Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Unexpected Pleasure in Dresden

Thursday, May 26, through Sunday, May 29, 2011, Dresden

The time I spent in Dresden was an unexpected pleasure. I knew it would be interesting, and fun to see my friends for a long weekend in the middle of my research trip, but I had no idea how it would affect me personally. (Editor's note: See my previous blog entry,  "Half Destroyed and Living History.") This blog entry is devoted to the pleasures of my visit there.

I had been haunted the entire train trip by the story my friends told of a visitor who missed the Dresden stop, wound up 20 km away, and had to get a new ticket and re-board to get back to Dresden. But I successfully got off at the proper stop, arriving just as my friend Dave was there to greet me. He took me to the apartment he shared with his wife Lisa and where I unpacked before we set out for beer and dinner.

Me drinking my first fresh German beer at a biergarten in Dresden, Germany, May 2011. If I remember correctly, it was a hefeweizen. Thanks to Lisa Larsen for the photo.

My friends, knowing I was an avid cyclist, handed me a bicycle. I jumped on the bike before checking it over, and while trying to ride over the cobbled street, I biffed and scraped up my knee a little. Turns out, the tires were a bit under inflated. After helping me clean up my knee and then pumping up my tires, my friends led me on a ride along a bike path that parallels the Elbe River. We arrived at a biergarten about 15 minutes from their apartment. The food was great, and the views lovely. We hadn't seen each other in a while, and there was much to talk about.

The Zwinger palace, the main palace of Augustus the Strong, built in the 18th century. A tour group convenes below me as I stand on the walkway above. Dresden, Germany, May 2011.

The next day, Friday, I hung out in Altstadt while my friends worked. Neustadt, or “new town,” is where Dave and Lisa live. The buildings in Neustadt only go back to the 18th century. (Yeah. I said “only.”)  Altdstadt is “old town,” where all the 16th and 17th century palaces and churches are. The Zwinger Palace of Augustus the Strong is enormous. It was partially under repair while I was there, and it was weird to see this 17th century edifice with paint cans and barriers up around areas that were being restored. The Frauenkirche, the Church of Our Lady, was austere and weathered. (Editor's note: See previous blog entry.) I was able to see a panorama from the top of one of the towers: New and old and ancient all nestled together along the river.

View from the top of the Frauenkirche looking south along the River Elbe with both very old and very modern architecture. Dresden, German, May 2011.

After exploring the Zwinger palace and its museum, then the cathedral, I strolled along Brühl's Terrace, a river side walkway known as “the Balcony of Europe”,  and settled on the patio of Bruhlsche Garten, a restaurant in a magnificent old building overlooking the Elbe River. I ordered lunch in German without too much confusion, then I ate a scrumptious meal. After I had finished, the server arrived with a digital pad with my receipt on it. I looked it over and nodded, then he took my credit card and ran it through the little machine, I signed, and I was done. Wow. Leagues ahead of any of the restaurants in the U.S. (Editor's note: the smart phone/pad use for restaurants is much more common now than in 2011 when I visited Germany.)

Looking west along the Elbe River in Altstadt from “the Balcony of Europe” where Bruhlsche Garten is located. Dresden, German, May 2011

That night, Dave and Lisa met me for tapas at a restaurant right on the Neumarkt square in Altstadt, within view of the cathedral. I was still feeling overwhelmed from my explorations of the old city and having to speak--albeit very little--German to order food and ask questions, but I had fun telling them how strange I found Dresden to be. Afterward we headed to an Irish pub in Neustadt where we me two of Dave's and Lisa's friends, drank Guinness, and listened to a Neil Young cover band. The band was fabulous, and, with no disrespect to the great man, the lead singer was just a touch more listenable.

Hanging out at a popular watering hole with old and new friends in Neustadt, Dresden, Germany, May 2011. Thanks to Dave Larsen for the photo.

The next day was Saturday, so Lisa was free to go exploring with me. We spent the day traveling along the Elbe, wandering through hamlets in the region known as Saxon Switzerland, south of Dresden. We climbed up the hills to the beirgartens and wine gardens along the banks of the river. We took the train out, and planned to take the river boat back. It was a gorgeous day. And we took our time.

The water marks measuring the level of the flood waters over the centuries in Konigstein on the Elbe River. The river has flooded several times more since my visit in May 2011.

We landed at one hamlet too late to take the bus up to a fortress we wanted to explore. Too bad, but we filled our time until the train returned by exploring. It was a tidy little town called Konigstein with bridges and stairs that led across creeks and up hillsides. Saxon Switzerland has survived many floods, including one in 2004 which only made it to the third highest level marked on a building in the square.

Waiting for the ferry to return so Lisa and I can float across the Elbe to the wine garden on top of the hill behind me. Rathen, Germany, May 2011. Thanks to Lisa Larsen for the photo.

When we returned to an area where there were several choices of uphill hikes that ended at biergartens, we chose the one at Rathen. It wasn't the highest, but it was the most picturesque. We could see it from the opposite side of the river: a large building with walls and towers of pale stone sitting above the ridge, surrounded by bushes and small trees. To get there, we had to take the ferry across the river.

That's me enjoying a brew on the Rathen ferry, aka "floating biergarten." Germany, May 2011. Photo by Lisa Larsen.

And guess what? The ferry was actually a floating biergarten! You just can't away from beer and gardens! Of course, we each had to have a tankard full.

After we crossed the river, we climbed up to the biergarten. The climb was steep in places, but there was so much air available compared to the Rocky Mountains that it was just invigorating.

