WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE SUMMER 2020 by Wine Dine & Travel Magazine

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SUMMER ��

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WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE 2020

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RON & MARY’S EDITOR’SNOTE

ROUGH SEAS Mary and I have had many chats lately about our upcoming booked cruises. We wonder if they will be cancelled as the pandemic persists. We speculate about radical changes in the cruise experience as cruise lines focus on keeping passengers Covid-19 free. And we worry that some favorite cruise companies might not weather the economic challenges they’re facing. Like many travelers we have not received promised refunds and other compensation. We wait...and call...and wait some more. In some cases more than three months have passed with no sign of the funds, in our case, from a cruise company and airline. We know others have faced the same challenges all across the travel industry. And many, like us, have learned our travel insurance is worthless in a pandemic. Cruise lines have been hit hard, maybe the hardest, since the pandemic forced them from the seas. We surely understand they are struggling with cash flow as their income has dried up. We sympathize with customer service reps who face a public increasingly vexed with refund delays. Add in America’s poor response to the pandemic that has made U.S. citizens unwelcome around the world, and it’s understandable why we are reluctant to book and/or pay for future cruises. Sure you can cancel up until the last minute without penalty, but when you do that, you likely won’t see those funds for months...if ever. The same goes for air fares, lodging, etc. The result is a vicious circle of woe for an already battered industry. We do have a cruise on the books for May 2021. But

what shipboard experience will await us when/if we board then. To us, the comradery of gathering with fellow cruisers is as important as enjoying great food, drink and exciting ports and shore excursions. Imagine that experience wearing a face mask (and we always wear one in public now) and maintaining social distancing. How will elevators, dining rooms, lounges, bars and theaters operate? How will crew practices change to insure their safety and health? All are thorny issues for cruise lines, their customers and employees. Perhaps the only way the ships can reassure passengers and the public is robust testing of all boarding after every trip ashore until a vaccine is available to all. When that happens, proof of vaccination will be as necessary for boarding as a passport. No exceptions. Recently Robert R. Redfield, the director of the C.D.C., blamed cruise ships for widespread transmission of the virus as he banned cruises through the month of September. The C.D.C mandated that before cruise ships can sail in or out of American waters, cruise lines must come up with cohesive plans for prevention and mitigation of the illness. Cruise lines know these steps are essential if they are to survive. Most are working with health and travel experts to find answers that satisfy authorities, protect passengers and crews, and provide the levels of service and satisfaction their clients expect. We fervently wish them well because we can’t wait to sail again. But in the meantime, we hope they’ll send our money back soon.

Ron & Mary James Publishers & Editors

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

SUMMER ��

COVER SHOT

CIRCULATION Jake Washington STAFF WRITERS Alison DaRosa Priscilla Lister John Muncie Jody Jaffe Kitty Morse FEATURE WRITERS Sharon Whitley Larsen Carl Larsen Maribeth Mellin Amy Laughinghouse Judy Garrison Wibke Carter Cover photo: Cover shot courtesy of Takara Winery.

Margie Goldsmith Michael Burge

WDT respects the intellectual property rights of others, andwe askthat our readers do the same.We have adopted a policy in accordance with the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (“DMCA”)and other applicable laws.

Brian Clark Diane Covington

Wine Dine & Travel Magazine is a Wine Country Interactive Inc. Publication @2020 Corporate headquarters SanDiego,California Contact ron@winedineandtravel.com

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BEST OF SHOW

23 MAJOR AWARDSIN 2019

Since our first year Wine Dine & Travel Magazine has earned dozens of awards for everything that makes a great magazine. We’ve won top awards in every key category, including editorial, design, humor, photography, and columns. We’re proud we continue to receive these accolades year in and out from the most respected journalism organizations in the nation including the American Society of Travel Writers and Society of Professional Journalists.

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CONTENTS & CONTRIBUTORS

Ron James RonJamesisthe"wine,foodandtravelguy." Heisanationallyaward-winningprintand onlinejournalist,graphicdesigner,televisionproducerandradiopersonality.Thenative Californiansnationallysyndicatedwineandfoodcolumnshaveappearedinnewspapers andmagazinesaroundtheworld.Ronisfounderandco-publisherofWineDine&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 co-publisher and editor of this magazine.

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WINELANDS VALENTINE

CAPE TOWN HIGHLIGHTS

For a week, including Valentine’s Day when we celebrated our 31st anniversary, we explored the stunningly beautiful Winelands of the western cape, less than an hour drive from Cape Town.

In the few days we stayed in downtown Cape Town we managed to scratch the surface on things to enjoy in this cosmopolitan region. Here’s an illustrated diary of our Cape Town adventures.

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MY COUNTRY, SOUTH AFRICA

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FORESTS & FOODS FOR THE SOUL

Let me take you on a tour of my country, the “Rainbow Nation” of South Africa. With 11 official languages and many races, here you’ll find great cultural, historical and geographical diversity.

For a really big milestone birthday, I sought an adventure where I could hike among glorious gardens and parks, where I could enrich my soul in myriad cultural attractions, and where I could celebrate with fabulous local foods and wines..

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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POSTCARDS FROM VIETNAM We’re talking about motorbike traffic. Motorbikes swarm Vietnam like monster bees. Buzzing, roaring, put-putting down every street, along every alley, across every sidewalk, squeezing through the aisles of outdoor markets. There are 90 million people in Vietnam and 45 million motorbikes. Cars? Maybe a couple million..

SURF’S UP IN MOROCCO The most recent trip was to surf off Morocco’s Atlantic Coast. After four years of working as a staff writer at The San Diego Union Tribune and hanging out on the city’s many beaches, I’d developed a middling ability to ride a longboard on easy waves at La Jolla Shores and the Tourmaline Surfing Park.

DANCING THROUGH THE CANAL Dancing was foremost on my mind while planning a recent Panama Canal Cruise. I needed a ship with at least one great music venue where my husband and I could let loose—and it had to open at a reasonable hour (late nights are not our forte).

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 Union-Tribune and was the award-winning editor of the San Diego News Network Travel Page. Alisonwrites 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.AlisdaRosa.com.

Carl H. Larsen Carl H. Larsen is a veteran journalist based in San Diego. He now focuses on travel writing, and issummoned 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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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.

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.

Kitty Morse Kitty Morse is a Casablanca-born food and travel writer, speaker, and author of 11 cookbooks, five of them on the cuisine of her native Morocco. Her memoir, Mint Tea and Minarets: a banquet of Moroccan memories, and its French translation, Le Riad au Bord de l’Oued, are both recipients of a Gourmand World Award. https://www.kittymorse.com.

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CUBAN ADVENTURE

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PLAGUE TOWN ENGLAND

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LIFE AT A SNAIL’S PACE

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Cuba off-limits to US citizens? Not so! They are the largest group to visit Cuba after Canadians, and must plan their visit through licensed travel agencies. We were under the impression that we needed to fly to Cuba through a third country. Wrong again!

With the recent worldwide spread of the frightening Coronavirus--COVID-19--we're vividly reminded of the terrifying 17th-century Bubonic Plague. This is the story of how brave villagers in a small English town took it upon themselves to self-quarantine for 14 months and save lives.

Geographically Burgundy is in the heart of France, and one can really feel the slower pace of life. The French saying pour vivre heureux, vivons cachés (to live happily, live hidden), couldn’t express the local sentiment any better.

SCOTTISH SURPRISE When we wake up, we'll be high up in the Scottish Highlands, running on a single-track route across the broad and forbidding Rannoch Moor with a brief stop at its desolate station -- the highest in the U.K.

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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WDT MAGAZINE WINTER2018

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Story by Mary James | Photography by Ron James

WinelandS Valen

A DELICIOUS ADVENTURE IN SOUTH AFRICA’S CAPE WI

What to do with a gap between two travel adventures - the end of our thrilling Kenyan safari and the start of an exotic cruise from Cape Town? What else but explore another of the world’s iconic wine regions. Since we met three decades ago, whenever possible, my husband and I seek out wine country pleasures - bucolic views, charming inns, leisurely tastings and casual fine dining. If trips bring us near vineyards - Virginia to Oregon, France to Australia, we visit for an afternoon or several days. This time our wine country destination was South Africa, one of the oldest wine-making regions outside of Europe, where Dutch and French settlers began tending vines in the mid-1600s. For a week, including Valentine’s Day when we celebrated our 31st anniversary, we explored the stunningly beautiful Winelands of the western cape, less than an hour drive from Cape Town. It was love at first sight.

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ntine

INE COUNTRY

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Our Uber (an ideal way to get around if you don’t drive British-style on the left) quickly left behind freeways for two-lane highways through verdant valleys crowned by jagged granite peaks. More than 300 wineries thrive here in the moderate Mediterranean climate cooled by breezes from the Atlantic and Indian oceans, but they aren’t lined up, Napa Valley-like, on the main roads, preserving an appealing farm-country vibe. Our arrival in February coincided with harvest and some of the area’s warmest weather. From our first base, the charming Plumwood Inn, we would explore Franschhoek and neighboring Stellenbosch, historic small towns considered by many to be South Africa’s wine and culinary capitals. Some of the country’s top 100 restaurants delight gourmands here, and their presence sparks inspired dining all around, as we discovered during our stay. For Valentine’s weekend, we moved to the boutique Steenberg Hotel and Spa, a history-rich retreat on the grounds of the Cape’s first farm. Surrounded by vines and home to its own winery and two top-rated restaurants, Steenberg is nestled in the heart of Constantia where top-rated vintners and restaurateurs draw daytrippers from Cape Town as well as knowing visitors from across the globe. During our stay there, romance was in the air. At lunch one day, gazing out at the garden, we watched a man fall on one knee to propose. At a nearby table, another couple hugged and kissed as they shared champagne toasts with friends. Bubbles - one of the hallmarks of Steenberg Winery spread joy everywhere. More toasts - along with chocolates and rose petals - were to come. By the end of our Winelands stay, we were totally smitten. You’ll likely be too as you follow our footsteps through this bewitching place.

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Franschhoek Wine Valley For our visit, cloudless skies and autumn heat basked this valley in the glowing light artists extol. Some of it undoubtedly radiates from the brilliant white-washed buildings that dot the landscape and line streets in the small towns. This traditional Cape Dutch architecture, often roofed with thick black thatch, adds a sophisticated European ambience to the valley’s pastoral setting. Among the first to see promise in the area’s climate and fertile soils, early Dutch settlers influenced more than the look of the land when they welcomed persecuted French Huguenots at the end of the 17th century. Given small free plots in Franschhoek, which means French Corner in Dutch, these newcomers drew on their farming experience to grow grapes, olives and more. Their love of food and art also reverberates to this day. The town of Franschhoek - population 20,000 is a patchwork of galleries, antique stores and better souvenir shops that fill in around tourist shops, gourmet grocers and sundry stores that cater to locals. Cafes and restaurants enliven the mainstreet and its many courtyards filled with umbrella-shaded tables. During our stay we enjoyed delicious pasta alle vongole at Allora and passable Mexican “with a twist” at Tuk Tuk Microbrewery all savored outside on balmy evenings before leisurely strolls back to Plumwood. Our innkeepers Roel and Lucienne Rutten served cooked-to-order breakfasts with fresh pastries and fruit salads on a patio overlooking the pool. Throughout the day, guests used an honor system for cocktails and South African wines along with happy-hour snacks. Roel and Lucienne also were expert guides to the region, as were many of

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our fellow guests who had come to Plumwood annually for years to escape Europe’s winters. They, like us, took advantage of Franschhoek’s central location to explore wineries and restaurants, including many in Stellenbosch, a 40-minute Uber ride away. This university town and environs are home to more than 150,000. Its bustling downtown is easily walkable and alive with shops, galleries and bars, many geared to 30,000 students in residence. During our first visit, several streets were blocked and black smoke billowed into the air as taxi drivers protested tickets for speeding and parking violations. We were turned back and learned from fuming shopkeepers that these disruptive incidents occur all too frequently. Though our second visit to Stellenbosch was protest free, we were glad quieter Franschhoek was our home base. Throughout our time in South Africa, blackouts were a regular occurance. The demand for electricity exceeds the supply, especially during hot spells, so the national utility spreads the pain with rolling load-shedding, planned outages 3 to 4 hours long across the country. At Plumwood the day’s outages were posted, so guests would know when lights and air conditioning would be off. We all grew to share Roel’s relief when he announced a day with uninterrupted power.

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Breathtaking Blend Art and architecture, vineyards and gardens, wine-making and fine cuisine - all are equals in the stellar blend that is Tokara Wine Estate, the first of the area’s wineries we visited. A half-hour Uber drive from Franschhoek (only 3 miles if you’re coming from Stellenbosch), this stunning, world renowned winery enjoys one of Winelands’ most spectacular settings in the foothills of Simonsberg Mountain. Views stretch across beautiful native fynbos, undulating vineyards and olive groves to the waters of False Bay and, on a clear day, the Cape Town’s iconic Table Mountain. Grapes have been tended in this area for centuries, but Tokara owners GT Ferreria, a banking magnate, and his wife Anne-Marie sought only a

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quiet home to raise their family when they purchased a small farm there in 1994. Five years later, they ventured into wine-making, naming the new venture after their children Tom and Kara. The first vintages in 2003, that combined the talents of viticulturist Aidan Morton and winemaker Stuart Botha, were greeted with acclaim - as have releases ever since. Traditional varietals, Cabernet Sauvignon and Sauvignon Blanc, and classic Bordeaux blends dominate Tokara’s wines, but the wine estate itself is refreshingly contemporary. Operations, including the tasting room, restaurant and family friendly deli, are housed in a glass, steel, stone and concrete structure that embraces the majestic landscape while hosting all the necessities of a modern wine enterprise.

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Plus, the design by Van Bijon and Visser Architects is an ideal showcase, inside and out, for the Ferrerias’ dynamic, often provocative, collection of South African art. At the winery entrance, Marco Cianfanelli’s laser-cut stainless steel grape vines - their cordons sprouting oenology terms sets the stage for art displayed inside. Prints, fiber art, sculptures, handwoven baskets, paintings and more catch the eye throughout the building, even down the hallway to the loo. General manager Karl Lambour guesstimates more than 500 artworks are on site, including dozens around the estate that he pointed out as we drove to viewpoints above the steep vineyards. One unforgettable work sits in a grassy circle outside the Ferrerias’ tree-sheltered home. Created on site of granite and stainless steel is Angus Taylor’s massive sculpture of “Dionysus.” The Greek god couldn’t be more at home on this land that pays great homage to his realms of wine and good times.

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Before shepherding us to lunch in Tokara restaurant, Karl shared a tasting in the boardroom that began with bubbly before moving on to single vineyard reds and whites and the estate’s rightfully acclaimed Director’s Reserve Bordeaux blends. He also wrestled open the antique iron door, pried from a shipwreck, that guards the entrance to the winery’s two-story library of all Tokara vintages, including magnums and more. Our table in Tokara’s dining room perfectly captured panoramas through floor-to-ceiling windows as well as walls draped with rare “Porter Series” tapestries - 5 in total - by world renowned Johannesburg-born artist William Kentridge. Our farm-to-table multi-course lunch paired with Tokara wines drew from dishes by Carolize Coetzee, who already has earned accolades as South Africa’s most promising new chef since joining Tokara in 2018. Service was unhurried and friendly; we especially enjoyed Sommelier Jaap Henk Koelewijn’s humorous patter and the artful cooking and plating by sous chef Sean-Lloyd van Buisbergen and the rest of the kitchen staff.

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Writing this, I can almost taste some of my menu favorites - fragrant fennel topped beet root carpaccio, savory cured ocean trout with watermelon and - oh yes, the venison-like springbok loin with its delicious jus rendered with estategrown herbs and fruit. Of course we saved room for dessert - a refreshing fruit crumble and pineapple gelato matched with Tokaraâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s honeygold Late Harvest Sauvignon Blanc. Before piling back into an Uber for the drive home - and a nap (!), We purchased some Tokara wines to take on our cruise, including their very quaffable rose, our warm-weather favorite. As you might expect, none made it on board.

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All Aboard Another way to visit Winelands estates is aboard the Franschhoek Wine Tram, hop-on, hop off transportation via double-decker vintage trams and buses. Tickets are a bargain less than $15 per person. Choose from eight different lines or loops and stay as long as you like at the different wineries for tastings, tours and meals. Just be sure to match your schedule to the Tram’s return to the Franschhoek terminal, just outside of town. Because there’s no drinking on board, these aren’t party trams ala Napa Valley Wine Train - though the atmosphere on the trams grows jollier as the day progresses. To help plan your day, the Tram website provides detailed descriptions of each winery stop on each route. Thanks to our innkeepers, fellow Plumwood guests and a few San Diego garden lovers, we knew our must see was Babylonstoren, a sprawling farm, winery, hotelspa and fine dining destination spread over eight acres. We picked the Purple Line and arrived at our desired stop in time for lunch. Farming and grape growing on this mountain-ringed land dates back to the late 17th century, and some of the early white-washed Cape Dutch-style buildings remain. Many have been repurposed by the current owners, South African billionaire Koos Bekker and his wife, style maven Karen Roos, into Babylonstoren’s chic eateries and farm shops selling handmade soaps, fresh breads, charcuterie, balsamic vinegar and make-your-own bath salts. The grand gardens - classical parteres lush with ornamentals and edibles that supply onsite kitchens - are rooted in history too. Designs by French architect Patrice Taravella found inspiration in Cape Town’s historic Company’s Garden created to restock Dutch East India Company trading ships hundreds of years ago. Free-range chickens, waddling ducks and paddocked donkeys accent the romantic notions of agrarian life celebrated here.

