Fischbanke Bar and Restaurant in Bolzano, Italy

Dear Reader,

Please forgive me for not writing this past holiday weekend. I've been working on practical tips for my upcoming visit to Italy, Greece, Croatia and Turkey. Reviewing some of the wonderful places we saw last year in Italy reminded me of one of the best places I've ever been, the Fischbanke Bar and Restaurant in Bolzano, Italy. Not that Bolzano itself isn't a great city because it is. The location at the foot of the Italian Alps, the Dolomites, and the bustling market place alone make it worthy of a visit.

Last May John and I went to Bolzano, also called Bozen, for the first time. We only had one night to squeeze it into our itinerary but I was determined to go there just to see the famous 5300 year old mummy known as "Ortzi the Iceman". Bolzano has built a spectacular museum to house the great find where you can see all of the personal implements found on or near the mummy as well as the actual mummy through a window. Poor Ortzi was killed by an arrow and bled to death high up in the Dolomites all alone. He is the oldest existing mummy in the world and the only one found to date with organs even partially intact. Scientists have learned a great deal by running DNA tests on the organs. He's a breathtaking sight and I highly recommend seeing him to anyone anywhere of all ages and interests.

While we were in the museum we observed a school teacher on a field trip with her young students aged approximately 8-10 years old. They were enraptured by her demonstration of Ortzi's tools and clothing (replicas, of course) and raised their hands to answer her questions. Several other adults joined in to enjoy her class. I could only wish that I had been able to go on a fieldtrip like that one when I was a kid.

Bolzano has many other beauties as well as historical sights. There are three castles in the close vicinity, two of them within the old city itself. One castle has vineyards growing all around it and is right on the river. What's more to like than that? The other, Runklestein Castle, is a perfectly preserved medieval castle which you can visit. The rooms and the furnishings are original and the walls are frescoed in colorful scenes of knights and religious themes, the most famous of which is the story of Tristan and Isolde.

There are also three cablecars from the city center which take you high up into the Dolomites where there are many quaint and very lovely small villages. We chose to stay in Soprabolzano, also known as Oberbozen, because it is directly at the top of the Ritten or Renon funicular or cableway. (It can be a bit confusing because everyone speaks German as well as Italian and all of the signs are in both languages.) The views of Bolzano and the steep slopes covered in vineyards with the snow covered mountains looming all around was the most spectacular scenery I have ever seen anywhere.

There is a little train which runs through Soprabolzano and stops at several of the other small villages. This train, built in 1903,  used to go straight up the mountain before the cableways were built. It was called the "Cog Train" because it was pulled by ropes on cogs. Now it simply runs on the plateau between villages. The hiking from town to town is supposedly very beautiful and I can imagine so. There are also three different locations where an ecological event called "Earth Pillars" may be seen. These are strange looking dirt cones which resemble stalagmites (or is it stalagtites?) and have hardened from the rain preventing them from sliding down the mountainside. It's an easy hike to see the ones near Collabo, also called Klopenstein.

We didn't have time to ride the train or take hikes or see any castles last year which is why we are returning next month for three nights. But we did have time after seeing Ortzi for our usual post touring relaxation, happy hour. I had noticed a very appealing bar out on the street earlier that day with red Chinese lanterns and giant umbrellas protecting it from the sun. There are two things I always notice wherever I am, gasoline prices and an appealing bar or pub. So I led John directly there and we grabbed a couple of rickety wooden stools and sat down at a marble table and waited.

The bar is right in the middle of the outside seating area and consists of a giant slab of marble. There were loads of bottles of various alcholic beverages as well as mineral waters and beer sitting there. There were two other giant slabs of marble under the umbrellas and they were very curious looking. While we waited I began to wonder if we had happened upon a private party because it appeared that you could just help yourself to a drink.

There was a man with long gray hair, blue jeans and a denim shirt, and wire framed glasses who appeared to be crazy. We watched him with fascination while he harrangued the customers, shouting at them and slapping some of them. One man, who looked as if he were just being polite by laughing, was being slapped repeatedly with a postcard the gray haired man was holding. I couldn't help but wonder why the owners don't make the crazy move on to another bar. Then he noticed us. I thought "Here we go again. This guy is going to ask us for money and we'll have to be embarrased by asking him to go away." Boy, was I wrong.

The gray haired man walked up to us and spoke in perfect English: "Hello my friends, my name is Cobo, what can get you?" We were a bit shocked and didn't know what to say at first and then I pointed at some very festive looking orange drinks in large goblets with ice that everyone seemed to have and asked him what those drinks are. He immediately said, "Oh, you'll love them. I'll bring you some right away." I looked at John because I thought he wanted a beer but I was looking forward to an ice cold drink because we had worked up a bit of a sweat that day. Cobo returned almost immediately with our drinks and after one sip I was in love! It seemed to be the most wonderfully refreshing drink I'd ever had and I sucked it down quickly. John did too.

A few minutes later Cobo returned and we ordered another round. I asked him what the name of the drink is. He said some bars call it a "Spritz" but he calls them a Veneziana. I was intrigued and asked what they consist of and he brought over the bottle of orange liquid called Aperol, a liqueur which tastes a bit like grapefruit. He had mixed it with the local champagne called sparkling wine. Absolutely delicious.

For the next several hours we tried numerous Venezianas as well as another red concoction of which I can't remember the name. Cobo, who's real name is Rino Vullo, came over frequently to chat and ask about us and to talk about himself as well. He's a fascinating person and apparently a local celebrity author and cartoonist. The postcards he was holding were designed by him. When we told him we are from California, he said he had toured all over California back in the 1970s as well as Mexico. He reminisced about those crazy days during the hippie revolution. While we were talking a big gust of wind caused one of his giant umbrellas flew right out of its holder turned sideways and stuck onto the wall of the building. John and I just stared at it stunned. We had never seen anything like that before. Cobo jumped up and down and said "Did you see that? That's crazy. I should have bet the lotto this week. That won't happen again in a million years!" He was right too.

Soon after another gust of wind blew another umbrella straight into the air but it landed back in its holder. John help Cobo get the umbrella off the wall which required a ladder and I closed up the other one. Chinese laterns were beginning to blow all over the place too so down they came. By this time I noticed that the bar was completely packed. We were lucky to have such a good table. People were sitting at the marble bars, which Cobo had explained were fish banks, or counters where they used to clean fish during medieval times. We were sitting right in the middle of the old fish market, hence the name.

There were so many interesting and lively people at the Fischbanke Bar and Restaurant that we could have spent all night. We talked to a gal in her thirties, I'd guess, who said she lives right around the corner and comes every day after work. She told me most of the people there come every day after work. This was very appealing to me and I could only wish we had a place like that in Sacramento within walking distance of our house. I also struck up a conversation with a French couple on a bike ride around the Dolomites. They had just happened upon Cobo's like we did.

During our visit, Cobo brought over a couple from Oregon and said to us "I have some friends for you." I had to laugh. He tries very hard to be accomodating and a good host. He succeded quite well. We chatted with the people from Oregon for a few minutes and then they returned to their table. John and I just had to wink because we don't need to meet other people from home, that's why we travel. But Cobo meant well. Later when he came by I asked to take his picture so he grabbed John but John is too tall, especially sitting on a tall stool. He made Cobo look like a midget. So Cobo climbed up on top of another rickety wooden stool and stood for the photo. He and a sitting John are head to head and it's a great picture. I was so worried he would fall off but he made it down safely.

He also brought us some absolutely delicious bruschetta which he makes himself and which is apparently a house specialty. There were other appetizers we saw people eating but we didn't want to spoil our dinner. Little did we know, we almost did spoil it by staying too late. When John and I finally decided to tear ourselves away and go find dinner, Cobo brought the check but insisted we stay for one more Veneziana "on the house". There's a man after my own heart! Who could resist? So we had another round while he gave us dinner advice. We were lucky that he did because, unbeknownst to us, restaurants close early in Bolzano at around 9:00PM and he sent us to the only one nearby that was still serving. It was delicious.

When we were leaving the Fischbanke, Cobo gave us his travel guide of hiking that he had done all over the Dolomites. It's all in Italian but has very nice pictures. He also gave us some of his postcards which I still keep.

I've often thought about that evening at Cobo's and what a good time we both had. We had such a good time that we've already decided we will be spending our happy hours at the Fischbanke Bar and Restaurant. If you make it to Bolzano, feel free to join us. I promise we won't send you away just because you are from home!

"We're Lost"

Dear Reader,

When driving in Europe, especially in a country where you don't understand the language at all, you just have to roll with the punches and laugh off your misfortunes and make the most of it. John and I have been getting lost behind the wheel for over twenty years now and even with the addition of Garmin, our worldwide GPS system, we still do.

Just three years ago we were driving for the first time in Greece, which I must admit was frightening because of the language difference. We had picked up our car in Corinthos on the Peleponnese and were headed to a tiny hill town called Dimitsana. But first, we were in Corinthos to visit the great Roman ruins of the ancient city before getting on our way. The ruins are fairly close and fairly well posted. To my joy and relief most signs are in both Cyrillic and Latin alphabets. We still got a bit lost driving around a small town at the foot of Corinthos but Garmin eventually got us up there and the sight is definitely worth visiting. Raised high on a hill the ancient city was once a port city conquered by Julius Caesar and remade in his Roman image. The forum and the baths are very easy to make out as well as several temples which are partially standing. High above Corinthos stands the ancient acropolis, a giant walled fortress built to protect Corinthos. We didn't have time to go up there but it was something to see even from below.

Our real trouble began when we left Corinthos to drive to Dimitsana. There are two major highways to Dimitsana, one a northern coastal route which is not convenient because you have to cut due south through a mountain range, and the other a southern coastal route which is much faster and easier. Guess which one we took? You guessed right, we took the northern coastal route.

It was really crazy because we headed off from Corinthos in the correct direction according to Garmin as well as the map but what we didn't realize was that we were supposed to turn around and head the opposite way on the highway when we first were merging.

