travel – Page 4 – Tales and Travel

Intro to Europe 101

“It’s a blast.” He was enthusiastic, curious, at times in awe, and termed almost everything a “blast.” It was so much fun and gratifying to be with him, a blast for me too.

That’s my nephew, David Koester, who visited me recently, his first time to Europe.

David and Leah — *Nephew David and Aunt Leah*

“It was an eye-opening experience. I’ve never experienced another culture before,” David told me during a recent phone conversation. “I’ve been raving about the trip ever since I got back.”

David, 39, is an account executive with Logicalis, an IT consulting firm. He lives with his wife Sabrina and 8-year-old son Jonah in Louisville, Ky.

His buddy Matt had a business trip to Berlin. They decided to meet in Switzerland for a few days. He visited me in southern France prior to the Swiss rendezvous.

*We had lunch here before David explored the old chateau in the Vieux Village of Roquebrune Cap Martin*

His visit here was short, three days. We were on the move. First stop the Vieux Village (old village) of Roquebune Cap Martin. I live in the “new town.”

After an outdoor lunch in the town plaza, David explored, up to the old chateau, then up and down the skinny pedestrian alleys. Since I am now walking with a cane, I stayed back. “It’s so cool walking through these alleys, seeing the old architecture,” he remarked.

A favorite spot in the old village is the viewpoint overlooking Monaco. Another day, a very rainy day, we ventured to the principality and opted for the hop-on, hop-off bus which gives a good overview of Monaco.

David, who is a financial wizard, informed me that Monaco’s Formula One makes more money than any other sporting event. “It was cool driving over the starting line,” he said.

Roquebrune Cap Martin is adjacent to Menton, a Riviera town on the border with Italy. It too has an old town, a maze of twisty alleys, as well as the imposing basilica of Saint Michael. David visited all, as well as the city’s market, my favorite.

*David was impressed with Menton’s market hall. This is my bread stand where we bought some tasty goodies.*

We crossed the border for an Italian snack at Grotta. I love to stop there – Italian ambience, reasonable food and an enticing setting just above the coast.

Another must is nearby Sainte Agnes, a medieval village classified as “one of the most beautiful villages in France.” Reaching the burg, said to be the highest coastal village in France at an altitude of 760 meters (2,493 feet), is not for the faint of heart. Follow a treacherous, narrow mountain road — lots of hairpin turns and places where there is room for only one car. Someone may need to reverse. Fortunately, David was behind the wheel.

He drove my Suzuki Swift. I was still recovering from the San Francisco broken wrist (see previous post, “I lost my money in San Francisco”) and could not yet drive.

He found driving in southern France “wild.” He summed it up: “There are mopeds everywhere. Everything is very tight. You’ve got to be on our toes all the time…you need to be aggressive out there.” He did enjoy my humble car. “I haven’t driven stick shift in ages,” he said. “It was fun.”

The views from Sainte Agnes are worth the trip. David trekked up a steep path to investigate the ruins of a chateau.

*A steep path leads to the ruins of a 12th century chateau above Sainte Agnes*

*A medieval garden and cemetery are part of the chateau site.*

Lunch was a treat, a multi course meal at a popular, rustic, local restaurant: pork pate, followed by ravioli, and a main course of either wild boar stew or rabbit, all topped off with a slice of blueberry pie. He ordered rabbit. I went for the wild boar. We shared.

For David, food in France is “phenomenal, awesome.” He was impressed with the taste and presentation, and said it was much healthier than food in the U.S.

The plan was to leave Sainte Agnes and continue up the mountain to Col de la Madonne, a mountain pass my super cyclist friend Bridget had raved about. The route is popular with serious riders on two wheels.

We had three choices after leaving the village: a road down to where we had come from, another with a sign to the town of Peille, and a third unmarked. GPS was no help. We took the road less traveled – and too much adventure awaited.

*No one has lived here recently — the only house we saw on our adventure into the hinterlands.*

On and on we drove. Nothing. No signs. Few other cars. No civilization. The road deteriorated. Dirt. Bumps. Pot holes. Where were we? We charged on until we came to a fork with a gate /barrier blocking the road on the right. Yet, according to David’s GPS (now working), we should take that road. He got out and opened the gate.

I was nervous. This can’t be right. What if we get stuck? We are alone in the boondocks.

But on we went, deeper into nowhere. To my relief, my chauffeur decided to turn back and take the other road. There was little improvement, but it had to lead us out of this isolated back country.

*Peille is another remote medieval village tucked in the mountains.*

Hope: A sign to Peille, the town we had rejected when leaving Sainte Agnes. We gleefully took it, and realized we were retracing much of the territory we had just covered. ?? This road was not much better than the others and nightfall was coming. But, we were en route to civilization.

