Europe 1969

 Itinerary   

 Introduction (by Marc Evans) 

The onion skin paper on which this log was typed had been gathering dust and decaying for 40 years, when I picked it up, read the adventure recorded, and entered it on-line for preservation and expansion.  Some things simply cannot be improved by revision, adornment, elaboration, or by all the king’s horses and the all the king’s men.  Humpty Dumpty was one such thing.  A travel log is another.  What is recorded immediately after the experience is not only fresh but it is so wedded to the experience as to be part of it.  A rehashing a year later or 40 years later is bound to miss some of the flavor and texture.  But it can fill in some blanks and present a broader perspective.  That’s what I hope to achieve.

While I didn’t join my parents, Andy & Shirley Evans, on their tour of Europe in 1969, I almost did and I’ve thought about and heard about their adventures over the intervening years. Months before they set off on the trip, they offered me the choice of going on their planned expedition or getting a color television.  I was 13 (or soon to be) at the time, and this was about the toughest choice I’d ever had to make.  I went back and forth.  I realized the splendors I would likely encounter on a European tour of three weeks and the memories I’d collect, but darn, I sure did want a color TV.  And the way I understood it was that it would be my very own set.  I must have gone back and forth on which to choose half a dozen times, but in the end I chose the television.  Oh, well, we all make mistakes.  For one, I didn’t get my own TV, and the family, as I recall, didn’t get one at all for a couple years or so.  And of course TV or no TV, it would all be forgotten in no time at all; whereas, here I am 40 years later writing about a trip I never even took.  But then on the other hand my parents didn’t have to drag around a 13 year old from Barcelona to Rome and back.  And since they’d never had the opportunity to take such a whirlwind vacation, they deserved the treat.

So while I spent most of July with Grandma Evans in an apartment in downtown Cincinnati (and there are some tales to be told in another log of that adventure) and my little brother and sister, Curt and Gwen, where sent to stay with Grandma & Grandpa Kestel, the folks went off on the vacation of a lifetime.  Here’s then is what they did and saw.

§

Log Note: This 2009 version of the Europe 1969 travel log is a revised and expanded version of the original typewritten log completed in 1969.  Beyond corrections to the original text (predominately spelling and punctuation), the revised log includes an introduction, coda, itinerary table, lots of images, and expanded coverage for each day under the heading “2009 Notes.”  Additionally, Page 1 of the original log (incorporating all of Day 1 and part of Day 2) was missing and accordingly has been recreated by Andrew Evans.  The revisions are the result of the collaborative efforts of Shirley, Andy, & Marc Evans.  The original log is available on-line here à 1969. 

In addition to the original log, the trip was further memorialized in a scrapbook, that had come unglued (or more accurately untapped) over the years.  The scrapbook contained a hand-drawn map, receipts, mementos & souvenirs, postcards, and all of the trip photos, as well as a few brief handwritten comments regarding some of the pictures.  The contents of the scrapbook have been scanned and the originals saved in a folder, but the scrapbook itself, alas, has been sent to the old scrapbook scrapheap.

Note 9/20/14: Page 1 of the log was originally missing but was found on 9/19/14 while going through Dad’s papers. The contents have been added to all versions of the log.

Day 1: Saturday, July 5, 1969    

The train up to New York was pleasant. Surprisingly, there's a full blown airline terminal in N.Y.C. and we checked through to Barcelona. It was a half hour bus ride out to JFK (traffic was light).  

Lufthanza was quite pleasant - beer is 25 cents, wine 50 cents, and the food excellent. Cloudy the whole way across. It was the middle of the night?  The north horizon is light, like just before dawn in the east. 

2009 Notes:

[Dad] Our flight on Lufthansa, from JFK to Frankfort, was scheduled to depart at about 6 PM. We traveled to JFK by the cheapest option, which entailed leaving early to catch a bus from Broomall to 69th St. and then to 30th St. and then a taking the train to New York City. Our luggage consisted of two Samsonite bags, strong as hell, but heavy as hell. Fortunately, we were young and in good shape and managed to drag them along.

I think we took the subway from Penn Station in New York to Grand Central Station, where there was a check-in point for Lufthansa flights. From there we took a limo to the airport. All this was part of our package deal, which included transportation between New York and Barcelona, a first night hotel, a three-week stay at a cheap Barcelona hotel (we used about 5 nights), and a car for the entire trip.

The flight over was great—top-notch service, food and drink. From the outset, however, Lufthansa set itself apart from their more timid competitors. There was the usual polite request for the passengers to take their seats prior to departure. This, however, was followed by the rather brusque command “VILL YOU PLEASE SIT DOWN!” That cleared the aisles.

We were on the north side of the plane, and the sky stayed light the whole way over. Got into Frankfort about 8 AM after an excellent breakfast and were confined to the international terminal. Thought I'd have some coffee (since we had to wait a couple of hours for our connecting flight to Barcelona), but everyone else seemed to be drinking beer so—so did I.The flight to Barcelona was much shorter. Upon arrival we were met and taken to our hotel. Did very little on day two other than looking around a bit, having dinner, and crashing.

 Day 2: Sunday, July 6, 1969

Saw very little of Europe (still cloudy), until just before Frankfurt. Sent postcards that were atrociously expensive from Frankfort. The Germans drink beer with their coffee apparently.  (It was 9:30 AM.) 

