Category: Road Trips

Another Journey: Minnewaska Take Two

Almost two years ago, September 4, 2023 to be exact, I posted a blog entitled “Walking or Hiking?” It recounted an experience Gary and I had at Minnewaska State Park. We took a trail that was more demanding than expected and it was a hot day. We made it, but not without struggle, and not without Gary providing me necessary support. You can read that account here.

This past Friday we went back to the same park with the intention of doing the same trail. When we got to the visitor’s center and asked about the condition of the trail, we were told it wasn’t a wise choice because they had gotten over three inches of rain the day before and that route, which crossed a stream, would have taken a beating. We decided to take a different trail that would end at the same view but would likely be in better shape.

The reason we returned to the scene of that challenge was that some things were different this time around. I am 52 pounds lighter and more fit. I wanted to test myself. I told Gary a few months ago that when I had reached the 50-pound milestone I wanted to try the demanding hike again.

This weight loss journey has been an interesting one. A little over a year ago my bloodwork revealed I was prediabetic. I was not especially surprised given my family history. Diabetes is epidemic in my family. In some ways I knew it was just a matter of time. I hoped the fact that I was always active would stave it off, but the Covid lockdown had added yet more weight to my already heavy body, so I was losing the battle. I needed to do something.

I have done many diets over the years and found some success with Weight Watchers but I had never been able to sustain it. The Covid shutdown, which wreaked havoc with my emotional state and limited my exercise, did me in and I never recovered. It was time to consider a new option. In the past I had always been leery of fad diets, surgery or meal replacement approaches because I didn’t think any of them addressed the root problem. Now the weight-loss landscape has changed with the introduction of medications (GLP1’s). My doctor recommended Wegovy. After much consideration, and consulting with my husband who has hundreds of patients using these drugs, I decided to try it.

The first hurdle was getting preapproval from my insurance company. There were hoops and loops to jump through, but the reality was that I met the criteria, and they did ultimately approve me.

The second hurdle was that it is an injection. That turned out to be a non-issue. The medication is not delivered by syringe, it is a pen. You barely see the needle and it comes pre-measured. It wasn’t particularly painful either. That was a relief.

Next issue, was side effects. This I did have to deal with. When I started, I felt some queasiness, but that resolved. The bigger issue, and this may be TMI for some readers, was constipation. I am prone to that to begin with and this made it worse. Some folks have the opposite problem on these drugs. Anyway, it took a while to work that out – making good dietary choices and generous amounts of Metamucil or sometimes MiraLAX helped. Eventually I got to a tolerable place.

But there were other side effects that built up. I have reflux (heartburn). These medications slow digestion. Again, I have a slow system to begin with. The food sitting in my stomach created more reflux. That is my unscientific explanation for what was happening. For a while this was manageable. As time went on, it became worse. The low point was when I experienced episodes of water brashing, a situation where your glands overproduce saliva not unlike what happens before you vomit in order to neutralize the acid in your esophagus. (My doctor explained this to me when I asked what was happening.) It was very unpleasant. Three weeks ago, I decided to stop taking Wegovy even though I believe I still need to lose weight – at least 15 pounds. But the discomfort was too intense to continue. Thankfully, within a week I was so much more comfortable! I had been on Wegovy a little over a year.

For me, Wegovy was not a miracle drug, even in terms of the weight loss. Yes, I lost 54 pounds and my recent bloodwork showed that I was no longer prediabetic. But it wasn’t magic. Aside from the side effects, it didn’t entirely change my appetite or remove my issues around food. I still wanted more pasta than protein or vegetables. I still have a sweet tooth. And, the impulse to eat for emotional reasons is still present.

It is interesting to me how this drug has different impacts on people. According to Gary, who has prescribed GLP1s for soooo many diabetic patients, some folks entirely lose their appetite and are unable to eat. They have to stop taking it since it becomes risky. Some folks have no impact on their appetite and experience little weight loss. Others report that the noise in their head about food, the craving or the urges, are greatly reduced or for some is gone entirely. I had the experience of the noise lessening. If there were cookies in the house, they were no longer calling to me, at least not loudly, more of a whisper.

I still had to make choices about my diet. I have heard from some friends that they know people who took Wegovy (or Zepbound, another weight loss drug widely prescribed) and would order mozzarella sticks or some other similarly unhealthy item for dinner, but just not eat the whole portion. In other words, they made poor choices, but lost weight. Or other people who only ate one meal a day. I didn’t do either of those things and wasn’t tempted to. The biggest change for me was in portion size. I am a carb addict. This is where I have my toughest challenge. I love carbs in all their forms, particularly pasta, bread and rice. Potato is low on my priority list, but I still love me a baked potato with butter. Anyway, controlling the amount of intake is a major hurdle for me. This is where Wegovy was most successful. I could have a reasonable amount because I would get full more quickly, I could feel that I was full (before taking the medication, I didn’t necessarily perceive fullness until it was way too late), and I knew that I would be terribly uncomfortable if I continued eating beyond fullness.

In sum, from my experience, the medication helped me to adhere to a Weight Watcher style eating program. I ate what I wanted, more or less, but modestly. Before Wegovy I had a relatively healthy diet, just too much of it, with the added bonus of having a sweet tooth. If it was up to me every meal would include dessert. With medication, since I was feeling full and the noise around cravings had quieted, I was able to control the sweet tooth. That’s how I found success.

When the side effects became too much, I stopped taking it. Now it remains to be seen if I can sustain the good habits. I already am aware of the increase in wanting sweets. I am trying to keep the portion sizes moderate. So far, and it is way too soon to reach any conclusions, I am managing it.

I am continuing to weigh myself. It isn’t hard to weigh yourself regularly when you are seeing weight loss. Other than going to the doctor, when I couldn’t avoid it, I probably hadn’t weighed myself at home for five years or more until I started taking the Wegovy. I was in denial. I can’t let myself do that again. After a week of being off the medication, I had gained two pounds. I freaked out. I told Gary I needed a pep talk. He is very good at that. He said some very useful things.

First, he pointed out that two pounds is a small fraction of what I lost. He told me not to panic; it was to be expected. He reminded me that I needed to give myself more time to adjust – that I had spent a year developing good habits, not only making healthier food choices, but incorporating more exercise (I took up yoga, as I also have written about). Even if I gained some of the weight back, I would still be better off than I was before. He reassured me that regardless of my size, he loved me (yes, he said that, and I needed to hear it). And, he suggested we go to Minnewaska and see how different I felt climbing that mountain.

Last Friday we went. Though we didn’t do the Millbrook Mountain footpath that we had done before, we took the carriage road to another footpath, Gertrude’s Nose, which was higher up and involved fewer streams/creeks. It was a demanding hike that was about 6.5 miles round trip. It was not as hot as it was two years ago, but it was probably longer and certainly as physically demanding with a couple of scrambles. I managed to sweat profusely. We brought more water this time. We reached Gertrude’s Nose, which has a great payoff with a beautiful view, and I was in good shape. I wasn’t winded and my legs were strong. Very different from how I felt the other time.

The view from Gertrude’s Nose

We returned the way we came. We stopped twice briefly to sit but otherwise got back to the car without issue. It was a spectacular hike, and I felt proud of myself. My body was tired, but it should have felt tired.

2025 -I made it
2023 – before the climb and the weight loss
2025 -My hiking sticks resting. I needed them!

