by David McGuffin | Dec 22, 2007 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, Culture & Customs, Destinations
David’s note: This Journal entry was originally written in June 2007 details my adventure “driving” in Spain.
A few weeks ago my friends and I decided to explore a town which I’d never visited. We were in southern Spain, in the region known as the “route of the white villages.” This region is very mountainous and rugged, but dotting many of the hilltops are villages with their houses all decked out in bright white paint. We decided to visit one such village known as Arcos de la Fronteria.
Our group consisted of only 6 people, but we had a 9 passenger VW Van which made our travels quite comfortable…except for today. We arrived at the “bottom” of the town and practically drove right into the big underground garage. I thought this was great because it cuts down majorly on the stress of driving in a new place. However, we soon discovered that this was not the place we had read about in the guidebooks. We were looking for a hilltop medieval village.
After looking around a bit we decided the “town” we were in was considered the “new town” (only about 400 years old) and the one which we were looking for was a little farther up the hill. So…I asked a couple of people where the old town was and they all pointed uphill and spoke rapidly in Spanish which I totally did not understand. However, I did understand the pointing uphill part, so I felt reasonably confident that we should leave the comfort of the underground garage and drive uphill.
So up the hill, we went. Imagine a big white VW Van barreling up a steep cobbled street that is only a couple of feet wider than our vehicle. There were five people leaning forward, looking in all directions, trying to read street signs and give me hints on directions and driving styles. At this point, we were doing well. We even saw a couple of signs announcing the plaza we were seeking.
A delivery van was in front of us. That, plus us, made the only two vehicles going up the steep little street. But for the moment it was a street and all was well. Luckily the street was “one way” mostly because there was no way in the world two vehicles could pass each other. Soon the delivery van veered off to the left and we were faced with a decision…following him in a direction where there was maybe vehicular traffic, or go right into the unknown. I veered left and followed the delivery truck.
It wasn’t long before we all realized this was a mistake. The small road we had traveled uphill on had dwindled to nothing more than mere cobbled lane with not more than twelve inches of clearance on either side of the van. There was absolutely no place to turn around, so we followed the van. By now all my friends had quit giving advice…probably because there was none to give now.
We slowly came around a corner and found the delivery van had stopped and the driver was shouting to someone inside a house. We sat there a bit and soon a tiny garage door opened and the van squeezed in. Uh…oh…now here we were, stranded, with nowhere to go except downhill. But I thought this was logical since the only way off a mountain was downhill. So away we went. Downhill on the increasingly smaller cobbled street which had now turned to nothing more than a medieval sidewalk.
pretty narrow
As I am sitting here writing this entry a couple of weeks later, it is hard to describe just how small and steep this little passageway really was. There were times, even after we pulled in the side view mirrors, that we had less than one-half an inch of clearance on either side of the van. In retrospect, all six of us were very calm considering the situation.
The siesta period must have just ended because soon there were people coming out of the woodwork. Kids on scooters, women standing around gossiping, babies in buggies, and kids with toys. All of them were milling around in this little street on which I was driving. By the way, they were standing on the street because there was nowhere else to stand! I was really getting worried by now and began questioning everyone I saw with, “donde esta salida,” I think that is “where is the exit?” in Spanish. They all seemed amazed we were up there in the first place! I was amazed too! Each responded rapidly with something in Spanish and pointed downhill. I was getting good at understanding Spanish hand signals by now and continued ever so slowly downhill. With each meter, it seemed the street got narrower and narrower.
Before all the people showed up
We came to this hairpin turn. Here I had to maneuver the van back and forth about twenty times on a steep downhill grade just to get the van headed in the right direction downhill. This created an attraction in the neighborhood and it seemed everyone came out to take a look and comment on my driving skills, not to mention my stupidity for being up there in the first place. So here I was, working the clutch with one foot, the gas with the other, the emergency brake with my right hand, and trying to steer with my left. Remember this was all on a steep downhill grade, a one hundred and twenty-degree left-hand turn, and people all around.
By now everybody in the neighborhood was out in the street giving me directions and yelling out how much clearance I had here and there. I’m sure it meant something to them, but to me, I understood nothing except an occasional “no”.
