Falling in love with Iguazu

click here to view images of Iguazu Falls

Barbara Moser and Irwin Block

May 2012

Our 18-hour bus ride from Buenos Aires to Iguazu Falls in northeastern Argentina was our best overnight bus experience on this or any othertrip. How many overnight bus trips have we taken? None.

We were in the first row of seats atop a double-decker in the more luxurious full-cama (bed) class, which reclines 180 degrees.

It comes with sheets, a pillow, and a full dinner with vegetarian option and as much wine and soft drinks as one can imbibe. Even breakfast is included. There are movies, music, and the toilet facilities are excellent.

Unfortunately we can’t remember the name of the company. The fare came to about $100 each, fair considering we were saving a night in a hotel and arrived rested and rarin’ to view the falls.

There had been a tremendous buildup from our friend, Nora Kelner, an Argentinian who lives in Montreal, about the majesty and grandeur of the Iguazu Falls. But nothing could prepare us for our first glimpses of this thundering force of nature.

We took a small bus from our hotel to the National Park and, after paying the entrance fee of $25, boarded an open-air train to the Devil’s Gorge.

Waiting for the train, we met Arden and Karen, a retired couple from Wisconsin, and shared our pleasure viewing the falls.

Our photos and videos say so much more than words can. Such adjectives as dramatic, awe inspiring, mighty, and other superlatives come to mind, as well as our feelings of humility, giddiness, wonder, and happiness at being alive to experience this natural treasure.

It is a collection of dramatic drops where the Iguazu River tumbles over the edge of the Parana
Plateau, 23 kilometres upriver from the confluence with the Parana River.

There are 150 to 300 waterfalls, depending on water levels, varying between 60 to 82 metres high, and about half of the river’s flow converges into a narrow chasm called the Devil’s Throat, where you can experience its thunderous fury from wooden observation decks on the Argentinian side.

The intense heat was relieved by the rising spray of the roaring waters below the observation decks.

Arden and Karen were so blown away by what they saw that they fumbled with their camera and it tumbled into the gorge below.

It was a brand new camera.

The day before, Karen had dropped her Nikon and had replaced it.

We ended up taking many photos of the two of them and of the falls to email them.

Ten years older than we are, they had much more stamina than Barbara, who was debilitated by the extreme heat and humidity.

Arden and Karen stayed on another three hours to view the falls from another angle and to walk through the surrounding rainforest while we high-tailed it back to our hotel, Saint George, and its soothing swimming pool surrounded by lush, sub-tropical vegetation.

Fascinated by leaves that looked like flowers and flowers that looked like insects or small animals, Barbara took lots of photos as reference for future paintings.

We walked to the small downtown of Puerto Iguazu looking for coffee and snacks to take with us on the bus we would take to our next stop, Salta, in the Juy Juy region of Argentina, a 25-hour trip.

We met Arden and Karen for dinner at our hotel.

The restaurant, Donia Maria, was operated by our hotel. Donia Maria offered a three-tiered buffet: the “salad bar” for $15; the salad plus pasta for $20 and “grills” added for a total of $25.

The salad bar was more than enough to delight and satiate us. It was like being served hors d’oeuvres at a wedding reception.

Arden, a union activist, expressed great concern about Scott Walker, the right-wing governor in Wisconsin financed by the billionaire Koch brothers, who is crushing the teacher’s union with imposed contracts that force them to pay thousands more for medical coverage that they had paid for in previous contracts.

He told us he often travels to Cuba on educational missions and we were on the same wavelength politically.

We were lucky to find our three-star room—the only one left—in this four-star hotel, Saint George, well located across from the bus station and a short walk to the centre.

It resembles a Western frontier town thrown together with no discernible art or taste … except for the delicious empanadas that we picked up at a take-out place for about 75 cents each, meat and cheese alike.

In short we loved tropical Iguazu but we probably wouldn’t return.

It takes one day to see the falls and I don’t think we’ll ever forget it. If we do we have our photos and videos to remind us.

But who knows, we may visit again from the Brazilian side.

The last stop on our Greek island odyssey is totally Limnotic

Barbara Moser and Irwin Block

March 2012

At the end of our Greek island adventure last summer, we unexpectedly saved the best for last. And it turned out to be totally limnotic, the adjective we invented for what turned out to be our favourite island—Limnos

We chose to explore Limnos for all the wrong reasons. Though intending to visit Lesvos in the north Aegean group of islands off the Turkish coast, we opted to go to Myrina, from Vathie in Samos, to get a couple of extra hours sleep on the ferry.

Limnos turned out to be the perfect end to our Greek island experience. We could see a small sleepy-looking village across the harbour as we walked towards the centre of Myrina.

Only one hotel was visible, the four-storey Hotel Lemnos, the tallest building in the village. It was exactly what we wanted—a well-appointed, air-conditioned room facing the marina at only 45 euros, with breakfast. Not bad for high, high season!

We did not bother travelling around the island because we were not too energetic at the tail end of our five-week trip.

Also, the port city had everything we wanted. In our two days in Limnos, we discovered three beaches, each more beautiful than the last and all not more than a 15-minute walk from our hotel. All are undeveloped beaches, natural looking, with benches, play areas and shady trees behind umbrellas scattered across the sand. Two of the beaches were especially sandy, the water shallow and calm, perfect for swimming, standing, relaxing and savouring the idyllic view of the old abandoned castle on the hill that once served to protect Limnos from hostile forces. Because of its strategic location, Limnos remains an important naval base for Greece, which may be one reason tourism is not heavily promoted.

We found our restaurant, which we frequented three times because of its superb cuisine and very reasonable prices, not to mention the friendly, patient servers, especially helpful because the menu was only in Greek, as were most of the signs. Limnos seems to attract more Greek visitors than other nationalities. It is not on the standard tourist route, and we hope it stays that way.

A narrow, winding street, with smooth stones, almost car- and cycle-free, beckons shoppers to more than a hundred boutiques offering everything from bookstores to the latest fashions.

Every once in while a small café with a couple of outdoor tables offers a rest for the weary and a shady relief from the sun, which on these islands doesn’t set until 8:30, which makes it hot even at 6.

Limnos was especially pleasant because of the cooling wind that helped us cope with the heat.

This getaway from the hustle of Bodrum and the more popular islands, such as Mykonos, Santorini and Rhodes, makes this island experience totally limnotic—relaxing, serene and a perfect setting to read novels, or even write one, plan or dream and share precious moments with the one you love.

We are planning to return to the Greek islands this summer and share our discoveries with readers. In particular, we want to see what effect the Greek economic crisis is having on daily life there.

The good, the bad and the beautiful on the Greek island of Icaria

click here to view images of Icaria

Barbara Moser and Irwin Block

February 2012

Drawn by an enthusiastic description in The Lonely Planet, we took a ferry to the so-called Red Island, Icaria. Many Greek communists were exiled there after the Greek civil war, which followed the Second World War.

We were nearing the home stretch of our Greek island hop last summer and we decided to take a chance on this lesser-known North Aegean destination. Remember, our travelling mantra is as much “why not?” as “why?”

We took a cab to the Dionysus Hotel in the hamlet of Kambos (100 inhabitants) up a winding road three kilometres from the secondary port, Evdilos (about 500 inhabitants), and met the reputedly effusive Vassilis, who runs the establishment. Although the location was uphill, our stay was downhill and a reminder that you can’t always go by the guidebook. For one thing, Vassilis had told us jokingly over the phone that the room would be “45 degrees,” but the room at that price had no window. The better room was 55 euro and we took it. We then trekked downhill 500 metres to the beach, a trial for Barbara and her (in)famous weak knees. The waves were so strong that she couldn’t venture in, although Irwin battled the waves for a short time before giving up.

We walked back to Vassilis’, and then another 500 metres or so to Kampos for a moderately interesting dinner at the only restaurant, which overlooked the terraced hills—stunning. This island is a photographer’s dream even if all we did is point and shoot.

Sights included two mules on the way from Vassilis’ to the town and—for the ear—the never-ending and overwhelming cicadas created a fitting soundscape for the early evening walk.

As it turns out, all that walking is among the reasons residents have unusually long lifespans.

A National Geographic crew looking at Blue Zones, where residents tend to live longest, found that Icaria has the highest percentage of 90-year-olds anywhere on the planet—nearly one-third of people make it to their 90s.

They also have about 20 per cent lower rates of cancer, 50 per cent lower rates of heart disease and almost no dementia. While lifespans are about 20 per cent dictated by our genes, locals who live in mountain villages burn a lot more energy by carrying out their daily activities. Their diet is high in olive oil, fruits and vegetables, and very high in greens. About 150 kinds of veggies grow wild on the island and they have about 10 times the level of antioxidants in red wine, the magazine reported. Similar longevity rates are found in Okinawa, Costa Rica and Sardinia.

We had planned to stay four nights at the Dionysus, but realized one night would be more than sufficient. In the morning, Vassilis made us a delightful breakfast of yogurt with honey, fruit and “fritters,” which we had thought was included in the price but turned out to cost 5 euro each. Okay.

He called us a cab, which arrived an hour later, and we returned to Evdilos, where we had docked. There we spent the next 18 hours, after booking a ferry, which left at 4:30 am and would take us back to Samos Island and its capital, Vathie. Had we known then that Evdilos would prove to be such a charming little place, we would have perhaps stayed another couple of days.

We took a room in a nice little modern hotel with a pool, right in the heart of the village. We dined twice at a fabulous little fish restaurant overlooking the harbour and watched children swim in the clear, still waters that run deep.

We ordered a huge seafood plate with grilled vegetables and ended up meeting a group of former revolutionaries who dined with us. They were the friendliest group of Greek tourists we had met. There to attend the wedding of their children, they regaled us with stories of the history of Icaria.