We were racing along in our little car while I was learning to drive like a Greek and John was trying to make out the signs. I learned quickly that you only drive in the left lane when passing and then jump immediately into the right lane. This is typical around Europe so that was nothing new to me but passing when there are only 2 lanes and on-coming traffic was a whole new experience for me. The Greek drivers don't care if there's any on-coming traffic. The car they are passing is expected to pull over to the right as far as possible which means usually driving on the shoulder. This makes it possible for three cars to be passing each other all at once with only two lanes. I thought John would have a heart attack the first time I tried and also the first time I pulled way over to the right to allow another car to pass but when in Greece, you've got to drive like a Greek to survive. I have always enjoyed driving fast so this suited me well, driving with the gas pedal all the way down and passing cars in and out of traffic. I don't think this suits John very well at all as a passenger, especially when he'd say "Your going to kill us".

Finally we saw the coast line and John got worried. He started saying "It's on the wrong side." I asked what he meant by that and he said "The ocean. It's on the wrong side. It should be on our left side, not our right side." I'm thinking, "He's lost his mind finally.". We kept racing along while John, who was furiously ripping the giant Michelin Map apart trying to find out where we were and yelling at me to read the signs to him, announced that we were lost. Darn, and I was making such good time. We agreed that I should exit at the next exit so we could figure out where we were and what to do about it.

This took a long time. There are not very many exits on that particular highway, though there had been quite a few before we started looking. When we finally came to an exit I took it and immediately was on a main suburbian street with a concrete divider in the middle. John said to pull over so I took the first right into a dead-end street, of course. He decided approximately where we were and that we had somehow gotten onto the northern coastal road by accident. He said we only had two choices, either go all the way back to Corinthos and start over again or take the scenic mountain pass due south which was only a few miles back. We both agreed it would take too long to go all the way back to Corinthos so we decided to go back and find the exit for the southern pass. Not even this was an easy task. I couldn't turn left when I exited the dead-end street and had to go right. I drove and drove but there were no left turns possible. So I jumped the divider scraping the undercarriage of our little car. I really get creative when driving in foreign countries and no one seems to mind, except John, but even he was on-board this time.

Amazingly, Garmin took us directly to the exit which was only about 3km back in the direction we had come. At first it was lovely and green and hilly but then we started to climb. We climbed and climbed until we were in nosebleed altitude. The road became very narrow and curvy and there was a sheer drop off on the driver's side down to the most beautiful green valley with a blue lake that I may have ever seen anywhere. There were wildflowers growing on the hillside to my right and down below as well in every color of the rainbow. Broom, a green bush with bright yellow flowers, grows along the roadside like a weed. I was amazed by all of the color and the greenness of the mountains themselves. It got gloomy and gray and we realized we were driving in a cloud. This can't be Greece! It seemed more like the mountains in New Zealand.

I was very tense on the entire drive, which took four hours, because my little car didn't have much power and if I drove too slowly it would die on me, which was terrifying. So I tried to keep up a decent pace. I really wanted to pull over somewhere just to gaze at the sheer beauty and take some photos but there were no turnouts so on we went. On one sharp curve a goat leaped onto the road right in front of me. I nearly had a heart attack but managed to brake in time. It continued across the tiny road and leaped off the side. That was really freeky. Then a whole heard of goats along with the goatheard casually walked across the road, or rather jumped. I'd never seen anything like this before. They all went right over the side as if it weren't a sheer drop. It was really cool and I wish every day that I had my camera ready to take a picture.

Several times after we reached the valley, Garmin took us in the wrong direction. The problem was that every town we were looking for started with a K and the names were all very similar. Sometimes the signs were only in Cyrillic which, of course, looked like a bunch of geometric designs to me, so we had no idea what towns we drove by. We found a restaurant in the middle of nowhere and had some over cooked chicken and asked for directions. The owner looked at us when we first walked in as if we came from the moon. I guess they don't get a lot of Americans through that way. We took her advice and backtracked a bit and got lost again. At which point John and I turned to each other to say one of our phrases "We're Lost". This always makes us laugh and helps to defuse the stress. We've been using this saying for a long time now and it still works.

We ended up in a tiny steep village with parked cars on both sides and lots of people and dogs out walking and we had to stop numerous times to get past them. Finally when I ended up at someone's house I asked in my Greek for the town we were looking for and he gave us good directions which we followed. We finally found it and took our exit for the highway to Dimitsana. This was worth a "Life is Worth Living Again" verse or two so we sang.

The highway was huge, flat and spooky for lack of traffic. I raced along as fast as my little car would go. Then it ended at another small town. We continued to follow the signs for Olympia at this point because that was our direction and ended up on another giant flat highway which looked just like the one we had just left. We thought, humm, maybe they haven't yet finished this one portion through town, or the town insists that everyone go through town so they can sell them things or the police can give them speeding tickets. Anyway, off we went going as fast as possible. We had just spent at least an extra four hours that we had planned to spend in Dimitsana so we were in a hurry. Suddenly the car started to fly, literally, and then we landed with a thud on unpaved highway which was about six inches lower and mixed with gravel. Yikes! That really woke us up if we had been asleep. I continued to drive to the next round-about and then pulled over while we both scratched our heads wondering what the hell was that? We're lost just didn't seem to get it at this point. We were both mad. We checked out the car and it seemed fine so we decided to get off this crazy highway and drive the frontage road instead.

Low and behold, a few miles further down the road there was another on-ramp for the highway and also cars racing along it so we decided to take a chance and drive on it again. It is apparent now, looking back, that we had been driving on an unfinished highway for several miles before we hit the unfinished part. We had had no idea, of course, because it wasn't cordoned off or had any warning signs of any kind.

Finally our exit to Dimitsana came and we were glad to be on a smaller hilly road again until we reached the part where it got so narrow and had such a sheer drop that there were accidents everywhere. All along the road we saw cars smashed toghether, hanging off the side, and one time the car was down at the bottom of the cliff. I was really biting my nails by this point and honking my horn on every curve just to warn on-coming traffic. The problem with the Greek driver is that he drives the same way on the tiny roads as he does on the highways. Every other curve I turned had two cars coming at me side by side even though it was only a two lane road, one that didn't even have a middle line. I'm sure John was having the same thoughts that I was by this time, mainly that we would have been there by now relaxing over happy hour and this terrifying drive long over.

By some miracle we made it. The view of Dimitsana as we turned our first curve into sight was fabulous. I had to pull over and take some pictures. The town is very ancient and mostly dates from the thirteenth century and looks like it's about to fall off the mountain. The mountain is very green and just covered with wildflowers. It was everything I had imagined including the very narrow cobbled streets.

Upon arrival we were told to go to the first bar and call our landlord so he could take us to our B&B. There are no street addresses in Dimitsana. I got no answer on my phone so we asked inside the bar if they knew our landlord and the waiter did. He called the landlord's brother who arrived on foot to greet us. He told us where to go and said he'd meet us there. I offered him a lift but he refused. He walked us to the first right turn and then pointed. The street was very steep and so narrow I had to push the side mirrors in to keep them.

When we got to the B&B there was a sheer drop off on the right side and no room to pull over. Of course, a car came behind me and started honking because I had stopped in the middle of the road. I didn't know what to do so I told John to get out with our bags and go inside and I would drive back around. This he did and I took off assuming that the road was a type of ring road which would go around the cliff and come back to the center of town again. I was wrong, of course.

The road dead-ended and turned to dirt in the direction I thought it should go so I took a chance at the V intersection where this happened and went right over a very sharp ledge and went racing almost straight downhill. When I got to the bottom I saw a family getting out of their car in their driveway and they were staring at me too because I was on another dead-end street. I didn't know what to do but turn around. The problem was no space to turn around. The man approached me and offered to help. I was glad for assistance! He offered to drive me up the hill so I accepted. He really had to reve the little engine to get it to go forward after he had reversed it down a steep ditch to make his U turn. His wife and mother or mother-in-law were watching and yelling at him because he almost backed into a tree and then when he pulled forward he almost hit another house post because of the poor turn ratio of my car. But he made it and had to reve it all the way to the top so we wouldn't slide backwards.

He then told me how to get back to the B&B and where the parking was, which actually was on a ring road on the opposite side of town but not far away at all. By the time I got back to the B&B the landlord's brother was waiting with keys and instructions and a parking permit and more directions. I found the lot first try and his parking space and got out of the little car shaking all over and exhausted. I climbed back up a steep street, only slipping once on the cobblestones and found John already unpacking in our wonderful room with a loft.  I told him I needed a drink now. Packing could wait.

We both walked back down the steep cobbled street to the corner store and bought a refreshing chilled bottle of Greek white wine, took it back to our place and sat on our private patio which was paved with pink stones which matched the house and had a round table and chairs. There were wine glasses in the B&B and we sat there gazing at the mountains looming all around us and the red tile rooftops and we sang "Life is Worth Living Again."

Avrio

You Get Coozies in Queensland, Australia

Dear Reader,

I have been remiss in not mentioning anything about our fabulous trip to Australia in 2007. It was a marvel, a true adventure experience. In fact, it's too much to talk about in just one blog so I will attempt to talk about it a bit at a time.

It was a trip of a lifetime, almost a month in Australia, including a live aboard dive boat out of Cairns onto the Great Barrier Reef. The diving was spectacular. I saw creatures there I have never seen anywhere else before such as the giant clam, several poisonous sea snakes, tons and tons of lion fish, electric eels, just to mention a few. On one dive I was followed around by a reef shark. I've seen plenty of reef sharks in the past but never have been followed by one before. This one was right behind me every time I looked around. That was scary. It was about 6 feet long and really seemed interested in me.

The diving off our live aboard was very advanced. Often we had a huge current and the boat was spinning around so when we jumped off, often we couldn't find anyone else or follow the route we were supposed to take. On one occassion we had to surface because we got lost and then were towed to the dive site by a rope attached to the back of a rubber raft. The waves were so large that I was bouncing around literally spinning like a top. This was a first for me. And we are Master Scuba Divers so all I can say is beware if you are not that experienced, don't go diving in Australia. Not until you have some serious diving under your belt.

