Just when you thought this blog might have finally met it’s timely demise…
We’re baaa-aack!
Our Fall trip to Austria and Slovenia had to be canceled due to Carolyn’s emergency spine replacement surgery (well okay, just parts of it), but she recovered sufficiently to able to go on our holiday trip to the United States.
Due to our multiple experiences flying from Europe to the Pacific Northwest and back, we’ve learned that it’s actually more enjoyable and comfortable to cut the trip into halves. While fewer stops is always good, after a ten to twelve hour flight the pooling of fluids in your body makes your lower legs look as if you’re wearing hockey shin guards under your pants and your shoes feel like size four ballerina slippers. When you walk down the aisle to the restroom, you feel exactly like a cross between a ballerina and a hockey player… one that waited to pee about thirty minutes too long.
In addition to that, each one of the plane’s toilets looks as if a terrorist accidentally set off a hand grenade inside. Which reminds me of this VW ad. It’s worth a click for a quick laugh. Plus it features the car we own in Portugal, the (Marco) Polo.
Anyway, if you break up the trip to a couple of five or six hour segments, you not only save your shoes from looking like a Pillsbury crescent roll tube after you bang it on the counter, but you can actually use the toilet even right before landing and experience only a minimum of dry heaves, depending on which bodily function you are unfortunate enough to require at that time and, more importantly, depending even more on which bodily function the person who just walked out was unfortunate enough to require as well.
As a result of all these scientific calculations, we decided to make a stop in New York City for four or five days. Carolyn had never been, so we wanted to take in all the famous sights. I will say this about New York: Back in the late seventies and eighties, I traveled there a few times, and generally found it dirty, scuzzy, and dangerous. But this trip, I felt very safe, the city was clean and the people pleasant.
Statistics back those observations up, as crime in the city spiked in the 1980’s, mostly due to the crack epidemic. But today, crime is now among the lowest of major US cities. Indeed, New York City is now about the 10th safest in the world. Again, statistics back up what we felt with our “spidey senses.”
Theories abound as to why New York City has improved so much. But I doubt it’s a coincidence that it has some of the toughest gun laws in the country, and they also had a long period where a Democrat was mayor. Just sayin’, especially since Trump likes to blame state and city problems on Democrats where he can, and I hate that kind of partisan nonsense, so I speak up. So there. Regardless, we were delighted to feel as much relative safety as we have in major European cities. Good job New York!
Well, onward and upward with this photo spread of all the major sights in New York City complete with a helluva lot fewer words.
First stop: Times Square. Back in the seventies and eighties it was dominated by a bunch of adult theaters and graffiti. Today it is a glittering testimony to the technology of huge animated billboards. And crowds. Hoo-wee. Might’ve been because of the holidays, but I haven’t seen that many people crammed together since Voodoo donuts announced a free donut day. And they were all friendly. Who woulda thunk in New York?
The answer to the question: “Where the hall is Carnegie?”
We tried smiling in front of it. Honest we did.
This is the Rockefeller Center skating rink. No one goes there anymore because it’s so crowded. So we didn’t either.
It would have been fun to see the Rockettes. We had to settle for this outdoor shot, but then Carolyn made up for it by doing the Can Can for me back in the hotel room. But that’s all I got to say about that.
We even braved the subway. Being lifelong suburbanites (and possibly both of us being a little, shall we say, “short bussy,”), we find mass transit to be a challenge, even when we know the language. As a result, we walked from one end of Manhattan to the other, being proud of ourselves for exercising when it was really only because we felt too stupid to try the subway more than once.
Speaking of the language, while it was nice to be able to understand everything we read and heard, apparently there are still some hotel professionals who struggle with English. “Your are here” indeed.
A must-see while in New York City has to be the 9/11 memorial. They didn’t allow photography throughout a lot of it, but the memorial was very well done and very much worth seeing.
One of the actual fire trucks that arrived on the scene only to be crushed by falling debris.
There are two outside pools where the footprints of the twin towers used to be.
This was the original retaining wall, which was a key piece of engineering in order to keep the Hudson River from seeping in. It is now part of the museum.
It took the better part of an afternoon to see everything in the memorial, but it was time very well spent.
We opted not to take any of our remaining time to go out to Liberty Island, settling for this shot from the docks. It was too freakin’ cold, so we were satisfied to confirm from the shore that the Statue of Liberty still exists.
Every year, the Staten Island Ferry provides 22 million people transportation between Staten Island and Manhattan. And it’s free. No wonder crime is down in New York!
We’ve got this Brooklyn Bridge to sell ya!
Somehow this photo from Paris got into our New York City collection. No, wait, this was in Greenwich Village! It is, in fact, the Washington Square Arch. It was built in 1892 to celebrate the centennial of George Washington’s inauguration as President. And we thought arches like this were only European…
One of the most pleasant surprises was going up the Empire State Building. We hit it when it was near-deserted. Walking through any maze of roped-off lines with no one else in sight is always a nice feeling… unless you think everyone else knows something you don’t.
The experience wasn’t cheap, costing over thirty bucks apiece. But for that you do get to save your wife from the clutches of King Kong, at least after you take the photo.
And you also get to see some magnificent sights. I never tire of experiencing scenic views from atop castles or skyscrapers. Everything looks so clean and beautiful.
The building even had its own red light district. Actually the light is from the heaters which were installed to prevent the wind chill from turning people into Empire State Ice Cubes.
The city looks almost science fiction-y from that far up. Just need some flying cars!
That’s the very tippy top, where King Kong met his demise.
They make it pretty hard to jump off, although at least 30 people have jumped from the Empire State Building since it opened in 1931. The last guy to do it did it in 2006, and that was from the 66th floor, so these barriers are apparently working.
