Part 2
Part 3
In the morning we had our last wander round this beautiful and prosperous city with hosts of shops and arcades exhibiting clothes, jewellery and other wares of highest quality with prices to match. After a last meal in the popular international eating hall we caught the train bound for Copenhagen. In our compartment we had a discussion with a young lady from Colarado, U.S.A. who is living in Germany employed by a German opera company. As a soprano she has an interesting life performing in a variety of operas yearly. Our other travel companions were three young Spaniards who smiled a lot. Upon our arrival the tourist office quickly found us bed and breakfast accommodation in a private home: Birte Heerup, Solvegarde 11. We gained a good room at a reasonable price in a pleasant suburb close to the city. At night we were directed to a local restaurant bar where a mature lady jazz singer pianist entertained the local regulars and us in a festive party atmosphere. It was a great introduction to a happy new stay.
We followed our usual routine in a new city. Visit to a bank for money. Obtain local information at a tourist office. Book tickets for further travel. The rest of the afternoon and evening was spent at Copenhagen’s famous Tivoli, a fun park of sorts that we found rather tatty and disappointing. After tea in our room we took Birte’s old and disobedient spaniel for a walk in a neighbouring beautiful park with ornate flower gardens and Rosenberg Castle.
This day we walked the length of Stroget and back, a two mile pedestrian mall with thick crowds of local people and tourists of all nationalities just parading, shopping or sight seeing. Maude bought some unique candles and holders small enough to put in our luggage. Many young street musicians and peddlers entertained the passing throng. It puzzled us to see a young couple playing cello and violin moved on by the police while other street vendors and players were left untouched. We ate lunch at a cafeteria in a very crowded department store. This cafeteria and one at the railway station were the only places we could find reasonable meals and then only of a snack type at prices we would wish or could afford to pay. We looked at many restaurants where we would have had to pay $A80 for two of us that would cost $18 or less in Melbourne. On our travels we prepared quite a lot of meals for ourselves by buying the makings at supermarkets which was good fun sorting out what everything was. In the evening I walked Snoopy the dog again while Maude rested after the day of trekking the city. We then played cards into the night.
We sorted out our luggage to leave our two cases with Birte and just take enough in two carry bags for the next week in Norway. We spent a pleasant morning watching the passing parade from our window and reading travel brochures. We bought a tasty take away lunch from the corner smorrebord; two delicious sausages, a rissole and a salad that we took to the local park and ate in the sunshine. Strolling passers by walked their dogs, pushed their prams and exercised their walking sticks. Children tumbled and played with sounds of joy, most wearing only tousled blonde hair and underpants. Most young people sun bathing were topless, yes and the young men too. Soldiers at the nearby castle parade ground marched to the sound of fife and drum. Young people played a game with a small ball that we had seen a lot; the idea being to keep a limp ball aloft as long as possible using feet, legs and head only. Others played with frisbees; some juggled a number of balls and clubs simultaneously and one young fellow was practicing mastery of a unicycle. There was an infectious joy in the air at the simple pleasure of ringing the utmost value from a sunny day. We continued on our way through the botanic gardens and then I took a quick walk through the national museum of painting and sculpture while Maude rested enjoying the garden below. Our next move was into the city railway station where we spent some hours people watching, quite an interesting past time on a European station. Young back packers invent many ways to cut costs to a minimum. Here a few are listed:
1. Use the toilets as change rooms and wash rooms.
2. Use luggage lockers as repositories for gear on a permanent basis throughout a stay.
4. Sleep on the station concourse, which seems to be generally acceptable.
5. Eat cheaply from station kiosks.
6. Sit grouped on the ground and use this as a cheap university for exchanging views, language skills and sharing travel information on where the best action is.
7. When travelling catch a night train; this solves the problem of finding a sleeping place for the night.
8. Be very courteous and friendly to other travellers, apart from its intrinsic value this might lead to being invited to share a meal or something else worthwhile.
9. Of course, the station is an ideal place for meeting and making new friends and chatting up members of the opposite sex.
All this is part of the adventurous risk taking of youth. It was entertaining to observe some of the procedures and the results. If one observes long enough one can see an ebb and flow of the tide of routine that goes on. There are the regulars who subsist by foraging systematically through the rubbish bins for morsels of food and occasional rare treasures such as a discarded umbrella with only one rib broken or only the handle missing. Then there are those who are lonely and come to sit with those whose purpose is travel, sometimes to sit with them and strike up a conversation. Nicotine addicts down on their luck come by picking up cigarette butts and smoking them. Soon one notices the poseurs who parade to be seen and noticed; they come in many guises, some with way out clothes and hairdos and facial make up; young men in high heels and other signs of femininity. Spivs of all types are present in places where travellers frequent. When we queued up at the station tourist office on arrival here, a presentable young man came up to us and said, “Don’t bother waiting in line, come to my home; we will give you excellent bed and breakfast very cheaply because we love hosting visitors from over seas.” Fortunately we declined the seemingly friendly offer. Later we were told there had been a lot of cases where people had taken up the offer and settled in only to have possessions stolen from their rooms and to be informed, “Oh you are so unlucky! There has been a burglary and we have had household treasures stolen too.” The authorities were well aware of this scam and touting for business in this fashion was illegal. So the multi varied parade goes by.
A comfortable train and train ferry journey through the night took us into Norway passing fields, woods, building silhouettes and brightly lit towns until we changed trains at the wooden platforms of the Oslo station in the morning light. We were the only people over twenty six years of age in the carriage at first, all the rest being backpackers travelling on Eurail Youthpass tickets except for some diminutive Japanese travelling in their usual group. Suddenly a number of police with German Shepherd sniffer dogs entered the carriage; they soon sniffed out the presence of drugs in one young fellow’s luggage and arrested him. As the day unfolded the composition of the full carriage changed as the train stopped at many stations. Now we had locals going about their normal business, also Norwegians on holiday going to and coming home from mountain resorts. Now with many nationalities present we were in a carriage of Babel. The scenery kept getting better each mile surpassing the previous one in beauty and variety. Today was a visual feast of woodlands, quaint wooden farmhouses, towns, villages and outposts in wooded clearings. Rivers rushed in torrents and lakes lay still and serene with mysterious mists slowly rising. Lonely roads came from nowhere leading to nowhere across the rail line with crossing bells clanging to warn absent passers-by of the majesty of the speeding train. Some farm fields were almost vertically placed on hill sides, with fences of hay strung out as if on clothes lines to catch drying rays from the limited sunshine; these made graphic lines of light and shade. The train paused for breath at colourful flower bedecked stations before passing through scores of tunnels and snow barriers lining the way; these often obscured the view of glimpses of breathtaking scenery. On and on the day unfolded, till at last we descended through beautiful fjords to the lovely city of Bergen bathed in scintillating sunshine. Soon we were booked into a room in private accommodation at Mrs. Michelsen’s home
A tasty breakfast was brought to our room with enough for us to pack a lunch as well. We tried to get some money but found it was too difficult on a Saturday or Sunday; we still had enough to last with careful spending. We visited the famous fish market of Bergen and were fascinated to see citizens purchase raw herrings from the stalls, throwing heads back and swallowing them whole. Boarding a cable car we ascended to a point high above the city to gain a brilliant panoramic view. I removed my shirt to sunbathe in the brilliant sunshine of this northern latitude and high peak.
With our very comfortable bed and breakfast home graced with beautiful weather and plenty to see and do in a relaxed fashion we were set to enjoy our stay to the utmost. We spent the morning and early afternoon in a park a few blocks from where we were staying. The park was along a hillside with paths winding through blazes of colourful flowers, charming statues and shapely trees leading to ponds with a fountain. Families and elderly people strolled and sunned themselves, feeding the many birds. One old gentleman sat next to us and communicated with smiles, enjoying one of our peppermints. We visited the tourist centre to book a trip to Flam. The Flam Valley is a gigantic rift between gray-green-white mountain massifs. Through this narrow and wild valley runs the thirteen mile Flam line to Flam on the Aullandsfjord, an arm of Norway’s longest fjord, the Sognefjord. In our room that evening we heard explosives like the sound of crackers and assumed there must have been some sort of fireworks. Not so, there was a huge fire with billowing clouds of smoke directly in line from our bedroom window forming a backdrop to trees and a church spire across the square from us. I took a photo of this threateningly dramatic scene that seemed so dangerously close to us. After assessing that the conflagration was a safe distance away we eventually retired for the night.
In the morning we walked towards the scene of last night’s fire, a large warehouse and surrounding buildings. As we came closer we were surrounded by smoke rising from the embers. Fire brigade crews were still pouring tons of water on the burnt remains with one set of hoses mounted on a lift device and another set from a lighter pumping from the harbour. Leaving the warehouse area and the docks we ascended through narrow streets, some no more than a couple of metres wide, between old and picturesque wooden houses. What a night of fear the inhabitants must have endured! I don’t think I could live in such a district after experiencing the explosive effect of the blaze. Wandering further through the nooks and crannies of the old dock area we arrived at the fisherman’s market. We collected traveller’s cheques from the bank; quite a business. This was the first opportunity we had since leaving Edinburgh. Because of a misunderstanding in ordering lunch we were served three dishes of raw herring served with sauces and onions Maude declined but I battled on although it was not a meal I would normally have ordered. I ate it with some degree of appreciation and realized it was food that one could become accustomed to and eventually want. The rest of the meal fortified us for further walking to book seats for tomorrow’s excursion to Flam and the following day’s reservations to travel back to Oslo. After further purchases of cherries, strawberries, yogurt and tropic nectar fruit drink we arrived home to be invited by Mrs. Michelsen to a late afternoon tea. Arriving downstairs we sat in the lounge with our hosts conversing politely. Time passed by without any tea or goodies arriving and eventually we sensed that we were expected to make some sort of a move. Being at a loss as to what was expected of us, we at last gave thanks and said we must be on our way. Saying polite good-byes and thank-you we rose to leave only to be handed a tray of cakes and a pot of tea which we dutifully took up to our room. Oh well! Other countries other customs! The rest of the evening we spent in recuperating and recreating after our arduous day. Ho! Hum!
Norway in a nutshell was the theme for a wonderful day of sightseeing in spite of paying an exorbitant sum for lunch and enduring a breakdown of the train lasting two hours. We saw magnificent snow capped mountains and impressive fjords with reflecting waters. The steep descent by rail down to Flam was exciting. A steamer journey was a happy one with ooh and ahs at the ever- changing towering cliffs and water- falls and stops at quaint village quays on the way to Gudvangen. From there we went by bus viewing spectacular mountain scenery as we climbed up ever winding roads with hair-pin bends to higher lakes, farms, villages and eventually to Voss. From there we travelled home by rail. Another memorable day!
Another last day started with a walk around the university grounds and the botanic gardens, across the city to the wharves, then to King Haakon’s Hall – a thirteenth century ceremonial hall. Next was the lovely 12th. Century St. Mary’s church, it’s ambience enhanced by the softly playing organ. Last we walked along winding cobbled streets past old wooden homes back across the city and home. Lunch on this day was superb with freshly cooked prawns, smoked salmon and bread rolls which we ate seated on a garden bench. This was a big improvement on the financial jolt of the day before.
We left Bergen by train at 7.30.in the morning. Mrs. Michelsen had given us a big breakfast and handed us a huge picnic lunch. Her hospitality was really appreciated. The return to Oslo along the beautiful scenic route was a pleasure re-visited. Boarding the ferry steamer we departed from the beautiful harbour sitting in sunshine on the deck well past eight o’clock. Eating the remainder of our picnic food on deck we enjoyed the scenery reminding us of the shores of Sydney Harbour. We arrived in Copenhagen at 9.30 the next morning.
