One Month, Five Countries

France and Germany

8/17/21 – Miami to Madrid

It’s 10:20 pm (my body’s time) and who knows when current time. Past midnight, I’m thinking.

Being a big ole American gal, I paid $100 extra to get a seat on the emergency exit row, and I don’t regret it, even though I’ve actually scooted over to the seats to the left behind the bulkhead (still considered part of the exit row, which is why the mother/daughter duo who tried to scoop these seats earlier were sent back to their economy class gulag). Anyway, I have the row to myself and am living the good life with all my stuff spread out.

What I didn’t pay for was the $500 they wanted for me to check a bag, which means I packed very carefully for a three-week (and a couple days) trip in just my little (53x20x16cm) carry on.  I thought about it for weeks and packed (with the help of my expert packer [Mom]) the following: two dresses, a second pair of pants (wearing jeans on the flight), five tops, a second pair of shoes, undergarments, pajamas, and toiletries. 

Impressing myself for my traveling light, I stride up to check-in with my paperwork (including Covid vaccine stuff) in order with just my little wheelie bag and my purse (holding my laptop). I strike up a conversation with some people while our departure gate changed from B15 to B12 to B16 and finally to A3 (with much grumbling), and they were impressed with my little suitcase.

“I like to travel light!” I said and treated my current best friends to some Chardonnay. 

  

So, of course, when I finally got to board the plane, they’d run out of overhead space and made me check my bag. 

I’m hoping like crazy it actually shows up in Lyon.

Lyon

But beyond that, I am determined not to stress. The last few months have been difficult. I gave up my apartment in New Orleans to live with my mother to help look after my father. Well, she looked after Dad, and I tried to look after Mom. He passed a few weeks ago, and since then we’ve been getting the house ready to go on the market and looking for a place to move in together in NOLA. Mom’s been nothing less than a marvel, but…yeah, a little stress there. 

France:

 

So, the bag showed up, no problems, which freaked me out, though pleasantly. Also, I forgot that I had already gotten into the EU in Madrid, so I was surprised when I didn’t have to show my passport in France. 

Lysel (pronounced LEE-sehl) is perfectly lovely in her pink kimono and sneakers with different colored shoelaces. Her apartment is fun-sized and full of books and fandom merch. I slept like a rock on her daybed.

8/19/21 - Lyon

We have breakfast with tea and croissants.

Oh, I must mention the three cats. They rule the place under the eyes of their doting mother, and so far I have been tentatively accepted. They’re all males. One is a butterball orange-and-white, one’s a thick black cat named Misha, and one is a scrappy black-and-white. I must not step on any tails!  

We’re off today to see the older part of Lyon and enjoy some museums and churches.

 

The old section of Lyon is much more what I was looking for in a trip to France. Lysel’s place, though lovely and most welcome, is in a part of town that could be anywhere. Think off-campus student housing. The only thing that feels foreign besides the power plugs is the siren from the ambulance/police car and the fact that the toilet isn’t in the same room as the sink.

Old Lyon makes me think, unsurprisingly, of New Orleans. There are large lovely and ornate facades with wrought iron work. A bunch of little shops fill the streets, from a local art studio to clothing stores to a place that just sells colored light bulbs.

We hoof up to the church on the hill, which is quite lovely. 

The hill is so steep we rode the funicular up and then took a huge row of stairs down that made my legs wobble. 

 

We see a Roman theater that’s 2,000 years old and looks out over an incredible view of Lyon.

We had lunch at a place that offers organic gelato and sorbets, and I had a wonderful concoction of lime sorbet, mango sorbet, and yogurt whipped cream with fruits and a little biscotti and blueberry puree.

 

Then Lysel took me to a shop that has a bunch of products based on various citruses. I bought bottles of citrus liqueur, lemon curd (for Mom), and some citrus marmalade (for Lysel, I hate marmalade). The guy (who was from London and a great salesman) had us both try this 140 proof liquor in a teaspoon with a sugar cube. It burned, but it was fun. You have to chew up the sugar cube and only then swallow. I felt I was finally recompensed for the sugar cube I didn’t get with my polio vaccine as a child.

After that, we went to a museum that is obviously a favorite of my host’s, a movie memorabilia and miniature collection set inside a building from the sixtcentury. It made for a fun mix. There was a Horus guard from Stargate and the Alien and tiny set designs.

After that, we were both tired, so we went back to her place to rest a while before we got back on the tram and went to Le Tiroir, where we had a three-course dining experience with matched wines: mushrooms and artichoke hearts in passion fruit sauce with a Parmesan twill, roast duck with mustard sauce, and four cheeses. I have now discovered Saint-Nectaire cheese. Holy cow.

 After that, we went back to her place and slept. I’m really doing well in the new time zone, at least so far. I’ve woken twice now at 7:30 am, which is pretty much my usual.

Lysel is incredibly fun to talk to, though she knows all the stuff I know, which is weird for me. Great, but weird. She may actually know more about useless trivia than I do!

BTW, She has lived in Paris came to Lyon not long ago. She’s traveled all over. It’s so fun!

She’s planning an excursion for us now for next week to Cannes and Eze and Nice in the south of France. I also want to go to Grasse, which is where those Chanel 5 roses are grown.

8/20/21

What a fun day!

After a lazy start (I’m here for two weeks! Why rush?), Lysel and I went to this fabulous marketplace with cheeses and meats and fish and pastries and wine and more. We walked all around (I was starving.) and finally into a spot that served seafood to get shucked oysters.

It was so fun to look over the oyster choices. They had oysters from three different regions. We went with the ones from the Netherlands, medium sized. There was no cocktail sauce, and they were so cold and salty! So yummy! We also got some crab, which wasn’t great (frozen). But the bottle of wine we shared was fantastic and perfect with the oysters (and bread and butter).

 

Then we walked around a bit and had a coffee at a fun little place. Lysel wanted to buy some tea, but that shop was closed. We did go into an Asian market and got some fun snacks (Pocky!) and some sake and plum wine.

Then we went back to the marketplace. I had said earlier in the week that I loved charcuterie boards. First, Lysel took us to a cheese vendor, and we got some of that Saint-Nectaire, some comte, some blue cheese, and something else I don’t remember the name of but that I’m looking forward to trying, kind of a Swiss-blue hybrid.

Then we went to a butcher, and Lysel explained we were doing charcuterie and asked a bunch of questions about the various offerings. The butcher was very friendly and offered all kind of things. We got ham cooked in salt, prosciutto, hard salamis, some sort of dried beef, something that looked like cured/dried bacon, and smoked ham. Wonderful stuff! We also got some walnut and fig bread.

Then we picked up some wine and went back to her place. We drank some of the wine, ate some prosciutto, and watched a show I’ve been wanting to see but couldn’t get my hands on, Kings of Con.

The show, which has ten fifteen-minute episodes, stars the cast of Supernatural playing parody versions of themselves. The guys who plays Chuck and Gabriel are the main characters, and we see them slogging their way through con after con. One’s going through a mean divorce, the other is a horndog, and then various other actors from the show make their cameos and crack hilarious insider jokes about Supernatural, The Love Boat, and other shows.

Tomorrow, we plan to visit a medieval village - https://www.sylvianenuccio.com/perouges-a-french-village-from-the-middle-age

8/21/21

The village is cute, and we had wine and some bread that looks like pizza topped with sugar. The real treat was meeting Lysel’s friend Jeanna (I’m not spelling that right—JA-nah). Delightful! And she has a business with a friend in which she teaches people how to write books. Very close to my job, so we had a lot to talk about.

