Tag Archives: sights

Posts with descriptions of any local sights– either well known or obscure.

053- Invasion of Normandy or “The Longest Post”

Thursday, 19 July 1984, 3:30PM, Omaha Beach, Normandy, France

Yesterday turned out to be rather full, so I best catch up.

First I took in a substandard breakfast comprised of three slices of French bread with a bowl of coffee in the downstairs cafeteria, eating with a college guy from Minnesota.

To get my culture for the day, I set off to see the world famous Bayeux Tapestry.

Friday, 20 July 1984, Aboard St. Killian, docked in Le Harve, France

Before I left, I put on my Mickey Mouse t-shirt, that much to my chagrin had been improperly washed in Segovia and the blue trim on the collar and sleeves turned purple and ran, staining other parts of the shirt. I wore it anyway.

I arrived at the Bayeux Tapestry Museum before opening time, and waited around in the courtyard a while, with an American family. Their little kid commented, “Daddy, what’s so great about this tapestry?”

When we got in the museum, we found out. This was the best exhibit in terms of organization and signage I have seen anywhere. The displays were informative, clear and highly interesting. The tapestry, woven in a length of 80-some meters, portrays the events leading up to the Norman invasion of Britain and the Battle of Hastings in 1066. I must have been impressed by it all, as I bought a fold-out re-creation of the tapestry and a number of postcards in the museum gift store before I left.

Classic panel of the Bayeux Tapestry with William sailing to Britain. See all the panels at hastings1066.com

Afterwards I went to the tourist information office to find out how to get to Mont Saint Michel, my next destination for the day. I also filled up on goods from a local bakery that offered an incredible selection of untold French baked goodness. Also picked up food for later and dumped it back at the Accueil and took off for Mont St. Michel, after eating numerous sandwiches.

Mont Saint Michel is a monastery located on an island off the coast is isolated at high tide, save for a causeway leading from the mainland, and surrounded by a mud flat at low tide. I was expecting the visit to be quite an experience. After two hours train and bus time, the approach appeared quite impressive.

Impressive from a distance, but the warning signs in the foreground screamed “TOURIST TRAP”. I didn’t hear that in time.

As we drew close, the tour buses and cars parked along the causeway made me suspicious. As I walked through the gates of the monastery, the ugly truth reared its head. Mont Saint Michel was clearly one of Europe’s leading tourist traps. Lining the main street, twisting up the mont, tourist shops stood wall to wall selling all the same postcards, caps, headbands and junk associated with tourist traps worldwide. The street was filled shoulder to shoulder with tourists. I’m not exaggerating when I say movement was impossible at times.

At first I thought I’d go along with it, like the guys from Detroit suggested. I remembered their conversation about tourist shopping in Paris metro stations, trying to find the most outrageously tasteless trinkets (Eiffel Tower in seashells?). Well, I didn’t have to look far. Just as I was about to buy some plastic cameras at $1 apiece, that click off a disk of 15 pictures of Mont Saint Michel, common sense stepped in. I aborted this mission and bolted from the island, purchasing only an ice cream to provide sustenance on the way out.

A view from the mudflats. No tourists in sight. Sometimes sinking in mud is the price you pay for peace and quiet.

Another shot from the mud flats, with the tree lines marking the shore in the distance.

The tide was out, so in my new shoes (bad choice on this day) I walked the Mont’s perimeter, searching for an ideal camera angle. It just so happened that place was located in knee deep mud, so I settled for the second most ideal angle and snapped a couple of photos. After that, I killed time back on the mainland before the bus arrived to extract me from this horror of commercial tourism.

On the bus back to the train station, I met Paul and Mary, a middle aged couple from San Diego. They were pretty amusing and we kept on talking right through until the train came, at which point we were separated by class. They were 1st, I’m 2nd. I waved goodbye as they pulled out on the train leaving Bayeux.

Back in Bayeux, the sun began to set as I pulled into the Accueil. Back in the room, I feasted on Ritz crackers, Belgian pate, cheese, tomatoes and French bread. Feeling like a stuffed pig, I retired for the evening.

