The City of Light

Time for another retrospective post. Visiting Paris for the first time was the fulfilment of a childhood dream. For as long as I can remember, I was mesmerised by images of the Eiffel Tower and the Arc de Triomphe. I finally got to see them with my own eyes in October 1990.

At the time, I was nearing the end of a three-month backpacking odyssey through Europe. Dean Keiller, a sheep-farming friend from Victoria, and I had leveraged a Eurail Youth Pass and travelled as far north as the Arctic Circle in Norway, and as far south as Morocco. Our final two weeks on the road were devoted to visiting Paris, the Netherlands and then making our way across the Channel to London.

Getting to Paris was another bucket list moment. On 13 October, we caught the 15:52pm TGV service bound for Paris in Avignon. As a civil engineering geek, I’d always dreamed of riding a high-speed train. The TGV had entered service just nine years earlier on a new high-speed line from Lyon to Paris, reaching a top speed of 270 km/h.

As a result, the train we caught travelled on a regular rail track until it reached Lyon, where it transitioned onto its dedicated line. You know immediately when the transition has occurred as the train’s speed increased dramatically. Dean and I were like kids in a candy store as the French countryside began to blur past the window. It was definitely worth the extra surcharge we paid on our Eurail tickets.

However, this wasn’t the only unique rail travel moment we experienced. Earlier in the day, we’d crossed the border into France after catching a train from Barcelona. Back then, Spanish trains ran on Iberian gauge tracks (1668mm width), while France used standard gauge (1435mm). As a result, when the train crossed the border near Perpignan, it had to transition onto the narrower French rails.

Carriages on the Spanish train featured an adjustable boogie that allowed their wheels to be slowly pushed together or pulled apart using a gauge-changing device. However, the train engine’s wheels were always fixed, so it was always swapped at the border. Converting the entire train took about ten minutes. These days, the high-speed train network in Spain runs on standard gauge, so its trains travel seamlessly across Europe.

After travelling continuously for almost 18 hours from Seville, we finally arrived in Paris mid-evening. Here we transferred to the local rail network and made our way to a campsite in the outer suburbs. For the next five days, we explored the City of Lights from top to bottom.

Naturally, our first full day in Paris was devoted to visiting its most iconic sights, including the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower. We climbed both structures. The Eiffel Tower was particularly challenging. You could climb the stairway from the ground to the second level for seven francs or spend 11 francs and climb the stairs to the third level. As budget-wary backpackers, we elected to climb the stairs all the way. I’m glad we did, as it gave us a more intimate look at the tower’s structure and engineering. I loved it.

I had the same reaction to a scale model replica of the Statue of Liberty standing on an artificial island in the Seine. The original statue was designed by French sculptor Bartholdi, and its innovative iron skeleton by Gustavo Eiffel. It was built and assembled in a workshop in Paris before being shipped to New York as a gift to the American people in 1887.

I’ve pulled the image above from the web. It tells the story of what went on behind the scenes in Paris all those years ago.The replica on the Seine was one of the workshop's working models. Parisian expatriates living in the United States bought it and gave it to Paris in 1889.

Our remaining days were filled with many highlights, including a trip up the hill to Basilique du Sacré-Cœur de Montmartre, the iconic white-domed church offering uninterrupted views of the city. At the base of the hill I still recall my first glimpse of the faux windmill atop the equally iconic Moulin Rouge cabaret hall. Although we never ventured inside.

Dean and I also visited Hotel des Invalides to see Napoleon’s tomb, marvelled at the crazy pipework cladding on the Pompidou Centre, and gazed in awe at the interior of Notre Dame Cathedral. A note on the back of the photo above reminded me that I took it while sitting on Dean’s shoulders. It was the only way to get a shot with plenty of Autumn colour in the foreground.

The collonaded building shown above is La Madeleine. It’s actually a regular Catholic Church, surrounded on four sides by soaring Corinthian columns. This rather unorthodox design reflects its origins as a royal showpiece. Louis XV commissioned it as the focal point of the new Rue Royal, leading to the new Place Louis XV, the present Place de la Concorde. It’s easy to understand why the French eventually overthrew their king when you see one indulgent building after another around the city.

We spent at least half a day exploring the Louvre from one end to the other. Like all good tourists, we stopped to admire La Giaconda, better known as the Mona Lisa, and like so many before us, came away surprised at how small and unassuming the portrait really was. I also loved seeing the Venus de Milo sans her arms and the equally iconic Winged Victory of Samothrace.

