the main page.
LOOKING BACK
New year. New place. New continent. New culture. About the only things that haven't changed are the clothes on my back. I'm still wearing the same shoes, pants, and shirt I had on when we left the States almost four months ago. We took off from Amsterdam earlier this morning over a blanket of white; North Holland was treated to a rare snow fall yesterday to the delight of school children throughout Haarlem, where mobs of young boys could be seen making a sport out of pelting city buses with snowballs as the passed by. Thump. Thump-thump. Turbulence feels much the same way as pockets of air jolt the plane from side to side. A quick peak out the window reveals the flat brown landscape of the Sahara below. We're passing North Africa, a place I've wanted to visit for some time now but it will have to wait a bit longer as our feet aren't scheduled to touch this soil for another two or three months. Today, we fly to Cameroon. Our flight lands in Duoala, the largest city and economic capital of this West African nation. From there we journey north to Bamenda to make contact with the field director for the Cameroon Baptist Convention. Our journey ends at Mbingo Baptist Hospital forty kilometers northeast of Bamenda where we intend to volunteer for the next month. Much adventure lies ahead. The first of which will come at immigration when we land. After weeks of toil and uncertainty, we're still not sure if the visas we procured in Paris are valid. Guess we'll find out in a few hours. But it is back not ahead that we wish to look now to reflect on our two months traveling Western Europe. For that, I turn to Lynne's voice...
Seventeen days in Germany; four in Belgium. Three times we entered the Netherlands; twice France and Germany. Eight countries; five languages; nine weeks. From Amsterdam to Rome and Paris to Budapest. Those are some of the logistics, now here are some of the memories that are with us now and forever: Feeling the strong gusts of wind as we biked by windmills in Holland. Stepping through the hidden doorway at Anne Frank's house. Studying Michelangelo's "David" and his unfinished works from every angle. Hearing the sweet voices of the Vienna Boys' Choir fill the church during Sunday mass. Hiking up to Neuschwanstein Castle as my parents did 30 years ago. Catching "Mona Lisa's" eye at the Louvre. Talking with Hungarians about life during and after communist rule. Wiping tears from our eyes as the American flag was lowered and a lone trumpet played "Taps" at the American Cemetery at Normandy. Floating down the canals of Venice and Amsterdam surrounded by buildings that somehow held each other upright. Talking late into the night with new friends about how America's past and current actions impact the world. Strolling through the rows of wooden huts at Christmas markets with a warm drink in hand. Cherishing the sunny fall days, staying dry in the winter drizzle, and seeing snow on New Year's Day. Feeling a knot in my stomach as I stood in the Dachau prison camp hearing echoes of anguished faces from the past. Saying "Good Night" to the Eiffel Tower each night. Experiencing daily life, local customs, and gracious hosting as we stayed in the homes of great friends. Getting lost in the aisles of the local markets and grocery stores. Learning "Please" and "Thank You" in a different language each week. Taste testing: Belgian chocolate vs. Swiss chocolate - more research needed. Receiving a blessing from the Pope in St. Peter's Square. Deciphering the layers of architecture of the Roman Forum. Eating the "Best Pizza in the World" in Napoli. Waiting for the clouds to clear to catch a glimpse of the peaks of the Swiss Alps. Discovering that a tuba and an accordion played together in a tunnel, sound strikingly like beautiful organ music. Sharing it all with the love of your life - Unforgettable.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
12-29-03
NERVOUS RAMBLINGS
Feeling scared and don't know why perhaps it's the unknown I fear or the feeling like we've stayed too long at a party most likely it's a bit of both three days have past since Tina and Axel left for France while we remained here at their apartment in Mainz they went off for some quality time together winter skiing in the Alps and were gracious enough to let us crash at their place at first it was fun to "play house" in someone else's home especially in Europe where daily life somehow seems more elegant than in America but after a while it feels more like pretending than really living and the walls begin to close in on you I'm nervous so it's hard to sit still nervous because Africa is our next destination and it is such an unknown for me I've been to many places but something about this continent scares me I do things to distract my mind flip through channels straighten up the kitchen reorganize my backpack all to avoid the anxiety that comes with silence our flight to Cameroon leaves from Amsterdam in four days so we'll take the train north to Holland tomorrow afternoon I'm glad it will give me something to focus on and I hope to find some comfort along the way.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
12-29-03
A NEW PERSPECTIVE
We were feeling pretty down about our situation; nothing seemed to be working out. Here it was nearly 30 minutes to midnight and we still hadn't found a place to ring in the New Year. It all began 24 hours ago when we realized just how far outside Amsterdam our hostel really was. When we booked the beds online 3 weeks ago we were under the assumption that Haarlem was a northern section of the city itself, not a separate town all together. Wrong. It's 19 km northwest of the Centraal Amsterdam. No problem. We'll just take the train into the city centre for the evening festivities. Wrong again. All public transportation ceases after 8 p.m. on New Year's Eve so everyone can enjoy the holiday. Very Dutch. Okay...how about a taxi to get us back to Haarlem after midnight. The going rate: 50 Euro! Strike three. Wait. Maybe it was just a foul tip. If we could meet some other people at the hostel who want to do the same thing, we could split the cab fare and still enjoy the countdown amongst the thousands gathering in Dam Square. So our hopes for an exciting evening depended on connecting with someone at breakfast but when we saw that most of the tables were already reserved for large groups, we knew we had struck out. Defeated, we resolved to celebrate back at the StayOkay Hostel in good 'ole Haarlem. After all, they had a bar and if the public transportation problem had paralyzed our plans, surely it would affect a number of other backpackers as well. Apparently not because when we strolled into the bar at nearly 10 o'clock there were a WHOLE 6 PEOPLE seated inside. We sat down, ordered 2 beers, and looked at each other with disappointment. Earlier in the day, both of us had expressed a desire to celebrate the New Year inside a packed and noisy pub; something neither of us had ever really done. By the look of things, this was clearly not going to be the place. Unwilling to lay down and die we finished our drinks, threw on our coats, and headed out into the cold night air in search of a party atmosphere. But as we marched closer to central Haarlem we found only empty streets and quiet store fronts. There were occasional fireworks lighting up the sky but no other night-life revealed itself. The only parties going on were inside small homes or apartments or dimly-lit Chinese restaurants where the staff appeared to be dining. After walking nearly an hour in the cold we decided to turn back. We were beaten. There would be no grand celebration for us this year. That's when I spotted him; a lone man sitting in the dark outside the railway station.
