Mille Bornes (2011)

Many years ago, Jeanette and I used to play the French board game, Mille Bornes (translation: thousand kilometer stone markers) with our friends, the Higgins.  This year Jeanette persuaded me to spend some more time in France and we thus re-lived many of the vignettes in this game ... although the stone kilometer markers seem to have mostly disappeared..  Despite the unfavorable euro/dollar exchange rate, we figured that there would not be too many more opportunities to see those parts of France that we so far have not enjoyed ... mainly the South of France in the Rhone valley.  So, on October 15th, off we went into the land of wine and cheese ... driven to Logan airport by our friend, Dennis (D1).

Rather than take the Bullet Train to Avignon (which was tres cher) and then rent a car, we chose to pick up the car at Charles DeGaulle airport and then drive to Avignon.  When we found our Eurocar agent, she asked us if we would prefer, at the same price, a Mercedes mini-SUV* or the Volkswagen Golf we had reserved.  Guess which one we picked?  However, this decision to drive there was a little dicey.  This was about a 720 kilometer (450 miles) trip and, driving it after a seven hour flight from Boston, was, for me, a torture beyond description.  I had to stop about every 150 kilometers for some horrible service station coffee (in order to stay awake) and so, by the time we reached Avignon, I was I jagged nerve case.  We did stop for lunch, right below Lyon, in Vienne at La Taverne Maitre Kanter.  It was OK, but not great.  We learned on this trip that, contrary to our previous visits, not everywhere you eat in France is a sublime experience.  (We later realized that this tavern was one of a chain ... as we saw another one in Marseilles.)

When we reached the walled city, Avignon, we finally found the entry porte that led to the street (Rue Carreterie) where we had rented an apartment.  Avignon was the locus of the Catholic church in the 14th century before it was moved back to Rome and there is a huge palace there where the Popes resided during this period.  Our apartment was quite comfortable and large with many accoutrement's including a garage for our car ... and not too far from the Palace of the Popes.  Jeanette then went out and bought some wine, cheese, fruit and sausage at a local market which we ate for our first dinner in France.  I then fell into bed exhausted.

Our first full day started out in Arles (the Van Gogh's residence there, which is no longer standing, was, for a few years, where he and Gauguin often painted together and eventually had a violent argument ... after which Van Gogh sliced off part of his ear.)  Anyway when we left Avignon via back roads on the way to Arles we were somewhat low on diesel fuel, but I wasn't worried for I had seen many petrol stations the day before.  Big mistake!  The low petrol light came on almost immediately and the further we went without finding a station, the more worried I got.  We only found a Total gas station right outside Arles and I was literally expecting to run out of diesel any second.  This was not pleasant as most places on the road there had no place to pull over had we run out of diesel.  These side roads usually had ditches at least a meter deep on the side of the road ... very onerous for a breakdown.  I was near panic when we finally found solace. 

Arles is another walled city, so we parked outside and walked in near the coliseum (amphitheater?) which was under restoration so we could not see inside.  On our way in, I noticed that the walls of the city were pock-marked with bullet holes from which war I could not even guess.  Jeanette did the circuit through the town while I sat and people-watched enjoying a bottle of delicious, bubbly French cider.  After leaving Arles we traveled down along the Rhone River to the Mediterranean as Jeanette wanted to again dip her tootsies in la mer.  The locus where this happened was the Plage Napoleon which, I assume, was where Napoleon landed after he escaped from Elba in 1815.  It was an impressive location near the mouth of the Rhone River with large oil tankers anchored well off shore.  (Piece of advice ... don't try to break in a new pair of shoes on a trip.)

The second day we set off on a random drive.  We crossed over the Rhone and, on some back country roads we saw a sign for Rochefort.  Thinking we might find some genuine cheese we took this turn off.  It was a charming little ville with, like many French towns, a church at its apex.  We stopped to buy some wine and possibly cheese.  "Non, non, c'est RoCHefort, not RoQUefort." was the clerks reply.  We drove on.  We then saw signs for Chateau Neuf d'Pape.  We had meant to buy our son and his wife a bottle of the wine this town is famous for ... so we took the side trip there.  We parked in town and visited a few wine tasting rooms until Jeanette found one where she trusted the merchant (female).  We also found an outdoor restaurant* right in the middle of town (La Mule du Pape) where we settled in for our noonday repast.  It was quite good.  Jeanette had the plat du jour, a pork and vegetable melange.  I had escargots and sopped up all the garlic butter with the basket bread.  And we shared a carafe of the house white wine..  The rest of the day was spent trying to follow a driving tour through the Dome (so named because of all the long-extinct volcanoes) to view the many vineyards.

The following day we drove to Aix (en Provence) driving down alongside the Rhone river.  About half way down we saw a sign for the Isle Saint Pierre winery.  (Isle Saint Pierre being a small island in the Rhone river.) We took a side trip there and bought some passable wine which we finished off in our evening cocktail hours.  We continued on to Aix where we had a toothsome lunch (Le Grillon.)  However, the town itself seems quite modern, sprawling, and not too touristy.  (Jeanette was happy that she didn't reserve an apartment here.)  Jeanette wanted to stop at St. Remy on the way back, but it was getting late and it was starting to rain, so we went all the way back to Avignon.  (We saw a rainbow!)  I discovered another nicety of the Mercedes -- I had the wipers on "intermediate," but, when the rain came down harder, the wipers turned themselves full on. We went to dinner that night at a restaurant recommended by our landlord, En Tres Artistes. It was pretty good. We started with mussels in a delicious broth that had been recommended by a woman (from Singapore) at the next table.  Apparently, these mussels contain small crabs that add to their allure. About every third one there had a crunchy bit that must have been such a crab. I liken this epicurean delight to making a silk purse out of a sow's ear. Many diners would flee from such a discovery unless it had been already touted as something special.  (Or as we said in the software business, it was not a bug, it was a feature.)

We decided to spend our next day discovering Avignon itself.  We started by walking to the nearby farmer's market and then to the Palace of the Popes.  This is an enormous monolithic palace near the northern wall of the city.  It is so imposing that I decided to sit outside doing the International Herald Tribune crossword puzzle and people watching whilst Jeanette discovered what the Popes were up to here.  Her report was that there seemed to be a room for everything ... a room to put on their albs, a room to receive ambassadors, a room to read the scriptures, a room to flirt with the choirboys (just kidding), etc. By the time she exited, the wind had picked up and it turned chilly so we went for a little nosh on the main shopping drag, Rue De La Republic.  We discovered once again that not all restaurants in France are sublime experiences.  We ate at a brasserie whose name escapes me (I paid cash since I didn't trust our waiter ... he kept giving us inflated additions).  I had a bowl of French onion soup which was clearly made with water and not beef stock.  It was insipid.  After some more Avignon exploring we returned to our apartment and had some cheese, sausage, a baguette and some wine for dinner.
 
The next day we went to St. Remy (de-Province), somewhat south of Avignon but north of Arles.  We used A7 to get there and the route from this highway into St. Remy was impressively bucolic.  For most of its length, this road* lies under a canopy of sycamore trees which were still leaved out and proudly displaying their beautifully mottled bark.  At St. Remy we did some souvenir shopping and then had some delicious hot chocolate.  But the highlight was a visit to the asylum/monastery* (St. Paul-de-Mausole) where Van Gogh spent a year of his life.  Here he painted many of his famous canvases, Starry Night (a view of St. Remy at night), the Olive Trees, and  the Irises ... among about 140 others.  This monastery was quite pleasant and displayed photos of many of Van Gogh's paintings ... often at the location from where he painted them.  Since I have copied Starry Night, I asked a passing monk from where he painted this particular canvas.  He waved his arm and said somewhere up on the hill behind the monastery.  Sigh ...

After much back and forth, Jeanette cajoled me to driving down to Marseilles.  I was apprehensive about this proposition since my image from Marseilles came directly from The French Connection movie.  This vision turned out to be off the mark.  We arrived and parked in a central lot and then took a sightseeing trip around the city and up to its very top to the church, Notre-Dame-de-la-Garde.  This was on an open tour tram that snaked its way through the crowded streets of this port city with great dexterity.  We were given 45 minutes to take in the church and then catch another tram back to the end of the port.  Unfortunately, on the way back our tram was packed with very loud Russians ... so loud that we couldn't hear the recorded running commentary on the sights.  Jeanette shushed them numerous times, but I guess the Russian word for "please be quiet" is not "shush."  When we concluded this junket, we stopped for lunch at a rather crowded brasserie, the OM Cafe* at the head of the harbor.  (Jeanette's notion of where to eat was based upon crown size.  This one turned out to be correct and we enjoyed a wonderful repast.)  I, of course, had bouillabaisse.  Delicious!  Jeanette had seared tuna.  We shared a bottle of white Loire-valley wine.  The drive back to Avigbon was uneventful.

The last day in the south of France, we spent searching out the lavender market.  After much driving we finally found Coustellet and the Lavender Museum where Jeanette stocked up on gifts. Then some more sightseeing driving.  On our last night in Avignon, I finally convinced Jeanette to try a Chinese restaurant, the Xuan. I've been asking to eat at a Chinese restaurant in most foreign countries we visit.  This was her first relenting to my request ... and it was, to my palate, quite good ... and reasonable.