At the top of the cliff at Rathen. Such incredible rock formations, worn down by centuries of sun, wind, and rain. Notice the "fingers" of the "hand" behind me. Kind of cut off at the knuckle.

What incredible views and rock formations! I had never seen anything like it. I was most fascinated with what looked like a hand or fist coming out of the rock outcropping. We also saw rock climbers repelling off the cliff faces below us from the biergarten balcony. Such a lively place! I had another beer at the biergarten and we relaxed for a bit before heading back down.

Breathtaking views from the cliffs above Rathen, Germany, looking south down into the Elbe River Valley. May 2011.

When we arrived back at the dock, Lisa negotiated for tickets on the steamboat. Something was complicated. I don't know what the issue was. She spoke in German to the woman at the ticket window at length. This was Lisa's third or fourth language, and she was very patient as she carefully constructed the proper questions and answers in German. The woman at the window was likewise patient. The transaction took a little longer than average, but we got our tickets and all was well. We sat on the grassy bank to wait for the steamboat back to Dresden central. People were hanging around and lounging in the sun. It was such a beautiful day. We took the steamboat when it arrived and had a lovely chug back up the river.

The steamboat back to Meissen arrives at the dock in Rathen, Germany. May 2011.

The next day, Sunday, we biked along the river just south of Dresden and visited all the pleasure palaces, most of them built by Augustus the Strong. These structures are huge, and I still can't believe they survived the bombing of Dresden in 1945. So much statuary and art in and among the gardens. Also ponds with lily pads and fountains. Like a German fairy tale.

The main entrance to one of the palaces along the Elbe and facing the river. Many of these former royal residences and "pleasure palaces" have been converted into cafes/museums/theaters with lovely and extensive gardens.

After exploring and riding around a bit. We stopped at a wine garden and sipped white wine and ate thin-crust pizza with salmon and white dill sauce. We watched the boats along the river and just vacated for a while.

My friends, Dave and Lisa toasting me at a wine garden on the Elbe River after our tour of the "pleasure places." Dresden, Germany. May 2011.

When we got back from our bike ride to the pleasure palaces, we hung out with Lisa and Dave's friends again, this time at a place called City Beach. It sits on a built-up area with a boardwalk that parallels the river. Sand was brought in to fill enough area to create a couple of sand pit volleyball courts. The bar is open to the air. Seating includes deck chairs along the boardwalk leading up to regular seating around the bar. There are tiki statues, surfboards on the walls, and lots of bamboo decor. It reminded me of the idea of a surf shop on Waikiki beach.

The City Beach biergarten and bar on the boardwalk of the Elbe River, We've got the palm fronds, the surfboards and the sand. Dresden, Germany. May 2011

The next day, I was left to my own devices. I could have taking a train 150km north to Prague (2 hour trip) and hung out, but I was exhausted, and elected to hang out in Dresden and rest and prepare for my train journey back to Paris the next day. I had a lovely brunch at the Rose Garden Cafe (Editor's note: See previous blog entry), reviewed my train journeys for the rest of my trip, and checked what tickets I would reserve with my EurRail pass and which ones I had to purchase separately. (When I got on the train from Paris to Frankfurt, the conductor yelled at me for buying a another ticket despite the fact that I had a EurRail pass. I didn't try to explain, but I was getting a bit pissed at the EurRail program in general. The rules were not clear to anyone, it seemed.) 

The Rose Garden Cafe where I spent part of my last day in Dresden, getting ready for my return to Paris and the work of my research. May 2011

The trip back to Paris was uneventful (no yelling by conductors, at least). I returned to the hotel I had stayed in previously, La Quartier Latin. I also returned to the Shepherd's Star restaurant and had the fondue, as I had promised myself I would. I ate heartily because I knew the next day was going to be grueling: I was headed to the old Cluny Abbey,  now a Museum, to immerse myself in the middle ages. I swear, there will be fewer pictures of me and food for a while.

As soon as I got back to Paris, I headed back to the Restaurant L'Etoile du Berger (Shepherd's Star) and had the specialty of the house: fondue. May 2011.

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Half Destroyed and Living History

Monday, May 30, 2011, Journal Excerpts

(The blog entry, Dany, occurs chronologically ahead of this entry, although it was posted to this blog earlier this year.)

I'm sitting in the sun on my friends' second story porch in Dresden, Germany. It is a gorgeous day. I took forever to get up: 9:45am. Woke a while before, but didn't roll out of bed right away. Started yoga and fell back to sleep. We stayed up late drinking again last night. We hit City Beach in Neustadt. What fun! More about that later. First, allow me to set the scene.

View of the surrounding mossy roofs from my friend's deck in Dresden, Germany.

Incredible place, Dresden. Full of very old memories and very new ones—both vivid. The blackened side of buildings and the traces of rubble now made into rubble monuments—a reconciliation of sorts for what went before. The Altstadt is so dark, heavy, gloomy, eerie. Ghosts everywhere. I feel like I'm not supposed to be here. This is something I'm not part of.  In addition to the old European feel of the place and the constant memorials (both formal and informal) to the devastation of World War II, the current social and economic structure of what was East Germany is also alien to me. It took 6 months for Dave and Lisa to get a car, and that's with active pestering. And by getting, I mean buying. My American can-do attitude makes me wonder: If they had done something—anything—differently, would they have gotten their car sooner? Did the owner of the car dealership or the government start a clock somewhere when my friends first approached a dealer to look at a car? I am not clear who was in charge. Someone has to be, right? “They don't know how to sell cars,” Dave says. The salespeople obviously don't, but what about the managers? The owners of the car dealerships? Doesn't show much business sense. Lisa says the government finally figured out that they needed to give the salesmen incentives to sell cars. Why had the owners of the companies not thought of it themselves before then? I don't understand, and it's not with the same non-understanding that I approach American politics or industry.

