Our Spanish Holiday

We were in España for 16 days, February 18 – March 5, 2012. Driving almost 1,500 kilometers, staying in five cities and visiting three others, our knowledge of this country clearly has grown. Judith and I were last here in May 2011 for 18 days, in the south; in Al-Ándalus.

Between this trip and our previous one, Judith and I have been in Spain 34 days in the last twelve months. We have seen most of the country, with the exception of the far north: San Sebastian, Santander and León. I find in many ways this country is more foreign to me than “the other more obvious ones” that we have visited over the years. I still haven’t adjusted well to the rhythms of late meals and mid afternoon siestas.

The arc of Spain’s history is also hard for me to fathom. I understand the prehistoric period, the Romans, the serial invasions of the Visigoths and Moors; the Christian reconquest, and Spain’s zenith in the Age of Discovery and the Golden Age. But why did the wheels then suddenly start to fall off? Was it some metaphysical revenge for the Inquisition?

Ruinous wars, anarchy, rampant political corruption, the loss of Cuba and its empire, civil wars and the horror of fascism and Franco followed. The fall from grace of this once super power isn’t as well documented as that of Hellenic Greece, Rome or even Islam. It just slipped off the world stage unnoticed.

Free elections weren’t again held here until 1977 – devoid of democracy for so long, a terrible waste of talent and resources for literally hundreds of years. Once one of the richest countries in the world, it now ranks 26^th in per capita income and below the EU average. And it was further crushed in the 2008 financial meltdown, and once more teeters on the brink of disaster.

In spite of this, moving through the old city centers, their architecture and their people; the churches, mosques, synagogues and museums provide a way for me to start to solve the enigma of España; bringing history’s events into focus by touching art, artifacts and everyday life. Sitting in the squares, walking the streets and enjoying food and wine in the restaurants all connect me. For almost 700 years Islam had its only foothold in Europe here on the Iberian Peninsula. This Moorish culture creates a very unique place, with the spice of Jewish and Visigoth ethnicity folded in. In this respect, it is unique on the Continent.

Unlike Russia or even France, I never got a sense of bitterness for days of past glory from the Spaniards. Perhaps they, like me, have trouble connecting the present day to the past and thus are more blasé about it.

Below, if you care to read on, is a diary of our trip. The weather was wonderful and surprisingly mild, not a drop of rain.

February 18, 2012 (London; Segovia)

We had an easy ride to Heathrow and a good British Airways flight to Madrid. Border security and luggage pick-up done, we headed off to Europcar to pick up our Audi A6; I splurged for a nice car since we will be doing a lot of driving on this trip. Unfortunately, I discovered we had a flat on our left rear tire, so much for Spanish quality control. The agent switched out vehicles fairly quickly and we were on our way at six-thirty for our 110 kilometer drive northwest to Segovia.

The navigation was problematic; we seem to pick boutique hotels on very small streets in the center of old towns. Tom-Tom never can find them so we “approximate” a location. All went well, except at the end. We circled many times, occasionally zipping through pedestrian zones – thankfully no casualties. We finally made it to this GPS “black hole” address: Calle Daioz, 7 and the Hotel Don Felipe – our home for the next four nights. Its location is good, and although encased in an ancient building, the insides had been completely modernized in 2010. Our room and the place are pleasant; a nice view to the Alcazar.

It is unknown when the city was first settled by Celts, but the Romans arrived in 80 BC and its population grew to perhaps 50,000. The shape of Segovia’s craggy limestone cliff can be conjured into the shape of a ship, with the Alcazar (royal fortress) at the bow, and the aqueduct at the stern, with the Eresma and Clamores Rivers splashing along its two sides. It was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1985.

We were in later than we planned, so we canceled a reservation outside the city. Dinner was at Jose Maria, recommended by the hotel.  We had the traditional Castilian cochinillo asado, roasted piglet. It’s cooked whole in the oven 2 ½ hours and basted continuously with butter and oil.  Presented sort of spread eagle at the table, the maître d’hôtel proceeds to smash it into four or so pieces with the edge of a dinner plate; not a process I would describe as delicate.

Within a few bites, my bad cholesterol shot up to 500; lots of fat, crisp skin - very messy to eat. I’m embarrassed to mention that I also had several deep fried ham and cheese croquettes as a starter, each the size of a medium chicken egg. 

  We were easily off to sleep with our stomachs rumbling in stereo and in dire need for a flushing with industrial strength Draino.

February 19, 2012 (Segovia)

We were up, had breakfast and were off to explore.

Our first stop was the Alcazar, the royal castle of Segovia, built on a rocky outcrop between the years 1410 and 1455. We arrived shortly after opening and had the fortress almost to ourselves.

The Cathedral of Segovia, dating to 1525, the last great Gothic church built in Spain was next on the tour. Some parts were closed because of Sunday services, but the graceful ironwork grilles and elegantly vaulted ceilings were spectacular. We’ll return during the week.

Then it was on to the marvelous aqueduct, built in the first century AD, an engineering masterpiece. It carried water to the city until the 1950s. The aqueduct is breathtaking; it comprises 166 arches and extends almost 3,000 feet in length, this without any mortar holding it together. What an esthetically elegant engineering marvel the Romans had created.

We walked more of the city and stopped for a very late lunch at El Fogón Sefardí. Today we had the Castilian lamb; same procedure as the piglet – no need to describe the process. In two days my health has been seriously jeopardized. We wobbled back to the Don Felipe.

Toward evening we walked back to the Plaza Mayor; some sort festival was going on, youngsters dancing around in costumes, almost like Halloween. We were to bed early, again with bellyaches.

February 20, 2012 (Segovia; Coca)

I should mention the weather has been bright, but the mornings cold.

Most sights are closed Mondays, so we decided to travel to Castillo de Coca, a little more than an hour northwest of Segovia. Built in the late 15^th century, it was a residential palace masquerading as a defensive fortress in the style of military Mudéjar architecture. It has a deep moat with wonderful turrets and battlements. We arrived back to Segovia in time to take in the rest of the Cathedral; the cloister and Chapel of the Conception were worth the return trip.