Last night we slept in a big round room, the pension was a rabbit warren of a place with common toilets, shower recesses and kitchen. Our fellow guests represented many nationalities. We watched television in our room at night – “ The Flim Flam Man” in English, a Swedish circus and the news in Danish.
Boarding the train at 5.45 in the evening our journey took till 2.00 the next afternoon. Travelling through Denmark, Germany and Austria the train passed over picturesque rolling hills with fields of corn, wheat and vegetable crops. Villages we passed had churches with minarets and onion shaped domes; it was all as one would imagine European countryside to look like. Feeling very fatigued we settled into a pension. At $A43 per night for bed and breakfast it was over our normal budget, but we decided to stay and give ourselves a treat in a spacious room with an emperor sized bed and en suite bathroom. Breakfast was brought to our room each morning.
The pension was excellently situated in the central university district. In the morning we walked the Kartner Strasse with its wealth of ornate historic buildings enhanced by beautiful gardens. We booked day tours for tomorrow and the following day.
Rain was falling heavily and steadily since yesterday, bad weather was widespread over Europe, with a tidal wave on the Mediterranean coast of France, mud slides in mountain areas and floods. The Danube was overflowing in parts with the unusually high falls of rain for this time of the year. We wrote to our eldest son Raymond arranging a meeting with him and his family in Paris at a later date. At 2.00 p.m. we were picked up for our four hour excursion. At the Danube Tower we viewed the panorama of Vienna from the revolving restaurant with its twenty six-minute rotation, while being served complimentary beer and coffee. The Danube was an amazing sight, like an inland-sea in full flood. We travelled through the Vienna Woods that lived up to their famous reputation and visited Johan Strauss’s residence with samples of his works, musical instruments and documents. The imposing Klosterneuberg Monastery highlighted the history of Austria and the rich heritage of the artisans and artists of the past. Our guide Wolfgang enriched the day for us with his exposition on the history of the places seen. It was a very pleasant day topped off by an evening meal at our local street restaurant. Life was good.
We woke to the news that the Danube had further overflowed its banks. Parts of Vienna are low reclaimed land so the flooding was serious. There have been further mudslides and some railways have been closed, needing a fortnight for their repair. There was a quaint little shop next door to us with a few kitchenware items in the window. The little old lady who served us was surprised and delighted when we bought some novelty items, weights to hold barbecue tablecloths down, bottle stoppers and pourers for cardboard milk containers. Our small purchases almost emptied her stock. I booked Maude into the hairdresser opposite for a perm and cut and myself for a haircut. After shopping further afield for a pair of sandals for Maude we kept our appointment. She was satisfied that her instructions were properly met, with some misgivings about differences in techniques and procedures; for example the hair was cut after the perm instead of before. It was a very sociable morning in this pleasant unisex salon and quite a novelty for me. I luxuriated in a sensuous hair wash and head massage with cups of coffee, magazines to browse through and friendly attention. It was quite an experience for the young ladies and us. They were surprised at the novel presence of an Australian couple in their salon. Later we went by the underground rail to Westbahnhof station to buy tickets to Innsbruk, Salsburg and Zurich. All this took a long wait, complicated by us alighting at the wrong station on the way home. This only added to the adventure spirit of the day.
We spent some time reviewing the state of our budget realizing that we had covered the more expensive part of travelling so far. Accommodation, travelling and food expenses should be lower from this time forward. Longer stays in single locations would lower costs; trips with over night stays and additional travelling would bump up costs. The estimate was that if we continued spending at the same rate as to date we would exceed our estimated budget for the year by $A5000. If we achieved an average daily expenditure of $A65 from now on we would be within the projected budget for the year, still allowing for an $800 contingency amount.
The eight- hour tour with a Danube Valley boat trip had to be cancelled because of the floods; this was disappointing because it had promised to be worthwhile. To compensate for the disappointment we had a magnificent lunch of goulash soup, spare ribs with vegetables and salad, beer and coffee. It cost $A19 between us. In the afternoon we saw Roger Moore as James Bond and Grace Jones in “A View To Kill”. After dinner in our room we dressed up to visit Spiel-Casino-Wien situated in Kartner Strasse. The casino was a solemn place with everyone looking serious. Minimum bets were seven dollars; the place didn’t have half the fun atmosphere that we were used to at Wrest Point. We didn’t have a bet. The rest of the night we enjoyed mingling with the milling throng promenading on Kartner Strasse noting the variety of dresses, national costumes, singers and musicians and the candle light commemoration of Hiroshima.
The streets on the way to Stephanplatz to pick up mail were full of interest, so many old buildings were ornamented with towers, cupolas, statues in stone and colours of shining gold against the blue sky. Shops were full of the good things of life; prosperity was evident. We strolled home past busy outdoor cafes, through Sigmund Freud Park and along Universitatstrasse feeling in harmony with this past grandeur and present vitality. Late in the afternoon we visited the nearby Votive Church, a lovely building inside and out. This was a popular meeting place where we had wine and a light meal in the church grounds.
The subway took us to Schonbrunn located in an enormous garden and park. A guide conducted us through forty-nine of the one thousand rooms with paintings and stories of the Empress Maria Theresa, Emperor Franz Josef, the young Marie Antoinette and Napoleon. Many of the rooms had decorative gilded wood stoves that were used for heating; the interesting feature was that servants crept through tunnels in the walls to feed the wood into them. Labour intensive service was so much more available in those days. Paths and high hedges led to many secluded spots with statues, fountains, seats and lawns ideal for dalliance. It is no wonder there were big families among the nobility in those halcyon days. Young women not married by the age of sixteen were sent into convents. After an alfresco lunch we explored the acres of gardens and parkland. It was a noteworthy day in good weather among big crowds of sight seeing visitors.
Starting at ten in the morning a three-hour train journey took us to Salzburg through rolling country-side squared with fields of hay, corn, silver beet, potatoes and other crops. No apparent fences separated the fields. On the way were clusters of houses with flower-bedecked balconies and towns that had baroque churches with onion shaped towers lined in golden colour. An elderly couple from New Jersey USA were visiting the homeland of their youth. They pointed out interesting features of places we travelled through and told us some good trips to take from Salzburg and Innsbruck. Upon arrival in Salzburg I rang phone tourist service numbers without success, so then took Frommer’s advice. Leaving Maude waiting at the station I caught a bus to the city’s tourist information office, bypassing the phone service branch at the station. I asked to speak to Frau Ilse Korhonen “who is patient and friendly beyond measure” according to Frommer. His advice was true; she found us a self-contained apartment at Gnigl about three kilometers out. We met up with Frau Elisabeth Krulich, a very friendly lady without a word of English. After some sign language we all caught a taxi to her home where we transferred luggage and ourselves into her VW beetle, quite a hilarious event, but we did all fit. She then drove us to our flat, scurrying through busy traffic. We soon settled in with her making sure that everything was right and that we were comfortable. We spent the evening sitting on our balcony gazing at Salzburg’s mountain darkening into purple night. At $A21 per day we had excellent accommodation.
After exploring the local district last evening and this morning we set off in a number four bus to the city but over shot our destination. We continued on to the turn around point at the other side of town, chatting with a young lady backpacker from Townsville and her companion from Perth. They were spending a year mainly hiking and hitch hiking around Europe. Then a native Salzburgian offered to show us around the “old town”. We accepted his offer and were soon walking through the streets with Josef giving descriptions with anecdotes. Then just “by chance?” we came across a beer garden that he told us was a very pleasant place to sit in the shade and have a jug of beer. Well of course we invited him to have a beer and a bite of food with us. When we were in the queue he put his hand to the side of his mouth and said, “If any official queries whether I have asked you for money tell him no.” Of course we said we would not think of informing on him. He told us he had been an extra in the film “The Sound Of Music”; he was quite a character. After lunch he insisted on taking us to the street where the VanTropp family made their escape from the Nazis after their festival item. Leaving our short-term friend we mixed with the crowds sight seeing round the streets of the old city. Stocking up on food supplies we found our way home to spend another balmy night on the balcony finishing off with a game of cards.
Tomorrow was to be a public holiday, Corpus Christi Day, so we had fun shopping ahead to cover for closed shops. No one could understand what we were talking about, but we managed successfully to buy what we needed. We gave our neighbours a congratulation card for the birth of their daughter. We enjoyed a tasty home-prepared curry and rice meal and decided to extend our stay to a fortnight. On the holiday hot weather continued and the surroundings were very quiet, presumably everyone had gone elsewhere for the weekend. Our shopping had included pork, tomatoes, gherkins, bacon, eggs, cakes, bread and a number of other items including a variety of fruit. It was good fun doing our own house keeping as a novelty. In the cool of the evening we went for a very long walk, losing ourselves and then finding our way again. We came across a huge railway marshalling yards area with all sorts of interesting cargo. The marshalling area adjoined acres of VW beetle cars waiting to be transported to markets. Big high rise apartments housed the working population. Home at last we relaxed playing cards and backgammon. Listening to our radio was enjoyable with plenty of Austrian folk music.
Leaving Maude in the flat I went to see Frau Ilse Korhonen to be assured our stay could be extended. I roamed around the Mirabelle Palace gardens and the old city before returning home.
It was Sunday and we walked around the city before having lunch at the same beer garden as before. Then off we went on the wonderful Sound Of Music tour – entrancing because of seeing so many of the locations for the movie and hearing stories from our guide – sensational because of the beautiful fields, buildings, lakes and Alpine scenery around us. A most enjoyable outing!
Another wonderful excursion! At St. Leonard near Salzburg a cable car took us up to the top of Untersberg to command a beautiful view of Salzburg spread far below us. The panorama of the surrounding Alps was breathtaking. We finished the day off with a local walk in the evening, first to a prestigious housing area and park up the hill from our flat and then into the grounds of the local Gnigl church. The churchyard was full of the best-kept graves we had ever seen. Each plot had its own unique garden and ornamentation. All graves looked as if they were tended with care on a daily basis, many had a candle burning beside the headstone. As we returned home we thought what a fitting last evening we had spent in Salzburg.
A scenic two hours in the train through green valleys with towering mountains on each side brought us into Innsbruck. Soon after arrival we settled into Pension Heis at $A25 per night with breakfast. The weather was perfect. From our flower festooned balcony we looked over the city with grand high mountains in the background. We settled down in comfort.
Next day we booked a whole day bus tour to the Dolomites for Friday, reserved train tickets for the following Monday and made inquiries about catching a short train trip to Seefeld in Tyrol. We walked around the old town and beside the raging river, eating a picnic lunch in a shady resting-place. After lunch we visited the folk museum where we saw folk costumes, furniture, furnishings and items of daily use dating back hundreds of years. In the evening we attended the city-square under the “Golden Roof” and listened to two exciting bands from the Netherlands that were there for a festival and competition. Some of the items were jazz, shades of New Orleans. We finished the night by attending a Tyrolean Evening of folk dancing and singing featuring yodelling, Alpine horns, zithers, cowbells and miner’s chimes. We bought a cassette of the performance to assist our happy memories.
A magical day commenced with a great train journey through superb scenery looking down on a picture book valley. We soon arrived in the pretty holiday town of Seefeld on Tyrol. We walked around the beautiful lake, rowed a boat and gazed in awe at the surrounding snow capped mountains. We had a gastronome’s lunch at the terraced Waldruh restaurant by the side of the lake in the glorious sunshine. Our fare included plaice fillets in white wine sauce, salad with chicken breast, beer, apple juice, glorious blueberry cake with cream and coffee. The friendly waiters spoilt us with first class service. Using our Berlitz European Phrase Book we thanked them in German and were laughingly praised for our accent. The repast cost $A20 for the two of us including the tip. A feature of the town was the flower decked hotels and other buildings; a colourful celebration of the beautiful surroundings. This indeed was a special day to be remembered.
