All By Myself…In France

Across from the church in the Place St. Sulpice…I am resting before I retrace my steps to find my hotel. Unsure how I missed it but that’s okay as this is a charming little square. There is a fountain with crouching lions and some God-guy spouting water on opposite sides of four corner urns. It is March 14th, nearly 60 degrees with some sun so the whole world is outside. A group of boys play roller hockey, a couple of kids were doing skateboard tricks, a remote control car skittered around and grandmas clutched the arms of their daughters while they ambled through. A variety of people sit on the benches along the perimeter including one jet-lagged tourist and her little red suitcase. That would be me…

Flight day had been stressful. Leaving Minneapolis there was a large pop and flash in the plane as we took off. Upon arrival in Boston they had given my reserved seat away. Upon arrival in Paris the metro was under construction and cash machines were out of order. In retrospect, the lightning didn’t harm the plane, I was given a business class seat on the next flight out. There was no bright side to Charles DeGaulle airport…wait in line to wait in another line.

The train into Paris was filled with the buzz of multiple languages. Beside the railroad tracks trailers and abandoned train cars were now being used as homes…I wondered about the zoning laws. I had jumped off the local bus just a block from my lodging, which I couldn’t find…

So now, nerves soothed by the pause in the park, I pulled my suitcase back in the direction of the Michelet Odeon and discovered it under two stories of construction plastic. It was struggling to reach its two-star reputation with cracking paint, bubbly wall paper and a rack that fell off the wall when I took a towel. I can’t look out the window and the plastic rustling outside crinkles a constant chorus. On the positive side, I have seen no insects and the location is perfect!

Luxembourg Park is my favorite in park in Paris. This trip, alone, I can spend as much time as I desire strolling and soaking up the ambience. A constant stream of joggers ran through displaying every body type clad in an amazing variety of gear. Parents with their young kids floated boats across a pool using sticks to launch them with a push and retrieve them at the end-for just 3 Euros an hour. The MOST impressive thing is how the whole world, French and tourist alike, was content to enjoy Spring’s arrival. They walked and talked and read…and sat with their heads thrown back so the sun could kiss their faces.

Back in my room my bathroom door is creaking and the little t.v. way up on the ceiling is speaking French. Time to read and sleep and get back on a real schedule tomorrow…today’s four hour nap should not be the norm!

The day I visited the Louvre I had some errands to run in the morning. Finding breakfast was terrifying as each coffee shop was crowded with people and my brain was not crowded with confidence in being able to order. I finally braved a quiet establishment and secured hot chocolate with a croissant. After breakfast I bought tickets to Pontivy at Montparnasse Station. I would be visiting my college friend, Nancy, who had married a lovely French man. The dramatic French ticket agent, her English limited but not as limited as my French, took care of all of my needs with many eyerolls, exclamations of “ooh”, pursing of lips and tongue clicking. Now, it’s off to the Louvre to enjoy some art!

I didn’t really appreciate the Louvre. I appreciated the walk to the Louvre down the Boulevard San Michel and along the Seine. It was even sort of exciting to have my bag scanned, check my coat and study the map. I decided that I needed to see a particular part of the museum. When I finally found it, after going through the Napoleon‘s Apartment Exposition, it was closed off. Upon studying another map, I discovered that the bulk of the paintings were in a different section, with one teeny square labeled as Spanish and another as Italian. Obviously, I knew that the Louvre would be dedicated to French art, but was still disappointed with the handful of very early religious Spanish paintings. They were, woefully, situated right next to the Mona Lisa‘s throngs, everybody taking bad photos with the crowd’s upstretched arms snapping quick shots. The teeny elevators to get up to the painting didn’t work for all of the bodies trying to access them so I sought out a stairway. Normally, passing French and Italian sculpture should be a pleasant way to get to paintings but, between the crowds of aggressive tourists and the overwhelming smell of overused toilets, I couldn’t concentrate on figures and colors and light and messages. I just needed to get out of the Louvre into the Spring air!

