40 And Holding

European Vacation Part 4: Bayeux-tiful Bayeux: Where the nice Frogs live.

Jeez, where do I start with Part 4? It's been so long since I've blogged on the Euro-trip that I've forgotten how to blog. So, bear with me as I knock the rust off. 

So, as Day 2 (3 days in people time) closed out we arrived in Bayeux, France. Bayeux is in the heart of Normandy I would say, and has a couple of claims to fame. Claim No. 1 is it is the home to the world's largest tapestry: The Bayeux Tapestry. Claim No. 2 is that it suffered almost zero damage during the D-Day invasion - meaning that this town looks almost exactly as it did since perpetuity (big college word meaning "long freaking time"). I'm going to throw another claim in here: Claim 3 - most kick-ass deal you'll ever find for a B&B. I'm getting ahead of myself.

So, we arrive at the train station and now is when my French skills are really going to be tested. I have to use the payphone and rustle us up a taxi, which in French is called "taxi." Anyone who does languages knows that the phone is the most difficult thing because you cannot see the person you are speaking to and have no body-language clues as to what the hell they're talking about. Somehow I managed to get a cab, and somehow managed to tell the cab driver where we were going.

We arrive at our destination, "Chambres d'hotes Les Trois Pierres." I am pretty damned proud of myself when I say that "I picked this place." It was far and away the best bang for our buck on the trip, and it was run by probably the nicest French people in the world. It was AWESOME.  I do not use that word lightly. Let me say that again: AWESOME! 

We weren't so sure at first, since from the street it doesn't look all that much. But, once we got in and saw the nice little family courtyard, and finally met the 3 Pierres, we were patrons for life. The 3 Pierres are Marie-Pierre, Pierre-Henri, and their son Pierre. Pierre being a popular name in France. In fact, here's a little trivia from Catholic Jeopardy:  Pierre is the french word for Peter, which also means "Rock." Well, I'm here to tell ya, these Pierres ROCK.  The 3 Pierres greeted us in the dining room with wine and some French goodies, sat and chatted with us for a good long time. Once she found out I spoke French, Marie-Pierre (Mrs. Pierre) said that she would no longer speak English with me as I needed to practice my French. Dad got off easy since he isn't a Francophone, but it turned out that Pierre-Henri (Mr. Pierre) spoke German as does Big Eddie, so they got on well with their Gasthaus Deutsch (Tavern German).

So, greetings aside we go up to our room. Unbelievable. Our room, the "Alsace Room" had 4 beds, a bathroom, and it turns out another TV room (which we didn't find until the last day). There were books to read, a nice radio - and did I mention it's own bathroom? Here's the capper folks - 100 bucks a night - total. So, just to tally this shit up, we've got super nice French hosts, wine sampling (Pierre-Henri is a wine distributor), breakfast in the morning, beautiful little B&B, our own bathroom, super nice French people, and 4 freaking beds for two people. AWESOME!  There were I think 3 other rooms in the place, but somehow we lucked into this little penthouse suite. At the time of our visit there was one other American party staying and they had two rooms.

Dad was as much in awe as I was. That evening we took a quick walk around the little downtown, found a nice bar/restaurant (more on that later), returned to the 3 Pierres and settled in for a good night's rest. I turned on the little radio and listened to French radio as I fell asleep like a king in that Alsace room with the 4 beds, TV room, books in French, and our own freaking bathroom with a tub. I slept hard after the long long journey behind us.

The plane and train trip were long, Paris was alright, Claude's pad was pretty cool, coffee was nice. But, I just knew that Normandy, the D-Day tour, and the 3 Pierres were just going to be incredible - knew it in my bones. I was STOKED for the stay in Bayeux.

European Vacation Part 3: "We're from the U.S.".... "Well, obviously"

Before moving on with Day 2 of the trip, a little philosophical sidebar is probably in order. Had a good comment from Liz about the "fun" of travel which got me to thinking about it a little. I mean what sane person would go through all this planning, expense, time and fatigue, and spend good money to hustle around strange countries that don't even speak your language? Constant concern over "where's my passport.. where's my train ticket... what town am I in.... are we making the next connection?"  Interesting point indeed.

