Part 5
Paris 10 JUN
An email:
The time of jasmine-scented evenings and of lazily sipping mint tea while
sitting on Rue Mohammad V, watching Moslem girls prance by, has slipped into another dimension. After a last jostling
evening at the maximally crowded Portal Del Sol in Madrid (where one can admire a hook-nosed, heavy lidded Lara
Croft around ever corner), I departed, following a night of heavy rains, into a blue, puffy cloud decorated sky
aboard the most excellent Spanair flight to Paris. I consider it a superior service airline. The flight attendants
all lovely (even the fat one) and truly attending the needs of the passengers. Even the food beat anything I have
gotten thus far on any airline. Back in Paris I was greeted with handshakes and, yes, mint tea, by the Moroccan
brothers who own the Hotel Saint Honoré. Standing in the road we watched a late -30-something doll in the
tiniest of shorts rollerblade past me, returning my admiring smile radiantly and then she was gone. Ah, French
women!!! Following this I dragged my bod, still sore from the first leg workout in 2 1/2 weeks into the club gymnase.
Feeling much better after that it was time for a stroll along the Seine River. At last I was able to walk with
dry feet on the pedestrian river walkway that had been flooded each time I was there in spring. A wonderful experience
with, naturally, way too much hugging and kissing going on there. Anyway, nearing Place De Concord I veered away
from the river and noticed that in addition to the brightly sunset illuminated, giant Ferries wheel there was a
French Rafale Navy jet fighter as well as a German variant of the Euro attack helicopter displayed. I breathed
MERDE! I had forgotten all about the Greatest Airshow in the world, and had not added it into my plans. No way
to make it there this time, but what the hell. There has to be something left for the future. I enjoyed the rest
of my walk up the Champs Elyssee, drooled over exotic cars (any two of which were worth a nice house in Calif.
AND a condo in Germany), and more things that made me realize what I will never be able to afford and headed back.
The next morning, laundry and packing and getting to the station to catch finally catch the 14:20 to Avignon (mandatory
registration of 20FF and your Eurailpass determines the class, not as in Spain where you pay $8 for 2nd class and
$15 for first). Settled in my nice cushy seat until unsettled by watching a young French mother with her baby on
her hip and four bags going back and forth between the doors of the car I was in. I kept opening the door for her
and after her third trip asked her where she was going. She showed me her reservation for car 6 and figured that
she'd spend most of our travel time going back and forth. I grabbed her luggage and she had her baby and rammed
my way through the crowded train to car 6 and settled her in. She was so happy she nearly cried. It just about
made up for not being at the airshow. As no good deed goes unpunished, it was my turn in the barrel. I read and
dozed, had a cup of coffee and promptly fell asleep only to wake with a start when the ultra fast train had come
to a stop. Two American women across from me said that this was Avignon. I raced around getting my stuff together
when this older French guy by the door said something to me. I said this is Avignon, right? He said, "Avignon?
No, not Avignon." So not wanting to be stuck in the wrong place, I stayed. Of course it had been Avignon.
I felt like throwing the SOB from the train. I got off a few minutes later at Aix En Province and had to wait two
hours for the next train back. Spent some time chatting with red-jacketed university summer help students who were
to deal with the tourists. I got to see/hear a middle aged lady crash to the floor with all of her baggage, because
she tripped over a red cone that, get this, was screwed to the floor. Then finally back to Avignon, where as soon
as the train pulled in, the bus to the town center pulled out, resulting in another 30-minute delay. I tell you
I was fried. At last I got to the hotel Splendide. The town was pretty well filled for the night and I was once
more glad that I had reservation in place. I splinted, set and bandaged the fractured day with a great French meal
at the restaurant Les Artes, a choice applauded by my host, finished it with a small carafe of their excellent
house wine and coffee, and ventured into the windswept night. I loved it. I had the place virtually to myself and
wandering through the twisted alleys suddenly was face to face with the 13th Century papal residence/fortress that
grew like a ghostly apparition, bathed in white light, into the black sky. I think that is the only way to see
this place. By 11:30 I had walked most of the town. Even watched the lone prostitute offering her business to the
cars that went by the old town wall, and upon returning to my hotel, told my host that she and her sisters probably
occupied that spot near the city gate for all of the 8-900 years this wall has been in existence. He laughed and
agreed and said just wait until the weekend. The place is really hopping when the girls from Marseilles arrive.
Alas, I will have to miss out on that, since I will be in Marseilles this coming weekend.
Now, as to the various festivals here. The Blues Festival is at the end of June and the big Avignon Festival is
the last three weeks of July each year. This for future reference and for all who visit this really neat city.
Avignon 11 Jun
After another typically wonderful day in Paris I took the high-speed
TGV train on the new route, just opened a couple of days earlier, to Avignon. On the way there, having nodded off.
