It is the summer of 1973 and I am traveling with my family through Europe. Both my parents being, at that point, teachers, we had all summer to explore. My parents have purchased a VW camper van and we are driving, they, 2 younger sisters and myself, an older brother stayed at home, sans itinerary, for three months.
We had our list of "must sees". Paris, Rome, Amsterdam, Venice, Athens. To this list my mother, being a Gothic horror fan, had added the region of Transylvania in Romania. This was to include a visit to Castle Bran, a reputed castle of Vlad the Impaler, the inspiration for Dracula.
Between us and Romania stands Yugoslavia. At this time the countries that have reemerged since, Bosnia, Serbia, Croatia, Montenegro were all united as Yugoslavia under the leadership of Marshall Tito. As we neared what was then Titograd, we encountered a series of modular apartment buildings on the outskirts of the city. The hexagon shape of the prefab units made them resemble beehives. My mother was aghast, ourselves living in a suburban ranch style home on a 1/4 acre lot. I, being an ardent socialist even at that age, considered them a remarkably efficient and relatively inexpensive way to house your population. The stacks of units included setbacks giving some of them access to small outdoor spaces.
The city itself seemed dark, even dingy, as many Eastern European cities did at that time. Photos of Tito were prominently displayed in every shop and restaurant. In the country, the roads were littered and fields and yards looked ragged and unkempt. It seemed, at the time, that the whole country suffered from fatigue.
We reached the city of Split, renown for it's well preserved Roman ruins. We visited the flea market there where I purchased a heavy, antique wool and horsehair vest with beautiful, intricate embroidery along it's hem executed in a tiny chainstich. Today, it is displayed on a vintage dressmakers dummy in our living room. It remains, after all these years, one of my favorite possessions. After Split, our next destination was the city of Pec. After consulting a map, we decide to travel there via a route called Chakor Pass. We begin an arduous, sometimes terrifying and incredibly fascinating 2 day adventure.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Montreal - Our Last Night
Our final night we decided to treat ourselves to a nice dinner in the old town. We dressed in the best we had with us and took the short walk there. After perusing several menus we chose a spot and sat at one of the outdoor tables as the night was warm and comfortable, as sometimes September nights can be.
There was a convention in town so a number of business dinners were taking place in the old town that night. With the advent of casual office attire, many men look uncomfortable when forced into the unfamiliar confines of a suit and tie. This feeling was evident in many of the men in the area that evening. They appeared like young boys tugging at their collars and shifting their shoulders inside jackets that no longer fit well as they were purchased several years, and pounds, ago.
The food was excellent and the waiters charming and efficient. One was telling his table about the lovely old building across the street. He described the wealthy woman who owned it as resembling Cruella De Ville. As we all broke into laughter he tried to explain that he meant the comparison in a good way. I have thought about this several times since then and have never come up with a way to make a comparison to Ms De Ville a compliment.
After dinner we strolled through Old Montreal one final time, discussing the sights that we had seen and also the ones we had not, giving us an incentive to return.
There was a convention in town so a number of business dinners were taking place in the old town that night. With the advent of casual office attire, many men look uncomfortable when forced into the unfamiliar confines of a suit and tie. This feeling was evident in many of the men in the area that evening. They appeared like young boys tugging at their collars and shifting their shoulders inside jackets that no longer fit well as they were purchased several years, and pounds, ago.
The food was excellent and the waiters charming and efficient. One was telling his table about the lovely old building across the street. He described the wealthy woman who owned it as resembling Cruella De Ville. As we all broke into laughter he tried to explain that he meant the comparison in a good way. I have thought about this several times since then and have never come up with a way to make a comparison to Ms De Ville a compliment.
After dinner we strolled through Old Montreal one final time, discussing the sights that we had seen and also the ones we had not, giving us an incentive to return.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Montreal - Ain't no Mountain High Enough!
Monday morning came on dark and wet. The weather channel radar suggested that the rain would end and so we left our room with the goal of conquering Mt. Royal. The clerk at the desk provided us with a map and info about transportation and the location of the foottrail if we wanted to hike to the summit. He seemed to suggest that the hike would be a walk in the park. We later discovered that the park had a steep vertical grade.
