Month: January 2020

Hooray for Hollywood

In these days of the mega-plex, 3D film houses, and soaring prices for the latest releases, a trip to the movies in River Falls constitutes a journey back in time. In recent years, Kathleen and I have rarely gone out to a movie because of the hassle of driving through traffic and the expensive cost. As you might guess, neither of those factors are an issue in River Falls. Last night, when we decided to go to see the Oscar-nominated film 1917, we were delighted to find that it was currently showing in our local movie house, the River Falls Theater. That theater is located right on Main Street, two miles from our house, directly across from the Nutty Squirrel.

The day before this, however, we watched a film at home that we found on On Demand with our Comcast package. The 2009 movie is called New in Town, and you will never find it on any lists of Oscar-Nominated films. It is formulaic and predictable, but I am a sucker for romantic comedies, so I enjoyed it. The plot is simple: a sophisticated Miami woman, played by Renee Zellweger, is sent to a small Minnesota town in order update a factory and downsize the workforce.  It is a familiar, fish-out-of-water story, and, of course, there is a romantic interest in the form of the local union rep, played by Harry Connick, Jr. Much of the humor stems from the Miami girl trying to adjust to the foreign, upper-Midwest culture as well as the brutal weather. When she first arrives in the Minneapolis airport in the dead of winter, she is toting six matching suitcases on a cart while wearing five-inch heels, a short skirt, and a stylish, light jacket. Heading outdoors to retrieve her rent-a-car, she shrugs and mutters, “How bad can it be?” before stepping through the automatic doors. As they close behind her, she is stunned by the cold air and screams a muffled “Mother . . .!” There are a few other funny moments that resonated with us as we traverse a similar period of transition to small-town life.

We only saw one movie at the theater in 2019. That is about our usual average—one film per year. While our home in Nashville was being photographed by the realtors, and we had to be out of the house, we attended a matinee of Once Upon a Time . . . in Hollywood. Quentin Tarantino’s take on Hollywood in 1969 and the Manson murders was great fun in an absurd sort of way. I read a negative review of the film that accused Tarantino of racism toward Asians. The review said that “Bruce Lee wasn’t really like that.” I replied aloud to the inanimate internet review, “Perhaps not. But then again, the Manson followers were not destroyed with a flame-thrower either.”

With Academy Awards season upon us, we wanted to see two films in the same year that were nominated for best-picture Oscars (something I haven’t done for decades).  We decided to venture into the cold to see Sam Mendes’s World War I film, 1917. The River Falls Theater is a throwback to earlier times. With a traditional marquee that hangs out over the street, the theater has been an iconic landmark on Main Street since it was first built in 1927. When it fell on hard times in the 1970s, it was purchased by the McCulloch family, and they have kept it going since then. As near as I can tell, the business has stayed alive by showing first-run films at bargain prices, and the town seems to have supported their efforts. A state grant in recent years enabled the family to update some things and expand to a second screen in an empty building next door. And when I say “bargain prices,” I’m not just blowing smoke. The cost is three dollars for senior citizens and kids, five dollars for everyone else. All the time. Moreover, on Tuesdays, it is three dollars for everyone. As Kathleen likes to say, “It’s a heckova deal.” Also, while many restored old theaters show classics, art films, or movies that have been out for a while, River Falls Theater manages to show current releases. Today, they are showing Doolittle along with 1917. (Perhaps they chose those two films because both names can fit on the tiny marquee.) Before the film started, in lieu of the usual 20 minutes of commercials for the latest corporate products or entertainment in your local multi-plex theater, our five-minute intro consisted entirely of short ads for mom-and-pop businesses from River Falls. Many of these businesses were by now familiar to us, and I believe we saw our daughter-in-law Amber in one of them. One of the ads, from the local waste disposal department, was a humorous, tongue-in-cheek, public service announcement about what NOT to flush down your toilet (“Wipes clog pipes” was the catch phrase). While our seats did not recline, and the sound system did not cause our internal organs to vibrate, the theater had everything we wanted for a movie-viewing experience.