I woke up at a station, but saw no sign. I jumped up, went to the open door near where my backpack was stored and
asked an older, very well dressed gentleman if this was Avignon. He answered that it was not. Either he didn't
understand me, or he didn't know. When 20 minutes later I saw the station sign of Aix en Provence, I knew that
I had overshot. I glared at the old coot, felt like wringing his wrinkled neck, and packed out of there. I had
to wait nearly two hours for the next TGV scheduled to stop in Avignon. The entire TGV high-speed line is now running
on its own rails to and often through its own dedicated stations. While sitting in the new Aix en Provence station,
I saw a lady, carrying two suitcases, enter the place. She was looking up at the schedule board. While doing so
she kicked against a red rubber cone. Only, the idiots who put the cones there had BOLTED them to the floor. The
cone did not give way, and she fell flat on her front, suitcases in hand. I rushed to help her up. She was totally
disoriented. I pointed at the cones and kicked one and pointed at the screws and shook my head. I told her to sue
the station. After much yelling and complaining, on her part, the station manager finally appeared and made an
attempt to treat her better than the station personnel did. I talked to them too, as if it would do any good, about
the cones. I don't think they ever got it. I spread the word to anyone who spoke or understood English. I mean,
everyone in the station was aware of her fall. I bent quite a few ears. Hell, I was ticked off anyway for having
ended up here. Aix en Provence, by the way, is a great place and on my list of cities to visit in the future. The
awaited TGV train finally arrived and I jumped on without making a reservation. I was far too angry for the delay
for that. I made it, without being questioned by the conductor. In Avignon, since the station was brand new and
located well outside of town, I had to take a public bus to get to town. Luckily the bus driver knew exactly where
I had to get off. In fact, it is right across from the regular (non-TGV) railroad station right outside of the
city gate behind which my little hotel was to be found. The hotel is down a narrow alley, next to a park that has
some neat modern sculpture and ancient ruins in it, immediately adjacent to the local tourist office. The latter
being a great place to start exploring this lovely little town. The hotel was nice, comfy, about $30 a night with
a great husband and wife management/owner team. They serve a decent breakfast too. Reserve this one early, because
it is popular but small and usually booked up. That evening, after my excellent meal at the Café Les Artes,
next to the local playhouse, I explored the town in the dark of night (see email - top). Even got to see one of
the local prostitutes offering her services, wearing the tiniest, cheek-exposing mini-skirt, at the old city wall,
near one of the gates. The place must have been a traditional business site for this trade for centuries. When
I told my host he laughed and said, wait until the weekend, when the girls from Marseilles arrive. Alas, I had
to miss that party, because I would be in Marseilles on the weekend. The next day I started out in the tourist
office and purchased the combination ticket that gives you access to the Chateau De Pape (the old papal residence)
and a river tour. The town itself is crowded with young tourists, many of whom bicycle around the place. In fact,
in the hallway of the hotel were two, still wrapped, touring bicycles awaiting the arrival of their owners from
the US, who had planned a bicycle tour of the Provence.
Here is an official guide to Avignon
While in Avignon, I also took the opportunity to take the train (regular, not TGV, from the old station) to Nimes and Arles. Both excellent sight-worthy old cities to visit. Feet is all you need, though a bicycle would have come in handy. Schedule with care to get back before the last train leaves for Avignon. However, all of the needed information is available in booklets in special holders in the Avignon station. Nimes, very easy to navigate, had what is probably the most perfect and complete Roman arena anywhere in the world. Going straight out of the main station down the tree-lined boulevard toward the white fountain takes you right to the center of town. (Over to the right of that fountain is a great supermarket to replenish your supplies). The arena is left of the fountain square, which can be crossed the hard way, which I did, or the easy way, as I later found out, under ground. It cost a few Francs to get into the arena, but it is well worth the small fee. You can climb (I did) right up to the top and stand there, if your stomach can handle it, at the edge of the outer arena wall, looking down a sheer drop of 100 feet or more to the pavement below. I held back one short step and then went down on my knees to peer down over the edge. There I also discovered strange, about 12 inch-diameter holes that were all around the outer edge of the arena wall. Nowadays the arena is used for bullfights (I don't think they kill the bulls in France) and for all manner of concerts. It was an excellent visit to explore the old "vomitoria", the places where the Roman citizens would gather to watch the gory spectacles in the arena. No wonder they called the vomitoria (just kidding, it does not mean "throwing up", though it is related to that term. Vomitoria are doorways around the arena through which people would enter or exit the seating areas). In Nimes there is also a beautifully preserved and restored old temple called Maison Carré. Just mention it to anyone, if you don't have a map, and they'll tell you proudly where it is. Going through the lovely, store and restaurant-lined alleys will almost inevitably get you to a place where you can see it anyway. The Maison Carré is a superb structure and great sight to see. Were you never get to go to Rome, these two fine examples of Roman civilization will certainly satisfy the requirement of having seen Roman remains at their finest. Getting into the Maison Carré is free and all around the square there are the remains of archeological excavation of a much larger complex of which the Maison Carré was only the centerpiece. Also, from the train, on the way to Nimes I spotted a huge fortress and right across the river from it, a castle. Between the two they probably controlled, ahem, I mean protected (taxed) the river barge traffic. I think the name of the place was Tarascon.
