WINE DINE AND TRAVEL SUMMER 2020 -- SOUTH AFRICA

214PAGES

SOUTH AFRICA EDITION

SUMMER

WD

WINE DINE + TRAVEL MAGAZINE

DISCOVERING SOUTH AFRICA

WINELANDS VALENTINE | BEST OF CAPE TOWN | COUNTRYWIDE HIGHLIGHTS

ADVENTURE IN CUBA | ENGLAND’S PLAGUE TOWN | SURFS UP IN MOROCCO | POSTCARDS FROM VIETNAM

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WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE 2020

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WINEDINEANDTRAVEL.COM

WINEDINEANDTRAVEL.COM 3

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RON & MARY’S

EDITOR’SNOTE

Mary and I have had many chats lately about our upcoming

booked cruises. We wonder if they will be cancelled

as the pandemic persists. We speculate about

radical changes in the cruise experience as cruise lines

focus on keeping passengers Covid-19 free. And we

worry that some favorite cruise companies might not

weather the economic challenges they’re facing.

Like many travelers we have not received promised

refunds and other compensation. We wait...and

call...and wait some more. In some cases more than

three months have passed with no sign of the funds, in

our case, from a cruise company and airline. We know

others have faced the same challenges all across the

travel industry. And many, like us, have learned our

travel insurance is worthless in a pandemic.

Cruise lines have been hit hard, maybe the hardest,

since the pandemic forced

them from the seas. We

surely understand they are

struggling with cash flow

as their income has dried

up. We sympathize with

customer service reps who

face a public increasingly

vexed with refund delays.

Add in America’s poor

response to the pandemic

that has made U.S. citizens unwelcome around the

world, and it’s understandable why we are reluctant to

book and/or pay for future cruises. Sure you can cancel

up until the last minute without penalty, but when you

do that, you likely won’t see those funds for months...if

ever. The same goes for air fares, lodging, etc.

The result is a vicious circle of woe for an already

battered industry.

We do have a cruise on the books for May 2021. But

ROUGH SEAS

what shipboard experience will await us when/if we

board then. To us, the comradery of gathering with fellow

cruisers is as important as enjoying great food,

drink and exciting ports and shore excursions. Imagine

that experience wearing a face mask (and we always

wear one in public now) and maintaining social distancing.

How will elevators, dining rooms, lounges, bars and

theaters operate? How will crew practices change to

insure their safety and health?

All are thorny issues for cruise lines, their customers

and employees. Perhaps the only way the ships can reassure

passengers and the public is robust testing of all

boarding after every trip ashore until a vaccine is available

to all. When that happens, proof of vaccination will

be as necessary for boarding as a passport. No exceptions.

Recently Robert R. Redfield, the

director of the C.D.C., blamed

cruise ships for widespread transmission

of the virus as he banned

cruises through the month of September.

The C.D.C mandated that

before cruise ships can sail in or

out of American waters, cruise

lines must come up with cohesive

plans for prevention and mitigation

of the illness.

Cruise lines know these steps are essential if they

are to survive. Most are working with health and travel

experts to find answers that satisfy authorities, protect

passengers and crews, and provide the levels of service

and satisfaction their clients expect.

We fervently wish them well because we can’t wait

to sail again. But in the meantime, we hope they’ll send

our money back soon.

Ron & Mary James

Publishers & Editors

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EDITORS//PUBLISHERS

Ron & Mary James

ASSISTANT EDITOR

Mia Sellfe

ART DIRECTOR

SUMMER

WD

COVER SHOT

Don Inhousen

CIRCULATION

Jake Washington

STAFF WRITERS

Alison DaRosa

Priscilla Lister

John Muncie

Jody Jaffe

Kitty Morse

FEATURE WRITERS

Sharon Whitley Larsen

Carl Larsen

Maribeth Mellin

Amy Laughinghouse

Judy Garrison

Wibke Carter

Margie Goldsmith

Michael Burge

Brian Clark

Diane Covington

Cover photo: Cover shot courtesy of Takara Winery.

WDT respects the intellectual property rights of others, andwe askthat our readers do the same.We have

adopted a policy in accordance with the Digital Millennium CopyrightAct (“DMCA”)and other applicable laws.

Wine Dine & Travel Magazine is a Wine Country Interactive Inc. Publication @2020

Corporate headquarters SanDiego,California Contact ron@winedineandtravel.com

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San Diego | New York | London


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BEST OF SHOW

BestTravel Story | Best Layout &Design | Best Photography | Best Column | Best CoverDesign &Website | Best Feature Series

23 MAJOR AWARDSIN 2019

Since our first year Wine Dine & Travel Magazine has earned dozens of awards for everything that makes a great

magazine. We’ve won top awards in every key category, including editorial, design, humor, photography, and

columns. We’re proud we continue to receive these accolades yearin andout from the most respected journalism

organizationsin thenation including the American Society of Travel Writers and Society of Professional Journalists.

WE’RE SERIOUS ABOUT

GREATJOURNALISM

THE BEST FREE TRAVEL MAGAZINE IN THE WORLD


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CONTENTS

& CONTRIBUTORS

Ron James

RonJamesisthe"wine,foodandtravelguy." Heisanationallyaward-winningprintand

onlinejournalist,graphicdesigner,televisionproducerandradiopersonality.Thenative

Californiansnationallysyndicatedwineandfoodcolumnshaveappearedinnewspapers

andmagazinesaroundtheworld.Ronisfounderandco-publisherofWineDine&Travel

Magazine.

Mary James

Mary Hellman James is an award-winning San Diego journalist and editor. After a

29-year-career with The San Diego Union-Tribune, she currently is a freelance garden

writer and a columnist for San Diego Home-Garden/Lifestyles magazine and

co-publisher and editor of this magazine.

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WINELANDS VALENTINE

For a week, including Valentine’s Day when we

celebrated our 31st anniversary, we explored

the stunningly beautiful Winelands of the

western cape, less than an hour drive from

Cape Town.

CAPE TOWN HIGHLIGHTS

In the few days we stayed in downtown Cape

Town we managed to scratch the surface on

things to enjoy in this cosmopolitan region.

Here’s an illustrated diary of our Cape Town

adventures.

MY COUNTRY, SOUTH AFRICA

Let me take you on a tour of my country, the

“Rainbow Nation” of South Africa. With 11 official

languages and many races, here you’ll find

great cultural, historical and geographical diversity.

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FORESTS & FOODS FOR THE SOUL

For a really big milestone birthday, I sought an adventure

where I could hike among glorious gardens

and parks, where I could enrich my soul in

myriad cultural attractions, and where I could celebrate

with fabulous local foods and wines..

Amy Laughinghouse

London-based writer and photographer Amy Laughinghouse has attempted to

overcome her fears (and sometimes basic common sense) through her adventures

in 30 countries around the world. She dishes on the perks and perils of globetrotting

for publications like LonelyPlanet.com, AAA Journey Magazine,

Virtuoso Life, and The Dallas Morning News. Her travel tales can also be found on

her website, www.amylaughinghouse.com.

Jody Jaffe & John MuncieMuncie

Jody and John are award-winning journalists and novelists. John is a Lowell

Thomas Award-Winner and was feature editor of The San Diego Union-Tribune,

arts editor of The Baltimore Sun and writer-editor-columnist for the travel department

of The Los Angeles Times. Jody was a journalist at the Charlotte Observer,

where she was on a team that won the Pulitzer Prize. Her articles have

been published in many publications including The New York Times and The Los

Angeles Times. They live on a farm in Lexington, Va.


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POSTCARDS FROM VIETNAM

We’re talking about motorbike traffic. Motorbikes

swarm Vietnam like monster bees.

Buzzing, roaring, put-putting down every

street, along every alley, across every sidewalk,

squeezing through the aisles of outdoor

markets. There are 90 million people in Vietnam

and 45 million motorbikes. Cars? Maybe

a couple million..

SURF’S UP IN MOROCCO

The most recent trip was to surf off Morocco’s

Atlantic Coast. After four years of working as

a staff writer at The San Diego Union Tribune

and hanging out on the city’s many beaches, I’d

developed a middling ability to ride a longboard

on easy waves at La Jolla Shores and the

Tourmaline Surfing Park.

DANCING THROUGH THE CANAL

Dancing was foremost on my mind while planning

a recent Panama Canal Cruise. I needed a ship

with at least one great music venue where my husband

and I could let loose—and it had to open at a

reasonable hour (late nights are not our forte).

Alison DaRosa

Alison DaRosa is a six-time winner of the Lowell Thomas Gold Award for travel writing,

the most prestigious prize in travel journalism. She served 15 years as Travel Editor of The

San Diego Union-Tribune and was the award-winning editor of the San Diego News Network

Travel Page. Alisonwrites a monthly Travel Deals column for the San Diego Union-Tribune

and is a regular freelance contributor to the travel sections of the Los Angeles Times, USA

Today and AOL Travel. Learn more about Alison on her website, www.AlisdaRosa.com.

Carl H. Larsen

Carl H. Larsen is a veteran journalist based in San Diego. He now focuses on travel

writing, and issummoned to pull out his notebook whenever there’s the plaintive cry of

a steam locomotive nearby. In San Diego, he is a college-extension instructor who has

led courses on the Titanic and the popular TV series “Downton Abbey.”

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Sharon Whitley Larsen

Sharon Whitley Larsen’s work has appeared in many major publications, including

Reader’s Digest (and 19 international issues), Chicken Soup for the Soul books, and

Los Angeles Times Magazine. She’s the author of British Travel Tidbits (2017) and

Travel Tidbits (2018), published by Sanbun Publishers in New Delhi. Sharon also

had a two-year travel column “Travel Tidbits” in the Union Jack newspaper. Her favorite

topic is travel (favorite destination London).

Maribeth Mellin

Maribeth Mellin is an award-winning journalist whose travel articles have appeared

in Endless Vacation Magazine, U-T San Diego and Dallas Morning News among others.

She also travels and writes for several websites including CNN Travel, Concierge-

.com and Zagat, and has authored travel books on Peru, Argentina, Costa Rica,

Mexico, Hawaii and California.


Priscilla Lister

Priscilla Lister is a longtime journalist in her native San Diego. She has covered many subjects

over the years, but travel is her favorite. Her work, including photography, has appeared in

The San Diego Union-Tribune, Los Angeles Times, Alaska Airlines’ magazine and numerous other

publications throughout the U.S. and Canada. She is the author of “Take a Hike: San Diego

County,” a comprehensive hiking guide to 260 trails in amazing San Diego County.

Wibke Carter

German-born Wibke Carter has lived in New Zealand and New York, and presently enjoys life, love, and

laughter in London. Her work has appeared in The Globe and Mail, The San Francisco Chronicle, Binspired

Magazine, The Independent and more. When not traveling, she is trying to tame her two cats and

improve her DIY skills

Michael Burge

Michael Burge is an award-winning journalist who worked for many years as an assistant

metro editor and senior writer for The San Diego Union-Tribune. Michael and his wife,

Kathleen, have logged countless miles visiting adult children in Asia and Scotland. The

couple met as Peace Corps volunteers in Kenya, so they have no one to blame but

themselves for their globe-trotting offspring.

Kitty Morse

Kitty Morse is a Casablanca-born food and travel writer, speaker, and author of 11 cookbooks, five

of them on the cuisine of her native Morocco. Her memoir, Mint Tea and Minarets: a banquet of

Moroccan memories, and its French translation, Le Riad au Bord de l’Oued, are both recipients of a

Gourmand World Award. https://www.kittymorse.com.

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CUBAN ADVENTURE

Cuba off-limits to US citizens? Not so! They are the

largest group to visit Cuba after Canadians, and

must plan their visit through licensed travel agencies.

We were under the impression that we needed

to fly to Cuba through a third country. Wrong again!

PLAGUE TOWN ENGLAND

With the recent worldwide spread of the frightening

Coronavirus--COVID-19--we're vividly reminded of

the terrifying 17th-century Bubonic Plague. This is

the story of how brave villagers in a small English

town took it upon themselves to self-quarantine for

14 months and save lives.

LIFE AT A SNAIL’S PACE

Geographically Burgundy is in the heart of France,

and one can really feel the slower pace of life. The

French saying pour vivre heureux, vivons cachés (to

live happily, live hidden), couldn’t express the local

sentiment any better.

SCOTTISH SURPRISE

When we wake up, we'll be high up in the Scottish

Highlands, running on a single-track route across

the broad and forbidding Rannoch Moor with a brief

stop at its desolate station -- the highest in the U.K.

Judy & Len Garrison

Judy is the editor of Georgia Connector Magazine and Peach State Publications as well as a

freelance writer/photographer/traveler for national/international publications including Deep

South Magazine, Interval Magazine, Simply Buckhead, US Airways Magazine, Southern Hospitality

Traveler and has a bi-monthly blog in Blue Ridge Country’s online edition. She and Len own Seeing

Southern, L.L.C., a documentary photography company.

Margie Goldsmith

Margie Goldsmith is a NYC-based author, writer and photographer who has explored 140

countries on seven continents. She has won 85 awards including the prestigious Lowell

Thomas Travel Journalism Gold Award. She has written over 1,000 articles for Robb Report,

Travel + Leisure, Business Jet Traveler, American Way, Hemispheres, Wall Street Journal, Globe and

Mail.

Brian Clark

Brian Clark is a Madison, Wisconsin-based writer and photographer who likes to ski,

kayak, scuba dive, bicycle and sail as often he can. A former staff writer for The San Diego

Union-Tribune, he now contributes to a number of publications.


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WDT MAGAZINE WINTER2018



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Story by Mary James | Photography by Ron James

WinelandS Valen

A DELICIOUS ADVENTURE IN SOUTH AFRICA’S CAPE WI

What to do with a gap between two travel adventures - the end of our thrilling

Kenyan safari and the start of an exotic cruise from Cape Town? What else but

explore another of the world’s iconic wine regions.

Since we met three decades ago, whenever possible, my husband and I seek out

wine country pleasures - bucolic views, charming inns, leisurely tastings and

casual fine dining. If trips bring us near vineyards - Virginia to Oregon, France

to Australia, we visit for an afternoon or several days.

