Hard to find a spot at the beach in Monaco. Except when it’s raining. This was on Sunday. We stretched our stay out a couple of days.
And the weather got better
And Better
At last today is perfect. But the Yacht Show is starting this afternoon and the town is a zoo. Deck shoes and really extensive plastic surgery everywhere. Our hotel is completely sold out so we have to move on.
To Cannes! More to follow.
Look at the picture in the elevator. It warns you that pale skin and small breasts are not permitted on the beach
Planning to take a journey that was unplanned does not mean that no planning occurred. The obvious example? We purchased tickets to and from Amsterdam. We planned to be gone for a definitive period of time. We planned to travel by train. What was “unplanned” was any semblance of an itinerary after day 1.
Though we had no schedule or to-do list we did have to prepare. We had to pack clothes for the journey. These clothes would need to provide flexibility in a variety of social and climactic settings, would be generally consistent with the local styles, allow a certain number of days’ continuous travel, and had to fit in a carry on sized roller bag and a rucksack. Each person has to be able to schlep their stuff up and down stairs and passageways if required.
You start by selecting your laundry interval. That is the number of days you can go without having to hand wash or launder a particular article. I won’t delve too far into the question of “how many times can I wear this T-shirt before it’s dirty?” For purposes of this discussion we will assume you can wear something one and half times. A wearing is a full day. So if I wore a shirt all day Tuesday, I could wear it Wednesday morning during the early walk and activities prior to showering. Thus a day and a half. Smoky rooms or rain may abbreviate the wearing period.
The only exception to this rule is underwear. Once is it. No inside out, No Commando unless you are deployed in an active war environment. Maybe can be stretched to include the early next day walk. Butt no further.
Our laundry interval was seven days. Guess what is happening on Saturday evening before we paint the town red? You got it. Laundry. I have worn all of the pants and shorts in my bag, although each is not to the full 1 and half day limit. Somehow I still seem to have plenty of clean shirts. Four I think. This seems to happen every time I travel. I have started to think that maybe all the extra baggage you end up with is just your own shirt.
Our third Italian train in two days. The most timely was only twenty minutes late. With that, you wonder if it’s a problem when the train is fifty minutes late and the entire crew is milling around on the platform outside. Lots of hand waving, phone calling and device checking.
And you are inside. The Train.
It reminds me of a story. Of a warm summer’s evening. On a train bound for nowhere.
We got zero chance of meeting the gambler because none of us smoke and we sure as hell are not sharing our wine with some itinerant bum. That would be enabling. It’s just as well I guess. Can you imagine the paperwork you’d be doing if you are caught sitting next to some dead dude in Italy?
Well we are back on the way. Apparently the crew just need a cigarette.
Food post to follow about Lyon. So much to eat. We’re still digesting.
Lyon has 23 Michelin starred restaurants. You can’t miss that info because it is worked into every sentence. An example:
“How’s the weather?”
“Well just as I was having the soup at Le Cordon Snob, it’s one of Lyon’s 23 Michelin stars don’t you know……”
Anyway the food everywhere was spectacular. Having that much culinary firepower in one spot forces everyone to raise their game. The downside? Lyon’s regional specialties involve lots of guts, organs, brains and fluids.
One recommended neighborhood spot had a price fixe dinner for about $30. Delicious Salad Lyonnaise for the first course. Like a Caesar on steroids. For the second course there were seven courses. Four were a variation on tripe. That’s two thumbs up for cow’s stomach! The other three courses involved other parts. Let’s say that my blood sausage was delicious but definitely not a tell me how you made it dish.
The trip over the top of the Alps was billed as one of the most beautiful train rides around. Hard to argue with that
It is a little known fact that Belgians are obsessive about the lowly French Fry, aka Pomme Frites. Our crack research team had discovered this fact while not planning our trip. We had been wandering the streets of Ghent for a couple of hours traipsing from Church to Castle. It was well past five o’clock stop time. Those who have followed this blog closely over the last week know that the “Five O’Clock Stop” is a sacred and seldom missed travel ritual
As we wandered back and forth the discussion moved to the need for the “Stop” and then to “let’s go to the top rated frites place in Ghent”. Discussion ensued as well as repeated referrals to the Yelp reviews and the online map. By repeated I mean repeated. And then some. This lead to a back and forth discussion of the reliability of 20 or 30 reviews for a spot versus say 300. While my crack research team was digressing I looked up and without moving from the spot of the deliberations took this picture.
Atelier is French for shop or workshop. This literally is the French Fry store and manufactory. Turns out it was the third highest rated French Fry vendor in Ghent and the product was delicious.
Wallaby
Alpaca
Some sort of weasel, ferret looking thing. I think it was named Scot
While our day in Bruges was rhapsodic we were able to learn of a major gang issue plaguing the old town Brugge. Packs of thugs mob the streets and attractions. They swarm the Choclatiers and the Waffliers (en the original Flemish) wiping out their inventories. It was troubling to see. Like a flash mob of evil. One Gang we saw was lead by a monster with a particular sense of shocking style. Their progress was marked by a tiny pink parasol held high in the air by their leader. Locals quickly left their path for the other side of the street. The tableaux was reminiscent of a nightmarish marching band with a giant drum major. Both taller and wider than your faithful correspondent she was head of a parade of villainy worthy of, and in fact requiring a wide berth.
Perhaps the most notorious of these gangs announces their affiliation by displaying their colors in a brazen fashion. They flout any sense of order and decorum as they move en masse through the narrow streets, swarming through the shops and galleries. The pictures below were taken by a brave undercover correspondent.
Based on the number of your questions in the comments it is apparent you would like to hear more about the trains as a travel experience.
Day 1 Amsterdam to Gent via Antwerp and Rotterdam. Really easy, even jetlagged. No Bar Car experience.
Day 2 to Bruges and back to Ghent Approximately 30 minutes each way. Train station in Gent well located downtown. Bruges was a 15 minute walk down a cobblestone street with the roller bag brigade. it was a lot louder and more clickety than the train. Two thumbs up for the Medieval Express. No Barcar experience.
Day 3 finally got a shot at the high speed TGV. took the local from Gent to Brussels than were able to get “reservations” for the TGV from Brussels to Lyon. Turned out to be a little more drama than we wanted. the car we were assigned to had been oversold by a few hundred people. Let’s acknowledge the extensive bar car experience necessary here as we were two seats short for three legs of the trip. It is worth waiting for an assignment if you have a lengthy trip ahead. 200 mph in any sort of ground transportation is cool. otherwise just a very typical train experience.
Day 5 We are on the way to Chur, Switzerland via Geneva and Zurich. We have moved out of the absolutely flat Dutch, Belgian and Northern France countryside to rolling hills in Lyon. Now heading into the Mountains. After the switch in Geneva we promise a bar car update.