Foreign travel is definitely not for everyone. If you're a regular Joe... or Matt even, nobody in Europe is going to be dropping by you poolside with a complimentary Margarita in hand, or fanning you with a palm frond, or throwing a lei over your neck. Nope. Not to knock all that stuff of course -  our Maui vacation was incredible (truly paradise), the cruise we took was awesome (what's not to like about the topless sun deck and unlimited eating and drinking?), and Disneyland is just plain fun, and anything involving lei-ing I'm all for. Foreign travel is a completely different animal. I sort of see the traditional vacation as turning your brain off for awhile (which is nice), whereas with Foreign travel your brain is completely ON and you're drinking life from a fire hose. It can be overwhelming - hell, it IS overwhelming.

Enough of my yakking, on with the story. Day two (which was really like Day 3 if you were still on West Coast time) starts off in Paris. The agenda was a side-trip to Giverny to visit Claude Monet's Home and Garden, and then on to Normandy and some rest. It was going to be a sorta busy travel day but with some fun stuff thrown in. Pops and I said goodbye to the Best Western Albert Premiere - which in English translates to: "The Best Western Albert the 1st." Not to be confused with Prince Albert in the Can. Rick Steves would cringe at the thought of staying at a Best Western while in Paris - so typically American. But, after that brutal 1st travel day we just wanted a clean place close to the train station. We didn't want to appreciate ancient tapestries and drink in the joie de vivre of the Parisiennes - we just wanted to "shit, shower and shave" as Dad would say - and the BW was just the ticket. Anyway, after checking out we stopped by a true "cafe" and had some of the best house coffee I've ever had. We were truly going local - no big American breakfast - we had croissants and coffee with sugar and milk and perused the local paper - in French. That's how I like to roll. Great coffee and hot female undergarment newspaper ads - in French. Then we boarded the train for Giverny.

The Giverny leg was going to be a round-trip: Paris-Giverny-Paris. I could not find a train that went Paris-Giverny-Bayeux (Normandy). So we did a round trip, and then a trip from Paris to Bayeux - confusing? Yes. Don't sweat it, there won't be a test at the end. The Giverny trip was not high on my agenda to be honest. It was something my mom was passionate about. No, you haven't missed something - my mom was not on this trip. But, my mom loves Claude Monet, and dammit if Dad was going to Europe he was for damn sure stopping by Claude's house and taking a photo - even if it meant half a day out of the already complex travel schedule. Family dynamics is a delicate subject. Claude Monet it is then.

We got on a train - a "Milk Run" they call 'em. An express is one that has no stops. A Milk Run is one that stops at every hamlet along the path. While I'm on the subject, what the hell is a "hamlet" anyway? We don't have them in the U.S. What we have are called "hick towns." In Europe they're much more fashionably referred to as "hamlets."  So it was about an hour from Paris to Giverny, which gave us time to chat with the fellow travelers.

It's here that Dad unveils one of his many talents. Big Eddie has the gift of gab. I inherited many traits from my old man - my sense of humor for better or worse, my tendency to embark on the occasional rant, my ability to cruise aimlessly about town with no apparent destination or errand. What I did not inherit was his ability to make lifelong friends with utter strangers - even if they cannot speak English. I huddle up in the corner like a hapless Gomer at first contact with a stranger, while meanwhile my dad has traded life stories with the locals and has got addresses for Christmas cards. On the Milk Run dad befriended a group of Israeli travelers on the way to Claude's pad. There was a doctor, a lawyer, and probably a nuclear physicist in the group. All semitic joking aside, I always feel stupid while traveling abroad because I realize that everyone on Earth is smarter and more worldly than I. If it wasn't for the fact that I'm a rock star in my own head I'd really feel insecure. But, safe in the knowledge that I rock harder than anyone in my social circle, I travel the world with ease. Back to the issue. In short, I thought the Israelis were snobby:

Dad:  Why hello utter strangers. I don't know you from Adam, but my name is Big Eddie and that Gomer huddled in the corner is my dear son, Matt. You speak English so well. Where are you from?

