Navigating “Famous” Author Email Scams

Image by Tumisu from Pixabay

“UPDATE 8/14/25: This scam began on social media, and it’s still happening there, but increasingly I’m hearing about these approaches in email. Increasingly, also, they’re from well-known writers: John Green, Thomas Keneally, Susanna Clarke, Dan Brown, Penelope Lively, and more. Slightly different M.O., but they all wind up in the same place: a referral to a shady marketing service.”

Victoria Strauss, co-founder of Writer Beware

It’s hard to get noticed as an author. Having a book published is easier than marketing it. So, when unsolicited praise comes, it lifts your spirits and gives you a sense that your voice matters.

However, since last summer, I have been showered with emails from “famous authors” praising my work and wanting to be my pen pal. Too good to be true? Of course, thanks to scams enabled by nefarious scam artists and Artificial Intelligence.

My list of so-called admirers began in August with a flattering note from Anna Gavalda, winner of the French literary award, Grand Prix RTL-Lire. She is an internationally best-selling French author, and two of her books, Hunting and Gathering and Someone I Loved, were made into films.

In September, the award-winning British historian and author, Tom Holland, claimed to have stumbled across my author page. He wrote, “I’d love to hear more about your own writing.”

In November, the emails came quicker. Colleen Hoover, author of books like It Ends With Us and Verity told me, “I’d love to learn about your own writing journey and what drives you to create.” John Grisham didn’t ask about my work, just bared his soul. He wrote, “Writing can be a lonely job, but it’s how I make sense of the world and the people in it.” Mary Kubica, a contemporary suspense and psychological thriller author of bestselling novels, including The Good Girl, Every Last Secret, and The Perfect Stranger, ended her email with, “I’d love to know more about your books and your writing journey! Looking forward to hearing back from you and sharing ideas together.” Other November outreaches asking to share writing journeys were from David Grossman, winner of the Israel Prize for Literature, Keira Montclair,American author of historical romantic suspense, and Elodie Harper, English author and journalist.

The first December email started with “Hi Wright,” definitely sounding like a bot, but it was supposedly from multi-award winning British novelist Zadie Smith, who was elected to the Royal Society of Literature. A second email from Ms. Smith followed saying “I’d be happy to chat.” I also received two emails from Irish author Sally Rooney, who was once named Young Writer of the Year by the London Sunday Times. She wrote, “I would still love to hear about what first inspired your own writing journey the moment experience or question that made you decide this was a path worth pursuing.” (Lack of punctuation in that sentence is odd for an award-winning wordsmith.) British YA author Sangu Mandanna cut right to flattery. “I’ve been watching the literary space evolve, and your work keeps cutting through the noise with real authority.”

January brought only one email from Canadian mystery author Louise Penny. She wrote, “I make it a priority to connect with writers whose books reflect dedication, originality, and the courage it takes to share one’s voice with the world. I recently came across your book and felt compelled to reach out.” (She doesn’t mention the book title, so it’s vague and probably a line that’s used for many recipients.)

February 11 brought yet another email from Sally Rooney: “ I wanted to follow up on my previous message and let you know how much I would enjoy connecting with you as a fellow writer.” On February 12, I received an exact duplicate of Ms. Rooney’s previous email. On February 26, I heard from Elena Ferrante, Italian author of the blockbuster series set in Naples that took the book world by storm. This one really turned on the praise: “I recently discovered your work, and I was truly moved by the honesty and depth of your storytelling. The way you blend personal experience with universal truths really resonated with me. As a fellow author, I deeply admire writing that challenges and engages readers while staying authentic and fearless. Your work is a wonderful example of that. I wanted to reach out simply to say how much I appreciate your craft, and I look forward to exploring more of your stories.” (Once again, there is no mention of my book titles, so it comes off as a generic form letter.) The latest email came from Adam Nevill, a multi-award-winning English horror author. He said, “I’m genuinely curious about your own creative rhythm, what draws you back to certain themes, and what steadies you when momentum slows. Thoughtful exchanges about the craft often illuminate what we can’t see alone. If you’re open to it, I would truly value the conversation.”

If any of these were real, it would be heady stuff. But I’m sure if I replied to any of them, there would be unwelcome results. Not sure what. My identity compromised?  Requests for money? Anyway, I’m passing on heart-to-hearts with these pseudo literary elites.

If nothing else, these emails are amusing to read, and I hope that by keeping track of these notes and writing about them, it may alert unsuspecting writers and dissuade them from falling for their false praise.

A Road Trip to Fethiye and Oludeniz

"In Turkey, everything you see, everything you touch, has a story, a rich texture of history."

Orhan Pamuk

Several years ago, the highways heading south from Selçuk on the western Turkish coast were very good, though they didn’t give us much warning before work areas. At one place, they were repairing the northbound road and, all of a sudden, the southbound lanes were two-way with no barriers for several miles. Thank God no one was passing. We also saw one car driving the wrong way in the breakdown lane!

 There were plenty of places to eat along the road, as well as plenty of gas stations. We stopped at a Shell station near Mugla (Muu-la) and got gas and a small snack of a large Brezen and cold mango iced tea.

Just past Mugla, the road became mountainous and winding and the views were lovely. After an almost four-hour drive, my husband and I arrived at the Hotel Villa Daffodil in Fethiye (FET-i-ye) in late afternoon.

After settling into a nice room with a balcony facing the pool area and changing, we walked along the sea wall that borders the harbor and enjoyed a beer at a harborside outdoor café. It had a large movie screen and they were playing “National Geographic Wild.” They also had hookahs (water pipes) and several people at other tables were using them.

From there, we walked to Address restaurant (also on the harbor) for dinner. I had excellent grilled calamari and my first glass of Turkish white wine.

The next morning, we had a nice breakfast on the hotel terrace and met a friendly British couple who were in Fethiye for the second time. After breakfast, we walked to the harbor and purchased water taxi tickets to Calis Beach (20 TL roundtrip for both—about $13.50). The trip took about a 1/2 hour and went through a marshy canal or waterway at one point that runs behind the beach. The beach itself was lovely and the water was warm —felt great! We got 2 lounges and an umbrella for 15TL.

On the way back to our hotel after the return boat trip, we picked up a couple of Efes biras and some roasted hazelnuts for “5 o’clock” on our balcony.

Fethiye is a beautiful resort city situated on the “Turquoise Coast” in southwest Turkey where the Aegean and Mediterranean seas converge. It is a swimming and sailing paradise with a bit of history thrown in. Our view every morning while we ate breakfast was of the sleek sailboats and yachts moored offshore. The harbor at the center was a beehive of activity with water taxis and charter boats to the beaches and islands. The center itself has the remains of a Roman amphitheater and the hills are dotted with ancient Lycian tombs.

On our second morning, after breakfast on the terrace, we got into our car and drove further west from the hotel along a scenic, narrow, windy road of a coastal peninsula. Most of the road was high above the water, but there were quite a few low spots with little bays, and each one had a beach. We spent several hours at one called Kucuk Samanlik (Karaagac) Koyu. For 15 TL, we were able to get parking, beach use, 2 lounges and a straw umbrella. We had a closeup view of one of the islands in the bay and watched a constant parade of boats heading out (sailboats, cabin cruisers and big charter boats, many quite beautiful). The sand was shaded by pine trees which made it pleasant and the water was lovely.

The beach had mostly Turkish families with children. The bathing dress there was quite interesting. Little girls wore bikinis, but the women’s attire varied. Some swam in 2-piece bathing suits with modest bottoms. Some swam in long pants, long tunics, head scarves and water wings, and others swam in tops with sleeves and Bermuda-length shorts. 

My husband made a friend of a young Turkish guy who helped him up onto a float that he swam out to. The guy didn’t speak much English but my husband learned the word güzel from him which he took to mean “excellent” or “great.”

Later on, the young guy from the float came over by our lounges to chat. His English was rudimentary but he tried hard. He was a 20-year-old radiology technician who had been trying to teach himself English with the help of tv and computer. He said he was from Trabzon on the Black Sea but worked in a nearby large city and was single. He had come to Fethiye with 5 family members by plane for a holiday, and he said he loved English and US people and especially seemed enamored of New York. 

We got back to the hotel around 2pm and spent late afternoon poolside. I did some laps. Afterwards, my husband walked to a nearby market to get a couple of Efes biras, and we had our “5 o'clock” on our balcony. In the evening, we drove to Calis Beach, watched the sunset over the islands, and had a nice dinner of grilled sea bream and a bufe of mezes.

After breakfast on our third day, we talked to the hotel manager about the best way to get to Oludeniz, famous for its blue lagoon. We were unsure whether we should drive from Fethiye or take the dolmus (minibus), but the hotel manager assured us it was faster to drive and that parking would be available. We opted to drive.

We headed out of town and tried to follow the signs for Oludeniz. We did miss one turn, but when we realized that we had gone too far, we stopped at a gas station and asked for directions. We couldn't understand the man's words, but his gestures told us we had to go back the way we had come. Sure enough, we saw the sign and made a left. Then we came to a T in the road with no sign. Luckily, we spotted a minibus with Oludeniz printed on the back, and we followed it. The road began to climb, and took us through the town of Hissaronu, apparently a British holiday enclave, judging from the restaurants advertising things like Yorkshire pudding!

As the road descended again, we came into Oludeniz. We drove straight to the beachfront and asked where we could park. A man pointed to an Otopark sign some 200 yards behind us. So, we turned around, entered an alley between 2 businesses, and turned into a parking area. The attendant directed us to a spot under a shade tree, which was great in the heat. Parking for the day was 7 Turkish lira (a little less than $4). We walked toward the bay and bought tickets for a boat ride to another bay near Butterfly Valley, known for swarms of red tiger butterflies and a canyon with a waterfall.

The boat ride was fun. Oludeniz is a big paragliding spot and we could see many making their descents from the cliffs that line the coastline there. We chatted with a British guy who had just moved to Oludeniz, after vacationing there for years. He was on his way to do some scuba diving. He told us a lot about the area and recommended going to Kalkan on our way south.

The boat eventually pulled into a small bay and we disembarked onto the beach. There was a cafe, bar, and some campsites. The main attraction was behind the beach though. We paid 5 TL to enter the valley that heads into a narrow canyon. The vegetation was very dry, as if they had been experiencing a drought, and it was evidently not the season for butterflies. Oh, well. As we hiked into the canyon, we did see some black mountain goats. The drought had affected the waterfall as well. It was not much more than a trickle, prompting one guy from the UK to say, "I've seen better waterfalls in Yorkshire!". Just poor timing, I guess.

We caught the one o’clock boat back to Oludeniz, where we got some doner kebab sandwiches and cold drinks for a picnic lunch. On the boat ride back, we learned that the bay itself is not the blue lagoon. One couple showed us the walkway leading to the lagoon entrance (a national park.) To say it had been discovered, is an understatement! People were on lounges all around the edge. What spaces weren't taken up by lounges, we're taken up by water sport concessions. We decided to swim on the bay side, which was less crowded than the lagoon, but still lovely. The water was aquamarine and clear, and so salty you could float with ease.

When we had had enough sun, we drove back to Fethiye - much faster now that we knew the way. After our daily “5 o'clock” with Efes bira on our balcony, we walked into the centrum and went to Megri Locantesi (a local restaurant) for dinner outdoors under an arbor covered with grapevines. It was very good. 

Our fourth day was market day in Fethiye. After breakfast, we caught a dolmus outside the hotel that took us directly to the market. It was huge! There were hundreds of produce sellers and the fruits and vegetables looked fresh and wonderful. We bought some lovely peaches and found out that the arugula we had been enjoying in salads was called roku in Turkish. After the produce vendors, came everything else, clothing, housewares, leather, etc. The vendors were not pushy. They pleasantly tried to engage you, but if you were not interested, they respected that. We were happy with a few bargain T-shirts for 5 TL each and a Turkish football jersey for 20 TL. (We tried to bargain for the latter but it seemed that, if the price was listed, they didn’t bargain.) The majority of vendors, however, did not have prices shown.

We bought some ice-cold bottled water then walked back to sehir merkesi (centrum.). We browsed through the shopping area and stopped at a bench on the waterfront to eat our delicious peaches.

We walked back to the hotel, spent a lazy afternoon, and swam in the pool. In the evening, we walked back into town and had a great meal of a sizzling Turkish stir-fry at Kral restaurant. It was our last evening in Fethiye.

We drove further south on the fifth day and reflected on our stay of Fethiye. It attracted many Europeans from other countries, as well as a lot of wealthy Turks (judging from the size and number of Turkish yachts in the harbor). The modern (U.S. brand stores) was juxtaposed with the traditional in the city (Muslim mosques and calls to prayer). The latter were heard but did not seem to be widely observed—at least we did not witness it.

There were many elementary and high schools there, and each one seemed to have its own uniform. Many of the students reminded me of Catholic school, with the girls in plaid pleated skirts and the boys in slacks and short-sleeved cotton knit shirts with collars.

Though the Turkish language is Middle Eastern, there were many words we could figure out from French & Italian (a pastanesi (bakery) is like a patisserie or pasticceria) or from German a dus (shower) is like duche.

Many of the homes and buildings had solar panels next to water tanks on the roofs. Though everyone seemed to have a cell phone, there were still public telephone booths. We didn’t actually see anyone using them though.

Our encounters in Fethiye taught us another Turkish expression, Gule gule. It means “Good-bye, till we talk again.”

Lost Luggage, Airport Hack, and Human Kindness

“Kindness is like snow – It beautifies everything it covers.”

 Kahlil Gibran 

A few years ago, we left our house in Massachusetts at 6:50 am for an 8:15 flight to JFK and a connection to Turkey. We arrived in Istanbul 9 hours after we left New York at 5:50 am. (There is a 7-hour time difference so it was 10:50 pm at home.) At Ataturk International Airport we found the process for visas ($20 each upon arrival) quite easy, as was the passport control. Unfortunately, our luggage didn’t show up on the carousel. We spent the next 2 and 1/2 hours at the Turkish Air office waiting. Our problem was translated with the help of a nice Turkish guy who had been living in Pennsylvania. (His luggage was also lost but finally showed up.) We filed a report and left the address of our hotel, which was 300 miles west of Istanbul. Then we caught an Atlas Air flight to the city of Izmir.

At the airport in Izmir, we got an exchange rate of 1.80 Turkish Lire to the dollar then went to pick up our rental car. It was prepaid except for the one-way drop-off charge and the transponder fees. When we gave the person at the desk our Cap One Visa to pay for the extra charges however, the card was rejected. I immediately called Capital One thinking that, though I had reported our travel plans, there had been a miscommunication. However, they told me there had been some questionable charges in New York the day before, including one for over $2,000 at an electronics store! It appeared that our card number had been hacked at JFK, and the card had to be cancelled! Luckily, we had a Mastercard to pay the rental company but we worried about the hotels we had reserved with Visa. We needed a new card ASAP but whether or not it would arrive promptly through the Turkish mail system was a problem. The guy I talked to, named Ulisses, was difficult to deal with. He said he would issue an emergency card to the next hotel we would be staying at for at least 5 nights. That would be our second hotel in Fethiye. I offered to give him the address but he insisted that I call him the day before we were heading there. Not sure why.

Eventually we left Izmir in our rental Fiat Albea and headed south to Selçuk, about an hour away. The highway was good, save for the fact that cars and trucks in the right lane seemed to crawl, and 1 truck even backed up! (We passed a Pavese-type overpass restaurant that had a Burger King.)

In Selçuk, most of the streets were unmarked, making it difficult to find the Hotel Rìlican. We finally got assistance from a guy who led us there on his motorcycle. The hotel was up a narrow hilly street that appeared to be residential. We pulled over onto their postage- stamp-sized parking area and rang the bell. The manager was pleasant and assured us that we could leave our car there. Inside, the place was lovely—3 balconied levels hung with grape leaves overlooking a garden and with a panoramic view of the town. The room was sparse but comfortable and, after checking in and informing the manager of our luggage situation, we crashed at 1:23 pm and slept for 18 hours straight! It was a combination of traveling for over 24 hours without sleep and the stress.

