Tag: Europe

The Netherlands, May 2023

May 8, 2023 /

1 May – Cologne to Woerden – We had an early start, with a 5am rise to give us plenty of time to take a tram to Koln Messe/Deutz then a regional train on to the Koln/Bonn Airport where the Flixbus terminal is. We were pretty sure we had everything right while standing on Platform 11 for the airport train but Christine decided to ask a guy dressed in orange hi-vis gear if we were on the right platform. He replied in the affirmative, peeling back his jacket to show that he was airport staff. From that point on, he acted as our personal guide, making sure we got off the train at the correct stop, taking us towards Terminal 2, navigating the various escalators and lifts and finally showing us the Flixbus terminal. I actually knew all that from our trip in but I didn’t want to disappoint him so we went along. Christine insisted on a photo shot with her new friend.

The bus trip went well, with a bit of a stop in Dusseldorf, where we bought a coffee and something strange made of pastry and delicious stuff. We were asked whether we wanted beef or pork and opted for beef but we could not detect any hint of meat at all, not that it mattered, because the thin coil of pastry stuff was one of the World’s great creations and a cardiac surgeon’s delight. After Dusseldorf, we drove through the Ruhr Valley, one of Europe’s great industrial powerhouses. There were fields of wheat and canola in abundance, but a factory or power station was always visible somewhere and the wind turbines were the biggest I’ve ever seen.

We crossed the border into The Netherlands and had fun failing to understand a whole new set of signage. In fact, The Netherlands seems to be a bit over the top with road signs. Western Australia is at the other end of the scale, with most signage being quite useless unless you already know where you are going, and even then somewhat misleading. I looked at some interchanges we went though and wondered how many accidents were caused by drivers trying to figure out which one of the ten direction signs pertained to them. Fortunately, our driver seemed to know what he was doing.

We got off the bus in Utrecht, at the Central Railway Station and found our way in. After finally mastering the German rail ticket system, we now had to develop a new set of skills. Whereas Germany takes the approach that you must buy a ticket and it’s 60€ fine if you haven’t got one, no ifs or buts. We tended to get checked on board around 25% of the time so the risk is considerable. Here in The Netherlands, they take more of an Australian approach with a ticketed entrance to the concourse and ticketing off when leaving. The main concourse at Utrecht was certainly a swish affair, with loads of eateries and excellent signage (not too much). We were soon on an IC (intercity) train that promised to get us to Woerden in a mere 12 minutes. Google maps facilitated the 750m walk from the station to our lodgings in Woerden, the beauty of the town grabbing us straight away and promising an interesting stay. Although modern Dutch architecture seems to be mostly based on featureless rectangular prisms and plain brick, there were enough older buildings along the way to give the town an endearing charm.

Our apartment in Woerden

Our lodgings proved to be clean and modern, and certainly location, location, with lots of interesting things right outside and along the street. The bedroom and bathroom are upstairs, accessed via a narrow and tightly wound spiral staircase that threatens to make Christine scream on each occasion. It’s quite normal for me to carry the baggage upstairs but now I have to carry anything that needs moving upstairs or downstairs. Otherwise, the apartment is wonderful, with a good coffee machine, dishwasher, full oven, gas hob and all the other things we have been missing. We will use Woerden as a hub to explore further afield, Amsterdam, Utrecht and Rotterdam. Accommodation in Amsterdam was ridiculously expensive and on advice from a friend who was born and bred in these parts, we chose a more central location. Thanks Marielle, good advice.

Once settled in, we headed off to the supermarket. After the poor choice available in German shops, the wealth of choice and variety was wonderful. The array of semi-prepared salads was amazing and cheap too. The shelves were well stocked, unlike the German equivalents. The only downside was that the Commonwealth Bank Travel card, so far accepted without question, would not work at the checkout. Fortunately, it worked at the automatic teller in the supermarket so we were able to pay for our goods. If the problem proves widespread, we may have to resort to the old idea of cash.

In the evening, we took a walk around our neighbourhood, taking in a beautiful Dutch windmill only a block away and a quaint little harbour area amongst the numerous canals. The harbour caters for casual visiting boats so obviously canal cruising must be a thing. There is so much to love here. We will enjoy it.

2 May – Utrecht – We spent the morning have a long lazy read of the news and researching future moves before heading out to walk more of Woerden. The temperature range for the day was forecast at 2º-12º so it was on with the thermals and coats. We spent a charming hour and a bit just wandering through the tiny streets of the little town, many filled with an array of interesting shops. Woerden seems to be a magnet for the antique collectors and artisans, so there were some wonderful window displays to pour over.

Christine bought a pretty top in one of the shops and we picked up a few veges from the amazing fruit shop in the town square. This delightful little shop has a wonderful counter that is filled with all different kinds of chopped vegetables, fruit and cheeses. You arm yourself with a container and fill it with whatever selection you want, select one of seven delicious dressings then it is weighed and you have a unique salad. It is cheap and very convenient for travellers like us. The staff at the fruit shop are happy and talkative, even if we often don’t understand. The staff at actual supermarkets are like the ones in Germany and Aldi stores in Australia, efficient and fast but far from friendly. No one packs groceries and it seems to be a competition to see if the cashier can scan all the items faster than the customer can throw them into a bag. The supermarket and the fruit shop will not take credit cards, only debit cards. Unfortunately, our Commonwealth Travel Card presents as a credit card, even though it is really a debit card with Euros loaded on it, so it gets rejected and we need cash. The automatic teller immediately opposite the teller will dispense us cash, but we pay a nasty 4€ fee for the privilege.

The modern Utrecht Central Station

In the afternoon, we caught the train into Utrecht. The central train station is a huge modern monument to efficiency, with clear signage and numerous large electronic boards keeping us informed about comings and goings. Once outside, we consulted an App called GPSmyCity to plan out way to a guided walk. The App provides guided walks to over 1400 cities around the World and the $A30 for a year is money well spent. We chose the City Introduction walk and spent the afternoon doing the rounds of the significant sights in the old part of the city. Utrecht is a beautiful canal city, with many picturesque alleyways and streetscapes. The walkways were filled with people, as we are finding everywhere. From the talk, many are tourists, although they seem to be fairly local, either Dutch or German. We certainly hear very little in the way of English spoken unless we ask around for help.

By the time we had completed out circuit and made out way back to the train, we were near exhaustion, having walked a lot of the morning and now the afternoon to go with it. On a positive note, we are managing to eat well but are both losing weight, a win-win.

3 May – Amsterdam – Today we caught the train to Amsterdam. We were happy to find that there were many trains that went direct to Amsterdam from Woerden, meaning we didn’t have to go back to Utrecht and change trains. The trip only took 38 minutes on a Sprinter, with a few stops at some of the outer Amsterdam Stations. As we slid through the suburbs and approached the city, I thought we were entering just another large European city, but that thinking changed completely as we exited the station. It is something like exiting the rail station in Venice and seeing the Grand Canal for the first time. Amsterdam is grand on every scale. Outside the station, a large plaza is crisscrossed by trams, walkways, hundreds of bicycles and an impressive canal system, with work boats, tour boats and large barges all somehow avoiding collisions. It is a perfect place for finding a place to sit and watch the busy world go by.

We used our GPSmyCity App to undertake a walk titled “Red Light District” as a way of seeing the old city (true, we were only interested in the old buildings). At first, the walk did focus on a couple of churches, then an old part of the town walls, but after that, things started to deteriorate. Being still early in the day, the streets were relatively quiet, but strewn with a lot of rubbish from the night before. We came across a cleaning team, with sweepers and motorized pickups clearing all before them, in what was obviously a daily exercise. There are certainly some interesting shops in the narrow streets along with the well-advertised viewing windows, mostly empty at this time of day. The whole scene is not one that we would bother with but the Dutch attitude of tolerance and control is better than suppression has a fair bit of merit, and no visit to Amsterdam would be complete without at least one walk through the area.

Meantime, the walk was definitely worth it for the beauty of the oldest part of the city. Often called the “Venice of the North” (along with Utrecht and Bruges), Amsterdam is a canal city. The city’s name comes from the “Damming of the River Amstel” and so the whole city is intersected by hundreds of canals, both wide and narrow, as well as having the wide Amstel River as a thoroughfare. Hence, there are numerous places where the streetscapes are amazing. We marvelled at the sight of impossibly narrow five story brick buildings seemingly so unstable that they hang forwards over the street but we later learnt that this was intentional, so that goods could be winched up from the street. In places, other buildings were actually sinking, leaning drunkenly against their neighbours.

Eventually, we emerged from the narrow backstreets into the vast “Dam”, a large square in the centre of the city and surrounded by majestic 18th Century buildings. The square is actually the original dam that held back the Amstel River, enlarged over time to create a huge open space.

From there, we made our way back down towards the rail station and harbour area to pick up a canal tour. We arrived at the designated pier (there are so many canal tours) with half an hour to spare, so we decided to walk across to the train station to find a toilet. Public toilets are rare, and always cost 50c – 1€. We figured that there would be plenty in a rail station the size of Amsterdam Central, but no, there was only one and it was on the far side of the whole complex. We made our way under the station, through a big shopping mall and emerged to see a ridiculously long line waiting. Not in urgent need, we gave up and went back to the canal tour.

Just as we were about to board, a young man came along and offered us a swap from the enclosed boat to an open one. With the weather dry, we took him up and followed to another pier. It proved to be a good choice because the guide on the boat was a true entertainer and the open nature of the boat made viewing much easier. There was a recorded commentary in English available via headphones but it was unnecessary because our guide was far more informative and funny. We appreciated the skills of the young boat skipper, maneuvering the long boat through some impossibly tight turns and avoiding the heavy water traffic. The tour took us past the Maritime Museum and the wonderful full sized replica of the “Amsterdam”, an 18th Century East Indiaman and on into the old district once again. It was good to see the same streets and canals from a completely different perspective. We came across a beautiful, cantilevered draw bridge like the one in the famous Van Gogh painting and admired the many large houseboats lining the banks of the Amstel River. The cruise was an hour very well spent, giving us considerable insight into the development of the city and its rise as a great maritime power base.

Off the canal tour, we headed back to the rail station, the toilet issue becoming more needy. There does not seem to be any requirement for food outlets to have toilet facilities here, or in Germany, and so the old trick of going into a restaurant and ordering a small coffee doesn’t work. Once that issue was settled, we strolled back down the main street and selected a likely looking place for lunch, enjoying a wonderful open sandwich and beer each. Then it was back to the train for the trip back to Woerden and home, both exhausted after another day of walking more than 10 kilometres.

May 4 – Woerden – We had a day at home today, to let the body recover a bit. We did little more than a bit more of a walk around the town. Today is National Remembrance Day (World War II) and tomorrow is Liberation Day, celebrating the liberation of The Netherlands from German occupation. The latter is a holiday so after the experience in Germany where everything shuts down on Sunday we thought it best to make sure we had two days’ groceries. We did find an Aldi, which proved to be similar to the ones in Australia, complete with central aisle of specials. Later, we sat in the town square and had a beer, enjoying the warm sunshine, a rare treat. Preparations were underway for some form of celebration the next day with the construction of a large stage. Other than that, we rested and revived our tired bodies.

May 5 – Rotterdam –  On our last full day in the Netherlands, we decided to take a train and explore Rotterdam, a 40 minute trip from Woerden. With the promise of temperatures in the high teens and blue skies, I left the big jacket home and wore a light jumper. I should have checked the forecast in more detail because by half way to Rotterdam, the skies had darkened and we emerged from the central station to threatening clouds. Christine had been more insightful and had a rain jacket but neither of us had brought umbrellas.

Our first impression of Rotterdam was that it is very different to the other big cities in Netherlands, appearing to be very modern and blessed with broad avenues and open spaces. Imaginative modern architecture was very much in evidence and the major arterial routes of the city are composed of multiple walkways, dedicated bicycle lanes, roadways and tramways, all managing to live in some form of harmony with a bewildering array of traffic lights. We just made sure we weren’t facing immediate extinction and crossed, hoping for the best. The bicycles are the most dangerous, being silent and reluctant to give way.

Rotterdam was heavily bombed by the Germans in March 1940 to force the Dutch into submission. The destruction was so great that little remained of the old city, hence the difference to other Dutch cities. We walked through the city to Binnenrotte Square, a huge plaza created in 1993 after a railway viaduct was replaced with a tunnel, creating a large space above. On one side is one of the few remnants of pre-war Rotterdam, St Lawrence Church, originally built in 1552 and reconstructed after the bombing.  Inside, the towering vaulted ceiling seemed impossibly high and the structure was very grand, even though it lacked the opulence of the Catholic Cathedrals.

From there we took one of our guided walks, soon coming across a huge curved aircraft hangar type building made of glass panels. Called the Markthal, it houses apartments, restaurants and an amazing array of street food stalls on the main floor. The huge arching roof is adorned with hundreds of digital images, creating a festive atmosphere. There is every type of stall you can imagine present, all vying for custom.  The aromas are enough, with visual feasts of cheese displays the skills of the Greek pastry cooks providing a lot of entertainment. We bought a taster plate of Krokets, breadcrumbed fried rolls that were stuffed with ground meat, cheese, mushrooms or vegetables, along with lots spices and herbs. Both the taste and the texture was amazing.

The wonderful Markthal

We emerged from the Markthal to find the rain had started. We debated whether to continue the walk trail, but pushed on, trying to hug the buildings that had some kind of shelter. We passed underneath a crazy piece of architecture called the Kubuswoningen (Cube Houses). These apartments are tilted at 45 degrees to optimise the space. Built in the 1970s, each apartment is three storeys, with many using the top floor as a rooftop garden.

Eventually, the rain eased enough to make walking comfortable and we followed the path around to the old port area, now resembling more of a big canal. The banks were lined with all manner of old craft, many now converted into accommodation or restaurants. We passed the White House, Europe’s first and highest skyscraper when it was built in 1898. It had an amazing 10 storeys. Eventually, we made our way along the port to the Maritime Museum, where we stopped for a coffee and hot chocolate, the rain having returned to a point where walking was uncomfortable. We considered taking a tram straight back to the station but decided instead to brave the rain and walk through the main central shopping areas, a walk of around 1.5 km. Everywhere, people hugged the buildings, most having been caught short of an umbrella like us.

By the time we reached the central station, we were damp but not soaked through and we caught a train back to Woerden, once again tired but satisfied with a terrific day’s outing. Rotterdam is a spectacular city, especially after so many days of tiny medieval alleyways and narrow canals.

After dinner, the sounds of music wafted through from the town square so we wandered down to enjoy a vibrant pop band perform the last song for the evening, part of the Liberation day festivities. We sat with the crowd and enjoyed an Australian red wine before wandering back home. Sunset is after 9pm here so evening is a popular time to be out and about.

Tomorrow we move on into Belgium, for the last stay on the continent before heading to the UK.

