The Wandering Two…

“And when I’m returning from so far away
She gives me some sweet lovin’ t’ brighten up my day
Yes it makes me righteous, yes it makes me feel whole
Yes it makes me mellow down into my soul

I can hear her heart beat for a thousand miles
And the heavens open every time she smiles
And when I come to her that’s where I belong
Yet I’m running to her like a river’s song”  – Van Morrison

We walk the back streets of Saint-Germain-des-Prés, under a cool mid-day drizzle. The air is perfumed with preparations of onion soup from an unseen kitchen. Eyes stay attuned to cobble-stone sidewalks to avoid tiny lap-dog droppings. Our destination is Café Mazarine where we enjoy a daily “cafe crème, bien chaud” served by an efficient, detached waiter. We are in Paris, and it is springtime!

Beauty is everywhere in La Ville–Lumière! Late-evening radiant sky, ivory limestone buildings, green-lined boulevards, grand monuments, elegance, romance, indulgencies, aloofness, subtle dangers – Paris is a demanding mistress.

Our perch surveying all this glory is a cozy 7^th floor pied-à-terre overlooking the Seine and Notre Dame. Upon arrival, our building’s antique elevator is “having issues”. For a few days, we resolutely ascend the unending circular stairs telling ourselves the aerobic off-set is good therapy for excesses at dinner. And on the fourth day… viola, it is repaired!

Each day we set out energetically to commemorate places we love, and to discover new adventures in the rich array of arrondissments that ring the city.

Paris is smoking! Almost everyone, on the street, in open cafes, smokes and then lights up again. They’ve gotten the memo about certain death and they don’t care! I resolve to wear a nicotine patch for a few days when I get home. Well, we were wrong about cheese, wine, and coffee, so why raise self-righteous indignation…Vive la France!

The French have sacred respect for the quality of food. We fall in easily with daily rituals essential to French dégustation: breakfast is a chorus of Greek and fruited yogurt, apples and almonds, and medieval cheeses, artisanal breads, and consecrated jams selected at fabled shops in our quarter.

At Mme. Nicole Barthélémy’s fromagerie on Rue de Grenelle, redolent cheeses are evident to the nose 30 yards from the entrance. A cheerful, patient cheese-monger makes selections for us based on questions of region, mammary source, and potency. She smiles with appreciation as her sample tastings fill our basket: stately Pont-l’Évêque from Normandy, Rocamadour, a gooey goat gladness, and creamy Bleu d’Auvergne.

Sadly, these hand-made, raw-milk masterpieces do not travel to America.

Simple food, perfectly prepared, and served in cozy settings is our destination for dinners: Café La Rotonde in Montparnasse, favored by newly-elected Emmanuel Macron (as well as Picasso and Modigliani), maintains proud standards for classic dishes like duck à l’orange or noble oysters from Normandy.

Café Varenne, guarded by machine-gun toting National Police (Prime Minister’s residence is down the street) has friendly white-aproned garcons serving textured pâté de maison and “grand-mère’s” roasted chicken with heavenly mashed potatoes. Such treasures should be protected!

Security is present everywhere. Bag checks at stores, museums, and public buildings, and events. Riot police, sleeping in caravans of blue trucks, are a regular feature at high-profile happenings.

At Place de la Republic, the youthful “réguler le cannabis” crowd radiating a contraband cloud was ten times the size of competing Kurdish-Marxists-Against-Turkey! The police seem to (sternly) enjoy themselves as they chaperone the throng. C’est la guerre!

Gypsy beggars, an established tradition, this year employ a new twist: kids and women huddle under blankets at busy corners emulating Syrian refugees. An online report claims they clear 120 Euros an hour!

Aside from explorations of colorful, and sometime edgy African, Arabic (Moroccan, Algerian), and Asian districts, the museums, and galleries of Paris are unequaled. Musee d’Orsay, transformed train station on the Seine, presents an impossibly brilliant collection of Impressionists. The Louvre, enormous palace to French kings, is a virtual city of treasures where scale and volume overwhelm individual masterpieces (ho,hum…there’s the Mona Lisa).

Set in a park north of the Arc d’Triomphe, the new Foundation Louis Vuitton, designed by visionary American Frank Gehry, is thrilling and fun. The architecture, of course, is an exhibit in itself and the revolving collection – presently modern African Art, is creatively curated. I angle for a perfect photo in the trajectory of a pulsing fountain spray. Half-soaked, I got my shot!

More than once, polite citizens offer me their seat on the crowded, efficient Metro. I decline with a smile of surprise and gratitude. I guess I’ve joined the respected company of French war veterans, pregnant woman, and the infirm.  C’est la vie.