This time our wine country destination was South Africa, one of the

oldestwine-makingregionsoutsideofEurope,whereDutchandFrench

settlers began tending vines in the mid-1600s.

For a week, including Valentine’s Day when we celebrated

our 31st anniversary, we explored the stunningly beautiful

Winelands of the western cape, less than an

hour drive from Cape Town.

It was love at first sight.

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tine

NE COUNTRY


Our Uber (an ideal way to get around if you

don’t drive British-style on the left) quickly left

behind freeways for two-lane highways through

verdant valleys crowned by jagged granite peaks.

More than 300 wineries thrive here in the moderate

Mediterranean climate cooled by breezes from

the Atlantic and Indian oceans, but they aren’t

lined up, Napa Valley-like, on the main roads, preserving

an appealing farm-country vibe.

Our arrival in February coincided with harvest -

and some of the area’s warmest weather. From our

first base, the charming Plumwood Inn, we would

explore Franschhoek and neighboring Stellenbosch,

historic small towns considered by many to

be South Africa’s wine and culinary capitals. Some

of the country’s top 100 restaurants delight gourmands

here, and their presence sparks inspired

dining all around, as we discovered during our

stay.

For Valentine’s weekend, we moved to the boutique

Steenberg Hotel and Spa, a history-rich retreat

on the grounds of the Cape’s first farm.

Surrounded by vines and home to its own winery

and two top-rated restaurants, Steenberg is nestled

in the heart of Constantia where top-rated

vintners and restaurateurs draw daytrippers from

Cape Town as well as knowing visitors from across

the globe.

During our stay there, romance was in the air. At

lunch one day, gazing out at the garden, we

watched a man fall on one knee to propose. At a

nearby table, another couple hugged and kissed as

they shared champagne toasts with friends. Bubbles

- one of the hallmarks of Steenberg Winery -

spread joy everywhere.

More toasts - along with chocolates and rose

petals - were to come. By the end of our

Winelands stay, we were totally smitten. You’ll

likely be too as you follow our footsteps through

this bewitching place.

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Franschhoek Wine Valley

For our visit, cloudless skies and autumn heat

basked this valley in the glowing light artists extol.

Some of it undoubtedly radiates from the brilliant

white-washed buildings that dot the landscape

and line streets in the small towns. This traditional

Cape Dutch architecture, often roofed with thick

black thatch, adds a sophisticated European ambience

to the valley’s pastoral setting.

Among the first to see promise in the area’s climate

and fertile soils, early Dutch settlers influenced

more than the look of the land when they

welcomed persecuted French Huguenots at the

end of the 17th century. Given small free plots in

Franschhoek, which means French Corner in

Dutch, these newcomers drew on their farming experience

to grow grapes, olives and more. Their

love of food and art also reverberates to this day.

The town of Franschhoek - population 20,000 -

is a patchwork of galleries, antique stores and better

souvenir shops that fill in around tourist shops,

gourmet grocers and sundry stores that cater to

locals. Cafes and restaurants enliven the mainstreet

and its many courtyards filled with umbrella-shaded

tables. During our stay we enjoyed

delicious pasta alle vongole at Allora and passable

Mexican “with a twist” at Tuk Tuk Microbrewery -

all savored outside on balmy evenings before

leisurely strolls back to Plumwood.

Our innkeepers Roel and Lucienne Rutten

served cooked-to-order breakfasts with fresh pastries

and fruit salads on a patio overlooking the

pool. Throughout the day, guests used an honor

system for cocktails and South African wines along

with happy-hour snacks. Roel and Lucienne also

were expert guides to the region, as were many of

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our fellow guests who had come to Plumwood annually

for years to escape Europe’s winters.

They, like us, took advantage of Franschhoek’s

central location to explore wineries and restaurants,

including many in Stellenbosch, a 40-minute

Uber ride away. This university town and environs

are home to more than 150,000. Its bustling

downtown is easily walkable and alive with shops,

galleries and bars, many geared to 30,000 students

in residence.

During our first visit, several streets were

blocked and black smoke billowed into the air as

taxi drivers protested tickets for speeding and

parking violations. We were turned back and

learned from fuming shopkeepers that these disruptive

incidents occur all too frequently. Though

our second visit to Stellenbosch was protest free,

we were glad quieter Franschhoek was our home

base.

Throughout our time in South Africa, blackouts

were a regular occurance. The demand for electricity

exceeds the supply, especially during hot

spells, so the national utility spreads the pain with

rolling load-shedding, planned outages 3 to 4

hours long across the country. At Plumwood the

day’s outages were posted, so guests would know

when lights and air conditioning would be off. We

all grew to share Roel’s relief when he announced

a day with uninterrupted power.


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Breathtaking Blend

Art and architecture, vineyards and gardens,

wine-making and fine cuisine - all are equals in the

stellar blend that is Tokara Wine Estate, the first

of the area’s wineries we visited. A half-hour Uber

drive from Franschhoek (only 3 miles if you’re

coming from Stellenbosch), this stunning, world

renowned winery enjoys one of Winelands’ most

spectacular settings in the foothills of Simonsberg

Mountain. Views stretch across beautiful native

fynbos, undulating vineyards and olive groves to

the waters of False Bay and, on a clear day, the

Cape Town’s iconic Table Mountain.

Grapes have been tended in this area for centuries,

but Tokara owners GT Ferreria, a banking

magnate, and his wife Anne-Marie sought only a

quiet home to raise their family when they purchased

a small farm there in 1994. Five years later,

they ventured into wine-making, naming the new

venture after their children Tom and Kara. The

first vintages in 2003, that combined the talents of

viticulturist Aidan Morton and winemaker Stuart

Botha, were greeted with acclaim - as have releases

ever since.

Traditional varietals, Cabernet Sauvignon and

Sauvignon Blanc, and classic Bordeaux blends

dominate Tokara’s wines, but the wine estate itself

is refreshingly contemporary. Operations, including

the tasting room, restaurant and family

friendly deli, are housed in a glass, steel, stone and

concrete structure that embraces the majestic

landscape while hosting all the necessities of a

modern wine enterprise.

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Plus, the design by Van Bijon and Visser Architects

is an ideal showcase, inside and out, for the

Ferrerias’ dynamic, often provocative, collection

of South African art. At the winery entrance,

Marco Cianfanelli’s laser-cut stainless steel grape

vines - their cordons sprouting oenology terms -

sets the stage for art displayed inside. Prints, fiber

art, sculptures, handwoven baskets, paintings and

more catch the eye throughout the building, even

down the hallway to the loo.

General manager Karl Lambour guesstimates

more than 500 artworks are on site, including

dozens around the estate that he pointed out as

we drove to viewpoints above the steep vineyards.

One unforgettable work sits in a grassy circle

outside the Ferrerias’ tree-sheltered home.

Created on site of granite and stainless steel is

Angus Taylor’s massive sculpture of “Dionysus.”

The Greek god couldn’t be more at home on this

land that pays great homage to his realms of wine

and good times.

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Before shepherding us to lunch in Tokara

restaurant, Karl shared a tasting in the boardroom

that began with bubbly before moving on to

single vineyard reds and whites and the estate’s

rightfully acclaimed Director’s Reserve Bordeaux

blends. He also wrestled open the antique iron

door, pried from a shipwreck, that guards the entrance

to the winery’s two-story library of all

Tokara vintages, including magnums and more.

Our table in Tokara’s dining room perfectly captured

panoramas through floor-to-ceiling windows

as well as walls draped with rare “Porter

Series” tapestries - 5 in total - by world renowned

Johannesburg-born artist William Kentridge. Our

farm-to-table multi-course lunch paired with

Tokara wines drew from dishes by Carolize Coetzee,

who already has earned accolades as South

Africa’s most promising new chef since joining

Tokara in 2018. Service was unhurried and

friendly; we especially enjoyed Sommelier Jaap

Henk Koelewijn’s humorous patter and the artful

cooking and plating by sous chef Sean-Lloyd van

Buisbergen and the rest of the kitchen staff.


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Writing this, I can almost taste some of my

menu favorites - fragrant fennel topped beet root

carpaccio, savory cured ocean trout with watermelon

and - oh yes, the venison-like springbok

loin with its delicious jus rendered with estategrown

herbs and fruit. Of course we saved room

for dessert - a refreshing fruit crumble and

pineapple gelato matched with Tokara’s honeygold

Late Harvest Sauvignon Blanc.

Before piling back into an Uber for the drive

home - and a nap (!), We purchased some Tokara

wines to take on our cruise, including their very

quaffable rose, our warm-weather favorite. As

you might expect, none made it on board.

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All Aboard

Another way to visit Winelands estates is

aboard the Franschhoek Wine Tram, hop-on,

hop off transportation via double-decker vintage

trams and buses. Tickets are a bargain -

less than $15 per person. Choose from eight

different lines or loops and stay as long as you

like at the different wineries for tastings, tours

and meals. Just be sure to match your schedule

to the Tram’s return to the Franschhoek terminal,

just outside of town. Because there’s no

drinking on board, these aren’t party trams -

ala Napa Valley Wine Train - though the atmosphere

on the trams grows jollier as the day progresses.

To help plan your day, the Tram website provides

detailed descriptions of each winery stop

on each route. Thanks to our innkeepers, fellow

Plumwood guests and a few San Diego garden

lovers, we knew our must see was

Babylonstoren, a sprawling farm, winery, hotelspa

and fine dining destination spread over

eight acres. We picked the Purple Line and arrived

at our desired stop in time for lunch.

Farming and grape growing on this mountain-ringed

land dates back to the late 17th

century, and some of the early white-washed

Cape Dutch-style buildings remain. Many have

been repurposed by the current owners, South

African billionaire Koos Bekker and his wife,

style maven Karen Roos, into Babylonstoren’s

chic eateries and farm shops selling handmade

soaps, fresh breads, charcuterie, balsamic vinegar

and make-your-own bath salts.

The grand gardens - classical parteres lush

with ornamentals and edibles that supply onsite

kitchens - are rooted in history too. Designs

by French architect Patrice Taravella

found inspiration in Cape Town’s historic Company’s

Garden created to restock Dutch East

India Company trading ships hundreds of years

ago. Free-range chickens, waddling ducks and

paddocked donkeys accent the romantic notions

of agrarian life celebrated here.

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We arrived in time for a winery tour, underway

even though harvest was in full swing. Destemmers

rumbled and rattled as we carefully navigated

sticky, hose-strewn floors. Piled high in

white bins, purple grapes, some of the 13 varietals

grown across the sloped land, waited their turn for

the crush, Babylonstoren’s ninth. Resulting wines,

along with olive oils pressed here from farm-gown

fruit, share the estate’s label.

Our tour ended in the airy tasting room where

we sampled some previous vintages with a platter

($10) of rustic farm bread, salad, cheeses and

cured meats including the jerky-like biltong found

throughout southern Africa. The room was packed

and service scattered, as tour guides, now waiters,

scurried to keep glasses filled. The pace suited us,

since we were in no hurry to head out into the afternoon

heat.

For our visit, Babylonstoren’s popular restaurant

Babel, set in the farm’s old cow shed smartly

updated with floor-to-ceiling windows, was fully

booked, so we could only peer at the appetizing

farm-to-fork menu. Reservations open nine

months in advance, so this is a “plan way ahead”

experience. No booking is needed for picnic fare

served at the aptly named Greenhouse, tucked beneath

oak trees at the far end of the garden.


Two Colombes

When we first started planning our Winelands

adventure, one restaurant constantly topped

searches for the area’s best dining - La Colombe

(The Dove). Critics from around the world heaped

superlatives on the innovative dishes, playful plating

and theatrical experience shaped by chefowner

Scot Kirton and chef James Gaag. TripAdvisor

reviewers agreed, ranking La Colombe high

among the top 25 fine dining experiences in the

world in recent years.

More research and we learned there are two

Colombes - the flagship in Constantia and La Petite

Colombe in Franschhoek with Chef John Norris

Rogers, a La Colombe alum, at the helm. What

good news since we would be staying in both

places. So when the opportunity arose to try both,

we didn’t hesitate.

During our evenings with the polished teams at

each Colombe, we indulged in nine-course chef

menus paired with wine. Both were amazing, each

with individual delights. Reasonably priced (about

$150 per person) compared to others similarly

lauded, these restaurants totally merit their stellar

reputations.

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Each restaurant welcomes diners to stylish, uncrowded

rooms with tall view windows. Reached

via a long steep driveway shared with Silvermist

Winery, La Colombe is perched in the treetops for

views across vineyards to distant bays, while La

Petite Colombe, part of Le Quartier Francais boutique

hotel in the heart of Franschhoek, is secluded

behind hedges like a private oasis. (In

spring 2020, La Petite Colombe was to move to a

new garden setting in nearby Leeu Estates but

that was postponed amid the country’s COVID-19

shutdown.)

Both Colombes upend expectations as soon as

diners walk arrive. Just inside La Colombe we

plucked an amuse-bouche from a mossy log before

decamping to our table for a deconstructed gin

tonic and savory bites “plated” atop wooden

mushrooms. The bread course gets the Colombe

touch too: at La Petite Colombe butter morphs

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into a tiny corn cob, while La Colombe tempts with

a complex Middle-East spiced dip prepared tableside.

Even the humble palate cleanser is dramatically

reimagined - one arrived in a writhing fog of

dried ice.

Fish and meat dishes are equally inventive, combining

global flavors with Winelands specialties

like springbok, Karoo lamb and snoek (a mackerel),

as well as scallops, prawns, duck and other tasting

menu mainstays. Typical - and a such favorite it’s

been on the menu for years - is Tuna ‘La Colombe’,

chunks of marinated ahi, avocado, shitake mushrooms

and more served in a pop-top can. A silky

mussel curry is savored after diners wield scissors

to snip off the top of a charred passion fruit shell.