Thursday morning, I decided that sleep was more important than the measly breakfast served downstairs so I skipped it, brunching instead on leftovers from the pervious night. Thursday was going to be “World War II Day” so I left the Accueil and walked across the street to the Bayeux Invasion Museum to start things off.

The museum displayed a range of objects that were interesting in different degrees, but it gave the overall impression that this was a bunch of stuff the guys chipped in to start a museum. The exhibits were very informal. The most interesting part was the display of letters home written by the soldiers who took part in the invasion and aftermath. Reading firsthand accounts in the authors’ own handwriting has quite an impact.

After the museum, I checked in at a travel agency to see about getting a ferry to cross over to Ireland. The port of Cherbourg was closed due to the spreading effects of a British coal miners strike currently in progress. The travel agent made a reservation on the ferry from Le Havre and referred me to the tourist office for information to get from Bayeux to Le Havre (because to get there on the train was too cumbersome).

Loaded up with all the info I needed for a while, I visited my favorite boulangerie in town for goodies and began my search for the bus to Omaha Beach. In short order, the bus appeared and off we went.

It was a beautiful day to visit this historic site.

The driver deposited me at the entrance to the American Military Cemetery and from there I walked in. As cemeteries go, this struck me as quite dignified and beautiful. With over 9,000 men buried here, it was sobering— especially considering how many died right there on the nearby beach. It was a sad place, but overall left you with a positive feeling. The memorial stressed that these soldiers died for a purpose, an ideal which they helped preserve, so they did not die in vain.

While at the site, I also went down on Omaha Beach. The beach was not how I pictured it at all. No steel traps for amphibious landing craft, no barbed wire or any of the other accessories from “The Longest Day” with John Wayne. What I did observe were numerous holiday beach goers (clothing optional) and a number of beach houses. Maybe I’m wrong but I figured this former battleground would be a place for reverence rather than merry making. Life had definitely triumphed over death.

Omaha Beach. No fleet off the coast, no landing craft, no barbed wire, and fortunately no live rounds. Solitude is handy when you really need to ponder, and it worked for me here.

Back at the bus stop, there was quite a wait for the next bus. I took advantage of this time to see some of rural Normandy on foot, and headed off on foot in the direction the bus would eventually come from. I made it 3 km down the road, with French drivers on the narrow road terrorizing me more often than not. Several old farm buildings along the way looked well over 40 years old and were surely around during the invasion. They looked just like the classic whitewashed French farm houses from WWII pics. I can only imagine what this place was like in 1944!

Omaha Beach was just one of the landing beaches that Americans, Brits and Canadians stormed on D-Day. Take your pick, here they are, and vets from each country were looking back on those scary days.

It turned out I was such a good walker that I entered the next tariff zone away from Bayeux, making my trip back more expensive . Can I pick directions to randomly walk or what? The bus eventually dropped me back in Bayeux, where I acquired a bus schedule to Le Havre. Dinner in town consisted of pizza and half a liter of wine, which sent me stumbling back to the Accueil. As the evening played out, I washed some clothes out and packed up the rest of my stuff.

The way the train and bus schedules worked out, I had to make it to nearby Caen on the train by 7:40 to catch the only bus from there to Le Havre. So this morning, I was up at 6, and had to forgo breakfast again and zoomed to the station.

12:00 Midnight, headed toward Ireland aboard the St. Killian II

The train to Caen did not arrive on schedule, so I missed the possibility of catching the bus to Le Havre. The man at the train station info desk told me that Cherbourg was now open to ferry traffic, so seeing some chance of catching the fery, I hopped the next train out. I’m tired. More later.

005- Night ferry to Crete

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Now on the road for a couple of days, with my trusty Berlitz phrasebook for reference, I eased into the travelers routine. It became increasingly obvious that as a 6’4″ redhead, towering above a sea of shorter, dark-haired people on the streets of Greece, I screamed of foreign-ness and was a natural magnet for hawkers. (Ok, wardrobe choices didn’t help me out in this regard.) Sticking out so much took getting used to, and only gradually did I learn to deal with this. As I left Athens I also had my first exposure to Romani (gypsies). That episode may read politically incorrect by today’s standards, but this was 1984 and I wrote it like I heard it. Heads up!