In the morning, we got up around 7:30 fully refreshed physically but still worried about the luggage and credit card. We had to put on the same clothes we traveled in. (It was very hot and my husband Walter was especially uncomfortable in his jeans and long-sleeve shirt. At least I had a lightweight cotton dress.) We had a nice breakfast on the rooftop terrace. Afterwards, we got the WIFI password, checked the Visa, Mastercard and AT&T transactions online, then we drove a few miles to Ephesus.

Ephesus is one of the largest ancient Greco-Roman complexes that we have seen and it was teeming with tour groups from all over the world. Lots of restoration work was being done by an Austrian archaeological group in cooperation with the Turkish Ministry of Culture. There seemed to be especially lots of Japanese and German tourists. (One older German guy had a strange T-shirt with a picture of Jesus wearing a crown of thorns and a soldier holding a cigar that Jesus appeared to be smoking.)

After a few hours exploring, we drove back into the center of Selçuk and parked by the market. We bought some rolls, cheese, and fresh figs. (We were able to order the cheese with the help of a Turkish woman who spoke German. She said she had worked in Bonn for 35 years and sometimes visited her son, German daughter-in-law, and grandchild in Munich.)

Back at the hotel, we had our lunch at a small table on our balcony. We also had bottled water that we purchased at a small store not far from the hotel.

After lunch, we gave the paperwork for the luggage to the hotel manager and he called the Turkish Air office at the Istanbul airport for us. He managed to find out that our luggage had been shipped to Izmir the night before but they hadn’t made an effort to deliver it to our hotel. There seemed to be a communication gap about where and when we could pick it up. He was to call back later to Izmir.

He kept trying all afternoon but kept getting a busy signal. In the meanwhile, we called Capital One again. This time, a guy named Chuck was more sympathetic and seemed more “with it.” It was, he said, better to have our new regular card rather than an emergency card, which was paper. He suggested that they mail it to our home since they couldn’t send it abroad. Then we should have a family member express it to us overnight via Fedex or UPS. It was a plan.

By late afternoon, the manager still had no success reaching Turkish Air in Izmir, so he said he would take us back to the Izmir airport in the morning and help us navigate the system. In the meanwhile, Walter filed an online complaint with Turkish Air and asked them to expedite delivery to us at the hotel. It would be a lot of driving if we had to backtrack to Izmir before heading south to our next hotel in Fethiye, about 4 hours away.

In the evening, we walked down the hill into the town center—lots of cafes, restaurants, shops, etc. We went to Selççuk Köftecisi for dinner. (Kofte means meatball. They are not round though— look like flat footballs.) We had to go to the counter and pick out our meat (lamb “shish” for Walter and chicken “shish” for me). They served it with a tomato-flavored rice, grilled tomato, onion, and a green that looked like a type of lettuce but had a slight bite to it (very tasty). There was also a very hot pepper (long and green). Our drinks were Efes pilsen bira (nice and cold). Though the country is mostly Muslim, (calls to prayer are heard a number of times a day) beer was popular and people seemed to disregard the prayer calls. Dress was modern for the most part too. After dinner, we stopped at a small supermarket and bought Dove soap. (All of our toiletries were in our luggage.) Back at the hotel, we had another beer on the rooftop terrace and the owners wouldn’t let us pay for them!

We woke to another sunny day and another nice breakfast on the roof terrace. The manager was able to contact Istanbul again, and they assured him that the luggage was in Izmir. The question was whether it was at the airport or with a contractor.

As we were talking, some German guests were leaving and the manager greeted them in German. It turns out that he used to work in Bayreuth near Nurnberg and his German is better than his English. He proceeded to explain his phone conversation in German to us, saying all the people in Istanbul luge (lie). He was waiting for the general manager of Turkish Air to call him back.

Yay! The luggage was at the Izmir airport for sure and Ixsan, the hotel manager, drove us in our rental car to pick it up. While we were riding, we learned that he had been a cook at a big hotel in Bayreuth, his son-in-law is an English teacher in Selçuk, and his first grandchild was one month old.

Success! We got our luggage. Thank God that Ixsan was with us though. There was no one at the airport information desk and he had to telephone. Eventually, 2 people arrived and took Ixsan and Walter inside. (I waited outside because only 2 people were allowed entry.) About 5 minutes later, Walter and Ixsan came out pulling our bags. I was so excited that Ixsan gave me a big hug, and I thanked him in 3 languages!

On the drive back to the hotel, Ixsan pointed out the speed radar cameras and advised us to be aware on our drive south. Back at Hotel Rilican, (Ixsan made the round-trip in 1 hour, 45 minutes), Walter paid Ixsan for the telephone calls and for our drinks from the night before, plus a little extra. (Our transponder had taken care of the tolls and Walter paid for the airport parking.) Ixsan’s younger daughter showed us pictures of her older sister with her new baby named Efes (yes, like the local beer). We thanked Ixsan one more time then got into the car, finally wearing clean clothes, and headed south, feeling fortunate for having met this stranger who went out of his way to help us.

Flying Cross-Country for Post-Surgical Support

“Children are the anchors of a mother's life.”

 Sophocles

One January some years ago, my daughter, then living in San Francisco, was scheduled to have a complicated knee surgery to correct a genetic defect of her patella. She was single and lived with roommates, but she had no family out there for support. Also, returning to her home for recovery would be difficult because she wouldn’t be able to navigate the stairs up to her third-floor apartment. I lived in Massachusetts at the time, but I put on my mom hat and flew out to help her through the ordeal.

My flight was into San Jose, and I arrived on a Tuesday, two days early. Halfway through my drive from San Jose to San Francisco, I stopped to check out the hotel I had reserved for the first few days of the post-surgical recovery. It was in Burlingame facing San Francisco Bay and the ground floor location would be easy for her to access. I confirmed our late arrival on Thursday then continued into the city to meet my daughter after work. We went food shopping, dropped off things at her apartment, and had dinner downtown. Back at her apartment, we fell asleep by 10 pm.

The next day, Wednesday, my daughter left for work at 7:30 am, and I was on my own to explore. I had breakfast near the apartment at the Velo Rouge Café which had a red bicycle over the doorway and bike memorabilia inside. Then I walked to nearby Golden Gate Park and the de Young Museum which was pretty spectacular. I walked around the exhibits for about 3 hours, especially enjoying the glass flowers. I had a coffee out on the terrace at the museum café which opens onto a great sculpture garden, then I enjoyed the 360-degree view of the city from the rooftop.

I walked back to the apartment and relaxed for a bit, had a snack, and drove downtown

where I parked in a garage near my daughter’s work. After walking around and checking out some stores, I walked to the YMCA for a massage that my daughter had arranged, her treat. The massage therapist worked on "trigger points" and I loved it.

Afterwards, we drove home, picking up a pizza on the way. Back at the apartment, I opened a bottle of red wine from the welcome basket that my daughter had given me. I enjoyed it, but she couldn't have alcohol before surgery. One of her roommates shared some pizza and sat down to chat for a bit. After that, we packed up the car, except for our suitcases (food for the hotel stay, crutches, ice pump etc.). My daughter packed her suitcase, and we went to sleep at close to midnight.

On Thursday morning, we got up at 6 am because we had to be at the hospital by 7. Two of her roommates were up early and stopped to chat and wish her well. I drove to Kaiser Permanente Hospital, parked in the garage, and we went to surgery admitting on the 4th floor.

The nurse was great, very efficient and upbeat with a sense of humor. They let me stay while they prepped my daughter with an IV in her wrist area. She did well but was nervous and had to fight back tears a few times, but all in all, she was a trooper. I walked with her until they took her into an area for authorized personnel only. I gave her a hug and kiss then went to start the waiting.

First, I went to the cafeteria on the 1st floor for coffee and a scone and to the lobby to have my parking ticket validated. Then I went back up to the waiting room. Surgery was scheduled for 9:15 am, and the nurse said that the estimate for the procedure was about 3 hours.

After 3 hours, there was no word.

After about 3 and ½ hours, the surgeon (who had Massachusetts connections – he went to MIT, his wife was from Cohasset, and another relative lived in Beverly) came out to tell me that it was over and that my daughter was in recovery and doing well. He said he had inserted a pump, so she could control the morphine medication.

We went into another room where he explained the problem and the procedure: the socket for the patella is normally V-shaped, but hers was L-shaped, some sort of congenital defect (possibly a genetic disposition in the family). The patella had shifted and destroyed cartilage on one side of the knee, so the ligament on that side had to be cut to relieve pressure and free up the patella. The ligament on the other side had stretched and had to be tightened. A hole was chiseled near the top of the tibia and a piece of cadaver bone was inserted and screwed in. This would serve to temporarily hold the patella in place. In six months, the screws would probably come out.

He said they would probably keep her overnight, but time would tell ,and he estimated that she would be in recovery about another half hour. I went to the lobby, called my husband and son and one of her friends to update them, then went to the cafeteria for coffee.

At 1:30, I went to check on her progress. She was still in recovery.

At 2:00, she was still in recovery.

At 2:30, she was still in recovery.

At 3:00, she was still in recovery, but they finally let me in to see her. The main problem was nausea from the morphine. They gave her something for it and were trying to find a good balance. They let me stay for a while.

At 3:50pm, I was sent back to the waiting room. They said they would call me when she was transferred to another room. It was late when she finally got there. I stayed with her for a while then said good night.

As I headed for my car in the dark, I discovered that I didn't have my car keys. I retraced my steps, but didn’t find them. I called the rental agency to see if I could get another set, but they said they couldn’t help until morning. I retraced my steps again but no luck. I called the hotel where I would take her for recovery and told them that we would be delayed a day. Then I took a bus and walked from the bus stop to my daughter’s apartment. One of her roommates was surprised to see me there, but he was okay with it. We chatted for a bit about my daughter’s condition then I went to bed.

On Friday morning, I walked from the apartment to the bus and then from the bus stop to the hospital. I got there early so I could scout various departments in one more search for keys.

I FOUND THE KEYS in the cafeteria when I finally stopped my search and went to get some breakfast. At the cashier's, I mentioned my frustration at losing them and got a nice surprise when she retrieved them from a drawer. I must have put them down while I was paying the day before. With that stress gone, I could get on with transporting my daughter to the hotel. I walked to a florist on Geary and brought flowers to her, but she was not yet ready for discharge. She still had nausea. The staff said it would be a while.

I drove to Burlingame, checked us in to the hotel, and made 4 trips from the car carrying luggage, etc. Then I drove back to the city to my daughter’s apartment, picked up the pillows she wanted to take with her, and drove back to the hospital. I still had to wait, so I went to the cafeteria for coffee again.

She was finally discharged in the late afternoon. I drove her to the hotel and got her settled, with one hitch: the nurse had forgotten to give us the power cord for the ice machine that would keep her wound cool. I drove back to the hospital in the city and picked it up. When I returned to the hotel, we ordered in pizza and had an early night.

She was fairly comfortable on Saturday morning using the cooling pump (thank God for the hotel ice machine, so I could keep it filled.) After breakfast, she rested in bed and I went for a walk on the San Francisco Bay Trail, which ran along the water past the back of the hotel. The rest of the day went well. I read while she lay in bed, but that night, her pain medication wore off and she needed something. I called the nurse then went to a 24-hour Walgreen's for new medication.

On Sunday morning, she was feeling less pain, but going through a lot of ice. I took another walk on the bay trail after breakfast then went to Trader Joe's and picked up some salmon & veggies to cook in the hotel microwave for our dinner.

On Monday, I took a morning walk on the bay trail after breakfast again. Later on, my daughter was feeling up to some exercise and she braved a short walk outside with me along the water. Aside from that, we both got a lot of reading done. At least, the view through the windows was nice. In the evening, we had another Trader Joe's microwave meal. This time it was shrimp & veggies.

By Tuesday she was feeling stronger. We both walked a short distance on the bay trail after breakfast then went to the hotel gym where she worked out her upper body. Afterward, we drove to downtown Burlingame, browsed a few shops, and had lunch at the Copenhagen Bakery & Café. Dinner that evening was some leftover pizza in the room.

Wednesday was a continuation of the icing of the knee and some light recovery exercise walking the bay trail. Then we drove into San Francisco, picked up her mail, made short excursions to Chrissy Field and Sports Basement, and had lunch at Mel's Diner. On the way back to the hotel, we picked up some Trader Joe's veggie pasta for dinner- another microwave meal.

Thursday marked a whole week since the surgery. We walked the bay trail after breakfast again, followed by some upper body work in the hotel gym.  Later on, I drove to Coyote Point and we took a short walk through the museum. In the evening, we walked to nearby El Torito for our first non-microwave dinner of the week.

On Friday morning, we did our usual walk along the bay trail after breakfast then we drove into San Francisco, did some errands, and went to Park Chalet for lunch. Afterward, we drove to Kaiser Permanente Hospital for her post-surgical checkup. She was doing well, but full recovery would take a while. Back at the hotel, we had leftover veggie pasta for dinner.

Saturday was an easy day with some mild exercise. After our outdoor walk, we drove to Milpitas, walked in the mall, and had lunch at Johnny Rockets. We microwaved some soup at the hotel for dinner.

On Sunday, we checked out of the hotel. We stopped at IKEA for breakfast, and having the rental car gave my daughter the opportunity to buy and transport a shelf system for her bedroom. Being carless in the city had made it challenging prior to then. On our final evening of the visit, we had dinner at Delfinas.

On Monday, the two of us had breakfast at the Velo Rouge Café, hugged good-bye, and then I drove to San Jose Airport. I had a stopover in Phoenix, flew to Boston, and drove home. She had weeks more of rehabilitation ahead of her, but I felt good that the procedure was successful and that I had some nice one-on-one time with my daughter.

