Category: Travel

Reset: Retreat and Renewal

After Mom died at the end of February, I felt like I needed a reset. The last couple of years have been difficult. Though I was not the primary caregiver for either my mother or Aunt Clair, I was very involved in their medical decision-making. I accompanied them to doctors’ appointments. I visited them and tried to provide comfort. It was a painful process watching them deteriorate and being powerless to change the inevitable. Not to mention the grief I felt and feel when they were gone.

I also faced my own abdominal surgery to remove what turned out to be a benign cyst – it was actually my left adrenal gland that had hemorrhaged. While I only had a long weekend of worry before I knew it wasn’t cancer, it was still surgery under general anesthesia. The recovery was uneventful, but not without its discomforts.

All of the stress involved in these circumstances left me drained. I was not taking good care of myself. I was on the road a lot, driving over three hours each way to see Mom, and making poor food choices, stopping at Dunkin’ Donuts or McDonald’s instead of finding healthier options. There is a long tradition in my family of seeking comfort in food and I succumbed to that impulse too many times.

I thought it would be helpful if I could go someplace and gather my thoughts, get into a better rhythm. I have never gone on a retreat before, but the idea appealed to me. I wasn’t looking for spa treatments, though a massage might be nice. I was imagining some yoga, healthy food, a walk in the woods. I heard of some places like Kripalu in the Berkshires, Omega Institute in Rhinebeck in the Hudson Valley, and Canyon Ranch in several locations.

I looked them up online and read what they offered. Kripalu seemed closest to what I was looking for. I talked to Gary about it and he was fully supportive. I signed myself up for three days of retreat and renewal. They offered structured programs of varying lengths, but I wasn’t so much interested in something that formal. I wanted more flexibility. Fortunately they offered that option too.

Kripalu offers different levels of accommodations which are priced accordingly. I chose a private, dorm-style room where the bathroom would be on the hall. The idea of sharing a bathroom didn’t bother me, but I wasn’t looking for a roommate.

As I anticipated my time away, I was a bit nervous. I had not done yoga in years. There was a time, about a decade ago, where I was doing it regularly but I was never a serious student of it. I was afraid I would be in over my head. Perhaps people who went to these things were committed yoga practitioners. I called Kripalu, before I put my money down, and asked: Is this appropriate for someone of my age and level of experience (or lack thereof)? I was reassured that they offered programming that met me where I was.

I was still nervous about it, but decided I would take the risk. What’s the worst that would happen? I would try a class and if I really couldn’t manage it, I didn’t have to go again. The classes were voluntary. I could spend my time reading, relaxing and taking in the Berkshires if it came to that.

It didn’t come to that. I had a great experience.

I checked in and got settled in my room. It was small, like a single dorm room. It did have a sink which I appreciated. It also had a lovely view of the lake, they call it the Stockbridge Bowl.

the view from my window – beautiful even in the rain/fog

This would be the first time since college that I would use a communal bathroom and shower. I wondered if it would bother me. It didn’t. They kept it spotless, and I think during my three days I might’ve crossed paths with another person only a couple of times.

I studied the schedule of classes/workshops and planned out my time. They told me that Gentle Yoga would be appropriate for me. They offered more vigorous classes, but I was quite challenged by the gentle version. The biggest difference from ten years ago was my balance, though my flexibility and strength weren’t what they used to be either. But I didn’t feel self-conscious about it. Everyone seemed to be focused on themselves and the teachers were encouraging. I did the best I could and felt reasonably good about it. I did a yoga class once each day. As I remembered from my previous experiences, I particularly enjoyed Savasana, the final ten minutes when you lay on your back (or choose a comfortable position) close your eyes and breathe while soft, soothing music plays…very calming.