 

Cologne & Lustheide, April 2023

May 2, 2023 /

27 April – Frankfurt to Cologne – It’s relocation day, off to Cologne. To be accurate, our destination is Lustheide, an outer suburb of Cologne. The host of our AirBnB seems very communicative and sent what appeared to be very clear instructions. We took the train into Frankfurt Central, spent some time having a coffee and bun before going to the bus station to await our Flixbus. Flixbus is our favourite in Europe, their bright green buses being comfortable and generally on-time, barring road events beyond their control. Since we were here last, the number of routes and cities serviced has increased greatly. The best part, is that a luxury seat with toilet access, charging and wifi is often only a third of the cost of a second class rail ticket. We considered a proper lunch but neither of us was too hungry (rare for us) and we took advantage of the fact that the busport was spanking new, and therefore clean, something most busports are not.

The Flixbus arrived dead on time and we found our pre-booked seats. We had booked the very front seats on the top deck, giving a wonderful panoramic view. You get to see a lot more from the bus than the train, the rail lines often being through industrial areas or the view obscured by thickets of scrub. The trip was set for a little over 2 hours to Cologne Airport and things were going really well until we caught up with the long line of almost stationary traffic following a major truck smash on the autobahn. It took more than an hour to clear the snarl and so by the time we had negotiated a train from the airport to Cologne Messe Deutz station to change to an underground, it was peak hour, and the U Bahn was packed. It is always fun with luggage squeezing onto a packed train.

We alighted at Lustheide and thought we had followed the instructions to walk the 450m walk to our lodgings, but after 600m or so, a helpful local confirmed that we were walking in the wrong direction altogether. We retraced our steps, disobeyed the first instruction we had and set off on the right track. Our apartment is the attic floor on the third level of a lovely house, set in a pretty street. Our host greeted us and showed us the ropes. He told us that he had once worked for TNT in Australia, which explained his excellent English. The apartment is quite charming, especially after the basic austerity of the one in Offenbach. The hosts have gone out of their way to provide comforts, a couple of cold local beers in the fridge, two types of coffee machines with plenty of coffee, a full range of bath products and lots of tourist information. This is the BnB part that so many AirBnB hosts ignore. Fortunately, there is a Lidl supermarket just across the road so we didn’t have to go far to pick up some supplies for dinner. We spent the evening watching the World Snooker Semi Final which was being live broadcast from somewhere local. It was quite fascinating and the only show we could find where the German didn’t matter.

View from our attic

28 April – Lustheide – The day started dark, wet and gloomy, with a forecast max of around 14º. It did not look like improving until the late afternoon and the forecast proved accurate. We chose to spend the day in, relaxing, reading and researching future travel options. Around 3 o’clock, the weather had improved so we did spend an hour or so walking around the neighbourhood, admiring the houses and gardens before the horizon turned black once more and we headed for home. We will have to become less precious about going out in the rain if we are going to travel for months in northern Europe but for now we are happy to hide inside in the dry warmth.

29 April – Cologne – The day opened to more rain but it was forecast as short lived and we got organized to head off to Cologne. We were temporarily stumped by the lack of ticket machines at the station but a local told us we could buy them on the train. The light rail train (which is more like a tram) took us to Cologne Mess Deutz, which is on the eastern bank of the Rhine and we walked a kilometre or so to cross the Rhine River via the Hohenzollernbruecke Bridge, a 409m long rail bridge built in the early 1900s. Despite daily bombing raids during the war that damaged 75% of the city, the bridge remained largely intact, until the retreating Germans blew it up in March 1945. By May, the Americans had it operational again.

 

The Hohenzollernbruecke Bridge

After the war

Behind the bridge, the towering spires of the Cologne Cathedral formed a wonderful backdrop as we crossed the river. This was our first encounter with the Rhine River. The width and powerful flow needs to be seen to be appreciated. I can appreciate the skills of the pre-motorized boatsmen who were somehow able to navigate such waters against a very powerful current. The passing parade of river boats and barges either painstakingly pushed their way upstream or raced their way downstream. We saw some kayakers making hard work of paddling upstream, even though they were using the backwaters and eddies along the bank. The guard rails of the bridge were covered in “lover’s padlocks”, many inscribed with the names of the couple. The concentration of them was heaviest in the middle sections but they were thick everywhere, probably more so than on the famed bridge over the Seine in Paris where authorities eventually removed them all due to concerns about the added weight. Here the number was estimated to be more than 500,000 back in 2015 but the estimated weight of more than 12 tonne was not seen to be an issue.

Love Locks, only some of the 1/2 million

Exploring the alleyways of the old town

Once over the bridge, we located the departure point for our booked 1 hour cruise on the river and spent another hour exploring the beautiful narrow winding alleyways of the old town. The majority of the medieval building seem to be pubs and restaurants, a thing that was greatly appreciated by the large numbers of people sporting team colours in preparation for the Football match between FC Cologne and Freilburg, later in the day. There was a lot of “pre-soaking” occurring among the throngs and some cheerful banter between the groups.

We boarded the boat, a multi decked river boat and took an outside table on the top near the bow. I was a bit surprised at just how bearable it was given that it was still only 10º. Most people seemed to arm themselves with a beer, despite the cold, so we thought it was only polite to follow local custom. Locals are very protective of the Cologne beer (Kölch) and it is said that trying to order any other form of beer will get you thrown out of some pubs. It is only served in tall narrow glasses. The important thing is, it tastes good, even in icy cold weather.

A great place to live

The scenery was excellent and the commentary informative. The boat struggled upstream for a half hour or so then turned to sail downstream. Unfortunately, this was also into the wind and the added wind chill factor sent us packing inside and down a deck before bits started to freeze and fall off. We thoroughly enjoyed the cruise and it was a terrific way of seeing a lot of the city.

Once off the boat, we headed for one of the many harbourside restaurants and opted for some lunch. Despite the weather, we sat outside, although we cheated by sitting underneath a heater and placing one of the provided blankets across our laps. We both settled on a burger because they sounded good and we hadn’t had one for ages. They came out looking like the promotional pictures of a Hungry Jack’s Whopper, but never really resemble in reality. These were delicious, with an excellent real beef burger. The side of sweet potato chips and truffle mayonnaise went down well too. I knew there was a reason we were doing so much walking.

After lunch, we set out again to follow the crowds up towards the cathedral. The crowds had now swollen enormously, not just soccer fans, but large groups of locals who seem to come to the city on a Saturday and walk or buy lunch. Near the Central Station and cathedral, the crowd became almost difficult to move through. There were hens party groups in tutus, bucks party groups downing copious beers, tour groups from the many river cruise ships and family groups out and about, all heavily rugged up of course.

Words fail me trying to describe the Cologne Cathedral. We have seen many wonderful such buildings, the Duomo in Milan, Notre Dame in Paris and Duomo di Firenze in Florence amongst them but this one takes the cake. The towering turrets once formed the World’s tallest man-made structure and the intricacy of the stonework is staggering. The building dominates the skyline across most of Cologne. Fortunately, the wartime damage was minimalized because of a deliberate policy by the US forces to avoid bombing it. Photographs dotted around the building show the damage done and some of the early restoration efforts.

 

Cologne Cathedral on a better day than we experienced

We followed the crowds through town to the Neumarkt area before catching a tram back to our lodgings, tired but well content with our day exploring this beautiful city. Cologne is a must-visit city.

30 April – Cologne – The day began with clear skies, almost a first for the trip. The forecast promised a very respectable 19º so we decided to get some washing out of the way in the morning and then head back into Cologne for the afternoon. There is a cable car running from the zoo across the Rhine to a park and thermal spa on the eastern bank so we figured that would be a great way to get some different views of the city.

Many other people also thought it was a lovely day to be out and about and the trams and walk ways were crowded. So too was the queue to get onto the cable car, but we persisted and took a wonderful ride across the river. The argument crops up regularly about a cable car connecting Perth with Kings Park and having ridden a few, I can’t have anything but positive thoughts on the subject. It would be a hit with tourists and locals alike if they managed to keep the cost down. This one was $8, which seems very reasonable.

Once on the other side, we ambled slowly through a large and pretty parkland, filled with family groups picnicking or just walking. We stopped at a beer garden that was filled with people and waited an age for a beer each, mostly because the couple running the bar were horribly inefficient and seemed to think that only one of them needed to work at a time.

We continued the walk to Cologne Deutz Mess Station and caught the tram home, well content with a lovely day in the sunshine. With an early start planned for the next day’s move to the Netherlands, we started the process of packing. Cologne has been well worth the visit.

The bear and the tree - symbol of Madrid

Madrid 2012

July 13, 2012 /

A YouTube video of our time in Madrid can be seen here.

10th July Madrid

Stephanie drove us in to Marbella so we could catch a bus to Malaga and a train to Madrid. It was much regret that we said our farewells. We had a terrific time staying with her in Marbella.

The bus trip was interesting enough but thankfully only 45 minutes or so and we had no trouble finding the train station because it is right across the road.

The train was a new high speed electric job, very flash looking and very comfortable. There was almost no sound at all as it hummed along at a steady 225km/hr with occasional bursts to 300km/hr. We had lots of leg room, pull down tables and a movie that seemed to be both dubbed in Spanish and sub-titled in Spanish.

The high speed train from Malaga to Madrid

I was expecting some really rugged mountainous country, similar to the drive down from Ronda, but we were disappointed from that perspective. We did pass through some small ranges but nothing too spectacular and the country was mostly made up of low rolling hills and paddocks, cropped with wheat, olives, grapes or corn. Cattle were scarce although quite a few sheep were in evidence. In places, the vista was very reminiscent of Australia, more so because of the many eucalyptus trees that had been planted along side roads and fences. One difference was the occasional appearance of a castle, usually quite small affairs perched on top of a local high spot. I wonder what stories each one could tell.

The only stop we made was Cordoba, a regional centre, before reaching Madrid in the early afternoon. Actually getting out of the station and finding a taxi seemed to take longer than usual for some reason. What we could see of Madrid on the way to our apartment was impressive, a neat and orderly city that looked like a cross between Paris and Barcelona. Things don’t look quite as “Spanish” as down South in Andalusia and there was quite an impressive blend of the old and the modern.

Again, we have opted for a serviced apartment rather than a standard hotel. These give you a bit more flexibility when it comes to meals, especially breakfast. This one, the Juan Bravo Apartments on the street of the same name, is next to a supermarket and has a Metro station right outside so it is ideally located. It has such facilities as a small kitchen, sofa and dining table. Once again, the TV has many channels, all in Spanish. It is even within reasonable walking distance of many of the main attractions and with a swimming pool is excellent value for 60€ a night. We booked in and settled in before heading out for some lunch. We probably should have eaten on the train because by this time it was 3pm, but fortunately, a few beer houses around had not taken siesta and were serving simple set menus at around 9€.

The problem with menus is understanding them. With the odd item or two, we can look up items on Google Translate with reasonable results but for a full menu, or six choices or so for each course of a set menu its quite hard. We have an App on our iPhone called Babelshot that allows the photographing of a sign which is then translated into English. Although it has worked once or twice, the results are usually absolutely hilarious. We understand a few words here and there, say the difference between pork, chicken and beef but generally we are stumped. This time, a neighbouring diner read out the choices for us. Later, when we wanted to buy hot black coffee and a glass of ice to pour it over, the waiter had to grab a customer from the bar to help. We actually knew we wanted “cafe con heulo” but any attempt to say it was met with a shrug. Everyone helps with a smile, especially when they find out we are from Australia.

11th July Madrid

After breakfast and some Internet research on getting from Venice to Croatia next week, we donned the walking shoes and set off for the day to do Madrid. Of course, it is not possible to see any great city in a day but we adopted the strategy of catching the Metro in to the centre of the old city and just walking until we had had enough of old buildings. From there we would catch the Metro across town to the “Parques des Retiro”, an enormous park, to catch some cool air as the temperature started to climb. It proved to be a good plan.

The Metro in Madrid is probably the most complex we have yet encountered anywhere, just beating Paris by a whisker. Fortunately, the “Diego del Leon” Metro station that is right outside services four lines so we had lots of choice. We caught a train downtown to “Gran Via” station and started to walk.

 

The bear and the tree – symbol of Madrid

One does not have to walk far in Madrid before coming across a plaza, usually surrounded by some grand buildings. Madrid cherishes its open spaces, a quality that has probably arisen to help deal with the stifling heat that can occur. It was warm today, but a brisk wind kept things under control. Another feature we noticed is that the pace of the city is “languid” at best. We were frequently held up by small groups of people ambling along a footpath, stopping to chat or window shop but not moving anywhere much with a purpose. Even the cars seemed to drive at a modest pace, although I wasn’t about to test my skills.

So we moved at a leisurely stroll through some delightful streets and idled away time in some glorious plazas, the “Plaza Mayor”, the “Plaza de Oriente” and the “Plaza de Espanya”. Each one is a masterpiece and great places to just sit and watch the world go by. In Plaza Mayor, we watched walking tour groups assemble to set off on tours. Here, they have a system where accredited guides can gather a group to work for tips. We listened to an Irishman spruik his stuff, claiming to be a local, and heading off with at least 30 customers in tow. All the walking groups seemed ridiculously big and I wondered how many people would fall by the wayside as the end of the tour and the time to tip drew near.

 

Plaza Mayor

The “Mercardo de San Miguel” was fascinating and very tempting. At first we thought it was a standard wet market, selling fish, meat and vegetables but once we wandered around we found that it was really a giant Tapas market. Each stall was devoted to a certain type of food, one for oysters, one for tiny pastries, a designer yoghurt stall, one selling small kebabs made of different olives and choritzo pieces and so it went on. We could have lived in a place like this, sampling everything and quaffing all down with the wonderful wines and exotic beers on offer. The only trouble is that we would have been flat broke in no time at all. The quality was outstanding but the prices compared with what was available on the street were ridiculous. Imagine paying 3€ for a piece of toast the size of a 50 cent piece topped with smoked salmon and caviar. It would cost me 30€ just to get started.

The royal palace or “Palacio Real”, is a stunning building, still very much in use for official functions but open to the public for tours. As we wandered around and took in its many changing aspects, I elevated it to number one position in my list of all time spectacular buildings. Falling away down the hill below the palace are the Jardins del Campo del Moro and I would have loved to have had time to go down and view the palace from the gardens. I’ve seen the pictures and it is inspiring.

 

Plaza Oriente and the the Royal Palace

We stopped for a beer and tapas, drawn in by the sign that advertised beer and tapas for 1€ but somehow ended up paying 3€ (it’s hard to argue when you haven’t got a clue what they’re saying), then went on to the Plaza de Espanya. You could spend a couple of days just touring the plazas. In only a morning’s stroll, Madrid impressed us as a city. All that it lacks to beat Paris is a couple of killer features and a big bold river like the Seine.