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We arrived in time for a winery tour, underway even though harvest was in full swing. Destemmers rumbled and rattled as we carefully navigated sticky, hose-strewn floors. Piled high in white bins, purple grapes, some of the 13 varietals grown across the sloped land, waited their turn for the crush, Babylonstoren’s ninth. Resulting wines, along with olive oils pressed here from farm-gown fruit, share the estate’s label. Our tour ended in the airy tasting room where we sampled some previous vintages with a platter ($10) of rustic farm bread, salad, cheeses and cured meats including the jerky-like biltong found throughout southern Africa. The room was packed and service scattered, as tour guides, now waiters, scurried to keep glasses filled. The pace suited us, since we were in no hurry to head out into the afternoon heat. For our visit, Babylonstoren’s popular restaurant Babel, set in the farm’s old cow shed smartly updated with floor-to-ceiling windows, was fully booked, so we could only peer at the appetizing farm-to-fork menu. Reservations open nine months in advance, so this is a “plan way ahead” experience. No booking is needed for picnic fare served at the aptly named Greenhouse, tucked beneath oak trees at the far end of the garden.

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Two Colombes When we first started planning our Winelands adventure, one restaurant constantly topped searches for the areaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s best dining - La Colombe (The Dove). Critics from around the world heaped superlatives on the innovative dishes, playful plating and theatrical experience shaped by chefowner Scot Kirton and chef James Gaag. TripAdvisor reviewers agreed, ranking La Colombe high among the top 25 fine dining experiences in the world in recent years. More research and we learned there are two Colombes - the flagship in Constantia and La Petite Colombe in Franschhoek with Chef John Norris Rogers, a La Colombe alum, at the helm. What good news since we would be staying in both places. So when the opportunity arose to try both, we didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t hesitate. During our evenings with the polished teams at each Colombe, we indulged in nine-course chef menus paired with wine. Both were amazing, each with individual delights. Reasonably priced (about $150 per person) compared to others similarly lauded, these restaurants totally merit their stellar reputations.

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Each restaurant welcomes diners to stylish, uncrowded rooms with tall view windows. Reached via a long steep driveway shared with Silvermist Winery, La Colombe is perched in the treetops for views across vineyards to distant bays, while La Petite Colombe, part of Le Quartier Francais boutique hotel in the heart of Franschhoek, is secluded behind hedges like a private oasis. (In spring 2020, La Petite Colombe was to move to a new garden setting in nearby Leeu Estates but that was postponed amid the country’s COVID-19 shutdown.) Both Colombes upend expectations as soon as diners walk arrive. Just inside La Colombe we plucked an amuse-bouche from a mossy log before decamping to our table for a deconstructed gin tonic and savory bites “plated” atop wooden mushrooms. The bread course gets the Colombe touch too: at La Petite Colombe butter morphs

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into a tiny corn cob, while La Colombe tempts with a complex Middle-East spiced dip prepared tableside. Even the humble palate cleanser is dramatically reimagined - one arrived in a writhing fog of dried ice. Fish and meat dishes are equally inventive, combining global flavors with Winelands specialties like springbok, Karoo lamb and snoek (a mackerel), as well as scallops, prawns, duck and other tasting menu mainstays. Typical - and a such favorite it’s been on the menu for years - is Tuna ‘La Colombe’, chunks of marinated ahi, avocado, shitake mushrooms and more served in a pop-top can. A silky mussel curry is savored after diners wield scissors to snip off the top of a charred passion fruit shell.

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A favorite course at La Petite Colombe roused us from our chairs mid-evening to join other guests outside the open kitchen to watch one of these complex dishes come together. We sipped wine and chatted with a chef as he plated a delicious ramen, a tiny nest of noodles and seafood in an earthy broth scented with celeriac, infused oils and Pernod. We followed the irresistible aromas back to our table, where a perfectly paired viognier waited. Delicious in every way. The meal starts to draw to a close with a tasting of excellent South African cheeses. At La Colombe, choices are presented as wax-wrapped morsels in a wooden chest like jewels. The sommelier stands by to match your pick with port or other perfect pairing for a relaxing pause before dessert.

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All the many courses aside, we’d bet no one skips the meal-ending sweets at either Colombe. We didn’t. Our desserts - mixes of fresh seasonal fruit, rich cake cubes, cookie crumble, refreshing gelatos and more - perfectly capped two memorable meals. As we arranged the foodie part of our Winelands visit, we came across several reviews that lamented the Michelin Guide’s absence from Africa. That’s a significant loss for the sophisticated restaurant scene in South Africa and the growing number of travelers coming to partake. If the venerable guide should reconsider - and it should, for certain it would hang stars on the two Colombes.

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Constantia

One of Cape Town’s toniest suburbs, just 12 miles from the city center, Constantia is one of the Southern Hemisphere’s oldest wine-making regions. Since the mid 17th century, vines have been tended in this fertile green valley buttressed by Constantiaberg mountain and cooled by sea breezes from nearby False Bay. In the late 1700s, sweet Vin de Constance dessert wine from Muscat grapes grown here was prized around the world by the likes of Frederick the Great, Bismarck, several Kings of England and Napoleon, who reportedly sipped during his St. Helena exile. Today’s wine estates, including the original five revitalized after a devastating phylloxera infestation stalled production for almost a century, are linked on the scenic self-guided Constantia Wine Route. Among the stops is South Africa’s oldest wine farm, Groot Constantia estate with its popular chocolate and wine pairings, and Klein Constantia, a heritage winery where old-style Vin de Constance is produced today.

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Steenberg Hotel and Spa Another Constantia heritage estate, Steenberg Wine Farm, would be our Valentine’s weekend getaway. An hour-plus Uber ride from Franschhoek ended with a climb through vines heavy with fruit to the 5-star Steenberg Hotel and Spa. Nestled on the grounds of the Cape’s first farm, this welcom-

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ing luxury retreat fills three white-washed Cape Dutch buildings, including the original manor house dating back to 1692. The black spur-winged geese that roam the manicured grounds are a living link to the past. It’s said that the farm’s first owner, the gutsy widow Catharina Ras, originally

named the estate Swaaneweide when she mistook them for the black swans of her native Germany. Our spacious manor house room was flooded with light from the building’s original tall paned windows and warmed by a fireplace. The bath with tub (yes!) and shower repeated the room’s soothing gray and cream palette, echoed in the luxuri-

ous linens. A vintage armoire easily housed our mounds of luggage. Short walks brought us to the new pool and to the hotel’s fine dining restaurant Tryn with its broad patio for al fresco cocktails, breakfasts and dinners. Along the way, colorful steel sculptures by Edoardo Villa, the Henry Moore of South Africa, gleamed in the sun.

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In May 2019, the hotel closed for four months to remodel its suites, carefully maintaining historic facades and interior details. These art-filled accommodations with up to three ensuite bedrooms welcome families or friends seeking a shared getaway. The largest offer kitchens, dining rooms and private heated pools and patios complete with grills for weekend braais (pronounced brys), the traditional South African barbecue. A private 18hole golf course, rejuvenating spa and world-class winery all on site make this an ideal all-in-one Winelands vacation retreat.

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Two Constantia Tastings CONSTANTIA GLEN The steep slopes that comprise Constantia Glen Winery have been grazed and tilled for more than two centuries but it wasn’t until 2000 that the current owners, the Waibel family, turned the focus to grape growing and quality wine making. Now half of the farm’s 150 acres undulate with vineyards cradled between two imposing mountains that channel sun and cooling breezes. Slow ripening and small crops limit production of the winery’s signature crisp whites and complex red blends to under 100,000 bottles annually. South Africa-born wine maker Justin van Wyk has shepherded vintages here since the second harvest, working with a farm team with decades of experience on this challenging site. He took a break from harvest chores to share a tasting with us in Constantia Glen’s Tasting Room restaurant, home to picturesque views as well as delicious wine country fare, including flammkucken (German thin-crust pizza) from the wood-fired oven. After a quaffable classic sauvignon blanc, we savored the winery’s signature blends that Justin identifies by the number of varietals combined. Constantia Glen Two, for example, blends sauv blanc with semillon, lacing tropical and citrus flavors with hints of oak from barrel fermentation. Their flagship Constantia Glen Five is an elegant red Bordeaux blend. The 2015 vintage earned 91 points from Wine Spectator as well as numerous South African honors. For the past couple years, Justin also creates wines for his own label, Van Wyk Family Wines, with grapes sourced across the Greater Western Cape and bottled at Constantia Glen. Named after his daughter, Olivia Grace blend showcases four white grapes while his red blend, Rebecca May (another daughter), is Rhone inspired. All are available for tastings and purchase at Constantia Glen.

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STEENBERG 1682 A scenic 15-minute drive separates Constantia Glen from Steenberg. After checking into the hotel, we hopped aboard the complementary golfcart transport to Steenberg Winery’s tasting room and casual dining destination Bistro Sixteen82. While the white-washed Cape Dutch hotel buildings are steeped in history, the winery complex is boldly contemporary, a striking glass and steel beam structure that opens on to sunny patios, infinity pools and rolling grounds. The chandelier above the tasting bar sets the tone for fun times here - a glowing circle of almost 3,000 hand-blown glass grapes - or maybe they’re bubbles in honor of Steenberg’s much lauded sparkling wines in the French-style known as Methode Cap Classic (MCC) in South Africa. Here our host was Steenberg’s new cellar master, Elunda Basson, an awarding winning MCC specialist, who joined the farm-cellar team only a few months earlier and was in the midst of her first harvest. After touring us through the stateof-the-art wine-making facility and barrel room, we settled in for a tasting in a sunny room lined with comfy banquettes and a stylish wall display

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of Lady R sparkling wine, a pinot noir-chardonnay blend named for Steenberg’s founder. We started with three outstanding single varietal bruts that cost less than $25 a bottle. Sips of Steenberg’s flagship wines - Black Swan Sauvignon Blanc, Catharina Red Blend (merlot, syrah and petit verdot) and fruity Nebbiolo - followed as Elunda shared her aspirations to build on the winery’s stellar reputation. Harvest called her back to work, but we lingered on the lively patio, clinking glasses and people-watching the Valentine’s weekend crowd. We would return another day to lunch at Bistro Sixteen82, making hard choices from the Asian-influenced menu by chef Kerry Kiplin that also showcases ethically sourced seafood and seasonal produce. Shared starters - tempura prawns

perched above a spicy noodle salad and goat cheese fritters with honey-dressed greens - both paired with Steenberg’s sauv blanc - gave us time to relax in the chic room accented with natural wood and stylish florals. We could have shared one of the two mains we ordered - a very popular ginger and sesame sirloin salad (judging by plates on nearby tables) and an open-face steak sandwich rich with hollandaise and crisp chips. And we should have skipped dessert, but our waiter tempted us with a trio of rich chocolate treats that capped this exceptionally tasty meal. Bistro Sixteen82 also serves breakfast and evening tapas, small plates to share as the sun drifts behind the mountains. Vegetarian and kids menus are available too.

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Be My Valentine A brief evening shower didn’t dampen our mood as we skirted puddles on the short walk to our Valentine’s Day celebration at Steenberg’s newly updated signature restaurant, Tryn. For 20 years, this was Catharina’s, another salute to the estate’s founder, that earned fans for upscale dining on linen-clad tables beneath a flock of white origami swans suspended from the ceiling. In keeping with updates across this property - and trends in dining, the lounge, bar and restaurant were reimagined in 2019. Tryn, Catharina Ras’s nickname, suits the new contemporary decor and menu, also the work of Kerry Kiplin. Natural wood tables, plush banquettes and modern lighting now brighten the main dining room. Steps away is the new marble-based bar and an eclectic mix of orange and jade seating for pre- and post dinner cocktails. The atmosphere is modern, grownup and just edgy enough. Boundary-pushing Catharina would be pleased. Chef Kerry spiced up the menu too. Like Bistro Sixteen82, Asian and Middle East accents enliven lamb rack, beef fillet and other traditional mains. Fish wrapped in eggplant, for example, surprises with coriander, harissa and rose water accents. Look for the same flavor explosions in starters and desserts. And for sheer indulgence, nibble on the truffle fries.

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On Valentine’s Day, a special three-course dinner menu awaited celebrants like us lucky enough to have Tryn reservations. Dressed for the occasion (lots of romantic red!), couples old and new toasted with the Steenberg bubbles served with the amuse bouche - a ruby-red beetroot tataki. A delicious pawn starter spiced with wasabi and ginger and cooled with cucumber ribbons came next, matched with the winery’s aromatic Rattlesnake Sauvignon Blanc. Palate cleansing berry “popsicles” allowed a relaxing pause before the main course - an expertly cooked beef fillet plated with cauliflower puree, a mushroom arancini and luxe port and truffle jus. We toasted the kitchen on this exceptional dish, with Steenberg’s fine 2016 syrah. Of course sweets followed - deep caramel-chocolate mousse circled with raspberries, cake and citrusy creams and paired with glasses of golden noble late harvest zin. We never could have guessed all those decades ago that we would celebrate 31 years together in South Africa. In the Winelands. In this historic hotel. At this exceptional restaurant. Back in our room, one last surprise awaited. The dimmed chandelier shown down on the bed strewn with red rose petals. More petals formed a heart that framed a plate of truffles with a message in chocolate - “Congratulations.” We were touched. Same time next year? We wish we could make our Winelands adventure an annual affair. But the distance from our California home is formidable and travel is tricky in times of pandemics. So holding on to wonderful memories, we can make one heart-felt promise: See you soon.

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IF YOU GO SPECIAL THANKS FOR MAKING OUR FIRST TRIP TO SOUTH AFRICA A MOST WONDERFUL ONE: TOKARA WINE ESTATE, STELLENBOSCH - HTTPS://WWW.TOKARA.COM/ KARL LAMBOUR: GENERAL MANAGER CAROLIZE COETZEE: EXECUTIVE CHEF TOKARA RESTAURANT STAFF AND CHEFS: TOKARA RESTAURANT STEENBERG HOTEL AND SPA, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.STEENBERGFARM.COM/HOTEL/ THE STAFF AT THE STEENBERG HOTEL AND SPA ELUNDA BASSON: STEENBERG WINEMAKER KERRY KIPLIN: EXECUTIVE CHEF AT TRYN & BISTRO SIXTEEN82 TRYN, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.STEENBERGFARM.COM/TRYN BISTRO SIXTEEN82, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.STEENBERGFARM.COM/BISTRO1682 CONSTANTIA GLEN WINERY, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.CONSTANTIAGLEN.COM/ JUSTIN VAN WYK; WINEMAKER

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LA COLOMBE AND PETITE COLOMBE RESTAURANTS CHEFS AND STAFF LA COLOMBE RESTAURANT, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.LACOLOMBE.CO.ZA/ LA PETITE COLOMBE, FRANSCHHOEK - HTTPS://WWW.LAPETITECOLOMBE.COM/ GUDRUN CLARK: GC COMMUNICATIONS CC WWW.GC-COM.CO.ZA MICHELLE BEZUIDENHOUT: LUXURY BRANDS HTTPS://WWW.LUXURYBRANDS.CO.ZA PLUMWOOD INN, FRANSCHHOEK - WWW.PLUMWOODINN.COM ALLORA, FRANSCHHOEK - HTTPS://ALLORA.CO.ZA/ FRANSCHHOEK WINE TRAM, FRANSCHHOEK - HTTPS://WINETRAM.CO.ZA/ BABYLONSTOREN, SIMONDIUM - HTTPS://BABYLONSTOREN.COM/

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E�� C�� T�� BY RON AND MARY JAMES | PHOTOGRAPHY BY RON JAMES

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ur hometown, San Diego, is famous for its diverse natural environments. The common boast is that San Diegans can surf the Pacific, ski snowcovered mountains and hike the scorching desert and be back in the city for dinner. To our surprise and delight, Cape Town offers an equally broad range of natural attractions. Wine country is minutes from the city, beach

towns dot the coastline, forested mountains command breathtaking panoramas and the sophisticated waterfront serves up shopping, entertainment and dining. In the few days we stayed in downtown Cape Town we managed to scratch the surface on things to enjoy in this cosmopolitan region. Hereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s an illustrated diary of our Cape Town adventures.

