Pilgrimage to St Gallen

Cycling around Lake Konstanz had been a breeze. Flat paths, good signposting, fabulous views, regular watering holes...what more could we ask for? So it was with plenty of misplaced confidence (on my part) that we left the lake at Bregenz to begin the climb to St Gallen.

Watering hole exemplar. What's
 that in the sky? Is it a bird?
Is it a plane? No, it's a ....

Our departure route took us by the stunning floating stage, world renowned for hosting the Bregenz Festival, along with opera and orchestral performances. Apparently, we had missed Carmen by just a few days. What I didn't realise at the time was that the stage is rebuilt every two years. These images give some idea of previous versions of this marvellous performing arts venue; below is my pic of the current performance space.

St Gallen was our destination for a night before moving on to the giddy heights of the Appenzeller region, from where I'm writing this, surrounded by the constant tinkling of  cowbells. (Go, Mooloo!)

Back to St Gallen, or Sankt Gallen in German. This delightful town, founded by Irish monk Gallus circa 600AD, was also the recommendation of our dear friend and wise woman CEE who had made a memorable visit to the Abbey library some years ago. History (at least the Wikipedia version of it) is delightfully vague about what Gallus was doing so far from Ireland but it was here that he decided to establish his hermitage. Thankfully, he wasn't interested in building the world's first Irish-themed-pub-not-in-Ireland.

The man himself

It was a long, hot haul up the road, which became alarmingly vertical after leaving the lake at Rorschach (without spotting a single inkblot, btw, disappointing!). With panniers on, our bikes are heavy enough without having to fight gravity as well. And it doesn't help that Tour Leader is part-mountain goat.

Hypnotized by his legs whirring away in front of me, I began considering having a meltdown, or throwing a wobbly. My body beat me to it though. Suddenly, I melted into a heap by the side of the road and my legs achieved wobbly status all by themselves.

There are other ways of climbing
 uphill. Just saying.

But we eventually made it to Hotel Vadian, a stone's throw from the ancient, UNESCO World Heritage-protected Abbey.

At the time, I was just happy to stop fighting gravity.
With the perspective gained from an anniversary dinner and a good night's sleep in yet another feather duvet-encrusted Swiss bed, the ride to St Gallen took shape as something of a pilgrimage. I will explain.

But first, do admire this screenshot of that day's ride, courtesy of Strava. Thank you. Moving on...

It is difficult to convey the sense of awe experienced while touring the Abbey library. From the moment we donned our oversized felt slippers and shuffled into the vast baroque chamber, spoken words were superfluous. Here, the written word reigns. I could babble on for paragraphs about this most ancient, most holy and yet most relevant library - but other, wiser minds have done this already. If you feel you have any connection with the written word, as a reader or a writer, please investigate a little further. Here's a place to start.

Most relevant?

 Not only is the Abbey library a repository for texts dating from the 8th century, it still collects books today. More importantly, its collection is open to scholars, providing rare access to original texts. It is indeed a fount of knowledge.

The Editorial Committee, aka Tour Leader, has an agenda item, which I'm willing to pursue. He spends far too much time following US and world politics, and makes a point about the relationship between knowledge and leadership. "Those who fail to learn from history are doomed to repeat it," said philosopher George Santayana, a quote borrowed by Churchill some decades later. Our pilgrimage to St Gallen reinforced, for me, the importance of acquiring knowledge, learning from history. Not necessarily a popular idea in modern educational circles, but there you go.

"Places like this library have a whole reservoir of knowledge, and yet the world's most powerful leader relies on lies, innuendo and a lack of critical thinking." - Bruce Richards, 2017

Not to mention the hubris, the bluster, the sheer insensitivity of the Don.  Now there's a man in need of a pilgrimage.

Still rolling along

It took me a while to piece it together. We had spent a couple of days in Zurich, exploring the city, lake and surrounds by bike and public transport. Crossing the main thoroughfare, Seefeldstrasse, just metres from our apartment required a careful check of the road before stepping out (“look LEFT, then right!”) to avoid being hit by trams and bikes. The consequences of the former didn't bear thinking about.

Meet Maxi and Juli who just lurve going for a ride

But where were the cars? Why was I not thinking of looking out for them as well? The answer seems to be very simple. People in Zurich tend not to use their cars. This street was not a car-free zone. I'm not even sure if such things exist in the city. But trams and bikes owned the street, as they own much of central Zurich.

As touring cyclists (hehe, loved writing that!) we're always admiring other bikers on the road, especially if they're  loaded up with pannier bags like us. But after that day in Zurich, I began to pay more attention to how Europeans incorporate bikes into their daily living. Here's my take on it.