I went over to him and asked if he was all right. He indicated we was and then began rambling on in Dutch. When I told him we only knew English he switched languages and continued complaining about his homeless situation for some time. Being foreigners ourselves there wasn't much we could offer other than our sympathy. He seemed annoyed by watching other people burning money in celebration while he slept out in the cold. He was right. It wasn't fair. And next year it could be any one us sitting in his place. In the end, we wished him better times in the coming year and started for home. "Just a coat and a blanket for night. Could you do it?" I asked Lynne. "No. No I couldn't."
We made it back to our warm hostel with 15 minutes to spare. The crowd in the bar had swelled to 13 during our absence and we were each handed a glass of champagne and some Italian New Year's bread to help celebrate. Then came the countdown to midnight. Fireworks would erupt all over the city when the New Year came, a dazzling display everyone enjoyed, but my thoughts were still with the homeless man sitting out in the cold. What's he thinking right now? How will he manage tonight?
On this night as one year turned to another I was thankful for a great many things: a warm bed, a loving wife, the means to travel the world; but most of all I was grateful for meeting a stranger, who only a few hours earlier, had given me a much needed new perspective.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
12-24-03
T'WAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
T'was the night before Christmas when we were not home
Cause we traveled the world as goats do roam.
Our packs were placed on the floor with care
As thoughts turned to home and those we left there.
Our families were gathered, each in their place
Eating and drinking with crumbs on their face.
Lynne phoned home to talk for a while
With Mom and Dad and to make Karl smile.
While I stuffed my face with chocolate and wine
The rest opened gifts, I said, "Hey! Where's mine?"
Packages were sent from St. Paul and Sioux Falls
Filled with cookies and candies and peanut butter balls.
Der Opa played piano while we sang a song
Of children and Christmas and O Tanenbaum.
We laughed and we talked 'til the end of the night
In German and English - discussions with might.
The hour drew late so we all settled in
Lynne and I and our new German kin.
Though we slept far from home no wish was forgotten
Merry Christmas to All...or Frohe Weihnachten!
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
12-23-03
WHAT GOES AROUND...
Back to the Netherlands a second time
to see some friends of Lynne and mine.
We met Ron and Roos on a trail called Inca
then asked, "When in Europe may we come see ya?"
They said, "Of course, we'd love you to stay
you may come any time or from any way."
They live in the south where the people aren't tall
but open and casual and fun best of all.
Travelers themselves they knew what was best
no schedule, no pressure, just plenty of rest.
They opened their home and gave so unselfish
took us to movies and even spoke elfish.
With no trains to catch or sites to visit
we had instead conversations - exquisite!
We learned of the Dutch and their preference for balance
efficiency and tolerance are also their talents.
We tried bread with sprinkles and flavor under cover
cause everyone knows food's better with butter.
Stampot came last with beer in between
for five days and nights we lived king and queen.
So many memories for us to savor
someday we hope to return them the favor.
Sadly we left and tears were shed
our lives had touched theirs and here's what they said:
To Roaming Goats
From Roos and Ronald
Those who roam for long times and to many places
create fine memories and many traces
Those who roam wander in a year well spent
making many stranger a friend
Those who roam something they take, something they give
once they settle have a richer way to live
Those who roam they went away just like they came
leaving us behind, never the same
Those who roam we gladly received and sadly departed from
may a new crossing of paths once come
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
12-12-03
AN AMERICAN EXPERIENCE
Nine thousand three hundred and eighty-seven. That�s how many service men and women are interred at the American Cemetery in Normandy. Three hundred and seven of these graves are marked unknown. Their epitaph reads, �Here Rests in Honored Glory, A Comrade in Arms, Known But to God.� Another one thousand five hundred and fifty-seven names are inscribed on a semi-circular wall in the Garden of the Missing. Sometimes in the tallies of war there are both bodies with no names and names with no bodies. Ten thousand nine hundred and forty-four casualties in all. That�s a lot of lives lost to history. Most of them were younger than I am now: nineteen, twenty-one, twenty-five. They came from places like California, New York, Pennsylvania, and Kansas. Every state was represented. One cross even had the name of a young man from Mexico on it.
On 6 June 1944 American, British, and Canadian troops landed here on the beaches of Normandy at 0630, thus beginning the Allied invasion of France. It would take until late morning to secure the area and nearly 3 months to liberate France; and though the losses were great, the worst casualties were yet to come. Some of the worst carnage happened at Omaha Beach where a few concrete bunkers are still visible on the hilltops overlooking the sea. We walked around the graveplots at the American Military Cemetery under heavy clouds and light drizzle, the perfect climate to match our solemn mood. In order to feel more connected to the spirit of this hallowed ground we searched through rows and rows of headstones looking for state names with great significance to our families. South Dakota. North Dakota. New Jersey. Minnesota. The places of our birth and brethren. We found them all; then knelt down, felt the cold wet marble in our hands, and cried silently inside. Upclose we noticed the surnames of friends from back home in Sioux Falls and wondered if they bore any relation to these soldiers. Scott. Rosenbaum. Loving. Just to name a few. The next day while visiting a British cemetery in Bayeux, we would find our own family names printed there: H. Bradbury, a private from the British Army listed among the missing, and A. Jaeger, a German soldier buried alongside several of his comrades. Shocking to know that just two generations ago our families stood on opposite sides of a thin red line.
In the end, there�s much more to see in Normandy than just cemeteries from the Second World War. For one, there�s a 900 year-old tapestry on display. This long strip of embroidered linen commemorates another famous invasion: the Norman conquest of England in 1066. But this time, the ships left the beaches of Normandy and sailed for British shores. It would be the last time any invader ever successfully conquered the island; an event of great historical significance. But on this day, even the tales of William the Conqueror took a back seat to our American Experience.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
12-10-03
ALICE
We�ve met a ton of Australians on our travels. From Lima to London and Tokyo to Katmandu, they�re everywhere. It seems like every 3rd person you meet at a hostel is an Aussie. With a population of less than 20 million, it�s amazing to see so many out and about around the world. They come from Sydney or Melbourne, Queensland or the interior. Most are young and either beginning or ending a couple of years working in the U.K. No matter the age, they are fearless and chalk full of savvy travel tips. Backpacking seems like a cultural rite of passage for them. Even most of their parents have travelled abroad a time or two. The question for an Australian isn�t IF you�re going to travel but WHEN and for HOW LONG.
We got to know Bridget and Jane in Amsterdam, then Andrew in Austria, and Craig and Jason in Budapest. All good mates; all experienced travellers. Every few days we usually meet another. In fact, Lynne was just saying it�s been over a week since we met an Australian. Something must be wrong. That�s when we met Alice.
