Chapter 3 1968 - Planning for and visiting Europe
[on $5 a day].
For our 1967 Christmas break the second year in Nanaimo we flew to Mexico City to explore a very different culture. With activities such as climbing ancient pyramids, watching the National Ballet Folklorico, riding one peso buses which raced one another along Reforma, walking through the National Archeological Museum, being serenaded by mariachi bands, and attending a bull fight [Les only], we hardly had a restful vacation, but it was certainly a contrast to the previous Christmas and to our life in a small Canadian city.
Over late dinners of authentic Mexican food, we discussed the various options for our long range travel plans. By the time we had flown out of the smog of Mexico City and were headed back to Vancouver, we had confirmed our original decision to keep travelling in July rather than remain in Canada. Slowly we set in motion a plan to drive around Europe for three months and then fly, with some stopovers en route, to Australia for Christmas of 1968 with our families.
Two pieces of advice were to provide safety nets for our future. First, an administrator/mentor at our school talked us out of resigning from School District #68 before we departed. Instead, convinced we had a bright future in the district, he recommended applying for a year’s leave of absence so that our jobs were protected - besides Frank said: “you belong here and are coming back.” To our surprise the leave applications were quickly approved and we had a date in 1969 by which we had to confirm our return or submit our resignations. Second, a travel agent suggested that it was cheaper to buy a ‘round the world’ air ticket with stops in Vancouver, Montreal, Paris, Athens, Bangkok, Perth, Adelaide, Melbourne, Sydney and Vancouver than to book just the Canada/Europe/Australia route. His advice was that if we stayed in Australia we could cash in the final two legs of the ticket or just let them expire and still be ahead in financial terms.
Though we were 95% certain we would not be returning, we also arranged to leave our VW station wagon with friends who had space in their garage, and other friends agreed to store our few household possessions. These friends realized that if we did not return they would be asked to sell our belongings. We were also advised to leave a balance in our bank account, and, in the future, this also proved to be sound counsel.
Research for the three months of roaming around Europe unearthed automobile companies which offered a special purchase/repurchase option. Under this scheme, a traveller is obliged to make a down-payment, sign a promissory note to pay the full balance owing or return the vehicle at the end of the period designated. The downpayment thus serves as a special lease or rental for the period. We investigated several makes of car, but only found one suitable for using as our
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sleeping quarters.... a revolutionary Citroen ID19 with hydro-pneumatic suspension and futuristic styling. In the 60s, Citroens were still available in Canada, so on a trip to Vancouver we visited a dealership and inspected the model.
It passed with flying colours. The seats were of solid block foam and the back of the front seats dropped down flat to form a very comfortable bed which we could lie on without difficulty. The car salesman in Vancouver was puzzled when Pat pulled a tape measure from her purse, measured and wrote down dimensions of the tops of the door frames..... data to be used later to as she made netting envelopes as we had for the VW wagon trip across Canada. We reluctantly decided that we could not make curtains with wire without compromising the interior and thereby damaging the car and breaking the terms of the sales agreement with Citroen. We decided instead to take heavy, dark coloured towels to drape over the door windows and the front visors to darken the interior at night.
On the same trip to Vancouver we bought Frommer’s “Europe on $5 a Day” and the serious research started on the ferry on the way back to Nanaimo. During those first years in Canada Les was a North American coordinator for a special interest group for international Mensa members who were travelling. He wrote to European members in the registry and made a list of cities and towns from which replies arrived offering meetings and sometimes accommodations. Slowly a plan formed to pick up the Citroen in Paris, to circle continental Europe in a clockwise fashion, to cross the channel to the British Isles and finally return to Paris to return the car three months later after having visited a dozen countries.
As time passed, traveller’s cheques were bought, the deposit on the Citroen was paid and paperwork completed. We sought the advice of friends and colleagues on what should not be missed in the countries on our list to visit, but we resisted the temptation to make bookings beyond the collection of the car at the Paris Orly airport, deciding instead to allow serendipity guide us from day one.
