Jujuy region alive with the sounds of silence: Humahuaca, Tilcara, Purmamarca

click here to view images of Humahuaca, Tilcara, Purmamarcas

Barbara Moser and Irwin Block

July 2012

We left Salta, Argentina, to visit three northern villages in Jujuy province just south of the Bolivian border. We were advised by an English teacher we met in Salta to spend one night each in Humahuaca, Tilcara and Purmamarca, and that’s just what we did.

We arrived about 3:30 pm in Humahuaca and began to experience altitude sickness, manifested by increased heartbeat, fatigue, headache and shortness of breath. Other than that, we felt great and walked around till we found a café with a long inner courtyard where we had lunch. We left our bags there and began scouting for a one-night hotel on the silent streets (it was Christmas Eve), and found one right across the street.

It was a lovely little place with a bamboo roof, flowering courtyard and an attached, colourful restaurant. The manager told us she wouldn’t be there the next day and we should let ourselves out the “back door” and leave the key on the outside door of our room. No passports required. $40.

We walked around the town to where the outdoor vendors sell handmade crafts and bought a few pairs of mitts and some hats and scarves, which we would appreciate at home. We found a monumental memorial to the fallen in the War of Independence of the early 19th century. It was up 200 steps and we took lots of pictures from above and below.

We went back to our hotel and had dinner in the quaint little courtyard with thatched roof and bamboo booths. Irwin had lamb stew and I a vegetable quinoa soup and a plentiful, simple salad. Quinoa is the favourite carb here, served in everything from soups to salads to desserts, and which we would enjoy Tilcara in the form of a flan.

Everyone was gearing up for the Christmas Eve mass and, as we were to find out while sleeping, a barrage of firecrackers.

We walked to a nearby church only to see the locals pouring out. One young woman beamingly identified me as a ringer for her mother. In order to find out if this was a compliment, I asked the age of the mother and was relieved to learn she was 56.

The next morning we headed to the bus station to find out when we could leave for Tilcara and there was Cynthia, who suggested pictures with her second mother… and father. We told her about our altitude sickness and she recommended we chew coca leaves, just like the locals. She offered us a baggy and we began to chew.

Irwin reported soon after that his shortness of breath and headache were gone and for the duration of our visit, we chewed them or brewed them in tea. And we felt okay, although giddy at times. These are the leaves that were used in Coca-Cola before coca was declared illegal.

The next morning we saw ourselves out of our little courtyard and took a taxi, for $4, to the next village, 20 minutes away.

In Tilcara, I parked Irwin, woozy again, at a tiny bar with our two small but heavy bags on wheels, while I set off on foot to find a place to stay on Christmas Day. There were few hotels, but they were boarded up.

Finally I found a doorway with the sign “residencia” on the top, and knocked. A polite woman answered and told me in Spanish that she had a room available for the night at $30 with a separate bathroom, two little white doggies, and some little kids too, one named Patricio. All very homey and friendly. My Spanish definitely helped.

Tilcara is gorgeous, a village nestled between rows of treeless, jagged mountains in various shades of yellow ochre, rust, oranges and reds that change minute by minute.

Because it was Christmas Day, this artist’s colony was closed up but the square still had a few vendors selling local weaving such as sweaters and bags.

We found our favourite eatery on the plaza, Payla, a lovely place with bamboo roof but really modern and chose from the varied menu. Irwin had a meat and vegetable soup and I had a salad with quinoa, sprouted corn, goat cheese, small potatoes and tomatoes. The empanadas, offered everywhere, were the best we’d had. One was filled with meat and another with goat cheese and—guess what—quinoa.

We walked to the outskirts of town across the bridge of the muddy riverbed and took photos of the incredible mountains from all angles. The cacti are people-sized and between them artists have sculpted human-like shapes to keep them company.

The next morning we took a bus for a bumpy half-hour ride to Purmamarca, in some ways the best of the three villages.

We looked all around for a place to stay, but prices in the fancy hotels were more than $200 and far from the main square. Then we saw a dirt yard with a few tents and a sign that promised private rooms with bath, so we gingerly went in and took the room at the back for $30 with a comfortable bed and good bathroom. They even had a clothesline outside in the yard, so we caught up on our laundry.

We walked to the centre of town, a gorgeous little plaza surrounded by wooden wagon tables with older ladies selling multi-coloured handicrafts. Soon we were laden with small purses, lots of earrings, little dolls, key chains and a flute.

We had coffee and medialunas (half moons), known to us as croissants, served by Ariel and Ruben, 9 and 11, sons of the owner. Once the customers are served, they run around in the playground in the central square until they are needed again. Almost everyone here is indigenous,
descendants of the Inca who were conquered by the Spanish conquistadors. We were entertained later that night by indigenous musicians who told the story of the conquest and sang the song that Simon and Garfunkel covered, that starts, “I’d rather be a hammer than a nail … yes I would.”

We caught the bus for San Pedro de Atacama in Chile on the outskirts of the village and while we were waiting, we met two Chilean students studying in Buenos Aires who suggested a lovely beach town five hours south of near Antofagasto.

We will continue our South American saga with Chile, in the September issue. Have a good summer and enjoy your travels, wherever they may be.

When half the fun is getting there

July 2012

It’s an adventure more than 20 years in the making as National Geographic rolls out its personal brand of luggage.

Inspired by the voyages of its explorers and photographers, National Geographic partnered with the Canadian company Holiday Group—a widely respected travel-gear innovator. They designed what they call a timeless line that meets the demands of any journey.

The Kontiki series with its retro canvas look conjures images of an Indiana Jones-style adventure. The Appalachian series is more modern-looking but no less exciting.

The photographic series is made of hard-sided cases with National Geographic archival photos, like a polar bear and cubs or a collage interspersed with correspondance from the society’s founders.

There are smaller pieces in the works: backpacks, insulated lunch bags and tablet and ebook reader cases.

For more information: holiday.ca

Travelling with Diego, the Malibu chihuahua: Viva la fiesta

Barbara Moser

June 2012

I know we just had a column, penned by our travel scholar, Mark Medicoff, on travelling with dogs, but he didn’t have the pictures to prove it.

This May, Irwin and I took a wonderful 10-day vacation to L.A. to visit my daughter Amy, her partner, Todd, my sister Sheri and my little niece Cleo. We took Diego, our 4-year-old Min-Pin-Chihuahua along with us.

A few passengers asked us about how we managed to get Diego into the cabin, maybe thinking we had snuck him in. People don’t seem to know a dog can travel under a passenger’s seat, provided the dog is under about 15 pounds. On Air Canada, the one-way cost is $50.

This wasn’t the first trip for Diego. We adopted him in L.A. two years ago and brought him across the border to start his new life in a slightly colder climate. (Would you believe he has grown an extra coat of fur for his new habitat?) This was his second time back in L.A. to visit.

Fellow travelers marveled at how quiet he was. He didn’t move the entire six-hour flight. At 10 pounds, he is slightly fatter than when we first brought him, but he loves to snuggle in his case, be it in an airplane or any other indoor venue.

