Stirring Stirling

Friday, June 28 was a long transition day, filled with glentiful views (ahem), white-knuckle-narrows, Lomond legends, Sterling castles, water wheels and the adventures of settling into new digs in a great city.  We left our clean, cramped Corran Bunkhouse and toured south through scenic, sordid Glencoe.  From there the A82 brushes the skirts of the looming Three Sisters of Glencoe, passing Loch Tulla on its way to  Loch Lomond & The Trossachs National Park.  Today we compromise between touring and transit, and elect to drive south along The Bonnie Banks O’ Loch Lomond so I can put imagery to a long loved Paul Robeson bass-baritone.   The road is narrow and traffic thick, so we stop at the Drover’s Inn for a cup of courage and character.

Further down the west shore we stop for lunch and a stroll in the pretty little village of Luss.  The buildings are lovely and the brogue is stronger here near Glasgow, but I must confess Loch Lomond is not as bonnie as our Lake Tahoe.

We muscle our way through heavy weekender traffic around Lomond’s bottom to the town Stirling, strategically stationed at the neck separating the Scottish low and highlands.  Here the Scots and Brits battled many times, including in 1297 at the Battle of Stirling Bridge, memorialized in Mel Gibson’s Braveheart.  We’re here for Stirling Castle, which does not disappoint… it’s grand, best explained in imagery.

Afterwards Sue and I literally park the boys and take a stroll the cobblestoned city center, lovely exteriors whose charms are chained… by chain stores.  Sigh.

One more stop separates us from Edinburgh: the Falkirk Wheel. It’s an engineering marvel – an 80-foot gravity-driven rotating boat lift that replaced a flight of 11 locks and speeds the float between Glasgow and Scotland by connecting the Forth and Clyde Canal with the Union Canal.  They’ve built a kiddie water park around it but it is – alas- bereft of a museum or tributes to its own ingenuity.  Still pretty cool to us geeks.

Further down the freeway we pass the the 100 ft high Kelpies – monumental tributes to the noble beasts that long powered Scotland.  Later, after being misled by our cars nav system, we wind our way into Edinburgh and find our HomeExchange flat, which sits on South Learmonth Gardens, a 20 minute walk from the Castle and once home to Ernest Shackleton.  If you want the definition of a tough hero, read The Endurance: Shackleton’s Legendary Antarctic Expedition.  Our flat is light and comfortable, and will be a fantastic base for exploring Edinburgh… Sue and I can’t wait so we ditch the boys and ramble to a bustling local TGIF scene at the Raymond… we’re about a generation to old to fit in, but it’s fun to share the youthful buzz.

Highlanders

A lazy last Hampton morning ended with an easy farewell to Karen, Naftali and Nathan – if felt like we expected to see each other again soon, hopefully in Tahoe.  Yet another pleasant driver Ubered us through the weekend London traffic to the British Library, where we alighted on foot past St Pancras – perhaps my favorite brick building – to King’s Cross, where we stocked up with salads and sandwiches before boarding the north-bound Highlands Chieftain.

We’ve got a leisurely 8 hr roll north through East Anglia, The Midlands, Yorkshire and Newcastle into Scotland’s Southern Uplands, Lowlands and our terminus in Inverness.  Sue and I try our best to engage the boys in the rolling English countryside scenery and Scotland trip planning, but we lose to the lure of their iPhones – sigh.

Past long train trips were welcome respite from harder travels.  Here we’re Easy Riders – tranquil travel trainjectories, railrolling north to novel new conveniences in these mother countries.  As I write we’re gliding into Edinburgh, a quick preview of our tour there 7 days hence.  A few hours later and we’re disembarking in Inverness, pulling our carry-ons through the pedestrian High Street and across the Ness River to our sleek and convenient hotel Premier Inn.  Sue and I leave the boys and meet our HomeExchange hosts Jane and Garry for dinner next door at The Kitchen, a sleek brasserie with fine seafood

Sunday morning we take an expensive cab to an expensive car rental – anticipating having to shift left-handed with my sprained wrist on unfamiliar, narrow, right-side drive roads, I opt for full insurance coverage.  But the “premium location” and VAT fees add 45% to the bill… ouch.

The compact SUV is fine, and we motor off to hit some local sites – the Culloden Battlefield – which looms as large as our Gettysburg in the Scottish memory; the 4000-year Clava Cairns burial grounds; and the Cawdor Castle… too expensive to enter but we enjoy the grounds.  On the way back towards Inverness I get my first does of single-lane and left-side driving… good practice for Tuesday. Pushing upstream, we tour the Dores Inn and Falls of Foyers on lovely Loch Ness’s southern shore.  The only monsters around here are in our back seats.

