WINE DINE & TRAVEL SPRING 2019 DISCOVERING ARGENTINA EDITION

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DISCOVERING ARGENTINA ADVENTURE TO THE BOTTOM OF THE WORLD

Forest Bathing in Oregon | Lobstered out in Maine | Monument Valley | Lighten Up in Lapland

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EDITOR’S NOTE

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RISK & REWARD OF TRAVEL

s we go to press two travel-related incidents have made headlines. First, are the Boeing 737 Max 8 crashes and subsequent groundings that have disrupted travel and are likely to affect airlines and aircraft manufacturers for years to come. Boeing’s reputation is in tatters as the company struggles to correct software problems that can doom a plane, its crew, and passengers Viking Cruises, an industry darling, narrowly escaped a Titanic-sized calamity when engines on the Viking Sky failed in dangerous rough seas off Norway. The abandon ship whistle sounded, and many passengers airlifted in gale-force winds off the disabled vessel. Ultimately the ship was towed to shore.

Thankfully major catastrophes are rare. But almost every traveler has been impacted by Mother Nature’s extreme weather - hurricanes and tsunamis, even rogue winds. More common challenges are accidents like falling, getting lost, getting sick from a variety of sources and getting ripped off by pickpockets and taxi drivers. Regardless of how wealthy a traveler may be or how well prepared, no one can avoid risk.

You might suspect folks would think twice about travel these days. But unsurprisingly, none of our many friends around the world have curbed their globe-trotting ways. If anything, they have expanded their adventurous horizons seeking more exotic and difficult ports of call and destinations.

Travel for them is a necessary part of their lives -- it is exhilarating, stimulating and nurturing for minds and spirits.

Veteran travelers know the potential risks, minor and catastrophic. They work hard to minimize danger by being well-prepared and smart as they leave comfort zones behind. Often favorite stories are about scary misadventures with a happy ending.

The Boeing and Viking kind of incidents will always be with us. And every traveler says a little prayer that he or she will never be on one of those fateful, tragic journeys. But stay home to stay safe? No. Reasonable risk will never deter a real traveler. It’s part of the deal as we adventure and explore the world.

Ron & Mary James

Ron & Mary James Publishers & Editors WDT

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EDITORS/PUBLISHERS Ron & Mary James ASSISTANT EDITOR Mia Sellfe ART DIRECTOR

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Don Inhousen CIRCULATION Jake Washington STAFF WRITERS Alison DaRosa Priscilla Lister John Muncie Jody Jaffe Kitty Morse John Freeman FEATURE WRITERS Sharon Whitley Larsen Carl Larsen Maribeth Mellin Amy Laughinghouse Judy Garrison Wibke Carter Margie Goldsmith Michael Burge Brian Clark ADVERTISING SALES

THE COVER SHOT Cover photo: Ron James took this shot of seals sunning themselves on a piece of rock at the bottom of the world near the Antactic. It was rough seas on a small excursion boat with Ron clinging on to the rail with one hand and his camera in the other. Argentina’s Andes Mountains loom large in the background. All photos in the Discovering Argentina special feature were shot using a Samsung Galaxy Note 8 cellphone.

Wine Country Interactive Inc. WDT respects the intellectual property rights of others, and we ask that our readers do the same. We have

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adopted a policy in accordance with the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (“DMCA”) and other applicable laws.

Wine Dine & Travel Magazine is a Wine Country Interactive Inc. Publication @ 2019 Corporate headquarters San Diego, California Contact editor@winedineandtravel.com

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DISCOVER ARGENTINA EDITION

CONTENTS

WDT TRAVEL WRITERS Ron James Ron James is the "wine, food and travel guy." He is a nationally award-winning print and online journalist, graphic designer, television producer and radio personality.

The native Californian's nationally syndicated wine and food columns have appeared in newspapers and magazines around the world. Ron is founder and co-publisher of

Wine Dine & Travel Magazine.

Mary James Mary Hellman James is an award-winning San Diego journalist and editor. After a 29-year-career with The San Diego Union-Tribune, she currently is a freelance garden writer and a columnist for San Diego Home-Garden/Lifestyles magazine and copublisher and editor of this magazine.

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DISCOVER ARGENTINA I must admit that I didn’t know much about Argentina. All I really knew as that there were Gauchos, a lot of cows, they danced the tango, drank Malbec wine, and it was where Evita sang “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina.”

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CRUISING ON THE DANUBE

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CHASING CHAYOTE IN MICHOACÁN

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HIGHS & LOWS OF SKING ASPEN

Like huge numbers of Americans, I fell in love with Viking river cruises during PBS commercial breaks. Those savvy TV spots were dreamily slow, easy, romantic - infused with delicious dollops of art and culture.

Piles of juicy pork chunks caught my eye as I strolled in the street in Tzintzuntzan, one of eight Pueblos Mágicos (Magical Cities) in Michoacán. The cook alternately hacked away at big slabs of carnitas and stuffed tortas and tacos with crisp, succulent meat at his cart.

The first time I skied Aspen, way back in the mid-1970s, lift tickets were around $15 at this iconic resort in the Rockies. I was a junior at the University of Colorado, slept in a cozy sleeping bag on the floor at a friend’s house during that visit and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch on the slopes.

Amy Laughinghouse London-based writer and photographer Amy Laughinghouse has attempted to overcome her fears (and sometimes basic common sense) through her adventures in 30 countries around the world. She dishes on the perks and perils of globetrotting for publications like

LonelyPlanet.com, AAA Journey Magazine, Virtuoso Life, and The Dallas Morning News.

Her travel tales can also be found on her website, www.amylaughinghouse.com.

Jody Jaffe & John MuncieMuncie Jody and John are award-winning journalists and novelists. John is a Lowell Thomas Award-Winner and was feature editor of The San Diego Union-Tribune, arts editor of The Baltimore Sun and writer-editor-columnist for the travel department of The Los Angeles Times. Jody was a journalist at the Charlotte Observer, where she was on a team that won the Pulitzer Prize. Her articles have been published in many publications including The New York Times and The Los Angeles Times. They live on a farm in Lexington, Va.

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FOREST BATHING I went forest bathing in Oregon in the fall.I found maples ablaze in red and orange. I found many shades of green among the cedars, firs and spruce trees, all nestled among beds of ferns and moss. I found wonder and serenity that hiking trails in nature always give me.

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FOUR COUNTRIES IN FOUR DAYS

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LIGHTEN UP IN LAPLAND

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We were standing on the shores of Lake Constance under sunny skies, looking at the impossibly turquoise green water and with a picturesque, centuries old city centre behind us.

BENEATH THE VERMILION GATES One of Japan’s most popular sites is southern Kyoto’s Fushimi Inari Shrine, which consists of thousands of vermilion torii gates ascending Mount Inari.

It begins as a faint glimmer on the horizon, the merest suggestion of illumination flirting at the fringes of a black velvet sky. A few dozen hopefuls gathered for a glimpse of one of nature’s most ephemeral phenomena.

SHADES OF GREENLAND I’ve been lucky to stop in Iceland—a travel “hot spot”--and the Shetland Islands (which I love) twice in 2018 on cruises. But I had no idea what to expect in Greenland—the “fly-over” country inhabited since Prehistoric times— some 4,300 years.

Alison DaRosa Alison DaRosa is a six-time winner of the Lowell Thomas Gold Award for travel writing, the most prestigious prize in travel journalism. She served 15 years as Travel Editor of The San Diego UnionTribune and was the award-winning editor of the San Diego News Network Travel Page. Alison writes a monthly Travel Deals column for the San Diego Union-Tribune and is a regular freelance contributor to the travel sections of the Los Angeles Times, USA Today and AOL Travel. Learn more about Alison on her website, www.AlisonDaRosa.com.

Carl H. Larsen Carl H. Larsen is a veteran journalist based in San Diego. He now focuses on travel writing, and is summoned to pull out his notebook whenever there’s the plaintive cry of a steam locomotive nearby.

In San Diego, he is a college-extension instructor who has led courses on the Titanic and the popular TV series “Downton Abbey.”

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Sharon Whitley Larsen Sharon Whitley Larsen’s work has appeared in many major publications, including Reader’s Digest (and 19 international issues), Chicken Soup for the Soul books, and Los Angeles Times Magazine.

She’s the author of British Travel Tidbits (2017) and Travel Tidbits (2018), published by Sanbun Publishers in New Delhi. Sharon also had a two-year travel column “Travel Tidbits” in the Union Jack newspaper. Her favorite topic is travel (favorite destination London).

Maribeth Mellin Maribeth Mellin is an award-winning journalist whose travel articles have appeared in Endless Vacation Magazine, U-T San Diego and Dallas Morning News among others. She also travels and writes for several websites including CNN Travel, Concierge.com and Zagat, and has authored travel books on Peru, Argentina, Costa Rica, Mexico, Hawaii and California.

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Wibke Carter German-born Wibke Carter has lived in New Zealand and New York, and presently enjoys life, love​,​and laughter in London. Her work has appeared in​ ​The Globe and Mail, The​ ​San Francisco Chronicle, BInspired Magazine,The Independent and more. When not traveling, she is trying to tame her two cats and improve her DIY skills

Michael Burge Michael Burge is an award-winning journalist who worked for many years as an assistant metro editor and senior writer for The San Diego Union-Tribune. Michael and his wife, Kathleen, have logged countless miles visiting adult children in Asia and Scotland. The couple met as Peace Corps volunteers in Kenya, so they have no one to blame but themselves for their globe-trotting offspring.

Priscilla Lister Priscilla Lister is a longtime journalist in her native San Diego. She has covered many subjects over the years, but travel is her favorite. Her work, including photography, has appeared in The San Diego Union-Tribune, Los Angeles Times, Alaska Airlines’ magazine and numerous other publications throughout the U.S. and Canada. She is the author of “Take a Hike: San Diego County,” a comprehensive hiking guide to 260 trails in amazing San Diego County.

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NEUSCHWANSTIEN

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MUSIC LOVERS DREAM

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AMERICAN’S IMPRESSION

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HOI AN, VIETNAM

Sitting on an imposing crag above the village of Hohenschwangau and Lake Alpsee, a tidy, Bavarian farmscape laid out below, the castle is the epitome of Medieval romance.

When I learned that the Aria Hotel Budapest was named the #1 Hotel In the World, my curiosity was piqued.

SANDSTONE TO CELLULOID Monument Valley’s vermilion rock formations thrust skyward like giant hands that extend to the horizon in an endless parade of buttes, mesas and spires.

Here’s a series of six impressions from a recent 12-day trip to France. As background, we spent the first four days in Paris, then took a 7-day river cruise (via Uniworld) to the Bordeaux region.

One thing I didn’t expect to experience in Hoi An’s Old Quarter, a UNESCO WORLD HERITAGE site, was the divine quietude of The Reach Out Teahouse.

Judy & Len Garrison Judy is the editor of Georgia Connector Magazine and Peach State Publications as well as a freelance writer/photographer/traveler for national/international publications including Deep South Magazine, Interval Magazine, Simply Buckhead, US Airways Magazine, Southern Hospitality Traveler and has a bi-monthly blog in Blue Ridge Country’s online edition. She and Len own Seeing Southern,L.L.C., a documentary photography company.

Margie Goldsmith Margie Goldsmith is a NYC-based author, writer and photographer who has explored 140 countries on seven continents. She has won 85 awards including the prestigious Lowell Thomas Travel Journalism Gold Award. She has written over 1,000 articles for Robb Report, Travel + Leisure, Business Jet Traveler, American Way, Hemispheres, Wall Street Journal, Globe and Mail.

Brian Clark Brian Clark is a Madison, Wisconsin-based writer and photographer who likes to ski, kayak, scuba dive, bicycle and sail as often he can. A former staff writer for The San Diego Union-Tribune, he now contributes to a number of publications.

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DISCOVERI

ARGENT STORY & PHOTOGRAPHY BY RON JAMES

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NTINA WINEDINEANDTRAVEL.COM

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I

must admit that I didn’t know much about Argentina before our recent month-long adventure that took us from top to bottom of this giant country. All I really knew was that there were gauchos, lots of cows, tango dancers, Malbec wines, and the setting for Evita’s plea, “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina.”

After four weeks of exploration with my wife Mary, we discovered a fascinating and complex country rich with history, culture, incredible natural beauty, and some pretty fine wines and beef.Before we recap our journey, a bit of history and geography is critical to understanding Argentina and its people.

Argentina is big – the eighth largest country in the world and the second largest in South America

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after neighboring Brazil. It’s bordered by the Andes in the west and South Atlantic Ocean on the east and shares borders with Chile, Bolivia, Paraguay, Brazil, and Uruguay. On our travels by land and sea, we thrilled to its landscapes and climates which varied dramatically from north to south.

Our journey took us from Patagonia with its the snow-covered Andes and glacial lakes to Pampas grasslands where gauchos and cattle roam to the hot, humid rainforests crowned by Iguazu Falls. We drank wonderful wine in the world’s highest vineyards in Cafayate and were awe-struck by the natural beauty of stunning carved mountains, cliffs and rocks of the Quebrada De Las Conchas Gorge.

With such varied geography, it’s not surprising that

Argentina boasts one of the world’s most diverse ecosystems, with 15 continental zones, three oceanic zones, and the Antarctic region. The biological diversity is amazing. We saw everything from tropical birds and alligators to penguins, whales and wild alpacas.

Not only are plants, animals, and environments unique to Argentina’s geographic regions, Argentinians themselves differ from one area to the other.

Much like the United States, people have regional dialects, customs and lifestyles influenced by where they immigrated from and where they settled.

Much like the United States, Argentina is an immigrant melting pot; 97% of the 44 million citizens originated from Europe, including Italy, Ireland, England, Germany, France, and Spain.

One of the many murals that cover the sides of buildings throughout Buenos Aires.

Argentina’s flag is comprised of three main colors. Two blue stripes surround a white stripe of color. In the middle of the white stripe, there is a yellow sun. The sun is also found on Argentina’s coat of arms.

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Immigrant groups each adopted different roles in their new homeland bringing their skills and expertise to Argentina. For instance, the Germans and Italians established vast farmlands, the Basque and Irish dominated cattle and sheep ranches, and the British helped develop much of the country’s first infrastructure.

Although the primary language is Spanish, it is significantly mutated by the influence of its immigrants especially Italian. Residents of Buenos Aires speak

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a Spanish dialect infused with Lunfardo, a slang that mixes in Italian that grew out of the city’s working-class neighborhoods like Boca and San Telmo.

We found most people in the cities, especially in tourist industries, spoke English, although we were surprised how few young people understood or spoke it – even in the McDonalds in Buenos Aires. One language they all speak is Soccer, the national obsession.

Argentina certainly has had its share of greatness

and good fortune; but it has had some cringe-worthy moments as well, brought on by incompetent and sometimes cruel leadership. Throughout its history, the country has experienced a roller coaster of economic and political feast or famine. Its politics have whipsawed from dictatorships to enlighten democracy. There are a dark and light sides to every country’s history, and all of those potential tendencies seem to be alive and well here today. Tomorrow is still a question mark here -- but the passion, and the tango go on.

Argentina is a country of contrasts -- in politics and geography.

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History Highlights 1000 BC - Argentina is sparsely populated by various small tribes. This will continue until the Spainish arrive in the 1500s AD. 1438 - The rise of the Inca Empire in Peru which expands to inhabit a small portion of northwest of Argentina.

of the Triple Alliance against Paraguay.

1880 - Buenos Aires attempts to secede from the republic. Federal troops put down the rebellion and make it the Capitol of the country.

1929 - The Great Depression hits Argentina.

1943 - The military takes over the government.

1502 - Amerigo Vespucci arrives in South America.

1516 - Spanish explorer Juan Diaz de Solis. the first European to visit Argentina is killed by the indigenous tribe.

1536 - The first settlement in Argentina is established

by Pedro de Mendoza. The settlement would later become Buenos Aires.

1573 - Jeronimo Luis de Cabrera founds the city of Cordoba in central Argentina and becp,es part of the Spanish colony under the Viceroyalty of Peru.

1944 - Argentina joins the Allies and declares war on Japan and Germany.

1945 - Juan Peron and Eva Marie Duarte, also known as Evita, are married.

1946 - Juan Peron is elected president.

1952 - The "Spiritual Leader of the Nation." Evita dies later in the year from cancer.

1954 - Argentina's economy tanks with high inflation.

1776 - Argentina becomes part of a new Spanish colony called the Viceroyalty of the Rio de la Plata.

1955 - Juan Peron is ousted by the military and exiled to Spain.

1806 - The British invade Buenos Aires and are defeated by the local soldiers led by Santiago de Liniers.

1973 - Peron returns to Argentina and is elected president.

1810 - The Argentine War of Independence begins with the May Revolution Buenos Aires.

1974 - Juan Peron dies and his wife Isabel becomes president.

1812 - Jose de San Martin joins the Argentine army in the fight for independence.

1976 - The military takes over and The Dirty War begins where any suspected opponents to the government are jailed, killed or disappear.

1816 - Argentina declares its independence from Spain.

1825 - The United Kingdom officially recognizes Argentina as an independent country through the Treaty of Friendship, Commerce, and Navigation.

1853 - Argentina becomes a republic.

1864 - Argentina joins Brazil and Uruguay in the War

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1982 - Argentina invades the British Falkland Islands.

British armed forces take back the islands with hundreds dead on both sides.

1983 - Civilian rule returns to the country.

2013 - Pope Francis is named the first pope from the Americas.

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THE ADVENTURE BEGINS

O

ur journey to Argentina began at 3:30 a.m. as we crawled out of bed for our 6:15 flight to Miami. It would be the first of several early mornings for us in the coming month. I swear that I won’t take early morning flights every time I suffer the combined effects of fatigue from lack of a good night’s sleep and the bruising damage to my body clock caused by crossing too many time zones.

To mitigate the negative consequences of long distance travel, we smartly decided to spend the night

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in Miami, before boarding an Argentina Aerolineas flight direct to Buenos Aires the next morning. It all worked out fine except we again had to get up at 5 a.m. for our 8 a.m. flight. And 5 a.m. in Miami is 2 a.m. in San Diego. Except for zombie walking into the Miami airport, our plan was working out reasonably well, until we saw the line to check into the flight. It ran back and forth across the building like a giant snake with baggage carts for scales.

Each cart was loaded with up to six giant suitcases

and a few toddlers to boot. We realized that it was just a month from Christmas and Argentinians were taking home the latest and greatest from the Miami malls and big-box stores. We had two concerns - would we make our plane since we were at the end of the line, and, even more worrisome, how would our plane lift off with a zillion pounds of holiday gifts in its hold?

Thankfully our concerns were for naught, and we had an enjoyable flight to Buenos Aires.

We noticed extra-tight security at both Miami and

Buenos Aires airports that morning. As we walked toward baggage claim, we found out why thanks to a large sign welcoming delegates and staff to the G20 Summit. I snapped an amusing photo of Mary posing as a delegate in front of the banner and thought -- world leaders including our President would be in Buenos Aires at the same time as we would. A dark cloud passed over my sleep-deprived brain, but I shrugged it off. The G20 shouldn’t affect our travels, I thought. Wrong.

Right to left: Passengers in long long lines wait to check-in. Many paying a high price for overshopping. A bird’s eye view of the farmlands outside of Buenos Aires. And for good or bad we shared Buenos Aires with the G20.

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We had decided to use ridesharing for most local transportation on the trip. Marcela, our Airbnb host, suggested Cabify instead of Uber because Uber drivers had been harassed by police and unionized taxi drivers at the airport. We had downloaded the app and made the call for a pickup, which proved to be a hair-pulling exercise, because of the chaos in the airport pickup area. Plus our driver certainly wouldn’t want to stop for us in the tax- loading zone. We finally found a space and soon saw our car and driver much to our relief.

We didn’t use public transport on this trip after considerable past experiences getting lost and confused with other transit around the world. Unless we planned to stay for extended periods, we’ve found

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it more practical and less stressful to take a cab or rideshare than try to decipher bus schedules. Cabify was an excellent service, and we used them dozens of times in Buenos Aires. Our most expensive trip came to about $14, and that was an hour trip from the airport to our apartment in the community of Recoleta.

Most fares were between $3 and $5.

We had a couple unfortunate experiences with the local taxi companies, including one from San Telmo where the driver found a scenic route to our apartment. Why is it that travelers can always count on taxi drivers around the world trying to rip off passengers.

No wonder ridesharing has become so popular.

If we had more time, we would have tried the Buenos Aires subway system built in 1913. The Underground

is the oldest subway system in Latin America. Most of the many stations display artwork, including stained glass murals, sculptures, vintage advertisements, and musical performances. For the subway’s 100th anniversary, riders were treated to a full symphony orchestra underground. During our stay, unfortunately, many subway lines - as well as streets - were closed for G20 security.

One other great things for today’s travelers is accommodations sharing via Airbnb. Considered the most upscale neighborhood in Buenos Aires, Recoleta is a prime place to stay. We decided the best way to know the area was to live like locals and rent an apartment there for a week.

We booked a lovely apartment centrally located

within walking distance of parks, museums, restaurants, shopping centers and signigicant historical destinations including the famous Recoleta Cemetery.

And we were most fortunate that our charming Airbnb host, Marcella, went above and beyond to make our stay a great one, especially keeping us informed about everything from weather forecasts to G20-related impacts on the city and our itinerary.

There are parks and monuments everywhere in Buenos Aires. We happened to be there when the beautiful Jacaranda trees that line the major streets were in bloom.

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BUENOS AIRES After spending over two weeks in Buenos Aires, we began to get a handle on the complexity and energy of the city – although we know we only scratched the surface. It’s a place filled with energy and creativity, a complex society of dark and light. The tango was birthed in the brothels as the elite built a world-class opera and theater. Peso devaluation continually haunts the entire country, especially the marginalized working

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class trying to afford food on their plates. Everyone still suffers from the sins of former corrupt and inept leaders.

Founded by Spain in 1536, Buenos Aires is a metropolis of contrasts. Countless restaurants, bars, and cafes begin to overflow late in the night. Music, art, and dance go on and on and, regardless of their circumstance, Portenos, as they call themselves, celebrate life

People living in Buenos Aires are known as porteños, a name that commonly refers to anyone from a port city, and reflect the immigrant roots of the city's citizens.

