Thursday July 18
I woke up at 5:20 am, which was good because I had planned a
trip to Normandy and the D-Day beaches for myself. No one else in the family was too interested in doing that,
so I had the day to myself. I
walked over to the Gare d’Nord station and caught the RER E line to Gare St.
Lazaure, where I caught the 6:45 train to Caen. On the two hour ride there, I read about Prague, where we fly tomorrow.
In Caen, I was met at the station by a tour guide from the
Caen Memorial and Museum, which commemorates D-Day and the related events. I was joined by six other Americans
from NYC, Scranton PA, Hampton VA, and San Diego CA. Our group of 7 spent the day with our guide, Pierre, a
graduate student of history from the local university, and driver Bernard, a
former cabbie condemned to shepherding fat Americans.
We spent the first part of the day at the Museum, where
Pierre guided us through the exhibit starting with the end of WWI, the rise of
Facism in Italy and Germany, the appeasement of France and the UK, the start of
WWII, the collapse of the French Army in 1940, the Vichy government, French
collaboration with Germany, the slow rise of the French resistance, the Allied
preparations for D-Day, the Allied invasion, and the three month war in Normandy. Pierre and I had a running conversation
about why France so rapidly capitulated to the German invasion, and why there
was so little resistance to the German conquerors in the immediate aftermath.
He explained that the French people did not want to have a repeat of
WWI, which mainly took place in France, and cost millions of lives. There was no will of the people to
fight, and they accepted that they would rather live under German occupation than risk death to defend their
homes and way of life. He also explained that the
roots of the Vichy government went back to a long-running dispute in France
over the form of government. Since
the French revolution in 1789, France had flip-flopped between a republic,
Empire under Napoleon, a monarchy, a republic, and back and forth through
various iterations of governments.
Conservatives wanted a strong central government, and republicans wanted
a weaker central government with power in the people. Viewed in this way, Pierre said, the Vichy government was
the “revenge” of the conservatives over the republicans. With Petain, the WWI hero, as its head,
and many other well-known leaders filling out its cabinet, and promises of
economic prosperity with its largest trading partner (Germany), the Vichy
government promised peace and stability, and was widely accepted by the
French people. The French police enforced
the new German rules, including rounding up Jews and other undesirables.
Pierre said there was no organized French resistance to the
Germans until late 1942; initially, dumb teenagers trying to impress girls
tried cutting phone lines, putting sand in gas tanks, or otherwise engaging in
minor acts of sabotage. Most were
promptly executed. France had no
well-known national figure such as Churchill to vow that they would fight the
Germans on the beaches, and on the hills, and in the cities, and never
surrender. Charles de Galle was a
minor officer at the start of WWII, and few of the French knew of him at the time. The British selected de Galle as
propaganda move to be the voice of French resistance, and it worked. Only after the German Army was defeated
at Stalingrad in 1942 did the French people start to think that maybe the Riech
would not last for 1000 years.
Even then, relatively few French participated in the Resistance; most
tried to stay out of the way of either the Germans or the Maquis. Most Resistance members were betrayed
by fellow Frenchmen, and caught by the French police.
Pierre said that, after WWII, de Gaulle created a “myth”
that all of the French people had opposed the Germans, that resistance was
everywhere, and that the collaborators were the exception rather than the
rule. De Gaulle did this, Pierre
explained, in an effort to unify the French people after the war. While the senior members of the Vichy
government were convicted in show trials, virtually no local or regional
politicians, or police, were held accountable for their roles in the war. Only in the 1980s, when a US historian
exploded the myth and revealed the fervent French embrace of their German
conquerors, did the French grudgingly accept partial responsibility for their
actions. Additional people were
put on trial, textbooks rewritten, and memorials were created. Pierre said that, in all the countries that Germany conquered during the war,
only in France did the local police round up Jews on their own initiative and turn them over for
deportation and execution. It was a most interesting discussion.
After lunch in Caen, our group boarded a minibus to see some
of the D-Day sights. We first went
to Pont de Hoc, just west of Omaha beach, to see where the US Army Rangers
climbed a 100 foot cliff up to a battery of German 150mm guns in the face of
German defensive fire. The Point
has a sweeping view of both Omaha and Utah beaches, and would have been deadly
to have that remain in German hands during the landings. The Rangers captured the point and
found that the guns had been moved back a mile or so. Two Rangers stumbled on the big guns and destroyed the
firing mechanisms with thermite grenades.
