Postscript

As Churchy, Walt Kelly’s turtle used to say, more or less: when you’ve reached the end it’s over.

I’m writing this months after our return home, putting paid to our four-month-long odyssey. Allowing my autistic bent to take over, the trip has set some records for us: four months on the road, three continents, ten countries, nineteen national border crossings, 2,800 photographs and, with this posting, over 30,000 words on the blog.

This will effectively close the blog, although I’ll leave it up for a spell. For those who patiently suffered through my meanderings with the unrequited hope for some nugget of interest, thanks. Fortunately, most of my readers are family, leaving them with no recourse to pity or apology for their staying the course. Family is what family does.

DLS 21 December 2010

Friends

A summer castle, complete with a natural moat.

Family is dandy but friends are like candy. You may quote me. One of the reasons…primary reasons…we made this a four-month odyssey, spending the intervening months in Europe between the two family weddings, was to visit friends well remembered and sorely missed. And while many had the audacity to be doing other things elsewhere during the summer, we managed to catch up with most of those who mean the most to us.

In particular, we saw D. and L. in the Netherlands, whose friendship has made so many shared events over the past two decades memorable. Christmas and New Years, in particular, have never been the same. Some of our best voyages of discovery around Europe have been in their company.

They are animal-lovers (three dogs and six cats at last count who are also our good friends), and rather brilliant at what they do. They provide essentially the only reason we visit the Dutch, for, despite sincere attempts on our part, we continue to find little to love about their flat country. There are, of course, features that are appealing about the Netherlands, but unless you ride a bicycle or own a small caravan, on the whole you’re better off going elsewhere for a holiday. I’m ignoring those who would find the red-light district or cannabis cafes in Amsterdam appealing.

D. and L. live in the central east of the country, east of Utrecht, and are thus well above sea level, and in a more heavily-forested part of the country. It’s rural (or as much rural as is found) and pastoral, and very, very green. If we do anything much during our visit to them and their various dogs and cats, it’s to walk along the many paths and byways provided, or visit some of the manors and their grounds that can be found in the region, many dating from the 17th century or earlier. One is pictured above. Here’s another:

If you want to sense how much time has passed under your feet, reminisce with friends of the things you’ve done and seen in their company. That said, accumulating those experiences may be one of the best reasons for getting old. As it becomes apparent that opportunities will be fewer to see our old friends (in both senses of the term) in coming years, our time with them this past summer becomes more valuable. Perhaps it is better to stop seeing friends at some point and let memories take over the job of keeping us all young forever.

Oktoberfest in Taybeh

It's not all about beer, but it does play a part.

We're back in N.'s ancestral village in the West Bank, having crossed into Palestine from Jordan at the Allenby Bridge yesterday. The crossing went easily enough, although we had to invest some four hours to the process. There was apparently some security concern on the Israeli side of the border that locked up their terminal for an hour or so, which also delayed the bus taking us from the Jordan side.

We were early at the Bridge because it was Saturday; the crossing only operates a half-day for the Jewish Shabbat. This meant an early arrival at the Bridge was required. That it was open at all on the holy day is a relatively recent event. In the bad old days it was closed from mid-Fridays to Sunday.

No matter how much they make it resemble an airport, the Allenby Bridge crossing will always be complicated by all the security steps taken on both sides of the border. However, even with multiple luggage checks, four or five passport reviews plus immigration, and a somewhat chaotic final luggage inspection and x-ray, I've experienced worse border formalities. The problem is that, although the system is essentially simple, it is not scalable to handle larger groups of people efficiently. If there are several tourist buses at one time, the process degenerates into a mad scramble for position and privilege. Tourists on buses are insulated from the melee, for the most part, but with the heat, noise, smells and confusion, crossing is not pleasant for anyone. It does make a good story for your next cocktail party, however.

An early start did help, as we arrived in Taybeh (pronounced "Tai-beh") in time for the beginning of the festivities. The idea of an Oktoberfest in a small, Palestinian village may seem strange, but it works very well for Taybeh. The small town is home to the only beer brewery in Palestine (Christians can drink alcohol, for the most part), and Taybeh Beer is the festival's primary, but not sole, sponsor. Every year has seen the festival grow, and this year the traditional venue has reach the bursting point. Evenings are given over to rock bands and similar entertainment, and the small, outdoor court holding both stage and audience offers standing-room only—if you stand on one foot. Plastic chairs are at a premium, and are scattered as the crowd sees fit. The crowding seems to be part of the charm for the young, but I understand that plans are in place to move into the surrounding streets and expand the venue dramatically for 2011.

I'm not too sure that expansion is a good idea. The festival is becoming too large for Taybeh and will inevitably attract the wrong kind of attention. I understand they are already having problems with vandals and unruly behavior. This is to be expected because of the alcohol and presence of a lot of young persons. The festival is a bright and solitary spot on the social calendar so it draws many from surrounding villages.

There was a strong police presence from the PA but the force, and the organizer, seems to have been surprised by the turnout. Far better planning is necessary for future events, along with parking plans, directional signs, better lighting, segregated food stands, spreading craft sellers around the area, and even more police presence. Did I mention PARKING PLANS?

It's an international party, with everything from a Karate demonstration to a Sri Lankan cultural dance. High points included the claimed first Palestinian rock-rap group, a doubtful premier achievement in my view, and a complete Taybeh wedding celebration, which N. says was truly excellent. (I fortunately missed it by enjoying a cigar and a Taybeh beer under T.'s wonderful fig tree. I've had enough of weddings for this year.) Throw in local crafts and produce booths (olives, oil, spices, etc.) and you can sense that it's quite a two-day party. You can even buy a T-shirt.

People come from all over to this event, and not just from Palestine; many European countries provided tourists on the first day, and several consulates with representatives to the Palestine National Authority were also present, along with their security contingents. Even the U.S. consul was present with American families and a line of black SUVs. (Are these things available in any other color?)

T. and his wife, E. use the event for a massive open house for hundreds of friends and locals. He provides an enormous amount of food and drink (lots of Taybeh beer, of course), and everyone takes the opportunity to see what they have done to their house and grounds recently. We were happy to participate and help direct a tour or two.

For me, it's a grand opportunity to sink into a soft chair, clasp a good cigar, sip a drink, commune with the ample and gentle nature all around me, and thank the fig tree above me for its shade. T. has invested in gardens and fruit trees which provide great beauty and bounty, and the gentle but persistent Taybeh breeze brushes your cheek like God's breath. This must be close to heaven; no wonder they call it the Holy Land.

A Trip to Kanzaman

Welcome to Once Upon a Time.

N., S. and I made a late evening excursion by taxi to the Jordan tourist and craft center called Kanzaman, Arabic for "A time in the past", or, as S. put it a bit romantically: "Once upon a time". This is a complex of craft shops and a large buffet restaurant, popular with tourist groups, but set in what seemed to be the end of nowhere. At night, It's like an oasis in the middle of the ocean. It is near several villages, but as street lighting is not common outside the city proper, it can be pretty dark while getting there. We experience so much light-pollution in the U.S. cities, true rural blackness is intimidating.