All photos captured on iPhone 7+.     Click on any photo to ride the carousel:

“London calling, yes, I was there, too
An’ you know what they said?  Well, some of it was true!
London calling at the top of the dial
And after all this, won’t you give me a smile?”   – The Clash

Jolly good!

We arrive in London. Pubs spill drinkers embracing bitter pints onto sidewalks warm with glorious rays of Spring.

Our accommodation is on stately Rosebery Street in Clerkenwell, an emerging bend of hipdom, just beyond the West End glut of tourism.

It is clear throughout the Capitol that English traditions, both beloved and stuffy, are under assault by the influx of cosmopolitanism. London’s legacy as a preserved English relic is giving way to eclectic modernism. The Commonwealth comes home to roost – and refurbishes the nest.

Fascinating contrasts of cultural transition abound.

Footsteps from our door is Exmouth Market, once a sleepy lane of iron mongers, off-license betting stalls, and curry shops. Now this pedestrian street shelters multi-ethnic food stands, gastro-pubs, tattoo artists, smart stylists, and men-only barbers/beard-shapers.

Man-buns are ubiquitous.

I attempt to exchange a bag of old coins-of-the-realm, long sequestered in my home desk drawer, for proper sterling notes. Olde “shillings” and grimy pence are politely rejected as legitimate currency by humored waiters at Wilmington Pub.

Obedient store clerks still examine handwriting of credit purchases, after approval is instantly relayed from global financial interlocks. This remains a quaint, ineffective deterrent to commission of fraud.

Smart architecture rises on every horizon amid gritty Victorian blocks. Former working class neighborhoods flourish with new designer shops as flush global citizens seek predictable Royal institutions. Money and politics pursue a safe, fashionable harbor in Britannia. In Chelsea, Knightsbridge, and Sloane Square, Arabic, Russian, French, Italian, and Chinese often overtake English as the language heard on the High Street.

Bicyclists and skateboards weave wildly between red buses and black cabs. Uber is the invisible transport of choice by investment bankers, actors, and west-coast techies doing an expat term in the City.

It is Easter break. Tourists with hyper-cranked kids and drunk spring-breakers flood London’s Center of postcard attractions. Piccadilly, Trafalgar, West-End theatres, the recently-revived Thames riverside banks all swell with evergreen appeal. A terrorist attack at Westminster last week seems to be drawing curious crowds!

Aside from the NHS, benefits of the UK include free admission to a collection of wonderful museums. The Tate Modern occupies a re-purposed power station in Bankside. We return to sit in a dimly lit room of immense works donated by the painter, Mark Rothko. The unforgettable, subtle colors feed calm and focus. We realize that we are gazing at $2 billion worth of paint!

We visit the National Gallery at Trafalgar – one hour goes a long way. The superb Wallace Collection, a grand residence of the Marquess of Hereford in re-energized Marylebone, houses the legacy of astonishing wealth and taste.  The British Museum contains antiquities harvested from the Empire. Kenwood House in suburban Hampstead Heath is a refined venue for lunch and a stroll within a classic residence. All deliver refinement of  rich cultural heritage, and our deepest appreciation.

Saatchi Gallery in Chelsea is set on the grounds of the former Duke of York’s HQ. “From Selfie to Self-Expression” inspires us in the “creative potential of a form often derided for its inanity.” Sotheby’s auction house on New Bond street is our secret venue to see world class art readied for the selling block.

More fun at Royal Opera’s Madame Butterfly, and chamber recital Easter morning at Wigmore Hall near Mayfair (free coffee and sherry!). Our musical highlight is Evensong on Easter afternoon at stunning Westminster Abbey where the boys choir and immense pipe organ transport us amid angels. Leaving the concert, I am extended a personal “God bless you” by the Dean!  A Salvation Army Band greets us stepping off the bus on Oxford Street – I march along with them until I got just the right snapshot. Praise the Lord!

The Royal Parks in full bloom and meticulously groomed are no less a sanctuary for the soul. Long live the Queen!

We pack two weeks with theatre: Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, at the Old Vic with Harry Potter’s Daniel Radcliffe (a smoking, disheveled Sir Tom Stoppard is sighted at interval. He may be our greatest living playwright). Travesties, also by Stoppard, amazes in potent revival at the Apollo, and The Goat, or Who is Sylvia with Damian Lewis, underwhelms at the Royal Haymarket. Edward Albee where are you?

The full low-down includes lots of food highlights. Let’s just say: this ain’t your Bangers and Mash of yesteryear. Middle Eastern, Indian, Viet, Chinese, tapas bars, and an exciting array of healthy fast foods – Itsu, Pret a Manger, provide a full sideboard of nutrition, variety, and flavor.

We took the Great Western train to visit old colleagues and tour Britain’s oldest village, Avebury, complete with fields circled with huge pre-historic stones. Another day to pastoral Cambridge was truly meaningful…if only I had paid more attention in high school math.