We ate a light breakfast while watching a workman dismantle the coffee shops deck as the seasonal closure of St Catherines Street had come to an end.
After a metro trip and 2 buses we thought we were well on our way. It is an unfortunate oversight on the part of Montreal that there are no signs or indications that the bus has arrived at the summit and you should get off if that is your destination. We figured this out when we found ourselves at the base of Mt Royal on the opposite side from where we had started. We managed to find our way around the mountain's base and located the stairs pictured on our map that would start us up to the summit on foot and began our assent.
The trail, as I mentioned, had a steep grade. The skies had begun to clear and the day began to warm up. However, the Olmsted landscaping, he also designed New York's Central Park, kept us shaded and cool. We reached a small pond with restrooms, which were welcomed, and picnic tables. We ate the lunch we had brought with us and continued on. We soon came upon a large expanse of lawn peppered with modern sculptures. After exploiting this photo op we found an arrow sign pointing to the summit.
A large plaza with a stone balanstrate along the mountain's edge greeted us. It afforded a panoramic view of the city below. Modern, muscular highrises shared the streets with smaller buildings whose copper clad mansard roofs wore the bluegreen patina of age. My friend remarked "This is more that I thought it would be. I thought we might find a wooden platform reached by stairs."
After we departed, a short walk found us at one of the bus stops we had rode past earlier in the day. As we waited for the bus that would return us to the metro station and more familiar environs my friend noted "There appear to be two ways to get to the summit. We took both."
We ate a light breakfast while watching a workman dismantle the coffee shops deck as the seasonal closure of St Catherines Street had come to an end.
After a metro trip and 2 buses we thought we were well on our way. It is an unfortunate oversight on the part of Montreal that there are no signs or indications that the bus has arrived at the summit and you should get off if that is your destination. We figured this out when we found ourselves at the base of Mt Royal on the opposite side from where we had started. We managed to find our way around the mountain's base and located the stairs pictured on our map that would start us up to the summit on foot and began our assent.
The trail, as I mentioned, had a steep grade. The skies had begun to clear and the day began to warm up. However, the Olmsted landscaping, he also designed New York's Central Park, kept us shaded and cool. We reached a small pond with restrooms, which were welcomed, and picnic tables. We ate the lunch we had brought with us and continued on. We soon came upon a large expanse of lawn peppered with modern sculptures. After exploiting this photo op we found an arrow sign pointing to the summit.
A large plaza with a stone balanstrate along the mountain's edge greeted us. It afforded a panoramic view of the city below. Modern, muscular highrises shared the streets with smaller buildings whose copper clad mansard roofs wore the bluegreen patina of age. My friend remarked "This is more that I thought it would be. I thought we might find a wooden platform reached by stairs."
After we departed, a short walk found us at one of the bus stops we had rode past earlier in the day. As we waited for the bus that would return us to the metro station and more familiar environs my friend noted "There appear to be two ways to get to the summit. We took both."
Montreal - On Sunday We Went to Church
Sunday we decided we would investigate the historic architecture of the financial district and visit the cathredral,which we were informed was a "must see" destination.
As we left the hotel that morning, we asked the desk staff for recomendations for breakfast. As it was prime Sunday breakfast hour, the resturant that they suggested was running at capacity but we were seated quickly and placed our orders. When our meals arrived they were accompanied by mounds of fresh fruit. There were fruit slices over the straws in our drinks. Strawberries, slices of melon and pineapple and apples cut to resemble curling ribbon almost buried the traditional eggs, toast and potatoes. Waddling out of the resturant and full of vitamin C we boarded the metro to head to the business district.
During the ride we noticed a very handsome and well built Canadian lad texting. My friend murmered "Oh baby, text me in French." I suggested that his text probably read "There are 2 stupid Americans on the train" in French of course.
The older buildings of the financial district were beautifully ornamented and also showed the French influence evident in many of the older portions of the city. As it was Sunday, the streets were quiet and almost deserted. Our footsteps echoed in the urban canyons as we wandered admiring the architecture of the area.
The cathedral is a jewel box of stained glass, carved wood and soaring organ pipes. The windows, depicting scenes from Canadian history in rich lush colors, look medeival in their design and inspiration. There is also a smaller chapel with a ultra modern motif, but it pales in comparison to it's larger cousin.