After farewells at the end of the school year, we packed a suitcase each with clothes, and a third expanding case with small pillows, netting envelopes, towels, guidebooks, some cutlery, a corkscrew and two pewter wineglasses for the picnic lunches to come - and we had rolled up sleeping bags to check as luggage too. All of this before suitcases with wheels and luggage restrictions!
Before we left Canada on our flight to Europe, the travel gods smiled sweetly en route to Montreal. The first night away from Nanaimo we took the Skyride to the top of Grouse Mountain in West Vancouver and had a memorable meal while we enjoyed the view over Vancouver with the sun setting on a cloudless evening. Our flight to Montreal included clear views of the Rockies we had seen a year earlier on our drive to the east. We had a full day and night in Montreal to be sightseers; Mont Royal, lunch hour theatre, Place Ville Marie, and after dining at Aux Delices we
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bought tickets to see and hear the Orchestre Symphonique du Montreal with its new conductor Franz Paul Decker.
It was to be a ‘B’ evening; Bach’s Brandenberg #3 to begin, Beethoven’s Symphony #5 to end, and the absolute highlight, Brahm’s Violin Concerto in between. It was superb, though the audience held its collective breath at the start of the Brahms because the violinist had just walked onto the stage on crutches, then atypically for a solo violinist, he had taken a seat before a music stand and placed the crutches under the chair. Any doubts we had disappeared when he began to play..... we were blessed to be hearing a young Itzhak Perlman on his first of many visits to Montreal [his most recent being 2008 - forty years after the concert we attended]. We have since seen and heard this brilliant violinist several times in concert halls and on TV and radio..... but this, the first time we were made aware of his talent, was a fitting conclusion to our two years in Canada.
The next day, we flew across the Atlantic to Paris.
Travel God trouble - or assistance? What an introduction to France
Tired and jet-lagged, we quickly cleared French Customs and carried our luggage through the terminal and found the Citroen counter in the Arrivals area as indicated in the paperwork we carried. To our absolute amazement, there was no-one at the desk. A handwritten notice was taped to a pillar and it informed us that cars were not available at the airport due to ‘industrial action’ and that we should make our way to the ‘depot.’ An address followed but there was no other information.
So, in our first hour in France we had been affected by “La Greve” or strike action. It would not be our last experience with France’s labour strife and later chapters will mention these dreaded words again.
We had expected to drive the car from the airport away from Paris so all of our planning was on roads leading to the north or east. We had no knowledge of Paris public transport and we were concerned that our contract specified that we had to collect the car on that particular morning. After consulting a tourist desk at the airport, we decided the only sure way to reach the depot in time was to take a taxi. So much for Europe on $5 a day for our first day.
The ‘depot’ proved to be a showroom not far from the Eiffel Tower. Instead of vehicles on display, the room was filled with chairs and a mainly hostile crowd of would-be tourists with luggage. One harried clerk was at a table surrounded by seemingly disorganized piles of paperwork. He accepted our documents, found our file in one of the piles, and indicated that we should wait until called. When Les asked in his rusty French how long it would be, we received a Gallic shrug as reply.
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We took deep breaths, arranged our luggage as seats and settled down to wait. As well as anger there was a strange conviviality in the showroom. We learned over the next hour that this was the second and third day of waiting for some others in the depot. They played cards, smoked or read; others strolled outside but never far from sight of the front door. An Australian couple gave us hints on where to eat a reasonable lunch or dinner nearby; others offered to watch our luggage if we wanted to go and eat lunch together instead of leaving in shifts.
Every 30 minutes or so the phone rang and the clerk wrote a list of names which he read out after hanging up the phone. Those called went to the table, were given an envelope, and went through the back door to board a van bound for the Citroen factory. At noon precisely the clerk left the building - a two hour lunch break experienced neighbours said. The process resumed in the afternoon, and when two Aussies who had waited more than two days were called to the table, they gave an ironic cheer. As they were leaving they passed to us the business card from the nearby hotel where they had spent two nights while waiting. They also informed us that no vans had left the previous days after 4pm, advising us to head straight to the hotel if we had not been called by that time.
