The Secret Annex by Monica Sampson

The building on Prinsengracht looked like any other canal house in Amsterdam in 1942. But, in it was penned the book whose readership is second only to the Bible. Of course, I speak of The Diary of Anne Frank.

The sky was grey and dull as visitors queued for the museum tour. We walked behind the infamous bookcase and up the steep staircase to the place where eight people hid for two years, in an effort to escape Nazi persecution. Several family friends supplied food, despite the risks involved. The Dutch had a strong underground movement during World War II, supporting the numerous repressed Jews.

The rooms were void of furniture, removed in August, 1944 by the Nazis after the hideout was reported. But the faded cut-out magazines that Anne placed to cheer up the space, and the pencil marks on the wall, which measured the children’s heights during their seclusion, are still evident.

The original red plaid diary was displayed in a special case. Otto Frank thought it was miraculous that it was saved. The diary was first published in 1947, and has now been translated into 65 languages with 25 million copies sold.

Shopping definitely felt too frivolous after such a tour. For us, eating is always timely!! We went to Amsterdam’s most famous pancake house, serving monster crepes with a variety of fillings. The Indonesian chicken with peanut sauce was delish. Indonesian cuisine is popular in Holland, the blending of cultures a throwback from the Dutch East Indies days of expanding empires.

A tram ride back to the hotel, and a commitment to another morning workout rounds out the day.

Canal Tour

The final leg of our journey through Europe begins with a pleasant train ride. We pass old wooden windmills and new steel ones; we pass fields of greenery and fenced livestock. Finally, we arrive at the Netherlands largest and most vibrant city, Amsterdam. A taxi brings us to the modern Fashion Hotel, just 4 months old. We are pleased to find a great room with access to a mini-gym and large swimming pool.

It is early afternoon, and to acquaint ourselves with the city, we take a canal tour. Amsterdam has nearly 200 canals and over 1000 bridges. We are told that Amsterdam started out as a fishing village, and was given city status in 1275. In the 17th Century, at the peak of Dutch exploration and colonization, Amsterdam was the center of world commerce. Today, it is a major center of commerce, trade, industry and air traffic. The canals are lined with rows of tall houses. Though the houses were owned by wealthy merchants, they were built intentionally narrow. This was to avoid excessive city taxes which were based on the width of your living space. Behind the smaller doors leading to the basement were the servants’ quarters.

Off to the right, we see the Mint Tower, a defence tower built in the 15-Century to spot would-be invaders. In the distance, St. Nicholas Church stands above Old Amsterdam. Beside the saint’s association with Christmas, St. Nicholas is also the patron saint of sailors.

We pass under a bridge and into the Amstel River, for which the Amsterdam is named. This large canal leads us into the main harbour. Here we pass two floating hotels and a floating Chinese restaurant, the Sea Palace. It is a copy of Jumbo Restaurant in Hong Kong. However, the Hong Kong restaurant can seat 5000 patrons, while the diminutive Amsterdam Sea Palace can barely seat 700!

In the early 1970’s, the city installed steel rails along the canals to prevent automobiles from inadvertently entering the water. Even still, today an average of one car per week ends up in the waterways. We cruise pass the elaborate Hotel de l’Europe, owned by the Heineken family. Our captain and tour guide tells us the kitchen of this hotel is partly below water level. I can picture the cooks scurrying around in their rubber boots, boning fish or dicing vegetables for the evening meal.

A Day in the Life

Our apartment at Thon Parnasse entitles us to full use of a modern gym. We seize this opportunity to do morning workouts. The facility is well-equipped, including a friendly staff. The nautilus treadmills are fully programmable and come with individual television monitors. We opt for BBC, one of a few English, non-American channels.

Today, Monica is off to the Museum of Fine Arts for a display of modern art with a focus on Belgian artists in the 19th and 20th Centuries. I’m much too shallow for this and take time to look around and take pictures. The museum is housed in the meeting place of Brussels, La Place de l’Albertine. It includes a public garden and a number of other museums including one of a Chinese Tea House.

La Place de l’Albertine leads to the Palais de Justice. This UNESCO cultural site is the main courthouse of Belgium, and is considered the largest building built in the 19th Century. Ironically, in the Middle Ages, the building was constructed on a hill where convicted criminals were hanged.