It was a miracle, but we got out of that predicament with no scratches or dents to the van. After a couple of more close calls with clearances, the road began to gradually widen and soon there was plenty of room on either side. As luck would have it, we ended right back up in the underground parking lot where we had started an hour ago. We all sat for a moment in silence, each thanking the Lord for the miracle of my driving. Finally, we breathed a sigh of relief.
I parked in the garage and we all walked up the hill to the top of town. It was here we found that amazing medieval village with so much charm as described in the guidebook I was using. We found a hotel, I left the group at the bar and I walked back down the hill, got in the van and drove up the hill directly to the central plaza parking area. It was a piece of cake the second time around!
by David McGuffin | May 27, 2007 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, David's Journal, Destinations
The flight to Edinburgh was completely full. But that did not matter. I watched a bit of the movie, had my pasta and vino for dinner, and sequestered myself for three good hours of sleep with my iPod playing Bartok all night.
We finally got to Edinburgh town center by 12:00 and we were starving. So we found a seat at the “World’s End Pub” for a good meal of fish and chips. After lunch, we hit the streets again and saw all the sights there are to see in Edinburgh. We walked along Rose Street and window shopped, hiked-up Calton Hill for a grand city view, watched people, and found a good bench in the park.
Later we made our way up to the Castle. The medieval buildings are impressive and you can imagine yourself walking those very streets as if you were back in the 1400’s. It was a Saturday so the town was busy but the people and weather were nice. However, it was a bit cold, but not too bad. I would say that the high was around 55’F, which is pretty nice in the sun.
Later in the evening we got a call from Lindsey, my friend, who goes to the University of Edinburgh. She wanted to meet us at the Waverly Pub later that night for a couple of pints. So, we set out to find a good place for dinner. This was around 19:00 and we forgot that it was a Saturday with a Bank Holiday on Monday to follow. We walked around a long time before finding a place that wasn’t full. The name of the restaurant was “The Wee Windaes” up on the Royal Mile. The food was really good and we made it inside before the rain and hail (who woulda thunk) started coming down. I had lamb chops and Natalie had fresh Scottish Salmon.
After dinner we walked down the Royal Mile and found the Waverley Pub. Natalie and I went in, but found the place deserted, save for a bar tender and a couple of odd sorts at one of the tables. We got a couple of pints of Tennant’s and grabbed a table. I should have known better, but my mind was telling me “this is gonna be a dud evening”…however my heart knew better.
So…two hours later we were holding court at our table. Natalie was defending “W” and being “chatted-up” by our newfound friend Andrew who was a “newbie” at the Waverley. Meanwhile I sat back and took it all in while catching up on the news from Lindsey and her adventures with the University of Edinburgh, her landscaping ideals and the ultimate defense of her dissertation. This was an original pub with warm “drawn-from-the cellar-drop-by-drop ale” taps and plenty of “Callie80.”
After a few hours and several more pints we bailed on the Waverley and climbed up the Royal Mile, spat on the Edinburgh heart, hopped-skotched on the corner stones, petted the bronze Greyfrier’s Bobby, and finally ended at my favorite E’Burg pub known as “Sandy Bell’s”.
The place was packed, but somehow Natalie had a mission in mind and cleared the way. We ended up right by the musicians and the “Trad” session in the back. (“Trad” is short for traditional music session). We all grabbed a seat and the jig began. Wow, what a night! The bartender kicked us out at 1:30!
So, you might be wondering how I managed to fly over from the US, tour a city, and still experience a pub until the wee hours of the morning? Just pace yourself, don’t take a nap, keep walking, and sing-a-long with the band!
Cheers from Scotland!
David
by David McGuffin | Apr 21, 2007 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, David's Journal, Eating & Drinking
My friends Dennis and Linda sent these pictures of our rural France dining experience. I’ve detailed the experience in the post dated April 18.
by David McGuffin | Apr 18, 2007 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, Eating & Drinking, Restaurant Reviews
I’m in my “European Planning Mode”, and last weekend I took two days to methodically inspect my summer tour schedule. I am one of those guys who enjoys piecing together the individual tour elements in order to make a stress-free and seamless travel experience. Yesterday, I was talking with a friend who is considering studying architectural design. As the conversation went on I began to draw a lot of parallels between constructing a building and building a good group tour. You can do most of the planning up front and lay it out on paper just like a blueprint, but eventually there is always something that crops up to change your plans.