Our drive back to Paris was not nearly as trying as that going down.  On the way up, we picnicked overlooking the vineyards of Beune ... a very pretty sight ... and ate the many treats Jeanette had bought the day before -- local olives, grape juice, sausage, lemon cookies, etc.  On the way up, Jeanette also discovered that our Mercedes had a GPS system.  She was able to program it to direct us to Charles de Gaulle airport (good thing we knew what a'gauche and a'droit meant) where we dropped off the car. We took a bus into Paris and then a cab to our apartment on the Rue St. Antoine (4th Arrondissement).  After settling in we went out to dinner (the male-dominated restaurant, Le Marche) and, once again, discovered that not all food in France is palatable.  I had veal with morels ... better should be listed as veal with a morel ... better should be listed as veal with about 1/4 of a morel minced into about 20 itty bitty pieces.  It was a ripoff.  I think that diners in France should better look for a female manager or co-manager before committing themselves to a bistro.

On our first day in Paris we met with Vincent Imbert*, a Frenchman who had spent a year with us as an exchange student twenty-five years ago.  It was a very poignant meeting since Vincent's father had just died and he and his wife had just recently parted ways.  We all recounted many of our experiences when he was in the United States and were caught up with his current life.  He has three children, two girls and a boy.  And he currently is in the vinyl siding business (France is catching up) with his own small construction business.  He also told us how his days with us had influenced his life and how grateful he was for that opportunity. 

We then left and went under his wing as he took us to the Musée Jacquemart-André* (recommended by Vincent's mother, see: Wikipedia Entry) after a short subway ride.  This is a very beautiful fin de siecle home now converted to a museum that displays the art and antiquities largess that was collected by this arms dealer to Napoleon and his wife (his previous portrait painter).  There they also had on short-term display the works of Fra Angelico of Florence, Italy.  We ate an enjoyable lunch in the museum restaurant. Afterwards Jeanette and Vincent went to the Eiffel Tower where the lines were so long that they gave up waiting and, after a brief visit to the Notre Dame church, they came back to our apartment.  I had bought some more victuals so, before Vincent left to go back to Angers, we had a snack with some vin ordinare and a quick dinner at a bistro across the street.  We look forward to Vincent (and/or his older daughter) visiting us sometime soon.

The next day we decided to take in the Musée Rodin* (see: Wikipedia Entry) near the Musée D'Orsey (which we also planned to see ... unfortunately it was closed due to a strike ... apparently a frequent event in France).  I have been a great admirer of Rodin and was anxious to view firsthand many of his famous works, The Gates of Hell (of which I had also seen a copy? at Stanford University in California), the Kiss, the Burghers of Calais, The Thinker, Balzac (both clothed and nude), etc.  We ate a very pleasant lunch in the outdoor cafeteria at the museum with a covey of very aggressive pigeons which would attack any unguarded plate of food.  There, I was somewhat surprised to also see so many of Rodin's unfinished works (mostly in marble ... some even seemed to be barely started).  I think it was Picasso who said that he doesn't keep his experiments.  Rodin seemed not to have been so disciplined and thus he was somewhat diminished in my mind.  (Also, Jeanette made an observation about Rodin which I found accurate and compelling -- Rodin sculpted all his subjects' hands and feet as oversized ... apparently one reason how he differentiated himself during his heyday.)  But the museum itself is a very impressive venue.  Many of his sculptures are outside in a beautifully maintained garden with the golden dome of the Hotel des Invalides towering in the background.  Instead of taking the subway back to our abode we spent 60 euros on L'Open Tour, a double-decker open-top bus that snaked its way through this section of Paris with a running commentary of the sights.  Then we were supposed to have a free connection to another leg of this tour that went down our apartment's street.  Unfortunately, this tour stopped at 6:15 and we were merde out of luck.  So we walked home from Notre Dame.  I was sweating profusely when I finally got there.  We had our viands in our apartment that night.

On our last day in Paris, Jeanette went off to "do" the Louvre and the Arc d'Triomph ... and buy lots more souvenirs.  I use my yesterday's L'Open Tour bus ticket to do the bus-tour in the Bastille section of Paris which we had missed the previous day.  We then went to dinner at Robert et Louise*, a restaurant in the Jewish section of Paris which had been recommended to us by our son since he and Anne had gone there on their honeymoon.  It was delicious!  We both had escargots and a nice wine (Irancy) ... then Jeanette, duck and I, a rib-eye steak avec frittes ... and, for dessert, a shared creme brule.  What a way to finish!

The next morning (on October 27th), we were up at 5:30 to catch the Yellow shuttle to the airport and then to cram ourselves into those small American Airlines seats for the eight hour flight back to the U.S. of A.   We had been routed through JFK airport in New York to connect with an American Eagle flight leaving for Boston at 2:25 PM. As often is the case, our AA flight from Paris was somewhat delayed and we had very little time to make our connection. When we got off the Paris flight, an AA employee, Brandon*, was waiting there with orange priority envelopes to help us (and others) through passport control, get our luggage, and then through customs. He was most helpful and I have sent a letter to American Airlines proffering kudos for him. But this was not all. As you might have guessed from my previous aversions to walking too much, I suffer from osteo-arthritis and could not walk fast enough to insure that we got to the American Eagle gate in time. Our guardian angel then commandeered another employee who had a wheel chair. He then rushed me in said chair while my wife huffed and puffed alongside to American Eagle where we just made the connection to every one's relief. Although somewhat humiliated, I was very grateful.  What great service!  Dennis was waiting for us at Boston Logan and whisked us, in a heavy rainstorm, back home.  Thanks D1!

Then of course, after dropping off our bags we drove over to see Rebecca's dearest twin girls whom we had missed so much. 

Fini

* highlights

Miami Ice (2010)

Jeanette and I traveled this year for a week in southern Florida ... and shivered through the first five days. (On our third day, Miami hit an overnight low of 40 degrees, tying a record set in 1930.) We spent the first three nights in Miami Beach and stayed at a disaster of a hotel (unfortunately, prepaid). Jeanette thought she had made a reservation at the Indian Creek Hotel in South Beach and instead we got Indian Creek Suites, a small hotel located behind a pizza parlor in North Beach. It took us almost two hours of driving around and about ten cell-phone calls to find this ho(s)tel after landing in Miami. (Hint: any reservation confirmation that does not contain a phone number should be a red flag.) This "hotel" was clean but had seen better days. After a short spate of hot water that first evening, we had only gelid showers until the morning we left. We however are to get a $100 voucher back from our reserving agent, American Airlines, for our travail.

Our first morning we traveled down to South Beach and had delicious coffee and pastries al fresco at the Tastee Bakery on Washington St. (around 15th St.) It was very good and reasonably priced ... and also had Internet access. (The people watching was also worth the price of admission.) Consequently, we went back the next morning too. For the rest of that first morning we walked around South Beach and found it very charming ... albeit with many boarded-up shops. We then ate lunch at the Jerry's Famous Delicatessen nearby (overstuffed pastrami sandwiches, a Cel Ray soda, and an egg cream). Next, we drove down to Key Biscayne and the Bill Baggs State Park. Key Biscayne justified itself as one of President Nixon's favorite vacation destinations (remember Bebe Rebezo?) The state park is maintained in a wild state but still feels tidy. Don't ignore a visit to the light house and the light-house cafe (white sangria). On the way back to Miami Beach we side-tripped to Little Havana and bought some hand-rolled cigars at the El Titan de Bronze plant on S.W. 8th Street ... a very convivial atmosphere. That evening we ate dinner at Fifi's Place on Collins Ave. in North Beach (recommended by our friends, Judy and Dennis). Luckily, we got there early enough to get a table (6:30) but don't risk it sans reservation if you want to duplicate what was a very delicious dining experience (best soft-shell crabs we ever had.)

The next day, after our breakfast at Tastee's, we drove further south to take in the Jewish Museum (and check out the stone crab claw prices at Joe's Stone Crab House -- $45 for five jumbo claws) and then up to Ft. Lauderdale to take a look around. After lunch at the Oasis Cafe on Seabreeze Blvd. in Ft. Lauderdale (OK, but not great), we took the local water taxi through it's full range of stops (also recommended by Judy and Dennis). This water taxi is a great value as they provide a running commentary (punctuated by jokes) of the sights ... mainly the mansions and super yachts of the rich and famous. Then, after returning to South Beach, we had a fabulous meal at the Chalan's restaurant. This is a Peruvian bistro that specializes in the freshest of seafood and a native Peruvian beer (Cusquena, cheap too). It was the best beer I've had in quite some time (the last best being San Miguel beer on tap at the Philippine pavilion of the New York World's Fair), but I wouldn't order it anywhere but a place with high turnover. I had the Aguadito de Mariscos (fish soup) and I can't remember any better. During dessert (a large flan) a little Peruvian girl behind us fell over backwards in her chair. Jeanette helped her up while this embarrassed sylph was being cajoled by her parents for her inattentiveness. Next, out of her pocket came two small hand-painted cards which she gave to each of us. Her parents, in broken English, said that this was her way of saying "thank you" ... all very sweet.