During the elevator ride, you are entertained with a ceiling outfitted with a video presentation. The one on the way up was more interesting than what they played on the way down, making it look like the building was being built as you soared skyward. I didn’t think to take any pictures of it until the way down, when it was really just a kaleidoscopic art piece.
Now back into the city!
This place was as busy as Grand Central Station! Mostly because that’s what it is.
The clean up and safety of the city is no more exemplified than with Central Park. It is now a beautiful park, and is safer than 83% of the cities in the state of New York.
I got a kick out of this pencilly building bordering Central Park. I guess if land is real expensive, you buy a small plot and then go up, up, up!
Gotta do a dog when you’re in New York.
Also gotta do the Metropolitan Museum of Art, or the Met. The Met is the largest art museum in the US, and one of the most-visited museums in the world. About 7.3 million people visited the met in 2018.
Our offerings to the gods have a lot more plastic in them than they used to.
The Met houses over two million pieces of art spanning much of the history of human culture. We didn’t have time to see half that. Or a quarter. Actually, I estimate we saw .00015 of it all, so I’m sure we missed something cool!
Speaking of cool, it snowed while we were there. We were as giddy as school children since Lisbon outlawed snow not long after it was founded.
The majority of our visit, however, was to see friends and family over the holidays, and ring in the new year in the country of our origin. Family photos are rarely of interest to anyone who’s not in them, so the number of photos below bears no resemblance to the importance or delight in our visit. We tried to get to everyone, but sadly there are so many hours in a trip like this, so don’t have your feelings hurt if we missed you. That said, if you’re someone who lives in the Pacific NW and we didn’t see you this visit, please contact us right away because there are damn few people as it is who read the blog this far! If you’re one of ’em, we gotta see you next time!
When you discover that your grandchildren now tower over you.
This is the perfect face for a grandkid to make when opening a present.
Carolyn and her progeny and their girlfriends.
And then when the photos are taken five drinks later.
After the unwrapping frenzy, the men sit back and talk about the good ol’ days.
One of the activities we were taken to was axe throwing, which apparently is a thing now.
After Carolyn demonstrated her expertise, I decided I would make sure I always treat her well.
My oldest son and one of my top two grandsons. Well I only have two, but he’s a great kid, mostly because he thinks I’m really cool for some reason.
Despite the great time we had, and the fun seeing our old haunts and family and friends, we were happy to get back to Portugal.
Happy 2020 everyone!
This entry was supposed to be about what we thought would be an amazing trip to Vienna, Austria; Salzburg, Germany; and Ljubljana, Slovenia.
she ended up in an operating room the same day after being carted away in an ambulance. The hospital scrambled to find a neurosurgeon, and they finally located one named Doctor Watermelon wandering incoherently on the side streets. Fortunately, he sobered up fast, and actually turned out to absolutely terrific. He was kind, humble, down-to-earth, spoke English well, and
Anyway, Dr. Watermelon removed three broken chunks of spine that had been pressing on her spinal nerves, and placed a carbon spacer in there to open up the space and keep that temperamental nerve happy. Apparently nerve pain is a different kind of pain from what you might experience when, for instance, your finger is chopped off. It might be described as to what it might feel like for a woman to give birth to a pumpkin –with the large stem still attached– while a sadist fires a blowtorch on her back as he sings the theme song from “It’s a Small World.”
Speaking of asses, I know the picture here makes it look like she now has two butt cracks, but that’s just the scar… plus the bruises where Dr. Watermelon spanked her for laughing at his name after she started feeling the affects of the anesthesia.
I can just hear the universe snickering as it decided to poke it’s snarky finger into my iPhone and make Google Maps act as if it was sitting under one of those cartoon magnets Wile E. Coyote used to buy from Acme when he was trying to catch the Road Runner.
And I did. Except that it was manned by two officers who spoke no English. Which wasn’t a huge problem, because I can communicate in Portuguese like a non-precocious two-year-old, but more importantly, the bank had given me a note telling me exactly what document the police needed to produce.
Since it was so crowded, parking was nowhere to be found, so I parked about twenty minutes away, up a long hill amongst a thousand tiny roads. I could only hope I’d find the car again, but to be safe, I pinned it in Google Maps.
So I walked back in the direction of the car, hoping I could navigate the maze of little roads Lisbon is so famous for. After a while, I thought, hey, I pinned this in Google Maps. I should be fine. So I looked on Google Maps. I spent fifteen minutes standing on the sidewalk trying to figure out where the hell Google Maps puts the information about the pin you set. I finally gave up and started walking some more. Long story short, I got pretty close, and looked at Google Maps again. There was the pin. Turns out it only shows it to you when you get close enough. The programmers responsible for Google Maps should be sentenced to a month in Lisbon having to find where they pinned something just so they can realize a better system can be had.
But then it really started going haywire. It directed me to go the wrong way on one-way streets. I also ended up in bus/taxi lanes, where I hoped that people would think I was an Uber driver. I managed a U-turn in the middle of a city street because the line of cars ahead of me stretched to infinity, and it wasn’t moving. Google Maps even wanted me to turn straight into a building… I kid you not. There was a long building to my right, with not even a driveway in sight, and it wanted me to turn into it. Once I passed the fake street, it re-routed me again, this time I think to Iceland.
Yeah, I know you can’t exactly blow someone a french kiss, but it is a pretty good metaphor for spitting on someone. Which isn’t to say we’d ever spit on France. Not only did we enjoy our second visit immensely, but we didn’t run into nearly as many rude or arrogant Parisians as we did during our first visit. They’re either getting a little less rude, or our “rudar” is functioning at max capacity and we were able to stay out of their way.
poodles, french press, french rolls, french roofs, french saddles, french telephones, french twists, french vanilla, french windows, and hot damn, that’s just a partial list! Oops, pardon my French.