We decided we had to reign in our eating, so vowed to have only a bit of tapas and a bottle of wine. We found a very nice spot off the Plaza Mayor, called Casares. The tapas were very good, and thankfully light.

After returning to the Don Felipe and planning tomorrow’s trip to Ávila, we fell quickly off to sleep.

February 21, 2012 (Segovia; Ávila)

We were up, had breakfast and were off on another bright but crisp morning. Ávila is about an hour and a half northeast, sitting at 3,710 feet, the highest elevation of any provincial capital in Spain. Its medieval walls span over a mile, punctuated by 88 sturdy turrets. We visited the marvelous Ávila Cathedral with its mottled red and white stone, the Basilica de San Vicente and walked the length of the walls.

Afterward we had a nice lunch at El Tostado at the Gran Hotel Palacio Valderrábanos. Always the intrepid tourists, on the way home we detoured to and visited the Palacio Y Bosque de Riofrío, a royal hunting estate dating to 1752. The tour was in Spanish so it was not all that rewarding.

We arrived back to Segovia after six, had a light tapas dinner again at Casares and lingered in the cold enjoying an evening of music and dance in the Plaza Mayor; it turned out this was the week of the city’s February carnival - then quickly to bed.

February 22, 2012 (Segovia; Salamanca)

After a quick breakfast and a smooth check out, we were on the road to our next outpost, Salamanca, 190 kilometers west. The trip went well and miraculously the navigation worked perfectly. We checked into the very lovely Hotel Don Gregorio about one. Salamanca is a university town, its schools founded by Alfonso IX in 1218.

We were out on a sunny and mild afternoon and walked up Calle de San Pablo to the expansive Plaza Mayor, one of Spain’s largest. Completed in 1755 and designed by the Churriguera brothers, it is an architectural wonder in warm golden limestone; we stopped for cappuccinos at Café Novelty, bathed in the heat of the sun and lazily people-watched in the square.

Afterward we walked north to see Casa de las Conchas, the Convent de las Úrsulas and Casa de las Muertes. Our return stroll had us down Rúa Mayor and Calle de los Líberos to see the cloisters and façade of the University, a perfect example of the Plateresque style. We continued on to the 1^st century Roman bridge that still spans the Rio Tormes.

Back to the hotel about six, we had a nice drink in the bar and were off to our room. Our bath is unbelievable, a large and luxurious shower room; even a sauna – we selfishly pampered ourselves after a long day of sightseeing.

Dinner was at Restaurante Victor Gutierrez, a Michelin 1-Star steps from the Don Gregorio.  A small place, 20 or so seats, very minimalist; not even paintings on the wall – it was all about the food. Our tasting menu was delicate and light; a real switch from our earlier fare in Segovia.

One more nightcap at the hotel’s bar and we were out.

February 23, 2012 (Salamanca)

The weather remains bright; cold mornings but by afternoon temperatures moving into the high fifties.

First on our list today were the Cathedrals Vieja (old) and Nueva (new). One enters through the Nueva, completed around 1560, one of the last major churches in the Gothic style. Throughout, the Gothic is competing with ornamental detail of the more “modern” Baroque and Plateresque. The beautiful choir was the design of Joaquin Churriguera.

The Nueva did not replace Vieja, but was merely built beside it; you enter via a connecting chapel. The Vieja dates to 1152 in Romanesque style; the altarpiece is a 15^th century golden Florentine masterpiece comprising 53 panels depicting the life of Christ. The adjoining cloister has a marvelous set of chapels.

Just a short walk away was Iglesia Convento de San Esteban, a 16^th century Dominican monastery with a unique, superbly ornamented façade. The rooftops are nesting places for several families of storks. Its large single nave church is stunning; an ornate altar of twisted gilt columns decorated with vines. Afterward we visited the nearby Convento de las Dueñas and strolled by the Torre Del Clavero.

It was then to Plaza Mayor and Café Novelty for cappuccinos, a rest and the penetrating restorative rays of the winter sun. Late lunch was at Rio de la Plata on Plaza del Peso; unremarkable. After a short stop back to the hotel, we finished our day visiting the Museo Art Nouveau Casa Lis.

We had a light tapas dinner at a funky café, the MOMO, and fell asleep easily.

February 24, 2012 (Salamanca)

We both were sluggish upon awakening this morning; our diet is doing us in, perhaps the tapas at MOMO weren’t as fresh as they should have been. We reluctantly walked a bit in the morning, but Judith, especially, was feeling under the weather. We spent most of the day in the room recuperating; having a light room service for dinner.

We were to bed early, still a little out of focus.

February 25, 2012 (Salamanca; Cáceres)

Feeling a bit better, we had breakfast and were on the road to our next stop, Cáceres, 200 kilometers to our south; leaving Castilla Y Leon for the Extremadura region. It was another adventure to find the hotel, navigating pedestrian zones and automatic bollards that had a mind of their own. But Cáceres was worth the aggravation; this ancient city is well preserved; the serene Renaissance town dates to the late 15^th century, untouched by the wars of the 19^th and 20^th.

The Relais and Chateaux property of Atrio Restaurante Hotel is fantastic; the whitewashed hews of its modern interior juxtaposed against the 600 year old exterior of this lovely spot in San Mateo Square.

Our friends Lilla and Stan are meeting us here, driving from Portugal; we arrived about one and Judith and I were able to explore a bit before they arrived. We eventually met up in Plaza Mayor and then had some light tapas on the hotel’s lovely terrace. Afterward we did more walking, climbing the tower in the Iglesia de Santa Maria for its expansive view, and visiting a few other sights of this compact jewel. The real value of this experience isn’t any one monument; rather the very unique package of a completely intact late Middle Age city. If you stumble upon a lane deserted by tourists, it truly could be 1500.

Lilla and Stan joined us for dinner. The Atrio is really a restaurant at its heart, having 9 rooms and 5 suites almost as a side business. Still, the accommodations are divine.

The chef, Toño Péres, created an unbelievable culinary experience for us; and the wine cellar, with its 40,000 bottles, is mindboggling. Of course we drank too much; the highlight was the tinto vino 2009 Astrales from Ribera Del Duero. We didn’t leave the table until after one in the morning and bid our friends safe travel back to their hotel.