I would recommend the live aboard experience though. The ship was really nice. The crew was even better and the food fantastic. Unfortunately, the company, Explorer Ventures, sold their Australia boat so I cannot recommend them to anyone. However, they do have lots of other diving in other parts of the world. Check out my website to see what they offer: www. cruisefantastic.com.

When we first arrived in Queensland, Australia it was unbelieveably hot. It was January, which is summertime in Australia, but I'm telling you I've never been so hot in my life! I live in Sacramento, California which has temperatures well over 100 degrees in the summer but that's nothing compared to Queensland. I've been to many tropical places which have intense humidty such as Honduras and Belize and Venezuela but none of them prepared me for Queensland. I've even been to New Orleans in the summer, which is living hell, with temperatures reaching 100 degrees and 100 percent humidity and still never felt as hot as I was in Queensland, Australia. I honestly don't know how people can live there in the summer.

We had booked an apartment in Yorkey's Knobb which is on the northern beaches just above Cairns,  for four days prior to our live aboard experience, so we could do some exploring. It was a modest place reminding me of the old time motor motels here in California with the lawn and the swimming pool. By the time we got to the apartment from the airport via taxi I was drenched. When I saw the swimming pool all I could think of was jumping in and cooling off so as soon as we unpacked I suggested we get into our swimsuits and do just that. So with swimsuites donned we ran to the pool and jumped in. What a shock. It had to be over 100 degrees. It was hotter than our spa. Obviously, there was no refreshment in swimming so we went back to our apartment and chilled out under the three fans with the air-conditioner blowing full blast. At least we had that, though the bathroom had no air and was very hot.

That first night we walked a couple of blocks to the neighborhood restaurant, The Crocodile, and ate dinner. When we ordered beers I was amused that they came in cans and the cans were in coozies. But within 10 minutes I realized why. Even with the coozies if you don't drink your beer down fast they get hot. So that was a real eye-opener. Everywhere we went in Queensland it was the same. You get your beer in a coozie and you can take it with you outside or just about anywhere.

At lease the Australians appreciate the value of an ice cold beer! Something they could share with their English ancestors if they dared. I did like the beer in Australia and really appreciated the fact that they care about keeping them cold. After the first few days we bought our own coozies so we could drink cold beer all of the time. What a clever invention!

Another Shout Mate!

They May be Small but They Sure Can Drink!

Dear Reader,

It was on our very first trip to Europe, the Grand Tour that we took in 1983, where we spent a most extraordinary and unexpected evening at the Munich Hofbrauhaus. As much as we had been enjoying the sights of Munich and it's surrounding castles, I couldn't wait to visit the famous place and have my first enormous beer served in 1 liter mugs carried five per hand by the robust bar maids. I also wanted to eat pretzels and sauerbrauten and weiner schnitzel. It was going to be my first real German experience and I was excited.

As John and I walked down the street in the direction of the Hofbrauhaus a young Japanese guy approached and asked us in German if we knew where the Hofbrauhaus was. I couldn't understand a word he said and it didn't even cross my mind to ask if he spoke English being so used to people speaking all kinds of languages by this point in our trip. I just assumed he was German. But John was more alert and recognized the word Haufbrauhaus and told him that we were on our way there too and he could come with us. At this point the Japanese guy got very excited and thanked us and then started waving behind him. The next thing I knew we were surrounded by about thirty Japanese college students. They were all quite petite, well dressed in matching polo shirts and Dockers pants with expensive shoes so I figured they were also quite affluent.

We marched like a merry band to the Haufbrauhaus, which did not disappoint in size. It is huge and has several floors. The OomPa band was playing as well and the big bar maids were everywhere hands filled with giant mugs of beer.

We managed to find two tables next to each other and all sat down together as a group. The first thing we found out about them was that most of them spoke English so it was not difficult to communicate. They also spoke several other languages including German. It made me ashamed to be so barely bi-lingual but friendship is the international language and we had fun. We shared all kinds of stories about our cultures and different ways of life. We talked about school and course matter and prerequisites, parents, pets, siblings, it was all the usual stuff and very enlightening. They all smoked cigarettes too which rather surprised me. Back in those days, though I had quit smoking and John had never smoked, we liked to join people we met in various countries and smoke their local cigarettes. I had a pack of Gitanes from France on me that evening. One student offered me one of his Japanese cigarettes in exchange for an American one but all I could offer were the Gitanes. He was fine with that but really wanted a Marlborough.

What was truly amazing was how much they could drink! I can put down a lot of beer and so can John but these students blew us out of the water the way they could drink beer. They were practicing drinking down the entire liter in one giant gulp and most of them succeeded. I've never seen anything like it. One tiny little gal showed me the proper way to do it by wrapping my hand palm down on the left side of the mug, then turning my wrist 180 degrees and bringing the mug to my mouth with my hand backwards. I don't know where she learned this but it wasn't easy since the mugs alone weighed a ton. I tried to drink it all but didn't even come close. Besides I had to go to the bathroom after every beer so I wasn't in a big hurry to finish a beer.

Our new found friends really cut loose that night. I could tell they didn't get a chance to do this very often. One guy was taking notes all night writing down new English words we would say and then translate for him. But most of them were laughing and having a good time.

At the table to my right sat three old men smoking cigars and playing cards. The man sitting next to me finally asked me a question. He asked where I was from. I told him California. He quipped, "That's funny, you don't look Japanese". I didn't like him. It felt like an insult of sorts. I believed he was insulting us for hanging out with the Japanese. Later he said he had been sitting at that same table for 43 years. I nodded and then asked John if we could scootch over further. That guy had been sitting at that table during World War II and had no doubt favored the Nazis if not one himself. It gave me a very uncomfortable feeling. I hoped that he and his cronies were not going to be mean to our Japanese friends but it appeared that they prefered to stay in the shadows watching in a creepy manner.

After carrousing for the entire evening we finally said goodbye to our Japanese friends and wished them well. They bowed to us, which was pretty cool, and gave us gifts. One guy gave me his entire pack of Japanese cigarettes and another gave me a guide book. I liked them a lot and still remember to this day the pleasure of spending an unexpected evening with new friends. We never saw or heard from any of them again but the memories stay with us and every time I think of the Haufbrauhaus I think of being with a group of lively and highly educated Japanese students. And that's not a bad thing.

Scholl

Are You Certain This is Your Passport?

Dear Reader,

It was on our second visit to Rome that John's money belt was stolen right off his waist. The mystery of this incident remains as neither of us really know what happened. Yes, there was a small group of gypsy children wandering around and being loud and yes, John complained that the belt wouldn't stay on because it had to be tied on, but whether it was stolen or just fell off remains a mystery to this day.

We learned an important lesson from the theft/loss however. Never carry your passports around in public. They are the number one item theives look for. We never did carry them except when on our way to the bank or the American Express office to get spending cash, which was where we were headed that day. After that, we had big sightseeing plans. Instead, we spent the rest of the day at the police station filing a report and then off to the US Embassy to get temporary passports. Of course when we got there everyone was out to lunch for 2 1/2 hours so all we could do was wait.

We didn't even have any money or credit for lunch or drinks. And boy, I really could have used a drink that day. We were both pretty mad and hot since it was July and had had to walk all the way across the city from the Police Station to the Embassy because we had no money for even a bus ticket. Lesson two, always carry a packet of bus and metro tickets in your pockets to have handy when needed, especially in big cities in Italy.

By the time we got processed by the Embassy and were sent to the photo booth, neither of us were recognizable. John's hair was drenched from sweat and he had it slicked down sideways on his forehead and stand straight up in the back. My curly hair was no longer looking stylishly short and instead decided to do a weird flip all the way around. It was not a happy day. Neither of us even bothered to attempt a smile for our pictures which turned out to be a big mistake as well. Why not? We were three for three already that day.

I didn't care what my passport looked like, I just wanted to get out of there and try to salvage some of our day. Time is always so precious and fleeting when traveling even when you are on an extended vacation. When I saw my new passport there was a stamp stating it was temporary. I figured that new ones would be sent to us once we returned home. Hopefully new ones with the great picture that I had just had taken for it a few months previously. This was another mistaken assumption. We had to keep the things for the next ten years! This was a nightmare.

As much as we travel, our passports get a lot of use. The first problem with them was the stamp extending the validity was hidden way back on page 22 and the airline attendants could never find it. The second problem was my photo. It was so awful that I was unrecognizeable. I had several agents laugh at it outright, then stop and hold it out towards me, closing one eye thoughtfully before shaking their heads in disagreement. More than once an agent asked another agent to come take a look at it, doubling my humililation. They both shook their heads and inquired "Are you certain this is your passport?" I wanted to say "No, certainly not." "They got our photos mixed up at the embassy." But that would never fly so I would nod my head embarrasingly and hope she would just give it back to me closed.

One time agents were laughing so hard at my picture that they passed it around for laughs and asked each other, do you think this is her? I tried copying the same frown on my photo for reference but they still didn't believe me. There was another time where the agent actually asked me what happened? It's a long story and too boring to tell I would say. Then I'd do the frown and she let me on my way.

I don't know why no one ever gave John a bad time about his photo. It was pretty funny too but maybe they were just afraid to piss him off. John is a big guy afterall. And he looks meaner than hell in his photo.

We both celebrated the day that our new passports finally arrived ten years later. They aren't bad. Not bad at all. John says I should have gotten a new passport when I was bald. He's so funny!

Many of the issues we used to deal with during our first years of travel are no longer issues at all. For instance, there is no need to go to a bank or an American Express office anymore for cash. There's no need to carry traveler's checks at all. All of Western Europe now accepts credit cards and there are ATM machines called Bankomats every where. We now carry a checking account which does not charge foreign exchange fees and reimburses us for any ATM fees charged by the foreign banks, up to ten per month. This works very well as long as you don't forget your four digit pin number or lose the card altogether.

