Europe on $5 a Day

As I look through my old passport, I see that I arrived in Luxembourg, on the 22nd of March in 1972. It was a trip that had been in the planning stages for about a year and a half. My good friend Scott and I were taking a class in European History, and at about that time we decided it would be fun to make a trip to the continent when we were done with college. We had each bought our own copy of "Europe on $5 a Day" and we perused through it, imagining all the great places to go, the beautiful women we would meet, the wonderful cafes and bars, and in my case the incomparable art museums. I was an Art major, you see, and I was excited to see some of these great paintings and artworks in person, that I had seen so many times in art books.

In any case, we decided upon a plan to leave for Europe in the spring of 1972, before the prices went up for the summer. I found the stubs for the American Express traveller's cheques that I bought, and apparently I took about $750. I had remembered the figure as $1000, but there is nothing to substantiate it. I cashed the first $10 checks in Denver, Topeka, and Elkton, Indiana, blown on gas and food on our drive to New York, our jumping off point. Scott and I had spent the fall and winter working and saving money for our trip, Scott as a door to door Kirby vacuum cleaner salesman, and I, as a office furniture delivery driver.

I took my traveller's cheques, a three week Eurail Pass for which I'd paid about $125, and a few clothes stuffed into a red nylon backpack. My mother had told us that European boys and men didn't wear blue jeans so we didn't take any. However, my mother was wrong. Of course we found they were worth their weight in gold, or French Francs, anyway.

We flew on Icelandic Airways and the flight included a two or three hour layover in Reykjavik at the airport, in the middle of the night. I can always honestly report that I've been to Iceland, but all I ever saw there were airplanes on the tarmac.

I can vaguely remember many things about the trip, but as I look through my "journal" those memories are not present. My "journal" is, at best adolescent, and at worst childish. Here's my summation of our time in Luxembourg. "Scott and I walked around Luxembourg - over and under a fantastic bridge - found a cheap hotel, had dinner at the train station, barbecued chicken, got drunk and went to bed." Sounds just like Robert Louis Stevenson, doesn't it? (I think that's the bridge, pictured below.) As I peruse through my journal, I find the words "Got drunk and went to bed" fairly frequently.

We hitchhiked out of Luxembourg the next morning heading for Paris and points beyond. Scott and I looked relatively clean cut and no one could possibly mistake us for hippies and dope addicts, so we had a pretty easy time getting rides. Then, across the border, somewhere near Spincourt, France, we were joined by an English lad by the name of Peter. He was very exotic, wore a long black wool overcoat and had long shaggy, curly hair and a scraggly beard. Peter's overcoat had numerous pockets inside and out and he kept bringing forth emergency rations, maps, pencils and even a flask. Because we were now three, and he looked like shit, we never got another ride. My journal says we walked 10 km to Verdun where we bought bread, cheese and wine, and caught the train to Paris. In our hurry, we bypassed the cemetery full of American soldiers killed during WWI. I would have loved to visit the cemetery and see the battlefield, but we were on foot, new to this travel business and didn't speak a word of French and had no idea how to find a tour. This was not the first interesting place we'd ignore; we were more inclined to see the inside of bars and cafes than a battlefield. But, someday, I'll see Verdun.

We arrived in Paris long after dark and the three of us took the first hotel that had a room. We thought it an anomaly, but the prices quoted us were much higher that the prices listed in our Frommer's "Europe of $5 a Day" guidebook. Definitely a precursor of things to come. However expensive it seemed to us then, now it seems cheap. We paid $3.00 each for our room and I complained about it in my "journal".

In the morning we ditched Peter and found a room at the Hotel St. Germain des Pres, where my sister and her husband had stayed several months before. I call it expensive in my "journal" but unfortunately I don't mention the price. We had a fine lunch at the Restaurant de Beaux Artes. My "journal" reports we had a brush with culture shock. "The menu might as well have been in Russian for all we could make out. We took a stab and got veal and it was 'delisioso'. After a few carafes of wine, Scott found he could suddenly read the menu like it was printed in Coloradoan. Anyway, it was a terrific scare to be stood over by the waitress, stuttering and pointing and hoping it's not raw crawdaddys."

