Chapter 16 - Heaven and Hell

                  Chapter 16 – Heaven and Hell

“In Japan,” said Keiko, our interpreter, “we believe that some couples are joined together before birth by an invisible red thread. You and Margaret are a red thread couple.”

Keiko, Akita, Japan, 1997.

Have you ever fallen in love in the space of a heartbeat? Have you ever met or seen someone who you instantly knew was the person you have always wanted, needed in your life? And have you ever, in just another heartbeat, realised that this new person in your life is way beyond your reach? That you have absolutely no idea as to how you might ever become worthy enough to win her or his love.

It happened to me, on Wednesday, 8 January 1969, just before 11:00 in the morning, at the top of the staircase, on the first floor of the Queensland Government Tourist Bureau (QGTB), at 90 Elizabeth Street, Melbourne. In the space of two heartbeats, I rose higher than I had ever dreamed of, then fell further into my darkness than I had ever sunk before.

*~*~*~*~*~*

I left Brisbane on Monday, 6 January 1969, by the 4:40 p.m. overnight express train to Sydney. After a day in Sydney at the Sydney office of the Bureau (in the eyes of the Bureau, this was a working day for me, so I spent most of it looking at Tour Registers and staying out of people’s way), I boarded the Southern Aurora overnight express to Melbourne, where I arrived early on Wednesday morning.

The Bureau had generously paid for one week’s accommodation at the YMCA (Young Men’s Christian Association – but nothing like the Village People song!). After my first week at the YMCA, I had intended to rent a room in a boarding house; I had few possessions, and did not intend to gather any more.

This situation changed on my second day in Melbourne; Stan Tallon, the man I replaced, had flatted with Scotty Boyd from the Tasmanian Government Tourist Bureau (TGTB), and it was made gently clear to me that I was expected to move in with Scotty. True to my nature, I followed the path suggested by others, and replaced Stan in Flat 6, 95a Alma Road, East St Kilda. Two of the other flats housed four other staff members of the TGTB, including Bruce Lutwyche, a usually happy, but occasionally most annoyed young man, with whom I became friendly.

Scotty was the perfect flatmate and friend, possibly the most easygoing and forgiving man I had ever met, and he put up with me and my moods and sulks and anger  without ever losing his temper, or lessening our friendship. He was, and is, a man I am proud to call a lifelong friend of both Margaret and myself.

I reported at the Queensland Bureau, and met Alick McCarthy, the Manager. He wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about me, and I wasn’t especially interested in him or in the Bureau.

He introduced me to the staff currently downstairs; four or five Travel Officers, and two young women who did the typing and telexing behind a small screen which separated them from the counter.

We went upstairs, where my life began again, and, at that moment, it was like being alive for the very first time. Alick bounced up the steps, and waited impatiently for me to join him. He said, when I reached the top step, “This is Margaret. She looks after the switchboard and also does some typing and telexing.”

I only saw her face behind the tall switchboard, but it was enough for me to fall in love with her forever.  Until that moment, everything in my life had happened at the whim, or under the direction, of other people. I’m not entirely sure what I said, or what Margaret said, but I knew that Margaret was THE ONE.

Alick moved on to the people in the ticketing section, rattling off names and duties beyond my ability to remember them. In time, I learned them all, their names, their natures, their work ethics, their likes and dislikes, and the work they did or were supposed to do.

I was sent to Melbourne to work as a travel officer, but Alick had no confidence in me. My reputation was not good, and the whole Melbourne office was aware of my sullen angry persona, and my unfriendliness to others. I definitely slotted into the ‘doesn’t play well with others’ category.

Alick assigned me to ticketing for two weeks – in those days we wrote tickets for everything we booked – air flights, accommodation, trains, buses, tours. I surprised him by writing as many or more tickets than any of the four others who had worked at it longer, and I made no mistakes.

“Normie Rowe”, he said as I arrived at work on my third Monday, “I’m going to give you a run on the counter.” The lessons of my childhood stood me in good stead. Ern had drilled into his stupid stepson the rules for serving customers in his shop – don’t keep people waiting, respect everyone, find out what they want, write it down, take a deposit.

I followed the mantra that had been tattoed on my psyche, and I became an excellent travel officer, very quickly. Alick always wanted to out-perform Sydney and Brisbane offices, to have Melbourne recognised as the leading money-taker of the Queensland Government Tourist Bureau. Every week he checked on the sales dollars generated by each travel officer, and I soon became the star. I only learned this in November, when he chose me to represent our office in a month-long familiarisation tour of Queensland. This was a prize much valued by our travel officers, and I was unpopular with my peers who felt they had earned it by their seniority. More of this later.

Outside of work, I found a ready-made social life. Most afternoons after work, several of the staff from the Queensland and Tasmanian Tourist Bureaux had one or two beers at the London Hotel, right across the road from the QGTB office.

There was a party SOMEWHERE every Friday night, after we had a counter tea at Hosies Hotel, opposite Flinders Street Station, and another party most Saturday nights, and occasionally on a Sunday afternoon. These usually took place at one of the flats occupied by the young single people at the Queensland and Tassie Tourist Bureaux. On Saturday afternoons, after work, Scotty and I and others would have a counter lunch (with beers) at the Queens Bridge Hotel; occasionally followed by a football game.

When I realised that I was good at my work, I surprised myself by actually enjoying myself on the counter. Winter was the best time for me, when the office was crammed with Melbournians wanting to escape the cold by heading to Queensland. I listened, explained, estimated costs, suggested itineraries that might best meet needs, and didn’t want to take a lunch break most days.

On Saturday mornings we operated with a skeleton staff of five travel officers, and one of administrative person (usually one of the girls, who could not in those days aspire to classified positions, but were doomed to ever be typists, stenographers, switchboard operators). On the counter, we made our own air, train and accommodation bookings, issued tickets, as well as providing brochures, information and advice. I loved it.

For most of this year, one of my two most important concerns was my inner conflict, which channelled my thoughts into suicide much of the time. I drank a lot when I wasn’t working, which fitted in with what social life I had. I saw a chiropractor regularly for the pain in my neck, but no one ever suggested my neck may have been injured in Vietnam.

One morning, during my tea break, I watched Jim Cairns lead 100,000 anti-Vietnam marchers down Elizabeth Street,right outside our window. Geoff Odgers said to me at the time, “So, Curl, how long are you going to carry the entire weight of Vietnam on YOUR shoulders?”

After a few post-work beers one night, I walked past the army recruiting office, where a group of protestors were chanting loudly. Somehow they discovered that I was a Vietnam veteran, and someone spat on me.

My other consuming concern was young Margaret Richardson. I loved her, she didn’t like me at all.

Because of my unusual upbringing, I had little understanding of my peer group; because I attended an all-boys’ high school, I had absolutely no idea at all on how to communicate with girls of my age. Courting Margaret presented a range of challenges, and I had no idea of how to go about it.

