Ten Days in Turkey

If you've been wondering why I've been on radio silence with respect to your comments recently, it's only because we spent the past 10 days in Turkey, a kind of last hurrah for our international adventure.  I managed to post plenty in advance of our departure but thankfully was disconnected from the computer for the duration of our trip.

Our Turkish holidays was a study in contrasts:  a relaxing week on a gullet, a Turkish style yacht, cruising the waters of southwestern Turkey from Göcek to Andriake, followed by two nights in busy Istanbul.  On the Mediterranean, our days were spent kayaking along the rocky coast, hiking to the sites of the ancient Lycians, snorkeling over sunken ruins, reading, and napping.  With its pink sunrises, turquoise seas, and trails we shared only with goats, the setting was almost zen. 

In Istanbul, our short stay was a whirlwind of visits to mosques, museums, haggling over carpets (which in the end we decided not to buy), and wandering both the busy Bazaar quarter and the quiet back streets of the Sultanahmet. Women in head scarves and those in full burqa; vendors hawking corn on the cob, watermelon, umbrellas, and ice cream; tour groups from cruise ships and families out enjoying lovely weekend weather; and the din of the call to prayer over tinny loudspeakers made for a colorful and chaotic scene.

 
 

A trip to remember?  Without a doubt.  And now our four last days in Paris, sure to be busy with chores and a last round of favorites, lie ahead of us.  Ready, set, go!



Four Years in a Map

This map of Europe, a gift from my sister, hung on the wall of our apartment almost from the moment we moved in and very quickly became a living document of our travels.  It was virtually impossible to capture in a photograph and I'm afraid that my husband's visit to Svalbard in the Artic Circle and our family kayaking trip along the south coast of Crete didn't quite get into the frame.  Nor have we had the chance yet to mark the spots we'll visit on our upcoming vacation in Turkey (although Istanbul, the site of one of my husband's business trips, did make the cut.)

Looking at this map brings up memories of natural wonders and man-made treasures, great meals and mishaps in navigation, lovely hotels and quirky apartments, taxi rides gone bad and bracing boat rides, and lots of family time spent together.  The funny thing about travel, though, is the more places you visit, the more places there are to see.  Croatia, Ireland, Morocco, Slovenia, and Russia all beckon.  Berlin and Bologna, San Sebastien and the fjords of Norway, we'll get to you some day. 

Climbing Volcanos and Other Pursuits

A couple months ago, I'd never heard of the Aeolian Islands off the northeast coast of Sicily.  It's a bit of a schlep from Paris -- a flight to Milan, another to Catania, overland to Milazza, and then hydrofoil to the main island of Lipari and more boats if you wish to press on to the others.  But having made the trip last Monday and back again on Friday with three days of hiking wedged between, it's a destination that I'm not going to forget anytime soon. 

It was great to get out of the city, better yet to enjoy blue skies and crystal clear seas with a circle of Parisian friends, an old college pal, and an extended network of other women who flew in from London, the U.S., Norway, and Kazahkstan.  Our hikes in Lipari afforded ocean views and craggy vistas.  The morning in Vulcano (above) took us up a steep trail to the lip of a volcano dormant since the end of the 19th century although still venting sulfuruous steam.  In between, there was pasta, gelato, prosciutto, melon, and good red wine; fields of wildflowers and hillsides of prickly pear, musings about why we passed so many houses adorned with small statues of Snow White and the seven dwarfs, and lots of laughs. 

And then there was the trek up Stromboli, seemingly straight up a sheer rock cliff for three hours to the edge of an active crater, arriving just as the sun set.  Bracing ourselves against 80 km/hour winds, we looked down as the volcano shot off clouds of sand and hot red rocks and then descended the mountain in darkness, following our guide Carmello across a field of lava dust by the light of flashlights and headlamps.

