Real Travel for Real People
Shake Rattle and Roll
When heading to AT&T Park to join yet another sell out crowd, driving down 3rd Street to admire all those new sleek towers laden with young entrepreneurs and biotech geniuses, or being thankful for the new Benioff Children's Hospital, do we ever stop and realize that not all that long ago the entire area was an environmental wasteland? The area was laden with oil-soaked soil mixed with deadly toxins, rusting steel tracks, and creosote-soaked railroad ties, long abandoned.
|PHoto 1985 by Drew Jacksich
… throughout the day we could hear and feel the trains rolling down 16th Street rattling our windows and shaking the floors, having started from the Embarcadero and fanning out through the area calling on the various businesses in Mission Bay.”
For years the industrial buildings that dotted the area were served by rail cars dropping off and picking up all sorts of products. Typical businesses were a who's who in the fuel and paint business: Richfield Oil, Chevron, Valvoline, Glidden Paint, L&H Paint, battery manufacturers, and building materials suppliers. To this day there are still huge steel pipes under 16th Street that carried fuel from barges that docked at China Basin to fuel depots owned by Chevron and Richfield Oil. Railroad tank cars were the Uber of the day.
For many years our offices were on the corner of 17th and Arkansas Streets, and throughout the day we could hear and feel the trains rolling down 16th Street rattling our windows and shaking the floors, having started from the Embarcadero and fanning out through the area calling on the various businesses in Mission Bay.
The San Francisco Belt Railroad started out as the State Belt Railroad in 1889, and was renamed when the city bought the Port of San Francisco in 1969. Eventually all operations ceased in 1993. The railroad connected the Port of San Francisco with many of the docks along the waterfront, serving the area for years. Eventually the 67 miles of track stretched from its roundhouse, which was eventually converted to modern offices on the Embarcadero, to a train/ferry slip at Pier 43, through Fisherman's Wharf, Aquatic Park, Fort Mason and terminating in the Presidio.
From its general offices in the Ferry Building, the company provided its services by switching cars from four major railroads to points throughout its system. Working with Southern Pacific, Northwestern Pacific, Western Pacific and my very favorite, the Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe, the system supplied the area for all those years, and additionally gave birth to a very popular song, Harry Warren & Johnny Mercer's "On the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe", written for the 1946 film, The Harvey Girls.
At times I wonder how all that equipment would survive in today's environment with cars, pedestrians, bicycles and skate boards all competing for a spot to navigate. A few weeks ago, the Chronicle's C.W. Nevius wrote an interesting article about the horrific traffic in this same area. A viable solution is not easy. The tracks are gone, the locomotives are gone, the businesses are gone, but the people are not. Would a new train line work? Why not? It worked at Disneyland, at the airport and the fairly new "F" line along the Embarcadero. Who needs open air sightseeing buses or Red and White fleets? I propose that we rebuild the San Francisco Belt Railroad, load its cars with people and not products, and drop off all those happy fans at AT&T Park and the Warriors new stadium, and the tourists at the Wharf, and all those hi-rise dwellers going back home. No more parking lots, no designated drivers, free flowing beer and great music along the way. My first choice for a theme song? What better than Johnny Mercer's "On the Atchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe?" Let's put it up for a vote.
Sergio gets around — the world!
Bruno Magli shoes, a Ford Bronco, a pair of leather gloves and dueling attorneys. A perfect mix for a 10 part series on FX reliving the drama appropriately called "The People vs OJ Simpson." The trial was hyped as "the trial of the century" and it certainly grabbed everyone's attention, including ours. The verdict was read on October 3, 1995 around mid-morning, but for us it was dinner time in Vienna and we didn't dare leave our hotel room until the unanimous decision was read. The verdict? "Not guilty."
The adventure for us started in London, moved to Rome, Florence, Lucca, Venice, and finally ended in Vienna. September the 18th 1995 was my 60th birthday, and with a group of friends, family and relatives we celebrated the occasion in Lucca, Italy where I was born all those many years ago. It was an unforgettable celebration in the Tuscan hills where we had rented a villa named "Fattoria di Fubiano" situated in the small village of San Gennareo, about 30 minutes outside the walls of Lucca.
The celebration ran late into the night while the more than 100 guests enjoyed the delicious food, wine, and music sprinkled in with a few remarks, all under white canvas tents which shielded us from the unexpected rains that evening. After all these years, people still comment on the food and surroundings, truly an unforgettable evening.
A short distance from the villa is a village called Collodi where Pinocchio Park is located, perfect for a day trip with our young grandchildren. For the adults we ventured off to Montecatini Therme, where we drank some of the curative waters, and then made our way to Montecatini Alto on the 100 year old funicular for a spectacular view of the surrounding area.
The week's stay went by much too quickly, but it did give us the opportunity to relive some of the more pleasant moments of the past few days. After the usual tourist stops in London, we found our way to Rome where again, we were treated to the splendor of the Vatican where Michelangelo's Pieta is beautifully displayed just to the right of the entrance, carefully protected by a bulletproof acrylic glass panel. During our first visit to the Vatican in 1971 we did see this amazing piece of art while it was displayed out in the open in the main church before a mentally disturbed geologist from Austria walked into the church in 1972 and attacked the sculpture, doing great damage. A trip to the Colosseum and a stop at the Trevi Fountain to toss a coin and make a wish, then it was time to head to Florence for a visit with David, another one of Michelangelo's masterpieces.
After a stroll on the Ponte Vecchio and a visit to the Duomo, we drove to Lucca where we all settled in for the celebration. Venice came next, where a gondola ride was a must for all of us after an evening stroll through Saint Mark's Square, where the best entertainment of all was watching the pigeons that outnumber the tourists, who are the biggest pigeons of all.
Our train ride to Vienna was relaxing and prepared us for the last push before heading home. Our stay was at the Hotel InterContinental, and our three day Metro pass gave us access to all the sites and sounds of this beautiful city which is a mix of old and new. Our first stop was St. Stephen's Church, followed by a visit at the Schonbrunn Palace and its marvelous gardens, and of course a stop at the Kunsthistorisches Museum to admire the two rooms full of Rubens. The next day was spent at the Belvedere Palace, where we just had to see Gustav Klimt's painting of The Kiss, an oil painting with applied layers of gold leaf considered Klimt's most popular work. And what better way to wrap up our trip than with a boat ride down the Danube River, and a bumper car ride in Prater Park?
With hours on the plane we had the opportunity to discuss the trip, compare sites, and decide on what we enjoyed the most. Was it the Vatican, the Villa, Vienna or watching the grandchildren playing on the swings and slides? We took a vote, opened it up for discussion, polled the jury and patiently waited for a decision. The verdict? A hung jury! At that point we had no choice but to dismiss the jurors and start over. The simplest solution was to repeat the process, which we did a few years later, and relive the adventure, after which we took another vote. How did that go? I don't know yet…the jury is still out.
Sergio Nibbi gets around—the world.
The Last Supper
Is there anything more enjoyable than watching the cooking shows on Saturday morning while preparing a special breakfast side by side with all those TV professionals? Sinfully good and certainly better than an Egg McMuffin. There's no doubt that today's chefs are all fun to watch but one of my favorites has always been Jacques Pepin with his simple but masterful style that always makes it look so easy. Sadly he's now wrapping up his career with his last televised series called "Jacques Pepin, Heart and Soul." Fortunately after years and years of pure joy in the kitchen his work has been recorded and published for all of us to enjoy.
Watching him on television is great but how about seeing him in person? It was almost 45 years ago when my wife and I decided to take some cooking classes and the one person that was highly recommended to us at the time was a gentleman by the name of Jack Lirio who had a modest home on Monterey Blvd, just up the street from where the Safeway store is now located. A basement room had been converted into a demonstration kitchen that held about 20 people as we watched Jack cooking while we followed his recipes, took notes and eventually enjoyed the fruits of all his hard work.
Jack Lirio was not a professional chef or restaurant owner, although he did study at the Cordon Bleu in Paris and truly enjoyed cooking and teaching. He eventually wrote two cook books called "Cooking with Jack Lirio" and "Fast Fabulous Desserts."
|Jacques,Claudine and Shorey
His classes were held once a week and although the food was delicious the biggest attraction was the exposure to foods that we never would have tried on our own like Peking duck or fried cheeses with fennel sauce. On one particular evening he told us that there was a young French chef who would soon be teaching a few of his classes. His name, Jacque Pepin, a virtual unknown to most of us but it didn't take long to become mesmerized by his endless talent. Most cooking teachers would bring in food already cut, trimmed, boned or shaped but not with Jacque Pepin. Boning a squab or slicing and dicing was not done ahead of time but rather right there as he told stories and demonstrated his flawless techniques. I'll never forget watching him prepare a tart shell molded from a flat sheet of dough, no drawn circles, no pattern, no measuring, yet when it was finished it was a perfect circle, the same height all around and ready to fill and bake. Amazing!
At that time one of Jack Lirio's helpers was a woman by the name of Charlotte Coombs who eventually started her own cooking school in Redwood City and again we had the pleasure of sitting in on more classes taught by Jacques Pepin. The two of them seemed to have a special bond and it brought a new dimension to the evening. A couple of the students would even bring their own bottle of wine and enjoy both the wine and the demonstrations adding to the evening's pleasure.
In the ensuing years we've taken cooking classes in Lucca, Florence, Paris and even in Oakland from Linda Carucci, who was a chef instructor at the International Culinary School in San Francisco and who cooked a very special birthday meal for me years ago but somehow we always seem to associate with Jacque Pepin.
After all these years we still have two binders full of recipes from both Jack Lirio and Jacques Pepin so if you want to whip up a lobster soufflé or some braised squab accompanied with carrots vichy just let me know.
So now Jacque Pepin has celebrated his 80th birthday blowing out all those candles with so many of his chef friends surrounding him but he still enjoys doing what he's done so well for all these years along with his daughter Claudine and now his granddaughter, Shorey, cooking and telling stories.
What an amazing, rewarding and successful career that has given so much pleasure to so many of us. So let's keep enjoying his great talent and never forget what he's always been so fond of saying at the end of each television program, "Happy Cooking."
Sergio Nibbi gets around—the world! Feedback: firstname.lastname@example.org
And the Winner is…
Half truths, exaggerations, deceit and deception! That seems to be the new norm for today’s election cycle and it appears that not much has changed in all these years. But was it always that way? After being welcomed home as a national hero, did Dwight D. Eisenhower insist on building a wall to separate our southern neighbors? Wasn’t it Ronald Regan that pleaded to “tear down that wall?” And would our affable peanut farmer, Jimmy Carter, turn away millions of refugees during a time of need? I’m sure that George H. W. Bush, a one time director of the CIA, would not have taken on Valdimir Putin, a former senior officer in the KGB, over nukes and political nuts. And speaking of our 41st President, I remember taking a trip quite a few years ago that took us through Kennebunkport, Maine on our way to a 60th birthday party celebration for a very dear friend of ours in Maine.
Our trip started in New York, and after the usual few hectic days in the Big Apple we boarded an Amtrak train for our 5 hour ride to Boston, which was different, unusual and scenic. We arrived at the Westin Copley Place for a pleasant stay before driving off in our Hertz rental to the Spruce Point Inn, in Boothbay Harbor, Maine. Stopping off in Kennebunkport was opportunistic and gave us a chance to visit the summer home of our newly-elected president. As I recall, we visited the Dock Square area, which was right on the Kennebunkport River and reputed to have the president’s speedboat docked nearby. After a pleasant lunch and a tour of the town, we did get a glimpse of the boat, but also found out that the boat was heavily guarded by the Secret Service on land and with Navy divers protecting the hull. Our reward for the day was a souvenir coffee mug that we still use on occasion. There’s also an interesting video on the internet showing the boat pulling away from its mooring and smashing back into the dock as people scrambled around in amazement. That happened years later and hopefully with someone else at the helm!
A clam bake started off the festivities at the Spruce Point Inn and gave us all the opportunity to meet and greet old friends as well as new. Then came the party, the speeches, great food, and cold drinks, and it was soon time to head home, but not before stopping off in Tamworth, New Hampshire for a night, and then a stay at the Tulip Tree Inn in Chittenden, Vermont, and finally our last night at the Gables Inn in Lenox, Massachusetts. Along the way we did get the opportunity to visit the Norman Rockwell Museum in Stockbridge as well as the nearby home of Edith Wharton just up the road.
We then headed to Boston for our United flight back to the familiar surroundings of the San Francisco International Airport.
So now we’ll wait and see how this election unfurls. More stories, more struggles for the top spot, and eventually Election Day. In the meantime all we can say is “may the best man win.” OMG, did I really say “man?”
Just Chugging Along
It was 1948. The Second World War was over and our heroic troops were back from the horrors of war in both Europe and the Pacific, and with their return the seeds were sown for the creation of the greatest generation of all time. It was also 1948 when my maternal grandmother left the country of her birth and emigrated from Italy to Chicago where all 8 of her children had previously settled and called home.
It was Christmas, and with two weeks of school vacation we had the perfect opportunity to travel to Chicago to visit my grandmother and celebrate the holidays with her and the rest of the family. Although air travel was certainly available, the most popular cross country mode of transportation at the time was by train. The City of San Francisco was our choice over its competitor, The California Zephyr, with its double decker Vista Dome cars. Not unlike the San Francisco 49ers playing in Santa Clara, The City of San Francisco left from, you guessed it, Oakland. I vividly remember being dropped off at the Ferry Building on the Embarcadero, cruising under the Bay Bridge on a huge Ferry Boat, landing in Oakland and finding our way through the steam and smoke to our very comfortable coach seats. It took a pinch under 40 hours, two nights and a day, to get from the beauty of San Francisco to the grimy, industrial city of Chicago. Chicago has since reinvented itself as one of the cleanest, most beautiful cities in America, but at the time the coal powered locomotives arrived in the center of town and the buildings and streets bore the brunt of this convenience.
My most lasting impressions of the train was the beautifully-appointed dining car with its white, pressed tablecloths, a menu with endless selections, and service that rivaled that of a 5 star hotel. Those breakfast pancakes and scrambled eggs were amazing. We did have occasional stops along the way at major cities such as Salt Lake City, where we crossed over the lake itself, Cheyenne, and Omaha, and by 8 AM we pulled into Chicago’s Union Station.
