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TGV.com : tgv reservation and tgv information for french holiday and week-end ideas TGV.com : tgv reservation and tgv information for french holiday and week-end ideas book a tgv, business travel in france, departure times, france tgv, france travel On Tgv.com, you can book your tgv train ticket and you can easily find some week-end ideas and travel ideas for your next french holiday. All the tgv information , tgv prices and tgv services you need, are available on our web site www.tgv.com . book a tgv , business travel in france , departure times , france tgv , france travel , french tgv , reservation tgv , sncf tgv , sncf tgv reservation , sncf ticket , tgv departure times , tgv france , tgv information , tgv lines , tgv offers , tgv paris , tgv prices , tgv reservation , tgv ticket , tgv tickets , ticket train , train ticket , train tickets , travel france , travels in france , trip in france , visit france , france holiday , french holiday , holiday in france , french train , travel ideas , week end ideas , tgv photos , tgv services , business travel , business travels , business travels france , train reservation , tgv news , tgv -- Leaving from: Dates: (DD/MM/YYYY) Times: 00h 01h 02h 03h 04h 05h 06h 07h 08h 09h 10h 11h 12h 13h 14h 15h 16h 17h 18h 19h 20h 21h 22h 23h and 00h 01h 02h 03h 04h 05h 06h 07h 08h 09h 10h 11h 12h 13h 14h 15h 16h 17h 18h 19h 20h 21h 22h 23h Arriving at: Dates: (DD/MM/YYYY) Times: 00h 01h 02h 03h 04h 05h 06h 07h 08h 09h 10h 11h 12h 13h 14h 15h 16h 17h 18h 19h 20h 21h 22h 23h and 00h 01h 02h 03h 04h 05h 06h 07h 08h 09h 10h 11h 12h 13h 14h 15h 16h 17h 18h 19h 20h 21h 22h 23h 1 st class 2 nd class Smoking Non-smoking Looking for a solution for your business trips or those of your collaborators? TGV proposes answers adapted to your needs and professional constraints. This month, the TGV favourites take you to Annecy, the “Venise in Savoie”. Discover the exceptional environment of this city situated between lake and mountains. Book early for the lowest prices... Special offers starting from 25 €, find out more! Conception and realisation: Crayon noir e-médias | Site plan | FAQs | Contact us | Legal Information

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Travel Stories - My European Vacation Home Hostels Tours InfoZone Community Home » Community » Travel Stories » My European Vacation MyAccount | Support Centre | Site Map In the Community... Community Home Travel Diaries Start a new Diary Travel Stories Travel Gurus Message Boards Log In Log in to your account to review past bookings, change your profile, become a travel guru and much more. Email: Password: Forgot your password? Not a member? Sign up here The ULTIMATE backpacker information exchange Travel Stories • Backpackers! Adventure Calling.. • The Shrimp Tax • Sleeping in Pamplona • Chile, the country and Santiag.. • Road to No Man's Land • Run Through the Jungle: • Andorra's Box • Mexico - 48 hours in Puerto Es.. • More Travel Stories Our Price Promise We offer you the best internet rate made available by the hostel. We do not mark up this rate so you can be confident that booking here is as cheap as it gets! close window lowest prices guaranteed Read Our Price Promise We accept the following cards Travel Stories My European Vacation By Denise Cassino I finally finished reading the last page of Micheners novel The Drifters, a story about six young people traveling through Europe in the late sixties. I closed the book and bit my bottom lip. I simply had to find a way to go to Europe. My heart ached with a yearning to see the world. I had been an English major/history minor in college and had studied the continent for years. Now I was determined to see them first hand. I contacted my old college roommate, Ellen, and set a plan I quit my job, borrowed $500 to supplement my savings and flew off to Europe for a six-week sojourn. We were nearing the end of a near perfect trip with only a week or so remaining before I would head for home. We had driven The Romantic Road through Germany, partaken in the revelry of Oktoberfest in Munich, woven our way through the high peaks of the Alps in a VW bus, ridden a Gondola across the Grand Canal in Venice, stared at the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel and even had a brief romance with two American brothers. Ellen had been forced by the powers that ruled her pocketbook to return home two weeks earlier than me, and now I was traveling with an affable Australian girl named Robyn who we had met in Venice and had previously been a solo traveler. Now, the two of us stood on the port side of the huge ship and gazed out from the top deck