Thu 31 July

I'm going to Salzburg by bus, via first Koper, then Trieste. I catch the 9:20 Arriva bus from Piran to Koper. I could have taken the 9:40 but am playing it safe - and this pays off. The bus gets to Koper, not to a station but to a bus stop. I ask the driver 'is this Koper?' and he says 'yes - Koper Center'. So I get off. I look at the posted schedules and there's no reference to Trieste. WTF??

I look at Google Maps. There's a Koper bus station but this is not it! It's a 20 min walk. Grrr. So I walk there, toting computer bag and roller bag. Plenty of time. I buy a ticket to Trieste.

There's a real bus station in Trieste. No benches or water fountain. I feel like maybe I should pee but the toilets cost E.50 and it rejects my E1 coin. WTF? I thought Europe was civilized. I fill my water bottle in the park across the street.

The bus ride to Salzburg (FlixBus) is very scenic: up a valley into the Julian alps, lots of dramatic cliffs and peaks, some long tunnels, into the mountains on the Austrian side, more tunnels.

I wonder about people needing to pee; there's no obvious bathroom on the bus but it turns out in fact there is one, sort of tucked underneath. I don't need it.

There's a 20 min stop at a fancy rest area with a great view. But it's also pay-to-pee.

Scenic rest area

We continue. The driver announces 'Salzburg' and we stop not at a bus station but at a suburban bus stop, like for city buses. I'm confused. There was a bus station in Koper - shouldn't there be one in a city like Salzburg? I ask the driver and he says tersely 'this is the only stop in Salzburg'. So I get out. Google maps says it's a 5 mile, 90 minute walk to my hotel. I ask the bus driver if there's a taxi stand. He says no, but there might be one down the road a ways.

And it's raining. I have a brief 'what the fuck am I gonna do?' moment, but there's no use moping; I put my rain shell on over my pack and start walking.

Miraculously, there's a taxi right around the corner. He takes me to my hotel, near the train station. A bit pricey (E20) but I'm happy to have arrived safely.

The hotel (Harry's Home) is modern, but cold and deficient, e.g. there's no chair or desk in the room.

Somehow the top edge of my piano music got wet. I lay it out to dry.

I eat goulash (bad) at the highly-rated City Brau. On the way back I pass several cheap middle-eastern places that would have been better. Oh well.

Fri 1 Aug

I sleep OK. My train is at 12:56 PM and I consider walking to old Salzburg and the Mozart museum, but it's raining, so I settle for hanging at the Starbucks at the train station.

There's a train leaving at 12:56 but it doesn't say Friedrichshafen anywhere, and the number doesn't match my ticket. It pulls up; no conductor. I get on anyway. Nerve-wracking. Turns out it's the right train.

The ride through Austria, along the Alps, is comfy and absurdly scenic: it passes through a broad verdant valley with mountains looming on both sides, then narrowing to a steep canyon with the railroad bed carved out of one side, and deep dark forest all around.

I arrive in Friedrichshafen at 5:54. It's raining. V meets me at the train station and we take the bus to the village (Ailingen) where his house and my hotel are.

The hotel (Hellers 24) is automated: you type info into a screen out front, and your key pops out of a slot.

I drop off my bags and we return to town. Rain continues, with thunder in the distance.

The waterfront (Bodonsee) is a big tourist scene. A big circus tent has a drag show tonight. We climb a tower by the lake, and visit the 'Zeppelin Museum'. Apparently they made Zeppelins here in WWII, and there still are some; you can go for a ride in one for a steep price (like E300 for 30 min).

The boy is holding a Zeppelin

There's a tower you can climb.

We go to an outdoor biergarten and get Currywurst (sausage in a pool of ketchup, with a sprinkling of curry powder) and beer.

The rain has let up a bit so we decide to walk back: ~3 miles, and hour or so. V tells me about German bureaucracy: you need an address to get a cell phone, a cell phone to get a bank account, and a bank account to rent an apartment. Deadlock.

My room has no AC and faces the street. I open the window for a while, then turn on white noise on my phone. I've lost the wall-socket adaptor for my laptop.

Sat 2 Aug

I sleep OK. The hotel breakfast is E12. But when I go to the breakfast room (in a labyrinthine curry-scented basement) there's almost no actual food - no bread or pastries, one or two slices of ham and cheese, 2 lonesome cartons of yogurt. I have a cappuccino from the machine and leave.

V and I get coffee/pastry at a nearby bakery, then take the bus into town. He did some research and found that my train connection in Stuttgart tomorrow is only 9 min; if I miss it, the next train to Paris is 3 hrs later. But there's an earlier train to Stuttgart. So we go to the train station. The ticket selling woman graciously stamps and signs my ticket so I can take the earlier train.

