My First Trip to Europe — With The Wrong Companions

How I managed to travel with a conservative Christian and her friends…and what I learned.

I was 62 and had never been to Europe.

I’d tried to get there in 2011, to Ireland, on a tour with a guide I knew, but a hurricane and a less-than-forthcoming travel agent killed that one. A story for another day.

I had friends, but I couldn’t travel far with any of them for one reason or another. Then, I found out that Yolanda wanted to travel.

By 2014, we’d taken two trips together. They weren’t without incidents, but both went pretty well considering how different we were. One was with another friend of hers to a Mexican resort in 2011. The other was a driving trip to Southwest Colorado in 2013 that included Durango to ride the Durango-Silverton Railroad, which is an incredibly gorgeous trip through the Animas Canyon.

At this point, I should tell you about both me and Yolanda.

I was divorced. She was married. We both loved animals. She had at least six dogs and six cats at the time. I had two cats. We both liked good food and went out to lunch regularly.

We worked for different radio stations in the same group until 2012 when things went downhill at that company and we both left.

She was a right-wing Christian. I am not. To stay friends, we regularly renewed agreements not to discuss either politics or religion. Sometimes friendship can’t be easily explained.

She was very involved with her church. Her pastor was Richie Furay. You know, the co-founder of the 60s and 70s bands Buffalo Springfield and Poco. She talked about him frequently.

Most of her friends outside of work were Christian. I think I was a big exception.

In early 2014, we talked about a fall trip to Europe. At first, it was to be just Yolanda and me going to France and Italy. Next thing I knew, she’d invited three friends from LA. The itinerary changed to London, Vienna, and Dubrovnik, all places her other friends wanted to go. I was not consulted. But it was finally going to be my first trip to Europe, so I went along with it. She had a travel agent plan it all, including, according to the agent, rooms in each city for three single women to stay together to save money.

I broke my hand in a car accident in March. In June, I broke my ankle. We’d already planned the trip, and I wasn’t going to cancel. By the time we left, I could at least use a cane and limp around.

Yolanda and I flew together, and her friends flew separately. We arrived in London early in the day so we couldn’t yet check in to the hotel. She walked and I limped around a park with lovely gardens, near the hotel. Once her friends arrived, though, I was mostly abandoned.

The friend who roomed with us, let’s call her Denise, was just plain rude. Everything had to be her way. Her other friends, an older couple, were nice enough, but limited in what they could do, even more than me.

Yolanda had promised me that we would go to museums, maybe a play on the West End. None of that happened. She and her friends did what they wanted and if I didn’t agree, I was on my own. Often, I was.

We had a planned bus tour, which, if we hadn’t been the victims, could have been a great Monty Python sketch. The tour guide was not a happy man. He said little about what we passed, mostly unintelligible, and not just because of the bad headphones. When we got to Buckingham Palace, he gave us a short window to be back and just pointed us in the direction of the palace to look at it. An elderly couple was having trouble even walking, but he didn’t care, he just went off to smoke a cigarette. He almost left them behind.

There was a Thames River cruise included that was supposed to explain what we could see from the boat. Instead, he put us on a commuter boat and went to the bar. We were left to guess what was on the shoreline. I am not making this up.

The last stop was a high tea at the Orangery. He left us there with a few final non-smiling words. At least the tiny sandwiches, pastries, and tea were good — the highlight of the day.

I tagged along to look at various tourist sites each day. On our last day in London, we went to The Tower of London, which I admit, was very interesting. Because it was the 100th anniversary of England’s involvement in WWI, they’d placed ceramic blood-red hand-made poppies all over the moat to commemorate the 888,246 lost British and Colonial souls from that war. The site from above was heart-rending.

At the end of our few days in London, I finally figured out that I could have navigated the Underground by myself. Lesson learned.

The next flight was to Vienna. We purchased Hop On Hop Off bus passes. The first day, we stayed together for the general tour, which was interesting, and included an actual boat tour on the Danube. But it was very clear to me that my interests were not aligned with the others. And, Denise refused her turn to sleep on the bench (the hotel didn’t have a third bed, a breakdown in communication with the travel agent). So, I went to the desk and cried. They gave me my own room. My own TV. My own space. Thank God.

Since Vienna was the shortest leg of the trip, I texted a friend in Denver who knew the city well and asked for her recommendations. I felt perfectly safe taking the already-paid-for On/Off busses to the places she suggested.

The drivers I had were so helpful. I took the bus that would go near the Hundertwasserhaus, a very unusual multipurpose building, mostly apartments, with undulating floors, trees growing from inside rooms, a roof covered with grass and dirt, and more. Hundertwasser didn’t believe in straight lines. It was kind of psychedelic.

