Luxembourg

A week or two ago, I pulled out the old photo albums, which should explain this post and the two previous posts. And as I think about it, probably the next post or two.

I arrived in Germany, courtesy of the US Air Force, in February of 1975. I was assigned to Spangdahlem Air Base, in the Eifel region of Germany. For the first 6 or 8 weeks, I just hung around the base, mainly because I hadn't yet figured out how to travel without a car. But once I learned the drill, I spent very little time on base during my downtime.

My best friend while in the Air Force was a guy named Stanley Hanks. Stan was born in Germany to an American father and German mother. Although he was raised, for the most part, in the Salem, Oregon area, he was well versed in things German. And he was a hoot.

The first time I went to Luxembourg was with Stan. Luxembourg City is about 50 miles from Spangdahlem, but I had no idea how to get there. Stan knew enough to know that there was a bus stop at the main gate of the air base, and from there we would take the bus to Trier. We worked a 6-day-on, 3-day-off schedule, and the last shift of the 6 days ended at 7 a.m. That gave us enough time to run to the barracks, change clothes, and get to the gate to hop on the 8 o'clock bus to Trier.

Once in Trier, we would buy our train tickets to Luxembourg, and then settle into our seats at the restaurant and order breakfast. Breakfast was the same every time: Ochsenschwanz Suppe mit Brot, und ein Bit. That is, ox tail soup with bread, and a Bitburger (the local brew, which I still drink). There's nothing quite like a hot bowl of ox tail soup and a semi-cold bottle of beer to start your travel day.

We found a hotel near the train station in Luxembourg called the Beau Sejour. On the very first trip to Luxembourg, we met a girl who worked there named Nicole (Stan eventually married her). Through Nicole, we learned where to go in the city, and we met a lot of interesting people through her. Every 9 days we would return, and there was always someone new to meet or a new place to go. And our hotel rooms were always ready.

One of the people we met was a very good friend of Nicole, named Paquita. She was a Spanish girl who spoke no English, which was a tough thing for an American guy who spoke no French. The reason I say this is that I knew a little Spanish, but no French, and she knew a lot of French but no English. So we conversed, for what it was, in Spanish. But we managed.

On one of those trips, we visited the grave of General George Patton, who is buried in Luxembourg. Looking back on it now, I realize how recent WWII was to the people who lived there, but in my young mind, it might just as well have happened a hundred years earlier. The time that has passed since this picture was taken is more than the time that had passed between WWII and the day this picture was taken. But at a young age, it's hard to appreciate the immediacy of these things.

Stan is on the left, Paquita in the middle, and me on the right. Nicole took this picture, which was taken in 1975, most likely during the month of May.