Tuesday, 13 February 2018


We’ve all read those words at one time or another, usually in the context of a court case where the accused is “of no fixed address”.  For the first time in our lives, Elva and I have experienced it firsthand.  Six months ago we sold our beloved condo at 55 Hillsborough St. and I’ve lost count of how many beds we’ve slept in since.  Somewhere close to 50, I’d say.
On March 1, we’ll move into our new apartment at 297 Allen St., marking the seventh move we’ve made together since we married in 1975.  Although they’ve all been challenging in some respect, this one rates right up there in degree of difficulty.  Seven years ago, we downsized from 3,600 square feet to 2,400.  Both places included significant storage, in addition to the living space.  This time we’ll have to squeeze our possessions into 1,200 square feet, with very little storage space.  Next time — who knows — we may be looking at a double room in a nursing home, or maybe just a pine box.
Anyone who has moved knows how challenging it can be to deal with the little things, like changes of address.  During six months of homelessness, we’ve had no place but a P.O. Box to send mail.  For most of the 25 or so organizations, government agencies, and businesses we deal with, not a problem.  For a couple, however, the bank for example, it’s: “Sir, we need to have a physical address.”  So I make something up; could be City Hall or the Lieutenant Governor’s Residence for all they care.
It reminds me of the day in September 1971 when I registered for my first term at the University of New Brunswick in Fredericton.  The clerk at the Registrar’s Office took down all my particulars, then asked me for my phone number: “8”, I replied.  “8?  8 what?”  “Number 8 Wellington”, I said proudly.  “There’s no such number”, says she.  “Give me the phone and I’ll call my mother”, says I.  So I did, and let her say hello to Yvonne.  Another of life’s tiny triumphs for a kid from the sticks.
As with any of the significant life decisions we’ve made, Elva and I have tried to learn from the experience.  Being of no fixed address has taught us that when two people enjoy one another’s company, wherever we happen to be on a given day is “home”.  It may be on the road in Ireland, exploring a fortified church in Romania, watching a Mardi Gras parade in New Orleans, or living the high life in a Fort Myers condo. 
The process of downsizing hasn’t gotten any easier.  It’s meant we’ve had to dispose of many heirlooms, handed down through generations and lovingly cared for.  Some we gave to our children, some we sold to good homes, some we gave away.  Even the good stuff we’ve kept isn’t worth much nowadays.  The young “throw-away” generation prefers Ikea to Gibbard of Napanee.  Nowadays, furniture lasts about as long as a smartphone — a few years.  We live in a disposable culture.
This reminds me of a story I heard not that long ago on CBC Radio.  A woman spoke of her elderly father’s plan to distribute the family treasures to his four daughters.  Having recently lost his wife, he convened them to the family home before moving into an assisted living facility.  When they arrived, all of the knick-knacks he and their mother had collected and displayed over the years were spread out on the dining room table.  “I’ve asked you here so that you can pick out what you want before I move.”  The four, looking sheepishly at one another and their father, were speechless.  Finally, the bravest said to him: “Dad, we know these things meant a lot to you and Mom, but they’re your memories, not ours.”  The old man was heart-broken.
Before leaving, one of the daughters sneaked a butter dish she’d always had her eye on into her purse.  The four said their goodbyes and went their separate ways, all feeling guilty that the day hadn’t gone as their father had expected.  The next day, he called each one of them in turn and demanded to know: “Who stole the butter dish?”
One important lesson I’ve learned in retirement is that others have much to teach you about dealing with life changes, provided you’re both observant and open-minded.  As an example, one of the guys in our cycling group, Roger, recently had an operation on his foot.  He’s 84.  Rather than hang the bike up for good, he’s staying in shape by riding a stationary.  He’ll be back on the road first chance he gets.  The lesson: Never give up!
Personal financial intelligence is one of the keys to successful retirement.  I started reading the Financial Post in my early twenties and learned to use financial calculators soon after.  Although most of our retirement savings are tied up in public sector pension plans, we’ve always had a financial advisor to help with our savings, and I’m not afraid to pick the brains of friends who understand the markets.  I don’t mind spending money; I just don’t like to waste it.
Many of the people we’ve met in our travels, including those we ride with in Florida, are going through the same process as we are.  They’ve taught us that staying healthy is key and that you’re never too old for physical activity.  We met Ray Putnam who, at 91 years of age, still cycles regularly and holds the 90+ American record in the 20-kilometer time trial.  As I’ve said before in this blog, Florida isn’t necessarily a place where people go to get old.  It can be a place where people go to stay young.
For some couples, the contest between possessions and experiences causes conflict.  In my case, this has been a life-stage issue.  As I get older, possessions mean less and less to me.  They don’t make me any happier.  Experiences do.  It’s as simple as that.  Fortunately, I have a partner who agrees, for the most part anyway.
Finally, there’s the comfort zone thing, perhaps the most significant impediment to personal growth as we age.  One definition of the word “entropy” is “a gradual decline into disorder”.  In physical terms, I call this “furniture disease”; when your chest falls into your drawers!  What happens to our bodies is bad enough, but intellectual entropy is far worse.  So I’ve coined a new law, “Jean-Paul’s Law”, which states that: “You don’t start aging until you stop learning, and stepping out of your comfort zone is the best way to keep learning.”
Renting has liberated us from the bonds of ownership and has opened up new possibilities.  Financially, it provides additional liquidity to do things we want to do, not only on the spending side, but through giving as well.  And knowing our children will be spared the burden of dealing with “our stuff” gives us peace of mind.
Still, something about this move makes it different from the others.  Perhaps it has to do with our stage in life; maybe it means giving up too many of our cherished possessions; maybe it’s just the thought of making do with so much less space.  Whatever it is, we’ll make the best of it, make our new apartment as comfortable and welcoming as possible, and look forward to as many new adventures as life can offer.  I know I’ll be glad when we’re settled in our new space.  I’ve had enough of being “of no fixed address”.

