Sleep in another castle, rain and hills in "the Lake District"

I arrive in Oxenholme-Kendal south of Carlisle, at the edge of the Lake District. There are more lakes concentrated in this area of England than any other. I stop at a small store for food, and ask where I might camp. The woman says, "Oh, you'd have to go way out of town....no, wait, you could camp at the castle!" (Does she know me?!) She says, "just take the bike path, turn left, when you see the cemetary, push through it, I guess that's kind of spooky, but go thru the cemetary and push on up the hill to the castle. No one will mind. It's kind o' creepy, what the cemetary and all, but you'll be safe. The castle's perfect." I follow her directions and just before dark make it...to..the ...top...of the hill. I find a young couple of friends, Mark and Amy, who ask You pushed that bike all the way up here?! They ask questions about my trip, and offer to help pitch my tent. I start over next to a wall and he says, Not so close, the guys wee there! We take pictures on her cell phone and my yellow rain coat glows. I settle in for sleep, after thinking, if this were somewhere else, I'd be afraid they would come back and plunder my things in the night. But it is safe, I'm sleeping in the remains of a castle several hundred years old. In the morning, the view is beautiful, the rolling hills and hedgerows all around. I eat breakfast at the Union Jack cafe and find info on touring in the Lake District. I head west towards Windermere, where Mark had said I must visit. On my way up the hill, cyclists coming down looked over at me and pumped their arms in exuberance, a familiar happy greeting.
I stop in Windermere, where the rain is pouring down, and find a map for the Lake District, and head north for Kirkstone Pass. I stop several times to catch my breath, it's 5 miles mostly uphill. At one stop I am next to a tree that is 8 feet across, probably 20' around. It is nestled into a stone wall and I can't measure all around it. I go into the Kirkstone Pass Inn, at 1489' the third highest public house in England, and visit with Rich and Jane, proprietors who are avid cyclists. They feed me and ply me with coffee, give me "proper food" and when I walk outside the mountain is socked in, visibility of 1/4 mile. Hey, it's late July!! Shortly the road drops below cloud cover and the view is incredible- stone walls crawling up and oveer the mountains, a lake, farms in the valley, lovely views all around. I continue north where I hear thunder and the skies pour hard rain for several miles. I pass through Keswick, a Patagonia and Orvis sportsman's town. Ten miles south I come to the Barrowdale youth hostel and hole up for the night. In the morning, it's back to Kendal, after stopping at a stone circle perched high in a field, surrounded by gorgeous views of mountains and clouds. In Kendal, I opt for the youth hostel, not wanting to "camp wild" ever in the same place twice, safety care. I talk with fellow cyclists, and Roger, after asking many questions, says "you remember all this about your trip?! Wow!" Of course- it's the trip of my lifetime!
On Thursday I take a bus south, hoping to tour the Yorkshire Dales. It's not meant to be, I'd have to take a train easst to Leeds, then take a bus up into the Dales. So I retrieve my bike and take the train to Oxford, a vibrant lively University town so full of energy. I find a campground 2 1/2 miles out of town, pitch my tent, and in the morning travel throughout the Cotswalds. Buildings are elbow to elbow and follow the hills down into town, very picturesque, very touristy. Saturday morning it's off to Avebury, where I visit my second World Heritage Site and the largest circle of stones in England. I pass a white horse carved from the chalk hills, visible from a mile away. In Avebury, the swtones cross the road and are in several different fields. There are many visitors, and I discover later there is a meeting that night at 11pm of people desiring to harmonize and raise their voices to heaven for peace and world happiness. Locals call them "stone huggers"! I sleep along a footpath and, after loading my bike in the morning, am greeted by an 80 year old man with his walking stick. He steps aside on the path and grumbles, "that's quite a burden you have there". I cycled to the Divine Cafe in Calne and had, what else!, a full English breakfast with a large cup of steaming hot coffee. A motorcyclist came in and when asked his order, said "I want a good breakfast but not as big as hers!" pointing to mine. Funny! We later visited awhile and he told the owner, "now that's green power, a pushbike!" On to Chittendem, where I took the train as far west as I could, to Penzance. I found the YHA hostel, and awoke at 5:30 to bike west to Land's End, the furthest point west in England. The cliffs did not allow for swimming, so I biked to a nearby beach and down, what else?, a steep hill to the chilly inviting Atlantic Ocean. Back to the hostel and off on the 10am train to London Paddington station. I made my way to my last hostel stop of my trip, Tanner's Hatch, deep in the woods 20 miles south of London and closest hostel to Gatwick airport. The lights went out during the night and I discovered this hostel has a generator. The radiator for it was leaking so it went off when it overheated. Wow, I'm almost home and this place is like being at Flathead Lake, minus the lake! The owner brings me two bike boxes for my bike and gear, and I respond to a kind offer from the mmotorcyclist with the small breakfast. He writes to offer help packing my bike and taking me to the airport. We meet at 5:45am, and a few hours later I'm on my way over the pond to Montana, Ray, Jen, Sam, the babies, home.....I am forever changed by this remarkable time in Europe.

York, England...memories of Dad.....on north

My train took me into the town of York, in eastern England, where Dad had spent much time in the 70s. I arrived around 9, and asked if there wa a place I could camp. No one knew of a place, but assured me there was a hostel. I found it, and knew right away that Dad must've stayed here on his travels. It was a YHA, where he was a member. The hostel had been such since 1948. I set away my things, and went down to use my computer. As it warmed up, I heard the music playing.....Billie Holiday. It was Dad. Tomorrow would be his 85th birthday. Not everyday Billie Holiday is playing. I skyped the kids, and emailed, and slept soundly again. Breakfast in the morning was the best I've had yet: coffee, tea, stewed prunes, pineapple, 2 lunch meats, Swiss cheese, scrambled eggs!, warm croissants with chocolate chips, bread, rolls, sausages, bacon, cereal, oj, milk. Wow, a guy could get fat if he didn't bicycle or something! And Billie Holiday again. Happy birthday, Dad....
More rain is forecast, so I shift gears and decide to go north, to Inverness, Scotland. I travel through the lowlands, then the highlands of Scotland. Much looks like home in Montana, and much different. In Edinburgh, it is raining, then sunny, then rain. A trainman says Typical Scottish weather! and laughs.
I find a hostel in Inverness, and haul my bike up 26 stairs of a circular staircase. I store it in the laundry room, and in the morning mail home anything I don't need, to lighten my load. A few eerreands, a trip to Dickey's Book Shop, which sports a large wood stove and piles of wood stacked all around it. Then it's off to wrestle with nessie, along the shores of Loch Ness. I dip 7 times in the lake, take a picture, and an F-111 fighter jet screams by! He banks left and flies, screams! past. I film the aftereffects, so dramatic cause of the quiet of this place. Ten miutes later as I bike on, I think a car is crashing behind me, and it's another
F-111. Man, you just never know.... I camp out in Fort William, a haven for the outdoor type, full of shops for fishing and anything outdoors.
Friday it's off further south towards Oban, another outdoor mecca town, and I stop to be sure of direction. An 80ish woman is picking wild raspberries near the roundabout, and assures me that I should go on the Glasgow Road, which just misses Oban and goes thru Crianlarich, then south to Glasgow. A few hours later, I follow a road to Bonewa. It's a single track road, with "room for passing" signs, and I eat lots of wild raspberries. At 9 miles, the road ends, and I realize I'm on the wrong side of the loch, so I backtrack...grrrrr....and stop in Taynuilt, where Highlands Games are being held the next day. I visit with Tom and Molly, who are helping out again with the games. We drink coffee and eat crumpets with jam, and visit til midnight. I love this.
Saturday morn, and we visit, eat rice Krispies, drink coffee, and then check out the vendors and contestants. This is RR Day in Alberton, so I feel an affinity for home. As I take pictures of men in kilts and contestants practising, I see a man I think is Dhani Jones, an NFL player who participates in sports around the world in order to learn about other cultures. I ask the woman next to me, "Is that Dhani?" and she smiles Yes! it is, and I'm from NY, I'm part of his production crew, he's competing in the games today. I'm probably the only one, or one of the only, who even know who he is. Amazing! later, he's putting on chapstick and I ask for his autograph, and he shows concern that I'm cycling on my own. He asks about my travels, and says Be careful, and then Oh! it's time to throw the telephone pole, gotta go! Be safe! He is a class person, so real and kind. Wow....and if I hadn't've gotten lost....
All day the sun shone off and on in the field where the men competed, and there were clouds in the background all above the mountains. It sprinkled rain a bit, nothing serious, and was such a special day, real highlands games.
I bicycled til setting up camp again, American style with 2 other cyclists and a caravan (camper) in a grass strip near a restaurant. And the midgies swarmed around my face, even in the drizzling rain, as I pitched my tent. Argh!! too busy to apply bug juice. And it's raining, they'll go away, no they don't! Little gnatlike things, all around my face, arghhh!
I eat a wonderful buffet breakfast, and feel like Georgia Pearl- plump round full tummy! But it'll be gone soon, as I later discover I will bicycle my longest day, 75 miles. I pass through Crianlarich, past Loch Lomond (no place to swim) and Dunbarton, and on into Glasgow. 5pm Sunday, no shops are open for sweaters, and each way I turn I'm in a rough part of town. It's actually a city of about a million, time to move on. I ask and get help twice, and go on past town til I find a place to camp. In the morning I visit with a couple who notice my bike-he used to have a Koga- and they ask many questions about my travels, and their daughter asks about Dad. After a warm visit I go on the Edinburgh, where I enjoy a meal of haggis, matties and meeps! D-e-licious! with hot brown onion gravy. I love it, could eat it often. I reserve a place on the 6:52 train, and spend the next sunny! warm! sun! 2 hours walking along the Royal Mile, to the Edinburgh Castle, and explore the lovely old red-brown stone buildings throughout Edinburgh. This is a beautiful classy city, lovely and pretty and old and so wonderful. I love it! There are many alleys, named a close, that stretch down between buildings, and drop down into lower streets. What a place...and then off south, to the Lake District of England. Scotland....wow....

