Sicily - June 2013

Most know of Sicily; fewer know about Sicily – it is the Mediterranean’s largest island, and Italy’s largest region.  From 1000 BCE and for a thousand years thereafter, it was at “the center of the western world,” the Heathrow of present day. Everyone who was anyone passed through or by.

It’s been on our travel list for quite awhile, but for some reason we haven’t gotten around to it until now. The island is a treasure of physical beauty and human achievement. The indigenous Sicani and the Siculi soon had company: Phoenicians, Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Normans, Hohenstaufen, and the Catalan Spaniards all liked what they saw and decided to stay. And all thought the place was worth fighting about; and fought they did, quite a lot actually.

The latest invaders are British, French, German and a smattering American holidaymakers – it seems everyone always outstays their welcome.

I worry that a reader will sense the writer to be a bitter older man, not happy with his lot, and a bit spoiled for time and money. I might be spoiled for time and money, but am not at all bitter or unhappy – quite the reverse. You must accept that this post is merely my very personal “note to self.” It’s just a reminder for me and my wife of what transpired, what we saw, how we felt. So read it with this personal caveat in mind.

If you have been reading my past entries, you will have probably noticed that my travel posts are getting crankier; and for this current one I apologize in advance. I have always had a romantic ideal of luxury travel, which I can now finally afford and for which I happily pay.

But true luxury involves a delicate recipe of professionalism, charm, warmth, aesthetic and beauty. The off touted “attention to detail” is a wrong-headed approach; luxury is something holistic; not to be deconstructed into process maps or otherwise “manufactured.” Luxury, by its very nature, cannot be “scaled up,” a “luxury chain” is an oxymoron.  A purveyor of luxury must carefully calibrate change over time; have an equal respect for the past and the promise of the future. Further, there is not just one concept of professionalism, charm, warmth, aesthetics and beauty; the true answer rests on a knife’s edge – this is not a business pursuit for the fainthearted. If his primary goal is to become richer than his guests, an hotelier’s establishment will never become one of the great and enduring destinations.

On the whole, Sicily was a disappointment – maybe my expectations were too high. Maybe I want too much as I age? Should I just have calmed down and appreciated these exquisite accomplishments of antiquity, in spite of the island's current disorganization and disrepair; accepted less if you will?

Palermo was the paradigm of this problem. Here is a city founded by the Phoenicians in the 7^th century BCE, conquered by the Romans, dominated by Arabs, re-conquered for Christianity by the Normans –the Swabians, Spaniards, and the Sicilian Vespers all made their mark. The history and grandeur should shroud Palermo with majesty. But this is not the case; Palermo is tired and dirty, backward, chaotic; sad – its peoples’ faces tell the story. Other than the wonderful patrimony of the ancients and the glorious and rich landscapes; a certain soul was lacking. I hope this wasn't just a reflection back to my own.

The wines were simple; a surprise and delight; the food, be it mostly hotel fare, was disappointing. But this is our travel strategy; sight see at a hard pace and for the full day, then unwind with dinner at the hotel property we have chosen. We don't chase the food scene on these types of trips.
Anyway, taste and freshness and spice were missing; perhaps this is what I missed throughout the entire stay.

Below are the trials and tribulations of our 16 day trip.

THE EAST COAST: June 2 – 7, 2013

Sunday, June 2, 2013

We had a good late afternoon flight from Gatwick and landed in Catania about 6:30 p.m. Hertz had our rental ready, and with the help of our navigation, arrived at Villa Sant’Andrea about eight. The hotel is part of the Orient-Express Group, and located in Taormina Mare, right on the sea. We checked into room #222, a nice junior suite with a beautiful view to the tranquil Baia di Mazzarò. The room is spacious and nicely appointed.

We unpacked quickly and had a late supper on the terrace. The food was uninspired, and was made more so by the live music in the adjacent bar; a group of partying Texans were enjoying their last night to the fullest, dancing to disco tunes from the Seventies.

It was then off to bed.

Monday, June 03, 2013

We awoke to a beautiful morning and had breakfast on the hotel’s terrace. We were waiting to feast on some wonderful breads, pastry and fruit; but the fare didn’t hold up to our fantasies.

The hotel’s shuttle took us up the winding hillside to Taormina, dropping us at their sister property, Grand Hotel Timeo. This hotel is adjacent to an ancient Greek theatre, adapted by the Romans in the 2^nd Century CE. The ruins are somewhat poisoned by the modern lighting and seating for the current arts venue; but the backdrop of Mount Etna on this perfectly clear day made up for it.

We continued our tour of Taormina down Corso Umberto I, which forms the spine of this town, from Porta Messina, gently climbing to Porta Catania. The thoroughfare is lined with a mix of architecture, much Norman, with an Arab touch here and there. Many of the piazzas and palazzos are well kept; there is a quirky remnant “Naumachie”, used by the Romans to simulate naval battles.  We stopped for drinks at Café Wunderbar; in their day, a haunt of Greta Garbo and Tennessee Williams. All the shops seemed nice and upscale, not too much of tatty tee-shirt places.

We rewarded ourselves with lunch on the terrace of the Grand Hotel Timeo, overlooking the sea, Etna and the beautiful Communal Gardens. The food and service didn't match up to the exquisite scenery. Still, we checked some rooms here for a possible future visit – the property itself was that appealing.

Dinner was at Villa Sant’Andrea again; and disappointing, again.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

The day was another lovely one, especially compared to dreary London. After breakfast, we travelled 75 miles south to Siracusa, about an hour and a quarter’s drive.

