By this time the calendar has reached the first of October. We’ve been on the road for a month and, frankly, we are tired but with more travel savvy. We’ve been lugging suitcases all over Europe but Venice poses a different problem. After driving to the island of Venice, you must leave your car in a parking garage and hoof it to your hotel as best you can. The question is, “Should we get a hotel near the parking structure for convenience?” or “Should we get a hotel near the center of action and use the water bus or taxi to get there?” We chose the former and had a plan of action. Before leaving Lake Como we placed all we’d need in one bag. That way we’d only have to lug only it and my camera bag. Smart, huh? On turning the car over to the parking attendant, he quietly suggested if we ever wanted to see the things left in the car, we’d better take them with us. That’s how we ended up dragging a pack train of 2 heavy suitcases, 1 overhead bag, 1 shoulder bag, and the camera bag to the hotel. Oh, I forgot, there was a plastic bag filled with shoes as well.

We asked for hotel directions from the lady at the kiosk, who said, “Hotel del Sole? Just over the bridge and two minutes away. Can’t miss it.” We headed in the direction she pointed and came to a set of 10 stairs going down. It meant unhooking all bags and porting them down. Hook up again and walk to a set of 10 stairs going up. Unhook all bags and port them up. Then the bridge had 15 steps going up followed by down. Unhook, carry up and down, hook up, and resume walking. Louise was watching the bags carefully to make sure they didn’t wander off during the hook/unhook process.

Louise said, “We’re lost,” so I asked a policeman, “Dov’è Hotel del Sole? (pronounced So Lay). He pointed down the canal and said, “Just down the canal. Two minutes away.” We lugged the suitcases down the pavement and spotted the hotel.

It was across another bridge! Unhook, carry up and down… By now I was exhausted and couldn’t lift another ounce but there were still two more bags left with Louise. When the two bags appeared coming over the bridge I thought they were being carried by angels.  Instead, they were American girls …angels without wings…on vacation.  When they spotted a disconsolate Louise they decided to help.

I stumbled into the lobby pulling the load. My shirt was soaked through with sweat; water was dripping off my nose and my hair was in ringlets. The overly cheery girl at the desk said, “Oh, Mr. DeTournay. We’ve been expecting you. Did you walk or swim?”

The hotel, at one time, was the home (or palace) of a very wealthy family in the trading business. Don’t know when it was converted to a hotel but the rooms are more spacious than we’re used to. Since we didn’t want to waste a minute in Venice, we sat down with the map provided by the hotel…the one that makes everything look so close and easy to reach.

The main island of Venice is not hard to figure out. Almost everyone, us included, wants to see the Rialto Bridge and then walk a few paces in the Piazza San Marco. We quickly figured it would take a lot of walking but Venice has a wonderful vaporetto, or waterbus, that plies the Grand Canal. That’s the canal that looks like a big reverse  “S” in the picture. We’d take the waterbus to Piazza San Marco, look around, and then get on the return waterbus, stopping at the Rialto Bridge on the way.

Good plan with minimal walking. We set out with all of Venice waiting for us.

On leaving the hotel we bumped into a father escorting his bride-to-be daughter on the way to her wedding. We considered it a good omen.

I guess we shouldn’t have been surprised when she, her Dad, and her flower girls got into a boat rather than a limo for a ride to the church.

She wasn’t going to the famous Frari Church because she could have walked. It was just a few paces off the route to the vaporetto and we wanted a look. It was worth the detour but we found another distraction.

This little piazza caught our eye because it had the only tree we’d seen in Venice so far. Real estate is at a premium here and a tree seems almost a waste of space.

Most of Venice real estate is occupied by shops like this one that caught Louise’s eye and refused to let go until she bought something. Well, you can always use a mask or two.

As crowded as it is, there always seems to be room for a little patch of graffiti and Venice is not immune.

It’s a dangerous practice to follow your camera lens here because almost everything seems worthy of grabbing a shot.

We somehow wandered off path toward the vaporetto and were drawn into following the crowd to who knows where. By now our feet were telling us that we might have made a mistake. When I looked in my viewfinder, suddenly there was the famous Rialto Bridge…the one we were saving for later.

Crowds everywhere were standing elbow to elbow, barely moving. We decided it was time for a beer and found a table overlooking the famous bridge, now under reconstruction. It was also a vaporetto stop so we had a chance to study how the system worked. Pretty simple. Just like waiting for a city bus only these are on water.