Archive of Blog Posts

• March 2026
  • Mar 1, 2026 Navigating “Famous” Author Email Scams Mar 1, 2026
• February 2026
  • Feb 1, 2026 A Road Trip to Fethiye and Oludeniz Feb 1, 2026
• January 2026
  • Jan 1, 2026 Lost Luggage, Airport Hack, and Human Kindness Jan 1, 2026
• December 2025
  • Dec 1, 2025 Flying Cross-Country for Post-Surgical Support Dec 1, 2025
• November 2025
  • Nov 30, 2025 Archive of Blog Posts Nov 30, 2025
  • Nov 3, 2025 Running for Pie Nov 3, 2025
• October 2025
  • Oct 1, 2025 End-of-Summer Migration Challenges Oct 1, 2025
• September 2025
  • Sep 1, 2025 A Few Days on the Maine Coast Sep 1, 2025
• August 2025
  • Aug 1, 2025 Traveling Back in Time Through Music Aug 1, 2025
• July 2025
  • Jul 1, 2025 Beaching in Thailand Jul 1, 2025
• June 2025
  • Jun 1, 2025 A Memorable June in Big Sky Country Jun 1, 2025
• May 2025
  • May 1, 2025 Random Impressions From One May in Rhodes May 1, 2025
• April 2025
  • Apr 1, 2025 Hiking in the Hawaiian Islands Apr 1, 2025
• March 2025
  • Mar 2, 2025 Road Trip to Expo 67 in Montreal Mar 2, 2025
• February 2025
  • Feb 1, 2025 Two Trips to Puerto Rico Feb 1, 2025
• January 2025
  • Jan 1, 2025 An Image Trip Through the Decades Jan 1, 2025
• December 2024
  • Dec 1, 2024 Adapting to Christmas Traditions Abroad Dec 1, 2024
• November 2024
  • Nov 1, 2024 At the Crossroads of Europe and Asia Nov 1, 2024
• October 2024
  • Oct 1, 2024 Navigating Unexpected House Issues Oct 1, 2024
• September 2024
  • Sep 1, 2024 A Road Trip to Budapest at a Time of Immense Change Sep 1, 2024
• August 2024
  • Aug 1, 2024 The Many Maine Rivers I Cross Driving Up Route 95 Aug 1, 2024
• July 2024
  • Jul 1, 2024 East Coast Drive with a Setback or Two Jul 1, 2024
• June 2024
  • Jun 1, 2024 Where Did That Word Come From? Jun 1, 2024
• May 2024
  • May 1, 2024 Mystery Trip May 1, 2024
• April 2024
  • Apr 1, 2024 Two Road Trips to the Florida Keys Apr 1, 2024
• March 2024
  • Mar 1, 2024 A Spring Road Trip Through France, Spain, and Portugal Mar 1, 2024
• February 2024
  • Feb 1, 2024 Moroccan Transportation Feb 1, 2024
• January 2024
  • Jan 1, 2024 A Literary Road Trip Through Massachusetts Jan 1, 2024
• December 2023
  • Dec 1, 2023 Navigating Unforgettable Holidays Dec 1, 2023
• November 2023
  • Nov 1, 2023 In Pursuit of a Turkey Nov 1, 2023
• October 2023
  • Oct 1, 2023 Even Idyllic Vacations Can Have Challenges Oct 1, 2023
• September 2023
  • Sep 1, 2023 When Dog Emigration Met Italy's Underground Economy Sep 1, 2023
• August 2023
  • Aug 1, 2023 Paddling the Rangeley Lakes Region Aug 1, 2023
• July 2023
  • Jul 2, 2023 A Short Trip to Saint Croix Jul 2, 2023
• June 2023
  • Jun 1, 2023 From Zero to 52 Jun 1, 2023
• May 2023
  • May 1, 2023 Exploring Where Famous Writers Wrote May 1, 2023
• April 2023
  • Apr 1, 2023 The Hunting Cruise Apr 1, 2023
• March 2023
  • Mar 1, 2023 International Journey of a Curriculum Embracing Technology Mar 1, 2023
• February 2023
  • Feb 1, 2023 Advice from Fictional Travelers Feb 1, 2023
• January 2023
  • Jan 1, 2023 Cooking Adventures Jan 1, 2023
• December 2022
  • Dec 1, 2022 Reverse Crossings Dec 1, 2022
• November 2022
  • Nov 1, 2022 Word Journeys in the Age of Technology Nov 1, 2022
• October 2022
  • Oct 1, 2022 An Emotional October Pilgrimage For a Book Oct 1, 2022
• September 2022
  • Sep 1, 2022 A Post-9/11 September Vacation in France Sep 1, 2022
• August 2022
  • Aug 1, 2022 Leaving Boxford Aug 1, 2022
• July 2022
  • Jul 1, 2022 Paddling Up the Cupsuptic River Jul 1, 2022
• June 2022
  • Jun 1, 2022 Visiting Poland Before Solidarnosc Jun 1, 2022
• May 2022
  • May 1, 2022 The Stages of My Motherhood May 1, 2022
• April 2022
  • Apr 1, 2022 The Lure of Colorado Apr 1, 2022
• March 2022
  • Mar 1, 2022 The Educational Journeys of Four Generations of Women Mar 1, 2022
• February 2022
  • Feb 1, 2022 Experiencing Vietnam During Lunar New Year Feb 1, 2022
• January 2022
  • Jan 1, 2022 Navigating Night Fright Long Ago Jan 1, 2022
• December 2021
  • Dec 1, 2021 Groups That Have Enhanced My Life’s Journey Dec 1, 2021
• November 2021
  • Nov 1, 2021 Visiting Italy Under COVID Rules Nov 1, 2021
• October 2021
  • Oct 1, 2021 Going Down To Nile Brook Oct 1, 2021
• September 2021
  • Sep 1, 2021 Novelists Who Take You Places Sep 1, 2021
• August 2021
  • Aug 1, 2021 Building A Ski House Aug 1, 2021
• July 2021
  • Jul 1, 2021 My Road to Traditional Publishing Jul 1, 2021
• June 2021
  • Jun 1, 2021 Golden Journey Jun 1, 2021
• May 2021
  • May 1, 2021 Three Miles of Smiles May 1, 2021
• April 2021
  • Apr 1, 2021 Traveling Back in Time to Some of the Family I’ve Lost Apr 1, 2021
• March 2021
  • Mar 1, 2021 Exploring Museums Part III Mar 1, 2021
• February 2021
  • Feb 1, 2021 In Pursuit Of a Vaccine Feb 1, 2021
• January 2021
  • Jan 1, 2021 Crossing the Country Jan 1, 2021
• December 2020
  • Dec 1, 2020 Exploring Museums Part II – Europe Dec 1, 2020
• November 2020
  • Nov 1, 2020 Changing Perceptions of the Color Pink Nov 1, 2020
• October 2020
  • Oct 1, 2020 Favorite Books Along the Way Oct 1, 2020
• September 2020
  • Sep 1, 2020 Exploring Museums Part I - the U.S. Sep 1, 2020
• August 2020
  • Aug 2, 2020 Walking Lakeview Highlands in Summer Aug 2, 2020
• July 2020
  • Jul 1, 2020 Guarded Road Trip During a Pandemic Jul 1, 2020
• June 2020
  • Jun 1, 2020 Venezuelan Honeymoon Adventure Jun 1, 2020
• May 2020
  • May 1, 2020 Navigating Winter into Spring During COVID-19 May 1, 2020
• April 2020
  • Apr 1, 2020 A Neighborhood Walk Before and During a Pandemic Apr 1, 2020
• March 2020
  • Mar 1, 2020 A Fork in the Road of Life Mar 1, 2020
• February 2020
  • Feb 1, 2020 For Better or Worse—Memorable Trip Moments Feb 1, 2020
• January 2020
  • Jan 1, 2020 The Beginnings of my Writing Journey Jan 1, 2020
• December 2019
  • Dec 1, 2019 Physically Moving Through Life Dec 1, 2019
• November 2019
  • Nov 1, 2019 Travel moments That Made Me Laugh Nov 1, 2019
• October 2019
  • Oct 1, 2019 Seeing Sights Through Children's Eyes Oct 1, 2019
• September 2019
  • Sep 1, 2019 An Oft-Traveled Maine Route Sep 1, 2019
• August 2019
  • Aug 1, 2019 Kayaking to Kekova Aug 1, 2019
• July 2019
  • Jul 1, 2019 Mexican Road Trip Jul 1, 2019
• June 2019
  • Jun 1, 2019 Exploring the Writing Life in the Sunshine State Jun 1, 2019
• May 2019
  • May 1, 2019 That Summer I Went to Bay Head May 1, 2019
• April 2019
  • Apr 1, 2019 The Florida Journey Continues Apr 1, 2019
• March 2019
  • Mar 2, 2019 Turkish Delight Mar 2, 2019
• February 2019
  • Feb 1, 2019 Family Vacation Back in the Day Feb 1, 2019
• January 2019
  • Jan 1, 2019 The Journey of a Gift Jan 1, 2019
• December 2018
  • Dec 1, 2018 Relocating South Dec 1, 2018
• November 2018
  • Nov 1, 2018 Rock Tour Nov 1, 2018
• September 2018
  • Sep 1, 2018 Jeep Jaunt in Mui Ne Sep 1, 2018
• August 2018
  • Aug 1, 2018 Following the Remains of Great British Writers Aug 1, 2018
• July 2018
  • Jul 1, 2018 Trip to a Hammam Jul 1, 2018
• June 2018
  • Jun 1, 2018 A Trip of the Tongue Jun 1, 2018
• May 2018
  • May 1, 2018 Exploring Islands in the South China Sea May 1, 2018
• April 2018
  • Apr 1, 2018 Bumps in the Writing Road Apr 1, 2018
• March 2018
  • Mar 1, 2018 Travels That Test the Palate Mar 1, 2018
• February 2018
  • Feb 1, 2018 Navigating New York City in the Sixties Feb 1, 2018
• January 2018
  • Jan 1, 2018 Tools of a Writer's Journey Jan 1, 2018
• December 2017
  • Dec 1, 2017 The Looong Journey to My First Published Book Dec 1, 2017
• November 2017
  • Nov 1, 2017 Down to Nine Dragons' Delta Nov 1, 2017
• October 2017
  • Oct 1, 2017 Getting to School Oct 1, 2017
• September 2017
  • Sep 1, 2017 Ski Trails and Writer Tales Sep 1, 2017
• August 2017
  • Aug 1, 2017 Musical Time Traveling Aug 1, 2017
• July 2017
  • Jul 1, 2017 Driving to Africa Jul 1, 2017
• June 2017
  • Jun 1, 2017 Literary Journeys Jun 1, 2017
• May 2017
  • May 1, 2017 Viaggi con un Cane Amato (Journeys with a Beloved Dog) May 1, 2017
• April 2017
  • Apr 1, 2017 Tuk Tuk to a Painful Past Apr 1, 2017
• March 2017
  • Mar 1, 2017 Snowshoe Trek Mar 1, 2017
• February 2017
  • Feb 3, 2017 Overcoming Shyness Feb 3, 2017
• January 2017
  • Jan 2, 2017 Sin Frenos en Ecuador Jan 2, 2017
• December 2016
  • Dec 17, 2016 My First Time Dec 17, 2016

Running for Pie

“When we got home from that race that night, Rick wrote on the computer, 'Dad, when I run it feels like my disability disappears.' ”

Dick Hoyt

Until his death in 2021, Dick competed in countless marathons with his son, Rick Hoyt, who is wheelchair-bound with cerebral palsy. (My inspiration for getting out there.)

Waking up in the half-dark on a bone-chilling November morning in New England to join thousands of people to run or walk for charity and a store-bought pie brings fond memories? You bet.

I still miss the camaraderie of meeting up with friends on the corner of Main Street in Andover Massachusetts near the start line of the Feaster Five Road Races on Thanksgiving morning. I don’t miss the races because they’ve ended. 2025 will be the 38th annual, and the event remains the largest Thanksgiving Day Road Race in Massachusetts. We just haven’t been there in person since we moved to Florida.

My husband started the tradition for our family when he ran in the 1993 race and came home with a souvenir white sweatshirt and an apple pie. He continued running most years until 2017, the year before our move. During that time, he won or placed in the top three of his age category many times.

I started joining him in the early 2000s, but mostly run-walking with a friend, while he ran with friends and occasionally our daughter. She made it fun by joining some of the costume-wearing runners.  One year, she was the Grinch and another time, she was Jody the Elf. By that time, the heavy souvenir sweatshirts were replaced with long-sleeve shirts in bright colors and breathable fabric. We always registered early so we would be among the first five thousand to be assured of a shirt. And we all received apple pies after the finish line.

The first Feaster Five was held on November 24, 1988, and approximately 300 runners finished.  By 2012, the number of participants was over ten thousand!

The fun actually starts a few days before the race, because there is a Race Expo at the Andover-North Andover YMCA with vendors and sponsor booths where you pick up your bib and race swag.

Even though the weather on Thanksgiving Day in New England can be unpredictable, the Feaster Five goes on rain or shine or snow. The second race in 1989 almost did not happen because of an early nor’easter, but 400 runners completed the race in near whiteout conditions!  We experienced some frigid blue-sky days, as well as wet and slushy ones, but we dressed in layers and made the best of it. One year, we arrived back home so cold and wet, we warmed up with post-race drinks of potent Italian Grappa.

It's a family friendly event with a kids’ fun run starting at 7:45 am and a 5 mile race and 5K run/walk starting at 8:30 am. People start getting into position much earlier, runners at the front in groups based on estimated speed, followed by walkers who include people pushing baby strollers and walking with leashed dogs.

One of the highlights of the race each year, is the participation by celebrity guests like actor Matt Damon and Senator Scott Brown, as well as world-class marathoners and Olympians like Johnny Kelley (Berlin 1936 and London 1948), Bill Rodgers (Montreal 1976), Joan Benoit Samuelson (Los Angeles 1984), and Lynn Jennings (Barcelona 1992).

The last race we did in Andover in 2017 was the 30th anniversary, and the first 9,000 entrants were guaranteed a hoodie -style race shirt. I still have mine. The youngest runner that year was one year old, and the oldest was 93, with a total of 9,966 total entrants.

Our last Feaster Five was a virtual one in 2020 during Covid. We registered online and walked five miles near our home in Florida. After the documentation was submitted, we received medals of participation. I had to make my own pie, however.

End-of-Summer Migration Challenges

“Struggles are just life’s way of saying, ‘Plot twist!”

Anon. 

We’ve had pretty much the same end-of-summer routine for the last eight years. In Maine, we put away the deck furniture, empty the fridge, and make sure the house, garage, and shed are locked and organized for leaving. Simple. However, this year we had some hiccups.

Challenge #1: During the final week, garden beds where I was digging up weeds with a pitchfork, separating plants, and laying down mulch for the winter, were attacked by a groundhog. Each morning, the pesky critter left upended plants with the leaves eaten. I kept working at restoration and had only a small section of soil and a half bag of mulch left to finish when my gardening season was abruptly ended. I missed a step on the stairs and came down hard on the landing.  The pain resonated up through my knees, both of which are arthritic and have had arthroscopic surgery in the past. The muscles above my right knee were wrenched and soon became swollen. Mobility was tricky. I packed and moved our things limping back and forth from the house to the car.

Challenge #2: It was touch-and-go as to whether we could lock the garage or not by the day of our leaving. We had new garage door openers installed earlier in the month, but a broken spring had to be ordered for one of the doors.

Challenge #3: My husband came down with a cold the night before we left, and we had to stop for Dayquil on our way out of Maine and cancel an overnight at my sister’s house to avoid passing on the germs.. In Connecticut, I made a night run to a pharmacy for a nighttime cough suppressant. Three days later, somewhere in one of the mid-Atlantic states, I caught it too. We went through a lot of tissues driving south.

Challenge #4: Upon arrival in Florida, my husband removed the hurricane brace from our garage door and released the door opener lock, as he always does. However, the door would not open. He called a repairman the next day, and we learned that there is another lock toward the side of the door that we never knew about and wasn’t mentioned in the manual. How it ended up locked, we had no idea.

Challenge #5: My car had been left in the garage all summer and it wouldn’t start. (We hadn’t disconnected the battery before leaving, so our fault.)

We have been back home in Florida for a week and a half now and most of the problems have been resolved. The swelling above my knee is down but I’m treading carefully to give it time to heal better. As for the groundhog, it’s probably having an autumn feast. Our colds are on the wane, and we got our flu and Covid shots. To our relief, the garage door spring in Maine was installed the day before we left. The garage door in Florida was fixed and tuned up the day after we got back, so we were able to put my husband’s car indoors. After calling AAA, my car started up, and afterward, my husband took it for a drive to make sure it was fully charged.

One odd thing happened upon our return. We had been having trouble with mail delivery in Maine. Among other things, a check sent in June and a tax bill sent in July, both mailed from our town there, were not received. Then on September 29, both items were delivered to Florida! The question is: Where were they all that time?     

A Few Days on the Maine Coast

"There's a charm about the seas that Maine offers; it’s like all the roughness melts into beauty."

Nicholas Sparks

My birthday was on a Wednesday this year, and it started at our summer home in western Maine with phone calls from my son and daughter and opening the thoughtful presents they sent. Part of my husband’s gift to me came next. We got into the car and headed east to the coast for a few days to enjoy the briny scents of the sea. The drive was under three hours, and much of the way, the roads were lined with lakes, ponds, and pine woods.

Our destination was the town of Rockland, home of the annual Maine Lobster Festival celebrated every summer around the last week of July and the first week of August. Visiting mid-week at the end of August, there were plenty of lobster restaurants available, but we enjoyed fewer crowds.

We arrived in the late afternoon, and one of the first things we did, even before checking into our hotel, was to follow the signs to the Breakwater Lighthouse. We followed Samoset Road to Marie Reed Park, which has picnic tables in a shaded area overlooking the harbor. We followed a wide gravel path along the harbor to the base of the granite breakwater, which extends almost a mile across the harbor. The lighthouse is at the end point. We considered walking out there, but the sky grew almost black and a rainstorm rolled in. It was time to check into our hotel.

Our room had a view of Rockland Harbor filled with sailboats and the ferry slip that is a departure point for the Maine State Ferry Service to some of the islands of Penobscot Bay: Vinalhaven, North Haven, and Matinicus. We toasted my birthday with sherry as we watched the rain on the water. Then we enjoyed dinner at Hill’s Seafood Restaurant, also facing the harbor. I asked our waitperson when the sailboats would come out of the water for the winter. To my surprise, her answer was, “Maybe November.” “Doesn’t the harbor freeze?” I asked.  She said, “It used to. Not so much anymore.”