On Friday August 23rd we embarked on a whole day bus tour with Yvonne our guide and Kurt our driver. First we rounded up fellow English, American and German travellers from hotels around the outskirts of Innsbruck. We were soon on our way to an exciting excursion through the Brenner Pass. The picturesque Eggen Valley led us beside Lake Karer with a wonderful view of the Latemar and Rosengarten Mountains. We travelled past steep sided farmlands of the Southern Tyrol and then into northern Italy with an hour stop at Sterzing. Maude bought a new leather purse and I a leather belt. Yvonne had managed to warn us so effectively about the Italians’ ability to pass off man made materials as genuine leather that it was quite amusing to see our bus load querying the sales girls about how genuine the articles were that we examined. We enjoyed a morning cup of coffee with American and German friends. Soon we continued through fortress-guarded slopes and vineyards. Yvonne told us that one vineyard was a famous convent for Carmelite nuns whose vows of silence take them to ten-year periods of no speaking. At the end of ten years they are allowed three words which very often are “I am leaving”. The convent boasts fine grapes comparing favourably with any grown on the neighbouring slopes. Their wines are not put on sale. What happens to them? Yvonne said the people of this region were originally Austrian till the end of the Second World War when the border was changed to make the area Italian. Italy moved numbers of people to Italianise the area. Many of the old people still show discontent about the changes with outbursts of dissension on occasion. For instance it was interesting to note that a road and a railway running parallel to each other had all the overhead lights on the railway rather than on the road. This was done to help combat the acts of sabotage conducted in the early years of the nationality change. We ascended to a height of seven thousand feet surrounded by snow capped mountain peaks; the most unusual being the indented and needle peaked Dolomites. We reached the furthest stop at a high vantage place allowing us to look all around at the highest peaks and a glacier shining blue. We wound round so many hairpin bends that we lost count. Numbers of rock face climbers were half way through their seemingly impossible seven to eight hour climbs. The slopes were dotted with ski lodges and fields with breathtaking high chair lifts and gondola cable cars. Farmers who work these sloped places have to wear spiked boots to prevent tumbling with consequent injuries. The villages we passed through were colouful and busy with vacationers, many sunbathing in the clear warm sunshine. One village we passed through had wooden statues and other woodcarvings on display in the streets. We had a rich and rewarding day of sight seeing. The people in Southern Tyrol wrest a hard living from the soil on extremely steep slopes too inclined to use farm machinery on. To bring in the two or three harvests of hay dependent on weather conditions each summer, three generations work side by side using scythes for cutting and lifting hay to stack in huts dotted around for winter protection. Children work alongside parents and grandparents – we saw this in many places on the tour. Children attend school from quarter to eight to twelve thirty or one o’clock, taking home up to two hours homework per day, including infant grades. Many schools operate six days a week – parents don’t like their children to spend idle hours around the tourist crowded villages. There has been a change to village life with the building of autobahns taking away the through traffic that was causing damage to the foundations of many ancient buildings. Highlighting the engineering difficulties we saw a helicopter lifting iron girders to build fifteen-foot high snow barriers.
After a busy week we spent a restful weekend. A very steep walk took us to a farm restaurant commanding a fine view of Innsbruck below. On the Sunday we took a tram ride to Hungerburgh and wandered round the prestigious streets by the river. We rested in the afternoon preparing for our next destination.
We were on a new picturesque train journey passing by farmlands, towns and villages gradually climbing into Switzerland with snow peaked mountains surrounding us. Our fellow passengers were two young American law graduates from South Carolina on a European tour before settling down to a working life and a young post graduate physics student from a university near Stuttgart Germany. They had travelled widely through Europe over the last two months with good impressions of all they had seen. The physicist had visited East Berlin and East Germany. He confirmed that a repressive regime still existed where free speech is discouraged and political criticism is dangerous. Germans had a talking, working and social relationship with allied occupation forces with the exception of the Russians who kept to their own areas of duty. There were schemes to introduce Russian language into occupied countries, but they only had a fraction of the success in the unforced use of English in the Western bloc. It was stimulating and interesting to have such conversation, which would not have occurred, in an Eastern bloc country.
On arrival at night we had a lot of difficulty obtaining accommodation using the telephone directory system at the station. All shops and kiosks were closed and any forms of advice or information services were unmanned, everything being automated. Automated ticket machines and services may be fine for regular users but difficult for visitors. Another problem was finding change to use telephones. At last we obtained a hotel room for which we paid more than we would have wished. Our room had an extra bed in it, so we were charged half way between a double and a triple occupancy; the first time this had happened in any of our travels. The cost was $A46 per night with breakfast. This and our San Francisco accommodation ($A54 without breakfast) were the most expensive and least satisfactory so far in our experience. We were not critical of the room as such but the standard of service for the amount paid. There was great emphasis that we must not touch the third bed or provided towel. The room was the noisiest we had been in, including the nocturnal wails of lovemaking emanating from some of the neighbouring rooms. It seemed to be the local custom for copulating couples to competitively and loudly proclaim their prowess. There was no plug for the basin or grid for the plughole. Luckily, being seasoned travellers, we carried our own plug. Lighting was inadequate with cheapskate bulbs, no soap was provided, only tepid water was available. Next morning , off we went for help to the tourist advice office that was now open. We were given excellent service in finding room for the rest of our week’s stay. The assistant had to make many phone calls to achieve results, handling our request with unflappable courtesy and efficiency. We were booked into “Le Beau Site” hotel for one night at La Place de Cirque and “Le Prince” at La Rue Voisins for the remaining five nights. The contrast in the new hotels was marked – cheaper – no extra charges for a third bed – good lighting – no noise problem – soap was provided – very hot water – common TV lounges – a positive ambience – breakfast included.
After booking train travel to Madrid and reserved tickets to Barcelona for next Monday we had a good lunch at a pavement restaurant and a good evening meal with purchases from local shops – fruit juice, rye bread, gorgonzola cheese, chicken and trimmings, pickled cucumbers and yogurt. This cost us far less than half the price for a restaurant meal. The following shopping encounter is to be acted with animation and waving of arms. The place is le delicatessen.
Maude: Bonjour monsieur, parlez vous anglais.
L’homme: Non , je ne parle pas.
Mal: Umm! (Points to roast chicken and makes sawing motions). Je voudrais le poulet roti s’il vous plait et les deux gherkins. (Points to gherkins and makes a V victory sign.)
L’homme: Non. Les cucumbres.
Mal: (Points to variety of items in jelly). Qu’est que c’est?
L’homme: (Sounds like). I speak.
Maude: Oh you do speak English! (Then makes a series of requests in English.)
L’homme: (Sounds like). Ai speak! Ai speak!
Mal: He means aspic. These items in jelly are aspic.
Maude: (Subdued voice). Oh!
Mal: Nous voudrions les fruits.
L’homme: (Puzzled). Je ne comprends pas.
Mal: Fruits.(With accompanying ‘Where can I find?’ gestures.)
L’homme: (Very nonplussed gesture).
Maude: (Very English accent). FRUIT!
L’homme: ,, ,, ,, . Mais oui FRUIT! (Then loquacious explanations with gestures.)
Mal: Oui les fruits.
When we arrived at Le Prince Hotel the next day the manager wanted to charge an extra ten francs per day because the room had a shower. We demurred saying the price had already been arranged at the tourist authority office. Eventually we met half way and paid 65F, that is $A38, not really bad for bed and breakfast. In the afternoon we explored the local area, eating our lunch of chicken, peas, potato and apple cake in a park. We ate a similar evening meal in our room.
Next day a long walk took us along Lac Leman, up to and past the towering fountain, then along a boulevard to the lovely gardens, “Parc des Eaux Vives”. Our lunch at the open-air restaurant was a plat du jour of chicken with potatoes au gratin, French salad, bread and beer. This was a delicious meal fuelling us for our long walk.
On Friday we visited the old town including le Petit Palais, the museum featuring four hundred works of Renoir, Tarkhoff and Picasso. The exhibits were interesting, stimulating, thought provoking and very much appreciated in this lovely gallery. In the nearby “Cathedrale St. Pierre” we saw Calvin’s chair. We roamed the streets window shopping at the most exclusive shops displaying fine furniture and furnishings, antiques and objets d’art – a rare experience. We indulged ourselves with a menu de jour meal, basically osso bucco de porc – a great meal avec vin rouge. In the afternoon, while Maude had a well-earned rest I visited a rare exhibition of the “Treasures of Islam” in the Musee Rath. “A major exhibition of Islamic art including Arts of the book, Metalwork, Ceramics, Textiles and Carpets, Arms and Armour, Architectural Ornament and Decorative Arts, Coins.” Also showing were some rare videos of Middle Eastern countries of Islam, their art and daily lives. Before rejoining Maude I watched games of chess and table tennis in the nearby park. People made good use of the open air in such perfect weather.
The last day of the week we caught a number 12 bus to Carouge to visit the open-air fruit and vegetable market in the square. It was great fun buying in supplies to last over the weekend – lettuce, cantaloupe, small tomatoes, cooked beet root, cheese, bananas, bread, fruit, juice and sausage. We walked the couple of miles home enjoying people watching and window-shopping. We called into a church fete and bought six tile coasters for three francs. Our visit caused quite a stir and we had fun chatting with the friendly people who were surprised that we would visit them all the way from Australia. Later in the evening we strolled in the park admiring statuary and the decorative park wall depicting historical events with biblical allusions. We watched games of chess played with giant pieces into the late evening. It had been a good day rounding off a very pleasant week.
Wednesday, September 4th. Four days passed since our last diary entries; much had happened in that time. We must have moved into the fast lane because there was no time or energy left at the end of each day to summarize events. On Monday we had boarded the train bound for Barcelona well stocked with food and joie de vivre. We were enjoying comfortable express travel through changing countryside and warming climate. Around six in the evening we were in Spain looking forward to arriving in Barcelona in approximately three hours. Along came Spanish aficionados checking tickets and passports. After confidently showing our documents we were told, “People from your country can not proceed without a visa.” What a shock! We had to exit from the train at the next station called Port Bou. We then had to wait with our luggage beside us, not knowing what our fate would be. After what seemed a long wait a policeman escorted us to a local train bound back towards France. On this train we proceeded some stations back to Briesee where the train stopped in the marshalling yards. We then had to clamber and climb with our luggage down to the tracks, then up through and down another train followed by a long walk to a station platform. Maude found all this very distressing even though the policeman carried her case for her; he was courteous throughout the ordeal. At this stage he left us to board another local train bound for Perpignon in France. Our fellow travellers were rough sons of the soil who however made way for us so that we would have seats. Late at night we arrived in Perpignon and I had to leave Maude sitting on our luggage at the station while I explored the surrounding streets for some where to sleep. After some tribulation I found a hotel room for the night. Tired and disorientated I understood the hotel to be seriously overcharging us, taking advantage of our plight. We were charged one hundred and fifteen francs which I divided by one point seven to equal $A67 which would be more than we had paid anywhere in our travels, let alone having to climb many flights of stairs and not even a shower in the room. I conveyed to the manager words to the effect that he was overcharging us. “You should come to Australia mate. You’d make a fortune fleecing people over there.” He seemed nonplussed and shrugged his shoulders. About ten minutes after going to bed Maude suddenly exclaimed, “Wait a minute! We’re in France! We’re paying in French francs, not Swiss francs. French francs are six to a dollar NOT 1.7. Our night’s stay with breakfast is only costing $A18.5”. What remorse I felt! To make it worse I could not find the manager to apologize to him in the morning. If I had he probably wouldn’t have understood me anyway. Soon we obtained a visa and enjoyed our brief stay in Perpignon. We met an Australian girl who had the same visa experience; only she had held up a bus load of German tourists for two hours while obtaining her visa – they were not happy. The consulate told us that many Australians had met the same trouble with the lack of proper information back home.