By now we were committed to walking the rest of the way to Piazza San Marco so we joined the shuffling crowd and followed the convenient overhead signs.

It did give us a chance to see a little more of the real Venice even though this picture looks like a Kodak moment set up for us shutterbugs.

The crowds poured into these narrow streets and moved in kind of a peristaltisis. As a pack we’d slowly shuffle forward until a selfie stick would pop up and we’d stop. When the selfie stick came down, we’d shuffle forward again until the next stick would pop up. I whispered to Louise that we might be on the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem. If so, we could expect to stop at least 12 times. She stepped on my sore toes and whispered, “Don’t be blasphemous.” At least she got the simile.

On and on we plodded until we suddenly broke into the open. We’d reached our goal, Piazza San Marco, in all its glory. More on that experience in our next episode.

From Venice, Alla prossima.

Louise and Ray

We awoke the next morning ready to start the long climb out of Briançon toward Lake Como in Italy.   We had been staying at the Hotel de la Chaussee, nestled in the heart of this city. Two small rivers created a crevasse and the town clings to the sides of it. Everything is on a cant with little to no level ground.  The mountains loom impressively overhead and must be spectacular when covered with snow.

Our hotel room was comfortable with a decor that strongly hints of the mountains and hunting, perhaps a reason for the name, “Chaussee.” It means “The Hunt” in French, or so I thought. I couldn’t have been more off base as explained by the matronly lady at the desk.  “You’re confused with Chasse, to hunt and Chasseur, a shoemaker,” she explained.  “The name of our hotel comes from the name of the street we’re on, Rue de Chaussee, and nothing more.” A quick look in Google states that Chaussee means  “roadway, pavement, carriageway or causeway.” So much for my basic French.

The hotel is family owned.  “Same family for five generations,” she said. “We love this business.”  The lobby serves, alternately, as a place to check in and as a lounging spot for a bunch of old guys who get together to drink coffee and chew the fat.  The room was full until I pulled out my camera. It cleared so fast you might have thought I’d drawn a knife and started shouting Isis slogans.

Breakfast was the fare we’ve become accustomed to in a pleasant, almost empty dining room.  “This is off-season,” declared the desk lady.  “During ski season we are full to the top every day”.

I was able to boil my own egg but found that a five-minute egg cooks much more slowly at 5,000 feet than at sea level.  Seven minutes gets you perfection.

 

We left Briançon, once again heading for the Col de Montgenèvre

via a network of switchback and hairpin curves that tested both car and driver. We both survived and really enjoyed it…at least Ray did as it gave him a chance to wring the car out on tight turns.

We reached the junction, made a smart right turn and within minutes were in Italy…once again without muss, fuss or even a sign. How times have changed. We had reset Schatzie to accept toll roads and a good thing. The autostradas are the only way to cover ground in Italy. Otherwise you’re stuck on small roads through numerous small towns. What tickles me is, when you’ve paid your toll, the machine says “Arrivaderchi” as the gate is raised.

 

 Varenna is easy to get to but a little more complicated when on surface streets. The GPS was as confused as we were.

It is a charming town sited on Lake Como. I don’t think it is known for anything except for being on a picturesque lake.  These boats are in constant use.

A ferry arrives several times an hour carrying cars from Bellagio, on the point of a peninsula, and from other lakeside towns.

We were booked at Hotel Olivedo, another Rick Steve recommendation. The ferries arrive and depart from just across the street. They provide a mild form of entertainment when you tire of looking at the view.

The lady running the front desk was friendly but businesslike. She said, “Your room has no view.” When I asked about an upgrade she replied, “All the view rooms are booked up. You’ll have to stay with the special rate room you booked.” We rationalized that we weren’t at Lake Como to spend time in our room anyway, so we took it.

Once again we found ourselves in a “garret” type room that must have been for the staff. It was one floor above the elevator and required hefting our bags up a steep staircase. The arrow pointing to that little oval window shows exactly where we were

There was a view after all, but you had to work for it.   I got the upper window and Louise the oval one. Needless to say, we didn’t spend much time capitalizing on our creativity by staying in the room.

 First things first. We stopped for a carafe of wine at the restaurant across from the ferry and planned our day.

 

To help with area orientation, the city has placed a weather proof map on the floating dock. Naturally, Varenna is in bold, red type.