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A favorite course at La Petite Colombe roused us

from our chairs mid-evening to join other guests

outside the open kitchen to watch one of these

complex dishes come together. We sipped wine and

chatted with a chef as he plated a delicious ramen, a

tiny nest of noodles and seafood in an earthy broth

scented with celeriac, infused oils and Pernod. We

followed the irresistible aromas back to our table,

where a perfectly paired viognier waited. Delicious

in every way.

The meal starts to draw to a close with a tasting

of excellent South African cheeses. At La Colombe,

choices are presented as wax-wrapped morsels in a

wooden chest like jewels. The sommelier stands by

to match your pick with port or other perfect pairing

for a relaxing pause before dessert.


All the many courses aside, we’d bet no one

skips the meal-ending sweets at either

Colombe. We didn’t. Our desserts - mixes of

fresh seasonal fruit, rich cake cubes, cookie

crumble, refreshing gelatos and more - perfectly

capped two memorable meals.

As we arranged the foodie part of our

Winelands visit, we came across several reviews

that lamented the Michelin Guide’s absence

from Africa. That’s a significant loss for

the sophisticated restaurant scene in South

Africa and the growing number of travelers

coming to partake. If the venerable guide

should reconsider - and it should, for certain it

would hang stars on the two Colombes.

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Constantia

One of Cape Town’s toniest suburbs, just 12 miles

from the city center, Constantia is one of the Southern

Hemisphere’s oldest wine-making regions. Since the

mid 17th century, vines have been tended in this fertile

green valley buttressed by Constantiaberg mountain

and cooled by sea breezes from nearby False Bay.

In the late 1700s, sweet Vin de Constance dessert

wine from Muscat grapes grown here was prized

around the world by the likes of Frederick the Great,

Bismarck, several Kings of England and Napoleon, who

reportedly sipped during his St. Helena exile.

Today’s wine estates, including the original five revitalized

after a devastating phylloxera infestation

stalled production for almost a century, are linked on

the scenic self-guided Constantia Wine Route. Among

the stops is South Africa’s oldest wine farm, Groot

Constantia estate with its popular chocolate and wine

pairings, and Klein Constantia, a heritage winery

where old-style Vin de Constance is produced today.

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Steenberg Hotel and Spa

Another Constantia heritage estate, Steenberg

Wine Farm, would be our Valentine’s weekend getaway.

An hour-plus Uber ride from Franschhoek

ended with a climb through vines heavy with fruit

to the 5-star Steenberg Hotel and Spa. Nestled on

the grounds of the Cape’s first farm, this welcoming

luxury retreat fills three white-washed Cape

Dutch buildings, including the original manor

house dating back to 1692. The black spur-winged

geese that roam the manicured grounds are a living

link to the past. It’s said that the farm’s first

owner, the gutsy widow Catharina Ras, originally

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named the estate Swaaneweide when she mistook

them for the black swans of her native Germany.

Our spacious manor house room was flooded

with light from the building’s original tall paned

windows and warmed by a fireplace. The bath with

tub (yes!) and shower repeated the room’s soothing

gray and cream palette, echoed in the luxurious

linens. A vintage armoire easily housed our

mounds of luggage. Short walks brought us to the

new pool and to the hotel’s fine dining restaurant

Tryn with its broad patio for al fresco cocktails,

breakfasts and dinners. Along the way, colorful

steel sculptures by Edoardo Villa, the Henry

Moore of South Africa, gleamed in the sun.


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In May 2019, the hotel closed for four months to

remodel its suites, carefully maintaining historic

facades and interior details. These art-filled accommodations

with up to three ensuite bedrooms

welcome families or friends seeking a shared getaway.

The largest offer kitchens, dining rooms and

private heated pools and patios complete with

grills for weekend braais (pronounced brys), the

traditional South African barbecue. A private 18-

hole golf course, rejuvenating spa and world-class

winery all on site make this an ideal all-in-one

Winelands vacation retreat.

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Two Constantia Tastings

CONSTANTIA GLEN

The steep slopes that comprise Constantia Glen

Winery have been grazed and tilled for more than

two centuries but it wasn’t until 2000 that the current

owners, the Waibel family, turned the focus to

grape growing and quality wine making. Now half

of the farm’s 150 acres undulate with vineyards

cradled between two imposing mountains that

channel sun and cooling breezes. Slow ripening

and small crops limit production of the winery’s

signature crisp whites and complex red blends to

under 100,000 bottles annually.

South Africa-born wine maker Justin van Wyk

has shepherded vintages here since the second

harvest, working with a farm team with decades of

experience on this challenging site. He took a

break from harvest chores to share a tasting with

us in Constantia Glen’s Tasting Room restaurant,

home to picturesque views as well as delicious

wine country fare, including flammkucken (German

thin-crust pizza) from the wood-fired oven.

After a quaffable classic sauvignon blanc, we savored

the winery’s signature blends that Justin

identifies by the number of varietals combined.

Constantia Glen Two, for example, blends sauv

blanc with semillon, lacing tropical and citrus flavors

with hints of oak from barrel fermentation.

Their flagship Constantia Glen Five is an elegant

red Bordeaux blend. The 2015 vintage earned 91

points from Wine Spectator as well as numerous

South African honors.

For the past couple years, Justin also creates

wines for his own label, Van Wyk Family Wines,

with grapes sourced across the Greater Western

Cape and bottled at Constantia Glen. Named after

his daughter, Olivia Grace blend showcases four

white grapes while his red blend, Rebecca May

(another daughter), is Rhone inspired. All are

available for tastings and purchase at Constantia

Glen.


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STEENBERG 1682

A scenic 15-minute drive separates Constantia

Glen from Steenberg. After checking into the hotel,

we hopped aboard the complementary golfcart

transport to Steenberg Winery’s tasting

room and casual dining destination Bistro Sixteen82.

While the white-washed Cape Dutch hotel

buildings are steeped in history, the winery complex

is boldly contemporary, a striking glass and

steel beam structure that opens on to sunny patios,

infinity pools and rolling grounds. The chandelier

above the tasting bar sets the tone for fun

times here - a glowing circle of almost 3,000

hand-blown glass grapes - or maybe they’re bubbles

in honor of Steenberg’s much lauded

sparkling wines in the French-style known as

Methode Cap Classic (MCC) in South Africa.

Here our host was Steenberg’s new cellar master,

Elunda Basson, an awarding winning MCC

specialist, who joined the farm-cellar team only a

few months earlier and was in the midst of her

first harvest. After touring us through the stateof-the-art

wine-making facility and barrel room,

we settled in for a tasting in a sunny room lined

with comfy banquettes and a stylish wall display

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of Lady R sparkling wine, a pinot noir-chardonnay

blend named for Steenberg’s founder.

We started with three outstanding single varietal

bruts that cost less than $25 a bottle. Sips of

Steenberg’s flagship wines - Black Swan Sauvignon

Blanc, Catharina Red Blend (merlot, syrah and petit

verdot) and fruity Nebbiolo - followed as

Elunda shared her aspirations to build on the winery’s

stellar reputation. Harvest called her back to

work, but we lingered on the lively patio, clinking

glasses and people-watching the Valentine’s

weekend crowd.

We would return another day to lunch at Bistro

Sixteen82, making hard choices from the Asian-influenced

menu by chef Kerry Kiplin that also

showcases ethically sourced seafood and seasonal

produce. Shared starters - tempura prawns

perched above a spicy noodle salad and goat

cheese fritters with honey-dressed greens - both

paired with Steenberg’s sauv blanc - gave us time

to relax in the chic room accented with natural

wood and stylish florals. We could have shared

one of the two mains we ordered - a very popular

ginger and sesame sirloin salad (judging by plates

on nearby tables) and an open-face steak sandwich

rich with hollandaise and crisp chips. And we

should have skipped dessert, but our waiter

tempted us with a trio of rich chocolate treats that

capped this exceptionally tasty meal.

Bistro Sixteen82 also serves breakfast and

evening tapas, small plates to share as the sun

drifts behind the mountains. Vegetarian and kids

menus are available too.


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Be My Valentine

A brief evening shower didn’t dampen our mood

as we skirted puddles on the short walk to our

Valentine’s Day celebration at Steenberg’s newly

updated signature restaurant, Tryn. For 20 years,

this was Catharina’s, another salute to the estate’s

founder, that earned fans for upscale dining

on linen-clad tables beneath a flock of white

origami swans suspended from the ceiling. In

keeping with updates across this property - and

trends in dining, the lounge, bar and restaurant

were reimagined in 2019. Tryn, Catharina Ras’s

nickname, suits the new contemporary decor -

and menu, also the work of Kerry Kiplin.

Natural wood tables, plush banquettes and

modern lighting now brighten the main dining

room. Steps away is the new marble-based bar

and an eclectic mix of orange and jade seating for

pre- and post dinner cocktails. The atmosphere is

modern, grownup and just edgy enough. Boundary-pushing

Catharina would be pleased.

Chef Kerry spiced up the menu too. Like Bistro

Sixteen82, Asian and Middle East accents enliven

lamb rack, beef fillet and other traditional mains.

Fish wrapped in eggplant, for example, surprises

with coriander, harissa and rose water accents.

Look for the same flavor explosions in starters

and desserts. And for sheer indulgence, nibble on

the truffle fries.


On Valentine’s Day, a special three-course dinner

menu awaited celebrants like us lucky enough

to have Tryn reservations. Dressed for the occasion

(lots of romantic red!), couples old and new

toasted with the Steenberg bubbles served with

the amuse bouche - a ruby-red beetroot tataki. A

delicious pawn starter spiced with wasabi and ginger

and cooled with cucumber ribbons came next,

matched with the winery’s aromatic Rattlesnake

Sauvignon Blanc.

Palate cleansing berry “popsicles” allowed a relaxing

pause before the main course - an expertly

cooked beef fillet plated with cauliflower puree, a

mushroom arancini and luxe port and truffle jus.

We toasted the kitchen on this exceptional dish,

with Steenberg’s fine 2016 syrah. Of course

sweets followed - deep caramel-chocolate mousse

circled with raspberries, cake and citrusy creams

and paired with glasses of golden noble late harvest

zin.

We never could have guessed all those decades

ago that we would celebrate 31 years together in

South Africa. In the Winelands. In this historic hotel.

At this exceptional restaurant. Back in our

room, one last surprise awaited. The dimmed

chandelier shown down on the bed strewn with

red rose petals. More petals formed a heart that

framed a plate of truffles with a message in chocolate

- “Congratulations.” We were touched.

Same time next year? We wish we could make

our Winelands adventure an annual affair. But the

distance from our California home is formidable

and travel is tricky in times of pandemics. So holding

on to wonderful memories, we can make one

heart-felt promise: See you soon.

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IF YOU GO

SPECIAL THANKS FOR MAKING OUR FIRST TRIP TO SOUTH AFRICA A MOST WONDERFUL ONE:

TOKARA WINE ESTATE, STELLENBOSCH - HTTPS://WWW.TOKARA.COM/

KARL LAMBOUR: GENERAL MANAGER

CAROLIZE COETZEE: EXECUTIVE CHEF TOKARA RESTAURANT

STAFF AND CHEFS: TOKARA RESTAURANT

STEENBERG HOTEL AND SPA, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.STEENBERGFARM.COM/HOTEL/

THE STAFF AT THE STEENBERG HOTEL AND SPA

ELUNDA BASSON: STEENBERG WINEMAKER

KERRY KIPLIN: EXECUTIVE CHEF AT TRYN & BISTRO SIXTEEN82

TRYN, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.STEENBERGFARM.COM/TRYN

BISTRO SIXTEEN82, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.STEENBERGFARM.COM/BISTRO1682

CONSTANTIA GLEN WINERY, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.CONSTANTIAGLEN.COM/

JUSTIN VAN WYK; WINEMAKER

86 WINE DINE & TRAVEL MAGAZINE 2020

LA COLOMBE AND PETITE COLOMBE RESTAURANTS

CHEFS AND STAFF

LA COLOMBE RESTAURANT, CONSTANTIA - HTTPS://WWW.LACOLOMBE.CO.ZA/

LA PETITE COLOMBE, FRANSCHHOEK - HTTPS://WWW.LAPETITECOLOMBE.COM/

GUDRUN CLARK: GC COMMUNICATIONS CC

WWW.GC-COM.CO.ZA

MICHELLE BEZUIDENHOUT: LUXURY BRANDS

HTTPS://WWW.LUXURYBRANDS.CO.ZA

PLUMWOOD INN, FRANSCHHOEK - WWW.PLUMWOODINN.COM

ALLORA, FRANSCHHOEK - HTTPS://ALLORA.CO.ZA/

FRANSCHHOEK WINE TRAM, FRANSCHHOEK - HTTPS://WINETRAM.CO.ZA/

BABYLONSTOREN, SIMONDIUM - HTTPS://BABYLONSTOREN.COM/


E C T

BY RON AND MARY JAMES | PHOTOGRAPHY BY RON JAMES

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Our hometown, San Diego, is famous

for its diverse natural environments.

The common boast is that San Diegans

can surf the Pacific, ski snowcovered

mountains and hike the scorching

desert and be back in the city for dinner.

To our surprise and delight, Cape Town offers

an equally broad range of natural attractions.

Wine country is minutes from the city, beach

towns dot the coastline, forested mountains

command breathtaking panoramas and the sophisticated

waterfront serves up shopping, entertainment

and dining.

In the few days we stayed in downtown Cape

Town we managed to scratch the surface on

things to enjoy in this cosmopolitan region.

Here’s an illustrated diary of our Cape Town adventures.


Greenmarket Square

A short Uber ride brought us to the meeting place

for our tour of central Cape Town - a coffee shop at

Greenmarket Square. We were shocked by the

chaotic scene before us: a throng of people carrying

boxes in an area littered with tents, blue tarps and

mountains of stuff. The driver told us to be careful as

he dropped us off.

We didn’t know it at the time but we learned that

this scene takes place every morning, a groundhog

day-ritual to set up a giant outdoor market. By the

time the city awakes the cobbled square is filled with

stalls selling local art, crafts, street food, jewelry,

clothing, and souvenirs.