-- quaffing designer cocktails and excellent Malbecs from Mendoza while feasting on tender cuts of beef fresh from the Pampas. The rich are moving into deluxe modern high-rises sprouting in exclusive marina neighborhoods a stone’s throw away from a ghetto with walls covered with street art. It is the “Paris of Latin America,” but we think it’s much more exotic and intriguing than the capital of France.

A colorful cafe in La Boca offering live Tango shows while tourist enjoy lunch.

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We always fit in guided tours wherever we go to get the most out of our travels. Knowing that jetlag would take its toll on us the first day in the city, we decided to take the Buenos Aires Tourist Bus for an overview. It was a long walk from our apartment to the bus stop, but along the way, we passed some major attractions around Recoleta, including the National Library Buenos Aires located in an upscale, quiet neighborhood about four blocks away.

We turned the corner into a landscaped plaza and were dumbfounded by a massive cantilevered concrete structure. It reminded us of the upside down iconic pyramid-shaped Geisel Library at the University of California San Diego. We didn’t realize it at the time, but the plaza and the library were important sites in Argentina’s history.

The library sits on the site of the former Unzue

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Palace, home to Juan and Eva Peron. It was also the place of Eva’s death and the beginning of her post-life travels (more on this macabre journey ahead). The palace was razed in 1958 making way for a new library building fittingly described as a style of architecture called Brutalism. The library offers free guided tours every Wednesday at 3 p.m.

Directly behind the library, we entered a series of large parks full of statues, monuments, museums and art galleries, some of the most important art spaces and historical sites of the city. Unfortunately, the museums were closed due to G20. Our tour bus stop was on the main street next to the imposing neoclassical building that serves as the law school for Buenos Aires University.

Next to it is Plaza de las Naciones Unidas or the United Nations Park whose centerpiece is Floralis

The Argentina National library and the UCSD library in San Diego, CA. The art gallery was closed during G20.

Parklands sprout monuments and sculptures everywhere including the 60-foot mammoth silver poppy. .

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After nearly 100 years and a tumultuous political era that included the military dictatorship known as the “Dirty War” that lasted from 1976 to 1983, Buenos Aires was granted its independence by the Argentine government in 1994. That year, for the first time, porteños were able to elect their own mayor

Generica, a giant aluminum flower that “bloom” during the day and closes at night just like many real flowers.

We took a few photos of Mary who was dwarfed by the 60-foot tall gleaming silver poppy.

While waiting at the bus stop, I used an app to order tickets online, because we didn’t have any pesos and they don’t take dollars or credit cards. I suggest that you do this well in advance; I barely completed the transaction when the big double-decker bus came into view.

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We climbed to the top deck for the best view and plugged in a set of earplugs given to us as we boarded to hear the audio connection to the narration offered in several languages. If you don’t like wind, sit up toward the front where windows give some protection or return to the bottom deck. The sun can be intense during summer when we visited, so make sure to have a hat and sunscreen.

The bus route starts in the heart of downtown Buenos

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Aires, a few yards from the Plaza de Mayo but you can get on at any stop. Uses run every 20 to 30 minutes, depending on the route, and the tour around the city takes 3 hours 20 minutes. Traffic was heavy, and we spent over three hours on just one route and didn’t get off the bus. I suggest dedicating at least two days to this bus tour, which was well worth our time and money. We saw almost every significant community in the city and drew on our impressions to decide on return visits. Here’s just a few of favorite sites and neighborhoods in Buenos Aires.

The doubled decker tour bus give visitors a good overview and feeling for the city.

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CAFE TORTONI If there’s a must visit eatery in Buenos Aires it is The Cafe Tortoni – known as the “porteño café.” The institution was founded by a French immigrant in 1858 who modeled it after a café in France where the elites of Parisian culture met. It soon became the hangout for painters, writers, journalists and musicians who formed the Agrupación de Gente de Artes y Letras (Arts and Letters Association) and met in the café ’s basement. Today the restaurant seems frozen in time, a notion reinforced by a quick look at the many historical photos that decorated the spacious, elegant dining room.

We entered with a tour group, bypassing the

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perennial line outside the café. (Don’t be daunted by the line if you’re not with a group; it moves quickly.)

The food is almost as impressive as the café itself.

They serve a full menu which of course includes hunks of beef, but most customers we saw were enjoying coffees and homemade pastries. Churros and hot chocolate are one of their signature desserts, served by waiters wearing the same uniforms seen in photos take more than a century ago.

Our only disappointment was that we didn’t have time to attend one of their famous late-night tango shows presented nightly the cafe’s intimate cabaret theater.

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CASA ROSADA

Casa Rosada or the pink house as the locals call it sits in the heart of Buenos Aires anchoring the Plaza de Mayo. The grand building is the seat of the Argentine national government and houses the president’s office. It was constructed in the mid-1800s n the site of a fort established by the Spanish in 1580 and used by the Spanish colonial viceroys. The central archway was designed by Italian architect Francisco Tamburini, who was the first of the three architects of the fabled Colon Theatre.

It’s most notable as the place where Juan and

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Eva perón addressed the masses from the balcony during the late 1940s and early 1950s. As we saw on our bus tour, the famous terrace is located in the rear of the building. If you saw the movie, “Evita,” you watched Madonna sing “Don’t Cry for me Argentina” from that high spot.

There are two stories about why the building is painted pink. One was that it was a blend of red and white, the colors of the two political parties in the late 19th century. The other more interesting theory is that the pink comes from the addition of cow’s

blood, which was a reasonably common at the time --because it was thought that blood protected against heat and humidity.

The Casa and The Casa Rosada Museum were closed to the public where we were there because of G20, but there are free guided tours in English available on Saturdays, Sundays and public holidays at 2.30 p.m. You need to reserve a place through the website: http://visitas.casarosada.gob.ar/. The free museum is open Wednesday - Sunday, and on public holidays, 10 a.m. - 6 p.m.

The Casa Rosada where Eva Peron gave her speeches out of the balcony shown on top.

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THE METROPOLITAN CATHEDRAL

About a hundred yards down the Plaza de Mayo, is the Catholic Church’s main site in Argentina, the Metropolitan Cathedral. It is especially popular with tourists now because this is where Pope Francis, as Archbishop Jorge Bergoglio, performed mass before becoming the Pope in 2013. There’s a Pope Francis Museum in the church complex that exhibits his personal and liturgical objects. It was amazing how many locals say that they saw the Archbishop on the streets of Buenos Aires. Did

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you know that before the Pope entered the seminary, he was a bouncer at a nightclub in Buenos Aires?

The city’s founder Juan de Garay directed that the first place of worship be built on this site in 1593. It has been redesigned or rebuilt seven times ending in the mid-nineteenth century. Today the cathedral looks more like a Greek temple than a Catholic church with 12 neoclassical columns at the front represent the twelve apostles of Christ.

One of the highlights of the cathedral is the mausoleum of San Martín and the Unknown Soldier.

The sarcophagus is decorated with three female figures representing countries liberated by General San Martín - Argentina, Chile, and Peru. Argentine soldiers continually stand guard at the tomb.

Pope Francis’s former Cathedral, Metropolitan Cathedral, where he performed mass.

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BUENOS AIRES NEIGHBORHOODS

We found striking similarities between my hometown of San Diego and Buenos Aires. San Diego is a city of neighborhoods, each with its own character, some more interesting for visitors than others. Buenos Aires is made up of 48 barrios that range from free-spirited La Boca to Puerto Madero, the sparkling new port community of architectural high-rise wonders built for the rich.

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The communities run from grand to sketchy. For the most part, it is very safe to walk the streets of almost any neighborhood during the day and early evening, although there are areas where walking alone at night is not recommended. Be a smart traveler and stick to main attractions where the chances of getting in trouble are slim.

It would take months, even years, to explore and

understand Buenos Aires. But, three barrios stood out to us, ones that every visitor should put on their must-visit list -- Recoleta with its grand European architecture and famous cemetery, San Telmo with its faded bohemian charm and La Boca with its colorful, ramshackle buildings alive with music, tango dancers and soccer fanatics.

The extremes of Buenos Aires architecture, illustrated by the French Embassy near Recoleta and a La Boca soccer gift shop.

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By far the most colorful community in Buenos Aires, La Boca also was the most tourist-oriented barrio we visited, at first blush a Disneylandish version of itself with a host of gift shops, restaurants, and tango performers. But just off the dozen or so blocks of the touristic epicenter, past the yellow and blue La Bombonera soccer stadium, are rough neighborhoods that are no-go zones for visitors, especially after dark. In this place one has to be careful of the colors you wear; here blue and gold identity fans of the hometown’s Boca Juniors soccer team, intense rivals with the city’s other team, River, whose colors are red, white and black.

LA BOCA

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“It's a vibrant but rough place, hit especially hard by the financial crisis that has stripped more than half the value from the peso, destroying life savings overnight. The interest rate is around 70 percent. It's been a brutal 18 months in Argentina so when its two biggest clubs both reached the cup final, the country rejoiced at this tiny yet beautiful thing. “ ~ Wright Thompson

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La Boca was once home to the several generations of Italians who changed the culture of this city while working in the dockyards. The early immigrants, many originating from the Italian city of Genoa, scrounged the shipyards anything they could find to build their homes, including the leftover paint of many bright colors. Their brightly painted zinc homes are now a signature of this working-class neighborhood

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that attracts millions of tourists annually.

We walked these eye-popping streets with Jorge Jordana from Buenos Aires Food Tours on his culinary and historical tour of La Boca. From our meeting point near the stadium, we strolled to a well-worn dining spot that served traditional aperitifs, washed down with some excellent Argentine rose wine.

After a memorable lunch in the courtyard at El

Gran Paraiso restaurant located off one the main streets we strolled down the El Caminito, meaning ‘little walkway,’ a living street museum. The narrow road was alive with color, music from buskers, tango dancers, and entrepreneurs selling art, local crafts, and trinkets of every variety. One small booth loaded with colorful, distinctive paintings caught our eye, and we ended up buying a very affordable original that

would soon hang in our San Diego home.

After a quick stop for coffee and the city’s favorite sweet, delectable dulce de leche-filled alfajores, we bid our tour guide goodbye, found a cab and returned to the relatively monochrome community of Recoleta.

La Boca was fun, and we vowed to return, which we did a few days later to enjoy another wonderful, grilled beef-filled meal at El Paraiso.

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SAN TELMO

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San Telmo is one of the oldest barrios in Buenos Aires. Although it was first a place for the working class, it began to attract upper-class Argentines who gentrified the area with cobblestone streets and fancy townhouses. In 1871 many chose to leave for higher ground because of a nasty yellow fever epidemic.

The vacuum was filled with a broad mix of European immigrants making it a diverse and somewhat bohemian community and tango central in the city. Today, San Telmo is a dynamic hub of multicultural charm -- bustling with unique artisan and antique shops, classic watering holes and performing artists.

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We decided to visit the barrio because of the San Telmo Market, not to be confused with the San Telmo Sunday Fair, which confuses almost everyone but locals. Our Cabify driver dropped us off in front of Starbucks on Plaza Dorrego, the heart of the neighborhood bordered by boutique hotels, ice cream parlors, and ancient looking cafes and bars. Even though it wasn’t Sunday, dozens of vendor booths were set up in the middle of the plaza and waiters were busy setting up outdoor cafe seating for restaurants hugging the central square.

It was late morning around 10:30 a.m. and there weren’t too many tourists - or locals - roaming around – Buenos Aires sleeps in, and parties late well past the midnight hour. We decided to check out the San Telmo Market while the plaza got up to speed. We strolled down Calle Defensa passing mom and pop eateries and several antique stores displaying beautiful European Antique furniture, lighting and art. We had heard that the antique trade here began and was sustained during the many Argentine inflationary economic crises when even the well to do had to sell off family heirlooms to put food on the table.

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The San Telmo Market or Mercado de San Telmo was once the heart of the community when it was a fashionable place for the elite to meet. It was built in 1897, to serve as a fruit and vegetable marketplace for this side of the city. Although it’s a bit on its heels, you can still see the beautiful wrought iron and glass atrium inside. Today it’s still a vital community marketplace with fruits, vegetables, and meat products, but it also

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houses dozens of food stalls, and small antiques, and second-hand shops. It’s not nearly as busy these days during the week but gets more active on Sundays when street fair shoppers wander in.

San Telmo is a must visit regardless of the day of the week, but on Sunday, the San Telmo Fair or The Feria de San Telmo is one of the most popular weekly events in Buenos Aires. The neighborhood bustles with

residents and tourists who crowd the cobblestone streets to wander past countless tented booths featuring antiques, trinkets, art, and tasty snacks. There’s something for everyone here, from expensive ancient gaucho bolos and belts to very nice inexpensive handmade scarves and jewelry. We bought a beautiful pair of earrings and a scarf, each less than $15. Most vendors take American dollars, and some will even

accept credit cards.

There are some excellent street musicians scattered around the Plaza Dorrego, but stars of the fair are tango dancers. Tango came out of the neighborhood brothels of Buenos Aires where it dramatized the relationship between a prostitute and pimp. It was considered offensive to the Argentine elite until a sanitized version became a smash hit Europe. And for

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the rich in Argentina, if it was OK in Europe, it must be good, and tango was adopted as the country’s national dance.

The tango dances on the plaza are free, but tips are encouraged at the end of each performance. It’s an excellent place for a photo opportunity because you can get up close and personal with the dancers.

All of that walking builds up a big thirst, and the premium places to grab a cold beer are at the sidewalk cafes where you can watch the world go by. If all the outdoor seating is taken, you can usually find a spot inside one of the classic bars, like the popular Bar Plaza Dorrego, where we shelled peanuts while quaffing icy beers, a perfect way to wind down a day of exploring and shopping. With our thirsts slacked, our new purchases in hand and a camera full of exciting photos we bid farewell to this magical barrios. San Telmo, we decided, is the neighborhood we will stay in the next time we visit Buenos Aires.

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RECOLETA We’ve found that “Free Walking Tours,” now offered in many major destinations, are an excellent way to go. The guides are paid with tips, and they go above and beyond to make sure clients are informed and entertained. The better customers feel about the tour, the bigger the tip. So everybody wins.

Our tour began on the entrance of the Colón Theatre, considered one of the five best opera houses

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in the world and renowned for its acoustics and architecture. Construction of the opulent French-style building turned out to be quite a soap opera. It took nearly 20 years to complete, delayed by financing, disagreements over the location, and the untimely deaths of two of its architects – with one of them murdered by his wife’s lover.

High windows in a Buenos Aires flat look out across the silver river to Uruguay. Friends gather for a meal, chat, camaraderie; words flick and toss like sparrows, fling, peck, flock together.

They talk till late— new books, trips abroad, Latinity, maturity... Ideas accumulate.

The sparrow words take wing, fly about, alight.

Far below the river gleams in the pale city night.

All rivers are silver, all rivers gleam, but the Rio de la Plata is silver twice, named for a dream. ~ Margaret Wilmot

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Opened in 1908, the theater has featured some of the most important conductors, singers, and dancers of the 20th century, including Igor Stravinsky, Daniel Barenboim, Maria Callas, Luciano Pavarotti, Plácido Domingo, and Rudolf Nureyev. Pavarotti’s only complaint was that the acoustics were too good, making it possible for audiences to hear even minor flaws in his performance.

Even if you’re not an Opera fan, a tour in the opera house is worthwhile. Backstage tours are offered daily with fascinating tidbits on the building’s design, what life is like backstage and why one Argentine president once booked every seat in the house. Unfortunately, there were no tours the entire time we were in town because it was used as a venue for the G20 summit.

On the steps of the opera house, our guide gave us an overview of the neighborhood of Recoleta. It became the place to be for the rich during the latter part of the 19th century when an outbreak of yellow fever in 1871 in the city’s southern section forced residents to find a safer place to live. Wealthy residents headed to higher terrain where the virus was far less prevalent because there were far fewer insects.

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The movers and shakers liked their new digs and soon transformed the modest isolated residential barrio into a showplace for grand stately homes that we saw on our tour. Along with the palatial mansions and magnificent churches that line the streets, we found on opulent Avenida Alvear high-end shopping, chic cafes, and trendy restaurants, many with outdoor seating. But we didn’t have to spend a fortune to grab a quick bite, The area has many little fast food joints that sold everything from the empanadas to pizza. Our tour group had a pit stop at a busy empanada emporium where we sample the savory meat-filled pastries.

Every couple of blocks we would stop and gather for a mini-seminar under the shade trees of Recoleta’s many parks and green spaces. One of them, Plaza Francia is a popular destination for the Saturday and Sunday artisan market, Feria de Artesanos de Plaza Francia or the Hippy Fair, as it’s commonly known. In one smallish park, we found the Falkland Islands War Memorial with a list of the over 600 soldiers and sailors killed in that political and needless invasion meant to prop up Argentina’s military government.

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RECOLETA CEMETERY

& the very creepy 20-year journey of Eva Peron’s body The last stop on our walking tour was Recoleta Cemetery, located only a couple of blocks from our apartment. This surreal city of the dead was Buenos Aires first official public burial place in 1822. It’s like a creepy subdivision with well over 6,000 graves housed in elaborately decorated stone mini-temples and Baroque cathedrals. It’s the final home for Argentina’s most famous citizens, including Eva Peron. Oddly enough, and we found this at most tourist attractions, there were no printed guides or guided tours in English.

I think the powers that be in Argentina are still smarting over the Falkland Islands debacle.

In front of her crypt, our guide took on a “Twilight Zone” Rod Serling-like persona to tell our group about the bizarre travels of Eva Peron’s body – a story that remained a mystery for almost 20 years.

Eva Peron, born as Eva María Duarte and married to Juan Domingo Perón was idolized by many who called her Evita. As the first lady of Argentina during Peron’s presidency, she was a symbol of hope who championed the rights of the las descamisados, “the shirtless ones” as the working and poor classes were known.

For others who favored the military coup that toppled her husband, she was despised. Argentina under Juan Peron was not by any means a democratic nation. Significantly influenced by Hitler and other dictators, he dissolved opposition parties and silenced the press.

In 1952, at age 33, Eva Peron succumbed to cervical cancer. When her death appeared imminent, Juan Peron summoned Spanish pathologist Pedro Ara, a young doctor famous for his impeccable embalming,

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to begin work on the first lady’s corpse right after her public viewing, that was shortened to avoid damage from emotional crowds. An estimated 3 million people filled the streets of Buenos Aires for her funeral.

Afterward, a military convoy delivered her to Dr. Ara who began pumping the corpse full of his “secret” embalming fluid, a procedure he continued daily for the next year costing nearly $100,000. Finally preserved to perfection, she was stored in her office

for almost two years, awaiting the construction of a grand monument to her memory.

Plans changed when Peron was overthrown in 1955 and exiled to Spain. During the coup, Eva’s body was stolen by the new military government fearful that the Peronistas would use it a rallying point for opposition parties. The revolutionaries attempted to destroy all signs of Eva and Juan Peron, including her incompleted burial monument.

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In November 1955, Colonel Carlos Eugenio de Moori Koenig was tasked with protecting and hiding Evita’s corpse from the revolutionaries. The story goes that he kept her body as a trophy to impress his friends.

More disturbing than his ostentatious display were the sexual acts Moori Koenig supposedly engaged with Eva’s corpse. When rumors about his perversion reached high ranking officers, they took Eva’s body away from the Colonel. With the help of the Vatican, Eva Peron, under a false name Maria Maggi de Magistris, an Italian widow, was buried standing up in a cemetery in Milan, Italy.

And there she would have rested, but for another military coup in 1971. Argentina’s new president, General Alejandro Lanusse, reinstated Peron’s citizenship and agreed to return the body to Peron’s home

Eva Peron’s last resting place.

Opposite: Eva and Juan Peron. .A scene from Pablo Aguero’s dreamy, semi-experimental film, Eva Doesn’t Sleep (Eva No Duerme).

Courtesy Toronto Film Festival

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in exile in Madrid. Eva was exhumed and flown to Spain, where she spent two years on display in Peron’s living room. The deposed dictator’s new wife, Maria Martinez, reportedly brushed Eva’s hair every day.

In 1973, Peron and his wife returned to Argentina sans Eva and where he was again elected President.

In less than a year he had a heart attack and died in office on July 1, 1974. Maria Martinez finally brought Eva’s remains back to Argentina. Perón and Eva were buried together at the presidential residence, Los Olivos. Her great shrine was never finished, and she was moved hopefully for the last time to Duarte family mausoleum in 1976 – just a few feet from where we stood, stunned by the tale we had just been told.

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SAN ANTONIO GAUCH DE ARECO

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HOS FOR A DAY

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Our trip to Argentina wouldn’t be complete without a visit to San Antonio de Areco in the heart of the Pampas and gaucho tradition. Gauchos are Latin American cowboys, cousins to our old west American cowboys celebrated in movies and on television. While the cultural popularity of American cowboys has faded, the gaucho still thrives as an emblem of Argentinian identity.

There are several tours available for single and multiday stays in San Antonio de Areco. We chose Areco Tradicion that specialized in small groups between two and seven and offered hotel pick up from Buenos Aires. Our day trip included a guided tour through the historical center of the town and Museum Ricardo Güiraldes, followed by lunch and an afternoon of gaucho activities at the picturesque Estancia El Ombu Our driver whisked us through the streets of Buenos Aires which were relatively empty because it was an early Sunday morning and the G20 Summit had led many city residents to leave town for the weekend.

The hour and a half, 70-mile ride gave us an excellent opportunity to see just how sprawling Buenos Aires, taking in an hour’s worth of suburbs before entering wide-open ranch and farmland.

We were a little disappointed as we entered San Antonio de Areco, known “the prettiest town on the Pampas.” What greeted us resembled the dusty, utilitarian farm towns of California’s central valley. But it didn’t take long for us to regain our enthusiasm when we entered the heart of the village around the large beautifully landscaped Plaza Ruiz de Arellano where we met our charming your guide Carola Vieytes.

Carola and her husband, who has a successful designer jean business, moved from Buenos Aires to raise their young family in a quiet, less stressful rural atmosphere. She told us she loves her new life and the people of the San Antonio de Areco have embraced her family. Carola was the perfect guide, a local who spoke excellent English and was both friendly and professional.

