TRAVEL WITH REBECCA BUCKLEY

Boscastle, Cornwall ... another charming seacoast town

2011-11-28T13:11:00.000-08:00

Although Boscastle wasn't on my itinerary, after we arrived in Port Isaac we heard of it several times ... people saying to go there. So one day we took the bus from Port Isaac (at the top of the steep hill) to the quaint, small village of Boscastle that was also a cove.

I took photos of the drive through the bus windows, and even had the 'flaming' driver on the way back that we'd had returning from Tintagel earlier in the week. Only this time he had pink fingernails whereas before they were ruby red. :) He lives in Tintagel, a very entertaining and informative driver. Nice guy, someone that would be fun to know.

At The Riverside Inn (owners - Peter and Margaret Templar), we had lunch at the hotel restaurant/tearoom & Garden overlooking the River Valency (we call them creeks here) in Boscastle. We met the proprietor, Peter, a really nice man. His son also works there. In fact I took a pic of Peter as we were leaving while he was on the phone. Wonderful food, wonderful relaxing restaurant with lovely ambiance.

There's also a pic of the owner of The Leather Shop in Boscastle holding up a handmade journal, his wife made the paper and the fabric of the cover. I bought it, the last of its kind, she won't be making any more. Now she only makes dolls, first collection (more to come) called The Woodland Collection . . .

"Inspiration for this collection is drawn from the magical woodlands of North Cornwall incorporating the textures and hues that mirror its natural beauty. THE BRACKEN have been individually created using embellished handmade fabrics. Their characters and personalties develop in the making with time and care taken to ensure each one is unique. All THE BRACKEN have a name carefully chosen to be in harmony with the woodland and its surroundings. They are all numbered and are part of a Limited Edition of 250 with their own Certificate of Authenticity." www.thebracken.com

Trish bought one of the dolls - Shamrock, I believe is her name.

We didn't meet the artist, only her husband, he makes the leather goods in "The Leather Shop" at "The Old Mill". Very interesting afternoon we spent in Boscastle, regardless of the rain.

You'll also see the back alleyway that actually fronts cottages and houses along the 'river' that empties into the sea. An afternoon well spent. Glad we went.

Charming Port Isaac!

2011-11-28T11:45:00.000-08:00

I think the best way to encapsulate a description of Port Isaac is ... one of the most charming seacoast villages in England, set in a cove stretching up the enbankment, peaceful with cobblestone alleyways (streets), shops, pubs, and holiday cottages. The perfect place to get away from it all and settle in to write, rest, eat and drink.

I could live there, easily, except for the steep climb to the CoOp (grocery store) and lack of medical facilities and drug store. For medical treatment one has to travel to another town if you need more than aspirin and simple cold remedies. But that's easy, just have to plan in advance for all of that. As well as grocery. We would take the hike up the hill maybe every other day to get what we needed at the grocery, I was always bringing up the rear of course, since I'm not good on uphill hikes. And we could only carry a lightly packed bag of goods at a time. So we planned our purchases carefully. There were always the pubs and cafes in which to dine, too, so if one wanted to eat out all the time, no problem. But I'm a finger food sort of person, sometimes cheese and bread is enough for me in a meal. I was hooked on the beet root, ate several packages of that while there with my cheese and bread. Yum yum.

We would build a nightly fire in the fireplace, in fact in some of the Port Isaac photos to the left you will see the smoke rising from our chimney, the light is on in the living room ... cozy, huh? Trish was in the cottage while I was down in the cove taking pics. We stayed in the White House Cottage to the left of the White House which is to the left of 'Doc Martin's' brick dwelling used in the TV series. Ironic that a series with a doctor is set in a village that doesn't have any doctors. And the candy store is used as a pharmacy in the series, no pharmacy in Port Isaac. lol lol Interesting.

The photo of the four men that you'll see as you watch the slide show, are the 2 husbands of the gals that I wrote of in the previous post who helped me plot a novel (the two men on the left). That was a fun evening with those four guys at the Slipway, before and after the wives returned. Hilarious, actually. They were calling me Jessica ... of Murder She Wrote. The two on the right were visiting the cove from the Midlands - wild and crazy guys - dentists. Where were they when I lost a cap the last day we were there?

As you'll see, the streets are narrow and winding between the dwellings and other buildings and although looking grey and dismal, there is a tranquil, joyous feeling amidst them. I always feel that way in England wherever I am. One reason I'm drawn back to it time and time again. And in that tranquility, I am always inspired in my quiet thoughts. So much so that I look forward to time alone with my thoughts. But then I'm the same at home, even here in Arizona or wherever I call home.

More later ...

Northwest Coast of Cornwall

2011-10-31T18:46:00.001-07:00

Here I am, at last, in Port Isaac, Cornwall. And here I've been dredging my imagination inspired by this incredible fishing village to come up with an idea and a story for a new novel. A novel not part of my 'Midnight' series. A complete stand-alone. But still a contemporary romantic suspense novel, but the first one without my character Rachel O'Neill.

So, I've been thinking and thinking and thinking, making notes about possibilities, scrutinizing my surroundings with the purpose of creating the backdrop for my story, focusing my every waking thought on it ... until last night. Last night I met up with a couple gals and their husbands who we'd met the first night Trish and I arrived in Port Isaac. Fun people. And last night I put a question to the gals ... why would my protagonist be in Port Isaac, hiding out, living in a cottage she purchased without her husband of six months knowing, while he's back in New York City not knowing where she is? Why is she here? Why did she disappear?

Well, then the story unfolded. Between the three of us, we came up with a wonderful plot. At least a starting point with possible plot points ... and it was a fabulous brain-storming session. So now I'm eager to get to the writing of it.

After leaving them, I went for dinner at The Mote - crispy salmon, spinach, potatoes, and salad - then I walked back up the hill to our cottage in the rain, feeling the night had been totally productive and exhilarating. Trish stayed in for the evening, had been out walking all day while I worked - publishing stuff.

Today we went to Tintagel a few miles from here - the Camelot Castle Hotel and the village that was a complete surprise (the village is not portrayed well on the Internet, it's terrific). And as we traveled the bus ride to and from Tintagel, my mind continued writing this new novel ... working title JESSICA. (Oh, our busdriver on the return trip was a flaming queen - ruby red nail polish and all. He was a riot, entertained us all the way back. Lots of laughter.)

By the way this was the first time I've discussed a possible plot with anybody else. And it's strange how it all came about. It only goes to show that wherever and whenever you can come up with a story, and with whomever, do it. They were very helpful. Both Brits. And I truly thank them.

OH TO LIVE IN ABBOTSBURY!

2011-10-29T13:22:00.000-07:00

Yes, Trish and I both agree ... we would love to live in Abbotsbury. Such a quaint little village, lovely cottages and tea rooms ... perfect. And with the gardens and the swannery, so beautiful. If we would need to go to a larger town, Weymouth is just a few minutes down the road to the sea, and Dorchester is a few minutes to the east. Bridport, another sea town is just a few minutes to the north. So Abbotsbury is perfectly situated.

I've uploaded a few slide shows of the trip thusfar, to the left, so take a look. If you click on them you'll be taken to the site where the photos are located and you can see them in larger versions, if you wish.

In fact I'll let the photos speak for themselves of Abbotsbury.

SUNDAY LUNCH AT THE COVE HOUSE - CHESIL BEACH

2011-10-25T19:01:00.000-07:00

Something I didn't know till recently is that Chesil Beach or Chesil Bank as it is sometimes referred to is one of three shingle structures in Britain. And the size of the chert and flint shingle varies from pea sized to orange sized from one end of the beach to the other stretching 18 miles to the Abbotsbury swannery (going to the swannery tomorrow). It is said that "the beach provides shelter from the prevailing winds and waves for the town of Weymouth and the village of Chiswell, which would otherwise probably not exist."

Anywho ... we boarded a local bus to Portland and to The Cove House (circled in black) for Sunday lunch - a very special place on Chesil Beach.

Monday - Off to Dorchester - Hardyland

2011-10-24T09:26:00.000-07:00

A rainy day in Dorset land ... but it's only to ignore. Which is what we did. Off on a bus ride to Dorcester with our umbrellas and warm outer coverings and this time a small roller bag. We figured it out, how to make ourselves more comfy while walking without a heavy shoulder purse or bag to tote. A roller bag, small but spacious enough to carry our purses and whatever 'stuff' we collect along the way. Worked perfect. We each found the proper one, same, but I painted the emblem on mine with a tad of nail polish to differintiate between the two, which belongs to which. So now no more heaviness on the shoulders and arms.

So, I'm packing a few items I'm not using that I brought along, and will ship them home in the carryon luggage that is too heavy to carry through bus and train stations. I'll send them back to the U.S. before we leave Weymouth on Friday. That will leave a lightened load for my check-in bag, making it easier to manuever, and this small roller bag will replace the one I'm shipping home. Much better.

What it amounts to is a purse on rollers and a check-in bag that I'll be left with, both easy to lift. Works for me.

Alright, back to Dorcester ...

But before that, I was up shampooing and doing my nails this morning at 3:30 a.m., could not get to sleep. Had fallen asleep yesterday afternoon (Sunday) after our day out to Portland and the Cove House on Chesil Beach. Haven't posted that day yet, but will ... am behind on my writing.

Today we bused it to Dorcester, like I said, and had a very pleasant late lunch at Nappers Mite, a cafe in a 17th century alms house. Very small and crowded, but interesting nevertheless. Made of stone as most places are, hand hewn beams in the ceiling, wooden planks and stone floors, low doorways. The people in those times were much shorter than they are now. I would imagine you know all about that ... the evolution of the short of yesteryear to the tall of today. It's very evident in the cottages and buildings of England. I had a cheese & onion panini and Trish had a quiche.

After lunch we headed for the Thomas Hardy section in the Dorset Museum, which was the object of my interest. Then we went into the church next door, St. Peters, I believe it is. It was quaint, small, beautiful stained glass windows. I took pictures which I'll upload soon, as well as other pics thusfar.

Then it really began to rain, so we decided to come back to Weymouth, caught the bus, and here we are again. After a brief rest, though, we're off again to have a nice Italian dinner downtown by the drawbridge. So more later, gator . . .

Friday, October 21 - Gettin' to know you . . .

2011-10-23T16:25:00.000-07:00

We spent Friday acclimating and getting to know our surroundings. Best thing to do on the first full day and night in town, wherever, is learn what's available and chart your course.

Weymouth is a sea town, has a glorious harbour (British spelling) of fishing boats and pleasure boats, and a sand beach for those on holiday. Tons of B&Bs and hotels along the shore, and a shopping mall which is an area of streets criss-crossing right near the water. Has a ferry dock, hover craft travel between the isles of Guernsey and Jersey and to St. Malo, France. I've done that trip before, loved it.

Weymouth harbour has a draw bridge separating one bank of pubs and shops, apartments, hotels, from the other ... definitely not a scarcity of pubs and shops. In England a pub is an eating place as well as a bar, in case you aren't aware. In the old days they were the only restaurants available in England, still are in some towns. Some pubs are old-world and very charming ... low ceilings, hand-hewn timbers, rustic accoutrements.

So, Friday we had our first meal of the day at the Swan Pub right near the draw bridge at the harbour. The Swan is popular, larger than most, packed all the time. I had a belgian waffle and a side of bacon, although I had to be a bit creative. The waffle was on the menu as a dessert with ice cream. Ordered it without the ice cream, but with maple syrup. I could see they had bacon, because they had sandwiches with bacon on them. So there you go, my bacon and waffle. Now the bacon here is different than ours in the U.S., not what you expect. Not in strips, usually thin slabs. Not round like Canadian Bacon, but sort of in between that and ours. And it tastes more like ham. Breakfast hit the spot, even though it was 4:30 p.m. by the time I had it. lol lol We slept till 3. The Swan is my usual place for regular meals when I'm here, and now Trish has experienced it. In most pubs by the way, the patron goes up to the bar and places their food order, no waiters or waitresses to take orders, but they do deliver it to you.

After that we walked along the harbour for a short distance, stopped by the George Inn, the pub in my writings of Weymouth (novels and short story - Mama's Diaries). It was quiet there so we didn't stay, planned to return later to watch people and have a glass.

So we walked through the streets, the shops were closing, but we were getting our bearings as I mentioned before. Found out where we had to go to get bus information for our sidetrips while here - the Pavillion - and plan to do that on Saturday. Always in the past there was an information center by the clock tower, but it is there no more.

After returning to the hotel and having a rest, still acclimating to the time change, we decided at 9 pm to head back to town for some live music. Bundled up warmly, we let our ears direct us ... they're all over the place, the music venues are. In every pub and hotel almost. We went back to the George Inn, and as chance would have it the band had canceled that night. So we sat and talked to a couple drunks at the bar till their repetitiveness bored us ... lol lol. We stopped and listened to one band but it wasn't exactly our cup of tea and then another which was perfect!

"Replay" is their name. Five guys that play '50s and '60s music - they were terrific! Loved 'em. So we stayed till closing time and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves listening to Buddy Holly tunes, Beach Boys, and much more. They lead vocalist was superb, lead guitarist and bass guitarist were topnotch as well as the keyboardist and drummer. So much fun. They are on youtube. Type WEYMOUTH REPLAY on Youtube videos. We each bought a CD, but on you Youtube we can get our fix watching them when we get back to the states. Sure wish they could be in Phoenix performing. Oh, they invited us to come see and hear them on Saturday night at the Centenium ... a private club, sort of like the Elks in the U.S. So we're going.

So that finished off our first full day and Friday in Weymouth. After the music we walked back to the hotel along the beach and called it a night.

Hopefully we will be on Britain time on Saturday. We're working on it.

2011-10-22T02:30:00.000-07:00

ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND . . . October 20

Here we are at the Prince Regent in Weymouth UK. Spacious, lovely room with a sea view. Our window is wide open, can hear the waves hitting the shore and hear the night noises. Last night we arrived after a long, long trip to get here – left home in Arizona at 4:15 a.m on the 19, arrived at our hotel around 8 p.m. on the 20th. Delays along the way with buses, accidents on the M3 highway. Other than missing our first bus and waiting for a later bus that had been caught in traffic and was 45 minutes later than scheduled at Victoria Station in London, and the delays along the way to Weymouth due to horrific accidents, the trip went rather well I would say.

Oh, had a little mishap, my thigh gave away when I first stepped up on the bus. Meaning, it was like a stress burn from too much exercise and it just quit on me. I couldn't get up to go any further, the fellow behind me had to lift me up for me to make it to the seat. The muscle is still very sore and I have to take care in using that leg climbing stairs, but I'm not complaining ... the good part is that my feet are holding up very well. The new supports are working!!!! I am so happy about that. So a strained thigh muscle is okay, I can still walk. It was the feet I was worried about before the trip, and I'm a-okay in that department. Jeez, I sound like an old woman ... lol

The first plane from Phoenix to Miami was like being stuck in a sardine can, I’m telling you they are squeezing more people together on those planes, especially the domestic flights. The international flight wasn’t as tightly packed, but had a full load too. Lot of people traveling these days.

On the international flight I met a very nice man sitting next to me. British, but living in Scottsdale and had been in Tampa for a few days before boarding. Coincidence that he is also living in Arizona. He’s in the music industry, tall, long white hair, interesting looking as well as in conversation. He’s very active in music and the writing of. Enjoyed the conversing for once, usually don’t take part on a plane, usually separate myself from my surroundings, but this time, it was a pleasure having him there. Had dinner with wine and quite a remarkable time, actually. We exchanged info and hopefully we’ll meet up again in this lifetime or the next. Trish and I sat on opposite sides of the plane, both planes.

So, our first night here on the 20th, we checked into the hotel, freshened up and went across the street to a Chinese restaurant on the beach, view wonderful, sea all around us, food even more wonderful. I had chicken chow mein and scallops with cashews ... soooooooo good! Trish had lamb. Then we went back to the hotel and listened to a fellow who was very good with his guitar and canned band, terrific voice, sang country mostly. Fun group of people listening to him. After he finished for the night, Trish went to the room, I went to the ballroom and watched the dancers - mostly seniors here for the ballroom dancing break (holiday) the hotel offers mid-week. Most of the hotels here offer the same. They quit around 1 a.m. and then I gave up and went to the room, didn't take long before I fell asleep that's for sure.

We awoke at 3 p.m. yesterday (21st) and began our first day in Weymouth. I'll tell you about that later ... right now I must get dressed for a walk we're taking to the fort on the other side of the harbour.

Oh, last night a birthday bag was delivered from Martin & Ali - champagne and chocolates - yum yum. I couldn't believe they were still here, I thought they'd left for Florida before we arrived. Damn! I wish I would have known that, we would have gone over to say hi before or after we had our chinese dinner. Their B&B is just a few doors up the road. Darn!

Okay, more later ....

MONDAY, TUESDAY ... BAM! Off to the races!

2011-10-17T15:57:00.000-07:00

Check! Check! Check! Checking off the to do list and the to purchase list before leaving 4:30 a.m. on Wednesday ... excitment abounds, I can tell you that right now!

But there is a feeling of trepidation creeping in ... it's my babies ... my Princie, Albee, and Oreo. Always this happens leading up to the departure. I start worrying about them, wondering how they're going to deal with their mama away. I mean like they aren't human, they probably won't miss me once I'm out of sight. M.L. is a good auntie to them, they know her and trust her. I think it's just me that will have the problem. I've been away longer than this trip will be, and they've been just fine. Okay, feeling, get thee hence!

My carry-on bag and the check-in bag are both zipped and ready to go. I don't have to open them again until I arrive at our first destination in Dorset. Trish is still packing, didn't start till yesterday. Because I packed early it's given me all this crucial time to catch up with business and personal tasks and make sure I'm on top of things till November when I return.

Today, I sent out the RJBP newsletter, yesterday updated all the websites, posted on the blogs, sent out book orders ... so I'm feeling good. One last task, getting HOLLOWING SCREAMS to the author for one last look-see before I send it to the wholesaler tomorrow afternoon. Book release on October 31. Just in time. Hooray!!!!

Okay, tonight I'm going to relax and think good trip thoughts, pet my babies, maybe watch a good movie if I can find one I haven't already seen, and then soak in a perfumed bath before going to bed. Maybe have a glass of wine for relaxing too.

Tomorrow is my last chance to remember things I've forgotten to do before leaving the country. But, that's a bonus, I usually don't have a full day to spare, planned it better this time.

Ciao for now ...

THREE MORE DAYS!

2011-10-15T19:06:00.000-07:00

Oboy! Just three more days till departure to England. Leaving at 4:30 a.m. on the 19th, will arrive at Heathrow at 8:10 a.m. the next day, 20th. I was just trying to remember how many times I've made the flight from the U.S. to England. Fifteen, perhaps? My first trip was in the '80s after I met Mr. Moore in the San Joaquin Valley, CA (Ethan in my romantic suspense novels).

That's when I fell in love with England. And more specifically, Cornwall. I didn't discover Dorset till later, on my own. In fact I ended up living in England for a time after that. And even spent three months there a couple years after living there and returning to the U.S. One of my dreams - to buy a cottage in England and live there six months out of the year.

This trip will be to Weymouth - Dorset and Port Isaac - Cornwall. Port Isaac is the home of the British TV series Doc Martin. It airs on public television, in fact you can see the reruns now. The fifth season was filmed this summer, darn, we just missed it. And we're staying one house down from Doc Martin's place in the tiny fishing village. So exciting.

More on Port Isaac after we get there. 'We' means my friend and housemate, Trish, and I.

Another dear friend of mine and her fella are staying here to housesit and take care of my babies - Oreo, Princie, and Albee. The cats know both of them, for they've sat with my babies before, and as friends they are here quite often. So all should be well. But I can tell you right now, I'm already missing my feline beauties just thinking about being gone. I'll worry about them anyway. Silly, huh? Can't help it, I'm so attached to them and they me.

So, I'll be posting daily about the trip, and will be posting photos starting on the day we leave. Am already packed, have been for a week. But of course I've unpacked a few times, taking things out and then putting them back, decisions, decisions, decisions - should I take this blouse or this sweater. It's hard to travel light when you know you need to keep it at a minimum because of the many train stations in England that don't have elevators. And invariably, you arrive on one floor and have to depart on another. And sometimes you have only a few minutes to spare from one train to the next. So if you have several pieces of luggage and they're heavy as hell, you are so out of luck. Learned that on past trips. Especially traveling the underground in London to get to the station one needs to depart from to all points west, east, south, and north. It'll be an adventure, regardless. Trish hasn't made this trip before. So that'll be fun watching her excitement.

Actually once we travel by train from Heathrow to Victoria Station in London, we're busing it west to Weymouth. The lesser of two evils, and easier to transfer with luggage from bus to bus. More comfy traveling too.

Okay, just wanted to get the ball rolling about the trip. Do comment as we go along. Would love to hear from you.

Ta Ta ...

2010 TRIP - Paris

2011-09-03T23:10:00.000-07:00

My friend Barbara and I took a 17-day trip to Paris, France and England in April 2010.

We stayed at a small econo-priced hotel near the River Seine and the Eiffel called Hotel Au Pacific. Since we were to be on foot, this seemed to be the best choice, centrally located to the places we wanted to see, and a Metro station was close by to take us to the outer reaches. Great plan!

Interesting tidbit ... my friend Bob who owns the Simpatico houseboat on the Seine near the Eiffel where I've stayed before ("Midnight at the Eiffel"), suggested in an email after I alerted him to our upcoming arrival (inviting him for a drink or two and to meet Babs), he suggested "Don't forget to eat lots of garlic between now and take off to get those immune levels up for breathing all those non-filered microbes in the aircraft." Well, I didn't do that, didn't want to offend everyone within breathing range on the trip over, and as it turned out, I didn't need immune safety, what I needed were new feet!

I flew from Phoenix, Babs flew from LAX, both of us meeting at the Dallas/Fort Worth airport for the final leg of the trip to Paris. Well, her connection arrived earlier than mine, and the deal was we were to meet at our departure gate.

