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Preface
I want to make clear, that these are my own personal observations, and, while definitely not politically correct,
are not intended to offend anyone. Each of you who happens to end up visiting these great places and sights, will
have your own unique set of experiences and observations. For that reason, in spite of what some people have assumed,
this is not a guide, but just a recollection of my experiences, good or bad. If there is any part that I find especially
useful for myself as well as anyone traveling on a budget, it will be the list of hotels, and over time, even some
of those will change for better or worse.
Introduction
The year in Sacramento that had started so positively was turning into an economical disaster. The market turn-around,
friendly advice from a well meaning individual, poor advice by the Lehman Brothers analysts, and poor decisions
of my own, had wasted my worldly possessions. My social life was nonexistent, and my job hunt frustrated. I was
not ready to reassume substitute teaching. Here I sat in my boring apartment, realizing that my life had stagnated
into total redundancy. Even working out, seeing the same people day after day, doing the same things week after
week, with no more dreams and hopes for the future except the occasional software changes, and no more expectations
in the personal department became symptomatic of my state of mind. My life was truly approaching a slightly unreal
stage and was in danger of being "virtually" dreamed into oblivion. Neither truly despairing, knowing
that I had interesting options, nor in any sort of emergency mode, I still realized that nothing would happen until
I made it happen. I have lived a life most people would call exciting or at least somewhat interesting and different,
yet all of that had faded into distant memory for me. I've become a "has-been". I've flown in Navy jet
fighters, piloted airplanes, been a Navy Reserve aircrew member, skied (water and snow), dived, skydived, SCUBA
dived, owned a Prindle catamaran and enjoyed sailing off Oxnard and Ventura, bicycled as a teen from Germany to
Holland and flew past Mount Pinatubo, the morning after it blew up. I hiked up Mt. Whitney and have gone several
times into the Grand Canyon. I whitewater-rafted on the Gauley River in West Virginia and crisscrossed the USA,
having driven coast to coast on several occasions. During the Vietnam War I had been close enough to the B-52 bombing
action in Laos to feel the ground shake and to hear the thunder of the explosions, and on other days watched fighter-bombers
do their bombing runs. Near Nakhon Phenom I hid in the bottom of a bus, protected by locals, from enemy military
that had crossed the Mekong River and was pushing their point of view onto the local population. I've helicoptered
on the huge Jolly Green Giant choppers to supply US Special Forces along the Mekong River and was part of a pilot
rescue attempt. I was on Guam, Taiwan, in Japan (Edo, Kyoto, Nikko, and more), Korea, Okinawa, Thailand, the Philppines,
and Hawaii. I walked the Angkor Wat temples in the jungle in Cambodia, made footprints on lonely tropical beaches,
and have seen and done much that the average individual will never experience. I never even worked a normal 9-5
day. I was always either in the military or in the test & evaluation department for military hardware. As part
of that career I've been to many places in the world and have see much that was interesting or unusual. I even
had a year's stint with the Pentagon in Arlington, VA (actually, that was close to a 9-5 job). In 1999 I visited
Singapore, Cambodia, and Vietnam for two months. In 2000 I toured Central Asia (Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan,
Tajikistan, Adzerbajan, as well as Moscow). I could go on living on my meager government retirement, frugally and
indefinite, however, I hadn't been back to Europe in 35 years. It was high time for a little visit. I knew that
such a trip would revitalize me in spirit and soul, difficulties be damned. I spent most of my remaining cash and
a couple of months in planning. Then, armed with hotel reservations, Eurail passes, a Brit Railway pass, and various
flight and special train tickets, on a bright sunny morning on 26 MAR 2001, I stepped through my own personal "stargate"
to be transported from Reno to San Francisco International and from there to beautiful, albeit temporarily drizzly,
springtime Paris.
Now I am back home in the US and both America and I have changed forever. We - I - realize that the precious gift
of life must not be wasted. Carpe diem (seize the day) is more important to us now than at anytime before. Life
can end suddenly and without warning and I'd hate to be watching the instant replay, bored and disappointed. There
are enough regrets and missed opportunities, as it is. I now have filled my life once more with challenges and
new goals, and excitement has returned (though little else, as of yet).
I just edited the entire digital photographic harvest (some samples are on my webpage), and I know that I have
taken not nearly enough pictures and also that many important picture opportunities were missed, relying just on
a digital camera alone. On the other hand, much of what is there delighted me and hopefully will give you a sense
of being there. I did the best I could, and most, but not all the pictures are sharp. I was learning both, the
non-flash operation, as well as the more economic picture modes as I was going along, and things are getting better
toward the second half of the trip.
