WENT THERE, DID THAT, CRIED A BIT : EUROPE TRIP PART 5

So, let's finish this up.  Now for the itinerary, the WOW moments, the exhaustion.  LOL

In my first trip post I included a map of our itinerary stops if you want to refer back.

#1 Haarlem, Netherlands:  We arrived a few days before our tour began so we were there for 5 nights total.  It started to feel like "home".  

WOW Moment -- The quiet part:   A sidewalk cafe watching the bikes race by and locals go about their day.  Walking in a tree-lined quiet neighborhood past an elementary school where parents gathered in a large group at the gate to gather up their children into passenger carts on their bikes.  Meeting our tour group, curious to know them, knowing we will be together for three weeks....

WAIT!  STOP! 

I had a whole different idea for this final post.  I planned to go through each stop on our itinerary and describe my salient thoughts and feelings, the WOW moments -- sort of a travelogue, complete with lovely photos.  I only made it to typing out our fourth stop (Salzburg) when I ditched that idea and deleted the whole thing.  Not working.  

I realize my daily Trip Journal had all of that, and more, stated with more richness and immediacy. This blog post felt like a sterile and distant summary.  Even I was bored with it.

So here's what I will say instead:  

I came home completely exhausted.  I'd caught a bad cold, which showed up on the second day home, and lingers still.  I wrecked my back lugging my suitcase and backpack up and down hundreds of stairs, over bridges, on and off buses, trains, trams, boats, gondolas, up and down hotel stairways.  I have taken large-for-me quantities of Ibuprofen in the past 2-1/2 weeks and have sat with a heating pad on my back daily.  My sciatica and SI Joint pains are significant, as well as the return of my hip/periformis pain which I thought "cured".  Yes, I'm whining.  This trip took a physical toll and I am sad about that.  I feel old and feeble in the aftermath of it all.  But on the trip I felt strong and capable.  Delayed misery.  I came home thinking my Rick Steves tour days were over after this, our 4th tour.

Jet lag and changing hotels every two nights is no joke.  Neither are the sometimes sleepless nights and 6 a.m. alarms to get to breakfast and on the bus by 7:00 or 8:00 a.m.  Travel is not "vacation".  This isn't a leisurely pursuit.  It is the pursuit of sights and experiences and surprises and oohs and ahhs, coupled with the price to be paid for the distinct thrill and deep pleasure and satisfaction of seeing and experiencing iconic sites that for some are only dreamed of or are the stuff of TV and movies. 

 

On the plus side:  I was shocked to be moved to tears so often, in a good way.  I've written many times in this blog about the many interesting traits of "highly sensitive people" and I am among the 20% of the population blessed with those traits.  So tears, especially of the bittersweet kind, are common for me.  Still.  I didn't expect to see Michelangelo's  David in Florence and immediately start to cry.  Same with the Birth of Venus.  Same with walking into Notre Dame.  (My art history classes in college came to life.)  Same with walking into our top floor hotel room with huge windows looking out over Paris. That might have also been relief that the 6 a.m. wake ups and long busy days of the tour were over and we were on our own in Paris for three more days in a hotel room where I didn't have to step over my suitcase to get to the bathroom.  RS is known for choosing small, "charming" hotels -- emphasis on small this time.

I am proud of how I handled times of feeling unwell, of stress, anxiety, and frustration.  High sensitivity means high degrees of emotional, empathetic, and physical discomfort overload.  I felt it all and was able to let it go. 

I am deeply grateful for the many ways Hub and I supported each other through times of sadness and difficulty.  We shared the same tour-related frustrations, made allowances for each other's moods, opinions, and habits.  The everyday work and dedication we continue to put into this 53 year marriage pays off in ways large and small.  I felt we were a solid team.  

At one stop in particular, the trip brought up family of origin memories for Hub, with the old baggage still recognizable.  For me I heard the familiar 'I'm not good enough' inner voice at times for reasons that are familiar.  And we were there for each other working through it all.  Real life comes along no matter where you go.

