Our digs overlook the River Rhône although to get the full glory, you have to kneel on a table and lean out of the window. Here’s the view right now:
Not Seurat, I grant you, but, if it wasn’t for the houses in between, you’d be able to see the turquoise of the Rhône, behind which there is a sort of office/restaurant complex, behind which there is the Parc de la Tête d’Or. This is where we went today to lick our wounds – and it is magnificent.Continue reading →
“I’m afraid we don’t issue refunds on the Lyon cards,” says Eloise in Tourist Information.
Well, I’m not actually wanting a refund. But could you get the card cancelled so that she can’t use it? Or – even better- so that, if she tries to use it, the card explodes and covers her with indelible blue ink which, as it drips down her treacherous skin, tattoos her with the phrase “I am a thief.”
OK, I don’t say the last bit. But I think it really loudly.Continue reading →
Can you hear me, mother? Have to keep the noise down: I find myself at the centre of a supersize game of Sardines. If anyone else twigs that we’re here and tries to join us, the density levels may prove fatal.
“So, have you been to the Minack before?” I ask, when we have a lull in the programme selling.
“Oh yes, lots of times! A few years ago, we did The Producers. As we were bringing in the props – crates of swastikas and Nazi banners and so on, we passed a party of German tourists.” FellowProgrammeSeller grimaces a little. “It was all a bit awkward, really. Would you like a programme?”
I’m safely on home territory now; more in danger of rust than sunburn. You know where you are with rain. Siestas confuse me.
What shall I bring back from this holiday:
Our tour round Northern Europe on the trains?
What memories for when I’m old and grey?
Apparently many cities have a ‘Great Fire’ – often a few. Copenhagen’s first fire was in 1728 – usual reasons: wooden houses too close together, hot summer, straw bedding, strong wind to spread it and so on. The good burghers of Copenhagen, our guide told us, were determined that this wouldn’t happen again.
Copenhagen to Lübeck: four hours. We’d reserved window seats to enjoy the scenery. On the map, it looks as if we’re going quite close to the coast and at one point will need to cross what ActorLaddie tells me is the Baltic Sea. I’m intrigued how this is going to work: on the way to Copenhagen, we crossed some pretty spectacular bridges and also went through some fairly long tunnels. I wonder if it’ll be a combination of these or whether we’re going to all be asked to swim across dragging the train behind us. I hope it’s not the latter as it’s raining and I’d rather not get wet.
I wasn’t intending to blog today but this is irresistible!
This afternoon we went to look around a home which has been preserved exactly as it was when decorated in 1886 for the fabulously wealthy silk merchant, Rudolph Christensen. He lived there with his wife and three children: a son and two daughters, Gerda and Ellen. Here are the children.