Travels with Jake and Stone

Places

2011-07-07T18:31:00.002-04:00

Sequim, Washington
Moab, Utah
Ithaca, New York
Outer Banks, North Carolina
Halifax, Nova Scotia
South Bend, Indiana
Jekyll Island, Georgia
Rochester, New York
Ludlow, Pennsylvania
Kingston, Ontario
Port St. Lucie, Florida
Wolfe Island, Ontario

Italy:
Pescara
Assisi
Perugia
Palm Sunday Assisi
Pescara Terremoto
Pescara Day Off
To Penne
Staying in Penne
Good Friday in Penne
Ascoli Piceno
Easter Sunday in Penne
Penne/Pescara/Penne
Rome
Roman Goodbye

One (2, 3, 4 or 5) in a Thousand

2011-07-06T18:09:00.139-04:00

Wolfe Island (where?) is the first of the Thousand Islands. The Thousand Islands themselves are a geological train wreck of islands that jumble their way down the St. Lawrence River as it flows out of Lake Ontario northward toward the Atlantic. When Jake and Stone visited Kingston (Ontario) last January they rode the winter ferry to Wolfe Island and thought the island might prove to be a good HQ for a summer visit. It proved to be so.

On the Cottage Patio

Saturday, June 25, 2011: The drive northward from NJ proved to be painless, especially once past Scranton, PA. Leaving I-81 north at Watertown the drive got quite scenic on Route 12-East as it runs through some pretty towns, skirting Chaumont Bay on Lake Ontario. At Cape Vincent (NY) we joined two other couples on the smallish ferry ($15 for us and the car) for the 10-15 minute, rather windy and choppy trip to Wolfe Island. Canadian Customs proved to be both friendly and efficient, and we drove quickly and easily (there are but two main roads on Wolfe Island) to Cedarcliff, our rented cottage.

We had rented our place pretty much on faith, as we could find precious little info and absolutely no pictures on the Internet, but things turned out wonderfully, especially the setting. Here's a picture from the patio of Stone going down the steps to investigate the cottage's little docking area. The cottage proved to be homey and clean, with a spectacular cliff-side view of Lake Ontario and Kingston across the way. Birds sang and zoomed around the trees and bushes, the breeze was making for small whitecaps on the lake, and some sturdy kids were swimming off the cottage's little dock down lakeside. And what's this? A 9-hole golf course right across the road! What do you know -- our landlady owns the course and says we can play for free. Oh, Canada!

In the little town of Marysville, less than two miles down the coastal road, we buy Jake's favorite Canadian brew (Alexander Keith's India Pale Ale), a newspaper, get some ($5/gallon) gas, and then head back to the cottage to lounge on the provided loungers overlooking the lake, waiting to be joined by our BFF couple -- "Dalabetts", who are driving up from the DC area. They arrive and unpack in time for us four to get the ferry over to Kingston, where we go to dinner at Chez Piggy. The nighttime ferry ride back to Wolfe Island is cool and bracing, and we all glad we had properly fortified ourselves with some martinis.

On the Alston Moor G.C.

Sunday, June 26, 2011: Stone, Jake and Mr. Dalabetts get up early enough for some free golf across the road at Alston Moore. The course sits among several gigantic wind turbines that are part of Wolfe Island's wind farm. We soon grow used to their presence and actually end up admiring their engineering elegance. The 9 holes prove to be a good, long walk, and during our two hours on the course we experience sunshine, clouds, two five-minute rain showers and a breeze that comes and goes with a dedicated capriciousness that was downright Scottish.

After brunch in the cottage we all four take the ferry (which is free, both ways) into Kingston for a walk around town. We visit the B&B Jake and Stone stayed in last January, walk up and down Princess Street, buy some Cuban cigars at Smokers' Haven on Wellington Street, pick up some goodies to eat on an outside bench at Pan Chancho, then get the 5 o'clock ferry back to Wolfe. While waiting in Kingston for the ferry, Mrs. Dalabetts had noted a map that showed a ferry from Wolfe to Simcoe Island, so once back on the main road out of Marysville we went hunting for what would be our third ferry ride.

Cable Ferry to Simcoe Island

The ferry to Simcoe Island proved to be the smallest we discovered. It had room for two cars, and worked "on demand." That is, you show up, and the ferry comes over (if on the other shore) to take you across. $2 for the ride. And this is a "cable ferry." It pulls itself across the water using a submarine cable. We four rode over with one other passenger who happened to be a census worker for the Canadian government. He told us Wolfe has about 1300 residents, and Simcoe about 60, down from about 75 ten years ago. He warned us that there are no services on Simcoe, but that at least we wouldn't get lost, as there was but one real road -- Nine Mile Point Road.

Simcoe Island charmed us all. Birds a plenty (the ubiquitous red winged blackbirds, herons, swallows, an apparent osprey nest, goldfinches and others we couldn't identify), lots of open space and sky, side "roads" named after the farmers who lived there, a bench by the side of the road "for the weary" (said the sign) provided by "Hildegard and Walt", some rundown shacks (fishing?) along side some very fine homes, and one herd of cattle.

Back at our lakeside ranch on Wolfe we rustled up a fine dinner, accompanied by a happy sangria mix done by Mr. Dalabetts. Adjourning to the patio, we sat outside to watch the long sunset over the lake and the Kingston skyline, sipped some coffee, smoked our cigars and watched the stars come into view.

Dalabetts always travel with good music and this night on the patio we listened to some of three CD's they brought along: "Rare Bird Alert" by Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers, and two by Canadian boys-- the old: Leonard Cohen's "Greatest Hits," and the new: Robbie Robertson's "How to Become Clairvoyant."

As the gloaming finally flowed into deeper night and we all headed to our bedrooms to flow into sleep, the Great Lake flowed next to us as well, silently and inexorably, toward the Great River. Little wonder we all slept so well.

Monday, June 27, 2011: Blue skies and abundant sunshine. Great day for a bike trip. The phone number for the bike rental place in town didn't seem to work, but luckily we got there just as Bill, who runs the rentals pretty much out of his garage, was getting ready to leave. The bikes were nice 21-speed jobs, and we get them for $15/each for the rest of the day, back by 5 pm.

On the Ferry to Cape Vincent (NY)

Out of Marysville we head out on Rt. 96 (the more "main" of the two main roads on Wolfe Island), then turn south onto Rt. 95 (the other main road) toward the ferry terminus across from Cape Vincent (NY). We saw right away why people come from all over to bike Wolfe Island. As we started out, there were no cars for about 5 minutes, then a flurry of cars for about 2 minutes, then nothing. We realized that the cars were heading to the Cape Vincent ferry -- about the only reason anyone seems to drive this road. In fact, Mr. Dalabetts timed it till we had another car come up behind us, and it was an astounding 30 minutes of car-free riding.

Out of Cape Vincent, NY

Biking Rt. 95 on Wolfe Island

The riding is basically flat and very rural, lots of farms and wind turbines, birds and cattle. It is hot in the sun so we take a break about every 10 minutes for water and rest when we can find some shade trees. It's about 6 miles to the ferry, which we arrive at just in time to save us an hour's wait. American Customs and border crossing is a breeze. Just out of Cape Vincent is a much recommended two mile bike ride beside the lake toward Tibbetts Point and its lighthouse. A simply lovely ride. We rested and recouped at the lighthouse area, then biked back to Cape Vincent where we had a quality lunch (sandwiches, wraps, pasta, salad) al fresco at Taste of Design.

Back on Wolfe and headed home we stop at Pykeview Meadows, a bison farm, to look at the buffalo. At the farm's little store we buy some bison beef (expensive, but then, it's all organic and oh so local) for dinner later tonight. Back home Mr. Dalabetts and Jake decide that if Canadian kids can stand to swim in the lake by the dock, so can they. The water is not that cold, but rather cool and very refreshing. The bison dinner proved to be very good indeed, the buffalo tenderloin and burgers tasting much better than what Jake remembers having years ago in Colorado.

At night again watching the sunset from the patio we spot a baby skunk slinking in the grass near the weeds. None of us have ever been this close to a skunk before; it is maybe 15 feet away from our table. Our talk suddenly becomes whispers and we all freeze, watching this little thing (quite adorable, really) sniff and waddle its way around the trees and grass in the growing darkness. As the skunk turns around the corner of the house it is almost too dark to see it, but that doesn't keep Mrs. Dalabetts from getting a flashlight and seeking out its trail -- from a safe distance. She does spot it (now named Pepita) in the house's garden, it's white stripe clearly visible in the flashlight's glow. Then Pepita sniffs her way into the darkness and finally out of sight and light.

The weather forecast for tomorrow is for rain. We'll see. The weather has been great so far. Even with today's constant sunshine it was only in the upper 70's, and always cooler than that in the shade. The usual island breezes always help.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011: The Wolfe Island Bakery provides us some fresh breakfast goodies. Today we all plan to drive around the area a bit. We head back to the ferry to Cape Vincent (again catching it with little wait time), then drive along Route 12-East again, but this time beside the St. Lawrence River, up to Clayton (NY). Here we visit the Boat Museum, but find we don't have the time to do justice to a visit, so we nose around the gift shop for a bit, then head out on the road again.

We soon get to I-81 and head north over the Thousand Islands International Bridge, but exit before we get to Canada onto the Thousand Island Park Road on Wellesly Island. On this large American island we head to its southern tip to see Thousand Island Park (TIP). Founded as a Methodist summer community in the late 19th century, TIP is often billed as a "step into the past" because so much of its 19th century architecture remains intact. TIP has a grand hotel, a wonderful lakeside setting, and many fine homes. However, Jake had hoped to find another sort of Chautauqua, like the one he and Stone visited last summer, and TIP proved to be not nearly as nice. Many of the homes needed some TLC, the roads were often unpaved, and the public spaces were in need of some upkeep. Still it was interesting to walk around, many families were enjoying the relaxed atmosphere, and the library and historic hotel were interesting to visit.

We had hoped to eat at the hotel, but it doesn't do lunch, so we headed up to Hacker's Pub and Grill at the island's main golf course, the Thousand Islands Country Club. The food here was good enough, and the beer better than good enough. At the surrounding tables French was the dominant tongue of the day, but we didn't need to parlez vous Francaise to understand that most were complaining, apres golf, about their golf game, or laughing about someone else's. It was an enjoyable mise en scene.

The major goal of our road trip was to take one of the cruises on the St. Lawrence River out of the Canadian city of Gananoque, which we had heard were superior to the river cruises out of Kingston. The only cruise we could get on (it was late in the day and the border crossing on the bridge was longer than we anticipated, and we had stopped for ice cream) was a one hour trip. What an hour! The cruise was simply stunning. The pictures can't do it justice. Islands just big enough for a single little house; larger islands with a single mansion and a 3-boat boathouse; islands with several homes; islands with no homes; islands with homes, roads and boathouses galore; islands with nothing but three or four trees and some birds. This is an archipelago like no other in the world. And everywhere is deep greens and blues (nod to James Taylor). To miss this would have been to miss the essence of: "The Thousand Islands."

Back at our cliff side bungalow we had dinner on the patio, watched another sunset spread nearly 180 degrees across the entire distant horizon, waited for Papita to show up (she never did), looked at the stars again (the Big Dipper looked almost fiercely bright) and then started to go to bed. Suddenly the predicted rain was on us, drumming the cottage's metal roof -- sleep music for the weary.

Pretty Par-3 at Riverfront

Wednesday, June 29, 2011: Mr. Dalabetts and Jake head to Riverfront golf course while the girls drive to Big Sandy Bay. Riverfront is Wolfe Island's other 9-hole course, and truth to tell, it is quite a bit better than the free one across the road from our cottage. It is in better shape, has a really nice par-3 that would be welcomed on any golf layout, and is generally more fun to play. But it is Riverfront's views that seal the deal. St. Lawrence River views abound, with now and then, a "Laker" (freighter) coming into view as it heads up or down river. We get done early enough that we head back to our "home course" for a quick additional 6 holes before heading into town for lunch.

At Big Sandy Bay

Meanwhile, at Big Sandy Bay, Stone and Mrs. D. have a nice day among the flora and other coastal ecology. It is a bit of a walk from the parking lot to the beach, but the path is easy and interesting. On this day the wind has driven the water so high up on the skinny beach that there is precious little beach space to walk, but the views are terrific.

We all four rendezvous at the Island Grill in Marysville for a nice lunch and then head home.

Sometimes good things happen; sometimes really good things happen: In Marysville after lunch Mr. D. picked up a local tourist paper and sees a listing that says on Wednesday, June 29, Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers will be in concert at Watertown, NY. (!!) Stone and Jake demur, but Dalabetts make a couple phone calls to get ticket and venue info, and then are off to Watertown to see the show.

The concert proves to be fabulous -- almost two hours of great comedy and bluegrass music. Jake and Stone had a nice night themselves with a trip into Kingston to see Woody Allen's "Paris at Midnight," followed by drinks and food at Tango, before heading back home on the nighttime ferry.

Sometimes really good things do happen. Especially when on a vacation with friends.

Thursday June 30,Wolfe Hote 2011: It's getaway day for Dalabetts, so we all go into town for breakfast at the General Wolfe Hotel, then we get our cars on the ferry to Kingston where Mr. and Mrs. D continue their Canadian journey towards Toronto while we head toward Amherst Island in search of a wine trail Jake has heard of. The lakeside drive from Kingston westward along Loyalist Parkway is lovely in the mid-morning sunshine. After a longer drive than we anticipated we just make the ferry (again!), with the closing gate almost hitting our bumper. The on-board toll taker ($9) jokes that people from Jersey are always late.

It is our Jersey license plate that also intrigues two passengers who strike up a conversation with us as we look over the railing at the blue-blue water of Lake Ontario. As often happens in these friendly Canadian confines, we are soon in steady conversation with this husband and wife couple -- Keld (born in Denmark) and Maria (born in Italy) -- who tell us about Amherst Island, including the somewhat disappointing news that our sought after wine trail is not on this island, but further down the road in Prince Edward County. We decide to see what we can of the island before getting a ferry back to the mainland, and take them up on their offer to drop by their waterside trailer for a drink.

Keld and Maria's Trailer

Keld and Maria have told us not to miss visiting Topsy Farms, a sheep farm, where we might buy some quality wool products. But when we arrive we are informed by the shepherd(!), that the owners are out working the fields and will be gone all afternoon. We drive back down the road and easily find Keld and Maria's place by the lake. They have 400 feet of water frontage, a cute 30' trailer that serves as their P/T summer home, and a sailboat Keld hopes to get in the water over the weekend. Sitting in lawn chairs beneath the shade of several large trees, drinking a beer or two beside the gin-clear lapping water of the lake, we have a easy conversation about this and that before we have to head back to catch the next ferry. We exchange emails and hope to stay in touch.

Prince Edward County View

Once back on the mainland it is a bit more of a drive to Prince Edward County, which is, confusingly, a Canadian municipality composed of several towns, and technically an island, though it can be easily driven to (don't ask). We opt for the free ferry instead of driving, and right away are struck by the beauty of the place. After seeing just the little we had time for, it is easy to see why Prince Edward County is such a favorite vacation spot for Canadians. It is full of provincial parks, water vistas, B&B's, birding sites, charming towns, a bunch of wineries, and at least one very lovely place for a late lunch: The Inn at Top of the Mountain Resort. The name says it all -- especially when you are lucky enough to dine on the sun splashed patio with its gay umbrellas and restful lake view.

Our good luck of just making it onto ferries ran out when we got back to Kingston, so while Stone caught some shut-eye in the car waiting in the ferry queue, I walked over to the government liquor store in search of finding the Prince Edward County wine we had had at lunch, but it was out of stock. The liquor store (officially, the LCBO (Liquor Control Board of Ontario)) was jumping with customers, for tomorrow is Canada Day.

Friday, July 1, 2011: It is another day of sunshine and we head out fairly early for the Riverfront golf course, hoping to beat the holiday crowds. A fledgeling golfer, Stone is happy that we can play alone as a twosome, and we have a happy two hours on this delightful 9-holer. After lunch at home and a snooze, we head into Kingston to see the Canada Day activities, which are centered in Confederation Park across from the Kingston Town Hall. All around town most everyone sports a Canadian flag in hand, or on their hat, or in their hair, or on the baby's stroller, or on their motorcycle helmet, or on their guitar case.

There is the usual array of food vendors and several bands provide the music in the park as the day progresses. A local guitar playing duo (The Torres Project) does several artistic covers of hit songs, and afterward we ask if they have any CD's available. Sadly they don't, but they do have a presence on Youtube. Indeed, their cover of "Layla" shows two posters on the wall -- Hendrix and the Beatles -- no wonder they're so good! And here's an original tune that's worth a listen.

As the Canada Day festivities wound down we walked over to Chien Noir, one of the restaurants we wanted to go to last winter but missed, and had a terrific dinner on yet another patio.

Back on Wolfe Island as the day ends we seek out a yoga retreat we had heard about. Shanti is a couple miles from the ferry terminal and has a lovely setting. Stone, who recently did some yoga time with a lifelong BFF at the more famous Berkshires retreat, Kripalu, wondered if she and her pal might do this place next time. Certainly worth more investigating.

The day ends with us on our lakeside patio watching the distant Canada Day fireworks over Lake Ontario. As night gathers around us we can see small displays here and there on the broad horizon as the smaller towns and suburbs celebrate Canada's 144th birthday. Then at 10 PM the big show begins in Kingston, off Fort Henry.

When the booms and blooms are over, Jake and Stone are left in the quiet darkness to look at the abiding Great Lake and each other. They can't really see in the dark, but they can feel each other smile. Tomorrow morning they'll finish packing and drive home.

Let's Go (See the) Mets!

2011-03-12T21:20:00.039-05:00

To Sweetness! baseball used to be quite foreign

To her this American game might as well be Ecuadoran

But then sometime last year while she was sleeping

Into her dreams Wright, Ike and others came creeping

Soon she was watching the post-game on SNY

The pre-game too with Bobby O, my-oh-my

Last year she took to players who this year are gone

Like Frenchie for one, and she always liked Angel Pagan

Now in Rochester even the spring is cold and quite snowy

So she cooked up an idea -- at first she feared it too doughy --

But some more time in the brain -- her's is hot as an oven --

The idea popped up perfect as if bewitched by a coven

The Mets, spring training, and Florida's Port St. Lucie!

The idea was more than just tasty, why it was downright juicy

Sweetness! called her dad and soon they were flying on jets

To Florida! In March! To cheer on the Mets!

In Fort Lauderdale where they landed the traffic was fierce

And the veil of parking for dinner took an effort to pierce

But just off 1A they found the Cafe Blue Fish

Where natives love their seafood like the Chosen love knish

Later, in Port St Lucie on dear old Route 1

Their choice of Best Western proved an astute one

The room was big enough for two, though not quite a true suite

Two TV's, big beds and fast internet made things complete

Breakfast on Sunday morning should be more than just bread

So Sweetness! and Jake disdained the motel's free spread

And instead headed down to Jensen Beach where they found

Jan's Place where eggs, biscuits and orange juice all wear the crown

Half a block from Jan's Place

Then it was off for a stroll on the beach quite near by

They saw surfers and sun tanners but no swimmers, why?

Up by the concession stand flags did flap in the breeze

Red and blue flags, and a sign to read if you please

Red means dangerous swimming and blue means sea pests

What could the latter mean? Surely not the many bikinied breasts

The lifeguard told them the pests were Man-of-War, type Portuguese

And against their hurtful sting there were no good warranties

Jake and Sweetness! had seen some strange seaweed on the shore

And it's a good thing they didn't investigate more

For from the blue balloons these critters use to float

Dangle tentacles that sting "like a bee" -- from the lifeguard a quote

Soon it would be game time so they hurried back to St Lucie

For it was Mets v. the Red Sox! No time to be loosey goosey!

The ticket was a hot one, so their seats were out on the berm

And there were so many Sox fans our duo often did squirm

From the Berm Beyond Right Field

But the game was a good one with home runs galore

Two by the Mets, and Bosox had three, yes that's one more

But Boston's were solos, while Ike's, a two-runner

And when Duda hit the game winner, why it couldn't be funner

So thought our duo until at Duffy's they had dinner

Where they actually met a World Series winner

Ron Darling was there and they both shook his hand

Even in Florida flip-flops old Number 12 looked grand

But the excitement was not over for Sweetness! and Jake

The tuna at Duffy's was good but more was at stake

For next door bowling who else did they see?

Why it's Ike! (Sweetness!'s heart skips a beat) and the tall Pelfrey

This historic night of Sunday seemed like a dream

They stopped on Route 1 to celebrate with ice cream

For Sweetness! the night could be made better by nada

Unless, that is, they had managed to see young Mr. Tajada

The next two days were nice too, in the Florida sunshine

So don't think that these short verses seek anything to malign

Or that Monday and Tuesday were anything worse

It's that Sunday has used all the "epic" verse....

On Monday, early, Jake went to a big time golf course

Seeking the cool of the day for his blood most Norse

It was a lot of money for his game, which is not great

Still he managed to shoot a very fine 98

The Ryder Course at PGA Village

The Mets game on Monday was against the Tigers of Detroit

The 2-1 loss was not exciting, though nothing was truly maladroit

And our duo got to see Mr. Dickey and his famous knuckle ball

Which danced up to the plate, bringing a chuckle to all

Dinner that night was down in Stuart, a town somewhat strange

For it has a traffic circle, intersected by a track for choo-choo trains

Their hoped-for restaurant was closed on this Monday night

So Jake and Sweetness! ate elsewhere, the food unfortunately slight

Tuesday was started with breakfast down again at Place-de-Jan's

Of her killer orange juice they had become rabid fans

And dinner that night proved a good local thrill

Back down Jensen Beach way at Caps Island Grill

Tween breakfast and dinner was their final Mets game

Though a split-squad affair the fun was the same

They sat four rows from the field, the best seats of the trip

And could even see the relief pitchers adjusting their grip

The Nats won this game four to three

But our duo was not that unhappy

for they didn't have to suffer and see

Oliver Perez pitch up in Kissimmee

The flight home was the usual delayed affair

But this father and daughter just didn't care

And so what if this is doggerel in its rhyme

Their time together was together time

Champlain and Champagne

2011-02-02T16:58:00.059-05:00

Champlain's Dream, by David Hackett Fischer, is a good, if rather overly detailed, account of the great Frenchman's adventures in New France, and its reading reawakened Jake's interest in the St. Lawrence River area. So when Jake and Stone sat down last fall to plan their 31st anniversary getaway in January, Stone's desire to go some place with pretty much guaranteed snow dovetailed nicely with a trip to see the great Canadian river. Within their maximum preferred driving radius of 6-7 hours, Kingston, Ontario, seemed to fit the bill. This city of about 100,000 people sits on Lake Ontario in the Thousand Islands area of Canada, right where the St. Lawrence River begins its journey from Lake Ontario northward to the Atlantic. Plans set, Jake and Stone happily thought about the January to come and their sipping some celebratory champagne while gazing out the window at some guaranteed snow.

Come January itself, the champagne was left at home in the fridge (where it was carefully placed in obvious view the night before leaving) and Jersey got walloped with a good 16 inches of snow in their absence. But Jake and Stone had a memorable time anyway.

Wednesday, January 26, 2011 – After the mandatory stop at Dunkin' Donuts, the drive proved to be no trouble once we got into Pennsylvania and out of the east coast snow storm that was just beginning. Kingston sits almost directly north of Syracuse, NY, and I-81 north leads right to the border and the spectacular river views of the Thousand Island Bridge where our border crossing was quick (and thanks to our not putting our passports in the fridge with the forgotten champagne) and painless.

Our B&B's Front Door

The Frontenac Club Inn proved to be an excellent home base for our three night stay in Kingston. Originally built as a bank in the 1840's, it later became the Fontenac Club and hosted the day's leading Kingstonians, the occasional Canadian Prime Minister, and such luminaries as Carl Sandburg and Alexander Graham Bell. Today it is a popular B&B with both character and charm (remnants of the two original bank vaults remain), a convenient location and a variety of good breakfasts gracefully served in three cozy breakfast rooms. Our room on the third floor included a broad view of the harbor, and a large bathroom that featured an equally capacious soaking tub that, unlike others we've experienced, filled up quickly with the necessary hot water.

Kingston's Skating Rink

It is but a five minute walk on King Street from the B&B to the historic part of Kingston. On our way on this first day we passed the town skating rink, which is free to all: bring your own skates, and don't be afraid to leave your backpack on the bleachers. And though there is plenty of ice for all, watch out for the toddlers, who, seemingly having just learned to walk, are now, under the watchful eyes of mom and/or dad, learning to ice skate. Oh, Canada!

Lunch on this first day in Kingston was at the Pan Chancho Bakery and Cafe on Princess Street. Our two soups (one meat, one vegetable), salad, open faced egg salad sandwich with smoked salmon and two glasses of Black River Malbec was an unbeatable way to start our stay. The bakery side of this homey but stylish place had a wide assortment of prepared dishes, delicious smelling breads, and pastries impossible to ignore. Stone got a cookie and Jake a chocolate croissant for the road.

Five minutes later the road lead us to the local tourist office, where we picked up some maps and brochures, were told to be sure and visit the City Hall across the street, and were given lapel pins of the Canadian flag (“These will let you in the Prime Minister's house,” joked the friendly guy beind the counter). As for a recommended coffee spot where we might compliment our cookie and croissant with some Canadian brew, Sipps, was recommended and just up the street.

As told to do, we checked out the Kingston City Hall, with its historic plaques and pictures. For a brief time in the mid 19^th century, Kingston was the capital of Canada, but more importantly, Canada's first Prime Minister, and one of the Founding Fathers of the Canadian Federation – Sir John A. MacDonald – was a Kingstonian. Within City Hall the large Memorial Hall has a dozen stained glass windows that pay tribute to the Canadians who served and died in World War I, quite a moving display.

Heads Up

Coffee at Sipps was as good as recommended. We enjoyed the slightly worn, Bohemian look of this coffee house as we munched our cookie and pastry while looking out the window across the slushy street. And slush was not unusual in Kingston. Throughout our several walks in town we noticed many a sidewalk not properly shoveled, but soon got used to walking in the almost ubiquitous snow and slush. (We got used too, to watching out for icicles that loomed from many a building.) Though there was about a foot of snow on the ground while we were in Kingston, the temps were generally mild – high 20's during the day – and though it snowed three or four times during our stay, the snow was never heavy or amounted to more than an inch or two. Perhaps in Kingston they figure it's not worthwhile shoveling unless it snows a lot – like the 16” that was hammering our Jersey while we were sipping our coffee and looking out the window at mere slush.

