Allyson Johnson

Pieces of my Mind

Archive for the category “Train travel”

02 Jul 2024
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Freeway Free in France: Settling into Arles

EJ and I arrive in Arles via an earlier train than originally planned, having discovered that our tickets would be good for any TER train at any time in any direction as long as it is on the same date (what a convenience for the traveler!) We catch a taxi, overtip the driver, and arrive at the Hotel Constantin just as the lobby re-opens for business after the mid-day siesta which is common in southern France.

We picked the Hotel Constantin on the recommendation of our friend BB who was also staying there and was enthusiastic about the service she had received on a previous visit. We were a bit dubious, as it boasts only a 2-star rating, but the location on a narrow street just a footbridge away from the Boulevard George Clemenceau proved to be practically perfect, with easy access to museums, monuments, and the amazing Saturday street market. And we even had excellent viewing of the passing of the Olympic torch right outside the hotel steps! (more on that later).

According to the website, the rooms are “furnished with handsome items picked from various Antique markets”; I myself would describe the style as “vintage Garage Sale.” But the bed is comfortable, there are plenty of drawers for storage, the WiFi works well, and the plumbing provides a reviving hot shower. (Caveat: We learn later that the hot water is only available after 7AM and before midnight).

The breakfasts at the Hotel Constantin are a bit more spartan than as depicted on the website. Croissants and baguettes are fresh, yogurt and orange juice are available, but the only fresh fruit offered throughout our stay was bananas.

The other shortcomings which might have prompted a 2-star rating are

1) the lack of an elevator. The stairs are fit to star in Hitchcock’s Vertigo, and there is a trick to getting the lights to come on. (Motion-sensors are not perfectly placed, but a wave of the arms will usually get their attention.)

2) a shortage of electric plugs, and the one available being oddly placed at eye level just outside the bathroom. Fortunately, I brought an extension cord which served me well.

Did I mention how stellar is the location? At the end of the first day, we walked away from the city center along the Boulevard George Clemenceau which takes a sharp turn just past Hotel Constantin, and there we found Le Grand Rhone, and this lovely sunset:

Posted in France, Freeway Free, Train travel, Travel and tagged ,
18 Jun 2024

A Piece of My Mind: Life Without Wheels (Los Altos Town Crier (May 29, 2024)

I recently spent a few days with friends who do not own a car, in a city where this is possible.

My friends live in a condo which is three blocks from a bus stop, and five long blocks from a subway station.  Within a ten-minute walk are a small grocery store, a bakery, and the equivalent of what we used to call a five-and-ten-cent store where one can purchase hard goods ranging from light bulbs and screwdrivers to hair pins and underwear.  On the way back from the subway they pass a neighborhood bistro where they can pause for a cup of coffee and a roll if it is morning, or a glass of wine and a plate of olives and cheese if it is evening.

My friends wanted to show me the things they love about their car-free lifestyle, and during my stay we took the bus and rode on the subway.  We took a ferry to cross the river which divides the town from its suburbs.  And we walked. Each day of my stay we walked more than eight miles, and went up and down the equivalent of more than 30 flights of stairs.  (One friend has a pedometer.)

It felt good to walk.  I enjoyed being able to stop and take a closer look at things on the side of the path, or to notice details of architecture and landscaping which would have flashed past a car window. We stopped at a pop-up street market and bought a few pre-used items.  We took alternate paths through the park. When we sat down to eat I had burned enough calories to allow myself to splurge on desserts.

I wondered  – could this carefree carless life style work in Los Altos? Greentown Los Altos (www.greentownlosaltos.org) assures me that it could.  Our town is flat – perfect for walking and bicycling.  We have bus lines that go up and down El Camino Real, and we have satellite lines that run along San Antonio Road and from the Mountain View train station up to Foothill College. And we have an evolving and expanding system of dedicated bike lanes and pedestrian walkways. I imagined going to downtown Los Altos on my bicycle with pannier baskets and hitching up to one of the many colorful bike stands around town, rather than circling the parking lots for a parking space.  No worries about gas prices or car-jacking or keeping my packages out of sight.  Why aren’t more people doing this?

