by David McGuffin | Jul 18, 2008 | Culture & Customs, Destinations
Last night I was in Paris for the second time in a month. Every tour group has its different dynamics and this one was no exception. I’m leading around a group of seven adults, three couples, and one single gentleman. After a grueling day of walking and sightseeing, we were all looking forward to my traditional picnic on the Champ du Mars. The weather has been unseasonably cool and until last night, clear and cloudless. That changed yesterday afternoon when the colds rolled in and there was even some sputtering rain.
Not to be cheated out of the picnic experience, we grabbed our umbrellas, and then went off to the market. The Monoprix is a combination of a department store and a supermarket. These are scatted all over Paris, but this one is particulary convienient because it is just three blocks from the Eiffel Tower in the Cambronne area. So, we divided up our shopping duties and agreed to meet outside in twenty minutes. Forty-five minutes later we were loaded with food and were walking to the park.
As I mentioned, it was sputtering rain so there were very few pods of people sitting on the grass park. We decided to risk it and staked out our territory on a grassy section with an amazing view of the Eiffel Tower. We spread out our “table cloth”, all the food, and a couple of bottles of wine. Then we dove into the food.
Looking down the park toward the Eiffel Tower we noticed a group of policemen in white shirts visiting every pod of people, telling them a few things, and then the people either packed up and left or remained seated. This was odd, and very different from all my previous experiences picnicking here. Soon the policemen in white shirts came to our little group of picnickers. One officer told us it was forbidden to have open bottles of “spirits” in the park. I took this to mean liquor, not beer or wine. But when I asked he said no, nothing of the sort was allowed. Now this was really odd. I cannot even begin to recount the times where I’ve picniced with my tour groups on this very location and had no problem.
We all started packing up our food deciding that the weather was not so good for a picnic anyway. Then after about five minutes, more policemen were heading towards us. These were different police, not in white shites but in black commando uniforms with heaving-duty pistols strapped to their side. When they got to us, we all hurriedly said we knew the new rule and were packing up. One of them laughed a bit and said, “No, no it’s ok. Just hide the bottle of wine in your bag and it is ok!” These guys obviously carried more authority than the police in white shirts. So we stayed! No more rain and the evening was a success.
Later we noticed the two sets of policemen speaking with one another. They both were animated in their gestures and it was obvious there was some disagreement. Some of the men in white walked back the way they had come in shame. It seems they were being a little too aggressive in enforcing the new alcohol policy in the park. Three hours later, when we were packing up to go home, we noticed the “NEW” signs which had just been stuck in the ground stating this new “policy.” In big bold icon on the right stated no sitting and drinking from bottles. HA!
So the moral of the story here is that the rule has changed in Paris. There are signs in the parks that illustrate the no drinking rule. But apparently for now, it is ok as long as it is out of view.
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by David McGuffin | Jul 8, 2008 | Culture & Customs, Destinations
Maybe I need to modify my European wardrobe. For years I’ve preached that guys wear solid shoes, khaki pants, and collared shirts. They are easy to care for, blend in, don’t yell “American”, and are comfortable. Now maybe I’m not so sure. Fashion in Europe is a big deal and I’m beginning to notice changes.
This article is for the guys, but you ladies can take note too! I bet if you look around in Paris or Rome you’ll see the same trends in your fashion as well. I’m not Clinton and Stacy from “What Not to Wear”, but I do have a little fashion sense!
Siena – A couple of weeks ago….
Although it was dreadfully warm earlier, the afternoon rain ushered in a cool front across the hills of Tuscany. Earlier, I had dined with my tour group and walked back to the hotel afterwards. I went to my room, but found that I was restless and not really ready for bed. I decided not to waste a night sleeping when I could be on Il Campo, the main town square. Because it was chilly I changed into a pair of jeans, threw on a sweater, and headed out.
As I exited the hotel doorway and walked toward Il Campo, a car with a guy and a girl drove by. Soon they realized they were in a pedestrian area and made a U-turn back towards me. As they were driving by, the girl leaned out and asked, “How do you get to Il Campo?” She spoke only in Italian and I was amazed that I understood it all. Without thinking, I told them they could not drive to Il Campo, they must park here, outside the walls, and walk. I said all this in Floridian-Italian and got the funniest look from the girl. It was like she realized she was hearing the right answer, but it was from the wrong person. After a couple of seconds we both laughed. I said in English, “I’m a tourist” and she responded in English as well, “You don’t look like it.” Then, off we went in opposite directions.
A few weeks before, I was in Florida leading a tour preparation and orientation meeting. When the subject of packing and clothing came up, I gave my ususal spiel about how Europeans generally “dress up” more then we Americans. You don’t see them in shorts or flipflops unless they are at the beach. You’d never catch them in a “warm-up” suit unless they were in a sporting event, and most often they don’t wear jeans. I was challenged on that last statement by someone who had been to Europe the previous year who said, “They wear jeans all the time!” That got me to thinking…
So, now I’m making it a point to notice the fashion this season and see what changes I should make to my packing list. I’ll keep you updated and give you a new list if needed.
-David
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by David McGuffin | May 16, 2008 | Adventures in Tour Guiding, Culture & Customs
It’s not often that I get fooled, but this morning I was completely caught off guard by a gypsy mother and her child.
