A new European discovery for me, after all those years: Strasbourg

Many of my friends believe that I have been everywhere, which of course is a crazy notion. But it is true that I have seen an unusually high number of beautiful places, especially when it comes to European destinations. My recent one-week trip to the EU served as a reminder that there is still so much that I haven't seen. This time I got to spend a few days in the Alsace region of France, in Strasbourg, and it was certainly worth the effort.

Late last fall I had booked a flight to Munich after I had happened across an attractively priced Economy itinerary that I was able to upgrade in its entirety to Business with two soon-to-expire systemwide upgrades. It's tough to beat a $1,105 ticket for lie-flat seats to Europe! By using American's Charlotte-to-Munich flight I was able to avoid connecting via London's Heathrow, which has been experiencing some fairly serious meltdowns in the past few months, still allowing me to use the fancy Flagship lounge in DFW.

I arrived early on the last Thursday morning in March in MUC, and Sabine picked me up and took me to her new apartment in the Krumbachstrasse. From her place it's less than a mile on the townies to Freising's central pedestrian zone, an area that over the past few years has seen some impressive redevelopment and improvements. It sure was interesting to see what all has changed in the city that just celebrated its 1,300th anniversary.

With almost two days in Freising I made sure to reacquaint myself with all those foods that are difficult, if not impossible, to find in the US. Going to the tiny bakery, cheese monger, and butcher gave me an overload of wonderful scents and sights; buying is maybe not even as important as seeing and smelling are. For lunch I went to the best döner place in town, and Friday night I took Sabine to our favorite Greek restaurant, the Irodion. Both places are still run by the same people as a decade-and-a-half ago.

On Saturday morning we loaded our bags into Sabine's Skoda and headed on the Autobahn west toward Munich and onward past Ulm and Stuttgart to our destination, Strasbourg. The drive is just about 380 kilometers, or about 235 miles, a distance that pales in comparison with my weekend drives to races in Texas. But the Autobahn presents a different driving environment with its much higher traffic volume, many construction zones, and occasional molasses-like Staus where everyone crawls along at a snail's pace. When the road is wide open and there's no speed limit, driving takes on a completely different character as cars will barrel by at 180 or 200 kilometers an hour, and passing slower vehicles in a Skoda requires much caution as to not get in the way of these legal speed missiles.

We arrived at our Airbnb around 2:00 p.m. and were met by our host, Lionel. I had been able to find a place with an underground garage, within less than a 5-minute walk from a supermarket, and easy access to Strasbourg's excellent public transport system of busses and trams as well as a bike share docking station. All this was important as Sabine is currently dealing with a hip injury that makes walking any distance of more than a few hundred meters slow, laborious, and painful. So, the location of the quiet and comfortable Airbnb was just about perfect.

Strasbourg is located just a stone's throw from the border with Germany, on the west banks of the Rhine river and its ancillary waterways. Twice in its history Strasbourg had actually been situated in Germany, but before Germany as such ever came into existence the Alsace region had changed ownership and allegiance numerous times. Nowadays, the official language is French, but the Germanic influence is ever-present in street names, the local cuisine, and the Alsatian dialect that is still spoken by many old-timers, especially in the smaller villages. Since the mid-1950s, Strasbourg has been playing an important role in European politics, first in the form of the Maison de l'Europe and then as the seat of the European parliament proper. So, there is a palpable cosmopolitanism, especially in the modern Quartier Européen in the northern part of town.

But unless you have some political business you will most likely not visit Strasbourg to ramble through the European Quarter. The city's most important tourist destination is its cathedral, a church that was the tallest building in the world for 227 years from 1647 to 1874 and still ranks as the sixth-tallest church in the world (142 meters or 466 feet). We spent quite some time admiring it, both at night as well as during the day. The architecture of this Gothic building is breathtaking, from the outside as well as viewed from inside. One afternoon we simply sat in a small café on the church square and admired the intricate detail of the masonry in the late-afternoon sunlight.

We visited other churches while using the VélHop bike share system and exploring the town, but none come even close to the majesty of the cathedral. Slowly riding through the historic center of Strasbourg allows one to take in the many, many imposing palaces, university buildings, and mansions from centuries long past. Not surprisingly, the UNESCO has designated the city a World Heritage Site. Of course, we visited during the slow season of the year; I would venture that in the summer Strasbourg is completely overrun with tourists.