Money belts are a great idea but can be hot and annoying. The best according to John is the one that hangs around your neck under your shirt. I never carry a purse when I travel. It's a total target. I keep a minimum of things in my pockets and cameras in a little daypack with combination locks on it. And when we are out and about town, the passports stay safely locked up in our room safe or suitcase which I often lock to the sink pipe just in case someone decides to take the whole thing. These are all easy little precautions which have paid off and make traveling so much more fun and worry free.

There was a reason why I mentioned carrying bus and metro tickets around. We've had two episodes in Rome where we could not find a tabac bar that was open yet because it was too early in the morning, nor a newstand. We needed to take a bus to the train station so we could catch our train to the airport. This caused a general panic and when our bus arrived John was still off looking for a newstand so he yelled at me to stop the bus. I tried. I ran along side it wearing my backpack and banging at the door but the driver would not stop. This resulted in our having to walk about 4 extra blocks to catch another bus or miss our train. This kind of thing can ruin the end of a great vacation.

Another thing that can almost ruin your trip is not being able to find an ATM machine suddenly when they had been everywhere when you didn't need one. It's always important to find out if your hotel or B&B accepts credit cards or only cash and have the cash in hand as soon as you get there. This way you can pay them on the spot and not worry about having to find them to pay them as you are leaving as this could cause you to miss your train, boat, plane, whatever. Be sure to choose a four digit pin number that's easy for you to remember and not get your ATM card mixed up with your credit card or you'll get charged for cash advances by the credit card company.

Whatever you do, it's never a good idea to flaunt expensive jewelry everywhere you go. It just makes you a target and they'll get it. We've lost many things while traveling, some annoying and others major. It takes a lot of practice and experience to learn how to be aware at all times of your surroundings and keep an eye on your belongings but it's worth it. I don't want to waste another day of travel at a police station as long as I live.

Buona Notte

Getting There is Half the Fun, Not!

Dear Reader,

There are so many great stories to tell about meeting people and seeing new places but once in awhile I feel compelled to talk about the misery of getting there or back home again. We've all been through it, especially since 911, so I'm sure everyone can relate to this airplane travel story.

Just when you think that all your plans are working perfectly, the first flight is on time and actually not miserably uncomfortable, the service was better than usual, you begin to relax and think about getting home and sleeping for 24 hours when, boom, it all goes awry. This has happened to me more times than I can count so there's no point in going into details about long layovers, cancelled flights, lost luggage, etc. Everyone has been through it at least once.

I'd rather look at the peculiar aspects of a bad travel day and laugh about them later. On one particular trip we were on our way home from Europe and had a plane change in Chicago. I don't recall where we were coming from, probably, Frankfurt, but we were tired and sleepy and hungry. Our connection was relatively short so we didn't have time to relax and eat and have a beer. Instead we bought hamburgers to take with us.

When we arrived at the gate it was a real zoo. That's when we realized there was no aircraft yet. But they announced it would arrive shortly so we were told not to leave the gate. As we stood around swaying to stay afoot because there wasn't a single seat not taken by a body or their luggage, I couldn't help but notice a young rather obese couple making out a few feet away from me. In fact, they were really going at it. And when they weren't she was climbing all over him while he snorted. It was peculiar to say the least. In fact, they both kept snorting over and over again. I started to gag so I tried to move as far away from them as possible.

They too had hamburgers which they smacked loudly while snorting away. I kept wishing they would get some tissues and blow their noses! But, alas, that was not to be. Evidently, tissues are a rare commodity where they come from. Somehow the sound of this snorting and smacking and kissing seemed to overcome all the ambient noises in the area. Maybe it was just that we were both so exhausted and seriously dead on our feet but John started to get mad.

Once our aircraft arrived I couldn't wait to get on board just to sit down and also to get away from the snorting, smacking couple. Everyone exited the plane fairly quickly. I watched the handlers unload and then load all of our baggage aboard. The cleaning crew raced aboard and off again and still we didn't board. The crowd was getting angry. There was no explanation for any further delays yet we stood there and stood there smelling our hamburgers which were cold by then and listening to the sounds of constant snorting.

Finally the attendant announced that they were having a problem with a passenger and were attempting to get him off of the plane and once that was accomplished we could board. It had been over an hour already so I assumed the worst, like he had died or was in the middle of a fit and needed medical treatment before being moved. We all stood around and waited anxiously to see what the crisis was. After another half hour passed, I really didn't care anymore what had happened to the guy and began to hope he was dead afterall. I know, how terrible am I? But I was so exhausted.

I believe we had had to get up that morning at 3:00AM to catch a vaporetto to the bus station in Venice in order to make the bus to the airport for a 7:00AM flight to Frankfurt that day. (Never again will I book such an early flight coming home from Europe.) It was now 10:00PM Chicago time and we were still facing a five hour flight home to Sacramento. This type of travel is hard and takes its toll on your patience.

We saw a guy pushing a strange looking folding wheelchair onto the plane but he didn't come back with anyone. Finally two attendants, followed by the first gentleman, came off the plane pushing a guy in the same tiny folding wheelchair. It was not the typical wheelchairs they keep at the gate for wheelchair passengers. There didn't appear to be anything wrong with the gentleman at all. After he was away from the vicinity, and I gather out of ear range, the attendant thanked us for our patience and advised that the problem was that he refused to get into their wheelchair. He insisted that his wheelchair be brought to him onto the plane before he would leave. Evidently, this took awhile, as we witnessed. I wanted to kill him now. It's a good thing I am a strong believer in gun control.

We finally got to board the aircraft. It was my least favorite of the aircrafts that we typically fly, a 757, which is a wide body but still has three seats on either side. The bulkhead was booked up in advance so we had reserved isle seats across from each other. The isles are so narrow on modern aircrafts that you are practically sitting together anyway. Plus, I don't need to climb over anyone to go to the toilet.

We were so happy to be sitting and finally get to eat our cold hamburgers that we started to sing our song, "Life is Worth Living Again" when I saw them coming, the snorters. I held my breath and waited for them to pass but life was determined to have the joke on me that day and the girl walked up to me and said "Those are our seats", pointing at the window and middle seat next to me. Of course. I should have known. I wanted to cry but was too tired to even do that.

For the next five hours I tried as hard as I could not to listen to the constant snorting. After each snort they would wipe their noses with the backs of their hands. Once again the gag reflex was getting to me. I tried unsuccessfully to eat my hamburger but couldn't. I couldn't swallow. I tried wearing headsets and turning my music up to a blasting level but could still hear their snorting and see their wiping.

As soon as the seat belt sign went off I bolted for the toilet and grabbed a handful of tissues. Then I returned to my seat and offered the tissues to the girl snorter sitting next to me. She looked confused. I told her I thought they might like to blow their noses. She still didn't get it. So I offered one to her boyfriend or husband and he just took it and stuffed it into the back of the seat in front of him. So much for that idea.

So I finally gave up, put my headsets back on, didn't try to read my book and closed my eyes hoping it would all end soon. There's no moral to this story or even a reason for it. I just don't get people sometimes. It would drive me crazy if my nose was running for hours on end and not do anything about it. All I could think was these people need to travel more, to meet more people and get more exposure to society at large and perhaps some good manners might rub off on them. You never know, do you?

Happy trails to you all.

Dining with Nikki Marti and family in Lyon

Dear Reader,

Before I ever went to Europe I studied as much information as I could possibly find about the places, and the cultures and the people, the cuisines, the sights, the religions, and any bit of information I could find. One thing that has made a real impression on me over the years is the inaccuracy of the writers regarding the people. It's something I encounter often and find most disturbing.

The most common misrepresentation that I have encountered is that French people are rude. I can't tell you how many times I have heard and read this and it is simply not true. I've met people who have made that statement only to find that they had never even been to France. It's truly unfair how these rumors get started in the first place but I would like to attempt to dispel them.

After traveling around various parts of France for many years I finally decided it was time to visit Lyon, the great culinary capital of France unless you are a Parisian, then it is Paris. But that issue is between them, not us. One reason Lyon had not been at the top of my list for previous trips was because of the rumors and statements even in guide books that the people are not just rude but hate all outsiders, including anyone from France not from Lyon! This is very daunting even for the intrepid traveler but I finally decided to take a chance and visit the lovely city and see for myself. The driving force behind my decision was actually a teacher from Lyon who taught a conversational French class that I took John to so he would be able to communicate at least a little bit. Our teacher, Madame Rogers, was very proud of Lyon and spoke of the city's beauties and the wonderful food and even gave us recepies. She told us about their wonderful Boudins, family run restaurants with the old Lyonaise cuisine. I couldn't wait to visit after that.

We took the TGV high speed train from Paris to Lyon and were there in no time. The city is very beautiful indeed with the Rhone and the Saone Rivers meeting and forming an island in the middle. A great red place is in the center of the island with a great fountain and statue and on both sides are lovely Georgian and 19th century buildings including an opera house and a modern museum. Our main interest, however, was to go to the old town with it's covered paths once used to carry fabrics without getting them wet and to take the tram up the hill to see the Roman arena and museum. There's a fabulous Baroque Cathedral hanging on the side of the mountain at the top which looks like it might just slide down. It's one of the most opulent cathedrals I've ever seen and though gorgeous, many Lyonaise dont' like it.

After our tour of ancient Rome and the cathedral, we returned back down the tram to old town with it's curvy cobbled streets and little bars and had a drink at one of them which had sidewalk tables. While John and I sat and discussed the sights we'd seen and what we liked best, a very lovely young lady from the next table walked over and asked if we are Americans. We said yes and she smiled really big and sighed and then asked if she could join us. She was with her boyfriend and signalled him to come over and the next thing we knew we were having a very nice conversation about Lyon and America with a very charming and delightful young couple in their early 20s. They were very surprised to see us first of all. There aren't many American tourists in Lyon. In fact, there aren't very many tourists from anywhere. She wanted to know why we were there at all so I told her. This fact seemed to make her happy. When we left we all shook hands and wished each other a good day. I was ready to seek out my own original Boudin for dinner.

I had read about the Boudins, a dying breed of family owned restaurants serving the unique cuisine of Lyon, much of which sounds rather inplatable to me but I didn't want to think about that. I figured I'd just eat whatever is on the menu and not ask. The typical Boudin doesn't have a menu. They just serve whatever they have prepared that evening and that's your dinner. So I was ready to be brave and daring and try this cuisine before it disappeared into history.

