Can This Vacation be Saved?

Getting There

Seasoned travelers know vacations have their ups and downs but when one goes to a resort that comes highly rated you expect it to at least be decent. Our experience not so much.

My daughter who I’ll call K, was dragged home by the University of Maryland in March of 2020 at the height of Covid panic even though she would have been safer in Sydney, Australia during her semester abroad. The threat, you will not graduate, was a major one and there was blow back. It was withdrawn after her housemates and others who already bought tickets home and gave up their place were grudgingly packing to go home.

The boyfriend K loved dumped her right before she arrived on Bondi Beach six weeks earlier and after a three day odyssey to get home, she slept for two weeks and could not stop repeating when she surfaced for food that it was “The End of the World.”

So after she graduated a year later in May of 2022, and everyone’s big scare that resulted in my 4-day hospital stay where they kept asking for a living will, and I kept telling them “I am not going to die,” we decided to go to the Caribbean as her graduation present.

One week on a Caribbean island where the most stress we would have was deciding what color drink should be consumed on the beach or in a bar. Or so we thought.

The Travel Agent

The restrictions to travel overseas in May of 2021 were massive, differed by country and kept changing. So for the first time in three decades I used a travel agent. She suggested the Secrets Resort n Punta Cana on Bavaro Beach, at the northern tip of the Dominican Republic (DR) which is famous for its gorgeous setting and sold me when she said that the resort had gourmet food. The DR was practical because it did not require Covid tests to get in and the US only wanted a negative antigen test 36 hours before you came back.

The Dominican Republic was discovered and founded by Christopher Columbus in 1492, the same year he found North America. Under Spanish rule for much of its history the island was inhabited by the Taíno, an Arawakan people, who referred to it as "mother of all lands." Columbus promptly claimed the island for the Spain naming it La Isla Española. The Taínos were nearly wiped out due to European infectious diseases. The DR was under Spanish, French and Haitian and in the 20th century briefly under American rule. Independence was declared during the 1920s. Mamajuana, the national drink is wine based infused with spices and likely other types of liquor. Dominicans say it is an aphrodisiac, and enough of it will definitely eliminate prudishness.

I am not quiet when things don’t go well, which my daughter knows and puts up with briefly until she shuts me down. This trip we agreed from the moment we got to Secrets Royal Beach Punta Cana, an all inclusive adults only club, began badly. The travel agent tried to upgrade us to the “Preferred Club” and so did the person who greeted us, which seemed like an excuse to just charge us more so I demurred. Our package ended up being what the airlines call “basic economy” on flights - which translates to a human version of a cattle car.

Masks were mandated and people were wearing them, mostly correctly. Our flight’s anti-masker was in his late 20s, wearing cargo shorts and some sort of tank top. He travelled with his sister, girlfriend and her boyfriend and dictated to his entourage. He unmasked as we waited for the plane, the others followed, and picked a fight with the woman across from him who told him he needed to put it back on. At the time masks were mandated by the federal government on all public transportation and most people, exclusive of him, followed the rules.

His mask came off onboard as did those of his followers, and he dissed the flight attendant who announced passengers all needed to wear their masks because it’s the law. A scuffle ensued until he captain said over the loudspeaker, “We have been in touch with the Dominican police and if you don’t put your masks on now and wear them correctly, you will be arrested when we land.” Did I mention that we were on Southwest and had spent extra to board early?

The Best Kept Secret Was Its Terrible Food

Our arrival was fairly uneventful but after a four hour flight that left early in the morning with just pretzels on Southwest we were starving. The travel agent had raved about the gourmet food at Secrets Royal Beach in Punta Cana variety of cuisines available, as well as our open access to the hotel next door.

So we checked out the buffet which had everything you could possibly want with Dominican food and the typical steak, chicken, salad, vegetables, potatoes and more. There was one Dominican beef stew with a mix of flavors not identifiable but good. The desserts which sported whipped cream, chocolate, pastry shells and more were tasteless.

Our room air conditioner was set to freezing but my daughter who loves to freeze was happy. The balcony overlooked a plethora of palm tree, a network of conjoined pools, a strip of beach in the distance and a breath of calm. They brought up a tray of cold salads that looked like they’d been sitting outside all day, congealed, wrapped in plastics, thrown in a refrigerator and brought to us before tossing out.

We chose the Asian restaurant for our first night. My sesame noodles were seasoned with chili sauce out of a bottle with a couple of sesame seeds trying desperately to define the dish. Katie ordered ratty looking sushi and when the waiter returned he picked up the untouched food without a word.

That night we walked among the pools eyeing two swim up bars, couples making out on the chaise lounges and a few others wandering around. In the background was the faint smell of sewage which we found out the next morning was rotting seaweed, that had not been cleared yet from the beaches because they had only reopened a couple of months earlier.

Back in the room I did yoga while K spent the next two hours on the phone with her new boyfriend while I wrote a note to the agent that said something like “We need to talk no later than 10:00 AM tomorrow morning about this place.” She made herself available.