She led us around the plaza, bordered by well maintained and restored 18th- and 19th-century historic buildings, and crowned by a simple but imposing parish church. Its sanctuary was richly appointed

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with gilt, marble and finely crafted hardwood. There was and probably still is a lot of money flowing into the owners of land on the Pampas, and like their counterparts in the city, they built their church (and other colonial buildings on the plaza) to impress their peers - and God. We walked through the plaza, abuzz with workers planting and maintaining the garden. We paused at a modest stone monument dedicated to the first settlers, a mix of Spanish and native people, indicating at least at that moment, relations with the indigenous peoples were good.

The streets were relatively empty other than an occasional gaggle of tourists following a guide, and the stray dogs who looked well fed and taken care of.

Our guide mentioned that the townspeople knew each homeless dog by name and made sure they were well fed and provided for including veterinary care when needed.

Our stroll passed some local bars or pulperias, each with sidewalk seating made up of an odd mix of well-used tables and chairs. We browsed several shops that preserved many gaucho traditions with collections of silverwork and saddlery and others where metalsmith artisans were crafting commissions from all over the world. Our favorite stop was the Draghi goldsmith workshop of creative, stylish jewelry. These are great places to acquire authentic antique souvenirs and handicrafts, although neither comes cheap.

Special shops showcase classic Gaucho gear and talented silversmiths create modern Pampas masterpieces.

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Back in the car, we made a quick trip to the outskirts of the village and Criollo Park & Ricardo GĂźiraldes Museum. The 222-acre park is an Argentinian treasure, named a National Historical Monument in 1999. Every year the park is the setting for the Festival of Tradition, the oldest gaucho festival in Argentina where thousands enjoy traditional music, dance and equestrian contests and performances by modern-day gauchos.

Our first stop was the 200-year-old white-washed Blanqueada. The adobe brick building with an old pulperia (grocery shop and bar) and a little chapel stands at the entrance of the park, next to the famous Camino Real or Royal Road that connected Spanish viceroyalties to the north with Buenos Aires.

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Gaucho Museum

We bellied up to the bar, complete with antique glassware and bottles offered by a stuffed dummy bartender. The walls were covered with photos and mementos of gaucho days gone by. One unusual artifact was a pair of work boots shaped from the hide of steer legs that we found out later is still worn by modern-day gauchos.

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Across a broad field studded with ancient trees, we reached a Spanish style building, complete with watchtower that house the museum is named after Argentina’s great novelist and poet, Ricardo Güiraldes. His most well-known work, “Don Segundo Sombra,” was fashioned after a real-life character who worked on his family’s ranch, La Porteña, and

captured the realities - and romance - of gaucho life.

The museum is small, but the displays are very professional, telling the story of gauchos traditions and Güiraldes life. The exhibits include his works, manuscripts, and furniture, as well as a significant collection of art and historical artifacts. The exhibit

signs are mostly in Spanish, so we welcomed our guide’s translations and shared feelings and experiences relating to the gaucho lore that is a big part of her country’s identity. Immersed in Pampas’ history and culture, we motored 15 miles down a mostly dirt road to Estancia Ombu de Areco where gauchos still rule.

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Here our private tour met up with an amiable group scattered across the green park-like grounds enjoying wine and beer on what was becoming a steamy afternoon.

Carola led us to a shaded picnic table, where we shared my kind of snack - cold beer and fried empanadas. A few minutes later she pulled out her thermos and mate bowl and asked us if we would join her in a glass of the country’s traditional herbal drink.

We couldn’t really refuse, and she walked us through the ritual of its preparation, and although it wasn’t nearly as satisfying to me as the beer, it wasn’t an unpleasant experience Now it was time to go gaucho for real with a horseback ride. It had been decades since I’d been on a horse, but I had ridden lots of camels and even elephants in recent years, so a horse couldn’t be that hard. What I didn’t count on was that Argentinian saddles were much different than the ones I knew - no horn or leather saddle, just a seat made with thick blankets with stirrups.

Because I’m a reasonably big guy, I was given an enormous horse. No way could I mount this beast without a saddle horn. That little problem was solved when they brought over a rickety three-step ladder.

Other than that small issue our ride around the pampas - Mary took the carriage option - were great fun. I admit I was relieved when we returned to the stable and I gracelessly dismounted, but, I suspect, not nearly as relieved as my horse.

After a satisfying Argentine lunch - tender grilled beef and sausages, salads and ice cream - all served with bottomless glasses of Malbec, we joined other sated guests under the trees on the green to watch amazing demonstrations of gaucho skills. After the talented horse whisperer gaucho performed with his trusting horse, we were encouraged to participate in traditional dances and music. I figured I had used all my luck riding a horse that day, so I passed on the lively entertainment. Our day ended with the sound of Argentine folk music ringing in our ears, and, thanks to the ample wine and food. We had a nice nap on our ride back to Buenos Aires.

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Salta & Cafayate

After a week in Buenos Aires, we embarked on our first planned excursion to other parts of the country with a visit to the colonial town of Salta set high in the foothills of the Andes mountains. It’s certainly possible to drive to Salta, but time limitations made flying our best bet. So early one morning we said farewell to our apartment in Recoleta a and headed

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to Aeroparque Jorge Newbery, a modern regional airport for domestic and some regional flights located just a few miles away on the banks of the Plata River.

The just over two-hour flight on Aerolineas Argentinas to Salta’s Martín Miguel de Güemes Airport was uneventful and pleasant. We soon entered the beauti-

ful colonial heart of the city and found our hotel, La Candela. We could see why the city is known as Salta la Linda (“Salta the beautiful�), and why it has become a significant tourist destination known for its colonial architecture, affordable accommodations, and great food and wine.

Our hotel, a former neo-colonial mansion deco-

rated with local art and antiques, exceed even its rave reviews on TripAdvisor. Our room was large, furnished with custom colonial wooden furniture, and French windows that faced the street. During our stay, we enjoyed an excellent continental breakfast buffet in a large dining room next to the lush garden and swimming pool.

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English speaking staff was always helpful with directions and other arrangements. So after settling in, we headed out for lunch to a restaurant the friendly desk clerk recommended. What we didn’t know was that El Charrua Restaurante Parrilla is world famous for their great regional dishes which, of course, feature wood-fired meats. We found a table in the two-story stylishly casual dining room that was quickly filling with happy diners, many family groups that seemed to be celebrating special occasions or just enjoying a relaxing Sunday brunch.

The menu offered an assortment of beef cuts, but

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we found out that the place is known for dishes made with llama meat including thinly sliced carpaccio, grilled cuts, and even stroganoff. We were grill-meated out from our food adventures in Buenos Aires, so we opted for chicken and fish dishes which, while tasty, didn’t seem to measure up to the stacks of meat being served to diners all around us. We enjoyed a bottle of crisp locally produced Torrontes white wine with our meal. The restaurant is also famous for its frosty white drink concoction served all diners at the end of the meal at no charge. It was delicious, but we still don’t know precisely what we gulped down.

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After lunch we made our way to the heart of the city, the lushly planted Plaza 9 de Julio framed by impressive buildings of religious, cultural and historical importance, especially the impressive 18th-century Cabildo, a neoclassical colonial-style cathedral. The plaza was filled with families, many with dogs who loved to chase the flocks of pigeons who seemingly owned the square.

At the center of the plaza stood the majestic monument to General Belgrano’s most famous victory in the battle for Northern Independence. Outdoor cafes and souvenir and wine shops lined the square. Because it was still early, most of the tables were empty. They would begin to fill around 9 p.m. when the city comes alive -- as it does in the rest of the country.

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Salta is a great place to shop for souvenirs, from official price controlled local leather goods and handicrafts at the Mercado Artesanal, housed in a beautifully restored millhouse, to factory-produced gaucho memorabilia and wall hangings in dozens of shops near the plaza. After walking around the square a couple times, we headed back to our hotel to rest up for our early pickup for a tour to the highest altitude winecountry in the world, Cafayate.

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This part of northwest Argentina is famous for amazing landscapes and unique Malbec and Torrontes wines, which we were rapidly growing to like. The tour company van was right on time, and after a few stops at other hotels, we all set off out of Salta along Route 68.

Within a few minutes, we were in farmland blanketed with vast fields of tobacco. Every 10 minutes or so we passed through small dusty farm towns, but soon we were winding our way through the wild landscapes of

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the Lerma Valley, along the Río de las Conchas, and into the heart of Quebrada de las Conchas canyon.

We were stunned by the stark, colorful beauty of the gorge that rivaled some of America’s great national parks - Zion, Bryce, and even the Grand Canyon. At photo stops, we worked to capture the imposing Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat) and the aptly nicknamed Anfiteatro (Amphitheater). At Devil’s Throat, we experienced its fantastic natural acoustics as a talented guitar player led visitors in nationally known

anthems. Throughout the trip, our guide enlightened us about the region’s unique geology, sculpted over millions of years.

Just when we thought the vistas couldn’t get any more dramatic, another would pop into view just over the horizon. The rusty red layered rock formations contrasted with lime green vegetation in the valley floor. We stared in awe at Los Castillos (The Castles), where the striking red rocks echoed castle walls and turrets, and the Titanic, a rock formation that very much

Quebrada de las Conchas canyon shows off amazing color and textures.

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Wine tasting at the oldest winery in Cafayate.

resembled a giant ocean liner sinking into the desert floor.

Eventually, the landscape began to flatten out into a kind of high desert that gave way into the vast vineyards Cafayate. All this sightseeing and summer heat made our first wine tasting stop a welcome one.

Vasija Secreta Winery, located at the entrance to the town of Cafayate, is the oldest winery in the valley, producing wine since 1857. It’s setting is stark, with whitewash low slung buildings nestled in vineyards seeming stretched to the far off mountain range. Inside the modest tasting room, we sampled a wide range of whites and reds including

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Torrontes, Tannat, Malbec and Cabernet Sauvignon.

While all were all tasty, the crisp Torrontes rose was just the ticket for these thirsty travelers on a warm day.

With wine glasses in hand, we move to the winery’s Petit Wine Museum made up of over 300 pieces of equipment and tools used to make wine in the valley in the last 150 years. Giant oak and carob fermentation barrels lined one wall. Our driver guide quizzed us about the small hole low on the side of each barrel. When no

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one guessed the correct answer, our guide managed a feat that would have impressed Houdini: Limb by limb he squeezed his body through the hole into the barrel and then out, with not much effort. In bygone days, he explained, children entered the empty barrels to clean them. The only problem was that the youngsters often passed out from inhaling alcohol fumes inside the tanks, so vineyard staff tied ropes around them so they could be pulled to safety.

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Feeling good after sampling, we checked into Hotel Portal del Santo, a family-run boutique gem with pool and gardens. The center of town was only about five blocks away via tree-lined streets lined with winery tasting rooms. (Many were closed for the day or didn’t open until late in the evening). The plaza was ringed with cafes, and we enjoyed a late lunch at one of them.

That evening, we were determined to find a tasting bar or restaurant that featured local wines. Fortune smiled on us when we found Chato’s Wine Bar, located a couple of blocks off the main square on the street with modest homes. The building is a new home, built by the owner whose name is Oscar, but everyone calls Chato. A super friendly and knowledgeable host, Chato, we discovered, is a full-time teacher during the day and restaurateur by night.

As usual, we were the only customers when we arrived at 7 p.m. when he opened. When we left over three hours later, the small place was full. Knowledgeable about the history of winemaking here, Chatto enthusiastically shared some favorite wines, explaining their origins and complexities in perfect English.

We shared a tasting flight of five local wines, along with an excellent cheese and cold cut platter. As a bonus, Chato served a pour of his own Malbec which was one of the best wines we tasted in Argentina.

It was also one of the most expensive wines we purchased on the trip. We savored it on our last night in Buenos Aires.

By the end of the evening, we were chatting with other customers about thier travel adventures. It was one of the most enjoyable evenings of the trip. With an early pickup scheduled the next morning, we bid Chato and our new friends goodbye. We didn’t have enough time to really experience Cafayate or Salta in depth, but we did sample enough to know these are places we would like to revisit.

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Iguazu Falls

A few months before our trip to Argentina, a friend mentioned Iguazu. “Go - it’s amazing,” he enthused.

I shrugged, explaining I had never heard of Wazoo except - well, nevermind. He pronounced Iguazu again, slowly, with a special emphasis on “ig” part. “It’s a gigantic waterfall - one of the wonders of the world,” he said. My curiosity was piqued. After a Google search,

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I was dumbstruck, wondering why I didn’t know about this mother of all waterfalls. We had to visit.

We flew from Salta back to Buenos Aires to catch a second flight headed for Iguazu. We were unable to book Aerolineas Argentinas and flew instead on another national carrier, Andes Aerolineas, something I wouldn’t do again. The boarding process was a mess,

and the air pressure in the plane kept fluctuating to extremes which played painful havoc with my eardrums. All set the tone for much of the rest of this travel day.

Don’t expect to use ridesharing in Iguazu; local cabs with fixed fares are the only game in town, although it won’t break the bank at about $20 to the hotel of your

choice. Our choice was a mistake called Iguazú Jungle Lodge that looked both exotic and comfortable in a leafy setting along the Iguazu River. The problem is this hotel has a habit of overbooking. We were bumped to a casino hotel, that looked like it belonged in Fresno, not the tropics. That hotel tried to foist off a room with a view of the roof covering entryway. Finally, after a

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good bit of whining, we moved into a spacious room with a beautiful view of the river.

Early the next morning, to take advantage of cool temperatures, we took a fixed price cab to the entrance of Iguazu National Park, a 25 minute trip from our hotel. Our hotel was in an excellent location to enjoy the town, but if you are visiting for just a couple of days, I’d suggest booking a hotel in the park. It may be a little more expensive, but after the cab rides back and forth to our hotel, it’s a wash.

Now the good news -- great news actually. The falls are friggin awesome -1.7 miles of shock and awe!

After buying our tickets, we entered the vast park area - actually two UNESCO World Heritage Sites: the Iguazú National Park in Argentina and the Iguaçu National Park in Brazil. At the time we were visiting, a Visa was required to enter Brazil and view the falls from that country. (Recently that visa requirement was lifted; check the U.S. State Department web site for up-to-date details.) We opted to stay in Argentina.

Large signs showed maps of where you were and needed to go. On the Argentine side, three significant trails take you to different levels of the falls, with each offering unique experiences and views. We took the middle and the top paths, both reached via a free open-air train. It was a fun, but slow ride. Visitors on foot often easily passed us.

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As you move around the park on well-maintained paths and bridges, you never know what kind of beasties you’re going to run into. Our first encounter was a three-foot iguana strolling casually by. Exotic birds including parrots and a colorful hornbill created a jungle cacophony of noises, a perfect soundtrack for this experience. Playful raccoon-like coatis scampered throughout the park but congregated in the snack bar

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area where they would snag food from unsuspecting diners. We even came across a ferocious looking crocodile discouraging anyone from cooling off with a dip upstream.

When we finally got our first glimpse of the falls, it sent a jolt of exhilaration through our bodies. The power and beauty of the falls created both a sense of insignificance and joy. And this first spectacle at the

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thundering Devil’s Throat is just one of 275 individual fall drops that have awed tourists, locals and indigenous inhabitants for centuries. From almost every vantage point we could see enthusiastic crowds in the distance on the Brazil side of this, the largest of waterfalls that on a sunny day is a playground for rainbows born in its mist.

Four hours later and about four miles of walking we headed back to the hotel with the roar of the falls still ringing in our ears. What an unforgettable experience - but not our last. In just a couple days, back in Buenos Aires, we would board the Celebrity Eclipse for a cruise to another wonder of nature at the bottom of the world.

We explored the falls from almost every angle. The playful racoon-like coatis stole the show and a lot of lunches.

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USHUAIA & ADVENTURE AT THE BOTTOM OF THE WORLD The best way to get to the end of the world is by cruise ship -- you might as well go in comfort and style. Our destination was the world’s southernmost city, the resort town of Ushuaia located at the southern tip of South America on the Tierra del Fuego archipelago and marketed as “End of the World.” Our ship, the Celebrity Eclipse, began its journey in Buenos Aires making port

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stops in Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay.

Getting to the bottom of the world is a thrilling adventure, especially rounding the famous Horn through the Strait of Magellan first attempted in 1520

by Portuguese Captain Ferdinand Magellan and crew.

Cape Horn, Chile, is Isla Hornos, the famous small island not named because it’s shaped like a horn.

CAPE HORN Captain Schouten, the Dutch navigator who first rounded it in 1616, named it after Hoorn, his birthplace in northern Holland.”

As a lifelong San Diegan, I appreciated the importance of ship trade by rounding the horn. Many ships that had departed from the east coast counted San Diego as their first American port after their grueling

journey around South America. In their cargo, at one time, were prefab homes destined for San Diego neighborhoods where they are still on view today. The most significant boost to that shipping route came during the California gold rush in 1848. After the opening of the Panama Canal in 1914, “rounding the Horn” has become a choice destination for cruisers

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Ron and Mary join fellow adventurers on deck for a wind-blown rounding of the Horn. Above: Cape Horn lighthouse and monument.

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who share a tangible connection with those brave sailors of the past.

We were fortunate to have on board Mickey Richardson, a knowledgeable and entertaining enrichment speaker whose popular series of port and naturalist talks was billed as Mickey Live. Mickey also contributed glacier by glacier, natural wonder by natural wonder commentary as we sailed south. His Cape Horn observations were a highlight.

These seas have a well-deserved reputation as the mariner’s graveyard. The treacherous confluence of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans triggers hazardous hurricane force winds, large waves, powerful currents,

and even icebergs. It’s still dangerous for cruise ships to circumnavigate the island; just one miscalculation of winds and currents can spell disaster.

Often cruise ships bypass this passage for a safer route, but we were fortunate that a forecast storm would not arrive until after we passed. Still the seas were rough and the winds howling, and Mary and I struggled to keep our footing as we passed by the island and its lighthouse beacon. It was as powerful an experience as our adventure at Iguazu Falls, but this had the element of real danger to add to the thrill of the moment.

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Ushuaia is a windswept town, perched on a sloping hill that runs down to the port district. There’s a frontier feel to it, encircled by the snow-capped Martial Mountains and the icy blue Beagle Channel. Built during the peak of gold rush days. Ushuaia now thrives as a tourist destination attracting cruise ships large and small, some bound for Antarctica cruises or nearby Isla Yécapasela or “Penguin Island” for its penguin colonies.

When our ship docked, there was a handful of smaller vessels in port provisioning for trips to the Antarctic.

Just a five-minute walk up a slight hill from the dock Ushuaia is a souvenir-lovers paradise of “End of the World t-shirts and other gear. Many shops were decorated with silly stuff to catch the visitors eye. One

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featured dozens of 3D relief cops and robbers in action on the two-story exterior. Sculpted spider crabs of all sizes identified the many restaurants serving the spiny creatures.

After surviving our boat trip - described later, we had a late lunch at the most popular place in town judging by the line out the door. The modestly sized room was packed with hungry tourists wolfing down chunks of meat pulled from the long legs of the 18-inch wide fire-engine-red whole crabs in front of them. We order a crab to share, but they had a slight musty taste to them, so Mary passed on the crab and had an excellent serving of seabass instead. We washed it all down with a bottle of Argentine sauvignon blanc.

The colorful faces of Ushuaia designed with the tourists in mind.

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Some of the city’s other highlights include the Maritime and Prison Museums, a former jail that showcases Ushuaia history. The Museo del Fin del Mundo displays tools by indigenous tribes such as the Yámana and screens nature and history films. The Southern Fuegian steam-engine railway or “End of the World Train,” built by convicts in the early 1900s, travels from Ushuaia to Tierra Del Fuego National Park where there are lots of hiking trails. We had only a day here and bypassed these attractions for a boat tour to the Beagle Channel with Patagonia Expeditions. Several times as we crossed the water, Mary especially wished we had opted to stay ashore.

Crab, beer and wine seem to be the area’s most sought-after products.

Hungry visitors chow down on giant spider crabs.

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We departed the ship early for the visitors center where we joined our guide for a short walk to the boat, a refitted 45-foot-long Grand Banks yacht smaller than the ship’s lifeboats used for tendering.

Our fellow adventurers were a mix of young and old bound for the Beagle Channel named after HMS Beagle, the ship made famous by Charles Darwin but also known for the first survey of this isolated region.

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The weather was iffy, with sun and wind-driven sprinkles. Prepared for chillier conditions on the water, I donned my practical souvenir - a knit hat embroidered with Ushuaia End of the World. Inside the small warm cabin, the bundled up passengers were cheerful and chatty as we headed out - until the wind picked up and swells crashed over the bow of the boat. Looks of concern replaced smiles, including Mary’s since she is prone to seasickness.

My four years in the US Navy many years ago inoculated me. I had instructed Mary to focus on the horizon when she was feeling bad, and she was already staring out the window. We had only been on the water for 15 minutes and had nearly four hours to go.

Our first destination was Alicia Island, a big lump of what looked like a volcanic rock with several large South American sea lions. Most of us

slowly streamed through the two cabin doors and along very narrow side passageways for a better view. Rails, low so that they wouldn’t block the views from cabin interior, didn’t seem like much protection and the boat rocked back and forth. I was amazed at how close to the island the captain maneuvered the boat for perfect photo ops of these giant mammals.

I soon developed a technique of holding my

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Sleek king shags and imperial shags soaring above a small island.

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camera with one hand and the rail with the other, something that would come in handy later when the wind and rough seas got a lot worse. What was apparent from this first stop was that the light was perfect for taking videos and photos. The sea, sky, and rocks were especially vivid. For this magazine photographer, it was awesome.

Next stop Bird Island to watch thousands white sea birds - sleek king shags and imperial

shags - soaring above another small outcropping.

I wondered how they kept from flying into each other. The dark, craggy island was a nice contrast with countless bird nests and brilliant white shag poop. With the boat slapping up and down on the waves, I wasn’t sure I could capture the beautiful bird choreography over the island, but I was happy with the results.

Our next stop was the realm of South American

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fur seals, and again the captain maneuvered the boat close enough to get a good whiff of the small island’s residents. I had really developed my seagoing photographic techniques by this time and a good thing as wave after wave crashed over the bow. The wind was blowing so hard that spray whipping horizontally blurred some of the videos.