Our suite is peaceful and calming with views to the Square and the 14^th century San Mateo Church; we were off to sleep quickly.

February 26, 2012 (Cáceres)

In spite of our late evening, we were up by 9:30 and had a wonderfully avant-garde breakfast in the hotel. It was then out for some early explorations, visiting the Museo de Cáceres and its ancient cistern, the small Jewish quarter and the Casa y Torre de Carvajal before meeting Stan and Lilla in Plaza Mayor.

The four of us had a pleasant lunch, walked a bit more and then our friends set off back to Portugal. Judith and I toured a little more; afterward retreated to the hotel’s terrace; the afternoon sun had moved the temperature to almost 70˚F. We enjoyed a marvelous bottle of 2010 Basa, D.O. Rueda; 85% verdejo, 12% viura and the 3% balance sauvignon blanc.

Dinner was at the hotel’s restaurant, again excellent. After a tour of the wine cellar, we soon dozed off.

February 27, 2012 (Cáceres; Toledo)

We awoke this morning to the sound of water dripping; the bathroom ceiling had a slight leak. Staff came and we navigated around the problem cleaning up, had breakfast and were on our way. It was a wonderful two days; the hotel’s manager, Carmina Marques could not have been nicer. I would recommend a trip here unequivocally.

By 10:30 we were on our way to Toledo, three hours and 260 kilometers east of Cáceres. It was an easy drive but upon arrival our accommodations went from the sublime of the Atrio Hotel that we had just left, to Dante’s eighth circle, reincarnated as the Hilton Buenavista Toledo.   This corporate property was outside of the old city; 117 soulless rooms, a conventioneer’s oasis. We could have been in Toledo, Ohio; what a pity.

We checked in quickly and took the hotel’s shuttle to the old town. Our first stop was the massive Toledo Cathedral, the second largest only to Seville. Construction began in 1227; the Baroque altarpiece “Transparente” behind the high altar is a masterpiece, as is the double stalled choir.  If nothing else were here, it still would be well worth the trip just for this. Afterward we visited the Iglesia de San Tomé with El Greco’s “The Burial of the Count of Orgaz.” A nondescript late lunch followed; then we returned by shuttle to the hotel.

We had tapas and a bottle of wine for dinner, and then, sleep.

February 28, 2012 (Toledo)

After a restless night and a quick breakfast we were on the shuttle heading to the old town. Our first stop was to the Mezquita del Christo de la Luz, a mosque dating to AD 1000, then to Iglesia de los Jesuitas, a Jusuit church and cloister begun in 1629. The high vaulted white nave and Baroque altarpiece were superb, but the real fasination was the remarkable views from its tower.

We continued on to the Iglesia de San Román, a treasure of Visogothic history. A special feature of Toeldo is that it retains wonderful touches of the culture of the Romans, Visogths, Moors and Catholics; it allows one appreciate the ebb and flow civilization’s changing power over the milleniums. 

Today was filled with so many sights; we continued on to the Casa-Museo de El Greco, the Sinagoga de Santa Maria la Blanca, and finally to the Monisterio de San Juan de los Reyes. This magnificent monestary and cloister, begun in 1477, was originally envisioned as the royal burial place, only to be replaced by the Granada Cathedral after the reconquest in 1492. The splendor; however, remains nontheless.

We had a nice late lunch at the nearby Adolfo Restaurante, and eventually found our way back to the hotel by the shuttle. Dinner was tapas in the bar; then we were out.

February 29, 2012 (Toledo; Cuenca)

We were up early to another brilliant day; by afternoon it’s more like early summer than the last days of February. It was off by car to Cuenca, a three hour 200 kilometer trek east of Toledo. It is a picturesque town astride the steep slopes created by the Júcar and Huécar Rivers. Built upon a Moorish garrison but now with only its tower surviving, this Gothic and Renaissance city is known for its “hanging houses” that jut over the rivers’ ravines.

We had a simple tapas lunch on the patio at the nearby Parador de Cuenca, walked a bit more and then loaded into the Audi for our return trip; arriving back about five.

Almost boringly now, we opted for the tapas and some wine in the hotel’s bar; it’s quiet and peaceful. After some BBC News we slipped under the covers.

March 1, 2012 (Toledo; Madrid)

We were up and out by eleven on our way to Madrid, a short one hour north. We found our hotel, A.C. Palacio del Retiro, with ease, checked in and then dropped the Audi to Europcar at the nearby Atocha train station; if you remember, it was bombed allegedly by al Qaeda almost four years ago on March 11, 2004.

The 50 room hotel is housed in a wonderful 1908 mansion retrofitted in 2004, replete with elegant features including a marvelous staircase, stained glass and frescoed walls. We’re in a lovely suite, room 210, overlooking the royal Parque Del Retiro.

After a small snack at the hotel we were off to the Museo Del Prado, known for its great assembly of Spanish paintings, 12^th to 19^th centuries, vast stores of Velázquez and Goya. It is a marvelous museum; spacious and well lit galleries, uncluttered. We spend four hours here. Ironically, it wasn’t the usual Spanish masters that enthralled me; rather the 19^th century Spanish Realists – Fortuny, Rico, Buruete; and most notably Joaquín Sorolla. His “Young Boys on the Beach” and “They Still Say Fish is Expensive” were wonders of color and light. These were artists I had never before encountered; what a treat.

We strolled back to the hotel; had a late but light dinner and a great Spanish white, a 2008 Belondrade y Lurton, a verdejo grape; and were off to bed.

March 2, 2012 (Madrid)

Up to an overcast morning, we had breakfast and were out to a day with our first chance of rain. We walked from the newer Bourbon district to old Madrid, along the wide Calle de Alcalá to the Puerta Del Sol and the Plaza Mayor. It was then to the Cathedral de la Almudena, begun in 1879 and not completed for a century. I was struck by the emptiness of the edifice; it seems we can no longer build churches that truly inspire.

Next was the Palacio Real; the Bourbon monarchy spared no expense here. The exuberant décor of Carlos III and IV was the most “over the top” suite of rooms Judith and I had ever seen. The Russian czars should be jealous.

