November, 2010


Final Impressions: It’s All About the People

What a trip! Seventy days, nine countries, eight plane rides, an overnight cruise, multiple trains, taxis, buses, subways and trolleys, several outside elevators and almost 5,000 miles by car. We can’t forget that there was a new language for each new country with some interesting regional twists.

Somebody, maybe Rick Steves, said that travel is accelerated living. For a rural Minnesota couple in their dotage we found that all of our senses were engaged and active at hyper speed for over two months, now followed by deceleration akin to running into a brick wall.

The smells in the streets of garlic, onions and meats cooking; in the markets of spices and fresh fish; the prevalent aroma of wine in St. Emilion and Porto; cooked sugar and coffee in the patisseries and baked bread in boulangeries; the sight of laundry drying on lines everywhere; the timber frame architecture of Scandinavia; the walled cities of France and Spain; the yachts and the worn fishing boats in the harbors; the little old ladies drying fish in Portugal and the North African men gathered in the coffee shops in Arles; the magnificence of the churches and mosques counter imposed over centuries of strife and bloodshed; the mountains and valleys and rivers all with stories from the past.


There is the feel of cobblestone streets underfoot; the cool breeze in the morning sunshine on the Mediterranean coast or the blast of the wind off the ocean or the mistral from the mountains; the light touch of a pickpocket in your pants or the crush of a crowd on a packed subway; the morning aches and pains after a ten hour day of hiking urban hills; the sounds of vendors in the outdoor markets hawking their wares; of bands parading and playing in Carcassone and Granada; the wailing laments of the Fado singers in Lisbon and the sensual rhythm of the Flamenco artists in Seville; the shouts of the protests in the squares and the ladies peddling lottery tickets.

And the tastes. Pickled herring, lingonberries, smoked trout and salmon, croques and cokes, pork and kraut, waffles, fondue and raclettes, beef bourguignon, tuna ten different ways, foie gras, cassoulet, fresh baguettes and pastries every day, Belgian, Swiss, Dutch and French chocolates, hundreds of different tapas, our first racions in Santiago, Spanish tortillas, paella, octopus and squid, cod everywhere, pizza and pastas, and ham, ham and ham. Not to forget the Belgian, Danish, Dutch and German beers to go along with the French, Spanish and Portuguese wines and the occasional Coke Light or cappuccino.


While Europeans are usually portrayed to Americans as sophisticated, continental and educated individuals who care deeply about the environment and their fellow man, let it be said here that there are also a lot of European idiots. There are small minded business people who can’t get out of their own way, lazy unmotivated workers who wouldn’t last a day in the same job here and with many, a sense of unfriendliness that would be considered rude in New York and all with a cigarette hanging out of the mouth.


With all that being said, the highlights of our trip were with the people we met along the way, most of them our hosts. A few of those moments: Our first B&B hug from Elisabeth as we left Stockholm; spending quality time with nephew Patrick and his lovely Nina in Copenhagen; laughing at the dramatic stories of Peter in Amsterdam; chatting with the slightly bratty Leslie in Colmar; sampling cheeses and pastries at the market in Beaune and nodding and smiling with the owner of the nearby barrel factory; the quest for the perfect apple pastry with Pat; getting the lowdown from Amanda and Chris in Sarlat; getting welcome kisses from kids Ben and Georgie and “discussing” politics with Alison over several wines in Bordeaux; chatting with Ben in Carcassonne; our long “conversation” in Spanish with Leira’s mom in San Sebastian and subsequent hugs and kisses from Leira; talking business with Carmen and Joao in Porto and sharing their favorite neighborhood restaurant.


Then there is Luis from Lisbon. Luis is your friend immediately. Not a friend from work or the club, but rather the friend you grew up with who knows everything about you and still likes you. The guy who calls you (on the phone he gave you) to let you know where he is and let’s do something together. Luis was followed by the super Argentineans Adriana and Jorge who fed us and chatted with us under a starry sky in the south of Portugal; the personality of Seville, the city that seduced us from the start; Ian and Jane in Nerja who hung our laundry on the terrace one afternoon and fed us breakfast there the next morning; and Manuel and Catarina who taught us about Granada without giving us Manuel’s cold. This is the most outstanding group of hosts we have ever had on any trip. Even without the exceptional, the other places we stayed were very nice—not a stinker in the bunch, and we couldn’t be happier with our lodging choices and the relationships we take with us.


Obviously traveling is fun for us. We don’t ski or snowmobile or go to Las Vegas. We don’t drive big cars or wear fancy jewelry and much of our clothing still says “Manhattan Beach Lodge.” We don’t have ipods or cell phones that really work and we usually eat in. We finagle frequent flier miles any way we can and are always on the lookout for a good value. All of this frugality allows us to have a “trip of a lifetime” every couple years.

When we visited the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam we heard a recorded interview with her father Otto who said upon finally reading her diary that he had no idea she had such deep and mature feelings about their hidden confinement. We learn that every experience is personal and our reactions are always our own. Even after ten weeks together, Mary and John have their own memories, and after a couple weeks with us, Pat would come away with different impressions. As we always say, our journal is to enable us to relive these personal experiences as we slide further into old age and if it is in the least bit interesting to others, so much the better.


One of our mantras is that on these trips we miss more than we see and we forget more than we remember. The little that we remember of the little that we saw is plenty though, and we are still the luckiest people we know.

Today's Picture:  The lucky ones.