Thursday morning dawned sunny with blue skies. After breakfast, we drove out on the peninsula southeast of Rockland to Owl’s Head, ten minutes away. It’s a lovely, quiet resort and fishing community on the southern side of Rockland Harbor. We explored the shorefront facing a lobstering wharf and stopped to talk to an artist painting en plein air. He was working on a study of a gray house by the water. We drove a short distance to the Owl’s Head Light Station, where we walked a path next to a cliff and spoke to a couple visiting from Wales, who were enjoying taking photos of hanging moss on some of the trees. We hiked up a long staircase to the lighthouse, along with members of a cycling group, and the view of Penobscot Bay was expansive. Ferries and sailboats were moving through the deep blue water along the rugged coastline.

From Owl’s Head, we drove back through Rockland and into the next town, Rockport, a little more than ten minutes to the north, where we drove down a steep incline to the harbor front, walked around, and took some photos.

A five-minute drive took us into the busy tourist town of Camden, birthplace of poet Edna St. Vincent Millay, and one of the few places on the Atlantic seaboard where mountains meet the sea. The Camden Snow Bowl is a small ski area to the west of the coastline. Home of the Windjammer cruises, Camden Harbor was filled with schooners, sloops, and all kinds of sailboats. Vendors were busy setting up displays at the waterfront for the Labor Day Weekend Schooner Festival. We had lunch at Peter Ott’s on the Water, and my lobster corn chowder was spicy and delicious. I asked for the recipe, and the waitperson told me the cook said the secret was Old Bay seasoning and tarragon.

After a return to our hotel in Rockland and a short rest, we walked along Rockland’s Main Street, peering into the many restaurants, shops, galleries, and art supply stores. The downtown is also home to several museums.

We started Friday morning with a visit to the Farnsworth Art Museum near our Rockland hotel. It specializes in American art and has one of the nation's largest collections of paintings by the Wyeth family: N.C. Wyeth, Andrew Wyeth, and Jamie Wyeth. Though none of them were born in Maine, all three painted and had (or in Jamie’s case, still has) homes in the mid-coast there: N.C. in Port Clyde, Andrew at the Tenant’s Harbor Lighthouse on Southern Island, and Jamie on Monhegan Island.

At the Farnsworth, I was also pleased to see a large, lovely painting of the view from Tri-color on Saddleback Mountain by Norma Randi Marshall, an indigenous Passamaquoddy Maine artist.

In addition to several buildings of galleries, the Farnsworth has a lovely garden containing several sculptures, including Bernard “Blackie: Langlois’s whimsical wooden camel, one of many large, wooden outdoor sculptures the artist made for the site around his Cushing, Maine home.

Before leaving Rockland, we made two stops: Jess’s Seafood Market, where we bought some fresh littleneck clams, which they packed in ice for us to take home, and The Spot (“speak burger to me”), where we bought ice cream cones made with Shaker Pond ice cream from Alfred, Maine, my final birthday treats.

Traveling Back in Time Through Music

“In memory everything seems to happen to music.”  

Tennessee Williams 

(Back in 2017, I explored this topic from a neuroscience point of view with a few examples from my own life. This month, I expand on the personal aspects.)

Hearing a song can trigger a memory of a person, a place, or an event. The tunes become the touchstones of our inner lives.

Toora loora loora, often known as An Irish Lullaby, brings to mind my long-departed Nana, even though I was only a baby when she sang it to me.

My parents have been gone for more than twenty years, but hearing their favorite song, In the Mood by the Glenn Miller orchestra, lets me visualize them dancing again.

My Dad and his friends had a social clubhouse, which I often associate with a Judy Garland song, A Pretty Girl Milking Her Cow. My young cousins and I played it there on a record player and giggled about the funny title.

That Sunday, That Summer, by Nat King Cole was the song my best high school girlfriends and I played at sleepovers while we wondered if the day would ever arrive when we would meet our special “you.”

My first trip to Europe was a group Under-25 tour, and for some reason, the European bus driver kept playing an old country western song over the loudspeaker. We rolled through eight countries listening to A White Sport Coat and a Pink Carnation, over and over again.

During my twenty-something university student days, I spent most of my time in New York City, especially in Greenwich Village, where I often visited The Bitter End at 147 Bleeker Street to listen to the music of my crush, Jake Holmes, and my friend Chuck’s crush, Joni Mitchell. The soundtrack of the area at the time was Summer in the City by The Lovin’ Spoonful.

 The song, “People,” brings me back to an evening in Central Park, where my friends and I picnicked with 125,000 people to listen to Barbara Streisand’s stunning voice ring out through the darkness.

I always associate the emotional theme from Claude Lelouch’s French film, A Man and A Woman, with New York’s East Village because I enjoyed it while on a date there.

I Want to Hold Your Hand brings me back to the Staten Island ferry terminal in Lower Manhattan. The loudspeaker system was broadcasting a radio program, and it was there that I first heard the Beatles.

Jug Band Music by the Jim Kweskin Jug Band evokes Cambridge, Massachusetts and the Club 47.

Two songs bring sweet memories of my wedding: My Sweet Lord by George Harrison and If You Could Read My Mind by Gordon Lightfoot.

Eros Ramazzotti’s song, Se Bastasse Una Canzone (If a Song Were Enough), recalls the years I lived in Italy. Those years also bring to mind how much my children laughed at another Italian song, Mi Scappa la Pipi, Papà (I Need to Pee, Papa) by Pippo Franco.

Here I Go Again by Whitesnake reminds me of the years I lived in Germany.

Reality, a song from a French film, brings me back to a ski trip in Austria where La Boum was shown during a film night at the lodge.

Respect by Aretha Franklin recalls a fun moment from teaching Middle School when I lip-synched and danced to it with several other teachers to entertain the students in the auditorium. We all wore gold lamé outfits, and the students laughed and clapped and enjoyed it.

A country-western song, He Parked His Car in Her Driveway, had my husband and I laughing as it played repeatedly on the car radio during a drive to the Crested Butte Ski Area in Colorado.

The Charlie Brown Theme reminds me of a piano concert I attended in San Diego with my friend, Muriel.

The tune of Imagine by John Lennon makes me remember a nurse friend who has passed on. As a Peace Corps volunteer in Morocco, she added her own lyrics in Arabic to teach teens about the adverse effects of smoking. Her song was called Txyyal makaynsh Duxxan (Imagine No Smoking).

Cryin’ by Aerosmith transports me to Boston, as does most any song by Jackson Brown and James Taylor, because I saw them together in concert at Fenway Park. The music of The Nutcracker transports me to Boston’s theater district and many holiday seasons, enjoying the show with family and friends.

The music of The Beach Boys reminds me of one summer night in Rangeley, Maine, when they visited and gave an outdoor concert with the lake as a backdrop.

My brother Bob Wright’s song, The Dust Came Down, reminds me of September 11, 2001, when the World Trade Center was attacked. In September of 2009, the Brooklyn Arts Council invited Bob to perform it at a 9/11 Memorial, and the Arts Council archived the song for posterity.

Beaching in Thailand

Image by Filippo Frazzetta from Pixabay 

“If there’s heaven for me, I’m sure it has a beach attached to it.”

– Jimmy Buffett

During a cold winter in New England in 2010, my husband and I sought warmth and sandy beaches. One of the best places in the world for that is Thailand.

On Tuesday, January 26th, after a couple of weeks in other countries of Southeast Asia, my husband and I caught a Bangkok Airways flight from Sim Reap, Cambodia, to Suvarnabhumi International Airport in Bangkok, Thailand. It left at 5 pm and took less than an hour.  Unlike most American carriers now, they provided a boxed meal for the short flight. That evening, we took a taxi to the Thong Ta Resort and Spa, a hotel near the airport where we spent the night.

On Wednesday morning, January 27th, we taxied back to the Bangkok airport. The taxis to and from the hotel were inexpensive (40 Baht/$4.50 each way). We boarded an Air Asia flight to Krabi International Airport in the southwest of Thailand.

From the Krabi airport to the Krabi Town pier, we took an open-air shuttle bus at 180 Baht/$6.00 for the two of us. It was more like the back of a truck with benches, and we shared it with several other travelers from Australia who were spending six months exploring Southeast Asia.

From Krabi, we took a ferry (900 Baht /$28.00 for two) across the Andaman Sea to the island of Koh Phi Phi Don (as distinguished from the smaller Koh Phi Phi Leh).

Upon arrival on Koh Phi Phi Don, we walked from the dock to the Phi Phi Banyan Villa Hotel, where we stayed for five nights. We spent the days beaching and exploring. The nearby, palm-fringed, white-sand Loh Dalum Beach was like a picture postcard. The aquamarine water was partially encircled by dramatic limestone cliffs and dotted with longtail boats, their tails decorated with colorful fabrics. The town was filled with restaurants, bars, shops, and a kaleidoscope of people from different nations.

On Friday, January 29th, I enjoyed a massage at a shop close to the hotel. It was a bargain at 500 Baht ($15.50).

On Monday, February 1st, we checked out of the Phi Phi Banyan Villa Hotel and took a ferry (700 Baht/$22.00 for two) from Koh Phi Phi Don to the larger island of Koh Lanta, to the southeast. From the Koh Lanta dock, we took a taxi (400 Baht/$12.50) to the Srilanta Resort, where we stayed for five nights. It fronted on a long sand beach that ran for miles, but behind it, the rest of the island was very green with many trees, and there was a road paralleling the beach on which we enjoyed walking. Some nights, we ate on the hotel patio facing the beach, and one night, we walked to a nearby beachfront restaurant that had tables set right on the sand. One of us had red curry and the other, green curry. They were both delicious. The restaurant entertained diners with paper lanterns they lit with flames and set aloft into the sky, creating a magical environment.

On Friday, February 5th, my husband and I enjoyed outdoor massages right on the beach. We were each given a bed set up on the sand. The price for two was only 600 Baht/$18.75. My husband opted to follow up with a pedicure for 100 Baht, another bargain at $3.00.

On the morning of Saturday, February 6, we made the most of our last beach day at the Srilanta Resort, then we checked out, left our luggage with reception, and had a nice lunch.  At 2 pm, a public minivan picked us up at the hotel, and after a few stops at other hotels, it whisked all of us to the Krabi airport on the mainland (250 Baht/$7.80). (Well, maybe ‘whisked’ is an exaggeration.  It took close to 3 hours and required 2 ferry crossings!) 

Our 7 pm Air Asia flight to Bangkok took under an hour. Since our stopover was an overnight, we reserved a room at the Citadines Bangkok Sukhumvit 16 Hotel in the city and took a taxi there. (It was a rushed visit, but worth the effort to get a taste of the capital.

It was after 9 pm when we got to the hotel and we were famished.  The woman at reception suggested the nearby Foodland.  Once outside, we could see Foodland to our right, but it said “supermarket” so we went looking elsewhere. Inspired by a TV program, my husband was itching to try some street food, but we nixed the few menus we saw because they mentioned “entrails” and “stomach linings.” 

We turned down a side street where a place seemed busy but soon realized it was a brothels with hookers welcoming guests! It was getting late, and not much was open in the area.  Finally, somewhere close to 11 pm, we found a Mexican place. It was kind of weird to be eating Mexican on our one night in Bangkok, but it did taste good! 

As we headed back to the hotel, we saw that Foodland was open 24 hours, so we headed there to buy a couple of beers.  To our surprise, it also had a restaurant that was busy and looked good.  Too bad we hadn’t taken the receptionist’s advice.

On Sunday, February 7th, we got up early to make the most of our one morning in Bangkok, but most places didn’t open until 10 am. The weather was hot, but we walked and found a nice park that was a cool oasis. It was dedicated to Queen Sirikit and was filled with fountains and recreational courts, playgrounds, gardens, and a pool.  Lots of young kids were running laps, some with their parents.  They appeared to be participating in either an organized run or a club activity.  It was a peaceful respite from the traffic outside the gates. 

Bangkok also had a Skytrain, which was an elevated rail system that ran through many of the central parts of the city. Since that time, a Skytrain connection to the airport has opened. 

At 11 am, we took a taxi to the airport for our flight to Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam. (The taxis between the hotel in the city and the airport were only 200 Baht/$6.25 each way.)  We were impressed with the modern airport when we first arrived, but this time we had a chance to see the full scope of the international terminals.  It rivaled Heathrow for the number of shops and restaurants. 

 Security was super tight. At the TSA, they went through our carry-ons and confiscated small bottles of hot sauce. When we got to the gate, inspectors came through and asked all of the waiting passengers to line up for a second baggage inspection. We passed and made our 2 pm flight on time. It was with Air France on a 747, a relaxing ride after the stressful ordeal at the airport, but in keeping with our overall lovely experience in Thailand.

A Memorable June in Big Sky Country

(Image by Mary Barthel  from Pixabay)

Back in June of 2008 when our son and his girlfriend (now wife) were living in Montana, we flew to Bozeman from New England and landed on a Saturday night. We had reserved an economy car, but only a huge pickup truck was available. They said we could return it with an empty tank since the price of gas was so high or check back to see if we could switch it out.

On a rainy Sunday morning, my son drove us all (including their two dogs) through Paradise Valley to the Chico Hot Springs.  The rain stopped and we had a nice soak. (The cliffs looming overhead reminded me of the baths in Banos, Ecuador). We had beers from the poolside bar, and afterward, stopped along the Yellowstone River where the dogs got their swim. We had a late Mexican lunch at Fiesta en Jalisco in Livingston. Back at their Belgrade home, we watched the second game of the NBA playoffs (Celtics-Lakers) and the Celtics won.

Monday was sunny and we all went in our rental truck to the Missouri Headwaters State Park, a short drive west of of Belgrade, for a hike and picnic. The Missouri River is the convergence of three rivers (Jefferson, Madison, and Gallatin) and the park is one of the places where Lewis and Clark camped. The dogs found a whole deer leg on the trail!

On Tuesday, rain was predicted for later in the day, so we all went for an early hike. The snowpack was still deep, so we didn’t want to go too high. We went to the ‘M’ trail outside of Bozeman that we had climbed the previous fall but took the quicker ‘more rigorous’ trail. The hillsides were covered in arrowleaf root (a type of sunflower) – beautiful! At the top, we saw storm clouds approaching, and it rained lightly during our descent. Near the bottom, it began to hail! Afterward, my husband went to the airport to see if he could get another car and came back with a minivan (Chevy Uplander) which was smaller than the truck but still pretty big. He helped our son install new gutters and drainpipe on the front of their garage. For dinner, we ordered pizzas and watched the 3rd game of the NBA finals – the Celtics lost but were still ahead 2-1.

On Wednesday, we woke up to snow. A big storm system was predicted for northwestern Montana where we were headed. I felt better when the snow advisory for Missoula was lifted, but they were still predicting 3-5 inches for Butte, the first major town on our route west. Interstate 90 turned out to have light rain most of the way. We only had snow on the road at Homestake Pass (6000+ ft.) just before Butte (the birthplace of Evil Knievel), but we made it through without incident. We passed the town of Deer Lodge where they have a ‘Testicle Festival’ in August and continued to Missoula. The desk clerks at our motel had Massachusetts connections. One knew a family from our hometown of Boxford, and the other was moving to Brookline while her husband attended BU Law School. We had dinner at a restaurant in the Joker’s Wild casino, but we stayed away from the smoke-filled casino.

On Thursday, it was sunny when we left Missoula and headed up Route 93N toward Kalispell. The only snow we saw was on distant mountain peaks as we drove through the Jocko Valley. We stopped at a scenic overlook with a view of the Sunset Crags of the Mission Range. Flathead Lake was a spectacular sight (over 27 miles long and surrounded by mountains), and the area had a lot of cherry orchards. At Polson, the town at the south end of the lake, there was no snow. We stopped at a store that made down products then headed up a hill out of town where sparse snow was on the grass. After the downhill, we followed the western shore of the lake. We stopped at the Chamber of Commerce in Kalispell and found out that the ‘Road to the Sun’ in Glacier National Park was partially open, and Route 2 was clear to the eastern end. Good news. We found a room in Kalispell, left our luggage, and drove over to Big Fork on the lake, a nice community with lots of art galleries, shops, and restaurants. The sidewalks had metal shapes of bear, elk, etc. embedded in cement. We had lunch outdoors on a sunny patio at Wild Mile, a deli that specialized in German food. We walked down to an old bridge that spanned the Swan River (one way and one car at a time), crossed it, and walked down to check out a boat ramp. Back at the hotel, we watched the 4th game of the NBA finals – a nailbiter!  The Lakers dominated but the Celtics made a late comeback to win (up 3-1!). 