Back at the B&B Jake took advantage of the soaking tub while Stone took advantage of a bed made for snoozing. One of the better rated, upscale restaurants in Kingston is AquaTerra Restaubistro by Clark, which despite its awkward name, proved worthy of its rep. It is part of the Radisson Hotel, which is right on the water, so the restaurant boasts a great lakeside view, and is but a five minute walk from our B&B. A good martini usually augurs well for the meal to come and this held true at AquaTerra. We stayed on the aqua side of the menu: salmon, scallops and chowder, accompanied by two glasses of wine, and finally lemon sponge cake and coffee. Very nice indeed.

Thursday, January 27, 2011 – From one of our two B&B windows we could see the Kingston ferry making its way through the ice across a bit of Lake Ontario over to Wolfe Island. Over a breakfast of juice, coffee, yogurt/fruit, Irish oatmeal with pomegranate seeds, and an omelet of apples and brie, we asked our host about the ferry. He told us it was a must-ride, that it ran every hour on the hour (till 1 AM) even in the winter, and that it was free for passengers. He also said that he had heard reliable stories of old time Canadians, back in the day when the ferry didn't run in the winter, driving the 20-30 minutes across the ice to and from the island. He added, as proof of their not being crazy(!), that they rarely drove across the lake at night and always keep their car doors open as they drove, just in case.

Aboard the Kingston Ferry

We walked to the ferry in about 10 minutes. (One of Kingston's allures is its walkability -- check out the Walk Score for the address of our B&B) The ferry was a unique, thrilling ride, and demanded no open car doors. While the ferry's path through the ice was well worn and the ride was smooth, still it was remarkable to stand outside on the narrow passenger deck and hear the ice slabs hitting the prow, watch the ice slide by in pieces big and small, and look out over the lake – a vast prairie of white. As one might do on the Staten Island Ferry, we just stayed on till they loaded another bunch of cars and trucks, and three passengers, and enjoyed the ride back.

We next went shopping in town for a good pair of mittens for Jake in preparation for our hoped for snowshoe adventures tomorrow and we found a nice pair at a store on Princess Street. Also along Princess Street we discovered the Golden Rooster Deli which looked busy so we dropped in for lunch. It proved to be a rather large cafeteria style place that was full of local patrons – lots of apparent university students checking their phones as they ate their wraps; seniors reading newspapers as they sipped their soups – all looking for a good, cheap lunch. And a good, cheap lunch it proved to be, served in a place with lots of local flavor. Indeed, Stone noticed that the cheerful girls who made our sandwiches put the ingredients together without benefit of the usual latex gloves so common in American eateries.

After lunch we walked around the downtown area some more, then dropped in on a coffee place called Mug and Truffle, and had some coffee and pieces of artisan chocolate before heading back to the B&B for some “laying around time.”

Outside Chez Piggy

We had a very nice early dinner at Pan Chancho's older sister restaurant, Chez Piggy, both of which were started in Kingston by Zal Yanovsky, who, along with John Sebastian, founded the Lovin' Spoonful back in the mid-'60's. Off the street, in a nice little courtyard-like setting that looked especially inviting in the snow and decorative lights, Chez Piggy provided us with a wonderful dinner of spring rolls, soup, and the largest bowl of seafood chowder Jake had ever seen. Chez Piggy's ground floor atmosphere could be described as upscale pub (the upstairs level is more quiet), its low ceiling adding to its cozy feel, with a good list of both wines and brews. The latter list included Steam Whistle Pilsner, which was threatening on this trip to overtake Labatt Blue as Jake's go-to Canadian beer.

We had to do an early dinner as we had tickets to see a 8 PM performance of Steve Martin's play, Picasso at the Lapin Agile. Put on by the King's Town Players at the Kingston Yacht Club (which btw, is a very unassuming place – sort of a yacht club for blue collar guys with sail boats), it proved to be a very good night of local, but thoroughly professional, theater. Afterwards it was one of our longer walks home – maybe 15 minutes – in a quiet, late night snowfall.

Bridge to Snowshoe Trail

Friday, January 28, 2011 – After another wonderful breakfast, highlighted this time by waffles, we got in our car for the first time since parking it in the snowy parking lot behind the B&B and headed for the Little Cataraqui Creek Conservation Area, about a 10 minute drive north of town. Here one can cross country ski, snowshoe or ice skate. We had brought our LL Bean snowshoes from home, so after paying our $11 entrance fee we excitedly headed to the snowshoe trail. All morning it had been lightly snowing, with not a breath of wind, so our tramp through the forest and frozen wet lands was like walking in a snow-globe world. “Perfect” is a word close enough.

Along the trail we met a young woman with a backpack (the only person we met on the 1 km trail) who was kind enough to take our picture. “Now, if you don't mind, can you take one of us?” she asked. Stone and Jake looked briefly at each other wondering why she would refer to herself in the plural, but the mystery was shortly resolved when she had us pull back a flap in her backpack to reveal Clara, her 11-month old daughter, bundled up and happy, blinking her baby blues in the sudden light. After the picture, Clara's mom said she had to go back to work next month as her one year maternity leave, which is given to just about all Canadian mothers, complete with a minimum 55% salary and guaranteed placement back in their jobs, was due to end. Given her understanding of America's always promoting family values, she couldn't understand our lack of such a program, or anything close. We had to admit that neither could we.

Chick with Chickadee

On the snowshoe trail is a place marked Chickadee Feeding Area. We stopped and immediately the surrounding trees were full of the little cuties, perhaps 10-12 of them. They zoomed around our head, jumped nervously from branch to branch, and seemed to look at us most expectantly. We had no food for them, but looking around saw some seeds and such left over here and there in the snow. Stone picked some up and fed these delightful little creatures out of her hand. Such an experience only put a capital “P” on what was a Perfect hour or so in the woods and snow.

We had seen an ad for a bingo parlor so after we drove out of the park we stopped in at Game Time Bingo on Montreal Street. We thought we would just drop in maybe play a card or two to see what's what. Not so. This is bingo for the serious. There room is about the size of six basketball courts and must seat between 400-500 players. There are four sessions during the day: Breakfast Bingo at 9:30 AM, Matinee at 12:30 PM, Evening at 7 PM and Late Night at 10 PM. Each session lasts about 2-3 hours. The big prize of the day we were there was over $3,000, but usually on good days it gets to be easily north of $7,000. To win it one must get bingo within the first 50 numbers called – or rather, not called, but lighted up on the big electronic displays that are on the room's walls. All this was new to Jake and Stone, but apparently such giant parlors are numerous in Vegas. We had to wonder, as we walked back to our car, if Vegas also sported the underside of this game of chance – the several knots of cigarette smoking, old and lonely, down and out folks who stood outside in the cold, waiting for the Matinee session to begin, and their luck to change.

Cataraqui River Views

The scene could not have been different at our lunch venue, the River Mill Restaurant. Housed in an historic Woolen Mill, this elegant restaurant has pretty views of the snow covered Cataraqui River, a rather sedate atmosphere, and some terrific food, which at lunch time is actually affordable. The fish in Jake's fish and chips was world class tender, and the lemon tart dessert was not afraid to strut its lemony self. There is a nice, if limited, wine list also.

After lunch it seems our earlier snowshoeing efforts now demanded a tub soak and snooze for both of us back in our room, for upon awaking we had one more Canadian thing to do that would demand some energy: seeing a hockey game.

On our walk to the game we stopped off at Tango , where we had heard the martinis were the best in town. Well, the martinis were awfully good, but then all of our martinis in this Canadian city were quite good. At the bar we fell into talking to two guys who were also headed to the hockey game. They asked us about America and New Jersey, and we asked them about Canada and Kingston. Such conversations were not unusual on this trip. Wherever we went in Kingston, people were friendly and engaging.

Hockey, eh?

The hockey game was at the K-Rock Centre, a fairly new arena that seats over 6,000 for hockey. We had bought our tickets ($16 each, senior rate) the day before and had good seats – 10 rows back at center ice. The Kingston team is the Frontenacs and tonight they were playing the Peterborough Petes. The Fronts, as they are called locally, are in the Ontario Hockey League, are coached by NHL great (and Kingstonian) Doug Gilmour, and several of their players have been drafted by the NHL, so we expected a good display of hockey. But this night's game proved to be an uneven affair, with bits of both brilliance and mistakes. In the end the Fronts lost to the Petes 3-2, but we enjoyed the whole scene, from the crowd proudly singing the national anthem, to the requisite hockey fight, to the grumbling of the disappointed local fans as we all (3,009 announced attendance) exited the building.

Back at the B&B, as we packed for our leaving in the morning, we thought we would almost certainly return to Kingston in the summer, for everyone we met told us that Kingston was even better with grass and flowers than it was with snow. Well, Ktown (as it is sometimes called) will have to be awfully nice, we agreed, to beat our time this January. We paused in our packing to look out the window at the beginnings of another light snow fall. In the distance we could see the faint lights of the brave little ferry making its run over to Wolfe Island.

Allegheny Retreat

2010-09-12T17:44:00.183-04:00

Jake's mother was from Australia and so felt qualified (despite her family's Scottish roots) to classify hot weather. If it were quite hot she would usually term it: hot as blazes; “blazes” being a British euphemism for Hell. If it were really, really hot she would term it, rather simply but with power: beastly; “beastly” being a more profound way of saying the American “brutal.” Had she experienced the summer of 2010 in New Jersey she might have had to reach yet another level of adjective power to properly describe the misery we have endured these last few months.

It was to escape this historic summer heat that Jake set about finding some place within a reasonable driving distance that was, if not cool, at least not as blazingly beastly brutally hot as NJ. Research is a wonderful thing when one has the time and inclination, and after Googling his way through historic temperature graphs, dew point maps, topo maps, weather blogs and the like, Jake found that Bradford, PA, was consistently 10-15 degrees cooler than central NJ, and only about six hours away by car.

Jake and Stone ended up setting up their end-of-August week's HQ not in Bradford, but a little bit south of there in the tiny town of Ludlow, PA, which sits like a pin head in the Allegheny National Forest. Being told that our cell phones were of no use in this secluded glade, we decided before we left New Jersey to go completely native and left our laptop at home. Doing so freed Jake from his usual daily task of note taking, but the resultant lack of a daily record means this travelogue will not be the usual sequential spiel, but subject based instead.

The Manor at Olmsted

Lodging: We stayed six nights at the 2 BR Carriage House on the grounds of the Olmsted Manor in Ludlow. Olmsted is a rather unique place. When completed in 1917 it featured a grand Tudor mansion (complete with a two lane bowling alley, an apparent must-have for the rich and famous of the time) and several hundred acres of manicured gardens, terraced fountains, patios, lily ponds, tennis courts and the like. In 1969 the Olmsted family gave the Manor to the Methodist Church, and the Methodists run it today as a “retreat and renewal center” that caters to religious retreats and seminars. Luckily for heathens such as ourselves, guests are not subject to any theological test, and the only stricture placed on us was that we were asked not to drink or smoke on the premises. No cell phones, no laptop, and now no wine with dinner – our “going native” was now so complete as to be almost Rousseauian.

Balcony Off Kitchen

The Carriage House at Olmsted is the top floor of what was once, most likely, the Manor's garage and chauffeur’s quarters across the road from the mansion. It fit our needs almost perfectly: a large living room with a cable TV that got ESPN and the Weather Channel, a nice sized kitchen complete with all the stuff we needed to prepare meals, two good sized bedrooms and a modern bathroom. The furniture might be honestly described as “grandmotherly,” but the old time wooden doors and door frames, as well as several Tudor style windows, gave the space an unusual charm. There was even a little balcony perched off the kitchen that provided wonderful views of the Olmsted grounds and the surrounding Allegheny hills. The only negative we could find was that US Route 6 (aka: Main Street in Ludlow) runs by right outside, but there was so little traffic we were rarely bothered by any noise. And what mundane vehicular noise we did notice was more than counter balanced by the romantic rumblings of a freight train that once in a while passed through the hills behind our backyard balcony. (See here for a distant view of the Carriage House.) But perhaps the best aspect of the Carriage House was the price: under $400 for six nights. God bless the Methodists.

PS – While Protestantism is typically connected with industry and frugality, it might be well to remember this popular quotation from the writings of John Wesley, the English cleric and theologian who founded Methodism, which adds a third leg to make a sturdy and interesting Protestant stool: “Make all you can, save all you can, give all you can.”

Culture: The Methodists are also responsible for our seeing Neil Sedaka and Bob Newhart. In the 1870's the Methodist Church founded, on the shores of Lake Chautauqua, NY, a summer training camp for Sunday school teachers that over the next several decades evolved into the Chautauqua movement. The Chautauqua movement was basically a further evolution of the Lyceum movement, which in the early 19th century sought to enhance adult education and entertainment in America. (Ralph Waldo Emerson made a good living giving lectures on the Lyceum circuit and Abe Lincoln is said to have honed his speaking skills at the lyceum in Springfield, IL.) During its most popular years, the Chautauqua movement had scores of outposts ranging from tents to large auditoriums throughout America. At the bigger Cahautauquas thousands would flock to the summer lectures to hear the likes of William Jennings Bryant and Mark Twain. Early on, the educational and religious tone of the movement was supplemented by popular entertainment, which brings us ultimately to Messrs Sedaka and Newhart.

The automobile, radio and movies pretty much ended the Chautauqua movement as a force in American culture, but at the Chautauqua Institution, on the original site at Lake Chautauqua, the cultural tradition lives on in spades. During the summer months the Institution hosts scores of lectures, talks, discussions, plays, religious services and entertainment. This summer the line up of speakers included the likes of PBS's Jim Lehrer and Ken Burns, Alan Alda, the NY Times' David Brooks, Sandra Day O'Connor and the author extraordinaire, Salman Rushdie. The entertainment was just a varied, ranging from the Cleveland Jazz Orchestra to the Air Force Concert Band, and from Clay Aiken to Tom Chapin.

On Friday night, August 27, the 5,000 seat auditorium (which has a roof but no walls, and pew-like, family style seating) was SRO for Neil Sedaka, whose voice at 71 years of age was a miracle. It was wonderful to also be reminded of all the melodic songs he has written over the years. The next night we saw the 81 year old Bob Newhart, whose impeccable comedic timing has lost nothing over the years. He did all new material, but found time for one old routine – the classic (the recording is in the Library of Congress!) “Driving Instructor.”

For us it was an easy 90 minute drive from Ludlow and the wilds of northwestern PA to this island of high culture in the eastern finger tip of New York, and these two concerts were the highlight of our week. We're on the mailing list for next year's offerings at Chautauqua and hope to return.

PS – Jake grew up with a Chautauqua in his home town of Boulder, Colorado. When he was a lad he used to see movies in the big auditorium, a large, wooden barn of a building that housed not only the flickering light shows from Hollywood, but also the more-than-occasional family of bats, the sight of which sent many a early 1960's bouffant hairstyle shrieking to the exits. The current Boulder Chautauqua has a spectacular mountainside setting, is one of the oldest continuously operating Chautauquas in America, and features one of the best restaurants in Boulder.

Kane Country Club

Golf: Jake managed to get in 36 holes of golf while playing three courses. On the first afternoon of our arrival in Ludlow I headed down US 6, through the town of Kane to the Kane Country Club where I played nine holes for $15.

Having not played much at all during this Summer of our Discontent, I had hoped to play alone but instead joined a threesome who were just teeing off. To add to my discomfort they all hit their drives long and straight. I manged to not lose my ball and somehow made a bogey on the straight, short (345 yds) opening hole, which gave my game more credence than it deserved.

After this one hole it was obvious that my partners were quite good and I was in over my head. It didn't help me feel less intimidated when I learned on the way to the second tee that the young guy was a 2 handicap(!), that the other guy worked in the pro shop, and that the third guy played at Kane CC about four or five times a week during the summer. Still, golf being golf, they hit some bad shots now and then, I played about as well as I can, and we all enjoyed the nine holes I shared with them.

Nine holes and about two hours of play is no basis for judging any golf course, but from what I saw, Kane CC is a good golf course kept in good condition. It is relatively short (5,944 yds) but the smallish greens that are typical of older courses (nine holes date from before WWI) are quite quick, while the generally tree-lined fairways reward straight drives but do not severely punish slightly wayward ones. The course's setting I found most appealing. Only on the first two holes do you see a car, and the rest of the course is a true walk in the park with not a house nor condo in sight. And the price is certainly right – $20 to $25 to walk the full 18 holes.

I played another nine holes at the Chautauqua Golf Club before we went to Friday evening's show. There are 36 holes at Chautauqua; I played the Lake Course nine, twilight rate, with a cart for $42, which included a small charge for Stone riding along with me. The Chautauqua GC is generally well regarded, and the atmosphere was certainly upscale yet nicely friendly, but from what little I saw of the course I doubt I'd play it again at the high rates charged.

Pine Acres Golf Course

When I next played it was beginning to get hot, even in our Allegheny enclave. On Monday morning I played 18 holes at Pine Acres, $26 to walk. Despite the heat, and the flocks of gnats (which I must admit I have never experienced in Jersey – no doubt we annihilate them with some chemical or other), I enjoyed the morning's play, especially since I had the course virtually to myself. I had heard that Pine Acres, which is the home course for the golf team from the University of Pittsburgh at Bradford, was perhaps the best course in the area, and, despite its length from the “everyman” tees (6,511 yds), it proved to be fun and was my favorite as well.

I didn't get to play what was the most intriguing golf course we saw. On the drive out we took a four mile detour to see Scottish Heights in Brockport, PA. Though it is too seriously hilly to walk and a cart is always recommended, it had wonderful vistas and looked like it would be fun to play. Next time out I hope we can make a stop there and play it.

PS – The young 2-handicapper I played with at Kane CC is on the golf team at the University of Pittsburgh at Bradford, which he (and everyone else in the area) referred to as “Pitt Brad.” In private, always in private, both Stone and Jake referred to it as Brad Pitt.

Hiking/Biking: The Allegheny National Forest (ANF) is a hiker's paradise, but unfortunately Jake and Stone never got much of a chance to do any long walks in the woods. And besides, the Olmsted estate itself provided ample opportunity for enjoyable walking around its substantial acreage. At one edge of the estate there is a sort of trail head for a subsequent mile walk through the woods to Wild Cat Park, which is a large public park overseen by the Ludlow Community Association. This trail also gets the walker up close and personal with the freight train that rumbles virtually unseen through the forest. The train's rumbling, which seems so romantic when heard from a distance is less so when heard alone in the woods, and the steadily increasing rumble severely elevated Stone's heart rate on her first amble into the trees.

Allegheny River by Tidioute

We took two walks in the Heart's Content area of the ANF, and while neither walk was sublime, and we occasionally had to swat away gnats, it was still quite wonderful to be alone in the forest with the dappled sunshine, the scampering chipmunks, the emerald ferns, the brave mushrooms and the pervasive silence. On the way back to Ludlow we got lost, but discovered a picnic area that had several trails radiating from its parking lot, one of which ended up with a post card overlook of the Allegheny River as it flowed past the little town of Tidioute.

Originally it was thought that while Jake hiked the golf links Stone might hike some of the North Country Scenic Trail. The NCST is nothing less than a 4,600 mile trail that runs from New York to North Dakota. It makes it way briefly (only 100 miles worth!) through Pennsylvania and spends a lot of that time in the ANF. However, upon reading the notes at a trail head that warned of recent black bear sightings and cautioned hikers to use “bear awareness techniques” it was decided to try the trail next time.

Having for some time wanted to do it, Stone finally bought herself a folding bike which we took along on this trip. It is a Schwinn 20” model which we got from Amazon for about $160. Folding bikes can easily cost two or three times what we paid, but Stone has been very happy with this cheaper bike. If this bike has one drawback it is its weight – it is not light by any means. But it still folds into a carrying bag, can fit easily into half of the back seat of a car, and is not impossible for a reasonably fit middle aged woman to carry short distances. Though time and logistics didn't allow Stone to ride any section of the Chautauqua Rails to Trails, she greatly enjoyed riding her handy bike around the Olmsted estate and on the nary-a-car streets of Ludlow.

Stone & Her Bike

PS -- As President of the Overly Planned Vacation Society, Jake did note that the best view we got on all of our hikes was discovered by getting lost.

Food: We knew this trip would afford us little in the way of memorable meals out, still we had a couple of nice experiences. Warren, PA, was about a 30 minute drive from Ludlow. It was here we had our only “fine dining” experience at the Liberty Street Cafe, which was quite nice indeed. But our favorite two meals out were breakfasts at Kimberly's Cool Beans Cafe in Bradford, where the vibe was relaxed, the coffee delicious and the breakfast a world class value. Highly recommended.

Most often we took advantage of the kitchen in our rental, finding fresh goodies to cook at the Farmer's Market in Bradford where we got some nice veggies as well as some local honey and jams. We also found some delicious peaches and grapes at one of the many roadside stands that dot seemingly every road in the area.

PS -- Man does not live by restaurants alone.

Out & About: Bradford, PA, is the home of Zippo lighters, and as befits this American icon, there is a Zippo Museum in town. The museum is free, is visited by thousands of people every year, and was more interesting than we anticipated. A few years ago Zippo acquired W. R. Case & Sons Cutlery, which is also headquartered in Bradford and makes the famous and much collected Case knives; the museum highlights Case also.

We also enjoyed visiting the Kane Manor Country Inn in Kane, PA, which is now a B&B. Originally it was built by General Thomas L. Kane, of Civil War fame, who helped found the town that bears his name. The owner of the inn, who gave us a little tour of the historic building he is now slowly renovating, told us that General Kane was a great friend of the Mormans, helped them settle in Utah, and that there is a statue of him in Salt Lake City.

This part of Pennsylvania is not wealthy by any measure, but it is not without its monied redoubt. Not far outside Bradford, within the ANF and on its own country road, is Glendorn. To gain entrance to the Lodge at Glendorn one must be buzzed in at the main iron gate, which swings open with seeming elegance (or is that reluctance?) to admit one's car. Glendorn is the type of place that has horseback riding, skeet shooting and Orvis guided fly fishing. In the summer, “cabins” of four or five bedrooms can be rented for about $2,000 a day – yes, we said a day. The cuisine is Relais & Chateaux rated. The swimming pool gleams in its current emptiness and the fish hatchery is over there, off to the left. There is a “Big House” (main lodge) that has a fireplace worthy of the evil Sheriff of Nottingham, a patio of perfect flag stone, and a screened in porch that seats about a dozen for lunch or dinner. The 1,200+ acres include a trout stream and at least a half dozen trails with varied degrees of hiking difficulty. It should be noted, however, that from November through April there are several rooms available in the Big House for $199 a night, which Jake and Stone allowed themselves to dream of occupying for a night or two sometime in the off-season future.

Soon To Be in a Juice Near You

Along Lake Erie there are more than a few wineries. As is de rigueur marketing nowadays, there is even a Lake Erie Wine Trail that includes New York, Pennsylvania and Ohio wineries. We visited two of the Pennsylvania Wineries, Penn Shore and Mazza, but found no wines interesting enough to buy. However the drive along side Lake Erie, on Route 5, was most enjoyable. This NY-PA-OH area is the largest grape growing area in the eastern United States, and the mile after mile view of vineyards was like seeing corn in Iowa, only much better. However, most of the grapes (basically Concord and Niagara) grown in this region end up not as wine, but as products of Welch's, which is an agricultural cooperative of over 1,000 grape growers. Welch's was actually founded not in Concord, Mass, nor here near Lake Erie, but in the 19th century in Vineland (of course!), New Jersey. Who knew?

Longhouse Rd Reservoir View

Two road trips can be recommended. One is the Longhouse Scenic Drive (aka: Forest Road 262) which runs for miles along side a fork of the Allegheny Reservoir and has several excellent views of the water. Another interesting drive that can be accomplished in under an hour is Route 666, which runs its way through the midst of the ANF but away from any towns or even hamlets. This truly rural ride follows a creek for many miles, and is so full of twists and turns that it is a favorite of the Harley-Davidson crowd, many members of which were enjoying the road also.

PS -- It is at first odd to note all the oil rigs around this neck of the woods (so to speak). It is actually not that unusual to see a rig in someone's (large) backyard. But in the late 1800's this part of Pennsylvania was enjoying an oil boom, and apparently there is still some in the ground to be found.

Weather: Since the initial draw of this area of Pennsylvania was the cooler weather, a weather report is necessary. Bottom line: it was indeed cooler than Jersey, especially at night. One morning the temp was 47 degrees. But the Bradford area is not a guaranteed oasis. At least two of our seven days were hot by any standard, but even on those days it was noticeably cooler in the shade, which is not often the case at home. Though we didn't stay in Bradford this time, we might next time as we noticed it was even cooler in Bradford than it was in Ludlow. For the record, for the six full days we were away the high temps at home were: 82, 78, 83, 92, 93 and 95. In Bradford, the same days saw highs of: 66, 69, 76, 82, 83 and 83.

PS -- So Bradford's chamber of commerce is telling the truth when it terms itself, “The cool town with the warm heart.” We plan to return next summer, when we are sure we will need another retreat.

Top Nine in Rochester, NY

2010-07-17T12:49:00.000-04:00

With "Sweetness!" out of her Rochester East End apartment for a week visiting the Exotic and the Humid in Hong Kong, Stone and Jake decided to finally fulfill a promise to see not the usual suburbs of Rochester but a slice of the city itself. This summer has been miserably hot all around, but it seemed that going north couldn't hurt, and indeed it did not. It was a bit cooler and quite a bit less humid for both days. And the apt's A/C was adequate. We arrived at lunch time on Wednesday, July 14, 2010, and came back home on Friday morning. We tried to leave the car and walk as much as possible. Here, rather briefly, is our Top Nine list from this brief visit:

1. Getting lunch items to go at the Wegman's on East Ave – a small, older store of the famous chain with some charm and the usual great selection of “to go” goodies.

2. Our brief walk along S. Fitzhugh St. and its interesting mix of buildings in the Corn Hill nieghborhood before going on the Mary Jemison for a 90 min afternoon cruise on the Genesee River and Erie Canal. Well, "cruise" might not be the right word. It was more exactly a boat ride. But is was fun, relaxing, and interesting.

3. Dinner at Pier 45 up on Lake Ontario. This night the beach scene is crowded (mostly due to a free concert that night) and it is not easy to park, but we enjoyed the locals with their frisbees, frisky children and lawn chairs. The restaurant itself is not immediately visible, being accessed via elevator to the second floor of a rather sad looking pavilion type building. We ate outside overlooking an inlet and the passing sailboats; food was good, wine by the glass was good, martinis were just OK. There was a good summer al fresco feel to the evening.

