Jody Soup

IN BRUGES

2011-11-21T17:17:00.001-05:00

Truly, I have saved the best for last. Friday morning we boarded a train from Frankfort to Brussels and then a second train to Bruges. When the planning for this trip began, several months ago, my friend Kath had requested the stop in Marburg, so the last city on our itinerary was my choice. After seeing the movie In Bruges, I had been very intrigued by it’s eight hundred years of architecture. It was a bonus to find that it is also a Mecca for chocolate lovers.

We arrived in the late afternoon on Friday and caught a taxi for the ten-minute ride to our hotel. The old part of the city radiates out from the central market square, which is dominated by a huge bell tower.

The bells, all forty-seven of them, ring out in a beautiful bouquet of mixed tones, marking the quarter hours from morning till night. Our driver found our hotel on a tiny alleyway just two blocks off the market square. We checked in, unloaded our luggage and set out to explore.

Over the next twenty-four hours, we learned a lot about this city by simply walking about. When Bruges first developed, it was a major trade destination, owing to the canal system that linked it to the sea. But, the most amazing thing today is that every building, whether it is eight hundred or two hundred years old, has maintained it’s original façade. If you look closely, you will see a system of braces that have insured that every building stands straight, the original chimneys are in tact and all colors are original. On the exteriors you will see what appears to be a wrought iron S shaped rod, about three feet long, mounted on the building at the spots where another story has been added. These pieces will follow the floor line and the roof pitch, being placed evenly, about every ten feet. On the interior of the walls and floors rods have been strung from one brace to the opposing brace on the other side of the building bringing new strength to these antique structures. We saw several buildings that were in the process of renovation. This meant that we were looking into a shell. Only the exterior walls were standing. So, you now have an ancient city with every modern convenience neatly tucked away, out of sight of the tourists.

On Saturday morning, we took an hour-long bus tour of Bruges. The bus only seats about twenty passengers at a time. Anything bigger and they wouldn’t fit through the streets. This is a city where it is physically impossible to drive over fifteen miles an hour (in my opinion!), over the cobbles, through the maze, avoiding pedestrians who must walk glued to the sides of buildings. In addition there are hundreds and hundreds of bicycles, a few motorbikes and dozens of horse drawn carriages. There is no logic to the twists and turns of the streets and alleys. Some streets run into market squares, some along canals and some only join two alleys for no reason at all.

Following our bus tour, we decided to retrace part of the tour route on foot. At one edge of the city we had seen three original windmills and decided that they needed a closer look. Following a street map is almost impossible. My eye could not read the street names, most of which contain multiple double vowels and ended in “djkt”. We simple aimed our feet in the general direction of the windmills and began to weave our way about, snapping photos as went.

It is nearly impossible to get lost in Bruges because all you need to do is look up and spot the bell tower, using that as your beacon to the city center. Thus, we found the windmills and we found our way back to the market square.

The weather was fairly mild, and we found that a sweater under a light jacket was all we really needed. But, Kath had arrived without gloves. I had brought a pair of fingerless gloves that I had knit and I also had a second pair of gloves Amy had left with me. Since Kath had none, I gave her my fingerless gloves. These I had knit out of lovely Malabrego sock wool in the color Archangel (my knitting friends will understand this). As our windmill walk-about was ending, we were again back in the market center. After a few more stops at chocolatiers, we were ready to head back to our hotel before dinner. We were now retracing our steps from the very beginning of our afternoon’s journey and stopped at a street corner to wait for a break in the bicycle traffic before crossing. There, on a window ledge was one of the Malabrego fingerless gloves. Someone had found it during the day and parked it on the window ledge, exactly were the rightful owner would find it. Coincidence?

No report would be complete without mention of a meal. Friday afternoon, I enjoyed, possibly, the finest lunch I have ever had. We found a tiny little establishment on a side street and noticed that there were diners sitting in the window on the second floor, overlooking the foot traffic below. The first floor was only large enough to accommodate a wee little tea shop and a lunch counter. We asked to be seated for lunch and were directed up the stairs. The stairs. Imagine a brass fire pole with little steps wound so tightly that only one person at a time can go up because you are in danger of putting the top of your head into the bottom of the foot of the person ahead of you. When you reach the top of the stairs, you must spin around and step into the loft that is the second floor. We found a table in the window and ordered our lunch. My tea arrived in a little cast iron pot with loose tea leaves in a strainer. Now, that’s a cup of tea! We both ordered the salade d’Medici. This salad is nothing short of brilliant. The base was a lovely collection of greens. Forming a crown on the mound of greens was warm broccoli. Now, I love broccoli, but am not a great fan of that lightly steamed version that is still way to crisp and still too crunchy. I like it soft and tender allowing me to easily cut it with the side of my fork. So, there was the centerpiece of my salad made from perfect broccoli. Forming spokes from this center were the loveliest pieces of lightly grilled bacon. Not crumbly, dark brown, salty, sulfide laced American bacon, but an Italian version that is more like prosciutto. At the ends of the spokes of bacon were paper-thin rounds of spicy chorizo. Between the spokes were alternately shredded carrot, shredded red cabbage, sliced eggs, and tomato (pronounced toe-mah-toe) wedges. I know this all sounds delish, but I have one more thing to add. Under the warm, perfect broccoli I found melting cubes of Gorgonzola cheese. Lots of melting cubes of lovely Gorgonzola. You are probably asking, “How can this salad be made any better?” Well, I will tell you. On the side was severed a tiny little pitcher of dressing that can only be compared to a fresh béarnaise sauce. Lemony, creamy goodness. Five stars to the Medici salad!

Friday evening we walked more, as though we couldn’t soak in enough of the magic. Christmas lights were lit, window decorations twinkled, lively horse drawn carriages were clip clopping down the streets, the air was filled with the smell of chocolates and pastries, and always, the bells were ringing.

Saturday was moving day again, but we were able to squeeze in a forty-five minute walk around the town. November mornings always seem to arrive in a frosty fog, which burns off around noon, only to arrive again in the late afternoon. On this Saturday we were treated to some sort of Boy Scout celebration that was marked by a band that played and marched all around the square. The band was made up of scouts and adults in red uniforms, playing It’s A Long Way To Tipperary. And, in the center of the square men with hoses were completing work on a huge outdoor skating rink as the band played on. Very festive!

Then, off to another train station. We were heading through the Chunnel and back to London for our final night of this adventure. After checking into our hotel, we faced the crowds and made a final pilgrimage to Harrods. Kath had never been and since it is an iconic Christmas shopping destination, we felt it was worthy of our last night's entertainment. We browsed about for a bit because real people can't afford to buy much at Harrods! We could, however, afford a cup of tea and a dish of sorbet in the cappuccino bar. As we were leaving the store, we were treated to a powerful and highly professional youth choir of about forty voices singing in an outdoor walkway. We stopped to listen for a bit but left as soon as they started passing out leaflets explaining how they had all been saved.

I’m at the end of my trip. I have found two women that I would travel with any time, assuming they would have me. Each of us had a strength and we took turns being the smart one. Thank you Amy. Thank you Kath. But, I really am looking forward to being home in a few hours. I have missed Mike.

GERMANY! Der Frost ist auf dem Kürbis

2011-11-17T09:57:00.001-05:00

On Tuesday morning we caught the train from Paris to Frankfort. It was an uneventful ride with the exception of the three uniformed and armed police that boarded the train as we crossed the border between France and Germany. They slowly traveled through the train, looking between the seats and making eye contact with passengers. I know that in our post 9/11 world, there are security measures at all borders, but it is still an eerie sight. That being said, as we walked back to our hotel in Paris on our final evening, we had come face to face with three military persons, carrying rifles held at the ready, walking the bridge toward the Eiffel Tower.

Upon our arrival in Frankfort, we were pleased to find that our hotel was directly across the street from the main train station. This would be helpful as we had plans for train travel to Marburg on Wednesday. Our hotel was spotlessly clean but it lacked any soul. It shouted ‘BUILT IN 1955” from every corner. The best feature of the Hotel Manhattan was the incredible continental breakfast that was offered. Pretzel rolls, strudel, freshly baked breads, pate, cold meats, hard boiled eggs, nearly a dozen choices of dry cereals and muscli, and most importantly for my plate, five different cheeses, all laid out in a beautiful mosaic.

We did a small walk-about of our hotel’s neighborhood Wednesday night. This only served to reinforce for inexplicable lack of enthusiasm for Germany. However, we had a lovely dinner, sitting at a window table, watching the local parade of shoppers and office workers moving about in the damp early evening.

Thursday morning we were up early and, following our breakfast, ready to head to Marburg. It was a cold morning. The train offered us a view of the countryside and my first glimpse of a beautiful Germany. As soon as we had left the outskirts of Frankfort, we could see frost everywhere. The farm fields were all manicured and dressed for the winter. They had been harvested and put to bed in a tidy manor, raked and plowed, lined up shoulder to shoulder. We caught glimpses of farmers out walking up and down the ditches that delineated each five-acre field. Most farmers were assisted by their dog as they surveyed the frosty fields. There were some fields with horses, most wearing their winter blankets. But, a few without blankets, were wearing the morning frost, tipping their brown coats with sparkle.

Marburg is a beautiful 800-year-old city that is almost untouched by any war damage or urban renewal. The city could not afford to tear down ancient structures and build glass and steel replacements. They had to retain all the old buildings and houses and make them continue to serve in the manner for which they had been built. It looks just like a fairy tale town. Marburg was the home of the brothers Grimm! Today, Marburg is also the location of the first major European school for the blind and the city has made itself totally accessible to the visually impaired.

The reason for our travel on this day was that Kath had dear old friends who lived in Marburg and she wanted to reconnect with them. They are living a quiet life now, having traveled the world, teaching and lecturing. We were to be their guests for lunch, followed by a tour of the area. They speak English fairly well, but not regularly anymore, so they spoke as one person. Dieter would start a story, pause for a word, confer in German with his wife Heidrun, and then one of them would finish the story. Kath has a very basic knowledge of some German words and could usually understand the theme of a conversation. I nodded, smiled and said “ahhhh” a lot. Then, Dieter would squeeze my arm and tell me I was now his sister. Dieter was our driver and tour guide. He explained to me how lucky he was to own his wonderful car. And, it was his car’s birthday this month. We were in a twenty year old, violet Mercedes. Not quite purple, but certainly violet. Rather like riding about in a grape soda.

Our tour included the ancient city of Amoneburg, which sits on top of a huge hill. The ruins of the ancient Celtic castle are still there. And the town is a labyrinth of alleyways, just barely wide enough for a grape Mercedes. Half-timber houses look as if they were built last week. We were presented with a three hundred and sixty degree view of the region, looking down upon more than thirty villages and towns.

We ended our day at the historic Castle of the Landgrove. This castle sits at the top of a hill in Marburg. Enchanting. Everything is as it was six hundred years ago. Again, this is the result of the long succession of owners and residents not having the money to tear apart parts of the castle and rebuild them in the style of whatever century they were living in. It is magical. Today the castle is a concert venue and is used for meetings and conferences. Marburg University shares the hilltop with the castle. It may be most famous as the place where Martin Luther debated the theory of Transubstantiation. But, for us, it was the site of a beautiful restaurant. (Readers may find that most of my posts seem to always come back to the theme of good food?). I knew the food would be superb in this breathtaking venue, even though the mood music was a nice CD of Dion Warwick singing the classics. We had no sooner been seated when a party of six arrived. Their group consisted of three couples, one of which arrived with their Portuguese Water Dog in tow. The dog sat between his man and woman and was fed generously from the table. When not sitting with his chin dangerously near the food, he curled up on the floor and politely listened to the conversation. The four of us enjoyed a beautiful meal, looking out over the castle walls and down the hills to the twinkling fairly tale city.

Following dinner, Dieter delivered us at the rail station where we caught our train back to Frankfort with twenty-seven seconds to spare. The train doors snapped shut barley missing my coat tails.

It’s Thursday and we are now on the train to Bruges.

A FEW THINGS I LOVE ABOUT THIS CITY

2011-11-14T12:55:00.062-05:00

For starters, how can you not love a city that lets you bring your dog into the restaurant? Your little friend is allowed to sleep under the table or snuffle around your feet looking for crumbs. This is the most civilized thing I have ever heard of!

Today we did a whirlwind tour that included the Eiffel Tower, a boat taxi up and down the Seine and a trip to the Louvre. The color of the light is magnificent. I can't imagine that any other season could top our day today. It was cool enough for a light coat with a scarf, brilliant sun and warm golds and browns still in the trees. Vive la Paris.

Now, I must tell you about dinner this evening. When we returned to our room, late afternoon, a small ten minute siesta sounded like just the right thing. We were right. We had already decided that we wanted to eat in a "real" French restaurant, one that would fit our comfortable but cautious travel purse. Our concierge suggested two establishments in the next block from the hotel. He said they were both good and to simply choose between them based on any wait time. The first restaurant was busy, but they could seat us immediately. The menu was totally in French, but our grade nine course had taught us the difference between boeuf et poulet, so we were confident that we could order. Kath won't eat liver and I don't do lima beans, so again, how hard can this be? Man, were we wrong. We did not know it, but we had stumbled into one of the most famous restaurants in Paris. They offer one salad, one meat and one potatoe each night. You sit down and they just bring you food, asking only if you want rare or medium temperature. There was a wine list, but I could not figure out a single word except rouge. Four reds were on the menu and I did the only thing I could think of. I rated them from most expensive to cheapest and then pointed to the second cheapest and asked for the half bottle. Hey. We are in France. How bad can red wine be? The evening got a bit better because our waitress spoke a little "restaurant" English. We were served a salad made of that wonderful skinny curly lettuce with a fresh dressing made with a light mustard flavor. Superb. Then came a plate of thin french fries and the most buttery tender filet of beef topped with a secret sauce. By now, we had struck up a conversation with the young couple at the next table. They were both fluent in English. This is when we learned of the fame this restaurant enjoyed. Seems that the recipe for the secret sauce is kept in a vault, where it is guarded night and day. There is a long list of attempted robberies and evil deeds. The sauce has something of a green hue and the consistany of a light gravy. It is thought that anchovies and capers are on the list of ingredients. What ever. It was all I could do to keep from running my finger around my empty plate. But did dinner stop here? Of course not. Kath finished with a dish of lemon sorbet, swimming in vodka. I had the most perfect creme brulee I have ever had in my life. The custard was rich with fresh vanilla bean and eggs. Not only was it the best I have ever had, the serving size was something one can only dream of. Fear not. I managed to get every custardy droplet into my mouth. Hand me down my elastic waistband pants please.

And, as further proof of how civilized Paris is, here is a photo our hotel room key. Some may think that this is cumbersome and not practical for carrying in one's pocket. Ha! You simple lock your room and leave the key at the front desk until you return. Each room has a little pidgin hole behind the concierge's desk where he stores your key until you return and ask for it again. I told you this city is the height of civilization! I will really enjoy returning with my husband one day. Right, Mike? Please?

THROUGH THE CHUNNEL TO PARIS

2011-11-13T18:15:00.000-05:00

Can it really be our last day in London already? Not fair, I say. Amy and I decided to walk to Portobello Road and scour the stalls for treasure. This is a most fascinating section of road that hosts a flea market every Saturday, complete with street entertainers, crepe stands, stalls filled with vintage alligator bags, antique lace and more old silver than you can imagine. And, you might even spot the occasional movie star. We hiked through Kensington Garden and wound our way through a maze of tiny streets. The weather was glorious. We spent hours dodging Italian tourists, peering into cases of estate jewelry and people watching. Amy even found a couple of tiny lead farm animal miniatures to take home to live on her kitchen window sill. I bought a beautiful jacket that I planned to wear to dinner and the theatre that night.

The late afternoon found us back at our hotel for a quick shower before walking to meet our new friend Catherine for dinner. You will remember that we found Catherine in Edinburgh a few days earlier. It was Catherine's birthday and we all met in the bar at her hotel for a toast.


Jody, Catherine the birthday girl and Amy

After cocktails, we toddled off to a local restaurant for a quick dinner and then hopped on the tube to our respective theaters. Amy and I had chosen to see Driving Miss Daisy, staring James Earl Jones and Vanessa Redgrave. It was brilliant. There is nothing more I can say about it. We could not have asked for a better end to Amy's first trip to the UK.

Sunday morning was going home day for Amy. She caught an early flight home and I met my friend Kathleen for the second half of my trip. And now, to explain who Kathleen is. Think back to 1962. It's a convent boarding school and two girls become fast chums, trying to stay one step ahead of Sister Edward. Sometimes we won, sometimes Sister Edward won. But wait. Now, it's 2011 and, thanks to the internet, we meet up again. Let's travel together. So, we board the Eurostar, travel through the Chunnel and voila, we are in Paris!

Thanks to our Cameroon Cabbie and his Top Ten Cameroon Hit Parade CD, we arrive at our hotel to find a little bit of paradise. We are in a beautiful little boutique hotel three blocks from the Eiffel Tower. After a quiet dinner at a tres chic Italian bistro, we walked the few blocks to take in the evening in Paris.

This is glorious! And, our room has a wee little wrought iron balcony from which we can see the Tower to the right and the full moon to the left of us.

