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Bienvenue! Aside from writing, traveling is my biggest passion. I’ve been lucky enough to visit most of the fifty states, and several foreign countries. For those people who would be interested in what will hopefully be a vicarious journey, I’d like to share some of my memories and photos with you. I always kept a travel diary around for each trip to record all the happenings.
I just have to start with Paris. It’s one of my favorite cities in the world. I’ve been there twice, and I sincerely hope I make it back there again one day. Spring and fall are the best times to go. Avoid an August visit. The heat can be oppressive – and remember that, even though the subway system (le métro) is a godsend, you will still be doing a lot of walking to see all the sights. Also, August is – or at least it was – the most popular month for the French to take their summer vacations. Everyone closes up shop and heads out of town. Less crowded? Maybe – but less to see and do as well. Also avoid going there around Bastille Day: July 14. I noticed that the farther outside of town you go, the cheaper the food and lodgings get. Be aware that what they call the "first floor" over there is actually the second. The first is referred to as the ground, or main, floor (le rez-de-chaussée). More tips: always wear a money belt or fanny pack-pickpockets can be found in any large touristy city; always carry change in case you have to pay to use a restroom; unless you're with a tour group, travel light (find clothes that can be rolled up and that resist wrinkling); if traveling for more than a week, plan on using a laundromat-it's an interesting place to meet the locals and is also a good way to get a flavor for the neighborhood you're staying in. As for the French being rude, I have to honestly say I never encountered any hostility from anyone there. It helps that I speak decent French, but I think that if you learn a little of the language before you go and you make a polite effort to use it, that will go a long way towards dispelling the "ugly American" stereotype. In fact, if you wander away from the touristy places and venture farther out, even just into the suburbs, you will find people friendly and curious – whether you speak any French or not.
My first glimpse of Paris was through blurred vision. I had gotten up at 2:30 in the morning to ride the tour bus from Interlaken, Switzerland to the train station in Geneva. After a three and a half hour ride on the bullet train, I finally reached the city of my dreams. Too bad I couldn’t see it that well. Off the train and onto another bus. By that time, I would have killed for a candy bar. The bus driver, who had no bags under his eyes and looked extremely well fed, kindly took us all on a quickie tour around town on the way up to the northern suburb of Neuilly, where we would be staying at "L’Hotel International de Paris." I nearly fell over from exhaustion in front of the Eiffel Tower while getting my picture taken. Needless to say, I forgot to smile. On that first day, I glimpsed the facades of many of Paris’s famous monuments and landmarks: Notre Dame Cathedral, le musée du Louvre, L’Arc de Triomphe, Rodin’s sculpture, "The Thinker," La Sainte Chapelle, etc. I couldn’t believe I was really there – and I couldn’t believe I was too tired to care. Finally made it to the hotel and found out our rooms weren’t ready. The group of us very trustingly stored our bags and decided to walk down the narrow street to a little eatery we had noticed earlier, Le Café Denton. The interior was fairly plain, with dark wood and red vinyl tablecloths. The place smelled like fresh-baked bread and dill, and was filled with locals, most of whom smoked. We met the owner, "Movey," and his friend, "André." They were both charming - and were apparently very fond of redheads. André borrowed my French/English dictionary and gave my language a shot. When I answered him in French, he stood up and applauded, quite relieved that I would be able to help him take our orders. (I warned everyone about the horsemeat on the menu.) Saving room for dessert was a must. I enjoyed a delicious light custard with caramel sauce. On the way back to the hotel, many of us fell prey to a quaint-looking wine shop. Spending money is so easy to do in Paris. The rewards can be fleeting, but sweet. Part II - Paris