The next morning, after a smidgen of warm-water for our showering, we were off to West Palm Beach (breakfast at IHop ... not bad) and the Hilton Homewood Suites on Metrocentre Blvd. What a difference! For not much more scratch, we had a huge room with a kitchenette and all brand-new accouterments. We stayed there for five nights and enjoyed the room and the included full breakfasts immensely. On the way up, we stopped at a flea market on Route 1 south of West Palm which was full of French Canadians (mostly Quebec license plates). Even many of the vendors there spoke French ... all very strange and out of place. That evening we met our friend Rosemary where she lived, north in Jupiter, FLA. We had cocktails at Guan-a-bana's on Route A1A (lots of tequila and tiki lamps) and then dinner, up the road at Jetty's (good seafood and service). Rosemary's son, Moritz, had been our son's best man so we did lots of catching up on our respective lives.

The following day was devoted to Cape Canaveral. We picked up Rosemary on the way and spent a long drive up there enjoying her stories ... and buying fresh-squeezed Indian River orange juice from a road-side stand. Although the tour of the Kennedy Space Center is expensive ($40 per person) it is well worth it. We first ate a pedestrian lunch at the Orbit Cafe. Then on the tour we were bussed around the space complex with running commentary often by old timers and saw a few short educational movies. We got to see the Space Shuttle launch platform (from afar), the Mercury launch control room, the International Space Station center, a full-size Apollo/Saturn V rocket (up close ... it's huge) and an IMAX 3-D movie on the Apollo program, narrated by Tom Hanks. This last item was the highlight for me for it involves many realistic simulations of what it was like to walk on the moon. Don't miss it. We even saw from our bus a large alligator on the side of the road and many white egrets. I got a distinct feeling of bitterness from our tour guides as they described Obama's recent canceling of NASA's Constellation and Ares rocket program which was to return our astronauts to the moon in 2020 and then on to Mars (a very under-reported story as it will mean maybe 15,000 lost jobs). After a long drive back to West Palm Beach, dropping off Rosemary along the way, we ate a quick snack at Wendy's near our hotel.

The next day we visited another set of friends, Steffie and Andy, on Hutchinson Island, east of Stuart, FLA. Steffie was the former wife of my best friend, Jay, who died too many years ago. It was a day full of great sights, greater food, and even greater remembrances. They have a beautiful condo right on the Indian River. You can walk right out onto the dock. Hutchinson Island is not overbuilt (as was also the case with Key Biscayne and Jupiter) like much of the rest of Florida (with huge ugly high rises) and is well worth a visit. Afterwards, dinner was a shared pint of Cherry Garcia ice cream back in our hotel room.

The next two days we spent the mornings on the sand at Palm Beach (it finally got warmer) and the afternoons touring the area ... including a walk through City Place, a shopping mecca at the heart of West Palm Beach ... and a visit to the Johnson History Museum in the old Palm Beach court house. This museum has knowledgeable and eager docents, lots of fascinating historic exhibits, and, best of all, it is free. The first day we ate lunch at E.R. Bradley's Saloon on Clematis Street (try the Cobb salad) and the second day, Taco Vida, a Mexican restaurant in City Place (everything is fresh, good, and reasonably priced.) Both nights we ate in our room after stocking up with seafood (shrimp and snow crab claws) and salad stuff at a local Publix market ... and some potables at the nearby liquor store.

Our last morning we drove back to Miami International Airport on Route 95 (be careful about the confusing toll road warnings as a careless mistake can cost $100 ... I hope I got it right). When we arrived in Boston we went frugal and took the Silver Line bus ($2@) to South Station and then the commuter line ($6.50@) to Natick. Even after all this fun, it was so great to be home and see our sweet, sweet twin baby granddaughters again.

High Society (2009)

Jeanette and I recently (early May of 2009) vacationed for the first time in New Mexico. It was just about five weeks after I had rotator cuff surgery so I couldn’t drive and was still a tad weak. On Monday (thanks Dennis M. for the airport drop-off), we flew into Albuquerque at around noon and rented a car to drive up to Santa Fe. The drive was uneventful but the distant mountain scenery was majestic … peppered by nearer-by American Indian casino after Indian casino. Our destination was Bishop’s Lodge, a classy resort and spa a little north of the city. This turned out to be an ideal choice as it was quiet and solicitous … although I couldn’t avail myself of its many amenities. We were famished since no palatable food was offered on Northwest Air so, after unpacking, we set off to the nearby Tesuque (a local Indian tribe) restaurant, it having been recommended to us by our daughter, Rebecca (who was at this same locale one week prior, in fact staying in the same room at the Bishop’s Lodge.) This was also a good choice for its ambiance, margaritas and enchiladas … all putting us into a Southwest mood. It’s a little like a neighborhood bodega, bar, pizza place, restaurant rolled into one with a funky wait staff and lots of locals. Of course, it became an instant favorite that we returned to several times during our trip.

The next morning we “did” Santa Fe … starting out at its farmer’s market near the train station where we had a bite of breakfast … good coffee and day-old pastries. The market was a little sparse at this time of year, mostly notions, potions and long strings of chilies. Jeanette bought a few designer soaps for her office mates. There were also many (expensive) mescaline lettuce mixes which seemed surprising to me until I realized a few days later that salads were the food of choice in this burg. In fact, I think Santa Fe should be re-christened the “Salad City.” We next found our way to the International Folk Art museum where we had to wait for its 10:00 AM opening. The highlight of this museum is the Girard collection (in a separate wing), a mass of over 10,000 folk art items (one might even say tchotchkes) from around the world. Even though not all of these items might be considered great art, together the incredible numbers of them are overwhelming … there are dioramas with literally hundreds, if not thousands, of individual hand-made items. We took a docent tour of this wing which is highly recommended since none of the exhibits have any textual accompaniment. We next went downtown Santa Fe and viewed the magical spiral staircase at the Loretto Chapel – supposedly built without external supports by an iterant carpenter. It is basically a beautiful wooden spring that has, since its construction, been augmented for safety’s sake by internal steel supports. We next visited the Georgia O’Keefe museum to view a fairly complete synopsis of her love affair with the photographer, Edward Steichen, and Santa Fe. There were her famous labial flowers, her bleached-out desert skulls, her New York street scenes, and her Southwestern landscapes. I think I liked her generally unheralded landscapes best of all (see above). That night we ate again at Tesuque.

The next day we took the compulsory trip up to Taos – the art and skiing mecca of New Mexico. I say “up to” even though my researching on the internet says that Taos’s altitude is below that of Santa Fe’s. I didn’t realize that the altitude of Santa Fe was so high – 7,000 feet … which is much higher than that of Denver. Even Albuquerque, into which we flew, is at 4,958 feet high … slightly above Denver. Taos, where we traveled that day is listed at 6,952 feet above sea level … although; I think it is actually much higher, since it was there that I got a touch of altitude sickness … a cold sweat and shakiness. (And Los Alamos is the highest at 7,300 feet, but I didn’t get ill when we went there since it was a day later and I was more acclimated to these higher altitudes). We took the “high road” (Rtes 78, 518, etc.) to Taos (more head scratching here) and along the way we stopped at Chimavo where there is a church that is supposed to offer a healing dirt. This is a very interesting locale as it is festooned with literally thousands of makeshift crosses attached to trees, fences, and altars. Apparently the dirt must work … at least in the minds of the supplicants … since there are so many of these testaments to its healing powers and even many crutches left behind by those cured. Jeanette thought that this rustic church was one of the most beautiful she had ever seen … and she has seen quite a few. It was rough-hewn and decorated with much religious folk art (assumedly American Indian). I must admit its decor was charming. Even though I write cynically about this healing dirt – found at the bottom of a small pit in a church anteroom – we nevertheless brought back a small container (anyone want some?) Considering the amount of dirt that is carried away (one Mexican couple took about a peck of it), it must be replenished nightly from some less sacred source. There was also a raging river that runs nearby this church which is very impressive given the very arid nature of the surroundings.

I must confess that Taos itself was a bit of a disappointment. My expectation was for a tree-lined, well-manicured hamlet, much like Monterey, California. Instead we entered Taos on a four-lane highway flanked by Arby’s, Home Depot, McDonalds, and the like. The downtown itself is a little more charming … its air filled with many white puffs of cottonwood seeds … but still not up to my expectations. We ate a respectable lunch at the Taos Inn and then did some souvenir hunting at the many small shops in town. There is a lot of bad art in Taos … including in the museums. We did go to one of the better museums, The Harwood, and saw a few good pieces and lots of schlock. The upstairs exhibit featured not Edward Hopper but Dennis Hopper (think “Easy Rider”) whose art and photos were just a cut above the typical street art. It was about this time that I started to get woozy from altitude sickness so Jeanette drove me down to Santa Fe via the “low road” (Rte 68). Along the way we stopped at Buffalo Thunder, an Indian casino where Jeanette won $30 and I lost about $23 playing the nickel poker slots. Then we ate dinner at Gabriel’s, right north of Santa Fe on Rte. 84, where they served delicious margarita’s and made guacamole right at your table (hint: if you are just two people, ask for a half order). It was here and then that we heard, via cell phone from his brother, of the death of our dear friend, Russ Seymour. We drank a toast to him with our already-ordered margaritas. I don’t think we will every drink another one without thinking of Russ.