Glimpses of the alps (snowy peaks poking out of the clouds) and a startlingly clear view of Barcelona on the next leg. 

Customs was fun. We waited, half an hour for our luggage, and then hauled it up to the check-lanes having decided that we'd declare the extra cigarettes (3 cartons). By this time the intrepid checker had apparently lost his zeal, however, and merely waved us thru.  

Getting the car (a Spanish Fiat 600, called a Seat) was routine, which is more than one can say for driving it. While learning in Spanish traffic, which is horrible, we hunted our way downtown to our hotel. They don't seem to believe in detailed maps. After a number of abortive attempts, we stopped and made our first contact with a native at a side walk cafe. The boy who waited on us knew no English, but located us on the map.  Shirley came through with the key phrase, which I forget, but I think it means “Where the hell are we?”

Two more hours passed before we came, at length, to the Cristal Hotel, which like all that preceded it on this trip, was surprisingly nice.

We wandered around downtown Barcelona for about four hours, and it’s a truly charming city with unusual crowds of friendly people and a fantastic number of sidewalk café’s which are as inexpensive as they are quaint.  I found Estrella Dorada the best of the three beers I sampled; the others being San Miguel and G________.

It’s ten PM now and with one hour’s sleep since Saturday morning, I feel totally relaxed but tired.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] The log is written almost exclusively in the past tense, as most travel accounts are because they are written after the facts recorded.  But at the end of this day, it shifts to present tense, presumably because it records what was going as it was being written. 

[Marc] On most of my overseas vacations, I too have had an initial time like that indicated here, where there is very little sleep and much exhilaration yet a sense of contentment from having made it this far.  After all the planning and worrying, now you’re there.  The time has come to explore.

[Marc] Below is a photograph from the Internet featuring a current depiction of the same locale (The Ramblas) seen in the photo of Mom above.  I’ll return to the “then vs. now” photo theme often in the log.

 Day 3: Monday, July 7, 1969

We slept late, recuperating from the 48-hour-long day.  It was raining and cool.

The car became more tractable, but we abandoned it at the Viena to explore Barcelona on foot.  Our room is a pleasant little place, right downtown.

Barcelona is like nothing I have ever seen. The Ramblas is a wide street which describes itself.  Most of it is the cen­ter, where people ramble all day and most of the night between the sidewalk cafes.  The bicycles of Europe must exist elsewhere—here, there are cars—millions—all small.

There must be a sidewalk bar per person, and all well patronized.  We stopped at several, sampling the food—meat­balls, sausages, breads, potatoes, fish.  It was all excellent.

At night we wandered up San Pablo to San Robador—the “whore” district.  It was the first place where Shirley’s short dresses were not conspicuous.

The prostitutes are everywhere.  They sit in the sidewalk saloons and wait.  Men come by, singly and in groups, look them over, and usually leave.  Once in awhile, one gets snagged.

The prices are quite low.  Benedictine is 100 pesetas ($1.40) for the $10 size.  (We’ll be sick next Christmas when we buy our annual bottle.)

Got back about 2:00 AM and studied maps to see where we’d go from here. 

2009 Notes:

[Marc] The photo below from Google Maps shows the Hotel Cristal & the Viena, as well as Rambla de Catalunya.

[Marc] Ah yes, studying the maps—such at integral part of traveling in a new, strange place, but so rewarding.  Now of course most maps can be found on-line, with detail never before imagined, as the note above attests.

[Marc] For anyone wishing to know more about the goings-on in the Robadors are of town, here’s a detailed history àhttp://www.barcelonametropolis.cat/en/page.asp?id=23&ui=91#

Highlight:  [Marc] Normally, I wouldn’t weigh in on the highlight of a trip I didn’t take, but those cafés look delightful.  As an aside, and a completely trivial one at that, the reported tally of sidewalk bars (one “per person, and all well patronized”) left me puzzled, coming as it did from an engineer.  Of course, if there were truly one café per person, then how could they all be well patronized?  By what, sheep?

 Day 4: Tuesday, July 8, 1969

Went to the beach west of Barcelona—the Mediterranean was cold!  In fact the whole day was cool (but sunny). 

We drove to Tarragona, an ancient town full of Roman ruins.  The drive is spectacular—winding mountain roads over looking the sea.  I’m managing the car nicely, but I’ve learned that distances must be reckoned differently here in Spain than in the U.S.  50km an hour is a good average (a puny 30 mph).  Took pictures of two little urchins, one without any hands.  They were fascinated by the Polaroids, which they grabbed and scampered away with.  We’ll always wonder about the one who grabbed his before we could even treat it.  Poor kid.  It probably faded in a few days.

We found one of the places recommended in Europe on $5 a Day and ate there.  Good. (Restaurant delicious)

2009 Notes:

[Marc] Along with good maps, I’ve found that a good guidebook can be very helpful in exploring unfamiliar territory.  That said, they’re anything but infallible, for as all GS students know “the map is not the territory,” and some are better at some things than others.  Sharon & I were adherents of Europe through the Backdoor by Rick Steves on our 1989 European romp and believe that our travels were richer as a result.  Frommer’s Europe on $5 a Day, I recall, was quite popular in the 1960s, although I wonder how many folks really managed on $5 a day.  Any more, you’d be lucky if you got a cup of coffee and a donut with that price.