Monica and I meet again in the public garden beside the Chinese Tea House. We take the subway to ‘Place du Luxembourg’, headquarters for the European Union. This powerful confederation has grown steadily from a 1950 agreement between France and Germany to pool coal and steel resources. It now includes 27 countries (2007) sharing a common market. At this writing, the Euro is worth 1.6 U.S. Dollars – tough tomatoes for die-hard Canadian tourists.

Despite the currency exchange, we treat ourselves to a neighborhood restaurant, ‘Poivre et Sel’. The Chef presents us with an assortment of bread and a black olive tapenade which goes nicely with our Chianti. We both decide on pasta for a main course, served from an open kitchen concept. Their unwritten motto appears to be ‘The job belongs to whoever isn’t busy’. The Chef, sous-chef and waitress work efficiently, providing quality food and service for the 36-seat eatery.

Our day isn’t quite finished. With extended travel comes the weekly chore of laundry. We are fortunate our apartment has laundry facilities. All we have to do is decipher the German instructions. For the most part, we use trial and error. However, we are stumped by the instruction ‘verlaagd centrifugeertoerental’. After revving up the washer drum a few notches, we come to the conclusion it stands for ‘adjust spinning level’.

Stroll through Brussels

We have stocked our kitchen for breakfasts, snacks and cocktail parties. Nearby, we find a café house for tea, coffee and dessert. Many of the café houses have communal tables – large tables that will seat 10-12 people. Everyone fits in; nobody minds.

Our subway takes us back to the Grand Place where there is a tourist information center. We gather a map and some brochures of interest. With no particular agenda, we stroll through the streets, past cafés, restaurants, street vendors and chocolatiers. Chocolate is to Belgium as maple syrup is to Canada. There are large outlets, Chocopolis and Planète Chocolat with many brand names: Côte d’Or, Godiva, and Galler. We are advised that local chocolatiers produce as good a product and better priced than many of the popular brand names. A well-liked local treat is a waffle overflowing with rich hot chocolate. We can’t resist.

Our walk takes us past the infamous Manneken-Pis. This little bronze statuette was created in the 17th Century and gives us a glimpse of the bold Brussels humor. Commonly referred to as “Little Julian”, the statuette has been kidnapped and vandalized on a number of occasions. He even has an extensive wardrobe of 760 items, dress for all seasons and special events. We are amazed at the popularity of this public fountain. Visitors cheerfully line up to take pictures or have their pics taken with the legendary figure.

With its parks, flowers, shrubs and trees, Brussels is considered one of the greenest cities in Europe. We find our way to Le Jardin Botanique, the National Botanical Garden of Belgium. The garden includes a 12th Century castle that has been turned into a museum and concert venue.

Today, there is an interesting photographic exhibition, “Controversies”. Each of the photos on display has stirred personal or public debate. There is a staged photograph of a Russian soldier waving his flag over a burning Berlin in 1945. Another depicts a sensuous kiss by a young nun and priest that ruffled feathers in the Catholic Church. The most poignant of all was a Kevin Carter photograph of a starving Sudanese child and a vulture. Carter was so haunted by the photograph, he later committed suicide.

La Grand Place

The Vollmer family has owned Im Malerwinkel for several generations. You get a good sense of a small family run business when you are offered a ride to the train station. We are leaving Bacharach and the Rhine Valley on a five-hour trip to Brussels.

Everything goes smoothly as we queue up for a taxi outside the Brussels midi train station. We showed the driver the paper on which our Hotel Thon and address was written. “Yes, Hotel Thon, I know it,” he says. After a harrowing drive through heavy city traffic and €25.00 later, we are dropped off at the wrong hotel. By the time we discover this, the driver was long gone. Worse still, I have no one to whom I can complain, except my lovely wife who is much calmer about the miscommunication. We hail another taxi driver who brings us across town to our correct hotel, the Thon Parnasse. Unknown to us, there are 3 Thon hotels in Brussels. A nice apartment with a balcony softens the frustration.

Our concierge is pleasant and gives us directions and a map for our subway station. We head to La Grand Place, yet another UNESCO World Heritage site and the hottest tourist attraction in Belgium. The UNESCO designation states “The Grand-Place is an outstanding example of the eclectic and highly successful blending of architectural and artistic styles that characterizes the culture and society of this region.”