Ahhh. Bon soir, mais amis. Fermer la fenetre, Kathleen

11-11-11 at 11

2011-11-11T16:49:00.001-05:00

Wednesday was shipping day, as we used to say in the horse biz. Amy and I found our way to the train station in Edinburgh and settled into our seats for the ride south to London. We had reserved seats and found that we were seated across from each other in a four seat configuration with a table between us. The train made a few stops along the way, picking up and depositing passengers. From the train, it looked as though there are more sheep in this part of the world than there are people. Somewhere along this route a crusty looking fellow took the seat next to Amy and he spent much of the trip grading papers from students. I think he may have been a cousin to Andy Rooney. He had the same slightly rumpled look about him with extraordinary eyebrows that grew straight out before curling up toward the top of his head. He had excellent hearing. As Amy and I began to examine our map, looking for a route to our hotel, he chimed in with tips and advice on ways to navigate the tube. We must have looked a bit dazed because he finally smiled and said not to worry because he would deliver us to the proper line. Well, he did way more than that. We all collected our bags and disembarked the train. From there, he let us through the station, stopping to instruct us on reading the color coded map that laid out the twelve different subway lines that criss crossed the city. Now, I am fairly adept at the Toronto subway, but that is only and east/west line and a north/south line, with a few spurs. The London system is stacked, one line below the next in some stations. But, our unnamed gentleman put it into the simplest form and then told us to "Walk this way". Off he marched, with us trailing behind. He took us to the cashier's kiosk where he told the clerk that we each wished to purchase an oyster card. This is very clever. It is something like a ticket in a plastic sleeve that you simply tap onto a big button as you enter and exit any station. The gate reads your card in a nano-second and debits the prepaid card. Brilliant! Then, he told us to fall in line behind him again and he lead us to the proper gate for our line, having already instructed us on which station was nearest our hotel. Then, in a blink, he disappeared into the crowd without giving us a moment to properly thank him. So, good Samaritan, we love you!

When we arrived at our hotel, we were pleased to find it in a converted Edwardian town house, with restored paneling and period furniture. It was beautiful. The young French woman at the desk informed welcomed us and then told us that the hotel had suffered a water leak the day before and they had to move us to their sister hotel. We were a bit frightened by the possibility that the sister hotel would not be of the same calibre, but were pleasantly surprised to find that they had actually upgraded us and our room was wonderful. All's well that ends well.

Thursday we went on a nice walk and visited two more prospective drama schools. We were treated to a guided tour of one with another former class mates of my grandson's. After a light lunch, Amy and I proceeded to Harrods and did a bit of gift shopping. Now that we had a pretty good feel for the underground, we took the tube up a few stops and walked about and window shopped on Bond Street in the early evening hours. Then, back to Harrods to purchase theater tickets for a Saturday performance, before heading back to our hotel and a nice dinner.

Friday is see the city day. We bought tickets for the Hop-On bus and did the entire loop of the major sights. This turned into one of the most moving rides imaginable. Traffic was particularly heavy, even by London standards. The date is 11-11-11. The streets became more and more clogged as we neared Trafalgar Square. Some event was taking place. The square was clogged with people and there was a stage in one corner and a huge TV monitor. We could see that there were speeches being delivered and it was a somber event. Then, all traffic stopped dead. All traffic in the entire city came to a stand still. All engines were shut down. As we looked out the bus window, there were people with posters passing along the sides of the buses. The signs simply said, "National Two Minutes of Silence, 11-11-11 at 11:00." At the end of the two minutes, a bugle played.

The bus moved on. The second moving event was being right in front of Big Ben at the stroke of noon and hearing all twelve bongs. Spectacular.

Our plan was to finish our tour at the Tower Of London. We left the bus and spent the next hour and a half in the tower. Amy had watched a PBS history of this palace and knew almost as much as the Yeoman Warder. I had watched The Tudor's and was ready to see where the queen's heads had fallen. Of course we viewed the jewels. As we were exiting the White Tower, we paused on an exterior landing to chat with one of the ravens. He just sat and looked at us, not more than three feet away. Very cool!

Again, it was a quick ride on the tube, back to our hotel and dinner in a local establishment. After a shower and putting on our fluffy hotel robes, a good movie and an early night are looking like the perfect way to end a wonderful day.

WHY DO I HAVE A WEE HEADACHE THIS MORNING?

2011-11-09T12:03:00.003-05:00

Monday morning and we managed to escape Lurch’s watchful eye! A quick breakfast (skipping the black pudding) we made our way through the ever changing road work zone and found our train to Glasgow. The labyrinth streets of Edinburgh are nearly impossible because the city fathers have decided to add a tram line. In order to have the entire line up and running by 2014, the entire city is being excavated at once. Buses and taxis have found that the easiest way to get from point A to point B is to keep one tire on the sidewalk. Being a pedestrian is an adventure.

The train ride between Edinburgh and Glasgow is very quick. Amy had made a date for us to see the Royal Scottish Conservatory with a former classmate of Caleb’s as our guide. Mia met us at the station and we walked the few blocks to the school, which is in the city center. Downtown Glasgow is fairly manageable on foot. Mia did a super job of describing her program and Amy picked Mia’s brain on the emotional adjustments of being this far from home and the depth of the program.

After the school tour, Mia agreed to join us for a walk up to the Glasgow Cathedral and the necropolis. This cemetery sits on a cliff behind the cathedral and we hiked up the serpentine path to the very top. This provided us with a great view of the city. Glasgow is a gritty, working city that shows the ravages of two centuries of industry. But, you can see that the city is working at putting on a fresh face. There is preservation and restoration work everywhere.

Upon our return to Edinburgh we decided to have another dinner at the wonderful pub we had found the night before. We sat at “our” table and both decided on the fish and chips and wine. As we chatted about our day and our overall impressions of Glasgow, we noticed a single women sitting at the next table. We could see that she was a tourist, as she had a number of brochures touting the sights of Edinburgh. Our waiter from the night before stopped by our table and asked if we had ordered haggis again. This was the perfect opening for the single diner to join our conversation. “Would you care to join us?” I asked. But I was half a beat too slow, as she had already raised herself out of her seat and was asking if we would mind if she joined us. And from this, a fabulous new friendship began! And, just to show how our lives were meant to cross, we were all staying at the same hotel. Coincidence? I think not. Catherine is a single woman from South Australia who has been traveling about for the last month. Her final leg to her journey will be in London this coming weekend to celebrate her 40^th birthday by treating herself to a performance of The Lion King. Of course, several more rounds of wine and a few hours later, the three of us had hatched plans for a shared tour the next day and a meet up in London to toast Catherine’s 40^th.

Tuesday, Amy and I slept in a bit and then agreed that we were smart enough to figure out the city bus routes. We discovered that the best way to find out how to get from A to Z is to stand on a street corner with a map in your hand and then spin the map about a few times. Sooner or later, some lovely senior citizen will stop and ask if they can help. This is how we learned that we wanted bus 21. We purchased our all day pass and then climbed to the top of the bus. Due to the construction, we have no sense of the route we were taking, but had somehow gotten the idea that the driver would know where we wanted to get off. Not so. Again, we had a dear wee lady offer some advice and away we went.

We worked our way up the Royal Mile to the castle. If you find yourself in Edinburgh, don’t bother paying to get into this castle unless you are a modern day military aficionado (not sure on the spelling of that one!). Edinburgh Castle is still a military base and it is not set up to give much of a look at ancient royal life. But, the views are wonderful, assuming you visit on one of the eight clear days they have a year. And, just outside the castle is a working woolen mill. This is fascinating. They are still weaving the tartan fabrics on antique looms. Catwalks and levels of retail space where you can purchase kilt socks, a sporran or yards of your clan fabric surround the factory. You’ll find a photo concession that will dress you as a Scotsman and hand you a sword for you portrait. They will print your coat of arms while you wait. And, cashmere nestles in every corner.

Once we left the mill, we continued down The Royal Mile to Mary King’s Close. This is an interesting tour down into the oldest parts of the city where people lived and worked 300 years ago. Because the newer parts of the city have been built upon the old foundations of these streets and buildings, it is now underground. A close is a very narrow alleyway between buildings and this particular one is where Mary King lived and had her seamstress business. Amy and I rendezvoused with our new friend Catherine and all took this dark and at times frightening tour. “Gardy Loo”. This is what you yelled when you opened your door and heaved the contents of the family slop bucket out onto the street, where it joined all you neighbor’s contributions, all flowing down hill to the Nor Loch. Yikes!

At the end of this tour, we three needed a beverage. We popped into the first pub we could find. We asked and Catherine confessed that she had never had haggis. Luckily, this pub offered haggis balls as an appetizer! Now, a plan was developing. We decided to have one drink and one appetizer order of haggis balls at as many pubs as we could find, ending up at the Whiskibar for our final of the evening and the presentation of traditional Scottish folk music. We all agreed that haggis fritters are far superior to haggis balls. We finally got to the Whiski and found a great table. It was somebody’s turn to buy. We began to sip our drinks and found (surprise surprise) the couple seated to my right had joined us. More Aussies. Nicki and Johnny were on holiday with a notion toward finding a location for a future inn, at which they would become the proprietors. And soon Johnny was doing what I have a feeling he usually does. He owned the room. He was up explaining Scotch whiskey to us all. He was chatting up the bartender and making glasses magically appear at our table. The music was playing, one young man in a kilt was dancing with the grandmotherly band member and now a South African/Welsh couple to my left had joined our group. Jill and Roger were keeping up with us too!


Roger, Nicki, Amy, Jill, Catherine and Johnny

WHAT? This place closes at 1:00 AM? But, our party was still going on. WHAT? There is a place round the corner that stays open till 3:00? Get your coats! Yes, Johnny led us round the corner and down the stairs into a nightclub of some sort. Our crew now numbered seven members and we found a wee tiny stone alcove off the main room where we could hear the band and still have conversation. I must admit that vintage Black Sabbath is not my cup of tea, but God, we were having fun. By now, we were all writing out our Facebook names and email addresses. No one wants to miss the opening of Nicki and Johnny’s Inn!

The evening finally ended with Catherine, Amy and myself sharing a cab back to our hotel. Amy and I made some sort of plan to set our alarm and throw everything into our suitcases in the morning for our train ride to London. We must get some sleep.

I'LL HAVE THE HAGGIS PLEASE

2011-11-06T18:53:00.005-05:00

Did I really eat haggis? Read on.

Needless to say, Amy and I have arrived in Scotland. It was a long flight, sitting in steerage, but we managed. I managed a bit more easily than Amy because I had the aisle seat and she didn't. I won't name names, but she did tell me a dozen or more times that the large man next to her was taking up more than his fair share of air space. He wore his Bose headset and then laced his fingers together across his chest, pushing his beefy elbows out to the east and the west. I know they were beefy elbows because Amy reported many times that it was like sitting next to a pot roast that was cooking away in a 350 degree oven.

We made our connecting flight in Amsterdam with no trouble. Customs in Edinburgh was a breeze. Our first order of business was to hit the currency exchange and load up on pounds and pence. I had a stash of unusable kroners that were the result of an unfortunate run in with an ATM in Denmark a couple of years ago. Seems I had not read the instructions very carefully and debited my US account for $800 worth of kroners rather than the intended $80. The service fee that the Scottish clerk charged me to change kroners into pounds was painless.

A short bus ride brought us to our little hotel in the Haymarket area of Edinburgh. The Lairg consists of several town houses under the watchful eye of our Lithuanian concierge, Lurch. Well, his given name might not be Lurch, but he looks and acts the part to perfection. I'm pretty sure he played for the former Soviet Olympic Basketball Team in the '50s. Upon completion of our registration, Lurch pulled out a small map of the city to explain a few simple rules. "Dis restaurant no good. You eat in dis vun. You want tour, I set up for you. Herz key. Open tree doors. Iz good. No?" We swore to obey and breathed a bit easier once we were in our room.

A plan was taking shape. It was agreed that Amy would keep her iphone set to US time and I would switch to UK time. It was now early afternoon and we decided that a wee nap would be just the ticket to set us up for a bit of exploring later. We freshened up and then hit the sheets. Lights out for three hours.

Down just a block from the Lairg we found a lovely pub and felt that a light dinner was just the ticket before we ventured into the city center for an evening walk-about. The pub was cozy and we were shown to a quiet upstairs dining area. When our waiter, William, asked what he could start us with, we quizzed him on the local beers. Amy choose a pint of the moderately dark Bellhaven Best while I went with a smooth lager, Tennents. We then selected a lovely meat and cheese platter to share. Needless to say, that first pint went down beautifully. Since it had been a long day, we had to have a second pint each. Meanwhile, Waiter William proved to be a great help in our planning for the rest of the evening, finding us a "Gig Guide" that listed all the pubs in Edinburgh, the genre of live music to be found in each and a detailed walking map. What more did a girl need? Off we went to find a taxi. "Top of the castle, please." In less than ten minutes we were standing at the top of a hill, in front of Edinburgh Castle, with our mouths gaping. What a sight. The castle is lit magnificently and gives you a breathtaking view of the city below. Now, all this would be spectacular in and of itself, but it was the night of the Guy Fawkes celebration! There were fireworks exploding in every direction.

We started down the Royal Mile. And, here is the problem with starting DOWN the mile. We walked all the way to Holyrood Palace, at the bottom of the hill, but all the pubs had been passed and we would now have to walk UP the hill if we wanted to hear any of that music that the Gig Guide promised. So, up we started. Now, as you must know, this can make a girl thirsty. We managed to climb the eight blocks back to the Whiskibar and found ourselves two lovely stools at the bar. It was now about 8:30 and the music wasn't scheduled till 10:00. Remember the thirsty part? Ok, another pint for each of us please. And, since a bird can't fly on one wing, we had to have a second. We were staring into our empty glasses and still had 20 minutes till the music began. I decided to act responsibly and suggested that we only have a half pint for the next round. Rats. The band was still setting up at 10:00, and our glasses were empty again. What better way to finish the evening than to slowly sip a glass of whisky? I'll have the 12 year old Glenfiddich please. Ahhhh. The band sucked. All the time we put in and then the band was no stinking good? Well, we had best be heading back to the hotel anyway. Now, we weren't exactly sure of the address to give the driver, so the simplest thing to ask for was to be dropped back at the first pub, from which we could walk the block back to the hotel. What? There is music coming from the pub? Is that our favorite waiter, William, standing in the door? Is he waving to us? How could we not go and say hello to William? Come in for another fine pint? Why not? Ah. It was a fine evening, indeed. We giggled all the way back our hotel and, no surprise, went straight to bed.

DAY 2
This is a day to scratch something off my bucket list. We had done our homework and found a tour that would take us to Stirling Castle and a chance to see a part of family history that I had always heard about. Somewhere in the past was a relative who had been born a Stirling, so I was certain that all of Scotland had been waiting for my triumphant return. As we headed in for our "Real Scottish Breakfast" we asked Lurch to book us on the tour we had selected. "Vat? You no listen to me? I tell you dis tour no gute. You vill go on THIS tour. Go eat. I vill book dis for you". Holy crap and "yes sir".

Well, seems 'ole Lurch knows what he is talking about. We were disobedient, bourgeois tourists. The tour bus picked us up in the exact spot that Lurch suggested and we then enjoyed a lovely day. Our route took us into Glasgow and then on to Loch Lomond. Unfortunately, the mist was too great to see much of the Loch. Then it was on to a small town for a lunch stop and the expected mill shop. As Amy and I went through the friendly cafeteria-ish line for our plates of lovely chicken curry, a woman approached me. "Excuse me", she said. "Is your sweater knit with MadelineTosh yarn and is your scarf knit in the hitchhikker pattern?" Now, if you are reading this and you are not a knitter, you will think that this woman is speaking jibberish. If you are a knitter, you will understand and I need give no other explanation. We don't have a worldwide secret handshake, but the last thing she asked me was if I was on Ravelry. Again, no further explanation.

After lunch, it was back onto the bus and we were instructed to buckle up. Things were about to get exciting. We were treated to a hair raising drive through the eye of a needle. Every hairpin curve opened up a new mist covered meadow, a wee waterfall and visions of Braveheart behind every tree. We were in the Queen's forest. November means the stags are in rut and Amy and I actually spied a doe with her young suiter in full chase. He was only a four point buck, but it was thrilling to see. He sure wasn't thinking about our tour bus at that moment.

Stirling Castle is everything I had hoped it would be. This past summer the Queen rededicated the castle following a massive restoration. The interior rooms were hosted by costumed guides and a master storyteller took us on a spellbinding hour long trip through the last 600 years.

The drive back into Edinburgh was lovely in the early evening light. The air was chilled and we were looking forward to an early evening. The driver dropped us off at our corner and we decided to have a quiet dinner before calling it a night. We selected another promising pub and were delighted to find it warm and welcoming. Our waiter brought us the menus and a nice glass of pinot noir. Oh, what a wonderful menu and it was chocked full of Scottish fare. Oh. They offer an appetizer size serving of haggis. MUST TRY IT! So, we sipped our wine and waited. Jimmy brought us a lovely plate of haggis served with taddies and nups. Now, I knew what taddies are because I have watched all the episodes of Monarch of The Glen. Turns out that nups are turnips. OK. We both picked up our forks and took a taste of the haggis. Um. Well. Um. I think I will order the full serving tomorrow for dinner. It is wonderful. No, they don't serve it in sheeps stomach any more.

Tomorrow holds a train to Glasgow and some exploring on our own. In fact, we stopped at the train station to pre-purchase our tickets for tomorrow. However, we have learned our lesson with Lurch. We have hidden our tickets in our wallets. When we go to breakfast in the morning and Lurch asks, "So, vat you ladies do today?" we will lie to him and say we are simply going to walk about a bit. We can't take a chance on him raising his eyebrows and looking down his Lithuanian nose at us to tell us "Vat? Dat train no gute".