On Friday, we had some sun as we headed to the West Glacier entrance of Glacier NP. After an orientation at the visitors’ center, we drove eastward on ‘Going to the Sun’ Road along the shore of Lake Macdonald.  We were able to go about 16 miles, as far as Avalanche Campground.  From there and up and over the summit, the road was still closed to traffic, so we parked and walked.  The road followed the Flathead River which was roaring. A ranger told us that if we walked about two miles, we would get a glimpse of the Garden Wall (a high wall of rock and one of the park’s most distinctive features).  We walked for about an hour with many stops for photos and got to a place where we saw a large and steep snow-filled bowl coming down from one of the peaks. We might have seen the Garden Wall, but it was hard to be sure because the top was in the clouds and the higher elevations were snow-covered. We didn’t run into any snow at the road level, but crews were working on cutting broken tree limbs. Trucks working with the plows at the higher elevations passed us loaded with dirty snow. On the return walk, we met a man from Switzerland and chatted back to our car.  On the return drive, we saw a mule deer and some small birds.  We stopped at the Lake Macdonald Lodge and went in to see the great room with its giant timbers, fireplace, and view of the lake. After exiting the West Glacier gate, we headed east on Route 2 which skirts the southern edge of the park.  The further east we drove, the sunnier it became, but it was very windy. We stopped at the East Glacier Lodge (near the intersection of Rts. 2 & 49) which has an even larger great room, very impressive. We headed north on Route 49, a spectacular drive with great views into the park of Two Medicine Lake and its backdrop of snow-covered peaks. We continued north on Route 89 past the St. Mary entrance to the park (great view of St. Mary Lake) and entered the park at the Many Glacier gate. The road took us along the shore of Sherburn Lake and past some pastoral areas. We encountered some bighorn sheep along the road. My husband got out to take photos and the sheep seemed docile, but when a ram started walking directly toward him, he got back into the car. His window was open and the ram stuck his head right through it, which was a little freaky, but no harm was done. We drove to Many Glacier Lodge, which had another great room with great lake and mountain views. A film crew was outside and they were lowering a camera on a boom down to the water level. After leaving the park, we drove south on 464 and 89 and had incredible vistas of cattle ranches backed by long snow-covered mountain ranges. We saw lots of free-range cattle and a horse galloping outside the fence next to the road. We arrived in Great Falls at about 7:30 pm, stopped at a motel, and turned on the news. We were sad to learn that Tim Russert (NBC Washington Bureau Chief) had died that day at the age of 58 (heart attack).

On Saturday morning in Great Falls, it was sunny. We drove toward the Missouri River and the city center. We parked and walked down Central Street looking into shop windows and stumbled upon an outdoor market at the Civic Center Park. On the return walk, we stopped in some of the shops then drove to the Charles M. Russell Museum. He was a renowned painter, sculptor, and writer (Native American and cowboy themes). It was an impressive complex with modern galleries, his original log cabin studio, and his home. Afterward, we drove along the river and stopped at an overlook at Black Creek Falls. We headed south on Interstate 15 toward Helena (HEL-ena), Montana’s capital.  The road followed the Missouri River through some canyons with nice rock formations, and we saw kayakers, canoers, and inflatable boaters. We parked in the Capital District and checked out the pedestrian mall area then continued on Rt. 15 south to 69 south. We passed lots of ranches and the Boulder Hot Springs resort, which was a grand old Victorian building with spacious grounds. Interstate 90 East took us back to Belgrade. We all sat out on the back deck and had a beer then went inside for dinner. Afterward, we went for a short drive to an access point on the Gallatin River to watch the sunset and take photos (orange over the river and behind us, pink over the Bridger Range).

Sunday was Father’s Day. Our son took us for a super back-roads drive and up through Flathead Pass on the western sunny side of the Bridger range. It was a steep, narrow, rough road washed out in spots, but his Toyota truck took it well. At the top of the pass, he parked, and we walked the ridge with its view of the Crazy Mountains. We drove down the eastern side on a well-maintained gravel road that led to Bridger Canyon and into Bridger Bowl Ski Area. The eastern side still had quite a bit of snow, and we saw a few skiers who had skinned up and skied down. Afterward, our son’s girlfriend prepared a special Father’s Day dinner. We watched the 5th NBA Finals game – Celtics lost to the Lakers (but up 3-2) then sat around the outdoor fire pit for a while.

On Monday morning, my husband and I headed south on Rt. 191 to Yellowstone NP in Wyoming. We entered the west entrance and saw LOTS of bison with their calves up close. At Madison Junction, we turned north and stopped at Norris, where we followed the boardwalks around the geysers and hot springs (including Steamboat, the tallest geyser in the park. From there, we headed east toward Canyon Junction and south to Fishing Bridge. The lodge there is on Yellowstone Lake and we walked through the lodge to a sand beach on the lakeshore with a backdrop of snowy mountain peaks. We then drove north again past Canyon Junction and up through Dunraven Pass, which had spectacular views and some areas with about 2 feet of snow on the roadsides. We stopped to see the falls at Tower Junction, and further on, we saw some bighorn sheep in the distance perched on pinnacles of cliffs that looked like sandstone formations. We headed east toward Mammoth Springs over a high plateau of green sagebrush-dotted grasslands. From there, we headed out through the north entrance at Gardiner, Montana. We followed Rt. 89 north through Paradise Valley where we saw lots of elk ranches and then at Livingston took I90 west to Belgrade where we enjoyed a nice dinner on the deck.

On Tuesday afternoon, we all drove to Virginia City and Nevada City, two ghost towns that have some working establishments like small places to eat and shop.  We stopped for dinner at the Oasis in Manhattan on the way back, a small off-the-beaten-path place. Back in Belgrade, we all watched the Celtics TRAMPLE the Lakers to win the NBA championship!!!

On Wednesday morning, we got up at 4 am for a 6 o’clock flight back to New England via Minneapolis and Detroit.

Random Impressions From One May in Rhodes

“The isles of Greece! the isles of Greece
    Where burning Sappho loved and sung,
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
    Where Delos rose, and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all, except their sun, is set.”

Lord Byron, “The Isles of Greece”

One past May, my husband and I landed on the island of Rhodes, Greece. We spent a wonderful two weeks, enjoying the sun, the many beaches, the mountains, the history and culture, and celebrating a wedding anniversary. However, some moments are memorable for other reasons.

The baggage claim at Rhodes’ tiny airport had 2 exits - right for EU residents and left for non-EU.  We went left (the only ones as far as we could see) and ended up in the same place as the others. (The non-EU door had a McDonald's ad above it.)

The really amusing part came after that.  We had reserved a car online directly through the airport.  The confirmation said that it was affiliated with Olympic car rentals, a company based in Dublin, Ireland, and called Argus Car Hire.  We found the Hertz, Avis, Budget, etc. desks, but no Argus or Olympic.  When we asked, we were told to look for a guy holding a sign in the arrivals area - no luck.  Finally, one of the guys holding a sign of some sort said he had seen our rep, and he took us to look for him.  We found a harassed-looking Greek man in a corner surrounded by 2 UK groups.  He told us "5 minutes" which became close to half an hour.  One group consisted of three angry men.  They had ordered a Fiat Doblo van and it wasn't available.  (They had women and children waiting nearby so they needed a large vehicle.)  The rep tried to explain that a customer had gotten into a fender bender the day before, and the van needed some repairs.  He offered them 2 cars until he could deliver the repaired van to their hotel.  They weren't budging.  The second group had two women and one man and their transaction was uncomplicated but seemed to take forever because of the interruptions from the other group who had called the home office and wanted the rep to talk to them.  (He finally did and said something like, do you want me to make one?) Anyway, by the time it was our turn, the poor guy needed to vent and he told us his tale of woe, but our transaction went pretty fast and was congenial. As we walked outside to our car, the first group was still fuming. We shook hands with the rep, said, "Efkaristo”, got into our cute tiny Hyundai Atos, and prepared to drive off.  But, the key was missing!  Our guy made a quick cell phone call, and the key was delivered within minutes.

On our first full day on the island, we drove to Rhodes Town to find a bank machine. (We were out of Euros). However, we needed Euro coins to park - catch 22!  We found a spot and my husband stayed in the car while I went in search of either an ATM or an exchange. The Bank of Greece, a large imposing building, had an exchange but no ATM.  I asked for coins for parking, and the teller gave me some but not as many as I wanted. I hustled back to the parking area, and put my coins in the machine to retrieve my time-stamped ticket. We put the ticket in the car window and headed in search of an ATM. I put in my bank card and followed the directions, but no cash came out.  We went inside with the card and explained. The teller asked what option we chose – checking. He said we needed to choose credit.  We went back outside, tried credit with a Visa card, and it still didn't work.  We went to another ATM and tried both cards to no avail.  We went inside, and one of the employees came out to help.  It was then that the lightbulb dawned - I had been using the three-digit number on the back, instead of my four-digit pin. My face was red but we did get our cash.

In the evening, we had dinner at the Napoli Restaurant owned by the man who managed our rental apartment in Ixia.  It did serve Greek food, despite the Italian name. My husband got to speak the rusty Polish of his childhood when we learned that Alessandra, who had given us the apartment key and was our waitress, was Polish from the town of Katowice. She spent summers in Rhodes and winters in Poland.

The next evening, we stopped at Phillip's Bar near our apartment for a beer and the free Wifi.  My husband kidded the owner about having an English-sounding name and said he should use something like “Zorba." He told us that Zorba was actually Turkish and that he was named after Phillip of Macedonia, adding that Macedonia was definitely Greek.  (Don't tell that to the Macedonians who continually fight for independence.)

The next morning didn’t seem like a beach day, so we headed inland. Driving was sometimes a challenge because many of the signs were in Greek lettering, depending on your direction.  Several times, we guessed at a turn because we remembered seeing a translated sign when coming in the opposite direction! We made a little headway with the Greek script learning that the letter "P" has an "R" sound, a backward "E" sounds like "Z", and an upside-down "U " that is squared, sounds like "P".  It was still hard to read signs that weren't translated though.

Of particular interest in the old section of Rhodes Town was the Street of the Knights, lined with 15th-century hospitality buildings. Knights of various nationalities, e.g.  Spanish, Italian, French) were able to host visitors of the same language for lodging, discussion, etc.

The Knights of St. John helped the Greeks defend Rhodes Town from the Saracens and the Turks.  When the Turks won victory in the 16th century, despite losing hundreds of thousands of soldiers, the knights departed for Crete.  (They eventually ended up in Malta.)  The Italians invaded during World War II, but when the Allies won, the Dodecanese islands (including Rhodes) were given back to Greece.

One day we drove to the acropolis of Ialyssos. Lots of peacocks were running around free. It also had an interesting mixture of buildings and ruins, including the remains of a 4th-century BC Christian baptistry and remnants of a 2nd-century BC Palace of Athena.  On the edge of the cliff was a Byzantine fortress, and the centerpiece was a lovely Greek monastery with a courtyard from the 15th century AD.  A shaded walk with Italian stations of the cross led to a giant cement cross overlooking a valley.  It had a staircase inside and my husband hiked up to stand on the horizontal part of the cross.

People-watching at Tsampikos Beach was interesting.  A guy on a beach lounge had quite a few tattoos, including WINGS on his shoulder blades! My bikini fit right in.  Hardly anyone wore a one-piece -unless it was a bikini bottom. On the way home, we picked up some Tyrrell's Hand Cooked Potato Chips with sea salt and vinegar at Eurospar.  To assuage guilt, the British added this note to the bag:  "Our chips can be eaten as part of a healthy common-sense diet along with plenty of broccoli and lots of exercise."

Another morning, we caught a ferry to the island of Symi. The first stop was at the tiny port of Panormici. We headed for a building with a beautifully painted tower. At the doorway, it was determined that I was “indecently" dressed, along with many of the other women and girls.  (I had on almost knee-length cargo shorts and a t-shirt.) I had to don a complimentary wrap-around skirt to enter. (Men weren't bothered, even those wearing short shorts.) The building contained two museums and a Greek Orthodox chapel. The latter was the reason for the decency requirements. It had a revered icon of Michael the Archangel, patron of the island.

The tallest peak on Rhodes is Mt. Attavyros (about 3,600 ft.) and my husband had been eyeing it since we arrived. Locals told us there were hiking paths on the less-steep eastern side, so we headed there. As we got close, we came to a tiny monastery, and my husband stopped to photograph it. He went inside and came back out with some hard candy from the orthodox priest and reported that the priest made him wear a wrap-around skirt to cover his shorts while he was inside! He also learned that it was a 4-5 hour hike to the top of the mountain.

We began hiking up a road across from the monastery. It led us to a farm building where we found a goat path that continued upward. It was littered with goat poop , so a goat path in the literal sense. We also came across a goat skull with horns attached. As the climb got harder, the path started blending in with the general scrub. We made cairns to mark our path and help us on the return. At one point, we startled some live mountain goats and watched as four of them made their way up to and across a ridge. We eventually made our way to a ridge that was a false peak, where we had a view of the expansive valley all the way to the sea. We stopped and had energy bars and water. It was very hot and windy and neither of us had hiking boots, so we began our descent. The whole trip took us a little under 3 hours.

The town of Ialyssos had lots of shops, cafes, restaurants, sports bars, and a fish spa where we had our feet nibbled. We immersed our feet in a tank full of small fish that licked and sucked the dead skin off.  It was very relaxing and it tickled. The whole process took about half an hour and we came away with soft, clean feet.

One afternoon, we gave our skin a break from the sun and went to the Archaeological Museum of Rhodes.  It’s housed in a medieval hospital built around 600 A.D, but the sculptures and artifacts date back many centuries B.C.  (Rhodes has been inhabited for about 24 centuries!) One particularly lovely statue was a white marble kneeling Aphrodite, often referred to as the Venus of Rhodes.

The 3 most ancient settlements on the island are Lindos, Ialyssos, and Kamiros.  We had visited the first two, so we headed for the third.  Ancient Kamiros, like the other sites, is set high on a hill overlooking the sea.  They had uncovered much of a town with the lower walls of houses, baths, a fountain square, etc.  At the very top, was a Temple of Athena from which you could see the island's 2 highest peaks to the east and southeast and the Aegean Sea to the west.

On our last full day on the island, we went on a search.  We had glimpsed what looked like stone turbans behind an iron fence on our way out of the city the day before. We found the place, but the first gate was locked.  We walked around the block to another locked gate but saw that there were a few people inside the fence.  We kept walking around and at the next corner, we noticed a plaque on a small house within the grounds. It had been the temporary residence of the writer, Lawrence Durrell from 1943-45.  (I highly recommend his book, "The Bitter Lemons of Cyprus" btw.)  Continuing around, we finally came to an open doorway in an Arabic-style house.  We passed through some work in progress to a quiet garden next to a small mosque.  An elderly couple sat there talking to a young family and they motioned us toward an open gate.  Inside we found a very old cemetery set amidst ancient trees.  The tombs were above the ground and each one had a standing plaque or column with what looked to us like Turkish writing. Many were indeed topped by either a stone turban or stone fez and some had floral designs in the stone.  As we exited, the cemetery, we peeked into an open doorway of a small chapel. An old man motioned that it was okay to enter.  Shoe removal was appreciated.  It was the resting place of a religious leader by the name of Mohammed.  On our way out, we thanked the old man and asked if he spoke any English.  His one-word reply, accompanied by a gesture to his surroundings was, "Turkey." He meant it was from the Byzantine era.