I arrived and browsed through a few shops first, had a cup of coffee, and visited the ladies before going out to the gate. I didn't feel there was any hurry and I wanted to walk rather than sit before that last few hours stuck on the plane. So about 30 minutes before the flight departure I went to the gate. Babs was fit to be tied! She was afraid I'd miss the flight and was panicking. I had all the hotel info and all the other tickets I'd booked for the trip. She said she would've gotten on the plane regardless, but she was so glad to see me as I came down the corridor. All was well.

After arriving at our hotel in Paris (took a cab from the airport) and settling in, we went for a walk to familiarize ourselves with the area. Found a few cafes, one across the intersection near us and a patisserie on the other corner. Down a side street right at our corner there were all sorts of food markets - fish, bread, vegetables and fruit, cheese - lining both sides of the street. So the walk gave us our bearings, now we knew where the groceries were. lol lol This is what I do on every trip I take regardless of the destination - walk the area to get a good idea of what is available close by. Usually I'm alone, usually travel alone which I enjoy. But this time it was nice traveling with my long-time friend Babs. She's a kick.

We met with Bob a few streets over from the hotel (at the end of the street we'd already traversed) where several pubs, or rather cafes (France-cafes; England-pubs), and caught up on the latest, I hadn't seen him in two years. I enjoyed our chat over champagne.

But on the second day in Paris, the second day of walking the slanted sidewalks, my left foot began to hurt. Old injuries, arthritis, fallen arches, name it, all in my left foot. And I couldn't walk without pain. So we packed my foot in ice repeatedly ... ice that Babs finally found at a fish market down the street, lol lol, would you believe it ... no ice in the hotel. I took Aleve, and it still hurt. Lord, we were just beginning our journey!

So I decided to grin and bear it, and do the best I could, I wasn't going to spoil our trip. I'd ride on the Metro, buses, and sit whenever I could at the places we visited. Here I was, miserable in one of my favorite cites - PARIS of all places! It hindered my enjoyment, though, I must tell you that. Hurt like hell, the whole time. I think the slanted sidewalks aggravated it, my foot leaning inward down the slopes.

We went to the Louvre Museum, have to do that everytime I'm in Paris, took a river ride - always fabulous! Walked through the flower market along the river, and visited some other sites and squares of interest: Trocadero, Montmartre,Invalides, Eiffel, etc. Dined in some neat places, too, while we were there (and some not so nice places). It's just too bad I wasn't up to par and couldn't venture out more than we did. I had so wanted to show Babs a good time.

But she enjoyed the patisseries, the bread and cheese shops, etc. in spite of it all. And we would stop and have a pastry and coffee periodically, people watching, as we treked through the city. Thank god for the Metro! And it's very easy to navigate, so simple to get from one point to another. One of the best trans-systems, I feel, in the world.

One day we were on the Metro when a sleezy Frenchman, older, and a bit crazy, starting making eyes at Babs. Literally. He'd lick his lips and pucker up, kissing the air towards her, then indicating he wanted her to go with him, off the bus. If it weren't so comical, it would have been downright lude and rude. We both snickered our heads off. He was incredibly nuts and repulsive. Yikes! She said that had happened to her in New York (she's a New Yorker) and she was wondering if it was the same guy, thinking maybe he followed her. lol lol

Regardless of the foot pain, Paris is never a disappoinment to me. Whether it's good or bad weather, crowded or not, it's a city that remains to be in the top three for me. It's inspiring, energetic, and one that stays in your memory forever. And contrary to what some say, I find it a friendly city, have never had a problem with communicating or socializing, the French are always gracious to me. Wonderful place to go. I'd love to live there.

So the day came when we had to leave Paris and board a train for Calais. As we were preparing to leave the hotel, handling our own luggage, no valets, Babs reached for her roller suitcase thinking it was the one she'd left home, with four wheels instead of two. So when she pulled at it, it fell over and the weight of it twisted her arm and shoulder. Injured her, honest to Pete! Right on the spot. She was in agony. But we had to go, the taxi was due to arrive ... early in the morning. So we got downstairs and waited for the cab. She said it was really hurting, and that she'd take some Advil or whatever she had when we got to the train station.

We went on, took the cab then the train to Calais. She wasn't complaining too much, so I thought it was getting better. But here we were, me with a bum foot and now her with a bum shoulder. Quite a pair to draw to.

I'd never taken a ferry from Calais to England, only from St. Malo to England, so decided it might be fun to cross over to Dover. But to time it right in order to take a train to our destination - Weymouth in Dorset, England, we would have to spend a nite in Dover.

So I had booked a hotel in Dover - The Premier Inn - for a one-nite's stay.

More to follow . . .

CATCHING UP ON TRIPS

2011-08-14T16:21:00.000-07:00

I see there are a few trips I've made that I haven't posted here. So I'll gather the material and will catch up with you soon. Will try to do that before the next trip to England coming up Oct 19 - Nov 7.

COMING UP! TRIP TO ENGLAND IN OCTOBER 2011!

2011-08-14T15:54:00.000-07:00

Yes, it's getting close ... I'll be blogging every day while on the trip ... so be sure you add me to your list of blogs.

BRUSSELS FOR THE NEW YEAR - 2008/2009

2009-03-23T10:50:00.000-07:00

FIRST EMAIL SENT TO THE U.S.

Well, finally! It has taken me forever to figure out how to get on the Internet using my laptop in this hotel. I mean to tell you, this has been the most difficult to access ever!

So, I'm here! Got here the morning of December 30, and I'm just now starting to acclimate to the time change. My body sure has taken its time to do that. Harder as one gets older, I suppose.

Today I woke up at 1 p.m., yesterday (New Year's Eve Day) at 5 p.m. just in time for the festivities. However, I came back from the Grand Place (square) early (10 p.m.) and went to bed. It was an enteresting evening, but not what I had envisioned. I'm such a dreamer! lol lol lol I'll tell you more later. Just wanted to get this off to you and let you know I'm fine and am getting ready to go out and buy a new coat. I find I am not a cape person, brought along my new Irish wool, but it's too cumbersome. I keep getting tangled up in it, not good ... makes me feel like a Klutz. And I'm not happy with the damn plastic coat I brought with me, either. Plastic? What is that all about? I need a tailored pea coat like the one I left on the train in the UK on my last trip there.

It is colder than the North Pole here. I even bought a sock cap and am wearing it. Can you imagine? Me in a hat, much less a sock cap? My full length white mink coat would have been perfect, so many women are wearing them here. But I would have felt conspicuous, so that wouldn't have worked either. Damn! When am I ever going to wear it? Haven't yet.

I couldn't resist a beautiful lace tablecloth on my walk through the shopping lanes my first day here, have wanted one since last time I was in Belgium. It is soooooooooo pretty. Handmade in Bruges. Will be having some nice quaint dinners on it when I get home, for sure. Can't wait.

I suspect I'll have to purchase another suitcase for the stuff I'm accumulating, and I'll check in the largest of the two on the airline, maybe both, I don't know. I just don't like carrying around a bunch of stuff in the airports. I still haven't learned, it was still too much for me to carry coming here. One carryon bag and one large purse - still too much. I couldn't lift the leather bag to the overhead, had to have help with it. So I'll just go ahead and check it all when I come back, will only carry my purse, the larger one OR A NEW ONE! You never know. LOL LOL

I don't believe I'll go to Paris this trip as planned (planned to take the train down for a night). I'll just stay put here in Brussels. At present am not in the mood to venture out into the other towns in Belgium either (Ghent, Lueven, Antwerp, Bruges), etc. Maybe tomorrow (Jan 2) I'll start doing the day trips.

It's 4 p.m. in Brussels right now on New Year's Day. Now I'm going for a walk and shop while I formulate more plot for my Amanda character. So how was your New Year's Eve?

SECOND EMAIL TO THE U.S.:

January 3, Saturday 10 p.m. in Brussels. Well, I'm still on U.S. time. Can't for the life of me acclimate to the time. I'm awake all night, go to sleep around 6 a.m., wake up again around 4 or 5 p.m. Craziness! But I'm certainly having some creative, farout dreams during the daytime sleeping hours. Am using two of the dreams for part of my MIDNIGHT IN BRUSSELS plot. Works for me. lol lol There's inspiration all around, even when I sleep.

Today I found a restaurant across the street from the Metropole that has food I recognize and has fruit and veggies. Thank goodness! I've missed that from my diet. It's been mostly cheese, cheese, and more cheese since I've been here. And of course ice cream. Great diet. They have the best ice cream here at the Metropole ... homemade. Yum yum. And of course the hot melted chocolate goes well over it. Oboy ... cheese and ice cream and chocolate. Fabulous eating. But I'm walking, so maybe that'll offset the fats. So far that's about all I've been doing ... sleeping, eating fats, walking, shopping.

Today I was to take a day trip to Ghent and Bruges but just couldn't wake up long enough to catch the tour bus. I could do it tomorrow if I'd get up at 8 a.m. I suppose I could just stay up 2 hours longer (6 to 8 a.m.) and make myself stay awake for the tour. That's a possibility. But you know what? I thoroughly investigated Bruges when I was there for nearly a week on my previous trip, and Ghent isn't really reaching out to me. But ANTWERPT is. So I'm going to Antwerpt on Monday, a 5.5 hour excursion. Antwerpt is the diamond capital of Europe - raw diamonds as well as polished, so that works to my benefit, will use that information and send two of main characters there to buy a ring ... perfect. YES! I'm interested in diamonds anyway. Love those rocks. Any rocks. I'm a latent rock-hound, collect rocks. So that's Monday.

Then on Tuesday I'll finish up in Brussels - take some photos, finish my shopping - 'cause I'm leaving Wednesday morning for home. So tomorrow I'll just take it easy when I finally wake up, and do some more writing. Been writing up a storm, people! Very inspiring here. You'll have to read my book when it's finished to get all the local color this time.

EMAIL #3 TO THE U.S.:

Didn't take the tour today. Woke up at 4 p.m. this afternoon, didn't go to sleep till 6:00 a.m. this morning. It's alright, I didn't want to go to Bruges again anyway, and that was part of the tour: Ghent and Bruges. I spent a week in Bruges just two years ago, it's a very small town, no point in revisiting. I have all the info I need of Bruges for my book in my previous notes and in my memory.

But tomorrow I'm getting up at 9 a.m, no matter what time I go to sleep this time, to take the train to Antwerp ... not taking a tour, going by myself on the train. That way I can go at my leisure. Perfect. Much easier and on my own schedule. Antwerp is important to my book, so I will go there. And then on Tuesday I'll do the churches here near Old Town, need to pick one for a wedding site, for Amanda, possibly? There's a neat one in Antwerp, too - the largest gothic church in Europe. I'll decide after I see them all.

So the trip is winding down, just two more days. Antwerp tomorrow, tying up loose ends in Brussels on Tuesday, home on Wednesday. I'm ready. Time to go home. It's been great, though, just being free from the phone and the usual daily goings on at home ... it's been a fabulous vacation as well as a productive research trip. Loved it.

Also have new boots, coat, gloves, 4 hats, lace tablecloth, and a Brussels plate for my plate wall. So there. I'm all set for cold winters, dinners, and travel stories. lol lol lol And a few gifts. Yes, yes, I do have to buy a travel bag for it all to transport home. No doubt about it. I'll be checking all my luggage this time. You know Brussels would be the perfect spot to have a shop of hats. I mean everyone wears hats to cover their ears. All sorts of them. And the people shop in droves. Today, Sunday, it was like Black Friday in the U.S., amazing. You couldn't walk a straight line down the shopping lanes and corridors, had to weave your way through. Everyone wears black, of course. I fit right in. Hardly anyone wears color, no one. So it looked like a black river of people flooding the meandering streets and alleys. I was glad the shops were open, in Switzerland they're closed on Sundays ... when I was in Zurich I didn't know what to do with myself on Sunday. Nothing. Was boring that day.

#4 EMAIL TO THE U.S.:

Interesting day today … went to sleep around 3 or 4 a.m., woke up at 8:30 a.m. The first early wake up I’ve had since I’ve been here. For some reason, I woke up thinking I ought to look for my passport because yesterday it wasn’t in my purse that I usually carry, where I thought I had put it. Soooooooooo … I looked and looked and looked and looked. No passport. Not in any of my bags, not in any of the drawers, nowhere. Not in any pockets: coats, pants, purses, suitcases. It was missing – lost or stolen.

Oh boy! What to do? I called the front desk and asked what the procedure was to get a replacement passport, that mine was missing and I would be leaving tomorrow morning. They said go to the American Embassy. Great!

So by the time I got dressed and went downstairs it was around 10 a.m. They showed me on the map how to get to the Embassy. I’d have to take a cab, which was fine, no problem. I went outside where the cabs were waiting on the street … saw the line of them, went to the first one in line, opened his front passenger door and started to get in. He wasn’t a cabbie. He was a regular person waiting to pick up someone. Lol lol lol Jeez! I was halfway in his car getting ready to sit. How embarrassing. I apologized and went to the next car which was a taxi.

It was about a 10 minute ride to the embassy.

Oh, by the way, it’s been snowing here for 2 days. Hard to walk, sidewalks and streets covered with snow.

So the taxi stopped about a block from the embassy and pointed to where I was to go in, the third American flag up the street. Said he couldn’t go any further because of security and he couldn’t stop in front of it. I paid him and got out in the snow. With a bit of care walking on the ice and snow, I made it to the embassy without mishap. They did the usual airline security check plus a test to see if you’ve handled explosives recently. That was different. They wouldn’t let me take my purse in, but let me take what I needed out of the purse – drivers’ license w/pic, wallet, reading glasses. Police all over the place.

I waited about 20 minutes inside till I was called to the window. The gal asked for the police report saying my passport was either lost or stolen. I said, “What police report?” She said, “you need to report it and bring the signed report to us, before we can do anything.” She told me where the nearest police station was – about a half mile away.

Okay, there are no cabs around the embassy or anywhere in that area. I trekked through the lovely snow and ice a half mile to the police station. Once inside, I waited about 15 minutes. Then the policeman said, “Where’s the form from the embassy? We need the form.” I didn't have a form. YIKES!

So, I had to walk back to the embassy and get a form. And while I was there this time, the gal went ahead and had me fill out everything and she took my photo sans my cap (I look like death warmed over after wearing a cap for several days, never fixing my hair, Lordy!). Then she told me to take the form, go back to the police station and bring back another signed form from them.
Off I went, like an good little girl, to the police station again. Another walk in the freezing cold, the snow and the ice. Now mind you, I hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had a cup of coffee, no water, nothing. I didn’t think about any of that because I wanted to hurry and get the passport since I’m leaving in the morning. So I saw a water receptacle at the PD and drank a cup while I was there this time. After about 30 minutes with the police, I had the form and off I went again. The security guards must have thought I was nuts going back and forth through the gates and alleys. I got pretty good on following that route. I’ll never forget how to get from the embassy to the police station, you can bet on that. Oh, by the way, I was walking in my Italian boots with high heels, definitely not made for walking in the snow.

When I arrived back at the embassy this time, it was closed. I pounded on the door, a guard answered. I told him my dilemma and gave him a card they’d given me to show when I returned. He let me in. I went through the security check again, etc etc., then waited in the reception room for about 30 minutes, finally the gal came out and called me over to sign my new temporary passport which is good for one year. SUCCESS AT LAST!

Now, there still weren't any taxis around the place when I left. The guard told me to walk to Central Square, there would be taxis there. Nope, he lied. No taxies there, either. That square had to have been at least a mile's walk from the embassy. Then I saw a sign that pointed to Place De Brockere … which was near the Metropole Hotel. So, I decided to walk to the hotel. And even though I wound round, missed the street I should have taken, I did end up on a street I recognized near the Grand Place where I walk every day. I got back at the hotel at 5:30 p.m. What a day! 10 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. What a walk! How I spent my last day in Brussels!

Anyway, it was an adventure, I took it as it came, it didn’t upset me, I was cool, and I saw a lovely snow-covered park I wouldn’t have seen, had to walk through it to get to Central Place. The frightening part was I was afraid I’d slip and break a leg or arm or hip … that would’ve been the end, wouldn’t it? But, I’m a lucky soul, we all know that.

So when I got back to the hotel, I changed my shoes and went back out for something to eat, I was starving. Then I did my final shopping. Bought a second suitcase to cart all the loot home. I was sooooooooooooo tired when I got back to the room at 7 p.m.

Now I’ve had my hot bath and am in bed watching the news and writing to y’all.

Heading home in the morning! Bye bye, Brussels! Thanks for all the neat information for my book!

ADDITIONAL NOTE: By the way, I found my lost passport a week ago (March 2009), it was in a hidden pocket in my purse. DAMN!

2006 - BELGIUM

2008-08-28T02:27:00.001-07:00

BELGIUM

After a rather lengthy trip to Belgium, I finally made it! Luckily the plane from Chicago was not full and I didn't feel as if I was a sardine in a tin as I felt on the flight from California to Chicago. That flight was implausible. They must’ve moved the seats closer together because something was very different on that plane. They squeezed in a few more rows, maybe? Can they do that? My knees were hitting the seat in front of me and I couldn't use the communal armrest because as usual a man sitting next to me had to have it. I was miserable. So I slept most of the way, crammed into my corner against the window. Good thing I was tired to begin with. But the second leg of the flight was much better. I had an extra seat to spread to and I did some more much needed sleeping, since I hadn't slept at all the night I left.

Once in Brussels the train station in the airport was easy to find, I just followed the train emblem posted on the overhead boards, that is, as soon as I figured out what it was. It took a few minutes. Thank goodness for pictures, because I don't understand the languages. French is spoken mainly in Brussels, Dutch in Brugge. People are friendly and helpful, however, even in gesturing, so I was able to navigate well enough. I changed trains once in the center of Brussels (Brussels Nord) and found a comfy seat at a table on that second train and settled in to enjoy the remainder of the trip to Bruges or Brugge. (Spelled both ways.) However, that was short lived, for the conductor came through and told me I would have to go to the second class car because I was sitting in first class. Damn! So, I acquiesced and moved my luggage (one computer bag and one medium sized piece of luggage) to the space in between the cars and that's as far as I went . . . the second class cars were packed. More sardines. I opted to stand the duration of the trip in that space between first and second class, making me a no-class passenger. Standing felt pretty good, actually. I'd been sitting for over 13 hours as it was.

The ride through the countryside reminded me of the Austrian countryside. Very green, dotted with stone houses and farms, although no mountains as in Austria. The Belgian terrain is flat. Other than the occasional trips the passengers were making to the toilet, as it turned out I was standing by the toilet in that in between-space, I was alone to take in the lovely views through the narrow panes in the doors.

Once in Brugge I headed directly to a coffee concession in the train station. I hadn't had a cup since leaving Chicago. The flight from Chicago didn't have potable water, believe it or not, and they were unable to serve tea or coffee. They even asked that the passengers use the sani-wipes they provided in the restrooms for their hands, asked that they not use the water from the faucet. Evidently there'd been a problem and they didn't receive fresh water before we left Chicago. There was bottled water to drink, but they had to make a quick last minute special trip in the terminal to get enough of it for the duration of the flight. Now that was a first in all my flying time.

So, you can imagine how good that coffee tasted in that little concession stand in the train station. I sat there and enjoyed every drop of it while I got my bearings. Here I was in Belgium. What the hell was I doing here? That was the question that surfaced all of a sudden. I was having of moment of feeling alone, perhaps. Sitting in a strange land with my suitcases. Wishing I had shipped the 15 books anyway, regardless of the exorbitant cost, instead of carrying them in my bags that were way too heavy for me to maneuver. I finally got the clothing thing down pat, had that all figured out, and then I had to go and add the books that are heavier than the clothing. Something wrong with that picture. Never again. I'll definitely ship them if I have to carry them to a book signing again. So I'm still learning as I make this trip through life.

I got my second wind and decided to leave my safe spot in the train terminal and venture out into Belgium. First thing I noticed was how warm the weather was, and then saw the cobble stoned walkways and streets everywhere, as I made my way across the huge square to the taxi stand. I was carrying another cup of coffee with me and waved to a cab driver and waited for him to pull up to where I was standing. He told me I couldn't drink my coffee in his cab, that I'd have to dump it. Sadly I did so. He turned out to be a very pleasant driver however, told me a bit about the city as we rode, gave me a map, took me through the main part of Bruges - the Market Square - all within the Ring. Most European cities are situated within a Ring. There's always a ring road encircling the city and when you reach that road, you know you're moving into the outer limits. It comes in handy when you're a city-walker like I am. I usually walk everywhere I go. Or if it's too far, will take a subway (as in Paris or London or New York), or a cab at night. But I usually walk mostly in smaller towns, like Bruges.

The B & B where I'm staying is within the Ring. The town centre is maybe a 10 minute or less walk - a wonderful walk, over and alongside canals and shop-lined cobbled streets. Robert van Nevel and Lietjve Gevaert are pleasant and energetic hosts. Robert speaks English as well as French and Dutch and who knows how many other languages. His appearance reminds me of a bearded, long-haired professor, an intellectual. Lietjve is a charming woman, still learning English. Robert built all the furniture in my room - one of two rooms in their home they rent out to tourists. It's set up just like a small hotel, however. In the parlor are antiques and collectibles - an antique camera collection that caught my eye. Carmmerstraat is a very quiet street, a small market across the lane that I plan to venture into today. I'm on the second floor of their brick and stone 16th Century house, high ceilings, tall windows opening onto the street below. 265 Euros total for five nights. At last check, 1 Euro equaled $1.20. So, the accommodations are very reasonable. I'd stay here again in a heartbeat. But no elevator and very steep stairs. Getting my luggage up here posed a problem. It took Lietjve and me to carry the one. Robert wasn't here when I got here. And bless her heart she did her best to go over everything with me in her broken English. But we made it and I was very happy to finally be left alone in my comfy room with a bed I immediately sprawled across. At that moment I felt like I might never rise again. Felt like maybe I'd spend the next 5 days in Belgium in that bed.