Thursday, 17 May 1984, 3:00PM, Clare’s House, Athens

Today is check out day at Clare’s House, provided that the proprietor got my ferry ticket as we discussed this morning. I should be on the 6:30PM boat to Crete. I’ll tell more of that and some Athens stories later.

8:17PM, en route to Crete, aboard the ferry Kantia

First, I’ll run down what I did before I left Athens and then I’ll start the ferry ride story.

Friday, 18 May 1984, 8:11AM, Iraklion, Crete, courtyard of Hotel Hania

So much to say, but first let’s get me caught up. Spent yesterday in Athens on my own. Went to the Theater of Dionysious, the Agoura, the Plaka and the National Archaeological Museum. I was surprised to find out I could make out the Greek inscriptions on the box seats in the ancient theater– well at least well enough to sound out the words.

First week out, made it to the Acropolis

I finally made it to the Acropolis.

Yesterday, I also came to the realization that I was very spottable as a tourist. It happened before when I was with Michael and Kathy. People always ask me whether I want to buy this, or do I want directions. Later, when I was walking alone through Syntagma Square, a rather pudgy guy saw my UCLA t-shirt and started a conversation that went like this:

“Hey, UCLA Bruins! You from the States?”

“Yes”.

“What part?”

“Los Angeles”.

“Oh, Los Angeles Lakers. How did they do?”

“I don’t know. The playoffs were still going on when I left.”

“How about hockey?” I began to get suspicious when a Greek sounds interested in hockey.

“You in Athens long?” he asked.

“No. I’m leaving tonight for the islands.”

“You need ticket? Come on, let’s go to travel agency right around the corner.”

“I already have a ticket. Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll buy you a beer and we can watch the entertainment.”

Fortunately, Uncle Dale warned me about the old “I”ll buy you a beer” trick where it ends up costing me a fortune.

“No, really, I have to do a lot of things before I leave tonight.”

“When you going?”

“Seven, but I have to go to the bank, the post office, my hotel, and my laundry is dirty too,” I lied.

“Oh, oh well.” So I went into the bank and when I passed through the square again, there was my buddy, searching the crowd for his next sucker. Then he saw me. “Hey, I’m insulted now!” he said.

“Sorry,” jeez I wasn’t born yesterday, you know.

I returned to the hotel, collected my laundry, paid my bills, packed up and caught the bus to the harbor, Piraeus. I didn’t know which stop to get off at and the bus took so many detours that I couldn’t keep up on my map (and the street names were only sporadically marked). An old man, noticing me fumbling with the map, tried to give me directions as best he could.

After I got off the bus, two boat owners and a policeman directed me to my ship that was to take off in 10 minutes. I hopped in through the car loading deck and walked up a few levels of stairs to the higher decks until I reached the top. All of the rooms were crowded with huge women and children and dirty looking men, with all their belongings scattered about their blankets on the floor of the cabin.

Looking for a crew member to tell me where to go (travelling 3rd class passage) I finally wandered outside and sat on a bench to cool off on deck. I was dripping sweat by this time.

The ship took off at 7:00PM sharp and I sat on deck wondering why I might want to go back inside where it was crowded and stuffy. A few folks came outside to watch us take off. Among them was an Australian/South African guy who noticed the American flag on my backpack and struck up a conversation.

“Bloody scum of the Earth, them gypsies.” (So that’s who they were!) “Can’t you just smell’m? Throw a bar of soap in there and they’d all jump overboard. Scum of the earth!”

Calvin (or maybe Kelvin, if you adjust for the accent) left his wife inside with them, but after it started getting cold on deck, we moved inside and joined her on a couch in the foyer area. On the floor near us were two stout women on two separate blankets. One woman snoring away, the other slapping away a dirty kid.

Mel, Calvin’s wife, said that some man came by one of the women, checked out the pile of clothes she was sleeping near, picked up a coat, went through the pockets, found nothing, tried it on, found it too large, dropped it and walked away. The menfolk kept coming by and checking us out. Calvin pointed out how you don’t take your eyes off your things with gypsies around. So I didn’t.