Paris (27 MAR 01)
Getting into Europe was akin to sliding into a warm bath on a cold day. I eased into Paris with a sigh of relief
and comfort. I had arrived. The Charles De Gaulle airport is large, modern and relatively easy to negotiate. I
retrieved my backpack, said farewell to a pretty French girl with a slender figure and large dark eyes in a pale
oval face, framed by dark curls. She turned out to be my lovely and intelligent discussion partner whose company
I had the pleasure to enjoy since San Francisco, where she helped to while away a three hour wait. She went on
to Lyon and had been in the US on a business trip for a French telecom firm. I changed into sneakers, getting ready
for extended walking, and then exited into a lobby area looking for a teller machine to have some local currency,
and then for a place to purchase a week's Metro pass. A metro ticket stand was right near there, as was a cash
automat. Proud to have these first tasks accomplished I went in search of the metro station.
The metro station is on the lowest level of the Airport and it was a smooth ride to Gare du Nord to connect to
subway trains 4 and then 1 to get to the Louvre/Rivoli station. I was much stared at, but that became part of the
entire trip. Travelers, especially those with a huge backpack, always arouse the curiosity of natives anywhere
they go. Once out of the station I asked for directions to Hotel Rue Saint Honoré,
meanwhile being blown away by the first sounds and sights of central Paris. I loved it then and still do so now.
I immediately recognized the Louvre to my left and quickly picked out where the River Seine was located and then
knew which way I had to go. Rue St. Honoré, and the small hotel by
the same name, were not very difficult to find at all. I stepped in through the green-framed glass doors and listened
to the sounds of Arabic spoken. Which, when I approached was smoothly switched to very passable English. It turned
out that my friendly hosts were Moroccans and spoke three languages nearly fluent. The first thing I found out
was that I could have had a shorter walk by taking the number 4 subway and getting off at Les Halles. Something
I did regularly from then on. Rushing from the hotel (rooms small, but bearable, and the location and price outstanding),
I immediately walked to Les Halles, where a small supermarket was, to go shop. After stashing the goods, I headed
for the Riverside. I spent most of the evening walking the city, hardly bothered by the occasional drizzle that
kept misting the skies. The Seine was swollen from spring rains and winter runoff and lower walks and part of a
lower riverside highway were fully submerged. Even the tour boats did not brave the fast moving waters and remained
tethered at their largely submerged moorings at Point Neuf.
After dark, I ate a late meal in my room. I had grabbed some bread at the next-door boulangerie, a place where
I became a frequent visitor. You stand in line, repeat in your mind how to ask for the type of bread you want,
or just point, hold out a hand with money with the girls sort through, and then happy leave with the warm bread,
or sandwiches of your choice. There is always a line for the goods. Their salads are delicious, generous and not
too expensive and the bread is wonderfully fresh. Fruit, wine, and cheese I had purchased at the Supermarché, the little super marked around the corner. I had no intentions of eating
out, since I had a budget to consider. I fell asleep, watching CNN in English and later Stargate in French and
promptly woke at 0430. Stared at the tube and read until 0530, dropped off again and got up at 9. Around those
times, so it seemed, most of the hotel guests were milling about. Anyway, all of the ones from the USA. The next
day I extended the range. I went to find the Pompidu Center, where seemingly thousands of young people from all
over Europe, though mostly French, were crowding the plaza and the countless coffee and wine shops. One can also
immediately notice that the US must be one of the countries with the most overweight individuals on this globe.
Strangely, however, working out in Europe is not a high priority and Europeans consider the Americans weird and
oddly obsessed with all of the fat and fitness crazes over here. I can somewhat relate to the weird aspects, thinking
back how some of our gym members spend much time driving around the parking lot to get a spot close to the door.
Of course, walking significant distances, and especially climbing stairs, is common here and helps to keep many
people fit. It definitely won't be the food, I can tell you that. I had a bear of a time finding anything that
was less than 20% fat. I spent seemingly hours in food stores slowly translating labels, when there were any. Labeling
here is neither standardized nor required, unless the item is to be exported (to the US). If you like non-fat milk,
buy the reconstituted milk in plastic bottles. The added advantage is that it needs no refrigeration.