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Greenmarket Square A short Uber ride brought us to the meeting place for our tour of central Cape Town - a coffee shop at Greenmarket Square. We were shocked by the chaotic scene before us: a throng of people carrying boxes in an area littered with tents, blue tarps and mountains of stuff. The driver told us to be careful as he dropped us off. We didn’t know it at the time but we learned that this scene takes place every morning, a groundhog day-ritual to set up a giant outdoor market. By the time the city awakes the cobbled square is filled with stalls selling local art, crafts, street food, jewelry, clothing, and souvenirs. Greenmarket Square was established in 1696, during the early Dutch occupation of the Cape colony. It gained its name when the square was the place to buy fresh vegetables grown at the nearby Company’s Garden to replenish ships rounding the Cape. Sadly the Dutch also bought and sold slaves here as well. Among the historic buildings in the square is Burger Watch House built In 1716. The impressive building, with pillars, and a crest over the upper balcony later, became the Old Town House and the original headquarters of the Cape Colony’s citizen patrols. Men between 16 and 60 worked in shifts patrolling the city and keeping an eye out for fires. Today, Old Town House is home to the Michaelis Collection of 17th century art work by Frans Hals, Jan Steen, Jacob van Ruisdael, Anthony van Dyck and other Dutch artists. While in Africa, we had purchased a number of souvenirs including a large tribal mask. We needed a suitably large suitcase to transport our new treasures home. After getting sticker shock in traditional stores, we decided to give Greenmarket a try and quickly found the perfect rollaway suitcase for a fraction of the price. Of course the wheels fell off when we pulled it from the carousel at the San Diego airport. But it did its job and the dramatic mask adorns the wall in our home today.

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Bo Kaap Bo Kapp, one of Cape Town's most distinctive neighborhoods, also known as the Muslim or Cape Malay Quarter, is located just a few blocks from Greenmarket Square. Here homes, stores and mosques are a cheerful rainbow of hot pink, lime green, turquoise and other vibrant colors. The community’s history is just as colorful but in darker hues. Most residents of Bo Kaap descended from muslim slaves from Africa, Asia, Indonesia, and Malaysia brought by the Dutch during the the 16th and 17th centuries. The Cape Malays as they were called, were a mixed lot -- from scholars and religious leaders to convicts and skilled craftsmen. As we walked the steep cobblestone streets, we learned that the more modest homes were built by and for the slaves, while the larger houses at the top of the hill were for owners and managers. Many of the homes today are B and Bs, small restaurants, shops, galleries and grocery stores. Climbing up and down the hills can work up a thirst, but don’t look for a cold beer here -- no alcohol is allowed. (Just across the street from Bo Kaap though, several markets, bars and restaurants serve adult beverages.)

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If you’d like a little snack, be sure to try the famous street food at a simple stall at the corner of Helliger Lane and Rose Street. For the last 14 years Warida Conelius has deep fried the best samosas in Bo Kaap. Cooked on site, they are super fresh – hot and crisp. We got there early because she sells out of everything that she makes. Bo Kaap is home to a lively arts community and number of outstanding galleries, mostly owned by the artists. One of them, Art du Cap gallerie,featured larger than life portraits of famous people including Nelson Mandela. Owner and artist, Anthony de Klerk, and his wife also sponsor an outreach program of art classes for neighborhood residents. The community’s popularity has its downside. We saw several signs pleading to save Bo Kaap. Since apartheid ended, non-muslims have been allowed to buy homes here, causing inflated home prices and increased property taxes. As a result, many muslims have had to move out. The city is slowing the gentrification by limiting the percentage of outside owners to 15 percent, although our tour guide doubted that rule would stand because there’s money to be made here.

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V & A Waterfront With Table Mountain as a backdrop, the V & A Waterfront is a magnet for tourists and locals alike seeking lively shopping, dining, entertainment and people watching in a historic setting cooled by bay breezes. This thriving retail, business, residential and hotel complex is part of a working harbor that dates back to the 1600s and is named for Queen Victoria who sent her second son Prince Alfred to Cape Town in 1860 to mark the start of construction to create a safe year-round harbor for the city. This 300-acre complex that includes the Victoria Wharf Shopping Center, 80-plus restaurants, an aquarium and museums was a 20 minute walk from our hotel, but we found it easier to navigate when we arrived by Uber at entrances near the mall. From there, we mingled around sunny squares with crowds watching street performers, sharing snacks from food stalls or quaffing craft brews in open-air pubs. Always in search of souvenirs, we explored the Waterfrontâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s many traditional and contemporary artisan shops housed in the Watershed, Waterfront Craft Market and Alfred Mall gallery. The nearby Red Shed is home to scores of vendors offering African art and crafts, jewelry and home decor while the V & A Market on the Wharf showcases fresh produce and light fare perfect for lunch or a shopping break. Learn more about the area and landmarks like the Clock Tower and Cape Wheel on twice daily walking tours. Or take in views from harbor tours that also leave from this working port. Ferries also depart from the Nelson Mandela Gateway here for tours of Robben Island, when the late South Africa president was an inmate for 18 years. Evenings with glowing sunsets and twinkling lights reflected on the water draw locals and visitors to dine. For dinner one night, we waited in line for a table at Willoughby & Co., a favorite for Japanese fusion seafood ranked among the cityâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s best. Tucked inside the shopping center, the bustling restaurant more than made up for its lack of a harbor view with friendly service, affordable wine list and tasty seafood. If you go: https://www.waterfront.co.za/

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Table Mountain Cape Townâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s iconic landmark, Table Mountain, dominates the skyline whether shrouded in fog or dramatically silhouetted against a clear blue sky. Voted one of the New Seven Wonders of the World in 2011, the wide flat peak more than 3,500 feet high is a must explore for its stunning views and unique topography and plantlife. We stopped here as part of a tour, and benefitted from the expertise of our guide to time our visit - early-mid morning - to minimize our wait in the crowded queue for the cableway ride up the mountain. More than a million tourists annually brave these long lines and the blazing sun for postcard selfies at the top, and during peak season - and on clear days - waits can be draining. Aboard the cablecar, we and our fellow passengers all enjoyed panoramic vistas as the car rotated 360 degrees during the five minute journey to the top. There everyone poured out - and spread out - to gaze at the city and harbor or follow marked trails across the breezy plateau. Signs mark three moderate walks - Dassie, Agama and Klipspringer - that are easy to navigate to viewpoints to the north, south and west. Free 30-minute guided walks, offered hourly, add to the experience, sharing history and pointing out landmarks, notable vegetation (some endangered), and birds that soar overhead. Snacks are sold in the curio Shop at the Top along with souvenirs. For heartier fare, try the adjacent cafe with indoor and outdoor seating that commands views across the plateau and a menu of South Africa-inspired dishes and beverages. If you go: https://tablemountainnationalpark.org/ and https://www.tablemountain.net/

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Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden One of the world’s great public gardens, Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden, is less than 10 miles from Cape Town city center. Nestled on an eastern slope of Table Mountain, this verdant oasis and UNESCO World Heritage site sprawls across 1,300 acres of sweeping lawns, cultivated gardens and wildlands. All celebrate the country’s native flora - including aloes, proteas, birds of paradise, amaryllis, agapanthus and many other drought tolerant beauties now cultivated around the world. Free guided tours, offered twice daily MondaySaturday, are ideal introductions to Kirstenbosch’s sunny specialty gardens and trails through dappled groves and stream-serenaded glades that date back to the garden’s founding early in the 20th century. Most link with the new Centenary Tree Canopy Walkway or “Boomslang” as locals call it. This steel and timber bridge wends high in the Arboretum canopy to capture birds-eye views across the garden and distant city. Highlights of our summer visit included a stop at the pepperbark tree planted in 1996 by the late Nelson Mandela, an avid gardener, and now marked by a bust of the country’s first democrati-

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cally elected president. Another tree, a prized Wood’s cycad grown in the garden since 1916, is now extinct in the wild. Caged and monitored by cameras, this palm-like tree is part of the garden’s impressive collection of rare and endangered South African cycads, “living fossils” little changed since the time of the dinosaurs. Kirstenbosch’s famed floral fireworks explode in spring (August-mid-October) when African daisies carpet hills, cape bulbs (watsonia, spraxis, babiana and more) bloom, and native shrubs or fynbos proteas, pincushions and conebushes - show off exotic flowers and foliage. In mid-summer, when we visited, swaths of purple and white-flowered

agapanthus filled beds, along with spikes of red hot pokers, orange fireball lilies and naked lady amaryllis. If you have time - tours last up to three hours, wander through the Botanical Society Conservatory, a glasshouse with weird and wonderful specimens - living “stones” to towering baobab trees from the country’s semi-arid and arid areas. And enjoy art displayed around the grounds, including the Sculpture Garden’s African stone sculptures and metal dinosaurs scattered among the cycads. If you go: https://www.sanbi.org/gardens/ kirstenbosch/

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Cape of Good Hope Our tour to explore the region around Cape Town began with a scenic drive along Victoria Road and then over Chapmanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Peak. The journey reminded us of the famous Pacific Coast Highway 1 in California that runs along the ocean past Big Sur to Monterey. Stops along the way offered birdâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eye views of Hout Bay, expansive beaches and pricey homes that attract the rich and famous from around the world. On to Cape Point, where towering cliffs rise above the boiling seas that crash against the rocky coastline. Cape Point, located in the Cape of Good Hope area of Table Mountain National Park, was

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named the Cape of Storms by the Portuguese explorer Bartolomeu Dias, the first mariner to round the Cape in 1488. For centuries nervous sailors dreaded navigating the Cape where fog and violent storms claimed countless ships. We planned to take the three-minute ride in the Flying Dutchman funicular to a drop off point near where the 1859 lighthouse still stands. Unfortunately the funicular was out of service, so we hopped aboard a van for the trip up the steep and narrow road. The views at the top were spectacular on a perfectly sunny, but windy day. I thought this was the Cape of Good Hope, but our guide set me straight as we jumped back into

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our van for a mile and half trip west to the real deal, part of the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve. Cape of Good Hope, a rocky promontory at the southern end of Cape Peninsula, was long considered to be where the Indian and Atlantic oceans converged. Not so. The meeting place is Cape Agulhas, about 90 miles to the southeast. Legend has it that ghosts of the crew of The Flying Dutchman haunt the sea and headlands of the Cape. We didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t see any ghostly sailors, but we did see several wild ostriches as we drove through the flat grassy highlands leading to the beach and ad-

jacent Cape, the southwestern most point of the African continent. The sandstone cliffs and rocky shoreline were bustling with sunburned visitors looking to twist or break an ankle. We played it safe and tho buffeted by strong winds, bravely posed in front of the Cape of Good Hope sign, Then we joined in what seems to be a tourist pastime, stacking seapolished rocks into artistic, if teetering, sculptures along the shore.

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Boulder Beach Penguin Colony Boulders Beach is the home of a thriving African penguin colony. Instead of being isolated like their South American cousins, these lucky little black and white guys and gals share the shoreline with some of the most expensive real estate in Africa and everyone seems to get along just fine. They’re called Jackass penguins because of their obnoxious donkey-like call. Visitors pay a small fee to wander a wide elevated wood walkway along the beach where the birds live, raising their young and fishing. In 1982 these penguins were almost extinct - only two breeding pairs remaining in the area. Heroic conservation efforts have revived the Boulders colony to more than 3,000 birds in recent years. During our visit, a highlight was at the end of the line where hundreds of penguins played in the surf, probably staying clean and presentable in their exclusive beachfront digs.

Before our tour stop where jackass penguins roam, we stopped for refreshments at Noordhoek Farm Village, the restaurant row of the South Peninsula. This farm, it seems, raises restaurants instead of cabbages, with dining spots that cater to almost every palate. We opted for casual dining outside at Foodbarn Deli, where we expected standard deli fare, but were blown away by the delicious feast brough to our table. On our way out, when Ron told the cashier how much we enjoyed our lunch, she pointed out a very large aproned man as the chef. Ron walked over to shake his hand, thank him and snap a quick photo. It wasn’t until we were writing this story that we discovered that the deli chef was Franck Dangereux the original owner-chef of Cape Town’s La Colombe, ranked during the ten years he was there was number 28 in the world’s top 50 restaurants. (For more on La Colombe, see page 52.) We’ll never think of delis in quite the same way.

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MY COUNTRY, SOUTH AFRICA By Carolyn Goltman

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et me take you on a tour of my country, the “Rainbow Nation” of South Africa. With 11 official languages and many races, here you’ll find great cultural, historical and geographical diversity.

A common misconception I’ve encountered in my travels is that South Africa is a region of the continent of Africa. But South Africa is an independent country, the southernmost in Africa, and one 53 nations on the continent. There are nine Provinces in the country, each with its own unique cultural and geographical flavor. Let’s explore them starting in the north with Limpopo.

WINEDINEANDTRAVEL.COM Bourke’s Luck Pothole photo courtesy WikiMedia

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Blyde River Canyon by Arthur Hickinbotham

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Kruger Park Zebras by George Brits@georgebrits_cableandgrain

Limpopo South Africa’s northernmost province, Limpopo, shares borders with Botswana and Zimbabwe. The main language spoken is Sesotho. Nature lovers will be in their element in Limpopo where there are many opportunities for safaris and visits to one of many animal rehabilitation centers. Arguably one of the best Safari experiences in South Africa is the world-renowned Kruger National Park which stretches the length of both the Limpopo and Mpumalanga provinces. It’s enormous, covering 7,523 sq miles and stretching 220 miles north to south and 40 miles east to west. Every year, thousands of visitors come to spot the Big Five (ele-

phant, rhino, Cape buffalo, lion and leopard) as well as many other animals, insects, and birds. Mpumalanga Swati, Zulu, and Ndebele are the languages spoken in Mpumalanga Province, a haven of archeological and geological wonders. Here you will find Blyde River Canyon, with the steepest clift drops of any canyon in the world. Along the way there stop at “God's Window” where you can look down on a forest a heart-stopping 2,296 feet below. One glance at the views and you’ll understand how this lookout got its name. Another natural wonder here is Bourke’s Luck Potholes, named after an gold

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miner who unsuccessfully prospected here in the 1800s. The potholes were carved in bedrock over thousands of years by the fierce swirling motion where the Blyde River and Treur River converge. And if you’re brave and not claustrophobic, tour the spectacular Sudwala caves formed some 240 million years ago and the oldest Dolomite caves in the world. You’ll journey 1.2 miles deep into the cavern to view its many calcium formations with names like “Nelson's Column” and the “Screaming Monster.” Gauteng Gauteng, meaning “place of gold,” is South Africa’s smallest province and its most densely populated. Languages spoken are Tswana, and Zulu, English and Afrikaans. The major city here is Johannesburg, a trendy, cosmopolitan city with tangible energy in the air. For a bit of fun and entertainment for young and old, spend the day at Gold Reef City, an amusement park known for its thrill rides. For a bit of history, visit the Apartheid Museum to learn about one of the most significant periods of the country’s political life. One of the most important sights to see in this province - and in all South Africa, are in the limestone Sterkfontein Caves at the Cradle of Humankind. Here, in 1947, Robert Broom and John T. Robinson discovered the oldest known fossil of Australopithecus africanus, a two million-year-old relative of early man. The UNESCO world heritage site also has yielded several other notable fossils, including the Taung Child and Little Foot, as well as Neanderthal tools. North West The main language in this province bordering Botswana is Tswana. It is home to Hartbeesport Dam (affectionately known by locals as Harties). Activities here include hot air ballooning, boating, water skiing, camping and more. For an upscale getaway, a stay at Sun City is a must! Although there is plenty to do on this at this sprawling resort it’s also nice to just lay back and enjoy the uber-luxurious surroundings.

Johannesburg Photo by Clodagh Da Paixao

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Northern Cape The Northern Cape shares borders with Namibia and Botswana and four languages are spoken here - Afrikaans, Tswana, Xhosa and English. The highlight of this province is its location on the Namaqualand flower route, a botanical wonder. In August and September, the landscape is transformed into a sea of vivid and brightly colored wildflowers. The Big Hole of Kimberley, in an old mining town, takes you inside a hand-dug open-pit and underground mine that produced an impressive 5,000 pounds of diamonds between 1871 and 1914. To learn more about its history, pay a visit to the onsite museum. Free State Nestled in the center of South Africa is the Free State where the main languages are Setho and Afrikaans. My favorite highlight here is the charming town of Clarens with its distinctively Old World feel. Only the main road to the village square is paved. For nature lovers there are plenty of hikes and trails. Itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s also a great place for bike festivals, cherry picking in Fouriesburg, and pinotage sampling for wine lovers. There are no big retail outlets here; most of the shops are home grown and locally owned. One of my favorites is Clarens Brewery with ales, beers and ciders for every palate, all made in this small town.