When we landed, our fellow passenger in the window seat had no idea he had been under the seat the entire time.

We were advised by our vet not to tranquilize him because he is small and there can be side effects. Knowing our Diego to be extremely quiet and just happy to be with us, he didn’t need meds for the trip.

There is a limit to the number of small dogs allowed on a flight, so when you make your reservations, check that you have your dog’s ticket, too. Crossing the border was no problem. We had the ticket and no one asked for his vaccination forms, but we had them just in case.

Here are some pictures of Diego and Geordi (Amy and Todd’s dog) rollicking on Malibu Beach, just to show you that it was all worth it. Diego stayed with Amy and Todd when we were at the Tarzana Inn visiting my sister. But we did find out that the inn allows dogs, as do many L.A. hotels, for a fee. At the Tarzana Inn, it was $10 a day.

As far as going to Europe, we haven’t crossed that bridge yet. It will be our next adventure with Diego.

It’s Salta the earth in Argentina

Barbara Moser

June 2012

We left magnificent Iguazu Falls, straddling the border of Argentina and Brazil, feeling elated: Yes, life is a trip and our world in its natural splendour can be magnificent.

We boarded the bus heading for Salta—in northwestern Argentina just below the Bolivian border and east of Chile—at 9:45 am. But this 25-hour Flecha Bus ride was nothing like the ride-in-luxury we enjoyed from Buenos Aires to Puerto Iguazu: No service. No drinks. A lousy dinner at 10 pm and an automatic flushing toilet in attack mode.

Still, we managed to sleep well, arrived in Salta and, rolling along with our backpacks-on-wheels, found a wonderful the old and charming Hotel Sarta on one corner of the town’s beautiful central square called Julio 9. We found the hotel ourselves, the price was right, and were we proud of our find! Everything was within a five-minute walk, including an artsy coffee shop, the Fine Arts Museum where we saw children’s interpretations of modern masters and three local artists, the Van Gogh Café, where we had lunch, a string of outdoor vendors selling ethnic jewellery and an archeological museum that happened to be closed for the summer. We hardly left the square.

This town of half a million is all about charm. We settled in for a couple of days and got used to the hospitality and slow pace of northern Argentina before setting out for the Inca villages to the north—Humahuaca, Purmamarca and Tilcara.

The first night we saw a concert/ dance/song performance by local youth of all ages. I believe we were the only tourists among the many proud parents. We were very happy in Salta.

The weather was perfect (30C or 86F in the shade), the city clean and pretty, the architecture some of the loveliest we’ve seen, and the people friendly and helpful. The magenta and yellow Igelsia San Franncisco is the town’s most striking landmark.

Our hotel exuded as much old world elegance as one hotel can, but the outdoor pool-bathtub, with little shade, left a little to be desired.

What a beautiful city! We walked down the small streets off the plaza to find a superb Lebanese restaurant featured in our guidebook.

I discovered a hole-in-the-wall coiffure and had my hair coloured (now you know) and trimmed for a mere $30.

It started to pour as I was being converted back to my younger self, and by the time I had to leave to walk back and meet Irwin at the hotel, there were pools of water on the streets. The thunderstorm seemed to come out of nowhere, typical for this season.

(In Buenos Aires we were drenched at least twice a day and only remembered our raincoats the second day.)

After three nights of exploring this lovely town, we headed out on a short bus ride (four hours) to Humahuaca, our first Inca village on the Salta to Bolivia route.

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.

Buenos Aires without reservations

click here to view images of Buenos Aires

Barbara Moser & Irwin Block

April 2012

Our winter vacation was our first adventure in South America. What took us so long? After more than half a lifetime we finally agreed it was time to explore this continent and that our visit would give us the optimal temperatures since it was summer during the holiday period in December and January when we visited Argentina and Chile.

Now we are known for not making reservations but we thought it wise to book the first days in Buenos Aires given that we were novices at travelling in South America. We were wrong. The bed and breakfast we booked on line, in San Telmo, an antique lover’s dream neighbourhood, was more expensive than it was worth ($75) and two flights up, even though we had specified we wanted ground floor.

We loved the area though, especially our favourite restaurant just down the street. El Desnivel is a parilla or steakhouse, a dream for meat and pasta lovers at 855 Defensa. Tourists and locals pack the place, drawn by the open-air grill just inside the doorway. Irwin gorged on a steak about two inches high and four inches in circumference and Barbara ran out of superlatives as she slowly emptied a huge plate of homemade spinach pasta topped with some of the best pesto sauce ever. We had been warned about being vegetarian in Argentina, but the threats were unfounded. Barbara sampled fresh veggies and fruits, quinoa, pizzas, pasta, soups, paninis, cheeses, and salad bars. In other words, don’t let those carnivores scare you. There are even all-you-can-eat by weight vegetarian cafeterias that outdo Canadian counterparts for quality and price.

After three nights in San Telmo, we happened upon the Tango hotel in downtown Buenos Aires where we found an awful lot more for $82—an elevator, flat-screen TV, air conditioning—all a hop, skip, and a jump from several subway stations.

We spent the entire six days in BA boldly boarding one subway train after another, holding on tightly to our knapsacks as we had been instructed and touring many of the famed areas including upscale Recolletta, where the best museums are located, the lovely and more modern areas of Palermo, the traditional Jewish area of Once (pronounced Ohn-say).

That is where the community’s AMIA headquarters, located in a high-rise, was the victim of a terrorist bombing in 1994 that killed 87 people and wounded 100 others. The community’s archives were destroyed and many of Argentina’s 250,000 Jews felt under assault.

It was nearly impossible to visit inside the building, even with an invitation. We visited one of the oldest synagogues there, among about 50 in the city. At night, we booked a tango show at the famed Tarantino Restaurant, and it was truly a treat. We also saw a free tango show at a park in San Telmo.

One afternoon we toured the spectacular Colon Theatre with a group. Unfortunately the theatre was closed for concerts because of the vacation, which equals our summer vacation for school children and universities. It boasts a La Scala style, horseshoe-shaped auditorium with 2,487 seats, standing room for 1,000 and a stage 20-metres wide, 15 metres high and 20 metres deep, with apparently superb acoustics. The Petit Colon coffee shop nearby is a classic, right out of 1930s Paris.

At night, Buenos Aires can become a bit intimidating and we stuck to short outings with only a minimum of walking and taxis.

During our first week, we visited Plaza de Mayo to witness the continuing protest of the Mothers of the Disappeared, which takes place every Thursday at 3:30 pm, rain or shine. They walk around the square carrying pictures of their children, brothers, sisters who were taken from them in the 1970s and early 1980s.

They were swept up in the dirty war, and their “crime” was to be active politically in unions, student groups or political parties. We interviewed one or two of the mothers in the smaller group, which walks in silence. They are asking that the bodies be identified in the mass graves through their own DNA. Another group of mothers is more political, louder, better organized but run by a “grandmother-dictator,” one of the women told us. They denounced the government and some identified themselves as being radical Peronists. They run a booth selling T shirts and other memorabilia. The pain and injustice live on.