The Conversation and Our Special Dinner

Of course, the travel agent made excuses, another travel agent had just been there and raved about it, perhaps Asian food was not the best option in a Dominican resort, and more, but when I didn’t say anything she called Secrets and got us upgraded for free to the “Preferred Club” they had tried to sell us earlier. They also made me sign a statement that I would not sue them. With the PC came our own butler named Eddie who made reservations for us and addressed anything we asked and access to a private beach. Eddie told us we they were arranging a special dinner for us at their Italian restaurant.

My pasta with bolognese sauce (mystery meat) was almost edible and hers, supposed to be Alfredo was white Elmer’s Glue on a plate with noodles. They were out of every one of the bottles of wine for sale and instead brought the resort’s wine which was undrinkable. The waiter picked up what we didn’t touch and brought it back to the kitchen to toss.

That night we walked to the beach and watched the sea lap upon the shore, discovered the mound of seaweed was down the beach a bit, big, daunting and rotting like a carcass in the desert. The smell was a mixture of death and rotting plants and depending upon where you were in the club wafts of it would come to us on a breeze.

The Tide Started Turning

The next day we split up. I went to the beach in the morning while she slept and talked to the boyfriend. At 11:30 AM a waitress came and I ordered a pina colada with an extra shot of rum and the day got better. Slept under a thatched hut for awhile got up, jumped in the pool to cool off and wandered. Later on I found the bar that only the upgraded Club members could use - cool, empty, free decent food and more pina coladas plus the bonus cappuccino machine. Eddie’s office was in the bar and he murmured something to the bartender and my drinks were stronger than on the beach.

When I got back to the room K said she found a restaurant, a beach bar reminiscent of San Diego, with burgers and tacos and basic fair that was good. That became our daily place. And that was also when we realized the Secret of Secrets. The club next door was called Dreams Royal Beach as part of our package we could go there when we wanted. So Eddie started booking us into the Dream’s restaurants and the food catastrophe was over. I later learned that Dreams was the former site of Secrets but it moved to a parcel of land next door making Secret’s rooms and club much nicer than its neighbor but in the seven months since it reopened they had not yet figured out how to cook edible food.

I went horseback riding in an abandoned mine with a group from the club, where we wore masks on the bus and then took them off for the rest of the time. The day was picture perfect as we galloped through the old salt mine, shadows of white on the hills, as we descended down and climbed up again. I hung towards the back and one of the guides stayed with me. We had a blast.

The Dreams restaurants were crowded, the food far better, with better wine that we still had to pay for on our trip that was supposed to include free alcohol. The last night we found the party in the square with a circus and a DJ. Staff members asked us to dance and K who is blonde, 22 and classic American beautiful with a Julia Roberts smile, was in high demand. I danced too and there is a video to prove it.

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The Last Time I Saw Paris - Part One

A trip to anywhere in Europe for me is not complete without a couple of days in Paris. By far, it’s my favorite city in the world and particularly now when I’m lucky to go abroad every couple of years, it has to be part of the trip.

I arrived by train on an uncomfortable ride from Strosbourg, France’s northern border city with Germany. Part of that was my fault as I sat in first class by accident and the ticket person shrugged but in France they made me move. That meant I had to drag my suitcase through six cars of the high-speed train as it zipped along, afraid that I would topple over. I stopped at the first 2nd Class car where there was a seat, a four-person section with tables and a clearly defiant man who smelled so terribly of body odor it choked the air.

I had a mask on and although after a bit I became used to it – they say that happens with just about everything except perhaps the pervasive smell of cat urine – and my hour in there felt like a year.

The Heat Wave That Finally Quit

When I got outside it was a zillion percent humidity and 102 degrees, but rather than battle the metro which has no air conditioning on the platforms, I decided to walk as it was only a mile. Halfway there my sandals and the cobblestones got mad at each other and I fell, hard on the payment, my new knee (which sets off metal detectors even though they said it would not), hit the concrete hard but thankfully did not bruise. So, I jumped in a taxi with a driver who could not find my street, Rue Au Maire and did not seem to have a GPS that could help him, so we used mine and a lot of extra Euros later, found it.

Nicholas, my Airbnb host, was waiting in front of the centuries old building in the 3rd Arondissement, and on the border of the Marais, the oldest arrondissement in Paris. His building did not have air conditioning, which is common in that area of Paris, since many of the buildings are too old to support the wiring.

The Apartment

The Marais is ancient and lovely, you can close your eyes and imagine Paris centuries ago, commune with its ghosts. During the late Middle Ages, Paris was divided into many small parcels, with narrow houses tightly erected against one another. Le Marais, or The Swamp, now comprises the 3rd and 4th arrondissements, and once was a giant garden producing vegetables for the city. In the 16th century, when noblemen and the bourgeoisie were looking for plots large enough for their residences, this is where they went. They built hôtels particuliers - large one-family houses - many of which resembled genuine palaces. An old world architectural model. My ex-husband and I lived there for five weeks in the early 1990s before beginning a trek across Europe, before it became the chic, pricey and extremely popular area it is today.

