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The next few days saw us having events together on a single day.

 This “Rhine River Mash-Up” should not be confused with 1956’s biggest selling album, The Bavarian Boys Sing ‘German Regions We Have Known’ , it’s just that due to itinerary scheduling, and the need to cover as much of the Rhine as possible, Viking utilizes both days and nights to the best extent possible. Usually that means Ports during the day, then jamming everyone back on board in enough time to scoot down river to the next Port where the process starts again. But what happens when the fun stuff is at night, and some really cool stuff is on the River during the day? Well, they “mash up” three days and make into one big, long, confusing (to those of us that usually have zero nightlife)

daaaaaay,

night,

daaaaaay – what do you mean the Castles have started already! event,

night

This confusing explanation will soon become apparently simple. And will unfold over the course of several Posts as it would be waaaay too long for one!

                        Short Version:

            Dock in Speyer, one of those great little towns that no one has ever heard of.

            Hurry back to the ship for some Scenic Cruising, but really to get to the second Port in one day, Rüdesheim, where there are several evening events scheduled! Back to the ship….ZZZZZ.

            Next morning, cast off the lines much later than usual because the Rhine River Castles ‘event’ part of the cruise starts this morning like…… NOW! (more on that later) and if they cast off too early the Castles would be inconveniently too early for some (most!) of the losers (oops! I mean passengers) that blasmusiked (oompahed) mit den Bavarian Brothers a little too much the night before.

            Then on to Koblenz for the afternoon and evening.

                                    Get it?

                                    Ok…… here we go, I can hear the crew up on deck getting ready to dock in Speyer, so please have your Ship’s ID and your Tour Tickets handy because they do not wait for you!

Speyer is an example of a simple little town that owes its existence to the fact that it sits on the banks of the Rhine and has so for 2100+ years. We all know that us Humanoids have roamed around for much longer that and we will all assume that Fred, Wilma, Barney, and Betty were all here before all of this ‘recording’ was set down, but/so for our purposes we’re going to start in the Roman times. Around 10 BC the Romans set up a camp here in an attempt to protect the northeast corner of the Roman Empire from the wild Germanic barbarians.

            Barbarians figured a lot into the olde tymes around here but guess who is calling who a barbarian? Yup, if ‘you’ were not part of one of the three great (?) civilizations, Greek, Roman, or Christian, you could be thrown into that mix of humanity called a Barbarian. Hah! That’s like the pot calling the kettle black! It’s fair to say that we all at one time or another have been guilty of being barbaric, but still the name is of a historic origin and will suffice for now.

            After that 10 BC camping trip the place wiggled back and forth among the peeps of the area until about 300 years had passed and then a Bishop came to town. Whatever your leaning is towards faith and religion, there is no disputing the effects of the Roman Catholic Church on world history. The Faithful were scared to death of being sent to Hadestown for all eternity and would do just about anything to keep themselves ‘safe’ (except acting the way they should) so in order to make up for their ‘faults’ they gave lots of money, land, jewels, and other trappings of success to the Church in a way to buy their way out of the Big Negative. Hence, the riches of the Church grew and grew.

            Around 1030 Conrad II, one of the Holy Roman Emperors, started a cathedral in Speyer, now a World UNESCO site. Speyer is also the location of one of the first significant Jewish communities in the Holy Roman Empire and remained so for a thousand years. This is testified by just tracing the Ashkenazi surname of Shapiro whose variants include, Szpira/Spiro, and Speyer. Unfortunately, it is also one of the first sites of a pogrom perpetrated by one of the first armies to head to the Holy Land for the First Crusade. I promised back in the beginning of these Posts some five years ago that I would do my best to keep it “light”, but when History throws something in your lap and it is needed to balance out the equation, then I feel disposed to include the things that, left unsaid, would just leave gaping holes in any complete explanations. I do hope that you will agree. On the brighter side, soon after the Iron Curtain fell in 1989, the Jewish population began to grow again in Speyer and their first service since WWII was held in 1996.

            Another ‘brighter side’ item needs to be mentioned here also. This is our Guides doing, not anything that was coerced….. they did it on their own…. they all did not hesitate to acknowledge what happened in WWII, particularly with having to do with the Holocaust. They took responsibility for their country’s actions and for their grandparents’ complicity with it all and they thanked us, as Americans, for our country’s part in bringing all of that to an end. It is good when the elephant in the room gets identified.

            Speyer was also the site for the Quest for Women’s Shorts. You see, unfortunately the Laundry Gang sort of ‘lost’ Paula’s pair of blue shorts. This was a bit of a dilemma because the packing for this voyage was on the light side (not like an extended ocean voyage) because not only were we to be gone for just fourteen days, but for half of it we had free laundry service that came with our Room Suite. So, being down half of the ‘shorts required’ was on the disturbing side. Besides, those were her fav’s. Nickolay, our Room Steward was beside himself even though it was obviously not his fault. He began his Quest, and he was unrelenting but alas, the Shorts must have jumped overboard as no trace could be found anywhere. The Captain ordered a room-to-room search involving our heavily armed security team. Everyone had to vacate their rooms until the search was completed and many an evil eye was cast in Paula’s direction while the Inspection was being completed. Again, no positive results. The Captain gave everyone onboard a Free Cocktail to make up for the hassles of the Big Inquisition so in the end, Paula became a heroine, and everyone wished for another Search so they could get another Free Cocktail.

            We found a nice store on the main drag that sported women’s clothing and picked out a dandy pair of blue shorts. Problem solved. That evening Nickolay came by with an exquisite box of Lindt Chocolates, courtesy of Viking, as a Peace Offering which was heartily (at least on my part) accepted. It was then that I tried my best to have something go missing from my laundry!

            We boarded the ship around noontime and spent the afternoon up on the Sun Deck on our way to Rüdesheim where we were to have our next excursion, ‘Dine en Rüdesheim’ complete with a great little three-piece band. The restaurant was as authentic as they come, we were outside under the usual coverings that might help if it didn’t rain too much but all was good, and the weather remained under control. The restaurant was located on the Drosselgasse, which has its beginnings way back in the 15^th century when the Port was a bustling trade city. All of the Bier Haus’s were located along this six-foot wide alley that ran up from the waterfront. Today it is still the location of most of the hospitality related business in town. Paula got involved with the ‘activities’ which left me (thankfully) to stay behind and record the moments for posterity. See attached!

                        We boarded the little tram that brought us there and back to the ship we went, everyone again singing ’99 bottles of Bier en de Valls’ as raucously as they could. The Shore Patrol was dispatched to quell the disturbance and threatened to throw everyone in the Brig upon our arrival, but we knew they were only foolin’ cuz we got no brig on board, just a locking closet and we definitely wouldn’t all fit in there!

                        The morning would come too soon, and it was Castle Alley on the Rhine which brings us full-circle here. Next Post will be all of the Castles that we saw, and don’t worry, I shot each one, didn’t miss nary a one of ‘em cuz I was up on time!

Tomorrow…. the Castles of the Rhine!

                        For those of you who find a fine glass of wine enjoyable, I hope that you find this Post the same.

                        For those of you who find a middle-of-the-road glass of wine totally acceptable, read on to discover some of the whys and wherefores of the more expensive vintages.

                        For those of you who, (like me one time!) cannot really tell if the wine has slightly ‘turned’ when the bottle is opened, read on just for the fun of it because I doubt if in this late term of life, we will ever be considered connoisseurs!