Clarens Brewery team photo courtesy of Clarens

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Springbok at Namaqualand flower route courtesy www.Namakwa-Info.co.za

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KwaZulu Natal My home province! Major languages spoken here are English and Zulu. The major city, Durban, is an ocean lover’s paradise with a never ending summer. Enjoy water sports like surfing, skiing, paddle boarding and kite surfing all year long. For a change of scenery, visit the beautiful Drakensberg Mountains, only a two and a half hour drive away, and the majestic Amphitheatre Mountains, a four hour drive, but worth it. History buffs might enjoy a Midlands Meander that brings you to the outskirts of Howick where Nelson Mandela was arrested in August 1962. Eastern Cape Avid hikers will want to take a walk along the Wild Coast, a breathtaking stretch of coastline that snakes its way along the Eastern Cape. If you’ve ever taken a cruise along the South African coast you’ll remember the rough seas here that rocked your ship and gave the area its name. Hikes start at Kob Inn, near East London, and continue for 6 to 9 days until you reach Chintsa. Stops along the way let you unwind and rest for the next daily 4-12 mile segment. Another beautiful stretch of the Eastern Cape coastline is Transkei, where you’ll see the famous Hole in the Wall and herds of cows on the beach. Adrenaline junkies need look no further than Bloukrans Bridge Bungee Jump, the world's highest commercial bridge bungee. Thrill seekers in full body harness, drop an insane 708 feet from the bridge accelerating up to 72 miles per hour towards (and hopefully not into) the Bloukrans river below. I may give this one a miss! Western Cape The final stop of our journey is the beautiful province of Western Cape and the “Mother City” of Cape Town. Main languages spoken are Xhosa, English and Afrikaans. No stop here is complete without a trip in the revolving cable car to the top of the most iconic landmark in South Africa, Table Mountain. On a clear day, views there will leave you speechless. For the shopaholics, there’s V & A Waterfront loaded with high-end, big name retail outlets. Wine enthusiasts have hit the jackpot too. Wine routes lead to impressive estates producing

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Durban Surfers by Ron James some of the world’s best wines. Nature lovers will thrill to the thundering waves at Cape Point that have claimed many ships over the years. Head a little farther south to Cape Agulhas and you can boast that you have stood at the most southern point of the African continent. Finally I think it’s only fitting to end our journey with a poignant visit to Robben Island. The father of our Rainbow Nation, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela (affectionately known as Madiba or father in Xhosa), was imprisoned here from 1964 to 1991. At this museum,

you can stand in Madiba’s prison cell.

Hamba kakuhle - Xhosa

‘We have now traveled around my country. There is so much more to see and do than the highlights I’ve shared so I have no doubt a trip here will not disappoint.

Gabotse - Sepedi

I leave you with salutations in all of South Africa’s 11 official languages. Go well - English Toetsiens - Afrikaans Hamba Kahle - Zulu

Tsamaya sentle -(Setswana) Tsamaya hantle - Sesotho Sala kahle - Xitsonga siSwati - Sala kahle Kha vha sale - Tshivenda Lisale kuhle - Ndebele Carolyn Goltman is a Durban resident, accomplished runner and avid traveler.

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THE VIBRANT

Vs OF CA

FORESTS & FOODS FOR TH Story & Photography by Priscilla Lister

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ANADA

HE SOUL

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Top: The Empress Hotel sits right on Victoriaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s harbor. Left: The Harbour Air seaplane is a great way to move from Victoria to Vancouver; here it is at the harbor of Downtown Vancouver. Previous page: Collection of totem poles near Hallelujah Point in Vancouverâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Stanley Park.

Victoria’s Chinatown is the second oldest in North America after San Francisco’s. The main artery here is Fisgard Street where you’ll find Fan Tan Alley, the narrowest commercial street in North America at just 3 feet wide in places; as well as Dragon Alley where little shops line the narrow corridor topped with festive lights. But what drew me the most to this region are its gardens, forests and parks. Known as The Garden City, Victoria is home to dozens of gardens and parks, including some of Canada’s most famous. The city’s annual hanging basket tradition to welcome summer dates back 75 years. That most famous of gardens is The Butchart Gardens which lie about an hour’s drive north of the city. For this excursion, I rented a car for the day from Budget, which has a facility just a few blocks behind the Empress downtown. The Butchart Gardens are magnificent any time of year. When I was there on Halloween, the fall colors were still putting on their fabulous show. This gorgeous attraction began in 1904 when Robert and Jennie Butchart moved from Ontario to Vancouver Island to build a cement plant on a rich limestone deposit. By 1912, cement production exhausted the limestone deposits so Jennie began moving top soil by horse and cart to transform the area into a grand garden. By 1929, they had created the Japanese Garden on the seaside, the Italian Garden on their former tennis court and the fragrant Rose Garden. By 1939, when grandson Ian Ross was gifted the gar-

Top: Victoria’s Chinatown is second oldest on the West Coast to San Francisco’s.second oldest on the West Coast to San Francisco’s. Left: The grand Torii gate marks the entrance to the Japanese Garden at Butchart Gardens, where the beech trees are festooned with lighted globes. Right:The fall colors were abundant in the beautiful Beacon Hill Park in Victoria. 134 WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE 2020

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dens on his 21st birthday, he transformed them into the world-renowned attraction it is today. It is now a National Historic Site of Canada. My stroll through Butchart Gardens — which of course I also remembered from 1964 — was a magical garden walk. At the Sunken Garden where it all began, weeping willows and evergreens tower over 150 flower beds in five acres — some 65,000 bulbs are planted for spring flowers. I was too late for blooms in the Rose Garden, but imagine its 2,500 plants and 30 arches filled with 280 varieties of roses in spring and summer. The maple and beech trees of The Japanese Garden were breathtakingly serene and contemplative as they rose above little streams cascading under red foot bridges where tiny statues nestle. Some 74 Japanese maples are here in its one acre along with 500 rhododendrons and azaleas. Arriving when the gardens open at 9 a.m. is the best bet for avoiding the crowds that come any time of year. While I still had my rental car, I made my way to Hatley Park National Historic Site to walk its miles of trails through old-growth forest as well as Japanese and Italian gardens. Some fine peacocks strolled along with me there. I also drove to Craigdarroch Castle, built in 1890 by coal industrialist Robert Dunsmuir, a Scottish immigrant. This enormous home is now in conservation as a national treasure and historic house museum. Its 25,572 square feet of rooms, fitted to appear like they would have during the Dunsmuirs’ time, boast some of the nation’s finest stained glass windows. Back downtown, just a block away from The Empress, is one of the most beautiful city parks anywhere. I loved this 200-acre Beacon Hill Park so much, when I headed back to the hotel after an

Japanese maples bring fall color to the beautiful Japanese Garden at Butchart Gardens. Right: Kids of all ages love strolling through The Butchart Gardens.

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hour or two, I decided there was no better way to spend time so I headed right back into the park. Woodland trails wind around ponds and landscaped gardens as they make way into forests of oak, fir, and cedar trees and take on a wilder feeling. I sought its 127-foot-high totem pole, carved by Mungo Martin, a Kwakwaka’wakw craftsman, in 1956, then the tallest and now the fourth-tallest totem pole in the world. Also right next door to those Parliament buildings is the Royal BC Museum, one of Canada’s greatest cultural treasures founded in 1886. This museum collects and preserves artifacts, documents and specimens of British Columbia’s natural

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and human history. With some 7 million objects in its collections, it is a vast, fascinating, in-depth survey of its landscapes and cultures past and present. From paintings by Emily Carr — a beloved local artist whose family home is also a cultural attraction for touring whose landscapes and totem paintings are simply wonderful — to actual totem poles and other carvings by native peoples, to videos and photographs of long-ago events like arrivals of war canoes and the 1860s gold rush, this museum offers a truly cavernous collection of natural and human history. You could spend days here. And on the north side of The Empress is Minia-

ture World, where some 85 miniature dioramas and displays delighted me. I am a huge fan of miniatures — have collected them for decades — and this little museum thrilled me. From a huge doll house circa 1880 to dioramas of Canadian cities 100 years ago, to the Enchanted Valley of Castles in Europe to recreations of fairy tales and their worlds, this is “the greatest little show on earth.” Kids of all ages will love this.

Left to Right: The 127-foot-tall totem pole at Beacon Hill Park in Victoria — that’s like a 12-story building.

After three nights in Victoria, I headed to Vancouver. Instead of taking the ferry, which takes about 90 minutes and lands about an hour’s drive south of Vancouver — and I didn’t have a car — I opted instead to take the Harbour Air seaplane

Preceding page: Weeping willows make a Butchart Gardens trails especially alluring.

Miniature World offers more than 85 miniature dioramas that will delight kids of all ages. Here is one celebrating the arrival of a Ringling Brothers Circus.

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from Victoria’s harbor to Vancouver’s — just a 35minute flight that basically took me from hotel to hotel. The scenic flight was well worth it for about $200, especially since an hour’s taxi from the ferry to downtown would have been expensive. The walk to the seaplane terminal takes about 10 minutes from The Empress, and the plane lands harbor side in Vancouver. While I could have walked to my hotel from there, I grabbed a cab for the very short ride with luggage. I stayed at the Four Seasons in downtown Vancouver —but alas, you cannot. It closed in January 2020, but I didn’t even know that was happening when I was there in November 2019. I should have chosen the Fairmont Hotel Vancouver, one of the city’s historic properties that has been elegantly restored, where we stayed in 1964. Vancouver metro has about 2.5 million people compared to Victoria’s metro population of about 370,000, so it’s a much bigger city. While British naval Captain George Vancouver explored the area in 1792, it took another century until Europeans settled here. Of course, its First Nations people, like in Victoria, had been here for some 10,000 years already. When the Canadian Pacific Railway completed its transcontinental line from Eastern Canada in the late 1880s, Vancouver quickly surpassed Victoria as the region’s commercial hub. Vancouver was incorporated in 1886. Today it is a lively, beautiful city carved between the Burrard Inlet of English Bay and the Fraser River. The city’s stunning backdrop is formed by the North Shore Mountains, where Grouse Mountain and The Lions are its most famous peaks. Grouse Mountain is site of a popular ski area as well as hiking trails. The Capilano River Valley runs through these mountains, too, and is another beacon for hikers. Traveling on my own, I reconnected with an old friend in Vancouver. When I worked at REI in Seattle in the late 1970s as copy chief of its catalog when it had only one store in Capitol Hill, Paul Heraty, a mountain climber from Vancouver, would come to get his boots repaired. That’s when we formed a deep connection. Decades went by. After I wrote my hiking guide book for San Diego County (“Take a Hike: San

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Diego County”), Paul sent me congratulations on Facebook — I hadn’t heard from him in nearly 40 years. So when I was planning my trip, I reached out to him to see if he’d want to go on a hike with me in his fair city. He did and proved to be a valuable guide. He spent two days with me, showing me the natural beauties that abound in Vancouver. First on that list has to be Stanley Park. Created in 1888, Stanley Park is truly one of the greatest urban parks in the world. Encompassing nearly 1,000 acres at the end of downtown Vancouver’s peninsula, it is home to rainforests, lush gardens, 17 miles of trails, beautiful beaches and amazing views of the city from the park’s famous seawall. The seawall is part of the Seaside Greenway pathway, the world’s longest uninterrupted waterfront path for walking and biking — it stretches 16 miles from the Vancouver Convention Center to the foot of Trafalgar Street, including 5.5 miles along Stanley Park’s seawall. And those rainforests remain as lush as they were in the 1880s since the park is that old — there are some half-a-million trees — red cedar, hemlock and Douglas fir — here and some are hundreds of years old. Paul and I also ventured to Queen Elizabeth Park, just 15 minutes’ drive from downtown and considered Vancouver’s horticultural jewel. It’s the highest point in Vancouver so offers grand views of the city, mountains and North Shore. Queen Elizabeth Park’s 200 acres hold its Quarry Gardens, Arboretum (the city’s first formed in 1949), Rose Garden and Bloedel Conservatory. The next day, Paul picked me up and drove us to Capilano River Regional Park, which is a stunning natural oasis literally just 20 minutes’ drive from downtown. Nearby the Capilano Suspension Bridge Park is a famous attraction, but Paul advised that it would be far more crowded than the hiking trails of Capilano River, so we opted for that park instead. Meandering along trails through cedar and fir forests, we followed the Capilano River from the Cleveland Dam that forms Capilano Lake. We watched some fisher folk gamely tossing their lines into the river from its huge and high rocky shores, hoping they watched their steps. This day was the kind of day I love — forest bathing among giant old

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trees with rivers and lakes adding a touch of blue and soothing sounds. That night, Paul and his lovely wife, Mary, had me to their home for dinner with another charming couple. I love Canadians. The Heratys are perfect examples: warm, inclusive, active and engaging. I really found this true countless times even among strangers in both Victoria and Vancouver. Back on my own again, I visited the Vancouver Art Gallery right downtown. It sits in a building designed by that same Francis Rattenbury when it originated as a provincial courthouse. A museum here since the 1980s, it holds a vast collection of Canadian art. It includes works by Canadaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s famed Group of Seven, whose works I have long loved. Franklin Carmichael, Lawren Harris, A.Y. Jackson, Frank Johnston, Arthur Lismer, J.E.H. McDonald, Frederick Varley and A.J. Casson are the original Group of Seven. But their inspiration originally came from the gifted Tom Thomson, whose early death in 1917 still is shrouded in mystery. Emily Carr, that Victoria native, was also associated with the group. The Group of Seven is distinguished by its treatments of Canadian landscape. Some are wildly abstract while others are realistic visions of the gorgeous forests and waters of Canada. I love their paintings and will always seek Canadian museums that house them. And I really love walking among the forests and seas and rivers and lakes that inspired them more than 100 years ago. Victoria and Vancouver made all my birthday wishes come true.

Paul leads the way through the rainforests of red cedar, hemlock and Douglas fir trees on a trail in Vancouverâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Stanley Park. Preceding page: Paul ponders the spruce and hemlock trees on a trail in Capilano River Regional Park near Vancouver.

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Vietnam Postcards from Jo dy Jaffe & By John Muncie

Dear Ron, Traffic in Vietnam is famous. Maybe not tourist-attraction famous, but definitely a phenomenon.

We’re talking about motorbike traffic. Motorbikes swarm Vietnam like monster bees. Buzzing, roaring, put-putting down every street, along every alley, across every sidewalk, squeezing through the aisles of outdoor markets. There are 90 million people in Vietnam and 45 million motorbikes. Cars? Maybe a couple million. Traffic lights are a big deal, too. There aren’t any. OK, a few. But we’ve seen more traffic lights along Broadway than we saw in all of Ho Chi Minh City. We faced the motorbike phenomenon on our first day in HCMC. There we were, innocent tourists, poised to visit Ba Chieu Market, a wonderful, chaotic place where you can buy everything from exotic fruit, to crazy shirts, to great street food. It was right across the street -- a multi-lane street flooded with an endless tsunami of motorbikes.

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We looked at our son, Ben Shepard, and his boyfriend, Job Zheng, for help. They’d been in HCMC for weeks and were old traffic pros. “What do we do?” “Just start walking.” “WHAT?” This is how Ben explained it: “Wait until only motorbikes are bearing down -- no trucks or cars – then step out. Walk, don’t run. Not too fast, not too slow. Steady. Everybody will swerve around you. It’ll be fine. We promise.” What to do? On the one hand we didn’t want to die, on the other, Ben and Job were OK. We held hands and stepped out. Thelma and Louise pedestrian style. It was a kind of miracle. The Red Sea parting. The motorbike horde slipped around us, one side or the other. Nobody slammed on brakes, nobody yelled. Nobody seemed to pay us any attention at all except to navigate around us as if we were traffic cones. “See,” said Ben when we reached the opposite curb unscathed, “that’s how it works in Vietnam.” That’s the way it worked for our entire three-week Vietnam trip. In HCMC, Dalat, Hanoi, Hoi An and in Phu Quoc, an island off the southern coast. The first step was always trepidatious but we eventually got used to motorbikes zooming all around us. Motorbikes are the ocean and pedestrians are the fish. You just start swimming. And

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we came to realize that the motorbike traffic is pretty slow, even in the countryside. No one was in a hurry to pass anyone or beat the traffic light – if there were any. We aren’t exaggerating. You can Google Vietnam traffic and find a zillion mentions. But what we found more amazing was motorbike as pack animal. Three on a bike? Routine. Someone carrying a coop full of chickens? Sure, why not? One day eating lunch in the Thao Dien district of HCMC, we made a list of what passing motorbikers were toting: Seven empty plastic water jugs A closet storage system A mobile bakery Several dozen coconuts in big red plastic bags Two aluminum ladders Side baskets filled with melons A pet transfer service with a big cage on the back A 4-foot-high batch of brooms Five baskets of flowers A knife sharpening service Dozens of people with grocery bags Dozens of guys delivering what looked like Amazon boxes. But the most memorable? A whole family on one bike. We must have seen a dozen. It was always in the same order: Dad driving, with one child in front of him; Mom behind, with a second child in front of her. This, too, was always the same: Dad and Mom wore helmets, the kids didn’t. Safety is not a phenomenon in Vietnam. Love, John and Jody

FOOD Dear Ron, Say “Vietnamese food” and most people think “pho.” It’s the unofficial national dish. A rice noodle soup of light beef or chicken broth flavored with just about anything. Ginger, coriander, spring onions, slivers of chicken, pork or beef. Viet-