I took two hikes. Each was guided by a staff person. I loved the approach they took. They began with a short meditation, and they suggested that during the walk out – in one case we hiked down to the side of the Stockbridge Bowl (walking through some woods and meadows in route) and the other we climbed up to a pond – that we walk in social silence. In other words, we traveled as a group, but without chatting. They wanted us to pay attention to our surroundings, listen, see and smell nature. They asked that we leave our phones in our pockets, not even to take pictures. I thought that was great – took the pressure off. When we arrived at the destination we sat quietly for a few minutes. In one case the guide read us a poem. After a time of taking it all in, the guide said if folks wanted to take photos or chat, they were welcome to; if you wanted to continue in silence, that was fine too. On each return trip I chatted with people.  It was a great balance. I did notice a difference in how much I took in when we walked quietly versus when I talked with someone, but I enjoyed both experiences in different ways. Here are some views from my hikes:

the pond
the path by the lake
i love light on water

Another interesting aspect of Kripalu is that they ask that breakfast be eaten silently. There are signs up around the dining hall and other spaces where you can take your meal asking that you respect the silence. (In fact some folks come to Kripalu for a silent retreat – they spend their days in silence.) The sign on the table explained that they urged you to be present while you were eating your first meal of the day – to pay more attention to the tastes and how your body felt. Again, I found it to be a great practice. This only applied to breakfast, other meals were social. For all meals, though, they ask that you not use electronic devices – they preferred that you use a physical book, but people did use e-readers. The prohibition on electronic devices extended all over the campus. There were designated areas where they were permitted and of course you could use them in your room. I loved being free of my phone. Most of the time I left it in my room, unless I knew I wanted to use the camera.

I have more to share about the workshops I took, but I will save that for another essay. It has been over a month since I returned from my retreat. While I wish I felt as energized as I did in the days immediately after my return, I can’t say that is true. I do carry the lessons I learned, the peacefulness I experienced and the spirit of it within me. I am sure I will return to do it again.

Old School

We were on our annual pilgrimage to the Mets’ Spring Training in Port St. Lucie, Florida. Gary is a lifelong Met fan and we have been fortunate over the last five years, Covid notwithstanding, to join friends and watch some preseason games while getting a break from the harsh Albany winter.

We began our trip with a 6 a.m. flight. When I book a 6 a.m. flight I have good reasons for doing so. I think it is far less likely to be delayed and we will get to our destination early, leaving us a good part of the day to get settled and enjoy ourselves. The reality of the 6 a.m. flight though is painful, and I wonder if it is worth it. We are lucky that Albany Airport is small and only 15 minutes from our house. But even with that, we had to be up and at ‘em by 4 a.m. A lot of sleep is sacrificed.

As we approached the airport there was a sign saying that the only parking available was in the economy lot. I was grateful for the warning – saved us driving around in a fruitless effort to find a spot in the lots that are closer. They even had a guy at the gate telling us to go to row V – that’s where there were openings. Again, I was impressed. This was well organized. Not only that, but the shuttle bus was waiting for us at the end of the row so once we parked, we hopped on and got to the terminal very efficiently. Score three for Albany Airport.

Travel these days can be quite stressful. I don’t know if it is that everything is understaffed, but it isn’t uncommon to stand in long lines for everything from checking bags to security to getting coffee. Years ago, we signed up for TSApre. In some airports it doesn’t offer much of an advantage, but it sure does in Albany. Though it was still only about 4:45 am, the line wrapped around itself many times. The TSApre line was short. As we passed hundreds of people, Gary whispered to me, “It’s great that no one signs up for this. I hope it stays that way!” I probably shouldn’t write this as it might jeopardize the advantage we enjoy.

Everything was going entirely too smoothly. Gary found the place with the shortest line to get us coffee. On the other hand, it was Burger King so it wasn’t great, but it still had caffeine. We boarded the plane without incident. The flight was smooth. We both watched “The Holdovers,” a very enjoyable movie that had humor and emotion.

I knew something had to go wrong. I’ve never traveled to Florida without enduring trials and tribulations. I’ve lost my phone, gotten my laptop crushed, suffered food poisoning, had my usual floaters (a routine condition in my vision) escalate to the point that we had to go to the emergency room – all on prior visits The list can go on. What would it be this time?

When we landed, as is our custom, I went to text our kids that we had arrived safely. My phone, though, would not connect to a network. Instead of bars, it displayed SOS. That was an inauspicious sign. I had never seen that before. Gary’s phone had the same problem. I figured once we got into the terminal it would connect. Nope. Still no service.

We retrieve our luggage, which took a while. Every so often I rebooted my phone to see if we had service. Still no. Gary connected his phone to the wifi network in the airport and learned that AT&T, our provider, was experiencing nationwide problems and in some areas service was down.

We got to the rental car agency. Still no service. We needed to provide proof of car insurance in order to decline their exorbitant extra fees; I had never been asked that before. We had no phone to contact our agent. The clerk behind the counter, a nice guy, gave us the office landline to use. After being on hold a fair amount of time, we got through that and produced the needed proof.