at the starlit sky above the Port of Barcelona and the Mediterranean Sea. A statue of Cristobal Columbo (Christopher Columbus) peered down at us as we swore to sate our wanderlust ever after and reveled in our high adventure. We were on our way to the Balearic Islands, the island of Ibiza, to be exact, (pronounced Ibitha to the well-traveled tourist) and had secured a cabin on the ship for the nights trip. The ship and cabin were Spartan, and at first light, we disembarked and set foot on terra firma. The island, which had been touted as the happening spot for young people, was tiny and, aside from the ancient fortress and village around a small seaport, was mainly dry, brushy and agricultural. We wandered down the narrow, cobblestone streets amidst the tourists and the locals who were going about the business of daily living, baskets on their shoulders and bicycles laden with goods. The smiling proprietors of small cafes beckoned weary wayfarers like us to partake of their fine wine and vittles Hola, Senoritas! As the day wore on, our backpacks grew heavy and we stopped at a hand-painted sign offering a room. A dark Spanish woman, swarthy and a bit thick through the middle, took us through a door that opened directly off the street and then up a steep staircase. At the top was a small, Spartan foyer with four or five doors presumably leading to guest rooms. She opened a set of flimsy double doors, which didnt quite meet in the middle due to some sort of chopping at the space between them. The gap was now about three quarters of an inch wide and would have revealed to anyone who chose to look, the entire contents and characters within (along with the content of their characters, perhaps). To prevent just such chicanery a faded piece of cloth was hung on the inside of the door - a curtain, as it were. We surveyed the room with a jaded eye having already experienced the drill of expecting more from a room than we ever got during our extended tour of Europe. This one was a bargain at a buck and a half per night and was worth every peseta. The plaster was chipping and the chenille bedspreads were mismatched and worn. The curtains on the door that led to a small balcony overlooking the main street had seen better days, but we paid the small sum and dropped our packs to rest our travel-weary bodies while we sipped some local red wine. As evening approached our tummies rumbled so we changed into our other set of clothing and headed for the nearest restaurant for some more vino and una comida. Robin had discovered an interesting spot in Europe on $5 a day, so we located it and ventured in for dinner. A loaf of hot, homemade bread and a steaming bowl of succulent Paella filled with sumptuous shrimp, clams and rice were placed before us by a smiling Spanish waiter, and we ate with gusto, juice dripping down our chins. Soon after dinner, our explorations led us to an American style discotheque complete with black lights and flashing neon. We worked our way through the crowd looking for a seat and managed to squeeze into a spot near the bar to watch the tourists mingle with the locals. Scantily clad bodies gyrated to the beat of the outdated American tunes that blasted from the rickety jukebox. We Americans tourists stood out in a crowd with our sturdy walking shoes and nondescript clothing. I had packed two pairs of trousers, two sweaters, two tee-shirts, five pair of underpants, three pairs of socks and a down coat. My hair was cut as short as it had ever been for the ease of sink shampoos in cold water. Robyn looked like a Spaniard with thick, dark hair and tawny skin and a Rubenesque figure. Our apparel only seemed to draw attention to us, and we moved uneasily away from the gaze of more than one dark stranger who seemed to be assessing his prey. We mingled as only young twenty-something girls can do meeting an array of people ranging from strange to fascinating and by 2am or so my body begged for sleep. I said goodnight and left Robyn in the company of several young men and wandered back the short distance to the room (okay, maybe I staggered a little) and flopped into the lumpy bed for a deep doze enhanced by the abundance of red wine I had imbibed. Not long after, I was awakened suddenly by Robyns harsh Aussie whisper in my ear. Wake up! Wake up! Someones trying to break into our room! I jumped up rather unsteadily and approached the door with my heart pounding wildly in my chest. I beat against the door with my fist and hollered, Go away, get out of here! Who knows, in the heat of the moment, I may even have shouted Vamoose! Silence. We looked at one another and reluctantly crawled back into bed leaving the light on, hoping the