The Kindness of Strangers
What was that line from A Streetcar Named Desire about “always depending on the kindness of strangers?” Over the last day or so, that’s what we’ve done–and the strangers have been very kind.
We took a coach train from Berlin’s utterly magnificent new train station to Bologne, where we changed to a sleeper going overnight to Florence. Both trains were very nice–the 1st class coach was particulary spiffy. The sleeper itself evidently had been redone recently and would have been perfect had we not experienced what my family calls “the curse of Sheila”–no matter where we go, if there is a crying baby, it will be next to me. There was a very unhappy baby with excellent lungs in the next compartment; I could hear the parents desperately trying to “shush” him, but he cried most of the night. Needless to say, we slept fitfully.
We were pretty beat when we got to Florence, and (I hate to admit this) feeling stressed by our extended absence from wifi. This time, the trains didn’t offer internet access! (My god, how do they expect you to cope?) We saw an obviously high-end hotel, and had an overpriced breakfast in its restaurant in order to use the complimentary wifi.
Then our adventure began. We had the name of the Villa that daughter Kelly had booked, and the address shown on its internet site. It seemed clear that we should take a bus to the small town of Greve-in-Chianti, and a taxi to the Villa. We managed the bus, and thanks to kind strangers riding with us, also managed to disembark in the correct village (I tend to panic and get off too soon when I don’t know what I am doing and am inept at the language — both of which problems were present.)
Our first clue that we might have miscalculated came when we realized that there was no bus station. We walked across the street from where we had disembarked, to a bar/cafe, and asked the waiter whether there were any taxis that we might engage. He spoke halting English (a lot less halting than my Italian, admittedly). It turned out that there are two taxis in Greve, and neither was available. As we ate our lunch–delicious–he called the Villa for directions, and informed us that it was approximately 15 Kilometers.
We certainly weren’t going to walk, and our waiter said he could call a taxi from the next town, but that it would take an hour to arrive. So he called his father, who came a few minutes later and drove us to what proved to be a nearly-impossible-to-locate villa high in the hills around the neighboring village of–I think–S.Paolo. He had to stop four times to ask directions, and we made more than one wrong turn. He spoke no English, we speak no Italian except “gratzsi” (which I repeated fervently as we drove). I only hope the tip I pressed on him–he didn’t charge us–was sufficient.
Talk about the kindness of strangers!
I am writing this in a villa that has been restored and turned into seven or eight guest quarters of varying sizes, and waiting for the rest of the clan to arrive via rental cars. (Having driven in Italy before, Bob and I opted not to rent a car.) I hope they find this place; I’m not too confident!
We only got here because kind strangers took pity on two very tired, bewildered, elderly tourists.
CommentsWhat Makes a City Liveable?
I have never been to Berlin before, although I have been to Germany several times, and if I thought about it at all, I suppose I expected a rather “monumental” and forbidding Germanic landscape.
I was wrong. This is first and foremost a livable city.
We spent time today doing the usual touristy things: the bus tour with running commentary in several languages, the obligatory looks at famous landmarks–I even bought a sweatshirt at Checkpoint Charlie (it was cold!) But the real highpoint of our too-short visit was the experience of walking around the neighborhood of our hotel.
We walked to a restaurant several blocks away that had been recommended by our son (aka the Tech God). He has been everywhere, and his restaurant recommendations are always flawless-he’s a real foodie. We strolled through streets lined with 4 and 5 story apartment buildings, a mix of restorations and new construction. There were pocket parks everywhere, with children on swings and slides, young people playing table tennis (and in one case, older men playing bocce ball). Bikes were everywhere–and Berlin has the same bike-share/rental that we’ve seen elsewhere. At street level, there was cafe after art gallery (dozens of them, as we are in the arts/gallery district) after retail shop after grocery market after “wein cafe”–all at small, human scale, and all very inviting.
Berlin has an enormous amount of green space–large urban parks and the ubiquitous small “pocket” parks. What it doesn’t have is the monotony of the US suburbs. There were no quarter-acre lots with grass; instead, there were flowerpots and small potted trees on balconies–and the density that makes all of the wonderful urban amenities sustainable.
Once again, mass transit was evident everywhere. The subway, we are told, runs on minute and a half headways. Buses are everywhere. There are plenty of cars and bicycles, of course, but you can get anywhere in short order on public transit.