The next day we went to Los Alamos with a side trip to the Nambe pueblo (on its own reservation). Jeanette had an obsession about seeing pueblos until we realized that many were not ruins but actual small Indian living-and-breathing villages. This was the case with the Nambe pueblo. It was like driving into an adobe condo parking lot with signs warning “No Photos”. We quickly left there and drove on toward the Nambe waterfalls (same river that flowed by Chimavo). Noticing many 25 MPH speed limit signs, I urged Jeanette to be careful as I suspected that this was a source of revenue on this American Indian reservation. We eventually got to a toll gate before the water falls where we were notified that to proceed would cost $10 per person plus $5 for the privilege of taking photos. We quickly U-turned and slowly crept back to the main road. We then were finally on our way to Los Alamos. It’s a long drive up to this town with some nice scenic overlooks. Los Alamos itself is, I believe, prettier than Taos. We first went to another farmer’s market with many of the same sparse offerings. Then we ate at the Blue Window Bistro, a nice pick with lots of healthy menu choices.

Almost across the street we then visited the Bradbury Science Museum. (It is not named after Ray Bradbury but an early director of the Los Alamos Laboratory.) This is a must-see (and free) tourist destination that is worth a number of hours of reflective browsing … and don’t forget to watch the many short movies about the history of the town, the development of the Atomic bomb, and what the Laboratories have been doing since the signing of the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty – fascinating. They even have life-sized models of the bombs dropped on Hiroshima (Fat Man – uranium 238) and Nagasaki (Little Boy -- plutonium). But also take time to view the dozens of other informative science exhibits. Before leaving Los Alamos, we visited, on the advice of our son, George, the Black Hole, a bizarre shop with thousands of government surplus items from the Labs. (It is a little hard to locate, but certainly unique.) If you are electronically inclined you could also spend hours here. When we entered I asked if they had a surplus thermo-nuclear device. They didn’t find me funny. Interesting side bar – if you look up to the mountains surrounding this area you’ll see thousands of tree trunk spikes … the result of a controlled burn about 20 years ago that got out of hand destroying this forest and much of this section of town. Back in Santa Fe we enjoyed another cocktail hour of margaritas (we had previously bought the tequila and mix) and salsa chips. For dinner we went once again to Tesuque.

The next day, Friday morning, we went to a local flea market which was mostly devoted to Indian crafts – rugs, turquoise jewelry, woven baskets, etc. Jeanette did the circuit while I did a more leisurely stroll through a much smaller set of those booths being set up for the weekend. While visiting one booth I witnessed the following exchange – a bleached-blond woman of a certain age was inspecting some rugs when she asked an Indian up on a ladder (“Native American” to my PC friends), “Is this rug Indian … I don’t mean Indian, but (gently slapping her open mouth with her palm) woo-woo Indian.” The man on the ladder suffered this insult in stoic silence. We then went to Bandelier National Monument as Jeanette wanted to see a real ancient Indian pueblo. The road to Bandelier duplicates much of the way to Los Alamos, but eventually gets even more scenic and breathtaking. Again feeling a tinge of altitude sickness, I stayed behind watching an informative movie while Jeanette hiked up to the ruins. She said it was quite dramatic although she declined to climb the 18 ladders to the very top of the pueblos. On the way back we stopped again at Buffalo Thunder and donated a few more dollars to the tribe. Again to our room for our cocktail hour and then we went back downtown so that Jeanette could light some votive candles at the St. Francis Cathedral to our grandson, Stanley; Jeanette’s brother, Leo; our recently departed friend, Russ; and his son, Daniel. We ate a sumptuous dinner at the nearby restaurant, The Shed. Recommendation: make reservations first and also ask for any sauces on the side … they are very spicy.

Our last full day there, Saturday, we went to the Pecos National Monument, another pueblo that had been abandoned in the early part of the last century. It was recommended to us by someone we had met at the Tesuque restaurant (another salad eater). This pueblo had been donated to the U.S. government by that old actress Greer Garson and her husband. They must have also left an endowment because it was sumptuously maintained. I must confess it was not a highlight of our trip although I did enjoy a guidebook description of the early days of a dude ranch in the Pecos canyon. And on our last night there, after our in-room cocktail hour we ate a most delicious prime-rib dinner in the Bishop’s Lodge dining room. It was quite reasonable … they even comped us on our wine. We went to bed early since we had to get up early for our 8:30 AM flight out of Albuquerque. Unfortunately the Inn dropped the ball on our wake-up call so we were rushing all the way to catch our plane. (Fortunately, Jeanette had heard the birds singing and realized we had been forsaken.) Daughter Rebecca picked us up in Boston and deposited us back in Natick. Thank you again Rebecca.

Northern Exposure (2008)

Recently Jeanette and I had the good fortune to travel to Canada (New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Cape Breton Island) with our old friends, Barbara and Terry Higgins. We went there to view the fall foliage and partake of the Cape Breton festival of fiddling, bag-piping, and step dancing called "Celtic Colours" (graphic is for this coming year). The reasons we agreed to this sojourn was that the Higgins had made this circuit three other times and know all the hidden jewels … and, most importantly, we had journeyed with them before (to Spain in 1975) and know that we are simpatico travelers. Our trip took twelve days and covered over seventeen hundred miles. Here follows a synopsis of the high points of our trip. Each grade [in brackets] is my opinion of the merit of each venue:

WEDNESDAY (October 8th, 2008)
We met the Higgins at the Starbuck's in Wellesley and took off north up Route 95. We saw the trees gradually progress from green to full autumn splendor as we crossed into New Brunswick, Canada at Calais, Maine. The ride up was smooth and punctuated with a litany of jovial recollections from our Spanish trip. We then progressed to St. Andrews, New Brunswick and checked into the St. Andrews Motor Inn [C+]. Later we ate at The Gables [C], a restaurant close by … nothing special. Try the fried clams … not the mussels.

THURSDAY (October 9th, 2008)
The next morning we took the Princess of Acadia car-ferry [C] over to Digby, Nova Scotia from St. John's. We had to take this ferry because the Cat ferry from Bar Harbor, Maine had ceased running early due to high fuel costs. We checked into the Harbour View Inn [B+], a charming B&B (run by Vince and Darren), a little off the beaten path in nearby Smith Cove. This was to be our base of operations for the next two days. It has comfortable rooms, tasty breakfasts, and a convivial atmosphere. After settling down, we took an afternoon car trip to Church Point wherein stands a huge stone church and, further on, an even bigger wooden church (both mind boggling). Each had been built circa 1900 in an apparent contest between neighborhood boat-building communities. Unfortunately, staggering maintenance cost may doom their futures. We stopped at the local Café Chez Christophe [A+] to make reservations for dinner but found that they were fully-booked due to a planned evening of live music. We cajoled our way into a 4:30 sitting which was a bit of luck. It was fantastic. Try the lobster Thermidor (if available). Another hint (which we later used to our advantage) … look for one or more "Best of Canada" stickers on the front door of restaurants you are contemplating.

FRIDAY (October 10th, 2008)
We spent the morning in Annapolis Royal visiting its Fort Anne [B+], (worth a visit) which had been held alternatively by the British and the French since the 1600's, and also did some souvenir shopping. We ate our lunch at the local Café Compose [A], run by an Austrian couple that offers wonderful seafood bisque and delightful Viennese pastries (a must with a cup of java). Next, off to Bear River, a community, because of extreme tides, that was built almost entirely on stilts. Our primary objective was the Flight of Fancy gallery run by Bob Buckland-Nicles, an engaging British ex-pat. (Bob is a post-graduate hippy who convincingly espouses all the sixties' love-not-war mantras. Later, I found out why -- the IRA had blown up a building near him in England. He was on the next plane to Canada.) This store features a wide variety of local arts & crafts … many of which we later saw at their source. If you get friendly with Bob (hard not to do), ask him to show you his landscape sandstones upstairs. We ate our dinner at a small café up the street, The Changing Tides [B]. It was a very good value with basic diner-food choices (try the coconut cream pie).

SATURDAY (October 11th, 2008)
After another tasty breakfast we departed Smith Cove for Mahone Bay. But first we went to the farmers market in Annapolis Royal to buy some of the local produce (apples, cider, cheese, etc.) Further on we stopped at Halls Harbor Lobster Pound [B] in Kentville for lunch … well worth a visit. Next, a pleasant drive brought us to Mahone Bay, a charming seaside village which was in the middle of its annual scare-crow festival. All over town were hand-made manikins dressed in all sorts of unusual clothes and posed in a wide variety of comical stances. We stayed at the Mahone Bay Bed and Breakfast [A] hosted by the glib John McHugh, a very entertaining and well rehearsed story teller. Hint: pay your bill in cash and save the Canadian hotel tax. At John's suggestion, we ate dinner at Cheesecake Gallery [B], a small café up the street. The food is good (better mussels) but the ambiance here suffers from an attempt to display a wide variety of brightly colored art on red-painted walls … a rather garish combination.