Greenmarket Square was established in 1696,

during the early Dutch occupation of the Cape

colony. It gained its name when the square was the

place to buy fresh vegetables grown at the nearby

Company’s Garden to replenish ships rounding the

Cape. Sadly the Dutch also bought and sold slaves

here as well.

Among the historic buildings in the square is

Burger Watch House built In 1716. The impressive

building, with pillars, and a crest over the upper balcony

later, became the Old Town House and the original

headquarters of the Cape Colony’s citizen

patrols. Men between 16 and 60 worked in shifts patrolling

the city and keeping an eye out for fires. Today,

Old Town House is home to the Michaelis

Collection of 17th century art work by Frans Hals,

Jan Steen, Jacob van Ruisdael, Anthony van Dyck

and other Dutch artists.

While in Africa, we had purchased a number of

souvenirs including a large tribal mask. We needed a

suitably large suitcase to transport our new treasures

home. After getting sticker shock in traditional

stores, we decided to give Greenmarket a try and

quickly found the perfect rollaway suitcase for a

fraction of the price. Of course the wheels fell off

when we pulled it from the carousel at the San Diego

airport. But it did its job and the dramatic mask

adorns the wall in our home today.

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Bo Kaap

Bo Kapp, one of Cape Town's most distinctive

neighborhoods, also known as the Muslim or Cape

Malay Quarter, is located just a few blocks from

Greenmarket Square. Here homes, stores and

mosques are a cheerful rainbow of hot pink, lime

green, turquoise and other vibrant colors.

The community’s history is just as colorful but in

darker hues. Most residents of Bo Kaap descended

from muslim slaves from Africa, Asia, Indonesia,

and Malaysia brought by the Dutch during the the

16th and 17th centuries. The Cape Malays as they

were called, were a mixed lot -- from scholars and

religious leaders to convicts and skilled craftsmen.

As we walked the steep cobblestone streets, we

learned that the more modest homes were built by

and for the slaves, while the larger houses at the

top of the hill were for owners and managers.

Many of the homes today are B and Bs, small

restaurants, shops, galleries and grocery stores.

Climbing up and down the hills can work up a

thirst, but don’t look for a cold beer here -- no alcohol

is allowed. (Just across the street from Bo

Kaap though, several markets, bars and restaurants

serve adult beverages.)

If you’d like a little snack, be sure to try the famous

street food at a simple stall at the corner of

Helliger Lane and Rose Street. For the last 14

years Warida Conelius has deep fried the best

samosas in Bo Kaap. Cooked on site, they are super

fresh – hot and crisp. We got there early because

she sells out of everything that she makes.

Bo Kaap is home to a lively arts community and

number of outstanding galleries, mostly owned by

the artists. One of them, Art du Cap gallerie,featured

larger than life portraits of famous people

including Nelson Mandela. Owner and artist, Anthony

de Klerk, and his wife also sponsor an outreach

program of art classes for neighborhood

residents.

The community’s popularity has its downside.

We saw several signs pleading to save Bo Kaap.

Since apartheid ended, non-muslims have been allowed

to buy homes here, causing inflated home

prices and increased property taxes. As a result,

many muslims have had to move out. The city is

slowing the gentrification by limiting the percentage

of outside owners to 15 percent, although our

tour guide doubted that rule would stand because

there’s money to be made here.

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V & A Waterfront

With Table Mountain as a backdrop, the V & A

Waterfront is a magnet for tourists and locals alike

seeking lively shopping, dining, entertainment and

people watching in a historic setting cooled by bay

breezes. This thriving retail, business, residential

and hotel complex is part of a working harbor that

dates back to the 1600s and is named for Queen

Victoria who sent her second son Prince Alfred to

Cape Town in 1860 to mark the start of construction

to create a safe year-round harbor for the

city.

This 300-acre complex that includes the Victoria

Wharf Shopping Center, 80-plus restaurants,

an aquarium and museums was a 20 minute walk

from our hotel, but we found it easier to navigate

when we arrived by Uber at entrances near the

mall. From there, we mingled around sunny

squares with crowds watching street performers,

sharing snacks from food stalls or quaffing craft

brews in open-air pubs.

Always in search of souvenirs, we explored the

Waterfront’s many traditional and contemporary

artisan shops housed in the Watershed, Waterfront

Craft Market and Alfred Mall gallery. The

nearby Red Shed is home to scores of vendors offering

African art and crafts, jewelry and home

decor while the V & A Market on the Wharf showcases

fresh produce and light fare perfect for

lunch or a shopping break.

Learn more about the area and landmarks like

the Clock Tower and Cape Wheel on twice daily

walking tours. Or take in views from harbor tours

that also leave from this working port. Ferries also

depart from the Nelson Mandela Gateway here for

tours of Robben Island, when the late South Africa

president was an inmate for 18 years.

Evenings with glowing sunsets and twinkling

lights reflected on the water draw locals and visitors

to dine. For dinner one night, we waited in line

for a table at Willoughby & Co., a favorite for Japanese

fusion seafood ranked among the city’s best.

Tucked inside the shopping center, the bustling

restaurant more than made up for its lack of a harbor

view with friendly service, affordable wine list

and tasty seafood.

If you go: https://www.waterfront.co.za/


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Table Mountain

Cape Town’s iconic landmark, Table Mountain,

dominates the skyline whether

shrouded in fog or dramatically silhouetted

against a clear blue sky. Voted one of the

New Seven Wonders of the World in 2011,

the wide flat peak more than 3,500 feet high

is a must explore for its stunning views and

unique topography and plantlife.

We stopped here as part of a tour, and

benefitted from the expertise of our guide to

time our visit - early-mid morning - to minimize

our wait in the crowded queue for the

cableway ride up the mountain. More than a

million tourists annually brave these long

lines and the blazing sun for postcard selfies

at the top, and during peak season - and on

clear days - waits can be draining.

Aboard the cablecar, we and our fellow

passengers all enjoyed panoramic vistas as

the car rotated 360 degrees during the five

minute journey to the top. There everyone

poured out - and spread out - to gaze at the

city and harbor or follow marked trails

across the breezy plateau.

Signs mark three moderate walks - Dassie,

Agama and Klipspringer - that are easy to

navigate to viewpoints to the north, south

and west. Free 30-minute guided walks, offered

hourly, add to the experience, sharing

history and pointing out landmarks, notable

vegetation (some endangered), and birds

that soar overhead.

Snacks are sold in the curio Shop at the

Top along with souvenirs. For heartier fare,

try the adjacent cafe with indoor and outdoor

seating that commands views across

the plateau and a menu of South Africa-inspired

dishes and beverages.

If you go: https://tablemountainnationalpark.org/

and https://www.tablemountain-

.net/

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Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden

One of the world’s great public gardens,

Kirstenbosch Botanical Garden, is less than 10

miles from Cape Town city center. Nestled on an

eastern slope of Table Mountain, this verdant oasis

and UNESCO World Heritage site sprawls

across 1,300 acres of sweeping lawns, cultivated

gardens and wildlands. All celebrate the country’s

native flora - including aloes, proteas, birds of paradise,

amaryllis, agapanthus and many other

drought tolerant beauties now cultivated around

the world.

Free guided tours, offered twice daily Monday-

Saturday, are ideal introductions to Kirstenbosch’s

sunny specialty gardens and trails through dappled

groves and stream-serenaded glades that

date back to the garden’s founding early in the

20th century. Most link with the new Centenary

Tree Canopy Walkway or “Boomslang” as locals

call it. This steel and timber bridge wends high in

the Arboretum canopy to capture birds-eye views

across the garden and distant city.

Highlights of our summer visit included a stop at

the pepperbark tree planted in 1996 by the late

Nelson Mandela, an avid gardener, and now

marked by a bust of the country’s first democrati-


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cally elected president. Another tree, a prized

Wood’s cycad grown in the garden since 1916, is

now extinct in the wild. Caged and monitored by

cameras, this palm-like tree is part of the garden’s

impressive collection of rare and endangered

South African cycads, “living fossils” little changed

since the time of the dinosaurs.

Kirstenbosch’s famed floral fireworks explode in

spring (August-mid-October) when African daisies

carpet hills, cape bulbs (watsonia, spraxis, babiana

and more) bloom, and native shrubs or fynbos -

proteas, pincushions and conebushes - show off

exotic flowers and foliage. In mid-summer, when

we visited, swaths of purple and white-flowered

agapanthus filled beds, along with spikes of red

hot pokers, orange fireball lilies and naked lady

amaryllis.

If you have time - tours last up to three hours,

wander through the Botanical Society Conservatory,

a glasshouse with weird and wonderful specimens

- living “stones” to towering baobab trees -

from the country’s semi-arid and arid areas. And

enjoy art displayed around the grounds, including

the Sculpture Garden’s African stone sculptures

and metal dinosaurs scattered among the cycads.

If you go: https://www.sanbi.org/gardens/

kirstenbosch/


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Cape of Good Hope

Our tour to explore the region around Cape

Town began with a scenic drive along Victoria

Road and then over Chapman’s Peak. The journey

reminded us of the famous Pacific Coast Highway

1 in California that runs along the ocean past Big

Sur to Monterey. Stops along the way offered

bird’s eye views of Hout Bay, expansive beaches

and pricey homes that attract the rich and famous

from around the world.

On to Cape Point, where towering cliffs rise

above the boiling seas that crash against the rocky

coastline. Cape Point, located in the Cape of Good

Hope area of Table Mountain National Park, was

named the Cape of Storms by the Portuguese explorer

Bartolomeu Dias, the first mariner to round

the Cape in 1488. For centuries nervous sailors

dreaded navigating the Cape where fog and violent

storms claimed countless ships.

We planned to take the three-minute ride in the

Flying Dutchman funicular to a drop off point near

where the 1859 lighthouse still stands. Unfortunately

the funicular was out of service, so we

hopped aboard a van for the trip up the steep and

narrow road. The views at the top were spectacular

on a perfectly sunny, but windy day.

I thought this was the Cape of Good Hope, but

our guide set me straight as we jumped back into

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our van for a mile and half trip west to the real

deal, part of the Cape of Good Hope Nature Reserve.

Cape of Good Hope, a rocky promontory at

the southern end of Cape Peninsula, was long considered

to be where the Indian and Atlantic oceans

converged. Not so. The meeting place is Cape Agulhas,

about 90 miles to the southeast.

Legend has it that ghosts of the crew of The Flying

Dutchman haunt the sea and headlands of the

Cape. We didn’t see any ghostly sailors, but we did

see several wild ostriches as we drove through the

flat grassy highlands leading to the beach and adjacent

Cape, the southwestern most point of the

African continent.

The sandstone cliffs and rocky shoreline were

bustling with sunburned visitors looking to twist

or break an ankle. We played it safe and tho buffeted

by strong winds, bravely posed in front of

the Cape of Good Hope sign, Then we joined in

what seems to be a tourist pastime, stacking seapolished

rocks into artistic, if teetering, sculptures

along the shore.


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Boulder Beach Penguin Colony

Boulders Beach is the home of a thriving African

penguin colony. Instead of being isolated like their

South American cousins, these lucky little black

and white guys and gals share the shoreline with

some of the most expensive real estate in Africa

and everyone seems to get along just fine. They’re

called Jackass penguins because of their obnoxious

donkey-like call. Visitors

pay a small fee to wander a

wide elevated wood walkway

along the beach where the

birds live, raising their young

and fishing.

In 1982 these penguins were

almost extinct - only two

breeding pairs remaining in the

area. Heroic conservation efforts

have revived the Boulders

colony to more than 3,000

birds in recent years. During

our visit, a highlight was at the

end of the line where hundreds

of penguins played in the surf,

probably staying clean and presentable

in their exclusive

beachfront digs.

Before our tour stop where jackass penguins

roam, we stopped for refreshments at Noordhoek

Farm Village, the restaurant row of the South

Peninsula. This farm, it seems, raises restaurants

instead of cabbages, with dining spots that cater

to almost every palate. We opted for casual dining

outside at Foodbarn Deli, where we expected

standard deli fare, but were blown away by the delicious

feast brough to our table.

On our way out, when Ron

told the cashier how much we

enjoyed our lunch, she pointed

out a very large aproned man

as the chef. Ron walked over to

shake his hand, thank him and

snap a quick photo. It wasn’t

until we were writing this

story that we discovered that

the deli chef was Franck Dangereux

the original owner-chef

of Cape Town’s La Colombe,

ranked during the ten years he

was there was number 28 in

the world’s top 50 restaurants.

(For more on La Colombe, see

page 52.) We’ll never think of

delis in quite the same way.


MY COUNTRY, SOUTH AFRICA

By Carolyn Goltman

120


Let me take you on a tour of my country, the “Rainbow Nation” of

South Africa. With 11 official languages and many races, here you’ll

find great cultural, historical and geographical diversity.

A common misconception I’ve encountered in my travels is that South

Africa is a region of the continent of Africa. But South Africa is an independent

country, the southernmost in Africa, and one 53 nations on the

continent. There are nine Provinces in the country, each with its own

unique cultural and geographical flavor.

Let’s explore them starting in the north with Limpopo.


Bourke’s Luck Pothole photo courtesy WikiMedia

122


Blyde River Canyon by Arthur Hickinbotham

Kruger Park Zebras by George Brits@georgebrits_cableandgrain

Limpopo

South Africa’s northernmost province, Limpopo,

shares borders with Botswana and Zimbabwe. The

main language spoken is Sesotho. Nature lovers

will be in their element in Limpopo where there are

many opportunities for safaris and visits to one of

many animal rehabilitation centers. Arguably one

of the best Safari experiences in South Africa is the

world-renowned Kruger National Park which

stretches the length of both the Limpopo and

Mpumalanga provinces. It’s enormous, covering

7,523 sq miles and stretching 220 miles north to

south and 40 miles east to west. Every year, thousands

of visitors come to spot the Big Five (elephant,

rhino, Cape buffalo, lion and leopard) as well

as many other animals, insects, and birds.

