My Father's Hat

My father wore hats, as did most men of his generation. Not baseball caps, although in his later years he had some of those, but shaped felt hats like the one I'm wearing in the above photo. I, too, wear hats, including some very nice shaped felt fedoras.

I decided to take a men's hat with me on this trip to Europe. We had plans to attend cultural events where we would dress up (we went to a concert in Prague and a ballet in Vienna). The hat I'm wearing in the above photo, taken by Eric on a tram in Vienna after the ballet, belonged to my dad, Morris Milton Fishman. I've had it since he died in 1986. Inside the leather hat band are the labels: Champ "Feel the Felt," and Club Men's Shop 551 E. 47th Street Chicago, and KASMI'R finish. There used to be a small feather decoration in the band; I think it's in the bottom of the old cardboard hat box I have from my dad's things.

Morrie Fishman was a man of broken dreams and many fears. He had big dreams and ambitions when he was young. He was a man with a singing and speaking voice of silk, and got a job as a radio announcer on WCFL, "the Voice of Labor in Chicago" operated by the AFL/CIO. He was summarily fired one day when the Manager discovered that Milton Morris (dad's radio name) was a Jew. I don't think Morrie ever recovered from that, and he spent most of his working life after that selling shoes and men's clothes.

But family was his anchor, even after he and mom divorced when I was about 8. When my brothers and I were kids, after the divorce, Morrie lived in a small residential hotel near our house, and we saw him every weekend. He taught us each to drive his car, a 1953 Hudson, and let us use his Nash Rambler when we were old enough.

As he aged, dads fears and nervousness increased. He could not handle height, so he never flew on an airplane. He could not drive on a freeway, making it very difficult to cover his territory around Chicago as a shoe manufacturer's representative. Despite these limitations, I think he enjoyed many things, including his many roles in community theater (I found out from a friend of his that the had terrible stage fright, but forced himself to get on stage because it was such a basic part of who he was).

I don't think dad ever traveled much, certainly not out of the country. He was born, lived and died in Chicago. He did visit us a few times after we moved to California, taking the train from Chicago.

And now, at the end of our trip, I've realized that one of the reasons I took this particular hat with me was to include dad in a trip overseas. If he could have overcome his fears, he would have enjoyed Prague and Vienna, and maybe even southern France, especially the food and the beautiful women!

So dad, Morrie, hat's off to you. I hope you enjoyed the trip.




- posted from the fisheyepad

Location:Dulles International Airport

Ordering gluten free on Air France

Never, when flying Business Class or better, order any special diet.  I am not writing this to single out this airline; my experience could happen on any airline.

On this flight the regular menu for the meal in this ticket class began with an amuse bouche: it was foie gras and small rolled rosemary crackers stuffed with mozzarella. A cloth napkin and real dishes came with the quite elegant meal. The entree (appetizer) was shrimp with roasted zucchini and peppers, a duck and beet risotto and baby spinach served with a tiny sweet little bottle of olive oil and balsamic vinegar.

Preceding this was champagne; wines of Provencal offered along with other beverages for the meal were all served in real glasses. Then came the main course selections: veal osso bucco, a fish dish with basmatti rice in a wonderful sauce along with spinach, and there was also a chicken coconut curry with rice. The lovely crusty rolls were the only thing with gluten.

Dessert was also marvelous for the gluten free diet: sorbets, ice cream, fresh fruit; and I forgot to mention the cheese course: camembert or comte.

So here was my gluten-free special diet tray: plastic everything to eat from, rice crackers, vanilla soy yoghurt, some weird salad of shredded carrots with either chicken or tuna (I never tasted it, because the wonderful guy I married shared his regular meal with me).

The flight attendants brought me the coach meal of fish and rice in a plastic tray of course and gave me dessert. I was also given the foie gras and Paul had grapes and a clementine to share with me.  I know that a special diet order usually necessitates one size fits all, so the trays for gluten-free/kosher/halal/vegetarian/vegan/dairy-free/no cholesterol are pre-prepared, one-size-fits-all horrid.

