Bienvenue à Montréal!

A trip out of the country would not be complete without some form of goof up.  Usually, it is someone else, but this time it was me!  I mis-took my husband's passport!

We arrived at the airport, ready to board.  Up since 4:45 a.m., and a little groggy, I reached into my purse to get my passport, and voila!   I have my husband's passport.  The kids looks at me with panic.  (My kids are adults, 24 and 26.)  I am not thinking clearly, so I tell them to go board.  I tell them I will catch up with them later.  Then, I stand at the counter, with the most patient, kind #Delta Airlines employee ever, @CaseyKeating.  He gets on the phone and tries his best to get my flights changed and still get me to Montreal the same day.  After 20 minutes, I have new flights, with only and additional $4.50!  Thank you Casey @TLH @Delta.

I have three and half hours to find my passport and return to the airport.  I drive home all flummoxed about by situation.  When I arrive, I begin looking in all the "safe" places that I put things.  I cannot understand this situation.  I am a creature of very organized disorganization.  My passport and my husband's are always in the same location.  The secret places to lock things up and protect from hurricanes are predefined.  This is highly unusual.  I go through every book on the bookshelf, every closet and every drawer.  Nothing.  I call my husband.  He assures me that he handed me both passports (they are usually locked somewhere else during storms.)  Racking my brain, I return to the kitchen counter for a sip of coffee. 

Standing in the kitchen getting ready to resign myself to the financial and fun loss, I stare at the small brown and black leather backpack that Morgan and I bought in Paris.  I had only checked the back zipper pocket.  Yes, indeed, this creature of habit put both passports in the bag, one in each pocket.  At the airport, I had failed to check my bag thoroughly.   And waisted, I mean wasted,  four hours in the process.

Good news is that the next plane was on time and after getting to spend four hours at #LaGuardia, I was on my way to Montreal.  The preparation for the trip included researching fellow #Tripadvisor folks and other top things to do sites.  Also, I had spent some time researching the bus from the airport that goes directly downtown.  For $10 Canadian dollars, you can ride the bus all the way downtown.  Cabs and limos are $40-$50 dollars, but they will carry three or four people.  If you only have two, then bus it.  My kids had already taken the bus and assured me that it was easy and safe.  Get off on Guy street my daughter advised.  She also told me guy is pronounced ghee in Canada.  Helpful to know.

They had already been to dinner when I arrived.  My son went off to visit a friend, so daughter and I walked the six blocks to the  @Provigo grocery store for nutrition for the evening.  By this time, it was close to ten p.m. and I was glad to get some warm soup.  Our Airbnb apartment is nicely situated and we had a stove.  Some chicken broth, vegetables and warm soup was on the way.  It was good to have something healthy after a day of traveling.  The warmth was even better.

My first impression of Montreal is the welcoming atmosphere.  Most shop attendants and transport people will ask if you speak French or English.  They easily switch to both.  They also recognize an American "Bon JouR" from their own, bonjour. I think it is the irrepressible desire to say the "r".   It is nice to be able to speak a few words to let them know that you are willing to try.  The other thing to note, is that no matter where daughter and I went, the city felt safe.  The people who ask for money, do so in a polite and distant way.  It is always hard to pass those less fortunate.  In Europe and in Canada, people tend to give food, rather than money.  Young people offer their chips or their half sandwich.  One man, who looked as if he too could use help, gave the person with the open hat, his transport ticket.  In many ways, I feel this is productive.  In Bordeaux, France, we saw people leave coffee, milk, bread and cheese next to sleeping homeless in the streets.  I thought that very kind.

The streets are fairly clean and in order.  The walk-able downtown is easy to traverse.  The cobblestone streets are charming, but careful footing for the weak ankled is advised.  The underground is fabulous during the rain.  More on that later.

Our first full day, we went to the Musée Art Contemporain, оr the MAC, to see the Leonard Cohen presentation.  For those of you who do not know him, his site is still active beyond his life.  Canadians love their own famous singer, poet, author and rebel.  I do too.

