Florida 2009: Some Notes

Photos

One thing that doesn't go wrong in Tampa this time of the year is the weather. It rained twice during our six weeks there. Otherwise, it was sunny and 27-29 degrees everyday.

Over the years, I've come to the conclusion that, for a city to have decent Chinese food, there must exist a significant Cantonese population. The Tampa area has lots of Asian people, but only a small percentage of them are Cantonese. Consequently, the Chinese food there is lousy. Almost every Chinese restaurant does buffet, and the one across the street from us even sells dishes by weight. Not a good sign.

We bought the whole package of Blue Jays Spring Training games this year, and ended up attending most of them. Unlike regular season games at the Sky Dome, Spring Training games in Dunedin are very loosey-goosey. It was fun watching the players warm up before the games. Some of the friendlier ones would come over to sign autographs for fans. Having no use for an autograph, Jeff usually shook their hands and wished them "good luck" instead. One day, he decided to ask Aaron Hill, the second baseman, for a photo together. The affable Mr Hill gladly agreed. So I quickly whipped out my iPhone. The result was a nice picture of the two of them.

The World Baseball Classic was taking place while we were in Florida. The games were very exciting, but judging by the empty stadiums, not too many Americans thought so. It seems that the concept of countries going head to head for national glory is not an attractive one to Americans. I felt badly for the Cuban team. The draw was obviously rigged so that they were grouped with the Japanese and the Koreans, fighting for one of only two spots in the final round. Those three teams were in fact the three best teams in the tourney. The double-elimination format is also unfair when the pool is small because the team that gets to play a weak team first has a big advantage over the rest of the field. Evidently, nobody cares about fairness in this whole business.

We also watched many hours of March Madness. One thing I love about the college game is that the college kids make mistakes that NBA players never make. The other day, one player stepped on the line while trying to inbound the ball when there were only a few seconds left in the game. Oh, the look on the coach's face! You just don't see that in the NBA.

Aside from playing lots of tennis as we always do in Florida, I played what is for me a great deal of golf. This is a game that has tormented me for years. I first started swinging a club in my early twenties, and over the years, I've said many times that I give up --- the game is too tough, and I'm not having any fun. Jeff kept on telling me that I only needed to play more regularly to get better, but I was convinced that I'd never get anywhere. This time, we managed to play twice a week. Amazingly, I got noticeably better. As a result, the game became much more enjoyable. The courses in Florida are very flat, so they may well be fell-good courses. Let's see what happens when I go back to play in Toronto.

The Tampa area at the time bore many visible scars of the recession. Everywhere one sees for-sale signs on front lawns and for-lease signs on shop windows. Restaurants which required reservations last year were half empty. In the bright sunshine, everything still looks cheery and carefree. Surrounded by the blue ocean and tall palms, one would be hard-pressed to have gloomy thoughts.

The condo we rented is inside a gated complex. There is a lovely big swimming pool which we never used, but we did take advantage of the indoor basket court. I'd never played basketball, so Jeff had to teach me the basic rules and techniques. Shooting a hoop is quite addictive, and I longed to hear the nice swish sound. I have no gift though. When we played one-on-one, I couldn't even get a shot off.

Riviera Maya, Mexico

January, 2009

We had a perfect holiday (photos).

It was two weeks of heaven at a resort on Riviera Maya in the Yucatan in Mexico. The resort was laid out on a property the size of a small town, amidst dense jungles and the ocean. The food was terrific and the service, first-rate. Beautifully landscaped gardens surrounded winding corridors and footpaths. Low-rise guest rooms scattered inconspicuously apart. Our suite had a "swim-up" pool in front of it. Jeff wet his feet in there once or twice. He preferred the giant main pool and the beach.

Each morning we woke up to the sound of birds chirping. After showering and dressing at a leisurely pace, we walked to one of the main dining rooms for a drawn out breakfast. Sauntering back to the room to put on bathing suits, and it was time for the beach. Everyday at 11, I joined other players in a game of beach volleyball, hoping that an hour of running in the sand would make it easier to justify my eating so much good food.

Now that I was dead tired, I ran over to join Jeff for a little quiet reading on the beach. From time to time, a waiter came over to take orders for drinks. They made a wonderful fruit punch, my favourite. As I read my book, I kept an eye on the Hobies sailing from the beach out into the ocean. I thought I'd be able to sail the catamaran, but was a little nervous about taking Jeff with me. Maybe next year.

At some point, we rose from our beach chairs and walked over to the restaurant off the beach for a slow lunch. The turquoise water sparkled in the bright hot sun. Iguanas crawled out of their caves to soak in the heat, their little heads turning this way and that. Sometimes we would decide to move to the side of the main pool. More reading. More fruit punch. A swim. Maybe a little nap.

When the air cooled off somewhat in the late afternoon, we changed into our tennis clothes and played tennis. After the game and a quick shower, it was time to put on something respectable and go to dinner. There were seven excellent restaurants severing different styles of cuisine, each one decorated in the most tasteful way. At night, different shows were staged, but too often by then, I was too exhausted to stay up, and only wanted to read and fall asleep.

The next morning, we would do it all over again.

The only disruptions to our routine were the days when we went outside of the resort. Once, we spent half a day in Playa del Carmen. Another time, we hired a driver to take us to Tulum and Coba, two Mayan ruins in the area. Tulum was beautiful but completely swamped with tourists. Coba, being mostly unrestored and physically much larger, was blissfully deserted. We rented two bikes and went from pyramid to ball court to ceremonial hall. I climbed the tallest pyramid, feeling my legs shaking from exhaustion and fear, but the view from the top, of jungles stretching as far as the eye could see, made it all worthwhile. On the way back, we stopped at a "cenote" where I snorkeled in the fresh water running through the caves. Yet another time, I went on a snorkeling trip to Isla Maujeres. While the fish and the reef were wonderful, it was slightly annoying that most of the day was wasted getting to the spot.

So it was with much regret that we left our tropical paradise. I hope it won't be long before we return.

Snowboarding at Blue Mountain

Once a year, I go snowboarding for a week in the mountains somewhere in western US. This winter, with us spending less than a month at home, and many social engagements during that month, my usual week of snowboarding got squeezed out. Seeing that I only had a couple of days to spare, I decided to just go to Blue Mountain up in Collingwood.