                        Our next Region of Discovery is just outside of Strasbourg, France…… it is called Alsace. The Alsatians are lucky that their collective existence is even being discussed here as these folks have been (figuratively and literally) torn limb-from-limb over the past two millennia. I’m afraid that even my “Cliff Notes” versions of the back-and-forth occupations, border haggles, and treaty oops’s would have you all screaming and running for cover. So, let’s just say that the most recent occurrence of this once commonplace phenomena was during WWII when Germany reached across the Rhine and said, “You’re all coming back here, thank you very much.” This small but very important example explains why there are parts of Alsace that retain enough ‘local laws’ to make sure that they retain their cultural independence from the rest of France….for now.

                        For our purposes today, we need to know that vineyards first appeared in Roman times when good ol’ J.C. (No not that JC…. this was Julius Caesar. The other JC wouldn’t have an effect until a few years later!) came here and helped the Gaul’s defend themselves against the “Invaders du Jour” of that time. Now we have the beginnings of the French Wine Industry, and they didn’t even know it yet!

                        I’ll fast forward a few centuries so that A,) I won’t bore you to death, and B.) This Post won’t end up reading like a Wine 101 textbook! (I wonder if anyone offers that Course?)

                        The year was 1935 and the Wino Powers in France decided that it would be a good idea to put some restrictions on what could be called what and the reasons for those decisions. This was the beginning of the Appellation Controlee Commission. Translated it means basically ‘Protected Designation of Origin’ and takes everything into consideration……. environment, soil varieties, traditions, location, vine growth habits, and of course, the grapes themselves (these factors except the grapes) can be incorporated into one little word… “terroir” from terre meaning land.  Terroir is as important to defining different wines as the grapes themselves are. In short, it means that you cannot produce Burgandy wine in any other French Region except Burgandy or Champagne must originate in the Champagne region or you can’t call it Champagne, you may however call it Sparkling Wine. You can’t even call it Champagne if you are producing it in another country. That’s how strict (and serious) the French laws are, and it seems that the Wine Industry, even in other countries , takes them very seriously! The ‘teeth’ that puts the ‘enforcement’ of this procedure is partially found in the Treaty of Versailles (WWI) where that term Champagne was specifically dealt with. Retain this info for use a little later on.

                        Probably just about all of you have been to a Wine Tasting or two in your lives. As you may surmise, some are better than others due to the wine itself, location, sense of humor of the ‘presenter’ or even if it was a sunny day or not! Everyone is producing wines now, local wines are all the rage with some obviously better than others. But I have yet to be at one where the vintner did not think (or at least proclaim) that their (insert wine term) was the best. Most of these folks in this HIGHLY competitive industry are very proud of their varied vintages and with good reason, especially when you understand the work that goes into producing wines that you hope and pray that someone else will enjoy and of course, purchase! And specifically, the History of the individual Vineyard can play a crucial role in its credibility. It takes a bunch of years and money to start up one of these enterprises….

Can you imagine the guy first opening up and having his first group of Wine Tasters come thorough….

“Ah, yes, let’s see now…. Welcome to Bill’s Vineyard….we’ve been in existence for, ah,  three and a half weeks”…….(everyone turns to leave)

 “But wait! our Vines are much older and come from some stock that’s over a hundred years old! “ (everyone does an about-face and returns)

Nope, cannot even imagine that one!

How about this one:

            “Bonjour everyone! My name is Michele, and we are here at the Albert Seltz vineyard that is still owned and operated by Monsieur Seltz’s 14^th generation grandson, Jérémy.”

            Ok. Now you’ve got my attention!

            Yes, since 1576, Albert Seltz and his progeny have been producing wines in the Alsace Region of France. On the same farm and in the same buildings! No matter who controlled the area!

                        By now you’ve probably surmised that we participated in a Wine Tasting on this River Cruise and that would be correct. Fortunately for us, Viking seems to hunt down the best of the best when it comes to either Excursions and /or the Guides themselves. This experience was no exception, and this is coming from me, the Chocolate Milk Connoisseur! In this case I am referring to the estate of Albert Seltz and in particularly their successful petition of that grand august body of pompeux, prètentieux, wine sniffing membre’s du (here it is again) Appleation d’origine Contrôlée.

                        Here we must backtrack just a tad and introduce just one more designation in this complex situation and it is the designate, Grand Cru. This regulated term may only be used by approval of the AOC after extensive research and subsequent agreement is reached that a particular vineyard  (not region) has proven that their terroir is so selective and specific that they, and only they, can produce that variety of vine that meets this further standard. As you may imagine, it’s a big damn deal!

                        So that’s where we went.  We traveled to the tiny village of Mittelbergheim, Alsace, France. Doesn’t sound very French, does it? Welcome to Alsace! The Amalgam of Western Europe! Our bus barely fit down the tiny roads, but it did and soon we were deposited in front of the main gate of the centuries old estate. From here I will refer back to when I described the two different greetings from the two different wineries, the second one of course is our visit for today. Michele greeted us and transported us back in time by ushering us down into the cellars of Albert Seltz where we heard the family story and proceeded to taste their wines.

                        As you may imagine, the afternoon was huge success both for the Imbibers and the Vintners! The only downside was that the bus was not going to risk almost getting stuck again so we had to hike (uphill!) to edge of town and board there. Not particular hard to do unless the local temps were topping out at 97 and the walkers had just consumed ‘several’ glasses of wine!

                                    We all eventually fell asleep on the bus but not until we sang a few rounds of “99 Bottles of Wine on the Wall.”

                                                “Hic!”

                        My ‘Mind’s Eye’ and what it has seen in the Past, only to be truthfully fortified when it comes into the present, is one of my favorite things. The current example is the Black Forest region of Germany. That little part of my brain has worked overtime over the years just trying to imagine what different places around the world look and feel like. I was totally satisfied when we took an excursion there when we called at Breisach, Germany.

                        The Black Forest…. Cuckoo Clocks, Black Forest Hams, Black Forest Cakes (!), Kirsch, and its typical half-hipped roof farmhouse all ensure that this region retains its wonderful identity.

                        The small villages that we wound our way through on our way to The Black Forest all have that medieval feel to them as most of them can trace their roots back that far.

                        But before we could get to Breisach, we needed to board  the boat. This was waaaay different than the boarding process for Ocean Cruises. Ocean Cruises require long lines at check-in, photos taken for security purposes, and a host of other ‘formalities’ that need to be addressed before the Cruise may commence.

                        On a River Cruise it goes like this: “Good Afternoon Mr. Hall, Gilligan here will show you to your stateroom!” and then he shouts over his shoulder to an officer down the companionway….. “Ok, we can shove off now, everyone is aboard!”

                        That’s it.

                        No photos, no questions, no giving up your first-born….. I could have brought a howitzer on with me, and they probably would have asked if I needed assistance with my ‘baggage’. No need to go through a Security Scan, I don’t think that we have any Security Team anyway, unless maybe the Maintenance Crew doubles as Security….. these guys are big, and they don’t look friendly either! There wasn’t even a Lifeboat Drill because…… there aren’t any lifeboats! All you need to do is put on your swimmies and take three paddle strokes, and you‘re on one of the riverbanks!

                        Now, on to the Black Forest! About an hour and a half from our dock on the Rhine, and through the lowlands filled with all sorts of agricultural tid-bits, we arrived at the base of an area that resembled the wooded foothills of any upland region that may come to your mind. The road was windy and maybe uncomfortably narrow, but we were not in the Motorhome, so we were not driving!