LATER IN THE WEEK . . .
As I sit here eating a delicious jar of white Asperges (asparagus) in my room, I glance across the lane at the rooftops of the neighborhood houses, the front roofline is shaped like stair steps coming up each side meeting in the middle, topped with a chimney-like crest. And I notice that one of the pieces of furniture here in my room, the furniture that Robert built, has the same motif topping as do most of the houses in Bruges. It’s a design used throughout the town. Even on postcards. Stair steps that meet at a higher center apex.

Friday when I was taking the boat through the canals, viewing the buildings from the water’s perspective, it was beautiful, especially along the “green” canal where photographers congregate to snap the canal foliage and the attractive houses and cafes along the way. The boatman reminded me of the French actor Gerard Depardieu (“Green Card”) in size and looks, only his lengthy unruly hair was sunbleached and he was tanned from being exposed to the daily elements in his profession. He spoke four languages during that “cruise”. Something that is beginning to bother me about our U.S. school system . . . we only learn one language while growing up. I think that is a shame. The children here and elsewhere in Europe learn 2, 3, and sometimes 4 languages in their elementary school years. What is wrong with us? Why do we insist on teaching our children only one language? Incredible! That needs to be changed, our world is getting smaller and the knowledge of other languages would be to everyone’s advantage. I’m even changing my view on the controversy of Spanish being spoken in our schools. Why not have the non-spanish speaking learn the language right along with the Mexicans learning English? At least we’d be bi-lingual. Here everyone learns their neighbors’ languages. We seem to fight that in the U.S. A good case of what’s dumb and dumber.

In a few minutes I’m meeting with a magazine editor and the local newspaper editor to be interviewed. What a surprise that is! It came about through Robert, whose son in law is the magazine editor and wanted to interview me and decided to ask the local newspaper to be present also. Robert had told his son in law that I’m here to research for a novel I’m writing to be set in Bruges. So, I guess that’s what created the interest.

Speaking of doing the research . . . I’m making great headway. Have found the love interest for one of the main characters, he’s a waiter in the Braenenburg, a very popular restaurant on Market Square. Stefan is young, divorced, has a couple small children, and is living in an apartment near the Braenenburg Restaurant. “Amanda”, one of my lead characters will go to the restaurant to apply for a waitress position and there she’ll meet Stefan. Waitressing is the only job she knows, but is in search for something else to make her mark. After her husband disappeared on Christmas Day two years before, while they were living outside Las Vegas in a broken down trailer, her sister persuaded her to move to Bakersfield and live with her. She helped her find work as a waitress, the first time Amanda had ever worked. Over the next two years, she saved her money to go to Bruges. She’d read all about Bruges and fell in love with the photos and the romance of the place, and after she arrived she was drawn to lacemaking which is one of Belgium's national prides and is prevalent in Bruges. So she decides to take the classes offered in the sector near where she is staying. Etc. etc. Of course there is much more to the story and “Rachel O’Neill” my serial lead character comes into play again. And there’ll be another New Year’s Eve to end the novel . . . this time in Belgium. In the first novel, New Year’s Eve was in Trafalgar Square in London, second novel at the Eiffel Tower, third in Belgium, fourth in Moscow, and so on - Twelve novels in the series. But enough on that.

I walked into a church yesterday, the “Saint Saviour’s Cathedral” and was lambasted with the sounds of its huge pipe organ. The terrific, eerie sounds consumed the air space and I felt as if I was in a theatre on Broadway hearing the “Phantom of the Opera” organ. Wow! It was incredible. I swear the guy was playing a jillion extra notes that weren’t supposed to be in the number. It sounded as if he was pounding on all the keys at once. Mesmerizing! I wished I would have arrived sooner, for it had been an organ concert and that was the last song. The church was built in the gothic style of the 14th century and has been continually added to and restored ever since. After a disastrous fire in 1839 a major restoration was necessary, but the original rustic-ness is prevalent still. As in all these European cathedrals you can’t help but stand there and feel in awe for the years these buildings have been in existence and for the multitudes of people who’ve passed through their doors. I also visited an even older church, smaller, in “Burg” square which is right next to Market Square. Its huge rustic-hewn pillars were fascinating. You could see and touch the irregularity of the stones that were cut and mortared in place to create the columns that held up the church all these years. If they were flattened out it would resemble the pattern of the cobblestone streets. The diameter of those columns had to be at least seven or eight feet, or so it seemed. “Solid as a rock” certainly applies to these churches.

I plan to go into the Jerusalem cathedral in this section of town today – called the St. Anna section. The lace museum is at the Jerusalem church and the nuns run the center and the classes. I’d love to come back and take some lace-making classes. Maybe before I finish the Bruges novel, since “Amanda” will be taking the classes. I’ll need to know first hand how that’s done. And it’s something just to watch, believe me. The way they toss those bobbins around, weaving the tiny intricate patterns. Most of the lacemakers are elderly, you know, my age and over. One woman was tossing them back and forth so fast I couldn’t believe she knew what she was doing. It looked like she was shuffling the bobbins and moving her hands lightening fast just to be impressive. She definitely was impressive. The pattern was taking form right before my eyes. I don’t see how they do it. And they do give classes to school children in order to keep up the tradition. One of the makers just passed away at 102 years of age.

So I was looking in the shops, yesterday, for an affordable handmade lace tablecloth. Most are at least 100 Euros, but I saw a few that were around 40. The only problem is, and we’re warned of it, some shops sell machine-made pieces as well as hand-made pieces. So I would assume the 40 price is machine-made. The more intricate piece, with less linen, is the most expensive. I’d love to have one of those. But then I ask myself, why? I probably wouldn’t use it. And if I did I would be too terrified it would get stained. So, maybe I’ll pass on that and just buy a little doily as a memento. Although I could hang the tablecloth on one of my walls. Now which wall would that be, Rebecca? You have empty wall space somewhere? How about a ceiling?

I’ve already tested and tasted the authentic Belgian chocolates. So much so one day, it put me right to sleep. Had a long nap that day. The milk chocolate is my favorite, solid chocolate. But they have everything, crème filled, nuts, chewy, dark chocolate, name it they make it. Between the chocolate shops and the lace shops, that makes up a good 50 per cent of the business in Bruges.

And the fashion shops are in plenty, too - shoes, clothing, jewelry – it’s all here. The fashion trend is almost gypsy-like. Layers of colorful pieces, tufted pants and skirts with vests and scarfs and other adornment added to create a work of art, actually. Walking art pieces the wearers become. Then you have the simply dressed . . . non-trendy dressers. There are always those. And they are stylish, too. Mono-toned ensembles either in tans, browns, or olive greens. You can immediately pick up on who is affluent and who isn’t. Most times. Not always. And these people have tans! I’ve noticed that about Europeans. They do go to the beaches for relaxation and tans. Usually to Spain and the south of France. And some go to Florida, believe it or not.

Well, today’s my last day in Bruges. I catch the 6 a.m. train to Brussels in the morning, then change trains to go to Paris where I connect to go to St. Malo, France. I’ll arrive in St. Malo sometime in the early afternoon and will have a few hours till I get on a hover-craft ferry (Condor) that takes me across to Weymouth, England. I’ll arrive in Weymouth at 8:30 p.m. So Monday is going to be another very long travel day. I’m hoping I’ll be able to store my bags in St. Malo somewhere so I can roam around the port town, I hear it’s something to see.

Then on Tuesday I begin my stay in England. See you there . . .

2006 - ENGLAND

2008-08-28T02:26:00.001-07:00

TRAINS AND BOAT TO ENGLAND . . .

The day began a bit dodgy . . . I woke up at 4 a.m. and packed my bags, had some coffee, checked my email, and then went out to wait for the taxi that was to arrive at 5:30 a.m. to take me to the train station to catch the 6 a.m. train to Brussels. At 5:45, still no taxi. I rang the doorbell trying to roust out Robert, hoping to use his phone or find out why the cabby hadn’t arrived, but Robert must not wake so easily. Neither one of them responded to the doorbell or the frantic knocks. So, I figured I’d better shift to plan B and try and find a bus that would take me to the train station. I knew no taxis would be out and about that early. And it was too far and too difficult to walk to the train station at this point.

Pulling two bags over cobble stones is not the easiest trick to pull off. The sound alone was enough to wake up the neighborhoods through which I traveled. Finally I saw a bus coming along a canal and waved him down. He said yes he goes to the train station, but I would have to go to a bus stop to catch the next bus, said he couldn’t pick me up in the middle of the street like that. He pointed me in the direction of the nearest bus stop. I thanked him and he must have seen my desperate look because he felt pity and said, “Okay, I’ll take you this time.” I wanted to say, “don't worry, there ain’t gonnna be a next time,” but I smiled instead and said thank you.

So, I missed the train I was supposed to take and got there just in time to take the one leaving at 6:30 a.m. And of course, that threw me off schedule for the next train out of Brussels to Paris. When I got to Brussels there was another train leaving for Paris at 7:40 which was in 10 minutes. But I couldn’t just get on with the ticket for the train I’d missed, I had to go to the ticket counter and have them change it. That left me with 6 minutes to get to the train in time to leave for Paris. And of course the train platforms are always on another level, they’re never on the level where you are. Lucky for me, this one had an escalator to take me up a level, or else I wouldn’t have made that train. And they don’t wait for you. I made it, exactly at 7:40.

I think the most difficult part of traveling by train and the most distressing for me is getting from one train to another in the stations. Especially if luggage is involved. If I were traveling with just my purse, it would be a breeze. But since that’s not the case, it isn’t a breeze at all. It’s distressing. Once on the train, I’m all right, of course. I love the ride on the trains. It’s relaxing and neat to see the countryside. But I do not like the in-between segments. I need a baggage handler, I do.

I'm writing this on the train, by the way. And I'm thinking about when I get to Paris now. I have to take the Metro from the station I arrive in – Nord – to Montparnasse station where I’ll then board a train to Dol, wherever that is. Then in Dol I change trains to board the one that takes me to St. Malo. So, you see, I’ve some more distressing moments ahead of me today. It would be all right if all the stations had elevators and escalators, but they don’t. And it’s two flights of concrete stairs from one level to another. So that means if it’s up, I have to take one case up at a time. If it’s down, I carry one and drag the other on its wheels as it bumps down from one step to the next. So far the wheels seem to be sturdy enough. If they break, I’m @$##%@# out of luck.

When I get on the final train to St. Malo, I am really going to relax. I just hope the alteration in the times because I missed the first two trains doesn’t effect the next two trains.

This all would happen on a day that I’m fighting a cold. It hit me yesterday, Sunday, and I stayed in most of the day. Thank goodness I brought my Advil Cold & Sinus med. After the horrible experience I had last time in Paris with illness, I came prepared this time. And actually I feel pretty good right now.

Oh, just saw a beautiful manor house or chateau. Wow! Now that’s living! And all the green countryside around . . . beautiful. There’s a few rolling hills in this area. I’m not sure if we’re in France or still in Belgium. It’s hard to tell. I would think that someone would ask me for my passport going from one country to another, but no one has. Interesting. Lot of churches dotting the landscape, their steeples being the first thing you see.

No billboards or signs to let you know where you are. Fancy that. lol lol It’s grey today and cloudy. I wonder if it’s raining in Paris. I’ll be coming back to Paris in a week to stay for a week and I’m looking forward to that for sure. But first to England to revisit the sites of my first novel. I’m excited about that too. And after that my bags will be lighter, the books will hopefully be gone by the end of the week. Except I must keep one for Bob on the Simpatico in Paris.

FAST FORWARD TO ENGLAND - May 10, Wednesday

The remainder of the train trip to St. Malo wasn't as bad as I expected. In Paris it was easy to get to the Metro, I just took it in my stride, bumped up and down the stairs. Usually there was someone on hand to help with the heavy one. And of course once on the Metro it was easy to get to Montparnasse. Paris does have the best subway in the world, as far as I'm concerned. The routes make it very easy for you to see where you're going. And after I got to Montparnasse, it was two levels up to the main train station, then two more levels up to the train to St. Malo. As it turned out, I didn't have to change trains in Dol, that was just a ticketing situation.

I arrived in St. Malo, France 2 1/2 hours before I was to board the Condor so I didn't venture out into the city. Although I would have liked to. St Malo is very interesting. I must return there sometime. Maybe next time I'm in Weymouth I'll take the Condor over and spend the day. They do day trips to the islands of Guernsy (sp?), Jersey, and St. Malo. Any or all three would be worth the trip. Beautiful places. The Condor Ferry was enjoyable. I think it was a four hour trip across the channel. Of course all you could see was the sea all around you. The boat runs very smoothly on the water. A huge modern vehicle. Take a look at them on the Condor Ferry website.

And now here I am in Weymouth. And it has been a delightful, lazy couple days. I'm sitting at my window this very moment looking out over the beach and sea. The sounds of the waves lull me to sleep each night. I've a wonderful room with en suite this time, although I do miss my tiny little cubicle of three years ago with the toilet one floor up. Has it been three years? Oh my. Or four? I definitely have lost track.

Today we go to Abbottsbury to walk the village of thatched-roofed cottages and will have a cream tea before driving to Portland-Bill for lunch. I'll bypass the Abbottsbury Swannery this time, and the gardens. Just want to experience the village, didn't really do that last time. Those of you who've read my novel will remember that Paul and Belinda were married at the Swannery. Abbottsbury is one of those very peaceful small villages that would be a perfect place to live if one could find a cottage off the beaten track. But there's so much traffic through the center of town, you wouldn't want to live that close in.

I met a chef who is on holiday to see his mother in Portland Bill. He's originally from Weymouth and was having a pint at the pub where I was waiting for Ali and Martin before going to dinner last night. I love hanging out at the Weymouth Quay. Here the fishing boats dock and upload their catch of the day. It was lobsters today. Big ones. Then the trucks from Portugal arrive and truck them home for their populace. Funny that they would come all the way from Portugal to Weymouth for lobster.

Anyway, the chef I had a conversation with at the George's Inn on the docks, is the head chef at the derby (he pronounces it as the Darby). . . you know, the famous horse race track here in England. Where the women and men come out in all their finery and hats once a year. Like in "My Fair Lady." It was interesting talking with him, a huge man, obviously a lover of food. He may meet us for lunch today, depending on the schedule. Told us where to go for the best food. Ali and Martin are acquainted with the place, so that should be nice. I'm looking forward to the afternoon spent with the newly-wed Wallers. This time they've taken the day off to show me Portland-Bill, a town just a little west of Weymouth. They say it's very different. In fact I can see its cliffs from my window through the haze this morning. It'll clear up by the time we go, though.

Tomorrow morning I leave for Penzance on a coach. A bus. Decided to do something different once again. I did the train last time, so I'll do the coach this time. It's a 7-hour trip. Trains go through sections of hedges and trees on both sides as they amble through the country, and you do miss some of the sights. At least the buses are traveling the roadways that autos travel and you might be able to see more. Especially when traveling through the villages.

I'm still struggling with the darn cold at the moment, have been taking vitamin C and cold tablets as well as a healthy dose of Echinacea every few hours. I certainly do not want a repeat performance of the Paris of last year.

Well, off to have my morning coffee and maybe some toast.

It's 8 a.m. and the day's already begun.

NOW IT'S . . .
. . . my last couple hours in Penwith, the region of Penzance, Newlyn, Mousehole, etc., the southwest corner of England. In a couple hours I’ll be boarding a train for London, then will board the chunnel train to Paris.

This past six days have been full of memories and reminders of visits past and have even opened up new adventures and introduced new people into my life. More writing fodder, no less. Of course my serial lead character “Rachel” lives in Cornwall, so this region will most certainly be revisited in future books adding possibly some new people to the “cast of characters”. For instance Tom Ellery, who just so happens to be a past creative mate of Jim’s (hubby Jim), and lives in Mousehole with his significant other Peter Collier who is a painter and London physician. Tom comes to the cottage they’ve refurbished every other week, then returns to London on Sunday. He says he loves living in Mousehole. Loves tending his garden with the fish pond at the base of the fountain set in the center. Tom and Peter were having a disagreement as to how to tend the pond and the fish. Tom had added water and now the pond was all cloudy and muggy looking. Peter told him it was the way he’d added the water, and not to do it again. They were quite entertaining and interesting.

Their next door neighbor is one of Dean Koontz’s editors and is herself a children’s author. From what I understand the area is becoming full of successful artistes and I’m hoping to become one of them. Yes, Jim? We’re going to find a cottage in Mousehole to refurbish and come to whenever we can? There’s a direct train to and from London. This area is a great investment, so I hear. Anyway . . . back to “characters” . . . Tom and Peter will be excellent characters for my novels. Part of Rachel’s core group in Cornwall. Definitely.

I also visited the rock shop just a few steps up the lane from them to see if Ken Millward was in, the owner. He’s “Dudley” in my Trafalgar book. I wanted to give him a copy. Wasn’t there, but Tom and Peter know him. I would imagine everyone in this tiny village knows everyone else.

You know, there is something about England that completely captivates me, there’s a draw that holds me fast, a magnet. Other than the fact that I feel very comfortable here and feel as if I’m at home, I’m not quite sure why it appeals to me as much as it does. Could be the countryside that is so beautiful (in Cornwall – very dramatic), maybe it’s the fascinating stone houses, the oldness of them, the crudeness of them, and I love the stone fences and walls that separate gardens and land from one’s neighbors. The people are friendly, they speak my language, they look you in the eyes when they talk to you, the culture is absorbing, the books by British authors and the films by Brits hold my interest moreso than any others. The list goes on. Maybe it’s because I’m of British lineage. Maybe it’s because I may have lived here in another lifetime. Whatever it is, I’m spellbound.

Well, I hear Simon and Susan, the young owners of the Penzance Camilla House B & B stirring in the dining room, so I’ll wander in and have some fruit and juice and settle my tab for this 3-nite visit. My small single accommodation is just off the dining room. The cab will be picking me up at 8:45 a.m. because I want to get to the station to change my train ticket to a direct fare - no train changes. Hopefully I can do that. There is such a train, I’m told. As long as it doesn’t interfere with the departure time of the Eurostar chunnel train for Paris, I’ll make the change. I purchased all my tickets before I left the States. Did it all over the internet. But at the time I wasn’t able to find a direct route from here to London.

Yesterday, after taking it easy during the morning, shampooed my hair, lazed around watching TV, read . . . I walked to the bus station and boarded a bus for Marazion and St. Michael’s Mount. I’d been looking forward to that, wanted to walk back into the village farther than I’d ventured before. As it turns out, it’s a very small village, not much there. Quite a few B & B’s, a few shops, a couple pubs. Not much else. The main attraction is St. Michael’s Mount. When I arrived and while I was there, the causeway was covered with the sea, so I couldn’t hike up to the Mount. Only when the tide is out can you traverse the causeway out to the Mount, it’s an island with a medieval village at the base and a castle on top. I’d wanted to journey out to the gift/book shop and leave a couple of my books there. Maybe place them on the shelf next to Daphne DuMaurier’s. (sure) I know I spelled her name wrong, but have no way to look it up right now. She wrote “Rebecca” and several others that were made into movies by Alfred Hitchcock. She lived in Cornwall and most of her books are set here. In fact I noticed there was a lecture given this weekend in a town nearby about the relationship between her and Hitchcock, called “Daphne and Hitchcock.” Fancy that. Daphne’s father was a British film producer also.

Anyway, I wasn’t able to go to the Mount so I sat in the Godolphin Restaurant (in my book, also) and had a chocolate mousse. How’s that for soothing one’s disappointments? Then I walked through the village, looked in the real estate office windows at the properties for sale, saw one in Newlyn for £160,000 . . . now that is really inexpensive, equivalent to almost twice that in dollars. $1.80 to the British pound. Speaking of, it’s much less expensive to be in the Euro governed countries. So, I’ve held off buying much here. Will pick up what gifts I have left to buy in Paris, where it will be more in line with the American buck. $1.20 to a Euro.

I wasn’t able to find the spot from where the painting of St. Michael’s Mount was done that hangs in my kitchen at home. I was really hoping to stand in the same spot and see it for real, but it was too difficult to remember the view. I should have taken a photo of the painting and brought it with me. I know, it’s not all that important, but it’s those simple things that excite me. Knowing I was right where that English artist painted that landscape. He was an early 19th century artist I believe, and his name escapes me, but he was well known in Britain. I can’t believe I found it in a dusty corner of an antiques/used furniture/accessories shop on East Main in Visalia. Lots of neat shops there, by the way. I love browsing those on a Sunday afternoon. Of course my house is so full now, I’ll have to have another house to add any more. Lol lol It’s time to work on my English garden, and I notice there’s lots of great stuff in those shops that would be wonderful in a garden.

A FEW THINGS I FORGOT TO SAY ABOUT WEYMOUTH - DORSET
The day Ali & Martin Waller, the delightful owners of the charming Channel View B & B where I stayed, took me for an outing . . . we first went to Portland-Bill. Just a tad south west of Weymouth around the bay. It was originally a naval base, or at least was for quite a few years, I don’t know what it was before then. It’s a stone village, gray in colour, very drab and sterile looking, and has a much visited lighthouse and restaurant on the point and a rock formation called the Pulpit. Evidently going back to Biblical times, used then. And the entire region is not only built of stone, it’s built ON stone . . . there are working quarries there producing Portland Stone and shipping it all over the country as well as to other countries. I’m wondering if they’ll ever run out of stone and whether or not the village might fall off into the sea someday because of all the stone removal around and beneath.

The 2012 sailing portion of the Olympics is set to be held in its bay and they’re in the process of building to accommodate the event already. In fact, Martin said the entire region will be filled with people during that segment. He said it should be a boon to the real estate business, people buying and selling, readying for the event. He said if anyone offers him a mil for his place, he’ll take it. Says that does happen during those times.