The beautiful land called Wales part two

Oops! the blog accidently posted. So here's the rest of Wales. I left towards Harlech, to the south, or so I thought. Signs all over Europe often, usually, do NOT have the direction on them. I followed what I thought was south, no sun to follow, and went through 15 beautiful miles of wild, goegeous North Wales. The hills rolled and drifted and rose, and there were sheep, hedgerows, trees, incredible beauty. When I realized the error of my direction, I turned around and saw what it looked like in the rear view mirror. I soon came to a mountain pass, which rose higher and higher, and I pushed....and pushed....my steady Koga up over the mountain. Whew, what a place. I came into a town named Flestniog, where slate is mied and used in all the buildings. The main street of town is built, literally, against the mountain, the raw Cambrian mountain of rock. Immense!
So on to Harlech, where I had Chinese food (hey we eat Chinese in Missoula, why not Wales?) and slept like a baby in the dunes of sand behind a church and next to the sea. The wind blew through the night, and I thought the people buried in the nearby graves were visiting me. I awoke early, 5am to be exact, because I'd accidently set my watch over to Montana time. Oops! So after breakfast, and walking on the beach, I visited Harlech Castle, which is a World Heritage Site. Very impressive, google it.
I travel south through Barmouth and other lovely Welsh towns, into Tywyn for a late lunch, after more rain and hills. At the Cambrian Cafe, the owners are eating, and ask What would I like? I said, I haven't had a burger since I got to Europe, so how about your Welsh beef burger? One of the men says, "He's just eating the last one" and points to the other owner. I said, Okay, then the Welsh pork burger with crab apple jelly. He says, "I'm eating the last one. We have to eat what we have before we lose it. How about a roast dinne3r, all the fixins, four pounds?" Deal!! Feed me, I'm hungry!! The food was great, and I tried mint sauce, a mint vinegar sauce for the roast, great stuff.
I pedaled and pushed on til I reached Aberystwyth just before 11pm. I could see the ocean as I topped the hill, and sped down it and up into a University town with 8000students. I walked up the last of the hill, going towards the ocean, where I figured I could camp. I walked thru the ruins of a castle, and as the wind blew, figured I was better off here. So, I slept in the castle ruins, above the ocean, with the wind blowing 'round me and gently lifting at my tent thru the night.
In the morning, 2 workers came to get supplies for repair to a monument, and, altho 8feet away from me, acted as tho I wasn' there! I walked 2 blocks and came to a bike shop, where for 10 quid, ($16.50) I had a full tuneup and check on my bike. I had gone over a thousand miles, and Andy said it's an excellent strong good bike, take it home, you'll never find one in the states. He also said the castle is 700 years old, and very safe for camping. I set up my train for York, and went swimming in Cardigan Bay. The undertow and backcurrent is so strong, it came in and knocked me back over, and my feet went up in the air! When I changed my suit gravel fell out- oops! The water was great and is technically part of the Irish Sea. I learned this from Colin, a man who bought me coffee and toured me through town and above the city, where the tram train runs. He took me to the National Library of Wales, and showed me many incredible views of the landscape and Aberyswyth. And then it was off to England, with the wild landscapes of Wales forever in my mind and heart.

The wonderful, beautiful land called Wales

Saturday morning came at 7am for me, with mixed clouds and sun, in Holyhead, Wales, on the northwesternmost part of the isle of Anglesey. I had a full English breakfast and yummy hot coffee-all coffee here has been yummy- at the restaurant of a woman from Portugal. When I pulled out my map to show her where I'd traveled, she got lost in Portugal! I reluctantly left after a sweet visit, and headed east towards Bangor. A man who assured me I was on the right road said the isle is like a basket of eggs, and the roads all go up and down over the eggs!! He was right. Up and down, up and down, makes for strong legs, I guess.
Past Bangor I headed south, through Bethesda and up over the mountains. And it rained....and rained....and rained some more. Wales, and all of the UK, must be some of the cleanest places on earth, they get washed frequently, as do the cyclists who travel through. Up over the mountain, and I kept seeing hikers coming out of the hills. At one point one asked me if I'd seen a campground back aways, and I said Yes, a mile or so up the rod. He said Did you see the name of it? and I said Nooo! the sign was a foot square and it was raining too hard to read!! We were near the highest peak in Wales, and people there are challenged to hike the three highest peaks in Britain in 24 hours, come rain (which it does!) or shine. They drive to one, hike up and down, jump in the car, and so on till they get all three.
So I continued on down into the town of Betws Y Coed, where I hugged a pot of tea and grew warm as I ate cod fish and chips. The only reasonably priced rooms were at the hostel, 2 milesw back up the hill (I swear the sign said hotel, not hostel....but it was raining, I couldn't read....). At the hoste3l, I lucked out and got my very own 6 bed dorm room to myself. I did a load of laundry, and hung my tent and wet things all over everywhere to dry. And I slept like a baby!! In the morning, it was a hearty delicious breakfast again, and a toaster the likes of which I've never seen. Bread is inserted into the top front of it, where it proceeds to creep backward over the hot wires, toasting as it goes. It then drops around and down onto the bottom, where it is pushed out towards the toastee. Yum!
I left town, and