Late that night, eating trail mix on the boat headed back to Lipari, splashed by sea water and still gritty from the mountain, we asked each other just what we'd been thinking.  Not much it seems.  But do the math.  Ticket for the boat ride, guide's fee, and helmet rental: 70 euros.  Sharing the experience with friends:  priceless.

 

And if you'd like another perspective on the hike up Stromboli, take a look at what one of the other women on the trip had to say about it:  http://outwalkingaround.blogspot.com/2011/04/hiking-stromboli.html 

Budapest

Budapest may not be anyone's idea of an ideal vacation spot in February but when unrest in the Middle East made me nervous about my original idea of heading to Morocco and my husband announced that he had to be in Budapest last week for a meeting, it seemed to be kismet.  It's a place that had been on my radar screen for some time, somewhere that we would be much less likely to take the time and expense to visit after our European sojourn comes to an end.  And the city did not disappoint.  In fact, in many ways, it charmed and intrigued me more than Vienna, the city to which it is historically linked, as someone told me, always Chicago to Vienna's New York.

Budapest's streetscape is a sprawling patchwork of crumbling 19th century grandeur, bleak Soviet era architecture, and a mishmash of what's cropped up, for better and for worse, since the fall of Communism in 1989.  There are broad boulevards, stone plazas, quirky statuary, and an idyllic city park.  And then there's the Danube, which separates the hills of Buda from the flatlands of Pest.   The city was bombed heavily in World War II.  Much was rebuilt and then neglected;  in contrast to the bright white limestone of Paris, many buildings are dark with soot and pitted by acid rain.  A few well managed rehabilitation projects suggest, however, that perhaps there's a brighter future ahead.

And for the tourist, there's plenty to keep one busy. Our two favorites were the House of Terror, the former headquarters of both the fascist and Communist secret police made into a chilling and compelling modern museum, and the Szechenyi baths. If you had told me two weeks ago, that I'd be enjoying a dip in an outdoor swimming pool on a day when the temperatures were hovering around 0 degrees Centigrade, I'd have told you that you were nuts. But with sunshine and a clear blue sky, an amazing Neoclassical setting, and a water temperature of 36 degrees Centigrade, it was hard to beat. Follow that with a hearty chicken paprikash and a nice glass of Hungarian red, and you've got a vacation. 





Four story collage of victims of terror at the hands of fascists (German and Hungarian) and Communists



Couldn't resist getting a shot of the "So Frenchy" sandwich.



I found this inscription on the window of an elegant restaurant enigmatic -- why only for those with small appetites?



Saturday and Sunday, we were treated to folk dancing performances on the plaza just outside the apartment where we stayed.



Italia

While it snowed, seemingly without ceasing, in Paris last week, we were off in Italy.  It wasn't sunny but at least it was well above freezing, really just the right temperature for wandering the byroads of Rome and Florence assuming you had an umbrella.  And while most of European air travel was paralyzed, we made it out of CDG with only a modest delay and back without a hitch.  Well, okay, our plane was struck by lightning as we landed at Rome's Fiucimino airport, but that rattled the passengers a lot more than the pilot.  Somehow we managed to miss both the demonstrations against Berlusconi and the embassy bombings.

My husband and I had been both places before.  But that trip was almost twenty years ago and most of my memories are of the heat and the crowds.  It was August, after all; I'm really not sure what we were thinking.  I went back to look at the journal entries I made at the time and while it summoned up a few more reminiscences, for the most part, it was almost as if I was reading about someone else's life.  Santa Maria Novella, Santa Croce, the Piazzale Michelangelo?  Really?  I don't remember that at all.

Someone had told us to stay away from the Vatican at Christmas time when pilgrims would presumably be swarming the place.  But it wasn't bad at all.  In fact, Rome and Florence were pretty much crowd free -- no lines at St. Peter's or the Colosseum, no need for a reservation at the Uffizi or the Accademia (although we had them anyway.)  We ate plenty of pizza, pasta, and gelato, and the kids got more than their fill of altarpieces and holy relics.   We learned about ancient Rome, the Renaissance, the lives of the saints, the power of the Catholic church, that zucchero filato is Italian for cotton candy, and not to forget to compost your ticket when taking a train.