 

Don Quixote and Sancho Panza in the Plaza des Espanya

We rode the Metro back across town and alighted at Retiro to wander through this magnificent park. It is absolutely huge and we tried to stay on the one long straight path to avoid getting lost (we still managed). At one point we came across an enormous pond and fountain display that was filled with people rowing small boats around. There was even a motorised tour ferry, though why anyone would want to cruise around on a large rectangular garden pond is beyond me. The park was filled with joggers, skaters, walkers and the like. The temperature under the heavy canopy of trees was wonderful and we really enjoyed the stroll. Unfortunately, the maps available were all in Spanish so we were unable to find some of the special features, such as the outdoor sculpture museum and the rose garden but we enjoyed it anyway.

We found a late lunch near home, ate way too much again and went home to sleep off the excesses. We can’t claim to be experts on Madrid but we gave it a good shot.

 

Seville Cathedral and the old city

Andalusia 2012

July 10, 2012 /

A YouTube video of our time in Andalusia can be seen here.

June 29th Barcelona to Marbella

After tidying up our little apartment and settling things with our host Zoraya, we set of on foot to the nearby Placa Espanya where we could catch an airport shuttle bus. The trip out took around 40 minutes in all but we managed things without incident and arrived at the airport.

The airport was a model of inefficiency. The queues to baggage check were reasonable but it was one of those setups where you have to pick a line rather than a shared line and take the next available free counter. We managed to get behind a couple of Russians who had some problem or other and our line simply refused to move for ages. Once that aspect was finally over, we joined the huge queue waiting to get through security. This time they did have one line, which was later split into smaller ones by an official. We got to within about ten people of the scanners before we were redirected to another line, about thirty people long. Added to this, Christine tried to get through with an iPhone in her pocket, followed by a bottle of water in her baggage. She narrowly escaped being taken out the back and shot.

We had seats right down the back of the plane, which meant that all overhead locker space was already used by the air crew. Our bags had to go under the seats, taking up what tiny amount of space we had for our legs. Thank goodness we were only facing a flight of a bit over an hour.

Our friend Stephanie was at Malaga airport to greet us and whisked us away to her waiting car. We quickly cleared Malaga and set off down the E15 Motorway to Marbella, about 50kms away. The countryside was beautiful and strangely familiar. I realised that the familiarity came from all the movies we’ve seen set in California and the landscape and vegetation is rather similar. Here, Spain looks like we imagine Spain is supposed to look, with lots of Andalusian style buildings and white stucco walls. Even cacti are dotted everywhere and there are people fighting bulls on every street corner.

Stephanie’s apartment is fantastic. It is on the top floor of three and overlooks a beautiful grassed area with two swimming pools. Out the back is a panoramic view of the Sierra de las Nieves, a rugged mountain range around 2000m in height. To reach the beach is an easy walk over a walk bridge and down a block. We had a lovely bedroom with its own well appointed en-suite but king of all was the magnificent terrace running the length of the apartment and a top spot to have breakfast or dinner.

View from Stephanie’s Balcony

After settling in, we went for a bit of a wander down to the beach, just to get the lie of the land. The sea-breeze was in so the idea of a swim wasn’t that attractive but the beach was still quite crowded. There seems to be the usual assortment of bars and small restaurants around.

The beach near the apartment

Stephanie had invited some friends, Kathy and John, for dinner so we spent a lovely night enjoying great food. Stephanie had read of my poor opinion of Atlantic Salmon here in Europe compared to the Tasmanian kind so she was quite nervous about serving up trout. She needn’t have worried because it was absolutely amazing. She also introduced us to a simple but delightful entree of melon and ham, a favourite here in Spain. The Spanish ham is quite different to what we are used to and far more flavoursome.

We happily picked up lots of good tips for travelling around Andalusia and the rest of Spain. Stephanie, Kathy and John all looked a bit appalled when we said we wanted to go to Gibraltar, killing any idea we had of actually staying there. It was presented as an over-priced, run-down tourist trap but we still felt that we just had to go. We were warned not to approach the monkeys on the rock but then we already hate monkeys so we are in absolutely no danger of trying to befriend one.

 

30th June Marbella

Our full intention was to spend the day doing nothing, with a trip to the beach at best. Christine did start off the morning with some laps of the pool and that must have set the scene because we somehow got all energetic and went out to see Marbella itself and didn’t get back until four hours later. Stephanie couldn’t believe it. She thought we must have been lost but we just seemed to keep walking. We wandered around the cluster of small shops, explored the larger department store complex and found a nice little spot to have lunch. There are some well priced places on most streets and the crowds don’t seem too great, despite it being high season. It seems the European economic woes are taking their toll.

Eventually, we made our way down to the harbour side, a fascinating place full of ultra-expensive power craft and yachts. These boats are an unashamed and vulgar display of wealth. I wouldn’t have one if I was given it. Neither would I accept one of the many Ferraris, Lamborghinis or Rolls Royces that were parked along the quay, nor enjoy a free meal at one of the ridiculously expensive quay-side establishments that were filled with silly rich people. I’m too much of a martyr to do any of those things. Marbella has a reputation as the Costa Del Crime, funded on the proceeds of organised money laundering and government corruption. Indeed, quite a few Spanish officials have ended up in jail lately for salting away money in dodgy schemes down this way. However, as a spectator sport, hanging around the quay is wonderful. Quite a lot of lesser-life tourists like us were having photographs taken standing next to a Ferrari and I tried to get Christine to lie across the bonnet of a cute yellow model but she said she didn’t have the right underwear on. Another day then!

Christine with a gift from the King of Saudi Arabia

1st July Marbella

We lazed around in the morning, starting off with some early morning lap swimming. That doesn’t seem to be the norm here, with most people not appearing much before 10am. We had an arrangement to have a lunch of Paella at a restaurant called Les Espigones right on the beach and walked down to meet Kathy and John there.

We thought the restaurant was right on the beach at Marbella so imagine our surprise when Stephanie told us that we weren’t even in Marbella, that the town we were in and had visited the previous day was actually Puerto Banus, with Marbella being another 5km or so down the road. We felt really silly. It also meant that we had to take another trip into Marbella just to say we’ve been there.

Christine and Stephanie at Les Espigones

The paella was really delicious, much better than the one we’d had in Barcelona. Kathy had booked in and ordered a paella for three, which was a good thing because the five of us struggled to get through it as it was. It was filled with prawns, mussels and cockles. Of course, we washed it all down with lashings of wine and beer and rolled away feeling very full.

A bit of a walk helped settle lunch before Stephanie led us to the “Horseshoe”, a local Irish Pub were she seemed to be very well known. When we entered, we were subjected to a continual barrage of banter and abuse from the barman, a really funny Irishman named Paul. He seemed incapable of stringing two serious sentences together, and his ability to take the micky out of customers was outstanding. The pub began to fill up with few irish and an English couple, so we did a bit of channel surfing on the big TV to swap between the Australia vs England cricket and the Gaelic Football. We had a terrific time, not to mention quite a few more drinks.

The walk home was a bit of a struggle but we arrived unscathed and Stephanie put her head down while we had a swim to revive ourselves. We even skipped dinner later on, the paella being enough to keep us alive for a while, and settled down to watch the European Cup Final between Spain and Italy. All the shops have been full of shirts, hats and flags for the population to support their side and we were anticipating quite a bit of noise outside if Spain was to win.

While we watched, each goal produced a few explosions, trumpet calls and much car horn tooting. With the final result of 4-0 to Spain, we went on to the balcony to watch the few fireworks and listen to the singing. It was actually less than I’d imagined but we were still glad we were not down town where things might get a bit too rousing.

July 2nd Marbella

A bit of a lazy day today, with a trip to the shop and a walk into Puerto Banus for lunch. We picked up another Yoigo SIM for Christine’s phone so that we would have plenty of Internet and calls while in Spain and a cover for my Android Tablet because I have once again cracked the screen, although this time it wasn’t fatal. We enjoyed a lovely lunch, but then we always do.

We spent the evening pouring over road maps and driving instructions for our forthcoming drive to Seville.

July 3rd Gibraltar and Sevilla

Today was a day filled with anxiety and stress. Actually, it wasn’t but it should have been because we set out to drive from Marbella to Gibraltar, explore Gibraltar, then drive on to Sevilla for a couple of days. We managed the trip without real incident due to the superb Spanish roads and Christine’s excellent navigational skills. She used combination of Google Maps on the iPhone and Stephanie’s road atlas to guide us in.

We did have a few issues in Gibraltar because Stephanie had told us to look for the MacDonalds in La Linea on the Spanish side of the border, park there and walk across. The problem with this idea is that La Linea has two MacDonalds, and we went to the wrong one. We realised our mistake, walked back to the car and navigated around La Linea to the border crossing. At one point, we were stuck in a two kilometre long line of cars trying to cross into Gibraltar. This time, we found the right MacDonalds but they had a boom gate entry to the car park and were checking for genuine customers. We managed to find street parking nearby and even managed the parking ticket machine. Our Spanish must be improving.

Crossing the runway from Spain to Gibraltar

The crossing into Gibraltar is terrific and worth coming to the place for. Firstly, there is the amazing scenery, with the “Rock” towering over all and shrouded in cloud at its summit. The rock itself is a very imposing sight, probably even better on approach from about 10km away. Then there is the experience of being shepherded through in a line with a bored looking officer staring at the open passports going by. That’s it. No inspection or checks, although he was awake enough to knock back the couple behind us who were trying to get through by showing a VISA card. The next hurdle is that you have to cross a runway, used both by commercial aircraft and the RAF. On our way over, the runway was open but on the return crossing, we had to wait for a British Airways flight and three RAF Hawker fighter jets. It was hugely entertaining watching the amazing traffic snarl this created and the racing motorbikes when the gates eventually opened.

Gibraltar is fascinating, much better than Stephanie’s opinion suggested. I love any place with a sense of history and Gibraltar is dripping with it. There aren’t a lot of streets but most of those that run parallel to the coast bear the remnants of some past fortification. Where else can you live in an apartment and have 18th Century cannon aimed at you from across the street?

As Stephanie had predicted, it is very touristy, playing much upon it being British. Fish and chip shops abound, as do red telephone boxes. The police even wear bobbies’ helmets and prices are in Pounds. One can pay in Euros but the exchange rate is a joke. Luckily, we had some Pounds with us. We walked the streets for a while, decided against a cable car to the top of the rock due to time constraints and contented ourselves with sharing a serve of “cod and chips”. My understanding is that cod is all but extinct in the Atlantic but the fish was good anyway.

After the fun of the reverse border crossing, which at least included a bag search for duty-free contraband, we had all the joy of navigating out of La Linea and onto the motorway to Jerez de la Frontera then on to Sevilla. Christine’s magic worked and we were on our way, driving through some wonderful mountainous landscapes. The tunnels are the best, sweeping down wonderful long inclines and diving into sides of mountains. For a poor West Aussie who has grown up with the Darling Range, such a wealth of mountainous terrain is great.

At one point, we pulled off into a service station, our bladders driving us more than the need for fuel. However, the bowser refused to obey my commands so Christine went in to the shop for help. Apparently, their computer system had died so it wasn’t my incompetence after all. We just used the toilet, bought a drink and left. We still haven’t managed to actually buy fuel in Europe. (see Bordeaux entry)

The approach to Sevilla looks easy in the road atlas, tricky on Google Maps and bloody awful in the flesh. Stephanie (who can’t actually read a map) said it was easy, just follow the signs that say “Seville”. The strategy works but you have to deal with three off ramps in less than a kilometre in traffic doing 120km/hr. We did it but lost a year of our lives in payment.

Then it was head into town, look for the bull ring and turn right. Sounds easy? Madness. But we DID IT! The Montecarlo Hotel was brilliant, cheap, beautiful and with a very friendly staff. They helped me park the car, into a tiny garage with three back and fills, down one floor in a car lift, then inch by inch into a tiny parking space.

Once settled in, we headed off to search for refreshment. We actually needed a drink after the trauma of the drive but compromised a bit with a refreshing sangria down by the river. Sevilla was largely shut down for siesta, a tradition taken very seriously here and with good reason because the heat certainly builds up. It was hot by any standards wandering the streets so we moved slowly, pausing every now and then to stop for a drink. This might sound like a pub crawl but it is more just the way it is here, one drink is enough then walk and stop for another.

Seville Cathedral and the old city

We did have a bit of a historical bonding session at the Torre del Oro, a wonderful 15th Century tower forming part of the old fortified walls. In the past, it supported a huge chain slung across the river to guard the harbour. These days, it is a Naval Museum, featuring displays showing off Seville’s importance as a port in the past. Although well inland, the city sits on the Rio Guadalquivir, and up until the mid 17th Century, all Spanish maritime traffic to and from the Americas had to depart or arrive in Seville, making it one of the most important cities in Europe. The river suffered from silting in the 19th Century which reduced Seville’s importance as a port.I was impressed by the many naval displays, featuring such famous navigators as Columbus and Magellan. Today, Seville is still an inland port although it only handles small cargoes.

It was tapas and drinks for dinner then a night in.

 

July 4th Sevilla

We took an open bus tour of the city first up. These operate in most sizeable European cities, allowing tourists to catch an open top bus that travels on a set route and includes a multi-language commentary by means of headphones. This one included four stops where passengers can hop and off to visit the various sights. As always, we learnt a lot from the commentary but somehow it’s not quite the same coming from a headset and not a real person.

The bus travelled through two separate areas of previous Expos. One, in 1929, had left a legacy of many fine buildings, each in a style representative of the nation that built it to display their achievements. These are mostly in use today as university faculties and dance schools. The second Expo area was from 1993 and looked like a science fiction movie where the Earth gets wiped out. Futuristic buildings were scattered around an unkempt area, with weeds growing through the pavement and rust showing through the many exposed girders and beams. The commentary spoke in glowing terms about the hi-tech developments occurring in this industrial park but to me the place looked derelict.

After a circuit on the bus, we visited the famous Plaza de Torros de la Maestranza, rated by fans of bullfighting as the MCG of killing bulls. Personally, I find the whole thing both barbaric and even childlike in its concept. I can’t believe that people pay to watch cattle systematically tortured before being slaughtered. Australia nearly destroyed diplomatic relations with Indonesia for the same reason. Slowly killing a fish on the end of a length of monofilament line seems much more civilized. However, the bull fight is part of Spain and this is one of its homes.

Our bus ticket included a walking tour of some of the oldest parts of Seville. We had a while to wait so we sat in the shade and watched a team of illegal hat sellers plying their trade on the sidewalk. Doing business without a licence must be risky because at one point, all hats vanished and sellers started to scatter. Word quickly passed around and they returned just as quickly, taking their hats out of plastic bags and harassing tourists once again. One noticed us watching with amusement and sidled over whispering “Polizia” and laughing with us. Great fun.