4. Breakfast at Charlie's Frog Pond. Has recently changed ownership but is good as ever. Next door is Jines, sort of the go-to breakfast place for the Park Ave scene in Rochester and is very good but we wanted something less busy and lower key.

5. Walked to the George Eastman House and Museum. Peeked in quickly at the Museum's galleries, liked best the gallery with all the old cameras, but the highlight for us was a 45 min tour of Eastman's mansion which is both clever and beautiful in both its design and execution, and surprisingly liveable. Very cool.

6. Walked to the Memorial Art Gallery for lunch at Max at the Gallery restaurant. Despite its upscale environment, the prices were reasonable and our sandwiches and salads (not to mention the homemade lemonade) were top shelf. Friendly wait staff and not crowded when we visited. Excellent.

7. Dinner at Edibles on University Avenue. Stylish place. Good wine by the glass, good food. Can eat outside if so inclined. Gets crowded late, especially the bar scene.

8. Walked back to the Eastman House and the Dryden Theater for a 8 pm showing of "Les Demoiselles De Rochefort" (don't worry, we'd never heard of the movie either), a French musical directed by Jacques Remy, which was fun to see. The Dryden is an “art theater” (the theater includes a little lectern where more often than not that night's movie is briefly introduced) but its range of cinematic offerings is truly wide and not exclusively for the film buff. With a new movie almost every night at $7 a ticket it's always a good deal.

9. As we walked along University Ave in this (artsy) neighborhood we also discovered a wonderful creative crafts shop called Craft Company No. 6 and the indulgence of late night nibbles at a little place called Chocolate and Vines.

A Paradise Lite

2010-02-12T17:55:00.059-05:00

Jake and Stone had been to Jekyll Island back in the pre-blog days of early 2008 on our way down to Florida to visit our old friends, the Farles, who were being held captive in Hollywood, FL, by the collapsing real estate market. On our drive down we stayed two nights in Jekyll and liked it so much we vowed to come back for a longer visit. Two years later we did so.

Thursday, January 21, 2010 – Our ride down from Jersey to Washington, DC, proves to be surprisingly easy. We rendezvous with our old DC pals, Da Labetts, and the previously mentioned Farles, for dinner at the Carlyle in the DC suburb of Shirlington. When we parked in the garage nearest the restaurant we parked in one of the many spots reserved for “The MacNeil/Lehrer Report: 9am-5pm.” And sure enough, WNET was right across the street, where they are apparently in no hurry to repaint the reservations with the updated “NewsHour” name.

Our meal was a wonderful all-around experience – great food, good wine, good service, and a stylish atmosphere. The crowd was typically DC, which meant it was hard to find anyone over 30 years old. And it was busy. It seems that in DC they have yet to hear about the recession. The dinner was a terrific way to start this vacation, that celebrates our 30th anniversary, with two other couples so happily married for almost as long. God bless us, everyone.

Friday, January 22, 2010 – We breakfast at a suburban DC diner called the Music Box and again we are six in number. But here Mrs Da L (who had to work, poor dear) has been replaced by the Farles’ son who will soon begin work in DC as a lawyer. After eggs and ham, and hugs and goodbyes, we hit the road aiming for Lexington, VA. The drive is rainy and cool, with some trees actually frosted by twinkling ice.

In Lexington we have some soup at a little bakery on Washington Street, then walk over to the campus of Washington and Lee University for a tour of Lee Chapel and Museum, which we can highly recommend. Highlights: the early portrait of a young George Washington by Peale that hangs on the left side of the chapel, the recumbent statue of Lee which dominates the scene, the concise museum downstairs, and finally, the Lee family crypt. This chapel -- which is not really a chapel in the usual sense, having no religious or denominational connection -- serves as a reminder of the religiosity that marked the Civil War, since it could be argued that Robert E. Lee lies in the crypt below the chapel in the same manner and for the same reasons that Popes are interred in the Vatican Grotto.
But then again, this is Virginia, not Rome, and it should be noted that outside the chapel, near the crypt doors as a matter of fact, one can visit another marked interment: that of General Lee’s horse, Traveller.

We spend the night at the Kerr House B&B in Statesville, NC. Unlike DC, here there is a recession. The restaurant we wanted to go to has closed, as has the music place we had hoped to frequent after dinner. At least the B&B proves to be quite nice (though up for sale!) and we get a good night’s sleep.

Saturday, January 23, 2010 – After a good breakfast and a friendly chat with the B&B owners we head down toward Walterboro, SC, which bills itself as “The Front Porch of the Low Country.” In the attractive historic area of town we drop into the Downtown Books and Espresso for a light lunch of coffee and pastry. Two elderly women sit and knit at one of the communal tables; we ask if we can join them, they say "of course."

One of the best reasons to travel is to realize your own presumptions. We had sat down thinking we would find little in common with these two old, small town women and their knitting. Well, turns out they had just come back from a vacation themselves – to Peru! They talked of sharing some local “brew” with almost toothless native men in a dirt floored café of sorts, of hiking around Machu Picchu, and of para-gliding(!) off the cliffs of Lima. It all made Jekyll Island seem rather tame. Still we had a wonderful time talking with them, and realized what we would realize again and again on this trip – that down here conversation comes easily.

We get to Jekyll at 4pm, get the keys to our 2 BR duplex, and move in, all before dark. Down here just above Florida there is at least one more hour of daylight than back home. We want to make it over to the Jekyll Island Club Hotel while there is still light, for we know from previous experience that the Club’s sprawling grounds can be difficult to navigate after dark.

We make it to one of the hotel's several eateries, Vincent’s Pub, just as happy hour is ending, which is good, because it opens up some seats in this intimate place. We toast our first night in Jekyll with a couple of martinis, then order some crab cakes and a burger from the room service menu, despite the 20% service charge. Though happy hour has expired, several southern male aristocrats are still seriously in the spirit of the hour(s) past, but we find charm in their bluster, thanks to their accents and our martinis.

Just outside Vincent’s and up one level is the hotel’s in-house deli where we get some java and croissants to go. Even at night the grounds of this grand old place, once the exclusive haunt of millionaires, are quietly enchanting. Our walk back to the car, amidst the quiet demi-dark of palm trees and formal gardens, seems magical, but looming as well. But once back in our simple but sweet 2BR place all that truly looms is a good night’s sleep.

Sunday, January 24, 2010 – Bike rental for the two of us for what’s left of the week is about $100. We take the bikes for a little exploratory ride down to the beach via King Avenue where we see way more birds than people. We do some food shopping at the little grocery store in the strip mall that is the only serious retail on the island. Today’s temp is perfect for us: 61 degrees.

Stone drops Jake off for some windy golf at Great Dunes, an interesting 9-holer that dates from 1926 and costs but $10 to walk. The layout is basically links-like, except for the occasional stand of wind-blown trees, and the grass is all brown (dormant, Jake guesses) except for the greens, which range in size from small to micro. In fact, Jake stepped off the two axises of the the circular 9th green and they each measured 16 paces. While Jake fights the wind and his game, Stone drives around a bit, visiting the sea turtle center and finding a close-in parking spot for our next visit to the hotel. Back at the ranch/duplex we do some lunch, some napping, some reading, and then it is time for dinner and a DVD movie.

Monday, January 25, 2010 – Stone says Jake slept trough a major thunderstorm last night and on Jake’s morning bike ride to get a newspaper the evidence of the downpour is everywhere. Puddles dot the bike trail, and the broad and empty beach looks newly washed, with nary a footprint marring its plaster like sand.

Besides Great Dunes, Jekyll has three 18-hole golf courses, but today Oleander is closed because it is too wet to play. The starter suggests Indian Mound where, even though it is sunny and prime golf time (10 am) Jake tees off alone. The course has brown fairways, is very wet and the wind is quite stiff most of the time, but the sky is sun-filled and for $26 to walk it's one heck of a deal. There is no extra charge for seeing a rather large turtle (at least by Jersey standards) and several herons. Stone spends the morning biking and walking along the beach. We both need some nap time after our lunch back in the duplex.

When we were here before we had a good meal at Coastal Kitchen so we go then again tonight for dinner; we are not disappointed. This classy restaurant, right off the causeway on the way to St. Simons Island, features a large list of wine by the glass and great seafood, including fresh, wild Georgia shrimp.

After dinner we drive into St. Simons looking for the movie theater that seems so easy to find on Google maps. Alas, we get lost in a maze of malls that would do Jersey proud, and are about to give up when we spot a small sign that saves the night. We catch the last show of the night, “Sherlock Holmes,” which gets out at about midnight. Rather than risk another mall maze we see a sign for I-95 and know our way from there, so we take the Interstate home.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010 -- Jake bikes into the strip mall again for the morning paper. The day is sunny and breezy. The ocean along the bike path is much calmer than yesterday and several people walk the sand. After breakfast we two take a beach walk. After our walk we visit the Georgia Sea Turtle Center and its attached turtle hospital, which proves quite interesting. We had hoped to have lunch at the Crane Cottage but it is closed, so we walk over to Latitude 31, but they are not doing lunch either. We end up at Morgan’s Grill at the golf course(s), which serves surprisingly good golfer food.

Since tonight is our anniversary night we go upscale to Halyards restaurant on St. Simons Island. The drinks and wine are first rate. Stone’s Chilean sea bass is wonderful, as is Jake’s blue fin tuna salad. Finding out that it is our anniversary they give us a free dessert. It all makes for a memorable evening and we don’t even get lost going home.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010 – Another day of sunshine and temps (eventually) in the low 60’s. Did somebody say perfect? We do breakfast at Morgan's before Jake does another 18 holes, this time on Pine Lakes. Jake plays with a friendly married couple who summer in Maine and winter down here. The green fairways (different type of grass?) give Pine Lakes a better look than Indian Mound, and the course is surprising dry, giving a good run to drives that fine the generous fairways.

Stone does a long bike ride of around 10 miles, heading up to the northern end of Jekyll Island and back. Along the way she discovers some gift shops, marsh lands with lots of birds, the historic Horton House and an equally historic cemetery.

As the afternoon lengthens, we head over to the hotel, which is on the western side of this small island (Jekyll must be only about 1.5 miles wide in most places) in hopes of seeing the sunset. At the Lobby Bar (which was featured in the movie, “The Legend of Bagger Vance”) we get our drinks, then find some seats on the veranda overlooking the sculptured lawns, the palms trees, the walking paths, and the developing sunset over the small river that separates Jekyll from mainland Georgia. There are maybe half a dozen other people on the veranda. We all fall into easy conversation as the sun sets, the sky ribbons itself in purplish rust, and another wonderful day on Jekyll slips into darkness.

Thursday, January 27, 2010 – Stone is eager to show Jake what she discovered on yesterday’s bike ride, so off we go on the main bike path north. Last night on the veranda we were told not to miss Driftwood Beach, which is on the northern part of the island, and indeed to day we find it just off the bike path through a set of trees. Driftwood Beach is littered with giant trees, apparently washed up during Hurricane Hugo. No wonder it is the most photographed place on a very picturesque island. Along the beach we find some sand dollars that are still alive and some unusual shells, including welks, one with the little animal still inside!

The bike trail then heads into a vast marshland where herons and egrets stalk the muddy rivulets with patience and a ballet-like tempo that can be mesmerizing to watch. At the top of the island there is a fishing pier and a picnic area. Then we bike down the west side of Jekyll, curving through miles of high trees that drip Spanish moss almost ostentatiously, as if each tree were trying to out festoon its neighbor.

Back down near the hotel we ride on Old Plantation Road to the Crane Cottage (built in 1919 by one of Jekyll’s millionaire families), where after a comfortable 15 minute wait in the cottage’s “living room,” (made more comfortable by a waitress taking our drink order) we have an alfresco lunch aside the cottage’s center courtyard and loggia (this millionaire had a thing for Italian architecture); delightful in every way.

Later in the day, around 4:30, when it’s safe to say hardly anyone will be on the golf courses, Jake finally gets Stone to join him in hitting and then chasing the little white ball around the landscaping. We have a wonderful time by ourselves on the Oleander course, which is now open for play but still quite wet. We end up having only time for seven holes before darkness sets in, but during our good-walk-not-spoiled we see a family of deer and a lone bald eagle, hear an owl hoot from somewhere in the gloaming, and watch the almost full moon harden into view above the pine trees, tall guardians of this bit of Nature.

Friday, January 29, 2010 – This morning both of us bike for the paper, and as we pass the beach we spot four or five dolphins less than 100 yards off shore; quite thrilling for us. While watching the dolphins we meet a guy from Florida (he is not particularly impressed by the dolphins’ presence – he says sees them all the time where he lives) who used to live on St. Simons. Again we fall into easy conversation about this and that, and he ends up giving us some local recommendations for food on St. Simons: Barbara Jean's for crab cakes, Sweet Mama’s for breakfast and the 4th of May for just good local food.

While Stone spends the day reading and biking and walking, it’s another golf day for Jake. He plays on Pine Lakes again, with another husband and wife duo, this time from North Carolina. Jake enjoys the round, which includes a baby alligator sighting, yet finds that the golf on Jekyll has not all that he had hoped. Perhaps his hopes had been too high. The golf is plentiful and cheap, but he found the 18-holers to be without much personality, and with few memorable holes. In fact, the Great Dunes Nine had the most memorable hole: #5: a 466 yard par 5 that ends with a pur-blind shot to a seriously elevated mini green that overlooks the ocean.

We do an early dinner, do the packing for tomorrow’s leaving, and watch another DVD movie. Outside, our near week of perfect weather (ever day sunny, usually a breeze, mornings in the 40’s, highs near 60) seems about to change. The evening’s sky is full of scudding clouds, the moon rises and then disappears behind a bank of pearly, soon to be charcoal, clouds. On a final check before bedtime, raindrops begin to dot the sidewalk.

Saturday, January 30, 2010 – Rainy but a balmy 57 degrees as we drop off the duplex keys and head back north. Our weather continues to be rainy but is not problematic till just outside Fayetteville, NC, where I-95 slows down due to ice and snow. We pull into Dunn, NC, to find the town beginning to shut down, virtually paralyzed by what is a major ice storm. On the main street we find a fast food place that remains open and have what passes for lunch. We are there a good half hour and all the while not another soul enters the place.

Worried that dinner in town will be impossible, we ask where we might buy provisions and are directed to Wal-Mart where we get some nice snacks and two good looking salad platters. When we arrive at our B&B – it is only a couple of blocks off the main street (which seems to be the only plowed street around) and we are one of the few cars on the road which makes driving on the ice and snow a lot easier – our hosts are kind enough to invite us to dinner that night with them and two other couples who live within walking distance. We offer our salads and a bottle of wine as our contribution to dinner, then go up to our room delighted with our good luck.

The dinner is everything a good dinner party should be – good food, good drinks, good people. Jake and Stone are both put immediately at ease, and we both revel in the dinner conversation that ranges from local politics, neighbors, and the history of Dunn, to more worldly affairs – and those southern accents as well!

After such a dinner it should go without saying that this B&B in Dunn is on our highly recommended list, but even if the storm had not occasioned such generosity from our hosts, we would still think that the Simply Divine B&B simply lives up to its name. The bedrooms are large and smartly decorated, the parlors are several and comfortable, and throughout the house, which dates from 1906, there is a pervading sense of quality and pride. And the price was divine, too.

Sunday, January 31, 2010 – The drive north from Dunn on I-95 is slow going at first. After our first 2 hours we had gone only 60 miles. But then things got better and once we hit Virginia it was pretty much clear sailing all the way to Washington, DC – or more specifically, Alexandria, VA.

We checked into the Morrison House in the Old Town part of Alexandria, where somehow we had gotten a room for under $200 total – including taxes and valet parking. We feared such a luxury place might be a little snooty, but everyone on the staff was friendly and helpful, and what few patrons we saw seemed normal enough. Everything was just about perfect – from the plush bathrobes to the free wine hour – except for the WiFi. Why such a “luxury boutique hotel,” has such a Byzantine wireless sign-up process is baffling. We ended up doing without the service. But just to get even, Jake wears his plush bathrobe as often as possible.

We didn't have much time to explore the area, and the foot travel was made difficult by the often still not-shoveled snow on the narrow sidewalks, but we did discover an interesting place for coffee: Misha's Coffee Roaster Coffeehouse. Misha's is the opposite of elegant, but with art on the walls, coffee bean bags lying about, and a variety of clientele, it is its own kind of scene and worth a visit.

Down King Street, about a 10 minute walk from our hotel, is Brabo restaurant, where we meet a couple we became friends with recently and who live in the DC area. We hadn’t seen each other in some time and it was great seeing them again. Brabo is a fairly new restaurant and we hoped it would live up to its generally rave reviews. Well, it did. The room is elegant without being stuffy, the service both friendly and impeccable, the wine affordable, and the menu so enticing that we all had to ask for more time to decide what to eat. At the end of the night we all agreed the evening had been – well, great.

Monday, February 1, 2010 – On the way home, which took us but 3 hours from the hotel to exit 9 on the Dear Old Jersey Pike(!), we reviewed Jekyll to see if we might go again. The weather, the golf, the biking, the walking, the ocean, and the (sea)food, had mostly met or surpassed our expectations. Indeed, our week in Jekyll had turned out to be a sort of toned down version of our month in Sequim, WA, which we consider our summer paradise. We could never spend a month in Jekyll as we did in Sequim, but for a winter’s week (or maybe two weeks, next year) it certainly turned out to be a Paradise Lite.

Midwestern Zen

2009-10-15T17:58:00.035-04:00

Thursday, October 1, 2009 – Growing up in the bucolic wilds of Colorado in the 1950’s and 60’s, Jake had three sporting “someday dreams.” Someday he would sit in Yankee Stadium, someday he would attend a World Series game, and someday he would go to a Notre Dame football game. Life was good enough to him that the first two “somedays” came true within a few years of moving to New York City, but Notre Dame proved elusive – until this weekend.

Thanks to the generosity of a Notre Dame alum, Jake and Theresa were assured tickets to Notre Dame v. Washington on October 3, in South Bend, Indiana. All we had to do was get there. As we have noted before, one of the best things about being retired is that we have the time to drive places that in the past we would have had to fly to because of limited vacation days or other time restraints. It’s a long drive from dear old Jersey to the bucolic wilds of Indiana, so we decided to rest our elderly Honda and rented a car.

After our traditional pre-trip stop at the local Dunkin’ on Route 18, we headed west on the great American vehicular river system known as the Interstate System. We stopped first for soup and sandwiches in the picturesque town of Bellefonte, PA. Cool Beans Coffee & Tea provided us with just what we needed – a quick and tasty lunch served in a homey, coffee shop atmosphere that included the requisite locals hunched over their laptops, mothers with free range toddlers and lots of couches and chairs.

A 30 minute walk after lunch gave us a glimpse of Bellefonte, which bills itself as full of “Victorian charm,” and we didn’t see anything to discredit the claim. Bellefonte brims with B&B’s, and seems connected at the financial hip with nearby Penn State University. The helpful visitors center is in Talleyrand Park, which also features a pretty gazebo, a restored railway station, and a foot bridge over a nicely flowing creek populated by the usual ducks and the less usual trout.

The continuing drive west on I-80 through western Pennsylvania was quite nice. Fall colors were manifest at the higher elevations and the rolling hills made the drive easy on both driver and passenger. Just before reaching the Ohio border we stopped at the Holiday Inn Express in Sharon, PA. This HIE is an award winner, and it proved to be worthy of its accolades.

It also happens to be right next door to the Tam O’Shanter Golf Course. Jake convinced Stone to join him for a late day, relaxed 9-holes with just us and our cart ($27, total!), and we had a very nice time chasing our golf balls around this friendly, country-setting course.

For dinner we drove about 10 minutes up the road to Hermitage, PA, where we had a very nice time at the Hickory Bar and Grille, where the stuffed wildlife on the walls belies a rather sophisticated menu. We had expected western Pennsylvania to be inexpensive, but get this: two appetizers, two salads, two drinks and a tip: $41.

Friday, October 2, 2009 – Leaving the rolling hills of Western Pennsylvania behind, I-80 lead us quickly into Ohio where just west of Cleveland I-90 flows in, making it I-80/90. Outside Toledo we stopped at Schlotzsky’s Deli, just five minutes off the highway. The franchise slogan is “funny name, serious sandwich,” and it proved to be true. Jake’s sandwich, termed “The Original,” was especially delicious.

We noted that though this sandwich shop was like many you might find back home, here all the employees seemed happy in their work. The guy who called out the order number on the PA system was in such a good mood that he sang the number into the mic. And when we left, the cashier, though helping another customer, bid us an honest and hearty goodbye. This was our first noting of what we termed “the Midwest vibe,” which we noted time and again at gas stations, at shops, at parking lots, at B&B’s, and at the football game itself. Though hard to describe in its various manifestations, this attitude seems based on a happy acceptance of the here and now, even if the here and now is sometimes rather bleak. It’s as if seemingly everyone really believes those bumper stickers that say, “Life is Good.” We felt a little envious of such a sensibility, this sort of Midwestern Zen.

The drive though the rest of Ohio and all of Indiana proved to be as flat as Western Pennsylvania was hilly, but there were iconic rural scenes of farmhouses and silos, and the sky seemed to stretch over everything with an enormity we were not used to. Even the weather seemed bigger. Rain and sun came and went like actors on a stage, and when we stopped to fill up with gas the wind whipped our clothes as it tore over the flat landscape, seeming to come from the distant horizon on a special mission of force.

Like Augusta, Georgia, during the Masters, South Bend has it price gouging on Notre Dame football weekends. Several weeks ago Jake had called some chain place in South Bend, like a Microtel, and was told that for a room with a double bed it would be $375 a night, two night minimum, and though all the rooms were taken, the waiting list was still open.

We ended up booking a room at a B&B in Union Pier, Michigan, just across the border form Indiana and only about 40 minutes from South Bend. The Garden Grove B&B has much to recommend it, but for us, besides its being relatively close to South Bend, its proximity to Lake Michigan was its main draw. We had time after we checked in to do a little exploring. We had hoped to do so by the available bikes, but the weather was iffy at best and still quite windy, so we went by car.

We discovered several “private communities” set along the lakefront. Many of the homes were multi-million dollar places with a Mercedes in the double driveway, but there were some older cottages that hearkened back to the time when these Union Pier neighborhoods were summer getaways for “regular folk,” and here and there among the usual luxury we spotted a community basketball hoop or a children’s playground. It was quite interesting.

We found a public beach at the next town down the lake, New Buffalo. We parked in the empty parking lot and walked the deserted shoreline in the on-and-off rain. It was just us and the seagulls, which were hunkered down against the wind like an army at forced rest. The beach scene was shuttered post season; the day was overcast, rainy and breezy; and the lake was white-capped gray, slightly ominous and downright oceanic. Quite wonderful. Back at the B&B our room seemed especially cozy.

Dinner that night was at the upscale Timothy’s, perhaps only a half mile from the B&B. The room was nicely appointed in a lodge-like atmosphere, the drinks were good and the service was casually efficient. Stone’s mussels were a bit disappointing but Jake’s perch sandwich was very tasty. Though probably not worth the money, Timothy’s provided us with a pleasant evening. On the way back to the B&B we stopped in at Bud and Elsie’s, which was a sort of convenience/grocery/liquor store where we got some coffee to go and bought some bottles of Tabor Hill wine, a local winery we had hoped to visit but never had time for. The coffee was fine, while the wine still awaits consumption.

Saturday, October 3, 2009 – Kick-off for the game was at 3:30, but we left early, wanting to see as much of the campus and hoopla as possible. A little before 10 AM we pulled into our parking area – White North, $20 a car – and then caught a shuttle bus into the campus. The bus driver was the first that day, but hardly the last, to say “Welcome to Notre Dame.” As the bus was filling up somebody said, “Hey, don’t let that guy with the Michigan jacket on.”

The shuttle dropped us off next to the Hesburgh Library and its impressive mural nicknamed “Touchdown Jesus.” Somewhat ironically (or perhaps not) this world class library was built on the old Notre Dame football field. We, and scores of other bus riders, went inside to use the bathrooms. Though the library was closed (football Saturday, you know) Jake noticed a student checking out a good half dozen books via one of several electronic scanners. The weather was sketchy at best, but the campus was full of people and memorable vignettes.

-- The Leprechaun and his cheerleaders jogging around eliciting cheers and chants from the faithful.
-- Many people having their picture taken by the Knute Rockne statue, including several Washington Huskies fans.
-- The ND Bagpipe Band holding forth in grand style on the steps of the Main Building.
-- The signs on ND stadium that tells fans to evidence good sportsmanship, and reminds everyone that alcohol and smoking are both not allowed in the stadium.
-- Here and there on the large, grassy quads of this large, grassy campus, students hawk game day food and soda, often with the aid of a step ladder and bull horn. Dorms have their tables set up, as do many campus groups – the ice skating team, for example. We bought a couple of hot dogs from the ND Chorale, who then harmonized a little song as a thank you.
-- As if in a public service spot for “traditional American values,” numerous families tossed footballs to one another amid cries of, “Go deep!”

Besides the Hesburgh Library there are two other iconic buildings on campus: Main Building (with its famous Golden Dome) and the Basilica of the Sacred Heart (where the team celebrates Mass before each game and the "go to" place for alum weddings.) The Basilica was as beautiful as many we saw in Italy (though not nearly as big), and the Main Building, with its fabulous dome and striking rotunda, not to mention its overall feeling of history and tradition, could easily justify a visit of several hours. But the rest of the campus – though large, green, immaculate and dotted with both art work and historic statues – left us slightly underwhelmed. Perhaps it was simply the flat topography of the land that made us miss the rolling hills of many campuses back east.

Certainly the campuses back east would have a hard time matching the tailgating that we experienced as we walked amid the acres of close-in parking looking for our rendezvous spot with our ND Alum friend. We had to wonder, surveying a scene that was part carnival, part tribal gathering, and all party, if all these good folk were here for football or for something else. (It is to the University’s credit that tailgating is outlawed once the game begins.) There were tents of all sizes and more BBQ’s than you could shake a BBQ fork at, flat screen TV’s being watched in the back of vans and pickup trucks, a school bus painted in ND blue and gold, bare card tables with paper plates next to picnic tables set with china, fine linen and lamps. And of course there was food and beer sufficient to feed the multitudes when Jesus returns to earth to mark the New Jerusalem and the final touchdown.