Not blaming the airlines, just saying.... Order the elegant delicious food and pick out what you can eat when in business/first class.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Above the clouds

Swimming with the Fishes and Marc Chagall (posted by Paul)

Swimming with the fishes was never as good as at the Muse'e Chagall in Nice. This small but spacious museum is a joy to the mind and spirit, and the collection of Chagall paintings and drawings, and a few photos of the artist, is breathtaking. Sherry and I have always had a special place in our art hearts for the work of Chagall, and have viewed his works in many places, including Israel, Paris and now Nice, where he spent the last part of his life.

Chagall used certain images of animals in many of his works, and the fish is one I always look for. How apropos it was to be able to view so many of his fishes in so many of his paintings in this beautiful museum.

After our time at the Muse'e Chagall we were picked up by a man we had never met in "a very red car." This was our friend Patty's friend Thomas,
who took us to his home for lunch with his lovely wife Caty, their son Hector (age 11), and Fiona, a home-stay student from England.



(in the photo, from left: Sherry, Fiona, Caty, Hector, Thomas)

Caty prepared a delicious lunch for us (merci beaucoup, Caty) and we sat and talked about a wide range of topics as a way of getting to know each other. Fresh brewed coffee followed, and Thomas and I sat on the narrow balcony of their fourth floor apartment in downtown Nice, talking about connections with people, life in general, his work at the university in molecular biology, and the new building being built across the street that will affect their view. Oh, and did I mention the warm, sunny, glorious weather?


After our visit, Fiona walked with us the few blocks to the promenade along the beach, acting as our tour guide. We walked through the public flower market, the old town, and along the promenade, stopping long enough for me to run down to the water's edge to collect a sample for the Portland Museum of Sand. Fiona left us after being assured that we could find our way "home" to our apartment in Eze, which we did.



A brief note about transit. As everywhere we've been in Europe, France has a good public transportation system. From Eze it was about a 20 minute bus ride to Nice, we then took a tram (sleek new system opened about a year ago) to the neighborhood where the Chagall Museum is located. As a student of mass transit alternatives, I was interested to discover that the Nice tram goes off the overhead wires in many parts of downtown, where the poles and wires would be not only an eyesore, but would require the destruction of public places to build.


(above, a stretch of tram tracks with no overhead wires and grass between the rails)



(above: a tram without wires in Garibaldi Square, Nice)

Note: are you paying attention Portland?

After swimming with the fishes in Nice, we relaxed in Eze, below the castle ruins, church and old village of Eze. We then dined at Cafe Gascogne, where we had delicious local specialties (look for a food post soon). As always, swimming with the fishes is good.


- posted from the fish eyepad

Location:Nice, France

A Night to Remember, our last in Arle, France (by Paul)

It was Sunday evening, our last evening before moving on to Nice (we hoped, based on the outcome of my eye sonograph on Monday morning - see previous post). We were both tired and not sure what to do about dinner, knowing that many places were closed on Sunday night. We talked to the hotel clerk, Noel, who had given us excellent recommendations previously for restaurants. We explained that we wanted something simple but good, and he suggested a wine bar that had home cooking, Chez Adriane. And so off we went, through the now familiar cobblestone streets and alleys of old Arles, except they were mostly deserted and the shops were dark. We rounded a corner, and there, radiating light onto the dark street, was Chez Adriane.


A group of people was standing outside, making us think that maybe we would have to wait. But we later realized that these were the smokers, banned from inside. We walked into a small, very cozy establishment with ten tables at most and a small bar. It was crowded, but there were empty tables. A woman, who turned out to be Adriane, told us that she would not be serving dinners until after the music, but only cheese and meat plates. Music? "Sounds good to us," and we were seated at a small table. We ordered a small plate of curved and olive tapenade, and a small charcuterie plate with ham, salami and pate. And local wine, of course.