The guide for the walking tour arrived and gathered together a gaggle of a dozen Spanish speakers and two English speakers. This meant that at each site, we got to look and film while he spoke to the masses then they had to wait while he spoke to us. We formed a sort of camaraderie. He was very good. Of course, we only visited the outside of the various buildings but he gave us the necessary historical background to each one.

The most impressive was the Alcazar, the palace dating from 910AD and originally built by the Moors but added to by successive Kings and Queens of Andalusia and Spain. After the walking tour, we went back to explore the interior of the Alcazar. It is still in use today as a Royal Palace but open to the public when they are not in residence. The grandeur inside is well worth experiencing. The fact that you are allowed to wander at will through large areas of the palace is fantastic and we are hoping to be able to do the same when we visit London. We loved the wonderful terraces and gardens.

Inside the Alcazar – Royal Palace of Sevilla

Opposite the Alcazar is the famous Catedral de Sevilla and Giralda Tower, the World’s third largest religious structure after The Vatican and St Paul’s. Built between 1402 and 1506, it is an enormous cathedral with an extremely impressive bell tower. We had previously decided that we have climbed our last church bell tower and so resisted the temptation to conquer this one, despite the fact that we were told that instead of the usual spiral staircase, this one had a spiral ramp inside so the mule teams had been able to cart up the construction materials. Still, if you’ve seen one medieval city from above you’ve seen them all.

By this time, most things had shut down for the “siesta” so we decided to follow suit and head home for a quick nap. This gave us enough oomph to actually head out again in the evening and stay out until it got dark. With the nightfall still around 10pm, this was a rarity for us but we filled in time just strolling around the various plazas and streets around Placa Espanya (most Spanish cities seem to have one of these) and watching the locals at play. We marvelled at a group of young guys doing a kind of Andalusian breakdance. They were clearly competing/showing off but it was a great performance. A similar group were mucking around on skate boards but without the attendant destruction of public facilities that often accompanies skate board use in Perth. It was fun and relaxing.

We stopped at a street bar for a quiet ale and wine and watched as the busy streets just seemed to empty, all in the space of about half an hour, before finding our way home through the narrow winding streets.

5 July Arcos de la Frontera and Ronda

With great trepidation at the thought of another day’s driving, we set off after breakfast to return to Marbella via the towns of Arcos de la Frontera and Ronda. First, the hurdle of actually buying fuel had to be overcome but I had a suitable fuel stop in mind and we navigated to it without a wrong turn. The pump actually worked and we paid with cash, our first successful fuel purchase in four attempts in Europe.

It was back down the high speed toll-way for 100km or so, essentially following the broad plain formed over the years by the Rio Guadalquivir. The beautiful low rolling hills are covered in crops of wheat, corn, potatoes, olives, avocados and oranges. Turning off towards Arcos saw the country become steadily more mountainous.

We found the turn-off to Arcos de la Frontera and drove to the outskirts of the small town. This is one of the many “white towns” of the area, where all or most of the buildings are brilliant white and huddle along a ridge or peak. A lot of localities are called “something de la Frontera” a reference to the past when they formed the barrier of defence between the forces of Islam and Christianity. Arcos is one such town, with a wonderful Moorish castle clinging to a high rock, giving sweeping views of the valley below. The Romans first used it as a garrison, followed by the Visigoths, Moors and finally the Christian forces of Ferdinand and Isabella.

We looked at the castle and church high above and decided that; A) we weren’t driving up there and b) we weren’t walking up there. Content with a view from a distance, we parked on the outskirts and walked along towards the castle, intending to turn around when the climb got too steep. Pity the poor horse carrying a knight in full armour. A sign pointed to the tourist bureau and we figured this would be a good destination to see what was on offer. It was actually a cleverly placed series of signs that trick you into climbing to the top of the hill, where the tourist bureau is actually located. The climb was not really strenuous at all and terrific fun because every now and then a car would come rumbling up the narrow cobbled street and we we had to duck into a doorway, pull our stomachs in and turn our feet in so they didn’t get run over. Many cars had their wing mirrors turned inwards to preserve them but most also bore the scars of regular encounters with stone walls along their fenders. The insurance premiums must be ghastly.

The walk through the “white town” of Arcos de la Frontera

The view from the top made the walk worthwhile. I stood at the parapet walls with my lady at my side and watched over the peasants at work in the fields below. Pity any Moorish army that rode by because I had the cauldrons of burning tar ready for action. All wonderful stuff.

The Lord looks out over his realm

 

And what a realm it is!

Back at the car, we set off for Ronda, our next destination. The mountains grew bigger in the distance and, unfortunately, the road was of a lesser standard, still good but more like a rural Australian highway, with single lanes with occasional passing lanes. The speed limit fluctuated between 90 and 70km/hr, depending on the terrain, but that obviously means nothing to the locals. I drove strictly to the speed limit, partly because I thought it was safe and partly because Christine was starting to whine about things. I made a terrible mistake by passing a small truck that was struggling up a hill. He obviously took exception to me doing so and became a rear-bumper magnet when we went down the other side. He clearly wanted to pass, and showed his discontent with lots of light flashing. Christine started whining about my speed, I told her very politely to settle down and we continued on to Ronda in a state of perpetual fear. When we finally pulled off he passed by with much tooting and shouting things in Spanish. I don’t think it was a “Welcome to Ronda!”

Once again, we drove as close as the parking would allow and walked the rest of the way to the main attraction. Most shops had just started to close for siesta but many cafes remained open for business so we stopped for a quick lunch. Then we walked the length of the main mall to the “New Bridge” that is one of Ronda’s claims to fame. This amazing structure spans a narrow but very deep gorge and towers 120 metres above the river. It makes an impressive site and was certainly an engineering marvel back in 1793 when it was completed.

The main plaza in Ronda

 

The “New Bridge” in Ronda

We also walked past Ronda’s bull ring, the oldest in Spain and wandered around admiring the many tiny streets and beautiful plazas. Staying a night in Ronda would certainly be worthwhile and I imagine the evening light on the canyon walls would show them off to advantage.

From Ronda, it was a 40km drive down the mountains to home. It seemed straightforward enough, but somehow we made very heavy work of it. The drive down is sensational, with wonderful views, in places stretching right across to the Atlas Mountains in Morocco. Unfortunately, neither of us were able to really appreciate them because I was concentrating so hard on the driving, which was quite a challenge, and Christine was too busy telling me to slow down or brake. Every now and then there was a pull over where we could rest up and admire the view, although the road surface at the entrance to these stops was really bad. The regular signs warning of avalanche and snow drifts suggest that the same drive in Winter could be far worse.

Our mistake came when we finally reached the bottom 35km later. We reached a motorway that we mistook for the A7 coastal road and pulled on to it. Instead, it was the E15 tollway that runs parallel to the one we wanted but bypasses the area around Stephanie’s apartment. On entering, the first thing we had to do was pay a toll, then it was off down the motorway. After 7 or 8 km, we started to look out for familiar landmarks but they weren’t appearing. After a long time, Christine was insisting that we get off the motorway and find a place to pull up. I finally agreed and we used Google Maps to determine that we were in fact 17kms the other side of home, closer to Malaga than Marbella. So, we turned around and re-entered the motorway, sure we knew the way off and on to the A7. Near Marbella, we got off the motorway again and pulled over, working out a sure and certain way of correcting our mistake. We nearly made it, and only just missed the off ramp by a whisker, streaming instead onto another ramp that threatened to take us back up into the mountains. I was a screaming mess by this time. We slipped back onto the E15, feeling like a scene from Groundhog Day and drove on through the tunnels and flyovers until a toll station came into view. This would be a second totally unnecessary toll payment so Christine got me to pull up short of the gate and she went on foot to seek help. The kind girl gave us directions to salvation but still took our money. As we went through I called “See you again!” and she at least had the grace to laugh.

This time we made it to San Pedro, not far from our home. We only got lost once in San Pedro and nearly yelled in delight when we actually made it onto the A7. The incredible thing is that once we were on the right road, we only had to drive about 2km to reach the apartment. That 2km had taken well over an hour. This may be the last driving we do.

Despite our trials, we thoroughly enjoyed our circuit of Andalusia. After so many cities, it is really good to get out in the countryside. The Spanish roads are excellent (outside of the narrow lanes of the medieval cities) and Stephanie’s car, a little diesel powered Ford Fiesta, is a great little car to drive.

 

6 July Marbella

We had a day mostly at home today, organising bus and flight details for the next few legs of our trip. Things started strangely when I looked at Christine and recoiled in horror. This isn’t something that happens all the time but on this occasion her right eye was rather hard to look at because it was filled with blood. She seemed largely unaware of it, although had a vague recollection of scratching at it during the night. Her sight was unaffected but it was nasty to look at so Christine rang a doctor in San Pedro for an appointment.

Meanwhile, we headed over the road for a breakfast at the Padel Tennis Club. Padel Tennis is a fascinating game played on a half sized tennis court but with glass back walls and half height glass sides. Playing the ball of the wall squash-style is permitted. The ball is like a tennis ball but low compression and the rackets are short handled with a hard outer and a styrofoam interior. There is more shot play and less running than regular tennis. They have seven or eight courts and the place does a roaring trade. They also have a lovely cafe and Stephanie introduced us to a breakfast of toasted baguette, dipped in olive oil and spread with a fresh pureed tomato. It was really tasty.

Stephanie drove us to San Pedro to see the doctor. Fortunately, all was fine, it probably being a clot formed when she had nicked it with a fingernail. I’d just avoid looking at her for the next five days or so while it cleared. Since we were out, Stephanie took us to Marbella bus station so we could buy some bus tickets to get to Malaga in a few days time.

The afternoon was taken up with the Wimbledon Men’s Semi Finals. When things get tight, Stephanie gets nervous, and when she’s nervous she cleans. With Andy Murray playing and Scottish pride on the line, we expected the house to be spotless, but Stephanie maintained her composure very well and saw Andy to victory.

Later, Kathy and John came around, bearing maps of Madrid and providing some much valued advice. We will only have a day and a half in Madrid so getting some pointers on the best sights and places to eat is invaluable. Their help and advice has greatly enhanced our time in Andalusia.

July 7 Marbella

Today we finally visited the town of Marbella itself. We took a ferry from Peurto Banus, a spectacular way to go because the whole vista of the Costa del Sol was spread out before us. The number of condos and apartments is beyond belief. Stephanie says that she visited the area 30 years ago and San Pedro was a one street village and Puerto Banus little better. The real estate windows are still full of new developments and plans, although very little is actually being built in the present climate and selling them is very difficult.

As the ferry eased out of the quay, we cruised past a couple of mega-yachts. Christine looked their names up on the Internet and found that they were both owned by the King of Saudi Arabia. That probably explains the gold Rolls Royce with the Arabic number plates parked alongside.

Marbella itself was a bit of a disappointment, being yet another collection of condos, bars, boutiques etc. The old town, with the now familiar cobbled winding streets had some character and we had a sandwich and beer there, but otherwise the main event was me getting a hair cut. I had missed finding the Barber of Seville so had to put up with the Barber of Marbella.

The ferry delivered us home again and we had a dip in the pool before settling down on the terrace to watch the swimmers and party goers below and, of course, we bagged everyone and anything.

July 8 Marbella

Our last day in Marbella. We were very content to take it easy, especially with the Wimbledon Men’s Final on the books. We did go to the beach early on, just so we could officially record a swim in the Mediterranean. Christine can claim a win here, actually swimming the length of the small cove but I can only claim to have waded up to my waist. It was far too cold for me. The days have been warm, up to 37 degrees and last night was uncomfortably warm but the water remains cold.

Otherwise, it was a slow day, except for Stephanie, who scurried around in another cleaning frenzy to ward off nerves of Andy Murray’s chances. We had little faith in him so we said nothing. In the end, with poor Andy proving to be yet another runner-up, Stephanie took it well and Roger Federer added another notch to his incredible set of wins.

This was to complete our stay in Andalusia and the Costa del Sol. It is a very comfortable place to live, especially if you don’t have to drive a car and navigate. Having Stephanie’s hospitality has been a real bonus and our time here will be a highlight of the trip. It’s amazing that we originally had no plans to come to Spain at all and now we have been here two weeks. It doesn’t pay to plan. We catch a train to Madrid tomorrow.

 

La Sagrada Famillia

Barcelona 2012

July 1, 2012 /

24 June Barcelona

Barcelona Airport is enormous. We seemed to walk for ages before we found our baggage carousel, then waited another age before finding our luggage on the “special equipment” carousel. This happened because we left our trolleys attached.

We found the taxi rank without trouble and got bundled into a black and yellow machine. Christine had written down our address on a pad. The driver puzzled over it for a while so I showed him an email on the Android tablet. This made a little more sense and he said “OK,OK” then shot off down the road. Our address was in the Gran Via des les Corts Catalanes, one of the main arterial roads into the city, it should have been easy but he was obviously wanting to know where on this long avenue our apartment was located. To do this, he consulted a tiny map book, first looking up the index at the back. This required reading glasses for the finer detail and we zoomed along, with cars passing us on both sides, towards a large freeway. Fortunately, he seemed to find the answer to his question as we entered the freeway and he put both the book and glasses away and actually held the wheel with both hands. Accelerating to 80km/hr he settled down to have a rest, doing a lot of yawning and head rubbing, as well as a regular shoulder wriggle. I just watched things go by and tried to think about survival.

Once at the apartment, Christine took the lift up to the 3rd floor while I used the stairs. I had to because both of us with luggage couldn’t fit in the lift. We were met by the owner, Zorayda, who showed us around and gave us basic directions to the supermarket and Metro. Both were virtually right outside. She took our payment and deposit and arranged to return on Friday to return the deposit.

After settling in, we visited the local supermarket. This is really just a corner store, with the larger shops all closed on Sundays by law. It is interesting with the Sunday trading debate raging at home that we hear that Perth needs to catch up with the rest of the World. Our experience is that stores close on a Sunday in many parts of the World and people seem to manage. The corner store had enough to satisfy our basic needs of bread, milk and a beer.

Then it was on to the Place Espanya and the amazing Magic Fountain of Montjuic. This is a musical fountain and attracts huge crowds to its night time performances. Overlooking this is the incredible National Art Museum of Catalonia, which now topples Notre Dame as the leader of the most awesome buildings I have ever seen. It is huge, gracious and stately. We will need to go back and explore it.

 

The magnificent Palau Nacional

Then we crossed the road to the Metropolitan Las Arenas, a former bull fighting ring converted into a huge shopping centre. Here we chose a restaurant for dinner, being attracted by the sight of big piles of steaming mussels. We had a big tureen of mussels, a Tower of Cannelloni, Cream Cheese Custard and Chocolate Bombs, all washed down with a pitcher of excellent Sangria for less than 30€. The presentation and service was exceptional and we were very pleased to see that quality dining is far more affordable here than in France.

