Urban Baker's Dozen concluded

David Gourley concludes his epic German journey.

Neues Rathaus, Hanover

From my base in Frankfurt I did a round trip taking in three cities in three different Länder. I started with Mannheim so it was back to Baden- Württemberg. This is not generally regarded as a tourist city.  Rhine cruises might stop there but the purpose will usually be to transfer people to its more glamorous neighbour, Heidelberg. So why go there? I'd had a hankering to go to Mannheim that dated all the way back to the early sixties. Holidays at that time in Austria entailed journeys by coach from Ostend. So we spent quite a bit of time on the German autobahnen where we kept on seeing signs for Mannheim which thereby became a place of mystery. All the more did we see these signs when once, in its vicinity, our driver started heading north towards Frankfurt rather than west to the Belgian frontier. "I hope he's not taking us to East Germany," whispered a lady in a nearby seat.

Mannheim was apparently a beautiful city before World War II but, rather as in Stuttgart, its centre was rebuilt in functional style. Again like Stuttgart, it is perfectly pleasant and historic buildings are to be found if one looks carefully. There is an interesting water tower (not open to the public) just outside the centre and the city's pride and joy is Mannheim Baroque Palace, parts of which are open to the public whilst others are used by the University of Mannheim. It is known as the "city of squares", due to the unusual grid pattern formed by its streets. I was glad that I'd been there. After fifty-odd years, my curiosity had been assuaged!
Mainz: This was my one excursion west of the Rhine and the one place also visited on our Rhine Cruise. On this stretch of the Rhine one gets two Land capitals for one's money: Mainz is the capital of the Rhineland Palatinate whilst Hesse's capital, Wiesbaden, is on the opposite bank.

History repeated itself. On our cruise we had run through pouring rain to get to one of the city's prime attractions, the Gutenberg Museum.Johannes Gutenberg, the inventor in Europe of the printing press, was born in the city though Strasbourg also claims him as a son. Now it was raining once more. Fortunately it was not as heavy as last time - though this would have to be virtually the one place on my itinerary where the city centre was some distance from the station, with signage not all that good! The rain did ease off, giving a chance to look round this historic city in the dry. No time second time round to go to the Museum but I did revisit the magnificent Cathedral.

Wiesbaden: At last a double-deck train! But for a journey lasting all of twelve minutes. Most cruise vessels sail past Wiesbaden, on their way to or from Mainz, but it is a city well worth visiting, an elegant spa town where hot springs flow to this day. During the Cold War period it was the HQ of the forces in the American Zone, one of the four, along with the British, French and Russian, that were carved out in occupied Germany. The troops arrived as occupiers but stayed on as allies. Apparently Elvis Presley was a frequent visitor to the city during his time in the army.

Dresden: I pressed on into former East Germany for my next two-night stop, Dresden. Whilst there is a direct train link from Frankfurt Airport to that city, there isn't, curiously enough, one from Frankfurt itself. So a change of train in Leipzig is necessary. We headed eastwards through the town of Fulda. In the Cold War it had been thought that the most likely route of any Soviet attack on Western Europe would be through the Fulda Gap. I was curious as to when we would be crossing what had once been the interzonal border or Iron Curtain having, unusually, not brought a map with me. I was assuming, as we'd been travelling for a while, that we had crossed it but I checked on my phone and found that we were still in Hesse. The line in this area turns north, paralleling the former divide before turning east at Bad Hersfeld. Thereafter one soon crosses the divide, thus entering the Land of Thuringia.

Today there is no trace whatever of what had once been termed the 'Ugly Frontier': the countryside on one side looks pretty much the same as on  the other. I have a book of that name, dating back to 1970, in which the author, David Shields, travels along the entire interzonal border, from the Baltic to the Czech frontier. The frontier fortifications at that time were, on the eastern side, multi-layered, stretching from the actual border past barbed wire, ploughed strips, guard dogs and watchtowers to the barrier cordoning off the hinterland. The author describes how the border, on its Hessian section, ran through one house in the village of Philippsthal. The family lived in the West, cut off from the decaying part of the building in the East.

Thuringia, it might be said, got unlucky after World War II. If one looked at a map of present-day Germany, not knowing where the border had once run, one might assume that it was a western Land, lying as it does due north of Bavaria. It was, though, liberated by the Americans who continued east through Leipzig to their rendezvous on the Elbe with the Red Army. But after a few weeks they pulled back to the agreed interzonal border, the quid pro quo being that western allies occupied their zones in Berlin. Thuringia thus became the westernmost outpost of the Soviet empire, just a hundred miles or so from the Rhine.
The train continued through the Thuringian capital, Erfurt, by all accounts a nice place to visit, and the historic city of Weimar, which gave its name to the short-lived democratic republic created after World War I. In Leipzig an unpleasant surprise awaited: there were no trains going to Dresden. Back home one is resigned to the fact that railway services can't be counted on to run 7/7 but at least engineering works usually take place at weekends. Here they were taking place on a Monday. So instead of reclining in a first-class carriage, I was shepherded into a crowded coach. It was an enjoyable journey nevertheless for I was sitting next to a charming German lady, Andrea. Her English was somewhat better than my schoolboy German so we mostly spoke in English. Andrea was from Stuttgart, heading for a conference in Dresden.

I was planning to return to Leipzig the next day for a look round and fretted that there might again be no trains.  I wanted to see more of that city than a backwards glance at its station as our coach headed out to the motorway. But Andrea thought the line was closed just for the one day and this was confirmed by the information office when I got to the station in Dresden. I had wondered as well how I would get to my hotel, the Kempinski, since this was the one place where it wasn't near the station. A different information office put me right. There was a tram that went straight there.

My hotel lay in the heart of historic Dresden, with the Zwinger Palace and Semper Opera House just across the road. But this was the one city where I did not get to look round the main shopping centre, which is centred on Prager Strasse, a stop on the tram route and some distance away. I was feeling rather tired and, though I did go out for a while, did not feel that I was doing the city justice. So the bulk of my exploration was undertaken the next day, after I got back from Leipzig.