Perhaps it was because we had booked the largest Citroen available - everyone else we spoke to had booked smaller models such as the 2CV or the Ami 6 - but whatever the reason, a French pronunciation of Dickason was called in the 3.50pm list, and we were soon on the van bound for the factory.
Our ID 19 was ready and waiting in a parking lot. It was white, not green as ordered, but after being given a very cursory demonstration of some of the car’s controls, we laughed with nervous relief as we drove out of the gates of the factory at 4.30pm as the gates closed behind us for the day. Compared to others, our wait, while frustrating, was over relatively quickly.
Crisis! Where were we? Our research on roads from Paris starting from the airport was useless. Citroen had not provided a map of the factory area, so we were reduced to driving around to find a directional sign with road numbers where we pulled over and consulted our maps. We eventually found our location despite the inevitable discrepancy between the road numbers and the maps, but the tiny nearby towns were not mentioned in our campground guide, nor in Frommer as likely to have hotels. We were southwest of Paris in an area definitely not on the tourist route at all.
Friends in Canada had informed us that when they needed accommodation they would drive to the city or town centre in France, find the railway station and check the inevitable noticeboard where there was a listing of hotels. The first two towns or villages were too small to have a station or a noticeboard. The next, Etampes, had a station but neither noticeboard nor employees to ask. As were heading north of the centre of Etampes, we saw a light on in the Gendarmerie, so we stopped and Les went inside. That rusty French was used to explain who we were, why we were lost, and to ask if the officers could direct us to a campground or hotel for the night. The two gendarmes chatted and eventually smiled and agreed that there was no campground but there was ‘un routier.’ Their directions were in French too fast for our comprehension, but with gestures, pencil and paper, we finally understood which direction to travel.
Not too many kilometres outside the town on D17, as dusk was imminent, was a two-storey service station/cafe with rooms to rent upstairs. We learned subsequently that this ‘routier’ was a truck-stop type of roadhouse. Desperate to find a toilet, a
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meal and a bed, we registered, accepted a key and hauled all of our luggage upstairs to our room for our first night in France. The cafe served a menu fixe - a platter of thinly sliced sausage as an appetizer, steak and frites which we washed down with beer, and slices of ripe cheese and apple to end the meal.
Our first night in Europe was not a quiet one. Trucks stopped for fuel, dogs barked, doors banged along the corridor. We wondered if the grins of the gendarmes were due to their knowledge that the lady who doubled as waitress and distributor of keys for the rooms was also a ‘madame’ who rented rooms by the hour. Despite the distractions we did sleep well, though at 5am with jet-lag we were both wide awake. Before 6am the car was loaded and we were ready to leave Etampes behind and drive east to Milly for a cafe for breakfast. We were grinning almost uncontrollably as we realized how bad the situations on the first day could have been.
Now the adventure was truly underway and we were in control again.
France - The way it was designed to work.
Over breakfast in Milly, which was in a huge forested area, we checked our Frommer for the closest ‘must see’ attraction. Fontainebleau was within easy reach, and heading further east we were soon at the parking lot for our first French chateau. The contrast between the accommodation of kings of France down the centuries and our roadhouse the night before was remarkable. Some of the Palace was undergoing renovation, financed by Rockefeller foundations, but the grounds, architecture and decor were breathtaking for us and even impressed the groups of small schoolboys in uniforms with short pants who trooped off their bus and were the only other visitors that morning. A lasting impression though was that with such opulence here enjoyed by just the privileged few, no wonder there was a revolution.
Vin rouge, a baguette, salami, tomato, cheese and a citron tart were bought in the small village nearby. A short drive later we were relaxing on the banks of the Marne River watching barges go by as we ate our first picnic lunch and toasted our good fortune with the pewter goblets. The barges, always equipped with a dog, pot plants and flapping laundry all seemed to have friendly owners on board who waved at us and sometimes raised their glasses in a toast too. The backs of the front seats of the Citroen were pushed into the horizontal position so that the jet-lagged travellers could nap before continuing.