Since it was a rainy day, I had decided to visit the Louvre and, to my dismay, found the glass pyramid's entrance
doors displaying all kinds of strike demands. The museum personnel was on strike (again). I hear it's the annual
ritual. The sad part was that so many tourists, who had come here from all over the globe to see the wonders of
the Louvre, had to go home without ever having that experience. I stood there and yelled at those French bureaucrats,
who simply pushed me out the door and closed and locked it behind me. I knew that this would not be a problem for
me, because I not only had planned to stay in Paris for well over a week, but also would periodically come back
to my travel hub. I just felt bad for all of those sad and disappointed faces behind me, while those socialist-minded
government swine held everybody hostage to their annual demand for more cash. Another thing frosted me. While we
were outside in the cold and drizzly weather, looking in, the friends and relatives of those employees were freely
wandering around the place, having a wonderful time. Being wet and depressed I then I walked out into the Tulleries,
the gardens of the Louvre, when it started to really pour down. A young, cute Korean girl asked me what to do next
and I told her that I was heading across the river to the Musee d'Orsay, and she excitedly fell in with me and
became my first little temporary travel companion for the day on this trip. We stood in the huge line, hugging
the building, for at least 30 minutes. For a time I was sheltered under the umbrella of a woman from Israel and
got to listen to her tale from home. The art museum, once we got inside, was well worth getting soaked for. I made
a b-line for the men's room, stuck my head under the hand dryer and came out dryer, warmer and feeling a whole
lot better. The place was truly remarkable and is definitely worth a visit. Even the old building itself, once
a central railroad station, was special to behold. Later I walked down the Avenue Des Champs Elysees toward the
Arc De Triomphe. It was a very long but interesting walk. I poked my head into many of the classy French establishments
there. Among them the incredible perfume shops, the Peugeot and Mercedes dealerships, a huge Virgin book and music
store, and even checked out a McDonald's. There, people were taking headphones from the wall and listening to the
latest CDs while munching on McD's foods. While tagging buildings all along railroad tracks is extreme, though
not found anywhere else, vandalism of any kind appears virtually nonexistent. I refused the street-side sex survey,
can't remember why. Just kidding, the question was "what is love". They had tapes, mikes and cameras
there. I told them what I thought love was, and they didn't like the answer (I said something about caring, respecting,
and being willing to sacrifice all for each other). They then asked about sex and I told them not to confuse the
two. In the end, so it turned out, they wanted to take people off the street and send them upstairs to some sex
shop. I laughed and strode away. Pointed them toward this elderly couple and gave the man the mike. The interviewer
quickly snatched it from the old guy's hand and handed it to some other single guy. The Arch De Triomphe drew closer.
It is a solemn monument to fallen soldiers and an "eternal" flame burns in one place. The gray, overcast
sky was a suitable solemn backdrop. On the way back I steered my tired feet through the gloomy evening down George
V Blvd, heavily embellished with apparently classy restaurants, toward the Eiffel Tower. I walked around the base
of the huge structure, bigger than it appears from the distance, and somewhat footsore and hungry, decided to take
the subway back.
Later that evening, the rains had ceased for a quite some time now, and I perked up once more decided to ask my
hoteliers about one of the gyms listed in my International Health Resorts and Spa Association (IRHSA) booklet.
The big Moroccan, friendly boss-man immediately recognized one of them to be just down the street. He used to be
a member, he laughingly admitted, and, patting his considerable girth, said that that had been obviously some time
ago. When asking him if it were proper to walk down Rue St. Honoré in gym clothes, he and his brother laughed
out loud and reassured me that I was in France now, not in prudish America. So I went to the Club Gymnase. Small,
friendly, immediately accepting my 24HR Fitness club card, they allowed me to work out for free, which I did hereafter
anytime I came back to Paris. The club population was definitely different. I swear, among the males in the weight
room, 30-40% were gay. Aside from the typically French cheek-kissing greetings, there was more touching and ogling
going on than was normal during greetings. Too many small weights were moved too many times and socializing seemed
to be the main reason for being there. Some of the outfits they wore would get the guys thrown out, or laughed-out
of American gyms. By contrast, the two cardio and aerobics rooms were quite different. Packed with mostly women,
some serious hard work was going on there. I tried a couple of step classes some time later, but found the ballet-style
moves by the dancy male instructor a little more than I was able to handle. Also, instruction was hardly given.
I was told that the clientele had been doing the same complex moves for so long now that they could do them in
their sleep. Newcomers need not apply and new choreography seemed out of the question. Whenever I could fit it
into my schedule, I went to the gym in the mornings, when it was nice and empty. Paris was a true delight to wander
around in and one could probably spend a few decades in this place, exploring it all. The days are flying by and
I could easily stay here for a long time. Aside from a woman by my side, or at least a good friend, all I need
is here and more. Though, on second thought, I'd probably choose a place in Germany or England, where the language
would be no factor and Paris is still in easy reach. Anyway, those were my thoughts at the time.
In the mornings I'd have cereal, fruit, and milk in my room, as I did this morning. When I got down to the lobby
to have a couple of cups of coffee (cafe au lait) I was greeted with the information that the Louvre employee strike
was over, at least temporarily. Now, however, the transportation people were starting their strike series. Sigh!
I went quickly to the gym for an hour and then after a snack at the hotel rushed to the Louvre. Their displays
are grand and the Louvre is, beyond doubt one of the greatest museums in the world. Their Egyptian display, I had
to come back for that one, was like the grand finale of an already dazzling fireworks display, truly magnificent.