To complicate matters further, Margaret at this time was infatuated with someone else, a Tasmanian who had worked with the TGTB. I soon learned that John was only interested in Margaret if there was no one else around. She had spent the Christmas break with him and his family in Tasmania, but she was, in all respects, a lady, and John wanted more from her than she was prepared to give.

One Friday night, in the pub, he asked me if I was ‘tracking’ Margaret. I said I was very much interested in her. He warned me that she did not and would not ‘do anything’; he said she was a ‘teaser’. I still don’t know why I never hit him. On a happy note, he said I was welcome to her.

When I left the hotel after a counter tea, I went to her flat in Elwood, and knocked on the door. When her flatmate opened the door and invited me in, I saw John stretched out on the lounge with his head in Margaret’s lap. I went home.

Several parties later, he left with another girl, after ignoring Margaret all evening. She was terribly upset, and I invited her and another couple to my flat for coffee. I had no real conversation, so I told my guests a two hour joke about a dead horse. I think it took her mind off John (although the joke had a terribly weak punchline, and I have been firmly instructed to never tell it again in Margaret’s hearing), and I walked her down to her car at 2:00 a.m. on that freezing night.

Around this time I wrote a poem (which I never showed to Margaret in those days,) based on my observations and my desires:

Turn to Me

Sweet little Margaret,

Biding your time,

What are you drinking?

‘Vodka and lime.’

Sweet little Margaret,

Unlock your mind;

What are you thinking?

Leave him behind.

Retentive memory,

Seeking recall,

Why are you brooding?

‘No reason at all.’

Tell me your problems,

Show me your fears.

‘O, it is nothing;

A few foolish tears.’

Sweet little Margaret,

So sad and so shy,

I want to love you;

Please, let me try.

I was so much in love, and she was, I thought, at the point where she recognised John for the sleaze he was.

Soon after this, I tried the Norm Wotherspoon courtship gambit no. 1, the one with the safety harness and lots of wriggle room. “Margaret,” I asked, one workaday morning teatime, “if I were to ask you to go out with me, what do you think you might say?”

“She looked at me with those clear, candid eyes, and said, “Why don’t you ask me?” My defences crumbled. In the words of J. Alfred Prufrock, “Do I dare? And, do I dare?” What if she should say, as Prufrock imagined his inamorata might respond: ‘And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”

So, I asked her out, and she said, “Yes”. We went, I think, to a live theatre review, ‘No, Sir Henry’, which was focused on the then Victorian Premier, Sir Henry Bolte.

After that night, I assumed a proprietrary attitude to Margaret, and became incredibly jealous if any other should venture inside the mental boundary I had built around my love.

Again, I had absolutely no idea how to deal with someone else usurping my territory, even though I had never told anyone it was my territory.

Here is an extract from a letter Margaret wrote to her mother on 19 June 1969:

‘As a matter of interest, I heard of an incident a few weeks ago where Scotty gave John a real dressing down.

I do have one problem though. Since I went to the ball Norm (who flats with Scotty) hasn’t spoken to me. I told you he was moody, but that is downright childish. Now I am going to the footy and dinner with Scotty on Sunday, where I went with Norm a fortnight ago, so goodness knows what’ll happen now.’

In August, the Tasmanian Tourist Bureau organised a Sunday trip to the snow at Mount Donna Buang.

Margaret wrote to her mother on 12 July 1969:

‘I don’t know whether I told you the Tasmanian Bureau are running a trip to Mt. Donna Buang next Sunday. It is snowing there now. Anyway, Jan and I and a few others from work sent our money around to the Tasmanian Bureau for our tickets. Mine came back. It appears Norm (the poet) paid for me, but the funny part is he hasn’t asked me as yet. He spends a lot of time not speaking to people when he is in a mood and at the moment he is not speaking to me. He didn’t speak to Scotty or I for more than a week after the ball. Boy! One can get into strange situations.’

Because I had paid for the tickets, Margaret felt she ought to sit beside me. I had no conversation, and spent the entire journey to the mountain writing the following poem on the front pages of a Pan Cryptic Crossword book. Ouch!

   Revelation

I was sitting at home all alonely,

Thinking deeply about a blank wall,

And the silence was broken by only

The bounce of a black rubber ball.

As the fingers of darkness descended,

And night brought its sheltering hand,

So my channels of thought were extended

And the patterns formed swiftly, unplanned.

From a path of uncertain direction,

To a road so increasingly clear,

From a mind of insane introspection

To a logic enticingly near.

I was reaching out for rainbows

When I could have touched the stars;

Seeking bright, quick-fading vain glows,

(Wilting roses in the vase).

This is not a time for brooding,

That’s not why I was designed,

Let the sunlight keep intruding,

Enter laughter to my mind!

I had assumed that Margaret had given up on John, so I am glad I never saw (until 40 years later) her letter home of 28 July 1969, in which she wrote:

‘Mum, does a person ever really and truly get over someone? Saturday night I went to a party by myself. I was to meet Jan and her escort there. I was just walking towards the door of the flat when John McDermott  came out the door. That unnerved me a bit because I honestly didn’t think he would be there (but of course, secretly hoping he would be). Anyway, the party was very good and there were a lot of interesting people there. I guarantee there were at least three people I could have gone home with, but I ended up with John again. Now this has happened every time I have been to a party which he has been at, since March, bar one. I really don’t know what I’m trying to explain. The thing is, I still want him back and I think he realises it. When I told Scotty last night about the party I didn’t get any sympathy. All he said was, “I like John in his right place, but I’m afraid there isn’t a hole deep enough.

It appears John has an arrangement which he makes out I am in agreeance with – when there is nothing better in sight, I’ll make do with Margaret. And vice versa; when there IS something better, Margaret can look after herself. I can’t say anything, no matter what I feel, and I just have to act carefree. He will never commit himself, although the other night he wasn’t so clear-cut. What I really should have done on Saturday night was to go home with someone else. I know it would have hurt him, but I couldn’t. It is a ridiculous situation.

Well, he knows when my birthday is, so we shall see. At least Sunday will be fully occupied with the champagne breakfast, football, and the social.’

For her birthday on August 3^rd, I left a little poem on her desk:

‘Perhaps

Perhaps, upon this day of days,

Your thoughts will

Wander homewards and

Will linger there, awhile;

Wistfully

Retracing happy memories

Of birthdays past,

Together with your family.

Perhaps a sense of loneliness,

Of separation,

Will in some way sadden a portion of your day;

As it should.

But,

Do not dwell too long in years ago;

Leave before the soft, sweet sadness of self-pity,

With clutching fingers grasps your mind,

And leaves you dark and almost-crying sombre;

Perhaps, instead,

You might spare a little time in

Brighter thoughts of now and

Maybe, even, maybe.

If, perhaps, another can in some way

Also make you happy

Upon your happy birthday.’

I racked my brain constantly to find reasons to ask Margaret out. One Thursday morning, she mentioned at morning tea that she and her flatmate Mary had seen ‘War and Peace’, a four hour film, at their local cinema the night before. Margaret added that she had the novel, in two parts, in her flat. I immediately said that I had always wanted to read it, and would she consider lending it to me.