Here is an official guide to Nimes
Arles was the other place I visited and while more charming, and probably of greater importance in antiquity, has been more successful, in the Middle Ages, in tearing down Roman artifacts and the reuse the materials, especially the marble, for newer construction. There is an arena as well, also still in use, but before the destruction was mercifully halted, the entire upper tier of the arena had been used as a stone quarry. There I also got to see my first amphitheater. It's another Roman site heavily victimized by medieval builders, but it too is still in use for concerts and plays. Arles is a little trickier to figure out, but again, feet will suffice, and a bicycle would be supreme. You can take bicycles aboard most trains. The station is tiny and when exiting make an immediate left and walk until you face a huge open square. Just before you get to the square, on the same side as the station, there is a large discount store to buy lunch stuff and water, or, as I did, on the way out, cereals and other supplies. The river is off to the right, and on the far side is an old gate, looking like two large round towers, side-by-side, that marks the entrance to the town. There you will see, on the pavement, the beginning of three color-coded, imbedded indicators. Each a different self-guided walking tour. If I remember correctly (and they are labeled at that point) yellow is the Vincent Van Gogh tour, green is the Medieval tour, and blue the antique tour, which ultimately leads you to the new, splendidly designed, and richly endowed Museum of Antiquity. I just remembered, I think I picked up or saw a city plan at that point. For me it was the antiquity tour and it was well worth my time. These guide markers lead you all around town to the numerous and wonderful sights pertaining to each of these respective three tours. Kids love finding them. It's like an Easter-egg hunt, looking for the next colored marker. Way cool! Outside of the museum, largely filled with fabulous Roman artifacts, there is a partially excavated, though much overgrown semicircular turn-around end of a Roman circus (race track). Inside the real importance of Arles to the Roman empire becomes readily apparent from maps and dioramas. I spent a couple of hours in there, ending up discussing architectural and design features with a Dutch, if I remember correctly, architect or engineer. We had a blast.
Here is a picture guide to Arles
Avignon is without doubt one of the most charming towns in the Provence to visit. I did take the little river cruise and while not overwhelmed by it, it was still fun. It takes you to the other side of the island, across which the famous pont (bridge) once led, and you can see the far side of the river with the old bridgehead fortification. Most of the old bridge is gone and the river resisted repeated attempts to rebuild it. I finished that day with a delicious dinner at a small Vietnamese restaurant near one of the river-fronting city wall passages. The following day I hiked along the riverside, through a small field of lilac in bloom that delighted both eyes and nose, across the new bridge, to the large central island. Again, a bicycle would have been great to have. The island is largely a park, at least the part that I saw, and benches and grassy areas along the river, facing Avignon, were filled with people picnicking, or simply kicking back. Many go there with their beloved dogs. What struck me at one point was, when I descended the steps at the side of the bridge, there was a phone booth near the bottom of the steps. So what? You say. Well, it was intact, clean, and apparently fully functional. A phone booth in any remote location like that in the US, would have been totally trashed within its first few days or hours of its existence and the area under the bridge would have been a total mess. Not to say that that could not happen in France as well, but it certainly did not here. I stayed long enough on the central island until the setting sun bathed Avignon, the old bridge remnant and the city walls in warm reddish light. I wanted to take that particular picture and the weather cooperated perfectly.
Following my enjoyable stay in Avignon, it was off to Marseilles. Marseilles was, and probably still is, a city
with a certain rough reputation, based on a very colorful and often shady history. Having heard much about it,
I had planned for just a short stay. I still remember the bullet hole in the hotel sign, next to my window. As
soon as it gets dark, all the doors and shops are shuttered tightly, and it behooves the stranger and probably
the native as well, to remain indoors. The hotel owner warned me, to not venture into the market area. Naturally,
I did. I knew this much, the market was mainly run by Moroccans and Algerians. I just got back from Morocco and
felt right at home. The market is a riot of activity and I definitely recommend exploring it. I even went there
just about the time they were closing up, to get a few things to take back to the hotel. I felt perfectly safe
at all times. As in all markets, keep your eyes open and your wallet in a safe pocket - and that's not in back
of you (whoever designed pants with back pockets for wallets, surely was paid for by the thieves guild). At closing
time, the market changes character. When all of the regular shops and stall fold for the night, the sidewalks come
alive with a different type of commerce. Many obviously Middle Eastern and North African types spread their wares
for the curious. Much, probably like the sellers themselves, probably of questionable legality. All in all, I was
very pleasantly surprised by Marseilles and would have gladly spent more time there. The harbor is a great place
to start your visit. I took one of the island cruises and was rewarded with a lovely view of (ok, there were some
nice looking women on board too), er, of the medieval island keep that featured in the book of the Count of Monte
Christo. After that we were island hopping, to let residents return and to pick up visitors. It was a really fun
little trip that I highly recommend. I stayed at a hotel right at the bottom of the huge staircase that leads up
to the main station. Great place in the daytime. Right below those steps, on the left side, facing the station,
there is a subway access too. Another great convenience for covering more of the city in a short time. I ended
up doing much of my shopping in a large shopping mall called Centre Bourse, where I ate a tiny strawberry cake
that was sold inexpensively as a promo in the bakery. The place is less than a ten-minute walk from the hotel,
not too far from the harbor and the maritime museum or the tourist office.