[Marc] I was surprised to read how cold it was.  So I researched the matter at http://www.dandantheweatherman.com/Bereklauw/summer69.html, where the following was reported: In western & central Europe the early summer was cool and at Montsouris in Paris temperatures on the 7th July reached just 16.6C, then the lowest July maximum since records began in 1873.


 Day 5: Wednesday, July 9 , 1969

Up before 10:00 to rescue the car from a “no parking” zone.

Not early enough—we had a ticket.  Went to the church next door for a few moments—mostly old women there; one altar with a crucifix where people kissed the feet coming and leaving.

Found the police station under the Plaza de Cataluna and paid our 100 peseta fine and then left for France.  We must have been on fumes before we finally found a filling station.

France!  Again we were waved through customs and into as hectic and money hungry a town as I’ve ever seen.  Clipped for a 20% discount on exchange.  As the French would put it—C’est la vie.

We made it out of the town and finally to Narbonne, stopping once on the way for a beer.  The language barrier was formidable and my 8 peseta beers are no more! A franc and a half—21 pesetas!!

Found a hotel in Narbonne and an English speaking couple (from Miami) whom we chatted with across the restaurant.  Shirley had escargots.  French food is excellent.

The room was very nice for 25F (francs) but what an odd hotel.  They lock it up.  It seems these French Provincals retire early (and so do the quests.)

2009 Notes:

[Marc] The photo above is from google.com and depicts ville de Narbonne, vue de la passerelle des barques, whatever that means.

[Marc] Just how good one rates French food depends, no doubt, on several variables, and of them, I suspect the most determinant is where one dines.  Sharon & I were not overly impressed with our meals in most of the restaurants where we dined.  Yet there were wonderful exceptions, and the fromage, baguette, et vin rouge thing was always sublime.

 Day 6: Thursday, July 10 , 1969

From Narbonne we drove to Avignon, part of the way along “super” highways and were continually being passed.

We stopped near Sete on the Mediterranean, gathered some shells and took some pictures.  It was windy and chilly.

French highways are charming, tree lined affairs, but two lanes and full of little cars.  The countryside is hilly and covered with grape  orchards.  From a distance the towns are quaint—red roofs gleaming in the sun.  Inside, they’re still quaint, with tiny alleys and houses built right up to the street.

We came to Avignon and tried a few of the recommendations from Europe on $5 a Day.  Alas, they were victims of progress—closed.  Nonetheless we managed to find a room (une petit chamber) for 28F within a stones throw of the Papal Palace and right off the main square.  There is a festival of sorts beginning tomorrow.

Spent the evening browsing through the town.  Prices are “American.”

2009 Notes:

[Marc] There’s never enough time to see all the places and do all the things you’d like to on vacation. That said, Carcassonne is a stone’s throw from Narbonne, and the castle there is so medieval.  Maybe next time.

[Marc] Sharon and I stopped in Avignon on our 1992 tour of France and toured the Palace of the Popes.  It was interesting but having already been to the Vatican . . . well, it’s no wonder the Popes returned.

[Marc] Our travelers stayed at the Hotel Jaquemart in Avignon at 3 Rue Felicien-David.  Per my research, it has been replaced by Hotel de l'Horloge.

 Day 7: Friday, July 11 , 1969

My French still has a long way to go, but I’m improving.  After practicing “tonight also” (ce soir aussi) at breakfast, I tried it on the hotel clerk only to be informed that our little room was reserved for Friday night. (This took considerable signaling, but it was cleared up when she showed us the reservations.)

We went to the bank and secured a much better rate (4.91F/$) for $70—their banks are confused affairs—and then we toured the Papal palace.

After the Palace we wandered around Avignon—all of it, I’m sure, and finally stumbled upon the post office and spent about 10F posting cards.We bought some bread, meat, cheese, and beer, and left Avignon about 4 PM.  The city was—I guess “medieval” is the best word.  A wall surrounds the old part, and the streets are tiny and laid out in no pattern at all, much as they were in Barcelona.  We saw the ever-present laundry hanging out even in the courtyard of the Papal Palace!  (We also saw a painting of a pair of lovely naked breasts in the Papal Palace—there was an art exhibit there—part of the Festival.)

The drive north was lovely.  The highway runs through a valley and on the tops of the green hills, here and there, are ruins of ancient fortifications that occasionally are brought into sharp contrast with some modernistic building.

We left the toll highway at Valence and proceeded to Romans, by a river.  Found a Basque hotel here with a room for 24F.  Nice. Had dinner and roamed the town a little.  To bed early.

Of the beers (biere) I’ve tried, I liked Kronenbourg best, except for its atrocious price of 22–28 pesetas!  Even in Barcelona it was only 12, and outside it was as low as 8.

Incidentally, I think we shall remember Avignon as the “Windiest City”—all day long it howled.  I expect we’ll need to buy sweaters in Switzerland (if not coats).


2009 Notes:

[Marc] The French are known for their wines, but as the saying goes, “It takes a lot of beer to make a good wine.”  It so happens that in France they brew a darned good one in Kronenbourg.  It brings back many fond memories starting with my first sampling aboard the ferry from Dover to Calais near the end of my 1983 travels to Britain.  I think I’ll hunt for a case and splurge, even it cost 28 pesatas.