Peille is old and picturesque, a cluster of stone buildings below the main road where we parked and then headed downhill to check it out. Nothing was open except a funky, bar café. Perfect. We loved the cozy ambience, the local vibe, and the well-earned beer.

*Downtown Peille: old stone houses, vaulted passageways.*

David was good natured about this fiasco. He was a joy to be with – never complained and was thrilled with all. Mea Culpa. I will not subject future visitors to the search for the Col de la Madonne.

David continued to Switzerland where he spent a few days in the Grindelwald-Lucerne area with Matt. He called the country “the most beautiful place I have ever been to.” However, he found it very expensive.

*The boys in Switzerland. Matt and David*.

In an email after returning home, David wrote the following:

“I had such a great trip. I think about it all the time. It was so great to see you. I’m so excited to come back. I can understand why you made the life decisions you did. Seeing the world is so much fun. We are going to plan a family trip to Europe.”

I hope they will visit me. I can’t wait. I know it will be a blast.

ALL PHOTOS ABOVE BY DAVID KOESTER

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MORE PHOTOS BY DAVID BELOW

*David followed the coastal Corbusier trail near my apartment. The scenery is spectacular.*

*We split this veggie entree at a Menton restaurant. David found food here healthier than that in the U.S.*

*Chateau in the old village of Roquebrune Cap Marti*n

I left my $ in San Francisco

It is an expensive, very expensive city. Having lived in Europe for so many years, I was shocked. I assumed that nothing – with the exception of Switzerland — could be more expensive than the French Riviera where I now live.

San Francisco proved me wrong. Following are some costs I found outrageous:

One scoop ice cream cone in SF, $8.50 (3 euros or $3.24 at my local ice cream shop)

1 small box of Tylenol 500mg (pain reliever like paracetamol) $8. The equivalent here about 2 euros, $2.16

1 glass of house wine in a restaurant, $14. At restaurants I frequent here, usually from 5 to 8 euros, $5.40-$8.64.

In both San Francisco and southern France, prices vary from one locale to another. In most cases, however, San Francisco seems over the top. I was surprised to learn that prices in much of the US may not be significantly less. While walking through a supermarket with my brother Steve, I asked, “How can people afford these prices?” “They can’t” he answered. “That’s why Trump will become president.” Hope he’s wrong.

The above costs were bad enough, but the whopper for me was $16,700 for emergency room treatment and a night spent in “observation” at the University of California San Francisco hospital.

I tripped over a scooter parked half way on the sidewalk, fell, broke my wrist and smashed my face. Hence the hospital.

Scooters are often parked on the sidewalk. I was looking across the street and did not notice the beast. Photo model: Steve Koester

I do not have Medicare, nor American health insurance. In France I benefit from socialized medicine (most costs covered), but I have a travel/medical insurance. Let’s hope I get reimbursed.

The San Francisco visit was not vacation. I went to see my brother Tom who had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Sadly, he has since passed away, but I am grateful I had the opportunity to spend time with him. He was a special guy, very kind, generous and liked by all.

Fisherman’s Wharf. Tom’s apartment was not far from here.

Due to the accident, my stay in San Francisco was not as long as planned. I had a cast from my wrist to my elbow and had been told to come back to the orthopedic clinic in two weeks. Fortunately, after a week I returned to France and saw a specialist. The wrist should have been operated on immediately after the accident, I learned. The doctor was concerned that due to the time delay, the surgery might not be completely successful. I am lucky. So far, all is on track.

The surgery here has cost nothing. I will need to pay the specialist his fee: 370 euros (about $400). There would have been no extra charge for a regular hospital staff doctor. Surgery in the US? That price tag would have added a heart attack to my woes.

The hospital bill was overwhelming. Abby, the very caring intern assigned to me, insisted on numerous X-rays and cat scans. A cat scan of my head; $3,288; cat scan of spine, $4,734; shoulder X-ray, $402, plus other X-rays. The charge for one night in observation, $6,780. Not much happened. I slept.

There were plenty of other hefty charges. This was a simple broken wrist. What happens to those in the US who have serious medical conditions and no medical insurance? It’s criminal – both the exorbitant charges and the lack of insurance for all.

Enjoying a fabulous San Francisco pizza.

On the positive side, an aspect of the US I relish is people: friendly, helpful, smiling. As I lay on the sidewalk with a bloody face and painful wrist, passers-by were eager to offer assistance. I was alone, in pain, in shock, not to mention somewhat frightened. As readers of this blog know, I have recently had far more serious mishaps. I feared the worst. The concern from strangers was comforting.

