As we departed by train for Lyon, the second largest city in France with a metro population of about 1.3 million and where we would begin a river cruise, we talked about how great the trip had been and with no “incidents” to speak of. For some reason Embry had nagging fears that something was bound to go wrong. This was understandable given our recent track record of our ill-fated flight to the BVIs, our challenges getting to Costa Rica and Puerto Rico, and the horrid Covid cruise in 2020. We were batting 0 for 4 for the past four trips. However, these trips were not total disasters by any means, and we now look back on them fondly, but they all had “issues” (which have been described in previous blog posts). What would go wrong this time? But the most vulnerable part of the trip was over. We had zipped through the airports thanks to wheelchair support for the frail elderly and thanks to our son, Andrew, our volunteer guide, who had led the excursion to Brittany to visit our sister-in-law and then on to an Airbnb in Paris and the Olympics. We were flying high. What could possibly go wrong on a river cruise?

Going on a European river cruise had been on my bucket list for years and that is why Embry had booked this cruise following the Olympics. It was for a six-day cruise on a riverboat owned by a German, family-owned company called Amadeus. The company owns 19 riverboats, which cruise the various rivers throughout Europe. This cruise, which was billed as primarily a German speaking cruise, covered about 550 miles on the Saone and Rhone rivers. The first leg was on the Saone River motoring upstream from Lyon for about 120 miles, then back downstream to Lyon where the river merged with the Rhone where we motored south for another 150 miles almost to the Mediterranean before returning to Lyon. The cruise took us through some of the most beautiful country you will ever see—one bucolic countryside after another, luxuriant hillsides and vineyards, ancient villages with busy central courtyards, town squares, and outdoor cafes, castles, Roman ruins, chateaus, and Medieval churches—just what you would expect and more. There was surprisingly little river boat traffic, and the weather was perfect—partly cloudy, highs around 80 and low humidity the entire time. Since the boat motored most of the nights, days were available for excursions to visit by tour bus other points of interest not on the river. Our favorite was Cluny, which in the Middle Ages was the largest abbey in France and contained the largest church in the world at the time, predating St Peter’s in Rome.

The Amadeus Provencal was the name of our riverboat, which looked like all the other riverboats on the Saone and Rhine, due to the challenge of passing under scores of low bridges and through dozens of locks. The boat was over a football field long, but only 15 feet tall and about 30 feet wide and drawing only about five feet. Staterooms were small but attractive and had large picture windows, which could be opened. There was a large dining room, a lounge/meeting room about the same size, a vast roof deck, an exercise room, and even a tiny “infinity swimming pool.” The boat cruised at 12-15 knots. Maximum guest capacity was 140 passengers though there were only 90 on our boat, which also had a crew of 40. Service was excellent with three meals a day included in the price including a four-course evening meal every day with unlimited wine. Waiters darted about carrying three bottles, white, red, and rose wine, assuring no glass was ever empty. The food was good but not superior—after all, this was a German company, not a French one–but still, nothing to complain about.

The first observation we had after boarding was “Good heavens, this is a retirement community!” Only a handful of the 90 passengers lacked gray or white hair.

Since the cruise was billed as primarily German speaking, Embry and I were a tad concerned, I less than her since with my horrible hearing I can’t hear much anyway. To our surprise, however, three “official” languages were in use—German, Dutch, and English. This meant that all the land excursions included local guides who spoke English. This was surprising because there were only seven native, English speakers, the two of us, two elderly British couples, and Nancy, an expat lady my age who had immigrated from the U.S. to Rome 25 years ago. Since the excursions—and table seating– were organized by language, we English speakers were able to have our own small group experience. Of course, since most Germans and Dutch are multilingual, we were able to chat with some of them at gatherings on the boat.