Not that many years ago we traveled from Boston to Chicago trying to relive the experience, but sadly, my memories of that beautiful dining car turned into a box lunch on our seat with a small bottle of red wine with a screw top.…certainly not like riding on the Eurostar from Rome to Venice as we’ve done in the past.
After the usual hugs and kisses we settled in with the relatives in preparation of Christmas and New Year’s. The aunts would cook up a storm; everyone had a kitchen in the basement, while the men played cards and took an occasional nap after those huge meals. Although all the relatives came to America with virtually nothing more than the shirts on their backs, through the years they all became very successful in their own right. My father’s first job was working in a grocery store, six and a half days a week for $12.00 but eventually saved enough money to buy a used 1935 Ford for $95.00. All of them eventually ended up with their own businesses, many of them in the meat business, restaurants, bars and coffee shops, and the following generations have certainly benefited from the sacrifices of their parents.
With all the talk these days of illegal immigrants, immigration reform, and big tall fences, perhaps our politicians should look back at how this county was created, and at those that worked so hard to make it easier for the rest of us. Granted, we all came over legally but very poor at the same time, and with hard work and determination we’ve lived to enjoy the American dream. As I’m so fond of saying, “God Bless America.”
Imagine for just a moment if the City of St. Francis had hosted Pope Francis during his recent visit to the United States. You think that the ongoing preparations for Super Bowl 50 are hectic? Imagine the crowds along Market Street. Would the Giants feel slighted with their iconic Cable Car being upstaged by a Fiat named Popemobile? And now that Candlestick Park no longer exists, where would that “Mass” of humanity assemble? At least the homeless wouldn’t be a problem; Francis would go and visit them all, possibly sharing a tent with them in the United Nations Plaza, and with all the tech companies in the neighborhood he could certainly raise some real coin of the realm for those less fortunate. Even I would be willing to take up that second collection. And let’s make sure that he doesn’t decide to relieve himself on one of those newly painted repellant walls lest his red shoes get splashed with some real “holy water.”
Perhaps thousands of the faithful could congregate at Levi Stadium; God only knows that the 49ers need all the divine intervention that they can get. Can you just imagine Colin Kaepernick throwing a desperation pass towards the end zone in the final seconds hoping to avert yet another loss? Now that‘s what you call a real “Hail Mary Pass.”
Fortunately Pope Francis won’t have to motor down to Carmel because the newly-minted Saint Junípero Serra has already been canonized, but there is one dedication that he could do right here in our beautiful city. A project that has long been talked about and has the attention of the North Beach locals is the creation of a Piazza in front of the National Shrine of Saint Francis, the old St. Francis Church…..how appropriate is that? Known as the Piazza Saint Francis, the Poet’s Plaza, it has been in the making for many years, and with Angela Alioto’s enthusiasm and determination this project is close to fruition. The endeavor is endorsed by many local business and civic organizations, along with support from the Mayor and the City Planning Department and a diverse group of the Board of Supervisors. Once completed, the paving around the Piazza will have quotations from some 20 great poets and peacemakers from around the world, and beautifully- designed relaxing areas for all to enjoy along with retail establishments featuring food, drinks, and pastries.
The size of the Piazza will not rival the splendor of Saint Peter’s or the grandeur of Saint Mark’s, but it’s anxiously awaited by its many supporters. What a great place to gather, visit, read, and enjoy poetry. But regardless of its size and location, every city needs a poet laureate,and for us what better choice than a Pope Laureate? Perhaps we should consider yet another visit by Pope Francis. 2016 would be great; we could celebrate the Giants winning the World Series once again along with a Papal visit. The question is who would lead the parade, the Popemobile or the Cable Car?
|A Church Steeple in Savannah
A quarter of a century ago Ken Burns produced a critically acclaimed documentary on the American Civil War. Now, 25 years later, KQED is once again showing this remastered copy, and with both local and national elections on everyone’s minds the program is certainly apropos. The horror of war, any war, is pure hell, but this one was especially brutal with countrymen fighting countrymen and in the end thousands of young lives lost and countless cities destroyed. It’s still blue against red, and have we not learned anything in all these years?
In 2001 we had occasion to go on a Cruise with the San Francisco Giants to the Caribbean, but before heading to Fort Lauderdale and boarding the Grand Princess we spent a few days in Charleston and Savannah.
|John Rutledge House in Charleston
Charleston is on a peninsula with the Ashley River on the west and the Cooper River on the east. About 3 blocks north of where we stayed is the City Market with 4 or 5 blocks of stores, restaurants and a huge shed housing every conceivable craft and junk store imaginable. On our first day we chose to head south towards The Battery, stopping along the way to gaze at the endless rows of gracious old homes from the past. The Battery is a lovely park-lined area with Magnolia trees and waterfront paths, but it still has scores of cannons, mortars and guns used to defend the city during its many conflicts. We could easily see Fort Sumter, which was first fired uponwhen the Confederate artillery fired on the Union Garrison, starting the War Between the States. The history of the area is fascinating, and we were told how Charleston had been under bombardment for over 550 days from the Northern troops, more than any other city in history. Eventually we made our way to the Heyward-Washington House, which is one of many mansions open for public tours, most of which are owned and operated by the Charleston Museum or the Preservation Society. The most amazing part is finding out how many of the locals signed the Declaration of Independence or the Constitution.
|Rainbow row in Charleston
Early the next morning we visited one of the many plantations and we chose Middleton Place. We first took the house tour and later the self-guided tour of the gardens, during which we found out that most of the original buildings had been destroyed during the Civil War, rebuilt, but only to be destroyed again by fire or earthquake. The Museum House holds many of the original furnishings; many of the valuables and statuary had to be buried before the Union troops burned and plundered the entire plantation. When slavery ended the plantation owners could no longer afford to keep the properties and many ended up in ruins.
Charleston’s harbor is one of the best in the nation, and as a result was always under siege. It also provided for worldwide trade, and with the rice, indigo, and cotton farming sustained by slavery the economy prospered, beautiful homes were built, and children educated both here and abroad. Unfortunately, by the end of the Civil War the city was in ruins and there were so few men left that rebuilding took years. The following day it was time to leave the Low Country, as it’s called, and head for Savannah.
|Gastonian Front house in Savannah
By the time I drove the car around the corner from the Inn’s parking lot to the front door, Maurice had our luggage on the curb and ready to load. After a few more “Yes Sir” and “Thank you Sir” we drove off for Savannah, a two-hour one hundred mile drive. About half-way down is Beaufort, a sea town not unlike Carmel except for the flat marshes surrounding it. On the way we passed Beaufort Marine Air Base, and about 15 miles out of town is Parris Island, the Marine training area where years ago the Marines had a tragic accident during night training exercises. I mentioned this to a couple of the locals but they either forgot or did not want to remember.
The Atlantic is just a stone’s throw from the town, and the boats and yachts would make any area proud. We had a pleasant lunch under green-colored umbrellas, took in a few of the local sites and headed towards Savannah. A few miles before our final destination we traded South Carolina for Georgia and after crossing a spectacular stayed cable suspension bridge we arrived in Savannah, Georgia. Fortunately for us, the city is laid out in a simple grid and very easy to navigate. There is a total of 22 Squares and each has houses, churches and business all with their own style and personality. Unlike Charleston, Savannah was not burned down during the Civil War, and as a result of its surrender to General Sherman it was spared the fate of so many other Southern cities and many of the old mansions still exist today. It was General Sherman who gave Savannah to President Lincoln for a Christmas Present.
|Slave school house
The next day we headed for the City Market area, a district of shops and restaurants reborn from old produce and fish vending areas. The streets in this area are still paved with the old cobblestones that were used for ballast in the old sailing ships and are extremely difficult to navigate. We made our way to the house of Juliette Gordon Low, the woman who started the Girl Scouts, to Henry Ford’s first showroom, the Catholic Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, and a beautiful show of Andrew Wyeth’s work at the Telfair Museum. At the Visitor’s center we saw but could not sit on Forrest Gump’s bench, memorabilia from the past when cotton was king, and endless references to books and souvenirs on “Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil.”— a great book but a lousy movie. One interesting thing we saw was a trundle bed that had rope strung around the frame to hold up the mattress. On the side was a wooden handle to tighten the rope. The old saying “Sleep tight and don’t let the bedbugs bite” came from there. We had learned earlier that the mattresses were made from horsehair or Spanish Moss, which had bugs in it. To celebrate our last night in town we found and very much enjoyed an Italian restaurant called Il Pasticcio. Enough Southern cooking for a while although the Grouper that I ordered was delicious.
Salvatore, the night clerk at the Inn, who by the way worked in Naples, Italy until just 4 months before, had made taxi reservations for the ride to the Amtrak station, and promptly at noon Ray picked us up and off we went. During the short ride we found out from Ray, a rather large man and a real Redneck, that he was a Free Mason, a native--his family tree took up two volumes and he still doesn’t carry five-dollar bills in his wallet. As he reminded us “they came down here, we didn’t go up there.”
After our 7 day stay in the area it was quite obvious that not much has changed in the 150 years since Robert E. Lee surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant at the McLean house in Appomattox. Our stay was pleasant, the people polite, kind and accommodating but still very much Southern and as we were taught to say: “Y’all have a good day.”
It’s all in who you know
The centuries-old walled city of Lucca has been home to the Etruscans, the Romans, Napoleon, the Jews, and now me. Having been born just a few kilometers from the center of this historic city has always given me great pleasure in coming back and reliving the sights and sounds, while enjoying the grandeur of the churches, villas, and monuments. But the real reason for our visit this time was to attend my brother’s 70th birthday celebration. Our week in Paris and four days in Florence was just a preamble to the main event.
Friday night’s meet and greet for the many out of town friends was held at the Baluardo San Pietro, a very special place that, as I was told by the party planner, was not available to just anyone, and considering the location and beauty of the room I can see why. The only thing missing were the plume-helmeted archers standing at attention by the entrance with their crossbows at the ready. Inside the atmosphere was much more casual with local Tuscan wines, a full bar, and trays full of delicious hors d’oeuvres. The huge center table covered with local delicacies was fit for a king, and the food more than took care of dinner as the guests mingled and we all had the chance to witness the start of a stunning sunset over the city of Lucca.
Throughout the evening we had the opportunity to greet so many old and dear friends that had made this special jaunt. Additionally, we still have relatives that live in the area and it’s always a true pleasure to reconnect with them while trying to determine their place on the family tree. The usual gatherings at home don’t even come close to the aura of the evening…..truly a once in a lifetime occasion.
Saturday night’s party was held at a villa about 15 minutes outside the walls where Larry and his family were staying, and the setting rivaled that of any Southern mansion. With perfectly manicured lawns, and olive groves and vineyards, it was the perfect setting for a true celebration, and the food was something that will be talked about for years to come. In addition to the 5 piece band, we were all surprised by the appearance of Kyle Vincent, who in addition to being a real San Francisco Giants fan is also a great entertainer, and entertain us he did. In addition to the live show we were all given a copy of Kyle’s latest album, “Detour”, a lasting reminder of this memorable evening. After the evening’s merriment, we old timers left at an appropriate hour, but I have it on good authority that the music and dancing was still going on in the wee hours of the morning.
With a week left to enjoy Lucca, we revisited some of our old favorites while exploring new streets and byways. We found out that there is an evening performance every day of the year at the church of San Giovanni starting at 7 pm where a piano player, a tenor, and baritone perform many of Puccini’s famous compositions, perfect for a before-dinner treat. The stirring rendition of O Sole Mio brought down the house as everyone stood up for an encore, and the singers certainly did not disappoint. On Wednesday evening we enjoyed the first of the many concerts in the square that we watched right outside our window, as a reported 10,000 fans enjoyed the music of Bob Dylan, the first entertainer appearing in the Lucca Summer Music Festival.
In the few days remaining after the party, we had the opportunity to enjoy dinner with a few of the visiting friends and relatives and catch up on the adventures of our respective families. With so many beautiful churches in Lucca we spent the last day visiting a few of the more popular ones such as San Michele, San Martino, and the Basilica of San Frediano. A good way to get rid of all the loose change for lighting candles, which are now mostly battery powered.
So as Larry and his family packed for a few days in Venice we wrapped it up on Saturday morning as well, got dropped off at the Florence airport for our short flight to Paris, and found our way for our overnight stay at the Citizen M, a Motel 6 on steroids that boasts mini rooms the size of a large walk-in closet, but is the epitome of efficiency. The hotel is within walking distance from the tram stations that encircle the airport, has check-in kiosks, mood lighting in each room, free Wi-Fi, television, movies and several ways to determine the sound of your wake up alarm, all controlled by a small I-pad on the night stand. The room is as wide as the bed but it all works. Truly designed for the short term traveler, it worked extremely well for us as we enjoyed dinner and breakfast in the cafeteria-style dining room, shared tables and printed our boarding passes all within the confines of a few feet.
Sunday morning United delivered us back from where we started while lopping off almost an hour on the travel time, and they didn’t even lose my suitcase. So now it’s back to reality, back home, and eventually back to work. Truly, the party is over and what a party it was. From all the Facebook postings it was truly one of a kind, and having been there I can certainly attest to that. Great fun, great times, great friends and family and the only thing left to say is “Thanks for the memories”…….Happy Birthday Larry.
Sergio Nibbi gets around — the world. Feedback: email@example.com
An American in Paris
It’s a bright, sunny, Sunday afternoon as our United Airlines flight sits anxiously waiting on the tarmac, listening for that familiar message from the control tower, “United Flight 990 ready for takeoff.” With a June 22nd Westside Observer deadline looming in the wings, what better excuse than to spend seven days in the City of Light for some great food, fun, and festivities. Although our flight was almost two hours late in leaving, we did arrive at Charles de Gaulle on schedule and fairly rested. Our driver Nalen, who was born in Sri Lanka, was there to help us with our two bags and direct us to his waiting car, and we listened to his curses sotto voce as we were told that the traffic was horrible due the air show that’s in town all week.
Our home for the next seven days would be at the Hotel Brighton at 218 rue de Rivoli, a first for us but certainly not the last. A close friend who preceded us by a few weeks at the hotel struck up an acquaintance with the director, John Rodrigues, and told him that we would also be staying at the Brighton. Actually we’re the ones that recommended the hotel to him, but whatever was said it certainly worked. Room 408 sits on a corner of the building and faces the Tuileries Gardens, and our view stretches from the towers of Notre Dame to the Eiffel Tower and beyond. Not the typical European small, dark, cramped room, this could pass for a studio apartment in today’s San Francisco, so much so that we’ve never spent so much time in a hotel room admiring the gardens, the buildings of the Louvre, and enjoying the two brightly lit clocks on either end of the d’Orsay Museum, directly across from us.