                        We rolled into a small, restored village called Drubba Black Forest. It was our “one stop Black Forest “ experience and for the limited time that we had, served our purposes very nicely. Situated as it was at/on the western terminus of the Hollsteig Toll Road gave it an air of authenticity especially when we walked past the old tollhouse on our way to the oldest (ancient?) church in the Black Forest, the Chapel of St. Oswald. It was consecrated in 1148 AD and has obviously seen a lot in its 877 years, including some extremely near-misses from WWII bombings of the very nearby train viaduct. Check out the photo for some more info!

                        The rest of the village is comprised of a variety of buildings where the trades of the Black Forest are all explained, taught, and offered for sale. Finding out that a truly authentic cuckoo clock (especially the larger, more intricate ones) is the product of several craftsmen in several families was an eye-opener. The cuckoo shop here reminded me of one of the western Trading Posts that we frequent when we visit the Four Corners Region. These stores deal with the local tradespeople and sell their works, acting like a middleman of sorts.

                        We also watched an entertaining session on how to make an authentic Black Forest Cake!

So, what makes it authentic?

                                    Does it need to be made in the Black Forest?

                                    No!

                                    Does it need to be made by little old ladies?

                                    No!

                                    Does it need to be made with German cherries?

No!   (probably just fresh ones!)

How about real whipped cream?

Well…yea…. Probably.

Ok, what then makes it authentic???

The Kirschwasser!

The what???

The Kirschwasser!!! ….. the cherry liqueur!!!

            This recipe is highly recommended to give to unruly children that won’t go to sleep! On piece and Zzzzzzz! (You may use cherry syrup instead of the “good stuff” but then it would not be authentic.)

                        After we were finished, George our driver, hitched the horses back up to the bus and we proceeded to go home via the ‘Alte Steige”, the reason that the toll road was constructed in the first place. You see, it has a 13% grade attached to it and the trades’ routes through this area demanded a road through here, as the rest were really just…. ‘mountains un-roaded’ and an ‘improved’ road for that 13% grade was well worth the toll!

George flipped the guy a wooden nickel and away we went!

            Our return to the boat was a little shorter than our way out but still brought us through incredible little ‘dorfs’ and farmlands. Unfortunately (mostly for the residents of this area) the daytime temps have been hovering in the mid-nineties, which is definitely much higher than they are used to. We (the tourons) are used to those kinds of temps, would rather have had them fifteen degrees lower, but can handle them. Unless your next excursion involves walking into town after lunch on board. The walk wasn’t so bad (uphill both ways) it was what we wanted to see while we were there.

            Someone a really long time ago decided to test the Faithful and place a grand cathedral way up on the tippy-top of a giant hill. This way all were tested come Sunday morning, as only the Truly Faithful would get up, skip breakfast, and hike up to Mass. At least that’s what I thought as I was the one elected to reconnoiter the object of our Proposed Siege of the Hill and then report back to the rest of my platoon and we would decide from there.

                        After finishing my mission, plopping down in the chair offered, downing a quenching supply of water between wheezing breaths, the observant others intelligently decided to forgo the mission and retreat back to the safety (and air-conditioning) of headquarters and promptly activate the Emergency Orders marked “Happy Hour”. I can’t say that I blame them. But here for your perusal are the fruits of that ill-fated Reconnoitering Mission.

                        No worries, there will be many more “Missions” to report on in the near future as our Itinerary is as jam-packed as it can get.  Carry on.

The next few are of the Exterior only as photography is not allowed inside.

Hope you enjoyed these!

Our third, and last, day in Lucerne was a busy one. The main event was a guided climb of the Stanserhorn, one of the foremost peaks in that region of the Alps. But before we could attempt that, Paula wanted to visit one of the more notable sites in the city, that of the Lion Monument. In order to do so and still be on time for breakfast and our eventual departure for the climb, we needed to leave our hotel around 6 AM and find our way through the old winding streets of the City. After some ‘guidance’ issues (ask Paula about it) we found this wonderful tribute to about 600 members of the Swiss Guard. These warriors were part of the defense of the Tuileries Palace during the French Revolution. The Monument portrays a dying Lion, recumbent across symbols of the remnants of the French Monarchy, it was carved out of the side of the cliff in 1819. Over the years many a visiting soldier in uniform has had their photo taken in front of it. I must confess that the exquisite details of this Lion, lying in anguish and the perfect setting that surrounds it, making for a rather moving experience.

                        We returned to our hotel for breakfast and the start of the planned activities for the day before our eventual departure for Basel and our embarkation on the Viking Hlin. After breakfast we met our Guide, Aleksandra, who would be with us for the rest of the day. In the lobby we found everything that we would need for this climb, pitons, carabiners, several lengths of colored lines, helmets, and picks, just about everything we’d need for the rest of the day in order to summit the Stanserhorn.

                        We departed Lucerne and proceeded to go under the mountains that are in the rear of Lucerne. Tunnels are everywhere around here! They are obviously a more efficient way of traveling rather than going around everything! Mt. Pilatus (you’ve seen photos of it up behind Lucerne) was the largest of these obstacles in our way and it was fun viewing it from behind as we made our way upward.

                        Everything is vertical around here. Even the stairways seem to be steeper and definitely longer. Everything is a ‘climb’. Even the steps into the bus seem to be steeper than normal! We exited the bus at the base of the Stanserhorn, got suited up and proceeded to walk up through the Alpine meadows on the way to our first goal in this climb, the Funicular Tram.

That excursion lasted only about ten minutes or so and deposited us at our real entry way to the Stanserhorn. This is where it got very technical as our Guide tried her best to explain the workings of the Cabrio, apparently the only one of its ‘kind’ in the world. This marvelous mode of transportation brought us the rest of the way to the top of the Stanserhorn where we ditched all of the climbing equipment, walked around taking photos and proceeded to go inside the nifty Summit Lodge where we had French Fries and bought innocuous souvenirs to mark our intrepid ‘climb’ of the famed Stanserhorn.

                        Ok, please tell me that you really didn’t think that a load of old, overweight, barely able to ‘climb’ onto our bus, tourons were really going to make a “Technical Climb” of a famous Swiss Alps Peak?…… Pfew!….. You had me worried there for a bit!

                        Our decent went much quicker, the ride back to the hotel to pick up our luggage was uneventful, and we were soon on our way to Basel, where the Hlin was waiting for us, floating nicely in the Rhine River.

                                    The next phase of the Adventure had begun.

                        As usual, more tomorrow!

I will need to ask for your forgiveness in advance when it comes to being what I call ‘timely’ with regards to how swiftly these missives get Posted. This trips Itinerary is unlike the ones of the past when it comes to being ‘jam-packed’. You see, there are no ‘Sea Days’ that allow me to catch up with Duties Penned and at least try and be timely. But I will try.

                        Saturday was our first Full Day here in the ‘Land of the Secure’. I remember my first time here in Switzerland, back in 1968, I came here to go to camp with my friend who was stationed in Belgium at the time. To be correct, Chucky was not actually stationed in Belgium, his Dad was CFO of ITT in Europe and as an 8^th Grader, Chucky had no choice but to follow. Anyway, we went to International Ranger Camp in Leysin for two weeks. It was at this time that the USSR decided that it needed some new cuisine, so it marched into Czechoslovakia and made it ‘theirs’. I remember seeing the International Edition of the New York Times with photos of tanks rumbling down the streets. I am quite sure that my parents were not too happy that I was this close to the ‘action’ but , on the other hand, I never felt so safe and secure!