Walking along the tourist strip, opposite the Seine and between the Louvre and Notre Dame, my disappointment in the art experience disappeared. I took a break in my room and did some reading. The book  “Without Reservations” suggested a visit to a square called Place de Vosges. It was just what I needed! It was a long, long walk past Notre Dame and across Ile de la Cite. I passed a schoolyard that seemed to have castle walls where teens played a wild frisbee game. I continued down San Antoine St. which was full of inviting shops and cafés. When I turned into the square it was small, green and lovely. Truly a step back 400 years! I sat for a long time in front of the thick bushes along with birds, angry that I dare get so close! I’ve hardly had a second thought about danger while traveling alone, but I am careful to choose roads that don’t leave me completely alone. Paris has been refreshing and relaxing but I will leave tomorrow morning to see Nancy, taking the train to Vannes where she will meet me. She has suggested I get a sleeping car ticket…I am so excited!

Luxembourg Garden

Walking Around Paris

Going to See My Old Roomie, Nancy, in Pontivy

3\16 Tuesday

I am on the train to Vannes, having already passed Rennes. Last night I listened to church bells till 2 a.m. Through fitful sleep I recall crackling plastic, zooming cars, drunken pedestrians and the TV blasting of its own accord in the middle of the night. My travel clock annoyed rather than soothed and I had to smother it. So, after about five hours of restless sleep, the construction team started pounding outside of my window… There’s nothing quite so comforting as opening your eyes to the shadow of a man outside your hotel window. This one was studying the packet of cheese I had left out on the makeshift refrigerator of my unusable deck. I wasn’t about to try to explain, especially considering I was in my pajamas, so I watched my breakfast walk away! I dragged my suitcases the mile or so to the train station. 

The day is fine, the sky is blue, it is the 60s here! It was easy to find the train and seat, but second class accommodations are not plush! I had a small seat with a small tray boxing me in next to a dusty curtain. I am next to a wonderful woman, Irene, from Quimper. She has practiced English on me and has been chatting so long that her coffee breath has transformed to garlic breath. My delicate constitution is disturbed by both the dust and the breath…but mitigated by Irene’s kindness and charm.

3/18 Jeudi-Thursday

Well, Nancy has made the last couple of days most enjoyable! I think it was as nice for her to have an old friend here to share some of her French life as it was wonderful for me to have my own French chauffeur and tour guide wrapped up in an old friend! 

Nancy and I had lunch at a crêperie in the city of Vannes. I was charmed by the darling walled city! When I’m in Europe, I feel like all of it is a big Disneyland: each old city a peek into the past, each scene from each window a treat, each train ride or car ride an exciting trip.  Vannes most outstanding feature was the largely intact wild area with the rich green geometric garden spaces between the city and the outside of its wall. The weather was sunny and warm making it 100% of the time on this trip that I’ve had good weather! 

We hit a little rush-hour traffic in Pontivy on our way to Nancy and John-Pierre‘s place 10 minutes outside of the city. They live in a cute little mini- suburb of about a dozen houses, all about 20 years old. The building style in Brittany is smooth white stucco exteriors, dark slate roofs and wooden shutters, very often painted blue. The very old buildings are of weathered stone with smooth white stone highlighting the doors and windows. We saw some wonderfully restored Stone houses, but I was disenchanted as soon as Nancy told me how cold and lightless their interiors were. We had a very quiet dinner with Nancy’s very quiet family. During the entire visit her son Jamie probably said fewer than 10 words to me. Part of that was reluctance to speak in English, but Nancy confirmed my suspicion that theirs is always a very quiet household. Conveniently Stephen was away at college in Rennes so I had a room to take over…a smaller bed than I was used to and I tossed and turned with bizarre dreams. I stumbled sideways across the room when I had to find the bathroom in the middle of the night. 

On Wednesday Nancy was off running errands when I woke up and it was a nice chance to collect my thoughts and eat peanut butter and squishy bread…no French bread or croissants on hand! They do, naturally, have an interesting mixture of French and American meals. Doug and I had been north to Mont Saint Michel and San Malo with Nancy on a previous trip so this time she suggested a place called Karnac, which had a bunch of things called Menhirs en route. We stopped at a town called Auray. As the sun sparkled on the water, we climbed for a view of the little canal lined with small boats. the water past to survey the open cafés and shows one with a nice spot in the sun. I treated this time, but it was not such an easy undertaking. On the way back to the car we wandered the medieval streets of the old part  Auray trying to peek into private gardens, over walls and through cracks above thick wooden doors without much success. 