We visited the Jeu de Paume, the Notre Dame and the Eiffel Tower, and I guess that's all the industrial tourism we managed to do. I rave about the artwork in the museum, Degas, Manet, Monet, Sisley, Van Gogh and Lautrec are mentioned by name. I report encountering a lot of "crooks"; one had the nerve to charge us five and a half Francs for two cups of coffee.

We got drunk, of course, with some young French guys. "One spoke English and the other could mumble in two languages." Just like an American, I guess, complaining about the natives not speaking our language with any fluency.

We took the night train to Madrid which saved us from spending money on a hotel or pension. We loaded up with food, wine, and water. I remember the quality of the trains went to hell as we crossed the border into Spain. I write about the numerous stops in every Spanish village, the age of the train cars, and the fragrant odor of our Spanish travelling companions. My "journal" doesn't mention this but I remember an hombre removing his shoes and socks and we immediately began fighting for the seats next to the window.

We spent several days in Madrid, mostly killing time until we were to meet up with Scott's dad in Estoril, Portugal. We paid $3.00 for a room, which must have been agreeable, since there is no word of complaint in my journal. We went to the Prado and saw "Velasquez, Tintoretto and Reubens, a Rembrandt". We ran into some girls we met on the airplane, Chris and Mary from Minneapolis, and naturally, got drunk with them.

My main memory of Spain, apart from the Flamenco dancers, is that we were in a country led by the dictator, Franco. He of the Spanish Civil War, buddies with Hitler and Mussolini. A living dinosaur, really, a man from a different age. He died about three years later in 1975, and as I recall, the monarchy resumed.

We were beginning to understand that Arthur Frommer's estimate of $5 per day was hopelessly optimistic. The only way we could stay below a five dollar limit was to spend nothing in the bars and cafes. We were two 24 year old single guys and we would have given up almost anything before we'd give up our evenings in the bars. And if you're in the bars, you're gonna drink.

Again we took the night train, and we arrived in Lisbon, Portugal. We took the train to Estoril which was a rather ritzy resort town, at least by our standards. After we found a room in a private house for a few days at 60 escudo per night, about @$2.50 American, we went to the beach and got some sun. That evening the Portuguese folks invited us to watch TV with them. The western "had Spencer Tracy, Richard Widmark and Hugh O'Brian and others with Portuguese subtitles. Conversation was in broken Spanish about color TV and the beach. Robert Wagner got the girl." Through the magic of the internet, I can surmise we were watching Broken Lance, from 1954. After the movie we went out and got drunk.

We found Scott's dad. He bought us breakfast, lunch and dinner and took us to the Pena Palace near Sintra in a limousine. It was the first castle I'd ever been to, and fascinating, but sadly the tour was in Portuguese so we missed a lot, as you might imagine. The next day April 10, we caught a train to Barcelona. We used our Eurail Pass for the first time, meaning we were now on the clock. The pass expired three weeks from the first usage. This was good and bad. We travelled cheaply, and on better trains, but we had this horrible anxiety, feeling as if we were wasting money anytime we were not actually on the train. For the next three weeks we were ramblin' guys, sleeping and eating on the train, moving like fugitives from justice. Barcelona, Nice, Rome, Florence, Vienna and Amsterdam went by in a flash.

To Be Continued

Dog Sled Races on Grand Mesa

Just east of Grand Junction, and not too far from Montrose is the Grand Mesa, a flat top mountain that has an elevation of around 10,000 feet. Today on top of Grand Mesa, in about four feet of snow under a clear blue winter sky, a whole bunch of dogs and a whole lot more people got together for sled dog races. Unlike what you might expect from movies and TV, the sleds are small and lightweight, and just big enough to carry one person. Another aspect of sled dog racing that surprises neophytes like me are the breeds of dogs that are pulling the sleds. Most breeds were represented except Chihuahuas and French poodles. And the huskies that were pulling sleds were much smaller and leaner than I imagined.