_________________________________________________

All photos captured on iPhone7+     Click on any pic to ride the carousel:

“Berlin combines the culture of New York, the traffic system of Tokyo, the nature of Seattle, and the historical treasures of, well, Berlin.”

-Hiroshi Motomura, US Law professor, 2004

Europe is a connected network of low-cost, no-frills airlines: a triumph of efficiency over humanity. Fortunately, on RyanAir flight from Bologna to Berlin, we opted for oxygen supplements – selectively choosing our conveniences! 🙂

Berlin welcomes our return with green buds and stirring sidewalk cafes. The German capital surprises in so many attractive ways: cosmopolitan street life, intelligent, well-mannered people, amazing restaurants, civic order, “edgy” museums, music, emerging vibrant neighborhoods where locals, hipsters, techies, immigrants and visitors mix effortlessly.

Our desire to return was prompted, in part, by comforting memories of Hotel Am Steinplatz – a newly renovated, accommodating gem in charming Charlottenburg. A beautifully designed room where we can carve out relaxations and solace.

We’ve opted for two weeks here to “go deeper” in an unhurried residential visit.

Mornings start with simple breakfast elements improvised in our room: dark seeded breads and snackebrot, creamy yogurt, full-fruit preserves, crisp apples from the Austrian “Sud-Tyrol”. I am partial to everyday indulgences in the hotel’s spotless Nordic sauna as  tonic for the travails of the road.

This city is possibly fashioned by hidden hands of unseen grandmothers, as hearty café lattes and kitchen-baked cakes are resurrected from childhood memories (apple, poppy seed, dry farmer’s cheese cake, tart strudels).

Given the surfeit of comfy cafes along every strasse, we are unapologetic – starting our daily explorations from a Teutonically grand Starbuck’s on nearby Kurfürstendamm. Braced for adventure, caffeinated, locked into our GPS co-ordinates, we are ready to roll!

Aided by handy metro-passes, our exploits, both planned and spontaneous, provide rich textures, histories, and modern delights (did I mention food?) of Berlin.

We take in the Jewish Museum of German History (designed by architect Daniel Libeskind of Manhattan’s Freedom Tower fame), the Hamburger Bahnhof (an old train station) which houses great Warhols and exciting installations from radical new innovators.

Berlin is a city with a focus on the future. Most recent history has been obscured by physical destruction (allied bombs and punishing Russian artillery) and by an unspoken shame. Among the town’s ground cover of cobblestones are Stolpersteine – a European-wide art installation embedded in walkways where countless people were taken from their homes during the dark stain of  “National Socialism 1933-1945.”

Potsdam is a 30-minute metro-ride that offers access to the summer palace of Frederick the Great, well-preserved residential streets, and the historic “bridge of spies” where US and Soviets reciprocated high-profile cold war transfers.

And…we discover all of these recreations are made easier with less civic friction once you “learn the Rules.” And there are Rules everywhere for everything: don’t J-walk; don’t J-walk when children can see you; don’t make noise in the afternoon when elderly may be napping; don’t tread on dedicated bike lanes.

Drinking beer from large glass bottles as you walk down the street appears to conform to the Rules. Many people eagerly comply.

At many stops on the precision-run transit system, performers, social reformers, and beggars with a flair for the dramatic, audition for donations. We are surprised how often they are successful in attracting geld – not sure the small triumphs stem from an abundance of guilt or charity, but the fund-raising works. On warmer days there is a discernable…um, gestank on some of the carriages. Modern hygiene is still a work-in-progress with some.

Every grocery store has automated plastic bottle collection machines that dispense instant refunds. This technology has generated a considerable industry of trash picking seen everywhere; a model of economic incentive.

Food in Berlin is superb! Beyond the hearty Bayern classics –wienerschnitzel, calf’s liver in caramelized onions, knodel (dumplings) of every persuasion, we delight in world class Vietnamese pho and bun chay (noodle salad), hot borscht at Russian “Pasternak”, “green” Asian fusion, North African street food (koshary), and ever-present doner kebab joints.

Our regard for Arabic food is raised to “oh my God” status after lunching at Azzam in Neukolln, an emerging district that could easily be mistaken for Damascus or shadowy corners of Istanbul. We split a plate piled high with crispy chicken “sniglets”, hummus, lettuce, raw onions, pickles, and garlicky yogurt sauce.

We sit shoulder to shoulder with sullen, quiet men, women in full burka, crying kids, shouting cooks – all connected to the formidable task of serving and eating a mid-day meal. Our order came with an entire package of enormous pita breads. Sipping sweet, dark hot tea was a perfect accompaniment. Respect!

________________________

All images captured on iPhone 7+.     Click on any photo to ride the carousel.