Woke up later than I wanted - forgot to set the alarm. (Too much sweet wine the night before?) Dragged myself out of bed and discovered it was raining. It rains a lot in Paris, especially in the winter and spring. I took an invigorating shower and bounced downstairs for a continental breakfast. I munched on a buttery croissant and drew up my plans for conquering Paris. Then I decided it would be best to spend the day at Versailles instead, since the weather was yucky. I took the metro part way and then the RER (Reseau Express Regional), reaching the palace less than an hour later. When using the metro, remember to buy a packet of ten tickets (un carnet), which is more reasonable than buying the tickets separately. Inside Paris, they can be used on the RER as well. I spent a lot of time in the palace's Coronation Room. By the time I reached the Hall of Mirrors, I'd taken a whole roll of film already. The rooms kept getting more impressive as the tour progressed. I was letting myself get carried away with my trusty old Canon. A young Frenchman approached me as I tried to take a photo through one of the giant floor-to-ceiling windows. The elaborate gardens were spread out below me, and the scene was hard to resist. The Frenchman felt it was his duty to set me straight. "The glare from the glass will ruin your shot," he warned (in French). "You're probably right," I answered (also in French), "but it's worth the risk because I have LOTS of film." He smiled and shrugged. We talked a little more and he seemed unwilling to believe I was American. (I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or put out by this.) He stayed behind with his group as I moved on into Marie Antoinette's ornate bedchamber. Lots of mirrors in there too. The thing that struck me as funny was how small all the beds were in the palace. I guess it's true that, for the most part, people were shorter back then. I didn't have a chance to tour the little chateau beyond the gardens, since it was closed from noon until two o'clock for lunch. (This is something you have to get used to when you're in France. Make sure you take care of business early.) After returning to Paris, I met up with some members of my group in the Latin Quarter and we had dinner at the Minotaur Greek Restaurant. Our waiter looked delicious, but he took his time getting our orders. He must have been a fan of the live Greek band that was playing, since he insisted on breaking into a song and dance routine every other minute. I noticed a lot of women in the place were salivating, and their food hadn't even arrived yet. (Okay, I have to admit I was one of them.) Part III - Paris
The crowd finally parted in front of me and suddenly I saw her - the lady with the mysterious smile. I was standing in the Louvre in front of the Mona Lisa and I felt that, now, I could die happy. I had expected the portrait to be larger, but it didn't need to be. It was exquisite in its simplicity. I smiled back at Leonardo's creation, my eyes misting over for a few seconds. And then a new group of eager tourists nudged me out of the way. There are too many wonders to name in the Louvre, and it would take days to see it all. The museum is the largest in the world. When you go there you just have to narrow it down to your favorites - unless you have a lot of time. I didn't. This was my last full day in Paris. I went on to see many more famous paintings, along with Winged Victory, Rodin's sculpture "The Kiss," the Venus de Milo, and tons of Egyptian artifacts. I was tired when I left the Louvre a few hours later, and I still had another museum I wanted to visit: The Impressionists. The day was sunny and mild, so I walked to the Place de la Concord - that way I could have another chance to admire the magnificent architecture around me. The age of some of the structures was hard to comprehend. I entered the Impressionist museum and it wasn't long before I was awestruck for the umpteenth time that day. I had my picture taken in front of Monet's Water Lilies. There are actually eight wall panels that fill two separate rooms, and it's a bit overwhelming at first to see them in all their huge, surreal glory. When I left the Impressionists behind, I stopped near the Eiffel Tower at a crepe stand for some much needed "fuel." (It's a good thing I don't live in Paris, since I'm addicted to chocolate crepes.) I moseyed up the Champs Elysee, and before reaching the L'Arc de Triomphe, I popped into a little corner liquor shop and bought my brother an expensive bottle of Cognac. (I believe he still has a smidgen of it left after all these years - only drinking it on special occasions.)
