October 1998

October 1998 Trip

By Carl Korn

WELL—this trip is to be called “POOR THING” after an Englishwoman at the Bond Street Tube Station looking at Sandra bedraggled with a rolling suitcase that didn’t for the moment come up a staircase as it should and Sandra seeming in a plight—which was much less than I experienced, of course.

The trip was different—City Bird took off not in the early afternoon on a Friday but at 11:30 PM the next day, Saturday, thereby fucking up hotel reservations in Brussels, Amsterdam, Paris and London—for which I had to make 4 telephone calls to rearrange—the 2 day waiting, even though we were at home, was draining. I could have seen patients that Saturday morning just to keep busy—Sandra’s younger daughter, Hannah, who is super-bonding at 20 with Mommie for the first time in 8 years, was giving the whole trip the evil eye since she didn’t want Mommie to leave town again and loved the delay—I do understand—therefore, we lost 2 days in the Low Countries—Nevertheless, Brussels was interesting—it had the feeling of vampires all over the place:

We arrived in the dark about 5 PM and had to take a taxi to the Holiday Inn in the center of the city—$50.00 ride for 8 miles—we walked over to the Grand Place at the correct time in sheer luck to have a Sound and Light Show—beautiful, as were the waffles and candies—went to Bruges the next day for 1/2 day and it was similar to Brussels, but with 2 central squares—even while we were there I said it was hard to tell where we were since both cities were so similar—but it was good—if we had the correct time allotted we would have stopped in Ghent and Antwerp—another trip I guess.

Then on to Amsterdam on the 3rd day.... where the main drag is a continuous bazaar of live sex shows with accurate pictures in the windows—this is not the Red Light District where the prostitutes are in windows, but THE main shopping street—did all of the museums and saw an opera, “Return of Ulysses”, we had seen twice in LA earlier this year with the same production and fell asleep within 5 minutes—we have seen 21 live operas so far this year and for us to fall asleep in one means we were knocked out. It was drizzly, but the city was charming even though I slipped on a wet marble and steel step going into a restaurant to get Dutch Pancakes for Sandra—good picture of my banged knee and face are a souvenir for us to remember—we unhappily found that we couldn’t leave Amsterdam for Paris on the day we had planned because the train had been booked up????

The dyke at the Euro-rail counter didn’t suggest that we go on a local train back to Brussels and then transfer to Paris on the correct day we had planned, so we over-paid to get to Paris, but spent a lot of time in a phone booth changing hotel arrival times and even though Veronique had called me at 4 A M in LA on the Friday were supposed to have left for Brussels from “OUR HOTEL” in Paris, she didn’t have a room for the now early arrival—it sorted out fine, but at the time of the re-arrangements, it was messy. Anyway, we figured we better make Chunnel arrangements in Amsterdam for London seeing that everywhere we went on this October trip it was shoulder to shoulder people, just as if it were summer-high- season for travelers.

The same dyke booked us—since I had done my homework for this trip like I do all others, I had expected the price for the Chunnel to be about $125.00 each, one way, Paris-London—it would have been if the C. had booked us correctly, but she didn’t and it cost $202.00 each for the 3 hour trip. Well, what do I say. Since the weather that AM of departure in Amsterdam was severe we did not go to the Windmill areas just out of town as we had planned.

Paris was as usual wonderful for us—we did lots of wandering through gardens and Pere Lachaise to see “everyone’s” grave and the Holocaust Memorials—we bought stuff at Baccarat again—ate—went to the very top of The Eiffel Tower—went to our favorite museums to say high to old friends—-window-shopped lots—-we were serenaded by a “Redd Foxx” street singer doing Billy Holiday songs in the Left Bank area close to our hotel—made reservations for “our room” for New Year’s Eve at the Millennium—Paris was good.

Then London where we stay at The Royal Society of Medicine—I’m a member—it is a good-old-boy’s club and very proper—or it was in the past when the prior manager ran things—now there is a South African couple in charge for the past 3 months and all of the delightful staff is terrified and nothing runs well—we saw two plays in London that are retreads—one of which I was to have starred in in 1970, but I dropped out when my father went into renal failure: “Black Comedy”—-the plays were across the street from where we were dining.

We went to Stonehenge through Salisbury and their Cathedral with a Magna Carta and wonderful construction similar to Westminster Abbey’s Lady Chapel—10+.

Went to Stratford-upon-Avon and Oxford—Oxford is fascinating.

Went to Windsor Castle and Eton—great fun.

All of the side trips are the same as being in Solvang nowadays.... the same Bennetton, Guess, Gap, Yves Rocher—I expected See’s Candies and Taco Bell all of the time in all of our cities this trip—truly one world economically, all with a slightly different facade.

The trip was very good but for some reason didn’t have the elan of past trips—perhaps the delay in departing LAX and the unexpected crowds.

Sandra’s notes are much more detailed and entertaining.

“A TRIP WE CAN’T REMEMBER WHILE WE ARE ON IT” or “POOR THING”

Notes of Sandra Nuti

City Bird—who ever heard of this airline—an airline out of Brussels with a few flights to and from LA—scheduled departure Friday 4:30 P M.

Friday at 7:45 A M we get a call from City Bird “the plane from Brussels was turned back en route to LA due to technical difficulties”—of course they won’t tell us what those difficulties were so our imaginations think the worst. Turns out City Bird has only 5 planes and the next one to LA returning to Brussels will be Saturday at 8 P M—there are no reciprocal arrangements with other airlines—yes we can cancel and get a refund but we must pay $75.00 each as a penalty since we didn’t fly from Brussels to LA and that flight wasn’t cancelled—we want out: if we are not able to get to Brussels due to their cancellation, getting back to LA and then canceling is a moot point—not to them it seems—the penalty would apply. Is this understandable?

Saturday 4 PM—to the airport—a long line of travelers, many had been put up at a Quality Inn by City Bird with “airplane quality food” over the prior night. Met a nice couple from Brussels who had been to all of the national parks in the Western U S—also a lady traveling from Idaho and another with a church group. The plane is delayed to 8:30 then to 9:40 and then finally on the plane at 10P M—but the refueling wasn’t completed until 11 PM. We’ve wasted 2 days and we still haven’t taken off. The plane is packed—lots of young people—flight attendants very young—our seats don’t recline and are very cramped—it is an MD 12 not a Boeing 767——no special diets were delivered as we had ordered—one “can’t drink the water” on the plane as the water system was recently disinfected—a 10 hour flight.

We arrive in Brussels at 6:30 P M on Sunday—Carl says our misfortune is due to Hannah wanting me to stay home and we are wearing new Black Reeboks instead of our usual white ones—the night is pitch black.

We take a $45.00 cab ride to the Holiday Inn in the center of town—an 8-mile ride.

Of course we then begin to walk. First impression of city: dark, dirty, old, large cement buildings, gabled roofs, road construction—a city of vampires—scary feeling—Carl says it’s a feeling of degeneracy and grayness...

We pass by a memorial to WW I soldiers; a large synagogue with police around (6 young boys and girls with machine guns)—these were government police; the Church of Notre Dame du Sablon with stained glass windows illuminated, past the museums of art (closed during our visit time); past sculptured garden of Petit Sablon surrounded by a fence topped with 48 guild figure statues; the Grand Place has a sound and light show (we see it in daylight the next day). The Grand Place is a lovely square—the Town Hall ‘s facade is whitish/pale orange with gothic designs and numerous statues and a huge off-centered tower “in the middle”.

There are interesting streets—the Ave Louise has expensive boutiques, the Rue des Eperonniers with antiques and toys and books; we went through the Galleries St Hubert, a covered shopping arcade with pastel colors and marble busts and candy shops everywhere. We try our favorite LEONIKUS and have white chocolate filled with apricot and raspberry. Neuhaus is so rich-butter creams are just that—butter, cream and sugar.

Other specialties of Brussels are cheese (very good) and waffles (my favorite-so light and delicious!!). The Brussels landmark is the Mannekin Pis, a statue of a small boy peeing-his image is everywhere but when we see it, it is really a small statue on the wall above a fountain-quite charmant... we’re told he is dressed in costumes on special occasions. We get some chocolate figures for Hannah of him—she’ll probably like them.

We sleep comfortably—I attack Carl. The next morning Carl attacks me.

After a complimentary breakfast, not bad, of orange colored eggs, cheese, and fruit, we see Brussels in the day. It is still overcast and cold. We visit the inside of the churches—Notre Damm du Sablon does have beautiful windows; the Cathedral of St Michel has an ultra-modern altar with brass pelicans as a base, a lectern of an owl with outstretched wings and a fabulous carved podium of Adam and Eve being expelled from Eden.

