Dave Wood

Here begins a three-part essay of adventures of two peripatetic rustics visiting Europe.

Wise old Francis Bacon told us 500 years ago that, “Travel of the younger sort is part of education; of the older it’s experience.” My wife Ruth and I should have found that out over 50 years ago when we embarked on our first trip to Europe.

We begin as newlyweds in Minneapolis. After we said our vows at Christianson Chapel at Augsburg, the Beautiful Wife immediately asked me, “When are we going on our honeymoon tour of Europe? The one you promised?”

Gulp. I knew nothing about planning a trip. But I had heard about travel agents. So off we went to an agent in St. Paul who sold us a package of hotel vouchers, a Frommer guidebook, and a Eurail Pass that would enable us to see virtually all we wanted to see of Europe in eight weeks. And pretty much on the cheap, starting with a $250 round trip flight from Minneapolis to London.

My Augsburg colleagues snickered at the plan, assuming it would be like the movie “If it’s Tuesday it must be Belgium,” in which a couple hopes to cover all of Europe on a bus tour with a schedule so jam-packed and relentless that they end up not remembering where they were or where they’d been.

The Frommer Plan from his guidebook offered a decent hotel room, breakfast included, in five major cities: London, Paris, Madrid, Rome, and Munich, each stop including one free sightseeing bus tour to help you get acclimated to the city’s contours.

The Eurail Pass, which in the 70’s cost about $80 per person, gave us first-class seating whenever we boarded. The sleeper units, for an additional fee, were shared with any manner of traveler. For us, it was once a gaggle of recently graduated Italian students who partied most of the night but warmly included us in all the fun and food.

The nuns we bunked with in Rome were not as fun, especially because they were German and kept the windows tightly shut for fear of evil spirits of the night, oblivious of the sweat smells that pervaded our crowded bunks.

The hotels were a mixed bag because of differences in each country’s economic situation. (The richer the country, the lesser our accommodations!) In wealthy London our bathroom down the hall had inch-deep water on the floor, and breakfast involved dry toast and weak coffee; in Paris (not so rich) a maid delivered fresh croissants, a baguette and bowl of butter, plus café au lait or chocolat right to our room! With a jolly “Bonjour!” Our surprise at the staff’s friendliness in otherwise snobby Paris was explained when we discovered that hotel was run by a Swiss company!

Cheapskate that I am, parts of those bountiful breakfasts often ended up in Ruth’s purse, to be eaten at lunchtime on a Linden-shaded park bench.

And in Spain (a poorer country at the time) we had a private bathroom and tub with emerald green tiles and all the hot water our unwashed bodies could splash into.

Between every city stop we sopped up advice from Frommer on what to do and where to eat, with recommendations like this: “Try the Red Bee in Paris, and if that’s full try the Purple Parrot.” And sometimes he’d tell you a place to avoid at all costs!

But Tightwadism does not make a happy marriage, so occasionally I’d consult Temple Fielding’s “Budget Guide to Europe” (whose budget was our splurge!) for a “Fat Cat’s Night Out.” With our breakfast rolls in our pockets for a park bench lunch, we’d save our appetites for a fat cat splurge. In London, Simpson’s on the Strand; in Madrid, Casa Botin (Hemingway’s fave) featuring lamb and  pig, roasted in centuries-old brick ovens). In Zurich a Rosti (cheese fondue).

Alas, Frommer is dead, but a good tour agent can help you set up a do-it-yourself tour—obviously not so cheap these days, but still perhaps more fun that the “If it’s Tuesday . . .”   version.

On this trip we used our Eurail pass to the max and always found it accommodating. Probably not as easy these days, since these passes are more expensive and less flexible in their use.

Next week: Peripatetic Travelers Learn the Wisdom of Frances Bacon: “Ya gotta know the territory.”