If you drive around Paris, you might find yourself in the longest urban motorway tunnel in the world. We entered it not knowing we were participating in an actual Guinness world record, but when the tunnel kept going and going and going, we decided to look it up. It kept going for so long that Carolyn was able to read me the entire world history of tunnels as well as most of the history of Tunisia before we saw the light of day again.
Another challenge of driving in Paris is that French people take all their frustrations at everyone who has ever mocked them by driving in the city like the Portuguese do on their freeways.
Perhaps my proudest moment was navigating through a seven or eight lane roundabout (we didn’t really have time to count) without hardly killing anyone. We didn’t get any photos, because I was busy avoiding Renaults, Peugeots, and Citroens driven by spittle-mouthed French people while Carolyn was busy embedding her fingers up to the first knuckle in the dashboard.
Actually there is a another rule… stay on the road, otherwise you might end up looking like a 737 Max.
I became so experienced with French roundabouts (that’s probably another term, meaning “Roundabouts with spittle-mouthed French people”), that I decided to show ’em what Yankees can do when it comes to these kinds of things, complete with the Dukes of Hazzard rental car we were able to score for just another ten euros a day. Of course I had to circle around again just to pick up Carolyn who was filming the whole thing. Either that or I just found this gif on the internet, but I like my story better.
Getting back to our own photos, after parking the car by doing a 360 into a spot reserved for a moped, we strolled over a bridge in Paris, and noticed this sightseeing boat, which surely holds some sort of Guinness Record for the largest length-to-width ratio by a boat. The design is probably called a “French boat,” but it looks more like a long pier that broke loose.
We also saw Washington DC’s capitol building, which was apparently on loan to Paris, maybe for the 75th Normandy landing celebration.
It’s pretty big. The building I mean.
The charm of France is exemplified by these charming French umbrellas. Meanwhile, Carolyn makes fun of bulimic women.
We followed up with some gelado just to show the statue what she’s missing.
We have to admit that our estimation of French intelligence took a nosedive when we saw how poorly thought out their security systems for bridges are.
The most massive, ginormous Door of Day we’ve ever posted.
Truth be told, we’re pretty thrifty travelers when it comes to food. Sure, we eat out plenty when we’re on the road, but we try and balance that with, shall we say, more economical selections, like these delectable French dishes purchased at the grocery store around the corner from our hotel. You just can’t beat quality French cuisine! (As long as you have a microwave.)
Right next to the Quality Suites where we stayed is a little shack called Château de Maisons-Laffitte. Perhaps motivated by the proximity to such grandiosity, the Quality Suites was far better than any of the Quality Suites I’ve seen in the states. It was actually a very nice hotel with what is, to date, the best free breakfast buffet we’ve ever had in our travels. Of course, it was there that I learned that crepes stuffed in your pockets don’t travel well.
On our way back from Normandy, I saw signs for Caen (which we found out is pronounced kind of like “Kong,” as in “King Kong,” but with a drawn-out “o” and just a slight hint of the “g”). The city piqued my interest because it has some degree of notoriety from World War II, since it was the sight of some of the most intense battles of the war in France. Much of the city was destroyed, so most of the old buildings like this church had to be rebuilt from the destroyed stone.
In many places it’s actually a very pretty city. They did a good job of blending the new with the rebuilt-old. Unlike cities like Dresden, which was beholden to the ugly block style of the Soviet overlords, the French actually used architecture pleasing to the eye.
There is a Mémorial de Caen –a museum and war memorial– somewhere in the city, but since we were just cruising through we didn’t see it.
There are these small reminders here and there, however, like this one showing how this particular square looked before and after the bombing.
We did have a kind of crappy, er– crepe-y dinner while there. It was a small restaurant that specializes in crepes, but we weren’t all that impressed. Give us our fresh Portuguese fish any day!
But the city was absolutely charming, and we were glad to have seen it, even if just briefly. Oh, well, you do what you Caen do.
Perhaps my favorite building was this free public toilet. It took us a while to figure out, but what happens is once you do your business and after you leave, the door automatically locks and the entire room is flushed like one gigantic toilet. Now that’s sophisticated sanitation!
After we made our way back to Paris, we decided to visit 
It is so-named because it is housed in a former railway station which was named Gare d’Orsay. We mainly took pictures of the art we recognized, which meant that it was probably famous and something to be admired. That’s pretty much the extent of our historical painting expertise.
Some of the recognition comes from a board game I played when I was a kid, called “Masterpiece.” I guess there are many ways to learn about culture. I’m pretty sure I bid, oh, about one million on the above piece at some time or another.
The nudes were often my favorite. Not because they’re of naked women, for heaven’s sake! Get your mind out of the gutter! But mostly because of the, um, the uh, well, the boobies. Okay, you got me.
Like most men, I guess I like pretty women, although in Carolyn’s case that’s just a side benefit of her warm, kind, and loving personality. Honey, can I come back in the house now?
This is the back of a giant clock, which means we were experiencing time moving backwards. I wondered if we stood there long enough that we might end up back in World War II.
This is the top of the Musée d’Orsay, something I doubt you’ve ever seen before. You can’t say we don’t offer unique experiences in this blog!
You can certainly tell what it used to be, if you have a trained eye, that is. Get it? Trained eye? It was a train station? Oh, the hell with you.
So au revoir France and your tiny little Eiffel Tower! We enjoyed you even more the second time around!
As I mentioned before, due to a missed flight out of Athens, we unexpectedly ended up in The City of Light. Trivia Alert! That nickname came from Paris both being the birthplace of the Age of Enlightenment and because it was one of the first cities in the world with street lights. I wondered about that during our first visit when we were up in the Eiffel Tower. The city didn’t seem any more lit up to me, now I know why!
Right off the bat, you’re pretty sure you’ve made it to Disneyland because they tell you so. But we were still actually a little skeptical… where were the long lines of cars?