Over the next couple of days, the Rangers held the Point against several
German counterattacks, and on June 8 were relieved by elements of the First
Army. By that time, only 80 of the
225 Rangers remained. I walked
around the Point, still pockmarked with craters from the naval and aerial
bombardments, and marveled at the dedication of the soldiers. Inside one of the bunkers, the wooden
ceiling under the concrete was still charred from the flamethrowers the Rangers
used to kill the defenders. I
walked off the beaten path and stumbled upon two pitch-black ammunition bunkers. Using the light on my iPhone, I went in
and was startled by a rat the size of a cat scurrying across the dank
floor.
Next, we drove to Omaha Beach, a four-mile crescent-shaped
beach backed by 50-foot high bluffs bristling with more than 100 German bunkers. We drove down one of the five defilades
that were the only way of equipment to get off the beach. More than 1000 US soldiers died on that
beach on June 6. The roads to the
beach were captured through a series of frontal assaults and by troops who had
scaled the bluffs and attacked from the rear. Today, Omaha is once again a regular beach, with thousands
of people playing in the surf and sand.
I didn’t expect that, but I guess it would be unreasonable to maintain the whole beach as a memorial.
We then drive to the US Cemetery in Colleville-sur-Mer,
at the south end of Omaha Beach.
As I slowly walked through the rows of meticulously maintained rows of
crosses, I paused before one that read, “Here rests in honored glory a comrade
in arms known but to God.” I was unexpectedly
moved, and knelt down and murmured a prayer of thanks to all those who gave
their last measure in the cause of freedom. I thought of my mother and her family in Holland, awaiting
the liberation of Europe, and how they were overjoyed to hear of the Allied
landings. They thought that the
war would be over in late 1944. It
took nearly three months for the Allies to break out of Normandy, however, and
at a terrible cost. The US
cemetery is only one of many battlefield cemeteries in Normandy – there are 18
British and Canadian cemeteries, and several German cemeteries with over
100,000 buried. And more than
12,000 French civilians were killed in those three terrible months.
We next drove to an intact German battery
that still has its guns in place. All were put out of action by naval shelling
on June 6. Pierre explained that,
after the war, the land that had been confiscated by the Germans was returned
to the landowners. Most scrapped
the guns for money, but this landowner kept those on his property intact, and
when he died, he willed them to the town.
Pierre added that virtually all of the German bunkers in Normandy also
remained, since it was too expensive to destroy them. Some were sealed off, and virtually all were grown over and known
only to curious boys.
Our last stop was the British artificial
harbor at Arromanches. The Brits
created hollow concrete boxes 45 feet high and 100 feet long, floated them
across the channel, then sunk them offshore to create a breakwater. (The corresponding US artificial harbor
at Omaha was not anchored to the bottom before a huge storm destroyed it 12
days after D-Day.) The Arromanches
harbor (code named “Mulberry”, and later called Port Winston), was used for 8
months to resupply the Allied invasion, until Antwerp was captured and the port
facilities repaired. Some of those
concrete “Phoenixes” were refloated in 1953 and taken to Holland to repair
dikes after devastating floods.
Today, the remains of the harbor is still visible, and is a testament to
the engineering skill and long-term preparations for the liberation of
Europe.
Bernard and Pierre drove us back to Caen,
were we caught the 7:35 train back to Paris. I got back to the apartment at about 11 pm, where I packed
for our early departure tomorrow for Prague.
While I was in Normandy, Jennifer and the
kids spent the day sightseeing in Paris.
Jennifer and Kirsten went up into the Eiffel Tower (I had forgotten to
reserve tickets until our arrival in Paris, and could only get two tickets). They were playing card games when I got
back. I’m glad that they had a
good time – I certainly enjoyed my day.
Friday, July 19
I woke up at 5:15 am to shower and rouse the
rest of the family for our 6 am taxi to Charles de Gaulle airport and our flight
to Prague. At 6 am, the taxi did
not show up, and no one was answering at the number. I walked to a nearby hotel and the clerk helpfully called
the taxi company, which apologized for not sending a cab. It dispatched another, and we made it
to the airport in plenty of time to catch our flight on a discount carrier
named “SmartWings.” I was
suspicious when I saw that the A319 simply said “Express Travel” and no
corporate logo, but we arrived without any problems.