On the route to Karnac we drove past and then wandered beside the huge stones called Menhirs. They are supposed to have been there for 4000 years! Nobody really knows what their purpose was. They were lined up to correspond with how the sun hit them at solstice time so were, probably, part of some ancient religious or scientific practice. It was weird, like some giant’s blocks or dominoes set in rows and extending for miles! It was funny to see the houses and fields built around them and to imagine walking out your back door to a line of giant rocks! We had dinner at Nancy’s and a very good after dinner discussion about politics, healthcare, and international attitudes. It was funny that Jean Pierre was very supportive of American policies, much more than his American wife and her friend. Contrary to all of the media coverage about how Europe despises current American leaders I haven’t met a single French person that does not go out of their way to be kind or to assure me that they know that I am not, necessarily, in support of my country‘s policies. 

The last day with Nancy we decided to just spend the day around the house. We did a quick trip to the bookstore in Pontivy so I would have something to read on the train. We spoke of our lives and felt very lucky to have had this gift of time together!

The French sleeping car adventure

It was a bit uncomfortable at first. I entered the tiny train compartment and pushed my things to the end of my assigned bed, beside the tidily folded blanket. There were three tiny beds, couchettes, on each side of an 18 inch wide aisle. As I turned, I saw a man at the door. I had to step aside for him to enter and had a minute to study him as he arranged his things next to his little blanket. His hair was smooth and black. His eyes were smooth and black. As he turned to me, his smile was smooth and warm. He spoke to me in French. I told him I didn’t speak French (in French). I asked if he spoke English. No, he spoke Turkish!  How about Spanish? No. We both laughed. I liked him already. Four languages between us and none in common. 

He invented a spontaneous language that I  call “document-speak”. He pulled out his work visa and showed me his name and his country. He made me repeat his name, Buhran, until I said it well enough. Explaining all the while, in slow French, he told me he’d been working in France for seven years. Next, he dug out documents to show me his work, complicated plans for a truck. He was a “mecanique electrique”. He looked at me expectantly, as if I should be equally as adept at spontaneous language development. This was my chance to use my HarperCollins French Language Survival Handbook! It would’ve been impressive had I been able to whip it out of my bag!  Instead I pulled out my book from the  library back home in Minnesota, my French garden magazine, my journal, a notebook, an orange, dirty socks and pajamas. Buhran’s smile was beginning to falter. He was losing confidence in me. I had to act quickly. I plunged my hand into the carry-on, felt the edge of a book and drew it out. Success! Now I was ready to talk! 

I found the page labeled conversational phrases. I fired off: “I am from the United States.” “I am married.” “I have three children.” He was stunned by my instant French prowess! He responded that he was married, from Turkey, and had one daughter. We were having such fun communicating here in the 18 inch wide aisle of the train car my fears about potentially spending the night alone with this complete stranger had evaporated. 

As I turned bookpages, looking for new conversational feats we were interrupted by a soft “Bon soir” at our door. Buhran smooshed himself flat into the middle bunk. I slipped past, out the door, so she could enter. Her name was Angelique and she had the unenviable top bunk above where Buhran was currently stashed. He helped her figure out the metal ladder and we watched her butt ascend to the ceiling. She did a very efficient bed-making considering she was on top of it at the time. Buhran introduced me. They shared the French language so I went back to work wending my magic with my Harper Collins:  “I have a sister, Angela…Angelique!” Then I proceeded on with my sisters Virginia, Deanna, Donna, Teresa and Barbara. They concluded this part of our bonding by both exclaiming, “six sisters, wow” or something close to that. We continued with the ages of Angelique, Buhran’s daughter, and my children. 

Using the useful phrases section of my book I asked them if they could possibly find me a taxi. They laughed at that so I told them I’d like a bigger room. Just as my comedy career was peaking, it came to an abrupt end with the arrival of our 4th roommate. I had to crawl into the middle bunk, my butt infinitely more unsightly than the 28-year-old. Conversation was curtailed by my inability to read my book anymore. Angelique was undoubtedly relieved, but I sensed that Buhran was longing for more input from me. Alas, it was not to be. We shut off the lights, pulled the shade, shut the door and settled down for a surreal night of jolts and stops, soothing clacking, and occasional snoring. 

The worst occurrence of the night was the arrival of the garlic- breath man in the dark. With his first exhale, I was forced to pull my leather jacket over my face, the compartment was so filled with bile leftovers. I must’ve gotten used to it as the night went on because when I woke up and woke up and woke up I didn’t feel that I would pass out if I breathed the air. 10 minutes before the end of our journey alarms went off on every cell phone. As if on cue, the announcement that we were 10 minutes from Leon was heard in a musical, masculine French. 