Reality check:  The streets of my friends’ city are lined with parked cars, despite the many public transit alternatives. The cost for using public transport is time. If you have a schedule to meet, a twenty-minute wait for the bus can be a killer. My friends are retired, and time matters less.

In my friends’ city, to take the Metro line from their home to the nearest airport takes an hour and a half.  In a car, the trip takes fifteen minutes.  When my friends took me to the airport, they called for an Uber.

I came home with good intentions to use my bicycle and my feet more, and my car less. The first morning after my return I thought about biking to my exercise class in Mountain View less than two miles away.  But it’s tricky to cross El Camino;  some cars make a quick right turn at Shoreline without looking for pedestrians or bicyclists.  And I don’t actually have pannier baskets yet, and I needed to carry my gym equipment.  And I barely had time for a second cup of coffee.  And so I hopped into the car.

But I’m looking into pannier baskets.

Posted in bus travel, Freeway Free, TOWN CRIER, Train travel, Travel and tagged , | Leave a comment
20 Feb 2024
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Graffitti – Gritty, Ubiquitous, Affirming

The railroad tracks from the Coliseum to Jack London Square – everywhere the trash and debris of homelessness… rusted out cars, plywood shanties, abandoned chairs, strollers, buckets, tires, tarps…. But everywhere also the triumphant gaiety of graffiti – a rainbow of indecipherable words adorning every available concrete surface – amazingly no pornographic or obscene drawings or postings, only an occasional sad face, Raiders logo, anime girl in a sarong, a smiling blue tiger.   Some of the artists have mastered techniques that I have failed to grasp in art classes – shading, three-D effects. Odd that these artists don’t express more anger and frustration.  Every tag, every angular or curvilinear phrase (some out in the water on pipes, some twenty feet high) expressing “I am here!”

Some businesses have given in to the graffiti and put up their own murals using the curvilinear or anime style – these seem to be respected.  It is very bad form to paint over another artist’s work. And now at Jack London Suare the graffiti disappears amid the apartments and banners and “public artwork” of the respectable and established world.

Per Wikipedia,Graffiti (plural; singular graffiti or graffito, the latter rarely used except in archeology) is art that is written, painted or drawn on a wall or other surface, usually without permission and within public view.  Graffiti ranges from simple written words to elaborate wall paintings, and has existed since ancient times, with examples dating back to ancient Egypt, ancient Greece, and the Roman Empire.. Modern graffiti, focused on tagging, probably began on New York City subway cars and spread like a living cloak flung across railway cars, freeway overpasses, and abandoned buildings. When I first visited Japan in 1997 I remember my colleague remarking on the lack of graffiti . When I last visited in 2011 graffiti was everywhere. In some eyes, graffiti are acts of vandalism. In others, they are works of art.

We leave the Square, with its up-market businesses including a Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, a BevMo, a Cost Plus World Market… and then abruptly we are into the Port area and the graffiti erupts again. Dingier here, as though the artists lacked the energy to walk this far from warmth and people.  A huge recycling center.  Stacks of shipping containers, A row of black oil tankers, oddly un-graffitied, unlike the box cars and flat cars on the next track over. Is it hard to make the paint stick on the curved surfaces? The cattle cars and box cars are painted as high as a man can reach. Of course – why paint a lowly concrete barrier when one can send one’s aspirations across the country?

Posted in California, Freeway Free, hidden treasures, Train travel and tagged , ,
12 Oct 2022

Freeway-free in California: Amtrak Falters, BART to the rescue

We are ready for the parting of our ways:  M and the trailer will return to Davis, where she will dive headfirst into the maelstrom of detail involved with selling a house and buying another, while I will catch a Capital Corridor train at Fairfield and spend a relaxing two hours reading, writing, admiring the scenery, and feeling sorry for the people in the homeless encampments along the tracks.