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namese eat it anytime, anywhere. We had our share of pho -- which, we discovered, is pronounced something like “phuh.” But pho, we also discovered, is just the beginning of Vietnam’s complex, spicy, exotic, seriously yummy cuisine. Here’s a seriously yummy example: It was our first full day in Vietnam. We’d just visited the War Remnants Museum and the Independence Palace in downtown Ho Chi Minh City. The Propaganda Bistro is just a couple blocks from both (making its name tongue-in-cheek). The perfect lunch stop. The Bistro is a popular spot -- for its mural-decorated walls as well as its food – so it took us a while to get a table. Once seated, here’s what the four of us ordered: wild pepper and green mango salad with baby squid and prawns; pumpkin flowers stuffed with mushroom patties in light batter with green chili sauce; fresh prawn rolls with palm hearts and julienne vegetables; crunchy tri-colored rice with shrimp/squid/fish balls; sizzling beef with caramelized shallots, pork sausage pate, and fried egg. And for the table: fresh bread and fried taro-and-sweet-potato shreds. So much for noodle soup. The truth is, we never ate in a fancier restaurant in Vietnam. We stuck mainly to street food or casual joints in night markets -- which made eating as much of an adventure as touring. As we hop-scotched around the country here were some of our favorite foods. Banh mi -- Vietnam’s famous sandwich. Second only to pho in popularity. Basically, a baguette (introduced by the French in the 19th century) that’s filled with whatever you want. We loved Banh Mi 362, a busy take-out place in HCMC. One brunch we had a fried quail egg banh mi with ham and chicken and a banh mi “omelette” with egg and ham. Various other ingrediants were available -like cilantro, cucumbers, chilis, pickles and onion – we added a bunch of them and dug in. We also tried banh mi at Banh Mi Phuong, a place in Hoi An that Anthony Bourdain once said had “the best bánh mì in Vietnam.” It was jammed. Long line for takeaway. Sorry, Anthony, it wasn’t the best. Not by a long shot. Also John walked through the kitchen to the bathroom. Unfortunately, some things you can’t un-see. Let’s just say

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the health inspector was overdue. Ca phe trung -- Vietnam is the second biggest coffee growing country in the world (behind Brazil). And it’s got a coffee culture to match. Coffee shops line downtown streets. Each one decorated with tiny plastic red tables -- less than two feet high -- surrounded by coffee drinkers. Along with the usual lattes and cappuccinos, there are uniquely Vietnamese coffee drinks. We discovered “ca phe sua” – espresso and condensed milk – in HCMC. In Da Lat we encountered “ca phe muoi” -- coffee mixed with a salty cream. But the topper was “ca phe trung” in Hanoi. Otherwise known as “egg coffee,” it’s a combination of sweetened espresso with whipped egg yoke on top. It’s almost a desert. Think coffee meringue pie or coffee tiramisu or maybe coffee eggnog. We tried our first ca phe trung at Café Giang (the owner’s father invented the drink), where it’s been served since 1946. We were there on a cool, grey afternoon and both floors were packed. Each ca phe trung cup sat in a small ceramic bowl. We’re not sure why. Maybe to catch any overflowing meringue. Lobster -- On the eve of New Year’s Eve, we squeezed through the crowds at Hoi An’s outdoor night market, which is on an island across a narrow neck of the Thu Bon River from the Old Town. The market sells T-shirts and other tourist knick-knacks but most everybody is there for the food. There are dozens of stalls cooking an encyclopedia of foods. Squid, frogs, octopi, chickens, weird things we couldn’t identify. We headed to the far side of the island where the lobster grillers were at work. We picked a stand at random (the cook looked like a nice lady) and put in an order. The nice lady grabbed a group of small lobsters out of a tank, chopped off some antennae and threw them on her grill. In 10 minutes juice dripping, succulent grilled lobsters were delivered to our tiny table in paper cartons. Just about the best street food we’d ever eaten. Pizza -- We say “just about,” because we discovered the best street food ever in Da Lat. It’s called “banh trang nuong.” Better known to tourists as

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“Vietnamese pizza.” Banh trang nuong is round and has a crust but that’s about its only connection to the Italian concoction. This pizza is sizzled on an outdoor grill starting with a base of thin rice paper. Instead of tomato sauce, they smear quail or chicken egg over the rice paper. Then come the toppings. Amazing stuff like shrimp paste or bits of dried pork, sriracha sauce, red chilis, and scallions. Even cheese and bacon for westerners who can’t completely let go. When the cook hands you the finished pizza – about the size of a small dinner plate – you fold it over and take a bite. It’s like all of Vietnamese cuisine rolled into one: crunchy, gooey, complex, spicy, exotic, seriously yummy. Love, John and Jody

NEW YEARS Dear Ron, “Chuc Mung Nam Moi!” That’s “Happy New Year!” in Vietnamese. It’s a much heftier greeting here than back home. Vietnam’s New Year is like Thanksgiving, Christmas and Fourth of July rolled into one. When we arrived at Ho Chi Minh City on Jan. 9

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the tinsel and “Chuc Mung Nam Moi” signs were everywhere and New Year’s Day wasn’t until Jan. 25. (Vietnam, like China, celebrates New Year’s based on a lunar calendar. Both were anticipating the upcoming Year of the Rat.) At night, HCMC’s downtown was lit up like Las Vegas. Indoor and outdoor restaurants were jammed. Every store had New Year’s decorations. A week later we were in Da Lat, a former French colonial city in the central highlands. One of its nicknames is “City of Flowers,” because it’s surrounded by thousands of greenhouses. Ten days before New Year’s, Da Lat’s flower business was going crazy. Red and yellow are lucky colors in Vietnam and Da Lat’s streets were lined with people selling yellow chrysanthemums, red roses and, our favorite, the lucky kumquat tree. Really. Kumquats everywhere. Apparently, they symbolize good health and good luck for business. The trees, just a few feet high, were loaded with fruit and stuck in big flowerpots. And, of course, carted around on the backs of motorbikes. And Hanoi seemed like a party town. During evening strolls around Hoan Kiem Lake, the town’s historic center, we passed choral groups and dance troupes; bad karaoke leaked out of bars and canned music blared out over pedestrian mobs.

We tried to greet people with “Chuc Mung Nam Moi!” but had limited success. Locals would look at us blankly for a second (“What are those crazy foreigners trying to say?”) then the light would dawn and they’d grin broadly and repeat it back or say something else festive – none of which we understood. Maybe they said, “Song lau tram tuoi,” which means something like, “Live to be 100.” Along with kumquat trees, Vietnam’s New Year’s traditions include giving “lucky money” to kids, decorating the house, buying clothes, paying off debts, shooting off fireworks, and praying at pagodas. The whole thing lasts for days. Businesses close, school’s out, factories shut down, everybody heads to their parents’ place or grandparent’s or favorite uncle’s. Without relatives to visit, we headed to the historic coastal city of Hoi An. Which, by reputation, is Vietnam’s premier New Year’s destination. Hoi An’s original prime was in the 17th and 18th centuries when it was thriving riverside port (the coast is five miles off). Then the river silted up and Hoi An became a backwater to Danang, 30 miles to the north. But the ancient city, with its rows of mustard-colored merchant houses, was preserved. When Vietnam opened up to the West in the 1990s, Hoi An was rediscovered. UNESCO made it a World Heritage site in 1999; tourists flooded in.

Today the merchant houses are shops and restaurants and the Old Town is surrounded by hotels and resorts. Tourism means Hoi An is in festival mode yearround. Lanterns festoon the narrow back streets, lantern-lit boats ply the Thu Bon River. But New Year’s Eve is something else. On an Old Town back street we watched a dance performance involving acrobatic teens, a pulsing drum corps and dragon costumes. As evening approached, the quaint arched river bridges were lit up like airport runways. By dinner time, the tourist crowd was so dense at the night market we had to turn sideways to squeeze our way through. At night, the riverside vendors had sold so many small floating lanterns -- each holding a single candle – looking down at the water was like looking up at the Milky Way. Because both of us were nursing colds that day, we decided to forgo the downtown fireworks show. As we walked back to our hotel, the riverbanks were lined with tiny tables and chairs and festive visitors drinking beer. At midnight, the river surface flashed with reflected celebration. “Chuc Mung Nam Moi!” Love, John and Jody

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LOOKING FORWARD Dear Ron, In our last postcard, we didn’t mention that the Vietnamese New Year holiday is called Tet. We didn’t forget. But to many Americans the word “Tet” is synonymous with “Vietnam War.” The Tet Offensive was a country-wide surprise attack during the 1968 Lunar New Year holiday. It was the war’s biggest battle -- more than 1,000 GIs died. But Tet casts no such shadow here. In Vietnam it’s just a time for joy and celebration. Grudge doesn’t seem to be a Vietnamese concept. War? What war? During our trip we must have brought up the subject a dozen times. Each time – in the north, south, coast, inland -- the answer was the same: “That’s the past, we look ahead.” That’s Vietnam in a single sentence. The people we met were industrious, optimistic and happy. Laughter was everywhere. A boat dock gate didn’t open – the gate man struggled with it, laughed, struggled some more, laughed, then let us around another side. A fruit seller thought it hilarious when we asked her to write out the Vietnamese name for dragon fruit (“thranh long”). When our tour Jeep stalled in a busy highway outside Hanoi, the pretty young tour guide just shrugged, laughed and sat back, putting her feet up on the dash. ven the Cu Chi tunnels, a war site outside HCMC, felt more like a theme park than a memorial. The extensive tunnels, used by the Viet Cong to evade U.S. troops and napalm attacks, vie with

gift shops, documentaries with jaunty soundtracks, booby trap displays, a shooting range and outdoor restaurants for the attention of tourists. When we visited the place was packed. People sticking their heads out of a tunnel entrance was the main photo op. Even our Cu Chi guide, “Mr. Chi,” was ultimately dismissive of it all. “We can’t be Hobbits all our lives,” he said as we left for our boat ride back to the city. Then there’s HCMC’s war museum. It’s grim. The third floor “agent orange” exhibit has gut-wrenching photos. But even here the Vietnamese downplay the past. An earlier version of the museum, opened in 1975, was called “The Exhibition House for US and Puppet Crimes.” In 1990 the name was changed to “Exhibition House for Crimes of War and Aggression.” When diplomatic relations with the U.S. were resumed in 1995, the name was changed again. Now it’s called the “War Remnants Museum.” At our hotel in Da Lat we kept asking Huynh Nghia, the friendly guy who welcomed us, what his job title was. Each day he’d laugh and give us a different title. Finally, on our last day, as we were leaving, he said, “I’m manager, door man, waiter, bellhop, president! There are no titles here, we’re now just family.” And then he laughed and gave us both a hug. Love, John and Jody

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Surfâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Up In M

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By Brian E. Clark

Morocco I

grew up hearing stories about Morocco from my father, a World War II Army veteran whose unit helped push German General Erwin Rommel - the “Desert Fox” - and his soldiers out of North Africa. Several maps of the country - showing U.S. troop positions - decorated my dad’s newspaper editor’s office.

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In the early 1970s, I made it to Morocco for the first time to visit my older brother, who was teaching English back then as part of a Peace Corps stint in a village called Touanate in the Atlas Mountains about 55 miles north of Fes. I returned again about 15 years later in the winter with photographer Mark Lorenzen to climb a nearly 14,000-foot peak called Toubkal roughly 70 miles southeast of Marakesh - and then ski down it. But the country’s siren call keeps luring me back for yet more adventure. The most recent trip was to surf off Morocco’s Atlantic Coast. After four years of working as a staff writer at The San Diego Union Tribune and hanging out on the city’s many beaches, I’d developed a middling ability to ride a longboard on easy waves at La Jolla Shores and the Tourmaline Surfing Park. And I’d long been a fan of Bruce Brown’s iconic surfing movie, “Endless Summer,” which he filmed in 1963 after hopping around the globe. He never made it to Morocco on the northwest corner of Africa, though he did get to Senegal, Nigeria and South Africa. Brown skipped Morocco a second time when he made “The Endless Summer II,” released in 1994. His loss. What Brown missed was a 1,000-mile coastline that hugs the Moroccan desert, with waves that form beside rocky points or off beaches, offering breaks for all levels of surfers - including top pros. Ocean swells have been rolling in off the Atlantic to collapse on Morocco’s strands for eons. Fishermen have caught sardines, mackerel, anchovies, octopus and squid for centuries, usually from small, colorful wooden boats. Their offspring have been going to sea with their elders for countless generations, frolicking in the ocean when they had the chance. But it was only in the last 50 years that surfers discovered that these waves were ideal for their own modern mix of work and play. At first, locals say, it was mostly Europeans and Australians, along with the odd American or two, who discovered that from October into March, the Moroccan coast became a paradise of “big rollers” that produced excellent right-handers, or waves that break off points like Devil’s Rock, as well as

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good beach breaks and some left-handers. At some places such as Anchor Point north of Tamraght, waves break for so long surfers can ride for nearly half a mile. In the past 20 years or so, surfing has caught on also with Moroccan youth, and this has produced some top professional riders. Along with them, thousands of others have embraced the sport and the surf culture that often goes with it, dreadlocks, bleached blonde hair and all. Mohammed Kadmiri, president of the Royal Moroccan Surfing Federation, said the sport has grown exponentiallyover the past decade. The country now has more than 245 surf instructors and numerous contests are held annually. It is also home to more than 50 surfing schools run by Moroccans and an equal number of surf camps headed by foreigners—mostly Europeans— who often use local instructors. The long and often rugged coast, he added, makes it "a quintessential destination for surfing thanks to warm winter temperatures, large waves and a generous geography with at least 95 named breaks.” Kadmiri said he believes the first surfers on this coast were Americans stationed at what was then a U.S. military base at Kenitra in northern Morocco in the early 1960s. They rode waves at nearby Mehdia beach, and from there, word of Morocco’s breaks began to spread around the globe. Kadmiri himself learned to surf in 1984 at Oued Echarat north of Casablanca, and since then he has ridden waves around the world. In recent years, he said, the government has promoted surfing as recreation for young Moroccans and helped establish clubs along the coast. According to the World Tourism Organization, Morocco attracts 10 million tourists annually, the greatest number for any African country, and Kadmiri estimated that as much as 10 percent—nearly 1 million of those visitors—surf. GrindTV, an online adventure sports video channel, ranks Morocco among the top three places in the world for riding waves and learning the sport, he noted. Though I’d been to the the country twice, my focus on those trips had been its cities, cultural sites

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and the mountains. So I knew nothing of the kingdom’s burgeoning (at least among Moroccans, Europeans, Aussies and Brazilians) surf scene until I read about Jerome Sahyoun, a Moroccan who is one of the world’s top big-wave surfers, regularly riding down the faces of 70-foot-tall behemoths on his board. Seeing photographs of Sahyoun surfing made this former San Diegan ponder returning to North Africa to check out a coast that looks a lot like stretches of Baja California and surf the waves that roll across the Atlantic to break on its arid shores. The deal was sealed after I spoke with Nigel Cross, an native Australian who operates Moroccan Surf Adventures on Taghazout Bay, Morocco - north of Agadir - and one of the top surfing spots in Africa. Cross, who is in his 40s, came to North Africa as a toddler in the 1970s with his surfer parents who were, he says, “following the sun.” His father had started a surfboard company in Britain and first surfed in Morocco with Nigel’s mother, a swimsuit designer. Nigel was three years old. “Places like Taghazout and Tamraght were just tiny fishing villages back then.” On a misty October morning I found myself carrying a longboard down to the water at Devil’s Rock Beach, north of the coastal city of Agadir, for a refresher lesson with a dozen would-be surfers from Britain, France, Ireland and Brazil. There was one other American in our pod, a young businesswoman from San Francisco. She was the only other Yank I met during my five days at Cross’ surfing school. It wasn’t crowded, but there were other surfers out in the lineup and on the beach, including a group of young Moroccan boys in wetsuits who were doing jumping jacks, jostling each other and turning cartwheels on the sand. Brightly painted blue fishing boats, including one with a pair of cats lounging in it, were lined up above the high-tide line. Still higher was what can only be described as surf shacks. Tamraght, the village where I was staying, was about half a mile inland from Devil’s Rock Beach and had a pair of mosques with minarets poking into the blue sky. Behind them, arid hills rolled off to the east. Less than a mile north of Tamraght is the town of Taghazout, Morocco’s version of Santa Cruz. (Since my visit, Cross has built a new, strikingly modern hotel for his surf camps in the village of Imi Quaddar, six miles north of Taghazout.) Not far from the shore, a handful of surfers was lining up to hop on waves rolling in off the right-hand side of the

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jagged point that is Devil’s Rock. Brahim LeFrere, one of the three instructors for our group, had us doing pop-ups (jumping from a prone position to standing on our boards) on the beach before we hit the water for what would be four-plus days of instruction. We roamed up and down the coast, seeking the best conditions. LeFrere, the son of a fisherman, said he started surfing as a boy, eventually becoming good enough to compete in regional contests. “In the beginning, it was too expensive for me to get a surfboard or a wetsuit,” he says. “So I’d wait until friends were done and I’d borrow their gear. After a year, I’d saved up enough money and bought a used board and wetsuit. Then I was in the water, catching waves as much I could. A natural athlete, he also coached volleyball. “I like all kinds of sports that we can do on the beach — and in the water,” he said. “We have lots of space at low tide to play football, Frisbee and other things. Most of the people in my village were fishermen, and we all grew up on the sea, so playing in and on the waves just came naturally.” At several spots, camels moved casually along the sand, reminding us that we were indeed in North Africa. And sometimes, when the wind was blowing from the east, we could hear calls to prayer from minarets rising above one of several mosques in the town. When the day’s classes and time for free surfing were over, we returned to the Moroccan Surf Adventures hostel, where the chef served us delicious Berber tagine, a stew prepared in an earthenware pot that was brimming with onions, carrots, squash, spices and chicken and served on a bed of couscous. Advanced surfers who were staying at the lodge hired individual guides and headed for more serious breaks that have gnarly reputations in Morocco and Europe, such as Dracula’s, Hash Point, Killer Point and Anchor Point, where waves sometimes break for more than a quarter mile. Karim Rhouli, who runs Marrakesh Surf and Snow Tours, said his parents often brought him to Taghazout Bay for holidays, where they would rent a house near Anchor Point. “First I got into body boarding, but by the time I was 17, I really knew I wanted to surf,” explained Rhouli. As he improved his surfing, he began to teach. He also developed skills as a skateboarder and snowboarder, all of which led to the creation of his guide service. “Surfing is a great sport because you feel like you are riding a force of nature when you are on a wave,” said Rhouli, who has surfed in Bali and Australia and taught snowboard-

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ing in Dubai. “That first rush of standing on a board and being carried in is incredible. It’s called ‘the stoke,’ and it grabs you and makes you want to do it more and more.” Lasim Safir, who sports gold-tipped dreadlocks, rents surfboards and gives lessons from a small wooden building that also serves as his home above Devil’s Rock beach. “There’s nothing I’d rather do than surf and help people learn,” said Safir, who is in his late 30s and started surfing 20 years ago. “When I was a kid, there weren’t that many people who came to this beach. Now, sometimes, the waves can almost be

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crowded. But that’s good. I love seeing the sport grow.” One of the highlights of my trip was meeting Meryem el Gardoum and watching her ride the waves. This 23-year-old Muslim woman is a native of Tamraght and a four-time national female surfing champion. She learned from her older brothers, and her parents encouraged her to compete. Now she’s a part-time instructor when she’s not surfing and competing. Anchor Point is her favorite break, she told me, because of its consistent tubes and long rides. “I feel so free when I am out there,” she said dur-

ing a chat at Devil’s Rock. “I think it’s the same [for surfers] all over the world. I’m just lucky that I grew up here and had the support of my family. “Not all girls here are so fortunate.” El Gardoum said she never dreamed she’d become the Moroccan women’s national surfing champion when she was a little girl accompanying her mother to gather oysters. “But when I saw people surfing and my brothers took it up, I knew I had to try it,” she said. “I like challenges and experimenting with different surfing techniques. It just makes me forget anything that might be bothering me.”