The bombing of Dresden in the closing stages of World War II remains controversial. I do not feel I can second-guess those who thought that the bombing of this strategically located city would shorten the war against Hitler.  The Communist regime, to its credit, did a good job of restoring the city, known as 'Florence on the Elbe', and it is beautiful once again.  But it was an atheistic regime and there was one big gap that was unfilled. The magnificent church, the Frauenkirche, was finally rebuilt after reunification. Movingly it contains a cross of nails from Coventry Cathedral. The visitor to the historic centre of Dresden should make a point of crossing to the other side of the Elbe. Here there is the Japanese Palace (which from the outside does not look at all Japanese). The reason for coming here is the fantastic view across the river to the centre.

On my first night I dined in the Kempinski. It was a good meal but somewhat pricey and there wasn't a lot of choice. Just three mains - and I can't eat fish and don't want to eat vegetarian. So the next evening I hunted round for somewhere else to have dinner. I stumbled across, of all things, an Australian restaurant where I dined al fresco, enjoying a kangaroo steak, not somehow something I'd expected to be eating during my travels around Germany!

Leipzig: With the trains once again running, I had an unadventurous journey to Leipzig. The Haupthahnhof was completely refurbished after reunification and is the world's largest railway station if measured by floor area.  Leipzig was the largest undivided city in East Germany.  But its spirit was never crushed and it came to be known as the 'City of Heroes' for in 1989 it was the epicentre of the peaceful demonstrations against the regime. These were centred on the Nikolaikirche (St Nicholas Church) in the city centre. Here there were demonstrations every Monday, swelling as the year went on to tens of thousands of people. The regime gave serious thought to imposing a 'Tiananmen Square solution' but they knew they would not get the support of Gorbachev's Soviet Union. The ageing leader, Erich Honecker, was forced to stand down and was replaced by Egon Krenz, who was also a hardliner but who hastily re-clothed himself in reformist garments. Within weeks the Berlin Wall had fallen.

On my way into the city, I passed the Opera House, a functional Communist-era building. The centre itself is picturesque and in places just a bit quirky. Naturally I particularly wanted to see the Nikolaikirche, one of the most beautiful churches I have been to anywhere. Outside a memorial commemorates '1989'. Somewhat counterintuitively, this former Communist-ruled city was ranked in 2013 as the most liveable city in Germany and one of the three European cities with the highest quality of living. This sort of praise is nothing new. Benedikt Carpzov the Younger, an eminent citizen in the seventeenth century who is regarded as the founder of criminal jurisprudence in Germany, declared: "[T]o live outside Leipzig is to live miserably."

Hanover: It was on to Hanover for the fourth of my stays. The journey was through the three Saxonies: Dresden and Leipzig are in Saxony itself; one continues through Saxony-Anhalt, also in the former East; then one crosses the former interzonal border into Lower Saxony, of  which Hanover is the capital.  For some of the journey I shared the carriage with a retired civil servant who was heading back to his home on the North Sea coast. I don't think he wanted a long chat but there was a bit of polite conversation. There was evident disapproval when I told him that I had commenced my travels in Munich. His problem was that it's in the South. Worse, it's in Bavaria.

The old border was crossed at Helmstedt. In the Cold War this was the location of Checkpoint Alpha, where travellers on the Autobahn to West Berlin crossed into East Germany. When they reached Berlin, they had to pass through Checkpoint Bravo. The most famous/infamous of the crossing points was of course in Berlin itself: Checkpoint Charlie, where one passed through the Wall into the eastern part of the city.

My base in Hanover was the Central-Hotel Kaiserhof, conveniently located opposite the Hauptbahnhof in Ernst-August Platz. This family run establishment has four stars but initially I wondered why. However I  came round to the view that they were merited. I had a lovely large room, complete with 'his' and 'her' washbasins. And the meals were excellent.
Both evenings I ate in its restaurant, seated al fresco so observing the busy life of the city passing by in the square outside. I ate, both times: a meaty goulash soup followed by the 'Kaiserhof Pan', a mix of pork, beef and turkey served with béarnaise sauce and vegetables.
My visit coincided with the tercentenary of the personal union of the monarchies of Britain and Hanover. This commenced in 1714 with the reign of George I and endured until 1837, ending only because Queen Victoria, being a woman, could not ascend to the Hanoverian throne. The Royal Family to this day retains its Hanoverian origins. During the twentieth century Britain and Germany were bitter enemies in two horrendous wars but it should not be forgotten that before that friendly relations were the norm, above all with Hanover. The event was being marked in five different venues, four in Hanover itself and the fifth in nearby Celle. I spent an interesting hour or two at the main exhibition in the Lower Saxony State Museum, an impressive building that overlooks the green expanses of Masch Park.
Lonely Planet is not very kind to Hanover: it reputedly has "Germany's most boring parties" and "when an Expo was held here... even its spokesperson mused aloud about whether anyone would travel here if they had the choice." I would concede that the main shopping centre is somewhat functional in appearance, rather as in Stuttgart and Mannheim, but the visitor, exploring a little further, will find a city of great charm and interest (I couldn't possibly comment on the partying!) An aid to exploration is Der Rote Faden or 'red thread', literally a painted red line around the city. An accompanying booklet can be purchased for a nominal sum at the tourist office in Ernst-August Platz.

Over the course of my stay I completed the 'red thread'. The first section takes one past the Opera House and the Holocaust Memorial. One discovers just how green a city Hanover is, with its extensive  and attractive parkland and lakes. There is a historic, though admittedly small, Old Town and a 'must do' is to ascend the magnificent Neues Rathaus or 'new town hall'. This is newish (1913) but traditional in style, offering fine views over the city. The ascent is via a curving lift, described by the city authorities as unique.

Wuppertal: I confess to being something of a transport nerd. As such, I had long entertained two ambitions in continental Europe: to travel on (a) the Belgian Coastal Tramway and (b) the Schwebebahn or Monorail in Wuppertal. A year or so previously I had done the first. Now, from my base in Hanover, I fulfilled the other ambition.

When I was growing up monorails were seen as futuristic - though Wuppertal's dates back to 1901 - and sketches of the 'city of the future' would often include one. But today one can count more or less on the fingers of one hand the number that exist. We have been on those in Seattle - a journey lasting all of nine seconds - and Sydney and seen, but not been on, Shanghai's Maglev system, which really does look futuristic. Wuppertal is in the Ruhr but I was surprised on my way there how much countryside there was around the industrial centres of Dortmund and Hagen. Wuppertal itself boasts of being one of the greenest cities in Germany. It has existed only since 1929, the product of a merger between several different communities. It was originally going to be known as Barmen-Elberfeld after the two main constituent towns but in a referendum it was instead named after the river that flows through it hence Wuppertal or 'Wupper Valley'. The Schwebebahn serves the Hauptbahnhof and extends several miles in either direction. One can get a day ticket giving limitless travel. Mostly it is suspended above the Wupper but at one end it is over a street, at eye level with the upper floors of people's homes.