Our first stop was to the northern part of the city to visit the archeological sites. The Greek theatre dates to the 3^rd century BCE, cut out of bedrock to take full dramatic advantage of the slope. Like in Taormina, this beautiful piece of antiquity has been marred by the modernity of its current use. Nearby was the massive

Orechhhio di Dionisio (the “ear of Dionysius”), a cave formed within the limestone quarries. The cavity resembles the inside of the ear, and the acoustics are remarkable. Finally, we toured the Roman amphitheatre, technologically far superior to its Greek neighbor. It’s sad to recall that the cultural performances had deteriorated into gladiatorial contests and the barbaric fighting of wild animals; far from Euripides and Aristophanes. Are there lessons to be learned in this?

We then headed south to the city’s island of Ortygia, rich in Greek history from the 8^th century BCE; quoted in Virgil’s Aeneid. Crossing the bridge to the Temple of Apollo, we arrived at the Plaza Domo. The site of the current cathedral has been a place of worship from the 6^th century BCE, first dedicated to Athena. Over its tumultuous history it has seen Christian, Arab, and then Norman Christian devotions. The façade was destroyed in the 1693 earthquake and rebuilt in its current Baroque style – quite fantastic. We stopped for a quick pizza in the square – not so fantastic.

It was then a walk back to the car and a quick relocation north again to see the Catacombs of San Giovanni, which are buried beneath the Basilica di San Giovanni Evangelista. These tombs, unlike Rome’s soft tufa, are carved out of hard limestone. Because of this, the burial site is very large; with some crypts accommodating over 20 bodies; the largest catacomb outside of Rome. After the tour we were back to the car for the drive back to Taormina; we arrived to the hotel about six exhausted.

Dinner was on the terrace; out of boredom we starting naming the staff. The rather puffed up maître d’hôtel was dubbed “peacock,” his burly assistant, “Brutus.” Food and service remained mediocre; afterward we were quickly off to sleep.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

After breakfast on another fine day we were off to Noto, further south than Siracusa. Ancient Noto was completely destroyed by the 1693 earthquake; rebuilt in the early 18^th century on a site six miles away, and in the Baroque style. The city’s axis is the wide Corso Vittorio Emanuele, which runs through three piazzas, each with its own church. The highlight was clearly the mellow golden hued Cathedral di San Nicolo. We

returned to our parking place on Via Cavor, with a lunch stop at a nondescript tratoria for bowl of pasta topped with a mush of eggplant and tomato sauce; soggy, and yet at the same time inexplicably too al dente – impossible you say?

Next stop before our return to Taormina was the town of Acirale to see its finely proportioned Piazza Domo and its Basilica dei Santi Pietro e Paolo. Unfortunately the church was closed by the time we arrived.

We got back to Sant’Andrea about five, and settled onto the terrace with a bottle of wonderful Italian sparkling wine, a 2005 Ca’del Bosco Franciacorta, Dosage Zero (60% chardonnay, 23% pinot bianco and 17% pinot nero) – highly recommended.

We went to dinner at Grand Hotel Timeo. The food was nothing special, but the view remained breathtaking. We met a couple on the shuttle back to the hotel; a French man and his Italian wife, now living in Surrey, in the UK. We discussed the food, they were happy to find someone who also thought the culinary scene was definitely lacking.

Not yet ready to go to sleep, we encamped at the terrace bar for a nightcap. There we met the piano player and all around entertainment provider, Carmelo. Carmelo was doing his best to impersonate Elton John in both dress and demeanor; but not succeeding very well. Friendly enough, he inquired about us. Not getting Judith’s name at all after a few tries; he referred to her as Juliet; Carmelo also discovered I was from the Big Apple.

Thus our musical embarrassment was sealed; a chorus of “Hey Jude” and a medley of “New York-New York” dedicated to us quickly followed.   Shortly thereafter, we skulked quietly off to bed.

Thursday, June 06, 2013

We opened the curtains to an overcast day. We were off early to Ragusa, the third city, after Siracusa and Noto, making up the Baroque triangle of southeast Sicily. Ragusa is further inland, so about a two hour drive. This city also suffered major damage in the 1693 quake, but the old town, Ragusa Ibla, was largely rebuilt in place.

Parking in Plaza Republica, we climbed the narrow stairs to Chiesa Purggatorio and made our way to Palazzo Domo and Domo San Giorgio, with its blue lantern neo-Classical dome; imposing set of stairs and wonderful pink-hued façade. We covered the balance of the old area, ending in the small but pretty Giardino Ibleo and its San Giacomo church. Before leaving, we backtracked to the Palazzo Nicastro. On our return journey we stopped for fuel and also for a surprisingly okay Panini at a highway Autogrille; arriving back to the hotel about five.

Dinner was on the terrace again; the food a bit better. I had beef Carpaccio, a tuna steak cooked rare, and some fresh fruit for dessert; bed followed quickly. 

PALERMO & WEST COAST: June 7 – 12, 2013

Friday, June 07, 2013

We left mid morning for our next stop; Palermo, on the north central coast, about a 2 ¾ hour’s drive. The last ten miles of road to the hotel were a shock; we could have been cruising through Damascus during a recent skirmish between Assad and the insurgency – complete chaos.

We pulled into Grand Hotel Villa Igiea and processed our check-in. The clerk escorted us to our suite, #115. It was a disaster; old, dark and festering, with a large bath so unacceptable it wouldn’t pass muster even in a youth hostel. We eventually moved to #309; a renovated suite but nothing very special, and unpacked. The hotel is in the port area, housed in an aging villa estate; everything upon inspection was in a various state of dilapidated decay. We made a dinner reservation for eight. Its five- star status is a stretch!