She came into the railway station at Basel wearing the usual large pack-small pack combo we all donn on travel days. It wasn�t hard to guess she was Australian. There was a patch bearing her nation�s flag sewn into her backpack (a tradition usually reserved for Canadians travelling abroad). Not seeing any other backpackers around, she approached us and struck up a conversation. Turns out she was heading towards Paris too, so we teamed up and shared a cabin for the 7-hour ride from Switzerland. Just 24 years old, she�s been travelling around Europe for 4 months already and has plans for at least 2 more before finding her way to Vancouver in search of a job for next year. From the far north of Norway to the western edge of Spain, she�s done it all by herself � and with great enthusiasm. Like most other travellers we�ve met, she had a Lonely Planet guide book, fleece jacket, and loads to say about her trip. But the most intriguing thing about Alice was not what she said but how she said it. Communicating mostly by reading lips, she also used a hearing aide to pick up background sounds and when these methods failed she resorted to writing out a word or drawing a picture on a piece of paper. All this was necessary�because Alice is deaf.
Travelling on your own is hard enough but add to it an inability to hear and that�s got to make getting around complicated. Here in Europe we�ve encountered a new language nearly every week. I can�t imagine trying to find lodging or transportation by pointing to pre-printed phrases in a book then deciphering the reply in a foreign language. But it hasn�t dampened Alice�s spirit. She just goes on chatting like anyone else. With energy and enthusiasm she showed us how to sign the alphabet using AUSLAN or the Australian Sign Language system. Then shared stories from home like how she went scuba diving at the Great Barrier Reef � twice.
When we arrived at the railway station in Paris a friend was there to meet her. With Paris just a stop over for us we said �au revoir� and went on looking for the next train to Bayeux. No doubt it won�t be long before we meet another Australian in our travels, but I doubt we�ll meet anyone like Alice anytime soon.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
12-7-03
SIMPLE ABUNDANCE
When you come to Switzerland you come to see the mountains: majestic peaks, beautiful vistas, tiny little villages; but as soon as we stepped on to the platform in Lucerne it was clear we�d be chasing the sun. It was as though the fog had rolled in about the same time as our train. The air was cold; clouds thick and gray. But my heart warmed as soon as I saw their faces. I gave them both big bear hugs in leu of the traditional kisses on the cheek. I couldn�t help it. I was too excited because I haven�t seen Pavel and Grethe in two years.
We met in Central America while travelling the Mayan route; they as a couple and I with my friend Mark. Heading in the same direction from Mexico�s Yucatan, we spent about two weeks exploring Belieze and Guatemala together. We shared a hotel room in Caye Caulker and took our first post-certification scuba-dives together. Then after negotiating the dodgy border crossing into the Peten of Guatemala, we camped out in the city of Flores as a group before beginning a three-day jungle trek to the ruins of Tikal. Long hours of slow hiking through dense jungle gives you plenty of time to talk - and chat we did about a great many things: language, culture, history, current affairs. It was then that we really grew to know each other. When our trek was over, we exchanged emails and went our separate ways. They east to Rio Dulce. We west to Guatemala City. But I left them knowing I would one day see their pretty faces again.
They look a bit different now: hair a little longer, skin a little lighter, clothes a little cleaner. But they�re still the same two connected souls I met in the jungle. Married now with steady jobs and talk of family in the future, it was a pleasure to see them in their home and introduce them to my wife. I was especially excited for Lynne to meet them because they, like her, are people of simple abundance. It�s a value they live - literally. A flat made out of a former car shop; a dining table renovated from an old army desk; filing cabinets for kitchen cupboards; countless appliances and furnishings resurrected from the dead and put to new use. Innovative and creative. That�s the Pavel and Grethe I know. Don�t have shorts for a hike in the jungle? No problem. Just cut the legs off your long pants. Don�t have a kitchen in your apartment? Create one! And while you�re at it, build a centre island complete with stove top, sink, and three tiers of shelving � all collapsible and ready to move at any time. Why build something that�s only good once? Maximize your resources. Engage your brain. That�s finding flow. That�s simple abundance.
Our fondness grew throughout the weekend over fondue and chocolate, hiking and biking. We laughed, talked, ate and played games. We even had a good-ole-fashioned, �bake off.� America versus Switzerland: cookies versus chocolate. Oddly enough, we made the chocolates and they baked the cookies. No winner was declared, the competition too close. The best part was simply sharing time together. Monday was a holiday so we were able to extend the fun and take in the festivities of St. Nickolaus Day together. Watching the parade in town and sipping gluwine and punsch, it felt like Christmas was near; it felt like we had a family here.
Through it all the fog persisted and kept those magnificent peaks hidden from us. Determined to rise above the clouds and see the beauty of snow-capped mountains we went for a hike to the top of one of the highest points around Lake Lucerne. Still, the view was obstructed. Waiting for fog to clear is like waiting to reacquaint with far-off friends, it requires time, patience, and hope. But if you�re willing to stick it out and make that arduous journey, you�ll be rewarded with riches beyond imagination � like friendship. Wow. What a view!
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
12-5-03
MAKING FACES
Scrunchy nose. Chubby face. Wide eyes. Then a grin.
She makes him laugh then run to mom and smiles deep within.
�I miss playing with kids� she says; and this I do believe.
Six years she�s worked with toddlers like this who goober on your sleeve.
Married five months; no job for four; and on the road a year.
The stress has mounted. We�ve talked. We�ve yelled. And shed more than a tear.
But still we�re only newly-weds so forgive us if we shout.
Cause marriage is the kind of thing only time can figure out.
Time moves on and so do we, a train bound for Suisa (Switzerland).
Twelve days in all, from south to north, Italia we�re gonna miss ya!
Tuscan sun and Venitian nights, so much �round hear to see,
We slowed things down and did it right - the best things were free.
Like walking the streets of Florence. Or getting lost in Venice.
I slipped, then fell and broke the camera which probably was my pennance.
No worries though. No harm was done to body, mind, or soul.
From this we grew, our spark re-newed and moved onwards toward our goal.
Arrivederci.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
12-5-03
Entry by Lynne
Written on the train from Venice, Italy to Lucerne, Switzerland
It felt great to smile. Really smile. It has been a while since I have felt lit up like that. The one and a half year old little boy a row up was able to bring this light to my soul in a way the sights of the world have been unable to achieve. Watching him negotiate drinking from a sippy cup, finding his own voice, and his playful smile reminded me of what makes me truly happy. Children. I love their innocence, discovery, little hands, and interaction with the world around them. I realize how privileged I have been to get to play with children as part of my job each day for the last seven years. Discovering their world and my part in it was a gift. Since we left Peru, I really haven't gotten a chance to interact with kids and I miss it. It is in this moment that I am reassured that children need to be in my life in some way- as a career and someday as a parent.
12-2-03
LIVING RICH/TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP
TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP�means you go hungry on the train ride because there wasn�t enough time to buy food before you left the hostel.
TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP�means you hike in the rain because to reschedule would add an extra day�s cost to your budget.
TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP�means the Italian leather boots stay in the store window because purchasing them would forfiet almost 3 nights lodging.
TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP�means you eat dinner in your room because take-away costs less than dine-in.
TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP�means you carry your heavy pack on your back all day while seeing sights because leaving it at the railway station is equivilent to the price of a meal.
TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP�means you eat cold pepperoni and dry bread for lunch in the rain because sitting at a restaurant triples the cost.
TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP�means you view the passing landscape under gray cloudy skies because you�ve come to Europe in November.
TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP�means you hand wash your socks and underwear every 4 or 5 days because there�s no time to sit and wait at a lavanderia.
TRAVELING ON THE CHEAP�means you don�t sleep with your new bride 5 out of 7 nights a week because the price for a double room excedes your daily budget.
Being able to hike Cinque Terre from Riomaggiore to Vernazza means you�re�LIVING RICH.
Having two scoops of gelato on a cold rainy day means you�re�LIVING RICH.
Seeing flat rose petals pressed into your wife�s diary means you�re�LIVING RICH.
Learning to bargan down the price for 2 nights� stay in La Spezia means you�re�LIVING RICH.
Sharing a bottle of Italian wine nearly everyday means you�re�LIVING RICH.
Walking around medieval Pisa chasing the shadow of Galileo around the Leaning Tower means you�re�LIVING RICH.
Using the fresh scent of oranges from Florence to get the week-long stench out of your shoes means you�re�LIVING RICH.
Staying at a hostel inside a 17th century country villa in Tuscany means you�re�LIVING RICH.
Laughing and loving through Northern Italy means you�re�LIVING RICH.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
11-30-03
A LIVING MUSEUM
He stepped up to the open window around twelve o�clock. The large crowd gathered below began to clap and cheer. He raised his right arm to wave and a thousand camera shutters began to click. Mine included. After all, it isn�t everyday you get to see the Pope. Unless of course you live in Rome.
This is a city that lives and breathes history. During our visit we went back in time and walked through the ruins of the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill where emperors dined and senators plotted; climbed the steps of the Colosseum to watch the ghosts of gladiators battle it out below; and then lifted our eyes high to the heavens as we studied the magnificance of the Pantheon�s dome. All buried alive here for two millennia. Fast forward a couple hundred years and see the Arch of Constantine with us. Built to honor his victory in battle circa 312 A.D., now it symbolizes the beginning of the Christian era in the Roman Empire. Jump ahead another 500 years to see the power shift from imperial to papal in the paintings and antiquities of the Vatican Museums. Following these Dark Ages came a �new birth� or Renaissance revealed in the art work of masters such as Leonardo da Vinci, Raphael, and Michelangelo - especially Michelangelo. His influence is evident all over this city. Just pay a visit to the Sistine Chapel or St. Peter�s Basilica and you�ll see the power of genius before your eyes. Throw a coin over your shoulder into Trevi Fountain or climb the Spanish Steps to the church of Trinita dei Monti as we did and you�re now in the 18th century. Follow us to Vatican City and you�ve just crossed the street into the world�s smallest country, made possible in 1929 by Mussolini. From ancient to modern, Medevil to Renaissance, at one time or another it seems all roads led here. So much so that evey time the city tries to expand a little it uncovers another ruin once hidden from the surface. This translates to crowded buses and busy trams for the 3.8 million residents of Rome, whom also must put up with a daily invasion of tourists to their living museum.
Like Rome, Pope John Paul II has lived a great many years. And he too has been able to transform his influence to fit the times. The aging man and the old city share many virtues, but none more striking on this sunny Sunday morning than their reverence and fragility. His movements were slow; his posture stooped; his voice cracked and trailed off at times; but it was energizing just to be in his presence. The blessing was short; his message one of love and solidarity. He spoke only in Italian but all knew what he meant. Often in Rome, you don�t need to know the language to understand what�s being said.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
11-28-03
SOUTHERN ITALY BY RAIL
(Read to the rhythm of Chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga Chugga-chugga CHOO!)
Pizza, pasta, wine and BREAD
Go to Da Michele's all the locals SAID.
Honk, honk, beep, beep, gesture and YELL
Just crossing the street could land you in HELL.
Hurculaneum, Pomeii, Vesuvius TOO
Seventy-nine AD the mountain BLEW!
Covered all the people in lava and ASH
Now it brings Italy loads of CASH.
Napoli, Salerno, the Amalfi COAST
Sitting by the sea is what we loved the MOST.
The rich play here in summer on boat and SKIFF
We enjoyed the bus ride peeking down the CLIFF.
Off to Paestum, three temples GREEK
Downpour, downpour, wet cold FEET.
Four days, four nights, where did time GO?
Now we're on the train again, next stop ROME.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
11-24-03
THE FINE PRINT
I�m tired. Hot. Hungry. Irritated. Aggravated. It�s times like this I think travel sucks and I wish I were home. We�ve been on and off trains for over 20 hours already and there�s at least 2 more to go. They�ve just announced our train to Napoli will be 30 minutes later in departing. �Par for the course,� Lynne says. She�s had enough too. It�s just been one mishap after another. The main irritant hasn�t been the long hours or gloomy weather but the extra fees we keep getting charged.
We left Budapest last evening at 6:55 pm. Our Eurail pass says that for direct overnight trains departing after 7 pm the next day�s date must be entered. So does that mean one or two days are entered for that trip? We weren�t sure but the ticket agent at the station told us it should be covered as only one day of travel. It wasn�t. So the ticket collector on board charged us 30 Euro to make up the time and distance differential. Then after crossing the border into Austria, a new collector shows up, asks to see our tickets, and punches our pass. That means we�ve paid for part of the trip in cash and had our pass validated for the same trip. Not good. From Vienna we boarded another train bound for Venice, this one being a direct overnight type so the ticket collector punches our passes again but this time with the next day�s date on it. When I start to protest he says there is no problem because this train is going to Italy. What the heck is that supposed to mean! There�s no point in argueing because the mistake happened two languages ago. Besides, they all use the same dead-end negotiation tactic: point to the conditions of use on the vochure and reiterate them verbally over and over and over. To tally the score, we�ve paid 30 Euro for part of a ticket, had two days entered on our pass, and we haven�t even traveled 4 hours yet. Wait it gets worse. We make it to Venice all right then jump on the next train bound for Rome. Since today�s date has already been entered on our pass we figure we might as well get as far south as possible. According to our time table, we think this train does not have a reservation requirement because there is no �R� printed next to it. Wrong. It does have a fee because of the type of train it is: Eurostar Italia - very expensive. That�ll be another 32 Euro please; doubled because we paid for the reservation on board rather than at the ticket office. Plus we received a nice little �talking to� about writing the date of travel in pen on our pass before boarding the train. I thought the collector�s stamp was good enough. Guess not. Oh, the lecture was free.