The large square and its wall of buildings were created in the 1400’s. In 1695, French troops under the direction of the Sun King, Louis XIV, destroyed the square. The only surviving building was the Town Hall. The Hall was initiated by local craftsmen in 1421 who wanted to see more control over public funds. The square was rebuilt entirely a few years after its destruction. Today it is bustling with cafés, musicians, artists and flower markets.

As we leave the Grand-Place we stroke the statue of Brussels’s hero, Everard t’Serclaces. In the 14th Century, Everard successfully led a group of patriots in defense of an invasion from Flanders. Local superstition has it that stroking the statue brings you luck. The luck, we hope, will make it easier to get to our hotel the second time.

Cruise on the Rhine

Clear skies and seasonal temperatures have presented us with a heavy frost in the Rhine Valley this morning. After a hearty breakfast and a promise of sunny skies, we climb aboard the Köln-Düsseldorfer for a cruise on the Rhine. From Bacharach, we navigate a cluster of rocks known as the ‘raft busters’. Around each bend we pass a castle or fortress, each with its own history. We come to a slate rock cliff known as the Loreley. Here lies the legend of a dangerous river nymph who has the power to drown careless sailors. If you look closely you can see her looking upstream from the base of the cliff.

Atop the high banks at St. Goar, we look up at the haunting ruins of Rheinfels Castle, the mightiest of them all. The castle was built in the 13th Century to protect the monastery and collect tolls on the river. Over centuries, it withstood a barrage of attacks including Louis XIV of France in 1692 with his army of 28,000. A hundred years later it was finally taken down by the French Revolutionary Army.

The significant remains still present a vivid picture of its grand past. A maze of dark tunnels and secret passageways can still be accessed, making it a popular attraction for children of all ages. Monica and I fit the description as we explore the moat, tower, courtyard and dungeon. We inspect the cross-bow stations and the stone catapult balls. We examine the stables and walk inside the brauhaus (brewery). At last, we imagine the beehive of activity that once breathed life into this mighty fortress.

Our excursion resumes and we pass the Roman town of Boppard. Further along on the right stands the intact Marksburg Castle. Built in medieval times, it was never attacked. It has since been turned into a museum.

Our cruise ends at Koblenz. This city grew in prominence because of its location at the confluence of the Rhine and Mosel. Always a strategic location of defense, the city was 85% destroyed by Allied bombings in the 2nd World War. From the ashes, Koblenz has emerged as a modern commercial center for the region. Monica and I visited the city center where we found a special statue of a mischievous lad named Schängel. The statue represents the good spirits of the town. Schängel squirts a shower of water from his mouth every few minutes, landing on the pavement or anyone who is passing by. We walk around him carefully as we head for the train station and back to Bacharach.

Bacharach

At our Inn, we start the day by gorging on a full breakfast of cereal, juice, eggs, cold meats, bread and rolls, coffee and tea. Our eating habits have been consistent but our exercise routine has been sporadic. Today, however, we are up for a run along a well-used trail through Bacharach and along the Rhine.

At a café house we take the time to write a few postcards. The Post Office stations throughout Europe are distinctively marked with the symbol of a horn. The horn is a throwback to the days when the mail was delivered by horse and carriage and the postman would blow the horn to clear the path. The mail must get through. In the little town of Bacharach we bring our postcards to the local post office, the same post office residents have been using since 1724.

Beside our inn, there are 100 steps that lead to the ruins of the Chapel of Werner, built in honor of a young German lad. The legend goes that the boy, Werner, was sexually abused and murdered by Jews. Historians later disproved the story. The sobering inscription at the memorial site reads, “Here in the ruins of the Werner Chapel we commemorate the grave and dark heritage of hatred towards the Jewish Community in Germany. A faked legend of a Jewish ritual killing had been staged here that was misused as a pretext for religious riots during several centuries. Today this site serves as a memorial site for brotherly relationship between different religions.”

The south side hills are brimming with vineyards. Mostly the grapes are Riesling or Gewürztraminer, although there are a few red varietals as well. Vignerons or wine growers are now busy with the harvest. Bacharach was named for the Roman god of wine, Bacchus. Each year in a festive spirit an appointed citizen is crowned Bacchus von Bacharach.

Monica and I visit one of a number of wine tasting houses in town. We are presented with a basket of bread, charcuterie and cheese products and a carousel of wines representing various varietals and vintages. Suffice to say, when we were finished the Rieslings and the rosés seemed to blend together.