Blue Mountain is not what they would call a mountain in Colorado. It is the largest ski resort in Ontario, which only emphasizes the utter state of flatness in Ontario. However, since Intrawest took over a few years ago, Blue Mountain has undergone a transformation which made the hills ski a lot "bigger." A pretty "village", modelled after Swiss and Austrian ski towns, like all those others that Intrawest had built at Whistler and Mt Tremblant, was added at the foot of the main chair lift. The village has three main lodges and many shops and restaurants. It was in one of the lodges that I spent the night.

The two days of riding was actually surprisingly good. It was a treat to stay only steps away from the chair lift. The snow was very good this season because of the many major snow storms. The first day was particularly fine: clear blue skies, brilliant sunshine, and Georgian Bay sparkling down below. Every year, I harbour this fear that I'd forgotten all about how to snowboard. And when I first go down a trail, even a gentle green one, my body needs a few minutes before it remembers how to move. After that, it was relief followed by the sheer joy of coming down the hills.

One annoying thing about Blue Mountain is that, being the biggest fish in a tiny pond, it attracts skiers from all over Ontario and parts of the US. Consequently, one never gets the kind of deserted slopes one enjoys in the Rockies. My second day there was overcast with a few flurries. The crowd thinned noticeably, which made everything much better. I went down just about every trail, even going into the glades a few times. At one point, as I sat in the lift chair alone, my face mask pulled up to keep out the cold wind, I suddenly became aware of the blanket of silence all around me. Three snowboarders were sitting in the chair just ahead of me, their snowboards dangling on an angle, their bodies crouched low. Everything was truly frozen in space. For that brief moment, I felt a surge of that wonderful feeling of solitude. That is the state I crave, and what I love most about snowboarding.

Europe 2008

Trip Photos:
- Part 1
- Part 2

In late September and early October, Jeff and I spent three weeks in Zurich, Budapest, Prague and parts of Austria. Instead of writing a tedious log detailing in chronological order all the things we did, I'll just jot down some notes and impressions.

The Flights

I don't have a fear of flying, but it seems that as I get older, I dread more and more the cramped space on a plane. As a result, we've been taking business class for long-haul flights the last few years. It's still miserable to be stuck in a seat for hours, but what can you do.

This year, our transatlantic flight took the route of Toronto-Newark-Zurich-Vienna, with a one-day layover in Zurich both on the way there and back. The Newark landscape and airport were both unattractive, but I wasn't surprised---it is New Jersey, after all. One small thing left an impression on me. At the Newark airport checkpoints, there were more than a dozen security members standing around two open lines. Four or five of them were actually doing some work---how diligently I didn't know, while the rest talked loudly with each other, telling jokes, horsing around---in other words, being completely unprofessional. I understand it's not the most stimulating job in the world, that men of quality are not drawn to such positions. However, you would think they'd at least put up the appearance of taking what they do seriously.

On the way back, when I again saw these jokers play-acting as security personnel at the Newark airport, I compared them to the serious and professional guards and customs officers in Switzerland and Austria. The contrast was stark to say the least.

The flight from Newark to Zurich was an interesting one. It was listed under Swiss International Air, but was in fact operated by Private Air, and the entire plane had only business class seats, about sixty altogether. With so few passengers, boarding took very little time. The polite and efficient attendants buzzed around in constant motion, and in less than ten minutes, the plane was moving out of the gate. The whole flight was impressively run. The return trip was the same story. Swiss efficiency on full display, I suppose.

Zurich

The main reason for our detour to Zurich---we could have flown directly to Vienna---was to see Stefan and his wife Claudia. Stefan and I became friends in our undergraduate days. Since then, we've both moved around, so it's not easy to meet up. In Zurich, Stefan and Claudia took Jeff and me to dinner on top of Uetliberg. The restaurant offered a splendid view of the city, especially after dark. Three weeks later, on our way back to Toronto, we saw them again and had dinner at their flat. Claudia was expecting twins very soon, and we celebrated by drinking an old bottle of wine Jeff selected from his wine cellar. (The babies were born shortly afterwards, two adorable little girls.) It was wonderful to see old friends and discuss everything under the sun.

Zurich the city is beautiful and clean. We stayed in a hotel in Hirschenplatz in Altstadt, on the west bank of the Limmat River. Boutique shops and small restaurants lined the cobbled narrow streets. People were nicely dressed in conservative styles. Expensive cars zoomed around. Everything was orderly. Everyone was polite. Prices were double those at home. But that's Switzerland.

Bratislava

We had a little more than half a day in Bratislava. My friend Peter and his wife Klaudia are from there, and Peter had warned me that Bratislava is small compared to Vienna and Prague. It was most certainly the case, but the old part of the city was delightful. We strolled around, taking in pretty old buildings and churches. It had been drizzling all morning, and when it suddenly started to rain heavily, we rushed into the first nice-looking restaurant we saw, Caffe Ristorante KOGO on Hviezdoslavovo nam. It turned out to be a pricey place that catered mainly to people working in the foreign embassies nearby. After sitting down, I noticed we were surrounded by men and women in expensive suits wining and dining on other people's money. Our tourist garb definitely didn't fit. Jeff was particularly envious of the four gentlemen next to us who had a "very good bottle" (Jeff's words) of red wine brought to their table in a decanter. Lunch turned out to be a lot fancier than planned, but we did avoid the rain.

Budapest

My friend Isabel had told me that she liked Budapest more than Prague, and I must say, it is a beautiful city. The Pest side, where we stayed, was more built-up and more commercial. It was delightful walking on Andrassy utca, a tree-lined boulevard guarded by grandiose buildings. On the Buda side is the imposing castle area. In this corner of Europe, every city had a castle because the people were constantly warring on each other. Sadly for Hungary (and the Czech Republic), which has not been on too many winning sides in recent history, its castles have been stripped bare, and lesser paintings hung on the walls of the galleries. When the harsh wind blew, I shivered at the thought of how much blood must have been shed on these lands, how cruelty used to rule almost every part of the world.

The Hungarians are a proud people. Considering how many world-class mathematicians, musicians, artists, etc. have emerged out of this relatively small population, they have a reason to be. The citizens of Budapest appeared polite and fashionable. Their language though, is downright impossible. I dared not pronounce the words because they never sound the way they look. Fortunately, most people, especially the young ones, spoke English rather well.