                        We started out on our first full day with a walking tour of the Old City of Lucerne (English/French) or Luzern (German) and it is as charming as many an old medieval city that we’ve found.

                        We want to move here. Now I know that you’ve probably heard me say that previously as we’ve come across some stunning old cities (like Talin in Estonia) before, but this one is quite different. The setting is like out of a storybook, nestled on the shore of Lake Lucerne and nuzzled into a few gorgeous mountains, this place has everything that one may need to be comfortable. A great rail system, an immaculate city, nice folks, some gorgeous watches, and good chocolates (sorry, but the best are still from the French and Belgians). Just a note here concerning the deportment of the Citizens Local….. and this does explain mostly everything when you come to think of it…. no one crosses the street except in the crosswalk and on the green. Period.

                        Our Tour Guide was our very own Catherine who was Viking’s representative /Class Mother of our Pre-Trip Group here in Lucerne. Catherine is one of those rare individuals that truly love their job. And it shows! She is a fountain of information and always seems to be around when needed. This is our first encounter with Viking and if Catherine is any indication of what else we may expect then I am sure that we are in for a grand time! We would love it if she were to be on the rest of the trip when we embark on the Rhine, but her duties as Host for the next group to come along will keep her quite busy.

Saturday mornings in the City are pretty busy as you may expect. The Farmer’s Market is unlike anything that I’ve seen… the quality of the local produce ferried in from the nearby valleys looked like perfect photos of themselves pretending to be fashion models. Either their culling processes allow for them to bring only he best to market or it all looks like this. Either way, it just goes to further explain that Swiss mentality that I mentioned.

                        Back in the day, before there was a ‘country’ of Switzerland, there were a bunch of warring factions that were politely belligerent with each other. But they were small, and the other guys were big, like the Hapsburgs who I am sure that you all recall from Freshman World History (or probably not 😊) So, the little guys got together and formed a union, defeating the Hapsburgs (at least twice) which showed them the power of cooperating with each other, leading to a more formal confederation of their Cantons (read States) and the rest is History. That is definitely the Cliff Notes version of this conflict and by now Mr. Bruchalski, my former World History teacher, is turning in his grave, but hey! I got the basics down pat!

                        Fast-forward a few hundred years and we’ve got a country with as much National Pride as any, and they accomplish this while speaking four National Languages! German, French, Italian, and Romansh.

                        And what???

                        Romansh. Take a look at that word and give the root word.

                        Correct!

 Roman!

And when in Rome we do as the Roman’s do and we speak….. Latin! Latin is the closest language to Romansh that there is, but it is only spoken in a very small region of Switzerland. But now I’ve redeemed myself with respect to good ol’ Mr. Bruchalski because he was also my Freshman Year Latin teacher!

And guess what? English is their lingua franca, or bridge language, or common, or trade, or auxiliary, or link. I’m sure that you get the idea, which makes it that much easier for us who failed Freshman Romansh to move here!

The second part of the day was spent traveling by rail to Interlaken, a wonderful town located a few lakes and towns further up into the Alps. You saw a photo of this excursion at the beginning of this Post. The local peaks include the Eiger (quite famous if you follow mountaineering) and Grindelwald (also famous, but for alpine skiing instead). If you don’t care about either if those activities, then may I suggest Sightseeing and I can promise you that the Sights are well worth the Seeing!

We had reserved seats in the Panoramic First-Class car which whose attributes were amply taken advantage of. Each turn of the tracks introduced us to yet another incredible vista. Another apology is apropos here as I am afraid that photos taken through highly reflective, UV inhibiting, somewhat blueish tinted windows do NOT make for a good representation to you of the sights that we saw. (I think that sentence makes sense.)

            Luckily….. the software program that I use to post-process my images (Lightroom) just last week (yay!) came out with an addition that tries, to the best of its ability, to examine and identify (when asked to) annoying reflections. This is my first encounter with it and so far I am elated! Correcting for the other stuff will hopefully come with more experience on my part. The entire trip I wished for an outside, no windows, ‘Photo Platform’ but alas, my request was not in time for our journey.

            We all agreed that as nice as Interlaken was, that the excursion, to and from, was the highlight of the afternoon!

            I truly hope that you don’t get tired of me expounding the virtues of every place that we see. But I’m afraid that I cannot apologize for presenting to you what I deem as something that is just plain obvious! And if Traveling is not something that nags at your Being, then hopefully some photos “28 glossy photos with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back describing each one” (Sorry, that just slipped in!) and descriptions of places far away will help your mind’s eye conjure up what we are experiencing!

More tomorrow! (Hopefully!)

Well fellow travelers, that was a close one!

            “What are you talking about Donny? Everything seems to be good!… well, at least for now!”

            To be honest this is quite embarrassing, but I need you all to thank my new best friend Sam L. for his fortuitous generosity.

                                    “Why Don, what happened?”

            It’s quite  a story and it goes like this:

It was a dark and stormy night.

Suddenly a shot rang out.

The Maid screamed.

That’s when I forgot what it was that I was doing…. oh right…. I was packing. I put my laptop into my carry-on where it fits nicely. I also started to put my camera in the same carry-on when I realized that I had left my extra battery and the charger at Centenary College where my granddaughter Maddie’s recital was a few days before. Oops! It is impossible to go for two weeks on one battery unless you take just ten very judicious photos a day!

                        After frantically trying to get a hold of someone at the College, I remembered that I had purchased a few after-market batteries and a bulk charger. They were stored under my bed in the “Photography Department”.

                        Now we are back at the optimal “Problem Factor Zero.”

            “Nice story Donny, but where does Sammy fit in?”

            That my friends is the best (?) part because if not for Sam, you all would not be receiving these Blog Posts at all! (And now it gets really embarrassing! )Ok, so the laptop fits very nicely in my carry-on and there is even enough room for the power cord and converter. There really is plenty of room there, but one needs to remember to put it in there otherwise that space gets filled up with socks as quick as you can say, “Power cord, we don’t need no stinkin’ power cord!”

                        We were sitting at our Gate when I started to re-arrange a few things and then it hit me. I broke out into a cold sweat and started murmuring incantations to the Power Cord gods in the hopes that something would make sense. My first thought was one of those Electronics accessory stores that are in the terminal.

                        Not a chance. They’re great if you’ve got an iPhone ☹

                        Then I thought…. Amazon! They’re worldwide!  I started to try and figure out how to get something delivered to a random hotel In Lucerne, Switzerland. I would have had better luck manufacturing one from scratch. Finally I looked at Maps and found out that there were numerous stores in Lake Lucerne that were computer stores. I let it go at that; fate would have to carry me from here. Well, little did I know Miss Fate was scheduled to board the plane next to ours and she was sitting somewhere nearby. On my way back to my seat (somewhat dejected) I spied a power cord that resembled a certain cord that was playing hooky back in the motorhome. I took a step closer, and the gentleman looked up with that look on his face that read, “Why in the name of all that’s electric are you staring at my power cord?” Quickly regaining my elated (but subdued at the same time) composure I explained my quandary.

                        “Would you like to borrow mine for a bit?” said the now infamous Sam.

                        Replying, I explained that I didn’t just need it for a quick charge, I needed it for it to go on a trip with me to Switzerland and not be back home for two weeks.  “Ok” was all Sam said, adding, “Why don’t you go and test it first and then we’ll talk.”