Ireland, and why it's called the Emerald Isle

One last comment I forgot about the retired math teacher who suggested I bike the Sea-to-Sea route from Plymouth north, a route he said was without major hills and 55 miles long. When I stopped for some groceries at lunch that day, a very kind man who bicycles this route stopped to talk with me. I was only 15 miles into my labor of country viewing. He was very excited that I would go on this route, and retrieved a guidebook just for the route. He thought as tough as I'd been already, I could make it to the halfway point by afternoon. After wrestling my bike downhill and up dale, I sat and looked at the guide. There were major changes in elevation, and the trail was 105 miles long, not 55. So off to Wales I went.
After crossing to Ireland, I found a campgraound with the help of a biker on the ferry. I set up tent, and listened to a group of 15 people having a barbeque in a large tent nearby. They were in their 40s and 50s, and after eating began to play a parlor game. I didn't catch the name of it, but it sounded like Mr Potato Head and dice and hangman rolled into one. As I sat in my tent in the drizzling rain, I could hear their dice roll and them call out the numbers and talk and laugh. One man said "it's not the bleedin' 3s, it's the 1s and the 2s." Then he said "we've got goggles, we've got nipples, lord knows what we've got!" Then, "I've got eyes, now nose, I'm looking for arms." And then, "he's got a willy on 'im, that means he's a ladybird!! He's got a willy, does that count for anything?" The dice rolled over and over, and I laughed in my tent as I listened.
In the morning, the biker gave me his map of Scotland, and a guide to hostels and camping in Ireland. He is from Bristol and so helpful and kind. So I went to the train station to check on departing trains, and found there is ONE departing train to the west, to anywhere, each day, and it had gone at 7:05. So I asked where the next stop was, and it is Waterford, the famous town of Waterford Crystal. How far? Oh, 50 miles (this time the map checked out-it's 50 miles). Not willing to sit here all day, I set off through cloudy sky to the west. After lunching under an overpass, I started on my way again and it began to rain. I shoudn't say began, it just rained....hard...pouring rain, as though all of heaven were dumping it's contents on me. I found a barn and pushed in, to cover my gear with rain covers and fix my raincoat. The farmer of said barn walked by, and when I said what I was doing, he smiled- "No worries!"
On to Waterford. It rained so hard that the rain hit my legs, ran down and I could feel it go into my shoes, around the tips of my toes, and run oout the end. I took a picture of myself, smiling, cause what should? what could I do? Push on!
Waterford is a beautiful city with a river running through the center of it. The business district sits along the water, and the area is called a quay, pronounced key. I asked a cab driver where the hostel was, found it closed, found another one nearby. The grocery was closed so I stopped to tell the cabbie about the hostel and ask where a safe place was to try a Guinness. The famous beer is brewed in this town and the concentrate shipped all over the world. It began to rain, so I sat in his cab and we talked of Ireland, work, the world. His name- Raymond!- and he and his wife of 29 years were headed to Cork to see Rod Stewart the following eveing. He drove me 6 blocks away to Doolans, a pub with live music. I listened for an hour, strong Irish music, with some American classics thrown in, and talked with the singer. He is Dermit Power, related to Tyrone Power, 62, a history writer and singer since youth. He loves Ireland, his lifelong home of Waterford, and expressed the sentiment I feel in life- "If I live to be a thousand, I should never be bored!"
Tuesday I headed west, and decided to go to Killarney, wesst of Cork. It is one of the famous tourist towns, and on the edge of the ring of Kerry, known for it's beautiful scenery. I set up camp and bicycled 34 miles through the Gap of Dunloe and the Black Valley. Rugged, steep, beautiful mountains and a narrow- 10 to 12' wide!- mountain raod. It took me 4 1/2 hours, and was worth every minute. Lakes, creeks, streams trickling over rocks- lovely!!
In the morning, I wanted to go west to Galway, and due to the poor train system in Ireland (they are working on it) I rode east all the way to Dublin, then west to Galway. As I made my way through crowded market streets to supper, a voice on a bike said "that's quite a load you 'ave there!" He was an El Salvadoran, who's lived here with his Irish wife for 5 years. Knew of Montana, having lived in Minnesota and New York, working as a chef.
Thursday morning, I boarded a bus to go west through Connemara country, very rugged and wild. I went the long way, 100 miles, through twisting, climbing turning roads. Most of these roads are barely double the width of a tiny European car, and this bus driver handled it superbly. The only fjord in Ireland lis in the hills here, allong with lakes and streams and breathstealing views. I stayed in Westport for the afternoon, talking with a book seller originally from Atlanta, spent 35 yrs in the Orient and 18 in western Ireland. He said some of his best sellers are....westerns from America, esp Zane Grey! I gave him some tips on how to buy them.
I traveled back to Dubllin for the night, found a grreat hostel, near a not-so-great one. When I asked the rate there, a large eastern European man rolled back in his chair and sneered "30 euros!" He creeped me out so I beat a hasty retreat. The guy at the nice hostel, a New Zealander, said that other guy creeped him out too.
Friday morn I wandered the streets of Dublin, and took the train south to Wicklow, where low and behold I found swimming ocean. Everywhere I'd looked all week the tide was out, leaving a nasty think muck. Here was honest ocean, cold, refreshing, real.
Back on the train to Dublin, then dinner before leaving on the ferry to Wales. I had supper first at a pub, the Oval Room, where Eammon Fannin sat with me and talked of his life in Ireland. He said Dublin is a rough town, I was good to keep my things close to me. Expensive, too, a bowl of Irish Stew (lamb!!) and hearty bread was 10.95 euros, and a Guinness was 4.25. Wow!!
So it's off across the sea to Wales, and adventures in another wild place.

Salisbury cathedral, plains, Stonehenge, Plymouth

I went north from Bournemouth and Christchurch towards Salisbury.....this is the road that never ends. All the people I asked said there must be a quiet road into Salisbury, like going old hwy 10 from Alberton to Missoula. But I couldn't find it, til I struggled the busy "dual carriageway" (divided highway) into Ring Wood. From there the road grew quiter and safer, and I ate steak and kidney pie and had a 1/2 pint in a pub in Downton. A man named Steve, retired from the organization end of the music business, offered me a room in his home where his current roomer stayed. I spent a delightful safe night in an old English town, and in the morning discussed routes and towns and the British countryside with Steve. He had been a courier throughout Britain also, so gave me much valuable information on the country. After a hearty breakfast, I cycled north to the plains of Salisbury, and the huge cathedral of Salisbury stood high above all else. The spire reaches 404', higher than any other in England. Inside, the immensity of the building is breathtaking. In a side room is one of four original copies of the magna carta- wow!
After lunch I cycled north towards Stonehenge, in 85' temps and hot sunshine. And there stood the granddaddy of the stone circles of Britain, in all his glory, visible from far away. I was able to get as close as the wire fence, because I couldn't take my bike in and wasn't going to leave it in parking across the road. I asked a biker which road was the best for going back to Salisbury and he pointed me the way. He also gave me his business card when I told him of Peter Elkington writing of the stone circles in a book called Merlyn. The biker is King Arthur Pendragon, high druid and on strike regarding Stonehenge. I didn't ask what for.
Taking the train from Salisbury, I headed west, and was greeted a few stops later by a cyclist older than me, with a loaded bike. He suggested I ride from Plymouth north to the sea, the sea-to-sea route, about 55 miles. Was a retired math prof and said it was an easy uphill climb to the high point in the Cornwall, then a coast to the sea. As I changed trains in Exeter and he departed, he admired my Koga bike and said "that's the Rolls Royce of touring bikes." Thanks! The next day I needed a Rolls Royce, because after 4 1/2 hours of hard riding, walking my bike down one hill and up the next (like mtn biking Petty Mtn) I had gone 25 miles. I decided I'd seen enough of this area and returned to Plymouth, to take the afternoon train to Cardiff, Wales. The youth hostel there is next to the stadium for the Cardiff Blues football team, sweet stadium.