My initial reaction to Nicholas’ apartment was not good. We climbed up four flights of stairs and my suitcase was again too heavy, (should have known better), but he had bought a Dyson fan which made it almost bearable even though the windows had to be closed. I mentioned that if the heat continued I might go to a hotel because of the heat. But when I got up in the morning the temperature had dropped at least 25 degrees, the humidity was lower, the one I had stayed in before called the Hotel Lenox, near the Jardin Luxembourg, was several hundred dollars per night.

Nicholas’s studio was completely renovated and looked brand, spanking new and once the heat wave broke in the morning, it grew on me. In Europe, unlike the Airbnb’s in the US, are often rented from owners who actually live in them, and go stay with a friend while they make extra money. The apartments reflect the taste and character of their owners rather than in America where depending on price you often get the ambiance of a cheap or relatively expensive hotel owned by a developer.

His flat was bigger than your average European hotel room, and beautifully appointed with a concept wall that included his sketches of people’s faces so finely detailed they felt like friends. An amateur etymologist, he had four framed butterflies so well preserved you could see fur on them. In the fridge was an undrinkable bottle of white wine, who drinks bad wine in France I wondered, some fake butter, tiny viles of balsamic vinaigrette and a bottle of water. The blessing of his place was the washing machine, which after 10 days of airing out already worn clothes on window sills was a blessing.

The Ghostly Charm of Le Marais

I walked over to the fourth arrondissement in the Marais for my first dinner, pausing at Les Halles where a dancing crowd had formed around street musicians playing The Village People’s YMCA. A far cry from where my children’s father and I had lived for six weeks in a charmingly seedy hotel called the Jean D’Arc after the warrior princess. The word Marais means swamp, and it was literally built on one. During the late Middle Ages Paris was divided into many small parcels, with narrow houses tightly erected against one another and the land was farmed. Now Le Marais, spans the third and fourth arrondissements (sections of the city), which residents will tell you rich with irony, when they explain why their apartment does not have air-conditioning and it’s 100 degrees outside the window.

Over several centuries, Le Marais became the site of the richest architectural ensembles in Paris. The transformation began in the 18th century and today designer shops, renowned museums, a gay district, and the old Jewish neighborhood take you back in time. 

And Paris was Paris.The miles and blisters from that night were worth the trip. I was shoehorned into a table in a crowded outdoor restaurant that was pricey, near the hotel DeVille. But you know in France that when a restaurant is busy, really busy, that it is worth it and it was. Dinner was steak over couscous and a mixed green salad. Next to me were two women with their daughter and son, college students most likely, who ate quickly then were impatient to get to the own friends on the streets. Drinking in Paris in the night air is a vacation in and of itself.

That night was brutally hot and the two glasses of a rose I would never have ordered in another city, I felt as one with the Parisians. They won’t let me speak French, its too painful for them I think, but they were welcoming and remote enough that it seemed fine. At some point before my food came, I went downstairs to use the restroom and saw the cooks melting in the kitchen and thought of prisoners in a dungeon awaiting their fate.

Afterwards, I walked to the Seine and stared off of a bridge, took many pictures and reveled in the night. A bride in a short, unadorned white dress, groom in a well cut suit, and perhaps a maid of honor were taking photos of her against the darkening backdrop of the Paris sky. 10:00 at night and and the milky sky was still darkening. I walked back to the flat, checked to see that I’d gone about eight miles, flung into a cold shower, took an Ambien and was gone.

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My apartment

The perfect French meal.

The cafe that stayed the same.

The apartment

My happiest place.

Beam Me to Vancouver Please

ASK ME WHAT I remember about my trip to Vancouver Island, and I’ll offer up three things: Standing on the beach drinking in a remarkably still Pacific Ocean, an art scene influenced by many cultures and art forms, and amazing Asian food.

An unmistakable energy marks this city of about a million people, where residents live in one of the warmest climates in North America. That energy is young, vibrant, multi-cultural, and its residents just seem happy — but who would not, living in a city that would appear in your dreams.

Nanaimo Old City Quarter by Heather Cowper

Vancouver Island is a place where you can be on the water most of the year. At its southern tip await Victoria, British Columbia’s capital, and a boat-lined Inner Harbor replete with English-style gardens. The harbor city called Nanaimo has an Old City Quarter with shops, galleries and restaurants.

The island’s first major settlement was developed by the Hudson Bay Company in 1843, three years after it came under British rule. Named after George Vancouver, the British Royal Navy officer who explored the Pacific Northwest coast between 1791 and 1794, the city easily blends history and modernism.

Surrounded by sights to see and myriad of things to do, you could start your trip at the top of Beacon Hill Park, which is within walking distance to downtown. The park covers more than 200 acres with much to explore. At the very top is what Canadians call the First Nation’s Longhouse. Lovingly built and tendedto by the Lekungen Nation, an indigenous North American Coast Salish people, it offers a glimpse inside the native North American world.

