South of France

So I’m finally about to complete a journey that started back in 1967 in the middle of a fierce snowstorm in Denmark. Once again I’m off to the South of France where sunshine and warmth and those infamous topless bathing beauties await my imagination and a respite from frozen Scandinavia. Only this time I’ll actually complete my journey to Nice by bus instead of a failing thumb.

 

The conclusion of this sojourn south has been a long time a-coming. It seems like forever since that fateful day when I decided that Denmark in wintertime was too close to Minnesota’s own version of a white hell. I’ve often imagined what that road trip would have been like if I has actually completed it.

No matter; a lot of living has happened since that eventful day. In fact, it’s been a veritable lifetime of storied adventures, loves lost and found, kids coming and growing up and the ghost of past work lives. Or maybe it’s just mature age creeping forward as time dims those fleeting memories of my youthful exuberance and dreams.

Rivera Times web site

Obviously, I’m in a different place now. Back then it was the Herald Tribune that gave me the latest in U.S. and international news. Now the Riviera Coast has its own web site, the Riviera Times complete with ads, real estate listings, weather and other helpful data. What a short fifty years of change can produce.

We’re on the Provence, one of the river cruise ships operated by Grand Circle. The river trip will take us from Macon to Arles and then the final leg by bus to Nice. It will mean leisurely cruising the waterways of France coupled with walking tours of quaint towns and villages along the way.

The Provence is one of the smaller boats in the Grand Circle armada. It’s much more compact than the larger boat we took on our cruise from Vienna to Amsterdam. 94Locks and a Cup of Coffee. Onboard there are only 45 passengers plus crew verses the larger ship with 130 passengers and a larger crew. But the cabins are much larger than before and the other guests are all pleasant traveling companions.

 

There’s Wifi on the boat and a currency exchange so I don’t have to go looking for an American Express store to pick up my mail or exchange my American dollars. But after the first morning, there’s a sad realization that I’m addicted to e-mail and news on the internet. The poor Wifi connection onboard strains my quiet morning routine that only the passing countryside with multiple cups of coffee and too many croissants can make up for. 

It was a week and a half that passed far too quickly…but in the end left a lot of indelible memories.

The passengers were a curious and yet unremarkable group of people. It was plain vanilla with plenty of sprinkles to liven up our conversations. There were three sets of Mother-Daughter couples on the boat. Their banter and sometimes exasperated conversations made for great eaves-dropping. At the farewell party, one of the mothers thanked us all for including her in all the activities and making her feel so welcome. Damn near brought tears to my eyes.

There was an ex-military man who hadn’t yet learned to let go. His commanding comments often heightened the chagrin of the other passengers. Surprisingly, there were several couples with no kids to speak of and proud of it. In true modern day travel fashion, hometown folks intermingled with veteran road warriors to share their love of travel. Months earlier, a couple of high-powered business executives had been set out to pasture. Their fidgeting and restlessness made the rest of us nervous until they finally settled down and got into the rhythm of the river. As always, there were several invisible couples just along for the ride.

The small towns and villages came and went. Some were interesting to visit. Others could have been bypassed. The next major city we hit after Paris was Lyon. Lyon is a UNESCO world heritage site. Once the capitol of Gaul under the Romans, Lyon flourished as a Renaissance trading center based on its extensive silk industry.

After Lyon, the small riverfront villages and towns pretty much seemed the same. Our luck changed as we pulled into Avignon. It was their annual two week artistic festival that filled the city with every act imaginable. It was like Minnesota’s fringe festival or similar venues in Chicago and San Francisco. It was a two week performing arts extravaganza centered in the heart of the old walled city. 

After Avignon, it became a downhill run to Arles where we disembarked and climbed aboard our tour bus for the final run to Nice. On the way to Nice, we stopped at Rhone American Cemetery. It was a quiet and somber visit with a tour guide who didn’t mince words as to the horror of war and the sacrifice made by those soldiers in the early days of the invasion of Southern France. 

Strangely as I stood amid the white crosses my mind wandered back to 1964 when I was in the Army and had volunteered for duty in Vietnam.  Now I couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if my request had been approved.

There have been some cities that for one reason or another strike a chord of interest with me. It’s a feeling that I belong there. I could live there. A part of me is already there. London, Hong Kong and San Francisco stand out among others. Now I can add Nice to that list of dense urban jungles that piqued my interest. 

For reasons that I can’t explain it immediately feels as if Nice is my kind of place. And it has nothing to do with the scant beach attire worn all over town. Nice felt like home even before we climbed out of the bus and were enveloped by the bright sunlight, 90 degree heat and accompanying humidity.

I finally made it to Nice. I’m guessing it would have been different back in ’67 and yet not so much. I’m older now but not much wiser. There’s been a lifetime of living in between my start in Denmark and this final arrival in Nice. It’s good to finally be home. 

Now which direction is the beach?

94 Locks and a Good Cup of Coffee

It was a river cruise called the Great Rivers of Europe. A two week boat cruise that traversed the Danube, Main and Rhine Rivers. Luxury sailing from Vienna, Austria through Germany to the Netherlands. Sixteen days aboard the MS River Rhapsody; cruising past quaint, lovely towns, picturesque castles painted on the hillsides, side trips to points of interest and great conversation on board.

It was the official end of a career in academia for one of us and a break from writing for the other. Two weeks back in a foreign country. Only this time I got to bring my Ipad along.

The passengers were, for the most part, an interesting assortment of well-traveled singles and couples, along with several groups of newbies such as ourselves. One hundred years ago, it would have been a luxury steamship for the privileged class but today we were just twenty-first century bourgeois.