We in New Zealand are in the early stages of a hopefully long-term relationship with cycling. With all of the passion of a new-found love, many of us are giddy with cycling fervour. Belles on Bikes, anyone? Frocks on Bikes? Blokes on bikes? Mamils? You might need to google that last one, but it IS a thing.

And, as in any romance, there are ups and downs. Not all motorists see cyclists as human beings. Not all cyclists show consideration to other road users. For some, it's a clear ‘them and us’ divide. There is still work to be done on the relationship. Maybe even counselling is called for.

With the benefit of many hundreds of years of urban living, European cities have evolved. The relationship between citizen and bike has long since moved beyond passion and its attendant conflicts. A happily married couple, if you like. People and bikes seem to plod along together in their comfy slippers. It is what it is: A successful long-term relationship, one that benefits all. We saw so many instances of people using bikes as we would cars: picking up children from school, grocery shopping, commuting with coffee in one hand, taking the family for a picnic, even embarking on a family camping holiday.

Tricky work taking this pic while riding

There is also infrastructure in place to smooth any speedbumps in the relationship: cycle ‘no go’ zones, clear road marking for bike lanes, separated pathways, and bike stands galore. Cars often give way to cyclists, whether required to or not.





Zurich has a public bike sharing scheme, as many cities do nowadays. (And it is good to read that Auckland is looking at introducing such a scheme) .

What is different to others we have come across is the high level of trust implicit in its operation. The distinctly yellow bikes are scattered around the city, not tethered to any kind of electronic locking system as in Paris, for instance. Users scan the QR code on the bike’s rear mudguard which unlocks the rear wheel and charges a small amount of francs to their account. Then off they pedal. The bike can be returned to any of the velo parking spots around the city. So simple.

Meanwhile, le Tour de Richards continues. From the peloton, my daily view is that of the Tour Leader's rear end as we roll around Lake Konstanz. We're in Meersburg right now, a gorgeous German medieval town. Next, we head to Bregenz (crossing briefly into Austria) then St Gallen, back in Switzerland. As the Tour Leader is wont to remark, cycling is the ideal way to explore; too slow on foot, too fast in a car.

To stretch the metaphor just a wee bit further, we're also rolling towards a significant anniversary. By the time we reach Appenzell, we will be marking 40 years of wedded bliss. Talk about comfy slippers!

Serendipity

 Hang on, this doesn't seem right. Have we stumbled onto the set of a reality tv cooking show?  

We were tiptoeing around Zurich's magnificent Grossmünster when a casually dressed bloke wandered up to the front clutching a yellow ceramic bowl. He threw in a coin and let it roll around until a ringing sound filled the church. Okay, he's not making a batch of scones then. With this tintinnabulation as the only accompaniment, Mr Ordinary and his sidekick Ms Clarinettist burst into glorious song, tenor and soprano. Before you could whip up a bowl of cream, they were joined by Piano Accordion Man and we were treated to 20 minutes of a folk music rehearsal in acoustic heaven. The pièce de résistance was the appearance of a l-o-n-g wooden instrument that looked like a didgeridoo (I missed the bell shape at the base on first glance) but sounded like a delicate brass instrument. It was an alphorn. Cue cows, flowers and lederhosen.

And that mixing bowl? Google tells me it was a talerschwingen, an early 1900s addition to the folk music scene. Brilliant. Have a scone.

This was indeed a serendipitous moment. We had gone into the Grossmünster to reconnect with the  fabulous stained glass windows  created by Chagall in the 1970s. It turns out that we were in the wrong Münster. We should have been tiptoeing around the Fraumünster, just across the river Limmat. But then, we would've missed the rehearsal. Serendipity.

To continue the day's musical theme, we enjoyed a lunchtime organ recital at the Fraumünster. This was a truly synaesthetic experience: Eyes on Marc Chagall's five stained glass panels. Ears happily engaging with the repertoire. Feet occasionally sensing the organ's bass notes. Bliss.

One of the works was by a French composer and organist, Jehan Alain (1911-1940). These dates hinted at a young talent lost to war, and so it turned out (thanks again, Google, the traveller's friend).

In Wikipedia's own words,
"Always interested in mechanics, Alain was a skilled motorcyclist and became a dispatch rider in the Eighth Motorised Armour Division of the French Army. On 20 June 1940, he was assigned to reconnoitre the German advance on the eastern side of Saumur, and encountered a group of German soldiers at Le Petit-Puy. Coming around a curve, and hearing the approaching tread of the Germans, he abandoned his motorcycle and engaged the enemy troops with his carbine, killing 16 of them before being killed himself. He was posthumously awarded the Croix de Guerre for his bravery, and ... was buried, by the Germans, with full military honours."