It is no small feat to get five full-size adults squeezed from their quintuple cocoons. First to emerge in the 6 o’clock dimness was Garlic-breath Man. He did an agile side roll from the couchette below me and sprang to a crouch from which he was able to grab his bags. He scurried off to the bathroom with his toiletries bag…too little too late!  Buhran was emerging laboriously, doubled over head first sort of a breach birth from the other bottom couchette. Angelique, too impatient to wait for his painstaking delivery, called out her “excuse moi” and Buhran had to tuck back into himself with hands stretched over his head for protection. Angelique’s now familiar butt bumped down to meet us. She maneuvered her equipment from the previous night’s nest and wiggled out the door with a cheery  “bon voyage”. 

I was so enjoying my observations on the maturation of the larvae, which was Buhran, that I was in no hurry to disentangle myself from sheets, blankets, jacket, and luggage. We had become one being during the night. The stranger in the bunk above mine must have felt much the same as he was rustling , making some sort of quiet preparations up there, but there was no sign of the silver ladder or either feet or butt. A tiny sound warned me that Buhran was finally emerging, like a not so beautiful very tired flower opening to the sun. His hands unfolded from across his head in a slow, graceful movement. His arms and thighs moved beyond the confines of the couchette womb, extended upward and outward, making him a whole person about eye-level with myself. The small smile rolled out, he uttered a soft “bonjour”, swept up his bag and slid into the corridor. 

Concern about making my upcoming connection caused me to jump into self-preservation mode. I shot my legs out of the bed, arched my back to avoid major cranium damage, stacked my suitcases and stepped into the hallway. Of course, being that we hadn’t actually stopped yet. Buhran stood behind Angelique and a dozen other tired couchette casualties, all with identical stunned looks and rumpled hair and all in need of a good night's sleep. As they stepped off the train they turned back to me and, with big smiles, wished me a “bon voyage”.

Now, on to Manosque to see Jacqui…

Visiting Jacqui

I arrived in Marseille and then Aix en Provence without incident, carefully avoiding speaking to anyone so I could finally have some time to myself. Once in Aix, at the station, we were told that there would be no trains from there to Manosque, where Jackie awaited me, and I would have to walk to the bus station. The bus to Manosque was late and slow but comfortable enough. Beautiful scenes passed by the window and although we would arrive nearly 1/2 hour late I trusted Jacqui would be there. I had, after all, called her from the bus station to tell her I would arrive at 11. She had checked for herself and was prepared…unfortunately, she was prepared to pick me up at the train station as she had some notion, not my fault, that I was coming through Paris. So her first greeting was to scold me, not totally unexpected or uncharacteristic. After that shaky start we got into the same dusty, cluttered car which had transported Doug and I in 1998,  although by now it  was dustier and completely untrustworthy! The engine light glowed, the killed regularly and the driver was older, and none the wiser, as to safe driving practices. We saw an ambulance attending to a young pedestrian on our way through town and I wondered how, all these years, Jacqui had avoided being the one to run someone over. As we climbed the hill, she pointed out her magnificent house, the highest on the hill overlooking Manosque.

The interior of the house was quite roomy. The first floor was one great room, the second floor was one large bedroom and the bottom floor was unfinished but usable space. The very best feature was a veranda running the width of the house, overlooking the charming city of Manosque. In the daytime one could see the white houses dotting the contours of the valley. At night one could see the magical sparkle of life below.

After an omelette and some conversation we headed down to visit Jacqui’s mom. She was a short, 79-year-old woman with a wide lump on her back. Her eyes were piercing and smart as they looked up from her head, which seemed like a turtle’s head emerging from the shell. She waited, like the elderly all over the world, for her child to arrive. She spoke to me in French, and I smiled and nodded. She reminded me of my Auntie Ann, who would’ve been equally friendly and equally as bewildered had she been confronted by a foreign friend of her relative. 

I left Jackie to visit with her mom and wandered up the main street of Manosque in search of a phone, as Doug and Jasmine arrived on Sunday and we needed to establish a meeting place. On the way back to the old folks home I bought an African violet for Jacqui’s mom, completely lost, once again, with the French transaction. I lucked out with an attendant from Barcelona, so I could do the transaction easily in Spanish! Like always, when I said”Au revoir”, there was a cheerful answer, not only from the clerk but from a couple of French women waiting in line. Jacqui’s mom was pleased to receive the flowers and they were put away in her room. 