25 June Barcelona

As crazy as it would sound to some, we spent our first full day in Barcelona in the apartment, just lazing around, using the Internet and just regrouping. We haven’t had many such days so this one was greatly valued. The one outing we did make was to find a larger supermarket to buy a more comprehensive stock of supplies. The prices were very good, even meat which was certainly no dearer than Perth. Some things were difficult to find, notably healthy cereals with most being the sugar filled variety. Savoury biscuits were also scarce, with only about four varieties being in evidence. Seafood is very big in Spain, and much of the supermarket was given over to fish, both whole and processed. There were some very strange looking species, almost certainly imported as most fish life is extinct in this part of the Mediterranean.

The fruit and vegetables were cheap and of excellent quality. This is probably quite a seasonal thing with the current conditions being ideal for vegetables of many kinds. We were very surprised at the checkout, having loaded up and getting a bill of only 24€.

26 June Barcelona

It was back on to the tourist trail again today, walking all the way along the Gran Via des les Corts Catalanes into the City proper. The walk was so easy and enjoyable, because of the broad pathways and numerous lines of shady trees along most roads. The city is the first we’ve seen that has made a proper effort to cater for cyclists. There are excellent cycle-ways on every major road and these seem to receive priority over cars. There is a huge network of public bicycles dotted all over the city, but these are only available to residents. However, there are a lot of tourist bike hire firms in operation.

We walked down the long Passeig do St Joan and past the Arc de Triomf. It seems many European have an Arc of Triumph, most celebrating a victory somewhere. Barcelona’s was built as an entrance to the Grand Expo of 1893. It seems they turned down Eiffel’s idea as too audacious and Paris had to pick it up at the next expo. A case of one city’s loss is another’s gain.

 

Arc de Triomf

Then it was along the Passeig de Picasso, another identity that seems to be mentioned at every turn, until we finally reached the waterfront. The Olympic Harbour was relatively new, having built built to handle the yachts in 1992. Prior to that, the waterfront was a shabby mixture of small commercial wharves and fisherman’s jetties. Now it is an ultra modern marina bristling with super yachts and dream cruisers.

A series of boardwalks and broad avenues, filled with a flow of partially clad people, led to the beach itself. Again, this beach did not exist prior to the Olympics. It was constructed following the demolition of the low cost fishermen’s housing in the area. Some older housing remains, creating a unique quarter of the city, but much of it, and the nearby industrial area, was levelled. The crushed rubble was ground into a sand, not white but a sort of orange-cream colour. There must have been a lot of rubble because the beach is quite extensive. It was rather crowded, filled with the usual beach umbrellas and sun-worshipers. This was not a beach to draw us back again for a swim. While it might be attractive to a European, we get so spoilt for good beaches ones, like this are easily missed.

 

Olympic Beach – Barcelona

We stopped at a side-walk restaurant for a meal, choosing a set meal of the day. The trick seems to be to have a meal of the day displayed on a sign on the side-walk, then present you with an a la carte menu in Catalan when you sit down. You have to actually ask for the meal of the day, which then comes on a separate menu but still in Catalan. Never the less, this is the way to go for a day-time meal, with some amazing bargains to be had. A set meal of 9.90€ got us a choice of entree, mains and desserts and a generous glass of wine or sangria. We shared grilled prawns and a wonderful green salad, followed by a seafood paella each, then finished with a mandarin sorbet and chocolate topped cream. In the past, we have not been impressed by paella, but being in Spain, we figured it was a must. I have to confess it was lovely, with just the right amount of moisture. All the food was so well presented and cooked to perfection. It’s hard to believe you can sit at a beach-side restaurant and have a meal of this quality at the price of a hamburger and chips in Dunsborough.

The sun had a real bite to it by this stage so we sought shade where ever possible and wandered around to Las Ramblas, the famed broad walk up through the centre of the city. Its name sounds like it was named as a walk, but in truth, the word “ramble” comes from this avenue, which was named after the dry river bed that it follows. Here, we were particularly on guard for pick-pockets. Barcelona is known to be one of the most crime-ridden cities in Europe. Fortunately, most crime is property crime, with actual assaults rare. One local told us that in 30 years, he had never seen any actual violence, although he had seen plenty of things disappear off restaurant tables. He was once walking on Las Ramblas when he felt someone at his back pocket. He turned to see a man with his wallet and yelled at him. “Oh sorry!” said the thief, “I thought you were a tourist,” and promptly returned the wallet.

We needed an internet cafe to print out some tour vouchers. These have become hard to find, with many people carrying their own Internet facilities on their phones but we find printing can be a problem. Eventually, we located one, watched the guy fight with the printer the way we do at home, and got a copy of our documents before catching a Metro home for a much needed rest.

27 June Barcelona

Today we booked a cycling tour of the city, concentrating mainly on the Gothic Quarter. Our guide, Marc, was a young Catalan man who both attracted the eyes of the ladies and provided an entertaining and informative commentary. Our group consisted of a Dutch couple, another Aussie couple and a Frenchman. The Frenchman spoke little to no English so probably didn’t get all that much out of the tour, it being totally English based.

 

The narrow streets of the Gothic Quarter

Marc proved to be very passionate about his city, particularly its rich culture of music and art. He also gave us some good insight into the Catalan separatist feeling. All shop signage is in Catalan or both Catalan and Spanish. To not have signage in Catalan attracts an extra tax, and the wrath of locals. To hear him speak, one gets the feeling that a separation from Spain will probably come at some point in the future, although the current difficulties with the European Union will not help any immediate move.

Cycling is the ideal way to tour here. At no point did we have to worry about traffic, and the bikes give good access to the tiny narrow alleyways of the Gothic Quarter. We saw some people getting ready for a Segway Tour, which would also be good but not so well adapted to some of the cobbled streets.

Marc did an excellent job of showing us how the Gothic Quarter, which is the old medieval town, was within the walls of the ancient Roman city of Barcino, established by Augustus in 15BC. Remnants of the Roman walls and city exist dotted all over Barcelona, some underneath current buildings and some incorporated in later constructions. Some of the old walls formed part of later fortifications, which were ocean defences up until the mid 19th Century.

The narrow streets of the Gothic Quarter are a sheer delight, whether on bike or on foot. There are so many small plazas, cathedrals, Government buildings and museums to explore. One plaza was particularly poignant, with the walls on two sides pitted with countless bullet holes. The square was a favoured place of execution for both sides in the Spanish Civil War. The peppering of holes on the walls higher up came from the shrapnel after Franco let Mussolini use the area to test a new type of bomb. It all seems so pointless now.

Later, we followed a similar path to yesterday, going down to the beach area. Marc filled us in on much of the information we lacked, and answered all our questions. We stopped at a beach-side restaurant and had a refreshing glass of Sangria before pushing on through some beautiful parks and gardens. Then it was back into the Gothic Quarter for a few more sites before finishing up. As always, a guided tour of the city was well worth the money and effort. It is the only way to quickly put a city in context. We have found that it is good both at the beginning of a visit and at the end. If taken at the end, it still serves to put a lot of the sites you have already seen into a context.

By the time we were finished, we were famished, so we back-tracked to another restaurant in the Gothic Quarter that had a set menu for the same 9.90€ as yesterday. It proved to be the same company, so we knew the drill and managed to order some alternatives from the excellent menu that we had pondered over previously. This time, however, we failed to resist the temptation of a second wine so we had to find a Metro and head for home to have a snooze.

 

Helping the local catering industry

After a much needed nap, we walked to the supermarket. We felt like some lamb for dinner, but couldn’t see any and didn’t know the words for lamb. However, the mosaics on the wall behind the butcher section was patterned with a cow, pig, sheep and chook so we were able to point out what we wanted and find some tiny little things we think are chops. We bought some wine, pondering for some time over whether to spend 1.50€ a bottle or 0.99€ . We had had good wine at 2.50€ from the local but surely there is a limit. In the end we lashed out and paid 1.75€. The wine was fine.

28 June Barcelona

Today’s first target was the famous La Sagrada Famillia, a huge basilica commenced in 1882, originally designed by Francisco de Paula del Villar as a Neo-Gothic building and later adapted by Antoni Gaudi in his Modernist style. It is scheduled for completion somewhere between 2026 and 2060, depending on the source quoted. While the structure is still very much an active building site, the essential structure is complete. Eight of the planned eighteen towers are finished and the basilica itself is a functioning church.

 

La Sagrada Famillia

It is possible to find the building ugly. I know because I do. However, one can’t but admire the structure’s grand scheme and amazing workmanship. It is not as big overall as I imagined from the photos, although later in the day we viewed it from a mountain lookout and it certainly dominates part of Barcelona. The interior is truly spectacular, with a forest of branching columns, actually designed to be trees, supporting an unbelievable vaulted roof. Another legacy of Gaudi’s is the use of glass mosaics on many of the exterior surfaces. As the building proceeds, debate continues surrounding the use of modern materials and techniques and although the newer sections of the building stand out clearly, the basic integrity of the original concept is being maintained. It is possibly the only great stone building currently under construction anywhere.

 

The magnificent columns

We took a trip up one of the towers by means of an elevator, enjoying the commanding views of Barcelona from the top. From this vantage, we were also able to get a good view of the current construction works, which seem to be centring around tower building at present. Unfortunately, we elected to go down via the steps, a decision we came to regret. Christine is never good on spiral staircases and these ones went on for ever. Being trapped in an endless loop is part of everyone’s nightmare at some point and coming down from around 100m using steps that are 40cm wide on one side and 10cm wide on the inside is simply horrible. Worse still, there was a stream of people in front and a gaggle of cackling children behind. The ones in front loved to stop for ages to take arty photos while the children yelled and made other stupid noises. They should have been at school.

 

The dreaded spiral staircase

Eventually we emerged and left Sagrada Famillia behind us, taking the Metro through several stops to the tram line and on to the beach. Our next target was the Port Cable Car, “Transbordador Aeri del Port”. This crosses from the port area near the beach to Montjuic, an impressive mountain edifice that overlooks the city. When I first saw this bastion, I thought it would have made a wonderful defence for the city and indeed, there is an extensive fortress at the summit. However, the guns were pointed not to the sea but towards the city itself, the fortress being used to keep the Catalans under control.

We have been on many cable car rides, all good, but this one brilliant. The views of the city are absolutely breath-taking. They would need to be because taking a ride on the system is an exercise in extreme patience. First you queue for 20 minutes or so to get into the elevator which goes to the top of the tower at the Port. This gets you into another 20 minute queue to board the car itself. Rather than running many cable cars as other systems do, this one has only two cars, one up and one down. Each car is rated to carry 20 passengers but we counted 16 passengers being squeezed in. It is standing room only. Thank goodness the view is worth it. As the car took left the safety of the tower, I was worried that Christine was going to say “Shit!” as she usually does when something jolts or bumps near a precipice. However, on this occasion she was very restrained and simply squeezed my hand a little harder than usual.

 

Barcelona beaches from the cable car

Once back on land at the Montjuic end, we made many more “Ohh” and “Ahh” noises at the mind-blowing views available. The whole mountain was the site for the 1992 Barcelona Olympics, with most venues being located somewhere on the huge bastion. The thought of finishing the marathon up the hill is too much to think about. We used 6 sets of escalators and many steps to reach the bottom so I’d hate to run up. Later, we watched a video of the event on the Internet and sure enough, runners were dropping like flies.

We did check out the Olympic Stadium. It was quite an awesome sight, being still set up as an athletics stadium. We were surprised to learn that the stadium was actually built in 1929 in the hope of securing the Olympics but the Spanish Civil War got in the way of those plans. Today, it serves a number of sports plus the usual rock concerts etc.

As we came down the hill, we marvelled at the splendour of the Palau Nacional, built as a part of the 1929 Exposition and now the National Museum of Art. This was the incredible building we had seen on our first night in Barcelona and definitely gets my vote as the most inspiring building I have ever seen. We found the view all the more enjoyable because most of the trip down was by way of escalator. Our legs were no longer capable of functioning properly.

We barely made it back to our apartment and collapsed on the bed for a much needed siesta.

We leave Barcelona tomorrow with mixed feelings. While there are so many wonderful sights and so much history in Barcelona, the city itself did not capture us as some have. Perhaps it is because it has too many personalities and seems comfortable with none of them. I certainly would not visit if I was after a Mediterranean beach holiday and I wouldn’t bother if I wanted a laid-back relaxing holiday. The wonderful dining and climate would attract and I certainly would visit if I was a fan of Modernist Art and architecture. For us? I think we have ticked it off the list but happy to have done so.

Grand Theatre, Place de Comedie

Bordeaux 2012

June 25, 2012 /

A Youtube video of our time in Bordeaux can be seen here.

19 June Paris to Bordeaux

We left our hotel around 9am to walk the 1.5km to Gare de L’Est. From there, we could use the Metro to travel across Paris to Gare Montparnasse, our jump off point for a train to Bordeaux. Our luggage consists of a large and a small backpack each, along with a collapsible hand trolley. Sometimes, when we see people just grab their wheeled suitcases off an airport carousel and cruise away, we are envious. At other times, when we see people struggle with the tiny wheels and unbalanced cases on the cobbled streets outside a train station, we are pleased with our choice, even more so when we see a couple marching stoically along with 20kg plus strapped to their backs. Somehow, the girl is always in the rear and looking like she needs two hours in a spa. The streets of Paris are not too bad but the narrow cobbled streets of Bordeaux proved the need for the larger wheels of our little trolleys.

A TGV Train

The TGV trains of Western Europe are fast, comfortable but not ridiculously cheap. We paid 73€ ($A92) each for 2nd class tickets. We could have got them for as low as 20€ by booking several months in advance with no cancellation or change allowed. The train was full as it left Paris, but rapidly emptied over the first few stops, of which it made six or so. We shared our set of four seats with a French woman and a young man who had two small girls. One was beautifully behaved and obediently responded with a “Oui Papa” to all orders. The other, somewhat younger, responded negatively to everything. She squirmed, demanded, cried, whined and grizzled. The French woman sitting next to this performance, showed incredible patience, as did Papa, but we still exchanged quite a few deep and meaningful looks with the other woman to share our feelings at being saddled with this imposition.

The woman left the train at stop two and the man and his beasts a little later on. We were able to stretch out and watch the countryside flash by. Paris seemed to end rather abruptly and we were into rolling fields of green wheat and barley, with the occasional potato crop in evidence. Dotted all around were the picturesque villages that one sees in Impressionist paintings. The fields were intersected with the fabulous network of hedgerows that sustains so much of Europe’s remnant wildlife. The scenery was truly amazing, the only drawback being that the train travelled so fast that the glorious hamlets and churches whizzed by too quickly.

