In the End

Plattsburgh, New York

December 13, 2017

Latitude 44˚ 58’

In the end, I spent a month and one day on the road, tackling four countries in a way of travel I used to do but no longer do much of.  I flew, took trains and busses and felt as if it was 1985 all over again.

In the end, Latvia and Lithuania were two new countries added to the ongoing list of “countries visited.”  I would very much like to get to 100 by the time I turn 70. 

In the end, almost all of the trip was new, which is exactly what I wanted.  I’ve become far too comfortable in Mexico and it was time to break out of that rut.  I’ve heard far too many older people say how difficult it is to travel and I’m making this commitment now not to be one of them.

In the end, I glutted on Christmas markets and still did not have enough.  There is no end to them on this continent and I have no doubt I’ll do another trip of this sort.  I loved the short, cold and cloudy days and long dark nights.  I really never tired of living in shades or browns, grays and blacks.  There will be plenty of sun later on when I return to Mexico for the winter.

In the end, travel has changed—some ways for the good and some for the not so good.  I was able to stay in my own apartment and avoided hotels because of Airbnb.  That I liked.  A lot!  What I did not like was having to plan every element of this trip months in advance.  Because so many people are traveling these days it’s far more difficult to be serendipitous.

In the end, there are some definite perks to travel today that simply did not exist even a generation ago.  How nice to exit a train and not wait for a bus.  Uber at your service requires a Smartphone and a data plan, but it’s well worth it.

In the end, Airbnb put me in multiple apartments where I could prepare my own meals and not worry if the tenant next door is making too much noise in his hotel room.  Airbnb as allowed me to live in neighborhoods that were never available in the past.

In the end, I wonder if travel today hasn’t lost something in comparison to the past? Do we truly ever “get away?”  There were days I was in touch with people at home almost hourly, either via texts or FaceTime, Messenger or WhatsApp.  There was a day when I was 100% in France, or wherever, and there was minimal contact with home.  I don’t want to go back to that, but there was something nice about being fully present in the place you’re at.  That’s a bit lost these days.

In the end, I see why people take tours and cruises. They’re so much easier.  All one has to do is show up.  I’ve had to orient myself to 10 different locales is the past month.  It’s good for the brain, but at this point I’m ready to coast, go home and not have to do that again—for a while.

In the end, almost everything I did was new, which was what I wanted.  Outside of Paris, which might as well have been new considering how long it been since I’d been there last, every destination was a new experience.  I’ve missed that in travel and am glad I made this choice—a choice I’m going to make more often. 

In the end, I was so ready to fly home.  My body hurt in ways it never hurt before in traveling.  That, plus the facts that I was tired of the cold, tired of the cloudy days, tired of being alone.  It was just time.

In the end, the Little Engine did quite well.  I knew I could, I knew I could, I knew I could.”  But it was time to go home, and gladly so.  I took the wizard’s advice, clicked my heels three times and said, “Home.”  “Home”

“Home.”

Strasbourg and Paris: Third Sunday in Advent

Paris, France

December 12, 2017

Latitude 48˚ 51’ 52

Strasbourg had all the ingredients for a good visit.  A light spray of snow lay on the ground as I exited the train station, and a wet, heavy snow clung to branches and on cars.  It was below freezing and white clouds breathed out of my mouth.  Snow.  France.  Christmas.  Cold.  It was going to be a good stay.

It was still the first week of Advent, that deep blue season of darkening days that preceded the white feast of Christmas, and I was in this city, with two-days on my own in what many consider the best French city to experience a Christmas market.  The day was blue and cold—colder than any other day I’d spent on this trip. The air was chill and the wind blowing from the north had winter in it.  I wandered about the city and came upon the center city quite by accident.  Security was heavy and the crowds—even by 1:00 pm they were horrific.  People were everywhere and the only way to move was slowly and in a crowd.  But…once in the center city, with its medieval styled houses, its twin pair of canals, and the blue sky all was forgiven.

Christmas markets, in my opinion, are best seen at dusk.  When I walked into Strasbourg’s central square--Place Kléber--I felt that I had swallowed sunshine.  It was not yet dark, but a 4:15 dimness had set in and the light was at its best to experience this beauty.  Every building was lighted, and in the center, with a backdrop of very old and well restored half-timbered houses, was a massive Christmas tree—one of the most beautiful I’d ever seen. It was equal to Radio City’s Music Hall’s tree, to the tree in Old Town Square in Prague. wove from one market to the next.  There were easily ten of them in the city, and were connected in a zig-zag fashion and were easily connected through good signage. It was difficult to enjoy them because of the crowds, but I managed them nonetheless.  There was nothing in particular that I wanted to buy, but walking through them was a treat.

By 6:00 p.m. I’d had enough.  I made my way back to the tram and to the apartment where I’d rented a private room in someone’s home—a young couple, not more than 30, who were teachers.  They were out for the evening which was perfectly fine by me.  I was happy to be alone in a warm room.