Even at the pedestrian entrance, we were pretty much able to walk right through even though we arrived just after the park opened.
Except maybe for the French military police armed with automatic weapons. Can’t say I blame ’em; Paris has been a target for terrorists for some time now. Plus Peter Pan is rumored to have converted to radical Islam.
Some of the signs are in some sort of strange non-English language, so we automatically thought they were stupid. Oh wait! That’s French! It says: “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs.” Aha! I knew we were fluent!
But, I guess not everything translates. While this should probably be: “Terre Frontière,” the French have to live with the English moniker.
This is easily translatable of course, but it bears no resemblance to the Temple of Doom ride in Disneyland Anaheim. It’s a serious roller coaster that had Carolyn seeing double once she stumbled off the ride. But note the wait time… 5 minutes! And this was in the middle of summer! We didn’t go on it again, however. I’m already big enough as it is so her seeing me in double or triple would just be too much. Also note how cheeky the French are, even in Disneyland… the sign on the left tells people where they can get a ticket for their ass. Butts in seats baby!
While Sleeping Beauty’s Castle was very much boilerplate Disney, it had enough differences to differentiate it. Plus there’s something to be said about seeing that castle when you begin walking down Main Street. You’re in Disneyland!
Hyperspace Mountain, the Parisian version of Space Mountain, also gets no French translation. So no “Hyper Espace Montagne” for you, you silly French peoples! I will say that the ride was significantly wilder than the Space Mountain in Anaheim. Carolyn decided against going after she heard the shrieks and screams emanating from the building (plus she’d had her fill of upside-down roller coasters after Big Thunder Mountain and Indiana Jones).
As you can see, being the cheapskate I am, I take a picture of the photos they want to sell you instead of shelling out the ten euros and then letting them gather dust in a box somewhere. I guess that was the A 5541 ride, although I don’t remember a sign telling us that before we got on.
Carolyn wouldn’t let me buy three bottles of popcorn. She can be such a meanie.
And yes, they also have It’s a Small World. I insisted we go through it just so we could get that lovely song stuck in our heads. In fact, click 
These were our favorite words from the ride.
I found it amusing that they would have a baseball player in a country where you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who knows a damn thing about baseball at all.
But when a “Top Ten Disneyland Paris Attractions List” puts It’s a Small World at #4, and #5 is La Tanière du Dragon (The Dragon’s Lair), which is just a short walk-through exhibit with an animatronic dragon at the center, well, let’s just say jaded Americans generally demand a lot more out of their amusement parks.
However, in the end, we did have a good time. I suppose it scratched whatever Americana itches we might have… although we’re so much in love with Portugal and Europe that we really don’t have many of those, besides of course our friends and family.
After our first visit to Paris, Carolyn was a little bummed out that she didn’t get to see the Palace of Versailles.
Of course the palace has plenty of patience and was more than willing to stay just as gaudy as ever no matter when we decided to visit.
It is a sign of more gaudy things to come when you see a fence made out of gold.
As you first approach the palace, you can’t help but be impressed at the size and elaborateness of the grounds and construction.
Pictures don’t do it much justice, but let’s just say it’d be a great place to live out your golden years. Until you were assassinated by some revolting peasants, that is.
We were smart enough to buy tickets online the day before, which saved us probably about an hour of waiting in line.
As you can see, there is no shortage of visitors. This is in the famous Hall of Mirrors, so-named because of all the chandeliers. Oh wait, no, there are mirrors here somewhere.
I guess mirrors were a big thing for rich people back in the day, because poor people had to ask their family how they looked, and since they generally looked pretty bad and families can be brutally honest, the answers they received just kept them depressed and poor. So the rich invented mirrors and made sure they stayed expensive.
With all the mirrors in the room, this could just be a reflection of myself.
There are seventeen arches with mirrors that reflect the seventeen arcaded windows that overlook the gardens, which ask to be overlooked, but we looked over them anyway. Each arch contains twenty-one mirrors, which is why they originally decided to allow people to drink at that age, because after you drink enough, everyone, even me, looks good in a mirror.
During the 17th century, the Hall of Mirrors was used daily by Louis XIV when he walked from his private apartment to the chapel. He thought he looked awesome even when he wasn’t drunk.
As usual, no white space was allowed. Everything has to have a decoration, because otherwise someone might think you didn’t have enough money to decorate every square inch.
They missed a spot (zoom in to figure out where).
This one is spot-free. 100% coverage! Woo hoo! Actually the other one was spot-free too. If you zoomed in… gotcha! Ha ha! See, this isn’t just a travelogue, it’s an immersive interactive experience!
These are paintings.
These are more paintings, except with Carolyn in the shot.
This room was a bust as far as we were concerned.
Oh shoot, now I have to start a new column.
Proof that the iPhone is mightier than the sword. As evidence, I offer the fact that he’s dead, and I’m not. Yet.
This is the Hall of Really Big Paintings.
I can’t remember what the hall this is.
Excuse me, I guess they’re called salons. So this must be the Salon of Really Big Fireplaces.
If I was assigned to paint that ceiling, I would’ve tried it with massive squirt guns filled with paint, so I wouldn’t have had to lay on my back for years. It probably would’ve just been a big mess, but then I could’ve called it abstract art.
Rumor has it they played chess on that floor. Note the king standing by the wall as evidence. Okay, that’s why they call it a “rumor.” I don’t know who started it. Well, I do, actually, but I’ll pretend that’s a rumor too. Anyway, my queen is there as well.
I don’t know where the hall this goes, or why no one’s here. I think someone farted.
They put the “omigawd” in gaudy, that’s for sure!
Carolyn’s listening to the statue talk to her. At least she’s fully clothed. The statue, I mean.
Ah, now we’re back to the good stuff. After all, they didn’t have HBO back then.
They’re both trying to figure out what that picture means across the room. She gave up, but he’s still at it.