First wrinkle:  There are now TWO Amtrak stations in Fairfield.  Our faithful GPS unerringly directs us to the new one, Fairfield – Vacaville.  I have been to the Fairfield station before it was re-labeled Suisun -Fairfield, and I am pretty sure this adobe “Transit Center” in the middle of a giant parking lot next to nothing at all is not it. 

Moments of panic –I check my ticket and realize the error.  Is this really a train stop?  Where are the tracks?  Will my ticket be good starting at a different station. Should we head off for the other station? Cooler heads prevail; I spot an underpass which leads toward the tracks, we trundle through and there are a couple of benches and a sign saying that the train I am scheduled to travel on will arrive in 15 minutes, and, most reassuringly, another passenger waiting. 

I hug M, “Wonderful trip!” and watch her pull out of the parking lot.  The train arrives as advertised, and the conductor doesn’t get around to our car to check my ticket until after we have arrived at and left Suisun Fairfield.  My only regret is the lack of a snack machine at the new station – I had counted on a candy bar to get me through to my Great America stop.  Rummaging through my tote bag, I find a forgotten granola bar.  All is well.

Until we get to Richmond.  We stop.  And stay.  An unintelligible announcement is made.  I get out and find a conductor in the next car.  “There’s damage to the tracks ahead.  We don’t know how long the delay will be.  Could be 45 minutes.  Could be two hours.”

I go back to my car, inform my fellow passengers, and we stare disconsolately out the window – at the sign that says “Take underpass for BART”.  The young woman across from me is distraught. “I’ve GOT to get to the Oakland Airport for a flight!  I allowed an extra hour but…”  

I look at the sign.  “There’s a BART stop at the Oakland Airport”, I tell her.  There is also a new BART station in Milpitas, not so much further from home than the Great America station.  We gather our bags and lead a parade of passengers to the BART station.

To our surprise and pleasure, a BART official is handy who tells us “We have an arrangement with Amtrak.  Just go through that turnstile there – no charge.”  A BART train arrives a few minutes later, I phone my Personal Travel Agent at home, he checks the route to the new station, and I settle down to read, write, admire the scenery, and feel sorry for the people in the homeless encampments along the tracks.

Coda: The next day I get a standard email from Amtrak asking about my trip.  I grouse about the lack of signage at the new station and most particularly about the delay and poor communication about it.  The next day I receive another email from Amtrak giving me a voucher good for the value of my trip from Fairfield –Suisun to Great America.  They are trying!

Posted in California, Freeway Free, Memoir, Train travel, Travel and tagged , | Leave a comment
05 Jun 2019
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Freeway-Free in San Francisco: Bay to Breakers – Still Crazy After All These Years

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When our kids were pre-schoolers my husband took up jogging with some friends. In the spring, they decided to try the Bay to Breakers race/fun run in San Francisco. For the next two years they would set off early to start the race, while the kids and I would hustle into the car later and do our best to get to the windmill in Golden Gate Park in time to wave at Daddy as he went by.

Then I took up jogging, too, as did a lot of other folks, it seems. Bay to Breakers ballooned from a few thousand participants to tens of thousands. The night before the race became a family event, with my sister, my brother, and their families bunking at our house the night before. On race morning Grandma and Grandpa came over to look after the grand-children, while the parents crammed onto CalTrain with assorted crazy people in costumes. The race was always schedule within a few days of my birthday, so I always felt somehow that everyone was celebrating with me.

Fast forward a few years. My kids were both running track, and eager to smoke their dad and uncles in Bay to Breakers. Grandma and Grandpa decided to be walkers, so we found a baby-sitter for the younger kids. Bay to Breakers was up to over 100,000 participants, fueled by baby boomer enthusiasm and the free radio, TV,and newspaper ads put out by the sponsoring San Francisco Examiner. The race route was officially equipped with timers at every mile interval, first aid stations, and volunteers offering water, and unofficially equipped with rock bands on the corners and SF residents cheering us on from their balconies with showers of confetti and speakers blaring Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” and Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again”.