We still didn’t have phone service and now it was time to head to our hotel. It had been a long time since we drove anywhere without a GPS app. I asked the clerk for a map. He said they didn’t have them anymore. Not surprising.

Okay, we knew the general direction we needed to travel – north. We would have to figure things out old school.

We pulled out of the lot and saw a highway and headed toward it. It was the wrong highway, but it helped orient us. We turned right and headed north. We came to a red light. We needed to find our way to I-95. I rolled down my window and yelled out to a guy who was putting something in the back of his pick-up truck. “Excuse me, sir!” I got his attention. “Which way to I-95?” He pointed – we needed to make a left at the light. “Thank you!” He was a young guy, that may have been the first time he had ever been asked directions. Happily he didn’t lead us astray.

I knew our hotel wasn’t far off of the interstate. We drove north and fortunately spotted it. We figured out how to get to it from the exit – we still had common sense.

Though it felt strange not to have access to GPS, or the other smartphone apps, for those hours, we were proud of ourselves! We managed to get where we had to go. We were relieved that service was restored shortly after we arrived at the hotel. The idea of managing without it for more than a few hours was daunting. It was a reminder that, if pressed, we could still function without it, but wouldn’t want to have to.

Note: I wrote this piece mostly in Florida. I wanted it to be light-hearted. I didn’t know when I began it that something else would go wrong while we were in the Sunshine State – something much more serious. My Mom took a turn for the worse on the second day we were there. I don’t blame Florida for this. I decided to keep this piece light. Learning that the end was near for Mom and debating whether to return home immediately or stay for the few days we had planned will be a topic for another essay at another time.

A Tourist in My Hometown

Last week was difficult. My mom’s health has continued to deteriorate, and it has presented challenges to get her needs met. Suffice it to say that elder care in this country is imperfect – and that is a generous assessment. We are a family with resources but even with that, it can be hard (perhaps impossible) to find services that match her needs. I feel for folks who don’t have the financial wherewithal or time or knowledge to navigate this terrain. And that doesn’t even touch on the emotional toll all of this takes and the baggage we may be bringing to our decision-making. So, Saturday night, when I could finally breathe, I realized that I had Sunday to myself before diving back in to Mom’s care. And it was supposed to be a sunny day! Not warm exactly, but warm enough. I decided I could be a tourist in my hometown – New York City.

When I was old enough to go from Brooklyn to Manhattan by myself or with a friend, I loved exploring. They used to have city buses that ran ‘culture loops.’ It was an inexpensive way to see the sights. I went to museums, I visited landmarks, I window shopped. I especially enjoyed observation decks – I went to the top of the Empire State Building and the World Trade Center multiple times – they weren’t that expensive back in the day. I loved walking the avenues and side streets, finding interesting buildings and people-watching.

I thought about how I might spend my Sunday. I had read about a new observation deck, The Summit. It is next to Grand Central at One Vanderbilt and stretches upward for 93 floors. The observation area is comprised of three floors and includes an art installation or two. Decision made. I would check this out. I bought a ticket online. It was not cheap.

Before starting my day of touring, I accompanied Gary to the Amtrak Station. Though I had taken the train from Albany several times since the new Moynihan Hall opened, I had not seen it. Somehow when I exited the train in Penn Station and made my way to the subway, I missed the new part. So, this first stop revealed a new sight – a vast improvement from the old, dingy station I was accustomed to. I said goodbye to Gary, he was heading home to go to work on Monday. I would have enjoyed having him join me on my adventure, but there are advantages to not having to worry about anyone else’s preferences.

I exited the station and started walking east and north. I was reminded again that New York City is beautiful. Yes, it can be dirty and gritty, but the parts I traversed were not. The architecture can be so interesting. You also find hidden gems, like this in front of the Polish Consulate on Madison and East 37th Street.

I am also often struck by how the sunlight makes its way through the caverns created by the buildings and casts shadows. The sun was brilliant, and the air was crisp and clear.