Once again, much like our experience in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence, we couldn’t believe the endless stream of iconic artist names on display throughout the museum. As an aside, Dean and I visited the Louvre long before its glass pyramid entrance opened. This famous structure didn’t start greeting guests until 1993. 

On our final full day in Paris, 18 October, Dean and I ventured out of town to explore the Palace of Versailles. This former royal residence was easy to reach by train, about 18 km from the city centre. Commissioned by King Louis XIV in 1661, it became the seat of the royal court the following year and remained so until the French Revolution.

The palace is an extraordinary complex. Its statistics are mind-boggling. The palace itself sits on an estate of more than 800 hectares (8 square kilometres). The main building boasts 2,143 windows, 1,252 chimneys and 67 staircases. Within the grounds sits an equally impressive building, a French Baroque-style chateau known as the Grand Trianon. It served as a less formal retreat for the royal family.

Without doubt, the most famous room in the entire palace is the iconic Hall of Mirrors. This 400-metre-long gallery links two wings of the palace. It features 17 windows facing west towards the formal gardens and parkland, while the opposing wall has 17 equally large mirrors. These mirrors reflected the king’s wealth as mirror glass was an expensive luxury in the 17th century. It could only be made with considerable effort, which took time and money to complete. 

As you can see from the image above, which I’ve pulled from the web, the ceiling in the Hall of Mirrors is also richly decorated. One final fun fact: the infamous Treaty of Versailles, which ended the First World War, was signed here. It was the most opulent palace that Dean and I had ever seen. Decades later, I’d get to explore royal residences in London, St Petersburg and Vienna that rival Versailles. However, as my first experience of European royal decadence, it made a lifelong impression. 

On 19 October, Dean and I packed our bags and headed for the Netherlands. This was to be our final destination in continental Europe before making our way to London. However, we decided to base ourselves in Delft, rather than travel further north to Amsterdam. 

We chose this southern town for its proximity to iconic locations, including Kinderdijk and the nation’s dike system. In particular, we were keen to see the engineering marvel that is Oosterscheldekering, the enormous storm-surge barrier which had opened just three years earlier. Not sure what I’m talking about? Follow this post, which explains everything.

The Eternal City

Time for another retrospective travel post. This time we’re off to Rome, the venerated capital of Italy. I first visited this city in September 1990. At the time, I was backpacking through Europe with Dean Keiller, a Victorian sheep farmer. For three months, we used a flexible Eurail Youth Pass to visit 12 countries (and a few more after the ticket expired).

Our journey to Rome began in a rather unorthodox manner. Weeks earlier, Dean had discovered that his cousin was travelling in Italy as a Contiki tour guide. We scheduled our time in Florence to coincide with her arrival in town. Much to our surprise, when Dean caught up with her, she offered to collect us from our campground and take us with her to the Eternal City.

Her bus, filled with fare-paying travellers, duly arrived shortly after breakfast on 15 September. She greeted us with strict instructions regarding a cover story she’d shared with the group. We were Contiki staff tasked with researching facilities for camping-based tours. Once on board, Dean and I gamely played our part, regaling the curious crowd with stories of our detailed research, aka, our Eurail adventures to date.

Dean’s cousin subsequently arranged a complimentary hotel room for our first night in Rome. She reassured us that the hotel regularly offered free rooms to Contiki staff under an annual contract. We then transferred to a local campground located some distance out of town for the remainder of our stay. Thanks to Dean’s cousin, we spent our first full day in Rome visiting Vatican City. She took us with her tour group to the Vatican Museum, where we placed our backpacks in storage and spent the day exploring the museum, St. Peter's Basilica and neighbourhoods north of the Tiber River.

The Vatican Museum was an eye-opener. The artwork and precious items on display were beyond belief. It quickly became apparent how wealthy the Catholic Church had become as century after century passed. Room after room hosted all manner of priceless Renaissance artwork, including The Transfiguration by Raphael, a stunning four-metre-tall masterpiece.

We both loved the spiralling Bramante Staircase. If you look closely, you’ll spot me at the bottom striking a pose. This staircase is a double helix, featuring two staircases that facilitate uninterrupted pedestrian flow. People can ascend via one spiral without meeting people descending on the other. Very clever!