Tuesday, 28 November 2017


We left our comfort zone, donned packpacks, and boarded bus 100E near our hotel in Budapest, bound for Liszt Ferenc (Franz Liszt) Airport to pick up our Avis rental.  After firing up Agnès, we headed due east across the Great Hungarian Plain.  Like our own Prairies, it’s the breadbasket of this part of Europe; vast fields stretching as far as the eye can see and soil as black as charcoal.

Our first destination was Eger, a city about the size of Charlottetown with the usual features — castle, basilica, baroque buildings — and one rather unusual one, a minaret, apparently the northernmost Ottoman minaret, and a reminder that the Turks once ruled this part of Hungary.  In truth, our principle motivation was lunch, so we dined on wraps at McDonalds!  We stayed in Debrecen that night, not a place I’d recommend, but we did have one of our best $45-dollar meals ever at the John Bull Pub.

Next morning, we hit the road bright and early, bound for Romania.  After cooling our heels at the crossing for a half hour or so while a covey of make-work border control officers played with their computers, we set sail for Sapanta.  Along the way, we came across this crusty shepherd, his trusty dog, and his flock of sheep, a very common sight in Romania, as it turned out.
Sapanta is home to a couple of world-class tourist attractions and the most unusual cemetery you’ll ever see, dubbed the Merry Cemetery.  We’d seen it on a Rick Steves episode and couldn’t pass up the opportunity.  Although the day was rainy, we thoroughly enjoyed wandering around the churchyard, examining the unique grave markers, wishing we understood the stories written on each one.  Apparently, some of them are hilarious.  Certainly, the people of Sapanta have a much different take on death than most.

A short drive away is the Peri Monastery Church, said to be the tallest wooden structure in the world at 78 m, one of several distinctive Eastern Orthodox churches that together make up the Wooden Churches of Maramures UNESCO World Heritage Site.  These Sapanta attractions could easily be ruined by too many visitors.  There just isn’t the infrastructure to support the travelling hordes.
After a long day on the road, we pulled in to Pensiuna Maramures, our lodging for the night, located in the tiny hamlet of Hoteni.  The owner spoke not a word of English but did his best to make us feel welcome.  Thanks to Google Translate, our iPhone saved us, and we learned that the common Latin root of French and Romanian even gave us a bit of a head start.