Tuesday in Barcelona was welcome after a very slow train stopping at many stations eventually arrived. One stop at Caldes De Malavella took a couple of hours with no explanation for the long delay. This reminded me of the story my father used to tell about his time in Spain early this century. His question on one occasion was, “When does the next train leave?” The reply was, “Perhaps today. Perhaps manana.” We soon found a room with breakfast and shower in a central position for $A13 a night. The friendly lady in charge provided dinner for us the first two nights – chicken soup, eggs, croquettes with peas and tomato sauce, steak and chips, melon - $A3.50 each. A bottle of good red wine cost $A2 on the table. On the Wednesday we walked extensively round the city finding our bearings. The city of four million people had a character all its own. We walked the Rambla and streets nearby looking at a multitude of shops, bars and restaurants. We rested in Place Reial at siesta time; everything closed from two till four in the afternoon. People-watching was fascinating, from tourists to easy moving locals; a variety meeting in this port from the seas of the world. In the afternoon we walked a long way and then caught the funicular railway to Parc De Montjuic overlooking the city. The view was impressive with old and new buildings, including impressive towers and cathedrals. The park itself was dry and dusty; we must have missed the attractive parts. We took a long walk down past the docks near the Columbus Column. Very tired and very near home we trudged along, I was walking ahead and Maude was following behind. Suddenly I heard screams and turned to see Maude being attacked. I ran towards the assailant who by now had wrested her handbag from her, breaking the strap in the process. The bag dropped to the ground with both of them diving for it. By then I was up to and facing a tall black man with arms and legs spread, dodging from side to side with the bag held aloft. Then he made his break and in turning with him to give chase I slipped over. This gave him a good start but a surge of adrenaline drove me in hot pursuit shouting “Thief, robber, police,” over and over again. People ahead in the narrow streets knew what was going on, but no one attempted to intercept him. By now two police had appeared up ahead and I slowed down, strangely enough without a stitch, but breathing very heavily and laboriously indeed. I panted on my way pointing and saying “Police, police?” at each corner as I followed through twisting narrow lanes. Soon I caught up with some police who were not in pursuit. “This is it! He’s got away with it.” I thought. However the police led me into a courtyard where a man spoke to them guardedly, indicating some stone steps that we ascended to arrive in the entrance of a tenement house. Two police had the thief bailed up applying handcuffs; Maude’s bag and its contents were strewn over the floor. By now there were more police and onlookers crowded around. I scooped everything together and we went down into the courtyard where police had three other prisoners handcuffed and lined up against a wall. Maude now arrived dangling the broken strap. The prisoners were loaded into a police van and driven off. We were beckoned to walk to the police station with two policemen. The criminals got transport; the victims had to walk. As we walked, the police kept congratulating us and patting me on the back saying “Toro, Toro” because I had bellowed like a bull when giving chase. The scene at the police station was as one would see in films or read about in a book. A number of police were interrogating the gang and asking us to check our belongings at the same time. We were given chairs and advised to “Tranquillo, tranquillo” by a solicitous policeman who also brought us a small bottle of beer each to quench our thirst. Every now and then the police brought money and items including a knife to show us from the interrogation room. There was a large haul indeed, with somebody’s travellers’ cheques included. The only items we didn’t recover were one large dry sausage, a Qantas card, Maude’s cutlery knife and Maude’s Visa card. The loss of the latter was to be a problem from then on. We surmised that the thief had passed it to an accomplice during the chase. The police took all our goods away and typed a report. After bringing us to an office and unsuccessfully trying to get the information they wanted from us because of language difficulties they told us there would be a wait for an interpreter. Later, when she arrived, it was established what our names and addresses were, what Maude’s mother’s name was and similar important details. Maude had to sign a statement and was given a copy to use for claiming insurance on the bag. Three or so hours had passed and it looked as if we might soon be on our way. We were then informed we would have to await the arrival of a lawyer. After about four hours we were called into a room where Maude was asked to identify the criminal from a line up. He was there, sure enough, a tall twenties’ year old black Morrocan. After a further wait we were free to go home to a wash and a good meal which our hostess kindly prepared for us. Maude’s arms were bruised and scratched and she suffered general discomfort but thanks to all our walking we were quite fit and suffered no serious physical consequences. The young fellow had picked the wrong mark with Maude’s stubborn resistance to being robbed and my ability to give chase hollering with a very loud voice.
There was only one letter from home when we visited the American Express office. Letters took longer to reach here than our previous pick up addresses. A girl at Amex was very helpful putting us through on the phone to the Visa Express office where we gave further details about our card loss and made an appointment to visit the office for further action on Monday. After much walking we had a siesta in the afternoon and explored the surrounding streets at night.
A pleasant Sunday stroll took us to Plaza Mayor, a large 17th century square built by Phllip 111. The cobblestones have seen bullfights, tournaments and severe punishments by the Spanish Inquisition. There was a big stamp and coin market on this day, a major event with big crowds. We have had excellent meals at tapas, the hotel and a Chinese restaurant. We visited a big department store and roamed the streets. A disquieting feature of the street scene was the presence of so many police with machine guns crooked in their arms. There was evidence of a deal of crime; we saw plate glass windows of four big stores that had been smashed in for robberies in just one walk. It was not possible to just walk into a bank or other prestigious building; first one had to stand and be recognized before an electric lock allowed entry. Closed circuit TV was used extensively for security. Another unsettling sight for our eyes was the number of beggars on the streets; it was very sad to see crippled and maimed and blind and deserted mothers (and fathers) with young children. We indeed come from a lucky country. Will things get worse for us some time in the future? One has to be alert at all times. The following was the type of situation encountered with one young man and teenage lad:
“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Where are you from?”
“We’re from Australia.”
“Shake hands, I’m a traveller too. I’m from Saudi Arabia. Do you know where American Express is? I have to change some money.”
We made some attempt to show him on a map we were carrying.
“Do you have some Australian money? I would like to see some.”
“No! No money!”
“Do you have some Spanish money. I only have American dollars.” (Shows some.)
“No! No money!” So saying, we walked off.
Imagine the probable scene if I had produced my wallet. There would have been a quick grab and then a throw to the young lad, who would be already running. All would have been lost or did I have a sensitive imagination?
We visited Visa Espana and were assured we would have new Visa cards within a few days. Then at the Qantas office we were told there would be a new card for us at the Paris office. After a good tapa lunch we travelled on the Metro and visited the Turismo office where we were given a lot of help with pamphlets and information. We booked two tours at the Melia Tours office, a full day to Toledo and a half-day to the Valley of the Fallen. A visit to the American Express office delivered us more letters from home. We walked extensively in the streets and visited many squares. The streets were interesting and full of colourful people. The heat was oppressive so we adopted the siesta habit quickly. We ate a great variety of tapa meals with gusto. Tapas are snack food restaurants where we pointed at foods we wanted and were most often pleased.
Visa customer service gave us concern with bureaucratic delays and misunderstandings between Visa Espana, Visa London, and Visa Australia in Melbourne. We rang Kathie Mackigan at Ashburton bank to attempt to untangle our plight but were less than confident that we were getting satisfactory service. At El Corte Ingles, a big department store, we looked at a Korean, Chinese and oriental exhibition. In the afternoon I visited the Prado, thought by many to be the world’s greatest art museum. The galleries included works by El Greco, Goya, Velasquez, Titian, Tintoretto, Rubens, van Dyck, Murillo and Ribera among others. It was a humbling experience to view such masterpieces in one afternoon. I also visited a Picasso exhibition featuring his famous Guernica enclosed and protected in huge glass cage. Viewing such masterpieces makes one think One is led to speculate that the Guernica expresses much of what is essentially Spain. The presentation contrasts its impact with the traditions of previous centuries and incorporates the fascination Spaniards have with the bull-ring and the torment when participants are mutilated and killed with screams from uplifted faces. It is surely a commentary on the pain that Spain went through in the civil war and conflicts still to be settled.
The bus ride to Toledo took us through dry country supporting only sparse vegetable gardens and scattered olive trees. High rise tenement buildings just out of Madrid looked to be uninspiring housing for great numbers of people, dry, dusty and unattractive. These housed the workers for the industrial outskirts of the city. Toledo lived up to our expectations of a place worth seeing, a museum city on a hill with the river Tagus that flows on its way to Lisbon. It is considered to be one of the oldest cities of Europe. Our first visit, to the cathedral, yielded to us great treasures of statues, paintings, carvings, stained glass windows and church treasures of gold and silver – a truly remarkable place. The painting “The Burial of Augustus” in the smaller church of Juan de Los Reyes is considered to be one of the great paintings of the world along with “The Night Watch” by Rembrandt in the Rijkmuseum, Amsterdam and another in the Prado. We walked through the cobble-stoned streets of the city that has retained its ancient character from before the time of the Moors and Visigoths and the deportation of a large Jewish population. This was all represented in the architecture of the buildings we saw. Here was a collection of history, typical of Europe, lived into the present. One building we were in was first a synagogue, then with the expulsion of the Jews it became the Christian church Santa Maria la Blanca; during Napoleon’s ascendancy it was used as a storehouse and in modern day as a museum. Another example was the Museum of Tavera, originally a hospital, then inhabited as a private home and now as a privately owned museum. A startling sight was a number of chains hanging on the wall of the monastery since 1492, the time when the Moors were finally defeated at Granada. These were the chains imprisoning Spanish prisoners released at that time. On our return to Madrid we tried to return a call to Visa London without success; more frustration.
One week had passed since the theft of the visa card without any indication of early replacement. I was not able to use mine because it was linked to the missing one. We were now given the number of a specific person to ring in Melbourne. This we had to do at midnight Spanish time. We had a restful day eating lunch in our room from purchases we made at the big department store close by – El Corte Ingles. We also purchased a body purse for Maude to secure her passport, air tickets and travellers’ cheques.
A coach tour took us to the Escorial (palace) – Valle de Los Caidos and the Kings’ Pantheon (building in which illustrious dead are buried or have memorials). The informative guide told us the monastery we were visiting contained a Basilica and a Royal Palace. We were shown the tombs of Spanish kings and queens, dating right back in time, in magnificent jasper, marble and bronze. There were tapestries as copies of famous works of art that were works of art in themselves and paintings in profusion in the many palace rooms. Then we proceeded to The Valley of The Fallen – a memorial to the fallen of the Spanish War 1934 to 1939. This is a huge basilica carved into the rock featuring a huge underground dome depicting Judgement Day. The basilica is directly under a giant cross that soars to a great height of one hundred metres on the rocks outside and above, dominating the surrounding country area. Franco’s burial place is in this memorial. This was an interesting though tiring excursion.
The Rastro was the biggest Sunday market we had yet seen with arts and crafts, antiques and everyday household goods spread out on show over what seemed like miles of streets. Vegetables and fruit were on sale in abundance to the milling crowds. The day was a unique and entertaining experience.
We both went to the Prado museum for my second visit and another look at Picasso’s Guernica and finished the day with a night stroll observing the ladies of the night patrolling their beat. Outside our hotel a group of Spanish musicians performed and sang to a large appreciative audience in the mall. After this we ate a tasty paella meal in our room.
We had days of waiting now, not able to move on until receiving the replacement of our Visa cards. Luckily the weather was ideal, not too hot and not too cold. We walked the streets taking in the sights and sounds. Street singers sang to the Flamenco rhythm and an oriental sound passed on from the Moors and the gypsies. Dozens of cards and messages were pressed into our hands bidding one to buy this, taste that, visit here and there and so on. Consequently the streets were littered as if there had been a ticker tape parade. No matter, this provided work for printers and street cleaners. Motorists were impatient and it was advisable for mere pedestrians to be ever on guard, the best motto to follow was to trust no motorist. Pedestrians crowded the main streets and some young men were aggressive. Maude received quite a few shoulder bumps. We still kept seeing beggars, some of them familiar sights by now. Street vendors were selling all the time – fans, cigarettes, swimming dolls, long bouncing balloons and cords for spectacles. Survival and living were an unceasing struggle for many.