Which one of us do you think is the more statuesque? And for the record, I really wasn’t trying to flip anyone off. I was trying to hold my iPhone like a cane. Of course, it might be ironic if this guy tortured one of my ancestors, in which case my bird would be completely justified!
Okay, you can have another shot at the statuesque question with this one. Rats; I already know the answer. Men are never called statuesque. That’s only for women… and statues. Foiled again!
Isn’t that awesome? You’d think the French would have subsequently learned a thing or two about bathrooms after all that, wouldn’t you? But no-o-o-o. While I didn’t take a picture of what I’m about to describe, I have to apologize to all women on behalf of all men for the fact that almost no architects seem to understand the differences in sexes when it comes to bodily plumbing. There is a distinct shortage of bathrooms in the palace even today, but, as usual, the number and size are equal between the sexes. So of course you end up with a line of women about a hundred meters long while men jauntily breeze by on their way to immediate relief in the plentiful urinals. I actually saw a couple of women give up and go into the men’s room, for which I cheered them on heartily. I would’ve done the same thing. Women really need to rebel over this. I would happily stand side by side with them, because it’s just silly and unfair. Give the women their peedom!
In our visits to other palaces and such, we learned all about the origins of some of that stonework, but have since completely forgotten every detail except that it’s kinda purple. That’s why I don’t pay much attention to tour guides anymore… it’s interesting at the time, but five minutes later I’ll have forgotten it all while I hunt for a gelado.
A very suitable Door of the Day.
After walking through the salons and halls while being buffeted about by anxious Japanese tourists clicking their cameras at every square inch of gaudiness, we finally plunged outside, gasping for breath and wiping our sweaty brows. Even though the weather was a little gloomy, we were delighted to inhale fresh air.
Our road has been paved! Our road has been paved! About a year and a half ago, they began tearing up the road in front of our house in order to lay a sewer line. Finally, after breathing enough dust to make any Burning Man attendee nostalgic, they paved the road. Who would’ve thunk two people would get so excited to see a road paved?
Okay, so now we’re outside; the back of the place looks like Disneyland’s Haunted Castle, except ten times bigger and a hundred times more real. Maybe that’s why they call it “real estate.”
This is the sight that greets you once you step outside of that hellhole of a palace.
I think the gardener was stoned when he mowed the lawn. Oh wait! Carolyn tells me they did this on purpose. Aha! Art! I get it now!
Speaking of being stoned, I was trying to look high here for the joke, but ended up just looking kinda stupid. Well, maybe that’s the same thing.
Here’s a broader view of the gardens. I say that because Carolyn took the picture. And because, you know, she’s a broad. And we’re abroad. Now that I think about it, after living abroad for all this time, going back to the US is what will feel like going abroad.
So just imagine that this is your house, and you get all the way down to where Carolyn is and you realize you forgot your keys.
He’s naked and I’m not… and I know you’re glad for both of those things.
This is definitely a rip-off for the ladies. Hey-ho! The leaf must go! At least I think that’s what the protesters were saying.
To make up for it, I took this shot just for you ladies. My guess is most of you appreciate this more than the front view anyway. You can’t tell me I don’t listen to women… indeed: what you say never goes in one rear and out the other.
Will someone please give her a hand?
You have to admit that this picture of a statue is less interesting than when one of us is goofing around in front of it. If you disagree, well, go type in “statue” in Google and have a ball. But if you do that, come back to the blog! There might be more statues here too!
And fountains! We have plenty of fountains!
Despite their beauty, s
They also quickly erected some pillars and stuff to make the palace look more impressive. Just kiddin’. That thing in front is an elevator still under construction. Just kiddin’ again. It’s a fire escape, obviously. Or telescope. Or maybe a big blender. Obviously you’re getting what you pay for in a tour guide.
The gardens cover about 800 hectares of land, much of which is landscaped in the classic French formal garden style. Here Carolyn is landscaped in the Portuguese casual chic raincoat style.
A hectare is 100 meters by 100 meters, which is about the size of a professional rugby field, so figure the gardens are 800 of those all put together. 800 hectares also equals 8 square kilometers, or a little over 3 square miles. If you prefer acres, 800 hectares is 1,976.84 acres.
Another way to put it is that it would take the average lawnmower 44,302 litres of gasoline to mow it all. I just made that up, there’s no way I’m gonna try and figure that one out. Let’s just say it’s all pretty damn big.
And there are yet more fountains. Of course, this may have shut off once we turned our backs.
And this one probably turned on as soon as we had turned around from the last one to look at this one. Sneaky water-savers, those French.
So we tried to trick them by turning our backs, but the fountains can spot a selfie a hectare away.
Some of the hectares.
We’re not sure where the hectare we are.
Aha! Found it on the map. The big lawn thingee.
Just to give you an idea as to the scope of this thing. And to think it was just a King’s backyard! No wonder the peasants ended up revolting!
Dancing waters.
I took this picture because the worker was literally walking around this tree picking up leaves and twigs. I guess that’s job security for ya, because I think as soon as he was done on one side, there were plenty of new leaves and twigs on the other side.
Our artistic shot of the day.
The trees made it all cool and peaceful. Which meant I had to shout some taunts at passing English tourists: “Your mother was a hamster, and your father smelt of elderberries! Pffffft! Pffft! Prrrfft!” (Some will get it, some won’t.)
Versailles is the answer to the following Jeopardy question: What would a residence look like if you had unlimited funds and were especially interested in impressing your national neighbors?
And so we said goodbye to a truly magnificent palace and gardens. But I gotta tell ya, if I’d a been a peasant back then, I would have been revolting too!
As soon as Carolyn showed me a picture of this tiny French island with a monastery on top, I knew we’d have to visit it.
To get there, you first have to catch a bus from the parking lot, which we were grateful for because it was a bit of a rainy day.