The entrance to the Markthall or grocery in Neustadt, Germany.

I feel like I understand the context in America, the forces at play, even if in simple terms: Politicians with red faces gesticulating and ranting about the ramifications of taking government money away from the oil industry and giving it to alternative energy companies, etc. Propped up by industry lobbyists, they are the “bad guys.” In the U.S. I'm am one of the “good guys,” and so are my family and friends. We are just trying to get by and be happy and not wreck the earth too much. And admittedly, I don't think about it all the time. But here I don't even understand the context. Here, where capitalism isn't the focus, it is too difficult for me to take a stand. No obvious good and bad guys, just confusion. How can I know if I'm a good guy if I can't figure out who the bad guys are?

Fountain in the courtyard of my friend's apartment building in Dresden, Germany.

Second cup of coffee. Feeling better and less melancholy. Had some OJ, but no breakfast in the house, so I'll be on my way after my shower to find something to eat. But no worries. I'm rarely hungry when I first get up and today is no exception. Clean breeze blowing and ruffling my shirt sleeves. Children laughing and playing – talking and yelling behind me across the street--probably at a nursery school or day care center. The fountain below in the courtyard spills water continuously. I can hear it below me. A small engine wines a block or so over. Someone is doing yard work. I move around the table as the sun moves.

The building where Lisa and Dave live is very old--18th century. It is in Neustadt or “new town.” It was once abandoned, dilapidated, with trees coming up from the foundation and growing out the roof above—just three or four years ago. The house next door is still in that shape, so I hope to get a picture of it later.

The still dilapidated villa next to my friend's apartment building in Neustadt, Dresden, Germany. My friend's building used to look like this a few years before.

After World War II, the communists left the city district of Neustadt to crumble on its own. Cheaper, nondescript apartment buildings were built to create new, cinder block cities. The revitalization of Neustadt is slow, but happening with wonderful results: shiny supermarkets (Markthalle) and luxury apartments and homes. The river paths have been there for centuries, and now the biergartens and wine gardens are re-opened and bustling, and drawing tourists. It may not be the most popular spot to visit in Germany, but it should be one of them. (Editor's Note: Since I first wrote this, Dresden has become one of the most visited cities in Dresden. See Wikipedia.)

Altstadt or “old town” is the city center dating from the 16th and 17th centuries. In Altstadt after the war, the communists left the destruction and rubble to make a point—here's what the capitalists have done to your city. Seeing the original cross from the top of the Frauenkirche now resting beside the rebuilt altar was wrenching for me. Blackened, the edges and the metal curled into a surrealistic art piece. Within it the clutch of despair. I understand better where these art movements come from now. The surrealism. The dystopian vision. My generation in the U.S., in its current position of relative peace and wealth, does not have the impetus to create dark matter such as this. But the movement has come to us from Europe and other war torn places. American GIs returning from WWII had it by the edge. It opened our Baby Boomer eyes.

The original cross from the top of the Freuenkirch after it had been melted by incindiary bombs dropped by the U.S. and Britain during World War II. By Wilhelmy (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0], via Wikimedia Commons.

The Frauenkirche is beautifully restored to its exquisite baroque beauty—even if some of the marble is faux marble, it doesn't matter. It represents a past that the German people value and should be proud of--certainly should remember. But it did cost millions of euro to do it. The Zwinger – the pleasure palace of Augustus the Strong–is HUGE. The grounds, the buildings—multiple buildings, fountains, carvings on every balustrade and column and roof. Statuary all along the top walkway. Construction here and there. I was so moved, amazed. I wanted to stay outside and see the big picture, not go into the tiny exhibits. I did climb up to the top of the Dome of the church, then I sat at the cafe and had lunch: beef goulash and noodles—yum! I'll try going to the rose garden first this morning and see if the cafe is open. If not, I'll walk over to the “black market” cafe Lisa talked about. I'll get oriented with the maps she so kindly made for me. I'll write more about the details of my stay in Dresden at a later time.

Construction on the top of one of the walls of the Zwinger Palace, Dresden, Germany.

Later that morning

Sitting in the Rose Garden Cafe. I had a fruit and caprese salad with endive, lettuce, tomato, buffalo mozzarella, yellow onions, red pepper, carrots, corn, radishes, raspberries, strawberries, blueberries. The dressing was the classic combination of extra virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar and fresh ground pepper. Now, do I stay here awhile and write, go on my merry way to another cafe, or go back to my friend's apartment? I think I will attempt to catch up with my blog. And write about my experiences with the mobile phone. (Editor's note: See blog entry, Dany.) Although I should have time on the train tomorrow to type up a bunch of stuff. Hmm. If I write here I'll have to retype it later. How easy will that be on the train? I'll do a bit of both. I still may end up back at the apartment fairly early.

My salad at the Rose Cafe, Dresden, Germany.

Meanwhile, I'll sketch out the rest of my train itinerary for France, with a list of the tickets I must purchase, in order, when I get back to Paris:

June 2 Thursday
Paris to Auxerre Train TGV6711 11:24am

June 6 Monday
Auxerre to Caen Noon?

June 8 Wednesday
Caen to Bayeaux 2:00ish

June 10 Wednesday
Bayeaux to Saumur after 3pm

June 14 Tuesday
Saumur to Angers morning

June 17 Friday
Angers to Le Mans morning

June 20 Monday
Le Mans to Poitier? noon-2pm

June 26 Sunday
Poitier to Zaragoza morning

Eight-Week Eruope Solo Travel: The Eleanor Vase! Geek Out!