Prague

Prague is a city on a different scale. It was absolutely gorgeous, of course. Strangely, it was filled with regular people as well as suspicious-looking riffraff. Jeff says Prague is popular with backpackers. Maybe too popular. The city was also brimming with tourists: Asians who travelled in packs, Europeans in shabby clothes, the whole world has come to Prague. Consequently, prices were much higher than elsewhere, and every touristy place---churches, synagogues, castles---cost a considerable amount, with additional charges for a photo permit, the washroom, etc. Even the washroom at McDonald's cost money, albeit a trivial amount. People spoke English very well---another sign of their having had to deal with too many visitors. One notable thing was the phenomenon of old grannies in museums. In every room of every museum, grumpy old women stood on guard, eyes throwing daggers at visitors who dared to trespass onto their territory. I suppose they were there to make sure nobody put his paws on the precious exhibits, but they certainly made my time in the museums very uncomfortable.

The city tells too many sad stories, from Jan Hus who was burnt at the stake, to the Jews who were mistreated throughout the years, to King Wenceslas who was murdered by his brother---the list goes on, not to mention all the local saints who met their end in gruesome ways. Alfons Mucha, whose lovely murals adorned the walls and ceilings of the Mayor's Hall in the Municipal House, died shortly after being interrogated by the Gestapo. He was only a painter, for crying out loud! But that's the way history goes in Europe. And in all other parts of the world, really.

Driving in Austria

When possible, Jeff and I prefer the freedom of driving our own car. In crowded big cities, there is no point; a car is more a pain than a convenience. Outside the cities, driving is much more fun. In Austria, it was a no-brainer: we must rent a car to fully enjoy the country.

We had booked a modest little Opel, but the Avis people surprised us by giving us a Mercedes B150. (A few years back in England, we'd booked a Mercedes but ended up with a Saab. Maybe if we asked for a Fiat next time, we'd get a Maserati---or vice versa.) However, this being a European Mercedes, the car had no luxury features, nor any acceleration. I kept wanting to rub at the Mercedes logo, wondering if it would come off and reveal a Ford logo underneath. The car did have a big trunk for our suitcases, and on the autobahn, once it reached 130km or 140, it didn't struggle much. (And everybody else was doing at least 150, which drove Jeff crazy since he's usually the one leaving other cars behind.)

I had brought with me digital European maps for my Garmin GPS device. It worked out amazingly well. How did we manage in the dark ages before all these digital toys?

The Austrian roads are clearly signed and in excellent condition. My limited German came in handy a few times, but any English speaker can get by without any problem. The drivers are competent and law-abiding. Sure, they speed, but no one sits in the left lane unless he is passing. All in all, driving in Austria was a sheer joy.

Salzburg

Jeff had been to Salzburg once before when he was still an undergrad. He has vague recollections of going to a concert in a church but nothing else. I was in Salzburg in the summer of 1991. That was the bicentennial death anniversary year for Mozart. There were open-air concerts in every city square. My mum and I had driven in from Vienna for a day trip, and found so much to do in the city that we wanted to stay for another day. However, not a single room was available at the height of the tourist season in a special year. Having stopped at every inn and hotel without success, we gave up after reaching Linz. This time, I decided to do it right by staying for three days.

People say in Austria, time stands still. It is true. Salzburg looked exactly the same as I remembered it. Oh sure, a few small things have changed here and there. One sees a few more immigrant faces among the lily-white populace. Tourist sights offer audio guides, a gadget they didn't have seventeen years ago. People yap on cellphones. Many of the independent local shops on Getreidegasse have been replaced by boring international chains such as Zara. But the essence of the city hasn't changed a bit. As we sat at a café table outside Mozart's birthplace, surrounded by mountains, the Salzach River, and the ancient fortress atop the hill, I was glad to find the city as lovely as ever.

The Austrian Alps

From Salzburg, we took one day to drive to the Alpine ski towns of Bad Gastein and Bad Hofgastein. The scenery was breathtaking. Majestic mountains covered in snow, pretty chalets with neatly arranged flowers at every window, narrow streets lined with boutique shops, folks in capes and Alpine hats zipping by on bicycles; it was straight out of a postcard. We walked around town, and also took a few hikes along rivers and waterfalls. There were hikers everywhere, serious ones with hiking sticks and boots. They all looked like they'd live to a hundred.

At lunch time, we found a small restaurant attached to a hotel in Bad Hofgastein. A funny thing happened: for the first time on the trip, we ran into someone in the hospitality industry who could not speak any English---the waitress, a friendly lady in her fifties. After much guessing, I managed to order the food. It was amusing, and actually added to the charm of the place. I thought I would have no difficulty spending a month in this area, hiking, biking and playing tennis. And wouldn't it be nice to come here to ski! I had picked up a ski trail map from the tourism office. Jeff didn't want me to see the map for fear that I'd feel bad about not being able to ski here. I didn't listen to him. Now, in the brilliant Alpine sunshine, I spread the map out in front of me, and started to visualize myself shredding the slopes...

From Salzburg to Vienna

We took a leisurely drive back to Vienna. Along the way, we made stops at several towns: Hallstatt (a quaint village set in the mountains on Hallstätter See), Steyr (where we managed to get a parking ticket that cost us 25 euro---very stupid), Krems, etc. As much as possible, we drove on the more scenic north bank of the Danube. Pretty towns and villages flashed by. Every few minutes, a glorious castle or palace or church high in the hills would emerge into view. Austria obviously has too many of them. Maybe they could share a few with us poor folks in North America...

In Bad Ischl, we had lunch at Café Zaunder, a pastry shop made famous by the Emperor Franz Josef's daily visit when he summered in Ischl every year. Here we encountered more waitresses who didn't speak English. Luckily, finger-pointing is a universal language.

Sankt Florian and Melk became a bit mixed up in my mind. Both have an astonishingly lavish palace referred to as an "abbey" (yeah, right). Both "abbeys" have gruesome stories associated with their patron saints. Both abbeys have precious paintings by famous artists who were skilled in depicting blood and gore. Not for the first time, I found myself speechless at the opulence.

The two hours at Mauthausen Concentration Camp was depressing to say the least. At the time of the trip, I was reading Ian McEwan's novel Black Dogs, in which he discussed the topic of visiting a concentration camp. It is one of those things that one must do once, but many of us don't have the heart to face too many reminders of such human depravity.