It all began as five of us were sitting at our hotel having breakfast. We’d just awoken from a comfortable night’s sleep and warm shower, and had a big breakfast to boot. While finishing our coffee, my friends Brenda and Diane were looking out the window and noticed a gypsy woman with her small child across the street. She, like most “beggar” women I’ve encountered, was covered head to toe in dirty clothes, sat in a miserably uncomfortable position in front of the post office, and had her child not in her arms but in a pram. The pram was a bit out of character, but everything else looked normal. Well, Brenda and Dianne were sitting at the breakfast table feeling really sorry for this mother and her kid. At one point, the kid must have been making a fuss and the young mother started slapping him to make him be quiet and lay down in the pram. Soon Walter and Perry (the husbands of Brenda and Diane) and myself were drawn into the spectacle of the scene unfolding on the street below.
Now I had seen this image countless times as the beggar mother looked pitiful and held out a cup for spare euro change. She shook it and moaned something in some indiscernible language which I know translates into “Give some money. I’m hungry, you sucker.” It’s all a sham, an act, and they are really out to steal from us in the end. I tried to convince the others that this is how we get suckered into giving the gypsy-sorts money. Walter decided to challenge me and give her a couple of oranges from the breakfast table. I told him the gypsy mother would give him a look of disgust and throw them back at him.
Soon we were watching from the window above as Walter crossed the street, went to the young mother, and took out two oranges. As he handed them to her, even from our position some 200 feet away, we could see a big smile across her face and immediately the young child poped up from his pram and was reaching longingly for the orange. The young girl had it pealed in a minute and gave it to the kid who devoured it. In the meantime, the mom peeled the other orange for herself and began eating. Walter did not see this happen because he was walking away fully expecting to be hit it the back of his head with a flying orange as I had predicted.
Needless to say I was totally wrong in my prediction! Watching through the window two stories above the street, we saw Walter walk back to the young woman, place some change in her cup, give her a word of encouragement, and then give her a few more euro. Up above I sat at the table in shame recalling my thought that the young woman was a con artist. At that moment, everyone began going back to the breakfast buffet for seconds and loading up their bags and purses with food for the poor mother and her child. After it was all done, I think she got fifteen or so euro and plenty to eat for the rest of the day.
I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow morning.
-David
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 | Mar 16, 2005 | Culture & Customs, Experiencing Europe
by Susan McInarnay
I was fortunate enough to visit Ireland in 2003 and absolutely fell in love with the country. I returned to the US and told one of my best friends, Karen Kelly, that I was going back one day and she was, going with me. I had no idea at the time that the opportunity would arise so soon. I knew that Karen would love Ireland as much as I did. I feel so truly blessed that I was able to enjoy this trip with her as well as be a chaperone to such a great group of students. I felt so proud to see them march and perform in the two St. Patrick’s Day Parades. What a chance of a lifetime for them and for me… to be in Ireland on St. Patrick’s Day. It is the land of my heritage the land of my roots…to be there on my birthday was an added treat too. None of this would have been possible without David McGuffin. I hope that he knows and understands just how much I appreciate and cherish all of the many opportunities he has given me to travel and see the world. It is impossible not to have a good time when you travel with David. As I told David in a card as we returned to the US .. “may the sun shine brightly on your back… until we go again” and we will! God has richly blessed me with this trip and the friendships that I share with both David and Karen. I am truly thankful!
by David McGuffin | Sep 16, 2004 | Culture & Customs, Destinations
Susan and David – Keg Party
by Susan McInarnay
Most of my adult life I have dreamed of the day that I would travel to the country of my ancestry. It had been a lifelong dream of my father’s that unfortunately died with him. Having the opportunity to travel to Ireland with my sister Debby was truly like a dream come true. The country itself is some of the most beautiful that I have ever seen. From the “40 shades of green” to the Cliffs of Moher it is no wonder that all Irishmen that leave long to return to this place. We learned a lot about the history of this proud notion. We have a better understanding of the fortitude, sometimes called stubbornness, of our father and of ourselves. It can be traced to our Irish roots. The respect and love of the land is also a trait that lies within our heritage.
We had a lot of good “craic” (fun) while we were In Ireland. We ate potatoes at almost every meal. There was a song to be sung in the pub almost every night. The memories we made will be treasured for the rest of our lives. The trip was more than just a sightseeing tour for the “McInerney” girls. It was a voyage back to the place where our family began. A place where the people are proud to be Irish and truly mean it when they greet you with, “Cead Mile Fallte” a hundred thousand welcomes.
I feel fortunate that I had the opportunity to visit this wonderful country that has fought long and hard for independence. I feel a certain amount of sadness for all that these people have endured. Yet had it not been for the plight of my ancestors I may not have been born in a country where we take our freedom for granted and don’t truly appreciate all that we are blessed with each and every day. I am thankful for that freedom and for the courage that my greatgrandparents exhibited so many years ago when they decided to make a new life in America and leave their beloved Ireland. I have returned to pay homage to them and their sacrifice.
Susan is a personal friend who has “trusted” me to take her on tours for many years. Her reflections on a recent trip to Ireland are moving and show how travel can affect one’s life. Irish Memories. – David
Last night I was in Paris for the second time in a month. Every tour group has its different dynamics and this one was no exception. I’m leading around a group of seven adults, three couples, and one single gentleman. After a grueling day of walking and sightseeing, we were all looking forward to my traditional picnic on the Champ du Mars. The weather has been unseasonably cool and until last night, clear and cloudless. That changed yesterday afternoon when the colds rolled in and there was even some sputtering rain. 