I ended up, in the course of this trip, spread over three days, spending about 10 hours in there and still haven't
seen nearly all of it.
Contrary to many reports I have received about the obnoxious and unkind French, I have had nothing but good to
report. Wherever I go and ask for help, in a mixture of broken French and English, I get smiling replies. Sometimes
in French, but slow and carefully phrased, sometimes, though rarely, even in excellent English. Even, or maybe
especially, the post office and Metro employees were extremely helpful sometimes to the point of embarrassment.
I mean, wherever in France I was, those sweet people bent over backward to make sure that I got what I needed.
However, the darkside does exist. Bureaucrats, or anyone in a position of authority, however lowly, will exert
same with a vengeance.
Every so often I find strong body odor, more there than here in the US, and from time to time I have to check
to make sure it isn't me. Never was. Apparently, bathing is still not uniformly performed by everyone on a daily
basis. But that's a minor complaint and most won't ever notice. All in all, Paris is safe to walk at any hour of
the day and night. The only sore spot I've found were the African immigrants (legal or illegal), who would hang
thick as grapes around Les Halles. They emulate fashions and behavior from US gangsta rapping blacks, but thankfully
culturally can't quite seem to get it right. Many are also clustering in front of the little Supermarket, whose
management was smart to hire some clean-cut, huge, black security guards who would shake down these types who often
try to rush the place, while several are stuffing their jackets quickly with beer cans and small booze bottles.
None, from what I have seen, ever made it though the door with their booty. It seems a game and while much gesticulation
and denials are happening, the guards don't even bother to call the cops. Also, the Africans never bother the clientele.
I guess there are some lines in the sand drawn here. Later, I noticed that cops are indeed around that area in
force, but remain fairly low key. On the other hand, the Les Halles area was also quite regularly the site of delightful
musical street performances, that, if warranted, drew huge and generous and admiring crowds.
Overall, the cost of living here is not overly high. The fruits, and I am munching some of the best strawberries
I've eaten since Oxnard CA, are plentiful and of good quality and typically cheaper than the current Safeway bargains.
Emailing is relatively expensive, though internet shops are everywhere, and charge about $5 an hour.
Having used foot-power to get around most of the time, I noticed that I hardly used my $25 metro pass at all. However,
I did use it for the $5 ride from the airport. Still, it was a waste of money so far. Tomorrow I will use it to
ride to Versailles and then just ride around Paris a bit and extend my range. Next time I will know better and
purchase tickets as I need them.
4/1
I took a whirlwind tour through glittering Versailles. It's a shrine to the French, who were heavily represented
among the mass of tourists. It is quite interesting, though of a historical period that I am not particularly fond
of. All of the waste and pretense and weirdly overstuffed and over-decorated rooms, not to mention the powdered
wigs and sweetly perfumed bodies to cover up the smell, never turned me on. I did like the gardens, which, by the
way, were far more expensive than the palace itself. The reason for the huge expense are all of the statues and
extravagant fountains. There was also a marble statue by Bellini of Louis XIV on the grounds. Louis, according
to the guide, didn't like it a lot and it can be seen from one of the windows of the palace far, far in the distance,
in the garden. He didn't like the way he looked. The horse was too large, diminishing him, and his waving wrist
was too limp. The Sun King was not pleased.
In Versailles, I realized that it might well have been one of the reasons for the French Revolution. You can just
imagine the constant "in-your-face" excursions of the wealthy, between Paris and Versailles, flaunting
their wealth while the commoners' taxes were paying for the extravaganzas and while they themselves were living
on the edge of hunger and despair.
Trying to maximize the usage of my last day of metro pass, after arriving back in Paris, I went on to La Defense.
There is a huge modern building, shaped in form of an arch that I had long seen in the media and I wanted to see
for myself. I did not pay, but they actually gives rides along the facade to the top of that arch, The whole area
is a collection of ultra-modern apartment and business buildings and very different from the rest of Paris. One
of them looked as if the disk from Star Trek's Enterprise had crash-landed in it. For the fitness crowd, there
are some nice stairs to race up and down at the base of the building. Later I went for an after-dark trip to the
Eiffel Tower. The massive structure was even more impressive in the fading light. When it got totally dark, I crossed
the Seine and set myself up for a night shot of the tower. My timing was perfect, no sooner had I situated myself,
when huge jets of water gushed out of a large fountain's center and framed the most famous symbol of Paris to perfection.
Behind and above me, the crowd was cheering to African drummers who were performing for handouts. It was an impressive
acoustical backdrop that attracted an appreciative crowd. Musicians, and I mean really good ones, can be found
in nearly every subway station. Many are immigrants, legal or otherwise, some are music students, all who need
to make ends meet and hope to do so by entertaining the traveling and commuting crowd. Others actually ride the
trains and play old French songs on their harmonicas, creating a wonderful atmosphere, and are often rewarded with
a Franc or two. Begging fully or partially shrouded Moslem women with their children can also be seen all over
the populated areas of Paris, and I dropped quite a few Francs into those small, begging hands.