The following day, she gave me Volume One as we left work for the weekend. I read most of Friday night, and most of Saturday.

Just before 8:00 p.m., I finished it. I raced up to the phone box on Dandenong Road, and called her. I had just finished the first book, I said,; could I call and collect the second? She said ‘yes’. I took her bowling, and she gave me the book. As I left her at her door, she said, “Well, I expect you to bring the book back on Monday morning, since you’re such a fast reader.”

Romantic complications set in late in the year, just as I had realised that Margaret was never going to be mine; I made too many mistakes, through ignorance, of how to successfully court a lady. One Saturday afternoon, in the private bar of the London Hotel, I found Kerri, my friend from the days in the New Farm flat. She had returned from New Guinea, joined the army, and was stationed at either Ballarat or Bendigo. And she still wanted me, as friend and lover.

Given that my relationship with Margaret had never even become a relationship, I took what comfort I could from Kerri’s visits to Melbourne, but always with a sense of emptiness and longing for …love.

In November, I set off for the month-long familiarisation tour. I flew to Sydney, then took the overnight Ansett Pioneer coach to the Gold Coast. In two days we (four of us took part in this extended holiday – one each from Melbourne, Sydney, Brisbane and Townsville offices) looked at lots of accommodation places, resorts, tourist attractions, and then drove up the highway to Brisbane. We visited the local tourist spots in Brisbane (Botanical Gardens, Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary), then headed up to the Sunshine Coast for two days, where we checked out the beaches, the hinterland, the Buderim Ginger Factory, and just about everywhere else.

On we travelled: Maryborough, Hervey Bay, Bundaberg, Rockhampton, Mackay, most of the Whitsunday Islands (Brampton, Lindeman, Daydream, Happy Bay, Hayman, South Molle), Proserpine, Townsville, Magnetic Island, Dunk and Bedarra Islands, Cairns, Green Island and the Atherton Tablelands. We flew to Cooktown for a night, then flew back to our respective bases.

We stayed three nights in Cairns and, on the first night, a young lady in a ridiculous bathing cap decided that I was part of the fun she wanted on her holiday. She was much better at the art of seduction than I was, and I found myself spending my evenings with Jill, a grazier’s daughter from a small country town in Victoria.

By the end of 1969, I was desperately unhappy. Jill and Kerri visited me some weekends (not together, I hasten to add), summer brought fewer clients to our counter, Margaret went home for Christmas.

I loved her, more than ever, but she had no feelings for me except dislike. Nightmares shared my bed most night, my neck hurt, my mother and stepfather were unapproachable, and my life held little joy. It was a very bleak Christmas, and my closest friend seemed to be the barman at the London Hotel.

I drank, I worked, I drank some more, I wrote bad poetry, and I thought of death. It was the darkest hour before the dawn.

CHAPTER 16: APPENDIX 1

Some of the bad poetry I mentioned follows:

 A Gentle Ramble through a Wandering Mind

Yo ho ho and a bottle of breeze,

I can’t see the forest for the tops of the trees;

Fifteen men on a dead man’s toes,

I can’t see the river for the bridge of my nose.

Sailing along in a catamaran

When a submarine said “Catch me, if you can.”

So I threw my line right over the side,

And reeled it in on the rising tide.

The night was black, the stars were green,

When I started to cook that infernal machine.

Too big for the pan, too tough to grill,

So I called for the chef with his culinary skill.

He walked round and round it for a very long time,

Chewing his lips, and his parsley and thyme;

He said, “I know what to do. I’ll start right now.

We’ll bring it ashore and have a real luau.”

Little iron monster, sitting in a pit,

Revolving around on a fat-free spit;

For forty three days and a long, countless night,

It just WOULD NOT COOK, not for love, not for spite.

Our hunger grew stronger as dark turned to days;

Most of the crew were just wasting away,

Their rib-cages tracing an angular path;

And twelve of us able to sit in one bath.

Then, one certain Sunday, when hopes were forlorn,

(Seven had died, but had all been reborn);

Came from the cook-pit, a shout from the cook:

“It’s done to perfection!” I went for a look;

Stepping on wearily, down to the pit,

Wide-eyed and wondering, staring at IT!

Tin opener twisting, diving in deep,

Silent the watchers, frozen, like sheep;

Wishing, and willing, the moment of truth,

Saliva ran reckless down each yellowed tooth.

A wreath of aroma, a sizzling scent,

The rushing release of a sigh of content;

Fixing the napkins, serving the wine,

Ready, and eager, just waiting to dine.

Roast leg of bulkhead in sweet asdic sauce,

(Potpourri of porthole, before the main course),

Came the parfait, Captain’s Table au Jacques,

And a chartroom collation of periscope caques.

Grandly we feasted, and merrily dined,

With peace drifting gently to each troubled mind;

The finest French brandy, sublimest cigars,

Then we parted, to follow our own secret stars.

Upon the Waters

Desolate and drifting on the ice-blue plain,

Searching for a memory I could not explain;

Four lonely winds blew to north and to south,

And whistled through the tunnel of the long, black mouth.

Whisky had watered the rivers of gin,

When the tearaway eloped with his tears of chagrin;

As the sun in its setting cried farewell to the earth,

The memories of midnight sent the moon to its death.

Paralytical fishermen laughed as they viewed

Conventions of oysters which bathed in the nude;

Hemingway wrote with satirical smirk,

While matadors drank, and neglected their work.

Fragments of fiction floated away,

While the Mardi Gras banished despair and dismay;

Way up above, in a cotton-wool cloud,

The thinker thought thoughts, and stayed silent, aloud.

Ask Me an Answer, I’ll Tell You a Question

If you ask of me an answer to a question that I know,

I will do my best to help you, from a mind that’s laying low;

If you tell me of a secret that is seeking out an ear,

I will listen with both eyelids, and pretend that I can’t hear.

When a student with a problem seeks a reference in his books,

But the answer’s all in Latin, and is hid in crannied nooks;

In the house, if there’s a doctor, of unorthodoxic charm,

Could he translate this prescription, to save a brain from harm?

Should there be a certain something which is nothing in your eyes,

Maybe mine would fill with blankness, just to help you realise

That the act of being artless in itself is quite an art,

And the hiding of one’s feelings sometimes shows one owns a heart.

Even though the world’s a crossword, I am puzzled by the clues,

And the sometimes cryptic answers, with their often-changing hues.

There are moments in a lifetime when a man must play a part,

Sometimes jesting, sometimes gentle, sometimes bitter at the heart.

We nay stare around in wonder, though our eyes be nearly closed,

And arrive at an equation gleaned from all we had supposed;

Yet neglecting all the answers that might run too close to truth,

For honesty’s a quality we leave behind in youth;

Leaving us the situation, whereby no more may be learned:

Who can quench a thirst for knowledge, when all but hemlock’s spurned?