The Middle Rhine

Our train takes us west from Vienna through rolling hills of farmland into Germany and the middle Rhine Valley. This section of the Rhine is frothing with lore and legend. Here you’ll find the Marksburg Castle, the only surviving medieval castle on the Rhine and the remnants of the mighty Rheinfels Castle. The 43-mile middle Rhine Valley was given World Cultural Heritage status by the United Nations in 2002. The official citation states “the valley’s singularly beautiful landscape has been fashioned by the river and human activities”.

At Mainz, we have 12 minutes to change trains. We whip the luggage off, and run down steps and escalators. We’re on board to Bacharach with 2 minutes to spare. Finally, we arrive at our accommodations in Bacharach, gingerbread-like Inn – Im Malerwinkel, meaning ‘painter’s corner’. The area of quaint gardens and timber frame homes was an inspiration to 19th Century painters.

Relieved to reach our destination after a full day of travel, we go for a celebratory dinner. We manage to order a beer but our German vocabulary is non-existent. We haven’t gotten past ‘bite and danke’ (please and thank-you). I try to get the waiter’s attention by using our new word ‘entshuldigung’ meaning ‘excuse me’. Like two kids, we are both amazed that it actually worked.

Monica attempts to communicate to our young waiter that she’d like to have green beans with pan-fried trout and potatoes. He acknowledges her wishes. However, the plate comes to the table with the green beans, minus the potatoes. We roll with it, knowing full well all lapses in communication are our fault. The trout was fresh and perfectly cooked.

The evening air is cool as we walk back to Im Malerwinkel, content and tired. It’s not long before we both fall into a deep coma.

A touch of Newfoundland

Vienna’s modern-day transit system is second to none. The underground is clean and easy, the buses are regular and the trams work well around the older part of the city. Even bicycles have their own paths complete with traffic lights.

The U4 subway north connects us with bus 38A and takes us in the hills to Kahlenburg at the edge of the Vienna woods. Here, high above the city, there are hiking trails and wine gardens. Also, in the restaurant area, there is spectacular view of the mighty Danube and the bridges that connect the city. The air has cooled to 10°C, giving credibility to the theory that last week’s high temperatures were abnormal. We decide to visit the restaurant for lunch. Many of the restaurants and cafés in Vienna allow smoking; this one doesn’t.

We’re still yearning for a good sampling of authentic Austrian cuisine. Our waiter brings us the menu and a bottle of still water, Romerquelle. I read the back of the label and find it is bottled by Coca-cola. Monica does well with an appetizer – cappuccino/pumpkin soup, frothed with cream and topped with roasted pumpkin seeds. I decide on poached veal with roasted potatoes and a vegetable dish of roasted squash and cabbage. It was good. For her main course, Monica orders a sheep’s cheese dish with a garden salad. Unfortunately the cheese is breaded, fried, and a little salty. We figure two out of three isn’t too bad.

Back at the Carlton Opera Hotel (our apartment), we are anxious to try our Austrian beer. Yesterday, at the grocery mart, we contemplated which type of beer to buy. There were so many. After much deliberation, and with the assistance of a store clerk, we decide on Pilsner. Even efficient city travel can be long and tiring. How relaxing it will be to sit back and have a cold beer. I sit at the table and Monica goes to the fridge for the beer. She looks back at me disappointedly. “Guess what”, she says “we left the beer in the freezer overnight”.

Before leaving Vienna, we have the pleasure to meet with Monica’s cousin and a former native of Gander, Newfoundland, Patricia Griffin. Monica hadn’t seen her in 30 years. Patricia trained in Toronto as an opera singer in the 1960’s. She taught voice in Toronto and performed throughout Canada and some parts of the United States. With her opera training, she learned to speak Italian and German and in the mid-1980’s she left for Europe. In Vienna she set up her own private school teaching voice lessons. She had only intended to stay there for 6 months. That was 25 years ago. Patricia has found a home in Vienna and is now enjoying a comfortable retirement with her two new favorite pastimes – hiking in the Alps and gardening at her cottage. We depart, content that there is still a touch of Newfoundland left behind.

