Detroit to London
“We’re going to Europe!!” Michelle blurted out from the back seat of the car as the Olin family charged down Interstate 94 toward Detroit Metropolitan Airport.
More than a year of reading, planning, scheduling and organizing was finally culminating with the big day … the big moment. Tam, Tom, Michelle and Laura were heading to Europe on a twenty-two day “holiday” across the historic continent, starting in London, England and finishing with “The Eternal City” Rome, Italy.
The re-heated conflict in the Middle East between Israel and the Palestinians and the more recent increases in fundamentalist Islamic violence was a serious issue that simmered in the back of our minds as we planned this trip. Terrorists, thwarted by increased security measures in the United States, had begun infiltrating key cities in Europe. Madrid and London had both endured serious subway and bus bombings (London in July of 2005). Huge portions of Paris had been set afire last Spring in a month-long series of Muslim riots. Munich had been a key meeting point for the “September 11th” terrorists and Al Qaeda planners.
Even though we focused on the great moments of our trip, in the back of my mind, I had considered certain scenarios and was prepared for any eventuality. I had given the kids the addresses and phone numbers of all U.S. embassies and consulates for cities on our itinerary, to be tucked in their purses, just in case. At DTW, we went through two security screenings where our passports were electronically scanned and our carry-ons were also checked twice.
We enjoyed a relaxing sushi dinner at Sara Japanese Cuisine and meandered through the terminal before heading to the gate. Michelle found the currency exchange and paid $126 for 60 British pounds. She excitedly tucked the three twenty pound notes into her wallet, making sure that each of Queen Elizabeth’s faces were in the same direction.
We boarded Northwest Airlines #32 at 8:50 pm. Our World Business Class seats were state of the art! Each seat was a private multi-media and sleeping unit, with twenty-channel television, lumbar massage and moveable reading light. The girls went bananas!!
Next came the gourmet menus; champagne dinner (with complete dessert) and then a light breakfast before arrival. Then came the complimentary dop-kits with earplugs, eye mask, socks, toothpaste, mouthwash, comb, and pen. It was all beginning to set in. Something really special was about to begin.
We pushed back from the gate at 9:27 pm and departed from runway 22L at 9:47 pm. Two minutes later, both girls were fully reclined in their sleeper units, covered in blankets and laughing their heads off. The kids ate another diner (of course) and Laura rolled over to get some shut-eye. Michelle rolled over, and over, and over...
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
Arrival in London
Hard Rock Cafe
Buckingham Palace
Harrods Department Store
Six hours after takeoff, we were over the coast of Ireland. I looked over and saw Laura, waking up smiley and refreshed. Michelle was flat on her back, wide awake and catatonic with jet-lag. A proper breakfast, featuring raspberry scones, was served with conserve and clout as we slowly descended over the U.K.
Our Airbus 330 touched down at London Gatwick at 9:49 am. Taxiing to the gate, we observed airlines from exotic ports of call: Qatar Airways, Air Namibia, Palestinian Airlines, Ghana International and Icelandair. We spent a good, long hour looking at these planes while we sat on the tarmac waiting for gate assignment. Once deplaned, we waited another hour to pass through customs. Our cab-ride from Gatwick to Picadilly was comfortable, albeit lengthy. We arrived at the Park Lane Sheraton Hotel at 1:00 pm. Our rooms were not yet ready, so we sauntered a block west to the Hard Rock Café.
The London Hard Rock Café is legendary. In 1971, it was an obscure late-hour hamburger joint that had become a favorite of rock guitarist Eric Clapton. One day, he came in with one of his old guitars and gave it to the owners to hang on the wall. A few weeks later, Pete Townsend came in with a guitar of his own and signed it “My guitar is better is better than his!!” Thus began the largest rock and roll memorabilia collection in the world.
The lunch crowd was thinning slightly when we arrived at 1:30 pm. We were led straight away to one of the private tables in the basement. At that point, we opened our Hard Rock trader pin bag and dumped hundreds of guitar pins on the table. Dozens of waiters circled us, like sharks, and offered to swap their rare European pins for our rare U.S. pins.
Our waitress, Ozlem, fetched more employees from the kitchen and upstairs dining room to inspect our collection.
Eventually, food was brought to our table but we were all too tired and jet-lagged to eat it. Michelle and Laura said that the room seemed to be spinning.
We picked at our lunch and wandered across the street to the HRC Shop where we bought more pins and toured “The Vault”, a collection of ultra-rare rock and roll memorabilia that was stored in an old bank vault in the store’s basement. Once inside, we were permitted to touch priceless pieces of roll history.
Michelle asked if she could pick up Jimi Hendrix’ custom-made left-handed Flying V guitar. The tour guide asked why, to which Michelle retorted “Because Hendrix was THE MAN!” The tour guide, surprised and impressed, said “cool” and let her hold the instrument that was worth nearly six million dollars!!
Laura was mesmerized by John Lennon’s infamous army jacket from his legendary 1972 New York City concert. Next to it, were the glasses he was wearing when he was murdered; thin circular frames with a smashed right lens.
We trudged back to our hotel and finally checked into our accommodations. Everybody collapsed onto their beds.
After a brief nap, we pulled ourselves up and walked in the oppressive heat across Green Park to Buckingham Palace. There was a great deal of activity at the palace. The queen was in residence; the royal flag flying high over the building. Her Majesty had conferred special recognitions to dozens of very elegantly-dressed elderly people who were leaving the residence, proudly wearing their medals and pins.
Michelle was disappointed that there were none of the Queen’s Guard, the tall fuzzy black-hatted guards in front of Buckingham Palace. She had put together a list of jokes to try to make one of them laugh. Instead, they had been replaced with Kevlar-vested agents with automatic weapons … and they were definitely not in the mood for a joke. We hung around the palace gates, hoping for a glimpse of something, but no luck. Eventually, the four of us drifted down Buckingham Palace Lane, towards Harrods Department Store on Cromwell Road. After nearly forty minutes of navigating the back-streets of mid-town, passing the Italian, Norwegian and Spanish embassies, we finally spotted and entered Harrods, in its air conditioned splendor.
Wow! What an experience! Harrods was an eight-story collection of everything that had ever been sold by mankind. The place had a violin shop, a pet store … even an antique clock repair shop. Even more amazing was the assortment of foods that were presented and sold in a huge marketplace on the first floor. Chocolates, candies, seafood, meats, breads, vegetables, juices and gelatos (the first of hundreds that we would eat on the trip). In every corner, there were little cafes offering sushi, pizza, sandwiches and fresh made Panini. We found a brilliant little Tapas bar on the lower level where we nibbled on squid, octopus, chicken, meatballs and salmon. The food was delicious, even though we were all fading from exhaustion.
The girls, even though they were super-tired, still rallied to shop all eight floors of the massive department store. They were true professionals!
Unable to find an empty taxi during rush hour, we walked in the British steam-bath the two miles back to the Park Lane Hotel where we dumped the kids (and ourselves) into bed, totally spent.
Watching a few minutes of news before fading off, the average temperature of 39 degrees centigrade (103 degrees Fahrenheit) was the hottest temperature ever recorded in England’s history.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Tower of London
London Bridge
London Dungeons
Baker Street
Picadilly Circle
The hottest day in England’s history was followed by the hottest night in England’s history. Although the hotel advertised air conditioning in the rooms, it was only in the academic sense of the word.
Still, the bed was comfortable and we slept well until 7:00 am. The girls were up by 8:30 and we were all in a cab at 9:00 am and headed toward the Tower of London. During the cab ride, we drove past the Parliament and under the shadow of Big Ben. Although still impressed, Michelle said that Big Ben seemed smaller than she expected.
We opted to save time and not take the guided tour. This turned out to be a good move. The tour groups were huge, unwieldy and slow.
The Tower of London is actually a collection of historic buildings, the oldest of which is the White Tower, begun in 1078 by William the Conqueror. Virtually every inch of the place is historically significant. In relatively recent times, the tower had served as the Royal Mint, the Public Records, the Royal Menagerie (the first London Zoo), and the Royal Observatory. It was presently the repository of the Crown Jewels.
However, throughout history, the tower served a much more bloody role in British history. Several very important people had been beheaded on the Tower Green, including Catherine Howard, Anne Boleyn, Robert Devereux, the Earl of Essex and two of Henry VIII’s wives. The famous black ravens were plentiful on the green, their wings clipped to assure that they remained, and therefore, supposedly keeping the British Empire afloat.
The Bloody Tower was where, in 1483, two young princes, sons of Edward IV, lived until they suddenly disappeared, only to be found as skeletons in 1674.
Sir Walter Raleigh was also an unwilling guest at the Bloody Tower for thirteen years, eventually being beheaded in 1618.
Wakefield Tower, next to Bloody Tower once contained the king’s private apartments. In 1471, Henry VI was killed there in mid-prayer. The Queen’s House was a place of interrogation and incarceration of several celebrated prisoners including Nazi Rudolph Hess following World War II.
The Tower of London was not just a site of cloak and dagger shenanigans. For example, the Royal Armouries were on display in the White Tower (where a complete suit of armor for Henry VIII’s horse was on display). And, of course, the Crown Jewels were in a permanent exhibit in the Jewel House.
Indeed, the highlight of the tour for the girls was the Jewel House, where they got up close and personal with the priceless artifacts of the British royal family. Laura’s favorite was the Sovereign Sceptre (made in 1661) which featured the First Star of Africa, the world’s largest diamond. Tam and Michelle picked Queen Victoria’s Small Diamond Crown (made in 1870) with 1,187 diamonds taken from a royal necklace.
And the Royal Orb. The Royal Orb? What the heck do you do with a royal orb? Nobody could tell us for sure.
The Royal Orb
Michelle was so impressed with the collection that she walked back to the beginning of the display area to view the crown jewels all over again. Laura, predictably, wanted to wear the crown jewels and made a mad dash to the crown jewel gift shop, where she bought a gorgeous tiara with crystal inlay.
For me, the highlight of the Tower of London was the king’s private loo where he would sit in a “garderobe” and do his business through an outhouse-type seat. His feces would run, three stories down the outside of the castle. There was evidence of royal “marks” still on the wall.
The crowds were huge and growing larger, so we decided to move on to our next stop … The London Dungeons.
We walked past the London Fire Monument and across the London Bridge. Here, as I was taking a picture, Michelle suddenly and excitedly realized that she was really in London, England.
We enjoyed the “bloody good” show, even though it was a bit lengthy, I mean, how much blood and gore can anyone stand?
We learned about the plague, the London fire, torture in the middle ages, Sweeny Todd and Mrs. Lovett’s “meat” pies and Jack the Ripper.
Laura thought the Jack the Ripper tour guide was really hot.
Riding a cab across town to Baker Street (yes the same Baker Street made famous by Sherlock Holmes) we stopped at The Beatles Store and the Sherlock Holmes Museum before taking “the tube” to Piccadilly Circus.
Stepping out of the underground, Piccadilly Circus seemed identical to Times Square in New York City. A cornucopia of flashing lights and humanity of all types.
Always hungry, Michelle found a world-class sushi take-out store, where she selected items from a huge display case and bagged it up for her hotel room.
At 6:30 pm, we all dressed up, walked out to the lobby and eventually caught a cab (after walking to the Hyde Park Hilton) which took us to see Mary Poppins at the Prince Edward Theatre. It was fun watching a show that was set in London. I didn’t know that the famous “Feed The Birds” scene took place on the steps of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Jolly good show!
Hobbs Jives McGee III
Friday, July 21, 2006
Friday, July 21, 2006
Roadtrip to Windsor Castle
Blenheim Palace
British Museum
Bright and early, the Olins were in the lobby of the Park Lane Hotel, waiting for their private driver to pull up and take them out into the country. A rigid, crotchety, elderly man with fully-buttoned suit, tie and stiff upper lip walked right past us. We all held our collective breath. He abruptly blurted “Olin.” All of us repeated in chorus, “Yes.” He turned and walked to the car, mumbling something under his breath and slammed open the sliding door to his Toyota van. I asked him for his name. He grumbled something as he turned to get into the car. For the sake of this (and future) discussion, our family decided to call him “Hobbs Jives McGee III.”
As he headed out Cromwell Avenue and the M-40 on his way westward, Hobbs made a passing comment about my casual dress. I was wearing a nice Mauna Kea golf shirt, Docker pants and polished Docksiders. In a knee-jerk defensive reaction, I explained that I was the only one wearing a jacket to the play at the West End last night.
Trying to make the best of a bad situation, I struck up a conversation with Hobbs. For the next twenty-five miles, I attempted to work my magic. Still, Hobbs was proving to be a tough nut to crack. His responses were clipped and defensive.
Pulling up to Windsor Castle, Hobbs dropped us off, telling us that he would meet us at the State Apartments.
Windsor Castle is the largest inhabited castle in the world and has been in use since the days of William the Conqueror in 1066. Edward III was the biggest influence on the castle, building the gateways, the Round Tower and State Apartments in the 1300s. The castle had been updated constantly by generations of British royalty. Queen Elizabeth spends most weekends at the castle, even today.
I really enjoyed Windsor Castle. It seemed real, vital and alive. The most impressive section of the castle was St. George’s Hall where the Order of the Garter, the highest chivalric order in the land, was founded by Edward III in 1348.
In 1992, a massive fire started in the Queen Victoria’s private chapel when a restorer’s high-intensity light ignited a curtain. The fire extended into the Grand Reception Room and Green and Crimson drawing rooms. Over five years, a restoration effort took place, completed on November 20, 1997 (the Golden Wedding Anniversary of the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh.) The cost of restoration was thirty-seven million pounds, paid entirely from the queen’s private funds.
As we completed the tour of the royal residence, the changing of the guard was taking place at the castle entrance, preventing us from leaving. Hobbs offered to give us a quick look at St. George’s Chapel. Built in the 1400s, the chapel was chock-full of important dead people and incredibly fascinating tombs and crypts. King George III, Henry VIII, and the current queen’s parents and sister, Princess Margaret, are all interred in various locations throughout the chapel.
Interestingly, one chapel guide pointed out a tomb and then made some sort of a negative comment about Tony Blair, which Hobbs said reflected a common opinion held in England today.
We followed the band as it marched out of the castle and down the street. Then we got in the van and headed for Blenheim. Pulling into a tiny village named Woodstock, near the estate, Hobbs dropped us off at a pleasant little pub, The King's Head. We asked Hobbs to join us. He did. As he sat down, we all noticed him loosen his tie just a smidge. We enjoyed excellent fish and chips, curry rice and Gammon (ham) steak ... and especially enjoyed making small talk with Hobbs. I think we even saw a smile crease his face, maybe. Jolly good.
By the time we arrived at Blenheim Palace, Hobbs had removed his tie and rolled up his shirt. He even volunteered to take pictures of us.
Blenheim Palace is the only non-Episcopal country house in England to have the title of palace. Built between 1705 and 1722 in Baroque style, it was intended to be a gift to the 1st Duke of Marlborough. This was short-lived, however, when the Duke went into exile. It is most well known as the birthplace of Prime Minister Winston Churchill.
After the tour, Tam and Hobbs together shared a spot of tea. By the time we made it to Winston Churchill’s burial site in Bladon, we had Hobbs right where we wanted him. The two hour drive back to London was filled with challenging and stimulating discussion ranging from politics, religion and international affairs. When Hobbs came around to open the van door and drop us off at the British Museum, I thought I might have even seen a little tear in his eye.
Well, what can I say about the British Museum. Fantastic? Unbelievable? The world’s oldest museum has no fewer than six million items spanning 1.8 million years of civilization. But I think that the kids said it best: “The British Museum is a collection of all the stuff they ripped off from cultures all over the world when the British Empire had all the power.”
Only an hour before closing, we smashed through the museum at high-speed: Egyptian mummies? Check. The Rosetta Stone? Check. The Elgin Marbles (from the Parthenon)? Check. Gift shop? Check.
We got home just in time to watch Tiger Woods tie the course record with a 65 at Royal Liverpool (British Open) and American Floyd Landis take the lead in the famous Tour de France bicycle race.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
Madamme Tussauds
Westminister Abbey
Downing Street
At 4:55 am, a huge thunderstorm rolled through London, echoing amongst the old buildings around Hyde Park. By 8:30, we were marching out onto a soggy Piccadilly Street on our way to the Green Park Underground Station.
We were at Madame Tussauds five minutes before opening and were among the first handful of visitors to enter the museum. This allowed us to get great pictures with all of the celebrity figures before the crowds got too heavy. Getting off the elevator, we were dumped into a large room filled with celebrities in various poses; sitting, talking and dancing. It was as if they were all standing around at some sort of cocktail party. The first person to greet us was singer Tom Jones. Looking to my left, there were Oprah Winfrey and Brad Pitt (He had specially-padded buns that could be squeezed.) To my right were Mel Gibson and Madonna … and directly ahead was a drop-dead perfect image of John Travolta. He actually looked alive!
Some figures were more real than others. Morgan Freeman, Penelope Cruz, Oprah and Travolta were incredibly detailed. Even with pores and five o’clock shadow.
In a specially-created Pirates of the Caribbean photo set, were Orlando Bloom, Johnny Depp and Keira Knightly. Depp, as Jack Sparrow, was spot-on!!
In the next display room were thirty more of the classic Tussauds works; Hendrix, Sinatra, Elvis, Marilyn, Chaplin and the Duke. Even the museum cafeteria and gift shops had statues in various poses. I enjoyed a cocktail and croissant with British business mogul Richard Branson.