We go to an area that V calls 'Shanghai' because it has zany streets and he gets lost there. We go to an electronics store and I get a power adaptor for E10.

We take the ferry across Bodensee to Kostanz (Constance). Friedrichshfen was flattened by bombing in WWII but Kostanz wasn't, so it has old buildings.

Wacky metal sculptures are a thing here

Entrance to old town

Are my feet really that big?

We take a leisurely stroll throughout the old town. In the plaza there's a kiddie festival with puppet show, incongruously ringed by booths selling wine and booze. On stage, a group of pre-teen girls practice a poorly synchronized dance.

We peer into a couple of piano stores, one of which is pretty high end.

For lunch, we settle for a burger/beer chain with birch-tree decor and addled help.

We return on the ferry. I rest for an hour, then go to V's house where he and his wife (also V) have prepared a lavish dinner, with Ukrainian appetizers, 5 kinds of sausage, 4 kinds of beer, and strawberry mousse for dessert. I'm able to eat only a small fraction.

They give me presents: a 'Super Mann' cookie, chocolates, and a fancy ceramic beer stein. What great hosts!

Sun 3 Aug

Inexplicably bad sleep night - WTF is going on with me?

V is supposed to meet me outside the hotel at 7 AM but is not there (turns out he overslept). And the supposed 7:07 bus doesn't exist: the first one on Sundays is 7:49, too late for my 8:06 train. A bit of panic sets in. But I have the hotel guy call a taxi, and make it to the station in plenty of time. The station cafe doesn't open until 8 so I go hungry.

I arrive at the Paris Est train station. There are no directions to Orly, but fortunately I did research and printed them out. It's the B line from Gare du Nord to Antony, then a shuttle called Orlyval. Easy-peasy, right? Well, no.

First I walk ~12 min to Gare du Nord and find the B metro line. There are some ticket vending machines. I wait in line for one, but it's cryptic. It wants me to buy a card and put some number of Euros on it, but it doesn't say anything about Orly.

So I stand in a long line for a human vendor. She sells me a ticket for E15. I ask her if I'm supposed to go to Antony. She sort of sneers and shrugs.

The line to Antony (B sud) branches, and has 2 other endpoints. Trains come for one of these, then the other, then the first, etc. 30 minutes go by. There are TV screens; they say what the next train is, but not when the Antony train will arrive.

I look at the subway map and notice that the St. Remy line ends close to Antony - maybe I can walk. So I take it. I get out at St. Remy. I infer from some signs (in French) that the line ends there, and doesn't continue to Antony at all from 15 July to 15 Aug. WTF?? The ticket lady, or the screens, could have said this, but they didn't.

People are scurrying a block or two to some buses that say 'Remplacment' or something like that. Evidently a substitute for the metro. I get on one and it sits for 10 minutes. Finally it leaves, and goes for some distance down a main street. There are signs indicating an 'Antony' neighborhood, but not a metro station. I stay on the bus until it's clear I've gone too far, and I get off. Google Maps seems to know where the Antony Metro is but doesn't help me get there. I ask a woman who says I should take the substitute bus back the other direction. I do, and the driver lets me out at what he says is the Antony Metro. But it's not - it's about 3 blocks away and I have to ask people for directions.

I get to the Antony Metro, which is closed. I ask a worker where Orlyval is, and she gestures towards some bus stops. I go there; a big sign says Orlyval, but not any of the bus stop signs. Things are becoming nightmarish.

I ask a worker taking a smoking break, and he says that Orlyval is a train, not a bus, and I need to go into the (apparently closed) metro station to catch it. I do so. The shuttle train arrives; I get on, and of course it sits motionless for 5 minutes.

Finally I get to Orly, which is teeming with people. I'm on a miniscule airline (Amelia) and their ticket counter isn't open yet. I want one of those airport restaurants where you get a big hamburger and a beer. There isn't one; there's a bakery and... a MacDonalds. So I get a chicken sandwich and chunky fries (bad).

I check in and go through security. I forgot about the water in my bike bottle; I have to gulp it down. They detect my blueberry brandy but let it through.

There are lots of seats, most of which have AC power and USB outlets. But guess what? None of them actually have power. One of them has a sticker saying 'Coming Soon'.

The flight to Pau (Embraer E135) is pleasant. Nice view of the Pyrenees. M picks me up. On the way back her driving is erratic and she keeps getting lost, so I get a bit tense.

Mon 4 Aug

Good sleep. There's AC in the barn.

We drive to Saint Savin for a rehearsal. I meet Michael, an American luthier and former harpsichord-maker living in Berlin. His wife is a painter.

Thomas and family (Guillaume, Virginie) arrive.