 Day 8: Saturday, July 12 , 1969

I am in a little “garrett room” outside Geneve having a final bottle of Bierre Peldschlosschen—Perle de Saint Jean (0.9F, my earlier beer was atrociously high).

We started the day early (7:30) from Romans and drove through the French Alps.  Breakfast at Vanay in a little bakery that seemed more German than French.  You begin to see the German influence here.  “Man SPRICHT DEUTSH” appears on more and more of the shops.

We stopped at a “super marche” in one sizeable town and bought some food for a picnic, and right outside the town we found a spot by a mountain stream that was made for picnics.  Took some pictures and ate. French bread, torn from the loaf and filled with salami and cheese, and then washed down with French biere.  May not sound like a gourmet’s lunch, but I doubt that ambrosia could be any better, at least in those surroundings.

More pictures and a walk across an old bridge above the deepest gorge I’ve ever crossed (Les Ponts de la Caille) and we came at last to the Swiss border.  Again, no check.  We refused to believe the exchange rates as advertised, and drove into Geneva, but every bank was closed so we had to go back to the border.  They were true—4.29F/$.  The Swiss must regulate their moneychangers much more tightly than the French.

Prices are comparable, or perhaps a little lower than in France. 

We checked out the recommendations of Europe on $5 a Day and here they all existed, but “complet” (full).

The best we could find in the city was 50F, so, being in Europe we snubbed our noses at these $12 a night rooms and headed out.  That brings us to my “Garrett room” practically on the shore of Lake Geneva in a beautiful setting (at 25F).

Chateaubriand for dinner (with the omni present wine) con­cluded our first week in Europe.  Incidentally, the wind was gone, and we enjoyed some of our mildest weather here in the Alps.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] After about the 8th beer, one’s ability to distinguish “P”s from “F”s may become impaired, such appears to have been the case (or 1/3rd case) here: the Swiss beer is Feldschlosschen not Peldschlosschen.

 Day 9: Sunday, July 13, 1969

Awoke this morning to the incessant chiming of church bells.  We had coffee in the courtyard of the “hotel,” drove into the town of Versoix, and walked down to the lake.

One of the first things we discovered is that a fair-sized boat plies the waters and that Versoix is one of its stops.  We caught the boat on its 12:10 PM stop to Geneva—a fifty-minute ride across the loveliest lake I’ve seen.  A round trip is 2F (2nd class).

The weather was the warmest we’ve encountered since reaching Europe.

Wandered around Geneva for a few hours and then caught the boat back to Versoix.  This time it was a much smaller boat and crowded.

We drove along the lake in the afternoon, coming finally to Nyon, which must be a prototype for Swiss villages.  Swans swim in the lake, which is quite wide here.  There was some sort of festival and we had sausages and beer and bought a bottle of wine on the way back.

Stopped to explore what must have been the old (really old, because all of it is old) part of the village.  It’s walled and dominated by a castle-like building, once a jail, and now a museum called Le Chateau.  Also found a small Episcopal church overlooking a hill of manicured gardens.

You can see Mont Blanc in the distance from Nyon.  (Snow covered and looking like a jagged cloud across the lake.)

Back in Versoix we stopped and stole a glass from a sidewalk cafe for our wine and then went to see “Nevada Smith” in French at the local cinema.  We stayed only for the first half.

It was a full day.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] This sounds like a very full day, indeed.  While one can’t see & do it all, I’m often amazed in retrospect by just how much can be done on a good day of travels.  Of course, for this particular day to have been truly a “full day” for these particular travelers, attendance at Sunday Mass would have been obligatory.  Presumably, its omission from the log is merely from neglect of reference and not of performance.

[Marc] A slew of pictures of Le Chateau of Nyon are available here à http://www.dpeck.info/nyon3.htm

 Day 10: Monday, July 14, 1969

Our English-speaking waitress came out to say goodbye when we left Versoix.  I’m quite impressed with the friendliness of all European people.  It was fun checking in, by the way.  My French is almost nil, and so the girl tried German.  She spoke it poorly (and mine was even worse), but we struggled through, and it wasn’t until we had finished settling on the room that I discovered she spoke very fluent English.  She had taken me for German.

We stopped in Nyon again for pictures and lunch and then left for Bern.

The drive from Geneva to Bern is vaguely reminiscent of the Smokies but with straighter roads, more densely forested mountains, and the red-tiled roofs of the villages (and, of course, the chateaus off on the hills)—I did say “Vaguely!”

About 30-40 km before Bern, the subtle change from French to German occurs.  “Berne” disappears — “Zimmer’ stands above “Chambres” and the “Hotel” becomes the “Gasthaf.”

We arrived in Bern about 4:00 PM and promptly found (at last) a recommendation from Europe on $5 a Day, which wasn’t filled—the Kreuz—right downtown and very nice.

Explored Bern—again on foot—and it’s a lovely city—small and quaint along the river, but with several imposing buildings and the usual traffic snarl in the center of town.

The river flowing through is remarkably clear.

German is the language, but it is hardly required.  Almost everyone has a smattering of English—enough for conversation.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] That story about the English-speaking waitress from Versoix is a classic.  But it raises an interesting linguistics question—what do you call folks from Versoix?  Versoixers?  Versoixians?

