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| Munich Clock Tower |
15 March Saturday through 18 March Tuesday Villeparisis to Paris to Villeparisis
18 March: One of the expected pleasures of this trip was the anticipation of experiencing the change of seasons. That is something we don’t have in LA where there are three changes that occur at no particular interval. Most of the year it is just hot, sunny, smoggy with each day a duplicate of the preceding one—it lends a certain security in knowing when you wake up exactly what the day will be like. Then there is winter when it rains for a couple of months day after day—that leads to the same sort of predictability in a depressing sort of way. Occasionally, there are Santa Ana’s with blast furnace temperatures that dry up your sinus cavities. Two or three days a year are perfect: air light and fresh, warm and pleasurable. But there are no seasons as we know them, no summer, fall, winter spring.
Of course, from our experience Asia has one season: the damp, steamy one. And it was Autumn in Greece, but that is predictably, unpredictably Mediterranean, warm to cold to warm.
But in France we have expected the change to be more precise: you know, "winter—it drizzles; summer—it sizzles...April in Paris, chestnuts in blossom...etc"
It has been a long winter, drizzled plenty though we have been told it is a "mild winter" one of the calmest in many years. But when we returned from Switzerland in the middle of March we expected to find at least the first hints of Printemps. Driving back was disappointing: the entire country was smothered under clouds on the deck that drizzled unmercifully and continuously for days.
Everyone we speak to has had enough winter and begins every conversation with: "Where is the sun?!" But I know better. Outside our frosted window, buds have sprouted all over a tree like an infection and sparrows are conspicuously noisy all day long.
Then Monday we woke up and found the sun shining bright.... SPRING HAD ARRIVED.
We dressed with light sweaters under our coats—to show our cautious confidence in Nature—and drove to our customary place of parking at Porte de Bagnolet. But when we got out of the Metro the sky was ominously gray and it drizzled for much of the day. With the evacuation of the sun, the cold took away all the illusion of winter’s premature demise.
By evening when we returned to VP it was obviously below freezing once more.
We had spent a frustrating day trying to accomplish necessary business, getting some done and wasting lots of time doing it. We chatted with Lola and Hélène and reached an unstated rapprochement and got ourselves entangled beyond niceties and into an invitation for dinner at Hélène’s which we did not want. We saw a lousy movie and cursed ourselves for our irresistible impulse to get dragged into doing things we do not want to do.
The evening turned out to be bearable, due to the presence of Gerard’s parents, who at least talked to us as though we were fairly acceptable human beings who were more than curiosities.
When we awoke the next morning there was a blanket of fresh snow over the buds. It would melt with the sun but it reminded us our winter is not yet over.
19 March Wednesday Villeparisis
It snowed Monday night and there was snow on the ground when we woke up Tuesday. But it warmed and most of the snow melted during the day. But then Wednesday there it was again and it continued to fall and swirl all day under gray skies.
It was pretty here in the country. The grass, trees, housetops, stayed white and did not turn brown or black as in the city. It brought back a melancholy nostalgia for winters of my New York boyhood, Christmases spent watching the silent snowflakes swirling in the air.
20 March Thursday ... Villeparisis to Verdun to Strasburg
21 March Friday ... Strasburg to Munich
22 March Saturday through 23 March Sunday ... Munich
24 March Monday ... Munich to Rothenberg
24 March: During the days in VP we really do not do a great deal, wash our clothes which have become grimy from constant wear during our sorties on Europe, I write or try to and Bea diets or tries to, and we read and wait for mail and prepare our next travel.
Right now I am sitting in a hotel room—a Gasthaus overlooking the Kobellenplatz in Rothenberg, another of Europe’s walled medieval towns that have been converted into a tourist pilgrimmage.
I have been doing a lot of reading and thinking lately about scattered things and I want to put them down so I can look back on them later and see how naïve and wrongheaded I was. I am reading "The Best and The Brightest" which after "Burr" confirms my cynical conclusion that governments–countries—run by people are hopeless and that since people are the only things we have that can run governments, forget about justice, peace, or that kind of crap.
About myself I have been very down as well. My mind is like the economy, a vicious cycle and a downward spiral—one insecurity leads to others, one failure leads to fears of others; an outlook which looked so positive a few days ago becomes filled with dread after one ego setback. Omnipotence becomes impotence, talent appears dull, brilliance that a day ago was so clear now seems absurdly mediocre.
And so it goes. Confidence flows and ebbs, inadequacy, constipation prevail. Luck turns against me in ironic joy at my misery, changing weather, raising prices, spoiling food, even damaging my car, forcing my face to break out, making me lose things, changing signposts.
The conspiracy is overwhelming.
Here in Rothenberg, I will give a summary of the facts of our trip so far in chronological order which plan is now boring me and then get on to other things I want to say.
20 March: drove east from VP—snow had stopped falling—left the world looking black and white—farms covered in snow. Through Verdun—wanted to stop at battlefield but could see nothing—would be covered in white. Drove to Alsace-Lorraine, reached Strasbourg and decided to stay.