The taxi ride was worth the five dinars. Kanzaman is south of Amman, off the airport road, and for us about a twenty-minute journey. Jordan highways are generally good-to-excellent, but once you leave them for less populated areas they tend to follow the natural grade, and all bets are off. Lane markings on these secondary roads have faded away long ago, with drivers free to use whatever part of the road they feel opportune. It's rather like Italy on steroids. Underpasses are particularly thrilling.

For the most part, taxi drivers are skilled and cheerful souls who keep up a friendly chatter while answering cell phones, honking at anything that doesn't move to their liking, and threading their car through the intense, crazy traffic. To call their driving aggressive is to make a HUGE understatement. I usually sat in the front, called the death seat, and spent much of each journey fighting the seat belt and rediscovering my faith.

Kanzaman was created from stables sturdily built in stone, and Jordan did a good job in accommodating and integrating a number of craft shops and souvenir stores with the large restaurant. Someone put some money and thought into the place. Items offered, particularly local craft items, were up-market in quality. Prices were reasonable-to-outright cheap. Kanzaman is not your usual souvenir stop for your tourist bus.

There is an in-house bakery, a very large dining hall and an equally-large, comfortable open-air lounge covered with billowing, brightly-colored panels (think "tent", you're supposed to). Perhaps because it was the end of the summer season, selections were a little thin on the ground. No alcoholic drinks are offered, of course. Also, avoid the cranberry juice as it's a disappointment and overpriced. Stick with the teas. By all means order the flat bread with zata herbs/spices and white cheese; hot from the oven, it's delicious.

If you take a bus tour in Amman you may well end up at Kanzaman for a meal. The food seems okay and the décor superior to most of the large buffet-style tourist stops. Every shop seems either up or down some stairs and the natural stone floor and steps can be a little awkward to navigate, so if walking is a challenge, hold on to someone. It's clean, staff seems trained, and if you're in the market for a little silver trinket, stop by and see Samer the silversmith at his little shop where hand-made jewelry is priced by the gram. Some interesting things can start around $15. Don't forget to bargain.

The Citadel of Ajloun

It's a fixer-upper with a great view.

We invested the middle of the day to a trip to the north of Jordan to visit the city and fortress of Ajloun. This is a well-resurrected Islamic castle built during the Crusader period at the orders of Saladin. While N. and I have visited most of the southern touristy sites over the decades, for some reason we skipped the north of Jordan until this year. This was wrong on our part, for the countryside is quite impressive, mountainous and scenic. It also holds the second-largest city in Jordan, Irbid, a university town.

I won't give the history of Ajloun here—Wikipedia and the Jordan tourist agency sites do fairly well in describing the background of the Islamic castle's development. As any threat from the great Crusader castle at Karak disappeared with its fall to the Ayyubids only two years after Ajloun's construction, the fortress never had a chance to fight back the Crusaders, its apparent original purpose. It did, however, suffer slings and arrows through the centuries in internecine fighting, and was captured and severely damaged by the Mongols. It had mostly an administrative function in latter centuries. Two earthquakes (in early nineteenth and twentieth centuries) didn't help.

I was surprised at how little I could find on this pre-Islamic history of the fortress and the important, strategic mountain it sits upon. While not talked about much, it was earlier a Roman construct and the site of a Byzantine church, the latter revealed through recent excavations, but not mentioned much officially. History has so much baggage in this region that you can pretty much select from and interpret events as they suit your previous convictions. A cursory inspection provides evidence of several reconstructions and a varying quality of stone work.

Scampering about the ruins makes a great afternoon—there are a lot of nooks and crannies to investigate—and we had exceptional weather for it. Jordan has done a good job in making this a comfortable tourist site, and an excellent work of reconstruction where necessary. We were a bit off season, but there were a number of groups passing through and the castle was well staffed with guides and security. A. tells me that they once picnicked on the castle grounds, but this is no longer allowed.

One area where Jordan could put additional effort: directional signs to the castle. It's a little unfair for me to mention this, as they have done a great deal already in basic highway signage, but even Jordan residents get lost trying to find their way to the citadel. Advice: get good directions.

For those on a pilgrimage, there is a Catholic school, church and shrine on the route to Ajloun where the Virgin Mary is said to have performed several miracles in recent years. One miracle was said to involve the cure of cancer for a Moslem woman, which, in a small sense, illustrates the religious tolerance evident in this country.

The roadsides are packed with vegetable stands, pottery factories, bakeries and every imaginable shop. On the way back, we stopped at one of the villages and bought some fresh goat-milk lebaney, a yogurt-based product that I dearly, dearly love, some bread from the local bakery as it came out of the oven, and some of the local white cheese (the latter must be soaked overnight in water as it comes naturally with a degree of salt that will still your heart). It made a great snack as we drove back into Amman as dusk fell.

Dust in the wind, with apologies to Kansas

The City is out there, somewhere.

This may not be Kansas, Dorothy, but you could forgive some confusion two days ago when Amman was struck by an unusual and surprising dust storm in the late afternoon. Residents could not remember a similar phenomenon at this time of the year. I was reminded of the terrible dust storms of the 1940s and running for storm cellars; it was not pleasant.

The day had been strange from the start. It rarely rains in Amman during September, and yet we awoke to on-and-off sprinkles that continued through the early afternoon. Then, in a sudden rush, we had strong winds, with bent trees and debris in the air. "Weather change" was murmured, and there were expectations of unusual events. Lightning was observed, without accompanying thunder.

As we prepared to leave for the wedding party, thought to be held in open air, there was concerns the evening would be spoiled by rain or strong winds; the reality was even stranger.

As we departed, a dense dust cloud settled over Amman; visibility dropped to less than a hundred meters, and it became deathly still. Lights were quickly lost in the amber gloom, and in a city of several million, our auto traveled in its own little pool of light; we were all individuals, now, the dust had removed our sense of community. It became difficult to breath.

Families met at one of the better hotels to organize for the trip on to the wedding party. By the time we were ready to depart, conditions had improved, a moderate wind had reappeared, and by midnight, the dust had settled and the moon could be again clearly seen. The next morning, other than with everything having a coat of grit, the dust storm was a memory.

Across the Bridge to Jordan

It's not the Allenby, but nearby in Jericho; a bridge over a very dry wadi.

Crossing the Jordan River via the Allenby Bridge is much easier than it used to be. I can recall being poled through barbed-wire gates amidst a mass of humanity, animals, food stuffs, bags and luggage, and anything else the authorities would allow to transit. There was no air conditioning, no nice terminal building, and, certainly, no posters welcoming you, one direction or the other. One year I remember we had to walk across the rickety bridge into Jordan carrying our own luggage like refugees. The old, crowded and un-conditioned buses were rudimentary, to say the least.

