June 2012 – Off We Go

Random Acts of Kindness

June 23, 2012

9:42 pm

50-Euro note, B&B Monteverdi, Bleckede, Christian, Doemitz, Haus-Elbtalaue, Hotel-Pension Bregenz, hotels, kindness, Maison de la Marionette, Manfred, Nora, Tiessau, Veronika's Radlerpension

Since we are so far from home, the friendly and thoughtful actions of others matter all the more to us.

The welcoming sign at Veronika’s Radlerpension in Dömitz: “Dear guests, you are heartily welcome.”

Sometimes those acts of kindness come from people on the street, who give a moment from their busy lives to direct us. A few don’t even wait to be asked; they see us looking confused or poring over our maps and offer help. One such person was an old beggar in the London underground, who sat in the same place every day. On our first day in London, he pointed out to us where the escalators were, so that we wouldn’t have to use the stairs. Later we went back to give him a few coins. A man in Rome was very sympathetic when David dropped a €50 note through a grid into a tiny underground cellar. With the help of a long stick and some chewing gum, he managed to fish out the note, and he refused to accept anything for his time and effort. It took him at least half an hour.

Patrick and Sophie at the Trevi Fountain in Rome

The managers of hotels and pensions are naturally obliged to provide a room and breakfast, but many do much more than that. Nora at the Haus-Elbtalaue in Bleckede, for instance, had already carried our bags up the stairs to our rooms by the time we arrived. She also made phone calls for us, arranging a discount for a puppet show; when I tried to thank her in my stuttering German, she replied with a German phrase meaning, “It’s all part of the service.” Herbert, the owner of Hotel zur Elbaue in Wittenberge, offered us the use of both his laundry and his sturdy touring bikes, refusing to take one extra Euro cent. “All inclusive,” he said. The small, personal hotels are my favourites. That’s why I appreciated the Hotel-Pension Bregenz in Berlin, where the owner and manager, Christian, printed out train and plane tickets for us, advised us and made us feel utterly at home.

A napkin from breakfast in Bleckede, “where the storks come to rest”

The unexpected kindness of others has often saved us money or anxiety. For instance, the lady who served us breakfast in Warwick gave us some vouchers for Warwick Castle and let us leave our car parked at the hotel all day. We reckoned up the savings at £65. In Germany on the Elbe my bike had a flat tyre; the kindly owner of our Pension, Manfred, pumped up the tyre and gave me some numbers to call if it went flat on the way to Dömitz. Paul, a man with a sausage stand in the centre of Hitzacker, left his sausages cooking and rushed off to write down another number for me. I had those numbers in my pocket just in case my bike let me down in the middle of nowhere.

At Manfred’s Maison de la Marionette in Tiessau – photo by Barry

In our little pension in Milan, the B & B Monteverdi, the managers have also been exceedingly kind. They speak almost no English and I know only a few words of Italian. We communicate with gestures and nods and smiles. Today I decided to write them a little note in Italian. With a great deal of help from my dictionary, I explained that on Monday we are catching a plane for a 24-hour flight at 10pm. Could we stay in our rooms until noon? Could we deposit our bags until about 4? I dread to think how many errors of grammar and idiom I committed. But when we came home in the afternoon, there was a note in response, written in English:

Hello, your room can be left whenever you want. There are no problems.

You are wonderful people.
With the best regards from the staff of B & B Monteverdi

Wasn’t that lovely?

One of the old-style trams in Milan

An hour or two later, the young lady brought us some home-baked biscuits. They were delicious.

Home-made biscuits at B & B Monteverdi, Milan

We’ve been very lucky. We must have met a thousand people in the course of our travels and only two or three have been frosty or unhelpful. Many of the others, with their simple acts of kindness, have made the trip even more memorable.

Milan, Lake Como and the Brueghels

by Roslyn Green

June 22, 2012

8:05 pm

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Travelling

Bretane, Brueghel, funicular railway, Italy, Lake Como, Milan

The Italians live life at full throttle, even in the draining heat of the summer sun. Sometimes I wonder whether they sleep, especially at 3 in the morning, when the racket outside our hotel window can be deafening: clanging, shouting, the gunning of car engines… I lie there in the broiling darkness, wondering what they are up to and wishing they would just settle down and go to sleep.

They are certainly not dull. But at 3 in the morning, I wouldn’t mind if they were.

The other evening as we walked back from dinner to our hotel, we saw three police cars wedged around the car of a driver who was clearly in serious trouble. The policemen seemed to be searching the car, while all the people in the vicinity were happily watching the action. It was about 9.30, but the streets were still crowded, the street cafés well patronized and the Grom ice cream shop doing a roaring trade. I would have liked to find out what was going on, but my Italian is not up to nosy questions. I was obliged to guess. Drug raid? Bad pizza dough? Fast driving? Sadly, I shall never know.