 Day 11: Tuesday, July 15, 1969

We had our usual “continental breakfast” at the hotel (rolls, jelly, and butter and coffee), mailed postcards (quite a chore, we’ve found), wandered through the market place, which is huge, and then through a museum in an old castle-like building.

About 1:00 we headed out of the city and into the Alps.  The first fifty kilometers were along two lakes through the bordering mountain and through Interlaken. The scenery is mar­velous and the little Swiss towns are meticulously cared for, with potted flowers and overhanging roofs.  We picnicked by the lake.

Then we entered the rugged part of the Alps toward Grimsel Pass. The road and the scenery both defy description. All I can say is I can’t 

conceive of the Alps ever disappointing any­one.  They’re like a cross between the Smokies and the Rockies—beautiful and majestic all at once.  Saw “Jungfrau”—snow covered—and several other peaks still covered with snow.  Near the pass, at 6,000 feet, the snow was melting rapidly, and streams of water ran down the highway.

There was road construction along much of the way which didn’t detract from the scenery, but certainly hampered progress.

Just before the pass, there’s an improbable hotel (“The Grimsel”) perched on a hill that poor Bessy (our car) couldn’t make, so we walked up.

More hairpin turns beyond the pass took us down, finally, to “Brig” where we found a cute little room for 25F.  The town is surrounded by mountain peaks, and, like the other Swiss towns, filled with church bells.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] Pictured below is a wide view of Hotel Grimsel Hospiz perched on a hill at the end of the Grimselsee between two dams.  I can only imagine how splendid it would be to enjoy a cold beer there, and hopefully some day that thirst won’t be only imagined but quenched. (More views here à1, 2, 3 ).

[Marc] In 1989 Sharon & I had the thrill of trekking from Switzerland to Italy over Splugen Pass.  About Splugen I once read, “the Swiss side is difficult at the top, the Italian side is a nightmare.”

[Marc] The log says they stayed in “Brig”; however, the scrapbook had a brochure for Hotel Corona in Domodossala, Italy, which is right over the border from Brig.  http://www.coronahotel.net/cartina.html

 Day 12: Wednesday, July 16, 1969

At the border we got our first inspection from customs—the Italians were looking for cigarettes.  Got a complicated form for gasoline, which, for a while, made us think the Italians rationed the stuff.

We left Brig early for the last big hurdle across “Simplon Pass,” and once again Bessy barely made it.  I think our car hated the Alps as much as we loved them.  It was with a feeling of real regret that we left lovely Switzerland.

At the border we got our first inspection from customs—the Italians were looking for cigarettes.  Got a complicated form for gasoline, which, for a while, made us think the Italians rationed the stuff.

Italy was disappointing—flat and drab after the Swiss Alps.  The banks were closed, but finally we came to a plush resort area at Lake Maggiore where we became solvent again.

Stopped at Gallarate and found a bar with television just 8 minutes before liftoff of Apollo 11.

We had to go into Milan to get our gasoline coupons. Language was a formidable barrier up to this point.

Milan was unimpressive.  We got our coupons, ate an expensive dinner, and left.  Did our first night driving on the way to Florence.  The highway heading south from Milan reminded me of the Garden State Parkway in Florida.

After dark the flat plain ended and I drove, still along the super highway, through mountains again.  There must have been two dozen tunnels and two million trucks.

At 1:00 AM, just north of Florence, we decided we’d never find a room and parked in an “AREA DI PAREGGIO,” which seems to be a popular thing today.  The night was hardly restful, but the sky was the loveliest I’ve seen.  All seven stars of the Little Dipper were clearly visible and the Milky Way almost rippled.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] In the Europe 1969 scrapbook, Dad wrote, “A restaurant in Milan.  It was fair at best.  Milan, on a dreary plain, is disappointing at first blush.  We only stayed for that ‘first blush.’”  In 1989 Sharon and I had a very similar impression of Milan after having just completed our indescribable journey over the Alps.  Perhaps one is bound to find this grimy, congested city rather drab at first blush after having descended from the heavens.

[Marc] The Garden State Parkway is in New Jersey, so presumably that’s what Dad meant to write.  Also “area di pareggio” translates into “balancing area,” whatever that is.  “Parking” is “parcheggio.”

 Day 13: Thursday, July 17, 1969

Awoke (or gave up) at 5:30 and started into Florence. Per­haps we misjudged Milan, because this, too, started drab but within several hours we were in love with the city of arts.

Did some sightseeing, some climbing (Florence is quite hilly), and some shopping (a spree, as a matter of fact.)

That this city is an art center of the world becomes obvious immediately even to a crude observer like myself.  The statues in the major square we visited exude power and beauty.  And everywhere you look, there is more.  We climbed a high hill and stumbled upon a fortress overlooking the city—gardens, the cathedral, statues, and ornate towers.

There was evidence of the flood, and I can begin to under­stand the anguish these people must have felt.

In the afternoon we shopped and we’re treated quite royally in one particular establishment—bill $45.  I probably paid a lot (by Florence’s standards) for the drinks, but it was nice.

The outdoor stalls where they sell the leather goods for which Florence is famous are typical of European cities, except that the setting—marble statues everywhere—is unique.