And then the group,Swing Manouche, came in and started playing some terrific swing jazz' starting with "When You're Smiling" followed by "All of Me," both sung in English. The four musicians played stand-up bass, rhythm and lead guitar, and soprano sax. Here's a small clip of the end of "By Mir bist Du Shoen"

A woman sitting next to us with her friend jumped up and started dancing, and Adriane came out from behind the bar to join her. Te room was alive with music, laughter, clapping, and the sounds of happy people sharing an evening. Sherry leaned over and exclaimed that she felt as if everyone there was straight out of Central Casting, and it was true:

One man was dressed in a very large floppy black beret, a long-sleeve white pullover shirt with thick blue horizontal stripes, red suspenders, and black pants. He was the life of the party - drinking, singing, dancing, entertaining the group around him...



Standing at the bar was a tall, middle-aged man wearing a camel sport coat over a black turtleneck, thick black horn-rimmed glasses, and black, slicked back hair. Adriane is a middle-aged woman, tall, wearing a pull over top and a white apron around her waist, with glasses and a very curly "mop" hairdo. A young woman with boots, blue jeans rolled at the cuffs, a wide black leather belt, black low-cut long sleeve pullover top off of one shoulder, revealing a black bra strap, and long dark hair. And of course, the stock American tourists with white hair, us!

And so our last night in Arles was one of the most memorable, and we're happy we could share it with you.

"One Eye" and Sherry

posted from the fisheyepad

Location:Arle, France

Life in a Medieval Town (by Paul)

We always enjoy being in the medieval towns of Europe, and old Arles is no exception. There's something unique about wandering the narrow and twisting cobblestone streets that many thousands of other people have traveled over the centuries. We always get lost in the maze, and yes, we are often looking for a cheese shop. I never tire of these old cities, and I always marvel that the very ancient buildings are still inhabited centuries after being built.


And so here we were, nicely ensconced at the Hotel de l'Amphitheatre, on Rue Diderot. Yes, it's a short walk away from the Roman amphitheater and the Roman theater (different structures), and about a 5 minute walk uphill from the Rhone River. It's a great little town in Provence.


Some of the things we did in Arles (not including our educational tour of the French medical system, see previous post):
- the Musee Reattu: a very, very nice art museum with collections of paintings by the local Reattu, original drawings by Picasso donated by Picasso, sculpture, photography, and sound. We spent a very enjoyable afternoon there, almost alone.
- the Roman Baths, Roman Theater, and Roman Amphitheater...just like all the others we've seen throughout Europe, but each time is special because of the details and the glimpse of Roman life
- the wine of the region, both rouge and blank
- food, food, food (we plan to do a special about the food)
- all of the very nice people we met














I think you get the idea.




posted from the fish eyepad

Location:Arles, France

On a drive to Eze, by Sherry, the passenger/navigator

We arrived in Eze after a harrowing drive for Paul.
See "Oy I Eye"
The sights of Provence with the Apilles, the Gorge of Verdon, red bauxite carved cubist like rock, vineyards, farms and red-tiled houses, hilltop villages, then the alps of the Cote d'Azure, and we climbed up, up, past Nice, the Mediterranian bluer than i could imagine, stunning, and then, right where border of Italy meets France, we turned off towards Nice, we stopped at this apt./hotel.

Paul had to rest and I got laundry ( Ah the need for the eveyday chores is always grounding) done. We shopped not too much thinking we'd get out for dinner. But we couldn't even do that. So an intermingling of relief that Paul was not going to need surgery, a stunning display of French countryside, after time in a hospital for an ultrasound during our last morning in Arles and time for bed. Tomorrow we explore on foot or by bus.

Then I will write about Arles, and before that Vienna.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:The Eze Vista

Oy I Eye! (by Paul)

I always try to get the best understanding possible of what life is like in the places we travel. So what better way than to experience first-hand the medical system of France? (Yes, I know that in my previous post I said that Vienna would be the topic of the next post - call me a fibber.)

