As the glockenspiel ticks

Each day in Munich (the final stop on our itinerary) I have been reminded that our time overseas is running out. At 11 and 12 o’clock daily the Rathaus (town hall) glockenspiel chimes its 43 bells and re-enacts the story of a royal wedding, a joust and a dance by coopers (barrel makers). The finale is a cock crowing. The tale is told by 32 life-sized figures that rotate out and around for the enjoyment of a mass of tourists. 

Two boys and a glockenspiel

Now, it’s unlike my boys to become obsessive about something (soccer, dinosaurs, skateboarding, pirates…) but they are mysteriously drawn to the glockenspiel for reasons I cannot fathom. Ben even mimics the coopers’ merry dance and today Sam asked me to video the 15-minute performance. Not on your life! So every day at 11am they insist we stand beneath the colossal gothic spire of the Munich Rathaus to catch the show.

I try to avoid this painful portent of our dwindling time in Europe, never mentioning to Sam and Ben the hour of the day, the Rathaus or Marienplatz, the square in which the town hall lies. Yet every day one or both of them have remembered. I suppose I just have to face it. We leave in a few days. Ouch! That hurt.

Cheese in Munich - why do we have to leave?

When we drove into Munich four days ago I was apprehensive. Chris has never been a lover of Germany and I didn’t want our final destination to be a disappointment to him. As a teenager I was besotted with the German culture. My biggest crush as a schoolgirl was Boris Becker! I studied German for the HSC and even made my own sauerkraut.

Who wouldn't fall for a culture that gives a restaurant such a tasty name?

But when Chris and I travelled along the 'Romantic Road' in the early 2000s he thought the title a misnomer. Later, when we visited Berlin, he didn’t share my fondness. The capital, blanketed in snow, was bleak and hostile to him. No matter how hard I tried to point it out, there was simply no cabaret for him. So we’ve avoided Germany ever since. 

Grocery shopping in Munich. What's not to love?

Amazingly, by the end of day one Chris reported he loved Munich. Hooray! I’m not certain what’s behind the change of heart. Perhaps he’s simply happy not to be pushing the stroller along the narrow, cobblestoned lanes of Italian cities any more or relieved we’re no longer spending Swiss francs, a currency that seems to melt away as quickly as a molten pot of cheese fondue.

I love Munich, too. I love speaking German again. I love the big serves of hearty food and the large glasses of fruity wine. I love the way Germans so skilfully manage to blend directness with pleasantness. I love that they are not chic, like the Italians, French or Swiss, and I don’t feel like an overweight, poorly-dressed, stringy-haired frump when I walk amongst them.

Although Chris and Sam are visiting the Allianz Arena (home ground of the mighty Bayern Munich football club) for the one-hour tour as I write this blog, our time in Munich has been mostly about snow. 

Snow ... and Allianz Arena, home of FC Bayern Munchen

Sam's heroic 'I'm wearing a new jersey' look has Ben in stitches

The boys love crafting snowballs, snow angels and snow men. Each time we leave the apartment the first question from both Sam and Ben is, ‘Can we have a snowball fight?’ 

The boys about to head into battle

During a visit to the art gallery Neue Pinakothek yesterday, a conversation I had with the boys went something like this.

‘So this is a painting by one of my favourite artists, Gustav Klimt. He was Austrian…’

‘Do you think it’s still snowing?’ said Sam, straining his neck to find the exit.

‘What about this one, Benny?’ I said. ‘How many sunflowers do you see? Do you like it?’

‘Can we go now? I want to have a snowball fight,’ he returned.

I ignored Ben and turned to Sam in the hope that my eldest son might appreciate what’s inside the gallery rather than what’s outside.

‘It’s by an artist called van Gogh,’ I said, and thought I detected a slight roll of his eyes, so I added desperately, ‘He cut off his ear.’

But even a gruesome tale of self-mutilation could not divert his thoughts. ‘Okay. So can we go now? Do you think we could hire a toboggan?’

We raced through the remaining rooms of the gallery, past Monet and Degas, Gauguin and Renoir, past the colour and out into the white.