Our lovely Airbnb apartment is downtown and very close to transportation.  It doesn't feel quite so close in 21 degree weather with wind.  But, it felt just fine at 45 degree weather and sun.  Moments from the Boulevard René-Lévesque, we were close to grocery stores, restaurants and subways.

Our second day it rained.  So, to walk across the city, we enter the underground city of Montreal.  It is an incredible underground maze of food and shopping.  There are attractions, entertainment and people watching galore.  I cannot attest to the summer months, but the winter drives people underground where  it is warm and you can walk and shop or eat.  The underground  actually goes for many blocks and attaches to the subway.  It behooves one to understand the streets and the metro, or you will surely be turned around below earth.  However, you will be turned around with some of the best international shopping you have ever done.  Someone told us that the only underground shopping better than Montreal, is Atlanta.  Born in Atlanta, I have some innate affection for the city.  However, I have to say that underground Atlanta  is a place of transition.  And that Montreal surely has much more to offer in terms of a network.  If you were born to shop, this is your city.

My daughter and i moved to the usual tourist spots, seeing the Biodôme de Montréal with the frogs and more importantly the penguins.  It seemed odd walking into the first area and seeing an alligator as a display.  But, of course, we are from Florida, home of the alligator!  I asked my daughter to tell me the difference between an alligator and a crocodile.  She rolled her eyes and said, "Please!" Oy vey, those Florida girls know everything!

  As she entered the river fish display, I asked about a weird looking fish.  She says that it is a sturgeon.  I look at her with wonder.  How does she know this?  Then, I look with admiration.  Does it matter?  She does know it, and she is right!

Does anyone know what Brady 12 means?

We proceed to the next area, out of the river environment.  To my surprise, we see penguins.  Not just one, but four varieties of penguins in this habitat.  The penguins are very fun to watch and better than the internet.  I promise.  If you take your kid to see them, this is what will happen.

 Can you imagine anything cuter?  Does it matter that he slipped under the ropes to touch a penguin face?  This was so terribly fun and I vicariously wished him on, to laugh, to touch and go under every rope for the rest of his life!

I wish I could tell you that I was a rope ducker, but the truth is that my husband and daughter are the rope duckers.  I am the rope administrator.  Perhaps that is why only now, I take chances!

  For now, think of those ropes and the ones you can duck under! 

Of Eleventh Grade again

Not very often one gets to go back to high school in a good way.  I for one, hated high school.  I dropped out of at least three.  Was invited to not return to Clearwater Central Catholic School.  Probably best that we parted ways.

Fast forward 44 years.  I am at a business meeting in Phoenix.  I am meeting a woman that I have seen once in 30 years.  She was my disco buddy in the seventies.  She knew how to dance.  I knew how to hang around her.  She was all grace and style, I was all hang around her.  But, I had a car.  So a new friendship was born of admiration and motorization.  Two catholic gals on the town.

I can tell you what beautiful looks like to me, and it may not be what it looks like to you.  My friend Karisa had the coal black hair with curls of Sophia Loren and a shape like her as well.  She had her Spanish mother's eyes and her Italian father's verve.  She was talented in acting and in movement.  I was good at geometry and reading.

Our young relationship was shrouded in family controversies.  We retreated as all young teen do, into our teen world of music and sharing.  Then, she married and moved away.  I went to school, and school and school.

I remember her writing about a house and marriage.  I had no clue.  I was pursuing a Master Degree and working at the All Important Legislature of Florida.  We disconnected.

Then, I had a conference in Phoenix.  I called her and she made time for me.  She was as delightful and warming and fun as I had remembered.

This is not a poignant blog.  This is a reminder to say that old connections can be refreshed.  Old friendships still live.  What a wonderful evening we had today.  We shared food and stories and walked the cactus walk.  She told me of birds and cactus and the feeders and the moon.