I held onto the rail for dear life hoping my camera wouldn’t fall out of my now numb hands.

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By this time only a handful of folks - some looking pretty green - clung to the deck as we approached our next island, home to one of the most famous navigational icons in the world. The red Eclaireurs Lighthouse is the symbol of Ushuaia, built in 1919, and is sometimes incorrectly referred to as the lighthouse at the end of the world. That honor goes to the light on Isla Hornos. But that small quibble didn’t dim the magic of the moment. Even the

Seals soak up the morning sun with the snow-covered mountains in the background.

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seasick folks on board managed to step outside for this famous photo op By this time, rough seas and strong winds had taken their toll, and about a third of our group was sick. Mary was holding her own; however, her eyes glued to the horizon. She and others would have paid double for the captain to cut the trip short and head for land. We still had nearly two hours to go.

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Later we would learn that the nasty weather had caused boat excursions scheduled later in the day to be canceled.

Fortunately, everyone enjoyed a brief respite from the rough seas when we landed on Bridges Island for a short hike on the largest, highest and one of the most beautiful of the islands in the Channel.

The guide took the wobbly-legged along a path

The famous end of the world Les Eclaireurs lighthouse and a small band of fellow adventurers pose in front of what we called the Ushuaia Yacht Club.

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as she recounted the history of the native inhabitants, the Yamanas. At the highest point, we were rewarded with beautiful views of the mountains, Beagle Channel and Ushuaia in the distance.

After a half-hour on the island, the group reluctantly boarded the boat for a rocky cruise back to the docks in Ushuaia. We were offered coffee with liquor, different types of tea, hot chocolate with biscuits and cookies and, of course, the typical Argentine beverage, mate. There were few takers, except for the liquor. As we disembarked, the majority agreed that our exciting experience on Beagle Channel was high adventure. And for us, it indeed was a fitting end for our incredible journey from the top to the bottom of Argentina.

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EATING AR

Traveling from the top to the bottom of Argentina, we discovered that meat, especially meat cooked over a wood fire on iron grates called parrillas (roll the ‘r’s when you say it) indeed is king. If you are a meat lover, this country is your nirvana.

But, it’s not the only culinary option thanks to the broad cultural mix of immigrants at home in his sprawling South American nation. Italians, French,

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Irish, German and Japanese settlers brought many of their favorite recipes now found in one form or another on Argentine dinner tables. Even the indigenous peoples significantly impacted daily eating and drinking rituals.

Parrilla is a simple iron grill barbecue and the name of the zillion eateries that feature meat grilled on one.

There are hole-in-the-wall parrillas in every neighbor-

RGENTINA Story & Photography by Ron and Mary James

hood, and famous high-class parillas that will put a severe dent in your wallet. They say that during a one week visit, the average tourist will eat at a parrilla two to five times, which reflected pretty accurately our dining during our stay. We found the lomo (filet), ojo de bife (rib eye) or bife de chorizo ( sirloin) to be the tastiest and most flavorful cuts of meat. Do as the Argentines do and order the beef to be cooked punto

Happy campers sampling Cafayate’s finest wines at Chato’s Wine Bar.

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(medium) to bien cocinado (well done) – it will still be tender and juicy with a nice near char around the edges. The portions are grande, so Mary and I split orders and still had some left on the plate Parrilla fare is best eaten with a bit of salt and chimichurri sauce, to me, the world’s tastiest condiment.

Made from dried herbs, garlic, and vinegar, the sauce is available in both green (chimichurri verde) and red (chimichurri rojo) varieties. Lore has it that gauchos invented the sauce, relying on dried herbs since they didn’t have access to fresh ones. There’s also a famous story that it was the concoction of an Englishman who joined the fight for Argentine independence.

His “Jimmy’s curry’ morphed into chimichurri.

Of course, there are a few popular alternatives to burnt meat In Argentina. We found ubiquitous international eateries like McDonald’s and Starbucks all over the country, and we did feast on some excellent Italian pasta and Spanish paella for a change of pace. In Patagonia, we enjoyed fresh giant spider crab and Chilean sea bass (toothfish) pulled from the icy waters of the South Atlantic. In other regions of the country, fish generally proved disappointing, often because it was doused in creamy sauces that overwhelmed the delicate flavor.

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Among other dishes we found on menus throughout the country, empanadas were my favorite. These small pastries filled with meat, cheese, fruit or anything else that happens to be in the pantry are great for snacks or a starter. I preferred the fried version to the baked, but that goes for everything for me.

Close behind charred meat and empanadas as country-wide favorites is Milanese, considered by many as the unofficial national dish. It is made with pounded thin steak, veal or chicken that is dipped in breadcrumbs and fried or baked. An option on almost every menu, this dish resembles my very favorite comfort food, chicken fried steak.

There are dozens of ways to serve this Italianderived dish. I prefer a squeeze of lemon and side of mashed potatoes or fries. But we also had it tucked into sandwiches covered with melted cheese and Napolitano style tomato sauce. Another preparation that we didn’t try is known as horseback, where the cutlet is topped with two over easy fried eggs.

Two of Argentina’s classic culinary traditions empanadas and chimichurri sauce.

Mary enjoys a spiny crab and a lovely server presents a tasty paella in Buenos Aires.

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Most of our lunches and dinners included a little basket of bread. Maybe it was just bad luck, but with only a couple of exceptions, we found the rolls remarkably dry and flavorless. However, we did find great bakery items in the three bakeries within a block of our Buenos Aires apartment in Recoleta.

There was almost always room for a little dessert in Argentina. We found terrific ice cream at shops all over the country - my favorite flavor was dulce de leche. Another sweet, available everywhere we traveled is alfajores, the shortbread-like sandwich cookie also filled with sweet dulce de leche. A favorite sweetener used in Argentinean cooking, dulce de leche is made by boiling equal parts of milk and sugar, resulting in a delightful, caramel taste.

The most quirky culinary habit we discovered in Argentina is the drinking of mate, a kind of a tea made from a local ground herb by that name. Mate is drunk through a long metal straw called a bombilla, out of a gourd or other vessel full of ground mate leaves and boiling water. We tried it and thought it tasted a bit like a cross between tea and tobacco. We were told it provides an energy boost, much like coffee. It’s an icebreaker in Argentina and it’s considered impolite to refuse to give it a try.

Mate gourds and Bombilla can be very decorative and are often embellished with silver. They are sold everywhere and make great souvenirs. Ours is on display in our bookcase at home – very nice to look at but likely never to be used for its intended purpose.

Great meals and new friends go together. Ron and Mary enjoy their new friends in Salta.

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We did enjoy wine and beer regularly during our travels - beer for lunches after long walks on hot days and wine for dinners matched with beef and other dishes mentioned above. Local beers were light, refreshing and easy to drink. Take note that if you order a beer that you will be served a massive bottle that could be more than you bargained for – we usually shared these. The two major regional wines are Torrontés (“torr-ron-tez”), an aromatic white wine with herb and floral notes, and of course the famous Malbecs that come from Mendoza and Salta wine regions.

Although we enjoyed the Torrontés, the juicy fresh Malbecs impressed us the most. Unlike the tannic, powerful Malbecs I have tasted in the US, the Malbecs served here were young, much like the Beaujolais Nouveau we love to drink on November 15. Most of the bottles we tried held 2018 vintages, balanced, almost elegant light wines full of berry fruit flavors.

And they were very affordable. Even at the most expensive eateries, we could find a nice bottle for less than $20. In the markets, $5 bottles were common.

Mate and wine, Argentina’s favorite beverages. Our guide explains how to drink Mate.

Malbec and peanuts go nicely together. A display case of silver mate “gourds.”

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LONGSHIP CRUISIN

The Vitava River, the longest river in the Czech Republic, wanders through the medieval village of Cesky Krumlov.

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NG ON THE DANUBE

By Alison DaRosa

M

ore Americans choose Viking than any other river cruise brand. In fact, half of all Americans who cruise the rivers of Europe do it on a Viking ship.

It’s for good reason. Viking river cruisers get excellent value for their money. Its pricing is in the middle of the pack for European river cruises – while its product has a higher end feel: clean, contemporary, user-friendly Scandinavian-designed ships with lots of floor-to-ceiling windows, heated bathroom floors in cabins, wine, beer and soft drinks included with lunches and dinners, free designer coffee drinks around the clock, free WiFi, at least one free shore excursion in every port – plus warm, efficient English-speaking service.

It’s no surprise that Conde Nast Traveler, Travel & Leisure and USA Today readers repeatedly vote Viking the best river cruise line.

Like huge numbers of Americans, I fell in love with Viking river cruises during PBS commercial breaks. Those savvy TV spots were dreamily slow, easy, romantic - infused with delicious dollops of art and culture. It was natural to imagine the aroma of fresh-baked bread as a rosy-cheeked grandmother-type slid a golden round from a wood-fired oven.

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The Viking “Longship” Vilhjalm offers 95 river-view staterooms, including 39 staterooms private verandas.

Those commercials were a boon to river cruising worldwide. As a director of a competitor line once told me: “We all owe a huge debt of gratitude to Viking.”

Norway’s Torstein Hagen, the Viking Founder, launched “the thinking person’s cruise” line in 1997 with four ships sailing the Volga in Russia. By the end of this year, Viking will have 69 river ships sailing throughout Europe, in Asia and even in Africa. Most of its European fleet is comprised of popular “longships” that accommodate up to 190 passengers with 53 crewmembers.

I sailed the Danube last spring aboard one of those longships – the Vilhjalm. During our weeklong trip, we cruised 380 miles through 11 locks and visited five countries: Hungary, Slovakia, Austria, the Czech Republic and Germany. My journey started with a 3-day pre-cruise stay in Budapest (see our last issue: https:// issuu.com/wdusa/docs/wdt_magazine_ireland_issue_ winter_2/234). Our cruise ended in Passau, Germany.

Viking is for grownups; it’s designed for travelers

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50 or older. (Since late August 2018, Viking no longer books anyone under age 18 aboard its river cruises.)

The typical passenger aboard our cruise was 60+ with a passion for travel: hunger for history, art, culture and connecting with locals. The first optional shore excursions to sell out were those with home visits.

Many aboard the Vilhjalm were repeat Viking cruisers – quick to point out why they’re fans. It started on the evening we set sail from Budapest around 7:30 p.m., during dinner, still daylight. Before dessert, the Vilhjalm made a U-turn on the Danube and headed back to Budapest. It was dark by the time we made a second U-turn and this time, as we passed under the Chain Bridge, Budapest was a glittering fairyland. More than 500,000 pricks of light illuminated the magnificent old city. On the left bank, the Parliament building dazzled; high on the right bank, Buda castle and Matthias Church glowed. Those brilliant images left incandescent imprints on our minds.

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A daylong outing to the fairy-tale town of Cesky Krumlov, in the South Bohemian region of the Czech Republic, is among free shore excursions included with Viking cruises of the Danube.

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Other images that linger: Rambling the cobbled streets of Old Town in Bratislava, the capital of the Slovak Republic. It’s a compact and picturesque town that dates to the Middle Ages – but caters to modern-day visitors who enjoy pondering history at outdoor cafes and boutiques offering works by local artisans. From Old Town, it’s an easy walk to the so-called UFO Bridge that straddles the Danube. Three hundred feet up, atop the tower from which the bridge is suspended, there’s an observation deck and a bar. Join new friends there for a toast; life’s too short not to.

Vilhjalm passengers waltzed through Vienna inhaling non-stop culture: elegant architecture, mind-blowing music, art and sculpture – often with surprising back stories. When we visited the Hofburg Palace, the former winter residence of the Hapsburg dynasty, for example, we learned that Emperor Ferdinand I feuded with his son, Crown Prince Maximilian. Ferdinand didn’t want Max living under his roof, so ordered a new wing for the prince – a wing not physically connected to the rest of the palace complex. Max’s old digs are today home to the Spanish Riding School, which has been training Lipizzaner stallions (and riders) for more than four centuries.

An optional Viking tour allowed us behind the scenes at the Riding School. We strolled the pristineclean stable, close enough to pet the horses in their stalls – though touching was no-no. A guide explained that all of the 72 Lipizzans on site descended from just six stallions.

Another historic note: It took 436 years for the riding school to accept female students. The first was enrolled in 2008 – and after eight years of training the school now has a woman rider.

In Vienna, even life’s staples – coffee and cake – are sensory delights steeped in history and culture. The Sachertorte first was concocted for royalty in 1832 by Franz Sacher. Think ultra-rich chocolate cake, layered with apricot preserves, topped with chocolate icing and unsweetened whipped cream. With a fellow cruiser, I shared a slice at the Demel Bakery, where Sachre’s eldest son perfected his father’s recipe. A decadent delight.

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Viennese coffee houses are everywhere. Play it safe with a “kapuziner” (cappuccino) or try a “pharisaer,” an espresso with sugar, cocoa and a shot of rum, topped with whipped cream of course.

Vienna is a classical masterpiece. Franz Schubert and Johann Strauss were born here; Beethoven, Hayden, Brahms and Mozart all lived here. On the Saturday night we were in Vienna, there were 62 concerts being staged. An optional Viking tour took us to the century old Mozart Sall Konzerhaus where the Wiener Hofburg Orchestra performed Mozart and Strauss in a program that included opera and dance.

At the end, we stood for an ovation.

It was Sunday morning when we arrived at Krems, a small university town at the eastern end of Austria’s

Wachau Valley wine country. We had only half a day there, so I took off on my own. When I visited St. Veit’s, Krems’ parish church, I expected to find a crowd at Mass. Instead I had the centuries-old baroque jewel to myself.

Unexpectedly – and serendipitously – I found the crowd later as I walked solo on a meandering path along the Danube. As I approached a lazy bend in the river, what had begun as a distant murmur became laughter. Then there was music. And finally, I found hundreds of locals – families gathered for a massive trout barbecue. They welcomed me into their grand circle. It’s an indelible memory that has become a favorite travel souvenir.

In Passau, Germany, Viking cruisers enjoyed a private concert at St. Stephen’s Cathedral, home to Europe’s largest pipe organ (Upper left). Vienna offered a cornucopia of treats - from scrumptious desserts to a peek inside the historic Spanish Riding School where Lipizzaner stallions are trained.

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We spent that afternoon aboard ship – lounging on deck, threading our way along an Austrian tapestry of medieval villages, terraced vineyards, ancient monasteries and castle ruins. Some passengers tuned in to Viking listening devices to learn about various sites we passed; others were content with intermittent commentary from the cruise director. All marveled as our captain masterfully squeezed the Vilhjalm through the lock at Melk, with only inches of leeway.

The next morning, we docked at Linz, the provincial capital of Upper Austria. But most cruisers chose to get out of town. We opted to join an included daylong excursion to Cesky Krumlov, a fairytale castle town in the highlands of the Czech Republic. We toured the 13th century castle and the baroque theater where scenes from the 1984 movie “Amadeus” were filmed – then roamed the crooked, cobbled streets of the medieval village, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Three of us settled for lunch at Svejk restaurant, two flights up in a weathered building across from the Vltava River. The place was filled with locals. I sampled my dining companions’ roasted rabbit and potato dumplings – and savored my hearty bowl of kulajda, a traditional Bohemian soup thick with forest mushrooms, potatoes, quail eggs and cream. My tab was less than 3 euros.

Passau, the last stop on our weeklong cruise, is known as the “city of three rivers.” It lies at the confluence of the Inn, Danube and Ilz. We berthed within walking distance of the Old Town – along with five other Viking river ships.

All of us – nearly 950 cruisers – convened at St. Stephen’s Cathedral, the centerpiece of Passau.

The 17th century baroque treasure houses Europe’s largest pipe organ, with nearly 18,000 pipes. Viking arranged for a concert for its passengers. It was a resounding success.

Later that afternoon, we wandered Passau’s cobblestoned Artists Alley, a colorful path that led us to galleries and studios where we met artists at work.

Along the way, I discovered Buch & Kunstantiquariat, an antiquarian bookstore bulging with treasures; I’ll own a shop just like it in my next life.

Our week aboard the Vilhjalm left little to be desired.

Mornings started with coffee and pastries in the

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lounge, continental breakfast on the terrace or a full breakfast cooked to order in the dining room. (There’s no room service; cabins have small refrigerators, but they’re not stocked.)

A few cruisers started their days with laps around the sun deck – but most were happy to log their miles exploring ashore. Lunch was always available aboard ship – but unless we were sailing, attendance was sparse.

Evenings evolved into a comfortable routine: Cocktail hour usually began around 5:30 p.m. The cruise director appeared at 6:45 to outline the next day’s adventures. Then came dinner – usually including at least one regional specialty. All meals were good, often with fresh local produce complemented with seasonings from the ship’s sundeck herb garden.

After-dinner entertainment ranged from quiz-style games to special performances by local musicians and singers. Before heading to staterooms, cruisers typically gathered on the Vilhjalm’s rooftop deck. It was the perfect spot for nightcaps and toasts to another glorious day on the Blue Danube.

IF YOU GO: Viking Danube river cruises start at about $2,000 per person, based on double occupancy – with roundtrip air packages starting at about $600 per person. Learn more at www. vikingrivercruises.com.

Near Krems, at the eastern end of Austria’s Wachau Valley, local families gathered for a riverside trout barbecue (top). Aboard ship, made-to-order omelets were a breakfast favorite (left).

Ashore, cruisers found local restaurants offering specialties such as roasted rabbit.

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Chasing Chayote in Michoacรกn Photographs and Story by Maribeth Mellin

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The Campos family prepares stellar downhome Michoacán cuisine in Tzintzuntzan. Chayote comes in many forms and is endlessly adaptable.

P

iles of juicy pork chunks caught my eye as I strolled in the street in Tzintzuntzan, one of eight Pueblos Mágicos (Magical Cities) in Michoacán. The cook alternately hacked away at big slabs of carnitas and stuffed tortas and tacos with crisp, succulent meat at his cart. He weighed out a portion for the friends showing me around town. I devoured it immediately.

I should have shown more restraint. I'd already breakfasted on fabulous pan dulce, sampled avocado ice cream and ogled flaky pastries at street cart, and I knew food would appear in abundance all day. Michoacán is a UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage center, and every hamlet has its culinary and artistic specialties.

I was working on a food article about chayote, a lumpy squash as versatile and ubiquitous as the potato. Itxaso Zuñiga, an ebullient photographer from Barcelona, was on the chayote chase with me. We'd been told Tzintzuntzan, which means "hummingbird" in the local Purépecha language, was the best place to sample chayote in traditional dishes. I had a feeling we were in for a bountiful Mexican lunch.

Luis Campos and his mother met us in the dining room at Chari K'umanchikua, a downhome family restaurant with bright plaid tablecloths in the airy dining room. Family members ferried platters from the pristine narrow kitchen with its bubbling pots and enticing smells. Campos laid out an impressive chayote spread for our article's photos (and tasting, of course), then segued to full-on lunch with bowls of charales (tiny fried fish) and rich ranchero beans, platters of whole fried fish and the biggest, best

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chilies relleno I've ever tasted. As we were finishing, a young woman came into the dining room selling pizza-sized pumpkin empanadas—which we had to try, of course.

Zuñiga and I shared many such feasts during our quest. Our assignment was straightforward. Research chayote in Mexico, visit farms and kitchens and explain why this nondescript squash deserves international attention. My previous exposure to the bland, unremarkable fruit (squashes are fruits, I learned) was as a tasteless side dish boiled with carrots. I now known that lime, salt and chilies transform chayote both raw and cooked into a tasty snack, and it is infinitely adaptable. High in fiber and water and cheaper than a potato, chayote carries many names and serves as a staple in parts of

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the Americas, Australia and Asia. It is used to treat hypertension and arteriosclerosis and helps dissolve kidney stones.

Low in carbohydrates, chayote is gaining attention with Keto dieters. It can be boiled, sautéed, baked, fried, stuffed and crystallized into candy. Raw chayote tastes like a green apple blended with cucumber and has the consistency of jicama. I find baked chayote rather tasteless, until transformed by a talented cook. Then it takes on the flavor of other ingredients, turning creamy, cheesy, spicy or earthy.

In the U.S., It occasionally appears on restaurant menus near the border. In Michoacán, we found chayote at roadside stands and on fancy restaurant menus.

Michoacán is Mexico's second largest producer

of chayote after Veracruz. The mountainous state is packed with natural and cultural wonders, including monarch butterfly sanctuaries, colonial cities and the aforementioned Pueblos Mágicos, towns so culturally and historically rich they merit protection. The historic center of Morelia is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the monarch butterfly area is a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. The grandmother in the wildly popular film Coco is said to have been modeled after a woman in Michoacán. It seemed the perfect place to study and photograph the humble green squash.

At the Source We toured farms in the rural foothills of the Sierra Madre del Sur, two hours by car from our base in Morelia, Michoacán's colonial capital city. Uriel, our patient driver for the duration, steered us past the suburbs and into the pine-scented, wild countryside.

I spotted chayote growing in backyard gardens as we turned down a deeply rutted dirt road. Waterfalls sliced mountainsides, feeding fertile guanabana groves. At road's end we faced a maze of vine-covered trellises as far as the eye could see. The air felt moist and fertile. Zuñiga took off like a kid sensing a playground, cameras clicking into action.

Men in worn T-shirts bearing plastic crates suspended from forehead straps walked beneath the vines, testing and picking smooth, shiny chayotes dangling overhead. I chatted with Jorge Garcia, a farm manager who explained that individual families had plots within the larger cooperative farm. Garcia's

Eggs scrambled with chayote warm on the stove at Chari K’umanchikua. Barcelonabased Itxaso Zuñiga at work in Tzintzuntzan. Raw green chayote has a pleasant crisp flavor.

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family harvests enough chayote to supply markets in Morelia and Mexico City, working six days a week tending their vines.

Chayote was treated almost like an afterthought at the second farm we visited in the midst of an avocado grove (Michoacán is Mexico's largest avocado producer). Leafy vines covered the earth and climbed the trees—it was hard to walk and not crush a fruit. We had to use extra caution, as these plants produced spiny chayote with irritating barbs.

Harvesting is backbreaking work as workers bend and squat to find their quarry.

