This blog will take you to places you’ve always wanted to see and to some you may only have heard of. Its purpose – to immerse you in extraordinary tastes and colors, smells, sights and experiences, infecting you, or perhaps aggravating, an already serious case of wanderlust.
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France – Clandestine Operations
Before she left for her year at the Sorbonne, Jill from California introduced me to friends of hers – graduate students from Algeria, mostly studying sciences and medicine. (Algeria was declared a French department in 1848 – making it an integral part of France – and Algerian students had the same access to French universities as those born in mainland France.)
When I arrived in Grenoble, the six-year-old, no-holds-barred, Algerian war for independence was reaching its climax. The Algerian students I got to know were deeply involved in the underground student movement supporting the revolution. The war had split France, brought De Gaulle back to power, and caused an estimated one million deaths. Terrible stories of atrocities committed by French troupes and their supporters circulated freely, often discussed at the cafe where we gathered after lunch for coffee and talk. (For a graphic depiction of the war see the film, The Battle of Algiers.)
My friends were engaged in organizing demonstrations, printing pamphlets and raising funds. They needed to coordinate with student groups at other French universities and receive instructions from Algeria. That’s where I came in. It was much less likely that mail addressed to me would be opened, and so I began receiving packages and letters on their behalf. Caught up in the cause, I made the mistake of writing home about my activities. Surprise! The letter I got back threatened to order me home. I wrote a soothing reply to calm them down and carried on.
The ante was upped when my friends asked me to be a courier, to carry documents to Paris – communications they didn’t want to trust to the mail. I took the train with a special envelope in my suitcase, instructed to have the taxi drop me off some distance from the address and to circle the block to make sure I wasn’t being followed. After I delivered the envelope and picked up another one, I stayed with Jill for a couple of days and she showed me Paris.
I boarded the train back to Grenoble, stowed my small suitcase in the overhead rack, took a window seat and relaxed, congratulating myself on a smooth trip. Several other passengers filed into the eight seat compartment. As the train started moving, the door slid open and a French policeman – a flic in French slang – entered the compartment, and took the seat directly across from me.
The rule of law was cracking under the strain of the war. Most of the French police were avid opponents of Algerian independence and sought any excuse to arrest, and often mistreat, those involved in the independence movement. I was sure this one knew what was in my suitcase, sure the fear that gripped me showed on my face, sure my parents had been right and I would disappear into a French jail.
My provisions for the journey were in a bag in my suitcase and there was no way I was going to retrieve it under his watchful gaze. It was an endless ride to Grenoble and I had plenty of time to imagine what would happen when we reached our destination. I was weak with relief when he tipped his kepi to us and got off at the stop before Grenoble.
Algeria gained its independence shortly after I left Grenoble. My involvement, tiny though it was, exposed me to life and death issues played out on the world stage. I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. I had tasted what it was like to be involved with something much bigger than myself, and somehow, I wanted that to be part of my future.
Wanderlust – Virtual Travel
It is New Years Eve, 2013 and we are in Northern Italy. No, we didn’t splurge on plane tickets, we invited friends for a communal Italian feast. The dining room is awash in candlelight and we are beautiful. After a Milanaise aperativo of prosecco and chunks of parmegiano reggiano to wake our taste buds, we sit down to a Milanaise risotto. Knowing that more dishes are to follow doesn’t stop most of us from helping ourselves to seconds.
Saltimbocca is next. It means ‘jump in the mouth’ and the combination of fresh sage, prosciutto and thinly pounded chicken breast does just that when topped with a buttery, winey, sagey sauce. With the saltimbocca comes a sauté of baby spinach blended with plumped golden raisons, garlic and toasted slivered almonds. A colorful mixed salad refreshes our palates and prepares us for our dolce – a dense chocolate Torta Barozzi from Modena, topped with a scoop of homemade hazelnut gelato and drizzled with bittersweet chocolate sauce. We are slowing down but there is still room for coffee, chocolates, homemade biscotti and a local ice wine – or grappa for the more courageous.
Throughout our feast, the conversation is most often of foreign adventures. Lisa and Duke recount the disappearance of Lisa’s 83 year old mother from their hotel on her first night in Naples. Michael follows with a classic tale of Neapolitan robbery of the Volkswagon van (shades of Alte Liebe) that was home during six months in Europe. Marc has memories of summers spent working at the Milan consulate. I describe the experience of landing aboard the aircraft carrier George Washington in the company of the mayor of Milan and assorted generals. Mark recollects the weekly Swedish auctions where Venetian glass chandeliers, such as the one in our dining room, were put up for bid by Swedes whose modernist tastes excluded extravagant flowery shapes.
Without leaving home, we have shared one of the great pleasures of wanderlust – the tastes created by another culture. Without leaving home our stories have taken friends to places they have never been. We are nourished by both.
May Foreign Writes provide nourishment for your wanderlust in 2014.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
France – Homey Holiday
So here we were, wiped out, standing in the freezing dark at the entrance to Ramstein Air Base. There is an envelope waiting for Judy. Ex-fiance Bob from Newark writes that he is on a training mission for two days. Fortunately he has left a key to his BOQ, but we have no idea how to get there.