We travelled by underground Metro to Atocha railway station where we would be catching a train to Lisbon after receipt of our Visa cards; this would be a nine-hour journey. From Atocha we walked to a street book market where we bought some novels and from there into the botanic gardens having to pay fifty pesetas each for admittance. The gardens were laid out with crisscrossing paths with plazas and fountains at the intersections. Closely cut low hedges in geometric patterns dominated the landscaping with an assortment of trees and shrubs to provide shade. After a while we walked the long way back home along Paseo Del Prado, Calle De Alcala and Carrera De San Jeronimo. At home we spent a lot of time reading our new books.
On a sunny Sunday we took a cut lunch to Parque Del Retiro where we had a good look at Spanish families enjoying their Sunday recreation in the park. Bands played; clowns, jugglers and musicians performed along the paths. Children were paraded; girls in their long dresses and boys in their long short pants past the knees. All were in smart boots. Like children everywhere they were charming and lively. People rowed hired boats on the lovely Retiro Lake. Watching the passing parade was an excellent way to spend the middle hours of the day giving us a good insight to a sample of local family life. After a long walk home we spent the rest of the afternoon resting. At five thirty in the evening we arrived at Venta station after riding on the subway from Puerta Del Sol. We joined the throng entering the Plaza de Toros Monumental, hired our two cushions at 25 pesetas each and settled down in our good position where TV cameras were set up. The stadium filled with an expectant crowd. A large Japanese group settled in behind us and we discovered we were sitting next to a Spanish-speaking couple of Americans from New Jersey. They told us that they had a bad experience in Seville. When they stopped their car at a red light a motor bike with two men on board stopped beside them. They smashed a rock through the window of the car, and made off with a bag containing all their valuables – credit cards, travellers’ cheques, passports and over two thousand dollars in U.S. currency. In was a cruel blow marring their visit to a country they loved; their misfortune was greater than ours had been. Reports of crime were so rife that surely people will think twice about visiting this wonderful country.
At six o’clock trumpets sounded a fanfare and a procession of matadors, toreadors, picadors and other colourful aficionados entered the ring and paraded around it in majesty of dress and tradition. An announcement over the loudspeakers interrupted the proceedings and the crowd stood in silence with bowed heads. “Viva Mexico” was spoken by all; they were standing in silent sympathy for the people of Mexico where there had just been a terrible earthquake. Soon the first bull pounded into the ring, snorting and pawing the sand while eyeing off the assistant matadors whose job it was to warm the bull up for the confrontation ahead. They soon provoked him into attacking one of the shielded horses whose rider pierced his neck with a long spear. This was repeated until the “President”(referee) in his special box signalled with his handkerchief and a fanfare of trumpets that the real fight will now begin. The bull was then subjected to short spears being thrust into the back of its neck and left hanging there. All this had special meaning and was not just a matter of baiting the bull but cutting some of the muscles that cause it to lower its head when the matador is ready to deliver the coup de grace. The matador strode into the ring resplendent in his shining uniform proudly waving to the crowd and bowing to the “President” who gave him permission to proceed. With his red cape he displayed skill and grace with traditional passes “oleyed” by the crowd. After a creditable performance he delivered the final sword thrust over the top of the bull’s lowered head – a thrust to the hilt that pierced the bull’s heart, soon bringing it to its knees to die quickly. The crowd was displeased with the referee’s decision not to award an ear to the matador; all waved white handkerchiefs and shouted their displeasure at the same time clapping the matador. Three matadors performed, using six bulls, The fights varied. One bull was a Ferdinand and would not do what was required (weak bull). Half a dozen steers with clanging bells attached were brought on to the arena to help entice him out of the ring –an intriguing sight. We saw great skill mixed with fairly unspectacular performance from the three matadors. One was tossed into the air and then trampled by his bull; only the skill of the assistants saved his life. He immediately went back into the fight and soon disposed of the bull. One man performed with great showmanship and authority, passing the bull with slow graceful movements, his cape a hairs breath from his body, then disdainfully turning his back on the puzzled animal probably saying to itself “Why are you doing this to me?” When he finally delivered his coup de grace the crowd rose in spirited acclamation anxiously watching to see how the president would reward him. To their great satisfaction he signified that the maestro was worthy of being awarded the two ears of the bull – a great honour and such a thing that makes a matador a crowd idol and hero. The whole show was fast moving with symbolic traditional meaning demonstrating respect for man’s skill and bravery in facing an awesome foe with courage and spirit.
A couple of days later we were returning from shopping with food to eat in our room when we encountered a lot of police activity in the street near our hotel. A thief was arrested trying to steal goods from the back of a delivery van only metres away from the hotel entrance. We talked to a fellow Spanish guest who told us that someone had tied to steal his wife’s purse at the next corner down the street. Does everyone become a crime victim at some time?
Another day still with no way of knowing when our Visa cards would arrive. Meanwhile our stay was interesting and pleasant. We visited the Palacio Real (Royal Palace) and were escorted in a group by an English speaking guide to be shown magnificent rooms displaying past glories; the armoury “Real Armeria” featured statues of armoured horses and knights in shining medieval armour. Such sights are reminders of past eras of high achievement. Today we received more welcome letters from home.
GOOD NEWS! Our replacement Visa cards arrived at the American Express office by registered mail. We quickly purchased our tickets to travel on to Lisbon and booked into a hotel. We spent the rest of the morning conversing with Pam, a theatre sister from Perth, here with her husband attending an international seminar on diabetes. They had just travelled extensively by car through Spain and Portugal. She gave us a copy of the book “A Fortunate Life” by A. B. Facey. I was glad to receive this book as I had seen a theatrical production of the story. The manager of the hotel expressed his delight that our troubles were over after a wait of three weeks. We thanked him for the good hospitality and friendship we had experienced in his domain. The registered letter had taken ten days to come from Melbourne compared with four to five days for mail in other European countries. There were many congratulations and embraces from staff and fellow guests. Pam shared the pleasure of our good news and insisted we must book in to the four star Grande Hotel, Monte Estoril, a beach resort six or seven miles out of Lisbon. Pam and her husband John insisted on shouting us a light lunch and drinks in celebration, over which we had a good long discussion exchanging stories of our experiences. We were able to give them good information about obtaining good seats for the bull fights and a good map of Madrid plus the book “Mothers and Daughters”, a one time best seller.
After friendly partings with our daily waiter and the room service maid we caught the Expreso Ter bound for Lisbon. The train was two carriages with a snack buffet and was crowded with little knee room. We were in a smoking section near a door that kept banging as people kept going to and from the buffet. At each station stop more people kept boarding without nearly enough room for luggage; they had to wrangle with the conductor and other passengers for places to sit. We were frightened many times by severe lurching and violent shaking of the carriage. This was very unnerving as two Portuguese trains had crashed head on with multiple deaths and injuries a few days ago. Our window was smogged over for many hours and we couldn’t see, but what we could see through other windows was dry and desolate country, like our semi desert grasslands in Australia. At the last station in Spain officials took an interminable time checking passports and random pieces of luggage. You can guess who had to get our heaviest piece of luggage down from the rack in very cramped conditions and open it for inspection. After the long hot dry stay at the station with officials and police and passengers and luggage in a tangle of business we moved on. In Portugal we had to go through the whole passport and luggage business again with new officials, but at least this time the train was moving towards our destination. One has to experience such a train journey to understand what it was really like. At last we could see through our window and the scenery became more interesting; farm workers waved as we passed crops of corn, melons, potatoes and tomatoes on irrigated plots of land. We saw groves of trees from which cork is harvested. Small towns and villages began to show more character and we were surprised to see long stretches of Australian eucalyptus trees that touched a nostalgic chord with us.
Eventually we arrived in Lisbon at nightfall and boarded a taxi with some misgivings that the driver didn’t understand where we wanted to go. He seemed to think that the name of the hotel was the name of a street, but eventually realized that we wanted to go to Estoril. We began to have more misgivings as we travelled miles and miles with the feeling that our destination was much further than we had understood. As we passed through a dark and questionable looking neighbourhood the engine died and we coasted into a turn off. Wild thoughts raced through my mind. Were we being set up for a robbery? Was the stop genuine? A multitude of frightening thoughts swept through our minds; because of our experience in Barcelona we were still nervous people. While the driver took some tools and raised the bonnet we were on the qui vive trouble, watching for marauding bikies or thugs on foot. We were not gladdened by the sight of some youths sitting on a culvert fence a short distance away. All of a sudden the youths stood and ran towards the taxi joined by another one – a tall black man. Well you know what that did to us. We made sure our possessions were at our feet and the doors and windows were locked – simultaneously I let out a stentorian bellow “DRIVER! LOOK OUT! LOOK OUT! By this time the impetus of the three had brought them up to the driver who only now had reacted and faced them. They spoke to him with grins on their faces and he angrily faced them holding a large spanner aloft telling them to move on, which they did for now they realized the driver was not alone and at their mercy. For all they knew there were two more men in the back seat, one of them with a very loud voice. They wouldn’t have been able to see us clearly. We thanked our lucky stars that there were not more of them, as it was highly likely that they would have pressed their attack Eventually we were on our way again and reached Estoril. I asked the driver to stop and check the address we had written down. He didn’t know the area and started asking for directions from passers by. Soon we arrived at what looked like a very modest establishment. “Is this what we came all this way to land up at!?” I exclaimed. However we settled the bill – another difficulty because the meter had stopped when the engine had failed. However he was very honest and charged what we had anticipated. Inside the hotel at last we were quite impressed; it was a first class hotel with big lounges, solarium, swimming pool and restaurant and spacious accommodation. We were quickly made welcome and settled in. Our arrival coincided with a special Festa night with dinner, soup, smorgasbord and a sweet. The entertainment included a good dance band and singer and a very entertaining folk dancing and folk lorico group. The total price each for entertainment and dinner was seven hundred escudos (less than $A7). This finished our day on a happy note, we felt that at last we had fallen on our feet. What a contrast with what had befallen us earlier. Most of the guests were English and French people living it up on holiday.
Next day we had rack of lamb for lunch with an assortment of vegetables. In the afternoon we enjoyed a swim in the hotel pool. At night we stayed up late discussing a whole range of topics with a group of English guests who had travelled widely in Europe. Topics ranged through the special attributes of the countries visited. Portugal and Yugoslavia rated very highly as holiday destinations. We discussed food, the common market, the degrees of popularity of the English in each country, living conditions in England and many other topics.
Sunday morning was quiet for us, I swam while Maude had a rest. We did a little reading and planning for future travel, with the intention of travelling to Paris on the following Thursday. Our three-course lunch included prawn omelet for Maude and swordfish for me. In the afternoon we went to Estoril casino for sandwiches cakes and tea and dancing. We then enjoyed the matinee cabaret show with modern ballet, a good magician and a Portuguese singer. The afternoon with every thing included cost us $A7.50 each.
A handy suburban train took us into Lisbon where we had to wait for two hours in a queue to buy reserved tickets for Paris. Two English-speaking people in the queue had travel documents and money stolen from their pockets. They said they would not report the crime to the police; “What’s the good?” they shrugged. The morning left us tired and dispirited; we had no heart or energy to explore the city. In our present mood it looked squalid and forbidding anyway. Next day was more heartening. We walked to the Cascai beach and strolled along the promenade; with all the English people there it very much had the character of a British resort. A little further away we visited the local market, a crowded and busy place with plenty of local colour. There was excitement in the air with electioneering going on for an election to be held in the following week. The fish section of the market was astonishing in the variety and quantity of wares displayed. We had a colourful and interesting morning among friendly people but were glad to return to the hotel because we were unwell and lacked energy.