Wednesday, 05/25/2011, Afternoon, Paris.

I arrived at the Louvre and went straight to the information desk to ask where the Eleanor Vase was. I wasn't going to fool around trying to find it and wind up looking at some other ancient relic or medieval craftsmanship and waste my precious time. I had a mission and I wanted to get in and out with minimal people interaction. I needed all my energy for the Eleanor of Aquitaine experience.

I asked the gentleman at the desk where Eleanor of Aquitaine's vase was. "What?" he said looking completely bewildered, and then mumbled something to his compatriot. I pronounced it as the English do. Was that not also how the French pronounce it? I knew that in French, Eleanor was “Alienor,” but I hadn't thought to find out how to pronounce “Aquitaine.” And being a self-centered American, I assumed even the French would know her by her English name. These assumptions suddenly seemed like a major failure on my part.

I rattled off a few more names: Henry the Second, her husband. Richard the Lionheart and King John, her sons. "Ah!" he said. "Ah! Alienor d'Aquitaine!" He pronounced the last part "ock-i-tane." OK. Let me write that down.

He pointed me to the Objets d'Art hall of the Richelieu arm of the museum. He even circled the exact case on the diagram that held the vase. Perfect. "Merci," I said and headed upstairs to the first floor (in Europe, as you may know, the street level is usually floor 0; the next floor up is the main floor).

I walked in.

Me at the Louvre examining the Eleanor Vase. I was lucky to get another museum visitor to take my picture.

I am now here, seeing the Eleanor Vase -- beautiful. She is just sitting there sharing a case with three other pieces as if they were of equivalent antiquity: A porcelain-like vase with platinum "wings." (Like that will impress me.) And an ornate silver tea pot like a press pot. (How pedestrian!)

A small charm hangs off the neck of the Eleanor vase. The gilded silver filigree and metal work are at odds with the simple honeycomb pattern of the crystal vase. The naked glass vase was the original gift given to Eleanor's grandfather, Duke William IX of Aquitaine, by the Berber ruler of Saragossa, a city state now in the Spanish region of Aragon, for helping defend the city from a new Berber invasion. On their wedding day in 1137 Eleanor gifted King Louis VII of France the samesimple crystal vase . The metalwork was added by Abott Sugar after Louis gave him the vase and he added it to his collection at St. Denis about 15 years later.

The back side of the vase has been smashed and sheared off, creating a new irregular glacial face. A small fissure appears at the top of the glass, like the tip of the iceberg, but it does not go completely through the material. The stones and jewels on the outside of the base are lovely -- amethyst, coral -- all about 1/4 inch by 1/2 inch. Then a pair of tiny pearls set in gold filigree stand one on top of the other. The writing at the bottom is square and Roman, some letters larger than others. And there is a flower pattern similar to the Fleur-de-lis.

One of the jewels is missing on the back side -- the same side of the crystal vase that is sheared off and glacial-looking -- the rest appear to be in place. This is where the vase must have hit the floor in the 18th century, damaging it for the first time. It seems someone lined up the damage to the vase to appear at the back, away from the viewer's first sighting. Around the space where the jewel had been is a pattern like a fine gilded rope woven around the shape of the missing jewel.

In the metal sleeve covering the neck there is a ring of stones. Above this is a space filled with ovals -- four of them, each with four Fleur-de-lis painted in gold over a blue stone in the center of the oval -- possibly lapis lazuli -- above this series of ovals is a circlet of small semi-precious stones & pearls.

Gorgeous. The vase shape itself is almost completely symmetrical. Incredible. The top of the vase – what I can see from under the metal collar, comes down at almost vertical, then rolls out into a curved arc, then curves back in smoothly into the base. The divots in the crystal—made by a master craftsman—are almost completely even. They meander up on just one side.

The inside of the metal at the lip of the neck shows the tiny indentations left by the hammer used to mold it. It reflects back the light in the case in blues and burnt orange and bronze and black.

Upon closer inspection, I find an additional mark like a backwards Zorro “Z” slash on the front of the vase. It doesn't appear to be a fissure in the crystal. If it is, someone did a tremendous mending job. Although they should have taken better care of this precious artifact in the first place. It is all we have left from the life of Eleanor.

The card reads, “Cristal. Iran(?) Unknown Origin.”

As I stare at the vase and scribble notes, it occurs to me to imagine what my novel's main character, Aihne, saw when she looked at this same vase in the fictional future of the story. There must be an odd mark at the base of the original crystal, almost invisible and obscured by the metal base. A thread that was not a crack. A groove that only Aihne's expert eyes could make out. No one else had noticed. And the kicker was that there was a matching groove on the other side! She is the first to discover that the vase in the story is an imposter and points it out to the guard. What did it mean? Aihne's purpose on traveling to the 12th century is to find out!

I am glad the vase I saw was the real deal.

A version of this blog entry appeared on electricrider.net on June 5, 2011.

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Paris. Where to Pee? In Subway, at Louvre, or Directly on EurRail Pass?

Wednesday, 05/25/2011

I had a wonderful breakfast of muesli, yogurt and fruit, and a croissant with coffee—very rich dark, wonderful coffee—and armed with subway directions from the owner of the hotel, I headed to Gare d'Austerlitz, which was the closest train station. I first entered the subway just two short blocks from the hotel and bought a Paris Visite' pass at the subway window. The woman behind the counter spoke little English, but she was able to confirm that the subway train that I needed to travel to Gare d'Austerlitz was number 10.