We aren't in high school any more, but for a few hours, we were that young and that beautiful.  We definitely will meet again.

Rising to the Occasion of the Return to Austin Texas!

Back in #Austin for the first time in a while.  Great city.  Weather is meh, mid February and very cloudy, but not cold!

Humidity makes me have big Texas hair.  Pretty sure that's why they tease it and stack it here.  Not much else to do with it.  Went to see the #Driskill and have the famous Batini.  Not so much on agave syrup.

Love the vibe though.  Walked back through the capital.  For all the unpleasant TSA officers, there must be 20 polite charming #TexasRangers to make up for it.  They let us in the Capital Building with the aplomb one hopes the President uses inviting his guests in for dinner.

The meetings were fine, and I am glad that I got to hear the updates.  But, secretly, I am just glad I got to walk Austin again!

If you need other assistance, check our my trip advisor page for detailed view.  And if you are a YELP user, just click on this link for my reviews.

of Bagheria Sicily, Italy

On our second to last day, we decide to follow a tour book.  Lonely Planet to be exact.  And since it is close and we have no other plans, we head out to the train station and catch a bus to Bagheria, Sicily.

Sounds rather exotic.  It is not.  It is 3 kilometers from the train station.  The signs direct you to the longest path possible, while the street turns right and would take you directly to the piazza of art on the bay.  This is the one thing to see in Bagheria.

Since we followed the signs, we walked 3 kilometers out of the way.  That is a lot of steps, in case you want to know.

fishing boats of Sicily

The signs eventually say Aspra, which is apparently the city within the City of Bagheria.  We walk though neighborhoods, rich and poor.  Sometimes feeling uneasy, sometimes bored.  Then, we pass a tower and the remnants of a the villa of a woman who died in 1118 and whose tomb is still maintained by the local officials.  The gardens have seen better days and the walls are crumbling around them.

The most interesting part of this trip is how the three of us handle the loser choice that was made to come here.  First, there was not much blame, other than it was my choice.  Second, we all judged the neighborhoods by the trash in the street.  Third, when the scenery is the same the entire walk, people get bored.  Fourth, when the walk is long, people bitch.  Uphill, downhill, whining.  Then, we see the sea!

This is Not Bagheria but I needed a picture so this is one of Palermo Bay

I have to commend my travel companions.  For they could have trashed me badly for picking something out of the book.  But they didn't.  They did make many comments on the scenery and the trash and the dog poop, which I might add is everywhere in large cities in Europe.

Watch where you step.  Watch how you hold your bag.  Words of wisdom no matter where you travel.

Anyway, we go  to the coast finally, and it is beautiful.  If we had not already seen the Amalfi Coast, it would be very beautiful.  But we had.  So ten minutes in, the guys are ready to leave, commenting on the trash in the water on the "beach" of rocks.  Trash is very apparent when there is no distraction...

Another metaphor for life...

And now home to cook.  We have spaghetti from egg noodles that are "fresh" and new sauce from the Carrefour.  We have antipasta of salami, buffalo mozzarella and olives.  We have fresh bread and olive oil.  We have wine and most important, we have the digestive.

Licorice liquor.  It is is like licorice jet fuel.  And we  love the two sips.  We leave the half bottle behind as a token of our affection for the island. And we take the recipe book of Sicily so that we can make new memories at home.

Ciao Ciao Palermo and Bagheria.  Ciao Ciao!

of returning to work and things you wish you didn't have to do and not wanting to think about it too soon

The last day in Palermo brings great angst.  Last night, I dreamt of being back at work and having to tell my boss something he might perceive as unpleasant.  It was intermittently interrupted by loud music and this weird electrical sound outside my window.  But I digress.  (turns out the local primary school is outside my window and the wind instruments are playing.)