We drove along the Marne and passed through village after village and then the vineyards began to appear. At first there were just a few small ones; larger ones were next and signposts to wineries stood on the corner of each crossroad as we approached Epernay. There was a campground listed there in our guidebook and after easily finding it, we paid the grand sum of 60 centimes to secure a place to
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park and sleep for the first time in the car with the netting on windows, towels for curtains, sleeping bags and pillows deployed as intended.
But first, we enjoyed a surprise - our dinner - at the Epernay station restaurant. Despite the size of the small town the restaurant sported cloth napkins and tablecloths, the waiters used the spoon and fork French service to transfer food from the serving platters to our plates, and the small cost of our three course meals included a 1/4L carafe of local wine each. Once we had driven back to the campground and converted our car to our sleeping quarters, nothing could disturb us on our second night in France, and nothing could have prepared us for the surprises of the following day.
We decided over breakfast that we would allow luck to decide which of the dozens of the great Champagne Houses we would visit that morning. We checked the guidebook and chose the only one opening at 9.30am, Moet et Chandon. Right on time we drove into the deserted car park and entered the visitor centre as the door was unlocked. We were enthusiastically greeted by Anite and Chris. As luck would have it, Anite was the multi-lingual trainer of the guides at this house, and Chris had just arrived from the UK for training as an additional English speaking guide for the summer season. We set off on the tour, just the four of us. When Anite asked a few probing questions to ascertain our level of knowledge of wine and discovered our Australian heritage and wine backgrounds, she asked if we had time for a longer tour than the standard 60 minutes. She wanted to show Chris the full tour in case he had to conduct it for VIPs later in the summer, and she hoped we would not mind the extra time.
We naturally approved, and thoroughly enjoyed our time together as the three of us quizzed Anite, and she provided the background of this, perhaps the most famous of the Champagne producers. We learned of Dom Perignon who is given credit for discovering the ‘stars in the bottle’ of sparkling wine and after which the premium label of Moet is named; we saw all stages of the methode champenoise; we walked through several of the almost 30 km of caves below ground; we were taught how to ‘riddle’ the bottles in the racks, and watched as the real riddlers rapidly twisted the bottles through 1/8 of a turn, two bottles at a time, one with each hand. In the archives we saw invoices dating back to the 18th century - we also saw the collection of the vintages dating back decades. Anite told us of the plans Moet et Chandon had to collaborate with Hennessy to start Chandon in California [we would visit the resulting winery years later and its sister operation in Australia too].
It was almost noon when we four emerged into the sunlight where Anite had reserved a table for us in the garden for the glass of champagne which was included in the tour. She had another appointment, so she left us with Chris, and soon the waiter served us - not with the already poured glass of non-vintage bubbly that was delivered on trays to the other tour groups already seated - but with a bottle of Brut
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1962 which he uncorked ceremoniously and which we thoroughly enjoyed in the perfect setting after a fascinating morning. Also as ‘cadeaux’ we were presented with a souvenir ashtray, a Dom Perignon medallion, and a booklet describing the history of Moet et Chandon.
We drove north from Epernay along the Champagne Road with its hectares of vineyards, but only for a short time before we realized we should not be driving after champagne on an empty stomach. We pulled off the road and ate baguette, tomato and cheese from the previous day - and put down the front seats for a much-needed snooze.
After the cold-water-only shower of the Epernay campground, we splurged on a small hotel in Reims that night [just 25 francs for bed and breakfast for two], strolled the streets and squares complete with a statue of Joan of Arc, and visited the 13th century cathedral of Notre-Dame. We shopped for the following day in the first modern supermarket we had seen since our travels in Paris began, dined simply and cheaply [including escargots and champagne of course] and returned to our comfortable and quiet hotel.
Three days in France - not once had we stopped for the night where we had planned that morning.
