Archive for Travel

Getaway…

T. S. Eliot wrote that “April is the cruelest month.” For me it’s November. The days have suddenly gone from the warm bright colors of Indian Summer to the rainy grays of approaching winter. The transition comes quickly, and now I have to think twice about whether to wear a rain shell, a down parka or both. Adding to sunlight affective disorder (SAD) is the darkness and impending doom of this week’s presidential election.

M and I used to getaway by getting on an airplane and flying to some exotic destination. It wasn’t so much getting away as getting to, but times have changed. We have aged. Our world is smaller. And, today we focus on local pleasures—especially food and friends. read more

The Bear vs. Bouchon…

Creating the perfect meal is nearly impossible. Like opera, the most complex of the arts, something almost always goes wrong. Carmy gets locked in the walk-in freezer on opening night. Richie dumps a plate of pasta on a celebrity guest. Donna Barzatto creeps out Natalie while she’s in labor with Danny’s baby. Everyone loves The Bear, the true-to-life fictional TV drama about creating a fine dining restaurant with all its loose ends and tangled relationships.

I know how hard it is to deliver the perfect meal. I’m no Carmy, but in the 80s and 90s I owned, managed and made all the pasta for Piccolo, our small Italian bistro in Sun Valley. I loved it. And, it’s enormously satisfying to feed people – especially people who love food – but with all the moving pieces it’s hard to pull off a superior dining experience with grace and style. read more

Stuff…

When M and I were working in Saigon, we lived in a tidy minimalist apartment. Three rooms, tile floors, built in appliances, TV console, small sectional, kitchen table, bed and writing table. It was uncluttered, and we loved it. So it was a shock to come back to Seattle, open the door to our condo and confront the overwhelming amount of stuff inside. Rugs on top of rugs. Walls full of books. Art on every surface. Closets full of shirts, suits, jackets, sweaters, shoes, linens, blankets, luggage. Two televisions. Two computers. Two desks. Two chests. Three sofas. Tables. Chairs. Filing cabinets. And a storage locker in the basement. Contrast raises your consciousness. read more

Travel is Like Chocolate Mousse…

It might have been Treasure Island or Mutiny on the Bounty that sparked my interest, but islands have always exerted a magnetic pull on me. Small. Romantic. Isolated. Surrounded by water. Their attraction is galvanic.

I first heard about the Balearic Islands when I was in college.  Dots in the Mediterranean Sea, ruled successively by Phoenicians, Romans, Vandals, Moors, and Catalans. Spain, but not quite Spanish – Mallorquin. Exotic.

The archipelago has four major islands – Mallorca, the largest, with Minorca, Ibiza, and Formentera in descending order. My first visit was to Formentera a few years before its first hotel was built. Then, a windless sailing trip took me to Ibiza, the party island, where we repaired the blown engine that left us becalmed in Mediterranean shipping lanes at night. Mallorca was last in the sequence but not least in its appeal. read more

You Can’t Beat Haydn…

Once upon a time, in what seems like a galaxy faraway, I was living the perfect life. Perfect wife. Three perfect children. East Coast boarding schools. A mountain house near Sun Valley. A large manicured lawn. My own tennis court. A large clear-redwood deck. Flying for Pan Am. Commuting to Europe. A month on.  A month off. Berlin-based. In and out of European capitals. A classic high-ceilinged Alt-Bau apartment on the edge of the Grunewald. Training for marathons.

And then one day the perfect life ended… I came down with a neuromuscular disease. Symptoms included double vision, drooping eyelids, legs too weak to climb into a van, and jaw muscles too weak to bite into an apple. Then my sick pay ran out, income went to half, Pan Am went bankrupt, income went to zero, and I lost most of my pension. read more