The driver told me how to walk to a museum designed by Hundertwasser. I didn’t go through the museum, as he told me to just “go look at the bathrooms.” I did.

The last full day, while my companions took a bus somewhere and never got off the bus, I went to Belvedere Palace, now a museum. It’s amazing, the buildings, the gardens, and of course, the art. Because I was limping with a cane, I didn’t walk around the entire grounds. I stayed in or just outside the main building, the Upper Belvedere. They display Gustav Klimt paintings including The Kiss. I loved those, but my favorite piece was Egon Schiele’s Vier Baume (Four Trees), sunset or sunrise behind four trees, with rolling hills and layers of multicolor clouds. Sorry, no picture.

I was ecstatic about being free to go where I wanted.

We had tickets for a classical concert that was quite obviously created for tourists. We took group photos of us there, and we looked happy.

I wish we’d had more time in Vienna. I walked a Rick Steves audio tour which took me near the Lipizzaner horses. They didn’t perform, they were off that day. But, I did get to see some in their stalls, and then one beauty led across my path.

Finally, I went to the Cafe Aida by St. Stephen’s Square and had a pastry and an amazing cup of coffee.

I want to go back to Vienna. There’s so much I didn’t see.

The last city on our tour was Dubrovnik, Croatia. We stayed at a newer hotel outside the old walled city, on the Adriatic Sea. At our first dinner, the waiter told a few of us in passable English that he was very proud of his accomplishments. He’d saved enough for his own apartment and was doing well. He asked where we came from. When he got to Denise, she said, “Los Angeles.” His response was educated. He said that, oh, geologically, LA had been underwater. Denise said, “No it wasn’t. The Earth is only 5,000 years old.” He didn’t talk to us after that, and I didn’t blame him. It was so embarrassing. Yolanda just laughed it off…

The first day, as in the other cities, I went with the others. We took the bus to the old city, and walked around, entering churches and galleries, and eating ice cream.

It was sufferable until later in the afternoon. I was shopping in a store and purchased some jewelry. After I left, I noticed that my wallet was missing. It was raining. I found Yolanda and Denise, and they not only didn’t offer to help me find it, but they walked away! I went back to the jewelry store myself, and the mother/daughter owners had my wallet. Thank God.

I spent the rest of my time in Dubrovnik getting to know the old city as well as I could. I dined alone at good restaurants, and I managed with my cane to walk above the city on the wall all the way around.

I also bought a print that I credited with helping me to meet my husband Andy shortly after I got back. That story is here:

In addition to enjoying my own company so much better than dealing with my companions, I was able to relax at cafes, visit one of the oldest synagogues in Europe, dip my body into the Adriatic Sea at the hotel, and relax.

On the flight home, I tried to sleep. The entertainment system was out anyway.

Yolanda’s husband, Bob, picked us up at the airport. He told us that he was going to drop off Yolanda first to go pick up their dogs at the doggy daycare, then take me home himself. I thought it odd. Almost as soon as she got out of the car, he turned to me and asked, “So, how was it?”

I couldn’t lie. I told him what had happened, that the only way I was able to see what I wanted to see was to go by myself. He said, “And now you know why I don’t travel with her except to see family.” He proceeded to tell me that the only time he went with her to Europe, he would say what he wanted to do, and she’d say something like, “I want to do this today. We’ll do that tomorrow.” Tomorrow never came. So, he told her that if she wanted to travel, to find others. I grew to appreciate Bob that afternoon because I knew then that it wasn’t just me.

The last time I saw Yolanda was for dinner with another former work friend in 2019. I also messaged her in October of 2020. I saw few people for a long time except Andy due to Covid and because I was moving and getting married.

Later in 2021, I received a Facebook message from Yolanda. It was Bob from her account telling me that Yolanda had passed away from ALS, as her brother had a few years before. I gave him my phone number. He called me. We talked for a long time. She’d been sick for a while but didn’t want anyone to know, not even him. He’d seen something was off and tried to get her to go to a neurologist. He later discovered that she already knew. I guessed that watching her brother die despite treatment led her to just let the disease run its course. He said that once she couldn’t take care of herself anymore, she finally told a few people. He was sorry I didn’t know. He wanted me to know about her memorial service and asked me to notify her radio friends. I was the only one he knew. I did my best to contact people.

Five of us radio folks showed up.

The service was conducted by two pastors, including Richie Furay, who spoke and played a song. Bob was glad to see me. Yolanda’s caregiver spoke, a few of her friends, and yes, I stood up as it seemed no one else from our radio contingent was willing. I merely said that we’d worked and traveled together.

I’m sad that I didn’t get to say goodbye.

I look at my friendship with her and the very strange trip philosophically. We both decided that our differences weren’t enough to keep us from being friends. And, at least I got to Europe finally, and learned that I could find my way alone. It was a start.

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