Swimming both sides of the English Channel

I made my way north to Amiens, and found a nice 20 yr old girl who teacheds French to British students inTourquay, England. She and brother Gunther rode with me for 45 minutes on the train, talked about the chips on the shoulder of the French toward others, and the same in other parts of Europe (maybe it's cause it's called the English Channel, not the French Channel!!). Got to Calais, where I was told this is the stop for the Channel Ferry, and it wasn't! It was the next stop. Four uniformed policemen, the same ones who said this is the stop, pointed me the way to take my bike down 20 stairs to the street (finally one offered help). I made it an adventure through the light rain to the town of Calais, where I was helped by Raymond Bowers and his wife to navigate my way to the Ferry. Before I left, I went for a swim in the French side of the channel, chilly but sweet, love the salty water.
At the ferry I was directed to take lane 199, with, motorcycles. Here's the dorky girl from Montana, no, it's the strong trekking woman from Montana, who gets to line up with the touring motorcycles! I asked the two men in line, Do you speak English? and in their British accent they replied, All the time!! There was some fog going across, and then the white cliffs of Dover came into view. How sweet to see something before you you've seen in books all your life.
Saturday morning I bought some supplies and checked out ways to find biking routes through England. Now, 5 days later, I find the best is to use a good map (I bought an Ordance one for 50 pence in Salvation Army in Folkestone, saved some money and it was the exact one I needed!) and ask questions. When I ask directions, I repeat them back, then there is less chance I get lost. This place is very wooded and it's hard to see the forest for the trees, it's closed in like Pennsylvania and it's difficult to see what's ahead or around the bend.
So off through the country and along the southern coast of England. I swim in this side of the Channel, and ask a Brit, why is it the English Channel and not the French, cause it's between both? He said confidently, Cause we own it!! I made my way along the coast, stayed in Lydd for the night, and made my way to Rye for Sunday breakfast. Chanced a cafe in the town square where motorcyclists meet every Sunday for a ride and breakfast. Walked through the town and enjoyed old shops, book shops, antique stores and 200 year old buildings along cobblestone streets. Off through Hastings, where the famous battle of 1066 took place, through Bexhill and down the wrong cycle trail to meet a 65 yr old man who said, Follow me, I'll show you the way. When he explained there were hills between us and Eastbourne, I said How about coffee and a pastry? He shrieked, Pastry??!! So I said I need to eat, how 'bout fish and chips? He said, that's a little better! He led me up the first of three formidable hills, overlooking the sea near Eastbourne, and said I'll be going back now, you'll find your way. He never faltered going up that beast of a hill, and I stayed behind him with my heavy gear. I did push my bike up the second hill tho, tough going and worth the view.
I made it into Seaford and set up camp in a caravan park, then went for a 1/2 pint in a pub featuring live jazz music. Met Mike and Elaine, boisterous happy laugh and he said Your money's no good in here! and he bought me a brew, local beer from up the street. We talked books and WW2 and Dad, and he promised to correspond. Delightful people!
I've worked my way further acoss the south of England, including the Isle of Wight, where I found Joe's Cafe, fitting since I promised to mail Joe a card from there. I'm in Bournemouth and will head north in this unseasonable heat to Salisbury, Avebury and Glaastonbury, for circles of ancient stone and ancient life in Britain.

Through Switzerland and into Paris

On my way around Lake Constance I went for a refreshing swim...as in, it was too chilly to swwim for long. I reached the campground in Austria, blogged home from my tent- wow! the internet in a tent in Austria!!- and slept, as it began to rain. In the morning it rained off and on, and I made my way to St Marguerite in Switzerland. The border guards motioned me through, and I found a man's burgundy handkerchief, like ones Poppa used. Funny reminder of Dad, who enjoyed Switzerland. I checked my maps and made my way to St Gallen. I went the hard way, not knowing the "shortest" way was up over a mountain range! A 60ish man on a bike led me the way up to a restaurant, where he turned off, after hefting my bike and saying "I'm impressed!" Dietrich's Dad had told me the longest distance between 2 points is a straight line, and that was the case. But, I saw high mountain villages, heard the ring of cowbells in the distance, the chirps of birds- what beautiful views!
The next day in St Gallen, it rained through the day, but I was in the bibliotheque, with the oldest book there having been written in 807. 12 hundred years old! And a mummy from Egypt, from 600BC, was in the corner with her coffins. What a beautiful amazing place, the words don't describe it! The cathedral next door is the most beautiful Baroque one in Switzerland-lovely!
With rain in the forecast for the next several days, I boarded the train on Wednesday and went through the center of the country to France, where I headed north to Paris. My bike was the only one on the train, in contrast to Germany and Holland, where I was blessed to find a place for it. The people from Geneva, Switzerland, to Paris, were definitely of the upper class of society. A nice 20ish girl did speak with me, having lived in New Orleans 1 yr and New York City 1 year. At the bus terminal I was shown on the map where the youth hostel was, and wove my way to it, mostly pushing my bike through people and traffic. Ahh, Paris on a Wednesday afternoon in June! On one occasion, when I got momentarily turned around (lost!) I asked a young man, Do you speak English? He replied, It depends- when I want to. Honest!!
Thursday I bought a Metro ticket and sawthe sights of the city, and made my way to the Eiffel Tower. Holy mackeral! there's nothing like looking at it in front of you. I rode the elevator to the top, stayed for more than an hour, then walked from the second floor down, then back up. Visitors are not allowed to walk all the way to the top. I went to the Arch de Triumphe, down the Chanze Elysses (sp!), past the palace, saw many beautiful sights. After supper and dooing laundry, it was sstill only 9:15, and I traveled out of my comfort zone by taking the subway back to the Eiffel Tower to see it at night in lights. Wow! What a grand lady she is, so delicate and strong and infinitely beautiful!
Arriving back at my room, my roommate, a 60ish woman from Nice, France, was at the window. She had heard a commotion and was looking up, as a drunk? man was throwing household goods from the 20th floor of his new apartment building. Pots, pans, shoes, even a large footstoll came crashing down! We were quite safe, aas he was across the courtyard. The police arrived and things were quiet again.
Paris is so much like the energy and activity of New York City, European style. I rode my bike Friday morning along the bike lane, which is marked for bikes and buses (hmm! bikes beware!!). I easily made my way to the north train station, to head north and over to Dover by way of ferry. The adventure continues.....