Hub also supported me through my significant frustrations and feelings of being "left out" at times. I have made choices based on health and spiritual values to be meat and alcohol free in my diet. But the group meals were mostly meat focused. I was the only pescatarian/vegetarian, so I had fish and had two inedible vegetarian offerings (See photo of rice/bread crumbs/cheese balls w/spinach. Nope.).  And there was an alcohol focus; LOTS of wine, beer, and other liquors at every dinner and at stops in between which seemed to delight everyone.  I was the only non-alcohol drinker, so generally I had sparkling water in place of alcohol.  It was either that or juice or a carbonated soft drink at dinner.  (I'm not a child.) Not a mocktail in sight.  At other tastings and "alcohol occasions", I wasn't offered anything. Hub joined in with all the meat and alcohol offerings, but he said he saw clearly through my eyes how I was so often not included in talk of food and drink and the "party" atmosphere of after-dinner Lemoncello shots.  I tried to be a good sport and smile through it all.  I'm not sure how to do any of this differently. It's the nature of being a minority in a majority culture, and it's hard.

I noticed that the language barrier was a low level frustration.  I only speak English.  I could not read street signs, could not understand anything anyone was saying that was not in English and even then the accents were difficult to navigate.  I could overhear a conversation and still not know what anyone was talking about. I did not know what all cultural references were or how to interpret the local customs.  I realized the deficit in not learning a second language. (Or third or fourth or fifth language, as our tour guide did, moving seamlessly between them all as needed.)

I have a deeper appreciation for why those who come to the U.S., either by choice or in desperation, want to gather in enclaves of ethnic and national commonality.  I would seek out those of my language and culture in a strange land too.  I am in awe that people can assimilate as they do into a new home so different from their own.  And I was only in Europe, not exactly an unknown entity of cultural confusion.  

I noticed I felt safe there.  We all learned about and protected ourselves from the tourist scams and petty street crime.  But I never felt my physical safety was in jeopardy.  I realized how freeing that felt.

I noticed how often I was frustrated by the crowds nearly everywhere we went.  And I realized I was one of those contributing to the crowd.  We were all there to fulfill a travel goal, to have perhaps a once in a lifetime experience.  We and the locals alike, in that great sea of humanity were all the same -- with hopes, dreams, joys, challenges, families, jobs, worries, humor, hunger, and exhaustion.  We were crowds of beautiful human beings trying to live good and meaningful lives.  I did not feel an "us" and "them" divide.

While not everything made me cry, almost everything made me grateful and incredulous that I was actually there.  We saw so much, so many iconic sights/sites.  Scenes, places, people, memories pop into my mind at random times and I feel a warm and grateful appreciation for my great good fortune to have gone there and to have shared it with such a stellar group of people as our tour mates.  One never knows how a group will come together.  This one felt like a group of friends from the start and more so as we said our goodbyes.  What a gift. 

So what were my favorite WOW moments?  The majesty of the Swiss Alps and the surprise of Paris charming me when I was so prepared to hate it.  

Will I ever do another Rick Steves tour?  Well.....maybe not.  At least not after the NEXT one we have booked for next spring.  Scandanavia here we come!

At least, that's the view from here...©

CULTURE, CRIME, AND PUNISHMENT: EUROPE TRIP PART 4

Let's start with taking your life in your hands when traveling in Europe.  Even our local guide in Haarlem, Netherlands (20 miles west of Amsterdam) lamented that bicyclists have been given rather liberal legal preference when it comes to right of way laws.  On this trip, our second in less than two years to the Netherlands, what we experienced last time in Amsterdam was also the norm in much smaller Haarlem.  Bikes Rule.  The pecking order is 1) bikes, 2) cars/trucks, 3) pedestrians.  So on foot you take your chances.  

Yes, there are stop lights and walk signals.  Cars and people mostly obey them.  Not so much cyclists.  They whizz across lanes and around corners going full cruising speed and the onus is NOT on them to beware.  Sure, they are supposed to yield to motorized traffic coming from their right and are supposed to use caution at crosswalks. But...we learned the Dutch word for bike and took to warning our fellow travelers by shouting "feits! feits!" whenever bikers came barreling down on our group.

In Europe there are a LOT of bikes.  Moms pick up their kids from school ON BIKES! (And even Grandma gets a ride.) I love the idea of human powered transport and thumbing the nose at the fossil fuel industry.  But hey, give a care for the lowly walker!  

