The Decayed Summer

Only a well-worn Briticism was adequate to describe this summer's weather in Britain and a good part of Western Europe: it was "absolutely filthy." Continuous rains drenched the country lanes of England and the sidewalk cafes of Paris. In mid-August, temperatures dropped to a chill 57DEG on the English Channel coast and hovered near freezing on the French side. London last week had its coldest August day since 1871; Wordsworth's famed Lake Country had its 32nd consecutive day of rain. Frigid Frenchmen threw up their hands in disgust and dismissed the whole season (the worst, climatically speaking, in 78 years) as "l'ete pourri"--the decayed summer.

Flight to the Sun. Despite the ugly weather, however, swarms of U.S. tourists braved rain, wind and hail to do their duty by their midwinter dreams. Airlines were bursting at their seatbelts; hotels were crammed to the rafters. "Any connoisseur of curled lips," reported a Rome correspondent of Variety, "can add to his collection by simply asking a room clerk if there is a vacancy." Italy had a big influx of quickie "flying tours," with most visitors asking American Express the directions to the fountain into which Gregory feck and Audrey Hepburn threw coins.

Tourist lucky enough not to be on fixed!, prepaid tours fled northern France and England to find the sun in Spain, Italy and the COte d'Azur. "From Menton to Marseille, hotels were hanging out the "Complet" (full up) signs, often socking the dollar-heavy tourist as much as $9 a day for back rooms without running water. Nice and Cannes, sunny as usual, were so solidly booked that many late arrivals had to go 20 miles into the mountains to find a bed. Budget-minded travelers discovered a more economical sun-drenched paradise in Spain, where a room with bath in the best hotels can be had for less than $4. Though prices have risen, Spain is still a bargain, and expects 150,000 Americans this year (v. 31,000 in 1951).

Going Underground. Perhaps the dreariest city in Europe was Paris, principal shrine of all tourism, where sidewalk cafes stood empty most of the time and even the six remaining fiacre drivers looked in vain for customers. "I have had only two customers in a week," reported one. But even relatively abandoned Paris could point to a record number of arrivals as the more purposeful tourists, most of whom had booked their trips in advance without benefit of weather prophecy, poured in to see the sights they counted as "musts."

Often soaked to the skin, but not miserable, these hardy souls trooped doggedly to the Eiffel Tower (7,000 a day), the Louvre, Montmartre, the Arc de Triomphe and Notre Dame, determined to chalk up an enduring memory or two regardless of weather. It was a sad commentary on the Queen of Cities that her greatest attraction this year appeared to be her famed sewers, whose daily attendance was three times normal. Each day, record rows of tourists lined up at the manhole in the Place de la Concorde to take the tour through the ancient, labyrinthine tunnels in wooden barges (price 17-c-). "It stinks," observed one American on emerging last week, "but it was cheap."

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