I had reserved a minivan in Prague, and our
plan is to spend a few days in the city, then spend the last part of our
vacation driving though the Chech Republic, Austria, Bavaria, and
Switzerland. While loading our
Peugeot minivan, Jennifer noticed that her front seat armrest was not attached
– it just fell off. We reported the damage, and I hoped that the rest of the
car was in better condition. I
also rented a portable wifi hotspot (5 euros/day,
the same price as a dedicated GPS), so I could use the iPhone as a GPS, as well
as have the ability to look things up when needed.
We drove to our apartment located in the New
Town section of Prague, near the main train station. We were met by Sara, the owner’s girlfriend, who showed us
to a newly renovated three bedroom apartment. She said that she and her boyfriend had 4 different
apartment that they rented out, and had just got this one. It’s a beautiful place. The only downside is it doesn’t have
A/C, but it’s really not necessary, since the Prague only gets to the upper
70’s during the day. Like our
Paris and Rome apartments, this has big windows that allow cross-breezes
through the apartment, and like the other apartments, no screens. We’ve noticed a few more bugs flying in
– a couple of moths, a few small flies, and a mosquito – but nothing too
bad. But I wonder about this
European aversion to window screens.
We stowed our stuff in the apartment and set
out to explore the city. We walked
a couple of blocks and caught the #22 tram that rattled through the town,
across the river, and up to Prague Castle, supposedly the largest castle in the
world. For more than a thousand
years, it has looked over the town.
The Chech president’s office is located within the complex, as well as
the Catholic archbishop We watched the changing of the guard, listened to a old
guy waving some signs rant about something (and was heartened to see than he
was permitted to do so), and ate lunch ate a place with a great view over the
city. We wandered through the
castle complex, watched several newlyweds posing for pictures, and explored the
little shops down “Golden Lane.”
By that time, it was close to 6 pm, and we’d been on the go for more
than 12 hours. We walked down the
hill and caught a tram back to the square near our apartment, and bought ice
cream. Each cone cost 20 crowns,
or a little over a dollar. We’re
not in Paris anymore!
After we recharged a bit at the apartment,
Kirsten, Jennifer and I went grocery shopping. I drove down the cobblestone streets trying to remember where
the big supermarket was, and eventually found it and, more importantly, a
parking place nearby. We were
pleased to see that food prices were significantly lower than Paris or Rome,
and got 5 bags of groceries for $25.
We fixed a simple dinner, mapped out our plan for tomorrow, then relaxed
with some family card games.
Saturday, July 20
I woke up early and, while everyone else was
still asleep, went out to see if I could find a bakery. I found one a few blocks away and
bought a bunch of croissants and pastries. Eventually the rest of the family got in gear, and we got
out of the apartment at 11 am. We
took the subway to Wencelas Square and walked to Havel Market, which has been
on that site since 1322. We
browsed through the stalls, which had a mixture of the standard tourist schlock
made in China (including some highly irritating cackling witches), and some
genuine crafts made by local artisans.
For lunch, we took the suggestion of Mr.
Steves and went to Ceska Kuchyne, an old-fashioned cafeteria-style eatery. Each person is handed a slip of paper
when you enter, and you grab a tray and point at what you want. A server hands it to you and writes a
number on your paper. The food was
basic and surprisingly good. At
the end, you are not permitted to exit without giving your slip of paper to the
cashier, who converts the numbers to the cost of each item. Lose your paper? You pay 500 crowns (about $25). Our bill for 5 fully loaded trays,
including hearty soups, entrees, drinks, was less than 1000 crowns.
We wove our way to the Old Town Square and
looked at the Astronomical Clock, which was constructed in the early
1400s. It is a complex piece of
engineering that tells the time, when sunset will occur, the phases of the
moon, and more. Each hour doors
open and a parade of figures parade around. Surrounding the clock are four
statues, each with a moral lesson to the citizens of Prague: A Moor in a turban strumming a
mandolin, representing hedonism, a hook-nosed Jew clutching a bag of money,
representing greed; a man looking in a mirror, representing vanity; and a
skeleton, representing death. We
watched to clock do its thing at 4 pm, although watching the throng gaze upward
was more interesting.
Old Town Square is filled with history – a
memorial to Jan Hus, a Catholic reformer who pre-dated Martin Luther by 100
years and was burned at the stake for his troubles. The Tyn Church, which Hus’s followers took from the
Catholics and used as a Hussite church for 200 years, before the Habsburg
Empire won the 30 Years War and reasserted Catholic control. 27 crosses laid in the cobblestones to
mark were local nobles, merchants and intellectuals were beheaded in 1621 for
rebelling against the Catholic Church and the Habsburg rulers from Vienna.