We stopped for a late lunch at the Westin on the beautiful Plaza de Las Cortes and arrived back to the hotel around five. Dinner was again at the hotel; and to sleep.

March 3, 2012 (Madrid)

We were up and out early to visit the Thyssen-Bornemisza Museum on the nearby Paseo del Prado. The Thyssen-Bornemisza family, Barons Heninrich and son Hans, were wealthy industrialists of Dutch origin that had amassed an art collection starting in the 1920s that was thought at one time to be the second largest private collection in the world. Hans was a busy fellow; five marriages, the last to Carmen Cervera, 1961 “Miss Spain.” Through Carmen’s influence, eventually the collection went to Spain in 1992; but not without great controversy. It is now housed in the Palace of Villahermosa.

The space is neat and organized chronologically, over 800 works, 17^th to 19^th centuries are covered. Again I was drawn to the 19^th, Impressionists, Fauves and Expressionists lifted the heart. Our three hours there passed quickly.

Lunch was late on the sixth floor of the Palacio Cibeles, the recently renovated Madrid communications building; now an annex of the City Hall. The transformation was spectacular, the restaurant, food and wine wonderful. We got back to the hotel about five, relaxed for the balance of the day; going down to the bar for a late snack before bed.

March 4, 2012 (Madrid)

Our last full day, and we admit to one another that we’re running out of gas. We were out on a cloudy morning to visit the expansive Parque Del Retiro; the Pleasure Lake, and the two Neo-classical palaces: Palacio de Velázquez and Palacio de Cristal.

Walking out of the south end of the park, it was next to Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, Madrid’s 20^th century exhibit space. Many of the rooms were closed, which was fine. I still suffer with this period, never really connecting with Dalí, Picasso, Miró and the Cubists. We had a late lunch at the hotel and relaxed for the balance of the day.

Toward evening, we took a long walk up the fashionable Calle de Serrano, eventually stopping on the way the way back at a café on Plaza de la Independencia for some croquetas and wine. We returned to the hotel around eleven and were off to sleep soon after our heads touched the pillows.

March 5, 2012 (Madrid; London)

We were greeted by another sunny morning on our last day in Spain. Final breakfast, packing and we were on our way to Madrid’s Barajas Airport. We had a good flight and easy ride back to our flat; happy to be back in our “adopted city.”

City of Lights

For many years Paris was our hub to Europe from the States, but with the 2004 collapse and temporary closure of Terminal 2E at Charles De Gaulle, Paris became inefficient. London, Zurich or Frankfurt became better choices. When I checked my diaries, I was surprised that we hadn’t been to Paris since May 2006; more than five years ago. And this was just a quick overnight visit from London to see friends Regine and François.

On Thursday morning, January 19, the Eurostar whisked us in just over two hours from London’s St. Pancras to Paris’ Gard du Nord; then a twenty minute car ride had us to the always pleasant Four Seasons Hotel George V.

The City of Light at first glance lacked its traditional sparkle; La Ville-Lumière seemed dimmed into a funk. The weather was damp with low and heavy cloud, well matched to the dreary economic climate now hanging over the Euro Zone. I wondered if all this would affect our trip. After a quick lunch, we were out walking the length of Rue Saint-Honoré; the smart shops were not as bustling as I had remembered.

As it turns out, the cadence of our long weekend in Paris was to be a beat of transition and change, but ironically, also continuity.

Upon our arrival to George V, I asked the concierge if there might be a cancellation at Taillevent for dinner and it seemed luck was with us – a reservation for 8:00 pm was available. Taillevent is a short stroll from the hotel, on Rue Lamennais.  The wonderful restaurant has been around since 1946, guided by the ever watchful Vriant family. Under the founder’s son, Jean-Claude, the restaurant prospered, receiving 3-Stars Michelin in 1973. Sadly, he died in January 2008 at only 71, and the restaurant passed to his daughter Valérie, with the financial help of the Gardinier family.

This evening the restaurant was only half filled, I had never seen the place as empty; reservations were always hard to come by. But everything remained marvelously the same; our Dover sole main course was fantastic. The room is wood paneled, overflowing with flowers and art; soft to the eye, and the staff prescient to the client’s every need.

Toward the end of our meal, the long time maître d’hôtel, Jean-Marie Ancher came over to talk. We mentioned that we had been dining here for almost two decades, and passed on our condolences regarding Mr. Vriant.  As we were finishing our espressos and petit-fours Jean-Marie said Jean-Claude still guides him daily. I then mentioned to him the habit forming effects of their caramels and pulled one out of my pocket, confessing I had stolen it for later. In a moment, I had a small plate full of caramels for the road; Jean-Marie confessed that he shared my addiction.

Michelin Guide downgraded Taillevent in 2008 to two-stars in what seemed to most a callous and capricious move. It remains Zagat’s number one for food in Paris and the chef, Alain Solivérès, continues on at the restaurant since his start in 2002. For me everything was just right in spite of the absence of the impeccably dressed Jean-Claude with his permanently affixed yet subtle Mona Lisa smile. French pride and patrimony protect institutions such as Taillevent; I am confident in its survival.

We awoke Friday to another sullen day. After breakfast, we were off to Musée du Luxembourg and the “Cézanne et Paris” exhibit.  Cézanne is more famous for his emblematic scenes of South of France, but he spent more than half his life in Paris; the collection celebrates this time with about 80 works depicting the City and environs.

It was then off to our friends at Freego, sisters Nadia and Katia, who have a wonderful cashmere shop. Since last in Paris, it moved from its longtime location on Rue Dauphine on the left bank, to a location close by at 11 Rue Jacob.  The new shop seems a little bit bigger. After a small shopping spree, Nadia suggested we have lunch at a nearby restaurant, La Crémerie, 9 Rue des Quatre Vents. We had a great time, but more on this wonderful place later.

Dinner was at the hotel’s grand restaurant, Le Cinq.  Our starters were good, but our main course of slow cooked, Moroccan scented lamb was somewhat fatty and a disappointment. All was made well; however, by the voluptuous 1990 Volnay Pitures from Jean-Marc Boillot.