And in addition to the amazing opulence of the Vatican museums (including the Sistine Chapel), the crazy quilt mess that is the Roman Forum, the majesty of Brunelleschi's dome towering over the winding streets of Florence, and the colorful vegetable markets, we saw many interesting things although perhaps not those noted in the guidebooks. 

You can buy any kind of American license plate you like along the banks of the Tiber.

Rome is definitely the place to buy your clerical gear.  The windows with the albs, miters, soutanes, and chasubles were much more colorful but I liked the mannequins in the dreary nun's garb.  Do you suppose that nuns walk by these windows and dream?

You're not fooling me.  I have been to Paris and this is definitely not the Louvre.

Even street performers get lunch breaks.  These wings belong to a lifesized Cupid.  (Don't worry -- he was dressed.)

I imagine we'll be seeing more of these in the coming weeks.

Galileo's finger.  If you were excommunicated you might to give your middle finger to the church too.

Panettone was on sale everywhere with all different varieties and wrapping.  This lady must have had a big crowd at her house for Christmas.

Lisbon

 My kids, who won't realize completely until we are back in the States just how lucky they are now, looked at the map and picked Portugal for the Toussaint break. Another country to add to the collection that they are assembling on the knickknack shelf of their lives. And because I'd be travelling solo with the kids due to my husband's work commitments, I said no to beaches and little villages and instead said okay to Lisbon and Sintra -- two places I could handle without a rental car.

Lisbon delighted us with its sunny skies, bright palette, amazing tiles, delicious pastries, and people warm enough to deal with our non existent Portugese. It's a bit of a ramshackle place with lots of graffiti, falling apart facades, and ever present laundry hung out to dry. But we found bits of beauty everywhere, ate filling meals at dirt cheap prices, and between Rick Steves and the Lonely Planet guides' suggestions, we kept plenty busy and entertained. (Say what you will about Rick Steves but I appreciate a man who has the good sense to tell you the location of the bus stop and the number of the bus that will take you to the tile museum.)

It's a funny thing spending a few days in a city like Lisbon, especially knowing that we are likely never to be back. We quickly mastered the maze of streets in the neighborhood surrounding our little apartment, figured out which codfish dishes we liked best, and ticked most of the major tourist sites off our list. But given what it's taken to acclimate ourselves to life in Paris, it's absurd to think that we could ever claim to know Lisbon at all. What can I say Lisbon? I hardly knew ye but thanks for the memories all the same.

I can never resist a group of street musicians, especially one as spirited as this lot.

These custard tarts were beyond delicious.  A little bit of heaven, piping hot at just 90 centimes a pop.

A small country with some pretty big names from the Age of Discovery

Believe it or not but the Marc Jacobs store was just around the corner from this mess.

Unbelievable views of the Pena Palace and the countryside surrounding Sintra


 

While I Had You Otherwise Occupied

Okay, so some of you liked the pieces I ran from Adam Gopnik's anthology, Americans in Paris, and for the rest of you, it was apparently a crashing bore. But it's done, over. If you liked it, you can go back and re-read those passages at your leisure. If not, breathe a sigh of relief and rest assured that I will be returning to a more typical mix of odd pictures and my musings about life in Paris.

In case you were wondering, one of the reasons for the series (in addition to my genuine enthusiasm for the anthology) is that it allowed me to step away from blogging for a full month while our family took a historic trip back home. Historic because we've never taken a trip that long before (10 days is usually our limit) and because it was only our second trip back home since arriving in France, the first being in December 2008. We had a lot of balls in the air, hopping from DC out to Missouri and then on to Canada and Vermont. Daily blogging was not something I wanted to add to the chaos.