A bit after four we took a taxi into town, asking the driver to take us to the intersection of Palermo’s two main downtown thoroughfares: Via Vittorio Emanuele and Via Maqueda. At one time this central octagonal corner was adorned with four elegant 18^th Century Baroque façades; now it is a dirty, noisy and claustrophobic junction. Close by was Piazza Bellinia, which is home to La Martorana, a 12^th century chapel that is a marvel of glorious gold leafed Byzantine mosaics; a wedding was just finishing and it provided a certain sense of peace and elegance. Next door, San Cataldo Church paid homage to the Norman period, but with distinctive Moorish qualities. We walked back to Plaza Settimo, kicking through litter, and met the hotel’s shuttle.

Although we had booked, the terrace restaurant had no record of our reservation. Reluctantly we were seated at an inferior, cramped table. Unremarkable food and a lazy service followed; the 2010 Planeta Cometa the only highlight. I never got the port I had ordered. Walking back to our room, there was a room service tray blocking the hall – the last straw for me. I called the front desk and asked for the general manager – I was promised a call at 9:00 tomorrow morning; we’ll see. We were then off to a restless sleep.

Saturday, June 08, 2013

We were up to a nice day; had breakfast and were disappointed to not receive a call from the hotel’s general manager. Intent not to spend the day sulking, I sent a terse and stinging email; only to have the phone ring as we were walking out the door.

Alessio, the duty manager, was on the other end; he had misunderstood the telephone message and was waiting downstairs for me. Not to waste the day on this, I said I’d catch up with him in the late afternoon about our problems. We were out to tackle a full itinerary of urban sightseeing.

A taxi took us to the old harbor district and its nearby Baroque oratory masterpieces. Oratories were technically structures other than a parish churches, set aside by ecclesiastical authority for prayer and the celebration of Mass. In Oratorio del Rosario di Santa Cita and again in del Rosario di San Domenico, both dated to the 17th century, Giacomo Serpotta had executed exquisite stuccoes. The San Domenico church stands nearby.

We then headed west up Via Vittorio Emanuele, stopping at Palermo’s Cathedral, a late 12^th century edifice in the Sicilian-Norman style, with notable additions of a 15^th century Catalan Gothic south porch and a neo-classical dome dating from the 18^th century. This smörgåsbord of design somehow works into an esthetically pleasing whole. Further up was the expansive Palazzo Dei Normanni Cappella Palatina, the

highlight the chapel, built in 1130. The Arabo-Norman blazing gold mosaics are offset by marble inlays of exception workmanship.

There was just so much to see; we took in the 12^th century Church of St. John the Hermit and the Chiesa del Gesù before stopping for lunch on the relatively quiet (for Palermo) Via Principe di Belmonte and the Antico Caffé Spinnato, one of the city’s oldest cafés.

After lunch we saw one more of Serpotta’s late stucco masterpieces, Oratorio di San Lorenzo, described as a “cave of white coral.” Finally, we visited Gallaeria d’Arte Moderna, housing a major collection of 19^th and 20^th century Italian and Sicilian works. Michele Catti and Michele Cortegiani were standouts.

Returning to the hotel, we met with the manager, Alessio, who offered apologies and an upgrade to a very large suite. We graciously declined; all we needed at this point was to pack and unpack an extra time. Still, we were treated well at dinner; and had a good meal with courses of cod carpaccio, spaghetti with lobster, and a main course of fillet of local fish, dentice. Dessert was crème brûlée with wild strawberries; and yes, I got also my port. We were quickly to sleep.

Sunday, June 09, 2013

After breakfast, we were off on another trip on another sunny morning. Our first stop was Segesta, about an hour west along the coast. The road was pleasant; winding its way through lush agricultural land, in spite of such a dry island; acres of yellow rapeseed fields rolled along side us.

Segesta was first founded around 1200 BCE by the Elimi, sponsored by the Greeks. Internal and external conflicts followed continuously with Selinute in the south, Syracuse, Carthage and finally Rome. There is also evidence of the Norman activity. The temple we visited, now silently towering over the hilltop it occupies, is dated to 430 BCE, and the adjoining theatre above it from the 3^rd century BCE and Hellenistic times.

We were then back to the car and off to Erice, on the northwestern coast, just above Trapani. The navigation computed the shortest route, so the last 10 miles or so we travelled up a treacherously narrow road; should have actually taken SP 3, which we did on the way down. The town occupies a triangular plateau at more than 2,400 feet elevation. The mysteries and myths here are truly ancient; it is spoken of by Virgil; Hercules has been said to have visited. The Elimo-Punic Walls date to 8^th century BCE. Unfortunately, the Norman church of Matrice that we had come to view was closed for renovation, but we still got to walk the atmospheric streets.

Our lunch was at Monte San Giuliano, no English spoken, and no English menu. We decided on ravioli con aglio, seppie con il nero, pomodoro, peperoncino and ricotta. The unknown was the “aglio,” which upon our dish’s arrival we discovered to be cuttlefish, or squid; with a black ink sauce. It wasn’t bad, but very heavy. It was and hour and a half back to Palermo.

We declined Alessio’s invitation to a tasting menu, paired with a special wine selection and served in a private dining room. So dinner was again on the terrace and we just chose something light off the menu – saying it was “okay” is being too kind to the meal. Still the staff seemed to be on eggshells, not that it much improved service – I still spent the night pouring my wine. However, by this time I had given up all hope. I mellowed out to the reality and dropped into the comforting stupor of lowered expectations.

Monday, June 10, 2013

The weather is one thing you can count on; another sunny day of 80˚F. It was to Selinunte today, 75 miles south mostly on Autostrada 29. The old town of Selinus was founded in mid 7^th century BCE, and destroyed twice by the Cathaginians, in 409 and the 250 BCE.

The large site stretches across the broad confines of the town’s borders in antiquity. On the eastern side, two temples sit in sullen piles of columns and capitals, but one, re-erected in 1957 and dated to 5^th century BCE, is a fine Doric example. We joined a series of dirty and ill-maintained golf cart trains, captained by semi-serious drivers, and moved with other visitors along a bumpy dust clouded trail to the western Acropoli and fortifications.