SUNDAY (October 12th, 2008)
After John's most stylish breakfast and some more of his entertaining stories, we took a short trip to Blue Rock, a nearby peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic. It has a unique geology comprised of a flint-like rock that has a blue cast and is all very rustic yet scenic. Don't miss it. Then we continued on to Lunenburg, a charming nearby seaside town with numerous craft shops and fine restaurants (many, unfortunately, not open on Sunday). As a result, we stopped at a nearby delicatessen for many tasty victuals which we took across the harbor for a scenic picnic lunch and some seagull feeding. When we returned to Mahone Bay there was a flea market in progress right across the street from our B&B. Barbara and Jeanette shopped while Terry and I lounged on the B&B's front porch. Later we took a short trip up a hill to the home and studio of Kate Church, a local artist. Kate is a rara avis. She is quite soft spoken yet very creative. Her commercial artistic thrust consists of small Ichabod-Crane-like "sculptural puppetry", a.k.a., "playful finery" that follow Kate's flights of fancy. By contrast, we were lucky enough to also be shown some of her upstairs paintings of lusty female nudes that are 180 degrees apart from her figurines. The contrast between Kate's two muses seems to me quite revealing. For dinner we ate at the Old Black Forest Café [A] outside Lunenburg, a German-American restaurant with all the German classics (except for potato pancakes and red cabbage). It is highly recommended both for the quality and quantity of its fare.

MONDAY (October 13th, 2008)
This morning we made the long drive to Cape Breton Island and stayed at a rustic B&B, Creignish Craftworks [C+], run by Sandra Kuzminski Buker … just a few miles beyond the causeway onto the island. Sandra, a free-spirit, artist, and sculptor, had fixed a Canadian Thanksgiving dinner of roast chicken with all the fixings for us and her other guests … also including her friend John Beardman, a New York artist and Cape Breton summer resident. He paints in the style of DeKooning and entertained us with many revealing stories of the vicissitudes of the New York art scene. That evening we enjoyed our (Jeanette's and my) first "Celtic Colours" performance. It was called "Generations" and was performed at the Community Centre in Judique, Cape Breton. It featured the Beatons (Kinnon, Andrea, Betty Lou); the Grants (Aonghas and Angus, fiddlers from Scotland); the Dewers (Marion, Allan, Joan); the MacMillans (Seonaldh Beag, Calum Alex, Gaelic singers from Scotland); and Doug MacPhee (a florid-faced piano player)

There is something mesmerizing about Cape Breton fiddle music, particularly when two or more players go at it. They play a jig refrain. Then they play this same refrain with a few variations. Then they play another permutation. Then another. Then, at some point, they repeat the whole sequence with, seemingly more changes and in an up tempo … changing from a jig to a reel. Then more hypnotic sequences even faster … till one's eyes begin to roll back in one's head. This goes on and on until, magically, they stop on a dime. How they all know when things are to cease simultaneously is beyond my observational skills. Even if step dancers are following this fiddled rondo, they also stop on some invisible cue. And they always do … and often with a little flourish … all very mesmerizing and entertaining.

TUESDAY (October 14th, 2008)
The next day we drove north to Inverness. On the way there we stopped at Mabou Mines. This is a little off the beaten path consisting of impressive gypsum cliffs and a small fishing harbor. We went fossil hunting on the beach and I found an ancient geode-like rock -- a brown stone shell containing a sand-like core (see my comments later under Parrsboro). We also stopped at a nearby sheep farm (Bellemeade) whose owner was very informative about sheep husbandry (including how to fend off coyotes). We then continued on our way and stopped for lunch at The Mull [B+] in Mabou. (It also had a "Best of Canada" sticker on the door.) We also stopped at the Glenora Distillery, a very pleasant building and tasting room. However, we just missed the distillery tour (on the hour) and decided not to stick around after asking the price for a bottle of its single malt whiskey -- $80. Even in Canadian dollars, this seemed a stretch.

We continued on and checked in at the Inverness Lodge [C], really a motel … a little on the skids. We ate dinner at the Coal Miner's Café [F], the very worst meal we ate on the trip. It's not even worth describing the gruel we were served. But, the evening was resurrected when we saw our next Celtic Colours performance, "Tribute to Mary Janet MacDonald," at the Strathspey Place in Mabou, Cape Breton. This performance featured lots of step dancing and honored Mary Janet MacDonald. Six of her seven children (one, a finalist in Canadian Idol competition) sang a number of songs to her (including "To Margaret's Eyes", a tribute to her mother and step-mother) … it was all very touching.

WEDNESDAY (October 15th, 2008)
The next morning we motored on to Baddeck, about half way up Cape Breton on the opposite coast. On the way we stopped at the Herring Choker [B] for a pleasant lunch and bought bread and cold cuts for dinner. We stayed the night at the Dunlop Inn [A], in Baddeck. The Dunlop Inn is a very comfortable B&B right on the water. Although there is no resident manager (it is owned by the Telegraph House) it is still well attended to. If one has some extra time in Baddeck, may I heartily recommend the Alexander Graham Bell Museum [A] where we went that PM. This is the locus of much memorabilia from this inventive Scot who dabbled in many technologies beyond the telephone -- the hydroplane, teaching of the deaf, animal husbandry, light wave communications, kites, and airplane controls. Its exhibits also bring video-taped insights into the Bell's summer home life and his devotion to his wife, family and scientific assistants, such as McCready who headed his hydroplane work. We next had our cold-cut dinner picnic before we went on to our final "Celtic Colours" performance, "Cellidh in the Glen" at the Glendale Parish Hall … featuring Calum & Seonardh MacMillan again, Colin Watson (with "jigging" or mouth music), Brandi MacCarthy, Dave MacIsaac, Brian Doyle (the MC and guitar player), and Ashley MacIsaac (piano player and fiddler extraordinaire … also known as "Cape Breton's bad boy") substituting for an ill Maybelle McQueen,

THURSDAY (October 16th, 2008)
The next morning we set off to do the Cabot Trail [A] (through the Cape Breton Highlands National Park). Normally, it is suggested to do this trip in a counterclockwise direction so you don't have to view things through oncoming traffic. However, due to a slight cases of acrophobia (the cliffs are often quite high) in our group, we did the reverse. On our way there we stopped at Larch Wood Enterprises [B+] in East Margaree to see (and buy) its beautiful larch wood cutting boards therein manufactured. We again picnicked as we entered the park, finishing up the remainder of the previous night's victuals.

The Cabot Trail itself is spectacular with numerous scenic overlooks interspersed with dense forests. That night we stayed at the Keltic Lodge [A], at Ingonish Beach, Nova Scotia. This is a grandiose luxurious resort hotel with manicured grounds and a massive main hotel (and a golf course for those who like to "take a good walk spoiled"). We stayed in one of the myriad of out-lodges with an anteroom complete with a fireplace (ask at the front desk to deliver your fireplace supplies). Our room was very comfortable if a little in need of a plumbing update. That night we ate in the large grill room with live Irish music, good drink/food, and a solicitous staff.

FRIDAY (October 17th, 2008)
The Keltic Lodge offers a sumptuous breakfast buffet with all the fixings. We asked our waitress if they offered Nova Scotia salmon. She said "yes" but it was extra. Somehow she managed to get us three orders without any further charge … about half of which we wrapped up with some bagels and cream cheese for a later lunch. As we exited the Park we stopped at "Sew Inclined" [B], a hat shop crammed full of finery hand-made by Barbara Longua (a touch expensive). You should give it a view. On the way back to Baddeck we stopped at the Gaelic College [B], in St. Ann's, Nova Scotia for a little souvenir shopping. Then we took a very circuitous route back to Baddeck through and near North Sydney and the Bras d'Or Lakes … culminating with a short ferry ride. We ate dinner the Telegraph House [B], Baddeck … to live piano music. W enjoyed an honest meal with coconut cream pie (again) for dessert. Our lodging for the night was at the Broadwater Inn [B] on the outskirts of Baddeck. It was the original home of McCready, the previously-mentioned Bell lab associate.

SATURDAY (October 18th, 2008)
We left that morning after an extended breakfast listening to the patter of John Pino, the owner of the Broadwater Inn. He told us numerous intimate anecdotes about the Bell family and the Grosvenors (of National Geographic fame). You should start him talking while you sip your coffee and enjoy details you never would hear at the Bell museum. It is clear that the Baddeckians loved the extended Bell families while at the same time sniggering at their numerous eccentricities. We started our long trip back from Cape Breton by traveling to Parrsboro, New Brunswick (on the Bay of Fundy and the home of the world's highest tides) where we stayed at The Maple Inn [A]. (Ask for the room with the steam shower.) This B&B is run by another Austrian couple with Teutonic efficiency and attention to details. On the way we stopped for lunch at Masstown Market (on Rte 104 near Truro) for fantastic seafood chowder and other sundry grocery shopping. In Parrsboro, our first stop was the Parrsboro Rock & Mineral Shoppe (Eldon George, proprietor). There I gave Mr. George, in exchange for identifying it, the "sandstone concretion" I had picked up in Mabou Mines. We then spent some time combing the nearby beach looking for agate, amethyst and other semiprecious stones. (We found none.) That evening we ate dinner at the nearby Trinity United church which was having a corn beef and cabbage communal dinner. The meal was cheap and delicious and the church folks were very warm and solicitous.