One afternoon during my visit, El Gardoum dropped by Safir's shack to grab her short board, slip on her wetsuit and head for the surf. Soon - as I watched in envy - she was catching long rides and snapping sharp turns. Later, she returned to the beach to tutor a skateboarding youngster named Chamae - whom she called a surfing protege - with her schoolwork. “She has potential,” El Gardoum said of her pupil. “And I’d love to see more girls out there on the waves. I know for me, it just makes me feel so alive.”

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Dancing Through The Canal Story & Photography by Maribeth Mellin

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ancing was foremost on my mind while planning a recent Panama Canal Cruise. I needed a ship with at least one great music venue where my husband and I could let looseâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;and it had to open at a reasonable hour (late nights are not our forte). I'd previously had a grand time dancing with friends at a B.B. King's Blues Club during a short Holland America cruise. The line's Eurodam had a similar club, plus the itinerary I wanted. Two other features cemented the decision. It was the only sailing I found that included a

port call at Cartagena, Colombia (a city I've long wanted to visit), along with Costa Rica, Guatemala, Nicaragua and Mexico. And it disembarked in San Diego, my hometown. The trifecta sealed the deal. I was curious to see how we felt about cruising with Holland America. We want to sail more frequently, and need to participate in a loyalty program. The line visits many of our anticipated destinations, from Amsterdam to Antarctica, the ships are reasonably sized and the fares fall in mid-range. It could be our go-to cruise line.

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We boarded the 2,100-passenger Eurodam in Ft. Lauderdale and sailed into San Diego two weeks later, relaxed, replenished and relieved to be home on March 1, as news of Covid-19 filtered through the news. Surveying the Ship First things first: the B.B. King's Blues Club was everything I'd hoped and so much more. The eightpiece band rocked for three sets nearly every nightâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;and the first set started at 8:30pm. Holland America is known to attract a senior clientele; I bet our fellow passengers' ages averaged around 65, with many in their 80s. It wasn't a late-night crowd, but even the early diners were able to catch the first set. I would gladly have stayed up till midnight to hear singers Indigo Jones and Jason Barnes rock through a repertoire covering rock, disco and blues. We stopped by most nights to catch a few songs, and hit the dance floor for all three sets on a few occasions. Holland America aced that requirement. The Eurodam was comfortable, easily navigated and enjoyable. The vibe was definitely low key and mature, as one might expect on a two-week sailing with several sea days during the school year. I have a hard time imagining it as a party ship, though you never know who your fellow guests might be. The decor was understated, lacking glitz and pizazz. Walls were decorated with copies of Dutch Master paintings, historic photos and nautical paraphernalia and noise was muted for the most part. We settled into a comfortable, casual routine I enjoyed the spacious fitness center's stretch classes and always-available treadmills. We walked many laps on the open-air promenade with a steady stream of fellow guests. One morning, hundreds boasted T-shirts from the On Deck for a Cause 5K walk, a Holland America fundraising tradition. The promenade became my favorite freshair reading and daydreaming hangout, though the teak lounge chairs grew scarce on beautiful days. Lounge chairs also edged the wall-length windows in the sky-high Crows Nest, home to a

We thoroughly enjoyed the band at the B.B. King's Blues Club on Gala Night. 166 WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE 2020

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combo coffee and cocktail bar and the shore excursions desk. The place buzzed too much for tranquil reading on gloomy, windy days but was a good venue for lectures and programmed activities. The two pool decks were the most vibrant areas, with burger and pizza stands and bars featuring the day's tropical cocktail. Happy hours were immensely popular in the Crow's Nest and comfy Ocean Bar. There was plenty of entertainment, with staged shows, a small casino, a classical music stage and a pair of dueling pianists in the Billboard Onboard venue. Meals consumed large chunks of time—we're not used to three solids per day. Buy hey, if someone else is fixing the food we'll be there. Overall, the Eurodam's culinary offerings were satisfying, plentiful and occasionally exciting. We often dined alone any time we wished (thanks to open seating) and thoroughly enjoyed Tamarind, the Asian specialty restaurant. I learned a lot about Holland America's loyalty Mariners program during group meals in the busy dining room—all raved about their fondness for the exceptional crew. Latin Interludes I've spent a lot of time in Central America over the years and felt at home everywhere we landed. Our itinerary started in Cartagena, a UNESCO World Heritage site and the setting for some of Gabriel García Márquez's most mesmerizing stories. The old walled city looked exactly as I'd expected, exuding the tropical vibe of Havana and San Juan. I immediately searched for La Gorda Gertrudis (Fat Gertrude), a voluptuous bronze nude by famed Colombian artist Fernando Botero, and found her reclining in front of a church in the Plaza Santo Domingo. We took a coffee break at a cafe in the plaza, charmed by a local hoping to show us his friend's emerald store, and then proceeded to walk the streets in absolutely blistering heat (Cartagena's temperatures are infamous).

Left: Fruit sellers called palenqueras await customers in front of a colonial-era church. Top: Botero's Fat Gertrude dominates a small plaza in the walled city. Bottom: Palenqueras on break

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The closing scene in Romancing the Stone was set at Cartagena's imposing Castillo San Felipe fortress but was actually filmed in Veracruz, Mexico. The similarities were spot on as I recalled scenes from Veracruz in the 1980s. We lasted long enough to walk atop the city's stone walls and along back streets, but succumbed to the humidity with time to spare. The main event—the Panama Canal crossing— was far more intriguing than I expected. I caught a few canal documentaries on the in-room TV prior to the crossing and brushed up on the history. We ordered room-service coffee for our morning entry into the canal from the Atlantic Ocean and watched tugboats guide us into a narrow channel toward the lower lock as an enormous fuel tanker slid toward us in the upper lock. As the water level rose, the two vessels edged past each other with smiles and waves on both sides. As we sailed along Lake Gatun I scanned the jungle for the abundant birds and monkeys I'd seen on previous Panama adventures. But they've

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got plenty of room to roam far from the busy canal. Late in the day we cruised toward the Miraflores Locks, past the Panama Canal Visitor Center where hundreds of onlookers lined the four-story balconies to watch the water's dramatic rise and fall. We reached the Pacific Ocean as the day ended—a pretty impressive feat indeed. Sweet young girls in ruffled dresses greeted the ship at Corinto, Nicaragua, where the dirt streets and ramshackle storefronts were reminiscent of a languid Mosquito Coast backwater. We stuck close the port in steamy Costa Rica, where I'd passed much of the late 90s while writing the Traveler's Costa Rica Companion (now out of print). I was reluctant to join any shore excursions since I had the extreme good fortune to ramble around the country before there were large excursions and wildlife encounters. Antigua, Guatemala was the highlight on the Pacific Coast. Locate about 90 minutes from the port. Antigua is another UNESCO site with gorgeous architecture and extraordinary artisans. I'm

a sucker for Guatemalan textiles and headed straight to Nim Po't, a well-known warehouse store showcasing traditional huipiles (embroidered blouses) from various regions in the country, along with bags, bedspreads, tablecloths and bolts of brilliantly hued cloth. The first time I visited Guatemala I had to buy an enormous duffle (made of beautiful striped fabric) to carry all my

Opposite: Young dancers greet the Eurodam in Corinto, Nicaragua. Top: Pedicab drivers ferry passengers to the beach in Corinto. Left: Bird lovers admire parrots in Corinto. WINEDINEANDTRAVEL.COM

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purchases. I showed far greater restraint this time, buying just enough to keep memories of that gorgeous country alive. The itinerary ended in Puerto Vallarta, where we strolled the malecรณn to El Dorado, a long-time favorite seaside restaurant, where we lingered over guacamole, ceviche, a limonada and a michelada (beer with lime juice and spices). Gala Night followed and we went all out, with Gary in a suit and me in a long sequined gown. We ended up at B.B. King's, of course, and danced until the band bid farewell long before midnight. We've had the good fortune to travel with many lines, from Cunard and Crystal to Carnival. We've been on small adventure ships and mega cruisers built for 5,000 passengers. There are several more lines we'd like to sample, and we'll definitely sail on Holland America again. I was thinking about booking one of their Alaska cruises for this summer, but Covid-19 has put a halt to such plans for now. But we'll be dancing on the high seas ASAP.

Left: Sashimi with a smile at Tamarind. Above: Asian delights at Tamarind Bottom: A modern textile vendor in traditional dress in Antigua, Guatemala.

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YOU ARE GOING WHERE? CUBA? | ARE YOU CRAZY. I THOUGHT OUR GOVERNMENT FORBADE IT. | YOU

A MOST EXCELLENT CUBAN

YOU CANâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;T FLY DIRECTLY FROM THE US TO CUBA ! | I THOUGHT OUR GOVERNMENT FORBADE IT

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NEED TO APPLY FOR A SPECIAL VISA 6 MONTHS AHEAD.

N ADVENTURE

T. | YOU CAN’T FLY DIRECTLY FROM THE US TO CUBA!

Story by Kitty Morse Photography by Kitty Morse and Susan McBeth

ast December, my friend Susan and I bucked conventional wisdom, and headed for Cuba on the spur of the moment. Planning our custom itinerary was a breeze thanks to Vermont-based Karin Eckhard of Espiritu Travel (https://espiritutravel.com) We were in for several surprises. Cuba off-limits to US citizens? Not so! They are the largest group to visit Cuba after Canadians, and must plan their visit through licensed travel agencies. We were under the impression that we needed to fly to Cuba through a third country. Wrong again! Most major US airlines offer regular flights to Cuba, though US government directives dictate that they can only fly into Havana. The longstanding US embargo prohibits cruise ships from docking. Following Karin’s instructions, we checked “Support the Cuban people” on our visa applications and obtained our visas at the JetBlue counter at JFK upon check-in. The cost? USD50.00 (Visas vary widely in price when purchased online.) Before we landed in Havana, we had to fill out the customs declaration that “banned any pornographic material.” Done! We walked out of Jose Marti International Airport pulling our rollies behind us towards Carlos, our driver and guide for the next 9 days. “This is rush hour traffic,” said our guide in flawless English as we whizzed into town along an empty freeway. “Most Cubans cannot afford a car.” Hitchhikers of all ages waited for rides along the road. Carlos gestured our SUV was full. “Hitchhiking is a way of life here. We all have to do it,” he continued, as we passed vintage Buicks

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and Studebakers, even a grey Chevy Bel-Air similar to one my father once owned in the late 1950s. “Public transportation is not reliable. Besides, a free ride is cheaper!” said the former lawyer. Safety is not an issue, he assured us. This 700-mile long island a mere 90 miles off Florida bills itself as one of the safest countries in the world. We drove into town under threatening skies. Our hosts, Carlos and Oralia were waiting for us at their casa particular (b and b) of Casa Carlos y Oralia, in Vedado. The heavy wooden door creaked open at our knocks, allowing us to step into a tiled patio lined with flowerpots encircling a gurgling wall fountain. Our room, one of a five tucked in-

side the narrow two-story building, faced this minijungle alive with chirping birds. We shed our winter coats for lighter wear, thankful for the air conditioning and the whirling fan, and for the refrigerator stocked with bottles of water. Carlos had already advised us not to drink local tap water Our guide picked us up at the appointed time for our afternoon tour of Habana Vieja. The historic district brought to mind images of my hometown of Casablanca (Morocco), with its magnificent and dilapidated old buildings scalloped in artistic wrought iron balconies. In such close-knit quarters, daily activities unfold in the streets, much as they do in Mediterranean neighborhoods. Young Habaneros playing soccer blocked intersections; grandmothers in sleeveless blouses chatted in doorways, absent-

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mindedly puffing on a cigar while keeping an eye on their charges. Many ruined buildings had found new life: here a bicycle repair shop; there, a makeshift garage holding half a dozen classic cars in varying stages of repair; in another, customers waited for their turn in the antique barber’s chair. “Cubans always have a few extra pesos to spend on flowers,” said Carlos, as we stepped into what must have been the ground floor of an apartment building. The space was now the neighborhood flower market. “Nos Une el El Barrio” (the barrio unites us) proclaimed the hand-painted slogan on a wall. Each block held a walk-in clinic, attesting to the fact that the country has one of the highest doctor-to-patient ratios in the world.

the National Assembly is a renewed source of pride. The same thing is planned for the neighboring Gran Teatro de la Habana, home of the worldfamous Cuban National Ballet. To our chagrin, we did not program attending a performance. A word to the wise: obtain tickets upon arrival. Carlos knew just where to take us for lunch for our first taste of Cuban cuisine. Ropa vieja (old clothes) is Cuba’s comfort food, and the specialty of the intimate Café Mambo Habana. We dug with gusto into Cuba’s classic dish of shredded pork stewed with bell peppers and tomatoes, and a side of Moros y Cristianos (black beans and rice). We were to eat multiple versions of these dishes during our 9 days, and Café Mambo’s was a delicious

“Hola Carlos!” rang out a number of times. Our guide had grown up in the neighborhood, and these were his “peeps”. “Not many Cubans choose to live in this area of town anymore, except my mother!” he exclaimed. He led us down a narrow alley that opened up onto the elegant Paseo del Prado. We stood facing a clone of our capitol building. “Our capitol was built with sugar boom money between 1926 and 1929,” said Carlos. He added: “It was modeled after the US Capitol but it is just a little wider and a little taller!” The landmark was an eyesore for decades until local authorities undertook its restoration ahead of Havana’s 500th anniversary. The process took close to ten years. Today, the resplendent home of

introduction. Three cooks, all young men, practiced their culinary skills in the galley at the back of this diminutive diner. Our hunger pangs appeased, it was back to Vedado along the Malecon, the 8-mile long oceanfront boulevard that skirts Havana Vieja. Dog and owners took their daily paseo, and youngsters skipped long the sidewalk, or jumped into the waves that crashed over the low parapet. Silhouetted against the gray skies, lone fishermen stood on the rocks hoping to reel in a fresh catch. An excursion across the bay allowed us to take the whole Malecon panorama from the fortress of Castillo de los Tres Reyes del Morro. The view from the ramparts made clear why Spanish ex-

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plorers selected the enormous bay as the main port of their New World colonies, and why, in 1592, King Philip II of Spain decreed Havana "Key to the New World and Rampart of the West Indies". The next morning, after breakfasting on Oraliaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cheese omelet, piping hot ham croquetas, fresh

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fruit, ham sandwiches, fresh orange juice and Cuban coffee, it was off to the races â&#x20AC;&#x201D; in this case, the government run cigar factory. An oversized portrait of a pensive Fidel Castro smoking a cigar looked down on us as we stepped across the black and white linoleum tiles towards Luis, a factory worker-cum-guide. Like most men in the antiquated building, he was chewing on an unlit cigar.