On our return we stock up for groceries at Tesco then drive in drizzle across the River Ness to Beauly.  Our HomeExchange flat occupies the top floor of a handsome old railroad station.  It’s charming and neat, well provisioned with light food, coffee milk and other essentials.   Wet and weary, we enjoy the hot shower, cook a simple dinner and settle with a scotch into the broody mood of Scotland.

Monday is soggier.  We anticipated the grey so focus our day touring the Speyside distilleries.  Stops include the local Cooperage – where we learn that almost all Scotch Whisky barrels are made of American white oak and come used – from Kentucky bourbon distilleries (!).   Nearby the Macallan Distillery is a cavernous, somewhat sterile earth-roofed building – feels a little like Madrid’s Terminal #4 inside.  Continuing our anti-clockwise Speyside tour we stop in Elgin at the venerable Gordon & McPhail store, purveyor of fine malt Whiskys.  A few miles west on the A96 and we arrive at the Gordon-McPhail-owned Benromach Distillery, where with our host Jane’s help Sue has arranged for a tour and taste.   Rain and commute traffic clog our drive home, but we eventually arrive and enjoy another dinner in with a warm coal fire… a very Scottish day indeed.

Tuesday the sun peaks through, and I feel as if our adventure begins in earnest.  Today we’ll do a grand highland tour.  Not quite the North Coast 500, but a good sampling, full of windy single lanes and passing places.

Scotland’s roads are nerve rackingly narrow.  In the Highlands they shrink down to a single lane with frequent “passing places”… where the etiquette is to pull or hold left to enable oncoming traffic to pass.  You know you’re good once you can time your passes so neither driver must stop.  Courtesy is the general rule, and there’s plenty to go around up here… every pass comes with a friendly wave.Our first break comes at pretty little Gairloch, where we stop at a teahouse that might have fallen out of the Himalayas.  A sunny beach stroll takes us through some tidy pools and past some classic golf links, with hardy scot septuagenarians pushing clubs and driving balls through the sea breeze.

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Carrying on to Torridon we read up on their tidal fishing techniques and take a brief stroll before pushing on Shieldag, where we pause to skip stones in the harbor, and the Applecross smokehouse for some salmon, and the lovely, remote resort town of Applecross itself.  The pub serves up a fine atmos-phare, and with full bellies we ready for the hair-raising, hairpin turns of Bealach-na-ba pass… right hand drive, sprained left hand on the shifter, 20% grades on single lane cliffs… no problem.  But it would be more fun on a touring bike…

The drive home to Beauly is somewhat anti-climactic… we have time for a stroll to Rogie Falls and before rolling in to our tidy Beauly HomeExchange.  The rugged Highlands feel empty and pristine.

The Wednesday weather has turned as an African heat bubble bakes the Continent, but it’s lovely here on the Isles, as the welcome sun basks our bones and banishes the highland midges, the scourge of Scotland.  Our plan is drive down the Great Glen – a country-wide fissure that cleaves the upper and lower highlands and cradles the river and loch Ness, the Caledonian Canal, and other waterways between the Atlantic and  North Seas – to our new base in Glencoe.

Our first stop is Urqhardt Castle – sunny, lovely and very crowded – we’ve caught up with the tour buses.  At the bottom of Loch Ness we happen into Fort Augustus, and spontaneously park the car for a walk locks.  It’s a pleasant day and pleasing town, so we enjoy sandwiches and ice cream as we watch the canal boats rise through the locks from the Caledonian Canal into Loch Ness.

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Pushing on we bypass now-redundant Neptune’s Staircase for Glenfinnian and the train Viaduct – famed for Potter movies – and along the way get good dose of Bonny Charles and highlander history.  Backtracking to the Canal we park at the UK’s outdoorsmans mecca of Ft. Williams, where we walk High Street, gather info on mountain biking and I buy some lightweight socks for the warm days ahead.

Just up the road we check into our cramped Bunkhouse room, there’s time to leave the boys to their devices while Sue and I scout the Four Seasons over a pint… it qualifies and we walk the boys back over for a friendly family dinner before squeezing back into the bunkhouse for bed.

Thursday I rise for breakfast and blogging before we begin our Glencoe day.  I drive us back through Ft Williams and up Glen Nevis for an adventurous hike across wet slate along the River Nevis to Steal Waterfall.  The highlight is wire bridge across the River Nevis, which Sue manages with aplomb.  We opt out of the boggy trail beyond and I take the overgrown high trail back – glad I had boots – and meet Sue and the boys back at the car.