                        Hurriedly I scurried back to my seat and plugged it in. The telltale power light came on and so did my smile! Back to Sam the Great where I reported my findings, and offering to buy it from him, at this point it would have been at any price!

                        All he said was, “Just take it and when you get back to the States send it back to me.”

                        Two Major Moofalahs in one afternoon, turning into two Fortuitous Facets of Favoronics! 

                        On to the Flights!

                        The first one was a small regional jet, the seating being      in the two-by-two format. Of course it is summertime and what happens every day in the late afternoon….. yup, Thunderstorms. And what don’t planes like to fly through? Yup, the same. Now we had a two-hour “layover” in Toronto before the next and final leg, that of the flight to Zurich. Normally, or should I say, “Back in the day,” two hours was plenty of time between flights.

                                                Hah!

                                                Now two days seems more like in keeping in the Comfort Zone! (If you want to read a good one, go back in the Archives to February 3, 2020, and read “Is This Any Way To Run An Airline?” I do believe that you will be amused!  

                                    Whilst we were sitting impatiently on the tarmac Paula’s phone received a Notification from Air Canada Central indicating that our next Flight had been delayed also! Not to the extent of our present predicament, but it was able to give us back about 45 minutes of the time lost in Newark.

                                    Now we’re back to at least a fighting chance!

                        In the meantime my Overly Sensitive Brain When It Comes to My RLS began taking its toll on my psyche.  Mind you, this interference into a somewhat Normal State of Being Whilst Sitting in a Confined Situation has really nothing to do with the random Normalcy that others are engaged in in the rest of the plane.  When this Thing goes full on crazy it borders on a Trauma-Induced Session of Claustrophobia. To those of you who have spent more time with me than others, you know what I mean, and….. I apologize to you for those random getting’s up from the table to ‘stand’ or just ‘walk around a bit’. Now you can see why I have this fear of flying. It has nothing to do with being 37,000 feet in the air. It has everything to do with being unable to pull over to the side of a cloud and get out for a few minutes and relieve the worms that are attacking me from the insides of my legs.   

                        Someday there will be poster of me hanging in the Air Marshall’s Headquarters marking me as a ‘Person of Interest’. 

                        We finally get clearance to vamoose Newark and since I can’t remember much else, I’m assuming that I dozed on and off in some Xanax-induced naps accompanied by (as related by Paula) some fear-shaking snores that left close-by passengers wondering if there was something amiss with our aircraft.   

                        I awoke in time for a very nice, very professionally crafted, landing in Toronto which for the life of me cannot figure out how it received its 3-letter designating acronym of YYZ. I know that some airports enjoy the obvious, JFK for example. I can even figure out EWR for Newark, DRO for Durango….. but YYZ? I guess that by the time they got to the T’s someone cried out in exasperation, “Why, Why”, and then fell asleep “Z”zzzzz.

Don’t get excited, it’s only a guess on my part!  

Getting through YYZ was not bad at all; we just had to follow the little “Global” insignia that indicated that we were not going to Canada (little Canadian flag) or the USA (little USA flag). All that’s left is a small round geometrically and geographically induced placard of the world. We followed the herd.

Just passing through meant that we needed to only scan our Passport, Eyeballs, Fingerprints, and give the whereabouts of our First-Born  (sorry Heather!) and away we went to find the only Gate that exists when time is of the essence. The one that’s at the End of the Terminal. Arriving we found that they had just begun the boarding process and we (being in that tiny section called Premium Economy were designated to the #2 Group which was just fine! 

My Post from two days ago introduced us all to Premium Economy. For those of you that have not flown Internationally (long haul) this is best described as almost First Class on a Domestic Flight which suits us (me, and my annoying legs) just fine. Mind you First Class and Business Class on these International Flights now come with a ‘Sleeper’ configuration for the seats, each seat also has its own bathroom, sitting area, and on Emerites, its own Library.

Each with a private Attendant.

We got a pillow, a blanky, and enough legroom for a giraffe. That was enough.

Our arrival in Zurich was thankfully uneventful, there were several “automated” kiosks to check in with for Immigration and as soon as we vacated that area a Magical Viking Representative appeared and whisked us away in a gorgeous Mercedes “Mini Van”  along with one other couple. It was about an hour to get to Lucerne and the Renaissance Hotel there that Viking uses. Rick and Pat arrived soon after.

Little while later we started our Explorations of the vicinity, we are within walking distance of that neat old Chapel Bridge and the Old Town. Lunch was had at one of the ‘Brewery’ type places with all sorts of wursts and what-nots on the menu. It was so late in the day that that meal became our dinner as well. The water is clear, the buildings are old, the peeps are friendly, and it’s all immaculately clean. But then, I suspect that’s the way the Swiss are!

            Big Adventures upcoming! Stay tuned!                                      

Well, the time has (almost!) come to bid you all “au revoir”, “auf wiedersehen”, or just “good ‘ay mate”. Unless, of course, you will be coming with us! About a hundred of you have all signed up for this next Trip which will be leaving tomorrow! Please note the following details and make sure that your Final Payment is sent in along with your current passport, the visa needed for the U.K. and of course, your signed Permission Slip (no forgeries!) Please give all of these to Miss Crabtree before you board the bus!

Our Adventure starts at Newark Liberty International Airport where we will board the first of our two flights to Zurich. Why two flights you may ask, and I will attempt to answer.

                        The bottom line is Availability of Seats in the smallest category of classes aboard an “International” flight, that being ‘Premium Economy’. This oxymoronic tag is assigned to about three or four rows of seats in a special configuration on the larger jets. Think extra wide, only two together, real silverware when eating, and hopefully some chocolate snacks. This is obviously an ‘Upgrade’ from Basic Economy and should not be confused with the seats on domestic routes that are considered ‘Premium’ because there is an extra 1.4513 inches of legroom. It seems that both International and Domestic flights have their own separate nomenclatures and standards.

                        What this all boils down to is me trying to avert the Air Marshal from incarcerating me because I’m in full-blown Panic Attack because of my RLS (Restless Legs Syndrome, for which I am the Poster Child) has kicked in or threatened to in my mind, even though I’ve taken the meds. So, better seating is obviously a good, helpful solution to my dilemma. But procuring these elusive seats on the routes desired can be a bit of an issue, even for the Pro’s, like the Flights Department of Viking Cruises. It turns out that cruise lines work closely with the airline industry (obviously!) the latter which ‘open up’ seats to Viking (and others) on a ‘months before’ system, and Viking doesn’t get all of these seats as some need to be held for all of the other vacation entities that need to include them in their plus Roundtrip Airfare deals.

                        So, the only ‘Premium Economy’ seats available at that time (and probably in the already quoted airfare cost) were on Air Canada which means a small flight to Toronto and then the Big Flight to Zurich.

                        Our two-hour layover in Toronto will hopefully not be one of those that require us to ‘enter’ the country, retrieve our luggage, be processed, and then be hastily ushered to our departing gate. Since we will not be leaving the airport hopefully it will be a smooth transition from one plane to another. Time will tell. Then hopefully it’s Sleepy Time for the overnight. We arrive at 10:30 AM Zurich Time  (GMT/UTC+2) NYC is currently -4 so if my math is correct, there is a six-hour time difference between Zurich and NYC. Couple that with an 8-hour flight time, divided by the circumference of the earth, factoring in some radiational cooling of the atmosphere and the Coriolis Effect of the Northern Hemisphere, multiply that number by Pi (3.14)  and you come up with enough time for a snack, a meal, and hopefully a light breakfast, accompanied by a plethora of available movies to watch which turns that Sleepy Time into a bleary-eyed arrival in Zurich where they are waiting to whisk us away to our First Adventure… check-in at the Hotel in nearby Lucerne where hopefully there is a nice  assortment of those fine Swiss Chocolates that we’ve heard so much about! FYI…. it is customary for the members of the Tour Group (you) to share said Chocolate Gatherings with the Tour Leader (me) if you don’t want to be led astray (did I say that?)