Equally memorable was the Sistine Chapel. Nothing prepares you for the majesty of this fresco-covered sanctuary. Our visit coincided with the final stages of a massive decade-long restoration project that began in 1984. During our visit, the chapel’s altar wall was completely enclosed by scaffolding. The temporary structure was clad with a reproduction of The Last Judgement, the stunning artwork hidden from view. I finally got to see this masterpiece 13 years later when Garry and I visited Rome in 2003.

The chapel’s ceiling was every bit as magnificent as posters and reproductions would have you believe. I couldn’t believe that I was standing there with a kink in my neck, looking up at the Lord’s outstretched hand, the most iconic scene in the Creation of Adam, possibly one of the world’s most recognisable works of art. The three images above were all taken years later, when Garry and I visited.

However, the most memorable moment for me came as Dean and I walked through the gift shop. Dean pointed to a postcard depicting the Creation of Adam, commenting that he’d missed this iconic image. I turned to him and said, “It’s in the middle of the ceiling.” He responded, telling me that he hadn’t looked at the ceiling. He thought the artwork on the walls was the chapel’s focal point.

I was stunned. I marched him back to the exit door, explained to the security guard on duty that he’d failed to look up at the chapel ceiling and insisted that he let him back in to see it. The guard relented. I waited half an hour for Dean to retrace his steps and enjoy the ceiling in all its glory. To this day, I still regale others with the story of my friend who never saw the chapel’s ceiling.

The rest of our afternoon was spent exploring St. Peter's Basilica and the dramatic, collonaded surrounds of Piazza San Pietro. The size and scale of the Basilica were truly breathtaking. However, the opulence of the entire complex beggared belief. I couldn’t fathom how centuries of everyday followers of Christ could reconcile such decadent displays of wealth while they lived harsh and impoverished lives.

We collected our backpacks from the museum cloakroom, paid one last visit to Piazza San Pietro, and then headed 8 km out of town to the local camping ground. We based ourselves here for the next three nights, catching a bus into town every morning and back again late afternoon. We ran into a nun as we were preparing to leave the Vatican. It was her first visit to Rome, having dreamt of this moment her entire life. We invited her to join us for a photo with fellow newbies. That's the image which opens this post.

Like all good tourists, we spent the next few days ticking off one iconic sight after another. This included a visit to the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, and Palatine Hill. I loved Palatine Hill, largely because we got to walk around Circus Maximus, the city’s former chariot racing stadium. Dean and I imagined ourselves as gladiators in the spirit of Charlton Heston in the Oscar-winning movie, Ben-Hur. 

Visitors could pay a fee to explore the ruins of former Roman palaces that dominate Palatine Hill. However, as budget-conscious backpackers, Dean and I passed on the opportunity. Garry and I would finally visit this complex years later.  However, we did fork out some hard cash to explore the interior of the Colosseum. Standing in its upper tier, looking down over the exposed undercoft was undoubtedly another one of those unforgettable pinch-me moments.

Likewise, I still recall marvelling at the engineering prowess of the Romans while exploring the Pantheon, and like so many before us, we visited the Trevi Fountain. I can’t recall if we tossed a coin, hoping to return someday. I guess we did, as I ultimately returned 13 years later.  Likewise, we visited the Spanish Steps, climbed Janiculum Hill to enjoy its panoramic view, and wandered the eclectic streets of Trastevere.

On 19 September, Dean and I packed up our tent and headed for the station. Our next destination was Greece. I’d mapped out an ambitious itinerary that would take us to Pompei, then on to the southeast coast of Italy, where we’d board an overnight ferry and visit Corfu, before finally reaching the shores of Greece. You follow these adventures, starting with Pompei, by following this link.

Although I will share one quick anecdote about this marathon journey. The ferry to Corfu was an adventure of its own. The cheapest ticket you could buy gave you a hardback seat on the outdoor deck.  However, the crew allowed passengers to sleep on the deck as they crossed the Adriatic Sea. As a result, Dean and I joined forces with a group of other backpackers, scouted out a secluded, sheltered spot on the open deck, unfurled our foam sleeping mat and spent the night sleeping under the stars. A quick internet search reveals that you can still do this more than 35 years later. I'm surprised EU regulations haven't outlawed this practice years ago.

Firenze

Let’s step back in time again. Florence has always been one of those “must-see” destinations on my bucket list. I finally got to experience this world-renowned epicentre of Renaissance art and culture while backpacking through Europe with my friend Dean in 1990. Florence proved every bit as memorable as we’d hoped.