The Arno river runs through the town, and one bridge, Ponte Vecchio, was memorable (covered—no traffic).

Left for Rome about 5 PM.  I slept a few hours while Shirl drove through mountainous central Italy.

We plunged into Rome, bought a map, found the railway terminal, and found the hotels full.  One recommendation—always booked—is the “Y,” but we tried, and—our luck still with us—got a room for L4000.  (Someone had failed to show.)  Got a bit of a scare when we explained that our luggage was a few blocks away in the car.  “It takes ‘them’ just 5 minutes to clean it!”  The clerk explained, excited.  We literally ran to rescue our car, which had been parked for almost an hour.  It was still OK, but after that we were careful.

2009 Notes: [Marc] That’s Mom standing in front of “The Rape of the Sabine Women” in the Loggia dei Lanzi by the Piazza Della Signoria

[Marc] We arrived too late to see “David” but caught Botticelli in Uffizi.  

 Day 14: Friday, July 19, 1969

The manager at the “Y” found us a “pensione” just down the street for the next night—L3500—very nice—the “Dolomiti.”

Decided to leave our car in the garage and explore Rome on foot.

Stopped at a museum  (?), the Capitoline hill, and then walked around the Forum.

The hill is an impressive, monumental structure, somewhat reminiscent of Washington, backed up against the ancient square where a statue of Marcus Aurileus waits on horseback.  Its museum WAS closed (we were there between 12:00 & 4:00 PM—Rome’s siesta)The Forum, when we finally found our way in after a very long walk around the old walls, is no simple thing. In fact it is almost an ancient city in itself, and I expect one could spend a month exploring it.  We spent a few hours, visited the Coliseum (where the floor has been dug up and new excavations are in evidence)—and the “Spanish Stairs.”

Rome is a city leading three lives.  Its ancient heritage keeps leaping out in ruins scattered through the city.  Its medieval past is the major architecture of the city—tiny alleys, squares with ornate fountains, churches everywhere. And its present wends its way down these tiny alleys and through the plazas in Europe’s little cars.  The traffic is indescribable—chaotic is the only word.


2009 Notes:

[Marc] “At the Spanish Steps where Roman hippies gather.” (Caption on photo of Mom.)

[Marc] Dad had this to say in the scrapbook about Hotel Dolomiti (pictured below), “An excellent place.  My reservations will be here for my next visit.”  He can make them on-line athttp://www.hotel-dolomiti.it/eng/index.php

[Marc] Click à here to see an amazing photo of the Roman Colosseum.  In my opinion, there is no grander structure on earth.

 Day 15: Saturday, July 19, 1969

We visited the Vatican.  Took a cab, and had to buy a scarf for Shirley before we could get into St. Peter’s because her sleeves were too short.

Saw the Pieta, again (first time was the New York World’s Fair).  This time close and for a long time.  It’s just on the right after you enter the cathedral, which looks like an indoor square.

I won’t attempt to describe St. Peter’s.  We brought that back. Visited the lower level where the sepulchers and chapels of popes from St. Peter on are.  People, who wandered everywhere else, knelt, with obvious emotion, at the chapel for Pope John.

After St. Peter’s we walked for almost an hour through the Vatican museum to the Sistine Chapel.  Again, my poor description is useless.  Some things stand out, though: —The statues, all adorned (?) with their fig leaves, which appear nowhere else in Italy.  —The chapel ceiling, which was not what I expected.  It is rectangular, and the twelve major panels are equal.  The creation of man does not leap out and dominate—it has to be looked for.  —The total effect. Unimaginable wealth.  One can understand a Luther.          

We left Rome along the Appian Way.  The Roman ruins stretch on for miles and miles.

Ate at a plush garden restaurant across the way from St. Sebastian Basilica, and then went through the Catacombs.

Back to the Italian countryside (after a drive all the way around Rome). We found a little town where we got a room for L1600.  Marble!! Everything is marble.

Indulged in some language lessons with a couple of Italian soldiers.


2009 Notes:

[Marc] The restaurant across from St. Sebastian’s is Cecilia Metella, visit on-line at http://www.ceciliametella.it/english/index.htm

 Day 16: Sunday, July 20, 1969

Drove up toward Pisa along the Italian coast.  This is as scenic as any part of Europe we saw.  (Of course, not as majestic as the Alps.)Stopped in the town of Tarzania for coffee—it’s a center of Etruscan excavations.  All over the countryside, Roman ruins abound.

Had lunch in a seacoast city and then drove on to Cecina where we spent a few hours on the beach.  Even the beach is “marble.”  The stones are hard to walk on, but the water was nice.

Arrived at Pisa about 6:00 PM and groped our way around the city until we stumbled upon the tower.

The tower is part of a group that includes a huge basilica, all in gleaming white stone.  It leans even more than I had expected.  We climbed to the top and got a great view of the whole city.  The old city is surrounded by a wall.  One of the intriguing things about the Tower is the total absence of guardrails.  It’s rather scary.

Outside Pisa, we found a restaurant—a typical country establishment—had an excellent dinner and stayed, glued to the TV set while an Italian reporter followed our astronauts down to the moon.

