C’est fini!

Late Thursday we made the difficult decision to blow off yet another train ticket (our second or third, we’ve stopped counting), and decided instead to catch a very early bus for the 2.5 hr trek to CDG airport.   The warnings of border security hold ups were just too convincing and so, we had an almost embarrassingly generous  cushion of some extra time to wander around the Paris airport, even after spending an hour in passport  control and security.    

Happily, our flight left on time, picked up extra time in the air, and landed at YYC a few minutes early.  If you must fly, try and get the Dreamliner because it sure feels more like a spa and less like a sardine can.  Nine hours makes a big difference in how often you can cross your legs.  

It is always elating to land in Canada, and I didn’t even get much of a hassle for the kilogram of French cheese in my suitcase.  Apparently, I have finally learned to travel internationally: abandon your train tickets, arrive ridiculously early, and smuggle home enough cheese to feed a small village.

And so, here I am in Calgary at 3 am - jet lag in full bloom. We will catch our final flight this morning back to Comox.   I am ready to step back in my life and enjoy some thoughtful time to assimilate all the learnings, delights, mishaps and memories of this truly once-in-a-lifetime experience! 

And, quite frankly, I will miss least of all the frenetic frequent ritual of patting my passport and cell phone pockets throughout the day, like some ritualistic dance.   “There?  You still there?  How about now?”  Like a very anxious squirrel checking that it still has its nuts.  Thankfully, that squirrel is finally home.

Au Revoir, Reims ❤️

It’s 24 hours to boarding and I am checked in, clenching slightly at the dire warnings to leave extra time to clear through the biometrics for leaving Schengen.  Thanks to the train bookings we only have one shot at this, and I hope the angel on my shoulder doesn’t fall off.

Perhaps the reverent time this morning at Basilique St. Remi will help.  It was another beautiful stroll - the predicted thunderstorm did not arrive and the cooler breeze was wonderful. The church was all but deserted, and so easy to take photos unmarred by crowds.   There were two groups of little French kids being herded gently by nuns, frequently reminded with a stern eye to hush.  And they did.  This is sacred ground that holds the remains of St. Remi, the bishop who baptized Clovis in the year 498.   I sat at his tomb and tried to grasp the immensity of earthly time and the history that was involved, along with the magnificence of the architecture.  Truly magnifique. 

Our wanders brought us back to the lively Reims Centre, busier than usual as it seemed that every teenager had taken the day off school.  They were all dressed entirely in black.  We later found out that it was a day of national protest.   Which explained why, while I was sitting enjoying a final glass of Chablis and some Iberian ham, that an entire riot squad marched by me.  Complete with tear gas canisters and crowd barrier guards.    When I asked the waiter, in broken French and English, qu’est-ce qui se passe?, he shrugged, said, this is France.  The young ones are always mad about something.  Meh!  Twenty minutes later the squad marched back and took off their shin guards, indicating, I guess, things were under control.   No one around me was even slightly concerned.  Just another day in France.

I will miss the ambiguity of Reims - the massive, sacred cathedrals and Basilicas, the restless pulse and energy of the youth, and the ancient sandstone buildings and cobbled streets.  But all good things come to an end.  Tomorrow, we tackle the journey home.   Bonne chance á nous!

Meeting Reims

We had a fantastic walk through central Reims today, beginning with the glorious Notre-Dame Cathedral. We spent a long time there, taking in the majesty of a church that has stood since the 1200s. The exterior was every bit as thrilling as the inside, and the mastery of light accomplished by craftsmen almost a thousand years ago simply cannot be overstated. It was breathtaking.  Impossible to capture it all with photographs, but it is indelibly printed to memory. 

Central Reims is wonderfully walkable, with discoveries around every corner. Pâtisseries, flower shops, lively cafés, and everywhere, people wandering about and the sound of lilting conversation filling the streets. The French are a passionate people, and we happened upon the tail end of some kind of demonstration, long since settled, but which nevertheless gave me my first taste of tear gas. Eye-stinging and brief, but another unexpected window into this culture.

After a quick pause for a beer, we continued on to find the “world’s largest and oldest Roman arches,” (that’s Dave, which will give you an idea of the scale), and just beyond them, the peaceful old walled cemetery. Spooky, reverent, sad, crumbling, resolute. It felt like a place where centuries of lives had somehow settled into the earth.

A very touching tribute to the Reims young men lost in WW1.

By late afternoon, we were spent and returned home for a glass of Chablis and more cheese. It’s time to relax, especially after this morning began with a bolus of adrenalin when we discovered that there were no train tickets available to get us back to the airport for our Friday flight. Thank you very much, Gay Pride parade and Céline Dion concert.