Tuesday morning we were joined by my cousin Giulia, who lives in Lucca but is presently teaching at the University of Bordeaux. We had also set up a lunch with some Marin County friends who are in Paris, and the five of us had a very Parisian lunch and lovely visit. By late afternoon our daughter, her husband, and our granddaughter arrived from London and are also staying at the Brighton.
Wednesday and Thursday were devoted to touring the museums, and our two day pass served us well as we started with the Musee d’Orsay, which was a former train station and is now home to countless displays of impressionist paintings, Art Nouveau, sculptures and modern works of art. The biggest surprise was that now photos are allowed. The Musee de L’Orangerie was interesting, but lacked the grandeur of its bigger brother, but again we were treated to two large rooms whose walls were covered by Claude Monet’s water lilies. An afternoon stop at the Opera House was the perfect pathway to the Galerias Lafayette, a ten story department store that has one of the most spectacular glass and steel domes and Art Nouveau staircases ever seen. We were tempted to have lunch at MacDonald’s on the second floor, but settled for the main dining area which is on the 6th.
But as spectacular as the Galerias is, nothing could have prepared us for our visit to the Foundation Louis Vuitton on Friday. Designed by American architect Frank Gehry, the ultra-modern, glass and steel structure is beyond words. Imagine taking a sheet of paper, crumpling it up and then designing a building that looks like it. Truly a masterpiece. After touring the various exhibits and gardens we wrapped up our cameras and headed out. Our driver Sylvain Inzani asked us if we wanted to make a few other stops. With three women in the car their unanimous choice was the Louie Vuitton store on the Avenue des Champs Elysees. It quickly became a tossup as to what cost more, Frank Gehry’s building or our quick visit at the store!!! Our next stop was at Notre Dame to say a few prayers for our American Express cards, and then after a brief lunch stop we headed to Montmartre, which was packed with tourists, followed by a brief visit to the Basilica of the Sacre Coeur. Those prayers must have worked…..no bounced checks yet.
Thursday evening we enjoyed a true Parisian experience as we joined a group of 15 others for a nighttime tour of the Eiffel Tower. The tour started at 9:30 and ended at 11 pm. The young tour guide handed us all our own earphones and receiver and spoke of the history, construction, and the politics of the day before they ever drove a rivet. We then boarded a two level elevator that followed the shape of the tower and dropped us off at the 2nd level viewing area. At night Paris was spectacular.
Saturday we spent the day walking around the area, sat in the metal reclining chairs that surround the huge pond in the Tuilleries, and had a nice quiet dinner before starting to pack for our Sunday afternoon flight to Florence.
It’s been a marvelous stay but much too short. We’ve seen a lot and what more can one say about Paris? Great fun and memorable as always, but I must admit to one indiscretion which I hope that the good Lord will see to forgive me. Certainly not like me but we all make choices that we carry throughout our lives and hope for forgiveness at some point………God forgive me…..in a weak moment, I bought a selfie-stick!!!
Standing Room Only
Western style barbequed ribs, enchiladas with rice and refried beans, cellophane noodles with Dungeness crab, Belgian Pearl sugar waffles or falafel. Does that sound like food enjoyed on an around the world cruise on Crystal or Seaborne? Do you have to travel far and wide to enjoy these and other world cuisines?
The trucks shuttle from location to location, and there’s always something new and different to be enjoyed every day, seven days a week.”
I traveled no further than Burlingame and San Francisco to indulge. If you don’t mind eating alfresco or being scared half to death by the sound of a speeding Cal-Train just inches from your table, then you might want to join those traveling gourmets and visit the food trucks every Tuesday night that park themselves on California Drive at Broadway Avenue in Burlingame. Each truck is uniquely painted with interesting names, but don’t expect a Slanted Door, a French Laundry or Poggio, although the food is unique and delicious. The Burlingame lot is appropriately called Off the Grid, and yes, they do have an app to let you know where the trucks are appearing on any given day and all the services they provide. I’ve attended a few private parties where the food truck pulled up, served the guests and headed off….no fuss, no muss.
In the process of checking out the trucks I ran into a very nice young man by the name of Rich Mainzer whose 6-wheeler goes by the name of Boneyard. As another train went screaming by, the rush of air engulfed me with the aroma of ribs and baked beans, so a few minutes later I headed back to my car with a container of delicious food that served as dinner for that night.
But what’s a nice dinner without dessert? How about a donut truck with every variety of crispy donuts hanging on wooden pegs ready to be enjoyed with a nice espresso or a cold beer?
The San Francisco truck farm is located on the corner of 11th and Bryant Streets, tucked under the Central Freeway, and is appropriately known as Soma Streat Food Park. This location is much larger than its Peninsula counterpart and has outdoor tables with umbrellas, covered sheds with tables and chairs, and an old streetcar that found a new life outfitted with benches and tables. There again you’ll find more of the colorful trucks with names like Bacon/Bacon, KasaIndia, The Fish Tank, Firetrail Pizza, and of course, Cookie Time. And if you’re in the mood for a little refreshment, how about some Sangria or a Mimosa? The trucks shuttle from location to location, and there’s always something new and different to be enjoyed every day, seven days a week. With such a variety of different food one would think that boredom would not an issue, but should one desire a change what better place than Costco, which is right across the street, where you can grab a hot dog and a giant soda for $1.25. Don’t forget the Softie ice-cream while you’re there - it’ll go great with that treat from Cookie Time.
Taking a Bath
“Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.”
Such is the Rime of the Ancient Mariner written in 1797 by the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. And here we are almost 220 years later with the same lament. The threat of tsunamis, rising tides, global warming and snowless mountain peaks are all too real and very much a part of our daily lives. Aside from growing almonds, where did all the water go? Did the Romans have such fears or concerns? Did they let it mellow until it was yellow? Did they have better politicians? Hardly!
After our informative tour we stopped at the Pump Room, where we enjoyed a glass of the spa water that is reputed to have mystical healing powers. To be honest, to me it tasted like water. ”
A very dear friend recently quizzed us about their forthcoming trip to London with a few days in Bath. We were there in 1990 and all I remember is “water, water, everywhere.” I also remember how good the Pistachio ice cream was, but that’s the subject of another story. The train ride from London to Bath was enjoyable, picturesque, and on time. We met up with some friends who were staying a few days in Bath so we let them lead the way.
Our first stop was the Roman Baths, where their engineering skills shone brightly. The baths had hot water, cold water, dry and wet heat. Having been built over 2,000 years ago, it is still one of the best-preserved Roman remains in the world. The average folk bathed only once a day, but the more fortunate double dipped, followed by a full body shave and undoubtedly a relaxing massage. It was a great life while it lasted, until the lead pipes providing the water put the party on hold.
To enhance our visit we picked up an audio guide and listened carefully as we admired the courtyard built in honor of the goddess Sulis Minerva. After our informative tour we stopped at the Pump Room, where we enjoyed a glass of the spa water that is reputed to have mystical healing powers. To be honest, to me it tasted like water.
On our way to lunch at the Moon and Sixpence we passed by Sally Lunn’s, the oldest house in Bath dating back to 1482, grabbed a sample at the San Francisco Fudge Factory, and managed a visit at the spectacular Bath Abbey, whose interior was draped in sunlight and whose ceiling looked like it was made of Murano lace. We managed a stop at the Costume Museum, and a visit at the Royal Crescent with its perfectly manicured lawns, and it was time to head back to London. We found Bath to be larger than expected and certainly worth a few days’ stay next time around.
So now as we look back at the story of the hapless sailors who were stranded in the Antarctic, led to safety by an albatross only to have the albatross killed by an angry mariner who was destined to wear that albatross around his neck for the rest of his life, are we being fooled by our well-meaning politicians who may be trying to lead us out of this drought only to take away all that precious water, raise the prices, and then end up within a few years with an overabundance of water as nature has been known to do. Hopefully we won’t be seeing that politician anytime soon with that albatross around his neck. If you were to find him, it may be a good time to read that poem once again. Now go flush your toilet.
If you thought that last year’s post season was a nail biter for the San Francisco Giants,then hold on to your baseball caps! I had the pleasure of spending a few days recently in Scottsdale, and our World Series champs still have the look and feel of champions but the big question is “can they repeat?” The team is virtually intact, except for a few new faces that will only add new energy and excitement to the lineup, and with Pablo’s trash-talking now off the sports pages it’s back to the daily grind. Yes, it’s true that an unfortunate wild pitch did do serious harm to Hunter Pence’s left arm, but look at how strong Buster Posey returned after that knockout hit at the plate. As a team leader his enthusiasm on and off the field will be missed, but if anyone can bounce back quickly, Hunter certainly will.
The team is in place, the spirits are high, the energy is there and thankfully Bruce Bochy never looked better.”
|Bruce Bochy, courtesy of Wikipedia Commons
The Giants ownership group gathers in Scottsdale once a year and I had the opportunity to spend some time with a few of them. They’ve already polished their ring fingers for a third diamond-encrusted World Series ring, but there’s certainly plenty of room for a fourth one at the end of this season. Are they aware that this is an odd year after two even year wins? Are the odds against them? Are they concerned? Yes, yes and yes, but they’ve all gotten a bit spoiled and the thought of another team walking away with the title this year is not even discussed. Hopefully the team won’t feel pressured that every game is a playoff game, but considering what they battled last year they can definitely handle the pressure.
The team certainly looked loose and relaxed at the yearly gathering on Friday night as the players, owners, and guests gathered at the Hyatt Gainey Ranch for some great food, a few cold ones, endless autographs, and enough photographs to rival the red carpet at the Academy Awards. The following evening we all gathered at Don and Charlie’s, where after two heartfelt invocations by both Rabbi Dan Feder and Franciscan Father John Hardin, we enjoyed a few more libations followed by their world-famous ribs and steaks. Next came the comments from the sports commentators, encouragement from the coaches, and of course the main event of the evening when Allan Byer disclosed his much anticipated “word of the year.” With bated breath we listened as Allan proclaimed this year’s choice “Havaball” and trust me, in the past there have been some real winners. And if that wasn’t enough it also happened to be my Brother Larry’s 70th birthday so we had plenty to celebrate. Both Mike Krukow and Duane Kuiper did a great skit on the number 70 that had us all in stitches, and the cake that followed was one of the best that I’ve had in a long time. In the past Willie Mays had always been a fixture at the party, but as much as his presence was missed, we had the opportunity to talk some baseball with past greats Orlando Cepeda, Joey Amalfitano, Dave Dravecky and Gaylord Perry.
|Willie Mays and Father John Hardin
So now, as we anxiously await April 6th for the season opener in Phoenix, we can only hope we will all participate in that grand parade down Market Street one more time. The team is in place, the spirits are high, the energy is there and thankfully Bruce Bochy never looked better. The greatest joy is watching how well the team interacts and the respect that they all have for one another. Unlike our southern neighbors who seem to be spending more time battling with their friends and girlfriends off the field, the San Francisco Giants are for real, and another world championship is just a few short months away. Let’s all hear it, “Go Giants.”
From Pitches to Putts
What better way to kick off the baseball season than to follow Buster Posey at the AT&T Pebble Beach National Pro-Am.
Buster’s 15 handicap doesn’t quite match up with his three World Series championships, Rookie of the Year, MVP and a batting title, all accomplished by the tender age of 27, but you can be sure the spectators enjoyed every stroke of his first appearance at Pebble, all the while admitting that he’d never taken a professional golf lesson. Matched with professional golfer Nick Watney, he managed to outdistance his good friend and team mate, Matt Cain.
With 156 professionals and as many amateurs, the list is peppered with a host of very well- known players, and memories from past champions such as Jack Nicklaus, Tom Watson, Mark O’Meara, Vijay Singh, and of course our very own Tiger Woods. This year’s winner was Brandt Snedeker with a very respectful 22 under par, under beautifully clear skies, as the record breaking crowd enjoyed the Scottsdale-type weather. But as impressive as his last minute win was, how many in the crowd knew that much about Snedeker? But ask about Buster and there was no doubt about whom he is or what he does.
As in the past, the celebrities broke up the seriousness of the game trying to keep the $1,224,000 first place purse on a lighter note while a total of $6,800,000 was spread out amongst the professional field. Ray Romano, Andy Garcia, Huey Lewis and of course the perpetual crowd pleaser and funnyman Bill Murray are always there to entertain and add a lighter note to one of the most famous golf tournaments on the PGA tour. One of the best known celebrities was the late actor Jack Lemmon, who played in the tournament for 35 times but never made the cut to tee it up on Sunday for the final round. Condoleezza Rice was one of the 156, and although she did quite well on the greens she certainly was no amateur when it came to putting her political face on, adding a few strokes to her chances for a run for State Senate should she so decide.
So now the Pro-Am is history and the fans have headed home, the private jets have flown off, and 2015 has once again provided generously for the local charities that have benefitted since 1937 when Bing Crosby invited a group of friends to get together for some golf, a clambake and some friendly fun. Since then that innocent gathering has raised over 120 million dollars.
For us the next stop is Scottsdale, where we’ll be in a few weeks to spend a long weekend in the desert sun, catch a game or two, enjoy a few ribs at Don and Charlie’s and cheer on our San Francisco Giants as they head for a fourth World Series championship in October...a nice way to start the year, a nice way to end the year. Go Giants!!!
When the Wall Came Tumbling Down
With the price of gasoline in the tank, and the ruble in freefall, I couldn’t help but think about our first trip to Russia. It was in June of 1990 and the Berlin wall was coming down. Our trip started from London on Royal Cruise Lines’ Crown Odyssey as we journeyed through the Kiel Canal and its many locks, taking us through a Disneyland-like sojourn of small villages, beautifully decorated homes, and acres of agricultural flatlands. A brief stop at The Cathedral of Our Savior of Spilled Blood to admire the more than 7,000 square feet of mosaics, and then it was off to the Hermitage, where we enjoyed endless rooms full of priceless art from the old masters such as Picasso, Rubens, Titian, Rembrandt, and beautiful paintings from the French Impressionists.