The only issue was Nancy. She was the American expat lady who asked me on the first day how old I was and proudly announced that she was born one year after me. She looked to me like she was closer to 100. The assigned seating for meals placed the two British couples at one table and the three Americans at another. The first evening meal together was a disaster. Nancy talked incessantly about herself and neither of us could get a word in. We got her entire life history—graduate of Vassar, PhD from Penn, accomplished college professor in biochemistry, Trump hater, and a bitter, outspoken critic of the U.S.—and an authority and know-it-all on whatever subject you might bring up to try to broaden the conversation. Well, one meal with her might be tolerable. Three meals a day for the entire cruise? As we left the meal the first evening, we looked at each other in dismay. Embry replied, “No worries. I told the head waiter that they had to put us at another table,” which they did, giving us our own table next to Nancy’s table, who except for the last day sadly remained alone at her table throughout the cruise. This was an unfortunate situation, which many guests on the boat let us know they were aware of. Never married, no family, lived alone in Rome, and alienated from her Trump-supporting siblings. In fact, she had partitioned the two British couples to allow her to join them. They turned her down.

The thing is that not only was her mealtime behavior intolerable for more than one meal with her, but she was also not playing with a full deck. Because she was one of us seven native English speakers, she joined us on most of the excursions. Several times she would initiate a conversation with us asking, “Do I know you?” or “Do you know me?” And she routinely asked questions to our guides which made no sense. We took a deep breath and asked the waiters to put us back at her table for the last meal, which they did, and which we endured but felt sympathy for her, for surely for her it was an imperfect river cruise.

The cruise concluded on a Saturday. The evening before there was a huge goodbye banquet followed by entertainment. I felt fine. However, around two A.M. early that Saturday morning I woke up with chills, fever, and an aching body. By the time for our last breakfast on board I knew something was wrong. I had no idea what disease I had, but whatever it was, there was nothing I could do other than gut it out on the long train ride from Lyon to the Paris CDG airport, spending a painful evening at a Novotel at the airport, and finally enduring the long slog on the flight home, fortunately in business class, but feeling worse every hour of the seven hour flight. Embry had searched in vain to purchase a face mask for me at the train station and airport so that I would not infect others but could find none. We did not see a soul wearing one on the flight over or anywhere we went in France.  After we landed the frail elderly wheelchair routine worked again, allowing us to avoid the massive line and go through passport control at Dulles in only a few minutes. On the cab ride home, all I could think about was collapsing into bed.

Of course, how could I avoid asking the question: Could this be the dreaded Covid? This would be my second episode. The first one in 2020 involved a rebound lasting almost a month.   After stumbling into our apartment, I immediately took a Covid test. It came out positive. Hardly a surprise, but still…. Someone on the boat had to have infected me but who? And how many people might I have infected? I coughed incessantly on the flight home and felt guilty about the harm I may have caused. Sadly, hardly anyone wears a mask nowadays, and Embry could not find a mask for me when I needed one.

After one full week, ending last Saturday, I finally started to feel a tad better and gave myself another Covid test.  Negative for Covid! Hurrah! I am now beginning to feel better and to get my strength back. I would not describe my Covid experience as a light case. I was miserable. Maybe I should have taken Paxlovid, though the doctor I talked to at Kaiser advised against it. But the good news is that Covid did not kill me.  I read in The New York Times today that 600 people are now dying every week in the U.S. from Covid—mainly seniors who have never been vaccinated. The Fat Lady hasn’t sung yet to celebrate putting the nail in the coffin of   this horrid disease. With so few people masked nowadays, it is only going to get worse.

Then I think about what could have happened. What if I had come down with Covid during the river cruise or at any time on Our Last Big Trip? It would have been a disaster! So, I am the lucky one. I am profoundly grateful finally to start to get back on my feet and to have made it through Our Last Big Trip before Covid nailed me. Embry’s intuition was right. Danger was lurking in the shadows, but we made it. Even if barely. And fortunately, she never got Covid despite being exposed.

If asked the question, “Other than that, Mr. Howell, how did you enjoy the cruise?” my answer would be “immensely” and ditto for the entire Howell’s Last Big Trip. Bottom line: If you have not done a European riverboat cruise, put it on your bucket list.

 

 

 

Our Last Big Trip. Episode Three: Paris

Andrew drove us back to Rennes where we turned in the rental car and hopped on the train to Paris, a high-speed, comfortable ride of about two hours. Oh, have I mentioned that the newer, high speed trains in France put our feeble Amtrak trains to shame? But my intent is not to downgrade the U.S. I would not want to live anywhere else. I will not argue against the claim that despite our many flaws and challenges, the U.S. is the best our small and fragile planet has to offer as we tiptoe through the 21^st Century. But still. One of the main takeaways from all our traveling over the years is that there is much to praise, celebrate and, yes, to envy in comparing our country to other countries. And Paris perhaps stands alone as Exhibit A as the most intriguing and beautiful world capital in the world.