We thus got back to the car looking like chalk powdered ghosts, and brushed ourselves off as best we could. We got back to Villa Igiea mid-afternoon; had lunch near the pool, and later, dinner on the terrace. No miracle presented itself regarding food or service.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

There was a brief shower overnight, the morning was overcast and we had another brief rain at breakfast. Close to noon, the sky was bright once more, but cooler.

We took a short 16 mile trip south to the hill town of Monreale, with its spectacular views down the Conca d’Oro Valley. The domo of Santa Maria La Nuova, quintessentially Norman, was built in 1172 under the

patronage of William II. The real treat was the interior, a massive nave and central apse covered with gold mosaics depicting biblical scenes. The eye could hardly focus, flitting from one beautifully glowing panel to the next. We also visited the adjacent large Benedictine cloister, with its splendid paired columns decorated in polychrome mosaics.

After, we had a quick cappuccino at Baby O’Bar in Piazza Gugliemo II, overlooking the church.

We were back to the hotel by late afternoon, had some wine and gelato near the pool; dinner on the terrace. Nothing improved; a German couple sitting next to us finally moved their long finished dinner plates to a side table and helped themselves to their wine.

We’re glad to be leaving the not-so-Grand Hotel Villa Igiea, and Palermo, domani.

AGRIGENTO & SOUTH COAST: June 12 – 17, 2013

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

We were up, checked out and had an easy two hour drive to Agrigento, through more beautiful countryside, wide expanses of yellow rapeseed fields. Along the route, locals were busy harvesting and baling hay on the sloping hillsides.

Hotel Villa Athena is a small property of 27 rooms, contained within the Valle Dei Templi Archeological Park. The hotel is set within almond, orange and olive trees, palms, flowering cactus and rows of lavender

swarmed with white butterflies. Our room wasn’t quite ready, so we had lunch at the outdoor restaurant.

We checked into a nice suite on the top floor in the old villa, #205. The two rooms are nice, although there is an odd and out of place Jacuzzi in the living room. Still, it is airy and bright and south facing, with windows on three sides. The large private terrace is fantastic, with unobstructed views south to the massive Tempio della Concordia. There is a large circular sun bed, with an adjustable canopy and soft mattress – the best hotel terrace we’ve encountered.

After unpacking, we took a swim, dried off and went back to our private terrace and had a delightful few hours of sun and reading. Dinner was outside, not wonderful, but a good improvement over Palermo. 

Thursday, June 13, 2013

We were up early to a delightful day, and set out walking to the Valle Dei Templi, poorly named since the vast site sits not in a valley, but high on a plateau looking down to the south and the Mediterranean.

It was just a short walk from the hotel; it took some time to get our bearings. We strolled up the slight hill of Via Sacra to the majestic Tempio della Concordia, visible from our terrace. Scholars date the structure to 430 BCE, and it is well preserved only because it was transformed into a Christian church in the 6^th century CE, and not razed to the ground. It is not known to which god the temple was dedicated, the name comes from a Latin inscription found nearby.

Next along was the Tempio di Hera Lacinia, dedicated to Juno, protectress of matrimony and childbirth. Backtracking, we re-crossed the entrance and visited Tempio di Zeus, Tempio di Castore e Polluce (Castor and Pollux) and Tempio di Eracle. This whole area was sacked by the Carthaginians in 406 BCE and much restored by the Romans the 1^st century BCE.

We had a late lunch on the hotel’s terrace, and enjoyed the balance of the afternoon’s sun on our terrace – very tranquil. Dinner was outside; nothing special, but the local wine, a 2009 Bianca di Valguarnera was fantastic.

We had a restful sleep.

Friday, June 14, 2013

We thought we might have to move rooms, but things worked out so we can stay put. After some sun, we set off to Villa Romana del Casale, about 1 ½ hours east and into central Sicily.

Villa Romana del Casale was a country villa, built toward the end of the 3^rd century BCE, perhaps by Maximian. It represents the McMansion of its day, 37,000 square feet and surrounded by other like size

dwellings. It was occupied until the 12 century CE; then destroyed by fire and landslides in 1161. It was only partially rediscovered in the 1800s.

The site is remarkable because of its well preserved mosaic floors; featuring mythological scenes, hunts, circus games, and incidents from daily life. The most famous room is Sala delle Dieci Ragazze in Bikini; ten young ladies pictured in underwear, commonly worn at the time for gymnastics.

I found the whole place unrewarding. It was dirty, poorly signed; with a grumpy and sullen staff. The elevated walkways are too narrow, and tours clog them, creating cues with people pushing their way through. The mosaics themselves aren’t well cared for; dust and even some litter spoiling your view of these intricate masterpieces.

We were back to Villa Athena for a late lunch, a nice plate of spaghetti, with a fresh local white wine from Maria Costanza. For dinner, our steaks were overcooked and too tough, but the view remained spectacular.

Saturday & Sunday, June 15 - 16, 2013

Our final two days were set aside for doing nothing. The weather was completely cooperative, delivering

cloudless sky and plus 80˚F temperatures; a soft breeze was added for good measure. On Sunday we thought about one more trip to the Planeta vineyard in Menfi, but decided to be lazy instead.

It was breakfast, sun on our private terrace’s oval sun bed, swimming, more sun, lunch with a wonderfully fresh 2012 Regaleali Bianco; more sun, reading, some writing; and dinner of swordfish and grilled vegetables.

The final dinner was some pasta, lamb, the mandatory cannoli consumption; a hearty 2008 Planeta Santa Cecila to wash things smoothly down.

Perhaps we have finally discovered Sicily’s purpose on earth – just doing nothing, but doing it well.