                        Reconnoitering the Hotel Vicinity in anticipation of our real First Full Day (Saturday) (and the plans and excursions awaiting  our frenzied little group) will probably finish out Friday.

                        Please be on time for our ‘Tour of Lucerne’ as you all know how much I dislike lines of Tourons frantically stumbling onto the Bus.

                        Lucerne is our Pre-Trip ‘add-on’, the pièce de rèsistance will be the following eight days on the Rhine with stops every day. You may pack lightly for this voyage as there are no Formal Nights, nor a pool on board. You may jettison those bathing suits and formal clothes and throw in a few shorts, maybe something a little nicer for the Dining Room. So, now to quote the incomparable Jackie Gleason…. “and away we go!”  

Good Day!

Did you know why we have a James Fenimore Cooper Service Area on the NJ Turnpike? Better yet, do you know by which Exit it is located? (That’s a New Jersey joke!)

The answer is that way back in 1789 a future world-renowned author was born in Mount Laurel, Burlington County. He did not wait around for the Service Area that bears his name to be built as he needed to travel north to New York State and settle in Cooperstown, a small hamlet that his father bought the land for and then founded the town. I guess that the elder Mr. Cooper was a not modest person. Anyway, young James was only about a year old at the time and as such, had problems living independently, so he had no choice but to follow his parents northward. That is the start of our tale.

If you will recall in my last Post, I promised you all an expanded session on the Baseball Hall of Fame, Cooperstown, and the how’s and why’s of their mutual existence. If this topic seems like it is a ‘change-up’ (get the baseball reference?😊) from the usual Travelogue Format, then you would be correct. But it is historical, and I am quite sure that most folks wonder… “Why is the Baseball Hall of Fame in some little town in Upstate New York?”

I will endeavor to relay that to you, devoid of any slants or feelings about this interesting topic.

First, let’s start with Cooperstown itself and some extremely famous and literaturely (I made that word up!) enduring stories. I’m referring to the incredible Leatherstocking Tales by the local big guy, James Fenimore Cooper, who for many years resided right there along Otsego Lake and these lands are all used in his tales of Natty Bumppo and his friends and enemies.

            Ok, so now we know about Jimmy Coop, and we know who Cooperstown was named for, but what we don’t know yet is how all of this ties into The Baseball Hall of Fame, which wouldn’t even rate a “mention” if not for the long-standing argument about who, what, and where the starting point of baseball was purported to be.

            So, let’s set that stage for a moment. Whenever an argument starts about the beginnings of Baseball, where the first game took place, and if, and when, did it morph from the British game called “rounders”, the name of Abner Doubleday always pops up.

            Abner was a successful Civil War Major General, in fact, it was he who fired the first shot against the Southern Rebel Army in defense of Fort Sumter. He was quite accomplished man, even holding the patent for some crazy idea for cable cars in San Francisco! He attended West Point Military Academy between the years of 1838 and 1842. These dates will soon become rather important….. read on.

            Back in the mid 1800’s the sport of Baseball in the United Staes was huge and growing more popular as each season rolled around. Soon loosely organized teams and coalitions of teams became the norm, all with their own throngs of followers (fanatics works here, especially when you realize that the word ‘fans’ is derived from it!). The more popular it got, the more folks wanted (or were given) someone’s fancied or idealized, or even seemingly fact-based notions on the origins of, and subsequent question, “Who did what first”. This exercise, which ran for a few decades, is an example of the classic he said/she said, they said/we said, who said/what said. As you may imagine, this exercise did little to actually solve any mysteries. The key points that drove this argument settled around the ‘what’, the ‘who’, and the ‘where’.

            The ‘What’ being the fact that there were several precursors to Baseball that had origins in England and Ireland with a game called “Rounders” and also a more local contrivance of a game called “Town Ball”. The problem with these is that they got in the way of a very nationalistic thinking group of highly respected Baseball organizers who wanted to claim that Baseball was a strictly American sport, born and bred right here in the good ol’ U.S. of A! These guys went so far as to establish a ‘Commission’ to investigate these issues and to come up with a ruling on all, and put to bed, finally the grumblings of the naysayers and practical sport historians.

            This is the stuff that’s fascinating! We now have the luxury of looking on all of this in hindsight which according to the idiom is always 20/20 and thinking “What’s all the fuss about anyway?” Easy for us to say that now, but back in the day this was Important! Our Nationality was being challenged (as some thought) and it need to be Fixed(!) once and for all.

            Now we get to the ‘Who’ and ‘Where’ of this dilemma and I’m going to warn you; it gets quite murky in there. The contrivance of Commissions, Sports Columnists, League Presidents, Philanthropists, (read men with large sums of money) and even (gasp!) Politicians would be a good foundation for a mini-series! In all of this I’m not so sure that the average Joe in America cared that much. I can hear it now:

Scene: Man sitting at table reading the morning paper.

“Hey Hon! Guess what? It seems that Baseball was started in a place called Cooperstown, somewhere in upstate New York!”

“That’s nice Dear, don’t forget to take that garbage out with you when you leave for work.”

But…. if you are a person of means, and you realize that there’s a bit more at stake here than being on Garbage Patrol, then you kind of make things happen. You don’t wait for them to happen.

“Enter our next Celebrity Contestant, hailing from the small upstate village of Cooperstown, let’s all give a warm, money-filled welcome to Stephen Carlton Clark!”

            Who?

            “You know, the guy who was one of the chief engineers of the plan to bring fame and fortune to his little town in New York… Cooperstown.”

            Oh.

Now I’m confused. Why is he being mentioned in the same story as James Fenimore Cooper. Was he an author too?

“No, not an author per se, more of a participant in a fabrication of sorts.”

Editorial Comment: Ok folks, from here on in it gets dicey, just a few more peeps need to be introduced and then things can be summed up nicely. But I need you to know that it does not get steamy! The folks all involved were trying their darndest to do what they thought was the best thing for their town, country, and sport. And since there is/was no 100% definitive, solid, granite-filled base for these arguments, that leaves just enough room for interpretations of the same. And the Clark family has done incredibly immensely beneficial things for Cooperstown that still resonate today as the family is still there and involved! So…. here we go!

            Mr. Clark’s family was well-off to begin with as his dad became the lawyer for, and partner of, a Mr. Issac Singer…. as in Singer Sewing Machines. To give you an idea of how much money surrounded this family you only need to know that when he passed in1882 his estate was valued at $25,000,000 (million) and his real estate holdings were approximately $50,000,000 (million again!) But hold on… those numbers are just from back then, lets equivalize them to today……. they would be $815,000,000 and $1,600,000,000, (that’s millions and then billions!) I don’t care when it is , that’s a lot of money!

            So now we know that the Clark family is from Cooperstown and their homes are on the land the James Fenimore Cooper used to own. They are very loyal to their hometown, and it shows by the actions and deeds that they took when philanthropizing the area. And Stephen  owns three newspapers in the Albany area.