Hopefully the reward of being more fit, of fitting into my clothes and feeling overall better about my body will provide enough motivation to stay on the course.

I am continuing to navigate this path – I have weighed myself and it bounces around. I lost the two pounds I gained, then went up a pound. Maybe these are normal fluctuations. The weight loss wasn’t a straight line downhill either. I am trying to be honest with myself about portion sizes. I am trying to listen to my body to recognize fullness. It isn’t simple. And, I reserve the right to try the other weight loss drug, if I need to (and insurance approves it). Please don’t judge me.

Use of weight loss drugs is a sensitive subject. I see no reason to keep it a secret, but it is something people have opinions about. I could write a whole other essay about that and maybe I will. For now, I will end with this thought: taking care of yourself can be a complicated issue. Most of us struggle with it one way or another. Let’s wish each other well on our journeys. If we have something genuinely helpful to say, great; if not, spare the judgment.

A Trip to Pittsburgh in the Aftermath

A view of downtown from the top of Mount Washington after riding the Duquesne Incline

I could write a book about our trip to Pittsburgh. We were traveling there for a mini medical school reunion.

So many thoughts flood my mind:

  • The choices we make in our lives, being reminded of a turning point and what might have been. We could have settled in Pittsburgh but wanted to be closer to family. The road not taken is hard to resist imagining.
  • The side trip that took us at least 90 minutes out of our way, not to mention the time spent at the stop itself, a museum to see an exhibit of Andrew Wyeth’s paintings. When I suggested the detour, Gary initially didn’t want to take the time knowing what a long drive it was already from Albany to Pittsburgh. Then when we got in the car to start what should be a seven- or eight-hour trip, he said, “What the heck. We aren’t in any rush. Let’s go to the museum.”  I think he took pity on me, knowing my spirits were low from the results of the election and imagining a stop to look at art might help. He was right – it worked…for a while anyway.
  • The juxtaposition of gleaming office buildings, the beauty of the confluence of the three rivers and the unhoused, hurting people on the streets of that same downtown area. It is painful to see folks strung out, young people panhandling, wondering what’s worse: to walk by with a shake of the head and a murmured “sorry,” or to give some money? Our society must do better taking care of its own. The wealth suggested by elaborate skyscrapers, high-end stores and fancy hotels, side-by-side with people whose possessions are held in a bunch of plastic bags begs for a more humane economy. Below is evidence of the issue in Pittsburgh.
  • Gathering with friends from 40 years ago, some we did see eight years ago but others we had not, in the aftermath of an election that broke my heart but likely brought joy to some of theirs, was daunting. I was worried about how it would go.

It turned out that our reunion was warm, and we avoided politics, but I did have some interesting discussions with the woman I knew best all those years ago. We sat next to each other during the Pitt-Virginia football game that neither one of us was interested in. I knew she was a Trumper, and she knows I’m a bleeding-heart liberal. We would not change each other’s minds about anything. I come away as mystified by how I feel about folks who voted for Trump as I was before. Maybe I understand a bit more about her thought process – she sees the world differently than I do. One part of our conversation I will share because I think it is revealing.

I explained that I could not forgive Trump for, among other things, his reaction to the unite the right event in Charlottesville where the marchers chanted, “Jews will not replace us” and carried tiki torches. Trump responded saying there were good people on both sides. My friend explained that Trump was referring to the people who were trying to prevent the removal of confederate monuments – that he was sympathetic to their cause –  not to the chant. I said that I didn’t understand his statement that way and if that was the case he needed to make it clearer. She told me that it was obvious to her that’s what he meant. I said that even if that was what he meant, those monuments needed to come down. She disagreed. She asked me if knew anything about Abraham Lincoln. I said yes. She went on to explain that Lincoln supported monuments and naming forts after confederate generals to allow the South to save face. I responded by saying that may well be, and may have made sense in 1865, but it is now 2024, and the country needs to understand that the South lost the war. Those statutes and stories can be displayed and explained in museums and history books. Monuments in public squares should help us to remember and celebrate our better selves – the people honored don’t have to be perfect, but they do have to be on the right side of history. She just shook her head saying history should be preserved. I said, let’s change the subject and we did.

The game took almost three hours. There was a lot of conversation. Most of it was ordinary stuff about family, travel, health, but we couldn’t help but return to politics every so often, after all some of those subjects involve policy. Every time we did, we had to agree to disagree. At one point she said, amused, “You’re just too woke.” I smiled and said, “Exactly – that’s no insult to me. I work at being woke.” We both laughed.

I was proud of myself. I didn’t pretend that I didn’t disagree with her, but we didn’t get heated.  I was able to hold on to the good times we shared, aware of the pain she’s had in her life, the disappointments and struggles. I assume she could do the same for me. We hugged when we said our good-byes.

Gary was sitting next to his friend and former classmate, her husband, who shares her politics. After we left, Gary and I compared notes about our experience of the game. Interestingly, they had not discussed politics at all. Not surprisingly they were more focused on the game, but they talked about other subjects too – work, memories, family, being grandpas. No politics, though. I wondered how they managed that.

I am still processing the entirety of the trip. It was only 4 days, including all that driving, but it represented so much. I am also still processing the election results. It is going to take a long time to digest it all.

The best part of the game that Pitt lost – the half time show. The band was terrific.

A Tourist in My Hometown #2: Back to Brooklyn

In an unusual turn of events, Gary and I had a free day in New York City. The weather forecast was perfect – sunshine, no humidity, high temperature in the low 70s. I had an idea for what we should do with this unexpected free time. “Let’s go explore Brighton Beach,” I suggested.

Brighton Beach is a neighborhood in Brooklyn. It has been nicknamed “Little Odessa,” because it is home to many immigrants from Russia and Ukraine and it is by the sea (like its namesake on the coast of the Black Sea in sadly what is now war-torn Ukraine).

Usually, Gary turns his nose up at Brooklyn – it is a running joke between us. He thinks Queens is the far superior borough since that is where he grew up. It is true that when we were children more of Brooklyn was impoverished and crime-ridden; Queens had some unsafe areas, too, but more of it was middle- to upper-middle class residential neighborhoods. It has been a lot of years though since Brooklyn recovered, gentrified and became the favored place to live among hipsters and artists. Brooklyn still has rough areas, but it is nothing like it was in the ‘70s. So much has changed since I lived there.

To my surprise, Gary agreed to my proposal. He was curious about it, too. I did a bit of research online about restaurants and sites. We decided to drive, though public transportation is readily available, because it would give us more flexibility. One advantage to visiting the outer boroughs, especially if you aren’t intimidated by the prospect of driving through the streets, is that you can find free parking. Anyone who has had a car in Manhattan knows what an expensive proposition parking can be. We waited until rush hour was over, around 10:00 a.m., and headed to Brooklyn.

I can’t remember the last time I drove to Brooklyn. We headed downtown along the west side of Manhattan and went through the Hugh Carey Tunnel. Back in the day we called it the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel. I took that tunnel many times with my family when we came to Manhattan to visit either of Dad’s sisters.

We emerged from the tunnel in Brooklyn and proceeded onto the Gowanus (an elevated highway with a lot of truck traffic). I remember it as a depressed industrial area on one side of that highway and residential on the other. The residential side looked better maintained and the other side seemed to have new developments, some of which was still industrial, but the area looked more vibrant than when I had last seen it.