would-be intruder had vanished into the night. But soon, I awoke to bloodcurdling screams coming from Robyn who sat bolt upright in her bed. I sat up and began screaming too, and saw a dark man turn and flee from the room leaving the two doors wide open and the curtain inside flapping between them. We continued to scream for a few more rounds until an Englishman arrived at our door dressed only in thin, cotton pants. What is the problem? he asked in his clipped British accent while rubbing his eyes. We saw . . . there was . . . someone tried . . . we panted breathlessly as we managed to reveal our plight and cause for such abject terror. He listened patiently and then said, It was probably just some Spaniard trying to rape you. Is that so terrible? We were stunned by his stiff upper lip approach to this whole scenario, but were deeply grateful when he offered to leave his two huge dogs with us for the remainder of the night. Stay, he said and they curled up between the two beds and went to sleep. However, we lay awake, eyes wide, contemplating who, why, when and where, terrified that the stranger would return to rape and pillage. We couldnt wait for morning when we quickly packed our belongings and departed. We ventured warily into the street, scanning each face wondering about the stranger who might recognize and be following us, but whom we would not recognize if we fell over him. We found some good American fellows we had met the night before and told them of our intruder. They quickly offered to share their room until the ship returned two days later, and we slept on the floor of their room, honest! Thoughts ran wildly through our minds as we relived the horrifying experience, but the only viable answer we found was that perhaps the man had followed Robyn from the disco thinking she was alone. When he burst into the room, hit the curtain and was assailed by two screaming banshees, he likely panicked and fled, forgetting his original intent. By the time the ship was ready to depart, we were exhausted and more than ready to say goodbye to the little island that had become little more than a frightening place. As I lay in my berth aboard ship that night chasing sleep, a tiny gnawing pain had begun to grow in the pit of my stomach. When we arrived in Barcelona, chills and fever had replaced the pain, but I persevered. We were anxious to board the overnight train to Paris but soon found ourselves sharing a small sleeping compartment with four other people of mixed race and gender. I was in the middle berth with my head near the door. As passengers entered the compartment, their faces were at my eyelevel, and I could smell their body odor and garlic breath, which only worsened my condition. I rotated from one end of the bed to the other where I could open the window and breathe a bit of fresh air. As the chills shook me, I donned all my clothing from my backpack only to quickly remove them as the fever and sweats returned. By the time we reached Paris, I had a full- blown case of the touristas, otherwise known as amoebic dysentery. Well, I wont go into the sordid details of the last few days of my trip. Lets just say, given the quality and texture of Parisian toilet paper, I was very glad when the morning came for me to board a train to Luxembourg for my flight home. I said goodbye to Robyn, descended the five flights of stairs at the Hotel Cluny on the left bank of the Seine and ventured out to hail a cab. I hailed and waved and shouted, but none stopped. Finally, I returned to the room where Robyn informed me that I must go to a cabstand, but now I had missed my train and, possibly, my flight home. My only choice was a plane. Low on funds, I borrowed the necessary amount for airfare from Robyn. Once aboard the transatlantic flight, I watched with empathy and pity a poor girl lying across three seats, literally green from her trip across the English Channel in a boat. With problems of my own, I dozed and dreamed of all the foods I couldnt wait to indulge in when I got back to the States, dysentery be damned. We played the food game with many of the Americans we met on our trip. Some wanted a grilled beefsteak with French fries; others craved bacon and eggs. I longed for my mothers juicy meatloaf and a crispy baked potato with butter. When my 8-hour flight finally landed, I was met by my mother and step-dad to whom I must have written at least two postcards during my six-week adventure. As we climbed in the car, my mom turned to me and said, I hope youre hungry. Ive got meatloaf and baked potatoes for dinner. I sighed with pleasure and snuggled happily into the back seat, wondering if it was just a fluke or a classic case of mothers intuition. 