            Now finally, back to Baseball. By the end of the 19^th century and in the beginning of the 20^th century baseball was a hot commodity. So much so that by now it sort of mattered where the sport began and who actually started it. Really only a few important people cared the extra bit about it but to them it was really, really important because it was Business! It mattered so much that a ‘Commission’ was established to get to the bottom of this issue. Luckily for the few important folks involved, somehow the ‘Commission’ was comprised mostly of members that agreed with the Few. Namely the movers and shakers of Cooperstown and baseball in general. The Mills Commission, as it was known, was ‘called to order’ in 1905 by Abraham Mills, a former president of the American League of Professional Baseball Clubs. It concluded that Abner Doubleday, with the help of a ‘first-person letter” written by Abner Graves, testifying that he saw Mr. Doubleday scribe out in a field the modern diamond shape of the bases and impose a set of rules that helped make the sport what it is today. The year was 1839 or 1840

            Oops! Let’s remember back to those dates that I said would be important later on…. the dates that Abner Doubleday was enrolled in West Point (which was not then, nor is it now, usually in the manner of giving cadets off to play baseball games). Oh…. and the ‘first person’ account was by a five-year-old Mr. Graves because that’s how old he was in 1839. Let’s see 1905 minus 1839 is 71. That’s the age of Mr. Graves and his first-person account. Not sure about you (and I know that my knowledge of my early years is excellent), but I’m not so sure that I could identify and scribe what happened on an innocuous day that long ago. But no matter because the ‘Commission’ took it as gospel and proceeded to name an American Civil War General, Abner Doubleday, as the Father of Baseball!

            All was good in the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave!

I’m going to condense the next couple of years and high points of this issue. Around 1920 someone proposed to buy the farm field that Abner Doubleday purportedly had that first baseball game. Major League Baseball was in support of the idea, so Cooperstown went ahead and tried to procure the field. They succeeded in 1923 and the stadium, Doubleday Field, came into being.

The next few years came and went normally until….. until the deceased Abner Graves (actually his estate) entered the picture again, this time with a ‘relic’ from the past. In Mr. Graves home they found an old baseball, old enough to be from back in that 1840’s era, when Abner Doubleday was playing hooky from West Point so he could invent the game of Baseball. To be sure, the baseball was very old and constructed the way that they were back then, mostly all handmade. Well, it obviously(?) came from Mr. Doubleday and that first game (or so it was advertised!)

In swoops Stephen Clark who bought the ball (maybe it’s the first souvenir?) and put it up in Cooperstown as a kind of shrine to Mr. Doubleday and the first game. The heads of the baseball leagues and teams thought that it was quite appropriate for the ball to be displayed there. Mr. Clark proposed having a Baseball Museum there which everyone was in favor of. The president of the National League, Mr. Frick, suggested having a Hall of Fame attached to it and as they say, the rest is History. Stephen Clark paid for the Museum and Hall of Fame to be constructed in Cooperstown and the plan was to have it ready for the Anniversary of that infamous date in Baseball history, 1839/1939. On another note, we must also recognize that these dates encompass another era of time, the Great Depression. Mr. Clark was obviously a businessman and could see the effects of the Depression on his tiny hometown of Cooperstown. He also was a publisher and selling newspapers was quite profitable. One of the major reasons that people bought newspapers was for the Sports Section. Even though the first radio broadcast of a baseball game was back in 1929, not all games were broadcast, nor did everyone have a radio, hence the Sports Section. Put the papers and an ailing town together and you can see another unobvious reason for Stephen Clark pushing for a Museum/Hall of Fame/Tourist Attraction to be placed in Cooperstown.

So 1939 rolled around and the Festivities surrounding the opening of the Baseball Museum and Hall of Fame were held with great success even though the claims that Mr. Doubleday and Cooperstown were not the actual ‘Firsts’ in the game that became to be known as America’s Pastime. There were still huge holes in all of the arguments for these ‘firsts’, so much so that eventually even Mr. Clark admitted that it was more likely that not just a single person had invented the sport. But again, the average guy on the street did not care.

Do you?

I’m willing to bet that the answer is No, you don’t really care.

To be honest, I really don’t care either, I’m good with wherever it was ‘invented’, but I’m always fascinated by the “Why’s” which usually leads to the “What’s” and as you can see, the “Where’s” I have no issues either that the Hall of Fame is where it is, in Cooperstown, New York. As a matter-of-fact Cooperstown may be the perfect place for it, albeit on an existential level.

It’s not easy to get there.

There’s no rail, bus, or air service.

The roads in and out of town are small country roads. You will never just pass by and say, “Hey! There’s the Hall of Fame! Let’s stop in!”

No, The Hall of Fame must be your Destination.

 For the people enshrined within, it’s not easy to get there either, their road is long and narrow for them too, but just like the visitor who finally makes it there the rewards are many and completely satisfying.

Ask anyone who has been there in either capacity.

P.S.  The Clark family have made sure that James Fenimore Cooper’s heritage and legacy are completely entwined in his old hometown. The Fenimore Art Museum and the Fenimore Farm and Country Village both started, and maintained, by the family are as prestigious and unassuming as can be, befitting a truly American author. The family is at the head of the Foundation that owns and operates the Hall of Fame (it is a private institution, not a part of Major League Baseball) Stphen Clark’s granddaughter Jane, is the Chair of the Foundation and Hall of Fame.

                        One of the Negatives of going to the same places each year that we come back to New Jersey is that it may be difficult to find new aspects of said place to write about.

                        That is my problem, not yours.

                        Your problem comes when you have to decide if I was successful or not when that writing occurs!

                        So…… you have an assignment coming up!

                        No worries, there will not be any grading, no ‘handing it in’, or even discussions surrounding this issue.

                        Just a New Post on a familiar subject, hopefully with a fresh twist on it! So, here goes…….

            We visited Barb up in Cooperstown the past few days. The weather was incredible, which made the drive up there (about three hours) really, really nice. We spend about 90% of the time on country roads winding through the little old towns of upstate New York which is about as far away as anything could be from their big cousin downstate, New York City.

                        Monticello, Liberty, Livingston Manor, these towns all mark our progress and get us to where we turn off of “Old Route 17” a highway with the same credentials (in my opinion, and with apologies to those of you that haven’t resided in New Jersey for eons) as old Rt. 46, Rt. 23, RT. 9, and even the revered RT. 66. These are all venerable old highways that served us well, way before the Interstate System was proposed by President Eisenhower in the late ‘50’s. If you are lucky, you can still spy the evidence of their past in the occasional old signs and buildings of classic Americana when you drive them.

                        Roscoe is the town where we turn off of RT. 17 (yes, the Roscoe Diner is still there!) and really get into the country.  Downsville, Walton, Franklin (more on Franklin later), big Oneonta, Colliersville, Milford, and finally Cooperstown.

                                    Have you ever been to Cooperstown? To the Baseball Hall of Fame? If you have, then all of this will be familiar. If you haven’t, then I am going to hopefully tease you just enough to plan a visit to there. And this is where I need to be careful as the minutiae surrounding the why’s and wherefores of the location of the Baseball Hall of Fame, the origins of that sport, and the back history of Cooperstown itself is staggering. I will do my best to balance this so you hopefully will not be bored to tears and cancel your ‘subscription’! Maybe I’ll just put together a separate Post on that subject, it’s crazily convoluted….. anyone interested?

