Posted 13 September 1993
Dear Folks,
Just back from a vicious week-long trip through Germany and bits of the Benelux. In fact, I’ve been on a couple of trips since you last heard from me in detail. It’s that season, when I will be spending much more of my time outside the UK than in it. And I really am not very heartbroken about that.
I thought I would be cute this time and provide a map of last week’s journey, so you can follow along the narrative with your fingers. I had to see customers and prospects in five cities in Germany and France, the first stop being Munich.
Now the last time I was in Munich I learned you must rent a car to get around the place economically. This is because most of the high-tech industry (including my customer) is located over on the east side where the old airport used to be, but now that the new airport has been opened far in the north, maybe halfway to Nuremburg I think, any thought of using taxis to get around is out of the question. Last time I was in Munich I took a taxi from my customer’s office to the airport and it cost over DM 80!
So I asked my travel agent if she could find a good deal on a rental car in Munich for a day. She came back with a very good weekly rate of £169 for a Ford Escort. In European terms, this rate was too good to pass up, especially as it would allow me to save train fares, etc., for getting around to the other bits of Germany (I did the calculations, and renting the car and buying gas for it was cheaper than anything I could have done with trains or planes). So I foolishly authorized renting the car for the week.
The deal was I had to return it to a German location, though my last stop would be Paris. So I arranged to visit Brendan in Leuven and another friend in Brussels, which is only a couple hours’ drive from DEsseldorf, where I could catch a plane home. The whole trip was to be relatively cheap, since I had the bargain car rental and could save on airfare with the Saturday night stayover.
Here, for your information and mine, is a breakdown of the driving I did last week:
Munich-Dusseldorf: 600 km
Dusseldorf-Neu Isenberg: 250 km (Neu Isenberg is near Frankfurt)
Neu Isenberg-Neuwied: 130 km (Neuwied is near Koblenz)
Neuwied-Paris: 520 km
Paris-Leuven: 350 km
Leuven-Dusseldorf: 220 km
TOTAL 2,070 km or 1,285 miles
... which is another way of saying “Almost halfway across the continental United States.”
The route is highlighted faintly in blue on the map (which, as you an see, is an old one which still shows the DDR as a separate country). I was in a hurry the whole time, so I stuck to the autobahns. It would have been much nicer to simply drive from Munich to Neu Isenberg to Paris to Dusseldorf, etc., but unfortunately, I was unable to schedule my meetings that way. So I had to do a lot of backtracking.
The new Munich airport is brilliant. They have overcome my criticism of most airports in that they were never designed to accommodate the kind of passenger traffic you see today. Part of this is natural and acceptable, since it would have been hard for the original designers to anticipate the growth in air travel. Some of it is malicious and stupid, such as in Frankfurt where departure lounges built in the last 20 years are nonetheless too small to comfortably accommodate a 747’s complement of passengers. The solution, I have always maintained, is to build the airport for a future capacity much higher than can currently be imagined. This makes the airport more expensive in the beginning, but it is much cheaper than having to expand the airport later bit by bit. And in the meantime, the airport is much more efficient for passengers to use, instead of being a crowded mess like Dusseldorf.
As you can imagine, I am an expert on airports, and in my travels I meet many fellow airport specialists. All who have been there agree that the best airport on the planet is Singapore’s Changi Airport (perversely sited near and named after the notorious Japanese prison camp). There are two reasons for this. First, Changi is very well organized, especially for arriving passengers. You get off the plane in the normal way and proceed down a familiar looking departure corridor of lounges, gates and shops, the difference being that this corridor is much wider than those you are used to seeing at other airports. As you proceed through passport control, baggage claim and customs, you keep moving from higher to lower, and the way the various halls are organized, you can see at a glance from above where you need to go (which passport queue, which baggage carousel) before you get there, instead of milling around like confused sheep in a claustrophobic, low-ceilinged space such as they have at Hongkong. The entire airport has been organized to receive passengers at one end, process them through quickly, and spit them out at the taxi stands on the other side.
The other reason for the success of Changi is it was built to handle a capacity far greater than anything Singapore can expect to require more or less ever (considering it is a small island country with obvious limits to growth). This airport is huge, with huge spaces, especially in the ticketing hall (another area of confusion and misery in most airports, especially London’s Heathrow Terminals 1 and 2). In fact it is so big I have heard complaints about how far you have to walk at Changi, though you don’t have to walk as far to your plane at Changi as you do at Heathrow. Anyway, I can’t imagine Singapore ever needing, in my own lifetime, to engage in a costly and disruptive expansion of the passenger facilities at Changi.