The Boudin restaurant we chose was as usual from my list of recommended places to eat. It was very loud and crowded but nice and dark inside. There were picnic tables throughout and upon arrival you are ushered to one of them and shown where to sit. We were the first ones at our table so we were told to slide all the way to the far end. Very soon a family was seated across from us and shortly after that we had a very lively converstation going. One was a very beautiful young lady named Nikki who had studied for a year in Atlanta, Georgia and had the most beautiful southern/French accent! She was with her parents who spoke no English but they were all very nice.

Throughout the evening they helped us to learn what we were eating and were about to eat and how to eat it. This was most helpful. But thoughout Nikki's father asked us political questions wanting to know where we stood on the EU and other issues. We were not nearly as informed as he was and felt someone inadequate to the task but he didn't notice and the discussion got very interesting. It turned out that he was a Vietnam Veteran and had spent most of his life studying the war. He wanted our take on it and we were glad to speak on a topic we both know well. We also spoke to Nikki about her time in Atlanta and how she enjoyed it there. She said she liked it a lot. She and her parents really liked the Boudin where we were eating and said it was their favorite in town. That made me and my list feel rewarded for our efforts.

After several hours of eating and drinking and heavy conversation, we noticed the time and the empty restaurant and realized it was time to go. Nikki said her parents wanted to give us a ride back to our hotel but we said we were fine and could take the metro which was only a couple of blocks away. Her mother insisted on giving us a ride to the metro even though their vehicle only had four small seats. We somehow managed to squeeze in only to appease her worrying and thanked them all heartily for their kindness and the great evening. And it was a great evening. We met real people of Lyon and heard all about their home and their culture and food and their thoughts on the U.S. and Americans in general. There was nothing aloof or snooty about them at all. In fact, they were staunch supporters of the United States and hoped that somehow the US would rescue them from the EU. (Ironically, the EU was the best thing to happen to Europe in a long time.) They were educated well bred gentle people and I will always remember them and how they helped to dispel those bothersome rumors about the French being rude.

Based upon personal experiences, when faced with someone who insists that certain peoples or their cultures are bad in some way or simply rude, my desire to go there and find out for myself increases ten fold. So far my instincts have served me well and also proved that people cannot be judged by a single instance involving two people any more than we can be judged by who we elect into office because we may not have voted for the winner. The latter they understand perfectly and are always willing to give us the benefit of the doubt.
Salud

Dancing with the Basques in Bayonne

Dear Reader,

As a traveler I've had many memorable nights, my husband too. They just come with the territory particularly if you are open to new and fresh ideas or adventures. One that I have fond memories was in a most unlikely place, Bayonne, France which is south of Bordeaux and the Atlantic coast near the Pyrenees. It's the ugly stepsister of her fancy resort of Biarritz just a bit further down the coast. . Bayonne is by no means ugly. I found it very pretty with lots of medieval half timbered buildings and cobbled streets and canals with little bridges. It was quite charming, just not a tourist destination such as Biarritz. But I had a particular reason to go to Bayonne, Basque food. The wonderful jamon, a thin but very strong ham is the main course of many dishes along with chicken and they like their food spicy. They also cook with a lot of tomatoes and cheese too. All in all, a nice change of pace and a mixture of flavors I approve of. Another specialty of Bayonne are the oysters which you can buy right on the street from street vendors. They are smaller and salty and delicious

Needless to say as soon as we arrived in Bayonne, once we had settled into our hotel, we set off in search of good food. We first stopped at an Huitres (oysters) stand and had them fresh from the sea. Then we found a good and traditional place for dinner. I had the jamon covered with melted cheese and a spicy tomato sauce. It was delicious. John had chicken Basquez which is made completely out of hot peppers and which I have since had to learn to prepare. Both dishes were really good so we were satisfied.

It was quite late when we finished dinner and as we walked the dark and deserted streets on a working night it was rather spooky but then we heard the music. First there was the base with a very familiar sound, then voices in the distance singing what was at first incoherent but eventually became more familiar as we approached. It was Pink Floyd, "The Wall" and it was very loud. So were the voices singing along with it. It appeared to be coming from the building to our left so we nodded at each other and decided to go inside.

It was a small bar with a couple of tables on one wall and the bar on the opposite wall though there was a back room which was empty at the time. The scene we walked into was great. There were two bartenders, a male and female, wiping and serving and singing "The Wall" at the top of their lungs along with their handful of guests, two females and two guys. They knew the English lyrics quite well though as it turns out they didn't speak a lick of English. Only Ernestina, the bartender spoke any English at all.

We were a bit out of place, being obvious tourists and not Basques but joined in heartily singing "We don't need no education." with everyone else. This got good notice and then we were able to order drinks. We accepted Ernestina's recommendation and drank what everyone was drinking which was quite strong but tasted good. I believe it was orange. After the song the others gathered around us talking and hoping we'd understand. I tried my best French with them and they didn't seem to understand a bit of it. Ernestina was the only person who understood me. I believe that's because she came from some other part of France but the Basques speak their own language so it looked hopeless. But Ernestina was very helpful and able to translate for us and this got a lot more attention from our new found friends. She put on a Beatles tune which we all belted out at the top of our lungs and laughed about it.

This was turning into a very raucous party. The girls grabbed me and took me aside and bombarded me with questions which I tried my best to answer with Ernestina's help. They wanted to know about work and clothes and family and America and everything. They were also smashed and perhaps also a bit drugged so they weren't easy to follow. During the course of the conversation I discovered that one of the gals daughter was in the hospital after an OD and her friends brought her to the bar to comfort her. She was the loudest and craziest of the bunch too and had a multitude of tatoos as well as piercings everywhere.

John was hanging out at the bar between two guys whom he towered over. He said they were too short to communicate with because he couldn't hear their voices way up at his height. ha ha, I figured it was more the combination of their Basque/French and drunkeness than a height differential. One guy was determined to teach John how to Basque Clap. It's very important according to him that you know how to clap properly making a hollow sound with your hands to accompany Basque music which is very sad and soulfoul and dramatic. Lots of crying and screaming accompanies Basque music. When John finally gave up trying the clapping, I joined in and learned it pretty quickly. But now another guy had latched on to John. This guy looked like a thug and he kept slapping some tool into his palm. He was trying to explain to John that he was a truck driver and had to be ready at all times for a fight because when they get into auto accidents, they always fight. He showed John how he wraps a roll of quarters in his fist to gain the upper hand. This was all interesting but a bit frightening too. Ernestina told us to just ignore him. He's always telling everyone this. So we did.

A wild song came on the radio and we all liked it and were singing along when one of the gals jumped up onto one of the dining tables and began to do a rather sexy writhing suggestive dance requiring good balance. But then while swinging her arms around, she smacked into the wall sconce and broke it right off the wall. I drew my breath because I thought she was in trouble but all Ernestina did was come dancing out from behind the bar with a push broom and we followed her around dancing in a line and patting her behind. It was so funny. After that challenge, we all had to do it, we women, that is. So the crazy gal got on a table and danced rather wildly and jerky but she didn't break any more lights, she just fell off the table. Then it was my turn. I had to try after all so I decided to be conservative and was lucky to have a song that was easy to dance to normally. I threw in a few of my best moves like spinning around and the slide but made sure not to fall or break anything. I got a big round of applause from everyone in the room for that.

Perhaps this was all a test because before I knew it the crazy girl had grabbed me by the hand hard, she had hands like vices, and slung me across the room before I could even react. She said she was going to teach me Basque dancing. I tried to beg off but she wouldn't have it and she walked up to me and spun me around and then let me go again. I was a bit dizzy and disoriented but this did not deter my determined teacher. She finally managed to teach me about 6 steps, each one requiring all my concentration not to fall, and we managed a complete dance to my amazement. She was one strong chick for a skinny broad. She grabbed me and slammed me into her and before I was oriented, would shove me away so hard I would almost fall down before she would grab my hand and swing me around her. I'm glad I hadn't had too much hard liquor that night or Ernestina would have been dancing with her mop instead.

After they all got tired they talked about going to see the crazy girl's daughter at the hospital. She started getting really maudlin so to take her mind off of it, her friends invited her out to breakfast to cheer her up before the hospital. She seemed to like the idea but wanted us to join them. It was almost 5:00AM already and we had had a big dinner so we gracefully begged off. Our plan had been to get an early start the next day for our drive along the Pyrenees and we had several stops to make along the way. They finally drug her out of the bar and we waived goodbye. Then we said goodbye to our generous hosts, Ernestina and her husband and thanked them heartily for their generousity to strangers.

It was a good evening complete with good music and good company. We also learned lots of new things so it was very educational as well. All this for the price of an orange colored drink.

A Bientot

They've Got No Tomatoes in Costa Rica

Dear Reader,

After writing the story about my husband's tooth infection when we went scuba diving in Cozumel, I feel compelled to finish the story where it ended a week later in Costa Rica.

We don't usually take back to back vacations but some good friends, Mike and Jackie, had a home in Costa Rica and room for guests so they invited us to join them for Thanksgiving on the beach. That sounded great to me and also a way to get out of hosting and cooking for Thanksgiving as usual.

Neither of us had been to Costa Rica before but liked the sound of it. Mike and Jackie just loved it there and spent 6 months out of the year in the place so it must be great. Their house was in a community of houses near Coco Beach on the Pacific Ocean and about 30 minutes from Liberia where there is a small airport.

Since the flights were quite expensive we took their advice and flew into San Jose and rode the local bus to Liberia. Remember my Dolmus story in Turkey? Well this was different. The local bus is a school bus with very poor shocks, maybe none. We found it sitting in a building covered in dirt with a few people sitting around, waiting, I presumed. Suddenly people started boarding so we followed and hoped it was the correct bus and would take us to Liberia, a 5 hour ride away.

