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My Europe Safari 2013 - An account by Gwyn Redgers
This is the brief story
of my 1-month car trip around Europe during July and August 2013. I had two
purposes for my trip. One was to visit again places which I had been to and
very much liked over the years when I have travelled in Europe. The second, and
more important, was to visit friends - including some last met many years ago -
with whom I was still in ‘Christmas Card’ touch.
First Stop Switzerland
The trip started on
Saturday 13th August with an uneventful drive from London to Dover and the
routine of the Channel ferry to Calais. Then, remembering to drive on the
right, I took the long autoroute journey south east towards Switzerland.
Traffic was fairly heavy as one would expect in the middle of summer
(particularly as 14th July is the big French holiday, dating from the storming
of the Bastille!), but luckily no hold-ups. I had decided to stay a night at Lons-le-Saunierwhich I remembered
in the Jura, a few miles short of the Swiss border. Like everywhere else I've
visited this year, it was certainly much busier in every way than in the past.
It was also an excellent starting point for using some of the more minor roads
through this delightful mountain and gorge area of France, en
route to Geneva. Then, rather than simply using the main Swiss autoroute via
Lausanne, I drove on the south side of the lake of Geneva (and which is mainly
in France) to the thermal resort of Evian and then onto my destination which
was close to Sion in the French-speaking Swiss Canton of Valais. As some of you
know, the commune of Chandolin a couple of thousand
feet above Sion, was the delightful home of Judy's artist daughter, Karyna, who very sadly died last year. My trip gave me the
chance to share memories with some of Karyna’s close
friends including her hotelier friends Alain and Pascal, and in particular with
especial friends Daisy and Freddie who had been so very helpful to Karyna and kind to Judy during those last months. My visit
also included a trip with Freddie and Daisy high up into the mountains to the
renowned Deborence valley and lake, on a tiny
twisting road with many short tunnels. Amazingly a regular Postbus makes that
journey every day! I also managed to visit a very good Modigliani exhibition in
Martigny before driving high up over the Alpine pass
and down to Chamonix - and from there traversing several score miles of
foothills en route to my next port of call in the
Hautes-Alpes district of France.
French Friends and Family
Although I had seen Guite and Pierre once about 6 or 7 years ago, our real
friendship dated from a holiday we spent in their Marseille home in the early
70s. It was like old times to chat with them in the mountain village of St
Bonnet en Champsaur to
which they retired, and particularly hard to realise that this lively pair were
over a decade older than I was. But like all French people whom I have met,
deep discussion about serious issues comes naturally. The evening was all too
short, and it was particularly important to leave quite early in the morning
before local roads in the Gap area were closed for a few hours to accommodate
the Tour de France. It was a straightforward drive that day to the
"semi-island" of Hyeres down on the French Riviera and along the
causeway to the port of Giens. My cousin Theresa had
married and brought up her family in France and - apart from weekend which Judy
and I had spent with in her Paris home for her 60th - she and I had only ever
been together at the inevitable family funerals that come more frequently as
one grows older. My evening at her summer home in Giens
gave me the chance, not only to range far and wide over years of family
matters, but also to be introduced fully to that lovely part of the Riviera
known to me only from films and articles about St Tropez, about the naturist
island of Levant and about the lively life of Brigitte Bardot.
An Anniversary in Genoa
It was all too soon that
I had to leave and take the day-long drive along the French Riviera coast to
Italy, where I would be spending the next two or three weeks. But before I
continue, I need to give a few words of background. Those friends with whom I
have been in close contact over these last 10 years will be aware of my
indirect involvement in the aftermath to the horrifying police attack on
protesters in Genoa’s Diaz School in 2001. It was described by one of the
police commanders as a 'Mexican slaughterhouse', and by Amnesty International
as "the most serious suspension of human rights in a western country since
the second world war." (If you get the chance, do try and see the
award-winning feature film "Diaz - Don't clean up this blood!" for
its true-to-life depiction of the event.) My close friend Mark was injured
particularly badly (suffering a 2-day coma), and has been the leading
journalistic voice of the sixty or so victims who were hospitalised, whilst
they have campaigned for justice over the years. I have been able to give Mark
a small amount of assistance, and thus have several times visited Genoa and
also Rome during that time. Hence too the reason for my attempts to learn
Italian! That weekend was the 12th anniversary of the raid. Mark’s partner
Laura is a Genoa girl, though they now live in Rome, and I stayed at her
mother's home. The weekend itself included the annual commemoration of the
young protester was shot by the police, a candle light walk (with police
escort!) up to the Diaz school and - for the first time since 2001 - the
opportunity actually to enter the school. There were of course speeches and
Press interviews at each stage.