Once again, though, the angel on our shoulder somehow came through. Newly released train tickets appeared, and we are now assured of making it to Charles de Gaulle Airport, hopefully with enough time to catch our much-anticipated flight to YYC on Friday.

Another ineffable day in France.❤️

Wisdom

 

It means, treasure the little things. ❤️

Eglise Saint Maurice

 A warm day designated for rest, laundry and a few groceries grew much richer as we rounded the corner to discover the Tuesday market at Eglise Saint Maurice, a place of worship and sunny plaza dating back to the 6th Century.  Our interest was captured by the vendors - displays of French cheese, fresh seafood, vegetables, beautiful fruit.   We had already picked up the essentials at the grocery store, so returned to the market to load up on French cheese - Morbier, Comte, St. Nectaire, Fourmes, Jeune Brebis and gouda Vieux.   The vendor happily gave us samples of each and we murmured our thanks, not in French but in universal exclamations of delight, head bobs and effusive hand gestures.  He got the message.  Our packs burst with vegetables, everything from yellow beans to onion to garlic to deep purple eggplant.  I have no idea what’s on the menu tonight, but the cook knows.

Tomorrow - perhaps - we will explore this delightful city more thoroughly.  But today, is for rest. And cheese… lots and lots of cheese.

The Cadillac

 What a day.

I would have to think hard to count how many trains we were on today. The first was just after 8 a.m., to Dresden HBF. Six trains followed, and the sixth we missed by not even thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds.

Dave had wisely cancelled those tickets when we knew we were running late, but it was a bitter irony to discover that we could have made it after all. Especially when the replacement tickets cost him another $90.

We cooled our heels at Paris SUD and finally ate a meal: a cheese baguette with tomato, two very large beers, and a lively conversation with a fellow traveller who was originally from Brazil but had lived in Paris for fifteen years. He was friendly and funny, an Irish brandy promoter, and he gave us a little glass to sample.  That may have been part of what made the final train so much more pleasant.  The other part was that it was first class.  Silent. Sleek. Gliding through the darkness at 350 kilometres an hour.  We made it to Reims in only forty-five minutes.  I could have stayed on that train all night.  Of all the trains we rode that day, this one was a Cadillac.

When we slipped silently into the station, we checked the route to our lodging. Maps reported that it was “only 1.5 km.”  Only.  Uh huh.

It was, at least, straight shooting. No tunnels. No complicated turns. Just a very long walk dragging suitcases and backpacks through the inky darkness, quickly, because it was hot and we were tired.  I might have been worried, except for the cheerful young people who passed us now and again.  This is France, after all, and the evening was just getting started for the young.   The streets were calm. Nothing felt threatening.  Dave, as always, strode ahead with purpose.  And I hustled to keep up.  And tried to keep my lower lip from trembling. I was so done.

And then we opened the door, and there it was.  The loveliest apartment we have seen so far.  What a grand, soothing, much-needed surprise. ❤️

A sweet little living room. A totally functional kitchen.  Two large bedrooms and no shrieking beds. And, most wonderfully, a large bottle of ice water waiting thoughtfully in the refrigerator.  Heaven.  It is close to midnight here and it is still swelteringly hot.

Given that this day began after yet another fitful sleep, and we travelled across Germany and halfway across France on two bottles of iced tea and a couple of Werther’s candies, I think it is fair to say this was one of the most challenging days of my last decade.  And yet, here I am. In Reims.  Safe.  Tired.  And a little proud.

We have four nights here.  Four nights to recover.  Four nights to sleep.  Four nights to find some fabulous French cheese and sit still long enough to actually taste it.  

But for tonight, I am done.

Ever heard of this place?    I hadn’t either.   But this is where the 15 minute delay happened, that led to a cascade of events.   Don’t think I’ll come back here again.  🙄

Putzing around the Platz(s)

Dresden on a sunny Sunday is a magical place to be.  The tale of how we finally arrived here early last evening after training in from Poznań, reads somewhat like a convoluted, nonsensical, down the rabbit hole mystery.  It involved some divine intervention, blind luck, kindness from strangers, intuition, late trains, wrong trains, profanity, prayer, misdirections, and some fragrant time spent on a local commuter train, armpit to armpit with the locals including several strollers, bawling babies, a few dogs and at least four bikes, two of which were delivering food.

But, we’re here.   The apartment is cavernous and in a formerly illustrious building, about a century old.  The washroom is two floors below us, on a winding wooden staircase that does not forgive fools.  Stories will shared one-on-one by request only.