My ticket was for 12:00. When I arrived at One Vanderbilt there was quite a long line for the noon entry. I should have anticipated that it would be crowded – it was the weekend and it is New York! Somehow, I had forgotten about that. They had it well organized, with sufficient staff shepherding us through the process – the line snaked around kind of like it does at Disney World. We had to go through security, too. They issued booties – a good portion of the floors up top are mirrored and they don’t want them to get scuffed. You aren’t allowed to wear stilettos – not a worry for me since I’ve never worn a pair in my life! They also provided sunglasses, they warned that it was quite bright up there, but I had my own. It took a while to get through the whole process and I wondered if it was going to be worth it.

The final hallway before the elevator is darkened and there’s dramatic music playing. I guess they are trying to play up the excitement. I could imagine it being a bit scary for young ones. They also warn you if you are sensitive to flashing lights or loud noises that you should tell the staff.

Finally, I got on the elevator and we flew up to the 91st floor.

It was worth the wait. The views are stunning. The mirrored walls and floors create a wild, pixelated scene.

Though it was likely designed for the Tik Tok generation, I loved it. There were young folks making the most of it, creating what I am sure were super cool selfies or portraits of partners or friends, but I was surprised to find that it didn’t annoy me. It was interesting. I was mostly focused on taking in the vistas and people were considerate. They took their pictures but kept moving so you could get to the windows. Since the air was so clear you could see across Brooklyn, Queens, New Jersey, Westchester. You get a full appreciation for New York Harbor and the waterways that flow from it. All I can say is wow!

The art installations were cool, too. One room had mirrored balloons floating around. This was designed by Marie Kusawa and I enjoy her work – so whimsical and fun.

Naturally there were opportunities to spend more money – but you don’t have to buy anything in the gift shop or the café (there is also an open air terrace where you could bring the drink purchased at the cafe). You don’t have to buy the photos they take. But, there is no denying that it can get expensive. The base price, just to take the elevator and walk through the three floors of observation areas and installations is $42 for an adult. It was worth it to me.

There is a glass ledge you can step out on – they take a picture of you there. I bought this one. I tried to take my own photo, didn’t come out nearly as good.

It was a great day. Accomplished just what I needed it to. Now I will get back to the real world.

Money, Money, Money

Money can be a great thing. Not a surprising a statement. This notion was reinforced by the tour we took of Olana, home of Frederick Church, one of the significant painters of the Hudson River School. Church was born into a monied family. He may have disappointed his father when he announced his plan to be an artist as a teenager, but he had the luxury of making that choice. He was able to pursue and fulfill his dream. He wasn’t under pressure to make money; he could take his family on an 18-month trip to Europe and the Middle East without worrying about where his next dollar was coming from. He could come back inspired by all he had seen, buying knick-knacks and artwork, and full of ideas for building his own home in Hudson, New York. Olana was born at least in part from that trip and thanks to his vision we can enjoy his property today.

Olana, we learned, didn’t just refer to the building – which was the family home; it referred to the whole property including the acres of land surrounding it. Church viewed the whole thing, the land and his home, as a unified piece of art. Church would buy parcels as they came up for sale in order to preserve the views he found so inspiring. Here are two views from our walk of the property:

He painted many landscapes of the Catskills and Hudson River from here. When Church arrived in the area, the land had been clear cut of trees. The property was barren. He wanted to restore its natural habitat. It was the fashion of the time to plant exotic trees and plants, bringing home flora from Europe and the Middle East, but Church didn’t adopt that approach. He used native trees, and he purposely left open spaces to frame vistas. He took an artist’s approach to the project, specifying where the plantings should end so he could have a pleasing view of the mountains, rivers and farms that surrounded his property. We are fortunate that Church was a visionary. He left us a magnificent place to explore and appreciate the beauty that Is the Hudson Valley.

While we were walking the land, our guide pointed out a small cement factory that we could see in the distance. A number of years ago there had been a proposal to build another factory that would have included a 40-story smokestack. The idea was moving ahead until some in the area got wind of it and objected. Ultimately, the plan was defeated. The guide believed that if the plan had gone ahead, it would have ruined Olana. I wondered if that was the case. A view would have certainly been diminished but did that mean that Olana could no longer be a place people would want to visit and hike? Would it literally have ruined Olana? Certainly if the emissions from the smokestack were noxious, it would have. The question is moot since the State rejected the proposal.