Next month: The glories of Iguazu Falls.

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.

Pythagoria: the smartest townon the isle of Samos

click here to view images

Barbara Moser and Irwin Block

December 2011

As we sat on one of our two balconies overlooking the marina in Pythagoria on Samos, we felt happy once again to have found an island town we were beginning to love.

We stayed at Acropol Rooms (only 30 euro a night) on the main boardwalk just five minutes from the port and 200 metres from our swimming beach. Our room and its location were more than we could have asked for. With no reservations, we knew we were lucky to have found a room with a view, air conditioning, a fridge and not one but two balconies.

Who needs air conditioning with this cross breeze, we wondered? One night we were treated to live music from the bar next door wafting up to our balconies.

The woman who owned the pension also ran the outdoor pancake café, from which we could observe boats of all sizes, shapes and purposes leaving and arriving at the marina.

We were three blocks from the main pedestrian street, lined with boutiques, ferry booking offices and a station where we caught the bus that took us to Vathie, the capital, a 45-minute trip to the other side of the island. The bus station was more a group of travelers on the sidewalk than a station.

This is a friendly village. One evening, I had to call another island, Icaria, to book a remote mountain pension. The young woman at the kiosk down the street let me use her cell instead of paying for a card and finding a pay phone. Her offer was indicative of many small but meaningful gestures of good will from the people of Samos.

We discovered another, more remote beach at the end of the main commercial street 500 metres past the archeological site of Samos. It was a bit rocky and wavy for our liking; we preferred the closer beach with its seaside restaurants that set up tables on the shoreline.

The best times to swim are before 10am or after 5 or 6 pm. Otherwise, expect to be broiled and served up on a platter like the assortment of seafood and fish displayed in the restaurants along the boardwalk.

One of our favourite dinners took place the evening we went to our beach for a swim at 6 pm, prepared our dinner table by leaving our bags and towels on the seats, and then at 7 sat down in our wet bathing suits, sampling the specialty of grilled sardines. Yummy! Irwin helped by eating the sardines’ heads. Maybe he thinks they will make him as smart as Pythagarus, who, if you haven’t guessed, is from these parts.

We stretched out our stay to four nights because we felt at home in Pythagoria, having met Sandy and Jocelyne. Sandy is from New Zealand, has lived here more than 23 years and raised two children here. She owns the bar where we stopped for breakfast, which included three large fresh orange juices (one was extra) and our favourite brown baguette-tish toast and filter coffee. Real milk is quite a deal here, so if you don’t ask for it, you get Carnation.

Sandy suggested we dine at Thanasis’ Sister, an ouzeria with authentic Greek music, so off we went the next night to hear lovely ballads by a gentleman playing the bouzouki with guitar accompaniment by the owner of the restaurant. His wife, Jocelyne, also an owner, is an American Greek from Utah and she serves Greek homemade delicacies, including a tomato anchovy salad, freshly fried chick pea balls, grilled red pepper stuffed with spicy feta, tiny and tasty calamari, and some indigenous boiled greens from the island. For dessert, a herbal tea from the island and a chocolate log with walnuts was sumptuous.

We returned the next night to try as many other dishes as we could. It was be our last night in Pythagoria before we set sail for Icaria (yes, our next isle is named after Icarus). Icaria is very near Samos but takes four hours on a slow ferry.

We chose Icaria because, well, we’d never heard of it and when we started reading up on it, we loved the idea. It had been an island of exile for Communists after the civil war that followed the Second World War and still maintains a strong communist presence. We’ll let you know just how strong in our next article.

Till then, happy sailing through the snowfalls!

And after all ... we’ll always have Paros

click here to view images

Barbara Moser

November 2011

Don’t visit Paros! We want to keep it for ourselves.

But if you insist, we’ll give you the lowdown. In July, when we landed there as part of a five-week island hop, we were seduced by the relaxed pace, perfect weather—hot, dry and sunny by day, breezy by night; calm, clear waters in its bays and inlets; excellent food made with local fish, lamb, herbs, fruits; friendly and helpful people; safe and clean.

It’s the kind of place where, floating in a quiet bay on a sun-filled late afternoon, listening to the breeze, you can savour the moment, put your life in perspective, maybe even commit yourself to life-changing decisions. It is in such rare moments that you can pare down your day-to-day existence and look at what you do, or fail to do, and what is essential and meaningful while approaching the “mature” side of life.

Definitely stay at the Paros Hotel. I know what you’re thinking: It sounds so bland. But it was the best accommodation we had on these islands and perhaps off them, too. Our room faced the sea. We could walk 50 metres to a pristine and calm beach. And the owners, Tassos and Jenny, and their children, Vassili, 7, and Pellagina, 5, are the best!

But it wasn’t all that easy. First, we were accosted at the port by room hustlers, one catching us in his net and driving us up a windy dirt road farther and farther from the beach before we could extricate ourselves. Luckily, the sign on a street facing the beach was bold and clear: Paros Hotel.

I walked right in, met Jenny and knew I had found a friend! She offered the only room she had left, not facing the beach, but we were so happy tht after a couple of days we lengthened our stay to six days and she moved us, for the last four, to a beautiful room facing the beach, with balcony, air conditioning and fridge. Just thinking about it makes me want to go back.

Jenny suggested we rent a car for at least one day and drive around the entire island. Although I never rent cars abroad, I was encouraged by her handwritten map and the flexibility of a rental couple just down the road, whom she suggested. They gave us a day and a half for the price of a day: without gas it came to about $60. At 11 the next morning, an old Mercedes was delivered, the only automatic they had left—a luxury car he offered for the economy price.

Jenny marked all the best beaches and fish restaurants on the map and off we went on the one road that leads around the island. There were some tight edges to maneuver going around cliff rims, but we slowed down and honked as we turned.

This main road is two lanes at best and there are decisions to make about which turn to take at numerous points, but it was lots of fun.

We made it round the island, stopping at Aliki to swim in a beautiful bay and then on to visit a picture-perfect mountain village, Levkes, which left us hot and tired and dying to get out of there. This quaint but hot (in temperature) little tourist village, all steps and hills, was very clean but seemed closed down and unhappy. Not for our taste.

Next we stopped at Kolimvythres Beach for lunch at a home-style resto on the beach, sampling their moussaka and appetizers. Then it was back to the winding road with a few wrong turns and finally home to the Paros Hotel and our “family.”

The next morning, we drove up another steep and winding road away from the town, to Marcello Beach, another exquisitely clean, blue part of the bay, where we swam with abandon until it was time to return the Mercedes. There’s something about getting into your air-conditioned car and driving off when you feel like it that makes renting a car worth it, at least for a day or two.

We decided to take a ferry to Naxos, an island 45 minutes from Paros. Naxos seems to have all the Greek Island amenities, an Old City with shops, a kilometre or two of cafés and restaurants basically offering the same thing, and a swimming beach about 500 metres from the town, which was soothing after walking around in the heat, but really not as clean or magical as Paros beaches. So we left after six hours, happy to come “home.”