We had a very tasty lunch at The Cove before we left the village. It was absolutely fantastic. The best meal I’d had so far. I had scallops and veggies and a salad. It was a very old pub on the pebble-filled beach. In fact, the night before, the chef I’d met at the George in Weymouth had recommended it. Remember? He was there that day, while we were at the Cove, with his mother . . . planning his own menu for the famous Ascot event coming up in England. I’d love to go to that. Martin and Ali said to come during the Ascot next time, and we’d go. They’ve been before.

Then we went to Abbottsbury and had dessert in one of the most quaint tea gardens ever. Abbottsbury is the village north of Weymouth with the thatched roofed cottages. If I can’t find a place in Mousehole, then it’s got to be Abbottsbury. Hey, maybe both. Lol lol Anyway, the tea garden is on the main street and was displaying an art exhibit as well as home-made cakes and pies. Oh boy! I had a coffee cake; I mean literally a coffee cake. The thick frosting was made from coffee and the cake was flavored of coffee, too. Wow! I wish I had some right now. The owner had a multi-tiered English garden – where everything appears to grow wild, untamed and untrimmed – with seating areas in hidden areas. We found a wonderful spot nestled in some flowering trees and plants at a table made from an old iron Singer sewing machine trestle, a marble top. The chairs were wrought iron with padded cushions. We sat and had our desserts and coffee and watched the birds and bees visit the flowers, a bumble bee or two got a bit too close, and we chatted about living in such a solitary town in the country. Marvelous way to live.

NEXT . . . OFF TO PARIS!

2006 - PARIS

2008-08-28T02:23:00.000-07:00

MOTHER’S DAY . . . ANOTHER WILD DAY OF TRAINS!

Okay, so I was able to change my ticket to a direct route to London, which meant I wouldn’t have to change trains anywhere along the way. Oh, there would be stops, yes, but I wouldn’t have to get off one train and get on another. Hallelujah! I was elated. No stairs to climb up and down, no carrying my bags again until I got to London. Hooray!

That was all well and good until we got nearly to Bristol and the damn train broke down. Hell, yes! Now, remember, I was on a tight schedule, had to make it to London to catch the Eurostar on time to get through the chunnel to Paris at least by 9 p.m. Didn’t want to keep Robert waiting for me to arrive at the boat, my next accommodation. Left Penzance at 10 a.m., by the way. Okay. So they fixed the train and she limped in to Bristol where we all had to get off and load onto another train especially brought into service for this trip. The original train from Penzance was full, not one seat available. So that meant everyone had to move from one train to the other. Craziness, as you can well imagine. Need I tell you I ate junk food all day?

So now we’re off to London. But we’re 30 minutes behind schedule and that is going to put me at Paddington station in London with just 30 minutes to spare to get to the Eurostar which is on the other side of London at the Waterloo station. No way. It was impossible. There was no way I could get to the Underground system (subway) which is levels down and buy a ticket and get to a train that would take me to Waterloo and then go through all the stops and possibly another train change before getting to the Eurostar station which was on the top level of the Waterloo station. My stomach was churning and spewing. But . . . there was nothing I could do, so I just sat back and tried to get the worrisome thoughts out of my head. But before I got to London I made the decision to exit the Paddington station, once there, and hail a taxi. Maybe that would work. It was Sunday, no business traffic in London. It might just work. Skip the Underground, take a cab.

Sooooooo, that’s what I did. In the taxi as the driver was hurrying to get me to Waterloo, aware of the dilemma, a news bulletin was broadcast on the radio saying that there had been a fire and a fear of possible explosion near the Eurostar run between London and the international station at . . . oh darn . . . I forgot the name of it. Begins with an H. So, all Eurostar trains out of London had been cancelled. Can you believe that? What is this with me and trains?

I told the driver to get me there anyway, that’d I see what I could do and find out more. So he did and I arrived at the Eurostar doors where hoards of people were filling the sidewalks. They weren’t being admitted into the building. A lot of angry people. Some had been there for hours. I pushed up to the front and asked what one could do to get to Paris. The nice guy told me to take my tickets and go upstairs and they were organizing trains to transport people to the International station in H and then we’d board the Eurostar from there to travel on to Paris. He said to just use my Eurostar tickets. I said, I don’t have them yet, but they’re paid for, I was supposed to get them from the machine inside - the machine that was just behind him in the Eurostar station. So, he let me in, turned me over to another guy, and I got my tickets. That guy took me over to the escalators . . . I was the only person in the station at that level and he directed me where to go, said to hurry, a train was going to be loading right away. I hurried like crazy and was one of the last ones to be let through to go on this first train to H. Others had to wait for the next one.

So . . . I arrived in H at the Eurostar station. Here people filled the entire complex. It was chaos. They had sent attendants around to give people water, the station was so suffocating and hot. Too many people. They would only let 100passengers through at a time so there wouldn’t be a bottleneck upstairs in the terminal. After standing nearly an hour, I was in the 100 to go upstairs next on the escalator. Then we were herded through security, in fact they were really lax with some of us, sent us on through without putting the luggage through the X-ray machine. Then we entered a huge terminal where everyone before us was waiting. But there were plenty of seats, tables and chairs, and the food and concession stand was inundated with disgruntled passengers. I found a seat at the bar counter next to a young traveler who was going to Holland via Brussels. We both watched the people, commenting and talking about the situation, and talking about life in general.

Then they called the Eurostar personnel to board the train that was to be departing for Paris. A huge Chinese touring group that had been on the train from London with me and was bound for Paris, too, quickly formed before the gateway leading across the walkway to the trains. A voice came over a speaker telling them to please sit back down, not to block the area, but they didn’t understand and continued to stand there. Well, another announcement came over the speaker system about 20 minutes later saying that boarding was now available to the Eurostar bound for Paris. I began to gather my things and then had second thoughts about it, the line was so full, especially with the tour group crowding there. I decided to just sit right where I was and wait for the line to get through. It seemed to never get smaller, however. Then after about 20 more minutes an announcement came over the system and it seemed all hell broke loose, the entire room cleared out across the walkway to the trains. I grabbed my bags and got to the entry and was told that that was the announcement for the train to Brussels, that the train to Paris had boarded nearly 20 minutes ago and was getting ready to leave right at that moment. That I’d missed it. The gal said I could try to make it, but she doubted it. I ran, I ran, I ran!

The train was already boarded, but still sitting there. All the doors were closed and they will not open them once they’re closed. Off down the track were two attendants standing outside one open door. Door number 12. They yelled at me to run. Lordy, lordy! Have you ever done a 40 yard dash pulling two pieces of luggage behind you on rough terrain? I was a mess. I couldn’t miss this train! How could this have happened? Well, there were two Chinese tour groups – one going to Paris, one to Brussels. I had been watching the one going to Brussels to make their move.

The luck of the Irish, the Scots, and all the Brits was with me! I made it to door number 12. The nice Frenchman told me to sit in the car up ahead which happened to be First Class. Ha! I rode to Paris First Class!

Sitting at the table across the aisle from me was a young Frenchman who just bought a house in Croatia and who travels Europe selling costumes to strippers. And I’ll leave it at that.

What an incredible Mother’s Day I had! I arrived in Paris at 10:30 p.m., and at the houseboat on the Seine under the Eiffel Tower at 11.

I’M IN THE CITY OF LIGHTS! SAFE AND SOUND! MY COLD IS GONE!

PARIS PARIS PARIS

Paris is truly a city of lights, whether it is day or night. Lights not necessarily meaning the electricity type, lights meaning the glowing type. A city of glow. It’s a city of glowing magnetism. A person has to be here much longer that a week, longer than two weeks, a month would still not be enough. You would have to be here at least six months to truly feel this city and its people and learn your way around. There is no city like it on the planet. Everybody should experience Paris at least once in their lives.

Just in the last few days I’ve discovered the best ways for me to get around the city. Finally! But then I’m told by Robert that the best way is the bus and the RER – another trainline. Well, I’ve only just mastered the Metro. I’ll have to tackle those transportation systems next time around. I have only one more full day in Paris - tomorrow. I’m slow on the uptake today, so I don’t imagine I’ll be doing any more nosing around until tomorrow, unless it’s right here in this area. Maybe this afternoon. Omigosh! It’s afternoon now. But I’m tired because I tossed and turned most of the night last night. Couldn’t sleep.

In the morning I’ll be moving off the boat to a hotel for my last night’s stay in Paris. Robert had booked another lodger here on the boat tomorrow, which is okay, I don’t mind at all. Besides his next guest is a paying lodger. Robert was so kind to give me these days because of the last visit. (Thank you, Robert and Kim.)

The hotel where I’ll be staying tomorrow night is in the Marais section, so that’ll give me another area to explore after I check in tomorrow as well as a return trip to the Louvre, since when I went there on Tuesday, it was closed.

I arrived in Paris late Sunday night (Mother’s Day), but of course had to walk over to the Eiffel Tower as soon as I met Bob on the boat and deposited my bags. The tower is lit up at night and is a terrific sight! I can see it from the boat, but I wanted to go stand under it, my statement that I’d made it to Paris. Of course late at night is the time the hawkers are out in full force and are most insistent. I ended up buying a little Eiffel keychain just to get the guy to go away. I hadn’t switched to Euros in my purse yet, but there was one mixed in with the British coinage. So, that’s what he got. I held out my hand full of change to prove to him I didn’t have any Euros on me. He wasn’t interested in Brit money. Although a Brit pound is worth much more than a Euro. Foolish boy. Lol lol So, I have another Eiffel Tower piece to add to my collection at home or to give to someone.

Oh, that’s what I’ve got to do today, no later than tomorrow. Pick up some gifts. It’s been a very busy week for me, traipsing through several sections of Paris. And I haven’t been thinking of gifts.

Monday I stayed on the boat to do some writing and to recuperate from the 12 hours of travel from England to Paris the day before. Amazing it took that long. But then, that’s what happens when you’re traveling by train. You can’t be in a hurry, that’s for sure. Delays can and will happen. By auto it would have been much quicker, but I’m just not one to want to travel by auto in a foreign country. A plane would have been quicker. I could have flown from Cornwall, I suppose. Or from Southampton. But then, I had some amusing experiences on those trains I had never had, so it was worth it after all is said and done.

I’m looking out the portholes as I’m sitting here on the Bateau Simpatico - http://www.quai48parisvacation.com - watching a huge tour boat go by. My gosh, some of those boats are humongous. In fact when they pass they create waves that travel to the boats tied to the quayside and rocks them silly. The most violent rocking happens between 10 p.m. and midnight. I don’t know why that is. Maybe the tide is coming in or something, from where I don’t know, though. I need to look at a map and see how Paris is situated to the sea and where the Seine runs. I don’t think it’s caused by an increase of tour boats, but then again, maybe it is. Additional dinner boats and the citylights-view boats are always a big tourist thing here. But the rocking isn’t a negative. I’ve become quite accustomed to it. (Although last night while up on Montmartre in a ladies room, I thought I was rocking as I was sitting there.) I remember on the last trip how I was a bit afraid at first that the boat might tip over. Hubby Jim didn’t seem to be bothered at all by it at the time. But then that’s his M.O. It takes quite a bit of anything to disturb him. Oh, to be so calm in a storm. Lol lol Anyway, now I’m only aware of the degree of rocking throughout the day and night. Doesn’t bother me. It’s lulling, actually. However it didn’t lull me to sleep last night. Four aspirin finally did the trick.

By the way, Bob has asked me to do a page for his website . . . a regular byline . . . I’m not exactly sure what it’ll be just yet, but will definitely look into it and consider it when I return home. A travel page, maybe? I’d love to do a travel page. Maybe we can talk about it some more tonight at dinner as well as find out more about him since he’s in my next book. He and Kim are my guests for dinner at one of their favorite restaurants. They’re such good hosts, and last time when I was so sick he and Kim really went out of their way to accommodate me, called the doc, etc. Lovely people. And what a difference it is to be on this boat when you’re not ill. What a difference a day makes . . . and so it goes. I’ve truly enjoyed it and want to do it again. Definitely! (Jim, let’s buy a houseboat here . . . ????? I know you’re thinking . . . “You want to live every place you go.” Me thinks you’re right.)

I don’t feel as isolated this time, though, as I felt last time. Of course now I’m learning where everything is and am learning the transportation system. Again, it just takes time and tips from those who are knowledgeable. Cabbing it from here isn’t really an option. But one can walk up to the Eiffel and get a cab as long as it’s during the busy part of the day and night. In fact that’s what I’ll do tomorrow when I move from here to the hotel. It’s just a five minute walk, if that much. I won’t tackle the RER or bus or Metro with my bags. Too many damn stairs as usual from one train to another to be lugging bags. It’s simple as I do my bit going from place to place during the day with only my shoulder bag. Very simple. In fact I love getting around the city that way. Although I do do a lot of walking, too. You have to walk to actually see the city and all the cozy parks and “places” (squares) and lanes and shops, galleries, etc. I could eat and drink myself daffy, though, if I stopped in every interesting café, brasserie, and bistro along the way. I think that’s what I did yesterday that made me have such a restless night. I ate too much during the day. More than usual. Did I say to someone that I’d probably lose weight on this trip because of all the walking? Well, disregard that one, because I only work up a friggin’ appetite by walking.

Yesterday morning I had fun shopping in a little food market in the Trocadero area – fruit, juice, sardines, cheese, ahem . . . chocolate with raisins (my favorite). Off the main Tracadero square and the beaten path is the Place de Mexico - believe it or not. Mexico? I suppose that works, Tracadero is Spanish, is it not? I browsed the cafes of the Place de Mexico and decided on the Le Mexique Brasserie. I had a delicious lunch, although a bit different, hamburger with egg on top, French fries, and a very good sliced tomato salad. They didn’t have anything on the menu written in English as most of the touristy restaurants do, but then this appeared to be truly a brasserie for the locals. (Remember, I’m only visiting all these cafes and brasseries for “Shelley” in my novel. Have to know where she goes, you know. Lol lol)

The waitress in Le Mexique was very friendly and with her broken English we were able to decide on my lunch choices. Then I had a slice of cherry pie, which of course is not like our cherry pie. It’s custard on crust with small white cherries mixed in, still having their seeds intact. Very different and very good. From a distance you’d think it was Quiche. In fact that’s what I thought it was. I really liked it. I’m going to duplicate it when I get home. Only I’ll use the larger seedless cherries. The custard is different from ours, too. Thicker in density. And the egg on the hamburger steak was good, too, I was worried about whether or not I’d like it together. With a bit of mustard spread on it, I enjoyed it. (no catsup) Hey, I’m learning to try different foods, at last. Funny thing, when the waitress realized I was American, she said “You want beef?” Now why would she ask such a thing? Lol lol Actually, I wasn’t thinking beef. But there wasn’t anything else on the menu that appealed to me. I made out the words that meant duck and smoked salmon . . . not my cup of tea for sure.

I must say I’m finding the French very friendly. A few exceptions: one was the checkout gal at the market up the street from the boat. But then it was my fault for not knowing the procedure. In that particular market you have to have the fruit and vegetables weighed and priced in the department. I didn’t know that and took the stuff up to the checkout stand, not weighed or marked. She wasn’t very happy. She took it back herself when I didn’t understand what she was saying, and took care of it. Then came back and threw the items on the counter and commenced to ring them up. There you have to provide your own bag for your groceries items, too. I didn’t know that either. So I stood like an idiot asking for a bag, with four lines of French people staring at me. Well, as it turns out there are bags available at the checkstand, but they cost .80€, which worked for me when she finally offered and I finally understood. Now I carry the bag with me, folded up in my purse, for those unexpected purchases in that type of market. Again, I’m learning, I’m learning. But now I look for smaller markets that are more intimate. The one in Tracadero was one of those. Nice guy, couldn’t understand a word of English. But we got on very well. He bagged my groceries in his own nice orange-colored plastic bags, with a pleasant smile. I think he short-changed me though, but I couldn’t seem to communicate that. Oh well, it wasn’t much. I thanked him and went on. I hope he enjoyed the tip.

Yesterday the goings on at the Trocadero were something else. It’s the Festival of Champions. I’m not sure what it’s about yet, it’s been going on for 24 hours, all hours of the day and night . . . has something to do with football or soccer - I can’t tell the difference between the two sports over here. It’s between Barcelona and Paris, I think. At least that’s what the banners were saying. A lot of Barcelona fans. And of course the TV shows on this set on the boat are only in French, no CNN or FOX stations, only local. (Bob says it’s a good way to learn French. Just keep listening to the rhythm, etc.) I haven’t found anyone who can tell me what the celebration is all about, yet. Maybe today. I’ll ask Bob and Kim tonite.

Canons were going off, or some such fireworks at the Eiffel into the night. And across the bridge at the Trocadero there were activity booths, huge cages for kicking balls into baskets, and a portable football field had been erected at the top of the Trocadero Gardens below the “palace”, what used to be the palace, at the square. The trees in the parks surrounding the gardens are all in bloom with purple, pink, white blossoms. Just beautiful. And I remembered the carousel at the foot of the steps leading up to the palace, from when we were here last time. In fact I have some footage of Jim riding one of the ponies on the carousel that first day before I fell ill. The colorful, ornate carousels are all over the city in the squares, a Parisian tradition.

In the midst of the beauty, contrasting music was blaring, festival food and drink booths lined the perimeter of the gardens and fountains, and droves of people flooded the bridge from the Eiffel and the Trocadero area. A very huge screen had been erected for all to view what was happening on the portable field. Players were amateurs, of course, I don’t know the criteria for their getting to play, but the area was inundated with mostly young and old male species donned with scarves, hats, T shirts, banners, capes . . . depicting Barcelona or Paris. I’ll fill you in on this later when I find out exactly what it was.

On Tuesday afternoon I decided to walk to the Louvre from the houseboat Simpatico, not realizing what a walk that would be. I traced how I should go on the maps in my DK Eyewitness TravelGuide, which is the guide with all the colorful pics and sketched street maps of the 14 quarters in the City of Paris, as well as regular section maps. There are more than 14 quarters, called Arrondisments (SP?), but this guidebook covers only the most popular ones. For instance I was in the Invalides and Eiffel Tower Quarter when I was staying on the riverboat, and then last night I moved to a hotel in the Marais Quarter.

So I walked down or up the river (don’t know which) past the Eiffel to a boulevard I figured would be a good one to cut across to other boulevards that would end up at the Louvre. Ha ha ha ha! I made it as far as the Hotel des Invalides, that used to be the Louis XIV Hotel. After the two World Wars it was converted back into what it was originally, a hospital for veterans. In fact I began to run out of steam as I walked past the American admittance entrance and thought maybe I should just check myself in. Very appropriate timing. Then I told myself ... all right, you win, I’m going to do the Metro. There’s no way I can do this walking today.

I had been putting off using the Metro, it was unfamiliar to me; sometimes I’m not as brave as I portray myself. Sometimes it takes a little self pushing to do something I’m not accustomed to doing. You can imagine all the self-pushing I've done traveling as much as I do. So, that’s exactly what I did. I went into the first Metro entrance I came to and took the steps I thought I should I take, and that broke the ice, it got me going. You have to take those first steps. Sure I went on the Metro when I was coming from Belgium a couple weeks ago, to get to St. Malo, but that was different. Now I was to learn how to get around the city on it, and believe me, as it turned out, it is quite simple. The worst part is understanding the French pronunciation of the stations. It had to be repeated to me several times in every instance. Again, though, Bob ... my host ... says it’s best to do the RER and bus lines. Next time, Bob.

I was at the Louvre in no time. In fact the Palais Royal Station is basically under the Louvre, you come out in the carousel: the shopping and restaurant mall at the Louvre. But much to my dismay, like I mentioned before, the Louvre was closed. And I just found out from my daughter-in-law, Elaine, that the ABC, NBC, CBS? . . . one of them . . . was there that day televising from inside. The network that Katie Couric is on, she’s being replaced by Vierra of Millionaire fame and The View. I can’t remember the names of the other newscasters. Four of them. I did see the red carpet and wondered about it. And all the media trucks and equipment. But I didn’t stick around to see what was happening. As soon as I found out at the Pyramid gate that the Louvre was closed, I walked over to a fountain and sat down and pulled out my trusty guidebook to trace where I’d go next.

So I headed for Pont Neuf to cross over to the other bank, but got sidetracked, took a river cruise from the Neuf - an hour ride up and down the river, listening about the historical places and info on the many bridges. Cost about 10€, as I recall. So it’s a must when you visit Paris. I do it every time I come here; it’s just an enjoyable ride. I bought an ice cream cone before I got on, so that made it even more pleasurable. The nite cruises are good, too. I didn’t do that this time. Just did the one.

After the cruise I continued on into the St. Germaine des Pres Quarter. Bypassed Notre Dame and that area - hve visited it several times before. Wanted to see something different this trip. St. Germaine is full of celebrated cafes, and I was looking for the two most famous – Café de Flores and Les Deux Maggots. Both were literary and artist haunts and although the patronage has changed somewhat today, people still go there just in case they might see someone famous or whatever. There were a few people sitting there writing in notebooks, me for one. It was a terrific experience. Very atmospheric cafes. But then most of the Paris cafes are. The old ones.

I was disappointed, however, when I went up to Montmartre on Wednesday afternoon. I’d been wanting to go to the Au Lapine Agile, a famous old café where the literary and music greats have congregated since 1910. So that on my list for Montmartre, along with getting a feel for the area since Shelley and Adrian (my characters in "Midnight at the Eiffel") work there. Adrian lives in Montmartre, he’s an artist who sets out his wares in the Place du Tertre . . . the famous tourist square on the mount. So I needed to see it all again, and also select a café where Shelley would be working. I found it. I had dinner there in a sidewalk cafe. A shrimp and avocado salad, very American, yes, I know. That was the only thing on the menu that appealed to me. Then afterward as I was looking for the rabbit place (lapine means rabbit, the agile rabbit) I had a double decker sorbet cone . . . ummmmm good! (I am being so bad!)