The Gowanus took us to the Belt Parkway, the roadway that travels along the edge of Brooklyn, skirting the entrance to New York harbor and then Jamaica Bay. We passed under the Verrazzano Bridge. I thought about how big Brooklyn is and I remembered getting around the borough as a teenager on buses. There was a store not that far from the Verrazzano, Korvettes, that had good prices on records. My brother Steven, who had a huge record collection, would give me a list of albums he wanted for his birthday, and I would go to Korvettes to pick one out for him. It was quite a schlep– involving several different buses. I didn’t mind, though, riding through various neighborhoods and looking at the people and stores. Korvettes is long gone, now a Kohls and Target sit in its spot. Some things change but remain the same.

We exited the parkway and made our way to Brighton Beach Avenue, looking for parking. We noted many fruit and vegetable stands, and spotted a market bearing the name of the capital of Uzbekistan, Tashkent.

The influx of Russian and Ukranian immigrants to Brighton Beach began a long time ago in the 1970s. When the Soviet Union relaxed its prohibition on Jews leaving, many of them found their way to Brooklyn, especially to Brighton Beach. Then when the Soviet Union dissolved in the early 1990s another wave came – this time from the former Soviet Republics such as Ukraine, Uzbekistan, Georgia, etc. The new immigrants established shops along Brighton Beach Avenue catering to their tastes.

We found an unmetered parking spot on a residential side street. The Riegelmann Boardwalk runs along the beach –  named after Peter Riegelmann, the Brooklyn Borough President in the 1920s – it stretches almost three miles through Brighton Beach past Coney Island. We got on the boardwalk where it starts and meandered almost the full length of it, passing iconic landmarks like the Cyclone, Nathan’s and the renovated aquarium. It was not yet noon, so it was quiet, everything was just opening. We passed a few fellow walkers, joggers and fishermen/women. We heard a polyglot of languages being spoken, including Yiddish. The sky was clear, there was a warm breeze, and the water glistened in the sunshine. We stopped to watch the waves breaking on the shore. Only a few umbrellas dotted the sand – public schools in New York City had opened that day so there weren’t very many people.

We reached a very long fishing pier, walked out to take in the view, and then turned around and started back.

We got off the boardwalk and went up to the avenue to look at the variety of stores and find a restaurant for lunch. The sidewalks were crowded with shoppers and merchandise. Elevated train tracks provided shade for the sidewalk. Periodically we heard the screech of the subway above us.

We looked at a few menus posted in windows and selected a restaurant that offered traditional Eastern European fare. We decided on the Ocean View Café, the menu was in what we thought was Russian (or maybe it was Ukranian) but it had English translations.

There were just a few empty tables, so it seemed to be a popular place for the locals who were speaking a Slavic language to the waitstaff. We ordered stuffed cabbage as an appetizer, chicken kebab with mashed potato and cheese blintzes, we shared each dish. The food was excellent.

We left the restaurant and were grateful to have a bit of a walk to the car. The cherry on top of our great day was that we didn’t hit much traffic heading back into Manhattan, only one bottleneck. Gary and I agreed it was a terrific outing. We timed it just right – nothing was too crowded, but it wasn’t desolate, the weather was an ideal example of late summer perfection, and we felt like we had visited another country – all while in New York City.

Three Day Jaunt: Ausable Chasm

When I was a child, my family didn’t take many vacations. My parents were teachers and money was tight. The travel we did do was associated with my dad’s continuing education. There was one exception. We took a tour of upstate New York. We lived in Brooklyn, so this was an economical, practical choice. As I recall, Dad consulted with Uncle Jack to set the itinerary. We went to Niagara Falls, Corning and Cooperstown. Uncle Jack also suggested Ausable Chasm, but that wasn’t included since it is in the northeast corner of the state; it was too far afield from the other places and would add too many miles and too much time. For some reason, the idea of going to Ausable Chasm stuck in my mind as a place I wanted see. All these years later, Gary and I made the trip this past weekend. I’m glad we did.

When Gary cut back his schedule to three days a week back on April 1st, I had visions of taking many weekend jaunts. I have a list of places that are reasonable drives that I want to go, including Ausable Chasm. Somehow, we haven’t taken any of those jaunts. Life gets in the way and Gary’s work responsibilities have not been reduced as much as I might have hoped. But, finally this past weekend presented an opportunity, so off we went.

I looked for a bed and breakfast or inn in the area (the closest city is Plattsburgh) but I didn’t have much luck finding something for all three nights. I found one place that we could stay for one night, but they had a wedding that would take up the inn for the remainder of the weekend. I decided to book that and then find another place for the other two nights.

We arrived at the Valcour Inn and Boathouse which sits on a beautiful property that faces Lake Champlain. It was an interesting place, very comfortable and lovely, but everything was handled online – there was no person to greet us. We received instructions for checking in via email. We entered the necessary codes, and we went to our room. We had access to a wide porch that ran the length of the building that looked out on the lake. 

The view from the porch

There were Adirondack chairs available – perfect to sit, read and enjoy the view. Though it felt odd not to talk to a human being, or be able to ask questions directly, the accommodations were quite comfortable. They also posted a list of recommended restaurants in the area and we chose one for lunch.

 We went to  Rove’s Café and Kitchen in Peru (yes, there is a Peru, New York. As a side note, it is interesting that our state has towns named Athens, Cairo, Mexico, among other famous world locations.) The café was a small, unassuming looking place. Appearances aren’t everything – our meals were terrific. We went back for breakfast on Sunday morning and again were not disappointed. It’s great to find a small, local place that serves excellent food instead of going to the ubiquitous chains.

Keeping with the theme of taking advantage of local amenities, we went to Peru High School to play tennis. It was sunny but  windy which made hitting the ball a bit of an adventure, but we had fun. The tennis courts had lines for pickleball and, in fact, two different sets of people showed up to play pickleball on the court next to ours but gave up because of the wind. Score one advantage to tennis which uses a heavier ball.

After perusing Google, I found an Italian restaurant in Plattsburgh for dinner, about 10 miles north of where we were staying. Nonnalisa turned out to be excellent. Again, it didn’t have much in the way of ambiance, but the woman who waited on us, who may have been the owner, was friendly and accommodating. The food was fresh and very tasty. The shopping center where the eatery was located didn’t look too lively, it was kind of desolate actually, but the restaurant was busy. Guests at two of the other tables were speaking French, a reminder that we were close to the Canadian border.

We read that it was good to arrive at Ausable Chasm early if you want to avoid waiting on a long line to get entry tickets. The park opened at 9:00 a.m. and given Gary and my sleep patterns, getting there at that hour would not be an issue. It was good advice. The Inn provided a ‘take-away’ breakfast – a pre-packaged box with yogurt, nuts, cheese and a pastry, plus coffee and juice were offered. It proved to be quite adequate and efficient. So, we got to the park just after it opened and there was no issue parking and there were only a couple of people ahead of us to buy tickets. When we returned to the Welcome Center just before noon, the line was quite long.

Ausable Chasm offers different kinds of experiences depending on the desired level of adventure. We opted for the package that included access to the hiking trails, the walk along the river and the raft excursion (there was another level up that included rock climbing, etc.). It was just the right challenge for us. The walk along the river in the chasm involved crossing suspension bridges – the kind that bounce and sway as people walk on them. It was unnerving to know that the water was rushing over rocks about fifty feet below us, but I did it without hesitating. Yay me!