On 12 September, we leveraged our Eurail pass to secure discounted train tickets that took us across the Italian peninsula from Venice to Florence. After an uneventful journey via Bologna, we reached Florence early afternoon and made our way to a camping ground on the city’s outskirts.

For the next three days, we explored the city’s iconic highlights. This included a mandatory visit to Galleria dell'Accademia, home to Michelangelo’s awe-inspiring statue of David. This imposing 5.2-metre-high marble figure is every bit as spectacular in real life as it is in books and magazines. It’s hard to believe it was carved from a single slab.

The statue is in surprisingly good condition despite spending 369 years standing outdoors in Piazza della Signoria, the seat of civic government in Florence. It was moved indoors in 1873 after fine cracks were discovered in its left leg and foot. Experts attributed them to an unstable foundation, placing uneven stress across its limbs.

David attracts quite a crowd. Despite visiting during the shoulder season, the elegantly domed hall displaying this immortalised biblical figure was constantly abuzz with people. Dean and I waited patiently for some time before capturing the crowd-free images you see above. I’d hate to think what it’s like at the height of Summer.

We later discovered a replica statue of David standing outside Palazzo Vecchio, in Piazza della Signoria. This knockoff was installed in 1910. It was one of several replicas we encountered around the city during our stay.

Our next stop was the Uffizi Gallery, undoubtedly the world’s most famous museum of Renaissance art. We spent more than half a day exploring its iconic courtyard, gilded rooms and hallways, marvelling at one masterpiece after another. Room after room read like a who’s who of Italian Renaissance artists, with works by Giottino, Botticelli, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Raphael and Titian, plus Rubens and Rembrandt.

Without a doubt, the most memorable work of art was The Birth of Venus, by Sandro Botticelli. I couldn’t believe I was seeing his newly born goddess standing in all her glory with my own eyes. The work is enormous, spanning 2.79 metres, and 1.72 metres high. The giant scallop shell she stands in is almost a metre wide.

I also recall how deeply appreciative I was of my Christian missionary adventures up to that point. Biblical themes dominated much of the artwork on display. As a result, a deep and rich knowledge of the bible and its stories brought many of these pieces to life in a more meaningful way. For example, Caravaggio’s dark and confronting Sacrifice of Isaac was far more compelling, having studied Chapter 22 in the Book of Genesis many times.

Equally memorable was Duomo di Firenze, the striking candy-striped Cathedral of Florence, which dominates the old city’s skyline. Its construction, begun in 1296, was finally completed when its eye-catching, red-tiled dome was installed in 1436. I found the concept of a multi-generational construction project utterly fascinating. It’s hard to conceive of this kind of enduring commitment given how swiftly most modern structures are built. Wandering through its unbelievably ornate interior, you quickly appreciate why it took more than a century to build.

We made the most of our time at the Duomo by buying tickets to climb its massive dome. To reach a compact outdoor balcony atop the dome, we had to climb a leg-numbing 463 steps. However, the route to the top is amazing. It takes you to an internal balcony offering a head-spinning view across the central nave, and then up to a breathtaking 360-degree panoramic view of Florence. That’s me at the top of the dome in the image that opens this post. If you look carefully, you’ll see Giotto's Bell Tower (Campanile) in the background.

Nearby, in the Basilica di Santa Croce (another church with an equally ornate neo-Gothic white marble exterior), we stumbled upon the tomb of Galileo Galilei and the unbelievably elaborate tomb of Michelangelo. Both tombs are shown above. It was mind-blowing to find myself standing before the final resting place of these historical giants. Even more so, considering we’d just witnessed Michelangelo’s unforgettable statue of David. We also spotted the tomb of Machiavelli, one of Italy’s more pragmatic historical figures.

Ponte Vecchio was equally fascinating. It’s known best for the Vasari Corridor, a secret 16th-century passageway that runs along the top of the bridge, linking Palazzo Vecchio with the Palazzo Pitti. It was designed to allow Duke Cosimo I de' Medici, the city-state’s ruler, to move undisturbed between both palaces. The secret corridor also passes through the Uffizi. Dean and I passed on the opportunity to walk it from the Uffizi to the south bank of the Arno River. The experience cost extra money, which we decided was better spent on other things. Although the view of the bridge from inside the Uffizi was a decent compromise.