With a thriving indoor and outdoor art scene, Vancouver is home to exhibits such as The Birds at the former site of the 2010 Olympic Village. Right in front of the Convention Center is a giant digital Orca. And you can visit The Human Connection, a collection of 64 steel-cut figures standing over seven meters tall, as you breathe in the expanse of the city’s English Bay and the island’s bustling downtown.

A popular transportation method that many Vancouverites use is hopping into a Beaver. This small, 1950s-era, propeller- powered floatplane flies hunters deep into the British Columbia wilderness and lands on pristine lakes throughout the countryside. The six-seat Beaver is considered by many to be Canada’s plane. And if you want to soar above the city, single-engine Beavers can take you on tours.

Vancouver Island will always be worth the trip.

Learning to Cook Like a Caribbean

Tucked away in the southernmost corner of the Caribbean Sea on the island of Trinidad, Lystra Seepersad, creator of the Caribbean Kitchen Pool & Lounge, teaches cooking to her fellow islanders and visitors. About 45 minutes from the twin island republic’s capital city Port of Spain, her home is a food oasis fed by a small but mighty kitchen garden producing sweet corn, broccoli, peppers and myriad of other vegetables, as well as spices such as karapule, which is used in curry.

At the center of her pool resides a white and pink blow up unicorn, a testament to her unique style and a favorite when she holds birthday parties for local children.

Lystra has spent the past two decades teaching herself to cook the specialties and varied cuisine of the islands and now shares what she’s learned through in-person and virtual classes. Mastering the diversity of Trinidadian and Tobagonian food can take years.

Like other Caribbean countries, recipes are rarely written down and instead are passed from generation to generation, much like family heirlooms. Lystra began experimenting with different spices at 19, and when she married, her husband Aftab was her guinea pig for taste testing. He was a gentle reminder that she could always improve. “Aftab might say that needs a little bit of this and that, but if he didn’t like the food he wouldn’t have said much, just not taken more,” she explains.

The cuisine of Trinidad and Tobago is “a melting pot formed from an array of cultures including Chinese, Indian, African, Syrian, Lebanese, Guyanese, Italian and Creole. Slaves, indentured servants and colonizers from Spain, France and Great Britain have also influenced the course of its cuisine for centuries.”

Lystra, who labels herself an “exquisite entrepreneur,” has done well helping others learn to cook the food of her homeland. Between her private group page and business pages on Facebook she has close to 100,000 followers who keep coming back in part because of the constant stories about food amidst photos of mouth-watering dishes and happy cooks in training.

One of her favorite ways of getting attention is to ask her followers what’s for dinner? The question is followed by images of delectable dishes such as palau, a stew made with either beef or chicken. Its unique flavor comes from searing the meat in caramelized sugar then simmering with rice, coconut milk and pigeon peas accompanied by slices of tomato, avocadoes or cucumber. Other meals may include curried duck or curried goat so tantalizing you can almost smell them through the Internet.

Preparing Meals in Paradise

Trinidad and Tobago, and the 21 smaller islands spanning almost 2,000 square miles off the coast of Venezuela, are worth a trip simply for the views. Trinidad is the more developed of the two big islands, and its capital Port of Spain is home to a thriving oil industry and one of the busiest shipping hubs in the Caribbean. By contrast, Tobago is largely undeveloped with a coastline encircled by peacock blue water and white coral sand beaches. Its interior is rich with rainforests, waterfalls and wildlife.

Lystra’s cooking class | Lystra Seepersad

Lystra taught her first cooking class in 2017, a hands-on West Indian roti and curry workshop. Roti is a local wheat- based flatbread that can be compared to naan in India although the only version called sada roti has the similar buttery texture of the Indian version.

A local favorite roti is called Buss Up Shut because the crust is flaky and easily shreds, which looks like a bussed up or torn shirt. Street food such as Doubles, a sandwich made from curried chickpeas tucked between two pieces of fried flat bread and dressed in tamarind, coriander sauces and mango chutney, is also on the menu.

A typical cooking class lasts five to six hours and walks students through the process of preparing, cooking and presenting the finished meal. Students assist her in cooking, and when all is done each goes home with a box of food and a gift for coming to class, such as a special bowl or kitchen tongs. Lystra also travels to the students’ homes and prepares food with them in domiciles as varied as boats and corporate offices.

Lystra Seepersad

What’s the best part about teaching others to love the food of her native land? “I like it when my participants message me with their photos to show their progress in the kitchen,” she said. “Some have even opened catering businesses. I remember one participant who said his money for his wife’s classes was well worth it. That was a great feeling knowing I had helped others regain their confidence in the kitchen.” For more, go to caribbeankitchenbylystra.com

Whole Wheat Sada Roti

Ingredients

• 4 CUPS FLOUR

• 1⁄2 CUP WHEAT BRAN (OPTIONAL; COULD BE REPLACED WITH WHITE FLOUR)

• 3 TEASPOONS BAKING POWDER

• 3⁄4 TEASPOON SALT

• 1⁄2 TEASPOON SUGAR

• 11⁄2 TO 2 CUPS OF WATER FOR KNEADING

Method

1. Place dry ingredients in a bowl, then knead flour with 11⁄2 cups of water, add a little more if necessary.

2. Brush the top with oil, cover and leave to rest for 45 minutes.

3. Make 3 to 4 small dough balls (loyas). Cover and leave to rest another 15 minutes.

4. Heat the tawah or griddle.

5. Open one of the dough balls and place on a floured surface. Roll out with a rolling pin about 8 inches wide and 1⁄2 inch thick.