One of the two suspension bridges we crossed.

The chasm offers many beautiful views from the rim and from the bottom. It is quite a geological phenomenon. And we learned that it isn’t called a canyon because of how narrow it is. You learn something new every day!

View from the rim
View of Elephant Ear from the rim
view from the floor of the chasm
another view from the bottom

The walk at the bottom is led by a tour guide. After completing the path, we were left where the raft loaded. We put on life preservers and boarded the raft. The current was mild, though there were two areas of rapids, but even those were pretty tame. It was just the right amount of excitement for me. Having gone white water rafting in Quebec and getting ejected from the raft and being rescued by my son, I was pleased that this was less exhilarating.

Once we completed the water portion of our adventure, we had a choice. We could hike back to the gatehouse or take a shuttle bus. We were ready for more hiking and we took the more challenging route. We made our way through a dry chasm – which involved climbing through and around large rocks that at one time was a river bed before time and nature did its thing and rerouted the river. It wasn’t too hard, and it was very beautiful. The light filtering through the trees and our verdant surroundings were magnificent.

hiking through the dry chasm
climbing out of the chasm

We got back to the Welcome Center feeling like we had a good workout. I needed to get postcards to send to the kids and  find a souvenir magnet to add to my wall back home and then we could check into our next accommodations – The Shamrock Inn which was just down the road. A shower was definitely in order – all that hiking in the heat, and I had soaked through my shirt. Not to mention that my hiking shoes and socks were sopping wet from the raft ride.

The Shamrock Inn provided a lovely room, clean and comfortable, though it was a bit small. The friendly owner, who checked us in and lived on the premises, recommended a place for lunch back up the road in Keeseville, a small café that was known for its great grilled cheese sandwiches. After cleaning up, off we went. We were not mislead. Those were killer grilled cheese sandwiches – and I got a frozen strawberry lemonade which was perfect after our morning’s efforts.

One of my favorite things about traveling is seeing different towns – how do other people live? What does a town offer that is charming or unusual? Does the town look to be thriving or is it struggling? Just driving the roads in and around the area was interesting. Fortunately, Gary shares my enthusiasm for that. Keeseville looked like it was trying to comeback from difficult times. Peru looked like a settled community with both established businesses and places that were struggling. In between we saw a mixture of beautiful lakefront homes and trailer parks. We like to look up the towns on Wikipedia, see if there’s some interesting history, what the population is…

In that vein, we went to the Museum of the Underground Railroad which is right next to Ausable Chasm. This area of the north country of New York State had a role in helping escaped enslaved people make it to freedom in Canada. We learned quite a bit about the journey and about some specific people who successfully made it and some local people who helped. We also learned how different views split church congregations in the area. It is a small museum, but worth the visit.

We had one more day in the area and we decided to go across Lake Champlain to Burlington, Vermont, which involved taking a short ferry ride. We rented bicycles and rode along the Burlington Greenway Bike Path which skirts the lake and traverses a causeway that connects the mainland of Vermont to Grand Isle. It was a beautiful ride that took us through forested areas, we passed public beaches, and then to the causeway. We rode 9 miles out and then turned around.

the causeway part of the bike path

We didn’t go all the way across to Grand Isle. 18 miles was sufficient for us, given that we had not biked at all in quite some time. My legs were aching, and Gary’s butt was complaining, but it was well worth it. We rewarded ourselves with  cocktails and lunch after returning the bikes. There was a restaurant on the water right across from the rental place. It was wonderful to sit in the shade, drink some water and sip a pina colada.

Me after 18 miles in 85 degree heat – I did it!

All good things must end. It was time to go home – back to the grind of work for Gary and back to my routines. Three days went by quickly, but it did feel like a mini vacation. We did all that I hoped to – satisfied my curiosity about a place I had heard of as a child, took in the beauty that is the north country of New York State, spent quality time together, learned some history, got a good deal of exercise and enjoyed good food. I look forward to our next three-day jaunt whenever and wherever that might be.

River Cruise – Not Much River

Note: I have decided to return to writing about the lighter side of life though I continue to stress about the toll of the war in Gaza, the fate of the hostages and the rise of antisemitism. Gary and I were fortunate to take an amazing trip in October and, me being me, I have lots of observations and photographs to share. Here is the first of what will likely be a couple of essays.

“How was your trip?” A straightforward question to someone who has returned from vacation. Usually the answer is straightforward, too. “Great!”  or maybe “Exhausting!” Gary and I took a river cruise in October and when people ask how it was, I find it difficult to come up a pithy response. Our trip was disappointing, awesome, educational, fascinating, painful, tiring, memorable….many adjectives apply. There isn’t one overall response.

Our river cruise was a tour of Eastern European capitals on the Danube with Viking. It was slated to start in Vienna and proceed to Bratislava (capital of Slovakia) and then Budapest, with further stops in Hungary, Bulgaria and ending in Constanta, Romania. We received an email a couple of days before we left advising us that it was possible that the beginning of the trip would not be on the boat because water levels on the river were too low. We hoped that would resolve and then didn’t think much more about it since it was totally out of our control.

When we arrived in Vienna we were told by the Viking representative that met us that indeed we could not go to the boat because the situation had not improved. They were not sure when or where we would be able to board the ship. We were taken by bus from the airport to a Hilton Hotel well-located in the middle of Vienna. Though the transfer to the hotel went smoothly, we were disappointed to find that things were quite disorganized upon our arrival. It wasn’t clear what was happening with our luggage. Rooms were not yet available, it was mid-morning. They did not communicate the status of meals for the day and no activities were scheduled. It was an inauspicious beginning.

Gary and I were traveling with his brother, Steven, and his wife, Shari. Though we were quite tired, it had been an overnight flight, we set out to explore the area on foot. It was very breezy and chilly, but we enjoyed our walk and stopped at a café. We made the best of the situation. We wandered around for a couple of hours – now it was around 1:00 and we returned to the hotel. Steve and Shari’s room was ready, ours was not. We were informed that a buffet lunch was available in the restaurant of the hotel.

We hoped that after lunch our room would be available. We went to the buffet only to find that none of the dishes were labeled – various foods were displayed without any identification. Was it fish or chicken? Pork or beef? What kind of vegetables were under that cream sauce? Those of us with allergies or food preferences were concerned and confused. The folks refilling the chafing dishes were unable to answer our questions. Oy. After much pestering of the staff, we were able to gather some information. We made it through lunch without anyone getting a rash or anaphylaxis (at least as far as I know). Dinner wasn’t much better, somewhat better labeling but not great choices. Certainly not meeting the standards expected on a Viking cruise.

I think you are getting the picture. Things were not starting out great. Especially when you consider how expensive these trips are. Despite that, though, I loved walking through Vienna, being in a new place, taking in the architecture, people-watching, seeing a city I had only read about.

As we were finishing lunch, Gary went to the registration desk to inquire about our room – it was now around 2:30. At first they said they didn’t have one available. Gary appealed to their sympathies. “We have been traveling since 6:00 yesterday evening, we didn’t sleep on the flight, we haven’t showered, can’t you do something?” Fortunately, they could. Why they couldn’t in the first place, is a mystery. But at least we had a room! We got our luggage – it was supposed to be delivered but we saw it sitting in the lobby so we just took it – and went up to our room and collapsed.