Mpumalanga

Swati, Zulu, and Ndebele are the languages spoken

in Mpumalanga Province, a haven of archeological

and geological wonders. Here you will find

Blyde River Canyon, with the steepest clift drops

of any canyon in the world. Along the way there

stop at “God's Window” where you can look down

on a forest a heart-stopping 2,296 feet below. One

glance at the views and you’ll understand how this

lookout got its name. Another natural wonder here

is Bourke’s Luck Potholes, named after an gold


miner who unsuccessfully prospected here in the

1800s. The potholes were carved in bedrock over

thousands of years by the fierce swirling motion

where the Blyde River and Treur River converge.

And if you’re brave and not claustrophobic, tour

the spectacular Sudwala caves formed some 240

million years ago and the oldest Dolomite caves in

the world. You’ll journey 1.2 miles deep into the

cavern to view its many calcium formations with

names like “Nelson's Column” and the “Screaming

Monster.”

Gauteng

Gauteng, meaning “place of gold,” is South

Africa’s smallest province and its most densely

populated. Languages spoken are Tswana, and

Zulu, English and Afrikaans. The major city here is

Johannesburg, a trendy, cosmopolitan city with

tangible energy in the air. For a bit of fun and entertainment

for young and old, spend the day at

Gold Reef City, an amusement park known for its

thrill rides. For a bit of history, visit the Apartheid

Museum to learn about one of the most significant

periods of the country’s political life. One of the

most important sights to see in this province - and

in all South Africa, are in the limestone Sterkfontein

Caves at the Cradle of Humankind. Here,

in 1947, Robert Broom and John T. Robinson discovered

the oldest known fossil of Australopithecus

africanus, a two million-year-old relative of

early man. The UNESCO world heritage site also

has yielded several other notable fossils, including

the Taung Child and Little Foot, as well as Neanderthal

tools.

North West

The main language in this province bordering

Botswana is Tswana. It is home to Hartbeesport

Dam (affectionately known by locals as Harties).

Activities here include hot air ballooning, boating,

water skiing, camping and more. For an upscale

getaway, a stay at Sun City is a must! Although

there is plenty to do on this at this sprawling resort

it’s also nice to just lay back and enjoy the

uber-luxurious surroundings.

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Johannesburg Photo by Clodagh Da Paixao


Northern Cape

The Northern Cape shares borders with

Namibia and Botswana and four languages are

spoken here - Afrikaans, Tswana, Xhosa and English.

The highlight of this province is its location on

the Namaqualand flower route, a botanical wonder.

In August and September, the landscape is

transformed into a sea of vivid and brightly colored

wildflowers. The Big Hole of Kimberley, in an

old mining town, takes you inside a hand-dug

open-pit and underground mine that produced an

impressive 5,000 pounds of diamonds between

1871 and 1914. To learn more about its history,

pay a visit to the onsite museum.

Free State

Nestled in the center of South Africa is the Free

State where the main languages are Setho and

Afrikaans. My favorite highlight here is the

charming town of Clarens with its distinctively

Old World feel. Only the main road to the village

square is paved. For nature lovers there are

plenty of hikes and trails. It’s also a great place for

bike festivals, cherry picking in Fouriesburg, and

pinotage sampling for wine lovers. There are no

big retail outlets here; most of the shops are home

grown and locally owned. One of my favorites is

Clarens Brewery with ales, beers and ciders for

every palate, all made in this small town.

Clarens Brewery team photo courtesy of Clarens

126


Springbok at Namaqualand flower route courtesy www.Namakwa-Info.co.za


KwaZulu Natal

My home province! Major languages spoken

here are English and Zulu. The major city, Durban,

is an ocean lover’s paradise with a never ending

summer. Enjoy water sports like surfing, skiing,

paddle boarding and kite surfing all year long. For

a change of scenery, visit the beautiful Drakensberg

Mountains, only a two and a half hour drive

away, and the majestic Amphitheatre Mountains,

a four hour drive, but worth it. History buffs

might enjoy a Midlands Meander that brings you

to the outskirts of Howick where Nelson Mandela

was arrested in August 1962.

Eastern Cape

Avid hikers will want to take a walk along the

Wild Coast, a breathtaking stretch of coastline

that snakes its way along the Eastern Cape. If

you’ve ever taken a cruise along the South African

coast you’ll remember the rough seas here that

rocked your ship and gave the area its name. Hikes

start at Kob Inn, near East London, and continue

for 6 to 9 days until you reach Chintsa. Stops along

the way let you unwind and rest for the next daily

4-12 mile segment. Another beautiful stretch of

the Eastern Cape coastline is Transkei, where

you’ll see the famous Hole in the Wall and herds of

cows on the beach. Adrenaline junkies need look

no further than Bloukrans Bridge Bungee Jump,

the world's highest commercial bridge bungee.

Thrill seekers in full body harness, drop an insane

708 feet from the bridge accelerating up to 72

miles per hour towards (and hopefully not into)

the Bloukrans river below. I may give this one a

miss!

Western Cape

The final stop of our journey is the beautiful

province of Western Cape and the “Mother City”

of Cape Town. Main languages spoken are Xhosa,

English and Afrikaans. No stop here is complete

without a trip in the revolving cable car to the top

of the most iconic landmark in South Africa, Table

Mountain. On a clear day, views there will leave

you speechless. For the shopaholics, there’s V & A

Waterfront loaded with high-end, big name retail

outlets. Wine enthusiasts have hit the jackpot too.

Wine routes lead to impressive estates producing

Durban Surfers by Ron James

some of the world’s best wines. Nature lovers will

thrill to the thundering waves at Cape Point that

have claimed many ships over the years. Head a

little farther south to Cape Agulhas and you can

boast that you have stood at the most southern

point of the African continent. Finally I think it’s

only fitting to end our journey with a poignant

visit to Robben Island. The father of our Rainbow

Nation, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela (affectionately

known as Madiba or father in Xhosa), was imprisoned

here from 1964 to 1991. At this museum,

128


you can stand in Madiba’s prison cell.

‘We have now traveled around my country.

There is so much more to see and do than the

highlights I’ve shared so I have no doubt a trip here

will not disappoint.

I leave you with salutations in all of South

Africa’s 11 official languages.

Go well - English

Toetsiens - Afrikaans

Hamba Kahle - Zulu

Hamba kakuhle - Xhosa

Gabotse - Sepedi

Tsamaya sentle -(Setswana)

Tsamaya hantle - Sesotho

Sala kahle - Xitsonga

siSwati - Sala kahle

Kha vha sale - Tshivenda

Lisale kuhle - Ndebele

Carolyn Goltman is a Durban resident, accomplished

runner and avid traveler.


Vs THE VIBRANT OF CA

FORESTS & FOODS FOR TH

Story & Photography by

Priscilla Lister

130


NADA

E SOUL


Top: The Empress Hotel sits right on Victoria’s

harbor.

Left: The Harbour Air seaplane is a great way

to move from Victoria to Vancouver; here it is

at the harbor of Downtown Vancouver.

Previous page: Collection of totem poles near

Hallelujah Point in Vancouver’s Stanley Park.

Victoria’s Chinatown is the second oldest in

North America after San Francisco’s. The main

artery here is Fisgard Street where you’ll find Fan

Tan Alley, the narrowest commercial street in

North America at just 3 feet wide in places; as well

as Dragon Alley where little shops line the narrow

corridor topped with festive lights.

But what drew me the most to this region are its

gardens, forests and parks.

Known as The Garden City, Victoria is home to

dozens of gardens and parks, including some of

Canada’s most famous. The city’s annual hanging

basket tradition to welcome summer dates back

75 years.

That most famous of gardens is The Butchart

Gardens which lie about an hour’s drive north of

the city. For this excursion, I rented a car for the

day from Budget, which has a facility just a few

blocks behind the Empress downtown.

The Butchart Gardens are magnificent any time

of year. When I was there on Halloween, the fall

colors were still putting on their fabulous show.

This gorgeous attraction began in 1904 when

Robert and Jennie Butchart moved from Ontario

to Vancouver Island to build a cement plant on a

rich limestone deposit. By 1912, cement production

exhausted the limestone deposits so Jennie

began moving top soil by horse and cart to transform

the area into a grand garden.

By 1929, they had created the Japanese Garden

on the seaside, the Italian Garden on their former

tennis court and the fragrant Rose Garden. By

1939, when grandson Ian Ross was gifted the gar-

Top: Victoria’s Chinatown is second

oldest on the West Coast to San

Francisco’s.second oldest on the

West Coast to San Francisco’s.

Left: The grand Torii gate marks the

entrance to the Japanese Garden at

Butchart Gardens, where the beech

trees are festooned with lighted

globes.

Right:The fall colors were abundant

in the beautiful Beacon Hill Park in

Victoria.

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136


dens on his 21st birthday, he transformed them

into the world-renowned attraction it is today. It is

now a National Historic Site of Canada.

My stroll through Butchart Gardens — which of

course I also remembered from 1964 — was a

magical garden walk. At the Sunken Garden where

it all began, weeping willows and evergreens

tower over 150 flower beds in five acres — some

65,000 bulbs are planted for spring flowers. I was

too late for blooms in the Rose Garden, but imagine

its 2,500 plants and 30 arches filled with 280

varieties of roses in spring and summer.

The maple and beech trees of The Japanese Garden

were breathtakingly serene and contemplative

as they rose above little streams cascading

under red foot bridges where tiny statues nestle.

Some 74 Japanese maples are here in its one acre

along with 500 rhododendrons and azaleas.

Arriving when the gardens open at 9 a.m. is the

best bet for avoiding the crowds that come any

time of year.

While I still had my rental car, I made my way to

Hatley Park National Historic Site to walk its miles

of trails through old-growth forest as well as Japanese

and Italian gardens. Some fine peacocks

strolled along with me there.

I also drove to Craigdarroch Castle, built in

1890 by coal industrialist Robert Dunsmuir, a

Scottish immigrant. This enormous home is now in

conservation as a national treasure and historic

house museum. Its 25,572 square feet of rooms,

fitted to appear like they would have during the

Dunsmuirs’ time, boast some of the nation’s finest

stained glass windows.

Back downtown, just a block away from The Empress,

is one of the most beautiful city parks anywhere.

I loved this 200-acre Beacon Hill Park so

much, when I headed back to the hotel after an

Japanese maples bring fall color to

the beautiful Japanese Garden at

Butchart Gardens.

Right: Kids of all ages love strolling

through The Butchart Gardens.


138



hour or two, I decided there was no better way to

spend time so I headed right back into the park.

Woodland trails wind around ponds and landscaped

gardens as they make way into forests of

oak, fir, and cedar trees and take on a wilder feeling.

I sought its 127-foot-high totem pole, carved

by Mungo Martin, a Kwakwaka’wakw craftsman, in

1956, then the tallest and now the fourth-tallest

totem pole in the world.

Also right next door to those Parliament buildings

is the Royal BC Museum, one of Canada’s

greatest cultural treasures founded in 1886. This

museum collects and preserves artifacts, documents

and specimens of British Columbia’s natural

and human history. With some 7 million objects in

its collections, it is a vast, fascinating, in-depth survey

of its landscapes and cultures past and

present.

From paintings by Emily Carr — a beloved local

artist whose family home is also a cultural attraction

for touring whose landscapes and totem

paintings are simply wonderful — to actual totem

poles and other carvings by native peoples, to

videos and photographs of long-ago events like arrivals

of war canoes and the 1860s gold rush, this

museum offers a truly cavernous collection of natural

and human history. You could spend days here.

And on the north side of The Empress is Minia-

140


ture World, where some 85 miniature dioramas

and displays delighted me. I am a huge fan of

miniatures — have collected them for decades —

and this little museum thrilled me. From a huge

doll house circa 1880 to dioramas of Canadian

cities 100 years ago, to the Enchanted Valley of

Castles in Europe to recreations of fairy tales and

their worlds, this is “the greatest little show on

earth.” Kids of all ages will love this.

After three nights in Victoria, I headed to Vancouver.

Instead of taking the ferry, which takes

about 90 minutes and lands about an hour’s drive

south of Vancouver — and I didn’t have a car — I

opted instead to take the Harbour Air seaplane

Left to Right: The 127-foot-tall totem

pole at Beacon Hill Park in Victoria

— that’s like a 12-story building.

Miniature World offers more than 85

miniature dioramas that will delight

kids of all ages. Here is one

celebrating the arrival of a Ringling

Brothers Circus.

Preceding page: Weeping willows

make a Butchart Gardens trails

especially alluring.


from Victoria’s harbor to Vancouver’s — just a 35-

minute flight that basically took me from hotel to

hotel. The scenic flight was well worth it for about

$200, especially since an hour’s taxi from the ferry

to downtown would have been expensive.

The walk to the seaplane terminal takes about

10 minutes from The Empress, and the plane lands

harbor side in Vancouver. While I could have

walked to my hotel from there, I grabbed a cab for

the very short ride with luggage. I stayed at the

Four Seasons in downtown Vancouver —but alas,

you cannot. It closed in January 2020, but I didn’t

even know that was happening when I was there in

November 2019. I should have chosen the Fairmont

Hotel Vancouver, one of the city’s historic

properties that has been elegantly restored, where

we stayed in 1964.

Vancouver metro has about 2.5 million people

compared to Victoria’s metro population of about

370,000, so it’s a much bigger city.

While British naval Captain George Vancouver

explored the area in 1792, it took another century

until Europeans settled here. Of course, its First

Nations people, like in Victoria, had been here for

some 10,000 years already.

When the Canadian Pacific Railway completed

its transcontinental line from Eastern Canada in

the late 1880s, Vancouver quickly surpassed Victoria

as the region’s commercial hub. Vancouver

was incorporated in 1886.

Today it is a lively, beautiful city carved between

the Burrard Inlet of English Bay and the Fraser

River. The city’s stunning backdrop is formed by

the North Shore Mountains, where Grouse Mountain

and The Lions are its most famous peaks.

Grouse Mountain is site of a popular ski area as

well as hiking trails. The Capilano River Valley runs

through these mountains, too, and is another beacon

for hikers.