CHAPTER 16: APPENDIX 2

QGTB – Melbourne Staff, January 1969

PERSON	POSITION
Alick McCarthy	Manager
Reg O’Grady	Assistant Manager
Geoff Odgers	Third in Charge
Bill Tann	Travel Officer
Don Pinne	Travel Officer
John Dennis	Ticketing Officer
Gil McDavid	Ticketing Officer
Graham Kluver	Travel Officer
John Herron	Junior Clerk
John Webster	Travel Officer
Margaret Richardson	Switchboard/Secretary
Joy Cowley	Switchboard/Secretary
Maree Nevin	Switchboard/Secretary
Mary Pickworth	Switchboard/Secretary
Peter Lloyd	Messenger
Norm Wotherspoon	Travel Officer
Ernie Kelly	Travel Officer
Sean O’Brien	Junior Clerk

Norm and Margie's Tour of Europe

31 July 2012. Hello World. The following is NOT another chapter in my life story. We recently spent 8 weeks overseas, and this is my sort of account of the our 27 day European Tour.

Thanks to the Love of my life, Margaret, for enhancing the work with her photos.
AAARRRGGGHHH!!!!!!!! The photos did not survive the transfer to the blog! Sorry Darling one, sorry Readers.

With warmth, Norm.

Our European Tour 

Okay. I don’t want to write a travelogue; and you don’t want to read a travelogue. So this is the bare bones account of Margie and Normie’s BIG Holiday. I’ll just let you see where we were, the names of the hotels we stayed at, the sights we saw (very briefly), and what I think might be vaguely of interest to people with a short attention span with regard to other people’s holiday stories and snaps.

MAY 2012

Monday 28:        London to Paris

8:30 A.M. – We set off from the Kensington Close Hotel for St Pancras Station.

Sitting with backs to the engine, we sped off to France on the Eurostar Train, via the undersea tunnel. Suddenly, we were in France. Two hours later we arrived in Lille, with its VERY long platform.

Suzanne Sevenstern, our Tour Director, met all 34 of us, and we boarded our coach for another two hour trip, to Paris.

This night, we dined in typical Parisian style – wine, lamb, couscous, at a nearby café, sitting out on the street in the 8:00 p.m. broad daylight.

Introducing our Fellow Travellers:     

Suzanne (Tour Director), is Dutch, but she also speaks English, Italian, French and German fluently.

Donato, our Italian driver, is a VERY good driver of a VERY big bus!

Of the tourists, we have two couples from Chicago, Illinois, USA.:

Jim and Joanne (often addressed as ‘Jodie), and Cliff and Karen.

Roger and Di, from Endeavour Hills in Victoria

Nirani and her daughter Jayalia from Melbourne (Wantirna, I think).

David and Barbara of Frankston (Victoria).

Norm and Chris from Doncaster (Melbourne).

Two of Chris’s friends, Tessa and Mila, are also from Melbourne.

Fred and Maureen from Penrith, (the only New South Wales residents).

John and Jenny from Canberra.

A group of five friends come from country Victoria, in the Morwell/Shepparton area:

Jim and Lee;

Ada ;

Doug and Liz.

Gavin, from New Zealand.

George and May  from Victoria.

Kath is from Adelaide.

Sue from Melbourne.

Craig and Nicola from Eatons Hill, just down the road from Narangba.

Denise of Wavell Heights in Brisbane.

Karen, from Graceville in Brisbane.

On with our tour, 34 tourists in a 49 passenger coach!

Accommodation Paris (2 nights): Quality Paris Orleans

Tuesday 29:      Paris. An orientation tour, all the famous places – Notre Dame Cathedral, the Arc d’ Triomphe, Napoleon’s Tomb, the Louvre (which isn’t open on Tuesdays), and the Seine (River).

Interesting Stuff:

·        Notre Dame Cathedral – there is a teeny little statue of the hunchback high up on one side. Because it isn’t really a religious symbol, but something from a novel, it doesn’t get much space.

·        France makes 365 different cheese types, one for each day of most years.

·        One of the many bridges spanning the river, carries thousands of locks engraved with hearts and the linked names of lovers. Apparently, people bought locks at nearby shops (BIG trade in locks and engraving), had them engraved with hearts and lovers’ names, then threaded the lock through the iron/steel mesh on one of the sides of the bridge, locked it, and threw the keys into the Seine. Someone started the tradition quite some years ago, and now just about everyone does it. Ah, Paris! City of lovers!

·        The Paris Metro is the Paris Underground, not to be confused with the Paris Underworld, which consists of men in berets with four day stubble, who spend their days smoking Gauloise cigarettes, drinking Bordeaux, garrotting rivals and sinking them in the Seine.

·        I ate snails at Escaramouche Restaurant, but in future I think I’ll stick to fast food. (Yes, that was a little joke).

Wednesday 30: Paris to Bordeaux

Bus Rules (when travelling), include:

·        Always wear seatbelts

·        Please don’t use the toilet unless you absolutely, have to, gotta go!

·        Daily Seat Rotation. I predict that the seat rotation will cause a few interesting moments as our happy band journeys on. (And it DID!)

Interesting Stuff:

·        France has a population of approximately 60 million.

·        Germany, though smaller in size, has 83 million.

·        3 million people live in the city centre of Paris, with a further 3 million in the outer suburbs.

·        Marseilles and Lyons each have more than 1 million inhabitants.

·        Michelangelo is buried in the Chapel of the Castle Ambose, beside the River Loire.  

·        Way back when, Leonore of Aquitaine was the most powerful woman in France, owning about a quarter of the country. She married King Louis VII of France, had two children with him, then divorced him. She then married the King of England, and had 13 children with him, including Richard the Lionheart. She seemed to have a penchant for kings. Joan of Arc was another famous Aquitainian. Dang! I’m so GOOD at this historical stuff!

Accommodation Bordeaux: Mercure Bordeaux Centre Meriadeck

Thursday 31:     Bordeaux to Barcelona.

We stopped for 2 hours in Carcassonne, ‘perhaps the best-preserved medieval town Europe’. Two thick stone walls encircle the town.

Inside the walls, narrow streets wind off in three directions, criss-crossed by little side alleys and laneways.

Interesting Stuff:

Craig insisted that I include the following:

a)   He and Nicola bought a tea towel there, and

b)   Nicola took a nice photo of Roger trying on a medieval helmet. (I promised I would include this fascinating information for the world to share).

Accommodation Barcelona (2 nights): Catalonia Atenas

Here’s a haiku I wrote after one afternoon pee-pee stop (Suzanne’s phrase) at a roadhouse:

          At the end of Spring,

Barcelona roadhouse;

Strong, soulless coffee.

Interesting Stuff:

·        Barcelona has a population of 1.9 million people. It is also the fourth busiest port in the world, and cruise ships bring three million of the ten million visitors each year. The city area is seven square kilometres.

·        The city planners did something wonderful when drawing up the blueprints for Barcelona. Each corner in the city is not just a square intersection – they have shaved a triangle of extra space on each corner, which allows lots of light into the streets.