The Eurail traveler�s guide advertises, ��a relaxed and hassle-free rail riding experience, full of wonderful memories.� Right. Next time I think we�ll just buy our own 2nd class seats along the way and be done with all the fine print.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
11-23-03
HOMELESS IN BUDAPEST
UPDATE FROM LYNNE
Home- is possible without a permanent address.
Opportunity- in Budapest to take a break from the pace, prices, and paying attention only to our needs.
Magyar M�ltai- the answer to our question at tourist information regarding volunteering.
Everyone- is fed from the tea bus or the homeless shelter.
Living areas- in the Back Pack Hostel make it an easy place to form a temporary family with other travellers.
Eating- the food we cooked (first time in 3 months) in the hostel kitchen surrounded by our new friends.
Stories- of America from Shelly (Kansas) and of Minnesota from Barroka, a Hungarian woman who lived in roseville, MN for a year.
Sharing- is what makes life a home.
11-23-03
GOING HUNGARY
UPDATE FROM MIKE
Two slices of thick bread stuck together with a thin film of lard; tea made with carmelized sugar and lemon; all you can eat, served buffet style from nine til noon. That's breakfast at the Magyar Maltai Szeretet Scolgalat. Somewhat like the Salvation Army back home, Magyar Maltai runs homeless shelters and soup kitchens throughout Budapest. Though they have their volunteer base rooted in Catholocism, we were told the state requires each district to provide these services - and pay for them. Since the Socialist era ended in 1989, times have been tough in Hungary. The transition to a free market economy has resulted in a dramatic increase in unemployment and poverty. The homeless are visible all over the city: under bridges, in the parks, on the streets. Everywhere. Some are filthy; others clean and combed. Old, young, women, and men...especially men. Probably 95% of the people that came through the food lines were men. When the doors open at nine they file into the warm basement dining-hall just off Moszkva Square happy to be off the streets for a while. But there are rules to entering the premises: each must show a permit certifying that they are free of TB and "bugs." The medical checks are free and renewed weekly. If they are unable to produce the proper paperwork, they are asked to leave, but not before being given a loaf of bread or a bag full of sandwiches. Inside, they eat their bread and drink their tea. Some read the newspaper quietly in the corner while others chat loudly in small groups as if they were at a restaraunt or pub, but all look tired and weathered. Regulars are greeted with a wink and a smile; new faces just the same. Once everyone is seated with food and drink we recite the Lord's Prayer. Then the director reads a passage from the Gospel. He is a tall, thin, frail-looking young man with desheveled hair and dirty clothes himself. But I see love and compassion in his eyes and I am assured that all are cared for here.
Coming to Hungary wasn't even in our original travel plans, but Western Europe was simply too expensive and exhausting. Tired of the pace from touring museums and markets, castles and cathedrals,we headed east to Budapest for rest...and work.
Volunteering is a two-way street; you give and receive, teach and learn. It's a lesson my parents taught us years ago. They led by example taking us to soup kitchens on Thanksgiving to serve dinner in leu of feasting on our own turkey or opening their home to boarding-school students on holidays when they had no place else to go. Now we all serve in different ways: teaching English to a refugee family from Boznia; helping children learn to love animals; spending time with the 'Lost Boys of Sudan' as they settled into American life...the list goes on. I've even become a volunteer for the American Red Cross post 9-11 because of my parents. Small contributions that can make a big difference - it's a lasting legacy. Lynne seems accustomed to it too. She has taken quite easily to making sandwhiches, serving tea, washing dishes, or mopping floors. And she does it with such style too. When someone comes back for a second helping of bread or a refill on tea, she's grown fond of saying, "Com'n right up!" in typical diner-vernaculum. Her grace even overwhelmed one man so much that he made a gift of several postcards and pencils saying, "I love your smile," before he left. It's evident she had good teachers too.
Three mornings serving breakfast; a forth making sandwiches; one night riding the tea bus; another with the ambulance. Twenty hours in all. We were still able to see the main sights around Budapest, at least one everyday. But what we'll remember most about out week here is not the walk around Castle Hill or seeing the mummified hand of St. Stephan, but the words Koszonon (Thank you), and Szivesen (You're welcome).
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
11-14-03
HITCHING
Update from Mike
It's easy. Just make a sign that says where you want to go. Take a local bus to the edge of town. Stand on the side of the road near a section wide enough for a car to pull over. Put you packs on the ground to show them you don't have much luggage. And wait for someone to stop. Twenty or thirty minutes tops!
This is what Andrew told me when I asked him about hitching. He's an Austrailian backpacker whose been traveling for eighteen months. And when someone whose been on the road that long gives you advice, you listen. Besides, these are desparate times that call for drastic measures. The strike has not lifted and no one seems to know when the trains will run again. Apparently there hasn't been a work stopage in the Austrian rail system this long since the 1890's. Our Eurail pass is useless; taxis are charging 400 Euro or rides to Vienna; and the only buses running out of the city are going to the German border. And we've just come from there! We can't stay in Salzburg indefinitely, so...
We waited almost an hour for the first car to stop. Inside was a heavy-set man dressed in black with a shaved head and goatee. He said where he was going but I didn't know the name. I asked if it was on the way to Vienna and he nodded, so we hopped in. Making small talk while hitching a ride is interesting. Both parties are usually a bit guarded at first but things tend to relax over time. He spoke some English so we asked more about the strike. He complained about increased driving time on the highways then lit a cigarette as the tail lights in front of us turned red. We hadn't gone more than twenty or thirty minutes down the road when he pulled over at a rest stop to let us off. Pity. I had just asked him about what he did for a living and owner of night clubs and go-go bars was the answer, (though he tells his mother they are reputable restaraunts).
The second ride was much like the first, though this one took only 10 minutes to wave down from the carpark. Single man. Bald head. And a smoker. He spoke limited English also but was Arabic in origin, not Austrian. The mood of uneasiness was lifted this time by a well-timed remark. After driving a while he asked us where we came from. We told him the U.S., to which he replied, "I'm Iraqi." Silence. Then laughter as he told us he was only joking and that his original ethnicity was really Egyptian. Funny how conflict can be a conduit for humor. This ride lasted only thirty or forty minutes as well. Two hitches and we had barely traveled a third of the distance we needed to cover.