One couple, nurses, determined I had broken my wrist. The young woman gently wiped blood from my face. Her partner called an ambulance. Someone asked if I had been riding the scooter. OMG! Had that been the case, I would not be writing this blog

From taxi and Uber drivers to waiters and waitresses, from nurses to hotel personnel, I found people interesting, delightful, and not shy to converse and tell their stories. A taxi driver from Vietnam, now a citizen, told me how he came to the US. An Uber driver related the details of his job. A young Moroccan who pushed me in a wheel chair at the airport was happy with her job but missed her country.

They came from distant lands, not just those mentioned above. Mexico. China. Philippines. Ethiopia. Turkey. Nigeria…. Hard working folk, not drug addicts, rapists and criminals. Immigrants make the US. I can’t imagine how San Francisco would survive without them.

As I read somewhere, the country is a quilt, far more interesting than a boring sheet.

My San Francisco visit left little time for sightseeing. If circumstances had been different and I had had time to experience the city’s attractions, perhaps I would have left my heart there too, not just my $.

Palace of Fine Arts. I enjoyed a walk in this beautiful area.

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A Picture is Worth 1,000 Words

Since I have been doing nothing exciting to write about, this will be mainly a photo blog.

The heat and humidity here in southern France have been too much for me. Fortunately, my apartment building has a TDF (to die for) pool. I swim and do my pool rehabilitation exercises every morning, then spend the rest of the day in the comfort of my air-conditioned apartment. It gets monotonous.

At 9 a.m. I am often the only one in the pool. Heaven!

Not just the heat, but the crowds also keep me home bound. I live in a vacation paradise. The beaches are packed. Finding a parking place is as challenging as finding a contact lens in the sea. A tranquilizer is required to negotiate the traffic.

It is in the French DNA to take vacation in July or August, with August being the preferable month. This applies to all – not just families with children which is understandable.

A bachelor lawyer I know has closed shop for all of August. Friend Karen bought an apartment in the spring. She is having it renovated, but all work stopped in mid July and will not continue until September. Vacation time.

My physical therapist is “en vacance “ for the entire month. (The French get five weeks of paid vacation per year, plus lots of holidays.). It’s best not to get sick in France in August. Your doctor will likely be on the golf course or beach somewhere far off. Your favorite pharmacy, bakery, butcher shop – likely closed until September.

Fortunately, the “rentree” ( when kids go back to school) is around the corner. Life will return to normal soon.

Following are random photos retrieved from the innards of my computer. Most are from fascinating trips husband Bob and I had the fortune to enjoy. We loved to explore far off lands, learn about different cultures, and meet the locals. It was all fun and enriching.

Before long I hope the beach will be like this.

Peillon, France. I went there on July 9 to commemorate the 1 year anniversary my beloved Bob’s death. We had been there many, many years ago.

In the medieval garden at the Chateau of St. Agnes, France

Beauty in the canton of Valais, Switzerland

Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque, Muscat, Oman

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GERMANY’S

MERRY CHRISTMAS MARKETS

Several years ago I wrote versions of this article which appeared in various publications.

Dresden’s Frauenkirche and the Neumarkt Christmas market. Photo by S.Rose

My nose led me to the big black oven. The aromas wafting from behind its doors were heavenly and hunger inducing. Something delicious was certainly baking inside and I had to have a taste. I was in Dresden at the Striezelmarkt, the city’s Christmas market, and it was Stollen, a rich buttery cake with dried fruit, nuts and spices, turning golden inside the outdoor oven. Master baker Joachim Winkler was rolling another batch of dough as spectators watched the creation of Dresden’s famous holiday cake. Best of all, there were free samples to taste.

Dresden Christmas Stollen. Photo: Schutzverband Dresdner Stollen e. V., Claudia Jacquemin

That was many years ago. I lived in Germany then and sought out holiday markets every December. Major cities like Dresden usually have numerous markets in various locations throughout the town. However, Christmas markets in smaller towns, while perhaps not as grandiose, are equally as enticing.

The tradition of pre-Christmas markets originated in Germany in the late Middle Ages. The custom has spread throughout the world with Christmas markets on the calendar in numerous countries these days. Now I live in France where, sadly, I find Christmas markets a poor imitation of those magical events in Deutschland.

*Striezelmarkt* in Dresden Photo: Sebastian Weingart (DML-BY)

I especially miss going to the markets late in the day. When dark descends, as early as 4 p.m. in December, they are captivating scenes with twinkling lights sparkling on tinsel and gilded ornaments. If snow falls, it’s pure enchantment. People wrapped in heavy winter coats and woolen scarves pack the market square to eye the merchandise displayed at stalls decorated with swaths of fir and pine. Everything from holiday decorations to handicrafts, from mittens to furry slippers, is for sale. Aromas of cinnamon and cloves waft through the chilly air. And, in addition to Stollen, other delicious edible treats stir the appetite: grilled sausages, spicy cookies and Glühwein or “glowing wine,” hot spiced wine served in souvenir mugs.