6. Place the rolled-out dough on the heated tawah. As soon as the bubbles start to form flip it over and cook the other side. Flip one more time.

7. To sakay the roti (toast the edges so it inflates and you can put cooked vegetables inside), pull the tawah away from the flame, tilt the side you are holding downward so the side that is used is not touching your grill and use a clean dish cloth to push the roti towards the flame to cook the edges evenly.

Adapted from Marinalife Magazine where I am a Contributing Editor.

Good Morning Trinidad!

Bringing Up Patriots Along the Chesapeake Bay

Bringing up Patriots Along the Chesapeake Bay

When local school children and their families sing The Star-Spangled Banner in what is now a quasi- suburban stretch alongside the Chesapeake Bay outside of Baltimore, they have a deep connection to the national anthem. They live in the spot where Francis Scott Key wrote the Star-Spangled Banner during the War of 1812.

Many local students have visited North Point State Park which has a trail at its entrance detailing how the anthem was written during a 25-hour siege by the British. They know that Key was on the dock of a truce ship watching “the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air” after he negotiated the release of Dr. William Beanes of Upper Marlborough from the British fleet.

In a video, National Park Service Ranger Kate Marks explained just how important the historic trails in North Point State Park are to the community.

“I’ve been working on this 1812 trail for 12 years,” Ranger Marks said. “I love the passion of this community. You get a little bit of history and nature. It’s a wonderful thing for the community.”

The American flag also holds special meaning for locals. The flag “with broad stripes and bright stars” that flew at Fort McHenry through the battle Key watched was sewn by local seamstress and Baltimore County flag maker Mary Pickersgill. Her house is now called The Star Spangled Banner Museum. America was only 15 states then, and the same number of stars and stripes. The Star-Spangled Banner flag is now permanently at the Smithsonian.

A Great Place to Visit

Like many urban cities on the water, there are two Baltimores, the one tourists flock to on the harbor and the one where locals  live along a 205 mile stretch and make a living off the water. This working-class area offers nightlife and water life in a quieter and homier environment than the city. Like many quasi-suburban areas close to a big city, it has less expensive restaurants and bars where neighbors hang out with each other and welcome those who come by boat or car into their communities.

Baltimore County’s pivotal role in preserving our fledgling nation reverberates through this stretch of the Chesapeake Bay. You can see it in the prominently hung American flags and the families as they fish from their boats and tool around to waterfront oases where they can enjoy cheap beer, crabs, and a host of sunset watching happy hours.

incredible views of the Chesapeake Bay can be found at places like the Home Island Waterfront Café and the Riverwatch Restaurant and Marina. The Crazy Tuna Bar and Grille which bills itself the “hottest place in town serving good food in a great atmosphere” is awash in tiki bar charm. Another restaurant called Brewer’s Landing is ideal for a casual outdoor meal and has a DJ who plays music along the Back River.

If it’s dive bars you like, check out The Seahorse Inn, on Oakleigh Cove, where frequent kayakers, boaters, and jet skiers spend afternoons enjoying the water. Recent upgrades have made it a bit less divey though. And if it’s low-key action you want, there’s a beach to play horseshoes below.

There’s a patriotic flair to many of local establishments, with names such as the Freedom Boat Club of MD where you can rent bowriders, center consoles and pontoons, among others. Watersports abound in this part of the Chesapeake and you can rent a kayak or paddle boat to explore the Bay with friends and family.

The upper part of the Chesapeake Bay is also home to colleges with programs focused on saving the Bay and improving the experience of it. For almost 110 years America’s Boating Club has helped make boating better through education and safety programs. The area is also home to the Community College of Baltimore County which offers certificate programs in Marine Engine Maintenance Repair and how to become a Professional Boat Captain.

And when evening comes there are glorious sunsets over the Chesapeake to be seen.

Searching for the Perfect Sunset in Corolla, NC

The Outer Banks , a 200-mile (320 km) string of barrier islands and spits off the coast of North Carolina and southeastern Virginia, has some of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen. In prices drop dramatically so I rented a three bedroom condo in a development called Corolla Light which for $1600 a week was reasonable considering it included a $200 fee for Roo and offered use of a sports center and other resort amenities. Next time though I want a view.