So at Munich they have taken half of this formula and built what must be one of the largest shrink-wrapped airports in Europe. Unfortunately, it is not organized as well as Changi. Whereas Changi’s terminal is a simple Verylargebox (I’m experimenting with German-style Compoundwords here), Munich’s terminal is a Verylongbuilding built to front the runways, with a long series of Departurecorridors and Checkincounters. This is probably necessary to accommodate more Planetraffic than Singapore, but it meant that I had a very long walk when I got off my plane at Munich. As it chanced, my gate was at one end of this interminable Terminalbuilding, the very last one, and the Carrentalagencies were at the other end (not in the middle, which would have made a little more sense). This would not have been a problem, except that I had my famous (and heavy) Godzillabag with me, and I neglected to get a Baggagetrolly since there seemed to be a snarl at the Trollypark by the carousel with some Oldlady having difficulty finding the change to give to the Trollyman to rent a Baggagetrolly. So I impatiently and impulsively shoved off, little realizing that by the time I found the Carrentalagencies my shoulder would be a Bruisedmassofpain from bearing the weight of the Godzillabag. I stood around at the Carrentalagency a very long time while a Senileamericantourist wearing a Whitewig attempted to rent a car in front of me. Either he didn’t do this very often or he was just very careful; he kept trying to negotiate for a different car once he found out the one he was getting had 45,000 kilometers on it. This went on for almost a Halfhour.
This was my initial experience with Thrifty Autovermietung, and I thought things were taking a long time because of the old geezer. But then I found out it took a long time to rent a car even if you have no questions and are in a hurry. I was also given a Fiat Tipo instead of a Ford Escort, which should be a lesson for anyone in favor of industrial protectionism, since Italy (and I believe France as well to some extent) has a temporary exemption from EC rules and has been able to keep Japanese cars out of its market. The result is the Tipo, and presumably any other Fiat, a breathtakingly shoddy example of carmaking, something which hourly instilled amazement in my breast that anyone would voluntarily part with good money to purchase one of these absurd and futile pieces of crap. Renting cars is always an education. Last year I rented a small Peugeot which was almost as bad (but not quite) as the Fiat, and at that time as well I was stunned that anyone would select such a car for himself with competitors such as Toyota, Nissan, Ford, Opel, Renault and even VW’s Golf on the market, to say nothing of the Honda Civic.
In Germany of all places I was rented a 1.4-liter Italian sewing machine in which driving at 130kph caused the steering wheel to vibrate uncontrollably. The autobahns were an exhausting nightmare for me, since they were full of lumbering trucks which had to be passed, quickly, while sleek black BMW 750s and Mercedes 600s appeared inexplicably in my rear-view mirror, flashing their lights at me and wobbling frighteningly as they reduced speed suddenly from 220kph. I was fatigued by the constant high-risk lane-changing, vibrating steering wheel and the nerve-jangling rattle of the various knobs and handles I had broken off the first time I used them rolling around in the dashboard tray. The whole time the engine whined like a smack-addicted wasp, threatening either to collapse in a horrible shrieking cacophony of grinding metal or to erupt suddenly through the hood and fly straight off to heaven. It was terrible.
I would ask some of the Germans how long it took to get to such-and-such a place.
“By car or by train?” they would ask.
“By Fiat,” I would reply, and of course they had no idea. Their idea of autobahn travel was to first use a BMW or something like that, nothing Italian for crying out loud, unless we are talking Alpha Romeos or Ferraris, and we are not, and to hum along in the left lane at 200kph, moving over occasionally to make way for the odd Mercedes 600D going 220kph. This sort of driving is of course nearly as relaxing as sitting on the beach at Capri, sipping beer. And it gets you where you’re going much faster. Munich to Dusseldorf took me six hours; I was told this is normally a four-hour trip.
I was in Munich for a day and a half, having arrived at midday on Monday and going straight to a meeting with my customer. The week before I had tried to make a hasty appointment with an old nemesis, Computer 2000, the largest distributor in Europe, and they agreed to see me on Tuesday afternoon, which wasn’t ideal since it meant I had the whole of Tuesday morning free and I would be driving to Dusseldorf late at night. But I was happy to get the appointment.