We met two Vancouverites in Naxos at the beach, retired women who spend three months a year in Naxos, their favourite island. Choosing a favourite island is a bit like choosing an ice cream flavour and for us Paros is the right combination of our favourites, cherry and vanilla.

On our last day in Paros, we took a 30-minute boat ride to Antiparos. Yes, you read right. It’s a smaller island close to Paros, and very quaint, with a lovely winding old city street and good ice cream and coffee. It was beautiful but a little too quiet for us, though close to perfection for another traveler we met.

Back in Paros, we spent lovely days swimming just across the street from the Paros Hotel, having breakfast and coffee and sometimes lunches at Jenny and Tassos’s terraced café in front of their hotel, or dinners at a wonderful fish restaurant a couple of doors down, and spending time wandering around the old town near the port with Pellagina.

At the playground, Pella told a woman in Greek that she did not speak Greek, only English. The woman confided in me that she had said this in Greek. She was playing tourist, I guess. Her mom is an Australian of Greek origin and her dad is from Chicago and also from a Greek family. One afternoon, we visited a café that serves mouth-watering Greek desserts. Pella had chocolate ice cream, chocolate milk and chocolate cake — all within two hours.

Vassili, Pella’s older brother, 7, was less ready to accompany us for an afternoon out. But when we returned, Pella’s stories of her good time made him ask us if we could take him next! The family lives in Athens during the fall and winter months and then moves to Paros for the tourist season, starting in May.

The walk from the Paros Hotel along the sea to the port takes about 20 minutes. When it came time to say goodbye, we took our final pictures of this lovely family who had become good friends and set sail for the island of Kos and the nearby Turkish port at Bodrum.

barbarasmoser@gmail.com

Rethymno’s Byzantine and Venetian past charms visitors

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Irwin Block and Barbara Moser

October 2011

Having been blown away by the charms of Chania, our first stop in Crete, we continued on to Rethymno, an hour west along the north coast. We walked quite a way toward the sea until we found the lodging we were looking for, a pension we found in the Lonely Planet guide, which we purchased in Chania to make life a bit easier as we continued our Greek-island trek.

The guidbook’s recommended budget room turned out to be better than expected, if a bit hard to find. But as we all know, getting there is half the fun. Called L’Atelier, this small apartment hotel is on the edge of the charming port area. It’s just above a pottery shop, and for 45 euros a night we had a bedroom, kitchen and balcony, where we ate all our meals for the two days we spent in this beach town.

Much like Chania, it too is a former Venetian stronghold, later controlled by other foreign powers, including Turkey.

We walked for a few kilometers up and down the boardwalk looking for a good place to swim and on both days we found chairs and umbrellas for 5 euros for two. Unfortunately, unlike the calm of Chania beaches, the strong waves at the Rethymno beaches made swimming more challenging.

We learned that the sun is very strong in these parts and that one should always take precautions. We returned to our apartment with sunburns and, for Barbara, a heat rash. The lesson: Cover every part of your exposed body if you react negatively to prolonged exposure. Even Barbara’s ear was burning—from too much sun. We had fun choosing our meals in the supermarkets and minimarkets that dot the boardwalk. We feasted on taramosalata, tzatziki, tomatoes, cukes, red peppers, avocado, feta and black olives that had the texture of prunes and were not at all as oily or salty as the ones we get in Canada. For about one euro each for the dips, we ate like royalty on our peaceful balcony with a view of the town, avoiding the waiters hustling for business all along the waterfront and the restaurants all serving the same dishes.

The waterfront is dotted with cafés and restaurants, and they hustle big time. The area is delightful, especially at sunset. Walking among these stone structures, we felt transported centuries in time. But we desisted, after one disappointing and expensive meal, from succumbing to the hard sell.

The city’s Venetian-era citadel, the Fortezza, is among the best-preserved castles on Crete. It is a big part of the charming setting, which tempted us to stay on and continue walking around town by day, and reading on our terrace in the evening. This was the general tenor of our short stay in Rethymno, sinking into the quiet delights of perfect weather, great food, starlit nights and great reading, not to speak of the comfort of being with your beloved far from the stresses of our daily routine back home.

We nevertheless decided to push ahead with our non-existent agenda to Iraklion, which took about 1½ hours on a comfortable air-conditioned bus.

Hotels were not as charming here, at least the ones that fit our 50-euro-a-night budget. We chose the Mirabella, which is 15 minutes from the Old Centre of town, for its air-conditioning and balcony, although the room itself was tiny. We had two cots to sleep on and a sink in the room because the bathroom was no bigger than the small shower and adjoining toilet.

After cooling off (it was 32 degrees Celsius), we took a cab to the palace at Knossos and the ruins there, which were excavated and reconstructed according to the vivid imagination and scholarly values of British anthropologist Sir Arthur Evans.

An hour walking among the ruins in extreme heat was sufficient. We complemented the tour with a visit to the archeological museum in the heart of town, where the major artifacts from the Minoan period are stored. We sat in a breezy outdoor café sipping our café freddos, one with ice cream, and trying desperately to get the WiFi working. We had seen the three north-coast cities of Crete and promised to return on a future trip to sample the charms of the south coast and fabled Libyan sea.

The next day we boarded a Catamaran for Paros, which takes only four hours and costs a farmegen (a fortune): 90 euro each. Yikes! But what delights awaited us there …

***

Visiting Knossos is a great way to absorb the ancient Minoan culture. Knossos Palace is the legendary site of Theseus fighting the Minotaur, Ariadne and her ball of string, Daedalus the architect and doomed Icarus of the wax wings.

The culture flourished in Crete during the second and third millennia B.C. Knossos was one of its main cities, and it contained its largest palace after the shattering earthquake that marks the beginning of the New Palace period in Greek archaeology around 1700 BC.

We know little of the Minoan culture, compared to later Greek cultures, because much of their language has been lost. Two written languages are associated with Minoan culture: Linear A, first used during the early Minoan period, and Linear B, which doesn’t appear on tablets until about 1450 B.C. Only Linear B has been translated and it has been identified as a form of Greek.

During the Second Palace period, 1700-1450 BC, the Palace of Minos covered nearly 22,000 square meters and contained storage rooms, living quarters, religious areas, and banquet rooms. The structure itself was built of a complex of dressed masonry and clay-packed rubble, and then half-timbered. Columns were many and varied in the Minoan tradition, and the walls were highly decorated with frescoes.

Evans had a marvelous imagination and a tremendous creative fire, and he used his skills and archeological values of the early 20th century to create what you can see today. It is a revealing experience to wander among the ruins and contemplate yet another great civilization that has vanished.

Cretan magic launches Greek island hop

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Irwin Block

September 2011

First impressions mean a lot, especially when you’re exploring new territory with no reservations, no tips, no guidebook and high expectations.

During our three days in Chania, the delightful historic seaport on the north coast of Crete, this city surpassed our highest expectations and set the standard for the rest of our 30-day Greek-island hop.

As is always the case in July, the weather was perfect: blue skies, hovering at 30C by day, and the sea was cold enough to be refreshing at first dip, but just right to soak off the heat of the day.