Testing. One, two, three. Testing

2011-11-01T22:31:00.000-04:00

It has only taken me two hours to reset passwords, enable cookies, and to click my way back into Jodysoup. This must be the reason that real bloggers write regularly. Those of us who are mearly drop in bloggers must clear a lot of cobwebs from our data bank brains in order to fire this thing back up. Since my last posting I have changed my most used email account and been through a zillion password resets. So, the only grownup thing to do is to take this thing on a test drive and then pray that in the morning I remember just how I got here.

     The real countdown has begun. The only fly in my ointment is the failure of the rail tickets to arrive today. They are somewhere on a UPS truck between here and Jacksonville, so there is hope that the driver will arrive before I head out of Dodge.
     Just to give you a look at what lies ahead, here is a brief look at my itinerary for the next two and a half weeks....

   THURSDAY: Fly to Detroit. Why? Well, I want to start this trip with Amy. Seemed logical to meet her in Detroit and then we could sit together as we cross the Atlantic.
     FRIDAY: Amy and I fly from Detroit to Amsterdam for a connecting flight to Edinburgh where we will, once and for all, put to rest the question of what a lad wears under his kilt. Four nights in Edinburgh.
WEDNESDAY: Train to London. Four glorious days and nights of exploring.
SUNDAY: Amy returns to Michigan. I meet my old school chum and we take the Chunnel to Paris!!!!! Two nights in the City of Lights.
   TUESDAY: Train to Frankfort.
   THURSDAY: Train to Bruges. This has been a dream ever since seeing the movie In Bruges.
   SATURDAY: Train back to London for our final night.
     SUNDAY: Fly back home

WHEW! Sit tight, my peeps. We going on a trip.

MARY’S KITCHEN

2009-09-07T16:21:00.000-04:00

Tuesday morning and we are ready to hit the road. After another fine Irish breakfast in our B&B, we called a taxi for a short ride into the car rental office in Galway. Mike and the rental agent completed all the paper work and we were assigned a Ford Focus, automatic, right hand drive car that was one hubcap short of a full set. No bother.

Our goal for the day was to be in Labasheeda by dinner. This would be no small task as Muhammed Ali was in Ennis. Yes, that fine son of Ireland and former world champion was being given the keys to the city of his grandmother’s birth. I’ll bet you didn’t know that Ali’s grandmother was an O’Grady. The papers had been full of the story for days and huge crowds were expected for the parade and festivities. This presented a particular problem for us as all roads in County Clare pass through Ennis. Looking at our map was like a story problem in seventh grade geometry. If a triangle has three sides and you are trying to pass a camel through the eye of a needle by avoiding one of the sides, what is pi? The only consolation is that Ireland is roughly the size of West Virginia, so any detour we choose would only add an hour to our travel time. We traveled southeast for a bit, swung southwest to the Shannon Estuary and then followed the river west to Labasheeda. Don’t blink.

Why were we headed to Labasheeda? That story starts out with an Email. It went something like this. “Hi Jody. You might not remember me, but we went to high school together and you gave me a book that I still have with me.” Um, yes, I did remember her. So, I wrote her back. “Hi Mary, how nice to hear from you after only forty years. I live in Florida. Where are you?” She wrote back “Labasheeda, Ireland. If you’re ever in the neighborhood….”. So, we corresponded over this past spring and early summer. Our letters were great fun because we both are very irreverent about life and fancy ourselves as undiscovered comedy writers. The invitation was firmed up and we were expected for dinner on Tuesday evening.

We were a bit early, so we cruised through town to get the lay of the land. I am guessing that town consists of about thirty houses, a pub, a school, a church, a post office and a community center. We explored the road that lead out to a peninsula at one end of town. Well, the term “road” is a bit of a stretch. It is the sort of pathway that we all searched for in our teens as the perfect make-out spot. As we drove along, the road became a single lane with grass growing in the middle. We passed one car and that was only because we pulled into a hedge to allow the oncoming car past. We followed the path until it drove straight into the Shannon River. Thank God there was a little “T” where we were able to get turned around and head back to town.

We parked and walked to the door. Mary and Bruce greeted us and welcomed us into their home. It was a leap of faith for all four of us to think that we would simply sit down and be old friends. And, that is exactly what happened. Mike and Bruce got our luggage up to the guest room and then we were treated to the tour. If I were to tell you that Mary and Bruce were doing a bit of remodeling, it would be like saying Joan Rivers had a wee bit of plastic surgery. Their house had once been a dry goods store and home in a row of buildings that sit along the river. Over the years, the house had become uninhabited. It was a very old stone building whose roof leaked causing huge amounts of damage to the interior of the structure. Some saw a derelict but Mary and Bruce saw their dream house. The deal was done and they bought it. What sort of crazy folk would take this project on? Why a dentist, of course. Bruce showed us photos of the reconstruction process and they are amazing. They are several years into the project and have completed the second floor bedrooms and baths, allowing them to sleep and bath in comfort, and have guests.

When you enter the house, you sort of have to side step the new windows that are stacked in the front hall awaiting placement in the as yet to be added addition. Off to the left is Bruce’s workshop. This is the section of the house that was the dry goods shop. Bruce has set up a dream workshop where he can fix or rebuild anything. And I mean that literally. He has power tools, table saws, hundreds of bins of nails and screws, workbenches, and things I don’t even know what they are. He has a section where all the hand tools are hung in perfect order. Turns out Bruce was an engineer before he became a dentist. He knows how things work. He can tear it down and put it back together. Now that the second floor is finished, he is working at extending the back of the house to include a new kitchen and dining room with a beautiful deck looking out onto the Shannon Estuary. The room that is now used as a kitchen will become a living room.

And, now to Mary’s temporary kitchen. This is where we found ourselves seated after our initial welcome. When I tell you that there is no sink or running water in the kitchen, I know you will be surprised. There is a drop dead gorgeous dark green professional stove and two refrigerators, a table, chairs and two worktables built to form an “L” along two walls. The worktables are covered in oilcloth and have a set of shelves underneath to hold bins that contain silverware and other kitchen items. The end wall has the exposed studs that will some day be dry walled to form the living room wall. Till then, little shelves sit between the studs for glasses and plates. Food is prepared, meals are eaten and the dishwasher is in the laundry room. It all works.

Now, you may think this kitchen arrangement sounds rather primitive. Not so. This is the true heart of Mary and Bruce Dietz’s home. What comes from this kitchen is nothing short of miraculous. The food was gourmet. The hospitality was world class. We sat. We ate. We drank. We laughed. We became the best of old friends. While Mary sat at the table peeling potatoes for Wednesday’s dinner, I sat and knitted and we talked. We told each other about our brothers and sisters, our Mothers and Fathers. We talked about what sort of women our daughters had become. The memory of that late afternoon, of two women sitting in a kitchen, listening to Motown as the day unwound will be something I will carry with me. Mary prepared dinner and I tried to memorize how she was doing it. Bruce puttered in the workshop and Mike read. Over cocktails and then dinner, we discussed politics, the Irish economy, our cholesterol, travel, our individual roots.

We didn’t eat and drink the entire time. Mary took us on a drive about on Wednesday that included a trip along the cliffs that form the southern tip of County Clare, reaching west out into the sea. I will dare to say that, in my opinion, these cliffs, out beyond Kilkee, are more breathtaking than the Cliffs of Moher. The road is a single lane that winds along the top of the cliffs. The sheep are on one side and the sea is on the other. Magnificent.

Thursday morning Mike and I packed up the car and said our good byes to Mary and Bruce. Our time in Labasheeda was nothing short of fabulous. I’m hoping we get an invitation to revisit and see how the house changes and reshapes itself over time. And, I’m hoping Mary will cook.

EVERYBODY OFF THE BUS

2009-09-04T12:12:00.000-04:00

Is this the bad dream where you are back in high school, sitting in a classroom? You didn’t do your homework, and you are hoping the teacher doesn’t call on you. Well, it’s Friday morning and I am a full five days behind in writing about our trip. But wait, I have some really good excuses. Umm, I didn’t have an Internet connection some of the time. Umm, Mike was asleep and I didn’t want to disturb him with my typing. Well, you see, we were sitting up late with friends and I lost track of, umm, time. Never mind the excuses and watch carefully. I have nothing up my sleeve. Pick a card.

EVERYBODY OFF THE BUS

Monday was one of those days that you have on every trip. The day’s events didn’t fall into place quite as we planned. The racing was not of much interest to Mike as it was to be only seven races, all on the flat. Translation…no jumps. He thought he would take a pass on attending, but left a window open in case he changed his mind. We decided to take a bus tour of the Burren for the day. That particular tour would take us over a scenic route that I had traveled four years earlier. The tour included the Allwee Caves, the Cliffs of Moher and a lunch stop at a pub in Doolin for a steaming bowl of Irish stew and soda bread. My previous visit to that pub will live in my memory forever as a five star meal. The tour would have us back in Galway by 5:00 and the races didn’t begin till 5:30. Then, IF Mike decided to take in the races, he could hop a taxi and head in that direction and I could either go with him or return to our B&B for a quiet evening. It was a great plan.

As fate would have it, we had the very same tour driver this day that my friend Judy and I had driven with four years ago. He is a wee bit of a man named Desmond. His son, Declan, also drives tours, but he was on holiday, so Desmond was our man. Isn’t it funny how time softens memories? It took all of five minutes for me to remember the things I found a bit tiring about Desmond. He spoke in double speak four years ago and now speaks triple speak. He now speaks triple. Now speaks triple speak. The other difficult thing about him is that, as he has aged, Desmond’s Irish accent has become much heavier. As he has aged, he triple speaks faster and with a much heavier accent. He speaks faster and has a much thicker accent. In the interest of time, I am going to assume that you get the picture and I will not write further in triple speak. So, we are on the bus, we are heading out of Galway and the bus is sort of swaying. Hmmmm? We drive along like this, the bus swaying, and Desmond saying things most passengers can’t understand. We pull over and Mike says to me he thinks there is something wrong with the bus. A few passengers exit the bus for a rest stop and Desmond gets on the phone. Here is why it is important to speak Gaelic. No one on the bus knows what is happening and Desmond is making some sort of deal for our travel day with an unknown Gaelic speaker on the other end. Everyone off the bus.

We milled about on the side of the road for fifteen minutes when an older, much smaller bus pulls up. Desmond asks if any passengers have to be back to Galway by 5:00. If so, they should get on the short bus. I do not know where these people were driven. I am only praying that they weren’t asked to take a shower at the end of their ride on the short bus. Off they go. Soon, a second short bus arrives. It’s Declan, the son of Desmond. He loads those of us who are remaining and says he is taking us down the road for a cup of coffee or a pint and we will wait for our new big bus to arrive. My only prayer at this point is that Declan will drive the new bus because I can understand him. We all take a seat and Declan leads us in some good Irish song. He drives really fast. Really fast. We are taken to a nice coffee shop, slash souvenir stand to await the new bus. When it arrives, we are now two hours behind schedule. And, Desmond is still the driver.

Off we go. We wiz right past the Allwee caves without stopping. Because we are so behind schedule, there are many other interesting sites that are pointed out to us as we drive past. You needed a very fast shutter speed if you wanted to take any photos from the speeding bus. The other reason we were omitting tour stops was pure economics. Over the last four years, Desmond and his son had purchased the busses we were riding in. That meant that the admission fees at various sites had to be paid out of the ticket price we paid for our tour. Also in the last four years, Ireland had upped the admission fees to many of these stops. But, as we climbed up in the Burren, we did stop at the ancient dolman where the dead were laid out 5,600 years ago.

We drove on. Fast. By now it was after 2:00 and I held out little hope that we would be stopping in that wonderful tavern in Doolin for any lunch. We drove right to the Cliffs of Moher. Again, I was remembering what it was like four years ago. Well, the Irish government hadn’t changed the cliffs, but they sure as hell redid the visitor center. The cliffs are still a magnificent site to see. In fact, I am glad that the path up to the edge of the cliffs had been improved. When I was last there, there was only a railing that stood twelve inches off the ground to keep tourists back from the edge. In fact, I remember Japanese tourists stepping over the wee barrier to lie on their stomachs and shoot photos looking straight down the cliff face. I always thought this was a bonus. If they fell over, it was an exercise in jungle survival. Only the smart survive. Go over the edge and all of mankind is better because there is one less stupid person alive. The Irish have added a proper wall of stone slabs standing on their sides all the way along the cliff edge. This wall is about four feet high and protects the stupid. I just hate that.

But, that isn’t the worst of it. We were forced to eat lunch at the tourist center. Close your eyes and imagine you are in a rest stop somewhere along the highway in West Virginia. Not the pretty part of West Virginia. No, the baloney sandwich, pickup truck with no tailgate, Bubba belt of West Virginia. The Irish government spent over turdy million Euros to build the most incredibly ugly cluster of caves into the side of a hill and called it a tourist center. The main bunker is two stories and houses a pathetic, vending machine filled lunchroom that also serves frozen pizza and some other cardboard items. All that is visible are two half moon shaped windows because the rest is in the hill. They spent all that money to drill out a cavity in which to place the washrooms and a souvenir shop. From the outside of this you can walk down a bit further and find about eight more caves that house independent tee shirt vendors, some sort of a music shop and another shop that sells punk regalia. Of course, none of these shops are open.

So, we bid a fond farewell to the cliffs and head back to Galway. Fast. By the time we reach the city, it is 7:30 and there is no thought of Mike getting to the races. We have no recourse but to find a wonderful restaurant and order a really good bottle of wine. This turned out to be the very best part of the day. In fact, when we return to Galway to drop off our rental car, we will try to return to this restaurant. I liked it so much that I asked for their card so I can share it with some friends who will be in Galway next spring. Cookes is a very small venue in a very old building. It is intimate and cozy and the perfect end to some sort of bizarre day.

A RACING YARN

2009-08-30T16:52:00.000-04:00

Saturday was a wonderful day for boys and girls. Mike made money at the races and I had my knitting admired by many.

One of the perks of staying at a B&B is the breakfast. You can take a shower, get dressed and then simply walk across the hall to the dining room. You sit down with wet hair and your breakfast magically appears. The Periwinkle is located within walking distance of the city center, so following breakfast we packed our rain gear and my knitting and set out for town. We walked a block toward the sea and then followed the promenade along the strand. OK. In case you don’t speak Irish, that means we followed the sidewalk along the break wall that runs alongside the shore of Galway Bay and the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a lovely walk. What? Camels? Four camels lying down in the grass grazing? Seems the circus is in town and the camel owner had staked out a little pen, using a wee single strand of electric tape to allow his camels to have a bite of grass. Two humps, if you please.

We continued toward town center, walking through the Claddagh (yes, that Claddagh with the rings). You cross a beautiful bridge and you have arrived in the city center of Galway. In my bag of knitting I had packed a few unwound skeins of Koigu yarn and a hand knit sock to share with Ann O’Maille, whom I had met the day before. She was with customers when we arrived in her shop and I waited, wondering what she would think of the hand painted Canadian yarn and my work. Glory, Glory. She was awed by the colors and fineness of the yarn and said my work was extraordinary. To any non-knitter reading this, let me just tell you that this is akin to Julia Childs asking for your receipe for coq-au-vin. Of course, Needless to say, I am now very conceited.

And now to the main event for Mike. The Galway Races. Racing was to begin at 5:00. The racecourse is about a fifteen-minute bus ride from Eyre Square in downtown Galway. By 2:30 we were seated on a wall in the Square watching the busses. Mike was a bit excited and didn’t want to take a chance on being late to the races. Yawn. We sat. We watched babies in strollers. Yawn. We chatted with a young woman who was waiting for her husband to arrive, along with the other 1000 motorcyclists who were on the cross Ireland ride. Yawn. We sat. We remained seated until a girl from Indiana walked right up to us, sat down and said “HI. How are you guys?” Well, the American accent and the friendly way made me think we must know her. She and I chatted for a few minutes about the weather and the lovely day. Finally I said, “Excuse me. Do I know you?” Nope. She said she was traveling through Europe for eleven months, camping with a group of other Christians who were going to pray for peace everywhere they visited. We smiled, wished her luck and left the wall before she could ask us for money or worse, to pray with her.

The bus dropped us off a block from the racecourse and we were only an hour early for the first race. The bookies weren’t even set up yet. I staked out a lovely spot inside the grandstand area where I could knit away and Mike wouldn’t have to worry about me. He was free to handicap the races, watch the horses being led to the track and do the mental exercise of shopping the bookies.

The real fancy Galway races are held in July, for one week, and they are attended by upwards of 40,000 race fans. The August races are just four days and might attract only 8,000-10,000 fans. But, what a sight. The stands look out over the ruins of a castle tower in the infield and all the way out to the Aran Islands, sitting in Galway Bay. The track itself is a turf course with several configurations to suit different flat distances as well as steeplechase and hurdle racing over jumps. The races are run clockwise and the course undulates. As the field heads for the second turn, the track dips. The last turn, just before the stretch runs uphill and one lap is roughly a mile and a half with the race distance being 2.5 to 2.75 miles. The fans are quite well dressed and really know their horses. I watched boys of around seven years old standing with their dads. As the horses came up the hill for the final turn, these boys were jumping around, waving their fists, calling their horse’s names and willing them to finish well. It was lovely to hear the announcer calling out the winner of the race, followed by the horses in second, turd, fort and fit place. Racing is Irish.

Mike was Euros ahead for the day so we took a taxi back to town and celebrated a great day with a wonderful dinner and wine.