Near the Train Station is wonderful statues of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza on their animals sitting at its base were thugs with a pack of wild dogs—scary. Also in this Place was a wonderful statue of Bela Bartok.

All of the buildings are close, narrow, gabled, charming.

We see the financial district and the government buildings.

Monday

Train to Bruges is through low-lying farmland. Lots of cows-different breed of white with a few light brown areas; horses that are plow not race ones; sheep; geese; canals.

We pass through Ghent-looks like a nice town.

Refreshment seller on train sings his wares.

It’s a long walk from the train station in Bruges down narrow streets with buildings that look like Solvang-slightly different- only the real thing. We have lunch in a lovely restaurant: leek soup; real tomatoes; pork chops grilled with butter; cream puffs with whipped cream; and the most delicious local beer.

More canals—too cold to take a boat trip.

We see Michaelangelo’s Madonna and Child in the Church of Our Lady-really lovely and go to the Lace Making Center—a very long walk from the town center. At the Lace Making Center a demonstration by a 70+-year-old woman who had been doing this art since childhood—she was doing an intricate pattern and her fingers flew as she moved the pins and bobbins.

I wanted to buy a piece in their shop but there was a minimum amount to charge and Carl felt it was exorbitant. Turns out the Lace Center is the only place to get authentic lace—the rest is made in the Philippines by machines—so I pass on the pseudo-Belgium lace but I do get some dolls for the girls. On the way to the Lace Center we meet a lady who has lived on the street for 40 years—her doctor husband recently died—she’s lonely and invites us in to see his photo and her house—a narrow house with 4 floors-one had a train set in it-and a lovely back garden.

Back to the 2 central squares in Bruges where we see a belfry with an octagonal tower; the town hall; the Basilica of the Holy Blood—it holds a cloth with Christ’s blood on it. The city is quite confusing—cobblestones kill our feet—it is damp with moss over everything including the buildings and statues.

Bruges was good for 1/2 day.

We return to Brussels via a long walk again back to our hotel—I can barely make it. But before hand I finally get my Belgian Waffle over Carl’s protests. (I know he looks out for my health but sometimes, especially when traveling, I just have to sample of all a country’s culinary treasures.) I snored all night.

Tuesday

In the morning we take the tram and the “5 minute walk” to the train station. Our pull along luggage holds up and we get to the train for Amsterdam.

The trip through Antwerp has lots of bridges and interesting towers.

We’re really seasoned travelers now. I’m looking better—I’ve given up my blue jeans for slacks and sweaters from Barney’s New York. My gray hair is now brown and permed. Carl-so resistant to change-has a new piece of luggage with rollers and he only complains about it every few hours. Sometimes we sit together and sometimes we sit on opposite sides of the train-just like any good long-term couple does. I still grab him a lot even if he continues to resist—”I think that thou doth protest too much”, my love. Carl somehow doesn’t want to buy me drinks—it’s like this on every trip—guess he feels I should suck spit—yes, I know it sounds gross but honestly I could just die from thirst sometimes——DIABETIC OUT OF CONTROL FROM BELGIAN WAFFLES, PORK COOKED IN BUTTER, BEERS, CHOCOLATES, ETC. ETC.

The Central Station in Amsterdam—bicycles everywhere-over 12 million of them in the Netherlands—lots of young people, many with dread locks and body piercing. Carl says it is the capital of drugs and sex in Europe—we’ll see.

The Ibis Hotel is a stone’s throw from the train station, right on a canal. Our 4th floor room has a fabulous view of the canal and the city. We stayed in Ibis before and our room is tiny but laid out for maximum space—quite a feat. The air outside is cold but the sun is out, so off we trek. We wander down streets, over bridges by canals. The streets are bustling with a carnival atmosphere. There are lots of people about for a Tuesday afternoon. There are street “performers”—2 old men nicely dressed with a calliope machine, a lone violinist on a bridge, and some Asian boys in native costume and instrument. There are lots of modern store names like Laura Ashley, Benneton, and some sex theme shops like “The Sex Museum” and “The Torture Museum”. We eat some fabulous French fries with mayo (better than those in Brussels) at Vleminick’s. We get a map for a “walking tour”—some highlights were the Rijks Museum-we do it in one hour-and somehow manage to see the masterpieces: Rembrandt’s “The Night Watch”, 2 fabulous Vermeer’s “The Kitchen Maid” and “The Pregnant Woman Reading a Letter”—other wonderful Rembrandt’s and a self portrait (famous) and “The Jewish Bride”. Also see the famous Frans Hal “Merry Drinker”. The Van Gogh Museum is closed and a lot of the works are on tour—they will be in LA later this year. The Main museum does have some works—there are 6 self-portraits as you enter a room—they really overwhelm you and bring both Carl and I to near tears. There are many minor works but they did keep “The Sunflowers” and a famous peasant lady in a green dress in Amsterdam. It’s always fascinating to see the descent into madness reflected in the brush strokes.

We visit the Floating Flower Mart with unique fall flowers and lots of tulip bulbs.

The houses are narrow gabled ones-we see even the larger ones are of the same style in a wealthier part of the city: Herengracht, which means the Golden Curve.

We pass by the Holland Casino, one of the largest in Europe—don’t go in—maybe later.

The Tuschinski Theater is now showing movies, so we peek through the glass to see the fabulous art nouveau and art deco decor.

We pass the Willet Halthuyser-a mansion retained in the 18th Century style.

We stand on a bridge facing the Amstel River-the bridge was inspired by the Seine bridges in Paris—in the distance, we can see a wooden drawbridge-The Skinny Bridge.

Near Waterloo is a famous flea market-looks pretty seedy. This is also a newer section with colored-green or red-metals on the apartment buildings. Nearby is St Anthony’s Church—we go through a gate arch with skulls to find a graveyard but don’t see one except for a tiny enclosed area maybe with graves in a wall.

We are near the Muziektheater-a modern glass and white metal structure that has opera and ballet. They have a performance of “The Return of Ulysses”, so we get orchestra at $45.00 each—Brian Asawa (local LA counter tenor) is in the same production we saw in LA last season. The theater has bright red plush seats and lights like twinkling stars in the ceiling.... 1600 seats, has an intimate feel. We have dinner in an Italian restaurant across the street—we are so tired we fall asleep in the opera after the prologue. Of course we are unsuitably dressed—we at least have Black Reeboks this time, but Carl has on his brightest yellow T-shirt and I am carrying our doggie bag full of pasta from dinner. Tres gauche!!

We take the subway home-very fast.

Other things we saw during the day were Rembrandt’s House, a grand Rembrandt statue in the park, some interesting statues of a turtle/ram’s head or demon (according to Carl), a monument probably to gays killed during WW II. We see the famous Dam near City Hall and Royal Palace, which was built with 13,000+ wooden piles for support.

Across from our hotel is the famous Victoria Hotel, built around houses that the owners refused to sell. I have a cold-Carl says I caught it from the lady from Riverside on the plane—maybe—Of course, I snore all night and keep Carl awake: I refuse to believe that I have overeaten.

Breakfast in the hotel is nice—I especially like fresh milk and am happy to finally have a banana. The day is gray and damp.

P S—walked in to the Planet Hollywood—very small with just a few memorabilia—not like LA.

—Carl continues to be his lovable, put foot in mouth self—he remarked that my $500.00 Barney’s NY sweater is gorgeous but makes me look full!!!!!

I threaten to make him wear it so he looks full!

—Also visited a diamond center and saw diamonds being cut.

Carl has almost gotten run down several times. Bikes, cars, trams have the right of way, not pedestrians. He just wanders across streets or rails—he’s lucky to be alive.

Second day in Amsterdam will be our last. All of the trains to Paris, Friday, are booked so we must leave tomorrow, Thursday. I have an adventure planned for the morning, but more of that later. As for today, we slept until 8 AM. I still have my cold. Carl had some bathroom blues, but feels OK now. We continue our walking tour. There are ordinances re: building and remodeling without city OK—so some clever things have been done. One church, the New Church in the Dom Square, has turned its interior into an exhibition hall without harming the church’s interior. Another ancient building has been turned into an indoor shopping plaza, The Magna Plaza—but the interior walls and decor remain. The walking tour is quite good. We see things we would have missed: a building with sculptured monkeys and owls as cornice ornamentation; Beers Van Berlage or Merchant’s Exchange with its wrought iron lamp posts; the red facade Theater Institute.