There were also truly hundreds of people playing a game of bean bag toss, which was like horseshoes but with bean bags. The bags were tossed toward a small, tilted platform with a hole in the top center, which apparently was the ultimate target. Several styles of tossing were in vogue, but each toss seemed to demand the concentration and focus of a British dart tournament. Neither Jake nor Stone had ever seen this style of bean bag game before and its pervasive appeal eluded us both. We decided it must be some Midwestern vibe to which we could not tune in.

We met our ND Alum friend in the NBC hospitality tent on the southern end of the campus. (He works for GE, which owns NBC, which televises all Notre Dame home games.) Being verified on the guest list we got our special passes and lanyards, then entered the tent, which was almost worthy in size to what Muammar al-Qaddafi wanted to pitch recently in Westchester County. The food was plentiful and free, as were the beer and wine and drinks. We passed a lovely hour or so hobnobbing with other “invitees,” who ranged from GE big shots to regular folk like us. It felt special to be special.

We arrived at the game early so as not to miss anything, for there is a lot to see and hear. There is much ceremony before each Notre Dame home game, from the solemn presenting of the colors and the singing of “God Bless America,” “Notre Dame Our Mother,” and the “Victory March,”to the band ending its pre-game show by spelling out IRISH on the field as the crowd roars its approval. The stadium itself is very old school. Ninety percent of the seats are bleacher like with your seat number stenciled on the weathered wood. The field is grass, there are no advertising signs, and there is not a bad seat in the house – and it’s a big house.

The football game itself was not expertly played (few early season college games are), but it proved to be very exciting and drama filled, including key play results being reversed by video review, a “never seen before” double goal line stand by the Irish, brilliant passing by the Huskies’ Jake Locker, equally brilliant play by Notre Dames Golden (even a better first name than Jake!) Tate, and an Over Time victory for the Irish, 37-30. It hardly mattered that at the begging of the second half the stadium was drenched in rain. The game itself, combined with all the atmosphere – the student section (which by the way stands for the entire game) shouting their choreographed cheers and raising each other in the air for “push-ups,” the wonderful half time show, the band playing the “Victory March” ad naseum, the Irish Guard in their kilts on the sidelines, and the noise of 80,000 people in full throat all combined to surpass even Jake’s expectations of what it would be like to attend a football game in Notre Dame Stadium.

After the game we met with our ticket benefactor at the Hesburgh Library and had a very nice chat over coffee and tea at the Huddle Food Court in the LaFortune Student Center. After a bit of a wait on line for the shuttle back to our parking spot, we drove back to our B&B area, and had a good late night snack and beer at The Stray Dog in New Buffalo. The bar’s TVs were awash with late night college football. We went back to our B&B room to sleep the sleep of the fortunate. Hey, life is good.

Sunday, October 4, 2009 – B&B’s have basically two ways to serve breakfast: either at a large communal table or at individual tables set for two, or sometimes four. We have found both arrangements agreeable, but this morning we are glad to have a table for two in the little enclosed porch, and enjoy our breakfast while remembering the thrills of yesterday’s adventure.

The drive back eastward was complicated by an early rain storm, but it soon cleared up, and things went smoothly enough. As I-80/90 rolls through Indiana and Ohio it is much like any other Interstate highway – except perhaps that you pay for the pleasure in both states– but in Ohio we experienced several travel plazas that were the best we’d ever seen. Architecturally pleasant from the road and inside as well, they featured a pristine cleanliness, an airy food court with comfortable seats, a helpful visitors center, and the pervasive Midwestern happy employees. Lunch at Panera Bread in such a setting was both tasty and enjoyable.

We pulled into the Terra Nova B&B in Grove City, PA, at about 4:00 pm. After checking in we went for a stroll through the neighborhood, which seemed to be in one of the older parts of town and had a variety of homes – some a bit sad around the edges and others that featured immaculate landscaping. It was striking to see how many of the homes had flags or banners or something that showed the owners to be Steelers fans.

We had thought we might have trouble finding a place to eat on this Sunday night in small-town western PA, but our hosts had a wide collection of local menus and we settled on the Springfield Grille in nearby Mercer, PA. The parking lot was full when we pulled in and when we got inside we could see why. The Springfield Grille is an attractive place (where even the obligatory stuffed wildlife, in this case an impressive moose, seems just right) with all that we needed for a good dinner: friendly service, good drinks, and a nice menu with cheap prices. When our waitress told us that the appetizers were half priced on Sunday nights, we ordered exclusively from the app menu: bruschetta, an iced crab dish served in a martini glass, a couple of large seared scallops, chopped porcini mushrooms wrapped in little pasta “purses,” and some great grilled lamb. Jake had his usual Rusty Nail; Stone her usual glass of Cabernet. We had coffee. We had to leave a 25% tip so that the bill would be at least be $50. Wow.

Monday, October 5, 2009 – Breakfast at our B&B -- a baked pear in custard sauce, sausage and blueberry pancakes -- was delicious, and provided further evidence of this B&B’s award winning ways. And at $99 for the night, it was another indication of the bargains to be found west – way west – of Philadelphia. It's too bad that Barry and Sandy, the B&B owners are looking to sell, but hopefully whoever buys the place will carry on the good work.

On our drive home we stopped for gas and snacks at Jersey Shore. No, not that Jersey Shore. The little town of Jersey Shore, PA. And not really the town either, just a gas station near the Jersey Shore Exit off the interstate. The cashier was nice, but evidenced little of that magical “Life is Good,” sensibility. We were obviously getting closer to home.

Halifaxsimile

2009-08-02T18:45:00.033-04:00

Circumstances (read: the usual suspects -- time and money) having prevented another return to Sequim this summer, Stone took Figlia with her to visit Old Friend Maid of Honor in New Hampshire for a few days, while Jake took flight for a late July week in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Jake knew he would not exactly replicate Sequim, but hoped Halifax might provide a reasonable facsimile.

Seeking cheap single digs, I found residence at a “residence hall” – Risley Hall, to be exact, at Dalhousie University. My dorm room was just that, and nothing more, but at $250 for the week (senior rate!) it was an excellent value. Once I got used to the unisex bathroom and showers, and the occasional late night student noise, things went well enough, until the lack of A/C finally…. but more on that anon.

Friday, July 24, 2009 – Having been seriously delayed with my Thursday afternoon flight out of Newark, today was my first day in Halifax. I awoke after only a few hours sleep to find the morning cool, overcast and misting rain – an excellent start. Though I have rented a car, I plan to walk as much as possible, and started out down one of Halifax’s arteries, Spring Garden Road. I had an average breakfast at a place called Smitty’s, then took a look at St. Mary’s Cathedral Basilica (the pope was there, you know), the Halifax Courthouse (19th century architecture), the Halifax Public Library (a dynamic statue of Winston Churchill on the front grounds) and walked briefly through a section of the stately and lovely Public Gardens (British gardening, please stay off the grass), all on Spring Garden Road. Still on SGR I had a terrific lunch at the Saege Bistro, where I enjoyed a deep bowl of seafood chowder, warm spinach salad and some good local pinot grigio.

After lunch the weather turned truly rainy, so I found shelter at a movie-plex (still on SGR), where after 28 minutes of previews (I timed it), I sat through the more than 2 hours of “Public Enemies.” My affinity for Johnny Depp’s acting couldn’t help me from thinking that the whole movie was just a realistic version of the Coen brothers’ “Miller’s Crossing,” both of the movies being so centered on men in hats.

Outside the theater wind had been added to the previous rain, so I hustled on back to Dalhousie, got in the car and headed to a place I remembered from my first visit to Nova Scotia some 30 years ago as being especially picturesque in the wind and rain – Peggy’s Cove. Usually packed with tourists, the now lonely lighthouse, rugged granite shoreline and white-capped sea made for a scene perfectly in tune with the heavy maritime weather.

The wind and rain had not abated when back in Halifax I easily found a parking spot (is it the weather?) and had a light dinner at the bar at the rather fancy Gio in the Prince George Hotel. Here the seafood chowder was once again wonderful, this time highlighted by mussels still in their just-opened shells. My dessert – the whimsically named “I’m jonesing for…” – was a nice variety of tasty treats.

Risley Hall sits very close to Wickwire Field, where, on my way back to my dorm room from the parking lot, I noticed a late night soccer game going on despite the wind driven sheets of rain. There being less than a dozen spectators, I watched for a while from the sideline, my first “serious” soccer game up close and personal. Even with my limited knowledge of the game I could see that these college kids were very skilled players. I found out subsequently that what I watched was not the Dalhousie Tigers versus some other university, but rather two teams from the Eastlink Premiership Men’s Division. I went to sleep that night in my single dorm bed thinking that Landon Donovan and his mates notwithstanding, it seemed unlikely that soccer would ever be so pervasive and passionate down south in the USA.

Saturday, July 25, 2009 – Having seen a little ad in the newspaper for “Tastes of the Valley” at a weekly farmers market in a nearby town, I headed out of Halifax on Highway 101 towards Wolfville. As I approached the town I noticed that the surrounding riverbeds, inlets and such appeared to be recently and violently drained. It took me a few minutes to realize that Wolfville, though not really directly on the Bay of Fundy, was still close enough to bear witness to the bay’s world famous tides, and I marveled at what looked to be at least a 20 foot drop in the water level clearly visible from the highway.

The Wolfville Farmers’ Market was crowded and fun. Besides the usual rural offerings of gluten free bread and organic tomatoes, local restaurants from the Annapolis Valley were cooking up some goodies at $3 a pop. I tried a beef/lamb burger with some type of garlic mixed in, a glass of red wine (to go with the burger) from Muir Murray Winery, and a Raspberry Sensation dessert from Between the Bushes Restaurant. I also snacked on a large cup of nice local cherries ($1) washed down by a mini bottle of apple cider ($1.75) pressed from “little Macs,” by a guy to whom apple pressing seemed a sort of religion.

The music was better than usual at these types of events. It was provided by TripALady, who bill themselves as a “Fiddle-Riffin', Djembe-Thumpin', Harmony-Pumpin', Dance-Pop Acoustic Rock Band,” and for the several songs I listened to, they lived up to the phrase. And don’t you just love their logo? Their version of “Sweet Dream Are Made of This,” sounded even better than this video.

The local tourist office told me of a golf club down the road called Ken-Wo (etymology: it’s between Wolfville and Kentville), and despite it being early Saturday afternoon I was able to walk on and play 9 holes for $25. I joined three young Canadian dudes, who on the second tee told me not to mind them lighting up “some of Canada’s finest,” as they passed around a joint. Not something you’re likely to witness on my local Jersey course. Nor are you likely to see a bald eagle, which soared off to our right as we walked the fairway of No. 7. And I didn’t see a power cart all day. Nor a house, nor a condo, nor a car. I didn’t just like this course, I loved it. As usual this week, I didn’t have my camera when I needed it, but check the photo gallery to get an idea.

After we finished No. 9 and the boys headed on to the back side, I asked them what beer I should get at the clubhouse, and they answered in unison, “A Keith’s, of course.” Of course. I don’t remember what I had to eat in the clubhouse but the Keith’s was so good I drank no other beer the entire week.

That night I went to the Lower Deck Beer Market down by the water and the tourists in Halifax. I had some chowder and salad again, as well as two 10 oz tugs of Keith’s, and talked some baseball with the bartender as the Red Sox were on TV. It being Saturday night the place got crowded and noisy rather quickly, and I headed outside where I got some coffee and pastry. I sat by the water watching the Dartmouth/Halifax ferry shuttle people across a narrow part of the world’s second biggest harbor. Tourists took pictures in the fading light, bachelorette parties wobbled by trying to have fun, and panhandlers flitted like moths between the flames of hoped for easy touches. After such a scene, my 40 minute walk back to the dorm, once out of the harbor area, seemed eerily serene.

Sunday, July 25, 2009 -- Oh, how the Haligonians (as the city’s natives sometimes term themselves) all love a day like today: sunny and warm. To me the sun just seems relentless. It makes me skip from shade to shade as I take the 2 kilometer walk from my dorm northward on Robie Street towards Jane’s on the Common for breakfast. Luckily the breakfast – an omelet with herbed goat cheese, pancetta and sun dried tomatoes, accompanied by two cranberry mimosas, and topped off by a coconut cream tart – makes the sunny trek more than worthwhile. Jane’s proves to be a small, snappy, busy, friendly place, and this was the best breakfast experience I had on this trip.

From Jane’s I headed around the common (a massive bit of green grass without so much as one tree, and scores of Haligonias who frolic there and seem to like it that way!), past the Citadel and down to the ferry, looking forward to the harbor’s breezes. The senior rate (age 60 and over) for the ferry is only $1.50, and that includes a free trip back if you come back within 90 minutes. I have never met a ferry I didn’t like (and this has nothing to do with the fact that I was in Halifax during Gay Pride Week!), and the 10 minute ride seems too short to me, but most enjoyable.

In Dartmouth I walk around a little bit, but it is too hot for me to really enjoy the effort. I check out a restaurant I hope to patronize later in the week – the Nectar Social House – which is close to the ferry and features a nice patio upstairs. (Unfortunately, I never made it back.) Back on the Halifax side of the harbor I attempt to cool down with a “Peach Floyd” smoothie from a harbor side kiosk ($7, but hey…).

Sure that it must be cooler near the ocean proper I head back home, hop in the rented car and head out of town down Purcell’s Cove Road, then down Herring Cove Road, in search of what a tourist brochure calls Crystal Crescent Beach. The drive is lovely, and the watery scenes are tonic to my sun fried senses. Less than 30 minutes out of Halifax the weather changes dramatically as the sun grudgingly gives way to various degrees of fog. I turn off the car’s A/C and open the windows. After a few odd turns and a dirt road or two, I actually find Crystal Crescent Beach, and, to my surprise, it is actually a beach, complete with sand and Frisbees throwers. There are even some hardy souls splashy about in the water. There are several walking trails near the beach so and I have a nice little walk, binoculars in hand, should a rare bird need spying.

On the ride back to Halifax I discover the York Redoubt, which sits on a commanding bluff overlooking Halifax Harbor. Long ago it was vital to the defense of the harbor, as its remaining guns give witness, but on this late afternoon it provides me, and but three other visitors, with a nice distant view and a nice pervading quiet. Lovely way to end the day.

Monday, July 27, 2009 – Outside my dorm window the morning is so foggy I can barely make out the buildings only 100 or so yards away. I head out to Common Grounds, a coffee place on South Park Street, about a 15 minute walk away. Half way there the fog gives way to a light mist, then quickly becomes a steady rain that makes me hustle to my destination. Common Grounds is a big place and provides the morning’s necessities – fresh coffee, a muffin, free newspapers and lots of comfy seating. Making sure to give the weather a chance to change, I take my time eating. Indeed when it is time to leave the rain has stopped, allowing for a dry, if humid, walk home.

Today’s feature event is golf at Indian Lake, an 18 hole executive course a little bit out of town on the road to Peggy’s Cove. The fog, which had abated somewhat in the city, grows more intense as I drive toward the course. To my surprise the parking lot is pretty crowded, but I’m able to walk on ($34 with a pull cart) pretty much right away and join up with a threesome that features a father and high school age son, and their friend, who happens to be a bartender at the Midtown Tavern in Halifax.

Indian Lake, a par 60 playing at about 3,400 yard, proves to be a fun little course. The fog is never really an issue except on one or two of the four par-4’s, and then not seriouly. For an exec course the layout has good variety, features a good amount of elevation change, and there is enough sand and water to tighten your grip on more than a dozen shots. What I enjoyed most about the course was that it is truly out in the country, seemingly carved from the surrounding pine forest. Oh, and there are no power carts available – everybody walks. There is a nice patio for après golf dining and the entire facility is, though modest, quality oriented. Indian Lake was built about 10 years ago, I am told, by the same guy who built, and then sold, Granite Springs, a high end (read: expensive) course down the same road.

Though it was never warm on the golf course it was very humid and I had to take a cold shower back in the dorm. I did some reading (apparently an odd activity this summer in this college dorm; every time I looked in an open door the student(s) was avidly watching TV), took a short snooze and then headed for a late lunch at Darrell’s, which proved to be busy even at 3:30 in the afternoon. But once I finished my big and delicious “Pita Club” wrap and two cold Keith’s I could see why the place was so popular.

Certainly traveling alone (something I haven’t done in years) has its benefits, but eating alone in not one of them. So during this solo trip I often ate at the restaurant’s bar to make myself feel less alone at meal time. I did so again for dinner at the Bitter End on Argyle Street, where I had two martinis and a dish called (ironically enough) “Shrimp to Share.” But I sat virtually alone at the bar with my shrimp, vodka and olives, and except for a sextet of young women obviously celebrating something in a distant booth, the restaurant’s atmosphere was down right sedate. Indeed, on the walk home, several coffee houses, eateries and bars were closed. On this Monday night, Halifax seemed more like a town than a city.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009 – Another overcast and seemingly cool morning, but my walk to Annie’s Place – just off Spring Garden Road, on Birmingham Street – proved once again the enervating power of maritime humidity, and I arrived hoping against hope for some A/C. But of course it was not to be. Outside of the movie theaters, hotels and museums, I found no A/C anywhere in Halifax. Annie’s Place is a small (5 tables), entrepreneurial, very homey place, where Annie (one surmises) does the cooking, runs the cash register and asks nearly everyone where they’re from, while the young waitress carefully hands out the hot coffee and takes orders in both English and French. My Hearty Oat French Toast (ordered in English) with warmed maple syrup was large and fabulous.

From Annie's it is a short walk to the Art Gallery of Nova Scotia where my senior admission costs only $8. The gallery is housed in two buildings, but is small enough to be viewed in an hour or so of leisurely walking. Properly enough, the gallery’s emphasis is on “local” art and artists, and on the day that I visited its collection of Native Indian art was interesting and on occasion, quite stunning. It is nice to be able to get up close to the paintings and other art works without being admonished by a gallery guard, of whose regiment I saw but one during my visit. The gallery’s gift shop is loaded with stuff, but unfortunately, not a lot of reproductions from the gallery itself. I did wish I hadn’t filled up on Annie’s French toast, for the gallery’s eatery, the Cheapside Café, had a menu that was most tempting, and the place itself looked very stylish and inviting; and oh, it was air conditioned.

After the museum I took another ferry ride to Dartmouth and back simply for the fun of it. But during my back and forth harbor trip the sky lost its cloudy luster, the sun came out, and I found myself once again jumping from shade to shade as I walked back uphill from the harbor to the Little Fish restaurant for lunch. Here it was actually cooler on the shaded sidewalk patio than inside, so I enjoyed my (very good) fish and (only average) chips (and Keith’s, of course), as I watched the world walk by, seemingly enjoying their damn sunshine.

On my way back home I head over to Spring Garden Road and make a visit to the Old Burial Gound, where there is at least some shade from the trees. This cemetery has a good number of headstones from the late 18th century, several with still visible iconography that strikes the 21st century eye as strange indeed. Further up the road I visit again (I walked through the gardens three or four times duirng this trip) the venerable Public Gardens, where I can also walk in the shade of the numerous trees (many with an interesting history) while admiring the meticulous gardening, the rigid formality of which only seems to enhance the vibrant color of the myriad flowers, the old gravel paths of counterpointing grey, and of course, the obligatory grand gazebo.

After a cold shower back in my dorm and a less than totally successful attempt at a snooze, I headed out for Lost Creek golf course, about a 45 minute drive away. I had hoped that by playing late in the day I might not only get in a quick round by myself but might mitigate the heat and humidity. Neither actually happened, but still this round of golf ($41 with a pull cart) proved to be the best of my three outings. I was joined on the tee by two guys (both members of the club) and a middle aged woman who had just gotten off work. It turned out that it was good I didn’t play alone, for while Lost Creek is a short course, its numerous doglegs, blind and purblind shots, often insidious water, deep bunkers and slanted greens, all give the first time player a definite need for direction and advice.

Lost Creek, though 10 years old, is still fine tuning some landscaping and such, and apparently three holes were just recently finished and opened for play. There is no clubhouse and the pro shop works out of a trailer. But there is little doubt that this layout – with a river running through it (especially beautiful as it rushes between No.1 and No.2), lake views (especially on the back nine) and surrounding forest (on virtually every hole) – is both a challenge and fun to play. Despite the humidity, the late day flies, and the mosquitoes (helping me remember why I rarely play golf in the summer), this round of golf, finished on No. 17 under a Canadian sunset worthy of song and on No. 18 in near darkness, was flat out wonderful.

The only down side to my late play was that by the time I rolled back into Halifax I was so hungry (and too sweaty to go any place nice) that I ended up eating at a 24-hour McDonald’s on Quinpool Road. Well, at least it was air conditioned.

Wednesday, July 29 – Last night was the first night I found my dorm room to be too hot to get any kind of decent sleep, so I didn’t mind finding myself awake a little earlier than usual, though in need again of a cold shower. I had my usual coffee and such this time at the Coburg Coffee House, which is just on the edge of the university’s campus.

It is another warm day and I decide to head out again to the shore, but this drive, though nice enough, proves to be uneventful. For lunch I head back to the Saege Bistro where I sit at the little bar area and enjoy another tasty lunch amid the busy hubbub.

Part of the reason I was so happy to reserve my dorm room at Dalhousie (besides its price) was that my issued swipe card worked not only for dorm and room entry, but also for the university’s recreational facility, Dalplex. Here I found the promised big swimming pool I had read about, and though it was busy with frolicking children and swimming lessons, I found it easy to find a lap lane all to myself.

Though refreshed by my swim, I had already decided that after last night’s sweaty tossing and turning I was not going to go another night without A/C. So back in my room I phoned around and found a room at the Howard Johnson Bluenose Inn and Suites for $69; A/C assured. Sitting near the eastern shore of the Bedford Basin, this HoJo was more than adequate for my needs. And it is actually closer to the Halifax airport so tomorrow’s drive will be that much shorter.

For my final night’s dinner in Halifax I motored back into the city and ate at the Economy Shoe Shop, a much ballyhooed restaurant and night spot. Again I found the city’s streets to be generally lacking in crowds or buzz, but what buzz there was was certainly at the Economy Shoe Shop. Large, loud and busy, with an eclectic décor that is both sassy and classy, it seemed to me to be very much a bistro on steroids.

Whenever I had seafood in Halifax (except for that fish sandwich I had at McDonalds – did you know it comes with a slice of cheese??) the seafood was always, as they say, awesome. Up until this evening the seafood soup at Saege had been at the top of my list, but the Economy Shoe Shop’s Whiskey Maple Scallops made it a photo finish.

Happily sated and comfortable on my bar seat, I lingered over my trip’s final Keith’s and thought about what made Halifax so cool, so to speak: the sign on some country road that said “skates sharpened here;” the way every car stops for pedestrians, even jaywalkers; the law that makes it mandatory that cigarettes sold in stores be hidden from view; the fact that Halifax hosts a giant Gay Pride Week; the fact that almost all the city’s numerous bicyclists wear helmets, even the kids; the fact of Keith’s Pale Indian Ale.

And so now, what of my hope to find a reasonable facsimile of Sequim for a summer escape?
In sum, no luck; Halifax was simply too hot and humid (as is, my research shows, 90% of North America south of the Arctic Circle) to warrant another summer visit from me. The people, the vibe, the food, the beer, the countryside and the golf were all exceptional. Surely Halifax must be paradise, come autumn.

Italy: Getting to Pescara

2009-04-30T20:05:00.004-04:00

Wednesday, April 1, 2009. The airport in Rome – officially known as Leonardo di Vinci, but usually referred to by its proximate location, Fiumicino, a town on the coast a good distance from Rome proper – proves easy to navigate, and Jake and Stone find their way to the trains heading into the Eternal City. Thanks to Stone’s recent and earnest studying of Italian she is able to fairly easily purchase train tickets from the airport to Tiburtina, one of Rome’s two main travel hubs (the other being Termini). The more usual way into the city is via the Leonardo Express, but we need a train from Rome to Pescara, and that train runs out of Tiburtina.

The train ride to the Tiburtina station proves to be an immediate test of our adaptability. The train is hot and humid, and crowded with people and their various travel baggage, including an incongruous baby pram of Victorian proportions that all but completely blocks one doorway. Still, people jump over bags and slither around each other easily enough as they get on and off of this local, very local, train. After about 40 minutes, and with an equal number of people saying “scusi” in perfect Italian!, we arrive at Tiburtina. Here Stone’s Italian skills once again are necessary to get us two tickets to Pescara, but the train schedule board is easy enough to read, as are the signs that directs us to the proper track.

As is apparently necessary when riding all Italian trains, we have to get our tickets time-stamped at a little yellow box beside the track before we board. When the train for Pescara pulls up, both of us initially think that it is a “work train,” such as is often visible after hours in the NYC subway. But no, this rusting and graffiti smeared string of cars is our ride to Pescara. The inside proves to be better looking than the outside, and there are so few passengers that we have little trouble finding seats and storing our luggage.

Figlia, who is studying at the university in Pescara for a semester during her junior year at college, has told her parents to take the train from Rome to Pescara, rather than the bus, because the train ride is so scenic, and indeed it is. Tivoli (home of Hadrian’s Villa) proves to be an early sight to behold, and the rest of the four-hour plus train ride across the Apennine Mountains features bucolic mountain and valley views, distant snowy peaks, ruined castles on the always-surviving hills, villages that seem to spill down their respective hillsides, lonely stone huts that have sheltered who knows who over the centuries, and even a large flock of sheep and their attendant shepherd (complete with vocational crook!). But the ride also reveals a few dreary small towns and some scrubby countryside where spring has yet to penetrate the higher elevations.

Pescara Centrale is like the city of Pescara itself – a modern and functional train station, but nothing to put on a post card. Using our calling card we call Figlia (after punching in and re-punching about 80-90 digits) to let her know we have arrived, and minutes later there is a most happy, hug filled family reunion. Using Figlia’s Italian cell phone, we arrange for our pickup and ride to our rented apartment in northern Pescara. The 1 BR apartment is in a newly constructed condo development and features a large terrace with a view that is urban but pleasant. We all settle in (Figlia having no classes she considers mandatory till next week, decides to sleep on the fold-out couch) and then head out for dinner.

The late night weather has turned rainy, but it is only a 10 minute walk to the suggested restaurant – Pizzeria Mexico. The restaurant validates its peculiar name by a décor that features not one, but three faded sombreros tacked to a wall in the larger than expected dining room. There is a soccer game on the little TV watched by two or three families as they have their dinner. Figlia’s Italian skills again come in handy in ordering dinner, which proves to be surprisingly good for such an unassuming local place, and the half bottle of Montepulciano d'Abruzzo is so deliciously memorable that we get the OK to bring the bottle home as a first-night-in-Italy souvenir.