Also highly visible is the location of George Clooney’s estate across the lake in Laglio. We didn’t bother to see if he was in residence.

The center of Varenna was a short five-minute walk around the base of the cliffs and presented plenty of chances to click away with a camera.

Steep stairways are everywhere throughout the town. Don’t know where they go but always a good photo op.

So are things like this trellis that hangs off the face of a cliff.

As with most of these towns, the scenery is the draw and after that there’s nothing much but shopping and eating. No shortage of that in Varenna.

It was just a short hike back to the hotel and the secure parking lot where the Audi spent the night (with a better view than we had, incidentally.)

We spent some time driving around the adjoining villages, stopping only to see if the weather was getting any sunnier.

Unfortunately, we were there on a day when it wasn’t just cloudy…it was downright gloomy. We’re sure you can see the potential here, but it gives us an excuse to plan a return trip.  Perhaps the sun will be here too.

For now it is, arrivaderchi Como. We’re on the way to Venice.

Louise and Ray

After a day in the mountains, we ended up at the Amyard home near Briançon where Estelle and her brother, Francois, were raised. This is another of Alain’s tool skill examples.  Over 40 years ago he built this house with his own hands, using skills he’d acquired while re-doing the chalet.  “Took only 12 years,” he said proudly.  Michelle has filled it with her own collections, mainly hurricane lamps of all sorts and sizes.  “We never worry when the electricity goes out,” she said.  What it comes down to is that they are both addicted collectors.  Alain, with an eye for picking up bargains, has taken it one step further and has become a borderline pack rat.

 When in Los Angeles, Alain told me he had a car collection. The evidence was in pictures from Estelle and Tim’s wedding in Briançon.I saw a beautiful Jaguar XKE that was enhanced by adding a bride and groom,

plus a Mercedes Benz 300 SL and a nicely restored Triumph TR4 from the ‘50’s.

When I pestered him to see the rest of his collection, he made that classic French shrug that says, “You’re sure about that?” and headed for a barn on the property.  I didn’t know what to expect but I didn’t expect what I got.

When he slid the door open I could see nothing but piles of wood, old car fenders, hanging bicycle wheels and moldy tarps.  He went at it like a man possessed.

 Alain began tossing aside pieces of wood and pulling tarps.  One revealed A 1929 Peugeot town car awaiting restoration. Right next to it I recognized the Triumph TR4 that I’d seen in the wedding pictures. The Jaguar was somewhere in there as well but I couldn’t find it.

I recognized the removable top of a Mercedes roadster but it was sitting on a blue Ferrari GTO that also supported a mattress box spring, a grass rake and a spinning wheel. Next to it was a motor-driven, scale model of a Ford GT40 that Alain hand-built for Francois to drive around the vacant lot next to their home. Estelle’s own tiny car was a plastic scale model of a 1934 BMW.  It was formed by her father’s hands and now waits for little Marcel to grow up.

 We drove to another barn that Alain and his son constructed just to hold his treasures.  Judging by the Citroen 2CV waiting outside, it is already full.

 This garage contained four Citroen 2CV’s (one was four-wheel drive) and the nicely preserved Mercedes 300SL with an inline six cylinder engine.

We went from barn to barn to barn, uncovering eclectic automotive treasures…all waiting for Alain to look their way with a wrench and brush.  Don’t know the make/model of this car

 But this one is a Porsche 911 Targa from the ‘60’s. He also uncovered two Mercedes sedans from the ‘80’s…”All drivable,” he claims. My mind began to fog as he peeled back tarp after tarp, all hiding a treasure, some questionable.

He even had a children’s section with a like-new ice cream vendor motorized trike, just for fun.

 It was dark when we closed the last garage.  I asked how many cars are there in his “collection.”  “I’d say about twenty,” he said, “And I intend to make them all drivable some day.”  Now, let’s be reasonable.  Alain is in his ’70’s and if he applies the same level of craftsmanship to each of those cars, he will be in the book of records as the world’s oldest automobile restorer.  I’m reminded of the saying, “You can’t hold a good man down.”  That maxim certainly fits here.

It is more likely that his stash of cars will appear in future articles of popular motoring magazines as “An Amazing French Barn Find,” and, by God, they’d be right.

Tomorrow we’re off to Italy and Lake Como.

Bonne nuit from Briançon, France

You don’t just stumble upon Briançon, France. You have to want to go there…and that entails driving through long tunnels, climbing high passes and descending multi hairpin turns before you even get a glimpse of Briançon the town.