We make our way to Anne Frank’s house—there is a long line of people and many high school classes. It’s hard to describe how I felt when I saw this place. I read Anne Frank’s Diary and saw the movie as a teenager and my daughter, Heather did the same. I know I carry impressions from the book and movie in my head and they were eerily accurate. The house is on one of the many side canal streets—nothing to stand out. It is near the West Church with a steeple bearing the Emperor’s Crown—it was this steeple that Anne looked out upon. The canal is literally across the street. There is a small statue of Anne in the Church side area—it is raining so it looks like her face is covered with tears. No photos are allowed inside the house but the brochure is very good. One is able to walk up very steep, narrow stairs through the offices, the spice rooms, behind the bookcase (very moving) to the living quarters in the attic. Anne’s father did not want the rooms refurnished, so there are small-scale models of what the rooms looked like. Some things do remain in the rooms: the heater, the sink, the toilet, and a dining buffet. Most moving was a room with photos of movie stars and greeting cards pasted on the wall of Anne’s bedroom—just like young girls have done and continue to do throughout the ages. There are photos of the people who were here in hiding, part of Anne’s Diary and a video clip of interviews with Anne’s father and friends...There are markings on the wall to show how the children grew.... In the last room is a book of the names of Jewish people from the Netherlands who died by Hitler’s orders—Carl finds a number of Korn’s listed. He is moved by the 2 young men—very Teutonic appearing—looking up their families. In the bookshop he finds a book detailing the hatred Martin Luther had for the Jews—the depth of anti-Semitism throughout history boggles my mind—prejudice has never been an issue with me and tolerance seems like a bad word to me as it connotes begrudgingly accepting. I’ve always believed one should be evaluated on their personality and character, which opens the field wide. I tried to pass this value on to my children—I hope I succeeded. I’ve never thought of Carl as being “Jewish”, although I know many aspects of Jewish life and culture are a part of his world and take on new importance to him as time passes. I think of Carl as a good man who is wise and cultured and so interesting and so kind and generous to me—his being Jewish is just a part of who he is, albeit an important part.

After the Anne Frank House we take a canal bus to the Museum Place. The ride is very pleasant and comfortable—a recording tells us of sights along the way. One of them is The American Hotel, which we visit later to admire the beautiful Art Noveau and Deco walls and furnishings in the dining room. There is a lot or road building-construction, so we tread our way to the world famous Concertgebow with The Golden Lyre on the very tip of its roof. There was a free lunch concert, but it was over when we arrived—disappointed we were. We go to the Modern Art Museum. They are having a special exhibit of Bill Viola-we saw it in LA and it was too weird for our taste. There is only a handful of the permanent exhibition displayed at this time of year—nothing major-some nice Chagalls, Picasso (we like the lady with a fish hat and a blue and white reclining lady), a Mondrian. Carl especially liked the painting by Malevich.I loved the colors and forms too.

We wanted to take a bus to the Jewish Museum and the Rembrandt House area but we kept getting wrong directions from the bus drivers and passengers. Finally, we got off the “wrong” bus and visited the state run Holland Casino. It tried to be classy, but came off like State Line, Nevada. We had to give them our passports, check in our coats and junk. Had a free cappuccino-no betting done, but Carl got excited to see his favorite horse race game in a high tech model

Walked to the Red Light District—quite a few streets near the canal (the live sex shows and explicit photos in the windows were not here but on the main drag of town) and lots of windows with red lights over them where women dance or pose in undies, waiting for business. When the red light if off, lady is occupied, usually behind drawn curtains; if the light is on, she’s ready. There were a number of fraternity boys having a water fight in the canal—after the fight they were headed for the Red Lights, they told Carl.

We’re running out of time—go into the New Church, which is having a modern art (weird) exhibit inside, of single sheets of paper falling at random from the ceiling. I admire the stained glass windows in shades of brown and the huge organ. We try to get into the Church of Our Lord in the Attic—a Catholic Clandestine Church built within the attic of a house—but it is closing. We never seem to do everything in a city, but I’m sure we do more than most. We stop at the train station and as noted earlier have to leave for Paris a day before anticipated. Carl has quite a fiasco trying to call our hotel in Paris, but finally gets through—no room available—Yikes!!!, but they “will help put us someplace when we arrive”.

Meals today were uneventful—lunch in the Modern Art Museum was fried mussels/fish and chips. Dinner was at a steakhouse where an Israeli young man hawked us into his restaurant but not before Carl bartered a free desert, which turned out rather un-tasty. We almost had a noted Indonesian rijstaffel dinner but passed when we realized we really couldn’t handle it. Bread here is OK—broodje is a soft roll filled with cold cuts or fish—I had my usual ham and cheese. Didn’t try Dutch Pancakes yet, but I haven’t left town yet!!! Tomorrow we’re off for a quick train ride to Windmill Country—I hear they have pancakes there. Saw but didn’t have time to tour the Heineken’s Brewery—had 2 beers today—I’m getting to like this tap beer especially the regional ones like in Bruges.

P S—walked into the Grand Hotel Kraznypolski where Carl remembers drinking 40+ shots at a round bar—if this is the place the round bar has long since been replaced but Carl’s memories are still strong and sweet.—The Museum Card was a rip-off, but no one has charged us for any transportation-metro, bus or canal.

Friday—BOO HOO—it’s raining so our train trip to see the windmills is nixed. That only means we’ll have to return here one day. I feel the same way about Brussels—I’d like to see Ghent and Antwerp—OK and I’d like to see The Hague. I still can’t shake the feeling that I’ll never return to any city I’ve been to, even though I obviously have returned to some.

Despite the rain, Carl decides we should attempt to find The Church in the Attic before we leave. We wander the streets but can’t find it—a very common occurrence in this city of so many streets and canals. Then he sets out to find me a Dutch Pancake—he’s really sweet—if he can’t give me a windmill at least he’ll give me a pancake. Finally, we find one—”Passages”—then it happens—or as Carl says Hannah’s youthful energy to have Mom be with her works its magic: Carl slips on the wet marble-steel entry ledge. The damage is a bruised-skinned knee/hand/nose. The waitresses are very kind-bring an ice pack. As for the infamous Dutch Pancake, it turns out to be similar to a crepe but not as thin-it was served with powdered sugar and Karo (ugh!).

We pull our luggage in the rain to the train station—we were given poor seats with no view but a 20 year old from Minnesota who is studying near the Hague lets us keep her better seats. The train is packed. After several stops in cities, it speeds at 180 mph from Brussels to Paris in about 1 1/2 hours.

How good it is to be in Paris. Feels like coming home. Ride the Metro to the Odeon stop and pull our luggage to “our” hotel...Valorie and Patrick are there. Bump a family and child scheduled for our room 66—once again we are in “our” room. It seems a bit worn and the bed is even smaller than I remember but it is “ours” and still has the La Boheme view of the city housetops with the Eiffel Tower in the distance. We walk through the Buci—the smells are so familiar. Eat at Leon’s—a mussel chain out of Brussels. We finally get a pot of Belgium mussels and they are wonderful. Equally tasty is the best-poached salmon we’ve ever tasted. Walk to Notre Dame-the day before it was discovered that vandals had broken some statues—they should be executed!! Also see St Michel where a few hardy youthful souls are gathered and Henri IV where Carl finally ascertains from a shopkeeper that indeed there was a hotel across from the statute years ago when Carl first fell in love with Paris (Really he says he didn’t like Paris until his return years later). Oh, I almost forgot—in the mussels restaurant, we sat next to a nice lady with her daughter—turns out they were Swedish—she’s married to a doctor, had been a teacher but now imports French antiques to Sweden. Carl rather fancied her—I’m sure if “he” and “she” were alone, they would have ended up as “us”...I continue to be the invisible woman to other women and Carl continues to be as desirable as ever, all around the world.

We have a rough night trying to sleep. I have a cold still and Carl says I keep snoring. LOOK AT WHAT YOU ATE AND DRANK. All I know is, by morning we are both still tired. Make it to Chez McDonald—God the egg McMuffin tastes so, so good. Cross the street to the Cluny Museum—they have renovated it so the lighting is better for the antiquities. There is a big arched room where a concert had been scheduled but cancelled for today—too bad.

The Tapestries are as fabulous as ever—I really love the face of the unicorn in “Touch” and the bunnies. Carl is determined to do a needlepoint and chooses “Taste”. We get a map to a tapestry shop where we can get the canvas and yarn. “Jean” the proprietress has a French accent but came from Alabama. Again, she finds Carl charmant and I’m sure if I were invisible, they would be having wine at the 5 Star Tour D’argent—a fabulous ancient dining establishment and hotel in the league of the Hotel Meurice. Carl decides to splurge and buy the tapestry—the shop dyes its wools and the colors are a good match, especially the brick color.