                        Anyway, all the times that I’ve been up there before, I never made the time to visit the H.O.F. but this time we spent three days there so that I did have some time. Now please note that I am not an avid fan of baseball, I like it when my Home Team (Mets) win, but I’m probably more like the casual type of fan. But I do have to admit that I have incredibly fond memories of the 1969 Mets and their march to win the World Series. I adored Tom Seaver and was actually present at the old Shea Stadium when he pitched a near perfect game against the Chicago Cubs, allowing only a bloop single in the ninth inning ☹.  They didn’t call him Tom Terrific for nothing!

My point being that you do not have to be a baseball junkie in order to enjoy this experience! These players have become household names and just the mention of them brings back those memories that maybe weren’t actually yours, but you do remember how your Dad, (or in my case my Mom!) Grandfather, Uncle, etc. would live or die by their team’s or player’s actions.

Classic quotes from some classic guys!

                        There is a video presentation that is worth the price of admission alone. It is quite moving and really pours the history and myriads of stories together in the context of the Hall of Fame. I am not ashamed to admit that a tissue or two would have been nice to have had in my pocket!

                        When I was there my fellow attendees included several hundred Little Leaguers from teams from around the USA, especially the South and West where school is out already. They are here in Cooperstown for some incredible Round-Robin tournaments that go on for about a week and are played either at Doubleday Field (1920) or the newer  Dreams Field (1996 and not the one from the movie, that’s in Iowa). The teams fundraise all year to get the honor to play here. They also get to visit the Hall of Fame. I’m quite sure that many a kid left that shrine with a desire to achieve that level of ability and greatness!

            Me? All I wanted was to see Tom Seaver’s bronze plaque!

            The other place that I visited (and you’ve been there too over the years) is the Fenimore Art Museum. This establishment is more intricately entwined with the aforementioned story of the history of baseball and its supposed beginnings than one would normally imagine. (Maybe I’ll throw that in the possible new Post too!)

I am constantly amazed at the quality of the exhibits that are there. Like all museums, they obviously rotate these, some with other museums and galleries, and some are making their way across the country and set a spell in many an art museum. The “In-House” collection of American Artists, especially from the Hudson River School (mid 1800’s) is extremely satisfying.

These offerings rotate in and out of that “in house” collection, always keeping things “fresh’ for the frequent visitor. But if that’s not your cup of tea, then how about a collection of mostly 20^th century photography collected and curated by Peter Fetterman, the owner of the Fetterman Gallery in Santa Monica, California. If you like looking at images that literally take your breath away (and I mean it!) then you too can see them if only in a book, The Power of Photography by Peter Fetterman. All of the images that I saw are contained in it and it obviously includes incredible comments and insights from the most influential and famous photographers of this era. I saw these photos in the exhibit, in person, and then HAD to get the book! You all know how much I like photography; I hope that you can get that from the photo’s that accompany most of the Blog Posts!

(No photography was allowed in that exhibit so I cannot show you any examples, you’ll just have to take my word for it!)

                        My advice would be to beat a path to Cooperstown, NY and just see for yourself!

                        In the beginning of this Post, when you were on your way to Cooperstown, you had to pass through the small village/town of Franklin. The main drag there is the only way to get through that area and causes some issues when the Town wants to have a parade. Paula can tell you all about it as one year she traveled home on the 4^th of July and got stuck until the Parade started and finished. That tale gave me an idea for a Short Story!  With your permission, below you will find that short story. (I’ve written tons of them!)

I hope that you enjoy it!

            +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A Parade

            I hit the brakes as the Fire Department person stepped off the curb and halted traffic. Actually, there wasn’t any traffic, I was the only one on the street, but there I was, stopped anyway. I rolled down my window and leaned my head out, trying to catch the Traffic Stoppers attention.

            I called out, “Good Morning! What seems to be the delay?”

            The Traffic Stopper just shouted over her shoulder, “Town 4^th of July Parade.”

            Fuming a bit and looking at my watch, I asked the obvious next question. “How long?”

            “Probably at least a half-hour…. or so.”

            “Half-hour? Any chance you can sneak me through now?”

            “No can-do sir, I’ve got my orders” she said patting the radio mic mounted on her shoulder. “If I let one more car through now the Captain will tan my hide and I don’t need that! I’m the FNG in the department and I get enough rookie grief as it is!”

            “FNG?”

            “Yeah, you know, ‘F’ing New Guy….. or Girl.”

            “Oh…. right… I get it.”

            I rolled up my window and just sat there waiting for whatever. I probably looked at my watch a dozen times or more before the parade even started. A couple of minutes later the FNG Traffic Stopper walked over to my window and indicated for me to roll it down.

            “What now?” I asked.

            “You don’t have to get so testy sir; I’m only doing my job here.”

            “I know, but why me?”

            “Because, Sir, you were not the last one that I was allowed to let through. You were the first one that I was ordered to stop. Besides, what’s the rush? Got someplace really important to be that a little delay is going to mess it all up?”

            That kind of hit home. I really had nowhere that I had to be, I was just driving back home and was hoping to avoid any kind of traffic issues later in the day. But there I found myself, sitting on Main Street of Franklin, in upstate New York waiting for their 4th of July Parade to start.

            “Actually no.” I responded, “Just hoping to beat some later day traffic on the way home.”

            Miss FNG Traffic Stopper smiled back and explained, “We’re just a small town here and this road is our “main” street even though it’s the only way to get through these parts. So, once a year we get to march down our Main Street. All the organizations from the surrounding area get involved. Little League, Scouts, 4-H Clubs, Rotary, and you know, everybody. And when it’s all over we have our town picnic and BBQ down at the ballfield. Everyone comes, it’s all free and we all have a great time.”

            “Got it,” I replied, trying to smile sincerely but probably failing at that.

            “Watch for the float at the end of the Parade with the Town Queen on it. She’s our candidate for County Queen at the Fair, you can’t miss her. That’ll be your signal that the parade is ended. You can fall in behind that float and be on your way.”

            I looked in my rearview mirror and saw the long line of cars now backed up behind me. I nodded that I understood.

            “Just don’t crowd her in your haste to get wherever it is that you don’t have to be.”

            I nodded again somewhat guiltily.

            “I’ve got to go join the Department now. By the way, you’re free to join us at the ballfield later if you get hungry just sitting here.”

            Then she turned and went down the street to join her already lined up comrades.

            I had no choice but to just wait there and watch as the parade passed in front of me. It was your typical small-town parade, with all of the obvious participants, just as she described. You could tell when the Queen finally made her appearance because the crowds on both sides of the street stood and cheered the loudest.

            That was my signal. I tried my best not to crowd the end of the parade. I left what I thought was a decent amount of room at the end of the parade and started my motor and slowly drove down Main Street, followed by my own parade dragging along behind me.

            I’m not sure why, but at the intersection where Main Street continued towards civilization, I turned left and followed the townsfolk towards the ballfield. I parked along a fence line where there were some other cars already and got out and walked towards the festivities.  Grabbing a burger and a Coke I walked around a bit. I got a few looks because I was definitely not a local, but they all smiled at me anyway.

            Over by the ring-toss I saw some Fire Department folks and I recognized the Traffic Stopper amongst them.

            “Hey! FNG!”

            She whirled around, it took a second or two, but she smiled at me.

            “Hey yourself, Mr. ‘Gotta-Get-Going’, glad you stopped by!”

            And that was it.

            “That’s how you met Grandma?”

            “Yup! Sure was! Isn’t that right Sweetie?

            My FNG Traffic-Stopper just smiled and nodded her head.