After lunch on the outdoor deck of one of the resturants on the main square in the old town, we visited a 19th century shopping arcade. One of the vendors suggested that since the following day was Monday and most museums and state run historical sites would be closed, that we should take in the view from Mt Royal, the highest point in the city.
As we left the hotel that morning, we asked the desk staff for recomendations for breakfast. As it was prime Sunday breakfast hour, the resturant that they suggested was running at capacity but we were seated quickly and placed our orders. When our meals arrived they were accompanied by mounds of fresh fruit. There were fruit slices over the straws in our drinks. Strawberries, slices of melon and pineapple and apples cut to resemble curling ribbon almost buried the traditional eggs, toast and potatoes. Waddling out of the resturant and full of vitamin C we boarded the metro to head to the business district.
During the ride we noticed a very handsome and well built Canadian lad texting. My friend murmered "Oh baby, text me in French." I suggested that his text probably read "There are 2 stupid Americans on the train" in French of course.
The older buildings of the financial district were beautifully ornamented and also showed the French influence evident in many of the older portions of the city. As it was Sunday, the streets were quiet and almost deserted. Our footsteps echoed in the urban canyons as we wandered admiring the architecture of the area.
The cathedral is a jewel box of stained glass, carved wood and soaring organ pipes. The windows, depicting scenes from Canadian history in rich lush colors, look medeival in their design and inspiration. There is also a smaller chapel with a ultra modern motif, but it pales in comparison to it's larger cousin.
After lunch on the outdoor deck of one of the resturants on the main square in the old town, we visited a 19th century shopping arcade. One of the vendors suggested that since the following day was Monday and most museums and state run historical sites would be closed, that we should take in the view from Mt Royal, the highest point in the city.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Monteral - An Aside
No trip to Montreal should be considered complete without ogling the handsome and virile looking members of the local Police force. As we admired them, in their uniforms which seemed a trifle more snug than absolutely necessary, we constantly wanted to ask "Exactly what crime would I have to commit that would compel you to pat me down?"
Montreal - The Olympic Stadium and Botanical Gardens
Saturday dawned bright, warm and with a clear blue sky. Now, least you think all we did was drink alchohol and watch naked men dance, after breakfast we headed off to the Olympic Stadium and Botanical Gardens.
The Stadium, with it's soaring observation tower, is monumental enough that it can be seen from many, if not most, parts of the city. A short distance up a hill are the Botanical Gardens.
They are divided into themed areas. Traditional English and Asian gardens. Another area exhibiting plants native to harsh, cold, rocky terrain. Looking for the restrooms I came upon a hidden courtyard filled with a large variety of Bonsai trees. A tram runs along the road connecting the various displays to carry visitors from one area to another.
We had lunch in another courtyard area, this one with a fountain in it's center, across from the greenhouses. After lunch, upon entering the greenhouses, we found ourselves in a world of foliage so lush it seemed to have the ability to absorb the sounds and voices of the people around us.
After our visit to the gardens, we headed back to St Catherine Street to check out some of the shops we had seen on our earlier visits. We ended the afternoon, shopping bags in hand, at the rooftop deck of one of the bars on the street. As it was Saturday afternoon with pleasant temperatures and a sunny, clear blue sky the deck was busy and crowded. We found a table, ordered drinks and relaxed as the beautiful afternoon waned.
The Stadium, with it's soaring observation tower, is monumental enough that it can be seen from many, if not most, parts of the city. A short distance up a hill are the Botanical Gardens.
They are divided into themed areas. Traditional English and Asian gardens. Another area exhibiting plants native to harsh, cold, rocky terrain. Looking for the restrooms I came upon a hidden courtyard filled with a large variety of Bonsai trees. A tram runs along the road connecting the various displays to carry visitors from one area to another.
We had lunch in another courtyard area, this one with a fountain in it's center, across from the greenhouses. After lunch, upon entering the greenhouses, we found ourselves in a world of foliage so lush it seemed to have the ability to absorb the sounds and voices of the people around us.
After our visit to the gardens, we headed back to St Catherine Street to check out some of the shops we had seen on our earlier visits. We ended the afternoon, shopping bags in hand, at the rooftop deck of one of the bars on the street. As it was Saturday afternoon with pleasant temperatures and a sunny, clear blue sky the deck was busy and crowded. We found a table, ordered drinks and relaxed as the beautiful afternoon waned.