Lunch at “921” near the Bastille—a weird, wild fun place done in tones of purple, pink, orange, green. Have good salmon and OK tuna with boiled potato and broccoli (mushy like I like it). We keep drinking beer or wine-without sulfites-they are so good. Carl almost trips on a chord—I keep telling him to look down like I always do when I walk!!! I forget how sick Carl was before we left on this trip—it’s lucky he made it at all.

Off to the Paris Cemetery-Pere LaChaisse—we buy a map and wander away the afternoon, finding graves of a wide variety of famous folks including-Seurat, Bizet, Balzac, Delacroix, Proust, Montand and Signoret, Sarah Berrnhardt, Ingres, Moliere, Callibotte, and the most moving a large grave with an Indian Aztec man carved into it for Oscar Wilde with the inscription on the back “died after receiving the sacraments of the Church”—quite a big deal considering his life style condemned by many including the Church; Edith Piaf a simple grave with her lover, with her anniversary 2 days away-some ladies are sprucing up her grave and putting out fresh plants—they tell us this is always done not just for her anniversary-obviously she is much loved; Jim Morrison of the Doors-he has the most hard to find, a plain grave that is the most frequently visited grave—there is an ever present group of young people—they bring flowers, a bottle of his favorite booze—Jack Daniels, a box of his favorites smokes, a love poem; Chopin—a beautiful grave with a woman playing a lyre and a tiny angel on it—it is covered with lots of flowers. Overall the cemetery is quite vast with many graves in a vast hodge-podge—the map is essential—we notice that many of the graves are small family chapel houses; everyone is mixed together, the famous, infamous, regular folk, Catholic-Jewish-Asian—-that part was nice to see. We forgot to see Callas, Stein, Duncan and the Holocaust memorials—we must return on Monday. It was hard to walk in this cemetery—cobblestone streets and hills. The public restroom was literally a hole in the ground-hard to maneuver with slacks, but I somehow met nature’s call. I was quite tired, but Carl wanted to walk to Baccarat, so he did with me whining all the way (this cold really drains me of energy).

We had been to 2 opera houses-the Bastille and the Garnier trying to get tickets to “Don Carlo” (sold out of course with a cast of Shicoff, Van Ness, Ramey, Zageck, Chernov) and the Paris Ballet (“Coppelia” sold out). It’s funny how life balances things out. For 2 nights between 1 and 4 AM, one of the TV stations had the most wonderful Butterfly Opera-’83 Verona with a Russian soprano ?K???? The next night was “Swan Lake” with the Paris Ballet, the most awesome I’ve ever seen. Somehow I will find both these videos. Back to the Baccarat store. It was sparse of glass and shoppers, but it’s so exciting to be there. Carl wanted to get me a ring to match my pendant; he decided with long red nails I’d look the part. I love seeing the name “Baccarat” on the ring. There was no hot chocolate this trip, but Carl talked them into tea and coffee upstairs. Somehow they think we are connected with the hotel next door and give us a special gift-which turned out to be a pale yellow vase—it will look lovely in Carl’s house or my apartment—we’ll see who gets custody—I vote for him, he insists on me.

Dinner is at a Greek place in the Buci around the corner from our hotel.

The owner/waiter is aloof, but the food is tasty especially the rice: canned peas!! We get a Baba Rhum at our favorite patisserie after dinner—it drips rum-sugar sauce...Carl swallows it and proceeds to vomit—what a waste!!

There has been a metro strike in parts of Paris—drivers protest violence against them—we see signs on one route but no interruption of service. There are no entertainers on the subway trains, but we hear a 10-piece chamber orchestra, which is very good in a subway alcove. Another time we see an Asian lady playing a large wooden lyre—from the beginning man has made music with a bow and string it seems.

We keep running into people from L.A.—in the queue at the Dorsey there is an art person from the Hollywood Hills, at the Grand Arch of the Defense there is a nice 32 year old Russian from West Hollywood, in front of The Creperie near the Buci (later on this) is an unpleasant couple from the Hollywood Hills. Is there anyone left in L.A.?

Saturday— we get a late start. I’m tired from my cold and Carl is having trouble sharing a small double bed with me snoring (from my blocked nose)—think the same thing happened 2 years ago when we were in Paris. YEH !!! HAVE YOU NOTICED WHAT SOMEONE HAS BEEN EATING??????

It’s raining—we get to Chez McDonald then head for the Louvre...it seems a thousand other tourists in Paris had the same idea. Carl tries to cut in line but didn’t get away with it. We walk across the Tuilleries Gardens to the D’Orsay. Seems there is a special Millet/Van Gogh exhibit and there is a 2-hour wait to see it. Seems that a part of the Amsterdam Collection went to the U.S. and part to Paris. The one here is quite clever. Van Gogh was a student of Millet and many of Van Gogh’s works were reworkings of Millet’s subject. Our favorite was a wheat field totally blazing in yellow—the viewer was just pulled into the painting.

We both love the permanent collection in this museum—every time we come we see “old friends” or discover a new one or things we somehow missed in our favorites. I love to see the Degas dancers, Lautrec’s drawings of the people in his bawdy world, all the colors of Cézanne which move me in a special way, the colors and strokes of Monet’s cathedrals—Monet was the first artist whose works I fell in love with at age 16 in Washington D C; “Whistler’s Mother”, Renoir’s girls (Carl sees me in the dancing girl in the red hat), and this time Renoir’s “Young Boy and Cat”; Van Gogh’s “Room” and a self portrait.

We lunch in the museum’s restaurant—a room like a mini-Versailles—they serve 1000 people at lunch and at tea time daily—rather frenetic but somehow I ease into holding my forchette perfectly for our meal of salmon and white fish in creamed mushroom sauce—forget Campbell’s Too bad my purple T-shirt had toothpaste stains on it—my scarf hopefully covered it. On our side sat a nice couple from Spain.

We go the Grand Arch of the Defense. It’s different this time—more action, but sort of like Lawndale or East LA types of people in the Bunker Hill area of LA. We do not feel real safe, but we enjoy the sculpture-take some photos.

After a brief rest at our hotel we head out for Saturday night in Paris. There are people walking the streets—nearby our hotel is a street full of Greek shops-everyone, everywhere seems to be eating. We nibble on healthy salad, then move on to a baguette of ham, tomato and boiled egg, and end up with a crème brule (so good) and an apricot tart (so-so).

We walk by the Seine past Notre Dame, St Michel and consider a concert at St John the Poor but the place looks quite dreary. There’s a concert at St Michel tomorrow but we so enjoy walking in the sea of humanity we will probably do more of that tomorrow. We make our reservations for New Year’s Eve of the Millennium for our hotel in Paris and stop into the Old Shakespeare and Co Bookshop and get new post cards to send out at holidays and see the tipsy owner who already has his 1999 New Year’s Eve Party planned as well.

We saw a crepe shop where the lady owner makes incredible crepes—always with butter, plus ham and a ton of cheese, or a ton of chocolate and bananas or a ton or nutrella or a ton of sugar. The key word and ingredient in this shop is a TON of everything. So we will try to eat here tomorrow...YUM!!!!

People in Paris love to eat—no wonder I love it here.

Sunday—another rainy day in Paris. Of course it doesn’t start off that way, so I’m nicely dressed. But by mid-day it is raining hard and only Carl has his umbrella. We spend the morning at the Louvre—we had purchased our tickets yesterday near the Grand Arch so we can walk right in—once again there was a long, several hour wait for those without pre-purchased tickets... There are so many more people in Paris this time—everybody seems to be at the Louvre-students, families, middle aged couples, and lady friends, and retired folks. This visit to the Louvre is more leisurely. We stroll through the Greek and Roman antiquities and see sculptures we had overlooked. Even our “friends” brought new insights—Cupid and Psyche’s delicate fingers and toes. Michaelangelo’s Dying Love Slave with the beginning of a monkey sculptured at his side; Venus de Milo’s perfect right nipple and broken left one; Nike’s perfect vantage from the foot of the stairs. We see new things like the Etruscan sarcophagus of a married couple—married beyond death for eternity; Vermeer’s tiny masterpiece “The Lacemaker: We love seeing “Mona Lisa”, Michaelangelo’s sculptures, Da Vinci’s “Virgin of the Rock” and “St Anne”, Boticelli’s fresco, the works of Delacroix, Ingres, David, Reubens. There are so, so many paintings in the Louvre let alone other object d’art. After 3 hours we are on sensory overload and have to leave.

We eat at a restaurant plaza in the museum’s underground arcade...there are international food places and we stop at the first one and get Middle Eastern chicken and veggies.

We return to our room for a rest and a change into rain gear for me and get my umbrella.

Then we find the Luxembourg Gardens, which are exquisite with their flowers and sculptures and trees of autumn leaves. We eat very good chocolate puff pastry and apricot puff pastry—again with butter by the pound and then take a bus to the Eiffel tower, passing through upscale Montparnasse.