Marseilles is also a great base of operation for visits along the French Riviera. Trains run frequently and fast along the beautiful shoreline, all the way to the Italian Riviera. I took the train to Monaco, and then skipped along to Cannes and Nice. The former an absolute favorite, the latter, I can take it or leave it. Nice is way too crowded and what's great about a beach of rocks? Cannes is the place, in my book. There is a great beachfront, a magnificent beach, where I took the opportunity to swim out about a half a mile, and then leisurely returned, enjoying the grand spectacle of yachts near me and the cityscape in front of me. I explored the pavement around the building where the Cannes Film Festival is held each year, and saw the imprints of many famous movie celebrities. Oh, did I mention the Riviera is typically topless at the beaches? Oh well. The suffering was endless. In Cannes, there is also on weekends a large and fantastic flea market. Packed with rare antiques and a real adventure to stroll through, while sipping a cappuccino. Nice, on the other hand, being apparently the less expensive of the two, does have its charm. There is a lovely old town center and there was some sort of health-food fair going on where I purchased something to eat. I can't deny that it's interesting, but it is so overrun by tourists, that that alone was enough to turn me off. It seems to have, however, a far nicer and generally older architecture than apparently newer and wealthier Cannes.
Monaco was a strange experience to me. Picture-pretty, yet it had an atmosphere that made me uncomfortable. I am
sure that was because of the airs that to many of the visitors there assume. I like things a little more down-to-earth.
There are a few apparently super-rich and thousands of pretenders. I went into the big casino, looked, watched,
lost $3, got bored and left. I think Monaco is worth an afternoon or a full day at best. There are far friendlier
places to visit.
An email:
Cara, I have a few minutes left on the clock and like to add that being on the beach on the Riviera is all it is cracked up to be. Between the scenery enhancements, the great weather, the sea, the incredible yachts, I had the feeling of being very close to the zenith of this life's travel experiences. As for the three resorts: Monte Carlo is visually stunning, but the people there, tourist every last one of them, all suddenly put on airs and the pretend game is played to a disgusting degree. I took a few pictures, spend a little time walking and enjoying the scenery. I watched a cruise-ship off-load its human cargo to be added to the columns of glassy-eyed visitors, and then headed back to the very elegant station to go on to Nice. Nice has a picturesque old beachfront and town center, but is so hugely overrun that in addition to the very painful appearing beach of large and moderately sized foot torturing pebbles, I felt nearly claustrophobic and uncomfortable. Cannes, on the other hand, is really pleasant and gives you the feeling of spaciousness, with wide promenades and big sandy beaches, and a most spectacular yacht-populated harbor. Also, maybe because it was the weekend, there was a big and very interesting flea market going on which in itself was a lot of fun to wander through.
The day of my departure from Marseilles I woke up early to catch the train. I raced up the big staircase and asked
a station person which platform my train was departing from. He was friendly and said,"ah oui, voie 'E'",
I said my "mercy beaucoup" and rushed to platform "E". No train. I must have been early or
the train was late. While waiting, I heard an announcement relating to 'voie E'. I stared blankly. No train! Suddenly
I realized with a cold shock that "E" in French turns out to be "I". I raced to find platform
"I", located in the adjacent station building, not visible from where I had been. There also was a TGV
bullet train, ready to depart. I just got on in the absolute nick of time. Stepped in, the doors closed and the
train immediately moved. The train took me to Lyon and there I switched to a small train that was going to somewhere
in the alpine foothills. Also, I had to get off at one point, when a friendly and very pretty French conductor
told me, several times in French, that I had to get to the other part of the train. Finally, I figured it out.
At the next station I got out, counted down a few cars, saw her watching me, she smiled and nodded, and got on
the train again. Not much further, at another stop the train split, and then again, one of the cars went yet to
another place, leaving just a small part of the train, with me in it, to go to my intended destination. Traffic
to those small villages is so low, that after the trains depart the central large station in Lyon as a single train,
once approaching all of the separate tracks into the various Alpine valleys, the break them up and different cars
and engines get parceled out to the many small towns. Something to watch for. I duly arrived in St. Gervais and
switched to the Mt. Blanc Express. The landscape was stunning and white peaks of the Alps could be seen towering
above verdant valleys and pine forests. The (un-) express, slowly wheezed up the mountains, through this mind-blowing
backdrop. Even a glacier was clearly visible at one point. There were also waterfalls, towering cliffs, and many
typically alpine farmsteads.