The film itself lived up to its accolades. The story follows two British soldiers as they try to maneuver through the trenches and French countryside in order to deliver an urgent message to the front. There has been much discussion about the technical skill of the director, Mendes, in creating the impression that the entire film was one continuous camera shot without editing (as Hitchcock did in 1948 with Rope). The emotional impact was more important for me, though, as the viewer is drawn into the story and shares the fear, the constant tension, and the sense that the entire world has become some indecipherable maze in which there is no place to hide. We never learn much about the main characters, and I think that was on purpose. This tactic allows the messengers to appear as tiny pawns in a huge, bloody game being played out by the superpowers of the age. Ultimately, the film is a powerful statement about the futility and senselessness of war.

1917 is well worth seeing, so if you are in River Falls, look for the 1920s marquee on Main Street and stop in. The theater is a gem, and, after all, today it’s only three bucks.

Winter Wonderland

A lot of people like snow. I find it to be an unnecessary freezing of water.

-Carl Reiner

Low temperatures and snow are the realities of winter in River Falls. Today (Saturday, Jan. 18th) we have about 7 inches of new snow on the ground with more coming. Temperatures will be falling all day, and they will end up in the single digits with wind chills about 10-below zero. Last night, we drove the half-mile to Ben’s house for dinner in white-out conditions, with winds whipping the snow around in swirling circles that reduced visibility to a short distance. It was beautiful. People have widely disparate views of cold weather, but most people dislike it. Recent polls show that only 10% of Americans indicate that winter is their favorite season.

I always liked snow—as long as I didn’t have to drive in it. One of the worst snow storms I ever encountered was in April in the early ‘80s while driving from Chicago to Stevens Point, Wisconsin to visit a girlfriend. I couldn’t see the front of my car, and I was scared to death for that entire drive. On the other hand, I always enjoyed shoveling snow for some reason. I think it is the peaceful nature of the activity. A fresh snowfall hides all of the dirt and muffles the noise of the world. It’s as if everything is cleansed or purified in some way. During my musician days in Chicago, I would often get home at 2:00 in the morning after a gig or from tending bar. That was my favorite time to shovel snow. At that time, I felt as if I was the only person in the world. Also, one of the fondest memories of my childhood was the record-setting blizzard that hit Chicago in January 1967. Twenty-three inches of snow fell in a few hours and effectively shut the city down. We received a rare snow day, and I remember walking through thigh-high snow down the middle of 111th street with my siblings without a car in sight. Then, that night, an amazing thing happened. Snow plows were over-extended from trying to dig the city out from under 2 feet of snow, and our little side street was low on the list of priorities. Instead of waiting several days until the plows reached us, however, all of the neighbors on our block got together, and we dug a path down the entire block to the main street. These were neighbors who nursed petty grievances, bickered with each other, or otherwise had trouble getting along. But that day, they set their differences aside and worked together in common cause. Everyone—men, women, and children—got involved with that Herculean task and shoveled a path to 111th Street. I still smile at the memory.

Winter must be cold for those with no warm memories.

-Anne Bradstreet

When we lived in Nashville, even a small snowfall of a few inches would create panic in the streets. All schools would have been closed the night before in anticipation of the impending calamity, and people would flock to grocery stores and empty the shelves, stocking up as if preparing for a zombie apocalypse. In Tennessee’s defense, though, there are several factors that make this a reasonable response. First, Nashville doesn’t get much snow; more often, they get freezing rain or ice which is much more difficult to navigate than snow. Second, they don’t have much snow removal equipment. They pay incredibly low taxes (about 1/3 of what we pay in Wisconsin), and it would not be economically feasible to buy a bunch of equipment that might not be used for years. Finally, Nashville is built on hilly terrain. Almost every stop-sign or traffic light is at the top or bottom of a hill. Add icy roads to that equation, and the city comes to a standstill. In River Falls and surrounding towns, the snow removal is excellent. Snow falls, they push it out of the way, and life goes on. Yesterday, I was out shoveling, and the operator of a city snow plow stopped to chat with me. He was cheerful and upbeat, despite the long hours that accompany dealing with a storm that would drop snow on us for about 20 hours. And that seems to be the thing that I have noticed most often about how people up here handle winter: they just shrug and deal with it.