The weather hadn’t improved as we walked a bit more Saturday morning. In the afternoon we took in another exhibit, this one at the Gran Palais featuring a massive display of the Stein family’s (Gertrude and her three brothers) Picasso’s, Matisse’s, Cézanne’s and others gathered from over 100 collections on five continents – magnificent but very, very crowded.

The most pleasing time was left for dinner tonight; Nadia and Katia invited us back to La Crémerie.  It’s hard to describe this restaurant; originally an old dairy shop. The owner, Serge Mathieu, is an architect by training, but finally succumbed to his passions for wine and food about seven years ago and bought the place. It’s tiny, ten or twelve seats; walls lined with wine; a beautiful hand painted tile ceiling, a giant, completely ill proportioned 1936 bright red Berkel meat slicer sitting on a cramped bar, with four stools tucked under it. This is where we sat, almost as guests of honor.

We started with champagne, I don’t recall the producer, but all Serge’s wines are artisanal, most organically produced. We continued with Burrata di Corato and tomato, a plate of slow simmered eggplant, tomatoes and onion; duck confit and a smoked tuna so good that it cannot be described. Serge’s wife Helen helped; rich conversations ensued; the playlist softly in the background, eclectic and a perfect fit. I can close my eyes, smell the charcuterie, and hear “Baby I’m a Fool” from the smoky voice of Melody Gardot even as I write.

After another long walk Sunday morning, we took an early afternoon Eurostar back to London. I mentioned in the beginning that this trip became about change and yet also things staying the same. Taillevent transitioned from Jean-Claude Vrinat’s professional hands to a new generation, but the spirit lives on; Nadia and Katia are in a new location, but their fashions endure; La Crémerie, once a dairy, is reincarnated to still serve its locals nourishment, for both stomachs and minds. Serge is still an architect, just designing delicious dishes instead of buildings.

I too changed. I realized that my last Paris trip was just a quick interlude from a three week trip to London. On the flight home on May 18, 2006 I pretty much decided to sell my remaining interest in my businesses; I talked to my friend and partner Walter that same week and we came to an easy agreement. We signed our sale agreement shortly thereafter.

So my last time in Paris I was a full time automobile dealer; this trip a relaxed retiree. But I too remain the same, still curious about places and things; and part of me continues to be a restless soul.  


And yes, Paris has changed a bit too, but remains the "City of Light."

Friendship & Surprise

Surprise and friendship are two words that do not come together that often; but they did for me earlier this month here in London. It seems appropriate to write about on this last day of 2011.

My beautiful wife Judith turned sixty-five on 26 December. In July I started to plan a surprise birthday party for her in spite of her specifically mentioning that she didn’t want one. Of course I didn’t listen. A great time was had sneaking around: arranging a date among a far flung group of friends, picking venues, planning menus and wines, party favors, developing a little slide show of Judith’s past, and lots of other small details.

Judith is a very perceptive and curious person; she notices things, so it was hard to keep this secret. A few times I was a whisker from being found out, a mouse click from being caught.

For the night of the party I had dreamed up a ruse supported by a few co-conspirators to get Judith to the party; to be held in the Mall Room at the Royal Automobile Club on Saturday, December 3.

About a week before, friend Phillip helped by inviting Judith and me to a fictitious art showing at the Club. With another friend’s support, I arranged to be called out on the day of the party to a last minute business meeting. This gave me a chance to finish setting up and to greet guests that had been instructed to arrive at six o’clock.

My wife is a fastidiously punctual person; and Philip had asked us to arrive at six thirty for the hoax art show. Carole, a longtime friend, was staying with us; we had coordinated her trip, unbeknownst to Judith, to coincide with the celebration. So as the final step, Carole was charged with the herculean task of slowing Judith down, which she did courageously and much to Judith’s mounting frustration. In spite of Carole’s valiant efforts, they still arrived to the club five minutes early; I met them at the door. After a few more vaudevillian near-encounters with a guest or two near the cloakroom; I escorted Judith and Carole upstairs to the Mall Room.  

Judith was completely taken aback upon entering the room to a thunderous yell of “SURPRISE!” She relates that time switched to slow motion, trying to figure out why Paul, from the States, was standing next to Philip; and other incongruities: Eileen was just in London, less than a month ago, what was she doing here, François and Regine should be in Mexico; Lilla, Portugal. Her right hand came up to her chest, she only could say “oh my God.”

Eventually things sunk in, and Judith was greeted by about twenty wonderful friends from around the globe. This was a priceless moment for me.

The room was conducive to conversation; friends met other of our friends for the first time; all fell into an easy exchange. Connections continued among the canapés, toasts and champagne, impromptu speeches, graceful service, nice food and good wine. Looking around it was a varied group: ages from mid-thirties to mid-seventies; different nationalities and native tongues, varied economic circumstances and political stripes. Sadly a few friends couldn’t make it because of last minute colds or other emergencies; and sadder still, our dear and departed friend Himanshu could only watch from the heavens.

Although spilled out from some cosmic puzzle box, people fit together perfectly.

The power of friendships has already been constrained in literature by too many metaphors, written by many so much more polished; I won’t try to add anything here. But I know all came together to honor Judith, and I remain awed by the richness of that blissful evening. It ranks among the top days of my life.

There was a second luncheon party the following day. It was more relaxed, conversations picked up from where they had left off the evening before. There was more champagne, wine and food (and as François jokingly pointed out, a bit too much crème brûlée).

As the year ends I have a lot to be thankful for, not least of which is friendship; and perhaps, surprise yet to come.

How Bad Is It?

How bad is it? The simple answer: "pretty bad!"

Since the early eighties and extending almost 20 years our economy and equity markets experienced a golden period; then things started to go a little sour. We had the dotcom bust in 2001 and the financial meltdown of 2008. Equity values have not really risen at all this past decade. My explanation for our current problems is that this seemingly outsized growth beginning in 1980 was a bit of a mirage; and can be pretty much explained by us citizens and our government just borrowing our way to today. Consider the following.

Our Federal Debt and the sovereign debt of other countries (think “PIGS”) has gotten the most attention, but it doesn’t illuminate the full state of affairs; it’s better to focus on all four debt components: that of governments, households, banks and corporations; in aggregate, the Total Debt.