After a brief carnival ride depicting the history of London, we walked through one more room with famous people of recent history. Past presidents, the Royal Family (including the Queen, Charles and Diana), Mandela, Einstein, Ghandi and Fidel Castro. Tony Blair was the best of these.
Madame Tussauds is the most popular and expensive tourist attraction in the U.K. It started when Madame T. learned to make death masks of French Revolution victims. In a spark of brilliance, she set up her first show of famous models near Regent’s Park. 130 years later, huge crowds stand in line for two or three hours to pose with wax replicas of famous celebrities.
In an inadvertently humorous moment, the staff rolled out a new statue of Saddam Hussein. It took four people to lift the stiff up and put him on his stand.
One of Laura’s favorites was of Vlad the Impaler, the real-life Romanian who inspired the fictitious character known as Count Dracula.
Finally, Michelle and Laura cherished the opportunity to pose with the Fab Four as they lounged together on a sofa. Groovy man!!
Back in the subway, we rode the Jubilee Line to Westminster Station. Stepping up out of the ground near the Thames River, I looked up and wham … there stood London’s icon, Big Ben, in the glorious morning sunlight, directly in front of us.
Straight away, we walked to London’s beloved landmark, Westminster Abbey. Thousands of people were loitering around the outside of the church but, somehow, we were still able to get inside within five minutes.
The origins of Westminster Abbey are uncertain. The first church on the site may have been built in the 7th century by the Saxon King Sebert. Evidence of preexisting foundations were noted when Edward the Confessor was crowned at the church in 1040. For five hundred years the abbey was built by successive kings until 1532, when it was completed. Later, towers (designed by Sir Christopher Wren) were added in 1745. But even with all this history, the building is much less important than the contents within.
We entered through the side door at the North Transept and turned left up the North Ambulatory to the opulent tombs of Mary I and Elizabeth I. Opposite them in the South Ambulatory were Mary, Queen of Scots, their sister. She was imprisoned and beheaded by her siblings. Talk about sibling rivalry.
In the South Transept is Poet’s Corner, containing the graves and memorials to dozens of the greatest writers of the past two hundred years - Charles Dickens, Chaucier, Yeats, Kipling, George and T.S. Eliot and even American Henry Wordsworth Longfellow. Recently interred, Sir Lawrence Olivier rests quietly in a corner, almost unnoticed.
We eventually found Charles Darwin and Sir Issac Newton in the nave of the abbey. Michelle snuck out her video camera, against strict church rules, to get some footage of Newton’s tomb. I couldn’t stop her because I was too busy trying to take a picture for myself.
The clandestine hip-shot photo of Michelle
with Sir Issac Newton
Laura and Michelle both lit prayer candles and then we slowly exited the abbey, stopping to pay tribute to Sir David Livingstone and Britain’s Unknown Warrior before leaving through the main entrance.
We crossed the Westminster Bridge at noon, stopping to videotape Big Ben as it rang twelve times. Behind the old city hall building we found a jolly good place to have lunch, Ned’s Noodle Box.
While eating our meal on the terrace, we could see the skies to the west beginning to darken and the wind picked up dramatically. Trying to squeeze everything in, we ran to 10 Downing Street, for a peek at the Prime Minister’s residence. Security had been tightened up dramatically since the last time Tam and I had been there in 1995.
Riding the tube back to Green Park Station, we sprinted along Piccadilly Street as the skies began to open up. Michelle noticed a Palestinian Anti-War Parade coming down the street and wanted to join them, just for fun. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the hotel.
The skies cleared by early evening and we were, once again, heading up toward Piccadilly Circle. Michelle and Laura made us promise to do Wasabi Sushi one more time. The crowds were so thick that we literally ate our dinner sitting in the middle of the sidewalk.
The girls decided to bail on the double-decker bus ride in favor of a two hour shopping spree instead. I was left to fend for myself and luckily found the new Hard Rock Casino where I played some black jack and bought some souvenirs.
Everyone was happy.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Eurostar to Paris
Tour de France
Champs Elysses
Arc de Triomphe
Up early at 6:00 am, we gathered everything together and loaded it all into a hotel shuttle for the short trip to Waterloo Station and our EuroStar high-speed express train, through the “chunnel” and to the City of Light ... Paris, France.
We passed through French customs before we boarded the train, which I thought was somewhat odd, considering that we were still hundreds of miles from France.
There were dozens of families waiting at the gate next to us for the non-stop EuroStar to Disneyland Paris. The next thing we knew, Mickey came out of a side door, along with a brass band playing Disney tunes for everybody waiting for the train. Class. Real class.
Our train, Eurostar #9012, pulled out at 9:04 pm, precisely on time. Our First Class seats were not as good as the Business/Premier level seats but they were still excellent. Michelle leaned over and confided that she was little nervous and scared about going to Paris. She added that she loved London so much that didn’t want to leave. Laura was busy putting on a mini fashion show with the new hat she purchased at Piccadilly Circus.
Just after 10:00 am, we charged into the chunnel. Basically, it was like any tunnel … dark. It seemed like half the time we were descending into the tunnel, a fourth of the time was spent flat along the bottom and a fourth ascending up the other side. I could smell a faint whiff of moist earth. In twenty minutes, we were out of the tunnel and zipping along the farmland of Calais, France.
At 12:53, we arrived at Paris Nord Station and were met by our driver, Guy (pronounced GEE), whose challenge it was to deliver us to the Marriott Champs Elysees while half of the city was road-blocked for the finale of the 2006 Tour de France bicycle race. Guy made several detours and turnarounds and eventually delivered us to the rear service entrance of the hotel. We dropped our bags, walked around the building and entered from the front.
The desk manager, Ms. Boukari, sized us up during the check-in process and asked if we had arrived to watch the bike race. We answered in the affirmative. She suggested that we upgrade our room to a suite with balcony on the Champs Elysees so we could enjoy the conclusion of the race. She even offered us a special discount to close the deal. Within minutes, we were standing on a balcony with a commanding view of Paris, France. The Plaza de Concorde and Notre Dame Cathedral were to our left, The Arc de Triomphe to our right and the Eiffel Tower towering above the buildings in front of us. Tens of thousands of French spectators crammed the street as far as we could see.
Large loudspeakers relayed play by play of the race as it neared the city from 168 kilometers away. At 2:00 pm, a huge parade began. One like we had never seen before. Hundreds of corporate sponsors with custom-made parade vehicles drove at high speed, weaving back and forth as they screamed toward the arch. Company semi-trucks recklessly trailed behind, also weaving and blasting their air horns. A few seconds later, the parade would come whipping down the other side of the boulevard, blasting music and air-horns to the cheers of the crowd. We saw corporate sponsors of all types; Michelin, Nestle, T-Mobile, Parmalat, Wheat-a-bix, and McDonalds. What was normally the busiest street in Paris was, on this day, one huge party!! Michelle. Laura and Tam couldn’t believe it. The concerns they had of the French people melted away as they watched the joyous event from our perch, five stories above the street.
We watched the race on French television, tracking the progress of the race as it neared the city. The announcers mentioned that the riders were now in view of the Eiffel Tower. Sure enough, in the distance, we could see three A-Star helicopters on the horizon. The crowd was getting really excited now. The pelaton had arrived!!
The television now showed the riders at the Place de Concorde, only a few hundred yards to our left. We ran out to the balcony and waited a few seconds. A motorcycle, then two police cars, then four motorcycles, then two more motorcycles, then an official vehicle, then a camera vehicle … then eight cyclists, including Floyd Landis with his yellow shirt, blasted past at high speed, followed by a hundred more. The crowd let out a terrific roar, that moved with the riders as they disappeared in the trees up the avenue. The roar came back down the other side, like a giant wave, as the cyclists returned toward the Concorde obelisk. For seven more laps the cyclists returned and the roars continued, flags waving, and signs held aloft.
At this point, Michelle turned and shouted, “Man, I love Paris!! Greatest city I’ve ever seen!! Look over there, a giant six-story Louis Vuitton store. This is a real moment!!” Laura basked in the glory of the balcony, posing and blowing kisses to her throngs below.
We watched Landis cross the finish line on television and then we ran downstairs and proudly watched an American take the overall honors for the eighth year in a row (Lance Armstrong had won seven races in a row between 1999 and 2005). We all sang the national anthem as the stars and stripes were raised.
We cut through the lingering crowds and found Planet Hollywood, two doors down from our hotel. Six thirty and no one eating. It was probably way too early for the French. The four of us were seated immediately and served a very good meal.
Walking out at 7:30, the Champs Elysees had been cleared and traffic was flowing as usual. The only evidence of the race were a handful crowd-control barriers along the sidewalks. With the sun setting behind the Arc de Triomphe, we took pictures in front of the monument before heading back to the hotel.
Tam and I left the drapes cracked open slightly so we could see the lights of “Le Tour Eiffel.” At 10:00 pm, the tower began to sparkle with hundreds of strobe lights! What a gorgeous sight.
CNN International reported that Tiger Woods had won the the 2006 British Open by two strokes. I turned off the TV and rolled over to sleep.
Monday, July 24, 2006
The Louvre
Paris Opera House
Notre Dame Cathedral
Eiffel Tower
Up early and rarin’ to go … we finally were able to access the web at the Marriott Business Center. We had 348 email messages.
Tam and I patiently waited downstairs in the lobby for Michelle and Laura. Suddenly, across the lobby came two stylish babes, wearing sunglasses and strutting very slowly across the lobby. They had the full “Paris” going!! We eased out the door and down the Champs Elysees to the FDR Metro subway station. Within minutes, we had picked up our Louvre tickets at Vacation Tours and Michelle (using a Frommers travel guide) found a secret back door entry to the museum, off of Rue de Rivoli, which saved us an hour wait). Taking an employee escalator downstairs, we entered the museum at the inverted glass triangle pyramid where, according to the movie The DaVinci Code, Mary (Jesus’ wife) was buried.
The Louvre is considered the largest and greatest museum in the world, housing the rarest and most significant artwork ever created as well as artifacts from virtually every civilization that ever existed. Built in the thirteenth century by Philippe-Auguste as a fortress, it became the royal residence of Charles V after the bloody revolts of 1364. The palace was used by successive rulers for centuries. In the late 1600s, the building began to take the shape that it has now.
During Napoleon’s reign of power, he used the Louvre as a depository of booty that he collected from his conquests in the far reaches of Europe and Africa. Arts, antiques, and crafts of all types were stockpiled behind its walls. Three more great kings of France returned to live at the Louvre in the mid and late 1800s. During this time, the collections were enhanced by the royal family.
In 1940, the German Nazi army marched through the Arc de Triomphe and into Paris. During the occupation, the Louvre served as office space for German military officers. Fortunately, many of the rarest and greatest artworks had been hidden throughout the city, before it was looted by the Germans.
In 1981, Francois Mitterrand began a series of major projects designed to return Paris to her earlier glory. Called the Grands Projects, the plan included rebuilding great monuments, including a major renovation of The Louvre. He commissioned renowned architect I.M. Pei to design a new entrance to the museum. Unveiled in 1989, the famed glass pyramid has been both heralded and reviled by Parisians, who have called it the “scar on the face of Paris.” These were the same Parisians who wanted to tear down the Eiffel Tower when it was first built, a hundred years before in 1889.
The Fodors Paris 2006 travel guide makes a subtly derisive comment about Americans, stating “There’s a not unfounded stereotype of Americans racing through the building, timing each other as they jog past the "Big Three" (Mona Lisa, Winged Victory, and Venus de Milo) before collapsing into a waiting taxi.” Who were we to challenge that notion? Like ninety percent of everyone entering the museum, we followed a series of arrows, signs, escalators, hallways and doorways to view the DaVinci masterpiece, the Mona Lisa.
On a staircase along the way, we blasted a few photos of Winged Victory without stopping. We eventually found the petit DaVinci masterpiece hiding behind a foot-thick sheet of bullet-proof glass and in front of huge roped-off crowd, thirty people deep. Six white gloved guards stood in the room, watching intently to prevent anyone from performing the ultimate sin of taking a picture. Of course this only made the effort a bit more challenging as I was successfully able to get a no-flash, hip shot of Michelle with the painting.
Ok … we had been in the museum twelve minutes. Next stop, Venus de Milo. We walked fast, with map unfolded and upside-down, in the wrong direction, down the Denon wing of the museum, totally ignoring masterworks by the great Italians Mantegna, Raphael, and Botticelli. By the time we found some painting of some kid with a club-foot, we knew that we had gone the wrong way. Now really hurrying, we backtracked past a series of portraits of people’s faces that some dude painted with images of fruit, before we finally found Winged Victory again.
On the right track, we barely beat a huge crowd of Korean tourists to the Venus de Milo statue. I got some terrific shots of Laura with the work. Turning around to leave, we were trapped in the crowd that was pushing so hard to get up close that we couldn’t get out. So I stood there and took more pictures until they got sick of me blocking their view and made a path for the two of us.
Having seen the Big Three, Tam and I sat down and tried to figure out what else was worth seeing. We eventually went into the Galerie d’Apollon to view the French Crown Jewels, which were very disappointing, compared to the British Crown Jewels. Somehow, we wound up at the apartments of Napoleon III, which were an unexpected pleasure.
Michelle began to whine a bit as she thought about the shopping that she was missing just up the street. I mean, we had been in the Louvre for forty-five long minutes!! We found a museum café and fed her a ham sandwich to hold her off. Trying to avoid the humiliation of leaving the Louvre in less than an hour, we wandered into the Egyptian and Persian antiquities section of the museum and actually enjoyed ourselves in this, less populated area. The collection of sarcophagi and burial artwork was as good, if not better than that of the British Museum. We spent two more hours in the museum before leaving.
Taking the Louvre Metro to the Opera train stop, we arrived at the Paris Opera House. This was one of Laura’s premier destinations, made legendary by the Phantom of the Opera. This was where the phantom supposedly lived in the caverns of an underground lake beneath the theatre.
Begun in 1862 as a commission of Napoleon III, the opera house was finally completed in 1875, five years after the emperor’s abdication. Awash in Algerian colored marbles and gilded putti, pompous and hodgepodge, it was a masterpiece of Second Empire architecture. The Grand Foyer was as large as the auditorium itself.
Yet inside was the largest stage in the world, more than 11,000 square yards, with room for 450 performers. A 1964 ceiling painting by Marc Chagall was only partly obscured by the Phantom’s infamous crystal chandelier.
Laura literally ran from door to door, investigating every nook and cranny of the theatre. She had me take at least ten pictures of her on the Grand Staircase, photographing virtually every step she took as she sauntered down them, in true Gloria Swanson style. Michelle just laid on them.
Eventually, we wound up on the lowest floor, looking for some sort of access to the legendary underground lake. Unable to find it, we asked a bored-looking ticket-taker who casually told us, without looking up from his book, that there was no underground lake. What? No underground lake?
Totally deflated, we all walked out and down the street to the local Paris Pizza Hut. Two lunch buffets and one medium pizza cost nearly two hundred dollars. This was typical of everyplace we ate during the trip … fast food at gourmet food prices. Even a single bottle of Evian purchased from a street vendor cost five dollars.
Refueled, our next destination was the Notre Dame Cathedral. Back in the Metro, we rode from Opera Station to Chatelet and switched trains to Cite. We climbed out of the underground and into the shadow of the great cathedral.
The Notre Dame Cathedral is really old, built in 1163 and completed in 1345. It isn’t the oldest cathedral in Paris, but it certainly the most famous. The structure endured the ravages of French history. It was brutalized and defaced during the French Revolution in the 17th century. Napoleon crowned himself emperor there, seizing the crown from the pope and placing it on his own head in 1804. By the turn of the 19th century, the cathedral was almost in ruins.
It took a book to bring attention to the church and begin its restoration. Victor Hugo published a novel about a hunchback named Quasimodo, who lived in the bell tower of the Notre Dame Cathedral. The hugely popular response to this story helped drive interest in restoring the landmark throughout the 19th century.
Despite heavy crowds, we made it into the sanctuary. Tam and I had been at the cathedral eight years earlier and remembered it in reverent, spiritual terms. Now it had become a gigantic commercial enterprise. Light a candle for two euros. Light a really big candle for five euros. Purchase a Pope John Paul II memorial coin for eight euros. A three post card discount pack went for six euros. The cathedral museum, which was free of charge, was now charging twenty euros per person. Be sure to stop at the cathedral gift shop before you leave …
But the big money maker for the cathedral was the forty-dollar fee to climb the three hundred steps to the Galerie de Chimeres (the Bell Tower) and view the stomping grounds of the famed Hunchback of Notre Dame. We looked at the line of people waiting to go inside, more than two blocks long, and made the decision to return on another day.
Back on the Metro, we rode from Cite to Montparnasse to Etoile to Champ de Mars/Tour Eiffel to see the icon of all of France. We approached the Eiffel Tower from the southwest. From this angle, the tower played coy with us, revealing itself only occasionally between gaps in the tree canopy. Before long, however, Michelle and Laura were standing directly beneath it, shooting video straight up.
After several minutes of looking around for help. I finally figured out that the only elevators working from the ground to the middle levels were going up from the north leg. We waited for forty-five minutes to buy our tickets and then another fifteen to board the hydraulic lift. The kids enjoyed their first diagonal elevator-ride since the St. Louis Arch. Once we disembarked, we found ourselves in another line, where we waited for another hour to take the vertical elevator to the viewing gallery. Packed like sardines in our lift, Michelle (‘ol scaredy-cat) was forced to look out through the glass doors as we climbed between the girders. I heard her mumble quietly, “I don’t like this.”