Tuesday morning I wandered around Munich a bit. Though I have visited Munich twice, I have never seen anything of the city center (except for a brief zoom through by taxi from the train station to a hotel in the Schwabing section of town). You are quite familiar with Munich yourselves, so I don’t need to go into it much. I parked north of the center and wandered south along the pedestrian ways, since I knew that whatever there was to see it would be in the center. There were a lot of tourists everywhere, and eventually I found myself in a large square which I could see was Marienplatz, in front of the Rathaus. Well, this is it, I thought, so I sat down on a terrace, ordered a coffee, and discovered a new world record.
Last year in Paris while the dollar was weak I was getting annoyed at paying four dollars for a cup of coffee. Last week in Munich on he Marienplatz I had the dubious privilege of buying a cup of coffee for seven Marks, or $4.60. This is, so far, the most I have ever paid for a cup of coffee. I was about to become indignant, but I realized I was sitting on some pretty prime real estate, terrace-wise, here on the Marienplatz in front of the Rathaus. So, despite the excellent Italian service (or were they Turks?), I simply resolved not to tip anyone.
I soon realized just how important this terrace really was. This was around 11:45 or so, and soon the terrace and indeed the entire square began to fill with tourists. About noon everyone was looking up at the Rathaus for the mechanical figures to begin their dance, and so they did, about five minutes or so after noon (so much for German punctuality), accompanied by the dissonant clanging of an untuned glockenspiel. The display went of for some minutes, was pretty and diverting, but by itself was hardly worth a 100 % premium on the price of a cup of coffee. It was, after all, entertainment for 18th Century Bavarians, and so it was a little weird to see all these,people, who only last week were yawning at Jurassic Park, staring transfixed at the stilted movements of the garish wooden figures.
The Italian waiters were ruthless in the protection of their terrace’s custom. Naturally, many people in the square watching the show would sit in any vacant chairs to watch in more comfort; a few actually picked up chairs and moved them to better positions. The waiters showed no compunction in turning these freeloaders out, loudly. You had to buy overpriced coffee or beer to use a chair.
There seemed to be a lot of noisy Americans about, but also a lot of German tourists. The two middle-aged couples sitting with me were Germans, or Austrians. I asked them if they could speak any English and they said no, so we had little to say to each other (they had to be tourists themselves; only tourists would pay what we were paying to sit there). I might have appeared a bit out of place in my double-breasted wool suit, but I was comfortable.
It was a very long drive that night to Dusseldorf. I arrived in town after 11:00 at night, and had a little trouble finding my way to the hotel as I didn’t really have a proper map, just some ragged scrawl which was faxed to me the week before. In fact, I quickly got lost, but as the Rhine running through the center of the city simplifies orientation, I was able to make my way to the hotel eventually. By this time I was feeling rather smug about my ability to find my way by car around German cities.
For the next few days I did three things: business meetings, driving, sleeping. It always took longer to get anywhere than I expected, so I spent a lot of my time driving from place to place. And as I said this driving was exhausting. At the end of the day I didn’t even have enough energy to call Newport Beach (which does take an unexpected amount of effort, since you spend so much time on hold whenever you call there; I do so as rarely as possible).
Finally I arrived in Neuwied, home of my main German distributor Compu-Shack, smack on the Rhine about halfway between Frankfurt and Dusseldorf. I got in about 7:00pm, which gave me time to go out for some dinner and also take a walk along the river.
The Rhine is the most beautiful big river I have seen. I mentioned last time we spoke how I have often taken the train between Frankfurt and Dusseldorf, much of the route following right along the river, a gorgeous run. The hillsides dropping down to the water are green with vineyards and dotted with German houses and villages which can only be accurately described by the hackneyed adjective “quaint.” There are the famous Rhine castles, at least half a dozen it seems between Frankfurt and D-dorf. Then there is the amazing volume of barge traffic which proves the Rhine is certainly still a working river.
When I stay in Neuwied I go to the Rheinhotel Hubertus-Stuben. This is an old and picturesque hotel with a cranky, eccentric proprietor, certainly not the most comfortable I have stayed in, but it is right on the Rhine. This gives me the opportunity to sit and watch the sunset over the river, and count the barges as they go by. Neuwied is on the east bank of the Rhine, at a point where the valley widens into a large plain, so the orange sunset sky is reflected in the broad, fast-moving water, giving an effect much like the one I grew used to in California of the sun setting over the Pacific Ocean. It’s beautiful and evocative, and a very good reason to stay at the Rheinhotel Hubertus-Stuben when I am visiting Compu-Shack.