NOTE: By the way, it seems that I lost a whole file of trip emails and thus a lot of first impressions are irrevocably
lost.
Chamonix 17 JUN
Suddenly, there I was in what easily may be my favorite little place in France, Chamonix. The beautiful, colorful town, at the foot of icy Mt. Blanc is surrounded by high and wooded, and at higher elevations snow-topped mountains and cliffs. The houses are as one imagines an alpine village to look like. Two railroads lead from the town's small station. The one I arrived on, served by the Mt. Blanc Express, and a narrow gauge, toy-like train that takes visitors across one of the mountains to a neighboring valley and the Mer De Glace (the Sea of Ice). I felt extremely comfortable there, not in small measure due to my Best Western-owned hotel, Le Morgaine. A first-rate place and among the few more expensive ones on this trip. You do get what you pay for. My room pointed directly at the characteristic well known curved peak of Mt. Blanc and the cable car station that would take me there. The village has all you need. The McDonalds also has the cheapest Internet connection in town. I discovered a place where a lady in the back, on weekdays cooks excellent meals, for sale. It's actually a sausage and ham place, but you can get a perfectly fine vegetarian meal there, if you so desire. Only sheer curiosity took me into that place, since I don't eat red meat, and against all odds to this little precious culinary discovery. A coin-operated laundromat is right across from the hotel, next to the ski and hiking equipment rental place. The adventures to be had in this small area are out of this world. I must go back there soon! There are a couple of things I definitely want to do. One is to jump of one of the high mountains on a paraglider which has go to be an experience out of this world, and the other is to take the ski/hiking trip up the side of Mt. Blanc. Other things are to hike, for those so inclined, are on the glacier or to just hike endlessly around the Alps. And that's just the summer. In the winter this place is, as you can imagine, a hopping skier's' paradise and accordingly more expensive to lodge in. However, since some of the hotels close in the summer, there will also be a greater number of available rooms to choose from.
an email:
Hi Cherie
Totally pissed and many dollars later and still w/o flash memory, I decided to go on one of the available mountain
trips. The first one I checked was clouded in at the top and I decided to go to the Mer De Glace (Sea of Ice) instead,
which was after all my real reason to come here. I paid for the all-inclusive "A" ticket (122FF) and
got onto the little red cog railway, that took me and a screaming school class to the top of the mountain. On the
backside there is a cable car that takes you back down 1.9 KM to the level of the glacier. From there down a staircase
and I had my first view of the astonishing blueness of glacier ice. Knowing about it and seeing it are definitely
two different things. They have created a long tunnel into the glacier and you walk into this shimmering blue-white
cave. It's cold and water sounds are everywhere and it is a sudden shock to realize that not only are you under
tons and tons of ice, but also looking at ice layers 100-thousands of years old. Before I went down to the cave
I asked if it was possible to climb up the 1500 m back to where the summit train station is. They answer was positive,
but it was a race against time, since I needed to catch the last train down or stay at the Glacier summit lodge.
Piece of cake. I was reminded of my not too distant "walk" to the top of Mt. Wilson, only this walk was
wet with water often rushing over the steps, in the fog, under constant drizzle and quite steep. I jogged where
possible and poured on the coals wherever and made it with time to spare. At the top, I was suddenly surprised
with a view provided by a bit of sun that forced its way through the mist and showed me, for a moment, the entire
glacier that can be seen from the summit, as it winds its way through the mountain peaks to drop into the valley
below. A highly recommended trip, even if you take the cable car back to the top
Here is a picture guide to Chamonix
While I arrived, the weather was not too cooperative, but weather changes quickly in the mountains. Occasional drizzle only dampened the clothing, but hardly the spirits in this lovely spot. I woke up on the second day to see the peak of Mt Blanc not shrouded in clouds, but sharply outlined against the morning sky, colored pink by the rising sun. Having hoped for this moment, I quickly ate breakfast, put on a couple of layers of clothing, unfortunately, I did not carry gloves (but what are pockets for?), and rushed to the cable car station. By the time I got there, the first bus load of tourists, Taiwanese, were already in line. Those people take sightseeing very seriously. I crowded in there with them, knowing that the trip up consisted of two cable car rides AND a lift ride. The cable car rides were very long and very steep. The dramatic ascent went through a landscape that turned progressively more icy and more forbiddingly beautiful. At the top I was the first to get to the lift, while the tourist guide was taking the Taiwanese to the restaurant and souvenir shop (you know how that goes), before the final elevator ride. Because of that I had the platform at the top nearly to myself. DO bring a warm jacket. The winds up there are icy. It is a heart-stopping view, all the way across the French and Swiss Alps to the Italian Alps. Down below and next to me, I saw on the snow and