It was necessary at one point to break off for lunch, so I went into the city centre, just a few minutes' walk from the Hauptbahnhof. I was pleased to find a Galerie Kaufhof. Problem of where to have lunch solved. Or rather it wasn't. There was no fourth floor, I discovered, only two - and there was no restaurant. I ended up with a pasta dish in a rather odd place in a nearby shopping mall. I would hazard a guess that, were it not for the Schwebebahn, not many tourists would find their way to Wuppertal.

Hamburg: My final two nights were spent in Germany's second largest city (the largest in former West Germany). There is a direct train link from Hanover but I selected a slightly longer one that goes via Celle. This is said to be a town of great charm and even from the railway station it looks nice. In Hamburg I was staying at another Kempinski hotel, the Atlantic. In the 1913 edition of Bradshaw's, popularized of late by Michael Portillo, there is an advertisement for this hotel, which at that time was new.

Hamburg has a distinctive geography, built as it is around two lakes, the Aussenalster and Binnenalster (Outer and Inner Alster) with the latter flowing into the Elbe. They are joined by the Kennedybrücke (Kennedy Bridge). My hotel was close to the station on one hand and the Aussenalster on the other. I had a look round on my first day and on the second, after my visit to Lübeck, went on a circular bus tour, here as elsewhere a good way of seeing a city. We circumnavigated Aussenalster, where there is some serious wealth, and continued into the centre. Here I alighted, partly so I could go inside the impressive Rathaus (Town Hall) and partly in the hope of having a guide who would offer a livelier and more interesting commentary. I was fortunate in this regard as I now had a charming young lady who engaged with me and others.

I was to see a very different aspect of Hamburg once we'd passed St Michaeliskirche; this baroque church is getting on for 450 feet high and is one of the city's best known landmarks. We came to the Reeperbahn. As we approached it we passed Davidstrasse, which is apparently off limits to all females (not much of an honour for us Davids to have this street named after us!) The Reeperbahn, centre of the red light district, is unlovely, its saving grace being that it is where the Beatles cut their teeth, before they became famous. I think that it is because of this aspect of sleaze that I didn't take to Hamburg as much as I did the other cities I stayed in. True, all cities have their sleaze. But they generally stay quiet about it whereas Hamburg unashamedly publicizes it as one of its main attractions.

On my first evening I dined in the hotel restaurant. A booking was made by reception who then rang me to confirm. Yet, when I arrived, there was no record of my reservation. But the amiable restaurant manager quickly found me a table and we conversed about, of all things, football. As was evident from the sound of car horns outside, Germany had just won another match, on its way to winning the World Cup, its fourth such achievement... or technically its first since on the previous three occasions it was West Germany who won. The manager was suitably diplomatic given he was talking to an Englishman whose team had been, not to mince words, a bit rubbish: the German team, he said, had been very lucky. As Gary Player once said, the harder one practises, the luckier one gets!

On my second evening, and my last in Germany, I switched to the hotel's bar where I had, yes, a hamburger in Hamburg. This may be sad but I like having dishes in their eponymous cities so it's been Beijing duck in Beijing, wiener schnitzel in Vienna, Zurich veal in Zurich and steak bordelaise in Bordeaux. But not Frankfurters in Frankfurt - I don't like them.

Lübeck: On my last full day in Germany I visited one of Germany's loveliest cities, Lübeck. To my delight the trains were double-deck.  It  was still a fairly short journey but somewhat longer than the previous one lasting twelve minutes.

In the Cold War era Lübeck was in the West but right on the Iron Curtain: from its historic centre one could walk in an easterly direction for about three miles, then no further. Lübeck has a fairytale centre but even this was heavily bombed in World War II. It has since been meticulously restored and the visitor, unless primed otherwise, would assume himself to be in a city unchanged since medieval times.

I stumbled across a museum dedicated to one of Lübeck's most famous sons, Willy Brandt, an anti-Nazi who fled after Hitler seized power, in his case to Norway, moving on to Sweden when the Nazis occupied his adopted country. I did make time to look round this since I am interested in Cold War history. Moreover it was free.  It was a fascinating visit.  After World War II Brandt returned to Germany and entered politics. He was the Mayor of West Berlin when the Wall went up, and stood alongside President Kennedy when he declared "Ich bin ein Berliner". Later Brandt became Federal Chancellor, in which capacity he instituted Ostpolitik, the establishment of diplomatic relations with East Germany and other satellite states. He had to resign in 1974 as a result of a spy scandal but had a distinguished political afterlife. He chaired the Independent Commission for International Developmental Issues, hence the Brandt Report in 1980, which called for drastic changes in the global attitude towards development in the Third World. He died in 1992, having lived long enough to see his country, and his adopted city, reunited - one of the great statesmen of the twentieth century.

First published in VISA 132 (April 2017)

Back in the USA

David Gourley's account of his return trip to the USA, 50 years on, continues...

Elkhorn Arch, Downtown Jackson

After our overnight stay in Sheridan, Wyoming, we drove north across the border into Montana. Here we visited the Little Bighorn Battlefield National Monument, the scene of Custer’s Last Stand. The Native Americans won that particular battle but of course lost the overall war.  The site was formerly known as the Custer Battlefield National Monument. In 1991 President George H W Bush signed a law that changed this to its present name. We had a drive round this extensive area, conducted by a guide from the Crow Tribe. We stopped at various sites, all against a splendid “Big Sky Country” backdrop. Then there was time to look round the Visitors Centre and nearby memorials. We were particularly moved by the words of Chief Two Moons of the Northern Cheyenne tribe who in 1916 wrote: “forty years ago, I fought Custer until all were dead. I was then the enemy of the white man. Now I am his friend and brother, living under the flag of our country”. After lunch in Billings, we re-crossed the border with Wyoming, continuing to Cody for an overnight stop. This town is named from William Cody, aka Buffalo Bill.