Romania is a land of contrasts where the old world and the new co-exist; where horse-drawn coffin-shaped carts share the road with semis, BMWs and Mercedes; where women wear kerchiefs, woolen skirts, and rubber boots, while holding cellphones to their ears; and where Communist-era buildings are distinguished by their sheer butt-ugliness.
With a land area about the same as Saskatchewan’s, Romania is home to 20 million people.  Its economy may be one of the fastest-growing in the European Union but, judging by what we saw during our travels, it has a long way to go.  There is poverty, subsistence agriculture is quite common, and infrastructure needs are great.  Still, Romania’s roads are not nearly as bad as Ireland’s!

After a brief stop at the magnificent Barsana Monastery, home to a religious community of nuns, we drove through the Carpathian foothills.  Traditional, ornate hand-carved wooden gates guard the entrances to many houses.  Villages in this part of the country run into one another in one continuous string of houses, outbuildings, public buildings, and, of course, many, many churches.  Kind of like Caraquet or Chéticamp.

To avoid the threat of snow, we turned south and headed for Sighisoara, a town in central Romania.  Agnès (our Google Maps smartphone app), so reliable the previous two days, suffered a serious brain fart.  Has it not been for Hortense (our Apple Maps app), we’d have gotten hopelessly lost.  It’s always good to have a back-up.  Eager to redeem herself, Agnès came to the rescue when Hortense got us lost in Sighisoara.

One of Sighisoara’s claims to fame is that it’s the birthplace of Vlad III, aka Vlad the Impaler, real-life Prince of Wallachia, and the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s fictional vampire Count Dracula.  The other is that its fortified old town is yet another UNESCO World Heritage Site.  We settled in for a couple of nights at the venerable Casa Georgius Krauss Hotel, circa 1513, and walked past aging but well-preserved medieval buildings.  It was quite a contrast from old towns in other European cities we’d visited where extensive renovations alter the allure of the place.
Our agenda for Day 2 in Sighisoara focused on the fortified churches which make up yet another UNESCO World Heritage Site.  They were built by German immigrants over 500 years ago.  We picked three and mapped out our route.  The first, Viscri, we reached over a road that would make the Cannontown look like the Trans-Canada Highway.  Unfortunately, it was closed, tourist season having come and gone, as was the third we visited, Biertan.
After visiting the ruins of a Saxon fortress called Bauernberg, we lucked out at the nearby village of Saschiz.  The young attendant unlocked the basilica for us and explained a bit about the site.  She said the people of the parish would hide in the church when the village was attacked.  “Where?”, I asked.  “In the attic”, she replied.  “You can go up if you want.”  So Elva and I crawled up a treacherous brick spiral staircase in the pitch black with only an iPhone light to guide us.  Once at the top, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  There we were, standing between the church’s vaulted ceiling and the roof, on a boarded floor where people would have sought refuge while soldiers defended them.  Not only that, there were other floors above us in the “attic”, spacious enough to hold several more families.  I tried to imagine having to sit out periodic raids by Turkish Ottoman hordes, hiding in a church attic.
Romania’s capital is Bucharest, a city of 2 million located 60 km north of the Danube and the Bulgarian border.  We managed to drive into and out of Bucharest, an experience I’d not recommend to anyone.  Traffic is total chaos.  The receptionist at the Hotel Monaco advised us on places to visit.  We strolled through the pedestrian Old Town, looking for something of interest.  We didn’t find much, except a few nice buildings in the Parisian style.  But most are in bad shape and graffiti is everywhere.

The one thing I really wanted to see was the Palace of Parliament, built in the late 1980s during the reign of the megalomaniacal leader of Romania’s Communist Government, Nicolae Ceausescu.  To prepare the site, 50,000 people were displaced, whole neighbourhoods were destroyed, and churches and monasteries were levelled.  The result is one of the biggest administrative buildings in the world, second only to the Pentagon!  And one of the ugliest.  It took us the better part of an hour just to walk around the fence!
We took a guided tour of the massive and ornate palace and were bombarded with statistics.  The one that registered with me is that there are 200,000 square meters of carpet in the building.  That’s about 50 acres worth!  Oh, and the fact that 3,000 people died building it!  The House of Representatives and the Senate occupy the former palace, as well as some 3,000 public servants in more than 1,000 offices.  The attitude of today's Romanians is: "We're stuck with it.  Might as well use it."  As for Ceausescu, he was shot to death by his own people during the 1989 revolution that brought an end to Communist rule.  So was his wife, Elena; both of them on Christmas Day.