Monday, June 17, 2013

It was one more lovely morning. We had breakfast, passed on some touring advice about Palermo to fellow travelers seated next to us, and then up for some final basking under the Sicilian sun; Judith had a quick swim.

We had lunch and then left for Catania Airport by 2:00 pm; arriving at Hertz’s return after a two hour drive. The airport continued in the Sicilian tradition of service we had come to expect; bad signage, no seating; a business lounge with only a dozen seats, all full; no snacks, just water, no wine or alcoholic beverages. People arriving were so shocked; they just started to laugh uncontrollably.

The British Airways flight left about an hour late, arriving into Gatwick at eleven. Masood was waiting for us and had us to our flat at 12:30 am; more weary than when travelling back from the States. We crashed to bed, finally our own bed.

Oxford Overnight

On March 7th we met New Hampshire friends Pat and Paul in Oxford for an overnight visit. Our train arrived after an hour’s travel from London at a bit before eleven, to a wet and gray morning. We caught a taxi to our accommodations, the Old Parsonage Hotel on Banbury Road.

Pat and Paul were visiting with their pretty and energetic 25 year old daughter Emma. She is in post graduate studies in anthropology, housed in Keble College, one of the 38 colleges comprising Oxford University. Emma earned a coveted “Rhodes Scholarship” and as been here since last summer.

Shortly after noon, the four of us braved the awful weather and walked the city’s medieval streets. We stopped into the Pitt Rivers Museum, a wonderfully eclectic anthropological and archaeological collection originally constructed by Augustus Pitt Rivers in 1884. His artifacts (over 22,000 items) were the basis of the compilation, arranged “thematically” over three floors. After this visit, we stopped at the Rhodes House; Paul charmed the warden and we were allowed a fast peek into the vestibule and grand foyer; a building for the exclusive use of its namesake scholars.

All our efforts were rewarded with lunch at the Turl Street Kitchen. Afterward we strolled some more, trying to avoid the biggest puddles; then stopped for a look into Merton College and its 13th century Chapel Choir. A bit more walking took us to The Eagle & Child Pub, a 17th century establishment frequented by C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien who met here as students in the 1930s to discuss their unfinished manuscripts; we had some drinks and pleasant conversation – then back to the hotel.

The quartet reconvened in the hotel’s lobby at five and walked to Magdalen College for their evening song; a lovely boys’ choir. There was one little probationer among the singers, a blond cherub who could hardly stay awake; I must say the music was heavenly. After meeting up with Emma and her boyfriend Phillip, we were all off by taxi to dinner at Trout at Wolvercote. This 17th century public house sits north of Oxford at the edge of the Thames and the Godstow Bridge. The early evening was atmospheric; a spray induced fog hung over the long terrace creating an obscure and ghostly outlook as the swollen river roared by, at what seemed almost eye level.

Another friend of Paul met us there; Nicholas is an Oxford man, retired, the embodiment and full essence of an English gentleman. Our conversation spanned the lighthearted to geopolitical sadness; marvelous stories of international adventures and more. I was most struck by Emma and Phillip's passion for things, their depth of experience and their sense of potential – wonderful young people. After returning to the hotel we had a last nightcap with Pat and Paul; and shuffled off to bed after midnight.  

We awoke Friday morning to a grey day with low cloud threatening more rain.  After breakfast, we walked to the Ashmolean Museum on Beaumont Street; Nicholas is a trustee there as well as at the British Museum in London. The Ashmolean focuses on art and archaeology and was the world’s first university museum, started in the 1670s. The present building dates to 1841. We had an hour’s stroll around the airy and well lit displays.

We then met up with Emma; she had arranged with a friend to provide all of us with a tour of New College; a rather misleading name since it was founded by the Bishop of Winchester in 1379. Josh was a marvelous tour guide, brimming with tidbits of the institution’s history and folklore. The grounds were breathtaking; its gardens protected by lovingly preserved Norman walls. I can’t imagine how it all must look in the bloom of spring.

After a quick run through Oxford’s covered market we were back to the Old Parsonage for lunch; also meeting up with Phillip. Service was lacking and our meal stretched over two hours, but the saving grace was the still lively conversation. A goodbye to our friends and a short taxi back to the station; we arrived to Paddington at four.  It was a very enjoyable and engaging overnight jaunt.

25th Wedding Anniversary - Nassau

I first experienced the Bahamas with my uncle almost 50 years ago; a half century has somehow slipped under my feet! He had a wonderful ketch of forty-five feet, the “Tamatoa,” berthed at the Nassau Harbor Club.

Some history; in 1959 Huntington Hartford, the A&P supermarket heir purchased what was then known as Hog Island. It is just north of New Providence Island and the city of Nassau; the water separating these two islands formed Nassau Harbor. Hartford changed the name from Hog to Paradise Island; building the Ocean Club, Cafe Martinique, Hurricane Hole, the Golf Course, among other island landmarks. He also acquired and installed the Cloisters, a 14th-century French Augustinian monastery originally purchased in Montréjeau and dismantled by William Randolph Hearst in the 1920s; it forms a majestic backdrop to the Ocean Club’s Versailles Pool. A bridge was constructed to connect the two islands.

 The opening of Paradise Island in 1962 was covered in Newsweek and Time magazines; Hartford hired the staff from Eden Roc at Hotel Du Cap to work off season at the Ocean Club. This was an exotic destination at the time; I didn’t realize I was rubbing elbows with such glamour.

But summers here for me were mostly about the relaxed yacht culture, out-island exploring and the ocean. I have fond and lasting memories of this time.

I was next back in December 1987 to marry my wonderful wife Judith on Christmas Eve. We stayed on Paradise Island and at the Ocean Club. Some of the shine was already off the place, but it was still elegant. By this time the island had been sold to Donald Trump (well known for his exquisite taste), and then to Merv Griffin; plans were hatching to more fully exploit the island’s resources. Still, we had a happy and pleasant few days here.