Roads to Rome
It was great to meet up
again in Genoa with some people who have become good friends over the years
(especially with Teresa, in whose home in nearby Pegli
I had stayed in my earlier visits), but it was time to become a tourist again.
Next stop Florence (or to give it its proper name - Firenze). Two slight
disappointments. Firstly it was not possible to meet up with my good friend
Myra, who for many years has taught English in Firenze University (but luckily
she had been able to come to Genoa when I was there). Secondly the queues for
tickets for the Uffizi Gallery were estimated to be some 3 hours long during
high summer - so regrettably I "gave it a miss" on this occasion.
Nevertheless strolling once again around the monumental buildings of this
beautiful and historic city was something that I shall treasure. Next it was
time to head for Rome. On the way I had hoped to revisit the spacious piazza in
Siena - venue for the annual "palio" of
horse racing. However Siena, like just about every city in Italy, suffers from
parking disease. Car ownership has, I believe, quadrupled since the first time
I drove in Italy years ago. It is now impossible to take one's car into the
centre of many towns (including Siena), and I have a strong feeling that “il Parcheggio" has become
Italy's most profitable industry. However I was able to spend a happy hour in
nearby nearby San Gimignano,
with its lofty towers. From there it was mainly a motorway drive to Rome for a
short stay with Mark and Laura. I enjoy Rome. It is one of the two or three
cities in the world that I would be happy to live in, though with the huge
tourist hordes of midsummer and the remarkable heatwave (a way-over-the-top 38°
or 39° all the time I was in Italy this year!) I would not expect every person
to agree. On this occasion, as well as the Colosseum, I particularly enjoyed
exploring the vast Monument to Vittorio Emanuele II and its museums, my less
crowded hours in Trastevere across the Tiber, and the
2 or 3 hours spent enjoying Italian restaurant life. I shall also never forget
a heart-stopping ride which I took with the most lunatic taxi-driver I have
ever experienced.
A Volcanic Excursion
From Rome, I then took
the opportunity to go somewhat further south to a strip of coastline that I had
loved on the one occasion that I had ever visited it. This was the Amalfi
Peninsula, south of Naples. I had never forgotten the sight of Positano’s colourful houses stretching up its mountainside,
and it certainly still gave me just the same pleasure as I drove round the
peninsular this time. My journeying south of Naples also gave me the
opportunity to visit for the first time Herculaneum (Ercolano)
- that small community buried many metres deep due to the same eruption of
Vesuvius which had destroyed nearby Pompeii. The town is still being excavated
and gives a remarkable insight into the daily life of its inhabitants. I headed
back to Rome to finish my stay with Mark and Laura by the coast road rather
than by the inland motorway. This was fortunate since I therefore missed being
caught up in an incident in which a coach crashed into several cars then
plunged a couple of hundred feet into a ravine, thereby killing some 70 or 80
people. However the highlight of my last full day in Rome was still to come.
This was my (and also Mark's and Laura's) first ever visit to the Vatican’s
glorious Sistine Chapel. Truly magnificent indeed. Why had I waited so long to
make this visit? But my next eight or nine days would be spent entirely as a
tourist, visiting in most cases places that I had enjoyed at sometime in the past, rather than being mainly spent on
enjoying the company of long-standing friends. So finally I left Rome, and
headed northwards.
A Franciscan reflection
Fortunately my choice of
route allowed me to pay a passing visit to Assisi. The olive groves where I had
once pitched my tent still had their peaceful appearance. It feels very right
that there is now someone with a name very similar to that of St Francis, and
having quailities fairly like those of St Francis,
living and reigning in the Vatican. The history of Italy has been intimately
connected with that of the Roman Catholic Church for so many centuries that it
is not surprising that most news bulletins in the country include an item about
the Pope. His activities in Brazil were a welcome contrast to the Berlusconi
fraud saga which reached its peak while I was in Rome. The religious influence
lingered with me a little longer. That was because my bed-and-breakfast stay in
the hill city of Perugia was in what appeared almost to be a church guesthouse.
Nevertheless it was highly welcoming even to a lapsed Protestant, and gave me
the opportunity to enjoy this beautiful city. My next day on the road included
visits to two further examples of Italy's wonderful hill settlements (subject
of course to the very limited opportunities for parking). These were Gubbio and Urbino. I also spent a little time in Ravenna
before heading for my destination for the night, which was to be the Republic
of San Marino. The main memory which I will take from my time there is the view
across range after range of hills and mountains in the setting sun. There was a
chance too to reflect on the advantages - if any - of being an independent
mini-country in a world of big states.