4/2
Laundry day! A Laundromat is just a few steps away from the hotel, on the opposite side of the street. It's run
by an older Asian man, who, to my amusement, speaks better English than French. While there, I met a university
professor on sabbatical. We were discussing the various aspects of grand cathedrals, and he asked me if I had been
to the Basilique de Saint Denis. I told him that I had never heard of it and he said that it is a "must see"
cathedral. It is at the outskirts of Paris and, being somewhat off the map, a very lightly advertised and visited
place, yet one of extreme historical importance. Not only was it one of the first to utilize new building technology,
the flying arch, but nearly the entire line of French kings, queens, and notables lie entombed here. To get there
one must take metro #1 to Concorde and change to #13. The station before the last, which is the University of Saint
Denis, is where one must get off. If not, it's not a big deal. Just get on the first train leaving the terminal
and go back one stop. The name of the stop is Basilique de St. Denis. Memorizing this information, I set it aside
for the future. That one I just had to see.
The professor, about my age, had rented a small apartment for three months and did some volunteer work at a local
library. His French was excellent and he loved Paris. He too knew the little gym and worked out there and thought
that it was a great place. I had to set him straight on that. I called it nice, but small, smelly, and ill equipped.
I don't know in what hole-in-the-wall gym he used to work out in the US. He was wrapping up his visit and returning
to the US inside of a few days. To judge from his tall spare frame, he was probably a runner who didn't spend much
time in US gyms.
Laundry went slow, but without a hitch. Since most of the morning was gone, I had already decided to visit Sainte
Chapelle and did so in the afternoon. This small but very ornate chapel is know for the finest and oldest stained-glass
in all of France, if not beyond. Built in 1242, currently under restoration, it had suffered greatly in the French
Revolution and the rage of the poor, since it was the chapel of the royals. Once the 18th century mob threw off
the reign of the privileged class, their revolutionary zeal and general outrage resulted in the destruction of
many fine works of art and architecture. Entering through the tall, sweeping gothic stone arches, one steps into
a place of soaring, slender strips of colored glass that catches sunlight to turn it into cascades of multi-colored
beams and reflections. It's a veritable magical forest of light and a spiritual place to sit and reflect on a sunny
day. The smallness, yet, at the same time the extreme tallness of the space makes it a unique experience. Long
rows of benches ringing the inside, always filled to capacity, are a testament to the special nature of this place
one that few who visit there fail to succumb to. To get there from my hotel was a snap. Just walk toward the River
and then left to the Island where Notre Dame is to be found. As soon as you cross the bridge, on the left side,
there's an upstairs post office with very helpful and kind personnel. Diagonally opposite from there, don't miss
the ornate clock on the corner, is the entrance to the Sainte Chapelle. There is also access to the courts and
the national police HQ is in this area as well.
 A picture guide
to Paris
Following that exquisite visit, I went to the gym and put in 2 ½ hours. After 30 minutes of cardio, I did
weights and then, nearly on the way out caught a class just about to start. They were using rubber bands of varying
strengths attached to a chrome ring for a full body exercise. Great class and I got back to the hotel pleasantly
beat. I had barely time to get to my little Chinese restaurant, next to the supermarket, for some broccoli and
chicken. After a little bit of CNN and barely understood French TV, I had a good and well-adjusted night of sleep.
4/3
Looks like rain (again). Heavy, dark clouds are rolling in. It's a lazy day in Paris. Not a problem for me. There
are lots of interesting little cars on the road, though one sees quite a few of the big and expensive ones as well.
The Mazda Miata is frequently seen here and I consider it one of the more perfect little sport cars for Europe.
But then, as a former owner, I am somewhat partial to the little beast and hope to own one again some day. I headed
for the little Internet shop and burned through my $5 an hour time in a flash. It seems never enough time. Heavy
rains pretty much deleted the rest of the day. On the 5th I will fly to Turkey and for that I had some packing
and preparation to do.
AIR FRANCE (P1) 5 APR 01
Turkey my butt! Air France has screwed me yet once again. Last year I arrived in Moscow, and Air France had lost
my luggage. The first day of travel and 90% of all I had with me was missing. They gave me far less in dollar value
than I had actually lost. They go by weight and it is a royal screw-job. In the real world, not that of Air France,
things are more expensive when they are lighter, e.g. sleeping bags and all-weather jackets. There were 20 of us,
and the luggage of four of us had been lost. Some piss-poor performance, I'd say. But, let's get back to Paris.