Left a big tip, L1100 (approx. $1.70) and our proprietor was so pleased he insisted on us staying for another drink of brandy and directed us to a hotel up the road.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] Some trips are taken in a current events vacuum.  Some are touched by those things affecting tourists (from local weather to the price of gas to terrorism).  And then some trips are forever set against the backdrop of historical events.  This trip was the latter, which I know from having heard the travelers’ tales and because I know some history.  For on this day, Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin, Jr., became the first humans to set foot on the Moon, while Michael Collins orbited above. 

[Marc] A couple of days after Sharon & I ascended to the top of the Leaning Tower in Pisa in 1989, we heard on the news in Rome that the Tower in Pavia collapsed, which in turn, led to the 1/7/1990 closing for 11 years of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.  That was our big news; that and the World Series earthquake on 10/17/89.

 Day 17: Monday, July 21, 1969

We traveled all day, up through Italy along crooked mountain roads overlooking the sea, and Italian turnpikes which are about half tunnel. The “Autostrade” in Italy are all toll roads.

Past Genoa, the turnpike ends and the Italian Riviera begins.  For a stretch of almost a hundred kilometers, the road is mountainous along the edge of the Mediterranean, and dotted with the Riviera towns—clogged with traffic.

Stopped at Sanremo near the border to catch the lift­off from the moon.  Sanremo is an impossibly noisy and congested city.  We left and crossed the border into France for dinner.

Back into the mountains after dinner, when we realized we had forgotten to get gasoline and the tank was on empty.  From high on a mountain road, we caught a glimpse of Monaco and literally coasted down hairpin curves into the city for gasoline.

Visited Monte Carlo—it was about a 30F visit ($6).  A doorman scrutinizes visitors—we saw him turn one couple away.  The Casino is a beautiful place—rich halls, art exhibits, and a large room full of one-arm bandits, which take francs (and took several of ours).

It costs 5F to visit the “Salon Ordinaire,” which we paid.  Roulette, more “bandits” and a plush but reasonable bar where Heinekens cost me 3.5F (70¢).

Drove through Nice and Cannes and parked outside of Cannes for a few hours.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] Unfortunately, the photographic record of the travels ended 7/19/69.  The last photo taken, no. 77, was of the entrance gate to Rome called Porta Latina.  I wonder why there were no more?

[Marc] À la Carcassonne, our travelers passed right by CinqueTerre this morning, probably unaware of its existence.  I can attest to its wonderful existence thanks to Rick Steves, travel guide extraordinaire.

[Marc] Sharon & I visited “Salon Ordinaire” in 1992.  It cost $5 to enter, so we didn’t.  Today its $13.55.

 Day 18: Tuesday, July 22, 1969

Awoke at 5 AM.  We drove till noon and went down to the beach near Sete.  Miles of camps (which are everywhere in Europe) before we found a secluded spot.  Slept on the beach for several hours, and then on to Spain.

Met an Australian couple just over the border where we had dinner.  Changed our lire back to pesetas (the francs were all gone).

Back in Barcelona we found our hotel with amazing ease.  The drive in—once again—was beautiful—a yellow moon half full on the Spanish horizon.  Got to the Viena near midnight.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] That “yellow moon half full on the Spanish horizon” would have made a lovely picture.  Thanks to imaging software, in this case IrfanView & Adobe Photoshop 4, a reasonable facsimile can be created.  It’s not necessarily northeast Spain, and it sure wasn’t 1969, but it looks pretty.

 Day 19: Wednesday, July 23, 1969

Slept late.  Recuperated from our swing through Europe.  Lunch and stroll through Barcelona.

Siesta.  We slept and then went out and saw Quo Vadis in Spanish.  The theatre was very nice—35P (approx. 50¢).  They sell liquor in the theatres here.  (They sell it always, every­where.)

Wandered back home through tiny deserted alleys.  It was eerie, because we knew what our chances would be in similar alleys in Philly—zero.  No incident.

2009 Notes:

[Marc] There’s not a lot to work with here, although the comment about liquor in the theatres, liquor everywhere, jumps out at you.  And I’ve never been to Barcelona or, as best as I can recall, seen “Quo Vadis,” so I’m at a bit of loss about what to add.  Since not much happened to our travelers on this date, perhaps we should see what was happening in the rest of the world: 

And that’s the way it was Wednesday, July 23, 1969.

 Day 20: Thursday, July 24, 1969

We drove to Lerida to do some shopping in the Spanish countryside, but had little luck finding anything.

Were offered a beautiful room for some ridiculous sum (I think it worked out to about two dollars) but decided to go back to Barcelona instead.  On the way back poor Bessy started to die.  She was coughing, thumping, and sputtering when we parked her at the lot near the Viena.

2009 Notes:

[Marc]  I could find no mention of Hotel Viena on the Internet, so presumably it no longer exists.  I had been under the assumption that it was right next door to the Hotel Cristal, where they spent the first night, because as seen in the photo to the right, signage for “Viena” is prominently displayed next to that of “Hotel Cristal.”  However, as I delved deeper into the matter, I learned that this “Viena” is a restaurant, and at least as of now, a restaurant only.  The hotel that occupies the same building is called Hotel Continental Palacete, and per their website http://www.hotelcontinental.com/htm/galeria_p_new.htm, “The Hotel Continental Palacete is a brand-new hotel, located inside a small palace.”  I thought perhaps it was once called the Viena, but this theory fails because the receipt for Hotel Viena found in the scrapbook lists its address as “Carmen, 22.”  I couldn’t locate any such address in Barcelona, probably because the street name changed during the past 40 years, as have many others.  So locating this Hotel Viena proved to be an exercise in futility, although Dad assured me that they stayed there.  In fact, accommodations there for the entire trip were included in their package.