Two days ago, I was driving downtown for breakfast and a quick trip to the Ace Hardware store. While driving, the disc jockey on the radio was giving the weather report. He said, “It’s five below zero today, and the wind-chill factor makes it feel like 27 below. Tomorrow, the low will be minus-one degree, so that’s not too bad. Then it will heat up to 23 degrees. That will feel pretty good.” Then, while at the hardware store to pick up paint supplies, I talked with the clerk at the register. As it always does around here, the subject of the cold came up. “Yeah,” he said, “it’s cold, but it’s sunny. That’s something.” I mentioned that we were supposed to get a sizable amount of snow on the weekend, and he said, “Who knows; yesterday they said we would get two inches, and all we got was some flurries. Now they’re saying that tomorrow we could get anywhere from 4 to 15 inches. What good is that info? They’re just covering their asses.”

One thing about cold weather: it brings out the statistician in everyone.

-Paul Theroux

Later that day, when discussing the weather, Tony, the plumber working on our bathroom re-model, told me “You just have to try new activities.” He added that his son loves ice fishing. I’d like to try that someday. Two other things I’d like to try, but have not tackled yet are cross-country skiing and snowshoeing. Ben and Amber have a set of snowshoes, so perhaps I’ll give it a crack later today. Kids around here simply don’t seem to pay any attention to the weather. They just put on another layer of clothes and go out and play. There is an old Norwegian aphorism that I have read in the paper at least three times since we moved up here. It says, “There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes.”

Well, it appears as if the snow has finally stopped. I guess I’ll layer-up and go shovel for the fourth and final time since yesterday. One final quote:

The cold never bothered me anyway.

-Elsa in Frozen

A Musical Journey

The return from our cruise in December was lengthy and onerous. We arose at 4:00 am, Swiss time, took a cab to the airport, flew to Munich, had a five-hour layover there, flew to Chicago, then to Minneapolis after another layover. That was about 26 hours of travelling without sleep. I find it nearly impossible to sleep on the narrow and crowded seats of overseas planes, so I was uncomfortable throughout. Lucky for me, they now have those little television sets on each seat-back and a wide variety of viewing choices. On the flight from Germany to Chicago, I watched three full-length films and numerous sit-coms or other shows. The odd thing was that all three films involved music that has inspired or moved me at various stages during my life.

The first film was one that many of you have probably seen, a cute little movie called Yesterday. If you don’t know the improbable plot, it involves a present-day British musician who awakens from a bad accident to discover that a 12-second power blackout worldwide left him as the only person on Earth aware of such things as Coca cola, cigarettes, Harry Potter, and, most important for him, the songs of the Beatles. As he struggles to remember the lyrics of their vast musical catalog and begins playing their songs in public, he is hailed as a musical genius, and he skyrockets to fame. I was a Beatles fan from the beginning. I watched them perform on The Ed Sullivan Show in February 1964, and I memorized each of their albums as they came out. Each night at 10:00, a Chicago radio station played the “Top 3 Most-Requested Songs.” I tuned in to hear what were invariably three straight Beatles songs every night. At a school talent show, my sister, Deb, brother, Dan, and I planned to sing I Wanna Hold Your Hand. After hearing our voices, though, we were told to lip-sing the song, which we did with terrible wigs and fake instruments. I remember vividly where I was when I heard that John Lennon had been murdered. Thus, the film touched a chord in me and brought back the joy I felt when I first discovered their songs. And unlike most rock bands that followed, the Beatles seemed to thoroughly enjoy what they were doing. They smiled, laughed, joked with the press and the audiences, and, in general just had a great time. Just look at album covers from the Rolling Stones or the terrible hair-bands of the ‘70s and ‘80s; they look angry and more focused on posturing than doing anything true. Himish Patel, the lead actor in the film, plays the role with a mixture of energy and reverence. I especially enjoyed the fact that he didn’t try to imitate John, Paul, Ringo, or George, and he didn’t try to produce a note-for-note recreation of their songs. Instead, he used his own, authentic voice to channel the music, usually in a stripped-down, acoustic version that helped the viewer truly hear the lyrics. I watched Yesterday again this week with Kathleen, and the effect was the same: it made me smile.