Music is such a powerful teller of stories.

Curtains

It's time to go home. I'm ready now; Bruce has been ready (note tense change!) for some time.

Three days in San Francisco have given us a glimpse of life on the West coast. The hills, the bridges, the cable cars, the yachts and ferries on the bay...yes, it's beautiful, and so like Wellington, on a larger scale, of course. And my first view of the Pacific Ocean was surprisingly emotional after two months away from NZ. Not helped by the fact that my lungs were on fire after pedalling up a steep incline. But we've also seen more people living rough on the streets here than in any other large city on this trip. California Dreamin'? Not for these guys.

But we've had fun...

... On bikes: our Blazing Saddles (geddit?) rentals took us all over and up and down the streets and through the parks of San Francisco. Then we braved the wind gusts to cycle over the Golden Gate Bridge to Sausalito. Thankfully, we joined the dozens of other cyclists who made the evening return trip via ferry.

Houseboat letterboxes, Sausalito

... On cables cars and trams: What's not to like about a city where it's OK for intrepid commuters and sightseers to hang from the outside of vintage cable cars as they trundle up and down steep streets?

... And on ferries: The city is proud of its beautiful, bustling harbour. The ferries are an integral part of its transportation system as well as tourist magnets so we've made the most of the chance to get onto the water.

Cute couple

We lose a day travelling home...August 28 will disappear into a space-time continuum...er dateline thingy. Fortunately, August 27 survived the black hole. Otherwise, how else would we have celebrated 35 years of marriage? 

Thank you 
This blog has been an interesting experiment. It's allowed me to reflect on as well as record our travel experiences.  So, thank you, dear readers (I'm assuming it's OK to use the plural!), for participating. It has also made me realise how much the writer needs an audience. Not that I obsessively peruse the blog's stats  (... but there have been 10 page views from Russia, just so you know!)

And thanks to my ever-patient spouse, who now turns and smiles in a Pavlovian way whenever I produce the camera from my bag. And who has never complained at his appearance in short shorts and long shorts in this blog.

Looking forward to seeing you in NZ soon!

Peeps
xxx

New York Songbook

Ladies and gentlemen, I present a Magical Mystery Tour of the Big Apple...

Actually, the inspiration for this sprang from travelling on the subway to and from Manhattan, using the express - the A Train (see my previous post); credit, too, to Bruce who has been conducting his own personal musical pilgrimage around the city in recent days. Thank you, o muse!

The journey begins in Central Park. Beatles aficionados - and readers of a certain vintage -  will recognize the reference in the blog's intro. And, of course, John Lennon was murdered in 1985 outside his apartment right across the road from this gigantic patch of green in Manhattan. This area of the park is now a Lennon memorial - Strawberry Fields - and attracts huge numbers of fans.(Hear the song: Strawberry Fields). Mark Chapman was in the news just the other day: his request for parole was declined again...

Central Park was also the venue for Simon and Garfunkel's short-lived reunion, in front of 500,000 fans. This was a benefit concert in 1981, to raise funds to restore Central Park to its former splendour. The pair weren't ready to repair their relationship, though, so they continued their separate careers for many more years.

A rare photo of the author!

We hired bikes to circumnavigate Central Park, joining thousands of others on a warm Sunday afternoon. It is a fabulous green space, about twice the size of Hagley Park, and filled with all sorts of different ways to interact with nature and other humans.

After returning the bikes, we sat on bleachers to watch a scratch game of softball, played by blokes of a certain vintage.

The next song has a more tenuous link with New York. Van Morrison's 'Coney Island' is actually in County Down, Northern.Ireland. It's a shame to let truth stand in the way of a good story, though, so - thanks, Van. (Hear the song: Coney Island).

One of Coney Island's many 'attractions' ...

We took a rattling subway train out to the peninsula of Coney Island, to the south of Brooklyn. It's an area that has been in decline after the glory years of amusement parks. But New York City has been sympathetic to its history. Some of the classic rides, such as The Cyclone, have been preserved as non-working exhibits. And there's a long stretch of white sand beach, accessed by an equally long boardwalk.

Guess who wants this t-shirt?

The pier is where serious fishing takes place. Whole families were camped there as we whiled away time there..and some were even catching fish.

The signs warning pregnant women and young children NOT to eat fish caught from the wharf were somewhat off-putting though.

