in which we depart England for the Continent, and meet an Old Friend.
Monday, 06 July 1998 - Luxembourg
I awaken to the knowledge that this is my last day for a long time in a country whose language is my native one. It's grey and rainy, but we're still leaving.
After the 'bag drag'[1], we pile on the plane with an English Constellation nut, Lord someone-or-other (I'm not kidding) who's flying with us to Luxembourg for the sheer thrill of flying in this historic plane. As I babble with this man, the ugly truth comes out.
I don't like flying.
Yes, I am completely aware of the irony. But the truth is, I've always been a white-knuckle flier, and this plane was, as aforementioned, built in 1948. Furthermore, it is unpressurized ('You don't pressurize 50-year-old rivets!' --Captain Frank) and loud. It's a lovely old plane, to be sure, but the operative word here is 'old'. And we've two hours' flight ahead of us, in foul (for flying) weather.
I buckle myself into a seat on the port side, over the wing, and fasten my headphones securely over my ears. We take off into an overcast sky and rumble east.
At times the clouds are so thick you can't see the wingtips, which makes me pretty nervous, but after a while I start to relax. This plane flies amazingly smoothly, and eventually, I calm down enough to stop gripping the armrests every time we hit a bump.
At one point, Captain Frank wanders back (the co-pilot traditionally does most of the flying; don't ask me why) to pass out chocolates left over from a stop in Hamburg the previous week, and to tell us that the dark blue smudge we can see occasionally through the clouds is, in fact, the English Channel. Could have fooled me.
We pass over (presumably) bits of Belgium and eventually come to Luxembourg. It's still pretty cloudy, but the ceiling is high and as we break out of the grey, it can be seen that Luxembourg is easily as green as England. From our approach it looks largely like farmland, but we overfly a bustling motorway and bank steeply (gasp!) over what we later learn is the American Military Cemetery. It looks cool from the air.
Eventually, though, we land, and are followed, Pied Piper fashion, by airport vehicles and LuxAir crew to our stand at the lonely end of the airport. We're taken by minibus to our hotel, the Ibis, and await events.
What happens, for me, anyway, is the arrival of Mimi.
When I lived in Louisiana, Mimi was one of the saving graces of life in the swamp. Living in Germany now, this wonderful person drove two hours to sit with me in the lobby of the Ibis, munching cheese and crusty bread and babbling incessantly. Since she had to be at work in a few hours, she didn't stay long, but the plan was to get together on Thursday and go shopping somewhere. Frankfurt, maybe. Way cool.
So we make our way back to the plane eventually & open it for tours. (This is pretty much a staple of life on tour with the plane, so if I don't mention it, you can assume it happened regardless.)
At eight p.m. we close it up and get taken to dinner by our host, Monsieur Birgen, the sort of oily little man who thinks that an open-collared shirt and gold chain are cool. We find ourselves in a long, narrow restaurant being plied with more alcohol than is good for any of us. I'm sure there was food in the program somewhere, but for the life of me I can't remember it. Things started with a chilled white wine, then moved on to mixed drinks or pilsner, followed by some sort of brandy thing. Things got a bit hazy then, but I do remember the marc.
After dinner, it's traditional (or so we're told) to salute one's host -- in this case, the guy who owned the restaurant. So they bring us tiny grappa-style glasses filled with something that smells like rocket fuel and tastes slightly worse. It's called marc, made in this case from pinot noir grapes, and it's what Everclear wants to be when it grows up. 'Nuff said.
So we're rolling through the darkened streets of Luxembourg-ville, and I catch a glimpse of the most lovely thing. The city is built in a narrow, steep valley, almost a gorge, really, and they have the most amazing, tall, ancient stone bridges. This one was lit from below and it literally took my breath away[2]. After that, I remember nothing except waking up in my appalling pink room with a world-record hangover.
Tuesday, 07 July 1998 - Luxembourg
I spend the day recovering from Monday night.
Wednesday, 08 July 1998 - Luxembourg
Since we don't open the plane until 4 p.m. here in laid-back Luxembourg, our host, the oily M. Birgen, volunteers to show us around. Karen, Anne, Roger and I squeeze into his car and get marched ruthlessly over Luxembourg.
We are allowed to spend twenty harried minutes in the American Military Cemetery. This is still quite enough time to get depressed over it, although I discover that Patton is buried here. I snap a pic for Loki, who is a fan of the crotchety general, and then we see that M. Birgen practically dancing from foot to foot in his impatience to get us back into the car. We're driven erratically and at speed to the outskirts of town, where we're allowed to ooh at the valley for eleven seconds from a scenic overlook. Back into the car for a quick drive to the center of town, where we are dragged around the more interesting bits of the thousand-year-old ramparts. We're marched past the Grand Duke's city residence, tutted over as we stop to buy a map, and thrust back into the car for a quick whip round the newer sections of town where, as M. Birgen assures us, people are falling over themselves to establish businesses here. Does he think we may be investors?!?
This afternoon we're joined by Alastair and Andréa. Alastair is an English guy who booked much of our European tour, and he's brought his girlfriend with him. (He calls her his 'companion' .... I guess it's an English thing.) Anyway, Andréa is way cool. We have exactly the same sardonic view of the world in general and people in particular. They're flying with us to Austria for no good reason I know except they wanted a nice long weekend in the Alps. Whatever works.
[1] Imagine hauling luggage for ten & you'll understand why this event is so named.
[2] Or maybe it was because I was wedged painfully between Roger & Karen in the back of a microscopic Audi.