The day after a day in bed feeling sick we caught the train at three in the afternoon bound for Paris. This train took us through increasingly interesting country. The evening meal in the diner was good value, soup fish and baked custard that we managed to eat. We slept well in our couchette, which was a relief considering our state of health. We were very thankful to be travelling in such an excellent train. An interesting travelling companion was a German of our vintage who had been a soldier in the 39’-45’ war stationed in Norway. He was taken prisoner of war by the Russians and after the war, as a Prussian, was lucky to get away from the Russian zone of occupation. He became a translator working for the British occupation forces and then with great difficulty emigrated to the U.S. He went through a great deal of privation, first working as a machine process worker and then as a lathe operator in factories. He said the American factory system makes people work like slaves. He was totally disenchanted with his life in the States and became bitter and very critical of exploitative Americans. He returned and struggled to make a new life in Germany and became a technical/mechanical translator for a German firm for three years in Brazil, which he enjoyed. Again he was very critical of American influence in South America and claimed rapacious exploitation of South Americans reduced to poverty because of American influence. He voiced contempt and hate for Jews whom he claimed were part of the American problem. It was interesting to hear this man, who had travelled extensively experiencing struggle and suffering, express entirely opposite views and impressions to which we are accustomed. How many of his prejudices and opinions were a result of early indoctrination in pre-war and wartime Germany and how many were a result of his own experiences and observations since? How much were his views and opinions modified during his life? To us he came across as a person with very strong prejudices with a black and white outlook on life with no shades of grey in between, at the same time being an experienced and intelligent citizen of the world speaking German, Norwegian, French, Spanish, Portuguese and English. How wrong (and right) was he in his views and perceptions of the world and how right (and wrong) are we in ours. To us he was kind and friendly and outgoing, sharing his food and drink and views on life.
Although uneasily ill during our train journey we went through without giving in; the excitement of arrival at Gare Austerlitz buoyed us up. We soon booked in at Hotel Liege that a traveller had recommended to us. We were given a first floor room above noisy traffic that didn’t annoy us so much as the smell of urine from other parts of the building. A street brawl developed below our window at three in the morning; so close that we almost felt we were participants. Chairs and tables were thrown about violently and men were being injured; soon paddy wagons arrived and the police broke up the violent melee and arrested a big number of the fighters. In the morning we enquired whether we might have another room away from the noise and excitement. Oh yes! Dearer and smaller! We then walked a few blocks away and booked a beautiful big room four floors up with special double glazed windows to keep out noise. “How is it that this one star hotel offers a bigger better room with a better breakfast than the two star hotel up the street where we stayed last night?” I asked the pleasant English- speaking receptionist. “Well, this is really a two star hotel” she said, “I’m the second star.” Wonderful, wonderful Paris! We walked the Champs Elysees to L’Arc de Triomphe with a wonderful feeling of déjà vu. Upon our return we bought up a supply of food at a supermarket for the weekend. Our bedroom faced the façade of the Gare du Nord; statues along the top represented destinations that can be reached by boarding a train from here. Drama unfolded before our eyes daily looking down from our windows with a passing parade of unpredictable people. We saw zoot suits, caftans, jeans, high fashion, transvestites, tourists, everyday Parisians, likely looking lads looking for trouble or girls, diners at sidewalk cafes, beggars and assorted weirdos. As trains disgorged new hundreds of passengers at short intervals more dramas unfolded as crowds queued for taxis with the oddest assortment of luggage. Of course there were those who attempted to jump the queues creating disorder until sometimes the gendarmes had to arrive and amazingly restore order. At night as darkness descended derelicts and down and outs arrived with large cardboard cartons which they placed along the sidewalks and in doorways for their night's sleep. One typical drama unfolded when a woman and a man (unwittingly?) usurped the position that a wino obviously regarded as his domain and his right. Argument followed, then conciliation, then placation with the three finally bedding down together sharing a bottle of wine and cigarettes. Some of the cartons enfolded the occupants like coffins; an eerie sight to behold. Maude became quite a people watcher and kept me informed of the ambulances, police cars, fire engines and mysterious prowling vehicles that seemed to haunt the area at night. One night the bomb squad arrived and emptied the café below of its patrons. Oh! The drama of it all!
Believing Sunday to be ideal for seeing Parisians at leisure we caught the Metro to Gare Louvre and strolled along the Left Bank, again with that wonderful feeling of déjà vu. We loved the bookstalls, the artists and the passing parade, the beautiful avenues and the picturesque buildings in lovely Paris in perfect late summer weather. We met an elderly much travelled Sydney man who extolled the pleasures of travelling round Europe by car. He told us that he had been mugged and beaten upon the London Underground by four young men. They stole two thousand pounds, Visa card, Travellers’ Cheques and other valuables. We felt that they must have been tipped off that he would be a worthwhile mark. We found a Lebanese restaurant in a side street and had an excellent meal. Afterwards we sat on a seat by the Seine and just enjoyed being there. As I sat writing this Maude was people watching from the windows in our room; she remarked that great numbers of people passing by were black, presumably Moroccans and Algerians.
We walked around the prestigious area of the Tuileries and had a good economical lunch in an outdoor café. We walked along the Champs Elysee to a tourist bureau for information on accommodation in the country. We also visited a Thai bureau and collected more information. In all we had a good day. Next day we attended to mail and visited a bank to obtain more Travellers’ cheque. We bought three days’ food at a local market that was fun to visit. The shop keepers thought we were a great novelty as we tried to make ourselves understood. We ranged free and far round the streets and had a Chinese chicken curry lunch on the way. It was an enjoyable day but we realized that we better start wearing coats or pullovers.
A bus took us from the Gare du Nord to the Louvre. Bus and Metro transport was easy to understand, handy and efficient. Although we took a Michelin guide we decided to relax and roam freely. After all there are seven miles of galleries and one would need to take many visits to give full justice to all the exhibits. At least we saw the following – Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, the Winged Victory of Samythrace, Crown Jewels in the Galerie d’Appolon, Van Dyck masterpieces, Assyrian and Egyptian exhibits, Roman and Greek statues and much more. We paused for lunch at the cafeteria for a good value meal. After lunch we saw some paintings from each of many schools – French, Italian, Spanish, Dutch and Flemish. We returned home tired but very well pleased with our outing.
The Metro took us to the Eiffel Tower via Place de Trocadero. On the forecourt of Palais de Chaillot we had a grand view of fountains and the tower across the Seine. Here we bought a plastic “oiseau qui vole tout seul’ for thirty francs. Walking across to the tower we viewed a film on he history of the construction that was interesting and entertaining; then ascending to the top we were enchanted with the glorious views of Paris. After lunch we walked a long way back along the Seine and then to American Express where we were delighted to receive lots of letters from home. It was an exhausting but happy day.
The bus from Gare Austerlitz delivered us to the Jardin des Plantes (Botanic Gardens) where we admired pleasant gardens of dahlias and roses and then through a cedar winter garden skirting a zoo. We then walked along garden banks of the Seine to and through an impressive array of outdoor sculptures –the Tino Rossi selection. These displays were beautiful in their setting; some of them being quite explicit sexually. There was much to admire about the surrounding terraces and gardens, the barges and boats on the river and people exercising and jogging along the banks. The walk took us eventually to the Left Bank for a Vietnamese lunch. We walked a good distance further through boulevards in from the Left Bank. Our bus journey home was a sightseeing tour in itself. This had been a really good day with the city freely yielding its surprises for us to admire.
We caught a train to Invalides Metro Station to then walk along the Esplanade, le Cour d’Honneur, l’Eglise St.Louiseand and around l’Eglise du Dome where Napoleon’s Tomb and the Army Museum are to be found. A long walk took us to the Eiffel Tower where thousands of people were gathered in festive mood for a twenty- kilometre fun run. After mingling with the crowd for some time we took the Metro home from Trocadero to finish another day of happy wandering.
There was joy in taking long walks through the streets observing la vie Parisienne. Such a walk was from Gare du Nord along Boulevard de Magenta to Place de la Republique and then back along Boulevard St. Martin to Porte St. Martin and Boulevard de Strasbourg. More walking took us to a supermarket for more supplies and to Amex. From there we walked home via Boulevard Haussman, Blvd. Montmartre, Blvd. Poissoniere and Rue de Faubourg St. Denis.
To make a change from so much walking we took a train to Pont de Sevres and then a bus 171 to Versailles; an interesting trip through suburbs. A charming lady took a large party of English people and us through the palace – the kings’ and queens’ apartments, the antechambers, the royal opera theatre, the hall of mirrors and more. After lunch in the cafeteria we strolled around the beautiful gardens and the imposing parklands. In the late afternoon we arrived home weary but well pleased with the grand visit.
We had a busy day applying for Thai visas in case we wanted to extend our stay there. We checked with Malaysia Airlines for Mandy and Raymond’s E.T.A. on Friday. We had a chicken lunch watching people working out on weight training machines in a gym in front of us, also an aerobics class and some one having indoor golf lessons. We picked up more welcome mail from home and did some housekeeping chores including our daily washing of underclothes, shirt and socks. This was an easy task with the drip- dry clothes that we hung up over night, always to be ready for us in the morning. There was never a dull moment, we were always busy with something.
Today we walked through the streets of the 19th. Arrondisement to the Parc des Buttes Charmont where we strolled round the lake past lofty rocks and trees spending a relaxed and pleasant day in a quiet suburb.
In eager anticipation we took a 6.30 a.m. train from Gare du Nord to Aeroport Charles de Gaulle. We waited from 7.20. until 8.00. When Mandy and Raymond did not appear, we made inquiries to find the plane had arrived at 6.55. From this we concluded that we must have missed them by a few minutes. This was puzzling as we thought that surely they would have waited to see if we would turn up. We returned home deciding to stay put until they rang us after getting our address at Amex. I carved more chess pieces from some wood I’d found on our walks. A Swiss knife is a great companion in such circumstances. We rang Malaysian Airlines who would not give us any specific information beyond saying they could have missed a connection at Dubai. We then went to Amex to find they had not picked up our letter. We returned to the hotel surmising that we would miss seeing them. While we were beginning to prepare our tea the phone rang and we were delighted to hear they were downstairs in the lobby. Their plane had in fact missed its connection with the K.L flight at Dubai; so they had been put on a plane to London, shouted a rest at the Hilton and then been put on a plane to Paris. They had almost had to break their way into Amex to get their letter as they arrived there fifteen minutes after it had closed. Raymond was very insistent and finally persuaded them to let him have the letter with our address. We all had dinner together and caught up on a lot of news. They had a lot of useful information that would help us in China. It was at last a happy ending to a long frustrating day.
Next morning we all had breakfast together, then we walked a long way to buy tickets for their departure the next Monday. We purchased tickets to go as far as Tours with them for a one-day excursion. We then walked to the Pompidou Centre that was closed owing to a one-day strike, but there was plenty of street theatre – fire-eaters, mime artists, singers, musicians, dancers and others. We walked back home through the Red Light district of Rue St. Denis, a very educational experience, and then through a market and market stall streets to our hotel. We all had a picnic tea together in our room with plenty to talk about exchanging experiences.