Today was to be much of the same. When we crossed the hall for breakfast, the two smaller tables were already seating other guests. Two men preparing for a day trip to the Aran Islands were at one table. A mother and father with two sullen early teen daughters were at a table for four. This left a table of six for Mike and me. We sat at one end and had just started sipping our coffee when four men arrived to claim the other four seats. They were in town for the races. We enjoyed a very lively breakfast with them. Of course the talk was mostly about racing but we did spend a bit of time getting to know a little about each other’s lives. The four men are from the midlands of England and travel to race meets quite regularly. We all shared little stories of our lives. I told them about seeing the camels the day before. This naturally turned to subject to circuses, in general. The short man at the end of the table then began to tell us about some of the adventures his son had had while he traveled the country as A Human Cannonball. He had to quit the life though because he became so accomplished that he was in great danger of overshooting the net. The other three men backed up this story and all said how talented this young man had been as a cannonball. But, they assured me that the actual shooting was all done with springs and the explosive charge is not real dynamite. That’s just for show. I swear I am not making this up.

Mike had another great day of betting and we were forced to find another wonderful restaurant and drink another lovely bottle of wine.

I’M IN HEAVEN. I’M IN GALWAY

2009-08-29T05:43:00.000-04:00

Friday started with another fine breakfast at the Brook’s Hotel. Again, our dapper gentleman, Conner, dressed in his full morning suit, stopped by our table to discuss that fine Teddy Kennedy and the funeral arrangements. He reminded us that the Irish ‘luv’ the Kennedys and consider the family a wild bunch of local lads.

Conner arranged a taxi for our ride to the train station. Why can’t the US have proper train service? It is such a handy way to get from point A to point B. Mike and I had envisioned a lovely, scenic trip across Ireland from Dublin on the east coast to Galway on the west coast. We boarded the train with about forty-five minutes before departure. The cars were fairly empty at this point, and we figured that our trip would be quite relaxing. The seats are configured in groups of four, two facing front and two facing back and a table between. The cars are nearly new and very clean. Soon an older gentleman sat across the aisle from us. He was then chosen as a seatmate by a young man who was traveling alone. We had nothing to do but eavesdrop on their conversation. The older man asked the younger how old he was and was he traveling alone. Yes, he was alone and he was seventeen. Next he asked if the teen was traveling across Ireland to visit family. Well, not exactly. The story, and I am not making this up, is that the youngster claims he just got out of jail. He had been arrested for public drunkenness and sent to the prison in Dublin. His time was up and he was given a ticket back to Galway where he had no idea where his family was. This unlikely pair sat together for about half the journey. The last we saw of the boy was when he bummed a cigarette from another passenger and headed to some other car to smoke. I’m not sure if there is an actual smoking car or if he was hanging out between two cars, blowing smoke across the midlands.

Now, you probably think that was the height of any train adventure. Not so, In the Dublin station about twenty retired ladies on a holiday chose our car to travel in. My grandmother would have called them cackling hens and that is exactly what our car sounded like. These women were jumping from seat to seat, hugging, laughing and shouting to friends in the far end of the coach. I have been to rock concerts where the decibel level was lower than that rail car. The best news is that they all got off the train in Athloan, about half way to Galway.

Was that all the excitement on our car? Why, no it wasn’t. Mike and I had taken a pair of seats, side by side, facing the front of the train. We had two vacant seats across from us. A father and son, also on their way to Galway, claimed these seats. I guess the son was about seventeen, just like the convict lad across the aisle. This boy wasn’t a convict though. He was Down syndrome. Where is Sarah Palin when you need her? The boy had his DVD player and spent the entire journey watching Mama Mia. If I hear Dancing Queen again, I promise I shall jump from a moving train. He knew many of the dance moves and would punctuate the music with the arm waving and wild abandon that make the movie so fun. And about every five minutes he would kiss his dad gently on the cheek and then pat him on the belly. The dad got up from his seat at one point to find the bathroom, leaving the boy with us. The boy gently rearranged his DVD player, used a tissue to wipe to his 7-Up bottle off and lift and replace the foil wrapped sandwiches the dad had brought on board. The pack of sandwiches was good size and Mike said, “ooh, heavy”. The boy nodded his head and pointed to the square, foil wrapped package and said “Guinness”. I am not making this up. I must say that the father and son were special men and it was a joy to see how much they loved each other.

We arrived in Galway in a torrential rain that lasted all of ten minutes. Then, the sun came out. We rolled our luggage into a nearby hotel lobby and enjoyed a late lunch before finding a taxi to take us to our B&B. After checking in, we took a walk into Galway and I remembered how much I love this city. We happened into a small shop named O’Maille. This is the home of the real Aran knit sweater. I struck up a long conversation with the owner. She employs two hundred knitters, all in Ireland, who hand knit Aran sweaters for sale in this shop. About ten years ago the owner was involved in a project called Woman’s Hands for Oprah Winfry. And this shop provided all of John Wayne’s tweed jackets. The owner and her daughter have a knitting school. If you’re interested, the site is www.omaille.com. I am returning to the shop later today to share some of my Canadian yarn with her.

We finished our first day in Galway with a wonderful dinner and a walk back along the sea to our B&B. Saturday will find us at the races. Horse racing and knitting. You have to love Galway.

GLENDELOUGH

2009-08-27T16:58:00.000-04:00

Oh, Ireland! You bring me to my knees. You cause my breath to catch in my throat. You are haunting, but always laughing. Today was glorious. County Wicklow was misty and the winds were stiff. It was the perfect day.

Breakfast was typically Irish. Some beautiful, thick slices of ham, an assortment of soft Irish cheeses and sinful pots of berries and cream. We sliced off generous servings of dark soda bread and fluffy potato bread. Of course there were scones.

Mike had done his homework the night before and had booked a bus tour of County Wicklow, the garden spot of Ireland. We walked to The Shelbourne Hotel to meet our bus. The Shelbourne is a beautiful Grande Dame in the Victorian style, facing St. Stephen’s Green. Our driver, Damian, gave us the full benefit of his knowledge and pride in his city as he called out the points of interest on our way out of Dublin. He filled us with local facts and trivia. Dublin is a city of 1.4 million but is larger than Manhattan. Sixty-two percent of the population of Dublin is under thirty years of age.

Our route was to take us to Glendelough (pronounced lock). It translates as Glen for Valley, de meaning two and lough for lakes. Valley of two lakes. And, not just any lakes. They are glacial lakes and they are the site of an ancient monastery. The Glendelough National Park is over seven hundred square miles in size and is the second most visited site in all of Ireland. What is the first, you might ask? Why, the Guinness Brewery, of course (did I mention that Arthur Guinness had twenty-one children?). The ancient ruins at Glendelough date back to the eleventh century. The monastery was burned by the Vikings and rebuilt many times over the course of history. It consists of the ruins of seven churches and the second tallest Irish Round Tower in Ireland as well as a very large cemetery. We hiked from the site of the monastery to the point between the two glacial lakes, where we again met our bus. All this time, the wind was blowing, the rain was a light mist and the light was such that you knew that you would bump into a ghost at any turn. Damian reported that had the weather been lovely, the site would have been teeming with tourists and our time at Glendelough would have been much less enjoyable and spiritual.

Just a short ride from Glendelough found us at a local pub for lunch. What is it about Irish potatoes? They are superior to any potatoes found anywhere else in the world. Mike and I both had a huge bowl of stew (secret ingredient being Guinness) served over a half dozen small roasted potatoes. We washed it down with a pint of Carlsberg. We were warned that drinking too much beer would not make for a pleasant afternoon bus trip as we were about to enter a toiletless/treeless section of County Wicklow. In fact, you cannot even step off of the paved thread of a road because you would sink and never be found again. As you climb up into the pass, the ground becomes a solid marsh as far as the eye can see. We climbed into the mist as the trees disappeared and there was nothing but gorse, heather and sheep in all directions. The sheep are everywhere. In fact, the sheep are in the road. And, the road is a challenge all it’s own. The Tour de France was held on this road a few years back. The road is not wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other. One vehicle must always yield to the side. This is not an easy feat when there is no shoulder of any sort. Remember, if you step off the pavement, you will sink. I found it best to simply look away and trust Damian. Again, the misty rain simply added to the glory of being in Ireland. The rain hung over the peaks and slide into the valleys. When we stopped to take photos of a waterfall, the wind was sharp enough to make you catch your breath.

As we began our descent, Damian flavored the tour with selections of music to suit the vistas. We enjoyed the overtures to several movie sagas – Christopher Columbus and Braveheart among them. The music punctuated the drama that spread before us. As we returned to the roads that would take us back to Dublin, the music changed to the Clancy Brothers and other Irish musicians. Smokey Robinson too? Yes, Damian’s taste is rather eclectic.

Back to our hotel for a quick cat-nap and then to a lovely Italian restaurant for pasta and a bottle of wine. Early to bed and tomorrow we head to the west.

WHEN IRISH EYES ARE LAUGHING

2009-08-26T14:43:00.000-04:00

I am happy to report that Ireland is as magical as I remember. The Guinness is as good, the people are as warm and the weather is still questionable.

We left Toronto on Monday evening and had a rather bumpy flight. I am convinced that we flew over Bill. However, while I reclined in my comfy business class seat, covered with a quilt, satisfied by a lovely dinner and a nice wine, the bumps didn’t seem to be too bad. That was the good news. Unfortunately, I will never be satisfied with a transatlantic seat in steerage again. Thank you, Mike Horgan.

We cleared customs with no snags, boarded a bus for the city center and hoofed it a few blocks to the Brooks Hotel. What a gem. The Brooks is tucked into a side street and is rather unpretentious looking. As Mike registered, Connor O’Connell greeted me. He is the most gracious gentleman one can ever hope to meet. Tall, dressed in a full morning suit, drop dead handsome, he starts right out by putting you and he on a first name basis. He invited me to sit with him while Mike finished registering. He then proceeded to unfold a city map and make all the proper notes for the ‘don’t miss’ stops. Every time we go through the lobby now he calls out to us “Mike! Jody! Did you find your way to the Fish and Chips place we talked about? How was Riverdance last night? Brilliant!” This morning, as we were enjoying our breakfast, Conner rushed over to our table to express his condolences over our loss of Ted Kennedy. What? Yes, that’s how we get our news here in Dublin. It’s hand delivered by our butler.

Following a nap to try to reset our internal clocks, we set out to wander around a bit. Great luck. We found a pub! The Hairy Lemon, My first order of business was to have a pint of Smithwick’s for my nephew, Jared. Slante, Jared. We each enjoyed a steaming bowl of seafood chowder and some lovely soda bread. Just what the doctor ordered.

Mike had purchased tickets for one of the final performances of Riverdance. It is closing August 29^th so what trip to Dublin would be complete without seeing it. The Gaiety Theater is intimate and it was SRO. Our seats were perfect, first row in the balcony. After the performance, we had a late sandwich back at our hotel.

Wednesday has been a day to explore the city. Yes, you realy can walk to just about everything that might be on your list. We found the Guinness Brewery and took the tour. It is wonderful. We both learned a lot about the process of beer making. However, the highlight is definitely the final stop on the tour. You find yourself on the seventh floor in the Gravity Lounge where you are treated to a complimentary pint of Guinness and a 360-degree view of Dublin. As we sipped our pint, we sat by a window and gazed out to the Dublin Mountains and watched showers roll across the city.

By this time we were ready to use the services of the Hop On-Hop Off bus to see the remaining sights. As is always the way, when I find myself on the top of an open-air bus, it rained. But, no bother, it was a soft misty rain and didn’t drive us off the bus till we got to Trinity College. It was a bit too late in the day to see the Book of Kells, so that will have to wait for another day.

That concludes today’s report. We are going to walk about a bit more in search of a quiet dinner.

HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN, JIGGITY-JIG

2009-07-17T21:06:00.000-04:00

July 13, Monday

Well, Monday became one very long day. We set the alarm and I was up by 6:00 AM. Now, if you do the math, 6:00 AM in London is 1:00 AM in Florida. At the end of the day, I was in my own bed in Florida just before midnight, making Monday a 23-hour day.

Linda had arranged for a driver to pick us up at 7:00 for our drive to Gatwick. That meant navigating through rush hour traffic. We had allowed plenty of time, so we were worry free. We also allotted extra time for the duty-free area of the airport. And, I might say that of all the airports I have ever been in, Gatwick security is the most extensive, comprehensive and efficient I have experienced.

It goes without saying that the eight and a half hour flight from Gatwick to Cincinnati is really long. Linda had taken a last minute upgrade into first class so I took her assigned window seat in coach and slept off and on much of the flight. This gave me lots of time to mull over some random thoughts and memories.

When in London, ALWAYS look for the zebra stripes before trying to cross the street. Cars and busses must stop if you are in the zebra stripes. Since I couldn’t train my brain to first look to the right when crossing, zebra stripes saved my life on many occasions.

Wardrobe management is very simple in London. Everyone looks so chic. All you need are a pair of leggings under anything, and you are in style. Leggings under a sundress. Leggings under a mini skirt. Leggings under a tunic top. Add a big cinch belt and gladiator sandals and you are cutting edge.

While walking though the city streets, shopping, riding the tube and sight seeing I noticed that, other than English, Italian seemed to be the most widely spoken language, followed by French. And women in burka’s are not an unusual sight.

I am now much more aware of the epidemic of morbid obesity in the U.S. compared to other countries. People walk or ride bikes in all of the European cities we visited. Public transportation is the best way to get around in cities with narrow streets. Parking is impossible. You don’t see many buildings dedicated to huge multi-story parking garages. The subway system in London is accessed by flight after flight of stairs. This forces people to exercise. To be honest, I think it would be difficult for a handicapped individual. You don’t see people in scooter chairs zooming around like they do in Wal-Mart, Disney World, Kroger’s, and every shopping mall in the U.S. People in Europe walk. Some might be heavy, but few are morbidly obese.

I had a six hour layover in Cincinnati before catching my flight to Orlando. So, I am home now. Jet lag is real. I was fine on the first day home, but the second day it hit me. Not to worry. I will be rested up in plenty of time for Mike’s and my excellent Irish adventure at the end of August.

A GRAND FINALE

2009-07-17T19:54:00.000-04:00

Sunday, July 12

It’s our last day in London. I had started organizing my suitcases Saturday afternoon but planned to leave the finishing touches till later in the day Sunday. Over coffee, Linda and I decided that the Royal Mews at Buckingham Palace would be our last stop in our twenty-one day, eight-country adventure. And maybe a stroll down Sloane Street for some window-shopping and brunch.

A short tube ride and we were back at the Queen’s house. The Royal Mews are around back. I thought I knew what the word mews meant. It’s just English for alley, right? Nope. It’s where the falcons go to molt. Falcon molting is called mewing, thus they mew in the mews. Are you still with me?

The Mews are built as a quadrangle with coach housing along one side, and the other sides containing stalls, harness rooms and parking for limousines. One section holds the Gold State Coach with four-life size Windsor Grays wearing the Morocco harness and two postillion riders. It is a breathtaking sight to see this coach in all its brilliance.

We worked our way through the mews, taking lots of photos and listening to the audio tour. Of course, we found the gift shop at the end of the tour and managed to pick up a few more items to tuck into our suitcases.

Next stop Sloane Street and a very nice café for a late brunch. My scrambled eggs must have been made with cream and I can safely say were the best I had ever eaten. And, the belini and fresh waffle that I couldn’t turn down meant we needed a nice walk and a bit of window-shopping. Then, hop on the tube and back to the flat for serious packing.

2009-07-12T11:58:00.001-04:00

THE ALPHA AND OMEGA OF CULTURE

July 11

What to do on a Saturday in London? Well, when your digs are one block from Portobello Road, you must join the thousands of others strolling through Portobello Road Market. I had walked for several blocks along this road a few days earlier and it looked rather like an old woman who had seen better days. The road was lined with antique shops, tee shirt stores and second hand clothing stores, most of which were closed. The road was narrow and winding and appeared quite sleepy. On closer look, you could see where the pavement along the curb was painted and numbered with each section being about eight feet wide. Well, you sure can’t judge this book by its cover.

By early Saturday morning, each week, you cannot drive a car down this road. It is a solid wall of people. Most of those little shops opens up to become an alley way from front to back with stalls for eight or ten vendors inside each narrow store front. The road, where the painted hash marks are, has become an unbroken line of tables and booths selling the most unbelievable mix of used items you can imagine. Need a camera from the 1935? There is a vendor that specializes. Need an alligator hand bag from the 50’s. It’s there. Are you searching for a set of antique sterling silver plated fish knives? I know where they are. How about brass hotel faucets from the 1800’s? Yup. I stopped at one vendor that specialized in vintage ladies fur wraps, caplets, fox tail stoles and such. He must have had over a hundred and fifty pieces to choose from. I lifted my camera to take a photo and he jumped in front of me, waving his hands. “No photos. No photos.” Sorry.

The market is more than used items. There are several blocks of fruit and vegetable stands as well stalls selling new merchandise. There are crepe vendors. I stopped and watched as a young French girl prepared a banana and nutella crepe for me. There were many street musicians along the road as well. I stood for about twenty minutes listening to the Hightown Crows perform their own raw rock/blues on a suitcase, a bass and a pair of old guitars. Their flyer says “…we’ll play your wedding…we’ll play your wake…book us now.” I didn’t.

As I was walking back to our flat, I passed a pair of young men, maybe in their mid twenties. They had set up a table and were offering free architecture. What? How do you offer free architecture? I must have looked puzzled as one of them volunteered, “we’re not giving out free buildings, just free ideas.” I laughed and told him I was relieved as I was going to have to pack for my return to the states and wasn’t sure if I had room for a building in my luggage. They handed me their card and said to call if they could be of service. Well, have you ever had one of those moments where you are not sure how someone from another country will interpret a phrase or slang expression? I wanted to say to these young men that I thought their marketing technique was fresh and innovative. What I said as I walked away from them is, “Wow. You have a nice tool.” Was that wrong?