Jacqui and I wandered the side streets, admired pretty linens and shop windows, spoke of various people in our lives and investigated possible restaurants. The one where she wanted to eat was very expensive, a Michelin Star place, but I felt like I should do as she wished since she was driving me around and feeding and housing me. In the end, it cost me €150. It was the most elegant restaurant I have ever eaten in and I was completely ignorant about how to behave. Jackie seemed as ill-trained as I was with her only advantage being she could read the menu. We were dressed very casually, me in jeans and her in baggy stretch pants, and I felt ill at ease walking into the elegant place. We were seated on a fancy couch with little pillows, and we ordered a glass of wine to have while we waited for our table. Wine was brought in very elegant glasses along with an odd appetizer, which was very thin, lightly fried, and lightly salted. 

Next we were seated at a table with fake shiny fruit and lots of glasses, plates,silverware and a white tablecloth. We ordered our food with me choosing pork and some kind of potato thing and Jacqui choosing duck. They brought us wine and a noodle wrapped gray thing in a tiny ceramic cup on a tiny ceramic saucer with a tiny silver spoon. It looked much better than it tasted! The pork was a very hard job to eat on some type of small ribs. The pieces I found were mostly tasty. The potato thing was very tasty, if a bit mushy from sitting under the meat. Wait staff, three of them, hovered around us, brushing crumbs off the cloth, moving plates, pouring wine and water. The chef/owner and his wife came out and talked to Jacqui for a long time. The dessert menu came and Jacqui ordered  a Napoleon and I ordered a chocolate thing. It was teeny, rich and worth every penny…a small brownie topped by a paper thin wafer with a scoop of mildly flavored cinnamon ice cream. It was melt-in-your-mouth heavenly and a good conclusion to the French eating experience. 

Jacqui and I spent our last day together walking. We went to a spot overlooking monos that was really beautiful. The green squares of fields contrasted nicely with the sort of white houses and their orangey brown tiles on top. I recognize Jackie‘s house and the place where we had visited her mom yesterday. She showed me where the fires had burned the hills just opposite her houses hill. She showed me old olive trees and exclaimed about how badly the trees had been pruned. The all trees reminded me of Spain, the almond trees were blooming profusely, and some other plant had rich, thick drooping clumps of yellow flowers. Everything screamed of spring being here and I was happy not to be in Minnesota.

As I was dropped at the Aix en Provence TGB station, I noticed the guards in fatigues with their guns. There were four of them in a very small station! I really hadn’t given it a thought until I noticed them but I suppose there is more danger in traveling now. Madrid‘s recent bombings focused on train stations shook Europeans hard…it had been the largest terrorist attack ever of that nature with nearly 200 deaths. I boarded my train to Paris, with thoughts of the innocent victims on my mind. I would continue from there to Frankfurt to meet Jasmine and Doug. I would still have to navigate a few changes before my meeting with my family, but was excited to be on the way. I am not nervous about traveling on my own because I consider every journey a bit of a puzzle to solve and if you get the pieces wrong, you just have to back up a little bit and try again. I love being all by myself!

Meeting Doug and Jazz for a German Excursion

On the way to Frankfurt, I sort of slept sitting up in a compartment for six. Our group included a Wisconsin log house builder with his two children, another carpenter from California and my favorite, Sophia, from China. If the Frankfurt train depot is any indication of the Germany we will explore, it is delightful. It is clean and orderly with very pleasant people. I asked a guy for help finding the train to the airport. He picked up his things and walked me over to a schedule to help me find it! He was definitely more helpful than the man they paid to work at the information desk! Well, maybe not… Either I misunderstood him or he misled me. I ended up on a deserted train. The few people on it had no luggage which was worrisome so I tried to find myself on the ceiling map. As I was looking confused, the train reached its Sunday schedule end of the line and a man told me I was in the wrong place. He sent an official woman who spoke English to help me out. She said to just wait on the train and it would go back to the station. In the hour that I spent there several young people who were training to work for the train line, came and practiced asking me questions on forms. It was sweet to see their enthusiasm and impressive to hear their English skills!

So…our visit to Germany seemed to be over in just a flash. When I met Doug and Jasmine, Jasmine‘s clothing had taken a trip to Atlanta while she came to Frankfurt. She was very good about it and ended up wearing some too short clothes of Liz’s daughter for a couple of days. Now they have just left me at the train station and I will make my way to Paris in the next four hours and then to my hotel. Tomorrow I fly back to Chicago then Minneapolis. Flying is always my least favorite part of the trip. I wish I could be as a matter of fact, as Doug was nonchalant as Jasmine, but my emotions always mess up any calm state when a heavy projectile races across the world with me inside!