I got on that plane in mid July with mixed feelings. Of course, I was looking forward to seeing family, friends, and familiar places but I was also unsure how I would react to being back. Happily, it all worked out, logistically and emotionally, and if anything, the trip confirmed two things. First, although Washington, DC is the city that Americans love to hate or at least to badmouth as frequently as possible, it is unequivocally my hometown. I wasn't born or raised there but it's the place I've lived longest, the spot where I feel absolutely comfortable and connected. Despite near 100 degrees temperatures and crazy high humidity, for me, the city resonated with beauty and friendliness. Crepe myrtles and day lilies were in bloom everywhere, geraniums cascading from front porch pots, and the greenery was lush. When I stopped in our neighborhood supermarket for a few items, Ted, one of the checkers who's been working there for forever, wanted to know where I'd been. And of course it was great seeing our friends and the kids' friends, sharing meals, catching up on news, and seeing how much all the kids have grown. I liked having the Washington Post with my morning coffee, the convenience of great and affordable shopping, and even driving around with the radio cranked up.

And second, as much as I feel good knowing that we will land in DC once again, the trip confirmed that I'm really not done with Paris yet. It was easy to revel in blueberries and bagels, homegrown tomatoes and sweet corn, when I knew that warm baguettes and wonderful cheeses would be waiting for us on our return. I could enjoy dipping my kayak paddle into the waters of Lake Champlain and engaging in some retail therapy at Target given that there's still time for strolling in Parisian gardens and window shopping in the Marais. For the moment, I felt I had the best of both worlds.

So now we're back in Paris where the temperatures are blissfully cool and the streets quiet. Trust me; I'm counting my blessings.

Cinque Terre

Last week was a crazy adventure. It had been on my calendar for months and dreamed about for months even before that: a trip to Italy's Cinque Terre region for a holiday with my hiking buddies. No family, no computer, no obligations other than to hike, eat pasta, drink wine, and enjoy. And that's exactly what happened. Of course, there were a few unforeseen events. Like the unseasonably cold and windy weather the first day out when the temperatures were so low that the water in our bottles became chunky with ice and the Swiss army knife we brought for our picnic lunch froze shut. Or the fact that the famous low trail linking the five towns along the Ligurian coast was closed between Corniglia and Monterosso due to landslides. Not to mention the general strike in Italy on Friday afternoon that left several of us with no flight out until 30 hours after the originally scheduled one.

But it was going to take a lot more than that to knock the stuffing out of 11 strong women and one incredibly patient man. The weather improved as the week wore on, our aches and pains subsided as we became more adept at climbing what must have been thousands of steps up and down, and we had one delicious meal after another. There were scarcely anyone else on the trails and we were rewarded for all the uphill climbing with spectacular views of the coast, terraced with vineyards, with tiny villages, pink, yellow, and white with red tiled roofs, nestled in the crevices.

And if you're ever stuck in Pisa, go see the Leaning Tower for sure but then hop on a bus. Just 2.80 euros will get you to Lucca, a walled town in the foothills of Tuscany where there's plenty to keep you busy for a day, the wine is cheap, and service is given with a smile.


Coming down the mountain on a steep rocky path, we turned a corner, saw this view of the town of Vernazza, and gasped.


Hearts with locks marking the entrance to the low route between Riomaggiore and Manarola. As tradition has it, you and your sweetheart leave a lock and throw the key into the sea.


Lemons everywhere. The one I couldn't resist putting in my suitcase did a fine job of countering the aroma of my dirty hiking duds.

Jolly Old England

Travel planning can be a giant sinkhole for time. Between the number of potential destinations, the hotel and transport options, figuring out where to go, how to get there, and how long to stay can lead to hours on-line and one huge headache. So imagine the thrilling feeling months back when I proposed spending the kids' February "ski" break in London (in plenty of time to get the sacred 77 euro roundtrip Eurostar tickets) and everyone said yes.

