's departure had given me both the time and the space I'd needed to identify the true underlying cause of my misery.

Now all I needed was a solution. But before I could come up with one, we had arrived at our Bordeaux campsite. I had never been any good at setting up a tent and was dreading doing it alone now. So it came as a complete shock when Len -without saying a word- took it upon himself to set up my tent for me, a discrete distance from his own.

I was flabbergasted, but made a point of graciously thanking the man I'd thought of all these days as just a rather sullen scholarly stalker. It seems the people on this trip still had the ability to surprise me. And I rather enjoyed knowing that!

Coming Soon!

Realizations, Reality Checks and Rain

Section 3 - Chapter 15

Bordeaux to Paris to London

My Road to Morocco - Days 19 -20