The city's location on the small river Ill, a direct tributary to the Rhine (which flows less than three miles away), helped create perfect conditions for the tanneries as well as milling and fishing industries that gave the city importance in medieval times. From a bird's eye view one can see how the historic center (called Petite France) is surrounded by the Ill, and walking (or cycling) along its banks gives one the best views of those beautifully preserved buildings. We also took an hourlong boat tour, but since it was an overcast afternoon it was not as spectacular as we had hoped.

As mentioned a few paragraphs earlier, the regional Alsatian cuisine is quite different from what one would expect to find in France (or Germany). While Flammkuchen (a pizza-like, extremely thin flatbread that in its most traditional form is topped with crème fraîche, bacon lardons, and onions) can also be found east across the border, dishes such as saumon sur lit de choucroute (salmon on a bed of sauerkraut) or rognons de veau (veal kidneys) are, well, a little bit out there! But my pig knuckle on sauerkraut was the best that I've ever had, and Sabine enjoyed her bouchée à la reine, a puffy pastry filled with a white wine-based sauce with some veal and whatnot. And then, there are always those escargot! Let me put it this way: We did not go hungry!

I was able to add two new artesanal beer places to my list, and as is so often the case in Europe, the experience for me, as a hop head, was just fair-to-middling at best. Yes, the brews here are fresh, but if you're drinking a local West Coast IPA and have to ask yourself, "What happened to the hops?", well, that's not entirely satisfying. But fear not, we enjoyed the beers as well as the various wines we imbibed, and ambiance has a lot to do with that as well.

Surprising both of us was our visit to the Parc de l'Orangerie, a large green space just outside the Petite France area. While riding through the expansive green space we saw a stork casually poking around in a grassy area, and then we suddenly noticed three stork nests on top of trimmed trees. After stopping the bikes we heard the clattering of beaks and that's when we realized that there were dozens of nests and maybe a hundred storks all around us! A Google search later yielded information about the close bond that les Strasbourgeois and Alsatians in general have with the birds that are a symbol of both fertility as well as prosperity. That explained the stone storks that are part of the cathedral as well as the many signs in town referring to those beautiful birds.

On Tuesday morning, our time in Strasbourg came to an end. But instead of heading straight back to Munich we decided on a short detour to some of the small villages on the route du vin, which starts just west of the city and winds its way south on small roads all the way to the Swiss border. Unfortunately, it was a grey and blustery day, and we could only imagine how spectacular this wine region (pretty much limited to crisp whites) would look with sun and blue skies. But we could imagine: The vineyards had already been pruned, and the many apple, pear, and cherry orchards had started their bloom. Undoubtedly, this would be a fabulous cycling destination as the hills are gentle and the roads are scenic, but I would assume that in the summertime the place is teeming with tourist cars.

In the small town of Rosheim—about as sleepy as they come—we stepped into a cozy restaurant where the entire retired population seemed to have convened for a late lunch. We tried to listen in on their conversations in the local dialect, and I enjoyed a few glasses of the local white, at €2.50 a glass quite the bargain after those €6.50 to €8.50 verres in the city. And €2.00 for an espresso? I think we may have found a part of France that is still affordable.

By mid-afternoon we were back on the Autobahn and headed east. Sabine had to do all the driving since we had forgotten to add me to her car insurance, and when we finally got back to her place a little before nightfall we were both glad to have made it without any complications. That evening I repacked my stuff, we had a picnic dinner with leftovers from Strasbourg, and then it was off to bed as I needed to leave the house at 7:00 a.m. on Wednesday morning for my 9:10 a.m. flight to Charlotte.

Sure, a one-week visit to Europe is short, but it is still quite a bit longer than a no-week trip. The flights all were smooth, once again there were no ICE issues, and lounge life was good. What more can one ask for? The next month will bring the final three high school mountain bike races of the season, and then a week in Playa del Carmen beckons before USAC and (later) ITA assignments appear on the horizon. It's time for me to make plans for some real travel as it seems as if I hardly get to go anywhere.... 😂

Jürgen

One wild and crazy month

My-oh-my: It's been a tad nutty since I returned from Portugal about a month ago. I mean, I'm 69, retired. I should be sitting at home, watching daytime TV, pet a pet that I don't own, and get at least eight hours of sleep a night. Somehow, however, it just doesn't work like that. In the past four weeks I have gone to two high school mountain bike races, tried to get my backyard under control where the live oak is still shedding leaves like crazy, and have left the country once again to float and bloat in Mexico.