We set out after breakfast to Trocadero near the Eiffel Tower area and then to Musee d’Art Moderne where we spent some time enjoying the exhibits. On a long walk through many interesting streets we called in for a Tunisian meal at a colourful restaurant. Kit and Dylan travelled back to the hotel with us while Ray and Mandy visited the Louvre. In the evening the six of us had a unique experience for travellers in Paris. We were the guests of a friend of Mandy’s from her schooldays in Ipoh, Goh Wan Hua (WonWah) and her French husband Georges Charpouthier. They and their four angelic children welcomed us warmly to their double flat apartment. After some talk the children went to bed without fuss and we sat down to a gourmet French home cooked meal.
Aperitif. Pernod or other choice.
Entrée. Mussels. (Like none we’d ever tasted).
Wine. White.
Main. Pork and petits pois with tiny carrots and rice.
Wine. Rose.
Salad.
Cheese Platter. Three beautiful selections.
Wine. Red.
Dessert. Banana Cake.
Wine. Champagne.
Black Coffee.
The dinner lasted until late in the night with much reminiscing from Wan Hua and Mandy. They were excellent hosts who kept the conversation varied and inclusive of all present. We were charmed by their generous, warm and caring hospitality. We arrived home at midnight after a lovely eventful occasion.
Getting up at six thirty we caught an early train to spend our last day with Mandy, Raymond and the boys at Tours. Raymond soon bought their tickets to Portugal and found a hotel for them to stay the night before departing. We took a walking tour of the city together and ate lunch at a popular caféteria. Late afternoon Maude and I returned home happy but exhausted at such a wonderful reunion and exchange of information and news.
Taking it easy we visited the Thai Embassy to pick up our visas. Then we took a long walk window shopping through streets of fashion, high quality markets and antique shops giving us another unique taste of this wonderful city. We picked up some mail from Burgundy with lots of information and a friendly letter offering us a cottage with two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen and laundry. The charge quoted was $A127 per week. We hoped to have it for a month so we kept our fingers crossed till the booking was confirmed. We visited le Printemps, a large department store where we had a spaghetti lunch. Maude had a fun time buying some warm winter underwear; it was quite an amusing session with us trying to explain our needs to shop assistants without having the proper words in each others’ languages.
Next day we rang Burgundy with the help of our friendly hotel receptionist and confirmed that we would have the cottage from November the first for one month. We took a long walk to the bank to obtain more travellers’ cheques and bought a card to thank Mandy’s friends for their hospitality. We wrote and posted letters home and then had dinner at the next door café. At night we played chess with the set I had finished carving.
Over two days we visited Gare de Lyon, shopping at markets for food, reading, writing letters and generally resting. We purchased tickets and reserved seats on the famous T.G.V. fast train and confirmed arrangements for reaching the French village of Corgoloin. In one shop we met a friendly young Chinese lady who wanted to know all about life in Australia.
A very good Saturday – we took and ate our lunch in the Jardin de Tuileries where we admired statues, fountains and the general lay out. In the Jeu de Paume Art Gallery it was a rewarding experience to view the works of so many artists in the one place, Monet, Renoir, Pissero, Cezanne, Van Gogh, Corot, Baudin, Monet, Gauguin, Henri Rousseau, Toulouse Lautrec and others. From there we walked to the Pompidou Centre with its great variety of street theatre. On this visit to the building with the inside on the outside we took the exterior elevators to the top which commanded a view of surrounding rooftops and distant buildings. Inside the building we saw more artworks and prestigious shops. As we strolled further enjoying the street scenes a man pulled up in a car asking us for directions, immediately switching to English when he realized we couldn’t understand. He claimed he’d been in Australia only two weeks earlier, shook hands with me and kissed Maude’s hand. His pitch was proceeding smoothly with an offer to show us around when two Americans came on the scene, upon which he rapidly drove off waving to them. The American couple from Chicago then told us that he had used the same pitch with them until he got up to the point of wanting to sell them something “cheap”. One has to be alert to con men all the time when travelling; they can be very clever and charming. The street drama still continued below our windows at night. One scene was the girl trying to hitch a ride from passing cars and the stir it caused, another was the man who pushed a trolley around all day and bedded down with it in the street at night and another the street fighters’ melee with spectators keeping well away.
Les Halles is a leisure and commercial centre on the site of a demolished central market that we entered directly from the Metro. The shops along the indoor promenades gave us a further insight to the exclusive items of clothing, furniture and equipment for the home and leisure that the French excel at. A central courtyard featured modernistic statuary. We took a long walk home again along Rue St. Denise, repeating the walk we had taken with Mandy and Raymond.
The target for the next day was Montmartre and the beautiful cathedral Sacre Couer. We had a lot of fun rummaging in the shops of Boulevards Magente and de Rochechouard , the latter becoming Boul De Clichy of Montmartre. I bought an extra jumper and two flannel shirts in readiness for colder weather. The shops and streets were crowded with every mixture of race, colour, creed and type of person that can be assembled in one place. Sacre Coeur is an awe-inspiring size with a majestic siting on a hill overlooking the great city. In the crowds on the fore courts below a man was feeding sparrows from his hands and inviting children to share his pleasure, a rather touching sight. In the Montmartre district we attended a double feature of Chinese films – one about Marco Polo and another one whose story we could not make out, but both were action packed. When the house lights went up we found we were the only tourists in the place. On our way home we walked through the famous Place Pigalle and Rue Pigalle, a centre of theatres and entertainment including ladies of the night. Eventually we reached our hotel after so much walking.
The Marais quarter was originally swampland to be reclaimed for habitation. The focal point, the Place Des Vosges, was where the nobility lived up till the time of the taking of the taking of the Bastille. Starting in Rue Rivoli we soon turned into Rue De Brague, through Place Des Vosges, along the Rue De Bourgeois and around the quarter abounding in interesting old buildings, squares, courtyards and little gardens or parks. The shops selling old books, old postcards, art and bric-a-brac invited long browsing. To our surprise we arrived at the Pompidou Centre where we caught a Metro to Opera. We bought more winter clothes at Le Printemps and ordered spaghetti in the cafeteria with its beautiful stained glass dome. In our wanderings we called into the church St. Vincent De Paul and into a delightful art gallery with modern art on sale. We also visited a prestigious furniture store with six floors of beautiful furniture, fittings, paintings and decoration ideas.
Thursday, October 31 was our last day in Paris. We visited a unique church, Sainte-Chapelle. This was a gothic marvel with beautiful glowing windows, even on the dull day that it was. Slender pillars supported an upper floor, in all it was a light and airy place. Statues of the twelve apostles were arrayed around the walls and the windows recorded stories of the bible, old and new testaments. After enjoying this inspiring building we walked boulevards left of the Seine savouring the atmosphere of Paris one last time. The citizens are very much an urban people with so many of them living right in the city. We noticed that this was the case in so many European cities. This was a noticeable difference from Australian cities with the majority living out in suburbs. It was easy to imagine that many European urban dwellers are born and live out their lives without ever travelling any significant distance away. The great French word is ambience, the word that sums up Paris and its own special pride and lifestyle. We met friendship and kindness every where we went. We enjoyed French radio at night and we never had a disappointing meal, always receiving good value though on some occasions having to really search to come within our budget. On this day we ate in a cafeteria; we had Lapin Bourgogne cooked in wine. We were the only foreigners; we had found the pleasing knack of being where the local people were.
In the morning we left our hotel with compliments to the staff, especially Anna, the Swedish receptionist, who had been helpful with information and assistance during our stay. With a feeling of excitement and adventure we boarded the T.G.V., the fastest train in the world, and were soon settled in our comfortable lounge chairs. It seemed to take no time at all to arrive in Dijon in the early afternoon. Having three hours before our train to Corgoloin we wandered round the old quarter. In the middle ages, Dijon was the pride of France and could have become the capital city but history decreed otherwise. The place is left with grand buildings, great stories of historic figures and ruins of archeological value including Roman ruins. With some trepidation we set off on the train to Corgoloin. What would the village be really like? Would we be stranded away from every thing? Would we get on with the people? Would someone meet us at the train? Would the language barrier be too great? Questions kept racing through our minds. There was no turning back now, with the month of November committed to staying in a village of little known or understood promise. At last the train pulled into the station. There was a very friendly lady, with her sixth grade son, waiting for us. We were the only passengers to disembark. In spite of her no words of English and my too few words of French we exchanged friendly greetings and set off walking to our cottage only a short few minutes from the station. We entered a courtyard through a high metal gate and then passed through the front door of a big building with ivy-covered walls and shutters on its windows. Inside the front door to the right was a well-appointed kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was a toilet and bathroom with a shower and with modern fittings. To the left of the front door was a large dining living room twenty feet by eighteen. In the centre of this room stood a large table ten feet long, three feet wide and more than two inches thick (solid wood with a lovely polished surface). Although there were eight chairs placed at the table it could easily have seated twelve people. The floor was large squares of stone. The ceiling was twelve feet high with four main slabs of big timber supporting twelve cross beams in turn supporting the upstairs floor. All windows had shutters which we closed at night and when we went out. Upstairs there were two main bedrooms, an attic, another cubby bedroom and downstairs a cellar of sorts. It was a far cry from the simple small cottage we had expected. At 2500 francs for the four weeks this brought us well within budget. This was $A114 per week comparing favourably with $A180 per week we had paid for our London digs. Cooking our own food was to bring our costs down considerably also. After showing us how every thing worked Madame Petitot invited us to her home, but only I went leaving Maude to settle in and think about the preparation of some sort of evening meal. Madame Petitot and her two sons Herve (18) and Pierre (12) spent a long time conversing with me, which would have been amusing to an onlooker because we were wildly searching for words. After accepting an aperitif and the friendly introduction to our home for the next month I hurried back to Maude who had been waiting patiently while wrestling with the strangeness of our new situation.
Next morning we made our first sortie into the village with its old buildings, narrow winding streets and French ambience. How can one describe the elated feelings we had? We said our bonjours to passers by in the streets, feeling a friendly acceptance by them of the strange visitors in their midst. We made ourselves known in the patisserie, the boucherie, the minimarque and the post office. We made our purchases of a few days provisions with great enjoyment, successfully communicating our needs, to be served in good humour by the friendly shopkeepers. We had little difficulty in communicating. After a brunch of boiled eggs and a breadstick we set off on a five- kilometre hike to the next village and back. We picked an apple and a pear from trees beside the road. They were the only fruit left but they were good specimens. With qualms of conscience we hoped we had not broken some local taboo. Maude was filled with remorse and guilt when I afterwards explained that the trees and gardens and vin yards we kept passing were not really abandoned but were really parts of farms and properties and that’s how it’s done in France. Any way we didn’t end up in jail. We were halted in our tracks when we came to a war memorial listing those who had lost their lives fighting for their country in the ‘39 – ’45 war. Many streets were named after members of the Maquis with the phrase “assassinated by the Nazis” attached. It was hard to imagine that this beautiful country had been ravaged by war forty years before. After our return we caught up with the mundane task of washing a backlog of clothes. Later we were invited into the wine cellars in the building attached to ours. We met Monsieur Petitot and Herve. In the bottling floor they explained how the special red wine produced on their property was produced in three qualities. We tasted these and could easily taste the difference. After the wine tasting Maude cooked a tasty curry – what ecstasy!
We had a quiet Sunday with breakfast in bed for Maude – tea, omelette, tomatoes and bread and butter. During the morning we wrote lots of letters home to all our families. After a lunch of Monsieurs Croquette we took a leisurely walk through nearby fields and vineyards; on return we had a cup of tea and played chess in our courtyard. The night finished with a good home cooked meal, more writing, games of backgammon and off to bed contented.