 JUNE

Friday 1:  

Interesting Stuff:

·        Gaudi designed probably the most eccentric church building ever, (so THAT’s how the word ‘gaudy’ came into being). He worked on it from 1891 until he never saw the street car that killed him in 1926. Construction then limped along until the 1992 Barcelona Olympic Games, after which building activity picked up. It is expected that the building will be completed by 2026, but people are not expecting it to be finished on schedule. It has 12 spires (at present – there will be 18 when it is finished), many statues, and very strange caricatures (lots of fruit atop some of the spires, a statue of a huge smokestack, all at strange angles). For $20, one can go inside. We didn’t.

·        After driving along a narrow, winding road, travelling upward, ever upward, we arrived at the awesome monastery of Montserrat. We touch the Black Madonna, (actually, the glass encasing the little statue.

·        A rock climber, halfway up an almost perpendicular cliff face, looked like a human fly stuck onto the rock with Velcro.

·        Tonight we fought our way through street vendors and outdoor restaurants for 200 metres to get to Ramblas Flamenco Restaurant for dinner.

·        Itinerant street vendors are illegal in many European cities/town. If the police catch you buying their wares (Genuine imitation Rolex watches, sunglasses, novelties, umbrellas), YOU pay a large fine. Why? Street sellers usually don’t have much money, tourists presumably do.

Saturday 2:        Barcelona to Nice

Accommodation Nice: Park Inn.

Interesting Stuff:

·        Somewhere along the way we heard about the famous Grimaldi (Monaco) and Medici (Florence) families, which wielded power in two different places way back in the Middle Ages.

·        Nice: I have a blank memory about Nice, but I’m sure it was nice. We spent the evening in Monte Carlo, where I won 30 Euros on a poker machine.

·        Monaco: Someone told me that Monaco has absolutely no unemployment, and that this is due in part because there is a police officer for every other person in the Principality. (I haven’t actually verified that).

Sunday 3: Nice to Florence

Accommodation Florence: Diplomat Hotel.

Interesting Stuff:

·        After an information/shopping session at a Perfumery at EZE, it was onward to Pisa, where we were mobbed by many VERY aggressive street sellers, mainly of African descent. They pushed themselves right into our faces, and abused Suzanne when she warned us not to buy anything. Yes, the Tower continues to lean, but Margaret photographed me trying to push it upright. It surprised me that they allow people inside to climb to the top.

Monday 4:                    Florence to Sorrento

Accommodation Sorrento (2 nights): Central Park Hotel      

Interesting Stuff:

Hercules and Centaur, Florence

Two hours was set aside this morning for leather shopping (simmer down, folks, no chains, no whips, just coats and belts and stuff, for which Florence is apparently famous). That worked well for everyone except Margaret and me. As we left the hotel, Margaret somehow mistook part of the glass of a revolving door frame for empty air, and banged her head hard against it.

·        She seemed okay, but by the time we got to our room to check it out, she had a bump the size of a large egg on her right temple, and the beginnings of a headache. While everyone else shopped, we waited for and saw a very professional Italian doctor. She gave Margaret a comprehensive medical examination (once the doctor was assured the bump on the head had nothing to do with me, she allowed me to be present).

Pisa

Tuesday 5:        

Interesting Stuff:

·       

Isle of Capri

Margaret went off to the Isle of Capri,

    I stayed home and did the washing. Kath, Sue and I eventually found a            Laundromat some 3 kilometres from the hotel but, on our return journey, Kath fell over on uneven footpath, just 20 metres from home. The result   was an egg on the right temple, just like Margaret’s. None of the women would walk with me, or even venture near me, for several days.

Wednesday 6:   Sorrento to Rome

Accommodation Rome: Princess Hotel.

Pompeii

Interesting Stuff:

·        At Pompeii we gained a sense of understanding of how people lived their lives before Vesuvius blew its top and wiped out the entire population.

Trevi Fountain, Rome

·        We threw a coin over our shoulder (or was it three coins?) into the Trevi Fountain.

Thursday 7:      

Interesting Stuff:

·        Margaret visited the Vatican and said it was well worth the visit.

·      

Castel Gandolfo Square

We checked out Castel Gandolfo, the Pope’s summer palace, and watched an amphibious small plane practice take-offs and landings (or, more correctly, waterings) on the lake.

·        We crossed the Appian Way, still one of the roads that lead to Rome, but nowadays just an unkempt country lane.

Friday 8:   Rome to Ancona to Patras

Accommodation: On board Minoan Lines Ferry overnight.

Interesting Stuff:

·        Lots of trucks travelling to Greece, but not a lot of foot passengers.

Saturday 9:        Patras to Olympia.

Accommodation Olympia: Olympia Palace Hotel.

Interesting Stuff:

·        Patras has half a million people, but they all seem to be sleeping this afternoon. There is an eerie, empty, derelict look about the place, as if everyone has been sucked up into an alien space craft. Shops are empty, closed or just deserted. Even many of the buildings have an old, unfinished look about them, as though the residents have been gone for years.

·        Suzanne solved part of the mystery – in Greece, building owners pay taxes on their property only after the building is completed. There are MANY incomplete structures in Greece; houses, hotels, shops… even the Acropolis has an unfinished look about it. (Margaret: “Normie, the Acropolis was complete, but it has been destroyed.” Normie: “Darling, that may be so, but it is obvious that they haven’t rebuilt it because they don’t want to pay any taxes on it.”)

·        Olympia, a small town (population 5,000). Our hotel is old, delightful, and, of course, unfinished. We ate our meals under a huge covered patio, with great views of the street.

Sunday 10:        Olympia to Athens

Accommodation Athens (2 nights) : Acropolis Select Hotel.

Olympia

Interesting Stuff:

·        We walked 300 metres from our hotel to the site of the ORIGINAL Olympic Games, (where the flame for the modern day games is lit).

·        We learned that Plato was more than just a philosopher and writer – he won three different events, including wresting, at the Olympic Games.

·        Only men participated at the original games – women were not allowed into the stadium even, and men competed naked. ‘Gymnasium’ is derived from the Greek word for nudity. Thought you might like to know that.

·        Statues to Zeus and other Greek gods dotted the grounds, and we found more relics of those ancient times in the grounds.

·        Zeus was an interesting god – one day he had a grossly swollen head, accompanied by a splitting headache. One of the other gods, in a spirit of helpfulness, cut his head open with an axe, and out popped his daughter Athena, fully dressed, and with all of Zeus’ wisdom, which must have left him fairly empty in the brain department. So, he was:

o   a) the first man ever to give birth; and

o   b) the first man ever to suffer from Alzeusheimers disease.

·        Greece is not the most attractive country for scenery; lots of rocks, patchy mountains, and all those unfinished buildings. Still, parts of it are very picturesque.

Monday 11:        I stayed home while Margaret and most of the others went for a cruise of the Aegean Sea,, visiting three Greek islands along the way.

Interesting Stuff:

·        Our hotel is in the Plaka area, just down the hill from the Acropolis.

·        We had two great dinners in Athens, the first a lamb and potato hot-pot-ish thingy that I found … delicious, and a meal at the interestingly named Gods Kitchen (recommended by Lonely Planet).