Dürnstein was my favourite stop along the way. We arrived in the early evening. I happened to be the one at the wheel, and let's just say that driving in streets barely wider than the width of our car with legions of tourists looking on was no cakewalk. We didn't have a choice though as our inn was smack in the middle of the town. After putting down our suitcases, we went out for a walk along the Danube, through the vines laden with grapes, and in the old streets. By that time, all the tourists had left for the day. The entire town became suddenly quiet and peaceful. At the top of the hill loomed the ruins of the castle where Richard the Lionheart was imprisoned in the 12th Century. Dürnstein has its majestic abbey too. Had we not seen Melk and St Florian earlier, we would have found it extremely impressive. Instead, we yawned and said, Oh well, just another extravagant old church.

The next morning, we got up early to climb to the castle ruins. It was a steep and arduous walk, but we were rewarded with a fine view from the top, and no one else in sight. Down below, a river cruise was gliding on the Danube. One shudders at the thought of all the history that has taken place here. Our moment of peace and quiet didn't last. By the time we came down, the town was once again thumping with groups of tourists being herded around by their guides.

Vienna

There is no need for me to describe how glorious Vienna is. It is simply impossible for anyone not to love the city. Like the rest of Austria, Vienna lives in the past. To my eyes, nothing seemed to have changed in seventeen years, and I would have been disappointed if anything did. We had chosen a hotel in the centre of the city near Schwedenplatz, within walking distance to Stephansdom. For the next few days, we had a fabulous time ambling around this old European jewel. The museums were first-rate. The food was marvellous. It was too bad that we had to leave.

Concerts

Because our trip included several major music capitals in Europe, we had the opportunity to attend a few concerts.

In Budapest, we were lured into buying tickets to the Danube Concert from a young lady---a music student from further east, perhaps? I believe Jeff felt sorry for her and couldn't bring himself to say "no." The concert was held in a small theatre decorated with ornate statues and wall paintings. The program was exclusively designed for tourists; it was a best-of list of popular pieces by famous composers. The familiar upbeat tunes were infectious. The problem was, as soon as I got into a piece, the orchestra hopped onto something else, which left me quite unsatisfied.

In Prague we went to two entirely different kinds of concerts. The first was a chamber ensemble in an old 12th century church, called the Church of St Martin in the Wall (kostel sv. Martina ve zdi). The inside of the church was bare and grim; simple folding chairs were placed in rows in front of a stage; the whole atmosphere was casual and intimate, and the music, warm and enchanting. It was a string quartet: two violins, a viola and a cello. The program included beloved pieces by Bach, Pachelbel, Vivaldi, Schuber, et al---who wouldn't enjoy that? It was a rare occasion for me to sit only a few feet away from the musicians. Their concentration and nimble fingers were mesmerizing.

Our other concert in Prague was at the stately Dvorak Hall inside the glittering Rudolfinum. The Czech Philharmonic Orchestra performed Rachmaninov's Concerto No. 3 for piano and orchestra, with Alexander Toradze at the piano. He was a heavyset man who would breathe audibly when he really got into the music. It was a strangely moving sight. In the second half, the orchestra performed Tchaikovsky's Symphony No. 3. It is not a favourite of mine, but nothing by Tchaikovsky is unbearable. Both the concerto and the symphony have a deeply sorrowful feel to them, a very Eastern, melancholy sound, accentuated by the fact that both were written in D minor. Being dumb tourists, we managed to throw on something other than jeans, but around us, many people showed up in tuxedos and formal dresses. There were no empty seats in sight.

When I was in Vienna in 1991, the famous opera house was closed due to renovation. This time, I made sure of things by getting tickets to the Staatsoper in advance on the Internet. I would have preferred to see an opera, but didn't find the opera on offer enticing. As a result, we went there for the ballet Onegin. I must confess I'm not a ballet fan as I find dancing repetitive and therefore boring. However, if the music is good, I'm willing to put up with the frivolity of moving legs and spinning bodies. The music for Onegin was arranged from various pieces by Tchaikovsky. One can't go wrong with good ol' Peter Ilyich.

The façade of the Opera House is as grand as any fine European theatre house. The inside, described as "simple" by the guide books because of the bombings during the war and the hasty repairs afterwards when Austria was short on funds, would not be called simple in North America. In fact, we should be so lucky to have such a "simple" opera house.

There were five levels of private boxes surrounding the floor seats. Our tickets placed us in one of those boxes that they call "loges" above the ground level to the left of the stage. Eight red satin chairs stood in our loge, with the front four occupied by respectable-looking ladies, and Jeff and me, two impostors who must have appeared to have stumbled upon the place by a huge mistake, sitting behind. During the intermissions, I noticed many people in tuxedos, even tails, and floor-length gowns. The Viennese take a trip to the Oper seriously.

Our tickets were actually ridiculously cheap because the seats were "partially obstructed." That was an understatement; I'd say our view was mostly obstructed. I stretched my neck as far out as I could without infringing upon the elderly lady in front of me, but half the time I couldn't see the dancers. The upside was that we were sitting directly above the orchestra. I would rather watch them anyway. It was very entertaining observing the conductor's every move. At the climatic moment of the story, his face was full of emotions as he waved his baton dreamily, urging on his musicians. I became rather touched myself because of him, not because of the dance. It was the most memorable night of our trip.

Churches and Museums

Going to Europe means an endless parade of old churches and museums. Especially in predominantly Catholic cities, church spires crowd the city skylines. I often wonder about the relative cost of constructing such incredibly extravagant structures at a time when most common folks were poor beyond belief. When a whole family of eight or ten starved and lived in a one-room hovel with straws covering the mud floor, gold-gilded statues and brilliant stained-glass windows adorned the walls of cathedrals whose soaring ceilings reached for the heavens. On the one hand, it was a grotesquely twisted sense of priorities. On the other, such religious devotion left us with some of the finest examples of human ingenuity in the form of architecture, art and music.

Budapest and Prague also have quite a few synagogues remaining. While they don't compare in scale to the churches and cathedrals, they draw tourist hordes nowadays like nothing else, even though the insides are usually plain, and most have been turned into museums.

I like museums of all sorts. In Zurich, we went to the Landesmuseum which gave the history of the city and of Switzerland; and the Kunsthaus Zurich, a small but rich museum of fine arts. In Budapest, we visited the House of Terror which was where the Nazis and the communist secret police set up their headquarters. The castle area housed several museums, one of them the Budapest History Museum, which we walked through. In Prague, we went to the slightly tacky but informative Museum of Communism. Several galleries are located in the Castle District. However, this is not the part of world where one finds too many master pieces.