Squeezing back down Glen Nevis gorge to Glencoe we stop at The Craft Store for lunch, take a short hike about town and Glencoe it’s Lochan lake, then another short hike at Ballachulish peninsula before returning to Corran Bunkhouse for downtime.  I get a little work done, Sue researches upcoming travels, the boys game.  That evening we enjoy the free ferry ride across Loch Linnhe to local pub…lovely light.

Africans in Hampton

Tuesday early we’re up and out with the commuters, training on the Southern line back in to London Bridge station.  From there juxtaposed joggers and smokers flow past as we stroll the Thames to Tower Bridge and the Tower of London itself. Among the first entrants, we did the classic tour – Crown Jewels, Beefeater tour, White Tower & armory, Gate, Tower Walls… good fun.  A Tower Bridge tour carried us back across the Thames, where we reversed past City Hall and the Shard to Borough Market for a fish and chips lunch and fudge afterwards.  The train brought us back to Ladywell, where I split off to buy some shoe inserts and Sue and the boys returned to our Ladywell home.  9 miles today… not bad.

 

Returning I find Sue and the boys retired upstairs, and Louisa’s charming parents in the house tending to Oscar their lovely black Labrador Ennis.  Inevitable remembrances of Blackjack and our infant boys follow, and we have plenty of stories to share.

Soon it’s time for us to continue on to our next engagement.  We stroll to the Ladywell Tavern to meet Dickon – an entertaining old travelling companion of Sue’s – and eventually our host Mark rolls in to join us for a pint.  Lubricated, we picked up pizza and strolled back to their house to share with Louisa.

I’m up early so take the quiet time to get some work done before Mark and Louisa push off to work.  We take our time and eventually call an Uber.  The driver Soma is a Hungarian transplant, handsome and engaging, and he joins us in the Car Game, where we have a limited amount of time to pick the most expensive, exotic and appealing car we pass.

90 minutes later we arrive at our home for the next 3 nights – a roomy home owned by our host Karen Woolston’s sister.  Loyal readers will remember that we spent 3 weeks touring Southern Africa with Karen, Naftali and Nathan during our Gap Year… and we’re delighted to have arranged to share travels with them again here in Hampton.  They receive us with open arms, and welcome us into the spacious, artistically haphazard home.  Like Ben and Max, Nathan has grown tall.  We have time to ferry across the Thames for a stroll to some cricket grounds and a rowing hut – all very English – then shop for groceries before returning home and cooking dinner together.  A lovely day catching up with old friends and anticipating days together.

Thursday slowly, slowly we eat and organize, and begin a languid stroll out through grassy Bushy Park towards Hampton Palace.  Under partly sunny skies its cool and hot again.  Highlights in Henry VIII’s old hunting grounds, including the antlered deer herd and The Maze – it’s delightful Daedalusian.   Theseus, the boys and I emerge sans Minotaur… and family – we can’t find Karen, Naftali nor Sue upon exit.

 

So we leave them to the beast and tour Magic Garden, Rose Garden and Palace façade. Eventually we connect via wi-fi and together stroll through The Wilderness – an amusing classification to us Mountain dwellers – past the Hampton Palace and along the Thames for a few miles, ending at Kingston upon Thames for fish and chips and beer.  The Africans stay for some shopping and we Americans Uber home for downtime.

Hours later Karen, Naftali and Nathan return, exhausted from fighting their way back on the bus.  Inevitably the tea appears, and Sue begins working her kitchen magic… we fill our bellies, slake our thirst and play a few rounds of Heads-Up (basically phone-based charades) before calling it a night.

Friday brings another slow morning, which eventually ends with a stroll to the Hampton bus stop, where we hop a Bus 216 to Kingston and then bus 131 to New Malden.  A one mile walk between a cricket pitch and the freeway brings us to the World of Golf where we whack a bucket of balls from the 2^nd floor before taking on the Jurassic Park-themed mini golf course: it’s a close match with Nathan eking out Tom and Max by a stroke.

 

Reversing course returns us to Kingston upon Thames, where I shop for shaving cream and a wrist brace to isolate my sprained left wrist… Sue and Karen grab groceries.  A loooooong wait for a packed bus 216 and we squeeze through Friday commute traffic back to our Hampton home.  After some downtime Sue whips up some garlic-heavy lemon chicken, bread and a Caesar.  An animated game of Heads-Up follows, then bed.

UK-Bound

The boys are out of school so it’s time for our 2019 travels abroad.  For this stage in our life, a 3-week trip commencing just after school lets out hits the sweet spot… we’ll miss Tahoe’s unpredictable June weather, predictable pine pollen (achoo!), and the 4^th of July crowds… then return for a classic Tahoe Summer.  It’s easy to ditch Tahoe in June; hard to beat it July – September.

