Tag: Travel

Goodbye To All That

Deep Thoughts, Travels

Longtime Readers will be very familiar with my penchant for travel, especially to the U.K. and parts of Euroland.

However, as I’ve been paging through my travel pic folders to find landscapes and cityscapes to post on Thursdays, a feeling of gloom and melancholy is starting to make its appearance.

I’m not sure I want to travel internationally again.

There are several reasons I make that statement, but let me deal with the easier one first.

I’m getting old, and while my overall health is pretty good (according to my doctor, not just for my age but for just about any age), I’m not sure how I’d feel about, for example, climbing up the steep cobbled street from the ferry dock at Meersburg to the town itself on top of the hill.

Hell, it was tough when I last did it — in 2004 — so now, over two decades later… you get my drift.  And I loved Meersburg, with a passion.

Also, when strolling around cities like Paris or London, I thought nothing of walking all day — I mean, for those who are familiar with the cities, from Notre Dame to Sacré Coeur and back to our hotel next to the Sorbonne;  or from the V&A Museum to World’s End at the other end of Chelsea, and back.

Either of those little jaunts would take me two days, now.

Which brings me to my second thought.

Even if I could do those walks, I’m not so sure I’d want to because of the crime that seems to have overtaken most of Europe’s cities.  It’s not that I’m afraid of becoming a victim of some Rolex Ripper on Bond Street or Rue Royale;  I’m not a fearful person by nature — but I can be an aggressive person when faced by thuggishness of that kind, and I don’t want to deal with the possibility of having to explain to an unsympathetic bobby or gendarme why some little scrote is lying there screaming with a broken arm or, for that matter, having to deal with the NHS or its French equivalent when said little scrote hacked at me with a machete because I had the effrontery to refuse his attempt at property redistribution.

And we all know how the Filth in Britishland regard the matter of self-defense Over There.  Nothing puts a damper on the travel experience like having to explain to some judge why you didn’t want to just let the little choirboy take your property and shake your head sorrowfully at your loss.  That you applied your walking-stick to the little shit’s cranium (in lieu of having the old 1911 at hand) would no doubt land you in Serious Trouble, just as your attitude to the cops being more or less on the criminal’s side rather than on yours might also result in the cop’s uniform being ruined by the flow of blood (his).

Altogether, not a prospect worth spending thousands of dollars (which I don’t have) just to visit their poxy paradise.

And then there’s this little nugget, from one of my most-favored places on the planet:

Most famous districts in Vienna are in the heart of the city and during summer or at Christmas season they become overcrowded, which can lead to pickpocketing, mugging and even terrorist attacks.  In these areas frequented by tourists, bus and train stations, people around you need to be carefully watched and your possessions should be kept close to you.

WTF?  Now add to that the chance that some “migrant” takes offense that your female companion doesn’t have her head covered to his satisfaction… do you see where I’m going with this?

Fuck that for a tale.

One might think, given all the above, that the places to visit in Europe would be those which haven’t allowed untrammeled African- or Muslim incursions.  We’re talking here of Poland and Hungary, for instance.

But here’s my problem.  I would love — love — to visit those two countries, but I’m completely unfamiliar with both their languages, and honestly, I’m not sure that my old brain can handle learning even a smattering of either with the facility that used to be one of my strengths.

This really sucks.

So it may be that at long last, I’ll have to trim Ye Olde Bucquette Lyste of the travel items therein, sadly and regretfully.

I think I’ll just go to the range, assuming my eyesight is still up to the task of seeing the sights of a gun instead of the sights of a foreign city.

Bah.

Travel Tip

Travels

…for stupid people, that is:

“Skip the sandals when you fly — seriously.  If there’s an emergency involving fire, broken glass or the need to evacuate fast, you’ll want real closed-toe shoes to protect your feet and help you move quickly.  Sandals slow you down and leave you exposed when seconds matter.”

I always shake my head when I see people wearing flip-flops or the like when they travel.

That said, I’m not a huge fan of wearing sneakers to fly, either — unless they can be easily removed or put on (#VelcroFasteners).