Traveling on my own, I reconnected with an old

friend in Vancouver. When I worked at REI in Seattle

in the late 1970s as copy chief of its catalog

when it had only one store in Capitol Hill, Paul Heraty,

a mountain climber from Vancouver, would

come to get his boots repaired. That’s when we

formed a deep connection.

Decades went by. After I wrote my hiking guide

book for San Diego County (“Take a Hike: San

Diego County”), Paul sent me congratulations on

Facebook — I hadn’t heard from him in nearly 40

years. So when I was planning my trip, I reached

out to him to see if he’d want to go on a hike with

me in his fair city. He did and proved to be a valuable

guide.

He spent two days with me, showing me the natural

beauties that abound in Vancouver.

First on that list has to be Stanley Park. Created

in 1888, Stanley Park is truly one of the greatest

urban parks in the world. Encompassing nearly

1,000 acres at the end of downtown Vancouver’s

peninsula, it is home to rainforests, lush gardens,

17 miles of trails, beautiful beaches and amazing

views of the city from the park’s famous seawall.

The seawall is part of the Seaside Greenway pathway,

the world’s longest uninterrupted waterfront

path for walking and biking — it stretches 16 miles

from the Vancouver Convention Center to the foot

of Trafalgar Street, including 5.5 miles along Stanley

Park’s seawall. And those rainforests remain as

lush as they were in the 1880s since the park is

that old — there are some half-a-million trees —

red cedar, hemlock and Douglas fir — here and

some are hundreds of years old.

Paul and I also ventured to Queen Elizabeth

Park, just 15 minutes’ drive from downtown and

considered Vancouver’s horticultural jewel. It’s the

highest point in Vancouver so offers grand views of

the city, mountains and North Shore. Queen Elizabeth

Park’s 200 acres hold its Quarry Gardens, Arboretum

(the city’s first formed in 1949), Rose

Garden and Bloedel Conservatory.

The next day, Paul picked me up and drove us to

Capilano River Regional Park, which is a stunning

natural oasis literally just 20 minutes’ drive from

downtown. Nearby the Capilano Suspension

Bridge Park is a famous attraction, but Paul advised

that it would be far more crowded than the

hiking trails of Capilano River, so we opted for that

park instead.

Meandering along trails through cedar and fir

forests, we followed the Capilano River from the

Cleveland Dam that forms Capilano Lake. We

watched some fisher folk gamely tossing their lines

into the river from its huge and high rocky shores,

hoping they watched their steps. This day was the

kind of day I love — forest bathing among giant old

142



144


trees with rivers and lakes adding a touch of blue

and soothing sounds. That night, Paul and his

lovely wife, Mary, had me to their home for dinner

with another charming couple. I love Canadians.

The Heratys are perfect examples: warm, inclusive,

active and engaging. I really found this true

countless times even among strangers in both

Victoria and Vancouver.

Back on my own again, I visited the Vancouver

Art Gallery right downtown. It sits in a building

designed by that same Francis Rattenbury when it

originated as a provincial courthouse. A museum

here since the 1980s, it holds a vast collection of

Canadian art.

It includes works by Canada’s famed Group of

Seven, whose works I have long loved. Franklin

Carmichael, Lawren Harris, A.Y. Jackson, Frank

Johnston, Arthur Lismer, J.E.H. McDonald, Frederick

Varley and A.J. Casson are the original

Group of Seven. But their inspiration originally

came from the gifted Tom Thomson, whose early

death in 1917 still is shrouded in mystery. Emily

Carr, that Victoria native, was also associated

with the group.

The Group of Seven is distinguished by its

treatments of Canadian landscape. Some are

wildly abstract while others are realistic visions of

the gorgeous forests and waters of Canada. I love

their paintings and will always seek Canadian museums

that house them.

And I really love walking among the forests and

seas and rivers and lakes that inspired them more

than 100 years ago.

Victoria and Vancouver made all my birthday

wishes come true.

Paul leads the way through the

rainforests of red cedar, hemlock

and Douglas fir trees on a trail in

Vancouver’s Stanley Park.

Preceding page: Paul ponders the

spruce and hemlock trees on a trail

in Capilano River Regional Park

near Vancouver.


Postcards from Vietnam

By John Muncie & Jody Jaffe

Dear Ron,

Traffic in Vietnam is famous.

Maybe not tourist-attraction

famous, but definitely a

phenomenon.

We’re talking about motorbike traffic. Motorbikes

swarm Vietnam like monster bees. Buzzing,

roaring, put-putting down every street, along every

alley, across every sidewalk, squeezing through

the aisles of outdoor

markets. There are 90

million people in Vietnam

and 45 million motorbikes.

Cars? Maybe a

couple million.

Traffic lights are a big

deal, too. There aren’t

any. OK, a few. But we’ve

seen more traffic lights

along Broadway than we

saw in all of Ho Chi Minh

City.

We faced the motorbike

phenomenon on our

first day in HCMC. There

we were, innocent

tourists, poised to visit

Ba Chieu Market, a wonderful, chaotic place where

you can buy everything from exotic fruit, to crazy

shirts, to great street food.

It was right across the street -- a multi-lane

street flooded with an endless tsunami of motorbikes.

We looked at our son, Ben

Shepard, and his boyfriend,

Job Zheng, for help. They’d

been in HCMC for weeks

and were old traffic pros.

“What do we do?”

“Just start walking.”

“WHAT?”

This is how Ben explained

it: “Wait until only

motorbikes are bearing

down -- no trucks or cars

– then step out. Walk,

don’t run. Not too fast,

not too slow. Steady. Everybody will swerve

around you. It’ll be fine. We promise.”

What to do? On the one hand we didn’t want to

die, on the other, Ben and Job were OK.

We held hands and stepped out. Thelma and

Louise pedestrian style.

It was a kind of miracle.

The Red Sea parting. The

motorbike horde slipped

around us, one side or the

other. Nobody slammed on

brakes, nobody yelled. Nobody

seemed to pay us any

attention at all except to

navigate around us as if we

were traffic cones.

“See,” said Ben when we

reached the opposite curb

unscathed, “that’s how it

works in Vietnam.”

That’s the way it worked

for our entire three-week

Vietnam trip. In HCMC, Dalat, Hanoi, Hoi An and

in Phu Quoc, an island off the southern coast.

The first step was always trepidatious but we

eventually got used to motorbikes zooming all

around us. Motorbikes are the ocean and pedestrians

are the fish. You just start swimming. And

146



we came to realize that the motorbike traffic is

pretty slow, even in the countryside. No one was

in a hurry to pass anyone or beat the traffic light –

if there were any.

We aren’t exaggerating. You can Google Vietnam

traffic and find a zillion mentions. But what

we found more amazing was motorbike as pack

animal. Three on a bike? Routine. Someone carrying

a coop full of chickens? Sure, why not?

One day eating lunch in the Thao Dien district of

HCMC, we made a list of what passing motorbikers

were toting:

Seven empty plastic water jugs

A closet storage system

A mobile bakery

Several dozen coconuts in big red plastic bags

Two aluminum ladders

Side baskets filled with melons

A pet transfer service with a big cage on the

back

A 4-foot-high batch of brooms

Five baskets of flowers

A knife sharpening service

Dozens of people with grocery bags

Dozens of guys delivering what looked like

Amazon boxes.

But the most memorable? A whole family on one

bike.

We must have seen a dozen. It was always in the

same order: Dad driving, with one child in front of

him; Mom behind, with a second child in front of

her. This, too, was always the same: Dad and Mom

wore helmets, the kids didn’t.

Safety is not a phenomenon in Vietnam.

Love,

John and Jody

Dear Ron,

FOOD

Say “Vietnamese food” and most people think

“pho.”

It’s the unofficial national dish. A rice noodle

soup of light beef or chicken broth flavored with

just about anything. Ginger, coriander, spring

onions, slivers of chicken, pork or beef. Viet-

148


namese eat it anytime, anywhere.

We had our share of pho -- which, we discovered,

is pronounced something like “phuh.” But

pho, we also discovered, is just the beginning of

Vietnam’s complex, spicy, exotic, seriously yummy

cuisine.

Here’s a seriously yummy example: It was our

first full day in Vietnam. We’d just visited the War

Remnants Museum and the Independence Palace

in downtown Ho Chi Minh City. The Propaganda

Bistro is just a couple blocks from both (making its

name tongue-in-cheek). The perfect lunch stop.

The Bistro is a popular spot -- for its mural-decorated

walls as well as its food – so it took us a

while to get a table. Once seated, here’s what the

four of us ordered: wild pepper and green mango

salad with baby squid and prawns; pumpkin flowers

stuffed with mushroom patties in light batter

with green chili sauce; fresh prawn rolls with palm

hearts and julienne vegetables; crunchy tri-colored

rice with shrimp/squid/fish balls; sizzling

beef with caramelized shallots, pork sausage pate,

and fried egg. And for the table: fresh bread and

fried taro-and-sweet-potato shreds.

So much for noodle soup.

The truth is, we never ate in a fancier restaurant

in Vietnam. We stuck mainly to street food or

casual joints in night markets -- which made eating

as much of an adventure as touring. As we

hop-scotched around the country here were some

of our favorite foods.

Banh mi -- Vietnam’s famous sandwich. Second

only to pho in popularity. Basically, a baguette (introduced

by the French in the 19th century) that’s

filled with whatever you want. We loved Banh Mi

362, a busy take-out place in HCMC. One brunch

we had a fried quail egg banh mi with ham and

chicken and a banh mi “omelette” with egg and

ham. Various other ingrediants were available --

like cilantro, cucumbers, chilis, pickles and onion –

we added a bunch of them and dug in.

We also tried banh mi at Banh Mi Phuong, a

place in Hoi An that Anthony Bourdain once said

had “the best bánh mì in Vietnam.” It was jammed.

Long line for takeaway. Sorry, Anthony, it wasn’t

the best. Not by a long shot. Also John walked

through the kitchen to the bathroom. Unfortunately,

some things you can’t un-see. Let’s just say


the health inspector was overdue.

Ca phe trung -- Vietnam is the second biggest

coffee growing country in the world (behind

Brazil). And it’s got a coffee culture to match. Coffee

shops line downtown streets. Each one decorated

with tiny plastic red tables -- less than two

feet high -- surrounded by coffee drinkers.

Along with the usual lattes and cappuccinos,

there are uniquely Vietnamese coffee drinks. We

discovered “ca phe sua” – espresso and condensed

milk – in HCMC. In Da Lat we encountered “ca phe

muoi” -- coffee mixed with a salty cream.

But the topper was “ca phe trung” in Hanoi.

Otherwise known as “egg coffee,” it’s a combination

of sweetened espresso with whipped egg

yoke on top. It’s almost a desert. Think coffee

meringue pie or coffee tiramisu or maybe coffee

eggnog.

We tried our first ca phe trung at Café Giang

(the owner’s father invented the drink), where it’s

been served since 1946. We were there on a cool,

grey afternoon and both floors were packed. Each

ca phe trung cup sat in a small ceramic bowl.

We’re not sure why. Maybe to catch any overflowing

meringue.

Lobster -- On the eve of New Year’s Eve, we

squeezed through the crowds at Hoi An’s outdoor

night market, which is on an island across a narrow

neck of the Thu Bon River from the Old Town.

The market sells T-shirts and other tourist

knick-knacks but most everybody is there for the

food. There are dozens of stalls cooking an encyclopedia

of foods. Squid, frogs, octopi, chickens,

weird things we couldn’t identify. We headed to

the far side of the island where the lobster grillers

were at work.

We picked a stand at random (the cook looked

like a nice lady) and put in an order. The nice lady

grabbed a group of small lobsters out of a tank,

chopped off some antennae and threw them on

her grill. In 10 minutes juice dripping, succulent

grilled lobsters were delivered to our tiny table in

paper cartons.

Just about the best street food we’d ever eaten.

Pizza -- We say “just about,” because we discovered

the best street food ever in Da Lat. It’s called

“banh trang nuong.” Better known to tourists as

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“Vietnamese pizza.”

Banh trang nuong is round and has a crust but

that’s about its only connection to the Italian concoction.

This pizza is sizzled on an outdoor grill

starting with a base of thin rice paper. Instead of

tomato sauce, they smear quail or chicken egg

over the rice paper. Then come the toppings.

Amazing stuff like shrimp paste or bits of dried

pork, sriracha sauce, red chilis, and scallions. Even

cheese and bacon for westerners who can’t completely

let go.

When the cook hands you the finished pizza –

about the size of a small dinner plate – you fold it

over and take a bite. It’s like all of Vietnamese cuisine

rolled into one: crunchy, gooey, complex,

spicy, exotic, seriously yummy.

Love,

John and Jody

Dear Ron,

NEW YEARS

“Chuc Mung Nam Moi!”

That’s “Happy New Year!” in Vietnamese. It’s a

much heftier greeting here than back home. Vietnam’s

New Year is like Thanksgiving, Christmas

and Fourth of July rolled into one.

When we arrived at Ho Chi Minh City on Jan. 9

the tinsel and “Chuc Mung Nam Moi” signs were

everywhere and New Year’s Day wasn’t until Jan.

25. (Vietnam, like China, celebrates New Year’s

based on a lunar calendar. Both were anticipating

the upcoming Year of the Rat.)

At night, HCMC’s downtown was lit up like Las

Vegas. Indoor and outdoor restaurants were

jammed. Every store had New Year’s decorations.

A week later we were in Da Lat, a former French

colonial city in the central highlands. One of its

nicknames is “City of Flowers,” because it’s surrounded

by thousands of greenhouses. Ten days

before New Year’s, Da Lat’s flower business was

going crazy.

Red and yellow are lucky colors in Vietnam and

Da Lat’s streets were lined with people selling yellow

chrysanthemums, red roses and, our favorite,

the lucky kumquat tree. Really. Kumquats everywhere.

Apparently, they symbolize good health

and good luck for business. The trees, just a few

feet high, were loaded with fruit and stuck in big

flowerpots. And, of course, carted around on the

backs of motorbikes.