Some teams ran yoked together as “centipedes”. The San Francisco Dental School carried a giant toothbrush and tube of toothpaste and chanted “Brush your teeth! Brush your teeth!” as they went by. Both men and women ran dressed as ballerinas, as cows, as the President, as nuns, as Elvis. There were some dressed in nothing at all. From the finish line at Ocean Beach participants back-tracked to the Polo Grounds, where the post-race Expo included more rock bands, the race T-shirt distribution tables, food and beer booths, and lots of free stuff. What a party!

More years have passed. I’m an empty-nester and an orphan, my husband has a trick knee, and my family has scattered. I haven’t done Bay to Breakers in years. A friend and I decided to make it a goal. So in the middle of May, in pouring rain, my husband took us up to the Millbrae BART station and off we went.

Since the Examiner folded, the race has had various sponsors: a bank, a grocery chain, an airline. With the lack of free media advertising, it has shrunk to maybe 25,000 participants. At each BART station we picked up people who were obviously headed for the race, but there were few costumes. We popped out of the underground at Powell Street and walked back toward the start.

Something new: lots of barricades to keep hotel guests and convention-goers from getting tangled up with the runners. Some things missing: the rainbow of balloons which used to make the start, the hovering helicopters, the crowd of spectators lined up along the start to cheer the runners.

Miraculouslyt, the rain had let up.  We saw the seeded runners go by.  We saw a centipede made up of twenty women dressed in black robes with lace collars who all managed to look exactly like Ruth Bader Ginsberg.  We saw a bunch of people dressed as cows.  We saw a naked runner carrying an obscene sign.  We decided it was time to jump in.

By the time we hit Golden Gate Park, the sun was shining so brightly that the Conservator of Flowers looked like a puff of meringue on its hill.  In between the rock bands, as we went through the blocked – off park, I could hear the magical sound of hundreds of feet hitting the pavement.  The post race party was relatively small, but we each still scored a bottle of water, a banana, and an energy bar to fuel our way back across the city on the N-Juday trolley to the Cal Train Station.  And we were feeling triumphant at making it from bay to beach with our thousands of friends.  Me and the City – still crazy after all these years.

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Posted in Events, Freeway Free, Memoir, Train travel, Uncategorized and tagged ,
16 Apr 2019
2 Comments

Freeway Free in Scotland: All Aboard the Royal Scotsman

You have figured out by now that our tour of England, Wales, and Scotland is a splurge trip, not designed for budgeting backpackers.  A week of travel through Scotland aboard the Royal Scotsman is not for the faint-of-checkbook, but a taste of luxury sweetens the cup of life. (Does that sound like a folk saying?  I just made it up.)

Your trip aboard the luxury train “Royal Scotsman” begins with a kilted and shako’d bagpipe player piping you aboard.  It continues with gourmet meals on Villeroy & Bosch china, an open bar with hundreds of choices of whiskey, wine, etc. in the observation car, and lectures en route by a noted regional scholar.

You roll along through verdant countryside, viewing the landscape through spotless windows, pulling over at night on quiet sidings in quaint villages.

And of course, there are stops along the way at a number of Scottish distilleries in order to activate our  taste for Scotch whisky.  I’m afraid my pictures, as well as my brain, got fuzzier and fuzzier as the trip progressed, so  the final banquet, with fine food, fine china, fine wine, and several guests and all the staff dressed in formal Scottish regalia, will be left to your imagination.  If you have yearned to travel like a member of Queen Victoria’s retinue, this was a week for wish fulfillment. IMG_0670doc

Posted in Freeway Free, Train travel, Travel and tagged
03 Apr 2019

Freeway Free in Britain: Discovering York

20180721_174408docI  was thrilled to be going to York long before I had seen a picture or read an itinerary – as a long-time fan of Josephine Tey’s The Daughter of Time, I’m convinced that Richard, Duke of York, got a raw deal in Shakepeare’s heavily politicized portrait of him as Richard III, hunchbacked arch-villain. So I was eager to see the city which had given him his title, and which, according to history, mourned his overthrow by the usurper Henry Bolingbroke.