We now had a full day, and part of the next day, in Yellowstone, which was established in 1872, the first national park in the USA, and generally believed to be the first such park in the world. The weather on these two days was to be very different: bright sunshine on the first, snow on the second albeit this was still September. Nilani, our tour guide, thoughtfully rejigged our itinerary to ensure that we saw the park’s premier attraction, Old Faithful, on the first rather than the second day, in case the snow prevented us from reaching it.

Yellowstone has to be one of the highlights of any tour of this part of the USA. The scenic drive from Cody provided a taster. Its vast acreage is above all known for its geothermal features with many hot springs and mud pools, as well as its own version of the Grand Canyon. There are still, in the northern part of the park, reminders of the devastating fire in 1988, since the policy is to let nature takes its course rather than chop down the stricken trees. Usually wildfires do no great damage, and indeed can be good for the ecosystem, but this one got seriously out of control. The Old Faithful geyser is so named because it can be relied on to erupt at regular intervals. It is commonly supposed that these are hourly but generally the interval is a bit longer. This is in contrast to the geyser we have twice visited in Rotorua, New Zealand, where there is no predictability at all: first time we were lucky, second time not. We were fortunate with our timing at Old Faithful as we were there long enough to see it erupt twice. Nearby, the historic Old Faithful Inn, the largest log structure in the world, is worth a visit even if one is not staying or dining there.

Our overnight stop was in West Yellowstone, just over the border in Montana. Cody and West Yellowstone are both “gateway towns “to the National Park. Cody lies to its east and is charming. West Yellowstone – bit of a clue in the name - lies to its west and is not charming.

The weather forecast was right and there was thick snow as we re-entered Yellowstone. We were nevertheless able to fit in the stops that had been scheduled for the previous day. But we were glad that Nilani had rejigged the itinerary for, as we drove through the park towards Old Faithful we were turned back: the road ahead was closed for a coach apparently had come off the road. Nilani had to think on her feet. We were to have continued through Teton National Park to the mountain resort of Jackson for our overnight stop. It was now decided that we would retrace our journey to West Yellowstone then divert into Idaho before returning to Wyoming. It was disappointing that we would as a result miss out one of our national parks: we had to content ourselves with seeing the Teton Mountains from the distance. But, swings and roundabouts, this disappointment was outweighed by our delight at seeing Yellowstone in the snow. Later we met a know-all from another coach who boasted that his party had driven through Teton National Park before the road closed. But another chap in the same party confided that they had seen nothing of it due to poor visibility.

Lunch in West Yellowstone was at McDonald’s. Normally we don’t touch this chain with a bargepole; this reminded us why. Approaching Jackson we drove along the scenic valley of the Snake River. Some in our party had booked an optional river float. I think that they were relieved rather than disappointed that this was cancelled due to weather conditions!

Our hotel in Jackson was a little way out of town but we were able to use its free buses to get into the centre. It is an elegant resort with a spruce central square that is guarded by four gates made of elkhorn. Dinner was back near our hotel, in the Gun Barrel Steak and Game House, a characterful place with a real Wild West atmosphere. The staff were friendly and food good. For my main I had an elk dish. The next morning we had, unusually, to pay for breakfast as we were instead having an included picnic lunch, to be eaten overlooking Bear Lake, en route to Salt Lake City. We were actually pleased as our included breakfasts had tended to be fairly basic. Here I could at last indulge in that signature American dish, corned beef hash.

We had a two-night stay in Salt Lake City, the capital of Utah. We were thus returning to a city that we had first stayed in nearly fifty years previously, when making our way by Greyhound Coach across America. Utah is known as the Mormon State with around two thirds of its inhabitants adhering to that religion. Mormonism, or more formally the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS), has its origins in a vision which came to Joseph Smith in 1820. Its adherents migrated from the east coast, ultimately reaching what became the Territory, later the State, of Utah. Following a further vision, polygamy was banned. The church is hierarchical but there is no clerical garb: for male priests it’s a white shirt worn with a tie. Coffee and alcohol are prohibited so I don’t think I’ll be signing up any time soon. But Utah, contrary to what some assume, is not a dry state.  Rather as in Norway, alcohol can only be bought from approved outlets so it won’t be found in the local supermarket. And, one cannot have a pre-dinner drink in a restaurant: one must first be seated and place one’s order for food.

Salt Lake City is the world HQ of the LDS. Before transferring to our hotel we had an included visit to Temple Square. The Temple itself is out of bounds to non-Mormons but the visitor is otherwise welcome to look around. We were ushered into the Tabernacle where two sister missionaries, the one from El Salvador and the other from Thailand, gave us a talk about their religion. Such talks are not at all “in your face”, though any show of interest will be eagerly followed up. Nilani recalled a previous client, who was an atheist, giving the sisters a hard time. She had felt it necessary to apologize but was assured that they had come across worse! All our party listened politely.

We had an optional tour of the city the next day. This first took us out to the Great Salt Lake. As might be inferred from the name, it has very high salinity so one floats rather than swims in the lake. In this respect, though not really in any other, it resembles the Dead Sea, on whose shore we had stayed when touring Jordan. Back in the city we visited the This is the Place Heritage Park, so called because it is the place where, in 1847, Brigham Young saw the valley that would become the Mormon Pioneers’ new home. Here are the striking monument of the same name and the heritage village which recreates buildings from the pioneering era. We got talking to a lady in period dress who was working at a spinning wheel.

This must in its time have been very monotonous work. Why, one didn’t even have the diversion of a radio to keep one's spirits up! But this clearly deep-thinking lady suggested that maybe people in those simpler times were happier than their present day counterparts, with none of the stresses of the modern world to worry about. We rounded off our tour with a visit to the Utah State Capitol, which we had visited in 1968. Here we enjoyed a self-guided tour of this beautiful building. Images of the honeybee, a state symbol (yes, every state has its official insect), are much in evidence.

We had the afternoon free in Salt Lake City. First priority was lunch. We settled on the LDS-owned Joseph Smith Memorial Building (JSMB), which is adjacent to Temple Square. We had a good meal in its Roof Restaurant, from which fine views over the city are to be enjoyed. I made the mistake of having a starter as well as a main. It was dawning on me that American portion sizes are huge. By no means do I have a dainty appetite but I was not able to finish my main course of pasta. I assured our friendly waiter, Jason, that it was good; I’d have managed to finish a British-size portion!