And Hanoi seemed like a party town. During

evening strolls around Hoan Kiem Lake, the town’s

historic center, we passed choral groups and dance

troupes; bad karaoke leaked out of bars and

canned music blared out over pedestrian mobs.

152


We tried to greet people with “Chuc Mung Nam

Moi!” but had limited success. Locals would look at

us blankly for a second (“What are those crazy foreigners

trying to say?”) then the light would dawn

and they’d grin broadly and repeat it back or say

something else festive – none of which we understood.

Maybe they said, “Song lau tram tuoi,” which

means something like, “Live to be 100.”

Along with kumquat trees, Vietnam’s New

Year’s traditions include giving “lucky money” to

kids, decorating the house, buying clothes, paying

off debts, shooting off fireworks, and praying at

pagodas. The whole thing lasts for days. Businesses

close, school’s out, factories shut down, everybody

heads to their parents’ place or

grandparent’s or favorite uncle’s.

Without relatives to visit, we headed to the historic

coastal city of Hoi An. Which, by reputation,

is Vietnam’s premier New Year’s destination.

Hoi An’s original prime was in the 17th and 18th

centuries when it was thriving riverside port (the

coast is five miles off). Then the river silted up and

Hoi An became a backwater to Danang, 30 miles

to the north. But the ancient city, with its rows of

mustard-colored merchant houses, was preserved.

When Vietnam opened up to the West in the

1990s, Hoi An was rediscovered. UNESCO made it

a World Heritage site in 1999; tourists flooded in.

Today the merchant houses are shops and restaurants

and the Old Town is surrounded by hotels

and resorts.

Tourism means Hoi An is in festival mode yearround.

Lanterns festoon the narrow back streets,

lantern-lit boats ply the Thu Bon River. But New

Year’s Eve is something else. On an Old Town back

street we watched a dance performance involving

acrobatic teens, a pulsing drum corps and dragon

costumes.

As evening approached, the quaint arched river

bridges were lit up like airport runways. By dinner

time, the tourist crowd was so dense at the night

market we had to turn sideways to squeeze our

way through. At night, the riverside vendors had

sold so many small floating lanterns -- each holding

a single candle – looking down at the water

was like looking up at the Milky Way.

Because both of us were nursing colds that day,

we decided to forgo the downtown fireworks

show. As we walked back to our hotel, the riverbanks

were lined with tiny tables and chairs and

festive visitors drinking beer. At midnight, the

river surface flashed with reflected celebration.

“Chuc Mung Nam Moi!”

Love,

John and Jody


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LOOKING FORWARD

Dear Ron,

In our last postcard, we didn’t mention that the

Vietnamese New Year holiday is called Tet.

We didn’t forget. But to many Americans the

word “Tet” is synonymous with “Vietnam War.”

The Tet Offensive was a country-wide surprise attack

during the 1968 Lunar New

Year holiday. It was the war’s biggest

battle -- more than 1,000 GIs

died.

But Tet casts no such shadow

here. In Vietnam it’s just a time for

joy and celebration. Grudge

doesn’t seem to be a Vietnamese

concept. War? What war? During

our trip we must have brought up

the subject a dozen times. Each

time – in the north, south, coast,

inland -- the answer was the same:

“That’s the past, we look ahead.”

That’s Vietnam in a single sentence.

The people we met were industrious, optimistic

and happy. Laughter was everywhere.

A boat dock gate didn’t open – the gate man

struggled with it, laughed, struggled some more,

laughed, then let us around another side. A fruit

seller thought it hilarious when we asked her to

write out the Vietnamese name for dragon fruit

(“thranh long”). When our tour Jeep stalled in a

busy highway outside Hanoi, the pretty young tour

guide just shrugged, laughed and sat back, putting

her feet up on the dash.

ven the Cu Chi tunnels, a war site outside

HCMC, felt more like a theme park than a memorial.

The extensive tunnels, used by the Viet Cong

to evade U.S. troops and napalm attacks, vie with

gift shops, documentaries with jaunty soundtracks,

booby trap displays, a shooting range and

outdoor restaurants for the attention of tourists.

When we visited the place was packed. People

sticking their heads out of a tunnel entrance was

the main photo op.

Even our Cu Chi guide, “Mr. Chi,” was ultimately

dismissive of it all. “We can’t be Hobbits all our

lives,” he said as we left for our boat

ride back to the city.

Then there’s HCMC’s war museum.

It’s grim. The third floor “agent orange”

exhibit has gut-wrenching photos.

But even here the Vietnamese

downplay the past. An earlier version

of the museum, opened in 1975, was

called “The Exhibition House for US

and Puppet Crimes.” In 1990 the

name was changed to “Exhibition

House for Crimes of War and Aggression.”

When diplomatic relations with

the U.S. were resumed in 1995, the

name was changed again. Now it’s called the “War

Remnants Museum.”

At our hotel in Da Lat we kept asking Huynh

Nghia, the friendly guy who welcomed us, what his

job title was. Each day he’d laugh and give us a different

title.

Finally, on our last day, as we were leaving, he

said, “I’m manager, door man, waiter, bellhop,

president! There are no titles here, we’re now just

family.” And then he laughed and gave us both a

hug.

Love,

John and Jody


Surf’s Up In M

156


By Brian E. Clark

orocco

Igrew up hearing stories about Morocco

from my father, a World War II Army

veteran whose unit helped push German

General Erwin Rommel - the

“Desert Fox” - and his soldiers out of

North Africa. Several maps of the country

- showing U.S. troop positions - decorated

my dad’s newspaper editor’s office.


In the early 1970s, I made it to Morocco for the

first time to visit my older brother, who was teaching

English back then as part of a Peace Corps stint

in a village called Touanate in the Atlas Mountains

about 55 miles north of Fes.

I returned again about 15 years later in the winter

with photographer Mark Lorenzen to climb a

nearly 14,000-foot peak called Toubkal roughly 70

miles southeast of Marakesh - and then ski down it.

But the country’s siren call keeps luring me back

for yet more adventure. The most recent trip was

to surf off Morocco’s Atlantic Coast. After four

years of working as a staff writer at The San Diego

Union Tribune and hanging out on the city’s many

beaches, I’d developed a middling ability to ride a

longboard on easy waves at La Jolla Shores and the

Tourmaline Surfing Park.

And I’d long been a fan of Bruce Brown’s iconic

surfing movie, “Endless Summer,” which he filmed

in 1963 after hopping around the globe. He never

made it to Morocco on the northwest corner of

Africa, though he did get to Senegal, Nigeria and

South Africa.

Brown skipped Morocco a second time when he

made “The Endless Summer II,” released in 1994.

His loss.

What Brown missed was a 1,000-mile coastline

that hugs the Moroccan desert, with waves that

form beside rocky points or off beaches, offering

breaks for all levels of surfers - including top pros.

Ocean swells have been rolling in off the Atlantic

to collapse on Morocco’s strands for eons. Fishermen

have caught sardines, mackerel, anchovies, octopus

and squid for centuries, usually from small,

colorful wooden boats.

Their offspring have been going to sea with their

elders for countless generations, frolicking in the

ocean when they had the chance. But it was only in

the last 50 years that surfers discovered that these

waves were ideal for their own modern mix of work

and play.

At first, locals say, it was mostly Europeans and

Australians, along with the odd American or two,

who discovered that from October into March, the

Moroccan coast became a paradise of “big rollers”

that produced excellent right-handers, or waves

that break off points like Devil’s Rock, as well as

good beach breaks and some left-handers. At some

places such as Anchor Point north of Tamraght,

waves break for so long surfers can ride for nearly

half a mile.

In the past 20 years or so, surfing has caught on

also with Moroccan youth, and this has produced

some top professional riders. Along with them,

thousands of others have embraced the sport and

the surf culture that often goes with it, dreadlocks,

bleached blonde hair and all.

Mohammed Kadmiri, president of the Royal Moroccan

Surfing Federation, said the sport has grown

exponentiallyover the past decade. The country

now has more than 245 surf instructors and numerous

contests are held annually.

It is also home to more than 50 surfing schools

run by Moroccans and an equal number of surf

camps headed by foreigners—mostly Europeans—

who often use local instructors.

The long and often rugged coast, he added,

makes it "a quintessential destination for surfing

thanks to warm winter temperatures, large waves

and a generous geography with at least 95 named

breaks.”

Kadmiri said he believes the first surfers on this

coast were Americans stationed at what was then a

U.S. military base at Kenitra in northern Morocco in

the early 1960s. They rode waves at nearby Mehdia

beach, and from there, word of Morocco’s breaks

began to spread around the globe.

Kadmiri himself learned to surf in 1984 at Oued

Echarat north of Casablanca, and since then he has

ridden waves around the world. In recent years, he

said, the government has promoted surfing as

recreation for young Moroccans and helped establish

clubs along the coast.

According to the World Tourism Organization,

Morocco attracts 10 million tourists annually, the

greatest number for any African country, and Kadmiri

estimated that as much as 10 percent—nearly

1 million of those visitors—surf.

GrindTV, an online adventure sports video channel,

ranks Morocco among the top three places in

the world for riding waves and learning the sport,

he noted.

Though I’d been to the the country twice, my focus

on those trips had been its cities, cultural sites

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and the mountains.

So I knew nothing of the kingdom’s burgeoning (at least

among Moroccans, Europeans, Aussies and Brazilians) surf

scene until I read about Jerome Sahyoun, a Moroccan who is

one of the world’s top big-wave surfers, regularly riding

down the faces of 70-foot-tall behemoths on his board.

Seeing photographs of Sahyoun surfing made this former

San Diegan ponder returning to North Africa to check out a

coast that looks a lot like stretches of Baja California and

surf the waves that roll across the Atlantic to break on its

arid shores.

The deal was sealed after I spoke with Nigel Cross, an native

Australian who operates Moroccan Surf Adventures on

Taghazout Bay, Morocco - north of Agadir - and one of the

top surfing spots in Africa.

Cross, who is in his 40s, came to North Africa as a toddler

in the 1970s with his surfer parents who were, he says, “following

the sun.” His father had started a surfboard company

in Britain and first surfed in Morocco with Nigel’s mother, a

swimsuit designer. Nigel was three years old.

“Places like Taghazout and Tamraght were just tiny fishing

villages back then.”

On a misty October morning I found myself carrying a

longboard down to the water at Devil’s Rock Beach, north of

the coastal city of Agadir, for a refresher lesson with a dozen

would-be surfers from Britain, France, Ireland and Brazil.

There was one other American in our pod, a young businesswoman

from San Francisco. She was the only other Yank

I met during my five days at Cross’ surfing school.

It wasn’t crowded, but there were other surfers out in the

lineup and on the beach, including a group of young Moroccan

boys in wetsuits who were doing jumping jacks, jostling

each other and turning cartwheels on the sand.

Brightly painted blue fishing boats, including one with a

pair of cats lounging in it, were lined up above the high-tide

line. Still higher was what can only be described as surf

shacks.

Tamraght, the village where I was staying, was about half a

mile inland from Devil’s Rock Beach and had a pair of

mosques with minarets poking into the blue sky.

Behind them, arid hills rolled off to the east. Less than a

mile north of Tamraght is the town of Taghazout, Morocco’s

version of Santa Cruz. (Since my visit, Cross has built a new,

strikingly modern hotel for his surf camps in the village of

Imi Quaddar, six miles north of Taghazout.)

Not far from the shore, a handful of surfers was lining up

to hop on waves rolling in off the right-hand side of the

160


jagged point that is Devil’s Rock.

Brahim LeFrere, one of the three instructors for our

group, had us doing pop-ups (jumping from a prone position

to standing on our boards) on the beach before we hit the

water for what would be four-plus days of instruction. We

roamed up and down the coast, seeking the best conditions.

LeFrere, the son of a fisherman, said he started surfing as

a boy, eventually becoming good enough to compete in regional

contests.

“In the beginning, it was too expensive for me to get a

surfboard or a wetsuit,” he says. “So I’d wait until friends

were done and I’d borrow their gear. After a year, I’d saved

up enough money and bought a used board and wetsuit.

Then I was in the water, catching waves as much I could.

A natural athlete, he also coached volleyball.

“I like all kinds of sports that we can do on the beach —

and in the water,” he said. “We have lots of space at low tide

to play football, Frisbee and other things. Most of the people

in my village were fishermen, and we all grew up on the sea,

so playing in and on the waves just came naturally.”

At several spots, camels moved casually along the sand,

reminding us that we were indeed in North Africa. And

sometimes, when the wind was blowing from the east, we

could hear calls to prayer from minarets rising above one of

several mosques in the town.

When the day’s classes and time for free surfing were

over, we returned to the Moroccan Surf Adventures hostel,

where the chef served us delicious Berber tagine, a stew

prepared in an earthenware pot that was brimming with

onions, carrots, squash, spices and chicken and served on a

bed of couscous.

Advanced surfers who were staying at the lodge hired individual

guides and headed for more serious breaks that

have gnarly reputations in Morocco and Europe, such as

Dracula’s, Hash Point, Killer Point and Anchor Point, where

waves sometimes break for more than a quarter mile.

Karim Rhouli, who runs Marrakesh Surf and Snow Tours,

said his parents often brought him to Taghazout Bay for holidays,

where they would rent a house near Anchor Point.

“First I got into body boarding, but by the time I was 17, I

really knew I wanted to surf,” explained Rhouli. As he improved

his surfing, he began to teach. He also developed

skills as a skateboarder and snowboarder, all of which led to

the creation of his guide service.

“Surfing is a great sport because you feel like you are riding

a force of nature when you are on a wave,” said Rhouli,

who has surfed in Bali and Australia and taught snowboard-


ing in Dubai.

“That first rush of standing on a board and being

carried in is incredible. It’s called ‘the stoke,’ and it

grabs you and makes you want to do it more and

more.”

Lasim Safir, who sports gold-tipped dreadlocks,

rents surfboards and gives lessons from a small

wooden building that also serves as his home

above Devil’s Rock beach.