Romanians may not enjoy the standard of living of many Europeans, but they’re the nicest, most accommodating people we met on this trip, excepting maybe the Irish.  Rural Romania is an exceptional place; one we’re glad to have experienced before it's discovered by the rest of the world.

After a very long drive from Bucharest to Budapest, we returned our rented Suzuki and gave Agnès and Hortense the rest of the year off.  Next morning, we flew to Sofia, capital of Bulgaria, tenth and last country of our European adventure.  Nicolai, a driver sent from the hotel, picked us up and provided live commentary along the way.  We booked a tour for the next day, got some local currency, mailed postcards, and checked in at the local tourism office.

Next morning, we drove about two hours south toward the border with Macedonia and visited Rila Monastery, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, named for Saint Ivan, one of the most venerated saints of the Eastern Orthodox Church.  Parts of the monastery date back to the fourteenth century.  The frescoes are incredible.  Our guide also took us on a hike to Ivan the Hermit’s cave.  It sits on a hill high above the monastery where he is believed to have lived and where his remains are buried.  A walk through a beautiful mature hardwood forest on a sunny day, what could be better?

On the way back to Sofia, we stopped at Boyana Church, another UNESCO site, the oldest part of which dates from the tenth century.  The building is less than impressive from the outside but the frescoes that decorate the interior are a treasure.  They depict scenes from the life of Saint Nicholas.  According to many leading experts, the world-famous frescoes in the Boyana Church played an important role in the development of medieval Bulgarian and European painting.  In other words, they were ahead of their time. 

On our last full day in Sofia, we did as many locals do, and went to the mountain, Mount Vitosha.  It towers over the city and is protected as a national park.  We loved watching children play in the winter’s first snow.  Sofia was a pleasant surprise — clean, quiet, spacious, and green — and a great way to end our journey in this part of Europe. 
We learned so much from our visits to four former communist countries: Czech Republic, Hungary, Romania, and Bulgaria.  Culturally, they are as different from one another as Canada and the US.  All transitioned from communism to democracy at about the same time, in 1989, but each is at a different stage in its development.  While they’ve yet to adopt the Euro, all four benefit from being members of the European Union.  Having suffered the terrible consequences of two World Wars and four and a half decades of authoritarian rule, it’s a wonder they’ve come as far as they have.

We ended our European adventure with a couple of R&R days in Vienna.  Elva enjoyed the Christmas market and we attended a concert.  After ten countries, thirty-one different beds, and 5,000 km on the road, a third of that on the wrong side, it's time to go home.  We’re excited to see our loved ones over the next month or so, beginning with the newest member of the clan, Estelle Melinda Arsenault.  We’ll spend five days with her family in Edmonton and three days in Toronto visiting Jacques, Isabelle, and Lucie.  On the Island, we’ll catch up with friends — assuming they still remember us — and spend Christmas with Sylvie, Ghislain, Samuel, and Natalie.  Life is good!

Thursday, 16 November 2017


We’d wanted to do a river cruise for some time, if for no other reason than to compare it to the ocean cruises we’ve done over the past four years.  We lucked out with an eight-day Uniworld cruise on the Danube, from Prague to Budapest.  I happened to find the deal at half-price on the Travelzoo website and booked it through my trusty travel agent.

Still mad at the greedy Prague taxi drivers, we walked from our first hotel to join the Uniworld tour group at the luxurious Art Deco Imperial, one of those hotels with a bidet in the bathroom and a tub you need a stepladder to climb into.  The room was beautiful and the food delicious; a good first impression.  Having seen much of Prague on our own, we opted for a back-stage tour of Prague’s historic Estates Theatre and the premier art nouveau building in Prague, the Municipal House. 
We learned that Prague adored Mozart, and Mozart adored Prague.  His opera, Don Giovani, premiered at the Estates Theatre in 1787.  We were treated to a concert featuring music by Wolfgang Amadeus and his contemporaries in the salon that bears his name and later got a bird’s-eye view of the jewel-box theatre.  As I looked down from a loge in the opera house, I could imagine our son, Jacques, on stage.  Next, we moved on to the Municipal House and listened as our excellent guide, Veronica, explained the significance of various rooms in the building, still today the pride of Prague.