A brief stop at The Cathedral of Our Savior of Spilled Blood to admire the more than 7,000 square feet of mosaics, and then it was off to the Hermitage, where we enjoyed endless rooms full of priceless art from the old masters such as Picasso, Rubens, Titian, Rembrandt, and beautiful paintings from the French Impressionists.”
Our first stop was in Hamburg, Germany where we visited the major tourist spots, enjoyed lunch with our tour group at a beautiful local restaurant, and boarded a bus that was to take us to the outskirts where a barbed wire fence still remained, which in fact was an extension of the Berlin wall. The guards were no longer armed, and in fact greeted us graciously as we passed through the wire gates, walked around, and even allowed us to have our passports stamped from their side of the border. Still visible were the sand dunes and trenches that separated the two opposing sides. Each night the sand would be raked smooth so that any footprints found the next morning would be indications of individuals trying to make it across.
From there our next stop was in Gdynia and Gdansk, where again our tour bus took us through the major areas where we saw high-rise residential buildings that ran for blocks and were built after the Second World War to house the survivors of this horrible conflict. We also visited the main tourist area of the old town. Narrow, tall buildings had not only interesting architecture but years of history to tell.
From Poland it was off to Leningrad, formerly known as Petrograd and now St. Petersburg. Although we were there for only one day we were greeted warmly by our tour guide and spent both the morning and afternoon touring the usual tourist attractions.
Our first stop was at the Bronze Horseman, a monument to Peter the Great, followed by a quick tour of Palace Square, the main square of the Russian Empire. Next was a photo-op in front of the statue of Lenin, as we were reminded that between 1924 and 1991 the city bore the name of Leningrad. A drive by the Admiralty Building and it was time to head back to the ship to enjoy our lunch. No food in town because as they told us at the time, “we only have one doctor aboard the ship.” (Considering some of the outbreaks lately on these cruise ships we might have been better off eating in the city!!) The afternoon bus ride brought us through the more residential areas, where I noticed that most of the buildings were desperately in need of repair. The traffic was light and the people standing in endless lines for food and clothing. By mid-afternoon we were treated to a shopping spree at the Beriozka, the State-run retail store that accepted credit cards and hard currency. We did buy a few Russian boxes and other trinkets but shopping there was certainly not as much fun as haggling with the street venders who had Russian boxes and Russian watches for a fraction of the retail prices.
A brief stop at The Cathedral of Our Savior of Spilled Blood to admire the more than 7,000 square feet of mosaics, and then it was off to the Hermitage, where we enjoyed endless rooms full of priceless art from the old masters such as Picasso, Rubens, Titian, Rembrandt, and beautiful paintings from the French Impressionists.
It was certainly a full and memorable day, and not at all like our second trip to St. Petersburg in 2006 where democracy was in full swing and capitalism the rule of the day. The funniest part of the trip was going through Passport Control in San Francisco where the customs officer, after seeing our passport stamped from East Germany, asked us with a stern face, “Where have you been?” We have since gotten a new passport.
A Bright and Shining Star
It was a simple conversation between two old friends that had nothing to do with travel. At the end of our discussion, George Lippi from Fugazi Travel happened to mention the new cruise terminal in San Francisco, and how lovely it was, and how much people were enjoying cruises to Mexico leaving from and returning to our beautiful city. The conversation ended, and two weeks later we were standing in line waiting to board the Star Princess with our daughter Kathy and her husband Mark. People spend months planning trips but this one happened quickly, without warning, and was a complete and total surprise.
Three days at sea sounded like a real treat, but like all good things it went by much too quickly. We were fortunate enough to have “any time dining” which gave us plenty of time for a cocktail or two…”
The new terminal is beautiful, very modern, and the walls lined with the names of generous donors that made it all possible. Up the gangplank, stop and smile for the camera, carry-on over your shoulder, and head for your room.
Once settled in we toured the ship and got our bearings while the tons of provisions on the dock were loaded aboard, and the huge barge on our starboard side nursed ten days of fuel into the ship’s thirsty tanks. Leaving an hour late gave us the opportunity to pass under the Golden Gate Bridge in early darkness, enjoying the orange lights illuminating this magnificent structure.
Three days at sea sounded like a real treat, but like all good things it went by much too quickly. We were fortunate enough to have “any time dining” which gave us plenty of time for a cocktail or two, and saved us from having to rush off to dinner at a predetermined time. The food and service was truly first class, and as an added treat, we had the opportunity to try the specialty restaurants like Sabatini’s and the Crown Grill.
Our first stop on Monday was Cabo San Lucas, where the challenge of the day was getting on and off the tenders without looking like a drunk trying to find his way home, while those a little chunkier than we struggled mercilessly while we placed bets on who would or would not get dunked in the process. Why is it that the older, fatter ones always want to struggle with the tender’s steep, narrow ladder, just to go and sit on the top deck for the short ride to town? One could do an award winning video on just that alone.
Once past a small army of hawkers, we worked our way along the boardwalk and into a few shops selling still more of the same trinkets. Kathy and Mark had gone scuba diving that morning and were ready for some nourishment, so we sat with them and settled for some nachos and a coke when we spotted a sign that said, “Massage $20.00.” Karen and I looked at each other and said, “what the heck.” It turned out to be one of the best massages ever.
Tuesday was Loreto, which we found to be a small town with a big surprise. The three block walk to the main street brought us past the Mission of Our Lady of Loreto, built by the Jesuits in 1697, a charming stone church with a bell tower and center court yard which was so reminiscent of our California missions. What nice people in this town, and so helpful. Our biggest disappointment was missing a ride back to the ship on the small cart powered by a donkey, and whose owner was as the sign said “hearing impaired.” No haggling, the sign said it all, “$3.00 per person.” We gave up on the wait and took a taxi instead.
That evening we were to be treated to a very special surprise, again courtesy of our good friend George. We had been contacted a few days earlier by Jean Paul Musiu, the head Maitre d’ inviting us to what is known as the “Chef’s Table” dinner. At 6:30 sharp we met in the lobby by the dining room entrance, where we introduced ourselves to the other two couples and donned our white coats. The eight of us followed Jean Paul through the dining room, very much aware of the stares from the other diners, and into the kitchen where we were instructed on how to wash our hands and explained the protocol of kitchen cleanliness. We were given a tour of the kitchen where 1,500 meals are prepared and served in 90 minutes. With all that going on, the Executive Chef, Joel Derecto, joined us at a special table where we were served champagne and hor d’oeuvres that were beyond description.
Lobster and Shrimps Margarita, Tartare of Sterling, Silver and Beef, Mini Quiche with Black Truffles and a warm Potato Timbale with Sour Cream and Caviar, and that was just the hor d’oeuvres!! Once at the table we were served a Seafood Risotto topped with a mini lobster on top, a Strawberry and Cracked Pepper Sorbet with a splash of Grey Goose as a pallet cleanser, a Double Impact of Surf and Turf with more Lobster, Scallops and Beef Filet and Lamb Rib Chops presented on a metal rack designed by the Romans, which allowed us to choose which chop we wanted along with a variety of sauces, vegetables and chateau potatoes. The Baked Camembert with pine nuts followed and set the stage for a very special Bittersweet Chocolate Mousse with Caramel Cream and Milk Chocolate Crunch. The three wines that accompanied the dinner were superb, and to top it all off, Jean Paul presented each couple with an autographed copy of the Princess Cruises cookbook, Courses, A Culinary Journey, as well as a set of photos taken at the table. There are no words to describe the evening……..Thank you Jean Paul, Joel Derecto, and to the staff that took such great care of us.
The following morning we arrived at La Paz, and took a complimentary bus for the 30 minute ride into the center of town, looked around through the windows of the bus, looked at each other and said, “Let’s not bother to get off and wait for another bus.” Back we went, did some trinket shopping and were back on board for our 1:00 pm departure.
Today it was Puerto Vallarta, where we took a $4.00 taxi ride into town, walked around a bit and found a taxi driver that would show us around town for $10.00 per person. The one hour tour brought us by Elizabeth Taylor’s house, which is in the process of being remodeled, Richard Burton’s bridge with a statue of both, a stop at the Church of Our Lady of Guadalupe, a swing by “Tacos Bells” and a rollercoaster ride back to the ship. All the streets are paved with cobblestones that definitely show the ravages of time, and as the taxi driver told us, it’s a “Mexican massage.” This evening we set sail for San Francisco at 8:00 PM, and then after three days at sea it’s back under that beautiful bridge and back to reality. The timing for us was perfect. In a few more days its Thanksgiving, which sets the pace for us as we face the holiday season. Considering that we have seven functions in seven days coming up I think this mini diversion was wisely timed. Take care, enjoy the season, stay well, thank you to our Star Princess and as my Mexican friends say, “Hasta la Vista.”
From Baseball to Boston
With baseball on everyone’s mind and with the Giants in the World Series once again, orange and black are the colors that encircle the Bay Area. From a world class ballpark to the many sports bars, restaurants and private parties our lives are put on hold for what may well be a dynasty in the making. By the time this issue of the Westside Observer hits the streets, the Giants’ fate will have been sealed and hopefully crowned with a third World Series victory in the last 5 years.
…our journey started in Boston and brought us through some of the most beautiful country we’ve ever seen. We traveled from Boston through Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont, ending in Providence, Rhode Island. As beautiful as the countryside was the food was a close second coupled with the charm and hospitality of the innkeepers and restaurateurs.”
But October also brings back memories of the fall colors so vivid in the New England States. As we face shorter days and morning mist I’m reminded of our last trip through New England, where our journey started in Boston and brought us through some of the most beautiful country we’ve ever seen. We traveled from Boston through Maine, New Hampshire and Vermont, ending in Providence, Rhode Island. As beautiful as the countryside was the food was a close second coupled with the charm and hospitality of the innkeepers and restaurateurs.
Heading north from Boston we followed a costal route to Salem, passing a handful of lonely lighthouses hugging the rocky New England coast. Our guide book directed us to Pickering Wharf and the Peabody Museum. The Pickering Wharf area hosts a large variety of sleek yachts and a three mast schooner called Friendship. Our first night was spent in Portsmouth, New Hampshire where we enjoyed a delicious dinner of veal steak with sun-dried tomatoes. From Portsmouth to Portland, Maine the colors seemed to brighten with every passing mile.
The Philbrook Farm Inn in Lyme, New Hampshire was our home for our third night, a stately looking Colonial-style building that has been serving guests since 1861. From Lyme to Ludlow, Vermont was a short hop that gave us the opportunity to check in early at The Governor’s Inn for a memorable stay, not to mention the six-course dinner and a hearty breakfast the following morning. As I recall, we ordered a picnic lunch to take along for our easy ride to West Dover, stopping along the way to enjoy the brilliant colors and nature’s beauty.
The Hancock Shaker Village looked more like a castle than a village, but we did enjoy the displays and history of the area as we drove to New Marlboro, Massachusetts. The Monterey Chevre cheese that we tasted at the Rawson Brook Farm was reminiscent of the many delicacies that we so enjoyed along the way. The General Samuel McClellan House in South Woodstock provided us with a relaxing stop before heading off to Providence, Rhode Island, where the quaint countryside transformed to big city.
Our journey ended in Providence, but the memories will always remain with us, as will the brilliant hues of the countryside turning red, yellow and orange. The inns where we stayed were staffed mostly by families, and the dinners usually served as part of the package. There is no doubt that the show put on by nature is a true gift to be enjoyed by all and a precursor to the winter months ahead. Let’s only hope that as the season changes and the weather cools, our hearts will be warmed once again by yet another parade down Market Street honoring our World Series champions, the San Francisco Giants.
A Change in Plans
In the construction industry an addendum refers to a revision to a project’s plans or specifications or a clarification to the bid documents. It is not unusual to have a number of changes to a project either before or during construction, and in many cases these changes can amount to added dollars or endless delays to the work schedule. But one thing that never changes is the great food and outdoor experience that one can enjoy at Addendum, a shack of a place right off the main drag in Yountville, deep in the Napa Valley. Hidden behind Thomas Keller’s Ad Hoc restaurant, its Washington Street location is immediately off the Yountville off ramp from Highway 29. Open Thursday through Saturday and only during the summer months, it’s a pure delight to meander through its small garden with its summer crops of squash, tomatoes, lettuce and a variety of other vegetables that serve its big brother, Ad Hoc, and the world famous French Laundry. The line at the order window can be a bit daunting at times, but the fried chicken is, as they say, “to die for.”
And when it’s all said and done you will have enjoyed some great food at reasonable prices and certainly not the 3 to 4 hundred dollar meals at the French Laundry, especially if you choose the wine pairings. Sure, you end up with plastic utensils (which are compostable), paper napkins and handy wipes to clean those delicious chicken drippings off your chin, but for twenty bucks plus some extra coins for a cookie or two you will have had a memorable meal that’s satisfying and filling”
If a mineral water won’t satisfy your thirst they have a nice selection of wines and beer, not to mention an assortment of T-shirts and caps for the unsuspecting tourist. Redwood picnic tables are nicely placed under a few shade trees, or a handy pergola serves the same purpose. Give them your name and before long a bag full of delicious, crispy fried chicken arrives with a nice slice of golden honey cornbread and two sides, all served in compostable paper containers, but in my case at least one container always follows us home for evening leftovers. They also have barbequed ribs, but my first choice is always that delicious fried chicken served piping hot and finger-licking good.
The parking lot is not huge but we always manage to squeeze in and there always seems to be a spot at one of the tables, the best part being that you can share a table and meet and greet other diners and compare notes on the food, the valley, and the best wine tasting experiences while enjoying that great food.
I always felt that my mother made the best fried chicken in her cast iron pan which was always a Sunday night treat, but I must admit that for me this is a close second. And speaking of seconds, after such a nice treat one should meander a block or so down the street to Bouchon Bakery, also owned by Thomas Keller of French Laundry fame, and treat oneself to my favorite, giant macaroons in assorted colors, and in addition there’s always the tarts, cookies, and Chocolate Bouchons, moist brownies with a warm chocolate center. The lines in front of the bakery can at times be a little unnerving but certainly worth the wait.
And when it’s all said and done you will have enjoyed some great food at reasonable prices and certainly not the 3 to 4 hundred dollar meals at the French Laundry, especially if you choose the wine pairings. Sure, you end up with plastic utensils (which are compostable), paper napkins and handy wipes to clean those delicious chicken drippings off your chin, but for twenty bucks plus some extra coins for a cookie or two you will have had a memorable meal that’s satisfying and filling. Understandably you won’t have the bragging rights of a meal at the Laundry, but if you want good food that won’t max out your credit card then Addendum would be my recommendation.