Later, at the hotel, it was agreed that we would return to the Le Café Denton for dinner and say goodbye to our friends, Movey and André. When the group of us walked in, André threw out his arms and exclaimed, "Our American friends!" Us ladies each got a kiss from him as we walked by, and Movey was quick to scold André for doing so. What a marvelous evening - even though it took forever to get our orders placed (the café had an extensive, eclectic menu, but they were out of many things due to our last "invasion"). Finally, André - who looked to be in his mid-thirties and reminded me of the actor Alain Delon - was free to entertain us and try out his English. He was a terrible flirt, but it sure made one of the elderly ladies in our group feel young again. We ended up getting free drinks from Movey later in the evening and I tried not to overindulge. I knew I'd be up at dawn and off to see Pere La Chaise Cemetery before our train left town. (Most of the other members let themselves go and regretted it the next day.) Not long before our evening was over, André asked me if I had any children. I answered no, and he looked surprised. When I explained that my now ex-husband and I had no plans to have any babies, he looked horrified. Apparently, he must have felt this was really my husband's decision. As the group of us were leaving, I - quite tipsy - got my French verbs confused and instead of telling André we would miss him, I said sweetly that we would be mocking him. He figured it out. He walked over to me and whispered, "I will give you Sheel-dren, non?" (Sigh.) No. Maybe in the next life. In this life, all André gave me was a map of Paris to keep as a souvenir. I still have it. London, England Part I
I bounced down the hotel stairs all chipper and fresh that sunny morning - my last day in Paris - and received at least a dozen dirty looks from other members of my group who were hung over from the night before. Ah, well. I didn't let that dampen my spirits. I had two hours to kill before our train left for London - and I planned to spend it among the dead and famous. Pere La Chaise Cemetery is old, crowded and somewhat neglected, but it doesn't keep people from honoring the graves there. I visited Chopin, Oscar Wilde, singer Edith Pilaf and Jim Morrison of The Doors. The experience I had at Jimbo's grave was a bit surreal. Before I reached the grave site, I heard soft singing and the strumming of guitars. Modern day flower children were gathered around the ordinary tombstone with lit candles, paying homage to their "godlike hero." I didn't stick around long. Later, I made another tour of the place before leaving and was able to shoot a photo of the grave site - minus the worshippers. I got back to the hotel just in time to board the bus to the train station. (I had packed early that morning.) I was excited at the thought of riding a high-speed train again, this time through the Chunnel (although admittedly depressed about leaving behind the city of my dreams). We zoomed through the French countryside at 184 miles an hour and entered the incredible tunnel underneath the English Channel. We eventually ended up at Waterloo Station in London. Along the way, we had been interrogated by British Immigration officers - who were polite, but superior, in their mannerisms. It was probably the dashing, navy blue uniforms that gave them some of their confidence. I felt incredibly relieved to have passed through their line of questioning with flying colors. Once off the train, we were herded through the impressive, modern-looking train station and then loaded on to the gazillionth bus of the trip, where we were greeted by Anne, our gazillionth guide. It rained - horizontally - the whole afternoon, but what can you expect in merry old England? I nixed the idea of taking photos while on the bus tour and hoped for fairer weather the next day. Our hotel (the Forum) in the western suburb of Kensington was a blessed sight. It was far fancier than the one in Paris and well organized - our bags were taken off the bus and delivered to our rooms in no time flat. After unpacking, my thoughts turned to supper. I got out the phone book and looked up the restaurants in the area. My now ex-husband (Spencer) and I planned to walk, so we had to find a place close by. We settled on an Egyptian restaurant that was located underneath another hotel up the street. The decor was ...Egyptian. The place had a clean, spicy smell. It was small with just enough room for a band. The waiter was gracious and handsome. Unfortunately, as he was taking our order, the Middle Eastern musicians that were setting up their instruments blew a fuse and the lights went out. There was a generator in back to keep the kitchen operating. The waiter was apologetic. I told him not to worry, and it would be romantic if we could dine by candlelight. He dutifully trotted next door to a souvenir shop and bought several candles, two of which he arranged on our table. We enjoyed our meals, aromatic chicken dishes that reminded me of a certain type of Indian cuisine I'd tried in the past. They were delicious. It had stopped raining when we left the restaurant, but the air still smelled moist. The streets looked silvery in the lamplight and the temperature felt warmer than it had earlier. In the distance, I heard church bells ring