After a three hour trip, we pulled into Gare Saint Jean in Bordeaux and soon found ourselves outside and facing a walk of 1.8km to our lodgings. I had quite a fight with Google Maps, it maintaining that we were on the other side of a huge rail complex and providing a route to our hotel that didn’t make any sense. Each time I tried to get a direction fix, the GPS would reset. After much swearing and a minor domestic, I figured that the fact that I was standing under some electric tramway lines was a problem and moved away. The iPhone began to behave normally and we were off.

We navigated through one lane cobbled roads taking in the rows of terraced houses that opened right onto the footpath. These lacked the grandeur of the endless apartments in Paris, mostly being two storeys and some even a single storey. Although obviously very old, most buildings were in excellent condition.

Rather than a hotel, we had booked a serviced apartment a little out of the main centre, but still within walking distance. One of a chain called Les Estudines, they provide full kitchenette facilities, beds that fold into sofas, dining table and chairs, laundromat and good secure parking. After a few weeks of cramped hotel rooms, this proved luxury and at 51€ (A$64) a night was good value. A supermarket 100m down the street provided the makings for a meal and a good range of Bordeaux wines for less than 5€ a bottle. I can’t imagine how good the expensive ones are because the cheap wines are excellent.

20 March Bordeaux

We set off to walk into the centre of Bordeaux. There is a system of trams and buses, but we elected to walk and get the hang of the public transport later. The walk was easy, following a straight road until it terminated in a glorious square called Place de la Victoire, after the battle of the Somme. A magnificent arch, part of something built in the 17th Century, dominates the square. Leading away is Rue St Catherine, a pedestrian only mall some 1.2km long, making it the longest shopping precinct in Europe. It is mostly clothes and cosmetics, but a few sporting shops attracted our attention. So did the prices, being a lot cheaper than Paris and much cheaper than Perth for quality brand names.

Place de la Victoire

The shopping strip terminated in turn at the Place de la Comedie, dominated by the Grand Theatre. All the nearby streets are pedestrian only, although rogue scooters and motorbikes seem to be a bit of a problem. It seems like most of Bordeaux is employed in the catering industry, with any spare spot instantly turned into an alfresco café. Prices seem to vary from a lot to impossible, yet still cheaper than Paris. The other thing of note was the number of homeless who had set up camp in the pedestrian mall. Most had one to three dogs to keep them company, although one had three cats, all on leashes. The population is a lot less multicultural than Paris, where people of Caribbean or African background seemed to dominate. The locals are obviously attuned to the importance of tourism and every time we stopped to try to work out a sign or a procedure, someone would stop to translate or point us in the right direction. Try that in Perth.

Grand Theatre, Place de Comedie

We sought out the Tourist Bureau to see what was on offer. A very helpful assistant explained the various options for wine tours, the main attraction around Bordeaux. We chose a half day tour focusing on dry whites. Each of the districts or appellations concentrates on one style of wine, so even though Bordeaux is noted for its reds, the area also produces outstanding whites, roses and sparkling wines. The famed Chateau Lafite Rothschild, the World’s most expensive red wine, comes from the Medoc, an appellation to the North West of Bordeaux. All around the Place de la Comedie and along the river front, hundreds of marquees were being erected in preparation for the forthcoming Fete de Vin, a wine festival that will see the city overflowing. It’s probably good for our livers that we will have gone by then.

We got on board a small train to take a tour of the sights in and around the old city. At 7.50€ each, it seemed like a good way to get an overview of the place. It turned out to be a good way to end up with major spinal damage. The streets are mostly cobbled and contain many drains, ditches and other bumps. The train carriages appeared to have absolutely no suspension and we felt every bump right from the coccyx right through to the skull. It was so bad it was laughable in places. I tried to film parts of the trip but it proved very difficult.

We had headphones that provided an English commentary and we learnt a lot. We stopped alongside some magnificent churches, arches, medieval towers, some Roman ruins and famous houses of note. As always in France, we were shown the square where the guillotine was set up during the Revolution. As an exercise in getting to know Bordeaux, it was excellent. As a fun experience it fell way short. Later, we saw an open top tour bus wandering around doing the same thing and the people looked comfortable and relaxed, although I did doubt that the large bus could access all the tiny streets that our little train went down.

Lunch consisted of a wonderful hamburger-like creation from a street stall. We opted for mustard rather than ketchup and the lady filled the bun with enough mustard to defeat an army. It was delicious but set our nostrils afire. As we let lunch settle with a peaceful stroll around the wonderful botanic gardens in the Jardin Public, thoughts of a toilet stop came up. We located a toilet in the heart of the gardens and I headed into the “Hommes” area. Having just unzipped and positioned myself, my space was invaded by a woman, her two little girls and a little boy. She motioned the boy over next to me and instructed one of the little girls to help her brother and she retreated. By this time, I had completely lost the urge to urinate, having been left alone in a public toilet with a small boy and a small girl. I zipped up and fled, totally traumatised for the rest of the time in the park.

We caught the tram along the river front to Gare Saint Jean. The trams are excellent, running across a broad network around the city. They are frequent enough to make hopping on and off quick and easy. Within the city squares, they seem to draw power from a strip between the rails but once on actual streets, the more usual overhead lines are employed.

Many of the streets and squares are big open affairs, with loosely marked paths for pedestrians, bikes, cars and trams. In practice, the road rules seem to be rather grey and everyone has the good sense to drive slowly and look out for others. Once again, we could learn from this. As of next month, it becomes compulsory for all cars and motorbikes to carry breathalysers. In a country where every café, bistro, grocer and supermarket sells alcohol and most people seem to have a wine or two with lunch, such measures are necessary. It is also interesting to see that there is a 1500€ fine for having a radar detector in a car. This new law has lead to a lot of confusion about the legality of GPS systems that carry in-built information about the location of permanent speed radars.

We wandered around Gare Saint Jean trying to find a car hire place, despite this being listed as the main area to secure one. In the end, we gave up and walked home to resort to the Internet to make a booking for the weekend so we could explore some countryside.

Once again, we stayed in to cook, a delicious meal of Atlantic Salmon. We frequently buy Atlantic Salmon farmed in Tasmania back in Oz and really love its strong oily flavour. The fish here, almost certainly farmed in Norway or somewhere similar, was nice but lacked the full flavour that we are used to. Feeling obliged to support local industry, we also knocked off a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

21 June Bordeaux

Today we planned to explore Bordeaux further by bicycle. Here they have introduced the Velo system that is in place in Paris and also in the planning for Perth. The concept is that there is a series of bike stations dotted all over the city and its outskirts. Once signed up for an account, one can simply take a bike from one station to the next. The first 30 minutes are free then 1 or 2 Euros thereafter, although various levels of account are available. The bikes themselves are excellent, having a drive shaft rather than a chain and sprocket. This means no grease on trouser legs or chains coming off. It also results in super-smooth gear changes.

Unfortunately, the Velo station 100m down the road was empty of bikes, so we had to walk through to the next street and down 200m. As we approached we saw the last two bikes left but this was reduced as the woman in front of us got there first and claimed one. I tried to wrestle her to the ground and steal her bike but Christine restrained me just in time. We walked on, reaching the shopping area on foot. It’s a bit like trying to catch a train to Perth on a week day and driving to the station to find there is no parking left.

We walked down Rue de Saint Catherine and shopped, mostly in sports clothing shops. I bought a pair of shoes from a brand that has an interesting concept; they sell the shoe and the in-sole separately, each 11€. The concept is that you can have the one inner and many colours of outers. The shoes are light and comfortable so I thought I’d give them a try. We also bought a mini speaker to boost computer output which proves useful to listening to Perth radio over the Internet.

Eventually, we reached another Velo station, and being in the City centre, it was nearly full of bikes. We struggled with the log-in machine for a while, before a local came by and assisted. The down-side is that you need to pre-commit 200€ deposit against damage or loss. We used a debit card to then find that 400€ had been withdrawn from our account. I suspect the repayment of the deposit will not be as rapid as the withdrawl. We have found this to be a real problem with using a debit card rather than a credit card. Hotels and hire groups typically take a pre-commitment. On a credit card, the only affect this has is to reduce your credit limit until the pre-commitment is cancelled. On a debit card, the money is removed from your account, then repaid later, usually after 5 working days. Do this over a weekend, and you can be out of pocket by a significant amount for nearly a week. This could be an issue for those travelling on a budget.

Eventually we were on our way, riding on the “funny side of the road” as they do in France and sticking to the excellent bike paths where possible. Our ride took us along the quay, stopping to watch a game of boule, to a Velo station where we could deposit our bikes and walk to the nearby medieval Basillica of Saint Michel.

Basilica of Saint Michel

This wonderful old church dates back in parts to the 12th Century and the fabulous bell tower to the 15th Century. The tower stands at 114m tall, and we were able to climb up to around 90m, using a narrow stone spiral staircase. Christine only made it to the first platform at 25m, claustrophobia taking its toll by then. I pushed on, pausing a few times to let the legs recover, until I reached the bells themselves and later the top viewing platform, with only the actual spire above me. The view of Bordeaux was fantastic. Going down was easier than climbing but I had to fight dizziness, because the spiral was so tight the head started spinning. A trip up and down after a glass or two of a good Bordeaux is not recommended.

Inside the church itself, the magnificent stained glass windows dominate. I was amazed at their colour and clarity, not to mention their style, which was more reminiscent of Pablo Picasso than the Renaissance. This later proved to be the case when we read that all the original windows were destroyed in 1940 during a bombardment.

After a quick bite of lunch at a street-side kebab stall, we looked for another Velo to ride home with. This proved to be difficult, as we wandered from station to station to find them empty. The system fails if there is not an even distribution of bicycles at the stations. Even more annoying would be to reach a station and find all parking units full. Just leaving the bike without parking it would result in a very expensive loss of deposit. Our search took us through an area dominated by Turkish and North African businesses, many with strange music wafting from dark interiors. Eventually, we located a station full of bikes only 50m from where we had lunch, after walking a couple of kilometres in a big loop. We would have been better to just walk home or jump on a tram.

Having not heard anything from our on-line car hire company, Christine took our information down to the front office of our apartments to get some help with the language. When we approach, the girls look at each other, trying to figure out whose turn it is to struggle with English. In truth, they are much better than the think they are and we have been very grateful for the wonderful friendliness and help offered. They managed to sort things out, and we are now assured that there is a car waiting for us at the train station on Saturday. All good.

We watched a few movies to stay up a bit later. Without any English TV, we have tended to go to bed a bit early. To do that, we have to close the blinds up, because the daylight is so long. Today is the Summer Solstice so at least the days will start to get shorter from now on. They need to because having daylight at 10pm is starting to get very wearing.

June 22 Bordeaux

This was wine tour day, so we picked up a velo bicycle and pedalled into the Tourist Bureau. Being more of a peak hour on the roads, the ride was not quite as relaxed as previously but still very manageable, especially as we cruised the last part down the pedestrian mall of Rue St Catherine.

Our guide turned out to be a young woman called Anne, who had spent time working in Saigon so we had a few things in common. Her English was excellent and we picked up lots of tips about driving on the roads and motorway.

Anne took us into the Graves Appellation. The French have a system of very strict controls over their wine growing, protecting both quality and marketing. Bordeaux is an appellation itself and then is divided into a series of smaller appellations, each with a distinct set of rules governing variety and blending. Wines are not marketed by advertising their variety as we do, but rather by their appellation. If you know your wine, knowing the appellation will tell you a lot about the style of wine and quality you are buying. Nowhere did we see a cask of Coolabah Dry Red mentioned.

The first stop was the glorious Chateau Olivier, complete with a fortress dating back to the 12th Century. There we were met by Juliet, a Ukrainian girl working at the Chateau, who gave us a guided tour. We laughed when she pointed out the “new” part of the chateau, which was added in the 18th Century. Surrounded by a moat and complete with drawbridge, the fortress looked like something out of a fairytale.

Chateau Olivier

Some 120 hectares of forest surrounded the Chateau. Apparently, it was once a favourite hunting haunt of The Black Prince (Edward, Prince of Wales 1330-76), and even today still contains plenty of deer and wild boar.

We were led through the wine making process and given a detailed explanation of the differing soil types of the property. The appellation of Graves gets its name and characteristics from the extensive gravel soils deposited by the Garrone River. The soil was full of small river washed stones, giving superb drainage and retaining heat, leading to excellent maturation of the fruit. Of course, we knew all this and nodded wisely, making lots of appropriate noises but really just wanting to knock back a glass of good red. To be fair, both Anne and Juliet could tell we were both wine plebs and did a great job of guiding our tasting and ensuring that we did not make complete fools of ourselves. Both the red and white wine we were given to taste was incredibly good. The guides, being at work, both tasted and spat their wine into a large container. We, of course, swallowed ours with gusto.

French oak wine barrels

Our second stop was at Chateau La Tour Martillac, also in the the Graves Appellation. The Chateau sported a small tower from the 12th Century, although its chances of providing a reasonable defence seemed limited. I did remark that it was so small that Rupunzel would have little trouble letting her hair down. This time, our guide was a man named Pierre, who proved every bit as informative and educational as Juliet. His lip did curl a little at any slight mention of Australian wines but otherwise we had a ball. Just listening to a Frenchman speak English is a sheer entertainment in itself.

I help Pierre with the vintage

The French wine classification system identifies some selected vinyards as “Grand Crus”. Vinyards sell their very best wines as “First Wines”. Which bear the title “Chateau…”. They then produce lesser wines called “Second Wine” which can still be of excellent quality. We were given a Second Red and a First White to taste, both of which were absolutely amazing quality, particularly the white, which I honestly thought was the finest wine I’d ever come even close to. I would have been happy just to spend time with my nose in the glass, absorbing the incredible aromas. Christine just drank hers and said it was good. It was even worse than that, because as soon as the wine was poured, she had a sip!

Pierre then said “We will now talk about the nose, which you should do before you drink, although I notice you have already tasted it.”

At least she did feel like a pleb. Anne produced a lovely platter of hors d’oeuvres but it was actually difficult to detract from the wine with other tastes.

Once back in Bordeaux, we found a lunch along the mall and wandered home, content to have a nap and another night in. The beauty of the apartment rather than a hotel room is the level of comfort. We both grow very tired of having to sit on a bed or having a room with only one chair and a small table.

23 June Bordeaux

Today we had ear-marked to explore some of the out-lying regions of Bordeaux with a hire car. Step one, was to actually find the hire car place, which had eluded us in the past. It was supposed to be at Gare St Jean, but we hadn’t ever seen it. Our mistake was that it was on the other side of the rail tracks to everything else, and we had soon signed our lives away and gotten the key. All this meant was that we wandered around the car park for ages failing to find a matching number plate. Finally, we headed back to the girl at the desk, who explained that it was several blocks away in another car park, a point she had not addressed earlier.

Our VW Polo, complete with steering wheel on the wrong side.