When crossing the street, even WITH the walk sign, you can get across two lanes of stopped traffic, but watch out for that bike lane (as wide as a car lane) because they DO NOT STOP, so don't assume you can safely walk across the entire street on a walk signal!  It amazes me there are not more collisions.  What you can count on, in some places, is being yelled at or flipped off if you venture into a biker's claimed territory.  (All of this also held true in Paris, but the bikers were more friendly and less confrontational.  Or maybe by the end of our trip we'd become more docile in their presence.)

Moving on to Italy, in Rome in particular, crossing the street becomes an act of living on the razor's edge of life and death.  Our tour guide actually gave us a tutorial/demonstration on crossing the street. There are stop lights and walk signals at some corners, but crosswalks with no signals were more prevalent.  So, we all followed behind him as he confidently stepped off the curb into a crosswalk where 2-4 lanes of cars zoomed by without a glance at him until he calmly kept walking, with arm casually outstretched, turning his head to make friendly eye contact, and walking at a slow and measured pace across the street as cars stopped within a foot of him/us, grudgingly giving in to either stopping or running us over, which seemed the bigger hassle for them I guess.  A few stragglers in our group tried to pick up the pace and sort of jog across the street, causing our tour guide to call out, "Don't run!  Don't run!" as if doing so turned us into prey.  It was all very dramatic, but I'm proud to say we became quite adept at stopping traffic.  Caio!

By the way, in Austria, there are ample stop lights and walk signals and NO ONE will step off that curb without the walk sign lit even if there hasn't been a vehicle in sight for the better part of a month.  I love this allegiance to an orderly society. 

So pickpockets are a thing.  I have some nostalgia for the "profession" given that I loved reading Dickens' Oliver Twist and our high school senior play was the musical, "Oliver!"  Great fun, those street urchins!  In real life 21st century big cities, pickpockets are no joke.  And they don't wear the giveaway raggy clothing.  They look like regular people; they are clever, and skilled and can spot a careless tourist with uncanny accuracy.  They must hate that automated announcements in the Rome and Paris Metro stations warn passengers about the presence of pickpockets.  Go to any crowded area where tourists gather in tight knots of people (public transportation, iconic sites such as the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the Louvre, Vatican, Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, museums, cathedrals, etc.) and you are are pretty sure to encounter a situation where you are being targeted.

What to do?  Be hyper-aware.  Be street smart.  Do not give them something to get.  Men in our tour group were advised to use a hidden money belt for extra cash, I.D., and credit cards.  Phones and wallets should never be carried in a jacket or back trouser pocket.  Women should carry their purses with a cross-shoulder strap in front with a hand over it, not slung behind flapping about at your side or on your back.  Backpacks and purses should have locking zippers and "no cut" straps.  Crazy, huh?  What's up with petty street crime in Europe?!?  Well, I Googled pickpockets in American cities and got the same information at our major tourist attractions.  But at home we are much less diligent, aren't we?  

And pickpocketing isn't the only tourist-targeted crime.  How about the clipboard scam?  Or the sidewalk art?  The slow count? The bracelet scam?  Or the souvenir vendors?  

The clipboard scam is usually a young woman (or two) approaching with a clipboard pretending to be deaf.  She indicates with a smile that she'd like you to sign her petition by a charity protecting the deaf.  You are a good person, she is well groomed and sincere, so you are tempted.  But, wait, is this just the distraction you've heard about that can give her partner (a pickpocket) access to your unguarded treasure?  So, you say no and walk away.  Good for you.  If you do sign, suddenly the deaf woman speaks!  She starts to explain that you have just agreed to make a donation and will badger you to do so.  Some people do.  Some don't, so she follows them and the badgering gets a bit more aggressive.  A variation on this is a young woman targeting older tourist women with, "Hey, Lady!  Do you speak English?"  She gets your attention and seems to be in some sort of trouble and needs help.  Again, not to be cynical, but this is also a way to engage and distract you for nefarious purposes.  (Both of these happened to me personally in Paris; I was not taken in either time. I am "stranger danger" suspicious by nature and also had been well schooled on the scam trade.)