We stopped at a roadside stand for boiled chayote doused with hot sauce, salt and lime—a tangy, filling snack—and found chayote in its many forms at Morelia's markets. Spiny, smooth, green, brown, white, baked and boiled versions were all on offer at Morelia's main market, and Uriel tried to win us over with a freshly baked squash. We were not impressed.

Then we tried chayote prepared by professional chefs.

In the Kitchen Ana Compeán, General Director of Morelia's gracious Villa Montaña Hotel, knew exactly what we needed for our article when I contacted her before our trip. She sent chef Manuel Gomez to work creating a chayote tasting menu, and helped us stage a photo shoot in the restaurant's terrace and courtyard.

Gomez wowed us with his chayote tempura, cheesy gratin and timbale of the traditional Mexican style with tomatoes, onions and chilies. Gomez's Plato de Degustación de Chayote is on the restaurant's menu, which features regional cuisine. His avocado soufflé and raspberry meringue are beyond amazing.

Chef Josué Ontiveros at the Hotel De La Soledad went all out with his chayote presentation as well, stuffing a traditional tlacoyo (a corn masa base) with mashed chayote root and topping it with escamoles

A worker at a rural chayote farm spots his quarry. Snacking on baked chayote while touring the market. Hunting for green fruit in overhead vines.

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(ant eggs), an Aztec delicacy. We loved his moist chayote panque (sweet bread) and the delicate, creamy tomato salsa on the chayote croquette. Breakfast at the hotel was an absolute delight, with puffy pan dulce, spicy huevos mexicana and rich, dark coffee fueling us for the day's adventures.

I had one free day in Morelia after wrapping up our chayote pursuit, and wandered aimlessly. I quickly learned everyone in Michoacán has a sweet tooth. One of Morelia's main attractions is the Mercado de Dulces, a market in a colonial-era convent filled with stalls selling all manner of candy. Streets stands sell churros and gaspacho (not to be confused with Spanish gazpacho), a chopped fresh fruit salad with a hint of onion and chilies. Bakeries and candy shops abound, and sidewalk cafes specialize in chocolate and bread.

Even the uchepos, a form of tamale, are dulce (sweet).

Fine examples of the region's collectible folk art and textiles drew me to the Casa de las Artesanías, and I was thrilled to hear a tapping noise while approaching

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the cathedral. Masked men and boys were performing Michoacán's cheery Dance of the Old Men beside the 18th century Baroque Catedrál de Morelia. The city bustled with weekend energy My last night was devoted to deciphering my notes and lists. I skipped dinner but took time for a glass of wine on my balcony overlooking the cathedral's spires.

I nibbled on flaky orejas (elephant ears or palmiers) from a stand in Tzintzuntzan, scattering pastry bits everywhere. I had three days (including my travel home) to write my chayote story and more info than I could possibly use—plus a few extra pounds and a longing for more play time in Michoacán.

The busy kitchen at Chari K’umanchikua.

Zuñiga and the author sampling chayote creations at the Hotel De La Soledad. A 16th-century church dominates a large park in Tzintzuntzan.

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Villa Montaña Hotel & Spa & H

T

he Villa Montaña Hotel & Spa was the first place I contacted when planning our trip. I remembered its woodsy setting above the city, the handsome antiques and art and the knowledgeable, amiable staff from long ago and figured we'd start in comfort. My suite was absolutely dreamy, with a spot on view of the cathedral's golden spires poking above the sparkling panorama of sprawling neighborhoods, plus a cushy bed, perfect pillows and an inviting bathtub. Table lamps glowed beneath artworks and furnishings harkened to European elegance with a Mexican flair.

I met Zuñiga over dinner at Villla Montaña on my first

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night in Morelia and immediately knew we would travel well together. Ana Compeán and her staff became invaluable supporters, sharing a wealth of contacts and information. The hotel was a soothing backdrop before and after busy days. I deliberately lost my way on paths winding past centuries-old plants and stone lions and saints as I wandered from my suite to the restaurant's terrace and dining room, our informal office for photo shoots and interviews. I spotted several rooms tucked in ivy and trees that would make perfect hideaways.

We hated leaving our cocoon. http://www.villamontana. com.mx/en We spent the next two nights in the heart of the city

Hotel De La Soledad at the chic Hotel De La Soledad, a member of Small Luxury Hotels of the World. The busy cathedral and central plaza areas were just up the cobblestone street and the city bustled with energy. I wasn't prepared for the lush courtyard inside the hotel's 18thcentury facade. The interior looked utterly enchanting, with a splashing fountain and twinkling fairy lights wrapped around palms. Couches and chairs with elaborately embroidered pillows were clustered under archways and dining tables edged the stone portico leading to the rooms. Elaborate, stylish chandeliers brought a modern, artistic touch to the historic setting.

Once again, I faced a fabulous suite. The sitting

room's velvet couches sat beneath a swirling wall sculpture with colored light baubles; soaring stone arches framed the marble sink. Spot lighting illuminated wall sculptures and generous wooden closets.

The sheets were divine. We commandeered a table in the dining room and plotted our days over tender huevos mexicana, homemade breads and jams and a ridiculously alluring array of pan dulce. One night, exhausted after a long day at a farm, we bonded over chef Ontiveros's chayote creations—especially the sweet chayote bread—and vowed to work together again. https://hoteldelasoledad.com/en/.

Chef Ontiveros presented a tasty chayote sampling at the Hotel De La Soledad. Secret arches and doorways lead to spacious, handsome suites at Villa Montaña. The pleasant courtyard at the Hotel De La Soledad.

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he first time I skied Aspen, way back in the mid1970s, lift tickets were around $15 at this iconic resort in the Rockies. I was a junior at the University of Colorado, slept in a cozy sleeping bag on the floor at a friend’s house during that visit and ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch on the slopes. They were yummy, if I recall correctly.

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Skiers walk through downtown Aspen on their way to slopes on Aspen Mountain on a powder day.

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For dinner, my companions and I made an inexpensive meal of pasta, tomato sauce and a soybean meat substitute, plus an earthy, multi-grain bread someone in our group had baked. We may even have splurged on a bottle of (most-likely cheap) red wine.

For breakfast, we drank tea, and ate bagels and granola we’d picked up at a health-food store in Boulder. And when we went out at night for some beers at a bar to listen to music, we only spent a couple of bucks each.

The cost for a weekend of great skiing? Less than $70, including the $5 I pitched in for gas.

I’ve been back to Aspen a few times in the years since then. The skiing snowboarding at the four “hills” in and around town (Aspen Mountain, also known as Ajax; Buttermilk, Snowmass and Aspen Highlands) remain excellent. The prices, however, have gone up a wee bit.

If money’s no question, you could easily spend thousands of dollars on visit by staying at the five-star Little Nell (thelittlenell.com), where luxury rooms in this slope-side hotel run more than a grand a night during the high season.

You could also rent an entire villa through airbnb. com with seven bedrooms, 9.5 baths, a pool and other luxurious amenities for (hold your breath…) $9,000 a night, plus fees.

The less expensive, but quite posh, 128-year-old Hotel Jerome (https://aubergeresorts.com/hoteljerome/) (now an Auberge resort the was recently renovated) is around $500 a night, while the quite pleasant Limelight (https://www.limelighthotels.com/ aspen) has rooms that begin at around $400 a night.

The Limelight also has incredible breakfasts, included with your overnight tab.

Skiers heads down a slope on Aspen Mountain into the town of Aspen. The posh Little Nell Hotel is at the base of the hill on the right.

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To buff up your skiing and riding skills, you could hire a private instructor (aspensnowmass.com/planyour-stay/lessons/private-lessons) at $820 a day - be sure to book seven days in advance for this “bargain” price - plus a 20 percent tip for a total of around a cool $1,000. Or pay only $170 (again, the seven-day advance price) for a group lessons (class size is usually less than five in a group) to help you find the best powder stashes and bowls and steeps with the fewest people.

For a heli-skiing adventure, book a trip with Helitrax (helitrax.com) for a day of untouched powder far away from the madding crowd. Plan on spending around $1,4000. And if you’re a certain age and your mogul skiing needs a tune-up, sign up for one of the (aptly named) “Bumps For Boomers” (bumpsforboomers. com) clinics. They run four-days and cost $1,696.

You’ll need mid-day sustenance, so why not swoop into the Cloud Nine Alpine Bistro at Aspen Highlands (aspensnowmass.com/our-mountains/aspenhighlands/dining/cloud-nine-alpine-bistro) for some fondue or raclette, steak tartare, caviar and champagne for $75 and more.beside the Aspen Mountain gondola, where a wagyu - a kind of Japanese beef - double cheeseburger will run you $22. Want truffle fries and a beer? Add another $16 to your bill.

After a day on the slopes, you could wander over to the 02Aspen Spa (02Aspen.com) for a 60-minute, $175 Skier Massage. And when it comes time for dinner, there are a number of Aspen restaurants where an evening meal with wine and desert costs $150 and up. You could stay put at the Little Nell, where a special wine dinner at Element 47 (thelittlenell.com/ dining/element-47) could run you and five friends $1,000. When I was there, I got to tour the wine cellar and hold (very carefully) a bottle of wine that was worth $4,000. I gave it back to the sommelier quickly.

Oh, and that $15 lift ticket from 40-plus years ago?

It’s now $179 if you walk up to a ticket booth the day you want to ski. Buy your multi-day ducat a week in advance and you can save up to $30 a ticket. And if you’re under 18 or 65 and over, all four mountains have additional discounts.

Or you could have bought an IKON (ikonpasscom) or Mountain Collective (mountaincollective.com) pass good for two days at numerous resorts in the West, including Aspen. IKON passes are no longer available

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A snowboarder kicks up a plume of powder as he rips down a run at Aspen Mountain. Top: Steam rises above a pool at the Limelight Hotel in Aspen.

this late in the season, but a Mountain Collective pass can still be purchased for $509. After the first two days are used, additional days are 50 percent off. It can also save you a bundle if you use it at other member resorts such as Mammoth, Squaw Valley, Alpine Meadows, Taos, Jackson Hole, Snowbird or Alta.

San Francisco residents Jennifer Toy and Roy Barroca spent six weeks skiing around the West using the Mountain Collective passes they bought early for even less money. They lived in their tricked-out Ford E-350 van, often paying less than $50 a night for parking in RV lots. In Aspen, they favor Highlands because of its “locals” vibe.

Not everyone travels in a van, however. But you still don’t need to have a trust fund to enjoy Aspen, says Jim Moneghan, a retired Denver policeman who skis all over Colorado. He often stays at rooms he books through Airbnb in nearby Basalt, which is 12 miles from Aspen’s Intercept parking lot, which has more than 200 paved spaces and free shuttles to all four of Aspen’s mountains.

He’s also stayed in Carbondale, which is 26 miles from the Intercept lot, and gotten a room with a private bath for $70 a night. (There are also Airbnb options in Aspen, but they could easily run twice as much a night during the high season.)

Moneghan eschews eating in Aspen, though he does scout around the web for the best apres-ski deals at local watering holes that sometimes offer free or discounted food with drinks. However, he chooses restaurants in Basalt because the prices are less.

But if you truly want the Aspen experience, here are some tips from locals on places to stay, dine and enjoy yourself at (relatively) bargain prices.

You’d never know it from Aspen’s pricey reputation, but the town has two hostel-like lodges with dorm bunks with shared bathrooms for those who are willing to rough it a bit, plus rooms with either shared or private baths.

The St. Moritz Lodge (stmoritz.com) is at the base of Shadow Mountain in the quiet, West End of town only two blocks from free bus shuttles. Rates for a clean and comfortable dorm room start at $75 and the inn offers gratis continental breakfasts and apres-ski snacks.

The other other bargain option is the Swiss-style

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A skier catches air on a run through a stand of Aspen trees on Aspen Mountain. Right: Lodging options range from shared room and bath to luxury two-bedroom apartments.

Mountain Chalet Aspen (mountainchaletaspen.com) which opened in 1954, is just two blocks from the gondola at Aspen Mountain and has a 1970s ski-bum vibe. (If I stayed there, I might have a Rip Van Winkle flashbacks.)

Lodging options range from basic dorm rooms with shared baths starting at a more-than-reasonable $59 a night night to two-bedroom apartments that begin at $429 a night. Breakfast is included and all guests have access to the steam room, hot tub and sauna.

If you have youngsters in tow, Snowmass offers free ice skating at the Base Village and free s’more from

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3:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m. every afternoon at the Base Village and the Snowmass Mall. Just look for the s’mores carts at the fire pits. It’s a perk of the family-friendly mountain’s V.I.K. (Very Important Kid) program.

For inexpensive food in Aspen, check out the bar menu at L’Hostaria, but be sure to get there before 6 p.m. or you may find yourself in a line behind locals.

Zane’s Tavern, with locations in Aspen and Snowmass Village, offers Philly cheesesteak sandwiches ($12.95), grilled fish tacos ($3.75 each) and other classic bar food at reasonable prices.

Grab a slice of cheese pizza at New York Pizza

for $4.50. The Woody Creek Tavern, where Hunter S. Thompson used to hang out, has veggie burgers ($12), fish sandwiches ($15) and chicken enchiladas ($16). Steakhouse 316, where you can order a steak sandwich for $20 or a Bistro filet for $22 from the bar menu.

If you want to do some kicking and gliding or skating on your Nordic skis, or hiking or running on snowshoes, Aspen has nearly 60 miles of free trails between Aspen, Basalt and Snowmas. Need rental gear? Then head for the Aspen or Snowmass Cross Country Centers.

If you’re looking for some culture, check out the free

Aspen Art Museum (aspenartmuseum.org) or take a tour with the Aspen Historical Society (aspenhistory. org) and learn about some of the town’s storied mansions, the Hotel Jerome, the Wheeler Opera House or go on a pub crawl. All cost less than $20 a pop, except for the opera house, which is free. And if you like to learn about the history of Aspen skiing, along with a dose of mining history, ski with a docent at Aspen Mountain or Aspen Highlands.

For other things to see an do in Aspen, see the Aspen Chamber of Commerce website at Aspenchamber.org.

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FOREST BATHING LIVING CLOSE TO NATURE IN OREGON Story & Photography By Priscilla Lister

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Portland’s Japanese Friendship Garden was ablaze with fall color on Nov. 1, 2018 — the Japanese maples are the brightest.

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I

went forest bathing in Oregon in the fall.

I found maples ablaze in red and orange. I found many shades of green among the cedars, firs and spruce trees, all nestled among beds of ferns and moss.

I found wonder and serenity that hiking trails in nature always give me.

You’ve surely heard of forest bathing by now. It refers to immersion in nature and was coined in Japan where it is known as shin-rin-yoku, or “forest bathing.”

Scientists there have determined such activities in nature have quantifiable health benefits, linking them to breathing phytoncides, which are antimicrobial organic compounds emitted from trees.

More and more scientific studies are concluding that “living close to nature and spending time outside has significant and wide-ranging health benefits,” according to a 2018 research project from the University of East Anglia that studied data from 20 countries and 290 million people.

I have always known I like trees and feel really good among them. And seeking trails to find them is also a reason I travel.

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The quiet cove of Hug Point, just south of Cannon Beach on Highway 101.

Bottom: The Clatsop Loop Trail in Ecola State Park, immediately north of Cannon Beach, was once trod by members of the Lewis and Clark expedition in winter 1805-1806.

Opposite: Japanese maples in full glory at Portland’s Japanese Friendship Garden.

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Oregon offered me a lot.

Nearly half of that state is covered in various types of forests, from those in the coastal range to the Cascade Mountains to the drier areas of its eastern parts.

I flew into Portland to find some. But first, I rented a car and drove Highway 26 to head to Cannon Beach on the coast. I had come for the last few days in October and the first few days in November.

I was frankly amazed at the fall color along Highway 26. I hadn’t expected it, actually, so was really quite thrilled by it. In Oregon, oaks turn orange; big leaf maples, birch, ash, aspen and alders turn yellow; dogwoods turn burgundy; vine maples and huckleberries turn red; and tamaracks turn yellow, according to the Oregon Forest Resources Institute.

Just about an hour and a half’s drive from Portland’s airport, the Oregon Coast is a favorite destination for good reason. Its beaches, big offshore rocks, and birds beckon all those enthusiasts here. But there are also many trails through those fabulous forests.

I parked myself at the Stephanie Inn in Cannon Beach, where that coast’s most famous rock — Haystack Rock — lies just offshore. Opened in 1993, the Stephanie Inn, “a luxe coastal retreat,” is charming and small, with rooms right on that shoreline looking out at Haystack Rock. It includes a restaurant that is considered one of the best on the coast, so you really don’t have to leave. This is the kind of place people return to over and over.

I strolled along that beach many times, marveling at Haystack Rock, a 235-foot-high conical landmark formed from lava flows millions of years ago. At low tide, you can walk right up to it to find tidepools filled with colorful sea creatures. Between May and Labor Day, volunteers are on hand during low tides with telescopes so you can view the splendid Tufted Puffins that nest here then each year.

Seeking those forests, I drove to Ecola State Park which lies immediately north of the engaging town of Cannon Beach.

An 8-mile segment of the Oregon Coast Trail runs through this state park, where cliffside views offer coves, rocky seascapes, a long-abandoned lighthouse and even migrating gray whales during winter and spring. This trail also connects to the Clatsop Loop

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Top left: The Stephanie Inn on the oceanfront in Cannon Beach is one of the coast’s best resorts.

Top right: A forested trail at Oswald West State Park, which leads to the ocean.

Left: The famed landmark Haystack Rock in Cannon Beach is home to Tufted Puffins in the summer.

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The gorgeous Japanese Friendship Garden in Portland is particularly beautiful in the fall — and in spring with cherry blossoms.

Opposite: The library lobby at the Heathman Hotel in Portland.

Middle: Voodoo Donuts in Portland has such a cult following, people take photos with their pink boxes.

Bottom: Even the pathways in Portland’s Lan Su Chinese Garden are works of art.

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Trail, a route followed by members of the Lewis and Clark expedition in 1806. On this latter trail, I bathed in the evergreen forest, imagining those explorers on this very same spot more than 200 years ago.

Driving south along Highway 101 from Cannon Beach another day, I found the coast dotted with day-use state parks inviting exploration. I stopped at a couple — Hug Point and Oswald West — to hike short trails through the coastal forests to the sea.

Driving back to Portland, I headed north up Highway 101 to Astoria to take Highway 30 back to the city. I wanted to see some of the Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks — one of the nation’s newest national parks. This park consists of 12 different areas that mark milestones on Lewis and Clark’s expedition during the winter of 1805-06.

I visited Fort Clatsop, which was the group’s winter encampment area. A recreation of the fort is fascinating, and some easy trails wind through here along the Netul River.

In Portland, I based myself at the Heathman Hotel, built in 1926 and centered on a two-story-high lobby library that encourages lingering. It also offers some sweet extras, like complimentary bicycles, a pillow menu, and room delivery of Portland’s famous Salt & Straw gourmet ice cream. Located on Broadway, the Heathman is within walking distance of virtually everything in downtown’s center city. It is just a couple of blocks from the wonderful Portland Art Museum, where I went a couple of times.

But my favorite thrills in urban Portland involved more forest bathing.

My highlight was the Japanese Friendship Garden set within Portland’s Washington Park. I took Uber to get there; free shuttles to the garden from the Washington Park MAX light rail station operate only from April through October and I was there Nov. 1.

Designed in 1963, Portland’s Japanese Friendship Garden covers 12 acres with eight separate garden areas. “Upon entering a Japanese garden, the hope is to realize a sense of peace, harmony and tranquility,” it says. “Three primary designs are used in every Japanese garden design: stone, the ‘bones’ of the landscape; water, the life giving force; and plants, the tapestry of the four seasons.”

On that Nov. 1, I was literally agape at the bright reds and oranges and yellows among the Japanese

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maples, larch, ironwood and Katsura trees. This garden in fall is nothing short of breathtaking — and, of course, I was also breathing in all those beneficial tree emissions.

I walked from the Japanese Friendship Garden to the world-famous International Rose Test Garden, but blooms here peak during spring and summer. Cherry blossoms will transform the Japanese garden during spring.

Not far from the Japanese Friendship Garden lies the Pittock Mansion, built in 1914 for one of Portland’s first families, the Pittocks, whose patriarch, Henry, built

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his fortune as publisher of The Oregonian newspaper.

When the last family members moved out in 1958 and put the mansion up for sale, a group of conservationminded Portlanders launched a fund-raising campaign and saved it, restoring it to be open to the public. It provides a look back at an era, complete with gorgeous grounds and gardens that offer even more trees to admire and stroll among.

Another day I walked several blocks from my hotel — passing the famous Voodoo Donuts store — to the Lan Su Chinese Garden, completed in 2000 and considered “the most authentic Suzhou-style Chinese

The gardens at Pittock Mansion in Portland are worthy of strolls.

Left: The whole Dungeness crab feast with a flight of Chardonnay at Southpark Seafood in Portland.

garden outside of China.” Sixty-five artisans from Suzhou, China, a Portland sister city, lived here for months while creating this lovely garden. They sought to arrange elements — rocks, water, trees — to “make you feel as if you’re standing in a Chinese landscape painting.”

Like all Chinese gardens, this one is designed to engage all our senses — the feel of the rock mosaic pathways, the sound of the rushing waters, the smell of seasonal blossoms, the sights of the trees and shrubs and koi fish — and, of course, there is a tea room offering tastes.

The Chinese have long understood the “invigorat-

ing powers of nature,” and this small garden does indeed provide a respite from its urban surroundings. Meandering its winding pathways among reflective ponds, waterfalls and rock mountains, it’s hard to believe you’re in downtown Portland.

“When we are surrounded by nature, a feeling of comfort comes over us and our bodies become relaxed,” writes Yoshigumi Miyazaki in his book, “Shinrin Yoku,” that posited the concept of forest bathing. “Most of us would intuitively recognize this feeling, but until recently we haven’t had any evidence to prove it.”

Oregon proved it yet again to me.

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Four Countries In Four Days

CONSTANCELY SURPRISING

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Story & Photography By Wibke Carter

“I

really don't know why the Germans go to Spain or Italy if they have this on their doorstep,” my Irish travel companion mused.