Utter Strangers:  We are from Israel. Haifa to be exact. We are doctors, lawyers, surgeons, and diplomats. In our spare time we serve in the Army, and when we aren't inventing something, saving someone, or getting an award of some kind, we are dabbling in our favorite mediums - oils and pastels, just like dear Claude.

Dad:   We're from the U.S.

Utter Strangers:   Well, OBVIOUSLY.

Gomer Matt:  Uh huh huh.... uh huh huh huh huh huh.

WTF does that mean?  "Well, obviously."  Could it be Dad's OSU Beavers hat?  Could it be my Whitesnake T-shirt. Hell, I dunno. We ooze "small town" (or would it be hamlet?) wherever we go it would appear. Other than being called a small town hick, the train ride was very nice. Great scenery, after which Dad and I got off the train and stopped for coffee. Dad and I drank a tonne of coffee in Europe (you see how I said "tonne"?). We then grabbed a cab to Giverny.

I was pleasantly surprised at Giverny in truth. I don't go much for gardening, and I don't go much for paintings about gardening, but Monet's garden was pretty damned impressive - if only to appreciate the work that goes into it. I'm red-green color blind, so I suppose the majesty of blooming orchids goes right over my head. Given that, I do appreciate a good water feature, and Giverny had those in spades. I guess way back in the days before Environmental Impact statements and Tree Huggers, Claude diverted an entire stream (or "crick" like we say back in the hamlet) in order to irrigate his garden. He's got an island, and some boats, and some bridges, and all kinds of little weirs and dams and whatnots to manage his water. There are some famous water lillies there. Well, growing up in Hot Town I've seen plenty of water lillies. We call them "skunk cabbage", which we try to kill because they choke out the lakes. So, I was a little torn on the whole lily issue. Other than this bit, Monet's Garden was impressive to say the least, except for one thing Claude overlooked - no Koi. What good is a pond with no Koi? Amateurs.

So, we took the obligatory (or "obligitoire" in French) photos of the gardens for Mom. Toured Monet's house, saw the museum, bumped into the Israelis again, and yes... drank some more coffee. In all, it was a nice excursion and while leaving decided that if I ever get back this way again, I'd visit Monet's Garden again if only for the coffee. Plus I'd smuggle in some Koi.

Back on the train, back to Paris. We get back and retrieve our luggage from the Best Western and got back ON the train for our next stop - Bayeux.

The train ride to Bayeux was peaceful, relaxing and had some great sights. We passed through lots of hamlets and I could feel myself going deeper and deeper into France. Farther and farther from the English speaking world. My French, which I had abandoned after the Navy (that's where I learned it) began to come back to me what with all the conversations, signs, billboards and whatnot. I was finally beginning to relax as I felt myself going local to some extent. Traveling through Normandy I could feel the pace of everything beginning to slow down. Paris was behind us. So far we had survived a long plane trip, a long train trip, being stuck at the top of the Eiffel Tower, Israelis, French Impressionist Artists, and European skunk cabbage. We hadn't lost our passports, hadn't been robbed, beaten or taken hostage, hadn't bought a persian rug or a 30-dollar Eiffel Tower model kit (inside story), and we were on our way to what I felt was going to be a great stop on our journey. Bayeux was going to be a 3-day stop, and I was looking forward to making myself "at home" for a few days without thinking about train schedules and connections. So, I'll cut this post short because I'm getting ready to rave big-time about Bayeux - and it deserves it's own post.

 

Next installment:  Bayeux-tiful Bayeux:  Where the nice Frogs live.