Waiting for lunch at a little café near Lake Como

At Lake Como, an hour by train from Milan, the people were less frenetic and the air was slightly less oppressive. We went there to visit an exhibition titled “The Brueghel Dynasty”. Pieter Brueghel the Younger painted works showing ordinary people in the 17th century doing ordinary things: dancing, skating, working and playing games. His works are full of the details of everyday life and the foibles of the common people. The bright colours he used and his realistic portrayals have always appealed to me. Every time you look at his pictures, you see some detail that eluded you the last time.

A painting by Pieter Breughel the Younger (in the public domain)

As I looked at many of the paintings, it occurred to me that modern Italy would provide the perfect subject for Brueghel. He could paint the kissing couples, the children playing, the stall-holders calling out to passers-by at the tiny street market, the old people, the smokers and drinkers at street cafés, the beggars and the tourists dragging their bags up the stairs from the Metro. Pieter Brueghel’s father might have looked askance at all this activity and called it vice. But the son would portray it faithfully, with all its idiosyncratic sparkle, using his vibrant colour palette.

Tiny figures going about their lives, even on a quiet Sunday morning – just the kind of material the Brueghels loved

In spite of his great skill, however, I fear that Brueghel the Younger would struggle to depict a Milan night with all its sudden, inexplicable noises. A 17th-century paintbrush might prove to be an inadequate tool for that task. He’d need some form of 21st-century multimedia instead.

Shuttered windows at Lake Como

David and Sophie in a paddle boat on Lake Como

The view from the base of the funicular railway, looking from Lake Como to the village of Bretane on the mountain

Houses in Bretane cling to the side of the mountain, framed by terraced gardens.

Even the Italian children on the school sign are more exuberant and less decorous than their Australian counterparts.

After our day in Como, we arrived in Milan to discover that due to a strike the Metro trains were not running. We had to walk about 3.5 kilometres to reach our hotel. “Can we not walk anywhere tomorrow?” Sophie begged. So here are Patrick and Sophie, resting their legs and playing “Tiny Village” on their iTouches.

Back Where It All Began

by Roslyn Green

June 20, 2012

1:45 pm

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Travelling

ascensore, B&B Monteverdi, Italy, lifts, Milan, trains, W-Lan, wifi

The two old Italian women watched me as I heaved my suitcase up the stairs of the Loreto Metro in Milan.

“That poor woman!” they said in Italian. “She has so much to carry and there’s no lift.”

Well, actually, I only recognized the word for woman and the word for lift: ascensore. But I was pretty sure that they had said something like the sentences above, because their gestures and grimaces were so sympathetic.

I smiled at them and struggled on.

Of course they might have said, “That fat woman could really use a lift.”

The only reason that I knew the word for lift is that it is a buzz word for any traveller arriving with bulging bags in a new city. Along with “wifi”, which the Germans call W-Lan and the Parisians weefee. Wifi is more important to me than a lift, but at that moment the power of google was the last thing on my mind. I was regretting all those books I’d bought in Berlin and the self-indulgent purchases in all the other cities.

This was our last move, other than going to the airport to fly home. It was a corker: three trains and seven hours of travel. Normally I’d enjoy sitting on a train doing nothing, but it was hot – breathless, sticky, merciless heat – and the air conditioner in the second train didn’t work.

When we finally arrived at our hotel in Milan, the very one we had stayed in 80 days ago at the beginning of our trip, it was pleasant and familiar. There was an old wood-panelled lift (capacity: 225kg) and there was free wifi.

The only thing lacking was air conditioning. If I had to travel for long in this heat, that would become the phrase to learn in multiple languages. But as it is, we only have to survive for five days before we fly back to the Australian winter.

I can hardly wait.

They sell lots of shoes in Milan but these ones are made of chocolate. They were on the gourmet floor in the department store called La Rinascente.

I had almost forgotten the Italians’ proclivity for small cars and cosy parking.

A bike at the Sforza Castle

One of the Sforza Castle’s towers

The view from our hotel window at 7.30 at night. The little market opened for business early in the morning. You can just see the entrance to the Metro at the bottom of the picture.

You walk out of the Duomo Metro and there it is – a majestic sight. The Milan Duomo is surrounded by shops, cafés and department stores. Even parts of its surface are given over to commerce, as the photo above shows. But wherever you go in that area, you catch glimpses of the Duomo around corners and through alleyways. Its quiet grandeur dominates the landscape, despite the hawkers trying to make you buy their wares, the high-end shops, La Rinascente (the department store), the tourists, the pigeons and the McDonald’s just a few hundred metres away.