We had our farewell dinner at the Napoli Restaurant and verified arrangements for leaving the key, etc.  The owner offered us complimentary schnapps before we left.  Alessandra toasted us with the Greek, "Ya mas!" and said goodbye too. She told my husband that his mother's maiden name (Dlugosz) was famous in Poland.   She said her last name, Jagielo, was also famous.  

On our final morning, we took one last drive up the western coast so we could walk a coastal path along the rocky ledges.  It was a beautiful sunny morning, and we spent about an hour enjoying the exercise, the plant life, and the sound of the waves lapping the shore below.  We asked a couple along the way to take a photo of the two of us - the only one on that trip.  Further along, several Germans pointed out a cave in one of the rocks.  They said it was a memorial for those lost, perhaps at sea.  We walked down and peeked in to find lit candles, an altar, and many mementos adorning the walls.

At the airport, we were trying to decide where to leave the car (no signs for rental returns) and who should appear but our rental agent from two weeks before!  We surrendered the keys, shook hands, and went into the terminal in search of the Ryanair office.  They didn't have one.  It was a compact, small airport, so the non-EU visa check and boarding pass stamp were done at the gate check-in- a simple end to a lovely stay.

Hiking in the Hawaiian Islands

Hiking in the Hawaiian Islands

“Walking is a man’s best medicine”

Hippocrates

My only trip to Hawaii was several years ago with my husband during the month of April. The islands are expensive, but many of the most memorable experiences were hikes. They cost little or nothing and got us some exercise out in nature.

On Oahu, we got up early one morning and caught a city bus near our hotel for a half-hour ride to Diamond Head.  The iconic peak is one of the cones of a large volcanic crater that overlooks the Waikiki coastline. It’s known to Hawaiians as Lēʻahi because the shape of the ridgeline resembles the shape of a tuna's dorsal fin. Since the climb is so popular with tourists, it’s advisable to reserve a time and ticket online. Diamond Head is a National Monument and it cost us $5.00 per person. From the bus stop closest to the crater, we walked about 20 minutes through the crater tunnel to the trailhead. The hike up was moderate, and though it was hot, there was a morning breeze. The climb, which took us about 30 minutes, was a rocky path up the crater hillside followed by about 200 steps to get to the top. The view was spectacular, and the peak area was filled with people of all ages. We took photos of the Waikiki coast and the lighthouse below the crater then hiked down and back out to the city bus.

The following week, we arrived on the island of Kauai on a rainy day. We wanted to hike the Napali coastline, so we headed there the next day, despite a forecast of more rain. From our hotel in Kapa’a, we drove north along the Kuhio Highway. The coastal road was wet, and at one point, we had to cross a small stream that had formed on it. The highway is scenic with lots of curves above the ocean, but there are pull-offs if you want to stop to enjoy the views. We stopped at Haena beach and checked out a large cave across from it. Then we drove as far as the road went, to Ke'e beach and the Napali Coast Kalalau trailhead, only to be disappointed. The trail was closed due to the wet weather. We hoped for a break in the weather and another attempt later in the week.

Because the south and west sides of the island showed better weather, we focused on other activities in that direction. We did some beaching, exploring, took a helicopter tour, and did another hike. We drove to Waimea on the west coast and up into Waimea Canyon. We did a short hike on the Illikoi Loop Trail, stopped at a few lookouts, then took the Canyon Trail. We weren't planning to take it all the way to the bottom of the canyon, mostly because of intermittent showers which made the trail a bit slippery. However, a hiker we met said that the falls were worth seeing, and he mentioned the Black Pole Trail. So, we hiked in a mile to that trailhead and took it. I noticed that someone had scratched "The Falls" below the trail name but failed to notice the arrow pointing to continue on the Canyon Trail. The Black Pole Trail climbed quite a bit and we saw no other signs for the falls. We met some hikers who told us where we had gone wrong. It was about an hour detour. We went back down, found the trail intersection, and saw the arrow. Following that, we hiked about another 1/2 mile until we came to an outcropping with awesome views of the canyon and a so-so view of the top of the Waipo'o waterfall. From there, we started the return, but we later learned that, if we continued down, we would have found a better waterfall view. It was work hiking back up out of the canyon. We had mostly sun but also occasional sprinkles, and we put on our rain jackets. All in all, it was a good hike and it took us about 4 hours.

Several days later, the sky looked iffy, but the forecast was positive, so we headed to the North shore again. The Kalalau Trail on the Napali Coast was open and the parking lots were crowded, muddy, and rocky. We found a spot in the far lot by picking our way around large rocks. At 9:45am, we started hiking. The trail started out muddy and shaded, but soon we had risen enough to get a view of K'e Beach and the coast. The trail continued upward with sun and shade areas and intermittent slippery, muddy spots. Somewhere past the 1-mile point, the view of Napali’s emerald-hued cliffs with razor-sharp ridges towering above the Pacific Ocean was amazing and a hiking couple offered to take our photo. We passed several small waterfalls on the way up then the trail started down. At one of the last downhills, it was really muddy and I slipped. My shorts got covered with the wet red clay. When we made it to the 2-mile mark, we came to a stream. We needed to cross it in order to get to Hanakapi'ai Beach. Some people were balancing on the wet rocks with their shoes on and others were wading across sans shoes. We took off our shoes and went across. On the other side, the beach was all rock with what looked like cairns stacked everywhere. Across from the beach, we could see some caves in the cliffs. There were signs posted warning people not to go near the ocean because of the shore break. People were just hanging out. We ate energy bars, rested a bit, and took some photos. After about 35 minutes, we waded back across the stream, put on our shoes and socks, and started our return. It was much hotter but we made it out and walked over to Ke'e Beach to get our feet wet. I tried to wash my shorts but the red clay wouldn't come out. The water was warm but the surf was pretty rough and there were signs that said, "No snorkeling." We were able to rinse our feet up from the beach then trekked back to the parking lot. I changed my shirt (which had also gotten muddy) and draped a sarong over my bathing suit. After a stop for something to eat, we got back to our hotel close to 5pm. We were muddy and tired but had a fun and memorable day.

On Hawaii, the Big Island, we did mostly beaching, but we took a few short hikes in Volcanoes National Park. We stopped at the park headquarters and then set out on the crater rim road. We parked by some steam vents and walked up to the crater rim trail. The Kilauea Crater had some steam coming out but nothing too dramatic. Back in the car, we drove to an overlook and then we walked to another part of the crater rim trail and walked up the hill to the Jaggar Museum for an even better view from the museum's deck. More steam came out of the crater but we saw no lava action. We walked back down the hill to the car and then drove to Nāhuku, the Thurston Lava Tube. A sign said, “Enter the lava tube at your own risk. Potential hazards include: Rockfall, Low ceilings, Standing water, and Tripping hazards.” We walked through a tree fern rainforest and then through a lighted lava tube where a river of 2000 degree fahrenheit lava once flowed. (A lava tube is a natural conduit formed by flowing lava that moves beneath the hardened surface of a lava flow. Tubes can be actively draining lava from a volcano during an eruption, or can be extinct, meaning the lava flow has ceased and the rock has cooled and left a long, cave-like channel.) This was the highlight of the visit for me - very cool!

Road Trip to Expo 67 in Montreal

“Now and then in travel, something unexpected happens that transforms the whole nature of the trip and stays with the traveler.” 

Paul Theroux

I was young, owned a car, and had never been to Canada.  Expo 67 in Montreal, Quebec, celebrating Canada’s Centennial, was shattering attendance records for world’s fairs and it caught my fancy. Photos showed an innovative site located on artificial islands in the St. Lawrence River with forward-thinking modern architecture like Buckminster Fuller’s geodesic dome and Habitat 67, Moshe Safde’s revolutionary housing project. The expo also promised modern and fun urban transportation. A brand-new Metro connected the city with the islands. Once you arrived out there, you had a choice of the Expo Express, a steel-wheeled train that shuttled visitors between venues, a monorail, pedicabs, and boats gliding the canals.

I decided to drive to Montreal from New York City and convinced my friend Marian to come along for a long weekend adventure. We squeezed into my low-to-the-ground, yellow MG, two-seater convertible and headed north early one morning. It was a great day and we enjoyed having the top down, even though it scrambled our hairstyles. We breezed across the border because, in that era, a passport wasn’t necessary. The lack of sufficient legroom that caused my clutch-pressing left foot to cramp was the only drawback to the six-hour drive.

In Montreal, we found an inexpensive hotel. I was happy to find parking because we wouldn’t need the car to get to the Expo islands. We were looking forward to using the new Metro in the morning, but timing, as they say, is everything.

Up early, we waited at the Metro stop for a long time. More and more people joined us. We eventually learned that there was no service because employees of the Montreal Transportation Commission had walked out on strike at midnight. We were among thousands of commuters and tourists stranded at bus and Metro stops throughout the city. People were anxious to get to the Expo and began hitching and sharing rides. Since drivers seemed accommodating and there was a sense of shared camaraderie, Marian and I followed suit.

That ride ended up being the thing I remember most about the trip.  We had front-row seats to the political differences between the French and English-speaking citizens of Quebec. Our driver and a fellow passenger had opposing views on whether or not Quebec should become independent from Canada. The debate see-sawed between French and English and lasted all through the slow ride in bumper-to-bumper traffic until we got to the drop-off point for the island. I didn’t understand all of the French words, but I got the gist and it was fascinating.

I’m pretty sure we enjoyed visiting many of the expo pavilions celebrating Man and His World, but none of them are remembered as vividly as the unexpected ride-hitching experience.

Two Trips to Puerto Rico

Photo by Nikita Castro  on Unsplash  

“A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike.”

John Steinbeck 

More than forty years passed between my two visits to the island of Puerto Rico. Both trips were enjoyable, but they were different. The island was the same in some ways but had also changed with the times. I guess the same was true of me.

During the first trip, I was single and I traveled from New York with my sister. The details are hazier than the more recent trip, but I remember some parts. We stayed in the Condado Beach section of San Juan on the north shore of the island. Our hotel was located about a block from the sand, and we walked to the beach to enjoy sunbathing and swimming. We rented a car for a day, and one of the highlights was a drive to the picturesque, palm-fringed Luquillo Beach toward the eastern shore. It was mostly undeveloped and idyllic. We also drove through the El Yunque Rainforest, and after the sun and heat of the coast, were so delighted to see the rain that we got out of the car and took a photo of the two of us laughing in the tropical downpour. I remember walking the ramparts of El Morro and that the historic center of Old San Juan was lovely with well-kept Old-World buildings. We admired the elegant El Convento Hotel and stylish restaurants, and we browsed inside interesting shops along the cobblestoned streets. I bought a pen and ink sketch of Calle del Cristo to remember it by.

My second trip to the island was from Boston with my husband. On Monday, we picked up a rental car and drove to an apartment we had reserved online. It was in a gated community in Ocean Park on the north shore, and it was owned by a young Italian woman from the Piedmont province. A balcony off of the kitchen faced the beach, and it was a nice spot to have coffee or a glass of wine. After a short trip to Supermax for groceries, we had dinner at Kasalta, a bakery/restaurant, which had a photo commemorating a visit from President Obama in 2011.

Tuesday was a relaxing beach day on the sand near our temporary home followed by dinner at Pirilo, an Italian restaurant.

On Wednesday, I convinced my husband to drive to Luquillo Beach, which I had remembered so fondly. On the way east, we stopped at Piñones, a long, secluded beach with a boardwalk through the pines edging the sand. We walked the boardwalk one way and along the beach on the way back (a little over 2 miles). It was mellow. Afterward, we continued to Luquillo. It was a disappointment because progress had brought buildings that took away from the once-idyllic setting. We derived some consolation by drinking delicious mango/kiwi batidas. We drove further on the eastern shore to Fajardo where we bought ferry tickets for the off-shore islands for later in the week. Then we headed home and cooked dinner.

Thursday was another relaxing beach day near the apartment followed by dinner at La Cuerva del Mar, a seafood restaurant.

On Friday, we drove back to Fajardo and took a ferry to the small island of Vieques. We landed at Isabel Segunda then took a publico (shared van) to Esperanza on the other side of the island, passing lots of horses on the way. We walked the malecon (waterfront boardwalk) to Sun Bay where we spent the day on a nice crescent beach and drank pina coladas. Later, we walked back to Esperanza, and we took a publico back to Isabel Segunda where we walked around, went into an art gallery, then to a bar for a beer. After an early dinner at a restaurant called Mamasonga, we took a ferry back to the main island.

On Saturday, we drove to a parking lot at Balneario, just over the bridge from Condado Beach. From there, we walked to Old San Juan for the Fiesta de San Sebastián. So many people! It was a music-filled drinking party with impromptu parades, lots of shuttle buses, and a heavy police presence. It was hard to browse the arts and crafts vendors because of the crowds. The historic area itself seemed less elegant than I remembered. So, we had lunch at an outdoor restaurant called Toro Saloo then walked back to the car. We stopped at Supermax for groceries and headed back to relax at home.

On Sunday, we drove to El Yunque National Rainforest, and after enjoying the tropical splendor, I bought a piece of hand-painted jewelry from a local artist exhibiting at the visitor center there. In the evening, we walked from our apartment to dinner at Bahia. Afterward, my husband watched a Patriot game on TV, and I wrote.

On Monday, we drove to Fajardo again and took a ferry to the island of Culebra. After we disembarked, we took an hour's walk to Playa Flamenco. In the late afternoon, we had a meal in Dewey Harbor at Mamacitas before taking a ferry back to Fajardo and driving home.

We started Tuesday with a walk to Kasalta for cappuccino and pastry. Afterward, we drove along the northwest coast. It was, at first, industrial then more rural between larger towns. We walked a beach with wild breaking waves in Isabela, then we drove as far as Aguadilla, where we looked for a lunch place on the water without luck. On the way back, we saw mostly fast-food places. We headed for Lighthouse Bay Restaurant on the water in Arecibo which Lonely Planet recommended, but it was closed. More fast food lined the way to San Juan, so we drove to our home base then walked into Condado for dinner.

I started Wednesday morning by doing some writing then we walked the beach and swam before having lunch in the apartment. In the evening, we walked to B de Burro for dinner where we met some friendly locals, including one guy who went to Northeastern University in Boston.

Thursday was our last full day. We drove to the south shore to Playa Salinas and Playa Santa Isabel. That side of the island was quieter with banana plantations, windmills, and a mangrove-lined coast. After eating a snack in the car, we drove back home and went to our beach. In the evening, we walked to Blonda in Condado for dinner then started packing.

On Friday, we cleaned the apartment, returned the rental car, and flew home to Massachusetts. It was another lovely, relaxing, and fun trip to the island.

An Image Trip Through the Decades

“Things do not change; we change.”

Henry David Thoreau 

A new year is a time for reflection. Over the decades, my image has morphed many times. My hair, my shape, and my clothing have gone through various changes that coincided with my age, the era, and my activities.

I came into this world almost bald and soon sprouted light blonde curls. My shoes were white lace-ups and patent leather Mary Janes. I wore pastel rompers and pinafores in warm weather and snowsuits with mittens and muffs during snowy New York winters.

My elementary school years saw my hair turn to strawberry blond. It was no longer curly but had a slight wave. My mother curled my bangs with a non-electric curling iron heated on the stovetop. My school uniform was a dark green jumper and a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar. When our class went to church, I also wore a dark green beret. For dress-up, I wore a wool coat, a dress, white gloves, patent leather shoes and ruffly white socks. On special occasions like Easter, I wore a straw hat with flowers on the brim and a fresh, pink carnation corsage that my uncle would always have delivered. During those years, I took, piano, ballet, and tap dance lessons. Piano required no special dress unless I played for a school assembly which required the green uniform. The dance lessons were short-lived because I wasn’t very good, but they had me outfitted in leotards and ballet and tap shoes, plus a tutu for an occasional recital. In eighth grade, I took my first sewing lessons at a Singer Sewing store and made a cotton dress with a fitted pink and white stripe top and a gray flared skirt. 