This is what happened: The longer distance local trains RER, as they are called, were on strike (another, not infrequent
event, so I was told by French people). However, I think they must have allowed every third train or so to go to
the airport. The trains were miserably crowded and of course late. To make matters worse, they would only go to
Terminal 1. Most of the international flights leave from Terminal 2. Knowing my way somewhat around, I got on a
shuttle bus at Terminal 1 and took it to Terminal 2. Murphy's Law (anything that can go wrong will) was fully operational.
Naturally, my part of the terminal was the final stop, as the bus agonizingly slow made its way from airline to
airline. In spite of a relatively cool day, I was sweating bullets! When I ran up to the counter (conveyor belt)
and dropped my backpack on it, there were two uniformed Air France women behind it, their backs to me. They were
chatting. One of them turned, pretended not to notice me, and calmly removed the "Istanbul" sign from
some holder and then the two just walked away. I turned to the counter and asked the Air France guy if anyone was
going to take care of my luggage but only he laughed and shrugged and told me that the counter had just closed.
My jaw dropped. "With my luggage on the conveyor belt it just closed?" I asked incredulously. He reaffirmed
it. By that time I already found out that the aircraft was arriving 30 minutes late. I was 1.5 minutes late. I
told him about the strikes and bus ride and he shrugged again and said that that is a different part of the society
and that they could not make allowances for that. He told me to see a supervisor. All of the supervisors exhibited
the same attitude. The first one though at least offered to switch me to the 5 o'clock flight. I explained that
I had people waiting in Istanbul for me and that the aircraft wasn't even here yet, being late for 30 minutes.
I finally agreed, knowing that I was running into totally inflexible and unhelpful barriers here. She sent me to
the next person to get the ticket changed. The next person said, oops! This is a Travelocity ticket, and we don't
convert those. Luck has it that we have an agreement with the Turkish Airline and they can take you at a reduced
rate and sent me to another desk. Meanwhile, whenever I got to the next desk, the people with whom I had previously
been speaking, departed somewhere. I get to the next desk and the woman there says, sorry, we can't give you a
reduced ticket. The price is $524 for the one-way trip. I hit the ceiling. Here I was stuck and got the run-around
by a bunch of Air France supervisors and ticket agents, each less helpful than the previous, while the aircraft
boarding was still 45 minutes away. I was told that I could get on the aircraft with just carry-on luggage, but
would not give me a boarding pass to do so. It was a maddeningly frustrating situation. When I asked to have them
use all of my Air France frequent flyer miles for the extra one-way ticket, I was told that I didn't have quite
enough of them yet. By the time I stormed out of the airport it was still 30 minutes prior to boarding time. 30
minutes is what the rules (pre 9/11) required. It is apparently ok to inconvenience passengers with late aircraft
arrivals, but it's not ok to adjust for arriving passengers who are trying to get on that late aircraft. I was
ready to just take my return to the US ticket to the nearest counter and just go home. I was so furious and at
that moment ready to abandon the whole stupid adventure. Then I sat down and thought about my options. I now had
two weeks with no hotel reservation in Paris, and my hotel was full (I know, I called them). I suddenly decided
to go to Germany. I had to get away from the likes of the indifferent, hostile Air France personnel and their unfriendly
skies. I just sent a letter to the Air France Customer Service facility in Florida to see if I can't get some compensation
for my lost trip and associated financial losses. We'll see how they'll treat me this time...can you guess? After
my return to the US, the good Mr. Rogers, the Air France "customer service" agent for the USA, told me
that the whole thing was obviously my mistake and that they don't owe me anything. He was of course the same one
who I dealt with a year earlier regarding my lost luggage.
Düsseldorf
I took the bus back to Terminal 1 where I purchased a rail ticket and then took the RER to Gare Du Nord railway
station, and sifted thought the big board to find a train or connection for Düsseldorf. It was time to go
home. Since I did not have my Eurail Pass activated, I had to pay full price for the fare on a high-speed Thalys
train. They are very comfortable, not as fast as they look, and privately owned, unlike most of the European rail
system that is owned by the respective state. My loss for this whole Air France-related misadventure was the price
of my round trip ticket for Paris-Istanbul, the loss of opportunity to travel for two weeks around Turkey, hotel
reservations, plus and the round trip train ticket for Paris-Düsseldorf. No a good beginning for my six-month
trip. Being a foolishly optimistic guy, I let my spirits soar back out of the dark pit where they had come to simmer,
and tried to enjoy the trip to Germany. At that time I realized that the tagging craze along railroad tracks was
a European phenomenon. Garish, bright, often dazzlingly 3D, and artistically executed, the graffiti covered every
single structure, commercial, government, and private, along the entire trip. Only private homes were excepted.