Created for the World Exposition of 1889, French engineer Gustave Eiffel designed the tower to symbolize the technical era of the coming twentieth century. The immediate impression of the French people was of disgust. They thought it was a scar on the face of Paris (sound familiar?). It was nearly torn down in 1909 until Eiffel convinced the public that it could be useful as a radio antenna tower. Decades later, the French, and the world, grew to love the symbol of Paris.
Today, the Eiffel Tower is considered to be one of the greatest landmarks in the history of mankind. The design that Eiffel created was so well engineered that even though the colossus weighs seven thousand tons, the weight is spread such that it only weighs fifty pounds per square foot on the ground.
The doors opened, revealing a fantastic late-afternoon view of Paris. To the north, all roads pointed to the Arc de Triomphe. Following the Seine River, I could spot the Louvre and Notre Dame Cathedral. Further north, I could see the Paris Opera House. Man, we had covered some serious mileage!! At the top, our photo and video cameras blasted away, shot after shot.
Laura, the thrill-seeker, was able to stick her head through the security bars and look straight down. This almost made Michelle nauseous, so she focused on writing a post card to her boyfriend Dan.
Looking to the south, I pointed out to Tam that the color of the city and layout of the buildings took on a middle-eastern look as if we could have been in Beiruit, a city of colorless sand and tan stucco-box structures dotted with several mosques.
After hanging around the tower for another hour, including walking all the way down from the second level to the ground, we decided to walk back to our hotel. We crossed the Seine at Pont de l’Alma and stopped at the famous Princess Diana flame at Place de l’Alma. All vestiges of pictures, poems, and flowers had been wiped clean. Only some tape residue remained. The fate of the tragic princess was something that Paris wanted to forget, apparently.
Finally, back at the Marriott hotel, we ate dinner street-side at the Square Bistro. Sitting at one of thirty tables, we were surrounded by middle-easterners; men smoking cigars and surrounded by women covered from head to toe in black berkas. We began to observe this more and more often.
At 10 pm, we all limped into our rooms, laden with bags from Sephora and other designer shops. The Olin family had hammered virtually all of Paris in fourteen hours! In that time we had walked eighteen miles.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Notre Dame Bell Tower
Printemps de la Mode
H&M Store
Ernest Hemingway once called the many splenders of Paris a "movable feast" and wrote, "There is never any ending to Paris, and the memory of each person who has lived it differs from that of any other."
When Hemingway was a destitute neophyte writer in his early days on the left bank, he would wheel a baby carriage into Jardin de Luxemburg and lure unassuming pigeons with bread crumbs and corn until they would come close enough that he would “snatch them and wring their necks.” He later said, “We got a little tired of pigeon that year.”
When Hemingway was a destitute neophyte writer in his early days on the left bank, he would wheel a baby carriage into Jardin de Luxemburg and lure unassuming pigeons with bread crumbs and corn until they would come close enough that he would “snatch them and wring their necks.” He later said, “We got a little tired of pigeon that year.”
Our last full day in the city center of Paris. We needed to clean up a few loose ends, such as the left bank. We stepped out of the hotel at 9:55 am and the morning sun was shining brightly on the Arc de Triomphe.
We took the Metro back to Notre Dame Cathedral and walked directly in line to go up into the Galerie de Chimeres. While Tam and I waited in line, the girls ran across the street to fetch freshly-made crepes of all flavors. At 11:55am, after ninety minutes, Michelle, Laura and I began the climb up the tight steps of the bell tower. Michelle counted every one of them: 223. Popping out of a small wooden doorway and stepping out onto the gargoyle-covered mezzanine, the bells began to ring. The noise was deafening! Some of the gargoyles seemed to be plugging their ears. Was Quasimodo nearby, pulling the ropes? What an amazing and terrific experience!!
The view, albeit lower than the Eiffel Tower was more beautiful and interesting because it wasn’t so high that it made everything look flat as a map. The cartoon-like gargoyles covered every corner and edge of the parapets. Some of them looked just like the characters in Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame movie.
We climbed up to and took photos with the famous large ceremonial bell. Then we continued our climb to the roof of the south tower in an even-narrower spiral staircase. Breathless, the three of us staggered out of the tiny hatch and stood at the very top of the Notre Dame Cathedral.
Minutes later, we were back on the Metro again, headed to Montparnasse Avenue and the Paris Hard Rock Café. Once again, we were able to trade a few pins with some of the waiters, obtaining rare and discontinued items.
Just up the road, on Hausmann Avenue was the big fashion district of Paris. The girls had been waiting for this moment since the trip began. After ducking into a few street-side booths and small specialty shops, we finally entered Printemps de la Mode … and the girls eyes went wide open and the angels began to sing. They had hit the motherlode. I began to look for a nearby bench.
Printemps de la Mode was a huge eight-story exclusive fashion center. An icon of the designer world, it even had a special auditorium for big celebrity fashion shows. The bottom floor featured Gucci and Dior. Floor two contained Juicy Couture and Givenchy. The next floor was entirely Dolce and Gabbana. Getting off the escalator, Michelle slowly walked, almost hypnotized into the center of the displays. She stood there for a moment, paused, turned, and then visibly took a huge breath. Then she turned back toward us and said that she just wanted to “breathe it all in for a moment.”
Printemps de la Mode—The place reeked of MONEY
Then the girls all smartly went back downstairs, crossed the street and dove into H & M, the discount designer clothing store. For the next hour and a half, Tam, Michelle, and Laura joined the riot going on inside. I followed them in and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Women would grab something off the hundreds of rolling racks, hold it up, and then throw it on the floor and continue looking for the next item. Store personnel were busy collecting the piles on the floor with a push broom and re-hanging the items on new racks to be assaulted by more shoppers. This wasn’t cheap clothing either. It was designer-label stuff. The whole situation was way too unruly for me ... the women in there made piranhas look like Welcome Wagon ... so I went outside and wandered the smoldering streets of Paris aimlessly looking for a Diet Coke. The rest of the day was a huge blur of revolving doors, paper sacks and sale signs. With arms full, we headed back to the hotel to figure out how we would pack it all into our luggage.
H&M ... thats more like it!!
While returning, we were accosted by an Arab woman wearing a scarf and berka, who forced herself on us and begged for money. Laura thoughtfully handed her two dollars in U.S. currency (it was all she had). The woman was insulted by this gesture and threw the money back at us. As she stomped away, I noticed that she was wearing designer rhinestone-covered Givenchy jeans under her black dress.
Probably fifty percent or more of the entire population of the Champs Elysees was Arabic. A hotel employee quietly told us that the super-rich from Kuwait, the U.A.E., Saudi Arabia, and other countries from that region all flee the desert in mid-summer and converge on Paris for two or three months at a time, dumping huge sums of money in the fashion clothing and jewelry stores in Paris. No wonder the French government is hesitant to get involved in the worldwide radical Muslim crisis. The tentacles already run too deep into the French economy. Money is money.
I quietly sat by myself on the balcony overlooking the Champs Elysees, watching the people of Paris go about their business as dusk approached. The steady flow of humanity made me relaxed somehow. I enjoyed it greatly.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Parc Disneyland
The weatherman on Sky News had just announced that this had been the hottest summer in Europe in thirty years, perhaps of all time. Temperatures in France were forecast to be at or above 34 degrees Celsius for the entire week.
The kids were slow to get up … very strange, considering that we were going to Disneyland Paris!!
Regretfully, we checked out of the Marriott Champs Elysees. It was a spectacular location. A shuttle carried us out to the Disney complex. The drive out to Disneyland Paris took about forty-five minutes. Our driver, Genevieve, then pointed to a large “Jules Verne” style hot air balloon floating in the distance. This wetted Michelle’s appetite, her face smashed against the window to see something. Within a few minutes, we pulled into the Hotel New York resort. In typical Disney style, we were promptly checked-in and given park passes. Our rooms were not ready, so we left our baggage at the bell-stand and walked to Parc Disneyland.
In 1992, on 1,500 acres, the Disney Company opened EuroDisney to huge fanfare. To the chagrin of many initial guests who had booked three day stays at the park’s hotels, they learned that the park only had three rides operating when the doors swung open. Disney was raked over the coals for jumping the gun and went into overdrive, building dozens of new rides and for ten years, it hemorrhaged money. Now renamed Disneyland Paris and packed full of the classic rides of the American parks, the operation is hitting on all cylinders and is every bit as crowded and fun as one would expect of a Disney park.
Our first impression when entering via Main Street USA was that the park looked nice and new but the scale seemed about two-thirds the size of Orlando’s Magic Kingdom. It had all of the Disney finesse and polish, however. It didn’t matter to Michelle. She danced all the way up Main Street to the castle.
Laid out in a similar hub and spoke design, the park featured a bubble-gum pink Cinderella Castle, just like its siblings in the USA.
Our first attraction was Phantom Manor (the haunted house). From the outside, it was a direct knock-off of the “Psycho” house. We walked right in with no wait. The ride was very good, almost identical, but still seemed slightly off … like “Disney style on a Cedar Point budget.”
Next was the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad. Although the sign said 20 minute wait, we actually waited 55 minutes. But, wow!! The ride was worth it!! Longer. Faster. The coaster actually went underneath a large lake, out to an island and back under again. It was far better than the same rides in the states.
Pirates of the Caribbean was a longer ride, too … but the robotics and pirate scenes were not as well done as the namesakes back home. Still great though!
We ate lunch at the Blue Lagoon Restaurant inside the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Tam had a combo plate, Michelle a hamburger, Laura an ostrich steak, and I had grilled swordfish.
On full stomachs, we boarded the Indiana Jones: Temple du Peril roller coaster ride, which turned out to be a nasty little roller coaster that threw in a very tight 360 degree inverted circle. Whoa.
Michelle’s big disappointment came during the Peter Pan’s Flight attraction. She said it was really cheap and really crummy and Peter Pan only appeared once … and one of his arms was torn off!!
Redemption came quickly when Laura, Michelle and dad rode Space Mountain: Mission 2. This ride was nothing like the original Space Mountain. It was ten times better!! Shot like a cannon, zero to fifty miles an hour in three seconds, the ultra-fast and ultra-smooth coaster made two 360 degree loops and three corkscrews in almost total darkness. Lasers, video projections, spinning and pulsating lights created mind-numbing special effects that enhanced the experience. It might be the best roller coaster I had ever ridden.
All four of us teamed with Buzz Lightyear to save the galaxy as we battled Emperor Zurg with light lasers. Laura posted the highest score (over 400,000 points) with her excellent trigger finger.
The extreme heat of mid-afternoon had us seeking shelter in our hotel rooms and the girls took a quick swim. We returned to the park for a buffet dinner at Plaza Gardens, the girls saving room for a crepes street vendor.
While most of the crowds were watching a parade, we snuck behind them and hammered Its a Small World, Pinocchio, Pirates of the Caribbean and Phantom Manor without waiting a total of five minutes for all of them combined. As we hustled through the park, Michelle would prance and cheerfully repeat to herself that she “would run all of this someday..”
We had obtained Fast Passes for Big Thunder Mountain Railroad and returned at 9:00 pm to ride it one more time. The roller coaster was blasting into a cave when … it stopped. We were stuck inside the mine, with giant fake rocks pretending to fall on us. We sat there for a few minutes until the house lights came on and a nice cast member named Corazon stepped out from behind a boulder and personally explained to the riders on our train (in English, French and German) that the computerized operating system detected that two trains were getting too close to each other on the track and shut the whole ride down.
A couple of riders complained, but we thought the whole thing was hilarious. Eventually, Corazon gave us a wave and hid behind her rock and we were on our way.
The girls shared the chocolate crepe that they had been obsessing about all day long.
At 10:20, just as we finished shopping, a gigantic thunderstorm blew in, knocking over outdoor displays, racks, signs, and umbrellas. We escaped without getting wet, luckily. From the safety of our rooms, we watched mother nature’s light show go on behind Cinderella’s Castle.
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Parc Disneyland
Walt Disney Studios
We did it all over again, this time starting with the Walt Disney Studios themepark. Our first attraction was the Aerosmith Rock and Roller Coaster. The opening video set-up in the mock-up recording studio with the band was short … mainly because the guys from Aerosmith don’t speak French. The ride itself was as good or better than the same ride back home. Zero to sixty in two seconds followed by an immediate 360 degree loop and two opposing cork-screws! Sacre bleu! The girls liked it so much that they both ran back to the entrance to ride it again.
The Moteurs … Action! Stunt Show was an incredible car stunt show. Super-light Opel cars, outfitted with highly-tuned motorcycle engines and some of Europe’s best drivers put on a show; burning out, spinning out, driving on two wheels and jumping ramps. All carefully choreographed.
While we enjoyed a quick lunch inside the Studio 1 building, a contemporary jazz band fired up, playing up-tempo swing tunes. Laura and I both watched the band with great interest. She identified the trombones used by three dudes in the back row. One of them played a superlative solo during Over The Rainbow, going as high as double-high D, which Laura said was outstanding.
The entire afternoon was spent at the Disneyland Park looping from ride to ride. By the time we walked out Disneyland Paris, we had done some serious damage. Here is the scoreboard of attractions and the number of times we rode them:
Pirates of the Caribbean 4
Phantom Manor 3
Big Thunder Mountain Railroad 3
It’s a Small World 33
Aerosmith Rock and Roller Coaster 3
Buzz Lightyear Laser Shootour 2
Indiana Jones: Temple du Peril 2
Space Mountain: Mission Two 1
Armaggeddon 1
Moteurs … Action! Stunt Show 1
Peter Pan’s Flight 1
Pinocchio 1
The four of us toasted a fabulous and successful Disney adventure at Walts: An American Restaurant, a top-shelf eatery overlooking Main Street USA.
Friday, July 28, 2006
Eurail Paris to Munich
Bayerisherhof Hotel
Marienplatz
For years, the relationship between the French and the United States seemed testy at best. We had heard countless horror stories ranging from indifference to outright nastiness. Having spent nearly a week in France, I must say that the people had been very kind and helpful whenever we interacted with them.
But a surprising problem as we saw it, was the huge flood of Arabic peoples who vacationed in Paris and made matters uncomfortable for other visitors. It was hard to stay happy at Disneyland Paris when we rode down into the lobby in an elevator with six black-clad women and all you could see were their eyes. Or the men, who arrogantly smoked their cigars in the non-smoking lobbies of the hotels.
We walked out of the Disney hotel, heading to the park the other day and saw an elderly Arabic woman all in black, crying … screaming ... and prostrate on the ground repeating a series of bows in obvious abject agony. This did not help Disney promote the idea of “the happiest place on earth.”
Up early, we packed up our things and were in the Hotel New York lobby at 8:30 am. Surprisingly, the concierge could not send a large package home for us, so we were forced to repack all of our bags in front of the main entrance to the hotel. Our overstuffed bags were then super-stuffed into the back end of a tiny Peugot taxi cab. The twenty-eight mile drive to Gare d’Lest train station took an hour and twenty minutes.
While sitting still on the freeway, hundreds of motorcycles of all types knifed their way between the cars. Some of them were going in excess of eighty miles per hour. Even though this was illegal, it was a common practice throughout all of Europe.
At 9:45, an hour before our departure time, we arrived at Gar d’Lest. The train station was in terrible condition. Two single-toilet restrooms, costing a euro each, had lines twenty people deep. Tam tried to find an ATM and wound up six blocks away in the Paris porn district, and the machines, after a busy night, were all out of money.
We were out of cash, loaded down with luggage and all had to pee. To make matters worse, the policy of the train service was not to announce the gate of departure until just before the train leaves. Our train finally pulled in and we had to board within five minutes … and Tam still wasn’t back from the porn shops.
I gave Laura and Michelle a euro to use an outside toilet and once they crowded inside, discovered that it was unisex, with only a five foot high wall barrier. Michelle looked over the edge and received a wave from a man doing his business, which freaked her out.
By the time Tam returned and we boarded train #67 to Munich, Germany, everybody was stressed. We were the last ones on. There were no baggage storage areas on the car, except for a fourteen inch deep glass shelf above our heads. Like the keystone cops, we banged every elbow going up the aisle to our seats. Then I tried to lift Tam’s eighty pound suitcase onto the glass shelf, which I eventually did; followed by my own bag. They hung ominously overhead, sagging ever so slowly as the train began to pull out. Without more space, the girls bags were crammed at our feet, fitting only after we removed eight Disney gift bags and used them as pillows. The other passengers watched in shock as the Olins bitched at each other while wedging into our seats. The ugly Americans had arrived.
Tam and girls played card games while I worked on the journal. At some point, during a game of euchre, our train tickets mysteriously disappeared. Now every passenger on board watched as the Olins began a desperate search for our documents. When Laura hit the floor and started crawling, combat style, under the seats, I could not have been more embarrassed. We had lost any sense of dignity.
So there we sat, no money and no ticket. A pall fell over the Olin family. Suddenly, Laurent, the smiling ticket-puncher arrived. “Teekits, your teekits, pleez,” he said. We all sat there, not moving. Fortunately, I had made a photocopy of all travel documents and we showed it to him while we explained our predicament.
“You lost your ticket where? Right here? In your seat?
“Well, um, yes.” “In the seat?” “Yes.”
It took a few moments for the facts to sink in.
“Well, Madame, we have a problem.”
After several tense minutes, he gave us the opportunity to repurchase our tickets for 64 euros. I asked if they took credit cards. No sorry. All four of us reached into our pockets and scraped up the cash as he wrote a new ticket. Crisis averted. The only thing left were sore feelings all around. Seven more hours to Munich.
A quick glance to check our luggage. Two eighty-pound bags still sat menacingly on the glass shelf overhead … shifting slightly with every bump.
