September 16, 2008

Finally, we picked up our own wheels and once again we’re free. Free, free, free at last! Which brings up an interesting point. When we were in London, we were talking to a local who told us they’re not required to carry any form of ID. No driver’s license, social security, proof of insurance or anything. They said attempts had been made to change that but it was resisted because it was considered to be an infringement on personal liberties. Imagine that, our forefathers left Europe in search of life liberty and the pursuit of happiness only to evolve to a point where we now have less personal freedom than those back where we came from. Irony!

Since Pope Benedict was still in Paris and scheduled to speak at Notre Dame on Friday night, we decided on our way back to the hotel to try and get away from all of the congestion and head for the “Right” bank, (north of the Seine River) to find a nice quite place for dinner. Think again Sherlock! I’ve driven in New York, Chicago and L.A. all of which pales in comparison to driving with Parisians. (I have to say Ed’s driving is stupendous! dz.) The people in the cars are nuts but predictable. Can’t say the same about the hot shots (male and female) on the “Crotch Rockets” who are maniacs and bent on suicide. They’re allowed to weave between, in front of and around cars and generally go anywhere they feel like going. And, since they comprise about 10% of the vehicles it’s not something you can ignore. Change lanes without looking and you’ve added a new appendage to your car. After an hour and 20 miles north of the river, there was no change in congestion. So, needing a break from the dodge-em cars routine, we eventually came upon an upscale area just north of the Louve. We parked the car and walked some of the back streets looking for romantic Paris. We found Le Treilhard Brasserie and after dinner, stopped at a local market and bought a bottle of French wine for 2.49 Euro. I think I’m going to like France!

Early Saturday, we headed north to the Champagne region. Along the way, I had to stop for a cup of coffee and other necessities and much to Dorothea’s chagrin stopped at a McDonald’s. The coffee was good but no “Egg-McMuffins.” None-the-less, while we were there, we planned our route to the Champagne Country and Epernay, the home of Moet et Chandon and Dom Perignon. When we got there we found we were a couple of weeks early for the harvest and only tours of the cellars and not the processing facilities were available. No matter, a glass of Brut Imperial made up for it.

We had planned to stay in Epernay but when we called, everything was booked. So north we went to Reims and then to Rethel. About 10:00 p.m. and not having much luck in finding a room we figured if we couldn’t sleep at least we could eat. We stopped at a small pizzeria and while talking with the proprietor told him of our search for a hotel. What resulted was somewhat typical of what we have found of all the French. Without being asked, he took the time to look up the phone numbers of the hotels in the area, brought his cell phone to our table and offered to call them and to lead us there in his car. It’s easy to understand generosity of the French underground to help so many Americans back to their lines during WWII. From what we have seen and experienced, the French are really friendly and go out of their way to help if treated with a little respect.

Sunday morning, the 14th. we headed to Belgium with a stop in Charleville for coffee and a scrumptious pastry filled with a peanut butter mouse (Heavenly! dz). From there we continued on and planned to stay outside of Brussels in Waterloo. Yep, the one in the same place where Napoleon met Wellington. We found a nice hotel/bed & breakfast in a residential area and set up camp for a couple of nights.

We made our way to Brussels via train, very easy and comfortable. The St. Michel’s Cathedral is beautiful. In doing some renovations they discovered very old artifacts which were on display. The Grand Place is huge, the gothic buildings are so ornate and the detail is unbelievable.

Our stint in the city was complete with seeing the original “Mannekin Pis” Statue, lunch in a local Brasserie followed by a Belgium waffle and depositing all of 20 Euros in a local Casino. We took the metro back to Waterloo in time for cocktails and dinner at a local restaurant recommended by our Inn-keeper. After ordering and receiving our order, I have never seen as pleading an expression on Dorothea’s face as when she looked at her entrée of “Filet Americana” and panicky said, “I don’t want to eat raw hamburger!!” Evidently, “Filet Americana” in Belgium means “Steak TarTar.”

View the associated pix in the photo album link sent in a separate email.

Ed and Dorothea