[Marc]  Fortunately for the crew of Apollo 11, they were not as hard to find as the elusive Hotel Viena.  The U.S. Navy found them on this date about an hour after splashdown some 1,440 miles east of Wake Island. 

That’s the entrance to Hotel Continental Palacete below. 

 Day 21: Friday, July 25, 1969

Up bright and early to do all our shopping.  We marched out into Barcelona only to find it closed!  As a matter of fact, it turned out that all Spain was closed, and that we had picked the Feast of Santiago to do our shopping. Fortunately, the world (even Catholic Spain) is full of heretics.  After gazing mistily at the barred doors of the lovely shops, we sought out those few merchants who, almost surreptitiously, opened their doors, and got everything we wanted except a painting.

It seems you always meet the most interesting person when you’re leaving the party, and Europe was no exception.  Down in the little bar next to the hotel we met a girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty.  She was from San Francisco—here to find herself, and almost desperately looking for a guide.  I suppose, if she’s lucky, she’ll find some friendly American and manage to keep her head above water until she grows up.


2009 Notes:

[Marc]  I’ve always found that shopping on vacation is always filled with a bit more apprehension that shopping about town.  For one, it’s often done at the last minute when you have a thousand other things to do and see.  But more than that is the finality of it: you won’t be passing this way again.  So if you buy something, and it turns out to be junk, then you’re stuck with a piece of junk.  And if you pass up an item that you later realize was the absolute finest of its kind in the world and your life will never complete without it, then you’re left to regret the missed opportunity forevermore.  I speak from experience.  To this day, I rue the mother-of-pearl turtle figurine I didn’t buy in Ensenada, the black leather herringbone shoes in Colmar, and the 1989 Mistretta Mardi Gras poster in New Orleans.  I’ve looked for these items time and again ever since.  No dice.

[Marc]  Although it’s not recorded in the original log what goodies were purchased on this penultimate day of travels, I recall a few.  In particular an old world globe and wooden figures of Don Quixote and Sancho Panzo, all of which were on display for many years henceforth in our living room.  They were very nice pieces, but the thing about them was, they weren’t very durable.  Curt and I would play football and other games in the living room, and invariably the globe and the Man from La Mancho would take their hits, and suffer mightily.  This of course never pleased the folks.  Sancho, however, seemed to be built for the rough-housing.  I don’t recall him ever being damaged.

 Day 22: Saturday, July 26, 1969

After a bit of a struggle, we turned the remains of Bessy back to the airport.  Our monetary planning had been absolutely brilliant, and we arrived at the airport with almost no Spanish money.  Then fate lowered the boom.  An airport tax took my last peseta, and an excess baggage charge of eight dollars was the coups de grace.  Had to convert my last travelers check into pesetas to get out of the country.  So instead of leaving Europe with no European money, we got home with no American money.

Took a bus from Kennedy (after a flight that seemed to last forever) and somehow managed to drag our luggage back to 30th St. where we locked it up and went home.

By any yardstick, it was a wonderful vacation, but at the end of it, I’ll have to admit I envied the jet-set.  It would have been nice to have flown into Philadelphia and have been met by my private limousine.

2009 Coda: 

[Marc] Thomas Wolfe famously said, “You can't go home again.” And he was right—you don't get to ever do it again. What is gone is gone forever. But you can remember. And with the help of somebody's trip log, trip photos, the Internet, and imagination, you can almost go where you never went in the first place. Creating the 2009 revision of this log was, in its way, like taking a trip I never took. And to that extent, it righted a wrong. The wrong was that I made bad pick 40 years ago. I chose a color TV over travel abroad. TV is OK, but isn't real. I suppose taking a trip 40 years after its over isn’t real either.  But it’s as good as I’ll ever get.

[Marc] From what I’ve gathered over the years, this was not only a “wonderful vacation,” it was the most memorable one Mom & Dad have ever taken.  I’d bet that of all the tales I’ve heard from their many travels around the world, I’ve heard twice as many from this trip as from any other.  It had it all:  Youth—they weren’t kids, but they were still in their 30s.  Money—they weren’t rich, no limousines on this journey, but with everything so darn cheap in Europe at the time, they lived haute sur le porc.  History—the first man on the moon did his “one small step” in time to the refrain of their journey.  Great destinations—Barcelona to Rome and back, that’s just hard to beat.  And great company—the Italian sailors with the language lessons; the proprietor so impressed by a buck and half tip, he broke out the good stuff; a Swiss hostess who tried her best to get along in German not knowing they all spoke English; and a 20-year old San Francisco girl in a Barcelona bar looking to find her way.  And they had each other.

[Marc] I encourage all readers to add their thoughts as I’ve done.  You didn’t get to go on the trip either, so it’s your chance to tag along.  We could make it a communal log where all of our thoughts about these travels and traveling in general are shared.

Postcards & another photo from Europe:

Mrs. Traveler in hotel room in Avignon