The second one I saw was a lesser-known film that came out last year called Fisherman’s Friends. This is a based-on-fact film about a group of fishermen from small village in Cornwall, Wales who sing sea shanties as they work before organizing a singing group to entertain their neighbors. A producer is tricked into thinking his London record company wants to sign them, so he moves to the village to try to convince them that this is a good idea. The man becomes a laughingstock in London and is viewed as a money-hungry outsider in the village, but he gradually comes to believe in both the group and the simple lifestyle of the villagers. Eventually, they record a top-ten album that makes them famous around the world. The film is fairly formulaic, along the lines of Waking Ned Divine, The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill but Came Down a Mountain, and Dark Horse: The Amazing True Story of Dream Alliance, and not everyone will enjoy it as much as I did. As in Yesterday, however, the authenticity of the music shines through, and the viewer can share in the sheer joy that the performers experience while singing. Once again, the traditional nature of the music in the film brought me back to an earlier time in my life. While searching for new material in my career as a folk singer, I discovered traditional music, and I often pilfered the melodies from those public-domain songs to write my own topical songs about the current events of modern-day Chicago. If you see nothing else from this film, try to find the scene where these fishermen go on a London pub crawl while their manager tries to stir up interest in the group. At one point, they teach a hip, young London crowd a traditional seaman’s song called “What Do You Do with a Drunken Sailor?” The group of hard-drinking Welshmen sings the shanty with such relish, that the entire bar gradually joins the reprobates in a rousing version of the traditional song. It’s a delicious scene.

Finally, the third movie I saw was called Blinded by the Light. The based-on-fact film explores the experiences of a Pakistani immigrant in late-1980’s England. The teen suffers from repression at home from his conservative parents, the fact that his “otherness” makes him unattractive to girls at his school, and racial discrimination everywhere. When another South-Asian immigrant turns him on to the music of Bruce Springsteen, however, his entire world opens up. The boy feels as if—finally—there is one person who understands how he feels. Instead of trying to fit into a world that rejects him at every turn, he is inspired to embrace a personal rebellion built around the lyrics of the Boss. I discovered Springsteen in college in 1975, and I joined the Columbia Record Club (for the 3rd time) in order to get his entire catalog of 3 albums for a reduced price. With that initial order (buy 10 or 12 records for a penny, with the agreement to purchase a certain number of others over the next two years), I also received Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks album. I alternated playing Born to Run and BOTT over and over again—much to the consternation of my roommates. I couldn’t believe that anyone could write such beautiful poetry accompanied by rock or folk-rock music. At parties in which far too many beers had been consumed, my cross-country teammates and I would sing along at the top of our lungs, “Tramps like us, baby we were born to run!” The protagonist in the film is similarly affected when he first hears Bruce’s songs. Further, as in Yesterday, the actor’s singing has a purity and integrity that is so often missing from the over-produced, synthesized music that dominates today’s top-selling charts.

In 2006, Springsteen recorded an album called The Seeger Sessions, and featured traditional songs that had often been often performed by folk artist and political activist, Pete Seeger. He put together an extraordinary and eclectic band of talented musicians from a variety of genres, and the resulting music is exquisite. This CD brought together all three things that I found in these films. The energy and simple joy of playing with expert musicians jumps off of every cut on the album, just as with the songs in Yesterday. The continuing appeal of traditional songs when done well is readily evident, as in Fisherman’s Friends. Finally, the raw power of Bruce’s voice and the passion he brings to music remains as strong in the 21st Century as they were in 1975 when I first heard Born to Run. Here is a clip. Play it LOUD and try not to sing along. Especially, pay attention to the faces on the band and the audience. They were having fun. That’s what music is supposed to be about and seldom is. These three films reminded me of that fact.

Clash of the Titans

I have been a fan of the syndicated TV quiz show Jeopardy since the 1960s. So has Kathleen. We each grew up watching Art Fleming host the most cerebral of televised game shows until it went off the air in 1975. In fact, in college, when my roommates and I ran out of beer at our trailer, I would pull out a home version of the game to determine who would make the run to the liquor store to buy more. One roommate, Bruce, grew frustrated at his inability to win these contests. It got so bad that, as soon as I pulled out the game, he would just mutter some incoherent curses at me or call me a communist and start putting on his coat.