Ten minutes more at another rest stop and we procured our final ride for the day. This one didn't fit the profile at all: middle-aged woman, alone in the car. She pulled up and asked if we spoke English. We said we did and she offered to take us all the way to Vienna with her so long as we helped her stay awake, didn't sing in the car, wouldn't sue if an accident occured. Fair enough. Turns out she was a school teacher from a lake-town near Salzburg. She typically travels by train to Vienna twice a month to visit her son but was forced to drive today because of the strike. Lucky for us. She and Lynne chatted nearly the whole ride in, except for when we had to change the tire along the roadside. Did I mention we had a flat? The woman said she had never picked up hitch-hikers before and only did so on this occasion because of the strike. Plus, she thought we looked like nice clean people. We confessed this was our first time hitching a ride and that we were only doing it because of the strike.
All in all it was an interesting way to get from point A to point B. Normally a 3-hour trip by train, it took us almost 6 hours to reach Vienna; but the price was unbeatable. Total cost: 1.70 Euro each for the bus ride to the edge of Salzburg. And we owe it all to Andrew, our hostel roommate turned travel agent. He was heading to Vienna for the weekend as well so we hope to meet up with him there. I'd like to buy him a beer, it's the least we could do to celebrate our arrival.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
11-12-03
STRANDED IN SALZBURG
We rose bright and early this morning, determined not to miss the train this time. Packed up our belongings quietly in the dark. Brought our dirty linens to the reception area. And collected our 10 Euro key deposit from the attendant. Then it was off to the main railway station north of Old Town Salzburg, a 20 minute walk that would turn into 2 hours by mid-morning. First stop: Eurostar, a regional supermarket, to buy snack foods for the 6 hour ride to Budapest. Then straight to the front doors of the stationhouse to see about getting on the next train heading east. But we would go no further today; our plans interrupted by a workers strike.
The first clue was a sign posted on the door that had the word, "striken," on it. Not knowing much German we walked right by it. The second clue was a man standing in the center of the room wearing a red plastic vest with the same word printed on it. We walked past him too. Again German. The third clue, to obvious to miss, was the absense of commuters in the station at 8:30 in the morning on a regular business day. There were only about half a dozen people standing around and most of them were talking with the man in the red vest. Then came the clincher. The big black board that usually lists all departure times and destinations was blank. That's when it hit me. NO TRANSPORTATION AVAILABLE. THERE'S A STRIKE. Closed ticket windows confirmed my realization, as did the union representative wearing the red vest. He told me nothing would be available until Friday. No trains. No buses. Nothing running in Austria. Apparently the transportation union is protesting the possible privitatzation and break-up of their service. The work stoppage went into effect Tuesday at midnight and no one can say for sure when it will be lifted, but we definitely won't be leaving Salzburg today.
There are worse places to be stranded I suppose. Like an airport; a bus station; or on a roadside in the middle of nowhere. Salzuburg is a fairly small town, tiny compaired to Europe's other nameable cities, but it hardly qualifies as the middle of nowhere. Though, it is quiet here this time of year and with 1 out of 3 jobs dependent on tourism, the streets are fairly empty. November is the off-season for the birthplace of Mozart. Most people come for summer tours and winter skiing. We came to rest and regroup before heading to Vienna, Budapest, and eventually Rome. Even the Christmas markets aren't going yet; but low tourism means quiet streets, reduced rates, and good availability of services. However, with no lines to wait on, you soon run out of sights to see. We made a walking tour out of the city's main landmarks in half a day: Mozart's birthplace, Mozart's residence, Festung Hohensalzburg, etc. Then camped out at an internet cafe for the afternoon. Twice. Forced to stay longer than we planned, now we're after cheap food, cheap accomodation, and cheap fun. They show, 'The Sound of Music,' at our hostel every night for free. We're going tonight...and maybe tomorrow too. Hey. It beats the 25 Euro tour of the film sights. Yes, the hills are alive here but it's the sound of silence. Ironic that we would come to visit the birthplace of a musical genious when the city itself was sitting quietly, turning pages between movements.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
Echoes from the Past
November 10, 2003
Update from Lynne
I felt the past resonating in and around me as we traveled along the roads of Germany last week. These echoes of the past were my constant companions.
Tales of hiking to a magical castle. Jaegermeister glasses collected from grocery store samples. Photographs of colorful foods at an outdoor market. Adventurous driving on mountain roads. Slide shows of churches and castles. Stories of budgeting one restaurant meal a day because money was tight. Hofbrau beer steins that were carried six at a time by the waitresses at Oktoberfest. Calls home to check in with family about an ailing father. Pictures of clothes drying on the dashboard of their VW van. These treasures were collected by my parents 31 autumns ago and helped to furnish our home in the years to follow. Traveling the same roads my parents did during their two and a half months in Europe has been a special experience for me. I felt their presence most as we traveled in the Bavarian region of Germany they loved so much. My mom was a year younger than I am now when she too studied the variety of foods in the markets and marveled a the mountain peaks. As I gaze with awe at buildings constructed in the Middle Ages, I imagine my dad's eyes carefully studying the features as he was seeing his architecture textbooks come to life. The echoes surround me as I experience the sights, sounds, and tastes for myself. Oh, to stand where they stood during a similar stage in life. It leaves me with a deeper respect for the creativity, risk, and discipline required for a trip like this. I can clearly see how the process of collecting these treasures has been instrumental in shaping them as individuals, as a couple, and as a family.
It's everywhere in Germany. It's on the street signs, store names, in conversation, and a liquor drink. The echoes of my German ancestry start our family name of "Jaeger." Both of my parents are from families of German origin, so the traditions, religion, and values run deep. I had no idea the extent until my time in our homeland. The shop windows call out to me as I pass. The cookies and cakes in the bakery windows look like the ones my grandmas would bake. I feel at home with the Christmas decorations such as the handmade straw Christmas ornaments tied with red string, Nutcracker soldiers, and tiered wooden windmills that rotate from the warmth of candles. The bratwurst, herring, and spaetzle sold at the food stands harkens sense memories from my Minnesota childhood. When I saw something familiar I would ask our friends Tina and Axel, "Is this German?" The German and Scandinavian cultures coexist and often blend together in the Midwest. Therefore, it's a challenge at times to tease out the origins. Evidently that is the case here as well, according to our friends. The countries are relatively close together and have blended some traditions, foods, etc... There has also been a more of a blending of religions here in recent years. It wasn't always that way. The Lutheran religion has it's roots in Germany. We heard of the impact of the Reformation during our tours of castles, museum, and churches. Watching the movie "Luther" on the big screen in Germany helped to further bring the story to life. The names, places, and events were fresh in our minds from our days in the countryside of Germany. There was also a familiarity that I felt with the German people. They are a hardworking people who value family, know how to have fun, are guarded with emotional matters, straightforward (painfully at times) with other matters, and show love with food. It's wonderful to feel so at home in countless ways...3, 000 miles away.