Ski-joring is an event that I remember seeing on the main street of Steamboat Springs, Colorado, with cowboys on horses pulling skiers and the skiers spear rings while zooming down the course. This is the first I've seen using dogs. It was a two dog, one skier competition but I overheard this skier tell someone that his other dog had just died. So he went with one dog only.

Below, is the start of the four dog sled competition and as you can hear the dogs are loaded with energy, yelping and anxious to start.

Dogs are carted around in trailers or pick-ups with cages on the back. These poor guys were feeling lonely and neglected and letting their feelings be known to all the world. And of course you can hear me egging them on.

Here's the finish line as one four dog sled completes the course.

Oh Woe! Tickets Bought, Plans Made, Visitors Scheduled

Nancy spent a lot of the last month on the inter-tubes buying airline tickets to Toulouse, as well as arranging accommodations for when we have to vacate our house in Leran, and also making arrangements for our Mexican trip such as ferry rides and overnight accommodations. I can barely remember how it was done before the internet? As I recall, there were two ways we dealt with it. One was the travel agent, a phenomenon that seems to be disappearing into oblivion now, almost as rare as a dial telephone. And two, we would just wing it. Instead of doing research and making reservations on the internet.....we'd just show up at the ticket counter of the ferry boat, bus terminal, train station or hotel and haul out the traveller's cheques (another travel staple that has all but disappeared).


As soon as those travel arrangements were made, we could tell our family and other potential guests when they could come visit. As of today, we are very excited to have my youngest sister Amy and her family arriving in July, sandwiched in between two trips we'll make to Spain. The two trips to Spain are necessitated by our house trades that we made for Mexico. The first trip is to the southern coast near Granada and the second is a brief visit to Barcelona.


We should arrive in Leran on May 17 and go home on August 17, using up the 90 days the French government allows U.S. nationals to visit their country. We tossed around the idea of staying in France for four or five months. However, to be legal, we'd have to get an extended stay visa ($150 each) by making a personal appearance at the French Consulate in Los Angeles, and then once in France, informing the proper authorities and then getting a medical examination, a complete physical to the tune of 300 Euro each. Coupled with the expense of the trip to LA, we decided to forgo additional time in France.



While in the midst of the confusion and turmoil of all these plans, we made a very sad error. We made our airline reservations through British Airways, and we learned too late they do not transport dogs in June, July and August through the Denver airport due to the danger of high heat in the cargo space. Sadly, that meant Fergus would have to stay home this summer. Nancy and I are very worked up at the thought of the three month separation. But, he'll stay with sister Amy (and with sister Peggy while Amy travels) and he couldn't be in better hands. He'll be well taken care of but we'll miss him, and if you have animals, you know how we will be suffering.

Southbound and Down

Nancy and I are anxiously awaiting the beginning of our Mexican excursion which begins about a month from now. We visited Peurto Vallarta last winter; we traded the Leran house for a condo overlooking the Bay of Banderas. We flew down for two weeks, and it only whetted our appetites to see more of Mexico. This winter we'll be driving down from Colorado spending about six weeks south of the border. Our first port of call will be Todos Santos, pictured above. Todos Santos is close to the southern end of the Baja Peninsula, on the Pacific side sort of half way between La Paz and Cabo San Lucas. Todos Santo is called an artist's community, whatever that means. Reports claim that there are two paved streets and a single stop light that works occasionally. We'll see. One thing's for sure, it looks like there are miles and miles of beaches.

We'll take the ferry from Los Mochis to La Paz and back to the mainland two weeks later. It will be our first time on the Baja Peninsula (except for a brief excursion across the border to Ensenada more that 25 years ago). We have some hopes that we can do some whale watching because it will be calving season and an excellent time to see the cows and calves.

We'll travel from Los Mochis to Mazatlan, over the Sierra Madre to Durango, then to Aguascalientes, Zacatecas and then San Miguel de Allende, taking about three days to make the rather leisurely drive. At San Miguel, we have another house trade lined up for another two weeks.

San Miguel is a colonial town that has become somewhat of an international community with many ex-pats from up north and Europe as well. It has been called one of the most pleasant and beautiful cities in Mexico. So stay tuned.....we'll be reporting in as we have time and Internet access.