No photos were allowed past this point. We followed him up narrow stairs reeking of stale smoke, to a large workroom where men separated and smoothed out the dried tobacco leaves spread on wooden tables. They barely looked up as we trooped past on the way to the top floor, reserved for women seated at individual work stations. Each one expertly wrapped and labeled Cuba’s

famed export with her identity number for quality control. “These women are the best paid workers on the island,” explained Luis. “Each one can make 80 to 150 cigars a day and is allowed to take home 5 cigars to sell on the open market.” Needless to say, a job as a cigar wrapper is as much sought after as

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the end product: Romeo y Julieta and Monte Cristo cigars. The sweet aroma of fresh cigars permeated the car as we drove along the wide Avenida 5a to Fusterlandia, a most unusual neighborhood inspired by Barcelona’s artist Gaudi. An explosion of kaleidoscopic tilework greeted us down a discreet side street. Gaudi, as well as world-famous French-American artist Nikki de St Phalle, both inspired the Cuban-born Jose Fuster to plaster his entire neighborhood in tilework, from benches, rooftops, and shops, to the Holy Virgin watching

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over his pool. A different style of art lined the walls of the Callejon de Hamel, a shaded, pedestrian alley at the heart of Havana Vieja, where walls, chairs, lampposts and even old bathtubs displayed various forms of graffiti. Our morning walk concluded at Venami’s (www.tripadvisor.com/venami), an secluded Italian restaurant near the Capitolio. “Venami’s serves the best Italian food in Havana,” asserted Carlos upon entering the tiny space, winner of Trip Advisor’s Certificate of Excellence for 3 years in a row. We would have been hard pressed to find it on our own. Paladares are under

private ownership, and hanging a commercial sign is prohibited. More often than not, a chalk board on the sidewalk is the only public notice. The trio of young chefs who expertly manned the brick oven had perfected their trade in Italy. They slipped wooden pizza paddles in and out of the brick oven at record speed to the sound of a boombox vibrating with Cuban tunes. As we left, satiated with chicken piccata and heaping bowls of seafood fettucine, our waitress grabbed my arm and insisted we take a spin on the pavement. Music of a different era enlivened the Hotel Nacional de Cuba, a mafia hangout before the Cuban revolution. A trio of musicians serenaded us as we downed one mojito and then another beneath vintage portraits of international celebrities. In decades past, the edifice echoed with the footsteps of Winston Churchill, Ava Gardner, Frank Sinatra, Jean Paul Sartre, Yuri Gagarin, Lucky Luciano, and other world-famous luminaries. It even hosted a battle in 1933. The battle of The Hotel Nacional de Cuba pitted the Cuban army against non-commissioned officers who supported Battista. Ensconced in deep armchairs in one of the oceanfront salons, we sipped mojitos and tapped our feet to our private WWII musical interlude. We had barely downed our last mojito when Carlos introduced us to Yordanka, the driver of an eye-popping ‘52 royal blue convertible Buick. “There are very few women drivers in Havana,” said the attractive brunette. “I studied to be an accountant, but I can’t support my family on the government’s $35 a month.” Like Carlos, she too felt the pinch of the US embargo. “And so I drive a classic car!” The government keeps a stable of several hundred of these classic autos, and leases them out to (mainly male) drivers for a hefty monthly fee. She drove us, top down, through Havana’s leafier districts until we reached the enormous Plaza de la Revolución. A large portrait of Cuba’s revolutionary hero, Che Guevara, cast a benign stare from nearby buildings onto tourists examining the rows of vintage cars on the plaza. Many cars advertised ”In Havana, you can rent your fantasia”. In addition to music and vintage cars, Cubans are renowned for their agricultural expertise. The island has long practiced ecological growing

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methods, and we were curious to visit a working farm. “One reason we follow ancestral farming practices,” explained Carlos on the way to Vista Hermosa Eco Farm, “is that the country cannot afford to import expensive fertilizers or modern machinery. This has forced farmers to revert to ploughing fields with oxen due to the lack of fuel, and to shun the use of chemicals.” Farm to table, or “de la Granja a la Mesa”, is the norm in Cuba. This catapulted Vista Hermosa to the forefront of the Slow Food movement. The young farm manager had travelled to Italy, birthplace of the movement, on several occasions. Vista Hermosa, a 165-acre finca ganadera, cattle “farm, operates as a semi-private co-op, and must sell 80% of its products to the government. Most of their microgreens and specialty herbs supply the hotel trade. Lucky for us, we sampled their products at their charming “outlet”, the Mediterraneo Havana restaurant. Blue and white, so typical of Mediterranean countries, predominated in the sun-splashed villa nestled in one Havana’s better neighborhoods. For the next two hours, young waiters plied us with Vista Hermosa’s baby vegetables, farm-raised chicken, home-made cheeses, farm fresh ricotta, and even, their own Italian style salumi. That evening our curiosity compelled us to attend a dinner show at the fabled El Guajarito, home of the legendary Buena Vista Social Club. The packed cabaret was filled with groups from around the world. Dinner, served by young women in skimpy attire, began with a cup of broth and an unusual bruschetta of stewed squid. The evening’s high point came in the form of the show’s exuberant star, 82-year old Tete,the liveliest person in the room, who, in no time, had the place stomping its feet and clapping to classic Cuban jazz tunes. Our destination the next morning was Vinales in the western province of Pinar del Río. Carlos had advised us to dress in layers and take rain gear. On approach, a rainbow arced over the lush countryside, and the steep, dome-shaped limestone cliffs emerged from the mist like those of Vietnam’s Halong Bay. These mountains, called mogotes, attract rock climbers from around the world and most local casas particulares cater to long term visitors,

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as did the aptly-named Casa Bella Vista, where a diorama of domed-shaped mogotes faced the inn’s terrace. The skies opened up as we set off to digest our heaping plates of meltingly tender lamb and Moros y Cristianos. Rainer, our guide and botanical expert, led us to shelter in an abandoned shack, while delivering a rundown on the valley’s endemic plants. These include 165 varieties of mamey, and dozens of rare papayas. We had expressed the desire to visit one of Viñales’ famed tobacco farms to roll our own cigar. Since neither car nor oxcart could navigate the flooded paths, we set out on foot under a deluge, our shoes sloshing with water, our clothes wringing wet under our flimsy rain gear. We reached a

rickety barn after what seemed an eternity. Inside, open shelves were stacked floor to ceiling with tobacco leaves in varying stages of the drying process. “Bienvenidos!” A farmer with the bluest eyes I had ever seen flashed a row of gleaming white teeth as he invited us in. Rain pelted the leaky roof and the aroma of fresh leaves floated around us as he demonstrated how to roll a cigar unwrapping each leaf, and expertly rolling it into Cuba’s signature product. Thunder and lightning punctuated our return to Casa Oralia. This sent me dreaming of home-made chicken soup. We found it at El Biky’s, a newly opened restaurant near our casa particular. A steaming bowl of home-made chicken soup, and their cracker-thin pizza crust smothered in fresh mushrooms and melted cheese did much to soothe our rain drenched souls. The skies had cleared the next morning when we set off for Trinidad. On the way, we witnessed first-hand how Cubans source daily necessities.

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“You want to try a cortado?” asked Carlos, pointing to a roadside stand. Of course! He disappeared at the back while we sipped a Cuban espresso with milk. He returned holding six tubes of Colgate toothpaste. “My supplier buys these in Miami!” he said with a chuckle. We stretched our legs again at a roadside stand festooned in strands of garlic. Carlos’ purchases done, we continued on to Cienfuegos, originally settled by French immigrants from Bordeaux and Louisiana. Today, the town is a center for sugar and tobacco production. The shaded central plaza flanked in pastel colored colonial buildings brought to mind a typical zocalo. Carlos led us to the rooftop terrace of the Palacio de Valle, an extravagant structure built in the Moorish style, to sip daiquiris and take in the unobstructed view of the bay.

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“You will love Trinidad,” he declared when we were back on the road. Francisco de Narvaez, one of the first explorers of the southern coast of North America, was the first to set foot in Trinidad in 1527, before his exploration of La Florida. Nowadays, visitors from around the world flock to the flower-bedecked central square to access free wi-fi. Trinidad native Yneisy and her Italian-born husband Enzo were our hosts at their family home a few minutes’ walk from the plaza. From the Hostal Casa Groning (www.hostalcasagroning.com) we ventured out on our own to explore the pedestrian streets lined in cobblestones originally used ballast for ships. We navigated uneven sidewalks and flooded side-streets filled with horsedrawn carts, pedicabs, and bicycles. A laid-back attitude contributed to the tropical charm of this colonial era World heritage Site. Hemingway must have felt it too. A trio of street musicians stood in front of La Floridita, one of the famed author’s fa-

vorite watering holes. Open doorways afforded a glimpse of daily life: students learning the samba, a cobbler bent over his iron last next to a mountain of shoes, a barber plying his trade inside a studio lined with his own paintings. We ran into a number of these informal art galleries, as well as one exhibiting internationally-known Lazaro Niebla’s stunning bas-relief portraits carved out of wood (www.lazaroniebla.com). The late morning temperature was turning oppressive and we sought the air-conditioned confines of Bar Frio. There, the jovial bartender revealed the secret of making canchanchara, a drink introduced by African slaves in the late 1800s. The bartender went to great length to blend the sugar cane juice, honey, lemon and rum. A different legacy of Afro-Cuban origin is santería, a religious practice introduced during the influx of Lucumí slaves from Nigeria. In Trinidad, the Templo Yemalla, site of regular santería ceremonies,

displayed various facets of this syncretic religion which combines elements of Yoruba and Catholic practices. Inside the foyer, an array of offerings lay at the feet of a black virgin attired in royal cape and crown, and cradling a white skinned baby Jesus. Trinidad abounds in souvenir shops where foreigners can spend convertible pesos or CUCs. Cubans, however, must use local Cuban pesos. Their limited purchasing power was apparent when we stood before a counter dispensing stacks of “la libreta”, government-subsidized ration books. The monthly allotment coupons detailed the amount of rice, pasta, eggs, coffee, salt, sugar, oil, beans, matches, and of course, cigars, for each family. Rations usually last about 10 days out of every month. The rest of the time, most Cubans resort to bartering or purchasing necessities on the black market.

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One daily activity in Trinidad is to while away the time on the steps of La Casa de la Musica sipping mojitos and listening to live music. Dancing erupted around the plaza soon after sunset, and a strikingly tall black-skinned woman in an immaculate chef’s jacket approached each table. “Would you like to try my gratin of seafood?” asked the imposing chef whose toque towered over our table. The cooking class at Casa de Tonia, a private home converted to a casa particular, dispelled the memory of the previous evening’s lackluster gratin! Our professional chef/instructor Eduardo, flanked by an English translator, demonstrated the art of cocina criolla using his grandmother’s recipes. For two hours, he directed us as we sliced and diced ingredients in his small and well-appointed kitchen. In no time, we turned out fufu de plátano, a plantain puree mixed with pork fat and pork rind, sopa de frijoles colorados flavored with a mild sofrito pureed peppers, and much more. Most instructive was his use of latitas, empty cans of sweet condensed milk instead of a measuring cup. (So was the ingredients list that called for “chicken bottoms” instead of chicken thighs!) Our cooking completed, we retreated to the far end of the patio, around a massive table set with crystal and china. When we remarked on the ubiquity of Moros y Cristianos, instructor and staff burst out laughing: “El frijol se le hace diario en Cuba!” (In Cuba, we make beans every day!) Trinidad once was a hotbed of revolutionaries. So were the jungle lined hills of Valle de los Ingenios, which we explored during our excursion to Topes de Collantes and Parque Guayanara national park. Our hike took us deep into the lush greenery, to the exuberant Salto de Caburni waterfall and the frigid waters of a popular swimming hole. For this senior citizen (albeit in good shape) hiking downhill to the falls, then climbing up again, necessitated more effort than my daily exercise routine! Luckily, Carlos had planned a restorative stop at a nearby family-run coffee plantation. After my first shot of potrerito—a Cuban espresso spiked with rum, lemon juice, and honey, I was

ready to climb mountains! There was no need, for our next stop was Carlos’ family farm, a compound consisting of housing for his 11 family members, as well as a vegetable garden and small orchard. Our host proudly showed off a pig pen and a chicken coop. ““We have to grow our own food. That’s how we survive,” he explained. Lunch with his extended family turned out to be a highlight of our stay. We had planned to spend our last night at Casa Carlos y Oralia. On the way back to Havana the Ernesto (“Che”) Guevara Sculptural Complex in Santa Clara was a requisite stop. The memorial houses the remains of this longtime friend of Fidel Castro’s and one of Cuba’s preeminent revolutionaries. A youthful uniformed guard was all smiles when we invited him to pose alongside us. Carlos’ last requisite stop was at Los Martinez, a thriving family restaurant by the roadside: “These people know how to make a Cubano sandwich,” he proclaimed, as we bit into our warm roll filled with warm shredded pork and sliced ham smothered in melted Swiss cheese and fresh pickles, and sipped goblets of fresh guava juice. Our guide was right once again. Carlos Eire’s book “Waiting for Snow in Havana” describes how the author’s favorite pastime as a young boy was to have his father drive through the waves crashing onto the Malecon. Susan had expressed her wish to do the same. On our last evening in Havana, we joined a crowd of ebullient young Cubans running through the waves along the promenade. Drenched and happy, my friend and I could leave Havana having fulfilled our own “fantasia”. Kitty Morse is the author of 10 cookbooks, and a staff writer for Wine Dine and Travel. Susan McBeth is the founder and president of Adventures by the Book (www.adventuresbythebook.com) and Novel Network (www.novelnetwork.com)

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ENGLANDâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S

"Plague Town" By Sharon Whitley Larsen

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also the way that its devastated townsfolk reacted to the deadly, infectious disease. They sacrificed themselves so others could live: Courageously cordoning themselves off from the outside world, the Eyam villagers kept the evil event from spreading further, and this was the last place it hit in England .

As I stood by a charming, attached stone cottage in this peaceful village, the heart of England's Peak District, watching a homeowner sweep her walkway on this crisp, sunny day, I was stunned to read the plaque in front. Once--355 years ago--the happy Siddall family had lived here. And, one by one, they had been struck down by the plague.

The plague, which first surfaced around the late 1320s in China, spread rapidly by fleas and rats via trading ships. Eventually it hit Europe and, during the mid-1300s, killed some 25 million, one-third of the population. Later, between December 1664 and the beginning of 1666, some 100,000 died in London, about one-fourth the population.

First there was Richard, age 11, who died on Sept. 11, 1665. He was followed, within weeks, by his sister Sarah, age 13, then his father, and three more sisters. Another sister died in April and, by October 17, 1666, when his mother died, the family was gone. Except for young Joseph, age 3, who survived. Few of us can imagine the horror of an illness wiping out not only most of one’s family--but neighbors, friends, nearly an entire town. Of the 350 villagers in Eyam (pronounced “eem”), 260 died this horrible death, including 58 children. Caused by a bacterial infection, the plague hits its victims with swollen lymph nodes, fever, chills, headache, fatique, muscle aches. Symptoms can include a rosy, red rash--and black boils, from dried blood under the skin, caused by internal bleeding, appear in the armpits, neck and groin. The “Black Death,” as it is known, can be excruciatingly painful and horrible for others to watch. What makes this bucolic, mountainous Derbyshire village (known as "The Plague Town ”) so unique is not only that the plague wiped out such a high number of residents in such a short time, but

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It was during this time, the summer of 1665, that a resident of London--150 miles away--shipped Alexander Hadfield, an Eyam tailor, some cloth. The package of old clothes and cloth patterns arrived wet and the tailor’s assistant, George Viccars, who lived with the family, was told to take the cloth outside and spread it out to dry--as well as dry it by the fireplace. Obviously no one realized that the damp cloth was already infected by fleas carrying the curse of the plague. In just four days Viccars was dead, the first victim in Eyam to die of the plague, buried on Sept. 7, 1665. A plaque in front of the home, "Plague Cottage," lists some of the household members who died within days of each other. Only one, the tailor's wife, Mary, survived. She lost 13 relatives. Another plaque summarizes the horror of the Hawksworth family, who lived nearby. The husband, Peter, was the third victim of the plague in the village; his son Humphrey, 15 months, died just weeks later. And Peter's wife, Jane, was the sole survivor of the household, eventually losing 25 relatives.