SUNDAY (October 19th, 2008)
We left Parrsboro early after a nice breakfast for the remainder of our long trek back home. Terry and I alternated driving the required 700 or so miles. We stopped at the Ganong Bros. [A]. a candy store in St. Stephen, New Brunswick, right before the border crossing back into the U.S. (don't forget your passports and driver's license) where we loaded up on caloric gifts for our friends (and a bit of self-indulgence). The rest of the trip was very tiring but we did find time to shop at the state liquor store in New Hampshire. Finally, we ended where we had started … at the Starbucks in Wellesley.

Thank you Barbara and Terry

Addenda
Four things occurred during our Canadian trip that made things even more palatable:
1) The U.S. dollar kept strengthening relative to the Canadian dollar … by about 10%!
2) The price of gasoline kept falling … by over 10%!
3) The U.S. stock market hit bottom (hopefully) and began its long climb back up!
4) The Canadian national elections took place and the liberals got trounced … go figure!

Vienna Sausages (2007)

Jeanette and I had been planning a three week trip through Austria and Hungary to celebrate our fortieth wedding anniversary … a trip destined to be shortened by a week by bad weather and a punitive monetary exchange rate ($1.44+ per Euro.) Our 10/16/07 flight to Vienna was uneventful other than the traditional torturous terminal transfer at London's Heathrow misty airport. When we finally soddenly settled in our hotel in Vienna, I took a nap while Jeanette reconnoitered the neighborhood … returning with some semi-sweet Tokay wine, delicious local grapes, crackers, and good Austrian cheese. We eventually went out to dinner in the rain to a lovely Viennese restaurant which Jeanette said had “the best profiteroles (cream puffs made from small, round baked choux pastry filled with a sweet filling) since her father had baked them.” I managed to stop up their toilet (pushing the small button instead of the large one) causing much travail by the staff. As a consequence, much as Jeanette wanted later to go back there again, we were precluded by my embarrassment.

The next morning I went out to get some delicious Viennese pastries to enjoy with our awful self-brewed hotel coffee. (We eschewed the hotel breakfast costing 15 Euros, or about $22 apiece.) On our first full day in Vienna, we took a bus/boat tour of the city. It was still raining and quite dismal … as it was for virtually our entire trip. Both Jeanette and I were jet-lagged and so tended to doze off when our guide was speaking in Austrian or French or Spanish or Italian or German. Vienna is lauded as one of the top ten beautiful cities in Europe, but you couldn't count on us to support this ranking. It suffers from a surfeit of graffiti … to the point of distraction. Even though, individually, some of this graffiti is quite artistic, overall it comes across like flies on a wedding cake. We saw the opera house, Einstein's house, Beethoven's house, Mozart’s house, the Vienna Woods, St. Stephens’s Church and took a boring cruise on the Danube River. At the end of this tour we were taken to a post-war urban housing project designed by a local socialist artist. Each apartment unit in this project had the right to decorate its façade to its owner's taste. The result was a wide variety of colors and architectural styles. Although, our guide and the city fathers were proud of the result (a diversity celebration), to me it looked more like a dog's breakfast. I mistakenly said so and thus created another set of Europeans who hate Americans.

The following day (raining again) we took the train to Salzburg. (The difference between first and second class Austrian train accommodations is de minimis so don't be tempted to spend the extra Euros.) Salzburg itself was quite beautiful, even in the rain, and it is rated very highly in European travel guides. But it seems to have suffered from this popularity since the old city is a bit like Rodeo Drive, one expensive (and empty) boutique after another. One night we ate at a small bar across from our hotel. Two things you can't get easily in Austria are real German sausages (bratwurst, weisswurst, etc.) and cooked red cabbage. When you ask for sausage, you get two hot dogs sans buns with a big dollop of mustard, some finely grated fresh horse radish and maybe a roll. Natives eat theses frankfurters with their fingers and, when I cut my roll in two and inserted the dog, everyone immediately knew I was an American.

We saw the city Citadel and Jeanette visited the local castle (while I slept) but our best viewing was the Salzburg museum. It had a very clever exhibit of preening photos of many of the early residents ("All in the ground." was my comment) with an antique chair where you could take your own photo and then e-mail it (free) with a short message to friends anywhere in the world. (This was an excellent use of available internet technology … replacing that old boardwalk photo booth. I wonder how many other such entrepreneurial innovations could arise out of what internet technology today offers?) It was after two days of sightseeing, shopping, and unrelenting snow and rain in Salzburg that we decided to cut our trip short by a week.

Our last morning in Salzburg we took the first trip with our new rental car to the salt mine (Salz Welten) after which Salzburg is named and which funded the boom in this region hundreds of years ago … with an interim stop at the palace of the archbishop who plundered the benefit from this mine. His palace was located in Hallein (the Celtic word for salt and a town about 15 kilometers south of Salzburg.) It was a fashionable mustard colored mansion with impressive two and a half foot wide floor boards, but no remaining furniture. This mine itself is located in the Bavarian Alps above Hallein. As we drove there it started to snow again and as we climbed up to the mine entrance the weather worsened. Fortunately, we found the mine without incident and signed up for the tour amid a group of Indian software engineers working in nearby Germany. First, the tour required that we wear, over our street clothes, a full covering of white overalls and tunic. Next, about 30 of us straddled benches on a series of thin tram cars which then whisked us deep inside the mountain. Our guide spoke in Austrian, German, and English so there was quite a bit of standing around waiting your language's turn. (She was surprised when I told her that "halide", like the name of the nearby town, was another English word for rock salt.) The mine itself was fascinating. It had wooden slides that we sat astride and slid down to lower levels and a shallow lake across which we rode on a big barge. (We even briefly crossed the border into Germany many meters underground.) For centuries the salt (mixed with various impurities) was dug out and transported out whole. Later on it was dissolved in water and piped down to Hallein in wooden pipes where it was then boiled back down to rock salt. This was economical due to the plentiful supply of wood from the nearby forests.

One of our real joys at our Salzburg hotel was its hot chocolate. Every afternoon (and some breakfasts) we would enjoy a delicious frothy cup of this deep, rich treat. And our last meal in Salzburg was our best … in a family-owned Greek restaurant. I had tender, moist grilled octopus and Jeanette, souvlaki, and we both had Greek salads. We finished with baklava. The next day we started back toward Vienna in the snow with the intent to spend a few days doing some interim sightseeing and getting to know Austria.

Our first soggy stop was Bad Ischi where the summer palace of Kaiser Franz Joseph and his wife Elisabeth ("Sissi," actually his first cousin) was visited. It was named Villa Schratt for the Kaiser's actress mistress. There was no English language tour so we tagged along on a German tour with the help of some English text. The Kaiser was an avid hunter as witnessed by thousands of chamois horns mounted all over the walls. A chamois is about the size of a large dog and resembles a goat. I know this only because the Kaiser's 5,000th chamois was stuffed and stands in his gun room. The palace itself was quite palatial (again painted in what was apparently a very popular color once -- mustard yellow.) It was two stories of many large rooms filled with gorgeous furniture, museum-quality paintings and sculptures, many family mementos, and of course, mounted chamois horns. It also contains the death mask of Elisabeth who was killed by an Italian anarchist (stabbed) when she was in her late fifties. The Kaiser outlived Sissi by 18 years to the chagrin of the local chamois clan.

Then, on our way back to the autobahn, we went to Ghunden to see its famous pottery manufacturer. This was a mistake. (Barbara and Terry, think Alba de Tormes.) After parking and climbing (on foot and in the rain) a very long hill, we finally found the pottery outlet. The pottery itself was rather pedestrian but compensated for this by being very expensive (over $40 for a dinner plate). We busted out of this burg and fled to Melk where Jeanette wanted to stay the night. Our best meal by a country mile was at a small restaurant (Tom's Restaurant) in our hotel (Sadt Melk) … literally in the shadow of the famous (and enormous) Melk Abbey. We started with a complimentary pate and broiled goose liver. We each had a cold glass of local dry white wine (never available in the U.S.) Next Jeanette had duck comfit (slowly simmered deep in its own fat) with tasty potatoes croquettes and the best sauerkraut I've ever tasted. I had broiled veal cheeks (yes, you read me correctly) and a delicious mushroom risotto. The veal was far tenderer than even the best filet mignon and it had a nice contrasting broiled crust. We finished this glorious repast with a creamy chocolate mousse. The next (rainy again) morning we visited the Abbey. It was very well maintained and most impressive … full of jewel-encrusted relics and tens of thousands of illuminated manuscripts. Then we briefly visited the boyhood home of the artist, Oscar Kokoschka, in nearby Pochlarn. There was only one original O.K. painting there and a number of mediocre lithographs … not really worth this side trip.

Jeanette had decided that Bunderland, south of Vienna, would be a good chance for us to warm up and dry out. Not a chance. Our first destination there was Rust (pronounced Roost), a town on the Neusiedl See, a big lake near the Hungarian border. I don't know how I talked Jeanette into it, but we spent two nights there in a hostel. At 44 Euros a night it was less than half the cost of most of the other hotels we had stayed at up to then. The accommodations were in fact equivalent to a hotel and the breakfast was scrumptious. Since we were the only guests, the owners were very solicitous. The next day we drove around the lake to Ilimitz intending to stop for some wine tasting along the way. We were too optimistic. For whatever reason … the weather or the season … we found only one tasting room open, Wein Werk in the town, Neusiedl am See. I got a gratis cup of espresso and Jeanette bought only one small bottle of ice wine.