I’ve always been fascinated by the almost organic metamorphosis that usually takes place in artificial environments such as a cruise. Or a us tour or most group travel situations. People are drawn to one another for a myriad of reasons, most of which cannot or are not verbalized but certainly understood, especially by the stronger sex.

So couples connect and hang out and become fast friends for the duration of the trip. Then they go their separate ways and seldom if ever reconnect again. The exact same thing happens in the service, in school and most short term artificial worlds. We were lucky to meet some very nice and interesting folks.

There was the older couple ever attentive to one another's needs. She was recovering from brain surgery and had trouble walking. But he was at her side every step of the way, climbing stone steps and cobblestone walkways together. They were always a little behind the rest of the group but they were always there. She had written a book about how her cancer and subsequent surgery had profoundly impacted their lives and marriage. I promised to read it but haven’t yet.

There were two couples from Wisconsin who I immediately assumed hadn’t done much traveling after hearing their accents and observing their Midwestern mannerism. But after a couple of minutes, I realized they had been to more countries than I knew even existed. I was the fool for making such a quick assumption. After that, I kept my mouth shut and my mind open. I listened and learned a lot about other places I think I’d like to visit someday.

There were two older gentlemen on board, each on their own. One was 92, the other was 93. Both had done the cruise before but wanted to return to rekindle those fond memories. Each without a wife at their side, this time around.

There was a cute couple from North Carolina who hadn’t done much traveling but found river cruising much to their delight. Usually she spoke and he listened. But together they communicated in words unspoken and subtle gestures each understood all too well.

I met a newly single guy whose kids put him on the boat to keep him distracted from the emptiness of his home now that his wife had passed. He skyped his grandkids every chance he had. It helped a little bit.

We had dinner several times with a guy who would only say that he used to work for the government. But one had the feeling that he wasn’t talking because it was information you shouldn’t have and he wasn’t about to reveal. Government work always carries with it certain connotations. Better left unexplored. He also talked about trying to reconnect with old friends. I wonder if he was any more successful than I’ve been.

There were numerous other couples, each of whom added something to each meal that we shared with them. Most didn’t have unique personal stories. Just a lifetime of hard work and a desire to enjoy the fruits of their labor. We spoke the same language.

For a few men, this passage through Germany was a chance to revisit their past. These were guys who left the boat at certain points along the way to visit their old army bases, recapturing memories from their times in Germany as bachelor soldiers. Back on board, their alcohol-induced verbosity brought out more beers and tall tales only another veteran could believe, enjoy and understand. I’d never been stationed abroad myself but their war stories kept us up until the early morning hours.

My much prized quiet time usually began around 5:30 in the morning, amid some unnamed lock someplace in Germany or the Netherlands. Each morning, I would join a select group of insomniacs who would gather in the lounge for coffee and pastries before the rest of the world woke up.

I love German engineering, especially for their coffee-makers. Morning coffee came from one of those machines that make several types of coffee, tea, and hot chocolate. Hand it to the Germans, the machine worked like a charm. In America, it would be relegated to cheap motels and dingy truck stops. In Europe, it could have competed with the best barista around.

This small group of early risers, each desperate for their morning fix of news, information and caffeine, would stake out tables away from one another. It was our quiet time. There were a total of 94 locks to pass through from Vienna to Amsterdam. So it was usually a lock and coffee each morning.

For me, it was a perfect period for reflection before we began our daily routine of breakfast, tour a town, optional side trips, relax on board, cocktail hour and dinner.

The trip was a return to another world I hadn’t traversed for a long time. More chapels and cathedrals than I care to remember. Gothic and Roman ruins that spurred the imagination. Every market platz looking about the same. Yet an appreciation for another culture so different from my own suburban domain.

Those small German towns were so unlike small town America. Compact, efficient, tight quarters but never feeling cramped or uncomfortable. Some stand out more than others. Some of the larger cities were grand. Cool Heidelberg and Ancient Cologne, for example.

One afternoon, coming back from some castle someplace, we traveled on the autobahn.

We were doing eighty in our bus and seemed to be standing still. The far two lanes on our left must have been clocking out at 100 to 110 as they flew past. Not surprisingly most were Italian sports cars or Porsches. I felt safer in the bus.

We ended up in Amsterdam on the last leg of our trip. That, in turn, brought back all kinds of memories. The first time I traipsed through the old Central Train Station, back in the sixties, I had just graduated and was going to live in Europe for an indefinite period of time.

‘Just across the bridge in front of the train station and to your left, they all told me. And don’t eat the brownies.’

It was about a year later that I sauntered through the old train station for a second time.     By then I had a real job in public television and was back to visit old friends I had made the first time around.

This last time we arrived on a beautiful riverboat. The central train station was being renovated but the same drab concrete pillars still greet new arrivals just off the train.

And if you cross the bridge just outside the train station and turn left, it’s still there too.

All in all, it was a great group of folks to spend time with on the river. Educated, well-traveled, successful and ever curious about the world around them. It was a temporary life style unlike my first experiences in Europe years earlier, but it still quietly and subtly encapsulated a host of unique experiences. A captured world that probably would not have taken place anywhere else quite like that.

Of course, at debarkation, we all promised to keep in touch. Most of us understood that we never would. We shared two weeks on the boat, cruising the great rivers of Europe and we’re all better for having known one another if for only those two short weeks. That’s about as good as it gets. And that’s pretty good.

Many thanks to Mary from Wisconsin for the great photos of our trip.