What a bright subway compared to NYC! White walls and broad platforms. I didn't feel like I was underground. It was just five quick minutes to the Gare d'Austerlitz station, but it took me another 5 minutes to find the ticket window. “Billets!” said one sign. “Grand Journeys!” said another. The “Billets!” sign led to a ticket window that advertised local Paris and other French destinations. Dresden was not listed. Aha! I thought. Maybe “Grand Journeys” means tickets for trains to other countries. After a moment, I discovered the tickets for Grand Journeys in a separate area set back from the rest. It didn't say "billets" until you got inside. Once there, though, the woman was very helpful.

At least, that's what I thought.

Gare d'Austerlitz subway station by Vincent BABILOTTE (Own work) [GFDL, CC-BY-SA-3.0 or CC BY 2.5], via Wikimedia Commons

I asked her for a reservation to the Dresden-Neustadt station for the following day. She told me I couldn't use my EurRail pass for the first part of the journey, from Paris to Frankfurt. I was dumbfounded. But I was so eager to check off the task of making my reservation for the next day from my long list of tasks that I Rambo'd through it. It didn't occur to me until later that I was just making a reservation so that I shouldn't have been purchasing a ticket at all. My EurRail pass was the ticket. Pushing down my confusion and just making it happen, I paid for the ticket, even thanking the woman. To be fair to myself, I did guess that I might have missed some fine print, or that I did not make my reservation in time to use the EuroRail pass.

It all made sense later. Sort of.

I handed the woman my credit card. It didn't work. It had just worked earlier that day, so I was again surprised. What else could go wrong here? I put that card back in my wallet , and pulled up my shirt to get to my money belt. I hoped no one would think I was stripping. I pulled out my back-up card. The woman's eyes got big. "Wow!" she said. I made some sounds of apology and she said, “No! Is good!” I assume she was referring to how careful I was being with my money and credit cards by keeping backups underneath my clothes.

Voila! The second card worked. (I later found out it was just a setting on the first credit card and hubby fixed it for me long distance—what a guy!)

Gare d'Austerlitz Paris Train Station by ignis (Own work) [GFDL, CC-BY-SA-3.0 or CC BY-SA 2.5-2.0-1.0], via Wikimedia Commons

Several days later, I did manage to finish reading the EurRail Pass Traveler's Guide (which I should have done already). Guess what? If you don't get a reservation fairly early on, you may not get one of the seats set aside for EurRail Pass holders. If they run out of those, you have to buy another ticket or reserve a seat on another train. They recommend that you make your reservations even before you enter Europe through your travel agent! Something my travel agent did not tell me. So, when next I am at the train station, I will try to make my reservations for the remainder of the journey -- especially if I can find a EurRail office at one of the train stations, Better yet, I'll email my travel agent and have her do it!

So the lady at Gare d'Austerlitz was correct: I had to buy an additional ticket because I had waited too long to make a reservation for that specific train. All the reservations for EurRail seats on that specific train had been filled already.  My conclusion is that a EurRail pass is not worth the money unless you are really flexible. I am glad I did it this time, because it is nice to have some expense out of the way, and now I know how to make better use of it. But, you are paying a premium for train tickets with it. I have been told by two separate sources (one is a friend who lives in Europe and the other is the guy at www.seat61.com) that Americans pay more for train tickets than anyone else. Even direct purchases from the in-country train web sites. So, live and learn. Now that I know my way around a bit better, I think next time, I will just get the tickets either directly through the rail company web sites or when I get here. I also will be more flexible on when I travel. I now realize that if I had picked a later train to Dresden, I could probably have gotten on it without paying an extra fee. But I wanted to get on that specific train because I had told my friends I was coming at that specific time. If I had changed it, I would have had to communicate back to my friends about the change. It seemed like too much trouble when I was already overwhelmed with my first day in Paris.

My EurRail Pass from Spring 2011 all filled in.

Even though it was a rude awakening to discover that my EurRail Pass was not going to always work smoothly, I was happy that I had made a connection with this woman at the train station. It is the small things. And I had accomplished my goal of securing a ticket to Dresden.

The rest of the day was a blur. At this point, I really had to pee. I found the bathroom, but I needed a .50 euro coin to use it, which I did not have. I wonder how many Americans finally find the bathroom and then just pee their pants right there in front of the sign that says, “.05 euro, please!” because they don't have any change.

I found my way to the metro, wondering if I could just hold it until I got to the Louvre, but a fashion boutique caught my eye. Perhaps I could get change for the toilette there. I examined the goods and decided on a bright orange India print shawl. It would go well with the orange, red and aqua dragon print dress. After explaining to the proprietress that I needed change for the toilette, and after she conferred with a friend who was chatting with her when I walked up, she handed me several coins including a couple .50 euro pieces in change. I thanked her, then headed back to the toilette emporium. I put my coin into the machine, but the gate would not let me through to the toilettes. I could see the sinks from where I was stuck in the gate and I knew that the commodes were nearby, but I could not get to them. The woman tending the bathrooms said something like "not enough," and put another coin in. "Merci," I said and continued on through the gate. What a relief! I must have put in a .20 coin instead of a .50. They looked alike to me. They were both gold, and the .20 was the size of a U.S. quarter. The .50 was even bigger.

What a hectic morning! I returned to the platform and asked directions to the Louvre. The poor woman at the window was struggling to find the words in English and did a good job getting the essentials in there so I understood. I'd ask someone else if I didn't quite get it. I thanked her and went on my merry way catching the 1st train, number 10 again, to travel back one stop along the route I had taken to Gare d'Austerlitz, and then I switched to train 1. I thought I had to switch again at the next stop, but it turns out that I was already there at the Louvre!