In Salzburg, we toured the Baroque Museum and the Salzburg Museum, but Vienna is where the finest museums and art galleries are. Belvedere Palace focuses mainly on Austrian paintings. At the time of our visit, a special Gustav Klimt exhibit was on at Lower Belvedere. My mum is a Klimt fan. I personally find his style unique but unattractive. Nevertheless, it was interesting to see so many of his works in one exhibit. The Albertina houses many Impressionist paintings. There, we saw the special Van Gogh exhibit which was terribly crowded. The main gallery is titled "Monet to Picasso." Anyone can see the beauty in a Monet painting. But Picasso? I must profess a total lack of joy or understanding upon seeing most of his paintings.

The highlight in Vienna was the Kunsthistorischmuseum. Besides the fantastic collection, the museum itself is a marvel. It was an absolute pleasure to stroll through the exhibit halls. Even the café must be one of the most resplendent in a museum anywhere in the world. When I got tired, I took a seat in one of the antique chairs. There were no grim old grannies here to bother me. The only annoyance was the occasional noisy tour group which congregated in front of the more famous paintings, thus blocking them from the rest of us. I personally prefer the more secular pieces as I find too many of the religious ones, with their penchant for violence, disturbing. The pictures from the Flemish school are my favourite. To me, their subject matter and their more sophisticated use of light and colour, make the pictures far more attractive.

Hotels and Inns

We stayed at different types of hotels on the trip. Aside from the fact that almost all of them were a tad too enthusiastic at turning up the heaters, which, combined with the heavy comforters that the Europeans use, made the rooms too hot at night, there was nothing to complain about. In Switzerland, we got Swiss cleanness and efficiency. In Budapest, we got a suite big enough to hold a party for twenty but provided little shelf space for our things. The hotel in Prague was decorated like a palace, and offered embarrassingly attentive service. More of the same was in Vienna.

However, two places stood out. First was the Bloberger Hof in Salzburg. It was a little inn run by Frau Inge and her daughter Silvia, who were polite, pleasant, efficient and professional in the most perfect way. The breakfast was incredible, and we had dinner at the inn twice in three nights because the food was so good. From the bedroom window, I could see snow-capped mountains and dairy cows grazing in the green fields. Normally not the sociable type, I nevertheless found myself having light conversations with the other guests at the inn. There was an American family of three generations; the grandparents from Oregon were visiting the son and his family in Stuttgart. We also chatted with an English couple who were working in Germany, but had lived outside of Toronto for years, and wanted very much to return to Canada with their two little kids. The inn exuded a relaxing and neighbourly atmosphere that made everyone mellow.

The second memorable place, the Gasthof Sänger Blondel in Dürnstein, was in fact very similar to the Bloberger Hof. This time, a couple and their grown son were behind the smooth-running machine. The inn was right next to the abbey, in the centre of the town. It was named after Richard the Lionheart's faithful minstrel Blondel, who, legend has it, searched around Europe singing a love song that he and his lord composed together (huh?), eventually finding the foolish king at Dürnstein castle. (Sänger is "singer" in German. Blondel was the troubadour's name which apparently came from his long blond hair. Gentlemen prefer blonds, indeed.)

Later, when we got back to Zurich, Stefan and Claudia told me that the inns in Austria are considered to be of such high quality that even the Swiss go there for the incomparable service. This is a compliment indeed.

Food

One thing we don't need to worry about food-wise in continental Europe is the breakfast. I remember vividly the ones we had ten years ago in Rome, Florence, Sitges, ... The same goes for this part of Europe. Cold meats, cheeses, smoked salmon, homemade yogurt, a variety of fruits and juices, bread and rolls fresh out of the oven, local jams, eggs in different styles, honey, cereal, nuts, ... and at some places, crepes and omelets of your design. (On our return trip when we had to spend a night in Newark, the lousy breakfast the next morning, and the lousier service that went with it, made it clear that I was not in Europe anymore.)

Hungarian food is hearty and uncomplicated: goulash, potatoes, more goulash and more potatoes. Since I'm a simple Chinese peasant, I can eat that stuff everyday. But Jeff, a foodie, got bored quickly, and longed for something other than overcooked meat. In Prague, we saw pizzerias in every street, offering simple Italian fare. There were also many fancy places. Our most memorable dinner in Prague was in a restaurant at the top of Petřín Hill. As well as fine food, it offered a magnificent night view of Prague Castle bathing in a flood of light.

In Austria, outside of Vienna, we stayed with local fare---in other words, schnitzel, schnitzel and schnitzel. There was the Wiener variety, the Salzburger variety, and everything in between. I enjoyed them all. The sound of the chef beating the meat in the kitchen provided such an old comfort.

Vienna is the most sophisticated culinary city on the trip. Everything we had there was excellent. They also love their pastries here. I have no idea how the Viennese stay so thin when they consume desserts so decadent. We paid our respects at Demel, the city's famous pastry shop. If I lived in Vienna, I'd balloon to 300 pounds in no time.

I also tried to have bratwurst as much as I could. I know it's silly, but I love bratwurst!

Many times, we found ourselves walking under old chestnut trees, stepping over nuts fallen to the ground. Every once a while, a vendor roasted chestnuts on the street, attracting small children and me. They call them "maroni" in Austria. I gobbled down mine in no time. Delicious!

According to our in-house wine connoisseur Jeff, the red wines in the whole area, including those from the established Wachau wine region in Austria, are not too exciting. After trying reds once or twice in each city, he usually stuck to whites which are much more pleasant in his opinion. In Hungary, we looked inside a wine store, and saw some expensive Tokaji bottles. Not being a fan of dessert wines, Jeff didn't go out of his way to try a Tokaji. He did once make the mistake of trying a "hot wine" in Prague, and hated it so much that he didn't finish it. I think he was betraying his wine-snob nature. I've had hot wine before; it's not Chateau Haut-Brion, but nor is it as awful as Jeff made it sound.

There is one cute food story to tell. On our way from Salzburg to Vienna, we arrived in town late one evening, and ended up driving blindly in a suburb of Linz searching for a place to eat. When we saw a pub, we went in. The front section of the place was packed with customers, while the large back section was empty but for a table of four young men and a second table of nine middle-aged fellows. After we sat down, the waiter came to warn us in German that the back section was for non-smokers only. It took me a few seconds to understand what he said, at which point I assured him that we didn't smoke.