The village dates back to the 14^th century, and the cobblestone roads are real ankle twisters. The oddest thing is that people live there. Here we are walking through a medieval street, and suddenly one of the wooden doors goes up like a garage door and an Audi compact pulls out.

I find a fun little jewelry boutique and hold a tourist-level French conversation with the artist. I end up buying some fun purple earrings for only 20E. And since it’s Europe, they really are 20E. No added on sales tax to make me dig around in my purse for change. “Bien-soire-eh,” I say as I leave. She laughs and smiles.

 

After the village, we went to a sushi place that was all-you-can-eat and has one of those little tracks that turns by you offering up plate after plate. I had some just-OK-but-cheap sake and stuffed myself while having a wonderful conversation with Jeanna and Lysel about politics, America, France, cancel culture, South Park, and God knows what else. It was great, and no one got offended!

8/22/21

After a good night’s sleep, Lysel and I decided to take most of Sunday off.

We ate up the last of the dried meats from the market, though we’re still working through the cheeses. There was more yummy wine, and then we started in on a show Lysel loves called Band of Brothers. I’ve known about the show since it came out twenty years ago, but I never got into it. It’s very good. There are ten one-hour episodes, and I’m on episode six.

Halfway through episode four, I pause it and take a nap. Ahhhh.

We take a little walk later. So beautiful.

 

 

We try another restaurant that night, one that features a "heartier" menu. It's the best beef stew I've ever had.

 

8/23/21

This morning, Monday, I’m all too aware that I have some work to do. Bleh. Lysel is currently at an appointment and has another one for this afternoon.

My big adventure today (really need to work) was going to the supermarket all by myself. I walked the half-mile down the street and saw the various shops and things, but I knew if the patisserie and other things were any good, Lysel would have said so.

The supermarket itself (think the size of the Piggly Wiggly but narrower) looks just like an American store but with French on all the packages. I got some figs and apricots that looked ripe, some madeleines (for Lysel), a smoked salmon (very American-looking) sandwich, and two bottles of wine. I’m drinking the Sancerre right now, and it’s OK. Nothing like the Sancerre we had at the restaurant, but that’s to be expected. I also got a Chard, and we’ll see how that goes.

So then I get in line, but when I get to the cashier, I’ve done something wrong.

“Blah blah French blah,” she says.

“Je regrette,” I say. “Je suis Americane.”

“You need to weigh this,” she says, thank God.

So I take the produce back and look around. A lovely woman helps me after my awkward gestures, and I find the machine. It’s actually a good idea. Saves time at checkout. I weigh my figs and apricots and go back.  Mission accomplished!

I spend the rest of the day working on a paper. The wine was good.

 

8/24/21

The next few days are going to be busy, so today was nice and low-key. Basically, we did some laundry and rested. The Chardonnay wasn’t great, but it wasn’t bad. I think I need to stop thinking they’re going to taste like California Chards. I read and did a little work and took a nap.

We did go for a walk in the lovely sunshine to get the train tickets all ready for the next days. We also needed some supplies. Lysel bought us huge slices of this flan (no gelatin and denser than Spanish flan). The bread and pastries here are just crazy good. Lysel also got herself some fancy teas from a tea store that had wonderful blends and smelled like heaven.

There is a Lyonaise specialty in pastry with this pink “praline” flavor, but it doesn’t entice me. I’m so spoiled for choice!

8/25/21

OK, serious vacationing today. We got up and out the door for the 8:30 a.m. train. (The flan was great for breakfast.) This was quite early for Lysel, who tends to sleep until 10 or 11 in the morning.

Now, it’s important that I can navigate alone the route back and forth from the train station to Lysel’s place, which I’m pretty confident about. I have tickets for the tram, so it’s a matter of leaving her place, turning left, going down to the road, turning left again, then getting on the tram (T1) and taking it to the train station. I now have experience finding the right gate for departure, so I should be good for going to Germany in about a week.

OK, so we get on the train and tiny little Lysel promptly curls up in the seats opposite me and goes to sleep. I look out the window and play with my phone for two hours. It really is lovely countryside. 

 

And then we’re in Geneva! I’m a dumb American, so wasn’t sure what they spoke in Switzerland. I knew there was something like a national language, but not a language called “Swiss.” Turns out, they speak French, Italian, and “Swiss German,” which let me feel slightly better about being so ignorant.

The language thing has been fun. The French I learned at school is enough for me to read warning signs and directions about wearing a mask and keeping a social distance. Lysel has helped me pick up a few phrases, and the Italian I’ve learned is helping as well.

But come on, I have a MASSIVE American accent, and when I try to say even things like “Tres jollie,” people smirk a little. But it’s a nice enough smirk. I think they appreciate I’m trying. It’s very different from what I remember (Spent a week in Paris in 1984.) and what I’ve heard about Parisians, who sneer in distain.

Anyway, small things, as always, really let you know you’re in a different country. Unlike the old Lyon area, with purely French architecture that looks like the French Quarter (roughly built around the same time), Geneva has French, Belgian, German, and who knows what else in the building styles. There are lovely bits of texture and painting in small corners and doorways.

Today is also the first time I’ve noticed a major difference between French/Switzerland and the US/UK. There are revolving doors that are not flanked by doors that simply push open to the outside. This is considered a fire hazard in the US/UK because revolving doors can get jammed with people.

 

Geneva, I also noticed right away, is incredibly clean. And I don’t mean Lyon was at all dirty! Geneva is just…super clean.

And then there’s the toilets. In France, public toilets are not typically gendered. There’s just a toilet with an occasional sink-room then toilet-room. The toilet paper is usually these little squares you bunch up in your hand, and the toilet room itself is as old as the building.

In Geneva, we walk into town from the station and find a little café. I go to the toilet, and the door opens at my approach. There’s a men’s and women’s. I enter the women’s, and the light comes on automatically. It’s not quite the magic toilets of Japan, but it’s close!

Back in the café, Lysel gets a fancy coffee, and I get a blond beer. I order a large, and as I thought, it’s just a basic mug. A medium is probably 8 oz., and a petite may come in a thimble.  (Thumping of American chest.)

The weather is perfect, a little cool with the midday sun bright and clean. We walk across the Rhone and look all around at the shopping. I see a bag I really like, and then we walk past several chocolate places. I decide to get a box of Swiss chocolates for Alina and her family to thank them for hosting me.

We don’t stop to shop, though, loving walking through the narrow streets filled, as in France, with pedestrians and people on scooters. Besides, Lysel wants to go to the St. Pierre Cathedral (15^th century). As with the other old churches on this trip, it’s in the classic Catholic design of a vaulted main stretch, but with secondary aisles and antechambers. The pipe organ is lovely, and the stained glass is delightful.

 

And here is where I get a little worried. Lysel wants to pay the 7 Swiss francs to go up the north tower. We’re warned it’s 153 steps. She offers to let me wait for her, but what’s the point of that? So we pay and then go through the door and up…and up…and…oh man. It’s a tiny spiral stairwell. I’m holding onto the metal bar going up the center for dear life. Lysel tells me to think about what this is doing for my butt.

Fortunately, there are places along the way to stop and look out.

Eventually, we get to the top of the damn thing, and yes, the view is lovely. I start to appreciate why Lysel keeps talking about the lake.

 My legs wobble on the way down.

OK, now I demand lunch. It takes a while of walking, but we find a perfect restaurant with a view of the lake. We both order the Porn Star Martini, which has Grey Goose, triple sec, vanilla, prosecco, and passion fruit. It’s delicious. 

She gets some nicely poached fish, and I get a crispy wrap with perfectly smoked (non-salty) salmon. It’s perfect.