Our car was a nifty four door diesel powered Volkswagon Polo, a wonderful car with only one bad feature; it was left hand drive. Driving around the tiny narrow streets of Bordeaux on the wrong side of the road is quite terrifying. We had two major roundabouts to negotiate in the first 500m. It was only a short drive back to the apartment, but the parking is off a tiny one-way street so we had to carefully plan a circuitous route to approach the gates from the right direction. We made the car-park and thought seriously about leaving the car there for the whole day.

Fortunately, we had booked a GPS with the car so we logged in to set a route to Arcachon, a seaside location renown for its oysters. We pictured a quaint little stone village nestled in a tiny fishing quay, complete with crying gulls and lobster boats. We weren’t even close.

The drive proved very difficult at first, the GPS telling us to turn then telling us we’d done the wrong thing. Our first target was to get out of Bordeaux proper and onto the A630 ring road. We managed to get to this point without a domestic, due mainly to Christine’s amazing navigational skills. I just did what I was told and it mostly worked. We turned right, left, went through countless roundabouts and eventually knew when we’d hit the A630 because we drove straight into a good old fashioned freeway traffic jam. It seems that the traffic on the motorways is bad on weekends, especially in Summer, when people take the chance to get out into the country. A large part of Bordeaux’s population had the same idea as us; go to Arcachon. After numerous traffic snarls and some stretches of 130km/hr, we finally reached our quaint little village, which actually proved to be the size of Bunbury, although certainly prettier.

Many of the streets are so narrow that once the parking fills up on one side, there is barely room for two small cars to pass each other. When someone parks a car badly, there is no room left so it is an exercise of squeezing around each other. Parking was as hard to find in Arcachon as in Bordeaux, but we managed a spot and set off to explore on foot. After wandering around the small port area, we settled on a small restaurant. The staff spoke absolutely zero English but we managed to get by, handling all his menu choices because a) he spoke slowly; and b) because we had looked up lots of words on Google Translate. Of course, we both ordered an entrée of oysters (L’huite) because that’s why we’d come. Christine followed with a Confit of Duck and I had a Grilled Hake with Béarnaise sauce, then Crème Caramel and a Rasberry Gateaux to finish. Good French cooking is sooo good and washed down with a nice Rose it’s even better. At just over 40€, it was great value. Just as Bordeaux is cheaper than Paris, so Arcachon is cheaper than Bordeaux.

We relocated the car to further down near the centre of the City, managing to find a parking spot that tested not only my reverse parking skills but also the built-in parking sensors. We followed a pedestrian mall down to the beach, past literally thousands of alfresco dining opportunities. Food seems to be the reason for Arcachon’s existence. The beach was lovely, with a broad expanse of white sand and calm water, although quite tidal and rather brown. Arcachon sits at the bottom of la Basin d’Arcachon, an inlet a bit larger than Peel Inlet. The beach was well populated and a few were swimming. We went down to at least dip or toe in the Atlantic Ocean and found it to be far too cold to even think of swimming. Maybe in the Mediterranean.

On the jetty at Arcachon

We waited an absolute eternity at another of these self-cleaning public toilets. They are a real curse, because they take so long to be ready for the next user. We stood in line and waited for the man in front to emerge. He took so long we knew he was doing something serious and the thought of following into such a confined space almost put us off. When he finally did appear, we had to wait another age while the auto-cleaning process took over. Unfortunately, this did not include deodorising.

The GPS gave us a bit of worry getting out of Arcachon and back to the A63. We finally made it, following the A63 to link up with the main motorway of the A630. By this time, the traffic was moving better but this actually proved more of a challenge. I tended to sit in the slow lane, preferring a steady 110km/hr to the 130 of the fast lane. The problem is that trucks are often only allowed 80km/hr and when you get stuck behind one, changing lanes to get around it into traffic that is often doing more than 130km/hr can be a real challenge. At one point, I found a gap, with the next car only a tiny dot in the distance. I swung the Polo out and floored it, asking a lot from the tiny 1.6L diesel. Almost immediately, I had a large angry black Merc bearing down flashing its lights. Goodness knows what speed it was doing. I retreated back behind the truck, beaten and cowered.

We navigated our way back around Bordeaux to the village of Blanquefort, in the wine growing area of Medoc. The country opened up a little and the endless rows of pine plantations around Arachon gave over to lovely rolling hills of vines. The village was a delightful blend of the old and new and would be a place I could see myself living. This was reinforced when we went into a small supermarket to pick up some supplies for dinner and everyone seemed to know one another.

Just out of Blanquefort there is a wonderful park called Parc de Marjolan. It was created out of swamp land between 1870 and 1880, now having magnificent stretches of lakes, flowing streams, waterfalls and even a manmade system of caves and canyons. The wonderful stands of elm and oak are a delight to walk through and the place proved popular with wedding parties. We enjoyed a tranquil hour wandering through these incredible gardens.

 

Heading for home, we set the GPS to take the fastest route, hoping this would take us around the ring road and avoid the middle of Bordeaux. Alas, the GPS did not agree and we spent a terrifying half hour negotiating a route right through the guts of old Bordeaux, across cobbled roads and down narrow winding streets. We didn’t even know enough to alter the route and by the time we started to recognise places we had explored on bike or foot, we were nearly home anyway. We nearly kissed the floor of the apartment. Despite our traumas, we’d had another wonderful day and proved that we could handle the worst of the weekend traffic.

In the late evening, a fascinating sight in the skies over Bordeaux is the criss-cross of jet vapour trails. It seems that many flight paths pass overhead. At first, it looks as though they are all on parallel courses, but then it becomes clear that most have come in on slightly different places and are headed for differing destinations. Sometimes it looks as though the planes are almost flying alongside each other, but logic says they are probably several kilometres apart. I would guess that flights from Marseilles, Venice, Rome, Athens etc and headed to the US or Caribbean would all pass somewhere overhead. The best count we had was 7 at once. During the day, the skies are often slashed with decaying vapour trails. It will form a part of our lasting memories of this wonderful place.

24 June Bordeaux

We really only had three main tasks today; return the car; pack and clean up; and fly to Barcelona. Sounds simple? It should have been until things started to go wrong.

We set off to return the car with plenty of time before the 10:30 return time. What we didn’t factor in was the hour and more we would spend driving around Bordeaux trying to find a fuel station to fill up. The problem was that the only ones we found were unattended and would only take a credit card. However, they would not accept international cards so we had to push on, seeking a cash outlet. A local girl told us where to find one, but the station we were in did not allow turning the correct way so we had to go the other way, accidentally getting onto the motorway, and finally exiting in a part of town we did not know. The GPS got us back into familiar territory but by this time it was 10:30 so we just returned it anyway. Once at the car park, we drove around for ages trying to find a way up to Level 2 and our parking space. It was a huge exercise in frustration. Finally parked and back at the desk, the girl informed us that they would charge a 9€ refill fee and they charged 2.08€/L, a good 40c over the normal price. We figured we’d only used about 10L, having done around 120km. She did suggest we drive off and fill it ourselves but there was no way I was getting back in that car.

Before walking back to the apartment, we checked out the Airport Shuttle Bus, which also leaves from Gare St Jean. The timing was such that we would only have about an hour to pack by the time we got back so we were fairly flat out tidying up and packing before setting off on the walk back to the station. The airport bus took around 45 minutes but at only 7€ each (actually we only got charged 6€ because the driver automatically gave us seniors’ discount) it was a big saving over a taxi.

Once at the airport, we wandered up and down levels, walked long corridors and waited in lines, all the time trying to find where to check in for Vueling Airlines. Eventually, we were sent out of the beautiful luxurious terminal and forced to walk down to the big tin shed alongside to wait with the Easyjet and RyanAir passengers. We felt like third class citizens but we were probably less than that. Gone were the rows upon rows of eating establishments in the terminal. We had access to an outside kiosk and standing tables. Still, the airfare was only about 60€ so we can’t complain too much.

We leave Bordeaux with much regret. It is the type of place that has very seductive lifestyle. The people are extremely friendly and very proud of their city. I’m sure we’ll find many more such places but this one will remain with us.

Paris 2012

June 21, 2012 /

15 June Somewhere over the Black Sea

It’s 9:05 am Perth time and we’ve both slept well. The trouble is it’s actually 3:05am in Paris and we have another 3 hours of flight left. In between sleeping, we have watched a couple of movies each and consumed far too many calories.

By a quirk of fate, we are flying Business Class on Malaysia Airlines. Originally, we booked some Premium seats on Air Asia, lovely lie down comfy seating, but otherwise lacking in too many frills. Air Asia pulled out of the KL to Paris leg and accommodated us by giving us Business Class on MAS. The trouble is, we will be unable to sustain this standard of luxury in the future and this trip is going to spoil us.

The two hours waiting for boarding was spent in the comfort of the lounge, where at least we didn’t go overboard on food, but certainly did graze on the chicken vol au vents, pasta, cheeses, sweets etc, not to mention a glass or so of red wine and even one of champagne. We felt quite content when boarding the plane for a 11:35pm take off. Once leveled out, they started plying us with more food; chicken and beef satay sticks, salmon with mango salsa, a choice of four mains, a selection of breads and a fruit platter. A selection of excellent wines was offered as well. We felt really put out that we had to refuse much of what was on offer. Still, there is breakfast to come later.

The comfort level is quite superb and the attention of the cabin staff is absolutely amazing. Every time anything of significance is about to happen, the hot scalding towels come out. We juggle them to drop the temperature by a few degrees then revel in their cleansing warmth. I know this description is over the top but when you have been in the same clothes for a fair while such luxuries become important.

Breakfast came with two hours of flight left. I really cannot comprehend that I have been 11 hours on a plane and regret the fact that we have only two hours left. This is a wonderful way to live, let alone fly. I also marvel at the fact that the lightest most tasty omelet I have ever encountered actually came from airline food. It was so good, I worry that it is chemically infused with something that will give me bowel/stomach/pancreatic/liver cancer…. but then so does everything.

15 June Paris

For a YouTube video of our time in Paris click here.

Another good thing about Business Class travel is that your luggage is first off the plane. This was good in that we had our bags before the real crowd arrived at the carousel; bad in that we were still missing our two luggage trolleys. We waited patiently until the crowd thinned and departed with their prizes in tow, growing all the more anxious about our beloved luggage trolleys. Eventually, they were discovered sitting on a special luggage cart all of their own, hidden behind the main carousel. With the weather outside sitting at 14 degrees and raining, we had to locate some different clothes and umbrellas in our luggage and rearrange things a bit.

Luggage organized and wheeled-up, we set off to find the Metro station to begin the tricky journey into Paris and our hotel. Since we landed and emerged in Terminal 1, we had to catch a shuttle train to Terminal 2 to pick up the REM. Christine found a helpful ticket attendant and we purchased our Metro tickets and a set of instructions for the three changes of train needed to take us to the Opera District and Rue de La Fayette.

We followed the escalators down to platform 24 as directed and as we neared the bottom, a train pulled in. “This is it!” I exclaimed and lurched forward, swinging my heavy bag and trolley aboard.

A loud bang sounded behind me and a muffled “Shit!” was heard from outside. Christine’s bag lay on the carriage floor but she was on the outside with the doors firmly snapped shut. “I’ll get the next train!” she called as I pulled away, never to see her again. This was a defining moment. I had a phone that worked in Paris (which she didn’t) but I had a wallet full of Malaysian Ringgits and no Euros. She had plenty of Euros but no phone. I had a map of the Metro system whereas she only had a conversation with the attendant and a terrible memory for names and places.

I got out at the next station and waited. To kill the 8 minutes before the next rain, I took a few snaps. I was immediately approached by a Frenchman who wanted help with catching a train to Gare du Nord. My first startled reaction was a “Sorry?” in English, to which he rolled his eyes and sauntered away. Suddenly aware that I could actually help, I used my bad high school French to call him back and show him a map and indicate the correct platform. I might have lost my wife for good but at least I could help the locals.

The next train pulled in and rattled past my position at the head of the platform. I gave it a few moments then went to board but heard Christine yelling from the far end. We went into slow motion, dropped everything and re-united in passionate embrace on a lonely station platform somewhere in Paris. Actually, we walked up and said something like “Shit! That was scary.” and got over it.

The next three train changes were a blur of crushing crowds and lugging the bags up huge stairs. We managed all without a hitch, finally emerging at Poisonierre Station only 100metres or so from our lodgings, the Comfort Hotel La Fayette. The lady on the front desk was very helpful and promised to get our room ready early seeing as we’d come from KL that morning. It would be available by 11am, giving us a couple of hours to kill, so we left our bags and wandered the Opera District.

The endless lines of old apartment buildings left us almost speechless. They are a testament to both the wonderful skills of the original builders and the renovation skills of the modern owners that they can be made so useable by today’s standards yet retain so much character of a bygone era. On our travels, we found a mobile phone shop and negotiated the purchase of a Pre-paid SIM that would give us phone calls back to Australia and some local data while in France. The shame is that we will need a new SIM in each European country. Still, a 10Euro payment gave us enough for a week in France and it meant we had Google maps available at all times on the streets. At one stage, I asked the man if the chip would give coverage in Bordeaux.

He looked puzzled and asked, “Where?”

“Bordeaux”, I replied. Again he looked puzzled but then saw the light.

“Ah! Bordeaux! Yes it will work there.” he said with a look of amusement at my appalling pronunciation.

Later, Christine asked the hotel front desk girl where we could buy a train ticket to Bordeaux.

“Where?” asked the girl.

“Bordeaux” repeated Christine. The girl still looked very puzzled so Christine started to spell “B…O…R…D..”

“Ah!” exclaimed the girl, “Bordeaux”, allowing the faintest whisper of air to rasp across the top of her palate on the first syllable. She told us to go to Gare du Nord and we left feeling very inadequate.

The hotel room proved small but very clean and well laid out. Combined with the location and price (80Euros a night), it is a bargain. The afternoon was spent with a bit of Internet research on travel and accommodation for Bordeaux, our next stop after Paris. Then we lay down for a short nap…and woke up 4 hours later.

The extended twilight takes some getting used to, but we headed out at 9pm for a bite to eat, finding a wonderful place that specialised in organic Pizzas. The prices in Paris will certainly curtail our heavy food intake, although we eased things a bit by stocking up at a supermarket with enough essentials to enable us to lunch in the Hotel. Eating and drinking opportunities abound on every street, but the thought of spending 30 to 40 Euros a meal is too much after our time in Asia. Eating and drinking less won’t hurt us.