European Vacation Pt. 2: All Aboard the Mannheim Steamroller

Day 1 was to be a grueling travel day as 1st days of vacations typically are. Only difference being that we were flying 1/3rd way around the globe, then doubling back through 2 countries - all in one travel day. It was about a 30-hour day, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Day 1 began with our 1:25 PM flight from PDX to Frankfurt, Germany. Well, really Day 1 began at about 8:00 in the morning. Like mentioned, I'm not much of a preparer of things, so my packing pretty much started that day. I gathered up all my clothes, all my travel books, old-school camera with film, plane tickets, train tickets, Eurail tickets and my trusty Excel schedule that I made up not long before. For a two-week trip I managed to fit EVERYTHING in this suitcase because it's what Rick Steves says to do:

My dad on the other hand, packed up everything he owned in his Titanic of a suitcase. He did not read the Rick Steves book, but instead I'm guessing listened to my Mom's packing advice. My Mom packs much like my wife - which means pack as if you're on a mission to Mars. You'd think that you could not find a toothbrush in all of Christendom, so you'd better pack two... and a spare. Dad packed everything except for his bitchin' Mike Brady white leather belt and white leather shoes from the 70s. Which was a bummer because Big Eddy rolls deep when he's decked out in his pimpin' gear. It may sound like I'm picking on my Dad, and well I am. But, I gave him a real hard time about the suitcase already, and now that my shoulder has healed nicely, it's just a good funny story - so all is fair. Sometimes having one arm 3-inches longer than the other can come in handy. But seriously, I had my share of blunders just to even things out.

So, we arrived at the airport 3 hours ahead of departure like you should while flying international. It took like 15 minutes to get to the gate like typical, so Pops and I killed some time having a couple of beers in the bar.

We had a direct flight to Frankfurt. We left at 1:25 PM on May 8th, and arrived at 8:35 AM on May 9th. So, I think doing the math it's like a 9 or 10-hour flight, carry the 1, I dunno - it was a LONG flight. The plane was PACKED. We flew the Polar Route, which meant it was daytime during the whole flight. We had a train to catch right after the flight, and so expecting a long long day I tried to sleep on the plane, but just couldn't. Too cramped, too excited/nervous. I drank some wine, I had a beer - but alas sleep would not come. The flight was uneventful save for Pops almost having an international incident with the lady in the seat in front. She reclined her seat as far as it would go, giving dad about 4" of personal space for the duration of the flight. Every so often he'd accidentally "bump" the seat. The broad in front (Dad's words) didn't even notice. I think she slept the entire flight.

So we arrived in Frankfurt, and had about 2 hours between arrival and our next connection - which was a train from Frankfurt to Paris with a transfer in Mannheim.

 

 

We started our train trip from the Hauptbahnhof Frankfurt. It was at this juncture that my dad singlehandedly saved the entire trip. This was potentially a monumental failure on my part. Just prior to this, I validated our Eurail passes and the Eurail dude told me that the train would be arriving at platform 5. So, we go to platform 5 and waited... and waited... and waited. No train. My dad decides to dust off his German and asks a platform attendant when the train to Mannheim would arrive. The attendant pointed to the platform directly behind us and said, "there it is"... in German of course. We barely made the train - barely. We sat down just as it shoved off. Had we missed this train we would have delayed our trip a whole day as this was the one train to Paris. So, to my father - a huge thanks. Lesson learned:  watch the information boards because lines change without notice. Daggone Germans, it's like they have a DIFFERENT word for EVERYTHING.

So, we get on the train and get comfy for our 7 hour trip (with transfer) to Paris. The Mannheim transfer went without a hitch. There was exactly 15 minutes between trains and we hit it perfectly.  It was during this transfer that I would come to really understand the massive bulk of Dad's suitcase. We went up and down several stairs between platforms. But, we made it onto the Mannheim Steamroller and were off to Paris.