After a decade without the game, it was revived in 1984 with Alex Trebek as host. During the next 36 years, the show became iconic. It has been used as the scenario for numerous sit-coms, from Golden Girls to Cheers, and Saturday Night Live has parodied the show 15 times. In these parodies, Will Farrell portrays a besieged Trebek trying keep celebrities such as Burt Reynolds and Sean Connery in line. Connery, in particular is played as a dim-witted contestant who struggles with categories such as “States Ending in Hampshire,” “Current Black Presidents,” and “The Letter After B.” He also misreads categories in hilarious ways as when “The Pen is Mightier” becomes, “The Penis Mightier,” or “Japan-US Relations” becomes “Jap Anus Relations.” I have also found it to be ironic that Stephen Foster, writer of many of America’s greatest songs (I Dream of Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair, My Old Kentucky Home, Camptown Races, etc.), died penniless, but Merv Griffin, who created the show, made millions off of the stupid, 30-second piece of music that plays over the deliberations for the Final Jeopardy question. According to Griffin’s son, the family has earned over $80 million in royalties from that song alone.

For our family, as many of you know, the height of our relationship with the show came in 2013 when our daughter, Kristin, tried out for Jeopardy and was selected as a contestant (See picture above). Kathleen flew out to L.A. with her, and we were astonished when she won five straight games, thus qualifying for the “Tournament of Champions” for the year’s top 15 players. That time, I was able to fly out and see some of the games. She was amazing, finishing in 3rd place and earning an additional $50,000, giving her a total of over $120,000.

During our nearly 30 years of marriage, Kathleen and I have scheduled our day around the syndicated show. We often go our separate ways during the day, but at 4:30, we come together to watch it, with a subtle competition taking place over who can answer the most questions. As Kristin once said during an interview, “Growing up in our house, trivia was a blood sport.”

Given our history with the show, we have been saddened by the news that Alex Trebek is struggling with an advanced form of cancer, and we wonder about the future of the show. Those thoughts have been set aside this week, however, as Jeopardy has hit prime time with a highly anticipated battle between the three top players in the show’s history. The contest, scheduled to run from three to seven days at 7:00 CST on ABC, is being billed as a monumental struggle to determine the Greatest of All Time.

Before 2003, a player was only allowed to win 5 times. After that, they had to stop playing and wait for the TOC at the end of the year. In 2001, however, Brad Rutter, was a dominant player who had to retire undefeated after five wins. He has been back numerous times for celebrity tournaments, usually coming out a winner and accumulating over $4.8 million in prizes. In 2004, Ken Jennings ran off an incredible streak of 74 straight wins. He, too, has appeared many times since then, collecting about $3.5 million in the process. Then, last year, a Vegas gambler named James Holzhauer, took the game by storm, winning 32 straight times. He also captured the imagination of the nation with his aggressive, go-for-broke style that resulted in the 16 highest one-day totals in the show’s history. 

The Jeopardy GOAT contest pits Rutter, Jennings, and Holzhauer in a head-to-head contest over a week’s time. Each day, they play two games, with the winner determined by a combination total from the two games. The over all winner will be the first player to win three times. Thus, if a player wins the first three games, the contest is over. If, however, they trade wins back and forth, it could take seven days to determine the GOAT.

Yesterday, January 7th, the contest began. It was a slugfest from the start, with very few wrong answers given and the lead going back and forth. In the end, Jennings beat Holzhauer, $63,300 to $63,200 with Rutter a distant 3rd. It promises to be a fun contest to watch, and I encourage you to tune in or record the show.

I won’t tell you who I will be cheering for, but here is one other piece of trivia: James Holzhauer is from the Chicago area (Naperville), he attended the University of Illinois, and he is a lifelong Cubs fan. Just saying.

A Wonderful Life

On Sunday (Dec. 29), Kathleen’s daughter, Kristin, came to visit. Until she arrived, it felt as if something was missing from our holiday season. We spend some time every Christmas with her and her husband, Kevin, and this move to Wisconsin threatened a long-running streak. Unfortunately, Kevin was ill, so she flew in alone. We made the best of it, however, had a great time, watched a lot of football, and Kristin was able to spend some quality time with her niece and nephew.