Today, we toured the Teatro Massimo, the third largest theatre in all of Europe.  To my great disappointment, it was built in honor of Umberto Primo, who has a statute gracing every harbor everywhere,  His statute here is large and prominent, surrounded by arches of the porto and by the sea.  Imagine my surprise to hear that he is displeased by the great theatre built for him.  He says Palermo is nothing and does not deserve such a theatre, and he never sets foot inside.

you truly have to be here to appreciate the immenseness

this is the ceiling and the painting are window that open to increase accoustics

Poor Umberto Primo.  For such a lucky man of war, he was an unlucky man of taste.  But fortunately, Al Capone did step inside.  Godfather III was filmed in the theatre.  In Spite of either of these two, the theatre is amazing.  Stepping inside is incredible and now that I know the King's box is available ( Umberto made it a public affair), I will not hesitate to try and book the best.  We have missed the opera, ballet, and other performing arts all by a day.  Such a poor planner I am.  And there are no last minute stand up seats in these theatres.  No these are for the noble, or at least those who can pay.

And in the boys will always be boys category, there is this duo who find the visual behind them hilarious.  It doesn't matter, 28 or 68, they all still have boyish humor!  Enough said on that!

We take off to see another piazza, not previously explored.  This is the plebicita, the parliament of yore.  The locals call it the "Champs Elysee " of the island. Regardless, it is a fine building with horses charging as if they would leave the building for the drivers. Hooves above your head, with brass green blazing their legs.  Down below, standard breds (or the Italian equivalent) trot through the street with carts behind.  These horses almost blind with blinders (sorry for the horse take on this) and hats, stupid beyond belief.  The traffic booming around, these horse take of trotting forward, and tour buses beside them.  I told my son, I would rather be a French dish.  I apologize for my perspective.  My horses have acreage and only one rider to respond to.  Theses poor guys, must go forth regardless of traffic, weather, or noise.  These horses are fed.  They have shoes, with wooden plates, I might add.  It is just a luxury in the US and not here.

Shopping.  Well, yes the last day should be about shopping.  We leave the piazza and head to the one wine store that I liked.  It turns out not to be a wine store, but a souvenir store.  Matters not, we buy the limoncello for our friends.  We buy balsalmic vinegar for those who don't drink.  We buy candy for those we aren't sure of.  We are thinking of you, not being here with us. And, while I am happy I can buy this for you, next time, I want you to come with me.

the monument for those who died because of the Mafia

science fair in a church of the 10th century

a pope in front of the cathedralle

our view from the deck

our veiw from the patio

I am thankful for Michele, our host.  He was most kind and most helpful.

I miss my husband, glad my daughter came, glad my one son came and thinking Lindsay could have made it, and the rest of you, we just need to decide to go!  Patrick, you live up to your Saint name. Our next destination is only one year away...

.

Aww sweet Cefalu'

Woke up this morning and finally, finally felt like I was on vacation in Italy.  Young children shouting on their way to school, horns honking on their way to work, voices of mothers shouting in the piazza.  Water running through the pipes, and yes, wake up, its time to hit the train station and see lovely Cefalu'.

Cefalu' is pronounced Chef a loo, with emphasis on the loo.  It is a one hour train ride from Palermo.  The ride itself is beautiful as it clicks and clacks along the coastline, revealing hidden towns and bays.  Fishermen dot the sea horizon as we pass the small villages.  The water is remarkably flat and just as blue as the sea on the Amalfi Coast.  You can tell that once, maybe in the 1950's that this was a wonderful fishing village.  Now it is half fishing, half tourist - or maybe 80 percent tourism.

Corbett arrives in Cefalu'

the inlet in complete overcast with mountain cloud cover

The little village is snugged safely in the tiniest spot of real sand on this coast.  I love the colors of the houses and windows.  I am very thankful the day is not hot and the wind is not strong.  Rain had wetted the cobblestone streets and thankfully washed away the scent of dogs.  There is not a sacred corner in Italy, or perhaps they are all sacred.