I won’t go through the whole trip giving a minute-by-minute report, but I wanted to give a sense of our frustration with how it started. Viking still didn’t have a clear itinerary for those first days or a timetable for getting on the boat. We were okay with taking it as it comes – as long as we were seeing interesting sights and as long as Viking was fulfilling its promises, even if it wasn’t on the river.

Unfortunately, I can’t say they were able to do that. The food provided at the hotel and the one restaurant they took us to in Vienna were subpar, at best. The communication was not what it should have been. On the upside, the hotel was comfortable, and the tour of the city was excellent. I loved what we saw in Vienna. Here are some photos of points of interest.

statue of the mayor of Vienna from decades ago – a known Nazi
On our walk when we first arrived in Vienna
Holocaust memorial
A canal that is an offshoot of the Danube

On the afternoon that we had free, Gary and I chose to go the Belvedere Museum because I am a fan of the artist Gustav Klimt. I had read that his most famous paintings were housed in that museum. I was not disappointed. The building itself was magnificent and the grounds were beautiful, as well.

Since we were not on the boat, we were given a choice: spend more time in Vienna or take an hour bus ride to Bratislava where we would take a tour. Gary and I chose to go Bratislava. During the bus ride, the tour guide provided a lot of information about both cities – Vienna and Bratislava and the two countries, Austria and Slovakia. Back in the day, Austria was not part of the Soviet bloc, but Slovakia was. The lasting impact of that was evident in their respective landscapes and the ambiance of those capital cities. As we would continue to learn throughout the trip, Russian influence was stronger and stronger as we went east. In Bratislava the tour guide told us jokes that were at the expense of the old Soviet Union. For example: a man went to the Skoda (small, Czech made car) dealership to buy a car. He was told it would be a ten year wait. The man asked if it would come in the morning or the afternoon. The salesman responded, “Why does it matter, it’s in ten years?” “Because I have the plumber scheduled to come then.” Obviously, a dig at the inefficiency of the Soviet system. The guide seemed grateful both to be able to tell the joke and that things had changed.

Bratislava’s old town was charming. It had been a walled city. Now it has lots of shops and restaurants within the remnants of the wall. Our tour guide explained that because the cost of labor is low, as are taxes, tech corporations have established offices in Bratislava. Thirty years after communism fell, there is a vibrance to the city and it is growing.

Opera House in Bratislava
Castle that overlooks the Danube
Gary with iconic bridge over the Danube that connects two parts of Bratislava
one of the streets in the old town of Bratislava

Despite the fact the cruise was not going as planned, and in fact we weren’t cruising at all, the main purpose of travel was being accomplished. We were learning about places we knew little about and expanding our horizons to include more of the world.

[more to come!]

A Visit to Saratoga

 Have you ever taken a visual field test? It is part of the evaluation I get when I visit the opthamologist. I take them pretty frequently because I am suspicious for glaucoma and have had other vision issues. The exam involves looking through a lens at a white surface, focusing on an orange light in the center, and pressing a button each time you see a flashing white light anywhere in your field of vision – hence the name of the test. It isn’t painful. It isn’t invasive. But it deeply annoying, especially for me who as a routine matter has floaters and flashes of light. It isn’t easy to distinguish the little white dots from what I usually see and leaves me wondering whether to hit the button.

My vision, on an ordinary day, is like looking through a dirty windshield where there are certain spots that have schmutz (a technical term). Unlike a windshield, though, the spots move. This has been the case most of my adult life and I am used to it. I do worry that it will get worse. I am grateful that I can see, and I don’t take it for granted. Though I have had this issue, among other eye problems, for many years, I have not been diagnosed with anything that suggests that I have  progressive eye disease. I do see two different opthamologists at least yearly to keep tabs on it.

I took one of those tests the other day and in the middle of it, everything went black. Fortunately it wasn’t my eyes. The power went out. Emergency lights came on briefly and then everything else buzzed back to life. A technician scurried into the room and told me I would have to start the visual field test again. Oh well. Not a big deal though I didn’t relish the idea of spending yet more time trying to figure out if what I was seeing was real or my usual visual stuff.

I finished and eventually was taken to the doctor’s office for the actual eye exam. But it turned out that their Wi-Fi was down as a result of that brief outage earlier. I was told I could wait and see if it came back up or I could reschedule my appointment. Apparently, the eye doctor didn’t feel he could see patients without access to the computer system. Really? He couldn’t look at my eyes and take notes? I can’t say I understood, but I didn’t argue. Our reliance on technology can be the topic of another essay.

I decided to reschedule. I was frustrated, but thought ‘how could I make the best of the situation?’

My eye doctor is located in Saratoga County, about a half hour drive from home. I knew the Saratoga Battlefield was nearby. I have lived in this area for over 35 years and never went. It was a crisp, late summer morning. I decided it was time to venture forth. I plugged Saratoga National Historical Park into my GPS and took a lovely 15 minute ride to the grounds. Entry is free!

It turned out to be an auspicious day to go. The first battle of Saratoga, also known as the Battle of Freeman’s Farm, was fought on September 19, 1777. I showed up on the anniversary of that fight – the 246th anniversary to be exact. They were having an educational program to commemorate the date.

I learned a few things. I probably learned some of this before but had no memory of it. I didn’t recall that there were in fact two battles – the first the British won. The second battle was the decisive victory for the Americans that turned the tide of the war. That one occurred a couple of weeks later, October 7, 1777. Benedict Arnold was one of the heroes of the battle, before he switched sides. It is said that if he died there, and he was injured, he would be remembered as a hero of the Revolution.

There is something about battlefields, not that I have visited that many, that is eerie. I had a similar feeling at Gettysburg  – of standing on hallowed ground. The sense that something of import had happened there.  A stiff wind was blowing across the fields and there weren’t very many people around so there was a desolation to it. I can’t explain it, but I felt the weight of history, of the souls that fought there. Maybe it was just my imagination, but it moved me. I’m glad the site has been preserved.

I also learned that the British weren’t only at war with America. They were in conflict all over the globe – with France, Spain and the Netherlands, to name a few. I also learned that the Revolutionary War led to a split in the Iroquois Nation, with most of the tribes siding with the British. The Oneida fought on the side of the Americans. It was also interesting to note that the army of the colonies was integrated. Enslaved people (forced to fight instead of their ‘owners’), freemen (Black), Native Americans and colonists fought side by side. It was later in America’s development that the army became segregated.

Not all Americans supported the cause which led to conflict among the families that lived in the area. One farm couple, the Neilsons, left their home to get out of harm’s way and their farm was commandeered by Benedict Arnold. The main house has been restored and I walked in to take a look. The general had a canopy bed, but there were four other cots sharing the modest space. It was interesting to hear that the couple came back after hostilities ended and raised 8 children there. Here is a picture of the home.

Hard to imagine a family of ten living there! These days we Americans have very different expectations about space requirements.

The landscape is beautiful. The area is a great place to hike or bike. The Hudson River runs along the east edge of the park.

The British, who were advancing from Canada, were trying to get to Albany to get food and supplies. The battles in Saratoga were crucial in preventing them from regaining strength.