That experience seems to be firmly in the past. While there is still a small dose of arrogance involved on the Israeli side, procedures and administration, especially for foreigners, is immeasurably better. The similarity to an airport is stretching it a bit, but most of the trappings are there: glassed-in passport controls, luggage handlers and carts, taxi and bus zones, currency exchange, customs officials, and signs with best wishes for a speedy and pleasant trip. On the Jordan side, it's even simpler and much friendlier. There's even a free-tax shop! We didn't even get off the bus.

The Allenby used to be the only land route between Israel and Jordan; now there are three crossing points, one to the north and one at Aqaba on the Red Sea. The Allenby crossing, named after a British officer, is still heavily militarized on the Israeli side, with multiple check posts and tedious vehicle, passport and visa procedures—particularly for the Palestinians. Foreigners are treated somewhat differently, though only marginally. The two groups—Palestinians and those with foreign passports—are segregated at the bridge and don't meet up again until the Jordan side.

Both governments recognize this as a money-making enterprise, a common denominator for most Palestinians dealing with governments, even their own. Israeli exit fees for a foreigner amount to over 200 NIS, and you should be certain keep some shekels, as the exchange rate at the Bridge is simple usury. Then there are mandatory bus fees and luggage handling charges exacted in dinars. Also, don't attempt to enter Jordan from Israel via the Allenby as a foreigner without a Jordanian visa—you'll be turned back at one of the Israeli check points.

The border has been peaceful for generations now, and there are few visible reminders of the war fought across this river in 1973. There used to be a few burned-out armored vehicles on the Jordan side where there was a spirited defense of territory, but they've either been removed or have fallen into history. As a sign of how relations are now between the two countries, there is a freeway being built between Jerusalem and Amman. A freeway! How Western can you get? Already, cars with Jordanian license plates are already visible in Israel.

Jordan is an enlightened country and an example of how an Arab country can cope—and thrive—with peace and religious minorities. While it is an absolute monarchy, there is a balance between parliamentary rule of law and royal dictates. In a sense, the King provides the moral compass while the government worries about macro and micro management. Make no mistake, though, the King is the power in Jordan.

Christians, amounting to only about three percent of the population, have a vibrant public life and churches are common. No one seems to be put-upon or suffer discrimination. Palestinians are well represented in government and ministries. Such accord is not only extraordinary in the Mid-East; it seems to be increasingly uncommon in Europe or even, with its ultra-conservative political insurgency, America. I don't want to be a Pollyanna, but it has been thirty years since I was in Jordan, and I am much impressed with its accomplishments in becoming a modern, civil and progressive country.

King Hussain's Auto Museum

One of his favorites toward the end of reign. Like the king, an exceptional example of its kind.

The King Hussain Park in Amman is a large, entirely landscaped public park on the side of one of the city's hills. While the trees are still in adolescence, it's a pretty park and offers some great views of the city spread out below. It's a favorite place to walk and picnic by residents, especially in the early evening, well protected and clean as a pin. If I wanted to find just one remarkable difference in Amman from the city I first visited in the mid-Seventies, it would be how clean it now is. Put the reason down to security, or culture, but there is almost no litter, and public spaces are clear of the vandalism found in almost all urban centers. That this city is in the mid-East makes its tidiness all the more exceptional. Jerusalem is a mess in comparison, and Ramallah should be ashamed of the comparison.

The late King Hussain was extraordinarily fond of automobiles and motorcycles, and Jordan has built a special building for the public display of his collection and of the automobiles used for state purposes during his long reign. I've been in a lot of automobile museums in my day, and Jordan's effort will stand up to any of them. The park and the museum at the top of the hill deserve the attention of any visitor.

Not all of the cars were used by the late King; some are donated or on loan. It's an eclectic display, with everything from early military armored cars and motorcycles to the latest 1001 hp Bugatti, and if you like Rolls Royce, this collection will make you very happy. The King obviously searched out the mechanically unusual and was intrigued by technological advances in auto design. There's a Cord, a 1949 Chrysler "Woodie" convertible, some truly exceptional Ferraris, a few armored Cadillacs, two Lincolns, at least one Packard, a BMW Z1, an old Lotus, a smattering of Porsches…well, you get the idea. Aside from antiques and rarities, the 50s and 60s are well represented. For some reason best known to him, he liked Buick.

All cars are neatly and effectively displayed and you can (but shouldn't) get close enough to touch. You have to resist the temptation to climb inside some of the cockpits. I do wish they would raise the illumination level in places—it's difficult at times to read the descriptions and stories behind the cars, which are well done for the most part. Harley Davidson fans will enjoy the exhibit (there's a ridiculously opulent example that he liked to ride), and there are some very early German two-and three-wheelers, although I'm personally cool to all cycles—I've laid down my share.

As with the best of museums, there are multimedia presentations of the King racing many of his cars. He seems to have really enjoyed speed and was an accomplished hill-climber, setting some records that resisted betterment for more than a decade. He loved to rally, and several of his rally cars are here.

I think that one of the things that make the museum so interesting is that he used these cars. He had affection for his autos and cycles, they were an important part of his private life, and somehow this makes the man, already exceptional, all the more one of us.

In Jerash

The crossroads of ancient Roman Arabia. Take the next right to Syria...or is it left?

We spent much of the day in Jerash, one of the larger cities in Jordan, less than an hour from Amman to the north and not far from Syria. It is home to one of the best restored Roman ruins in the Middle East. It had been thirty years since I last visited Jerash and the changes were numerous. Not only had the restorations proceeded apace, there was a better approach to making them approachable by the public, and more opportunities for an improved revenue stream for the state. This is essential, for if a heritage site of this magnitude and historical importance can't make money, it can't support the continuing dig and reconstruction essential to its commercial viability.

Jordan also considers its citizen's rights to the country's history. For a resident, the entrance fee to the controlled site is one-half dinar or about 70 U.S. cents; for tourists, its eight dinars or over eleven U.S. dollars. It's still a bargain and one the best eleven dollars you'll ever spend for an afternoon's activity, especially as you can walk and climb all over the ruins, many of which have been put back to use (the hippodrome and the excellent amphitheater). In fact, you'll need a half-day—it's that big.

I had the definite impression that the entire enterprise was a bit underfunded and suffered from inattention. This was all the more surprising as it's the second most important tourist site in Jordan (following Petra), and has such an enormous potential. Staff was mostly out of sight and the entire area—and this is a BIG site—was rather shabby: signs weathered and bent, trash uncollected, exhibits dusty and dark. There is a dearth of explanation throughout the site and the educational aspects could receive more attention. It was out of season, of course, but there were many tourists trekking about. Perhaps I'm being a bit unfair, and things will get spiffed up for the winter and spring seasonal traffic.

