Low Water Mark

A good friend of mine is thinking about taking a European river cruise next summer. I’ve highly encouraged him to do so. Sharon and I found it was a great way to view the countryside from the comfort of our own river boat. It was a kaleidoscope of meandering past scenic pastoral scenes, vineyards that climb up the mountainside and tiny towns nestled among the bends and curves of the river.

Without raising too many alarm bells, this might be a good time to grab the chance at such a river cruise. The lingering effects of the pandemic can still be felt among many potential passengers. Prices continue to climb and worse yet, water levels on many of the Europe Rivers have reached a crisis level. River cruises as we’ve come to know them may be curtailed or sharply restricted in the future until these issues can be resolved one way or another.

It was only a couple of year ago that Sharon and I were on a river boat meandering south along the Saone River heading for Nice in the South of France. In a strange sort of way it was deja-vu for me all over again. I was finally completing a journey I had started and failed to complete back in the winter of 1967.

Paris has always been a seductive mistress. As the song title goes, ‘The Last Time I saw Paris,’ it was a much different time and I was in a much different place in my life. My first sojourn into the city of lights was supposed to be a simple pass-through as part of a full-blown retreat from the harsh winter in Denmark.

The experience of living in Denmark had been exhilarating at first. But gradually my daily work routine had grown stale with a lack of friends and no clear direction in my life. The South of France seemed a logical answer to a young kid who was ill-equipped and clothed to face that Nordic reality. Tall tales of warm sunshine, topless sun bathers and easy work was enough to lure me into a false sense of road security. I was assured that a quick thumb and ready smile would take me to those rocky shores in just a couple of days.

By the time I got to Paris, all bets were off. As I trudged through the city searching for enlightenment I only got hustled by Gypsies instead. After three days of aimless wandering I was ready to cash in my pocket money for a ticket home and three steady meals a day. I found a travel agency, got a one-way ticket home, and left on a silver bird the next day.

Paris has always been that stand-alone, a bit stand-offish kind of friend. At once it can be charming, brash, conceited, seductive, alluring and always surprising. Taken on its own terms, the city offers sunlight and sin on an equal basis. This fourth trip through Paris would mean three days in the city before we boarded ship for our cruise to Nice.

The city is different now than back in the 60’s. Ornate low-rise buildings have been toppled by towering glass hi-rise commercial enterprises. There are more tourist boats on the Seine than commercial traffic. Bike-sharing stations pepper the city with their light blue bikes while the new tour buses squeeze into narrow side-streets that even an old donkey cart had a hard time maneuvering. Signs of progress are everywhere but nowhere as dramatically as on the ring route and major arteries that are clogged with vehicles of every size, shape, and purpose from morning to night.

The city has evolved and changed yet feels much the same as it did back in the Fall of Sixty-Seven. The locals have long grown used to the artists, vagabonds, tourists and people of the streets who wander by their doorsteps in search of enlightenment. The smell of cooking, cleaning and daily living still permeates the side streets and dark alleys.

There’s a Parisian phrase that goes: ‘On the Left Bank, we think and on the Right Bank, we spend.’ I have little interest in the Right Bank where towering glass institutions of commerce and wealth line the Seine. My heart and my head are back on the Left Bank where Montmartre and the Latin Quarter still attract all kinds of creative spirits. The quaint cafes, dark narrow alleys and winding streets are still filled with the polished and unwashed alike. And while the new Bobos (bohemian bourgeois) fake their artistic lineage at gallery openings, true artists continue to live in squalor and strive to find meaning in life itself.

The trip south to Nice was uneventful, restful, and easy on the feet. It gave me plenty of time to ponder the times gone by and the journey I never completed back in ’67.

The first time I stumbled into Montmartre I ordered a coffee at some small corner café. It was a thick black muck that gripped my spoon and burned my throat. No wonder all the pretty young girls were sipping theirs so slowly and taking forever to finish their thimble-sized drink. The small cafes of Nice were no different. It brought back a plethora of memories.

This time around, I found a small café next to a flower shop. I ordered a beer and slowly began sipping it - French style. Crowds brushed past my chair and dropped cigarette butts at my feet. The rush of humanity flowed unabated in a steady stream past the café. I was invisible to all of them and liked it that way.

They were all looking around but not seeing a thing. Neither the flowers, the glorious sunshine nor the warmth of France. It was just another day on the coast for them. It was the end of the journey for me. Older, somewhat wiser, and a lot more miles under my belt; I was finally home.

London Living - Kids View

Kids nowadays!

I’ll try to put it all in perspective from my generation to theirs. I didn’t leave the state of Minnesota until I was twenty-one and drafted into the United States Army. I hadn’t gone airborne until I was twenty-two and flew in a turbo prop airliner from San Francisco to Los Angeles. And those delayed experiences probably weren’t very different from a lot of other folks my age at the time.