Taken for a Ride
For the residents of the Monterey Peninsula, it can be a real pain in the gas tank. For the local merchants it’s a bonanza arriving on highly polished, chrome-plated wheels. Since 1950, the Concours d’Elegance has been a fixture in Pebble Beach, Carmel and neighboring cities of Pacific Grove and Seaside. With some of the finest cars from around the world being displayed, driven, raced and mostly admired, the weeklong celebration can sometimes be a bit annoying to those trying to cross the street or get to a scheduled appointment, but the glitz is golden. Highly organized and well managed, the traffic is kept moving by the local police departments with a helping hand from the California Highway Patrol.
In the Pacific Grove Concours Auto Rally, more than 200 participants showed off their classic and vintage cars to more than 8,000 spectators along the route through Pacific Grove, Pebble Beach, up Carmel’s Ocean Avenue, and returning to Pacific Grove.”
The Concours d’Elegance, along with the Pebble Beach Road Races, has grown over the years to provide something for everyone. For the well-heeled collector, there are numerous auctions that provide opportunity to bid on hundreds of cars, many of which will exceed the million dollar mark; a Ferrari 250 GTO Berlinetta was just reported by Bonhams as having been sold for a record $38,115,00. And if the cars don’t turn you on, then how about all the extraordinary exhibits of automotive art. Having started in 1986 the Automotive Fine Arts Society presents an exhibition of its paintings and sculptures on the 18th Fairway at the Pebble Beach Golf Links. Not even at the old Bing Crosby pro-am could you have seen such masterful works of art. A piece by Klaus Wagger shows two Ferrari 250TRs finishing first and second at the Sebring Grand Prix in 1958 appropriately titled, “Redheads.”
Not to be left out, the Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion was held at Laguna Seca raceway, where more than 550 historic and period correct racecars competed over a four-day period with cars from all four corners of the globe.
Highlighting this year’s festivities was the celebration of Maserati’s 100th Anniversary, held at Quail Lodge in Carmel Valley where more than 150 of the most important cars in history were showcased along with fine food and great wine to match this incredible gathering. Private jets, exotic cars and the obvious 3rd ingredient, beautiful women, all made for a showcase of the upper 1%, but all the big money doesn’t always fall under the auctioneer’s gavel. Last year over $200,000 was raised for youth programs on the Monterey Peninsula.
In the Pacific Grove Concours Auto Rally, more than 200 participants showed off their classic and vintage cars to more than 8,000 spectators along the route through Pacific Grove, Pebble Beach, up Carmel’s Ocean Avenue, and returning to Pacific Grove. Although Fiat is this year’s featured marque, the Aston Martins, Porsches, Lamborghinis, Bentleys and Rolls can certainly hold their own.
Up and down the streets, there was no denying the roar of one of those 25 Testa Rosa roadsters was a very distinctive part of the weeklong festivities. The sounds and thrills are undeniable, but what am I to say as I drive around in my Ford Fusion Electric? No roar, no splash, and no seven figures, but the only number that counts for me is the 81 miles per gallon that I averaged with my last fill-up. God bless the super-rich for the show that they just put on. We all enjoyed it but in the end I’m just as happy waving to the next gas station on my way to the power plug in my garage. Now I only hope that PG&E doesn’t pull the plug.
From the 25th floor of our hotel room Mr. Trump provided us with a panoramic view of downtown Chicago, the Chicago River and an endless view of a clear and calm Lake Michigan with its limitless supply of water that eventually runs through its sister lakes empting out in the Atlantic. For the first time in recent memory we could treat ourselves to a nice, long, hot shower and not feel a tinge of guilt. If only we could take some back home!
Traveling to Chicago is always a treat but this time it’s extra special as we head to Milwaukee for our granddaughter Kristen’s graduation from Marquette University. Having arrived on Monday and staying for four days gave us plenty of time to see the cousins and grab some delicious food along the way with a few casual stops at the beautifully manicured shops along Michigan Avenue’s Miracle Mile. A late afternoon treat left little room for a large dinner so we settled for a snack and a glass of wine at Rebar, the hotel’s casual dining area. Karen’s $24.00 glass of Jordan’s cabernet was a bargain compared to my $28.00 glass of Chianti. Welcome to the Trump Tower.
Our good friend Jack O’Donnell, who lives about an hour out of Chicago, had made arrangements to join us for lunch on Tuesday at Shaw’s Crab House which fortunately for us was just a short block from the hotel. No sooner had we finished our visit than it was time to head to the Broadway Playhouse for the evening performance of “Buyer and Cellar”, a one man show starring Michael Urie, who tells the story of working in Barbra Streisand’s cellar mall. Without an intermission the play was over in time to get to Mario Batali’s Eataly, a two story building sporting fresh produce, 6 restaurants, endless displays of wine, cookies, dessert and its very own Nutella bar. We settled for an appetizer and a pizza and a couple of glasses of wine that didn’t set us back an arm and a leg. A couple of bucks to the homeless guy on the corner got us directions to our hotel without incident.
We spent Wednesday morning with my cousin Geri and her husband Ron Lenzi as they showed us around Chicago and the neighboring suburbs finally ending up at their beautiful home on the shore of Lake Michigan. That evening we met with another set of cousins at Ron’s well know restaurant, The Erie Café. My Veal al Limone was out of this world.
After a quick stop at Nordstrom’s to look at some new pants (no I had not outgrown mine in just a few days) we headed to my cousin Joe and Theresa’s house for another family gathering. Getting out of Chicago in the late afternoon is challenging so at the suggestion of our dear friend Ellis Rhoades we took his advice and took the Metra train to Arlington Heights. Now I can’t remember the last time I rode a train in this country but the 40 minute ride was a real blast. One would think that Mussolini had taken over the Chicago rail system. On time and clean trains. What a treat.
Our daughter Kathy and her husband Mark arrived late Thursday night and by Friday morning it was time to pack it up and head to the Pfister Hotel in Milwaukee. Kristen joined us for the three night stay and we got a chance to visit with her as she prepared for Sunday’s graduation festivities. Friday night we ate at Capital Grill and Saturday at Bacchus, both beautiful restaurants where beef is king and where the wine lists would put the best of Napa’s gourmet restaurants to shame. This is beer country but wine seems to have taken over.
The graduation ceremony was held at the BMO Harris Bradley Center, the home of the Milwaukee Bucks basketball team. By the time the ceremony started every seat in the house was taken. Fortunately we arrived early and after the usual introductions, prayers and pledges the crowd was enthralled by the keynote address given by the Rev. James Martin, S.J. My only disappointment was that I had not recorded his comments but I later found out that they are available online. Here’s the link and I guarantee you it’s worth your time to listen to it. Not mushy, just great. After the main ceremony with over 2,700 graduates in attendance we moved to a smaller location for the presentation of the individual diplomas awarded to the students from the different departments. Kristen graduated from the College of Communication having majored in marketing and advertising. So many great young kids starting out their new professions not knowing what the future will hold for them. What a great adventure.
Sometimes the simplest moments leave the most lasting impressions. After all the great recommendations for the hotels, restaurants and sites, we headed for our celebratory dinner after graduation to what we expected to be another great dining experience. With a name like Chez Jacque one would expect a bistro reminiscent of a Paris eatery know only to the locals, hidden on a side street, right off the Seine, music waffling through the doors. As it happened Chez Jacque in Milwaukee left a little to be desired. More like a diner on the edge of the industrial district, it is best known for its Sunday brunch but by dinner it had run out of steam. The food was ok, the wine very French and the service very accommodating but unfortunately it was no Bacchus. As great as all the other restaurants were we’ll probably remember Chez Jacque for its funkiness for the rest of our lives.
So now it’s back home, back to work and helping Kristen look for that special opportunity that will propel her forward after 4 amazing years at Marquette. Congratulations on a job well done and from the proud grandparents, thanks for all the great memories of these past few days
A Prince of a Man
The world media has become enchanted by the recently elected Pope Francis, and with his message of love, generosity, and compassion. Not unlike a Hollywood rock star, in just a few short months he's graced the covers of numerous magazines from Vanity Fair to Rolling Stone and continues to attract the headlines on a regular basis. He's truly a breath of fresh air for all of us looking for a way to help those less fortunate and to aid in making a better life for our fellow human beings. But what about those who have preached the same message and been so instrumental in helping those in dire need?
Many years ago we had the good fortune of visiting Boys and Girls Town of Italy which is located just a few kilometers from the center of Rome. "La Citta dei Ragazzi di Roma" was founded by an extremely generous and very talented Irish priest by the name of Msgr. John Patrick Carroll-Abbing. Shortly after World War II, Monsignor Carroll approached Pope Pius Xl with the idea of helping the endless number of orphaned and abandoned children living on the streets of Rome. He referred to them as the "shoe shine kids," roaming the streets in search of food, money or whatever it took for them to survive.
Yes, we do have a new and lovable Pope, but let us not forget this humble Irish priest who gave up a promising career at the Vatican as a young man to devote his life to the care of orphaned and forgotten children of yet another horrible war.”
Our first visit occurred while our three children were still young but old enough to understand what Monsignor Carroll had accomplished in a relatively short time in building a facility where the citizens of Boys Town provided for themselves by governing their own city, creating their own currency, and learning new trades and skills. We sat with the boys and enjoyed a lovely meal with them while learning more of their history and successes at the home. After dinner we toured the area, visiting the dairy farm, the ceramic shop, classrooms and chapel. Yes, as tourists we had visited all the major sites in Rome including the Vatican and the Sistine Chapel, the Coliseum, the Pantheon and two of our favorites, the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain.
The Monsignor was always available to both the boys and the many visitors, and through the years he entertained the likes of Rocky Marciano, Perry Como, and Walt Disney. For many years Monsignor Carroll would make his yearly visit to San Francisco for an evening of fundraising and story telling, occasionally bringing one or two of the boys who would tell their story to the packed house at the Fairmont Hotel. We were fortunate to have spent many a pleasant evening enjoying a private dinner with him, listening to his many escapades as he told stories of meeting with presidents, royalty, and a host of characters from all walks of life.
On a subsequent visit to Rome, we once again visited Boys Town, and by that time a Girls Town had been added through a generous gift from the American actress Linda Darnell. To this day the yearly Boys and Girls Town of Italy Ball is still held in San Francisco, where a local man or woman is recognized for his or her support and contributions to this great cause that continues to support those in need from all parts of the world. With not a dry eye in the house, Monsignor Carroll would always wrap up his comments with his favorite phrase, "For every tear you wipe from the eye of a child, a star is lit in the sky. Sadly, Monsignor Carroll-Abbing passed away in 2001, but his vision and compassion have inspired a community of givers who continue to carry forward vhis work; we have all been so fortunate to have been part of his legacy. Yes, we do have a new and lovable Pope, but let us not forget this humble Irish priest who gave up a promising career at the Vatican as a young man to devote his life to the care of orphaned and forgotten children of yet another horrible war. Considering what it's costing us to house the homeless in San Francisco, you can't help but think what he might have done to solve our problem at home. A great person and truly a real "Prince of a Man."
A Bag Full of Memories
We were recently treated to an overnight stay at the Vitale Hotel, which is located on Mission Street just a few comfortable steps from the Embarcadero. Its clean, modern look is a stark contrast to the Beaux Arts style of the Ferry Building immediately across the street. As evening approached we were mesmerized by the undulating lights on the Bay Bridge, coupled with the Ferry Building’s clock chimes, which are based on portions of the Westminster Quarters. As an added treat, we enjoyed a specially prepared dinner at Boulettes Larder in the Ferry Building as we watched the scurrying ferry passengers, relaxed tourists, and spectacular views of the bay and the bridge.
It’s amazing how many adventures can be stuffed into such a small bag and literally forgotten over the years. We always think about the photos and videos that we take for granted, but what about the other items that come back with us in our overstuffed bags?”
Although our stay was short, we thoroughly enjoyed the visit, and as we checked out of our room I instinctively reached for a bar of soap as a reminder of our pleasant stay, as if we had just left the most exotic hotel half way around the world.
Once home and ready to unpack I looked at the bar of soap and was magically brought back to all those adventures from the past. I have dozens of mementos from our travels, and have always placed them in a shopping bag whose contents might to be used at some later date. Reaching in, I discovered a bar of soap from The Plaza Hotel in New York, years before Donald Trump took it over. From the other coast a small bottle of shampoo from the Ritz-Carlton, a tooth brush and some bath salts from the Hotel Bauer Grunwald in Venice, and a shower cap from the Scottsdale Plaza, perfect for the start of baseball season. Next was a sewing kit from Crystal Cruises, a bar of soap from the Ahwannee Hotel in Yosemite, and a miniature bar of soap from Lucca’s Hotel La Luna. The scariest find was a shower cap from the Villa Pambuffetti in Montefalco, Perugia, where suddenly in the middle of the night we were rocked by a massive earthquake that did extensive damage to the surrounding area. Fortunately for us, the 600 year old brick and stone structure held up without so much as pebble falling on our heads. The John Rutledge House Inn in Charleston, South Carolina brought back memories of canopy beds and horse and buggy rides, and finally, some body lotion from the Relais Todini in Todi, which has always been one of our very favorite destinations. The ancient hunting lodge has been converted to a fairly small but exquisite hotel with a wonderful restaurant, pool, and tennis courts overlooking the Umbrian countryside. Vitale Hotel on San Francisco’s Embarcadero has great views and stunning interiors
It’s amazing how many adventures can be stuffed into such a small bag and literally forgotten over the years. We always think about the photos and videos that we take for granted, but what about the other items that come back with us in the our overstuffed bags? A shirt, a sweater, some stale cookies, fake jewelry or occasionally items of real value, but maybe in the future we should consider something as simple as a bar of soap to make our travels lighter and our memories sweeter.
Sergio Nibbi gets around—the world! Feedback: firstname.lastname@example.org
The Innocence of Squaw
In a classic case of security gone wild, the Sochi 2014 Winter Olympics will soon be history and best remembered more for the explosive tooth paste and world-wide terrorist threats than the challenges and victories of those talented young athletes from around the globe. The coverage has been spectacular and certainly to be expected in this electronic world of ours. But how many of us still remember or even know about the 1960 winter Olympics, held only a few hundred miles away at, of all places, Squaw Valley.