But even through the mist and the rainy windows, you can’t help but be impressed as you approach.
Once you get off the bus, you still have a walk on the long walkway that connects the island to the mainland.
But we were smart enough to bring an umbrella, so the water didn’t dampen our spirits any.
As you approach, the abbey looms above you like a gigantic haunted house.
Which apparently didn’t scare the smiles off our faces.
Upon entry into the town, you’re greeted by a cute little avenue lined with merchants hawking all sorts of touristy goods. It almost looks like something you’d see in Disneyland.
The island has supported strategic fortifications since ancient times.
It actually was a prison for a time, sort of Alcatraz-like due to its location. I doubt the prisoners were this cheerful, generally.
These victories left the occupants, especially the king on his throne, feeling rather smug.
During the Hundred Years’ War, England made numerous assaults on the island but were unable to seize it due to the abbey’s strong fortifications.
Mont-Saint-Michel is visited by more than 3 million people annually. Well, now 3 million and two. France protects over sixty of its buildings as historical monuments.
This is either a fireplace or where they roasted their enemies for lunch.
I think it might be the latter. Here, they would be preparing Asian cuisine.
The original site was founded by an Irish hermit, who amassed a bit of a following, one that began dublin’ every year or so, ire-ronically.
The salt marsh meadows surrounding the island were found to be ideally suited to grazing sheep. The meat that results from this diet makes agneau de pré-salé (salt meadow lamb), a local specialty. We didn’t know that then, which now makes us feel a little sheepish..
I think this might be a statue of St. Michael, but I’m just winging it. According to other people who were also winging it, the legend is that the archangel Michael appeared to the bishop of Avranches and instructed him to build a church on the rocky islet.
In 1067 the monastery of Mont Saint-Michel gave its support to William the Conqueror in his claim to the throne of England. He rewarded that with properties and grounds on the English side of the Channel, including a small island off the southwestern coast of Cornwall which was modeled after the Mount and became a Norman priory named St Michael’s Mount of Penzance.
It’s nice that they put a putting green in, but I couldn’t find any flags. Or putters. Or golf balls. Silly French peoples.
This room is called, “Crypte des gros piliers,” although the pillars didn’t seem very gross to me.
Except they are kinda gross as hiding places.
Carolyn was excited to learn that Mont Saint-Michel was the inspiration for the design of Minas Tirith in the film The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King.
It also served as the artistic inspiration for the Disney movie Tangled.
This device is cleverly called “The Wheel.” They used it to haul up supplies and VCRs so they could watch The Lord of the Rings and Tangled.
The door of the day.
And one organ.
Before the construction of the first monastic establishment in the 8th century, the island was called Mont Tombe. The construction of the Romanesque church of the abbey was begun in the 11th century,
The church is at the very top of the island, signifying God being above.
Which offers some spectacular views of any invading troops.
This seagull is inspecting their firing range, because of course they have to practice in order to hit their targets efficiently.
Many underground crypts and chapels had to be built to compensate for all the weight of that construction.
On June 6, 1944, the allies used the largest armada ever assembled to invade Nazi-occupied France.
The beach views are so iconic that when I sent a picture of one to my son Josh, who is well-versed in World War II lore, asking if he could guess where we were, he got it on the first try. I was hoping he’d still think we were in Greece, but he’s too smart for that.
I gotta tell ya, the thing I didn’t expect was the emotional feeling of standing on the beach and looking over the water, picturing the mass of ships greeting the Germans who woke up that morning. You just can’t mentally picture that the same way on any other beach.
It was and still is the largest seaborne invasion humanity has ever known.
There’s an interesting monument on the beach: the Les Braves Omaha Beach Memorial.
Flags of the allies stand guard over the Les Braves Omaha Beach Memorial.
And yet another memorial, this one is called the Omaha Monument to the Allies. It says:
I presumed these soldiers weren’t a part of some sort of time-traveling expedition.
Having not been there before, I don’t know if they were there for the 75th anniversary or if it’s a usual touristy thing.
Other than this sign, and whatever leftovers we saw from the 75th anniversary celebration, it wasn’t particularly touristy otherwise. A few restaurants, but mostly the focus is on the monuments and the beach, which it should be.
You can even eat at the L’Omaha. We checked the menu and it was overpriced, which was no surprise. What was surprising is that they didn’t offer Omaha Steaks.
Lots of signs around the area give you an idea as to what transpired.
Including detailed maps of the invasion force.
Or just a sign telling you you’ve found the right beach.
There’s also an Overlord Museum. I assumed it was put there to commemorate me.
We didn’t go inside because we got there a little late in the day, but they have lots of vehicles outside you can take a gander at.
Carolyn’s tanked.
Which means I had to get tanked too.
I’m pretty sure our car couldn’t roll over these.
Putting the “art” in “artillery.”
It’s all Greek –er French, to me.
And then there’s the cemetery. It covers 172.5 acres and contains 9,388 burials.
And not one where we felt it very appropriate to take a big smiling selfie.
Once we left there we stopped at a -–gasp– McDonalds, just because we were in a slight rush and besides, we wanted to commemorate what the victory eventually brought the Europeans: McDonalds! Burger King! Disneyland! Heart attacks! The reason I took this picture is because the place was so busy, they were stacking food on the countertops. But it wasn’t just busy, it was haphazard. Probably these least organized McDonalds I’ve ever been to.
Actually, it should be: Phaistos then the City of Light.
The only problem was that it was a Saturday night and the middle of busy season and some sort of convention was in town besides, so the travel agent simply could not find anyplace for us to stay in Athens. He even looked well outside of Athens, and then he got down to one-star hotels, and then to cardboard boxes on sidewalks, all with no luck. Well, to be fair, the cardboard box people never answered the phone.