Well, two of the waiters I asked did not know where the rabbit place was. That’s not a good sign, especially when it’s in the guide for one of the places to go to in Montmartre. So no one could tell me how to get there. I'm sure it was the way I was pronouncing it. But, I figured out where it was with a bit of trial and error and came across an interesting situation on the way to it.

Outside the Musee de Montmartre which has some Modiglianis and other works by famous painters and sculpturers (it was closed that late in the evening), a paneled truck was being loaded by caterers ... evidently the food concessionaires of the museum. They were blocking the narrow cobbled lane, four men carrying things out, going back and forth, a woman standing up inside the truck giving instructions. Two taxi drivers, who had become impatient with the wait for the truck blocked the street, had wanted to travel on down the lane. So they got out of their taxis and began yelling at the caterers. Oh boy, was that a squabble. Finally one of the caterers threw down his pans and went after one of the cabbies, the smaller of the two cabbies, I noticed. The woman jumped off the truck and got between them. They were all screaming and yelling. I stood back, of course, didn’t want to risk trying to walk on by and being knocked over if the skirmish worsened. I do play it safe, you know. Well they calmed down somewhat, still flinging gestures and insults at each other, and then the caterer finished loading and drove on. The rest of us followed.

Down around the corner from the museum was the Au Lapine Agile place. What a disappointment, like I said. It wasn’t open, and only signs were posted in French (I’ve got to learn this language.) It's a caberet, sort of run down. Only open in the evenings with a cover charge. I’m going to have to create a make believe jazz venue for my Shelley after all. I can do that.

Well, more later. I’m going to watch some of the countryside pass by, I’m on the Eurostar to London as we speak. It’s Saturday. Oh, by the way, the train was delayed one hour. See? You just can’t be in a hurry when you’re traveling by train in Europe. My previous posts attest to that.

One thing that really got to me me in the station was, I needed to change $100 to British pounds. It came to £40. That just made me sick! I’m glad I’ll only be in London one afternoon. Am leaving for home tomorrow morning. I think I’m ready. I'll write more later ...

I’M HOME.

I’d planned to finish the Paris segment the last night I spent at the hotel in the Marais section of Paris, but I ended up going for a walk and didn’t return to the hotel till 3 a.m. And since I had to get up early for the taxi ride to the Eurostar taking me to London, I didn’t spend any time at all on writing. I was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

But before I tell you about my last night in Paris, I did go to the Louvre earlier that day as planned. So on Friday afternoon I finally made it into the Musee de Louvre and spent quite a bit of time there. If any of you have been to the number one museum in Paris, you must know how easy it is to get lost and end up wandering through the many halls and salons filled with art, not having a clue where you are. Oh sure, there’s a map to follow, but really. A lot of good it does when you don’t know which floor you’re on or which section you’re in, and it isn’t clearly explained. And not being one to ask (foolish me), I meandered from one exhibit to the next, hopefully heading for the Mona Lisa, knowing I’d get there eventually.

When I was tired, I would stop and sit on a bench or a sofa along the way to watch the people and of course to gaze upon the works of art. The Italian paintings (my favorite) - the giant paintings, capture my interest the most. Mona Lisa was nearby all the time, but I made a wrong turn and it took me in the opposite direction through an entire floor. I gave up and got smart - asked where the damn thing was. How easy was that? Then went directly to it. I was surprised there weren’t throngs standing before the Italian lady. A lucky moment for me, I was able to get right up to it, or rather, to the cordoned off section and view the very small painting once again. I've been there many times before, each time is like the first time. But I must say ... I am not quite sure why this particular painting is so important. Popularity? Painter?

The Mona Lisa is also known as “La Joconde”, in case you didn’t know. The wife of Francesco del Giocondo. Her name was Monna and married Francesco in 1495. Although there are other speculations about who the woman is. Some even say it’s a man, a lover of Leonardo’s. Painted as a woman. Whatever the gender and who it was, the primary reason it draws so much attention is the mysterious expression on the face – the slight smile, the eyes. Leonardo used the sfumato technique – “a gradual dissolving of the forms themselves, continuous interaction between light and shade and an uncertain sense of the time of day.” He loved this painting and carried it with him everywhere he went, until he sold it to the French king, Francois I. It became even more famous when it was stolen from the Louvre in 1911. One of his paintings that is even more famous is “The Last Supper.” You may have heard of that one?

In the salon that holds the giant paintings there is another version of “The Last Supper”, different title, which really drew me in. Oh, wait a minute . . . I think it was in the same room as the Mona Lisa. It portrayed more of a party than just a last supper, but the basic table with Jesus and the disciples was the focal point in a banquet room of many other people and merriment. I could kick myself for not taking the time to write down the painter’s name and a more detailed description of it. Even in this painting, the person sitting to the right of Jesus was very feminine – leading to the question once again . . . was the person next to Jesus, John or Mary Magdalene? What I want to know is, who drew the original of the Last Supper? Who was there and saw it happen? It certainly wasn’t DaVinci. So how do we know the descriptions of the disciples? Through Biblical history? But isn’t the painting from DaVinci’s imaginations? I’ve never really delved into it like many others, am a bit uneducated in that area, so I’m probably sounding very stupid. Well, that’s okay. I suppose I’ll survive it.

But, I do know, with the books by several authors, in addition to Dan Brown’s “The DaVinci Code” the painting has become an even more famous icon. Take a look at this website . . . http://quest.eurostar.com/en-us/quest.php . . . I mean, the hype and promos on it all is amazing. You want to get noticed? Write a book about the Mona Lisa or controversial fiction about religion.

Well, most of you know my next book is called "MIDNIGHT AT THE EIFFEL." In it are scenes at the Louvre, since one of the leading characters is an artist. He spends all his free time at the Louvre studying the masters when he’s not drawing portraits in Montmartre for the tourists. And his romance liaisons are also spent mostly at the Louvre. Meeting there for lunch, a glass of wine, an embrace. Which is why I was there this time, of course. Not for the lunch or wine or embrace, but to get the feel of the place. I’ve been there several times, but this time I was on a mission. Mission accomplished. I hope to have the book written, edited, and ready for submission by the middle of July this year (2006).

It was raining when I left the Louvre, so I didn’t do much of anything, other than go through the trinket shops on the way back to a Metro station past Pont Neuf. Decided to walk down the boulevard rather than take the Metro from the Louvre. Didn’t want to make any train changes, so I walked to where I could catch a direct one to the part of the quarter where I was staying. By then I was tired, anyway. I wanted to go back to the hotel and take a nap and then decide if I was going to go to the “New Morning” jazz venue which was a taxi ride away.

But, first . . . the day before. Thursday, the last night on the houseboat Simpatico. I stayed on the boat all day, relaxing and writing. Then at 8 p.m. Bob knocked on my door, we were going to dinner at one of his favorite places a walking distance away. We met his lady, Kim, there. It was a wonderful evening - excellent food, wine, conversation. He provided lots more info and color for his character in my book. Yep, I enjoyed every minute of that evening. The dinner was my gift to Bob and Kim for being such lovely hosts and for offering their boat to me for the week, gratis.

You know, I’ve met some astonishing people in my travels. And I can’t go any further in this epistle without also thanking Ali and Martin Waller for hosting my stay in Weymouth UK. A more thoughtful pair is hard to find. Martin picked me up at the Condor Ferry at the beginning of my stay in England this time and delivered me to the coach at the end of my stay in Weymouth. They took me on a day trip to Portland Bill and to Abbottsbury, taking time from their busy schedule as B & B proprietors. I felt honoured (British spelling) and pampered.

So I want to extend a grateful and sincere thank you to Ali and Martin, as well as to Bob and Kim. My home is your home, remember that. Anytime you want to come over, you’re most welcome. (Visalia, you say? Where is that, and why?)

And if any of my readers want to spend some time in Paris, do book the Bateau Simpatico. I’m looking forward to doing it again. I’m becoming quite accustomed to river living. AND . . . if you make a trip to Dorset on the south coast of England . . . do book a room at the Channel View in Weymouth. It is heavenly there on the sea shore, looking out across the bay from your room. And it’s heavenly to be fussed over by Ali and Martin. Martin does the cooking, by the way. He prepares the English breakfast which is included in the reasonable rate.

MY LAST NIGHT IN PARIS . . .

I freshened up after a rest, and decided not to go to the “New Morning.” I didn’t want to spend the money for a cab. I had it figured down to the Euros I had left on me, and didn’t want to have to go to a money changer and get more Euros just for a cab to a jazz club. So, I decided to take a walk to the Arts de Metiers café near the Metro station I’d been using all day on the same street of the hotel. I hadn’t been to the café yet, but it looked interesting and was always packed, so that’s a good sign. I wanted to people-watch more than anything else, anyway, and have some dinner. I’d asked the desk clerk at the hotel if he knew of any jazz places nearby, and he said there were only clubs for dancing. I didn’t want that. So off I went to the café that was two blocks away.

As I was walking, all of a sudden a hoard of skaters flew by. It grew into hundreds. I’m not exaggerating. Hundreds. They kept coming. I couldn’t believe it. Then I noticed the police cars and the skater security patrol blocking the side streets. I stood and watched till they all passed. It was incredible. Online skaters, or whatever that skate is called . . . line skates, oneline, inline? What is it? Line something. Anyway, that was an unexpected exciting start of my last evening in Paris.

Did I ever make a right choice of restaurant in Arts de Metiers!? People, they had jazz! Omigosh! It was wonderful. But they call it “Acid Jazz.” To my Cambria friends, it sounded like Jason Farrar and his band at their most vigorous. And I could just see Jason bouncing at the keyboard, his speedy fingers racing all over the keys making his own brand of music. The bass player of this particular band was evidently the lead person. He was fun to watch. His every move and expression was in tune with the music. He smiled and grinned all the time. You could tell he loved his music. It radiated from his face and eyes. They were all young guys. Most of the audience was also. I sat there through all their sets, till they quit, and truly enjoyed listening to the music and watching all the different people and their antics. The band didn’t have any CDs with them, but the bass player is going to send me one. I’ll be looking forward to that.

Soooooooo . . . the trip was winding down. I headed back to the hotel, stopped in a local pub on the corner to have some dessert advertised in the window (what is it with me and food on this trip?) and met a business woman from Germany, my age, who’d stopped in for a drink before retiring. We talked for at least an hour, exchanged cards. Another character for one of my books? You’ll have to wait and see. I’m not telling everything, you know. Have to save some for my books.

MY LAST STOP - LONDON

The next morning I took the cab to the Eurostar that was an hour late . . . ha ha . . . back to trains again. And when in London, I checked into the Hyde Hotel a couple blocks from the beautiful Hyde Park. I changed my clothes and headed for Harrods Department Store. On the map it said it was just across the park, on the opposite side from where I was staying. I figured, hell, I can walk that (even though the cab driver had said I should take a cab.) Ha! It’s much farther than it looks on the map. Luckily I took my umbrella with me. It ended up raining very hard as I walked through the park. But I’m telling you, that is one fantastic park! Lake, gardens, just beautiful! I’d love to be there when the weather is good. I enjoyed it anyway. Got a bit wet and chilly, my umbrella turned inside out a few times, but I didn’t care.

WHICH REMINDS ME ... I forgot to mention I’d left my favorite black wool coat on the train from Penzance to London before going to Paris . . . remember when the passengers had to be transferred to the second train after the break down? I left it on the first train. So I did the Paris segment of the trip without a coat. Luckily I had taken a dressy loose knit, three-quarter length, black coat-of-sorts with me, with sequins sparsely spaced throughout, one that was purchased for New Year’s Eve in Cambria from Dinah and Chris’s shop in Cambria. Not really a street coat, more of an evening wrap. But it had to do.

Only thing is . . . one day I was looking into a window as I was walking and noticed something sticking out in back. I took it off to see what it was, and it was the ragged edges of the seam. They’d sewn the back on inside out. Lol lol So, Chris and Dinah, I traveled all over Paris with the middle back seam reversed. Oh well. Didn’t bother me, did it? Maybe we can trade it for the proper one next time I’m over, though. Okay? Funny I never noticed that before. Maybe it's supposed to be that way.

Okay . . . I made it to Harrods and once again enjoyed my regular visit. I immediately went to the laminated shopping bags and made my selection. Got one with cats on it, this time. I’ve almost purchased all the patterns, now - I collect them. They’ve got to come up with some new ones so I’ll have more choices. I buy one every time I’m in London. Then I did as I always do, I headed straight for the food court and had a fabulous meal at one of the counters. This time a Rueben sandwich. Ummmmmm, good. Which reminds me, it’s time for lunch.

I’ll end this quickly . . . after Harrods I went back to the hotel and attempted to get on the Internet, no luck. Went right to bed, watched TV, fell asleep before it was dark.

Opted to take a cab to the airport the next morning rather than deal with the trains again. The flight home took 14 hours from start to finish. A very smooth trip, by the way. Virgin Airlines is the best! All’s well that ends well. Who said that? Well, I’m saying it this time.

This was one of the best trips I’ve taken - the one in 2006. I hope you enjoyed my accounting of it. You’ll have to read my books to find out more . . . the rest of the story.

2004 - NEW YORK - START OF OUR TRIP

2008-08-28T02:09:00.001-07:00

April 26
Well, tomorrow's the big day. We leave at 8:15 in the morn to go over the hill and rent a car in Paso Robles, then we drive east on Highway 46 to I-5 and head for Ontario first to take a look at some theatre seats that have been donated to the Pewter Plough Playhouse. Jim needs to give the okay, if they're suitable. So, that's the first stop. I'm hoping the weather cools down tomorrow somewhat in that neck of the woods because it can really be hot and sultry in the L.A. area. IT'S EVEN TOO HOT HERE ON THE CENTRAL COAST!!!! In the 90s today. Give me some cool weather, please!

After Ontario Jim wants to go downtown L.A. and see the Disney Center, that great big metal, stone, wood and stucco work of what’s art. My son Barry works for the company who built it. Last time we saw the new L. A. Cathedral, which was certainly impressive; the Disney Center was still under construction. Soooooooo, after being L.A. tourists for the afternoon, we'll head to our hotel in beautiful downtown El Segundo (The Hacienda) and discover what we've forgotten.

Wednesday we leave for New York City, HOORAY!!!! Then Zurich for a few days, on to Salzburg for a few, then to Vienna, then 10 days in Russia - St. Petersburg and Moscow. Total of 33 days traveling. Exciting trip, huh?

April 27
The theatre seats were all in a pile, huge pile, some of the backs were connected, some seats connected, but not to each other. They were red and pale gold, metal framed, with white plastic arms. Not encouraging. Jim wasn't impressed to say the least, but he's thinking about it. Hasn't made a final decision. If he were to take them, we'd have to arrange a U-Haul rental, then assemble them, clean them, cover the arms with fabric, etc. Quite a chore. But, they're free. So, who knows.We may be bringing a sample back with us, have made arrangements to do so if that's the case when we return to the States, if Jim wants to bother. Up to him, of course.

Ontario was quite surprising. We both felt the same. Beautiful residential areas, roses in abundance, shrubbery, trees, unbelievable actually, in spite of being so close to all the crud. The older houses in the downtown area, where the theatre was, were charming, and the theatre was quite a surprise. Huge. We had to climb down a very dark, steep flight of concrete stairs into the bowels of the theatre . . . a very old building with a high ceiling-ed basement. I was expecting the Phantom of the Opera to jump out at us any moment. Oh by the way . . . took us almost seven hours to get there. I made the mistake of taking the route suggested over the phone by the guy in Ontario . . . and got lost out in the middle of the God-forsaken desert. Took 138 East to the 15 south to the 10 West to Ontario. At least that was the plan. Best laid plans . . . saw Palmdale, though, and Lancaster and some other lost-in-the-wilderness type towns. Out where the Manson family had lived was fun! Lost in the desert in the heat is the worst punishment ever. Okay, God, that's enough! I get it!

May 1
Our second night in New York City.Tonite we went to the show "20th Century" starring Alec Baldwin and Anne Heche. Well, of course it was wonderful to see Baldwin and Heche in person, but it was such a slap-stick sort of comedy, we really didn't enjoy it and left at the intermission. The set was wonderful, however, interior cars of a train, beautifully done. And my gosh, when they slammed the doors the doors would actually stay shut, wouldn't bounce back . . . ha ha ha . . . we both noticed that (unlike our PPP sets). Boy, Alec is a bit of a portly guy . . . and sweats profusely; his shirt sleeves were wet down to his elbows. Anne is skinny as a rail, still not wearing bras.

Then we walked all up and down Time Square, spent about 45 minutes viewing all the gigantic electronic signs and video on the buildings, after which we hired a bicycle buggy guy to take us to 38th Street to Keen's Chop House (steak and chops). In the old days, Jim's pipe (he used to smoke pipes) was among the hundreds of pipes on the ceiling of Keen's. They were numbered then, and one could always retrieve his pipe, but it's changed now. It's only for decoration and they're not numbered anymore. But, the ceiling is quite unique . . . solid rows of pipes. Food was fine, it was okay, maybe not as good as expected. Everything changes. We all know that. And the area was a bit run-down, but, all in all it was a fun evening. Different.

Tomorrow we have lunch with some of Jim's family here at the Hudson Hotel, and then we go to see "Hairspray" tomorrow night with our friends Dinah and Chris, who are here from Laguna Beach. They're here displaying their line for "Fashion Week", being the clothing designers that they are.

Oh yes . . . we also went to Ground Zero today. We had been on top of the World Trade Center when we were here in 2000, the year before the tragedy. So today was quite confusing, shocking, and sad, to see nothing but girders stacked and what looked like a construction site. It was difficult to imagine the WTC as it was. In 2000 I had taken great photos of the tall buildings and we have pictures of us on top of one of the buildings. So tragic. Then we went to The Battery. I was thinking we might take a boat out to the Statue of Liberty, but we got there as the last boat left. So we stood and walked and then sat in the sweltering heat (yes, it's still too damn hot), and I get a bit crabby when I'm hot. So when it and I cooled off a bit, we took a cab to 42nd street where we bought the tickets for tonite's performance.

This hotel (The Hudson) is so fun, just a block from Columbus Circle, right off Central Park. The hotel is very unusual, very artsy, very contemporary. A boutique hotel, actually, and trendy. It has quite a young nite-life clientele. Last night we hung around people-watching in the lounge bar, but it's really too much for us. Loud music, lots of hip yuppies and under. One night was enough. I must be getting old.

May 2
It's 6 a.m. on Sunday, can't sleep.On Friday, we had a delightful lunch here at the Hudson with Jim's sister Marie (from Vermont), his neice Barbara (who is a runner by the way, was in a New York Marathon on Saturday) and her daughter Jessica (who is still in school). Marie's grandson Jerry joined us for a short while too, which added to the interest. He is a marketing maniac (that's what his card says) for an incredible Teddy Bear company. The Vermont Teddy Bear. Check out the web site. Nice New York family and very pleasant/fun visit.

Then later on Friday we saw "Hairspray" at the Neil Simon theatre. Wow, what a show! Dinah, Christopher and I thought it was fabulous, ranking up there with the best, but Jim wasn't so easily impressed, thought it was silly. Oh well. To each his own. But, it was soooooo full of energy and color with such talented singers and dancers, and I bet no one dozed off during that show. Dynamite performances, and Harvey Fierstein (spelling?) was fantabulous! He'll be difficult to replace, supposedly this is his last weekend, so I hear. We sat on the second row, came out with crooked necks, but it was worth it, no complaints.

Yesterday, Saturday, we took a short walk to the Brooklyn Diner for lunch, interesting place on 57th and 8th (?), and then took a cab to Radio City Music Hall, hoping to see a performance, but the Rockettes aren't there until November. A bit early in the day anyway. A Raggae group is playing there now. We’ll pass on that one. Jim didn't want to take the one-hour tour without seeing the Rockettes performing, so we'll leave that to next time. After that we walked down to Rockefeller Plaza and hung around there for awhile, rested and took a few pics. A Ferrari display was the item of the day throughout the plaza, along with droves of people. Jim spent the rest of the afternoon browsing Saks Fifth Avenue (nostalgic for him, he did their window display way back when), but not me, I walked back to the hotel, via Central Park, took a nap and then read till he returned at 6 pm. I don’t know where that man gets his energy. You’d think at his age (92) he’d be prone.

Last night we met with his neice Tina and her fella Tim at “Shelly's”, a wonderful jazz restaurant on 57th and 6th/7th. I found this one. Chris and Dinah joined us also, and we had a great time. Now I was in my element.

I have to say it's been good getting to know Jim's niece Tina and her Tim, as it was the day before becoming more acquainted with the Vinall branch of the family and Jim's sister and grandson. Tina works for Schumacher fabrics and wallpaper, by the way, is a designer, and is Jim's brother Bill's only daughter. She leaves for Italy on Monday, for a week - a working trip visiting fabric mills and archives, so Tim will stay home in Manhattan. Tim is part of the film industry, has worked on many major movie productions as a grip, and is Gene Kelly's son, looks like him too. They are such a beautiful couple, and I'm hoping to see more of them, hoping they come to Calif to visit as Barbara and hubby may be doing next year, also.

Soooooooooo, today we leave Manhattan and move on to East Hampton for a couple of days to visit Jim’s brother Bill and his wife Linda.That's it for now . . . I can't believe this is only the start of our trip. I'm already exhausted.

May 3
Well, we ended up driving to East Hampton instead of riding the Long Island Railway. I was a bit concerned about the change of trains midway, about being able to make the train with all our damn luggage fast enough to catch it. I remember how difficult it was doing the south coast of England last summer when I traveled by train back and forth, jumping from one train to the other. It was hard enough by myself, without Jim. So, I felt it might not be the best thing to do, since that would have been the last train to East Hampton till late in the evening. At least in England when I missed one, another came along in 30 minutes or so. Not the case with Sunday trains to EH. So, it was a pleasant drive, I do well driving in Manhattan, it's just like L.A. No problems at all. And we made it to EH in 2.5 hours. A breeze.