Well, kind of.

Before I entered I went in search of the elusive Museum Pass. Two sources said that you purchase it under the Louvre, in the train station. I saw a couple of signs that looked like they said, "To the Louvre," but I couldn't get through. I went back the way I had come and watched the next load of people come off the train, and followed them. I found a ticket booth. I asked the man. "No, no,” he said. "Not here." I gave up at that point. I was spending so much time running around trying to make all the things happen that my travel agent said I needed to make happen, but there was a disconnect with reality. I had asked everyone about the Museum Pass, from the hotel clerk to the subway booth cashier. Everyone sent me somewhere else, and that somewhere else turned out to be NOWHERE.

When I finally got to the Louvre, I referred to the Lonely Planet country guide on my kindle. It said that if you came through a certain entrance you could buy a pass and not wait. Oh, well. I saw a line in front of me that came all around the glass pyramid entrance to the lower level, so I stood there checking with the couple in front of me that I was in the right line. They were American, but not very talkative. But they were also traveling together. I'm told, and I think it is true given my own experiences, that when you travel with other people, you only talk with them and not with strangers you meet along the way. Alone, I am constantly talking with strangers who sometimes become acquaintances, Even friends. More about that later.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Based on a blog post originally published on electricrider.net on May 31, 2011.

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Don't Turn Right at the Left Bank

Tuesday, 5/24/2011, Paris France, Journal Excerpt

I'll be brief because I am tired. It's been a long day, and I have lost another hour in yet another time change from England to France. But today I was more energized than I have been in days. Got up at 5:00am and was at breakfast at 6:30am, and quite early for the Queen Mary 2's disembarkation call at Southampton. I vacated the cabin with my two small bags. In hindsight, I wished I'd stayed and done some yoga and Pilates. As it was, I was so early I had time to fill out my customs card for Eurostar and brush up on my French.

I sat outside the Royal Theater and did so until 7:45am. Then I went into the theater where all the other passengers heading to Paris on the train were to gather and was still flipping through my phrase book when Nicole arrived. We had a pleasant discussion about movies and television, then we got off the ship and unto a bus that took us, after 2 hours, to St. Pancras station. Nicole and I had a light lunch, then embarked on the EuroStar train. We were in two separate cars. Mine was Car 5. I got on and immediately set down my ticket. I stowed two bags above my head and sat down and then I realized I hadn't verified I was in the right seat. But now I couldn't find my ticket. A French man sat down next to me. I told him I might be getting up because I didn't have my ticket and I wasn't sure I was in the right seat. He assured me it happened all the time and not to worry. It was probably in my pocket somewhere. He was right. When I picked up my coat to stow it, the ticket was on the seat underneath. I had been sitting on it. What was strange was that I was in exactly the right seat!

Nicole and me eating our one meal in England (at St. Pancras station) before getting on the EuroStar train to Paris.

The ride was 2 1/2 hours of rolling countryside, several short tunnels, then the long Chunnel itself—25 minutes or so. I sipped the Guinness I'd bought at the station and read my phrase book. And I congratulated myself that things were going pretty well. I had been ahead of schedule all day and even my confusion with misplacing my ticket had not led to catastrophe. I went over in my head my plan to get my train ticket to Germany as soon as I got to the Paris Nord station. I was meeting friends in Dresden on Thursday.

I got to the Paris station, saw Nicole get off the train, and waved to her. We walked out to the taxi area together and she got in line for the taxi. I said goodbye to her and went back into the station to make a reservation for Dresden. I couldn't figure out what window was the one I wanted. The only one for tickets seemed to have a long line. I stood in it for 5 minutes then realized I didn't have time for this. I asked at a small shop across the way for a disposable phone, but the young man said, "It is not possible!" I think he was wrong, but I had no time to find out. I had a car and driver waiting for me outside.

I thought.

Turns out, he/she was nowhere in sight. I waited for 15 minutes at the taxi stand then asked some limo drivers who were standing in front of a sign that said "Limos and hired cars" and they said a driver would either be right there or around the front of the station. I thought I was already at the front of the station. I walked around to the “other” front and waited there for 25 minutes. No show. Then I went inside to try to call the emergency number for the tour group who set up the car and driver. I went to the phone and set down my small blue bag between my feet, hoping to use a credit card to charge the call, but I wasn't sure that was the right thing to do. So I went to the tobacconist nearby and I bought a telephone card. When I returned there were a couple of security guards standing around. I walked back to the phone and saw that my little blue bag was still sitting there. What a relief that no one had stolen it! A security guard came over and pointed at the bag with a question “Is yours?”

“Yes,” I said.

The other guard looked at me pointedly and said, “Be more careful!”

I have to admit that at this point I rolled my eyes in true French fashion. I had so much on my mind, how could I be more careful! What I wanted was their help dialing the phone, but they walked away and I decided that I could figure it out by myself. I dialed, but nothing. I probably dialed too many numbers—including the country code, but I couldn't see what I was doing because it was so dark in the corner where the phones were.

I went back outside. There were a million taxis, but no “limos” or other cars without taxi signs. I decided to just get into a taxi and get to my hotel. After two hours, I was finally at my hotel. (Actually I walked into the hotel next door by mistake first—they are all so close together. But I'd stopped counting these small problems at this point.)

One of the photos adorning the walls of my room at the Hotel Quartier Latin. I believe this shows Collette writing in bed, but I was not able to confirm this with the hoteliers. Anyone?

I was so relieved to be at this charming little place called the Hotel Quartier Latin, which is all about the Left Bank artist scene. Photographs of writers and artists, plus doodles and writings from some of them, are hung along the walls creating a little art gallery.