If I’m flying into somewhere cold — e.g. Chicago or Yurp — the go-to are my favorites, L.L. Bean’s Snow Sneakers:

…although I see with some irritation that they currently only offer these to women.  Fucking morons.   It’s a good thing I ordered two pairs the last time I bought some.  Considering that I only wear mine in winter (i.e. those few of non-consecutive days in north Texas when it’s really that cold), these should last me pretty much for the rest of my life.  (My previous pair lasted me well over a decade, and they went to Europe and the U.K. over a dozen times.)

If you’re interested, try another brand, e.g. Propét (although they look kinda heavy):

All other times that I fly, it’s on with the faithful Minnetonka mocs:

I prefer the moosehide type, because once they’re worn in (which takes about a couple days), they’re fantastically soft and (most importantly) they’re not a hassle to put back on at the end of a flight, when your feet are all swollen from the cabin pressurization or whatever.  They also squash flat in your suitcase to save space.

And yes, I always wear socks when flying and rest my feet on my backpack so nothing touches the airliner’s foul floor.  (Don’t get me started about the fools who go to the airliner toilets in bare feet…)

All that said, my chances of flying internationally ever again are becoming vanishingly small.  But that’s a topic for another time.

An Excellent Idea

Food & Drink, Travels

A long time ago, I was in Brussels on business.  It was to be my first time there, so as always I did a bunch of research on the place:  things to see, places to visit and (of course) places to dine (yes, that’s a major part of my love of travel).

Just off the Grand Place is a street (Rue des Bouchers) lined with restaurants standing cheek-by-jowl together;  so what better way, thought I, to compare the various menus before making a decision to dine?

Bloody hell.

What the oh-so-helpful guide did not tell me was that outside every restaurant stood an extremely aggressive “tout”, who implored, begged and almost kidnapped the unwary diner into the establishment they represented.  Seriously:  one guy actually grabbed my arm and tried to drag me inside, releasing me only when I bunched a fist and threatened to clock him, hard.

The upshot was that none of the restaurants along Restaurant Row got my business that night.  Instead, I found a very nice little pub just off the Grand Place and proceeded to eat (lots) drink (even more) and make merry (to the max), as was my custom in those heady times.

After the experience in that Restaurant Row, therefore, I was overjoyed to read about this action, in Lucca, Italy:

The walled city has experienced a significant increase in visitors this year, particularly after emerging as a ‘timeless gem’ on social media. 

Last year, Lucca reported a record number of one million hotel bookings, and in the first four months of 2024, saw notable rise in visitor numbers.

The city’s leaders have grown increasingly concerned that the influx of tourists and the associated activities are negatively impacting its unique character – now, they’re declaring war on ‘worrying’ restaurant tactics such as touting. 

Touts – known locally as ‘buttadentro’ – are often employed to stand outside restaurants to try to entice passersby to dine there. 

Though they are responsible for attracting customers, some are reported to use persuasive or even aggressive tactics. 

On 10 July, the municipality adopted an ordinance prohibiting the promotion of restaurant businesses in public areas and on public land outside restaurants, bars, pizzerias, and similar establishments.

Mayor Mario Pardini and Councilor for Commerce and Urban Decor, Paola Granucci, said in a joint statement: ‘Lucca is a city with a strong historical, artistic, and touristic identity, and must be experienced with respect and style. Our ordinance does not restrict commercial activity, but protects the urban beauty and safeguards the authentic experience of residents and visitors. We reiterate that promoting one’s services is legitimate, but doing so in an invasive, insistent, or unfair manner is incompatible with the image we wish to preserve for our city.’

Ben fatto, Signori!  Now please get those assholes in Brussels to do the same — you know, in the time-honored EU fashion of sharing laws and regulations across national borders.

And while we’re there:  this?

Rue des Bouchers in Brussels is a lovely narrow street that is lined with restaurants. On display lie mussels, lobsters and oysters, all nicely decorated, awaiting hungry tourists.