At our next stop, Nürnberg, we were exposed to the history of the infamous Third Reich and the megalomaniac, Adolf Hitler.  For historical reasons, he had a thing for Nürnberg and spent quite a bit of time there during his brutal regime.  We toured the Nazi Party Rally Grounds, and the massive but unfinished Congress Hall, intended to outdo and outlast Rome’s Colosseum.  It was a cold, damp day when we visited, perfect for capturing the mood.

The River Beatrice docked next in Regensburg, a city we’d visited the week before.  Having seen enough historic buildings for awhile, we opted for a tour of the nearby BMW factory.  It was absolutely mind-blowing.  The plant employs over 8,000 people and produces 1,400 cars a day — that’s one every 57 seconds.  As you watch the production line go by, you realize that no two are the same; every car different from the last.  At least 90% of assembly functions are carried out by robots.  The BMW factory turned out to be one of the highlights of my European visit.

After an overnight stay in Passau, we woke to bright sunshine, perfect weather for a bike ride along the Danube.  Our excellent ride leaders kept us safe and we moved along at a brisk pace on a paved path.  It was a cool 3 degrees C but the scenery and fresh air were invigorating; the perfect tonic.  We caught up to the River Beatrice in one of the many locks she had to navigate during our voyage.

At our next stop, the tiny town of Spitz, we spent the morning visiting Melk Abbey, founded by the Benedictine order in 1089.  It sits in the beautiful Wachau Valley, a top Austrian tourist destination famed for high-quality wines of the Vinae Wachau appellation.  In the afternoon, we walked to the top of the village and were treated to beautiful views of the vineyards and the Danube far below.
Then it was on to Vienna, the grande dame of the Danube.  Uncharacteristically for us, we opted for the arts tour, starting with the Upper Belvedere, home of the largest collection of works by Gustav Klimt, as well as paintings by Egon Schiele, Monet, Van Gogh and Renoir.  Next, our guide led us through the collection housed in the massive Kuntshistorisches Museum, much of it assembled by the Habsburg family which ruled Austria for 500 years or so until 1918.  The Saliera one of the museum’s better known pieces, sometimes known as the “Mona Lisa of Sculpture”, was completed in 1540 for Francis I, King of France.  Made from solid gold, it is insured for a cool $70 million US!  Before we headed back to the ship, I couldn't resist sipping a $9 coffee at Café Mozart, a Viennese fixture since 1794.
The River Beatrice sailed into Budapest late morning on our last full day aboard.  We took a guided walking tour, using public transit to get from place to place and got a quick view of the city: Buda on the west side and Pest on the opposite bank of the Danube.  That evening, we sailed past the Hungarian Parliament and under the Chain Bridge, with Buda Castle on the starboard side.  It was chilly on the so-called “sun deck”, but the views were worth it.
We shlepped our luggage up the gangplank under the curious gazes of fellow passengers, most of them waiting for porters and taxis to take them to various destinations.  We’d explained to others that Acadians didn’t like to be waited on and were too poor for taxis anyway.  Besides, the ten-minute walk to our hotel was good for the digestion.  After dumping our bags, we walked across the Danube and up the hill to Buda Castle.  The expansive Castle area includes a magnificent church and the Fishermen’s Bastion, a section of the original castle fortification defended by Danube River fishermen during one of the city’s innumerable battles.

The Hungarian Parliament rivals the US Capitol, the UK Parliament, and the German Bundestag in size.  In sheer grandeur, it outclasses them all.  We took a guided tour of the interior and were most impressed.