Confirming preconceptions and more - the Netherlands
With the research we had done before leaving Canada, and hearing opinions from friends in Nanaimo who had visited Europe, we had some preconceptions about countries we would visit. In many cases these were confirmed; but we soon had impressions of our own.
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After experiencing our first outdoor market in northern France, we crossed the border into Belgium on what was the first day of a long weekend for many Europeans. Consequently our expectation of driving at high speed on wide roads was shattered as we spent much longer than anticipated leaving France and entering Belgium because thousands of Belgians were heading to France, and the French were driving the other way for the Bastille Day weekend.
However, Brussels was almost deserted as we window-shopped at expensive stores, strolled past centuries-old guild halls and the ancient city hall, listened to a brass band in a square, then donned our lightweight plastic rainwear as the skies opened and sent tourists running into sidewalk cafes for cover. That night, following a recommendation we had been given, we dined at Le Renard and while the food and service were first class as expected, we had another preconception confirmed. A table of four tourists from the US were classic examples of ‘ugly’ Americans and they spoke loudly and then louder still to try to explain what they wanted to the non-English speaking waiter [e.g. “no ice in ze coke”], and later complained about almost every dish they were served. We thoroughly enjoyed our meal and the service.
Heading north the next day, we were waved through the border into Holland without having to stop, and we noticed the terrain became flatter and more bicycle paths were evident alongside roads. A ring road took us around Rotterdam, though in the distance at the busy port we could see large ships seemingly moving above the level of the roads. Our destination for a stay of several nights was La Hague where a member of the special interest travel group referred to earlier had offered us a spare bedroom in his suburban home.
We received a warm welcome from Bob, his wife Mika, their three children and two cats. Any preconceived notion of the Dutch being cool and distant was washed away quickly. The children wanted to practise their English with us, the cats purred on our laps, Bob and Mika kept asking what they could do to help. That night the four adults went out to dinner, our treat, at a restaurant specializing in Indonesian food. We tried valiantly to finish all 16 courses of the Rijsttafel - which translates as ‘rice table.’ Though rice was a feature of some dishes, there was also fish, vegetables, egg rolls, sambals, satays of meat, pickles and more - delicious!
Two examples of the Dutch hospitality come to mind from the first evening back at Bob and Mika’s home. Bob introduced Les, over the chessboard [where Bob dominated], to Bokma, one brand of oud genever, or old gin, which the Dutch claim to have invented. Unlike British gin, it is often aged in wood, is served neat and very cold, and is potent when drunk that way. While this initiation was being conducted, Mika asked Pat what her plans were for the next day. Pat expressed interest in finding a local hairdresser given that it was more than a week since shampooing and setting. Mika shrugged, smiled, and left the room only to return in minutes with a daughter of the next door neighbour. She was a trainee hairdresser, carried the tools
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of the trade from her house to Mika’s and, despite not being bilingual, she understood Pat’s gestures and did a wonderful job and refused any payment.
With an obligatory first service for the Citroen due [24 hour minimum], we were persuaded to stay longer than we planned at this comfortable home in La Hague. Trips to places recommended by our host filled our days - the miniature city Madurodam, Amsterdam [diamond factory tour for Pat, Heinekin brewery tour for Les, lunch on a scenic canal tour], Aarslmeer and its flower auction, Gouda for a cheese factory, Kinderdijk for the windmills, Delft for the china producers. In between these trips we would go to the centre of La Hague where Pat would stroll in the shopping district while Les nursed a coffee [or Bokma] at a sidewalk cafe and watched Dutch girls in mini-skirts ride bicycles past the cafe.
The car was left overnight at the Citroen dealer and Les caught a tram back to Bob and Mika’s where Pat worked on loads of laundry. On July the 18th, after discovering a disastrous problem with the camera which resulted in the loss of all photos of Belgium and Holland so far, we collected the car, presented carnations to Mika and a vintage Bokma to Bob and took our leave to resume our drive north.