We decide to take the elevator to the top of the tower. It goes up in stages so you can get off and look down on Paris. Despite the rain and fog, the view is spectacular. It’s fun finding our favorite places from the top of the Eiffel. We take lots of photos and hope some come out. The people in the tower were quite a nasty lot—drunk, loud, boorish—what’s happened to society??!!

The Tower has a lighted sign on it showing days to the Millennium—447...I’m excited about being in Paris for that night—so far the Shakespeare Company Bookshop and The Eiffel Tower are advertising “party time”: I’m sure it will be one all night bash on the streets of Paris.

We get bad directions to the Metro stop from a street vendor and trudge to the top of the Trocadero—200 steps—to get to the train. It would have been closer to go to the Metro stop near the tunnel where Princess Di was killed. On the staircase going up the Trocadero was a statue of a golden goddess holding birds—she had a live Parisienne pigeon on her head...The subway ride and walk were very long.

We go to The Creperie around the corner from the hotel where we had seen the lady owner making the crepes last night and that had looked so good. The one we ordered was salted buckwheat with ham-cheese-egg and was certainly the best we have ever tasted. The salad and wine were a perfect match—it wasn’t a cheap meal—the crepe at $10.00 and each glass of wine at $10.00 ...The stairs to the upstairs’ toilette were narrower and steeper than those at St Peter’s in Rome or at the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam. The owner’s children were asleep in a tiny adjoining room to the toilette.

Time to call it a day. One more day and night in Paris—where did the time go?? We still need to find Maria Callas’ grave, see more gardens and walk down the Champs d’ Elysée and of course sample more of Paris’s culinary delights...but before bed we walk into a Best Western Hotel nearby our hotel to comparison shop—the lobby was so French with tapestries, plants, etc. etc. but the girl at reception was a bitch. How could we stay there and leave the warmth and craziness of our very own “Fawlty Towers”. The rates were higher and even if the room and bed were larger and there was heat and more water pressure, somehow we can’t see ourselves at any place but our Hotel Dauphine—at least for the time being...

We had got some leads on renting apartments from a Yoko Ono type in the Luxembourg Gardens. She had lived in Paris with her harpsichord making bo and she had painted his harpsichords. Now she lives in Hawaii and prefers to visit rather than live in Paris. There is a rental publication near the Shakespeare and Co Bookstore—we will have to check it out.

Monday—our last full day in Paris—we head out to the Cemetery Pere La Chaisse again and on the way encounter a student (1000+) demonstration in the underground Metro. We find out later, they are protesting the need for more teachers, -better facilities; same problems seem to plague school systems everywhere. The students yell a bit, but are not out of control. Still the possibility for a riot is present. Later today near the Champs d’ Elysée we see rows of police vans and many police—seems there was some encounter between the students and the police. It’s the lead story in Tuesday’s paper, even though it was in French I got the gist of the story—my French comprehension is getting better. Hope Carl and I take some language classes—French and Italian for a start...

We enter the cemetery on the northern border—I can’t remember seeing the skies so bright—usually they are rainy and cloudy this trip. We find where Isadora Duncan reposes—the dancer of the Paris Ballet has been totally forgotten-not a flower in sight...Max Ernst at least has a few words scribbled on his plaque. It takes us awhile to find Maria Callas—she’s downstairs in a darkened corridor of a mausoleum like building. There are flowers at her box—it feels nice to pay our respects...Carl breaks into “Visse D’arte”. I keep seeing her jump off Castle St Angelo—ah, Floria Tosca!! We find the grave of Gertrude Stein and on the backside of her tombstone her lover, Alice B Toklas lies. Now that’s really French—2 women in the same grave!!!! The cemetery has a whole section honoring those killed in wars. The Holocaust Memorials are especially moving. One is a huge bronze of a man soaring to the heavens from the flames, one is a bronze of 3 skeletons; one is a sculpture of a work camp where the metal looks like prison uniforms and the people are chained together in a file; one has footsteps leading into a bunker house or gas chamber; one is almost an alien figure.... the words on the memorials tell of the Nazi barbarism, that bodies were broken but not spirits and that one must never forget this dark period of history or its victims...We take some photos in this area; some with Carl who is always touched and troubled by these monuments—a part of his legacy. The sky is blue with white clouds and trees of changing patterns and colors behind these memorials—the best of life and the worst sharing a moment. I hope my camera captured it.

We take a bus—a long ride through sections of Paris we’ve never been in and stop at the theater Comedie Francaise, but nothing is on...Carl calls his broker Schwab—I love when he does that, checking on stocks...and he loves doing it, especially on the “ace” line.

We see the Garnier Opera House again and have a terrible lunch at the Hipopotamous, a new chain of steak houses. The steak is so tough and even the second, replacement steak, which the servers cheerfully offered was tough. However, the salad and haricorts vert (just showing off my French) and the sauces (Bernaise and blue cheese) were tres bien.

We walk into the Galleries Lafayette, the large department store. The glass ceiling, ever-gorgeous Tiffany glass, had a huge painting of a dancer in perfect blue. We had fun in the make-up department-here you can really try on all the makeup—naturally, Chanel looks the best-lipstick #21, “brown sun”...Carl loves when I look girlie with makeup. My hair hasn’t looked too bad here—seems to get curlier every day—must be the butter and salt in my body!!

We visit several gardens—the Tuilleries, Luxembourg, Palais Royal. Paris sure knows how to do parks. The trees are perfectly manicured, where else are there beautiful flowering plants in autumn like this?? All in perfect hues of purple, magenta, yellow, white.

At the end of the day, near the Louvre, the park has a fountain where children play with sail boats and beautiful ducks (brown and teal mallards) glided past us as we sat in chairs watching the sun set. Even ran into Patrick, our hotel night receptionist, who took our photo.

We bought some fruit jelly candy at “Faroud”—($18.00 for ½ pound)—it was similar to those we snitched from the Baccarat display. Carl can’t resist sweets and he’s retied the red candy box numerous times.

We walk down the Champs d’ Elysée, which is bustling with people—who are all these people???? We sit at a sidewalk cafe and drink light coke and eat a puff pastry. We walk to the Arc de Triomphe and back almost to the Place de Concorde. We then take the Metro briefly but there are so many people it’s worse than a sardine can.... Near the Pont Neuf I take some wonderful photos of the setting sun over the Paris monuments and buildings. Even get one of Carl at his favorite statue, Henri IV.

Back at the room, I decide to go out to find a chocolate mousse. Carl can’t bear to maybe miss out on an adventure so he gets dressed again and we stroll into the patisseries in the Buci...no mousse to be found...We return to Leon’s for mussels. We have the most inept young waiter who forgot our bread, brought us water instead of wine, only one non-salted entree instead of two.... Next to us was an unfriendly Slavic couple from Cleveland!!!—she was draped in gold and diamonds. Funny how so many tourists are dressed to the 9’s, while Carl and I are dressed so as not to draw attention to ourselves and maybe we even get taken as non-tourists.

It was fun this trip looking in all the shop windows at the haute couturiers-not just on the Rue St Honore near the Ritz Hotel but on so, so many streets.

Earlier today, Carl had a bit of an anxiety attack...Jean, the tapestry lady, called our hotel for us to pick up the tapestry.... She was to have called two days earlier, on Saturday morning; but we didn’t get her message until was 7 P M Monday—she didn’t call until then. Carl had decided not to get the tapestry from her—he felt he could get it for much less in LA. He worried that she would use his Diner’s Club Card and called her back—the long and short of it, the tapestry stayed in Paris but Carl may buy some yarn from her.

After we ate at Leon’s this night we strolled our neighborhood one last time. Two men were heard singing and playing jazz. One was a Redd Foxx type who sang Bille Holiday and his sidekick played the keyboard-trumpet and sang some. They were wonderful and sang songs to Carl and me.... We left a $5.00 American tip. something we’ve never done...you know they were that good and enjoyable.

Tuesday—our last morning in Paris—our final repast or should I say petit dejeuner a Chez McDonalds. We walk through a nearby neighborhood we’ve never been to-St Germain de Pres Church with a statute of St Anthony and petitions written on them-a crucifix in a simple beige alcove—of course my camera is at the hotel—will I never learn one is NEVER to be parted from one’s lenses—so next trip I’ll return here. We go into a few hotels but they just don’t seem right. Hotel Dauphine St Germain de Pres is really our “home”...Next time we may try a different room with twin beds since we had so much trouble sleeping this time. Rates will be almost double for the Millennium New Year’s Eve but we expect that will be the case all over the world.

The trip on the Metro to the Train Station, even with luggage, is not too bad.