The weather was crap for our trip (although probably no worse than staying in Paris) but that did not deter us. In fact, it was the perfect time to enjoy London's mostly free array of spectacular museums which for us included the British Museum, Science Museum, and the Tate Modern. We also took a day trip to Windsor, well worth the time and practically empty, and shared a lovely afternoon with our former tenants, recently relocated back to the London suburbs after five years in DC.

This being my fourth trip to London, there is something so easy about being there, not quite home but with so many familiar sights, sounds, and tastes. Spicy Indian and Thai food? Check. Big glasses of water given at every meal? Check. English spoken here? Check. Two and a quarter hours city center to city center? Check. Check. Check.

I did not take many pictures on this visit, partly because wearing gloves and carrying an umbrella are not exactly compatible with getting the quick snap. Nevertheless I found a few signs that I enjoyed very much.





And for those of you who have seen the movie Closer:

Obsessions

If you thought I was done telling you about our trip to Central Europe (and by the way, where does Central Europe end and Eastern Europe start?), you're wrong. Our travels sparked observations regarding two of my bizarre interests.

First, on the subject of potato chip flavors, the dominant theme in both places was paprika and sweet chili. In Prague, we also found pizza and kebab. But what about this?


Just what everyone needs: Kim Possible and High School Musical chips! If these characters mean nothing to you, you are clearly not part of Disney's target demographic.

Then there's the little matter of dog droppings. In the Stadtpark in Vienna, we came across this little sign:

The pup appears to be asking if those things are sausages. Ewww. I wonder if anyone ever gets slapped with the 36 euro fine. I didn't notice any offenses but then again pretty much everything was covered in snow.

Now in Prague, I did notice that the sidewalks were super clean -- free of poop, cigarette butts (which was nothing short of amazing because everyone seemed to be a smoker), and other trash. We took a walking tour with an engaging fellow close to 80,a retired singer for the state opera, who regaled us with tales of his life and the history of the Czech Republic. Without my even saying anything, he pointed out to me a box strapped to a light pole holding brown paper sacks for picking up after your pet, complete with a cardboard scoop on the inside. He offered to give me one as a souvenir and how could I refuse? Call me weird but it delighted me more than the prospect of buying crystal, garnets, or amber which were in plentiful supply in the tourist shops. This particular sack had an ad for Pedigree dog food.





If you want to know more, go to www.fedog.cz and click on the amusing but informative English translation of this entrepreneurial Czech effort to keep the streets clean. I particularly liked the opening sentence: "One of the criterions of the cultural level of the nation is whether sanitary and aesthetic rules are observed." You said it buddy.

Holiday Travel

We headed out of Dodge at the end of last week, before the French hit the roads for the holiday, and somehow managed to avoid all the weather-related travel snafus that struck on both sides of the Atlantic, making our way without incident first to Vienna and then to Prague.

It was snowy and cold, dang cold, in Vienna (-8 C according to one sign we passed) but we kept moving from one venue to another, stopping for refills of coffee and hot chocolate to keep everyone in good spirits. The trams were decorated for the season and even Emperor Franz Joseph didn't seem to mind the dusting of snow.


There were Christmas markets around every corner. Some were nothing but schlock; others had stall after stall of hand-crafted items. Had I been in the market for Christmas decorations, I would have been in real trouble. Instead I just admired and took a big whiff of these cinnamon stick stars.


It was slightly warmer in Prague, perfect for wandering the streets and admiring the charming streets and squares which avoided serious damage during the last century's wars. Prague dazzled me with its awesome Art Nouveau architecture and design.





The only puzzling point: the Jewish museum and cemetery were closed for Christmas.

Luxembourg

Luxembourg is a tiny little postage stamp of a country sandwiched in the middle of Europe, between France, Belgium, and Germany. You could almost miss it driving by, except that is, if you are driving all the way from Paris, in which case it takes so long to get there that when you finally arrive, you might want to kiss that lady whose voice keeps coming out of the Tom Tom saying "you have arrived at your destination."