Mel broke out a bottle of wine, I came up with a loaf of bread (long roll actually) and Calvin supplied some salami. When the little gypsy kid saw it, she started calling for a piece. The man with her was telling me to cut off a piece. Calvin said “Oh awlright, but I hope she chokes.” So I gave the kid part of my slice. The man said, “No, cut a piece,” (rough translation). Calvin bleated out a couple of expletives. The kid didn’t get it.

So we sat there for a while, Calvin going on at length about the gypsies, who are about like the “coloreds” in South Africa who for some reason knock out their front teeth (?).

Then Calvin left for a walk while Mel and I watched the bags. Calvin found bunk accommodations in sort of a long corridor, about 14 to a room, so we moved there, where I spent a sleepless night– uncomfortable with by backpacks in my bunk, my shoes off, piled behind me and my watch stuffed in them. Gypsy-paranoid, I opened my eyes a number of times while I was dozing to see them checking us out as they passed by our bunks.

The trip took exactly 12 hours. When I got off the ferry in Iraklion, I took a cab to the tourist office for maps and info. Only 100 drachma and the driver was very nice. I found this place where I am now, and am waiting for it to open up to see if I can get a room.

12:37PM, Palace of Knossos, Crete

It turned out that the Hotel Hania had an irritable proprietor who does in fact get obnoxious with single males guests, just like the “Let’s Go” guidebook warned. All I asked was if I could see the room first. The proprietor threw my passport back at me, so I left.

Went down to the youth hostel and got a place for 180 drachs. It’s in a room of bunk beds for 10. I threw my bags on the mattress and took out my sleeping bag, hit the bathroom and brushed my teeth and went upstairs for breakfast (bread, jam and butter with coffee– a pretty standard meal here). As I ate, I sat on the balcony, looking around town and listening to the swallows darting around in the fresh morning air.

When I went back to the dorm room, my sleeping bag was gone, assumed stolen. Thank God I took my other backpack to breakfast. It’s got my next 13 weeks wellbeing in it– tickets, travelers checks, etc. So many expensive lessons to learn. I hope this is the last, but I doubt it.

The longer I stay in Greece, the more the negative things outnumber the positive ones. I did get on the wrong bus to Knossos through and the fare taker re-directed me to another bus and didn’t charge me. Nice guy.

Knossos is kind of a letdown, like an old Walt Disney attempted historical re-creation. I myself can point out a number of architectural suspicions I have about the restoration.

It just occurred to me that I’m starving. I must eat something besides bread and pastry and coffee. I bought a 1.5 liter water bottle that fits in my backpack– that will save me.

Knossos is swarming with tourists. Most plump, red-faced, middle-aged German couples. Hardly anyone speaks English– even me!

My first artistic rendering of an interesting place.

I think it stinks that they take these classical Greek monuments and cage them up and make the world pay to see them. I’m leaving!

004- Athens & The Temple of Poseidon Adventure

Wednesday, 16 May 1984, 9:50PM, Athens, Clare’s House

A lot has happened since the last entry. Kathy, Michael and I went to the Acropolis later that day. I think I’ll go back tomorrow, so I’ll withhold comment for now.

When we got back, I met the guy who was sharing my room. Thomas it was, a very tall English fellow. He was my size, but built along the same lines as Marc Gartenberg– and dressed like Marc too, on his more bohemian dress days.

Thomas hadn’t eaten so I asked him if he wanted to go out with us. He also suggested a restaurant to go to. So all four of us (Thomas, Michael, Kathy and I) made the treacherous journey through unmarked, dark, twisting and uneven streets, and then a marathon bus ride across town to our destination. So there we were in a predominantly Greek neighborhood, whizzing by the locals.

Finally we found the place, and assisted by Thomas’s knowledge of basic Greek, we ordered. I got moussaka, which was very good (and I had it again tonight) and beer, which turned out to be Amstel later, which is very good. Thomas also ordered the infamous retsina wine for the table. After such a rough day, I was plastered with two beers (they were pints). Getting back to Clare’s House was equally exciting. The traffic here never stops– stops being traffic that is.