After clearing the Col de Montgenèvre, we stopped at this spot more to get our bearings than to take a picture. If you look way in the distance, where the bases of the mountains meet, that would be the approximate location of Briançon and it’s all downhill from here.

The history of Briançon goes back to Roman times when a fortress like this guarded the trade routes to Vienna and Geneva. It’s France’s highest city at 4,350 feet and 11,645 people live here in an area more suitable to the elusive, sure-footed Chamois. Flat ground is at a premium as most everything is on a slope.

 In later years it became known for the curative powers of the local water, but when skiing became popular that became the big draw enlarging the population up to 30,000 during the winter season.

That’s all very interesting but none of it the reason why we’ve come all this distance. The purpose of our trip is to see a baby…and to visit friends Estelle and Tim Young and Estelle’s parents, Michelle and Alain Aymard.  Here’s a brief history. We’ve known Tim, youngest son of Marilyn and Dale Young, since he was a boy living in Calabasas. He ended up working in Zurich as did Estelle. They met on their morning train commute and quickly went from nodding to nestling and finally to marriage…three times. Married once in Zurich by the mayor; once in Briançon by the priest and again in Los Angeles by a minister from Bel Air Presbyterian. We attended the latter ceremony and following dinner. Since the Aymards speak only French, we were paired and spent the evening talking about the weather and cars…more about the latter than the former.

Now, some 1 ½ years later, two month old Marcel Dale has come into their life and they brought him home to meet his grandparents, Michelle and Alain, in the environment where Estelle was raised.

We had a lovely meal at a gourmet restaurant in the old town and discussed our plans for the next day. That would include a day trip to a mountain chalet owned by the Aymards.

Alain, a former French Air Force pilot, met us at our hotel and promptly put the Nissan 4WD in low gear for the climb to a mountain pasture area some four kilometers (2.4 miles) from Briançon. Doesn’t sound very far out of town does it? But, when the road is a reconstituted goat path that rises straight up from the valley floor, your environment can change quickly at 7,800 feet.

We arrived at their chalet in an area called Les Ayes. “It’s not really a chalet,” claimed Alain. “It is more like a shepherd’s hut converted to a vacation home.” This area is where cattle are still brought for summer pasture. The “shepherd” lived on top while the cattle had the run of the first floor. Alain purchased it some 45 years ago from a family member and spent two years doing the work of converting it to a getaway for his new family.

Over time he’s developed a skill with wood shaping and carving. He’s especially proud of this table that folds up to make more space in the one upper bedroom, one sort-of guest bedroom downstairs.

Today they’ve invited neighbors, Robert and Noelle, to join us for a typical day in an alpine environment. Of course, it will all center on the dining table. While they prepared their version of a pitch-in, I took some photos around the chalet and the area.

Part of our lunch was being cooked in this outdoor pizza oven that has a barbecue grill on one side. No chance of this heating up the house.

This appears to be a cow filling station but it really is used as a wine cooler.  You can hear the cows everywhere because of the large bells around their necks. They’re not harmful but it is best to watch where you step around here.

While the women prepared the food, the men have the task of opening up all the window coverings. They’re designed not so much for weather but to keep the cows from breaking in. I guess they get a little tired of eating grass all day and sometime just get curious.

For orientation purposes, I took this photo showing Briançon in the distance. Close but not too close. At this altitude the air is a little thin as I noticed some huffing and puffing.

At noon we all gathered around the table and started the meal with two pizzas.

That was followed by a large salad,

and then prosciutto followed by sausages and potatoes.

As a capper there was a tray featuring all the local cheeses, and of course, plenty to wine to wash it down. After three hours the meal ended with a sweet dessert

The room noise during the meal reminded me of my Belgian grandparents table. Everyone talking all at once and no one listening…and all in French of course.

After lunch the more athletic ones went outside for a game of boulle, a very popular game in France. It’s played with a small leader ball while the players try to get as close as they can to it with larger balls. As you can see, this is not a manicured boulle court so success depends as much on luck as skill. Louise and I opted to snooze on the couch, blaming the lunch but certainly not the wine.

 We ended our mountain experience with a short walk to another cow barn/chalet conversion by Alain who must have a sharp eye for bargains. This could be called a condo as the Aymards own the back half…the part that is painted.