True, coming from Cork, Ireland she was probably happy with any sort of warmish climate but standing on the shores of Lake Constance under sunny skies, looking at the impossibly turquoise green water and with a picturesque, centuries old city centre behind us, I couldn’t help but

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agree.

Formed by the Rhine Glacier during the last ice age, Lake Constance is central Europe’s third largest lake measuring no less than 63km long by 14km wide and up to 250m deep. It’s the only place in the world where you can wake up in Germany, drive to Austria for lunch, stop in Liechtenstein for some wine tasting and make it to Switzerland in time for a cheese fondue dinner. Fortunately, I wasn’t quite in such a rush and had four days to leisurely travel the countries surrounding the Bodensee, as it is called in German.

After a short drive from Zurich Airport, I arrived in Konstanz, with 80,000 inhabitants the largest city in the region yet one that nevertheless exudes a small town feeling. Nearly everything of interest is condensed in the Old Town which escaped the bombings in World War II. “Everything was pitch black in Germany at night during the raids,” explains historian Ralf Seifer. “But Konstanz kept the lights on and the Allied desisted from attacking it for fear of hitting neutral Switzerland.” As a result, medieval houses, cobblestoned narrow streets and several churches are all original and very old.

Konstanz is most famous for hosting the largest religious congress of the Middle Ages from 14141418, the Council of Constance. At the time there were three popes, two too many, and over four years in one of the most extraordinary gatherings in world history, Pope Martin V emerged as the chosen one. The former storehouse where the sittings took place is still standing however the most photographed icon of the city is Imperia, the controversial effigy of a courtesan holding a pope in one and a king in the other hand.

In the evening, I tried an unusual medieval menu derived from recipes originating 600 years ago at the Konzil Restaurant. Much like the clergy men during the Council of Constance, when spelt was a main ingredient for dishes, I ate spelt semolina soup with crusty bread followed by filet of char steamed in white wine vegetables and spelt noodles. The mousse au chocolat with “Konzil” ice cream and vanilla froth was most certainly from more modern times.

The next morning, I took the car ferry over to Meersburg before stopping at the Hopfengut N°20 where the Locher family has been producing the finest hops for breweries worldwide for four generations.

The ever-present smell during harvest time was a little nauseating but the on-site beer tasting certainly made

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Opposite: Imperia statue in Konstanz; on top: Bottom: Minster Square in Konstanz

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Two zeppelins over Lake Constance; small image top: Paddle steamer Hohentwiel; small image bottom: Street scene in the Old Town of Bregenz

Ph

up for the discomfort.

Up until then, I had only been in Germany but a few miles further, I crossed into Austria where dinner on the historic paddle steamer Hohentwiel was a culinary tour de force. Lulled by a five course meal with matching wines and the sounds of live jazz, I thoroughly enjoyed the zigzag ride across the lake long after darkness fell.

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Day three began with a tour around Bregenz known for its extravagant open-air opera festival, with its elaborate productions on a stage larger than life which appeared to float on the water. “For last year’s production the stage builders began building the set starting with the middle finger of Carmen’s right hand so for some time people didn’t really know what was going on,” laughed guide Saskia Reinhardt. Verdi’s Rigoletto

Photographer: Achim Mende Internationale Bodensee Tourismus GmbH

hotographer: Achim Mende Internationale Bodensee Tourismus GmbH

for the 2019/20 season might be a bit less provocative.

While having lunch at the waterfront, something resembling a yellow UFO (unidentified flying object) came into view: a zeppelin! Forgetting all about the need to eat, I grabbed my camera and took snapshots of this flying artifact which was a beautiful sight to behold, in its wonderful stillness. I later found out that Lake Constance was where the zeppelin was invented and took its maiden flight on July 2, 1900.

Gliding weightlessly myself, I took the cable car up the local Pfänder Mountain from where I could see white clouds mirrored in the blue Lake Constance framed by the distant outlines of both Germany and Switzerland.

The Principality of Liechtenstein was less than one hour drive away, too convenient an opportunity to pass and if only to collect a stamp in my passport which the staff at the Information Center were more than

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happy to provide. One of the world's tiniest and richest countries, Liechtenstein is an oddity – a mountain principality governed by a constitutional monarch, miniature vineyards and crowned by turreted castles.

Vaduz, its capital city, has less than 6,000 inhabitants yet it boasts immeasurable treasures like the Apple Blossom Fabergé egg, made of nephrite jade and studded with diamonds, which is on display in the Treasure Chamber. I learned how to make 'Käseknöpfle' (a hearty pasta-like dish with melted cheese), the country’s national food, at Hotel Turna in the ski resort of Malbun and slept in peace and quiet at an altitude of 5,249ft until the sound of cow bells woke me early in the morning.

With the journey in its final hours, I couldn’t resist the temptations of the Thurgau wine region on the way back to the airport. I dropped into the Weingut Forster on the Wine Trail Weinfelden where outstanding wines have been produced for more than 125 years. My favourite, the 2016 Fortissimo Pinot Noir, would have made an excellent souvenir but I was out of luck. The wine is usually sold before it is even bottled, I was told

by Benno Forster, the owner.

I continued along the vineyards on the wine trail and idling a while. The grapes were round and ready for harvest, the sheep were bleating, the views were picture-perfect and the sun was still warm in late summer … at that moment, I did not wish to be anywhere else but here.

IF YOU GO Tourist info: www.bodensee.eu Restaurant Konzil - www.konzil-konstanz.de Hopfengut N°20 - www.hopfengut.de Paddle Steamer Hohentwiel – www.hohentwiel. com Bregenz Festival – www.bregenzerfestspiele.com Pfänder cable car - www.pfaenderbahn.at Zeppelin flight - www.zeppelinflug.de/en Treasure Chamber Liechtenstein - www.landesmu seum.li Hotel Turna – www.turna.li

The author enjoys a glass of Riesling on the Weinfelden Wine Trail

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Beneath the Vermil Story & Photography by Michael Burge

Hiking Through Fushimi Inari’s Torii Gates is an Unforgettable Experience

O

ne of Japan’s most popular sites is southern Kyoto’s Fushimi Inari Shrine, which consists of thousands of vermilion torii gates ascending Mount Inari. Torii gates signify an entrance to a Shinto shrine, and the gates at Inari are striking for their size, beauty and number. The torii gates span two parallel trails that ascend the wooded mountain, and visitors pass beneath them as they climb. It can take two to three hours to hike to the top of the 760-foot-high

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peak and back, but sightseers can go as high they want and turn around.

The effect of passing from gate to gate as sunlight filters through the bright orange posts is dreamlike. Dappled orange light drips through the spans. Periodically along the trail stone foxes in red garb peer out of small Shinto shrines.

The foxes, messengers for the rice god Inari, often hold objects in their mouths, such as a key or sheaf of rice. The gates are a rich vermilion color

lion Gates

Here and there a larger shrine festooned with banners and streamers fills a bosky alcove on the side of the trail. Stone foxes, or kitsune, are a common sight on the trail up Mount Inari.

Often garbed in red, the foxes are said to be messengers for Inari, the god of rice. With light dappling her face and kimono, a visitor in traditional garb promenades beneath Fushimi Inari’s torii gates. The gates are donated by individuals and businesses, and are inscribed with the name and date of the donation.

and inscribed with the name of donors, who likely contributed the gate in gratitude for a blessing.

The Fushimi Inari shrine is only two train stops from the central Kyoto station on Japan Rail’s Kyoto-Nara line, and is a short walk from the Fushimi Inari station.

So it is easy to jump on the train in Kyoto, visit the shrine, and return to central Kyoto in less than a half a day, dedicating as much time to strolling through the torii gates as you wish.

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The shrine’s only drawback is that it is so popular, especially in summer, that thousands of pilgrims may be hiking the trails on a single day. However, the paths are long and meandering, so there are islands of solitude amid the throngs.

There are many unforgettable sights in Japan, and Fushimi Inari is high on that list.

As you hike the trails scaling Mount Inari you will come across small shrines, shops and even restaurants, to ease the passage.

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LIGHTEN UP! IN FINNISH LAPLAND The Aurora Borealis, Reindeer Rides and Winter Sports Draw Visitors from around the World

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Story & Photography by Amy Laughinghouse

I

t begins as a faint glimmer on the horizon, the merest suggestion of illumination flirting at the fringes of a black velvet sky. Yet that’s enough to trigger a tremor of excitement among a few dozen hopefuls gathered in a frosty Finnish forest, many of whom have travelled from as far as China for a glimpse of one of nature’s most ephemeral phenomena.

We struggle to detect even a hint of green in that celestial glow, but moments later, a camera's long exposure confirms what the naked eye cannot. Definitely

Photo by Lauren Bath/ Courtesy Inari-Saariselkä Tourism Ltd.

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green. Those are the Northern Lights, all right.

Admittedly, my friends and I had expected an extraterrestrial spectacle with a bit more blow-yourwoolly-socks-off oomph. We’re tempted to wait a while longer to see what materializes at the Aurora Hut on the outskirts of Saariselkä, a tiny village 250 miles north of the Arctic Circle in Inari, Finland’s most sparsely populated municipality. But here in Lapland, the largest and northernmost region of the country, the night is cold---relentless ice-cycles-in-your-nostrils cold that would make a snowman shiver---and our toasty beds beckon.

Just as we’ve begun our descent along the woodland path, ol’ Aurora pulls out all the stops, apparently reluctant to surrender her audience. A hazy, taunting temptress of a cloud suddenly transforms into a bright green mist, and then a ray like an alien tractor beam blazes diagonally above the treetops. A sinuous green snake simultaneously writhes overhead, followed by a shimmering curtain rippling on an invisible cosmic breeze. We're almost dizzy now, twirling, gasping, laughing, craning our necks to catch each new display as it erupts among the stars.

The grand finale is a circular shower of light, a slowmotion firework bursting in the frigid arctic air. Like children straining to catch snowflakes on our tongues, we turn our faces eagerly to the sky, basking in the celestial radiation raining down upon us as the solar wind shoulders its way through the atmosphere.

We’re hardly alone in our enthusiasm. Slogging along a snowy path in Saariselkä one morning, I ask a couple from Newcastle, England why they’re here. “We’re Aurora hunters,” the man announces with a rabid gleam in his eye. “Oh, really?” I reply. “Do you plan to mount it over your mantelpiece?”

Does he smile? He does not. The Northern Lights--or “the bloody Borealis,” as it’s sometimes known among visitors for whom it’s proved infuriatingly

Passing through the woods in Finnish Lapland on a reindeer-drawn sleigh.

The view is always the same, unless you’re the lead reindeer.

Left: A lonely tree braves the sub-zero cold of Lapland, Finland in winter.

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elusive---are serious business in Lapland. Sure, some folks come for winter sports, and families flock here hoping for an audience with the big bearded elf himself. (Santa Claus Village is located in Rovaniemi, 160 miles south, and he apparently maintains an office—a red-painted, peaked-roof log structure—here in Saariselkä.)

But the Aurora seems to rank as the top attraction among tourists willing to brave the harsh winter in northernmost Lapland, when the sun refuses to rise---much less shine---throughout December and half

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of January. Temperatures can drop to minus 40. (No, that’s not a typo). Even “Game of Thrones’” fans might long for the relatively balmy climes north of The Wall.

So we should count ourselves lucky when James Robertson, a native Scotsman who works for UKbased tour operator Inghams, offers up a relatively optimistic forecast. “Most of the week, it’s meant to be just below zero, so quite warm, really,” he says, without a trace of irony. “Of course, it’s a dry cold, so even if it’s minus 15, it’s not too bad,” he says cheerily. Somehow, I’m not reassured.

Fortunately, Saariselkä’s Top Safaris has plenty of cold-weather kit: puffy thermal suits (which do undeniably make my butt look big, and not in the sexy Kim Kardashian way), cross-country skis (upon which I perform a bumbling impression of a giraffe on rollerskates), and snow-shoes.

Not only are the snow-shoes labeled “left” and “right,” but also “top,” which I think would be obvious, considering that’s where the straps are. “Even I could’ve figured out that much,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

Wary reindeer gather on a snowy hilltop in Saariselkä, Finland. Every reindeer belongs to someone, but asking how many a person owns is considered rude. It’s like demanding to know how much money they earn.

Opposite: The author, attired in a thermal suit and snow shoes, prepares to take on the rolling hills of frozen Lapland, Finland.

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“Actually, that’s Top…for Top Safaris,” replies Danila Polyakov, an instructor who hails from over the border in Murmansk, Russia. He grins. I blush and make a hasty exit---at least, as hasty as I can with a pair of mutant tennis-rackets strapped to my feet.

The fastest way to make tracks across this blizzardblanketed landscape is via snowmobile. Janne Niskala,

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another Top Safaris instructor, is tasked with leading my friends and I on a ride into the wintry wilds. Sitting astride the gleaming black machine, anonymously attired in my thermal suit, black balaclava and helmet, I look like a smash-and-grab robber about to pull a heist. But in the quiet town of Saariselkä, home to one grocery store, a handful of restaurants, pubs and

Snowmobile riders prepare to set off across a hilltop in Saariselkä, Finland as the sun begins to set.

hotels, and a slew of souvenir shops, at best I might net a haul of reindeer magnets, plush polar bears which roar when you press their belly, and a few sticks of salted licorice (a coveted local specialty, but perhaps not worth being sentenced to years wearing an orange jumpsuit).

Abandoning my criminal reverie, I direct my attention back to Niskala, who is explaining how to steer, accelerate, brake, and---perhaps most importantly---operate the hand-warmer. With one last word of warning---“Try not to kill anyone”---we’re off!

I feel like an Ewok, flying through the sugar-dusted forest past snow-pregnant pines, many bent double, as if praying on their knees for an early spring. As we approach a vast, windy hilltop, the trees disappear, replaced by an otherworldly moonscape. The terrain is barren and unrelentingly white, tinged with long, purple shadows cast by the setting sun. Then, as if on cue, Niskala announces, “The reindeer are coming.”

Sure enough, a few hundred yards away, Donner and Blitzen and their posse are teetering over the horizon.

Spotting us, the herd stands stock-still, frozen (probably literally) in place. As the rest keep a wary watch on us, the lead reindeer suddenly plunges her head deep into the snow, like an ostrich. “She’s digging for moss to eat,” our guide tells us. And here I was thinking that reindeer subsisted on a diet of candy canes and Christmas cookies.

I’ll have an opportunity to meet these critters up close and personal before the week’s out, but first, I plan to try my hand at husky-sledding. We hear the dogs, baying as if for blood, long before we reach the farm 12 miles away. After a few quick instructions---lean left to steer left, lean right to steer right, break by pressing down on the serrated metal blade at the back of the sled---we pair off two-by-two. My friend takes a seat while I man the reins, following our guide, who leads the pack on a snowmobile.

Our dogs, unlike the others, aren’t particularly bothered about speed. They trot along contentedly, nipping at the snow and barely breaking stride as they answer nature’s call. Easy peasy, I think, until I notice a tree perilously close on our right. Desperately, I shift all my weight to the left…but the dogs make a beeline for it as though it’s the last fire hydrant on earth. In the blink of an eye and a bump of the sled, I find myself being dragged along behind, clinging helplessly to the

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handlebar. If that’s my life flashing before me, it looks a lot like the back-end of a dog.

Finally, after what seems like rather a long time, the guide hears our cries and pegs my predicament.

Calling the huskies to a halt, he rushes back, his face full of concern. “You did a great job to hang on!” he says, shaking my hand before enveloping me in a comforting hug.

“He’s the best-looking boy I’ve seen in Finland,” my friend confides later. Maybe so, but I reckon there are more effective ways of flirting than being dragged through dog pee-drizzled snow like a Finnish version of the bungling Bridget Jones.

There’s no balm for frazzled nerves like the Muotka Wilderness Hotel, where we transfer the next night.

This woodland camp, about nine miles south of Saariselkä, encompasses a main building with a dining room bookended by a lounge with an open fireplace and a well-stocked bar, which is surrounded by detached log suites and intimate Aurora Cabins.

Each conical Aurora Cabin features a large glass window wall, which allows you to view the Northern Lights (should they deign to make an appearance) without leaving the warmth and comfort of your bed.

The lodge also offers nocturnal excursions deeper into the darkness in search of the Aurora Borealis, with the option of steering your own snowmobile or cozying up in a snowmobile-drawn sled, which bumps and winds through the snow-iced forest like a children’s funfair ride in a magical fairyland.

After one restful night here, I feel ready to face another animal encounter. This time, it’s a reindeer sleigh ride on a farm run by the indigenous Sami people, who speak in a variety of unique dialects and dress in colorful wool clothing, laden with symbols that relate details about where they’re from and even their marital status. (Woe to the husband who comes home with the tassels on his “four winds” hat draped to the wrong side!)

Determined not to let this experience go to the dogs, so to speak, I surrender the reins to my friend.

This time, I’m happy to ride shotgun on our short, circular jaunt through the snowy pines.

Unlike Santa’s reindeer, Snowball, as we’ve dubbed our pure white steed, never comes close to attaining lift-off. But never mind. My spirit is soaring high on the thin arctic air.

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Visitors set off down a track in Finnish Lapland in a reindeer-drawn sled.

IF YOU GO Getting there: Fly to Ivalo airport, which is less than 17 miles from Saariselkä.

Where to Stay: There are several hotels within the village of Saariselkä, including Holiday Club Saariselkä https://www.holidayclubresorts.com/en/ resorts/saariselka/ and Santa’s Hotel Tunturi http:// www.santashotels.fi/en/hoteltunturi. For details on Muotka Wilderness Hotel, visit https://nellim.fi/ muotka/.

Top Safaris: http://www.topsafaris.fi/content/ en/1/10005/Home.html Tourism information: http://www.inarisaariselka.fi/ en/

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BY SHARON WHITLEY LARSEN

SHADES OF GREEN

“Did you see the Northern Lights?”

That's the first thing several friends asked when I returned from a transatlantic Viking cruise--“In the Wake of the Vikings”--from Bergen, Norway, to Montreal, with stops in the Shetland Islands, Faroe Islands, Iceland, Greenland, and eastern Canadian towns of L'Anse Aux Meadows, Saguenay, and Quebec City. (For the record—alas, I didn't see the Northern Lights. Next time!)

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I've been lucky to stop in Iceland—a travel “hot spot”--and the Shetland Islands (which I love) twice in 2018 on cruises. But I had no idea what to expect in Greenland—the “fly-over” country inhabited since Prehistoric times—some 4,300 years. How many times—flying across the Pond--I've gazed from an airline window to the mass of snow and ice below me, wondering who in the world lived there!

I soon found out!

NLAND

PHOTO COURTESY OF WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

Only some 57,000 Greenlanders reside on this world's largest island—which has the lowest population density; nearly 75% of it is uninhabitable, covered in ice. A constituent country of the Kingdom of Denmark, the population of Greenland (Kalaallit Nunaat) is about 80% Inuit and about 12% Danish. The languages spoken are Kalaallisut and Danish.

We've all heard of Erik the Red (Norwegian Erik Torvaldsson, father of Leif Eriksson) who set foot on this vast land in 985 and created the first Norse settle-

ments. He also—cleverly--named the land “Greenland” as a gimmick to attract potential settlers. It worked!

Our ship anchored off the quaint town of Qaqortoq in southern Greenland (pop. 3,000), founded in 1775—which has no roads leading in or out—and is accessed only via helicopter (which also links to the small international airport), dog sleds, all-terrain vehicles, snowmobiles, boats, ferries or cruise ships. It has a couple of pubs, one police station; one hotel, an inn and two youth hostels; one tourist office/souvenir shop (and a few other shops, including one selling seal-skin boots, handbags and jackets), two large grocery stores, a few cafe/restaurants, one 18-bed hospital, a few churches and schools.

But no McDonald's, Starbucks, or Costco! Industries include fishing, ship maintenance and repair, fur production, government administration—and tourism, including serving as a port of call for a few cruise ships.

The town also has one interesting museum, in a building constructed in 1804—a former inn where Charles Lindbergh once stayed.

One shore excursion option in Qaqortoq (which means “White” in Greenlandic; the fourth largest town on the island—and regarded as this territory's most beautiful) included a visit to an Inuit woman's home for coffee and cake one morning. I was curious to see what a private home would be like so my husband Carl and I signed up!

After we tendered off the ship (which was anchored not too far from an iceberg!), we met our local guides—two young college students—at 8:30 a.m. at the pier. Our group of 12 hailed from the U. S., New Zealand, and England.

One guide assured us that the private home was “only a 10-minute walk” away. But he neglected to say it was UPHILL! Fortunately this was a gorgeous, sunny, September day, a crisp 50-degrees. I was awestruck by the brightly colored wood buildings—houses and shops— floating up the hillsides, painted vivid red, green, purple, blue, yellow. It was magical!

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Our guides explained that they would serve as interpreters for our home visit. So, as they led the way, our group strode uphill, often stopping to take photos of the glorious town's bright, colorful buildings and harbor view—with our cruise ship anchored in the distance. A few Inuits walked their dogs or drove by fast on the narrow roads in their old pick-up trucks. Two teachers led a group of charming, smiling 4- and 5-year-olds, donned in lime-green vests and walking hand-in-hand—on a field trip to somewhere.

PHOTO BY SHARON WHITLEY LARSEN

We finally got to the modest house and entered, removing our jackets—and shoes, as is the custom. (It's also customary to take the hostess a gift.)

I didn't realize that we were participating in a Kaffemik--a Danish word for Greenland Coffee Social Gathering—often to celebrate life's important events: a couple's engagement, weddings, baby christenings, birthdays, graduations, anniversaries, sports achievements—even to toast a child who has hunted down his or her first reindeer or seal! Or it's an Open House, a social visit among friends, family, neighbors and colleagues. The motto is: “Come glad and eat cake!”

PHOTO BY SHARON WHITLEY LARSEN

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Our shore excursion group had paid $59 each for the privilege of attending a Kaffemik and we were greeted warmly by the charming grandmother who met us in her home, where tables and walls displayed family photos (of birthday parties, weddings, Christmas, christenings). The two bedrooms I peeked in were painted bright reddish/orange and blue. As we strolled past the cozy white kitchen into the living/dining room (which had a breathtaking view of the town and harbor below), Carl gasped. There, set on the table, was the blue Bing & Grondahl Danish china with the same seagull design that his mother had bought on a trip to Denmark in the early 1950s (and which we now cherish). The Danish influence is big here, with some 65% of the tourists visiting from Denmark.

boots and wool sweaters). She told us a bit about her life via the interpreter. Widowed three years, she has three adult children who also live in town. She was curious to know where all of us were from.