 Now we walk around the lake and then through the city some more. We see another church (no real stairs this time) and go looking for that fun bag I saw in the window. I also buy some chocolates for Alina and family and then another little box for me and Lysel.

The two hours back to Lyon go quickly. We get back to her place, pack for tomorrow, and go to bed.

8/26/21

We took the train to Nice, a little over four hours. The view was pretty, lots of trees, and then we got to Cannes. OMG! The water was so lovely! And we traveled along the coast for about an hour. The French Riviera is even lovelier than they say.

At Nice, I just followed Lysel through the train station. There was great energy in the air. We checked our bags for a couple hours and walk down to the beach area. We find this adorable restaurant next to the beach, which is filled with blue-white-striped umbrellas. 

I’m delighted to find Salad Nicoise on the menu!

I am not delighted when it shows up. CANNED TUNA! Can you believe it? There’s a hard little boiled egg, some greens, a nice vinaigrette, and two anchovies out of a tin. Seriously, booo!

The wine was good.

We then walked slowly back to the train station and got our bags and the car, a little Citroën. I don’t realize how long it’s been since I drove a stick until I’m sitting behind the wheel, but with a hearty spirit, we set off…and almost instantly go off route and go down this hideous little alley. It ends with a tunnel that is obviously way too low for the car. (It’s a little over a meter, I think?)

So then I try to go in reverse, and I can’t. Seriously, I try and try to get the car into R, and it won’t do it. So I get out the phone and look it up. Turns out, with Citroëns, to get it into reverse you have to lift up this ring on the gear stick. There is NOTHING on the stick to indicate this. (Later, when I tell this to Alina and her mother, Jutta, in Germany. They say, “Well, yeah.” Like everyone knows this!)

Anyways, I cannot turn the car around even with putting it in reverse or back out of the curvy alley. Finally, Lysel says she thinks we can make it through the tunnel. I inch us and inch us along. We make it!

We end up in Grasse, which is where many of France’s major perfumeries are, including whoever (it’s a secret) makes Chanel No. 5. I wanted to see the field where they rose those special roses for the perfume, but they had been harvested in late May. Instead, we went to a major perfumery, Galimard, and took a tour.

Galimard prides itself on its use of flowers that they boil and steam and mix with stuff. We learn about “the Nose” who works there a few hours a day to keep the formulas working right and to make up new recipes for scents.

I have a lot of trouble finding scents that work for me, and at the end of the tour when the guide is drowning us in fragrancies I really don’t like, I make a comment about how my favorite smell is old books, which it is. Suddenly, she’d whipping out this “Bois de Lune (Wood of the Moon)” fragrance that smells wonderful! I end up buying some, to my total surprise.

We walk around a bit more, then we get back to the car, and Lysel then navigates us (Google maps) to the hotel we’ll be staying at, which is called the Formula 1 Hotel, except it’s in French. Along the way, we stop at a market and stock up on wine, cheese, bread, and some fruit. I want ice for my wine, but they don’t sell bags of it, so she (sweetie that she is) gets some shrimp and has them put some ice in a baggy to keep the shrimp cold.

The hotel itself is a miracle. Smack dab in the south of France and next to everything (by car), we will stay there for four nights at only 25E per person per night. Of course, the WC and shower are down the hall, and the beds are narrow, but quite comfortable. Everything is clean and well supervised. I’m pleasantly surprised by how nice it is. It has none of that funky smell that cheap motels often have.

There is, however, still no more ice to be had. I use what I have, though, and the wine is good.

We sleep well enough, all things considered.

8/27/21

Today is Eze. As the internet says, “Eze is a beautiful hilltop medieval village in the south of France, between Monaco and Nice. The village is famous for its spectacular views, impressive architecture, and stunning geographical location above the French Riviera.”

First, this means a lot of driving, but I’m getting comfortable with the car now, including converting kilometers to miles (grab the nearest ten, knock off the zero, and multiply by six). We make it to the town itself in good time, but then we’re looking for the parking for the shuttle. And we look and climb the mountain, and look and climb some more. Finally, we find it! It only costs 6 E to park, but that ticket it also good for admission to le Jarden Exotic. The shuttle driver goes back over the roads I crept up like he’s done it a thousand times, which he probably has.

Now, the thing to know about Eze is that it’s where they grow a lot of the flowers the perfumeries use in Grasse. The climate supports both lush Mediterranean flora and desert cacti. A selection of lovely plants awaits us at the top of the Eze village in that Jarden Exotic.

But first we must make our way there. We climb. A lot.

 

There are little gift shops and historical plaques. It’s lovely. The sun is bright but not hot; the wind is cool but not cold. The view grows of the water and hills as we climb up the cobblestone walks. I’m so glad I wore my new dress. I feel so colorful and carefree.

 

About halfway up, we stop at a little café. I have some wine. Lysel gets water with lemon, but I mean a lot of lemon. It’s like un-sugared lemonade, but the lemons are so sweet! I have a sip, and it’s so refreshing. Two men play a tune on some medieval instruments that are a drum and a viola-like instrument with a drone quality.

The wine is good.

We continue on up and get to the Jarden Exotic. There are little paths all over with fantastic views of the French Riviera and the gorgeous countryside. We see all manner of flowers and cacti. People have been coming to this garden for hundreds of years. At the top, there are the ruins of a fortress one of the kings had destroyed a couple centuries ago, and there is now a 360 view of the area. It’s breathtaking, but the sunlight is so bright!

 

 

Next to the garden is a restaurant that looks like it’s been there forever. We end up in the little stone room with glassless windows overlooking the sea. To my surprise, the menu isn’t too expensive, and the food is great! I get gnocchi with beef stew and some lovely wine. Lysel gets these little butterflied fish.

The real delight, however, is the tart for desert. It’s figs and apples and pecans and some sort of nut paste with citrus. There’s no corn syrup so you can actually taste the fruit, and the crust is flaky and lovely. I’m going to try to make this at home.

We climb down now, looking into a few of the shops. I find another place that sells that citrus liquor, but I plan to buy some later. I don’t want to carry it around.

Lysel gets some postcards and has me do the same. We sit in a little café (crepes for her, wine for me) and write out our messages to friends. But it’s getting close to the last shuttle time, so we pack up before we finish.

Down and down we go, eventually getting back to where the shuttle picks people up. We get inside. My legs are very tired. We drive back to the hotel. There is still no ice.

I don’t have wine. I’m just too tired to enjoy it. We sleep.

8/28/21

OK, today is Menton.

We start with showers and breakfast. I should mention that the shower (le douche, lol) is very clever. It’s one piece of fiberglass molded into a little alcove with wall pegs and then the shower itself, which needs its little button pressed every thirty seconds or so to keep going. The water is warm and refreshing. When I get out this morning, someone has already flipped the door sign around from “clean” to “dirty.” I never see anyone do it, but I imagine someone comes by with disinfectant and sprays/hoses them down between uses.

(Actually, I find out later from Lysel that the cubicle has its own self-cleaning feature.)

Lysel is a tiny thing, but she can really pack in the breakfast. Since it’s free food, basically, I try to emulate her, but my stomach is so picky in the mornings. There’s coffee, juice, (bad) yogurt, applesauce, and bread and butter with jam. The apricot stuff is delicious. Oh, and there was some cereal I ignored. I think it was corn flakes.

OK, so we get in the car I’m getting more comfortable with, and we drive off to Menton, which is a town near the Italian border. We actually drive through Monaco on the way there, and it looks to be great fun, but that’s for tomorrow.