Three years before those 27 people had literally thrown out of the castle
window the two Habsburg governors.
They landed in a manure pile and survived. The square is a riot of architectural styles, virtually all
of it original, since Prague was one of the only Central European capitals to
be spared during WWI and WWII.
We continued on our way, strolling across the
Charles Bridge, the ancient span that is now a pedestrian-only bridge, lines
with artists and buskers. We
rested in a large park in the Little Quarter. Spencer and Garrett tossed a Frisbee and were joined by
three girls from Ireland.
Eventually we made our way over to the Memorial to the victims of
Communism, a spectral staircase with bronze statues of decaying people,
representing (in the words of the adjacent sign) the corrosive power of the
totalitarian despotic rule. We
caught a tram back to our apartment, done for the day.
Sunday July 21, 2013
Today we drove about 60 kilometers north to
the town of Terezin. In the 1780s
the Hapsburgs built a pair of large forts on each side of the New Ohre River to
guard the northern end of their empire from the Prussians. The larger fort enclosed more than a
square mile of land, and had barracks that could accommodate 5000 troops. The forts were decommissioned in the
1860s, and the larger fort became the town of Terezin. The smaller fort was converted to a
prison, and was used to hold Bosnian Serb Gavrilo Princip, whose assassination
of Archduke Franz Ferdinand sparked WWI.
When Nazi Germany annexation of Sudetenland
was ratified by the Munich Accord of 1938 (“peace in our time”), many Chechs
fled to Terezin, which was on the Sudetenland border. After Germany finished annexing Chechoslovakia, it started
sending political prisoners to the small fort next to Terezin. In late 1941, the Nazis evicted all of
the residents of Terezin, and forcibly relocated tens of thousands of
Jews into the old barracks in the large fort. The Nazis sent to Terezin
Jews of particular high standing or reputation. Terezin was at times used by the Nazis as a propaganda show
camp, to prove to the world that relocated Jews were humanely treated.
By late 1942, about 60,000 Jews were
crammed into Terezin, in barracks built to house 5000. Terezin became a
transit camp, where between late 1942 and late 1944, more than 90,000 Jews
temporarily lived before being sent east to Treblinka or other death camps,
where almost all were immediately killed.
While the Nazis did not gas Jews at Terezin, more than 35,000 died from
malnutrition, disease, or execution.
We walked through the Ghetto Museum, which
documented the implementation of the “Final Solution” and the role of Terezin
in the Holocaust. Of particular
note was the artwork and poetry of the children, who were educated by some of
the leading Jewish intellectuals and artists. Terezin held more than 10,000 children, and almost all were
killed. Their drawings and poems
were left behind and found after the Russians liberated the camp in 1945, and
have been published in many languages in a book titled, I Never Saw Another Butterfly: Children's Drawings and Poems from the Terezin Concentration Camp.
The drawings reflect the horror as seen through a child’s eyes. Visiting a concentration camp was a sobering and depressing lesson
that I think is vitally important for my children to learn, so they will never
forget the Holocaust, and hopefully become better people as they leaven their
souls with the sorrow for sin and hope for redemption.
After a late lunch in the nearby town of
Litomerice, we drove back to Prague.
We debated whether to go to a concert at 9 pm – an Iceland folk rock
group named Aristor was playing at a nearby club, but after sampling their
music and discovering most of their lyrics were in Icelandish (or whatever they
speak in that frozen country), we decided to stay in, play family games, grill
some burgers, and pack up for tomorrow’s departure.
Monday, July 22
I bolted wide awake at around 6 am, aware
that I was leaking and that my pad had shifted away, so I was soaked. I hate it when that happens. I quietly showered, dressed, and mapped
out the drive from Prague to Salzburg, writing notes in case the GPS didn’t
work.
We had set a goal to get rolling by about 9
am, but I was the only one awake at 9.
I don’t like cracking the whip, but more often than not if I don’t do
it, no one will. We finally got on
the road at 10:41. Oh well, at
least we don’t have a plane or train to catch.