Mid-morning on Sunday, a heavy snow began to fall and it took no time for snow to cover the ground.  It blew in great swirls, and I should have been excited.  But the day before had been so cold that nothing I was wearing was keeping me sufficiently warm.  That evening I’d lost a glove, and the prospect of heading out into the cold and snow was depressing.  When I left the apartment, a steady drift of snow crunched under my feet.  It would be a day of going to the movies.  In my travel-weary frame of mind there was nothing more I wanted to do than spend a quiet Sunday at home. 

Monday, I left for Paris on the 10:30 am TGV—first -class.  Ninety minutes Strasbourg to Paris at a speed of 311 km an hour.  307 miles.  Plattsburgh to NYC in an hour and a half!  Is there any hope for Amtrak?  I checked my luggage at the guest house where I would spend the night, then too off.  It was going to be a marathon day.  And a disappointing one.  My sources---the Internet—told me there were Christmas markets at the base of the Eiffel Tower, around Notre Dame and on the Champs Elysees.  There were none.  Well…I was disappointed.  Who wouldn’t be.  I slogged all over places I seen before and wasted an entire day.  Or did I? The city was lit up beautifully for Christmas.  The Champs Elysees was lines with hundreds of thousands of tiny lights.  I saw the Eiffel Tower go electric twice and even got to ride a giant Ferris wheel.  So maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all.  It just wasn’t what I’d planned to do.

But I was tired and the day was less than pleasant.  A dismal gray drizzle was what I faced when I stepped out of Gare de l’Est, and even though that stopped it was still raw, gray and cold.  Suddenly it seemed the right time for this trip to come to an end.  I’d seen enough. I was quite happy to get back to my room, pack and go to bed. 

The trip had come to an end and that was OK. 

There will always be Paris.  Another time.

Bavarian Christmas Markets: Second Sunday in Advent

Nuremburg, Germany

Latitude 49˚ 44 N

December 11, 2017

It was a full week of Christmas markets, some of which exhilarated and some of which disappointed—foremost being Nuremburg.  Oh, the pitch, but oh the let-down.  I may have been expecting more, but I found the market to be lackluster at best, although is a very nice city.  In fact, as I write this I can barely remember it at all.  What does that say?  Perhaps it’s a case of “been there, done that,” but Nuremberg markets itself as the oldest Christmas market in the world, yet it lacks the sparkle that other markets have.  It goes to prove that a name alone—like VERMONT—can market itself very well.

But...but…there was Rothenburg ob der Tauber…and that excused all others.  From the moment I rounded the corner from the train station and saw the walled in city of this reconstructed Medieval city, I felt that that I had swallowed sunshine.  I purposely arrive late in the day, an hour before twilight would overcome the city, when that magical blue light would appear in photos.  The hour had an exhilaration of victory because this was the Fantasy Land, the ultimate Disneyland wet-dream of every boy’s dream of what a German Christmas market should look like.  In that frosty December dusk I plunged into the village, past the high stone gates with a large white star illuminated atop the highest tower.

It was St. Nicholas Day and I’d arrive just in time to see the good Saint enter the town square, followed by a group of children all carrying lit lanterns.  The Saint spoke, the children sang, the giant tree set against the Rathaus set the tone for the rest of my stay.  Oh, I could feel

battalions of calories marching towards my bloodstream as I perused the stalls.  Nuts, and candies, and schneeballs, Rotheburg’s specialty, and Elisen lebkuchen--German gingerbread--which I’d discovered a few days earlier and did not need to know about, homemade stollen and marzipan. But I was disciplined and only ate one small slice of stollen.  Rothenburg is a reconstruction of what existed before January 1945 when Allied bombs obliterated the city. In the evening’s early dark, the cobbled streets that wound through town came alive with Christmas trees and buttery yellow lamplight.  It seemed a place of perennial Christmas, but I imagine it’s not so. 

The Japanese know about this place.  The town was full of them—alone, in pairs, in groups, on tours.  There must be a “book” with the places Japanese are supposed to go to.  There are heaps of times I never see one; other places are full of them.  Paris.  Venice.  Brugges.  Obviously Rothenburg ob der Tauber.

On my last two days, I went first to Bamberg which had not sustained damage during WW II.  Their Christmas market was plain and simple and just nice in its simplicity.  The next day I left, traveled to Frankfurt and had four hours there before taking the train to Strasbourg.  Four hours gave me enough time to walk to the inner core, track down the Christmas markets which zig-zagged through the restored old center.  For this year, at least, I’d had enough of German-Christmas Markets and while the markets were nice, there was nothing special about them.  I was looking forward instead, to Strasbourg and Paris to see what they do differently from the Germans.

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I would like to return to this place, in the fall, during nice weather.  I’d like to do some walking in vineyards and hike around the walled in city.  In some ways, I’m missing out of a place by coming to it only at dusk.  But that is why I’m here.  Christmas markets.  December in Europe.