What really impressed me was the general attention to quality–beautiful windows and doors, etc., rather than the large, poor quality construction that characterizes so many of America’s “McMansions.” (Contrary to what all those “make yours bigger” emails we all get, size ISN’T everything.)
Finally, we remarked upon the sophistication that comes with diversity; as our waiter tonight noted with pride, Berlin is a truly international city–home, he assured us, to over 250 nationalities.
There are remarkable museums and fantastic architecture here, but it is the scale and variety of the built environment, the prevalence of the art and music, and the investment in infrastructure that makes this so livable-and delightful.
If we Americans weren’t so smugly convinced that we know everything we need to know and that we are “exceptional” (in the good sense), we could learn a lot from cities like Berlin.
CommentsFantastic Hotel in Berlin
When Bob was planning this trip, he depended a lot on Trip Advisor.com; since we were planning to visit places we hadn’t previously been, we depended upon internet photos and ratings from other travelers for our choices. And thus far, we’ve been pretty lucky. The Shakespeare Hotel in Vilnius was delightful; the Westbury in Dublin was what one would expect of a 4 or 5-Star hotel.
But I must say, the Circus Hotel in Berlin has been the high point of our trip so far.
It isn’t much from the street, but the interior is impeccably done, whimsical and modern. Not only is the hotel artfully done, with beautifully executed details (and very high-quality fixtures–architects and their spouses notice things like windows and bathroom accessories)–but the hotel has a very obvious personality. It is seriously green–with all manner of energy and environment-saving practices. The magazine in the room explains that the owners are committed to paying staff a living wage, and to other “ethical practices.”
Not only are the rooms (at least, ours) spacious, bright and well-appointed, the restaurant (organic, local foods) is excellent. And the prices for rooms and food can only be described as “great values.” To add to that value, it is located in the midst of art galleries, cafes and music venues–what is evidently the artsy section of the city. I really recommend this hotel!
The trip here was tiring; we got up at 3 am and took Ryan Air from Dublin, the train from Birmingham to London, the Eurostar to Paris, and–in our only stressful experience–a sleeper train from Paris Est (East) to Berlin. The stress was a result of the chaos that is Paris Est and the attitude of the French personnel in the misnamed “Information” booth. To suggest that their attitude was dismissive would be kind. Nevertheless, we made it to Berlin as scheduled, if exhausted.
We’re going to bed early, and we will cram as much sightseeing as possible into the day and a half we have before we leave for Florence.
Once I figure out how to include photos in these blogs, I’ll share some. We are meeting son Stephen (also known as The Tech God) in Tuscany, so I anticipate learning this arcane skill. We will also have daughter Kelly, son-in-law Robert, son David and daughter-in-law Jackie, and grandchildren Sarah and Bert all together for a week exploring small villages in Tuscany.
So far, a fabulous vacation. (What WOULD we do without MasterCard…)
Civilized Travel
I’m so jealous.
I’m writing this in the absolutely magnificent St. Pancris station in London, using the free, fast wifi while waiting for the Eurostar to depart for Paris.
I may be jinxing us by saying this, but so far we’ve found travel far more efficient than our experiences at home led us to expect.
We’ve flown Baltic Air twice and Ryan Air once–each time leaving promptly on time, with a minimum of fuss. No removing our shoes, no “getting intimate” with security personnel. No boarding by row numbers. (In the case of Ryan Air, no assigned seats.)
We flew from Dublin to Birmingham, and took the train directly from the airport to London’s Euston Station. The train was high speed; we were served breakfast, and there was free wifi. Businesspeople plugged in their laptops and worked, and there was no clickety-clack to disturb them–it was smooth continous rail. When we arrived in London, we walked three blocks to St. Pancreas, which, in addition to being beautifully renovated, is immaculate and inviting. The rest of our trip to Berlin will also be by rail.
Trains here are modern and clean. Electronic signs on the platforms tell how many minutes until the next arrivals; similar signs are at bus stops. (We have access to the technology, but to my knowledge it isn’t being used by IndyGo. It would be helpful in Indianapolis, since unlike the five-minute headways here, our buses run every forty minutes or so, and are frequently late.)
It’s so civilized to travel on a dependable, integrated transportation system. We could have such a system, if we had the political will.
Instead, we aren’t even repairing our bridges.
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