The huge plates of fresh seafood, the silence, broken only by laughter among fellow diners and the splish-splash of the children frolicking in the harbour made for an unforgettable evening.

Evdilos is the first village we’ve visited where there is virtually no English spoken or written on menus and tourists are a tiny minority. No hustling either.

At 4:30 am, we took the ferry back to the Samos capital, Vathie, for two nights and then to the last island on our five-week escapade, Limnos.

Disappointment turns to delight in Rhodes

Barbara Moser

December, 2010

It was my second time in Rhodes. Thirty-eight years ago I had come by ship from Israel with a boyfriend and his motorcycle. Rhodes was a one-day stopover on our way to Istanbul. I remembered nothing but riding around the island.

This time was different. My present boyfriend and I arrived by ferry from Marmaris, Turkey. We had spent a wonderful week in Antalia and Kas, two lazy southern towns with beaches and lots of good food. We had booked our hotel in Rhodes online, thinking it was a hop and a jump from Rhodes City. But when we tried to hail a cab from the port, the cabbies all demanded $60. We laughed at them and turned our backs, only to discover that Pefkos, the site of our hotel (population 60 families), is 1½ hours by slow bus from Rhodes Town.

After Irwin held the bus for me while I scrambled to find a toilet, I ended up sitting on his lap behind the driver, squeezed in by more and more people as the bus stopped to let them on. I didn’t know a bus could carry that many passengers. And was it ever hot!

I arrived grumpy and exhausted to find we had to walk about half a kilometre from the centre of town to the Pefkos Garden Hotel (50 euro a night for a double). The hotel buffet had just closed, so we hit the sack and hoped the next day would be more fun. It was. We skipped the included poor-looking breakfast and trekked, bathing suits on, along the winding roads leading to the centre of the village of Pefkos.

Little known to us at the time, Pefkos is a popular, if not somewhat empty, resort with beautiful beaches and 10 or so hotels with pools where you can enter freely and swim at your leisure. Most of the visitors were Brits on package tours. After having a sandwich at a Wi-Fi bar and trying hopelessly to plan the rest of our trip online, I had a revelation. Why not consult a travel agent about our plans to visit Santorini, Syros and Kos before returning to Turkey? Better than watching Irwin fume and fuss on the Internet reservations!

From the minute we stepped into the air-conditioned travel agency, Rhodes Direct, smack in the middle of the village square, we were in Panagiotis Ioannidis’s hands. Known as the “Greek Specialist,” at least on his outside sign, he and his partner, Philip Tzogias, spent the next 30 hours, or so it seemed, planning the rest of our vacation including hotel and ferry reservations from Rhodes City to Santorini. Then on to Syrus and finally rest in Bodrum, Turkey, where we would take a plane (also reserved by Rhodes Direct) back to Istanbul.

The bookings took the entire day and some of the next. In between we went to the gorgeous beach, a short hop down the road, and bathed in the crystal blue bay. The highlight of the day was dinner at Panagiotis’ brother’s restaurant next door to the travel agency. Terpsis is a marvelous and reasonably priced place with views of the sea and town from its terrace. The name Terpsis comes from ancient Greek, meaning “the feeling you get when the food goes from the mouth down to the stomach.” We did get that feeling, and how!

Irwin loved his braised lamb dish (9€), which came wrapped in tinfoil. A side plate was laden with rice, potatoes and asparagus. Our Greek salad was the best I’ve eaten, in a toasted pita bowl with the most delightful spices and the freshest, tastiest feta seasoned with oregano and, of course, Greek olive oil. It was a meal in itself, with olives and chunks of crouton-style black bread (4.30 €). We also tried the stuffed sweet red pepper with feta (5 €) and the crispy but delicate fried zucchini with tzatziki. Oh yes, the olives. Irwin insisted on a separate order. Very fresh, big, not drowned in brine, about 30 of them. We were treated to a small lemon sorbet at the end and two very good candies. What a treat!

I know, I know. I tend to go on about food, but after reading Paula Butturini’s memoir about healing on love and food in Italy, Keeping the Feast, I don’t feel so guilty about making food an integral part of my travel memoirs.

After another morning of strolling on the beach we were off on the slow bus back to Rhodes City to visit the synagogue in the Old City. The hotel was full of Swedish teeny boppers playing horrible music. We had to call the desk to quiet them. The next day we were off on a ferry to Santorini, where our friends had booked us four nights in a gorgeous place with a huge courtyard pool. It was spectacular.

Fourteen per cent of our bookings went to Rhodes Direct, money that saved us time and frustration. It was fun to spontaneously plan the second half of our trip in that faraway place. I highly recommend Panagiotis Ioannidis and his partner, Philip Tzogias, who suggested Island Blue as a good hotel. Philip also told us that Pefkos has the cheapest food and drink prices on the island.

As much as we loved Pefkos, this will probably be our last visit — unless they add a few more direct and air-conditioned buses.

Diego, welcome to the Montreal puparazzi

Barbara Moser

September, 2010

I’m a new mother for the third time. My 29-year-old and 31-year-old daughters will just have to get used to it. My new son is two and I had to go all the way to L.A. to adopt him.

His name is Diego and he’s a Chihuahua/miniature Pinscher mix. As you may have read on these pages, I’ve been looking for a smaall dog to adopt for months.

I visited my daughter, sister and niece Cleo for nine days in Los Angeles at the beginning of August and I got it into my head that I could just have a look at one of the shelters in the area to see whether they had my perfect dog.

Diego helps Shannon write her article.

Amy, my daughter, and Irwin, my husband, were less than encouraging. They thought it would be too hard to bring a dog into Canada.

We visited the downtown shelter three days before we were due to leave, after a lot of whining from me. Amy and I were overwhelmed by the number of small dogs in large cages, more than 30, barking and begging and crying to be let out.

We spotted one small black one sitting in a corner who was awfully quiet. A sign on the outside of his cage read: “HATES MEN.”

But he was so quiet. We asked for him to be taken out of the cage and Irwin was called in from the car, where he was holed up, to see whether this 6.5-pounder really hated men. Irwin held him and Diego seemed to like him.

He did look an awful lot like Becky, my giant Chihuahua whom I lost three years ago, when she was 14.

But what can I tell you? I fell in love. There was chemistry and I knew that I was going to take this little one home with me.

They make it easy to adopt in L.A. It’s only $100 including neutering and all shots. Canada requires proof of a rabies shot and proof of adoption when re-entering the country.

There are about a dozen shelters in the L.A. area and hundreds of small dogs are available. Californians say it’s because of the movie Beverly Hills Chihuahua and the fact that stars seem to like them as decorations and toys.

Our Diego was given up after two years, ostensibly because he “hates men.” He certainly didn’t hate Irwin or Amy’s boyfriend Todd or my brother-in-law, Duncan. He loved Cleo and they were very gentle with each other.

Having a dog changes your life.

The trip back was delightful. We purchased a smallish carrying case and paid $125 to have him sit under my seat. He was so quiet I don’t think most of the passengers realized there was a dog in our row.

When we arrived in Washington for our four-hour layover, I discovered a room marked: Service Dog Rest Area.

Although Diego is not a service dog, I took a chance. There was a large area of artificial grass, a garbage can for poop, and a plastic fire hydrant in the middle of the “lawn.” As soon as the pup went on the lawn, I pushed a button and a spray of mist cleansed the area. Very state of the art!

When we arrived at Trudeau International Airport, our bag was missing and after an hour of Diego having to remain tucked in his case, we were told we had to go through customs and immigration. We waited in line for another hour to show the border agents his papers.

As we were about to be inspected, Diego started to cough loudly. He had coughed before, but not for a day or two!

By way of explanation, Irwin quickly introduced him to the customs agent as a rescue dog.

“He doesn’t look like he’s going to rescue anyone,” the agent said. Irwin clarified with: “No, we’re rescuing him.”

Happily, we got through the inspection and were finally home with Diego. Oh, and by the way, Diego also hates cats. Alas for Dimaggio. So far, we’ve had to keep them separated.

I do have a dog trainer coming n000000000000000000000000000 oops, that was Diego leaning on the zeroes.

Diego’s biggest problem is that although he didn’t bark at all during the time we spent in L.A., he started barking and growling big time when we got back, once he became comfortable in his new space—at every man he sees. Hopefully John the dog trainer will work wonders with him.

At last I have a home.

Deigo’s already worked wonders on me. I love walking him and showing him off. Having a dog changes your life. You look for outdoor restaurants that accept dogs and spend more time in nature, getting lots of exercise.

Oh yes, Diego is perfectly house broken and even goes on pee pads when pressed. As for winter, he’s already got his extra thick winter coat with a hoodie underneath for insulation. Boots are next!

And I’ll keep you posted on John’s success with getting Diego not to hate cats and men.

“Irwin was called in from the car, where he was holed up, to see whether this 6.5-pounder really hated men.”

It pays to be proactive when it comes to funeral arrangements

Barbara Moser

March, 2010

Most of us don’t like to think about death. We’d rather not die. But every time we lose someone, we are reminded that we are not immortal.

You might have considered getting the particulars on pre-planning funeral arrangements and getting an idea of what it would cost for other members of your family who think they’re going to live forever.

I explored four scenarios or packages: a low-cost cremation; a full Jewish-style service with coffin and burial, one for a person of 86, the other for a person of 55; and a fourth for someone who wants to donate his body to a university. “None of the scenarios come close to the average $14,000 cost of a funeral in Quebec,” said John A. Jasko, co-owner of the AETERNA funeral complex in Ville St. Laurent. John comes from a family of funeral directors and his father, John, is a partner in the new complex along with Benoit Chagnon and Claude Paquet.