Though I did not get to fulfill the purpose of my appointment in Saratoga, my time was well spent. I look forward to visiting again.

Walking or Hiking?

I don’t consider myself a hiker – more of a ‘walker-in-the-woods.’ I frequently take walks on trails in my area (the Capital Region of New York State). Those trails can involve some ups and downs, but not climbing. Because I am always looking for new places to walk, I follow a group on Facebook ‘Hiking the Hudson Valley.’ Folks frequently post about Minnewaska State Park which is not exactly in the Capital Region, it is in the Catskills, but looked beautiful and is less than a 90 minute drive. It was on my list of places to check out. This holiday weekend provided the perfect opportunity.  My main conclusion: my unwillingness to call myself a hiker is well founded.

That isn’t entirely fair. Gary and I did hike, and I did complete the loop, but it was a close call. Here are my lessons learned:

  1. Hydrate even before starting out. I only had coffee and it was a hot day.
  2. Bring more water. I had four 8 ounce bottles of water – in other words 32 ounces for the two of us. Gary was my hero, knowing I was having difficulty he let me drink about 30 of those ounces! I don’t know how he was able to manage given the heat, but fortunately his body functions very differently from mine and he is far more fit. I sweat beyond all reason under most circumstances, never mind when it is hot and we are exercising. My shirt was so wet before we even began our ascent that it looked like I had jumped into Lake Minnewaska. I wish I had. Which brings me to number 3…
  3. Bring a change of shirts – maybe that only applies to a Brody, which I am by birth. We sweat copiously. Dad always brought a fresh shirt when he played tennis. It wasn’t that comfortable driving back home in a still soaking wet shirt.
  4. Research the trail so you understand what you are getting into. We read the description on the sign, but it didn’t ‘grade’ it as easy, moderate or difficult. Of course those ratings, even when I have read them beforehand, don’t necessarily correspond to your personal experience. I have found some trails easier than the rating or far more challenging.
  5. If you are prone to allergies, take your medication before you hike! Fluid was pouring from every orifice (not that one, I am happy to say). My nose was running like a faucet. My eyes were tearing – between sunscreen and sweat I could barely keep my eyes open. Halfway through the hike I realized I had tissues, nasal spray and Claritin in my knapsack! Don’t know why I forgot about that, but at least I found it. The second half of the hike improved, but I had already used my shirt multiple times – yuck. I saved Gary’s dry shirt for wiping my eyes – once again he was my hero!
  6. If in doubt, bring your hiking sticks. This I got right. I would have been in trouble on the trail without them.
  7. Get in better condition! I am quite capable of walking long distances on gentle or flat terrain – when walking in New York City doing five miles is not that challenging. Hiking, even a modest mountain, is another thing all together. It tests balance and leg strength in ways that strolling along a path in Central Park simply doesn’t.

Sounds like we had a great time, doesn’t it? Actually, we did. Despite the pain, it was beautiful. The scenery was gorgeous.

Once we reached the top of Millbrook Mountain, I was able to recover. The way Minnewaska’s trails are organized there are sometimes multiple routes to the same place – a footpath and a carriage road. The carriage road is a gravel, wide trail that doesn’t involve climbing (it isn’t flat, but you aren’t negotiating rocks to go up). In this case the footpath was about half the distance (the sign said 1.2 miles, it felt like 10!) and was the route we took up and involved a good deal of climbing (not scrambling, but lots of leg work) and crossing a stream. We took the carriage road back. It was 2.5 miles and much easier. We covered the 2.5 miles much more quickly – less time than it took us to go the 1.2. At times we felt like we were going uphill both ways, but the carriage path was very manageable. We only stopped once for a break.

All in all, we walked about 5.5 miles. I am proud of myself for completing it. I am also grateful to Gary for being such an encouraging and supportive partner. He also led the way on the footpath so I didn’t have to concern myself with finding the trail markers. I think he was worried about me for a bit there and I felt bad about that, but I rallied. I will be better prepared next time. I do think there will be a next time.

Planes, Boats, Buses and Automobiles

Travel can be fraught under any circumstance. No matter the mode of transportation there can be curveballs. Traffic, due to construction or an accident, can stymie progress. Weather can create havoc. Air travel has its own set of challenges. This past weekend our family faced all of that. The good news: we survived! The bad news: nerves were frayed and I’m pretty sure I can speak for all of us when I say we are exhausted. But, if that is the worst of it, we can count ourselves fortunate.

We were invited by our daughter and son-in-law to join them on a family vacation to a cabin on Georgian Bay (on Lake Huron in Canada). The plan was for them to fly from Boston to Toronto with their 13-month-old baby. We would pick them up at the airport in Toronto and drive the rest of the way – about 2.5 hours to a remote marina north of Toronto where we would be met by our son-in-law’s father in a boat. He would ferry us the rest of the way – to a place called the Iron City Fishing Club (more about that later). Unbelievably, that travel went smoothly for all of us.

The kids’ flight was on time. We found the little city airport (Billy Bishop Airport  – named after a World War I Canadian flying ace) which sits on a small island in Lake Ontario just off the shoreline of Toronto).

That’s Gary – we walked along the lake, the airport is just across the waterway, while we waited for the kids’ flight to arrive

We loaded up the car and didn’t get lost finding the marina just outside of MacTier, Ontario. The last 15 minutes of the ride involved a curvy, narrow road that Gary had to take very slowly and naturally that was the one time our granddaughter got fussy. But, it was brief, and we arrived at the marina in good spirits to find Ben’s mom and dad waiting for us with the Iron City boat. We loaded our stuff – we were all remarkably efficient in packing, so we didn’t have that much baggage, but it did involve supplies for four adults and one baby so it wasn’t light either. We had a delightful boat ride in the late afternoon sun over calm waters of Lake Huron. The smoke from the Canadian wildfires, the fires themselves were not near our location, had cleared earlier in the day.

We thanked our lucky stars that everything had gone so well. We enjoyed our five full days at Iron City. I will write another blog post about that experience another day.

We began the return trip on Friday at noon. It was the kind of day that made us reluctant to leave. The air was crystalline, very low humidity (finally!), with a strong breeze. The clarity of the air showed off the blue of the lake and sky, and the rocky shore.

Despite our reluctance, we got on Ben’s father’s boat and once again enjoyed a delightful, refreshing ride back to the marina.

It took Gary a bit to find the car, but he did and again we loaded up. We settled in for the 2.5 hour journey. Leah asked Ben how he felt about the vacation – how did he feel about the experience since it was the first time he was making it with his own child. Ben has been coming to Iron City for his whole life, the place has been part of their family for generations. He had been there with Leah in the year before Covid (summer of 2019), but not since. Ben replied, “The trip isn’t over yet. We still have to get home.” I don’t know if Ben had a premonition, but truer words were never spoken.

All went well on the first leg. Our granddaughter slept for almost two hours and woke up in a fine mood. We dropped them at the airport after hugs and good-byes. It is always painful to leave a grandchild, but we had had a wonderful week with her.

Gary and I got back in the car and continued our drive back to Albany. We weren’t sure if we would stop overnight and decided to play it by ear. It was about 3:30 in the afternoon when we left the kids.