The extended stay in La Hague and the activities while based there left several impressions of Holland. Everything we witnessed was so clean, people were well dressed and almost all spoke several languages, power-lines were underground, bicycles and efficient public transit seemed everywhere, suburbs were densely populated but no house seemed far from green spaces. Bob maintained that there was over-government which was stifling private initiative, but he agreed that the planning process here, though painfully slow sometimes, provided creation of real beauty as people were encouraged not to destroy but to enhance what Nature provided.
A night in a campground followed. We found we could still remember how to put the seat backs down and unroll the sleeping bags. In Limmen, for less than the equivalent of a $1, we had the cleanest campground of the three month trip, and it was crowded with Dutch and German tourists partying, then sleeping in very stylish and modern tents.
A bit of Germany - not enough of Denmark
Northern Germany was a blur as we took advantage of the excellent roads to speed ahead to Denmark. At times our Citroen hit speeds of 120kph as we bypassed Bremen and continued. The exception was the ring road around Hamburg which was more like a parking lot than a freeway and our slow progress there was made more depressing by a torrential rain storm. We ate lunch in the car but eventually, the sky and road cleared and we had our passports stamped for the first
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time as we crossed the border into Denmark. We stopped soon afterwards in Graasten where there was a “tilting at the ring” festival in progress.
The streets were decorated with bunting and posters depicting the horse-riding knights in armour spearing the rings on the tilting course. The competition for the day was over by the time we arrived, but activity in the huge beer tents was in full swing. We learned the next day, after our first “danish” for breakfast, that Graasten was the summer home of the Royal Family, so, while listening to a local brass band we walked around the charming town enjoying the atmosphere of the festival.
Our next surprise was the ferry ride to the east to be within reach of Copenhagen. Our ferry loaded cars, trucks and trains, but was modern and very clean - it put the old BC ferries of the 60s to shame. The 50 minute ferry ride put us on the island of Lolland and after a short drive we found a campground near a beach and Les saw another first in the toilet block; slot machines dispensing contraceptives - how progressive!
Our first visit to Copenhagen was by suburban railway and once downtown we took a short city tour to orient ourselves for the days ahead. Strolling in the Stroget, a kilometre long shopping street for pedestrians, took much of the morning and the futuristic Museum of Modern Design and its shop filled the balance before we enjoyed open-faced sandwiches for lunch. We located Tivoli Gardens and its Box Office and bought tickets for the following evening’s performances before returning to the car at the railway station. That evening we drove around Copenhagen to another campground just north of the city.
From high school days we both had memories of Hamlet, so early the following day we drove north through delightful landscapes to Helsingor with the three moats, a village and the castle. On the ramparts we imagined the ‘ghost’ and we could see the Swedish coast across the sea. Crowded tour buses began to arrive as we left to drive south to Copenhagen for lunch and to use the efficient tourism service to buy tickets for the ferry to Germany two days later. Knowing the concerts and fireworks would be late, we chose to use the tourist office to book accommodation for the night. Our ‘hotel’ proved to be a converted house with four enormous suites on the lower floor, a bar, garden and huge black cat. The short-lived rain could not dampen our enthusiasm as we changed to go to Tivoli Gardens where after dinner at the Lido we went to hear Eartha Kitt and then used our tickets to sit in side boxes for Nicolai Gedda’s recital. His performance resulted in a 15 minute standing ovation [the Danish audience did much foot-stomping as well as clapping] and two encores. What a gift to hear such a voice at its prime!
Our hotel produced a huge breakfast [included in the night’s tariff of around $9 for the two of us] and we sadly departed for our final day in very enjoyable Denmark.
In the dining room of the Rodby Hotel that night, after a beer with a schnapps chaser, Les’ confidence took a dive due to his attempt at ordering in Danish. Pat’s roast beef with vegetables came as expected, but his ‘pork’ dish resulted in a frypan delivered to the table - full of scrambled eggs and bacon. So much for Les and his linguistic skills in the Baltic.
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