We spent the rest of the morning throwing snowballs at each other in the Englischer Garten, Europe’s largest city park, where Sam made a snowman and Benny the perfect snowball, which he carried all the way home. They’re artists of a kind, I suppose.

Benny's icy egg

Driving on the wrong side

So then we rented a car in Florence where, as in the rest of mainland Europe and the USA, everything is on the wrong side. Last time I attempted such foolishness things began badly but ended well (see the US blog HERE). Little has changed.

The drive out of Florence was a comedy of errors but nobody (except Jenny and the kids) seemed to care. This may be because madcap lane-swapping and pedestrian-swiping is the norm in Italy. But my confidence grew as I hit the motorways, until I crashed into a bollard at the Italian/French border…

The banks of Lake Geneva are less than half a block from our apartment.
Nice job, AirBNB!

Anyway, six hours later that very same car delivered us safely to Geneva in Switzerland and has carried us on to several unforgettable experiences since. Outside the dangers of driving and the expense of Swiss life in general, our time here has been surprising and spectacular.

Yesterday we drove into France for the morning, spending several hours in the gorgeous town of Annecy (pronounced ‘Onsee’) and stocking up on tins of cassoulet.

In Annecy, France ... another classic Benny face.
Thank you, Sam, for looking so lovely!

Annecy, once again ... this town is a living, breathing postcard!

We then returned to Geneva for a stormy afternoon/evening to climb the hill to exclusive Cologny to visit Villa Diodati. This is the mansion in which Mary Shelley was a guest of Lord Byron on the stormy afternoon/evening she came up with the idea for her novel Frankenstein. It is also quite central to Jenny’s next novel.

Villa Diodati - the spooky birthplace of Frankenstein's monster

One day earlier we drove around Lake Geneva, visiting the picturesque towns of Lausanne and Montreux, as well as the brilliant Chillon Castle.

Spectacular backdrop at the other end of Lake Geneva, in Montreux.
And another Benny photo face...

Benny was very happy to visit Chillon Castle

View from Chillon Castle

Sam and Ben appear to be loving every minute, and are even quite content during the drives as Daddy does his best to destroy the rental…

At the Geneva Natural History Museum, Ben's first T-Rex skull
since four weeks ago in the British Natural History Museum!

Our poor, long-suffering rental

New views of Italy

Thanks to E. M Forster’s novel A Room With a View, and the movie adaptation of the same name (a Merchant Ivory period drama), Florence had become my favourite place in the world before I had ever seen it. So when I first travelled to the city in the early ‘90s as a 21-year-old backpacker, I fancied myself at the time as a bit of a Lucy Honeychurch, Forster’s heroine in the book. Minus the period costume, I would seek out adventure, culture and love as I wandered Florence’s cobblestoned passageways. Lucy was played by Helena Bonham Carter in the film.

Night on Ponte Vecchio

Youthful, energetic and alone (my travelling companion had run out of money and decided to spend his four days in Florence busking) I saw everything that my Lonely Planet guide book suggested I see, inside and out, desperate to get my fill of a city that had first come alive for me through a book. Spending my limited cash, I scoured artworks in the Uffizi, climbed the 600-year-old steps to the Duomo’s cupola, scoured churches and walked the halls of the Pitti Palace. When I returned to the youth hostel in the evenings, I’d sit on my bunk and chronicle my day’s experiences in a travel journal a friend had bought me as a bon voyage gift. Nothing could stop me in my mission to know Forster’s city more completely, to broaden my horizons and to further my knowledge.

The view from our room

My second visit to Florence came in 2002. This time I was travelling with Chris and it was a completely different experience. I can’t recall spending much time involved in any cultural activities. Instead, we toured enotecas (wine bars). We were both working in London at the time and had far more money than I’d had as a backpacker. The need to see everything wasn’t urgent. In fact, it wasn’t there at all. We strolled by the Arno and across Ponte Vecchio, seeking out the cosiest or the coolest looking wine bar. I gathered matchbooks from each one we visited. I returned home to London with quite a collection.