As we sampled the assortment of goodies and sipped coffee, we chatted with others and took photos of the house—as well as posing with our smiling hostess.

After 90 minutes, we bid thank you (“Qujanaq”) to her, gathered our jackets, sat in the small enclosed front porch to put our shoes back on, and walked downhill back to the town center.

Near the pier a few locals sold handmade items, spread out on a table, including crafts and jewelry.

Several tourists, intrigued with the 40 “Stone & Man” rock and boulder carvings around town—which feature faces, whales, and fish, carved by various Scandinavian artists—took photos of this open-air art gallery. I entered one of the few souvenir shops I could find, where I was dying to purchase a “Greenland” T-shirt—but didn't, since, if I could find one for sale, they cost $55! (The currency here is Danish krone.)

After browsing in a couple of shops, we stumbled

PHOTO COURTESY OF WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

The dining table was loaded with a half-dozen of the most delicious-looking home-made desserts, which the hostess passed around for everyone to sample as she poured coffee. Normally I don't indulge in dessert (Carl, who loved the pineapple upside-down cake, thinks I'm strange) but I had two helpings of the best-ever carrot cake! (You must also sample the traditional Kalaalit Kaagiat—Greenland coffee cake.

A Kaffemik can also include meals of reindeer, seal, whale, fish soup and other local specialties.)

Our hostess later changed into a native costume-which she explained, with its intricate bead work, took two years to make!--and wore seal-skin boots (a traditional costume may also include long, white furry PHOTO BY SHARON WHITLEY LARSEN

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across a charming red wood church—Savior's Church-built in 1832 by Danish missionaries. The door was open so we entered. A men's chorus of twelve was rehearsing “Amazing Grace” in their native tongue. And the church was packed with a grateful audience—passengers from our ship, who had also wandered in. Carl and I stood in the back and enjoyed hearing them sing several more songs, to appreciative applause.

Nearby was a large grocery store—even with a side room “wine cellar” well stocked with bottles. Some ship crew members and passengers strolled the aisles, picking up candy or other souvenirs.

As we trekked back to the pier, we noticed that the

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Viking cruise staff had set up a table on the town square offering salmon sliders and Irish coffee. That was a welcome respite, which we enjoyed while sitting on a bench near the landmark Qaqortoq Fountain, people-watching, relaxing in the sun, and wondering what it would be like to live here--especially in the winter!

Carl and I reluctantly lined up at the tender. As our Viking ship sailed away from Qaqortoq, we stood on the top deck toasting, with champagne, Greenland and its magical charm.

And the next time I fly over, I'll wave and do the same!

PHOTO COURTESY OF WIKIMEDIA COMMONS

IF YOU GO Visit Greenland: www.visitgreenland.com Visit Qaqortoq: https://visitgreenland.com/ destinations/qaqortoq/ Qaqortoq Tourist Office and Sagalands Tours: www.sagalands.com Greenland Travel: www.greenlandtravel.com Viking's “In the Wake of the Vikings” cruise: www.vikingcruises.com/

PHOTO BY CARL LARSEN

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Neuschw

BY JOHN MUNCIE

Neuschwanstein castle, Germany’s second most-popular tourist attraction, on a crag overlooking the Bavarian countryside.

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wanstein T he first time I visited Neuschwanstein castle we drove up in a decrepit VW van. It was me and Bob, my college roommate.

Bearded, hair to our shoulders. The van could barely make 60 mph on the Autobahn; a month later its tailpipe would fall off.

It was 1969.

The second time was this past September. We drove up in a 55-seat tour bus. My wife and I and 33 other sightseers. The bus had luxurious seats, a chatty tour guide, and a cooler with soft drinks and beer. My beard and hair were white.

Neuschwanstein seems little changed in the past 50 years. Except for the crowds and the hang gliders floating around its turrets. The castle is now Germany’s second most popular tourist attraction. Some 1.5 million visit it each year. In summer that can mean 6,000 visitors a day. When we arrived, two

dozen tour buses lined the parking lot.

Sitting on an imposing crag above the village of Hohenschwangau and Lake Alpsee, a tidy, Bavarian farmscape laid out below, the castle is the epitome of Medieval romance. Towers, gables, pinnacles, massive stone ramparts. You can imagine armored knights jousting in the walled courtyard or, as Walt Disney had in mind when he designed the Disneyland castle, Sleeping Beauty snoozing in the top floor.

Romantic notions took me to Neuschwanstein in the first place. Bob and I had adorned our shared apartment with three out-sized travel posters: one showing the Cologne cathedral at night, one of the Acropolis in Athens, and one of Neuschwanstein.

Fired up by Tolkein and a need to forget – at least for one summer -- the draft and the Vietnam War, we flew to Europe after graduation determined to visit each poster scene.

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It wasn’t until later I learned there’s nothing at all Medieval about Neuschwanstein. Nor is it very historic. It was built using the steam-powered equipment of the late 19th century. Even the Disney connection is sketchy. According to Disney archives, it’s more likely that Disney designers Herb Ryman and Bill Martin added the Neuschwanstein look to Cinderella’s or Sleeping Beauty’s castles, not Walt.

But I can attest that, after a second trip, the romantic appeal endures. And my fellow sightseers agreed: Said Mary Anne Bielaccys from Michigan: “I like anything about castles.

And I want to get pictures for my granddaughter. This was the model for Sleeping Beauty’s Castle and all little girls are princesses.”

It was cloudy and grey my first time; this September, skies were clear and the air was dry. I wore shorts and a T-shirt. We left Munich around 10:00; soon we were in a countryside dotted with red-tiled barns. Danielle “Dani” Bohn, our guide

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with Radius Tours, talked about cows herded down from summer pastures and the tradition of village “Mai Baum,” a civic sign in totem pole form. To the west and south, the Alps rose up.

Visiting Neuschwanstein requires commitment. Not only is it a 90-minute bus ride from Munich (Radius and other tour groups also offer a train/shuttlebus combination; there are even bike tours) but also it’s about a mile-long, up-hill walk to the castle from Hohenschwangau.

Shuttle buses are available as are horse-drawn carriages but, as romantic as carriage rides appear, lines can be long (more than 60 would-be passengers were waiting when we arrived).

And no matter how you get to the castle gates, there are still many stone steps to climb to reach the furnished rooms. Meanwhile, the most iconic, panoramic view is another 10-minute uphill walk to a bridge that overlooks the castle and the surrounding landscape.

We were game for the climb so we walked the wide

Left: Portrait of King Ludwig II, “The Mad King of Bavaria,” hanging in the castle gift shop.

View from the castle parapets of Hohenschwangau village below and Lake Alpsee beyond.

wooded paved pathway to the castle. Halfway up we stopped at a trail-side stand and, heeding Dani’s advice -- “They’re the reason I’m here today.” – bought some “Quarkballchen,” a kind of deep-fried donut.

Fueled up for the next half-mile, we followed Dani as she narrated the Neuschwanstein story.

This was the same path that King Ludwig II himself walked as a boy before the current castle existed.

Ludwig was Neuschwanstein’s creator and the two are inextricably entwined.

Born in 1845, Ludwig spent much of his youth in what’s now called Hohenschwangau Castle, a revamped fortress on a ridge overlooking Hohenschwangau village. Mostly ignored by his royal parents, he grew up enamored of art and mythology, Round Table legends and mighty deeds. These boyish passions only grew with age. So much so that Ludwig become himself legendary, the so-called “Mad King of Bavaria.”

Ludwig was crowned at this father’s death in 1864.

He was only 18. His family had ruled Bavaria for 700 years. Within five years, he began construction of Neuschwanstein. Meant to harken back to a Medieval ideal, it was in fact a paean to mythology and ego; a flight of fancy; a Disneyland castle begun 32 years before Disney was born. Neuschwanstein didn’t inspire fairy tales, it was inspired by them.

While Neuschwanstein was built upon the ruins of two 11th century fortifications, Ludwig turned to theater set designer Christian Jank for architectural advice, not historians. Ultimately, the plans were so grandiose and costly that Ludwig began to bankrupt his family. Even as Bavaria lost a war and its identity as separate from Prussia, he kept on building and kept on borrowing money. It was still unfinished when he died in 1886. Mad indeed.

Our castle tour entrance time was from 2:10-2:14.

Dani warned us repeatedly: You miss that window, you’re out of luck; the castle is booked solid. She gathered our group by the entrance, next to a digital timer. When it hit 2:10 our group, now mixed with a couple of others, surged into the castle courtyard.

Neuschwanstein is run by a local organization and local guides are mandatory; interior photos are prohibited. While it looks imposing and has 115 rooms on multiple levels (Ludwig originally planned for more than 200), only 17 rooms were completed

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before the king’s death. You get whisked through the whole place in around a half hour. (Though you can spend as long as you want in the gift shop.)

The castle was never meant to hold a royal court and none of the viewable rooms are particularly large.

The biggest, the Hall of the Singers, is 89-by-33 feet.

About half-way through any of the rooms, the narration tapers off and you begin to feel pressure from the incoming tide of tourists behind you. Gawking time is limited.

Still a half-hour inside Neuwchwanstein is like being inside a princely fever dream. The handful of rooms is crammed with marble columns, gilt cornices, mosaics, paintings, carvings, statues, mythological murals, and Godzilla’s massive tiara. No, wait, that’s a bejeweled chandelier with 96 candles weighing a ton and shaped like a Byzantine crown.

Ludwig’s bedroom sports a carved bed stand shaped like a Gothic tower; the living room features 160 swans -- painted, carved or cast in bronze. Even the door handles are swan-shaped. Ludwig knew Richard Wagner and opera scenes from “Tannhauser,” “Lohengrin” and “Parsifal” fill the walls.

Ludwig seems to have channeled Liberace as Bavarian monarch. Delightful, kitschy, and a little crazy in a good way.

For all the time spent on building Neuschwanstein, Ludwig occupied the finished rooms for less than half a year and slept over only 11 nights. The flight of his imagination and failure of his ambitions are themes that were laid out by both Dani and our castle guide.

Psychological theories abound, many hinging on family dynamics and sexual orientation.

Tourists crowd a bridge to get there best panoramic view of the castle.

A horse-drawn carriage carts tourists up the mile-long road to the castle gates.

Right: The castle 10 years after its completion.

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Ludwig’s death didn’t clarify anything. It’s a complicated story involving castle construction debts, a covetous uncle, charges of insanity, a kidnapping, a drowning in waist-deep water, and an unconvincing autopsy. All adding to the legend of Ludwig and his castle.

If there’s a single spot that captures Neuschwanstein extravagance, it may be outside the gaudy rooms.

Not far from the castle gates several trails branch off into the surrounding forest. I took one that skirted the castle’s base then wound through woods. Eventually I came to a scrum of more than 50 tourists on a bridge above a rugged ravine.

I had to wait my turn but finally squeezed through

to an open railing. This viewpoint is a photographer’s dream; a place for selfies and magazine covers. (And the ravine below is, according to Dani, “a graveyard for colorful phone cases.”)

From here, the castle is pure romance. Soaring turrets, blue roof tiles, impregnable walls. It looks like a page from an illustrated manuscript. It doesn’t matter that Neuschwanstein’s builders used powered equipment to lift its massive stones, not an army of peasants; or that Ludwig’s rooms were partially illuminated by electric lights and warmed by a central heating system. This is Camelot by the Alps.

That hasn’t changed since 1969.

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A Music Lover’s D ARIA HOTEL BUDAPEST

BY MARGIE GOLDSMITH

Aria Hotel Budapest, built in 1875

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Dream

W

hen I learned that the Aria Hotel Budapest was named the #1 Hotel In the World, my curiosity was piqued.

There are other hotels that have five-star service, plushy rooms, and a gourmet restaurant, but what makes one of those rise to the status of #1?

I decided to arrive a few days early for my Emerald Waterways cruise from Budapest to Nuremberg and answer that question for myself. I liked the fact that the Aria was part of the Library Hotel Collection, whose Hotel Giraffe, Casablanca Hotel and Library Hotel (one of my favorites) were just voted the only NYC hotels to claim spots in the Best US Top 25 Hotels. Would this be another favorite?

I walked into the Aria Hotel Budapest and almost gasped as I saw a curving black-and-white piano key path leading to a Bogányi piano (known as the Hungarian Wonder Piano) in the Music Courtyard lobby. The place was a large as a palace. Pianist László Pecek Lakatos, a multi-generation member of a Hungarian Roma musician family was playing jazz and the music echoed right up to the towering all-glass Sky Dome. There was a fire in the fireplace at Satchmo’s bar with dozens of mirrors, some autographed

by Sting, Placido Domingo and others.

No wonder they called it the “Aria.”

The theme of music was every-

where. Each accommodations had a personal media player so guests could play their preferred choices behind sound-proof walls. A Music Director sat in the Music Library and asked if I wanted to take a complimentary CD of any genre to my room. The Aria building was built in 1875, the same year Franz Liszt founded the Music Academy in Budapest, and the two buildings are located within walking distance of each another.

I indulged myself in the hotel’s complimentary afternoon wine and cheese reception held in the Music Courtyard.

The hotel also offered free WiFi, an in-room iPad, Nespresso Coffee Machine, full complimentary breakfast, chocolates at turn-down, and access to the Harmony Spa. Offering a typical assortment of treatments, a Jacuzzi, sauna, and steam room, what I loved best was the spa’s 35-foot-long heated pool with a silhouette of a full jazz band painted on the wall.

The rooms, too, were based on music: the four wings (with a total of 49 accommodations) each had a different theme: Classical, Jazz, Opera and Contemporary. The Classical wing had white and turquoise baroque style furnishings and a violin sketch etched into the carpet. The sound system played mainly symphonies, concertos, and sonatas, with much of the playlist composed or performed by Hungarian

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artists such as Liszt, Bartók or Kodály. The Jazz wing rooms were funky with black and white checked chaise longues and lime green and gold touches; the room played jazz standards and Hungarian improvised music. The Contemporary wing rooms were full of bold colors and pop art and played the best songs from the 60’s through the present. My spacious room was in the Opera Wing with lilac and gray furnishings, a plushy bed and a Murano Venetian chandelier. Puccini played in the background.

I grabbed my camera and headed out for a private tour arranged by the hotel. A block away was the Basilica of St Stephen, Hungary’s first King, where the church bells were chiming with such strong vibrations I could feel them in my body. Budapest has a flat downtown area and a more hilly area linked by eight

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bridges. As we crossed one the guide said, ‘be careful.

Here there are no pedestrians, only survivors.’ The guide led me to citadels and UNESCO World Heritage Sites and explained Budapest’s complicated history.

“We lost the war because we were always on the wrong side,” the guide admitted.

We walked by the house where the magician, Houdini, originally named Eric Weisz, was born. His biggest trick, the guide said, was leaving Hungary at four years of age and moving to the west. Budapest actress Zsa Zsa Gabor had nine husbands. When asked how good a housekeeper she was, she replied, “Very good.

Whenever I divorced, I kept the house.” Ernő Rubik, inventor of the Rubik’s cube, is still in Budapest, a professor. We walked past stalls selling packs of paprika, the premier spice of Hungarian cuisine, originally used

Clockwise: A Jazz Wing accommodation at the Aria Hotel Budapest; The Spa’s Jacuzzi and 35foot long swimming pool; An Opera Room accommodation at the Aria Hotel Budapest; A view of Basilica St. Stephen as seen from the outdoor bar/dining area of the High Note SkyBar at Hotel Aria Budapest.

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as pepper for the poor. Now a good goulash can’t be made without it.

The saddest thing for me was The Shoes on the Danube Bank, a memorial honoring the Jews who were killed by fascist Arrow Cross militiamen in Budapest during World War II. The Jews were ordered to take off their shoes, were chained at the edge of the water, shot, and fell into the frigid river to be carried away. The memorial on the bank of iron shoes represents the shoes of 4,500 people, 800 of them Jews, left behind.

My sadness lessened when I saw the Michael Jackson tree shrine at the edge of a park. Everywhere on the trunk were photos of the artist who had

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performed on tour in Budapest. Whenever he was in town, hordes of fans would gather in the park across from his hotel, trying to catch a glimpse. When he died, his fans dedicated the tree to his memory. Each year on his birthday, flash mobs gather to perform one of his legendary dances.

Later that day, I returned to the Aria and took the elevator up to the High Note SkyBar overlooking St. Stephen’s Basilica. When the doors opened, there were at least 15 paparazzi taking photos of me with bright flashes. I was blinded. Then I realized it was just an electronic light board, part of the bar’s “Movie” theme for the month. The SkyBar was glass-enclosed and played Hollywood music in the background. The bar,

the hottest in Budapest, was almost trippy, like being at the Mad Hare’s party. My first drink was served in a glass made from a teacup glued to a wine glass stem.

Each cocktail was paired with a delicious appetizer and they were ever-coming.

How I managed to eat dinner that night is beyond me, but when you’re in a five-star hotel, you certainly don’t want to miss an extraordinary meal. In the restaurant, I opted for traditional Hungarian fish soup with caviar, the most tender roasted venison loin, and orange and chocolate custard cake.

Back in my spacious room, I opened the window, lay down on the plushy bed and again heard the cacophony of bells chiming from the Basilica, a perfect ending to a

perfect day in a perfect hotel. I understood why the Aria Hotel Budapest was rated the #1 Hotel in the World – because as much as there is to do and see in Budapest, it would be equally satisfying to never leave the Aria and its world of music, so soothing to the soul.

The Music Courtyard lobby at the Aria Hotel Budapest with a “piano key path” leading to a Bogányi Piano (the Hungarian wonder piano).

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From Sandston

Monument Valley’s Vermilion Buttes Hav Story and Photography by

Michael Burge

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ne to Celluloid

ve Come to Symbolize the American West

I

f there is one place in the country that screams “This is the American West� in full voice, that place is Monument Valley. Its vermilion rock formations thrust skyward like giant hands that extend to the horizon in an endless parade of buttes, mesas and spires. Monument Valley occupies more than a geographical space, it occupies a niche in our culture that speaks to the American West in a way no place else quite does.

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One of the first things we realized when we planned a trip to this iconic place is how remote it is. Even today, with interstate highways crisscrossing the country and airports in seemingly every city, Monument Valley is a challenge to get to. It is located in northeastern Arizona on the Navajo Nation just west of the Four Corners, where Arizona, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico meet.

Part of it spills into Utah.

My wife, Kathie, and I approached Monument Valley from the southwest on US 163, and the closer we got the more buttes and spires popped up in the surrounding landscape. It is one of those places that, as you get close, has warmup acts. Just south of Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park is a volcanic plug, Agathla Peak, rising 1,500 feet above the surrounding desert

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like a knife blade jutting up through the earth’s skin.

This peak was a mere preview of what was to come.

When we drove past the gate and into the park, the valley’s colossal buttes seemed to fill our entire windshield. Little compares with Monument Valley’s buttes and mesas for scenic grandeur. We stopped at the first opportunity to take them in, and before us stood Merrick Butte, the park’s most recognized formation. It was a heart-stopping moment. We visited in January, and snow covered the ground and filled cracks in the red rock, highlighting the buttes’ corrugated walls.

Stepping out of the car in the presence of these massive mesas, I was overcome by their force. No matter how often I had seen this place in photographs, nothing compared with the real thing.

Monument Valley will always be linked with film director John Ford and Hollywood star John Wayne, who is recognized with a cabin and icons at Goulding’s Lodge, left. The valley’s iconic buttes appear to float atop a layer of fog in this early-morning image, center. The three spires peaking over the snow, right, are called “Three Sisters.”

The buttes are composed principally of red sandstone and are the result of millions of years of continental upthrust and erosion, as tectonic forces drove the surrounding Colorado Plateau upward, then wind and rain carved and chiseled the pillars.

These curious rock formations would have remained a remote natural wonder if not for cinema. And the person most responsible for that was the film director John Ford, who used the buttes and mesas as a dramatic backdrop. The first film he shot there was the classic western “Stagecoach,” released in 1939, which was also John Wayne’s first starring vehicle. Ford eventually shot seven westerns in Monument Valley, all of which starred Wayne, forever linking the actor and the place.

There are varying stories about how Ford discovered

and selected the valley as his go-to setting for westerns. Wayne believed it was he who steered Ford to Monument Valley, saying that he once rounded up some cattle in the area while working on another film and was shown the valley by a local preacher. He later suggested the location to Ford, but Ford never corroborated Wayne’s account. Ford told different stories of how he discovered the place, such as he chanced upon Monument Valley himself while driving to Santa Fe, or someone else introduced him to the area.

The story most often repeated was told by the late Harry Goulding, who with his wife, Leone “Mike” Goulding, operated a trading post within view of the buttes. The Gouldings opened their trading post in the 1920s, and when the Great Depression struck, the

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economy in the Four Corners suffered. According to the Goulding account, the couple went to Hollywood to sell Ford on the valley as a film location, to help both themselves and their Navajo neighbors. Harry Goulding talked his way past the studio gate and to the office of Ford’s producer, Walter Wanger, whereupon he was told to leave. Instead, he told the receptionist he had all the time in the world, laid out a Navajo blanket on the floor

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and sat down. When an assistant arrived to evict this trespasser, Goulding pulled out photos of the signature buttes and waved them under the man’s nose. That got his attention, as well as Ford’s, who used Monument Valley as a film location from then on.

No one really knows which of these stories is true – perhaps each is partially true –but this was Hollywood, where a good story is everything, and because Gould-

Mystery Valley, just south of Monument Valley, lives up to its name. Cupcakeshaped rock formations take shape in one ravine. A tour of Mystery Valley gives glimpses of an ancient people who lived here before Navajo settlement.

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Monument Valley’s red buttes were captured here at dawn as fog filled the valley. To access some areas in Monument and Mystery Valleys visitors must hire a guide, such as Tully Begay of Phillips Photography Tours, who was knowledgeable and dependable.

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ing’s tale was the most colorful, that has won credence.