I was struck by the colourful wall of flags at the entrance. John explained that they put up a flag or flags requested by the family in the viewing room. I recognized flags from El Salvador, Israel, Croatia, and United States, along with Quebec and Canada. The complex will purchase any flag not in their collection.

My only experience choosing a coffin was when I helped the wife of a friend choose one for her husband who died suddenly at 43. It was an awful experience.

Seeing the casket room this time was different. I was not grieving and in a position to make a rational decision about what I wanted for my loved ones. The caskets range from $495 for a plain box to $6,795 for cherry wood and $8,495 for a plush mahogany model. It seems opulent, but it’s like a buying a car: Do you want a Lada or a Cadillac? Rest assured, you have never rested on linens like these in your life. And the pillows are to die for! The price of your casket might reflect your lifestyle and values, but if you don’t want your loved ones going overboard (or underboard), choose your own. Those who just want to look good for the service can rent a casket for $1,595, which features a pullout container for cremation.

Urns range from $175 for a metal box to $3,000 for a solid bronze model. But it’s not necessarily less expensive than burial. A family could opt for an expensive casket and cremate the casket with the body and then choose a solid bronze urn. You could also rent space in the columbarium at the entrance of the complex. Five years (at eye level) will cost $995. You may choose to have your ashes scattered or purchase an urn or some keepsakes (tiny urns) to take home.

Along the hallway to the viewing room and the chapel is a lovely distraction from the task at hand: Paintings are for sale by students from local schools.

Religious symbols can be brought into the viewing room or chapel. It’s comfortable and holds 200 people.

AETERNA offers a reception hall that can accommodate 100 people for a sit-down meal or a buffet with catering services available.

All rooms feature plasma TVs and audiovisual equipment for presentations of the life of the deceased.

John’s slipping into Yiddish confuses his partner, Claude Paquet, a French Canadian who plays Shuster to John’s Wayne. Paquet is the pre-need coordinator and provided a cost breakdown for the above scenarios.

For an 86-year-old, there are two options: Pay in advance or over 12 months. For a simple casket of $1,095, the cost of a funeral is $4,958.60 (taxes included). This includes $808 for administrative services, $250 for transportation, $690 for embalming and preparation, $100 for legal formalities, $200 for funeral co-ordination, $200 for chapel facilities, $350 for the hearse, $200 for the director, $200 for the lead car and an optional $300 for a limo for the family. On a pre-plan this funeral costs $426.48 a month over one year.

This does not include the cemetery costs. John suggested Notre-Dame des Neiges Cemetery on Côte-des-Neiges Rd. and noted that a single lot or grave has space for two caskets and a few urns, starting at $2780. The lot can be paid directly to the cemetery over five years at $52.30 a month. Opening the grave is an additional $1075 per person. For a person of 55, this funeral can be paid over 10 years at a cost of $59.50 a month.

Interested in cremation? For a 60-year-old, the cost over 10 years is $28.80 a month for a total of $2,215.74. However if you choose the plan and die after the 10-year period, at Aeterna the difference in what has been paid goes to the family. A $5,000 funeral would cost $7,800 over 10 years and the family would receive $2,800 at the time of death. This can be used to pay for such extras as catering, flowers or opening the grave.

If, in the case of a 55-year-old to 80-year-old, the person dies after two years and before 10 years, the balance of the funeral is paid for. You can buy insurance in case the person dies 100 kilometres or more from Montreal. AETERNA works with an insurance company, so the money is held in trust. If you plan to donate your body to a university, you need a donor card, which can be obtained by calling McGill (for instance) at 514-398-6335 or by contacting your local CSSS health and social service centres. The government must be made aware of the decision and transportation will be taken care of by the university; therefore, a funeral home is not necessary. There are restrictions on body weight and the condition of the body.

A pre-plan arrangement is like buying an insurance policy, with the exception that no medical questions are asked. It allows your loved ones the opportunity to grieve without being bombarded with decisions and financial burdens and family arguments at a traumatic time.

I chose AETERNA funeral complex, 55 Gince St., Ville St-Laurent, as an example. Now it’s up to you to shop around. Questions and comments welcome: editor@theseniortimes.com

Marrakesh's Jemaa el-Fna: madly marvellous and mystical

click here to view a slideshow of images from Marrakesh

Barbara Moser

Our minivan driver Ahmed got us to Marrakech, Morocco, around 11pm after an eight-hour scenic ride from Fez that included stops in Sefrou and Bhalil, a small town in which some of the homes are built in caves. We stopped for tea in one such cave, home to an 80-something widow who not only served us tea but danced for us with a jug on her head. But I’ll save more tales of this day-long adventure for an upcoming issue.

Marrakesh, a city of more than one million with a strong Berber influence, sits almost in the middle of Morocco. Sipping tea in its famed square, Jemaa el-Fna, one literally feels in the middle of the country.

We were exhausted and hungry when we checked in at our hotel, the Ryad Mogador, which we had booked online on otel.com. At first they didn’t seem to have our booking, but in the end they found it. This is sometimes a problem with otel.com but usually the paperwork goes through smoothly – and the price is always better than when you book on the spot or through an agent. We paid the equivalent of about $60, which included a modern, comfortable and cozy room as well as breakfast.

The Ryad Mogador is in a fantastic location. It’s in the newer part of town, facing a huge bus station just outside the walls of the Old City. It’s right next door to a supermarket, so we were set, especially when I needed ice for my knee, which Irwin got in the fish department. The first day we slept in and at noon got a taxi for $1 (for a 15-minute ride) that took us straight to the entrance of the centre of Jemaa el-Fna.

In retrospect, we realized there was no other place to be in Marrakesh than this teeming square that spans a full kilometre. Our sojourns to the new city paled in comparison and we inevitably felt disappointed with the restaurants and atmosphere in that part of town.

Irwin remembered having been in Jemaa el-Fna in 1968 and said it ­hadn’t changed all that much. He pointed up to one of the rooftop cafés and told me he remembered sitting there for hours watching the people go by.

This is exactly what we did for the next couple of days – except we chose a street level café because my knees could never have made it up the narrow steps to the rooftops.

From Jemaa el-Fna one can take any lane into the maze of the medina and the melech (the old Jewish quarter) and discover smaller souks (markets). It’s hard to get lost. Just ask around and find your way back to Jemaa el-Fna.

Among the souks you can explore are Souk Addadine (metalwork), Souk Chouari (basketry and woodturning), Souk Smata (slippers and belts) and Souk Kissarias (clothing, fabric and leather goods.) I’m not sure if there’s a connection between “Smata” and “Shmata.”

The most colourful market is the berber souk, which sells just about everything.

We spent most of our time with our books and camera, soaking up the atmosphere and appreciating the array of workers, strollers, and shoppers. And then there were the snake charmers, musicians, women selling henna tattoos, and the unfortunate monkeys on leashes doing tricks for a few coins, which the tourists avoided.

It was a 10-ring circus, something like Barcelona’s Ramblas except all in one square. I’m not talking about one monkey or snake charmer, I’m talking dozens!

It was in Marrakesh that I first began to appreciate the beauty and versatility of women’s clothing in this liberal Muslim country. What I love about the Moroccan lifestyle is that virtually every code of dress is accepted. You often see women walking together arm in arm, one wearing traditional garb and the other in jeans with no head covering. The only thing you’ll never see on a Moroccan woman is shorts and skimpy tops. Most tourists are respectful and cover their arms and legs to some degree.

On our first visit to Jemaa el-Fna we decided to take one of the small paths into the densely crowded souk to scout out a place for lunch. We chose the first “eatery” we found, a rather primitive place with three pots cooking on an outdoor fire. We pointed to the pot of our choice and were served rich and flavourful stews (mine was vegetarian) with bread and soft drinks that came to about $3 each. The warm hospitality of the owner/waiter gave us strength to attempt some of the longer market trails, but I was so overwhelmed with the sheer colour and variety of … well, everything … that I eventually agreed with Irwin that stopping for a mint tea at a café facing the square would be a fitting end to the afternoon.

Two or three mint teas later I had taken the pictures you see here. As twilight approached and the food vendors came out into the square to offer their wares, cooked on open fires at their stalls – there seemed to be hundreds of them – we decided we had had enough and headed to the new town to eat – a big mistake.

It was May when we visited Marrakesh, a perfect time of year to travel in Morocco. When we returned to the country in July for three more weeks, we confined ourselves to the north.

But I still look forward to more of those souks and sipping tea at the Jemaa el-Fna.

Daou delights with delectable delicacies

Barbara Moser

December, 2009

When you dine at Daou, be sure to go with a group. That way you can sample a selection of the restaurant’s delicacies.

This authentic Lebanese restaurant has two locations: 2373 Marcel Laurin in Ville St. Laurent, and the one we visited, at 519 Faillon E.

We went on a Thursday evening with our friends Avrum and Marnie, their daughter, Hardial, and her boyfriend, Addison. We constituted a rather large and demanding bunch of hungry and eager diners, which meant we got to sample many items from the long and luscious-sounding list of cold and hot appetizers. Most come in two sizes, and we opted mostly for the larger ones, which more than satisfied our pangs and palettes.

We sat in the centre of the sleekly decorated, airy room and were immediately greeted by our waiter, who served us complimentary pickled turnips, green olives and pita.