A toast with *Gluehwein* at the Munich Christmas market. Photo: Anastasia Dvoryanova

After I tasted free samples of Stollen, I set off to investigate another stand emitting even more delectable aromas. Delicacies called “Quarkspitzen” were bobbing in a pot of bubbling fat. I’ve been to many a Christmas market, but I’d never encountered these gems. Little balls of dough with quark (curd cheese) in the middle, deep-fried and rolled in powdered sugar. Exquisite.

*Lebkuchen* (German gingerbread) is a seasonal favorite. Photo: Caleb Owens

Food is my favorite part of Christmas markets. Be it in Stuttgart, which claims to have Germany’s largest holiday market, or Nuremberg, which says its market is the most romantic, or Dresden, or any small-town Christmas market, there’s nothing quite like standing out in the winter cold, sipping a Glühwein and savoring a grilled bratwurst as church bells toll and children sing Christmas carols. Move on to another stand for another Glühwein and a healthy portion of Schupfnudeln (potato dumplings with sauerkraut) or Linseneintopf (a thick soup of lentils) and Kartoffelpuffer (potato pancakes). It’s a unique and thoroughly German culinary experience that is scrumptious.

Of course, the markets offer much more than food. Towering over the market in Dresden, in addition to a giant Christmas tree, is a gargantuan, lighted pyramid with carved wooden figures on multi-levels. Smaller versions of the hand-carved pyramids are a traditional holiday decoration dating back some 300 years. The pyramids have holders for candles. When lit, the heat rising from the candles sets the various levels of the pyramid turning, its figures spinning round and round. Woodcarvers in the nearby Erzgebirge (Ore mountains) region make the mobile decorations, as well as other beautiful hand-carved items such as candelabra, smokers (figures that blow smoke from incense cubes) and nutcrackers, which are famous throughout Germany. There are plenty of stands in Dresden, as well as other Christmas markets, selling these prized items of wood. I purchased a hand-carved candelabra with nativity figures which has become a cherished Christmas decoration.

Pyramid at the Dresden Christmas market.

I will spend Christmas in Abano Terme, Italy, a spa town I visited three years in the summer. (see previous post, Taking the Waters – and the Mud, July 2021) It was in the summer and much too hot. Christmas should be perfect. Maybe the mud treatments will soothe my injured body. Of course, a blog post will follow

Wishing all a joyous holiday season full of good food, good cheer and good friends.

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Photos for your Easter Basket

HAPPY EASTER. HAPPY PASSOVER. HAPPY SPRING

“A picture is worth a thousand words.“

I recently visited my friend Karen, who rents an adorable apartment above the town of Camogli on the Italian coast south of Genoa. She was my guide for five days as we explored this bellissima region. Following are photos which say it all.

Karen at her favorite spot in San Rocco, about a half-hour walk from her apartment. Right, Camogli.

San Fruttuoso, a restored Romanesque abbey, can only be reached by boat from Camogli or on foot via a hiking trail. We opted for the boat.

We had several hours to wait for our return boat. The only restaurant had not yet opened for the season, but the beach was a delight for relaxation.

Manarola, above, is one of the five Cinque Terre villages perched and nestled along Italy’s rocky Ligurian coast. They are a magnet for tourists, especially Americans after travel writer Rick Steves touted their merits. Many years ago husband Bob and I hiked the trail between the villages. It was magnificent – not packed with the masses. At this writing, parts of the trail are closed for repairs. Karen and I visited four villages by train.

Manarola, one of the Cinque Terre villages

Lots of tourists, mainly Americans, visited Vernazza, the most popular village, in March, well before the tourist season.

Karen and I enjoyed a pricey lunch in Portofino.

We followed the recommendation of a German tourist and hiked to the Portofino lighthouse. Right, another view of Portofino

Nino, a very affectionate and friendly cat, belongs to the owner of Karen’s apartment who lives below her. I thought Nino was one of those rare cats with two different coloured eyes. Not so, I learned. The blue eye minus the pupil is his souvenir of a cat fight he lost.

Was this cat an ancient ancestor of Nino?. This portrait of a monk and his cat hangs on the walls of San Fruttuoso.

Only in Italy: My hotel room window had a clothes line outside (left) — very practical. Clothes hanging out to dry decorate many buildings in Italy.

Albergo La Camogliese, a centrally located hotel in Camogli, is affordable with friendly, helpful staff. You even get a clothes line outside your window. http://www.lacamogliese.it

My other writing projects, Immigrants on the Italian border and Alzheimer- caregivers and victims, are on the burner.

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