Last night we had dinner at the Laundry. No, not a real laundry. It used to be one. Now it's a steak house . . . Jim had liver and onions, delicious stuff. It was what he'd remembered from the last time we were here, same chef. Bill and Linda are wonderful hosts. They're filling us with too much food, however. We had a lovely breakfast this morning, which we normally don't eat . . . an unusual, very tasty, oven pancake. I'm coming back with this recipe. It's an old family recipe that she's had for years. Very very nice.

Then when we returned from the post office, where I mailed two bundles of my clothing home, took it all out of my suitcase - yes, I brought too much once again . . . then, Linda made lunch. My god, we'd just eaten! But we ate again anyway. ha ha Beef and Turkey sandwiches. Now she's preparing food for tonite's soiree . . . she's invited guests in for a gathering. I have a feeling my plans to diet on this trip are all in vain. She said don't worry about it, I can make up for it in Russia. The food evidently is not good in Russia. We've heard that from several people now. That's okay, we aren't going there for the food, anyway.

It's been raining all day, which suits me just fine. It's cooler this way. And rain is nice. On our way to town earlier, down the street from here, we passed the Breyer's home - the ice cream guy - you know, Breyer's Ice Cream. And of course Eli and Anne Wallach live next door to Linda and Bill. I wish they were home, we'd go see them. We hung out with them a bit when we were on our cruise 3 years ago. They were part of the entertainment on the ship.

Okay, it's back to Manhattan tomorrow to dine with Ted Snowden, producer of the show we're going to see starring Isabelle Rosselini and Richard Thomas (the Walton's John Boy). I'm truly looking forward to that. Then we leave for Zurich on Wednesday.

PS . . . Jim must have had waaaaaaay too much food yesterday because during the night he was ill. I was concerned, as you might well suspect, because here we were in New York embarking on an extensive trip to Eastern Europe and Russia, and sick doesn’t work. Although we did purchase a health/emergency policy to cover Jim while we are out of the States, I wanted him to enjoy all the places to which we were heading. It must have been just a 24-hour bug, because he recuperated quickly. It wasn’t fun for him having to be near a toilet for 24 hours, though. No fun at all.

I must remember to add the drug store disagreement Jim and I had.)

May 4
Our last night in New York.Zurich, here we come! Yes, we leave for Switzerland tomorrow (Wednesday), will be leaving from NY Pennsylvania Station (across the street from us here at the hotel and Madison Square Garden) on Amtrak at 4 pm to Newark Int'l Airport, departing on a 10 pm flight. Yes, that’s lots of time hangin' out at the airport, but to make the connection we had to do it. I'm sure we'll find something to occupy our time.

Earlier tonite we saw 2 one-act plays with Richard Thomas and Isabella Rossellini called THE STENDHAL SYNDROME. Very very interesting plays by Terrence McNally. We met McNally afterwards which was a treat. Looks like a regular guy and acts like one, although he wore the classic artsy wool scarf around his neck. And I even had a brief conversation with Richard Thomas, who is absolutely one of the best actors you'll ever see, and didn’t wear an artsy wool scarf around his neck, thank god. He was in tennis shoes, jeans and a shirt. Nice guy. And he really put on a FINE performance. It was an avant garde play, one that certainly is out there on the ledge. A lot of sexual dialogue, would never work in Cambria. At least not for the locals. Maybe a room full of tourists from SF and LA. We both liked it, however. But then we're maybe a bit more lenient than most.

Seeing that show made me think I should pull out my one-woman show VIAGRA DIALOGUES (my answer to "Vagina Monologues") and develop it some more. Right now it’s a bit too crass, even for me. Maybe after my novel, and then after I've written my play about Catherine Cookson, the British novelist. So, VD will be a project down the line. Oh dear, that doesn't look good . . . VD. Well, you know what I mean. Isabella looked fabulous, by the way. Reminds me of her mother . . . Ingred Bergman. She performed well, but her roles were a bit more subdued than John Boy's.

We had dinner at "Paper Moon" with Ted before the play across the street from the theatre. It's a new theatre complex - PRIMARY STAGES - on 59th between Madison and Park Ave. There are 3 stages in the building. A couple of 99 seaters and the larger one where we were.

This hotel we're staying in for tonite only is huge, quarters a multitude of ethnic travelers and businessmen. An older hotel, but nice enough. Big rooms. And a Lindy's downstairs, which is a bit nostalgic. Jim had to have a souvenir menu, of course. He's stacking Zs right now, and I'm about to.

May 5
Cinco de Mayo . . . no celebrants in sight, I guess they don't celebrate the Mexican holiday here in New Jersey. Oh well. We're near our gate at the airport, waiting for departure on Alitalia Airlines to Milan then on to Zurich. A four-hour stopover in Milan, Italy. I wish we had more time in Milan so we could see that city. I wonder what we can do in two hours. No, probably not a good idea to stray from the airport. Mustn’t take a chance. Nah, won't do it.

I just roamed around this part of the terminal here in Newark Int'l airport into the duty-free shops and trinket shops. We had some cheese and crackers in a place called Formaggio's a few minutes ago. Jim is still sitting there reading the New York Times. I don't know what he'd do without his newspapers. I see a character for a story there, always reading newspapers, especially the ads. You'd think he was an ex-ad man the way he peruses them. His brother Bill was an ad-man, that was his life, with a top advertising agency in New York for years. In fact he and Jim sat for several hours going over his portfolio, all the ads he'd done those many years ago. Some very creative ones. It was humorous when Jim began asking him why he would design one this way instead of that way. Linda and I were in the kitchen laughing about it. Brothers. Still competitive in a way.

This flight to Milan should be a nice flight; we're seated at the window and aisle, no one traipsing over us. I can't really tell how long the flight is, however, because of the time differences. If it's according to the times indicated on the ticket, it's a 14-hour flight to Milan and a 2-hour to Zurich. I don't think the Milan segment could be that long. Might be. We'll see. I hope not. Cripes! Talk about tiring. Maybe I should buy another book to read in addition to my own. I'll be through editing MIDNIGHT AT TRAFALGAR SQUARE long before that flight is over, that's for sure.

After we had breakfast at lunchtime this morning in Lindy's at the Pennsylvania Hotel, we requested a later checkout and went across the street to pick up our train tickets to Newark Int'l. Boy, am I glad we did that. It is not the easiest terminal to get around in. If I were by myself, yes. But so many steps and distances to walk. Impossible for Jim. By the time we got the tickets, it was time to go back and get the luggage and return to the train. It took that long. We'd planned to go to the Empire State Building before leaving, which was just down the block. But it was too late at that point.

So we went back after the luggage and hauled it around looking for elevators to get down into Penn Station. None from the street level, not good. Finally a policeman took Jim's baggage down the escalator for him, after I asked him where the elevators were because it would be too difficult for Jim to carry his bags down the steps. And then we finally found one on the lower level, after taking a couple more short flights of stairs to get us closer to the gates. But at the door of the elevator a fellow was kind enough to suggest we get a "red cap", that it would still be quite a hike to the train. We didn't think there were any "red caps" anymore. We hadn't seen any. Well, come to find out, the info booth person telephones them and they appear.

So that's what we did, and thank goodness, because we were heading to the wrong gate, and would have missed our train to the airport. How simple it was with a "red cap" directing us and transporting our luggage on a cart. He took us right on the train before boarding time, we didn't have to wait. Great move. Just that one little scare and a bit of confusion, all cleared up by a construction worker suggesting we get a "red cap". Nice guy. Nice New Yorker. Hey, what do we know? We're just stupid Californians. And here we are in the airport, we made it on time, and now we're waiting for our plane near the gate. No stairs, no escalators, no elevators to worry about anymore. We're here. Whew! I’m telling you, I’m tired already.

2004 - SWITZERLAND

2008-08-28T02:06:00.000-07:00

May 6
The flight to Milan was 7.5 hours. 7.5 long long hours. For the last two hours of the flight I was completely miserable. Just tired and sleepy, I guess. My legs hurt, my back hurt, my mind hurt. We left New Jersey at 10 pm, so that means we arrived without any sleep in Milan at 5:30 a.m. New York time. 12:30 p.m. Milan time. And now it's 1:30 p.m. and still no sleep. Our plane doesn't leave Milan for Zurich until 4:15 p.m. Needless to say, I think we'll be hitting the hay very early tonite. I know it's best to stay up as long as you can, so you can get on European time, but I don't know. Jim is dozing right now next to me here in the Milan terminal. So, hopefully he'll be able to catch a few more winks. He can sleep sitting up, though, I can't. Lucky him.

We can sure tell we're in Italy. The airport shops definitely reflect that. A world of difference from the shops in the Newark airport. Well I guess! Beautiful stuff here. All the Italian designer shoes, accessories, clothing, jewelry. Expensive too, of course. It's a lookie-loo world. I love watching the people, seeing the differences in dress and manners.

I think I could go to sleep if I could just lie down. All these seats here in the lounge have arms that don't raise up. If you're very thin, you could slip under them and stretch out, like a few young girls are doing. But that leaves me out of the equation. Maybe, If I lie flat on my back, I could do it. And then maybe not. Jim probably could, but then it would probably feel too vulnerable I would imagine. Oh well, just 2.5 more hours of waiting.

May 7
Finally, we're in Zurich. I've spent the worst night of the trip, a doggone "bug" of some kind. Not good. Must be like the one Jim had in East Hampton. He must be healthier than me, because his didn't last as long. Anyway, we just returned from a very light meal downstairs - two spoons of soup and some bread for me, Jim finished my soup and his - our first meal after sleeping 22 hours, yes, we slept 22 hours after we arrived. Neither of us has much energy, the altitude, no doubt. But, we're here! In Switzerland. And it's almost 9 pm. We haven't seen anything yet, will begin tomorrow. Today was totally missed. Tomorrow will be a much better day, I'm sure.

May 8
Well, today we finally stayed awake long enough to take a look around town. Got downstairs about 1:30 or 2 pm, had some coffee, no breakfast. Food isn't too appealing on the menu in the CRAZY COW restaurant, which is next door to the hotel. Although like I said, the tomato soup was delicious yesterday, didn't sound good for breakfast today, though. After coffee we took a trolley, a cable car, usually two or three hooked together, down to the river which leads into the lake. Don't ask me which lake it is at this moment, I really don’t care. The river is Lemmat. Goes right through town.

We walked around gazing into windows and venturing into some of the stores until 4 pm, everything closes at 4 pm on Saturday through Sunday. Only restaurants stay open, and we found a really quaint coffee/wine bar where we both had apple strudel and coffee. Jim can't quite handle these prices, 3.50 for one cup of coffee, and "not even a mug" (he says) “and no refills”. Ayeeechee wawa! He's having a hard time dealing with the price of everything (but then, what's new, he's that way at home too), and I just keep reminding him we're only in the most expensive country in Europe - Switzerland. The bottled water, a quart size, is around $5.00. That is really burning his arbuckle, and I find it a bit steep myself, as a matter of fact. But, we're leery of drinking local water. Of course, we're doing it in the coffee, but it's heated. Maybe we should take a chance. Who knows? I know we aren't supposed to drink the water in Russia, all the literature says that.

We've decided to stay another night in Zurich. Since we lost our first day here to jet lag and sickness, we didn't really get to see anything. So, we'll be heading for Saltzberg on Monday instead of Sunday.

So, tomorrow we're going to JUNGFRAUBAHN. We leave early in the morning around 8 a.m. and will be away for eleven hours. The web site to the most beautiful place we're going is: http://www.jungfraubahn.ch/

Jungfraubahn is only the highest point a person can travel in Europe and is called The Top of Europe. We're so excited, and we're all ready, have our warm stuff laying out ready to jump into in the morning. An Alp adventure! We had to stay to see it. Can't be this close and not do it.

Anyway, after 4 pm today when all the shops closed, we went to the train station to pick up our train tickets to Saltzberg for Monday, and I'm here to tell you that Zurich's train station beats every station and airport I've ever seen. Very upscale restaurants and high design as well as regular and low design shops. Really nice. It has the most extraordinary underground shopping mall, and they were having a professional volleyball competition in the center of the ground floor. Amazing! Most of the trains leave from the ground floor where the ticket booths are, but there are other levels of departure too. Just incredible, the stuff to see there.

I lost Jim for about 45 minutes while he was down one floor, thinking that's where the ticket booths were. He takes his time looking at every single tiny little item in every single friggin’ window, so sometimes I'll go on ahead, but I'll let him know where I'm going. This time he thought I motioned to the down escalators. Nope. I motioned to the opposite right where the ticket booths were. He went down.

Anyway, it's great that everything stays open at the station for the tourists (and Locals, evidently), so at least they have a place to hang out & shop on Saturday evening and Sunday.

We shared some potato skins and salad later (nothing in the potato skins, only potato, I guess that's why they call it a potato skin), but it hit the spot, and probably was just as well it wasn't stuffed like Americans stuff them, because we're both still not all that hungry yet. Appetites are still lacking, probably because of the altitude and our sickly tummies. (By the way , we'll be up 11,333 ft. tomorrow in the Alps. Yikes!) But, we're eating bread with the soup and skins and salad.

Jim brought all his vitamins with him too, so, he’s fine. I'm sure each day we'll gain it back more and more. Hey, in New York we ate like pigs. As for me, I wish I'd entirely lose my appetite. That wouldn't be such a bad thing. For a month at least. That should do the trick, get me where I belong, weight-wise.

AND we had a special treat, there was a young pianist playing a grand piano in the very chic grille in a hotel where we lunched. He played the piano well, but couldn't sing worth a dime, poor guy. Or maybe it's just the style over here, I don't know. His tone was mellow, just couldn't hit any of the upper notes he sang. Interesting. Sounded like what's his name who recorded WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD. Remember how he ended the song? Missed the notes, but it was left on the recording because it was charming? Well, this wasn't charming. But he must have thought it was. And he did it in every song. No, not charming.

We left there and took a trolley which was different from the one we took down to the river, we thought it was the right one, wasn't sure, someone had suggested it. But it seemed to travel on forever, went to a terminal and beyond. Just about the time we'd decided to get off and find a cab, we saw our hotel looming ahead. So, the directions we were given were correct. But we were wondering there for awhile. I'm glad we stayed on it, even though we'd thought about getting off, but Jim figured why not take advantage and get a free tour of the city, even though we were lost. Oh, by the way. No one has collected any money from us on the trolleys. We've ridden several and no one comes to collect. It must be the honour system. Hummmmm . . . crazy irresponsible Americans have no honour. We'll order an extra cup of coffee to boost the economy.

May 8
Well, I can't go to sleep. Not that I need any sleep after all that I've had over the past 2 days. It's most likely because I'm afraid we won't wake up in time for the trip to the Mount this morning. I finally called the desk and asked for a wake up call for 6:30 a.m., but it's 5:30 now, so what the heck. I've been editing my book most of the night, and honestly making attempts to sleep on occasion, but to no avail. Probably the excitement of the upcoming tour to the Alps. Anyway, when the last attempt left me thinking of cows, yes cows, not sheep, that was it! Up up up, and here I am.

Let me explain the cows. Inside this hotel, The Leoneck Hotel in Zurich, we're inundated with cows. 101 Dalmation cows. I know, I know . . . they're not, but they're black and white spotted cows, and certainly more than 101. I can't remember the name of the breed. It's not Angus, it's not Guernsey (?), Jersey? What the heck is it? What do I know from cows? Anyway, there are cows all over the place.

In the lobby alone, wooden and metal cows are hanging from the ceiling. Glass, ceramic, pottery, porcelain, and whatever you can think of, are in the glass cases and on table tops. They're painted on the walls, single and in murals. An 18-inch band of fake black and white fur cowhide (which definitely looks like dalmation print) borders the top edge of the L-shaped frontdesk counter. (Jim says it’s authentic cowhide, I’ll have to take a closer look. He’s probably right, usually is.) Cow horns are attached to some of the chair backs, and the furniture is upholstered same as the counter.

Even the rooms have cows . . . on the shower curtains and bath tiles and on the bedroom walls. Wait a minute! Our bedroom wall has a St. Bernard painted on it. What's that all about? Why didn't we get a cow?

There are tiny black and white spotted cows painted on wooden cutouts that are used for tokens to exchange for breakfast in the CRAZY COW restaurant next door. Even the room key is held by an oversize cow wooden cutout. There is another discrepancy however, on one side of the hotel entrance, in the planter, a gaggle (?) or flock (?) of chickens. Flock. (Hey, so I'm rummy from no sleep!) Hummmm. The chickens must be by the same metal sculpturer that did the huge metal cow on the other side of the entrance. They all look like they've been done by the same artist.

THEN . . . in the Crazy Cow Restaurant there are cows. I don't mean the two-legged kind, either. It's loaded with them. This is all quite an eye full, believe me. I'm going to keep two of the tokens and I've got my eye on one of the cute little cows in a glass case, must have that one too for our meager collection of cows on top of our fridge at home. A collection I add to occasionally, a collection that was there before me.

Now you ask, did you pick the place because of the cows? Hell no! I didn't even know they were here. But, you know what? It's a fun place, and we'll never ever see another place like this as long as we live, unless we come back to this one. Which we won't. Once is enough, wouldn't you think? However, it's been a pleasant experience, friendly hosts, clean as we were told the Swiss accommodations would be, and a very unique presentation of the beds, with a bath towel shaped like a swan holding our chocolates for the night, not a small towel, a large one. Beautiful. I think I can even do the swan now. And the way they fluff the feather pillows, oversize pillows (king-size), standing up on the long side, then taking the hand and creasing it right down the center, making two peaks like mountains on each side of the crease. Two Matterhorns. Very clever. Now I know how to make Matterhorns and swans for guests at home, if I want.

Okay, Jim is up now too. At least he got some sleep. We're about to embark upon our 11,333 ft high Alp adventure.

May 10
SWITZERLAND IS THE PLACE TO BE!

It is all the most beautiful scenic spots in the U.S. and Canada, Europe and the UK and everywhere else I've ever been put together and more. I would live in the foothills of the Alps in a heart beat! It's that beautiful! Heidi country and Sound of Music country (I know, it was Austria, but they escaped to Switzerland, didn’t they?). Of course I'd have to learn these languages, so that might be a determining factor. Don't know how difficult that might be, but I do have a clue. DIFFICULT! The language is similar to German, but is softer sounding.

Those Alps are absolutely unlike any mountainous region I've ever see. I haven't seen the mountains in Tibet or in South America (Tibet's on my list), so I can only compare them to the higher ranges in the U.S. and Canada. Most other countries don't compare, don't have mountains that high. Italy, France and Austria share the Alps with Switzerland, so I imagine they're all as beautiful.

(Austrian Alps are. We just went through those today on the train. Can you imagine? Fantastic trip. We were in a panoramic car, could see everything. Six hours from Zurich to Saltzberg on the train. Loved it.)

I'll say this one more time . . . the Alps are something everyone should see at one time in their lives. And where we were yesterday, up at The Top of Europe, JUNGFRAUBAHN, the feeling was of unbelievable awe. I took pics on the way up, so I'll send some when we get home. (I brought the wrong digital camera for this laptop.) Although we were disappointed that we couldn't see anything from the viewpoint (which was what we were looking forward to) because it was snowing and cloudy, the trip UP the mountain was abundant of wonderful views. We traveled straight through the mountains in tunnels, mostly. Lots of tunnels, long ones. And when we'd come out of a tunnel it was like seeing Shangri-La each time. Every valley was lush green with charming towns, houses dotting the landscape, cows and sheep grazing . . . Hallmark moments. Then the higher we climbed the more the snow fell, until the entire landscape was snow and snow covered trees, an occasional wooded shed would peek out from under the blanket of snow. No visible roads, no inhabitants except those in the few mountain train stations. We changed trains three times, climbing to the Observatory. The trains are pully trains, or trams, not cable cars, look more like trolleys, cog trains.

Once there, we walked right through the glacier in a section called the Ice Palace where they had carved out animal ice sculptures for added interest, then we took elevators up (two) through the rock or ice, I'm not sure what it was at that point . . . rock or ice, to the observation point. It was there we would have been able to see all the way across Switzerland and the mountain ranges, I'm told, and see the largest glacier field. But darn it, it was snowing, so there wasn't any view or sun, only clouds.

Jim did really well. We both lagged behind a bit, held up the group somewhat, but we made it. Two younger kids in their 30s stayed behind with us to assist if we needed it. The guide was appreciative of that. So was I. Especially in the ice palace, the floor was ice, an ice cave, slippery. We walked on it though. It was like walking on an ice rink in your shoes. So, I was glad someone was with us who had the strength to pick us up if we fell. And who knows which one of us would have keeled over first. Well, surprise surprise! Neither of us did. I got lightheaded a few times, thought I was going to faint, so did Jim. But they'd tell us to breathe deeply and go slow. We did do that. Slow we did do. And we went everywhere everyone else did. Well, almost everywhere. Some went up a bit higher, took the outside stairs in the blizzard. Nope, not for us. We saw enough from our vantage point.

When the weather is good there, you can even go snowboarding, skiing, take a husky/sled ride, mountain climb . . . all sorts of physical things. We were happy doing just what we did. And taking the elevators was an option. The rest of them hiked through the mountain to get to the different points. Silly people. Our two helpmates stayed right with us though.

So, we had a wonderful day on the mount! And the bus and train rides were comfy and warm. I'd picked up some gloves and scarves for us on our way up the mountain in Interlaken, we hadn't allowed for weather at 12 below zero. That's what it was up there. But it didn't feel that cold, it really didn't. Jim had on plenty of layers, even wore one of my tops under two of his and a jacket top. So, he was warm. Neither one of us feel a cold coming on, or have the sniffles, or feel any sickness at the moment. That's good.

SALTZBERG

Okay . . . we just had our first meal in Saltzberg, Austria (home of the Von Trapp family) at a very quaint restaurant in Old Town at 10 pm. Can't remember the name of it, but it was something. Very very very good food. Best meal I've had since we hit European soil. I had red trout (looked like salmon to me) and cream cabbage (yum) and boiled potatoes with a fantastic flavor. Soooooo good, it was. I think I was hungry. We didn't eat very well in Zurich. Jim had spinach pasta and smoked salmon. And then we shared the best Apple Strudel ever!!!!!!!