We were a somewhat complicated group and full of questions, but the waiter was calm as he walked around answering all our queries. He was obviously used to diners who don’t know their fatouche from their foule. We kept changing our minds about whether we wanted large or small portions and whether we wanted to order the chef’s suggestions of grilled meats ($25.95), a vegetarian platter ($18.95), combined platter ($21.50), and appetizer platter ($25.95). Two such dishes might be perfect for a couple, but for a group of six, sharing larger portions of appetizers seemed like a better option. Here are the dishes we finally settled on, in no particular order:

The feisty fatouche salad ($11.95 for the large size) was an entertaining mix of veggies, oil, lemon, small pieces of pita and Middle Eastern herbs that tasted like zatar or oregano. This was yummy and fed us all at regular intervals. It was indeed much bigger than it looked on the plate.

Ground chick peas with pine nuts (Hommus & Snoubar in Arabic; $10.25 for the large size). This is one of my favourite dishes, and at Daou it’s fresh, lemony – and hard to stop dipping your pita in. Marnie described it as not sticky, but light with texture as well as flavour.

Red pepper & walnut dip (Muha­mara $6.75). It’s an original and another of my favourites. It’s tangy and spreadable, but I wouldn’t advise too much spreading or you won’t have room for the other dishes.

Pressed cream yogourt with garlic (Labneh $6.95). You’ve never had it so good, except maybe in the Druze village of Daliat-el-Carmel, Israel.

Fava beans with oil, lemon and garlic (Foule $7.50). This filling, vegetarian Lebanese comfort food was done to perfection with just the right amount of garlic and lemon, although some in our party found it too salty.

Cooked meat stuffed with minced meat (Kebesanieh $9.95) This pie was a favourite with the meat lovers.

Cheese rolls (Rakakat $7.95). We gobbled these up fast. They’re wrapped in a flaky filo dough and filled with soft white cheese. A favourite of Addison’s. Lebanese sausage ($5.95 for a small portion) is done up in a rich tomato sauce. Irwin’s favourite.

Spinach pie ($2.25) and Thyme pie ($1.75) are not-so-little morsels meant for individual diners. The thyme pie was a puffed-up pita loaded with thyme, which Marnie thoroughly enjoyed. I dipped my spinach pie in a few dips.

Babaganoush ($8.95 for the large size). This blend of eggplant, sesame, garlic and lemon, was a masterpiece of smooth, mouth-watering goodness.

Of the stuffed vine leaves with either meat or rice, most of us preferred the vegetarian ones, although Irwin was a fan of the meaty ones. Even our $37 bottle of Lebanese wine was divine.

For dessert, we shared Daou’s homemade Ricotta Cheese Crêpe with pistacchio and rosewater – a medley of textures and flavours. Avrum and Irwin ordered Baklava, “like my mother never made,” Irwin said.

Two bar seats at the three Tomatoes Trattoria

Barbara Moser

December, 2009

It was a coolish Saturday evening in downtown Burlington, Vermont and we decided to try out Three Tomatoes Trattoria, right in the middle of the Church St. pedestrian mall.

This Italian restaurant is located in a basement quite a few stairs down from the street entrance, but you’d never know it once you reach the bottom.

The place is huge and on this Saturday at 7 pm it was packed with merry diners, families with children, dressy-looking couples out for a date, and at least one older couple from Montreal hoping for a table.

We were told there would be a half-hour wait at this, their busiest time, but we were invited not only to wait and drink at the bar but to eat there too! We chose the two end seats in front of all the wines and spirits and were greeted by the cocktail server who was also, we discovered, our food server. Another long food bar behind us was half filled with diners who also hadn’t reserved a table.

We both felt like sharing some comfort food, meaning it had to be meatless. We chose two pasta dishes, one with penne and one with linguini: Pesto Basilico, $13.95, sautéed broccoli, spinach, diced tomato, with basil – pine nut pesto and pecorino Romano with Linguini; and Spicy shrimp fra davolo, $17.95 – imported olives, garlic, white wine, spicy tomato basil sauce with penne. We decided to share a large Caesar ($7.95) which arrived immediately and which we thoroughly enjoyed. This may be the best Caesar salad I’ve tasted in a very long time with its hearts of romaine lettuce, very tangy with nice large pieces of anchovies, which we divvied up and two pieces of “Crisp Red Hen Bakery Garlic Crostini.” No bacon – we checked.

When the salad arrived, our server was ready to grate fresh romano cheese and grind fresh pepper onto our plate. The portion was generous. If I’d had my own, I would have had little room for the pastas, which were also generous. We each tried one dish for about five minutes and then switched dishes to try the other. Back and forth we went, relishing every morsel. The linguini was full of medium pieces of sautéed broccoli and spinach and the pine nut basil pesto gave the whole dish a zesty, slightly spicy flavor.

I was hard pressed to give it up to taste the shrimp penne, but once I started on the latter (or platter), I was smitten by the large shrimp, tails on, sitting among the penne covered in a spicy tomato sauce and sprinkled with big black olives.

Although we were quite full, Irwin insisted we share a dessert. We ordered cappuccinos and lemon mousse cake. ($6.95) Lemon was the flavor of the evening. I love all that is made of lemons and this was no exception. A fresh mousse atop lemon pound cake, it was the perfect ending to this Italian feast.

So next time you’re in Burlington, don’t let those stairs deter you. Once you’ve sampled the fare at Three Tomatoes, you’ll know why you may have to sit at the bar on a Saturday night. Or you can try making reservations at 1-802-660-9533.

Making friends in the ER: an ode to the Montreal General

Barbara Moser

December, 2009

In some respects, it was a productive and relaxing day. I lost some weight, made three new friends, corrected 30 of my students’ poetry essays, read The Gazette cover to cover, and got editing help for articles in this issue.

I spent the day – the entire day – at the Montreal General Hospital emergency waiting room. Like many who waited with me, I had little choice but to appear at the ER at 9:30 am. We all had problems that could not wait or could not be tended to by our family doctors.

After being told, when I arrived, by the triage nurse that there was an eye clinic at the MGH that day and that I wouldn’t “have to wait long,” an ER doctor directed me, nine hours later, to take a taxi to the Royal Vic and to make it snappy because the eye clinic there was about to close. I raced over and was examined first by a resident and then by her teacher, a retinal specialist, to determine that my retina has not detached. I was treated exceptionally well by these doctors and am grateful for their care.

Back to the MGH at 9:30 am. There was a line up to register and see the triage nurse. Then we had to find a chair in the waiting room while watching a new smaller waiting room for H1N1 patients go up before our very eyes, complete with plate glass windows. If you had an ear problem, the three hours of drilling and banging certainly didn’t help.

At one point there were four stretchers in the waiting room and little room to walk around them! People were getting called in once or twice an hour, but these same people were coming back to the waiting room to wait for the next step in their diagnosis or treatment or for a test result.

To get to the café, the closest place for food and water, one had to go outside and through a set of doors. No one alone and in pain, and certainly those on stretchers, could manage it, so those of us who were able bodied, helped by going to buy these poor people bottled water. It can’t be healthy to go without food for an entire day!

Try not to go alone to the ER if you are in pain. You absolutely will need someone to tend to you while you wait… and wait …. and wait.

Arriving in an ambulance does not always ensure you will be seen right away. One of my new friends had been having a root canal earlier that morning. Suddenly she had a severe reaction to the codeine her dentist had given her. It seems he hadn’t read her allergy list. Probably because he didn’t want to take any chances, he sent her by ambulance to the hospital. But when she arrived, she was told her problem wasn’t serious and she had to wait with the rest of us.

My new friends, Norma and Jack, waited longer than I did. We kept each other company editing articles for The Senior Times, sharing chocolate bars Norma brought from her car and doing crossword puzzles. We got to know each other.

In nine hours you get to know someone.

Norma and I discovered we both love garage sales. Luckily we were well enough to carry on a conversation.

Masks are in the entrance for anyone who… well… I’m not sure whom they are for. One woman sat with a mask on all day even though she had no flu symptoms. Another guy coughed a few times into the air of the waiting room until I reported him to the guards who promptly brought him a mask.

One poor man lay on a stretcher in the middle of our small waiting room for hours. Finally he was called in. An hour later he came out, found a chair and started moaning. He pointed to his side. It was some kind of sciatica, which can be brutal. He cried and writhed till three of us walked up to the registration desks (there were no nurses around and when they rushed through and someone nailed them, they pulled away, one stating “I’m not here.”) In any case, after three or four of us complained about the inhumanity of his plight, a nurse approached the man and loudly asked him why he was breathing so heavily. He was obviously in panic from the pain. She finally found him a stretcher and one of us helped him walk into the newly built H1N1 waiting room, where he remained alone and in pain for quite some time. He was still there when I left for the RVH.

At 6 pm, Irwin showed up, and brought miracle upon miracle — fresh strawberries, apples, bananas, small juices, cheese and crackers. I began to serve all my friends and then lo and behold, I heard my name called. I was in shock.

Was I really the Barbara Moser whose name was being called?

Thank goodness Irwin was there to accompany me in the cab in the rain to the RVH a half hour later. I quickly said goodbye to my friends promising them each a free subscription to The Senior Times for their editing help.

Suggestions for changing the emergency room procedures at the MGH in case anyone’s listening:

If there is no specialty clinic or if it’s moved, why not inform people when they arrive so that they can move themselves to another hospital where there is such a clinic?

Why can’t people not in life-threatening situations or in pain get a number like they do in a bakery or at the SAAQ? Then they could go home or sit in a cafe and come back at a certain hour. Of course they never know because of the number of ambulances that come in, but with more than 20 people waiting more than nine hours, surely, they have some idea. They seem to thrive on giving out as little information as possible. Whom does this benefit?

Could they at least put a vending machine with water and sandwiches in this waiting room or have someone selling drinks and snacks from a cart like they do on the train? If patients are alone on stretchers for hours in the waiting room, a nurse’s aide should come every so often to check on them and get them water if they need it or help them to the bathroom.