This year’s adventure takes us through the UK’s countryside.  I’ve passed through London a half dozen times, but never ventured beyond.  This trip we’ll get a good sampling of the UK, with time in Hampton, Scotland and Sussex, ending at Goodwood for the Festival of Speed – a highlight for us boys.

We departed about on time Sunday June 16: I took the first leg down the Sierras and Max got us from there to Nancy’s house in Pleasant Town.  Nancy and Jim gave us an enthusiastic greeting, and after catching up and stretching our legs, we continued on to a local lunch, and I wrestled through the Bay Area traffic to the SFO cellphone lot, I’d we did our last minute clothing and pack adjustments, then handed off the Highlander to Nancy, who dropped us off and headed home… we’ll reconnect with here and the car in 3 weeks.

Our first real travel challenge was squeaking on under the bag size/weight limit.  Sue’s bag was 3kg over the 10kg limit… so I juggled gear and stuffed my overcoat’s pockets (fortunately they don’t weigh the passengers), and we squeaked past the weigh scales without a sneer.  Global entry breezed us through security, and the flight was cheap and easy – I could get used to this Norwegian Dreamliner GTW shuttle.  Just board with ample food, your headphones, eye mask and earplugs, enjoy a film or two, and do your best to catch some winks.  We did pretty well and didn’t suffer from too much jetlag.

Travelling light we breezed out of Gatwick, hopping one train to the London Bridge station then another Kent-bound train to Ladywell (near Lewisham), where we alighted and rolled our bags a few blocks to our friends’ home.  Mark and Louisa had driven our RV last October, and agreed to host us for a few days on this side of the Pond to help us adjust from our anticipated jetlag.

After a pleasant catch-up I dragged the family out for a quick stroll to the Lewisham mall where we shopped for a SIM card and witnessed a strange woman-attacking-man-over-dog fight.  A 15-minute detour routed us through the park side setting of Ladywell Fields, then back to the Lally home.  Mark rolled in from work soon after, and we shared a beer and a fine home-cooked meal before retiring to our comfortable rooms upstairs.  And just like that… we’re travellin’.

Segovia

Our natty Uber driver skirted Friday morning commute traffic using one of Madrid’s many tunnels – a recent mayor is nicknamed “The Mole” for her underground infrastructure projects – so we arrived among north Madrid’s gleaming towers at Chamartin station with plenty of time for our Avant train.  The high-speed tracks to Segovia burrow through tunnels – fast but not scenic, we average close to 250kmph (155 mph) and arrive in the fairytale town at 10:30.  It was a mistake to take the crowded bus in from the train station, but the people watching was good.

Inbound tourists are inevitably dropped beneath Segovia’s symbolic Acueducto – the grandest Roman aqueduct in Iberia, built without mortar or metal two millennia ago.  It’s picturesque to any traveler, and there are many… all taking pictures.  One family is piloting a drone about the top of the aqueduct, and when he tries to land it in his hand he misses – it crashes 60 feet below and we smile at the karmic consequence.

Ditching the tourist hordes, we find back streets leading past plazas and parks to the inevitable Cathedral, and ultimately a traditional lunch at a corner bistro.  I enjoy the sopa de castellano, Sue likes the scampi con ajo, and Ben devours his galleta.  Energized, we continue down side streets to the main attraction, the Alcazar, generally thought to be the inspiration for Disney’s Sleeping Beauty castle.  With slate “witches hat” turrets, towers and cellars, it fits the bill… we enjoy the views and exhibits for an hour.

But we’re toured out from a very busy week and now thinking about returning to Tahoe, so our walk back to the bus stop is sleepy and slow.  Light shopping, helados and people watching consume the balance of our afternoon, until another fast Avant train returns us to Madrid’s Chamartin station.

We opt for a taxi through Madrid’s modern business district, past the swank Salamanca neighborhood and on to the Gran Via to the Hammam al Aribe, where I’ve convinced Ben to try an arab bath with me.  As expected it’s dank and dark inside, but unlike the baths I visited in Anatolia half a lifetime ago, it’s co-ed, clothed and clean.  Most bathers are tourists.  It’s all good fun, and we emerge relaxed to find Sue has scouted food options… of course.

We pass through Plaza Mayor – much busier this Friday evening – and find a Casa Rúa with famously cheap, delicious bocadillo calamares.  I wash mine down with sidre (cider), Sue with una caña, and Ben with an H₂O cocktail.  Next stop: back to the Mercado de San Miguel, where we gorge on various tapas and wine. Then we make our way into our regular evening haunt – the La Latina neighborhood – where we introduce Ben to the unfussy Casa Revuelta for bacola and cañas.  We’re it’s a lively, mild night and an an easy downhill walk home, where we pack up for a 4:30AM departure.