Zane, Sandy's grandson, at the NICA race at Millican

Wildfires have been a West Texas staple over the past month

In between, there were a few dinners with friends, one of my favorite things to do while in Lubbock. Those are the moments when I truly relax and enjoy the companionship even if preparing a meal is always a bit of a stressor as I am, well, a perfectionist. But having thrown into the mix an appointment with an eye doctor for the beginnings of cataracts (his take on it: "Just wait until you can't see much at night and there are all those explosions where there used to be just streetlights—then we'll look at it again") and a malfunctioning hot-water heater (thank you, Greg, for taking care of me within a day's time!) isn't helpful, either.

Even having one of the Merry Maids come over to for a "deep" housecleaning (I had fallen for one of those Groupon specials) was stressful since I started to fret about stuff that was sitting around the house and remembering friends' remarks that it is important to have a tidy house before the cleaners descend upon la casa. Well, my house really isn't all that much of a mess, and all I really had wanted was for somebody to do a lot of dusting (including the mini blinds) as I keep all the other stuff under control. I doubt I will spend too much money on future Merry Maids as I can do the same work she did in half the time. 

The first race—just a week after my return from Europe—was my NICA season opener, in College Station. Since Sandy's 15-year-old grandson, Zane, lives with his family in San Marcos, we had rented an Airbnb with a gazillion rooms, just a mile or two from the venue. I had met her son's family once before on our trip to New Braunfels in the fall, and the reunion was fun and we all had a really good time, despite the crappy weather that turned the event into an epic mud fest.

Getting down to College Station had been a challenge in itself: The day before we were to leave Lubbock, Sandy had taken ownership of a new used Chevy truck. I insisted on filling up the tank before leaving town (I was going to be responsible for the gas expenses). And was that ever a good thing! Try as we might, we couldn't get the gas spigot inserted into the tank. I know, it sounds silly: Just stick the damn thing in the hole! But the hole was somehow closed shut, and when we went back to the Frank Brown ("The Smaller Profi Man") dealership, three guys couldn't open that inlet either, despite crowbars and screwdrivers galore! So, with the clock ticking, Sandy was set up with a Nissan Rogue SUV loaner, which made me feel much better (both for not putting almost 900 miles on her own vehicle and the much better mileage that a fairly new SUV gets in comparison to a 10-year-old truck). The ride was pretty cush, and as I said, we had an interesting opening weekend of the season. (I had missed the true opener in Houston—too far—and the second race, close to Longview, both because of distance and because the race had also been rained out.)

If I thought that I could finally start to catch up with my anemic bike miles I was wrong: Lubbock experienced some severe cold plus super-windy days, so even as I am writing this I still have ridden just a bit more than 350 miles this year. Not only did the wind bring the usual dust to the Hub City, but my live oak shed leaves like crazy and made backyard maintenance a Sisyphean task. For a few days it warmed up enough so that I was able to change the Jacuzzi water, which had gone south on me right before leaving for Europe. It was the first water change since I had placed the tub in my backyard, so I can't complain. 

And that brings us to the next NICA race, this time at Reveille Peak Ranch near Burnet. With warm weather forecast for at least part of the weekend we were going to take the BMW, and the first 265 miles were smooth as butter with car just purring down the highway. We had entered the weirdly named Goldthwaite, a hamlet of  fewer than 1,800 souls about 60 miles from our hotel in Burnet, and were just pulling into a convenience store for a pit stop when the red battery icon came on. Oh boy. Not so good. Well, in hindsight, it could not have been any better (except for building alternators that last 500,000 miles). Had this happened on one of the long stretches between towns, quite likely I wouldn't sit in Mexico and I'd be out many thousands of dollars in major repair costs. 

Goldthwaite has a small auto parts store with an attached garage, and they hadn't closed yet for the weekend. A few diagnostics indicated that the alternator was, indeed, dead. And then a sequence of positive developments made me believe that I used up a significant amount of good karma that Friday afternoon and into Saturday. The sales guy, Dylan, found the appropriate alternator in the Napa warehouse in Dallas (overnight delivery), the mechanic, Brock, agreed to come in on Saturday to install the thing (he started to extricate the old alternator once we had a plan, just to make sure the surgery would be successful, and store owner Mike drove with me out to his home in the country where he had parked the store pick-up truck that he loaned us to drive to our hotel in Burnet. All three were unanimous that staying in Goldthwaite's one-and-only motel would be a really bad idea.

The helpfulness and concern for strangers that all three displayed was vintage Texas. It was that frontier spirit, where one doesn't ask many questions but does what one needs to do. We made it to our pre-paid Best Western in Burnet, had a hotel picnic, and were waiting for Dylan's call the next morning to let us know that everything was OK and we could drive back to Goldthwaite and pick up the beemer. The call came around 9:00 a.m., and it was one of those good news / bad news calls. The bad news came first: The warehouse had sent the alternator to the wrong store, about an hour-and-a-half from Goldthwaite. The good news was that he was sitting in his car to pick it up and that he'd try to hurry. Talk about a story here!