The waiting room is just too small. There are not enough seats for everyone. So expand the waiting room and put in more chairs. Why can’t we afford a few of those recliners? If you have H1N1 symptoms, go to a special clinic set up to diagnose and treat you, not to a hospital emergency room! Please! The triage nurse should be sending these people back to these clinics unless they are having serious respiratory problems. If they are, a 12-hour wait could kill them!

And yes, we already know we shouldn’t go near an ER unless absolutely necessary, but couldn’t the triage nurse let us know if it is absolutely necessary?

Postscript: Norma and John waited until 1am to be seen — another six hours after I left.

Delectable and charming, Galo grills up Portugal on a platter

Barbara Moser

October, 2009

As many of you know, Irwin and I love to eat… out, especially when the dining establishment reminds us of our trips abroad. So we jumped on the chance to review Restaurant Galo in Town of Mount Royal, not exactly our stomping ground but as we discovered, well worth the taxi ride.

This family-run Portuguese Grill serves up, among other delicacies, grilled sardines, which are few and far between in Montreal. Fresh ones are a staple for me when I travel abroad so it didn’t take me long to decide what I’d order once we walked through the charming white exterior with its bay window into the equally charming interior that holds no more than 12 tables covered in white tablecloths. Our server is the sister of co-owner, Tanya Santos. Tanya explained that her partner Martine Meunier holds the fort in the daytime and she and her mother and sisters work the evening shift. The restaurant quickly filled up on this Thursday evening.

Alexandra was quick to offer us the specialty of the house, which comes either as an appetizer ($7.50) or a main course with home fries or rice and salad ($12.50). They are called Rissois in Portuguese. These are half moon croquettes filled with either cod or shrimp. Both were crispy on the outside. The shrimp variety were larger and stuffed with Bechamel giving them a creamy texture. The cod croquettes were my favorite of the two, with more of a spicy bread crumb consistency. Alexandra told us that her grandmother, Analia Lopes, makes the Rissois. We highly recommend her cooking.

Our salads arrived in glass bowls, very elegant, with tomato slices atop frizzy lettuce, cukes, and a slice of red pepper, drizzled with a light dressing of white wine vinegar and oil. I liked the idea that the salad was its own course, not a side on the plate with the main course.

The mains come with home-made fries or rice and salad but you can substitute grilled veggies for the carbs for $2. I chose Sardines ($14) and Irwin chose the Mixed Meat Grill ($17 for one, $27 for two) both with Grilled Veggies, which was actually an original, a grilled tomato filled to the brim with chopped zucchini, onions, and peppers, topped with a generous slice of Portugese goat cheese. Irwin ordered a glass of what Alexandra described as full-bodied Portuguese red wine ($6.50). While we were waiting for our main courses, we enjoyed the bright, friendly atmosphere with a mix of customers, lots of bubbly conversation and the joyous and lively Portuguese dance music.

Just before our mains were served, Albert and Susan Weiner approached us and asked if it was our first time at Galos. They have been neighbourhood regulars since Galo opened two years ago, September 10, 2006 to be exact, says Albert. Susan loves the chicken and fries. Albert loves the sardines and so did I. There were four big ones, about 8 inches long and quite succulent, grilled and marinated, then basted with the special house sauce, which, we were told by Tanya, includes as one of its ingredients the hot sauce that is on every table. Don’t use this stuff like ketchup though. Take it easy.

Irwin’s plate of mixed grilled meats included two pieces of chicken. a large sausage called chorizo, and a piece of pork filet, all marinated and brushed with two sauces, and all of which Irwin pronounced “delectable.”

The grilled tomatoes were a surprise. They were huge and tasty complementing the fish and meat perfectly. We cheated and ordered an extra plate of the home fries ($2) not wanting to miss out. We both thought they were “dangerously exquisite” – Irwin’s words, but I agree fully. And full I was, even before we were talked into trying the home-made desserts: a chocolate mousse, not too rich or gooey, and homemade cream “beaten by us (the family)” layered on tea biscuits dipped in espresso, and topped with strawberry garnish. The cream was sinfully rich.

Our lattes were perfect, with a light and creamy foam. What better way to end our first experience at Galo, which obviously will not be our last. So friends, if you have a car and can pick us up here in NDG, we’re ready to introduce you to Portugal in TMR.

Galo Portuguese Grill, 1970 Graham, corner Kindersley. Reservations: 514-504-5110.

Home at Mesquìte: our neighbourhood southern BBQ

Barbara Moser

October, 2009

Michael Minorgan (chef Michel), Lauren Reynolds and Gulam T. Rahman Photo: Barbara Moser

I am at home at Mesquìte. It’s half a block away from my home and office, but there’s more to it. I don’t have to shop for groceries, prepare meals, cook, bake, or clean up! And I can enjoy Mesquìte’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner seven days a week.

When I come in, I am always greeted with a “Hi Barbara” from owners Gulam T. Rahman or Michael Minorgan.

And now for the ultimate feeling of home: They’ve named a burger after me in their new menu! It’s called Barbara’s Portobello Mushroom Burger “with roasted red peppers, creamy goat cheese, guacamole and tomatillo mango relish” – all my favourite foods on one plate. The menu, of which I got a sneak preview, coincides with Mesquìte’s 5^th anniversary.

I can’t believe it’s been five years since they opened on the corner of Decarie Blvd and NDG Ave, a block from the Villa Maria Metro and in front of the 24 bus stop. There is not a week that goes by when I’m not at Mesquìte two or three times with family, friends and the Senior Times team. We ST ladies are always celebrating birthdays.

Lunch specials are all served with Chef Michel’s daily soup or tomato juice and coffee or tea. The soups are exquisitely spiced. I’ve never been able to replicate one — although I’ve tried. Sandwiches come on grilled baguette with one side. It’s always hard for me to choose between the home-made russet fries, coleslaw, onion ribbons or mixed garden salad although my favourite is the black beans, which also come as a breakfast side.

Two sandwich favourites among my friends and family are BBQ Brisket and the Smoked Salmon and Goat Cheese, which on the new menu, includes bacon and avocado slices.

The nice thing about Mesquìte is that they’re flexible. as my favorite server Lauren Reynolds can tell you. If you don’t want the bacon, no problem. As a matter of fact, this was the genesis of my namesake: I ordered the meat burger with portobello mushroom and asked Chef Michel to hold the meat and add goat cheese, roasted red pepper and guacamole. Sometimes I even say: hold the bread and onions. For my omelette of spinach, mushroom, and cheese on those leisurely Saturdays and Sundays (brunch is served till 3 pm), it’s like this: egg whites only, hold the toast, add spicy hollandaise (no extra charge for this) and two sides (since I don’t have the meat).

For dinner the choices are endless, even for this pesky pescetarian.

Here are a couple of sensational sounding chioces on the new menu, which by the way, is not pricier than the old one: Appetizers: Corn Meal Flash Fried Baby Calamari with Roasted Tomato Remoulade ($8.95), BBQ Chili Lime Tiger Shrimp (4) with Pico de Gallo ($8,95). Mains: Atlantic Salmon Salad Grilled or Blackened ($17.95) – one of my favourites – and Mahi Mahi Grilled or Blackened ($17.95).

I have yet to try Chef Michel’s Ultimate Country Salad of shaved pickled beets, romaine, baby field greens, cucumber ribbons, shaved fennel, goat cheese, toasted walnuts, sweet corn and fresh tomato vinaigrette ($14.95), but I will. I love the fajitas ($13.95) with a choice of BBQ pulled pork (Irwin’s favourite salad), BBQ brisket, BBQ chicken, vegetarian (my choice) or a combo of two meats served with “pit smoked black beans, sour cream, guacamole and pico de gallo.” For carnivores, Mesquìte’s St. Louis Ribs are so popular there is a rib-eating contest at least once a year, which, I’m not keen on — especially for seniors with heart problems!

If you’re not a big dinner spender, you can choose a BBQ sandwich ($8.95) with one side of pulled pork, turkey or chicken or brisket (unpulled). I’m at Mesquìte right now on a Saturday morning about to order my favourite Florentine Benedict ($9.95) with spicy hollandaise, a side of beans and an extra of tomatoes.

Speaking of tomatoes, Michael and T. have recently decorated the place in rich red tones to go with the original rich red wood bar, tables and chairs. Unfortunately it’s a bit cold to enjoy the terrace.

Oops, I almost forgot the desserts. How could I? The bread pudding and the frozen key lime pie are to die for!

Mesquìte has a full bar, featuring daily cocktail specials, and two big-screen TVs. Happy 5th anniversary to my friends at Mesquìte! Thanks for bringing Southern BBQ to NDG and making me feel right at home.

Prices start at $6.95 for the half sandwich of the day with one side, soup, and coffee.

Reservations: 514-487-5066.

A Moroccan Odyssey Part II: The children of Morroco

Barbara Moser

October, 2009

click here to view a slideshow of images from A Moroccan Odyssey

The children of Morocco are endearing, enchanting, sad, and in many cases very poor. A number of young children work alongside their parents in shops and restaurants. Countless others are sent out to the streets to hawk small packages of tissues, flags, and snacks. Then there are the beggars – some quite professional.

According to Human Rights Watch (2005), Morocco has one of the highest child labor rates in the Middle East and North Africa. Government stats suggest that 600,000 children ages 7 to 14 are engaged in some kind of economic activity. Of those, 372,000 are under age 12. The numbers of children engaged in rural work is higher, but we noticed a fair number of children in every city, with the exception of Chefchaouen, where children are forced to beg or sell tissues.

These photos are not of child beggars. I didn’t want the children to think I was taking pictures of them in that situation. These photos reflect children of all ages and levels of income and at all levels of happiness.