Thursday, April 2, 2009. The morning brings a day flush with Italian sunshine. From our terrace we see people going about their business, in cars, on noisy scooters and quiet bicycles, and many simply walk. Despite the warm morning all the locals make their way wrapped in sweaters or coats, or often as not, both. Figlia has a theory that almost all Italians are deathly afraid of being cold or hungry. (Jake wonders privately if this cultural trait is some pre-historic memory of World War II.)

We head out to join the passing parade, and buy our bus tickets (one Euro each) at a tabbachi on the main street. As with the train tickets, these bus tickets must be validated with a date stamp, obtained from a little yellow box on the bus. Buses are generally boarded either in the rear or the front of the bus, and one exits the bus through the middle door. Such a system frees the bus driver from the hassle of collecting fares and relies on the general honesty of the bus riders. Figlia says that the police routinely check for scofflaws and hand out stiff fines, but during our five or six times on Italian buses we never saw any checking go on.

On the ride down the busy main road into the heart of Pescara Jake and Stone try to spot the name of the road, which they never can do, street signs being at an apparent premium. (Being from New Jersey, we are not unfamiliar with this phenomenon.) But Figlia tells them not to bother as the street changes names about four or five times along its four or five mile route. (Being from New Jersey, Jake and Stone are not unfamiliar with this phenomenon.) We get off at Pescara Centrale, which is pretty much the center of town, and seek out breakfast. We find a “bar” and have the usual Italian breakfast fare of several pastries, some espresso, Coke Light (Diet Coke) and cappuccino. As we sit eating our calories and sipping our caffeine, local customers come in, usually buy just a coffee of some definition, drink it standing up at the counter, jest with each other and the women serving them, then go about their day.

At the main Abruzzo tourist office on the same street (named here as Corso Vittorio Emanuele II) we get what information we can, which is not much: a couple of nice looking but not overly helpful brochures and a map of the Abuzzo region, which later proves to be of no help since none of the roads on the map are numbered or have names. However, the tourist office does provide us with the address of the nearest car rental and luckily it is right on the main bus line. We buy bus tickets again, this time at a convenient machine by the bus stop, and get a quick ride down to Danelli Auto on Via Marconi (same street, different name) where we rent, despite their being a Peugeot dealer, a nice 4-door Fiat Punto.

As good luck would have it, Figlia’s apartment is less than a kilometer away, so Jake braves the traffic and completes his maiden voyage in Italian urban traffic to her place and arrives with both car and passengers intact. Figlia lives with three Italian roommates, and shares a room with one of them. Two roomies are at home and say hello in English as they eat in the kitchen, TV blaring. The tiny hallway is filled with clothes hanging out to dry on a large but space efficient clothes rack. The 3BR apartment is small, clean and decorated in co-ed style with posters, hand written notes, pictures of impossibly handsome young men, and the like. Figlia’s roommate (currently not in) is a Tim Burton fan and has decked out her side of their shared room with movie posters and other Burton paraphernalia; on her bed is a pillow cover with a sort of creepy/funny skull and crossbones. Figlia says she gets along well with all of her roommates, and that all of them can cook a great meal at the drop of a hat. Generally, they cook and she washes the dishes; they all four share the other cleaning duties.

We decide to drive out to a fairly new Abuzzo sensation, a mega shopping mall called Megalo, that lies about 10 miles outside of Pescara just off one of the main autostradas that mimic our interstates. Megalo proves to be a scene worthy of Jersey at its most (in)famous, but we all enjoy it for what it is, and Stone and Figlia both opt to get their hair cut at a glamorous (and it turns out, expensive, but what the heck!) shop. Though there are maybe a dozen places to get food in this mall, this is Italy not Jersey, so all the good places are closed for the afternoon and won’t reopen until 7 PM. We do finally find a little place that serves OK pizza and good gelato, thus getting some sort of late lunch.

Back in Pescara, Figlia directs us to her favorite local restaurant for dinner, as long as someone else is footing the bill. Taverna 58, on Corso Mantheone, sits down in “Old Pescara” near the Pescara River and provides us with one of our most memorable meals. Grilled meats are an Abruzzo tradition, so our order includes rabbit and lamb, but we also share Figlia’s favorite dish of chitarrina with mushrooms and truffles dell'aquila, and of course, several other pastas and glasses of red wine. But besides the alluring food, Taverna 58 is a place percolating with history, personality and style:
-- Both Gabriele d’Annunzio (famous author and name sake for the Pescara university Figlia currently attends) and Ennio Flaiano (screenwriter for some of Fellini’s films) were born on the same block as the restaurant.
-- The wine cellar (which we were lucky enough to allowed to view after our dinner) dates from the 13th century.
-- On the menu is a quotation that translates (roughly) into “Art is a way to keep your feet firmly planted on the clouds.”
-- During our two and a half hour meal we got to share some of the famous “hot zabaglione with Marsala” whipped up in a large copper bowl at the table next to us by the maitre d' who reportedly did the same for Italian TV a few years back to commemorate his 100,000th such serving(!).
-- Near the end of our dinner we were also given free shots of some sort of local dessert wine or sherry, apparently because the night just called for it.
At a bill of only 120 Euro, it was a night perhaps worth twice the price.

Driving back to our apartment we get lost, but knowing we want to go north, Stone adroitly drives toward the Adriatic Sea where we hook a left at the beach and drive the quiet, palm tree lined Viale della Riviera till we see some recognizable landmarks that guide us home. Before going to bed we try to watch some TV, but several of the stations don’t seem to work correctly, so we end up watching “South Park.” Being in Italian it is much more enjoyed by Figlia than by either the semi-literate Stone or the completely and hopelessly illiterate Jake. Later, thankfully, sleep comes in its universal language.

Italy: Assisi

2009-04-29T20:28:00.002-04:00

Friday, April 3, 2009. We are late on the road due to our sleeping in till almost 11 AM. Our tourist office map of the Aburzzo region proves of little help in finding our way out of town and onto autostrada A14 where we want to head north towards Assisi. Our late night dinner at Taverna 58 has made breakfast proper unnecessary, but not so Stone’s need of coffee. Desperate, she pulls us into a McDonlads where her order of “caffé Americano” (“I need a big cup of java if I’m gonna do all this drivin’.”) takes more than several minutes for the staff to prepare, but is worth the wait. Back on the road, our Fiat finally finds an entrance for A14 and we are able to finally zip along, a la the Jersey Turnpike. However, the views are dissimilar. All along this trip northward the blue and then even bluer Adriatic Sea comes in and out of view to our right.

Once on the autostrada the signs to Assisi are easy to follow and things go swimmingly until we get to the hilltop home of Italy’s Patron Saint. By this time Jake is driving and he heads into the ancient town thinking all he needs is his handy printed-at-home Google map of the town which pinpoints where we'll be staying for our two nights in Assisi -- Saint Anthony’s Guesthouse at Via Galeazzo Alessi, 10. Ten minutes later we are hopeless lost in a town that might be historically Catholic but has a “road” system that can only be described as deeply Byzantine. We stop to ask directions and are told to take a left and all will be well. Sure.

A left turn gets us onto a road that is not a road at all. To call it a “lane” would be generous. It is, in truth, a cobble stoned hallway lined with houses. We give ourselves a better chance of not knocking over the flower boxes by folding in the car’s side mirrors, hold our collective breath, and drive. The historic saints of Assisi must look after non-believers as well, for somehow we make it to the end, find another cobble stoned path that is merely cluttered with pedestrians and somehow make it out of Assisi proper and onto a real road. We drive around the perimeter of the town looking for some place to park, finally parking Italian style (the right two wheels up on a sort of sidewalk) in an dirt parking lot. Bags in tow we three walk up steps too numerous to count, find our way into town and finally to the front gate of St. Anthony’s.

St. Anthony’s is a B&B that caters to English speaking visitors and is run by the Franciscan Sisters of the Atonement. We are greeted by Sister Sue, whose English has a strong accent – Canadian that is! (Figlia, who has always been fascinated by accents -- she once watched the movie “Fargo” three times in one day just for the thrill of hearing the characters’ accents – will spend a good portion of the next 48 hours keeping her parents in stitches by “channeling” Sister Sue’s lilt on many an occasion.) Our triple room has a high ceiling and is fittingly simple, with only two chests of drawers, an armoire, and one chair at a small desk. There is a shuttered window that looks out a lovely pastoral scene and St. Clare’s bell tower. The B&B’s common areas include a sitting room and a library, both with commanding views of the rooftops of Assisi and the rolling green that stretches to the horizon, a garden with a statue of St. Francis, and a large breakfast room. For under 90 Euro a night, it turns out to be the best lodging value of our entire trip.

We find the streets of Assisi to be much easier to walk than to drive and soon we are standing in a quiet piazza looking up at the impressive Duomo di San Rufino (named after the third century bishop who was martyred here) and its 11th century bell tower. Flanking the main doorway are two weathered and scarred sculptures that show the rather chilling scene of some sort of lion-like beast devouring a person head first. (Welcome to Mass; better say your prayers.) But it is inside where we get chills of a different sort. In the back of the church, protected by a small bit of ornate gating, stands a brownish marble baptismal font not without several cracks and repair marks. No doubt it was in perfect shape in 1182 when it held the water that was used that day to baptize a certain infant boy, who would become the world’s favorite Catholic saint.

Assisi is a very pretty town. It is tourist driven, certainly, but it is easy to overlook the kitschy stores and the seemingly endless supply of Catholic tchotchkes (an ecumenical phrase!) where nearly every street winds its way among handsome medieval and Renaissance houses, past scores of colorful flower boxes and charming stone stairways, through ancient arches and underneath hanging street lanterns seemingly wrought only a few hundred years ago.

In Assisi’s central piazza sits an interesting church: Santa Maria sopra Minerva. It was built in the first century BC as a temple dedicated to Minerva, but in the 16th century it was converted into a Catholic church, and dedicated to Mary (“sopra” means “over” or “above”), thus preserving the entire Roman façade with its six still fabulous looking Corinthian columns. It is quite interesting to walk up Minerva’s 2,000 year old steps, pass between those simple white columns and then walk into Maria’s highly decorated interior.

Directly across from this hybrid church is a vaulted archway decorated with old and rather strange looking paintings. It is through here that we walked later that night for a wonderful dinner at Trattoria Pallotta, where the scene was warm and local, the food delightful, and the half liter of local Umbrian wine simply superb. Thanks to Figlia's charm we are allowed here, as at Taverna 58 in Pescara, to descend after dinner into the restaurant's wine cellar where we see the hundreds of bottles that lie in waiting to be chosen by true oenophiles more knowledgeable than we.

Having started dinner at 7:30 (which was about as early as we could ever have dinner in a country where people really don’t start to eat until 8 or 9), we found we had time to dash up to visit St. Rufino again, where Sister Sue had told us there was to be a special Friday night service. We arrived in time for the last 15minutes, which was enough to appreciate the choir and the cathedral’s booming musical acoustics. After the service, we joined the local multitude in touching one of the church's icons -- an old and rather crudely carved wooden replica of the Pieta that was on a small pedestal near the alter. Then it was a downhill walk back to our B&B's triple bedroom.

Italy: Perugia

2009-04-28T14:19:00.001-04:00

Saturday, April 4 , 2009. Breakfast is served at St. Anthony's from 7:30-8:30, and just to insure that everyone makes it, soft, classical music is piped through the building starting at 7:15. The breakfast is refreshingly American continental, with yogurt, cereal, juices, breads and the like. St. Anthony's also provides a gated parking lot (a real plus in Assisi) and it is from here that we get the Fiat back on the road and head today for Perugia.

But first we make a stop at the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli, which lies but a few kilometers out of Assisi down in a typical Umbrian plain. We are early enough, and lucky enough, to find a parking spot near the church. Several tour buses are unloading near the church’s piazza and we hustle over to beat the forming crowds. St. Mary of the Angels is a big, big church (learned subsequently that it is in the world’s top 10 for Catholic bigness), but it is the little church inside the big church that draws us and the crowds.

Directly under the dome of the giant church sits a church, in miniature, as it were. This chapel size building is the famous Porziuncola, where St. Francis set about his mission, founded the Franciscan Order, and consecrated St. Clare (she of the Poor Clares) as a Bride of Christ. Additionally, in St Mary’s or on its grounds we also get to see the remains of the good saint’s rope belt, a low window that marks the place where he died, and a rose garden that grows thornless roses thanks to St. Francis overcoming a temptation he never named. Still, in the end, it is the juxtaposition of the tiny 13th century chapel inside the giant 18th century basilica that sticks in our minds, a clear metaphor of how the Catholic Industry swallowed up its founding Artisans.

We are all anxious to see Perugia, the capital of Umbria, and a city that several of Figlia’s friends have said is one of the most beautiful in central Italy. From one of Perugia’s many parking lots in the lower town we take an outdoor, covered escalator up to the next level, where we find another escalator, which leads to yet another escalator which finally leads us to a busy street. Asking directions (Figlia’s Italian again being most helpful) to the main piazza we are pointed to a corner where there are yet two more long escalators (think airport “people movers” in length) that finally bring us, after a few dozen more steps up, to the heart of the city, Piazza 4 Novembre. (Jake thinks to himself that Perugia should replace its city symbol of a griffin with an escalator, or better yet, a griffin riding on an escalator.)

Jake has brought along a walking tour narration that we use to walk the city. Perhaps the highlight of our walk is a 5th century circular church, Tempio di San Michele Arcangelo, which has its interior supported by 16 columns that were likely part of a Roman temple (thus Tempio) that was itself likely built on top of an Etruscan place of worship. The dim light coming in from the small, high windows barely illuminates the several faded frescoes. Hard to read plaques (Latin or Italian?) on the marble floor seem to mark several ecclesiastical crypts. Though there are no other tourists in this ancient, atmospheric place we find ourselves whispering to each other.

Our walk also includes a trip on Perugia’s old aqueduct, which long ago provided water that ended up at the famous Fontana Maggiore back in the Piazza 4 Novembre, but currently provides some wonderful views of the town and the surrounding countryside. About the time we found the University for Foreigners but got slightly lost looking for the more famous (and older, being founded in 1308) University of Perugia, we decided to stop for lunch, for soon every eatery will be closed for the afternoon. Figlia spots a place on Via Fabretti. Though it appears to Jake and Stone to be nothing special, maybe just a fast food hole in the wall lunch counter, the waitress at Ristorante Brizi brings us past the lunch counter, then some down steps next to a hot and working open brick oven and into a lovely room where we have a very nice little lunch, complete with a small carafe of the usual good, cheap red wine. It seems it might be nearly impossible to have a bad lunch in these central hills of Italy.

After about another hour of hiking the picturesque ups and downs of Perugia, we end our walk back at Piazza 4 Novembre where Figlia makes Stone practice her Italian by making her order gelato for all 3 of us. It is against international law, not to mention good sense, to go to Perugia and not buy some Perugina chocolate, so we dutifully stock up for family, friends and ourselves at the apparent mothership store just off the piazza at Corso Vannucci 101, then head back to the escalators for our trip down to the parking lot.

On the drive home back to Assisi it starts to rain. It is still raining when we arrive back at St. Anthony’s so we ask the good sisters for a restaurant close enough to quickly walk to. Ristorante Degli Orti turns out to be close indeed, and like most of the restaurants in town, a family run affair. At the end of our dinner our “ricevuta fiscale” shows: 1 pane e coperto, 1 acqua, 3 vino, 1 antipasto, 1 primo piatto, 2 caffe-digestive and 2 pranzo complete and 1 cola cola; total 56 Euros. During our dinner a young Italian couple comes in and their cute bambino (about 2 years old) who runs about the restaurant charming everyone, even when he makes his way over to the restaurant’s fax machine and starts to press some buttons. Kids!

The rain seems less annoying on our walk back to the B&B. The water runs out of downspouts perhaps hundreds of years old, refreshes the hanging flower pots, glistens the dimly lit cobble stones, and then listened to in our beds makes sleep a thing to enjoy. Though Longfellow wrote it, certainly the nature loving St. Francis would agree: “The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.”

Italy: Palm Sunday in Assisi

2009-04-27T14:29:00.005-04:00

Sunday, April 5, 2009. Church bells awaken us at 7 AM, which only seems proper. After breakfast we head back to Piazza del Comune and wait outside the Minerva Temple/St. Mary Church for the Palm Sunday procession that begins here and will wend it way up the streets of Assisi to the St. Rufino Cathedral. A disparate crowd gathers, some holding olive branches. We see someone handing them out and get one each. A Brit tourist asks me if I know when “the parade starts.” As the crowd swells two men bring two big baskets of olive branches up to top of the steps of the Temple/Church. Near the piazza’s little fountain two police officers casually watch over things and chat with the natives. People greet each other with the Italian kiss of the air beside each cheek. Many elderly women are dressed all in black. At one point the children in the crowd are asked to come up to the top of the steps, where they each receive an olive branch and then stand off the side in a quiet, respectful group. A choir gathers on the top of the steps on the other side, opposite the children.

The crowd now includes several monks in the belt-roped robes, nuns in their usual black and white, and other churchmen in simple black tunics. With the aid of a microphone and a set of small speakers attached to a piece of wood that a man holds up above the crowd, the choir sings a hymn. From out of the church door the bishop steps up in his many layered and colorful vestments, including a miter to die for, and using the microphone addresses the crowd. He then sprinkles holy water on the baskets of olive branches, throws some the crowd’s way which hold their branches skyward, and then says a prayer. The blessed olive branches are handed out to the crowd as the bishop, followed by several other churchmen of apparent high order, walks carefully down the steps, his golden bishop’s staff temporarily held by an assistant. The bishop seems to glance at the fountain that looks perhaps inspirational in the bright morning sunshine, and then at the crowd, and smiles. Getting his staff back from his assistant he begins the procession up to the Cathedral of St. Rufino -- which is classified a cathedral (rather than a church or basilica) because it serves as the bishop’s seat, or more romantically, his throne. We three join the procession, as those who know the words sing hymns along the way, up the narrow streets now crowded not with cars or scooters but only people.

At St. Rufino’s more than a few walkers peal off before we head into the cathedral. The cathedral seems fully packed and we sit with many others in folding chairs toward the rear. Though the scene is quite impressive and the music is lovely, the service is longer than we anticipated, especially the parts requiring the congregation to stand, and we join a few others in making an early exit.

Being near the top of Assisi already, we decide to hike up to Rocca Maggiore. It is warm, but we take our time, stopping now and then to admire the views. This one time mighty fortress still dominates the Assisi scene, and though it might disappoint some looking for more than it is, all three of us thought its several exhibits and historic atmosphere worth the long climb and price of admission.

Jake got a special thrill learning that Frederick of Swabia, as a young boy, might very well have walked the same stones he now walked. Jake thinks you have to love a medieval guy who became, as Holy Roman Emperor, Frederick II, and was (or claimed to be) King of Jerusalem and King of Sicily as well. Frederick also knew six languages, wrote an early “scientific” book on falconry, founded the University of Naples, was (of course) a Christian but maintained a harem, was excommunicated not once but twice, and is assigned in Dante’s Comedy to be among the damned. As a child it is likely our Frederick made his way up the long spiral staircase to enjoy the panoramic view atop this fortress as did Stone, Jake and Figlia some centuries later.

We figured that the several Palm Sunday services would now be over at the Basilica di San Francesco, so we walked to that end of town to see the famous 13th century edifice. We especially wanted to see a fresco that Figlia had studied and written about in an art history class in college. It is "The Dream of St. Martin" by Simone Martini. After a bit of a search Stone spotted it. Figlia looked at it and talked about it with an educated awe that made her parents proud.

We had all come to the world famous Basilica of St. Francis with high expectations. It did not disappoint. Whether it is the good saint’s tomb, which is below the lower basilica and is thick with a dark air of reverence and the hush of scores of true believers kneeling and crossing themselves; or the lower basilica, which squats above the crypt but below the large basilica above, its vaulted walls, ceilings and chapels so crammed with art that one feels almost suffocated by the medieval aesthetic; or the airy upper basilica with its soaring ceiling and its famous repertoire of fresco masterpieces by Giotto, it is impossible to process but a fraction of this sensory overload or to be unmoved by what a man, and mankind, can accomplish. Outside the church, on a giant lawn that fronts the basilica is a large topiary rendering of one word that reminds us all of what mankind too often can't accomplish: Pax.

The drive from Assisi back to Pescara was uneventful, except for the obligatory getting lost for a bit, this time in a town called Foligno, which is Italian for "No Road Signs." Back in our Pescara apartment Stone makes a nice dinner of pasta which we have with some Sangiovese wine we bought in Assisi. Everything is calm and peaceful as we go to sleep. It does not stay that way.

Italy: Pescara, Terremoto, etc.

2009-04-26T17:59:00.003-04:00

Monday, April 6, 2009. “In the middle of the night” is a phrase often used with a sense of dread. Not for nothing did Thomas Jefferson write that the question of slavery "like a fire bell in the night, awakened and filled me with terror.” When bad things happen, the worst time for them to happen is in the middle of the night…

Stone thought Jake was having some sort of epileptic fit; Jake thought Stone was rudely remaking the bed because he had stolen all the covers. When we both realized that we were both still in bed, motionless, but that the room was in motion, we were at once puzzled and frightened. When we saw the frame of the double doorway to the terrace moving side to side we seemed to realize, even in our just-awakened fog, that the building was moving. After a while (who can say how long?) it stopped. “Was that an earthquake?” we asked. Jake looked in the living room to see Figlia miraculously still asleep. Stone went out onto the terrace; lights were going on the other buildings in our condo development. In a few minutes a few knots of people gathered in the streetlights below, but there was no panic or running about. It was about 3:45 AM – the middle of the middle of the night. After a bit, and another check on Figlia, we tried to go back to sleep, and sooner or later did.

That morning our apartment’s TV was still not working perfectly, and on the stations that we could receive there seemed to be little information about the “terremoto,” as the Italians term an earthquake. We went about our business, wanting to leave fairly early for the weekly Pescara outdoor market. Just before we were ready to leave there came a report that indeed it seemed likely that some people were killed in an earthquake that happened in the mountains about 50 miles from Pescara. We decided to wait and watch the TV for more news. The terremoto news trickled in, agonizingly slowly. Then came the first report of confirmed deaths – at least 9 people. Realizing then that the story would indeed be news in America, we called family and friends, telling them it was a beautiful, sunny day and that we were in no danger. We now know of the horrible effects of what turned out to be a devastating terremoto, but on that morning, at that time, it seemed of no such consequence so we went shopping.

The Pescara weekly outdoor market takes place every Monday in Figlia’s neighborhood, on the Strada of Several Names, here called Viale Guglielmo Marconi, quite close to Stadio Adriatico, Pescara’s soccer stadium. We are here to buy food for tonight’s planned party, when we will meet the four other study-abroad students from Figlia’s college. The market scene is large and crowded – crowded with people and with food of all sorts. There are wizened mom-and-pop farmers selling their vegetables out of tiny pickup trucks, there are fish mongers, there is one guy with an almost operatic voice hawking “the best melons in Abuzzo,” (translation thanks to Figlia), there are professional purveyors of meats of all sorts and cheeses we’ve never heard of. There is much hand gesturing and much inspection of the goods – a carrot is broken in half and then the whole bunch taken, an eggplant is finger thumped and put back, a cheese tasted and refused with a stately shaking of the head, still chewing.

Stone buys some spinach and zucchini from a wizened mom-and-pop, and mom stuffs some arugula in Stone’s bag and asks a higher price than previously agreed. Negotiation needed. Finally an agreement, but mom gives Stone a hurt face that might make the pope feel guilty. We also buy some soft pecorino cheese ( a perfect appetizer when dipped in honey says Figlia), a big scoop of various olives of various hues, and an odd looking sausage thing packaged in vacuumed plastic pieces tied together with string that turns out to be a “sopressata” -- which was fabulously delicious.

The market also includes people selling everything you might expect to see at any large flea market – from clothes to shoes to curtains to jewelry -- and Jake finds a sharp looking pair of reading glasses for only 5 Euro. Figlia, who has been despondent since a friend sat on her “perfect Italian sunglasses,” finally finds a pair worthy of her glamorous face just before she has to hurry off to school. Stone and Jake wander around the market a bit more, then head back to the apartment, stopping to buy some wine and Italian bubbly on the way.

Thanks to Stone’s usual wonderful cooking, the party for the American kids is a big hit. We all swap stories about the “terremoto” shaking, but most of the evening is passed with stories of how crazy the kids’ Italian roommates are, how good the food always is, this or that gelato to die for, how scary it can be to ride on a scooter in the mountains, how the Italian buses seems to run more systematically than the Italian trains, and how beautiful was their trip for five to (properly enough) Cinque Terre. The party goes so long that the city buses are no longer running (about 10-10:30 most nights), so Stone drives them all home to their respective apartments, while Jake dutifully cleans things up -- especially the bubbly.

Italy: Pescara Day Off

2009-04-25T18:39:00.003-04:00

Tuesday, April 7, 2009. -- A planned day of relaxation. Stone and Jake are up early before Figlia. We take advantage of the two bikes that come with the rental of our apartment and head out to a paved bike path not 500 feet away from our building’s front door. We have been told that the path runs from Montesilvano all the way into the center of Pescara, but we have no plans for such a long trip. The asphalt path is wide enough to be shared this warm and sunny day by bicyclists, walkers, runners, and mothers with strollers.

After a while we go off the path and head to the beach, which is but a minute or two away. The beach is Pescara’s main draw and in the summer is crowded, but today it is virtually empty. We get off our bikes and walk down to the water. The beach stretches for miles north and south, to our left and the right. Things are buttoned up in what is still off season: scores of beach umbrellas are roped together and stacked next to a restaurant, the several beach bars are empty and sad looking. A man walks briskly past us with his little panting dog at his side. Here, the Adriatic is calm as a lake in the Poconos.

On the way back home we stop at a little newsstand (oddly called “Dean Martin”) to buy Il Centro, a local newspaper. The headline reads “Catastrofe in Abruzzo,” and 35 of its 40 pages detail the “terremoto” in L’Aquila. The pictures of the devastation are at odds with the beautiful day. We read it under the shade of a nearby tree, then pedal home in a somber mood.

Figlia needs to go to class again and also pack for our next destination – Penne – so we drop her off at her apartment, once again experiencing the traffic of Pescara, which is not really that horrible once one gets use to it. Stone said it best, driving in Pescara is like being in one of those video driving games where obstacles pop up out of nowhere. The pedestrians seem way too bold, the drivers of scooters all have ADD, the bikes are usually pedaled by elderly men too trusting to have lived this long except for daily miracles, the buses are bulldozers in disguise, and most of the cars are driven the way people walk in Manhattan: whoever gets to the spot first wins. Still, we never saw an accident.