What is true is that Monument Valley has become the leading icon for the American West as a direct result of Ford’s films. Since Ford popularized them the buttes have appeared in more than 100 movies, TV shows and commercials. One of its most memorable appearances was in “Forrest Gump” as the spot where Tom Hanks’ character finally gives up his cross-country run.

There is even a spot in the park named for John Ford. This rock shelf juts over a dry wash and provides a perfect vantage of the park’s most prominent features – West Mitten, Merrick Butte, and East Mitten, with mesas filling in the background.

Just inside the mile-high park a 17-mile loop road offers excellent views of its prominent features from several different angles. Much of the park is accessible by car, but be prepared for a bumpy ride, as the road is rocky and sandy. And if it’s winter be prepared for a lot of slipping and sliding, even if you have all- or four-wheel drive, because it may be muddy and slick.

However, much of Monument Valley and adjacent Mystery Valley are accessible only by permission, and the way to access these areas is through a concessionaire. To get off the main road we signed onto a sunrise tour with Phillips Photography Tours, one of several reliable tour companies, and we were so taken with the success of that excursion that we signed up for a sunset tour of adjacent Mystery Valley later the same day. Originally we had doubts about waking up at 5 a.m. to make a 6 a.m. start for the sunrise tour, and those doubts didn’t get any less when we stepped out of our hotel room to a 17-degree, still-dark morning. The doubts began to evaporate only after we met our Navajo guide, Tully Begay.

Tully is well-acquainted with every rock and gully in Monument Valley, and he soon was navigating his Chevy Tahoe past one of the “No Entry Without Permission” signs and down a snow-covered track between two mesas. Finally we came to a stop.

There was still no hint of sunlight in any direction.

The snow-covered ground shimmered blue in the starlight and a lone juniper seemed to shiver in the

cold. Or maybe that was me.

“This is a good spot,” Tully announced. “The sun will come up over there, behind Totem Pole and Yei Bi Chei,” he said, naming two revered column formations. Carrying my camera gear and tripod, we trudged behind Tully, careful to place our feet where he had placed his, as we had no idea what lay beneath the crusty snow. I had the uncanny feeling that as we were watching the sun rise, we were being watched. And indeed later, after the sun came up, coyote prints were apparent in the snow.

Tully was correct about the spot he chose. The sun’s glow crept over the horizon, silhouetting Totem Pole, Yei Bi Chei and the juniper. The only drawback was the biting cold and my freezing feet. Finally Tully packed us into the warm Tahoe and drove us to a new location, North Window.

Again he led us along a snow-covered trail that hugged Spearhead Mesa until we reached a flat shelf that afforded a perfect view of the valley floor. The sun was rising behind us now, gradually lighting up the distant buttes and spires. Then the amazing happened. A layer of fog crept into the valley, gradually surrounding the bottoms of the buttes, making them appear as if they were floating on a cloud. It was a slow-motion drama of rock, fog, snow and sunlight, playing out on the valley floor, and we were the audience.

All told we spent about four hours on the tour, stopping several times. One favorite place was John Ford Point, which indeed provides some of the most dramatic views. We then took a lunchtime break and returned at 2 p.m. for our tour of Mystery Valley.

If Monument Valley is where geological history comes alive, Mystery Valley is where human history comes alive. Tully drove us south out of the park and we were soon traversing a broad valley shielded by Mitchell Mesa. Here and there we saw a house, sometimes with a hogan, a traditional Navajo dwelling. And every now and then we saw livestock. Many Navajos follow traditional ways and measure wealth not by their stock portfolio, but by their livestock portfolio. Trading sheep, cattle and horses is still a vibrant way of life in this part of the country.

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Native Americans have lived on this continent for thousands of years, and the Navajo trace their presence in the Four Corners to about 1300. The Navajos even returned after they were driven out by the military in the 1860s, an ugly chapter in US history called the Long Walk. Today Monument Valley Navajo Tribal Park provides a livelihood for many Navajos who work in the tourism and hospitality industry.

Tully noted that many Navajos move away from the reservation to a large city, like Phoenix or Albuquerque, for a job or education, only to return later.

“They live away for so many years, but they tend to move back to their homeland where they were raised,” Tully said. “They had their mind set on coming back; they always wanted to live here and live the lifestyle that their great ancestors lived, on the open land instead of being squished up in one area, in a big community with so many people.”

Known among Navajos as a grazing area, Mystery Valley exemplifies that ideal. But Mystery Valley grazers have suffered over the past two years because of relentless drought. Tully noted that yucca plants dried up and turned brown as a result, and livestock and wild horses perished due to lack of food and water. We came across the remains of a horse that had died in the summer. This winter’s snow was a welcome sight, as it may replenish the desiccated ground and revive the dried plants.

Soon we had traveled back in time to pre-Navajo days, as we visited the ruins of an ancient people called Ancestral Puebloan People, or Anasazi, who were known for their cliffside and cave dwellings. They left behind myriad wall and cave paintings. These people vanished as a civilization about 1300, and their descendants probably mixed with other tribes, such as the Hopi. No one knows for certain.

Tully drove us to two former dwellings, one the remnants of residents built against a cliff, and the other a dwelling built high up a cliff on a rock shelf. At one of them images of hands and animals were painted on a rock wall. The best example of this ancient culture was ensconced in a perfectly formed arch alternatively called Pine Tree Arch and Wedding Arch. Tully gave us a boost so we could scale the slick sandstone and sit inside the rock tube, which was about 30 yards wide and high. And there inside the arch, perched on a shelf, was a brick granary abandoned hundreds of years ago.

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It was a marvel to imagine people scrambling up the same rock to store their maize. We had the feeling of being dwarfed by the tall rock arch, and by time itself.

To reach our final stop Tully put the Tahoe in four-wheel drive and scaled a passageway through the rock that looked impassable. Soon we came to a halt atop a small mesa, and off to the north we could see Monument Valley’s magnificent buttes. Between us and those buttes was a group of cylindrical rocks that looked like giant red cupcakes.

“We call these flying saucers, or cow pies,” Tully said, but I thought the cupcake image was more apt. With the cupcake rocks in the foreground and the buttes on the horizon, we felt as if we had just landed on a new, wonderful planet. But no, this was Monument Valley, an incomparable emblem of the American West.

IF YOU GO Monument Valley is 25 miles north of Kayenta, the nearest town, which offers accommodations.

At the park are two hotels, The View and Goulding’s Lodge.

The View, located in the park, is the newer and posher of the two, offering stunning views right from your balcony. It houses a restaurant, gift shop and other amenities.

Goulding’s Lodge, where we stayed, is seven miles from the park, in Utah. It offers a restaurant, gift shop and a museum of the historic trading post that includes exhibits of Monument Valley’s role in moviemaking.

Navajo cuisine has its own flavor and features Navajo fry bread, a puffy flat bread that has a clear, light taste.

We enjoyed such dishes as Navajo tacos, mutton stew, and blue corn pancakes.

Getting to Monument Valley is a challenge, as it is more than a six-hour drive from Phoenix and Salt Lake City, and more than five hours from Albuquerque.

Flagstaff, Ariz., is three hours away.

The valley is in the desert about a mile high, so weather can be extreme. In January the average high is 40 degrees F, and the average low is 24. In July the average high is 92 degrees and the average low is 67.

April, May and October are the most moderate months to visit. Summer months are the most crowded.

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THE ICK OF THE VAMPIRE EEL

Impressions of a Curious American Tourist in France

By John Freeman Here’s a series of six impressions from a recent 12-day trip to France. As background, we spent the first four days in Paris, then took a 7-day river cruise (via Uniworld) to the Bordeaux region.

Did we have a great time? Oui. Are we happy to back home? Oui, oui.

As a disclaimer, these tales are arranged in no particular order, nor are they intended to be historically precise or even culturally refined. They simply reflect my writerly observations and impressions as a curious American tourist, a stranger in a sometimes strange – though very welcoming – country that’s often misunderstood and even avoided.

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mong those French delicacies that I can’t swallow – for starters, that would be frog legs, rabbit, duck, pâté and foie gras -- one rises above them all, slithery and slimy.

Take the Lamprey. Please.

Among so many varieties of eels that lurk beneath, this eel is the eel-iest, by far, some 20 inches of wiggly, squiggly ick. Turns out Lampreys look like most eels, with one exception: They have a circular suction cup for a mouth. Plus razor-sharp teeth. Not a good look.

Much akin to Jimmy Buffet’s favorite cheeseburger, these Medieval relics have a carnivorous habit that means they attach that sucker to the flesh of, we assume, unsuspecting fish that happen to meander by. Then they suck that poor fish’s blood.

Worse yet, the French actually eat Lamprey. But not before they go through an arduous process of preparation, which includes adding their blood. That of the eel, not the chef.

Seems eating these hideous creatures has been a thing for nearly forever, with the recipe little changed since. They are easily available in most any French village market, alive and kept captive in watery plastic tubs, ready for their fate. And yours, if you dare.

After you’ve caught or bought one, first you must kill it -- by any means possible. Then marinate that bad boy in its own blood for days. Then skin it. Don’t forget to surgically remove the suction cup. You can’t miss it.

Slice into long, gooey strands. Add plenty of white wine, onion, garlic, herbs, salt, butter. Simmer for 30 minutes. Better yet, forever.

Bon appétit.

THE MIRACLE HERMIT OF SAINT-ÉMILION

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mid the narrow stone walkways of Saint-Émilion, a Bordeaux-region village that dates back to ancient times, towering Gothic buildings stretch as far as the eye can see along steep and narrow streets.

Steps away from a remarkable underground cathedral carved wholly out of solid limestone – miles of passageways and catacombs lie just beneath the surface -- we came across a cave, once home to a sainted hermit.

Early on, it seems this fellow, an ascetic named Émilion, holed himself up (or down) in his “man cave” carved just beneath the town that later was to become his namesake, the ancient village of Saint-Émilion.

After descending several flights of cobblestone paths, slippery with the passing eons, we entered his tiny, cloistered domicile, where the traveling Benedictine monk is said to have spent most of his entire adult life working miracles.

Though the walls of the cave itself aren’t original -- they’ve been buttressed with concrete for safekeeping -- it’s hard to imagine that someone actually lived there. Indeed, legend claims that once ensconced, he never left until his death in 767 AD. Émilion attained sainthood for his uncanny ability to transform wood into bread, quite a feat, one his fellow monks must’ve appreciated as they went about their new-found God’s gift of winemaking in the surrounding hills and dales.

The region was fertile, which turned out to be the ever-lasting miracle of Saint- Émilion. With a yearround population of only a few thousand, the feted village now hosts more than a million visitors a year, with a celebrated jazz festival to boot.

Hermits with a taste for the grape welcome.

WELCOME TO THE MAYOR’S CHATEAUX

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’ve met the mayor of Abzac, a small pastoral village in Bordeaux. I’ve been to his chateaux that dates back to the 13th century. I’ve savored a glass of his finest Merlot.

During an informal tour of his home, formally known as Château d’Abzac, he took our small group into a living area that’s elegantly appointed in classic earth tones with splashes of light-cobalt blue furniture.

There, he said, he finds blissful repose from the cares of every-day life by listening to his expansivwe CD collection of classical music. On top, you can see the “greatest hits” of Arturo Toscanini, the maestro conductor who died in 1957.

Nothing in that overflowing stack of CDs was recorded later than, say, 1960, a fact the mayor confirms with pride.

He’s been mayor of Abzac for 16 years, with two years remaining on his third six-year term. It’s a part-time role that’s long been part of his family’s civic duty. His family’s heritage dates back seven generations. Members of his family have resided in Château d’Abzac ever since.

Under his stewardship, his family chateaux produces high-quality wine, of course, 90% Merlot, distributed world-wide and award-winning.

Aside from the vineyard, he’s also the head of a familyrun company that makes those familiar cardboard tubes that are used to ship maps and posters. Founded in 1928, his company runs several large manufacturing plants throughout Europe, Mexico, and the U.S., with a huge production plant in Kentucky.

In 2017, he points out with a hint of sheepishness, Abzac earned $150 million in revenues, with a 10 percent annual profit.

It’s good to be the mayor of Abzac.

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FAREWELL TO FRANCE’S SINATRA

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s we strolled into an early-morning marketplace in Libourne, a fairly tranquil Middle Ages village (aren’t they all) not far from the larger city of Bordeaux in southwestern France, we heard lilting melodies wafting in the air.

Not surprising – such songs were surely fitting for a farmer’s market that’s been held three days a week since the mid-1800s.

But for a brief moment, our guide was perplexed.

Then she realized it was a market-wide tribute to Charles Aznavour, who had passed away the previous day at 94.

As we continued to stroll, it was clear that many merchants had brought portable CD players to devote the day to his memory.

I knew of Aznavour only vaguely, only that he was long regarded as “France’s Sinatra,” no small claim to fame.

Curious, I did some research.

Spanning a nearly eight-decade career, he sold more than 180 million records in 80 countries, with an estimated 1,200 performed songs to his name, including some 1,000 he wrote himself.

Known for his melancholy stylings and gravelly voice, he recorded duets with Sinatra, Elton John, Céline Dion, Bryan Ferry and Sting, plus classical tenors Luciano Pavarotti and Plácido Domingo. He recorded and performed in French, Spanish, English, Italian, and German and was a popular one-man show in Las Vegas.

He stood only 5-3, was oddly ill at ease on stage and lacked star-quality charisma, traits that softened only slightly throughout his career. As he once said: “My ugly face, my lack of height, my uncommercial songs. I was told I would never be a success.”

Yet, he eventually rivaled Sinatra, Elvis and the Beatles.

Loath to retire, he gave what turned out to be final concert – in Osaka, Japan -- a few weeks before his death.

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A HALF DAY AT D-DAY

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f there’s one lasting impression of seeing Normandy’s D-day beaches for the first time, it’s this: Gratitude.

Because you can’t help but think about the many, many, many thousands of those who lost their lives defending our way of life.

Being American, you think about the tens of thousands of Allied troops, including some 9,000 or so American soldiers, most not much older than teenagers, who didn’t have a chance of survival, not even if everything had gone perfectly according to plan.

Which it didn’t.

Then you think about the Allied armada of 5,000 and 13,000 aircraft that supported the invasion and about how that glorious – inglorious for so many more – morning of June 6, 1944, the largest amphibious invasion in history, changed history from that moment forward.

Because we almost lost.

Because when you really think about it, there’s simply no way the Allied forces could’ve, should’ve emerged as conquering heroes in the beachhead battles that ultimately led to the end of WW II. So much went wrong in those early-morning hours, the tour guide explains, animatedly reeling off facts and strategies and missteps and miscalculations and how, somehow, just enough went right, just enough, barely. You listen, but you hear only the sounds of the bristling wind.

Exiting the tour van at La Pointe du Hoc, located between the more widely-known assault sites of Utah Beach and Omaha Beach, well within sight only a few miles distant, you look out over the scene unfolding before you, with scattered wind-blown brush, a smattering of trees, well-worn walking paths, so much

death just beneath every step you take.

Then it hits you.

A series of slightly submerged concrete bunkers, encased by walls almost two feet in thickness, crumpled and half buried in the loose, sandy ground just beyond the trail, placed seemingly at random. Gun turrets everywhere.

You look, but you can’t fully comprehend. This was the Nazi stronghold, a fortified wall of deathly resistance, the “Atlantic Wall.” There was much more. Hidden trenches with mortars and machine guns, the beaches strewn with obstacles and mines meant to destroy, main, kill.

Our guide, an older Brit fellow with an acute sense of history and dramatic flair, takes us to another would-be Nazi stronghold. And another and another.

Later, it’s a short drive to the official D-Day memorial a few miles away, a well-manicured $30 million memorial financed and maintained by the U.S. government that opened in 2007 – to never forget what happened and what it means.

At precisely 4 in the afternoon, we watch in reverent silence as the American flag is lowered to the trumpeted sounds of “Taps.”

Then it hits you again.

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HOI AN A cornucopia of Vietnamese food

Story & Photography By Kitty Morse

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ne thing I didn’t expect to experience in Hoi An’s Old Quarter, a UNESCO WORLD HERITAGE site, was the divine quietude of The Reach Out Teahouse. (https://reachingoutvietnam. com) This unique establishment is run by a crew of hearingimpaired staff, and the main way to communicate is by sign language or post-it notes.

I turned my back on Hoi An’s oppressive April heat and allowed the café’s cottony calm to settle upon my shoulders. Whispering is de rigueur in this oasis of serenity. My immediate impression was that of an opium den as pictured in the classic movie Indochine starring Catherine Deneuve.

Patrons lost in solitary contemplation reclined on hassocks in the cool penumbra. Here, the attraction was not mind-altering drugs, but ginger and lemongrass lemonade, and organic green teas and coffees, all locallysourced. The fair trade products were available in the café’s gift shop in keeping with its mission to support persons with disabilities.

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A basketful of fresh crab at Hoi An market Opposite: Coracles awaiting customers on the De Vong River, Hoi An

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Gone was the blissful calm of the tea house upon cruising the De Vong river in one of Hoi An’s iconic coracles. I donned a conical bamboo hat and stepped into my wobbly thung chai for a rapid paddling lesson. These basket boats, as locals call them, trace their origin to impoverished Vietnamese fisherman who wanted to avoid paying taxes to their French colonizers. Thung chai, they argued, were not boats, but baskets, and therefore not taxable! At 2PM, the De Vong’s sinuous waterways were overrun with tipsy Korean vacationers with boomboxes, their bobbing thung chai each swaying to a different tune. A narrow side channel flanked with shady coconut palms provided a welcome escape from this daily cacophony.

In minutes, my “captain” had prepared hook and line, and had me angling for (and releasing) the elusive

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coconut crab clinging to the bulbous roots of water coconut trees.

Our next stop was Cam Thanh Coconut Village, a riverfront botanical orchard of exotic fruit trees, where we were able to sample fresh jack fruit, rose apples, and spiky rambutans.

As a cookbook author, I had come to Vietnam to explore the local food scene. A few days in Hanoi had already awakened my taste buds to the delights that awaited me. In Hoi An, which lies midway between Hanoi and Ho Chi Min (Saigon) inspired by globe-trotting author and gastronome Anthony Bourdain, I had scheduled a stop at Mme Phuong’s sandwich shop, which, according to him, serves the world’s best banh mis, Vietnamese sandwich (https://www.facebook. com/Bánh-Mì-Phượng-Hội-An). I could barely squeeze past the swarm of hungry patrons from the four corners of the globe blocking the entrance. A line of sandwich makers assembled banh mis behind a glass case, with the metronomic precision of Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times. I managed to elbow my way through a dozen banh mi fanciers to sink my teeth into a crusty baguette fresh from the adjoining bakery, bulging with nuoc mam pickles, charcoal-grilled pork, and fresh cilantro. Bourdain’s opinion may be spot on, notwithstanding the slew of excellent banh mi establishments now peppering the US. Hoi An’s gastronomic offerings isn’t limited to banh mis. This, I learned the next day at Mme Vy’s Market and Cooking School, a Pandora’s box of culinary discoveries. Mme Vy’s struck me as Vietnam’s counterpart to Mario Battali’s Eataly. So successful is this pairing of marketplace-cum-tasting stations with a state of the art cooking school, that Mme Vy is presently recreating the concept in Melbourne (AUS) (https://tastevietnam.asia/vietnamese-cookingclasses.)

My six-hour class, conducted by a professional instructor trained by Mme Vy, was one of the best I have ever attended. Ruby, our market guide, took us on an early morning stroll around the riverfront marketplace, pointing to fresh bean sprouts and bamboo shoots, sliced banana blossoms, quivering jumbo shrimp, and turquoise duck eggs. Many ingredients, including desperate crabs seeking freedom up the sides of plastic tubs, were bound for

Banh mi preparation at Mme. Phuong’s Opposite: Tray laden with fresh herbs and spices for our cooking class at Mme Vy’s.

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our bowls of pho (Vietnamese soup), shrimp-filled eggrolls, and turmeric-infused rice pancakes.

A fierce morning sun was bearing down on us when we returned to the school to waiting glasses of iced ginger tea. Before climbing to our classroom on the second floor, we grazed in Ruby’s wake taking in the enticing aromas of star anise and coconut emanating from cauldrons of bubbling broth, and sampling eggrolls retrieved from pans of sputtering oil. I couldn’t quite make myself sample the spicy frog roti (?), duck egg embryos, and silk worm salad.

Fortunately, Ruby’s insistedI sit on my haunches and try my hand at cranking out flat rice noodles from a vintage pasta machine.

She then led us to our cooking stations in the airconditioned classroom, to assemble shrimp soup with cabbage rolls, grated green mango salad, and crisp rice pancakes infused with turmeric powder, Hoi An’s claim to fame.

According to our instructor, these light-as-air pancakes must cook “no more than 30 Vietnamese seconds on one side,” (meaning 1 minute). Our efforts were rewarded with a bowl of fresh lemongrass ice cream.

There is water, water everywhere in Hoi An, and for my next culinary experience, I crossed one of the city’s many bridges to reach Tra Que island for a farm-to-table lunch. Tidy rows of Asian greens, purple basil, and fresh spearmint spread out before the family’s thatched veranda that doubled as an al fresco “restaurant.” Rows of mesclun lettuces, purple basil and dark green spearmint, as well as the more esoteric pea shoots and sweet potato leaves covered the family plot. A soft breeze kept us cool, as the lady of the house offered us fresh papaya salad and the ever-present fresh ginger tea made all the more unusual with the addition of basil seeds.

In addition to its miles of waterways, Hoi An is also a beach resort on the edge of East Sea (also called the South China Sea) and staying at a beach resort a few miles from the restored city center will provide a welcome respite from the intense heat of the busy Old Quarter.

Kitty Morse’s career as cookbook author, bilingual food and travel writer, and tour organizer, spans close to 30 years. She has authored ten cookbooks, five of them on the cuisine of Morocco. Her memoir, Mint Tea and Minarets: a banquet of Moroccan memories, focuses on Dar Zitoun, her family riad south of her hometown of Casablanca. The book was selected as Best Book Arab Cuisine by the Gourmand World Cookbook Awards. The French version, Le Riad au Bord de l’Oued, is due out in summer 2019. www.kittymorse.com.

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Fresh herbs for sale at Hoi An market. Right: Family farm growing produce for farm-to-table lunch in Hoi An

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