ice-covered flanks of Mt. Blanc, teams of ice hikers ascending to near the peak and then, some of them who had lugged skis, would ski back down. I envied them with all my heart. Later I made my way down to the ice cave, where they would put on their cleated ice hiking equipment and depart. It was a grand spectacle and an unforgettable experience. The trip down the mountain was mine alone. Aside from the driver, I was the only visitor in the vehicle, by that time the tourists were crammed once more into the restaurant to warm up and consume warm foods and drinks. The driver, a local tour-guide college student, who free-lanced as cable car driver, told me a little about this place. Later that day, the rains started up again, but I took the opportunity to take the little narrow gauge to the Mer De Glace. A long, slow, and somewhat precarious ride winding its way up and across the tall and tree covered ridge that divides the town from the Mer De Glace. I was very impressed by the size of the glacier, even though, in this period of global warming it had pulled back a huge distance, all of these events are slow, but un-stoppable and will simply run their course, until the onset of the next ice-age. At the top of the ridge sitting in a dense pine forest, was the small terminal. You get out and immediately board the cable car that takes you down to the glacier. There are a lot of stairs involved, so those who cannot climb stairs easily, best stay at the upper level and admire the glacier from the various excellent view points there. I went down to the cable car, then, after a steep ride, took the stairs, now in drizzle and rising fog, to the entrance of the cave that was hewn into the blue glacial surface. Yes, I was blown away. I always heard that glacial ice was blue. You can't really imagine it, until you actually see it. It's actually blue! The cave was long and cold, very cold, and was, I believe more than just a tourist gimmick. I think it was used by scientists to study the glacier and its motion, and of course, analyze old ice to get clues about weather and atmospheric conditions that were present thousands of years ago. It was interesting, to say the least. When I got back I saw a rocky staircase leading up the mountain and decided to run up it. It was raining a little harder now, but I had protection. My only worry was to catch the last little train back down into Chamonix. I made it with time to spare. Great exercise and great environment. Had I not made it, there was a good-sized lodge right at the train terminal. The day of my departure I was sitting outside of the little train station and soaked in the sight of this pretty little town. High above me, competing with the eagles, were the paragliders and my entire being ached to do this too. They actually offer a short training course here that leads to a solo jump off the mountains. Airtime must be awesome, because they lift off at really high altitude. Chamonix is a place to easily fall in love with. The young blonde desk clerk at the hotel said that she had arrived here on a ski visit 13 years ago and could not leave. I can understand her motivation completely.
Switzerland
Geneva 19 Jun
We are approaching one of the low-points of my trip. I took the return-trip to St. Gervais and then a couple of trains and a few hours later arrived in Geneva. The small station was dilapidated and had paint peeling from the wooden sides and grass growing between the tracks. I hesitated to get off, because I envisioned Geneva to have a huge and modern station. I was assured that I was in the right place. When I saw a few armed, burly Swiss border police walk around, I figured that I must be at least in Switzerland. Close enough! I went through customs with maybe five or ten other arrivals and then stood in front of the old station, not a penny of Swiss money in my pockets, looking at a large city, streets leading every which way and without a clue to where I had to go. I looked up the streets and down. Down! Geneva has a lake, I remembered. That would be down. So I set off down the large street, in the relatively warm weather, lugging my 65-lbs. Backpack and camera case. After a long time, so it seemed, I saw a teller machine and finally got myself some Swiss Francs. By then I realized that I had made the right choice, because I saw a distant bridge and a downtown area, and more importantly a "Centre Ville" sign. Next to a park, near that bridge I went into a very fancy hotel to ask for direction. Did I ever get to the right place. Two very, very friendly fellows, who were the desk clerks there, did everything they could to direct me toward the main station. My hotel was conveniently located right across from there. So I hoofed on across the bridge, which also marked the entrance to the lake. Unfortunately, the big water-jet was not operating. The lake is really huge. A large number of boats, passenger and tourist types, sail and motor yachts, as well as a colorful horde of windsurfers populated the near part of the lake, which extended into the distance beyond visible range. I went into the thick of town. The city is pretty clean, bland in architecture, and there seems to be a watch store or bank on every street corner. Interestingly, with all of the banks around, I didn't see another teller machine. I finally got to the railway station plaza. This was the real thing. This one is huge, with underground passages, restaurants and shops. The station was all I expected and I felt better, still wondering about the little dumpy place where I arrived, which must have been just for those coming from the French alpine