Actually, despite the trauma in car 262, it was a glorious day in rural France. The corn had tasseled, men were fishing along the Seine, kids were riding bikes down the gravel roads.
The further we traveled, the more hilly the terrain became and the more overcast it got. By the time we reached Revigny, a light rain had begun to fall. We continued on to Nancy and Stausbourg, France. Almost everybody on our car got off at Strasbourg. I took the opportunity to go to the seats behind us and look underneath our seats. Sure enough, I found our original train ticket, inconceivably balanced on the seat frame one inch beneath the seat cushion.
At 3:05 pm, we crossed the Rhine into Kehl, Germany. The skies cleared again over Baden Baden. We stopped at Karlsruche, Bruschal, Stuttgart, Plochingen, Goppingen, Ulm, and Augsburg before arriving at Munich.
Stepping off the train at Munich Haptbahnof was like stepping into the middle-ages. The old, soot-covered gothic building wreaked of Bavarian Germany. Vendors were selling pretzels, brats and beer. Several men were walking about with alpine hats on. I thought I heard polka music playing quietly on the intercom.
We went out to meet our driver and could not find him. We did find two bank machines. Tam and I both made withdrawals. We stepped outside to catch a cab ... they were all Mercedes, BMWs or Audis. We schlepped our tonnage into a Mercedes van and made the short, six block ride to the Bayerischerhof Hotel. We pulled underneath the familiar royal blue awnings.
Tam and I had stayed at the hotel before and it was just like coming home. The desk clerk greeted us warmly and soon we were escorted to rooms 524 and 526. There is just something unique and really classy about the rooms at the Bayerischer Hof, maybe it’s the spotless and perfectly arranged bedding or maybe the high degree of refinement in the furnishings. Even though the rooms aren’t real big, it just feels great!
Stackenblochen in action.
It was 8:00 pm and we took a quick hike to the Munich Hard Rock Café, which was located across the street from the Hofbrauhaus. We opened our guitar pin bag and the waiters started coming over and sitting down with us. We got to know all of them, especially Nina, who said that she wanted to be a helicopter pilot. When I told her that I was one, she almost came unglued.
After ninety minutes of good food and conversation, we had successfully traded for eight rare pins, including two special employee-only pins, for our collection.
Since it was a perfect evening for a little walk, we took a detour to the Marienplatz. We strolled past several street musicians playing classical and baroque music on guitars, accordions, and violins. We window shopped at all of the designer fashion stores in the moonlight.
Suddenly Michelle blurted out, “I love it, Munich is the best!! She loved it because it was clean, it was relaxed and it had a Louis Vuitton store. She couldn't explain it, but it just felt really special. Laura didn't hear her because she had her face plastered against a costume shop window across the street.
We stopped for a few moments to appreciate the nuances of the neo-Gothic Neues Rathaus (New Town Hall Clock Tower) lit up against the black sky. We were virtually alone on the normally crowded Marienplatz.
Reluctantly, we slowly meandered back to the hotel, listening to the echoes of the street musicians on this starry, starry night.
Saturday, July 29, 2006
Dachau
Nymphenberg Palace
Shopping in Munich
Hofbrauhaus Beer Hall
The Olin family marched down the stairs into the lobby, each member carrying dirty laundry under one arm and bags of items to be shipped home under the other. The normally glorious Bayerischer Hof lobby and super-efficient staff were sent into immediate disarray with our arrival. The concierge helped Tam with shipping paperwork, the cashier was exchanging dollars to euros and the assistant manager grabbed our laundry. Within seconds the lobby was back to its perfect self.
Near the revolving doors stood a man that either looked like he stepped right out of a cuckoo clock or right off the Berkley campus. He had a long, grey-haired pony tail, stylized alpine hat and Birkenstock sandals. This was our tour guide, John Wetstone. John was a lifelong painter and part-time tour guide (or maybe vice-versa). He came to Munich in 1978 as a struggling artist and found a niche in Bavaria. We had hired him for two days of tours in southern Germany. His job on this day was to help introduce us to the city of Munich.
The earliest records of the term “Munichen” (home of the monks) appeared in documents from the year 777. However, early farmers had been in the area for a thousand years before that, based on archeological digs. The city of Munich was founded by Duke Heinrich (Henry the Lion) de Lowe in 1158. Shortly after that, in 1180 Fredrick Barbarossa conferred the title of Duke of Bavaria on Otto Wittelsbach. This powerful family dynasty ruled southern Germany until 1918.
During that time, Munich endured a huge fire in 1317 and the plague in 1634. Deeply Catholic, the Wittelsbachs firmly opposed the spread of Protestantism, initiated by Martin Luther in 1517. Several generations of Wittelsbach emperors and kings (the Maximillians, the Albrechts, and the Ludwigs) ruled until 1918 when Ludwig II broke the bank trying to build his legendary castles.
Five years later, on November 9, 1923, a young, failed artist but influential political leader named Adolf Hitler initiated a riot at the famed Hofbrauhaus. This attempted “beer putch” was unsuccessful and landed Hitler in prison, where he refined his approach and penned his infamous tome “Mein Kampf.”
Ten years later, on March 9, 1933, Chancellor Adolf Hitler forced the Bavarian government to resign and eventually abolished the independence of all German states. Two weeks later, he selected a sleepy little village along the Amper River, named Dachau, to became the location of the first Nazi concentration camp.
After a brief drive through the northern industrial suburbs of Munich, we arrived at the Dachau Concentration Camp.
John parked alongside the ten foot high, still-barb-wired fence, and brought us to the old traditional entrance … still in its raw and original state. A recently built two-acre park entrance had been designed for most visitors but John felt that this “tourist” approach, designed to soften the impact, was not appropriate for experiencing the camp as it should be experienced.
Then he announced that, for personal reasons, he did not want to be photographed on the grounds at Dachau.
Walking quickly in a light rain, we circled the outer perimeter of the camp, gazing up at the ominous guard towers. We entered through a gravel driveway and could see the foundations of what would have been rows and rows of barracks. We entered the only barrack left standing. It had been preserved for visitors to appreciate the conditions of the camp at the time.
When first opened, the camp was designed to house five thousand detainees. Conditions, at first, were not unlike most prisons. Each prisoner had his own individual wooden “bunk” and locker, for example. But as the war continued and the camp reached saturation, the same bunks were shared by two or three people. Near the end, each bunk was packed with ten people or more. Diseases like typhoid were widespread. Conditions were totally inhumane.
There were thirty-four linear barracks, placed in rows in the center of the camp. There were a number of special barracks. The “Revierbaracken”, for diseased prisoners. Block 5, where science experiments were practiced on defenseless inmates (Malaria agents, bio-chemicals, experimental amputations and exposure studies). Block 2, permanently crammed with corpses. Block 26 for arrested clergymen. The prisoners in Block 17 were especially earmarked by the SS for “severe treatment.”
By the end of the war, the camp designed for a capacity of 5,000 was actually housing more than 50,000 prisoners. It totaled 206,000 between 1933 and 1945.
We walked down the “Lagerstrasse” along a row of poplar trees that had been planted by prisoners when the camp was first built. They were now fifty feet high. We entered the Jewish Memorial Temple, one of several shrines built in the 1960s to recognize the genocide that had occurred there.
Walking through a side gate on the southwest corner of the camp, we could see the brick chimney of the “Krematorium” through the trees. In 1942, this state-of-the-art facility was built by prisoners for their own mass extermination. The building included gas chambers camouflaged as shower rooms. Huge ceiling beams were used for hanging the dead until they were cremated. Additional storage areas for more dead were also used. Several ovens were lined up for maximum efficiency.
Michelle and Laura took it all in, but showed little outward emotion. Michelle stood quietly in the corner of the gas chamber and scanned the room slowly, using her imagination to visualize what had happened there. Laura moved closer to one of the cremation ovens. She peered inside, perhaps trying to catch a glimpse of evidence in the small mounds of ash still left inside.
Behind the Krematorium, in the trees, was the location of the pistol range where prisoners were periodically lined up and shot. John showed us bullets still buried in the wall and pointed out the blood ditch where the blood of those shot would run off into the river. We stood in the silence of the trees for a few moments, privately with our thoughts.
The “Jourhaus”, the main entrance to the camp, was near a rail siding. This was where the prisoners would arrive by the train-car load and pass through the iron gate that read, “Arbeit Macht Frei” (Work Makes One Free).
We finished our tour with a thirty minute black and white film documenting, in gruesome detail, the horror that took place at Dachau. In the end, 41,566 prisoners had been killed at the camp, including more than six thousand Russian prisoners of war, who were all shot just outside the gates. Untold thousands more died of poor health after the war.
Walking around the perimeter of the camp to the car, we talked about our experiences. Michelle said that she felt empathy for those who suffered and also felt a general sense of anger at the situation. Laura said that it all made her furious that it ever happened.
Dachau, the village, has lived in the shadow of the concentration camp for five generations. This is unfortunate, because it is a beautiful village with winding cobble-stone streets and colorful storefronts. On the hill, overlooking it all, is Schloss Dachau, the summer residence of the Wittelsbach royal family. Here, we stopped to decompress and enjoy a fine gourmet lunch. We enjoyed our meal and our discussion with John so much that we were forced to drop our scheduled tour of Olympic Park and the Olympic Tower.
Back in Munich, John showed us the impressive Nymphenberg Palace, patterned roughly on the Louis XIV and XV’s palace of Versailles. One of Germany’s largest baroque palaces, it was built over five generations during the Wittelsbach reign. From end to end, the building stretches more than five hundred yards! We visited the Amalieburg Hunting Lodge, actually a tea house for the queen, where we saw the Hall of Mirrors. The ceiling in the lodge was lined with ornate silver-leaf artwork.
Driving back into town, John took us past the National Dance Hall, where a weird avant-garde interpretive dance performance was going on … in the middle of the afternoon. Dancers were dancing between the cars in the parking lot. They were dancing in the street. They were even on the roof of the dance hall. Hundreds of onlookers stood watching and appreciating the event. After a few minutes, we had had our fill and were ready to leave, but the dancers surrounded our car. John gunned it, almost running over one performer, on the way out of there.
By popular demand, John dropped us off in old town Munich at Wies’n Tracht & mehr, a shop that sold new and used authentic traditional Bavarian clothing. Laura virtually ran inside before John got the car stopped. Within seconds, all three girls had disappeared in a mass of bodices, lace and stockings.
I decided to look at used lederhosen. Prices weren’t cheap. A good set of used lederhosen was $500. Since they were labeled in metric sizes, I asked the salesman on the shoulder to ask where the changing rooms were.
Daniel, a flaming salesclerk, turned and looked me over up and down, then he shouted with a lisp,” Don’t worry about the women shopping in here, just worry about me … be a man and change right here in the middle of the store!!” What else could I do? So I did. Daniel returned to help me button the thing up and give me a little pat of encouragement. “They look soooper!!” he squealed as he clasped his hands then again patted me on the butt.
I needed some fresh air, so I left without buying anything and went across the street to a store that sold alpine hats. I found a great “Austrian Special” costing 30 euros. By the time I returned to the clothing store, both Michelle and Laura had bought two complete outfits.
Back at the hotel, Laura and Michelle put on a Bavarian fashion show … and they both looked awesome!! Afterward, Michelle changed back into her T-shirt and jeans but Laura wouldn’t change for anything.
Walking through the Marienplatz with my super-cool alpine hat and Laura with her bosom-bursting dress, we looked like some sort of Bavarian pimp with his hoe. Michelle and Tam opted to follow several steps behind us.
Our next destination was perhaps the most famous landmark in all of Munich. In fact, the Hofbrauhaus is the most famous pub in the world!! The Hofbrauhaus was a royal brew-house established by King Wilhelm V in 1589.
Wearing her Dirndl-dress, Laura commanded a great deal of attention from the inebriated patrons as we entered. We sat in the courtyard and the waitress brought four giant beer steins to us. I ordered a Radler, a beer and lemonade concoction that sounds bad but tasted so good!! We listened to the band play everything from Beer Barrel Polka to Hey Jude as we enjoyed brats, kraut, and giant pretzels.
It was hard to imagine in all this mirth and merriment that it was here where Adolf Hitler launched a riot that eventually gave birth to the Nazi party.
At one point, Laura and Michelle got up to see the band as they played the “can-can” and Laura spontaneously almost started a riot of her own when she started dancing in front of hundreds of bleary-eyed drunks. At the conclusion of the song, Laura took a quick bow to wolf-whistles and great applause. Michelle and I grabbed her and we got the heck out of there. On the way out, several college guys asked to have their picture taken with Laura. Laura reveled in her glory, but it was getting just a bit too surreal for Mom and Dad.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Zugspitze
Schloss Neuschwanstein
Schloss Linderhof
Oberammergau
“First of all, King Ludwig II was not gay!!” were the first words out of our tour guide's mouth as he picked us up in front of the Bayerischer Hof Hotel. For the next forty miles, John, a self-proclaimed scholar of the castle-king, tried to convince us that Ludwig was asexual. Right. After spending the previous day with John, none of us needed to be convinced that he was slightly weird. In fact, Michelle and Laura had already named our tour guide “John The Mad Bavarian.”
John then took a detour in the conversation and told us that he had attended an outdoor concert the previous night by former Pink Floyd guitarist David Gilmour. He said the laser show was excellent but the music sucked. That said it all, as far as I was concerned.
Driving down the autobahn at sixty miles an hour, we were getting blasted by Mercedes, BMWs and Porsches doing twice our speed. As we crawled toward Garmisch, John returned to explain how he gained his expertise in Bavarian royal family history and how Ludwig could not possibly have been gay.
The man doth protest too much, methinks.
The German Alps stood gloriously before us on this perfect day. We could see the summit of Zugspitze, the country’s highest peak, from more than twenty miles away. A few small, patchy clouds rolled over the top and then dissipated.
John drove us slowly through the resort town of Garmisch on this quiet Sunday morning. Several older men were riding bikes to church in their very best lederhosen and matching knee-length socks.
Just before leaving town, we drove past the United States Army Base, including the George Patton Hotel, that Tam and I had visited in 1998.
John bypassed the German trams and lifts in favor of driving into Austria and taking the much newer and faster Tiroler Zugspitzbahn high-speed lifts. This was a great decision. The Austrian lifts were built in 2003 and could move a spectacular thirty-five miles per hour. The conductor pushed the button and the cable car swept smoothly and swiftly away on its climb from 1225 meters to the summit at 2964 meters. The ride was so smooth that I could barely feel the transition points at the three towers supporting the cables to the top.
As we swung up the mountain, each moment revealed more and more Austrian countryside. The climb became steeper along the shale-covered slopes of Zugspitze and we could spot mountain climbers, dozens of them, working their way up the steep ridges. Large mountain sheep casually traversed the crevices as they nibbled at the base of the few pine trees nearing the top.
The climb continued, nearly vertically, and we were able to see over distant clouds and into the mists of one enveloping the peak. The lift slowed to a stop as the car slid into place and the door opened. The temperature had dropped from ninety degrees at the base to forty-two degrees at the summit of Zugspitze.
The Austrian Welcome Center was brand-new. Very impressive and comfortable. We walked up two flights of stairs, to the top level and onto a large outdoor platform. The spectacular panoramic view was spoiled by the kitschy gift gazebo and the Heineken umbrella tables.
Looking south, I could see the Alps spreading for as far as I could see. Turning to the west, I could see that the Austrian platform connected to a similar German platform by way of a ten foot wide walkway. We strode from Austria into Germany at ten thousand feet!!
On the German side, mounted on top of a twenty-foot wide rock outcropping was the summit marker; a ten foot tall white pole with golden cross. This rock outcropping was about thirty meters from the visitor’s platform and accessed by a very narrow mountain ridge and arduous vertical ladder climb up a thirty foot rock face. Observers standing on the relative safety of the platform watched both the very skilled ... and the very stupid ... traverse the ridge, occasionally losing their balance and giving us all a thrill.
The biggest scare was watching an eighty-year-old woman struggle to keep her footing as she attempted to reach the ladder. Believe it or not, Michelle inched her way out onto the ridge in order to grab a rock for her collection. I filmed her doing this from the upper platform. The sheer, thousand-foot drops on either side of her could clearly be seen from that vantage point.
The weather was constantly changing. Brilliant sunshine with infinite visibility was replaced by dense, heavy, wet fog ... and then back again.
After taking literally a hundred photographs in every direction, we walked to the lower level where John showed us an eight-foot high snow bank against the north side of the building. Laura and Michelle took great delight in making and throwing snowballs down the side of the mountain.
After an all-too-brief hour, we were soon on our way back down the mountain, in John's BMW X5, and meandering into the Austrian countryside. Before long, John pulled onto an obscure backroad and then drove across several grass fields until we arrived at a large farm house, with a handful of cars in front. This location, in the middle of a cow pasture was Gutshof zum Schluxen ... our lunch stop.
Looking more like an unassuming farm house, this restaurant was a favorite of locals who climbed down from the mountains with big appetites. The place was very busy. Seated in a comfortable and spotless corner booth, we could see the bustling kitchen and bar. The owners and waiters were cheerful and the service was outstanding.
Tam and I both ordered Ham Spatzle (a chef's specialty); a light pasta dish covered with smoked ham strips and a gob of fresh whipped butter on top. It was heaven! The best meal of the trip thus far. Michelle had a pasta and mixed sausage soup. Laura had veal medallions. John had picked the perfect place!
Back on the road, John drove us past a waterfall near Fussen called "the step" and then proceeded into the foothills and toward the playground of King Ludwig II. As we pulled up the long driveway to the castles Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein, John reiterated again that contrary to popular opinion, King Ludwig II could not been homosexual ... because he was such a devout Catholic.