Leaving German-Speaking Lands

by Roslyn Green

June 19, 2012

3:48 pm

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Travelling

Austria, Salzburg, speaking German, Taschentuch!, tissues, Wattestäbchen

“Are you looking for anything in particular?” asked the woman in the little tobacco shop at the Salzburg train station. She was speaking German, of course.

Tobacco shops in Austria sell not only cigarettes and lighters but newspapers, postcards and other small items. I had been fossicking around for a while in this woman’s shop.

“Yes, but I don’t know what it’s called in German,” I replied. “You use it for your nose, when you have to sneeze. Do you know what I mean?”

The woman’s face brightened and she fished something out from under the counter. A little purse packet of tissues.

“That’s it!” I cried. “Thanks very much! And what is that called in German?”

“Taschentuch,” the woman answered.

Well, I should have known.

But at least I had managed to carry out the conversation translated above entirely in my stuttering German – and the woman behind the counter had not rolled her eyes and said in English: “You want tissues?”

Every time I have one of these absurd little interchanges, without resorting to English and without causing my listener to do so, I feel a sense of achievement. Even of triumph.

I felt exactly the same way when I managed to describe cotton buds in a tiny supermarket on our cycling trip. I eventually found out what they were called too – “Wattestäbchen”. Little cotton wool sticks. Of course!

Thank God I’ve never felt the need to ask for condoms.

Today we leave German-speaking lands. I shall no longer experience these tiny triumphs or, conversely, the growing embarrassment as I fail dismally to make myself understood. That makes me feel a little sad, but on the other hand, the German-speaking population of Europe possibly needs a rest from my mangled conjugations and idiotic questions.

The Italians are safe. My Italian is too woeful to impose upon their good nature in any substantial way.

And in eight days I’ll be home in Australia, where I can ask for everything I need in precise detail without a moment’s hesitation.

“A packet of tissues, please. Extra soft, for an extra large nose.”

Love from Ros

Some random photos from our time in Germany and Austria:

A black-faced sheep from our cycling trip along the Elbe

A fruit, yoghurt and ice cream concoction in a café at Mondsee

During the Berlin airlift, a pilot called Gail Halvorsen had the idea of dropping little packets of chocolate, chewing gum and perhaps raisins for the children of West Berlin. This picture shows some samples in the “Story of Berlin” exhibition.

The welcoming sign at Veronika’s Radlerpension in Dömitz in the former East Germany

The stunning display about visual perception at the Haus der Natur, a science and history museum in Salzburg

Some of the silent and empty houses of Lenzen, a town on the Elbe in the former East Germany

A memorial to the Berlin Wall over the years

Two tunnels through a mountain in Salzburg, one for cars and one for cyclists and pedestrians

Patrick and Sophie playing on the seesaw at the Perleberg Animal Park near Wittenberge…

…and feeding the deer

Patrick walks between the pillars of the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe in Berlin.

Twirling on a Mountain

by Roslyn Green

June 18, 2012

6:57 pm

1 Comment on Twirling on a Mountain

Travelling

cable car, snow, Sophie, Untersberg

“Do you think we’ve become closer since coming to Europe together?” I asked Sophie a few days ago.

She tossed her little head and hit me across the face with her ponytail. “Maybe,” she replied.

Sophie in the cable car

In such circumstances, a shared adventure was needed, just to cement the new, closer relationship. It wasn’t enough that I had fed and clothed her and catered to her every whim for nearly three months on our trip. I realized that I would have to do more.

Which is why, this morning, on our last day in Salzburg, when she said, with a sorrowful look, “I just wanted to go up the Untersberg,” I said to her, “There’s still time. We could go today.”

It was hot and muggy in Salzburg, but up on the Untersberg the air was cool and fresh. Snow still lay in the shady hollows, allowing Sophie to frolic for a while and make a snowball. Our cameras were unable to capture the beauty of the views, but we walked around companionably and snapped pictures of the mountains, the snow, the blue distance and the miniature world below us. No harm in trying.

The blue distance

Sophie was a bit worried that I might trip and fall headlong over the steep edges. “You’re more unco than I am,” she explained. I think this showed that, despite her earlier offhand remark about our mother-daughter relationship, she really does care.

She even let me eat some of her Konfekt ice cream after we’d returned to the valley. If that doesn’t show an improved relationship, what does?

Love from Ros

Pockets of snow despite the sunlight

The splendour of the mountains

Sun and snow

The miniature world below and some very strong cables

Enough of All This Beauty

by Roslyn Green

June 17, 2012

3:09 pm

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Travelling

Austria, beauty, Salzburg, souvenirs, tourists

If you grow up in or around Salzburg, do you become blind to the beauty that surrounds you? Do you no longer take it in or appreciate it? Do you look around and say internally, “Ho-hum”?