Also, as I already said, the entire show appears limited to the walls facing the tracks. It got dark and late,
and I had to change trains in Cologne (Köln), and I was suddenly getting excited. Ahh, Düsseldorf. Back
after 35 years in the city I had grown up in. In Köln I could just make out the famous Dome (Cathedral) and
jumped on an ICE (German high-speed train) for the final 30 minutes of travel. Then I got to the main station in
Düsseldorf, and it had changed majorly, but there were still features I remembered, especially, once I found
my way outside. There I stood, wondering where to go next. I resettled my 55 lb backpack, grabbed my camera bag
firmly and started to walk down Graf Adolf Strasse. I still knew all of the streets and directions. I had decided
to just find the hotel where I had a reservation for the scheduled stop, two months later, to see if they didn't
have a room for me now. Walking roughly in direction Königs Allee (going left, as you leave the station's
main entrance), past some older apartment buildings, not very far from the station, a man came out of a door just
as I was passing. It was about 9:30 PM and I decided to ask him if he had heard of my hotel or knew the street
where it was located. He said he didn't, even though he had lived in Düsseldorf most of his life. Just then
I noticed a sign of a hotel, called CVJM
Hotel Düsseldorf, across the street. I told him that maybe the hotel staff would know where
other hotels were. They at least would have a phone book. He agreed and I went across the street. Out of the corner
of my eye I noticed that he was following me. As I went into the brightly lit entrance, and approached the very
lovely blond young woman behind the counter, I noticed that the guy was still behind me and even had entered the
hotel lobby. I said to myself, no problem. I can take this guy, if push comes to shove. A couple of years Karate
left me with enough skill for that. Well, surprise, surprise! She greeted him and he whipped right though a door
behind the counter and grabbed a phonebook to see if he couldn't help me out. They found the hotel and it was a
considerable distance away. I said, "Wait! Do YOU have a single room available?" He checked, he was just
starting his shift as night manager, and said he did. Quoted a price of 100 DM, a dollar more than the other place
and I decided to spend the night there and then push on to the other hotel the following morning. I noticed that
the place looked brand new on the inside and he told me that they had gutted the original building and kept only
the staircase (marble steps) and rebuilt the inside from scratch. This is frequently done in Europe to retain old
structures and facades. The room was modern, efficient, bright, large, clean, with a great bathroom, a good-sized
TV and had all I needed. The location suited me well, and the next morning, after enjoying an excellent breakfast
of cereal, fruit, tea and coffee (included in the price), I decided that I could do not better than where I was
and reserved the room for the entire two weeks. The night manager who is about my age, "Hoppie", short
for Hopman, lived in an apartment across the street and had lost nearly two million DM between a divorce and the
stock and commodities market. I could relate to all of that and we got to be pretty good friends. We both learned
to live an acceptable existence, lonely and with minimal luxuries. He too had traveled all over the world and was
a storehouse of information and great travel stories.
A picture guide to Düsseldorf
An email:
It's been raining pretty much every day (I don't care at all) and pouring every night. Düsseldorf is nice.
Remember it's my home. I can handle it here just fine. As I said before my trip, I am not just travelling around
the entire time, but also living while on the road. I am finding out things and remembering thing I had thought
forgotten. My German is coming back in force and I consider my stay here more than a vacation. I could easily enjoy
life here. Just playing with ideas, that I would do this for quite some time to come, I could buy an apartment
here in Germany, own a sports car and a winter car, and have money to spare.
As for global warming. It is, should anyone have still doubts, very much real. The swiss are reporting not only
that Alpine glaciers have pulled back by hundreds of meters, but that even the traditional ski slopes are now in
jeopardy.
I just read in a pan-German paper (Die Welt) that the European characterize our new Cdr in Chief's skill of diplomacy
as a relatively crude, shirt-sleeve type. From what I have seen on CNN, that's no surprise to me. Also, no surprise
is the holding hostage of the EP-3 crew by the Chinese. Even if the President would apologize, the Chinese would
take a long time to release the crew. Why? It's obvious. They are using the time to analyze the US top secret equipment.
I told the Germans here on my arrival, that to judge from the damage on our aircraft, the Chinese fighter apparently
popped up from below the P-3 to "thump" it. Meaning to shake it up by letting it fly through the fighter's
exhaust. He miscalculated and took the nose of the P-3 off in the process, with his stabilizer (which he lost and
which caused him to crash). I used to fly around in fighters and got thumped, and thumped others. It's a game we
play. Today, another expected fact surfaced, that the EP-3 was on auto-pilot and flying straight and level and
totally predictable.
I went to a gym yesterday and will head back in a little while.