11-10-03
BEAUTIFUL MINDS
Have you ever just missed a train. Watched it pull away right in front of your eyes. Close enough to see it; too far to reach it. It leaves you wondering what you could have done differently. Maybe I shouldn't have stayed in the bathroom so long. Or had that third slice of bread loaded with Nutella for breakfast. Perhaps that's WHY I was in the bathroom so long! If only Track 6 hadn't been so far from the ticket office. Then we would have made it on time. Who am I kidding? Lynne and I run late for everything; we're almost never on time. And trains around here don't wait for you if you're late. It was inevitable. We were doomed from the start. Plus, we've spent the last week in the protective care of good friends and it appears our backpacker instincts have dulled a bit.
Things are different when you're with friends. You can relax. Let your guard down. Unwind. We spent the first three days just resting at Tina and Axel's apartment in Mainz. Eating. Drinking. Talking. A chance to catch up on world events, hear voices from home, and plan out the coming week of travel. Tina and Axel live in the Rhine Valley, a region known for its wine. We went for a hike through riesling vineyards the first day and visited Tina's parents the next, stopping to view several castle ruins along the way. And no visit to this area would be complete without a look out from Loreley Cliff of course. After buying a few necessary items for the cold autumnal weather and laundering nearly everything we own, the four of us set off to explore Bavaria together.
I've known Tina for 11 years now. As an exchange student, she lived with my family in Chamberlain for a year and has been like a sister ever since. We keep in touch like distant relatives with emails, birthday cards, and phone calls once in a while. I visited her here in Germany once before about 4 years ago; she returned to the States for the first time last June for our wedding. It was then that we first met Axel. Though we've only know him a short time, he has fast become a good friend. A strong man with great patience and good sense, Axel is both likeable and trustworthy in an instant. He too has spent time in the U.S. as an exchange student so both are well versed in Amerikana. And at a time when many young Europeans find it cool to be anti-American, they help to bridge the gap through insight and experience. Though they oppose the U.S.'s war with Iraq as well as other unilateral policies of the Bush administration, both maintain a level-headed perspective on the issues. They've studied their history and are familiar with ours. The difference is most of us know very little of theirs.
Together we traveled the romantic roads of Bavaria, from Heidelberg to Rothenburg and F�ssen to Munich. We visited castles and churches; medieval towns and museums. They filled our bellys with sausage and cheese and our heads with stories of kings and Kaisers. Like crazy King Ludwig II whom created Neuschwanstein castle, the inspiration for Disney's Fantasyland castle. And the Iron Chancellor Bismark whom was chiefly responsible for unifying the divided kingdoms of Germany into one nation. Sadly, we most remember the Nazis and events of World War II. Yes, this is the country that produced Adolf Hitler; but it's also the nation that gave us Beethoven and Bach, Goethe and Gutenburg, Einstein and Marx. They came from places like Bonn and Eisenach, Frankfurt and Mainz, Ulm and Trier. Even Martin Luther wrote his 95 theses that launched the Protestant Reformation from the little town of Wittenburg. All of them changed the world we live in, each in their own way. If the names are unkown to you, then it proves our isolation as Americans. It seems unfair to let the legacy of one outshine all the rest. While in Munich we visited Dachau, the first Nazi concentration camp. There's much to learn from a place like this. But what shocked me the most was to find out that the first prisoners here were actually Germans. Those who dared oppose Hitler's National Socialist Part were sent here for re-education or death. History. There's always more to learn. That's the perspective Tina and Axel seem to have. They are beautiful teachers with beautiful minds. And we are lucky to know them.
We said goodbye after the Bayern-M�nchen football game; a special treat to end our holiday together. But we'll see them again at Christmas, provided we can learn to use the railway system again. I'ver heard it said that good things come to those who wait. Or are late? Two young girls just approached me about sharing our train ticket. We have a special Bavarian pass, good for groups up to five. They're willing to pay 10 Euro to join us which lowers the price we paid to just 11 Euro. This never would have happened had we made the 9:42 AM to Salzburg. Sometimes, I gues it pays to miss your train.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
11-6-03
A DAY FOR DAD
UPDATE FROM MIKE
My parents have never been to Europe, nor Africa, Asia, or South America. One family vacation to Winnipeg and an anniversary cruise in the Carribean are all that qualify as international travel for them. It's not that they don't want to see more of the world; it's just hard for them to get away. Like most Americans, they are committed to house and home, work and family. They maximize their limited vacation time by extending holidays and visiting relatives when they can. As a result, it's difficult for them to travel outside the country for extended periods. I think of them often as we travel around the globe. Everywhere we go I ask myself: Would they like it here? Could they afford to stay a while? Would they have done what it took to get here? All unanswerable questions. But through sharing my experiences, I feel a part of them is here with me.
We are in Vienna, the Austrian capitol of music and culture, and the last twenty-four hours have been a day for my dad. I first thought of him while standing in the home of Sigmund Freud. As we paced slowly through the apartment that once housed the father of psychoanalysis, I couldn't help but think of the link between them. Though he works as a school principal, not a psychologist, his professional training was in guidance counseling; a discipline that helped him harness his skills in communicating. He has passed on many valuable lessons to my sisters and me. Active listening, "I" messages, how to express your feelings, etc. Without Freud's contributions to the field of psychology, I wonder if my father would have ever had the opportunity to flourish as a counselor or parent like he has.
From the museum we moved on to find the neo-Gothic Rathus or city hall. It was the opening day of the Vienna Christmas market so the area was packed with people. We weaved through the crowds for over an hour, browsing booths filled with trinkets and toys, ornaments and wreathes, cookies and punch. Dad would have loved it all. Christmas is his favorite time of year and any event that involves merry-making is his cup of tea, (though I think he would have ordered the hot apfel punsch and bratwurst like we did). We even stayed just long enough to see the giant Christmas tree light up for the season. What a thrill!
After the lighting we raced down to the State Opera House to watch a performance of, "The Marriage of Figaro." Though our legs ached from standing for over three hours and the view from the rafters left us only half the stage to see, it was still delightful spending an evening at the opera. Most likely dad would have nodded off before the intermission but he would have been pleased to know he'd fallen asleep listening to the music of Mozart in Vienna.
Then it was off to bed in order to rise early the next morning. The Vienna Boys Choir was singing at the Hofburg's Bugkapelle. This time standing room was free but the boys sang from the choir loft high above our heads so viewing them was out of the question. Mostly I watched the conductor's dark silouhette dance across the ceiling as those angelic voices filled the church. They sang as part of a regular Sunday mass at the Imperial Palace. Liturgy in German; music in Latin. A long-time admirerer of children's choirs and a quiet man of catholic faith, dad would have loved this experience most.