Our taxi driver is a maniac but we get to Madrid Barajas airport in once piece and check in without a hitch.  Here we part ways, sending Sue off to Luxembourg for a college reunion while Ben and I head to Oakland via Oslo.  It will be a rough trip as we arrive at 1am CET (4PM PDT)… if I can sleep on the 10hr Oslo-Oakland leg maybe I’ll make the 4.5 hour drive home, otherwise I’ll need to find a way to sleep.

Holy Toledo!

Morning commute traffic is rough, and it’s a slog making our way into Madrid’s Atocha train station, but Sue has our tickets printed and in hand, so it’s smooth sailing this morning.  At Atocha we grab a breakfast bite, hop on board and get whisked south on the high speed Avant train to Toledo.  It’s a pleasant walk to the city walls, and there a series of escalators eases the climb up into the hill town and its central Plaza de Zocodover.  We wander to kill a half hour until our free walking tour at 11AM… which we ditch soon after, preferring to explore on our own.  I’ve downloaded a detailed walking guide and it covers the major sites as well as a few peculiar ones, like the tributes to sister city Toledo Ohio, and the well from the fable of Fernando and Raquel, Toledo’s own Romeo & Juliet.

Along the way we find plenty of marzipan and sword shops.  We learn that the local nuns created marzipan to feed peasants during hungry civil war years.  The sword tradition is older – “Toledo was the center of the world for sword making, and the reason they were so successful was that they learned how to temper steel –and they kept it a closely guarded secret. Sword making ran in families and each family only passed their secrets onto their sons.”  Perhaps this is the genesis of Valerian Steel… winter is coming.

Twisting by the Cathedral, the archbishop’s palace and very handsome town hall, we pass on the El Greco museum and opt for an exploration of the Jewish quarter.  Toledo’s Jewish history is encapsulated by the story of the educated and enterprising Samuel Levi, who became chamberlain and finally treasurer in the court of Pedro I. He became quite rich and built the Synagogue of El Transito but in 1492 Ferdinand and Isabella expelled or imprisoned Spain’s Jews as part of their efforts to consolidate Iberia under one crown and religion.  The Inquisition and intolerance followed.  Today Spain is much more welcoming, and the City has restored the neighborhood, the Synagogues and other sites, but the Jews have not returned to old Toledo – we have only their legacy to appreciate.

We break for lunch and I slip out to visit the Visigoth museum as I’m curious about the Dark Age tribes.  These nomadic Germanic peoples along with their eastern brethren the Ostrogoths contributed to the fall of Rome.  Huns and Francs chased the Visigoths into Iberia around 400; for a few hundred years they maintained an administrative alliance with Rome in exchange for taxes and arms, pushing out Vandals and other annoying tribes.  Then while the Visigoths were distracted fighting the Francs in northern Iberia, the Moores swept in from North Africa and wiped them off the history pages, perhaps assimilating many.  Moores held sway here for 300 tolerant years until the Reconquista reached Toledo and their mosques became churches.

We meet back up at the Zocodover and take a short exploration of Toledo’s Alcazar for some views before beginning our return journey, this time selecting the eastern gate for views and to avoid tourist busses.  20 minutes later we’re back at the Toledo train station… the train home is easy but the taxi ride is challenging.  It’s been a long day so we leave Ben at Enrique’s apartment and find a local café for a glass of wine and light tapas before bedding down.

Artful Madrid

Tourist season is still swinging.  We arrived at the Atocha train station Wednesday morning too late to buy a train ticket to Toledo… and burned much of the morning figuring out the logistics.  Audible time… we punt on Toledo for a day and walked up the street to tour the famed Prado museum.  The pictures are of course magnificent but heavy with dark Catholicism.  Seeking out the Renoirs and Rubens we find some gems among them, but it can’t compete with Fortnite so in deference to Ben we make it a short visit, grab a light lunch and I track down some bikes to aid in our explorationof adjacent Retiro Park.

Madrid’s October sun is lovely, mild, and low enough to find shade even mid-day.  The leaves are still on Retiro’s trees, shading and sheltering us as we pedal about the park.  We exploring corners, stop at the Crystal Palace for mandarins and at the large lake for an ice cream.  Returning the bikes two hours later we Uber home.  Ben and I hit the gym briefly, Sue sets him up with a grilled cheese dinner, then she and I set out for the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofía – I must see Picasso’s Guernica.

To keep it safe from Franco’s government, Picasso put Guernica into the custody of New York’s Museum of Modern Art for safekeeping. It was returned to Spain in 1981 and now hangs at the Museo Reina Sofia.

