Month: August 2019

August 27: Today I’m in Andermatt, in the heart of the Swiss Alps. Shortly after arriving yesterday, a parade of Porsche’s – obviously some sort of club on a tour – appeared at the hotel across the street. Over the next while a few other special cars turned up, including these. The one in the middle is a Pagani Huayra. Powered by a 12 cylinder motor, it cranks out 800 hp and will do something over 310 km/hr – just the thing for a winding mountain road with no guardrails. Retail price starts at $2.5 million. When we mentioned the car to the waiter in our hotel, he said that cars like this are common. They come to that hotel frequently. Retail price for the rooms starts at 790 Euro a night.

https://www.thechediandermatt.com/de 

I thought about referring to this hotel in my previous post. The Hotel Rossle is in Altenstieg Berneck in the Black Forest corner of Germany. It’s been in the family for generations, although the “new hotel” – pretty much a modern copy of the old hotel – is just 8 years old. It sits below the centre of the old town which is perched on a rocky outcrop high above the hotel. The most special car here was a ’70’s vintage Alfa Romeo, and the rooms start around 70 Euro. You get no bonus points for figuring out where I would prefer to stay.

https://www.roessle-berneck.de/home/ 

Coming to Andermatt from Lausanne, we passed through part of the Bernese Oberland and the lake district around Interlaken. Switzerland is a beautiful country, but these areas are particularly attractive because of their geography. Lying right along the northern edge of the Alps, the views over the countryside are incredible. As my cousin and travelling companion James said, it is as if someone gets out and grooms the entire country every morning.

On the other hand, France is a very diverse country that can appear a little ragged in some corners. When I first visited in 1977, I found it quite unkempt and shoddy. It’s roads were in bad shape and it really seemed to be miles behind Switzerland in terms of the quality of its’ public spaces and infrastructure. All of that has changed. France is now a much more prosperous place, and provides a quality of life that I personally envy. Thankfully, it retains enough of its’ slightly rumpled past that its’ unique character isn’t lost, as seen here in Pont en Royans.

And finally, not far away, I found Puy en Velay. It is well known since its’ Romanesque cathedral – a UNESCO heritage site –  is a major gathering point for pilgrims on the Santiago de Compostela. It is an impressive building in its’ own right, but the builders didn’t stop there: The church of St Michel de Aiguilhe (seen here) and the statue of Notre Dame de France, both of which are built atop the remains of dormant volcanoes, sit nearby. It is a remarkable sight that leaves me in awe of the extent to which we go to show our devotion to our particular gods.

August 18: Today I find myself in Donzenac, a small town in the Correze. I’m staying at a hotel I first visited in 1977 with my good friend Dennis. We found the place quite by accident, and I enjoyed the memory so much that I have returned at least a dozen times. The hotel (La Gamade – a small lark common in these parts) was started in the ’60’s by Madame Salesse. She was a formidable presence, managing both the hotel and a restaurant up the street for more than three decades. I recall seeing her sitting at a table in the window of the restaurant doing paperwork, watching the street, and greeting neighbours and prospective clients as they passed.

I was concerned that when she retired, the quality of the place would drop, and that sense of commitment would be lost. Fortunately, the current owner – a formidable woman in her own right – has maintained the vision established so long ago, and a stay here remains a comforting ritual for me. These days, Madame Salesse surveys the scene from a framed photograph in the lobby.

A few days ago, I stayed at a hotel in Murol, a small town crawling with tourists. Several places I tried were fully booked, so it was with some desperation and trepidation that I found les Pins. What had once been a well-established and top quality hotel was now a bit frayed around the edges; the lobby and restaurant are dated, the rooms are small (without either TV or WiFi), and the gardens need a really thorough weeding. The owner seemed to be an older woman who was doing paperwork in the dining room; the manager was a diffident guy who may have been her son. I was prepared for the worst.