We took off like a jet bouncing over the curbs and squeeling through the city before we reached the highway out of San Jose. Once on the highway things were much better. The speed helped to clear some of the dirt off the windows so I could see at least some of the scenery. The heat was stifling inside and outside. It took two of us to push my window up only to find that the wind blowing in was hotter than no wind blowing at all. That was a bummer.

As we progressed we began to climb and climb into mountains and the road began to get curvy and bumpy, very bumpy. It got so bumpy that John and I were literally hitting our heads on the ceiling repeatedly. I had a splitting headache after an hour of this. Finally we stopped at a little shack in the jungle with outdoor picnic tables, shade trees and, yes, bathroom facilities! Fearing the worst I brought my roll of toilet paper with me which I always carry on all of my travels. But the toilets weren't bad. At least they had seats.

We bought some soft drinks and snacks and got back on the bus for another 3 hours of teeth jarring head banging ride which was also very noisy. Not the passengers. They were very quiet and polite. But the bus itself was loud along with the wind from the windows. By the time we reached Liberia we were shouting at each other because we couldn't hear anything and both of us had tremendous headaches and backaches. I had never seen so many potholes in one highway anywhere. It's as if they were sacred shrines not to be damaged rather than potholes.

We crossed a field of plowed dirt stumbling towards the only building in site hoping to find the next bus which would take us on to Coco Beach. Miraculously we found it with no problem, Mike and Jackie's information had been good, and off we went for another 30 minute bumpy ride. John was so tired by this point that he fell asleep, head banging routinely on the window sill. I don't know how he did it but was afraid he'd have a serious head injury from it.

The quiet little town on the beach was quite pleasant and the aromas of fresh fish and seafood made me very hungry all of a sudden. There was a bank of telephones in the middle of the street which we were supposed to use to call our friends so they could come and get us but every phone was in use. Not only that, each person using a phone was just hanging out having what sounded like casual conversations. This was going to take awhile before we had a chance to use a phone. What to do? We decided to get something to eat.

At a little restaurant within sight of the phones we each ordered a ceviche' which is raw fish, shrimp, scallops, or conch marinated in lime juice and diced up with tomatoes, jalapeno peppers, onions, and jalapeno vinegar. Some places even add diced cucumber and carrots which are nice. But these ceviches were rather plain looking. I took several bites before realizing there were no tomatoes in my ceviche. John noticed the same about his and we figured they must have run out.

After finally reaching Jackie by phone, Mike came down to pick us up in the ugliest bright purple car I've ever seen. It was some sort of compact car all banged up that he rented from Rent A Wreck in San Jose. This is a guy who always drives cool cars so we had a good laugh.

Their home was very lovely and had a nice ocean view, a very large front porch and a private miniature swimming pool. I was impressed until they warned us about the scorpions. I thought Mike was joking when he said they come in the house all the time but he showed me a large jar of dead ones, which totally grossed me out, so I believed him. They both warned us that the scorpions like to crawl into dark places like your shoes and to always shake things out before donning them. That first night I couldn't sleep and was terrified to get up and go to the bathroom because I might step on one.

We did a lot of fun things during our visit to Costa Rica, not the least of which was the big Thanksgiving party on the beach. It was quite the affair with a very fun bunch of people. John even helped by carving the turkey which is his expertise and gave Jackie advise about the cooking of such. She had carried that turkey all the way from California in an ice chest. I had to admire that.

John and I were, of course, mainly interested in scuba diving so that was our daily plan. We were surprised when Mike advised that there are no boat docks whatsoever. I wondered how to we go out to the boats which were at anchor. We found out the first day and it was not fun. First we had to go to the dive shop which was a couple of miles from the beach and load all of the equipment including tanks into the back of a pickup truck. Then we had to pile in. There were four of us, Jackie doesn't dive but her son, Brad, was with us, plus the divemaster and pilot and his assistant. Brad and John jumped into the cab of the truck and left me to sit on top of the tanks with the hired help. Okay, I get it, men stuff.

When we got to the beach they pulled in a row boat to the shore and we started a chain handing off tanks and other equipment to each other until it reached the boat where it was stored. The one of the guys rowed the boat out to the dive boat at anchor and transferred everything onto it. Then he returned and picked us up. The waves at this shore were rather strong. Even getting into a row boat wasn't easy but I had no idea what was to come. They had lost the ladder to the dive boat so I had to climb up and over the side which was really hard when rocking back and forth in the waves! I was thinking of how I was expected to climb back aboard with my scuba gear on.

The diving itself was disappointing. The water was murky with visibility of no more than ten feet but there wasn't much to see anyway. We saw plenty of Scorpionfish which are deadly poisonous, and rock fish, also poisonous and very little colorful coral. But by far the worst part about the diving are the jellyfish. On our first dive as I was beginning to leap into the water I saw them floating everywhere around our boat. There were round ones plus long stringers up to eight feet long! I said "I'm not jumping into that" but the divemaster assured me they were no problem and the stringers were just a string of eggs. Nothing to worry about. So like a fool, I jumped in where I was immediately attacked by one of the giant stringers. All I could do was descend quickly to get away from it but during the dive I really dreaded ascending again. They were waiting for me, I knew it.

At the end of the dive I nearly propelled myself onto the boat like a flying dolphin landing on the pool deck at Sea World just to avoid the jelly fish. Poor John, on the other hand, had a different problem. His tooth was killing him. Yes, this was the same tooth that was infected in Cozumel a week before. This time he was moaning and yelling so loudly we took him straight to a clinic. The free medical clinics in Costa Rica are very efficient and accessible. There's no paperwork to fill out, you just tell the doctor what's wrong.

It was crowded inside the clinic so Mike and Brad and I waited outside on the street corner. We were thirsty after diving and there was a little Pepsi stand across the street so Mike went over and got Pepsis for us. He had one of his faces on, the look he gets when he's thinking "Have you ever seen anything this crazy?" and when he arrived we saw he was carrying three zip lock bags filled with a dark fluid with a straw peaking out of one corner. We had a good laugh over drinking Pepsis out of plastic bags while John was suffering inside. It was hardly fair but what could we do?

When John came out he filled us in on how it went. First of all, he was by far the tallest person in the clinic and the biggest. Perhaps he was the biggest man they had ever seen anywhere. Everyone was intimidated by him and when he started roaring in pain, everyone waiting in line urged him to go to the front. He told the doctor about his root canal and the infection in Cozumel and the doctor took a dental prick and lifted the top of John's temporary crown. John said it made a hissing sound as the air trapped inside was released and he felt instant relief. The doctor also gave John some medicine to take and when John tried to pay him, the doctor absolutely refused. No way.

So John was landbound for the rest of the week while Mike and I went diving every day sometimes with Brad. Mike and I go back a ways as scuba divers together. Years ago he talked about scuba diving in Baja, California to find golf balls that had landed in the water from the golf course above. John and I both insisted he should get himself certified to be safe. When he finally did, he was really into it and went on to advanced diving fairly quickly. Meanwhile, John and I had also completed our Advanced Diving certification and several specialty diving classes working up to our Rescue Diver's course. When we told Mike, he said he wanted to take the course with us so the four of us went to Belize together and for 1/2 day over a 4 day course, the three of us got certified as Rescue Divers.

Since then, Mike decided to go all the way for his divemaster certification which requires rigorous training plus working in a dive shop for six months. He had been working at the local dive shop at his housing compound called Bill Beard's. Of course, being Mike, he already had some great stories to tell us about working there. On his first day as a Certified Dive Master one of his divers did a backroll without looking and landed on Mike's head with her tank. With blood running down his face, Mike had to be airlifted to a hospital. My favorite story is about the time Mike forgot to shake out the wetsuits before renting them. It's Cardinal law down there to shake the wetsuits in case a scorpion crawled inside. Mike picked out a wetsuit for a customer who went to the dressing room to try it on. Then Mike heard a loud scream and the man ran out all red faced and told Mike something had bit him. "Where?", Mike asked. The guy rolled down his suit to his thighs and then Mike saw it. The poor guy's genitals were bright red and swollen the size of canteloupes. Mike's emergency medical training kicked in and he said not to worry, he would fix it. He ran and got the great big medical book and started frantically flipping pages looking for scorpion stings but finally gave up and they got the guy to a hospital. Stories like these are why I couldn't sleep at night.

While we were diving, John and Jackie went touring some historical places. Then one day we all went on a long a very bumpy ride into the forest to go zip lining. This was my first time zip lining and I had no idea what to expect but I knew it would be fun. We did a short nature hike to the canyon stepping carefully over giant red killer ants and other nasty creatures. Brad got stung on the ankle by a bright chartreuse caterpillar. The guide advised him that the caterpillar is poisonous and he will begin to feel nausea and stomach cramps and then it will get worse. She also told us that the caterpillar in question turns into the gorgeous blue butterflies we saw everywhere so we didn't want to harm them. Poor Brad turned white as a sheet so her little story worked. She was only joking but the rest of us didn't find out until later when Brad never got sick.

The canyon was very deep and tree filled. We couldn't even see the bottom. The distances from tree to tree were great. Each one had a small platform which would have been easy to overshoot if a guide had not been stationed there to catch you. It was a fantastic feeling flying freely over the tree tops. I loved it. Also, part of it required climbing up a small hill with footholds in it, and there was a tree ladder as well but the zip lining part was the most fun. The last one was really long, at least twice as long as the others and from there I could see the entire forest. This was a great experience and I recommend it to anyone who has no fear of heights.

One evening while we were relaxing in the pool drinking beers I mentioned the strange ceviche' we had had without tomatoes. Jackie said there are no tomatoes in Costa Rica. I couldn't believe it. The climate seemed perfect, hot and dry. It didn't make sense and still doesn't. What kind of Latin American country is worth it's salt without tomatoes. I couldn't eat hardly anything without tomatoes. So I announced to Jackie that I could never live in Costa Rica. Either that or a great business opportunity came to mind. I could start growing tomatoes commercially and become the tomato queen. As a side business I would install payphones on every corner of every street in every city in Costa Rica. Yes, it sounds like a pipe dream, I know, but one can dream. It's dreams that often lead to reality.