My American History education seems to have glossed over the Spanish Civil War, and in our own time of rising fascism I feel a need to learn more.  While the evils of the Axis are well known to us, they seem two generations distant… but Franco ruled Spain for half of my youth.  The Reina Sofia’s “Collection 1 – The Irruption of the 20th Century: Utopias and Conflicts (1900-1945)”  call out some of his atrocities, but Spain still seems to tread lightly on his legacy, no doubt because scars are fresh, politics here are still quite divided, and it’s hard enough keeping the Catalans and Basques under the big tent.

Wrapping up our modern art exploration we cross back over to the Atocha station to buy Friday’s Segovia train tickets, but the woman at the Renfre desk tells us ticket sales hours are over.  Wait – you are staffing the ticket sales desk but not selling tickets?  Why?  I guess we’re in Southern Europe…

Uber brings us back to Plaza Mayor where we take a second tapas run through La Latina, this time stopping in at trendy Juana la Loca and traditional Casa Gerardo before stumbling home to bed.  It’s nice to have our little date nights abroad.

Madrid!

Madrid
Our transfer was much easier than the last time we passed through Madrid. This time we land on time and fresh in Madrid Barajas’s magnificent Terminal 4 – a spacious masterpiece of wood glass and steel. A fixed-price 30€, a taxi whisked us through the urban labyrinth to our Centro barrio and our Madrid HomeExchange. There our host Enrique greeted and gave us an enthusiastic tour of his squeaky clean convenient apartment – A/C, laundry, dishwasher, stocked fridge and best of all Spanish persinia blinds.  LOVE THEM.  I don’t know why we don’t see these kinds of blinds elsewhere but they are amazing for their insulative ability, absolute darkness and neutron-bomb proof security.

Tuesday morning we rise and hop an Uber through the winding streets and hills to Plaza Mayor, and spend most the day following Rick Steves Old Madrid walk.  We get Ben off to a happy start with deservedly famous chocolate con churros at ancient, iconic Chocolatería de San Ginés, then pass the early Christian Iglesia de San Ginés and stoic Convento de las Descalzas Reales.  Next it’s a tapas nosh at the recently renovated, venerable Mercado de San Miguel, an amble through baroque Plaza de la Villa, past he Cathedral, Palace and Plaza de Oriente with its grand Royal Theater.  Pedestrial Calle de Arenal loops us back past the Chocolatería de San Ginés to lively Puerta del Sol, filled with cartoon mascots busy hawking kiddie photos.  There’s plenty of grand and tortured Spanish history along the way, from Ferdinand to Franco.

Ben’s getting hangry so we go “shields up” and navigate semi-seedy Calle de la Montera – reputed to be a pickpocket and prostitute alley, we’ve seen much worse in Latin America. Ben says he’s seen more working girls on the church steps in Medellin…  indeed he has.

Photo by Abhishek Verma on Pexels.com

Soon we reach Calle Gran Via, which is a block-by-block treasure trove of Madrid’s flamboyant pre-Civil War architecture, ranging from bold belle époque to and to my favorite – art deco – all with a Spanish flair. It’s not Paris, Rome or even Barcelona, but it’s a fine setting by our standards.  I’d explore every lobby and climb every stair for a view, but Ben and Sue are done for the day and we head back for a sensible Spanish siesta…

what a great concept.

Gassed, we relax at Enrique’s welcoming apartment and gather strength for an inevitable tapas crawl in the La Latina neighborhood.  At Sue is of course delighted that I’ve found a HomeExchange so close to Madrid’s epicurean epicenter.  At dusk Uber drops us at the top of the historic Calle de la Cava Baja, and we eat our way downhill, stopping at Taberna a concha, and so many others.

Legend holds that Tapas originated in medieval Spain when innkeepers kept nomadic peoples from drinking to excess by placing small portions atop wine glasses.  In homage to this history we devour like Vandals and gorge like Goths, conquering our way down Calle de la Cava Baja until we tumble home.  I want Moore.

The Madrilleños  are lovely people – warm & inviting. They are diverse too – perhaps because the Iberian Peninsula is been a conquered and crossed by Vandals, Visigoths, Moores, Habsburgs, and Bourbons. In Spain’s golden Hapsburg era she conquered and imported peoples and prizes from the Netherlands, France, Italian islands and of course much of the Americas & East Indies… indeed they were the first empire upon which the sun never set.