Once Squaw was chosen the challenge was to turn the virtually unknown and undeveloped Squaw Valley into a world-renowned resort.”
It was 1956, and as a young man I remember driving to Lake Tahoe and putting up with the endless delays as men and equipment worked fearlessly to expand Highway 80 in order to handle the additional traffic. While drilling rigs bored into the sides of the mountain, brave men packed the chambers with dynamite in order to disrupt the beauty of nature for the sake of mankind. The wait was endless as we sat patiently anticipating the next “boom.” The roadway signs warning us “Do not turn on radios.” Just imagine with today’s i-Phones, cell phones and i-Pads the mayhem in controlling the threat of a premature explosion. Talk about terror!
Once Squaw was chosen the challenge was to turn the virtually unknown and undeveloped Squaw Valley into a world-renowned resort. The task was accomplished in an unbelievably short length of time for a total cost of 80 million dollars, a far cry from today’s billions spent in recent years by host countries. Without today’s fanfare or chain-cutting, the politicians were able to deliver the project on time and probably under budget, but that was the California of old. Edmund G. “Pat” Brown was governor and should have taken a little more time educating his young son in the ways of governing, but wait a minute, this is about history and not political comment, which shall be left for the more talented columnists appearing on these very same pages.
The amount of planning, design and construction is unfathomable in today’s litigious society, and starting from a clean slate was an advantage and disadvantage at the same time. McKinney Creek Stadium, as well as Blyth Memorial Arena, were built from the ground up, and the latter used as the site of both the opening and closing ceremonies. And who better to chair the Pageantry Committee than Walt Disney himself, who was responsible for both ceremonies.
But even then, as we see today, politics reared its ugly head as the Cold War politics between the United States and Russia wrestled over the participation of China, Taiwan, North Korea and East Germany. Eventually cooler heads prevailed and they allowed entry to athletes from Communist countries. History was made as South Africa competed at the Winter Games for the first time, and West and East Germany competed as a united team under a common flag. Television was certainly not new to the Olympics, but when CBS was asked by the officials if one of the skiers had missed a gate, the era of instant reply was born.
I vaguely remember attending the spectacle and being enthralled by the high jump as skiers soared hundreds of feet in the air. I only wish I had stayed to see the closing festivities, but the treat of driving back on a brand new four lane Highway 80 was too tempting to resist.
Now there’s talk of Squaw Valley being considered once again for the 2026 winter Olympics, but considering today’s endless rules and regulations, it may take that long to rebuild that winter wonderland. Perhaps we can put George Bush in charge of security, Obama in charge of the contestants’ medical center, and Jerry Brown to head up the high-speed rail system to Tahoe. That may make a lot of sense, but am I getting political again?
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It Takes a Village
Barrier or no barrier, driving across the Golden Gate Bridge will always be a challenge. Narrow lanes of traffic separate the oncoming cars by mere inches while spectacular views on either side add to the distraction. The potato patch and the Farralones face the setting sun, while red and white boats carry tourists around the bay on the eastern side. As locals, how many times have we stopped at the vista point acting like tourists, and enjoyed the breathtaking views of the San Francisco hills and skyscrapers?
Down the steep incline, the road becomes a bit more manageable as we head for Sausalito, a relatively quiet maritime village hosting some of the finest boutiques and restaurants in the county of Marin. To the tourist it could be reminiscent of Portofino, Viareggio, Barcelona or dozens of European sea towns, but to the locals its history is long and fascinating. As a youngster I remember seeing the massive ship building yards where Bechtel Corporation's Marinship built a ship a week during the peak of the Second World War. With its six shipways operating 24 hours a day, the more than 20,000 workers rolled the sleepy little town back in time to its 1920's Prohibition days, with its legendary speakeasies and rumrunners. I still vividly remember attending a christening of one of those ships, as some obscure dignitary cracked a bottle of Champaign across the bow of the newly completed ship, which signaled the release of the behemoth as its keel slipped slowly down the ways.
During the war years the Bay Area was a mecca of military activity. A submarine net was stretched across San Francisco Bay, which would be raised and lowered as ships arrived and left. Pittsburgh was a major embarkation point for our troops heading to the war in the Pacific, and temporary housing was being built for all the support personnel working tirelessly for the war effort. Many years later, as a member of the 91st Infantry Reserve, I spent many a weekend at Fort Berry and Fort Cronkite's rifle range sharpening my marksmen's skills in preparation for active duty.
What was once home to ships and shipyards soon became a mecca for houseboats and hippies. Famous and infamous were to be seen in various roles, and the likes of Sterling Hayden, Shel Silverstein and of course, Sally Stanford, drew the comments and the crowds.
When we first got involved in boating our first berth was at Clipper Yacht Harbor in downtown Sausalito, our little 25 footer dwarfed by the mega-yachts surrounding us. Cruising around the area we were treated to years of history for our young family to enjoy. They were too young to understand or appreciate the real history of Sausalito from Native American to Spanish, Mexican and the Europeans. From the iconic William Richardson, to the commercial fishermen and yachting enthusiasts, the area was further expanded once ferry service was opened between San Francisco's Hyde Street pier and downtown Sausalito. With a new bridge being christened in May of 1937, the hustle and bustle was reduced to a trickle as Highway 101 bypassed Sausalito entirely. Although our little boat is now gone and our children have long forgotten this village of their youth we still return to visit and re-visit some of the area's most exciting restaurants and shops. Once our children grew older we did take them to the Valhalla Restaurant, but not bringing up the checkered past of its colorful owner, Sally Stanford. Yes, she was mayor of the city and certainly civic minded and for them that was enough history.
On a recent visit we enjoyed a wonderful lunch at Poggio. Another one of our favorites is Scoma's. Perhaps the time has come to abandon that spectacular Golden Gate and grab a scenic ride on one of those red and white boats and revisit and recapture some of those wonderful moments from our earlier years. A stroll along the waterfront, a relaxing lunch along the way and a final stop at Sally Stanford's fountain and, as the inscription says, "Have a Drink on Sally."
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The One That Got Away
With the media blitz surrounding the 50th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, Cuba keeps coming up, not only with the failed Bay of Pigs debacle but with countless conspiracy theories. The 13 day standoff that came perilously close to triggering Armageddon a half century ago is now history and Cuba is once again open to tourism and welcoming the Yankee dollar. Having strongly considered an invitation to join our friends, Rochelle and Harrison, on an 8 day “Discover Cuba” adventure, our final decision was to pass on this one, which turned out to be a big mistake.
The first stop: the Bocay Rum Factory, where samples were generously provided and fortified them for a visit to the Plaza of the Revolution as they gazed at portraits of Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos while hearing about the long and rambling speeches of Fidel Castro.”
After our friends returned we got the opportunity to hear all about their trip and enjoyed countless photos and stories about all the nice people they met, how good the food was and how one exists without a cell phone for a week. The trip left from San Francisco with a direct flight to Miami. An overnight stay and an early morning charter flight got them safely to Havana’s Jose Marti Airport.
The first stop: the Bocay Rum Factory, where samples were generously provided and fortified them for a visit to the Plaza of the Revolution as they gazed at portraits of Che Guevara and Camilo Cienfuegos while hearing about the long and rambling speeches of Fidel Castro. Tourists are allowed to purchase and enjoy the local rum as long as it’s enjoyed while in Cuba, but no taking it back home. That also holds true for Cuban cigars. A walking tour of Old Havana, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, a tour of the Cathedral de la Havana and a Tropicana Cabaret Show topped the day. Their tour guide pointed out that cruise ships no longer visit Cuba, and unlike our country, guns are not allowed, and even the police and military leave their weapons behind before heading home. Interesting fact: each person is allowed only four ounces of coffee per month. No wonder rum is so popular!
The following day started with a walking tour of the Colon Cemetery, named after Christopher Columbus, a tour of the Museum of the Revolution with countless artifacts of the revolution, as well as detailed information about the CIA trained Cuban exiles and rebel forces. The museum is housed in the former Presidential Palace whose interior was designed by Tiffany’s, and speaking of money, the local currency is the Peso Convertible, used mostly by tourists and known as the CUC which is almost equal to the US dollar.
One would not think that health care and education would be a driving force in the area but with Fidel Castro’s insistence the program prospered and many professionals are now sent to other neighboring countries to help in their needs. Following a display of Flamenco dancing at the Lizt Alfonso Dance Studio the group moved on to the National Museum of Fine Arts to view an extensive art collection from painters of the earliest colonizers.
Their first sojourn out of Havana brought them to the Vinales Valley, where Pinar del Rio is known for its stunning scenery of flat top mountains, tobacco plantations, caves and rivers. Old cars are always associated with Cuba, and a visit to the Museum of Guanabacoa of Santeria Orishas gave them the opportunity to see an early 1900’s Cadillac. One of the last stops was probably the most interesting as they visited the home of Ernest Hemingway, where he lived for 21 years with his 3rd wife Martha. Still on display is his yacht Pilar, which he used to patrol for Nazis in the Caribbean waters. Last stop was at Morro Castle, built in 1589 to protect the mouth of Havana Harbor.
A farewell dinner and it was time to pack it up and head for home. Are we sorry we missed it? You bet! Would be go next time? In a heartbeat! With all that history and so much to see we’re so thankful that first nuke didn’t get lobbed over the ocean and plunked down in the middle of Biscayne Bay. Grateful indeed, but so sad that one of our greatest presidents had to be taken away from us so suddenly and so sadly. I would love to see Cuba, but for me it will always remain bitter-sweet.
The Book of What?
When the second mechanic entered the cockpit it became an “oh, oh” moment, and judging by the size of him it must have been pretty cozy in there, but fortunately the usual excuses didn’t materialize from the cockpit and before long we pushed back and took the long stroll to the end of the runway. We waited patiently in line while the flight crew forewarned us of takeoff delays and chop along the way. Our captain, a middle-aged woman, was very much in charge and with the first bump the seat belt sign came on and her school teacher demeanor said it all. As it turned out it was a relatively smooth flight, the continental breakfast aboard was manageable, and the ride to the hotel routine.
The adventure was certainly worth it and the language was no worse than what you would normally hear at a 49ers game.”
Chicago has always been one of our favorite destinations, and this trip is doubly nice in that we get to attend a surprise 80th birthday party for my cousin and we have the opportunity to visit with our granddaughter, who’s attending her senior year at Marquette University.
After a late lunch and a brief walk around the area we settled for room service while enjoying the river and city views from our 23rd floor panoramic windows of the Trump International. Kristen arrived at noon the following day and the first order of business for the ladies was a quick trip to Nordstrom’s, after all, isn’t that what grandparents are for?
Aside from the Miracle Mile, Chicago has some of the greatest museums of any major city. Next stop was a visit to the Museum of Contemporary Art, a comfortable walking distance from our hotel. The three floors of exhibits were interspersed with portable stages and musical instruments for a concert later that evening.
Dinner with a few of the cousins gave us a chance to catch up and reminisce about the old days and relive all those fond memories. A little more walking and a little more shopping and it was time to get ready for my cousin Joe’s 80th surprise party, and surprised he was, especially when he saw us out of the crowd of nearly a hundred. I had called him on his actual birthday just a few days earlier and I had the hardest time not saying “so we’ll see you next Saturday.”
One of Joe’s granddaughters had prepared a slide show of Joe, his family and friends, and as it happened I, too, had prepared a slide show that was also shown. So many wonderful old photos and great memories.
As always the evening went by too quickly, and before long it was Sunday afternoon and time to head to the theater to see a play that Karen had wanted to see for the longest time, Book of Mormon. Yes, we had heard about the subject matter and the language, and yes, we did get our daughter’s permission to bring Kristen along, after all she is twenty-one!
The house was packed and the prices ridiculous (actually, when the show comes to San Francisco early next year, the tickets are reputed to be around $750 apiece—we got by cheap). The standing ovation was certainly well deserved and the most amazing part was that they had one more performance that evening. We got tired just watching all the jumping and dancing on stage. The adventure was certainly worth it and the language was no worse than what you would normally hear at a 49ers game.
We so enjoyed our birthday party dinner at the Erie Café that the three of us went back Sunday night for a repeat performance. The special for the evening was a 32- ounce slice of prime rib that we fortunately managed to split. Good food, good wine, and family fun was the mantra for the last four days and how fortunate we are still be able to do this. Fortunate, until we got to the airport to find out that our United flight was delayed by almost four hours, but in return for our patience we were rewarded with the nicest crew and a very smooth flight.
Perhaps all those incantations that we learned from the Book of Morman kicked in and a higher power was looking over our shoulder……..aw, the wonders of travel.
Sergio Nibbi gets around—the world! Feedback: email@example.com
Just a Walk in the park
Graduating from Dartmouth was an honor, running the equivalent of a marathon a day for 7 days through the Sahara desert was a challenge. Having competed in an Iron Man triathlon and having finished first in his age group was an accomplishment few can claim. The 2.4-mile swim, a 112 mile bike ride followed by a marathon of 26.2 miles must have seemed like a piece of cake for our grandson, Trevor, as he prepared for a week of physical punishment which entailed a week long, 250 kilometer run across the Saharan desert. A 20 pound back pack carried his supplies for this ultra-marathon, in which participants carry their own clothing, medical supplies and most amazingly, all their own food in the form of dehydrated meal packets. Water and nightly shelter was supplied by the clean water charity, Water.org, the sponsor, but certainly no Big Macs along the way!
With the usual happenstance of world travel, Trevor's flight to Cairo was relatively easy considering the possibility of missed flights, long security delays, and misplaced hotel reservations. In the lobby of his starkly modern and quite beautiful hotel he had the opportunity to visit with fellow runners from all parts of the world while rethinking his readiness; choice of gear, food for the week and fitness plan, just to name a few. With an afternoon devoted to site-seeing downtown Cairo, where East meets West in a city renowned for its hospitality (how things have changed is so short a time), Trevor used his best Arabic to explore while thinking about the early morning four hour bus ride into the desert.
The first camp was situated next to a deep blue cerulean lake, surrounded by a mix of hard and soft sandy terrain which would become such an integral part of his existence for the next week. Following a rehydrated dinner, traditional Bedouin music suddenly broke out as the group clapped in harmony. Moving from tent to tent was an excellent opportunity to guess the competitors' nationalities and origins. By bedtime, the 10 runners in each tent were lined up head to feet in order to conserve space, knowing that with each new camp the smell would become more and more unbearable but in the end no one seemed to care.