No trip to Florence is complete without crossing the River Arno and climbing the hill of San Miniato to Piazzale Michelangelo (Michelangelo Square). This broad terrace offered an unforgettable panoramic view, plus another replica statue of David. The view is iconic, with easy-to-spot landmarks like the Duomo, River Arno, and Ponte Vecchio. Looking out across a sea of red terracotta roofs was another one of those pinch-me moments.

On 15 September, Dean and I packed up our tent, ready to move on to Rome. However, the transport we organised was rather unorthodox. Weeks earlier, Dean had discovered that his cousin was travelling in Northern Italy. At the time, she was a Contiki tour guide and was escorting a group from Florence to Rome. She offered to collect us at the campground and take us with her to the Eternal City.

Her bus, filled with fare-paying travellers, duly arrived shortly after breakfast. She greeted us with strict instructions on a cover story she’d shared with the group. We were Contiki staff tasked with researching facilities for a camping-based tour of Europe. Once on board, Dean and I gamely played our part, regaling the curious crowd with stories of our detailed research, aka our Eurail adventures to date.

Dean’s cousin subsequently arranged a complimentary hotel room for our first night in Rome, followed by a subsidised tour of the Vatican Museum the following day. We certainly enjoyed a good night's sleep on a comfy inner-sprung mattress. My brief stint as a Contiki researcher certainly had its merits! 

Learn more about our adventure in Rome here.

Ovenight in Seville

It’s time for a final retrospective post about my backpacking adventures in Spain in 1990. Regular blog readers will recall I spent three months travelling through Europe on a Eurail Youth Pass with my friend Dean, an Australian sheep farmer. You can read more about our Eurail odyssey here.

After spending four days in Northern Morocco, Dean and I caught a ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar from Tangiers to Algeciras on the morning of 11 October. Two hours later, we docked in Spain, where we leveraged our Eurail ticket to buy a discounted ticket to Seville. We stayed overnight in Seville before continuing to Paris via Barcelona in a marathon train journey covering more than 2000 km.

Seville was a last-minute addition to our itinerary. I added it in part because it offered the most efficient route for getting to Paris. At the time, we had just two travel days left on our flexible 15-day Eurail pass. I worked out that we could catch an overnight train to Barcelona, then transfer to Paris, arriving early evening the same day. At the time, Eurail rules let you catch an overnight train and only count the following day on your ticket. This meant we could spend two days travelling north while only using one day on our Eurail pass.

This itinerary also meant we'd finish our time on the road near the English Channel. We both had UK Working Holiday visas that had to be endorsed before the end of October. We debated options for squeezing in a second stop along the Spanish or French Atlantic coast. However, we decided to head for Paris and use the last remaining day on our Eurail pass to visit the Netherlands. Dikes and windmills ultimately held more appeal than anything in regional France. In hindsight, had we been a little more prudent with our time in Scandinavia, we could have squeezed in a stop in Bilbao, San Sebastian or Bordeaux. Decades later, I’ve yet to visit any of these cities.

Dean and I both agreed that, in hindsight, had we known more about Seville before arriving, we’d have adapted our itinerary and stayed longer. At the time, Seville was preparing for Expo 1992, an international exposition celebrating the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus's arrival in the Americas. As part of its preparations, the city had refurbished many of its stunning tourist attractions. It was also building plenty of new infrastructure, including two soaring, sculptural road bridges: the Puente de la Barqueta and Puente del Alamillo.

Both bridges span Canal de Alfonso XIII, a manmade diversion of the River Guadalquivir, which divides the inner city. Puente de la Barqueta led directly into the Expo's main entrance, while Puente del Alamillo carried traffic past the site's northern boundaries. The images above were pulled from the web to illustrate this post. The first shows the Barquet Bridge, followed by the Almaillo Bridge. Both were still under construction during our visit, so I've yet to see them in their finished form.

Dean and I spent barely 24 hours in Seville. We stayed overnight in a cheap youth hostel in the heart of Santa Cruz, the city’s historic neighbourhood. This bustling, rambling district is filled with character. It was once Seville's medieval Jewish Quarter until its residents were expelled by royal decree in 1492. You could spend days exploring its labyrinth of narrow streets, whitewashed houses, and orange tree-lined squares.