Düsseldorf was a very strange experience for me. So much had changed, though it was a layer of newness over
a backdrop in places as old as 7 or 800 years. Déjà vu everywhere. An old bridge I used to walk across
to the other side of the Rhine River was now an ultra modern structure. Where one used to see traffic all along
the riverfront, it was now underground and permitted unobstructed pedestrian access to the restaurants and riverboat
moorings. I ended up working out in the same address where once, so long ago, I had lived as a little boy. A secondary
building had been built behind the original apartment house, and the rooftop was a glass-roofed health club. The
roof, on warm days, was being electrically driven back to give us an open sky feeling while we exercised. At one
instance, wandering around old neighborhoods, I stood momentarily lost at a corner, thinking I had come to the
wrong street. You know, old age and memory loss and all that, hehe. Where there used to be an eerie old walled
monastery, there was now a new glass and steel business center. I asked around and people looked at me strange
and said that the monastery had been torn down nearly 20 years ago. The Catholic Church saw an opportunity to make
some huge profit from their large inner city property. In Germany, as in much of the rest of Europe, the Catholic
Church owns vast amounts of property since Medieval times. Those properties are considered "held by the Black
Hand" by the Germans, i.e. by the Catholic church. I walked to my old schools and to a store where a friend
of mine had done very well over the years. He and his pretty blonde wife were amazed to see me walking in from
the "dead". Word had been circulated among my old classmates and friends that I might have been MIA in
Vietnam. We reminisced and I got to look at pictures taken of me at school when I was in my early teens. Shirt
off, flexing muscles in the high-school gym. Hey - me! Studley, even back then. I ended up eating in a little Turkish
stand-up restaurant near the main station, diagonally opposite from the hotel (hang left). Lots of Germans eat
there and Hoppie was half in jest saying, if the Turks leave the country, the Germans will starve to death. There
are Turkish restaurants all over the country. The Turks are hard working and pleasant people. This little store,
in particular, had nearly every day a vegetarian offer or two in addition to their meat and veggie-based fare.
Tasty, inexpensive, and always served with a large piece or two of Turkish bread. The local pigeons and later the
ducks and swans in the city park, the Hofgarten, loved it. I took an accumulated bag of the bread there and shared
it with kids who gathered when I started to feed the fowl from one of the little bridges, near the large cabin
where all of those critters are housed during the icy winter months. The large pond (small lake) would often freeze
over and many winters I used to slide around on it. Never did learn to ice skate. I couldn't afford them, and when
I could, I was pursuing different entertainment. On the Königs Allee, where I once lived and now worked out,
there is a great gallery and mall network, where I found, open on weekdays only, a German stand-up restaurant that
served excellent gravy-free steamed veggies and a selection of other good foods. After I discovered that place,
it became my gravy-free alternative to the Turkish restaurant. Right below, in the basement, there is a grocery
store that became a rather important place to remember on Saturday morning. One of the perplexing complexities
of being in Europe, in Germany specifically, is the law that forces all stores to close on the weekend. Pretty
much half of Saturday and all of Sunday. So it's shop on Saturday, or it is restaurant food for the rest of the
weekend. What was just the other day discussed as a "revolutionary" concept on the US talk shows (quickly
forgotten) was that everyone should take a family day off. No work, no TV, just going somewhere with your family
members and spending a day getting close. That's what it is all about in Europe, and the Europeans really do that.
The wander the streets by the millions on weekends, populating the riversides, milling around the parks and recreational
areas, and taking long walks and picnicking together. It's great, though, alas, I believe that the American ways
are winning out. There is pressure to keep stores open all week, as we do in the US. What initially was an annoyance
to me, quickly became a great and relaxing people-watching opportunity for me. By the way, if you ever run out
of some important food item, all of the rail-road stations in Germany have food stores in them where you can get
what you need all weekend long. Düsseldorf, so I found out, is in competition for the 2012 Olympics. I doubt
that they have a chance, but they are upbeat and very optimistic about their chances. While I was there, it rained,
a lot, and once it even snowed, which is a very rare occurrence there. As it was, the snow didn't last long enough
into the next day for me to even capture it on camera, but it was great to stand outside in the late evening and
watch and feel the large snowflakes drift from the sky. All in all, it was a comfortable and relaxing two weeks
that, while not providing the excitement of a trip to the Greek archeological treasures Turkey, gave me the opportunity
to re-familiarize myself with the place where I had grown up. Being on a tight budget, sadly, renting a car was
not an option. I knew that when I returned for my actual scheduled trip here, my Eurail Pass would be activated
and I would do a lot of day trips at that time.
One more thing I did notice. The population composition had changed dramatically since my departure. There are
now a lot of Middle Eastern, though mainly Turkish inhabitants, but also a lot of Blacks from Senegal and other
African nations. Supposedly, so I was told, there are many illegals among them, who are known, according to Police
personnel, to be the principal drug traffickers in Germany. They mainly cluster near the station and can be seen
there most of the night. While that is so, I know of no security risk here and felt quite safe walking around even
very late at night. When I was a kid, the drugs were supplied by Algerians, smuggling the junk in through Marseille.
Same game, different actors.
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