"Really being out in the open" took on a new meaning as there was "nothing" out there for endless stretches of terrain. An old caravan road sped things up for about 13 miles, while he was averaging ten minute miles. Not a bad start for the first day, coupled with the encouragement of fellow competitors such as the group of Taiwanese runners carrying a 10 kilo ceramic "prince" the entire distance of the course. The night sky was razor sharp and unobstructed, still lit by the gentle glow of light pollution from Cairo off to the Northwest.
The second day brought an endless supply of soft sand, which reduced his progress to a speed walk. The strangest thing was the complete lack of depth perception, having small features from afar turn into objects that were hundreds of feet tall. The camp was certainly a welcome site, having finished by early afternoon, and allowing time for an early nap as they awaited the day's stragglers.
The next few days provided more of the same, sand, heat, leg cramps and endless power walking. Every day had new challenges but with them came more encouragement that the body could be pushed beyond perceived limitations. In the heat of the day the question always became, "how did I ever get here to such beauty and isolation?" Each day brought insurmountable challenges, but knowing that the end was ever closer and with it the thought of food long forgotten.
With cooler evening temperatures the last 55 miles traversed in the last day left only a mere 2k photo op at the finish line the following morning. With endless thanks to the cheery volunteers, dehydrated meals, and super supportive tent mates, the ordeal was over. The 2,200 calories consumed daily cost Trevor a ten pound weight loss, and the thought of food they were going to consume was replaced by the perceived importance and frequency of actually eating it.
Draped in an American flag, Trevor crossed the finish line, coming in 32nd out of 155 runners that completed the race. Along with this accomplishment he managed to raise close to $15,000 for Water.org. That was 2 years ago, and today, after having completed his college education, Trevor is now spending four months in Tajikistan as a member of Mercy Corps, helping local residents reestablish themselves after 5 years of civil war after gaining independence in 1991 from the USSR.
Trevor is due back by Thanksgiving, and it will certainly be a day of thanksgiving knowing that he's back safe and sound. If this trek is as exciting as the last one I may have to do a repeat of his adventures in the next few issues….stay tuned.
Sergio Nibbi gets around—the world! Feedback: firstname.lastname@example.org
It took us less than three hours to travel from Boston to Woodstock, Vermont. We traversed three states in that short time, and with our ever-present I-Phone GPS we found our way to the lovely home that Bob and Meg had rented for the week-long celebration for Trevor’s graduation. With threatening skies, a tent had been set up for the more than 50 graduates that arrived that evening with their party faces well in place. So many nice young people, with the adventures of their new careers awaiting them.
With two days left to sightsee, we took full advantage of the opportunity and walked the town of Woodstock, visited Simon Pierce, the glass blowing factory and sparkling sales rooms that put Murano and Burano to shame, ate at its gourmet restaurant, and attended an early evening reception at one of Trevor’s classrooms. The following day we visited Billings Farm and Museum, a working dairy farm with displays of all the old farming and dairy tools and equipment that covered two full floors. And with all that fresh milk, we had to try their home made ice-cream on the way out. It was a bit too early for the 3 o’clock milking demonstration so we’ll save that one for next time.
Although it rained every day of our stay, the weatherman blessed us with a beautifully sunny day for Sunday’s graduation. The outdoor ceremony started at 9:30 am with the entrance procession, and ended shortly after 1 pm with the traditional tossing in the air of all the caps followed by cheers of joy and accomplishment. There were 1,019 graduates, preceded by the conferring of over 600 master’s degrees ranging from business, engineering, public health and sciences as well as PhD’s, and 101 young men and women receiving their MD degrees from the school of medicine. There were also seven honorary doctor’s degrees presented, as well as five valedictorians, all of whom had achieved a straight 4.0 grade point average for their four years of study. The commencement address was given by Geoffrey Canada, honored earlier with an honorary doctorate degree. His speech was moving and filled with emotion as he spoke of his work with thousands of underprivileged young kids in New York’s Harlem Children’s Zone, having given up a much higher paying job after his graduation from Harvard’s School of Business. It was also a momentous occasion in that the first woman president of Dartmouth, Carol L. Folt, was retiring that day. She was so proud but tearful as she gave her closing remarks to the class of 2013. It seemed like the time flew by with endless photos and videos to record these precious and life altering moments. After the ceremony we gathered at Murphy’s across from the green to toast Trevor on his successful four years at Dartmouth and topped off the celebration with a quick stop at Morano Gelato for a last gelato in honor of his accomplishments. That evening we ate dinner at the house as we enjoyed each other’s company while trading stories of Trevor as a youngster. With two sets of grandparents in attendance the stories were warm and enjoyable but certainly not embarrassing.
One would expect such a nice story to have a perfect ending. We left Hanover at 12 noon on Monday for our three hour drive to Logan Airport leaving enough time to drop off the car and arrive in plenty of time for our 4:30 flight to SFO. As we checked in, the attendant asked us where we were going and then in a rather embarrassed tone said “you have a delay, a rather long delay.” As it turned out, a three hour delay was not all that bad considering all the joy of the last week. So we got home at 2:30 in the morning local time, a small price to pay for yet another smooth flight and an amazing adventure. Congratulations once again to Trevor, to his beautiful family and to old age. It’s so nice to still be around to witness these marvelous moments, I guess old age has its benefits after all……
The last couple of times that we visited Boston were either at the beginning or at the end of a trip through the New England states for the fall colors. This time it’s for another joyous occasion, the graduation from Dartmouth of our oldest grandson, Bob and Meg’s son Trevor. As trivial as it sounds, it seems like yesterday when he was born and now we have three other grandchildren in college. What is it that they say about getting old?
Our early morning Virgin flight was flawless and so far, two and a half hours into it has been “living room sofa perfect.” What tornadoes? With four days planned in Boston I’m sure we’ll get a chance to visit the usual sites while using the Liberty Hotel, which was once the notorious Charles Street prison, as our home base. Sadly, I’m sure that we’ll get the opportunity to see the sites that brought so much sadness to this beautiful city, not unlike visiting the site of the twin towers in New York City after nine eleven.
Once again, our kudos to Virgin American Airlines, never have we flown so far so smoothly, especially with all the storms across this wonderful country of ours. Not a ripple, not a bump other than the usual bit of turbulence during our final approach. The ride from the airport took barely 20 minutes and within moments we were comfortably settled in our 13th floor room overlooking downtown Boson and a setting sun over the Charles River.
With Monday morning’s rain, we decided to start with the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum instead of a get-acquainted walk around the area. Our newly built hotel tower was built on land owned by Massachusetts General Hospital, which is right next door, and with it comes the sirens all day and all night long. We later found out that Mass General was recently voted the best hospital in America. Good to know, just in case we develop calluses from all the walking!
The biggest surprise of the Gardner Museum is the old and the new. The main entrance is in a glass and aluminum atrium, which is part of the new and very modern addition by award-winning and world renowned architect Renzo Piano. A glass enclosed corridor leads to the museum building itself, which is patterned after a 15th century Venetian palace, and is almost identical to the Franciscan Monastery Museum that we’ve twice visited in Dubrovnik, which housed the oldest pharmacy in Europe. The enclosed atrium opens to three floors of galleries full of priceless art treasures. The museum is also famous for the 1990 heist of more than 13 pieces of art valued at more than 500 million dollars, while the perpetrators and the location of the art still remain a mystery.
While touring the galleries we had a chance encounter with two lovely young women from Italy. Deborah had just finished her master’s in Italian literature from Boston College, and was now headed to New York with her husband for her PhD to further her studies. Her friend Barbara was visiting for the week and then heading back home. A quick stop at the Café G for a bowl of Boston clam chowder brought another surprise. The handsome young man by the name of Roland Mills, who had also just finished his master’s in opera, spontaneously started singing for the couple in front of us and later with a little coaxing did a beautiful rendition of “La Donna e Mobile” for us. All that for the mere price of a bowl of soup!
By mid-afternoon the skies had cleared and we finally got a chance to walk the length of Charles Street and visit the boutique shops and restaurants. Our dinner that night was at Clink, the hotel’s main dining room where the food was excellent and the service first rate. We had heard so much about the Duck Tours that we just had to give it a try. Our tour left from the Museum of Science which was just a ten minute walk from our hotel, and after a short wait we embarked on our 90 minute land and water tour. Our driver/narrator was straight out of central casting and within minutes we were all “quack, quacking” at his command. Going from city streets down a narrow ramp into the Charles River was a bit strange, but once fully afloat a handful of young kids were given a chance at steering the old landing craft around the water.
We had a chance to visit Boston University, where our granddaughter Katrina just finished her freshman year, and Boston College, where our grandson Michael Strem will be starting in the fall. On the way back we were dropped off at the beginning of Newbury Street, not far from where the Boston Marathon ended. Somehow we chose not to see the site and settled for the driver’s description; it was too nice a day to spoil it with all those incredibly sad moments. Newbury Street is a shopper’s paradise lined with 19th century brownstones, most of which have been converted to high end shops or restaurants. Continuing along Newbury we found our way to the Boston Public Gardens and Boston Commons, but not before passing some of the most expensive and up-scale stores in the world. It’s touted as one the most expensive streets in the world and we had no reason to doubt that for a moment. In the Public Gardens you can ride around in the swan boats or visit the bronzed ducklings all neatly lined up in a row, almost always surrounded by small children. With just enough time left in the afternoon we grabbed a quick taxi ride to the Museum of Fine Arts and tried to see some of the 450,000 works of art. The museum was beautiful, finding a taxi back to the hotel was a nightmare, but patience prevailed and once settled back in at our hotel we treated ourselves to a cold drink and a casual dinner at Alibi, where the brick cell walls and steal gates are still very much part of the ambiance, and yes, Karen took a picture of me standing behind the bars.
Sergio and Karen
It was a devastating earthquake, 5.6 on the Richter scale, followed by a deadly aftershock approaching 6.0 again on the Richter in which two engineers and two monks were crushed to death by the falling, fresco-lined ceilings of the Basilica of San Francesco d’Assisi. More were killed or seriously injured in the adjoining villages. This was in September of 1997, and by the time we visited Assisi in 1999 the restoration was well under way, fueled by a papal edict that all the work be finished for the celebration of the millennium which was just a few months away.
|Upper basilica St. Francis of Assisi|
Having started from Milano, with stops in Bergamo, Verona, Venice and Florence, we settled in at the very tired five star Brufani Hotel in Perugia. We spent the following afternoon in Gubbio, where we enjoyed the views of the countryside from Piazza Grande, and then headed for Deruta, an old town about two blocks long and lined with small shops selling hand-painted pottery.
The Porziuncola, St. Francis' original chapel, a work he personally restored from crumbling ruin, is enshrined at the Basilica of St. Mary of the Angels.
The steeple is a later addition.
The following morning we were inundated by a driving rain as we headed for Assisi, but fortunately by the time we arrived the storm had passed and a bright sun was shining over this medieval Umbrian hill town. What we saw in the next few hours were not only the famous frescos from Giotto inside the beautiful churches, but more construction than I have ever seen in any one place — cranes and workers everywhere. And the most interesting thing was the intensity at which the men were working — certainly not in the Italian style. We were told that under normal circumstances the work would have taken years, but the Pope told them that it must be finished for the year 2000. Get it done or else, and boy, was it working. (I wonder if the same crews are still around to help with the new bay bridge and central subway.)
What took over 300 years to build was being quickly reconstructed in just a matter of months, but unfortunately for us the Upper Church, known as the Basilica Superiore, was still undergoing major repairs and we were only able to visit the lower Church. I’m sure that in 1228, the year that St. Francis was canonized and the work was started, the means and methods were certainly not those being used in the rebuilding.
|The San Francisco Porziuncola is maintained by the Knights of St. Francis at 624 Vallejo St. Tue-Sun 10am – 6pm
I remember the Lower Church, the Basilica Inferiore, being dark and smelling of burnt candles, but the light was sufficient enough to see the great work of the artists Cimabue and Giotto. Not wanting to curse the darkness any longer, I reached in my pocket for a few coins and lit two candles to add to the eeriness of my surroundings.
Finding our way down the hill we stopped by the Basilica of Santa Maria degli Angeli (St. Mary of the Angels), which houses the Porziuncola, a place from where the Franciscan movement started. Ironically, we now have a scaled down duplicate of the very same building right here in San Francisco’s North Beach, adjacent to the main church of Saint Francis on Vallejo Street. Certainly worth a visit and much easier that a trip to Assisi.
Now, after all these years, we’ve gone full circle and have a Porziuncola of our own and a new Pope that has taken the name of Francis. Small world indeed.
Sergio Nibbi gets around—the world! Feedback: email@example.com
In Florence they call it the “Rinascimento.” We know it as the “Renaissance”, a new beginning, a fresh start, a new chapter in life and in nature. The trees are in bloom; the countryside turns from sound asleep to wide awake. And what better place to see God’s glory than in the Napa Valley where last year’s grapes were picked, the vines pruned and neatly tucked away for a long winter’s rest. But now they are reawakened and coerced into producing yet another award-winning crop where the cycle will repeat itself. From grapes crushed into juice, to fermentation, to the miracle of wine as it silently matures in oak barrels. Soon the vintners will stand proudly, as awards and accolades are bestowed to those fortunate enough to make the pages of the wine magazines, or enjoy private wine tastings in the company of close friends.
We may not be so fortunate as to have the world famous artists, philosophers, poets and architects from Tuscany where the Renaissance began, but we do have the beauty of fog-covered farm land hovering near the majestic Pacific Ocean, growing delicious artichokes served piping hot or brazed over an open fire with freshly-caught salmon.”
In the Salinas Valley the orchards are showing new buds that will soon become delicious figs, almonds, lemons, limes and oranges. The strawberries will regain new sweetness, and the lettuce picked, cleaned and bagged to be shipped around the world. My back aches as I watch the workers in the fields bent over their crops for our enjoyment.
We may not be so fortunate as to have the world famous artists, philosophers, poets and architects from Tuscany where the Renaissance began, but we do have the beauty of fog-covered farm land hovering near the majestic Pacific Ocean, growing delicious artichokes served piping hot or brazed over an open fire with freshly-caught salmon.