Next morning, we walked up to the Liberty Statue, perched high on a hill on the Buda side of the river.  The statue was completed in 1947 as a symbol of gratitude to the Soviets for “liberating” Hungary from the Nazis near the end of World War II.  Liberty holds a palm leaf and faces due east toward Mother Russia.  When the Communist regime came to an end in 1989, there was talk of tearing her down.  Instead, the locals decided to keep her, reasoning, according to the urban legend, that she was sending a very different message to Russia: “Don’t let the door hit you in the arse on the way out!”
Hungary paid dearly for its decision to join the Axis powers near the end of World War II, believing Hitler’s promise that he’d regain for Hungarians the territory they’d lost after World War I.  Heavy fighting took place between Nazi and Hungarian defenders as they attempted to hold off the approaching Soviet Army.  Much of the city was destroyed in the ensuing four-month battle.

But, as we learned during our visit to the Great Synagogue, said to be the second-largest in the world, Jews suffered most of all.  Our excellent guide told us the terrible story of the extermination of some 600,000 Hungarian Jews, rounded up and murdered by Hungarian Fascists and their Nazi masters in the brief span of ten months.  To this day, Hungary struggles to come to terms with its participation in World War II.
We’ve now visited two former Communist countries in Europe: the Czech Republic and Hungary.  It amazes me how quickly a country can respond after the straightjacket of Communism is removed, and democracy and a free-market economy are established.  In just 28 years, Hungary’s economy has moved into the top third of all countries.  As for Budapest, it’s a blossoming metropolis of some 3 million, roughly 30% of the country’s population.  We loved strolling its friendly downtown pedestrian malls and parks, visiting the Christmas market, and walking along the peaceful Danube.  It’s a city we’ll want to visit again.
A final word about the river cruise.  On balance, it was a very positive experience: excellent food, good service, and the best guided tours we’ve had to date on any organized trip.  Compared to ocean cruise liners, the River Beatrice feels a bit cramped: no library, no cinema, no theatre, no pool, a pitiful fitness room, and limited onboard recreational opportunities.  As budget travellers who like to make our money go as far as possible, we found it very expensive.  The cost per day was twice the $300 average we use as a guide.  And we’d gotten the cruise for half price.  It doesn’t mean we won’t take another river cruise, but it will have to be on sale!

Monday, 6 November 2017


After luxuriating in the warmth of shorts weather in the Black Forest and Liechtenstein, the cold rain hit us hard in Bavaria.  In fact, Day 32 of our European adventure proved to be the wettest yet.  Castles were on the agenda for our stay in Füssen.  Google “Bavaria” and, invariably, an image of Neuschwanstein Castle will appear.  I can’t pronounce the name, but at least I can spell it; same with its sister castle, Hohenschwangau.

Neuschwanstein (New Swan Stone) was commissioned by Ludwig II, King of Bavaria, as a retreat and as a homage to his musical idol, the composer Richard Wagner.  Several of the theme rooms were inspired by Wagner operas.  Ludwig paid for the palace out of his personal fortune and by means of extensive borrowing, rather than Bavarian public funds.  Unfortunately, he died in 1886, aged 40, before the castle was finished, having spent only 177 days there.  As I gawked at Ludwig’s clifftop aerie (photo below), I wondered where the King of Acadia might have built his castle, maybe on Euclide à Zénon’s farm, the highest point in Urbainville!
Ludwig’s father, King Maximillian II, built Hohenschwangau (first photo) as a summer residence and the boy spent much of his childhood there.  Ludwig dreamed of building his own castle on a hill overlooking Hohenschwangau, atop the ruins of two older castles.  The final result is highly stylistic, quite unlike the fortified castles we’d visited before.  While the old family castle, still owned by the Duke of Bavaria, feels rather homey, Neuschwanstein is over the top.  The throne room (second photo) is but one example of the King’s expensive tastes.  

Only two people have been able to capture my attention on the subjects of art and architecture, particularly the religious kind: Reg Porter and the late Fr. Adrien Arsenault.  I think of them every time we visit a church.  On our way to Salzburg, Austria, we drove in to Oberammergau, a small town in the south of Germany renowned for its tradition of staging of the Passion Play, the result of a vow made by the inhabitants of the village in 1634 that if God spared them from the effects of the bubonic plague then sweeping the region, they would perform a passion play every ten years.  The play has become world- famous.