Whether or not my parents ever actually get here or not matters little. What's important is that I've brought them here with my thoughts, my prayers, my memories. I know what they'd say or how they'd react to the trials and triumphs of these travels. And in that way, they are here now with me in the city of Vienna. Someday Lynne and I will return home to share our stories with them, but when we do they'll know they've already been here...for the first time.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
10-31-03
A WORLD OF DIFFERENCE
Well, we made it. Barely. The last time we were running for a train like this we arrived with 5
minutes to spare and thought that was a close shave. This time the wheels started turning as soon as our feet stepped on to the rail car. Fast and furious. That's how we're doing Western Europe. So much to see; such high prices. We've visted 2 cities inside of a week already: Amsterdam and Paris. Both are big. Both are beautiful. And both are a long way from Lima. Though it took only 14 hours to cross the ocean by plane, it's been a world of difference since then.
We arrived in Amsterdam to a near-vacant airport. There were no taxi drivers screaming out our names. No solicitations for hotels, restaurants, or discos. No hassels of any kind. Even the immigration process was non-invasive. They simply opened my passport book, looked at my face, and said, "Enjoy your stay." No questions. No lines. No declarations. And no one to meet us at the airport. In Lima, we had half a dozen friends to see us off. With tears in our eyes we waited in long lines multiple times, filled out our exit cards, and paid a stiff airport tax. What a
difference a day makes.
After taking the subway train to Centraal Station we headed for our hostal of choice on foot. We took in plenty of clean cold air that night as we hiked around the city looking for lodging. NOTHING AVAILABLE TONIGHT. YOU NEED TO HAVE A RESERVATION. FORTY EURO PER NIGHT. A cold reminder that our tourist dollars are not needed here. In Peru, we had our pick ofhotels every place we went and always for under $10 a night. We even had our last night in Lima covered by the owner of Hotel Espana because we were bringing a parcel to her son studying in Amsterdam. What a difference a day makes.
We finally found rooms at the City Hostel Stadsdoelen but had to bunk separately. To our benefit this forced us to mingle with other travelers immediately. And with everone speaking English we were able to make a circle of friends that would last for 3 days. Outside of meeting Shaun on that first flight to Lima, we were never able to connect with other backpackers through our hotels or homestays in Peru. What a difference a day makes.
Travel is full of transitions. And we are about to experience some more. This train that we just jumped on...isn't exactly our train. But it's connected to the one we're supposed to be on. Soon we will reach Brussels where the train will split in two and we'll need to run ahead to find the proper car. Ultimately, we're heading towards Cologne, Germany where we'll be met by our friends Tina and Axel. Once there we'll put down our packs for a week and rest our minds and feet. And tomorrow when we wake we'll no longer be tourists but welcomed guests. What a difference a day can make.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
10-30-03
PARISIAN MIKE'S DIARY
Day 1: Arrrival at Gare du Nord from Amsterdam. Sick again; this time food posioning (-50 points). High fever and body chills. Lynne leads us through the Metro maze. Find our hostel in Marie de Clichy. Book a double room for 4 nights. Eat some soup. See Eiffel Tower from our window (+25 points). Go to sleep.
Day 2: Sleep late. Fever broke in the night. Energy level up; bowels still shakey. Take breakfast, then the Metro. Find Cameroon embassy. Wait in line 1 hour (-25 points). Pay 92 Euro for visa applications. Leave for central Paris, the Metro again. Lunch at sandwich shop. Wander towards Eiffel Tower. Long lines to the top. Head to Arch de Triomphe instead. View traffic from roof: 12 avenues, 1 giant roundabout. Amazing. Watch sunset over Paris (+100 points). Walk the Champs-Elys�es. Return to Eiffel. Small lines, take lift to top. See Paris at night. Kiss (+150 points). Metro home. Dinner late, galettes and crepes. Bed even later. Say goodnight to Eiffel (+25 points).
Day 3: Sleep late. Free breakfast at hostel. Internet and phone calls. Lunch at Italian restaraunt. Metro to Cameroon embassy again. Wait in line to pick up passport and visa (-25 points). Metro back to central Paris. Visit the Louvre. Lose myself in works of art (+100 points). Metro home, dinner on the way. Say goodnight to Eiffel (+25 points). Bed.
Day 4: Breakfast early. Internet. Food shopping. Metro to Ile de las Cit�. Lunch in the park. Visit cathedral Notre Dame (+75 points). Climb north tower. View gargoyles and bellfry. Feel an urge to read Victor Hugo. Haircut, long overdue. Lynne waits at a sidewalk caf� (+100 points). Walk to Monmartre. Pass African and Indian neighborhoods on the way. Climb steps to Basilique du Sacr� Coeur. Another fantastic view (+50 points). Walk to the Moulin Rouge, pass loads of sex shops on the way. Dine on French cuisine. Metro home. Say goodnight to Eiffel (+25 points).
Day 5: Rise early. Breakfast. Meet interesting American from California, good coversation (+25 points). Train to Chateau de Versailles. See enormous palace built by Sun King, Louis XIV. Stand in Hall of Mirrors. Reflect on history. Visit gardens outside. Take train back to Paris. Run to hostel. Retrieve backpacks. Race to Metro. Run for train to Cologne (-25 points). Blow kisses to Paris. Say goodbye to Eiffel.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne
10-24-03
EYES WIDE SHUT
I never expected to feel this way, at least not about a painting. It caught my eye as soon as we turned the corner. Even from afar I could tell there was something special about this one. The central figures looked so real they appeared to be standing in front of the canvas, not painted on it. Crowds of people surrounded it; it never stood alone. Some passed quickly, others stayed a while. I must have stared at it for close to an hour: 15 or 20 minutes at first glance, then back for a second look later, and a final study before leaving Rijksmuseum. I just couldn't take my eyes off it. Everyone was drawn to the near life-size image hanging at the end of the hall. Because it is a masterpiece. Because it is Rembrandt. Because it is...Night Watch.
My appreciation for art has always been quite modest. I'm a product of the TV-video generation of America so fine art always seemed a little less exciting. I grew up with the sharp images of photography at my disposal. To me, paintings looked like poor attempts at recreating the same life images I saw through the lens. They lacked clarity and precision to my eyes. But of course it wasn't the paintings that were bad all those years, but my vision.
To see the work of a great painter is amazing. Images so clean you can't discern a single brush line from two feet away. Colors, shades, depth, movement. All from mixing pigments with oils. Rembrandt was a master of chiaroscuro, contrasting light and dark. Illuminating only what he desired, his subjects take life. The contrast adds depth and definition to the figures and movement is enhanced. It appears no one did this better than he. The leading Dutch painter of his time, many have studied his style since. I am seeing it for the first time. And with patience, perhaps I won't ever look at art again with eyes wide shut.
From Goats do Roam,
Mike and Lynne