As I sit at the station waiting for my train, I am trying to remember all the things we crammed into our six days. THIS MORNING our last activity was grocery shopping and beer and cheese buying while Jasmine spent the morning at the international school with Liz‘s son, Peter. 

YESTERDAY, we drove the entire day . We started in downtown Munich after watching the Rathaus clock figures dancing around at the strokes of eleven. Our first stop was Dachau where we saw lots of horrible things about life in that concentration camp. Although it wasn’t an extermination camp, four of 10 people died of the harsh conditions there. Up to 2000 people stayed in a single barrick, worked without pay and, near the end, survived on a scrap of bread each day. 

The photos were the most chilling thing I saw. Among them was a photograph of a Jewish couple waiting for the train that would carry them to Hell. They were elegantly dressed and they carried what they could; the man a neatly wrapped and tied box of family treasures and a bag of clothes, the woman her satchel of clothes and toiletries as well as a lovely blanket, carried on one shoulder. There was bravery in their postures and uncertainty in their eyes. It was devastating to think they would soon be in a naked parade of other elderly people, embarrassed, and uncomfortable up until the time of their last breaths. The shower facility, optimistically designed to lure more POWs and undesirables into a surreptitious death were never used for their dastardly purposes, unlike their big brothers in Poland. Other photos which left an impression included one of a very young Czech boy, taken from his high school to the prison. Another was of dead bodies stacked outside like firewood. And even worse, the living skeletons, in their beds, with large dark eyes with no emotion remaining. 

After traveling squished for several hours in Bill’s Audi, we visited a town called Bamburg, just north of Nuremberg. I had read that it was a beautiful city with a Venice-like section and it was precious! We ate at a nice restaurant where they served a smoky beer that Doug and Bill enjoyed so much they bought beer and glasses at the brewery across the street. 

On WEDNESDAY,  we hit the road quite early on our way to see a castle south of Munich,  Mad Ludvig’s Castle. As soon as we entered Bavaria, with all of its foothills and forests, the snow came sifting down. The chalet-like houses were sweet with powder all around them. It kept snowing. By the time we reached Neuschwanstein Castle the snow was thick and the roads were sloppy and you couldn’t see 10 feet ahead of you, let alone the marvelous view of the castle! We bought tickets for the tour, were carried up by horse-drawn carriage, squished together with other tourists. The squishing was helpful for warmth! We marveled at the rich domestic details of the castle and looked out the large windows to only a view od masses of snowflakes.

We had to stop for sustenance on the cold, steep walk back down to the village, so we stopped at a café. I got a delicious giant crepe with bacon (a pannekoeken?) and hot chocolate. We had been sampling hot chocolate at least once a day, to discover the finest hot chocolate in Germany!

As we made our way down the steep slippery hill with snowflakes still abundantly falling Jasmine and I started to walk a little too quickly for Liz to keep up, but we were talking and didn’t notice. Pretty soon we heard a voice from behind us yelling for us to slow down. When we looked back, we laughed at the vision of Liz, walking down the hill in clogs like a little geisha, trying not to slip. That vision still makes me smile!

We continued through the snow storm to Munich, found our silly little convoluted hotel above a shoe store, cranked up  electric heaters and settled in for a small rest before heading to the requisite Hofbrau Haus visit. I was cold and tired and only wanted to stay under my feather comforter, but knew that it shouldn’t be missed. We took a taxi which drove us, driver swearing all the way to the tourist trap. It was clear he did not like the snow either! The atmosphere at Hofbrau Haus was fairly subdued that evening but you could see that it was an inviting place to act stupid and drink too much. The fresh pretzels were like giant twisted loaves of 

We spent the day in Düsseldorf ON TUESDAY. 

ON MONDAY, We traveled to Hameln and Bremen. They were both extremely delightful, picturesque towns! 

NOW, IT IS ALL RECORDED AND ARRIVAL IN PARIS IS IMMINENT

On the Way to the Heussler’s

Munich

Dachau

Invisible Neuschwanstein Castle Adventure

Hameln and Bremen…I think

Bamburg…Sort of Like Venice…

Lizzie’s House and Koln Cathedral…Quite Similar!

The End of the Story…No Photos Required