Simon and Garfunkel are indelibly linked with another New York landmark, the 59th Street Bridge, which crosses the East River to link Manhattan with Queens. Though it would win no prizes for 'succinct song title of the year', the '59th St Bridge Song (Feeling Groovy)'  must surely be the world's happiest song. (Here it is: Feeling Groovy)

It wasn't easy to make the pilgrimage over the 59th St Bridge. We made two attempts but both times the subway lines travelled UNDER the river. Hmmm. But we did think of the bridge and its song as we rumbled along underwater.

Our final destination was more of a stumble than a planned pilgrimage.The Hotel Chelsea, now a faded has-been that's no longer open for business, was once THE hotel of choice for your bohemian-type writers, actors and musicians.

Dylan Thomas died there, Leonard Cohen wrote a song about doing unmentionable things there with Janis Joplin, Arthur C Clarke wrote 2001: A Space Odyssey while staying there ... Wikipedia has all the details but the hotel was certainly a place of significant influence in its time. Even Madonna has called the hotel home.

Speaking of Cohen, I'm a bit of a fan, something I've come to later in life. (I used to think him way too depressing.) And I'm married to a mega-fan who has always appreciated Lennie's limited vocal range and clever-clever lyrics. We've seen him perform live in NZ, twice. He's mesmerizing on stage, and I'd rate his performance as the best live concert I've seen. Especially given that he is now in his late 70s.

But what on earth is he going on about? In keeping with the musical motif in this NYC blog, here's an extract from Cohen's 'First We Take Manhattan':

And I thank you for those items that you sent me
The monkey and the plywood violin
I practiced every night, now I'm ready
First we take Manhattan, then we take Berlin

CODA
The highlight of our stay in New York, and the reason for including the city on our travels, has been the opportunity to see three Broadway shows.

Porgy and Bess was an unforgettable experience. So many of the the show's songs are well-known and have been covered by a multitude of artists. But to hear them in the context of the show's storyline, and sung by talented artists with an enviable vocal range, was a truly special experience.

I didn't know what to expect from Jersey Boys. Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons have never graced our CD collection. It was a high-energy performance that told the story of the band effectively from different narrative points of view. And they certainly churned out catchy hit tunes. It was great fun.

Our final show, a matinee this afternoon, was different again. Newsies tells the story (loosely based on an actual event) of the boys who sold papers in New York City at the turn of last century. It has a young cast, mostly just graduated from performing arts schools and mostly male. No big names, no recognisable hit songs...yet. But a fabulous show.

That's it, folks. Showtime is over. The curtain has come down on NYC. We leave the city tomorrow morning in a rental car for a couple of days exploring upstate. Time for some big skies and wide open spaces.

A brave new world

Landing at JFK following our short time in rural Cornwall was quite a shock. And, after some days here, the city and its people continue to surprise us. It's almost a different planet.

The flight from Heathrow was a long and winding road...oops, a long and tedious journey - made so much worse by the two-plus sweltering hours we waited in line before reaching the immigration counter. That's what happens when more than 500 people are disgorged from just one airliner at one of the world's busiest airports. In the middle of summer. It was not pleasant.

Then the trek to our Brooklyn apartment began.  Not for us the sanitized, movie set Big Apple experience. Oh, no. No mid-town hotels with door-opening flunkies either. We are staying out east in a part of Brooklyn that must be close to gentrification. Not quite yet, though! We have the street level floor of a brownstone in a row of brownstones that stretches unbroken the length of the street. Small windows at front and rear, brick walls either side ...cosy.

Home - Macon St, Brooklyn

But it's home for the week. And with our $29 seven-day Metrocards, it's only a 20 minute A Train ride to Manhattan. This was a serendipitous discovery. This subway line was the inspiration for the classic jazz number 'Take the A Train', one we know and love from Simon's early piano playing years. (Hear it here: A Train)

Staying in the 'burbs is an education as well as good exercise. (Though to call Brooklyn a suburb is doing it a great injustice: 2.7 million people inhabit this corner of New York City.) The nearest subway station is about 15 minutes' walk through an urban landscape that's indeed light years away from Cambridge, NZ. 

In this summer heat, people are living outdoors, often perched on their front steps or heading to the grocery/deli stores, broom cupboard sized shops found on each corner. Rubbish piles up on street corners. Rubbish pickers work their recycling magic.  And there are churches on each block. 

I found this (right) to be a sobering message. There is hope, though. This year's homicide rate is down to under one murder a day, the lowest since crime stats were released in the 1960s.

There were 515 murders in the city last year. 

This is clearly not the New York of Woody Allen and Carrie Bradshaw...