I took a room and a package that included breakfast and dinner along with some wine. The room had 2 single beds, and a bathroom including a shower which could not have been bigger than 4 feet by 4 feet. At dinner, salmon en croute appeared for everyone, followed by some cheese and fruit if requested. The wine was local plonk (red) in a carafe left on the table. Although it was all quite acceptable, I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened had I an allergy to something on offer. There didn’t seem to be a lot of options….

There were many paintings in the main rooms. When I was checking out, I asked the manager who had done them. He said that it was his grandfather, the youngest and last member of the Murol school. It was founded in the town during the early years of the 19th century, and included Georges Clemenceau among its’ members. When I asked if he painted himself, he said no, that he was a sculptor. Some of his work was in the lobby as well. As we chatted, a young woman stood nearby. It was his daughter. She was clearly struggling with some sort of disability – whether Down syndrome or something else was not clear – and was demanding of her father’s attention.

He was kind and patient as we concluded our business, As I departed I began thinking about the people we encounter as tourists: servers, store clerks, hotel owners. Our encounters are superficial; a transaction and then we are gone. Yet behind each of these people there is a story – a history even – of a life being lived. They are not just players in a scene contrived for tourists; they have dimension. Sometimes they succeed, and sometimes perhaps they find themselves in a less happy place. Whatever the case, they are trying to make life a bit more comfortable for me and my fellow travelers – a thought that I will try hard to remember over the next few weeks.

 

August 9: I’ve said several times in these pages that travel is an adventure, and my first day here in Germany was an adventure from start to finish.

The journey started with the trip to Pearson airport which took longer than the slog through security and getting on the plane. The flight was 7 hours of uneventful tedium and we arrived in Frankfurt just as the sun was coming up. I took a local  train to the main station in downtown Frankfurt. Although I debated stopping here to explore a bit and perhaps get a SIM card for my phone, the shops would not open for a couple of hours so I decided to press on to Heidelberg.

Interestingly, it seems that Heidelberg can’t be reached by one train; you have to pass through other cities and transfer between trains. I inquired at the Deutch Bahn (DB) counter and was given a route through Mannheim. Ticket in hand, I hopped on the train waiting at the appropriate track, but the destination sign seemed wrong, so I asked a fellow passenger if it was the right train. He consulted an app and found that the correct train was delayed and on a different track, so I got off and went back the DB to confirm which train to take.

A different guy at the counter scratched his head for a while and then directed me to yet another train – also to Mannheim – leaving in 10 minutes. It was the German equivalent of TGV called ICE, and in 35 minutes, I was standing on the platform in Mannheim. I found the local train to Heidelberg and hopped on. A few moments later there was a quick announcement in German and several people got off. Something seemed odd, so I too got off, only to watch the front half of the train depart for Heidelberg. I have no idea where I would have gone had I stayed on the back half….

After standing in line at the DB counter for 20 minutes, I was told that the ticket was still valid and that there was a train to Heidelberg in 2 minutes on Track 10. Out of the office, down the stairs, through the station, up the stairs to the platform and through the train doors with a loud crash just as they were closing. All while dragging a 20KG suitcase. Fellow passengers were alarmed and amused ….

In Heidelberg I walked a very long way to find a store that carried an international SIM for my phone. It’s worth the effort – long distance calls to Canada at 5 centimes a minute. That accomplished, I walked still further to a stop for the tram that passes the hotel where I stay. It’s a very efficient and quick system using LRT-type cars in their own right-of-way downtown, or in mixed traffic where car volumes are low. If Heidelberg, a city of 150,000 can do this, why can’t Toronto?

Exhausted and sodden with sweat, I arrived at the hotel around noon. An “eventful” journey with several challenges, but worth the effort. I learned some new things, gained resiliency, and recharged my reserve of patience and understanding. After a nap and a hot shower, as a treat before dinner, I had a cold glass of Riesling from a vineyard on the Rhine and thought about all the other adventures yet to come. Only one day but worth the journey.