The grandkids were a big part of the reason we moved up here, so being with them on the holidays was especially rewarding. On Christmas morning, I was terribly sick, but Kathleen pulled on her bathrobe and drove down the street to watch them open presents. Later that afternoon, I rallied long enough to spend an hour with them while we exchanged our presents. Six-year-old Lucas is probably at the peak of the childlike wonder I associate with Christmas. You could give that kid an empty shoebox, and he would squeal with delight, saying, “How did you know this is what I wanted! My old shoebox has a rip in it, so this is perfect!” We also played a spirited game of Pictionary with the kids. Abigail (nine years old) is quite good at drawing and guessing. What Lucas lacks in artistic talent, he makes up for with enthusiasm and creative thought. The night we played the game, we had had the kids staying with us for the day while their parents were at work. We also had our contractor over for an hour or two while we selected fixtures, etc. for a bathroom remodeling job. While we were upstairs looking at faucets and tile, the kids were downstairs watching Christmas movies and gorging on a stash of Halloween candy they had left at our house. When we went to dinner, perhaps inspired by Wil Farrell’s Elf character, they had pancakes and waffles smothered in syrup, ice cream, and whipped cream. In short, by the time we played the game, they were experiencing the mother of all sugar highs. We told Luke to just yell out the answer when he thought he recognized the picture, but he took it to extremes, racing through a stream-of-consciousness list of items that had us holding our sides with laughter. At one point, Abigail started by drawing a straight line or two. Lucas began spewing guesses at a rapid rate, sounding something like, “Hercules! A sunny day! A bicycle! Garfield the Cat! A tree!” The kids were still wired and bouncing off of the walls when we made a strategic exit. That’s the beauty of being grandparents.

Now to the title of this entry. On Monday, we took Kristin to the Nutty Squirrel to experience the Meat Raffle. The Gators were playing in a bowl game, so we had beer, football, and the chance of winning frozen meat—it was the best of all possible worlds. Almost immediately, I won something for the first time. I selected a T-bone steak that weighed in at over one-and-a-half pounds. A short while later, Kathleen was called and she selected another T-bone. Now the only suspense centered on Kristin.

It had been a day of constant snowfall. I had shoveled our driveway every time a new 3 inches or so of fresh snow came down—three times in all. Then, before we left for the bar, I had to shovel again to remove the 2-feet-deep pile of the while stuff that had been plowed up in front of our drive. Because of all of the snow, the crowd at the Squirrel was thin. Thus, we thought Kristin had a good chance of winning meat of her own. Just then, we saw a familiar face walking toward our table (You have to love the way this happens in a small town). Our son Ben had been next door at Freeman’s Drug Store. Freeman’s is an old-fashioned, mom-and-pop drug store reminiscent of Gower’s store at which a young George Bailey worked in It’s a Wonderful Life. Ben had been picking up a prescription next door when he happened to glance into the window at the Nutty Squirrel and saw our festive group celebrating our meat winnings. He joined us for a beer. Then Kristin’s name was called. She selected a 7 ½ pound pork roast that had been eschewed by the college students who were probably mystified about how to cook such a massive piece of meat.

By this point, all of us were winners on a number of levels, so we headed for the door with ten pounds of frozen meat. At we walked out onto Main Street, the snow was still falling heavily. The fluffy white powder was illuminated by the Christmas lights still decorating the trees up and down the town’s primary road. I swear I could see George Bailey running down the street yelling in a scratchy, Jimmy Stewart voice, “Merry Christmas, movie house! Merry Christmas, you wonderful old building and loan!” I felt like the richest man in town.

It was a magical moment and a fitting end to a great and eventful 2019 for us. I hope everyone has a wonderful 2020.

Smooth Sailing

I have not posted anything new for a while, because we were off on a wonderful cruise along the Rhine River, from Amsterdam to Basle, Switzerland. When I returned, I got hit hard by a cold/sinus infection combo that had me on my back for several days and sleeping 15 to 20 hours a day. It took me a week to get up and going again. This trip was my much-belated “graduation” present from Kathleen. While planning my retirement, she said that I could choose a trip anywhere I wanted to go. I chose this cruise, planning on a sun-kissed trip during the summer months. Since we first booked the trip, though, we bought a house, moved to Wisconsin, and Ben said that he and Amber would like to join us. The chance at a week’s worth of adult conversation with the two doctors without the kids was too tempting to pass up, so we delayed again until a time when they could join us. Thus, we sailed in mid-December, rather than July. As Robert Burns said, “The best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men often go awry.”