Stone and Jake spend their afternoon packing, and then get a call from Figlia. Schools throughout Abuzzo, including her university, have been cancelled for two weeks due to the earthquake. This works out nicely for us, as now all three of us can be in Penne for all seven days.

We decide to say goodbye to Pescara by having a fancy seafood dinner. Jake has pre-trip researched just such a place, L'Angolino da Filippo, south of Pescara, in the little seaside town of Marina di San Vito. Jake’s pre-printed Google map and driving directions make it seem a snap to get to, but the reality proves otherwise. We think we are on the right road, SS 16, but we can see no confirming sign. But at least we know that we are heading south with the Adriatic constantly in view on our left, so we figure sooner or later we’ll get close. Sooner or later we do, and after a pass or two through the tiny but lovely looking Marina de San Vito, we see the restaurant in the fading light of day hiding down by the water’s edge.

L’Angolino da Filippo’s atmosphere, wine (by the glass again, the wine list is too intimidating) and food are all top shelf. Jake and Stone both order the octopus salad and it is breathtakingly delicious. Figlia can find nothing on the limited, all seafood menu that fits her mood, so she sweet talks the waiter (in Italian, naturally) into getting her some simple pasta and red sauce, which proves to be wonderful as well, but not as “awesome” as the chocolate dish called terrina di cioccolato that she has for desert.

Our ride home proves as adventurous as the ride down. A side trip onto an autostrada of some name and number promises to get us into Pescara, which it does, after sending us through several tunnels, one at least two miles long. But it is late at night, the traffic is thin, and we do finally see some familiar landmarks which guide us back to our last night in our Pescara apartment.

To Penne

2009-04-23T09:58:00.002-04:00

Wednesday, April 8, 2009. Today is moving day, and we are packed and ready to go. The couple from whom we rented the Pescara apartment live in the same building, so dropping off the keys is easy. Figlia even gets to interact with the couples’ two young children, after which she declares that there is nothing more cute than four and five year olds speaking Italian . We load up the Fiat and head for Penne, a little town that should be less than an hour’s drive westward into the Abruzzo hills. Now that it is time to leave Pescara we find that we finally know our way around pretty well, and we get on the road to Penne without anxiety or even a U-turn.

The road (Strada Statale 16) winds through the Abruzzo countryside with seemingly nary a straight line. We drive through several little villages whose names are bigger than they are: Ospedale De Cesans, Case Cocciagrassa, Cappella sul Tavo. There are ups and downs a plenty, twists and turns galore, and the numerous hairpin curves have saucer shaped mirrors on the side of the road to help those intent on hurrying to see oncoming traffic. But we are intent on not hurrying, and the countryside rewards our measured pace with glorious views of olive groves, vineyards, distant hills, farm land and villas. Unlike other roads we traveled, SS16 is well marked, and the signs to Penne plentiful.

We arrive in the Penne’s Piazza Luca Da Penne without trouble and even get a parking spot. To get the keys to our rental apartment we have to see the newsstand operator either before 1pm or after 4pm. It’s about 1:30 so we decide to have lunch at a little place right next to the newsstand, My Friends Bar. The food is good enough, and the apparent owner, who waits on our table, speaks good English, and as befits the bar’s name, is a friendly type guy. While talking to him after we have finished our lunch, he offers to try and call the newsstand guy (“giornalista” in Italian) to try and expedite our getting the keys, but though he looks in the phone book and makes a couple of calls on his mobile phone nothing comes of it. We thank him for his effort, then decide to wait in the piazza for our newsstand to open up.

Four o’clock comes and goes, not open yet. No surprise, says Figlia, wise in the Italian ways. Another 30 minutes, nope. Five o’clock, nope. Several would be patrons look in the shuttered windows of the newsstand, then walk on. At 5:30 we decide it’s time to call the apartment’s owner, who lives in the Britain. Using Figlia’s quite wonderful, internationally enabled BlackBerry, Jake rings the owner, who, in a British accent that is always lovely to hear, apologizes, and gives instructions on how to contact the tardy newsstand guy’s mother, who lives right off the piazza.

Jake finds the proper doorway and rings the buzzer, but with an Italian vocabulary that might reach a dozen words on a good day after an espresso or two, he can get no further than “Buona sera” and a mumbled attempt at “giornalista” before he is hopelessly lost. The poor newsstand guy’s mother sounds a little high strung to begin with and is soon frantic with Jake’s inability to speak. Luckily Stone appears at the intercom just in time to calm the waters and straighten things out. Ten minutes later the newsstand guy, Paolo, shows up, gives us our keys and apologizes for being late. He says he thought because of the earthquake we would not show up.

Our 2 BR apartment proves to be well worth the wait and key trouble. It is up a long flight of stairs, and at least two dogs bark at us from behind their apartment doors as we lug our luggage skyward, but the apartment is stylish, modern, newly renovated and quite spacious. Off the dining room is a little terrace that overlooks our street. And from that terrace the rooftop terrace can be gained via a small spiral staircase. The views from the rooftop terrace are magnificent. To the front is a panoramic view of Penne's tiled rooftops and church bell towers. Then behind, over our tiled roof, is a sublime view of the distant, snow covered San Grasso Mountains. Wow.

Later, after we settle in, the distant view is hidden behind clouds and the tiled roofs become shiny slick as the daylight fades and it begins to gently rain. Osteria Del Leone is a restaurant less than two minutes away and provides us with a very nice dinner featuring a wonderful, hardy soup and great tortellini, and of course, a local Montepulciano wine.

Near the end of our dinner an Irish woman, who has been eating there with her husband, approaches us and asks if we are frightened by the continuing tremors of the recent earthquake. We tell her we are not and she seems reassured. However, that night we experience three more tremors. During the last one, as we all three huddled and hugged each other beneath the apartment’s sturdiest doorway at about 3 AM, Stone decides she isn’t comfortable at all with the tremor scene any longer. We decide to abandon Penne and go to Rome or Sicily, or somewhere – somewhere where the earth does not shake. We hope the Irish lady doesn’t see us leaving town in the morning.

Staying in Penne

2009-04-22T10:11:00.003-04:00

Thursday, April 9, 2009. Maybe it was because we all slept on it. Or perhaps it was the especially luminous sunshine of the morning. Or the morning espresso and croissants on the terrace. Or the view of the rooftops so close by. Or the view of the mountains so far away. Or maybe it was seeing the local folks going about their business. Or maybe it was just -- Italy. We decide to stay in Penne.

Over the last couple of years, Figlia has become good friends with Alessandro. When Figlia studied in Pescara two summers ago she had stayed with Alessandro’s family, and then when Alessandro came to Figlia’s college last year he spent a week with us in New Jersey. We were anxious to meet his family and looked forward to the lunch planned for today at Alessandro’s home in Pescara.

“Mamma,” as Figlia always referred to Alessandro’s mom, provided a lunch worthy of an Italian mother (3 boys) who has lived much of her life in the kitchen. The lunch for eight (us three, Alessandro, his girlfriend, his brother and father, and of course, “Mama”) lasted several hours and deserved to be on the Food Channel. The recent tragedy in Abuzzo was of course the first topic of conversation. Alessandro works in the tourist industry, at a hotel in the mountains, and the strain and sadness was evident, even on his young face. But soon things moved on to happier subjects and there was much Italian, some English, several toasts, laughter, stories, pictures and promises to get together again sometime, either in Italy or America.

Back in Penne Figlia took a late afternoon nap while Stone and Jake took a walk. As is the way in Penne, and likely in other small Italian towns, local death notices are pasted on the several small billboards around town, and we noticed several notices for a young man named Alessio Di Simone, who was killed in the earthquake. He was only 24.

We walked up a hill to see Penne’s duomo, but it was closed, as was the Diocesan Civic Museum. But the view from the top of the hill, Penne’s highest, was worth the climb. Going back home we looked into Chiesa dell’Annunziata (Church of the Annunciation) near the main piazza and saw three displays obviously having to do with Good Friday: Mary, with a sword in her heart; a collection of crucifixion items (cross, nails, sponge of vinegar, spear, etc); and most startlingly, a figure of Christ, lying supine on a robe, crown of thorns still intact.

For dinner we went to La Grotta. Here one is spared the anxiety of choosing what to eat as the English speaking owner and waitress gives you a choice of two pastas and two deserts and one red wine. During dinner there was another minor tremor (lasting only about 5 seconds), but thanks to the wine or maybe to the other patrons who hardly looked up from their plates as things shook a little bit, it didn’t bother us that much. One can get use to anything. We left the little restaurant full and ready to sleep, which we did – thankfully tremor free.

Good Friday in Penne

2009-04-21T09:24:00.002-04:00

Friday, April 10, 2009. The day starts grey and foggy, which is perhaps proper for this Good Friday, which has been declared a national day of mourning for the earthquake victims. Stone and Figlia have a little lunch at the around-the-corner restaurant, while Jake buys a newspaper and walks the town trying to locate the bus station. Later we all three continue to explore Penne, trying to find out exactly where to buy bus tickets, and discussing the logistics of getting Figlia back to Pescara on Tuesday, dropping off our rental car (which is due back Wednesday), and then getting us to Rome for our flight home a day early, just in case of Italian transportation problems.

All around Penne there had been notices of “Santo Venerdi,” which we took to mean a procession of some sort on Good Friday. Indeed there was. From our terrace we saw people heading to the main piazza so we joined in. The crowd is not as large as we had thought it would be; and it is very quiet. The procession begins with a young man in rather simple vestments carrying a cross. Behind him comes a group of nuns, then two lines of elderly women dressed in black, several men play drums that set the slow marching beat, and then two smartly dressed Italian soldiers in full formal regalia. The crowd is growing by the minute and now the piazza seems completely full of people.

Minutes later, passing under the arch that guards the little street which runs in front of our apartment, comes one of the displays we had seen yesterday in the church: six men carry the crucifixion display on their shoulders like pallbearers. All six wear black hoods with only openings for their eyes. Unlike the procession in Assisi, we can see no one taking pictures and have to take ours somewhat furtively. Next comes, this time quite literally, six more pallbearers; they carry on their shoulders the supine Christ who lies on an elaborately embroidered robe or blanket. Finally, Mary makes her entrance in the gathering darkness, sword still in her heart, in a dark purple and gold robe worthy of Hollywood. The procession stops now and then to push its way through the crowd, and like the procession we saw in Assisi, there are prayers and hymns broadcast over several sets of mobile speakers. (We have subsequently learned that what we saw was “The Procession of the Dead Christ,” and dates back to the 16th century.)

We wait till Mary is out of sight at the far end of the piazza and then go for dinner at our favorite around-the-corner place, Osteria Del Leone, which is great as always. We exit the restaurant to find it is raining rather heavily (as if the heavens are weeping for the earthquake dead?) and we are happy we only have to make a two minute dash to home. In the apartment Stone uses her troubleshooting skills to get the complicated satellite TV to work, and Jake gets to watch some of the Masters Golf Tournament before we all go to sleep for another night of tremor-free sleep.

Off to Ascoli Piceno

2009-04-20T09:42:00.003-04:00

Saturday, April 11, 2009. The weather this morning is back to that Italian version of sunshine that seems so golden, as if the very air were being polished. Good thing too, for we are off on a fairly long drive to Ascoli Piceno, in the Marche region of Italy. All the needed roads are major ones and we arrive without once getting lost or confused(!). Ascoli (as nearly everyone seems to call it) is an attractive city of about 50,000 people and has many reasons for a visit. But what brings us here today is that Stone’s father’s “people” emigrated from Ascoli. We also seek the rather famous (in Italy, at least) “olive all'Ascolana, which is a “tenera ascolana” olive stuffed with a variety of meats, rolled in bread crumbs and fried.

Ascoli proves to be a very cool city with two nice big piazzas, a lot of culture, a flowing river, over 20 churches of historical note and many charming medieval streets. It didn’t take us long to discover our olives, for they are seemingly sold everywhere, and were as deliciously unique as we had hoped.

We had a very nice lunch at Ristorante Enoteca Kursaal, which is a two building enterprise, combining a wine shop and a restaurant, which we kind of stumbled upon while looking for something else. As seemingly always, the meal was terrific. We then went on a Figlia-led tour of Ascoli. She had done some research the night before on the internet and provided us all with a lovely and educational two hour walk around town. Interestingly, during our walk we saw two Christian edifices that could not be more different.

The first was the great Gothic church of San Francesco. It can hardly be missed, sitting magnificently at one end of Piazza del Popolo, is filled with art and artifacts, and that day had scores of tourists admiring its history, architecture and art. On the other hand, the Little Temple of St. Emidio, where the saint died, sits across the Tronto river, and must be looked for in earnest. In fact, we missed it on our first trip up the street where it squats, virtually unnoticed in neighborhood full of traffic. Here there is room for perhaps a score of people total. The little building has but one painting and one artifact. The painting shows St. Emidio being beheaded (303 AD) and the artifact is a rough stone on which the martyrdom occurred. There are two little bouquets of flowers on the floor.

But since St. Emidio is the patron saint of "Ascoli," as most Italians refer to this city, the good saint also has a massive cathedral in the Piazza Arringo. Oddly enough considering the time of our visit, St. Emidio is invoked in all of Italy as protector against earthquakes.

We left Ascoli thinking it would well be worth another visit. It is wonderfully located by the river, with mountains near by, and had the charm of Assisi combined with the culture and “vibe” of a larger city. To get back to Penne we had to go through Pescara, so we decided to stop and have dinner. On this Saturday night it was very difficult to find a parking place, the city was simply agog with people, but we finally find an outlying spot. We walked a good mile to Figlia's favorite local spot, a nondescript pizza place down by the river. Here we had some very nice grilled treats, highlighted by an Abruzzo classic -- arrosticini, which is little bits of grilled lamb on skewers. Delicious and fun to eat. After dinner we walked down the “main street of several names,” window shopping and looking at the people, then drove back to Penne via the “roadway of many twists and curves.”

Easter Sunday in Penne

2009-04-19T16:33:00.004-04:00

Sunday, April 12, 2009. Buona Pasqua. It’s another sunny day. We plan to relax in our apartment and rest our aching calves, knees, shins, etc. Ascoli was not as much up and down as was Perugia, but still…. As Figlia has noted, Italy is a big collection of steps up an down, but mostly up it seems.

Stone and Jake head out to a place we noticed that sells roasted chicken and had had a sign in their window yesterday that said they would be open Easter morning until noon. Business is booming at Dora, at little place by Penne's main medieval portal. It seems most of the town is coming in to pick up their Easter orders. We notice that it is mostly pasta that is headed out the door -- at about ten pounds a minute! Stone’s Italian is needed to order our chicken. As we wait, we see several ladies in the back room making pasta. Over a long marble table one woman is producing ravioli with an artistic flourish. Stone asks if we might order some. Sure. We get enough for three people.

(We walk back through the main piazza. There are 31 people in the piazza (Jake counted), standing here and there in small groups. Of the 31 only one is a woman, and she stands to the side of one of the groups. And while we are inside these parentheses, it is interesting to note that while Pescara had untold Smart cars zipping about, here in Penne we have not spotted even one. What one sees in Penne but not in Pescara is a vehicle that is sort of a Smart Car for farmers, a sort of motorcycle/truck: the front half is a motorcycle, or actually more like a scooter, that is enclosed, while the back half is a small flatbed good for hauling a few bushels of vegetables, or the like. Very economical in both cases.)

Back in our apartment Stone fixes a wonderful Easter lunch, with the chicken and ravs as the center pieces. We all agreed that the ravioli, with a filling of cheese that was simply heavenly, was the best we ever had. A few glasses of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo and we are all in need of an after feast nap.

For dinner we look all over town for an open restaurant, but without luck. As a last ditch effort we try a “bar” about 10 minutes from our place and they are open, but there seems to be no food available except the always available pastries. But Figlia says something to the apparent owner and we are told he can whip up some plain “grandi panini if we don't mind waiting.” Oh yes. We sit down to a nice little repast of pork panini, Coke Light and Nastro Azzurro beer. And then there are those pastries. Would be a shame to leave without some. Especially after they were so nice to care of us. We load up, being sure to get Figlia’s favorite, “pears,” which is a pastry that looks remarkably like the fruit. Oh, those clever Italians.

On the way home it starts to rain, and then gets rather heavy as we just make it to our doorway. Jake is able to find the Masters again on the TV, though the satellite reception goes in and out, due perhaps to the weather. Finally the TV loses the Masters feed entirely, but with only two holes to go Jake is sure Kenny Perry will win and become the oldest man to wear the Masters green jacket. With the rain continuing it proves to be a great night for sleeping.

Penne, Pescara, Penne

2009-04-18T15:38:00.004-04:00

Monday, April 13, 2009. Last night’s rain has continued into the morning and the streets of Penne are gray and very quiet. Not a place in the Piazza is open as Stone and Jake walk through it on their way to try and find the place, rumored to exist, to buy bus tickets to Pescara and Rome. We have left Figlia sleeping, thinking she is probably weary from her unspoken responsibility of being “the wise one,” doing much of the translating, etc.

Just outside an old medieval portal that serves as Penne’s main entrance, Stone spots a likely suspect for bus tickets. We go inside, happy that they are open, but it is a small sports betting parlor, which helps explain why they are open when everything else is closed. Stone uses her improving Italian to inquire about bus tickets, and what do you know, they sell bus tickets also. We get two roundtrips to Pescara.

Because we have to get Figlia back to Pescara so she can go on a long-planned visit to Paris and London with a school friend, our logistics are a bit complicated. Our plan is to drop off the rental car today after we drop Figlia at her apartment, then take the city bus from the rental place to the Pescara bus station, catch a bus there back to Penne, then tomorrow take the bus back to Pescara with our luggage, then get the bus from Pescara to Rome. However, by the time we are on the road from Penne to Pescara we have realized that the car rental place is closed today, so we have changed plans and will just drop off Figlia today and drop off our rental car tomorrow, then hope we can get from Pescara to Rome before 4 pm for our hotel reservation.

We had hoped to have a little lunch with Figlia in her Pescara apartment but one of her roommates is entertaining her parents, so we decide to find a place to eat. Easier said then done on this Easter Monday, a major Italian holiday. Everything seems closed. Even the big Agip petrol station on the “street of several names” where they serve gas and lunch is shuttered. After more than a bit of driving around we spy a bar near the soccer stadium that seems open and might serve food. They are open indeed, glad to see us and have food galore. We get some rice balls, some good potato and meat pizza, and even better cheese and tomato, and green vegetable pizza, and two on-tap beers. Jake is much enthralled by the .2 liter Peroni beer glass and gets Figlia to ask if he can buy one as a souvenir. They give it to us for free. Knowing our cupboard back in Penne is quite bare, we get a chicken and some tortollini/carbonara to go.

The goodbye to Figlia at her apartment proves to be a tear fest, and outside in the car Stone pretty much breaks down completely for a good, full blooded cry. We realize that on the several previous goodbyes (to college and the like) Figlia was leaving us, here we are leaving her. Stone thinks it will be good for her to do the driving back to Penne. Back in our apartment for the final night, our chicken and rav/carbonara make an OK dinner.

To Rome

2009-04-17T18:06:00.002-04:00

Tuesday, April 14, 2009. Stone and Jake are up fairly early for a day they know will be travel intensive. We drop off the apartment keys with Paolo, the newsstand guy who bids us "Buon viaggio," and then drive to Pescara. The rental car drop off is a breeze, and the clerk is even nice enough to chase us down after we had left to return Jake’s big and expensive Italian sunglasses, left accidentally in the car. Luggage in hand we get the city bus to Pescara Centrale, where Stone once again uses her Italian skills to get us two tickets to Rome (11 Euro each), on the 11 am bus. We have time for breakfast, so we revisit the Café Mediterrean for the usual espresso and pastries.

The bus to Rome is new and big, one of those with a spiral staircase connected the upstairs and downstairs parts of the bus. On this bus everyone has assigned seats, but as we pull away, at least half of the upstairs, where our seats are, is empty. The tickets say “no stop,” so we upgrade our seats and settle in for a wonderful trip with room to spare. Once out of Pescara and on the main highway the bus takes some unusual turns and seems to go off course. We’ve heard that some routes across central Italy are subject to change due to the earthquake or subsequent tremor landslides, but soon we find out that “no stop” is not taken literally on this trip. We pull into the city of Chieti to find a crowd waiting to get on our bus. We (and many others) scurry back to our original seats, and before we leave the Chieti station all 70 some bus seats are filled.

Though crowded, the bus ride proves to be fine, with some nice views as we cross the mountains, and we arrive in Rome right around 2 pm. Our bus comes into the Tiburtini station, so we have to find the Metro that will get us to the Termini station, which we accomplish without too much trouble, despite our heavy luggage. We know our hotel, Hotel Stromboli, is near Termini on Marsala Street, and we find that without too much wasted effort as well. The weather in Rome is sunny and warm, and we are a bit disappointed to find that our hotel room is even warmer, but we open up the window and get a pretty nice breeze.

Map of Rome in hand we head off for a bit of Roman sightseeing by foot. The Trevi Fountain is crowded (as is all of Rome on this Easter week) but wonderful, even to Stone who has seen it before. We stand in line at the nearby San Crispo gelato place where the service is almost New York City quick and efficient, so despite the long line we soon have our delicious treat. We then head up to Palazzo Barberini, where we had hoped to see some art, but found it closed; however, the grounds are open and we are able to walk for a while in some shade. Then it is over to a spot called Four Fountains where we discover the Church of Saint Charles at the Four Fountains.

This baroque masterpiece seems squeezed into its small site, now right on the busy Via XX Septembre where scooters and cars are manifest and manic. But inside the church is another world of splendid quiet, history and art. To see the dome is worth a visit itself. The church's crypt is entered by an unusual spiral staircase that seemed carved out of one piece of stone. This church was the first independent project of the famous architect, Francesco Borromini, who was a contemporary and often adversary of Bernini. It is said to have remained his favorite work, and his wish to be buried in its crypt would certainly have been granted had he not had the bad manners to commit suicide.

Back at the Hotel Stromboli we freshen up and get ready for a planned expensive dinner of high Roman cuisine at Casa Bleve. The restaurant is by the Pantheon, which we visit first. Of course, it is a wonderful must-see. Even the fact that every pubescent kid in Italy was that evening on tour of the site as well could not damage the Pantheon’s enduring allure.

Dinner at Casa Bleve is everything we hoped it would be. The room is glorious, the service friendly (English speaking) and attentive, the food high class, and the wine by glass deserving of its high price. We passed a wonderful two hours topped off by a free glass of dessert wine. At 147 Euro it was worth that and more. Casa Bevele has a wine shop at its entrance, but they also sell olive oil, and we bought several bottles for gifts for those poor unfortunates back home.

Having walked all day in the Italian sunshine we found the Roman night to be even more inviting, and seemed almost sad to arrive at our hotel. But the room had cooled down nicely, the bed was big and comfortable, and sleep stole upon us as if the Roman god Somnus was in the room himself.

Roman Goodbye

2009-04-16T16:57:00.002-04:00

Wednesday, April 15, 2009. Hotel Stromboli has a nice breakfast room and a pretty good breakfast, which is included in the 130 Euro/night charge. Our booking this room at the last minute undoubtedly raised the price; Figlia had stayed here one night on one of her visits to Rome and paid only 85 Euro. The weather continues to be wonderful as we walk to Termini, then take the B line of the Metro to the Cavour stop, then a short walk to where we will sleep our last night in Italy, the Nicolas Inn.

The Nicolas Inn is a small, 3 room affair run by an American-Italian couple, and our room proves to be wonderful – especially at only 100 Euro for the night. Melissa, the American half of the couple, is from Chicago. She gets us nicely settled in and even makes dinner reservations at a near by place she can recommend. Jake wants to buy a good Italian wallet and Melissa suggests the store Furla, which is by the Spanish Steps. This works out nicely since today’s main event is a 5 pm visit to Galleria Borghese which is also near Spagna, the Spanish Steps Metro stop.

We feel no need to walk up the Spanish Steps, especially in the midst of today’s large crowd, so head off to do our wallet shopping. We soon realize that we are in the Trident section of Rome, one of the most exclusive shopping areas in the world. All the outrageously expensive names are here – Bulgari, Tod’s, Hermes, Prada, Gucci, etc. At Tod’s there is a nice wallet for 180 Euro (about $250), so the one we get at Furla at only 100 Euro seems a bargain.

We try to get away from the crowds for lunch, and find a nice looking al fresco place off on a side street. We share an order of salad, pasta, and some red wine, and enjoy watching Romans go their way on the little side street of Via del Leoncino. We had thought the place would be busy with tourists but the clientele seems very native and very upscale. One table of three young, “fabulous” Italians looked the type who could actually afford Tod’s or Hermes. It was only after we got the bill that we realized we were at Ciampini 2, which turns out to be the quieter sibling of the famous Ciampini up the hill above the Spanish Steps.

Melissa had also told us that there was an underground walkway from the Spagna Metro stop to Villa Borghese, the 148 acre park which houses the world famous Galleria Borghese where we have our 5 pm art appointment. We find the underground walkway without trouble but exit at what seems the wrong spot, apparently on an edge of this giant Roman park. But we soldier on, and after walking a little ways find our bearings (Jake has brought along a Google map, which actually helps this time).

It is a beautiful day to be in the park with its trees and dappled sunshine, and since we have several hours before show time we set about walking and exploring these massive grounds. We found a giant, perhaps 40 foot statue of Umberto I, who was a mystery at the time, but we have found out subsequently that he was the first and only King of Italy to be assassinated (on the third attempt!). There was a movement afoot around the turn of the century to name the park after him (hence the rather ostentatious statue) but it never could overturn the Borghese name. We also discover the Fountain of Seahorses, where the seahorses are not the cute little things one sees in an aquarium, but a mythological combination of a hoofed horse and a very large fish. Next, we happen upon a small butterfly/flower exhibit housed in the old Borghese aviary building next to what was once Cardinal Borghese’s “secret garden” (currently being refurbished, as it were) where Stone enjoys a fine cup of cultured tea among the fluttering beauties.

At around 4:30 we join the queue at the museum’s front door waiting for the 5 PM admission and the doors open on the dot. We bought the headsets for the self-guided tour, and though the tour is limited in its audio offerings, we were glad we did. Once inside it is easy to see why the Galleria Borghese is world famous and why admission has to be reserved sometimes weeks in advance. What the Trident section of Rome is to retail, the Galleria Borghese is to Italian art.