I returned to our flat and took a ten-minute snooze before beginning to think about dinner and the theater. We walked to a lovely restaurant, The Black & Blue, for an early dinner and a glass of wine. Then we found a cab for the ride to the theater. As previously mentioned, traffic in London is indescribable. The city is currently in the midst of replacing every water line. This means that sections are blocked off making the flow of traffic through the maze of narrow streets, mews and alleyways even more challenging. I think I read that a London cabbie must study and memorize 40,000 streets in London to pass his test for a cab drivers license. Our driver earned a nice tip based on the route he was forced to take to get us to the theater. It was worthy of James Bond trying to shake a tail.

We had tickets for a performance of War Horse at the New London Theater. The theater opened in 1973 and was home to Cats for 21 years. Our seats were fabulous. (I highly recommend that anyone traveling to London and wishing to see a play use the ticket service at Harrods). This play is based on a children’s book about a farm boy who raises a horse and then his father sells the horse to the cavalry as a war horse in the First World War. But, it is also the story of the one million horses that were taken to France from Britain with only 62,000 returning. What makes this play so unusual is that the life size horses in the production are puppets, each with three puppeteers inside. The actors actually are mounted on the puppets at times. The skill of the puppeteers is so profound that you don’t even see them; you only see a real horse.

Then back to the flat and sweet dreams of packing. Only one more day to enjoy this wonderful city.

HAMPTON COURT

2009-07-11T04:35:00.001-04:00

July 10

What will we explore today? Linda hadn’t been to Hampton Court before and, of course, I hadn’t been there. This is the home of Henry VIII and the Hampton Court Flower show. But first, we put in a call to the box office at Harrods and ordered our tickets for Saturday night’s performance of War Horse.

We again took the tube to Wellington Station and from there caught a train west to Hampton Court. Because of the flower show it seemed that a train to Hampton was running every five minutes. We were able to catch an express and we were whisked, and I do mean whisked, to the lovely town of Hampton.

Upon arrival we decided on a lunch before touring Henry VIII’s love nest. There was a charming café across the road from the castle and we sat outside and had a nice lunch. This is where I learned about a new drink. We had a Pimm’s lemonade. Very tasty. I will have to look for Pimm’s when I get home. From there we simply crossed the road and entered the world of Henry’s royal court. They have audio devices that talk you through the many rooms and give you a commentary on what you are seeing. It was very interesting to see the kitchen as it was set up just as it was in Henry’s day with huge fireplaces and rooms for cooking fish, another for meats, a baking area and finally the serving section that looked rather like a cafeteria sort of arrangement where the servers would pick up their trays for serving the guests. This is where we bumped into Henry himself. He was on his way to the wine cellar and we followed him in for a bit of theater. All very jolly.

The castle was originally the home of Cardinal Woolsey, but Henry coveted it and proceeded to ruin Woolsey causing Woolsey to give the castle to Henry. This is where Henry enjoyed his many wives. Henry then added a wonderful astronomical clock, the tiltyard for jousting and a tennis court. This castle was also the home of William and Mary and others, so the periods changed from royal apartment to apartment. But, many of the furnishings are original. Outside are beautiful gardens that are being restored to their Elizabethan splendor. The gardens contain a famous shrub maze and we had to try it. Yes, it is a maze and you do get completely lost in it. We finally made it to the middle and then took the gate out. Had we not exited from the middle, we would still be there.

We took a look at the Garden Show being held on the grounds. This is a huge event in the summer calendar and entry is pricey. We decided that it was way too crowded for our taste and we had seen enough. So, back to the train to London. From the train we headed back to Harrods to pick up our theater tickets for Saturday night and so Linda could get her gift shopping done. While she did that I parked myself in a little cappuccino bar and watched an amazing parade of shoppers. Of course a trip to Harrods isn’t complete without a stop at the shrine to Diana and Dody. Remember, Dody’s father owns Harrods.

To finish our day we each made selections from the Harrods Food Court for take-away dinner back at the flat. Then a tube ride home. We made a couple of wee errors and found ourselves on the wrong line, but after some backtracking we made it home. I’m starting to get the hang of this tube.

WALK THIS WAY

2009-07-11T03:30:00.001-04:00

Thursday, July 9

Today’s plan is for Linda and me to make our own plan. She is fighting a bit of a cold and plans a day of laying low and re-energizing herself.

I had one must do for my time in London. Marthe (Mike’s Mom) had lived in London as a girl and remembered the number of that house. In the strangest turn or fate, the flat where Linda and I are staying is a mere five or so blocks from Marthe’s childhood home. Our landlady had left a great street guide and the pages for this bit of geography were loose from the binding. I pocketed those pages and set out to find and photograph 5A Elgin Crescent. It was an easy walk down Portobello Road, which is the flea market capital of London. I found the house and took a couple of great shots.

Now my question was what else did I want to do on my own. It’s a sad thing to say but I had been scarred for life by being lost in Toronto a few years back. There is a bit of the small town girl in me and I get a bit panicky when I am in huge crowds and I don’t know where I am. So, I decided that I wasn’t quite ready for prime-time subway (tube) hopping. Instead, I would only go somewhere that I could stay above ground and be on foot. That meant a trip back to Harrods. I had to do it. I recalled that the food court had a sushi bar, so I would go for lunch.

Well, the street guide was small help. I only reversed my direction seven times. I am sure that the police were following me because I kept passing the same houses as I retraced my steps, back and forth, looking for Kensington Gardens. A brief side note about the police – there are no trashcans on the streets of London or any other public place such as a tube station. This is because the danger of a bomb being placed in them is too great. People seem to carry their trash with them until they get home. Isn’t that civilized? And there are police walking beats everywhere. So, my planned route to Harrods meant crossing through Kensington Gardens and then taking a diagonal route through some mews to emerge at Brompton Road. There was further zigzagging through Kensington as I tried to spot the Albert Memorial, It is a wonderful park and there are many commemorative spots to Princess Diana. The Gardens are also known for their connection to Peter Pan, as this is the neighborhood where the author lived and wrote.

Finally, I spotted the Albert Memorial and Royal Albert Hall directly across the street. Now, I had been saved from on-coming traffic on two previous occasions as Linda yelled at me to step back onto the curb. It is hard to reverse your eye and look for oncoming traffic in a country where they drive on the other side of the road. But, I safely managed to cross Kensington Road without Linda’s coaching. I chose an interesting set of side streets to make my diagonal way through to Brompton Rd. The mews are great fun, but unfortunately one can find oneself at a seeming dead end. I was in an area that had been the back alleyways and stable gates for former mansions. It is wonderful to see these charming former stables and cottages with their flower boxes and colorful doors. But, the alley appeared to end. I pulled out my street guide and began to study it. Just my good fortune, a lovely young (40ish) man stopped to ask if he could help. I gave him my most charming smile and told him I was headed to Harrods but it appeared that I had run into a dead end. He told me not to worry, there was a small gate in the wall and he was heading that way and we could walk together. As we exchanged histories, I learned that he is the music director of a local church and spent childhood visits in Ocala, Florida. BTW, Ocala sounded like O-call-a. How charming! By the end of our walk he had invited me to a free choir concert on Saturday night at his church.

Ah. Harrods. First order was a yummy sushi lunch served at a marble lunch counter in the Food Court. Then on to some shopping for gifts for family and friends. That was all fine and dandy, but I had now been walking for close to two hours and still had to get back home. I managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other till I returned to our flat. I needed a nap before dressing for the theater.

Our plan was to have an early pub dinner and then take the tube to the theater and a taxi home. The first part went well. There was an ancient pub on our road. We ordered our dinner, enjoyed a pint and headed to the tube. We made one small miscalculation on our route and ended up transferring to the wrong line. No worry. We just made our way above ground and hailed a taxi to the theater for the evening performance of Billy Elliot. It was fabulous! Our seats were great. We were seated in the stalls, which equates to orchestra seating in the US. I bought a program and read about the process involved in finding children for the demanding roles in this production. There are five boys who alternate the role of Billy and more boys who play Michael. In one scene, Billy is visiting his friend Michael who enjoys dressing in his sister’s clothes. As the two boys dance, it is performed as a song and dance routine from an old Vaudeville show. The boys are tap dancing away and the stage fills with dancing dress. Billy says, “Michael, the dresses are dancing.” Michael replies, “You should see what my underpants are doing”. I laughed till tears rolled down my cheeks. But, my favorite moment was after Billy had performed an amazing solo that was part tap, part ballet and a lot of gymnastics. The dance ends with Billy running up a wall and doing a black flip. Billy froze in the final position and the audience went mad. As the cheering continued, Billy broke character and turned to the audience and looked out over the house with the biggest grin on his face you have ever seen. He was still in the frozen position but it was a charming moment to see a 12-year-old boy finding such joy in his performance.

We jumped into a taxi and called it a night.

THE QUEEN IS IN

2009-07-09T05:06:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, July 8

Windsor Castle

We took the underground to the train station and a train to Windsor Castle. Pretty easy? Think of the Toronto Subway system and multiply it about seven times. Selecting the proper line, figuring how many zones you wish to travel and operating the vending machine requires a masters degree in city engineering. You must feed your ticket into the turnstile when entering the system and when exiting. The want to know where you are at all times. Then, you climb back above ground to the train station. Now you must sort out the routes and times for this. It’s a good thing this is all in English because I’m not sure a non-English speaking person could get around.

We just missed the straight through train and had to ride the train that stops in ten or twelve small stops on the route. Not a bad ride if the stops were picturesque, but they are not. However, as you come into the station in Windsor, the castle is right there. So is Lego Land. Off the train and across a street and you are almost at the castle gate. Windsor Castle is HUGE! We went to the ticket sellers, put our bags through the airport x-ray scanners and were in the castle. If you look straight up upon entering, you will see the round tower and the flag was flying that announced that the Queen was in. Strange. We were at Buckingham Palace yesterday and she was there. Now we were at Windsor Castle and she is here. Perhaps she had been on the same train with us? Is she following us?

The tour of the castle is self-guided and you are provided with a wand like contraption and something that looks like a touch-tone phone. You punch in the number of the room you are in and hold the wand to your ear for a commentary on the history and contents of the room. This is fabulous because the tour has access to the State apartments. You are in the reception rooms and the halls and guards chambers and glorious rooms that are fully used today. You see the official portraits of former monarchs, huge displays of weapons, Henry VIII’s suit of amour (yes, he was a BIG man), and all sorts of furnishings.

After leaving the interior, we entered St. George’s chapel. What a treat. This is a place anyone who has watched TV coverage of royal events during their life will immediately recognize. Choir stalls, seating for the knights, side alters with incredible marble figures, towering stained glass. There was a little desk off to the side where you could write the name of a person you wish to have remembered in prayer the next day. I wrote Marthe Horgan.

We left the Castle and walked a bit of the town of Oxford. We stopped into a tavern and had a very nice meal. Linda had the shepherd’s pie while I ordered a chicken and mushroom pie. Of course we both enjoyed a pint with our meal. All that was left of the day was to backtrack our way home.

HAIL AND THUNDER

2009-07-09T04:12:00.001-04:00

Tuesday, July 7

Today is the day to explore the city and get an overview. What is the best way to do this? The hop-on, hop-off bus of course. We put our walking shoes on and headed out to see the sights. Again, it helps that Linda has a working knowledge of the city and can quickly find them on a city map. So, we headed out the door with Harrods as our destination. Our route took us along a private street that borders Kensington Gardens and is home to many embassies now located in fabulous Edwardian mansions. Security is very high in this neighborhood and you can’t even take photos of the houses. Both ends of the street have armed guards and these neat retractable stanchions in the road. Police must clear all cars before the stanchions are lowed allowing the car to pass. We cleared through that road and continued past Kensington Palace, former home of Princess Diana, past The Royal Albert Hall and the spectacular Albert Memorial. We found Harrods, the mother lode of shopping and stepped into the Summer Sale event. We cruised the food department, which is indescribable. Truth be known, the layout is something like Whole Foods back in the US. Imagine that as way bigger and every sinful specialty you might have read about. A caviar bar featuring dozens of varieties that you can either purchase for take away or sit down and enjoy at the bar. A fois gras bar. A sushi bar that I will be returning to later in the week. Jams, cakes, cheeses, they have it all. Then on to the ticket/travel department. We purchased tickets for the Thursday night performance of Billy Elliot and our Big Bus tour tickets. We read about another play that looked intriguing and plan to try to see as well, War Horse.

Now that we had our hop-on tickets, we stood in line outside the store and waited for the next bus. Of course, this being London, the weather was really iffy. As you board the bus, there is a carton of clear plastic ponchos and earpieces for each passenger. We grabbed our gear and headed up the steps to the open-air upper deck. Let me just say that those ponchos proved to be the one thing we couldn’t have done without. Linda was wearing a full raincoat and hood so she used her poncho as a seat cover. I had an umbrella, which wouldn’t due for upper deck breezes, so I had to hunker down into my poncho A LOT! It rained. The sun came out. It sprinkled. The sun came out. We protected our cameras as best we could and listened to the running commentary over the ear pieces as we passed Westminster Abby, the Houses of Parliament, The London Eye (Ferris wheel that takes one hour to make one circuit), St. Paul’s Cathedral, Tower Bridge, The Tower of London. We got off the bus at Buckingham Palace and took a few photos outside the gates. The Queen was having a garden party and we watched as the ladies in hats and men in waistcoats were cleared through security. There was nothing for us to do but visit the gift shop.

We got back on a bus to continue our route through the city. Again, we climbed to the upper deck, knowing we were in for wet weather. Never mind that it was really raining now, we were on top of the bus in London, England. Now, a few words about driving in London. It is the scariest thing I have ever witnessed in my life. The streets are incredibly narrow and are clogged with taxis and busses. Every sidewalk is completely mobbed with pedestrians. Add to this scooters and bikes jockeying for a tiny slit to weave through. Traffic moves only a hundred feet at a time. So, there we are, almost at the end of the route before we need to change from a red bus to a blue bus so we end up back in Notting hill. The weather was getting worse. It began raining so hard that we were forced to leave our seats in the open air and head down the winding steps to the safety of the lower level. Just as we found two seats, it sounded as if lightening hit inches from the bus. It couldn’t get worse, right? It got so dark, the street lights came on and the bus was pelted with huge splats of rain as the temperature suddenly dropped. Wait. That was hail we were being hit with. I looked over to see hail bouncing down the bus stairs leading to the upper deck. Then the stairs turned into a waterfall. The water ran through the bus, flooding the driver's feet. The temperature drop caused the bus to totally fog up. So, now the driver couldn’t see a thing. The driver called the guide to the front of the bus and handed him a Kleenex with which to clear the windows so the driver could try to maneuver the bus to safety. At a cross street the driver had to open the bus door so he could see if it was clear to proceed across the intersection. We were now to the bus stop and asked to get off the bus! By now the weather had started to pass, we found the next bus and rode back to our home neighborhood. By the time we arrived in Notting Hill, it had stopped raining all together and we walked to a lovely fish and chips restaurant. There we chatted with a couple at the next table. They advised us to not miss the performance of War Horse. I think we will try for tickets.

THE WHITE CLIFFS OF

2009-07-09T02:52:00.000-04:00

Monday, July 6

Land Ho! I awoke quite early on Monday because the cruise director’s announcement the previous night said we would be sailing past the cliffs of Dover around 6:00 AM. I didn’t want to miss seeing them from the water. The bonus is that there is a castle that sits on the top of the cliffs making the image all the more striking. Thoughts of WWII filled my brain. One can’t help but conjure up visions of soldiers getting ready to cross the channel.

The night before docking we had to pack all our luggage that would be hauled off the ship in huge containers and onto the dock. We held back our carry off and a change of clothes for morning. The luggage was late in being unloaded and that caused our waiting driver, Ted, to be a bit worried about us. But, we made it off the ship and Ted found us. Ted turned out to be a bit of a hoot. He is a retired tour driver who now operates his own Honda van and can take you anywhere you wish.

We told Ted we wanted to go to Canterbury. So, off we went as Ted gave us a full education on the geology of the chalk cliffs, how the area had been under water for millions of years and the composition of flint. The really good news is that Ted has a handicap parking permit and we were able to shortcut many parking regulations. The center of Canterbury is a pedestrian area with very limited handicap only parking. Ted is a sly one. We got out and had a bit of a walk about as Ted filled us with more local history. I must say that the sight of the gate to Canterbury Cathedral is a strange one. The gate is a colorful archway with a Starbucks snugged up on one side and a McDonald’s on the other side. Ted suggested that we not pay to tour the cathedral, as it wasn’t all that spectacular. Instead, he wanted to take us to Leeds.

Off we went to Leeds. Ted chose side roads rather than the highway so we could enjoy the countryside. We stopped in several small villages along the way and took a few lovely photos while it rained a bit. Not to worry. By the time we got to Leeds the rain had blown over leaving intermittent sun. And, I must say that Leeds Castle is rather interesting. We parked about a half a mile from the castle and walked through a wonderful park. The park is filled with gigantic cypress and oak trees and lots of birds. Guess what. Canada geese. Ted told us how England regretted the introduction of Canada geese because they are such a messy bird. Well, Ted. Get in line with that complaint! But the park is also home to black swans that were imported from Australia. The strangest bird that I saw however was a white peacock. The castle inside is quite up to date as it was a private residence up until recent years. A widow who is descended from the Whitney’s of the cotton gin family owned it and she hosted lots of movie stars and lavish parties over the years. She left the estate to a charity upon her death and they run it now. As we toured the castle, Ted gave history lessons to anyone he passed in the halls and even quizzed a few of the resident guides.