The three boys posing for us in Chefchaouen reflect the large number of teens who seem to have absolutely nothing to do but sit around and watch people go by. Occasionally they will ask to be your guide for a few dirham and will lead you to shops and restaurants who will give them a small commission for taking you there.

The photo of the young girl and her grandfather in the “cave shop” is indicative of the close relationship between grandparents and grand- children we noticed. The boy in the photo with me at his father’s jewellery shop in Essaouira knows how to create the jewellery as well and will likely take over his father’s shop. So will the boy in the tiny textile shop in the souk in Rabat. These children don’t look unhappy. It was May when these pictures were taken and these children were not in school.

In Tangiers we ate quite a few meals outside overlooking the port at family style restaurants where a chicken or fish dinner can be had for $3 or $4. Two sisters, about 7 and 10 wearing hijabs patrolled the area selling tissues. I invited them to eat with us, telling the waiter to bring them each a chicken dinner with fries and a coke. They sat down beside us without a word. The waiter then asked them to skedaddle, and sit at the far end of the restaurant. I protested and insisted they stay with us. They split one of the meals and took the second one home, probably for their parents.

A tourist couple in Casablanca, offered a young mother and grandmother with a toddler their left over food after we offered ours. I would make sandwiches for children on the street from my leftovers or sometimes just offer fries off my plate. The ones who took the bread from the basket — you knew they were hungry. It’s strange to be sitting there eating outside and have them watching you. After all these are not cats waiting for the fishbones, these are children and young adults.

A boy in Chefchaouen was the glad recipient of an ice cream cone. He approached me and just stared at me as I was ordering mine. Another boy wanted a sandwich and got one.

In Casablanca we bought a flag from a boy selling them at our café for 10 dirham ($1). Another man sipping coffee next to us had a similar idea and just gave the kid $1. Whenever we gave, it seemed to encourage others to do so.

Then there are the lucky children, who seem very attached to their parents, walking along happily, or strapped to the backs of their moms, the children helping with the shopping or at the water fountain. Many others walk alone down the narrow streets as if they owned the place, with no adult in sight, some as young as three.

The saddest scenes, and of these scenes I have no pictures, are the children born with deformities or whose parents couldn’t afford simple medical treatment that would have given them a “normal” existence. They sit on the street, often with parents, begging. One girl sat outside her house on the street all day with her hand out. She must have been about 14 or 15. What a sad look she had, with nothing to read, nothing to do all day but beg. I gave her money twice, which she barely acknowledged. In the hour I watched her, no one gave her even 10 cents.

What angers and frustrates me is that this country’s king has palaces in every city. When he is about to arrive, that place is instantly cleaned up and made to look like nobody lives or suffers there. I guess he never sees the deformed children, the street children, and child beggars. But he must know of them. He must know the statistics. The truth is — he just doesn’t care.

The “goddess” who took us to “heaven”

Click here to view a slideshow of The “goddess” who took us to “heaven”

Barbara Moser

Originally published: February 2006

Corfu was to be our stopover on the way to Albania from Brindisi, Italy. We planned to spend one night there before taking on Albania, a country no one recommended. All that changed when we debarked in Corfu and were greeted by Aphrodite, a buxom, loud, talkative business woman who spoke non-stop English and looked nothing like the Greek goddess.

Aphrodite was at the port to pick up tourists and talk them into staying in Pelekas at her pension. She promised us paradise in Pelekas, a village that she boasted was literally heaven on earth, or at least in Corfu. It had beaches, shopping, wonderful restaurants, and views surpassing any on the island, (by the time we arrived I wondered if we would be greeted by any other Greek gods) and it was only 45 minutes away by car. Of course, there were four or five buses daily to Corfu Town and many buses to the three beaches, all very near Pelekas. Always ready for adventure, we agreed to take a chance, but didn’t count on Aphrodite’s continuous babble about the virtues of Pelekas during our drive there. Why, we worried, did she have to convince us? Weren’t we already prisoners in her car?

We were exhausted and hot and ready for anything when she finally parked in the middle of the village, which looked lovely indeed. We had warned her about my knee — that I could not, under any circumstances, climb up any winding narrow alleys (her English was flawless so she did understand me). She responded that we would be thrilled with the room for only $30.

We got out of the car and started climbing. I asked Irwin if he thought she had understood. He shrugged. He pulled me up rocky, winding, twisting alleyways, higher and higher, till I protested. “How will I ever get down from here,” I whined. “It can’t be much farther,” he responded, not really knowing what else to say. Finally we arrived to see Aphrodite’s little room, not yet cleaned up from the last residents, and she proudly showed us the spectacular view. “I’m terribly sorry,” I said “But I cannot stay here. It will be almost impossible for me to walk down this hill to the village. And how will I get back at night?” She looked glum but accepted the $10 we offered her for the ride.

Gingerly, I edged my way down the hill to the centre of town with Irwin carrying the bags in front of me to brace any potential slips or falls. I immediately noticed a white-washed pension of sorts in the middle of the village and we decided to leave the bags there on the terrace while we searched for a room. I asked the owner for a room there against all hope. It seemed like too perfect a place to have a room available in the middle of July. Irwin trudged on to check out other rooms on the little expanse of street that was obviously Main Street Pelekas. At this point we were willing to pay anything to get a shower and a rest as long as my knee could handle it. The village did seem incredibly picturesque and compact.

The owner of this too-good-to-be-true pension did have a room on the main floor for us and after he cleaned up after the last customers, we immediately paid him $60 for two nights ($30 per night for a double with air-conditioning and terrace overlooking what seemed like the entire island), and relaxed! “Aphrodite has brought us to paradise,” I told Irwin. Too bad she had to go back to the port to look for a more able-bodied customer for her little nest on the cliff. We never did understand why she thought I could manage the steep trek up and down the hill.

We discovered a wonderful restaurant right next to our pension and ate all our meals there. I still remember the fresh taste of the taramasalata and tsatziki. I’ve eaten Greek food hundreds of times, but this was like nothing I had tasted. The tomatoes and cukes were so fresh and plentiful, the calamar so… well… fresh… and crisp. Were we in paradise after all?

The next day we took the bus to Corfu Town to spend the day walking around the Old Town, parts of which were too touristy for our liking. We discovered the rather dilapidated Jewish Quarter and the synagogue and had a young man who had the keys show us around briefly. It was a beautiful little synagogue, very old and quite ornate. We read the names of Holocaust victims on a plaque. We continued our walk through the Old Town, found the port and ordered our tickets for the two hour ferry trip to Albania the next afternoon for a hefty $60 each including some extra taxes and charges. Corfu Town is bustling with tourists and townspeople. The food was overpriced and underwhelming so we held off for Pelekas.

Then we happily returned to our little piece of heaven, which by the way is just across the island from Corfu Town. I urged Irwin to try out any of the three beaches, all a few kilometers from Pelekas by bus, but he was tired and wanted to lounge around the village with me rather than go it alone until, that is, I discovered the shops! I should explain that by this point on the trip I had decided to avoid beaches if possible given that I couldn’t swim or sit on the sand because of my knee. We walked up to the next level of the village where I promptly found my favorite jewellery store in all of Europe, bought Greek silver necklaces and bracelets for family, and friends, and engaged in an hour long conversation with the owner and his 85 year old mother (long after Irwin left). He told me a little about the history of Pelekas – how his mother had seen the Jews of Corfu Town taken away by the Nazis, how houses had been destroyed and families never seen again. He was planning to marry a Dutch doc tor, a second marriage, but she was debating about what she would do in Pelekas, not knowing a word of Greek.

After our last lunch at our wonderful outdoor restaurant, we said goodbye to our new friends, including the Albanian waitress who was the only one to be pleased we were traveling to Albania, and set off for the tug boat ferry that would take us to Saranda, Albania’s most popular resort town on the shores of the Ionian Sea.

For more information on Pelekas, google Pelekas! You’ll find many accommodations but not the one we stayed at. Alas, I don’t remember its name or the name of the restaurant next door, but you can’t miss them, should you ever wish to venture over to the isle of Corfu, on your way to Albania.

Riga — a little piece of Latvian heaven

Click here to view a slideshow of Riga

Barbara Moser

Originally published: December, 2007

As we walked away from the train station in Riga with map in hand and no reservations, we decided it might be best to stay in the Old Town. But where was it? Crossing the street, we spied a girl walking in the opposite direction and asked her for directions. She graciously agreed to lead us there, saying it was only minutes away. Her English was good for a 17-year-old and she agreed to help us find a hotel.

Alina had just finished purchasing dog food at the outdoor city market and was on her way home to feed her pooch, but she wanted to help us and practice her English. After a few minutes of searching, we checked into the 3-star Forums Hotel, located at one end of the Old Town. It’s a classy, friendly little place with sophisticated rooms complete with cable TV.

Alina, who is Polish, waited for us in the lobby while we washed up. Then the three of us were off to explore the Old Town and have lunch. There is no shortage of eclectic, trippy restos in this city of wonders. We wanted to try John Lemon, listed in our guidebook, a funky ‘60s styled soup and sandwich place with sofas, orange walls, and inexpensive choices including jacket potatoes and homemade soups. It’s on Peldu in the heart of the Old Town. My favorites: cold borscht with cucumber, yogurt, dill, garlic and, of course, beets; and a baked potato rubbed in garlic and stuffed with cottage cheese and chives.

Alina went home after lunch, saying she would meet us the next morning and take us to Jurmula, a beach resort 40 minutes away, by mini-bus. We would spend the day with her strolling on the beach and, as she explained, touring this enchanting place where her family rented a summer home.

You may be wondering why Alina wanted to spend an entire day with us! Perhaps it was an occasion to practice her English. Whatever her reason, the three of us bonded and we looked forward to the next day’s excursion.