I could write more about the site, for example its unusual oval forum with a beautiful colonnade, the amphitheater, the Cardo or shopping street, or Artemis's temple, or… But frankly, if you can read this you can do your own research. I suggest Wikipedia, which has an excellent summary of Jerash's (Gerasa of Roman times) past and present. Not mentioned however, is the rocking column in Artemis's temple known to locals and tour guides. Erosion and time has left the huge column moving in the wind. The movement is barely discernable, but someone has levered a spoon to illustrate the movement. You have to clamber about a bit to see it. Disconcerting but fun.

Jordan has done a good job of keeping the modern city at arm's length and has respected the cultural value of the Roman constructs. That said, there is so much to ancient Jerash that it pops up throughout the city of today—it's never out of sight. An example was the restaurant where we had lunch, called Yahala (Arabic for You're Welcome—a familiar term, sort of like the French tu rather than the more formal vous). This is an old and somewhat eccentrically-decorated large restaurant built into the side of a hill, and adjacent to the site boundary. Look up, and you can see part of the ruins; you can even climb up and inspect them close-up. This eatery has poignancy for the family; members have been coming here since it opened in 1973. Many of the tables are tucked away at different levels under the trees. It's a wonderful place to lose a couple of hours and find peace of mind. Don't be put off by the neighborhood which is a bit shabby. The restaurant is friendly and recommended.

The trip to Jerash is through some of the most beautiful terrain Jordan offers, and the road is now modern. The region is mountainous with some great views, so the drive is well worth while even without a visit to the ruins. Jordan is several generations into reforesting its lands and has several programs to encourage the planting of trees. The benefits are now very visible.

In Trier

High Street in Trier

If you're the type of person that enjoys a certain structure to life, you will appreciate Germany. And if you find Germany sympathetic, you'll LOVE Trier, one of the oldest cities in Germany, an ancient Roman town full of ruins, and a hugely-popular regional shopping community on the Mosel river. For some reason, I seem to fit in German clothes; I've been buying hats there for decades.

Trier is very near the border with Luxembourg, and a pleasant drive can be had from Remich in the south of Luxembourg along highway 10 (the Route du Vin) hugging the Mosel into Trier. There are several wine caves along the route offering visits and samples. If you like light, white, and rather sweet wines, you'll be happy here. In truth, it's not the wines that charm me here, it's the natural beauty and sense that all's well with the world.

We decided to stop in Trier on our way back to Brussels from Trittenheim rather than the reverse. In this way, you approach the city from the east, through the industrial areas, but are led inexorably to the town center. You may want to do the same, as the road down from the expressway down the escarpment into Trier is winding, ending with a passage over a relatively narrow bridge, and thus almost always suffers from stop-and-go traffic. Be prepared to be patient when arriving; departing is easier as you're putting the bridge behind you while climbing out of the valley.

The Porto Negro, with optional train.

For the first time in years, I got lost trying to find the precise parking lot we traditionally used and ended up in the middle of the shopping area instead of parking outside the entrance at the Porto Negro, one of the more impressive Roman-era structures in Trier. (The other is the Baths.) This was not a problem; there is usually lots of parking, but market days, holidays and Saturdays, as in all rural centers, can be intensely busy.

Some things never change and Trier certainly looked much the same as we left it five years ago. We had a bratwurst mit brot and hot mustard at our favorite place, followed by a Bitburger beer (Bitte ein Bit). Trier cooking seems to have a Gallic influence (perhaps through adjacency with Luxembourg) and is better off for it. Fried foods are lighter on the oil and there's a broader menu available. When in doubt as to where to find a decent meal, follow the crowds. Germans have a lot of fast foods; Americans will feel at home.

Our favorite time in Trier has always been (other than the wine-tasting season in the fall) right before Christmas. Trier has a huge Christmas market that spreads over the expansive town center, filled with booths, crowds, smells and tastes of the season. There's evergreen everywhere, colored lights, music, the German mulled wine called Glühwein with cinnamon served in those silly souvenir cups, the nip in the air, frost on the breath and, of course, the bratwurst, sour-kraut and sautéed onions (also often on the breath). If there is a Santa Claus, he would be German. Wait, he is German.

It was a bit sad to leave Trier; we don't know when we'll be back, and a visit there always gives a cheery boost to our spirits. At the end of the day, we returned to Brussels, cold weather and jackets (it's AUGUST for Pete's sake), and planning for the next stage of our trip: leaving Europe and getting ready for wedding #3, the Niece.

Moseying down the Mosel

Civilized, rural bliss.

Toward the end of our time in Brussels, we did what we used to do quite often when living there: we made a little road trip down the expressway, through Luxembourg, to the German border city of Trier and the adjacent Mosel valley. The ancient city of Trier and the Mosel wine-growing region are among our most favored places in Europe, and for many years we never let more than a few months go by without a day or two on the Mosel. I couldn't leave this year without at least one night on, and a drive along this beautiful and peaceful river.

For those similarly inclined, I suggest taking exit 53 after Trier to get onto the Mosel river road as soon as possible, and an overnight in either Trittenheim or Bernkastel Kues. We have stayed with the Heribert Boch families for decades (and have seen their children grown) and recommend their guest house as one of the most pleasant, clean and reasonably priced on the Mosel. They are also generous with the wine tasting and pour a fine grape; their products are award-winners. After an evening sitting on the patio working your way through your stress and a bottle, I particularly recommend the unfermented grape juice served with the German breakfast, and don't leave without a case of their wine in the trunk. They make and bottle it under the guest house. Drink it while it's fresh.

One other tip in Trittenheim: N. loves the apple strudel (okay, so do I) served at a restaurant 200 meters up the Moselweinstrasse at the junction of the road leading to the bridge. If the directions seem a bit vague, be comforted that this is a village and you can find your way home with your eyes closed. Trittenheim makes a good base point for exploring the western Mosel valley and is less than an hour from Trier.

About 50km from Trier, and twenty-minutes past Trittenheim, is Bernkastel and, across the river from the medieval town, the more modern city of Kues. We haven't spent much time in Kues, but Bernkastel is well worth the visit, although a bit touristy. For the hardy (or fool-hardy), take the path up the mountain to the castle and restaurant (for which the town is named). It's a good place for a drink and a view of the river. We've stayed at various guest houses and hotels in Bernkastel; one we can recommend is Haus Bonsai (yes, really), which also gives you a running start on the mountain path. Talk to Danny and all will be clear about the name. Her husband is quite the handyman and has built an elaborate frontal restaurant or bar on their guesthouse. He has put years into it; we've seen it in various stages of construction, and it now seems to be almost finished. I'm sure Danny is pleased. Bernkastel is a pedestrian town, so access the guesthouse through the tunnel, a right-turn when approaching the town.

This year, the river was a bit full, but nothing like we've seen it, or similar to the floods the Mosel cities have experienced in the past. (Look for the high-water marks on Bernkastel buildings.) One year, we couldn't use the river-side parking as it was covered with water. This year the problem of parking was an unanticipated riverside wine festival.

