Travails of a transatlantic transplant: Travels with Myself

A classic advertisement said, "You're not getting older, you're getting better." I don't recall what it was selling-- face cream? Hair dye? But I am here to attest that it is true, in some ways at least.

In September I clicked along the railroad tracks of Europe, most definitely doing it better than I did back in my youth.

It all started with a wedding: our nephew married his beloved, and the extended family gathered in the heart of Tuscany to celebrate with the couple and their friends. A joyous occasion indeed. The icing on the cake for us was getting to spend three precious days with our children, plus girlfriend, in an 'agriturismo' villa perched on a hillside overlooking acres of vines and distant olive trees, only a 30-minute dusty, bumpy, scenic drive from villa to wedding venue (the rental car guy told us that in Tuscany people are too busy making wine to pave their roads). Eldest son found and organized the accommodation; those parenting tables are turning. We arrived from three corners of the globe-- Toronto, Vancouver, and Utrecht--to converge on Rome. It had seemed too precarious a plan to work but it did.

All together now (Castelnuovo dell'Abate, Tuscany)

After we dispersed I found myself on my own with no obligations and the continent beckoning. The last time such a thing happened was decades ago in my student days.

I had Europe at my feet and chose to keep it there, staying on the ground: my ticket to ride then as now was a train pass. Then, I had a student Interrail card in the shape of a small paper booklet good for nearly unlimited travel for a month, a laden backpack, a small stack of travelers checks, and no one to answer to.

Traveller's cheque on display at the British Museum

Back in the student era, my idea was to spend as little money as possible. Competitive thrift seemed to be the order of the day. We undergrads reconvened after our holiday travels and told tales of touring Roman ruins and Notre Dame and bragged about the cheapest places to stay and sneaking an extra--usually stale-- roll from the continental breakfast service to save for lunch along with an apple or tomato from a greengrocer. I don't know why I was so miserly. I was not poor; my parents were not mean. I set out from the University of Sussex for a three-week backpacking trip across Western Europe in December and January of my year abroad with three hundred pounds in traveller's cheques and my rail card. I came home with much of the money untouched, having gone hungry some of the time and sleeping in a few appalling hostels. I remember I skipped a visit Versailles because it was too expensive. Once I nearly found myself marooned for a night in the Milan train station and was rescued through the unutterable kindness of strangers. I really was supremely lucky. Some of the time I traveled with friends, other times on my own, partly by choice and partly by misadventure. I look back on various terrible decisions I made and shudder in shock and awe that I did not suffer any worse fate than occasional cold, hunger, and discomposure.

This journey could not have been more different. I purchased a senior Eurail pass rather than a student one--and first-class at that (not much more expensive)--in digital rather than paper form, good for 5 days of travel in a month, requiring more thought and planning. I carried a credit card instead of cash. Add a mobile phone with travel plan, and voilà, I was ready to ride, armed and far less endangered than last time.

I still found occasion to chat with kind strangers. And I still was not extravagant-- my tastes are not extravagant, I guess--but nor did I go hungry and or inhabit grimy hostels. I lived well and had fun. I ate wonderful food and imbibed delightful drinks both caffeinated and alcoholic. I sampled the ice cream at every destination. I visited castles and markets and towers and museums and took boat rides and though I travelled solo, I also spent time with friends. I loved every single city on my itinerary: Rome, Venice, Salzburg, Prague, Berlin, Utrecht/ Amersfoort/ Amsterdam/ Den Haag (the Netherlands is small).

As easy as ABCDE

Rome's Forum where a seagull stole my ice cream cone

Ice cream, ice cream, everywhere. Luckily.

My suitcase and I traversing Venice

Friendship in Venice 💝

Train life

Salzburg from on high

🔎 Mysterious: Prague public library

Prague: Kafka's head. It moves, but I can't get the video to upload.

Berlin Wall with friends from Clare Hall 💕💕

My final destination was the Netherlands, where I visited middle child in his new habitat in the charming city of Utrecht. Although I had seen him only two weeks earlier at the Italian wedding, it was such a pleasure to see him again and in situ in his new faraway (I hope temporarily) home. He guided me with grace and confidence and a startling ability to navigate both Utrecht and Amsterdam. I was granted excellent hospitality with a long-time (these days I find myself careful about saying 'old') and very precious friend in nearby Amersfoort.

Utrecht. The Dom and the son.

Kattenkabinet in Amsterdam

Amsterdam by night

The Hague, outside the Mauritshuis, with sweet friends and son 💜💛💚💙

Then too few days later, on the first of October, I flew across the ocean back to Canada. As a last hurrah, my flight involved a long-enough layover in Montréal to enjoy a sunny afternoon in the old city by the St. Lawrence River. A perfect ending.