The ten-storey JSMB is a handsome building which in former times was the prestigious Utah Hotel, the “Grande Dame of Salt Lake City”. In 1968 we had been lodged in a rather less prestigious establishment. Coinciding with our visit was one from a somewhat more noteworthy figure, Hubert Humphrey, the Vice-president and Democratic contender in the forthcoming presidential election. He stayed at the Utah Hotel and used his visit to make an important speech in which he distanced himself from Lyndon Johnson’s policy on Vietnam. He was defeated in the election by Richard Nixon.

The late sixties were a time of turmoil in America, though we saw none of it ourselves. There was much unrest over Vietnam and over civil rights: earlier in 1968 Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King had both been gunned down. On our journey across America we had stayed in Chicago where, weeks earlier, the Democratic Convention had been accompanied by riots, and we passed through Detroit, where there had been devastating riots a year previously. These are generally held to mark the start of the seemingly inexorable decline of the once-proud “Motor City”.

This was also the period of youth rebellion and of the hippies. In San Francisco we took a trolleybus out to Haight-Ashbury, the centre of hippiedom. This was out of curiosity for we were not at all hippyish ourselves: no room for any flowers in my unfashionably short hair! But there was a kind of dotty idealism that was not altogether unappealing. After all who does not want love and peace? Unhappily there was also the drug culture and the terrible “Manson Family” killings in 1969 put an end once and for all to any illusions of innocence. In Salt Lake City, by contrast, we had seen a sign in a barber shop urging customers to come in for their short back and sides since “the clean American look is still alive”. And so it was, at least in Utah. We then spent some more time in Temple Square, this time visiting, in fact revisiting, the North Visitors’ Center. We remembered from 1968 the striking statue, white against a starry background, of Jesus Christ. Then, as we sometimes do, we went our separate ways for an hour or so, as Cathy wanted to look round the large department store, Nordstrom, whereas I didn’t. We entered the store together before I went off for a walk and straight away we came across another instance of American friendliness. In a five-minute conversation we learnt from the lady who greeted us that she had a son in Denver (where we’d started our journey), a daughter who had married an Englishman and was living in Woodstock, Oxfordshire, where she was studying for a doctorate at Oxford, that she could not afford the fare to visit her, and that she had not long been widowed. This was not told in any self-pitying way, nor was she trying to sell us anything.

Our hotel was about a mile out from the centre. Again we were able to avail ourselves of free public transport since the city’s trams – not there in ’68 – are free in the central (though not the suburban) area.•

First Published in VISA 140 (August 2018)

The Black Hills of Dakota

By David Gourley

Ranger in Laramie / Wall Drug

This trip overlapped two previous visits to the States. Fifty years ago we travelled by Greyhound Coach right across America, from New York to San Francisco, passing through the States of Wyoming and Utah. Thirty years ago we did a tour of the Southwest USA which coincided with the final part of this trip.

We tacked on to the start of the trip an extra night in Denver. We were glad that we did, for we arrived quite late in the evening and there was an early morning departure the next day. Furthermore we got to see downtown Denver. No-one else on our tour did for we were lodged in Cherry Creek, a mile or so away. This is a somewhat soulless area though it's no doubt a great place if, unlike me, one loves shopping, since it boasts of being the premier shopping destination in Denver.

We made our way into the downtown using a local bus. We were to find during our trip that the people we encountered were on the whole very friendly, more so in fact than is the norm back home. Our British accents - of course we think it is the Americans, not us, who have accents! - might  attract attention with people interested to know where else in the States we had been. We got a taste of this friendliness on this our first excursion. The charming young lady driving the bus insisted, on reaching the terminus, on walking us to the nearby stop where one boards another bus for the mall ride, through the heart of the downtown to Union Station. She then talked us through our return journey, where to get on and where to get off.

The mall ride is free. We were also to benefit from free public transport in Jackson, Wyoming and in Salt Lake City. I don't think one is going to find that anywhere back home. Actually, being of a certain age, we do get free bus travel but that's not what I am talking about.   Historic Union Station is still used by a few trains, but its prime purpose these days is as a centre for restaurants and small shops. We walked back along the route of the mall ride, finishing at the Colorado State Capitol. This became the second such capitol that we have visited; we had looked round its Utah counterpart, in Salt Lake City, back in 1968 and did so again this time.

The people in the Capitol were friendly and welcoming. We got a free guided tour conducted by John, something of a character who, following his retirement from his job with the State, had rebelled against past conformity by growing a ponytail and wearing earrings. Hmm.... At least the ponytail had gone. The tour involved a lot of stair climbing, rewarded by fine views from the top. Denver is the “mile high city” and there is a marker in the Capitol showing where this height is actually reached. The timing was good for, on finishing our tour, we were able to watch the annual display of square dancing that takes place in the Capitol. The dancers were all elderly folk (around our age!) dressed in colourful costume. Square dancing is Colorado's state dance. I knew that there are state birds, mottos and so on, but it was news to me that there are state dances. Following the guidance we had been given, we found our way back to our hotel without trouble.

Our drive the next day was to Rapid City in South Dakota, where we were to stay two nights. En route we passed through Wyoming and its capital Cheyenne. This had been one of our stops during our Greyhound journey, a charming small town which still had something of a Wild West feel. I recalled seeing “Big Boy”, the world's largest steam locomotive, and a statue of Esther Hobart Morris, a pioneer in women's suffrage. In 2018 Britain is celebrating 100 years of (some) women getting the vote but Wyoming got there a lot sooner, in 1869 becoming the first place anywhere to enfranchise women. I wondered if I'd see either of these attractions this time, for our tour brochure had promised a stop in Cheyenne. I was to be disappointed, for we by-passed the downtown.

There was a stop of sorts in Cheyenne, at the local Wallmart so we could purchase a picnic lunch. These huge supermarkets seemed to me to be rather soulless places. Our guide Nilani conceded that many in the States don't love this chain, as they think it has driven many smaller shops out of business. We were to experience another Wallmart later on in our tour. That one had an unsmiling security guard who stopped anyone with a rucksack going in to the store; not a concern about security, but a fear that people would use rucksacks for stolen goods. Viewing one’s customers as potential thieves doesn't strike me as a good attitude towards them.