Then back into the car for the terrifying drive into London. Ted asked if we wanted to stop in a local pub for lunch but we declined, as we were weary and ready to reach our London flat. So, Ted steered onto the highway and off we went. As we neared London, Ted continued with his commentary of the local news of the day and the goings on around London. He had opinions on the areas of public housing we drove through and the massive number of immigrants from African countries. The most interesting news he gave us was a report on Trafalgar Square. Each of the four corners of the square contains a plinth. On three of the plinths there are equine statues to heroes. The fourth plinth is empty. A contest was held to nominate something for the fourth plinth. The winning entry is now being shown. It consists of (I think I am remembering the numbers properly) several thousand people being individually hoisted up onto the plinth over the course of six or eight weeks. They entered a lottery of sorts and were assigned a time for their stint up on the plinth. I will describe the sight in tomorrows report!

Ted delivered us to the flat and helped get our suitcases down the few steps to the door. We are in a garden flat which means it is the lowest level of a three-story townhouse. After many years of watching Location from the BBC, I thought we had stepped directly into one of the episodes. Our flat is exactly as seen on TV. It’s a cozy shotgun arrangement of rooms with a little walled garden in the back. The dining area is actually a glass-roofed addition on the back of the house and the shed behind has been converted into a second bedroom. This dining area is a very cheery place to sit and write a blog. However, the best feature of this flat is free high-speed Internet.

After seeing Ted off and thanking him, we did a preliminary unpacking. It was now late afternoon and we hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. So, we set out to find a few things. Linda had stayed in this neighborhood before and has a fairly good instinct for where things are and how to get there. After a few wrong turns and consulting a map located at the bus stop, we made it back onto a main road. We settled on a sandwich shop and ordered. I had a lovely big bowl of gazpacho and a ham sandwich followed by an apple tart.

Next stop was a little convenience shop where I picked up a bottle of wine and potato chips while Linda bought pastries and Pepsi. Salt for me and sweet for her. Then, back to the flat and the mystery of a German washing machine with no instructions. Then entire remainder of the evening was spent with Linda in and out to the laundry room to try to figure out the cycles. Now, when I say laundry room what I am describing is little niche under the front porch steps leading up to the flats in the rest of the building. One must bend down and crouch in front of the washer to try to decipher the hieroglyphics on the front of the machine. Several hours later I fell into bed and Linda stayed up God knows how long waiting for the spin cycle to end. Thank God the landlady called the next day and was able to give me the secret to operating the dryer. One must actually empty the water that collects in a pan under the dryer as the clothes sort of dry. No matter. This is all an improvement over washing clothes by hand in the bathtub on a cruise ship!

AMSTERDAM

2009-07-06T14:07:00.000-04:00

Holy cow. This is the dirtiest city I have ever been in in my entire life. It makes Detroit look like a poster for living green. Amsterdam’s canals are clogged with cans and bottles and one actually expects to see a body floating somewhere around the next turn.

We arrived two hours late due to heavy ship traffic in the locks. I was up early and managed to get some nice photos as we made our way into Amsterdam. One myth has been totally debunked. Swans are not territorial. As we sailed along, I spied dozens of groups of dozens of swans all swimming along in harmony. They are everywhere.

We walked down the gangway around 10:00 and made our way to the Central Rail Station a short walk away. Once inside we purchased tickets for a one hour barge ride through the central area. That was the easy part. Finding the boat depot was not so simple. We followed the crowd for several blocks until we recognized the sign that matched the logo on the tickets we had purchased. We waited in line for about a half hour before boarding a barge and finding a seat in the back. The good news is that our seats were a bit cooler than those on the inside of the boat, but we couldn’t hear the guide as he pointed out the sights. Not a problem however, because there isn’t a lot to see. The canals are jammed with houseboats tied up end to end and this obstructs your view of the buildings along the canal. The houseboats are old, messy, dirty and unkempt, but still interesting. As you pass the intersections in the canals you get a good view down each one that looks very much like the previous one. We did see the Anne Frank house as we made our way through the maze of canals. And, I really mean it is a maze. There are traffic jams and irate barge drivers honking as one barge might have to back up to let another through a narrow tunnel. Sometimes the drivers must throttle the barges back and forth to turn a boat that is too long to manage a bend in the canal. The houses are all at least three stories tall and very narrow. Many of them sit right at the canal edge. These houses have a block and tackle suspended over the front to use in hoisting groceries and furniture up and into the house. Rather ingenious. Some of the bridges that we passed under were lined with bottles and cans completely filling the girders. There are pigeons nesting within an arms length of the passengers.

There is a lot of construction going on and there are thousands of bicycles coming at you from every direction. As I paused to check a map, having one foot in the bike lane, a man cycled straight at me and yelled “BOO” just in time for me to make it out of his path. We were on a mission. Linda had done her research and knew that she would be able to purchase her “special” cigarettes in coffee houses throughout the city. She wasn’t exactly sure how we would recognize one of these special establishments or just how she would ask for what she wanted. So, the first street we walked down had coffee houses with names like ‘The Grasshopper’ and ‘Stones’ and ‘Elements of Nature’. I followed her into The Grasshopper. She did all the talking and I tried to be invisible. A young man showed her to the lighted menu case and she asked his advice for something that would just make her giggle. Eighteen euros for three joints. She made her purchase and we took a table outside so she could enjoy. Man, did she giggle.

Of course now we had eat. So our next mission was to find a café where we could sit outside. We choose one and sat down. We looked over the menu and each selected what we wanted for lunch. We waited. We continued to wait. We gave up waiting and left. We took a table at the next café and the waiter brought us menus. Very strange. It was exactly the same menu. Unfortunately, the cloth on our table was so dirty, we chose to leave this restaurant as well. Off to a third café. The waitress brought us the menu and it was the same damn menu as the last two rejected cafes except this one was laminated. We ordered and enjoyed the sandwiches we had chosen at the first café. While we were sitting at our table we were able to enjoy some of the indescribably odd people to be found in Amsterdam. We saw a young man in barefeet, neon green leg warmers, pink lace short shorts, a tank to and a lovely neon green scarf. The pink short shorts appeared to have been spray painted on, adding to his dramatic look.

We still had one mission. We had to find the red light district. No problem. It was only two blocks over. But first we spied a beautiful old cathedral and thought we had best be good tourists and take a look at it. We cut across the street and as we neared the church we discovered it wasn’t currently being used as a church. It is now a shopping mall. The lower level contains a wonderful store named Sissy Boys. I looked all through the store hoping to find a logo tee shirt, but there were none. Linda did purchase several bottles of Sissy Boy bath gel and such to take back for gifts.

Two blocks over we found the red light district and it is quite something. Shop windows display every sort of toy, lotion, enhancer, costume, and party favor you can imagine. We stopped into one shop and each bought VERY naughty tee shirts. I have no idea who I will give the one I purchased to or if I will ever wear it. It has a saying printed on it that refers to your mother giving a discount. Linda bought one that says good girls go to heaven and bad girls go to Amsterdam.

Back to the ship to face the job of packing. Again, it has been some sort of record high temperature today and we are wrung out.

2009-07-06T14:02:00.000-04:00

IN THE NORTH SEA, I THINK

Today is the Fourth of July and we are spending it at sea. The crew has made every effort to celebrate it in an All American way. This is an example of how American the Holland America line is. On July 1, Canada Day, they served Canadian beer in the crows nest. However, I understand this is much more of a celebration than the city of Toronto enjoyed. But then, we are not in the middle of a garbage strike on board. So, to celebrate the American fourth, grills were set up in the mid-ship pool area and a huge buffet was served at lunch. Corn on the cob, steak, brats, hot dogs, grilled chicken breasts as well as fried chicken, a multitude of cold salads and more desserts than I have ever seen in one place. The apple pie was made in some sort of copper pot that was at least two feet across. All pretty yummy except the fried chicken was hot! Just try to imagine fried chicken that tastes like tobasco.

It has been very foggy all day and the outside temperature has dropped to the more seasonal mid sixties. We have reservations for an early dinner because it was the only time we could find a table for two so we wouldn’t have to chat up other passengers. We have already had our passports stamped for our disembarkation in Dover on Monday. Tomorrow we will be in Amsterdam all day and will have to be totally packed by 1:00 AM Monday morning.

The weather cleared during the evening hours and we were treated to a scene from a science fiction movie as we were getting ready for bed. We had the curtains partially opened and it was about 10:30. The sunset was fabulous. We stepped out onto the veranda and thought we were being invaded. It looked like space ships had landed in some sort of strung out formation, as far as you could see in all directions. They were oil platforms. Of course. After all, we were in the North Sea.

2009-07-06T13:32:00.000-04:00

A FJORD IN YOUR FUTURE, OSLO

Now, this is really strange. We left Copenhagen around 4:30 yesterday and have been sailing to Oslo ever since. It is about 7:30 AM and we should be docking at 10:00. We went to sleep last night with the curtains to our veranda open and soon remembered that this is a mistake in Scandinavia. I remember awaking about 3:30 AM to see the sunset/sunrise. It’s all the same because it never gets dark.

I’m sitting on the veranda now and watching the Norwegian countryside as we head to Oslo. It is a strange view because it depends which side of the ship your cabin is on as to what you see. I see the countryside but have no idea whether we have open sea on the port side or if we are sailing through an inlet. I will report that the water is different here. The usual view of the water as the ship cuts through is just deep blue-black and bubbles caused by the ships passing. But this morning it is different. Looking straight down I see the ships hull and then a wake of about twenty feet that is all grayish green and bubbles. Then the bubbles end and it is all blue-black again. In fact, the green is getting greener and less grayed as we continue to sail. It’s very beautiful to see. If I had to offer an explanation I would guess that this color change is due to these being glacial waters similar to what we saw in Lake Louise, Canada. After all, Oslo is a fjord.

We loved Oslo. Our day began with tickets on a hop on/hop off bus of the city and surrounding countryside. In a bit over one hour you can drive through the city center and out into the countryside where the museums are all located. It is gorgeous. The ship docked right at the foot of the city center next to an ancient castle and fortress, Akershus. This is very interesting as I am now sitting on my bed in our cabin writing this account and the fortress is right outside our veranda. There are palace guards that check on the cannons every hour and they are close enough to speak to if I were inclined to do so. I’m not.

Our plan was to ride the bus on the entire circuit and then decide the points of interest where we wanted to get off and tour. However, when we came to Vigeland Park we both agreed that it was too spectacular to wait. This park is about sixty acres total and is filled with beautiful rose gardens. But the headline exhibits are the sculptures. Hundreds of human figures can be seen, children, families, adults, old people. Single statues and groups. Figures on bridges, in fountains, in bronze trees, in a monolith of dozens of figures. Fabulous! Linda and I did get a bit giddy and each of us posed with various statues.

We jumped back on the bus and rode out of the city to the area where seven museums are grouped. They are intimate and situated in a hilly rural area with vistas back into the city. All of Oslo requires much more of my time! I see this as a local where one should rent a house for a week or two and really enjoy the quiet beauty of Norway.

We stayed on the bus and rode back into the city. Our guide pointed out statues of Sonia Henni and a famous Norwegian speed skater. Much information was devoted to the future ski jump venue being built for games in the future as well as a brief history of record holding Norwegians of the past.

As we returned to the city center, we realized it was well past lunch and we set out to find a café. Good luck put us at the Nobel Center and a café that features a famous chef that I will Google when I return to the land of high speed Internet. LOL. But, if you are interested, the café is named Pascal and the chef is Pascal Dupuy. I ordered a bowl of fish stew that was divine. It was a cream soup with lemon. But, best of all, they are famous for their desserts. We went inside to the case and made our choices. I chose a licorice mousse that was wonderful. Then, we found the bathroom and peed in the Nobel Peace Center. My life is good.

With temperatures well over ninety in a country with an average summer high of sixty-four and no air-conditioning, we were wrung out by the end of our day. We still managed to climb through the fortress before returning to the ship. Once in our cabin, we both put our PJs on and took a bit of a siesta. Thanks to our late lunch we are skipping dinner and trying to get caught up on Email and friends.

The ship sailed out of Oslo shortly after 10:30 PM. Storms had threatened most of the evening and we were treated to a wonderful display of lightning over the hills as along the coast. We took photos of pleasure boats playing chicken with the ship as they rode our wake and screamed with the thrill of their boats becoming totally airborne as they crossed waves. Seemed like a pretty dangerous game. Those crazy Norsemen.

COPENHAGAN ALL OVER AGAIN

2009-07-06T13:19:00.000-04:00

Oh, my aching feet. We left the ship believing what the daily ship’s travel page had said. Of course we could walk from the ship to the Little Mermaid and then into the city center to catch a barge tour of the old city.

Our morning started with Linda announcing that she was to be in charge of the map and was going to perform due diligence by writing out our route and listing the main street names that we would look for. She drew lines on the ship’s simplified map to mark the route she had laid out. It would seem that she had lost confidence in my navigational skills, most of which consisted of asking directions of any person I passed. Those who know me are probably cringing as they read this, silently screaming “Oh no. Jody is navigating?” So, Linda held the map and pointed to the direction of the Little Mermaid that was printed on the map. I will be gentle when I say that from the start, our senses of direction were not aligned. We did ask directions several times and did, eventually, find the mermaid. She is lovely and was well worth the many extra blocks we walked before finding her.

After buying bottles of water (bottles of ice would be a better description) we headed in the direction that Linda felt sure would take us to the canal area. For some inexplicable reason, we found ourselves instead at the railway station. At this point, Linda was ready to admit that we might need a taxi but I insisted that if I asked directions again, we were certainly close enough to continue walking. So, I asked the first person I came to where the Nyhavn (New Harbor) section was. Well, perhaps I could have chosen a better guide, but he was pleased to be asked. He was a Romanian from Oslo who claimed great familiarity with Copenhagen and we should just walk with him. Linda was rolling her eyes but I trusted the young man with half of his teeth and started walking. After several blocks we realized that his girlfriend was trailing behind our entourage and berating him in some language neither of us could understand but could tell that she was really pissed. So, we said thanks and claimed to know exactly where we were and sped up to leave the Romanian Norwegian dental dropout in our dust. So, after several more blocks of both of us stubbornly believing the other of us was an imbecile, we took a cab to Nyhavn, ordered a beer and lunch and caught our breath.

After lunch we hopped on a barge for a tour of the harbor and the old section of Copenhagen. Again, it is a beautiful city and we both took lots of photos. We wound our way through the canal and harbor system, passing past Christiania, a hippie commune complete with a gentleman nude sunbather at the end of a dock. The weather has been bordering on too hot, but who can complain about that? It was a perfect day to be on a boat tour. I just hope I can get my shoes back on before dinner.

2009-07-06T10:18:00.000-04:00

KICKING BACK IN KIEL

Wednesday found us in the seaport of Kiel, Germany. Our choices were to take a train into Hamburg and see the city or to remain in Kiel and hunt for an Internet café where we could read all the latest Michael Jackson news. We opted for the café and ended up having a lovely, relaxing day.
We both slipped our laptops into our bags and disembarked the ship. Kiel was more than eighty percent destroyed during WWII. It was a major shipbuilding center and serviced submarines. These shipyards have been rebuilt and business appears to be thriving. One can see freighters being built, battle ships being serviced and submarines hanging in dry-dock. The center of the city is mostly without old buildings and most of today’s buildings date from the fifties. But, this is not without a charm of it’s own. We found a lovely pedestrian area with lots of small shops and many café’s. Many of the bars and outdoor areas have little hooded chaises chairs just right for two people to sit in privately. I had Linda take my picture while I sat in one.

Our first stop was at a sidewalk coffee shop with fabulous pastries. I got a coffee, Linda a coke and we split a huge strawberry Danish. We took our tray outside to a sidewalk table and proceeded to access the Internet and each type away happily for an hour or so. I got all my photos uploaded that had been sitting in my camera and sorted through my spam and checked to see if anyone was reading my Facebook postings. As noon approached, church bells rang out hundreds of times giving us a concert lasting several minutes. When we were both satisfied that we had gotten our Emails caught up and read every bit of info on Michael Jackson’s dermatologist, we packed up and went on a nice walkabout. I continued to look for the item I have decided to bring back for Amy, but had no luck. We ended our visit to Kiel with a class of wine in another sidewalk café.

We headed back to the ship in mid afternoon and spent the remainder of the afternoon watching old movies and relaxing. I did a load of unmentionables in the bathtub and strung them out on the backs of our veranda chairs. By 4:30 we set sail for Copenhagen. This was an interesting route because we actually backtracked our route out of Copenhagen at the start of our cruise. I recognized a huge suspension bridge that we had sailed under in the middle of the night of our first night.

We ended the evening with dinner in the Tamarind, a lovely Asian restaurant that sits on one of the uppermost decks. I had been dying for good sushi. In all fairness, I must say that it wasn’t as good as the sushi in Toronto. But, my Flirtini was fabulous. So was my second one.

2009-06-30T15:02:00.000-04:00

HANGING OUT TO DRY

Day nine and one of us has her laundry strung through the cabin, using every surface in an effort to get her things dry before mildew sets in. This includes the chair back, the loveseat, the towel bars, the top of mini fridge and a clothesline across the tub. I, on the other hand, packed enough under wear to last till Thursday. I went to the crow’s nest late yesterday afternoon, leaving Linda to fill the tub with shampoo and her unmentionables. I have a vision of her taking off her shoes and stomping the laundry in a style reminiscent of Lucy Ricardo stomping grapes. But, I can’t make too much fun of her, as my turn for laundry will be next.