Brunelleschi, the designer and architect of the dome atop the Duomo in Florence, encountered many such problems. Did you know that he wrapped a series of chains and timbers inside the dome just so the gently sloping dome would be pleasing to the eye? Even today you can climb inside the dome and see where he had to alter his original plans to make the final product even better.
A few weeks ago I was taking a group from Interlaken, Switzerland to the Burgundy region in France. It was a Sunday morning and our route took us through the Jura mountain range and some pretty remote countryside. There were 23 of us on the bus and many needed to make a toilet stop. Unfortunately, villages were few and far between and none had any services available. Things were not going according to my plan. You see we were supposed to make a stop at a big restaurant on the highway just before leaving Switzerland. Well we either missed the place or it had moved since the last time I was through the area.
It was almost noon when we came to the town of Pontarlier. I had Peter, our driver, pull the bus off the road and I walked up “Main” street to find a toilet, an ATM, and somewhere to eat. We did find an ATM machine, but that was it! Back on the bus we finally came to a group of fast food highway restaurants. But much to everyone’s dismay, I had Peter drive right by them. We certainly were not going to have our first Sunday lunch in France at a McDonald’s!
I knew from experience that France is covered with little mom and pop run “truck stop” restaurants serving gourmet home cooking meals at a value price. I had my fingers crossed that we’d run across one of these restaurants and it would be open for Sunday lunch. Finally we came upon a lone restaurant. There were no cars but the lights were on inside. I had Peter stop and I ran inside.
The place was empty. I could here some people banging around in the kitchen out back so in my best French accent I shouted bonjour. Out came two ladies and I began my stilted French explanation about a bus full of people, could they serve us lunch, how much would it cost, and is there a toilet nearby. After a few moments we came to an agreement and I went back outside smiling and motioned the group to “come on in.”
You should have seen the two restaurant ladies! At first they were startled that I was even in the restaurant. Then I shocked them again with my lousy French (I am sure they wondered why an American was so far off the beaten tourist path). Their eyes got as big a saucers when I asked if they could serve 23 people. I think they thought I had not learned to count correctly in French. “Vingt-trois,” they exclaimed in unison. “Oui, oui, vingt-trois,” I said as I pointed out the window to the huge 50 seater bus. They looked around, spoke rapidly in French, ran back to the kitchen and took a peek into the refrigerator and return a bit calmer with a nice menu proposal.
By the time I got the group inside the tables had been rearranged with fresh sets of wine glasses, silverware, and napkins all neatly in place. The stressed and panicked looks which had been on their face just minutes before were replaced with kind and understanding expressions. They spoke no English, we spoke very little French, but we all managed to understand what we were ordering and how it would be served.
This began a two hour dining experience where we enjoyed the food, local wine, friendship, and most importantly , the hospitality of the staff. All this was offered at a cost of 17 EURO per person. (Had we had a remotely similar experience in the United States it would have been in a 4-star restaurant and at a cost of $60 or more, not including the wine). I think I can speak for everyone in the group that this was a good decision as our first impression of France. So when my best laid travel plans don’t seem to be going just right…I look for something better!
Restaurant “Le Petit Paris” was completely filled by local folks by 1:00 p.m. Obviously it was well known for good home cooking. We were offered three courses, each having several choices. I had homemade vegetable soup, pork sausage with wine and mushroom sauce, vegetables, and a pear tart for desert. Many of my friends said the “house” salad was to die for! The restaurant is located on route 57 between the towns of Pontarlier and Besancon, about 40 km north of the Swiss border. The owners are Laurence and Patrick Dufau. They can be reached at Tel. 03 81 60 04 42 and only speak French. Closed on Sunday evening and all day on Wednesday.
by David McGuffin | Aug 16, 2005 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, David's Journal, Destinations
“Gubbio, what is there?” That was the response of my tour group as we floated out of Venice and hopped aboard our bus. It seemed we would never get out of Mestre, the industrial town just to the west of Venice. Finally we broke through the tangled web of tractor-trailer rigs and were on the Adriatic coastal road heading south into Italy. As the afternoon wore on we passed one small town after another. The little two-laned road seemed to never end. Finally we cut inland across the mountains and into the region of Umbria.