Cultural Vienna

Today is museum day. Monica is off to the Kunsthistorisches Museum of Art. My interest takes me across the street to the Natural History Museum. Monica never tires of ogling great art. She is pleased with the exhibits and especially likes the displays of Caravaggio. Other works include paintings by Rembrandt and Raphael, and Antonio Canova’s sculpture Theseus Clubbing the Centaur. The art museum also reflects the cultural influence of the Hapsburg Empire. At its peak, the Empire included Austria, Germany, Italy, Holland and Spain.

These two museums face each other and enfold an immaculately manicured garden with fountains, walkways and strategically-placed sculptures. At the NHM there is an interesting display on Darwin’s Evolution theory. Darwin was clearly out on a limb when he publicly stated that man was a descendant from ape. In past centuries, people who supported evolution theories were considered heretics by the church and often burned at the stake. The display isn’t restricted to man’s evolution. There are displays of many animals and how they evolved and adapted to climate and habitat. One particularly interesting exhibit is of a Canadian fur trapper.

From the museums we walk along the ring of the Old City. Looking for authentic Austrian cuisine, we find a small restaurant behind the Opera House. I order pork schnitzel (pork pounded flat, coated in bread crumbs and pan-fried) and frites. Monica has goulash (chunks of beef and potato in a special gravy). It is served with a dumpling the size of a pool ball, but not quite as dense. We try a slice of it, but deem it inedible.

Tonight we have tickets for a performance by the Vienna Hofburg Orchestra at the Imperial Palace, featuring the music of Strauss and Mozart. The concert was excellent and the palace equally spectacular with marble floors, columns and elaborate chandeliers. The Imperial Palace, an enormous complex of grandiose halls and rooms, was the home of Austrian rulers until 1918. All the culture has made us tired and we walk back to our centrally-located apartment.

Facts and snacks

At the height of the Hapsburg Empire, Vienna was the cultural capital of Europe and one of its wealthiest cities. The end of this empire in World War I and heavy bombing of World War II have shaped modern-day Wien (pronounced Vien). Still standing are many spectacular monuments, museums, and other buildings including the Opera House, the Imperial Palace and St. Stephen’s Cathedral.

When we come to a new city, we often look for the highest point to take a good look and get our bearings. We decide on climbing the tower at St. Stephen’s. Like the Cathedral in Reims, its buttresses, columns and inlaid sculptures make it a fine example of gothic architecture. Although the cathedral survived the bombings of the last Great War, it was severely damaged by fire. The timber roof was destroyed and the huge church bell came crashing through the tower. It has since been restored.

Outside Stephensplatz (St. Stephen’s Square) the street is bustling with merchants, mimes and buskers. A group of street gymnasts give a crowd-pleasing performance. The temperatures have cooled from our days in Cinque Terre, but it is still sunny and 16°C. We make our way back to our apartment, but not before passing through the Viennese Market Place.

For a full kilometer, merchants line both sides of the street. There are fresh olives, cheese, cured meats, stuffed vine leaves and peppers, candied fruit and chocolate, wine, coffee, breads and desserts. The merchants are unrelenting – come over, sample this, taste that. We escape with an assortment of food stuff, maybe a little more than we bargained.

We’re all about the food. On our wedding day, Monica presented me with a wicker basket filled with a variety of food items and a tablecloth. The tablecloth has traveled with us for 15 years. It has been as far west as Vancouver Island and as far south as Mexico. It’s been laid out on slate rock beaches on Newfoundland’s northeast shore and on picnic tables in Canada’s National Parks. It has accompanied us in canoe and kayak, on bike and skis, in car and camper. It’s been the backdrop for many a fine cocktail party.

We get back to our apartment and Monica lays out the tablecloth. We strategically place our delectable purchases on the cloth and dig in!

Willkommen Wien

We’re back to buses and trains. It’s an early rise to catch the bus to Manarola, train to La Spezia, and connecting train to Pisa. Monica races to the bus stop; we’re there 15 minutes early. The metro bus (not ours) is taking locals directly to La Spezia, just 20 km away. Monica negotiates with the driver. It’s OK, we pay €6. and hop on. We save ourselves the ‘milk run’, save my back from the extra abuse and get to La Spezia in time to catch an earlier train to Pisa. Sometimes it just works out.