auto and technical museum in Sinsheim

On Thursday the 18th of June, I drove with Dietrich 10 miles south to the Auto and Technical museum in Sinsheim. There I took off to tour through a Concorde Air France, other planes, and stroll through many collectable cars, bicycles, trains and motorcycles. Just the logistics of bringing an airrplane the size of the Concorde, through city streets to a museum sight, is mindboggling! The airplane sits high above the ground at an upward angle, and I walked thru it to the cockpit, small by todays standards. There are only 2 seats on each side of a narrow aisle, and only 120 people flew each flight. Wow! I went into a German plane, an Air France jet, and viewed many planes, including a Messerschmit 109, the plane which shot Poppa's plane down in 1943. The swastica was clearly visible on the tail, and a weird chill ran up my spine.
Many Mercedes, Rolls Royces, Ferraris, Cadillacs, many beautiful cars were on display from many different times. Bicycles from the 1800s and early 1900s, and many racing winners, were there. Several steam trains, complete with sound and the moving of the wheels, were there. The Blue Flame, which is the first car to break the world land speed record at 622 mph, in Nevada, is there. Wow! what a place!! Visit www.technik-museum.de to see all I saw. Wow!!
Upon leaving, I rode my bike one block and what to my wondering eyes did appear but "second hand store"! I looked at books, toys, and bought a bike jersey, lighter colored shorts, and 2 light shirts. I wove my way thru the back roads to Christine's and we had lunch, then later in the day went for supper at a local tavern. I had schnietzle, which is a pork-fried steak, with lots of shredded carrots, cabbage, tomatos, cucumbers, sauce, and pomme frites, ubiquitous french fries and oh! so good! I'm going to need to bicycle a bunch to burn up all this food! At home, we visited til late, and I tasted ice wine, the first time I'd ever heard of it. This is a very special limited production of white wine, which is made from grapes which have been exposed to below freezing temperature while still on the vine. The wine is pressed from the cold grapes and there is only so much. The taste is lightly sweet and subtle, very rich- delicious isn't a big enough word for it. Only in Germany! (maybe not literally...)
Friday morning we all drove over to Heidelberg, where Christine is part of a huge quilt exhibit in the city. We all worked til noon setting up the racks and poles on which to hang the quilts her guild has made. Then Dietrich and I left to shop for a tent. First we had Thai food for lunch. I had a duck soup with orange curry, and the flavor was superb. Then we had success with a tent in a large 6 story department store. We drove up the mountain above Heidelberg and drove the scenic road home to Mauer. When Christine arrived home we stayed awake for a long time sharing stories, laughter and a great time.
Saturday morning Christine was off to the quilt show, and Dietrich and I drove south to Friedrichstrasse, in the black forest where his parents live. They are at 3000' same as Alberton, but rise from 500' only 50 miles away. Their home is in the woods, next to a nature preserve. Gorgeous and quiet, a rest from city life. Dietrich and I rode our bikes into the town, 8 miles away. It was almost all downhill, which meant....it was uphill and thru the woods back home. After supper his parents, mostly Mom, shared stories about the war, about their lives then and now. It was an undescribable gift to hear his mom talk of all these things still so close in her heart.
Today, Sunday, Father's day. A Happy happy day to you, Raymond!! Happy day to all you dad's!
Dietrich left back to Mauer, and his parents and I drove further south to the Bodensee, AKA Lake Constance. They dropped me off in Lindau, on the southeastern edge of the lake, still in Germany. I bicycled south and around the end of the lake into Austria. A man saw me looking at the map at the edge of town and told me that "Switzerland is very expensive, camp here", so I rode north to a campground with hot showers and food and internet. I will sleep a long catchup sleep on this, the shortest night of the year, and head into Switzerland tomorrow to St Gallen. The town has a bibliotheque (library) with 150,000 volumes, many dating back 2 and 3 and 400 years. Wow!! I can't wait!! Should keep me out of trouble for a little while.... :)

Off to the Black Forest

Just wanted to drop a quick note to everyone before we take off. We headed off to visit Dietrich's parents in the Black Forest. The internet connection will be bad, so there is a chance I won't be able to write for a few days.
Hope all is well in the states!

Bibles, a palace and castles

Tuesday morning came bright and sunny, and off we went to Stuttgart, the county seat about 60 kilometers south of here (say "kill-o-meters", you don't say killagrams!). The bibliotheque (library) has a special exhibit of Bibles, including a Guttenburg (both volumes), a William Tyndale and many others. I was in heaven, no pun intended!, having wanted to see some of these for many many years. Many were held open and the paper and bindings were visible. They were arranged around a kiosk type display. The special kiosk with the Guttenburg, Tyndale and others from the 1500s and 1600s had softer lighting that the rest, and stood apart in their own way. Overall, the 70 or so Bibles were a delight, and I looked longingly at them as we left for lunch in the cafe. We had a vegetable stew and whole grain bread, and cold apple jiuce. Then we were off to the Palace at Ludwigsburg, a palace from the early 1700s. It retains 95%, get it, 95% of the original furnishings. Many have been sold through the years, and bacause they have a special mark, the country of Germany buys them back, if found, for the palace. Purchase money comes from their national lottery. We walked down each hall, in a long rectangular form, for over a mile. The rooms were full of paintings and tapestries, furniture and silk wall paper. The tour guide even took us into the Protestant chapel at the end of the tour, something she said she doesn't usually do. Magnificent!
Black forest cake and fresh hot coffee, and off to home. We drove on the famous autobahn, and as I filmed with my camera and turned toward Christine, I felt the pedal go to the floor. She laughed heartily! Sections of the autobahn have speed limits of 120k, which is only 72 mph. However, where there is no limit, always beware of your left lane! Christine has GPS and a route finder that audibly tells her where to drive, and it was comical to hear the man say the directons in German.
At home Christine cooked up fried pieces of cut noodle pockets, like a large filled manicotti, called maul tasche, and fresh salad and tomatos. We talked for some time, and I skyped the kids at home in Alberton (is skyped a verb?!), sweet babies dancing hundreds of miles away for Gramma, sweet Ray and Jen, then off to sleep.
Wednesday morning Christine went for a haircut, and we were off by bicycle to Hirschhorn to see a castle. We wound our way through the hills and fields of hog corn, wheat and orchards, towards the Neckar River. In the town of Hirschhorn, we biked through the streets and up the hill to the castle above the valley. It houses a restaurant, and we had coffee and Frankfurter cake. The cake is a light lemon bundt cake sliced into four layers, and buttercream is spread between the layers. It is frosted and brickle is put all over the outside. We went down into the valley and along the river, where we saw four castles within 1/2 mile of each other. Two of them have people living in them and all were quite beautiful. The villages are especially clean and very picturesque, with flowers in boxes at even the bus stops.
At home, Christine made bratwurst, and potatoes with quark. She boiled new potatoes and made a sour cream mixture, whipping chives and special seasonings into the sour cream. The potatoes are placed on one's plate, with a generous serving of quark, and they are eaten together. So good! It was late and I was tired, so just a short email and off to slumberland.

Travels and life in Germany

Sunday morning I awoke for coffee, croissants, toast and a beautiful morning with Dietrich and Christine. They own the third floor of their building, the "penthouse". Two balconies overlook the valley surrounding them, with the church steeple rising off in the distance. Dietrich plays saxophone in a local band of about 25 members, and today was their time playing for a couple hours at their regular fundraiser. We picked up some of the band and went to near the banks of the Rhine River where they played. I drank a light German wheat beer, and ate a fried pork steak with pommes frites. German french fries, believed locally to have been "created" in Belgium, not France, are fried, drained, and fried a second time. Crunchy! I walked to the banks of the Rhine, and watched water skiers, motor boaters and large barges make their way around the river. Except for barges as long as a football field, it reminded me of Flathead Lake.
An older couple across from me tried to speak with me, but neither of us spoke the others language. When Dietrich took a break, he translated, and then they tried harder to speak with me. I drew a map and said Amsterdam, they nodded Yes! and then I drew the ocean to the west. I motioned that I'd gone swimming, and they looked puzzled, then smiled abd shrugged. She has a cousin in Louisiana who doesn't speak German and wondered, would I look up this cousin and tell them we'd met? She wrote down her address, and in German, wished for my continued safety and happy travels.
In the evening we went to a barbeque at a friends house. We ate barbequed shrimo, chicken, and sausages. Some sausage had herbs in it, and Christine had skewered them into a round and they were cooked. Very tasty. Their little chicuahua, Martini, was about 8 pounds, black with large ears, 5 months old and quite playful. He arrived at Christine's Monday morning for babysitting for the morning.
Monday I bicycled north and west to Heidelberg, about 20 kilometers away. I found several bike shops and bought my own helmet, then set out for book shops. I found several, one with books along the front window ledge outside. The sign read "1 book
3 euros, 4 books 10 euros. There were many interesting books and some in the window were expensive British books on gardens. I had coffee and a custard filled rhubarb struedel on the sidewalk, and it rained briefly, warm rain. I traveled up the hill to Heidelberg castle, and was caught in a torrential downpour. Rain followed me down the steps and ran over my shoes as it spilled further down the hill and into the Neckar river, which is as wide and large as the Clark Fork and very muddy green and brown. I bicycled my way back along it and up over the hill above Mauer. It continued to rain, and a hot shower and coffee was waiting for me at the house. We enjoyed flat ribbon noodles with tomato sauce, and fresh salad from the balcony garden for supper. The family visiting was sweet and reminded me of home.
A hour on the "phone" through Skype with the kids- I l-o-v-e technology!- and off to sleep. Tomorrow it's a Bible exhibit and a palace.