In carefully planning out the entire trip, Embry had reserved an Airbnb in a neighborhood near the Bastille Memorial and the Bastille Metro stop. A few days earlier she had been contacted by the owner informing her that since major construction was underway in their apartment building, the apartment was dark, gloomy, and during the day  subject to the sounds of a jackhammer. He gave us the option to cancel, but at the time we felt it was too late to make a change. We told him we would take our chances. While the owner’s warning was accurate, the apartment was plenty large and was located on the ground level, which made all the difference from what could have been a heavy lift dragging luggage up to a fifth or sixth-story apartment.  It worked out fine.

 Paris is always busy and charming, but the 2024 Paris Olympics transformed the bustling city into a Paris-on-steroids. Andrew said he read somewhere that most Parisians who could get out of town got out and had rented their homes to visitors like us and that the city now was a mix of sports enthusiasts from all over the world. Athletic events are being held not only all over the city but all over the country and beyond. Sailboat racing is happening on the Mediterranean and surfing competition is in Tahiti! But most events are happening in the city concentrated around the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysée, and in several large sports stadiums.

We spent one full week in Paris. This included for all six of us two official Olympic events—table tennis and beach volleyball–and two additional events for Andrew’s family, water polo and track and field. Everyone besides me also took a day trip to Versailles. We ate most breakfasts at the Airbnb and had two or three dinners with the whole family there as well, eating out for most lunches in bustling sidewalk cafes and brasseries. We all ate dinner out together at three restaurants—two French and one Japanese. All were fabulous and compared to U.S. prices were reasonable, with tipping strictly optional. The first afternoon Embry and I took a boat ride on the Siene, spent another afternoon visiting a terrific new museum on medieval art (“The Cluny”), and all six of us spent a lot of time strolling along the busy sidewalks, enjoying a coffee and a croissant at a café, and people watching. In other words, doing the Paris thing. And the entire time except for the deluge during the opening ceremony the weather was near perfect—sunny skies and low humidity with highs in the mid 80s. The Airbnb apartment where we stayed with our teenage grandson, Parker, was also in a fabulous neighborhood with all sorts of stores and restaurants, convenient to the Metro and only a 20-minute walk to the Ile de la Cite where the rest of Andrew’s family was staying. Other words, lucky choice.

The only downside was the handicapped-hostile Metro system with almost no elevators or escalators. And due to street closures to permit Olympic street events like cycling and road racing, the Metro was the only way to get around to Olympic events. Twice we admitted defeat and tried a taxi, but both times after roadblocks and vain searches for alternative routes, the driver gave up and directed us back to the nearest Metro station. I did not count the steps in every Metro station we entered but counted enough to conclude that the number per station averaged about 50 steps on two and sometimes three levels, and that is only for one way. Who goes down these treacherous steps has to go up again to exit.  For a hiking stick addict like me with a bad left knee and balance issues this presented a bit of a challenge. But it also provided a window into the soul of Parisians (and visitors to the games), who it turns out are kind people. Several people asked me if I needed help as I inched up or down the steep steps desperately clinging onto a handrail, slowing down foot traffic behind me. Without exception, someone—often several people—immediately would pop up out of their seats when I boarded a crowded train car. It reminded me of our experience in China train stations when young men grabbed our suitcases and charged up the steep stairs where we would find our bags waiting for us. I compare this with our DC Metro experience where often a surely teenager is sprawled out in a seat reserved for seniors and handicapped people, and the only way to get him to move is to threaten to strike him with a hiking stick.

And what about the 2024 Paris Olympics? If you watched the Paris Olympics on TV, you know how the games turned out and what these extraordinarily successful games were like. The United States exceeded most expectations, tying with China with 40 gold medals and first overall in total medals. And many of the games, like the basketball game were epic. Of course, watching French television (and later aboard a river boat), German television, the only games we saw the U.S. teams on television were when we played France or Germany or were playing for a medal.