Of course, to get me to move there they would also have to fill in those darned pot holes! We drove into a pot hole on the dirt road into the forest that was so large that all of us had to get out of the car and lift it out of the hole. We then had to walk for a couple of miles so the car wouldn't get stuck again. They would also have to build some boat docks and take us to dive sites free of jellyfish. I don't ask for much, do I?

On our final evening John and I were packing our gear, which had been washed and hung on the balcony to dry, into our gear bags. We have always used very large black rubber fins which are great and I will never try any others. When I picked up one of my fins, remembering Mike's warning, I shook it and out flew a scorpion. My reflexes kicked in and I started screaming uncontrollably. Why didn't anyone come to help me? I was frozen in place just screaming when finally John came outside, picked up my other fin and beat the thing to death. My hero! But the rest of them! Those rats were still sitting inside laughing their heads off. I got suspicious that Mike may have planted that scorpion for me to find but instead he came out with his jar and added mine to his collection. I was visibly shaken but nothing that a few more beers followed by a 5 1/2 hour bumpy ride to San Jose in the morning wouldn't solve. That's when we decided to splurge and buy airline tickets out of Liberia to San Jose to save our backs and heads and behinds.

It was a lovely visit spent with good company and loaded with things of interest. Not only did we get to see the interior forest and go zip lining, we also got to visit a free medical clinic. As a diver I can't recommend the diving. I've dived too many other places that are better. And as a fan of ceviche' I can't recommend it either, not without tomatoes! Maybe that's why our friends later sold their house and bought a boat in Mexico.

Hasta Luego

Eenfeckseeohn! Ju need eenyeckseeohn!

Dear Reader,

Having had a lot of dental work lately and facing another root canal, I am reminded of an ill fated scuba trip to Cozumel for my birthday a few years back.

John and I have dived in Cozumel, Mexico many times and though it is now overcrowded with divers and the dive boats at the sites look like the second fleet I still enjoy the place for it's laid back style, food and friendly people. I wanted to go back to Cozumel to dive for my birthday mainly because it is slightly closer and less expensive than anywhere else we can go.

The trip was already planned and paid for when John announced that he needed to have a root canal. I asked him when this would be taking place and he advised one week before our trip to Cozumel. At this point I reminded him that it is not wise to go scuba diving right after any kind of dental work but especially a root canal. Not only was he planning to have the root canal right before our vacation but he would be wearing a temporary crown while we were there! That's just crazy and I told him. Crowns get air pockets and this can cause excruciating pain at depth. But for some reason he insisted on having it done before rather than after our trip. I'm not sure if it had to do with the dental surgeon's schedule or what but I was not going to talk John out of it.

On our first couple of days diving John seemed fine and his usual jovial self enjoying the diving and the company and the drinking and the lobsters. They cook the most wonderful little lobsters there on a spit drenched in butter, then dice them up and wrap them in soft tortillas where you can dress them with any condiment you wish, salsa, pico de gallo, cilantro, lettuce, hot sauce, you name it. It's a delightful meal and goes very well with a margarita or cervesa.

When my birthday arrived we had planned to try one of the highly recommended restaurants in town for a special dinner but alas, my birthday was doomed from the start. Does this begin to sound like a pattern? I already told you about my disappointment in Siena, Italy on my birthday in the pouring rain. Since I can't seem to get away from the rain on my birthday, of course it had to rain in Cozumel. I had to laugh because it's no big deal to go diving in the rain and feels rather good on your skin, especially if it's burned. But it was a sign.

After diving that day John was acting a bit off and not very happy. He said his tooth was hurting and I reminded him it was my birthday and we were going to dinner. I didn't really know what else to say since we don't know any dentists in Cozumel or how to go about making an appointment. So we went to dinner and just as our food was served John started to moan. He was holding his jaw and clearly was in pain. I didn't know what to do at that point but offer him some of my pain medication which he took but it didn't help.

The poor guy tried to eat his meal but the pain just got worse until he said he'd have to leave. I didn't know where he was going and didn't know what to do but continue eating. He had the money afterall. I never carry cash of any kind and only a credit card when I'm on my own.

About ten to fifteen minutes later he came back and told me there is a clinic nearby and if we run we can make it before they close. So off we ran in the rain to a little clinic in a narrow back street. There was an older woman with a nurse's uniform on who diagnosed John's problem immediately. Even though her English was very scanty we understood her meaning. She said "Ju have eenfeckseeohn! "Ju need eenyeckseeohn! And at that she pulled out a syringe with a huge needle. John thought at first she was going to stick that thing in his mouth but then proffered his arm but she wagged her finger at him and demonstrated pulling down her pants. So, adding insult to injury John had to drop his drawers and take it like a man.

When she was finished she warned John to come back in one week for another eenyeckseeohn just to be safe and he promised even though we would be gone by then. We had another fun week of scuba diving planned the following week with our friends, Mike and Jackie, in Costa Rica for Thanksgiving. Oh boy, I couldn't wait considering John's condition. This was going to be a real bummer.

The next day John was feeling better and against my better judgement went scuba diving again. It's really hard to be somewhere so fantastic and pay for diving and then not get to do it. I understand. I went diving once with an ear infection which is also crazy. We laughed about his eenfeckseeohn later, which means for those of you who don't understand Spanish phonetics, infection. Of course the eenyeckseeohn was an injection. It is pretty funny when repeated back to back so it wasn't such a bad birthday afterall.

Our fun and John's pain continued the following week in Costa Rica but that's a story for another time.

Hasta Manana

Those Italians know how to eat, drink and make new friends

Dear Reader,

I've been working on taxes for two weeks and was going through my travel receipts yesterday. Among them I found a receipt for one of my favorite restaurants in all of Italy, Il Latini, in Florence. This restaurant is definitely on the tourist radar being in all of the major guide books and I know some people are put off by this but all I can say is you don't know what you're missing if you don't try it.

John and I have been to Florence many times and seen many beauties and also enjoyed many fabulous meals. Afterall, Florence is one of the culinary capitals of Italy. Their famous Bifstek Fiorentina alone is worth the trip. In fact, there are so many wonderful restaurants in Firenze that it can be hard to choose, but no matter how many times we visit, we always make time for Il Latini because it is a special event besides providing a great meal.

We first went to Il Latini on our first trip to Italy. It was all new and exciting to me and when we arrived we found a crowd on the sidewalk pouring into the narrow lane. I was afraid we wouldn't get in but "The Bull" came out immediately to do a head count and then wnet back inside. John followed him inside and asked if he didn't want our names. The Bull said, "No, I remember you.". A few minutes later he came outside with a tray of what looked like small water glasses filled with white wine. We each took a glass. Then he returned with fresh but prosciuto and parma cheese. This was so delicious and went perfectly with the wine.

While we waited and ate and drank wine we talked to other people around us and found very interesting companions. They had come from all over the world, as far away as Australia, and as close as France. They came from everywhere it seemed and we had a very lively conversation. Every now and then The Bull would come outside and point at people, "You, you, you and you" and then walk back inside. It was kind of like winning the last tickets on the plane out of Casablanca and the chosen would get very excited.

When we were called we were the only ones and said goodbye to our remaining friends. They seated us at a long picnic table in the main part of the restaurant where the prosciuto and garlic strings and Chianti bottles hang from the ceiling. John has to duck to avoid hitting his head on them. It's a very lively and loud room. We sat with some guys from Australia and a couple from Spain and I think some Germans. We were truly international that evening. The open bottles of Chianti in the baskets were already waiting. Then the platters of antipasti started arriving. More prosciuto and cheese and peppers and mushrooms, artichoke hearts, and on and on. It was a ton of food and we were just getting started. Amazingly, if you wanted more all you had to do was ask and they would bring more.

This was followed by soup and salad and then your choice of pasta dishes. It was all good. Then finally the main course which was recited to us rather quickly in a thick Italian accent which included Bifstek Fiorentina, a pork loin, chicken or fish. This varies from week to week. Everyone seemed to have something different but we all enjoyed our main course tremendously.

Then came the deserts and the digestifs. There were several desert choices including zambiglione, a cheese plate a fruit plate, profiteroles and something like a rum drenched cake. Who could eat all of this? But we didn't care because we were having so much fun. Then they brought out the Grappa to top it all off. This really helped to relieve some of the bloating feeling after such a huge meal.

As people got tired and started saying their goodbyes, John and I continued to sit and drink Grappa and blab loudly to each other about anything and everything before we realized that it had gotten quite late. Finally our waiter came to our table and asked us to leave because he wanted to go home. We asked if he would take us home with us because we had no idea where our hotel was. I believe he actually considered it for a few minutes and then we all laughed. But what a great evening it was! We talked about if for years and years, it was that memorable.

On another visit to Firenze we were seated in the same part of the restaurant but while we had been waiting we had met a group of four British gals who were whopping it up on a long weekend trip to Florence. That right there makes me extremely jealous. To think they can just hop on a plane and be in Florence in 2 hours is simply not fair. But they were fun and interesting to talk to so we made fast friends. We were hoping that we would all get seated together but that was not to be. The Bull decides and he took just John and I so we said our goodbyes again. This time we sat at a picnic table with a couple from Atlanta, Georgia, a couple of German guys and a couple from Brugges, Belgium. They were very nice but a bit restrained at first. It was up to John and I to liven up the table and get everyone going. By the time our second course was brought we were all laughing and having a great time. The menu was similar and still good and once again we were the last ones to leave. Strangely enough, we had the same waiter and this time he sat down at our table and asked if we were leaving soon. We love to respond with "We've been thrown out of worse places than this." a Steve Martin favorite line of ours. So we were kind and left.

It seems that several years passed without eating at Il Latini for various reasons. Once we couldn't find it. Florence is a bit of a maze and it's easy to get turned around. Another time we ate too big a lunch and just had no appetite for Il Latini. You must be starving before eating there. Finally we were so determined to eat there that I included Firenze in my itinerary just for dinner at Il Latini. We decided to go on a Monday because we had had a light lunch and low and behold they were closed! How shocking. It never crossed my mind to check their hours. I just thought they were open every day. John was truly despondent and complained about it for the rest of the trip. I determined that I would never make that mistake again and made a note of it.