A Gentleman in Verona
Another day - another
much loved destination. This was the Lago di Garda or - to be more specific -
the town of Sirmione where I stayed a night. It is of
course a popular choice for Italian holidaymakers in the summer season. I
decided to drive the full circuit of the lake, which nowadays includes passing
by two or three Disneyland lookalike ventures that have been created at the
southern end. One lakeside town in which I spent a little time was Salo. This was the capital of Mussolini's final and
short-lived Italian Social Republic before he was eventually captured and
executed by partisans. One or two of the posher hotels in Salo
bear a plaque stating that they were once the home of a Mussolini Ministry. It
was quite a short drive from Sirmione to the city of
Verona. I recall many years ago finding a similar plaque affixed under a
balcony in a fairly small and empty courtyard near the city centre. The plaque
suggested that this balcony may have helped give rise to the balcony episode in
Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet play which, of course, takes place in Verona.
What a farsighted council! That courtyard is now the home of a thriving Romeo
and Juliet industry, with queues of young Chinese and Japanese girls (mainly)
lining up to be photographed on that balcony. Going further east in the Veneto
province, I discovered the pretty hill village of Asolo
in its beautiful setting. Asolo has had its admirers
for centuries. One of these, I learnt, was the poet Robert Browning who wrote a
poem entitled ‘Asolando’ - a word he invented himself
to describe the pleasure of just being there. However my main destination that
day was Venice.
Venetian Sights
The charm of Venice, say
many people - including my son Adrian , is strolling around the tiny alleys and
the canals away from the main tourist areas. However my own purpose in this
journey was to see again those sights which I knew and liked. Such as the
Rialto Bridge and the palaces along the Grand Canal. (So I sailed on a vaporetto along the whole length of that canal). Or St
Marks Basilica with its gilded domes and mosaics (sadly closed early that day).
Or St Mark's Square, dominated by the tall belltower
(So I did the tourist bit of sitting and enjoying the music at a table outside Quadri’s in St Mark's Square, sipping a ‘prosecco’, and
paying over the odds for the experience. But it was worth it!) Add to all that
the gentle strolling ... the eating and drinking ... the two B&B nights ...
and my visits to two museums (this time marvelling at Leonardo di Vinci’s
amazing inventions and viewing the Accademia Gallery’s great collection of
Venetian painters)... and it was time all too soon to collect my car from the
massive entry garage and go on my way. My next place to visit (which was for
the first time) was Trieste. What a lovely city. It is well laid out and has
much of interest. I had originally considered spending a night in Trieste, but
I was now on a fixed timetable, so simply had a stroll, took a photo of the
city’s James Joyce statue, and carried on driving over the border into
Slovenia. The difference was immediate. Slovenia boasts that it is the second
most-forested country in Europe. Also, at the first motorway stop, I realised
that I was surrounded by cars and people from a host of countries (Croatia,
Poland, Bulgaria, Turkey, Greece, Serbia, Poland etc),
all of them speaking in languages that I had no hope of understanding. Having
said that, I found Slovenia - the first part of Yugoslavia to break away and
become independent - a most pleasant place to visit. I stayed a night in the
capital, Ljubljana, enjoyed the sights and the atmosphere, and met some very
friendly people.
West by North West
My original plan was to
go from Slovenia on to Vienna. However my close friends in Vienna were
currently away visiting India, so instead I headed up through Austria, taking a
side trip to the lake region, aiming for Salzburg. That city, overshadowed by a
massive castle, is a place of excellent buildings and great culture. However I
had arrived during the Salzburg Festival, and all accommodation - other than
the very expensive end - was taken. So instead of staying there overnight, I
took a fairly short walk through the city, paid my respects to the Mozart
statue and square, and headed uphill, across the German border, to
Berchtesgaden. What a difference the passage of time makes! I had last visited
that town very many years ago, curious to see the place which Hitler had for so
long used as his country retreat. His Eagles Nest estate had long been
demolished even then, so Berchtesgaden was once again a small and
beautifully-sited small country town with a handful of tourists in one or two
hotels. But now, like so many of the places which I was visiting in this trip,
it has become a much larger and busier place with scores of hotels and a huge
tourist industry. For the next stage of my trip, I decided to stay largely in
Austria rather than continuing the whole way in Germany. This allowed me to
make a stop in Innsbruck which I had last visited once or twice when I was en route to the Brenner Pass. However my final aim on this
leg of my trip was to reach Feldkirch which is
virtually on the Swiss border. One observation was that progress seems to come
at a price. The last few miles of the motorway route, as one swoops down from
the mountains around St Anton to the lower-lying lake region, are now largely
through tunnels each several miles long. The price? A toll charge of course;
but also the loss of several miles of excellent views. Feldkirch,
where I stayed, is still a smallish town with cobbled streets in its pleasant
town centre. It was also a convenient start-point to visit Lichtenstein. Apart
from car number plates, with their letters ‘FL‘, that tiny country appears no
different from the Austrian or (across the river) Swiss townships fairly
nearby. It no longer seemed to me a place for changing my money or for buying
tax-free bargains. Nevertheless, like the Vatican State and San Marino which I
had also visited, Lichtenstein remains highly independent in mind and in its
plans for the future. I then crossed the River Rhine into Switzerland and
carried on until I reached the Bodensee (English - Lake Constance) and once
again entered Germany. From then, it was only a few miles of (toll-free)
motorway driving to Bad Durrheim, on the edge of the
Black Forest, where I would be staying for a couple of nights with one of my
closest long-time friends, Brigitta, and with her
family.