The next drizzly day we drove back to Vienna, dropped off our car (with great gnashing of teeth), took the train to Budapest, and settled into our very nice hotel, Zara. When we had changed our reservations there we lost the great room rate that Jeanette had previously negotiated. Fortunately the desk clerk was very accommodating (excuse the pun) and, instead of 120 euros a night for three nights, we ended up paying only 70 euros … quite a savings. On our walk-around that evening we found that we were quite close to the Central Market, a huge steel building containing a remarkable conglomeration of private booths that sold all sorts of foodstuffs, paprika, flowers, and Hungarian crafts.

Budapest was originally created by a merger of two ancient towns on opposing banks of the Danube River, Buda (the hilly area) and Pest (the flat area). (Natives pronounce this city's name is a very idiosyncratic way buda-pescht.) The medium of exchange in Hungary is the forint (we called them Floridas) and the rate is roughly 185 to the dollar … although they had recently strengthened against the dollar (of course). This caused confusion since everything was priced in thousands of Floridas and shifting decimal points is not an easy exercise for a calcifying brain. The high point of our Budapest visit for Jeanette was the Gellert baths (a huge Romanesque spa and hotel across the Liberty Bridge from our hotel). There we spent a relaxing morning (bathing suited) in a series of warmer and even warmer therapeutic pools and a finally a steam room. Jeanette concluded our visit with an herbal message which she said was the best she ever had. While I waited for her to finish this indulgence, I soaked in the medium-hot pool. Across this pool, an attractive middle aged woman kept eying me. She then paddled across the pool to about ten feet away, and finally sidled up next to where I was sitting. When I had made no move on her after a few minutes she got up and left. But I did conclude that, despite my advancing age and receding hairline, I still got it! (Either that or she was a working woman.)

The next day we were to take a bus tour of Budapest but there were demonstrations in the city celebrating the 50th anniversary of the Hungarian uprising … which precluded this jaunt. So instead we took a boat ride on the Danube River. This was, to me, the highpoint of our Budapest experience … far better than the equivalent one in Vienna. There was less graffiti, the guides were more gracious, the sights (particularly the Parliament building) were more impressive, and we were even served complimentary beverages and fruit cups. The following overcast (no rain at last!!) day we did get in the bus tour which was very intense -- Elisabeth Square (the very same wife of Austria's Kaiser Franz Joseph who was simultaneously the King of Hungary), the Royal Palace Hill, Heroes' Square, the Citadel, Castle Tunnel, etc. Our guide on this bus tour spoke very fast in order to describe everything in English, Hungarian, French and German so invariably her English description of a landmark was not coincident with the place itself. This was disconcerting and there was also a bitter undertone to her travel log -- to wit, that Hungarians were getting the short end of the European Economic Community stick (in the opinion of the London Financial Times because Hungary was too slow to shake off its socialist shackles.) We chose to tour the Parliament Building on our own (despite our tour guide's admonishment that we had only a 1% chance of getting in.) This building was, to my mind, a cathedral to secularity. It was spectacularly beautiful and very well maintained!

Sunday morning we returned to Vienna by train. (We probably should have gotten creative and taken the boat back to Vienna … on the Danube.) It was again raining … hard. But Jeanette insisted that we visited St. Stephen's Church and do a once again around the city's opera district. (She lit a candle at St. Stephen’s like she had in every other church and cathedral we had visited … this time, I think, to our former dog, Maggie.) The next day, Monday, we left to return to the U.S. in a Vienna cab driven by a Polish ex-patriot. He and Jeanette conversed in Polish for most of the damp trip to the airport. She said it was all about his family and his experiences in Austria, but I suspected it was more about what a complainer I had been on our trip. When we got to hellish (but sunny) Heathrow, there was a bit of a festive atmosphere as the New York Giants football team was roaming around the terminal in logo-ed Giants gray sweat suits … having trounced the Miami Dolphins the day before in London in a regular-season NFL game. They were graciously signing autographs and posing for pictures with American fans and Limey gawkers. I was able to learn how the Patriots and Colts had done the previous day since neither CNN nor the BBC deemed to supply such info. We finally arrived back in the U.S., grabbed our luggage, went through customs, and were whisked back to Natick. Unfortunately in my haste, I grabbed the wrong suitcase for Jeanette and had to return to Logan Airport the next day to rectify things. I guess I know now why people put all kinds of odd colored belts around their baggage.

And so to bed-a-pest.

SLO Motion (2006)

For those of you who are not West-coast hip, SLO stands for San Luis Opisbo, a town on the central California coast about sixty miles north of Santa Barbara and twenty miles south of Hearst Castle. Jeanette and I recently visited there for a brief holiday with our kind friends, Liz and Russ Seymour. (Actually, the Seymour's new home is in Arroyo Grande, about eight miles south of SLO.) Here follows a long … and possibly boring synopsis of our trip:

FRIDAY
Jeanette has never seen Los Angeles, so we started our tour with a very pleasant Midwest Airlines flight to Lala Land. (Rebecca had driven us to Logan airport.) I convinced Jeanette that our sightseeing tour of LA should not occur on a weekday (freeway shootings, traffic jams, and all that) but rather upon our return, the following Sunday. So, in our Budget compact, we scooted up Rte 101. Along the way we passed the town that was devastated by mudslides this spring, past Vandenberg Air Force Base (Liz and Russ can see nighttime rocket launches at Vandenberg from their back deck), and, near Santa Barbara, lots of off-shore oil derricks. In about four hours, we found the Seymour abode easily with the help of Mapquest.

The Seymour's home is quite large and fancy. It is of the hacienda style located in a gated golfing development overlooking the Pacific Ocean in the distance. Pizzazz! After settling in at the Seymour’s we ordered out for pizza delivery. The pies were just OK but they made up for it by being extremely expensive. When I asked the delivery boy for an explanation, he said "gourmet ingredients." I took this to mean that the sausage was made of chopped up gourmets.

SATURDAY
This morning Liz had scheduled a yard sale of much of the Seymour detritus accumulated during and since their move from Seattle. Jeanette and I helped out with the pricing, arranging, and sales. I exhibited a little too much hucksterism and was relegated to helping load buyers' cars with various and sundry purchases. Liz did net almost $300 though. We then went out for a Liz-treated lunch at an earthy-crunchy deli in an old corrugated tin warehouse out in the nearby country -- very good victuals. We also stopped briefly at a tiny town called Harmony, famous for its ceramics and blown glass. Both these stops were steeped in the ambience of neo-hippydom.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at the Farmer's Market in Arroyo Grande. This was a unique experience with plenty of free samples -- juicy orange slices, fresh strawberries, homemade salsa, guacamole, and taco chips, olives, artichokes, etc. There was a very large Mexican presence at this market. They seem quite an energetic group. We came home laded with farm goodies to add to a delicious homemade meal also courtesy of Liz.

SUNDAY
This day was devoted to a trip up to Santa Cruz to see Danny (the Seymour's son) and his new bride, Angelina. (Does anyone remember that old ditty "Home Again Angelina”? Everyone looks at me cross-eyed when I claim there is such a song … even Danny … who is a disc jockey in his spare time.) On the way up Route 1 we stopped at Cayucos to do some antiquing and a nice lunch at Schooner's Wharf. We next stopped to see the elephant seals just north of the Hearst Castle. As we wound our way past Big Sur we stopped at a gas station for some bottled water. The price of gasoline there was $4.00 a gallon! It soon will be cheaper to fill your tank with cheap vodka. Then the severe geography flattened out as you pass Monterey. Danny and Angelina have a cute apartment overlooking the ocean in Capitola, a Venice-like village near Santa Cruz. Angelina made a lovely dinner for us. The trip up Route 1 took over four hours. The return trip, back down Route 101, took about half that.

MONDAY
This day Russ took us on a wine tasting tour to the Edna valley. In his spare time, Russ gives such tours for $100 per head (Back Roads Tasting). Most of the vineyards we visited were around Paso Robles and Cambria. One was run by an old B-movie star and his ex-Miss America wife. In general the wines were expensive ($20 to $30 per bottle) and nothing to do hand stands for. We had lunch at Panolivo, a nice little French bistro in Paso Robles. Russ ended this tour with a car ride on the beach at Oceano (next to Pismo Beach). Pismo was once thought to be the furthest north beach in California where one could swim (before the age of wet suits). This was a real experience. This beach is wide, long, and beautiful … where visitors drive the RVs right on the beach and park overnight (or longer). There are also vendors there renting Hummers, dune buggies, motorcycles, etc. right on the beach. Some groups go there with convoys of RVs and park them in a circle around a bonfire -- just like Conestoga wagons. Oh to be young and carefree again! We had dinner at Adriano's, a neighbor of the Seymour’s across the street. He was the one who had previously lent us his condo in Portugal -- a real sweet guy.