When we arrived, the crowds were suffocating. Literally hundreds of Chinese and Korean tourists, arriving by bus, pushed and shoved their way around the attractions and gift shops.
John proudly marched us through the smaller castle, boasting of its superiority to the other palace. Right. We were too busy looking out the window, trying to get a good shot of Neuschwanstein.
Schloss Hohenschwangau was a twelfth-century castle built by the Knights of Schwangau. It was destroyed during the Napoleonic Wars, and later acquired in 1832 by Maximillian II. The castle was rebuilt over several generations of royal ownership. It was where King Ludwig II spent most of his time and often received his “personal” friend, composer Richard Wagner.
Schloss Neuschwanstein was the most famous of Ludwig II’s castles. This was the castle that broke the bank and eventually cost Ludwig his life. The expense of construction was so high, that Ludwig spent almost eight hundred years of accumulated Wittelsbach family fortune to build it … and it was only twenty-five percent finished inside!!
Just as John was asking if we would like to tour Hohenschwangau again, we had already run out the exit, climbed onto the shuttle bus, and were on our way up to the Marienbruke Bridge for a view of the “Disney Castle.”
Even though the bridge was built to very high construction standards in its day, I don’t think that Mad Ludwig ever envisioned one hundred and fifty Koreans, and the Olins, packed on it like sardines.
I had remembered the view from the bridge from the previous visit in 1998. Stepping out of the woods and onto the bridge again, the view of the schloss seemed even more impressive than my memory. With the boards beneath my feet flexing and creaking, I tried to keep the camera firing while squeezing between dozens of other people doing the exact same thing. We took several family shots with the legendary castle behind us.
Michelle and Laura didn’t want to leave. They threw coins into the waterfall three hundred and four feet beneath the bridge.
John was getting flustered now. The clock was counting down and Linderhof was on the other side on the mountains. Driving like a maniac and flipping off cyclists, John drove that BMW X5 like it should be driven. Trying to avoid a large tour bus, he detoured through Rottenbuch, where he stopped to show us the Rottenbuch Parish Church, a beautiful example of gothic Rococo architecture. It was a nice old (twelfth century) church … and, admittedly, worth the stop.
Now under extreme time pressure, John drove even faster toward Linderhof. We pulled up to the Linderhof gate at 5:40 pm. Impatient with the car in front of us, John got out and walked up to the automatic booth, got our tickets and drove around the guy. Unknowingly, however, John had inadvertently dropped his reading glasses on the ground and then ran over them in his haste to get in.
At the tour ticket counter, we were informed that we had missed the final castle tour at 5:30 pm. However, the last grotto tour would start at six.
Linderhof is another masterwork of King Ludwig II. Set deep in the woods north of Garmisch, the residence reflects his great fondness for the palatial architecture of Louis XIV. The smallest of his castles, built in 1875, it was the one most visited by Ludwig. The French Baroque style home is intricately decorated with massive quantities of gold leaf and other over-the-top decorations.
At six minutes before six, John took us on the lengthy mile-long walk up the side of the mountain. It seemed eerily similar to the Nazi death marches from Dachau to Garmisch that he had described the day before. Grinding up the path, we were sweating and out of breath, collapsing on a bench outside the cave entrance.
The infamous Linderhof grotto
death march
death march
Minutes later, the cave tour guide arrived and we staggered in. I wasn’t expecting very much. Was I wrong or what! The grotto was astonishing. Walking along a long, winding path surrounded by stalactites and stalagmites, I learned that the whole thing was an artificial creation, three hundred feet long and two hundred feet high. A lake, with its own wave machine and colored underwater lights, was built inside. In fact, the first light bulb ever used in Europe was installed at the grotto in 1876. A waterfall feeding into the lake could be turned on or off. Huge hand-painted murals and tapestries were built into a large performance stage. On the other side of the cave was a private viewing area for the just the king, himself.
I shook my head at the incredible planning and imagination that went into creating such a fantasyland. At the same time, the guy must have been pretty sick to spend the entire family fortune on this kind of extravagance. He was as weird back then as Michael Jackson was for us. Sorry, any guy that would have someone push him around in a flamboyant golden swan boat in a private cave … just had to be gay!!
The end for Ludwig was not pretty, either. On June 11, 1886, a commission sent from Munich declared him unfit to rule and took him to the castle Berg along Sternberg Lake, where he drowned two days later, under mysterious circumstances.
One of the great Olin family
photos of all time
John had thoughtfully called ahead to his friends in Oberammergau to keep their woodworking shop open for us since we were running late. By the time we arrived at Dedlerhaus Woodcarving, Erwarld and Birgitta Haertle were leaning out of their upstairs windows, waiting for us.
The woodcarving shop had been in the family for hundreds of years. The simple wooden shelves were packed with carvings of Jesus, Mary, Bohemian Royalty and animals of all types. Their specialty was nativity scenes; hundreds of them, maybe even thousands of them in every shape, size, theme, and design. They also sold hand-carved wooden toys and Christmas ornaments.
For special guests, such as us, Erwald pulled out gorgeous music boxes and played them for us. One of them, that played Mozart and had a violin inlay design on top, proved irresistible to Tam and Laura and they bought it. Tam also picked up a few Christmas gifts for the family back home.
John dropped us off at the Bayerischer Hof at 9:15 pm. We enjoyed a splendid room service meal together and made plans for Italy.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Eurail Munich to Venice
Grand Canal
Piazza San Marco
The Olins invaded the Munich Haptbahnof train station at 10:00 am. We were ninety minutes early for our 11:30 am departure for Venice, Italy. We checked, and rechecked … and rechecked our tickets again, to make sure we had them. We also bought enough food and water to support a small army during the eight hour trek through the Alps to the Adriatic Sea.
We checked our gate, number 13. A super-sleek TGV bullet train was waiting. Everyone got excited about our first-class ride. Then, two minutes later, it backed out and was replaced with a TrenItalia diesel locomotive with eight soot-covered passenger cars.
We boarded Eurail #87 at 11:00 am. This train did feature private, six seat cabins and it turned out to be much better than the trip from Paris to Munich.
At precisely 11:30 am, our train pulled out of Munich and rolled smoothly toward points south. Now familiar, Zugspitze welcomed us to the German Alps and it only seemed minutes later that we were in Innsbruck, Austria. Our train slowly cruised right beside the 1964 Winter Olympic ski jump tower.
As we continued into the mountains, bucolic and charming Austrian villages were sprinkled before us, rising from the valleys into the foothills. From time to time, we would round a corner and, for a few seconds, have a glimpse of the true grandeur of Austria, before the pines would close around the train again, obscuring the view.
At 2:02 in the afternoon, we pulled into the station at Brennero, Italy. Once again, the ticket conductor said, in Italian this time, that something was wrong with our tickets and that we would have to have our Eurail passes revalidated when we got to Venice.
Northern Italy was as mountainous as Austria, perhaps even more so. It was easy to tell that we were in Italy, every town that we passed through had an “o” or “a” at the end of it; Brennero, Vinterrio, Bolzano, Trento, Rovereto, Vocenza, Padoza and Venezia.
At Fortezza, a young, unhappy-looking Italian man joined us, sitting in one of the seats in our private room. He sat down and went to work on his Sony Vaio computer. All six seats were filled and our quarters were getting cramped. Everyone was forced to sit up and face forward, hands in their laps, and sit in total silence.
Between Bressanone and Bolzano, we passed through two tunnels, each at least five miles long. Emerging from the dark, the scenery had changed dramatically. The jagged mountains were gone, replaced with high foothills covered with miles of vineyards.
After seventy miles, the Italian guy in our cabin had yet to look up from his computer.
Michelle and I stepped out to go to the bathroom. We both noticed that when flushed, a hole opened up in the floor, dumping the contents directly on the tracks below. Very efficient.
The further south we traveled, the warmer it got, both inside and outside the train car. It was starting to feel warm, like the Mediterranean. At the stop before Verona, the young man, who never looked up from his computer, stood up and politely excused himself. Before getting off, he graciously turned to us, smiled and wished us, in broken English, a wonderful vacation in Italy. That was very nice.
By the time we arrived at Verona, the mountains were virtually gone. Turning east at Verona, our TrenItalia journey began closing in on Venice. Michelle spotted a major shipyard where a huge Carnival cruise ship was just being finished. The train began to slow down and our anticipation began to rise.
We were in Venice, Italy!!
The four of us hardly disembarked when we were greeted by a very pleasant, English-speaking hotel liason named Max, who handed our luggage off to an assistant and escorted us through the Santa Lucia train station. Full of great information about Venice, Max told us that his name was actually Maximiliaro. He was born in Venice but recently moved out because the cost of living on the islands was too high. He said that virtually all the hotel employees lived on the mainland in Mestre.
We were casually led out of the front door and suddenly, only feet in front of us was the Grand Canal!! BANG!! It hit us like a ton of bricks!! Boats. Gondolas. Bridges, the whole shebang. It was one of the most thrilling moments of my life.
The entire scene, as far as I could see in all directions was like a giant movie set.
Max helped us into a water taxi and rode with us down the Grand Canal to the steps of the Westin Europa and Regina Hotel. He pointed out landmarks along the way; Mozart lived here, Marco Polo was born there, Napoleon’s headquarters' were over there.
Michelle and Laura rode in the open back of the taxi, eyes as big as saucers, whipping the video camera around in circles. They were absolutely stunned. I could hear Michelle repeating for the camera over and over … “I love it! I love it! This is the greatest place EVER!!
Max guided us to the front desk, shook hands with everyone and returned to the train station. He was a real pro.
After a lengthy check-in procedure, we wound through the winding hallways to our rooms (154 and 155). The kids flung open the windows and were immediately serenaded by the gondola boatmen, passing just beneath them. Both rooms had unsurpassed views of the Gulf of Venice and the Grand Canal.
Walking over a bridge and through an archway, we suddenly burst onto Piazza San Marco. The glorious Campanile (Venice Bell Tower) stood in the afternoon sun, just as I had seen it in so many movies like the James Bond classic From Russia With Love. The tower looked almost new, compared to the other surrounding buildings. That’s because it was. On July 14, 1902, the original tower collapsed into the piazza. The rebuilt tower is almost identical to the first one, except that it now has an elevator.
Scanning the square, I wasn’t sure if we were in the midst of another movie, Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds. There were thousands of pigeons in a frenzy, surrounding a small group of people in the center of the piazza. Another surrealistic scene. The girls discovered that visitors could buy a packet of corn and hand-feed the birds. Cautiously, the girls served up one kernel at a time, but were soon swarmed by dozens of pigeons, that would fly up and land on their arms, shoulders … even the top of their heads. Michelle and Laura thought the whole situation was hilarious. They immediately bought more corn.
Continuing around the Campanile and to the Molo, we walked up to the docks. This area is often called “The front door of Venice.” Tam explained that many years ago, between the granite columns honoring St. Mark and the dethroned patron saint Theodore, people were strung up and tortured for relatively minor crimes. One victim had his teeth smashed in, eyes gouged and hands cut off before being strung up. Indeed, Venetian justice in those days was metered-out swiftly and harshly, earning it a famed reputation throughout Europe.
Today, under those columns, were street vendors selling post cards, T-shirts, masks, and anything else to make a buck. Rows and rows of gondolas lined up, matched with the gondoliers, dressed in black and white striped shirts.
Along the San Marco Giardinetti and San Marco Valiacesso were small pavilions filled with artists selling their works. One particular artist, across from Harry’s Bar, sold watercolors that caught our eye.
As dusk fell on Venice, our appetites rose. On Calle Barozzi there was a streetside eatery, Café Borsa, where we enjoyed a delectable meal (calamari and spaghetti with shrimps and mussels). Michelle wanted to have her picture taken with her first plate of real Italian spaghetti. A couple of friends joined us for dinner, a stray dog and a stray cat. It was the priciest meal of the trip so far, more than two hundred dollars.
While we ate, ten feet behind us, were Nigerians selling fake Gucci, Fendi, Chanel, Louis Vuitton and Pucci bags. Michelle was beside herself. She didn’t know whether to eat or shop. We didn’t let Michelle get a bootleg purse because we had been warned that Italian undercover police were arresting not the sellers, but the buyers of this merchandise and leveling fines of more than $5000 for each offense. Unhappily, Michelle walked away.
Nightfall on the Piazza San Marco was a romantic dream. The buildings around the square were lit up, as was the Campanile. Two bands on opposite sides of the plaza alternated songs, one a string quartet played classical pieces by Mozart and across the way, a contemporary band played jazz pieces. The atmosphere was relaxed and serene. The birds were all gone, except for one sleeping pigeon that Laura found at the base of a statue. A crescent moon hung above it all in a dark, black sky. A hazy circle surrounded it. Rain was coming.
Tuesday, August 1, 2006
Rialto Bridge
Gondola Ride
Accademia Bridge
A loud clap of thunder echoed down the canals at 7:30 am. Tam got up and peered out the window, wondering if Venice might flood in the heavy rains. I rolled over and said that it already had.
With the rain falling, we spent time looking at maps and planning the most efficient way to explore Venice. By the time we walked out of the Westin, the rain was beginning to let up.
According to legend, Venice was founded in 422 by Roman refugees fleeing from the Visigoths, and later, Attila the Hun. The marshy islands provided a margin of safety for those pushed off the mainland of Italy. As the city grew and became a major shipping hub, ports were built in the Venetian lagoon. Under the control of a Byzantine “doge” located on Rialto island, Venice continued to grow both as a city, and as a worldwide power.
Eventually, Venice developed into a city state as part of the Italian thalassocracy or Rebublica Marinara along with Genoa, Pisa, and Amalfi. Venice became the center of trade between Western Europe and the Islamic World to its east.
By 1200, the control of the Republic of Venice spread east to Constantinople and north into Verona, Italy and along the Alpine trade routes into Germany. Venice was remarkably free of the religious fanaticism that plagued the 15th and 16th centuries. However, Venice began a slow decline throughout the Renaissance and totally lost its independence when Napoleon Bonaparte arrived on May 12, 1797. During the 19th century, Venice belonged to the Austrians twice and the Italians twice.
Venice is not sinking, many experts say. But in the same breath, they also warn that the oceans (and the Adriatic Sea) are rising and that Venice could be lost by the end of this century. The buildings of Venice are constructed on closely spaced wood piles (that do not decay under water) which penetrate alternating layers of sand and clay. Scientists are working on methods to raise the islands by pumping water underneath these pilings and literally floating the city. Other methods are being evaluated as well.
Everyone can agree, however, that it would be a true catastrophe if La Serenissima, The Serene Republic of Venice, were lost to the sea.
The girls were anxious to feed the pigeons again on Piazza San Marco. By now, they knew what to expect and dumped corn all over themselves. Suddenly, I heard a squeal. I turned around and saw seven pigeons sitting on Michelle’s arms. Next to her, Laura was making friends with a pigeon that had parked itself on her shoulder. Everyone was laughing. What a riot!!
We went to the Venice McDonalds to wash our hands and arms and then struck out on our quest to buy half of Venice.
The first purchase of the day was a cheap mask Michelle bought for a friend back home. This would be one of seven masks the girls would eventually acquire during the day.
The alleyways between San Marco and the Rialto Bridge were packed with stores of all types; designer fashions, Murano glass, masks of all types, and dozens of art shops. Laura went into one store, tried on thirty masks and then walked out. The official Ferrari Factory Store had merchandise of all types and I purchased two golf shirts there. It was cheaper to buy a new shirt than to have one laundered at the hotel.
The shopping on the other side of the Rialto Bridge was more akin to street vendor trinkets. Here, we bought hats and T-shirts. Laura and Michelle purchased fresh fruit from a huge produce vendor. Tam attempted to use three different ATM machines and each time was denied due to trouble with telecom lines.
The skies became threatening again and we decided to head back toward the hotel. We stopped for lunch at the Al Chianti Ristorante, where we munched on prosciutto pizza. Comfortably inside the trattoria, we watched the skies open up again, drenching the tourists as they ran for cover down the alleys. By the time we stepped outside, the storm had become a little drizzle. Some enterprising young man immediately walked up and sold me two pop-up umbrellas for ten bucks. Perfect timing. We sloshed back to the hotel to rest and pack up some items to ship home.
By three o’clock, the clouds had cleared, revealing a crystal blue sky. Michelle and I carried our huge FedEx box down the street to the shipping store. Behind us, Tam could overhear two Italian ladies speaking in English saying, “Let’s hope they bought some nice clothes here, because it looks like they certainly need them!” Well, excuuuse me!!
Taking advantage of the hole in the weather, we walked down to Rio di S. Moise, where we all jumped into a gondola. For 120 euros, we were taken on a glorious ride through the canals of Venice. Our gondolier, Luca, was highly-skilled and found ways to avoid the crowded canals while still pointing out unique architecture and important landmarks. He followed the Rio de Barcaroli and Rio Fuseri eventually out to the Grand Canal before turning back on Rio St. Lucia to the Europa and Regina Hotel. Luca didn't sing, but a gondola in front of us had a driver, a singer and a guitar accompanist. We all enjoyed the concerto together as we floated down the quiet and narrow canals.