We reach the seaside town, and the day is bright and crisp. First, we go to the beach. Lysel has never put her feet in the water of the French Riviera (and well, neither have I). The sky is blue, the sunlight is golden, and the water is so clean and refreshing on my feet. The beach itself is just pebbles, which aren’t hella fun to walk on, but it’s still great.

 

The town, as I will soon see for myself, was built with the idea of repelling invaders, or at least confusing them. The streets wind their way up the side of the mountain, twisty and unmarked and lovely. The walls of the apartment buildings are very high, often with a canopy of wires and the occasional clothes line. There are stone archways like short tunnels. The sun is warm, but we’re cool in the breeze off the sea.

People’s voices, children laughing and crying, TVs, and other noises make their way from the (in my American eyes) tiny apartments behind the centuries-old doors and through the small windows. I smell food cooking and spot the frequent cat. A sign in French above some flower pots asks people not to let their dogs poop in the plants.

Soon enough, we’re hungry. Everything we find is pretty obviously a tourist trap, but hey. We’re being tourists.

We wind up in a seafood restaurant, Fruits de la Mer. I get some of said mer fruits (muscles that are fresh, shrimp that is frozen) over some pasta. The sauce is quite nice, and the wine is good.

Lysel gets a plate of seafood. She eats a muscle (“Fresh,” she says quietly.), some octopus (“Frozen.), some shrimp (“Frozen”), some clams (“Fresh.”), and some scallops (“Frozen.). “Not too bad for a place like this,” she judges. I agree.

The view is fun. We keep walking up and down the streets and find an outdoor market with garage-sale-quality things. We look at books and doo-dads. I find an adorable horse brooch, only 20E, but I have no cash. The woman holds onto it for me, we find an ATM, and I get money, and we go back. The horse is mine.  J

At one point, Lysel points out to the hills to our south-east. “That third hill there is Italy,” she says. So cool!

On the way back to the Formula 1, I am absolutely determined to get some ice. Grrrr.

So, we stop at a different grocery and pick up some fruit and, ta-da!!, two bags of ice. Back in our little room, we sort our stuff, I chill that wine right down and drink a couple glasses to the day. It’s very good.

8/29/21

OK, today is Monaco.

Breakfast and back to the car. I’m feeling much more comfortable now. We get back to Monaco as we did the day before, but this time the cops who ignored us yesterday have us pull over and show our vaccination cards.

I have learned to say (though I’m sure I’m spelling it wrong), “Je suis Americane. Dociens vaccante Avril,” while I point to the line on my card that says I got my second vaccination shot in April. As has been usual on the trip, they’re fine with that.

Monaco has a museum, so Lysel takes us there. It’s half-aquarium, half-maritime museum. The jellyfish and seahorses are great, and I get into a staring match with a couple of cuttlefish. I think they won.

 

 The maritime part is boring for me, but the building itself is lovely, so I ignore the exhibits and check out the molding and doorways.

 

Time for lunch. Because we think they’ll be fresh, we get the special muscles. They are fresh, but there’s only one serving left, so Lysel gets some pasta. It all works out, and I have a nice glass of wine.

From there, we go into Monte Carlo, and I have to tell ya, I’m really disappointed. Lysel and I take a selfie in front of the famous casino, but it’s . . . already pinging my “fake” alarm. Getting closer doesn’t help. In English, for some reason, there’s a lit sign right into the open doors to the casino that reads, “Life’s a game. Let’s play!” I bet it took a whole minute to come up with that.

There’s a James Bond poster on the left side of the doors and a car poster on the other side. Some sport thing. There are also a lot of fancy cars parked in the square in front of the casino. I think they’re prizes or something, but most of them need a good scrubbing. Lysel and I laugh at one that looks like a red Batmobile.

We go up to the steps and to the woman who is checking for vaccination cards at the door. She looks at my card. “Je suis Americane. Dociens vaccante Avril.”

“Der is only one shot,” she says.

“Yes, but it’s on the line that says ‘2^nd Shot.”

Lysel explains in French.

“Why is der only one shot?”

“I lost my first card. But see, they put the date for the second shot on that line. This was my second shot.”

“Der is only one shot.”

She gets some guy to look it over, and with some disdain he says in French (as Lysel tells me later) that I could have faked the card.

Oh yeah, I committed a federal crime to spend five minutes in your casino, dude.

So then I pull out my phone with my LA Wallet app that shows “You’re vaccinated!” validated by the Louisiana Health Board. I show it to them and explain that means I got two shots.

“Der is only one thing. Where is de second shot?”

I look at Lysel and shrug. “Tant pis.”

The woman looks angry. I’m not sure why. I just said, “Too bad,” in French.

I take the 20E I was going to lose at roulette and buy a glass of wine (for me) and a chocolate milkshake (for Lysel) at the little café next to the casino. The waiter has no problem with my vaccination card. The wine is eh. I’m beginning to think I don’t like French Chardonnays.

I ask Lysel why the woman got angry when I said, “Tant pis.” Well, turns out that the phrase does mean, “Too bad,” but it also means, “Fuck this.”

I’m not sorry.

I also find out that the cars parked in front of the casino belong to rich (if only in their own minds, there are several non-Batmobile cars in there) patrons who want to show off their cars while they’re in the casino.

I finish my wine and look around. It 100% feels like a slightly rundown section of Disneyland. Lysel and I agree we’re done with Monte Carlo.

But Lysel is full of wonderful ideas, so we head back the way we came and end up in the lower Riviera. Think of Eze but near the water. We find a great place to park and walk through the harbor and just watch the boats for a while. Everyone has had a great day out on the sea, and families are pulling in to their slips, including a yacht I didn’t think was going to fit.

Along the harbor is a semi-circle of restaurants. Lysel looks them over, and we pick the place really touting how fresh their seafood is.

I now have the best wine so far: Heritage.

 I have a white fish carpaccio with tomatoes that is perfect, and Lysel has roasted octopus that is, indeed, fresh. We watch the sun go down and drink our wine and eat our seafood. It’s lovely.

Back to the hotel. Sleep.

8/30/21

I remember little of this day. We took the train back to Lyon. When we get back to Lysel’s place, I slept like the dead.

8/31/21

Today is more laundry and generally packing up what I’m going to need for Germany. I leave things like the lemon curd and the bar of lavender soap (from Grasse) in Lysel’s care and gather up pretty much all my clothes.

Tomorrow, Germany!

9/1/21

Alina welcomed me so nicely to Germany. She made a sign and all sorts of things. What a sweetie!

9/2/21

Alina's mom made broken pancakes, and we visitedthe Black Forest.

9/3/21: Heidelberg. 

 

 9/4/21

Today we drove to Berlin.

We got up early and managed to get on the road by a little after 7 a.m.

Very nicely, if protectively, Alina’s father loaned us his BMW to drive to Berlin. The journey is about 650 km, which would have been about six hours, except that we kept running into traffic jams. Still, it only took us about 7.5 hours.

We played each other’s music, I looked out the windows. I did fine on my turn at the wheel, and then suddenly got sleepy. It was horrible to admit I’d almost fallen asleep at the wheel, but then I realized I really need to admit how incredibly tired I am by all this. I’m loving it enormously, but my body has no idea what time it is. I was behind the wheel and warm with nothing really going on, and I almost nodded off.

Bad Julia.

I came alert quickly when Alina said something, and there was no real harm done. But yipes!

Around 3:30 p.m., we got into Berlin. I saw some old buildings without knowing what they were, and then Alina drove into the parking of the InterCity Berlin Hotel. (There are a couple dozen InterCity Hotels throughout Europe.)