Much of The 20th century was unkind to Spain; ethnic and political heterogeneity left her weak and vulnerable to Franco’s brutal, fascist rule.  Franco favored the Axis during World War II; Spain was isolated and ostracized afterwards.  Decades of dictatorship and economic weakness followed.  Under Franco’s rule hundreds of thousands fled, and more died from persecution, hunger and disease.  Things picked up in the 1960’s with increased foreign investment, but it wasn’t until Franco’s death in 1975 and the subsequent democratic heroism of king Juan Carlos  that Spaniards again spread their wings.

The European Union has been good to Spain with significant investment in infrastructure, but all of Iberia has been slow to recover from the Great Recession. We’re quite fortunate as that translates into easy, inexpensive travel: trains, taxis, food beer and wine are all relatively cheap.  Indeed if we can bag a good flight and offset lodging using HomeExchange, it’s cheaper for us to travel in Spain than it is to live at home… and if that helps our friends the Spaniards, so much the better.

It seems to me that  of Spain’s many darker histories were borne of intolerance.  I lift my caña to freedom of press, freedom of trade, and freedom of religion – for Spain, the US and all peoples.

Paris by Scooter

An Eyefull

Our clocks have adjusted and we want to beat the crowds, so Sunday we slip out early and hop an Uber to the Musee Orsay. Much of it is under construction but it’s still light and lovely inside. Easier to digest than The Louvre, the Orsay houses some of the finest in 19th century art. I’m smitten by the Art Nouveau woodcraft… Sue and Ben will just have to wait while I savor its sinews.

 

 

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Bens’ been a good sport.  It’s hard for any teen boy to love art museums, so we rent a Bird scooter outside, and he has a great time zipping about the promenades and across the Léopold-Sédar-Senghor footbridge. We ditch it at The Tuileres and cross the gardens for some molten chocolate at Angelina Paris before turning back towards the Place de la Concorde. The Paris Auto Show is on, and the plaza is filled with classic and concept cars, including a Jaguar I-Pace, which I ordered back in August sight unseen… the reviews have been fawning. Ben’s impressed… and I look forward to it showing up, hopefully in the next 6 months!

 

 

Working our way up the Champs-Élysées, Sue guides us to the Renault store, where we get another car fix and enjoy some fish & chips while watching the Russian Grand Prix on their big screen. They’ve got to do something with Sochi’s Olympic overdevelopment…

We arrive at the Arc de Triomphe without getting pickpocketed but decline to climb – there’s a better option nearby.  Then we take back streets to Trocadéro Gardens to plan our Eiffel Tower ascent.  There three protest groups contest each other – guards up, we move past the mobs and work our way to The Tower.  Long lines are a worthwhile wait, and Ben enjoys Eiffel’s ancient elevators, and the views. It’s my fourth trip up, still good fun.

 

 

Phew – it’s been a long day, so we Uber back to our HomeExchange apartment and put up our feet for a bit before Sue and I head back out for a take-out nosh in the Pletzl… the falafel is delish.

Paris by scooter
On Monday we rise late, clean, leave our bags at the apartment and venture out.  We explore Le Marais together for a bit then Ben and I find competing Bird and Lime scooters and put them to the test, touring Paris.  To avoid traffic and cobblestones we slither back to the Seine, cruise traffic free past the Louvre, cross at the Pont des Arts and continue downstream on the Left Bank, turning southwest at the Orsay and working our way to Les Invalides, then on to Park Champ de Mars back near the Eiffel Tower. The Champ de Mars feels authentically unchanged, but the dirt concourse isn’t scooter friendly… so we decide to parse Paris.

 

 

We scoot past the UNESCO Headquarters and Montparnasse‘s sour tower over to the Fontaine de l’Observatoire and Luxembourg Gardens. There we ditch the scooters (we preferred the Bird for its bigger wheels and lighter form), eat a slice of cheap pizza, then meet back up with Sue among the erudites Les Editeurs – a fitting venue for my editor bride.  She looks sophisticated among the glamorous elderly academics.

 

 

We burn the afternoon wandering through swishy St. Germain, stopping in San Sulpice and noting the differences with Le Marais.  Uber brings us back to our HomeExchange where we pick up bags then hail a cab to the Orly airport, where we anticipate Phase II of our fall adventure, a return to our beloved Spain.

 

French Redemption

It was an easy overnight flight. And cheap – Norwegian Air teaser rates were below $300; Sue snagged trip airfares of ~$400 each between Oakland and Charles de Gaulle. That’s about $.03/mile if you’re counting… beats driving.  Max and fellow spanish students are off to Costa Rica, so it’s just Sue, Ben and me off to Paris and Madrid for the best week of the year – October break.