Oh, the joys of retirement! Of course, that still meant we had to spend the night in the airport, which is why you see me in the picture above with a sleeping mask on. We actually got kicked out of a Burger King where we had hunkered down, because you can’t have indigents sleeping in your restaurant, I guess, even in an airport.
But before we get to Paris, there’s one last place in Crete I want to share, a place called Phaistos, or faistos, according to that sign.
Phaistos is the place where they found the famous Phaistos disc, which may be where they got the name for it I’m thinking. Anyway, without the Phaistos disc, you may not have been able to read this blog, because they’re the ones who invented typography! Of course, I’m sure some of you may wish they hadn’t after reading some of my dumb jokes. Since the Phaistos disc has never been translated, I’m rooting for it to be a dumb dad joke.
We hired a tour guide to show us all the particulars… oh, wait, that’s Carolyn. No wonder the tour was so cheap!
Here’s a question for you: How many jars do you see here?
And I thought stairs weren’t invented until the escalator.
Here’s a view of some of the city from above. As you can see, the Minoans invented a lot of things we take for granted today, like fast food. It’s what ultimately led to their doom.
Phaistos was the home of Radamanthis, the brother of the king of Minos. In Greek mythology, Minos was the first King of Crete, and the son of Zeus and Europa. Every nine years, he made King Aegeus pick seven young boys and seven young girls to be sent to the labyrinth to be eaten by the Minotaur. Sounds like a lot of bull to me.
Phaistos is the second largest palace of Crete after Knossos.
Just like the other palaces of Minoan Crete, the palace was destroyed three times. This was rebuilt on the ruins of the old buildings in 1700 BC.
Despite its age, we were impressed at the sophistication of the layout, as well as the spectacular views afforded from its hilltop location.
The palace continued to be used even after its destruction in 1400 BC. It gradually lost its power until nearby Gortyn finally destroyed it in 200 BC. And no, Gortyn wasn’t the name of one of the minotaurs, it was another city/state on Crete.
This room rocks.
Pink Floyd would be proud.
Well: that’s a deep subject.
Why is it every hole is used as a garbage can, even in such an historical area?
In addition to the palace, they had a theater with a great view of both the palace and the panorama. There are no records as to which movies played in the theater.
Carolyn does her best Rocky impression.
This are the queen’s quarters. The fact that archeologists can figure stuff like that out will always impress me. I woulda thought it was the TV room.
… A few days later, we were sleeping in an airport waiting for an early morning flight to Paris. I was embarrassed to be seen with a sleeping mask on, so I wore the sunglasses to disguise myself.
Driving in Crete was a minor challenge since we couldn’t make heads nor tails out of the signs.
Especially the ones that were all shot up. We learned there was at least one village that became uninhabited after an all-out war between another village due to some sort of revenge feud. I’m not sure Cretans should own very many guns.
Some of the signs direct you to crappy places.
While others direct you… everywhere.
The many canyons and ridges make for some interesting roads.
We occasionally ended up on dirt roads with no guardrails, often with drops up to, I don’t know, I’m estimating here, about a million meters straight down? One dirt road the GPS took us down was so narrow and dangerous we carefully backed up and went back the way we came.
I’m not sure if this sign means be cautious about the cliff or the guy with the gun.
Many of the towns have two-way roads that aren’t any bigger than a one-lane. You just have to wait your turn (or sometimes back up… or maybe sacrifice your side mirrors) if you spot a car down the road.
Even on the highways, they are a bit creative. This two-lane highway essentially functions as a three or four lane highway because everyone who isn’t passing rides the shoulder.
I’d hate to be the guy who dented that guardrail: on the other side is a drop straight down to death. Many of the roads would have done the Road Runner cartoon proud. I could imagine something plunging off the side… and then I’d hear a long, fading whistle… and then a distant poof! as Wile E. Coyote meets his temporary doom.
Sometimes it was better to just sit by the side of the road. But the many sightseeing areas also have huge drop offs, sometimes with no barriers. If she would’ve fallen over this one, she just would have just rolled downhill like a snowball in an avalanche instead of a straight plunge to instant death. So it’s possible she could’ve survived. I’m happy to report she didn’t test the situation.
Even in ancient Crete, hobbits obviously built their own castles.
There are two interesting beaches we wanted to see: Balos Lagoon and Elefonsi Beach. They are both quite out of the way, with lots of tiny towns and narrow roads, including this one-way tunnel.
When you get behind a truck like that, you ain’t gonna pass him anytime soon.
The road to Balos Lagoon is one of the most treacherous roads we’ve ever been on… on an island with a lot of treacherous roads.
There are no guardrails next to a cliff called, “And we’ll never hear from you again.”
A few natural barriers might help if you find yourself wrestling control of your vehicle with a madman. Carolyn rarely has to do that.
Here it looks like a two-lane road, but there were long stretches were two cars couldn’t pass without one of them having its wheels halfway over the cliff.
The goats keep a lookout to make sure everyone drives safely.
They even man (goat?) the roadside stands selling the ubiquitous Cretan honey.
We just had to pay the occasional goat toll to be granted passage.
There’s one lane, and then a goat lane. I guess it helps to be a little sheepish when navigating that road.
It went on for a good number of miles. I’d guess it took us about a half an hour to get all the way there.
This gives you some idea why.
This looks like a traffic jam, but is actually just cars parked ahead of the actual parking lot. It was our first clue that the place was gonna be packed.
One foot from Pancakeville.
Upon our arrival at Balos, we were of course greeted by the Welcoming Goat.
Now he’s off to greet the other new arrivals.
Time for a cigarette break.
Once in the parking lot, we discovered it was going to be a long walk just to get to the beach. So, while we didn’t have a lot of time owing to our impending flight that afternoon, these intrepid explorers made the trek.
The path was marked for us by the considerate goats.