Now two generations later, look how things have changed. My youngest granddaughter Charlotte Jane, by the time she was eight years old, had traveled all over the state of Minnesota (her home state), and through California, Chicago and Iowa. She’s also spent time in London and had taken the Chunnel to Paris.

I thought about that as I was flipping through a Snapfish book of our family’s London-Paris trip of several years ago. I remember Charlotte, upon entering our townhouse with her brother and cousins, scrambling up and down four flights of stairs in our London VBRO.

Living in London for almost two weeks was a wonderful experience for our entire family. We were ensconced in a four-story townhouse in the Paddington neighborhood not very far from the tube. It was particularly interesting to watch the five grandchildren take in their new surroundings with their innocence, curiosity, and adventurous attitude in tow.

Surrounding us were row houses, public housing, apartment buildings and the English version of condo complexes. The atmosphere was all very urban, urbane and ripe for big city living. If you’re going to pretend big city living, one can’t do much better than London. And kids always give the trip a whole new dimension.

Back in the early nineties, Sharon and I had a preview of this family trip when we took Brian and Melanie to London for the first time.

We are part of a larger group of friends and associates that Sharon had organized for a weeklong tour of London between Christmas and New Year’s. Brian and Melanie got their first taste of foreign travel and loved every minute of it. We repeated the same trip several years later - this time with a new boyfriend and girlfriend in tow.

As seasoned world travelers themselves, Brian and Melanie now got to watch their own kids have the same experiences in London for the first time.

There were tours of the National gallery, the British Museum and The Tate. The grand kids soared high over the Thames in the London Eye They discovered Harry Potter hideaways, strolled along the Thames, took in a show in the Theater District and wandered the lush green parks.

Things have changed a lot since our first family trip to London. The adults had their phone apps, which told us when the next tube car would arrive, where to find the closest restaurants, shops, and entertainment. If we got tired of waiting, we can just dial up an Uber or Lyft. For daily use of the tube, we had our Oster Pass, which got us on all buses and the tube throughout the city.

It was a first for all of us, Charlotte included, when we boarded the metro liner for Paris. It had been a long time since I wandered the streets of London back in the sixties and later on when Melanie led our group around as a thirteen-year-old tour guide and Brian played cool with his trench coat.

My, how things have changed.

River with Two Faces

There’s a reason one is called Father Rhine and the other Mother Mosel. Two rivers, each harboring different personalities, yet both are life vessels to their pass-through countries. Recently I traveled some distance on both rivers. It was fascinating, awe-inspiring and a trip back in time.

Beyond the bucolic landscapes dotted with fairy-tale castles, terraced vineyards and rust-covered maritime facilities, the Rhine and the Mosel provide a glimpse into their respective history of the region. As economic engines, both rivers continue to provide a wealth of economic infusion into the local communities hugging their banks.

Once the most efficient and fashionable means of travel throughout Europe, river cruising continues to be an ideal way to discover the culture, cuisine and unique characteristics of the many countries traveled through. Yet for all their similarities, the Rhine and Mosel wear two very different masks.

Father Rhine, as it is called by the locals, has for over 2000 years been Europe’s most important commercial waterway. Its scenic beauty has inspired countless myths and legends. By introduc-ing vines to the region, the Romans paved the way for the excellent vintages that are a further source of the Rhine’s international reputation.

The Rhine River rises in southeast Switzerland and reaches the North Sea after a journey of over 1230 km. While industrialization has left its mark on some parts of the river, most of the waterway provides an idealistic pass-through of towns and villages that have existed there for over hundreds of years.

Mother Mosel wears a very different moniker. Since the days of the first Romans, over 2000 years ago, the most exquisite asset of the Mosel countryside has remained its wine production. Generations upon generations have nurtured, embellished and refined a giant open-air amphitheater to the honor of Bacchus, the God of Wine. The towering slate cliffs store the day’s warmth for the cool evenings that follow while the grapes ripen at just the right angle to the sun.

Our river journey began in Basel, Switzerland. The city is Switzerland’s second largest and carries a split personality. On one hand, giant modern chemical research and pharmaceutical companies dominate the city’s skyline. On the other hand, an ancient network of narrow alleys weaves together the city’s medieval architectural heritage.

Leaving Basel, our ship followed what seemed like a meandering path along both the Rhine and Mosel Rivers. It was one river seemingly indistinguishable from the other. It was a daily tapestry of colors, images, sights and sounds that captured our attention and imagination. Walking tours included the obligatory market plazas, cathedrals, historical sites, and opportunities for shopping.

For me the best part of the trip were the periods of cruising the waterways. Ensconced in a lounge chair on top of our ship, I was surrounded by an IMAX presentation of surround sounds and slowly moving images. It became a place for me to get lost inside my head and let my imagination flourish. It was a time to reflect, appreciate, assess, and plan for the future.

It became another version of my ‘quiet time’ which is so important to restart stalled batteries and rekindle ideas for the future. Different surroundings but same results. A near-silent pass through time as history slipped by and my thoughts turned toward the future.