regions. My hotel was actually quite nice and I was roomed on the 5th floor, giving me opportunity to get a little exercise in. Yes, after all that I still had the energy to climb the stairs, rather than to take the small elevator. Good breakfast, though a little bit on the rich (fat) side for my taste. The rest of the clientele seemed to hugely enjoy it. I watched them ladle the butter and cream like there was no tomorrow. In the evening of that day, incredulously, I saw from my window in the evening glow, Mt. Blanc in the hazy distance. It was a very nice feeling for me and connected me to the lovely stay in Chamonix once more. That same day, shortly after getting settled, I made a b-line back to the lake and got on one of the shorter lake tours. I was glad I did not get a long tour. The short one was pretty boring and the long one might have had me fall asleep and possibly fall overboard. The lake is 30 miles long and 8 miles wide with about 76 miles of terminally boring shoreline. The guide tells you about all of the rich and famous who, throughout history, have owned some of the palatial homes along the shore. Big deal! I really could care less. To me they were all little boxes, in the distance, surrounded by large park-like gardens, and were totally meaningless to me. Give me the French Riviera any day! Finally, the tour was behind me. I discovered a great place to eat. Facing the station, go left and there you'll see on the left side a large dining place. It's all buffet style and has numerous counters, where cooks do their thing. Not totally cheap, but you've got your pick of anything you want. The selection is huge, the atmosphere quite nice and European-rustic, and the food is good. Lots of bank and business types seem to go there after hours. Keep in mind that Geneva is quite expensive. A beer in a crowded restaurant with outdoor seating cost me $5. After telling the hotel staff about how boring Geneva was, they implored me, before I departed the next day, to at least visit the old downtown area. I did and it too was totally boring. You see, what happened here was, good old Calvin (not Klein, but the old evangelical dude) and his Protestant religionists did their best to remove anything that remotely smacked of frivolous decoration. One of their points of contention was that the Catholic church was way too gaudy and ornamental and saw that as an aspect of their having strayed too far from Jesus' simple ways. Probably true, but this resulted in a yawn-inspiring and puritan lifestyle. I think the Calvinists made it to America, to escape the wrath of their bored and outraged Catholic brethren and fellow citizens. These days, the people of Geneva cover things up with flags. Lots and lots of flags. It adds a little color and decoration to a largely sanitized cityscape. I was so glad that I had just one day scheduled here. I rushed to the station to catch an earlier train and departed for Lucerne, wondering if my stay there would be anything like my stay in Geneva.
Lucerne 20 JUN
After going into the Lucerne station basement level I saw a huge city map, a room with four teller machines
(cash automats), and lots of multi-lingual friendly staffers taking care of tourists, I felt a little better. Then
I stepped out of the station and my jaw dropped. I could hardly believe my eyes. In front of me, past the beautiful
green patinaed statue on a tall column, there was a city that had to have been Walt Disney's inspiration for Disneyland.
Directly ahead was a flag and banner-decorated bridge. It separated the Vierwaldstetter Lake from the river and
on the lakeside there were ducks and swans playing among pedal-powered boats. The lake itself was back-dropped
by majestic mountains and swarming with white cruise boats. There was even a hot-air balloon ascending in the misty
distance. To my left the river continued through Lucerne. The next two bridges were medieval wooden covered bridges
that were absolutely spectacular. Off to the left, the city was dominated by a hotel, built as a small-scale copy
of the famous Newschwanstein castle in Bavaria (which also was the inspiration for Disneyland's fairytale castle).
Across from me, a delightful jumble of modern and old buildings behind which a city-wall and its watchtowers could
be seen. Swans and flowers and painted facades seemed everywhere. This was no Geneva and apparently and fortunately
Calvin's influence never reached Lucerne. Going past the large old post office, following the river, by a lovely
old church, I arrived at the Franziskaner Platz and the Hotel Schlüssel, located next to another old church
and Franciscan monastery. The whole town pleased me immeasurably. It was a joy to walk along the river and see
the riverside restaurants with their happy dining or partying crowds. Equally I delighted in touring the old sidewalks
and to admire the beautifully decorated facades, or to just listen to the very talented street performers do their
thing. One of them even came with a piano and was enormously talented and nearly brought the old town center to
a standstill. Shopping was easy, German or English got me everywhere and there were stores stocked with good foods
and wines. Just strolling along, feeding the swans from one of the covered bridges, one decorated with over 100
paintings, or to go up to the city wall and tour the several accessible watchtowers and the one old clock tower.
The weight for the tower clock was a huge rock. It is one of the oldest clocks in Europe. Aside from lake-tours
and day-trips into the alpine landscape, or all manner of water activities, one can climb a nearby mountain.