We drove two hours south and stopped at Cesky
Kremlov, a well-preserved medieval town with a large castle overlooking the
houses nestled in the bend of a river. During the Habsburg’s reign, this town was a center of
commerce and education for German-speaking people. Hitler came here in 1938 to announce the annexation of the
Sudenland. In 1945, the Germans
were evicted from the town (and the rest of Cechoslovakia) as an officially-sanctioned form of ethnic cleansing, at the town was
emptied. Roma and other
transplants moved in, the Communist government built a huge paper mill that polluted
the river, and the historic town began to decay.
After the Velvet Revolution in 1989, the government stopped the
pollution, and tourists rediscovered the historic town. It’s like Germany’s Rotenberg, except
Cesky Krumlov has not been turned into a theme park.
We meandered down the cobblestone streets,
browsing the shops that had a much higher ratio of authentic Chech crafts than
tourist schlock (Jennifer bought some hand made wrought iron candlesticks, and
Kirsten some soft leather gloves).
We had a fine lunch at a small inn, and I managed to get rid of the last
of my Chech crowns (since the country has not yet adopted the Euro). Spencer, Garrett and I climbed up a
steep slope to the ramparts of the castle wall. I stopped at the base of the wall, but the boys kept going through the
overgrowth until they pulled themselves up onto the arches supporting the
castle over a ravine. They crawled
through connecting tunnels until they were more than 50 feet above the ground,
then sat with their legs dangling over the edge while tourists pointed and
their mother yelled at them to be safe.
They found a different way down, but soon discovered that they had come
into contact with some poison ivy.
They said it was worth it, however.
We returned to the car for the 2.5 hour drive
to Salzburg. We followed the Apple
Maps program (Google’s could not connect to the server) and the GPS took us
down smaller and smaller roads, until we were driving down a twisting lane
barely wide enough for our van.
Jennifer was getting nervous, but eventually we crossed the border into
Austria, through Bad Leonfelden, and down a long canyon to emerge in Linz. The GPS stopped working as soon as we
entered Austria, but I was able to follow my notes and turn west towards Salzburg
and make our way to our apartment.
Our place in Salzburg is located in the
suburb of Koppl, up the about 5 miles east of the city. It’s a large duplex with three
bedrooms, a large living room and kitchen. Two windows even have screens! It’s very quiet, surrounded by trees and mountains up each
side of the canyon. It’s the
opposite of Paris or Rome. It
feels good to be back in the woods again.
After we checked in and dropped off our bags,
Jennifer and I went foraging for food.
We didn’t bother bringing any maps; we figured that if we drove towards
town, we’d eventually find a grocery store. Sure enough.
Getting back was a bit more of an adventure – left at the BP gas
station, right past the Volvo dealership, up the hill to – what was the name of
the street we’re looking for? We
made it, fixed spaghetti and salad for dinner. Family games after, then bed. Another day of our vacation is over.
Tuesday, July 23
Today I decided to pull back, not crack the
whip, and let whoever else wanted to lead step up. While I was up at 6 am, it was after 10 am by the time
everyone else had risen. I sat and
read as everyone slowly ate breakfast, then asked what we were doing
today. I told them whatever they
decided was fine. After some
curious looks and shrugs, they decided we should look around Old Salzburg. I gave everyone an option of first driving up to the top to Gaisberg, a nearby mountain with a scenic overlook, or going straight into town. The family chose Gaisberg, so we slogged our way up the mountain and enjoyed the view. We then drove down the mountain (mistakenly using a private farm road that was barely wide enough for our van) and made our way the parking garage under the cliffs near town. We started to wander around town. Everyone kept asking me where we were
going, and I kept telling them whatever they decided was fine with me. Jennifer and Spencer skimmed the
Rick Steves entry on Salzburg, chose some highlights to walk by, and found a
place for lunch.
During lunch, I was asked if I was mad or
upset or depressed, since I was not taking the lead or acting as the tour
guide. I explained that I felt I had
not been getting a lot of support from the rest of the family in following
through on the plans that we had earlier agreed upon, and that I was tired of
being on the receiving end of a lot of crap. Jennifer and Spencer both knew what I was talking about,
apologized for their lack of support, and committed to be more active and
involved. Garrett didn’t
understand the problem, and kept asking for specifics. Kirsten was conspicuously silent.
For the rest of the day, whatever they
decided was fine with me. I had
little interest in Old Town Salzburg anyway, so I was content to go along with
the flow. That’s unusual for me –
usually, I like to be involved in setting the agenda. Today, I just let go and saw what happened. The effect, I think, was perhaps a bit
greater sensitivity on everyone’s part of the give and take. I committed to work towards a
consensus, and everyone else agreed to get more involved in the planning and
execution of our travels.