Trying to decipher the German menu and place the order required some effort, but we managed. Judging from the surprised looks we drew, the place was not used to having outsiders. As we ate our meal, the middle-aged guys left at the end of their happy drinking session, and the four young men also left at some point to move to the front section so they could smoke. It was amusing. Over the years, Europe has adopted tougher anti-smoking laws, but it appeared that they still had a lot more smokers that we do in Canada.

At the end of our dinner, the friendly waiter came with the bill. Jeff gave him some money, gesturing for him to keep the change as a tip. The chap shook his head vigorously, and insisted on giving Jeff back two euro---he thought the tip was too much!

To Summarize... We had a wonderful three weeks. I wish we had time for Poland, Croatia, southern Austria, Slovenia, ... but the world is too big. Maybe on another trip.

Florida

Trip Photos

The first half of March, we were in Palm Beach, Fort Lauderdale, Miami, the Florida Keys, and the Everglades National Park. I went on a snorkelling trip at John Pennekamp Coral Reef State Park in Key Largo. Everyone had to wear a wetsuit because the water was very cold. There were plenty of fish in the corals. The novelty was seeing conch lying on the seabed. Key West was a big-time party town. One could drink and dance all night for weeks on end if so desired. The Everglades is not like the national parks in the West that I'm used to. It is completely flat. Its unique attraction is its wildlife. The park is teeming with birds, alligators, crocodiles, small cats, ... We did a number of hikes, and were mesmerized by the creatures we saw along the way.

After the sightseeing, the serious part of our trip began as we arrived in the Tampa Bay Area to supervise the Spring Training of the Toronto Blue Jays. Well, it's true that the Jays are not aware of the fact that Jeff and I are in charge of the team. Nonetheless, we went to a baseball game almost everyday, sometimes driving a good distance to see them play in other cities. When he found out that J.P. Riccardi had decided to keep Shannon Stewart and release Reed Johnson, Jeff almost exploded. We watched the rest of the training in deep gloom. This team didn't look to have enough offensive power.

While keeping a watchful eye on our baseball duties, we managed to play lots of tennis. This year, for the first time, we rented a condo instead of staying at a hotel. Dealing with the condo owner turned out to be an ordeal. The condo experience itself was rather positive.

Steamboat

Last autumn, when I mentioned that I didn't know where to go snowboarding next winter, Susan said to me, Go to Steamboat. I thought, Why not? I'd been to Salt Lake City four out of the last five years. I loved the two times riding in Colorado. Steamboat it would be.

As luck would have it, 2008 was a record-setting year in Colorado. By early February, the snow accumulation in Steamboat was already closing in on the highest recorded in history. To make it even better, fresh power fell just about every night while I was there.

Steamboat Resort is huge. Try as I might, I couldn't sample all the trails in a week. Like all large ski resorts in Colorado, it is in a beautiful setting. Before starting a run, I love to sit at the top taking in the fresh air and the view. Snow-covered mountains as far as the eye can see are laid in front of me, gleaming in the sunshine. Then it is time to go down the mountain. Turn, turn turn. Maybe make a detour into the glades if the trees are not too dense. Take a breather at the next stop. Go again. Feel the sensation of floating on air. Glide into the entrance to the chair-lift. Admire the view and watch the other skiers and riders from atop. And start all over again. There is nothing like it in this world.

Barbados

Trip Photos

Our annual escape to the Caribbean brought us to Barbados for two weeks this year. Barbados is nicknamed "Little England," and one can't argue. Our resort served afternoon tea everyday. Cricket matches took place around the island (we attended one). People were polite without being too friendly. A large percentage of the residents are of British background. Mix in the thousands of tourists from the UK, it really felt like England except for the endless sun, the heat, the tall palms and the tanned bodies everywhere.

Barbados is favoured by hawksbill sea turtles. On one of my snorkelling trips, we were taken to a turtle hotspot, but I had a suspicion that those turtles were not wild because they had tags on their front legs. One day, while boogie-boarding off our hotel beach, I saw a sea turtle swimming close to shore. It almost looked like he was playing in the waves as the tide came in the evening. I ran back to the room to fetch my snorkelling gear, and jumped into the water after him. Because the waves were strong, the sand was kicked up, making it difficult to see underwater. To my surprise, there were schools of fish drifting patiently in shallow water, only metres away from the edge. Did this mean that when I was swimming or boogie-boarding in the water, these fish were only inches away from my toes? They were translucent, not colourful like the typical tropical fish. I swam around for a while, and suddenly, there he was, relaxing at the bottom, my friend the turtle! He was huge, about four feet long, three feet wide. After a while, his cute little legs started moving, and he swam this way and that. From time to time, he'd come up for air, and let himself be picked up by a big wave. I followed him a foot or two behind for twenty minutes, then out of the blue, he made an abrupt 180 turn. So there I was, face to face with a sea turtle whose beady eyes were staring straight at me. It was so funny! For almost a week until we left, I stalked my turtle friend in the evening. Unless he was feeding on invisible fish, I gather he was just there to play in the waves.

Our resort being on the south edge of the island means fairly high waves, which in turn means good conditions for surfing but lousy ones for snorkelling. The west side of the island has good snorkelling spots, including one only a short swim away from shore. I boogie-boarded everyday, but it was not as easy as it looked. Occasionally, I'd catch a good wave, but most of the time, it was much waiting followed by furious kicking of the legs only to end on a whimper with no excitement. Nevertheless, surfing must be a highly addictive activity. I was not discouraged by my failures. Hour after hour, I paddled on the board, measuring the waves, always hoping: the next one is going to be the perfect one...

For three days, we rented a little car to explore the other parts of the island. The east side is prettier because of the rough tides and rugged cliffs and rocks. It's also quieter as it has only a few hotels and resorts. The west side is the ritzy part. Tiger Woods got married at one of the top establishments there. Driving was on the "wrong side" again, which was fine because in the last few years, we had had to drive on the left several times (in St. Lucia, Australia, New Zealand, and England). The roads in Barbados are in much better shape than those on the other Caribbean islands that we've been to, but once in the mountains, everyone gets lost sooner or later. Fortunately, it doesn't take long before one finds one's way again.

We played tennis lots. Like on all islands, there is a strong breeze to contend with. The heat and humidity also sapped energy out of me so quickly that I found myself huffing and puffing in no time. Once as we walked onto the court, we discovered a green monkey sitting near the net. He was rather frightened by us, and very carefully took a roundabout route to leave the court. In all my years of playing tennis, I'd never had a monkey spectator before.