For example, on our first afternoon in town, the stunning Baroque facade of Iglesia Colegial del Divino Salvador caught my eye. Translated, its name means the Collegiate Church of the Divine Saviour. It’s Seville’s second-largest church, surpassed only by the city’s famous cathedral. It sits on the edge of Plaza del Salvador, a central hub in Santa Cruz. I love the Lonely Planet’s description of this quirky building, “Its Mannerist red-brick facade masks a cavernous, light-filled interior crowned by a soaring dome and filled with extravagant gold altarpieces.” I couldn’t have said it better myself.

The following day, Dean and I explored as much of central Seville as time would allow before catching a train late in the evening. This included the iconic Parque de María Luisa, a public space created for the Ibero-American Exposition in 1929. The park includes two major plazas, the iconic Plaza de España and the Plaza de América, and several monuments and museums. Plaza de España was breathtaking. This semi-circular plaza is marked by tall towers and a series of benches covered in painted tiles dedicated to the 48 provinces of Spain. The overall experience is unforgettable, as you can see from the image opening this post.

Equally memorable was the Lonja Palace. Parts of this 16th-century building are still used by the Spanish royal family. Inside, a series of publicly accessible rooms is filled with maps and documents relating to the discovery of the New World. It was fascinating to see these yellowing parchments on display, including some created by Christopher Columbus during his four voyages to South America and the Caribbean. It's hard to believe that the world map, filled with continents and landmarks we take for granted, was once completely unknown. 

Next door to the Palace stands the Cathedral of Saint Mary of the See, colloquially known as Seville Cathedral. It’s considered the largest Gothic cathedral in the world and one of the largest cathedrals in general. The main nave is an unbelievable 126 metres long, with a ceiling rising to a dizzying 36 meters. Outside, its bell tower is an impressive 105 metres high. As with many other religious structures in Southern Spain, parts of the city's former Almohad mosque, once its primary mosque, have been integrated into the current structure. For example, the cathedral's prominent bell tower, the Giralda, was once the mosque’s minaret, minus the Renaissance-style bellfry added in the 16th century.

Inside, much to our surprise, we discovered the ornate tomb of Christopher Columbus. As you can see, the tomb is an impressive structure, sitting in Capilla Antigua (or Ancient Chapel) alongside the central nave. For many years, there were questions over its authenticity. His remains were moved multiple times over several centuries, travelling from Valladolid to Seville, then to Santo Domingo, Havana, and finally returning to Seville in 1898. As a result, when we saw his tomb in 1990, this debate was still raging. It wasn't until 2006 that DNA analysis finally confirmed that the remains in this tomb are truly his.

As is traditional in many Spanish cathedrals, Seville's cathedral features a verdant, immaculately maintained internal courtyard filled with orange trees and other citrus fruits. It's another of those repurposed elements from the original mosque. In this case, the sahn, or traditional Islamic courtyard. I recall how wonderfully calm and contemplative its surroundings were, in stark contrast to the inner-city hustle and bustle beyond its cloister walls. It was a memorable way to end our time in Andalusia.

Follow this link to read about our week exploring Paris and nearby Versailles. 

Running on Swiss time

I had the good fortune to visit Switzerland twice while backpacking in Europe in 1990. At the time, I was travelling with Dean Keiller, an Australian sheep farmer from Portland, Victoria. Our first visit occurred in August. At the time, Dean and I were part of a group that had just completed a three-month odyssey through Eastern Europe. One of the minivans we’d used for transport came from an organisation in Einigen, a picturesque Swiss village on the shores of Lake Thun, known locally as Thunersee.

Six of us returned the minivan to Switzerland, arriving in Einigen on 6 August. Most of the group departed for Frankfurt, ready to fly back to Australia the following day, while Dean and I set off for Berlin on 8 August. This was the first leg of our Eurail backpacking adventures through Western Europe. You can read more about our time in Einigen here.

Chris and Rosie Frey, a Zurich-based couple in our group, had organised the loan of our vehicle. However, they weren’t with us when we returned it. They’d travelled with the second half of our group in another minivan borrowed from an organisation in Vienna. They then continued home to Zurich once the vehicle was returned.

Dean and I promised Chris and Rosie that we’d visit them in Zurich at some point. We eventually made good on our promise, arriving by train from Pisa on the evening of 26 September. We spent two relaxing nights with Chris and Rosie before boarding a train again on 28 September for a marathon journey to Barcelona. 