With the wet, I gingerly tread the streets. I think we walk for at least a mile or so before deciding to stop and eat.  It wasn't great, but it was "classico".  How can you go wrong with pomodora and cheese, basil wrap with olive oil and oregano?  If you don't know what to order, order what they do well.  Wine menus often require you order the bottle. As we had miles to go, I had a Beck birre instead.

Off touring again.  We walk the streets and look at the views.  There is a monument to WWI soldiers.  Our first stop in the village.

 We trudge onward and find the port and the little cay or inlet.  The scenery is breathtaking.  One can envision the summer tourist invasion on this tiny town.  I am very happy to be here in November.

 The few tourists that are here, are European or Asian.  We run into very few Americans, which were so common in Napoli (Naples).  The shop keepers here run from the ice man who says nothing, to the lady at Helios that explains what matapalo is, which is really marzipan.  Corbett bought the bright colored fruit and was disappointed to find the almond paste as the center of the brightly colored fruits.  Turns out these are pastry that monks made to keep funds coming into their abbeys.  I liked them, but a tiny bit goes a long way.  Speaking of a tiny bit, I am a big fan of the local "digestive" which means a spirited shot usually  The shot of digestive for Sicily is Tutone Anice Unico.  A product of Palermo.  It tastes like licorice on fire.  Which at first sip - I do mean tiny sip - is a little alarming.  A full shot takes about a half hour to consume, at least for us Tallahasseeans...  I love licorice, so I was all in for the bottle.  It's a small bottle.  And it will most likely have some in it for the next guest.

Cefalu'

The train ride back was funny as a Swedish couple sat across from us.  The only thing they understood on the train was English instructions, just as we do.  When we leave the train terminal, we all exit crossing the street in front of the station which is a large circle of roaring vehicles. Buses, cars scooters.  Her husband darts out and goes half way turning to look for her.  She runs back and stands with us.  Then, there are enough of us to barge out to the road.  We cross and her husband is gleeful and he says, " It is so exciting!"  and she and I agree, only for men.  We try to find the grocery, but give up after our long day.  The night has descended and warnings of purse snatchers and thieves send us back to our lovely apartment.  Three bathrooms, one for each person!  Lovely.

Tomorrow is Monreale, a trip up the mountains to see a duomo.  A lovely day all in all.

Rising to Capri

We stayed up late trying ot book charters to Capri, an island off the Napoli Coast.  Corbett and I finally gave up and pronounced to Ted that we had to go in person.

We did and we made it!

But first, we kill an hour in a different part of Napoli.  We have a cappuccino and Corbett has a cheesecake and an orange Fanta.  We watch the students, mothers and business people cross and recross the piazza.  A very nice spot except for the cigarettes.  The outdoors is always full of smokers.

Eleven comes and we are on the fast "jet" to Capri.  It is really a giant catamaran to the island.  Forty Five minutes total.  We get off the boat and try and orient.  Then I see the funicolare.  Love those.  Up and up and Ted not feeling the love so much.  Heights he says.  But aww the view.

I don't have photos of this, but the buses and the trucks and the cars and the anything else traveling on the road of Capri are truly the bravest and most technical people I can think of.  Today, the buses were so close that we felt the breath of the other riders.  Ted said there was an extra three inches, but I did not see it.  And on our right, the cliff straight down.  Look across the photo above and imagine driving around the rocky protrusions.  The drivers inching forward, squeezing busses into fiat size streets, mirrors in, people gasping, and me - I am sure that I tried to suck my belly into my lungs to help the cause.  And even then, with no buses coming, the roads sidle the edge and the lady next to me is doing the sign of the cross (a catholic thing).  Her boyfriend tries to comfort her and I tell Ted, there are worse ways to die.  And then the experience is in the past, as we are out on the streets and taking in the island views.

