Continuation of Travels with Rob dans la Belle France

I do not remember how long it took us to get to Tours. I vaguely remember stumbling out of this famous train like a sleepwalker rushed on by Rob. Despite his limited French, Rob gets a taxi and tells the driver to take us to the Hotel d’Opéra.

 Before I have time to nod off again, we stop on a quiet side street in front of two ruined buildings. One is a completely dilapidated shell overgrown with weeds and ivy. Only broken-down walls of the ruin are remaining. The other appears in slightly better condition. Although ravaged looking, the walls, windows, and roof seem intact.

“L’hôtel d’Opéra! “, the taxi driver announces, pointing to the ruins.

With a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, he stopped the taxi, opened the doors, quickly removed our luggage from the trunk, deposited it on the sidewalk, and pocketed his fare.

Suddenly wide awake, I ask in disbelief, “L’hôtel d ‘Opéra?” “There”, he replies, jumping back into his cab.

We enter the building with some trepidation on the once imposing but now dangerously crumbling flight of stairs. The glamour of days gone by is still evident in the chipped and dusty chandeliers, the stained, worn-out purple carpets, the faded murals, and the elegant interior design. A glowing bouquet of red tulips and yellow daffodils, beautifully arranged with blossoming branches on the reception desk in the entrance hall, detracts the eyes from the shabby surroundings.

Contrary to all expectations, our chamber—like room on the second floor has charm. A single bed standing close to the entrance is partitioned off by a screen. Rob graciously offered to take this and gave me the big double bed facing a huge open window leading into a park. The branches of a blooming chestnut tree are almost touching the panes. Numerous birds have chosen this beautiful tree for their happy home. They are singing, twittering, and chirping at their heart’s content. Taking a rest from their nest building, they enjoy the last sunrays of the declining day. A warm breeze stirs the delicate curtains. The air smells fresh and fragrant with the aroma of spring flowers and blossoms.

After a short stroll, admiring some of the interesting facades of the old buildings downtown, Rob and I are lured to a cozy family restaurant by the enticing aromatic smells wafting out of the open door. The taste of grilled Iamb chops swimming in a sauce seasoned to perfection lingers in my memory forever. Back at the hotel, I relax in the enormous antique bathtub. I start feeling like a queen. The bed is comfortable, and the sheets are clean and smooth. I have an excellent deep sleep until the birds’ jubilant morning concert wakes me to another brilliant spring morning. *

Continuation of Travelling with Rob in La Belle France

The train we take to Paris the following day is crowded with noisy schoolgirls who are going on exchange programs to France. The exuberant holiday atmosphere is contagious. Many of the teenagers practice their flirting skills on Rob. For a while he enjoys being their centre of attention until they become bothersome like persistent flies. I am free to look out of the window and see the beautiful spring landscape pass by. Even old, dilapidated walls look lovely when adorned with fresh leaves and colorful blossoms. Nature appears to be so tame in Europe. Forests are tended like parks and lack the pristine beauty of the Canadian wilderness.

Rob is relieved when we reach Paris. For hours, the girls have been swarming over him like bees. There is no way to escape their pestering presence. Good—naturedly, he endures their teasing.

In Paris, we must change from one train station to another. For each cardinal direction there is a train station, which is connected to the other terminals by the Metro. In transit to Montparnasse, we meet Rick, the prospective groom, at the station and deliver a suitcase bulging with wedding presents. Packed with Canadian whisky, Okanagan wine, smoked salmon, maple syrup, and other gifts, it feels like a ton of bricks. Coming from so far, I am still amazed at the accomplishments of modern travel. We meet Rick precisely at the right time and appointed place among the crowds of strangers.

From Montparnasse we take a TGV (train de grande vitesse) to Tours. These famous trains reach a speed of 350 km per hour. The scenery is flying by at that dizzying pace in a blur of colors and shapes. Overcome by jet lag, I fall asleep as soon as I nestle into the comfortable seat of the luxurious compartment. Rob is disappointed that I do not show more enthusiasm for this momentous train ride. But all I want now and long for is a clean and comfortable bed.

Continuation of Traveling with Rob to La Belle France

I had phoned Rob when I arrived late last night. He had asked me to compose a short note in French to confirm a hotel reservation in Mons, the last destination of our planned sightseeing trip. He had been able to make all other arrangements in either English or German. Glad to show off my French skills, I took this task very seriously and sacrificed quite a bit of time and paper. Finally, this note, written in my neatest handwriting, is faxed off to the hotel with the romantic name of Le Castello de Braye et Mons. The next day, I met Rob in Stuttgart, and we had a wonderful excursion to Heidelberg. I had never been to this famous tourist attraction before. After climbing on a cobblestone road up to the imposing ruin, we enjoy sitting in the shade of a budding Linden tree in the idyllic garden cafe. While eating a delicious apple Strudel, we watch little sparrows hop from branch to castle wall, cheerfully chirping and nimbly picking up seeds and crumbs. I remember old photographs of my mom in her youth posing as a charming tour guide with groups of mostly American tourists in front of these walls. Sitting here with Rob, I suddenly feel her spirit surround

The Journey Begins

On a beautiful spring day in the middle of April, I start my journey to the old country. Not accustomed to travelling alone, I feel somewhat lonesome and insecure after saying goodbye to Peter at the Kelowna airport. These feelings intensify in the crowd of strangers at the Vancouver airport terminal. Suddenly, I am embraced from behind. Two excited voices are screaming simultaneously in my ears, “Gertrud, what on earth are you doing here? “

Anita and Gerhard, two old acquaintances we had lost contact with, are bombarding me with questions. Friends of our Bavarian neighbour, they are part of the visiting crowd of seasoned globetrotters whose stories we had previously listened to. And as coincidence wants it, they have seats right beside me on the same flight. Travelling with friends is like having guardian angels accompany you. Engaged in animated conversation, the time passes quickly. Before I know it, we have crossed Greenland, Iceland, the North Atlantic and Scotland. We are preparing for landing.

Since I arrived late at night, my travel agent had arranged for a stay in a hotel in Frankfurt. It is located at the city’s outskirts beside a huge and lifeless computer terminal building heavily fenced in like a prison. On the

other side is an idyllic little park with a fishpond and bird sanctuary. Waking up at dawn, not accustomed to the time difference yet, I can admire the sunrise. The distant city on the horizon is bathed in golden light. I listen to the cheerful chirping of birds greeting the new day and watch two wild rabbits playfully chase each other on the grass strip around the computer terminal. I even venture on an early morning walk to the nearby fishing pond, a quiet green oasis. The bushes and trees are just bursting forth with fresh new leaves. Usually, I am not an early riser. Therefore, it is quite an exciting experience for me to walk before breakfast. The girls at the hotel reception desk, whom I had asked for directions, were relieved to see me come back. They had worried about me walking all alone so early in the morning. They welcome me back with friendly greetings.