Oberammergau is also known for the colourful frescoes that decorate its buildings and for its talented woodcarvers.  I’d read that the parish church of Saints Peter and Paul was worth a visit.  I couldn’t believe my eyes when we walked across the threshold.  It’s not a large church by European standards, but the walls and ceiling are covered by frescoes and paintings as beautiful as I’ve seen anywhere.  The first of the two photos below shows the choir and the second a view of the church taken from the back.  Of course, the ends of the pews are carved.

Our visit to Salzburg was characterized by bad weather; not unexpected given the time of year.  We visited the old town, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and wandered the narrow streets with hundreds of curious visitors taking in the the sights.  On Sunday, we’d hoped to visit Hohensalzburg Castle, a massive medieval fortress that sits high above the city.  Unfortunately, 50 kph winds forced its closure.  Worse yet, stores in Austria close on Sunday — torture for the shopper in our party.

So, we attended Mass at the massive cathedral of Saints Rupert and Vergilius that dominates the old town landscape.  Mozart was baptized in the church, served as organist there for a time, and composed several symphonies for the cathedral.  The interior is stunning, and I couldn’t help but imagine that Reg and Fr. Adrien would be as impressed as we were.  Four pipe organs occupied balconies hanging from the massive octagonal central dome.  The choir stood on one of the balconies, the choir director on the opposite balcony, and the organist on a third.  It was quite a performance, proving once again that unplanned, spontaneous activities often turn out to be the most enjoyable.

Since discovering how to use our iPhone as a GPS — offline — we’ve alternated between two apps, Google Maps and Apple Maps, evaluating the strengths and weaknesses of both.  We baptized the Google Maps app “Agnès” and the iPhone version “Hortense”.  Between Salzburg and Munich, it was Hortense’s turn.  She started out OK, getting us out of Salzburg and onto the autobahn in jig time.  Next thing we knew, we were rattling along backroads tailor-made for a car rally.  The day before, Agnès had gotten us thoroughly lost in Salzburg.  I’ve concluded that Agnès has ADHD and Hortense has an undiagnosed cognitive deficiency.  Neither is ideal but they’re a hell of a lot better than trying to read a map in a moving car.

Munich is the capital of the State of Bavaria, a city of 6 million, about the same size as Toronto.  We checked in to our hotel, about 10 km from city center, and took the subway to the old town.  Our routine when arriving at a new destination is to head to the tourist information office to get a map and inquire into must-sees, special events, guided tours, etc.  Turns out our second day in Munich was to be a national holiday, celebrating the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation orchestrated by Martin Luther; all stores closed, and reduced public transit schedule.  So, we made the best of our first day, joining hundreds at Marienplatz to listen to the noontime carillon and watch animated figures dance around the city hall tower.
On Day 2 in Munich, we took a guided walking tour and learned a great deal about this interesting city.  Like many in Germany, it was heavily damaged by Allied bombs, and much of it has been restored and repaired.  We much preferred Munich to Frankfurt.  The highlight of our day was supper at Hofbrauhaus München, a beer hall like no other; a place where real men wear lederhosen, you’re entertained by a talented Bavarian band, and the toilet has more urinals than a NASCAR track.  Standard fare, roast pork hock ("pig's trotters") with lots of gravy, was delicious and filling.
Estelle Melinda Arsenault, daughter of Julia and Clément, was born as we drove from Munich to Regensburg.  Tears were shed.  Her mother is a strong, courageous woman and Estelle is truly a miracle baby.  We’re very fortunate to have her in our family.
The well-preserved medieval centre of Regensburg is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and includes many structures dating back to the period between 1150 and 1550.  The city has done an excellent job of preserving the central core, making it a major tourist attraction.  Unlike many German cities, Regensburg was spared by Allied bombers during World War II.  Ironically, the city’s slow economic recovery after the War meant that old buildings were kept and repaired, rather than being torn down and replaced.  I even did time in the city jail!
The next two days of our journey were turnaround days.  On the first, we drove from Regensburg to Frankfurt, a drive that should have taken no more than three hours.  My, how the Germans love their autobahns.  No matter how fast you’re driving — the speed limit is 120 kph — cars whiz past you.  Some must be doing 200!  But, half the 300-km route from Regensburg to Frankfurt was under construction.  Three lanes squeezed into two, with an unbroken line of transport trucks on the inside lane, the outside lane barely wide enough to pass.  I was damn glad to surrender the Hertz rental and get back on foot.