After the last of the heirs of Church died, the land and house became a New York State Park. I am in favor of preserving wild spaces, especially for public use. But there is a balance. Economic development is also important. People need to make a living. Many towns in the Catskills have struggled and lost population. Our guide explained that Olana itself is not an insignificant employer in the region. It is a dilemma faced all over the country – the tension between development and preservation; these tensions are regularly encountered in the Adirondacks. I don’t reflexively reject development. I want to understand the implications, the costs and benefits, before coming to a conclusion. Unfortunately, it can be hard to come by good information on that. I think many of us have a knee jerk reaction to these issues. We can be predisposed to believe that any encroachment on nature is a negative thing (especially when it involves our own property or neighborhood), or we may automatically support anything that promises more jobs and tax revenue. Neither of those reactions are useful in effective policymaking.

As we finished our walk of the property, the guide asked us what we thought of the house – meaning the design of the structure. All of us on the tour liked it but saw different things in it. Some were reminded of an Italian palazzo; others saw Middle Eastern touches. It is something of a mish-mosh.

Money does give you options that most of us don’t have. Church found folks who were willing and able to fulfill his vision.

Money can also make people crazy. It can be a trap. Frederick Church enjoyed his largesse. He connected with many of the accomplished people of his day. Prominent people from New York City visited him at Olana. Other folks in that circle were not so fortunate. We learned on the tour of the Wittgenstein family of Vienna, the patriarch was a contemporary of Church, and one of the richest families in the world. Several members of that family committed suicide and the one remaining son gave all the money away. Money does not buy happiness. We can forget that when we are in the midst of challenging times. When we are barely making ends meet, or the ends aren’t meeting, it is understandable to think that having more money would solve all our problems. There is no doubt that money can help with a myriad of issues, but it doesn’t solve loneliness, or bad decision-making. Apparently, Frederick Church did not struggle with those issues and he left us a legacy we can enjoy.

“You Don’t Have to be Jewish to Love….”

There was a ubiquitous advertising campaign when I was growing up – “You don’t have to be Jewish to love Levy’s Rye.” I can see the poster in my mind’s eye plastered on buses and the walls of subway stations. A picture of a cute Chinese boy with a sandwich.

This ad came to mind as I was thinking about one aspect of our trip to the Eastern European capitals. We took tours of the Jewish Quarters of Budapest (Hungary) and Bucharest (Romania). The tour guides were not Jewish, but they showed a deep appreciation and knowledge of Judaism and the culture associated with it. As tour guides, one would expect a certain familiarity with the topic, but not necessarily warmth or affection. In the current environment, given the heightened tensions and increasing boldness of antisemites, I had not expected their sincerity or openness. But, the truth is, as with all groups, you shouldn’t have to be a member to appreciate what that group brings to the table (literally or figuratively).

I was moved by the attitudes of our guides. They came to their interest through their own personal journeys. In one case because of a romantic relationship that led her to live in Israel for 7 years, and when that relationship ended, she maintained her connection, though she had not converted. In the other case academic study of history led to curiosity and more research into Judaism. As part of that process, she became acquainted with the production manager of the Yiddish Theater in Bucharest and arranged for us to meet him – more about that in a bit.

In Budapest the area we explored is still called the ‘Jewish Quarter’ and there are some Jewish residents, but not many. The name is a relic of a time long ago. We walked the narrow streets, learning that it is an area that is now popular among young people because of the restaurants, bars and shops. It is also home to the largest synagogue in Europe – the Dohany Street Synagogue.

Before we toured the synagogue, we stopped at the shoe memorial that lines the Danube River, a display that commemorates the murder of Budapest’s Jews by shooting them into the river which occurred between December of 1944 and early January of 1945. Our guide didn’t sugarcoat things – she acknowledged that Hungary fought on the side of the Nazis and that their fascist party, the Black Arrow, orchestrated the round up and murder of the remaining Jews. I wasn’t expecting that unvarnished acknowledgement but was grateful for it. The memorial was created in 2005, marking the 60th anniversary of those horrific events. The shoes are a poignant and painful symbol of the human beings lost. Men, women and children swept into the current leaving only their shoes as tangible evidence of their existence. Hungary today has a Jewish population of about 47,500 in total, with many living in and around Budapest. Before World War II Budapest alone had a Jewish population of 200,000, with an estimated 825,000 in the country as a whole.

Our next stop was the synagogue. Since we were traveling after the attack by Hamas on October 7, security was heightened. Entries were timed and by appointment only. We went through metal detectors and our bags were checked. The synagogue is so impressive – and reminded me, in its grandeur, of many churches we had visited throughout Europe. I believe the sanctuary could hold 3000.