We arrived in Amsterdam at dawn—which was later than you might think. For the entire trip, the sun rose at about 8:45 am and set about 4:25. With temperatures in the 30s or low 40s for most of the trip, and skies overcast with intermittent drizzling rain, the weather was . . . just fine. At least it was better than the single digits and foot of snow we left behind us. We dressed appropriately for each excursion, and no complaints were heard from any of the hearty Wisconsinites.

During the week we toured quaint windmills in Holland, astounding cathedrals in Germany and France, castles with spectacular views from their mountaintop perches, medieval sections of cities that are still functional 500 years after their inception, and charming Christmas markets everywhere we went. Most of the cruising was done at night so that we could spend the days in various cities. The one exception to this pattern was the day we cruised through the “Middle Rhine” which is dotted by 600-year-old castles, charming little villages, and orderly vineyards built on steep hillsides. On that day, as if planned ahead of time by the Viking Company, the temperatures rose into the 50s and the sun shone brightly all day. I won’t bore you with a minute-by-minute travelogue, instead opting for a few random observations.

Viking Cruise Lines—A lot of different companies operate along the Rhine River. In recent years, Viking has been the most visible in the US, primarily because of their sponsorship of sophisticated PBS shows such as Downton Abbey. It is not a cheap option, but we have decided that it was well-worth the expense. First, the rates they negotiate with the airlines are far better than we could find by ourselves. When we first explored flights to Europe, the cheapest rates we could find were anywhere from $1100 to $1500 per person. By going through Viking, we paid about $500 each. We flew United going east, and Lufthansa (much better) on our return. Also, the services on the boat were first-rate from top-to-bottom. There were 50 crew members for the 186 passengers—a ratio of about 3-1—so you never had to look hard to find assistance. It was an international crew, primarily from Central and Eastern Europe, but they all spoke English and went out of their way to learn our names and be helpful. In particular, our cruise director, a huge Dutch man named Rene, had a quick wit and clever sense of humor. He was 6’6” and 280 pounds, with most of his weight in the upper body. With his wedge-shaped appearance and the scarf he sometimes wore, he reminded us of a character named “Gru” from the Despicable Me cartoons. When I pointed out the resemblance, he deadpanned, “Ya. Some crew members showed me a picture of him. . . They no longer work for the company.” Another way we found the price to be reasonable was that Viking does not nickel-and-dime you at every turn. Ocean cruises constantly try to push you to purchase excursions, drinks, photos, and special meals that drive the original price much higher than anticipated. They did none of that. Unlimited wine or beer was provided with every meal, and there were several other occasions in which mimosas, Champaign, or Kir Royales were available for free. Also, at least one free excursion was included at each stop. Other excursions were available for an extra charge, but these were never pushed on us.

Beer—One of the cities we stopped at was Cologne, Germany. Many visitors/writers would focus on Cologne’s cathedral, the tallest in the world, and a magnificent edifice that was started in the 1200s, completed in the 1800s, and which survived the leveling of the rest of the city during WWII. Not me. I want to talk about beer. When traveling, Kathleen and I are not great shoppers, but we enjoy getting to know the local culture by stopping in at pubs and bars. Sometimes language differences and a lack of knowledge about local tipping practices can hinder those attempts. In this case, however, we did some research ahead of time and found that Cologne has a distinctive way of ordering beers. First, many think of Germany in terms of a Bavarian Oktoberfest, with buxom barmaids carrying fistfuls of massive beer mugs. Things are different in Cologne. They serve beer in small, 7-ounce glasses and little verbal communication is required. You say “bier,” and they bring you one of the small glasses. You don’t have to specify which beer, because the entire city serves only one, a light-tasting beer called Kolsch. You don’t have to re-order, either. When they see your glass getting low, they bring another, in a fresh glass, and pick up the empty. Every time they bring a new one, they put a little tally mark on your beer coaster. If you don’t want another, you indicate that you are finished by placing your coaster on top of your glass. At the end, they total up your little hash-marks and bill you for the amount. It’s kind of cool. Kathleen and I stopped in a brauhaus in the shadow of the cathedral. Kathleen was uncomfortable because they directed us to a tall table where we had to stand the entire time. I guess the tables were reserved for those who were ordering food. I planned on making my coaster look as if it had been overrun with ants, with lots of little black marks on it, but Kathleen did not want to stand and planned on just one beer. She placed her coaster on top of the glass as soon as it arrived, lest they swoop in on her unexpectedly and deliver another round. She then contorted her neck to sneak an occasional sip from under it in a manner that provided me great amusement. I had two quick brews—just to try out the system, mind you—before placing my coaster on the top. Each bier was €1.90, or about $2.10, so our bill was €5.70. No regular tipping is expected, but they appreciate it if you round up your bill, which I did. It was a brief but fascinating glimpse into German culture.