out the hour, striking nine. I looked forward to the next day. We had planned to head straight back to our hotel, but a neighborhood pub drew our attention. It looked cheerful and inviting inside. We had no place else we had to be - except here. Part II - London March 8, 1995 (Off with her head!) Breakfast every morning at the Kensington Café - that's what I wish for even now. I still remember the warm blueberry scones smothered in sweet clotted cream. I could live off that stuff forever and never complain. After recovering from our morning meals, a small group of us headed off under a chilly sun to the British Museum (main entrance on Great Russell Street). Went crazy snapping photos of the Parthenon (Elgin) Marbles, the Rosetta Stone, the Three Graces, ancient Egyptian artifacts (including an impressive Sphinx) and countless paintings. It took over two hours to see the highlights. The only thing I saw that bothered me there was the preserved, naked remains of a man who died thousands of years ago. He was displayed in such an undignified manner, under glass, that I felt ashamed to look at him. And I have to admit, when I gazed upon the Elgin Marbles, I could only think of Lord Byron and his displeasure at seeing them displayed outside their native country of Greece. Dull is the eye that will not weep to see Lord Byron, "Childe Harold"
By the time we left the Tower, we had worked up quite an appetite. My now ex-husband (Spencer) and I headed off to Faye Dunaway's favorite Indian restaurant. I started out the meal with a cup of Turkish coffee. It was the first time I had ever chewed a beverage. (I wouldn't be falling asleep early that night!) Our curried beef was excellent, but Spencer found a surprise in his spinach dish: a metal spoon rivet. We ended up getting free champagne and a dessert. We approved of the compensation, since no emergency trip to the dentist was required. Part III - London March 9, 1995 (Mad, bad and dangerous to know.) Overslept the next morning and decided to skip breakfast. We ran off to see the changing of the guard, which takes place daily at 11:30 A.M. in the forecourt of Buckingham Palace. (If the flag is flying above the palace, this means the Queen is at home. The flag was flying when we got there, but she was not amused enough to say hello.) Luckily, it was a mild, sunny day. Keep in mind that you need to get there early to get the best view (near the railings or the Victoria Memorial). In the 45 minute ceremony, the Old Guard replaces the New Guard, and then a detachment of the New Guard also marches off to St. James Palace. The Foot Guards look colorful in bearskins and red tunics, and are accompanied by a band. But actually, I have to admit that after twenty-five minutes, we were getting a little bored. We left about fifteen minutes before the ceremony was over. I was anxious to visit the National Portrait Gallery anyway. The gallery is located at St. Martin's Place, across from the church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields, and just north of Trafalgar Square. (Admission is free, except for certain special exhibits.) The portrait I was most interested in seeing was Lord Byron's. My favorite painting of the poet, the one that shows him attired in an Albanian costume, was displayed there. When I gazed upon it, I heard Lady Caroline Lamb's famous quote ringing in my head, which she uttered upon seeing him for the first time: "Mad, bad, and dangerous to know." If I'd been alive back then, I would have been Byron's groupie. We took it slow the rest of the afternoon, shopping (Piccadilly Circus - found a few good bargains) and visiting Trafalgar Square. I snapped a really interesting photo in the Square, with Nelson's statue and Big Ben in the background. Back at the hotel we had tea, with my favorite treat: clotted cream and scones. After a short nap, Spence and I hurried over to the nearby pub we had visited before. We pigged out on fish and chips (french fries), drank heavily, and chatted to natives and tourists alike. I don't remember how we managed to walk back to our hotel, but I guess the short trip was uneventful. It was almost time to say goodbye to double-decker buses, driving on the "wrong" side of the road, fancy red phone booths, British accents, high tea, and sing-alongs at the neighborhood pub. (Sigh.) My last night in London, I slept like a newborn baby. Venice, Italy June 13, 1998 (O Solo Mio) "By the time I've visited four or five shops, I know a lot about Italian politics, football, which grapes make the best Chianti, and how to make good pumpkin soup." - Kerry Fisher Ah, Venice - my other favorite city. So unique it is, and perhaps quite doomed. I hope it never disappears into the sea. We arrived in the Port of Venice at noon on the 13. We would only have 24 hours before the Grand Princess (on the second leg of her maiden voyage) set sail for Athens. I felt we had been lucky to make it there at all. All through the night, we were sailing into gale force winds on the Adriatic and many unfortunate passengers were victims of sea sickness. Luckily, I was not one of them. (Yee-haw!) My ex, Spence, and I did not waste a moment. It had stopped raining and the sun decided to make an appearance, turning the air balmy. We disembarked as soon as we were allowed and went off exploring - immediately