Compared to the Formula 1 Hotel, the place is lush. Think Holiday Inn Express without the full-sized beds. We have the same long-narrow mattress setup as the Formula 1, but with our own bathroom with a nice shower. The lobby is nice if utilitarian, and we see the place where we’ll get a complementary breakfast in the morning. The price for both of us for two nights is just 200E.

After Alina checks us in, we go up to the room to see the long-narrow beds. There’s a fridge and a safe, and it has that system I first saw in Japan where you put the room key in a little place by the door to turn the lights on.

We unpack a bit. Alina thinks the room is small and the beds are small. There’s no view. She worries it will be noisy with the trains. (It isn’t, thank goodness.)

Then we gear up and walk around. It’s colder than I thought it would be. I realize I’m probably not going to be wearing my shorts. (And, indeed, I wear my jeans the whole stay.)

We’re both hungry, and we’ve been talking about sushi. I Google it, and Berlin has about a hundred sushi restaurants—and about a hundred more that serve it as part of the menu. I find a well-reviewed place within walking distance. It’s just a generic-looking hole in the wall, but the sushi is delicious. I order too much and don’t care. The white tuna roll is excellent, and there’s this crazy salmon dish that blows my mind. 

 

The sake is OK.

After that, we walked around a bit. Alina works hard to figure out the public transportation system, which is awesome. The city trains (subway, basically) are working just fine, and there are buses and trams. We never wait for more than a few minutes for transportation the whole visit. Additionally, as part of our deal with the InterCity Hotel, we get passes for public transportation during our stay.

Anyway, she’s great at getting us where we need to go. I’m hopeless because I have no idea about anything German, and I can’t sort of figure out the signs the way I did in France.But everything is beautiful. We see Europe's oldest Protestant church and find some people dancing on the river.

I also notice a lovely little dim pub, and we go in there for the toilet and some beer. I end up getting a one-liter local brew. It’s delicious. 

 

Alina gets ice cream at a city square called Hackescher Markt. We walk around some more and play in some souvenir shops. I make fun of some “pieces” of the Berlin wall by questioning their authenticity, but we do see some genuine-looking ones in a museum shop.

And now to the next event of the day: the Ice Bar Berlin!

OK, so I heard about ice bars a few years ago. The idea is that everything is covered in ice, and the glasses are made of ice. They give people parkas to wear. Beyond that, I don’t know anything else.

So, we get to the bar, and they explain. You pay about 20 E to get in, and with that you get three drinks. The inside of the place is set up like an old harbor bar, and videos of German arctic expeditions play on the walls. The waiter is a nice guy and speaks English. I get one of his signature cocktails with vodka and juices, which is excellent, and Alina (who doesn’t drink much at all) has a Sex on the Beach without the Sex.

They ring the bell after about a half-hour, and we take our “passports” with us to the arctic. We are given parkas and gloves. Somewhere in there I manage to lose my mask, but they give me a replacement one that’s black, which is cool. And then we go to a spotlight-illuminated room with an ice-covered bar and ice sculptures. 

 

There’s a polar bear and a loaded sled and a human ice body wearing arctic gear with a hole where the face should be. The photo op is obvious.

 

Sure enough, we get glasses made of ice. Both Alina and I get this praline-like shot that goes down smoothly and sweetly.

It’s so damn cold. It makes everyone a little giddy. For some reason, it’s all incredibly fun. I get a shot of vodka for my third drink, and Alina gets a Sprite. (She’s not supposed to get an ice shot glass and then an ice soft drink glass, but then the bartender shrugs. “Who cares? Just don’t tell on me.”)

We finish our drinks, shivering and laughing, and then we leave for the blissful warmth of the regular bar, stripping off our parkas and gloves. We both agree it was a total hoot.

After that, it’s time to go back to the hotel. Alina puts my leftover sushi in the fridge, but I confess I never do eat it. We just don’t stay long enough in our hotel room!

I’m wired, so I leave Alina in the room so she can have a bit of privacy and take my laptop down to the little bar in the lobby.

They have Tanqueray! However, he has no idea what I mean by a martini, and there’s no olive in sight, so I have a lovely G&T and chat with him and generally decompress. I tell him about New Orleans, and he tells me about being a bartender. I tell him how guilty I feel about Mom and her being without power and me not there to help her. He tells me not to think about such things while I’m on vacation.

There is something terribly selfish about vacations. You leave behind your responsibilities (if you can) and just concentrate on having fun. I’m neglecting work, Fic Facer$, online friends—pretty much everything except being here in Europe. I love it, but my ability “not to think about it” is weakening.

The decompression works a treat. I go up to the room, change into my PJs, and flop into bed. I sleep through the night.

9/5/21

OMG. What a day.

I awaken to Alina’s phone alarm at 7:30 a.m. I shower and stuff; so does she. Then we go down to breakfast.

Wow. Nice spread. 

They have coffee and juice (and tiny juice glasses). They have hot food with eggs and sausage and bacon, a yogurt and fruit section, a bread and jam section, and a cold meat and cheese section. I get coffee, juice, water, prosciutto, blue cheese, and a croissant. Alina gets eggs and bacon and juice.

OK, so now it’s time to set ourselves up for the Hop On Hop Off Bus. It has a stop right near our hotel, which is awesome. We have to stand outside in the cool morning air, and I decide I’m buying a hoodie. I figure it will be a good souvenir for Berlin.

I’ve seen HOHO buses before, but I haven’t taken one. We pay upfront for two days and can get on and off whenever we want at the many stop around the city. Alina and I look over the map and agree we’ll do the full 2.5-hour circuit and then get off at the first place we want to go.

We get aboard the bus, go to the second level, and get seats right in the front. This shelters me a bit from the wind and gives us a great view. We get these little plastic headphones and plug them into the jack, which allows me to listen in several languages. I pick English. Duh. Alina chooses German.

Now, I want to make it clear that the tour guide patter is quite informative and helpful. However, it’s pretty much the weirdest tour guide recording, like, ever. There are two voices. One uses a sort of generic European “educated” voice, and the other has a horrible "American" accent. The educated voice gives details about some building or thing, and the American guy breaks in and says that’s boring and then makes some sort of “joke.”

It’s evidently a thing in Germany to call things by somewhat derisive names, like the building that looks like a “pregnant oyster” and the tall “lipstick and powder” building complex. There’s a kindergarten building that was designed to look like a blue boat, but people call it “the Mother” because it has two domes on the top that sort of look like boobs.

In addition to the bad jokes and “American” commentary, the recording gets quite political at times. I sort of expect this when they’re talking about the war. Much of Berlin was destroyed toward the end of WWII, so they talk about the building that was destroyed and what has been built since then, and they say things like, “The destruction was terrible, but Berlin was the center of the war in Europe.”

But they also tell little stories with a bit of political irony. My favorite is the story about these apartment buildings that were made quickly and modestly after the war for the government workers to live in, but when the workers saw the plain facades and low ceilings, they refused to move in. There’s also the story about a building built on the cheap called “the Snake” because it zig-zags around and because it’s basically failed as a housing project.

But even more, sometimes the voices are just downright commenting on social issues. They boo and sneer at a current government plan to build complexes in one area of the city with “pocket parks” to “placate” the residents with “tiny” green spaces.

Berlin is quite proud of is green spaces. About 40% of the city is gardens and parks. I see solar panels everywhere. There’s a plan to get everyone to drive electric cars, and so on. It’s all pretty great.

The view from the bus is great, and as we go around the city the list of things I want to do has grown considerably.

 

The Hop On op Off Bus stops at its final station at 12:09. We go a little further and stop at the Tower of Victory. It’s really quite something and is decorated with gold-leafed cannons captured from the enemy in battle. 