York has a lot more than Richard III going for it, though.  It has a beautiful minster cathedral which rivals the best of France’s Gothic cathedrals, with stunning stained glass and a flowerlike central vault.

Unlike most European cities, York still has a nearly intact city wall, which makes for a charming and informative stroll along its ramparts.  From any vantage point on the wall you get views of the minster, plus sneak peeks into verdant gardens, lively back yards, and the lives of modern Yorkists.

Within the wall the city maintains a medieval character wit its narrow twisting streets and odd alleyways, while somehow exuding a modern energy and excitement.   Outside the wall are other points of interest, including a really comprehensive railway museum calling attention to when York was a rail center for all of northern England.

My railway buff husband would love to spend more happy hours there, while I would return for the alleyways and pubs and to walk a few more miles of the wall. 20180721_095012doc

 

Posted in Freeway Free, hidden treasures, Train travel, Travel, World Heritage sites and tagged , | Leave a comment
12 Feb 2019

Freeway Free in Wales: From the Castle to the Pits and Back

20180717_145638docAmong the hazards of a pre-organized group tour is that one day may be PACKED with events and places to see, while the next may find you bus-bound as your itinerary hustles you off to the next attraction.  (Above is a view from the bus of the beautiful Welsh countryside near Snowdon. Time to explore on your own, and time to digest your experiences may both be limited.

Today we explored the depths of a slate mine (damp, dark, dusty),

rode on a narrow-gauge railway (clattering, quaint, cramped),

explored Portemeirion, a fantasy village created as “an homage to Portofino” by a self taught architect (eclectic, imaginative, erratic),

ate dinner at a World heritage site castle (lavish, lamb, local lore),

and watched border collies herding sheep into their home pens (energetic, efficient, effective).  20180717_145701

Lots of diversity, but almost too much to take in.  By the end of the day, I am most clearly remembering those border collies herding the sheep as we sat on the wall of our guest house, quietly and remotely and restfully watching.

 

Next Week: Freeway – Free in Wales: Life in the Village, Life in the Castle

 

 

Posted in Freeway Free, Memoir, Train travel, Travel, Uncategorized, World Heritage sites and tagged , | Leave a comment
05 Feb 2019

Freeway Free in Wales: Hanging out at Bodysgallen Hall

20180716_211431docWe are still traveling first class:  we were picked up at the Manchester Airport by Jason, a deferential fellow with a strong accent.  He loaded our gear into a Mercedez limo/van, and off we go through misty rain (the first rain in six weeks, Jason says) to Wales, home of unpronounceable names.   We are staying outside of Llandudno in a 17th century carriage house named Bodysgallen Hall.  The castle for which this ample residence formerly served as gatehouse is visible from our windows, at least a couple of miles away across the valley.  Talk about an impressive entrance!20180716_185011web

Our  room has  mullioned windows and a lot of toile and chintz and Turkish rugs. The welcome reception for our group included a harpist as well as a wide sampling of local whiskeys and not-so-local wines.

Now the sun is setting through my mullioned windows, my spouse is in PJ’s reading about tomorrow’s itinerary, and I am contemplating one more tour around the garden outside before turning in.

Next week: From the Castle to the Pits and Back

Posted in Freeway Free, Memoir, Train travel, Travel, World Heritage sites and tagged , , | Leave a comment
18 Jul 2017
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Freeway Free in France: Back to the 7me Arrondissement

My favorite pied a terre in Paris is the Jardin D’Eiffel, just off the market street Rue Cler (see above) by one block. 15 years ago when I first stayed the decor was dominated by giant yellow Monet-esque flowers on Royal blue  on drapes, pictures, and murals throughout (see below) , and the clientele favored busloads of Canadian and German students and tourists on a budget.