Our lunchtime stop was at Fort Laramie, a one-time military post and now a National Historic Site. I am interested in US history and can rattle off the names of presidents in the twentieth century, but know little about the expansion of the country from the original 13 states right across the North American continent. Fort Laramie was a vital stopping point for pioneers working their way westwards along the Oregon Trail, especially before  the first Transcontinental Railroad opened in 1869. It is also  where  a treaty was signed with Native American tribes, acknowledging their territorial rights. Unhappily it was not long before the treaty broke down as a result of gold being discovered in the Black Hills. When Nilani contacted us by phone in Denver, prior to the start of the tour, I had wondered, given her unusual name, whether she was a Native American. She is a Canadian who has lived most of her life in the States, having married an American from whom she is now divorced. But she clearly had great interest in, and empathy with, Native Americans.  She told us that, whilst they are invariably welcoming to tourists, most inwardly still resent the way their tribes have been treated over the years. In Monument Valley we had, as is customary, a Navajo guide. They like to be known as Native Americans, not Indians: “Indians live in India.”

It did not escape notice that the chemistry between Nilani and our driver was not good. He took a wrong turning on the way to Fort Laramie. No- one minded as it was a more scenic route and we were not seriously delayed. Nevertheless it was clear that he did not know his way. He was relying on his sat-nav, but there are times when old-fashioned map reading skills are to be preferred. I was able to help, as I invariably take maps on holiday and had two covering the area of our tour which were more detailed than the map that Nilani had.  I was amazed when, after our fairly long break at Fort Laramie, our driver again didn't know which way to go. I would have expected him to have spent his free time making sure that he did know. Again my map was needed. My guess is that Nilani was getting pretty fed up with having to do some of the navigating, a task that the driver could reasonably be expected to do for himself.

We crossed the border into South Dakota so I got to see the Black Hills at last. The next day we headed to the Mount Rushmore National Monument, the famous sculpture depicting the heads of four presidents: Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln and Roosevelt (Teddy, not Franklin). Here another disappointment - in a tour that overall was very far from disappointing - awaited. We had been complacent about the weather, which in Denver had been well over 80°F. Here, much further north, it was considerably lower. Worse, it was raining and there was poor  visibility, so much so that we couldn't actually see the sculpture. I just about managed to discern, through the mist, the mountain itself.

I was wondering whether we were jinxed when it comes to seeing heads carved out of mountainsides: a number of years previously, cloud had suddenly descended in New Hampshire, preventing us from seeing the Old Man of the Mountain. However, just a few miles away, in weather that was now bright and sunny, we saw the Crazy Horse Monument, also carved out of a mountain and depicting the Native American chief of that name. This is still work in progress, with a large educational/cultural centre also planned. It reflects the view that Native Americans also deserve a mountainside monument.

We made our way to Wall Drug. That doesn't sound good in British English, but in American English the meaning is wholly innocent. It is located in the small town of Wall, gateway to the Badlands.  It  is something of a South Dakota institution. Numerous billboards along the approaching highway advertise it. The story is that, after its foundation in 1931, the store didn't do well at first, located as the owners saw it “in the middle of nowhere”. Then they had the bright idea of erecting billboards along the nearby highway offering free iced water to people on their way to and from Mount Rushmore. It has thrived ever since.  The  store includes a characterful, if a little chaotic, restaurant. I had a buffalo burger.

We then visited the first of our national parks, the South Dakota Badlands. All such visits were very thoughtfully organized with plenty of stops. Bafflingly Nilani also put on a video of the Badlands. We ignored this: no doubt she meant well, but why look at a video when one can see the real thing? The Badlands are magnificent, a stunning area of buttes (isolated hills with steep, often vertical sides and a small, relatively flat top), pinnacles, and spires blended with the largest undisturbed mixed grass prairie in the United States. This was a wonderful finish to the day.

We headed the next day out of South Dakota, first stopping in Deadwood. This picturesque town retains something of a Wild West atmosphere. The visitor might be surprised that there are several casinos. I have something of an aversion to casinos, but consoled myself with the knowledge that they are owned by Native Americans, bringing valuable revenue to their tribes. We had lunch in a charming old-fashioned inn, complete with sawdust on the floor, though our meal, Mexican tacos, might not have been on offer in Calamity's day.

While in Deadwood, we took an optional tour in a vintage bus driven by our entertaining local guide, Dave. This took us up a nearby hill from which there was a fine view over the town. The real point though was to visit Mount Moriah Cemetery. Here Calamity Jane and Wild Bill Hickok are buried alongside each other. The visitor is told to forget about Doris Day as the life of the real Calamity was somewhat different to that depicted in the film. For starters she didn't marry Bill. They were friends but she ended up marrying someone else, the name on her grave being “Calamity Jane [aka] Mrs M E Burke”.

We criss-crossed the border into or out of Wyoming several times during our trip. We now headed back into that state where we stopped at Devil's Tower, a huge and isolated butte and a striking sight. When we went to reboard our bus a surprise awaited: a new bus and a new driver. No explanation was given, but we surmised that Nilani had complained to the tour company. Sympathy for the underdog kicked in as our departing driver looked forlorn. Our new driver never had any trouble finding his way and he and Nilani got on like a house on fire. We stayed overnight in Sheridan, a few miles further on.•

To be continued
First published in VISA 138 (April 2018)

Baltimore Break

By Maxine Bates

In October my partner and I spent four nights in Baltimore. Having booked flights and accommodation only 48 hours prior to travel there wasn’t much time for research so we ‘winged it’ upon arrival in the city. Met at passport control with an incredulous “But nobody comes on vacation to Baltimore!”, we did wonder if we’d made the right choice of destination but managed to fill our time with a range of sightseeing in unseasonably warm sunshine. Unfortunately the harbour cruises had stopped for winter and it was out of season for any baseball games.

The city is set around the pretty inner harbour and the main tourist attraction are the four historic ships docked in various parts of that harbour. We bought a combined ticket to visit all four, so explored two on one day and the remaining two ships on another day. I found the Torsk submarine the most interesting, especially the cramped sleeping quarters with bunks directly above the torpedoes! We timed our visit to the US coast guard cutter Taney to coincide with their daily engine room tour at 3pm which was almost a private tour. In fact most of the ships we had to ourselves. The others were entirely different; the wooden USS Constellation with its cannon deck and the lightship Chesapeake. Boats of a totally different type were the dragon shaped pedalos for hire in the harbour!