Still, the trip to Vienna takes a full day. We change trains in Florence and get a direct passage to our destination. In northern Italy, we pass through the Dolomites, a UNESCO World heritage site. This unique part of the Alps formed the line of defense between Italy and Austria-Hungary during the 1st World War. Many visitors climb the protected paths to Vie Ferrati, one of the many carbonate rock peaks that rise anywhere from 7000 to 10000 feet.

We choose to eat in the dining car. We’ve crossed over to Austria and the language has changed to German. We struggled with French, we’re hopeless with Italian and now we contend with the German menu (die Speisekarte). I point to an item and mumble something that no linguist could interpret. Fortunately, our young German-speaking waitress rescues us by switching to English.

I have curried chicken with rice and Monica has a more regional and more satisfying crepe with pumpkin and mozzarella. For wine, we settle on an Austrian dry (trocken) Riesling. After dinner we have a few more hours until we reach Vienna. We spend the time wisely on our English/German phrasebook.

Flora and fauna

The trails between the villages are lush with grasses, shrubs, trees. Today, it is sunny and temperatures reached a high of 28°C. The locals tell us the seasonal temperatures are higher than normal. In Monterosso, the sandy beach is dotted with swimmers and sunbathers. Deciduous trees are still leafy green and many flowers are rich in bloom.

The temperate Mediterranean climate allows a diverse range of plants to grow and flourish. Pear cactus and succulents sprawl over the hillsides. There are chestnut, oak and pine trees along the paths. There are tall grasses, wild oregano and many shrubs for which I have no name.

As we approach each village, the hillside terrain morphs into terraced gardens. Along with the grape vines and olives, the villagers have planted many fruits and vegetables. We see modest orchards of orange, lime and grapefruit trees. Larger plots produce pomegranates, peaches and apples, and smaller plots produce various squashes, peppers, tomatoes, leek and fennel. It seems everyone has a patch of basil.

Although there is great variety, nothing is mass produced, and nothing is wasted. Buckets are used to catch rain water and old bed springs become part of the fencing. Recycling is a natural occurrence. The villagers are very respectful of their environment and take great care to encourage maximum yield – sustaining life as they’ve known it for centuries.

Cinque Terre 2

Five villages make up the Cinque Terre. They are Riomaggiore, Manarola, Corniglia, Vernazza, and Monterosso. A railway line burrows through the steep sea cliffs connecting the villages to the outside world. It wasn’t always the case. The footpaths that lace through the hills have been used a thousand years by the villagers. They now form a network of trails that make a hiker’s paradise.

The trails wind through hill and dale, descending into one community and ascending to another, from sea level to as much as 800 meters (think Gros Morne). Each spectacular view gives testimony of nature’s sheer cliffs and crashing waves gently yielding to man’s rock walls, stick fences, and dirt paths. Some of the paths are less than a foot wide.

Our accommodations are in Volastra, a hamlet high above Manarola. Our pace slows down, we are no longer racing to museums and market squares. Monica and I hike to neighboring Corniglia. From the cliffs we can view Riomaggiore behind us and Monterosso off in a distance. We pass visitors from many countries: Australia, United States, Canada, France, Germany, and of course, Italy. We hear hello, bonjour, guten tag, buon giorno and some greetings we don’t recognize.

The footpaths widen and give way to cobblestones as we spiral down to the village center. The shops are small and few. The apartment-like accommodations of the residents are joined and so are the pastel-coloured buildings. The village is built like a stone fortress. It even has a look-out tower, a reminder of Genoese invaders in medieval times.

Cinque Terre, Part 1

The scenery changes from rolling hillside to rugged mountains as our train takes us from Central Italy to the Ligurian coast. “Look at the snow in the mountains”, I say to Monica, pointing to the white cliffs to the right. A young woman overhears and corrects me, “That’s a marble quarry” she says, giving me a whole new concept for ‘Marble Mountain’. We pass areas where the marble is stored, hundreds of blocks of marble, some as large as pick-up trucks.

We reach La Spezia, the service center for our destination. From here, trains run to the villages of the Cinque Terre (pronounced CHINK-weh TAY-reh). The station is crowded with luggage toting tourists. The train schedule for the villages is ambiguous and the trains are notoriously late. A train pulls in and a lady debates the schedule with the conductor. Their arms go up in the air and their voices escalate by several octaves, as if there was some other form of conducting.