Sailing out of Stockholm was beautiful. We sailed an hour late because a busload of the Philippine staff had not returned to the ship. Had it been tourists they would have run the risk of ‘missing the boat’ but since it was staff, the ship waited. We set sail around 5:30 with the harbor pilot at the wheel. Linda and I sat on our veranda as we sailed through the archipelagos. At 9:45, we cleared the last island and the pilot boat pulled alongside the ship to retrieve the harbor pilot. Our cabin is on the starboard side of the ship so we could hang over the side as the tug pulled up and the pilot jumped from the ship to the waiting tug. Many other passengers were watching and as the pilot jumped, the passengers all cheered and clapped. The pilot turned and took a bow. All very civilized I think!

Today has been a much-needed day of nothing. We slept late, skipped breakfast and picked at the luncheon buffet. I spent the afternoon in the crow’s nest knitting while Linda remained below rearranging her damp laundry. I am sitting on the veranda as I type this and it is rather strange to see nothing but water and the slight slope of the horizon in every direction. I am superstitious enough not to write that our weather has been truly spectacular how spectacular. We had a bit of mist as we left St. PB, and totally flat seas and mostly sunshine the rest of the voyage. Yes, that means about twenty hours of sun a day.

Tomorrow we will be in Kiel. This is a seaport from which one can take the train to Hamburg. Our plan is to put our laptops in our backpacks and try to find an Internet café so we can get pictures posted and emails answered. As I have been reporting, the Internet it very frustrating. I had to go to the Russian computer guru this afternoon for help. So, I hope Rob Horgan is reading this…The Russian guru told me that Firefox was costing me $$$ out the wazoo because it was not an efficient way to access satellite connections to the internet. ROB! If anyone else is going on a Baltic cruise, don’t set Firefox as his or her default. Duh.

2009-06-29T13:27:00.000-04:00

Sunburned in Stockholm

I have found the city where I must have lived in another life. Stockholm is magnificent. The Venice of the north, the city is spread across fourteen islands. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

I awoke at around 5:30 this morning. It is hard to tell how much sleep you are getting because the time changes back and forth almost every night. But, I was wide-awake early and stepped out onto our veranda as we were winding our way through the hundreds of little islands in the archipelago on our way into Stockholm. Sometimes the ship was heading north, sometimes west. We were traveling very slowly as the channel is quite narrow. There were people standing on the shore or in kayaks, all waving to the ship. There were pairs of swans swimming along the shore. And the cottages and homes were pristine in the early light. I stood and photographed the shore for well over an hour. The strangest thing is I found that the shore line looked EXACTLY like the Thousand Island region in Ontario. Who knew? As we sailed into Stockholm, the ship did a complete 180-degree turn in the harbor so that as we docked we are now facing out of the city. FINALLY Linda awoke, and joined me just as the ship was finishing her spin.

We left the ship and decided on purchasing a water taxi ticket to get us around the city. The city is very manageable. We taxied to the first stop and found ourselves in the old part of the city. It is filled with 16th century houses, cobblestone streets and tiny alleys that are closed to traffic. We walked up one such alley and came face to face with a statue of St Goran slaying a dragon. Around the next corner and we were at the Royal Palace built between 1697 and 1754. We took a few photos of the changing of the guard and the exterior of the Palace.

Next we walked down a lovely tree lined boulevard and crossed to the island of Djurgarden to look for the Vasamuseet. This is a wonderful museum that is built around the salvaged ship Vasa. The royal warship Vasa was built in 1628. On her maiden voyage, she sailed 1600 feet before tipping over and sinking. Seems they miscalculated the amount of ballast needed to keep her afloat and had mounted the heaviest cannons on the upper deck, making her top-heavy. So, down she went where she remained for 300 years. Recovery efforts were begun in the 1960’s and she was finally raised in 1961. Because she sank in an upright position and the waters were only brackish, she remained almost totally intact. Once they raised her, they built the museum around her.

After leaving the Vasa, Linda waited while I trotted across the way to the children’s museum, Junibacken. One of their major exhibits is dedicated to Astrid Lindgren and Pippi Longstocking. I had to go to the gift shop to get a souvenir for Stephanie.

Next we hopped back on the water taxi and took it to Grona Lund, an amusement park and walking area. We walked about a bit trying to find Swedish pancakes with lingonberries for Linda. She has been so looking forward to them and can’t understand why they aren’t served everywhere as she somehow has convinced herself that they are the national dish of Sweden. She asked at the Vasa gift shop and the clerk seemed puzzled by an American who now speaks with a Russian accent asking for this famous Swedish national dish. Did I not mention that Linda now speaks with a very heavy Russian accent?

So, with swollen ankles and empty stomachs, we reboarded the water taxi for a short ride back to the ship. I adore Stockholm and look forward to returning someday with time to see much more. This is a city and a country that deserves much more than a few hours.

We retrace our route through the archipelago. I could live here.

2009-06-28T09:50:00.000-04:00

Helsinki

Sunday morning finds us in Helsinki. It is a gorgeous day and we enjoyed a very leisurely walk through the old section. We were both too overwhelmed with St PB to put much energy into a tour of Helsinki. We agreed to simply take a local bus into the center of town and just walk a bit. We found two huge churches to photograph. Between visiting these, we stopped in a converted small boat and sat on the upper deck and sipped an ice tea. This afforded us a nice view of other walkers and a small smattering of dogs. Then we walked to the next church and climbed a huge set of stairs, almost straight up to look into a beautiful Lutheran church with a massive pipe organ, which was being tuned. It sounded like ship horns because they were working on the lowest and deepest pipes. When we left this church we worked our way back to the main esplanade and sat outside a sidewalk café and enjoyed a beer. We did a tiny bit of shopping in a small shop and then returned to the bus stop for a quick ride back to the ship. Linda is sound asleep as I write this and I am in the Explorations Lounge getting caught up with my reporting. We are going to some fancy cocktail party tonight and then have dinner reservations. We will go to sleep as the ship heads to Stockholm.

2009-06-28T09:47:00.000-04:00

Two Lifetimes in Russia

If I write for two days I can not begin to cover all the things we have seen in St Petersburg and Peterhof in two days. It has been staggering. I can’t help but feel that all the studying one does in school about Russia and the Russian way of life is a total waste of time. Unless you can see these things, you cannot ever understand them.

We had to meet all those going ashore at 8:00 AM and get in line for passing through immigration. We went through the line, one by one, and were eyeballed by VERY serious agents who stamped our passports, collected our daily pass and placed a card inside our passports to be turned back in when we were safely returned to our ship. Linda was gagging the entire time as she swears the terminal smelled of cat pee. I thought it smelled of Clorox. Once on the bus, our guide (named Natasha of course) started the tour through the city. She commented on the beautiful weather we were enjoying by saying that Russian’s have a phrase that their weather is nine months of winter and three months of disappointment.

St. PB is a city of five million. The city has been persevered and rebuilt as a protected historical district. If a building was yellow 300 years ago, it is yellow today. This is very beautiful as many buildings are bright blue, toothpaste green or a lovely salmon color. There is a lot of restoration going on but the facades of those buildings are covered with something that looks like scenery flat from the theater depicting…..a restored building façade. There are thousands of apartment buildings but they are all only about eight stories tall as no building can be taller than the palace. The windows are all covered with some sort of covering because Russian’s don’t like anyone looking into their private lives. We saw almost no dogs in the city. Children were on summer holiday although most children get sent to their grandparents for the three-month summer vacation. Ten years ago there were only 3000 children born in St Petersburg per year. Now there are 50,000 born a year and the government pays the parents $8000 for each birth. And, I’m not sure how they do it, but there is almost no graffiti and no litter anywhere.

As you drive through the city most of the major buildings are former palaces and are now being used as naval academies, universities, art centers and museums. This is because after the revolution these palaces became the property of all the people. Even the churches. Now there is almost no organized religion, so the cathedrals are being restored as museums. As you pass into and through the palaces and churches, you are VERY closely watched by babushka ladies who never take their eyes off of you. You are continually warned not to touch anything. If you even brush past a rope, an alarm might sound. But, these places are filled everyday with thousands of Russian tourist as well as tourists to Russia. My overwhelming sense was that the Russian people truly do own all the treasures and they come to visit them.

As we drove through the city, Natasha gave us more background on the city. The buildings have no basements as St PB is build on former marshes that were filled in a couple of hundred years ago. That means the subway is several hundred feet underground and under the Neva River. The stations can only be located inside old buildings as it is impossible to dig a hole anywhere without endangering a building. That is why there is tremendous restoration being done on the Church On The Spilled Blood. Some official gave permission for building to be done nearby and the church started to tilt. As this church is very important historically, there are extraordinary measures being taken to correct this. We had a stop at this church to take photos from the outside and returned the second day to go inside. Across the street there were black market street vendors where I was able to score a beautiful set of Ohio State nesting dolls. How very Russian.

On to the Hermitage. Many surprises. The Hermitage is actually right in town and it is the former winter palace and consists of five buildings. It sits on the banks of the Neva River and is very closely watched by the babushka ladies in every room. The lines are huge and 10,000 people a day go through the Hermitage. After all, the citizens own the museum. Our guide explained to us that after the Revolution the private art collectors in Russia “gave” their collections to the state, as private collections were outlawed. Now all the people of Russia own all the art. There are over three million artifacts in the Hermitage alone. If you spent one minute in front of each item, it would take you eleven years to see everything. In our three hour visit, we were moved through the lower public rooms where there is no furniture remaining. During the Revolution it was all destroyed. But, the gilt and gold has all been restored. It is breathtaking. The upper floors are all dedicated to the various art collections. We were shown the impressionists section and it is surprising how much we actually did see. I purchased a photo book on the way out and found that our group had seen many of the major pieces. Monet, DaVinci, Rubens, Rembrandt, Cezanne, Matisse, Gauguin. I was overwhelmed.

We left the Hermitage and continued our drive thorough the city. We made a stop at the Church On The Spilled Blood and walked all around it. It marks the spot where Alexander III was murdered. All Russians revere him and his son had the church built to commemorate his death. Outside the church was a black market of street vendors where I was able to bargain for a set of Russian nesting dolls depicting the Ohio State football team. A true Russian treasure.

We returned to our ship late in the afternoon and again had to face the most serious immigration officers. Not a smile, not a thank you anywhere. We dashed to our room to shower and change to formal attire for our evening at the Yusupov Palace. Then, back through immigration and onto another bus. Many of the men wore tuxedos and the women were dressed in their finest. We were given a tour of the palace, which held many of the original furnishings of the Yusupov family. They were the wealthiest Russian family who were not Romanoff. This is the house where Rasputin was murdered. In the basement is a recreation of Rasputin waiting while they tried to trick him into eating or drinking poison. He didn’t and they had to shoot him. When we went back upstairs we were seated in the main ballroom and served a small hors d’ouvre of caviar and a glass of Champaign. We enjoyed a costumed dance (minuet?) and performance by Russian folks musicians. Following this we were ushered into the Yusupov family theatre and listened to several classical arrangements by a small orchestra and eight solos by opera singers. Outstanding. Then, back on the bus, back to the ship, through immigration and the cat pee lady and an early night. We each fell into our bunk and I don’t even remember Linda turning out the light.
Our second day in St PB started with dour immigration lady, cat pee terminal and onto a tour bus! The drive out of the city was filled with more insight into everyday life. We drove along the shore of the Baltic Sea for about an hour. We passed a few small towns and lots of cottages. The cottages are the places where the residents of St. PB go for the summer weekends to get out of the city. Just like in the US. People enjoying good summer weather, just like in the US. They are mostly wood and in a typical old pointy roof style that one would think of for this area. Every so often there would be a huge estate, just like in the US. We were approaching the Summer Palace. You turn a corner, get out of the bus and there it is. You must walk along the park like drive (maybe ¼ mile) to reach the palace. Again, the lines are long. But, in walking through the palace, it is very ordered. Only one group of 20-24 people is allowed in a room at any time. Babushka ladies count and constantly scan each group to be sure nothing is touched. And, you must wear special “museum shoes”. These are paper surgical booties that you slip over your shoes. This polishes the floors as you shuffle through. The invading armies were billeted here during WW II and the palace was all but destroyed. It has been restored over the last few decades. Prior to the occupation, almost all of the treasures were removed and stored in St PB and then returned during the restoration.

As magnificent as the palace is, it is the gardens that are the real gem. The palace was built in this location to make use of the springs that flow from a lake down to the Baltic Sea. The grounds are covered with hundreds of fountains, each more elaborate and breathtaking than the last. At 11:00 AM, the fountains are all turned on. The water naturally flows through them without the use of any pumps or power. I suppose it is something like gravity. The Russian National Anthem is played and the fountains begin to flow. We spent about 15 minutes watching the Great Cascade just outside the Palace doors. then started walking through the grounds to the Orangery for lunch. There was another magnificent fountain every 100 yards. We walked through parks filled with gardens and MORE fountains.

After a lovely lunch we made our way back through the parks to the canal that runs from the Sea to the palace. We took a hydrofoil from the palace back into St PB where we boarded our bus for more stops in the city. Thankfully we had been to many of the stops the day before and were able to remain in the bus to rest our feet a bit. But, we did return to the Church On The Spilled Blood and this time we were allowed inside and could take photos. Every square inch is covered in mosaic tile. It is spectacular.

Back on the bus, more souvenir shopping and back to the ship. It was getting difficult to navigate the city because all the drawbridges were lifted at 5:00 to allow for a regatta of military ships and sailboats finishing the Volvo Race. Big crowds were gathering along both sides of the river even though the weather was turning rather grey and misty. But, that’s typical. Sunny one day can only mean rain the next. The bus delivered us to the ship, back through immigration and cat pee lady. Linda went to bed and I found the late buffet for some dinner. The best report is we managed to sleep a good seven hours last night.

2009-06-27T10:22:00.000-04:00

BUT, I’M GETTING AHEAD OF MYSELF…

It’s Saturday evening and I am sitting on the veranda as we sail out of St. Petersburg. I have seen things today that have made my jaw drop and my heart race. I actually had to try not to cry in the Hermitage yesterday. There will never be words to report on the treasures I have seen or the feeling I have for the pride the Russian people have in their heritage, their history and their treasures. There is no litter. The museum babushka ladies tolerate no disrespect for the treasures that they each own. All Russians own the national treasures. Never mind how they got them. So, I promise to write a full report of the sights, but at the moment Internet connections are difficult and I am exhausted. I just wanted to mark the emotion of the moment.

2009-06-25T15:01:00.000-04:00

Tallinn, Estonia, Thursday

What a lovely city. We were able to walk from the ship to the medieval walled city. It is hilly and winds through tiny alleyways. The streets are mostly cobblestone and I have sore knees to show for the day. We simply poked our way through the city, taking turns and circles to discover churches and towers everywhere. There were many tour groups with guides speaking Russian, English, German and more. One of the churches was filled with photos showing the bombed out shell in WWII and the damage from a major fire in the 80’s. Very interesting although you can not photograph inside. We were able to go into the onion topped Russian church and could have bought candles to light to offer prayers. We didn’t. We found the old city square and walked around reading the menus until we found one that served food we thought would be palatable. We ordered a light Estonian beer and it was quite different tasting, almost sweet. We decided on a pizza but not the one with wild boar or the one topped with French fries. At the table next to us were two late 30ish guys from Cleveland and Chicago. They had met at Miami of Ohio and one had a mother that lived in Marysville, next to Plain City, Ohio. He asked me if I knew the restaurant the Der Dutchman. I stuck my finger half way down my throat to show my distain. How odd to be sitting in Estonia discussing the Der Dutchman!

By mid afternoon we had seen all there was to see in the old city and did not want to take any tours to see the countryside or the modern city. We walked back toward the ship, looking at the venders along the way. I decided not to buy the Barack Obama nesting dolls in one shop window. As we neared the ship a woman asked me if the harbor was the Baltic Sea. I said it was. She said good and opened her purse to take out an envelope that looked like the sort you get in the bank from a teller. The envelope had a little packet inside. She said she was glad it was the Baltic Sea because she had been carrying her late husbands ashes with her to shake out into the Baltic. I told her I thought he would be pleased to have finally arrived.

A nice late afternoon nap suited both Linda and myself. Following dinner, we are now in our cabin and filling out our paperwork for our day trip into St. Petersburg in the morning. We will have another one-hour time change over night, putting us eight hours ahead of home. As the ship sails back toward our starting point in a few days, we will then start unwinding the time zones. It’s all rather confusing and I’m not even blond anymore.

2009-06-24T15:27:00.000-04:00

Wednesday, at sea. But then I’ve been out to sea for quite some time.

Lovely, relaxing day. We slept till the steward knocked at 8:30 to bring us our room service breakfast. Explored the ship a bit and watched in awe as the masses made their way through the never-ending buffet line. We really did nothing all day till time for our manicure/pedicures, compliments of Michael J Horgan. The spa is beautifully situated with floor to ceiling panoramic views of the Baltic Sea. It’s actually rather crowed out here! There is always lots traffic in the shipping lanes.

Dinner was formal this evening. We were seated at a large table with a woman from Phoenix and her two college age children. The daughter is a pre-med law student (yikes!) from Harvard and the son is some other sort of whiz from a college in Albany, New York. The other guests were two sisters from Dallas and their husbands. The one woman reported that she was on this cruise to visit the major Jewish sites in Berlin and had no intention of spending a penny in Tallinn as the Estonians ran the Jews out decades earlier. She took her heritage very seriously. Her husband spoke passionately about Border collie rescue programs in Dallas in which he is a mover and shaker. I liked him.