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Metropolis - Japan Travel: Jesus in Japan JAPAN TODAY | METROPOLIS | CLASSIFIEDS | PERSONALS | JOBS Issue Index Original Features Features Mini Features Cultural Features Life in Japan Big in Japan Rant & Rave Cars & Bikes Health & Beauty Interiors Practical Jobfinder Money Talks Tokyo Tech Web Watch Food & Drink Food & Drink Restaurant Reviews Bar Reviews Word of Mouth Travel Travel Features Japan Travel International Travel Travelogue Style Art Artifacts Fashion Tokyo Talk In Store Buyline Music Japan Beat CD Reviews In Person Concerts Clubbing TRAVEL Jesus in Japan Jesus' supposed resting place Photos by Mary King Mary King hunts down the Messiah in the small village of Herai in the wilds of northern Japan. Church bells will ring out louder this year as millions of Christians across the world join in songs of praise for Jesus Christ's 2000th birthday. While most turn their thoughts to Bethlehem, Nazareth and Jerusalem, few know of the important role some claim Japan played in the life of Christ. There are probably very few Christians who have even heard of the small village of Herai that lies tucked away in the northern reaches of Aomori Prefecture, but some here maintain this to be the place where Jesus settled, married and died at the ripe old age of 106. Although it's commonly held that Jesus grew up as a carpenter in the Galilee town of Nazareth, according to the legend of Herai, or Shingo as it's now known, the 11 "missing years" of Christ's life not accounted for in the New Testament of the Bible were spent in Japan. According to the local legend, Christ first came to Japan, aged 21, during the reign of the 11th emperor, Suinin, and landed at the port of Hashidate on the Japan Sea coast. Apparently, he settled in Etchu province where, under the tutelage of a great master, he studied Japanese language, literature and various other subjects. The Legend of Daitenku Taro Jurai (Daitenku Taro Jurai was the name Christ is said to have later taken) claims that at the end of his 11-year stay, Christ returned to Judea, aged 33, where he taught about the "sacred land" of Japan. But, unfortunately, "Christ's teachings about Japan were considered too radical," and he was condemned to death. The New Testament teaches Jesus was crucified at Golgotha, rose from the dead after three days and later ascended into Heaven. However, according to the legend of Herai, Jesus escaped this fate, and instead his brother Isukiri was nailed to the cross and died. Christ, meanwhile, fled with his disciples and went into hiding, carrying locks of the Virgin Mary's hair and his brother's ear. After an arduous journey across Siberia, Christ finally returned to Japan and settled in Herai where he changed his name, married a Japanese woman called Miyuko, fathered three daughters and lived to the age of 106. Devout Christians may insist that the Garden Tomb, which lies not far from Damascus Gate outside the Old City of Jerusalem, is Jesus' true burial site, but the people of Herai have another story to tell-marked by a large wooden cross, Jesus' tomb ( Juraizuka ) sits alongside his brother's ( Judaibo ) in Herai. Isukiri's tomb holds his ear and locks of the Virgin Mary's hair. It's hard to imagine anyone, let alone Christ, would have schlepped out to one of the remotest parts of northern Japan in days of old, as even today it demands a great deal of effort to reach the village. Herai epitomizes the middle of nowhere. The place is little more than a lonely grocery store, a sprinkling of farmhouses and scraggly garlic fields and rice paddies blanketed with snow at this time of year. Most tourists either already know about the tombs, as well as the "pyramids" said to predate those of Egypt, or are so intrigued by the wild talk they hear of Herai while trekking out near Towadako Lake they can't resist coming to check it out. Remains of the Mirror Stone pyramid Pyramid scheme The first pyramid of the "O-Ishigami Pyramid" circle, we are told, was discovered in August, 1935 on Mt Towari, exactly one day after the discovery of Christ's tomb in the village. According to the "history of the Divine Age" found in the documents of the Takenouchi family, there are seven pyramids in Japan, dating back tens of thousands of years and older than the Egyptian pyramids. Legend has it that the largest of these "pyramids," the Mirror Stone, used to stand upright and had writing engraved on it, but fell over during an earthquake in 1857 and became embedded in the ground. Disappointingly, not one of the rocks slightly resembles a pyramid in the Egyptian or Mexican sense, but apparently Japanese pyramids are