When I went to bed, I died. Enough to sleep through my watch alarm. I made it to breakfast downstairs just before it ended, and enjoyed my bread, jam and coffee. After breakfast, Kathy and Michael invited me to go down the coast to the Temple of Poseidon. So we hopped across town to catch the bus to Sounion to begin the trip.

When we were on the streetcar, after a sudden jolt, some guy ran into Michael and tried the old “bump and stall” pickpocket trick. Michael had a money belt down his shirt so this guy lost. Oddly enough, this petty felon was later on our bus on the way to Sounion as well. Obviously finished with a day’s worth of pickpocketing, carrying a big handbag (and accoring to the Philadelphia lady sitting next to me) a woman’s gold bracelet on his wrist.

Temple of Poseidon- Great location

The Temple of Poseidon was heavily touristed and I really didn’t know too much about it to appreciate it. The location was beautiful though, with an incredible view of the Aegean. Turned out good for our picnic lunch. The water was so clear, we decided it was time to climb down to the small rocky beach to have a swim. The water was nice, but cold.

Great place to take a dip, too!

The best part of the day was the trip back to Athens. We were a bit worried when the bus didn’t head back the way we came. Instead, it skirted the other side of the cape. Fortunately, some old codger reassured us, yes, we were going to “Athine”. It turned out that it would just be a matter of time. The area was rural and also quite green for how I pictured Greece– little plots of land, gardens, old houses, chickens, goats and donkeys and small villages. I would swear I was in Mexico.

As we went through the towns, all the old men were sitting outside the tavernas at tables, just drinking, talking and watching things go by. Occasionally people got on and off the bus when the driver saw somebody flagging him down in the middle of nowhere. An old woman dressed in the Greek old woman uniform (black) sat next to me with a bunch of old flowers wrapped in newspaper. I wish I spoke Greek. I would have liked to talk to her. She seemed a very interesting individual.

The other striking thing I surmised today was the reason all the new houses, as well as office buildings in town, are made out of concrete. Not once on my whole trip today did I see one tree straight enough, long enough or thick enough to cut into lumber– so cement and brick it is! The beginnings of these places puzzled me at first. A concrete first and second floor is poured, with a number of supporting pillars. A staircase is included, and many were cement spiral staircases. I imagine that’s some engineering feat. Then whatever spaces are left between the pillars are bricked up and plastered over. Some put in fancy arches, but most just have doors and windows. Yet another variation was to leave the bottom open on all sides, build an upstairs portion and have a garage below. It was an interesting trip.

Here’s my seat of the pants sketch of a Greek home under construction.

003- First taste of Athens

Tuesday, 15 May 1984- 8:05AM, Hotel Minoa, Athens

Could this be the nightmare I was warned about? Could be, could be. Landed last night after midnight at the airport, which is quite a piece from town. So, I doubled up with an Australian couple for a taxi ride into town. We had hotel reservations at the same hotel. It was a good thing I was with somebody else who’d done a bit of traveling because I think I’m too good natured to know when I’m being ripped off by a taxi driver. Anyway, I got into town for about $3.30.

On the way, the driver and his brother (mostly the latter) told us we were going to a flophouse where only “cold women” go. He stressed it was dirty, unsafe, and far from the Acropolis, and “for 200 drachma more” we could stay in a “B” hotel with our own bathrooms. Funny how he could quote a price right there in the taxi.

So we pulled up to the Hotel Minoa, and after our benefactor dealt with the desk clerk. We decided to get our deposit back on the other hotel the next day. If my theory on big cities in anywhere near correct– and I think it is– I’m going to be avoiding them. After getting to bed at 2AM, I awoke at 6 to the thundering of the traffic 6 stories below. This place has all the charm of the intersection of Wilshire & Westwood and the neighborhood has a certain air about it too. I think it’s called smog, with a diesel chaser. I’m hitting the islands as soon as possible.

Morning view at the Hotel Minoa, with the Acropolis barely visible through the morning haze.