My high school years brought no respite from a dark green uniform and white blouse, and dark green loafers were an added requirement. The uniform skirt had to be below the knee. It was the only time in my life that I cut my hair short, an experiment that was not flattering. My senior yearbook picture is cringeworthy. I went to a couple of proms. My hair was styled with hairspray, I wore heels, and my dresses were full-skirted with lots of crinolines. I played tennis during those years, and all-white outfits (t-shirt, short skirt, socks, and sneakers) were required on the courts. For Friday-night dances, I often wore wool pencil skirts and wool sweater tops.

During the Sixties, my hair was long to my shoulders, straight, and parted in the middle. The color was light brown that had a reddish tinge in sunlight. I wore what I thought was the height of New York West Village fashion: miniskirts, dangly earrings, big round sunglasses, and a second-hand fur coat from a thrift store.  One bridesmaid gig required a full-length, midnight-blue velvet sheath and pinning my long hair in an updo topped with a velvet pillbox hat.

During the Seventies, my hair stayed long, and I wore bell-bottom pants, headscarves, and slim-fitting midi dresses, sometimes accessorized with a purple and pink suede belt hung with fringe. I also wore polyester pant suits with blouses that had over-sized collars. For dressier occasions, I wore wool suits with flared skirts or shift dresses. My wedding dress was ecru, full-length, silk chiffon. As a young suburban mom, I lived in casual clothes, mostly shorts and one-piece swimsuits in summer, and jeans and sweaters in cooler temps. I took up running in those years, so I wore running shoes with shorts and tees. When it was cooler, I wore track suits and beanies. For day trips to the mountains, I wore hiking boots, shorts, tees, and a backpack, and I started skiing with all of the needed equipment: long underwear, wool socks and sock liners, turtlenecks, fleece tops, ski pants and jacket, neck warmer, wool hat, goggles, helmet, liner gloves and ski mittens. 

During my years living in Europe, I bought clothes locally in order to fit in. I seldom wore shorts unless I traveled to a resort destination. Even if I went to the supermarket, I dressed in either long pants or a skirt. In Italy, my husband had a fur coat made for me because most affluent Italian women had them. During our time in Germany, I bought a one-piece ski outfit which was the fashion there at the time.  Beach time meant wearing a bikini.

During my teaching years, I wore mostly pant suits in neutral colors and lots of black pants. My mid-length hair had bangs and eventually developed a white streak in the front, so I lightened all of it and returned to my childhood blonde. I took up kayaking, so my wardrobe acquired water shoes, SPF shirts, a life vest, and baseball-style hats for the sun.

When I retired to Florida, the color palette of my clothes got brighter and I live in flip-flops. My dermatologist advised me to wear a rashguard top and swim visor for my pool workouts. When we spend time at our place in Maine, I often wear old, sometimes paint-smeared clothes for doing chores like staining the deck or weed-whacking the property. I no longer need to lighten my hair as the gray has taken over, and I sometimes use a purple shampoo to remove the yellow. I miss the blonde, but she’s still inside me.

Adapting to Christmas Traditions Abroad

“The art of life lies in a constant readjustment to our surroundings.”

Kakuzo Okakura, The Book of Tea

Christmas in the U.S. with young children had them participating in school Christmas pageants, writing letters to Santa, visiting him for a photo-op at the mall, hanging stockings from our fireplace mantel, and leaving cookies and milk there for his descent through the chimney. There was often at least a dusting of snow to make Santa’s arrival by sleigh a possibility. It was also a time for heading from Massachusetts to New York and New Jersey for visits with grandparents and extended family.

That routine was temporarily changed when my husband’s job moved us to Southern Italy near Naples where we celebrated three Christmases with warm, sunny weather. That first year, we learned that some of our Christmas shopping had to be done earlier and mailed in November so our presents for relatives would arrive in the U.S. on time. When December rolled around, there were no sightings on street corners or in shops of Babbo Natale, the Italian name for Santa. Christmas displays were mostly in the narrow, cobblestoned, Neapolitan alley called San Gregorio Armeno. Artisan shops lined the area selling all manner of presepes (Christmas mangers) depicting the humble abode where Christ was born in Bethlehem. They ranged from the simple traditional Mary, Joseph, baby, and shepherds to elaborate scenarios that included Italian cultural figures. The shephards were Italian bagpipe-playing Zampognari, and the figures surrounding the manger mirrored the activity in Naples: fish and shellfish sellers, pizza and bread bakers, chicken and egg vendors, and cheese makers. Since we lived on a quiet hillside west of the city, Christmas shopping for me meant driving my tiny Seicento (Fiat 600) into the chaotic traffic of Naples, parking in the grand Piazza del Plebicito and paying the capo a small fee, then either climbing up to the shops and department stores on busy Via Toledo, or walking across to the higher-end shops on Via de Mille. Live Christmas trees were trucked down to Naples from the north. We bought one, and crossed our fingers that it would last in the warm temps.

Though my husband worked at an Italian company, he was there as a consultant for his American employer. Since the division that ran the Italian project had its headquarters in France, that year was our first Christmas-season trip to Paris for the company Christmas party in mid-December. The event was elaborate and friends provided a sitter for the kids during the party. Our whole family got to enjoy the festive city, especially the spectacular holiday street lighting on Boulevard Haussmann and the Christmas displays at Galleries Lafayette, Au Printemps, and the many wonderful smaller elegant shops. It was in Paris that I became acquainted with the delicious holiday cake called Buche de Noel. I learned to make it and still serve it for dessert every Christmas Eve.

On December 21, the kids had a Christmas party at their international school in Naples then we drove up to Rome for a weekend and some holiday shopping there. On Christmas Eve, we had the Neapolitan traditional meal of seven fishes. On Christmas Day, we opened presents, enjoyed eating out on our sunny patio, and called family in the States. During Christmas week, we made a long day trip to go skiing at Roccarasa in the Abruzzo region, one of the closest winter resorts in the mountains northeast of Naples.  

The final Christmas celebration happened on January 6. The kids put their shoes outside their bedroom doors before they went to sleep so Befana would fill them with little treats and gifts. The name Befana appeared historically for the first time in writing in a poem by Agnolo Firenzuola in 1549. She is portrayed as an old ugly woman, dressed in dark rags who during the night between 5th and 6th January flies over the houses riding her broom and entering through the chimneys (or in modern apartments through a keyhole).

The second Christmas in Italy was very much like the first, including the trip to Paris for a company party. That year it was held in a castle in the countryside and the waitstaff dressed in period costumes with powdered wigs. After the kids had their school Christmas party on the Friday before Christmas, we drove north to Val Gardena in the Alto Adige (South Tyrol), a section of the Alps called the Dolomites. The family enjoyed a week staying at the resort of Ortisei (Sankt Ulrich). (The area was originally part off the Austro-Hungarian Empire but was annexed to Italy after World War I. Many of the residents speak German and the towns are named in both languages.) The mountain towns there are picturesque with horse-drawn sleighs and lovely chalets. For our final day of skiing before heading home, we drove through the mountain passes piled high with snow to enjoy the slopes at Cortina d’Ampezzo. Upon our arrival home, we found our Christmas tree dry as a bone and devoid of needles. Luckily, the floor was tile and the mess was easy to sweep up.

During our third Christmas season in Italy, we were preparing to return to the States because the job assignment was finished. Before flying home, we got to enjoy one more elaborate party and visit to the magic that is Paris at the holidays. We flew home to Massachusetts via New York where we celebrated Christmas Eve and Day with family.

~*~

Five years after our return from Italy, my husband’s job assignment was in Munich Germany where we celebrated five Christmases. I learned to cook roast goose for Christmas dinner which was the local tradition, served Stollen for breakfast, and baked German cookies like hagebutter (rosehip) jam-filled Spitzbüble.

Marienplatz, a large square in the Old Town always had a festive Christmas market. Vendors sold warm Gluhwein to sip while strolling and shopping in the nippy, often snow-filled, air. Edible sweet treats for sale were decorated, heart-shaped, gingerbread cookies, soft, spicy Lebkuchen cookies, marzipan, Gebrannte Mandeln (roasted almonds) coated in a mixture of sugar, vanilla, and cinnamon, roasted chestnuts, and much more. Other vendors sold wooden gift items like toys, nutcrackers, Räuchermänner (smoking men) which are male figures in which you can burn cone-shaped incense, Christmas pyramids which rotate under candle power, Christmas decorations, ornaments, and Nativity scenes. My holiday shopping was mostly done in the Old Town’s Fussgänger zone (pedestrian area) which was a mix of large department stores, smaller shops, and restaurants which I could reach by tram.

Since Munich is so close to the Alps, we would often ski at Christmastime. One year we spent the week in Val d’Isere, France. We decided to forego a tree in our Munich home and bought a small one for our holiday condo rental on the road leading up to the mountain village. The evergreen was about two feet tall and affixed to two crossed pieces of wood at the base. We placed it atop a wooden chair and decorated it with lights.  It was a cozy sight to return to after fun days on the snowy slopes. The condo gave us privileges to use a nearby health club. Neither my husband nor the kids were interested in using it, but one evening I went there to use the hot tub. Big mistake. I picked up some kind of bug and my last couple of days were feverish and spent in bed. Thankfully, the others stayed well.

Christmases are now spent in Florida but our decorations include things from both Italy and Germany and bring back wonderful memories.

At the Crossroads of Europe and Asia

 “If the Earth were a single state, Istanbul would be its capital.”

Napoleon Bonaparte

One autumn Saturday a few years ago, my husband and I flew Anadolu Jet (one of Turkey's budget airlines) from Goreme in Cappadoccia and landed in Istanbul, a city of legendary intrigue and beauty which straddles both Europe and Asia. Historically known as Byzantium and then Constantinople, it was the capital of both the Byzantine Empire (Eastern half of the Holy Roman Empire) and the Ottoman Empire.

Our hotel was on a busy street in the historical center of the city, Sultanahmet, but the general neighborhood was quiet and far enough away from the mania of the main sights that it was pleasant. Sultanahmet borders the Sea of Marmara and lies across the Golden Horn (an inlet of the Bosphorus River) from the modern part of the city.

On our first evening, the hotel manager recommended a small inexpensive local restaurant.  The first floor was very plain and mostly the working kitchen.  We were directed to go upstairs, and we climbed 5 flights to a rooftop terrace facing the lit dome and spires of the Blue Mosque. It was magical. For starters, they served us lavas, a grilled unleavened bread that puffs up to a giant size from the heat. (I read that the Turkish people eat more bread than any other country, and as if to confirm that, more bread was served with the entrée.)  

On the next morning, we had breakfast on the rooftop terrace of our hotel with a view of the Sea of Marmara.  Afterwards, we walked to the Hippodrome, which, in ancient times was used for chariot races.  Today it is a long mall running alongside the Blue Mosque.  We planned to visit the mosque, but the lines were enormous, so we walked further along to Aya Sofya, the church that was the center of the Holy Roman Empire, then a mosque, and is now a museum.  The outside is somewhat squat and plain, but the inside is magnificent.  It has a great dome, many lit chandeliers hanging fairly low to the ground, a number of fairly well-preserved mosaics, massive marble-faced walls, colorful frescoes, and intricately carved decorative work. A second-floor balcony runs around three sides and gives an overview of the main area below.

Our next move was to continue walking to Topkapi Palace, once the sumptuous home of the sultans and their harems, and the administrative seat of the Ottoman Empire for almost 400 years. The palace grounds are beautiful with a four-courtyard plan and many ornate, enormous structures. We began with the Harem quarters, which, though lovely, seemed prison like.  The women had courtyards and a sea view, but they were confined.  (The harem alone reportedly has over 400 rooms on several floors, but the public can tour only a fraction of them on one floor.)  The most impressive thing about the rooms is the beauty of the tiled walls. The treasury had the jewels of the sultans displayed in small glass cases, and we enjoyed the displays of the various sultans' kaftans (mostly from the 16th century). Many of the out-buildings with uniquely decorated domes were separate pavilions for various activities, like libraries, places for watching sports in the courtyard, the palace physician's room, and even a circumcision room.

After spending the afternoon at the palace, we were thirsty, and we found a rooftop place for a bira with a view of the sea.  We met some interesting people. First, we talked to a man who was an Istanbul native and his girlfriend from Uzbekistan.  They spoke English and Russian and he worked at an embassy. Then we met an Australian guy who worked in Cambridge, England and his Japanese girlfriend, who worked in the Netherlands. He had spent a lot of time in Africa and said, though he loved to travel, he was well aware of the need to be alert, having lost a number of friends to terrorism.

At dinner that night, my husband asked for a bira with dinner, and was told it was forbidden. (Alcohol rules seemed arbitrary. Several places on the same street were serving wine and beer.)

On Sunday, at breakfast in the hotel, we met a man from Saudi Arabia.  He said that he had been to Houston for work (oil related, of course.)  My husband told him that he had considered working in Saudi Arabia for his company, but I objected to him going alone.  The man laughed and said I would have had nothing to worry about.  "There is no kissing.  Saudi Arabia is no fun.  Only good for making money."

Our first quest of the day was to find the Istanbul Handcrafts Center, where artisans work on handmade items.  We knew it was on one of the small streets near the Blue Mosque, but it was hard to find.  We asked numerous people, including one young kid who scolded, "Why you go down there?" and tried to get us to go to the mosque instead. (The day before, when another young guy tried to get us to go to the mosque, and we said, "not today,” he said, "Your father will not be happy.")  Eventually, we found the handcrafts center and browsed through the small shops set in a courtyard.

Our next stop was the Yerebatan Sarayi (Basilica Cistern.). This was built by the Emperor Justinian in the 4th century and received its water through a system of aqueducts all the way from the Black Sea.  Back in the 1980's, it was cleaned out and opened to the public for its architectural value.  Now the 336 massive columns are lit with soft lights facing upwards, giving the effect of candlelight.  They are set in a shallow pool of water that is filled with carp, and you are able to explore the area via boardwalks.  With the background of almost eerie classical music, the effect is lovely.

After this, we had planned to visit the Grand Bazaar, but we soon learned that it was closed on Sunday, as was the Egyptian Spice Bazaar.  (We found it interesting that Sunday was the closed day and not Friday, the Islamic worship day.) So, we wandered the streets, peering in shop windows and people-watching.  Then we hopped on a crowded tram and went to Eminonu on the water's edge of the Golden Horn.  We inquired about the various Bosphorus cruises (for another day) and then bought fish sandwiches from one of the ornately decorated boats tied up there. It was a busy place, but we found a couple of available stools and ate at a small table.

From there, we walked across the Galata Bridge which spans the Golden Horn.  It was filled with fishermen casting their lines.  On the other side, we hiked up a steep hill to Galata Tower, and then took an elevator before climbing about 70 steps to the top.  From there, we had a view of the Bosphorus separating Asia and Europe, the Golden Horn, and the Sea of Marmara.

Back on the ground, we headed up Istikial Caddesi - a noisy and crowded pedestrian avenue. We stopped in some shops and found two churches - rare in this city now.  Then we noticed a demonstration clogging the avenue ahead.  In an alley to our left, we also saw some riot police, watching and waiting.  I stopped immediately, but my husband ventured a bit further. When he returned, he reported that he couldn't see what the placards said.  We both decided it was prudent to retreat. We walked back to the Galata Bridge, caught a return tram, and opted for resting our weary feet and having 5 o’clock at the hotel. That evening, we found an outdoor place for dinner.  It had tables set up street side.  We ordered skillet dishes and they came out flaming!  People walking by stopped to photograph them.

On Monday morning, we headed for the Blue Mosque. My husband put on long pants and a shirt without writing on it, and I brought a scarf to cover my shoulders and head. There were "dress monitors" who checked people out while they were waiting in line, and they provided skirts and scarfs for those not considered appropriately dressed.

We first entered an outer courtyard.  While waiting on line, I counted 46 doors under the porticoes around the sides, and at least 28 small domes above the porticoes!  At the entrance to the inside, we had to take off our shoes and put them into a plastic bag to carry with us.  The entire inside was carpeted in red with a blue and yellow floral motif.  The main dome, as well as the smaller ones and the walls have lovely tiles that are several colors, but with a predominance of blue.  It has similar low-hanging chandeliers to Aya Sofya, and the overall effect is very beautiful.

