After a number of mobile phone exchanges, Greg, Kim and I hook up. Greg�s rented a car for the day so we are free to explore. We drive to Place de Vosges. Kim fills me in on the history of the area, which includes the Palace of Henry IV and Victor Hugo�s house. We eat a delightful al fresco breakfast at one of the surrounding restaurants while deciding where to spend the rest of what looks to be a beautiful day.
We decide to drive to Auvers sur Oise where Vincent Van Gogh spent his last three months and where he and his brother Theo are buried. We only get lost three times before we find it. We discover it was worth the trip and the frustration. It�s a fascinating village, though very crowded on an August Sunday afternoon. Throughout the village there are posted prints of paintings Van Gogh produced at that spot. There is also a small but richly detailed museum with delightfully friendly attendants. Van Gogh painted like crazy his last three months and it is awesome to stand in the very spots where Van Gogh set up his easel over a hundred years ago. We end our tour at the cemetery where I curse my absentmindedness in not remembering to take my camera out of the car. Too busy humming �Starry, Starry Night� to remember.
We stop for a beer at the local bar before we head back to Paris. We only get lost once on the return trip, a 67% improvement. We say goodbye over a beer across from the station.
I pick up my bag and check in for my Eurostar trip. It being Sunday, the waiting area is packed beyond sardine standard making the wait very uncomfortable. Screaming children, hung-over louts, and shopping bag challenged tourists all add to the general mess. The waiting areas do not measure up to the train itself. Given the attractiveness of many European train stations, it�s a wonder that the Eurostar terminals are so unsatisfactory.
It�s our last day in Munich and our last day traveling together. After I check out, I move my bags to Tom�s room. He�s leaving for Rome in the morning. Of the many choices available, we decide to visit the �Residenz,� the reconstructed palace of the Bavarian Kings. I figure if anyone could demonstrate wretched excess, it would be Bavarian Kings.
When we get there, we discover that it contains so many rooms, over 100, that we are limited to half in the morning and half in the afternoon. The Treasury, is open all day. While the height of opulence in its day, the palace was a pile of rubble in May 1945. Hitler refused to let his minions evacuate the place so the Allies bombed it mercilessly. It has been rebuilt, although the original furnishings are mostly kindling if they have survived at all.
After WW II, it seems many German cities had to choose between starting from scratch like Frankfurt or reconstructing, which is what Munich chose. Why rebuild? Continuity? Emotion? Pride? Tourism? I have no idea but I�m glad some chose Plan B especially cities like D�sseldorf and K�ln.
We set out to see the morning half and visit room after room after room after room. You get the idea. Everything starts to blur together and we agree to skip the afternoon selection and instead go to the Treasury, which is actually quite interesting, containing crowns, ornaments, swords and other similar artifacts. Opulence beyond opulence - I�m not sure I can find a word to describe the scene.
We are pretty burned out and hungry when we leave the Residenz in the midst of a downpour. We skip between the raindrops and find a Garden Restaurant that is only slightly flooded. What a great choice. We draw a happy waitress and order two beers each. (�One for thirst, the other for taste� - John Steinbeck) We also order a potpourri of dishes, cheese-filled sausages, dumplings, roast pork, and coleslaw - simple but deliciously prepared.
By this time the rain has eased and as we stroll through the Marienplatz, all the bells in the area start ringing, including the Glockenspiel in City Hall - very exciting. We scoot back to the hotel, watch some of the Olympics, share a couple beers and say our goodbyes. I�m on my way home and off to London via Paris on an overnight train.
I manage to wrestle my bag onto the S-Bahn for the ride to the main station. I wander around and buy a baguette and drinks for the trip. I get confused just short of panic about which train I�m on. I finally deduce that half the train is going to Milan and the other half to Paris. The Paris half is in the front, which is why I couldn�t find my compartment in the rear. Duh!.
I�m in second class, the compartment is already made up into bunks so there will be no sitting and reading even though, it�s only 9:00 PM. I�m sharing with three women all of whom want to retire immediately. I try to read in my bunk using the small reading lamp provided, then I try to sleep, then I try to read, then I try to sleep all night long. It�s a restless night. I only start to sleep well in the early morning when we are but a couple hours out of Paris.
I check in at my hotel the Norfolk Plaza. I remember to ask about breakfast proving that I can still remember some things. My room is a typical London hotel room, small and quirky. I figure out how the lights, toilet, shower, drapes and TV work before walking to Paddington Station to buy my Heathrow Express Airport Train ticket for tomorrow. I eat dinner at a non-descript chain restaurant in an effort to wean myself off the wonderful food I�ve been eating the last seven weeks.
I spend the rest of the evening watching the Olympics before dozing off on my last night in Europe.
(Continued)
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The train terminates at Gare de L�Est. I decide to walk to Gare du Nord from where my Eurostar ride to London departs. It doesn�t leave until late afternoon so I�ve planned to spend time with Greg Hoffman and Kim de Roos in Paris. First, I�ve got to get to Gare du Nord, which is more difficult than it appears to be on the map, mostly because of a couple flights of stairs I must ascend with my, now, even more overloaded duffel and backpack.