Here are all the big names: Raphael, Titian, Correggio, and of course, Bernini. Maybe the best thing about this museum is that one can get right up next to the art – no glass, no velvet ropes, just you and the genius. One can inspect the toenails in Bernini’s battle ready “David”; walk around Bernini’s dynamic “Rape of Proserpina” and see clearly Pluto’s fingers pressing in on Proserpina's fleshy thigh (in marble!); or get so close to Caravaggio’s show piece “Boy with Basket of Fruit,” that the boy’s eyelashes can be counted. The art is so extravagant that we both have to be reminded by our headphone tour to notice the individual rooms as well – works of decorating art that are simply spectacular. To spend two hours in the two storied treasure trove of art is quite a thrill.

If Casa Bleve, where we ate last night, was representative of what might be called high Roman cuisine, then where we eat tonight might very well represent the other end of the Roman spectrum – a neighborhood mom and pop place with simply good food and wine. La Taverna dei Fori Imperiali proves to be a perfect place for our last Italian dinner: friendly, busy, dominated by locals who often kiss the waitress as they come in, and “comfort food” that comforts not only the body but also the soul.

The Nicolas Inn is but a block or two from the Coliseum, so after dinner, on our way back, we say goodbye to Rome and Italy by viewing the Coliseum’s ancient grandeur. At night it seems even more majestic, more romantic, more Italian. After some time just looking, and a final appreciation of the perfect Roman night, Jake and Stone walk away, hand in hand (more majestic, more romantic, more Italian), wondering what they ever did to deserve these last two weeks.

Places

2009-03-18T16:59:00.002-04:00

Sequim, WA
Moab, UT
Ithaca, NY
Outer Banks, NC

Out of the Box in OBX

2009-03-17T18:07:00.033-04:00

Previously, on Travels with Jake and Stone, readers who were able to remain sentient after reading the post(s) will remember that they had “followed the snow” up in Ithaca, NY, only to apparently bring it back with them to New Jersey. Not only did it snow almost immediately upon their return from Ithaca, but the subsequent weeks in Jersey witnessed a stretch of truly cold weather, several skiffs of snow and one or two true snow storms. The last storm was the most potent, measuring about 5-6 inches and actually gave the school kids a snow day. The snow also made Jake and Stone delay their travel plans for visiting the Outer Banks of North Carolina for a week and a day, so they left (accompanied by Mom) not on March 2^nd, as planned, but on March 10^th. How nice that retirement gives such flexibility.

Day 1 – March 10, 2009. The trip down dear old I-95, and then onto Route 1 and 13 southward, was a pleasant enough drive. We stopped for lunch in Salisbury, MD, at the Market Street Inn. Though the weather was rather dull, the riverside setting was still enjoyable, and the food -- especially the cream of crab soup and fish (rock) & chips – were terrific. And there was a nice wine-by-the-glass list as well.

Jake, Stone and Mom had arranged for lodging at a 2BR furnished “cottage” in Manteo, on Roanoke Island. The cottage, named Endless Summer (cf. the 1966 movie; a surfing motif enthusiastically dominates the décor), is virtually brand new and crafted to a high degree of finish. The woodwork and tiling is professionally precise, and with a granite counter top in the kitchen and 3 flat screen TVs, the cottage is stylish indeed. If one were forced to lodge a complaint about the cottage it would be that it is more stylish than comfortable, but then again, there were plenty of plush towels, 2 comfortable queen beds, and a welcoming bottle of local wine, so we all three agreed that Endless Summer was a welcomed sight at the end of each day’s doings.

The first night’s dinner was at Basnight’s Lone Cedar Café, a large, upscale place with a lively bar, a good view of the Roanoke Sound and wonderful seafood. In fact, Jake nominated his broiled grouper to his personal Seafood Hall of Fame, and claims that his judgment was not clouded, but only make only more clear!, by the offering of pre-dinner champagne by the class and an accompanying glass of a delicious Russian River chardonnay. Mom and Stone liked their fish as well, but curbed their enthusiasm, as it were; after all, Stone was scheduled to drive home and Mom’s Lincolnesque four-score-and-seven years of experience have most likely taught her the value of the long-considered decision.

Day 2 – March 11, 2009. We had been warned by radio, TV and the locals that this day was going to have the best weather of our 3 full days in the Outer Banks. So after a home made breakfast of bagels and such in the granite and stainless steel kitchen, Stone dropped Jake off at the Nags Head Golf Links, then drove back to Manteo to pick up Mom and headed up Roanoke Island to the Elizabethan Gardens. The Outer Banks in early March is not on your typical vacation itinerary, but it can recommended if one seeks to avoid crowds, or even small groups, or even anyone else at all! Mom and Stone had the lovely and formal gardens virtually all to themselves that morning, and though they both wished they could see it all in full summer bloom, still the sculptures, the Great Oak, the manifest camilla flowers and learning a bit of the history of the famous Lost Colony made for a splendid morning stroll. After the gardens, Stone and Mom shopped a bit at the waterfront back in Manteo, then found lunch at the Full Moon Café to be just right.

Back on the Outer Banks proper, in Nags Head, Jake enjoyed his round of golf in virtual solitude also, just the way he likes it. The price of admission was little high, $65, and the lack of pull carts was an irritant as well, but no golfer can stay irritated for long once he is lucky enough to par the first hole. The course is rather short, but still demanding, with two or three long carries off the tee, more than a couple of blind shots, and quick greens. Nags Head Golf Links enjoys a sublime setting, right along side the Roanoke Sound. Indeed several holes border the water and those views are inspiring. However such inspiration is seriously mitigated by the hundreds of houses that too often hijack the course’s windy beauty. Like most golfers, Jake would rather play in a park than a neighborhood. However, this “neighborhood” has a 19^th hole grill room with a good selection of cold beers, better than average food and a sweeping view of the sound, so all might be forgiven.

An old friend, Best Babysitter, has found herself a temporary job with the US Park Service, and we meet her at her rented apartment in Kill Devil Hills around dinner time. She looks great – being outdoors all day obviously agrees with her – and feels blessed to have found a job she likes in a setting she adores. We all four walk the maybe 700 feet from her place to the beach and stare at the miles of The Simply Gorgeous. Dinner is at the near by Flying Fish Café on Rt 158 and turns out to be yet another good meal of seafood and wine.

Day 3 – March 12, 2009. The weather predictions had been right and we awoke to find an overcast day with temps in the 40’s, and some rather serious wind. Stone and Mom decided to brave the elements on foot and walked the half mile down to the waterfront for breakfast at Poor Richards, which proved to be adequate, and at least gave cozy comfort from the bluster outside. Later they did a little shopping, the best part of which was discovering Endless Possibilities where the purchase of hand crafted items made from recycled materials aids community causes. A not-to-be-missed in Manteo.

Overcast, cool, breezy? Sounds like a Jake golf day and he headed off to Duck Woods Country Club, the course he was most looking forward to playing. Duck Woods did not disappoint. A nearly empty parking lot augured for a good day of golf.. While hunting for the pro shop Jake was impressed by the truly “country club” atmosphere of the clubhouse as it seemed to be classy without being snobbish – but then one can only guess so much by a brief survey of furniture and window views. At the pro shop Jake was happy to learn that $50 would get him on the course and, unlike Nags Head, a snappy 3-wheel pull cart was included. Jake liked Duck Woods a lot, even with its seemingly omnipresent water hazards, which have always made him tighten his grip and his swing. The houses on the course, being few and usually obscured behind mature trees, were not intrusive at all, and despite the sometimes cold wind and the many balls that now “sleep with the fishes,” Jake greatly enjoyed his round.

Back at Endless Summer Jake ventured up the on-site tree house, which was pretty cool -- until the wind started to really blow! After an afternoon of inside relaxation we all 3 went out for a local dinner at Darrell’s, which we had noticed previously seemed quite busy. But our experience was generally disappointing. Darrell’s might be better in season and for a family with kids on a budget, but it didn’t work for us that night.

Day 4 – March 13, 2009. The weather demanded indoor activity, so we all headed to one of three North Carolina Aquariums, this one only a short drive up Roanoke Island about 3 miles from Manteo. The aquarium’s setting is waterside and seemed very nice, with sculptures, benches and places for kids to play, but the cold and rain kept us from looking around the grounds completely. We got in just in time to see a “dive show” in the main tank filled with local fish, including several small sharks, where attendees can ask the scuba divers questions; quite interesting. We then passed a pleasant 2 hours or so in this small but interesting aquarium. We especially enjoyed seeing the seemingly comatose alligators basking beneath their heat lamps, and then experiencing the opposite ends of aquatic mobility as we watched the slow motion turtles which were right next door to the quick motion river otters.

We passed another afternoon of relaxing, TV, reading and a little snooze here and there, then picked up Best Babysitter for a final dinner out. We were hoping for something special and the Blue Point Bar and Grill proved to be just that. Located a good 30-40 minutes north of Manteo, in Duck, this restaurant has a view that can make you feel as if you’re on a boat at sea, seafood that is done just right, a good wine list, dedicated service, and an ambiance that promotes conviviality. Upscale and not inexpensive, Blue Point can be highly recommended.

We passed on desert and coffee at Blue Point and went back to Best Babysitter’s apartment in KDH (local talk for Kill Devil Hills) for some carrot cake and decaf. It was a great way to end a nice little getaway to the OBX, where being out of season (March, not July) and a little bit out of the box (staying in Manteo rather than Duck, Nags Head or Kitty Hawk) proved to be just fine.

Day 5 – March 14, 2009. On our way home we had a wonderful lunch of fresh fare at the newly opened (8 months) Acorn Market in Salisbury, MD. It’s a fairly small place with a good selection of panini, soups, salads and sandwiches. Acorn is a good reason to get off the highway.

Places

2009-01-20T01:13:00.003-05:00

Sequim, WA
Moab, UT
Ithaca, NY

Snow Search

2009-01-20T00:20:00.020-05:00

To live in New Jersey and pray for snow is heresy. But since hardly any NJ citizen is burned at the stake any longer (including some politicians who likely deserved it), Jake and Stone occasionally voice their desire for the white stuff. Though J&S are always careful not to wax too eloquently or drift into the even more radical view of seeing snow as “kisses from heaven,” still their views on the glories of snow are unfailingly met with the stony faces of those who have to face all the inconveniences of a serious snow storm. Luckily for the stony faces, the prayers of Jake and Stone are rarely answered.

But then, one has to wonder, who is praying for freezing rain, ice storms and the seemingly ubiquitous “wintry mix.” These supplicants must be either legion in number or down right medieval in their prayer ethic, for obviously something is working for them up there in the grey, cloudy skyway. So, either ignored by higher powers or rendered impotent by their minority status, Jake and Stone left NJ and headed north in search of snow. Ithaca, NY, seemed a likely place.

Day 1 – January 7, 2009. The efficacy of the New Jersey Wintry-Mix Lobby extended through Pennsylvania and almost into Ithaca itself, still the drive was not as horrible as it might have been, and we arrived only a little late of schedule and still in time for a late lunch. Both Cornell University and Ithaca College were on winter break, so the town of Ithaca was hardly bustling. We had hoped to lunch at the seemingly legendary Moosewood Restaurant (noted for their soups and vegetarian fare), but they were closed for “New Year’s Clean Up,” so we went to Simeon’s, which sits on the edge of The Commons -- a traffic-free, two block assembly of small retail stores and eateries. At Simeon’s the quiet of winter break continued as our corner-view table made for a full third of the total late lunch clientele, but we enjoyed both the calm and our lunch.

Though it was not snowing, there was at least snow on the ground, so after lunch we went for a nice little walk on the Cayuga Waterfront Trail, which begins at Cass Park. The trail is a multi-use, asphalt path that apparently gets quite busy during the summer, but on this January day we saw but 2 joggers and perhaps 3 other couples out enjoying the day.

We then drove north out of Ithaca about 10 miles up to Trumansburg and our B&B. The Morning Glory B&B proved to be very nice indeed, and we can recommend its rooms, living room and homey vib. After a little R&R in our room we headed back into Ithaca for dinner at the Fine Line Bistro, an upscale place with a nice wine list, local art on the wall, jazz background music, good service and very good food. Back at the B&B as we started to go to bed it started to snow(!).

Day 2 – January 8, 2009. After a large and wonderful breakfast at our B&B, where we were the only guests this morning, we headed down Route 96 in search of the area’s most famous sight -- Taughannock Falls. The Overlook on Taughannock Park Road provides a wonderful vista, but to truly appreciate this waterfall (higher than Niagara Falls) one must get up close and personal, which we hoped to do by walking the Gorge Trail.

At the parking lot of Taughannock Falls State Park on Route 89, we were the only car in the lot. Excited that we would have this grandeur all to ourselves we headed towards the trailhead only to see it blocked off. Too dangerous, said the signs. Disappointed, we decided to walk down by Cayuga Lake on the other side of Rt. 89. We had crossed the road when we noticed a park ranger about to get into his car near the ranger station. After pleading our case to him he agreed with us that the recent danger of ice was no longer a problem thanks to last night’s snow and removed the barrier. To say we thanked him is an understatement.

The Gorge Trailis a flat and easy ¾ mile walk, and though we could have walked quickly, we purposefully took our time. On this day, by ourselves in a dramatic gorge with rock walls seemingly hundreds of feet high dappled with snow and glittering here and there with ice formations both big and small, with small groves of red cedar trees tousledin white, with the Taughannock Creek swiftly running its gin clear water, and with the magnificent falls as a final destination – made even more magisterial by the falls'attendant ice formations -- it was as if our previously unanswered winter prayers had somehow landed us in winter heaven.

Thrilled and thankful that things had worked out so nicely, we headed back to Trumansburg for some coffee and snacks at Gimme! Coffee on Main Street, where Stone’s cappuccino was artfully done and Jake’s regular coffee a good old regular regular. T-burg, as it is sometimes called, offers a good deal of small town pleasures, including some nice little shops on Main Street, including Sundress, where we found a bit of irresistible whimsy called the GurglePot. We next drove a little bit out of town to visit Cold Spring Studio Pottery where what prove irresistible was the manifest artistry of the head potter, Alex. We bought two lovely plates and wished that our budget had allowed us more. Back to the B&B for the mandatory nap and/or bath, then off to dinner at T-burg’s reputably best spot -- the Hazel Nut Kitchen, which proved to be worthy of its rep. The next morning we were joined at a once again hearty breakfast by a young couple visiting friends and family in the Ithaca area, then it was back on the road to NJ.

Postscript: Since returning home it has been snowy and cold for almost 2 weeks straight.

Brothers in Moab

2008-10-29T22:43:00.049-04:00

Every two years Jake likes to get together with his two brothers in Colorado for a few days of brotherly bonding, food and golf. This year’s outing was in Moab, Utah.

Day 1 – Thursday, October 23, 2008. We three leave our home town of Boulder, Colorado, at about 9 AM, and head out through Golden till we start due west on I-70. At about 2 PM we pull into Vail. Driving through this American Xanadu we talk of old time Vail and how it must have looked when family friend George Williams started Vail’s first bank, back in the day, before George (and his brother) could donate acreage to CU, back before Vail was, well, Vail. Putting off lunch for a bit we take a short driving tour of some of the millionaire’s (billionaire’s?) homes on Forest Road, several of which have had the pleasure of having their insides and/or outsides painted by either of the two younger brothers’ painting companies. All the “houses” here are built on, or rather, into the side of the mountain, and one “house” actually has a gondola that runs up the precipitous slope on a private cable. Thus the millionaire can ride up in the gondola to get from his roadside garage(s) to his Rocky Mountain aerie without having to take those pesky stairs – spiraled in gold (only kidding!, sorta) though they may be. Lunch is in West Vail, which actually has food we can afford, and we have a nice repast of sandwiches, salads and Coors at the Westside Café.

Shortly after crossing into Utah we get off I-70 and onto Route 128 towards Moab. Middle Brother has been here before, but even he is in awe of the scene. He drives while Older Brother and Younger Brother ohh and ahh out the windows, and get down right trippy (like back in the day) as they look up through the moon roof at the always red and often looming rock over head. As we seemingly float down stream on this two lane, black top wonder of a road, the Colorado River flows placidly at our side, pretending it had nothing to do with the millions of years it took to create what we now enjoy in our blink of a lifetime on this planet.

We get into Moab in time to get into our rented 3 BR condo south of town – which actually lives up to its Internet photos – settle in and get ready for dinner. Research by Older Brother has proven that perhaps the best place in town for dinner, certainly the most expensive, is Desert Bistro, so we get back on Highway 191 (aka, Main Street in town) and head north. Our dinner proves to be more interesting than good – the menu includes a lot of game, including Antelope; the setting and décor is quite nice; the service is attentive and knowledgeable; the drinks and wine are varied and stout -- but overall the dinner seemed a bit of a disappointment. But us Brothers Three, having lived in the culinary rich environs of Boulder and NYC, have a bar that is sometimes too high. Still, we enjoyed the evening out, and back at the ranch we drifted off to sleep with full stomachs and no regrets. (Better research by Older Brother might have pointed us instead to the Center Café, which though we never visited, looks quite nice in retrospect.)

Day 2 – Friday, October 24, 2008. Breakfast at the Jail house Café. They do only breakfast and they do it well. We had to wait a bit in the cool morning’s autumnal air to get into the not-large cafe, but it was worth it. There was a nice mix of locals and the expected bicycle/motorcycle tourists. Having filled up and eggs and waffles and bacon and fruit and coffee we headed off for Arches National Park. People travel from all over the world to see this worldly wonder, and ten minutes into the park we knew why. Choose your adjectives – wondrous, spectacular, inspiring – there is little to say that has not been said before or is said better by a few pictures, amateurish they may be. We hoped to be able to see something of the recently collapsed arch in Devil’s Garden, but we got so entranced by Park Avenue Viewpoint (“Better than that other Park Avenue! Next time we take that trail down there.”), Courthouse Towers (“Man, oh man!), the Tower of Babel (“Have we said wow! before?”), the Petrified Dunes (“Very cool counterpoint to all that tall stuff.”), Balanced Rock (“Up close is the place to be!”), Wolfe Ranc h (“What, was this guy nuts?”) and Delicate Arch Viewpoint (“Vista of the double wow!”), that we never got to see any crumblings. For we are in Moab for more than just to see some of the most stunning geology in the world. We are here to enjoy one of God’s other great gifts to mankind: golf.

We figured we had just enough time for lunch back in town before our tee time. The Love Muffin Café had been locally recommended and provided us with very good sandwiches, salads and soup. And there was a good vibe to the place as well. (We swear, on a stack of Urban Dictionaries, that we were unaware -- middle aged fogies that we are -- of the street-wise slang.)

Moab Golf Club is just south of town and seemingly pushed up against the red rock formations of Moab’s Spanish Valley. We play, as we usually do on these excursions, a Brother Scramble: we each hit and take the best shot, then each hit again from there. We aim to score at about 6-8 over par for 18 holes, and thanks to the golfing skills of Younger Brother we can usually do so.

The setting for Moab Golf Club was fabulous and the course itself, while short (6,108 yards from the Everyman Tees that we played), was in fine shape. This course has a nice combination of challenge (some pretty tight holes) and fun (pars are possible for the Everyman Golfer who would love to shoot in the low 90’s once in a while). Perhaps more importantly, there is not a “cart cartel” here -- walking is always available. And to do anything but walk this desert 18-hole beauty is foolish indeed.

We went with another local recommendation for dinner and headed for Buck’s Grill House, north of town on Highway 191 for an après golf dinner. Without reservations on this Friday night we had to wait about 15 minutes to be seated. Once seated, our experience here with the food was spotty; ‘nuff said. But the beer was good and cold.

Day 3 – Saturday, October 25, 2008. Breakfast again at the Jailhouse. The trip’s itinerary calls for a final round of golf at the Hideout Golf Course down the road (Highway 191, of course) in Monticello before heading home. But over Eggs Benedict Florentine, etc, we decide that going that far south, only to come north again on

the way home, will make for a very long trip back to Boulder. We decide to find a course on the way home, perhaps around Grand Junction, CO. Middle Brother’s GPS does a fine job of finding us some possible courses, and though we would love to play Redlands Mesa, we opt for the lower key (and lower budget!) of 9 holes at Adobe Creek National just outside Grand Junction in Fruita, CO. Wondering how easily we can walk on without a tee time, on a Saturday, at about 11 AM, with the weather being perfect (about 60 degrees and sunny – which was pretty much our weather throughout), we were happily surprised to go out right away. Some twenty bucks (each; it’s not that lower budget) later we were teeing off with no one in front of us on the Mesa Nine. (Adobe Creek has three 9-hole layouts.) Sometimes life just works. And the course just worked too. Along side one of the massive mesas that dominate the topology of Grand Junction, we enjoyed the distant views and a relaxing round of western Colorado golf.

After golf, Middle Brother’s GPS was less successful in finding us a good and close Mexican restaurant, and after several U-turns, much laughter and loving brotherly comments we headed in hunger-fed desperation for the nearest mall, where surely there would be a place to eat. In theory, Famous Dave’s BBQ is such a place…. Well, at least the wall by the restrooms had a cool display of license plates from around America, including Hawaii. And the beer was good and cold.

Using the GPS to exit the mall (no kidding; this part of the western slope is certainly not what it used to be when mom and dad would take us out this way) we shoot towards home on I-70. For old times sake we forsake the Eisenhower Tunnel and do Loveland Pass instead. We arrive in Boulder in time for dinner. The beer was good and cold.

Canceling Summer

2008-08-25T15:25:00.028-04:00

When Cole Porter was asked why he was taking such a long cruise to the Caribbean, he reportedly said, "I am trying to cancel February."

Living in suburban New Jersey we have been trying to cancel summer's heat and humidity, or at least a few weeks of it, for several years -- all to little avail. That is, until we discovered Sequim, Washington. We thought this little town on the Olympic Peninsula might finally be The Place. Seems we were right.

Our daily Travel Grace Notes for our 28 days are below, with some clickable pictures and Internet links:

Day 1 – Monday, July 14, 2008. Flight was quite wonderful, taxi from SeaTac to Redmond OK after we got directions to Aero Rental Car. Ate lunch in Redmond at an average Mexican place called Tu Casa, then drove to the ferry at Edmonds, across the water to Kingston, and the ride was great. Cold, brisk breeze, mountains and water. Drive on Rt. 104 was nice, mtns and water views, then Rt. 101 into Sequim to our hostess who gave us the key to our 1BR place, which is clean, nicely appointed, and has a south facing platform deck with (plastic!) chairs that provides a great view of the Olympic Mountains. Stone napped and Jake checked out the 2 golf courses and drove around town a bit. Java for 2 from the local McDonald’s, then a lovely walk by the gin clear Dungeness River, saw perhaps an eagle and certainly a pair of goldfinches. Went out to 3 Crabs Restaurant in hopes of dinner, but the staff looked overwhelmed, so we went back into town, ending up at the upscale Cedar Creek on 5th Ave, out on the nicely chilly veranda for a martini, pinot grigio, soups, mushroom ravs and Dungeness crab cakes -- about $60 with tip. Then to Buzz for lavender cheesecake ice cream(!) and some coffee and a cookie. Then to our new home as night falls; so cold we have to put on the heat.

Day 2 – Tuesday, July 1 5, 2008. Breakfast at The Oak Table, nice room, good but expensive food. (Over $20 for what we usually get in NJ for about $13.) Found Stone's Weight Watchers place in town and walked around Bell St. Came home and went out for a walk with the hope of putting our new binoculars to work in search of birds. We walked to the end of the runway (our 1BR is actually in a small "fly away" development where the 5 or 6 homes all have private plane hangers and access to the runway) and actually saw a bald eagle, in flight and then in the trees! Quite a thrill for Jake. We then shopped at Sunny Farms, a nice, big, organic oriented food market. After some relaxed reading on the deck we went to a wine shop in town, the Visitors Center, Safeway and SARC. Jake played 9 holes at Cedars at Dungeness for $15 at 6 pm, while Stone did a yoga program on TV and walked the runway again. Golf was quite good -- windy, nicely conditioned course, and hole #9 has a knockout view of the distant Olympic Mountains.

Day 3 – Wednesday, July 16, 2008. After breakfast we went to Railroad Bridge Park and went for about a 30 minute walk along the Olympic Discovery Trail, which runs through the park. Thanks to our binoculars we saw another bald eagle, and got close up views of several sharp looking waxwings -- or so they seemed to my untrained birding eye. The park is quite nice, with the old RR bridge affording nice views of the Dungeness River. Afterward Jake snoozed while Stone studied, walked, read and napped a bit also. Then after java at Buzz we redeemed our local newspaper coupons at a local drug store for reduced entrance fees to the Lavender Festival , then went to explore Carrie Blake Park, which proved to be green and quiet. The park also included a Japanese viewing lagoon (for us seniors, one imagines) and a skate park and some small BMX hills (for the town's juniors). Dinner was at the wonderful Alder Wood Bistro -- mussels, soup, pizza, wines -- all served at a counter table of redwood reportedly over a 1,000 years old; about $60 with tip. At home we took a walk by the river in the gathering glory of the North West gloaming.

Day 4 – Thursday, July 17, 2008. The sky was a seemingly thick layer of clouds, but only until noon, when it turned bright and sunny as usual. Our 1BR has only dial-up, so we headed to Hurricane Coffee where the WiFi worked nicely, and the java, yogurt and scone worked nicely as well. Tried QFC for food and supplies, but decided on Safeway, got the customer card and got some of the great sockeye salmon for about $8 a pound! While Stone got her hair cut at Changes, Jake went to SARC for a nice little swim, steam and sauna for $7. Around 5 pm we went golfing at Cedars at Dungeness, 9 holes for $18. Stone walked with Jake who had a good day (ie, actually had a birdie) despite the windy conditions on the view-laden back nine of this recently (2007) upgraded course. Salmon dinner at home, then another runway walk where we met Ron and Miggles, who live across the runway and invited us over to see the plane he is building(!) in his hanger and her strawberries which were ready to be picked; very nice couple.

Day 5 – Friday, July 18, 2008. A day with only some direct sunshine! And not much wind either. Was the first day we couldn’t truly see all the mountains. After breakfast, we did the Lavender Festival, going to Olympic Lavender Farm, Jardin du Soleil Lavender and Cedarbrook Lavender and Herb Farm. The entire scene(s) was less crazy than we feared, not truly crowded, and very mom and pop oriented, and low key fun. After Cedarbrook we drove up into the foothills and then down around by John Wayne Marina and then back into town, passing a unique B&B that apparently uses cabooses as rooms. Filled up with gas at Safeway (a cool $48), then home for some relaxation and snooze. Dinner at home, then off for a town located part of the Lavender Festival called Jazz in the Alley, and some shopping for Stone. A late night of joe at Buzz (late night in Sequim being anything after 8 pm), then home to see the day's understated sunset and an eagle flying directly over our little A-frame bungalow not 30 feet over our heads.