In Florence, Italy it was common to see what appeared to be artists with suspiciously similar watercolor paintings of famous buildings and landscapes displaying their "art" in city squares where hordes of tourists walk to get from one side of the square to another, or stop at a cafe for a cappuccino or whatever.  It seemed weird that they'd put their art down on the cobblestones, obviously in harm's way from the footsteps of tourists.  Except that was the point.  Once an errant shoe hit even a small corner of a "painting" the "artist" was on his feet shouting that the painting was damaged and now the hapless "mark" was being told very aggressively he just bought himself a painting.  Some are chased down and bullied into forking out the euros. (I saw this myself, but the mark just kept walking and the artist gave up.) Some escape after a public shouting match.  Do not step on the paintings!

The slow count is commonly used in restaurants and cafes I guess.  We didn't encounter this since we used mostly credit cards.  But it's a scam where, after paying and waiting for your change, the waiter (or vendor) counts out the change in an agonizingly slow and halting manner hoping the mark will become impatient and distracted enough to just grab the "change" and call it good, never realizing what they grabbed is far less than what was owed.

The bracelet scam occurs when a vendor with handful of "free friendship bracelets" holds out one just for you!  He's friendly and the colorful array of bracelets are attractive, but he can slip one on your wrist before you know it and once there, he demands a "tip".  Nope.  Just keep walking.

The souvenir vendors are ubiquitous (best known for their presence in Paris at the Eiffel Tower) and can be a bit aggressive with their sales pitches, but kneeling with their wares spread on a cloth cover in front of them, it's a pretty straightforward deal.  Buy overpriced cheap replicas of the Eiffel tower if you want.  Just know these vendors are operating illegally and the police do occasional sweeps of areas where they operate.  All can look quiet and calm but a signal goes out from vendor to vendor warning them of a sweep and suddenly they pull a string on their ground cover, the whole thing starts to engulf their wares, and turns into a satchel they throw over their backs as they jump walls, hustle up or down nearby stairways, and basically run for cover from the police.

Of course big cities also have big city crimes, but at no point did I ever feel like I was in true physical danger.  As I checked the news from home (both local and national) there were stories of shootings every day.  Never did I read or hear of such a crime in the same time frame in Europe.  On a whim, when I Googled "shootings in Rome yesterday", what popped up was Rome, Georgia!  Not Rome, Italy.  

That's not to say bad guys are not around.  You may have heard about the jewel heist at the Louvre  -- a week after we were there!  I was not involved in any way except to note, after the fact, that the gallery where the jewels were kept (I didn't go there) is very very close to the Mona Lisa room which I most definitely visited.  I did not see any suspicious characters at the Louvre, except Buddy the Dog who goes on trips with us.  (I know it's weird; there is a story behind it, but that doesn't really make it that much less weird.)  

What we did see all over Paris were "echelle de meubles",  furniture ladders.  They are used in centuries old tall buildings (like in the photo) to move furniture in and out of apartments where the inside is not at all conducive to getting a sofa up the stairs, no matter how much you pivot. (Cool "Friends" episode reference, that. LOL)  So when we heard about the heist and how it was pulled off we felt very Parisian as we nodded in resigned understanding of how this apparatus could look very at home propped up against an exterior wall of the world's most famous art museum.  C'est la vie.  

At least, that's the view from here... ©

Photo Credits:   Clipboard and vendor scams I found on the internet but couldn't find anyone to attribute them to.  The art scam photo came from a Tik Tok post on a site called "Explore Florence".  The other pix were taken by Hub.  Credit where due. 

EXCUSEZ-MOI, OU SONT LES TOILETTES? : EUROPE TRIP PART 3

I might be a little too fascinated by the cultural differences and norms around restrooms.  I have not done my PhD on this topic, so what follows are merely my own subjective observations, but for now I stand by my conclusions.

Europe has better public restrooms than the U.S.  And worse private ones, at least in small "boutique" hotels that cater to tourists; worse as in miniscule.  I'm not a big woman, but in most of our hotels I kept banging my elbows against the walls and glass of the teeny tiny shower stalls.  Sink and counter space was at a premium.  There was a normal toilet and sometimes a bidet whose faucet had it's own ideas on where to shoot the spray, which had nothing at all to do with one's anatomy.  But back to the public restrooms...