Montreal - Old Town and Beyond
Our first stop was a church. The oldest in Montreal. It had been built, burned, rebuilt and modified a number of times over the centuries. A wall in a side hallway told in detail the history of it's various incarnations. After our visit to the church, we wandered though the old city. It's narrow streets and broad plaza all showed the influence of it's French origins. Perhaps inspired by this we stopped at a creperie for lunch and then headed back to the hotel.
Our room was spare but spacious, comfortable and we were to discover, ideally located for our activities over the next few days. A metro hub station was 2 blocks away and there was a wide choice of restaurants, not to mention gay bars, in the area.
We soon discovered St Catherine Street strung with banners depicting red roses and closed to car traffic with it's, as I mentioned earlier, restaurants, shops, clubs and bars, their decks extending across the sidewalks into the street. We were to do much of our eating, and most of our drinking, there during our stay.
Friday night after dinner, we decided to explore some of the gay establishments in the neighborhood. After brief stays at a couple of places we wandered into one of the areas stripper bars.
We found ourselves in a nicely appointed room with tables, chairs and a stage with a pole. Pretty much what one would expect. A rather young, barechested man was cavorting onstage. He left and another man came onstage, tattooed and thickly muscled. After a few moments of suggestive movements, he did a back flip much to the delight of the crowd. He also left the stage with his pants zipped up and intact. We were soon to discover that each entertainers first dance was an appetiser - we were about to experience the main course. Apparently, there are no laws prohibiting completely nude male dancing in Montreal. As some dancers, all appeared to be well under thirty and with better than average physiques, took their turns on the stage, others worked the room, while two, inexplicably, played a game of barechested pool. A tall blond came to our table to suggest a "private dance". We politely declined. It was then I noticed that even when completely naked, the dancers still wore their watches. We decided it was probably to ensure the "private dances" did not exceed their allotted time limit.
As we strode down the street towards our hotel, my friend noticed a sign reading "Campus" spelled out in rainbow letters over a door that led to a steep flight of stairs.; He suggested that we add it to our agenda for the next evening. The next night we found, up the flight of stairs, another stripper bar. It was somewhat seedier than the first but some of the same dancers seemed to work at both places. At this venue, however, they did not wear their watches.
Our room was spare but spacious, comfortable and we were to discover, ideally located for our activities over the next few days. A metro hub station was 2 blocks away and there was a wide choice of restaurants, not to mention gay bars, in the area.
We soon discovered St Catherine Street strung with banners depicting red roses and closed to car traffic with it's, as I mentioned earlier, restaurants, shops, clubs and bars, their decks extending across the sidewalks into the street. We were to do much of our eating, and most of our drinking, there during our stay.
Friday night after dinner, we decided to explore some of the gay establishments in the neighborhood. After brief stays at a couple of places we wandered into one of the areas stripper bars.
We found ourselves in a nicely appointed room with tables, chairs and a stage with a pole. Pretty much what one would expect. A rather young, barechested man was cavorting onstage. He left and another man came onstage, tattooed and thickly muscled. After a few moments of suggestive movements, he did a back flip much to the delight of the crowd. He also left the stage with his pants zipped up and intact. We were soon to discover that each entertainers first dance was an appetiser - we were about to experience the main course. Apparently, there are no laws prohibiting completely nude male dancing in Montreal. As some dancers, all appeared to be well under thirty and with better than average physiques, took their turns on the stage, others worked the room, while two, inexplicably, played a game of barechested pool. A tall blond came to our table to suggest a "private dance". We politely declined. It was then I noticed that even when completely naked, the dancers still wore their watches. We decided it was probably to ensure the "private dances" did not exceed their allotted time limit.
As we strode down the street towards our hotel, my friend noticed a sign reading "Campus" spelled out in rainbow letters over a door that led to a steep flight of stairs.; He suggested that we add it to our agenda for the next evening. The next night we found, up the flight of stairs, another stripper bar. It was somewhat seedier than the first but some of the same dancers seemed to work at both places. At this venue, however, they did not wear their watches.
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