Gubbio, our homebase for the next three nights, lay at the foot of Mont Ingino. Peter, our driver, and I navigated our way into the town center but soon came to a dead-end at the town’s main square. The roads were all too narrow for our bus, but our hotel lay somewhere up ahead. I got out, walked through the square and continued up the small cobbled street looking in all directions for the hotel. I had the address, but that did not seem to help in this medieval tangle of one-laned alleyways. I was on the correct street, but it seemed to continue uphill forever. By luck I discovered a small iron gate inscribed with “Hotel Gattapone.” There was a buzzer nearby, I pushed it. Momentarily I was greeted by a monotone voice, “Bouna sera, Hotel Gattapone.” I responded in my best Italian, “mi chiamo David McGuffin con gruppo.” “Si, bienvuto, io basso,” the monotone voice responded. The gate sprung open and I headed down the stairs to the ground level.
Soon I was out the front door walking just a short distance back to the main square to retrieve my friends who had patiently been waiting on the bus. We unloaded our luggage with what seemed the whole town looking on. I don’t believe they were all that accustomed to having a tour bus in their town. We rolled and carried our bags up the hill, across the cobbled streets and into our hotel. The gentleman at the desk and I spoke, a little in English, a little in Italian, but we got everyone a room and settled in for our three night stay in Gubbio.
Umbria is a little region sandwiched in between the two biggies of Tuscany and Latium (Rome). This region is often overlooked on the tourist’s itinerary. However as we found out it has much to offer, especially in the area of cuisine! Later that evening we dined at the Taverna del Lupo, a five-diamond rated restaurant just around the corner from our hotel. For a starter we were served cured ham sprinkled with bits of apple, pineapple, and peaches all smothered in a delightful sauce. The tangy fruit complemented the rich and wild taste of the ham. Our pasta came next lightly seasoned with tomatoes and peppers giving it a bit of a zing. The main course consisted of tender veal in a mushroom and truffle sauce accompanied by roasted zucchini and potatoes. A generous serving of bruschetta and special fried bread rounded out the main course. As if we needed more, the meal was followed by home-made ice cream with a berry sauce for desert. Water and wine was included with the meal all for the fantastic price of about $30!
One morning I decided to walk through town and up to the Basilica di Sant’ Ubaldo on Mont Ingino. I began early, wandering through the steep cobbled streets taking in the peacefulness of a town just waking up. At this hour only a few shopkeepers were out tidying their storefronts and settling into the day. Quickly I discovered it was impossible to take just a stroll in this town. In the direction I was headed the streets snaked their way continuously uphill making my heart race and blood pump at a faster pace than normal. I took a break at the Palazzo Ducale finding a little courtyard with a magnificent view of the town spilling below and the valley beyond. There was even a little cafe where I purchased a Magnum Bar (my favorite ice cream on a stick) and enjoyed the view.
From the palace the road ascended steeply beyond the Doumo, turning into little more than a one-cart cobbled path. Finally I reached the Porta di Sant’ Ubaldo, one of the six remaining medieval gates into the town. Here the road turned to gravel and slowly wound its way through the olive groves and evergreen forest. As I trudged on, I was treated to a cool breeze and more awe-inspiring views of the Umbrian hills. I meet a gentleman coming down at a much fasted pace than I was going up. I greeted him with a cheery, “buona sera.” He chuckled, correcting me in Italian, “boun giono,” pointing to his watch and saying, “e nove.” “Good morning, it is only nine.” I too chuckled, winced, and realized I had greeted him at nine in the morning with a “good evening” instead of “good morning.”
Half an hour later I arrived at the Basilica standing on the mountainside overlooking the town. The Basilica has gone through several remodeling jobs over the centuries and what stands here today is from the 16th century. It is worth a look inside to see the giant “candles” (ceri) which are carried uphill during the annual festival of Corso dei Ceri. Even more interesting is the withered corpse of the local patron saint, Ubaldo, forever preserved, and on display, in a glass casket high above the alter.
