Prolog   For completeness in reporting I have to say that Beverly first went to Europe in 1958 on the Ryndam, had studied some German and French, but learned Swedish "cold" when she went to visit her relatives in Sweden, who knew no English at that time. It was a matter of answer in Swedish, or sink. She swam. She also met her paternal grandmother for the first time. I've already mentioned she had an NDEA scholarship to Germany in 1960, and we both went to study in Mainz in 1961-2.

As for me, in 1957 I went with a high school friend and his parents, all of whom had a great deal of European travel experience, on the original Queen Elizabeth, round trip. I was 17, and turned 18 in London. I remember that the whole trip cost $1000, a considerable sum in those years, half of which came out of my bank account and half from my parents. The crossing in those years took a fast five days, instead of today's slower pace of six. The ship was totally segregated by class. Some lounges, dining rooms, even whole decks were for either First Class, Cabin Class, or Tourist Class. We went Tourist. As in most hotels as well in those years, the bathroom was down the hall from your cabin, as was the shower or tub. As 17-year-olds, though, my friend and I would use the service stairs to visit Cabin and First Class, and sometimes you'd see First Class people (always tuxes then!) in Tourist.

I had had three years of German at Brooklyn Technical High School, one of the elite NYC schools, with an entrance exam. The coursework was great, except that they felt that people going on to technical work should study Scientific German (and Scientific French). That's fine, and to this day I know that Schwefelsäure is sulfuric acid and that Fluor/Chlor/Brom/Jod are Fluorine/Chlorine/Bromine/Iodine. But that knowledge won't get the salt passed to you at the dinner table in Germany. On that trip we went to Vienna, and I was totally tongue-tied.

Here's the bottom line of me on that trip: a greenhorn, having reached out to Chattanooga five years earlier, now reaching across the Atlantic, knowing a smattering of German, quite unsure of that little amount, and knowing nothing about any other second languages.

The purpose of this narrative is not to tell about the ship. It involves my first 24 hours in Europe, from about 9 PM one evening to 9 PM the next.

Cherbourg/Paris   I got my updated understanding from Bill Miller about turning ships around. Today, with diesel fuel and containerized deliveries, a ship pulls into Southampton or New York in the morning, all passengers are off by 9 AM, the new people come on at 2 PM, and the ship sails by 5. I had forgotten that in those years, ships stayed a few days in the harbor, slowly loading coal, slowly getting supplies. Now I understand better about our arrival in Cherbourg on the Queen Elizabeth.

It was the last night at sea. We were to get off in France in Cherbourg the next morning, and the ship would then cross the channel to Southampton, which was the usual pattern. Being green and unaware of what was going on, I was sitting with my friend in the lounge at about 9 PM, chatting and listening to music. Then the humming stopped. Why would the (rather loud) engines stop in the middle of the ocean? We ran outside and leaned over the railing. We were docked, and had missed watching the arrival, being unaware we'd be pulling in the night before. On the other side of the railing was France. And Europe.

France appeared to me in the form of a large, dark, blacktopped parking lot, surrounded by sheds. France was clearly not putting her best foot forward for me. There were a number of streetlights, so you could see the activity below. But the feeling was electric, and the surprise arrival added to it.

My very first feeling and reaction to being there was hearing the longshoremen down on the dock actually speaking French to each other. Now, as you know, French and other languages are taught only in schools. French is only spoken by teachers and students. Blue-collar workers certainly don't speak French. And children speaking French? Ridiculous. I knew it was all stupid, but that was the feeling at hearing a "school subject" being spoken by longshoremen. If the workers had been speaking chemistry or trigonometry I wouldn't have been more surprised.

The next day we left the ship, walked a very few steps across the pier and got on the boat train. This was still the wonderful period of boat trains right on the docks at Southampton headed for London and at Cherbourg (or Le Havre) headed for Paris. They don't exist any more, because there aren't enough boats arriving. Today you have to take a taxi to the Southampton Central Station for London. The other alternative is to take the wonderful, but expensive, dinner train out of Victoria Station to the ship. This train actually does pull up on the old boat train tracks right next to the ship.

But this was 1957, and Cherbourg, and we got into the boat train for Paris. All these experiences seem like they happened yesterday, and yet they seem so antique. The only positive antique experience is the boat train. Rather more negative are the toilets and showers down the hall on the ships (and hotels), as well as the following experiences.

We dressed to travel. We got on the train in jacket and tie, and dress shirt. Ladies usually wore hats, perhaps with a slight veil over the forehead. Antique.

The train chugged along for about five hours to the Gare Saint-Lazare. Many locations have the speedy TGVs now. Antique.

Air-conditioning on the trains? Nonsense. Lower the window. Antique.

I said "chugging along" because, yes, these were steam trains. Antique. And, as you know, chugging steam trains give off cinders. With the window down for ventilation, before you knew it you had cinders all over you, but you could only really see them on your nice white shirt, and, in the mirror, on your sweating brow. Antique. These first hours in France were still magnificent, yet it sounds like I'm describing a trip to the Wild West in a covered wagon.

My friend's parents had chosen Le Grand Hotel for us to stay in, which was a nice choice for my first place to stay in France, and in Europe. I believe it was already a century old at the time, and has some connection with Napoleon III. It takes up a triangular block pointing at the Place de l'Opéra and the Opera House, and the hotel is itself triangular. The famous Café de la Paix is in the hotel on the Opera corner. Another corner points at the American Express office on Rue Scribe, where travellers, especially Americans, would go pick up their mail.

Le Grand Hotel was charming, but had seen better days. My mind's eye (the liar) sees large, high-ceilinged rooms and corridors, but perhaps some fraying here and there, and a fresh paint job would have helped. Yet it had Parisian class.

Two years ago, coming up from Southern Italy, when we stayed in Paris for five days, I drove by Le Grand Hotel, which was being renovated. Signs said it was becoming the Intercontinental Le Grand Hotel. Therefore, next summer, after I stay in the Adlon Hotel in Berlin, I want to stay a couple of nights in Le Grand Hotel, just for old times sake. It will be the first time since 1957, which will be two years short of a half-century.

Anyway, that first night, after dinner we were exhausted. My eyes were closing. But we had to go see the Seine. It's a good hefty walk, maybe 20 minutes, from the Place de l'Opéra, but we did it anyway. I remember being so tired when we got to the river that I leaned back onto a railing and dozed off standing up. It was again about 9 PM and the end of my first, electrifying, 24 hours in France, and in Europe. It would not be my last.

Epilog   This last part is in many ways the most important part, but it's not specifically about travel, it's about a language experience. I had said that at that point I knew meager German, and no other second language, but at Le Grand Hotel I had a revealing experience. It may have happened still that first night, but more likely a day or two later.

Looking out our window across the Boulevard des Capucines, on top of the building across the street was a neon sign. It showed a cigarette with smoke rising. It was for a major French brand, and said:

It was the era of filtered cigarettes becoming popular, but looking at sign was an electrifying experience. I knew not a word of French, but here, without attempting to translate via English, I read what it said and just KNEW it meant "with or without (a) filter". It was so meaningful to me that I remember that sign to this day.

I had not only understood something "by absorption" in a language I didn't know, I had understood it directly, without English in between. That little bit of nonsense was a heady experience. Maybe, in retrospect, Bev had a similar feeling the following year learning Swedish by plunging in, and without using English.

Gee, maybe all this language stuff had possibilities.