The first hint of trouble came with word that their flight was delayed. It didn’t sound too bad…at first. We continued our drive uneventfully, crossing back into the United States at Lewiston without too much of a line. I have a history of having some difficulties when crossing back into the United States – once when the border agent questioned if the two children traveling in our car were ours and I got annoyed and another time when I didn’t understand the instructions we were given about where to stand at customs at JFK. Gary requested that I not say a word and let him handle this interaction with the border agents. I handed him the passports, he was driving, and I kept my mouth shut. We had no problem.

The real problems started when the kids’ flight was cancelled, which they learned some time after 6:00 pm. We felt terrible for them – and at this point it made no sense for us to go back. It is their story to tell about the different permutations they tried, but they were distressed because their dog, oddly named Douglas (a formal name for a very small dog), was at home in the care of a friend, who had a flight herself and was due to leave Friday afternoon. Leah and Ben expected to be back Friday night. They were scrambling for coverage for their dog and an alternative way to get home. The airline offered them their next flight – on Tuesday! Obviously, that was not going to work.

We were texting with them and had decided we were tired; it was now almost 7:00 pm and we had been up early and began the trip with the boat ride at noon. We decided to take a hotel room outside of Rochester.

After many frantic calls and texts, another friend was able to go over to their apartment to take care of Douglas over night. They explored many options: other flights, renting a car and taking a train, all of which presented insurmountable problems, they decided to take a bus to Rochester. It was due to arrive at 1:10 a.m. Their 13-month-old was holding up remarkably well, but they had not taken supplies for this long of a delay. We went to the market and bought milk and formula. We booked another hotel room.

Gary and I went out to dinner and then relaxed in the hotel room. Gary was suffering with heavy congestion so we decided that I would be the one to go to the bus station. He went to bed. At least one of us would be rested for the drive tomorrow. Leah texted around ten o’clock that they were crawling in traffic and that she would text when they got to the station before Rochester, Batavia, so I could go to sleep. I tried to and did close my eyes for a bit. At 2:30 a.m. I got the text that they were in Batavia, about 35 minutes away from Rochester.

Thank goodness for GPS. I plugged it in and drove the desolate streets to the bus station. I was thinking about the spate of violence that hit Rochester years ago when it was down on its luck. The last time I was there for work, which was probably a decade ago, it looked depressed and unsafe. I was anxious but focused. From the little I could see in the dark, with my eyes glued to the route, it did look better, though totally deserted. But that is probably a good thing at 3:00 in the morning. I pulled into the parking lot, kept the car doors locked, and was comforted to see other people waiting, too. There were no further delays and the Trailways bus pulled into the station as expected (a mere two hours late). Later Leah explained that there was construction on a bridge in Canada that created a crazy traffic jam. They traveled two miles in two hours!

After a few minutes of the bus pulling in, Leah climbed down the steps with the baby in her arms. She wasn’t asleep, but she was calm (both of them were). Ben came down a few minutes later carrying the car seat and backpacks. What a day for them! Once again, we loaded their baggage in the car.

Due to their dog, they decided that Ben would take an early flight (5:15 a.m.) to Boston and that we would drop him at the airport. It would make no sense for him to go to the hotel for an hour. Leah thought that taking that early morning flight would be a disaster for her and the baby so she would come to the hotel, get some rest and ride with us back to Albany. We would figure out how to get them to Boston, but they wouldn’t have to worry about Douglas, so they wouldn’t be as stressed.

We got to the hotel and made up a few bottles. They settled into their room, and I went to bed in mine. Ben was left to try to make himself comfortable in the airport. It was now close to 4 a.m.

We woke later in the morning to learn that Ben’s flight was delayed. They debated whether he should just come with us and bag the flight. They decided he would stay with it because, assuming it wasn’t cancelled, and the airline was assuring him that it was going to go by noon, he would still get back before we could possibly drive there, especially taking account of the baby’s needs.

We left Rochester (Henrietta actually) at about 10:00 am after a successful breakfast. We arrived in Albany just before Ben’s flight took off! He had been in the airport for 10 hours, instead of the 90 minutes we expected. What a misery! Our drive was uneventful. Once again, the baby was awesome. She chatted adorably for the first half hour and then fell asleep for the next two. She needed to be entertained for the last half hour. We stopped at our house in Albany, let the baby play, wander around and had lunch. Then we got back in the car.

Ben had successfully arrived home. He got to shower and walk Douglas. Then he and Douglas drove to meet us outside Worcester to save us about two hours of driving if we took them all the way home. We met at a Dunkin’ Donuts in Grafton, MA. Iced coffee is helpful in these situations. The baby lit up when she saw her daddy. They were happy and relieved to be reunited. Douglas was especially happy, his tail wagging, nuzzling Leah’s legs.

It had been an ordeal. A trip, difficult to make under normal circumstances – involving boat, plane and car –  that should have taken 9 hours door-to-door took about 31! Only Ben can answer the question Leah posed Friday afternoon, but I might wait a while before asking again. For my part, though it was a lot of time in the car, we had an awesome vacation. I’m glad Gary had Sunday to recover before heading back to work.

Though I love seeing other places, I have more understanding for those who find the process of traveling overwhelming and choose to stay local. So much can go wrong! Add a baby and pets to the mix and it can be nerve-wracking. You need a very Zen attitude – which can be hard to maintain in the face of unexplained delays and seemingly unhelpful staff. It’s still worth it to me, but as I get older that calculus could change.

A view I wouldn’t get unless I was willing to travel. That’s Leah kneeling to take a picture from the Iron City dock.

Travel: Why Croatia?

When I told my mother that Gary and I were going to Croatia for vacation she looked at me puzzled and asked, “Why?” I explained that Croatia’s coast, which sits on the Adriatic Sea, is reputed to be beautiful and has become a tourist destination. “But, where is it?” I started by saying that the Adriatic is the sea that borders Venice, Italy and if you go across from there, you get to Croatia. She was still having trouble picturing it. Then I told her it was part of the former Yugoslavia. “Oh, now, I understand where it is.” Interesting, for a woman of her age that reference clarified things.

Croatia was indeed part of communist Yugoslavia until 1991 when it fought a war for its independence. Yugoslavia was never part of the USSR, but it was under its sphere of influence. When the Soviet Union fell apart in the late 1980s and early 1990s, Yugoslavia broke up into six separate countries as well. If our experience there is any indication, it appears that Croatia has embraced the West.

The Croatians we met, and it is true that they were mostly involved in the tourism industry and may not be representative of the whole country, were quite enthusiastic about the United States. We perceived no resentment or negative vibes. In fact, several of them commented on how much they admired America. Everywhere we went there were tourists from all over – Italy, France, Germany, Asia and the U.S. Clearly tourism is a critical part of their economy. They also expressed pride in their country and way of life. Several told us that Croatians take their time – if they want to have coffee they will take 2 hours to sit, relax and enjoy.

We started our adventure in Split. We learned that it was the birthplace of the Roman Emperor, Diocletian, who ruled from 284 to 305 A.D. He built a ‘retirement home’– palace is more accurate – in Split. He is the only Roman Emperor to step aside willingly – he planned for his succession. Most were overthrown or murdered. Anyway, his palace still stands. Today it is home to a church, monastery, apartments, restaurants and shops. We took a tour, and it was fascinating to see how it has evolved. Different eras are demarcated by the different materials used – blocks of limestone, bricks, stones show how things originated and were then repaired centuries later.