There’s actually a little tunnel to avoid crossing the busy street to get there. Lovely violin music is playing, which I think is a nice touch by the city, but no, it's actually a street musician. He's pretty good!

The friezes on the outside of the base are damaged. They depict the Germans beating the French in an old battle, and after WWII the French stripped them off the tower and brought them back to France. Their location was unknown for a while, and then France gave them back to Germany as a gesture of good will in the ‘80s. They’re still quite impressive, even with a head or a leg missing here or there.

Inside, there’s a small foyer, and then the stairs go up. Spiral, of course. I start wincing at memories of French churches, but the stairs this time number 258. OMG, I think I’m going to die. We climb and climb. Alina, of course, just hops up the stairs la la la. Other people pass me, and I stop frequently to wheeze like old bagpipes.

But I do eventually get there, and the view is fantastic. Berlin is beautiful.

 

We go back down with my trembling legs and get back on the bus. Next stop for us is a part of the Berlin wall with acrylic panels hanging nearby with a detailed history lesson of how Austria and Germany went from adding a few laws for national security to becoming Nazis. I’m interested at first and read carefully, but it’s the same old story I already know, and about a third of the way down the path I’m done.

Alina agrees, so we go into the retail sector.

One of the things that’s nice about Berlin is that the city has designated sections, so you know where you are in relation to other things. There’s the embassy section, the retail section, the residential section, and so on.

I’m hungry and thirsty and Alina doesn’t mind getting lunch, so we stop at a cute place that serves pizza and pasta. (In Berlin, pizza and pasta are the menu for about every third place to eat). Well, it’s cheap and easy to churn out, so I see the appeal.

I get a yummy beer—1 liter again, which the waiter looks surprised by. Honey, please. I also get a very fresh and yummy Caprise salad. There is a big fountain next to us with statues of sea creatures, and the sun is not too hot.

Alina goes to the toilet, and I realize I’m hearing English. A man and a woman with thick but dissimilar accents. I say something about how it’s nice to hear English, and we talk. She’s from Sweden, and he’s from Amsterdam. They’re having a lovely time (though I don’t really get “dating” vibes from them). They’re definitely friends, though, not having a business lunch. It’s nice.

When we finish lunch, we go through the open stores, which are now at about 25%, which isn’t bad. I’m looking for a hoodie because Berlin has turned out to be a little cold. First, though, I find something I had to buy.

OK, Berlin’s unofficial mascot is this little green man who’s walking. It’s from the crosswalk signals. “Stop” is a red person with their arms out, and “Walk” is this little green guy swinging his arms. I find dozens of these little green guys: erasers, mugs, glasses, keychains, jewelry, t-shirts, magnets, the whole shebang.

And then I find an acrylic brooch with the little green man riding a pink unicorn. It’s only 5E. It’s now mine.

Alina collects t-shirts and hoodies from the Hard Rock Café. We go to a crowded gift shop next to the café, and she looks things over. She finds some possibilities and texts her mother about them.

We go to another store, and I find my hoodie. It’s Army green and has “BERLIN” written across the front with a map of the city beneath it. It’s perfect and a good price, and I wear it outside.

In the next shop, which isn’t next to the restaurant, Alina finds her Hard Rick Café hoodie with a big logo on it for Berlin University (which doesn’t exist). It’s hilarious and not all that expensive.

We make our way now to the East Side Gallery, a long, unbroken section of the Berlin Wall acting as a canvas to many now-iconic paintings. I’m impressed by how people haven’t vandalized the place, though I spot little bits of graffiti here and there. Alina and I take lots of photos.

 

But the final event of the night is even cooler. For a couple weeks a year, Berlin has a festival of lights where light and sound artist. We take the bus tour, and it's fabulous. 

After that, it's back to the hotel, where the bartender recognizes me. Another G&T and more chat. 

Then bed.

9/6/21

Last day in Berlin

We got up and had breakfast, then we checked out, packed up the car, and left it for the day in the hotel garage.

First, Alina wanted to take photos of a government building. I called Mom and checked in with her. I tried to tell her how to get online via her phone. Then Alina and I went to the Brandenburg Gate. I took a lot of photos of her, and she of me.

 After that, we walked along the river a bit and window shopped.

Alina then led us to one of the city’s Holocaust installations. I’m not a big one for installations for the most part, but this one was something. I haven’t been so affected since Mom and I went to the Vietnam Memorial in DC.

At first, it just looks like a collection of rectangular cement blocks. They’re quite plain, unpolished. Nothing is written on them. They start off about knee high, then waist high. Then the blocks get taller, and the ground dips down. Suddenly, you’re walking around these tall, blank blocks, and you sort of feel like you’re drowning. The only way to get out is to go up, and the blocks get shorter again, and you’re clear of it.

It reminded me forcibly of the narrative I’m seeing all over Berlin, that WWII and the Nazis crept up on the German people. They were angry and in need, and so they supported things that turned from small government institutions and legislation to more and more and more. Then there was a time of drowning in madness and of having lost all control of the situation. Only with effort did the German people recover from the war and from what it did to the German sense of self.

Alina agreed it was an unexpectedly disturbing experience, walking through those unmarked slabs of concrete.

We comforted ourselves by diving into happy commercialism. We went to a big department store, Ka de We, catering to the wealthy with Hermes and Rolex and all that jazz. There was a great deal of fun to be had on the top floor with a market of fancy cheeses and chocolates and pastries and fish and produce and tea and coffee and God knows what else.  Alina kept commenting on how things were overpriced. I’m not sure she really got (or at least go into) the concept. She did buy a fancy donut with cookie dough in the middle.

We were going to go to the Sony Center after that, but it wasn’t open yet. So we went to the television tower, which is about 200 meters high and has this incredible view of Berlin. We had to wait in line forever, and then the observation deck had nowhere to sit, so after a while I left and sat in the lobby while Alina finished up.

After that, the need for food was dire, so we found a fun “Mexican” German place. I got short ribs, and she got chicken nuggets, both with fries. The beer was good.

Then we hustled over to the river and took a boat tour, and that was great fun. The tour guide was full of information and was very nice. Berlin truly is a beautiful city. By this point, we both were getting to know certain buildings and spaces. I took photos of that willow tree again.

After the tour, we fooled around the city a bit. Alina approached a police officer and asked to swap patches. They set her up with a guy a couple blocks over, and she obviously really enjoyed talking with him.

After that, we got in the car and made the long drive home! Alina didn’t let me take the wheel. I believe she enjoyed driving the Autobahn as fast as she could and didn’t want to stop for anything. Fortunately, our bladders were up for it.

9/7/21

OK, So I woke up, and all I wanted to do was sleep and chill. Little did I realize (foreshadowing) that I would have two wonderful experiences that day.

Seriously, I really didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. Not to be a tourist cliché, but I’m getting a little churched-and-museumed-out. But Alina has mentioned something before about “a monastery.”

When it’s time to go, I tell myself to stop being a grump. This turns out to be good advice.

The “monastery” in question is the Maulbronn Monastery Complex, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. From the UNESCO website:

Founded in 1147, the Cistercian Maulbronn Monastery is considered the most complete and best-preserved medieval monastic complex north of the Alps. Surrounded by fortified walls, the main buildings were constructed between the 12th and 16th centuries. The monastery's church, mainly in Transitional Gothic style, had a major influence in the spread of Gothic architecture over much of northern and central Europe.

I tell Alina, once again, I’d pay money for someone to play the pipe organ. Walking around, we hear someone playing an organ and track it down to a hallway with a locked door (from behind which the music is coming). It’s a nice organ, but electric, not pipe. As I tell Alina, our teeth aren’t vibrating.