After getting some badly-needed laundry done, we left Frankfurt, bound for Prague.  In our quest to learn to travel, we’d decided to take the bus, one-third the price of a train ticket and only marginally slower.  We boarded the FlixBus at 9:15 am sharp and enjoyed the scenery from our very comfortable seats.  After several stops, we crossed the former Iron Curtain about mid-afternoon, the border between Germany and Czechia (Czech Republic).  The extensive and rather intimidating border control buildings are empty now, no longer needed since the fall of the USSR and Czechia’s adoption of the Schengen Agreement in 2007.

So many changes since US President Ronald Reagan uttered his famous line in front of Berlin’s Brandenburg Gate on June 12, 1987: “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall”.  In 1989, the Communist regime collapsed in Czechoslovakia and a market economy was established.  Czechia and Slovakia split peacefully in 1993.  The contrast between the wealthier Germany and the less-developed Czechia is evident as soon as one crosses the border.  On the Czech side, roads are rougher; farm fields look poorer; there’s more graffiti; more houses are abandoned; and rural areas are in definite decline.  Still, the numbers are encouraging: per capita GDP stands at $33,000 (compared to $46,000 for Canada, $48,000 for Germany and $57,000 for the US), and the country is well governed.

We arrived in downtown Prague, capital of Czechia (population 2 million) early in the evening.  Our bus driver, an asshole of the first order, dumped us on a dark and busy street in front of the train station, and would have sped off with our luggage if we hadn’t yelled at him to smarten up!  We walked to the taxi stand and asked for the fare to our hotel which I knew to be close by: “20 Euros”, the guy says ($30 Canadian).  “It’s very close to here”, I said.  The taxi driver just shrugged his shoulders, figuring two heavily-laden seniors to be an easy mark.  I mumbled a four-letter rejoinder as I walked away, iPhone in my palm, trusting Agnès to direct us to the Hotel Majestic Plaza, which she did.

I don’t mind spending money; I just don’t like to waste it.  And, most of all, I hate getting ripped off.  On this trip, we’d already paid far too much for laundry service in Ypres, so I wasn’t about to let a greedy, smart-assed taxi driver do it to me in Prague.

Prague greeted us the next morning in all her splendour.  What a magnificent city!  Armed with a map and guidance from the tourist information bureau, we walked to the main square, crossed the Vitava River, and climbed up to Prague Castle, the massive fortification overlooking the city.  We soon learned why Prague is the fifth most visited European city (after London, Paris, Istanbul, and Rome) and its centre a UNESCO World Heritage Site.  The Saturday crowds reminded us of an Asian metropolis; we could barely move while crossing the fourteenth-century Charles Bridge.
Elva was determined to try one of the local delicacies, trdelnik, rolled dough wrapped around a spindle, then grilled and topped with a sugar, cinnamon, and walnut mix.  And, of course, she had to have soft ice cream to top off her warm trdelnik.  The results were entirely predictable.  Her face and hands smeared with melting ice cream, she looked like a three-year old by the time she'd gotten half-way through.  I didn’t have the heart to take her picture but did the honourable thing and cleaned her up as best I could with Wet Wipes.
On Sunday morning, we attended Mass at St. Vitus Cathedral, located within the walls of the massive Prague Castle complex.  It had been an eventful week for our family and we had much to be thankful for.  A prominent example of Gothic architecture, the church is the largest in the country.  Construction began in 1344 and continued on and off until the church was finally finished in 1929, almost 600 years later!  It’s a long story…  For travellers like us who aren’t particularly fond of art galeries and museums, medieval churches have much to offer: architecture, sculpture, paintings, a history lesson, and music.
There’s always something going on in and around Prague’s Old Town Square.  On one of our evenings there, we attended a concert in St. Nicholas Church by a seven-piece chamber orchestra with organ.  It featured works by Bach, Händel, Vivaldi, and Mozart and was a delight to the ear.

If Prague isn’t on your bucket list, it should be!

Tomorrow, the next phase of our journey begins: a Danube River cruise to Budapest aboard the River Beatrice.