The gondola ride was everything we expected and more. The gorgeous afternoon sunlight streamed between the buildings, illuminating the colorful brick and stucco walls. Periodically, an alley would reveal itself, slowly opening a narrow view several hundred yards deep and just as quickly disappear again. The sound of water gently lapping against our long black boat and then slopping against the brick walls was very intimate and seductive as was the sound of the gondolier as he pulled and pushed his oar against the water. Every so often, Luca would push his foot against a wall to keep us steady and straight. The bridge openings were low and tiny, requiring precise navigation and a flexible back. All too quickly, our once in a lifetime experience was over. We stood there for a moment and regrouped. We couldn’t believe that we had just taken a gondola ride in Venice, Italy!!
There’s an old saying … “What’s worth doing is worth OVERDOING.” So the girls marched back to Piazza San Marco and let the pigeons climb all over them again.
Following Calle larga XXII Marzo, we walked to Campo San Stefano and the Accademia Bridge. The San Stefano plaza was where lonely sailors would come to visit the many prostitutes that lived in the upstairs bedrooms surrounding the square. And it was also the location of regular bullfights until 1802 when a grandstand collapsed, ending the spectacles.
The Accademia Bridge was built in 1930 as a temporary structure. It was so well built that it has never been replaced.
The best gelato in all of Venice is sold at Gelateria de San Stefano, where more than twenty flavors are offered. We had developed an addiction to gelato during the trip and rarely resisted the opportunity to enjoy one. Laura had pistachio, Michelle had coconut and chocolate chip, Tam had lemon and I had chocolate chip. Really good!
We returned to the hotel briefly to begin packing and plan for the next day’s activities. Not able to make up our minds on dinner, we decided to just head out and wing it. Back through San Marco again, we wandered toward Rialto, stopping to shop … again. We did, however, find a great spot for dinner. Café Saraceno on Fondam del Vin was located in the shadow of the Rialto Bridge and along the edge of the Grand Canal. We sat al fresco at a private table and watched the boat traffic slowly coast by. We toasted a fantastic trip and thought for about two seconds about what we missed back home … Daisy, Dan and Diet Mountain Dew.
Just as Tam and Laura finished their raspberry banana split, a thunderstorm rolled in, and we raced back down the alleys of San Marco to our hotel.
Bags packed and ready to go, we pulled our travel books out and read about our next destination … Florence, Italy.
Wednesday, August 2, 2006
Venetian Fish Market
Eurostar Venice to Florence
Shopping at Mercato Central
Olin Family Death March
Pulling open the drapes at 7:00 am, I found Venice wide awake and busy. Barge traffic on the Grand Canal was heavy. The sun was shining and the boast drivers were all smiling, waving and greeting one another.
What’s worth overdoing is worth overdoing AGAIN. Laura and Michelle went back to feed the pigeons for the ump-teenth time. Once again, we returned to the Rialto Bridge to check out the Venetian Fish Market. The fishing boats were still pulling up to the docks and unloading crates of fresh fish on ice. Octopus, squid, snails, flounder, monk-fish, and even lake trout had been laid out for the local residents. A few dogs and cats sat impatiently beneath the display tables, hoping for a scrap.
One sad swordfish, six feet long, laid there in its entirety, except for a one foot section cut precisely from its center.
The stores opened at nine-thirty and the girls commenced with more last-minute shopping. The big damage came when Tam found a large white leather Furla bag in a designer store. At eleven o’clock, we checked out of the Venice Westin Europa & Regina and boarded a private water taxi to Santa Lucia train station. The boat ride was silent. We all sat quietly trying to soak up as much as we could before it became a distant memory.
Food service on the trains had been pretty shaky, so we had pizza at the train station. It was just some guy whipping them out from his oven in the middle of the concourse … but wow … it might have been the best pizza we’d ever had!
We boarded Eurostar #9469 to Florence at 12:32 pm. This train was a state of the art bullet train. Very comfortable seating and storage accommodations. Somehow, once again, we did something wrong and had to pay the conductor another fifty euros.
Traveling across the causeway as we left Venice, I could see a low mountain range to the east and stretching to the north. By the time we neared Bologna, we were traversing mile after mile inside tunnels. The trip, thanks to our comfortable surroundings, seemed to pass quickly. Before long, we were in Florence.
Franco, our hotel representative, met us at the train station and within five minutes, we were at the Florence Westin Excelsior Hotel. We immediately detected an air of pretentiousness when three different people met us at the door and in the lobby, and lingered around until they realized that they all weren’t getting a tip.
The Excelsior is gorgeous and the guest rooms were some of the best we had ever stayed in, featuring large crystal chandeliers that hung directly over the bed.
The Olins were out onto the streets of Florence within minutes, to the delight of the street vendors and designer shop owners. Actually, the girls found great bargains at Motivini.
We walked block after block of markets, eventually finding ourselves at Mercato Centro where we plopped down for an exquisite outdoor meal at Antica Taverna del Botticelli. I had penne pasta with scampi. Tam had fresh salad with Minestrone soup. Michelle had spaghetti … again. Laura had pasta with ham in crème sauce.
Just behind us, on the park benches were two young Italian couples, “making out” like bandits. Dinner came with a show.
From the restaurant on the plaza, streets extended in six directions. I had lost my bearings so I pulled out my map. It was too small for me to read. Furthermore, every street in Florence changed their name with each block, making it impossible to navigate. I took a flyer and tried to backtrack somewhat while heading southwest, toward the sunset. We walked and walked and walked and walked. After half an hour, I asked for assistance from two old dudes on bicycles, they both pointed in opposite directions. Laura’s brand new sandals had blown out and the soles were flapping loose, making it impossible for her to walk. I knew that we were miles from nowhere … and it was getting dark. The situation was nearing a crisis point.
We walked another twenty minutes and asked someone else for help. He told us, in broken English that we were at Porta Al Preto, a public square several miles from the hotel. We had nearly walked off the map. Finally with bearings, we continued “The Italian Death March” back to the Excelsior just as night fell.
I hate Florence, Italy. I wish we never left Venice. Good night.
Thursday, August 3, 2006
Leaning Tower of Pisa
La Saletta Ristorante
San Gimignano
CNN and SkyNews both reported that EuroTunnel, the private company that owned and operated the “chunnel” was filing for bankruptcy due to lack of passengers riding between London and Paris. The blame was placed on discount airlines that cannibalized their business.
At 9:00 am, an unassuming man wearing Dockers and a casual shirt with rolled-up sleeves walked into the hotel lobby. He circled around a bit before arriving at my chair and asking if I was Mr. Olin. Just as we greeted each other, Tam and the girls stepped off the elevator and met our tour guide (for both Tuscany and Rome), Peter Zalewski.
Peter was the owner and operating partner of Vatican Tours, a renown tour operation in Italy. Peter worked at the Vatican for ten years, from 1984 to 1994. Because he spoke English so well, he was the private guide and VIP escort for many Americans when they met the Pope. In 1985, he personally escorted George and Barbara Bush when they came to meet Pope John Paul II on a diplomatic visit.
But today, he was taking some really big VIPs; Tam, Tom, Michelle and Laura on a day trip to Tuscany and Pisa.
Boarding our van, Peter introduced us to his driver, Mario, who worked for the tour company. Skies were gray and threatening as we drove west on route E76 to A11, toward Pisa.
We were making excellent time until we were caught in construction traffic. We drove five kilometers in ninety minutes and were in danger of missing our eleven o’clock tour up the inside of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. We cleared the construction zone at 10:47 and still had 12 kilometers to go. This is when Mario became Mario Andretti!! We pulled up to the Gate of Santa Maria at 11:05. Peter dashed out and told us to meet him at the tower door.
Passing through the gate, the four of us were left to contemplate what was before us. On the opposite side of the courtyard was the legendary leaning bell tower. Yes, it was really leaning. Even though we had never seen it before in person, I had seen it so many times in pictures that I was thoroughly familiar with it.
Michelle shot continuous video while I fired away with my Nikon. I just couldn’t stop taking pictures.
Peter joined us at the tower entry point. He had to beg the ticket agent for some sympathy for our late arrival. He returned with tower passes for 11:20. We all looked at each other and said simultaneously, “This guy was GOOD!!”
So up we went. The sensation while climbing the clockwise steps of the tower was strange, to say the least. When on one side, the building leaned toward me, I found myself leaning against the inside wall. Then there would be a few level steps of transition. Moments later, I would be leaning against the outside wall. The steps themselves were constructed of marble, a soft material that over the centuries had worn and “cupped” making the climb a little testy. The climb was challenging but not the Escher-like endless staircase like the Cathedral of Notre Dame.
We briefly popped out onto a lower terrace before resuming our climb to the top of the bell tower. The wind was blowing at least twenty-five knots and it began to sprinkle. Try to imagine standing on a crooked and narrow platform in high winds and while standing on slippery wet marble. We managed to walk around the perimeter of the tower … standing where Galileo stood when he performed his famous gravity experiments.
At the very top were a series of arches, each fitted with a bell of different size. The view from the tower was excellent, offering a commanding perspective of the cathedral, baptistery and surrounding walls. In the distance, a DHL 767 made its approach into Pisa / Galileo Galilei International Airport.
Standing atop the tower, Peter pointed to the west and explained to us that the Mediterranean Sea was just beyond the trees and that the tower also served as lighthouse for the powerful Pisa military fleet. In the middle ages, between 1000 and 1284, Pisa was a major world power, commanding the sea from France to Jerusalem. Then Peter went on to explain that everything was lost on a single day, August 6, 1284 when the numerically superior fleet of Pisa, under the command of Albertino Morosini, was defeated by the brilliant tactics of the Genoese fleet, under the command of Benedetto Zaccaria and Oberto Doria, in the dramatic naval Battle of Meloria. The Pisan navy never returned. It was all over.
After a quick climb down the tower, Peter showed us a building, directly under the shadow of the leaning tower. On the street level was a tavern named Bar Duomo. Upstairs were three stories of apartments that no one in the past three hundred years had the guts to rent. I don’t blame them.
The cathedral next to the bell tower was important in it’s own right. Begun in 1063 by famed church architect Buschetto, the exterior of the Duomo was a spectacular combination of Roman and Moorish influences. The interior had the some of the earliest known examples of Renaissance art and the pulpit was a masterwork by Giovanni Pisano (carved between 1302 and 1311). A huge, pendulum-style hanging lamp was said to have inspired Galileo’s theories of movement.
The pulpit carving by Pisano took nine years to complete
Under threatening clouds, we re-boarded our tour van and Mario drove us, in a driving rain, to Tuscany and the small village of Certaldo. We stopped at La Saletta di Dolci Follie for lunch. Here, Peter revealed his wisdom of Italian winemaking, bottling, and most importantly … drinking. First, he noted that Italian wine should not be consumed by itself, rather it should be an integral part of the meal, paired with the proper food. I looked over and saw that Tam had already finished her first glass.
Next, he told Laura and Michelle that there was no minimum drinking age in Italy. With our ok, he encouraged them to try a small amount with their lunch, as an enhancement to their meal.
He discussed the varying types of wine produced in Italy and selected a 2001 Chianti Classico from a winery named Castellano di Barolio (winemaker Barone Riscasoli) located only a few miles away. Once opened, we swirled the wine, evaluated the nose and color and then … took a sip. The wine was deep in tannins and felt hot on the tongue. Then Peter shared an appetizer made from pork fat, and followed it with another sip. The rich wine flavor was there, but the fat absorbed into the tongue, preventing the negative tannin effects.
We continued to enjoy a fabulous and relaxing lunch, sharing gnocchi, soup, and other delectable delights. Just before we left, Mama (the chef) came out in her apron to greet us. Mama came over and pinched Michelle’s cheek and told Laura that she was beautiful. She was very happy that we enjoyed her meal.
Michelle thought that the giant mole on Mama’s chin looked like a piece of gnocchi.
We rolled out of the restaurant and into the van and were soon entering the towering, walled city of San Gimingnano. Located in the center of Tuscany, San Gimignano was a settlement built around a 10th century feudal castle. Agriculturally rich, the wealthy families in the village constantly fought with one another. But the Black Death of 1348 wiped out most of the town and it fell under rule of Florence.
We walked up the ancient cobblestone streets and were awestruck by the stone and brick buttresses and towers. It was like walking a thousand years back into history.
Before leaving Tuscany, Peter took us into the vineyards in order to give us an opportunity to take pictures and see the grapes up-close. It was a classic moment, standing in one of the great vineyards of the world, overlooking the spectacular countryside of rural Italy.
On the drive back to Florence, Peter told us that he had recently taken Ron Howard and his family on a private tour of Naples and Pompeii. Howard had just finished filming The DaVinci Code in Malta and wanted to investigate, in detail, the ancient ruins and archeology of Pompeii.
As we entered Florence, Peter took us to the Michelangelo Plaza overlook and briefed us on the many great landmarks of the city, pointing them out from our vantage point high above the skyline.
After a very busy day, we were dropped off at the hotel. We all gorged on room service and collapsed into bed. As I lay there, I was struck by the tremendous influence that Florence had throughout history and thought about the importance of Galileo, DaVinci, Michelangelo, Machiavelli, Dante, and the Medicis. Maybe Florence wasn’t so bad, after all.
Friday, August 4, 2006
Galeria del Accademia
Duomo Museum
Bapistery
Basilica di San Croce
Museo di Stria Della Scienza
Ponte Vecchio
Did you know that Leonardo DaVinci’s famous Mona Lisa was stolen and almost wound up in a museum in Florence, Italy??
On Monday, August 21, 1911, the world's most famous work of art--Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa--was stolen from the Louvre museum in Paris. That morning, many museum employees noticed that the painting was not hanging in its usual place. But, they assumed the painting was taken off the wall by the official museum photographer who was shooting pictures of it up in his studio.
The police were contacted immediately and they set up headquarters in the museum curator's office. The entire museum was searched from top to bottom. This took a week because of the size of the Louvre: it's a 49-acre building which runs along the Seine river for 2,200 feet. The only thing a detective found was the heavy frame that once held the Mona Lisa. It was discovered in a staircase leading to a cloakroom.
Once the news became public, French newspapers made several claims as to the nature of the theft. One newspaper proclaimed that an American collector stole the work and would have an exact copy made which would be returned to the museum. This "collector" would then keep the original. Another newspaper said that the entire incident was a hoax to show how easy it was to steal from the Louvre.
Luckily, the painting was recovered 27 months after it was stolen. An Italian man named Vincenzo Perugia tried to sell the work to the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, Italy for $100,000. Perugia claimed he stole the work out of patriotism. He didn't think such a work by a famous Italian should be kept in France. What Perugia didn't realize was that while the Mona Lisa was probably painted in Italy, Leonardo took it with him to France and sold it to King Francis I for 4,000 gold coins.
How did Perugia steal the Mona Lisa? He had spent Sunday night in the Louvre, hiding in an obscure little room. Monday morning, while the museum was closed, he entered the room where the painting was kept and simply unhooked it from the wall. In a staircase, he cut the painting from it's frame. While trying to leave the building, he came upon a looked door. He unscrewed the doorknob and put it in his pocket. He then walked out of the Louvre and into the pages of history.
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Everyone was up slower than normal on this morning. Too much Cartoon Network at two in the morning, perhaps?
Originally a huge block of white marble, owned by the Opera del Duomo of Florence, the work of carving something out of it was first entrusted to Agustino de Duccio and then Antonio Rossellino, but they both abandoned the project due to its enormous size. Leonardo DaVinci was even approached and he turned it down, too. So the block sat in an open courtyard until 1501.
Michelangelo accepted the commission on August 16, 1501. He was 26 years old and liked the idea of taking on a project so big that his contemporaries could not finish it. Working with amazing speed, he completed the giant work on January 25, 1504. Once unveiled, the massive sculpture kindled envy and great criticism. Still, with the support of DaVinci himself, the statue was placed in the Palazzo della Signoria, the civic heart of the city, where it could be seen in the round.
As the work was being moved from the Duomo to the Palazzo, critics and vandals threw stones at it. Its left arm was broken off during riots in 1527. More recently in 1991, a maniac attacked the left foot with a hammer.
After a controversial restoration in 2004, it was housed in a specially created indoor display dome and protected by security cameras and guards, the huge eighteen foot marble piece stood on a six foot display block. Strategically placed spotlights enhanced the work, making it appear a pure, smooth white.
Laura and Michelle let out gasps, impressed by the immediacy of David. We were all mesmerized. The sculpture seemed to speak to us. Bigger than life but also life-like, the nude seemed perfect.
On closer inspection, David’s head and hands were slightly out of scale with the body. Their large size has been hotly debated. Some believe that the large head and hands are symbolic of “thought and action.” Others think that Michelangelo simply misjudged them because the statue was so large.
The four of us approached the work slowly, visually absorbing it, then sliding forward again. We circled it, stopped, and then circled again. My eyes moved from the hands, to his eyes, and then the texture of his skin, revealing subtle veins in the biceps and forearms. There were no signs of the damage incurred over the past five hundred years, other than a few rough edges on his left foot.
I had to take mental pictures because the security was so tight that I couldn’t even sneak a picture. Eventually, we slowly exited the display hall, each of us taking one last look before hitting the street.
A few blocks away was the famous Duomo. The morning sun shone brightly on the dome’s rust-colored roof tiles. The presence of restoration scaffolding on the exterior and ongoing work inside took away slightly from its splendor.
Across the street was the Opera de Santa Maria del Fiore … the Duomo Museum. Inside were more masterworks by Italy’s artistic legends. Of particular interest were the original Bapistery bronze door inserts (which took twenty-seven years to complete), and Donatello’s haunting Maddalena.
The Pieta, Michelangelo's last work really affected Tam and Michelle. It was intended to serve as Michelangelo’s own tombstone and the image of Nicodemus was said to have been a self-portrait. But the aging artist, eighty years old at the time, was so frustrated with his diminishing skills that he never finished it. In fact, in a fit of frustration, he struck the work with his hammer breaking off huge chunks of Jesus’ left arm.