Anyway, I just went downstairs to find out the name of this place, and couldn’t get the lock to work to get back into my room, so I had to climb out the stairwell window and Spiderman over to my balcony (six floors above the street). It was fun, I suppose. One saving grace is that from my balcony, off in the distance (through all of the concrete buildings that make me think of Beirut) I can see the Acropolis. Even in the thickening haze it is impressive. Then again, so is the toilet which has the tank 8 feet in the air and is flushed by the pull of a chain!

3:47PM, Clare’s House, Athens

A lot has happened since this morning. First of all, Michael and Kathy, the couple I taxied in with, found out the Hotel Minoa was very near the one we were supposed to stay in. Yes, we were swindled, somewhat.

Fortunately however, we left that dump with no serious problems and trekked across town to get our refunds. The streets of Athens are tremendously exciting. Busy too. As we got further away from the Minoa, the street scene changed. News kiosks, commuters, police, tourists it was crazy, but at the same time not obnoxious.

We passed by the building where a bomb went off a day ago, and it was mobbed with rubberneckers. Anyhow, the commercial center of Athens is at least lively, with sidewalk cafes, vendors of all sorts, protesters and people all over.

Taking the advice of “Let’s Go”, we started looking for new accommodations (once we left our bags at the baggage check). Finally I got a good view of the Acropolis, Hadrian’s Arch, and the Temple of Zeus. Not too bad, really.

To cut this short, I’m now sharing a room with someone (who I haven’t met yet, but the bags are here) at a nice, clean place called Clare’s House, in a largely residential area of the city, near the Acropolis. The weather is not bad, and there really isn’t much smog to speak of; well in fact, none. I like this place. It’s very peaceful, and I’m still tired.

Outside of Clare’s House. Michael prepares to take a shot of the Acropolis.

002- “I see London…”

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A little rest and a bite to eat always soften the perspective. I didn’t get a bite right away, but this is a good time to point out that much of this journal will seem like a search for food. That’s just my metabolism. I’m one of those guys who thinks with his stomach 😉

Monday, 14 May 1984, 8:27 AM, London

Last night after a 3 hour nap, I took a walk around the neighborhood, managing to get lost no less than 3 times. London streets don’t seem to make much sense, but locals are very fast to supply directions– especially the “bobbies” who seemed to be out in force.

At first I went the wrong way to Pimlico. I got turned around but made it back to Buckingham Palace, where not much happens at 8:30 PM Sunday night. By the time I got on course back to the Aadams Hotel, all the food places had closed, so I went to bed with only an airplane meal in my stomach.

This morning though, after an educational experience using the bathtub, I woofed down an “English” breakfast in the hotel’s basement dining room– 4 pieces of toast and marmalade, a fried egg, a strip of bacon and a gallon of coffee. Wish I had a radio.

Checkout time is 10:30 so I have to pack it up, also have to confirm my flight to Athens– between checkout and flight time I think I’ll be a tourist. HERE I GO– LOOKOUT ENGLAND!!!

12:04PM — On a rest stop on my wondering about tour.

Right now I’m across the Thames from Parliament. A bunch of parachutists just dropped into the river– and I got the pics! They were in some branch of the armed forces.

Random parachuters across from Parliament

Interesting grafitti on the walls along the river: “Thatcher is an old sow”, “Malvinas Argentinas” and it goes on like that.

I understand now why the British keep the countryside so beautiful– because London is smelly, dirty and needs a good cleaning. Not to deny it is also a very dynamic city with many lovely parks. But generally, it seems crowded in the central area, especially with tourists. I refused to watch the changing of the guard. I just can’t stand with 500 camera snapping tourists. It repulses me! Yeech!

3:08PM, Heathrow Airport lounge

Alright, I was hard on London. Smelly and dirty are part of all big cities. London has its more refined sides as well.

I met two girls on the way out of the Aadams Hotel this morning. They were freshly from New Jersey and were tired travelers like me. I told them they might bet a better deal by shopping around or reading “Let’s Go”.

Summer Vacation 1984

Journal entries from an awesome backpacking trip