Eurostar, very pricey, even for standard class is like the top of the line in rail travel.... The blonde bitch at the Amsterdam train station who gave us bad seats to Paris also gave us bad seat to London. May the Druids of London deal with her!!! Besides no view, in front of us is a couple with 3 children including a toddler who screamed and carried on and finally fell to the aisle on her head...We moved-assigned seats or not!! The trip through the countryside was quite different from Brussels or Amsterdam. There the ground is lush green with many canals and the farm animals like cows and sheep are solid, work animals; in France the land is various shades of green or beige and the cows and sheep are more delicate, more “French”!

The 20-minute ride under the English Channel is always an experience. A train under the water—my mind can’t fathom such a wonder of man’s ingenuity. I breathe a sigh of relief when we are on land again.

London—the massive Waterloo Train Station and the long trek through the Tube with our luggage. One lady sees me struggling on the stairs and says “POOR THING”—-I couldn’t agree more. There are more people than I remember and every one is moving so fast. This certainly isn’t the fashion capital-the store windows display average/frumpy styles or the British Black. We breathe a sigh of relief when we see The Royal Society of Medicine. The Spartan room looks so inviting and it is actually spacious compared to the Ibis and the Hotel Dauphine. There is a tub!! and ample water coming out of the shower!! and a teapot with accoutrements in the room. Now this is living! The digestive biscuits are awful whether or not they help your digestion!!

We take the tube to Leicester Square to try to get a ½ price ticket to the theater. The ticket agencies are either sleazy or unable/unwilling to give accurate information-so we pass.

We find a Stockpot Restaurant, a reasonable chain we remember as being affordable, good food and good quantity. We eat spaghetti with Carl’s mother’s meat sauce (Boy that was good), Hungarian Goulash (nothing like the fabulous one in Budapest) chicken (quite tender) and some English Pillsbury cake with treacle (a mildly sweetened custard that was Yuck). Our waiter was an Italian boy from Rome with shaved head and pierced eyebrows—turns out his father, Bruno, (does any Italian have a non-Mafia name?) was the manager of our hotel The Palazzo Colonna in Roma—now isn’t that a small world. There is a theater across from the Stockpot and Carl gets tickets to “The Return of Inspector Hound” and “Black Comedy”.

Carl insists he read rave reviews in Time Magazine and later decides he had auditioned and got a part in “Black Comedy” while in the Navy stationed in Long Beach. Both plays were written in the 60’s. Stoppard’s claim to fame was “Rosencrans and Guildenstern” and “Dead”, while Shaffer’s claims included “Equus”. “The Hound” was a spoof of “The Mousetrap”—quite funny especially the maid. “Black Comedy” was clever-when lights were on in real life the stage was totally black and vice versa. The tradition of ice cream at intermission continued-wonderful ginger ice cream.

On the way back through Piccadilly Circus we saw a bagpiper and a fire-eating juggler. This square also has a countdown to the Millennium but we still prefer Paris as our fete place.

Wednesday

We got a good night’s sleep and enjoyed the expanded continental breakfast—fruit here is very good and we love the jams.

This is our walking day. Down Bond St. into Sotheby’s to view the treasures of Islamic Art; to Parliament and Big Ben and St James Palace with the official Changing of the Guard—the black stallions from the queen’s stable are gorgeous. Carl gets nibbled by one of the horses; Westminster Abbey-very crowded but still exciting to see royalty’s graves; the graves of artists now including Laurence Olivier and the fabulous “Wedding Cake Ceiling” in the Lady Chapel.

Lunch at Harrod’s—the pantry downstairs is closed so we eat at the Rotisserie—the gourmet plate of lamb, chicken, duck and quail (have you ever?), cole slaw and quite good Harrod’s beer. We buy pastry-none compares with those in Paris. Today there were some bus rides and lots of walking. We visit The Victoria and Albert Museum-seven miles of treasures, beautifully maintained-a special exhibit of A. Beardsley—so extensive with fabulous works (Carl has a print from an old lady—I told him he should have it appraised—might be the real McCoy) Also see the dress section and the glass section, both histories of these products; we meet a nice lady from the Legacy Money Department.

Trafalgar Square had a million pigeons; statue of Charlie Chaplin in Leicester Square and another of Churchill near Westminster Abbey; St Martins in the Field with its Monet stained glass windows. We are so exhausted that we take a long nap and then head out for Covent Gardens to find Fish and Chips—we end up at a yuppie pub, crowded, noisy was The Marquees of Ansley—wonderful food-big portions.

Thursday

An early start, training to Salisbury and Stonehenge. Salisbury is a two-hour ride from London-we ran to the train at Waterloo with one minute to spare-honest!! Salisbury’s claim to fame is their cathedral built in the 1200’s-early English Gothic with soaring arches—the fabulous spire was added in the 13^th and 14^th centuries. It is an active part of the Church of England. We were lucky that there was a concert going on as we toured-some group was singing early medieval church music. It really added to the atmosphere. At one end of the church is hung a beautiful huge silk banner; at the other end was a fabulous blue stained glass recently created. There is a medieval clock from 1386 still working. We saw the 4 “purbeck marble” pillars in the center of the church-carved wooden canon’s stalls; a revolving glass prism delicately engraved by Whistler. The Cloisters were never used by monks—huge cedars of Lebanon were in the courtyard. In the Chapter House was one of the 4 surviving Magna Cartas and an incredible medieval stone frieze showing scenes from the Old and New Testaments—I especially liked Adam and Eve, the Building of Noah’s Arc and Lot’s Wife Turning To Salt. Surrounding the Cathedral were beautiful lush green lawns and huge trees with turning leaves. The town of Salisbury is small, quaint, charming—Carl says it reminds him of Charleston. He had a local food treat—Scotch Egg—a hard-boiled egg surrounded by sausage and deep-fried in a crunchy breaded coating. I looked at the pastries-quite different from French ones-the dough is heavier and there are lots of scones with heavy icing.

Bus to Stonehenge-through rolling lush green plains. (On the bus ride back we passed a field full of bunnies-honestly.) Suddenly there it is off in the distance-Stonehenge. It’s one of those moments-sort of like the Mona Lisa moment—I’ve seen so many photos in books and on TV of Stonehenge and I guess in my mind I thought I knew what it would look like—but this place leaves one speechless-truly in awe. It’s located in the middle of a huge green field-you can no longer touch the stones but it is set up very nicely so you can walk around it—with and OK audio and see it from all angles. We took lots of photos—God, I hope they come out- a piano photo should be of this place. Across the street is a huge sheep farm and on the rail fence birds are gathered and daringly take crumbs from the tourists. Carl even feeds one the rest of his Scotch Egg; he thinks it’s the prize of the day to these birds. This entire area is where the old kings hung out: Camelot.

Train back to London is in a smoke filled car and across from us 2 young men chatter incessantly.

Dinner at the Stockpot was salad with prawns (really minute shrimp), real anchovy Caesar dressing, avocados (at market price!?), English Trifle. We walk to Big Ben-in the night-lights it looks like the trendy jigsaw puzzles they sell everywhere. Almost buy scalper tickets to “Phantom of the Opera” but pass. Take the Tube home meet a pharmacist who is our guide through this underground maze. Such a small world—he even is a quasi-member of The Royal Society of Medicine—not a real member like my Carl. On the walk to the tube station across from #10 Downing St we pass a statue of WW II “Monty” with a very unique stony textured bronze-as if protecting the Prime Minister and England still. We passed by Banquet Hall on this street and through the windows peeked at the famous Reuben’s Ceiling.

Friday

Another day of train travel, this time to Stratford on Avon and Oxford. We continue to get misinformation about train times-after getting up at 6 A M and missing breakfast we go to catch a train to Oxford; we’re told we must take a later train to Stratford and can visit Oxford on our return or the ticket price will be doubled. Now isn’t that crazy.

The train ride through English countryside: green pastures; cows; black-faced sheep—it reminded me of paintings by English artists like Constable. Stratford on Avon is a lot like Salzburg or even Solvang. The landmarks of Shakespeare’s life: house of birth-death and burial have been spruced up to museum quality. As you walk through the town, pricey shops surround you. We weren’t too impressed until we saw the Avon River-now that was a real treat. The river is over-hung with huge trees and there are swans and white ducks that come out of the water to be fed. We saw the theaters of Avon: The Royal Shakespeare Co., The Other Place and The Swan Theater.

We went into the Black Swan/Dirty Duck pub (one side of the sign is The Swan and on the other is The Duck)—it’s a meeting place for famous theatre people like Olivier-we are pressed for time, so we only take a peek and a coaster.