 Alain did all the modernization and wood work in this chalet as well. It’s intended for use by friends and family or overflow. In this event, he served us some sort of homemade alpine elixir that is carefully sipped not gulped.

The day ended with picking our way down the mountain road, passing only people who were on their way to fish or hike.  I did notice that all the vehicles I saw at that altitude were four-wheel drives made in Japan.  “They make the best,” said Alain with nodded agreement by Robert, as he started his Nissan 4WD.

During our visit I’d been reminding Alain that I was interested in seeing his collection of cars. When he was in Los Angeles for his daughter’s wedding, he mentioned that he had about 20 cars of all types and in all stages of restoration. “If you’re ever in Briançon you must see them,” he said, probably thinking that would never happen. “Well, here I am so where are they?” I asked. “Just wait and see,” he said.

Tune in for next episode as we experience a Briançon barn find.

Bonne nuit from the Haut Alpes.

Louise and Ray

 

During all the disappointment and resulting embarrassment of my little GPS mistake, I neglected to mention that Charly Page kept a vigil at the window of his apartment, wondering if his American guests had broken some Swiss traffic law and were now in the slammer.

His patience paid off and when we came through the door he was holding a picture taken in 2011, some four years ago. It was of Louise and me departing Romont on our mission to meet the MG’s new owner. At that time we’d planned to spend several days with him but were cut short by a need to be in Nidda, Germany.

Always the perfect host, Charly had prepared a dinner dish typical of Switzerland but with a modern twist. Raclette is a Swiss mountain-country staple but usually requires a huge hunk of cheese near a roaring fire. As the cheese melts, the diners use a wooden paddle to scrape the melted cheese onto potatoes or bread. It is a slow paced meal, ideal for conversation and drinking a hearty red wine. The pace of modern life doesn’t always allow the time needed so the clever Swiss have come up with an electronic way to replace the huge chunk of cheese and the roaring fire. It is a grill-like device where slices of cheese are placed on coupelles, little trays that slide under hot wires…much like a toaster. When the cheese melts, slide the trays out and use a wooden paddle to scrape it onto potatoes or bread; garnish with bacon bits, ham, gherkins or mushrooms that have been cooking on the top grill and you have a meal at your pace. It did take hours but we were able to catch up on the past four years.

Morning came all too soon and after breakfast we loaded the Audi for our drive to Briançon, France. Huguette showed up just in time to say “hello” and “goodbye” in the same breath. Charly and I had already worked out the route on a map just in case Schatzie carries a grudge. Another short but quality piece of time spent with an old friend was soon to be behind us. We left them with an invitation to pay us a visit in Woodland Hills and waved goodbye.

We skimmed by Lausanne and Geneva and were in France before noon. The Swiss highways (even the small ones) are nicely paved and well maintained. The speed limits (60 MPH) were slower than we’re used to but the scenery helped pass the time. Once in France (no border checks) we pointed the nose of the Audi toward the Alps, now looming quite large in the windshield.

Just as we were about to enter our first toll road, Schatzie suddenly came alive and ordered us to exit to surface streets. I looked down the National Route that she had selected and all I could see was mile upon mile of roundabouts, adding several hours to our travel time. Taking the bit in my teeth, I headed back for the “Peage” (toll road in French) and despite her protestations, pulled up to the toll booth.   It only took a few exits to realize that she’d been programmed to avoid toll roads by the Audi factory and she was just doing her job. Rather than take the time to re-program, we just suffered with her constant chatter as the Alps grew larger and larger.

By now we were in tunnel country and spending as much time underground as in sunlight. We were approaching the Fréjus Tunnel when Schatzie suddenly came alive with urgency in her voice. “Take next exit and follow to roundabout,” she kept repeating. Of course we ignored her and headed for the tunnel. This one was unusual in that it had it’s own toll booth. $43 Euros s’il vous plaît,” said the toll taker. That’s roughly $44.30 in U.S. dollars. No wonder Schatzie was so insistent. Faced with a trip to the top of an Alp and back down again to skip the fee, we coughed it up. Best thing was, we lost satellite reception during the 8.5 mile underground trip and Schatzie was silent. It gave us time to reflect on the statistics. The tunnel was first bored in 1871 for railroad use. The companion road tunnel was completed in 1980 and they’re still paying it off.

We emerged on the other side of the French Alps, just kilometers from the Italian border. A swift right turn headed us toward Briançon, France…our destination for the day.

Bonne nuit from France.

Louise and Ray