Off to Germany again, but further south

Jeannette and I were up before 9 and set out to buy groceries. We went to the Albert Heijn market in an upscale town nearby. Jeannette explained many local groceries to me, including Vla, dutch pudding in a carton. It comes in vanilla, chocolate, caramel/butterscotch and other flavors, and is richer and creamier than American pudding. We had eaten the pudding at her house for a treat after supper.There were many cheeses, sliced meats, many kinds of bread and cookies. I asked about peanut butter cookies and she said peanut butter is sometimes eaten on bread but never in a cookie. There were various treats for children, including sprinkles that are put on buttered toast for children as an early food. We bought bread, "milche", cheese, eel!- a typical dutch treat-, apples, espresso, and off we went. I packed for the train and just made it in time, for we weren't certain on these winding dutch roads just how far the station in Bussum was. It was hugs to Jeannette and so many thanks for such a wonderful time- incredible!!
After a short ride I switched to the train to Osnabruk. A couple asked about my travels and were very interested in Dad's story. The man even knew of B-17s and the war. He and his wife were delighted woth my visit to Mr Zwanenburg, and Dad's circumstances that brought himback to Holland. He told me "those young men from England and America were heroes to us in Holland, fighting for our freedom."
In Osnabruk I switched trains again and had a nervewracking 30 minute wait. I had bought a ticket for my bike in Amsterdam to Heidelberg, but didn't have a reservaton for it from here on. Jeannette suggested I board the train with it and see if there was room. I prayed while I waited...and waited...the train was late, a first. The train before mine had a trainman who kept wiping his brow and putting his hand to his head as if to say "Oh! I can't believe it's late!" When it pulled in, I put my bike in wagon #7 and had to squeeze it between the full line of bikes and the wall. The trainman asked for my ticket, so I gave him my first class Eurail pass, then my reservations. He looked at them both, looked around, studied the tickets, then stamped them and said "Okay." Whew!!This is the only part of European travel I have found to be tense, and that is the reservations on trains. Especially for bikes. At the next stop, 2 bikes left, so I moved my bike into place and was set.
On the way down to Heidelberg we passed through the beautiful Mossel Valley. After so much flat land it was a delight for these Montana eyes. The mountains rose gently above the valley, and after having never seen a European castle except in books, I saw several within the hour. They were perched high on the hillsides, with very difficult access. Many hillsides had rows upon rows of grape vineyards. This is very beautiful country indeed.
9:34pm (21:34 German time!) I arrived at the station. We hadn't talked with Dietrich for a few days, so he wasn't at the station (he didn't know I was at the station-duh!). I asked a man nearby for help using the phone to find Dietrich's phone # and he was extrememly helpful. When we couldn't find it in the directory, I told him I could find it online if he knew where an internet cafe was. He said "sure, I'll drive you to one nearby." I locked up my bike and went for a ride in....an.....
Alpha Romeo Spyder convertible! Shiny black, with the top down. Sweet!! The man is a doctor in Heidelberg and lives in an old part of town, near the internet cafe. Twenty minutes later I was back at the station and Dietrich and Christine were on their way.

Off to Germany again, but further south

Amsterdam, Holland Friday June 12

When Jeannette and I left Mr and Mrs Zwannenburg, she told me he said a few times that "I look at her and I see her father. She looks like him."
We went up tp a campground 15 or 20 kilometers from Baarn. The place had a large center where people set up their "caravans" for the summer and camp. At the edge around the property is a wooded area where we seet up a tent. Someone later said, Oh! you are in the forest! Jeannette left to visit a friend and I talked with two men from Manchester who were looking for a beer, but the restaurant was closed. They had flown over for a 7 day bicycle holiday through wildlands, and the one complained, I bought new padded shorts but my bum is still sore! He said to remember when I went to the Scottish highlands that "they 'ave midgies there", little no-see-ums. He said "an old fond torture was to tie you out naked in the square and leave you there, to let the midgies 'ave you!" People use nets over their heads to protect themselves. Forewarned!
In the morning it was off to the train and to Amsterdam. The buildings are old, tall, large, colorful, solid, impressive. We went to a herring stand, where the traditional way to eat a herring is raw, fresh, with chopped onions and stright up and down the the hatch. Jeannette told me to put my chin up, neck out, look up and eat. So I did, almost got it right except for the sticking out of my tongue. We had cappucino in a coffee shop at the edge of the city square, and a couple was smoking cannabis in front of us. A man palyed guitar and sang, people laughed, the sun was warm and bright after recent rain.
We walked through the town and every so often would smell marijuana drifting from a building. We stopped at one "coffee" shop where they had a menu for their product, for attitude, taste, size. We made pictures of it and the accompanying pipes and bongs. We walked through a couple streets of the red light district, very sad to look in the eyes of some of the women. The buildings everywhere are old, usually 200 years plus. We rode the tour boat through the city and made lots of pictures, of a church begun in the 1300s and it was still being built on in the 1500s, of homes, political buildings, of businesses. There are many miles of canals throughout Amsterdam, and so many very old buildings. In olden times the buildings were taxed on the width so they were built narrow and deep and tall to pay less tax. The canals have a low rail to prevent cars from rolling into the canals but an average of one a week goes in. Once a year the city removes bicycles from the canals and collects hundreds.
We made arrangements for my train for Saturday, and left to go west to the North Sea. We went to Haarlem, then Zandvoort, a beach town on the ocean. I went swimming and loved it, being a little warmer than up north, and it was delightful. I rode the waves in and out a few times, and reluctantly got out. Wonderful!!
We took the train back through Amsterdam, posted cards, and rode back to Bussum, where we were camping. The night was chilly, and we each had several layers to keep us warm in the tent. What a different and incredibly r-i-c-h day!

Mr Gerrit Zwanenburg

Thursday morning I awoke with the rain that began after midnight last night. It continued in ernest as I looked for a laundry to wash my clothes. I found Timmers laundry service, and they washed my one load while I drack great coffee and waited. At their midmorning break 5 workers sat with me and aswked why I was in Europe. They listened with much interest as I told them Dad's story and mine. I showed them the news articles, pictures of the book store, answered their questions. Awhile later I met Jeannette at the train and off we went, map in hand, to find Mr Zwanenburg.
When we pulled our bikes into his courtyard, he immediately opened the door and greeted us with warmth. He took my hand in his and smiled and welcomed us in. He and his wife, 81 and 82 yrs old, are both tall, 6'. Both are still vibrant and bright and very much alive.
Mr Zwanenburg began to talk about Dad, and his tears began to flow. He said that the day Dad was shot down, he and his brother heard anti-aircraft firing shooting at Dad's plane and hurried to the crash sight. They found Dad's life vest and parachute. Dad and Lt Roger's were already gone, taken by the German soldiers to the police station in Harlingen. Mr Z was 15 and his brother, 4 years younger at the time. Because his brother was smaller, they put Dad's vest in his coat and under his jacket and took it home. He said the parachute was too large and dangerous to take with them. He didn't see Dad til 26 1/2 years later, when he returned in 1970. At that time, Dad went right away to the police station, because he remembered it from December 16, 1943. It turns out the station is 4 doors down from where Mrs Z lived as a young girl, and across the street from where Mr Z lived. If he had been home that day, he would've seen Dad as he was led in for interrogation.
Mr Zwanenburg said, "I have something for you" and handed me two letters Dad had written to him after their visit in 1970. Also there is a letter written by my Mom to him in July 1970. He also gave me a photo copy of Dad's plane, the Holy Mackeral. It shows the nose art of a fish blowing air bubbles up through his halo.
We watched a 15 minute video of Mr Z talking with the sister of an American man shot down during the war, whose remains were found in a plane recovered by Mr Z. He showed me some of his war writings, some of his extensive library, and other things he found from the war.
Da's letter sums up the meeting quite eloquently, although Dad thought he stumbled. He was thanking Gerrit for the time they had together. He wrote, "The departure from Holland that just occurred for me has just made me realize the change that took place in my feelings while I was there. When I came, my heart was all for what had happened to me so long ago there. The hard and brave times for you people in the war were never known to me until this trip. Now I realize that I love not only my part of Holland's was but Holland and the people there who have loved me also.....What I am trying unsuccessfully to say is that I thank you now because I realize that you have caused me to love you whom I know there and your charming and fine country. I love too few things in this world as it is, and I thank you for giving me another one. My emotions on departure surprised me and made me see all this. It will make me continue to be happy if I am able to find books you can use and that make you happy. Thank you again not only for an unbelievable trip but for a new-found affection. Good hunting and happy landings! Ken Wales