Mt Pilatus was own my planned-for goal. It towers over Lucerne and the natives call the clouds, that often gather
around the peak, "Pilatus's Hat". I took the train to a nearby access point and prepared myself for a
full and active day. I stopped, partway up the foothills, and changed from sandals into sneakers and suitable gym,
clothes. However, while I had everything laid out in the hotel room, I somehow did not pick up the socks. This
turned into a rather painful problem, until I got to the base of the little gondola. Locals would take their cars
to the parking lot and then use the gondola to visit a little restaurant at the end of the ride. A family stopped,
and got ready for the ride and, so they told me, an enjoyable meal at that restaurant, overlooking the lake. While
they were rummaging through their I asked them if they had an extra pair of old socks around. Explaining my predicament
and plans to hike the rest of the way to the top of Mt. Pilatus. They were sorry, and impressed, and the girl took
off her short white socks and gave them to me. She assured me that they were old, and that they were only taking
the ride and then staying at the restaurant. So sweet. I thanked them profusely, and the rest of my successful
hike was courtesy of that sweet young lady. Luckily I did have band-aids in my daypack. Always do, and that and
the socks allowed me to go on. Following the short gondola ride, I took my leave from that kind family, and then
started the real ascent from behind a small restaurant. I asked the smiling proprietor where the path to the top
began and was told "behind the barn, past the chicken coop and the pig-sty there is a small gate. That's where
it begins." And so it did. The initial phase was though a dense pine forest. After a while I was listening
to what must have been some huge alpine carnival and only after I while of puzzled climbing figured out that I
must be listening to hundreds of cow-bells ringing and echoing back from the cliffs. I never saw one of those animals,
but the cacophony made that part of the hike unforgettable. Pushing on, ever higher, I finally found myself above
the tree-line with magnificent views of the Lake, now way below in the morning mist. At time, I was clambering
up some hillside meadows on all fours, they were so steep. Then, suddenly nothing but rocks and rare alpine flowers.
Then a small snow and ice field needed to be crossed, which was kind of dangerous, but manageable, and finally
I saw a small chapel and knew that that was the plateau before the last steep climb to the top. I biefly chatted
with a tough and lean looking man carrying a huge backpack, who was on his way back down. When I inquiered, he
told me that he had planned to paraglide off the top, but the winds were a little too much for him, and he decided
to call it off for the day. Once I reached the plateau, I met a few people who were eating their lunches there.
The chapel was not easily accessible to prevent animals from getting in there. There were a number of sheep grazing
(and begging for handouts) up there. i was wondering how these older and not particularly in-shape looking individuals
had made it up here, and they laughingly pointed behind them. The backside of the mountain has a long and more
gentle approach where locals with cars drive to and then hike up the rest of the way. However, from here on, there
was no easy way to the top. After a suitable rest, sharing my apple-core with one of the sheep, I sighed and decided
that if I don't do it now, I never will, and one foot in front of the other, started on this last and very steep
part. I nearly blew it. When I came to a large ice patch, I decide to bypass it and just scale the side of the
rock for a little way. However, the constant temperature changes up here fractured much of the rocks and part of
it crumbled away under my feet, leaving me hanging by my hands for a moment until my feet regained a solid hold.
After a short pause, to let the pulse slow again, I moved to get up to some steps that were hewn into the rock
above me. It was a scary moment. Had I lost my grip, the slide down the side of the mountain would have been a
long and deadly one. After that, things got pretty easy and a series of steep steps made the climb pretty acceptable.
At last I was near the top. I went into a tunnel and changed clothes and then popped back into the sunlight on
the far side tunnel exit, next to a large restaurant, where people sat and enjoyed food and drink and stared at
me curiously. You see, there are two other ways to get to the top. One is via the world's steepest cog-railway,
and the other is by cable car. After Mt. Blanc's awesome cable car ride, this cable car did not interest me particularly,
but I wanted to take a ride on the cog-train. I had a nice and well-earned lunch, served by a nice Filipina, who
gave me a little extra veggies, and then finished my climb the rest way to the very top (all steps) from the large
transport platform and hub to the two small peaks above. The view here was every bit as grand and unbelievable
as from the top of the Mt Blanc platforms. After I got back down to the restaurant level, I purchased my train
ticket and boarded one of the oddly built red cars. The train ride down the steep track was way cool too and I
highly recommend this little adventure, one way or the other to all who visit this fabulous little place. Once
back at the lake level, I waited for a train back to Lucerne, feeling the satisfaction of having experienced a
truly wonderful and accomplished day.
My time in Lucerne was over way too fast and my schedule pushed me on toward Munich, Germany. Got up much too early
and after breakfast in my room, grabbed some bread and went for a walk by the river. When I got to the riverside
to feed the ever-hungry swans and ducks, the place was already abustle with an early Saturday farmer's market.
I took the opportunity to get into the one little ornate renaissance church, I'd missed, and spent my last few
Swiss Franks on a pound of cherries. A couple of hours later I was sitting on the upper level of a train to Zurich,
watching Mt. Pilatus in all of its early morning sun painted, rocky glory receded into the distance. This was yet
another place I absolutely hated to leave. The only regret I have is not to have shared this wonderful trip with
someone I cared for. On to the next stop. Munich, Bavaria.
Click on the image for access to a guide to Lucerne:
