Category Archives: My Travel

My Travel

Cannes Do

Nice Airport isn’t unfamiliar to me. Aside from that long ago trip to Cannes that started by landing in the aforementioned location, I’d also flown here for an entirely different event last year, then set off to a village about half an hour away which was one of the many picturesque examples of rural southern France. At the time I had exited Terminal 1 at the airport, feeling nervous about locating my bus stop, which was intensified by ongoing construction all around me and no shade in the hot July sunshine.

Fast forward a little over a year later, and I stride out, to be pleasantly surprised by a sleek, finished square, with an immediately visible cafe, relaxed travelers, clearly labeled stops with seats and roofs, and a smoothly running train shuttle that takes me to Terminal 2, where I pick up the rest of my group. Go, Nice!

I love the look of our hotel, especially its lush, green front lawn, and inside we’re firmly told to „Have a seat“ before we can say much, a phrase which is repeated to another woman as well, only she responds in an English accent, „I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.“ I really like hearing that, but we’ve all been on the road for a while, so we do settle regally in the armchairs nearby.

Soon after we’re greeted by a visibly nervous manager, who shows us two rooms to choose from for those error-induced first three nights, though both are still not anything like the apartment we originally booked. Still, we pick a comfortable option, considering the circumstances, and negotiate a fair deal on the price as well. Kudos!

After that’s done everything is a little easier and we set out to remember our bearings and get some late lunch. The local architecture is beautiful, with white, beige, cream and pastel tones dominating. Balconies and shutters are everywhere, numerous varieties of palm trees, both potted and not, dot the occasionally hilly streets. White summer dresses, striped jumpsuits and fedoras regularly pop up among the relaxed streams of people flowing outside – most of them speaking French, plenty Spanish, some Italian and yes, the immediately noticeable mother tongue is also there (though not as loud as I expected). Throw in a sprinkle of various English accents, including confident American, Dutch, a bit of German, and you’ve got yourself a European melting pot.

What I’m floored by is the sheer amount of large hotels that have been built, or even are being built since I was here last. Of course, nine years is a long time, but I remember more space between buildings. It’s a little unnerving. We emerge from the Rue Meynadier, a lovely pedestrian street full of cafes, shops and artisan businesses, and, just like everyone else, inevitably find ourselves on the very fancy Boulevard de la Croisette (there hast to be a boulevard! This is France!), which (never) satisfies all my Valentino and Cartier needs. The Croisette is, however, one of the easiest ways to cut across to the beach, if you are already walking around the city center.

We stop by a large supermarket located near the hotel and soon have what I would say is a French enough shopping basket, with a baguette (mais oui!) among some local vegetables, ham and cheese, as well as some (discounted, but still freshly made) strawberry tart.

I have already automatically replied in French to some very short sentences I understood, to my breathless excitement, so despite French class being out for the summer, it’s not really ever far from my day, because that’s just what I do now. And what I Cannes do, I do.

Standard
My Travel

Off to Cannes

My 2019 summer vacation takes me to Cannes, a city I’ve been to once, but that was nine years ago, and before all those involved had a smartphone or, indeed, Instagram. Ah, how times have changed. I’m fervently hoping that this lovely place (so much more than „just“ the film festival it’s known for all over the world) on the French Riviera will not be overrun with people trying to take the perfect selfie. I certainly won’t be part of that crowd.

As always a multitude of impressions descends on me the minute I walk out the door, backpack snugly positioned, suitcase leisurely rolling along, glasses in place to pick things out and remember them for this blog post.

On the way to the airport express a woman passes me, wearing exactly the same gold sparkling sandals I have at home. It’s both strange and interesting to recognize the exact item I own and know it came from one of the mainstream shops we all go to on a person I will probably never run into again. Her feet are very tanned. Mine are still my trusty classic redhead fair. Fair feet. Sure, why not.

At the airport I spot a stylishly dressed little girl. She’s wearing a denim jacket, black and white striped pants and, again, glittering gold sandals, as well as effortless confidence. Her younger sister is hanging on her hand, enthusiastically bubbling over with important news in my native language. „I saw a big unicorn! I really did, honest, a big unicorn, such a big unicorn!“ Hey, I believe her, I see them too.

The couple ahead of me in the line for the security check look like (wannabe) influencers, at least if their serious swiping through artfully staged couple snaps (yes, I could see the pictures) is anything to go by. „This one? Should we post this one? Maybe the other one?“ But they are cute and earnest, plus also polite to the staff.

The flight is made doubly pleasant not just because of the sunny universe outside, but because no one else occupies my row and I can joyfully scoot from my aisle seat to the window. The nice-looking family in front of me with two small children reminds me both of our travels when my siblings and I were young and the little people who made me an aunt. As soon as they sat down, the kids are methodically listing what their mother may give them: headphones, iPad, book, crayons – multimedia consumption in action right before my eyes.

So this is basically stage one. Stage two is meeting up in Nice airport with the rest of the party. Stage three is arriving at our accommodation in Cannes and seeing what happens next. Shortly before our departure we were notified that due to some nebulous error/ glitch/ mistake/ pick your own word, we would be spending the first three nights not in our orignally booked apartment, but a smaller one with bunk beds. Stay tuned…

Standard
My Travel

Summer Airport Notes

“Is this for drugs?” the guy who exited the metal detector frame at Charles de Gaulle Airport asks loudly in an American accent as he points at the security area. Um. Perhaps not the best question to demand an answer to from staff, judging by their facial expressions. Or the best wording. I go on my way.

It’s been another weekend trip through Hamburg and Paris airports. As usual, observations on human nature and additions to my list of travel practicalities are abundant.

Summer travel has always been wrapped in a special mood for me, be it a short getaway or a proper vacation. People aren’t burdened by coats or hats, most often the sun is shining, it’s easier to get around and that wonderful feeling of more time for everything due to longer days fills you up to the brim.

Two teenage girls walk ahead of me in the departure hall. One is trying to strut in what I suspect are currently very uncomfortable heeled sandals she’s been wearing for a while, judging by the many plasters on her feet, and the other is resolutely looking straight ahead while attempting to quickly tug down the hemline of a clingy skirt that just about covers her butt. I think that I will continue to never be that girl and hope she won’t be cold if she trusts herself to sit down, because I don’t see any leggings, just unevenly shaved bare legs. Both girls are lucky I’m just another quiet woman and not some creepy older man approaching them with unasked for advice.

Sandals are great and heels are fine, everyone makes their own footwear decisions. I’m sticking to my discounted black sneakers that I’ve actually become advanced enough to wear with a dress, my jeans (because you can always roll them up if you get hot during a journey, but you can’t roll down shorts, WISDOM) and the ubiquitous scarf you carry around with you after spending a few weeks in Hamburg (air conditioning can be a moody thing).

I stop by my usual shop to get a snack and see two women stop in front of the chocolate bars on display. English-accented conversation commences. “Oh. My God. What is that?” – “That’s a white chocolate KitKat. I love them.” – “Really? Wow! What do you think we should get? I suppose it depends on what you like. Wait. Oh. My God. What’s that? Is that also white chocolate? Oh. My God. I love white chocolate.” And so on.

Meanwhile, for the rest of us standing in line for some pastry, the guy behind the counter is conducting what he thinks is a show. I’ve seen it before on other trips when it was his shift. “Next please, the pretty lady. Yes, the others are pretty too.” More lines like this one follow as he serves the woman ahead of me. When my turn arrives, I get a bit more than I bargained for. “You may gladly become my wife if you’re single. What, you want your order to go? What a shame. But here’s my number on the receipt, you can find me here.” Everyone in line is both a bit perplexed and laughing, myself included, though I leave without saying anything.

The man next to me on the plane dozes off and as often happens you can’t quite avoid not brushing your arm against someone else. We’re both wearing shirts with short sleeves, since it’s summer (see above). The only difference is that his arms are covered with coarse hairs that stand upright and unfortunately even the very brief contact with my skin makes the spot itch. Ew. But at least his head didn’t roll over on my shoulder when he fell asleep.

More importantly, when drinks were served on the plane, my favorite phrase, “Je voudrais un chocolat chaud, s’il vous plait” went down without a hitch.