·       

Acropolis

The Acropolis was, as I said, incomplete, but there were workmen doing something there. It was a VERY hot day; the place was crowded, steep, with lots of fallen pillars all about the place. They really ought to tidy it up!

Tuesday 12:      Athens to Patras to Ancona.

Corinth Canal

Interesting Stuff:

·        Patras showed much more life today, some of it quite sad. On the slow drive to the port, seven or eight men jogged beside a truck just ahead of us, undoing the ropes tying down the side tarpaulin. Then four of them boarded the truck, hoping to hide among the cargo and thus get out of Greece.

However, the customs check all trucks and buses VERY thoroughly, and it was unlikely that anyone would have successfully escaped.

·        Because the Greek economy is a complete basket case at this time, and the country has very high unemployment, people are trying to get away to somewhere, anywhere,  with a possibility of work and some semblance of a decent future. For this reason, the customs and border screen all people wanting to leave very closely.

·        We had expected to have delays going through customs ourselves, but the staff, with police, were preoccupied with a young man with a passport which was either not his, or a fake. Nobody bothered to check our passports as we went through; at that time the policeman was asking some heavy questions of the young man. So sad.

·        There weren’t many foot passengers, but our ferry carried 164 trucks, at a cost of $870 Euros per truck (Jan and Jenny, from a Polish background, gained this information from a Polish truck driver). That’s about $1,000.00 Australian, which seems exorbitant, but, that’s what we were told.

Wednesday 13: Ancona to San Marino

Accommodation San Marino: Titano Hotel.                   

Interesting Stuff:

·       

San Marino

Because the ferry arrived late into Ancona, we arrived at San Marino very late, after a steep, long, winding road to the top of the mountain whereupon sits the walled castle. Dinner was served at 10:45 p.m., by which time we were hungry little travellers. 

Thursday 14:     San Marino to Venice

Accommodation Venice: Holiday Inn Venezia.

Interesting Stuff:

·        San Marino is one of the four smallest countries in the world, all of which our tour has visited. The others are – The Vatican, Monaco, and Lichtenstein.

·        The views from San Marino, set as it is atop a very tall mountain, are spectacular!

·        We paid five Euros each to have our passports stamped in San Marino.

·        Margaret bought a lovely leather coat that was made in Florence.

·        Venice is spread across lots of islands, and motor vehicles aren’t allowed on the main island. To get into the centre of the city, we drove along several kilometres of causeway spanning water, followed by a 40 minute water taxi trip across the lagoon, which has an area of 200 square miles.

Friday 15:           Venice

Interesting Stuff:

• We enjoyed our gondola ride, but some of the canals were a tad on the  ride, but some of the canals were a tad on the smelly side.

·        We walked across the Rialto Bridge, where the Merchant of Venice transacted much of his business (according to Shakespeare).

·        The Bridge of Sighs is interesting, in a melancholy sort of way. It is a raised bridge that spans a canal between what was once the Criminal Court and the Dungeons/Execution place. In the middle is a window, where the condemned can stop for a moment and look at Venice for the last time.

·        We saw glass blowers blowing glass, and Margaret bought some stuff that I am not allowed to mention in these pages. (NO! Nothing rude! Just a couple of things to use as stocking fillers at Christmastide).

·        We visited the island of Burano, where houses have brightly coloured doors, a tradition begun, it is said, so that drunken men could find their homes after a hard night’s drinking.

Saturday 16:      Venice to Vienna

Accommodation Vienna: Austria Trend Bosei Hotel.

Interesting Stuff:

·        We stopped for lunch at a roadhouse. The ladies’ toilet (I am told) was awash with Polish Pilgrim women, who obviously had not stayed in accommodations with shower facilities and, according to my informants, they had clearly not bathed/showered for some days. They had stripped down to their knickers to wash, and to change their bras and clothes.

·        Ah, Austria! Land of pine trees, Austrians, waltzes, great food, expensive wine (for Europe).

·        Austria has 8.3 million people, of whom 90% are Roman Catholic. Many houses have crosses in every room, with a large one, pointing towards Jerusalem, in the main living room.

·        1.8 million people live in Vienna.       

·        Most shops in Austria are closed on Sundays, except for restaurants and some tourist businesses. But don’t run out of corn flakes or sugar – the supermarkets are closed.

·        Austria is 90% self-sufficient in electricity, mostly through wind turbines (lots of wind turbines in Europe, and also solar panels).

·        There are 900+ ski resorts in Austria.

·        We stopped for lunch at a roadhouse at Velden, beside the magnificent Lake Worth.                       

·        The croissant was first made in Austria (not France); in honour of the bakers who heard the Turks tunnelling up to invade several centuries back, while they were doing their early morning baking.

·        Vienna is a stately, formal city; so many old buildings, still in first class condition; so many interesting places to check out – the Johann Strauss House; Mozart’s House; St Stephen’s Cathedral. Good stuff!

·        We watched a charity ride by motor cyclists through the city, thousands upon thousands of them.

·        Tonight we watched the Kursalon Waltz Show, which featured a band, two dancers, and two singers. It was interesting in that one of our tour party, sadly suffers from two character flaws:

o   She always has to get her own way; and

o   She always complains loudly about just about everything, several times a day. Tonight, she and her husband were first to move into a row of 8 seats, and the usher asked them to move to the end seats, which were beside the wall. She said, loudly, “I will NOT be squashed away in the corner!”; and sat down at the aisle end of the row. After the usher firmly told her she would have to move along, she moved along two seats, sat down, and refused to budge, saying again that she would not sit in the corner, where she wouldn’t be able to see properly. Which meant that Margaret and Ada and I had to wriggle past her, to sit in the corner where she refused to go.

Sunday 17:        Vienna

Interesting Stuff:

• Dinner (not quite in the Viennese Woods, but close), and we had the most enjoyable revelry, with laughter, song, and a LOT of wine. A most hilarious evening. We danced, we sang, we ate, we drank LOTS of wine.

                                                                  Before the dancing began.

·        I wrote the following piece of doggerel, the following morning. I used poetic licence to include the people who stayed home that night.

A Night Out in the Viennese Woods (or Near Them)

 I said to young Gavin, “Now, what are you havin’?”,

And he said, “The Haka looks fine.”

But sweet little Di, with a gleam in her eye,

Cried, “The Hokey and Pokey is mine!”

Then George said to May, “It’s a wonderful day,

So let’s do the Zorba for fun!”

Maureen and Fred had been drinking the red.

And showed how the Waltz should be done.

Then Kath said to Sue, “I know what we should do,

So they shimmied and then did the Twist,

And the Brisbane boy, Craig, took a flute from his bag,

And Roger cried, “Let’s all get ….. happy!”

Then Margaret and Norm did the Stomp to keep warm,

While Karen and Cliff danced the Tango;

And Liz and Doug kissed in the evening mist,

As Chrissy and Norm shared a mango.

Karin said to Denise, “My soul must find some peace.”

So they got up and both danced the Limbo;

Then Ada joined in, and came up with a win,

And Lee cried, “Don’t DARE call my man ‘Jimbo’!