The two events we attended in person were in jampacked stadiums with people from all over the world waving national flags and screaming and hollering even though most of us did not have a dog in the fight. Both events featured two contests, one for a men’s team and the other for a women’s team. The table tennis took place in a massive, indoor stadium and  featured two extraordinary players, a Chinese player ranked number one in the world versus a 17-year old French prodigy, who was the darling of spectators, who were mostly French. It turned out to be a close, three game match with the Chinese barely beating the French player. Later both players went on to win medals, a gold for China and a bronze for France. China also won the second table tennis match and went on to win gold for the women. Beach volleyball was held in a medium-sized outdoor stadium holding several thousand raucous fans and featuring China versus Switzerland for women and Germany versus Brazil for men. Both matches were close, with China and Germany winning. Even though most people were from other countries, everyone seemed to be caught up in the action, cheering wildly. We cheered for the French table tennis player and the German men, but I suppose like most of the people there, who won was less important than a good match. Few I guess were disappointed. We certainly weren’t. What also stood out about these games and the ones we watched on television was that after each match everyone shook hands and many often embraced their opponents. What is important for most athletes is participating. You are on the world stage and your goal is to do your best. If your team wins that is great, but since over 200 countries are participating, only a small percentage of athletes will win their events and an even smaller number will win medals. But for most athletes—and I suppose for most spectators– that is ok. Being there as part of this world event is what is important. The experience is magical and will last a lifetime. I know that it will for me.

I am checking this one off my bucket list. The Paris 2024 Olympics far exceeded my expectations.

Next installment: the riverboat cruise on the Soane and Rhone rivers.

 

 

We were among the first to deplane in Paris a little after seven in the morning (about one in the morning EDT. Good luck on avoiding jet lag!) As we approached the entrance to the terminal, I saw a guy standing in the jetway behind a wheelchair and holding up a sign with my name on it. With delight I hopped in the chair, and he rushed me along with Embry scurrying to keep up. We whizzed past a long line of several hundred groggy passengers waiting to get through passport control and paused at the security station at the end where there was no line and the wheelchair escort handed our passports to the official, who stamped them and in we went to the baggage claim area. I looked at my watch. Less than ten minutes since we deplaned! Hey, I concluded, we have stumbled upon the Holy Grail of air travel. The only apparent qualification required is disability. Yet I do not believe we even had to show doctor’s orders. I could not help wondering how long it would take for perfectly able people to figure this out.

The wheelchair escort patiently waited with us for our bags to arrive, pulled them off the belt, and then rushed me and the bags to the taxi area with Embry in pursuit. I wasn’t even aware we were going to take a taxi to Orly where we would meet Andrew’s flight since we had plenty of time to take a bus; but before we had a chance to discuss it, our bags were in the trunk of the taxi, and I was sitting on the backseat with Embry. Off we went. The charge for the hour-long ride was something like 40 Euros. Well worth it.

We had four hours to kill before Andrew’s plane landed, which we spent mainly in an Orly airport café, sipping coffee, munching on croissants and people watching, which from prior experience I understood to be the number one recreational activity in France. Now I should point out that France is hardly a mystery to us. Embry lived in a Paris suburb for four months with a French family when she was twelve and attended French grammar school and another three months with the same family over the summer when she was sixteen. In the mid 1980s she also spent six weeks in Paris doing research for her PhD on the French health care system. Over the years she has remained especially close to her older “French sister,” Marielle, now in her late 80s, who lives in an apartment near Notre Dame, which is where Andrew, Karen and our granddaughter, Sadie, will be staying. Andrew also spent most of a summer with the same family when he was a teenager as did our daughter, Jessica. Marielle’s son spent one summer with us. Andrew studied in Paris for his junior year abroad. Everyone in the Howell family except me is fluent in French and we are all Francophiles.  So you might say we have a French connection. Part of the motivation behind Our Last Big Trip is nostalgia. Sadly, this will likely be the last time we visit France.

The takeaway for me waiting for Andrew’s plane to land was how diverse the people were in the airport. While this could be due in part to the Olympics, certainly France is now far more diverse than it was a dozen years ago. There were many people of color coming and going and lots of women wearing Muslim headscarves.