We stumbled onto the Venetian-built old port in Chania, too shallow for big vessels, which now dock 10 kilometres to the east. The Turks and Venetians left their architectural mark here, and these buildings give the old city its charm. Narrow streets are lined with shops and restaurants, and the port-area main square is covered with marble and surrounded on three sides by restaurants and shops.

Yes, there are many tourists here, but they add to the festive feeling. There is some hassling of strollers, but it’s nowhere near as extreme as in other Greek islands, or in Turkish coastal cities.

The food is simply wonderful — home-cooked phyllo pastries filled with cheeses, stuffed peppers, spicy feta dip, fresh grilled sardines, and for breakfast, yogurt with honey and chopped almonds.

The Cretans are polite, friendly, and helpful. The two beaches we visited were low-key, the one nearest to Chania is a city beach somewhat more crowded than the gorgeous inlet at Stavros, which we visited about 10 kilometres to the east. There, the water was clear and smooth and the beach faced a mountain. We met some American Greeks who live in Stavros and love it. They were working at Mama’s Place where Anthony Quinn taught Alan Bates how to dance during the filming of Zorba the Greek in 1964. The owners are very proud that Mama herself cooked for the cast.

We took a cab there (22 euro) and a bus back (2 euro).

Lots of Norwegians, Dutch, and a few Americans are among the hundreds of visitors that add sparkle to Chania and its surroundings.

We ate at the same restaurant, Semipamis, three nights in a row. The courtyard is filled to the brim and the Greek musicians serenade from a distance as we sampled the delicacies that make us return to this part of the world again and again.

Earlier, we encountered a couple of volunteers of English origin who are trying to save the giant sea turtles that spawn on the north-coast beaches. If they walk right into the sun chairs, they return to the sea afraid to spawn. The volunteers’ mission is to bury the turtles’ eggs and surround them with a protective fence to save them from being crushed. Their goal is to have the owners remove the chairs at night or stack them up to enable to turtles to breed in safety.

On our seven-hour ferry ride from Piraeus, we met Maria and Nick. She is 29, a recent graduate in environmental sciences and unemployed. She is among the 20 per cent of recent university graduates in Greece who are without work, victims of a government, she said, that had squandered money from wealthier eurozone nations on infrastructure projects that benefit their friends, rather than promoting research and development, so Greece emerges from its dependence on agriculture and tourism. Thirty-year-old Nick, is also fed up. He has a master’s degree in economics but had to pay 8,000 euros for his studies because it was classified as “research.”

Meanwhile, the rich don’t pay taxes. They declare their yachts as fishing boats and seem to get away with it. Members of the Greek parliament are cutting away at public services but have never taken even a symbolic pay cut. Nick’s no anarchist, but he’s angry and frustrated. They live in Petras and want to avoid what so many Greeks had to do during the lean 1950s, emigrate to greener pastures in North America.

Frustration. The same frustration we heard about from Dutch travellers, high-school teachers in revolt against cutbacks from their government. Although Greeks are angry and frustrated, there is no outward sign of crisis and most of the tourists here are Greek.

The Bank of Greece reported in July that tax evasion and the black economy amounts to 30 per cent of the country’s GDP every year while “no efforts” have been made in the last few years to control tax evasion, while social security funds are strained to the point that the state budget cannot meet its commitments when it comes to social spending.

Next issue: Reythimno, Crete

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.

The sweetness of doing nothing but yoga in France

Molly Newborn

November, 2010

Last year was particularly stressful. When I was given the opportunity to spend my summer in Europe, I decided to make the most of it and take part in a relaxing yoga retreat in the south of France.

It was late in June when I got on the train in Orléans. Four hours later, I arrived in Toulouse, where I met with four other women at the airport. Mike was waiting for us with a large van. We drove quietly through the dark countryside of the Ariège region, one of the least populated in France, to arrive at Domaine de la Grausse.

Domaine de la Grausse is a seven-hectare estate in the tiny village of Clermont in southwest France, within the magnificent Pyrénées mountains. During the summer months, Mike and Dagmar open their property to host yoga retreats for those looking for a week or two to relax and rejuvenate. The estate consists of a 17th-century château, three renovated stone barns and a small lake. It is built in a serene valley.

Michelle and Megan are from England. Eva and her daughter Lotta are from Sweden. The five of us ranged in age from 23 to 50 and our backgrounds were just as diverse.

We were greeted by a symphony of frogs, which, to our delight, feasted on the mosquitoes. Mike led us to the Grange, which was converted into charming guest bedrooms. An overwhelming sense of tranquility seeped into my bones. For the first time in more than a year, I laid my head on my pillow without a care in the world.

The next morning we woke up to the most beautiful setting. The grounds were full of butterflies, roses and dragonflies. Mike drove us to the closest town, Le Mas d’Azil, to buy groceries. It is about an eight-kilometre drive from Clermont, and the road cuts through the prehistoric site of la Madeleine, magnificent caves with paintings created between 12,000 and 9,000 BC. The sleepy town had just one square, one small grocery store, a boulangerie, patisserie, post office, three restaurants, a few other little stores and barely a soul in sight.

Molly and Michelle strike poses at La Cascade D’Ars.

To call Clermont sleepy would be an understatement. Domaine de la Grausse was about a 10-minute walk to the centre of town – one store with four shelves of food and a little fridge displaying meats and cheeses, a small restaurant that served us crêpes on our final evening, a couple of old brick buildings and two old men outside, looking as though they had been sitting there for 50 years, waiting for something to happen.

There was no phone, no Internet, no television, no radio and worst of all (or maybe best of all) no full-length mirrors! Aside from a few brown cows and a couple of horses, rarely did we see anyone but each other wandering around the grounds or in nearby towns. The sound of the cowbell in the distance was the soundtrack to our breakfast. There were no men to impress, no emails to check, and no phones to answer. We were completely cut off, and I had finally found what my mind and body were desperately seeking: peace.

Dagmar teaches the yoga classes twice daily. The morning class takes place in a beautiful studio on the third floor of the château overlooking the estate grounds and lake. The evening class takes place in the renovated stone barn, a cool escape from the hot summer days.

The classes weren’t as vigorous as I had anticipated. I had justified gluttonizing on chocolate croissants and smelly French cheeses while in Paris the week before, thinking I would get back in shape doing yoga twice a day for a week.

I was used to the power yoga I had practiced in Los Angeles. This wasn’t quite the same.

The yoga we practiced at Domaine de la Grausse was relaxing and consisted mostly of stretching, breathing and meditation exercises. And that was exactly what I needed. I may not have been in my best bikini shape for the beaches in Marbella, but I was a lot better off for it.

A curious kitten the owners had adopted would occasionally meander around the barn studio during class, as if to make sure we were all holding the poses up to her standards.

Aside from yoga, there are many additional activities the adventurist can take part in during their stay at the Domaine: hiking, mountain biking, fishing, horseback riding, paragliding, and kayaking to name a few. One may also indulge in a variety of holistic treatments, Reiki, facials and massages. One day we went for a leisurely hike in the mountains to La Cascade d’Ars – one of the highest waterfalls in the Pyrénées.