Fast forward yet another twenty-five years to 2012 and Judith and I were back to celebrate our 25th Anniversary. By this time the Atlantis Resort on the western end of Paradise Island had been fully developed. The Ocean Club was expanded from a cozy and relaxed fifty rooms to over one hundred; three villas, a themed “star-chef” restaurant. The aspect of the original building had architecturally spun 180 degrees; the old entrance transformed into a very tony spa. The hotel was now managed under the upscale moniker of the “One & Only.”

After his purchase of the island from Griffin in 1994, South African hotel magnate Sol Kerzner bulldozed most everything and in addition to expanding the Ocean Club, built a series of monstrous hotels, water rides and other attractions; fully obliterating the former natural landscape of the western stretch of the island with his new “Atlantis.” The result is a gigantic land-based cruise ship for all intents and purposes.

Until this time, there was a small canal that ran from the western end of the island through to the harbor. I well remember passing along its banks in our Boston Whaler, the tender of the Tamatoa. In the 1965 James Bond movie “Thunderball,” the home of Largo, the arch villain of “SPECTRE,” was along this canal, filming took place at the villa of the wealthy Sullivan family. Who can’t recall the shark pool scenes? Near the outlet to the harbor, the famous Café Martinique’s restaurant and patio serenely blended with the water and the landscape.

 Sadly, the Atlantis development obliterated all of this. There is nothing left of the canal; in its place is “Atlantis Marina” village, a smallish dock area with yachts totally out of proportion to the scale of the place and a soulless replica of Caribbean life re-imagined in a Disney-esque bad dream. The embodiment of this bleak metamorphosis is the reincarnated Café Martinique, placed in the fake and perfectly cobbled walkways. The former was a “one-of-a- kind” venue with an inimitable vibe; now a disguised Outback Steakhouse or other some such franchise.  Jean-Georges Vongerichten has lent his good name for a pound of silver; I never liked his fusion cooking style that much; now I like it even less. The wine list used to be boundless; now the vintages aren’t even listed for most bottles. The captain told me it was too much trouble to keep changing the list. Our food was terrible, service amateurish with a certain air of misplaced superiority. Clientele were matched well with this; our dinner was set among flip-flop melodies from passing persons in their flip-flops; shorts, even one sleeveless undershirt. The only things that remained at a high standard were the prices.

It’s curious that the 2006 Bond flick “Casino Royal” was shot in and around the Ocean Club – Daniel Craig was good, but to paraphrase Lloyd Bentsen: “Daniel, your no Sean Connery.” Like the movie, the Ocean Club and Paradise Island had become a ghost of something past; something that was more real, more natural, and more of the moment.

Luxury is “a state of great comfort or elegance, especially when involving great expense,” “an inessential, desirable item or service which is expensive or difficult to obtain;” “a pleasure obtained only rarely.” True luxury had been replaced by mass luxury; which deprived me of the sumptuousness I desired.

Even to myself as I write, I sound like a crotchety old fart. I am a fossil complaining about the modern world, longing for the past of my younger days; of memories made more enchanting by the sentimental mist of time.

There was, of course, one saving grace: Judith. With her I enjoyed the sun, reading, swimming, walking, making fun of the atrocious food and service, discreetly mocking other guests, lamenting the sprawl and soullessness and, yes, other miscellaneous whining. We had a good time with each other, we always do. It was a pretty good seven days; the weather sure beat London’s or New York’s.

   Actually it’s hard to complain, but as you can see I still manage quite effortlessly.   

Antibes - 2012

We have habitually avoided South of France in the traditional vacation months of July and August; this is our usual haunt every September, after most Europeans have returned to the drudgery of their jobs. The weather is still great, in spite of the shorter hours of daylight as autumn approaches; reservations at the best restaurants are easier to come by, and traffic isn’t snarled to a crawl along the Corniche Inférieure.

We were coaxed into this visit in July by good friends. They are our age and their lives have taken a similar trajectory to Judith’s and mine. Joël and I both had private businesses with partners, sold them shortly after the millennium, and retired. We all enjoy food and wine, fine hotels, reading, politics and polite, civil conversation. We’re curious about each other’s perspective and although we don’t agree about everything, we can talk about anything without anyone getting all tied up in knots.

In the past, we have kept ourselves east of here, in Beaulieu–sur-Mer; actually annually for more than a decade. Our Septembers slowly morphed into lazy times of sun, food and wine – we hardly moved from the sun beds of our hotel. The sloth would be quite content with our lifestyle.

Nice and to its east, the Alps encroach the seashore, tightly packing activity against the steep cliffs of the range. By Antibes, the reach of the mountains has surrendered; the beach civilization comfortably stretches much further inland. Perhaps this explains the more laid back, less formal feel of the area – everyone has room to spread.

The week passed very quickly. We weren’t total sloths; getting out and seeing more, meals away from the hotel. Our decades on the Côte d’Azur had gotten us into a bit of a rut, without us really knowing. Thus this sojourn to Cap d’Antibes has reinvigorated our future pilgrimages here.

You can read on through my daily entries if you care:

Sunday, July 8, 2012

We woke up in London to gray cloud and 55˚F. Masood whisked us to Heathrow’s Terminal Five, skillfully skirting the temporary closure of the M4. Our British Airways flight was good; we were transported to a different and distant planet in just two hours: blue sky, brilliant sun, azure sea; and 80˚F. This “planet” is more commonly known among us as the South of France.

A nice young taxi driver got us to the Hôtel Imperial Garoupe in Cap d’Antibes by two; our room wasn’t ready so we were invited to have lunch at the hotel’s beach restaurant. We were pleasantly surprised to see Joël and Annie there; we joined them for lunch. It was at our friend’s prompting that we decided to try this new place in Antibes and meet up with them for the week.