While the main purpose of the trip, of course, is to see some of the Paris 2024 Olympics, the plan was to come a few days early allowing us to visit Martine, who was the first wife of Embry’s older brother, Mike, (artist and poet who died last December at age 88). We are very close to her children, our niece and nephew, and still consider Martine part of our extended family. Martine is French; and while spending most of her teaching career in the United States, she retired to France about twenty years ago and now lives with her partner, Bernard, in Britany, the northwest part of France close to the British Chanel. Andrew had volunteered to be our driver and tour guide for the first four days, allowing us to reunite with our dear friend. At our advanced ages, it would have been a heavy lift to pull this off by ourselves. He rented a car at the airport and then drove us first to the famous tourist destination, Mt. Saint Michel, then to Rennes, a charming town of around 250,000 and about half way to Quimper where Martine lives.

The magical island of Mt. Saint Michel did not disappoint though it was quite crowded.( I intend to post some photos.) Neither did Rennes, a beautiful city with a medieval core where we spent two nights and one full day touring the old part of the town. The small, “garden hotel” (25 rooms max) where we stayed was quaint and well located but with no frills. The elevator could barely accommodate  three people, and the units were barely large enough to accommodate a double bed—but no complaints from us. We strolled along the cobblestone streets and ancient sidewalks, enjoyed what Andrew  described as likely to turn out to be the best meal of the trip—a six course, delicious extravaganza with paired wines, extraordinary service, and hardly any ambient noise—and stumbled upon a fabulous light show celebrating the Paris Olympics on our way back to the hotel.

What stands out most to me about the drive to Britany were the beauty of the countryside, the lack of any billboards or advertising on any of the major highways or back roads, and the two ancient villages we visited along the way. The first was completely by chance. We were curious as to what the villages were like that we had been seeing from a distance along the toll road to Britany, took an arbitrary exit and within a few minutes were sipping wine and having a delicious lunch in a café on a small, cobblestoned courtyard facing a church that looked to us like a relic from the Middle Ages. The second excursion Andrew had chosen from his research because it included a restored castle and elegant gardens. We were one of only a handful of visitors roaming through the ground level rooms and corridors of the giant Gothic structure with portraits of former owners, armor, and medieval furniture and situated along a winding, small river. Then off again to Quimper with a brief stop along the way for lunch at a beachfront café facing the Atlantic Ocean. We reunited with Martine and Bernard around dinner time and fully enjoyed our time with them, although way too short with only two nights and a full day.

So what is it about France that makes it such a magical and alluring country, which the Howell family  has returned to again and again over the years? The country is far from perfect and has had its ups and downs—the excesses of the Catholic Church and the aristocracy beginning in the Middle Ages, the bloody French Revolution, Napolean, the class (and racial) divisions that persist, and the sellout to the Nazis in World War II. The country has had its share of cultural snobs. Graffiti persists here as it does in the U.S. and so many countries. Yet it is hard not to make comparisons with French sensibilities and our way of life in the U.S.  Start with the French countryside. Drop dead gorgeous.  All of it. No billboards or advertising along the major toll roads or the winding country roads, no signs of abject, rural poverty which are prevalent in so many other countries and in locations in the U.S. Where are the mobile homes and the shacks in disrepair? Where are the abandoned junk cars, the fast food joints, and big box stores sucking the life out of the village centers? (McDonalds, Burger King and Starbucks are now in France  but not so much in the villages.) Where are the sprawling subdivisions, the regional malls, the vast parking lots and the giant warehouses? As one with a master’s degree in urban planning, I can’t help mourning what I would call lost opportunities in the U.S. In a word, France puts us to shame.

Now,  to the Paris and the 2024 Olympics….

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next several blog posts will be about our three-week adventure in Europe, what I am calling our “last big trip.” Well, you can’t blame me for putting my foot down. If you have been following the blog, you know that the last several experiences in getting to our destination have been stressful. In 2021 following Christmas our flight to the BVIs for the “Last Hurrah” bareboat charter with our children and grandchildren was cancelled forcing us to fly on a tiny plane carrying only four other passengers to land on the island of Virgin Gorda, not on Tortola where the main airport is.   In a blinding rainstorm, we finally made a bumpy landing on a dirt road masquerading as a runway–the last try before the pilot had to return to San Juan. The rest of the family made it to Tortola, got checked out for the charter, and sailed the boat in rough seas to Virgin Gorda where they picked us up for a fabulous Christmas week cruise. The last three trips have also been stressful. I have failed to make it through security without extreme difficulty on each one—to Costa Rica (passport was due to expire), Puerto Rica (eye identification failure), and Charlotte, NC, (gun shown on security cameras to be hidden in groin area). Each time it was touch and go if we would get to the gate before the doors closed, but we made it by a hair. That is why I announced a few months ago to Embry that I was finished. Done. Flying days over. Too old to go through these unpleasantries again.