Also around the harbour is the World Trade Center. The tallest building in the city and the tallest pentagonal building in the world even though only 27 floors high. Tickets to go up in the elevator to the observation deck were reasonably priced and there are plentiful information panels about the city, buildings and famous people. Baltimore apparently had several pioneers in the medical field. Sadly the names of the 58 Marylanders who were aboard one of the planes that hit the other World Trade Center on 9/11 are etched on one of the windows. A fragment of steel from the New York ‘twin towers’ is also on display. Across the harbour is Fort McHenry, the birthplace of ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’. The fort is now home to an exhibition, cannons and magazine store. We started with a film show in the entrance building; at the end, the screen lifts to reveal a view of the fort and everyone stood for the national anthem. The fort was where the words to the anthem were written by Francis Scott Key, inspired by the flag flying over the fort after intense British naval bombardment during the war of 1812. The flag itself was sewn at the now-named Banner House in the city by Mary Young Pickersgill - another interesting location to visit.

We came across the Washington Monument by chance, but what a great find - the first tribute to the first US President, built in 1815 and a gift from the state of Maryland. There was a small admission charge to climb the 227 steps but they only accepted payment by card which neither of us had with us at the time. We were kindly let in for free but left some dollars in their donation box. 227 steps up also meant 227 steps down, but there were markers on the walls telling you how far there was to go. We also visited the grave of Edgar Allan Poe (spot the error in dates carved on the stone!); the indoor Lexington Market that has been in existence since 1782; the Walters Art Gallery (mostly because it was free and had air conditioning on a hot day but also quite interesting) and the quaint Fells Point area full of interesting shops, bars and restaurants. For nightlife there’s the trendy Power Plant district, and famous restaurants such as the Hard Rock Café and Bubba Gump, or why not sip a drink in the lobby bar of the historic Lord Baltimore Hotel accompanied by their piano player?

I’d not visited the USA for four years and was quite shocked at how the current exchange rate made most things seem expensive and how waiting staff now expect a 20% tip. Not the cheapest destination to visit, but a pleasant one. Washington DC is only an hour away by train but that could be another review in itself…•

First published in VISA 138 (April 2018)

Building a Nation

By Helen Matthews

Doha

The local newspaper gives a count of the number of days the ‘siege’ has lasted, but in truth Doha does not feel like a city under siege. It is far more of a city under construction. Everywhere are building sites, and the road layout can change overnight.

The so-called ‘siege’ began during Ramadan, when Saudi Arabia, United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, and Egypt cut off diplomatic relations and imposed trade and travel bans, citing allegations of support for terrorism.  Qatar now imports vegetables from Iran and dairy products from Turkey. But aside from the supermarket translations from Turkish, the only noticeable signs of the siege, or more properly, blockade, are the images of the Emir which are now sported on buildings and in car windows.

Meanwhile, the building work continues.  There are stadiums to be built in readiness for the 2022 World Cup, and the futuristic National Museum of Qatar is taking shape.  Colleagues who work there tell me that the road layout can change overnight, causing traffic chaos in the morning.

Museum of Islamic Art

For now, visitors can enjoy the new Museum of Islamic Art: a shining white fortress on an artificial island by the old harbour. The galleries are ranged on three sides round a central atrium, with windows on the fourth side giving views of the skyscrapers in the West Bay area.  There are two floors of permanent exhibitions. On floor two, the galleries are organised thematically: introduction; the Figure in Art, Calligraphy, Patterns in Art and Science in Art. There are some beautiful items, carefully displayed, and it helps to pace yourself. The ground floor café has  ample seating and plenty of opportunities to enjoy the view, if you need a break. Back on the third floor, exhibits are  grouped chronologically and geographically:  Early Islamic Art (pre 12^th century); Iran and  Central Asia (12^th -14^th centuries); Egypt and Syria (12^th-14^th centuries); Egypt and Syria (14^th and 15^th centuries); Iran and Central Asia (15^th -16^th centuries); Iran (16^th-19^th century); India and Turkey (16^th -19^th century.)

The exhibits are fascinating, but overall there is little sense of provenance. Unlike most museums where items from particular sites are grouped together, many are not even identified as from a particular country, let along region or city. The overall sense is one of a ‘greatest hits’ album.

If you can bear to walk along the Corniche in the heat past the dhow harbour to the Pearl Monument, and cross the road (no easy feat – it can take 20 minutes for the lights to change) you can reach Souq Waqif, a restored traditional market and popular place for tourists to buy souvenirs. There are also restaurants and cafes to suit all tastes.

Beyond the Souq is the Msheireb District. This was one of the earliest parts of the city to be developed, with the first bank, the first pharmacy and the first hotel. The area declined as the rest of the city developed but it is now being redeveloped on environmentally friendly lines with pedestrian friendly streets and cycleways. Four of the traditional houses have been restored to form the Msheireb Museums. Together, the houses provide a much needed local counterpoint to the pan-Islamic collections on the Museum of Islamic Art. 

Each house has a different theme, but the displays are very modern and interactive. The Bin Jelmood House tells the history of slavery from the ancient world to modern slavery. Company House was once the headquarters of Qatar’s first oil company. Initially Qatar’s main export industry was pearl fishing. Fortunately the decline in fortunes brought about by the introduction of cultured pearls was soon followed by the discovery of oil. The displays and a short film tell the story of the oil company and its workers. Radwani House takes a more personal approach, providing an insight into the transformation of domestic family life.

Mohammed Bin Jassim House tells the history of Doha and the Msheireb district in particular, including visions for the future.

Despite the siege, Doha is flourishing.  It would be good to come back when it’s finished.

First published in VISA 136 (Dec 2017)

Christmas in Lille

By Elizabeth Johnstone

I had only ever seen Lille out of the Eurostar window en route to Brussels but, in December 2017, we had a great overnight break at this unfairly neglected destination. My train into London runs into Kings Cross Station from where it is a few steps across the road to St Pancras International. The Eurostar train left on time at 10.58 and, less than an hour and a half later, we arrived at our destination.

Lille is the fourth largest urban conglomeration in France, with an ultra- modern Metro system. It operates the “Crit-air” scheme where your car requires a “clean air” sticker. Its charm for the visitor, however, lies in the historic old town. From the Lille Europe Station and the Euralille commercial centre opposite, it is only about 10 minutes walk to “Vieux Lille”. We stayed at the Ibis Styles Lille Grand Place, booking direct with Eurostar for rail tickets and then with Booking.com for accommodation (not forgetting to go in through Topcashback.com!)