I'd imagined it boring to spend two weeks at a beach resort. To my surprise, the days went by, and before I knew it, it was time to pack for home. Barbados is really a very nice place, certainly the most prosperous and sophisticated compared to the Caribbean islands from our previous trips. I'd love to return someday.

China

Trip Photos

I'd been to Beijing twice as a kid, so most of the touristy spots were not new to me. For the Great Wall, we picked a quieter section called Mu Tian Yu, to visit, and it was a good choice because it was down right deserted by Chinese standards. We had a nice hike there for a couple of hours. The traffic was congested everywhere in the city. Taxis were cheap and so plentiful that they came looking for you, but in the afternoon rush hour, no cars got anywhere fast. The drivers had a total disregard for traffic rules. Jeff, himself an aggressive driver by Canadian standards, was on the verge of a heart attack a few too many times. We tried the subway, which was fine when it wasn't crowded, but utterly impossible during rush hour unless you wanted your lungs crushed.

In Xi'an, we admired the Terracotta Warriors, browsed through the impressive collection at the provincial museum, walked in the interesting Muslim Quarter, and had a fun bicycle ride on top of the old city wall.

Nanjing turned out to be Jeff's favourite city because it has mountains, a big lake, tree-lined boulevards, an authentic old city wall, and an excellent French restaurant in our hotel. (A foodie, Jeff judges cities by their food.)

Next, we took the high-speed train to Shanghai. Since it was my first return trip to China after nearly twenty years, there were lots of relations and friends to visit. Naturally, Shanghai had changed beyond belief. To my delight, my grandparents' old apartment building in the old French Concession was still standing, and the old neighbourhood was still quiet and tree-lined, the way I remembered it. It was great for me to see everyone again although Jeff, being unable to speak or understand a word of Chinese, was bored to tears. November happened to be hairy crab season. At our hotel, we had a wonderful dinner done in the Japanese Kaiseki style where every course, including dessert, had a crab theme. It was a very clever idea.

While in Shanghai, we took two day-trips, one to Hangzhou, and one to Wuzhen. Hangzhou is an ancient city famous for its scenery and history. Wuzhen is a tiny water village built along the Grand Canal six hundred years ago, a picturesque town and very Oriental-looking. I got a couple of potentially award-winning photos simply by closing my eyes and pushing the camera button.

Our last stop on the Mainland was four days in Yangshuo, near Guilin. That part of China is entirely different from the big cities. We stayed at a mountain retreat on the banks of the Yu Long River, amidst dreamlike fields and karsts. We went boating and rafting on the beautiful Li River, hiked and biked along the riverbanks, going in and out of the karsts. It was my favourite part of the time in China.

Finally, we arrived in Hong Kong. It's impossible not to like vibrant Hong Kong because one has so much fun walking the trail on the Peak, taking the Star Ferry, having high tea at the Peninsula, shopping on Nathan Road, eating dim-sum in a bustling Chinese restaurant, and doing a million other things. Our seven days there were not nearly enough.

Japan

Trip Photos from Japan

Our much anticipated trip to the Orient started in Japan.

Tokyo is mostly modern, but like all of Japan, it has managed to blend its traditional side with ultra-modern settings. Our five days in the city took us to different districts with different characteristics: Asakusa's old Edo feel, Palette Town's international stores, Akihabara's (Electric Town) tech toys, Shinjuku's funkiness, Ginza's sophistication, Roppongi's foreign flavour, ... Two other places of note are the Edo Tokyo Museum which is extremely informative although I do wish they had more signs in English; and the Mitsukoshi department store, which is nothing like the department stores in North America. Where else would you see salesman and customer bowing deeply to each other, have a beautiful young lady operate the elevator, order a small cake only to receive a package in return that is too perfect to touch?

In the Hakone region, we took various modes of transportation in the mountains and on the lake. I didn't have high hopes of seeing Mt. Fuji since sightings of the famed mountain was fleeting even in the ancient days. At one point while we were on the tram, I thought I saw good ol' Mt. Fuji peeking out from the clouds, but the image was too faint to be captured on camera. The highlight of the day was the Open Air Museum in Miyanoshita. It was a large park set against mountains, and dotted with sculptures by world-famous artists. What a brilliant idea.

No trip to Japan is complete without seeing Kyoto, the ancient capital. In three days, we saw enough temples there to last a life time: Kinkakuji, Ryoanji, Kiyomizu, Sanjusangenko, and Koryuji and Todaiji in Nara. (Jeff got yelled at in Nijojo for not following proper protocol in taking off his shoes.) A walk through Gion turned up no geisha sightings. Apparently, it's exceedingly rare for a dumb tourist to stumble upon an elusive geisha.

The legendary Japanese train system went beyond my expectations. The transportation lines in Tokyo covered every part of the city. The Shinkansen (the bullet train) was mind-boggling: punctual, super fast, quiet, clean, comfortable, its conductors bow upon entering and leaving each car. One could get spoiled rather easily.

Eating in Japan was an eye-opener. Here in North America, we think of Japanese food as basically sushi and teriyaki. Over there, I was confronted with so many more selections. Most restaurants focused on one specialty, so we had tempura at Asakusa, fresh sushi at the Tsukiji Fish Market, teppanyaki at Ginza, ramen at Shinjuku, yakitori at Roppongi, traditional Kaiseki at Ginza, Unagi (eel) in Kyoto, and French food in Kaiseki style on the Pontocho in Kyoto. In addition, Kyoto has its famous Kyo-style cuisine which is supposed to be more delicate. We tried and loved them all. Two particularly noteworthy meals were at the Fujiya Hotel in Chokoku-no-Mori in the Hakone region. In its glory days past, the hotel housed the Japanese royal family several times. Today, it still held a formal air. Dinner was a multi-course French fare with white-gloved waiters rushing around in silent efficiency. Breakfast was more of the same. I was more amazed by the whole presentation than the food itself. To the Japanese tourists (who made up most of the clientele) it must have been an exotic experience.

There was so much to see that our nine days barely scratched the surface. Of course, I know that things are not all they appear to be. Japan is not without its problems and worries. Because I happen to value many of the same qualities held in high regard in Japanese society, I enjoyed my time in Japan immensely.

Las Vegas

Our friend Ron decided to celebrate his birthday in Las Vegas this year. About a dozen of us joined him and Marita at the party. It had been a long while since Jeff and I were last in Vegas. Despite being a full-blooded Chinese, I dislike gambling tremendously. There is, however, more to Vegas than gambling, and I usually enjoy my time there.