October is the busy month for the Mosel. The annual wine tasting begins immediately after the September harvest and the Mosel is flocked by Germans and the Dutch with their bikes and hiking shoes, filling up the guesthouses and trailer-parks. In the many years of visiting the Mosel, we have always been able to find a room somewhere, but be prepared for some rejection if you intend visiting during the busy fall and summer seasons. Also, these are family businesses, and many close during the winter months.

I realize this reads like a travelogue, and my apologies are offered, but most visitors to Europe spend far too much time in the urban areas and leave without any sense of rural Europe. Visiting the Mosel offers a civilized and convenient opportunity to soak up the innate beauty and serenity of the German countryside. Oh yes, and drink some delightful, light wines.

Eid ul-Fitr in Bethlehem

The party is just getting started on Manger Square

We made the trek to Bethlehem yesterday for a drink and—for R. and me—a cigar. R. once operated a hotel with a great garden restaurant on the edge of Manger Square, and the Palace remains one of our favorite places for a family-and-friends evening. What made it special yesterday was that it was the second day of the Eid ul-Fitr, the Moslem holiday marking the end of Ramadan. While the family is all Christian to the core, the evening provoked important memories for me: my introduction to the Middle East was on the eve of the Eid many years ago.

Bethlehem is an example of Christian and Moslem commonality. A few decades ago it was entirely a Christian city—today the faith is in the minority, primarily due to the migration of Christians to more comfortable climes in concern for their families' future, and the phenomenal birthrate of the Moslem population. This decline in influence has not been received without some bitterness on the Christian side, but everyone lives in Greater Bethlehem inside their own communities with no more acrimony than you would find in Gainesville, Florida. I think the Christians are reconciled to becoming a small minority in Palestine, and most political issues dealing with Israel inevitably reduce to Islam/Jewish frictions. If there is irony in this, it is that among the three religions, the Jews and Moslems rituals and fundamentals have the most in common—the Christians are the odd-man out from a religious perspective, so to speak. And that's a pity, in a sense, as the Christians have the upper-hand in reconciliation, compromise and turning-the-other-cheek. It makes you realize how different New Testament Christianity really is from Old Testament Judaism and Islam.

Be that as it may, the evening turned cool as it got dark and conversation quickly turned to the upcoming wedding of our niece in a couple of weeks. R. and I set fire to about fifty dollars worth of tobacco, while I slumped in my chair, sipped wine, listened to the buzz about me and felt greatly content. A few meters away, in Manger Square, cars churned and honked, people promenaded, and the city came alive in celebration of the end of the fast. There were a lot of Christmas lights set out to celebrate the Eid (there is an immense amount of irony in Palestine), and, later in the evening, it took us some time to weave our way through the crowds, out of town and back to Jerusalem. There was a substantial presence of PA police, but their interaction with the population was more jovial than remonstrative.

Bethlehem is difficult to describe. In some sense it's a big city, spread out over several mountains and encompassing a number of very large communities. Readers may recall my blog on Beit Jallah, a mostly Christian community adjacent to Bethlehem. In other ways Greater Bethlehem is simply a collection of small Arab towns with adjacent borders, possessing an older core, but just as dispersed as you find modern urban centers in the U.S. The Old City is fairly small and compact, and the road system—upgraded substantially by an EU investment years ago, then severely degraded by a subsequent Israeli military incursion—while greatly improved over that of a few decades ago is still narrow and hazardous. Traffic rules either don't exist, or have long been forgotten, but with a liberal application of invective and bravado, everyone seems to get where they want to go eventually.

Unlike Jerusalem, Bethlehem is unique in that there is no Israeli presence or occupation. It is an city with an Arab character through and through, and, for bad or for good, it is exceedingly pleasant place to visit.

Back in Jerusalem

It's beautiful to me.

We're a bit out of time sequence with this posting as it's almost a month since I last visited the blog. Put the blame on a) lasting-and-serial cold miseries for both of us, and b) a subsequent lack of inertia. We are back in Jerusalem after almost two months in Europe with visits here and there, and the sun and warmth of Palestine is welcome. Other than a couple of initial weeks in July of pleasant temperatures, even Italy became a bit nippy; northern Europe was down-right cold. We should have known and prepared better. I intend to write more about our Brussels, the Netherlands, Luxembourg and German adventures.

On our return to Jerusalem we stopped in Bergamo again for a three-day auto tour of the lakes district around Lecco, Como and Bellagio, and to thaw, of which I will also write more later.

Struggling with luggage in the dark has never been my favorite past-time, and Bergamo airport was FULL of people at 0600 hrs. Laden with Belgian chocolate for us, friends and family, we were bounced for having too much luggage, and, because of extra-bag and overweight charges, we ended up with some of the most expensive chocolate Belgium ever produced. The intention was to bring enough to Florida for friends, but if you think you might qualify, I would suggest restraining any anticipation; we still have a month to go and I dearly love chocolate.

We were again surprised at the opulence and efficiency of the Tel Aviv airport. The airport twenty years ago was pretty dismal, but it can now be considered one of the best terminals in our rather extensive experience. Of course, coming into the country is one thing, going out, with the attendant security, is quite another. The best part is that the next time we visit the Tel Aviv airport it will be to fly home.

R. and I drove to Bethlehem yesterday (Friday) on the first days of Eid ul-Fitr (the Moslem holiday at the end of Ramadan) and the Jewish New Year. It was the perfect storm of holidays. Both Jerusalem and Bethlehem was very quiet, as you would expect. This trip involves two crossings between the PA and Israel, but even the border point was empty and a formality. We did see at least one check post established on the Jerusalem side with traffic lined up, so there was the usual close watch by the authorities during Fridays and religious holidays.

We heard much more in Europe of the planned desecration of the Moslem Koran by the little sect in Florida, mostly from U.S. news shows. Here, it hasn't even come up in conversation, and television seems preoccupied with other topics. If there ever was a manufactured crisis of mouse-sized proportions, this is it. People we know seem to be slightly bemused at the tizzy the plan to burn the Koran has caused in the U.S.; they seem to understand that doing stupid things and living a life of naïve ignorance is protected as an American birthright, and that Fox News and CNN make money blowing things out of size. Pakistan may be an exception, as there is a history of finding excuses to burn down the American Embassy.

There is far more interest in the now and future peace talks between Israel and the Palestinian Authority, as well as an equal amount of skepticism about any success. We'll keep an eye on this over the coming days.

Such monumental considerations are over the horizon for us today. The sun is shining, it's about 27 C. on the shaded porch, a big lunch is in preparation, and we're back with family. And somehow, somewhere, I've picked up about five kilos around the middle.

Geneva Fireworks

As promised, here's the finale to the first part of the fireworks at Geneva. It was a perfect evening, clear and warm, and the river and lake banks were full of people eating, drinking and just having a great time.