“You can’t quit now,” she replied. “Remember that in late July we are going to the Olympics in Paris with Andrew’s family….”

 I begrudgingly conceded.

Now it is not like we have never traveled and are not used to stress. It is part of the experience. Embry reminded me that between us we have visited or lived in (for short periods) over 50 different countries, including many in Africa and Asia. While we both love to travel, I give Embry full credit for organizing our trips.  Mostly we have avoided group tours. The highlight some readers may recall was our 2015 four-month journey around the world without flying. But we are older now.  I am now almost halfway through my 83^rd year.  Embry is four years younger. All good things eventually come to an end.

And on this trip we would mostly be on our own again. The plan was to fly business class to Paris where we would meet our son, Andrew, who had volunteered to be our tour guide and driver for the first leg and was flying from Newark.  We would  rent a car at the airport and drive about 100 miles to Rennes for two nights and then another 100 miles to Quimper in Brittany where we would spend two nights with our dear friend and (former) sister-in-law, Martine, and her partner,Bernard, and then drive back to Rennes, leave our car and take the train back to Paris where Embry had  reserved an Air B&B near the Bastille in Paris where we would meet up with the rest of Andrew’s family. We would join them for several of the Paris 2014 Olympic events and then after ten days in Paris take the train to Lyon where  Embry had booked a river cruise down the Soane, part of a German speaking group tour. Since neither of us speaks German, it sounded to me a bit odd, but I have learned not to second guess Embry. I am sure it will be fine since I have never met a German who did not speak at least some English. But still. Many moving parts and opportunities for mishaps.

And for us the first leg of our journeys recently have been the most challenging. So off we headed for Dulles to catch a United Flight to Paris on Sunday, July 28. I was bracing for the worst. The amount of time it usually takes to get from the ticket and bag check area to our departure gate at Dulles is no less than 45 minutes and involves a walk of over a mile. At times it has taken hours. That is why for this trip we arrived with over two hours to spare. This would be our first major hurdle. I could not help wondering what would go wrong this time.

When we got out of our Uber car and entered  into the United Airlines section, it was the usual chaos with long lines everywhere, troubled parents with screaming children, confused passengers with flights cancelled, people desperately charging toward the mile-long security lines. I noted that we still had plenty of time to make it to the gate but there was the lingering fear of what offense they were going to charge me with this time.

Surprise Number One. The total time required to get from the United international desk and baggage check to the gate was under twenty minutes!

How did we do it? Exhausted from our last three airport episodes,  Embry surprised me this time  by reserving a wheelchair for me. It was not like she was cheating. Due to my balance issues and nagging pain in my left knee, I now get by with the help of a hiking/walking stick, but I inch along. So a wheelchair made sense, and technically speaking I am handicapped.  But the main reason was that a friend told Embry that nowadays the only way to navigate through security and boarding without extreme hardship is to reserve a wheelchair. A wheelchair escort cheerfully welcomed us, checked me in with no hassle, and with Embry following us rushed us past the long security line to a special line for wheelchairs where no one was waiting and clearing security was no problem, and then off to the races toward the gate. Since we were early, he pushed me along to the United Club waiting area, patted me on the back and then cheerfully departed with the wheelchair—along with my carryon bag, which he had placed below the seat. Realizing what had happened, Embry charged off and caught up with him just before he entered the United transit bus gate back to the main terminal. Disaster averted. Close call number one.

At the gate an attendant pushed my wheelchair to the front of the line where we were the first to board. While far from perfect, business class is surely easier than coach, and the flight to Paris was without incident.

But what wil happen next? The first leg of this adventure in my thinking could be the most challenging. We had to get ourselves from Charles de Gaul Airport to Orly where we would meet Andrew’s flight several hours later, then rent a car and drive to Rennes, several hours away. Lots of opportunities for incidents….

Stay tuned.