Neither my family nor Gary’s had roots in Hungary, so we were not tracing our family tree. Oddly enough, one of the names on the headstones we saw in the cemetery next to the shul for Jews killed in the Budapest ghetto during the war years was Sandor Bruder – Bruder was my paternal grandfather’s original last name, he changed it to Brody when he arrived in America. It was chilling to see the name on a grave, but I have no knowledge of an actual connection.

Another note of significance is that the Dohany Street Synagogue was where Theodore Herzl, widely considered the father of modern Zionism, was born and raised. Mount Herzl, the home of Israel’s national cemetery in Jerusalem, is named after him.

Memorial to the victims of the Holocaust in the courtyard of the Dohany Street Synagogue

The tour of the Jewish Quarter was arranged through our cruise company, Viking. There were about 15 of us and I don’t think most of the others, aside from my brother-in-law and his wife were Jewish. I found it interesting that they chose this tour – there were other options. Again, it was heartening to think that folks who didn’t share our heritage were interested enough to make this choice.

Our tour of the Jewish Quarter in Bucharest, Romania was arranged privately so it was just the four of us. The guide, Alina, asked us if we would want to meet the production manager of the Yiddish Theater if he was available. We were shocked to learn that there was a Yiddish theater, neither the city nor the country has a Yiddish speaking population that would seem to support it. We had no idea what to expect but were happy to see the theater and hear what the manager had to say. After walking through the area and viewing the outside of three synagogues – they were each locked because of security concerns in view of the war in Gaza (two were museums, one continued to host religious observances) – and learning about the history and current status of the Jewish community in Bucharest, we headed to the theater.

The production manager, George-Marcel, limped into the lobby to greet us, he was having some knee problems, but that didn’t get in the way of his showing us his pride and joy – the theater. He shared his own history, in English, telling us that decades ago he was at a low point in his life, working a job that brought him no satisfaction, when he heard about a position at the theater as a cleaner. He explained that as soon as he walked into the building, he felt he was at home. The people were accepting. The spirit of the place touched him. Though he was not Jewish, he identified with the stories that were being told. “Their story is our story,” he said, “their history is our history.” He didn’t see the history of the Jewish people as separate from that of the Romanian people. This resonated with me – the world would be a better place if we all believed that. Rather than confining our focus to our own traditions or limiting our understanding to our own tribe, if we embraced learning about each other and thus discovering our common humanity, there would be a much greater chance of peace in this world.

Images of the Yiddish Theater

Over the many years George-Marcel worked there, he took on more and more responsibility, eventually becoming the production manager. In the process he learned more Yiddish and Hebrew than I’ll ever know. He also built relationships with the artists who came through, as well as the small regular staff. The theater receives some government funding, not enough to keep it solvent but something to build on. They stay afloat with additional donations. It was interesting to us that the government, I don’t recall if it was the city or national government, values their work enough to continue funding it. The theater does put on other productions and collaborates on different projects but continues to offer Yiddish plays and musicals. Like with opera, a translation is projected above the stage so the audience can follow along.

After the tour, we went to George-Marcel’s small office, filled with knick-knacks, where a large Israeli flag hung against the wall next to his desk. One of the things common to the countries we visited, particularly Hungary, Serbia and Romania, was the popularity of home brewed brandy – which was called different names in each place. George-Marcel took an unmarked clear bottle from his bottom desk drawer, distributed paper cups and poured a bit in each and we toasted. ‘L’Chaim!’ His homemade brew was made from apples, but my palette didn’t detect anything other than alcohol. The warmth I felt as the liquid made its way down my throat matched the warmth in the room. George-Marcel asked us to sign his guest book which we did, expressing our thanks for his welcoming us and for sharing his knowledge. We wished each other well.

In the lobby of the theater – our tour guide, Alina, in front, George-Marcel between us

It was the last day of our trip, and it was a wonderful note to end on. Though we were thousands of miles from home in a country so different from our own, we made a connection that we will remember for a long time to come.

In honor of the fifth night of Hanukkah, here is a display of menorahs in the museum of the Dohany Street Synagogue.

Note: If you are in Bucharest, Alina offers other tours of the city as well – we would heartily recommend her – alina@wheninbucharest,.com

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