different from those found elsewhere. They were triangular rocks situated on the top of mountains and used for sun-worship in ancient times. A local standing by what may be Jesus' grave Tomb of the unknown Savior The "pyramids" are a five-minute drive from the Kirisuto no Sato Denshokan (Village of Christ Legend Museum; Tel: 0178-78-3741), where you can read about the history and customs of Herai, and catch the audio-visual show of the Kirisuto Matsuri (Christ Festival) held in the early summer. The museum is open from April to October. Contact the Shingo Business and Tourist Section at Shingo Village Office (Tel: 0178-78-2111) for visits during other times of the year. The present museum, open for the past five years, also records the uncanny circumstances surrounding the tombs of "Christ and his brother Isukiri" as well as old folk songs and customs that resemble ancient Judaic-Christian ones and various theories that either support or quash links between the Japanese and Christians of Jewish descent. Even the name of the village, Herai, is said to be derived from the word Hebrai (Hebrew). It sounds like a tall tale, but no stranger than stories of burning bushes, the parting of the Red Sea and water being turned into wine. For the people of Herai too, the revelation that Christ is buried in their village came as a shock when documents claiming Jesus had resided in Japan were discovered in Ibaraki Prefecture in 1935. Said to be Christ's will and testament and the proof that he had lived and died in Japan, the "Takenouchi documents" later proved to be fake. For years, many villagers felt that the shroud of mystery surrounding the large ancient tombs in a bamboo thicket had finally been lifted. The documents explained some of the village's customs, such as marking a cross on the forehead of a child when it first leaves the home and why Sanjiro Sawaguchi, a village elder, had "blue eyes like a foreigner." The museum explains mysterious local customs The tombs are located close to the Kirisuto no Sato Denshokan, marked by two large wooden crosses and are sitting on a small hill overlooking those of the Sawaguchi family-local garlic farmers who are said to be the descendants of Christ and who, to this day, care for their great ancestor's tombs. "Somebody special lies there but I don't really believe it's the tomb of Christ. It's probably the tomb of a foreigner who settled in the village at some point. It's certainly interesting that some of the old customs in this village are said to be similar to those of ancient Judea, and it may explain why some people in the village have blue eyes. But this village has always been Buddhist and the Shinto shrine in the village is more than 1000 years old, so I really don't think that there are any ancient links between Japanese and Jews or Christians of Jewish descent," said Yoshiteru Ogasawara, who runs Nobara Pension (Tel: 0178-78-2484). Regardless of what you believe, Herai makes an interesting-if somewhat barren-destination, and you're guaranteed a great travel story to share with friends. Getting there: From JR Ueno stn, take the Tohoku shinkansen to Morioka stn and change to the express train for Hachinohe. From Hachinohe, take a bus to Gonohe, where you can change to a bus for Shingo (Herai). For information on the local bus service, contact the tourist section of the Shingo Village Office (Tel: 0178-78-2111; Fax: 0178-78-2118). Getting around: Those seriously thinking of venturing out to this part of the world to see the tombs and the "pyramids" should consider hiring a car or taxi from Hachinohe or Gonohe as the local bus service is irregular, and getting around Herai on foot is nigh-on impossible, especially during the winter months. TRAVELOGUE WORLD TRAVEL TRAVEL FEATURES JAPAN TRAVEL: SEPTEMBER 389: God speed The mother of all Shinto temples, Ise Grand Shrine AUGUST 385: Hattoji Highland hamlet JULY 380: Nagasaki Remembrance of things past 378: Kawagoe From modern Tokyo to "Little Edo" 376: Tottori Tottori's stunning landscapes JUNE 375: Kyushu Bed and bath under the volcano 373: Ryogoku Land of the giants 372: Osaka Universal Studios Japan MAY 371: Osaka Amerika-mura: Osaka's funky town 369: Mie Mikimoto Pearl Island 368: Takarazuka Hyogo-ken's all women theater group APRIL 365: Kawasaki Kawasaki's annual fertility festival 364: Aomori A day on Fear Mountain MARCH 362: Nagano Chill out snowboarding 361: Asuka One foot in the grave FEBRUARY 356: Yamanashi Hakushu's hidden treasures 355: Waseda Tram Trip A streetcar named... 352/3: Aomori Jesus in Japan 351: Kumamoto Under the volcano in Kyushu 350: Sado Island Explore the forgotten charms of Shukunegi ISSUES 348- ISSUES 298- TOP