getting lost in the twisting, winding labyrinth of alleyways that make up the city: 420 bridges, 118 islands. While we were lost, I discovered my favorite restaurant - Nino's. I had the best vegetable soup and spaghetti bolognese I've ever devoured. The server was an attractive Italian lady who spoke no English. I had my trusty little dictionary along and decided to express my appreciation for the meal in her beautiful language: "Molto Buono." She smiled warmly and thanked me in return. After eating, we tried to find our way back to the Grand Canal, and I noticed that every wide square we ventured into had a church built on the premises. There were churches everywhere - and of course the architecture was exquisite in every case. I also noticed that the canal waters did not reek to high heaven like I expected. I suppose much effort had gone into cleaning them up in recent years, and the effort has paid off. We finally found the Grand Canal, and to reward ourselves, we stopped at Venice's oldest pastry shop, the Rosa Salva Café, where I gobbled up a couple of scrumptous cookies and enjoyed the world's best cappucino. (Calories don't count when you're on vacation.) Naturally, as evening fell, we took a romantic gondola ride, gliding underneath the famous "Bridge of Sighs." I didn't want the ride to end - and I didn't want to leave Venice so soon either. The next morning, after an "official" walking tour, we boarded the ship and prepared to set sail for Turkey. We slid away from the dock at noon, with Pavorotti's heartfelt singing booming out of the loudspeakers. I gazed out over the cityscape and allowed a few tears to fall as Venice slipped away. Athens, Greece June 16, 1998 (It's all Greek to me.) Athens - a city of four million - and they were going to have to share their space with us today. Our group was up at the crack of dawn to take the Best of Athens Tour. I ate an orange, threw on my floppy white hat, slathered on my 40 spf sunblock, and then it was off the Grand Princess (the largest cruise ship at that time) and onto the bus with our tour guide, Effie. The plan was to be at the Acropolis before noon, when the temps would be up in the 90s. The sun was already hot, though - and for some reason, the bus driver refused to turn up the air. (That definitely made the ride less enjoyable, so any chance we had to disembark, we always took it.) This city seemed the most foreign of any I've visited. I think it was because the Greek language is just so different than anything I've ever studied or encountered. Signs in Greek were everywhere of course, and one is far less likely to see anything written in English, unlike a lot of touristy cities in the world. And Athens is crowded, like any large city. There are even laws to try and make it less congested, but people have ways around them. For instance, drivers (and even the natives admit they're all crazy) are supposed to park downtown only on certain days, based on whether or not their license plates are odd or even numbered. However, most people own two cars with both types of plates - so the rules are easily broken. While our group was there, the bank tellers and garbage collectors were on strike, and there was a decidedly bad odor in the air a good amount of the time. But at least we didn't need to do any banking or money changing. One of the first points of interest we were shown downtown was the statue of Lord Byron. The Greek people consider this British poet a hero because he helped support their fight for independence from the Ottoman Turks after the uprising of 1821. The nobleman actually sold some of his property to buy weapons for the cause. (There is another statue of Byron in the Greek city of Missolonghi where he died in 1824.) After visiting my favorite poet, we were taken to the soccer stadium (very popular sport there too), and then the Olympic stadium built for the first modern games, held in 1896. The National Archaeological Museum was next on the list - and how fabulous it was I can never describe. The best I can do is provide a link to their site so you can see some of the treasures there. (I'm still upset that most of my best photos of Greece were lost when I moved to Louisville. Only three pictures are worth showing, but I'm hoping to recover more.) We were rushed off to the Acropolis and had to climb quite a steep hill to get there. Many of the elderly had to stay behind with the bus. (It was then that I realized how much better it is to travel when one is younger and still healthy.) I loved the breathtaking view of the white city from the top (one of the photos shown), and I was awestruck to be standing in the shadow of the Parthenon. Just thinking of its age (447-432 BC) made my head spin (or perhaps that was partly the heat, even though we were blessed by a strong breeze). We were definitely ready for lunch after an hour spent on the Acropolis, and we couldn't have been more impressed or pleased with the Greek feast that waited for us at the Astra Hotel. I pigged out on stuffed grape leaves and gyros with cucumber sauce. When I think of the Baklava, my mouth waters to this day. Before heading off for a shopping spree, we were taken by Parliament to see the Greek Guards in their colorful uniforms/costumes. It is considered quite an honor to be a guard (another photo shown). But I have