For the longest time, America’s Total Debt was about 150% (1.5 times) the nation’s GDP. An exception was the Great Depression, when it increased to 300% (3.0 times), however this rapidly returned to normal. Around 1980 this long term trend of 150%, stable since the 1940s, began to climb. In 2011, we are now over Depression Era levels; estimates are as high as 360% (3.6 times GDP). The government, financial and non-financial companies, and households have a Total Debt of about $57 trillion (it looks worse when you actually include the zeros: $57,000,000,000,000). If we had maintained the 150% norm during this period, we would have a Total Debt of only $24 trillion. So an extra $33 trillion in consumption and investment (GDP) over the last thirty years was “put on the card” so to speak. This isn’t a trivial amount; it’s about 10% of total GDP for the period.

Some might say this is because a greater percentage of households now own their home, rather than renting. The fact is home ownership has hardly moved; in 1980 it was 65%, now it is 67%. Home equity historically had been above 50% in the United States, as of 2011 it is 38%. Housing is a big part of the problem, far from the fulfillment of the American Dream.

We most likely will not grow out of our debt problem as easily or as quickly as we did in the Thirties.

In the ten years from 1933 to 1942 our nominal GDP bounced by 187% ($56.4B to $161.9B). Unfortunately consensus estimates of our future growth are much more anemic, 2.5% annually on the high end (the economy thus taking almost 30 years to double).

Another negative staring at us is our demographics. As the Baby Boomers started reaching working age in the early Sixties there were relatively fewer children because of lower fertility and also fewer elderly as extended longevity hadn’t kicked in with full force. Academics call this phenomenon a “demographic dividend.”The number of Americans too young or old to work, compared to the number of working age adults (the “dependency ratio”) started to erode in 2010, going from 50% (5 dependents for every 10 working adults), to a forecasted 65% in 2050 (6.5 dependents for every 10 working adults). The tsunami of retiring Boomers is just beginning and it will be another unfunded and growing tug on productivity for the country.

The linked power of high economic growth and the demographic dividend are not present for us in this latest crisis. We are going to have to pay down a big chunk of this debt along with greater interest payments, analysts antiseptically call this an extended period of “deleveraging.”

And this rather gloomy scenario assumes we start accepting the truth about our current situation and get public policy and individual responsibility mostly right; which at this moment seems a bit farfetched. American politicians are bickering with themselves to distraction; the Euro Zone is balancing on the brink of collapse. China faces wrenching shifts away from its very successful export led growth and is also burdened with the worst dependency ratio trend in the world (rising from 38% today to 64% by 2050). It’s hard to see much to smile about. 

Michael Lewis’ new book, “Boomerang: The Meltdown Tour” has a wonderful quote that captures the moment: “leverage buys you a glimpse of prosperity you haven’t really earned.” We are in some big trouble. Interest payments and debt reduction will be a real and yet necessary drag on all our lives for perhaps decades. I think it would be foolish to plan for something else; better to dampen expectations and modify behavior now, perhaps to be pleasantly surprised later.

After all, there’s always an “upside case” that might be realized.

Portugal: Wedding Bells

Judith and I just returned from a week in Portugal, September 21 through 28, the visit prompted by the wedding of a friend. 

On our trip from the Lisbon airport, I made a quick detour north to the Cabo da Roca, the westernmost rocky outcrop of continental Europe; a rather odd geographical place on Earth, but somehow meaningful to me nonetheless – I wanted to see it. We then continued on to the hotel, which was about a 40 minute drive west of Lisbon. The Fortaleza do Guincho is a converted 17^th Century fortress; solid, low slung with muted yellow walls, perched upon the Atlantic coast in the town of Guincho. Its setting is lovely yet desolate; a windswept sandy bay directly on the ocean.

Our friends Regine and François were also attending the nuptials and arrived to the hotel, although a bit later than us; we had a nice dinner together at the hotel’s one-star Michelin restaurant. All eventually fell to sleep to the ceaseless pounding of the Atlantic’s thunderous waves.

The following day, Thursday, the four of us drove north; up the coast to Sintra, a pleasant town nestled in the wooded hilltops of the Serra. We toured the 14^th Century Palácio Nacional de Sintra; and the Palácio da Pena, a schizophrenic collection of architecture, built in the 19^th Century for the young husband of Queen Maria II. Most of this area was first developed as a summer getaway and hunting ground for the monarchs of the day. It was and remains good to be a king.

We had a nice luncheon interlude at the outdoor Café Paris in the main square. But we needed to cut sightseeing short; there was a pre-wedding party in Cascais, at the home of the soon to be married Lilla and Stan. The couple was very gracious to have their out-of-town guests for an evening of fun. It was a lovely time, our first time meeting Stan; the food was excellent and the conversation lively. The finale was the launching of seven candle-fueled paper lanterns, the glowing shapes slowing rising and disappearing into the night sky; their symbolism meant to bestow luck onto the couple for all time, each day of every week.

On Friday, after a lazy morning; we drove to Sintra for lunch at the beautiful Tivoli Palácio de Seteais. This hotel was breathtaking; however, the food just barely passable. We arrived back to the Fortaleza just in time to clean up for the five o’clock wedding at Quinta do Pé da Serra in Colares. The wonderful weather complimented the understated ceremony and delightful reception. Lilla is Hungarian, Stan from Luxembourg; and its current ambassador to Portugal. The approximately one hundred guests comprised a mini United Nations; seventeen different nationalities represented. Stan and Lilla made each of us feel at home, perfect hosts. We left for our hotel around eleven; Regine and François had an early flight back to Paris on Saturday, the 24^th; Judith and me off to Lisbon.

An easy drive had us to the Ritz Four Seasons – Lisbon, close to the Parque Eduardo VII; we were upgraded to a nice suite on the ninth floor. Unpacking with our usual military precession, we were out to explore.

Lisbon is a city of hills, anchored to the northern bank of the Tagus River. With what was left of the day, we walked from the nearby Praça Marqués de Pombal and down the wide boulevard of Liberdade to the Elevador de Santa Justa, built in the early 20^th Century by a student of Eiffel. It was a small, unimpressive cousin of the Paris landmark, but afforded some wonderful views. It was then down to the river and the large Praça do Comércio. Retracing our route, we arrived back to the hotel tired after a three hour trek.