Our tour guide for Diocletian’s palace, Yakob, was very knowledgeable. He is a native of Split, expressed pride in his city and country, and shared a great deal about the history and current politics of his nation. He explained that all students in Split learn English. He told us he grew up watching U.S. television shows. His favorite was Seinfeld! We were shocked. I wouldn’t have thought that humor would translate to another culture. He loved it and could reference specific episodes and funny tidbits. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Jerry, Elaine, George and Kramer representing us. They aren’t the most admirable folks. Apparently, though, it entertained Yakob and honed his English skills.

It was so interesting to travel around and see and hear the mix of cultures. American music, Croatian radio stations, Muslim influences.

Gary and I made the trip with our friends Merle and Dale. Merle had done the vast majority of the research and gathered recommendations about historical sites, hotels and restaurants.  We took tours in some places, but we were not part of a tour group going from place to place. There can be pluses and minuses to that approach, but it worked for us. In a country where so many speak English, it was totally manageable.

We traveled from one location to another by ferry. There are many islands off Croatia’s Dalmatian coast and ferries offer the most efficient means of getting from one to another. After Split, we visited Hvar. It has a busy, crowded port that looked like what one might expect of a Mediterranean resort, filled with restaurants, bars, souvenir shops and churches. We didn’t spend much time in that section of Hvar – we chose a hotel in a quieter, smaller town.

Everywhere we traveled we noted the orange ceramic tile roofs and beige stone buildings. It made for beautiful views of waterfronts and hillsides – perhaps a cross between Italy and Greece. Here are some views of Milna, Hvar (the small town where we stayed instead of the main port area):

The weather this time of year is supposed to be optimal with sunshine and temperatures in the 70s. When I checked the weather in the week to two weeks before the trip, it consistently showed thunderstorms. We started looking for indoor activities in case our other plans derailed and we packed accordingly. It turned out to be unnecessary. When we arrived we were told that weather forecasts for the Croatian coast are meaningless, the forecasters are always getting it wrong. We were glad they did!

We did face one morning of rain and it was during our tour of a national park – Plitvice Lakes National Park was about 3 hours inland (north and east) of Split. It was sunny in Split and remained that way for the first two hours of our bus ride to the park. We emerged from a tunnel through a mountain to cloud cover and by the time we got to the park it was raining. It poured for a few hours. It did not dampen our spirits or ruin the views and fortunately we had packed ponchos for just this situation. We took a 9 kilometer walk that wound around lakes and waterfalls. I can’t remember being anywhere more lush. It was spectacular. They had gotten substantial rain in the days leading up to our visit and the waterfalls were full and powerful. It was breathtaking. The rain stopped in time for our boat ride and the sun came out when we stopped for lunch. Someone was looking out for us! When we resumed hiking after lunch, it was dry.  Here are some views of our visit to Plitvice:

We also visited Dubrovnik, an ancient city at the south end of the country. We took a cable car ride up to the top of a mountain that overlooks the old part of the city. The view was like something out of a tour book. The walled old town could have been the setting for a fairy tale – it was the setting for parts of Game of Thrones (so was Diocletian’s Palace). The water of the Adriatic is clear and varies from blue to green. The orange tile roofs pop next to it. We timed our ride on the cable car to be up there as the sun set. It was magnificent.

Here are some shots from there and from atop the walls of the old city:

We had some excellent meals. The national dish of Croatia is ‘peka.’ Merle had gotten a recommendation for a restaurant that specializes in that dish and it was a one mile walk from where the cable car left us. That walk was so special – the sun was low in the sky, the light was soft and yellow. The countryside was dotted with purple, yellow and white flowers (see the second photo above). The road wound down the hillside and opened up to vistas of Dubrovnik and the Adriatic on one side and mountains on the other.

The restaurant did not disappoint. Peka is made with either beef or lamb and I am not a fan of either, so I didn’t have it – you had to pre-order because it takes so much time to cook. It was interesting for Merle, Dale and Gary because  peka reminded them of comfort food they grew up with in the best possible way. The restaurant slow cooked the meat under an iron bell and it is served with roast potatoes. The seasonings tasted familiar to them. We hypothesized that since Croatia traces its roots to the Slavic people of Eastern Europe, as we do as Ashkenazi Jews, that perhaps the cooking style was shared. It was quite a moment for them, Merle in particular, to have such a strong sense memory, to be so many miles from home and so many years since last tasting it, but be taken back to her grandmother’s cooking.

Sadly, all good things come to an end. It was time for Gary and I to return home. Our trip back was long and tiring, only to be greeted by a line that snaked up and down a cavernous hall at JFK to get through customs. That line alone took an hour – just to show our passports and be admitted back into the United States. People on the line were remarkably well behaved, though. It took 18 hours of travel time from our hotel in Trogir, a charming, old town near the airport in Split, to get to our apartment on the upper west side of Manhattan. On the one hand, it is kind of miraculous to be able to travel almost 4,400 miles that quickly. But, on the other, in this modern era of jets, it shouldn’t take that long – especially when you consider the amount of time spent waiting on lines to get through security and passport control at various airports. If Gary and I plan to travel more overseas, I will definitely look into the expedited programs they have for international flights.

Now it’s back to the grind, especially for Gary. I will look back at my pictures and treasure our memories of the beautiful places we saw, the people we met, the shared laughs and the experiences we had. We are lucky to have taken many wonderful trips and hope to continue to do so as long as we are healthy enough and have the resources to do it.

Sunset on the ferry back to Split

Alive in the World

Yesterday we drove through the Berkshires on the way home from visiting our daughter. The oranges, reds and yellows of autumn were on full display. I selected Jackson Browne’s Solo Acoustic Album 2 as the soundtrack for our ride. The song “Alive in the World” came on. I looked at the magnificent scenery as the song played and I decided I needed to listen to it again. “Do you mind if I replay that?” I asked Gary, who was behind the wheel. “Go for it.”

Here are the lyrics:

I want to live in the world, not inside my head
I want to live in the world, I want to stand and be counted
With the hopeful and the willing
With the open and the strong
With the voices in the darkness
Fashioning daylight out of song
And the millions of lovers
Alive in the world

I want to live in the world, not behind some wall
I want to live in the world, where I will hear if another voice should call
To the prisoner inside me
To the captive of my doubt
Who among his fantasies harbors the dream of breaking out
And taking his chances
Alive in the world

To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world

With its beauty and its cruelty
With its heartbreak and its joy
With it constantly giving birth to life and to forces that destroy
And the infinite power of change
Alive in the world

To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world

To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world

If you would like to listen to it, here is a link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8T4JwA4OIio

The song resonates with me – I have always liked it. I could have written the first two lines, or perhaps they were written for me. But the whole song is right on point. “With its beauty and its cruelty, with its heartbreak and its joy, with it constantly giving birth to life and to forces that destroy, and the infinite power of change, alive in the world.” What a perfect description of this thing called life.

Having spent two days holding our four-month old granddaughter, a bundle of light and joy, the lyric brought tears to my eyes – and it does as I write this. I need to believe in the infinite power of change alive in the world.

I wake up this Monday morning not feeling particularly hopeful, but I am replaying the song and holding on to that thought as we face the absurdity of Kanye, Elon and Trump (the list of threats could go on and on). I renew my request from last week, please vote, please make your voice heard. Let’s elevate Jackson Browne’s message, not theirs.