I attend the concert in Saint Savin: 2 oboes, bassoon, continuo. Hannah the Dutch oboist is there with her 'travel husband', who is the 2nd oboe. The echo-y acoustics are terrible for contrapuntal music; I move under the organ, where it's a bit better.

I meet Rene Izquierdo, the Cuban guitarist (super nice/friendly guy), and Clea is there too. We go for post-concert champagne to the house of Francoise, a host/helper.

Tue 5 Aug

Bad sleep. In spite of this I do a hike, down the hill toward the river (Gave de Pau), then to the top of the hill (with radio towers). There's a way down that goes through the fields, but I can't find it, so I go down the gravel road and through the village.

We pick up a new rental car at Carrefour, then drop off the old one at the Lourdes airport. Maryse visits an osteopath for her knee.

Wed 6 Aug

We go to another village for a concert of recent Latin American music by Rene and Clea. The acoustics are much better, and the music more interesting, than at the last concert.

Moon rise

Thu 7 Aug

Pongo

Maryse and I drive up a mountain valley and stop at a lake. There's a trail the goes up the side of the valley, in a long series of switchbacks. I climb up about 1000' while Maryse hangs out at the lake.

I was tempted to climb this but didn't

The trail levels off and enters a forest; I turn around at that point.

Fri 8 Aug

Maryse and I drive to the Sierra de Guara in Spain, by way of Huesca. The road goes over a couple of big mountain passes. There are tons of bikes.

There are several ski areas, and several ski resort towns with big hotels. It's sad that this is all doomed by climate change.

The village climbing wall - nice

The road descends the Pyrenees to a broad plain kinda like the Central Valley in CA. We go through Huesca, and E a ways, then back N again and up into foothills, through an area with lots of olive orchards with gnarly ancient trees, then on a series of ever-smaller roads to the town of Alquezar. The roads were empty but the town is teeming with tourists. The central part of Alquezar, where our hotel is (Hotel Castillo), is kinda medieval, with small winding streets. You can't really drive there. There's a parking lot on the edge of town.

There's no signage. Maryse asks someone who gives bad advice. We park in a slightly closer parking lot. I get out and try to find the hotel. Bad/confusing signage. Eventually I find it. I go back and fetch Maryse, and we check in. The girl at the desk says we can drive up to drop off bags. I go back to the car and try to do this. I take a wrong turn and get stuck in a claustrophobic maze of stone walls. I back up and slam into one. This scrapes the rear bumper (rubber part) but just a little; Carrefour doesn't notice it later. I give up, manage to turn around with the help of a passerby, re-park, and carry the damn suitcases by hand.

We rest a bit, research restaurants, and end up going to a nearby place that has a terrace overlooking a gorge with a huge and fantastic-looking limestone cliff on the other side.

Cliff across the gorge

I have a beer, M has a disappointing sangria. The food is surprisingly good, and cheap.

After dinner we walk toward the gorge. There's a trail at the base of the cliff. I manage to cross the gorge but don't find the trail.

We walk to the main plaza, at the bottom of the town, which is entirely expensive restaurants. We get gelato at a place near the hotel.

Castle

A church

Sat 9 Aug

We get up early to go an 8:30 rock-climbing class in Rodellar, which is a 45 min drive. The place, Rodellar Aventura, offers canyoning as well as climbing, and also has a restaurant/cafe and some cabins. We get coffee.

The climbing guide, Julieta Montoya, is an energetic and wonderful 50 year old. The group includes a man and his 2 teenage daughters, an athletic guy, and a German woman named Leo. We ask Julieta if Maryse can come along and she says yes.

We walk briskly for a mile or so to the crag. Julieta has me belay her, and she climbs up 60' or so and puts up 3 top-ropes. Within about 10 minutes we're all climbing. I'm paired with Leo. The routes are good; they start out easy and end up with some 5.8 or so moves at the top. All of us do each route twice; the girls do a couple of extra climbs. Everyone is competent. Julieta is very safety-conscious but also a great cheerleader.

Maryse is conveying water bottles and taking pictures for people; Julieta calls her 'the Paparazzi'. She persuades Maryse to tie in and do the start of a route in her sneakers. Maryse gets into it, and goes up 20' or so.

We climb until noon or so - about 3 hours. We go back to the cafe, get lunch, and drink a lot of water. I chat with Julieta; she's from Argentina. She's the first woman to climb 8A (back in the 90s). We talk about Chris Sharma. She's involved with the business; maybe she owns it. She buses tables too.

We're parked illegally in the motel. We move down to a lower parking lot, and attempt to hike down to the river. Julieta gives us some scribbled directions. The signage is beyond terrible, and does not correlate with the directions.

It's very hot - over 100 - and the sun is harsh. We seek out shade, of which there is little. Instead of going down, we keep getting higher, ending up on top of a bluff ~400' above the river. We give up, go back to the car (which has AC - aaah!), and drive back to Alquezar.