They break the show into two parts to allow the smoke to dissipate, as it can become so dense as to obscure the show and become an annoyance to viewers.

In Torino

Torino at night.

There are those who say they don't like Torino much. They say the town is a little too industrial for their taste. It's too far north. It has too many rough edges; it's too flat. Well, to me it's not any of those things. Torino is one of my favorite Italian towns. It gives me the same gut feeling as, say, New York: a bustle, sophistication, ethnic diversity and hustle that can charge your spirit and challenge your senses. It reminds me of Seoul in the 70's—it gives off an aura of knowing its purpose and having a direction. It also has a fantastic history (it was the first capital of a united Italy) and a rich cultural heritage that is under-appreciated; it's well worth a visit. Torino has things to do and stuff to build (it's the center of the Italian automobile industry, and an industrial powerhouse), and if you can't appreciate the city for what it is, then, well, too bad for you. I like Torino's attitude.

This is not to say that you can't have fun in Torino, or won't be stunned by the city's surrounding natural beauty. There are the Alps just to the north and minutes away; Genoa and the Med to the south; Cocconato, Milan and the lakes Como, Lecco, Maggiore and Garda to the east by an hour or three at the most, and to the west, there is France. The city lends itself well to be the center of an exploration of northwest Italy. And Torino has its share of typical tourist attractions including its covered walkways and, of course, being the home to the famous Shroud of Turin (Torino is the Italian name of the city).

It's a city to walk in; you can go almost anywhere in the city core using the distinctive covered walkways, a special attraction of Torino. They were built to provide a covered route from the palace to the river Po for a princess in the 19^th century and offer shade or protection from the rain.

Driving in the city, on the other hand, is not recommended unless you have suicidal impulses. It's like driving in the rest of Italy: dangerous but exhilarating. Traffic doesn’t necessarily follow streets; cars can—and often do—use sidewalks, parking lots or any other venue that may offer itself in aid of getting them where they want to go. The Italians don't mark lanes on many streets; it is traffic as the crow flies. Step carefully.

N. and L. wanted to see the Shroud of Turin museum, which they reportedly found interesting, although all they saw was an image of the original. The real shroud is not exhibited at the best of times, and the copy that was on display during our first visit years ago is apparently now only shown irregularly. We just missed a rare four week display of the original shroud, or what was represented to be such. If you're interested in religious relics, both the museum and the nearby church of the shroud are both worth a visit.

I was more interested in revisiting the Caffé Torino. We've made a point of having at least a coffee at the café during every visit to the city. We found it, as expected, much the same as remembered, although N. reported that she noted some deterioration from our last visit five years ago. The gold bull in the sidewalk that marks the café was still bright. I'm not sure why, but tourists like to step on the bull's rear end; it must bring them luck or maybe they just like the idea.

We stayed the night at a Best Western hotel in the city within walking distance of the rail station, the center of the city and beginning of Via Roma, the primary shopping street. If you like to spend money on the inconsequential, you can be happy in Torino. The hotel was surprisingly good, and as we had a penthouse room with a great outside balcony, there was a superb view of the city, particularly that night. Dinner at a nearby restaurant was less than brilliant and a bit pricy, but it gave us a chance at our first Italian pasta in far too long a time.

In Geneva

It's not Venice, but the water's clean.

Last night was the Geneva day celebrations for this year, as usual capped by one of the best firework displays in Europe. (I'll put up the finale as a video and include the URL reference in a future blog.) We had dinner in the open air at the Café de Centre then walked fifty meters to the riverside to view the display. The weather was perfect, and many of the city's residents had poured into the riverside and along the lake to party. It was on a similar day of celebration that I first visited Geneva many years ago, and, as I recall the city then, there is little observable difference today.

I have mixed feelings about Geneva; in many ways it's a business and money city, without a great deal of personal warmth. Like many European cities in the post-war era, they put up some atrocious buildings in the downtown, mostly aluminum and glass packing crates. It will take a long time to get rid of them and replace them with designs more appropriate to the city's history and culture. On the other hand, control-freaks will love the many layers and degree of public administration in Switzerland. This is an organized town. Traffic is horrible; the streets are mostly under construction, with new subterranean fiber cabling, piping and tram rails being laid. I'm told it will be like this for years to come.

Geneva's old city, up on the hill, is not without charm, but then, it's old, and when compared to the modern lower city, it's peaceful and has many interesting shops. There was one enterprise selling antique scientific instruments that appealed to me in particular, but then, I like shiny, complicated things. The old city is well worth a walk, but be careful of the idiots driving the narrow streets.

It seems that if you visit European cities, eventually you end up in the local cathedral—and this is the case in Geneva. It certainly is the most interesting structure we visited. The cathedral in the old city, with its 1,700 year documented history isn't much to look at inside or out, when compared with some of the truly magnificent churches in Europe. Perhaps there is too much Calvinist influence. Then again (there are always at least two sides to any comment about Geneva), archeology has created a wonderful dig underneath the cathedral and documented the constant human occupation and building on the site since the third century. There is an exhibit under the cathedral where you can literally wander amid the excavations for eight euro, four if you're old enough to dodder, and see the structure as it existed at various times. With a few more euro and strong legs, you can walk to the top of the tower and see a spectacular view of Geneva, if you're into that sort of thing.

Geneva is about money, and this is a very rich town. Evidence of wealth is everywhere, and if you are one of the financially-challenged, it can be fairly depressing. The city is not particularly expensive for Europe until you get into luxury items, like food, clothing and housing. Eating simple is okay, but if you insist on tablecloths, prepare to hurt in the wallet area. Our experience of dining in Geneva was not that great. We found much of the food to be over-cooked and unimaginative—a surprise in what is, in effect, a French city. I'm sure there are fine restaurants here but I don't think my expectation of moderate pricing and sufficient care in food preparation is that exceptional. The same can be said of the wines: there is a natural bias to locally-grown vines, not altogether deserved.

I like the Swiss, but I'm not entirely sure why. They are obsessive about security and have some really strange views about sequestering themselves in this age of European consolidation. While the euro is essentially a second currency here, and travel to and from Switzerland by EU citizens is simple and open, this is the only country I know of that requires—today—that new residential buildings contain a bunker behind a blast door, stocked with air, water and food for its residents in the event of a nuclear attack. I find this attitude odd in a country known for peace, neutrality, the UN and charitable works, but such paranoia should resonate with many Americans convinced that everyone is out to get them.

The lake and river are Geneva's main claim to natural beauty, other than the surrounding mountains, of course. I don't think there is any sight more uplifting to the spirit, or more reassuring to a feeling of permanence and continuity of life than to pass through the Alps on a clear day. In Florida, more than anything, I think, even considering the food, culture, democracy and diversity of Europe, I miss the Alps.