We went through some beautiful country and finally arrived in Paris at about 5:00 in the evening. Seasoned travelers will tell you that in order to beat the jet lag you have to stay up late and go to bed at a decent local hour. That gave us about 5 hours to kill, so we decided that a trip to Paris would not be complete without a trip to the Eiffel Tower. Now, readers are probably aghast thinking that here we are in the City of Lights and not going to see anything but the ET. Well, we had already been to Paris back in the 80s.  We saw it all, did it all as only a Griswold can. It hasn't changed much in 200 years, and I don't expect it will change much in the next 200, so we just did the tower to kill some time. I know: I'm an Ugly American.  But, tune in later for more on Paris.

It was fun, but the elevator broke while we were at the top, so our plan to beat jet lag worked out real well as we arrived back at our room around 10:00 PM local time. Grimy and tired, we ended the day as we had a pretty eventful day lined up for day two:  a trip to Monet's Garden in Giverny, and then on to Normandy.

Next installment:  

"We're from the U.S."

"Well, obviously."

European Vacation Pt. 1: The first step is always the hardest

1st part of hopefully a multi-part chronicle of my European vacation, hope y'all can appreciate.

I lived in Europe for almost 4 years. It was part of my death-defying duty protecting all 'yer sorry arses when I was in the Navy. I joined the US Navy in 1987. Actually, I joined in the summer of '86, but didn't actually go until January 20, 1987 - a day after my brother Chris' birthday, and that's the only way I can remember the date. Anyway, The NAV decided that I would make a great cryptologist. They also had the crazy notion that I might be good with languages. So, about a year after I left for the Navy, I was bestowed the title: Cryptologic Technician - Interpretive (CTI). My language specialty was French of all things. Where better to send a French linguist than to the southern coast of Spain? So there I was, spending nearly 4 years in sunny southern Spain - Rota, Spain to be exact. Oh, it was fraught with danger. It was tense at times wondering which beach to visit... which bar to hit.... what to do with all that SPARE TIME. Mostly, it was my liver that was in danger. But enough of the war stories.

One thing I did do right in the Navy: I traveled.  I traveled the white villages of southern Spain, I traveled to Gibraltar (The Rock), I traveled to Morocco and I traveled to France.  In fact, I did not return home the whole 4 years I was over there.  But, it wasn't enough.  As I boarded the plane home I vowed to someday return and do it again.  One thing about traveling in Europe - once is never enough as there is always one more cathedral to visit and one more beer to sample.

So, I thought and thought on my Europe trip.  Thought about it all through college, telling myself that as soon as I graduated, I would be off to Europe.  Well, graduation came and I was flat busted broke so that didn't work out.  It wouldn't happen for another 8 years - after two children, house, picket fence, etc etc I decided that I had probably finally earned that trip!

Debbie was not interested in going, and with two children in the house it would be difficult anyway.  So at first it was going to be a solo journey.  I planned on going to Normandy, France and returning to my adolescent home of Rota, Spain.  These were familiar places from my past so going solo didn't seem such a big deal.  Besides, returning to Rota was a personal journey that probably nobody else would find interesting in the least.  But, as time went by and as I began to talk about it more and more, my dad took some interest in the trip.  My father was stationed in Germany back in the 60s when he was in the military.  The Bavaria region was always on my "hit list" of places to visit if only for the German beer.  So, after some talk my dad signed on for the journey.  My dad and I are both huge military historians.  My dad is a professional historian, and I just watch the History channel and WWII war movies as an armchair general.  We are both fascinated with D-Day and WWII in general.  So, it was a perfect fit that we would go to Normandy, France and visit the D-Day beaches.  I decided that going to Germany, France AND Spain was just too much of a stretch for a 2-week trip, so we dropped the Spanish leg of the tour.  I would serve as translator in France, and Dad would translate in Germany.

So, the tour was set.  Leave PDX, arrive in Frankfurt, Germany.  Take a train to Normandy, via Paris.  Visit the D-Day beaches.  Take a train to Munich via Paris.  Visit the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang castle.  Take a train to Rothenburg to visit the ancient city.  Train back to Frankfurt and head home.

Planes, trains and automobiles - no big deal.