The hotel was clean, cosy and convenient for the sights. Our plan was to meet up with a Belgian Mensan friend for whom Lille in France was nearer than Brussels in Belgium. We had a pleasant stroll round, as I took photos of shop displays and building façades. One negative was the number of homeless people and beggars, often with suspiciously drowsy small children lying with them. After a cup of tea, we parted ways and my husband and I braved the Christmas Market. It is enormous, with 80-odd stalls. I’d read mixed reviews online, but I found it cheerful and seasonal.

 We regrouped at the hotel then set out for pre-prandial refreshment and a bite to eat. The plan was to head for the rue de Gand which is effectively the restaurant street. Unfortunately, everyone else in Lille had the same idea. We fought our way into a lively local bar Au Gand'Brinus where the barman gave me advice about speciality brews. Note: do not talk about Belgian beers in Flanders. We then over-optimistically set off down the street for dinner, only to be told “désolé” time and again.

Eventually, our noses pressed against the windowpanes of the Estaminet de Gand, we saw two girls preparing to leave and we pounced. It was a typically small and crowded restaurant featuring local cuisine. My husband had the hearty beef casserole carbonnades flamandes and I had a “welsh” which is a variation of a Welsh rarebit made with industrial quantities of pungent local cheese. A chicory-flavoured crème brûlée rounded off my sweet-toothed husband’s meal. Perfectly pleasant, but next time I would definitely book a restaurant of my choice.

As we walked back to the hotel, it started to rain.  By the next morning,  rain had turned to snow, and it was not too pleasant walking to the station. We intended to spend time in the Euralille shopping centre before crossing the plaza to the Gare Lille Europe.

The jovial security guard at Carrefour was used to travellers like us walking round with half-empty suitcases and “locked” ours shut with a plastic tag which the checkout lady had to open with scissors. French hypermarkets are not normally open on Sundays, except for the month of December, something to bear in mind if your city break involves food shopping. And it must, if you go to France!

The Eurostar was 10 minutes late, but the real problems arose back in London where numerous trains in and out of Kings Cross were cancelled or delayed because of the heavy snow. We got off lightly compared to air travellers and motorists. As a matter of principle, I made a small “delay repay” claim. I hope all readers do so, too! 

Lille was a great destination. I look forward to my Flemish beer on a summer evening in the old town before heading off to my (reserved!) table in the rue de Gand.

First published in VISA 137 (February 2018)

Cooling-Off Period

By Helen Matthews

“Don’t step on the moss.  It soaks up radioactivity” Nikolai warned us, using his Geiger counter to demonstrate the effect. It beeped obediently.  As our local guide in the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, his job was to keep us safe from radiation. Much of the zone is now perfectly safe to visit.  Our radiation exposure at the end of our two-day trip was less than that of a 5-hour flight.  There are however ‘hotspots’ where radiation is far higher, so following Nikolai’s advice was essential.

Abandoned fairground in Pripyat

His attitude to other health and safety issues was, by UK standards, refreshingly relaxed.  We picked our way through the abandoned town of Pripyat over broken glass and up crumbling stairways. So what if the floor had a hole with a tree growing through it – the other side of the room was fine. 

“I had a couple of visitors fall through the stage, so we don’t go in here anymore” Nikolai observed casually as we looked into what had once been the auditorium of a theatre.

Exploring Pripyat was rather like stepping into episode one of a post-apocalyptic sci-fi serial. Established in 1970 as a home for the workers at the Chernobyl nuclear power complex, with modern amenities and leisure facilities, it is just over thirty years since the catastrophic explosion in reactor no. 4 on 26 April 1986 that led to the town’s evacuation. The new Ferris wheel in the amusement park had been due to open just a few days later. Now completely abandoned, nature is well on the way to reclaiming Pripyat.  Shops, apartment buildings and leisure facilities are slowly decaying. Every year there is less to see.

The exclusion zone is not entirely deserted. There are still workers at the power station. These days they are installing the new containment shield which replaces the concrete sarcophagus on reactor no. 4.  The workers live in the town of Chernobyl itself, which lies within the 30 k.m. containment zone but unlike Pripyat, is outside the 10 k.m. inner zone. They work a shift pattern, typically 2 weeks on, and two weeks off, spent outside the zone. Also in Chernobyl are fire fighters who are on constant guard against forest fires.  There is even a hotel, built for visiting scientists, where we were able to stay the night.  

There are lots of feral dogs.  Most, but not all, had tags in their ears showing that they had been neutered during a recent exercise.  The dogs tended to congregate around the power station canteen, where workers (and visitors) smuggle them food, despite the notices to the contrary. They were friendly but we were advised not to pet them, in case they had been rolling in a radioactive hotspot. In Pripyat, we even met a tame fox.  He had been found with a damaged leg and nursed by checkpoint guards. The river by the power station is full of giant catfish. Their size is down to being fed by visitors rather than a radioactive mutation.

Some of the original local inhabitants, known as settlers, have moved back to their villages.  They generally live well into their eighties.  We met one of them, called Ivan.  He said that he had moved in 1988 as the town to which he had been evacuated had more radioactivity and poorer housing.  His village was in a clean area of the zone and the house, which he had built himself was free from draughts. He grows all his own vegetables and chops his own wood and certainly looks well enough on it.

Others were not so lucky.  All of the firefighters who responded as soon as the reactor fire was noticed died from radiation within a couple of weeks, as were the doctors and nurses at the Moscow hospital where they were treated. There is a monument to these first responders outside the Chernobyl fire station, funded by their relatives. Officially it doesn’t exist as they did not complete the necessary paperwork. 

Clean-up robots

Attempts were made to use robots in the subsequent clean-up operation.  The Japanese robots worked longer than the Soviet one, based on the chassis of a Moon buggy which lasted a mere 30 minutes, but none of them operated for long before the radiation fried their circuits.  The solution was to use ‘bio-robots’ – humans wearing rudimentary radiation protection who each were able to work for just a couple of minutes shovelling debris.  The remains of the mechanical robots are now on display in Chernobyl.  The fate of the bio-robots is not fully recorded.

It was a strange trip. It was terrible to think of the fate of those who were caught up in the horrific events, but in some ways encouraging to see the resilience of the natural world in claiming its own.

 First published in VISA  135 (October 2017)