The property is small and charming; our original room on the ground floor wasn’t ideal so we moved to the first floor; lighter and definitely more comfortable for us. It was then down to the pool for a late afternoon of catching up with our friends from Luxemburg. My thoughts about the hotel are mixed; we are so jaded and spoiled by the opulence of La Reserve de Beaulieu.

We spent the late afternoon at the pool; it is not very good for swimming. Still, the area is tranquil and not crowded at all. Drinks and dinner were with our friends at the hotel’s restaurant, Le Pavillon; the food inventive. Sleep came quickly.

Monday, July 9, 2012

Up to a beautiful day, breakfast was in the courtyard – pleasant. We were down to the pool early; Europcar dropped off our rental; a jet black Audi TT Coupe. Lunch was at the seaside restaurant; more reading and relaxation until six by the pool.

Dinner was with Annie and Joël again. We first stopped for an aperitif at the Eden Roc Hotel’s marvelous terrace; afterward taking a little time to walk down to the pool and through the majestic gardens. Tonight’s feast was at Les Pêcheurs at the Relais & Chateaux’s Cap d’Antibes Beach Hotel. Our table was outside on the terrace; the meal was wonderful as was the magnum of 2008 Clos de Blanc Vougeot Monopole. We got back to the hotel around midnight.

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

We were up early to another hot and beautiful day, and got out for a walk along the Sentier de Tirepoil; a five kilometer trail on the Cap’s rugged seashore. This walk is much more rustic than Beaulieu; parts are just rock and dirt; narrow passages, small bridges and steep steps jutting over the sea. Still it was a beautiful moonscape of weathered rock; we were out about 45 minutes.

We rewarded ourselves with a sensible breakfast and it was then down to the pool. The day was only interrupted by lunch at the seaside.

This evening we drove with Annie and Joël to Vence and the expansive Le St. Martin Hotel and Restaurant. Drinks were on the terrace with wonderful views to the Mediterranean; our meal exquisite.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

After breakfast we drove the short distance to Cannes. The city was busy and lively; after some walking we had lunch on the Carlton’s terrace facing the sea and the bustling Boulevard de la Croisette. We arrived back to the hotel about four; quickly donning our suits and heading to the pool. The weather is hot; 86˚F today.

We enjoy our friend’s company so it was a pleasure to have another dinner together. Le Figuier de St. Esprit is a wonderful restaurant, along the ramparts in old Antibes. There is an ancient olive tree growing in its middle; the tables surrounding it. Conversation and laughter leavened the fantastic food.

Again we were to bed well past midnight.

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Hot again. After breakfast we took a trip into old Antibes; visiting the Eglise de l’Immaculée

Conception, the busy farmers’ market, Marché Provençal; the façade of the Picasso Museum (visited in a “past century” by us), the narrow shop lined alleyways and finally, the winding ramparts.
We joined Annie and Joël for lunch; then read for the balance of the day at poolside under the shelter of our parasols.  The pool itself is a disappointment; too shallow and short for serious swimming – in this respect I miss La Reserve’s wonderful salt water piscine.

Dinner was at the hotel; the place was empty. The food is creative and delicious, but the service is immature in relation to the meal. Even so, it is a mystery why this place is so forsaken.

Friday, July 13, 2012

We were down to the pool early. I thought it would be nice to try lunch on the terrace at Hotel du Cap Eden Roc; unfortunately our hotel couldn’t make the booking. Undeterred, I decided to drive over myself to plead our case to their concierge. This effort was rewarded with a 1:00 reservation.

Arriving at Eden Roc, the wind was too strong for the terrace, so we ate in the very airy grille; watching the panorama of gale driven whitecaps behind the safety of glass. Lunch was good; the same cannot be said of our fellow guests. We remembered why we don’t stay here; it is an earthly paradise but inhabited by a roving band of barbarous philistines, celebrating their plunder of the world’s economies. We all commented that some of the regalia worn by the female companions of the male warriors were downright frightening. I think I saw an anthropologist or two hidden in the bushes on our way out; perhaps here studying the different customs and interactions of these primitive, sun worshiping hedonistic peoples.

After returning to Hôtel Imperial Garoupe, the balance of the blustery but sunny afternoon was spent reading by the pool and inventing ad-hoc tools of rock and twig to keep the parasols in their bases so as not to fly off and kill someone – the wind very strong.

Annie, Joël and we had aperitifs and dinner at Bacon, a one-star Michelin jewel jutting out on the Pointe Bacon, with breathtaking views of the old ramparts of Antibes. This stalwart has been family owned by the Sordello’s for perhaps thirty years. Judith and I were both sure upon arriving that we tried to have a meal here perhaps in 1985; 27 years ago! Our circumstances were certainly much different then; we were staying at a nondescript hotel in Nice, took a train to Antibes, then a taxi to this restaurant; only to learn it was closed for lunch that day. At any rate, our Capon, a local fish, was fantastic; served in a traditional provincial style.

Unfortunately it was too windy for the fireworks display off the point of Antibes to proceed. The celebration of La Fête Nationale, or Bastille Day; officially on the 14^th, was thus a muted affair. We would have had the best viewing spot available for the show right from our table. C’est la vie.

Saturday, July 14, 2012

We were up, had breakfast and then took a one hour walk along the sea. Poolside by eleven, the sky started to become cloudy as we went to lunch at the hotel’s restaurant on Baie de la Groupe. After that, we were back at our sun chairs reading until about five; when the day turned a bit chilly and windy; we retreated to our room. Overall, the day wasn’t as pleasant; the pool was crowded with guests who were too loud for our taste.

Dinner with our friends was at the hotel’s restaurant, Le Pavillon; the food was excellent, service slow.