In case you are wondering, men from America act like men from America even in Italy.  "Do you know where you are going?"  "of course!"  Do you want to look at a map?  "Well that is inconvenient, but if you insist."  Should I ask someone for directions, Ted says?  Well yes.  And then we turn 180 and head up the hill not down the hill.

 Nope, no directions needed at all, why do you ask?

Ana Capri

We walk the top of the island.  One of the tourist offering is a lift up the mountain in single chairs, like a ski lift.   Ted does not want to ride the swinging chairs up the mountain as the clouds are covering the top.  I am sure he just doesn't want to ride the solo swinging chairs.  He is accompanied by a woman from New Hampshire, saying "no way!"  Ted offers to stay and have a beer with her while the rest of us go up.  But we decide to keep walking.  We have to be back at the port by four thirty and Ted is worried about time.  We take a short cut through the town, following the lovely Italian ladies below.  The view is the perfect ending to another day in paradise as we are told boarding our catamaran back to Napoli.  But if I ever come back, the swinging chairs for me!

A perfect end to the day indeed.

Rising to the Rising Sun (and son)

Last day in Rome and we are packing up for the departure.  With a little extra time we saunter one last time to our favorite cafe and imbibe in cappuccinos and pastry.  Morgan always gets something with powdered sugar.  Ted is a fan of custard and pastry.

I am delighted that they sell a type of savory pizza for breakfast.  I pick a new one that is simply pastry with tomato brush.  Delightful.

We try to get money unsuccessfully at the ATM.  Our cards are not sufficient the machines say.  I would take it personally.  All our cards fail, except for Morgans.  The one with the least latitude in expendable funds.  How that keeps one humble!

Our train trip was quite pleasant.  Morgan and Ted promptly fall asleep.  We are on the fast train to Napoli (Naples).  The city gives way to countryside and farms swell to the base of the mountains on either side of the train.  Dirty sheep dot the hillsides in pens - four legged woolen dots as we swoosh past.

Freshly plowed fields await the winter crops and creeks run back and forth along the route.

A very odd American sits talking to his companion about how different Italy is from Germany.  His soft stature makes me think he is a desk jockey of some type.  He points out the solar farms as well pass.  My travel partners have long since left consciousness and nap to our destination.  They are missing the pastoral views that inspired great artists over many centuries. I will sleep tonite, but for now, I want to capture the scenery in my memory and on this page..  The announcer says we are traveling at 293 km/h.  Sounds as if we will arrive soon.

Let the harrowing taxi ride begin!  You have not lived until you have ridden in a taxi in Rome or Naples.  This one was particularly fun as the police kept closing streets as we drove, missed corners, backed up in  a one lane alley and turned around, dodged many scooters and had narrow misses at every turn.  For your entertainment I will post it on youtube Napoli Taxi

When we finally arrived,  we were early, so we went to have a cappuccino.  I walked down the street to see if Rosa had arrived and she did.  She showed us the lovely apartment.  She grew up in this apartment and it was her mothers.  It is from the 18th century and she believes it was a convent at one time.  We are a short walk to Teatro San Carlo.  We are 100 feet from the large Cathedral in the piazza.  A special plus if you like bells.

Morgan and I are ready to give up on my son Corbett, who was supposed to arrive at noon.  Just as we are heading out, he comes in the door, bedraggled but fine.  We drop his things and head to Brandi' for pizza.  The best we are told.

selfies

And then the food arrives and it makes up all better.  Broccoli leaves and mozzarella for Corbett and Morgan.  Ted gets anchovies.  I get salad.  There is enough to share.  Giggles and grins, and fun with a waiter who asks Corbett for his American change.  Corbett hands him the change then gives him a one dollar bill and a five dollar bill.  "All the American money I have, " he declares.  The waiter tells him that he loves him.

I wait till we are at the bottom of the hill to tell him that the waiter says that to every American.

Tomorrow we are off to the Amalfi Coast to see the cliffs and the waterside towns.  Can't wait!