We've booked a city tour bus and boat for tomorrow morning, to get our bearings . . . so that's it for now. We'll start seeing Saltzberg tomorrow.

Oh yes . . . this morning back in Zurich was rather hectic. We decided since Jim wanted to the see the church windows that Chagal did in Old Town Zurich, that he should go do that by himself, because I needed to go to the post office and mail another package of clothes home (am forever lightening my load, when will I ever learn). We couldn't do both together and still get to the train on time, so off he went, after exact instructions on where to meet me at the train station and at what time. I must tell you I worried about that from the moment he left. The train station and old town are at opposite ends of that part of town.

Then I packed up all our stuff, checked out of the hotel, called a cab to take me to the Post office to mail the package (which took at least 45 minutes of packaging and waiting). And then had the cab driver take me to the station and drop me near a baggage cart rack, the kind you rent, you know, like in the airport. I had 4 suitcases, couldn't carry them all myself. So, as he was taking them out of the cab, I told him I'd go get one of the carts and went to do that. Well, the cart accepted the two francs, but wouldn't come loose from the rack. So I went to get the cabbie to help me. He was nowhere in sight, and my bags were piled on the sidewalk all by themselves, alone. I couldn't believe it. Anyone could have taken them. I was in utter disbelief that he would do that to me. I even gave him a tip, dammit! which I wished I hadn't given him. So, I bundled up the luggage, two and two, and managed to get them back to the cart stand. In the meantime someone must've seen my struggle trying to pry the cart loose, because it was standing by itself, disengaged, waiting for me. There are nice people in the world after all.

Then I hurried to where I'd told Jim to meet me, and within 15 minutes he was there, just 5 minutes late. He’s incredible. I was all ready to start worrying. He'd walked all the way from Old Town, he said, couldn't get a cab that was going in the right direction. They have to be going in the right direction, because they don't want to double back. The streets are very tricky that way. Especially if the trip isn't worth it. Obviously that one wasn't. Just to go from the post office, which was right next door to the train station, my cabbie had to go through a different section of town. Crazy. Anyway, Jim was happy he saw the windows, and I was happy I got the package mailed. And then we left Zurich.

2004 - AUSTRIA

2008-08-28T02:03:00.000-07:00

May 13
HELLO HELLO FROM SALZBURG . . .

Today it's rain in Salzburg. Notice, I'm now spelling it correctly, Salzburg. Jim is out in the city, in the rain at this very moment, visiting Mozart's abodes, etc. One thing we've discovered is that there really isn't much at these Mozart historical sites, only framed information in print, not much in the way of original furnishings, even when there is a room to view. Usually it's only the exterior of the buildings, and possibly a small foyer or entrance with, like I said, printed material . . . or rather . . . like Jim says. He’s the one who goes to those locations.

Yesterday we went inside the huge Dom Cathedral, which was originally built to accommodate 10,000 worshipers. Very decorative, frescos, carvings, multi-musical organs (maybe 5?). It was near Mozartplatz (Mozart Square), near the house where Mozart grew up. Jim loved the cathedral, but was disappointed in that house, nothing there but the information again. I mean the house was there, but no admittance, it's a private residence now most likely. A big yellow house, adjoining other buildings, with shops on the street level, in the midst of "Old Town". We also saw it from the boat as we cruised the Salzach River the day before.

The river cruise was a lovely ride, not very long because Salzburg is relatively a small town, only 150,000. And most of the town is centered in the "Old Town" area which is comprised of many winding, shop and cafe-lined, cobblestoned alleyways, in a concentrated area on both sides of the river - between four bridges. We've crossed two bridges on foot, and have covered Old Town on both sides of the river on foot. We did a city bus tour the first morning and saw the setting where the kids fell out of the boat in the "Sound of Music" film. That was a beautiful place. A magnificent manor house on a lake, right in the middle of Salzburg. The manor house is now owned by Harvard University. Is used as dorms. Can you believe that?

Last night we had a light dinner at the Sacher Hotel, of Sacher Torte fame, and enjoyed a bit of Sacher chocolate. I came out of there so full and uncomfortable; I think I shall never eat again. Food is better here than in Switzerland. At least, that's my opinion. Jim still can't get over the frankfurters. He'd forgotten, from last time we were here, how they are. Long skinny boiled emaciated frankfurters, served with bread. Not especially his cup of tea, although I can take a cold wiener from the fridge and slap it on a bun with mustard and I'm happy. When we're at home, he insists they be split and grilled, even insists it be done that way in cafes too. He's totally spoiled, you know. But he's eating them as they're served here and hasn't complained to the proprietors. Surprise, surprise. He doesn't care for the Austrian Weiner Schnitzel (veal cutlet, he says), however. He prefers the French and USA version. Lots of sauce. No sauce served on it in Austria. Jim's a sauce man. Doesn't care for meat not covered in "gravy", as he puts it. Who said meat and "gravy" are bad? Well, he's 92 and holding, and meat and "gravy" haven't harmed him one bit. That shoots that theory all to hades and back.

We've been unlucky in finding concerts for Jim to hear. It's just the wrong time of year, it seems. He was counting on hearing Mozart every minute (thank God, for my sake, it is the wrong time of year). But never fear, I've booked a dinner/concert for tonight at St. Peter's (converted monastery), so he'll see and hear a baroque rendering of Mozart and other music, some Sound of Music numbers too. The musicians and singers will be dressed in period costumes and the hall where the dinner/music is staged looks absolutely luxurious and of that period, if the photo serves it well. That's tonite. That'll make him happy. He doesn't know it yet, but I've also booked a dinner and a concert at the Vienna Opera House for Sunday in Vienna. He wanted to go there last time we were there, but we didn't. Now he'll get to see and experience that too. As for me, I'm taking a wokman (spelling?) with some Frank Sinatra tapes to listen to during the concert tonight. I'm just kidding!!!!! Not to worry. Maybe I'll take a book to read. No, I'm not. I know, I'll just day dream. Maybe I'll even listen. Who knows.

Tomorrow is our last day in Salzburg, so we're going up to the Fortress on the hill, which is a huge castle-like structure. We were going to go up there today, but because of the rain, we'll do it tomorrow before we leave by train to Vienna. I'm hoping to get some good scenic shots from up there.

Oh yes, this hotel is near the train station, and although considered to be in the more "common" part of town, for instance a sex toy and video shop is down the block (which Jim has perused the block-long displays in the windows explicitly), our room and the hotel is very nice. Clean, basic, also has a restaurant (breakfast is included with the room rate), and our accommodations has a sitting room, dressing room, bath, and bedroom. Like an apartment. One could live here, easily. Really. Quite a change from the very small rooms we've had thus far. Hotel Bayrischer Hof. I would stay here again. Plus it's reasonable. Very polite and helpful young desk clerks.

I had to laugh a couple days ago, when Jim was asking about a Mozart concert, the young girl at the desk suggested he go to a concert which didn't have such "old" music. Jim misunderstood her, her accent, thinking that the one he was wanting to hear was just not all that good. I had to step in and ask her to be more definitive for him, and what she said amounted to "Mozart's music is so old-fashioned." Evidently her mother and she don't care for Mozart and usually go to more modern concerts, where the music is either Jazz or of a more contemporary genre. It’s my understanding that most of the middle-aged and younger people here are not classical buffs. Hey, see, I'm not alone. Hooray for Jazz and Pop Standards!

May 17
Okay, so I truly enjoyed myself at the concert/dinner at St. Peter's in Salzburg. Yes, I'm now eating my hat. It was truly pleasant! A talented 5-man (stringed instrument) group of players, 3 young women, 2 young men were expert at their performance. All the musicians were young, I noticed. Really young. And two opera singers, one male, one female - also young. It was incredibly wonderful! I can't believe I enjoyed it all. Well, yes, I can believe it. As much as I fight the classics, they're in my blood from my "daddy". Yes, he was an opera, symphony kind-of-guy. And as always we sometimes fight how we were raised. Yep. It's still in me, that music. Well, after all those youthful years trying to learn classical music, via my piano teacher Emery Hobson in Wasco in the ‘50s, what can one expect? I even recognized some of the numbers. Amazing. I bought one of the group’s CDs.

VIENNA

And last night, here in Vienna, we went to yet another dinner/concert, only this time it was a bit different. But, it wasn’t at the Opera House like I thought it would be. We met in front of the Opera House and went somewhere else. The brochure had been very misleading.

First we, as a group of six, walked to an old Viennese tavern-like restaurant for dinner, where an accordion player sat with us at one point and played our favorites, including the Blue Danube, with Jim humming along as usual. We had Weiner Schnitzel, the usual tour dinner (veal cutlet, as Jim calls it), he's been having a lot of it by the way. (I had the vegetarian dinner at St. Peter's the night before.) Anyway, we had a lovely hour of cabaret music and dinner, and then the driver picked us up and took us to the concert hall where we were seated with about 500 or more other people in rows of chairs in a brightly lit multi-chandeliered concert hall, and the orchestra played Strauss and Mozart music for 2.5 hours. It was very impressive playing, which goes without saying. They do know their music. Every two or more numbers an opera singer would come out and sing, and a beautiful dance couple even danced on some of the pieces. I didn't make it to the second half however, at intermission I left, couldn’t take it. So I walked across the "inner-ring” section of town and waited for Jim at Cafe Mozart, which is across the street from the Albertine Museum, in back of the Stadt Opera House where we began that night. There I enjoyed a cup of very strong coffee . . . 2 cups . . . and watched people. Loved it. Jim came later and he had a scrumptious dessert. I passed on the fattening food.

Yesterday, Sunday, all the shops were closed, which is the same all over Austria (I remember when it used to be that way in England, but now it's changing in the malls. Although Harrods is closed on Sunday still.) So, while Jim went to a couple museums which usually bore me, I walked around the Albertine and into the back garden of the Hofburg Palace, loved that. I had lunch on a patio overlooking the garden, and just took it easy mainly, watching people. I snapped some photos of the tops of the buildings, so ornate, all of them. Gilded, carved, name it, soooo very artistic and creative. Took a peak into the butterfly gallery, live butterflies being raised and living in a giant terrarium one can walk through.

We arrived in Vienna late on Friday, our train was 2 hours late, didn't get here till around 8 pm. So, it was an unexpected long train journey, should have only been 3 hours, ended up being 5. Lots of single track areas, so we had to wait for other trains to pass by. And by the time we checked into the hotel . . . a HOLIDAY INN in Vienna. . . don't laugh! It's actually one of the best, if not the best accommodations we've had up to this point. A beautiful hotel, very modern, sleek, glass and mirrors, lots of wood paneling in our expansive room, chic elegance Jim calls it. And the food is really top-notch too. Very nice place. Again, this room has a separate living-room area, and a huge bedroom. Lots of closet space - a his and hers, and everything anyone would need. We're here for 6 days, so that's good. We leave on Wednesday for St. Petersburg.

On Saturday, I decided to stay in the hotel, a much needed rest-up day, and to do laundry (there was a lot of it, hanging all over the bathroom by morning's end, I felt like a Viennese washer-woman), and then I drank coffee and watched some tele - 2 channels in English (CNN and BBC). About 3 pm I ventured out into the marketplace, a wonderful daily food market to which a flea market is added on Saturdays (come to find out). The food market is blocks long, and is in stationery sheds lined up on a strip of land all to itself leading to the center of the "inner-ring". It's just a couple blocks over from here, we're just outside the "inner-ring" in the secondary ring. There are two rings, then there's just the City of Vienna beyond. So, we're pretty close into the center of things. I walked to the core of the "inner-ring", and it only took me 15 minutes. So, that'll tell you how close we are to things. Most of the main attractions are in the "inner-ring", which is a circle of downtown Vienna centered by St. Stephen's Cathedral. Jim went to the Stadt Opera House. Oh yes, there are many opera houses, we found that out when we said "take us to the Opera House" to a cabby. He said "which one?" And that was a difficult question for us. We didn't know at that point. We were to meet our dinner/concert tour guide there. The Stadt Opera House is across the street from where we stayed last time we were in Vienna (The Bristol). Boy, we've come a long way down in hotel prices, believe me, on this trip. But then Jim booked the last trip, I booked this one. We are splurging in Russia though, the highlight of our trip.

Jim went through the Albertina museum, or is it Albertini? I'm not sure. And he went to St. Stephen's Cathedral. Said it was all very lovely. I saw it the easy way, bought a book showing the highlights. ha ha

Now, TONITE is the nite for the cruise/music/dinner. I was thinking it was last night, and I kept waiting for the boat portion as we went along. Ha ha. There was a couple from Ireland with us, and she said "what boat?" when I said surely we'd have coffee on the boat maybe. Then it dawned on me. That tour is tonite, Monday. In fact I've got to get downstairs and book it. So, I'll close for now but will tell you later about the boat trip and a conversation I had with a waiter here in the hotel . . . he was born in Pakistan, is an Austrian now as is all his family. No ties in Pakistan, he says. He and I discussed Iraq and all that's going on. Very interesting conversation, seeing it from another perspective. It's a serious one, though. So, I may or may not write about it here. I will say he opened my eyes a bit. “Violence begats violence, it has to stop somewhere.” But where, is the critical question. Lots of derogatory news broadcasts and newspaper reporting against the US over here.

I'll leave on that note . . . and get busy with some tour booking and fun stuff.

2004 - RUSSIA

2008-08-28T01:59:00.001-07:00

May 18
GOODBYE AUSTRIA!

It's Midnight in Vienna and in six hours we head for the airport to fly to St. Petersburg. Is this trip going by fast, or not? It seems like it at the moment. Russia, last stop! Jim is sleeping and I just finished packing all our stuff. It's getting more and more difficult to fit it all in the cases. Even with the two shipments I sent home – MY clothing - it's a tight squeeze. It's the goodies and paper goods that are taking up all the space now. I'd planned to send more clothing home today, but we didn't get back from the Belvedere Palace in time to get to the post office. Oh well, I'll do it in Russia. Of course I'll probably never see the clothing again, so I better send stuff I really wouldn't miss. Good idea.

Alright . . . where were we . . . well, we waited one whole hour at the bus stop for the river cruise/music/dinner last night, from 7 to 8 pm, and the bus never came. We walked quite a ways to the designated pick-up point, only to find out later when we finally returned to the hotel, that they came to the hotel to get us. Mis-communication big time! The brochure said to go to the pick-up point. Nothing was ever mentioned about them picking us up at the hotel, usually the brochure will say that. So, they gave us the money back. And I really wanted to go on that trip. I'd been talking about it for several days. It was a Monday night only trip, or we would have done it tonite. We ended up walking to the Imperial Hotel (beautiful place) for dinner instead, found it on our walk back through the city, and it was very nice. So, all was not lost. We even shared a delicious ice cream sundae.

Today we took a bus to the Belvedere Palace . . . Belvedere is Italian meaning a vantage point where there is a view from a distance, so I'm told . . . actually it's two palaces in one. An upper and a lower with expansive gardens between. Both hold beautiful original works of art among which is a huge Klimt collection including "The Kiss" or "Lovers" as it was originally called. Probably the most famous painting of his. But there were so many Klimts, some of which I've never seen. And his flowers and landscapes are quite different than his gold and silver leaf figure work. Quite different. Not as impressive to me. Sort of a Matisse style. Klimt is from Austria, so he's quite popular and famous in these parts. He's all over the place, as a matter of fact.

My favorite was Erik Jacob Schindler. I have never heard of him and hadn't seen any of his work until after I filled out a questionnaire in the foyer and was given a choice of a free art postcard for filling it out, any of 12 laid out on a table. I chose the one that really jumped out at me, not knowing who the artist was. It was a landscape, a very unusual impressionistic landscape, muted tones of green, brown, blue and gray . . . all colors quite subtle and not too much variance between hues. People strolling along a country road on a gray day, cloudy sky and tall thin trees lining the wet road, looks like it has just rained. The sunlight is coming from behind the clouds in the background. It's called "Avenue of Poplars after the Thunderstorm", 1892, oil on canvas. Well, after that I went through a few rooms, Jim was off in another part, he goes so slow we usually split up and go our separate ways. So, there I was all of a sudden standing before this very same immense original painting of the postcard I'd just chosen. Erik Jacob Schindler. Wow! I was impressed! I took a pic of myself looking at the original. (I'd like to paint that view, of me looking at his painting.) So then I searched for all his paintings, many many more were there. And several other painters of his school, he'd taught quite a few of them and it was evident in their work. So, I am hooked on Schindler.

Jim loved the galleries of course, he appreciates all the paintings and sculptures, peruses them individually. So, I waited for him in the cafe on the first floor and then we went to the Lower Belvedere Palace, actually it was built first, before the Upper. Prince Eugene of Savoy commissioned the palace to be built in 1744. There are a few rooms that are totally incredible, are empty and shown for the decoration and painting on the ceilings and walls. No other art is in them. The Grotesque Room (strange name, however very beautifully painted with faces, flowers, figures, designs), the Marble Room (which you can imagine, everything marble and embossed) and the Gilded Room (all gold leaf with flowers painted on the walls and in murals). Extraordinary.

We spent all afternoon there, and ended our visit with a light evening meal next door to the Lower Belvedere at a delightful outdoor tavern-like cafe. Can't remember the name at the moment, but I've written in down somewhere. Then we walked back along the "Inner Ring", sightseeing as we went, and finally made it back to the hotel at 9 p.m. I mean to tell you, that was some walk. No wonder Jim is snoozing. I should be too. And I think I will.

May 23
St. Petersburg. Such an exotic city in an exotic land! Exotic in the sense of its beautiful buildings, lavish artifacts, untapped resources, growing economy, expanse of land (the largest country in the world), language, people who are slowly but steadily coming into their own, restaurants (all kinds), canals winding through the city like Venice, the River Neve, and so much more. It's too much to fathom, actually. Too much to see in this short time. We're here for 6 nights at the Hotel Angletere, which is part of and an extension of the Astoria Hotel, both share common ground, food venues, etc.

The Russian people are a happy people, not at all what I'd expected. Maybe it's different in Moscow, we'll see. But the common person on the street dresses and behaves just as we do, they shop as we do, they too dine in the many many restaurants in the City. I'm sure there's another element behind the facade, just as there is in the U.S., but as far as I can see at the moment, it's rather normal here. Same as any other tourist destination.

The piano player downstairs in the cafe is American, from Norwalk CA, has been here a month, engaged by the hotel, accommodated by the hotel, and says they treat him top notch. He can order anything off the menu, and has a room on the second floor same as we do. He says he was so surprised at the number of tourists from all over the world coming to St. Petersburg. He hadn't expected the ultra diversity in travelers. Just last evening I visited with a group of people from Thailand who are heading for Norway, Finland, and Denmark. Doing this whole northern bit. That would be an interesting trip for sure.

Anyway, Keith, the piano player, just got a call from his agent yesterday, asking him to go to Abudabi (yes, I know that's got to be spelled wrong, for sure), the Arab Emirate State, you know . . . Dubai's there too. I know that's correct, because I want to go to Dubai on our next trip. So, Keith is off to his next gig in July from here and will be in Abudabi and the Inter-Continental Hotel through November. He'd planned to be going back to the States for a few months, but now his plans have been changed for him. What a life! (I have friends who should be doing this, they’re better musicians than Keith, but Keith’s fun and very personable.)

So, the first day we were here, Jim went off to the Hermitage, the huge museum which was partly the imperial residence of Catherine the Great, the Winter Palace and the Hermitage Theatre. It follows in rank behind the Louvre in Paris and equals other notable museums and palaces around the world, and of course is a must see when in St. Petersburg. Jim spent four hours there our first day while I stayed in and unwound and unpacked from our Vienna journey. That day of travel does me in completely. I swear, I've got to figure out how to travel with one bag only, and a light one at that. That was my intention this time, but we still brought too much. Now I've got to find out where a post office is and get rid of some more clothing. I'll definitely collect more trinkets from this city. I'll probably be down to only the clothes on my back by the time we leave Moscow for the States. I'm not kidding!

The evening of our first day we went to the ballet at the Mariinsky Theatre, the theatre from which all the ballet greats hail - Nureyev and Baryshnikov to name a couple. But the production lived up to the warning, that they put on very lackadaisical performances for tourists, don't really put out the effort, and I left after the first of three ballets being performed that night. Jim wanted me to hang in there with him, but when he arrived at The Grand Hotel, where we agreed to meet for dinner, he said it was just as well I left because the other two were just as boring. So, for once I wasn't off base in my take on the subject. I would have wanted to lie down on the floor and go to sleep, if I had stayed. Opera, ballet, symphonies and I do not meld. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is. However I must say when I saw "Swan Lake" in Brighton England a few years back, I was thoroughly impressed. Loved it. So, I guess it depends on the performers and the production. I've seen opera and ballet in S.F., in New York, in L.A., and other cities around the world, and find that I much prefer jazz and pop musicians most. We enjoyed viewing The Grand Hotel, one of Petersburg's oldest, and just had a snack there before returning to our hotel. (A reminder to me to tell the story of the Russia Mafia types I witnessed there while waiting for Jim.) It's daylight here till ll:00 p.m., by the way. Very deceiving. In a few days it will never get completely dark . . . for a couple of months.

So on our second day, we BOTH went to the Hermitage, I saw only part of one floor, too much to view in one attempt, and Jim went to another section he hadn't seen the first day. We'll be making another trip probably tomorrow, our last day - I'd like to see the Impressionist section. I had worn the wrong shoes to the museum and after a couple of hours I was having trouble walking. Had to return to the hotel and soak my feet. I can't imagine wearing the wrong shoes, I know better. But I was able to see some of the most glorious rooms that give Versailles a run for its money, believe me. And I took some photos of them. What opulence! Unbelievable! Royalty lived completely exorbitant in those days. It's just almost too much to fathom. We also visited the Treasure Room which houses the jewels and jeweled artifacts of Russian Royalty, and that was beyond belief. I just can't imagine wearing the jewelry and serving food from the jewel-encrusted pieces on display in that group of rooms. Even the horses wore jewelry. One blanket/saddle had hundreds of diamonds on it, and the bridles were lavishly studded with precious stones. Oh, to be a horse and gallop off down the road with those jewels!