to admit that the little pom-poms on their shoes made us want to giggle a little, and this was partly due also to the way they had to march without bending their legs, which happen to be clad in white tights. When they are at their posts, they are not allowed to move or acknowledge anyone's presence, just like the British Royal Guards. We spent the rest of the afternoon in the Plaka (Old Town), which is renowned for its shopping opportunities. I bought some interesting souvenirs for my family, and a T-shirt for myself: "Been There, Done That - Athens." Ephesus & Istanbul, Turkey June 17, 1998 (Praise be to Artemis.) The morning sun was already hot in western Turkey by the time we disembarked in the ancient Ionian Greek city of Ephesus. As soon as I began walking down Arcadian Street, the main thoroughfare that once led to a harbor in the Aegean Sea (now silted up), I felt like I was transported back in time. The crumbling columns lining the avenue made me feel like a Roman citizen. Our guide, Esther, a live wire who spoke excellent English, reminded us that after Ephesus was conquered by Alexander the Great, it was then taken over by Augustus. This city became the capital of Asia during that period of the Roman Empire and was an early seat of Christianity. The Apostle Paul lived there for three years, where he wrote his Epistle to the Ephesians. Many believe that the Virgin Mary visited the city not long before her death. And all of that history comes alive when one is wandering through the ruins - it is so easy to believe. Besides the remains of the Temple of Artemis (once one of the seven wonders of the world), the most impressive ruins would have to be the facade of the great Celsus Library, which was said to be the third largest in the world, the gates to the commercial Agora, and the arena, which could seat 25,000. Ephesus even had a hospital and an aqueduct (not to mention several brothels-visitors coming up from the harbor only had to follow the "signs"). Excavations will probably continue there for many more decades. Earthquakes and malaria epidemics ravaged the city and it never recovered from the Goth invasion in AD 262. I hated to leave Ephesus, but the merciless noon day sun beating down on my floppy white hat soon convinced me it would be a good idea. We headed on to the bustling city of Istanbul, a place filled with around ten million inhabitants, 6,000 mosques and 400 plus churches. The next day, we took the Imperial Istanbul Tour with a new guide, Canan, who also, thankfully, spoke great English. St. Sophia church and museum has the 4th largest dome in the world, but the reason I remember it so well is because of the mama cat that lived just outside the front entrance. I was standing on the steps when I noticed kittens crawling out of a crack in the sidewalk nearby. Four, furry adorable balls of fluff. I suppose the Topkapi Palace with its silver and porcelein collection, and that 86k diamond was more memorable. The views from the top of the building of the Bosphorus Strait were awesome. I took half a roll of film. Of course, nothing can compare to the Blue Mosque. We were required to remove our shoes and us women had to cover our heads upon entering. I took more than a roll of film there - the blue mosaics were exquisite. We heard the call to prayer upon leaving - there are five each day. After the mosque tour, we hurried on to the Hippodrome where chariot races were once held. The guys in our group seemed enthralled by the details. I was more interested in the young men in colorful costumes who had "tea tanks" on their backs, selling the warm beverage to any tourist brave enough to buy it. I wasn't one of them. By the time we got to the Turkish rug sale, I was dragging. All of us were overwhelmed with the offerings presented to us, and I passed on buying one, even though they were all exquisitely beautiful. I kicked back with some cardamum flavored tea and watched the others wheel and deal. Amsterdam, The Netherlands March 28, 1997 (Tulips, anyone?) Ah, Amsterdam. Clean and ornate, liberal and beautiful. The people are educated (most speak decent English) and polite and helpful. And if I hadn't gone to Holland, I wouldn't have realized that my favorite food is Indonesian. (Colonization, people.) We stayed at the Tulip Inn, of course. The first place I visited was the Anne Frank house. I was really moved after taking this tour. Everyone knows her story, but until you find yourself in the place where it all happened, the hardships her family faced cannot be imagined. I bought the French version of her diary. I really enjoyed walking around in the brisk air of Amsterdam, crossing the multitudinous canal bridges, taking in the sights and smells - the fabulous architecture. I snapped about a gazillion photos that first day. (I found it funny that everyone and their grandmother stopped me for directions while I was there. Did I dress like a tour guide?) Ah, dinner. My first time eating Indonesian. We ended up having it every night we were there. Rice tables were served, which consisted of 12 to 16 mini-dishes of meats and veggies with peanut and coconut sauces, spicy eggs, etc. I didn't want it to stop! We took a canal ride after dinner and got some free passes to a few interesting museums, which we would visit the next day. March 29, 1997 (What's up with the snakes?) Got up early for a continental breakfast and took off for the Rembrandt Museum. Awe-inspiring, but I enjoyed the next museum even more: the one devoted to Van Gogh. Can't get enough of that guy. (Enjoyed the mime out in front of the building as well.) That afternoon, we stopped by the Sex and Torture Museum near the impressive looking Central Station. What a tour that turned out to be - not for the prudish or faint of heart. When I got up to the part that involved snakes, I broke out in a cold sweat and ran from the room. The Hemp Museum was last. Of course, it is true that marijuana is legal in Holland, with rules and regulations attached. One can find it in certain tobacco and pharmacy shops, and also designated cafés, along with some of the paraphenalia as well. To each his own. Just don't try taking it home! After my appetite returned, I had dinner at The Indonesia, where I ordered another rice table with a friend. I can still remember what the food tasted like, and the memory has had to last. Since I left Amsterdam, I've only been to one other Indonesian restaurant, and that was in Honolulu. (Sigh.) The next day we had to leave Holland, so that morning I went on a shopping spree and bought a lot of Delftware. By some miracle, it did not break during the trip home. Brussels, Belgium March 25 - 28, 1997 (This way to the Pissing Boy?) Brussels, a 1,000 year old city, is the bilingual capital of Belgium and of the European Union. We stayed at The Diplomat, not far from the heart of Brussels: the Grand'Place (Grote Markt). That city square, I think, is one of the most beautiful in Europe, with its exquisite guild houses and impressive gothic-style Town Hall. And of course, not too far from the square is one of the city's biggest tourist attractions: a fountain called Manneken Pis (Pissing Boy). He has costumes and sometimes on special occasions he pees beer instead of water. Had to get a good picture of that, right? Just like I had to buy a few boxes of Godiva chocolates at a quaint candy shop along the way. We settled into our modern hotel that evening. (Turns out we would be blessed with mild, sunny weather for our entire stay.) I took more pictures of the resident black and white cat and the basket of little chicks in-house for Easter. Decided to have dinner at Le Louise, and on the way out, we asked the hotel manager for a map of the city. Funny thing: The map was quite colorful and pretty, but lacked a street index. Sort of rendered the thing useless, so we didn't bother carrying it around. At least the restaurant had a relaxing atmosphere: stained glass windows, giant palms and a handsome pianist playing Dean Martin tunes. I found the live seafood bar disturbing. Of course, I avoid such things, since I'm allergic to shellfish anyway. Kept trying to use my French, but everyone seemed to speak English just fine. (Dutch/Flemish and French are the official languages of the city.) After dinner, we stopped off at the Nemrod Bar so my ex could have a Corsendonk beer. I had a Dame Blanche - which had too much ice cream and too little liquor. Followed that up with a good old-fashioned Irish Coffee. We had a pleasant walk back to the hotel after that. Perhaps a little wobbly. The next day we got up way too early for a tour of the city by bus. Our guide was multi-lingual. Amazing. Along the way, we stopped at a lace shop and oooohed and awwwwed over the exquisite workmanship displayed. I ended up buying two unique lace candy dishes and a kitten cut-out. Then it was off to pass by a house that my hero, Lord Byron, had once lived in, located near a city park. Saw the palace and the Parliament and then back to the hotel. This time we chose to eat out at St. Martin's, where President Clinton had recently visited. I chose to have the chicken salad. I just wasn't that hungry for some reason. That night, we went to see a movie at a theatre nearby, "The Devil's Own," with Harrison Ford and Brad Pitt. (A downer of a show.) The place was fancy, the screen huge, the seats roomy and comfortable. The movie had Dutch and French subtitles. We tipped the usher, as was customary. Didn't make it back to the hotel until midnight. We were scheduled to leave for Amsterdam on the 28, so we set aside most of the 27 for a quick trip down to tiny Luxembourg via train. Unfortunately, I became so ill, we couldn't enjoy ourselves and had to return early. Not sure what the bug was from, but luckily, I was over it by the next morning. We were on the train by 10:00 a.m. And you already know what happened in Holland. (Photos)
(Grand Canal Scenes) (Deb having a scrumptous treat at the Rosa Salva Café, Venice's oldest pastry shop; Nino's, Deb's fave restaurant; Quaint canal scene) (More picturesque canal scenes and a cheerful gondolier)
(Armor, Tower of London, Buckingham Palace) (Tower Courtyard-raven, DD Bus/Parliament, British Museum/Sphinx)
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March
4, 1995 (Are we there yet?)
March
5, 1995 (Let them eat cake.) 
March
6, 1995 (My dinner with Andre.)
Ah,
the sunset. I saw it from the top of the Eiffel Tower. Luckily, I had
climbed up there in time to get some great city shots before the light
was lost. The Seine wound its way through Paris like a shiny silver ribbon.
Indescribable views.
March
7, 1995 (Adieu, Paris)
T