Barbara said to her Dave, “You’ve forgotten to shave.”

He said, “That’s ‘cause I’m dancing the Samba!”

He danced out to the floor, and he sambaed some more,

And everyone shouted, “Caramba!”

Then Jenny and John said, “It’s time to move on!”

And began to Cha Cha in the garden,

They bumped into a rabbit, and both tried to grab it,

But the rabbit said, “Oops! Beg your pardon.”

Tessa and Mila made everything clearer,

They Flamencoed all over the floor,

Nirani and Jayalia did the dance of the Dahlia,

Until all of us called out for more.

Nicola cried, “Fine! But the conga line’s mine!”

She led us around and around.

We drank red wine all night (except those who drank white),

And our dancing feet hardly touched ground.

We were having such fun, but at last it was done,

Suzanne cried “Andiamo, my friends!”

Donato drove us along, while we kept singing songs,

And here is where my story ends.

Monday 18:        Vienna to Innsbruck.

Accommodation Innsbruck: Dollinger Hotel (I think we actually stayed somewhere else this night).

Interesting Stuff:

·        We had lunch and a walking tour at Salzburg, where we duly admired places where scenes from The Sound of Music were filmed. A very pretty place.

Tuesday 19:      Innsbruck to Lucerne

Accommodation Lucerne (2 nights): Ibis Styles Luzern City.

Interesting Stuff:

·        Margaret and I thought for a moment of leaving the tour right here, and living out our lives in this lovely old town, with magnificent views of surrounding mountains from almost every street corner. But Suzanne would have to spend half of the rest of her life filling out forms to account for our disappearance from her tour, so we forsook our transitory dream.

·        One problem we had was the heat – Innsbruck scorched! Jane and Steve, on their visit here some years ago, said that they froze. So, one can only assume that Global Warming is REAL! (Some sceptics might suggest that Jane and Steve were there in winter, and we visited during summer, but I don’t think that could be it).

Wednesday 20: Lucerne

Interesting Stuff:

• A little boat ride around the lake, very scenic, very serene.        

                                                 The Crying Lion Memorial, Lucerne                                 Lucerne

·        But then! We ascended Mt. Titlis! After a short drive to the cable car station, we sat, six per car, for the first stage of our journey to the top. We rocked about a bit, shivered a little at the very steep drop we see below us, until, five or so minutes later we disembarked, with our savoir faire intact (I think that means ‘our cool’, and we certainly were cool).

·        Then, we were herded, sheeplike, into another cable car for stage 2. This time, there were 80 of us … standing room only. I was held up only by the force of the people crushing me in, and permeating me with their exotic perfumes and other aromas.

·        The third stage, and we 80 souls were again packed into another sardine can, but this one revolved in transit, so that the view kept changing. I variously gained glimpses of armpits, nostrils, a patch of snow, and old teeth.

·        At last we were atop the fearsome mountain. But wait! For the real foolhardy, there was a chair lift to take one even further to the top! I rushed to stand in line, but foolishly mistake the direction, and find myself in the ice cave through the glacier. Too cool!                   

·        After a nourishing and expensive lunch, (interestingly, the restaurant appears to be owned, operated and staffed by people from India – there’s a good research project: do people from cold countries move to warm countries to escape their home climates, and of course, do people from hot climates emigrate to cold countries?), we ventured out onto the snow. Just in time for the weather to close in, the rain and the snow to start falling again. I made one little snowball, and threw it at the falling flakes.

Thursday 21:     Lucerne to Cologne

Accommodation Cologne: Holiday Inn Airport.

Interesting Stuff:

·        We stopped beside the Rhine River, and cruised for an hour, passing the rock where Lorelei’s song lured sailors to their doom; I was going to stuff my ears with cotton balls, but apparently Lorelei had left her rock.

·        Before we cruised, we spent half an hour wandering through the small town of Bacharach, which was just amazing. Once we passed through the old archway into the town, we were in an authentic 17^th century town; there seemed to be no modern buildings, just narrow, winding streets, stone bridges – I felt awed, humbled, intensely appreciative of the opportunity to visit this gem of a village.

·        Four railway lines ran beside the river in this area, two on each side. In the hour or so we were there, we estimated that we saw nearly 100 trains whizz past, travelling very fast.

Friday 22:           Lucerne to Amsterdam

Accommodation   Amsterdam: NH Schiphol Hotel.

Interesting Stuff:

·        The fun began with a combined coach/canal boat tour of Amsterdam. The canals are three metres deep, with approximately one metre of water, one metre of sand, and one metre of bicycles that have been thrown into the canal.                       

·        Sometimes people who may be tired and emotional after an evening at the pub drive their cars into a canal. Should you ever do this, remember that

o   A) you won’t drown; the canals aren’t deep enough; and

o   B) DON’T get out of your car. If you do so, you will be charged for the recovery of the vehicle. If you stay in the car, it becomes a rescue, and you are not charged.

·        Population of The Netherlands is 17 million, of whom 800,000 live in Amsterdam.

·        The country has a land mass of 43,000 square metres, with 444 people per square metre, compared to Australia which has 9 people per square metre.

·        At 8:00p.m. on May 4^th each year the entire country stops for 2 minutes, in memory of the 200,000 Dutch people who lost their lives in World War II. May 5^th is Commemoration Day.

·        We saw a house with a Dutch flag flying, and a back pack hanging over it. This is a sign that a child of the house has passed her/his matriculation examinations.

·        Canal houses, if ever available for purchase, will only cost 5 million Euros and upwards, or about $7 million. However, it is possible to buy one floor in a multi-storeyed house for between 250,000 and 400,000 Euros.

·        We checked out a famous diamond company, and learned the four factors that influence the price of diamonds:

o   Carats

o   Colour

o   Cutting

o   Clarity

·        Bicycles have right of way over everything else on the roads – trucks, cars, pedestrians, and they certainly take it. I inadvertently strayed into a bicycle lane and was shoulder charged by a cyclist who, thankfully, was riding quite slowly.

·        After our tour, Suzanne offered to take any of us who were interested on an afternoon stroll through the Red Light District of Amsterdam. She stressed that this was NOT part of the Cosmos tour, and that we WOULD see scantily dressed ladies, and very graphic photos advertising live shows. Margaret and I went along simply as part of our cultural development education, but, surprisingly, every other person in our happy band accompanied Suzanne on the walk. For those interested in learning about differing cultures and customs, I offer the following:

o   Prostitution is illegal but tolerated in The Netherlands.

o   Each person engaged in the profession must be registered, and must have a fortnightly health check, and must pay taxes on their income.

o   Pimps are not allowed.

o   The ladies sit in windows on the street, on stools, wearing fairly brief lingerie. Behind them is a curtain, behind which is a bed, with an alarm button beside it.

o   They have the right to accept or reject clients.

o   The minimum cost is around 35 Euros (about $50) for ten minutes.

o   Different ethnic groups are grouped together in different streets and laneways.

o   There are some places which provide entertainment in the form of live shows.

o   Male sex workers were banned from the area after it was discovered that they were attracting some of the clients/potential clients from the women workers. They now operate through escort services.

o   Apparently the statistics relating to sex crimes are significantly lower in this country than in others where prostitution is illegal. (This is what we were told – I have not checked this).