Our hotel is located in the second village, Manarola. From the train station we drag our luggage through a tunnel and into a village of 240 people. I’ve never seen anything like this. The will and means of survival compares to an isolated Newfoundland fishing village of the early 1900’s.

The five villages and many hamlets of Cinque Terre have been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Each village is a cluster of mortar and stone that appear to have grown from the rock cliffs that jut out from the rugged shoreline. The steep hillsides are terraced with rock walls, retaining soil for the olive gardens and vineyards. These terraces represent over 1000 years of toil by peasant farmers. It is estimated that if stretched out they would measure over 3000 miles, equal to the Great Wall of China!

We tow our luggage up the steep path to the bus stop. The bus backs down the hill; the lane is too narrow here to turn around. Finally, we are taken on a winding path of asphalt high in the mountain. From our balcony we have a spectacular view of mountain terraces, villages and ocean.

the David

We don’t leave Firenze without visiting one more Art Gallery, the Accademia. We are not permitted to take photographs here, although several ladies chanced losing their cameras by stealing a picture of Michelangelo’s David. The larger-than-life sculpture depicts the confident David ready to slay the torturous giant, Goliath. A section of the museum devoted to Michelangelo shows a number of his unfinished sculptures, never to be released from their marble form. They are appropriately called prisoners

The gallery displays numerous plaster sculptures by 19th Century artist, Lorenzo Bartolini. Many of his works have been reproduced in marble. Also of interest is a large number of Tempera on Wood paintings retrieved from pre-renaissance church altars.

Even Monica has taken in enough art admiring for one day. After a quick sandwich lunch and a gelato, we navigate the maze of narrow streets – suitable only for pedestrians, motorbikes and pint-sized cars. We come to a crowded piazza known as the San Lorenzo Market, a blend of honest merchants and junk peddlers.

A policeman approaches a busy corner and an unlicensed vendor quickly folds his makeshift table of sunglasses and disappears into the crowd. Monica examines a leather purse and barters for a better price. A merchant tells me a brown corduroy hat will suit me. It’s an endless charade.

Our final taste of Firenze is an evening meal at Il Perione, a trattoria close to the Arno River. I have an antipasti of spinach risotto and a secondo of grilled lamb chops. Monica’s appetite is not quite as voracious, she has a primo of spinach and ricotta ravioli. We both raise a glass of Chianti to our good health and good fortune. Buono appetite!

NOTE: Image of David is from http://www.romaspringbreak.wordpress.com/

Renaissance Men

Travelers come to Italy because they love the people, the pasta, the vino, the gelato, the leather and silk and the lively piazzas. They especially come to Florence for the art.

We’re at the famous Uffizi Art Gallery, home of the greatest works of Italian painters anywhere. The impressive display of medieval and renaissance paintings and sculptures include Botticelli's Birth of Venus. Works of other famous artists such as Rubens, Raphael, and Leonardo di Vinci are also included.

Many of the collections are from Italy’s famous Medici Dynasty. In the 14th Century, the Medici family was the richest in Italy. Their influence rivaled the Vatican. They promoted science, education and culture and were considered to be the Godfathers of the Renaissance.

My appreciation of art wanes with time. Monica is the true art lover. After 3 hours, I’m museumed out. We agree on my leaving, her staying and we meeting later for dinner at the hotel. I follow the exit signs for 20 minutes, a blended pathway of great art and souvenir shops. My interest falls inversely with the rise in the number of merchants I pass.

Outside, I walk along the scenic Arno River with its old stone bridges and busy markets. Past the leather and gold at Ponte Vecchio, I weave my way through the crowded city streets. I come across the Mercato Centrale (think St. Lawrence Market in Toronto). Here, I find the horn of plenty – vino, focaccia, roast chicken, olives, salad greens and dark chocolate. It’s our recipe for an evening of dining on our hotel terrace.

NOTE: Image of Birth of Venus is from
http://www.uga.edu/.../ibotticelli_venus

We don’t always have easy internet access. Some postings will come 2 at a time, but we are never more than a few days behind.

Welcome to Italy!

Our train reaches Firenze (Florence) from Paris 1 ½ hours behind schedule. We suffer from the long ride and lack of sleep. Outside the train station, we queue up for a taxi. The cab driver must have chuckled to himself when he pockets €10 to drop us off at our hotel, just one block away.