In general, our group was more content with the sweetness of doing nothing rather than paragliding or kayaking through the mountains. The days blended into one another. We spent most afternoons reading or wandering around picking berries.

Despite our diversity, we bonded easily. Every night after our evening yoga class we cooked dinner, sat on the terrace, shared a bottle of wine and talked for hours — until the nightly frog symphony commenced. Those are my fondest memories.

Times and Places: Viennese delights

Molly Newborn

October, 2010

click here to view a slideshow of images from Vienna

Despite the fact that they were three of the hottest days in July, they were three of my most beautiful days in Austria.

I love travelling to experience different cultures, and I graciously welcomed the opulent, affluent, comfortable culture I found in Vienna.

Vienna, aka Wien in German, is the capital city of Austria. With a population of about 1.7 million, it is also Austria’s largest city. I had only three days to discover a city that could take a lifetime to explore.

Vienna is home to three luxurious and prodigious palaces, all only a few miles apart.

I arrived at the Belvedere Palace at 9am ready to roll, only to find out that it opened at 10am. I strolled through the gardens and walked under the sprinklers to cool off. The Belvedere is actually composed of two Baroque Palaces separated by gardens – a sprawling 17th century French-style parterre outfitted with tiered fountains, sculptures and majestic iron gates. Built between 1714 and 1722, it was originally the summer residence of Prince Eugene of Savoy, then the Archduke Franz Ferdinand. It is now a magnificent art museum displaying 19th and early 20th century Austrian paintings. The Belvedere’s crown jewel is Gustav Klimt’s masterpiece “The Kiss,” which has gained somewhat of a celebrity status around Vienna, appearing on everything from key chains and mugs to umbrellas in souvenir shops. “The Kiss” was much larger than I expected, and though it is usually depicted as a rectangle, it is actually a square.

I must have looked quite disoriented in the splendidly grand streets on my way to the next palace – the infamous Hofburg, since friendly locals approached me to offer directions. I walked by the beautiful opera house, and then came across the Albertina art museum at the south end of the Hofburg complex. Situated in the heart of the city, The Hofburg Imperial Palace was home to the Habsburgs, rulers of the Austro-Hungarian Empire until 1918. The oldest segment of the building dates from the 13th century. It is a massive complex with a collection of museums, the Imperial Library, the National Theatre, the famous Winter Riding School, a Butterfly sanctuary, along with old Viennese shops. The offices of the president are also within the Hofburg. I walked through the Burggarten, a small park within the Hofburg and admired the statue of Mozart, Austria’s beloved musician.

The Butterfly sanctuary was an unexpected delight. I walked in to a little world of tropical trees and waterfalls… wondering where all the butterflies were. And just as I was pondering a giant blue butterfly fluttered around me and landed on my toes. All of a sudden like magic they all woke up. Over 150 species fluttering around in dazzling costumes.

Walking through the passageway lined with shops in the Hofburg I came across a store front window that caught my eye. It was Maria Stransky’s Petit Point. www.maria-stransky.at. In the window was intricate needlework jewelry, pictures and purses. This “Petit Point” embroidery method was made popular by Empress Maria Theresa during her reign. My birthday was coming up, so I justified my splurge and bought the most delicate gold necklace with a hand stitched rose. Heldenplatz is the large plaza at the main entrance to the Hofburg. It was eerily recognizable as the scene of Adolf Hitler’s announcement of the Anschluss of Austria to the German Reich in 1938.

Hidden within the sidestreets in the heart of Vienna I found one of the Judenplatz (Jewish Place) museums. Next to the museum is a concrete cube whose walls are marked with casts of library shelves, signifying the Jewish love of learning. The museum, which is in what was once the old Jewish ghetto, displays artifacts of medieval Jewish life along side the remains of a 13th century synagogue.

My last stop of the day was the charming little Uhrenmuseum (Clock museum), also hidden deep within the side streets. The museum displays over 3000 clocks from the 15th century to the present. The old cuckoo clocks were my favorite and the plethora of chimes at the turn of the hour was quite enchanting.

I was so content with my day I returned to my little hostel, which unbeknownst to me was in the red light district, and fell asleep peacefully in the almost intolerable heat while the six other girls in my dorm fought over the direction to point the fan.

I dedicated my entire second day to the Habsburg summer residence – Schönbrunn Palace. This giant yellow schloss (palace) has 1441 rooms, of which only 40 are open to the public. My expectations were quite high, after touring Versailles just a few weeks before. Schönbrunn did not disappoint. I quite enjoyed the splendid display of opulence and glory. I loved the old paintings of Empress Elizabeth, and of Maria Theresa and her six children.

The gardens were pomp as well. I walked across the gardens to the glorious Gloriette for a beautiful view of the city. It was apparently one of Maria Theresa’s favorite spots, though towards the end of her life she grew so obese it took six men to carry her in her palanquin.

By the time I got to the Gloriette I was so hot and tired it would have been nice to have six men carry me down in a palanquin. I felt so at home at this palace I’m convinced that in a past life I was once a member of the Habsburg royal family.

Coincidentally, I was forced to move to a new hostel that evening. It was the Palace Hostel, located atop a hill next to the Palace Hotel.

I spent my third and final day in Vienna, which happened to be my birthday, at the Hofburg browsing through the Imperial Silver Collection, the Sisi Museum (dedicated to Empress Elizabeth whose beauty and mystique captivated the country), and the Imperial Apartments where Elizabeth and Franz Josef lived.

I walked around town in search of Sigmund Freud’s apartment to no avail. Freud left Vienna in 1938 due to the German occupation.

I had to visit one last site to complete my tour of Vienna and satiate my palate. The Hotel Sacher (www.sacher.com) is one of Vienna’s most famous attractions, namely for its legendary Sacher-Torte. Steps from the Hofburg, the Hotel Sacher was elegant, chic, and air-conditioned! The Sacher Café is the pinnacle of Viennese coffee culture. The waitress escorted me to a small table next to the window. I ordered the Sacher-Torte and a tall glass of ice water. The Sacher-Torte is one of Vienna’s defining desserts. Legend has it that it was created by a 16-year old sous-chef, Franz Sacher, who was challenged by Prince von Metternich, a known chocoholic, to prepare a dessert for several special guests. The simple cake was a success. It is composed of two layers of chocolate cake separated by a thin layer of apricot jam and covered with a thick layer of dense chocolate icing. It is served with unsweetened whipped cream. I ate slowly, savoring every bit while enjoying the luxurious Viennese setting. I hope to one day return to Vienna to stay at this hotel.

I returned to the Palace Hostel to have a birthday dinner with my new friends from the hostel. We were all very thankful for the evening thunderstorm.

The hills are alive with the sound of Mozart

Molly Newborn

September, 2010

click here to view a slideshow of images from Salzburg

It was hot. It felt like the hottest and most humid summer days in Montreal. But this was Austria. Thanks to the humidity, my naturally curly hair was starting to do the Diana Ross thing. So there I was with hat, sunglasses and SPF 85 in hand wandering the car-less streets of the Altstadt, the Old City of Salzburg.