We found a hotel with a surly woman at the desk who was annoyed because we wanted to see the room. It turned out to be warm but noisy, thus above average for a French 1 or 2 star hotel. We walked around the town a little in the late afternoon—it was very cold. The usual river through the town with the usual cathedral and gray stone handsome buildings. We had a poor dinner at a cheap restaurant and were looking forward to leaving France.
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| Munich |
We meant to stay in Tubingen but it was gray, cold and dull looking—partly our outlook, partly the weather. We went on to Munich. Found a pension—one of the cheapest ($17) and walked to the main Platz and had dinner at the Hofbrau, the beerhall, which is the thing everyone does. The meal and even the beer was disappointing—mine, at least—overcooked roast pork and the beer watery and flat. The waitress annoyingly hurried.
But a German man dining was kind to us despite the language impossibility and the atmosphere was pleasantly hectic and fruitful for people watching. The Germans look like healthy prosperous decent people—indistinguishable from the way average Americans look.
23 March: Sunday: most every store was closed and so we drove to Dachau and walked around the concentration camp and museum which we decided was not half the impact of Yad Vashem even with the ovens, wooden bed slats and rows of gravel rectangles, the lifeless chill colorless air.
Bea became very incensed at a plaque on a wall of the museum to the effect that the place was dedicated to the people who perished, "sacrificed their lives" ... She angrily and truthfully observed that the people who died, at least the Jews rather than the political prisoners, did not voluntarily sacrifice their lives, they did not fight and die for a cause. They were murdered for who they were, not what they believed. There is an important distinction which the Germans still do not seem to get. She took one of the suggestion cards, filled it with her anger and stuffed it into the box. On the way there and back, we kept noticing how close the towns and roads were to the camp. How could the townspeople not know what was going on there?
We read the rest of the afternoon and had a good dinner in the pension.
Random thoughts: Reading "The Best And The Brightest" the impression is the one I think the author intended: that the mistakes which caused Vietnam were inherent in the weaknesses of our institutions; government, schools, and also in human nature: ambition, conformity, manliness, bravery, power hunger. The fact that none of these things are changeable is discouraging. It confirms my own view that the very things which make a politician attractive are also those which make him dangerous: certainty, ego control, strength, charisma.
This trip has given me the temptation to think I know something about the countries and the people we have visited. I fear the opposite is true. I know less than when I started. I know about food, cheap hotels, churches, museums, some of the countryside, but little about the people.
Whether I know more about myself—I don’t know. I do know that my observations in this book have not been very profound, because we have experienced only the mundane; and also because I probably wouldn’t recognize the profound—my one conclusion about the world is trite: that people by and large all want and strive for the same things—prosperity, comfort and peace.
24 March: I am writing this entry while lying in a bed in a hotel room in West Berlin [on the 25th] . I am looking out of the window at the snow which seems to be in a big rush to fall. I know this opening sounds familiar, not original. In fact I have used it several times recently. But that is explainable. Looking at snowfall is the way we spend most of our time these days, because it has snowed more or less continuously since 17 March.
We drove north from Munich to Nurnburg through a blizzard much of the way until we reached Rothenberg which was very cold and it began to snow as we walked around the village. We had dinner in our pension and watched the snow fall again. The snow is now our only reality, and the cold. It is like punishment because it is so harsh, stark, beautiful and mysterious.
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| Rothenberg |
We drove off after cleaning the snow from the car. Snow fell and coated the car as quickly as we cleaned it off. A few miles away the snow stopped, the clouds parted and the sun shined. Further on, it snowed again, big flakes pelting the car like locusts. Then it stopped, then started, then stopped and the sun shone. Then the snow fell and the sun kept on shining. Every possible combination of weather—like one of those time lapse films of clouds racing across a sky.
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| East Berlin Mort & Worker |
We passed the exits for Leipzig and Dresden and entered Berlin. We found a pension and went out to the Great White Way, found a Chinese restaurant and had one of the best meals in a long time. We wanted to go to a movie and make a special night of it because it is our second anniversary, but we were disappointed. So we went back to our room, huddled, cuddled, snuggled, first in our clothes under the covers, until bravely peeling little by little.
Bea cried, sad for herself on our anniversary in dreary room in scary old Germany. Kissed away tears, talked, then whispered about warmer things for a long time, until we laughed and sweated and shivered again.
The next morning we woke up and it was snowing.
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| Bea in East Berlin |
We tried to walk today but were defeated by wet snow and vicious cold that tended to steal any enjoyment away from promenading Kurfurstendamm unless we wore snowshoes. We had planned to go to the zoo but the specter of frozen giraffes shivering against the cold chased us away. Instead we retreated to the car.
In doing so we seemed to have solved one of the problems that had been plaguing us since we began our trip: the frustration to each of us of the other’s bad habits: my careless driving and Bea’s frustrated attempts to read maps.
Reading German street maps is especially infuriating. Looking for a particular street, you have to distinguish among all the finely printed very long names: "Kafurstendammerstrasse and Kafurtendammerplatz..." as the streets go whizzing by and the horns blare at you.