We previously asked for an early check-in but unfortunately our room will not be ready for an hour. Monica and I find a caffé nearby and smooth over our nerves with tea, coffee and a panini sandwich. I am tired and irritable as Monica can attest. Finally, our hotel room is ready. “Grazie” we say, using one of only a handful of words we know in Italian. Our kind concierge replies with a smile, “prego”. We are pleased with our room and nap until mid-afternoon.

We get up refreshed and anxious to recoup the rest of the day. We walk the narrow streets to the Duomo, a Gothic structure built in the 14th Century. There are 463 steps to the top and the view of Firenze is spectacular. The façade of the Duomo is made from pink, green and white Tuscan marble. An architectural marvel of the time, the inside of the dome houses the ‘Last Judgment’, one of the largest paintings of the early Renaissance. Michelangelo referred to the Duomo in Firenze whilst building the dome of St. Peter’s in Rome. He said, “I can build its sister bigger but not more beautiful.”

The old city center of Firenze is a hustling, bustling market place. Each piazza provides an assortment of street merchants and tourists. We enjoy a gelato as we take in the sights along the Arno River which runs through the city. We find a place to eat pasta al pesto and drink Chianti. Benvenuto a Italia!

Our French Experience

Some of our well-traveled friends have already spent much time in France. This was our first trip. After 2 weeks, we are leaving for Firenze (Florence), Italy. Our first class tickets give us more comfortable seating, if only we had gotten on the right car. We didn’t. From Chinon back to Paris we sat in between two 1st Class cars, on inferior seats normally reserved for the train attendants.

It was a minor setback and soon forgotten as we lunched on a delicious ‘jambon et fromage’ baguette sandwich we bought from our favourite boulangerie in Chinon. The night train from Paris provides couchettes and a private compartment, but little sleep. We have time to reflect on our French experience.

Many of our base sauces and recipes have evolved from classic French cuisine. The French prepare well-flavoured food. However, they are not the only ones. Italian, Spanish, Canadian and American home and restaurant cooks can also prepare delicious meals. Meticulously detailed presentations set the French apart. Their pastries can be works of art.

The people here are very civilized. Even in Paris I didn’t see or hear anyone get impatient. There were no honking horns at traffic light changes, and no shouting matches at the markets. Language was never a barrier. Our hosts were very receptive to our weak attempts in communicating.

In the parks, we witnessed families engage in a universal language. You don’t need a French-English dictionary to understand the joy of a kid being lifted from the ground by a mom-and-dad swing. When he lands he exclaims something to his parents. We know it means “Again, do it again!”

The climate here is wonderful. Even in Champagne and Normandy, the winters are mild. I was surprised to see so much rolling countryside – so much livestock, so many fields of wheat, corn, and root vegetables. Farming is an important and protected part of the French culture.

I met a gentleman in Paris who had done some travel, but not to Canada. He asks me about the language, and how we get along – the English and the French. I tell him that there are many cultures in Canada and much like brothers and sisters, even if we don’t always agree, we always show up at the dinner table.

Climate Change

The Vienne River runs through Chinon. It’s about as wide and deep as the Exploits. The town has grown on both sides of the river and is connected by 3 bridges. There is a well-used park along the river bank. Monica and I are adapting to the area by finding an assortment of food tastes and sitting in the park for lunch. Today we get a wedge of brie and smoked salmon, cherry tomatoes and strawberries and the best baguette ever. People pass us and cheerfully greet, “Bon Appetit!”

It’s a great place to kick back. We soak up the rays and a little French culture. Monica is re-reading ‘A Tale of Two Cities’, a Dickens’s classic about London and Paris during times of the French Revolution. I’m reading a 17th Century history on the times of the divine monarch, Louis XIV, le Roi Soleil. Maybe knowledge of the French way of life will enter us through osmosis.

The weather here in central France is sunny and warm. I asked the hotel concierge about the climate. “Neige t’il ici en hiver?” I stammer triumphantly.

“We had a hard winter here last year,” he answers in perfect English. “One day it snowed!”

Well, I thought to myself, he’s never been on the Gaff Topsails in February.

It’s the end of September, time for harvest and making jams. A lady enters the lobby with a basket of fresh fruit. She offers pears, figs, quince fruit and kiwi, all locally grown. There are oranges in the hotel garden, palm trees in the park and grapes in the vineyards. C’est bon!