We are staying about 8 km south of the older part of Dresden, so took the tram in this morning and spent most of the day wandering through the green parks alongside the Elbe river, crossing bridges, and stopping at various die Plätze and benches along the way.  There was a peaceful Sunday vibe, despite a few crowds in the Old Market zone and the ornate Dresden Royal Palace.  There was an enormous mural running beside the castle, depicting all the rulers of Saxony spanning 1127 to 1904.   The interesting part is that the actual painting was converted to porcelain tiles in the early 1900s to protect it from the weather.

This somehow survived the bombing of Dresden in 1945

Green parks are everywhere and so inviting

Dresden Castle

Of course, all that wandering creates a powerful thirst so it was time for a beer and pretzel.

Tomorrow is THE big one - We will need to deal with our PTSD (post train syndrome despair) as it involves four different trains and about 12 or 13 hours to get us into Reims, where the last couple of days will be spent within a few km of the great houses of champagne, Veuve Clicquot and Taittinger, and savouring French cheese.  Then, like Augustus the Strong, we’ll be saddling up and heading home.

Augustus the Strong, 1736
(Before there were trains 😉)

Źegnaj Polsko

It’s another TGIF here in Poznań, and a cloudy, chilly day.  Even though most of the trees have still not started to turn, you can feel the nip of fall in the air.  Undaunted, we bundled up and caught tram #17 and enjoyed about a 20 minute ride into the old market.  There we wandered around and around, up and down old crumbly streets, and managed to fill the time easily before hastening back to the market centre for the aforementioned goat-head-butting clock, every day at noon and three pm.  Unfortunately, the beautiful city hall is currently under restoration and draped with scaffolding, but one could see the funny little mechanical goats appear right on schedule.  A little anticlimactic but fun nonetheless, and shared with a whole bunch of other tourists that looked as nonplussed as we did.

The town square was an easy place to spend a few hours and some thoughtful times sitting on a nearby bench, just soaking up the energy.    As always, the ancient parts of the city hold so much charm.  Poznań is a very large city, and the outer section is very commercial, with large malls and huge business buildings.  We were glad to tram through them and not stop.

Old Market Square

Check out the dragon on the top of this building!

We stopped in at the train station on our leg home to double check our tickets for tomorrow.  We are off to Germany in the morning at 11, with a quick stop for a switch of trains in Berlin and from there, to Dresden.  All being well, we should be there in time for happy hour.  Na zdrowie!  To your health!

Posnań

 What a difference a day makes.  We left fabulous Taruń via Uber because of a pretty good downpour.  The main train station, Toruń Main is a cavernous, complex entity but I am learning new tricks every day and can isolate bin/track/carte # with the best of them.  We enjoyed a coffee and a croissant before boarding and finding our bin.   We left on time and enjoyed a sedate ride west through the agricultural areas of this slice of Poland; mostly corn and (happily!) sunflowers.

Another uber rescued us on arrival in Poznań.   This is a bigger city than Taruń.  It’s on the Warta River and is a university city, something I have always loved, because of the young energy that seems to permeate the entire city.  Tomorrow we will explore the Old Market Square, where we are set to meet the two mechanical goats who butt heads at noon.

Our check in was probably in the top 26% of sibling efficiencies.   In other words, one sibling goes one way, cell phone in hand, neck craning upwards and sideways.  The other guards their abandoned sidewalk suitcases and backpacks with the ferocity of a papillon.   Once sib #1 comes back looking perplexed and very thirsty, sib #2 unleashes her secret weapon:  She asks strangers for help.

Sadly, that was a bust.  Not a lot of English spoken here and frankly, no smiles are returned.  The Poles are a serious bunch.

Nevertheless, turns out the place we needed was right next door to the place we landed.  Ever the way, just look a little left or right!   And oh, it is lovely.   Sparkling clean, with beds that do not shriek through the night with every fitful turn, a thoughtfully appointed kitchen that (gasp) included salt and pepper.   It’s a little busy as it is right on the tram line, but that will be to our benefit tomorrow when we disappear into the medieval part of town, just a 20 minute ride on Tram #15.

I’m feeling so great about this place.  Pasta for dinner tonight.

   Not exactly a fjord, but not unwelcome, either.

               This means, good morning or good day or have a good day or whatever else you want.

                      I better get used to this view… it has to take me allllll the way to Paris, bit by bit.  😊

Possible email hack

 Hi everyone,

It seems my email may have been hacked.   This is just to let everyone know that all is well and if you receive any weird requests for money from me, please ignore!  All is well.

Bloody European hackers!  😡

Walking the Vistula River

It’s a glorious, sunny morning and this was a great way to appreciate the ancient walls of the Old Town.  This walk is an easy few km, but for those who have the leg power it can be extended to about 16 km.   That is the 2 km bridge that we dragged our suitcases across just two days ago. It feels surreal.