Relics—Another thing that makes the Cologne Cathedral famous is that has a golden reliquary that is traditionally believed to contain the bones of the Three Magi. That’s right, the three actual Wise Men who followed a star to Bethlehem bearing gifts for the newborn Jesus. Their bones are reputed to be in that glorious box, and people have been coming to Cologne to pray over them for centuries, despite the fact that several other places also claim to own those same bones. That brings up the subject of religious relics. On the trip, one of the books I read was Dan Jones’s new book, Crusaders, a history of the attempts by Christian Europe to reclaim the Holy Land from Muslim control. He talked a lot about relics. During the time of the Crusades, roughly 1100 to 1300, Europeans were obsessed with relics. Bones of saints, but also locks of hair from the Virgin Mary, pieces of the cross upon which Jesus was crucified, the crown of thorns that was placed on his head, even vials of the blood of Jesus were available to the highest bidder. Fortunes were made selling such items and wars were fought to obtain them from a rival. Reading about this stuff and looking at the golden shrine in Cologne, I couldn’t help but think that certain members of my family would have been extremely wealthy during such gullible times.

Half-timbered Houses—Most of the cities we visited had an old-town section that had been built in the late middle ages and that was dominated by half-timbered houses. Sometimes called Tudor Style, these homes show their wooden bones in diagonal patterns and were usually built close together by relatively wealthy craftsmen or merchants. I was fascinated by these homes. Many of them are over 500 years old, and yet they have been in continuous use since their first construction. This stands in stark contrast to the US where we tear everything down and start over every generation or so. Europeans maintain a strong bond to their past through these buildings that stretch back to the Middle Ages or even Roman times. You can’t throw a rock without hitting a building that’s 1000 years old. In the US, tour guides might proudly tell you that a particular building “Has stood in this same location since the 1930s!” Tourists gasp and exclaim, “My God! You can’t be serious. Nothing is that old!”

Languages—Another thing I like about Europe is the fact that almost everyone speaks multiple languages. This was especially evident in the city of Strasbourg, in the region of Alsace-Lorraine. That little wedge of land has been a political football over the centuries, being kicked back and forth between France and Germany and changing hands with every major war. As a result, most people who live there now speak both of those languages, along with an Alsatian dialect that combines elements of the two. Of course, most people also speak English. It is not at all unusual to find Europeans who can fake their way through half-a-dozen languages fairly easily. In the US, most Americans take a second language in high school, but never use it and promptly forget it. Kathleen and I both took Latin in HS, and can read some French. We always feel a bit embarrassed when we travel and feel as if we should have made a better effort to learn the local language when we travel. The other thing that left us somewhat embarrassed on this trip was a group of Ugly Americans. A group of people from Texas (where else) reinforced every negative stereotype Europeans have about wealthy Americans. They pushed to the front of each tour group just to ask where the “good” stores were. They would shop at the mom-and-pop stores and Christmas markets if they had to, but they preferred Louis Vuittan, Gucci, or Prada stores. On the bus returning to the boat, they would loudly talk about various ways they had learned to avoid paying customs duties on their expensive souvenirs. We also heard a story that one of the Texans was noisily inquiring about a 1200-Euro cuckoo clock in a store. Were they interested in the meticulous craftsmanship? Not really. The artistry, perhaps? Nah. All they really wanted was a clock big enough to adorn their 2,000 square-foot library at home without being dwarfed by their other lavish decorations.

Well, I’ve gone on for far too long. There were many other aspects of the trip, such as the Christmas Markets and the spiced Gluhwein (hot wine), that I’d like to talk about, but I want to wrap this up. All in all, it was a memorable trip and Ben and Amber were delightful travelling companions. I hope that you all had a great Christmas and will have an even better New Year.