FRENCH FRIED

We landed 3PM local time (midnight our time), and our Uber driver “Slim” whisked us from CDG to our HomeExchange, a modest 1BR tucked into a quiet cul de sac in the heart of Le Marais – literally “the marsh”, a block from Victor Hugo’s home. Hungry and groggy we needed to stay awake, so stumbled through the tranquil Place des Vosages and past the Picasso, Cognacq and Carnavalet Museums to Breizh Café for some lovely crepes cider… off to a good start.

French-fueled and anticipating a lively friday night, we wobble the cobblestones, weaving through the Pletzl Jewish quarter, spanning the Seine at the Île Saint-Louis and crossing to the Île de la Cité for an evening glimpse of Notre Dame. We lingered long for the sunset and for the City of Lights to earn its moniker: underlit gothic gargoyles here; Eiffel’s Tower lit up due west. Continuing north across the Seine the stately neo-renaissance Hôtel de Ville (City Hall) imposed authority. Workers are setting up for this weekend’s Ryder Cup awards ceremony… may the Tiger roar.

Saturday’s circadian rhythm woke me 3 AM. Feigning sleep, I give in and rise at 4:30 to find Ben also alert. I figure out the Nescafe machine, shave, and dress in the dim din of screenlight as Sue sleeps. Slipping into the dank dark I begin one of my favorite travel odysseys – foreign bike forays at dawn. Pedaling through quiet dark streets reminds me of my childhood morning paper route. Travel adds the adventurous company of garbagemen, rats, drunks and other urban wildlife… a peculiar adventure best pursued sans family.

Paris pioneered bike sharing, but their much beloved Velib program – recently pulled from new and less competent ownership – has since fallen into disrepair. Stationless, app-driven Chinese bikeshare programs Ofo and Mobike and arious scooter-share services have jumped into the void.

I’ve vowed to sample three during our stay, and find a Mobike conveniently parked outside our apartment, so at 5:30AM this Saturday I download the app, fund it with 5€ and pedal off. It doesn’t take long to conclude that this little bike was built for asian frames – it’s small and too light for the cobblestones of Paris, so I ride it to the nearest Velib station. After downloading the Velib app I launch and disqualify 8 bikes – rubbing brakes, flat tires, low battery… until finally the 9th is adequate and I’m off.

It’s still dark so I avoid unlit alleys and favor the broader boulevards, free of traffic at this early hour. There’s less cross traffic and smooth bike lanes along the Seine – I cross to the Left Bank and toodle to the Musee d’Orsay, where the handsome passerelle Léopold-Sédar-Senghor footbridge leads me to the Tuileries Garden. Its closed to bikes, but the Louvre’s grounds are open and I bike through the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel and about Chirac’s Pyramide before winding through the back streets towards home… Le Palais Royal, Jardin Nelson-Mandela, Fountain of the Innocents, The Centre Pompidou, the Anne-Frank Garden, back through the the Pletzl, Square George Cain, Place des Vosges and finally to the Vici bike station at Paroisse Saint-Paul Saint-Louis. Dawn breaks late this far north – it’s now past 7AM and still dark, but the patisseries are opening so I stationing my steed, buy Ben some croissants and head home.

ISLANDS IN THE STREAM

Sue’s still asleep so Ben and I slip out to a leisurely breakfast.  In time Sue rises and we make our way to the Pavillon de l’Arsenal to see its historical Paris exhibition.  Notre Dame is next – the long line moves quickly and soon we’re inside the vast cathedral… with more patience and another line we eventually spiral our way up to the towers – dizzying heights – for some fine city views.  Ben’s teases me about being winded… he says the gargoyles are better looking than me.  It’s  a teen’s way of saying “I love you”… works for me.

Soon Sue has us in a tasty, tiny restaurant.  We share a crepe, quiche, lasagna, salad, wine and cider and sated, stroll to St. Chapelle for some legal medieval hallucinogens.  We continue north through the Île de la Cité to Pont Neuf and hop on a 1 hour boat tour about the Seine – digesting lunch and classic sites.  The afternoon’s grown pleasant and low light provides good shading for the Louvre, Orsay, bridges, Place de la Concorde, the glass Grand Palais and of course Eiffel’s Tower, which we ascend tomorrow afternoon.

A long walk through along back streets brings us home.  After some down time Sue and I leave Ben to his unsupervised delights and venture for adventure. We wander through Le Marais and stumble upon a number of lovely squares and packed restaurants.  I’m happy anywhere of course – I’m a male – but Sue holds out for quality and eventually we find it in a little bistro who’se name I’ve since forgotten… sorry, you’ll just have to explore on your own.

As we drift towards slumber I think to myself – France and the French are lovely.  Every time I’ve been to Paris I’ve found the hoteliers, waiters and other hosts formal but friendly, perhaps it is not so crude afterall. Formal but friendly… that’s how I chose to remember urban France.