We eat in the same place and it's great again. Maryse gets the 'artichoke flower', a sort of flattened artichoke with ham - good.

Adjance to town is a huge rock pillar with a fort on top. We stroll over there. The pillar has a 15' wide crack; the walkway goes into this. Inside there are rock climbers doing the sport routes on an interior face of the crack.

Sun 10 Aug

On the small plaza, a bakery advertises 'dobladillos', which are sort of bread turnovers with various fillings, both sweet and savory. We get a couple of these - they're not good. M also gets an apple pastry, which is good, and lasts for several days.

We check out, and schlep the suitcases back to the car. Several artists are doing watercolors of the ancient buildings.

The town's main attraction is a path that goes down to and along the Vero river. The loop takes 2.5 hours. Lots of tourists are headed down there, with towels and bathing suits.

We do this, but the parking lot is full. We drive another 200m and there's another parking lot that's not full. We park, cross a cool bridge with a canal, then walk down to the river. There's a beautiful pool with an overhanging fern-covered rock that affords shade. Finally!

We hang out in the water for quite some time. There are small fish in the 1"-3" range, that nibble on our legs. Skeeter bugs dart across the surface. M spots a 4" crayfish crawling along bottom.

We drive back to Silhen by a different and much more efficient route, passing by a 20 mile long man-made lake, and through a tunnel.

Mon 11 Aug

I sleep badly and feel like absolute crap. Maryse and I walk down to the river. My lower back hurts and I have sciatica.

I retreat to my laptop room and work on the Numula paper.

Looks like a Vermeer

Tue 12 Aug

We drive toward Pont d'Espagne, hoping to hike. But the parking lot is full and the road is blocked. So we drive back down, then up another road that leads to a ski-area parking lot that's not full. A trail leads up the valley to a lake whose name (in Occitane) means 'Where's the lake?'.

We go about a mile, to a bridge that connects to the road on the other side. People coming down say that the lake is at least another hour; a young man says emphatically 'it's not worth it - turn around'. So we wade in the stream a bit, then head back.

The lake is beyond the ridge

Calf on right looks dead but is actually fine

The stream is painfully cold at first but you get used to it.

Wed 13 Aug

We drive to a small village and eat in a cool little restaurant that has music, but not until 8:30. We all get the veggie plate with frites.

Maryse and I drive to Rosine's house in Pau.

Thu 14 Aug

Travel day! Maryse drops me at the Pau airport at 5:45 AM. I go to the checkin counter and - say what? - my flight is from Lourdes, not Pau. Disastrous bone-head blunder! Maryse is gone, I can't call her, and in any case I wouldn't be able to get to Lourdes in time. Can I get a flight from Pau to Orly? Non.

So I'm going to miss both flights, neither of which was refundable. I could try to get cheap tickets for tomorrow. But I'm eager to get home, so I decide to solve the problem with money: I get online and buy an Air France ticket for today, Pau - Paris CDG - LAX - SFO. $1900. What the heck - it's only money.

The flight to Paris leaves at 10:45; I get coffee and croissant, find an outlet, and do some work.

My connection in CDG is tight - about an hour. The flight lands on time but taxis to an extreme end of the airport, where it unloads with a staircase. I get on a bus which sits there for 10 min, then drives slowly to Terminal 2. Long hallways. Tension and anxiety.

I make it through security; then you're forced to run a slalom course through luxury stores to get to your gate. Anger. But I make it to the gate in time.

My seat-mate is a 23-year-old from LA, Albert, who works as a model and private chef. He's very friendly, and also very helpful to passengers in the area with their carry-ons etc. He's part Armenian, and is returning with his mother (who looks about 23 herself) from a family event in Armenia. We get along famously, and this makes the flight go by faster.

I watch 'Erik Satie Reloaded', an oddly-named but very interesting documentary. Lots of info about his life, but a limited assortment of his music, e.g. electronic adaptations of the Gymnopedie.

Three rows in front of me are a pair of beleaguered parents and their precocious and charming 1-year-old, who vocalizes constantly and loudly, often flaring up into a scream. This goes on for the entire flight, with a 3 hour sleep break in the middle. They're overly attentive, and I wonder whether this is a factor in his behavior.

We get to LAX. Passport control has a bunch of guards with guns - WTF?? Terrible signage, but I manage to find the terminal for the last leg. I look for food; sandwiches are $20 so I settle for a $6 yogurt.

SFO: signage to BART is poor. BART is noisy, jarring, excessively bright, and there's a 15 min delay in Daly City. Note to self: don't take BART after a long trip.

Erica gives me a ride from Ashby BART. Home again - praise the Lord!