Chris and Rosie were gracious hosts. While we were in town, they had an appointment in Thun, a lakeside town at the foot of the Swiss Alps. They offered to drive Dean and me to Bern, the nation’s capital, for a day of sightseeing on 27 September. We were then tasked with getting ourselves back to Thun, where we’d catch up with our hosts and return to Zurich.

Chris and Rosie kicked off our day trip to Bern with a scenic drive through rolling hills and valleys of the Bernese Oberland, rather than taking a more direct, less picturesque route. Like all of us, they were keen to share the best of their local area. We drove through village after village, stopping several times to soak in the view, explore postcard-perfect hamlets and admire more than one iconic Swiss chalet. 

I loved the elegant Räben Bridge, a covered wooden bridge spanning the Emme River. It’s been standing here, about 20 minutes from Thun, since 1892. While researching content for this post, I discovered that dozens of these wonderful old bridges still span rivers between Zurich and Bern. The Räben Bridge is one of the more accessible structures. However, it's still off the beaten track. We'd have missed it without our host's local knowledge.

In the decades since, I’ve come to appreciate the breathtaking scenery, quaint (and sometimes, quirky) traditions and laid-back vibe of life in the Alps.  Regular visits with my brother and his family in the Austrian mountains let me experience it time and time again. Therefore, I can say without a doubt that Chris and Rosie did a superb job of ticking all the boxes with our drive through the countryside. 

For example, we encountered a farmer relocating his cows. Each animal was fitted with an iconic cowbell. As is the tradition, the lead cow, often called the Kranzkuh, wore the largest and most resonant bell. That's what you're looking at in the image above.

Bern proved equally memorable. Dean and I loved the medieval Old Town and its views across the Aare River valley. If you look closely at the image above, you'll see that Bern Minster (Berner Münster), the prominent Gothic cathedral with the tall spire on the left, was undergoing a major renovation. The spire, constructed in the 19th Century, is Switzerland’s tallest church tower.

The spire’s restoration was part of a long-term campaign addressing sandstone deterioration caused by air pollution. This long-running project involved replacing degraded sandstone on the 100-metre tower with fresh stone, while original sculptures, including those on the main portal, were moved to the Historical Museum of Berne. Incredibly, the restoration work continued for another 24 years. According to online reports, the scaffolding was finally removed in 2014. The second image above, pulled from the web, shows you what it looks like today.

However, some memories of our day trip weren't so positive. The city’s German name translates as “bear”, or the City of Bears. At the time, a group of the city’s namesake mascots were kept in an enclosure in the heart of the Old Town. This medieval bear pit was a rather barren, stone-clad circular hole in the ground. It featured little in the way of stimulation for the animals beyond a tiered stone platform and a rectangular pond. It was a rather sad and cruel affair. 

In the decades since, the bears have been relocated to an open park along the banks of the Aare River. The bears look much happier than they've probably been for more than 500 years. The bear pit is now empty, serving as little more than an arcane tourist attraction. I've pulled the image above from the web to give you a sense of this forlorn pit and its austere surroundings.

After exploring Bern and its old town, we hitchhiked back to Thun. Chris and Rosie assured us it was safe to hitchhike in Switzerland. This was the third and final time Dean and I hitched a ride in Europe. Seven weeks earlier, we’d hitchhiked to and from Berlin.  We squeezed in a leisurely walk along Thun's idyllic lakefront (that's the image opening this post) before joining Chris and Rosie for the drive home. This time we took the faster, non-descript motorway route. 

 

The following day, we spent our time exploring Zurich, including the old town and its picturesque lakeside. As darkness fell, a living statue street performer caught my eye. This was my first encounter with this kind of street performer, and thus, a photo of the experience earned a place in my final Eurail photo album. These days, you see them everywhere.

After dinner, Chris and Rosie surprised me with a birthday cake in honour of my 25th birthday. Later that evening, they dropped Dean and me at the Hauptbahnhof, where we caught an overnight train bound for Milan. We transferred in Milan the following morning and carried on to Barcelona via the French Riviera. 

In all the decades since, this is the closest I’ve ever been to visiting Monaco and Nice. On this occasion, Dean and I enjoyed fleeting views of the wealthy principality as our train stopped briefly in Monaco. However, we didn't get off. You can read more about our 20-hour train ride and our time in Barcelona here. This includes an opportunity we passed on: spending a week sailing across the Mediterranean.