It occurred to me the other day, while talking travel with some friends, that there are two very distinct approaches to visiting far-off places. My hypothesis was reinforced over the next week or so as I read a travel magazine and studied several trip brochures from travel agencies and cruise lines. The two approaches – well there’s the predictable and the unpredictable.
Choosing the predictable assures a trip that each night one will have a comfortable bed. Each day will be greeted with regular meals and meaningful visits to places of interest. The tourist can leave an itinerary with friends or children and be assured that their progress will proceed on an orderly schedule. This assurance, whether on a cruise or with a tour group, can relieve a great deal of stress while exposing oneself to totally unfamiliar conditions. The unpredictable, just as it sounds, has its surprises on the upside, and its disappointments and frustrations on the downside.
While we have used the “predictable” method a number of times and thoroughly enjoyed the trip, our tendency is to muddle along in the unpredictable mode. Occasionally we discover unique individual treasures and other times we chastise ourselves for the mistakes that have put us in awkward circumstances.
We recently spent almost three weeks in Europe, and I would like to share with you our successes and our failures.
One of our successes is referred to as “the train lady.” Another day dawned bright and clear even if the thermometer was about three degrees centigrade. We decided on the spur of the moment to visit the city of Görlitzwhich sits on the Polish border. Who knows why? We jumped on the local train and found ourselves next to a German lady who taught English to four to ten year olds at a school in Dresden. She was on her way to a little town, just short of Görlitz, and she entertained us with one of her life stories.
She told us about growing up in eastern Germany – about watching the two republics unite – and woven through these historic events the romance of her daughter and the son of an Italian chef. It seems that just after World War II an Italian cook, unable to make a good living for his family in Italy, came to this area in Germany and opened a restaurant in Bautzen. Here his children grew up, especially one who was a handsome black-haired, black-eyed boy. This young man pursued a beautiful long haired blond German girl – and thus a family was born. Our train companion was the young lady’s mother and was on her way to visit the family who ran a pizzeria in the town of Bautzen. I would like to tell you we stopped off in Batuzen and ordered a pizza, but, alas, our ticket would not allow it. However, believe me – it is high on my bucket list for the next visit to this area of Germany.
I now need to balance off the wonderful “train lady experience” with the rest of that day in Görlitz. In retrospect I cannot remember why we ever felt a desire to visit this little out-of-the-way town in Poland named Zgorzelec.
We get along fairly well with my third grade German, but here in Zgorzelec it just didn’t work. This should come as no surprise to you – they speak Polish in Poland. My Polish is limited to a handful of swear words, and I did not deem them proper to use.
There may also be a small enmity between the Germans who live on one side of the Lusatian Neisse River and the Poles who occupy the other bank. At any rate, this town apparently is not a big tourist location. We discovered this when we found people staring at us as we tried desperately to find a place to eat. Then there was the menu. No helpful pictures, no second language explanations, merely three or four Polish words in large type followed by ten to twelve words in tiny print. And then there was the confusing price. Again no surprise here – the prices were in zlotys – and all we had were Euros.
To compound the matter, I am married to a vegetarian; and, apparently the Polish people in Zgorzelec eat only meat.
Ah well, we escaped with our dignity only slightly bruised, and while the “train lady” story lives on happily in our memory, the painful day in Zgorzelec has been nearly forgotten.