Reflections on a Trip to New Mexico

I've lived in a few Western states: Colorado, Montana, Wyoming, Utah and Washington. Those states have bullet holes in the roadsigns as well. But nowhere do they blow holes in their roadsigns with more enthusiasm than they do in New Mexico. In fact as you are driving around, it tends to give you the 'willies' when you think it would be possible for a bullet to come through your windshield. I imagine the wood behind the sign (above) stops the bullet, but the simple metal speed limit signs don't even slow them down.

This door opens into the courtyard of the Palace of the Governor's in downtown Santa Fe and is easily eight feet tall. It must have been difficult to open because they made a little four foot high door for easier access for a human or two. Open the doors all the way and you could bring in a horse drawn wagon loaded with casks of wine or a load of hay. The beautiful shade of blue reminds me of old doors I've seen in Mirepoix.

They turn out all the lights on Canyon Drive on Christmas Eve and it is impossibly crowded with people making it hard to navigate, especially with a black dog that becomes almost invisible. But Fergus got some real love and affection when they finally did see him. One street over, the crowds diminish and you can actually see the traditional luminarios or farrilitos. For those who have never seen this wonderful form of Christmas lights, they are ordinary brown paper bags filled with a little sand and a candle. They line the top of walls, sidewalks and any other places you can imagine. They also make another similar arrangement, like a small kite or hot air balloon, and with the heat of a single candle rise into the night sky until they catch fire and send sparks and ashes cascading towards the ground. I've often wondered how many house fires and forest fires these start, but perhaps none, because they've been doing it for years.

This is the plaza in downtown Santa Fe. In the center is an obelisk commemorating soldiers who fought or died in the early days of Anglo New Mexico. (Again, you can see the luminarios set up for the evening.)

This is on one side of the obelisk, and on another side is a commemoration to the solders who fought in the Civil War at Glorieta Pass. As you can see, someone at some point has taken umbrage, rightly so, and taken it in their own hands to remove a reference to "savage" Indians. (I should clarify that I think it is right to be offended by the term 'savage' and possibly 'Indians', but I think it is incorrect to vandalize the monument.) I am also wondering, was the first line also changed at some point? And if so, what did it say?

This plaque sits nearby, and I don't know when it was placed......before or after the vandalism of the obelisk. Interestingly, in Colorado at the present time, there is an ongoing debate whether to rename a mountain from Kit Carson Peak to another more culturally sensitive name. Kit Carson, a famous frontier figure and Santa Fe resident was married to a Ute woman, as I recall, but also killed a large number of Native Americans and some don't want to honor him with the name of a mountain. The debate goes on. Should we rename Cortez, Colorado or Columbus, Ohio and Montana so as not to honor these historical figures for their murderous exploits? How about Squaw Flat Campground; the Montrose High Indians? For right now, I'll stay neutral.

On Christmas Day this lady was having fun giving out free hugs to anyone who wanted one. I'll leave you with a few videos of musicians in the plaza sending out Christmas Cheer. Happy Holidays, wherever you are.

We Fabricate, You Decide

I know it's been a long time since our last post. We've heard about it from friends via facebook, e-mail and on the phone. Yes, we're all right, we're still here. I will give two excuses for our lack of posts and you can decide which one you want to believe.

Number One: We've been so incredibly busy doing all sorts of wonderful and exciting things that we have simply not had time to break away from those activities and write it down. I'm talking about working in the yard on some xeriscaping, gathering rocks for that project, ripping up sidewalks, tearing down cabinets and putting them in new places, finishing the exterior of the doorway to the remodeled bathroom that we finished last summer, and so on and so forth.

Number Two: We've done nothing, absolutely nothing worth wasting your time reading about on our blog so we didn't bother to post about it. I'm talking about working in the yard on some xeriscaping, gathering rocks for that project, ripping up sidewalks, tearing down cabinets and putting them in new places, finishing the exterior of the doorway to the remodeled bathroom that we finished last summer, and so on and so forth.