We are in our PJs, ready to hit the hay. Tomorrow is a full day in Tallinn. I am pretty excited as the travel log on the TV says there is a “wall of knitting” outside a medieval castle where women sit and knit the woolen goods that are sold in the city. I am thinking about emigrating.

2009-06-24T04:22:00.000-04:00

If this is Tuesday, we must be in Berlin
This has been one long day, to say the least. Our instructions were to meet our tour at 6:15 AM before heading to the train that would take us on the three-hour ride into Berlin. That meant setting the alarm for 5:15 to allow two grown women to dress in rather tight quarters. But, it wasn’t really necessary as I slept about ten minutes all night. The time change is taking a bit of getting used to. It’s not that the actual time is six hours off, it’s that one loses all sense of daylight when the sun doesn’t even begin to set till well after 10:00 PM. And, it was almost totally light at 4:00 this morning. So, we were up and headed to the staging area with no coffee and puffy eyes.
We were all given a sticker with a number on it so we could find our group of travel companions. Linda and I were given a ten. I thought they were acknowledging our beauty by labeling us a ten, but it simply meant that we were to be grouped with other tens in line behind the guide toting the large number ten placard, riding rail car number ten and touring the city on bus number ten. We would sit at lunch at tables marked with a number ten. More about lunch to follow.
We found ourselves sitting in a compartment with a very nice older couple from Fort Worth. Their seventeen-year-old grandson accompanied them. So, the five of us spent the three hour train ride chatting and enjoying the scenery. The countryside was quite rural and pretty and looked a lot like Michigan. As the train passed through the countryside, one couldn’t help but look behind trees for bands of Jews hiding and trying to escape Nazi Germany. I guess I have watched too many movies. The closer the train got to Berlin, the more graffiti there was to be seen on every available flat surface. It was actually rather beautiful and didn’t appear to be the gang related painting one sees in the states, but more of an art form.
Upon arriving at an old, dark, dungy railway station in East Berlin we were moved into tour buses. The first hour was spent driving around the former East Berlin and viewing all the depressing architecture. My overall impression of the sector is that I would have made a run for the wall too had I lived there. It is nothing but concrete buildings with nothing of beauty anywhere. We drove past any number of government and ministry buildings, each one looking just like the one before. It was easy to see why so many spy movies are filmed in this area. It provides just the right feel of someone looking over your shoulder. Our guide spoke of the Stassi (secret police) and a culture that was filled with people spying on each other.
The next hour was filled with Check Point Charlie information and photo ops. That meant that for a few Euros you could have your picture taken while standing next to someone dressed as a Russian or American soldier. We also drove to what remained of the Berlin Wall. This section has been turned into a permanent art gallery with each section being painted by well-known artists and each painting depicting something symbolic of the history of the wall. It is quite impressive. The wall was over 100 miles long and actually circled all of West Berlin to keep the East Berliners from trying to get in. Now all that remains is a trial two cobblestones wide circling the former West Berlin to mark the path of the wall.
Finally, we left East Berlin and arrived at the much-touted “authentic” German restaurant for our lunch. I have never tried to hide that my hearing is less than 20/20. As we entered the restaurant, a very tall man who appeared to be our host was giving us directions on finding our tables. I THOUGHT he was telling us to go to our tables by going down the stairs and turning right at the bottom and then finding the table with a ten on it. I smiled and thanked him for the directions and said not to worry, I would simply follow my nose to the delicious smell. He looked at me in a rather strange way as Linda pushed me through the door as quickly as she could. When we arrived at our number ten table she informed me that he was giving us directions to the bathroom which I had said I would find by the smell. Now, about the lunch. Luke warm sausage, mushy red cabbage, stale pretzels and under cooked slices of some sort of pork that was 1/4” of meat and ¾” of fat. The mashed potatoes were good. The dessert was some sort of pudding made with double the water instead of milk. But, I was hungry.
We hoped we were finished with East Berlin and that West Berlin would be better. Not. There are lots of military statues and buildings, but still all the history is tied up in what an insane man Hitler was. There are not many churches but lots of government buildings. But, the most striking impression I got was of the total lack of beauty. The city is overrun with weeds that are well up over my waist. I did not see one single landscaped area. Cement and cobblestones surround all the major buildings. Yes, there are over four thousand Linden trees throughout the city, but each tree is chocking in lush weeds. There is not a single hanging basket. You do see the occasional flowerpot on a balcony of an apartment, but no gardens. The guide talked of all the parks and green areas that are Berlin. I saw only wildly untamed and chocking forests and tunnels of weeds.
Our guide did address the insanity of Hitler. We drove by his bunker where he committed suicide and it is now a parking lot. Tourists can be seen standing on the parking space that is over the actual location of his death and photographing the pavement. The explanation our guide gave us is that there are still neo Nazis and in an effort not to give them a platform on which to gather, Germany has chosen not to make a shrine of some things. From there we went to the holocaust memorial. It is such a simple installation, but filled with symbolism. I think the guide said it consisted of 2677 concrete blocks, all set in random order. When viewed as a whole you see the story it tells. The blocks are all the same but appear to be different. They are nameless. The ground is uneven so there is an undulation in their placement. They appear to be moving although they are not. The sun hitting them caused light and dark edges although they all the same grey concrete. It was very moving. As we got back on the bus, our guide directed us to look across the street and into a clearing in a small park. There was one more concrete block. That was a memorial to the homosexual victims of Hitler’s reign.
Back on the bus and we continued our circuitous route back and forth through Berlin, crisscrossing from East to West, always noting the cobblestone path to mark the former wall. One stop took us to a plaza with a hole in the ground. The hole contained a room full of empty white bookshelves to symbolize the Crystal Night when Hitler burned all the books. This hole was covered by a piece of scratched up Plexiglas. One stood over this Plexiglas and looked down into the hole containing the empty bookcases.
Finally the Brandenburg Gate. From the gate you can look up and down the avenue and get a sense of marching through the entire city. But, almost as famous as the gate, one can see the hotel where Michael Jackson dangled his child over the edge! Ah, history.
A few more stops to take photos, see more monuments and military buildings. Finally back on the bus to our train station and the three-hour ride back to Warnemunde to board the ship. We arrived back in our stateroom somewhere around 9:30. My overall impression of Berlin is that I hope to never return. It is not beautiful. But, it is filled with history and a warning to never make the same mistakes because they can never be undone.

2009-06-23T16:35:00.000-04:00

Monday Monday. After a great night sleep of nine full hours we were ready to set out for the ship. But first we went to the hotel lobby for a wonderful continental breakfast, which did feature one of the items I had been hoping for….lots of smoked salmon. The one overall feeling that I got from the hotel was that I had gone to sleep and awaked in a gigantic IKEA showroom! EVERYTHING is Danish modern…go figure.
We managed to repack all our bags and caught a cab for the docks. Just our luck, we found ourselves in the capable hands of a true Viking cabbie who offered to 1) accompany us on our voyage as we were two unchaperoned beauties and 2) rape and pillage us in true Viking fashion. We declined on both accounts. He did take a few turns on our route but assured us he was still heading in the direction of our ship. He pointed out the Queens Palace, the stock exchange and the best cheap canal tour boat to take on our stop back into Copenhagen next week. He then deposited us on the wharf and slung our baggage up onto the waiting luggage trolley. I paid him the fare and offered him 50 Kroners as a tip and then asked him if that was enough. He said it was fine even though many people did tip more. I just smiled and pretended I didn’t quite understand his Viking accent.
The line was long to clear security but we entertained ourselves by making fun of other passengers and making up all sorts of stories about their probable lives. We finally boarded and made our way to our cabin. Twin beds, a desk, a small love seat and enough closet and drawer space for one self-respecting munchkin. However, it took us several hours to divide up the available space, hide our suitcases under the beds and hunt for Linda’s lost iPod.
Dinner was very nice. After dinner we decided to skip the Karaoke bar, pass on the Country/western piano bar and make an early evening of it as we have to be on deck at 6:15 in the morning for a three-hour train ride into Berlin. We were back in our cabin at 10:15, just in time to watch the sunset into the ocean.

Copenhagen

2009-06-21T17:14:00.000-04:00

Yes, the money one would spend for business class on a nine hour flight is worth it. We did not. But, we still managed to fly 4677 miles from Atlanta to Copenhagen without killing anyone. I say this because I came dangerously close to smacking the two women seated in the row behind us. I had just found the right combination of shoes off, feet propped onto carry on bag, ear phones on to block noise, u-shaped pillow behind head, a blanket over head and had just nodded off when these women began to cackle like a couple of old hens. This was punctuated with much kicking of the seat back which I found almost unbearable. But, the nine hours passed. I watched the movie screen which occasionally showed our flight pattern as we passed over Montreal, St. Johns, Iceland and Ireland. It never did get totally dark.

Upon arrival, we cleared customs and walked across the street to the airport Hilton. It was only 10:00 AM but we were still able to check in. We found our room and promptly took a four hour nap. Upon awaking, we changed and headed out to find downtown Copenhagen. We were armed with a tear out map from the back of a travel magazine found in the hotel lobby and proceeded to ask directions of anyone and everyone. The first ATM machine I found had directions in English but I had no idea how many Kroners to ask for. So, I punched a button marked 4.00 and received 4000 Kroners. After a moment of panic when we thought I had gotten $4000 American in kroners, we realized that it was only about $219.

We must have looked really dumbfounded trying to buy tickets on the metro, so a handsome young man helped us. Then a young woman adopted us and told us how to get where we were going and kept us advised on when our stop approached. She was interesting as she was returning to Copenhagen after a short jaunt to Turkey to have lasic eye surgery two days earlier.

We got off the Metro and found ourselves in a beautiful city square. Again, I had the little tear out map and we just started walking. In a block or two we came to the old canal area with lots little bars, shops and walkers. We strolled, took lots of photos and stopped for a beer. When the waiter brought the bill, I had to ask him to explain the charges and then could he please suggest a proper amount for a tip and could he please count it out for himelf? This got the attention of the people at the next table. It was a Mom, a Dad and their son and daughter. Turns out they are from Charleston, S.C. and are going on the same cruise as we are. They then offered suggestions on a route to walk to Tivoli Gardens and off we set. We must have looked pretty smart because a fat German lady started trying to get directions from me. I just smiled and nodded a lot.

Tivoli Gardens are superb. The plants and flowers are spectacular. We walked all the way through the park and then picked a restaurant where we could sit outside and dine. There were several bandshells and music was everywhere. We had hoped to see all the twinkling lights but since it does'nt get dark till past our bedtime, we left at 9:30 and dusk was only just beginning.

Taking the train was a bit more difficult. We found the station but couldn't figure where to buy a ticket. Once the machine was located, we were really confused. Again, a nice young man helped us. We opened our change purses so he could pick out the proper coins to feed the machine and hoped he would pick the right ticket to get us back to the hotel. He could see that we were still in a bit of a fog so he motioned for us to follow him as our train was pulling out in one minute. We flew down the steps, boarded the train and waved to our new friend. A few stops and we are now tucked in for the night.

Tomorrow we head to the ship and settle in. We sail tomorrow night and will awake to a full day of Berlin on Tuesday.

The countdown

2009-06-19T15:21:00.000-04:00

Somehow, over the course of the last few weeks, I have remained rather calm in the face of the actual packing for Jody & Linda's Big Adventure. I have mentally chosen my wardrobe, made a few purchases and generally patted myself on the back over my zen like approach to our departure date. Imagine my smugness when reading Linda's frantic emails about her packing angst. And, I'm not even a blond anymore. Somebody smack me.

On Wednesday I began by propping up a full length mirror in the bedroom so as to view myself as I tried on each item that was on my short list of things that might make the trip. I have been diligently following the Nutrisystem plan for several months now and am pleased to have lost about 17 pounds. No. Not about 17 pounds. Seventeen pounds! And that is while still consuming alcohol. Imagine if I had been really disciplined. However, the full length mirror may have had a former life in the Cole Brothers Circus because I was less than thrilled over some of my wardrobe choices. But, I got through the afternoon and felt pleased with my final choices.

Thursday was spent fine tuning, steaming, washing, spritzing with wrinkle release and doing just about anything short of actually ironing anything. I brought out the suitcases and practiced hooking them together so I could glide through the airports like a well seasoned travel veteran, which I am most certainly not. There was more gloating as I eyeballed the suitcases (one big, one medium and a carry-on) and visualized everything fitting comfortably with room to spare for the Gorbachev Nesting Dolls I am hoping to purchase while in St. Petersburg. I slept well knowing that I had covered all my bases.

Friday I awoke and realized that I needed one more dressy outfit, new bras, a crossword book, a stylish scarf and gum. Mike and I headed out to round these items up before lunch. And speaking of Mike, what a smart man he is. Immediately following lunch he headed to the golf course saying he would leave me to my actual packing. Coward. OK. The first, big suitcase went rather well. The underwear, tee shirts, socks, new bras, long pants, sweaters and sweatshirt, rain gear, skirts, and bathing suit all fit beautifully. I even got out the bathroom scale to weight the packed suitcase to be sure it was under the fifty pound per bag max. No sweat, it weighted forty seven pounds. Now to the medium suitcase. Uh Oh. I still had not packed any shoes or the hanging clothes. No jackets or toiletries. And, what about my knitting? This was an unplanned turn of events. When faced with a dilemma, it is best to leave the room and pick up a bit of knitting to calm oneself down. Plan B. Off to the guest room closet to unpack the old big ass suitcase filled with the unused winter clothes that were hidden inside it's questionable zippered shabby self. After a bit of a flurry to unpack the beautiful new, but inadequate, medium bag and transfer it's contents to the veteran big bag, I am now packed. I have my overnight items packed into a carry on and the last thing to do is shut this machine down and pack my lap top into my backpack.

So, we will leave for the Orlando airport in seventeen hours. I must now go and practice wheeling two huge suitcases and one carry one while strapping on my backpack. This is not going to be pretty.
Next stop, Copenhagen.

Monday, Monday

2009-06-15T22:30:00.000-04:00

Back in Florida! My quick trip to Toronto was filled with airport delays. Storms in Atlanta on Thursday put me into Toronto later than planned. Mike met me outside customs and we checked into the Old Mill around midnight. What a gorgeous view of the garbage collection area! All that time that we lived next door and enjoyed the views of the Humber River led us to expect that paying BIG dollars for a room would be sweet. Not so.
Friday Nan and I had a wonderful day of yarn at Koigu Farm. We laughed, we got caught up on our kids lives and we dished our former LYS. Only knitters will understand that last reference. We both smoked our checking accounts and left the farm with a trunk load of yarn. Meeting Maie was a real highlight for me.
Saturday morning Mike and I prowled Bloor West, just like in the old days. Breakfast with D and Lillie was yummy. Then, up to Warkworth to party hardy in celebration of Brian's 70th birthday. But first, we checked into the Lantern Inn and had a lovely lunch overlooking the Ganaraska River. We had a great time at the party and I loved getting caught up with Peter and Linda Z. Then, back to the Lantern and a beautiful room. On the way to Port Hope, the sun was setting and I got the second photo above. Sunday we had breakfast at the same table overlooking the river and talked about actually living in Port Hope! The photo on the top is our view from the table.
Following breakfast, we stopped in to see Mike's Mom, Marthe. We were both pleasantly surprised that she appeared much stronger than she had two nights earlier when it was questionable whether she would make it through the night. Marthe gave us her schedule for her passing, telling us she has decided to stop eating and would only drink a few sips of ginger ale so as not to prolong her life. She will go out her way and she is not afraid. I am so happy that I got to spend one last hour with her.
We then drove back into the city for a quick visit with Dan, Diana and Ben at their new house. Although they have only been living there a few months, the house already seems to have their stamp on it. It will be quite an adventure to see how the backyard develops over the next few years!
We turned in the rental car and checked into the airport Sheraton for an early to bed. The alarm went off at 4:00 and we headed across the walkway to the gate to find that our flight had been delayed. Yeah. More delays. But, we got it all sorted out and landed back in Daytona Beach three hours before my bag carrying all the gorgeous Koigu yarn arrived.
So, I have now tested myself to see if I can write a diary of my travels. I have added photos and I think I can manage to post during the BIG trip. If you are reading this, please post a comment so I know I did it right! :D

Tuesday and counting

2009-06-09T09:43:00.000-04:00

Two more days ticked off the countdown. My stomach actually does a flip when I think about the adventures that lie ahead for Linda and me.
In the meantime, I have a short hop to Toronto this weekend to prepare for. The bedroom now has two corners set aside as packing centers. One is the tub that contains things like a teeny little travel umbrella, universal electrical plug, small bottle of Eucalan for washing out unmentionables on board ship and my zip up-inside out shopping bag. Boy, that last item is a MUST have. All those items will sit till I pack for the BIG trip. In another corner are the things for this weekend in Toronto....camera, gift for Koiguboy, headphones and the all important sample of color P849 for matching while shoping at the Koigu farm. Stash enhancement is in my future.

Time to start THINKING about packing

2009-06-06T19:24:00.000-04:00

Yikes. It's Saturday night and two weeks from right this minute Linda and I will be in the air on our way to Copenhagen for the start of our 2009 Excellent Adventure. I have decided that you can teach a Granny new tricks and I will fumble my way through the creation of a blog. This will force me to keep a diary of our trip and post photos for everyone back home to see. In my usual techno-babble way, I will simply push keys until I figure this blog stuff out. Bear with me, this could be messy.

I will now go and knit and sip tea for the rest of the evening.