A perfect Tuscan laneway

Now the urgency is back, demanding and real – not for myself but for the boys. I want them to see everything, to soak up every drop of Florentine energy. But I feel it might be a lost cause. While I suggest a visit to view Michelangelo’s sculpture of David, Sam drags me towards the Fiorentina (Florence’s soccer team) mega-store. As I cry for culture, Benny cries for gelato … NOW! And instead of searching for chic wine bars, we seek out perfect spots for family photos.

After a gruelling climb to the top of Florence's Duomo 

So although we haven’t yet been to the Uffizi or the Accademia di Belle Arte, the kids have forced my focus in a slightly different direction, and perhaps into a more realistic and rounded view of the city with which I fell in love. Florence isn’t all about art and culture, and it’s more than just a sum of its enotecas.

On the River Arno, Ponte Vecchio in background

Surprisingly, Sam has taken an interest in food and cooking. Yesterday he told me, quite sincerely, that when he’s a professional soccer player he’d like his other job to be a baker. He’s trying foods that would never have passed his lips in Australia and he’s even compiling a list of meals he aims to recreate in our Canberra cucina.

Ben's favourite carousel in Piazza della Republica

Benny takes pleasure in the small things – jumping in muddy puddles, a carousel, a Vespa that scoots by and the dogs that are walked in the Piazza di Santa Maria Novella, the square that our apartment overlooks. I can be satisfied with that.

And more gelato ... again

Chasing the Pope-mobile

The crowds were missing from Rome just over a week ago, prior to my last blog post, but since then they have well and truly arrived. And it is a pattern Jenny and I finally remembered from our last few Christmases in the Eternal City – visitors seem to stay home for Christmas then fly in on Boxing Day.

The city is packed! During the three days that gout had me down and out, the entire world descended upon Rome. And it is quite exciting.

Colosseum - backdrop for a family pic

The road to the Colosseum has been closed to traffic several times (usually it’s just every Sunday), creating a wonderfully wide footpath to the ancient, iconic building.

Yesterday we took advantage and explored the old neighbourhood just beyond the Colosseum walls, the area in which Jenny and I used to stay during our first few visits. Ben enjoyed yet another chocolate gelato…

Do I have any food on my face?

A day earlier, we wandered across the bridge to Vatican City and St Peter’s Basilica. We expected fairly heavy security, but what the family experienced was tighter than your typical airport. Jenny, Benny, Sam and I were patted down and had our bags checked at two different stages on the approach to the grand square then, before getting into the main courtyard in front of the awesome cathedral, had to pass through metal detectors and x-ray machines.

Audience with the Pope

It was not clear why security was beefed up to such an extent, but we soon discovered what was going on. The Pope rolled in to the square, standing in the back of his open-air Pope-mobile! He spent perhaps 30 minutes greeting people, driving here and there throughout the crowd, kissing babies etc, then led a service from the steps of the basilica. It was quite magical, even for this not-exactly-religious family. And it means we have seen the last two Popes in the flesh in Rome, which sounds like a punchline to a bawdy joke...

A Roman hospital on an island in the Tiber, close to where we're staying

In the name of research for Jen’s next novel we also spent an amazing morning at Campo Cestio, the beautifully kept cemetery for non-Catholic foreigners. This is the final resting place of John Keats, Percy Bysshe Shelley and many more literary luminaries and it is truly lovely. The graveyard is the setting for a scene in the novel.

Jenny with a suitably sombre face at the grave of Percy Bysshe Shelley

Benny wanders a perfectly landscaped graveyard

We’ve also biked in Villa Borghese, successfully avoided being face-whipped by hordes shamelessly posing in front of selfie-sticks, played hide-and-seek in the gardens of the Campidoglio next door to Piazza Venezia, wished there were public toilets in Rome as we busted for a wee in minus degrees, and wandered endlessly. And we have eaten every piece of food we have seen along the way.

On our way up into the gardens of the Campidoglio

Four-wheeled biking in Villa Borghese

The closest thing to soccer balls they have been able to find

What's in the box?

Yum

We’re half way through our journey. In two days we hop on a train to Florence and after that comes Geneva and Munich. Brrrrrr…