Mr Gerrit Zwanenburg

Wednesday in Barth

Tuesday evening I had supper at a Hotel in Barth. I called Helga Radau, a 68 yr old woman who was born and raised and lived in Barth her whole life. She put on an amazing exhibit of the prison camp, and I met with her Wednesday morning to go to the camp. While I worked on the internet, she read through Dad's war log. We then left to go a few blocks to the exhibit. 68, and she hopped on that bike like a kid. I stopped for bread and milk, then we were off. A moment later, there was a loud crash behind us. Helga slowed and stopped to look, and I had my right foot clipped into my pedal. As I got near her, the bike fell to theground with me attached. Two men came scurrying to help stand me up, and I kept muttering Ow! ow! Later she said I heard a loud sound and thought it was you! I said And then it WAS me!!
She has about 30 logs similar to Dad's in her collection, and showed me many, allowing me to make pictures of them. She then walked me through her exhibit and told me of it, the original plaque which only said the prisoners were liberated by the Russians. Huh?!? She was effective in writing a new plaque, which says more about the prisoners from the United States and Britain, and that "what happened will not be forgotten". As she told me some of the occurrences in the camp-escape attemts (she has a picture of a man standing in front of a building, and there is an escape hole beneath the bldg's corner right behind him!), the commondandts of the camp- one called "the butcher" and much hated-, as she told me stories the hair rose on my arms. The meanness of mankind to others....I videoed her telling one story, and videoed the covers of many books on Stalag Luft 1, including one by Missoula's own Hubert Zemke! My time with Helga was incredible, and we will stay in touch. We gave each other a strong warm hug when I left, as she called out, "success!!"
I boarded the train to Baarn, and had to buy a ticket for my bike. In Hamburg, the ticket agents were most helpful and got me a faster connection for me to arrive in Baarn by 11pm. When switching trains in Munchen, I pushed my bike onto the train and thought I was on a baggage train in Calcutta. Yes, India! There were bags all over the floor, people filling most every available space, and a German lad sitting on a crate of beer, with an open one in his hand! A little while later I asked if he spoke English, asked if I could make a picture of him. Yes!! He and his 6 friends have a 4 day holiday (weekend) so are going to camp out and spend time in Holland. They all talked with me and laughed and shared stories and information on their lives.
At one stop a junkie and her boyfriend got on with a dog and bike, and the man tried to pick a fight with the young man talking with me. The young man said he was trying to provoke conversation, not a fight. I said His bike is a Hercules, maybe he thinks HE is Hercules! The young man said In germany we have a saying, the bigger the car, the smaller the-" and he looked down between his legs. His friend said "how you say, family jewels?!" He had a very mischievious grin and we all laughed and laughed! I made 2 pictures of them all together before they left the train.
I made good connections the rest of the way, and met a sweet family with several children from Nashville. Mom was middle eastern, and the youngest boy, 6 or so, was Sammy! I made a ppicture also of them. What a wonderful delightful day!!

Southern German tourists called me cowboy tourist!

Yesterday I left Jeannette's and boarded the train to the Barth. Or so I thought. She timed it that I had a quick connection in Bremer and had reservations for me and for my bike. The ticket agent to whom I was pointed (next time just go to the regular ones, the special ones run you around!) said 'I don't speak English, go to him' pointed me to the hall. That guy said 'you can't do this' I said 'Yes I can I already paid' so he said 'wait in line.' That guy was good, he printed my tickets but now the train was gone. Agh!! I pedaled around Bremen for 3 hours, ate German food, found out the ONLY German food I could find that the northern Germans eat is bratwurst and pommes fritz- French fries! Gee, I could get that at home! They were good, though. Went to a huge book store, went to my first European thrift shop, nice cloths, no books, all clothes!
On the train I met a nice couple from Stuttgart who were traveling by bike around where I now am, staying in hotels (lots of stars hotels!). When he heard I was biking some long days and would camp out if the weather was nice, he shook his head with a smile and said 'you are a cowboy! A Montana cowboy!' Finally made it to Rostock too late for the train to Barth. So I was up early this morn to bicycle there. The man who tore the map out of his book for me to use kept walking out the door to look at my bike, then shake his head and say 'it is many kilometers to Barth, many many kilometers.'
A couple hours into the ride, I had stopped for coffee, bought 2 bananas for €.92 and a liter of milk for €.42-hmmm!- and was on my way when the bike trail stopped. One is NOT allowed to bike on raods where a sign says don't, and I didn't want to be writing you all from prison. So I took the nice man's map and promptly doubled back on my route without knowing. When the road led through the forest, and I heard a chain saw, I followed the sound and found, 4 sawyers. Wow, just like home! They all watched me traipse into the woods where they were, I ask 'do you speak English?' 'a little'. So I ask about the road, showing him my map, and he responds all in German! (well, after all, he IS German!). He shows me the way out of 'the forest', and then I tell him I'm American. He smiles, I say Montana! and he really smiles, and I show him pictures of the book store and 'my house'. He was very happy, saying 'Ahh!' about the mountains and kept oohing and ahhing. I received another more detailed map for my efforts, and as I left he laughs and says 'American!' as he shakes his head. I tell ya, I couldn't've found 4 sawyers since I left home if you promised me a million bucks!
I finally made it to Barth and went straightaway to the memorial. It made me cry to think of Dad's time there, to think of the sadness of all those men. I wandered through the woods on a trail for quite a ways, and felt peace when I left the woods. No buildings remain, so it's hard to picture where everything was. However, I also went to an exhibit here in Barth about the camp, and there is a model of it. There is also a whole board commemorating Hubert Zemke of Missoula. Wow!
So now it's off to the Youth Hostel and to see what other trouble I can conjure up!

I'm lost in cyberspace in Rostock Germany

Can only say that I don't have time to post but a note, bad Internet connections, will post soon.

So east to Barth first, then to Mr Zwanenberg

Today was an exciting day, with the news of Mr Zwanenberg. Jeannette later said, Oh! he is clever! He is so clever! Meaning he has his full mind about him. She has a meeting Thursday afternoon around 4 near, like very near, where he is, so we will all meet together. I'm not sure if he speaks English- many older Hollanders do not- so Jeannette will work to translate if need be and help with the conversation. Wow!
We had some lunch, simple things like the sliced meats and fresh hearty cheeses, sliced tomatos and cucumbers, heavy bread. Jeannette said one hefts bread here- holds it to calculate weight- and the heavier, the more substantial. We had fresh pasta cooked with mushrooms, tomatos, olives, with slices of fresh strong cheese on it, salad and red wine for dinner. The coffee here is fabulous. Many people own a Phillips Senseo machine, which makes espresso quickly, with coffee in a bag (like a tea bag), and it's delicious. They even have a small container to hold some milk and "froth" it by whisking rapidly, then spoon over the coffee. Cinnamon, cocoa, and it's fresher, hotter and tastier than bought out.
I went out to bicycle to the center of town today, and the bikes here are literally everywhere. Babies will ride in the front with a clear plastic windscreen, teens, ride with a friend sitting astride sidesaddle behind them, looking very relaxed with their hands folded in their laps. People use cell phones and ride, some smoke cigarettes!, they even read books while riding! Today a man in his 60s was next to me waiting at the light, and when it changed, he "blew my doors in"! Off he went in a scurry!
I slept for a half hour around 6 before Dietrich called. When I told him of Mr Zwanenberg and my considerations- go south, then north, then south, he said he had to work 4 days this week. That clinched it for me to go east to Barth first. It is on the North Sea, but here they divide that sea by North and East. So it is warmer than the Zuider Zee, which is part of the North Sea, so yeah! more swimming! I will leave in the morning by 10 I think. Jeannette has made all the train connections and reservations for me (could she travel with me for a few more weeks please?!!) and for my bicycle. When I leave Leeuwarden, I travel east to Leer, then through the border to Bremen, Germany (Dad's plane dropped bombs over Bremen or Bremenhaven just north on the day he was shot down). Then on to Hamburg- no, I won't probably buy a hamburger, thank you!- Rostock and Barth. I have wheels, so I can travel to and through the towns. The land is flat and easy to bike, and very beautiful. I will read tomorrow myself how to load pictures onto the computer and off to you all.