After lunch we headed to the Museum of the Occupation of Latvia, an imposing building in the centre of the Old Town. The museum, established in 1993, “shows what happened to Latvians under two occupying totalitarian regimes from 1940 to 1991, remembering the victims of the occupations, those who perished, were persecuted, forcefully deported, or fled the terror of the occupation regimes.” In the dark exhibit hall on two floors, tall, red boards and free standing structures display thousands of artifacts, photos, and historical documents. At one end of the room, you can sit and watch a video on a  small TV screen presenting the history of the Soviet occupation. There is also an audio-visual archive that contains testimonies of those whose lives were influenced by either the Soviet or the Nazi occupation. During the occupations, more than 550,000 Latvians perished, over one third the population.

We decided to see the Museum and Documentation Centre “Jews in Latvia” next. Created in the late ‘80s by a group of survivors of ghettos and concentration camps, the Museum is housed in Riga’s Jewish community building. The historian Margers Veste­rmanis, a former prisoner of the Riga Ghetto and the Kaiserwald concentration camp, headed the group. The collection holds documents, photographs, videotapes and objects testifying to the history of Latvian Jews. There are personal archives of outstan­ding Latvians along the hallways of what was once a school, including Abraham Isaac Kook, the chief Ashkenazi Rabbi in Palestine from 1921; Yeshayahu Leibovitch (1903-1994), Jewish religious thinker; Shimon Dubnov, Jewish historian who perished in the Riga Ghetto; Dr. Noah Maise; Isaiah Berlin, philosopher (1909-1997); and Aron Nimzowitsch (1836-1935), innovative chess player.

The period between 1918-1940, the time of the first Latvian Republic, was the peak of freedom and creativity in the Jewish community. This passage is from the guide to the museum: “What should a Jewish museum be like in a region where everything that was Jewish perished in the Holocaust and where only miraculously preserved tombstones remind us of the past of the Jewish people? Should the Jewish museum in this historical reality be only a collector and trustee of things saved from destruction — relics? Or should it be a memorial of the world that perished forever — in torments and suffering? We choose the last.”

Only 25 km from Riga, Jurmala is best reached by mini-bus, which departs every 15 minutes from the train station and costs about $1. Covered by white sand, the beach stretches over 32 km. There are sections of Jurmala, each with their own beach, but you can walk along the sand from one end to the other if you has have the energy and time.

We stayed around Majori, first touring the main street with its charming shops and outdoor cafés, and then walked to the beach, marveling along the way at the incredible wood mansions, some dating back more than 100 years. What beautiful colors and designs! Some have been converted to hotels, while others are in a dismal state, in need of new owners and investment. Halfway along our beach walk, we stopped at the Baltic Beach Hotel, a Western-like impressive but uninteresting structure, not warranting its high summer rates.

We discovered a sand sculpture exhibit jutting out of the fence surrounding it, between the beach and the boardwalk. We ate in one of the many outdoor cafés. We ordered shrimp, egg and avocado stuffed into the shell of the avocado, and smoked salmon sandwiches. Sitting among locals and tourists from abroad, we felt like we had found a little piece of heaven. We took the train back to Riga for a different kind of adventure, which included viewing the inside of the ancient Jurmala train station.

Back in Riga Once back in Riga, Irwin went off to the internet café while Alina and I took off for the huge shopping mall and my introduction to Latvian fashion, which is European and sophisticated. I bought Alina a little orange purse in a shop across from our hotel and thanked her for the trip to Jurmula and our orientation in Riga. We tearfully said our goodbyes, promising to email.

That evening Irwin and I walked through the Old Town and into the huge Cathedral Square where we searched out ‘Kiploka krogs,’ written up in our guidebook. This cozy den is otherwise known as The Garlic Restaurant, offering up garlic soup, garlic roast chicken, garlic salad, and (although we didn’t try it but wish we had now), garlic ice cream! There is fresh ground garlic to spread on whatever you deem does not have enough! As you leave you will be offered a sprig or two of parsley should you wish to be around anyone else in the next couple of days.

Our favorite restaurant (also a nightclub) that we visited twice is Casablanca. We sat outdoors under the heat lamps. We ordered from the gourmet menu. My favorite was the avocado, shrimp and cucumber soup with a yogurt (leben) base at $7 — exquisite, although the Cold Berry Soup with cream cheese at $5 was equally good. On the first night, we shared it for dessert but, on the second, we each had our own. Irwin enjoyed the lamb and olive tangine, and I found the peas in a bed of mozarella, tomatoes and shitake mushrooms delicious — everything a vegetarian could wish for. On the second night, we both tried the grilled Latvian trout with grilled vegetables ($17 US). Large, spicy and succulent, our fish went well with the outdoor musicians who serenaded us with folksy jazz, long into the night.

We took the city tour of Riga by bus the next day, getting off at two or three spots just to see what the city looked like outside the Old Town. The bus crosses the Daugava River and stops at some interesting neighbourhoods, full of small colorful wooden buildings. But we were happy to get back to our centre, the Old Town and its cobblestone walks with new discoveries at every corner.

With its splendid and lavish turn-of-the-century architecture greeting you at every turn, its universal and delectable cuisine, and its inexpensive accommodations, Riga is the new little Paris. I had expected a provincial little place climbing out from under Soviet occupation. What we saw and experienced was the opposite — a vibrant, exciting and charming city that we will certainly revisit.

To reserve at the Forums Hotel: www.hotelforums.lv

Visiting St. Petersburg in style

Click here to view a slideshow of St. Petersburg

Barbara Moser

We arrived in St. Petersburg just before midnight and took a short cab ride to our hotel on the Fontanka, the left branch of the Neva River that flows through the centre of St. Petersburg.  Our hotel, the Asteria, lay across from a row of turn-of-the-century buildings. We were about a kilometre from the city center on Nevsky Prospekt and, at the end of Nevsky, is the famed Hermitage Museum, daunting for its size and for the difficulties of viewing its holdings.

Next morning, a Sunday, we ventured out toward Nevsky. And within a half a block, we stumbled upon a ballet theatre. We tried to get tickets for the evening performance of Swan Lake, but the theatre was closed. We walked along the Fontanka about half a kilometre and turned right. (We realized later there is a short cut to Nevsky.) After a short walk, we found a ticket kiosk.

Procuring tickets for Swan Lake for the following evening was an adventure. The friendly lady in the kiosk wrote prices on a small square of paper and, with my five words of Russian and our smiling gestures, we finalized the purchase — at $48 a seat in the third row. It turned out the tickets were right behind the conductor, and his body in motion was entirely blocking our view.  Spotting some empty seats along the row, we moved. Why we weren’t sold these seats in the first place, I’ll never know. The ballet was beautiful and what better place to see it than in the ballet capital of the world!

Russia is full of illogical frustrations, but don’t take them to heart. Here’s another: the next morning we decided to see the Hermitage — guideless and guileless. We asked the hotel clerk how to get there on foot and we promptly set off on the long walk. (She didn ’t tell us about the short cut). As we neared the immense Hermitage, it was eerily quiet. After circling the entire group of buildings, we finally found someone who told us the Hermitage was closed on Mondays. Back at the hotel, I asked the same clerk why she had sent us to the Hermitage on a Monday. “You asked for directions,” she said, “not whether it was open.” Ah, the intricacies of the post-Soviet Russian mind.

That day we strolled around Nevsky and took an hour-long bus tour around the city ($25). Irwin bought a beautiful sweater in a huge department store that used to be called GUM. It ’s now a myriad of boutiques, that run on two levels around one square city block, its front  on Nevsky .

It takes time and patience to get used to the immensity of the city. At almost every turn, there is a museum or palace to visit. Unfortunately it was raining and cold that day . We walked by the Church of Spilled Blood and on to the souvenir market, where prices are about 50% higher than in most stores! Although the church had an incredibly breathtaking fa çade, its pricey entrance fee and the name itself didn’t attract us inside.

That evening, as we waited outside our ballet theatre, we met two American women, one of whom lived in Moscow. They were discussing their packed day with their tour guide. She had taken them to the Hermitage! Could she be our answer? One of the young women happily called the guide on her cell phone and, wonder of wonders, the next morning sitting in our lobby waiting for us was Maria Luneva, former professor of Russian History, ready to show us her St. Petersburg. Maria is beautiful, charming, incredibly knowledgeable, efficient, and speaks marvellous English.

We were off to visit the world famous Hermitage Museum. Maria shepherded us through the hordes of waiting tourists to see the highlights of the larger and smaller palaces of Catherine the Great. We viewed a da Vinci, two Raphaels, and a few rooms of Impressionists along the way. Although I paint and love art, there’s only so much I can remember and appreciate, and for some reason, this whirlwind tour of the Hermitage left me exhausted. What I do remember most is Maria telling us that only 10% of Catherine ’s collection is ever shown at one time. This time we saw a room full of cameos. The Hermitage is all about superlatives and I couldn ’t imagine going it alone.

As Maria was securing our entrance tickets to the Hermitage that morning, she introduced us to a young woman who worked in the gift shop. She happened to be one of the corps de ballet in Giselle, being performed that evening at the tiny but splendid Hermitage Theatre. She also happened to be from Quebec City and had moved to St. Petersburg to study ballet. She was fluent in English, and, according to Maria, she spoke beautiful Russian. We decided right then that we would be in the audience that night, even though it would be our second night of ballet in St. Petersburg and the tickets were $100 each. We invited Maria and looked forward to a beautiful evening. The theatre is exquisite, as was the experience of seeing our young and talented Quebecer. We had never seen Giselle and we loved it. The performance was accompanied by the State Symphonic Orchestra of St. Petersburg.