As humans, we too reproduce, and as the sun starts to shine brightly once again there also seems to be a new crop of infants. Is it our imagination, or as the saying goes “it must have been a cold winter.” Stroller’s line the sidewalks, while panicked dads escort their older children wearing safety helmets while resting precariously on training wheels as they weave around terrified adults.
We backyard farmers are deep into tilling, fertilizing and planting as the pages of local nurseries advertise the latest crop of heirloom tomatoes, herbs and garden tools. During the Second World War we used to call them “Victory Gardens.” Now we boast of the fact that our produce is organic, and with our own compost for good measure. No need to go to the Farmer’s Markets on the weekend, we have our own crop to share with friends and family.
And what better place to enjoy the beauty of nature than with friends and family? The old Italians proudly served their homemade wine at every meal, followed by a shot or two of Grappa made from the left-over pomace of the crushed grape. I’ll never forget the meals that my mother cooked for us. No need to call ahead, in just a matter of minutes a feast would appear that always impressed my buddies and eventually the girlfriends.
But before moving on to the dog days of summer, let’s all take a moment to enjoy what nature has so generously provided for all of us. We are all so fortunate to live in such an amazing area that we sometime forget those less fortunate. Enjoy the day and enjoy the season, as my Italian friends say in North Beach, “Buona Primavera.”
My Two Best Friends, Leonardo and Napoleon
If cigarettes, cell phones, rich food, good wine, buttery croissants and animated conversation are bad for you, then Paris should be a ghost town. To the contrary, what we saw were trim, well-dressed young women wearing designer jeans, boots and colorful scarfs masterfully draped around their necks. Men wear them like we wear a necktie, loose and casual.
When sitting at a sidewalk cafe they become part of the scene and when not sitting at a cafe they are determined in their walk and demeanor. I don’t know where they hide the old people but they are few and far between. No need to go to a gym and workout, every moment is a workout. Handicap facilities don’t exist, with hundreds of stairs to and from the Metro. Most toilets are either up a steep, narrow, winding stairway or in the basement. And if you’re a linebacker for the 49ers you’d better go before you leave home because the Toilettes are very narrow.
Bright and early Monday morning we were picked up for a two-day tour of the Loire Valley as we watched the incredible traffic coming into town drenched in the early morning rain. Our first stop was at Chartres, about 50 miles south west of Paris, where we visited the Cathedral Notre Dame de Chartres. The beautifully preserved stained glass windows date back almost 800 years, while the church attracts large numbers of Christian pilgrims, many of whom come to venerate its famous relic, the Sancta Camisa, said to be the tunic worn by the Virgin Mary at Christ’s birth.
After a two hour ride through the French countryside we arrived in Tours, had a crepe lunch and headed for Amboise to visit the Chateau d’Amboise, the massive castle turned chateau whose relatively small chapel, built away from the main building, is the burial site for Leonardo da Vinci, who lived and worked at the Chateau for three years before his death in 1519. On arriving he brought three paintings with him, and yes, one was the Mona Lisa. The chapel is minuscule compared to Napoleon’s burial site at the Chapel of Saint-Louis des Invalides on the grounds of the old, massive military hospital known as Les Invalides. The chapel is almost as large as San Francisco’s City Hall, and does house Napoleon’s two brothers and his son as well. One would think that a giant of a man like Leonardo would deserve better, but this is one case where size didn’t matter
Next stop, Chateau du Clos Luce, Leonardo’s home, again modest by most standards. On our way out we visited five rooms full of wooden models of most of his incredible inventions. Parachutes, armored tanks, spring-powered carts and water pumps just to name a few. We learned that the models were produced by IBM using materials of that period.
Our overnight stay was at Le Choiseul, a beautifully appointed, fairly small hotel facing the Loire River and in the shadow of the Chateau d’ Amboise. Somehow spending the night that close to this genius of a man gave me a strange feeling and his presence could strangely be felt. Dinner was also at the hotel in the beautifully-appointed Le 36, where the pate and lobster was as good as our earlier experience was memorable.
The following morning we had three chateaus on the agenda, the first being Chateau de Chenonceau. Once privately owned and built in the 16th century, this huge complex with its moats surrounding it was by far the most memorable of the day. The Gallery, a grand room measuring over 180 feet in length, was being set up for a private party that evening. No, we were not offered an invitation!
Our next stop was at the chateau of Blois, huge but somewhat industrial looking with its four distinct wings around a single courtyard. More stairs, more ramps, more opulence and more rain. By the time we reached Chambord our curiosity was wearing thin, and with the pouring rain we decided on just a quick tour of the outside of the building and gardens. Enough stairs already!
Having spent two days cooped up in a car we were dropped off at our hotel and decided to walk to Notre Dame for some fresh air, where the evening mass was just starting. We sat and enjoyed the beautiful choir and listened intently to the prayers and sermon, unfortunately all in French. We lit a huge candle and headed back.
Our last day in Paris was spent not at a romantic café or on a stroll along the Seine, hand in hand, but rather, on a visit of the sewers of Paris. Not quite Monet’s garden, but actually it was very interesting winding our way deep under the streets of Paris looking at a real working sewer system. Our reward for the day was exiting out the door that gave us a magnificent view of the Eifel Tower, just a few blocks away. Although we had already visited the tower a few days earlier, this time we got up close and personal, standing completely under the huge tower looking at the very top through a light drizzle. Our last two Metro tickets (we had bought a set of 10) were put to good use as we found our way back to our hotel, organized our suitcases and headed out for a late afternoon walk.
As memorable as this trip has been, there is always one moment that somehow stands out. On the way back I passed an older, bearded man sitting on the sidewalk with his cup next to him. Wanting to get rid of what loose change I had in my pocket I reached down, pulled out some coins and placed them in his dish. In his perfect English he looked up, thanked me and gave me a slight tip of his hat. As I started to walk away I heard some loud, almost raucous laughter; he had noticed how little I had left in his plate and it cracked him up.
What a wonderful way to end ten marvelous days in Paris. Last time it took us 27 years to return. Now that we’re back home it’s time to plan the next visit.
Bread and Beaujolais
What a shame, what a crying shame! Under threatening skies, the early morning walk to the Musee d’Orsay took less than 30 minutes. With a postcard-sized map from the front desk, we headed down the local streets rather than going to the boulevard along the Seine for a more direct route. Karen is the best navigator in the world, but she still hasn’t gotten her bearings, and so just like an eagle scout I led her to the front door of the museum without a hitch. Our two day museum pass allowed us to go through the member’s entrance and bypass the usually endless lines, and although security was tight we entered without a hitch. After checking our coats we briefly stopped by the information booth and made our way into the main building. The first thing I saw was placards proclaiming in no uncertain words, NO CAMERAS. Usually it might say “no flash” but they were very serious about not having any pictures taken. If ever there was a building that cried out to be photographed, this one was it.
The d’Orsay was previously a train station that was scheduled to be demolished until it was converted into one of the most modern, beautiful buildings in all of Paris. The building is a piece of art all in itself and competes with the endless displays of world famous paintings and sculptures. From the 5th floor observation deck the entire building is on display, and I must confess that I did sneak a quick photo with my I-phone. The top floor displays some of the world’s most famous impressionist paintings, and for 5 Euros our ears were treated to colorful commentary on each painting and its artist. Our lunch at the Café Campana gave us a taste of the Croc Monsieur at its finest — it was not just a ham and cheese sandwich, it was extra special under the huge clock whose hands no longer move, but the setting was spectacular none the less.
Paris Opera House
Paris Opera House
The overcast turned into showers, and our next stop was a visit to Sainte Chapelle. With our umbrellas neatly tucked away at the hotel, we were considering a taxi when my keen eyes spotted a couple of young men eagerly awaiting unsuspecting tourists to sell them a ride on their bicycle taxis. After a brief negotiation we jumped in, and not a minute too soon; it was raining. The two-story church is famous for its stained glass windows, and although the sun was not shining, we saw some of the most beautiful stained glass ever. The two-page card described each section of glass in the huge main window, and one could only imagine the amount of time and talent that went into each one. The walk back was drizzly but not impossible.
The following day we were picked up in the early afternoon for a ride to Monet’s luscious gardens in Giverny to see his world famous Japanese bridge and water lily pond, the subject of so many of his famous paintings now worth millions of dollars each. Sim, our driver, was a professional photographer at one time, and we put him to work as he took endless photos of the two of us on the bridge, around the lily ponds, and in the main garden. The ride back was not bad until we hit the center of town, and then we saw what some of the 30 million yearly visitors look like.
On Friday morning we put on our brave faces and decided to check out the Metro system. After a few hiccups we found our way to the Opera House and saw what Napoleon was really all about. Forget about the operas, this place is truly amazing all by itself. The marble stairs, railings and balconies are truly stunning. One can only imagine the beauty of opening night.
Across the street is one of the largest department stores in Paris called Galleries Lafayette, whose stained-glass dome and galleries is worthy of museum status. The top floor hosts a series of restaurants, and the self-service was more like Macy’s, but a look at the beauty of the building itself soon dispelled that notion. A ride back on the Metro begged the question, “how come we don’t have the same system in the Bay Area?”
Saturday we attended a croissant cooking class, and after four hours of mixing and kneading we decided that it’s much easier to go to the local boulangerie and plunk down a couple of Euros than slave in the kitchen all day long.
The following day we met Jayne Louise, a beautiful young woman who is the daughter of a dear friend of ours, lives in Paris, and has been keeping an eye on us for the last couple of days. Monte Marte was our destination for the day, and after meeting her in front of the Moulin Rouge, we jumped into a waiting elephant train for the 45-minute ride around the district.
A stop at the top gave us a glimpse of the thousands that were out for a Sunday stroll, and the crowds in the Basilica of Sacre Coeur were just as bad.
Beautiful surroundings, but the crowds were horrendous. After a casual lunch at a sidewalk café, of which there are hundreds, we made our way back to the Metro stop, said our goodbyes to Jayne Louise, headed down to one of the deepest tube stops and headed back to our hotel. After a late lunch and a gelato stop along the way, we decided that what could be more fun than to stop by the deli and pick up a fresh baguette, some pate, cheese and of course a nice bottle of wine and have a picnic in our room.
The next morning, we were picked up at 7:30 am for an overnight stay in the Loire Valley, with a few stops at a couple of chateaus along the way. We’ve seen and done a lot in the last week, and with the last few days left we want to enjoy it all. We’ll miss the crowds and the traffic, but a couple of days in the country sound great right now. I wonder if the ice cream is just as good outside of Paris?
More Real Travel for Real People (2009-2012)
Fifty shades of Red, White and Blue
Somehow “27 years” sounds better than “over a quarter of a century ago” but in fact, that’s the last time Karen and I visited Paris.
My birthdays always seem to be an occasion to celebrate and my 50th was no exception, except this one happened to be in Lucca where I was born all those many years ago, and what better place to party than in a restaurant appropriately named Ristorante Sergio. My aunt, a nun living in Rome, joined us along with my father and a gathering of 50 or so of the relatives still living in the area. And if one party was not enough, we managed to squeeze in another one at my cousin’s restaurant in Forte dei Marmi, a seaside resort, the following day.
After lunch, with Karen Brown’s book in hand, Karen and I headed off along the Italian Riviera, stopping off at Santa Margherita Ligure, Rapallo and Portofino. At the time we were members of St. Francis Yacht Club and we had reciprocal rights to all the yacht clubs along the way, and we took full advantage, visiting them all. Yacht Club de Monaco was the highlight of our trip, as they served us with the greatest of pleasure but could hardly wait for us to leave……we were the only two that showed up for dinner that night!
Once we crossed into France, we figured that a little Italian would carry us for a day or two but no such luck. We were in France! In the next five days we hit all the major areas, visiting the Pope’s residence in Avignon, stopping off in Chateauneuf du Pape, Beaune, a chance overnight stay at the Hotel Moulin de Mougins, where as guests of the 6-room hotel we were given dinner reservations, bypassing the usual 2-month wait to enjoy Roger Verge’s five star cooking, and finally arriving in Paris on Sunday morning. We had made it safely, and managed to miss the traffic before the midday madness. I whispered a quiet thank you to our faithful Peugeot as I turned over the keys to the hotel clerk, and told him it was his from now on.
So now this trip, here we are on a shiny new Air France 747, its proud red white and blue tail directing us to the city that we so enjoyed all those years ago. With dinner we were treated to a gorgeous sunset on one side of the plane, and on the other side the brightest, roundest, most beautiful full moon ever. We didn’t need to look up; the moon was looking directly at us. I don’t remember if we had a full moon last time in Paris but this one will not be soon forgotten.
As flights go, this one was OK. The food was airline good, the wine better than taking a sleeping pill, and the biggest treat for us was looking out our window as we took off over San Francisco, skirting the coastline as we admired the neatly arranged streets of the Sunset district, Golden Gate Park, the high-rise towers of the financial district and a postcard view of the Golden Gate Bridge that even got a comment from the captain, and to top it all off, a flyby over a pristine Lake Tahoe.
Arriving early, we got the usual, “we need to wait for our gate to clear.” Those few moments of peace were shattered by the simultaneous arrival of a bunch of planes, whose passengers had to go down the long winding corridors, grab a people mover, wait endlessly to get through passport control and work their way out the door. The mid-afternoon traffic was gridlocked as our driver kept looking at his I-Phone, reassuring us that the stoppage was just a few miles ahead and it would be much better momentarily.
Our hotel, the Relais Christine, is located on the left bank, is in a great location and very accessible, and for the jet-lagged couple our first dinner was immediately across the street in a very modern and popular restaurant called La Rotisserie den Face, where the sliver-thin home- cured salmon was, as they say, “to die for.” The following morning Francois took us on a four hour private tour of the highlights of Paris, where “traffic” was given a new meaning, and again we covered all the highlights including Napoleon’s tomb (a must see), The Arc De Triomphe, which was huge standing just a few away, the beauty of the Champs Elysees, a photo op in front of the Eiffel tower, a drive through Montmartre, and finally a quick stop at Notre Dame. Another long day for tired feet and tomorrow we plan on doing a museum or two. Fortunately Chez Fernand, also a stone’s throw from our hotel, had some of the tastiest fish with a fennel sauce and the bottle of vin ordinaire was a perfect match. So now it’s off to bed but not before looking out our window for that fabulous full moon. Is it still hovering over the Atlantic or did it follow us here? I’ll check it out…….