From the moment we arrived though it was a different Corolla than the one I’ve stayed in before. There was a big contingency of people from southern Virginia and NC, none who wore masks and many who openly said they were unvaccinated. We went out for sushi at the Okinawa Sushi Bar & Grill and saw that the waiters and kitchen help also wore no masks. After a grueling seven hour drive to get there from Maryland we sat down and ate what turned out to be excellent sushi and said we would test the efficacy of our vaccines. My Covid test post visit was negative.

The Cape Hatteras National Seashore is wild and wonderful with a popular lighthouse you can climb to the top of to get expansive views of the sea and beach. Like a college football game tailgate, we drove on to the beach, and wandered for a couple of miles, with our only companions seagulls, sandpipers and a crane that must have got lost hunting for a marsh. Afterwards we watched two little girls fed Duck Donuts by their grandmother who doled out different flavors like candy. Tummy aches to follow. On the way back to Corolla made a brief stop at my absolute favorite restaurant in the area, Duck Duck Burgers where you can get a burger that rivals the West Coast’s In-N-Out burger in made-to-order yumminess.

In mid-week with a storm moving in that night, we drove my ancient Subaru Forester to the end of the island and drove on the beach. The anger of the waves was just beginning and two nervous drivers in black mega sports utility vehicles were skirting the shore so slowly that I roared past them in a 4-wheel drive bliss. Driving on sand can be a bit nerve wracking the first time, but once you get used to it and get to know how well your car handles the dips and waves in the sand, it’s a blast. A ways out people get out of their cars and hang out, waiting for the wild horses who hide behind the dunes. I’ve never seen one but there are tours that will take you out and to justify their pricing must find them.

Pre-storm the sunsets over weren’t much to write home about, especially the popular strip near Corolla Park overlooking Corolla Bay. Sun beamed out from behind dark clouds but never emerged and then faded into the grey like a date that seems promising and then devolves into “What am I doing her?” But after the storm cleared a couple of days later my dog Roo dragged me down a path and we discovered a trail along the bay near our condo that had benches, quiet and a dock with just a handful of people on it. Before and after pictures are below.

Due in part to the mask free hordes and also the $100 price tag from that first night, we decided to cook in the well stocked kitchen. The roach traps in most rooms were disconcerting but at least we didn’t see any.

After it stormed for a full day Roo and I went down to the beach and I let her run free because there were no people, which wasn’t allowed in Corolla which has a leash law for the beach. The wind was a bit fierce but again there was that wildness of being a lone survivor of some sort of shipwreck. I live just outside of Washington, DC and to me quiet is peace. All I want to hear is waves pounding against the shore.

Try VRBO for Corolla Light condos. You’re worth it.

Quintessential beach photo.

Early in the week sunset.

Cape Hatteras Lighthouse

Roo and her new friend.

Took my breath away.

Rooey's Excellent Vermont Adventure

The knot that lived in my chest for months disappeared the moment we saw the “Welcome to Vermont” flanked by a pillow of Green Mountains behind it.

Most of us have a happy place when we travel – a destination that we’ve returned to for years or perhaps a new one discovered under the restrictions of pandemic travel. Mine is Vermont.

Post college one of my closest friends and her boyfriend moved to the Warren Valley in Vermont. This hamlet in the northern part of central VT was what my life wasn’t – uncrowded, quiet and happily affordable. Their goals in life were to ski and make art to fund their Adjacent to Sugarbush and close to the Mad River Glen resort. The area was filled with hippies, city transplants and surrounded by green velvet mountains staring majestically at the sky above. We could go for hikes along the river, jumping from rock to rock and sink down into an ice-cold swimming hole when it got too hot. We swam across Blueberry Lake to keep fit – the perfect anecdote to the hangover from the night before, ski through the winter and lose ourselves in the deep reds, golds and greens of foliage season. For someone who lived in a miniscule walk-up studio in Manhattan it was paradise.

After a rough pandemic 18 months I packed a bag, put my dog Roo into the back of my Subaru Forrester and headed north. We stopped half a dozen times during the 11 hour drive north from the Washington, DC metro area past industrial Baltimore, skirting Manhattan and its traffic, through Connecticut tempted by signs for Mystic Seaport, more industry in Springfield, MA, and finally the Putney, VT General Store with the best vegan sandwich I had ever tasted. Spinach, sprouts, avocado, grated carrots, pickled veggies sparked by garlicky tahini with a hint of hummus. The bread was still warm.

I slept through all four nights which I had not done in months and through the crowing of the early morning roosters.

My pandemic pup Roo edging closer to two years-old is a black labradoodle with the smarts of a poodle and the endless love and charm of a black lab. She gets car sick and to her credit only threw up once. Her glazed over expression vanished when we got to the little yellow farmhouse on the side of the road halfway between Randolph and Northfield in central, rural VT. The road was a blizzard of curves but the lushness of the foliage and the hints of red maples at the top of the mountain made up for it. The few people I saw looked like they belonged on the mountain with long graying beards, ponytails and work shirts in the late summer cool-off. No it’s not just on the travel posters.