The dining area for the monks reminds me of the main hall of Hogwarts. The scale of the place is incredible. My favorite bits include that (according to the recorded tour, which is blissfully free of politics and wise-cracks) one of the kings was visiting and really like some of the stained glass windows, so he had them moved to his summer garden, and that the names and dates carved into the stone were done by the students over the centuries.

Even better, I learned how ravioli was invented. The monks lived “simply,” but let’s face it, the food was of better quality than you’d find outside of a castle. Still, during the 17^th century the food got fancier, and in particular there were issues with the fact that the monks weren’t supposed to eat meat. So the cooks got inventive and covered the meat up with pasta (like that meant it didn’t count). Viola! Ravioli! Well, actually, Maultaschen.

In fact, the little restaurant at the monastery serves that very dish, but Alina says they have some at home, so I can try some there. Fun!

 

So now we go back to Alina’s cute house and have some Maultaschen, which is quite tasty!

Then they have a little surprise. We go over to the church nearby, and the church organist is rehearsing!

The pipe organ is fantastic, and indeed, my teeth vibrate and my stomach is humming. The organist is quite good, and he lets us up into the organ loft. It’s a really impressive instrument.

Alina and I sit there for about an hour, just listening. I feel so one with my friend enjoying something together and just happy all at the same time.

9/8/21

OMG, I slept to 10:45, which is just crazy. But man, did it feel good.

Coming Soon: Germany and the train back to Lyon.

9/9/21

Coming Soon: A day of rest in Lyon. 

I've gotten an email from Iberia that my flight from Miami to New Orleans has been moved up a few hours, but I have a problem because I'll be in the air when the plane leaves. I call. In fact, I call several people.

The upshot is that I can't get back to New Orleans until the 14th. Lysel is a wonder and a joy and says she doesn't mind if I stay the extra days.The 14th it is.

 9/10/21

Coming Soon: Lyon, and I start to feel kinda off.

9/11/21

We wake up early with the intent to go to a castle. I feel like absolute garbage. I apologize to Lysel and ask if we can please go tomorrow. I really need to get some work done, and I’m going to fall over if I don’t get more sleep.

Lysel, bless her pure and sweet heart totally understands what the “I” in INFJ means. She’s an INSP herself. She leaves me alone all day while I watch about 20 episodes of Designated Survivor all day and make pathetic attempts to work.

I have a beautiful night’s sleep.

9/12/21

Today I feel great, Lysel herself feels much better, and we’re off for the castle at Minteron. It’s Sunday, and the weather is beautiful, and I am feeling so much more able to people today; life is good. We get up early but are still late for the first train, which is fine because then we can have some pain au chocolate and coffee and people watch for a while. We get to the next train with plenty of time, and the sky is clear blue. The weather simply couldn’t be better during this trip.

When we get to the town, we don’t know where the castle is, so we just head uphill. Eventually, we find a 1,000-year-old wall and follow the path.

The castle is cute. Well, it started as a castle back in the 11^th century, then was a fortress, then a prison, and then a tourist attraction. It has a large fortification with thick walls holding the stairs. There is, I confess, another painful walk up the stairs to the top floor, but I survive.

What’s really fun is they’ve turned the place into a small children’s museum with puppets, dioramas, posters, mystery boxes, and things to draw. The top floor is like a penthouse suite that Lysel and I agree would make a nice bedroom.

The views of the town are lovely out the windows and over the ramparts. Then we go down one of those spiral staircases I don’t much care for.

In another castle, I think in Berlin, I learned that spiral staircases would always go up counter-clockwise and had uneven steps on purpose. That way, invaders had their sword arms pressed against the outer wall (while the defenders’ sword arms were in the clear). The uneven steps (which the defenders would learn by heart) would trip up the invaders during the fight.

So, we take the clockwise route down the spiral stairs and walk out into the courtyard and finally on out of the castle.

We find a shaded bench and eat some macrons we bought at breakfast. The sugar is nice.

We walk around the town center. As it’s Sunday, few shops are open, but the streets are quiet and clear, which is nice. We find some more of their outdoor garage-sale-like booths set up. There’s a lot of junk, but I spot a bunch of brooches and make my way over. I find a beautiful silver pin with a carved elephant inside, but when I ask about it, it’s not only 60E, it’s made of silver and ivory (yuck). I had assumed it was bone.

We find a fun restaurant on a corner with outdoor seating. Our waitress is busy but very nice, and we talk a little about nothing. I tell her she must come visit New Orleans, and she gets my email address before we leave.

The specials today include a white fish in a butter-pumpkin sauce (for me) and some steak in mushroom sauce (for Lysel). They are both served with strips of fresh squash and an egg-herb little quiche-like thing. Everything is fresh and lovely, especially the wine.

Stuffed, we walk next to a museum featuring an exposition of puppets. They’re intricate and fun.

A little more walking around, a little fruit sorbet (I am now seriously stuffed), and we finally end up in a store filled with what the town is famous for: nougat. (We would call it divinity.) Lysel buys a rather large amount, but when is she going to be back in this town?

Then it’s back on the train for Lyon.

9/13/21

For my last day in Lyon, Lysel is going to take me back to two favorites: Les Teroires and the all-natural ice-cream/sorbet place.

But first we snooze away the morning.

More Coming Soon.

9/14/21

OK, so this is the day that tried my little human soul. When all was said and done, I gave myself a B (which is an F, for foolishness, and A for not crying in public, and another A for ending up in a good, clean, well-lighted place).

Seriously, there were a lot of people in that airport crying in public.

I took the plane from Lyon to Madrid with no trouble. After that, it was Madrid to Miami, then Miami to New Orleans. Mom was a sweetie and rented a B&B so I can just Uber from the airport.

But.

OK, so I heard all about how Europeans traveling to the US needed to get Covid tests. Why I never put it together that this would include me I can only attribute to unconscious denial. I mean, seriously, what was going on in my brain (aside from not wanting to get swabbed for said Covid test) that I thought this didn’t mean me, a person traveling from Europe to the US?

Lysel, bless her sweet and compassionate heart, sees me all the way to the train to the airport. We hug and wave. I’m going to miss her terribly. We talk about my visiting next year.

The train is fine. I’m at the airport at 12, and then plane doesn’t board until 3:20. I go through the usual strip search, and several people I go through ask for my passport, my destination (Miami), and my vaccine card. No one says the words, “Covid test.”

So, as much as I would like to blame everyone but myself, I did decide to check in online, which means I didn’t read the spiel about the Covid test. I think one of the several emails I got from Iberia may have talked about it—well, I’m sure one did, but I was tired of reading emails I didn’t understand, and I ASSUMED (We all know what a bad thing that is.) I was good.

OK, so I hang out for about three hours having some very nice beer, and then I make my way to the gate.

I am told in no uncertain terms I cannot fly if I don’t have a recent Covid test.

This is a weird moment for me. I mean, I’m outraged, pissed, dismayed, and otherwise not OK.

But I also know this is ultimately my fault. I should have read those emails. I should have realized that “Europeans traveling from America” would include me.

But mostly I’m just trying not to lose it.

I go back through the whole dang airport. (Spoiler alert! I have six Spain stamps in my passport now.)  I got through the many halls and things, and I get to the Covid testing center. I don’t have an appointment, so I have to stand in the losers’ line. There, I meet a lovely gal who lives in Miami but has been visiting family in Spain. She too has fallen prey to the Covid test thing.

We mutually complain until it’s our time under the swab.