The old Jardin has undergone a 21st century revamp, and is now robed mostly in subtle shades of gray with some paisley drapes to brighten the feel (see above).  The elevator, however,  is no larger;  it can accommodate two people and two suitcases on if you are on friendly terms, or you can stash the suitcases in the elevator, push the button,and race the elevator up the stairs. DB and I are sharing a room facing the street – not the best, as the next door neighbor is the police station and we expect to hear sirens all night.  From the back rooms, if you lean out the window, you can glimpse the Eiffel Tower.

We arrived after an efficient breakfast at La Vielle Auberge, a lightning transit to the train station in Souillac, a bit of a hassle with ticket’s but we eventually got on the train and enjoyed four hours of French scenery, shading from Romanesque yellow sandstone  with steep-pitched roofs and bell-towers in the Dordogne to white stucco with mansard roofs and steeples in the Touraine.  Gare Austerlitz is large and bustling but well-signed, our Algerian taxi driver was friendly and expansive about  what we should be sure to see in Paris, and the staff at the Jardin welcomed us like old friends.

We took the Metro to the Place de ‘l’Opera and picked up our museum passes for two days of urgent museum – going.  This may be our last joint adventure for awhile, as we each have different plans for our stay in Paris.    WB missed the Louvre on her previous visit and expects to spend two days there, but wants also to fit in the renovated Musee d’Orsay, the Rodin, the Pere LaChaise cemetery, and perhaps a tour of the opera.  DM has a friend dating back to a working stint in London  who came to meet her and is staying at the Jardin, and also has a cousin who wants to return the hospitality DM showed him in the states, so after tonight’s dinner  she will not share evenings until Sunday. Dianne has not been in Paris in decades and has murky memories, so she may take the #69 bus tour around the city per Rick Steves’ recommendation and then follow her interests. 20160922_230844web

I have in mind the renovated d’Orsay tomorrow together with l’Orangerie which houses Monet’s water lilies, then there is another exhibit at the Grand Palais I want to find out about, and I need to visit Notre Dame and the Holocaust victims memorial and of course Berthillon’s ice cream and the Art Deco atrium of La Samaritaine, and Le Pere LaChaise cemetery with WB on Sunday.  Our walking tour will have been good prep for pounding all this Gothic pavement. Right now we are getting cleaned up in preparation for a celebration meal at l’Affriole, which it appears has developed enough of a reputation that Michele (who is French with family and friends in Lyon) had heard of it.

I am trembling at the potential cost.  But we have economized greatly up until now, having scrounged for lunches at the hotel breakfast buffets and having dinner and breakfasts prepaid during our hiking tour.

20160922_073111docWe decided to walk back from L’Opera (which was undergoing a revamp of its own behind a Rene Magritte-inspired façade) and stopped at a street-side cafe on Rue Tour Maubourg for wine, tea, and people -watching. We saw Cinderella’s glass coach go by, pulled by a rather ordinary brown horse and with two dotty English tourists inside.  Such is life in a tourist city.

Unfortunately l’Affriole did not live up to my memory. New management has revamped the decor here also, opening up the front of the place for sidewalk seating, which leaves one exposed to the curious glances of passers-by and other hazards.  In our case, a large dog decided to deposit an equally large souvenir on the sidewalk just by our table, and the dog’s owner loftily prepared to ignore the awkward incident until the restaurateur bounded out and demand she clean up after her pet.  She argued, gave in, and “cleaned up” by kicking the mess to the curb, then wiping her shoe carefully on the edge.  Not the most appetizing of beginnings.

The food, instead of bringing on the sort of ecstasy seen in “When Harry Met Sally,” did not measure up to either my memory or the best of the food we had enjoyed while hiking. So much for my “local expertise”.  But I still have a few 7me arrondissement aces up my sleeve.20160922_070928doc

 

 

Posted in France, Freeway Free, hidden treasures, Memoir, Train travel, Travel and tagged , , ,

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