We must look pretty forlorn. A shiny car pulls up to the guard house. The door opens and an officer with two stars on his shoulders – a General – gets out and introduces himself. We tell him our tale of woe and he says that what we need is a good meal. He climbs into the front seat with his driver and we pile into the back. At the Officers Club, the general calls three of his officers and they appear within minutes to take us to dinner. Thick steaks, baked potatoes, salad and banana cream pie. It all tastes like home and we do it justice.
They escort us back to Bob from Newark’s BOQ. After a few months of life in tiny French quarters everything looks so BIG – bedroom, bath, living room – all for one person.
Over the next days we indulge in the Americaness of it all. Bob’s friends appear to consider us welcome exotics dropped into their world, in need of special care. We do not suffer from lack of attention. For our parts, we relax back into English, and enjoy being pampered. The guys pitch in to help make paper chains and string popcorn for the bedraggled Christmas tree Bob sets up. There are eggnog parties and happy hours and Italian night and more steaks. We spend Christmas Eve at the home of a young captain and his wife, putting together toys for their kids’ Christmas morning.
And then it is time to leave this cozy bubble for the sleety roads taking us to Innsbruck. Bob drives us out to the autobahn and we are on our way. Hitchhiking turns out to be easier than expected, a blessing in these frigid temperatures. Our ‘Innsbruck’ sign works and we have our first ride in five minutes, with a long haul truck driver. The truck’s large cab has a sleeping platform in back of the seats – a big step up from the Alte Liebe.
Innsbruck on New Years Eve! We connect with Don and Rick (the two on the right) who introduce us to their skiing buddies. We settle in to one of the many beer halls for a night of excellent beer, lots of singing in assorted languages and celebration of our first big adventure.
France – On the Road
Check out the new Autumn Garden Gallery under Current Inspirations. We had a glorious fall. Now, back to our story. . . .
A light snow is falling as we leave Grenoble behind, heading for Switzerland. Despite the early hour, we are psyched – our first foray into Europe.
There’s just one problem.
The front seat of the Alte Liebe has room for only three passengers – and there are five of us. That means two will be relegated to the back of the van – Rick and Don’s sleeping quarters – where ice coats the interior. Even huddled inside the guys’ sleeping bags on the trunks that serve as beds, this promises to be a chilling experience. It is. We decide that all but the driver will take turns, switching every hour to avoid frost bite.
Up in the front seat all is toasty. The scenery is fabulous as we drive through the mountains and the roads are not bad. I sense we are all filled with a thirst for discovery, for drinking in all the sites and tastes and sounds and experiences this trip has in store for us.
With several months of French behind us, we sing with gusto the classic songs we’ve mastered – “Aupres de ma Blonde”, “Sur le pont d’Avignon”, “Chevalier de la Table Ronde” and more. We’ve brought fresh baguettes, chocolate, oranges and some bottles of cider – plenty of food for the road.
We drive along the shores of Lake Geneva and slow down long enough to have a look at the castle where Byron set his poem, The Prisoner of Chillon. The sun comes out and the castle looks great surrounded by a sparkling lake, but we imagine how cold and dank its dungeons must be.
Our route takes us through Lausanne and Basel and then into Germany and a change of landscape and architecture. Freiburg, Karlsruhe and finally Mannheim. We take in what we can from the windows of the Alte Liebe which, thankfully, keeps chugging along.
It’s dark when Rick and Don drop us off at the guardhouse outside Ramstein Air Base. We’re about to cross over into another world.
France – On My Own
Christmas is approaching.
I’ve found my balance in Grenoble, even moved to my very own first ‘apartment’ – actually a tiny maid’s room on the fifth floor of a vintage building with an unreliable elevator, furnished with a single bed, a table/desk and a chair. An alcove contains a shower, sink, hot plate and bidet. The toilet has a little room all to itself. I have a window looking out over other roof tops, with the Alps as a backdrop.
I am gloriously free. Free from Mme. Leiva-Marcon’s complaints about my hot water usage Free from lectures about disturbing her evening every time I come home after 9 p.m. And so I move my belongings to this little retreat and am, for the first time, truly on my own.
The talk in Mille. Simon’s class is of where to spend Christmas break. All of Europe beckons, but the main requirement for me is that it won’t cost much.
Judy from Newark has an ex-fiance, a second lieutenant stationed at the Ramstein airbase near Mannheim. She assures us they are still on friendly terms. Sure enough, he offers to turn over his BOQ (bachelor officer quarters) apartment to us.
Rick and Don from Portland agree to drive us to Mannheim in the Alte Liebe if Pat, Judy and I pay for gas. It’s 370 miles. They assure us we can cover that in a day – if the Alte Liebe holds up. After they drop us at Ramstein, they’ll head for the slopes. The plan is we’ll meet up with them in time for New Years Eve in Innsbruck, Austria.
There are a lot of variable here, weather/road conditions, the Alte Liebe, hitchhiking, ex-fiances – but I have just turned 20 and these are fleeting worries that hardly weigh against the prospect of this excellent adventure!