You may recall (probably not) that I did a post about British Isles restrooms after our trip there several years ago.  I think I was quite effusive in my praise of the "little room" with a full door that closes and locks easily for maximum privacy (and just a little alone time for an overwhelmed introvert).  Also they are super clean, with toilet paper that doesn't try to hide inside the dispenser while you spin and spin the roll to find the free end.  (Pet peeve.  Rest assured, I will work hard to leave the next patron a tail to grab.  I'm just considerate that way.)

The motto on bus tours is "go when you can, not when you have to", so we all trooped off to the public restrooms at every 2 hour restroom stop or on-the-road meal break, generally at interstate-adjacent "truck stops" called "Autogrill" that had huge restrooms, a fancy cafeteria with really good food, an espresso bar, a small grocery market, and gift shop.  These were actually very nice and we came to appreciate our stops here once we realized how efficient they were for a long bus day.  Not necessarily picturesque or culturally relevant to where we were, but sometimes the best surprise is no surprise.  (Most also had a McDonald's attached, but that was easily avoided.  McDonalds is far, far too prevalent everywhere we went in Europe.  Sigh.)

Since our tour covered 6 countries, I got a pretty good overview of varying restroom cultures.  The Netherlands, Germany, and Austria started us off with dazzling clean accommodations, full doors, ample TP on the roll, and automated soap, water, and air dryers at the sink.  All for the low, low price of one euro.  Sometimes this payment needed to be cash, sometimes you could use your credit card.  Sometimes there was an attendant on hand to collect money or troubleshoot a stubborn card reader.  Sometimes there wasn't.  Tour mates and our guide (at first) loaned the euro to those caught short.  Yes, it's aggravating to pay.  But once inside it's also nice to feel a bit pampered by the shiny, bright, clean accommodations.  (This German restroom was my fave -- at the push of a button, the toilet seat spun slowly in a clockwise manner while being gently sprayed with water and dried with air for a ultra hygienic toileting experience!  I have video for those interested in a seat cleaning demo.)

Once we crossed the border into Italy we were delighted to hear that restrooms were free!  Yay!  Sorta.  They were free, I think, because they saved money on toilet seats.  Suddenly we were in our stalls (some fully doored, some not) facing the porcelain bowl with no nice seat to sit upon.  I admit I'm usually stymied by this.  Do I squat?  I can to that (thanks yoga!), but it's awkward.  Or do I lower onto the cold hard rim of the bowl?  Very uncomfortable.  I did both at various times, depending upon my mood and the cleanliness of the accommodation because that was less a sure thing in Italy.  It was never terrible; in fact never as terrible and disgusting as some U.S. public restrooms, but they were not up to northern European standards for the most part (except the one that greeted me personally at the Italian version of Autogrill.)  

As I write I realize I'm forgetting the specifics of the big Swiss or French restrooms.  They must have been OK because I think we had to start paying again.  (Probably 2 euro in Switzerland because everything there was at least twice as expensive!)

Our tour guide, always helpful, also tipped us off to a work-around.  In restaurants there are restrooms for patrons of course.  But you can also often just walk up to a cafe coffee bar and order a cappuccino to enjoy while standing and chatting with the barista then saunter off to the restroom without having to pay to pee! 

But don't sit down at a table. To review: order your coffee to enjoy standing -- in a REAL cup, not a paper one, and never "to go" and you pay only for the coffee with a free restroom stop.  But, IF you decide to sit at an inside table to enjoy that coffee you will pay a bit more, which is rather like a table fee built into the price they charge for the coffee, but you still get to pee for free.  However, if you decide to go full-on  sidewalk cafe, you will pay even more for that cup of coffee because it costs them more in staff time to deliver your order outside!  So your cappuccino might cost from (I'm making these prices up for demonstration purposes) 3 euro for at the counter to 5 euro at an inside table to 10 euro outside. Crazy, huh?  But the restroom is still free.  If you can find it and fit into it and don't mind rubbing elbows with mixed genders in close proximity.