We did not stay in Warren because little was available and what was too pricey, so I found a little yellow farmhouse on Airbnb for $135 per night and a quick drive over the Roxbury Gap Road to the Warren. Except that the Warren Mountain Road as it is called on the other side was closed for three weeks the trip around took a full hour so we made it once and explored the area around East Granville, our official home.

Most people come to Vermont to hike but with a knee anxiously awaiting replacement and another with a torn meniscus this was going to be a different way to explore. We checked out Randolph and walked around the half dozen blocks of town, pausing to wonder at the obligatory white spired church at the centers of town. Our connection to Randolph was forged by two coffee shops, the Huggable Mug Café with a to die for blueberry muffin and a cappuccino reminiscent of Italy. Only the servers wore masks but there was plenty of room for social distancing. Its main competition is the Carrier Roasting Co. whose beans are roasted daily and were had the subtle yet uplifting flavor that comes from it. After endless on the road it felt like a divine gift.

Did I mention that the going price for a first class cappuccino was $2.75. I paid $5.00 for a Starbucks cold brew at a New Jersey rest stop.

We only made it to Warren once, and it had become a genuine tourist trap. The town was still charming with its stately homes and white picket fences but The Warren Store, my favorite food and wine store in Vermont, had gone commercial. The cool selection of ski and summer gear designed for women in incredible shape was gone and replaced by boxy older women’s apparel with a varied sense of style. The jewelry was no longer interesting, and local craftspeople’s wares were gone. The Farmer’s Market, which only rivalled the one in Burlington an hour away, had limited hours, everyone was completely masked and you had to wait in line outside because of social distancing. Skipped that.

But sitting on a deck over the rollicking river with the sun unbothered by clouds was worth it. The sandwiches and wraps are liberal with hot sauce that I no longer can eat so I chose the Vermonter Sandwich, everything made or grown locally from the cheddar to the bacon to the caramelized onions and the freshest of grilled white bread. In nearby Waitsfield a number of stores were gone, particularly in the plaza that had the best Creemies around. Vermont is a state with more cows than people and the ice cream is likely the best ever. Roo and I walked a trail near river beaches with a handful of sunburned kids alternating between the sand and water for about a mile and a half an overhang of cooling trees.

Due north of East Granville is a town of 2100 called Northfield, VT. It . The home of Norwich University it combines a gritty, industrial feel with students and faculty. A trip to Northfield is worth the Maple Cremees, made from you guessed it VT maple syrup. A tangy sweetness explodes at the first lick of a soft cone and offers the perfect complement to a warm summer’s day.

Travel during the pandemic put a wrench in the need to go to restaurants, many of which were only open a handful of days and subject to change due to Covid so I bought food from the roadside markets and cooked.

The Little Yellow Farm House at Strickland Farm, which has housed six generations of one family, and the noises in the basement, which the Airbnb host said it was an overeager dehumidifier but my imagination ran wild with all that could really bedownthere. Whether you liked it or did not was a clear demonstration of the kind of traveler you are. I did not expect luxury and was right not to. Everything was old –the appliances required going back 30 years to the top sellers of the day and the washer dryer was missing a handle but could be pulled on by what was under it. If like me you remember those appliances, you’ll find it very comforting. The kitchen was a little understocked with just salt and pepper, but the homey touches made up for it with baked that morning homemade bread, just laid eggs and VT butter a tribute to its cows.

The porch off my bedroom offered a morning view of gold and orange fields guarded by mountains. The beds were comfy and blankets plentiful.  Did I mention that it was $135 per night?

 The only drawback to the house its location, directly on a road that few people used but those that did owned it racing by. Roo was stuck on her leash and walked up and down our country road fields of wildflowers and a hustling stream. Even though my four legged companion doesn’t speak human I talk to her like a small child in the hope that she’ll remember some of what I said. I told Roo the black and white pinto across the way was her horse and the roosters who stopped spreading out through the parking lot after the first time they saw the dog were Rooey’s Roosters.

 On our last day we found Doggie Nirvana. I was looking up VT dog parks but none of them seemed any different than those at home, although they appeared more spacious in the photos. I read about Hubbard Park in Montpelier which didn’t offer much information and I found out why when we got there. After 10 minutes of walking the not very happy leashed Roo we met a woman with one of those giant breeds of dog still in its puppyhood. She said it was an off-leash park, which means the dogs own the park. Their owners are just the folks who bring the dogs and take them home. The joy from the four-legged creatures “unleashed” miraculous. This was actual freedom.

We left our little yellow house sadly, sacrificing a pink Lululemon sweatshirt, and the freshly roasted coffee beans. On to our Manhattan escapee family in the Catskill Mountains.

If you want to go some place where everything is easy and the mountains inspire go to Vermont.

Limping Around Lisbon

With an arthritic right knee and a torn meniscus on the left, covered by a rather massive brace, I realize this will be a different trip than others. Eat, drink, museums, views, churches and cabs. Fortunately all of them are so cheap – a full meal in a good restaurant with wine is $25 and the Portuguese never tip more than 10 percent so I decide to honor that. I can limp, eat and take cabs up the hill where I am staying.