UGH. I think the nurse was trying to scrape the back of my eyeball.

OK, so now I have the test in the works, so I go to the Iberia desk. The line is the line, but it’s not moving at all.

I cue up. I wait. I wait some more. I’m seriously waiting. My feet are solid, but I’m feeling the compression socks. My test comes over my phone. Negative. Thank God.

The gal from before is ahead of me. We complain some more, but our hearts aren’t in it. She starts talking about having to pay to get our tickets, and I start getting worried. Then she leaves the window looking cross and says something in Spanish.

I’m not hopeful.

But it is here I meet the second nicest person I’m going to meet in Spain on this trip. He’s obviously not having a good day, working the Iberia ticket counter with dozens of pissed-off passengers screaming/crying/pleading/irritated in front of him. When I step up, I start explaining that I didn’t know I had to take a Covid test, blah, blah. He starts in on what I can tell is a well-rehearsed rant about how I should have known what was going on.

“I’m not interested in being mad,” I say. “I just want to go home.”

He nods. He starts looking over my stuff. He tells me the next flight is the next day, which I pretty much figured out already. He gets some tickets, and I explain how I paid extra for the emergency exit row. He does some stuff, then says to go check in (That counter is seven feet away.) and come back and he’ll do my seat. I do.

Now, I understand very deeply how irritating it is when people try to cut in line, but on his directions I come back and wait beside him so I don’t have to wait in that awful line again. Man, does this piss the people in line off!

There’s this weird ten minutes now while I’m at the beginning of the line and have indicated I’m waiting for this one guy to be done. Even though I make it clear I don’t want to go up to others’ windows and just want this one guy’s window, people are seething. One guy is aggressively standing over the “Wait here” line, determined to ensure I don’t get up to the window. It’s all very weird.

As I stand there, Aggressive Guy gets increasingly pissed off. He starts radiating fury. If he had feathers he’d have fluffed them. Fangs? He’d have bared them. He’s a foot passed the WAIT HERE line and leaning forward. He can’t believe I’m standing there. I’m half-expecting him to piss on my suitcase and snarl at me.

So the time comes, and the nice man motions me forward. Aggressive Guy starts complaining, and Nice Guy tells him to shut it (or something like that). It was beautiful, but honestly, did people think I was just going to waltz up to the front for no reason?

I guess.

Anyway, I get my ticket and my nice seat on the 9+-hour flight, and then I make my next mistake. I plan to stay overnight at the airport. I’ve done such things before, and I don’t want to spend money on a hotel. Besides, I have no idea how to find a hotel.

However, I need two things: a nice place to sit and a power converter for my laptop, which is out of juice. What I don’t realize as I make my way back into the bowels of the airport is that everything would shut down. I mean, technically, it was open, but all the shops closed. There was no place to get food, supplies, anything. I wander lonely as a cloudy-brained tourist.

So I bow to practicality and realize I have got to get some sort of hotel. Without a power converter, I can’t work on my laptop, and without at least some sort of carpet, I’m not sleeping on the floor.

Somehow, I must find a hotel. In a country I don’t know. Speaking a language I can’t speak. Without a friend.

The entire month I spent in Europe, this is the most lost I feel.

First, I walk around trying to get help. No one in the airport can tell me if there is a hotel nearby. I do call up Google Maps on my phone (which has about 5% charge left), but, eh, I don’t know what’s a hotel and what’s not. It’s all in Spanish! And yes, there are places on the map that say “Hotel,” but they are miles away!

OK, so I take a few breaths, DO NOT cry, and tell myself that if I find a way out of this that is good, it will be a merit badge on my traveler’s sash.

So, first I go to the Tourist Information counter, where the woman is pissy because I pull down my mask so she can hear me through the glass partition she’s behind (Seriously, lady, I have new negative Covid test to show you.), and then when I ask her about nearby hotels says she has no idea and is obviously irritated that I asked her.

Screw you, lady.

I find out from talking to other people that there is a hotel in the airport, but it’s expensive. I don’t care. I am now willing to offer every last dime to someone who will let me spend the night.

So I make my way down to the airport hotel. There, a nice man behind the glass tells me they’re full for the night. I ask if there is any hotel he knows about nearby.

“Si. Rarajas Village.”

He says it’s one stop away on the Metro.

I get him to repeat it (by saying “Grasias” over and over) until I have it in my head. Of course, to me, it’s “Rachahchas Willage,” but that’s OK.

I go over to the Metro area of the airport. I have no idea how the ticket machines work, but there’s this very nice (and cute) man standing there to help the helpless, and he gets me a ticket to the first stop.

I get on the metro, and it occurs to me that I have no idea where the hotel is in relation to the metro stop. I think about my dead laptop and almost-dead phone. And then the subway comes to a stop. I get to the entry of the stop, and it’s raining outside.

No sign of a hotel. I walk into a pub and ask if there’s a hotel around. The bartender has no idea what I’m saying. I feel incredibly silly. Should I go back to the airport? Everything I do just seems to make things worse.

I walk around a little more and spot a Burger King. I figure if nothing else, it will get me out of the rain for a while. I drag my suitcase into the place, get out my (almost dead) phone, and type into the English-to-Spanish translator: “Please, do you know if there is a hotel nearby?”

Two older men are sitting at a table. I approach them as politely as I can and show them my phone, which reads ¿Hay algún hotel cerca, por favor?

The first guy just looks at me, but the other one smiles and nods. They’re actually leaving, so he goes outside with me and points down the block. I see the H that means “hotel,” and thank him profusely.

The man at the hotel desk says they’re all booked up, but mentions there is a hostel next door. Oooh! I go to the hostel, and there I meet the nicest man in Spain.

He tells me, in fluent English, that he’s got a room for me. I sag in relief, and he laughs. He says to take my time and relax and all will be well. The room is 50 euros. I have it in cash. He looks at my passport and shows me to a lovely room with bright white sheets and a roomy shower. It’s fabulous.

I wonder aloud if the outlets will let me plug in my laptop, and then he’s pulling out a box  of power converters previous guests have left behind. It’s like Power Converters R Us. It takes a couple tries, but we figure out which one I need, and soon my laptop and phone are plugged in and charging!

I take a shower. I get into my PJs and sit on my bed with my electronics, clean and dry and calm. I’m so relieved and happy and safe. I even have some food in my bag. I play around online and then sleep well.

9/15/21

I wake up around 7:30. Checkout is 11.

I have a paper to edit and get it done by 10. Then I put on my last clean clothes, pack up, and head for the airport.

My flight is at 4, so I figure I have some major hanging out time, but the first challenge of the day is to buy a metro ticket back. I’m hoping there will be another nice man. But then, to my surprise, it’s the same nice man at the metro station! He laughs and ask how things went, and I tell him I stayed overnight at a nice hostel. He gets me a metro ticket back to the airport.

I go through the passport thing a sixth and final time, along with security and all that. I wind up at the same place to drink a few beers and get sleepy for the flight. This time, I go to the gate and show my negative Covid test results and boarding pass. I text Mom when I’m on the plane!

I manage to get some actual sleep on the plane, and then I go through security and passports again in Miami. I watch as a guy jogging through the baggage return gets stopped by customs agents. Idiot. Never look in a hurry to leave the baggage return, even if you’re about to catch fire or something. I mean, we’re traveling from Madrid to Miami. Drugs, anyone?

The final flight to New Orleans is wonderfully uneventful, and I take a taxi to Mom at the B&B she’s rented for the night so I don’t have to Uber to Hammond. We hug.

At last, I am home. 

 

 

 *Thanks to Lysel and Alina for letting me use some of their photos!