There is a type of restaurant restroom, that I recall most vividly in Italy and France, where once you've found where they hid it (generally up or down a dimly lit set of spiral stairs or maybe through a restaurant labyrinth, past the kitchen, to a closet by the back door off the alley).  You will see the letters WC on a door.  Water Closet, obviously.  (That's "restroom" in most every UK and European country I've visited).  Opening the door you find yourself in an anteroom that is almost large enough for one person, but not quite.  This is where the sink is located. Then there are two doors showing the universal outline of man or woman (she has a skirt on).  Choose the right door and enter into a very teeny cubicle with just enough room to go from standing to sitting and hope your knees don't hit the door.  Once finished there, return to the anteroom to wash your hands, where inevitably there will be another patron already at the sink and one trying to enter for their turn, so there may be any variety of men and women navigating 2 square feet of space and being treated to hurricane force gales of air from the hand dryer operating at decibels akin to a jet engine on take off.  But Hey!  No need to pay! (Except for the coffee or meal that gained you entry to this experience.)

So that's my restroom tour for this trip.  I have never visited, nor do I aspire to, a country where I am expected to straddle a hole in the floor.  So I realize my standards are ridiculously high.  That's fine with me.

At least, that's the view from here..©

P.S.  Oh! This!  We toured a castle in Germany which featured this guillotine toilet.  All of the tour women found it much more interesting than did the men.  😂 

HISTORY LESSON : EUROPE TRIP PART 2

Europe is confused about us over here in the U.S.  They welcomed us travelers with friendly and positive open arms.  And also asked gently how we are doing and whether anyone is paying attention.  

We had local guides give basically tutorials on the caution we must exercise to protect our democracy.  In the Netherlands and Germany particularly, words echoed what we heard a couple years ago on a previous visit there, that what is happening to our government and democracy is eerily similar to the rise of Nazism in pre-war Germany.  The slow erosion of the rule of law, of norms, of values; the divisions based on misinformation and lies; the fear and the apathy.  

We stood outside homes where citizens had been dragged from their beds and sent to work camps, the only trace of their lives left being a brass "brick"in the street in front of their homes with their name/address/and date of removal and death engraved in memorium.  We sat in a circle in a centuries old castle where our guide told tales of a history of violence, including a moving account of Nazi Germany.  We all heard the warning.

Their message was WAKE UP to a leader who frees his friends and jails his enemies (or anyone who questions him), a leader who targets certain groups as "other" and demonizes them, who limits the free press and free speech and threatens those who dare to defy those limits, who creates a military excuse to use force against our own citizens.  WAKE UP.  

Are we like frogs in boiling water? -- it's so crazy we can hardly believe it and want to laugh it all off as absurd, or the outrages becomes so common we stop paying attention, or it's so scary we hide and pray none of it will touch our lives, or our families lives.  

As I write this sentence I acknowledge my own fear of speaking out and being vulnerable to violence from opponents, or my own fear of putting these words on the internet and to be labeled an "enemy" by the current government. I'm no firebrand. I generally don't lead the charge.  I have strong values and convictions coupled with a conflict avoidance tendency.  Plus, I am just one little insignificant person with no real influence. But then I think about those brass bricks.  And then I think about my grandchildren and I know I can't do nothing.  I must stand up for them, even if I'd rather stay home and crochet.  In fact, I'd rather our country not be in this position at all.  But here we are.

So, today some citizens will take to the streets fully AWAKE to the danger we face.  It is predicted to be the largest mass protest in U.S. history where citizens will come out of their homes and gather in their communities, large and small, from coast to coast (and joined in support by those in other countries as well) to wave flags and signs and peacefully stand against an authoritarian slide that threatens our democracy.  The rallying cry is "No Kings" and I get that.  But it almost sounds quaint, doesn't it?  Yes, the U.S. was founded on the idea that we answer to no King, harkening back to the fight for independence from the English monarchy in the 1700s.

Yet, I suggest that in these early decades of the 21st century, we need to look around at the growth of violent right wing authoritarianism and rally around KEEP OUR DEMOCRACY -- NO DICTATORS.  So, I won't carry a sign today with funny, scary, or demeaning slogans and caricatures of a president wearing a crown.  I will simply carry my American flag -- an enduring symbol the world over for freedom, truth, and justice; for democracy.  Do we always live up to those aspirations?  No; absolutely not.  But without those ideals as our guiding light, we are far too vulnerable to those ideals being a mere memory of our possibility.  We become something else entirely.