At one point, we were screaming so furiously at each other that a pedestrian stepped from the curb and offered to help us without our asking; very embarrassing.
This time I let her drive overcoming her fear of city driving and my urge to control everything mechanical. Miraculously, we made our way about town in relative ease this way; . I managed to navigate and Bea to drive sanely, all over the city, west—from Brandenberg Gate to Charlottenberg Palace where we toured the Greek and Egyptian Museums (the famed Nefertiti bust), to Courbosier House in the British sector and back to our penzione.
27 March Thursday Berlin
We crossed over to East Berlin, after driving to Checkpoint Charlie. We decided to walk because despite the cold which persists, we were unsure of extra hassles involved and besides, walking is the only way to gather impressions of details.
So we walked. Down Freidrichstrasse, past construction, dull houses, some still remaining shells of bombed-out buildings from WWII and many new equally dull houses. Unter Linden to Alexanderplatz and a pretty bad lunch in the town hall, a walk through the Central Department Store and back the way we came. Pretty dull, unexciting and not very informative, just a shabby part of touristland.
Time to go home; our heads are already there.
28 March Friday Berlin to Celle to Hannover
We left Berlin just in time; before an invasion of Easter weekend travelers that caused a tie-up for 20 km’s on the Autobahn. The traffic our way, west, was slight by comparison, only a one hour trip through the maze at the border for transit through East Germany.
As it was, it was a frustrating, difficult day. After the cold, rain and snow, the sun was shining in the morning and we took off without coffee or anything else, all stores being closed for Good Friday ruining our plan to buy road food.
We then proceeded—got lost trying to find the Autobahn out. Once on the road, we made another wrong turn and headed in a panic for Poland before being able to turn around, after several kilometers.
I teased Bea that if we were stopped, she might be detained as a spy, because her parents were born in Poland and her passport says she was born in Russia. I would then have to return to Paris, and make every effort to get her out, though it might take me years. I am after all a lawyer, but of course would have to learn French and some other languages first.
Through East Germany on the crumbling pavement and across another border; we headed toward Celle, another "picturesque" town. It did seem that way, what we could see of it through a bitter cold blizzard and we found a hotel that was open. They had one room—the garret, but after 2 hours it was the same old story—frozen solid, no heat.
Muttering, we left and drove on icy roads to Hannover. In the blizzard with the confusing snowed over road signs we almost missed the town and drove toward Cologne but found an exit and made our way to a hotel—with heat and a shower in the room!! What a find.
We ate at a café which had "American style" grilled steaks, conversed with a German guy who spoke passable English and had a decent night’s sleep.
29 March Saturday Hannover to Cologne
Had coffee, bought nuts and raisins and after the usual snafu, got on the autobahn for Cologne. Sun and blue skies became cloudy but nothing like the days before, and we drove through the white pasture land and black and white forests to Cologne. Found a hotel near the Hauptbanhof and walked to the famous cathedral, a Gothic monster, and the shopping center among the pre-Easter crowds.
Later, we napped and went out for dinner, bought two mugs and came back to the hotel to listen to train whistles and church bells all night. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday.
30 March Sunday Cologne to Villeparisis
Just another driving day, 3 countries, 2 tanks of gas, rain, snow, some sunshine and the house at the end, welcoming us to its frigid arms.
There were letters from Bea’s mother, Steve, Karen Dominy, a card from Ron&Laura, and a letter from the car shipper in Amsterdam.
R&L and Steve want to know if we are enjoying Parisian Spring ... "chestnuts in blossom." What suckers we are for the Chamber of Commerce propaganda, romantic song lyrics. Our image of everything is distorted by expectations. Paree is not "gay" these days, just cold, gray and full of people hustling other people, just like everywhere else in the world.
I feel as if I have grown old on this trip, spent my last energies searching for clichés until now I am tired, worn out, "world weary." Still insecure. No problems solved— only delayed, suspended. No worlds conquered, only endured, outlasted, but barely.
And now the numbers are catching up with me. I am 32 and rootless, uncertain, feeling foolish and naive, abused and useless, mediocre and inept. Bea has been unable to help this mood. She too is feeling the ennui, the angst of anticipation and the sheer fatigue of travel.
31 March Monday Villeparisis
The kind of a day we have needed for a long time and haven’t been able to have. Sleep late, have some coffee and sleep and cuddle all day. No alarm clock. Dressing for breakfast, no packing, no driving, no checking out.
The weather seemed to improve a bit, some sun and a little warmer, but the prediction was for more clouds and cold.
The news was full of the South Vietnam retreat and the tone was shock and disgust at the cowardice of the South Vietnamese army which fought panicked civilians to escape. Why this should have been a surprise is the shock to me. It has been known since the beginning 20 or 30 years ago that the South V-N army was a reflection of its government and society, merely a corrupt puppet nation wholly dependent on Western money and values with none of their own. They had no reason to fight because they weren’t a nation, just an anti-nation built on no foundation, first by France, then by the US.
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