A little after noon we picked up the car, gave Brock a handsome tip and thanked everyone profusely. Everything was back in order, and we marveled at our good luck in what could have been a major mess. We made it to the race site in time to do a partial course inspection, and the next day's race was almost routine—had it not been for the fact that with about 550 racers we had the largest turnout for a NICA race in Texas ever. With it came the usual hiccups and challenges, and when we started to head home around 3:30 p.m. we were dead tired. Sandy doesn't know how to drive a stick-shift, and it was a long drive home. When I had dropped her off at her house and made it home it was almost 10:00 p.m. These weekends are pretty rough.

Flying into DFW early in the morning

I had packed most of my things for my upcoming ten days in Mexico (including the Ritchey), and so I even got to ride 28 miles on Monday, a few of them shared with Smitty who was testing out his wrist after surgery and his lengthy pause from cycling. Since he's back to teaching spinning classes we met up on Tuesday morning at 4:30 a.m., headed out to the airport for my 6:08 a.m. flight, and he then drove my truck back to his gym before dropping it off at my house. My two flights were on time and smooth, and by two in the afternoon I was in the Ocean Coral y Turquesa near Puerto Morelos, halfway between Cancun and Playa del Carmen.

For nine nights and what quite likely was ten days I enjoyed life in my original H-10 all-inclusive resort. I'm not going to go into the well-chronicled deficiencies that these Spanish-run resorts have developed over time. It's still nice to hang out at the pool and drink unlimited amounts of piña coladas con amaretto. The food options still are nice but certainly of a much lower standard than 15 years or so ago when I bought myself into the system. My room offered a distant view of the Caribbean (thank goodness, I didn't have to stay on the Gulf of America, I mean, Mexico, but the daily reminder of our crisis as a country came in daily video newscasts and my subscriptions to the NYT, The New Yorker, and most recently The Atlantic.

On several mornings I went for rides on the few roads that Puerto Morelos offers (unless you want to simply ride for a mile-and-a-half from the resort to town). What used to be the tiniest of tiny hamlets has grown over the years with restaurants, lots of independent bars, and even a big Chedraui supermarket for all those turistas who come down here and rent an apartment or whatever. The traffic volume on the Carretera Cancun—Tulum has reached our I-35 levels, and riding has become a risky endeavor. I think I covered about 100 miles total, but no, it wasn't fun. But at least I exercised a bit.

Just yesterday I went on an all-day tour to Tulum and Coba, an excursion that I had planned for Sunday but that was rescheduled because the tour operator suddenly realized that they didn't offer the trip on any other day than Tuesday. Never mind. It was a nice tour, with only another three travelers who were pleasant and helped the tour guide, Mildred, make this a memorable excursion. I had been to Tulum many years ago and couldn't believe all the new tourist infrastructure that has been put in place to handle the hordes that now arrive via the newly opened Tulum international airport as well as the highly touted Tren Maya, which is now operational but appears to lack the number of anticipated passengers.

Of course, the ruins at Tulum still are spectacularly situated right on cliffs overlooking the Caribbean, and the fact that visitors are no longer allowed to clamber up and down the various monuments and pyramids is to be lauded as well. As a matter of fact, I was pleasantly surprised that the site was nothing like the totally overrun Chichén Itzá, which over the years has become a complete circus. Even more pleasant were the more intimate ruins at Cobá, which has the tallest pyramid of the entire Yucatan at 42 meters.

We concluded our tour with a decent buffet lunch and subsequent visit to two cenotes, or sinkholes, where we got a chance to cool off. Once again, the lack of big tour busses meant that we actually got to enjoy the experience, something that I had not expected to this extent. (Mildred, our guija, had told us that just two days earlier she had been leading a tour of about 60 tourists, and it had been hell.) I had booked the tours though Viator, which has become my go-to travel resource for such excursions.

A few last impressions from the Ocean Coral y Turquesa

I put the (almost) final touches on this blogpost while sitting in the Cancun airport, which still does not feature a OneWorld Lounge. If things work out (and nobody detains me in DFW) I'll be in Lubbock around midnight, just a short Uber trip from home. Tomorrow will be a buffer day before Saturday's drive to Troy for the next NICA race. The return is planned for Monday, Tuesday will be a laundry/packing trip, and early on Tuesday I'll be off to Munich. As I said, it's all a bit wild and crazy!

Jürgen