Salzburg is located at the northern boundary of the Alps and rests at both sides of the Salzach River. With a population of 150,000, it is one of Europe’s most picturesque Baroque-style cities and best known as the birthplace of one of the world’s most beloved composers, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Many recognize it as the setting for one of the most popular musicals of all time, The Sound of Music.

Salzburg is rich in history and culture. I woke up at 8am and bought a Salzburg card for 25 Euros, which granted me free access for one day to many museums in the city. Despite the heat, I, expert traveler extraordinaire, was ready to explore as many museums as I could.

Many of the sights are located in the Altstadt and are easily accessible by foot. The Alstadt is filled with tourists wandering through the shops and museums. Salzburg may as well be called Mozartville with its endless amount of Mozart paraphernalia – chocolates, hats, statuettes, etc.

I first came across a house with many tourists outside taking pictures. It was Mozart’s Geburtshaus (Mozart’s birthplace). It has been transformed into a small museum with relics from his life including his first tiny violin, the wallet he carried around until he died, and a piece of his hair, which I found somewhat eerie.

My next stop was high on my list: the Spielzeugmuseum — The Toy museum! I marveled through the three-story building filled with teddy bears, dolls, doll-houses and model trains. I imagined whom these toys belonged to decades ago, and wondered whether they were still alive today.

It was noon, and I was already getting tired. I went to the Museum of Modern Art, not for the art (though I hear it is quite good) but for the Monchsberg Elevator. It goes up through solid rock to the museum atop with beautiful city views. I looked to the right and gazed at Salzburg’s beautiful medieval fortress. This acropolis perched high above the city is Salzburg’s most identifiable image.

I then found the Residenz, built in the 1600’s as the home to Wolf-Dietrich the prince archbishop. I imagined young Mozart giving his first few concerts in the great halls as I tootled through. It is now used for official functions, concerts and banquets.

The sun was pounding, but it did not stop me from climbing up to the fortress (actually I took the tram up). The 11th century Fortress Hohensalzburg is one of the largest preserved medieval fortresses in Europe. It’s like a little city up there with restaurants, little shops and museums. I sadly had to skip over the marionette museum as my time was running short. I headed straight for the lavish staterooms, which had stunning panoramic city views. Some of the interesting highlights on my way down were the 17th century kitchen and the room with torture masks – disturbing, but interesting.

I made it to Mozart’s residence 30 minutes before closing. He moved there in 1733. Since this was my last museum of the day I took my time and sat next to a fan in the large hall where his instruments were displayed. I overexerted myself because even though I am a huge fan of Mozart, by that time I was more interested in the fan in the corner.

Across from Mozart’s residence is the Mirabell Gardens. I sat on a bench under a tree and watched couples walk hand in hand through the romantic Baroque city garden.

I was absolutely exhausted by 5pm, the weather was now making my hair do the rat’s nest thing and I was completely out of shampoo and conditioner. It was Saturday. America has 24hr convenience stores, but most of Salzburg shuts down on Saturday night. I walked into a hotel to ask a nice man where I might find a store that was open to buy shampoo. He said that stores close early on Saturday and that I would have to wait till Monday… Monday?!?! By then my hair would be in dreadlocks. I could not let that happen. After much investigation I found the one gas station in Salzburg that was open 24hrs and bought the one cheap dust covered bottle of shampoo on the shelf. They didn’t have conditioner, to my chagrin.

The next day I went on The Sound of Music tour, which took us to many of those famous scenes. The von Trapp house used for the movie was beautiful but we were only able to see it from far away across the lake since it is now used as somewhat of a think tank for Harvard University. The infamous little gazebo (“I am 16, going on 17”) had to be moved to a nearby park because too many tourists trespassed to see it. It was eventually sealed shut after someone once tried to copy Liesl’s dance steps and managed to fall and break a hip.

The tour ended in a little town 35km east of Salzburg called Mondsee. It is a popular summer retreat destination for the locals with its peaceful lake and colorful houses. It is also known to have some of the best apple strudel around. The magnificent Basilica St. Michael’s in Mondsee was the setting for the marriage of Maria and the Captain von Trapp.

Flowerboxes are all the rage in Salzburg. As we drove back to Salzburg I couldn’t help but notice the many Swiss Chalet houses with hundreds of colorful flowers pouring out every window, each house trying to outdo the next.

Later that day I took a city bus 16km north of the city to Untersberg, a mountain in the Apls between Austria and Germany. For 20 Euros a cable car brought me up almost 2000m to the peak. I found a serene lonely bench at the peak, overlooking the Alps. I sat there and contemplated the meaning of my life while eating the apple strudel I bought in Mondsee.

I spent the next morning writing postcards in St. Sebastian’s cemetery – a peaceful oasis in the middle of the Old City. This 17th century cemetery was recreated for the escape scene in The Sound of Music and is the eternal resting place of many famous people including some of the members of the Mozart family.

Trains were leaving hourly from Salzburg to Vienna – my next stop. I was hoping I’d find conditioner there.

Costa Rica is truly the happiest place on Earth

Mark Medicoff

March, 2010

My wife, Marion, and I visited Costa Rica in December with Caravan Ecotour. Costa Ricans, or Ticos, as they are known in country, are a happy lot.

The World Database of Happiness lists Costa Rica way at the top of the happy scale with an 8.5: higher even than “cradle-to-grave” Denmark, which rates at 8.3 and way above the United States with 7.3.

Their outlook easily rubs off on the mood of the traveler. Ticos are a genuine, engaging people who have a sense of humour and deeply care that outsiders enjoy their natural world. But we didn’t know any of this when we arrived several hours late after a stopover in Miami.

To our relief, a Caravan tour bus was waiting for us at the San Jose airport and brought us to the group’s rendezvous point at the five-star Barceló San Jose Palacio Hotel. Because of the late hour, we were treated to room service. A very nice touch when you’re feeling moody and tired.

Rainforest adventurers in Costa Rica might discover hanging bridges on their trek, and will be awarded with Poas, an active volcano

This Caravan approach predicting the needs of the traveler made for a positive beginning and was sustained throughout the trip. At the end of the tour, while still in the countryside on the bus, Caravan made phone calls to each traveler’s airlines to confirm departure reservations. Their concern made for grouch-free traveling.

When other Caravan tours happened to intersect with ours, I didn’t hesitate to ask how they were being treated.

Their responses were always upbeat.

Given Costa Rican roads, getting around was part of the adventure. The Mercedes Benz (with bathroom and air-conditioning) tour bus and expert driver made all the difference, and not infrequently our driver received our heartfelt applause.

The Costa Rican landscape was breathtaking. We were treated to a canopy view of a huge umbrella-shaped tree saturated with two-foot-long iguanas peacefully enjoying the noonday sun.

We took a leisurely walk to Poas, an active volcano and another day experienced a rainforest-canopy gondola tour, where we observed families of colourful Toucans and other flying species at eye level.

On the ground, our knowledgeable guides explained the forest’s unique plant life, including a tree that actually walks, albeit rather slowly.