It’s a big fat fucking lie.  The only hungry people there are the touts — money-hungry, that is.

Caveat cenator.

Not That Easy

Travels

After Connie died in 2017, I was really adrift.  Apart from the bereavement, I really had no idea where or how I wanted to live.   Fortunately, any immediate problems about accommodation were taken care of by Doc Russia, who took me in immediately after I sold the Plano house, and then by Mr. Free Market, who most graciously ensconsed me in one of his spare suites at Free Market Towers.

Towards the end of my stay at the Towers, I went to Frenchland (okay, Monaco) to spend some time with Former Drummer Knob, who lives thereabouts.  While driving around that exquisite part of the world known as the Midi, I discovered that as long as I didn’t try for a sea-facing apartment, I could actually have afforded to live there.

I found a (very) small one-bed/one bath apartment just north of Antibes which fitted the bill.


(just over the blue sign)

Modest, but not a slum;  the exterior looks totally foul, but the interior was okay — sort of like a typical student’s digs.  The monthly rent was about 1,400 euro — say, $1,600 (about what I’d pay for the same thing in Dallas) — but unlike Dallas, the rent included water and electricity, and the apartment came furnished.  (There’s a caveat, in that the “free” utilities thing was for a specific amount of w&e per month;  higher and you pay quite a lot, but I would have come in under that limit quite comfortably.)

Just in passing:  at the time, my French was reasonably fluent and would have become completely so within a couple of months anyway.  My fluency and French last name would have eased my ability to get a short-term residence visa, I was assured by a local official.  My U.S. passport was no big deal because apparently quite a few Murkins do that kind of thing in that part of the world anyway, she said.

Yes, in case you’re wondering:  I did a fair amount of research into this because, as I said, I was at something of a loose end during that time, so all options were on the table.

And yes, the apartment was quite humble, but it didn’t matter because once you leave the apartment you’re in frigging France, FFS, with bistros, boulangeries, patisseries, charcuteries, estaminets and all those things that make life in France unforgettable.

All the above were brought to mind when I read this article, which purported to list the cheapest countries to live in as an expat.

Of course, when people say “cheapest” they mean just that.  If the list is topped by Vietnam… well, you get the picture.

And here’s the problem with this “expat” thing, and the reason I ended up coming back to the U.S. of A.:  what articles like this never mention is that cost isn’t the only reason to live elsewhere.  Hell, it should only be Reason #4 or #5.

The biggest reason to live somewhere else — and by this I mean in a furrin country — is that you have to adapt to the culture and lifestyle of the place.  And that’s no small thing.  It’s all very well to live somewhere cheap, but when the free TV sucks and the cable/satellite option is either limited or expensive, or both, that’s not a good thing.  And getting around and getting on with the locals can be quite a task, or even impossible.  Expats often talk about “conversation fatigue”, which is the stress you face when you’re constantly translating a foreign language mentally in order to understand what’s being said to you, or before you open your mouth to speak.  It’s fine if a lot of the locals can speak English, and are prepared to do so.  This is sometimes the case when living in one of the larger cities — which are not cheap to live in, as I can attest — but in small villages or towns, that’s not the way to bet, as I discovered in my various travels around Europe, and most especially not in France.

Once again, I had little problem reading the newspapers and books in French, and that could only have improved;  but it was still going to be a chore, experienced daily.  Now imagine doing that in, say, Vietnam, where the language is not only foreign, but the text is of the “chicken scratch” variety.

I would have been unutterably lonely;  even though Knob lived but a few miles from that apartment, seeing him would have meant catching the train to Monaco every time because forget buying a car Over There.  Oy.  And he worked, which meant he wouldn’t be available all the time.

I was in my  early sixties.  Had I been much younger and coupled with a woman willing to try the experience with me:  who knows?  But no, it was not to be.

So it was with only a little regret that I decided not to stay in France.

One thing I do know:  I was really, really glad to get back home, and only realized how glad when Doc picked me up at the airport, and casually tossed over one of my handguns in its holster with the comment:  “I thought you might want that.”