Saturday 16 June

Another wet day in Paris, even wetter than the previous one. We tucked into a hearty breakfast and caught up on news via the Internet before heading out into the hustle and bustle of the city. I read up on all the likely scams and pickpocket scenarios, most of which occur near the popular tourist sites and rail stations. Our first stop was to be the huge Gard du Nord to buy some train tickets to Bordeaux so it was well to be forewarned. Just as well too, because as we entered, a dark haired young woman with a shawl (saying gypsy is politically incorrect) approached with a piece of paper in hand asking if we spoke English. Even from a distance I could tell that the piece of paper contained a tear-jerking story of her mother lying dying of cancer in a hospital in a far off land. But the woman lacked the money to travel home for her Mum’s last moments. Christine affirmed that we spoke English but I grabbed her and said, “No we don’t”, before going on into the station.

L’Hotel de Ville

The Gard du Nord is a wonderful place to visit, even if one doesn’t want to catch a train. The architecture is nothing short of stunning, with a stone facade that defies imagination. Inside, the huge arching roof and wonderful old steel trusses make a perfect lofty environment for the ever present flocks of pigeons. Below sit the endless lengths of streamlined trains, all waiting to disappear to all corners of the globe, and somewhere, Monsieur Hercule Poirot is waiting to board a train full of intrigue and murder. Well, not quite… but the atmosphere is certainly there.

We wandered around, got in a few wrong queues, tried to read a guide to the TGV in French and somehow managed to find the right place to buy our tickets. We did approach one “help desk” and asked the very attractive young lady to explain the difference between 1st Class and 2nd Class besides being double the cost. She smiled beautifully, obviously keen to help, but looked to a co-worker for assistance with the language. After conferring, she turned and said in passable English, “First Class is better.” She had the good humour to laugh along with us.

Clutching our 2nd Class tickets (to Bordeaux) and 73€ each the poorer, we pushed on into the Metro to catch a local train one stop to the banks of the Seine. We emerged into rain, surrounded by people and buildings. Google Maps said we were within 120m of the river, but we couldn’t see it. With a choice of four compass points to choose, we chose all three wrong ones before finally reaching the river. In the confines of the narrow streets surrounded by five and six storey buildings, the GPS on the iPhone is very slow to react so it takes a bit of walking before you realise you’re going the wrong way. Once at the river bank, things worked better, with the GPS getting better access to the sky.

Pont Neuf

We used an App to follow a set walk, starting at the famous Pont Neuf or New Bridge. Commenced in 1578, it is no longer new. The steady rain made things difficult, juggling umbrella, camera, iPhone and watching out for pickpockets and scammers. Thankfully, all the sellers and scammers seemed put off by the rain because we were left along to do our thing.

We followed the river along, past La Conciergerie where Marie Antoinette set up shop waiting for her head to be removed, and on to La Sainte-Chapelle. The lines of people waiting to enter were too much and we pushed on, happy to see the outside of these famous places.

Notre Dame came into full view, smaller than I imagined, but still awe inspiring. It is beyond belief that people in the 12th Century could build such a structure. To stand in front of this place and know that you are in the same place as people such as Henry V and VI, Joan of Arc, numerous French Kings, Napoleon and Napoleon III. Once again, the crowds put us off going in. There were standing shoulder to shoulder for miles. We took a while to move around the outside of the cathedral, stopping to take photos and marvel at the ever changing architecture. Having taken 200 years to build, a variety of architects and styles were employed.

Notre Dame

On the Pont St Louis, we were amused by the sight of thousands of pad-locks, each bearing the inscribed name of a pair of lovers/spouses/friends and all securely attached to the railings of the bridge. There were key locks, tumble locks, bike locks and more, all without keys or combinations, bearing testimony to undying love. I wonder how many couples are still together.

Near Notre Dame, an emotional memorial to the millions of victims of concentration camps has been established, reminding visitors of a past Europe that must never return.

We pushed on through the drizzle happy that we weren’t part of the many organised tour groups we passed. We had more flexibility to dodge the main showers or seek shelter when needed. Our tour App took us into a wonderful food street where we purchased some very tasty beef rolls for lunch, gazed through the window of an amazing cheese shop (not the Monty Python kind) and peeked enviously into a rather exclusive chocolate shop. The rain eased long enough for us to eat our lunch overlooking the Seine and its river traffic.

We sauntered back along the Rue de Rivoli to find a Metro that would take us back home, entering one department store along the way but leaving with the thought that shopping is just shopping. The idea of coming to Paris and not being interested in shopping would horrify many (mostly women) but there you have it. From what we have seen, the shops are more of the same, only bigger, with prices to match.

As we exited Gard du Nord, a dark looking man approached asking if we spoke English. Another denial and we scurried on. This time he looked Nigerian. A brief afternoon nap once again turned into a heavy sleep and I awoke feeling totally exhausted. We had a few olives and bits of cheese with a glass of wine before heading out for dinner. However, I found it hard to be motivated, feeling too tired, so we skipped the meal and had an early night in.

 

17 June – Paris

Today was one of the best days touring we have every had, if not THE best. We set off about 10am, walking the length of Rue la Fayette to the Opera District and the famed Galleries la Fayette. These are huge department stores specialising in the big names of fashion. Fortunately, being a Sunday, all was closed and the area was very quiet, making for am easy and very enjoyable walk. The Opera houses are wonders of architecture, but then so is every building in Paris. I still can’t quite come to grips with the sheer wealth that produced all these buildings, mostly within a 200 year span.

As we neared the Metro station, we were continually approach by young dark haired women asking if we spoke English. Most were carrying clipboards. A Google search of “Gypsy with Clipboard” gives an entertaining account of the many scams one can encounter, usually outside Metro Stations.

After a couple of changes of trains, we emerged from the underground at Champ de Mars, Tour Eiffel, to join the other 95% of the population thronging around the Eiffel Tower. Just outside the Metro, there was one of those unisex self-cleaning street toilets with a line of people about 15 long. We used one of these down in in Rue de Rivoli yesterday and it took at least 3 minutes between uses. This would give a wait time of at least 45 minutes for the people in this line. Madness. However, the line to the toilet was nothing compared to the line to the Tower. Only one of the elevators on the Tower was operational, making a bad situation nearly impossible. The line to the stairs was better but still bad. We spoke to someone who had used the stairs to the Second Level. They had arrived at 8am and still waited an hour in line.

Going up the Eiffel Tower is a must do but we decided to retreat gracefully on this occasion and return later with a new strategy. There are options that will give you a quick entrance (around 60€) as part of a tour or we can come back for the night view.

We wandered the length of the Champs de Mars, the old military training ground, stopping regularly to take pictures and video the tower from all angles. It certainly is impressive, more impressive than beautiful in my opinion. When it was first built, it was so hated by Parisians that property values in the area dropped dramatically. Needless to say, the area is now one of the highest priced. The Champs de Mars was packed with Sunday picnics and joggers. It seemed like most of Paris had come out to revel in the glorious sunshine and 20 degree warmth. As we walked through the nearby streets, we found that all the sidewalk cafes were just as crowded and the smaller parks equally full. We sat for a while in a small park and watched the many groups of scouts and guides sitting circles and playing games.

The highlight of the day came at 2pm when we joined in a Segway Tour group, run by the Fat Tire Bike Tours. This was to be a three hour tour, after a half hour orientation and training session. The Segways themselves are rather easy to manage, even though they don’t have any throttle or brake. You accelerate forward by leaning forward and slow down or stop by leaning back. The handle is like a giant joy stick and steering is a simple left or right movement. The only slightly tricky bit is parking. To do this, one needs to find a kerb or wall to lean the Segway against, otherwise it will simply travel away without you. Parking then, means approaching a wall, dismounting backwards in a fluid continuous motion and easing the Segway forward until it sits against the wall. If you just get off with one foot resting on the ground, the Segway tries to turn around your legs, creating a comical scene. Christine managed to muck this up a few times, much to the amusement of those around. Our tour guide, Stephanie, was a young Canadian who spoke brilliant French and used her skills and training as a Kindergarten teacher to keep us all in line. She took a particular shine to Christine and picked on her at every opportunity.

Initially, the Segways themselves were the highlight. As we got used to them, they rapidly became just a means to an end, as we toured many of the wonderful landmarks of Paris. The Segways are a fast and convenient way of moving around, travelling from one landmark to the next along the fantastic network of cycle paths that Paris has built up. Segway riders are classed as pedestrians so we followed footpaths and cycle ways rather than roads. They are easy to maneuver in crowds. Although the speed has to drop away accordingly.

We visited the Ecole Militaire, the old Military School built by Louis XV and attended by Napoleon. Then it was on to Napoleon’s Tomb, the Invalides and along the glorious Esplanade des Invalides to the Pont Alexandre III. All the way, Stephanie was a mine of information, delivered in a very entertaining style.

We took a short break in the Place de la Concorde, scene of the guillotine setup during the dark days of the French Revolution. As with everywhere else, this huge square was filled with people, just out enjoying the sun. Everyone seemed very relaxed and jovial. Then it was off to the Louvre, the scale of which completely surprised me. Where many of the sights have actually been on a slightly smaller scale than I had imagined, the Louvre is so much bigger. I guess it is because no one photo could capture the scale of the building itself.

On the way back, we stopped once again in the Champs de Mars to gaze at the Eiffel Tower. Stephanie was full of some amazing facts and figures, including the staggering idea that the structure paid for itself in the first 6 months of operation. Beats the Perth Bell Tower.

It was with regret that we handed back our Segways. Not only had we had a huge amount of fun gliding sedately through the streets of Paris, we had had a terrific overview tour of many of the main sites. We had outlaid just over $A100 for the two of us but it was worth every cent. I can’t recommend this tour too highly if you every get to Paris.

Back in Rue la Fayette, the urge for a beer, even at Paris prices, proved too much, and we stopped in at a little bar and cafe near our hotel. The owner spoke only French, but he still insisted on introducing us to his wife and several other customers. We tried a bit of talk but nothing really worked that well. He let us taste the on-tap beers before making a choice (try that in Perth) and we enjoyed a couple of very tasty Belgian beers before parting with our 12€ and heading for our hotel. Later, we popped back out for a pizza.

 

Monday 18 June

Today was a museum day. The weather was cool again, overcast but not raining once the sun rose. We planned a series of three museum visits and set off reasonably early to walk the 2.5 km to the Louvre. We could have taken a Metro but we figured the walk would be pleasant. Later in the day, we would come to regret the decision, having walked well over 10km by the end of it.

The Louvre was crowded on arrival, but not unbearable so and the line to the entrance via the famous glass pyramid moved at a good pace. We bought a general entrance ticket for 10€ each and set off in the general direction of the Mona Lisa. No guidebook was needed to do this because all one has to do is follow the stream of people. We walked along halls and corridors, filled with wonderful statues and paintings. Our combined knowledge of the art world is less than our understanding of ice skating techniques but it’s not hard to appreciate the skill and abilities of all the Renaissance painters whose work we saw. We certainly seemed to know more than one woman, who passed by a 15th Century painting depicting a woman surrounded by servants and announced to her children, “Oh look! That’s the Mona Lisa!”

The Louvre

We gazed in wonder at the beautifully painted ceilings and wandered through the endless displays of priceless art works, all just hanging on the walls and protected from the public by nothing more than a thin barrier rope.

Many of the visitors seemed to be simple tourists like ourselves, while others were more serious students of art and stood with guide-book in hand making an intense study of one piece. Sometimes, a string of Japanese would come through the crowd like a runaway train, the engine being marked by a flag waving leader. They moved fast and with a purpose, but they seldom stopped to actually look.

Finally, we found Moaning Lisa. There she was, smiling “the smile” over a sea of camera waving worshippers. I contented myself with using the camera zoom and seeing the picture from a fair way off. We were both shocked at just how small it is. I had assumed it was at least a big painting but it is really quite small and insignificant in the surroundings it is in. I guess it has something special but we didn’t see it. Perhaps it contains secret codes to herald the end of the World.

We wandered through a few other galleries, enjoying the 18th & 19th Century French section, more for the wonderful insights into French life of the times than for the artistic achievements of the painters. Everything looked good to us. Once away from the Mona Lisa, the crowd had thinned to very comfortable levels and we were free to explore with ease. The sheers scale of the Louvre is such that it can accommodate many thousands of people at a time, without over taxing its resources.

From the Louvre, we walked down the Rue de Rivoli towards the Marais District. This is “Old Paris” bearing many remaining medieval buildings. After a stop for a baguette and salad lunch, we sought out a museum called Musee Carnavalet, which houses displays of furniture and costumes through the ages, with one room set up for each time period. It was another walk of 2.5km from the Louvre but it was interesting enough. We followed Google Maps into the narrow winding streets of the Marais and finally located the museum, to find that it only shut one day a week…Mondays. We retreated to a small nearby park to regroup and reassess, finding ourselves surrounded by beautiful buildings that were once home to Louis X111 and his friends back in the early 17th Century. The walls may have looked a little wobbly in places, but the basic structure was still sound and very much in use as apartments and shops.

So it was off to find a Metro station to cross town once again to Les Invalides, originally a military hospital built by Louis XIV but now a military museum and last resting place of Napoleon. Here we found the biggest collection of killing and maiming devices one could possibly imagine. There were whole storerooms filled with suits of armour, both for people and for horses. Rows of cannon adorned the courtyards and all manner of hand guns and rifles were in abundance. In the WW1 and WW2 displays, there was a lot of supporting film footage and some very graphic and sobering displays of life in the trenches. The displays don’t seek to glorify war, they simply seemed to display the history. It was a fascinating history, and the artistry of the medieval armourers was a real surprise. Some of the suits were every bit as spectacular as those depicted in romantic films of the times.

Napoleon’s tomb is housed in the spectacular Chapel Saint Jean. This amazing structure was built on orders of Louis XV, who did not want to go to church with his subjects. It is capped with a huge ornate dome, the inside of which is painted in the classical style. Apparently, on entering for the first time, Louis looked around and said, “The roof is too high. Lower it,” and left. The architect, knowing this to be impossible, built another false dome under the first, so from the inside it appears lower. Louis was satisfied but still only visited the church three times anyway.

Later, Napoleon was entombed there so at least the grandeur of the building finally served a fitting purpose.

Chapel Saint Jean

 

Chapel Saint Jean

With aching feet and a feeling of being “museumed out” we used the Metro to return to our hotel area and headed back to our local bar for a couple of beers. As we left, we found oursleves quite pickled, after only two beers each. Are we getting soft in our old age? Later, we saw the same beer, a Belgian Affligem and the alcohol content was 8.9%. No wonder! We picked up a few bits and pieces at a supermarket to make a meal in our room and collapsed from sheer exhaustion.

This was the last of Paris for a few weeks and we leave with the knowledge that there is a great deal left to see and do. Even a full week in Paris would only touch the surface but we have loved our first visit and look forward to a return. I wouldn’t want to live here; finding the closed in nature of the streets and buildings rather claustrophobic. The famed street dining and cafe atmosphere was very expensive and often of ordinary quality or lacking variety. What we did find good was service, always with a welcome greeting and smile. Regardless, Paris is an absolute MUST for any traveller and we found its reputation to be very well deserved.

 

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