At least, that's the view from here...©

MAYBE EUROPE BROKE ME? : EUROPE TRIP PART 1

I'm back from a month-long trip to Europe.  I've returned with memories, experiences, insights, and more photographs taken by Hub than anyone will ever want to see.  Notre Dame from every angle, the Alps up close from every view point, Florence spread out  in all directions from the top of the Duomo -- you get the idea.  He and I will occasionally look back at the photos and recall our time there.  But mostly they will live in our computer taking up bytes of memory that my human brain won't remember.

I've also came home with a cold.  Runny nose, some congestion.  General "blah-ness".  Nothing terrible, but enough to feel slightly "off".  We weren't the only ones.  About a third of our tour-mates were coughing and blowing their noses at some time over the 3 weeks we were together.   Hub and I donned ours masks hoping to avoid any catching the crud.  Always on crowded public transportation, in crowded museums, in airports and on airplanes we wore our masks.  We were in the vast, vast minority among the general population of anywhere we visited to do this.  I guess that whole mask thing is over and spreading any variety of viruses (not exclusive to Covid) is A-OK now.  Hmmm.  Who knows where we picked up the bug in the masses of humanity we encountered?  But at the end of the trip Hub succumbed to a couple of cold-symptom days.  I didn't fall to it until I was actually home.  It is frustrating and disappointing, but I guess to be expected.

I also came home with back spasms, which really annoys me.  The tour we did, Rick Steves 21 Days Best of Europe (see map -- started in Haarlem and went south and looped back north with numbers indicating nights spent in each place before ending in Paris; we added extra days at the beginning and end on our own), requires that participants carry their own luggage to and from the bus to hotel, transportation, etc.  They urge us to "pack light", and I really did try.  But 21 days across Europe from the frosty Swiss Alps to the beaches of Italy's CinqueTerra require some dramatic changes of clothing and footwear, along with other travel necessities.  

My suitcase wasn't unmanageable for me, nor was the additional daypack I wore on my back (along with my purse), but together they were heavy and over the course of a month, the weight, the awkwardness, the lifting and toting up and down many, many, many flights of stairs and over long stretches of cobblestone streets apparently took a toll.  I don't know why it didn't hit me until I got home.  It should have been a constant thing, but I pretty much persevered and prided myself on what a strong and capable traveler I was.  

But last night, our second day home, I woke up at 2:00 a.m. (Jet lagged!  Hey!  It's time to be up!) and could barely move.  This has lasted all day and even as I type right now at 10:30 p.m., I can feel the dull ache breaking through my Tylenol and Ibuprofen cocktail.  Hub gave me a great massage this afternoon and took care of all the home chores today, insisting I rest.  And, thankfully, I got some relief from the heating pad.  But still, each movement sends a dull ache or a sharp pain shooting across my lower back. I hope this spasm of protest dissipates soon.

All of this, of course, gives me pause about doing this again.  Maybe my Rick Steves tour days are over?  His trips are very physically demanding.  Maybe lugging suitcases is a thing of my past.  Maybe being packed like sardines inside the Sistine Chapel or Notre Dame or the entire city of Venice is not a great idea in the age of deadly viruses. Maybe familiar frustrations of tour travel (I have a list) are starting to outweigh the substantial logistical benefits (also have a list) of a tour.  I don't know.  Food for thought.  

It's also possible my jet lag and disorientation are playing into my malaise.  We left in mid-September when it still felt like summer, and returned in mid October when suddenly it was cold and the leaves had turned and it's dark at 6:30 p.m.  And there is the crazy reality that in spite of the incredible hassles and discomfort of air travel, it's weirdly possible, and head-spinning, to wake up in Paris and go to bed at home thousands of miles and an ocean and continent away in less than 24 hours.

 But here I am.  Grateful for so much about the trip.  Not eager to go anywhere else for awhile. 

At least that's the view from here...© 

P.S.  Stay tuned:  Happier trip details to come!