·        Following this informational session, we were given free time before dinner. Suzanne told us that, if we sat down in restaurants or bars, it was expected we would have a meal. If however, we simply wanted a coffee and the use of facilities, we could go to a coffee shop. BUT, there are two types of coffee shops. If one only wanted tea or coffee, then the place to go was a COFFEE shop. For anyone wanting coffee and a little recreational substance to accompany the coffee, one should go instead to a KAFFEE shop. In such places one could purchase soft substances in the form of marijuana cigarettes, or space cakes (cakes which included a little something to lift the spirits – something not legally purchasable or usable in Australia) or some other form of getting a bit of a buzz.

·        Amsterdam was a hoot, dear friends, and some of us gathered in the hotel bar that evening to share a drink with our tour director and each other, this being the last evening of our European tour.

Saturday 23:      Amsterdam to London

Interesting Stuff:

·        We drove to Calais, through Belgium, boarded the boat, arrived at Dover, and boarded another bus to take us back to the finishing point, the Kensington Close Hotel.

A few observations (Norm) about Europe:

·        The footpaths are very wide in major streets.

Just about everybody in France speaks French. (haha).

·        There are lots of small, winding streets angling away from main streets.

·        LOTS of apartment buildings, and almost no houses, in Paris, until one gets right out into the outer, outer suburbs. We never saw one house in the city. This is similar in several other cities along the way – Barcelona, Rome, Athens, Vienna, and Amsterdam.

·        So many buildings and statues are hundreds of years older than the oldest houses or buildings in Australia.

·        Donato, our driver, had to stop after so many hours of driving, for a minimum of 30 or 45 minutes, which is automatically recorded. He also had to take several days off along the way, leaving us with a relief driver.

·        On the major roads, there are exits to service stations and restaurants. We stopped at many of these for morning teas, lunches and afternoon teas.

·        The highway restaurants are similar but different from those in Australia. There don’t seem to be any McDonalds, KFCs, Red Roosters, Subways or Hungry Jacks in these places. Instead, there are places called Pauls (best macaroons in the land, except the only time we decided to have one, they didn’t have any on hand). There are also AutoGrills, which serve standard, but interesting fare. Nice baguette type things, with ham and cheese, or ham and tomato. In most places, there are also hot food self-service places, and sort of convenience stores, which sell sweets, nuts, wine, beer, chips, soft drinks, water, postcards, tacky toys and souvenirs (a pink rubber pig that gives out a dreadful piggy sound when squeezed), chocolates, bread, cheese and noodles.

·        The meals on our journey ranged from adequate to good in roadhouses, and from good to excellent in hotels and on eating/entertainment excursions.

·        People in Europe (the ones we have so far encountered, in France, Spain, Italy and Greece) use lots of gestures and loudness in many of their conversations.

·        There are many, many eating places, from grubby little cafes to five star restaurants. This is because apartments are all very small (with the exception of those owned by the very rich), most with either one or two bedrooms, and in summer, apartments are hot and stuffy. People sit outside until late at night, and they have coffee, wine and meals at their local or favourite restaurants.

·        Most European hotels don’t provide tea, coffee or jugs in the rooms. To add to this, only a few places provide teabags at breakfast for us to make our own tea. Breakfast coffee is okay, but one’s taste buds cry out for a nice, strong cup of tea. Coffee in roadhouses and restaurants varies immensely in quality and quantity. Most people who live in Europe seem to like very strong coffee in very small cups, with no or very little milk. When I try to order bigger cups with more milk, I run into problems. Cappuccino tends to be served in larger cups than coffee with milk, but only half is coffee, the other half is just froth, and the coffee is half cold. When I try for Latte, I am either told that they don’t serve it (this is coffee for wimps, is my interpretation of the looks I get), or I get a cup of hot milk. On the rare occasions I actually get a latte, it is, as usual, half cold.

·        To get anywhere in most cities/towns/villages we visited, we had to do a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, (possibly because we have a very long bus, which cannot turn into many of the narrow streets), so it was up one road, right into another road, then another right, another left, and so on.

·        Every day on the road, we passed thousands of trucks travelling in both directions. When we travelled or stopped near train lines, we saw trains about every five minutes, some passenger trains, but mostly goods trains.

·        I think we went under more hills and mountains than we climbed. On one day, when we crossed from France to Italy, we travelled through 168 tunnels in the day, ranging from about 80 metres to several kilometres. The longest tunnel we experienced in Europe was 14 kilometres long, and Suzanne told us that the absolute longest European tunnel was 17 kilometres. Campbell Newman, eat your heart out. (For those unfamiliar with our city of Brisbane, our Lord Mayor a few years back started a veritable welter of tunnel-digging, but so far I think only three and a half have been completed out of a total of four or five).

·        In Europe, on the Autobahns, there is a Stupidity Fine in operation. Anyone stupid enough to run out of petrol has to pay a large fine for the costs of sending out a vehicle to get them going again. What a good idea!

Places We/I would like to visit again:

·        Paris - I would like to spend perhaps a week here, to wander round the Left Bank, to view the city from atop the Eiffel Tower, to have a day at the Louvre, and to visit the Palace at Versailles.

·        Barcelona – Another week at least here. There seemed to be so much to see that we left unseen, and a lovely, casual, carefree atmosphere.

·        Sorrento – Again, Sorrento had a lovely, relaxed feel to it, with lots of interesting little streets and lanes and restaurants, and I would like to go with my darling to the Isle of Capri next time. Another week.

·        Rome – Here I would like to spend some time wandering through art galleries, and just taking the pulse of the city and surrounds. Sigh. Another week.

·        Athens/Greek Islands – You guessed it – another week here, and time to visit a few islands, especially Hydra, where Leonard Cohen lived and wrote for several years.

·        Vienna – I think Vienna deserves two weeks. So stately, so much to see, so much cultural history here.

·        Innsbruck – Here is a place to reflect, rest, meditate, think for two weeks, surrounded by magnificent mountains.

·        Lucerne – Another place with mountains, lots to see, and somewhere to just relax a while. Just a week.

·        Amsterdam – Whilst the city is a truly fun place, there seem to be so many museums and art galleries that I would like a week to explore the older cultural areas.

Places we didn’t visit in Europe but would like to:

·        Germany – Maybe a week or two cruising along the Rhine River; and a week in Berlin.

·        Turkey – This country, from all accounts we have read and heard, is a fascinating place to visit, and a week here would be nice.

·        Croatia – Our dear friend Mary told us that, of all the places she has visited, Croatia was her favourite for a holiday. So we would like to spend a week there.

I will leave our journey at this point, because, if I add more places, the dream becomes TOTALLY impossible.

I hope you have enjoyed all, or at least a lot, or possibly some, or maybe just a smidgen, of this journal.

With much warmth,

Norm