Time is a completely different entity when you travel.  Clocks become expressions of mystery and beauty, rather than to simply to mark the hours.  And calendars cease to be lists of dates - they instead become bridges carrying us from one place, one experience, to the next.

Toruń

There has been much to absorb since we arrived in this beautifully-preserved medieval city.   It’s impossible to go wrong in a World Heritage Site that is famous for both gingerbread and Nicolaus Copernicus!  It has the charm and history of Gdansk, but on a much more relaxed scale, as it is not really a tourist attraction.  At the heart is an intact Gothic old town, with red brick churches with lavish gilt and gold interiors, crooked, cobblestone streets, the original city walls and towers that date back to the 1300s.  Thankfully, it escaped much of the destruction of WWII.  We arrived via a two hour train trip and decided, as we usually do, to simply walk to our lodging and that included trekking across one of the longest bridges I have ever dragged a suitcase behind. 898 meters becomes a marathon when you are also shouldering a backpack with wine, a large Polish sausage, Italian seasoning and a hunk of Parmigiana, because, that’s how it goes when you travel with a cook.  

First view of Toruń, taken from the middle of the bridge.

View from my bedroom window, up many flights of stairs (all different).

We logged a lot of steps today, and that was impressive given that there were a few cloudbursts that we had to duck around.  Fortunately (or not), we are on the top of our building and it is easy to see the boiling clouds headed our way.   The sound of the rain pounding through the night is paradoxically jarring and soothing.

It is impossible to do justice to this magical place with only photos.   It is so authentic and yet so inviting, with beautiful cafes and restaurants lining each square and cobblestoned corner.   The prices are enviable, especially when compared against the Norwegian kroner.

The only fly in the ointment is our lodging.   Fortunately, we have an extremely low bar to compare it to (Noni’s in Florence, Italy in 2021, where I refused to sleep in the bed until they supplied new linens, and Dave spent four hours fixing the WiFI).   This place is not friendly for kitchen crews, with a deplorable lack of utensils, including, most importantly, a corkscrew.   What kind of an Air BnB forgets that?  But, they did not reckon on solid Canadian tenacity and in the end, we triumphed.   

Another full day here tomorrow, and then Poznán welcomes us.   We’ve come a long way to witness a special clock where goats butt heads on the hour.  Can you blame us?

   We won.

The flowers here are still in full bloom!  

The fourth, and final staircase to our apartment, which is not half as elegant as it looks.  Trust me.

A Day of Wander and Wonder

We are only 15 minutes from the centre of Gdansk, and we have now walked through it at least three times.  Each time, there is something different and even more wonderful to see.  

Today’s first mission was to locate the train station and consult a very helpful lady who processed all of our tickets to Torun, Poznan, and then Dresden, all by rail, all cheap as borscht.  She frowned as she explained in her fragile English…. I will not issue you tickets from Berlin to Dresden.  Different country!  Way too much money!  She was right, it was far more reasonable to do it that way.

Remind me I said that in case this all blows up, right?

(No.   All is good).

We wanted to explore the park that is across the street from our lodging, and once in it, were delighted with a network of trails and pretty ponds.  We could hear some pretty raunchy music floating in from somewhere and, as is our nature, we immediately searched it out using aural technology.   A climb up a hill revealed a huge gathering and a rock style band revving up everyone for the start of a marathon.  The sight of pink balloons, pink ribbons and a lot of pink-haired competitors put a lump in my throat.  It was a “The Cure for Breast Cancer” race.   

Solidarity, my sisters. ✊🏻

Thrills today included a wander through the Franciscan Church of the Holy Trinity, whose history reaches back to the early 15th century, with the present great church completed in 1514.  It was absolutely full of artifacts and history.  We were the only ones there, and spent a quiet, meditative time listening to the organist practice.  What a privilege.  

 We wandered past the Wieza Wiezienna (Prison Tower) - and a heck of a formidable one it is - part of the Renaissance prison complex on Dluga Street.   And, we returned to St. Mary’s for a chance to see the amazing astrological clock, built by Hans Duringer of Torun (where we will be tomorrow!) in 1464.   It is too big to photograph in one shot so I just captured the top of it.  

The church of two saints - St. Peter and Paul, was a splendid Gothic church, embodying medieval Gdansk, the reformation, the scars of WW2, and Catholic history.  

It was, after all, the Sabbath today but we did work out some life balance with a stop at a lovely Italian restaurant beside the canal for a pizza ai quattro formaggi - the best I have ever had.  

And an Aperol, my first - and absolutely delicious.