On the last day in Vienna (aha, there it is!), my left eye started to develop a problem. I have what is known as PVD, posterior vitreous detachment, in both eyes, something very common as we age (google it if you're really interested in the details). So I assumed that this was the PVD getting worse in one eye. By Friday, however, I could barely see out of that eye. The best I can describe it is as if I had a ball of thread inside my eyeball that swirled around if I moved my eye back and forth. Kind of makes seeing a bit difficult. I emailed my eye doctor, who replied that I should get the eye examined to make sure it wasn't a retinal tear or separation, something that can happen as a result of PVD. So we spent 3.5 hours on Sunday at urgency care at the Arle hospital. An ophthalmologist on call came in and did the exam; however, there was too much blood in the eye for him to see the retina. So this morning, Monday, we were back for a sonograph of the eye. Luckily, it is only a hemmorage, cause unknown, and surgery is not necessary, and I can fly home on Thursday.

We left Arle and drove the 2.5 hours to Eze, outside of Nice, without incident, on one good eye.

The care at the hospital was excellent, the staff were all very helpful and friendly, and they'll send me a bill in a couple of weeks. I have no idea how much it will be, but I bet it will be surprisingly inexpensive.

Another trip - another glimpse into life in another country.


- posted from the fisheyepad

Location:Arles, France

WELCOME FELLOW TRAVELERS

(posted by Paul)





Perhaps it's significant to start this new travel log/blog with our trip to Europe that began from another trip. We were in Washington, D. C. for a conference at which Sherry was a delegate. If there is any significance to the fact that we left for Europe from the Capitol of the USA, I don't know what it is, but you decide.

We flew on an Air France flight that left D.C. after 10PM, so we actually slept through most of the flight (admission: we used mileage to fly business class in which the seats are like beds). We were awakened by the cabin lights going on, coffee and tea being served, and daylight streaming in the windows as the shades were raised. I was able to grab my camera in time as the second of two small, white jet planes sped past us going in the other direction (zoom in on the above photo, if you can, and look just ahead of the wing); French military was my guess. A bit freaky to see planes that close while at 35,000 ft.

Paris - ah, how we love Paris. But the inside of Charles de Gaulle Airport is not what we love. A quick Illy espresso, following the signs to a new gate, a brief interlude in the Air France club lounge for special people (that's us, Business Class, remember?), and then aboard another plane for a journey farther east...to Praha (Prague), Czech Republic.

Beautiful Prague. We had arranged for an apartment for the few days we were there, very conveniently located a few minutes tram ride or walk from the old town area, and around the corner from a Metro (subway) stop. Prague was great. Very nice people, beautiful architecture, very accessible by foot or public transport.

(below, view of Charles Bridge with Prague Castle on the hill in the background)





We walked a lot in Prague, as we do most places we go. We went to a chamber orchestra concert in the Municipal Building (below), had a guided tour of the old Jewish Quarter, including synagogues that survived the Nazi occupation, ate Czech and other foods, drank Czech beer, rode the trams, and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.






We took a tram up to the Prague Castle, but chose not to go inside, instead walked around the grounds, looked at the architecture, and had a good lunch (and Czech beer, of course) at the Castle cafe on a patio overlooking the city.





Opinion: Prague is a city that is easy to navigate, once one grasps the transit system, walkable, and has beautiful architecture and sights. However, it is a dirty city, and still has some remnants of the communist era. Czech food is typically heavy in meat and dumplings, although there are many alternative cuisines. Our favorite cafe, where we ate three times, was Cafe Corso, a modern-looking place in a sort of strip mall near the Municipal Building. Inspired food, very friendly staff, moderate prices were what kept us coming back. Unfortunately, most Prague restaurants allow smoking, and one smoker can fill up the room with smoke.

We left Prague by train for Wien (Vienna), which will be the topic of my next post.

posted from the fisheyepad