 

The Richards' sightseeing checklist is progressing nicely:

• Empire State Building - check.
• Statue of Liberty - check
• Times Square - check
• Broadway show - check (it was 'Porgy and Bess' - fabulous!) but we ain't finished yet
• Wall St - check
• Coney Island - check
• Central Park - check

...but more of this next blog.  

I came across these words of wisdom today. The presentation is a little rough around the edges but the sentiment is pure "Sex and the City", don't you think?

London, you beauty!

Even I thought that going to London for the Olympics this year was a brave move (read 'silly idea'). It would be crowded. The transport system wouldn't cope. The city would be a terrorist target. Too  expensive...weather too awful...the Games organisation too little, too late...

London 2012 was none of these things, I'm happy and relieved to report.  In the post-Olympics euphoria, the British press are waxing lyrical about Mayor Boris, about Team GB and about the haul of medals, its best since London 1908. The nation's new heroes are Mo Farah, (5000m/10,000m double) Jess Ennis (heptathlon), Victoria Pendleton (golden cyclist) - and many, many more.

And well-deserved waxing it is. We enjoyed our Olympic experience immensely.

There has been a vast improvement in transport since our last visit: more Underground lines, a new Overground service, the Docklands Light Rail (look, Mum, no drivers!) expanded, the fast Javelin trains, the sleek new St Pancras International station that services these fast trains...

There were a couple of very crowded train trips. The one to Eton Dorney rowing venue, beating even our experience of Tokyo commuter trains, was a very 'up close and personal' 30 minutes. Squashed we may have been, but the conversation was good.

 I've been thinking about what made our experience so enjoyable. These are some of the ingredients:

Team GB spirit

I've already mentioned this but as the Olympics progressed, particularly the athletics events in the stadium, British support for their own was like nothing we had seen before. But in a good way, let me stress. We could not begrudge them their joy and it certainly made for ready conversations on trains and in queues.

One point that the national press picked up on, and hard to disagree with, was the contrast between these sporting role models - Victoria Pendleton, Chris Hoy, 'Wiggo', Mo, Jess and  so many others - and the premier league football stars, whose antics and multi-million pound paychecks have provided so much media fodder over the years.

The volunteers

Dressed in their distinctive pink, red and purple uniforms, armed with loudhailers and big foam hands, they guided, they smiled, they joked, they demanded smiles from us ... and generally helped to make the experience of moving slowly in huge crowds a pleasurable one. Many had come from other parts of Britain to 'do their bit', providing their time and finding their own accommodation.

I have read that the volunteers get to keep their uniforms. Lucky people...that's quite a souvenir.


Home comforts
'Home' was 35 High Mount, Station Rd, Hendon NW4 3SS. It was a five minute walk from the mainline train station, and a little further to an Underground line. Sainsbury's was also within walking distance.

The flat was roomy - there were three of them, in fact - and had everything we needed to live comfortably. On a long trip, the difference between hotel/B & B accommodation and self-catering can't be underestimated.

People

After a month grappling with a foreign language, we were pretty keen to talk to anyone who smiled in our direction when we first stepped off the Eurostar at St Pancras.

So it was a great pleasure to spend time with family and friends.

Bruce's cousin and her husband have lived in London for most of their married lives. They are always welcoming hosts and we have enjoyed seeing them again. They seem to have had a steady stream of Kiwis on their living room floor over the years and take it all in their stride. Thanks, Julie and Richard!

It was so good to spend an evening with Emma Carpenter - dinner and show - and, as an added bonus, to have a drink with Nathan Roa who turned up at the theatre after hitching his way down from Scotland.

And then, we managed to catch up for coffee with another face from the St Peter's archives. Kate Holmes was in London before her bridesmaid duties at Crystal Whitcombe's wedding.

Cornwall postscript

A few fleeting impressions of this definitely different corner of England:

Port Isaac, 'Doc Martin' country

• Yes, real Cornish pasties melt in the mouth, leaving one gasping for more... Did you know (I hope this is true but it's a good story) that this local delicacy was originally made to feed hungry miners? The main course (meat and extras) was wrapped in the pastry and the edges were crimped so that said miners could grasp their meal in their grimy paws to devour the contents. When they were done, the blackened pastry edge was thrown away.
• Cornwall is actually a series of Pay and Display carparks above beautiful, steep, rocky coves with pocket-handkerchief sized beaches. To which people flock in droves (what's a drove? I wonder) to set up base camp for the day. Exhausting to watch!

And, speaking as one with a distinctive accent, it's a real pleasure to hear the Cornish lilt.
 
That's nearly it for GB. One more night in our country hotel outside of Bodmin.We return the car to Heathrow tomorrow. And then a longish flight to New York, via Frankfurt.

Broadway, here we come!