Marita was her usual generous and mothering self, constantly making sure everyone was fed and entertained. Consequently, every meal was a production, and every evening an event. We went to two shows, one of which the famous Phantom. This being Vegas, the staging of the show is out-of-this-world extravagant. Everything was lavishing to the extreme. I've always loved the songs in Phantom, and for weeks afterwards, couldn't get the tunes out of my head.

After days of gourmet food, fine wine, and ceaseless lights and sound, we stumbled out of the city dazed and fatigued. What a crazy place!

Snowboarding in Utah

It was time for my annual snowboarding pilgrimage. Stella and Scott were spending a few days at Snowbird Ski Resort, outside of Salt Lake City, so we arranged a while back to meet up in Utah.

I'd been to Salt Lake City many times, mostly for snowboarding. In Utah, they brag about having "the greatest snow on earth" as if the words came straight out of the Bible. The reality is not too far off (although the locals don't usually mention that the mountains are not quite the greatest even in the West). The westerly wind picks up moister from the Great Salt Lake, and dumps champagne power in the mountains. On a fresh power day, riding down the slopes gives one the sensation of floating on air.

I arrived two days earlier than Stella and Scott, and went boarding at Brighton and Park City. That's one nice feature of the Salt Lake City area. One can base oneself in the city, and decide each morning where one would like to ski because most of the resorts are only an hour's drive away. Over the years, I'd been to almost all of the resorts except for Snowbird, Deer Valley and Alta, the last two being nasty places that to this day don't allow snowboarders. I got rather excited thinking about going to Snowbird for the first time.

Thanks to modern communication, I found Stella and Scott at the bottom of the gondola. In the next two days, we had a fantastic time together. While there hadn't been any fresh snow recently, the conditions were still excellent. From time to time, we went into the trees. While coming down a trail, I had a picture taken by an on-site photographer. As it was the only "action shot" I had of me snowboarding, I paid the exorbitant charge and got the digital file. Now, it's one of my most treasured photos.

Curaçao

Trip Photos

We've been going to the Caribbean every winter for a few years. Usually, we try to see a different island each time. This year's destination was Curaçao of the Netherlands Antilles.

By chance, our hotel sat on a stretch of the beach that offered ideal snorkelling conditions. I first got hooked on this activity in the Great Barrier Reef in Australia. Even though having one's first snorkelling experience in the Great Barrier Reef is akin to having Brad Pitt for a first boyfriend, I'm still enthusiastic whenever there is a chance to snorkel. Last year, on a snorkelling trip in Sint Maarten, I came upon a little sea turtle in the water, swimming happily towards the bottom. My attempt at following him ended in vain because he was too good a swimmer. This time, with coral reefs right along the hotel property, I ended up spending hours in the water almost everyday. It was mesmerizing to watch the colourful tropical fish zooming around silently, individually or in schools, in and out of the corals, close enough to touch. One day, I went with a boat to a coral reef area off the north-west coast of the island. The waves were stronger out there, but the fish were more abundant. I wished I had a book on Caribbean fish so I'd know better about what I was seeing. Snorkelling fun came with a price though: I carried home a horrible sunburn, and was in agony for weeks afterwards. On top of the long periods of sun exposure, I forgot that Curaçao is almost at the Equator. Those of us from the north tend to underestimate the strength of the sun at that latitude.

Willemstad is the capital of Curaçao. It's a beautiful little town. Along the waterfront, a row of houses painted in the most brilliant colours stood against the blue sky and the sparkling water. A lively market, a bustling commercial area, historical old buildings and delightful restaurants and cafés made up the rest of the city.

On Saturday, we joined a jeep tour of the island. Curaçao is actually more desert than tropical. The beaches on the island are not quite as nice as on the other Caribbean islands, but the corals along the shore and the layered seabed make Curaçao a snorkellers' paradise. I would like to come back someday for sure.

Petra Exhibit in Ottawa

We drove to Ottawa over the weekend to see Len and Louise. When there was a half day to ourselves, we went to the Museum of Civilisation. The main attraction was the special exhibit on Petra, one of the places in the world I'd dearly love to visit. Many of us saw it in Steven Spielberg's Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade: it was where the Holy Grail was housed. I only want to spend a few days hiking and riding camels in Petra. It conjures up such a romantic image in my mind, a world of the days past, so completely different from my own...

Southwestern England

Trip Photos

I'd wanted to go to England forever. To find myself finally at Heathrow was quite a thrill, even if the airport was old, crowded and stuffy. In London, we went to the touristy sights, visited the museums, browsed through Fortnum & Mason, had afternoon tea at Harrod's, saw a show on the Strand, and made a side-trip to Wimbledon. The highlight was seeing the Rosetta Stone at the British Museum -- I know the story only too well. It was also fascinating going through the National Portrait Gallery. Many countries boast first-rate art museums, but only Britain has produced so many famous subjects whose portraits will amaze any lover of history.

London lived up to all my expectations, including its high prices. I could easily have stayed for another week, month, year, ... Nevertheless, one week was all we had. After picking up our rental car, we headed out of the city. The car was a Saab 9-3. Over the next two weeks, we grew rather fond of the little vehicle. It's compact yet roomy, powerful yet nimble. Driving in the English countryside under clear autumn skies is pure joy -- and driving on the "wrong side" required no more than ten minutes to adjust. The notorious rain bothered us on only two occasions.

In the next fortnight (note my use of the English lingo), we paid our respects at impressive sites (Hampton Court, Salisbury Cathedral, Stonehenge, Exeter Cathedral, Gloucester Cathedral, Blenheim Palace, and Warwick Castle); drove through the Moors and along tall hedges; walked in quaint little towns the likes of Looe, St. Ives, Port Issac, Clovelly, Lynton, Lynmouth, Glastonbury, and Stratford; took hidden roads in the otherworldly Cottswalds; and admired the majestic cities of Bath, Cambridge and Oxford. So many familiar names and places from books. So much history. Believe it or not, we had the full-fledged English Breakfast most mornings! And in the afternoons, I often indulged in a scone (with jam and clotted cream, of course) and tea in cozy shops. One couldn't possibly ask for more.

Jeff had seen and done all this before, but he humoured me by appearing to like everything all over again. It was such a wonderful holiday. At the end, we talked about going to Northern England, Scotland, or Ireland next. As usual, too many places still to see in the world...