The city of Salzburg from above

“Not another breathtaking view. Honestly, I’m just fed up.”

“Oh my goodness, a silvery lake nestling in a valley surrounded by three mountains. I am so over all this scenery.”

Mondsee

“Village houses with steep roofs, well-tended window boxes, green pastures, mountains in the background rising steeply into the sky. Oh please. Give me a break. Is this village trying to win an Austrian Postcard Contest?”

Or “Not more shutters and dormer windows. Ugh! I can’t bear it. And if I see another woman in a dirndl, I’m going to weep.”

Does the true Austrian sometimes long for a rest from all this overwhelming beauty? Just for a change, does he or she yearn for something distinctly ugly, tasteless or repellent? Just to break up the monotony?

“I want an orange carpet, some high-rise buildings, a few aluminium window frames, a couple of prefabricated sheds and some slums. Right this second.”

Certainly there are some ugly pockets and corners in the new city of Salzburg, and even in the countryside. For instance, the kiosk at the idyllic Mondsee lakeside looks as though it was built from a kit bought on the internet at www.uglyshedsandkiosks.com .

Of course the souvenir shops often combine the memorable and beautiful aspects of the city and the landscape into small, crass, gruesomely tasteless objects. Sometimes I think this is the revenge that cities like Salzburg take on the tourists who flood into them, blocking the streets, poking cameras everywhere, trying to get a share of all this beauty.

“I know,” says my imaginary Austrian. “Let’s make a fridge magnet with Julie Andrews, Mozart, a violin and a couple of beer steins all in one. Maybe some mountains on one side.”

I wouldn’t blame the inhabitants of Salzburg if they felt complacent or bitter. But for the most part, they seem to have accepted their fate with resignation, even with cheery equanimity. After all, they do have six or seven months of relative calm, including the winter months.

That’s the time when my world-weary Austrian says:

“White-peaked mountains, icy lakes, snow on the steep roofs of the villages. Tall trees with snowy fronds. Cobbled streets that I can walk along freely. I guess it’s not so bad. In fact, it’s beautiful.”

Another view of Mondsee – from David’s camera

Sophie found her bright green Converses at last.

Mountains and Lakes

by Roslyn Green

June 15, 2012

6:08 pm

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Travelling

Austria, gazebo, Gretel, Julie Andrews, Mondsee, Nonnberg Abbey, Salzburg, Sound of Music tour, The Sound of Music, Untersberg

“I’m 16 years old and I don’t need a governess.”

Sophie can quote this and many other lines from that famous movie with great conviction.

Yet for some reason, she didn’t appreciate it when I woke her up this morning by singing “The hills are alive with the sound of music”. I just wanted to get her in the mood for our tour.

Our guide for the “Sound of Music” tour told us about all the liberties Hollywood had taken with the truth whilst making the film and revealed many other interesting details. For instance, the Untersberg Mountain on which Maria so memorably twirled at the start of the film was actually about 10 kilometres from the Nonnberg Abbey where she was a novice. The lake into which the children somersaulted was icy cold, but the directors made them fall in twice, because on the first occasion they all fell out on the same side of the boat. Julie Andrews came up with Gretel in her arms after the first ducking, but the second time Gretel almost drowned, because Julie Andrews fell out on the opposite side of the boat. Poor little Gretel! The real Von Trapp family escaped by train to Italy and travelled from there to England and finally the United States; walking out over the mountains would actually have taken them into Bavaria, where Hitler had built his secret headquarters. Whoops!

A gardener trims the Mirabell Palace garden, where many scenes of the movie were shot

I hadn’t quite realized that the film has such a fanatical following. Our tour guide mentioned people he had met who watched the film twice every day. The gazebo even had to be locked because an 80-year-old woman visitor fell and injured herself while dancing around on the benches. Compared to these people, Sophie’s addiction to the film is mild indeed.

That famous gazebo

I heard one man on our tour telling the guide that he had seen the film 2000 times. His excuse was that he had worked as a projectionist. A likely story.

There was no karaoke, but I did enjoy singing along on the bus. Sophie looked pained and Patrick long-suffering.

I wonder if the Austrians who live in the mountains through which we drove (far too quickly for my liking) ever become immune to their astounding beauty. The mountain lakes glistened in the first real heat of summer and for a moment I even stopped singing to admire them.

In the streets of Mondsee

After a few hours of driving through that stunning landscape, we ate apple strudel with vanilla sauce at Mondsee and drove back to Salzburg on the soulless autobahn. Just the kind of reality check we needed.

The film may be largely fictional but the scenery is real, imposing and unforgettable.

Ros