Holy Trinity Church, where Shakespeare is buried was quite eerie. Leading up to it is an ancient graveyard—most stones covered with moss—Carl said it’s right out of “Buffy the Vampire Slayer”, and I agree. There is a strong sense of the presence of the dead here. To get into the Church, you have to pass through a low arched door. You have to pay to see Shakespeare’s tomb—we pass-most other churches we’ve been in only ask for donations, regardless of the famous personages buried there.

I get a lovely tea towel with Shakespearean characters, which I will frame, for the kitchen. Also get postcards for the family and a magnet for Heather. A hurried lunch at a fast food eatery-fish and chips for Carl, a pasty chicken with mushroom pie for me. Back on the train. It had started to rain in Stratford and the wind became blustery but by the time we reached Oxford things had settled down.

How to describe Oxford? Tourist books say it is a city of colleges and that’s true but it doesn’t paint the picture. There are 36 colleges (we saw only a few) and each one is a separate entity. Students and their “tutors” live in each, study there, and each college has it’s own chapel, library, etc. built around a central courtyard. We were very fortunate that several of the gates to the colleges were open—being it was late afternoon, and we were able to wander about. Our favorite was Magdalein College-pronounced Maudlin—its central courtyard was surrounded by fabulous gargoyles and statues on its walls. While looking for the bathrooms we stumbled on a path that led to a deer park. This was amazing!!! Before us, behind a chain fence, was a meadow full of deer—brown, spotted, white and an iridescent black; several with antlers. They were laying or walking about-no fear of humans. This was one of the highlights of the trip and something I’m sure most tourists never see. The other college we liked was Merton College, this is one of the oldest-founded in 1264. This place really felt ancient, complete with its medieval cobblestones. We went down Addison’s Walk through meadows and wonderful vistas of the college.

The town is quite a maze. In our wanderings we saw colleges with huge towers and spires; Carfax Tower in the city center with its famous clock is not too tall; City Hall; an ancient castle.

Carl said we also saw Christ Church College, New College, Trinity College and University College. I’m sure we did, but it all blends together. In between the colleges, trendy upscale shops have been built in the empty spaces, so it seems like every square foot on the streets is taken up. There are lots of babies and children.

A strange habit noted: people queue up in long lines to get on public buses, not the usual jumble of bodies we’ve seen all over the world. On the way back to the train, Carl spots a shop with goods from Scotland. Of course I continue to misdress for this vacation. I’m either dressed too warm or not warm enough. Today I was definitely cold, in my T-shirt and tiny scarf. So my prince bought me an absolutely gorgeous mohair plaid scarf and hat—I look like a billion bucks and I’m warm. I try on a gorgeous plaid outfit but need to lose a few or more pounds. Drat!!!

We make the train back to London only because it is 2 minutes late. It’s crowded, as we knew it would be-lots of people going to London on Friday evening.

Paddington Station is once again a mob of bodies, most dressed in black, scurrying to and for like ants.

London is definitely a city for the young—it’s become a bit too frenetic for me.

The day’s adventures to Stratford and Oxford were so delightful because there were so few tourists and a leisurely pace. This is how I remembered London and Paris being 2 years ago—but this was the first day on this trip that I found it that way and I missed it.

A light repast at the Stockpot (3 days in a row). Delicious lamb—it must have been one of those tiny sheep we saw grazing in the meadows from our train window—what are we being fed in America?

Spooky aside—Carl began to have weird dreams of vampires and other unsavory spirits. I had a very strong sense that spirits from the graveyard near Stratford’s Trinity Church had hitched a ride back with Carl. He says he thinks he picked up something in Salisbury-I suppose that’s possible. In any event, these spirits did not want to leave but they had to yield and gradually I sensed them drawing back, almost like in a time tunnel. It was then that a large figure loomed. This one was from Stonehenge—on the outer part of Stonehenge is a solitary stone-the audiotape said its markings show the avenue into the circle. This stone, spiritually speaking, is also The Guardian. For Carl, psychically, this Guardian appeared as the rock form ^ with a black interior—no longer a rock but a being. The Guardian’s job was to protect the Holy Circle or Ground. What he was doing with Carl is beyond me, but he was very resistant to leaving—eventually the inner black core turned to stone. No I’m not a nut case—think what you will...

Saturday

Our last day in London-our last day of our trip. Weather reports say rain and blustery (doesn’t that sound right out of Pooh Corner?) but as usual they are wrong. We decide to take a train to Windsor Castle about 30 minutes from London. This turned out to be an exciting day. There we were in front of a real Castle, one where Queen Elizabeth II really stays when in the area and since her Flag was flying it meant she was home today...no we didn’t catch a glimpse of her. When you get off the train you walk toward the center of town. There is a statue of Queen Victoria erected on the 50^thyear of her reign and behind it up the road is the Castle. Just as we arrived, the changing of the guard occurred. Guards in the traditional black hats marched by—impressive.

The Castle and its grounds are well maintained. There were a lot of tourists, some like us, others from England came to see their leader’s home. Of course there was the constant presence of unruly children, crying toddlers and strollers. St George Hall had beautifully carved pews with the crests and armor from the various houses. Even more impressive was the Albert Memorial Chapel with gorgeous walls of inlaid marble including leaves and flowers. There were etchings of bible stories, stained glass windows, elaborately painted borders. We queued up to see Mary’s Doll House, an exact replica of the Castle. From this outdoor queue we could see Eton College and the famous soccer playing fields of Eton. The area around the Doll House was packed with people, but we did manage to see what the Castle looks like in all its rooms. From there we went to the State Rooms. Again there were lots of people, moving VERY slowly, but we did get to see quite a few rooms. There was a variety of rooms open, with thrones where the Queen would meet guests; a Hall of Armor and Swords and Guns; the King’s Bedroom with its purple ostrich plume atop the green velvet canopy; the Green Room with walls of hunter green brocade; the Crimson Rose Room with walls of crimson rose brocade; the State Dining Rooms with huge dining tables polished like glass; chandeliers, vases of jade and Ming Dynasty; exquisite sets of china in a blue (hard to describe) or with birds or plants. There was a long hall with coats of arms and an armored soldier on an armored steed at the end—a bright red plume on the soldier’s helmet. There were paintings of past monarchs and works by famous artists. Waterloo Room with walls covered by paintings of famous people associated with the Battle. It was like a “tasteful” Versailles—not too pompous, but just proper enough.

Carl “added” to his souvenir collection-a castle guard of metal...

After trying various eateries with waiting lines we stumbled on “Sally Lund’s”. Seems the original home of Sally Lund Buns in Bath has opened up a second shop in Windsor. The buns are as big and as tasteless as ever...the service was poor (they kept forgetting what we ordered). Carl’s eggs were quite good but my sliced turkey was cold cuts…the special blend of house tea was SO strong even diluted with a pint of water didn’t dull its potency. Trek across the bridge to Eton. Along the way we saw more modest shops and older stone buildings-several old prep schools. The College of Eton looked like part of a medieval town...stone buildings, some spires—people who go there must be cold a lot for there was quite a gale off the Thames. We saw ducks and swans on the river and flocks of birds flying overhead. I spotted an English Thistle growing out of a crack in the steps from the bridge. Who but me, constantly looking downward, would have noticed and who but Carl would have shared my sense of wonder. I would be lost without him—who else could I talk to about swans and ducks and plants in cracks; or plains and bunnies and deer, as well as the art treasures of the world, and have been as excited about it all.

The town of Windsor like so many other small European towns has been transformed-for better or worse-into a tourist center. Brand name stores like Laura Ashley-Bodyworks-Gap as well as expensive boutiques are everywhere. It would be hard to pick out the correct city since the stores are identical all over the world.

We get a bite later at a Pizza Express-sort of like a California Pizza Kitchen…you can get every food imaginable on it—ours had artichoke, ham, anchovy, Greek olives and cheese.

Sunday

We had to get a cab to the airport at 4:45 AM—Carl slept fitfully. I of course slept well but not long enough. Our taxi was a luxury Mercedes and our driver was nattily dressed in slacks and sweater vest—a far cry from the dirty cabs and strange drivers in other cities even when they drove Mercedes. There really was a Sabena Airline to carry us from Heathrow back to Brussels, but it too, like City Bird, is a small operation—the attendant at gate check-in looked like she also served on the plane!! Brussels: We follow the signs to City Bird and no one is around, not even another passenger. Carl’s anxiety level is sky high and his visits to the bathroom are sky high. As passengers arrive at the departure gate, Carl discovers, much to his dismay, that everyone but us has a boarding pass with assigned seats. Off he goes-somewhere in the cavernous terminal to get boarding passes for us. Along the way he messes with 5 BIG security people who get annoyed by his questions-but he does return with a seat assignment only for him...I have to wait for mine (seriously I needed to show my own passport before I get a seat). There is an interesting group of travelers waiting for City Bird The Flying Dream—so far, the flying nightmare to most of us. One lady who lived in Brussels many years ago is now a US citizen in Sherman Oaks, close to Carl’s office, recounted her horror stories of rude people she had met in both Brussels and Paris. Another woman about my age insisted she knew me—turns out she was on the flight out of LA-she’s the one who lives in Idaho with her artist husband and had traveled to Europe to see her daughter—she told us it had flooded in Venice as we warned her and she too walked the city on table tops. A 82 year old lady next to us had traveled extensively and had been visiting her son-she seemed like a nice lady to travel with-still open and adventurous—turns out she was an admitting nurse at a psych hospital in San Diego. Like Carl says, like people find each other, no matter where in the world. And he says, people in medicine just have to travel to see and experience everything in life.