Once I hung up a handful of clothes I needed for the next day, I splashed water on my face and headed to the lobby in search of a Parisian dinner. I asked the concierge for a quiet place off the main street, but he didn't live there and didn't have a suggestion. A British woman standing behind me, however, said, "Excuse me," and described a street a couple blocks over where there were many tiny restaurants and it was very quiet.

My favorite restaurant on the Left Bank: Restaurant L'Etoile du Berger (roughly translated as the Shepherd's Star Restaurant). I did, indeed, come back here for the fondue after I returned from Dresden.

She was right: the street was cobbled and silent except for an occasional motor bike zooming by. I found a wonderful fondue place—tiny—with stone and mortar walls. Only one other couple was inside. I overheard them tell the owner/maitre'de that they were from South Africa and that a friend from the United States told them to eat there. Wow! How did I manage to stumble upon such a popular place? I ate a wonderful duck confit with roast potatoes and a pitcher of wine—“la pichet de vin rouge.” I wish to go back there when I return to Paris after visiting friends in Dresden and order the fondue—I must!

I walked nonchalantly back to the room and busied myself with social media for a while. It was late when I went to bed—about 2:00 in the morning. The time had changed ONCE AGAIN and it was one hour later than in England. I had wanted to be up the next morning in time to be at breakfast when it opened at 7:00 so I could get my train reservation for Dresden and find a disposable phone before hitting the Louvre. But with the new time, I decided to let myself sleep until 7:00. I was exhausted.

My room at the Hotel Quartier Latin, Paris.

To Be Continued.

This blog is based on a blog that appeared on the electricrider.net sit in May 2011.

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Show Me the Gang Plank!

Sunday and Monday, 05/22 and 05/23 2011 Journal Excerpts

Sunday morning: I'm up before 9:00 and am sipping English Breakfast tea whilst writing in my journal. My steward, Bianca, will be upset, if I'm not out of here before noon. (One day I dawdled until after twelve and she knocked on my door and asked me if I was okay. She is a good steward. She leaves me presents.)

I'll probably make it out of here by 11:15. I'll go for a walk after showering. Perhaps get my nails done. I'd like to see “Much Ado About Nothing” at the Rogue Theater tonight. It's the only Shakespeare that they are doing. I did not enjoy the percussion dude last night, xylo-synth guy, David. The sound of the xylophone was not that interesting and he played all old music. Liz pointed out that it is nice to hear classics reinvented, but these songs were not so much reinvented as replayed. I was bored. And his performance annoyed me. As soon as he jumped on stage he seemed like a crazy monkey.  A tall and muscular-looking monkey. More like a maniac. A human who has gone off his rocker as only humans can. He grinned madly the entire time he played. Yes, he had a lot of energy, but was I supposed to be entertained just by his zeal? And then there was David's wife who danced around him in skimpy costumes the whole time he played. Not impressed. Perhaps the entertainment director felt I needed a wake up after a large dinner, or that my cruise was intended as a distraction from my dreary existence which is solely made up ofwatching too much television and having my cutlet cut into tiny slivers for me so I don't have to chew it with my non-existent teeth.

Yeah, I am definitely not David's main audience. Cheers!

Monday morning (last day before disembarking): Slept in because I was so, so tired. I heard Bianca outside my door shoveling ice into buckets and I knew I should get up, but I didn't want to.. I rolled over and fell back to sleep until 10:30am. Nothing new here. I can't get breakfast because I'm too late. It's ten minutes until lunch. I could bring some food back to my room from a cafe, but that would interfere with Bianca's schedule and it's important to keep up with it. I have recently become familiar with the King's Court cafeteria. I don't think I want to eat anything they have on order, but I think I'd better go see what I can find.

Ugh! The music in the background here at the King's Court is quite boring, monotonous, generic. I feel it is pushing me to enjoy my journey, but that isn't all. It seems to be insinuating that I should enjoy it in a certain way – to think of it, affectionately, as a relaxing and full of nostalgia. Before the trip is even over. I am in the wrong place. And now the cafeteria is filling up for lunch. There is the Captain's noon announcement. I'm off!

One of the presents Bianca, my steward, left in my cabin aboard the Queen Mary 2.

In my room now. Bianca has come and gone. Room service has been called. My hangover is now clearly showing itself—I only had three glasses of wine last night, which is usually nothing to me. I have heard that drinking while traveling isn't advised because it is so hard for your body to recover. So I choose to believe it is more the latter than a pure hangover. The rooms are also very dry and I feel a pressure headache through my sinuses. Glancing in the mirror, I see I don't look as horrible as I feel. But I will definitely be taking a nap after I exercise. I will pack up most everything before I go to dinner. I probably won't put it outside my door until I get back from dinner because I will be wearing an outfit that must go in the suitcase. I'll go directly back to my room after dinner and put it on top and roll that final set of clothes up, stuff it in a bag, and then stuff that in my suitcase.

Ah! Breakfast has arrived. I can be alone and enjoy the meal. It is quiet here. I have my little notebook, my felt-tip rollerball pen, and my squirrelly hand writing—pure me. Simple. Clear. Clean.

Coffee and hot cereal has chased my headache away. I feel energized again. I must now open my laptop to get online and then hurry to read any emails that I might need to respond to and get ready with any pictures or essays I want to post. The WiFi is expensive on board ship, so I want to move quickly. Keeping up with correspondence takes a chunk of the day, but I don't have anything else more important to do right now. I wonder, how will it be when I'm on the road? Will I want to settle in and write in the evenings? I'll be writing on Eleanor, too. I'll get up early and try to be in bed fairly early. I plan to take some days “off”—have down days when I can rest, read, or really get into my writing, whatever I wish.