Day 6 – Saturday, July 19, 2008. Up early to get the 8:10 ferry from Port Angeles to Victoria. Jake has always liked ferry rides, and this was a nice long one, taking a little over an hour. Breakfast at the Blue Fox, which was about a 20 minute walk from the ferry and then had to wait 30 minutes to get in, but it was worth it – perhaps the best eggs Benedict I’ve ever had. Walking after that we stumbled upon Christ Church Cathedral, strolled around inside – big, lovely, and quite historic, even though it completion dates from only 1929; the pulpit was made from a 500 year old tree from England and the organ is a an over 4,000 piped beauty customized to the acoustics of the church. Walked on down to Beacon Hill Park, lots and lots of pretty flower gardens and water ponds and ducks and kids and families and trees, beneath one of which Stone took a snooze. Later we watched a little of a serious cricket match, then walked back into Vic, rambled around aimlessly for a while, which is fun to do in a wonderful, pretty city like Victoria, then had a late light lunch at the Blue Crab, water/harbor views, sturdy drinks, very good food. Another walk along the inner harbor, seeing a sea otter, then back on the ferry for a very windy (30 knots and big whitecaps,), rock-and-roll ferry ride home – or at least to Port Angeles. Actually home at about 8:30, and on the way back, on Rt. 101, we spied another bald eagle as we drove along – ho hum! Stone warms up(!) with soup and Jake with a trusty rusty nail.

Day 7 -- Sunday, July 20, 2008. A day of planned down time. Went to service at 10:30 am at the Olympic UU’s. Met the usual interesting people, a nice 90 min service and about 30 mins of coffee and mingling afterward. After lunch went for a longer walk by the river, on a trail previously suggested by Ron and Miggles. Very nice: various birds and wild flowers, and two govt guys checking on a Chinook Salmon trap; some intimidating dogs dashed up at us from the river before their owners could calm them down, but the subsequent donkeys and cows calmly watched us walk past. After some attempted snooze time (some complaining sheep in the meadow next door kept Jake awake) we went over to Ron and Miggles for another visit. They were kind enough to give us carte blanche for use of their bikes. Then a quiet night of dinner, TV and reading.

First Week's Impressions: First and foremost the weather has been as wonderful as we had hoped. The days have been cool, even when sunny, with high temps in the 60's and lows around 50, with low humidity. We have finally found our American summer escape! Sequim itself is indeed a small town (pop. about 5,000) with all the pluses and minuses thereof. The feel of the town's setting is basically rural, however the Olympic Mountains majestically dominate the landscape. Sequim's population is heavily weighted toward retirees, but SARC always has a lot of kids splashing about, and on our trips to Safeway we always seem to see many families in the aisles pushing their bulging carts.

Day 8 -- Monday, July 21, 2008. Tried to have breakfast at the Old Mill Cafe, a little bit outside of Sequim proper on Carlsborg Road, but it was closed(!), so we went back into town and ate at Gwennies, which was a nice mom and pop place with (so far) the usual breakfast scene – slow service, good food, expensive prices -- $25 with tip. Then we pointed our rented car into the alluring pine green foothills south of town. We were in search of Lost Mountain Winery, which despite being located on Lost Mountain Road was easy enough to find. The Olympic Peninsula's seven wineries are trying to promote themselves onto the Washington wine scene, which of course has been dominated for years by the Columbia Valley area, and seem to be making progress and winning some awards, and Lost Mountain has been doing it part. On this Monday morning we were the only visitors in the small but attractive tasting room ($3/person), and had a nice long chat with Steve -- who with his wife, own and run the winery -- while we sampled some of their reds. We liked the drinkable taste of "Dago Red" (Steve's wine making family is deeply Italian, so he can get away with that), and bought a couple of bottles, which were not exactly cheap at just under $40 for the pair. After leaving the winery we drove upward and onward on Lost Mountain Road, enjoying the mountain vistas and envying several of the homes that enjoyed those views 24/7. However, after maybe less than 10 minutes of driving the road came to a dead end, which is not unusual for many of the foothill roads around Sequim, so we pointed our car back down hill and into town. After lunch Jake played another 9 holes at Dungeness, while Stone went for a walk out at Rail Road Bridge Park; then back home for dinner and some Dago Red.

Day 9 – Tuesday, July 22, 2008. A day of purposeful relaxation. Jake had another very nice swim, etc, at SARC while Stone went for a mini-walk and a visit to the Sequim Library. Home for lunch and the mandatory snooze, then a drive up into ritzy Bell Hill (web cam) to see the millionaires’ houses. We walked around admiring the hill's water and mountain views. Back for dinner and drinks, then a walk down to what we came to call the “bird hallow” on the river where Jake enjoyed a good cigar and Stone harvested a river stone for the home garden. Above the gurgling river swallows feasted on bugs while high above the sky was just lousy with flying eagles(!), but we had no binocs so couldn’t confirm their baldness. Breezy again as we came back home amid the golden rays of another lovely sunset on the Left -- make that Upper Left -- Coast.

Day 10 – Wednesday, July 23, 2008. Up early for the weekly 8:30 guided Audubon walk at RR Bridge Park; about 20 people in attendance, most of them birding dilettantes like us, but there were a few serious birders toting scopes and long-lensed cameras. Our favorite birds sighted were a California Quail, that seemed to pose for minutes on a nearby fence post, and a golden-green hummingbird, that, of course, disdained staying in one place for longer than a nanosecond. Despite not seeing a lot of other interesting birds, the 90 minute walk itself was a great way to start the day. Afterward it was off to Adagio Bean & Leaf for some post-birding java and pastry goodies. Thence to Ron and Miggles' place to take advantage of their generous bike lending program. We rode out north toward Dungeness Bay, then above and along the water to 3 Crabs Restaurant, where we got some soup and crab cakes to go, ate them al fresco, then peddled home (stopping at Nash’s for some organic onions and raisins) past the Olympic Game Farm seeing the usual eagle or two or three. Before dinner Jake needed a SARC rejuvenation (just whirlpool and sauna, thank you) for his tired bones.

Day 11 – Thursday, July 24, 2008. Stone goes to Weight Watchers and finds that she has, despite our lusty vacation eating, lost more than half a pound. The weather here makes it easy to be outside and active virtually any time you want. Come to Sequim and lose weight! We head off west on dear old Rt. 101 toward Port Angeles, then after driving through PA, south into the Olympic National Park toward Hurricane Ridge. Then entrance fee is $15, but for $30 you can get an annual card, and since we plan to be in the Park again, we get the card. Sequim locals had told us that Hurricane Ridge was one of the "must sees" of the area, and worth the current slow go because of road repairs due to previous winter storms. The road up was indeed slow; once we stopped for about 20 minutes, then once again for about 5-10 minutes. But when you're retired -- with no kids in the car, with no schedule to keep, with no dinner reservations that can't be easily revised -- it is amazingly easy to go with the flow, or, in this case, with the lack thereof. We turned off our engine, got out of the car, looked around: at the high sky, at the giant pine trees, at the distant purple mountain majesties, and thought to ourselves, "What a great place to be stuck." And the locals were right, Hurricane Ridge is worth the slow drive up, and up, and up. Once at the visitors center, there are paths and trails both easy and hard, and post card mountain views from the parking lot. We took one of the shorter but certainly upward walks that took about 20-30 minutes to get to the viewing spot, and the walk was terrific. Along the way various hardy alpine flowers kept us company and in one of the vast alpine meadows far below, other trail walkers pointed out a black bear -- to the naked eye (without benefit of binoculars or a telephoto lens) it was but a black dot in the emerald expanse below, but still thrilling to see. Afterward, our drive down was quicker, perhaps due to karmic payback for our previous patience, but more likely due to simple dumb luck, which is an agnostic's view of Karma. Back in Sequim we met Ron and Miggles for dinner at Alder Wood Bistro, and then we all four walked over to Buzz for coffee and dessert.

Day 12 -- Friday, July 25, 2008. The drive to Port Townsend starts out as all drives in Sequim seem to do -- on Rt. 101, this time heading east. We go up to Fort Worden State Park to pick up our wrist bracelets that act as tickets for Friday nights edition of "2008 Jazz Port Townsend." We walk around the park a bit, but its military air gives ex-Army draftee Jake a bit of the creeps, so Stone drives him to the Port Townsend Golf Course. Jake plays with a pleasant local guy who tells him where to aim each tee shot (as if Jake could!), drinks a beer each 3 holes, and tells him about the glories of the area's salmon fishing. The course itself proves to be a nice enough 9 hole layout with some nice elevation changes, is not too difficult and is generally fun to play. Meanwhile back at the Fort (truly), Stone enjoys walking around the spacious park, sees the Commanding Officer's Residence Museum and especially enjoys her stroll along the water. Later we try to eat at T’s Restaurant at 4 pm, but it is booked for a wedding dinner, so we head into the downtown area -- walk, shop, and get some nice chowder. Returning at 6 pm for dinner at T’s we have a very nice meal (great halibut), then hurry off to see "Mongol" at the Rose Theater, thence to Elevated Ice Cream for some home made you-know-what, then down the street to Fins to see Nancy King sing. A drink and dessert at the bar as we listen, then drive home around midnight.

Day 13 – Saturday, July 26, 2008. Today was moving day as we left one vacation rental for another. When planning this trip we originally contracted for 2 rental properties for 2 weeks each. Our first fortnight was to be with Sequim Bay Resort, in a cheap small cabin, but several months after we mailed them a deposit, they informed us that the rate for our stay would go from $70/night to $140, telling us that they had checked with their lawyers, that things were not negotiable, and that we had to take it or leave it. Not wanting to enter a legal fight we scrambled around trying to plug this sudden 14 day hole in our itinerary and ended up with 12 days at Mountain Ridge View and 2 days at a nice 2BR cottage called the Pompous Chef. So today we left our 1BR north of town for our new 2BR south of town, and though we have lost our long distance view of the mountains, our new place is right up at the start of the piney foothills and has its own charm. (Last week we drove through the Sequim Bay Resort, and in retrospect, their dishonorable business ways did us a favor. Even at $70/night we would not have been happy there.) Between checkout of our first place and check-in at our second we had several hours, so we had a very nice (if expensive-- $64 w/ drinks and tip) lunch at Dockside at the John Wayne Marina (Duke’s picture on the wall) with its nautical view right outside our window.

Day 14 – Sunday, July 27, 2008. A planned day of not doing much. We had hoped to go to the Sunday service at the UU’s, but the congregation was having its annual picnic out at the Dungeness Spit, so we had even less to do than planned, which was fine. Stone dropped off Jake for a very fun, windy and challenging 18 holes of golf at SkyRidge golf course. SkyRidge is the prototypical mom-and-pop 9 hole course, including an office that is housed in a trailer and a bathroom that is a portasan. Despite this less than “country club for a day” feel, the atmosphere is friendly and professional. And the course – which could be generously described as “links style” because there is nary a tree and usually a healthy breeze – proved to be quite a challenge, with some long par-4’s and several over-water shots that will tighten any golfer’s grip. While Jake toiled away on the links, Stone shopped in town for a new book, read her current one, and chillaxed in our new home. And please note: today is was cloudy right up to close to sunset – indeed in our current right-next-to-the-foothills setting it was misty and mildly almost rainy most of the day, though out on the blustery plains of SkyRidge the weather was dry – and driving through town coming back from golf we saw puddles and other signs of rain just missed, not to be confused with rain just mist, which we probably had also. The point is, this was as close to a completely cloudy day as we’ve had in Sequim, and still the sunset was long and hypnotic. Such meteorological events, however, don’t explain the busy antics of the snails outside our doorstep, but then every place should have a few secrets that remain unsolved.

Day 15 – Monday, July 28, 2008. Moving day again. Left the Chef by 11 am, headed to Port Angeles to see a winery or two, but changed our minds, luckily, and ended up on the road to Hurricane Ridge. But this time we got off right before the entrance gate to the Park and drove a short distance into the Heart ‘O the Hills camping site where we found several trails to explore. Decided to try Heather Park Tail hoping to make it to Halfway Rock… after 45 minutes of seemingly vertical hiking we gave up and rolled on back down the mountain. Checking the bulletin board at base camp we see that our trail was graded “strenuous,” to which we could offer no disagreement. On our way back into PA we got a call saying our new rental, named "Shady Lady" was ready, so we checked in and found it to be very nice: a great almost-river setting, shady indeed, with plants galore, cable internet (which proved to be very helpful) and a nice little covered porch out back. We went to Applebee’s for a late lunch, then Jake went to SARC for his usual soak, roast and dip, and Stone unpacked at our new home and sat out back with her feet up listening to the babbling river.

Day 16 – Tuesday, July 29, 2008. Stop the presses! Got up this AM and it was actually raining when I went into town to get the NY Times. Didn’t last long, but still.... After breakfast we shopped for the essentials – food, cigars and liquor. (The latter of which, btw, is available only at state controlled stores.) This afternoon we motored out to Salt Creek Recreation Area to see the sights. On the way, on Highway 112, saw a bald eagle sitting in a tree. Ho hum. Once at the Rec Area we drove on a park road that is loaded (so to speak) with old WW II bunkers (impressive, dark, spooky), then visited Crescent Beach, which was not so great, then parked and headed up a trail through the forest, which brought us close to the campground, found another trail along the water's edge, and I do mean edge – cliffs and such right down to the Strait of Juan de Fuca’s waves and rocks. We finally made it down to the rocks right on the crashing water and inspected some tidal pools; saw some mussels enjoying the hearty surf and some other aquatic life we couldn’t identify, spied some neat sea birds, and enjoyed the rocks, the surf and the distant views of water, cliffs and even Vancouver Island across the way. Just another day in paradise. Then home for 2 hand crafted rusty nails and a nice chicken dinner.

Day 17 – Wednesday, July 30, 2008. Ferry to Victoria at 7:45 AM, wonderful breakfast at Rebar Modern Food, then to BC Cycle for a bike ride – actually, a bike journey, no, actually a bike odyssey. It starts out innocently as we ride down through Beacon Hill Park and out on the scenic route by the water, past Ross Bay and Gonzales Bay and McNeill Bay (are you tired yet?), noting the lovely sea views and wonderful houses and gardens; then up to Oak Bay, a major scenic area where we watch a great blue heron stalking the waters and stabbing fish in the receding tide, then up through Uplands, which has some of the most impressively lovely homes we have ever seen, though the Victoria Golf Club (Jake green with envy at those lucky creatures playing such a beauty) and then the road goes off our big map the cycle rental guy gave us. We soldier on. There are some “scenic bike route” signs along the way and these help for a while until we get profoundly lost in suburban Victoria, specifically in the precincts of Saanich. Some young kids selling lemonade outside their house (25 cents, American quarters are OK, says one boy) give us directions to what we hope is Mount Douglas Park, which is a major landmark, and we do indeed get to the park. Unfortunately, it about 1,000 or maybe a million acres big, and we skirt its outskirts for a while this way and that till we make a do-or-die decision (are you tired yet?) to go along the water (even though it is seriously uphill), and lo and behold, we find a helpful map and several fellow bikers that get us onto the Lochside Trail which, rumor has it, goes back into Victoria. After another hour so we finally pedal into downtown Vic, sore and tired, but proud as well. After turning in the bikes (the guy said we did about 35 kilometers, which we believe translates into about 900 miles), we head down toward the water to the impossibly small Red Fish Blue Fish, and have the best al fresco fish dishes it is possible to have. Not done rewarding ourselves, we head over to impossibly big Hotel Grand Pacific, which is near the ferry terminal, for a martini and a glass of Cabernet in their “Pacific Lounge.” The ferry ride, with locomotion supplied by something other than our legs, seems sublimely restful coming home.

Day 18 – Thursday, July 31, 2008. A day of doing nothing, and still we did things. After breakfast we walked out our back door to the community trail that borders the Dungeness River and offers some wonderful river/mountain views, and then into Dungeness Meadows proper. Dungeness Meadows is one of the oldest developments in Sequim, and its unusual mix of double-wide trailers, small homes and larger homes is oddly pleasing to our Jersey eyes, so used to seeing McMansions and such. We checked out some of the the houses for sale and thought about what it would actually be like living here – pretty sweet, it seems. Then it's out to Sunny Farms for some nice fruits (including some tasty Reiner cherries) and veggies, then back for a nap, then Jake goes to SARC for a very nice swim, hydro pool and sauna Back home its drinks on the covered back patio as rain falls. Indeed, today has been the rainiest so far, with several hours of true rain, but hardly anything close to a downpour. After dinner Stone heads out for a rainy walk along the river path.

Day 19 -- Friday, August 1, 2008. The Spit… the hike is 5 miles out and 10 miles back, or so the local legend goes. We left our leafy 2BR bungalow at about 11 AM under partly cloudy skies but arrived at the trail head in dense fog. On the Spit the visibility was about 90 yards, but it is nicely cool and not many people at all out walking. On the way we see a seagull eating a starfish, and several others eating some kind of sea shell animal. We see a juvenile bald eagle and a grownup quite a ways off in the slowly dissipating fog. All along the walk is driftwood new and old, and some seemingly very old and quite big. As if on cue the fog clears up as we reach the lighthouse some5 miles from our starting point. We eat our packed lunch at one of several picnic tables on the grounds and chat with lighthouse tour guides. From atop the lighthouse tower the view is somewhat limited by remnants of the fog, but we can clearly see about a half dozen seals frolicking in the smooth strait water below. The hike back is more difficult because the tide is coming in so we have less beach and gravel, and more stone and rocks to walk on, but we struggle on, stopping now and then for water breaks and to look again at the distant views of Vancouver Island on the right and the mighty Olympics on our left. About half way back a solitary seal pops out of the still smooth water and looks us – I swear – curiously. We see an Turn of some sort (Arctic?) hover in the breeze, then dive bomb into the water to nab a fish. The walk back was long, but at least we could see the distant headland where we were heading, though it did seem to take forever to get there. Once in the car we remarked on what a great day it had been, something we seem to say often out here. Home for drinks outside in the cool early evening, then some hot pizza for dinner.

Day 20 – Saturday, August 2, 2008. After a lazy morning it was noon before we knew it and we hurried to get on our way to Joyce Daze down the road on Rt. 112 in the town of – well, Joyce. Got there just in time for the parade, got some grilled salmon from the guys of the local Lions Club, and had a good old fashioned time. The parade was classic small town, with Shriners in funny little cars, military vets waving to the adoring crowd, old cars and tractors, clowns, girls on horses carrying flags, local politicians and a finale of the district’s fire and emergency vehicles. Vendors, music and clog dancers rounded out the Americana scene. Quite cool. Home for a snooze, then Stone goes for a walk while Jake plays the little (and confusing!) 11 hole golf course here at Dungeness Meadows.

Day 21 – Sunday, August 3, 2008. Did the Unitarian service at 10:30. Nice enough, with good conversations afterward over coffee and some chocolate goodies. After lunch we drove into the foothills, found a nice walk along the Dungeness and two dead-end roads. In the late afternoon both Jake and Stone played the little course here, Stone doing surprisingly well for not having swung a golf club in several years, and we once again admired the setting of this little community. With the help of the high speed Internet connection at home we did some planning for our final week here, watched some TV, did some reading and then bed time.

Day 22 -- Monday, August 4, 2008. A morning stroll by the river, once again marveling at the classic scene of river, forest and mountains. We head to Port Ludlow, and find the town to be not a town at all but a collection of high-end real estate developments, a resort or two, and a marina. Ignoring the pretty marina's private property signs we had a nice brown bag lunch by the boats while admiring the blue water, the bluer sky and the Olympic views. One thing Port Ludlow does have in spades is spectacular golf, and at about 4 PM we get to the renowned 27-hole Port Ludlow Golf Course. Jake is usually a bit intimidated by the high-end golf scene, but here -- perhaps due to the lateness of our arrival? or is this just more of the West Coast vibe? -- the atmosphere is friendly and low key; its "no problem" for Stone to walk the course as Jake plays his 9 holes, there is no wait on the first tee and not even a starter. We are joined on #1 by a friendly Australian husband and wife team currently living in the Seattle area while he does a 2 year gig with Boeing. The afternoon was surprisingly -- for us -- sunny and warm, one might almost say hot. The Trail 9 holes were extremely up-and-down, but the views of the distant water and the even more distant Mt. Baker were world class, and despite climbing hills that really called for a Sherpa to carry Jake's clubs on his back, Jake played very well, never losing a golf ball(!) and actually recording a birdie(!!) on #6. It was an unforgettable day of golf, and at a fee of merely $21.68, it was one of the best dollar-for-dollar golf days Jake has ever had. We dined later in Port Hadlock at Nemo’s, where the marina view was properly relaxing and the food was, despite a surprisingly limited menu, darn good. Pulled into our cozy little car port with the day’s light all but gone at just after 9 pm.

Day 23 -- Tuesday, August 5, 2008. After yesterday’s Trail trial we decided to take it easy today, so we did just a 16 mile bike ride. Yikes! But it was all along the smooth and generally flat Olympic Discovery Trail, so the going was easy. Rented bikes from Mike’s Bikes, stopped at the RR Bridge Park for a little look-see at the kids dipping in the river, then on to Robin Hill Farm for lunch at a picnic table; then back to the rental shop, seeing a eagle or two and several quail, and many more of the much more common cows and sheep along the trail back into town. It was our first hot day in Sequim, we think low 80's. Still the shade was nice (there was not a lot of it in town, however) and once we got back to our little meadow oasis the back patio was fabulous. As the late afternoon lingered the air got downright coolish. Night finally strolled into our peaceful scene and a fingernail moon came into view over the trees at the river’s edge, and then set, reluctantly it seemed, over the much more distant mountain ridge.

Day 24 -- Wednesday, August 6, 2008. A day at Crescent Lake -- or Lake Crescent, if you’re of that school. What all schools can agree on is that this big, mountain bound, gin-clear lake is a wonder. (As is the ride there on Rt. 101 -- not to be missed.) We did the Marym ere Falls trail, an easy 1.5 miles through what seemed to look suspiciously like Rain Forest Lite, and enjoyed the walk and the skinny but long-falling falls. Lunch at the Crescent Lake Lodge was fine – Stone especially loved her warm spinach seafood salad and Jake bonded with his Session beer from Oregon – and was greatly enhanced by our scenic lake view table. After lunch we drove around to the other side of the lake, followed a one-lane, spooky forest road for several miles before coming to our desired trail head (which is actually the usual terminus) for the Spruce Railr oad Trail. We did about an hour out, had some nice views of the lake and mountains, and got up close and personal to the clear/clear water, then walked back to the car park. The trail had not been crowded but the bar at the lodge was, so we had to do without our hoped for drinks and instead headed home via dear old 101, enduring some "rush hourtraffic" in Port Angeles. The day had once again been warm (in the sun), even up at the lake, but our enclosed backyard veranda refreshed us as usual as we sipped our drinks and wolfed down our miniature carrots and dip.

Day 25 -- Thursday, August 7, 2008. Very foggy this morning as Jake made his trip into town for the NY Times. There were doubts about Jake's planned golf, but it worked out perfectly as Stone dropped him off at SkyRidge at 9 AM to find no fog on the course, but seemingly everywhere else – the mountains covered and the seaward north socked in as well. Jake enjoyed the wide open course and actualy got within 30 yards of a hawk sitting like a mascot on a post on the edge of #9. Stone got more good news at Weight Watchers and got a nice, cheap haircut from Molly at Changes. For lunch we dined lightly on java, yogurt and granola at Adagio. After a snooze Stone went for a walk while Jake enjoyed once again the treasure that is SARC. BTW, the fog burned off completely by noon and it was a lovely, sunny day, while staying cool in the shade.

Day 26 -- Friday, August 8, 2008. We picked up provisions at Sunny’s on Rt. 101 as we motored westward toward the end of the North West – Neah Bay, or more precisely, Cape Flattery. We had been on Rt. 112 before on our trip to Joyce, but this time 112 took us way beyond Joyce on a journey that rarely let the driver relax as the road twisted and turned relentlessly. Often the road religiously followed the curving edge of the strait, and when it did not, it seemed to ceaselessly serpentine anyway, out of habit or spite it was impossible to tell. From Port Angeles to the cape must be about 70 miles, yet it took us over 2 hours to get there. But what a “there” the cape turned out to be. After about a ½ mile walk on a descending trail that was often wooden planks over the temperate-rain-forest flora, we arrived at a lookout point that is a good hundred feet above the water. To the left and right are giant, wave splashed caverns that could easily hide Captain Hook’s pirate ship, mini-headlands of pine trees and receding sandstone jut out into the strait, while across the way Vancouver Island sits calmly in view. Little fishing boats go on their way beneath the zooming paths of cormorants, puffins and seagulls. With our binoculars we can see starfish – orange, golden, purple and lavender(!) in color -- hugging the rocks below at the water’s edge on the entrance to the nearest cavern. Cape Flattery is a popular spot and thankfully there are several lookout points to ease the relative crowding. We walk back to a small picnic spot, and enjoy our sandwiches, trail mix and deviled eggs. Later, at a fairly sequestered lookout back up the trail, we talk for quite a while with a senior lady who has lived in Sequim for 16 years and has always loved it. On the way home we note the busy Neah Bay Marina but also the seemingly general almost-poverty of the Indian Reservation on whose land sits this spectacular cape and its thrilling views.

Day 27 -- Saturday, August 9, 2008. Out of curiosity we checked on some new home construction in Sequim, at Jennie’s Meadow. Then a sort of good-bye lunch at Alder Wood Bistro at our favorite counter seats. Afterward we walked through town in the light rain and bought something for our home at Over the Fence. Home for a cozy snooze on this rare gray day, and then a good-bye evening rendezvous at Buzz with our friends Ron and Miggles.

Day 28 -- Sunday, August 10, 2008. Had a very nice breakfast at the Old Mill Café, then to the UU’s for Sunday service. After lunch at home and a nap, we both went out again to play the little 11-hole course here in Dungeness Meadows. For our final dinner in Sequim, we figured we would go out as we came in, at the classy Cedar Creek. Over dinner and wine we reviewed our wonderful four weeks in Sequim and realized that we had not so much canceled summer as found its perfection.