The plane was on time. It took off about an hour late. Nice plane with roomy seats—a diabetic lunch of salmon, vegetables albeit quite late—-12 hours is a long flight.

At his writing we have 9 hours left. Flying over the coast of Greenland, we see great alluvial plains below us.

P.S. The Royal Society of Medicine Domus has really gone to the dogs (bulldogs?) Mr. Saunders left to run his own B & B and Eric and Sandra Mair are now at the helm. The staff of many years (10+) seemed most unhappy and frenetic. One in the breakfast room said they were told they would be replaced if they couldn’t keep up. In the past, the staff had smiles and there was a relaxed, dignified tone to all interactions. This time, Aurora washed our clothes but totally forgot to dry them; our postcards were never mailed; and the night receptionist called the wrong room for our 3:30 AM wake-up call—thank God I figured out how to use the alarm clock or we’d still be there.

This trip was different for us. It seems as if we had been traveling for months, not 2 weeks. Carl says it’s because of our delay in leaving or because we did so much traveling this year. I don’t know what it is but I feel like Rip Van Winkle and when I get back to LA I expect Oriana to be in high school.4 hours to go—my feet are numbing. Flight going nicely a most pleasant surprise. We see the movie “Primary Colors”—Carl says it’s like the book was buried by the press—I say most people aren’t bright enough to get it…the casting and writing of the movie were so true to life. I’m surprised Bill and Hillary didn’t buy up every print. During the movie we get served delicious Dove Ice cream bars.

The view from the plane flying over the Western U S is spectacular. This really is a beautiful country and the topography is breathtaking.

Final reflections

This trip got off to a bad start because of the delay and poor quality of City Bird. WE were both tired out—the trip seemed like months instead of 2 weeks. Carl couldn’t remember what we had seen or done until I read him this journal.

Brussels was a dark city, streets dug up everywhere; Grand Palace had nice sound and light show; wonderful eats (chocolate, cheese and waffles-the best I ever tasted); the Mannekin Pis, a weird symbol for a city and much smaller than depicted everywhere on everything; Petit Sablon with 48 Guild figures atop its fence; 6 very young men and women-city police protecting the synagogue with machine guns (this scene which we’ve seen in other cities never fails to trouble me); nice sculptures including ones of Bela Bartok, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza (the view marred by thugs and wild dogs at its base); St Michael Cathedral with its pelican altar and Adam and Eve carved lectern The train ride through the countryside was interesting with farmlands and cows and horses and sheep which are different in each country .Belgium’s animals are big and sturdy-work animals and the fields are lush from the canals.

Bruges—the fabulous beer we drank; Michaelangelo’s Madonna and Child in the Church of our Lady; lace making center where elderly lady’s fingers fly moving needles and bobbins to create intricate designs—the only place where real lace was made, the rest is imported from machines in the Philippines; canals, dampness, moss, cobblestones that kill our feet; widowed lady who shows us her house. Amsterdam—the Central Station; a million bicycles; the small but totally utilitarian Ibis hotel rooms-ours had a fabulous view overlooking the canal; French Fries with Mayo; running through the Rijks Museum with glimpses of fabulous Vermeers-Rembrandt’s “Night Watch”; 6 self portraits of Van Gogh and his “Sunflowers”; streets bustling with young people (seedy, body pierced, dread locks) and sex shops and museums or live sex shows with graphic pictures and the infamous Red Light District where women really stand in windows in their undies waiting for customers; flower markets; another performance of “The Return of Ulysses”—this time with LA’s Brian Asawa, but we both fall asleep after the prologue; fresh cold milk; confusing city with lots of street construction also—missing a concert at the Concertgebow and the Lord in the Attic Church and Rembrandt’s House and the Jewish Museum because we kept getting lost with bad directions from everyone; Anne Frank’s House a truly memorable emotional moment, one place everyone should definitely see to remember and reflect; the Hotel Casino-a pseudo gambling palace for the upper gentry; a nice canal boat ride-wish we’d done more of it; the trek in the rain for a Dutch Pancake which didn’t taste good and is served with Karo and Carl’s slip on the entry step and bruising his knee; Carl almost got run over lots of times too because everything but pedestrians have the right of way. Paris—our favorite city—feels like going home to our very own Fawlty Towers a.k.a. Hotel Dauphine—the room’s bed gets smaller every visit; the fabulous mussels and salmon at Leon’s; Chez McDonald, still the best breakfast in town; the awesome Cluny Tapestries and Carl’s fiasco almost buying a tapestry to make; the Paris Cemetery where so many people are buried-we made two trips there and saw the graves of Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Chopin, Maria Callas, Isadora Duncan, Gertrude Stein-Alice B Toklas, James Morrison of the Doors; plus composers like Bizet; artists like Seurat, Callibotte, Ernst, Ingres, David; Moliere and Balzac and Proust and the list goes on and on…the cemetery is quite a hodge-podge, but it has a very moving section of war memorials especially those to the Holocaust. No tickets were available for the opera or ballet but we do see wonderful productions of TV from 1-4 A M (they were that good). Re-visited Baccarat and got a matching ring for moi-tres belle and a free gift for Carl whom the shop thinks is affiliated with a hotel (the gift is a pale yellow vase which doesn’t fit in anywhere!); student protests in the subway; metro performers in alcoves not in the cars, including a 10 piece chamber orchestra!!; so, so many tourists—I thought October was off season!!; the lines at the Louvre, so long one can’t get in on the first day but a pre-purchased ticket gets us in quickly the next day; see our “old friends” in the Louvre and finally find Vermeer’s tiny “Lacemker” masterpiece; the Dorsa has a Millet/Van Gogh exhibit-a 2 hour wait-wheat field ablaze in yellow is our favorite-see other “old friends” here—Carl sees me in Renoir’s Girl in the Red Hat dancing—how nice!!; new Xmas cards from Shakespeare and Co. Bookstore; the tours of the Paris gardens; the ride to the top of the Eiffel Tower-good view—de classe tourists; the fabulous salted buckwheat crepe with lots of butter, egg, ham and cheese; “Redd Foxx” and sidekick doing Billie Holiday jazz on a street corner and our $5.00 tip for serenading us; making our reservations for New Year’s 1999—where else would we be????? The Eiffel Tower already has its countdown started.

The Chunnel to London—the train ride through the countryside with grounds of green and beige and delicate (naturalment) animals on the French side. Waterloo Stations with so many steps to the Tube—”POOR ME”; the Royal Society of Medicine Domicile-feels like coming to a familiar old boy’s club but the new management has taken away the feeling of gentility and struck terror into the staff; wonderful home cooked meals at the Stockpot—Carl loves his mom’s spaghetti sauce; the theater tickets that were impossible to sort out (a British expression) but we do see “The Return of Inspector Hound” and “Black Comedy” (a play Carl got a part in during the 60’s); Changing of the Guard in the rain at St James Palace-the black stallions were gorgeous even if one tries to eat Carl’s pockets; crowds everywhere, as in Paris; the Victoria and Albert Museum with the fabulous Aubrey Beardsley exhibit. Salisbury Cathedral and the Chapter House with the Magna Carta; Carl’s Scotch Egg. Stonehenge-one of those indescribable places-one must see it!!!

Shakespeare’s town, very commercial and touristy-the best part of it was the River Avon with its swans and ducks; eerie graveyard at the Holy Trinity church where the Bard is buried. Oxford-medieval city of colleges and a deer preserve and the mohair hat and scarf to keep me warm and looking marvelous.

Side trips were less crowded, less chaotic, and more enjoyable than the cities this time.

Windsor Castle-a real castle where the Queen was that day-since her flag was flying; the gorgeous Albert Memorial Chapel with its marbled inlays and etchings; Eton College-a cold damp place where boys become men—whatever.

Well that’s it—another trip for the record books time to wait for photos and reminisce all over again.