Sunday was a beautiful day. We took the modern metro from Pombal to Baxia-Chiado station, and walked to the tram station at Praça do Comércio. The #15 was jammed with tourists, all heading west along the Tagus to Belém, to visit the Torre de Belém and Manuel I’s 16^th Century Mosteiro dos Jerónimos. The famous Portuguese explorer, Vasco da Gamma, is entombed here in the adjoining Church of Santa Maria. Lunch was at a nondescript place, but late afternoon drinks were wonderful at the very modern boutique Altis Belém Hotel’s terrace overlooking the river – highly recommended.

Monday, sunny and warm again, had us off by car to nearby Palácio de Queluz, originally a 17^th Century hunting lodge, then transformed into a Rococo summer palace; the rooms and gardens were a delight to the eye. We were back to the hotel by 12:30, and took the metro to the Bario Alto and Chiado and had a quick lunch; then traversed east to the old Moorish district of Alfama, to visit the Sé Cathedral and the expansive Castelo de São Jorge. Exhausted, we took the rickety #28 tram, it’s ancient gearing groaning against the steep grades, winding down the circuit of narrow cobbled streets. The metro took us to the Praça Marqués de Pombal, but we still had to climb the tortourous hill to the Ritz Four Seasons; our calfs at this point were threatening munity.

Our last full day was perhaps the nicest in Lisbon. We took a short walk past the Parque Eduardo VII to the Museu Calouste Gulbenkian. This was a purpose built structure constructed in 1969 to house the collection of its namesake, Mr. Gulbenkian, a wealthy Turkish businessman who had made his home in Portugal during WW II. The works are eclectic and exquisite; a personal artistic statement spanning decades of acquisition from around the world. It reminded me in many ways of Henry Clay Frick’s wonderful collection in New York City. It is similarly an intimate and personal statement of one man’s ideal of art, housed in Frick’s former home, which was designed from its start to eventually house his collection.

We returned to the Chiado district for a wonderful lunch at Tavares, on Rua da Misericórdia; faithfully serving its clientele since 1784. Afterward, it was to the 16^th Century Church of São Roque; a Baroque masterpiece. We stumbled back to the metro and dragged ourselves up the hill once again.

On Wednesday, the 28^th, we left in the early afternoon to London; arriving at Heathrow, Masood whisked us back to our flat through light traffic.

My feelings are mixed about Portugal. Its history spans a millennium; in the 16^th Century this country and Spain were the world’s superpowers, dividing the New World between them with the blessing of the pope. Although some were brilliant, its monarchs were mostly self consumed. In ways the massive wealth that poured in from trade with the New World seems somehow analogous to what sociologists now refer to as the “oil curse” when talking about Venezuela and the Near East. Oft times the fortune of natural resources, or in Portugal’s case, naval supremacy, can hollow out the rest of an economy, its leaders and its people. After all, Salazar’s dictatorship continued here until 1968, and only then did the Carnation Revolution bring true democracy. Nature also played its villainous part, the massive earthquake that flattened most of Lisbon in 1755, and the 1988 inferno that engulfed much of Chiado.

 In spite of its rich history, Portugal is in actuality a young democracy, with young institutions. Few realize this.

The guide books point to Portugal’s ten million people as gregarious folk, I sensed a much more stoic presence. Mine was a portrait contained in their language, “saudade,” a type of ethereal melancholy; this mood is even part of the national music, the Fado. I suppose this could be more than just this country’s rhythm, perhaps the world’s serial financial crises have flattened all our spirits of late. I suppose “gregarious” doesn’t come to mind looking at faces while I walk the streets of London.

Still, Lilla and Stan’s wedding was a metaphor for hope. They are smart and caring individuals committed to a brighter future, for themselves, their family and friends, for all in fact. My wish is that the seven lanterns looking down upon them will bestow many years of good fortune.

This trip was a wonderful experience, adding to my life and understanding of the world. The natural beauty and deep history of Portugal are extraordinary. I fondly remember being fascinated about “The Age of Discovery” in my grammar school classes; and Vasco da Gamma remains a hero, an explorer extraordinaire. I can imagine his curiosity and trepidation as he rounded the Cape of Good Hope in 1498, off to discover India for the West.

La Reserve de Beaulieu: “Seizième Année”

This was our 16^th September at La Reserve de Beaulieu; it was bittersweet – our annual “hajj au soleil.” I realize I have 16 years less of life to live, but in some important ways I’m healthier now than my working years.

When we first came here in 1996, we met two couples from Belgium (the women were sisters); fun loving but perhaps in their late seventies. I saw them checking out one morning and wished them well; saying “hope to see you next year.” With a telling smirk, one wife replied “so do I.”

One couple had actually first arrived in Beaulieu-sur-Mer out of serendipity; on honeymoon in 1947 after the war, their car ran out of petrol here and they stayed. They said they had been back every year since, with the exception of one. Sadly my morning goodbye was the last time I saw them; they didn’t show in 1997.

La Reserve hasn’t changed; the spirit of reserved and personal customer service still drips from everywhere and everyone. The clientele; however, has altered over time. When we first arrived in the mid-nineties, there were Americans here; as well as Brits, Germans and Swiss. For a time there were some Japanese; quietly taking pictures of their food; and some Arabs. Lately it has been the Russians in ascendancy; older men, the current masters of the universe, with young beauties obviously attracted to values other than their partners’ looks. The "new kids" on the block are scoping out the turf; driving the staff crazy (as well as some of the other guests).

I observe that the nationality of the clients here at La Reserve is a mirror to the world of economic “ups” and “downs” over the years. Russian oligarchs are currently “kings of the world,” happy to have themselves and their money outside the kleptocratic reach of their country.

When we first came here Europe was a bargain. The French Franc slipped to seven-something against the dollar in the late nineties; the Euro shortly after introduction had its nadir early this decade, one US Dollar buying €1.20 – ah, those were the days! Of course, now things have turned; the ratio has flipped: my US Dollar now gets me only €0.73. In ten years the US Dollar has dropped 40%; thus, not too many Americans around the pool.