That night we had a wonderful Indian dinner at a unique restaurant about 2 blocks from our hotel. Very very very good Indian food. And the atmosphere was so decorative and real. I loved it. Jim was disappointed because he figured the food would be hotter than it was. Hot, as in spice. Well, he hadn't noticed that the "hot" page was further back in the menu. Oh well, it was perfect for me.

Yesterday we visited the "Church of the Resurrection of Christ". That's the famous colorfully onion-shaped domed, mosaic cathedral that you see on postcards and ads around the world. It is amazing! It truly is. First we saw it from a boat ride through the canals the day before, and then when we went inside yesterday, we both were struck with awe. It is an impossible work of art! Every inch of wall and ceiling space is covered with tiny bits of enameled ceramic tiles and stones, depicting the scenes that led up to the resurrection of Christ. I took a lot of photos, but I know they won't do the place justice. I even bought a book devoted to it and some postcards, so I can scan some of them when I get home. And I also bought a video of Petersburg, so that will provide some nudging for lasting memories.

Then after that, it was scare-time again. Jim wanted to go through another church back up the canal from there, and I wanted to go through some shops on the Nevsky Prospect (the main shopping street of Petersburg, from where we'd just come before seeing the mosaic church). So, he headed off to the Kazan Cathedral, I went shopping, after which we were to meet back at the hotel.

Well, after he'd gone to the Kazan, he was heading back to the hotel, walking down the crowded sidewalk and three big guys tried to ransack him. He said he fought them off, wasn't hurt, and they didn't get anything. It happened in a crowd, and no one offered to help. We knew that this might happen, and we've talked about it, how to avoid crowds on the street, go around them, step aside, etc. (which is what I do), but he forgot. And that's what happened. Scary. I'm so glad he wasn't hurt. Who cares about the money and stuff. Anyway, he's safe and sound and is out and about again today. That man makes me nervous sometimes. I worry about him till I see him again. He's so independent, aggressive and headstrong. So, he went to the Russian Museum today, will return around 6 pm. I'm still in my robe, taking it easy, have to space myself or I'm worth absolute nothing and get very irritable. Can't have that, now, can we?

Okay . . . that's it for now. Oh yes, we went to THE IDIOT, a wonderful Dustoyevsky and other writers' hangout, for lunch. It was sooooooooooooo neat! If I lived here, I'd hang out there too. So cozy, in a basement, and so full of atmosphere. We must go see the Dustoyevsky library and museum tomorrow, he's one of my favorites, as is Tolstoy. Oh to write like Fydor!

May 25
BYE BYE PETERSBURG . . .

Okay, on to the last leg of our Mega Trip 2004 . . . off to Moscow by train. We'll be leaving St. Petersburg at 4 pm, just a few hours away.

Right now we're in the hotel room here at the Angletere; I just finished packing the bags, including an extra one I purchased yesterday, bringing the total up to five. Amazing! Even after sending 3 parcels of clothing home, we end up having to purchase another suitcase. Jim is sitting nearby reading about Moscow, deciding on what he wants to do there. I'm sure the itinerary will be jam-packed if he has anything to do with it. I have to put my foot down on occasion regarding plans he makes for me. I swear he is absolutely more energy-ridden than a dozen Olympic players. And he sleeps well . . . whereas I don't. I sometimes wonder if it is the dozens of vitamins and minerals he consumes each day. We have to take a carry-on bag especially for the lot. The vitamins could be one of the energy-giving factors, another being that he is wildly driven to see all he can see in a short period of time.

Last night I was wanting to hear the Bush speech (2 a.m.), but right before it came on, CNN disappeared from the screen and didn't return until 6 a.m. Strange, isn't it? I wonder if it was just an electronic glitch or if it was removed from the tele over here. Now tidbits are being broadcast, focusing on his suggesting the demolition of the Iraqi prison and reiterating about the date of turn over, which is nothing new. So, we don't know what else was said, if anything. Probably doesn't really matter anyway. It was just a speech. Another one of many more to come. Talk talk talk!

Well, yesterday we took a cab (we’re tired of walking!) to the Dustoyevsky Library and Museum, where he lived the latter part of his life, after his 10 years in prison accused of belonging to a subversive organization. Surprise! The place was closed. Closed on Mondays. Darn it. That was the only time I set aside for visiting it. So, then we took the same cab to the Hermitage to see the Impressionist exhibit, which we'd planned to do, and when we got up to the door, it was locked. A nearby worker told us it was closed on Mondays. We couldn't believe it! Both places closed on Mondays. That'll teach us to pay attention to our guide book. It says right there that both are closed on Mondays. Oh well. Believe me, we've seen plenty! And I saw the house where Fyodor lived. That's good enough for me. I get the picture.

So, last night we had the choice of going to the Opera to see Carmen or going to a Russian Folk song and dance show. Need I say . . . Hooray! . . . we went to the Folk show. And was that ever a good choice. It was absolutely wonderful! I got lots of pics of the colorfulness, and the music and dancers were top notch. It was a pleasure to sit there watching and listening. Jim loved it too. I was afraid he would be disappointed not going to the Opera, but he said no, he wasn't. (I'm sure we'll go to opera in Moscow anyway) It was at the Nikolayevsky (spelling?) Palace. A short distance from here.

Earlier in the day Jim had befriended a cab driver when he went back out to see the sights, who was the same driver that carried us around last night. He was driving his own car, is an engineer who doesn't get paid much, moonlights by cabbing. He offered to take us to Catherine's Palace, which is in a suburb (about 30 minutes out of town) to see the Amber Room, that we would have done this morning, but it's closed on the last Tuesday of the month, which is today of course. Can't win! Amber is a big item in Russia, by the way. The jewelry is exciting, great necklaces and earrings and bracelets. I wonder what ever happened to all my amber jewelry . . . I used to have lots of it . . . what did I do with it? Same with turquoise . . . where did it all go? I hadn't given it a thought till now. A mystery. I probably gave it away. Or sold it. No, I don't remember selling it.

Jim just took off, said he wants to go see a few things before he leaves St. Petersburg. Oh boy. He promised me he'd be back by 2 pm, because our pick up for the train station is at 2:30 pm. It's nearly 11:30 a.m. as we speak. So I'll worry till he returns. Today in the paper was an article about a group of ruffians that are robbing people right in front of that church where they rough-housed Jim. They're trying to crack down on them, have had lots of reports from tourists, obviously. Jim was so lucky he wasn't hurt. He's much more aware now, however, as a result of it.

I'm going to call the desk in a moment and have someone come collect our boxcar-load of luggage to store until the time to leave, and then I plan to sit and relax in the lobby downstairs, have some coffee, maybe read, of course do some people watching, or maybe take another look in the gift shop which has such beautiful "stuff". Oh to be able to buy whatever one wants! Notice I say "wants", not "needs".

They have some enameled boxes that completely captivate me. Black-laquered, red inside, with Palekh paintings on the exterior of the boxes. It's an old Russian art form, still done today. Palekh is the name of a town, whose population devoted itself to the art of making the boxes and painting on them. The tiny pictorial stories are done with touches of gold and silver amidst the bold bright colors. Artists draw the pictures in white on the black enamel, and then pass it on to the artists who fill in the color. In fact I had to go find a book of Russian Fairy Tales after I bought one of the nesting dolls done with Palekh painting, that depicted fairy tales on each individual nesting doll. And that's where I found out about the Palekh artists. The fairy tale book's illustrations are done by one of the most foremost Palekh artists, and there's a write up about him and the art in the book. A real find, as far as I'm concerned. I was going to give it as a gift to a family member when we return, but nope! I'm keeping it myself. It's so beautiful.

So, then I had to have one of the little boxes. And that was the most difficult selection I've had to make on this trip. They're all so delicately painted and every one of them is a beauty. Of course the price had something to do with my choice, which narrowed it down to only a few. What a fun thing it would be to do . . . to collect those boxes! Or fairy tale books. That would be fun too. Fairy tale books from every country. Like I don't have enough collections now. Where to put it all?

Okay, enough . . . off to check out of the hotel. It's time.

TREES TREES AND MORE TREES

On the train to Moscow now . . . and this is quite enlightening. The countryside is dotted with villages of poor Russian citizens. At least I think they're poor. I'm not really sure. Maybe it's just the type of dwellings in which they live. Small wooden houses with tin roofs, but not trashy, like our poorer live. Their grounds are kept clean, no broken toilets, rusted washing machines, old cars, piles of sinks, and the like. So maybe it's just how the villagers away from the cities live. I'd love to learn the language and infiltrate somehow. Live in one of the villages I'm seeing along the railway route. It truly is different than what I'd expected. As it turns out, St. Petersburg is definitely a facade.

Speaking of . . . I wandered through one of the many gates that lead to a courtyard behind the frontline of exquisite and historic buildings along the main streets of St. P., and I found very shocking living accommodations. Apartments that had broken windows, exterior walls that were decayed and some with holes through the coated brick. Most of the buildings are plaster over brick. Some kind of painted substance, plaster, maybe concrete, I don't know. But it's about 3 to 4 inches thick, then there's the thick brick walls behind it. Very thick. So inside the courtyards the apartments went up several stories, and were really atrocious. Some had broken windows, splintered wooden frames and doors. It must be terribly bleak and dreary to live inside those buildings. The courtyard floors are unattractive stone, dirty, pooled with muddy water, not a pleasant sight to behold. I saw one young couple going home to fix their supper, it seemed, he was carrying a plastic bag of potatoes and she was carrying a couple beers. They had just been to the neighborhood store, I would imagine. Unless they were on their way to make their own Vodka and party a bit.

Anyway, most of the land along this railroad is swampy or marshy . . . full of trees, tall slim trees, some with white bark, some not. I wish I knew my trees, I'd know the names of them. There are also pine trees, beautifully shaped, so much so they'd each make the perfect Christmas tree. I wonder if the natives cut them during the holiday season. I've also noticed new log cabins being built. Hey! Now that's my kind of house, right? They also replace the trees they chop down . . . there's new growth where they level areas. Just as they do in our Oregon and Washington states. I suppose we do that all over the States now, do we?

So isn't this nice, here we have log cabins and one doesn’t have to have much money to live, and I could wear my full length white Mink coat whenever I wanted, which I can't in California for fear of being spray painted. Here they don't condemn you for owning a fur coat. There's some very lovely luxury fur coat shops in St. Pete, and I would imagine there are in Moscow. Soooooo . . . we could live out here in the outer regions, in a log cabin, not have to work, would cultivate our own garden (which I notice they all do), and could keep warm in the Winter in Mink (that's a good title for a story . . . Winter in Mink).

And I also notice a cell phone tower every few miles. But I don't see any satellite dishes for TV. Whoops! That might keep me from living here. Have to have my TV. At least the news because we could always subscribe to a DVD movie program, where they mail you whatever you want and you send it back with another order after you've watched it. Jim signed up for one of those offerings before we left home, at Best Buy. It'll be interesting to see how it works when we get back home and settle in.

We're 3 hours on the train now, only 2.5 more to Moscow. Jim has been reading a newspaper most of the way, has dropped off to sleep once, and we've already had a really tasty fish dinner served to us. Really good, I mean very good. So, now I'm having tea and watching the trees travel by, and writing my thoughts. If I ever hear anyone say the world is short of trees, I'm going to suggest they come to Russia, and they might even take a trip up to Washington and Oregon. I remember how my friend Linda and I actually got tired of seeing trees when we drove to Canada a couple years ago. I mean there were sooooooooooooo many miles of trees. Well, that's what's happening here. All the way from St. Petersburg to Moscow. Five and a half hours of trees as far as you can see. And this is flat land . . . miles and miles off to the horizon on both sides of the train.

We're riding first class, which is nice, although not as nice as it would be on some trains. It's a bit untidy, carpet dirty, bathroom not very clean. These seats are roomy, like on an airplane, with trays that fold down from the seat in front of you, and we've TV screens attached to the ceilings every 8 rows or so, and earphones. I've seen the movie that's showing, wouldn't you know it, in fact I don't know if it's in Russian or English, probably Russian, but there aren't any subtitles. And it's an American film. A thriller. John Travolta, he's the bad guy, and what's her name, the black gal who won the Academy Award last year or the year before. Oh what's her name?

Well, I think I'll close for now, the laptop battery has 40 minutes left and I'd like to play a bit of digital solitaire too. Ciao for now . . .

I just saw some yards in neighborhoods with trash strewn around. I take back what I said earlier.

May 29
CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S OVER!

Today we leave for the USA and Los Angeles. Yes, this trip is almost over, and we're heading home. We'll arrive at LAX tonight at 9:30 pm, and will stay over at the Hacienda Hotel, then will return to Cambria on Sunday. I just can't believe it's over. Seems like just yesterday we began. Although I must say I'm looking forward to going home to my safe, comfortable quiet space, to Jasmin our cat, and to family and friends. As always it's good to return home and settle into the usual routine once again. Then in about four to six months the travel bug will bite me again and thoughts will be of another exotic adventure in far away places. And another book?

Moscow is difficult to explain or describe. The facade isn't as obvious as St. Petersburg. Although it is as exotic, maybe more so, with a mystery and allure of its own. It seems more compact, more controlled, and there seems to be less to see in the way of tourist attractions. The Kremlin is truly an experience however, with its walls erected in 1367 and then rebuilt in 1495, still standing as they were then, today. The Kremlin is a fortress built on Borovisky Hill, its walls running along the Moskva River, the Alexandrovsky Gardens and Red Square. A triangle of sorts, with six or seven looming architecturally artistic towers. Five multi-gold-onion-domed cathedrals (I believe there are five) are within the walls along with official-looking buildings, the palace, the arsenal, treasure rooms (Armory), and a bell tower. The largest bell in the world is sitting on the ground near the bell tower, which has never rang . . . and the largest canon/gun in the world is nearby, which has never been shot. Very impressive. With the ever-present feeling of being guarded and watched over by not only the military who are positioned in threes everywhere you look, but surely by unseen eyes viewing from secret places, I didn't feel at all threatened. But then I was only there to look at the beauty of their possessions. I would imagine if I were to attempt to "take", it would be another story.

We purchased a walking tour of the Kremlin on Wednesday, when we finally found the ticket office after wandering around, frustrated, for 30 minutes in a crowded area. Then it was difficult to find, now it wouldn't be . . . now we know where everything is and it's simple. Most everything is just a few minutes’ walk from the Metropole Hotel, where we're staying. Anyway, Jim and tours do not go together. And after walking a block with our guide and a group of people, he said he wasn't going. He couldn't understand the guide's broken English and was having trouble hearing her. So he went off to do other things, and I went on with the group to the Kremlin. Which turned out for the best, because there was no way he could have kept up with the group, especially on the steps and across the open spaces. It was a fast non-stop 3-hour walk. As I've said before, Jim likes to stand and peruse buildings and displays at his leisure. So, I figured he and I would return on Thursday, since now I knew where everything was, and he could take as much time as he wanted. But as for me, I enjoyed the fast tour. It was right down my alley, and I snapped a lot of photos that I'm eager to play with on my computer at home. The guide refunded Jim's ticket.

In the meantime, however, Jim explored the Gum (pronounced Goom) a three-corridor, three-level glass-domed century-old shopping mall. What a structure! And he wandered the streets. Moscow doesn't have the same "dangerous" quality on the streets that St. Pete had, it does seem safer whether it is or not. Maybe because there are so many military and police around. It's some kind of national holiday this week come to find out.

So that evening I collapsed. The tour was from 3 to 6 and it rained most of the time. My feet and body were aching all over. Jim went to the Bolshoi to see an opera, even though he was told it was sold out. He NEVER takes no for an answer. He went an hour early to stand (in the rain) at the door and try to get in. The Bolshoi is right across the boulevard, so I didn't worry about him. However the box office stuck to their word, it was sold out, and then he was faced with the scalpers trying to sell him a ticket. He wouldn't pay more than 200 rubles he told them and they wouldn't sell to him. 200 rubles is $6.00. I mean to tell you that is really cheap. I couldn't believe he wouldn't pay more than that. Even at the PPP the tickets are $15, and that's a lower price than most. As he was telling me the story I was even happier that I hadn't gone with him.

Soooooooooooo . . . everyone was in the theatre, the box office was closing, and he finally found a scalper who sold a ticket to him for 200 rubles. Desperation I would think, on the scalper’s part. And then another problem arose. It was for the fifth balcony . . . that is waaaaaay up there at the top, above the chandelier. And Jim doesn't do stairs well, of course. So, a little old Russian lady usher searched for someone who had a key to the elevator that is used by personnel, it's not for the public, and after a few more minutes, Jim was taken up in the elevator and he selected the best vantage point on the fifth level, dead center looking at an angle just down under the chandelier, he said. He also noticed the house was only half full. That puzzled him. But he was stuck where he was and he settled in and enjoyed the show thoroughly, well, the scenery and costumes mostly, he said. I don't recall what the production was, he's asleep right now, can't ask him.

The next day was Thursday and the Kremlin was closed. No trip to the Kremlin for Jim that day either. We wandered around the perimeter of Red Square, which was also closed; preparations for a huge concert were taking place, so we went into St. Basil's Cathedral at the opposite end of Red Square, which is the famous colorful one in Moscow that you also see on all the postcards. However it doesn't compare in the least with the Church of the Resurrection in St. Petersburg. There isn't much to see inside St. Basil's. And the walls are frescoed unlike the tiled ones of the Resurrection’s. Although the wall paintings are interesting to see, it just isn't as impressive. We both were disappointed. And the space is smaller, maybe because it's older, more rustic, at least it seems so. I'll have to look that up. But the exterior is quite beautiful, like the St. Pete church sans the mosaic.

So, this morning Jim rousted me from a dead sleep, I was still soooooo tired from all the walking and we headed to the Kremlin attempting to get there before the tour groups so we wouldn't have to wait in line. I told Jim to go on ahead, at one point, and wait for me in the center of the park, where we'd walked the day before, near a beautiful pink tulip bed. I needed to find a bank ATM, needed to get some money for tickets and for some trinkets (being the trinket queen that I am). So, we took off in different directions. Well, after I got the money and arrived at the garden, it was completely surrounded by soldiers, blocking all access. They had closed it off. No admittance, and the Kremlin and Red Square were also closed. Trucks and buses of soldiers had been and were arriving; troops were marching around and by me, as I stood with dropped jaw. Where was Jim? Crowds were being pushed and signaled away. I immediately headed for the fountains that bordered one side of the park, where it appeared others were allowed to go, and began searching for Jim. Well, he wasn't in the crowds as far as I could see, and didn't know how I'd ever be able to find him anyway, there were so many people.

You won’t believe this, he was right where we agreed he was to be. He was in the middle of the garden sitting on a bench reading his Fodor travel guide, oblivious to what was going on around him. I couldn't believe it! There were probably five other people left in the garden the soldiers hadn't removed and there was Jim. I stood by the railing unable to get his attention, was waving my arms, he was too far away to hear if I called. I even asked a guard if I could go get him, no speaka da English . . . he said, along with no, no, no! And finally I gave up trying to make him understand and just waited to see what was going to happen. There was nothing else I could do. I was where Jim could see me eventually, and I could see him, so I wasn't really worried, I was actually amused at the dilemma and was cracking up over it.

Well then, four agents, dozens were all over the place too, in their black suits with ear phones plugged into their ears and carrying folded umbrellas (weapons?) . . . four of them told the five other people to leave the garden immediately, which they did. Then they headed for Jim and he just sat there after they told him to leave. Of course they were speaking Russian, he didn't understand. But they thought he understood and walked away until they realized he hadn't responded. So, they went back and motioned for him to leave again, with a bit more gusto. He still didn't leave. He had no intention of leaving. Oh boy. Three of them walked away at that point, but one stayed trying to convince Jim to get up and go. I began waving my arms again, hoping the agent would see me as he kept motioning Jim towards the sidelines and then he saw me waving. So he motioned to me and Jim saw me waving my arms. Then he got up and leisurely left the park heading to where I was waiting, at his own pace of course. The very last person to vacate Alexandrovsky Gardens amidst whatever chaos was seriously taking place.

We did make it back to the Kremlin, they reopened it later in the afternoon. I met Jim there after I went back to the hotel and napped. First he went to the Moscow Art Theatre to take a look and had a meal at a cafe nearby before calling me to say he was on the way back to the Kremlin. We were about the same distance from it, so I only waited about 20 minutes while having a cup of coffee in a cafe under where I'd been standing waving my arms at him earlier that morning. A return engagement. This time more successful. He was able to tour the Kremlin at his leisure and thoroughly enjoy it. Mission accomplished.

And now we leave today.

So, ciao to Russia . . . I want to come back someday . . . it's incredible and the people are intriguing. There's much much more to tell, but I'll save it for a book.

(Must add the hooker story at the Metropole, have also written about the horrid disagreement we had in Switzerland, but have not included it yet, and the suspicious terroist types on our plane from Vienna to St. Petersburg. The same airline, the same route, was blown up a few weeks later by terrorists.)

2003 - South Coast of England

2007-12-01T10:31:00.000-08:00

This is the trip that was 2/3 fodder for "Midnight at Trafalgar Square". There's a video of this trip instead of a text travelog ...have yet to put it all together, but will in segments. The first one, the planning stage, is already up on this website.

2000 - THE BIG TRIP! NYC, London, Dublin, Barcelona, Prague, Vienna, Rome, Nice, Cruisin' the Mediteranean-Agean-Adriatic Seas and the Blue Danube

2007-12-01T10:28:00.000-08:00

MORE TO COME