Once we crested the final hill, we were greeted with a sight that elicited oohs and ahs.
I think we’re mostly happy here that we actually made it, risking life and limb as well as a long, hot walk.
Of course, the other thing we discovered was that the already-long walk was just to a vista of the lagoon. You have to walk all the way down there if you want to get to the beach.
We encountered a few people returning, all of whom were desperately out of breath after making the long, arduous climb.
So we settled for the gorgeous views of one of the most beautiful lagoons we’ve ever seen.
The smart people take a boat to the beach instead.
Everyone else just admires the views and laments the fact that they’re not twenty-years-old anymore. This twenty-something is simply a wimp.
The other beach we wanted to see is called Elefonsi Beach. Not long ago, Elafonisi Beach was a secret known only to some locals on Crete. Then, in 2014, TripAdvisor named it one of the world’s top 25 beaches, and all tourist hell broke loose.
We thought we were going to see something like this beach in the Philippines.
Instead, all we got was this.
It’s really just a little tinge of red on the edge of the water. I think we were sold a bill of goods!
I mean, it is a nice beach and all…
Appropriate for a selfie or two…
And they have some nice flags.
And truthfully, it is a pretty beach, and well worth spending a day there. We were only there to take a quick look because we didn’t want to miss our flight.
And then the busses started arriving. Thanks TripAdvisor! I’m sure the locals love that site now. Not.
After all that sightseeing, lunch is a welcome respite! Like the Portuguese, the Greeks are warm and gracious restaurant hosts. We had several lively conversations with our waiters.
We gotta finish up with a kiss… because you gotta kiss-a-mo’ if they tell you to!
…and then we drove off into the sunset.
Phtew! Phtew! We were hocking loogies all over the place in Crete.
It’s a seaside town with a ring of stores and restaurants fronting the harbor. The artifacts in this picture (not the old guy) provide evidence of the town’s seafaring ways, and are one of the first sights you see when you first walk into Chania Old Town.
A whole slew of restaurants await for prompt seating and a great view of the harbor. Almost every one of them is fronted by a pitchman encouraging you to come sample their offerings… other than a few that feature signs saying, “We won’t bother you!” Except I noticed they sort of bothered you anyway, as if the sign gave them some sort of reverse psychology permission.
A few musicians and other street entertainers provided for a jovial entrance into old town. This guy was playing some AC/DC if I recall.
It took a bit of work, but I finally got this light pole all straightened out properly.
So here’s Chania from the ocean view. As you can see, despite it being June, there’s snow on them thar mountains. We didn’t expect that in the middle of a Mediterranean summer.
They really do a nice job of making things cute and clean. It was this way all around Chania Old Town. The rest of Chania was just like any other town, but they really know how to cater to tourists in the tourist area.
If you see many pictures of Chania, one of them is bound to be one with this lighthouse prominently featured. It’s an iconic part of Chania. It was originally a Venetian lighthouse built around the late 16th century, although it’s sometimes referred to as “Egyptian” because it was built during a time where Crete was occupied by Egyptian troops.
Here’s a close-up, taken after a very hot fifteen minute walk around the harbor (the lighthouse is located at the end of a long protective breakwater that protects the harbor from the sea). During the Turkish occupation the lighthouse fell into disrepair. It was eventually rebuilt between 1824 and 1832, although they kept the original Venetian base. It was leaning badly due to bombings during World War II, but it was extensively renovated in 2005.
A tourist submarine is is on her way out of the harbor. We didn’t do many of the touristy things there, however; the town was charming enough all on its own…
The Nazis bombed the hell out of Chania in 1941, especially Old Town. I think before that the town name was simply pronounced “Shania,” but the bombings rattled the residents’ fillings so much they couldn’t say the “sh” without sounding like they were hocking a loogie. I wonder if any of our Portuguese friends have ever heard the term “hocking a loogie?”
Apparently the Chanians pointed their cannons straight up to try and hit the German planes, but once they put them in cement this way, they couldn’t figure out how to put in the gunpowder and cannonball. No wonder Crete kept losing wars.
They do much better in peacetime, as evidenced by these clean and friendly promenades leading from the harbor.
Here’s a panoramic view of Chania from the seawall.
Here’s a view of the seawall.
You gotta admit it’s a pretty little town.
Here’s our view from the top of the hotel (really more of an Airbnb).
And here’s what we did up there. As far as you know.
As with so many places in Europe, old meets new everywhere you go.
And the sea meets land.
And the man meets woman. So if you don’t think we’re happy as hell being able to do all this traveling and stuff? Of course we are! These are our expressions before we put on our happy faces for the camera!
Horse carriages await tours around the town. We almost did that, but for no good reason we kinda missed it. Oh, well, maybe we only missed out on some horse farts.
I thought this salad bar was a little odd, and was glad we didn’t eat at whatever restaurant it was a part of.
Purple is one of my favorite colors. This tree (and my wife) is magnificent. I think she’d look good in purple hair, but I haven’t been able to convince her of that yet.
I thought of my son and his wife when we saw this store offering nothing but honey and honey products, because they raise bees in the state of Washington.
Honey is a big thing in Crete (so I’m not sure why this mannequin looks like the bees got put inside his hat). There are a ton of small shops and roadside stands around the island offering either honey, raki, or ouzo, the last two effectively being the national drinks of Crete.
The history of Crete goes back to the 7th millennium BC, preceding the ancient Minoan civilization by more than four millennia. The Minoan civilization was the first civilization in Europe and the first, in Europe, to build a palace.
A good view of the charming seafront.
A panoramic view of the charming seafront.
A great view of a car in a gas station.
Anyway, finally after about a half an hour, a harried employee hustles into the small office and starts processing people. One rude man butted in line ahead of the rest of us, a circumstance much more common in Europe than in the US. I complained, but the employee just shrugged.
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