But seriously folks. No really, Luxembourg is a very pretty little country, at least what we saw of it over last weekend, when the weather was just about perfect: all green fields and pastel colored houses, sun-kissed vineyards and sparkling waterways. And if you're wondering why bother going, at least for us, the reason was clear. My mother-in-law's parents were Luxembourgers and we're still in touch with cousins whose forebears never left the old country. We spent time with them in the medieval town of Echternach and in their own smaller village nearby, and also enjoyed strolling with them along the banks of the Moselle which separates the Luxembourgers from their German neighbors. The country's language sounds German to me but there are lots of French words thrown in and they all say "merci", not "danke." So "merci" to the cousins -- for the lovely dinner and local wine, the travel commentary, the insight on family and national history, and even for arranging for our youngest child to pat a newborn calf, a side benefit of a trip to the village dairy for fresh milk. You sure can't do that in Paris.

Wunderbar

We have a huge map of Europe taped up in the hall outside the kids' bedrooms where we've kept track of all our trips. It's studded with colored dots: red for my husband's business travel, purple for family adventures, green for a few jaunts I've taken solo and yellow and blue for each of the kids. It's hard not to be mesmerized by it and we find ourselves looking at it all the time -- reliving journeys already taken and plotting out those to come.

Although my husband's work has taken him to Bonn, Berlin, and Munich, the rest of us hadn't stepped foot in that direction, reason enough to ditch Paris for a week in Germany and Austria. It was a trip packed with castles, gardens, Baroque churches, train rides, and lots of 1 euro ice cream cones, about half what they cost in Paris. Our travels ranged from the cheesy but fun Sound of Music tour in Salzburg to the depths of existential questioning on our visit to Dachau. We wandered medieval streets and forest footpaths, drove past Alpine meadows and lakes, and ate more than our fill of beer and sausages. Plus we got to spend a day with German friends Hans and Ulrike in their unexpectedly lovely home town, Landshut, about an hour on the train northeast of Munich. We resisted the potato chip aisle (where the modal flavors were paprika and sweet chili) but gave in to the pastries with plenty of schlag. And while it's good to be back home where there are plenty of vegetables, we'll relish the memories of craggy mountains, geraniums spilling from window boxes, eating meals in umbrella shaded cafes, the madness that inspired King Ludwig of Bavaria to build Neuschwanstein and Linderhof, iron shop signs, dirndls and lederhosen, glockenspiels and church bells.

Crete

The laundry's done, the refrigerator's restocked, and we're all ready for our next group of house guests who arrive this afternoon. But while I'm taking care of business in Paris, my mind is still miles away in Greece where we spent the last week hiking, sea kayaking, and eating plenty of fresh tomatoes and feta cheese.

Our trip started with a day in Athens for the obligatory visits to the Acropolis and Agora. As predicted, Athens was busy, dusty, and hot. Still, it's hard not to be impressed by the sweep of history, even if it's not easy to wrap your brain around events that transpired thousands of years ago.

But the real treat was Crete. Thanks to the team at The Northwest Passage, we had the adventure of a lifetime, experiencing the beauty of the Cretan landscape up close and personal. We kayaked on six days along the south coast of Crete and hiked three, including a five-hour breathtaking descent into the Samaria Gorge. The kids sat in the front seats of our two double kayaks and worked hard, especially the day when we started with an hour hike along the cliffs and followed by 20 miles paddling in the Libyan Sea. (That one kicked my tail.) My husband took the prize for effort, making the two-hour open sea crossing from Agia Galini to Matala on the last day.

For souvenirs, we brought home a few postcards, some strange tan lines, odd bruises from getting in and out of kayaks, and lots of happy memories of breakfasts of crusty bread and yogurt laced with Greek honey, the tinkle of goat bells on the mountain trails, white buildings trimmed in blue, the warm sun shining on turquoise seas, and hilltop views that took our breath away.