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During the next horrifying 14 months, the stunned Eyam townsfolk quickly buried their dead, trying in vain to keep the devastating disease from spreading--especially to larger areas like Sheffield and Manchester. In fact, during these mournful months of the

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plague, funerals were not held; families buried their own--in the front or back yards or gardens, sometimes using old doors or chairs as biers. Once the last family member had died off, it became the horrendous official job of Marshall Howe, a courageous villager, to do the burial. He would tie a cord

around the neck or foot of the corpse--so not to touch it--and drag it to a nearby garden or field, where he had dug a grave. For nearly three months he performed this awful task--never dreaming that he would end up fatally infecting and burying both his wife Joan and only son William within days of each other in August 1666. Deeply grieving, he blamed himself for bringing the disease home to them. Miraculously, he survived this evil epidemic and lived another 32 years. (For a couple of generations, Eyam parents would admonish their children to obey--or else they would send for Marshall Howe! And some today believe that the popular children's nursery rhyme, “Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posy. Ashes, ashes! We all fall down!” symbolizes the plague.) Once summer arrived, the church’s wise rector, the Rev. William Mompesson, closed the Eyam Parish Church to worshippers, fearing that the hot weather would make things worse (in fact, August was the worst month with many deaths). Instead they met in an outdoor enclave, Cucklet Delf, where they prayed twice weekly and held a Sunday service. (Today, with the town's population now around 900, it’s the site of the annual Plague Commemoration Service, held the last Sunday in August. And the Eyam Museum--highly ranked on TripAdvisor, but which was closed the day of my visit--pays tribute to the plague victims with many displayed items.) The pastor and his assistant, the Rev. Thomas Stanley, had earlier admonished the townsfolk not to cross a certain boundary surrounding the village, designated by large stone and mound landmarks. It was at the “Boundary Stone” and “Mompesson’s Well” where outsiders (earlier notified by the pastor) would quickly leave food and medical supplies, many donated by the Earl of Devonshire from his nearby massive Chatsworth House. Then they would flee, lest they themselves fall ill. Village volunteers would retrieve the valuable items, leaving coins for payment that were disinfected with vinegar.

And it was because of this self-enforced isolation that the plague did not spread to surrounding areas. The Rev. Mompesson visited 76 parish families during the ordeal, comforting and praying with them. He and his beautiful wife Catherine had sadly and reluctantly sent their two young children, George and Elizabeth, ages 3 and 4, to live with relatives in Yorkshire, and they survived. However, Catherine, who had stayed behind to be at her husband’s side, died of the plague at age 27 on August 25, 1666, further devastating the townsfolk. She is buried in the churchyard. Just outside town are the “Riley Stones”--a small graveyard where the farming Hancock family is buried. Mrs. Hancock, who survived the plague, had the incomprehensible, tortuous task of burying her husband and six children in eight days. She had one surviving son, who had left the area prior to the plague breakout. By early November that year, the deaths ceased. As a precaution, clothing and furniture were burned—and the bare necessities that remained were fumigated. As the Rev. Mompesson (who moved from the village three years later) wrote a friend on November 20, 1666: “Our town has become a Golgotha, the place of a skull; and had there not been a small remnant left, we had been as Sodom, and like to Gomorrah. My ears never heard such doleful lamentations--my nose never smelled such horrid smells, and my eyes never beheld such ghastly spectacles.” For sure, this charming, peaceful village— then regarded as the valley of death--was hell on earth.

IF YOU GO www.eyamvillage.org.uk/ www.derbyshireuk.net/eyam.html http://www.eyam-museum.org.uk/ http://www.visitpeakdistrict.com/ www.visitbritain.com www.visitengland.com

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BY WIBKE CARTER

LIFE AT A SNAILâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S PA

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ACE

hat conjures up in your mind when you hear the word, Burgundy? For me personally, it reminds me of my mother as burgundy is her favourite colour - she has handbags and clothes this shade, that is not purple, not brown, this deep rich wine colour. For many it would be the world class Burgundy wine, which the colour is named after, but little did I know before my trip last summer that Burgundy had so much food, even by the French standard, to offer Dijon mustard, Beef Bourguignon, the Burgundy truffle, and Mâconnais cheese. Burgundy prompts me to be a little adventurous, and I try snails for the first time in my life, in the restaurant at Château Sainte Sabine. When I ask Véronique Beigenger from Burgundy Tourism whether this is a delicacy only served in posh restaurants, it turns out that snails in Burgundy, is a bit like mushrooms where I come from. “My whole family goes snail hunting. It’s strictly controlled in terms of the timing and the size of the gastropods, and it’s really messy preparing them. But there are countless recipes with herbs and butter, cheese or wine and they’re just delicious”. Geographically Burgundy is in the heart of France, and one can really feel the slower pace of life. The French saying pour vivre heureux, vivons cachés (to live happily, live hidden), couldn’t express the local sentiment any better. “I love having breakfast outdoors, listening to the birds, the solitude”, says famous English sculptor Paul Day who created the 30ft high The Meeting Place in London’s St. Pancras Station. Traveling around the world for his work to places like China, Russia or New Zealand, he’s been calling Burgundy his home for sixteen years and wouldn’t want it any other way.

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While the region is only 3.5 hours by car from Paris, it must have felt like he was flung far away into a different universe to Roger de Rabutin, Comte de Bussy, the 17th century count who was banished from court and exiled here. Author of the Histoire Amoureuse des Gaules, a satiric account of court love affairs, he was exiled for seventeen years by King Louis XIV. His aristocratic residence, Château de Bussy-Rabutin, is famous for its collection of over 300 portraits including generals, warriors and court ladies. There is one that I find fascinating, titled “Levior aura” meaning lighter than air, and indeed it shows a woman who seems to be weighing less than nothing on a balancing scale. Didier Doré, a history professor showing me around solves the mystery. “You need to look closely as some of the paintings have a deeper meaning. The lady in this particular painting depicts Roger de Rabutin’s lover Cécile, Marquise de Montglas who left him when he was sent to exile.” There are more châteaux in Burgundy than any other region in France. Nearly 100 castles, medieval strongholds and manor houses of every architectural style dot the landscape from Vézelay to Cluny. It’s impossible to see them all but many have been converted to small luxury hotels such as Château d'Igé at which I get spoilt with awardwinning cuisine (more snails, this time in red wine) and a good night’s rest in the 13th century castle. The next morning I drive through vineyards and medieval villages with their narrow lanes, rosebush-clad houses and old fountains. Occasionally, a châteaux, often seemingly privately owned, comes into view – it doesn’t get more idyllic than that. From the 13th to the 15th centuries, the village of Brancion was an important regional centre for the Dukes of Burgundy and many buildings date from that epoch. “Its location on a hilltop meant that the ruling family became rich by ambushing pilgrims on the way to Cluny”, explains guide Leslie Cleaver. Today, there are only about one hundred residents left though it is a popular destination especially for families because of the craft fairs. A hidden gem is the Romanesque church of St. Peter with its wall paintings from 1325. Service is still being held occasionally in the dark and somewhat

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damp building but there is an increasing shortage of priests, mentions Cleaver. Another, much larger church of the same architectural style, the Abbey of Saint Philibert, is in nearby Tournus but I’m much more interested in the town’s Hôtel-Dieu. Built in 1675 with money from a benefactor, this hospital, with three long rooms of the sick, is not afraid to compete with that of Beaune. The beds are still original so is the furniture and equipment in the 17th century apothecary. The hospital remained open as a convalescent home until 1981 simply because the last residents enjoyed the communal rooms and refused to move. After my morning boost of local history, I drop into the Domaine de L’Echelette for a wine tasting with owner Guillaume Champliaud who is looking after the 120,000 bottle vineyard in the second generation. There are three things I learn during the quick stopover. One, Chardonnay is named after a Burgundy village, two, local wine pairs best with Comté cheese and three, in France, any fromage is eaten before dessert.

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Bourgogne wines have a long and rich history spanning 2,000 years with the best grapes growing between Dijon and Beaune. They are a legacy of the Benedictine and Cistercian monks who planted many vines in the Middle Ages. The most influential abbey of the region was that of Cluny. Founded in 910, it reached its height of power in the 11th and 12th centuries when it was the â&#x20AC;&#x153;mother houseâ&#x20AC;? for over 1,000 monasteries reaching from Portugal to Scotland. Today, only a fractional 8% of the once huge abbey complex remains yet it still feels imposing and impressive. Numerous monastic buildings are spread throughout town but with a tablet and 3-D technology in hand from the platform of the Tour des Fromages (named because cheese was stored in the tower during the 19th century) I can visualize the abbey how it would have looked in the 12th century. From up high, I can see far into the Burgundy landscape and much closer, locals sitting in front of small bistros, with delicious food and a glass of local wine in hand. They all look relaxed as if none of them ever has to return back to work, simply enjoying life, at the pace of a snail - not a bad thing at all. www.burgundy-tourism.com

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BY CARL LARSEN

've got a travel secret to share, and it starts off with a wee dram of Scotch at London's Euston Station late in the evening. Oh, and this story has a famous cat.

I can't call my drink Scotch for long, however, because in a few hours I will be in Scotland, where years ago I was admonished by a sassy bartender when I ordered my drink of choice. "Sir, you ARE in Scotland," she told me curtly at a pub on the Isle of Mull. "To you, it's whisky." Having learned my lesson, I sidled up to the bar at Euston's first-class passenger lounge on an fall evening and asked for my preferred Scottish-distilled liquor by brand name instead. Tickets in hand, having ended a day of sightseeing in central London, my wife Sharon and I were headed to Scotland by train, an easily done overnight excursion that seemingly few Americans know about. We'll be aboard the Caledonian Sleeper, one of the many sleeper trains that The Wall Street Journal reported are "back in vogue," particularly in Europe. Refreshed from the gentle overnight rocking of the train, we're scheduled to arrive in the next morning around breakfast time. My secret is this: When we wake up, we'll be high up in the Scottish Highlands, running on a single-track route across the broad and forbidding Rannoch Moor with a brief stop at its desolate station -- the highest in the U.K. We're on one of the most famous of railways -- the West Highland Line. Going further, we'll arrive in the town of Fort William, hard by Loch Ness and its camerashy "monster" and watched over by Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the British Isles. Making this ride even more memorable will be our accommodations, or rolling stock. We'll be riding in shiny new carriages that were just months old and which are part of a global resurgence of sleeper trains. The Caledonian Sleeper, with roots

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Scottish

BY SLEEPER TO THE "NORTHERN

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going back more than 100 years, rolled out in 2019 an astounding $185 million-plus investment in a fleet of new trains and in services that include passenger lounges. Our travel will be aboard a train featuring en-suite bedrooms and a club car serving drinks and food, including a prebooked breakfast served before arrival in the morning. Perhaps no other form of transportation has captured the sense of intrigue and romance more than the sleeper train. Much of the mystique has been bolstered over the years by Hollywood. Who hasn't been caught up by seeing Cary Grant wooing Eva Marie Saint aboard the 20th Century Limited in "North by Northwest," or watching Hercule Poirot play detective in "Murder on the Orient Express?" Couple that with "listening to the rattling of bone china, the clinking of whisky bottles. Now picture yourself wedged into the middle of a packed airline cabin, hearing the blare of the engine and the snoring of your seatmate," as The Wall Street Journal recently noted. Today, a new generation of sleeper trains is "catering to a growing faction of travelers looking to escape the harried airline experience or simply to indulge their nostalgia," reported the newspaper. While waiting to board, our tickets allowed us to use the first-class lounge at Euston, where we watched the last commuters calling it a day in London. Then, watching the departures screen, it was our turn to board, around 8:30 p.m. for a 9:15 p.m. departure. We walked to Platform 1 -- without a security check -- where our train stood waiting. With more than fifteen carriages and an engine, the lengthy train looked as if it already stretched to Scotland. Alas, there was no red carpet. Checking in at trackside outside our car, we were given a key card for our cabin, and made our way to our compartment, complete with a double bed, in-cabin sink, toilet, a shower and a kit of toiletries. Refreshments and food were sold in a club car a few carriages down. For this run, luggage was stowed in our room, but some routes carry baggage cars. If you're a fan of the musical "Cats," you may remember "Skimbleshanks -- The Cat of the Railway Train." He led theater-goers over much the same

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route we were soon to embark upon. Better versed, Skimble can tell part of the story: "And the berth was very neat with a nearly folded sheet And not a speck of dust upon the floor.... There was every sort of light You could make it dark or bright And a button you could turn to make a breeze. And a funny little basin you're supposed to wash your face in...." Then, without warning, we were off, watching the platform lights pass by with increasing speed. Or, as Skimble would have told us, we were "off at last to the northern part of the Northern Hemisphere!" That was enough to summon my wife Sharon and myself to the club car for a celebratory night cap, with crackers and cheese. We raced by commuter trains and pulled in a few minutes later to Watford Junction in north London to pick up a few more travelers before leaving the city behind. Those wanting more substantial fare, and who couldn't wait to be in Scotland, could try the haggis, neeps and tatties. And the selection of whisky was fine. Sipping your drink, you might be sitting next to a Member of Parliament heading home to his or her "constituency" after a day of law-making. Or listening to a lively discussion of European politics, business deals and current London theater. This is not a train for tourists, which satisfied us a great deal. Before turning in for the night, we filled out our breakfast-menu card, which offered a selection that included a bacon roll, Eggs Royale or a complete Highland Breakfast, with eggs and sausage. And there was Stoats Scottish Porridge, as well as tea, of course. Breakfast is served in the club car or is brought to your room. The Caledonian Sleeper is in fact two separate trains that leave Euston each night except Saturday for destinations in Scotland that include Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Inverness and Fort William. The Lowlander route train to Edinburgh and Glasgow leaves at 11:50 p.m.; while the Highlander train for Aberdeen, Inverness and Fort William leaves at 9:15. Cars can be boarded well before departure, and passengers have a few extra

CORONA VIRUS UPDATE The corona virus pandemic has suspended some of the Caledonian Sleeper services from London to Scotland. Late in March 2020, trains were suspended temporarily on the routes to Aberdeen and to Fort William (described in the accompanying story). Trains still were in operation between London and Glasgow, London and Inverness and London and Edinburgh. Also, all station lounges used by passengers were closed, and on-board club car service was suspended. Instead, passengers could order food and drink brought to their cabins by room service. Passengers also can bring food and drink aboard for consumption in their cabins. In London, the two Caledonian Sleeper trains -- Highlander and Lowlander service -- leave every night except Saturday from Euston Station. Trains coming south into London arrive around 8 a.m. All trains feature new carriages put into service in 2019. Passengers taking the Caledonian Sleeper have a variety of accommodations available. Cabins with beds include Classic Rooms, Club Rooms and Caledonian Doubles. All rooms have wash basins, and some include toilets and showers and personal toiletry kits. All rooms have charging points for electronic equipment. Fares in some classes of service include a full breakfast; for others, breakfast is available for purchase. In addition, there is a car with seats for those travelers not wanting full bedrooms •

Fares can change, depending on time of year and time of booking.

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For up-to-date Caledonian Sleeper information: https://www.sleeper.scot/

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The Alexandra Hotel, Fort William: https://strathmorehotels-thealexandra.com

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Royal Highland Hotel, Inverness: https:// www.royalhighlandhotel.co.uk/

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Visit Scotland: https://www.visitscotland.com/

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minutes upon arrival to freshen up before they must exit. A chair car serves thrifty travelers not wanting the extra-cost sleeper accommodation. Stops along the way are few and far between. I confess I'm a railway fanatic, so I'd prop my head up to peek out the window at middle-of-thenight stops that include the British rail mecca Crewe. Outside, the platforms were empty, save for a few staff members servicing the train. Sleeper trains, in general, lack one benefit -daylight views of the passing landscape. That's why we took the Fort William route. It's the longest, and arrives just before 10 a.m., giving ample time to see the beauty, and barren nature, of the Highlands while having breakfast or sipping a cup of tea. The new trains have not arrived without birthing pains, with some passengers complaining of late arrivals or service malfunctions. Our trip, however, matched the description of service and met expectations with the aid of a helpful staff. Arriving on time in Fort William, we made our way down the platform into the small station, where there's a ticket office, cafe and small shop. No cab was needed because our hotel was right next door -- the venerable Alexandra Hotel on the city's "parade." The town is small enough to walk through its shopping district and to find a suitable pub, while taxis wait just outside the hotel at a grocery store. A focal point for mountain climbers and other outdoor adventurers, Fort William makes a good base for Highlands exploration. You can take a separate train trip to Mallaig, where there's

ferry service to the Outer Hebrides and to the Isle of Skye. This route includes a run over the Glenfinnan Viaduct, better known as the "Harry Potter Bridge," a massive arched bridge made famous by the Hogwarts Express. From May to October, a steam-powered excursion train called the Jacobite makes day trips over these tracks from Fort William and back. After exploring the Fort William area, Sharon and I took a 65-mile cab ride cross country along the famous Loch Ness to Inverness to explore more of the Highlands. We stayed at the suitably named Royal Highland Hotel, connected to the train station and in the heart of the city with a shopping mall around the corner. After two more days of exploration, it was time for Part Two of the Sleeping Car Adventure -- the journey back to London. We had a light dinner at the hotel, where our luggage had been stored, and strolled over to the station to board the southbound Caledonian Sleeper for Euston Station, arriving just before 8 a.m. Upon boarding, I felt we had become welltrained in rail etiquette from our trip north. I was ready to try another whisky. And, who knew, maybe there'd be a modern-day Agatha Christie or Alfred Hitchcock sitting in the club car as we pulled away into the night. As Skimbleshanks famously said: "You might say that by and large it was me who was in charge Of the Sleeping Car Express From the driver and the guard to the bagmen playing cards

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I would supervise them all more or less...."

“Upon boarding, I felt we had become well-trained in rail etiquette from our trip north. I was ready to try another whisky.”

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20 d ar ry w nt s lA E ard se ed w ei lish k A eG ub oo Th t P B of s o r Be ieg ne r D in Fo an S W

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