Next day we walked to the village cemetery and had a look around the tombstones. More than ninety per cent of the graves were well tended, even those going back fifty years or more. Quite a number came and tended graves while we there, placing flowers on them. The cemetery indicated to us what a homogeneous society we were amongst with strong local community and family ties. Memories to those slain in the war were very evident. Back home Maude occupied herself with tapestry work while I spent quite a time writing to Glendal via Barbara Watson, enclosing project material on the Aalsmeer Flower Auction. A lunch of pork cutlets, pommes de terre, petits pois and sauce de pomme led us to think that something about the food and eating here gives one the feeling of living “la bonne vie”. People in the village seem to take a two-hour lunch break or longer to really relax and enjoy life. No wonder that there are not many French people that emigrate; they have so many of the good things of life in their own country. They have to watch the preservation of quality of life though, with a 6+% rate of unemployment and North African immigrants already established and others knocking on the door.
An autocar (bus) took us to Beaune, a pleasant city with plenty of character attracting people on holiday, tourists and travellers, with plenty of hotels and restaurants. Our timing was not too good as everything closed down between noon and two P.M. However we joined the local custom and enjoyed a long lunch in a lively café with patrons in a festive mood. Our meal was a peppery potage du maison, ros du porc, café au lait and a fruity white wine. We had a cursory exploration round the streets with the knowledge that we would be paying another visit. We purchased some pens, pencils and paper for sketching, a warm singlet for me, an egg-slicer for our omelettes plus two novels in English. There were some very unusual flower-trees on display that puzzled us, being a most unusual burst of colour. On closer inspection we saw that they were old trees that had been trimmed down and planks arranged in tiers around them. Flower boxes were then placed on the benches giving the appearance of trees of flowers. We made a bold decision and decided to walk home to Corgoloin, a good eleven kilometres at least. Being pretty fit we covered the distance easily within a couple of hours enjoying the countryside on the way. One thing puzzled us; we came across two small shelters on the way, each housing a concrete tank filled with water. We were told that they had been
village washing wells in past days.
With our new gained sketching materials we started attempting to capture some of the ambiance of the district, as there was plenty to catch the eye. This morning I made myself known to a little old gentleman who had a fascinating cabinet-making workshop with a fine assortment of tools and bits and pieces of joinery. We had a good chat despite his lack of English and my skimpy French. He gave me a piece of emery paper to work on my chess pieces. We parted with promises to meet again. We now had many good chats with the baker and his wife and the grocer and his wife. Life was tranquil, just the way we wanted it.
Maude visited the lady butcher alone and bought boeuf hache solo, an admirable feat of which she was duly proud. I took a walk solo while Maude did some tapestry work After a little shopping we had spaghetti Bolognese for lunch and lamb chops for dinner. We had a friendly chat with Monsieur Petitot passing the time of day. I sketched chez nous with some frustration trying to get the proportions correct.
A great day! We were off to Dijon along the Wine Trail through Comblanchien, Nuits St George, through some very pretty countryside and villages. “ 950 exposants `a la foire de Dijon” with all the great foods, cheeses, breads and cuisine specialties brought together in one place with restaurants and chefs of distinction vying with each other for public patronage. We wandered around a bewildering array of exhibits enjoying the call of the spruiking salesmen the same at fairs the world over. We accepted the offer of a wine sampling from one young man who must have thought we would be good customers to import his wares to Australia. When he found we were not buyers his veneer of charm and friendliness dropped off dramatically and he told us he was there to work and sell wine, not pass the time of day with people exhibiting idle curiousity. He made quite a dent in our perception of “l’entente cordiale”; he was the only person we had come across in France that was arrogant and rude. In all we spent an entertaining and instructive day with the best wines and foods of France gathered together in one place, quite a unique experience for visitors from far off Australia.
Our visit to Dijon must have been exhausting because we slept in till nine o’clock. We met Herve in the street and reminded him he was welcome to visit us and practise his English. We bought two hot portions of coq au vin and one portion of Choucrout (sauerkraut) from the boucherie for a very tasty lunch. We met with Patricia Chantereau, a secondary student that was one year older than Belinda, whose main interest was the study of languages. Patricia was the elder of the baker’s two daughters. We spent the rest of the day in doors as it was raining.
A commemoration service was held at the village war memorial for Armistice/Remembrance day, the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. We would have liked to attend but felt that our presence may not be understood as remembrance here was a matter of personal grief very close to home in both the world wars. We packed a thick sandwich with a generous helping of Bourgogne cheese, two golden delicious apples, fruit drink and some nougats. Then we set off on a ten kilometre triangular hike over the Cotes d’Or, first to the picturesque village of Villiers-La-Faye, then to our neighbouring village Comblanchien, the last leg being to our home in Corgoloin. Our route took us over sloping vineyards and other crops, by woodlands, through the winding high stonewalled streets of Villiers-La-Faye, through an Autumn tree-lined avenue to marble quarries and then along the wine trail road home. On the way we spoke to farmers standing guard on the roadside waiting to shoot five rogue pigs causing trouble with their crops. We also had a conversation with a lady washing snail shells in her garden ready for her next meal of escargots. Although there was frost and ice on the ground in shady areas it was a sunny perfectly still Autumn day. Home at last we had a cup of tea in our sunny courtyard. This again had been a great day.
I visited the wood workshop man using the return of his emery paper as an excuse to meet with him again. I showed him the wooden chess pieces I had made from the wooden coat hanger using my Swiss army knife as the carving tool; this quite amused him and we had quite a long chat. I told him that I had one son-in-law as a carpenter builder and another a cabinet-maker. He showed me some beautiful furniture he had made – classical and finely inlaid work that would grace any prestigious home. He was a talented craftsman whose work must have been greatly admired. We cashed some travellers cheques at the Caisse D’Epargne branch opened one day a week in the village. It was an amusing experience as the lady was intrigued that as Australians we had Barclay Bank English cheques. She had to ring her head office to see if it was all right to cash them. She didn’t see much of our kind of business.
We took an afternoon walk with a cold wind blowing on us. Every day we were feeling a drop in temperature. The progression through Autumn was very noticeable as a distinct seasonal change. Returning from the walk with a clear conscience that we had exercised we spent the rest of the day recreating inside.
Taking a picnic lunch we walked to Serrigny, then to Serrigny Ladoix and then home. We passed a big estate with parkland enclosed by a high stone wall. From its imposing entrance gates it must have been quite a mansion in its time. Many of the buildings in these parts seemed to be centuries old. New housing estates adjoining the villages seem to be an anachronism. We saw huge marble blocks being cut under jets of water and pieces of marble being fashioned into a variety of shapes and sizes. Upon our return we had a hair cut together with the village hairdresser. A merry time was had by all of us trying to surmount the language barrier.
A prize purchase was a fish imported from England. It was a fresh water fish called a merlin about the size of a medium trout. It was a delicious highlight of our day especially with a glass of wine. We double-checked on bus times to visit the famous wine auction for charity and the hospital in Beaune on the coming Sunday. We also checked that we would have to go to Dijon to purchase our rail tickets to Frankfurt. It was noticeably colder now requiring an extra blanket on the bed. The temperature was six degrees centigrade when we went for a walk after lunch with a weak sun showing through haze and no wind.
On our visit to the festival in Beaune it was cold and overcast but calm. This did not diminish the busy activities in the streets and “les places”. The theme of window dressing in the shops was the celebration of grape growing and wine making. “Un jour sans vin est un jour sans soleil.” We established ourselves in the Place Carnot to watch the “Spectacle et animation dans les rues et sur les places”. Bands, clowns, marching girls and folk dancers in regional costumes sang and danced for the enjoyment of the crowds around us. We visited a self-service café for coffee, wine and escargots having an interesting interlude with celebrating English speaking French people. We had a thoroughly enjoyable time but could not stay in the cold another two hours for a bus so took a taxi home and settled down to a dinner of Boeuf Bourgogne –a la Maude. This was an authentic local repast – very tasty with a drop of wine.
News from home included a letter from Val saying the criminals had splurged three thousand dollars on our stolen Visa card. Thankfully this would not be charged to us. We sent a very full report to Visa customer service describing all the problems and delays we had suffered before receiving our replacement cards with the hope that improvements could be made to help future victims. The cold grip of winter could now be felt tightening each day. It was two degrees below zero on our walk to the bus stop for our visit to Dijon to buy train tickets for travel to Frankfurt on Friday 29th. After a good lunch we had a pleasant ride home in the bus with light snow drifting down. There was much activity in all the vineyards that we passed with cutting back of vines and burning of debris. It made a pretty rural scene with little smoke piles dotted about viewed through a gentle curtain of snow.
Much of our time now was spent indoors except for shopping in the village for daily bread and food. We were warm indoors and had plenty to do – chess – backgammon – sketching - reading – writing and discussing all manners of things. Life was tranquil and pleasant. We collected another batch of photos adding to our good collection. The travel time table for Friday November 29th.
Depart Corgoloin - 06 h.59.
Depart Dijon - 08 h.44.
Arrive Metz - 12 h.06.
Depart Metz -16 h. 40.
Arrive Frankfurt -20 h. 24.
Because of the weather and time of arrival we decided to book ahead for accommodation in Frankfurt.
A white world greeted us as we woke, with snow still falling. We lit our fire as well as our gas heater, what luxury. Maude had her hair permed just as she wanted it with me along as interpreter. The cost was $A18 plus $A2 tip, very reasonable even if for entertainment value alone. We asked Mademoiselle Patricia to visit us the next Saturday afternoon. We had some fun shopping for food again. It was good entertainment value for us and the locals, all coping with the inadequacy of our language skills. Madame et Monsieur Petitot invited us to Sunday lunch. Ah! Life was good.
Patricia Chantereau (baker’s daughter) and her friend Sophia arrived on their bikes to practise their English. We enjoyed the company of these charming young ladies for the afternoon. Their English was excellent and we gained an insight into their lives and French life in general.
Sunday came around and we joined the Petitot family for lunch. We enjoyed a beautiful meal with all the trimmings, real home French cuisine. We spent a long time conversing with a mixture of French and English and sign language that highlighted to us again how easy it is to communicate in a friendly atmosphere. After lunch we were taken to their club in Comblanchien for an afternoon of loto(bingo) to raise funds for the local fire brigade. We had a lot of fun joining in with the local scene observing the people around us and trying to keep up with the numbers in French. This was a memorable day for us.
Next day the lady butcher cooked us a tasty roast chicken with potatoes on order. We added peas and enjoyed a splendid dejeuner. The cost was 33 francs ($A5.50) – enough for two meals. Amazing! The butcher was renowned as a good cook and supplied many meals on order in the village. Every one was very friendly and helpful to us. In retrospect I think the word had got around that we were soon to leave and they were showing us friendship to remember.
Roger Chantereau picked us up at 7.30 PM. We had a great evening with this charming family, Roger, his wife Regine, Patricia 16, Severine 4 and their beautiful Samoyed dog. We had long conversations with Patricia acting as interpreter that she seemed to enjoy immensely. Pascal, Roger’s apprentice was also present. This family would have been at home in an Australian setting just as well as in Corgoloin. Their home was modern, well furnished and they had a late model Renault car. They were a modern family with a positive outlook on the world. It was a delight to have spent some time with them.
Over the next two days we said our good byes to Madame Coudin (bouchier), Monsieur and Madame Cymbalisty (minimarche), Roger Chantereau (boulangier), Monsieur and Madame Petitot and family and others we met in the village. We had merged into French country life for a month and exceeded our desire to have a unique experience. We had been most fortunate.
We left our gite in the dark early hour of six thirty, walking to the station through the snow. The waiting room at the station was snug and we were intrigued when others waiting for the train shook hands with each other and then us, an appealing friendly local custom. At Dijon we spent our waiting time eating breakfast in a busy dining room. The journey to Metz through picturesque snow covered countryside provided pleasant scenic variety. Our four-hour wait at Metz for a connecting train was mainly occupied by lunch and afternoon tea as it was snowing and cold outside. Arrival at night at eight o’clock in Frankfurt and a comfortable settling in at our hotel completed the long and interesting day.