The Chocolate Factory

If Belgium is known for one thing (other than 800+ types of beer and a fragile political system) it is chocolate. Other countries may make some claim or the other, but not one takes chocolate as seriously as do the Belgians. The country has strict laws that aggressively define what is, and what isn't chocolate, and they get really upset when claims are made for products that don't meet the minimum percentage of cocoa mass. While the U.S. and even the EU have compromised the integrity of chocolate—it's just a matter of time before popular U.S. chocolate is degraded into random vegetable fats, emulsifiers and food coloring—the Belgians have remained obstinate. I say: good for them.

For those who grew up thinking Hershey's or Mars bars were the highest quality chocolate to which we could aspire, Belgian chocolate will prove an eye-opener. Simply put, there is no substitute for the incredibly rich texture, subtle range of flavors and overtones, craftsmanship and intense joy that it provides.

The big Belgian names in chocolate—now popular worldwide—are known to most, but it should not be surprising that the Belgians think that the very best chocolate is produced by small craft shops hidden away from the main-stream. Shops like Mary, considered one of the finest chocolatiers in Belgium (stated to be a favorite of the Royal Family should you find such things important), which is tucked into a store and workshop on Rue Royale.

L. has directed us to a very interesting vendor on Ch. de Charleroi called Zaabär, and its Chocolate Factory is truly pocket-sized but somewhat unique. Its chocolates are superb. One of the things that differentiate Zaabär is that they vacuum seal their bar chocolate. Most wrap or seal in paper or light foil, exposing the chocolate to bloom caused by humidity or rapid temperature change. Not so with Zaabär, and their packaging is innovative and classy, also great for shipping. It's a bit pricy, but then, I think it's worth it. This is chocolate that you savor and relish in small portions.

One of the things to do in Brussels is to tour one of the workshops offered by several of the chocolatiers. Mary, for example, has tours of its new factory in the old—now converted—Arsenal in Etterbeek (a commune of Brussels). Zaabär offers a tour by default as their shop IS its factory, and you're surrounded by the process while you walk around and sample the wares. The idea is to nibble to find your favorites and fill your basket at the same time. Each of the chocolate blends they make (and they make a lot of them, some very exotic and exciting) is on display with small bits available for tasting. If you go from start to finish, you can pretty much eat your fill. I highly recommend the chili blends for a hot finish to the chocolate flavor. You may know that chocolate comes from different regions, each with distinct overtones. My favorite at Zaabär is the Grenada-sourced dark (60% cocoa) chocolate.

Zaabär also offers the opportunity to join one of its classes, held twice a week, where for 20 euro you can learn to make your own chocolates. You can keep what you make, probably a good thing, as there can't be much demand for that pizza-flavored chocolate you're thinking about.

Two Surprises on the Way to Geneva

In the foothills of the Alps

It's been a long day of driving, not the happiest thing to do during the European vacation period. Through July and the first part of August, much of the population of Europe is on the road, for the most part headed south (in two weeks it's north). Weekends are the worst, which is why we traveled on Monday. There are several weekends labeled "Red" because of their traffic density, and reported on TV like sports events, with at least one picture of immense lines of cars stacked behind tunnel entrances or turnpike turnstiles. It wouldn't be summer without them.

We packed L.'s car and planned a route through Luxembourg, then south to Metz, Nancy and Dijon, and finishing up with a run through the French mountains into Geneva. This is a familiar route, and we must have driven it dozens of times. There was a great deal of traffic, as was expected, but as we stayed on the French turnpikes, the roads were safe and comfortable. My advice though: avoid the popular rest stops—vacations do not bring out the best characteristics of Europeans, or anyone for that matter.

Using the French roads is not cheap. The fee for the 500 km "payage" in France came to almost $40. (Imagine Florida charging $40 road fees to travel from J-Ville to Miami. I can see THAT happening in the near future.) Here, you do get something back for your money: smooth, wide, well-maintained roads through some of the most scenic countryside you will ever see. Traffic is also less on payage, and believe me when I say that that alone during the vacation period was worth the $40.

It was the first time in five years that we drove the expressway from Brussels to Luxembourg. We saw this road built over thirty years ago, re-built twice and repaved numerous times in the intervening years. It won't be long before it's again partially closed for resurfacing as a good length is in sad condition; road construction seems to be something beyond Belgian ken—or has a very low regional priority. The trees are very dense now on each side of the road and in the median; it's almost claustrophobic, and in places you can see very little of the Belgium—a pity, it's pretty. It reminded us of Ireland and its hedgerows.

France farm land, was, is, gorgeous. This is a civilized countryside, as you would expect after tens of centuries of tillage. As we left Dijon and headed on an eastward bent toward Geneva, we began climbing into the mountains and the views are stunning. The weather didn't cooperate fully and we ran into some rain and cloud, but on the good road it wasn't a problem.

We were early for our expected arrival in Geneva, so we decided to stop short of Switzerland and have dinner in a French village. After several false starts, and a great deal of negotiation over where to leave the expressway and strike out for a village, we decided upon Nantua, about 10km from the highway. It is a gem of a little town, laid out along a beautiful, green lake in a steep valley. We were a bit early for the restaurants, but located the Café Brasserie d'Centre near, as you expect from the name, the center. We ate what was offered, a simple menu of charcuterie, pork and rice, paired with an excellent Côte de Rhone wine, which, accompanied by a dessert, came to less than expected.

The evening wouldn't be complete without some excitement: our GPS decided that a forestry track up the side of the mountain was the means to regain the expressway. It was wrong. After bouncing along the precipice and scaring the bejesus out of the ladies (I was resolute, of course), I finally surrendered to the obvious, back-tracked, and the rest of the trip was without incident. We're now back in Switzerland for the first time in six years. Not many changes are expected.

A trashy blog

Wine bottles on the left and right, clear glass in the middle.

If willingness—nay, enthusiasm—to be responsible for recycling household trash is a valid measure of public social consciousness, then Belgium can be pretty proud of itself. Household debris in Brussels, as an example, must be categorized into plastics, glass, paper and garbage, placed in the appropriately colored bag or container, left at the curb on the appropriate day, or even hauled to neighborhood sites for disposal. Glass, for example, must be carried to central bins, again sorted by color, and subsequently tossed in the correct container. While the regime varies somewhat by commune, Belgium is collectively dark-green in an environmental sense. Even its politics has a strong Green Party representation.

The Federal state has assessed a charge for the ultimate disposal of electrically-powered and other devices composed of hazardous materials that require special treatment or disassembly when reaching their end-of-life. If you bought a TV or an electric razor, you would find a small amount added to the bill for just that purpose, with the charges going toward the operation of regional recycling centers which do the necessary. Again, the citizen must save up his items and make a trip to the communal disposal for this to work, but the policy seems to be embraced by most. Belgians seem to understand the necessity to look after their countryside, perhaps because there is so little of it, and what isn't occupied is so intensely beautiful. Most of us have little experience in dealing with radioactive wastes and other nasty goops found in modern electronic appliances, and, in you think about it, you don't want to bury such substances near your ground water, either. Unfortunately, for us in Florida, anything placed below knee-level is close to ground water.