Monday evening: I am glad that this journey is coming to an end.  I feel bored with "crossing," for that is truly what this sailing has been for me: A journey to get from point A to point B.  Albeit, I have had advantages that don't usually come with a simple passage from one specific place to another. I have had entertainment, excellent service, and activities that I could choose to participate in or not. But ultimately, my purpose is other--to seek out things not directly in front of me; things that do not dance in the now-ness of today, but shimmer in-between here and there, now and then; things that move me more deeply, both intellectually and emotionally.  And to seek out a means of expressing them.  Floating on the ocean in a cruise ship has been distracting and amusing, but it isn't enough.  I need to hole myself up in my room and write.  And read.  And gather my thoughts about the rest of my journey.

And as I do so,  I get excited.  I will be in Paris tomorrow!  My first time in Europe and my first time in the city of Jazz, the City of Lights.  And it is only the first stop!  

When I first stepped onto this floating hotel, I couldn't believe that I was doing an eight-week journey through Europe.  I couldn't believe I was really traveling by myself through several foreign cities, seeing only a couple people I knew and knowing I was bound to meet many I didn't.  Now as I sit here on my final day at sea, I am so ready to embark on the next phase of this trip.  I want off this ship!

I did discover a lot about the ship and its amenities and activities. I now know what interests me and what doesn't on a Cunard Crossing.  For example, the music and dance shows I can forget.  Of the two I saw, one was horribly cheesy (David, who played xylo-synth renditions of classical, folk, and pop tunes backed by a full orchestra) and one was good (the Royal Cunard Dancers and Singers, who danced and sang to songs from the 30s and 40s including Big Band).  But nothing I experienced was too grand to miss.  I enjoyed an hour version of Much Ado About Nothing set in WWII and complete with Big Band Tunes (which got silly after a bit).  They kept the text very much the same and the acting was quite good.  But again, I can see as good or better productions in Boulder.  These shows are entertaining for people who need entertainment, people who are bored and have nothing better to do with their time, which is not necessarily a bad place to be when you are on vacation.  But I have not felt "on vacation" much during this trip. Because it's truly not a vacation for me.  Admittedly, I did get into the night life, dancing and karaoke, on Wednesday, but it wiped me out.  The rest of the time, I felt myself seeking shelter in nooks and crannies in the ship. Not to say I am not drawn to the idea of a vacation on this ship. I was tempted to go to a rumba class at 12:30 today.  But I don't want to expend all my energy that way. If I did, I wouldn't be able to sit here and write like this or to think about how best to spend my time in France. My plan all along was to participate in some activities (like the the Royal Ascot Ball because I had brought a hat specifically for that reason).  But that was it.  I am done performing and now, as Greta Garbo supposedly said,  "I vant to be alone!"

Dressed for the Ascot Ball aboard the Queen Mary 2, May 2011.

I am looking forward to getting more sleep, going to bed and waking each day at the same time instead of an hour later.  We've been inching up to GMT all trip, losing an hour a night, and it's wearing on me.  I want to feel the ground underneath my feet.  And I can't wait to discover the bookshops along the quay on the left bank of the Seine, to see the medieval Lady and the Unicorn Tapestry, and to hang out in the haunts of famous authors such as Henry Miller.  And to finally see the Eleanor Vase up close.

Show me the gang plank, Captain!

Eight-Week Europe Solo Travel 2011: Writing and Laundry

Saturday, May 21st, 2011 Journal Excerpt

Mid-morning: Stayed up late again last night because I did not want to go to bed. I really just didn't want to go back to my room and be alone. I've ordered a Danish Ricotta Swirl and it turns out it is really tiny. So much for eating breakfast here in my room. I'll have to order more, I'm afraid.

… Wait. The ricotta-cheese filled danish is actually more filling than I thought. I can stay here. Ironic that I didn't want to be alone in my room late last night, but now, this morning, I am very happy to be alone.

I'd thought I'd do more writing than this. I'm sitting here just thinking as I chew on my danish and sip my coffee. I wish to collect my thoughts on my novel. See where I am with it. Reconnect to the original idea, etc. I've not been doing that. I've been focused on blogging, and not doing that very well, either.

Late morning: It's okay. I can collect my thoughts now. Back in Sir Samuel's, I sit and write. I like the atmosphere, but wish perhaps there was a table I could pull up to write on. All tables are either low coffee tables or high bar tables. That's okay. I can write on my knee. I wonder if they would mind me hanging out or if the Chart Room is better for that.

I have to do laundry today- at least that is the plan.

The Eleanor Vase, The Louvre, Paris, France, May 25, 2011

Refocus. So, thoughts on the novel: Feminism. The importance of Eleanor of Aquitaine in history. My main character Aihne's desire to explore Eleanor's every day attitudes and abilities from early on so as to discover how she became the great Queen she was—see Eleanor's interactions with her father and her grandmother. Aihne wishes to learn a secret, perhaps. But she is also an incurable romantic. The Eleanor Vase—the only artifact from Eleanor's personal life that remains—stands for an intangible, a mystery. Perhaps it is a key to a puzzle. Perhaps it explains the secret ingredient to Eleanor's heritage, the magic that made her intelligent, crafty, confident, beautiful and politically astute. What was she like as a person? Aihne wants to believe she was absolutely charming. Some chroniclers agree. Others compare her to a demon.

Mid-afternoon: Just now, while I was walking down the long corridor from the laundry to my room, the wind whistled through the doorways like a soprano warming up for an aria! You never know where the jewels are hidden.