The Joy of Ignorance
John and I like to travel, as I've mentioned, without a plan -- we didn't even know as we set out this time, what countries we'd go to.
Of course this means missing a lot. Always after a trip someone will say, shocked and reproachful, "You mean you went to XXX and didn't see the XXX??!"
But what we do see has the excitement of discovery. Suddenly, stunningly, we find ourselves somewhere that had been only a name. Like the time, following a narrow road winding through Tuscan olive groves, we passed a weatherbeaten little sign: VINCI. Sure enough, we'd stumbled on Leonardo's home town; a man on a bicycle directed us to the farmhouse where the great artist was born.
It happened again this week. Not a town we'd heard of, this time, though apparently we should have. I can hear people when we get home, "Dinkelsbuhl? Why, EVERYBODY knows Dinkelsbuhl!"
Pentecost in Munich
It's Pfingst Sunday here in Munich, all the church bells ringing joyfully -- though "Pfingst" to my ears lacks the musical potential of "Pentecost". John and I attended mass at the Frauenkirche, whose twin towers have become the city's icon. (Actually they were supposed to support graceful tall spires, like Cologne cathedral, but they ran out of money -- church budgeting being no easier 600 years ago-- and settled for these utterly incongruous "Byzantine" domes.) They're the ugliest towers I've ever seen, but they're certainly unique, popular on T-shirts and beer steins.
The Frauenkirche seats 20,000 and the pews were crammed. Crowds were also pouring into three other large churches we passed. Bavaria is a very Catholic region, which is why my very Protestant ancestors emigrated in the 1700s.
This is the scene each evening as we check into a hotel somewhere and try to get connected. NOT on the bedcovers tonight are the two adapters that worked only with English outlets, the "universal adapter" that we accidentally left plugged into a wall someplace, the two telephones that worked in France but not here in Germany, and of course the camera John took this picture with.
The next step is to search for an outlet. It may be behind the bed or in back of the immovable clothes cupboard, but there's pretty sure to be one. We're reminded of a trip to Berlin during the drama of the airlift. We were staying with one of the American pilots flying those round- the- clock deliveries, who told us in a disenchanted tone, "In a German apartment they give you an outlet in every room whether you need one or not."
Stars and Stripes Toujours
This morning I asked at our hotel where I could get a haircut here in Neuf-Brisach.
"But, Madame, all shops are closed! It is May 8!"
And when I looked puzzled: "La paix, Madame! Peace! The end of the war!"
Of course: VE Day, May 8, 1945! Victory in Europe, date of Germany's unconditional surrender. I remembered the delirious celebration at the high school where I was a senior and many male classmates were in uniform.
How much greater the relief here in the valley of the Rhine where the towns had been so badly bombed.
And then . . . I almost had a wonderful moment of international friendship. Down the street thundered a herd of 30 huge motorcycles. And streaming from the back of several of them were small American flags!
Following the Sun (King)
I'm always fascinated at how a trip that from our point of view is just random wandering, tends to take on a focus. This time it seems to be Louis XIV, the "Sun King" as he modestly called himself, who "shone everywhere" -- or at least everywhere John and I go.
In England we visited Blenheim Palace, a cozy country cottage that was Queen Anne's gift to the Duke of Marlborough for defeating Louis in a battle near the German town of Blenheim. It's England's largest private home, located just outside Woodstock where I reminisced about Leonard Earl Lesourd's heralded arrival at the Bear Hotel. (The Bear's motto is "The inn that was old when the palace was new.")
Adventures in Gerardmer
One of the delights of traveling without a destination is stumbling onto lovely places like this lake high in the Vosges Mountains of Alsace.
"Gerardmer" was just a dot on our large scale map (all of France and large parts of surrounding countries).
The lake didn't show on the map at all, so it was a surprise to find a sizable resort town with hotels and parks and score of boat rentals, though few boaters. It's cold, wet and gray, the coldest spring anyone can remember. (I've worn thermal underwear, two sweaters, jacket, hat and gloves every day since we left Boston.)