I finished my memoir from a now 40 year-old who worked in the Obama White House during afternoon siesta. She managed to write about his presidency in a way that was funny and charming and revealed Obama’s personality without giving too much away. Time to go explore.

After more than a decade of not traveling abroad except for a big European city tour the year both kids graduated, then 18 months of back and forth from Florida to DC, there’s a sense of freedom that comes with going to a European city with no purpose other than to run away from home.

Portuguese Vegan Food - Not so Yummy

Now I’m sitting in a vegan restaurant I stumbled in to when my knee started to throb. The floor is a sea of Moroccan tile in blue and white – a checked pattern I vaguely remember seeing from a stoned trip in college.

Not sure what I ordered but some sort of fake beef with vegetables. My table is reserved which says reserved has a Moorish pattern running through the center. The Portuguese do a lot of stressed out wood. Looks cool but also perhaps a bit unnecessary in a country where atmosphere abounds. 

The service is relaxed, a pleasant change from at home where I often complain about being rushed. They don’t forget you but a woman alone is left to her own devices in a way I don’t mind.

 I drink Madeira wine at lunch. The walls are a blend of stucco, wood and distressed cabinets. The pictures on the wall show clearly that the artist is just learning how to paint with watercolors. 

The restaurant is filled with a British family and a large group of diverse women in their late teens or early twenties. The waiter is a gray and white haired version of what I now describe as the Portuguese male 5’9” who brings me a piping hot bowl of pea soup that is like murky glass on the surface with a dollop of fake cream in the middle. Best thing I ate. The fake meat which tastes pretty impossible is the consistency of Spam. I ask what it is made of and the waiter just shrugs.

Now I’m sitting in a vegan restaurant I stumbled in to when my knee started to throb. The floor is a sea of Moroccan tile in blue and white – a checked pattern I vaguely remember seeing from a stoned trip in college.

Not sure what I ordered but some sort of fake beef with vegetables. My table is reserved which says reserved has a Moorish pattern running through the center. The Portuguese do a lot of stressed out wood. Looks cool but also perhaps a bit unnecessary in a country where atmosphere abounds. 

The service is relaxed, a pleasant change from at home where I often complain about being rushed. They don’t forget you but a woman alone is left to her own devices in a way I don’t mind.

Alfama Cellars 

I walk into Alfama Cellars at about 5:00 PM, a tiny restaurant wedged between two other storefronts. My knees are in full mutiny and I must sit down to assuage them. The owner comes as I enter and is polite but firm, he is booked solid all evening. The room is empty. He says I have 45 minutes and I choose a table for two towards the back.

More distressed wood – this time its shelves and bottles of wine line them calling to me. The placemats and chairs are red, a welcomed contrast to the woodsy browns. The Portuguese are not rug people, most floors are bare save for a rag rug.

The olive oil even tastes rustic with a bit of earth in it The wine is good, rich and red, not quite the best I’ve ever had but up there. The first sip explodes jammy and happy in my mouth with such exuberance I know my tongue and teeth are turning red as I sip. The cheese is a menagerie of flavors and so creamy it literally melts in my mouth. I sit and I drink and I eat cheese and bread and heaven is on earth at that moment. The cheese is like sex when you are almost there and need just one more exquisite flavor.

The owner is a small rather rotund man who clearly is baffled by me alone in his place, but when I go back the next day and eat salt cod he is friendlier. Highly recommend this place. 

Another day I decide to eat just Portuguese peasant food and enter into it with the gusto of a native. The fish was so fresh but the sides were not very interesting. 

 The View from the Church

In Graca near to where I am staying is a view to die for from Lisbon Cathedral. A café springs from it along a stone wall with a panoramic view of Lisbon. From above you miss the small details that make Lisbon so intriguing like the clothes lines that dot the streets as they wend their way down each endless hill. My favorite was the one with women’s underpants, cotton, white in a straight line. 

The view is a mish mosh of stucco roofs like so many creatures stuck in time. The azure sky, sky, grey clouds hint of a storm. Missing the majesty of Paris or London, Lisbon is a city where normal people go. And many people were there in late October from all over the world.

 I should have learned a few words of Portuguese before I came but then I start speaking Spanish to a cabdriver and realize that this is all I need to communicate. While up near my apartment I hear Portuguese constantly, when I get stuck I switch to Spanish and it works. But the truth is they would prefer that you speak their language.

I walk up and follow the overlook. A Portuguese man with a high pitched voice more than a little off-key sings Abba’s Dancing Queen and I have to turn away so he does not see me laughing.

This is Lisbon, cigarettes, frying fish, endless blue water. 

Don’t Miss this Place

My last night I find Churrasco da Graca, a barbecue pace. Google which is working for now says it is a find, and it is. The place has its own ecosystem – working there Portuguese, Africans teasing each other. Since I cannot follow what they are saying in a blend of French, Spanish, Portuguese and yes an Italian word or tw

The view from the church.

Exploring the harbor from above.

At the market.