I was running out of time and decided to take the little funicular down the mountain. This one-man “cable cab” is operated by the local monks and consists of a small cage just large enough for a person to stand upright in. I paid my fee, walked out to the monk and was hurried into the moving cage. In a moment I was suspended high above the hillside en-route to the town below. Once I got over the initial feeling of falling, the ride became enjoyable and a pleasant way to end my morning adventure.
In contrast to Tuscany’s amber and red tiled villages those of Umbria take on a white, almost angelic tint. Obviously it is the character of the local stone from which the buildings are constructed. As in Tuscany, Umbria’s towns are often situated on a hilltops overlooking sweeping vistas of amber grain filled valleys, framed by distant hills covered in olives and evergreens. The setting is “classic” Italian hilltown! However, the biggest contrast between Tuscany and Umbria is in its tourism. While the towns of Tuscany are loaded with tourists day in and day out, those of Umbria lazily sit in their simple existence inviting the savvy traveler to come explore!
by David McGuffin | Jul 4, 2005 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, Destinations
This morning I woke to another day in Paris. I’ve been here for five days leading a tour. The neighborhood where we are staying is peaceful…a little community in itself.
I started the day as usual. Up and out of bed by seven-thirty and out for a day of touring by nine. I did turn on the TV this morning, but all the news was about London winning the Olympic bid and Paris being in mourning. The media can sure put a lot of “hype” and their own spin into a story.
Walking the streets of my hotel neighborhood I heard not a word about Paris losing the bid for the Olympics. Most people were concerned about the light drizzle and the chilly July weather. The lady behind the counter at the pastry shop still greeted me with a cherry “bonjour” and had my favorite crème-filled pastry ready to go.
We walked from our hotel to Les Invalides and Napoleon’s Tomb where we spent a couple of hours visiting the church and tomb and touring the WWII museum. Afterwards we walked around the corner and visited the Rodin Museum.
While having lunch in the garden cafe I got a call on my cell phone from my wife. Her first words were “don’t ride any subways or buses.” Being “out of touch” with the US news media, I had no clue what she was talking about. Soon I learned of the bombings in London and the chaos it had caused earlier in the morning. Needless to say, this caused us some concern. We sat and pondered the terrorist act while finishing our lunch. It was odd, not a soul had mentioned the Olympics or the bombing in London during the three hours we had been sightseeing.
Soon we hopped on the Metro and went to the Champs Elysees for a little more sightseeing. I even popped into the Marriott Hotel to see if they had a television broadcasting the news from London. To my surprise there was not one in sight. Everyone seemed to be going about their normal duties. Later we did see a few more police than normal in the Metro.
City workers were busy putting up the “tri-colors” French flags on every light post up and down the Champs Elysees. Just yesterday there had been Paris 2012 banners hanging in the same places. But now, Bastille Day was approaching and French patriotism was over shadowing all the other news.
I guess my point is this…often we are shocked by events in the world. Hurricanes in Florida, a tsunami in India, mud-slides in California, G8 riots in Scotland, and now, the London bombings. The media focuses on these event making it seem that everyone in the area is affected by the event. But in reality the events usually only affect a small area.
This is true with today’s events too. Yes the London bombings were terrible and my thoughts and prayers go out to those who were killed or injured. I pray that those responsible will be apprehended and dealt with. But we cannot stop living, that is what the terrorist want…to scare us into cowering and become hermits.
Tomorrow I’ll visit Versailles just as planned. I’ll not think much about terrorism. Then on Saturday I’ll fly to the good old USA…home of ice-cold drinks, patriotism, slanted newscasts, huge food portions, the US Dollar, cheap gas (compared to the $8 per gallon in Europe), and, most importantly, to my wife, family and home sweet home!
Traveling is good. It gives a new and fresh perspective on life and the culture and society of others. Viva La France, hip-hip-hooray from the Union Jack, but there is no place like home.
I am happy, safe, and loving the French,
-David
So up the hill, we went. Imagine a big white VW Van barreling up a steep cobbled street that is only a couple of feet wider than our vehicle. There were five people leaning forward, looking in all directions, trying to read street signs and give me hints on directions and driving styles. At this point, we were doing well. We even saw a couple of signs announcing the plaza we were seeking.