I'm going on Thursday to meet Mr Zwanenburg

While I was bicycling to Harlingen yesterday, Jeannette reread the articles I brought with me about Dad in 1970. She decided she could find out perhaps about Mr Zwanenburg through Google, which I tried last winter. She told me today that she doesn't know quite how it happened, but she found him in Baarn, 81 years old and with an address and phone. Jeannette was concerned that he might be frail of health or more importantly, mind.
Today she finally decided, Now! Let's call! His wife answered the phone, they talked, and then she spoke with him! Her face was all aglow and happy. When Jeannette said "yes, 9 children" I knew he remembered Dad. He wants to meet me on Thursday, and said he still has a letter from Dad. When Jeannette hung up the phone we hugged and she said "I've been brought into this story through you, and it is so exciting! I have, how you say, bumpy flesh?" She said, he sounds so strong, so intelligent, so sound, and his wife too.
So it's off to Dietrich and Christine's for a few days, then north to Baarn and he will meet me at the train Thursday afternoon. Wow! I'm speechless. I will write down all the questions I can think of before you go, and hopefully you all have some also.

Today I swam in the Zuider Zee!

I am staying in Leeuwarden, a town of 100,000 in the north of Holland. Jeannette Madema is a friend I met on a bicycling hospitality website called warmshowers.org. People who bicycle, travel and stay with those who offer a warm shower and safe place for tent, couch sleeping, and one's bicycle. Jeannette spent two years traveling from Alaska to the southern parts of South America by bike with a friend a few years ago, and enjoys the world of bicycling.
After I purchased a Dutch touring bike today (sweet or what!) we had lunch here at her house. She then provided me maps of how to travel west to Harlingen, the town near which my Dad landed when shot down from his B-17 bomber in WW2. We guessed Harlingen to be about 30 kilometers from here one way, about 18 miles. I set off rather late, 3pm, and headed west with a tailwind. I arrived after 4, and spent lots of time biking up and down the streets, many of which are on canals, and have buildings well over 100 years old. I rode to the sea, now dammed up with an ocean wall, still full of ocean water, the old name of Zuider Zee. Many companies handling storage containers and ocean shipping do business there. I kept looking for a place to swim (hey Ray!) and didn't see one immediately. I biked south to where I was near the 1 mile south and 3/4 mile inland where Dad had been shot down. I found a few empty fields nearby, saw a tiny panel wagon like the one he bought in 1972 for book travels, and took pictures. I found small pink roses along the roadway and picked a few. Then, going north, I saw a bicyclist go up along a walking path above the seawall. I pulled my bike up the embankment and there was the open sea!! With a footpath along the seawall/damwall, I went south out of view, and in I swam- three swims out and under and back. Salty wonderful ocean water, cold and refreshing. Even took a couple of pictures for proof :) I'll download them in Germany at my friend's.
Then the trip back, and it's after 8pm. On the way I got turned around and asked a man on a bicycle for help to Leeuwarden. He kept pointing the way and then said "would you like coffee? Come!" So I had coffee with Jacob Beuker and his wife from Yugoslavia, older and neither of them spoke but a few words of English. When he saw my wet hair and I told where I'd swum, he motioned, Do you want to wash it off and shower? I said No! I must be going! His coffee was strong and delicious, and his wife gave me three apples, a banana, rice cakes and sweet frosted cookies. She kept trying to get me to eat bread with the frozen strawberry cake she'd given me already.
Back on the road, with the dynamo lights which operate when you turn the switch on and the bike is pedaled. Thank goodness for lights, for I got turned around once more near town, got help from an older woman who got me headed home. She asked why my trip to Holland, and when told, said "Oh! did your father lose his life in the war?" Uh, no, or I wouldn't be here...But aloud I said, No, he did not.
Jeannette was happy to see me, knew how bikers make long days sometimes. Said I'll check your mileage, came back and said It should've been 60 kilometers but you made it 94 somehow, I don't know where you've been! And I sent you out with a banana and apple and you come back with a banana and 3 apples!
She is running a 10k race tomorrow with her sister, leaving at 9:30 so I'll be off sometime after that.
What an amazing incredible day! I'll be so happy to share photos.

I have a touring bicycle!

I went with Jeannette and bought a Dutch touring bicycle today. It's quite comfortable, with a Brooks saddle from England, mudguards, cable and tire lock, rack, quite nice. So I'll bicycle west to Harlingen, then back, then to Stuttgart tomorrow. It's closer as a crow flies to Barth, but not as a train goes, through the border to Germany from here has only 3 trains per day and they are not the high speed ones. It's cloudy now but very comfortable.

Northern Holland, 30 minutes inland from the sea

I spent Friday morning in London, going through town to get to the channel crossing. After breakfast I found my way to the bus line, got turned around and finally made it to King's Cross/St Pancras for the Eurostar train to Brussels. The English countryside is lush green, fields rolling away into the distance, beautiful tight towns nestled in amongst trees everywhere. More trees per capita here than thought to be anywhere else on earth!
Across the chunnel, through French countryside, more compact villages with farms scattered at the edges. Red Spanish roofs on most houses, large fields with cows and crops. Belgium, similar to the midwest, but def European. Large fields of corn, hay, crops. Round hay bales wrapped in plastic, haystacks with plastic sheeting held down with tires, but much smaller than American ones! Tiny narrow streets in Belgium and the Netherlands, and bicycles everywhere! The bikes have spaces to "park" closer to trains than the cars, and there are more of the bikes. Cars are very compact, and park on the sidewalk in narrow streets. Flowers and gardens throughout every town, neat, clean, tidy.
I switched trains to come noorth to Leeuwarden, a town of 100,000. Will spend the day looking for a bike and going over to Harlingen on the western coast, near the island of Texel. Cool chilly nights here, needed all the blankets last night. Sunny today, and church bells ring once on the half hour, the hour on the hour. I love the bells!
Breakfast reminded me of Ray's favorite market in Missoula. There is orange juice, fresh milk, 4 kinds of sliced meat, Swiss cheese! and rich wheat bread or rolls. Still hot hard-cooked farm eggs, coffee from an espresso machine, tea. I put butter on my bread and made a sandwich, and later watched a man eat his meat slices with a knife and fork, then pulled bites of bread to go with the meat- oops! Fresh apples and oranges. Yum! simple but good. The meat is just like what Ray gets at the delicatessan on South Higgens.
I'm off to enjoy Holland in the sunshine.

I'm in London!!!

Hey all, I've been in London since this morning. What a great city! I love to ask for directions, because the men will correct my pronunciation and they say, Okay, love....Sweet!!
I'm in Foyle's book shop, and have been through several on Charing Cross Road. Lovely, floor to ceiling books, with the rich aroma of old books! Shelves taller than ours in Alberton, I'll post pictures later. Please write, this is the only way I know just yet to contact you.