Nowhere is Somewhere in
Germany
Brigitta and family had decided
that my accommodation should be one of the rooms above the restaurant run by
daughter Alexandra and son-in-law Klaus, which she described as "miles
from nowhere". How true that was! I followed Brigitta
in her car for what seemed to be a dozen miles of empty track through the Black
Forest until we reached a traditional restaurant building with numerous outside
tables. Amazingly it was pretty full, and the next day proved no different. I
could almost write a book about my brief stay. But suffice it to say just three
things. Firstly, the incredible silence of the place once the last customers
had left. The nearest neighbour is in fact a helicopter pilot some four or 5
miles away who sprays the forest daily to counter any acid rain. Secondly the
hospitality, good humour and liveliness offered by Alexandra and Klaus. Life
seemed to be a continuing party, with the occasional music and dancing on the
table reminding me of October days in a place not too far away - Munich.
Thirdly, the privilege of meeting Brigitta’s disabled
grandchild, 14 year old Jan. Maybe the usual type of walking or growing will
always be impossible for him, but his brain, his humour and his general good
sense certainly make up for that. Thanks to the Internet and his expertise, he
and I will be able to remain in good regular contact. Back to my itinerary.The next friends that I was due to meet, Bettina
and Don, live in the town of Hanau, which is a dozen or so miles outside
Frankfurt-am-Main. Once again, an extremely pleasant time and the opportunity
to bring ourselves up to date since our last actual meeting 20 or 30 years ago.
Incidentally I had hoped, whilst I was very near Frankfurt, that it might be
possible to meet again a contact from a even earlier
time. This would be Bernhard Moll. As a young teenager, I had stayed in his
Frankfurt family on a school exchange trip, and he had then stayed with my
family in England. This was not very long after the war. Frankfurt was still
firmly in the American zone and many buildings and even the tramlines had still
not been rebuilt. I managed to find Bernhard’s address, and we exchanged
friendly letters. However, like me, he is now in his late-ish
70’s, and unfortunately illness prevented our arranging to meet.
An Old Master in
Amsterdam
My month’s trip was now
approaching its end. There were only two days to go. On the first of these
days, I took the long road north to Amsterdam. I had always been exceptionally
fond of both the layout and the life of Amsterdam and therefore did not wish to
miss it out of my trip. It was, I am pleased to say even livelier, fuller and
more delightful than I had ever seen it, even though cannabis and red lights
are for me necessarily a thing of the past. However the main purpose on this
occasion was to visit the Rijksmuseum, and see the result of the redevelopment
which has only recently been finalised. The results are excellent in every way
- Rembrandt masterpieces have never been so well displayed and I certainly
recommend a visit to anyone who ever has the chance. Brasschaat,
just north of Antwerp, was my final destination. Arlette and I had first met in
Scotland when my offspring were just 10 and 9 years old. In the almost 40 years
since, we had met only once, though our Christmas Card connection had continued
without a break. There was much catching up to do, but also I had the delight
of being shown the city of Antwerp's fine squares and monuments by someone who
was quite rightly proud of them. Moreover our evening there are proved even
more exhilarating since it was the eve of the annual RubensMarkt
celebration, the drum bands were marching, and a couple of hundred citizens
dressed in what appeared to be 17th-century costume and each bearing candles
were following. It was a rousing finale to my trip.
The Home Run
After this came only my
return back to England. I made my roundabout way to Dunkirk (which is just in
France) calling briefly on the Dutch border town of Sluis,
plus Bruges and Ostend: I booked and embarked on a ferry: and I finally landed
in Dover and headed back to London. It would indeed be good to be back in the
same country with Adrian and Caroline, and of course with Judy. It had been an
intensely interesting month, largely meeting the objectives which I had made at
the start. In distance terms, I had travelled just short of 5000 miles (4960,
to be exact, which is about 8000 km), and I was extremely grateful to my
long-suffering car. But my real thanks must go to all those friends who had
extended their friendship and warm hospitality, and who had made made this "Christmas card Safari" so memorable
for me.