Michelle was saddened that after creating wonderful art all of his life, he couldn’t finish the one work he was doing for himself. Tam said that the unfinished image of Michelangelo looked ghost-like and gave her chills.
The Santa Croce Basilica is the largest Franciscan church in Italy. It was begun in 1294 and finished in the 1450s. It has become the final resting place for Florence’s famous sons. Here are buried Galileo, Michelangelo, Dante, Machiavelli, and dozens of others.
The Galileo tomb featured a bust of the scientist with a telescope in his hand. Beneath him were allegorical portrayals of “Astronomy” and “Geography.” Even though Galileo died in 1642, he was not interred in his tomb until it was finished in 1737.
The basilica was stuffed full of frescoes and sculptures by Rosellino, Donatello and Brunelleschi.
On November 4, 1966, a massive flood caused by the accidental opening of a dam on the Arno River, flooded the entire city of Florence. Most of the frescoes in the church were seriously damaged and some were destroyed. The basilica was closed for ten years while a complete restoration was performed. In 1975, the church was reopened even though some of the works are still being restored today, forty years later.
Moving on, we walked down Via de Benchi to Lugano Generale Diaz, along the Arno River to the Uffizi Gallery. Dozens of artists had set up easels and were painting away. The gallery is considered to be the first of its kind and a shrine for art lovers around the world. There were several very good artists at work … and one very good mime, made up like a marble statue conned Michelle and Laura out of a few euros.
Adjacent to the Uffizi gallery is Piazza della Signoria, where we shared margherita pizza for lunch at Café Perseo. Looking across the 1400 year old plaza, we imagined the powerful Medici ruling the world from the Palazzo Vecchio.
Lunch was followed by more shopping along Via Calimala and along the Ponte Vecchio bridge. The Ponte Vecchio was built in 1345 and was the primary means of crossing the Arno River. For years, it was the location of butcher shops and fish markets. But in 1565, a covered passageway was built over the shops, connecting the two Medici royal palaces, Palazzo Pitti and Palazzo Vecchio. Grand Duke Ferdinand I soon evicted the odiferous butcher shops in favor of jewelry shops, which remain on the bridge to this day.
Pulling out our tour book, we evaluated our options and decided to check out the Museo di Stria Della Scienza. On display were all of Galileo’s scientific instruments, including his personal telescope and compass.
But the highlight of the museum was the petrified remains of Galileo’s middle finger from his right hand. Ghoulish, but cool!! Four hundred years after his death, Galileo is still giving us the finger!!
We walked back to the hotel along the River Arno on the same street … even though its name changed from Lugurno Generale Diaz to Lugarno Acciaiuoli to Lugarno Corsini to Lugarno Vespucci, all in the distance of one hundred yards.
Three hours later, we walked right back up that same street, looking for a place to eat dinner. We were all sick of Italian food and were trying to find a nearby Japanese restaurant. Unfortunately, it had closed, replaced by an Italian restaurant. We gave up and ate at another Café Borsa … and more spaghetti.
Afterward, we walked along the Arno River one last time. Looking back at the Ponte Vecchio, the setting sun made it explode with color. A truly beautiful sight.
Back at the Westin, the four of us all laid on our bed and watched Failure to Launch on pay television. Then we all retreated to our suitcases and packed for our final destination … Rome!!
Saturday, August 5, 2006
Eurail Florence to Rome
Pantheon
Trevi Fountain
All roads lead to Rome!! Our road has been a long one … through London, Paris, Munich, Venice and Florence.
We left Florence with mixed feelings. We discovered a city with tremendous history and important works of art. Still, Florence paled emotionally compared to other destinations we visited. Michelle said that there was cool art and the shopping was good … but then it seemed to remind her of a big city … “maybe like Philadelphia”
It was probably the first time in history that Philadelphia had been compared favorably with Florence. Italy.
At the train station, Tam tried very hard to figure out the proper way to prepare our Eurail passes in order to avoid a fine. Believe it or not, all it took was filling in the date of travel on the Europass slip. Seventy-five dollars in fines because we inadvertently forgot to fill in the date of travel. Ridiculous!!
Crossing central Italy on this gorgeous day, the train passed through endless miles of corn and hay fields. A few small vineyards dotted the low, rolling hills. Before we knew it, the train was slowing down at Roma Terminal.
Once again, thanks to Tam’s great planning, Guido, a Westin hotel concierge met us at the platform and helped carry our bags to a waiting van. The transfer van passed the United States Embassy on Via Vittorio Vento just before pulling into the Westin Excelsior Hotel.
The Rome Westin Excelsior Hotel was just listed by Conde Nast Magazine as the eighth greatest hotel in the world. Indeed, it was pretty swanky; chandeliers in the elevators, gold leaf ceilings, silk wallpaper and complimentary wine in each room. We were finishing the trip in high style!!
Once we unpacked and snooped around a bit, we wandered back outside and two blocks down the street to the Rome Hard Rock café. One of the more diminutive restaurants, it still felt like home. We were so familiar with the menus that we didn’t even open them.
Laura walked around, looking for Madonna’s bustier, which she found over the bar. I hammered the gift shop for eight logo T-shirts and three hats to give friends back home.
At some point, Michelle got it in her head that she wanted a tall “pope hat.” Actually, this is an item in relatively high demand by tourists and there is a street dedicated to selling liturgical wardrobe items … Via de Cestani. Fortunately, this was located near one of Rome’s great landmarks, the Pantheon.
Hopping into a cab at the Excelsior, the driver took off through the narrow streets of Rome. Motorbikes ran wild, knifing between cars. Busses clotted traffic in every direction. Everyone was in a hurry but no one was getting anywhere.
Block after block, we were staring at huge, thousand year-old ruins and old tipped-over columns, just laying around. It was like a movie set again. Only with real props.
The driver whipped up to the Pantheon from the side. We walked around to the front and stood, dumbfounded at the power and majesty of the building. The place oozed of power, sheer power. Walking up the steps of history, we could plainly see the dark patina on the marble and the wear and tear on the façade. The scale of the building was tremendous, with a huge open dome. The floor sloped slightly to the perimeter so rain would run off.
As with other important and sacred shrines that we encountered throughout Europe, several dignitaries were buried inside, including the great artist, Raphael.
The exterior of the Pantheon, especially the rotunda outside walls were of brick with only a scattered few of the intricate marble fascia pieces still in place.
Unfortunately, the liturgical robe shops behind the Pantheon were closed. All was not lost, however, as the three mile walk home was through the fashion district on Via del Corso and Via del Tritone.
Once the girls heard of the legend of Trevi Fountain, they couldn’t wait to get there and throw a coin in, assuring their return to Rome someday. When they did, they had to elbow their way past five busloads of Chinese tourists. Coins were flying in all directions.
The Trevi Fountain is huge, basically the entire side of a building. It took many years to build, over the reigns of several popes, whose names are enshrined on the fountain. It was completed in 1762. Three hundred years later, movie–maker Federico Fellini immortalized the fountain when Anita Ekberg took her famous dip in his classic La Dolce Vida.
On this day, it was a tourist attraction of gigantic proportions, where everybody was trying to make a buck. Three beggars, a mime, a Statue of Liberty and a guy dressed as an ancient Roman Trojan warrior. We couldn’t resist and took a picture with the old Trojan dude. It was worth the two euros.
With some time before dinner, we wandered the area near the hotel finding both an ancient Roman gate (Porta Pinciana) and the Chika Chika Boom lap dance club (across the street from the U.S. Embassy). I even stopped to say hi to the guard at the embassy. He wasn’t very nice.
Michelle really wanted to eat at one of the glass-enclosed street cafes she had seen, so we picked one near the hotel called Peperone Pasta and Pizza Café. What a superb meal! I had a langustino and curried rice pilaf that was out of this world.
In our hotel room, we all watched Mission Impossible III, which featured extensive footage shot, presumably at the Vatican.
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News Bulletin: 2006 Tour de France Champion Floyd Landis had his victory annulled when his blood test confirmed the presence of excessive testosterone.
Sunday, August 6, 2006
Monumento a Vittorio Emanuelle II
Circo Massimo
Forum Romano
Colosseum
Some ingenious kid used the bidet to wash her sandals, leaving them to dry in the bowl. The Cartoon Network was playing at full blast. The mini-bar was empty except for one black licorice candy that no one would touch. Every towel and both bathrobes had been used and piled in various random locations in the room. Such was the situation in room #334 … and many other hotel rooms throughout Europe this summer.
At 10:00 am, Teresa from Vatican Tours and her driver Mario (a different Mario) met us at the Excelsior and we were off on our “100 Minute Tour of Rome.” Teresa graduated from Purdue University with a degree in Feminist Studies, emphasizing the Medici Women. The first stop was the Monumento a Vittorio Emanuelle II, built in tribute to the four kings that represented the monarchy of Italy between 1848 and the end of World War II. The last king supported Mussolini and was sacked when everything went south for Italy at the close of the war.
Returning to the ancient ruins along Via del Circo Massimo, Teresa stopped to point out where the Roman Empire was born, on the Palatino, when two brother kings Romulus and Remus agreed to cooperate together in creating a great society in 753 B.C. This turned out to be short-lived, when Romulus soon killed his twin while building the great city and named it after himself … Rome.
In front of the Palatino was the Circo Massimo, a long narrow oval where the great Roman chariot races were held. Teresa pointed out that the oval had been trodden upon and compacted for so long that grass had never grown there in two thousand years. I stood there and imagined Charlton Heston as Ben Hur racing around the track in a life and death struggle against his rival Messala.
Our tour circled the Colosseum stopping only briefly. Teresa gave us a quick overview before we climbed back into the van and drove to the Pantheon. On this Sunday morning, the Pantheon was much less crowded than the afternoon before. A shaft of morning light angled through the hole in the massive concrete dome and onto the tombs inside. A mass was in progress, giving a sense of reverence to the oldest building still in use in the world.
Surging out onto the Piazza della Rotunda, Teresa took us to the oldest aquaduct in Rome, where we all took a drink of fresh, mountain water. She also pointed out a table at a nearby café where Brad Pitt and Catherine Zeta Jones were filmed during a scene in the movie Oceans 12.
At the conclusion of the tour, we were dropped off at the Pallatino, where we purchased Colosseum tour tickets and gained immediate back-door entry to the popular landmark. This proved to be a brilliant maneuver after we learned that the ticket lines at the Colosseum were ninety minutes long.
The prologue to our visit to the Colosseum was a walk through the Palatino and Foro Romano. We were all in shock at the totality of the original structures that were still standing and how accessible they were to tourists.
Michelle, once again, was trying to collect a small stone for her collection and Laura, trying to help, reached over to break off a small piece of brick from the Roman Forum. When she pulled, an entire corner section of a wall collapsed. Embarrassed, Laura carefully picked the whole thing up and replaced it, for the next poor stiff.
Turning east, we walked down a long concrete ramp. The colosseum was directly in front of us now, revealing itself as we cleared a long row of trees. My camera was smoking, shooting pictures with virtually every step.
Standing next to the great stadium, masses of people looked like a crowd heading in for a Big Ten football game. Thousands of visitors circling about. Vendors selling food and souvenirs. Four guys dressed as Roman gladiators were making a fortune posing for pictures.
Looking up, the imposing structure, built with literally a million bricks and then completely covered in rare white marble, was in remarkable good shape. The colosseum had been carefully restored with great sensitivity for keeping it authentic, yet still safe for the tens of thousands of visitors daily. The line for tickets was several hundred yards long, disappearing into the trees. Having bought our tickets at the Pallatino, however, we walked right in.
We were now about to share a very rare and once in a lifetime experience … walking through the ancient arches and into the sunlight of the Roman Colosseum!! My immediate sensation was of amazement of the raw size and pure architectural power of the whole thing. For the first fifteen minutes, we all stood there, not saying anything; just taking it all in. Slowly, the girls began to timidly investigate the arches and broken columns laying around. Within a few minutes, they were climbing on them, along with everyone else, and posing as Roman statues.
We marched around the lower perimeter, evaluating the changing perspective of the giant oval. Then we continued up the narrow steps to the upper deck, which afforded a better view of the underground animal pens and prisoner cells.
Michelle ran up again and yelped, “The ROMAN COLOSSEUM!!!”
Having seen everything from every angle, I lingered, not wanting to leave. I scanned it all one more time, trying to soak it into my memory so I would never forget. Above us, a huge thunderstorm was building overhead, rumbling around the inside of the oval. The towering clouds provided a powerful backdrop for the last few pictures that I snapped of the stadium.
Looking for shelter, as well as a place to eat, we crossed the Piazza del Colosseo to Al Ristoro della Salute (since 1920). It was a great little café and we got to know the manager, Julio, who gave us excellent food and service.
Michelle and Laura with Julio from Al Ristoro della Salute
We stiffly got up from our comfortable little spot and trudged to the Santa Maria in Cosmedin church so Michelle could see the Bocca della Verita. This weather-beaten stone face of sea god Oceanus was once used by Romans as a drain cover. However, a legend began to grow in the Middle Ages, when it was used as a lie detector. It was believed that if one told a lie with his hand in the mouth of the sculpture then it would be bitten off. Bocca was placed in the portico of the church in the 17th century.
The “Mouth of Truth” is most popularly known for its appearance in the 1953 Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck film Roman Holiday. In the film, Hepburn (playing a princess) and Peck (playing a reporter) visit The Mouth of Truth and Peck relates the legend. He challenges Hepburn to place her hand inside the mouth, which she does with no ill effects. She then asks Peck to do the same and when he does he yells and pulls his arm out to reveal his hand is missing! Hepburn's shriek on seeing this is not acting as Peck had pulled a practical joke on her on camera by pulling his arm inside his sleeve. Peck ends the joke by popping his hand out into a handshake position and going "Hello!" Hepburn, relieved, breaks into laughter. The joke was incorporated into the film. The film also uses The Mouth of Truth as a storytelling device since both Hepburn's and Peck's characters are not initially truthful with each other.
The toll of twenty days of high-intensity were finally taking their toll and we caught a cab back to the Excelsior.
We enjoyed watching the European Men’s Diving Championships from Budapest on television before heading to the Ristorante Mandarin for a change of pace. We had been eating pizza and pasta for seven straight days.
During dinner, we talked about what a great day, and trip, we had enjoyed. We reflected on some pretty great memories that we all shared over the past three weeks.
Once again, the girls camped out in our room while we watched another movie, The Perfect Man, and had room service desert … milkshakes that turned out to be more milk than shake. It was more like sugary milk than anything else.
Monday, August 7, 2006
The Vatican
St. Peter's Basilica
Vatican Museum
We could see Peter waiting by the curb as Mario pulled up to a stop., just outside the Bernini Colonnade. Michelle’s first question after disembarking was, “Are we in a new country yet?”
We had arrived at the Vatican. The morning sun reflected off of the travertine facing of St. Peter’s Basilica making it seem almost pure white. Crossing a semi-circular curb, Peter turned to Michelle and answered, “Welcome to the Vatican.”
As we walked toward the Arch of the Bells on the left side of the basilica, Peter explained that the Vatican was an independent city / state of approximately 168 acres with nearly two thousand years of amazing history … beginning with the arrival of one of Jesus Christ’s disciples, St. Peter, in Rome. Officially, St. Peter was the first pontiff and was summarily executed on Vatican Hill in 67 A.D. Peter was crucified upside down, at his request by the Romans one day between horse races at the Vatican site. He was cut down and buried in a barely-marked grave until emperor Constantine determined to build a grandiose basilican church on that site, which became the first Christian church in the world in 349 A.D..
Tour guide Peter’s first job at the Vatican in 1984 was in the Archeological Office, where he researched the origins of the basilica’s construction and the necropolis on which it was built. He explained that during the 1960s, an excavation took place underneath the church in an effort to locate the remains of St. Peter. After years of digging, no evidence of the first pope was found … until an old basilica employee produced a shoebox claiming that St. Peter’s bones were inside. He further claimed that a secret excavation took place in the 1940s, when some old bones were located and stored away in the box for safe keeping, without attributing them to St. Peter. Carbon-dating of the bones revealed them to be of the first century, of a man approximately the size and age of Peter, and without feet (suggesting that the person was crucified inverted, from the feet and then cut down from the ankles). The bones were claimed to have been St. Peter’s, placed in a gilded box and then put in a lavish tomb under the papal altar. Still, nobody really knows the true identity of the bones for sure.
Peter showed us an outdoor graveyard, just south of the basilica. It contained the remains of Germans who had died while making the pilgrimage to the Vatican. An agreement between Charlemagne and the Pope created this special place and to this day, any German who passes away while traveling to or at the Vatican can be buried in a marked grave within the Vatican Necropolis.
Walking back to the basilica, Peter mentioned the new bywords of the new pope, Benedict XVI, “We are slimming.” In less than one year, Benedict has completely substituted has own personnel for those of Pope John Paul II and slashed the staffing by thirty percent. The Vatican population had dropped from 1,200 to less than 1,000.
I asked what kind of view the insiders at the Vatican took of John Paul II’s legacy, stating that, from our perspective, he was beloved in the United States. Peter’s response was that it was lukewarm. The church loved the man. However he noted that “He packed the stadiums, but he didn’t pack the churches.” Church membership declined in many places around the world because of John Paul II’s strict doctrine. Pope Benedict was already loosening certain rules, in an effort to bring more people back to the Catholic church.