When we exited the mosque, we wandered a bit and slowly made our way back to the hotel so we could change into more comfortable clothes for the warm weather and also arrange an airport shuttle for Wednesday. We headed out again, took the tram to Eminonu, bought our tickets for a Bosphorus cruise, and then walked to the Egyptian Spice Market nearby. The market vendors there were low-key and we enjoyed wandering and making a few purchases.  Down one of the alleys, we stopped at a small bakery and bought pieces of havuclu kek (carrot cake.). It was a specialty of the bakery and quite delicious. 

We walked back to the dock and boarded a ferry for a 2-hour cruise up the Bosphorus River.  It was quite relaxing and a fun way to view both the European and Asian shores. Afterwards, we walked all the way back to our hotel neighborhood.  (Istanbul is hilly and our legs got a good workout!). Then we found an outdoor place for our 5 o'clock. Dinner was on another roof terrace.  (You work off the calories at these places by climbing 5 or 6 stories.)

Tuesday was our last full day in Istanbul. In the morning, we set out for the Grand Bazaar and entered through one of the many gates. The place is cavernous! Each of the numerous narrow alleys has columns with vaulted ceilings covered with frescos. There are so many shops that it is sensory overload just wandering there. We wove in and out, and at one point, found ourselves back outside.  We looked for another entrance gate, and oddly, it seemed dark.  We walked inside and found that the whole bazaar had lost power!

We headed back to the Egyptian Spice Bazaar instead. It was another long walk up and down hills and steps.  By the time we got there, my stomach was cramping and I was very thirsty. I found a bench in a nearby square and sat while my husband wandered in the bazaar. When he returned, we headed back to the hotel. It was early afternoon, but I went to sleep and slept through the night!  My husband went to dinner on his own.

On Wednesday morning, I felt much better - not sure what it was, but glad it was over.  After breakfast, we packed our bags and left them with the hotel manager.  We headed out again, bought a few things in one of the small shops we passed, and went back to our favorite haunt, the Egyptian Spice Bazaar, to buy pomegranate sauce. We found it in a gourmet shop down one of the alleys surrounding the market.  The clerk who took us to the cashier said a word in German, and I asked, Sprechen sie Deutsch?. He said he spoke some, but his Russian was better. My husband asked if he spoke Polish, and he answered in Polish! He was from Bulgaria and knew many of the eastern European languages.

We walked back up the steps and hills to the hotel to await our airport shuttle. The ride to Ataturk International was only about 20 minutes, but once we were there, we had to go through 4 separate security checks and through scanners twice!

We landed back in the USA at JFK in New York at 9:40 pm, and It took us an hour to get through immigration and another 1/2 hour to claim our luggage and bring it from the International terminal to the American Airlines terminal - only to find that no one was on duty.  So, we had to sleep in chairs with our bags until our morning flight to Boston. There were a few other travelers waiting for flights, including a woman who had also flown in from Istanbul a number of hours before us.  From her, we learned that the big protest we had witnessed in Istanbul on Sunday was not about Islam or anti-Americanism.  They were protesting a plan to reduce the numbers of cats roaming the city!!!

Navigating Unexpected House Issues

“Peace and harmony do not require perfection. Thank goodness for that-because life so often seems to be an itch here, a glitch there, a mess waiting to happen. Harmony is flexible. It bends with imperfection. So should you.”

Jerry Spinelli, author of Children’s and Young Adult novels

 It all started before we left Florida to spend the summer at our Maine house. The loud beeping of one of our smoke alarms told us it died. Sure enough, the date was a little over ten years old. We checked the rest of the alarms and had to replace all five. We ordered them online but encountered a problem. To connect to our wiring, they needed adapters. So, we ordered those and installed the devices, a somewhat daunting task perched on a tall ladder to reach our high ceilings. We breathed sighs of relief when they all flashed green lights.

As the June moving date drew near, I cleaned the house to leave it in good condition for our return in September. I made the mistake of wearing backless sandals going up and down a stepladder while doing the windows, and I ended up with a sprained ankle. I finished cleaning as I hobbled around.

A few days before our move, our HOA threw us a curveball. For the first time in our six years of living there, they wanted all residents to submit proof of house and flood insurance. Easy, right? Not so fast. They wanted proof that we insured the house for the full value, but ours was insured for the value when we bought it, not the current higher value, and we didn’t have flood insurance, which we were told wasn’t necessary because we lived seven miles from the ocean and weren’t in a flood zone. We contacted our insurance agent, who was surprised by the HOA request. After calling them, he said he doubted they knew what they were doing but found us a flood insurance policy, which we paid for online.

The day before our departure, as we were packing up, our agent found us a new house insurance policy with a different company from the original one we had. Since time was short, he said he would take care of having the payment forwarded from our bank account and would send copies of both policies to the HOA. Phew! We could relax, or so we thought.

A few days after arriving in Maine, we received notice of a pending policy cancellation due to non-payment! A call to our agent revealed he had forgotten to send the payment. We said we would do it ourselves online, which we did immediately, and we received confirmation of payment and reinstatement of the policy.

Then, they told us the new policy required a house inspection, and someone would have to let the inspector in. A call from Maine to a Florida neighbor with whom we had left a key solved that problem.

Forty days later, we received a second pending cancellation notice! The auditing office of our new insurance company claimed they didn’t have a record of our payment. On our agent’s advice, we sent a copy of their payment confirmation and proof that the money was taken from our bank account. The company reinstated the policy again.

But now they wanted proof that our home alarm system was working. We called the alarm company, and they sent a certificate to the insurance company that verified a working alarm. Finally, in the middle of the summer, everything was set.

Then we received a letter from the HOA saying that they never received copies of our insurance policy, and by the way, we didn’t need flood insurance after all. Argh! We emailed copies of both policies that our agent had forgotten to send, and we plan to cancel the flood insurance.

Meanwhile, we dealt with unexpected issues in Maine. When we opened the door to the shed, there was a wasp nest inside the door. We were lucky to destroy it without getting stung. After our experience with the smoke alarms in Florida, we checked the ones in Maine and replaced three. The clothes dryer wouldn’t start, and we had to replace the thermal fuse. That involved removing the back of the machine to get at it. The new canvas top for the metal pergola on our deck filled with water during a storm and caused the metal crossbars to sag at the joints. We had to remove the bars and reinforce the joints with steel plates. To prevent water buildup on the canvas, we installed grommets in many places in the middle to allow water to flow through. We learned that the cover is suitable for shade but obviously not a rain shelter. Then, the most surprising thing of all happened. A furry streak ran across the living room one evening and disappeared. A squirrel appeared on the stair landing the following evening and calmly watched us! Investigation showed it had eaten a hole through the wood of one of the eaves near the back chimney and gained entry. We soon got it out and repaired the hole. We haven’t had a problem since and are thankful there was no damage inside. I read that rodents don’t like the scent of mint, so, as a backup, I planted mint around the foundation in the back.

We also dealt with expected issues. Someone mowed the lawn periodically, and after my ankle sprain heeled, I got busy with weed-whacking the lupine stalks. We re-stained the deck boards faded by winter weather. We had someone cut down several tall evergreens that were leaning precariously. Since the driveway had washed out in spots, we had someone grade it and add more crushed shale.

The good news toward the end of the summer was that fiber internet was finally available at our address. We were excited because the DSL connection was always unreliable. A company representative came to the house, but the bad news was that the fiber cable along the road ended uphill and didn’t reach our home. Since they would have to dig new trenches to extend it, we might not have it before we headed south to Florida. Then, by some miracle, the date was moved up, and we had it up and running just in time for us to start packing. Though the major benefit would be for next summer, things were looking up. I did some last-minute weed whacking and wielded a pickaxe to get out some roots, only to end up spraining my neck muscles.

After a couple of days of a prescribed muscle relaxant and armed with a bottle of ibuprofen, we closed up the Maine house and headed to Florida. The house was in great condition, but a baby gecko skittered in while moving the patio furniture from inside to out. It was small, and we caught him a few days later after we saw him walking across the ceiling.

Then, my printer wouldn’t print. I cleaned the print heads, but after a few days with no improvement, I uninstalled the software and installed a new version. It was operative again.

The next glitch was with the TVs. The NBC channel broadcasting the Notre Dame game (a must-see for my husband) had no sound. A trip to the Xfinity store resulted in upgrading to Xfinity XR15 voice remotes and X1 boxes. Fantastic! Right? It was wonderful for the main TV in the living room, but the two upstairs wouldn’t work, and they had different issues. After contacting Xfinity, they did a reboot, but it didn’t work. Two more visits to their local office convinced them to send a technician.

The technician was great. It turned out that the problem was actually that the main box was defective and not communicating with the non-working TVs. He replaced the box in the living room, and all three are working great. We are relieved that the tropical storm didn’t knock the power out. 

Before the technician left, I asked his advice on installing the Wifi extender we purchased. He said the unit they sold us was not a Wifi extender to eliminate dead zones in the house but something to extend the internet connection if the power goes out during a storm. I was livid because the salesperson took advantage of the fact that I didn’t recognize it as the wrong item and upsold me a more expensive unit. I made another trip to the Xfinity store.

I had to convince two salespersons, but a refund for the storm gadget was applied to my account. Then, after making sure it would be what I wanted, I purchased an xFi Pod to extend or boost the Wifi to all parts of our home. The activation directions were: use the Xfinity app, plug the pod into an outlet and wait for it to light up, turn on Bluetooth on your phone, hold the phone close to the pod, and wait for the home network to recognize it. Simple, right?

I kept getting the message, “Sorry, there seems to be a problem. Try again.” I did—several times. Then I tried other outlets—same result. I did trouble-shooting via the app and went to online forums. I followed many suggestions, such as reactivating the modem, unplugging, waiting two minutes, etc. Nothing worked. Then, after searching more online, I found a way to activate the pod manually. I turned off Bluetooth and inputted the pod’s serial number. It still didn’t work!

I returned to the Xfinity store once again. They said the modem we’d had for six years was 4g and too old. The pod needed 5g. They gave us a new modem, which I installed, but the pod still doesn’t work! Today, I will pop some ibuprofen and return to the Xfinity store with the old modem and the headache-causing pod.

A Road Trip to Budapest at a Time of Immense Change

"Europe's most underrated big city, Budapest, can be as challenging as it is enchanting."

Rick Steves

On September 11, 1989, Hungary threw off its ties to the Soviet bloc and tore a hole in the Iron Curtain by lifting restrictions on travel to Austria and enabling tens of thousands of East Germans to flee to the West. The events in Hungary are often described as the first cracks in the Berlin Wall, which came down two months later on November 9, 1989.

In February 1990, five months after Hungary eased restrictions and three months after the Berlin Wall fell, my husband and I spent a long weekend in Budapest, Hungary. On a Friday after work, we drove from Munich, where we were living, via Vienna and stayed at a Gasthaus in Austria near the border crossing at Nickelsdorf, Austria/Hegyeshalom, Hungary. It took us about half an hour to get visas at the border, though we had filled out the forms ahead of time and brought along two photos each.

We arrived in Budapest at about 11 am on Saturday and found a parking space (with a "capo" to watch the car, similar to Italy) to shop until the stores closed at 2. There was a big pedestrian zone, and they had western shops like Benetton, Adidas, and McDonald's. It was more affluent than the Poland and Czechoslovakia we had visited ten years before. We did see a long line outside the Adidas store. I wasn't sure if that was normal due to restricted numbers allowed entry at one time or if they were having a special end-of-season sale like the "Winterschlussverkauf" in Germany.

We checked out some large department stores outside the pedestrian area on one of the wide boulevards called Rakoczi. The stores reminded me of Poland in 1980—not very attractive, unexciting goods, etc. Clothes prices seemed equivalent to those in America if you were buying Eastern European goods. If you were buying Western European or American goods, the prices were similar to what one paid for American goods in Germany. Levis, for example, cost the equivalent of about 60-70 dollars. I saw vendors on the street selling T-shirts with rock group logos, just like at home. 

Electrical appliances were very expensive, but they did seem to have everything available—computers, video cameras, etc. With the relaxed border crossing, several appliance stores had been established in the Austrian border town, and we saw many Hungarians returning from Austria with things such as color TVs.

 In contrast to the affluence we saw in many places, we went to one outdoor market in the city aimed at extremely poor buyers. Most stands sold used clothes, and the fruits and vegetables looked like rejects. They were even selling stale bread scraps.

We found a reasonably priced room at the Hotel Nemzeti (National Hotel), which was recommended to us by a friend in Germany. We were surprised it had color TV with the Super Channel and the Euro Sport Channel in English. You could also watch Hungarian, French, and German channels. The room had a modern ensuite bathroom, a minibar, and a radio, and it was as nice as any western hotel room. The breakfast buffet was equivalent to those at Austrian hotels.

Eating out was relatively inexpensive. We went to a first-class restaurant, and for two courses, wine, and coffee, it cost us only $30 for two. Our lunches were under $5 for two. Many of the restaurants in Hungary had Mardi Gras decorations up. (They call it Farsing, similar to the German Fasching.)

We bought some Hungarian wine (which was inexpensive) and paprika to take home, as well as a large metal pasta strainer, which cost only about a dollar.

The city itself was quite interesting. Divided into two parts, Buda is on the northern side of the Danube River, and Pest is on the southern side. Buda has many hills, the most famous being Varnegy (Castle Hill), with a beautiful view of the river and the city. The castle had several museums, and the surrounding cobblestoned streets were gaslit and picturesque with ancient row houses. The Pest side has wide boulevards, grandly decorated buildings, and many large squares. The largest square, Hosok ter (Heroes Square), was surrounded by art museums, a zoo, an amusement park, and a huge city park. The city park had a big lake with an island containing a castle in the middle. There was also an island between Buda and Pest in the middle of the Danube. It had a national park with jogging trails, swimming pools, an open-air theater, gardens, and a couple of hotels.

When we left Budapest on Monday, we drove southwest to Lake Balaton, the largest inland lake in central Europe, almost 48 miles long and more than 8 miles wide. It is very popular with German and Austrian tourists in the summer. (By the way, most Hungarians spoke German.)

From Balaton, we went to the town of Veszprem, famed for manufacturing beautiful Herend porcelain. Even though we were at the source, we still couldn't afford to buy a piece. For example, a tea tray, individual teapot and two cups and saucers would have cost us several thousand dollars!

From Veszprem, we drove to the border crossing of Rabafuzes, Hungary/Heiligenkreuz, Austria. When we left Hungary, no one checked the trunk of our car or even asked us what we had bought. It was quite simple, and I had no anxiety like I did in 1980 leaving Communist Poland and Czechoslovakia.

We stopped in Graz, Austria, in the Steiermark area, a large city with a big university. There was a large pedestrian zone with great shops and lots of alleyways and courtyards to explore. On the way home to Munich, we drove through the Dachstein area, which the German ADAC guidebook recommended as a "5-star ski area." Snowfall was light that evening, however, which made driving through the mountains easy.

All in all, it was an interesting trip. Hungary was quite clean and lots of new construction was going on. The city of Budapest was lively, with lots of people out, day and night. I was able to buy a London Times there on Sunday. (However it was the previous Wednesday's edition!) They printed a local English-German newspaper called The Daily News, but it was sold out.

Hungary had a transitional government then, and it was expecting to have free elections soon. We passed one Soviet military base, and there were a lot of police officers on the streets at all times. In fact, a policeman stopped our car one evening and asked for our identification. However, when my husband told him our passports and visas were at the hotel, he said, "Auf wiedersehen! and sent us on our way."

Today, Hungary is a unitary parliamentary republic. It joined NATO in 1999 and the European Union in 2004. Though the country has a president, it is Hungary's Prime Minister who has executive powers. That position is held by Viktor Orbán who became nationally known after a 1989 speech in which he openly demanded that Soviet armed forces leave the People's Republic of Hungary. Lately, however, Orbán has curtailed press freedom, weakened judicial independence, and undermined multiparty democracy. He frequently styles himself as a defender of Christian values in the face of the European Union, which he claims is anti-nationalist and anti-Christian. His portrayal of the EU as a political foe while accepting its money and funneling it to his allies and relatives has led to accusations that his government represents a "kleptocracy."