At 228 years old, The Hermitage Theatre is the oldest theatre building in St. Petersburg and seats only 100 people. Its first season opened in 1785, but performances ceased after the death of Catherine II in 1796. Only in 1989 was the theatre restored and opened again.

The next day we were off to the fortress on the island, which was the heart of ancient St. Petersburg. Maria took me to a marvellous indoor souvenir department store, where prices were very low and the service excellent. After driving Irwin to a nearby Internet caf é, Maria sat on the balcony sipping coffee and waited for me to fill my basket.

We lunched the first day with Maria at a pierogi place, sampling various kinds from meat to herring, tuna and cabbage. These were baked in large squares and cut into pieces. I confided in Maria that what I most loved about Cuba, our winter destination, was visiting people in their homes in Havana. I certainly wasn ’t asking but she responded with a surprise invitation to lunch at her gorgeous apartment on our last day in town. Maria and her husband purchased their sumptuous turn-of-the-century penthouse in 1990. It is the same building that Shostakovich lived in and there is a bust of him in the courtyard. The apartment was beautiful and Maria was a wonderful hostess.

On the way, we stopped at a new shop that was offering free liquor to the first 100 or so customers. We walked out with two bottles of local liqueur and made our way to a neighbourhood pastry shop where we picked out goodies for dessert. I may not remember everything I saw at the Hermitage, but I do remember every detail of that visit to Maria ’s apartment.

St. Petersburg was the only city in which we visited ORT this. To remind you, ORT is the worldwide educational organization that we visited in several places last year. It turns out that ORT is right off Nevsky and only a block or two from our hotel. Bringing greetings from Montreal ORT, we were invited to tour the computer school.

I would highly recommend that you book an organized tour of St. Petersburg if you go. Alone, it can be a challenge. Maria Luneva can be reached by email at: mluneva@yandex.ru or call: +7-812-232-9725 (cell) or +7-812-921-2530 (in Russia).

Magical, folksy, charming Tallinn

Click here to view a slideshow of Magical, folksy, charming Tallinn

Barbara Moser

Originally published: October 2007

If ever pictures were worth a thousand words, they’re worth at least 2,000 when it comes to Tallinn.

I introduced this magical place in my last article by telling you where we stayed. The Villa Hortensia is in the Old Town, at one corner of a courtyard of artists, artisans and a Chocolaterie that serves up sumptuous tiny chocolate pastries, pots of tea, café au lait, soups, and sandwiches. The skylight on our “lofty” bedroom ceiling brought us all manner of music from the Chocolaterie, but mainly Jacques Brel. Still, how romantic to wake up and go to sleep to the sounds and smells of the café below.

It rained for most of our four days in Tallinn but this did nothing to dampen our pleasures, which included hours spent reading in the cafés (we found another lovely one across the street from our courtyard), and daily trips to the indoor market near the train station to purchase our lunch. Our tiny loft had a kitchenette, where we ate the local delicacies, the same lunch every day — huge slabs of lox shoved between fresh rolls that we tore open, tomatoes, and sometimes marvellous cottage cheese along with the lox. The entire meal for two came to $6. Each night we sat in our courtyard before going to sleep and marvelled at the famous White Nights. Here we were at 11 pm and the sky was a deep blue. It was hardly dark enough to light the candles on the table.

We stayed within the walls of the Old Town for the greater part of our stay, only venturing out to see the garish shopping centre just outside and the Museum of the Occupations, where everything was translated into English. Housed on two levels, this moving testimony to both the Soviet occupation and Nazi terror was the first of three such museums we visited on this trip. In fact, there was almost too much to take in. It was raining that day too, which matched our spirits after leaving this museum.

As we were sipping coffee outside our courtyard on the second morning, we began to notice small troupes of children, seniors and couples, dressed in festive costumes, walking toward the main square. We followed them and, to our amazement, the entire square was filled with multi-coloured booths selling Estonian crafts. A stage was set up and the first performers of this “World Folkloric Festival” were getting ready to perform. Most of the groups were from the Baltic region. It was especially beautiful to see the variety of people, on both ends of the age spectrum, come together to perform and enjoy the sights of Tallinn — but I’ll let these photos tell the story.

From Tallinn we took a train ride, the first of several, to St. Petersburg, clutching our lunch bag of (you guessed it) our favourite sandwiches from the market. We arrived in St. Petersburg at night for four days of adventure that included the Hermitage, two ballets, and meeting a history professor turned tour guide, who showed us her St. Petersburg. All this and more next month!

Stockholm to Tallinn

click here to view a slideshow of images from Stockholm to Tallinn

Barbara Moser

Originally Published September 2007

This summer’s adventure began in Stockholm, where we spent just two days, eager for more exotic and less expensive cities.

From Stockholm we took a luxurious ferry to Tallinn, Estonia and then, after three enchanting days in the Old Town, moved on by overnight train to St. Petersburg, where we spent four days and enjoyed two ballets!

From St. Petersburg, we traveled by overnight train to Riga, Latvia, a city full of culture and surprises, where we spent three days, including a day trip to Jurmula, an enchanting resort 40 minutes from the capital.

From Riga we took a day train to Vilnius, Lithuania where we spent three days touring the Old Town, especially the Jewish museum of the Vilna Gaon.

From Vilna we took a day train to Bialystock, Poland where, before World War II, 70,000 Jews resided. From Bialystock we traveled by train to Warsaw, this year for rest, recreation and shopping, having toured the Jewish sites last year. From Warsaw we moved on to Budapest, Irwin ’s favorite Eastern European city. After one night in Budapest, we flew to Israel for two weeks to see family and revisit our younger days, especially mine in Haifa, my still-favorite city.

We spent four days in Jerusalem, visiting my aunt and uncle and cousins. It’s been five years since our last visit so it was an emotional time. We visited our Cuban friends in Raanana who have recently made Aliyah (immigrated).

I re-entered the Old City of Jerusalem celebrating a personal anniversary — forty years since I first entered through Damascas Gate in 1967. Cousin Judy took us to the Bethlehem Machsom (checkpoint) and we had a glimpse at the wall that cuts off the Palestinians from Israel.

After Israel, we spent three days in Budapest and finished up in Vienna for the last two days.

As I sort through the hundreds of photos of places and people we met and saw along the way who hosted us and showed us their cities, I look forward to sharing this adventure of a lifetime with you.

Stockholm was beautiful, cold and expensive. Our hostel was right in the middle of the Old Town, perfect for exploring narrow, cobblestone streets full of caf és and boutiques. At $100 US a night for a tiny room, the hostel itself was nothing to write home about. With its clean showers and washrooms shared with many, we had to rent the sheets and make up our cots after landing jet lagged and bewildered. But the manager was extremely friendly and helped us book our overnight ferry to Tallinn, Estonia.

Unfortunately it was rainy and cold in Stockholm, forcing me to buy a sweatshirt and wear it for the next two weeks! This rain followed us to Tallinn and, to a lesser degree, to St. Petersburg and Riga. While they were sweltering in the south of Europe as far up as Budapest, we were shivering in outdoor restaurants, pulling blankets provided by the management around us and sitting as close as possible to the outdoor heaters. We drank lots of tea and ate berry crumble, which is served up warm in almost every caf é in the Old Town.

We were fascinated by the White Nights in Stockholm, Tallinn, St. Petersburg, and Riga. There is daylight till 11 pm in Tallinn! This makes for natural security and romantic late night teas in outdoor cafés.

We took the Hop-On-and-Off Bus around Stockholm, stopping twice in different areas to take pictures of the architecture and sip coffee on picturesque streets. This do-it-yourself tour is  $25 and you can get on and off the red double deckers for 24 hours and explore different parts of the city on foot. The bus tours are available in most of the cities we visited and all cost about the same. Our happiest time on the bus was meeting a couple from California and getting to know them. The people we meet, whether tourists or citizens, always make our trip more memorable and enjoyable.

From Stockholm we took the most luxurious ferry ride we’ve ever experienced to Tallinn overnight. Our romantic and cabin had a double bed and we had to pull ourselves away from its sheer luxury and privacy (after roughing it in the Stockholm hostel) to experience the cuisine of the “coffee shop,” which included thick lox sandwiches and glorious desserts. We won’t dwell on it here except to say this was possibly our most fatte­ning summer adventure ever. The ferry ride, $150 US each, was pricey because the price is for a return trip. Most Stockholmers spend the day in Tallinn and return home the next evening. There is an enormous buffet on board, which the Swedes lined up for in two shifts, at $45 a head. We opted for the less daunting café.

The only snag on this leg of the journey was in finding the port our ferry left from. Our manager ’s assistant mista­kenly told our cab driver to take us to the wrong port. (Stockholm is a huge port city and there are many ports so it ’s easy to confuse them.) We ended up paying our driver triple, but finally, after stopping and asking several times, we reached the terminal, took a number, and waited an hour or so to board. The luxurious ferry made up for the harrowing misadventure of finding it.

To give you a real taste of Tallinn, I’d have to provide you all with the thick slabs of mouthwatering smoked salmon we gorged on at the market during our three day visit.

We stayed at the Villa Hortensia in the Old Town, in a tiny loft with rustic wooden beams and a kitchenette. Villa Hortensia, owned and managed by a Finn, Jan Parn, is located in a courtyard surrounded by artisan shops and a Chocolateria.

Tallinn is enchanting and accessible, and Estonians are happy to be free of Soviet domination. Their language, appearance and behavior seem more Scandinavian than Slavic to this Canadian with her limited knowledge of Scandinavian people and countries.

Since there is much to tell about our visit to Tallinn and many pictures to show, I will continue next issue with the description of Tallinn ’s Old Town and the World Folk Festival we stumbled onto in the main square.