Bypassing the huge crowds, by whispering a few words to the Swiss Guards, Peter enabled us to gain immediate entry into the church itself. St. Peter’s Basilica is the largest church in the world. St. Paul’s in London is the second largest and the Duomo in Florence is the third. We had seen all three.
The scale of the basilica is gigantic. The nave is six hundred feet long. The dome is nearly fifty stories high. The Statue of Liberty could stand inside it.
I turned and stood at the Loggia delle Benedizioni and looked away, down the Via della Conciliazone. The obelisk stood in the center of Piazza di San Pietro, surrounded by the colonnades on either side.
Massive bronze doors, some originally designed by Filarete, and others by more recent artists “such as the “Doors of Sacraments” and the ”Doors of Death” provided entry into basilica. The Holy Doors remained closed and were only used for special occasions.
To my right, before I was ready for it, sat Michelangelo’s famous Pieta, in an alcove shielded by bullet-proof glass. An iron crowd barrier kept us at least a hundred feet away. This was a huge disappointment. From where we stood, we could barely make out what it was.
Turning now, and following Peter toward the center of the church, we learned that the basilica was built over hundreds of years and under the direction of twenty popes. Although considered primarily a Renaissance work, tell-tale signs of Baroque influence were easily identified … clear glass windows, plain structural columns and walls and realistic sculptures depicting movement and action.
We stopped to watch a long line of the faithful pass by the seated bronze statue of St. Peter by Arnolfo di Cambio, kissing and rubbing his feet. The ritual began when Pope Constantine offered fifty indulgences to each person who kissed the icon. The feet had been rubbed into bronze nubs.
Now at Bernini’s Papal Altar, the spiritual center of the basilica, Peter explained that St. Peter’s (supposed) remains were underneath us, at the nexus of the cross in the building, directly under the altar. A glass floor revealed the small gold box twenty feet below. The bronze used on the altar was stripped from the Pantheon. Many Romans took exception to this by saying, “Quod non fecerunt barbari, fecerunt Barberini.” (“What the barbarians didn’t do, Barberini did.”)
The massive black twisted columns of the papal altar were designed after smaller ones used in the original Constantinian Basilica.
Looking up, we were directly underneath the Michelangelo-designed dome. The sixteen-ribbed structure was covered in huge ceramic mosaics by Cavalier d’Arpino. As it turned out, Michelangelo played a huge role not only in the decoration but in the architectural layout and construction of the basilica.
The incredible flaming gold apse of the basilica was designed by Bernini as well. The centerpiece is the gilt-bronze Cattedra di san Pietro (throne of St. Peter). Supposedly containing the wooden and ivory chair that St. peter himself is said to have used. Above the throne is a stained glass window with the white-pigeon image symbolizing the Holy Ghost.
Spread throughout the perimeter of the basilica were outstanding works of art, altars of all types, and the mummified remains of sainted popes, who lay on display in glass cases (which Michelle and Laura really enjoyed).
Thousands of visitors made viewing the collection nearly impossible. Huge tour groups from the far east pushed and shoved their way around without regard for others trying to maintain the sanctity of the place.
Retreating back out through the Doors of Death, we walked to the papal apartments, where Peter showed us the vestibule where those waiting to see the pope would wait for the big moment.
We were now directly beneath the pope’s bedroom window and Peter pointed to a castle-like rampart that ran from the apartment, out of the Vatican and into the city of Rome, terminating at Castle St’Angel in Rome. In 1527, during the Spanish Inquisitions, Pope Clement VII escaped, with the protection of Swiss Guards, by using this passageway. 147 of 189 guards were killed while protecting the pontiff and earned the responsibilities that they proudly keep today.
Peter showed us the bullet-riddled wall, a five-hundred year-old legacy of the attack.
Precisely at noon, with the bells of St. Peters ringing loudly, we stepped out of the Vatican grounds and into a side-street trattoria for lunch. At this point, Peter bid us adieu, handing us off to his assistant, Anna, to tour the Vatican Museum and Sistine Chapel.
With about fifteen minutes of free time before the afternoon tour, Michelle raided the local Articulos Religioso shops in search of a ‘pope hat.” Actually, the stores were amazing! Liturgical robes and banners of all shapes and sizes, wooden crosses, metal crosses, staffs, offering dishes, portraits, and bibles in all languages. We even saw “pope lollipops” … actual lollipops with the image of the pope on them. One whole wall had tiny plastic drawers containing charms for every obscure saint that ever existed. The stores were packed with priests and nuns with baskets full of merchandise. It was the Lord’s “Walmart.” Although the stores had some pretty tall hats, there wasn’t a “pope hat” for sale.
Besides, I think Michelle would have been a little embarrassed standing in the checkout line between two nuns trying to buy a giant pontiff hat and staff.
Anna escorted us several blocks, past enormous crowds waiting in line, and around the northern perimeter of the Vatican to the Vatican Museum entrance. The line we walked past was at least two miles long ( a three hour wait to get in). Fortunately for us, one of Peter’s assistants had been waiting in line for hours and saved us a spot about fifty feet from the door.
Anna informed us that the Vatican Palaces were really a cluster of buildings whose construction began in the Middle Ages and continued under the auspices of numerous popes and they contained nearly five hundred works of art. Mercifully, she told us that we would only focus on the highlights:
The Transfiguration. An unfinished painting by Raphael, which was shown to a moved public at his funeral. Later, the bottom of the painting was finished by two of his students.
St. Jerome. An unfinished work by Leonardo DaVinci. At one point, the face in the painting had been cut out and framed separately, only to be reassembled by Napoleon centuries later.
The Laocoon. A first century Hellenistic sculpture representing the destruction of the Greeks by the Romans (and their Trojan horse) symbolized by a giant serpent strangling Laocoon and his two sons.
The Belvedere Torso. Another first century sculpture fragment that Michelangelo regularly used for sketching practice. Once asked by the pope to the restore the piece, Michelangelo declined saying that he could not improve upon it.
The Raphael Rooms. Several small halls and loggias are completely painted from ceiling to floor with historical religious scenes each attributed to Raphael. One of them, “The School of Athens” is a celebration of human thought and knowledge, featuring the images of the greatest scholars and philosophers of early history including Socrates, Plato, Aristotle, Pythagoras and Raphael’s contemporary, Michelangelo. On the extreme right, Raphael wryly painted a small image of himself, in the presence of such greatness.
The Map Room. This was one of our favorites. A long, ornate hallway, smothered in gold leaf. The walls are frescoed with forty maps of Italy and the papal territories. Commissioned by Pope Gregory XIII in 1580. The maps are remarkably accurate for being five hundred years old. Maps of Venice and Florence reminded us of our recent travels.
But the big gun was saved for last … the Sistine Chapel. Michelangelo’s masterwork. In 1508, Julius II ordered the young Michelangelo to paint the ceiling of the chapel. The artist began in May of 1508 and completed the work, four years later, in 1512. Much of that time was spent wrenching his back, painting the very difficult arched surface. He created a series of scenes from the book of Genesis: Separation of Light and Dark, Creation of Sun and Moon, Creation of Adam, Creation of Eve, The Fall, and Noah’s Sacrifice.
The work was instantly considered a masterpiece. Twenty-three years later, after the Lutheran Reformation, Michelangelo was asked to paint The Last Judgment on the wall behind the main altar. This powerhouse work, emotionally overwhelming, was commissioned by Pope Paul II and took six years to create. Three hundred images swarm in a composition that depicts an angry second coming of Jesus, hand raised in condemnation. To his right, the few believers are assisted to heaven by angels. To his left, the multitudes of the damned are descending into hell.
In my judgment, The Last Judgment is the better of the two artistic pieces. The colors more explosive, the images more powerful. The message more direct. The ceiling seemed a little washed-out and imbued with an unfortunate purplish tone.
The Vatican guards attempted, in futile fashion to prevent photography and to keep the hundreds of people in the chapel silent. Forget it. Everybody was sneaking pictures of the ceiling and walls.
Another clandestine hipshot-without-flash photograph
of the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel
The Sistine Chapel is the room where the cardinals deliberate when choosing a new pope. In the corner of the chapel is a small door. This door leads to the Room of Tears, the small private room where the newly elected pope would enter to assume the role and put on the accoutrements of the pontiff. It has been said that many newly-elected popes have wept once inside, when they fully realize the huge weight and responsibility of the job. I asked Peter what was inside that room. Perhaps, some special orb or golden bible or something like that? “Nope” he said. “A tailor is waiting in there to make sure everything fits right.”
Oh. I’ll bet Michelle’s pope hat is in there, too.
Eventually, we found each other in the mass of humanity and exited the chapel. Anna then took us to the Sacred Grottoes (the burial tombs of the popes). Walking down a long ramp underneath the basilica transept, we entered the tomb area. Each pope has the authority to design his own tomb, so naturally, there were tremendous variations between each pope. Some, like the recently departed John Paul II, were simple marble slabs with some basic inscriptions. Others were ornate, with sculptured tomb lids featuring the pope resting at peace, mosaic-inlay on the walls and gold-leaf covering everything. One pope (Pius XII) even wished to be closer to St. Peter than any other pope. That seemed a little selfish … for a pope.
One day complete, we exited the Vatican, thanking Anna for her expertise and caught a cab back to the hotel.
At the girls’ request, we all dressed up for our final night out and enjoyed dinner at Peperone Café again. The four of us shared a bottle of Chardonnay wine from Tuscany and also shared memories of the past three weeks over a delicious and leisurely meal.
Tuesday, August 8, 2006
KLM Flight to Amsterdam
Northwest Flight to Detroit
After paying an enormous mini bar bill, I jumped into the waiting van and we all pulled out of the Hotel Excelsior and onto the streets of Rome on a glorious early Tuesday morning. Driving down the curving hills of Via Vittorio Vento, I looked into the window of the Rome Lamborghini car dealership, where a young lady was busy waxing a fly yellow Murcielago.
Our driver, Franco, eased his way through the city center, giving us one more view of the Roman Forum and Colosseum before taking the highway through the Roma suburbs and to Leonardo DaVinci International Airport.
Parked at the Alitalia/KLM club room, the girls spent an eternity trying to figure out what to claim on the inevitable U.S. customs / duty forms. Receipts were spread out in neat piles … London, Paris, Munich, Venice, Florence and Rome. Tam kept everything beautifully organized in individual envelopes.
After a gate change, we eventually boarded KLM 1598. Taxiing out to runway 25 for takeoff, we passed Malev-Hungarian Airlines, Air Berlin, and El Al jets waiting in line. Our takeoff roll began immediately and, in seconds, we were over the Mediterranean Sea. Turning north, we paralleled the Italian coast before crossing over Milan and the Alps near Lake Geneva.
After a gate change, we eventually boarded KLM 1598. Taxiing out to runway 25 for takeoff, we passed Malev-Hungarian Airlines, Air Berlin, and El Al jets waiting in line. Our takeoff roll began immediately and, in seconds, we were over the Mediterranean Sea. Turning north, we paralleled the Italian coast before crossing over Milan and the Alps near Lake Geneva.
Michelle loved the flight … a snack, a full lunch, ice cream and candy bars (all in a two hour flight). She thought the flight attendant, Frank Bjors, was truly first class!! She vowed to fly KLM again.
Dropping out of the clouds, we were paralleling the North Sea and descending into a gray, overcast Amsterdam. Before we knew it, we were walking around one of the great airports of the world … Amsterdam Airport Schipol. Just beyond passport control was a huge store called “Holland Gifts.” Within seconds, Laura was trying on wooden shoes and Michelle was buying bags of Dutch candies and chocolates. I wandered over to the world’s largest collection of porn videos, at least a thousand titles, covering the entire wall. Out in the open, for everybody to see. Next to it was a wall full of hash pipes and water bongs.
Further down the concourse, we passed a casino and then visited the Rembrandt Art Museum. This museum housed twenty works of Holland’s greatest master artists, including a newly-discovered painting by Rembrandt entitled “An Oriental.”
We checked the video screens for departure information. There were destinations listed from around the globe; Manila, Tehran, Reykjavik, Kuala Lumpur, Beirut and Detroit. Walking to our gate Laura pointed out our Northwest plane. In the gate next to ours was an Iran Air Airbus 300. Every passenger lining up to board that flight was scowling at us, especially when they noticed our Hard Rock Cafe and Mickey Mouse shirts.
Security was tight and suddenly getting tighter. We had already gone through two passport checks on the ways to our gate. At the gate, we were put through an extensive security screening interview followed by another bag search and screening prior to boarding.
NWA 6053 departed Amsterdam at 3:49 pm. Our Airbus 330 was turning west over the North Sea when we were enveloped by the clouds. Somewhere between Iceland and Greenland, Laura beat everybody, including me, on an in-flight twenty question trivia game.
Tracking the plane as it descended over the Mackinac Bridge, we enjoyed another delightful snack. It seemed that jet-lag didn’t effect us as much coming home as it did going to Europe.
Tired, but victorious, we paid the three hundred and eighty dollar parking tab at Detroit Metropolitan Airport and began driving west, into the sunset. Twenty-two days had flown by, almost like a giant dream. We had accomplished everything we had set out to do, and then some. It was the greatest trip ever!!
POSTSCRIPT
Richland, Michigan:
Thursday, August 10, 2006
The headlines around the world screamed “We have foiled mass murder on an unimaginable scale.” A terrorist plot had been uncovered to kill thousands of tourists flying from Europe to the United States. Officials in London and Washington, D.C. announced that up to twelve airliners were to have been blown up in mid-flight between Britain and America by Islamic fundamentalists by using liquid explosives hidden in ordinary soda cans and tubes of toothpaste.
More than twenty-one suspects, British citizens of Pakistani origin, had been arrested in overnight raids. Both Britain and America raised their terrorism security alerts to their highest levels.
Chaos unfolded at airports throughout Europe and the United States as draconian security measures were put into place to prevent explosives from being carried on board in hand luggage. Among the security measures was a complete ban on any liquids.
Dozens of flights were cancelled. Other flights were delayed up to ten hours to accommodate the security screening procedures. Planes stacked up at key airports throughout Europe. Senior police sources told The Times that up to twelve flights would be attacked simultaneously and that the suspects were arrested just as they were initiating the final steps of their plans.
“Plastic explosive could be moulded to look like a chocolate bar and set off in a confined cabin, obliterating it. Two inert liquids could be mixed to create an explosive chemical capable of causing a fire that could destroy a plane in seconds” a spokesman said.
_____
We turned on the television on Thursday morning watched as the news networks covered the near hysteria at London Heathrow, Amsterdam Schipol, and international airports all over the United States. We were so lucky to have arrived home less than forty-eight hours before all of this went down and to watch it all from the safety of our living room.
Trip Summary: EuroTrip 2006
Top 5 Best Moments: Tom
1. Arriving in Venice, Italy
2. The view from atop Zugspitze
3. The 2006 Tour de France
4. Michelangelo’s David
5. The Colosseum / Leaning Tower of Pisa
Top 5 Best Moments: Tam
1. Tour de France
2. Zugspitze
3. Arriving in Venice, Italy
4. David
5. The Colosseum
Top 5 Best Moments: Michelle
1. Notre Dame (With the bells ringing)
2. Venice (Arrival and gondola ride)
3. Tour de France
4. Eiffel Tower
4. HofbrauHaus
Top 5 Best Moments: Laura
1. Venice … EVERYTHING!!
2. Zugspitze
3. Notre Dame Cathedral (Bells)
4. Eiffel tower
5. The London Dungeon (Being creeped-out)
Funniest Moment:
- Tom: When the whole family went nuts watching the Tour de France from our hotel balcony.
- Tam: Daniel in the German apparel store.
- Michelle: Laura breaking off a huge piece of ancient Roman wall, and then trying to stick it back in place again.
- Laura: Me ripping brick off an ancient Roman wall.
Best Day:
- Tom: The Louvre, Notre Dame and Eiffel Tower … Paris
- Tam: Venice
- Michelle: Venice, gondola day
- Laura: Everyday in Venice!!
Best Hotel:
- Tom: Bayerischer Hof, Munich
- Tam: Marriott, Paris
- Michelle: Marriott Hotel balcony, Paris
- Laura: Excelsior, Rome
Best Meal:
- Tom: Austria Lunch, Rialto Bridge, Venice (tie)
- Tam: Austria Lunch
- Michelle: Wasabi Take Out, London
- Laura: Wasabi’s Sushi, London
Wierdest European Habit:
- Tom: Women in miniskirts getting on and riding motorcycles!
- Tam: Eating so late.
- Michelle: Smoking. Large expressive movement
- Laura: Smoking and porn.
Biggest Surprize:
- Tom: Venice!
- Tam: Arriving in Venice.
- Michelle: David!! Everyone spoke English. French were nice.
- Laura: How small the Colosseum was.
I Learned The Most …:
- Tom: The Vatican
- Tam: From Peter at The Vatican
- Michelle: Dachau
- Laura: All about the history of Europe. Fascinating!!
I Would Re-live …:
- Tom: Venice.
- Tam: Venice.
- Michelle: THE WHOLE VACATION!!
- Laura: Going to the top of Zugspitze
I Missed The Most …:
- Tom: Mountain Dew, Daisy ... and Dan, too.
- Tam: Daisy, Dan, my Tassimo coffee maker
- Michelle: Daniel W. Morgan, Daisy
- Laura: Daisy, Dan, My bed, my TV … and the Sea Doos
Final Comments:
- Tom: The greatest trip ever!! Needed another week!!
- Tam: Fabulous trip! I learned a lot about European history and culture. Looking forward to more vacations together. Prego!!
- Michelle: When in Rome!!!
- Laura: I loved Europe!! Toga! Toga! Toga!!