Sunday, July 15, 2012

Thankfully the weather report turned out to be wrong; we had a nice final day, hindered with a bit of wind. After breakfast we were down to the pool until noon; cleaned up, packed and said our goodbye to Annie and Joël. We had a quick taxi to the airport and an easy check in.

The flight was good and even arrived ten minutes early. Masood had us back to Kinnerton Street before six; another adventure at its end. We are already looking forward to September.

The "No-Pledge" Pledge

Some pundits are now saying that there is some hope for compromise on the budget, tax reform and reduced spending before the end of this year. The Tax Armageddon of the combined expirations of the Bush and payroll tax cuts on December 31, 2012 might prompt our government to some last minute action. This “solution” will be less than “strategic” to say the least – just crisis management like the debt ceiling debacle of last summer.

I submit that a major contributor to this chaos is the Americans for Tax Reform (“ATR”) and it’s President, Grover Norquist.   Norquist and ATR are the developers of the “No-Tax Pledge,” or in their parlance, the taxpayer protection pledge. The organization’s description starts as follows: “Americans for Tax Reform opposes all tax increases as a matter of principle.”

Of course, Norquist takes this to the absurd. To cite just two examples: ATR opposes closing any loopholes for any reason, or for even ending ineffective and market distorting Ethanol subsidies, arguing these would both be tax increases. I will not get into the flawed logic of ATR’s “starve the beast” philosophy here; however, suffice it to say that our recent history has shown that tax cuts are generally accompanied by increases in government spending, not decreases.

41 Senators, 236 House Members and 1,263 state legislators have signed the “Pledge,” scared to death of Norquist’s wrath and threats of electoral retaliation.

America needs an anti-Norquist with matching political cunning. The pledge we should ask candidates to sign is a “No Pledge” Pledge. Other than the Pledge of Allegiance, all others should be out. We need people of honor and integrity in government, individuals who we trust to have wisdom to balance principle with compromise. Many veteran legislators in Washington possess these sensibilities, but are punished for showing them by the ATR.

Norquist’s influence needs to be neutered and exposed for what it is – horribly crippling demagoguery over public policy and the implementation of true tax reform. Maybe I will be scolded by some for making analogy to the terrible images of McCarthyism; but similar fears are engendered in the hearts of politicians today. It’s time to stand up against ATR and to just say no to the “No-Tax Pledge”.

I believe money would pour into an organization supporting and backing the idea of a “NO PLEGDE” PLEDGE. I am not promulgating the idea big government or limited government, higher taxes or lower taxes; rather for supporting a democracy that actually works as intended.

To whom should we write our checks?

Refrigeration - Urban Style

This is a simple tale about a refrigerator replacement in the Big Apple.

We purchased our apartment on the Upper Eastside of Manhattan in 1998; the former owner was an interior designer and did things up in the grand style of one of the Louis’, probably the “Top Louis” to steal a line from Woody Allen. Everything was built-in to look good, but not actually function all that well. After all, this was an interior designer, not an architect or engineer.

About one year ago, our built-in refrigerator started to act up. A repairman tried to resuscitate, but alas it was not to be; it died. Thus started our quest; the dilemma was that to replace this 41” wide built-in was more than the price of an average used car sold in 2011. But to buy a more reasonably priced standalone model would require a cabinet maker to remodel the built-in, custom made cupboards. The net price of this alternative would be another used car. We decided to go with the built-in replacement, a Sub-Zero (the Bentley of cooling solutions) was the only model with the dimensions we needed.

Our apartment is on the 8^th floor of a pre-war building; moving things in and out is problematic. A gentleman from the appliance store came to do measurements. The old fridge is 84” high and couldn’t fit in the freight elevator, nor could the new one. The old would need to be disassembled to get out, the new disassembled and re-assembled to get in; of course these services are all “extra” and would extend the installation over a three day period. There was, for instance, a $200 charge for the 14 steps leading from the street to the freight elevator.

Two workers arrived to pull the old unit out and then left; he said a crew would be here to deal with the broken fridge and move in the new one. These men showed up about an hour later; no ladder and a few tools. They borrowed our ladder and proceeded to try to take the compressor/condenser off the top of the unit; many perplexed looks. After about a half hour of this, one of them punctured a Freon line, the gas escaped and refrigerant oil spewed over our floor, cabinets; literally everything was covered with a greasy slime. They started halfheartedly to wipe and smear the stuff around with paper towel (our paper towel) so we told them just to leave it. Dragging the unit out our back door, they damaged our molding and wall corner bead in several places. It squeezed into the elevator and it was gone. We quickly cleaned things up as best we could while they were gone. Not quite the BP Gulf spill, but you get the picture.

The new base of the Sub Zero appeared from out of the elevator. Surprise; it would not fit through our back door in spite of their earlier measurements, so we needed to go to plan “B.” The freight elevator opens to the 8^th floor hallway as well as our service staircase. This meant dragging the unit over our marble foyer and through the kitchen door. This door wouldn’t open wide enough; after the workers were about to give up, I removed the floor stopper which provided an extra inch and a half of clearance. The new Sub-Zero was placed in the middle of the kitchen; the crew left – no apology, no goodbye.

The following morning a certified technician from Sub-Zero arrived to sew together the two pieces; it came to life about an hour later. Of course, this worker couldn’t complete the installation; we would need to wait for the arrival of the original two workers.

An hour or two later, they showed up, hooked up the water line, removed the protective packaging; and positioned and leveled our new refrigerator. The man, Rigo, and his assistant, were at least a bit pleasant; they dragged out the cardboard and other packing materials on their way out.

The Sub-Zero looks monstrous; it’s stainless steel finish clashing with other parts of the kitchen. It looks like more renovation will follow. What’s not to love about New York?

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.”