TUESDAY
Earlier, Jeanette and I decided that we should give Liz and Russ a few days respite from our house invasion. When I ask Russ for a suggestion for a side trip and he suggested Yosemite. Bingo! Neither of us had seen this ecological icon, so we left this AM to travel there. Yosemite (as a kid, I pronounced it yos-MITE) is about 200 miles ENE of SLO so we had a long trip through California's central valley. This seems to be mostly raisins, walnuts, cattle and almonds country -- with miles and miles of vineyards, pastures and orchards. The geology of this region is also curious. You first traverse rocky hill country just East of the coast. (Paso Robles, the town there, is Spanish for "Pass through the Rocks.") Then there is a very large pancake-flat plain before the hills start again around Fresno, which then soon graduate to the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The reason for the curious character of this geology is that we know that the Pacific tectonic plate diving under California is creating these mountains. But then how and why the big central plain?

On the way to Yosemite we ate at In-and-Out Burgers (which Russ had touted to us). It is clearly superior to our East coast fast food with everything cooked to order. (Try the grilled onions on your burger). Anyhow we arrived at the Wawona lodge, a turn-of-the-century hotel built for Teddy Roosevelt, inside the National Park around 2:00 PM and got settled. We then started out to go to the Yosemite Valley -- about 25 sinuous miles over the first mountain range. On our way down into the valley, we hit a snowstorm that seemed to grow increasingly dangerous. So we turned around and crept back to our hotel. There we had a few Manhattans, a delicious meal, and went back to our bathroom-less room for a fitful sleep.

WEDNESDAY
Jeanette and I spent this day in Yosemite Valley. By the time we got there (around 11 AM) there was no more snow to be seen. We took a bus tour of the valley to see the famous Ansel Adams stops (El Capitan, Yosemite Falls, etc.) One impressive fact: El Capitan is about three times the height of the Empire State Building … and hundreds of times more massive. Our tour guide said that it was the largest granite structure in the world, but my recollection is that this honor goes to Ayer Rock in Australia. Moreover, our tour guide's delivery was so soporific that Jeanette and I wasted the last hour of the tour snoozing away sandwiched between two Japanese couples taking pictures. Yosemite Valley is quite awe-inspiring, but, to me, it was far smaller than I expected. From the Ansel Adams photos, I had gotten the impression that its area was quite vast. But, it is only one and a half miles wide and about six miles long (only about 1% of the entire Yosemite Park). So one is sightseeing straight up most of the time as opposed to being able to digest the entire vista from afar.

Another thing struck me. Our government is spending hundreds of thousands of dollars (perhaps millions) restoring the meadows in Yosemite Valley to their original swampy condition. Our guide told us that such swampy meadows purify the water that eventually ends up in San Francisco and Los Angeles. Excuse me! If these meadows represent less than 1% of Yosemite and Yosemite itself is but a small fraction of the total wilderness area of the Sierra Nevada range, then the water filtered in these meadows must be but a few drops of the millions of gallons of potable water drunk in coastal California. This is clearly tree hugging gone berserk.

We lunched at the Ahwahnee Hotel (Cobb salads with bay shrimp … yum!). We would have tried to stay there except it was about four times as expensive as the Wawona. However, it would have been worth it. It is an exquisite, massive stone structure built in an Indian motif with lots of theme textiles, leaded glass, and paintings. That evening we had another Mexican dinner in Gold Course, a town a few miles outside the park, and gambled in an Indian casino nearby. I won $100 on the nickel slots (four duces). I keep kicking myself that I wasn't playing the quarter or dollar slots.

THURSDAY
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast at the hotel, we got an early start back to Arroyo Grande. We stopped for lunch at the famous Madonna Inn, a few miles north of SLO. It is the epitome of kitsch. Pink dining room, a waterfall urinal in the Men's room, and waitresses dressed like Heidi at Hooters. On the way out we saw a notice that the Madonna Inn was being sold … so bad taste DOES have a half-life. That afternoon we went to the farmer's market in SLO. It was a bigger version of the Arroyo Grande one. We had drinks and bar nibbles at Mother's tavern then meandered among the sundry booths of goodies. I bought fresh morel mushrooms for son George and Mission figs for his wife Anne. And Russ bought another flat of delicious fresh strawberries that had been picked in the fields below the Seymour house. (We had seen these very same berries being picked a few days before. The Mexican workers are paid on a piece basis so you saw them running back to the truck with their pickings and then back with empty flats. On that evening, I think it was Monday, we could hear them singing in Spanish and laughing in their transient quarters -- kinda like a scene from "Gone with the Gringos.") Later that farmers-market evening we had tri-point roast beef sandwiches, BBQ, and home-brewed beer at Firestone's, a real funky college hangout in SLO. Delicious!

FRIDAY
We spent most of this day in Santa Barbara with the Seymours. It is a very lovely town but, to me, somewhat overrated. (The median home price there is over a million dollars.) We stopped at the Santa Barbara mission and the Biltmore hotel (a little hard to find but quite fancy). Before we returned home we had dinner at Jockos, about 10 miles inland from Arroyo Grande. This is a sight to see --- two-inch high pork chops and spectacular steaks, all cooked on a huge charcoal grill taking up an entire back room. It is crowded with cowboys and bikers (kinda archetypal Americans). We sat at the bar and downed many Jack Daniels sours and local wine. We then pigged out (of course) on most everything they offered ... including sweetbreads!

SATURDAY
In the morning Russ took me to see his hobby -- large-gage model railroading. There is about a two-acre layout of these trains only a few miles from his home. We stopped to see this landscape with tunnels, trestles, roundhouses, etc. All the informal club members here must work on the components. Russ has helped with some of the landscaping and restored the roof of a water tower. Next I saw something quite remarkable. A friend of Russ builds these trains from scratch. Russ took me to his modest home where, in the living room, were a hand-made boxcar and a locomotive tender -- both the size of a large coffee table. But in the garage was the piece de resistance, a steam locomotive the size of two coffee tables. Everything on this engine worked and was to scale. Even the sand dome on the roof had miniscule glass beads (small sand) that were fed through copper plumbing to give traction to the drive wheels. This engine has taken three years to get to this stage and may take another year before it's done. The client is the former CEO of Continental Airlines and its price tag will be about $250,000. This builder friend was given a bonus of a month's trip to England with his wife when he first agreed to take on this commission.

Then Russ took us all to the See valley for a little more wine tasting. At the Kelsey vineyard we tasted the best wines of the trip -- a sparkling Syrah and a port -- both of which are experiments (not even labeled). I hope to buy a case of the sparkling Syrah when it is ready. Next Russ took us on a "Sideways" tour (from the recent movie of the same name). We went to Los Olivos (near Santa Maria) where the women shopped and the men sat in the shade. We had lunch at the Side Street Café. (Try the endless bowl of chili soup.) Then came San Ynes (where Michael Jackson pursues his passions at Neverland). We visited the San Ynes Mission there and copped a free tour. (California's 28 missions occur about every 25-30 miles -- a day's trip on a horse -- all the way from San Diego to above San Francisco.) We then drove through Sovang -- a community dressed up as a Danish village -- weird! While driving back to Route 101 we passed the Hitching Post (from the movie) but chose not to stop and gawk.

SUNDAY
We started out for Los Angeles around ten o'clock in the AM. We stopped on the other side of Santa Barbara at a small surfing town called Carpinteria for lunch. We chose the restaurant with a line standing outside (Esau's Café). The food turned out to be sophisticated and quite good. I had lox with capers and red onion on a toasted bagel with cream cheese. And Jeanette had delicious BLT with avocado. There clearly is a California style of eating -- herb tea, pita bread, apple-smoked bacon, avocado, sprouts, tomato, and lots of other fresh ingredients.

We exited route 101 in Woodland Hills at Mulholland Drive. We then followed Mulholland Drive south toward LA, hoping to get into Beverly Hills. However, there seems to be two Mulholland Drives because this one petered out in a dirt fire road high in the hills overlooking Los Angeles. We retraced and got back on 101 South and after about ten miles got back on the other Mulholland Drive … in Beverly Hills. As we wound our way through Beverly Hills we saw the stately decay of what once was the playground of Errol Flynn, Clark Gable, Carol Lombard, and their ilk. Seeing a yard-sale sign we stopped to find out that Beverly Hills junk is just the same as Natick junk. Groping our way toward Hollywood, we turned down Sunset Boulevard. When we got to Grauman's Chinese Theater, I don’t think I have ever experienced a more depressing place. It looked like the exercise yard at San Quentin mixed with the bar scene from the original Star Wars. I truly believe Hell can't possibly be any worse. Santa Monica followed and then we did Venice Beach. This latter "tourist" spot looked a lot like Grauman's, only with sand, exercise equipment, and more (visible) tattoos. This was followed with Marina Del Rey where we fittingly ended our trip with another Mexican meal avec Margaritas. After we dropped off the rent-a-car, we stayed the night at the Airport Hilton -- a better deal you won't find anywhere ($50 a night through Priceline). It was, believe it or not, quiet and quite plush.

MONDAY
We had another pleasant but daylong Midwest Air flight back to chilly Boston where son George picked us up in Jeanette’s wagon. After dropping him off, we returned to Natick … and so to bed.


Thank you Liz and Russ!