By 5 pm, the kids were done walking around
the old town. We returned home and
rested a bit. It’s interesting to
me how quickly the kids plug themselves in when they come home: Garrett into his Nintendo DS, Kirsten
and Spencer into their iPhones.
Everyone is in their own electronic silo, doing their own thing and
ignoring everyone else. It’s not
much different than home, really.
Jennifer fixed a nice dinner of chicken
breasts, broccoli, salad, and bread, then afterwards Spencer proposed a family
game (usually it’s Garrett), so we played a game of hearts. Maybe I should lay back more
often.
Wednesday, July 24
Last night, we had agreed on today’s
line-up: Hallien Salt Mine tour,
paragliding, then Schloss Hellbrun. We got loaded in the car near our target time, and on the drive to the salt mines, Kristen pointed out that it’s
Pioneer Day. Spencer asked,
“what’s that?”, and Kirsten explained the Utah holiday based upon the Mormon
Pioneers entering SLC on July 24, 1847, and it’s now commemorated by parades
and rodeos. Spencer said, “huh”
and the car was silent for a while.
The Hallien salt mine is one of the oldest
and largest mine tours in Europe. The tour takes you into the salt mines from
which Salzburg gets its name. You
are dressed in white pants and smocks to protect your clothing from brine, and
keep you warm in the 55 degree air.
You ride a little train into the mine by straddling a small bench and
sitting single file with your head low so you don’t bump on the ceiling. After 650 meters, you get off the train
and hike another 300 meters, and there you re shown the first part of a
bizarre, 4-part movie having to do with a Catholic archbishop in the early
1800s who wants more money from the salt production. His clumsy assistant ends up burning down half of Salzburg,
and the archbishop dies in prison, confessing on his deathbed that he’d
fathered 15 children. What it had
to do with the actual mine is a mystery.
What we did get to do was slide down two
large slides from the 17th century, which is how the miners easily
changed levels. The kids liked
that. We also took a boat across a
brine lake, which Kirsten compared to when Harry Potter and Dumbledore were
searching for the horcrux in book/movie #6. We saw no inferi and got across safely. Eventually we emerged back into the
daylight with a souviner salt shaker.
The tour wasn’t as good as I remember it from 1985.
We then drove further south to Warfenwang,
where I had arranged for the kids to go paragliding. Each one would ride tandem with a pilot, with the passenger
slung from a chair in front of and slightly below the pilot. We rode a cable car up to the top of a
mountain nearly 2 km above sea level, and Jennifer and I watched as each of the
kids were strapped and waddled with the pilot down the hill and into the air. All of them really liked it – Spencer
thinks he might want to try to do it on his own eventually. Garrett was whooping as his pilot did
swift spin turns and banked at a greater than 90 degree angle. And Kirsten had a big grin on her face
as she flew over the earth. (We
know because we watched the photos and videos made by the pilots, but the kids
didn’t want them badly enough to buy them.)
By the time we were done, it was after 3 pm,
and we were hungry. We eventually
stumbled into a little café at the bottom of the mountain, where the
waitress/cook/cashier/busser was kept busy preparing and serving solid
diner-style food and ice cream to our clan.
Our stomachs filled, we headed back north to
Schloss Hellbrun, a “day palace” built by the archbishop in 1615 to entertain
his guests. This guy had a perverse
sense of humor, and put all sorts of trick fountains through his property, so
unsuspecting guests could be squirted at any time. His outdoor table would provide enemas to his guests, who
under strict rules of court protocol could not stand up until the archbishop
did. We were all squirted
unexpectedly, which was part of the fun. Kirsten got the most unexpected shot in the gut as she was scampering to escape a line of fountains over hear hear. We were all laughing at the silly fun.
A long day over, we returned home for some
relaxation, more card games, and foraging for leftovers for dinner. Mission accomplished on all
points.
I’ve been unable to post any blog updates while in Salzberg,
because the wifi at the apartment will not connect to the computer. The wifi works fine with the handheld
devices, and Spencer was able to connect with the computer the first night, but
since then the mac has been unable to detect the wifi, and I have been unable
to repair it despite running several diagnostics. I’ll just have to wait until our next destination. [Note: Posted from Fussen, Germany, our destination tomorrow.]