I was thinking about something Mom said on the phone about Rhine cruises. I suppose there must be such things, but I would expect they would only last a few days and would drop you off on the banks to stay overnight. You wouldn’t want to sleep on the boat as it moved down the river; you would miss so much. But there must be some nice little towns along the river, with pleasant little hotels; the Germans are the best I’ve found at small, family-operated hotels. You could probably start such a trip in France or Switzerland, but you would want to get off before you ruined your whole holiday by reaching Rotterdam.
The next day I had to drive to Paris. This was complicated a bit by nasty weather and a strange winding through some detours in the hills north of the Ardennes. I traversed Belgium and took the turnpike into Paris, following the route I used last year when I drove between Paris and Brussels during my vacation. Again, I had no proper map to guide me into Suresnes, the suburb to the west of Paris where I was staying, but now I sort of pride myself on being able to get around in Paris, or rather near Paris; I never want to take a car into the city. But on my approach to the city I followed the signs to La D6fense, and from there followed signs to a couple other places until I noticed I had the Seine on my left. At that point I knew exactly where I was, and drove straight into Suresnes and found my miserable hotel.
The next day, after my meetings were finished, I walked to the post office in Suresnes to mail a letter. Outside the post office I found a city map which showed the presence of a fort and an American Cemetery on the hill overhead. I have been to Suresnes several times before, but I never knew there were such things there. I decided I could use the walk (and the climb) and made my way up the hill.
I could write a lot about my visit to the American Cemetery, but the nice French lady caretaker of the cemetery gave me the enclosed pamphlets which pretty much tell the whole story. I thought you would be interested in them as they tell where are all the various American Cemeteries in Europe. There is not much to see at the Suresnes cemetery, except a wonderful view of Paris, but some of the others have maps and other interesting information about the campaigns that took place nearby. Many, many of the graves at Suresnes are dated shortly after World War I, – since most of the dead were actually from the nearby American Hospital, who died after the war of wounds or from the Spanish Flu epidemic of 1919. Not to discount the sacrifices made by these men, but this gives the whole facility a little less dramatic air than I suppose Normandy would, filled as the latter must be with the graves of soldiers who fell in a terrible battle of liberation.
One thing not discussed in the pamphlets is the guest register in the chapel. I had asked the caretaker what kind of people visited the cemetery, expecting mostly Americans, and she surprised me by saying many different people visit, from many countries, but mostly French. Indeed, in the guest register most of the remarks seem to be written in French. It should restore your confidence in the French to learn that many of the inscriptions were simple: “Merci, merci,” “Thank you.”
I always ask the weird questions. I have always wondered how various monuments fared as well as they did during the German occupation (for example, why didn’t Hitler do something about the German cities such as Dusseldorf tallied on the Arc de Triomphe as Napoleon’s conquests?). I asked the caretaker what happened to the cemetery during the occupation, since it was supposed to be maintained by the US Government. She said the office of the Mayor of Paris sent someone out to mow the grass on a regular basis.
My tax dollars at work. The American Battle Monuments Commission is yet another newly-discovered Federal agency for which I don’t mind paying my taxes. The cemetery is beautiful; they do a good job.
I really do love Paris. For this trip I purchased Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast, his recollections of his life in Paris in the 1920s, and that made timely reading. Friday night I went out with a French associate to the St Germaine section of town, a lively area filled with students and bars and restaurants. We ate at a Mexican restaurant (typical European ersatz Mexican fare), where I was introduced by my amiable friend to the entire staff of the place. After that we went to a brewpub, probably one of the only ones in Paris, which was crowded with students. I took a sip of the output of the brewery and decided they still have a lot to learn (though there is an excellent French beer called Kronenbourg 1664), but then I’m out of practice.
Despite their international reputation as all-round shits, I don’t have much of a problem with Parisians. In fact, as a group, they seemed much more reasonable and agreeable in some ways than many Americans, certainly better than the English. For example, my friend ran out of cigarettes during dinner, and thought nothing of asking the girls sitting next to us for replacements. The first time he needed a light in the bar, he took it from the cigarette of the girl standing next to him; the second time, he reached across me and lifted some matches from a guy conversing with someone on the other side, then tossed them back when he was done. Of course, I may simply have been seeing a bit of mundane Parisian cigarette etiquette.
Well, I’m off now. I have also included my UK-US plane details. I am really very excited about coming home! I will stay in touch.
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