Still we love our time here. We had the pleasure of making some lifetime friends. Sadly, we also experienced the unfolding horror of 9/11 in this quaint French seaside town; now it’s tenth anniversary.

In spite of everything, this is as close to paradise as one could hope.

Out of the Bretton Woods?

I’m not a gold bug, and do not own gold or gold shares of any kind (maybe I should). August 15 marked the fortieth anniversary of Richard Nixon’s closing of the gold window in 1971; and I was reminded of this by an article in the August 13 issue of “The Economist.” The last sentence was a shocker. It read: “In terms of the old gold measure, the dollar has devalued by 98% since the end of the Bretton Woods era.” Wow!

I thought this couldn’t be true; however, it is. Checking values, gold in 1971 was a few cents less than $41 per ounce, 40 years later this August 15, $1,766. Today’s one US dollar will only buy 2.3% of the gold it could buy in 1971; so roughly 98% less.

With the collapse of the convertibility of money to gold, world reserve currencies became Fiat Currencies. This doesn’t mean they became based upon the solvency of an Italian second-tier automobile manufacturer; rather currency is now backed by the full faith of the country issuing it.

I’m not arguing here that gold was the investment of a lifetime (its return against the dollar was just under ten percent per year); in fact the S&P 500 for the same period returned almost 12%.

Looking at the long term; however, the depressing fact is the erosive power of inflation. Trying to manage wealth for future generations is a demanding project; the “real return” for the S&P 500 for this period was only 7.2%, rises in real prices consumed 4.6%. If things held constant, and you placed $1,000,000 today in a safe deposit box and left it there for the next forty years, you would withdraw only $165,000 in purchasing power in 2050. It turns out the biggest investment “expense” is actually inflation, and the math is depressing. If one spends say 3% of retirement assets per year, one would need an 8% or 9% gross annual return on the portfolio to cover spending, taxes and the effects of inflation in order to keep wealth from declining in real terms. This is a very tough goal to achieve with, say, a lower risk, balanced portfolio.

“Fiat” is actually a Latin word, roughly translated as “to be done” or “let it be done.” I guess the question becomes “let it be done” to whom?

George Bernard Shaw has a wonderful quote with which I will end: “If the governments devalue the currency in order to betray all creditors, you politely call this procedure “inflation.””

Which Deficit, What Debt, Social In-Security

You would have to have had just crawled out from under a rock to not be aware of our Federal Debt, Deficit, Debt Ceiling and credit downgrade by Standard & Poor’s. Most of us know things don’t look too good.

It doesn’t help that our federal budget is fiendishly complicated. The Founding Fathers weren’t very good accountants, more “big idea” guys. The Constitution was pretty sloppy about financial reporting; Article 1, Section 9, Clause 7 just mentions informing citizens about revenues and expenses “from time to time.” Politicians of all stripes have taken this vagueness to heart and exploited it often. I reference Henry Kissinger’s poignant quote: “90% of politicians give the other 10% a bad reputation.”

Not until 1921 did legislation finally mandate an annual budget to be submitted to Congress by the President; and the Office of Management and Budget and the Government Accounting Office were created. Congress stayed pretty much in the dark financially until 1974; the “Congressional Impoundment and Control Act” brought into being the Congressional Budget Office (“CBO”).

Social Security from its formation in 1935 until 1968 was treated as a separate budget (wonks today call this “off-line”). Starting in 1969, the Nixon administration adopted the recommendations of the “President’s Commission on Budget Concepts” and changed this policy to a single “Unified Budget” bringing the Social Security surplus “on-line.” This is actually where a lot of mischief started. The old accounting system would have showed the budget in a deficit of $500 million; the Unified method, absorbing the Social Security surplus, showed a $3.2 billion aggregate surplus.

Not to bore you with too much history, but Social Security went back “off-line” in 1983 as recommended by the Greenspan Commission. In 1985 it became a confusing hybrid as a result of the “Balanced Budget and Emergency Deficit Control Act” (Gramm-Rudman-Hollings “GRH”), staying “off-line” in the Budget but schizophrenically allowed in the calculations of the Debt, thus reducing it on paper. In 1990 the “Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Act” repealed the ability to use the Social Security surplus in calculations of the Debt and Social Security went “off-line.” And legislatively this is where we sit today. Confused?

Unfortunately presidents since 1990 have presented the Federal Budget in a Unified format to press and public. The off-line revenues (payroll taxes) and expenses (benefit payments) of social security (and its surplus) are shown grouped with other on-line items with the effect of underestimating the Deficit. In the ten years to FY2010’s budget, this has understated our annual deficits for this same ten year period (2000 – 2010) by almost $1.8 trillion (the Unified deficit for the period was $4.4 trillion, the “on-line” deficit without the social Security surplus was $6.2 trillion).

In a further sleight of hand, administrations began to talk up the concept of “Debt Held by the Public” (politicians say that’s the “real” Debt) as the more meaningful statement of our Debt, rather than our Total Debt. Total Debt includes “Debt Held by the Public” and “Intergovernmental Debt,” amounts owed to one department of the federal government to that of another. Here the logic starts to break down. Our government reports a lower Deficit by absorbing the Social Security and other trust fund surpluses; but then does not count these “IOUs” in reporting our Debt.

Here is an analogy to bring home my point. Suppose I had a 401K with $100,000 in assets, but was continually getting myself into financial trouble. Out of desperation, my plan sponsor lets me borrow the $100,000 from my account to pay for my current spending, which I could not pay for with my current income. But when a friend asks me at dinner about retirement, I confidently reply that my 401K has $100,000 invested, not mentioning the loan. This is the present state of the Social Security Trust Fund; nominally $2.6 trillion, its net value actually zero, since it has been loaned to and already spend by us to cover current expenditures.

We shouldn’t get reports in this fashion; the press should “call out” our elected officials and demand more honest numbers. Our Total Debt as of July 2011 is $14.3 trillion; $9.8 trillion owed to the public, $4.5 trillion owed to various federal trusts (the largest of which is Social Security, $2.6 trillion).

By as early as 2015, annual revenues versus outlays for Social Security will become negative as more Baby Boomers retire. It is my prediction that politicians will then start to argue that Social Security should go “off-line” once again.