There's less trash to be treated in Belgium, in part because residents a) are often more cautious in buying stuff for which they can't see an important purpose or function (something that doesn't get in the way of American consumerism), and b) stuff lasts longer or is considered functional for a longer period. Thus, there just is less remaining for ultimate disposal. When N. and I moved to the U.S. we were amazed at the quantity and variety of stuff left at the curb for pickup by the trash trucks. Entire households seem to be gutted regularly and left to the city for disposal. Perhaps as a result of this trashy incontinence, our current city is obsessed with the size and future of its land-fill sites. (There is almost no recycling in our State—they just bury the junk; out of sight, out of mind.). Contract values for digging a hole, throwing trash therein, and covering the hole (to be admittedly simplistic) are enormous. Waste disposal is a very big business in the U.S., and business is good, depending upon your perspective.

Europe, and much of the rest of the world, is taking a different tack, and having lived the regimen, I'm sympathetic to its ambitions. After all, recycling is such a simple task, requiring so little of our time, and yet returning such enormous, long-term benefits. Some find the bottle banks, spotted around Brussels and other cities in Belgium as ugly; a blight. I think they are beautiful.

Getting from here to there

It seems rather obvious to me.

One of the really neat things about successful European cities (where success is measured by the scale and nature of living) and a few American metropolises (shouldn't this be metropolii?) is the ease of getting about within them. My view holds that public mobility is the fundamental reason for a city's viability, and is at the heart of economic progress and civil harmony. In this, I agree with most Europeans.

Buses, trams, underground metros, light rail, economical taxi networks and other people-movers, are then good for people. On the other hand, you can blame automobiles, at least partially, for virtually every urban economic and social pestilence you can mention: economic deprivation, pollution, squandering of natural resources, social estrangement, political and corporate corruption, and the general decline of public worth and health. It is one of the most inefficient, impractical and expensive gadgets you can own. But then, what do I know. I own two of them. Obviously, the car serves a purpose; we are just not certain whether it is to promote transport or ego.

It's not that Brussels doesn't have cars on the street; it has far too many. Streets are narrow and parking is sparse outside commercial parking garages. But if there is a plus to Brussels' account, the cars are by necessity mostly small, fairly economical when compared to their American cousins, and they operate in parallel with not one but four large and interconnected public transport networks. As well, automobiles here contribute in some measure to balancing their social costs through large annual assessments (especially for luxury cars) and petrol taxes. A thorough, mandatory annual inspection of all vehicles from cars to public buses ensures some degree of public safety and conformance to pollution abatement. For the most part, these measures work, as cars remain small on the average with economical but efficient engines, and fuel consumption is necessarily low. (30 miles per gallon is not unusual for in-town driving, with petrol at about $6.50 per gallon.)

But if you live anywhere in Brussels—anywhere in Belgium—you have an inexpensive and readily-available public transport system near your door. Each of the four systems—tram, metro underground, light rail and bus—connect at various points, and fares are cheap and structured so that you can start with one system and use the others where necessary to reach your destination, as long as you're going one direction. Until the tram was extended in our neighborhood, for example, we would take the bus downtown; now we would have the choice of the bus, or a combination of tram and metro. We took the bus even though we had a car; it cost more to park the automobile than to ride the bus.

An important reason Brussels works is because you can get around so easily and cheaply. I believe there is no better investment for a city than to provide citizens with an affordable, clean, reliable and pervasive public transport. Virtually all European cities (and those U.S. cities that still support viable centers) point this out: public mobility is essential to a thriving and workable core.

J-Ville complains a lot about the decline of its downtown. Its solution is to provide 300 parking spaces. I think that central to its problem is the inadequacy of the city's public transport, ergo, the failure of government to so provide. When I last checked, they couldn't even arrange for bus shelters.

There's no doubt public transport is expensive to operate, and private enterprise is ill-suited to underwrite the costs and subsidies required, a big negative in America. (Why involve a profit-making company when the public assumes responsibility for capital and risk and tops-off operating expenses.) But if a city thinks of itself as a city, and not an amalgamation of neighborhoods and shopping centers, clean, secure and reliable public transport is the first consideration it should make.

The Weekly Market

A bit primitive, but it works for me.

Every week, rain or shine, holidays or not, there is an open-air market in Uccle on Wednesdays. In theory, it only stretches along one city-block-long median parking, but in fact, cafés and a variety of stores along a three-block stretch of the street take part, along with a good number from the side streets. It's a great business opportunity, and everyone wants to get into the game. Quite aside from the offering of everything from snacks to meats to cheeses to clothes to vegetables, it is one very big happy-hour, as wine booths selling by the glass and bottle are set up to take advantage of the crowds.

Virtually every neighborhood in Brussels has such a market at least once a week. Many of the vendors move their trucks and goods between markets each day and have for generations. When we lived here, our market was on Sunday and, due to its weekend appearance, drew people from miles around. There was very little that you couldn't find at our market, and if it wasn't there it probably wasn't worth having.

Weather is always a factor when outdoors in northern Europe, of course, but Bruxellois are used to rain, so crowds still appear in the most miserable of seasons. But yesterday the weather was incredible: warm, with mostly sunshine, and the market was subsequently packed. If you don't like crowds the market is a place to avoid, but if you're a people-watcher, there is no better opportunity to enjoy the variety of dress and attitudes people put on for public places.

The market is a favorite meeting place for locals and business professionals working in the area. To walk through the wine stalls is to be inundated with a sea of passionate greetings and air-kissing. Every country has its traditional method of greeting friends and relatives; in Belgium, we use three kisses, aimed at the ears from alternating cheeks. (Please; no jokes.) Since you have to do this with everyone you haven't seen since lunch, there is a lot of kissing going on most of the time. Somehow, no one seems to mind.

I bought a glass of white wine from two men selling off a card table. I chose them because: a) they had the biggest crowd, always a good sign of quality product and value for money, and b) they had the cheapest price; an advantage of low overhead, I suppose. Now, here's where buying wine in Belgium makes a difference: the wine and glass was chilled just right, it was served in a clean, proper glass (plastic never touched my lips), and it cost about $3. I could have had the entire bottle for $12.

I had to give the glass back, of course. Each glass is painted on the bottom to identify the seller, necessary because people buy here and wander there; you have no idea where the glass winds up at the end of the day. No one seems to be bothered by this, as drinkers maneuvered for the sunlight or groups of common friends.

I sipped my wine while walking down the aisles formed by the booths and browsed the luscious vegetables laid out to view, the huge cheese selections, the olives, spices, sausages and hams, etc. One large booth specialized in leather watch bands. Puce seemed to be a popular color. The owner seemed happy, but I wondered how many people would search out a watch-band shop at an open-air market; I would think of it more as an impulse sale. Perhaps she was there for the ambiance, the sun and the wine. I know I was.