Last May when we were in Italy I once again included Firenze so we could dine at Il Latini. We even walked over to find it during the day and checked their sign and hours. Previously Il Latini had always served dinner from around 7:30PM until 11:00 or so and you would just show up and wait for The Bull to call your name but I guess fame has caused the restaurant to change their methods. They now have only two dinner seatings: 7:30PM and 10:00PM. They also take reservations now. This was all unknown to me when we showed up to get in line and I was really surprised by the huge crowd already crammed around the front door waiting for it to open. I overheard people in lthe crowd and gathered that they had reservations. Oops, I thought. This could be tragic, for me that is, if we didn't get in.

When the door opened, there was an elegant lady at a podium checking reservations. There were people in large groups together and I overheard people saying that without a reservation you won't get in. Oh no! This can't happen. So I told John to just try to stay close to me because I was getting us in that restaurant. Up to this point I had been allowing people with reservations to cut in front of us continually so they could get to the front door. Then I decided to hell with that, and joined in the rest of the crowd pushing strongly forward towards the door. I finally made it inside and when asked if we had a reservation I said "No" expecting to be turned away but instead she said "Follow me.". We were taken into a separate dining room which was much fancier than the old room. There were no hanging hams and no picnic tables. The tables seated four people only but could have extra chairs added and all had white table cloths. Our dinner companions were a very nice Swiss couple from Neuchatel, near the French border so we spoke French most of the time. We all ate something different and a lot of Chianti, which I noticed was really loosening them up, and we four got a little crazy. I mean we were all thinking the same things and making jokes about the waiters and the mass quantities of food and how serious other diners were. It was hilarious to meet people so much like us, albiet much younger. They stayed through desert and digestifs and lemoncello and we had a rip roaring good time.

I still have their names and addresses somewhere and one day I will come across it and shoot off an email hoping they remember us. This happens a lot when you are open to meeting new people and sharing a table. We also have the names and addresses of the British ladies we had met years before. We should really look them up next time we go to London.

All of these happy memories came flooding back to me simply by looking at that receipt yesterday. The total for dinner for the two of us was 90.00 Euros which isn't cheap by any means but it certainly is worth it. I can't think of a better way to spend an evening and 90.00 Euros than by having a wonderful and long dinner with new and interesting friends. Il Latini is worth every penny.

It makes me sad to think that there is a group of people out there who are so serious about their guide books and recommendations that they refuse to try Il Latini just because it has become touristy. They don't know what they are missing. Afterall, we are tourists, aren't we? We are also ambassadors of the world and as such it is our duty to represent our nation and share a commonality. What better way than over dinner?

Arrivaderla

Carcassonne is a woof woofing good time

Dear Reader,

I met my first Pyrenees dogs in the wonderful hilltown of Carcassonne, France, which is still one of my favorite places in the world. Carcassonne is a classic ancient city in the south of France in the Midi-Pyrenees close to the Pyrenees Mountains and also close to Provence. It is a hot dry climate for half the year but can get quite cold in winter. For those of you who remember a commercial a few years back with a volkswagon racing through cobbled streets lined with walls, that was filmed in Carcassonne.

Carcassonne has the classic position for a hilltown, high up on a promontory overlooking the modern city and the canal du midi which you can cruise on a canal boat all the way from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean Sea. I've always wanted to do that but haven't gotten around to it yet. The hot dry climate is perfect for growing grapes and the area surrounding Carcassonne makes some truly wonderful full bodied hearty red wines called Fitu and Minervois to name a couple.

The food is a perfect compliment to the wines. If you've ever had a true French cassoulet, this is where it comes from. The cassoulet, which is a piping hot casserole consisting of white beans, tomatoes, confit de canard (duck cooked for two days in it's own fat) ham, and a bunch of spices I'm not sure about, is a very filling and hardy dish for those cold winters. But I can't resist having one in Carcassonne no matter what time of year it is.

The other delight that you must try in Carcassonne is their aperitif, Eau de Vie, which is similar to the Italian Grappa but much more delicate. They serve this little drink before and in between courses at meals to help burn a hole in the stomach to make room for more food. I've always admired the way that the French have eating and drinking all figured out. It burns as it goes down but it really does work.

All this talk doesn't even begin to describe the beauty and wonder of this ancient city which was in existence when the Romans invaded. In fact, the inner wall (the city is surrounded by two walls separated by a dry moat) was built by the Romans. The Romans knew a good thing when they saw it so they settled there and also knew a good place to plant grape vines so they started the wonderful wine produced to this day.

During medieval times the outer wall was built complete with moat and the rather small Chateau complete with drawbridge was just inside. The views from the outer walls of the countryside are lovely, especially on a clear day looking south towards the Pyrenees Mountains. One can just see them off in the distance.

There's several stories about the name, Carcassonne. One version is that the name Carcas was already in place when the Romans arrived. Others claim that the Romans named it. But my favorite story is about Madame Carcass who sonned (rang) the bell after a long siege by none other than Charlemagne and his vast army. According to the tale, the city had been besieged for months but the people would not surrender and Charlemagne couldn't get past or over the two walls so he was starving them into submission. This was common practice until cannons were invented. The people inside, hungry and desperate, were down to only one pig. Madame Carcass made the bold suggestion that they fling the pig over the wall at the feet of the enemy. This would show Charlemagne that they had so much food they could afford to give away a pig and not be hungry. It worked and when the army left Madame Carcass sonned the bell and the name Carcas- sonne came into being. It's probably not true but it's a nice story. I do know the city was never conquered after the Romans came.

In the early nineteenth century the city was almost abandoned and had fallen into ruin. The French government hired a famous architect to repair and restore Carcassonne. He had some fanciful ideas about what medieval cities looked like, something like Grimm's Fairy Tales, so he put his ideas into Carcassonne. The result is what the locals call the ridiculous "pepper pots" on top of each turret. These are conical shaped roofs which became popular during the sixteenth century in the building of the great chateaux in France, particularly along the Loire River. I like them. They make you feel like you are in a fairy tale indeed.

The inner city inside the walls is quite small considering how interesting it is. There's not a whole lot to see in Carcassonne besides a torture museum, the small cathedral, the chateau and the ramparts but that's the beauty of the place. It's a place to relax and savor, to be enjoyed and rest up before and after other rigorous touring elsewhere. Typically, like most hill towns which have some fame, the crowds of tourists arrive in the mid-morning and leave again before dark. Before and after they arrive and leave again the town is quiet and very peaceful. It's a pleasure to stroll, climb the ramparts and look at the views, and, of course, taste wine.

The main place or square is very lovely and lively with several restaurants and bistros around it, outdoor tables and lights strung overhead. Close by is a very pleasant wine bar where you can buy by the glass or the bottle and sit at a picnic table in the grassy garden protected from the tourists by a stone wall. The garden is quite large and over the wall one can see the cathedral which is elevated and part of the ramparts. We sat there for one entire afternoon drinking wine, two bottles, and playing with their beautiful collie dog.

At night the entire city is illuminated so it pays to stroll out through one of the gates and walk a bit of a distance away for a view. One night in March when John and I were celebrating our anniversary we walked outside the walls and strolled downhill a bit to the vineyards and looked back at the golden city and there perched directly above was the Hale Bopp comet again. We had seen it from the airplane and every night of our vacation but this was something to see. It was so clear we could see the tale. Well, I can't guarantee you will see a comet as this one comes only once every 70 years but the rest is never changing, I hope.

On our first visit to Carcassonne we were lucky enough to get a room at one of only three hotels inside the walls. This one has rooms with windows built into the outer walls with views of the hillside and the new city below. It is a very cool place. I love it. We've stayed there at least three times and I guarantee that if you go, you must get a room inside the old city or don't stay there at all.

Just a few yards down the street as we were walking along two huge furry dogs, one white and one black, came woofing at us, big tall pointy ears flopping and tales wagging. I'd never seen dogs like these anywhere. Their eyes are partially covered with fur and the fur rather resembles very shaggy mohair. Their long legs and paws are also covered with the shaggy hair and the tails are fringed. I guess they had expected to scare us off but instead we welcomed them and they became our pals after that. Every time we walked by their place, which is a nice little restaurant that serves breakfast of all things, they would rush out to greet us and and get a good petting. They are very frisky dogs and need lots of running and jumping. I wondered how much they got inside a small walled city.

The next time we visited Carcassonne we saw the dogs again but this time their ears had been clipped and they each had a metal bar holding the ears in an upward position. I was shocked by this, not understanding why people alter their dogs' appearance but they seemed alright. Both were as boisterous and loud as ever. We had breakfast at their restaurant every morning because John was craving eggs and they make a wonderful omlet. During each meal the tourists would start to appear on the street outside and that was their signal to go and give chase. It was hilarious to watch these two giant woofing dogs run outside and scare the living daylights out of unsuspecting tourists. Once they screamed or tried to shoo them away, the dogs would happily return to the restaurant with tales wagging to wait for the next round of tourists.  It was very funny and I was glad that we were friends or else we might also have been their victims.

On our last visit to Carcassonne we saw only one of the dogs and I think he was being punished for bad behavior because the owner wouldn't let him go outside. I heard the other dog running around upstairs so maybe they had both been bad. But he couldn't just sit there and watch us eat and not have any fun so he ran up to our table and grabbed a baguette which he ran off with. Rather than eat it, he lowered his nose to the floor and growled at it like a toy and slobbered all over it and then brought it back to our table and deposited it. Oh gross! I told John that he was meant to throw the baguette so he did and sure enough, doggy went after it and brought it right back. This game went on until the baguette was a disgusting soppy chewed up piece of bread and the owner came into the room and shooed the dog away. She apologized to us and we smiled sincerely hoping she didn't know we played along with it.

We just seem to have that effect on people and animals of all kinds. As soon as you get to know John and I you want to misbehave. It's a gift and a curse but I wouldn't trade it away for anything in the world.

Bon Nuit