Out of Tortuguero Town, a small village a stone’s throw from the Nicaraguan border, we spent a day on outboard motor boats (bring your rain gear) along narrow river ways.

Our group became acquainted with Howler monkeys carrying their offspring from branch to branch. Along the shore, we saw caimans, small alligator-like creatures, as well as snowy egrets, flamingos, a sloth and other blasé dwellers of the rainforest.

It’s amusing to witness how living creatures in their natural habitat turn adults into gleeful little kids.

Along the beach in Tortuguero, a guide found a hole in the sand where a struggling baby sea turtle was beginning his tumultuous journey. With a powerful resolve, that little sea turtle scampered to the open sea – flanked on both sides by a horde of camera-toting, cheering adults who afforded the little tyke a most proper sendoff.

Throughout the tour, the accommodations and three meals a day organized by Caravan were outstanding. Never was a complaint heard.

Internet access and WiFi connectivity was available at all the accommodations. Caravan provided those little extras that make for a satisfied group. Near the end of the tour, we were pampered with an overnight stay at the luxurious, all-inclusive Hilton Doubletree Resort in Puntarenas.

We brought home a rare keepsake: a deeper compassion for the natural world. From this 10-day interlude, we have become more determined to protect our own natural wonders.

The Caravan tour was a fine way to enjoy an out-of-the-way nature tour with the least amount of stress and fuss. And if having teenagers on a tour is nerve-racking for you, skip Christmas and other school holiday periods. Cost for the 10-day tour with bus, guides, three meals a day, and five-star accommodations was $995 U.S. per person. www.caravan.com

This is about you This new Senior Times travel column is geared for people over 55 who select a destination because it expresses their lives … places with a touch of uncertainty, a whole lot of novelty, and where they may even be needed to lend a voluntary hand.

This column will investigate destinations where the over-55 set can spend a few warm months away from the bone-chilling cold of a Montreal winter on a limited budget.

Your involvement drives a travel column like this one. It’s really about you and your experiences. mark@theseniortimes.com

Athens: It's all Greek and there are job offers if you can dance

click here to view a slideshow of images from Athens

Molly Newborn

March, 2010

My arrival in Athens was not the majestic Greek experience I had anticipated. It was confusing. For one thing, everything is in Greek, no pun intended. The airport is outside the city and the train into town chugs through poor neighborhoods with a multitude of run-down buildings.

I had booked a small hotel that was less than ordinary. I wasn’t familiar with the districts of Athens and I had unknowingly reserved in a scummy area. I was so shaken up by the walk from the train station that I hid in my room for the rest of the evening searching for a lone English TV show in a sea of Greek on a tiny set that must have been 25 years old. I was in despair. What had I done?! Why was I here? Then I remembered: I was meeting my group in a couple of days and embarking on a cruise of the Greek Islands.

I had just come from Norway, with the most peaceful and soft-spoken people. I was jolted upon my arrival in Greece. The Greeks don’t talk – they yell. It took a bit of time for me to get used to being continually yelled at but I came to enjoy it.

Athens is named after the Greek goddess Athena, daughter of Zeus. She is the goddess of civilization, wisdom, strength, strategy, craft, justice and skill. She is the incarnation of wisdom, reason and purity. Athens is built around a number of hills on the central plain of Attica along the Aegean Sea. This glorious ancient city has been inhabited for at least 7,000 years. With a population of about 750,000, Athens boasts many ancient Roman, Byzantine and Ottoman monuments.

The next morning, I gathered my courage and ventured outside. A 20-minute walk led me to the centre of town, where I found a bustling cosmopolitan city with no shortage of olives or feta cheese. My impressions went from scummy to yummy. Athens cleaned up for the 2004 summer Olympics and the contrast between the outskirts of the city and the centre was clearly noticeable. I walked to the Plaka, which is the oldest section of Athens and closed to cars. The maze of beautiful narrow white cobblestone streets was filled with souvenir shops selling white dresses, olive soaps and jewelry and restaurants with endless tables lined the streets.

I suddenly saw the Acropolis! It rises above the city and is visible from everywhere in Athens.

The word “Acropolis” means “upper city.” Acropolises were built in several ancient cities. The acropolis of Athens, built more than 2,000 years ago by the world’s most advanced civilization is the enduring symbol of ancient Greece. It is the city’s crown jewel, on a flat-topped rock 150 metres above sea level and holds its most sacred buildings.

Athena’s temple, the Parthenon is the most prominent building in Athens. It was constructed between 447BC and 432BC. Throughout the centuries, it was used as a treasury, a Christian church and as a mosque after the Ottoman Turk conquest. Other notable buildings of the Acropolis are the monumental entrance – the Propylaia, the temple Erechtheion at the north end, and the Temple of Athena Nike. Just below the Acropolis is the theatre of Herod Atticus, built by the Romans in 161 A.D. Concerts, ballets and other performances are held there.

After my scorching hot exploration of the Acropolis, I made my way back along the narrow streets looking for the perfect place to sit, relax, eat a Greek salad, reflect and watch the Greeks go by.

Many of the cafés and restaurants had guys trying to lure me in, but I found a quiet place where I wasn’t hassled. As soon as my salad had arrived, so did a boy of about 7 or 8 years with an accordion. He couldn’t play. He went from table to table trying to make a buck while tourists gave him money because he was cute.

I spent the late afternoon walking around the National Garden. It is a 15.5-hectare garden directly behind the Greek parliament building. It houses a duck pond, a small zoo, a café, a small library, a playground, ancient ruins and several young couples making out on benches.

I spent my second day exploring Greek Jewish history. I found a small Jewish museum not far from the Acropolis. The welcoming, multi-level museum is filled with old Jewish artifacts, many of which depict life before the Second World War. I bought a map with directions to the synagogue, but got caught in the maze of narrow streets. What should have taken 20 minutes to walk took me about two hours. All the street signs were in Greek, of course, and when I stopped the locals to ask for directions, I only got more confused. I turned down a quiet street and saw a group of people walking out of the synagogue. I had forgotten it was Yom Kippur and they had just finished their services. Was it a coincidence that I spent the whole day looking for my Jewish roots on the holiest day of the year?

That night, I met up with my tour group. We took a short evening tour of Athens, hiking up a small hill to see the alluring Acropolis lit at night, then to the monumental Arch of Hadrian, which separates the ancient city from the new Athens, and then the towering Temple of Olympian Zeus, which once had 104 Corinthian columns (15 remain standing today).

We had our welcome dinner at a traditional restaurant with live Greek music and dancers in traditional costumes. We were having such a grand time with the music, food and performances – not to mention the unlimited wine being served to us – that by the time the owner of the restaurant, a very large Greek man, dragged me and another girl up to the stage to dance in front of the packed restaurant, I wasn’t so embarrassed.

Every time I tried to sneak back to my table, he dragged me back to the stage. We didn’t know any Greek dances, but he showed us some moves.

At the end of the night, he offered me a job as a Greek dancer.

My tour group was leaving to Mykonos first thing the next morning. Otherwise, I would have accepted the position.