Standard
My Travel

Mainz

If you’re considering a trip to the Rhine region in Germany, one of the stops I warmly recommend is the city of Mainz. It’s a state capital full of charm, history, and beauty. Also the weather over there is usually really good!

As the train from Hamburg makes its way further south, green hills and fields lush with spring replace our more modest spring landscapes. Everything is drenched in sunlight and it’s easy to see, as you near Frankfurt, why the Rhine river inspired so many poets. It’s also clear why the wine industry does so well around here, not only due to fantastic conditions, but because the scenery certainly adds to the enjoyment of consumption.

Mainz is lovely. The train station is busy and convenient and there are plenty of nice walks to be had on foot. Local attractions include various flowerbeds in a riot of colors, which burst with vibrance and that special springtime bloom.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Right in the city center you will find the Gutenberg Museum, especially interesting for book lovers, but also in general for anyone curious not only about local history from Mainz, but Johannes Gutenberg’s mind-blowing impact on Europe’s printing industry for centuries to come. This is the man who invented the printing press in the 15th century. The museum also houses two original bibles printed by him and once you see them, you definitely feel the weight of how valuable they are.

Another beautiful walk worth taking is from the city center to the St. Stephan Church (St. Stephan zu Mainz). It’s a great opportunity to see more of the city’s architecture and explore various side streets with pretty views, plus see a cherry tree or two.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

The church, besides being a beautiful building, also holds an important historical place in Mainz, as well as housing some of the most famous European artwork of the 20th century. I’m talking about Marc Chagall’s unforgettable blue stained-glass windows. You try your best to do them justice with a few quick snapshots, so as not to disturb other admirers, but then you just join them and stare.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Cap off the above with a stroll along the Rhine and Mainz will charm you for life.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Standard
My Travel

Notre Dame de Paris

My feelings after seeing the news that Notre Dame de Paris was on fire on April 15 are still quite raw and I have been finding it difficult to write this post. Even now I’m hesitating, because how can you wrap up your words in one not overdone package after decades of happily creating memories that have grown deep roots?

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I first saw the headlines. You think of Notre Dame and you see soaring, stalwart stone walls and towers that have stood the test of time. You remember the overwhelming impact of history, architecture and beauty that the cathedral produces and simply assume that it will always be there. Of course I know that buildings are not going to be around forever and things can happen. They have happened. But we reach out towards that which stays, welcomes, remains, inspires. And that is one of the reasons why what happened to Notre Dame de Paris is so incredibly sad.

Buildings do not speak, but they make us speak because they are witnesses to time. Anyone can walk in, sit down, look around, take pictures, take away impressions, read up on historic structures and open up stories of the people connected to them. Whether you are religious or not, a cathedral like Notre Dame de Paris, aside from obviously being a landmark of enormous cultural, historical and architectural significance, is a place of gathering. Not just inside the building, but around it – in the little square nearby with Paris’ oldest tree and metal arches covered with roses in the springtime, in front of the two-tower facade everyone recognizes and tries to take the best picture of.

Way back in the day my sister and I first visited Notre Dame de Paris on the heels of multiple viewings of Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame. We knew all the songs by heart and we even knew about Victor Hugo’s novel, even if we were too young to read it. Feeling quite prepared with our knowledge, we were very eager to go inside and as high as possible. We wanted to follow Quasimodo’s footsteps and see it all: the bells, the stained-glass windows, the gargoyle statues, the view of Paris from above. I remember that afterwards, full to bursting with all our impressions, we went around a corner to get some ice cream (mais oui) and there was a beautiful mime dressed as Esmeralda who pretended to read my palm. The experience was complete. As kids, we couldn’t have asked for more.

Since then I have been fortunate enough to go to Paris a lot and almost every time I stopped by Notre Dame, wherever I was coming from. Whether it was a longer sit-down with some relaxed people-watching or just a brief look, it has always been a part of my Paris. It was touching to see the same sentiments expressed online by people around the world, and the crowd singing Ave Maria as the cathedral burned is something that I don’t think I will ever forget. No riots, no violence, no fights, no pushing, shouting or discord of any kind (for a change), and thankfully no fatalities during the fire. Just pure, sincere acknowledgement of sadness and respect.

Standard