“There’s nothing I’d rather do than surf and help

people learn,” said Safir, who is in his late 30s and

started surfing 20 years ago. “When I was a kid,

there weren’t that many people who came to this

beach. Now, sometimes, the waves can almost be

crowded. But that’s good. I love seeing the sport

grow.”

One of the highlights of my trip was meeting

Meryem el Gardoum and watching her ride the

waves. This 23-year-old Muslim woman is a native

of Tamraght and a four-time national female surfing

champion.

She learned from her older brothers, and her

parents encouraged her to compete. Now she’s a

part-time instructor when she’s not surfing and

competing.

Anchor Point is her favorite break, she told me,

because of its consistent tubes and long rides.

“I feel so free when I am out there,” she said dur-

162


ing a chat at Devil’s Rock. “I think it’s the same [for

surfers] all over the world. I’m just lucky that I

grew up here and had the support of my family.

“Not all girls here are so fortunate.”

El Gardoum said she never dreamed she’d become

the Moroccan women’s national surfing

champion when she was a little girl accompanying

her mother to gather oysters.

“But when I saw people surfing and my brothers

took it up, I knew I had to try it,” she said. “I like

challenges and experimenting with different surfing

techniques. It just makes me forget anything

that might be bothering me.”

One afternoon during my visit, El Gardoum

dropped by Safir's shack to grab her short board,

slip on her wetsuit and head for the surf.

Soon - as I watched in envy - she was catching

long rides and snapping sharp turns. Later, she returned

to the beach to tutor a skateboarding

youngster named Chamae - whom she called a

surfing protege - with her schoolwork.

“She has potential,” El Gardoum said of her pupil.

“And I’d love to see more girls out there on the

waves. I know for me, it just makes me feel so

alive.”


Dancing Through The Canal

Story & Photography by Maribeth Mellin

164


Dancing was foremost on my mind

while planning a recent Panama Canal

Cruise. I needed a ship with at least

one great music venue where my husband

and I could let loose—and it had to open at a

reasonable hour (late nights are not our

forte). I'd previously had a grand time dancing

with friends at a B.B. King's Blues Club

during a short Holland America cruise. The

line's Eurodam had a similar club, plus the

itinerary I wanted.

Two other features cemented the decision.

It was the only sailing I found that included a

port call at Cartagena, Colombia (a city I've

long wanted to visit), along with Costa Rica,

Guatemala, Nicaragua and Mexico. And it

disembarked in San Diego, my hometown.

The trifecta sealed the deal.

I was curious to see how we felt about

cruising with Holland America. We want to

sail more frequently, and need to participate

in a loyalty program. The line visits many of

our anticipated destinations, from Amsterdam

to Antarctica, the ships are reasonably

sized and the fares fall in mid-range. It could

be our go-to cruise line.


We boarded the 2,100-passenger Eurodam in

Ft. Lauderdale and sailed into San Diego two

weeks later, relaxed, replenished and relieved to

be home on March 1, as news of Covid-19 filtered

through the news.

Surveying the Ship

First things first: the B.B. King's Blues Club was

everything I'd hoped and so much more. The eightpiece

band rocked for three sets nearly every

night—and the first set started at 8:30pm. Holland

America is known to attract a senior clientele; I

bet our fellow passengers' ages averaged around

65, with many in their 80s. It wasn't a late-night

crowd, but even the early diners were able to

catch the first set. I would gladly have stayed up

till midnight to hear singers Indigo Jones and Jason

Barnes rock through a repertoire covering

rock, disco and blues. We stopped by most nights

to catch a few songs, and hit the dance floor for all

three sets on a few occasions. Holland America

aced that requirement.

The Eurodam was comfortable, easily navigated

and enjoyable. The vibe was definitely low key and

mature, as one might expect on a two-week sailing

with several sea days during the school year. I

have a hard time imagining it as a party ship,

though you never know who your fellow guests

might be.

The decor was understated, lacking glitz and

pizazz. Walls were decorated with copies of Dutch

Master paintings, historic photos and nautical

paraphernalia and noise was muted for the most

part. We settled into a comfortable, casual routine

I enjoyed the spacious fitness center's stretch

classes and always-available treadmills. We

walked many laps on the open-air promenade with

a steady stream of fellow guests. One morning,

hundreds boasted T-shirts from the On Deck for a

Cause 5K walk, a Holland America fundraising tradition.

The promenade became my favorite freshair

reading and daydreaming hangout, though the

teak lounge chairs grew scarce on beautiful days.

Lounge chairs also edged the wall-length windows

in the sky-high Crows Nest, home to a

We thoroughly enjoyed the band at the

B.B. King's Blues Club on Gala Night.

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168


combo coffee and cocktail bar and the shore excursions

desk. The place buzzed too much for tranquil

reading on gloomy, windy days but was a good

venue for lectures and programmed activities. The

two pool decks were the most vibrant areas, with

burger and pizza stands and bars featuring the

day's tropical cocktail. Happy hours were immensely

popular in the Crow's Nest and comfy

Ocean Bar. There was plenty of entertainment,

with staged shows, a small casino, a classical music

stage and a pair of dueling pianists in the Billboard

Onboard venue.

Meals consumed large chunks of time—we're

not used to three solids per day. Buy hey, if someone

else is fixing the food we'll be there. Overall,

the Eurodam's culinary offerings were satisfying,

plentiful and occasionally exciting. We often dined

alone any time we wished (thanks to open seating)

and thoroughly enjoyed Tamarind, the Asian specialty

restaurant. I learned a lot about Holland

America's loyalty Mariners program during group

meals in the busy dining room—all raved about

their fondness for the exceptional crew.

Latin Interludes

I've spent a lot of time in Central America over

the years and felt at home everywhere we landed.

Our itinerary started in Cartagena, a UNESCO

World Heritage site and the setting for some of

Gabriel García Márquez's most mesmerizing stories.

The old walled city looked exactly as I'd expected,

exuding the tropical vibe of Havana and

San Juan.

I immediately searched for La Gorda Gertrudis

(Fat Gertrude), a voluptuous bronze nude by

famed Colombian artist Fernando Botero, and

found her reclining in front of a church in the Plaza

Santo Domingo. We took a coffee break at a cafe

in the plaza, charmed by a local hoping to show us

his friend's emerald store, and then proceeded to

walk the streets in absolutely blistering heat

(Cartagena's temperatures are infamous).

Left: Fruit sellers called palenqueras await

customers in front of a colonial-era church.

Top: Botero's Fat Gertrude dominates a small

plaza in the walled city.

Bottom: Palenqueras on break


The closing scene in Romancing the Stone was

set at Cartagena's imposing Castillo San Felipe

fortress but was actually filmed in Veracruz, Mexico.

The similarities were spot on as I recalled

scenes from Veracruz in the 1980s. We lasted

long enough to walk atop the city's stone walls

and along back streets, but succumbed to the humidity

with time to spare.

The main event—the Panama Canal crossing—

was far more intriguing than I expected. I caught a

few canal documentaries on the in-room TV prior

to the crossing and brushed up on the history. We

ordered room-service coffee for our morning entry

into the canal from the Atlantic Ocean and

watched tugboats guide us into a narrow channel

toward the lower lock as an enormous fuel tanker

slid toward us in the upper lock. As the water level

rose, the two vessels edged past each other with

smiles and waves on both sides.

As we sailed along Lake Gatun I scanned the

jungle for the abundant birds and monkeys I'd

seen on previous Panama adventures. But they've

got plenty of room to roam far from the busy

canal. Late in the day we cruised toward the Miraflores

Locks, past the Panama Canal Visitor

Center where hundreds of onlookers lined the

four-story balconies to watch the water's dramatic

rise and fall. We reached the Pacific Ocean

as the day ended—a pretty impressive feat indeed.

Sweet young girls in ruffled dresses greeted the

ship at Corinto, Nicaragua, where the dirt streets

and ramshackle storefronts were reminiscent of a

languid Mosquito Coast backwater. We stuck

close the port in steamy Costa Rica, where I'd

passed much of the late 90s while writing the

Traveler's Costa Rica Companion (now out of

print). I was reluctant to join any shore excursions

since I had the extreme good fortune to ramble

around the country before there were large excursions

and wildlife encounters.

Antigua, Guatemala was the highlight on the

Pacific Coast. Locate about 90 minutes from the

port. Antigua is another UNESCO site with gorgeous

architecture and extraordinary artisans. I'm

170


a sucker for Guatemalan textiles and headed

straight to Nim Po't, a well-known warehouse

store showcasing traditional huipiles (embroidered

blouses) from various regions in the country,

along with bags, bedspreads, tablecloths and

bolts of brilliantly hued cloth. The first time I visited

Guatemala I had to buy an enormous duffle

(made of beautiful striped fabric) to carry all my

Opposite: Young dancers greet the

Eurodam in Corinto, Nicaragua.

Top: Pedicab drivers ferry

passengers to the beach in Corinto.

Left: Bird lovers admire parrots in

Corinto.


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174


purchases. I showed far greater restraint this

time, buying just enough to keep memories of that

gorgeous country alive.

The itinerary ended in Puerto Vallarta, where

we strolled the malecón to El Dorado, a long-time

favorite seaside restaurant, where we lingered

over guacamole, ceviche, a limonada and a

michelada (beer with lime juice and spices). Gala

Night followed and we went all out, with Gary in a

suit and me in a long sequined gown. We ended up

at B.B. King's, of course, and danced until the

band bid farewell long before midnight.

We've had the good fortune to travel with many

lines, from Cunard and Crystal to Carnival. We've

been on small adventure ships and mega cruisers

built for 5,000 passengers. There are several

more lines we'd like to sample, and we'll definitely

sail on Holland America again. I was thinking

about booking one of their Alaska cruises for this

summer, but Covid-19 has put a halt to such plans

for now. But we'll be dancing on the high seas

ASAP.

Left: Sashimi with a smile at

Tamarind.

Above: Asian delights at Tamarind

Bottom: A modern textile vendor in

traditional dress in Antigua,

Guatemala.


YOU ARE GOING WHERE? CUBA? | ARE YOU CRAZY. I THOUGHT OUR GOVERNMENT FORBADE IT. | YOU

A MOST EXCELLENT CUBAN

YOU CAN’T FLY DIRECTLY FROM THE US TO CUBA ! | I THOUGHT OUR GOVERNMENT FORBADE IT

176


NEED TO APPLY FOR A SPECIAL VISA 6 MONTHS AHEAD.

ADVENTURE

. | YOU CAN’T FLY DIRECTLY FROM THE US TO CUBA!

Story by Kitty Morse

Photography by Kitty Morse and Susan McBeth

Last December, my friend Susan and I

bucked conventional wisdom, and headed

for Cuba on the spur of the moment. Planning

our custom itinerary was a breeze

thanks to Vermont-based Karin Eckhard of Espiritu

Travel (https://espiritutravel.com)

We were in for several surprises.

Cuba off-limits to US citizens? Not so! They are

the largest group to visit Cuba after Canadians,

and must plan their visit through licensed travel

agencies. We were under the impression that we

needed to fly to Cuba through a third country.

Wrong again! Most major US airlines offer regular

flights to Cuba, though US government directives

dictate that they can only fly into Havana. The

longstanding US embargo prohibits cruise ships

from docking.

Following Karin’s instructions, we checked

“Support the Cuban people” on our visa applications

and obtained our visas at the JetBlue

counter at JFK upon check-in. The cost?

USD50.00 (Visas vary widely in price when purchased

online.) Before we landed in Havana, we

had to fill out the customs declaration that

“banned any pornographic material.” Done! We

walked out of Jose Marti International Airport

pulling our rollies behind us towards Carlos, our

driver and guide for the next 9 days.

“This is rush hour traffic,” said our guide in

flawless English as we whizzed into town along an

empty freeway. “Most Cubans cannot afford a

car.” Hitchhikers of all ages waited for rides along

the road. Carlos gestured our SUV was full.

“Hitchhiking is a way of life here. We all have to

do it,” he continued, as we passed vintage Buicks


and Studebakers, even a grey Chevy Bel-Air similar

to one my father once owned in the late 1950s.

“Public transportation is not reliable. Besides, a

free ride is cheaper!” said the former lawyer.

Safety is not an issue, he assured us. This 700-mile

long island a mere 90 miles off Florida bills itself

as one of the safest countries in the world.

We drove into town under threatening skies.

Our hosts, Carlos and Oralia were waiting for us at

their casa particular (b and b) of Casa Carlos y

Oralia, in Vedado. The heavy wooden door creaked

open at our knocks, allowing us to step into a tiled

patio lined with flowerpots encircling a gurgling

wall fountain. Our room, one of a five tucked inside

the narrow two-story building, faced this minijungle

alive with chirping birds. We shed our winter

coats for lighter wear, thankful for the air conditioning

and the whirling fan, and for the refrigerator

stocked with bottles of water. Carlos had

already advised us not to drink local tap water

Our guide picked us up at the appointed time for

our afternoon tour of Habana Vieja. The historic

district brought to mind images of my hometown of

Casablanca (Morocco), with its magnificent and dilapidated

old buildings scalloped in artistic wrought

iron balconies. In such close-knit quarters, daily activities

unfold in the streets, much as they do in

Mediterranean neighborhoods. Young Habaneros

playing soccer blocked intersections; grandmothers

in sleeveless blouses chatted in doorways, absentmindedly

puffing on a cigar while keeping an eye on

their charges. Many ruined buildings had found

new life: here a bicycle repair shop; there, a

makeshift garage holding half a dozen classic cars

in varying stages of repair; in another, customers

waited for their turn in the antique barber’s chair.

“Cubans always have a few extra pesos to spend on

flowers,” said Carlos, as we stepped into what must

have been the ground floor of an apartment building.

The space was now the neighborhood flower

market. “Nos Une el El Barrio” (the barrio unites us)

proclaimed the hand-painted slogan on a wall. Each

block held a walk-in clinic, attesting to the fact that

the country has one of the highest doctor-to-patient

ratios in the world.

178


the National Assembly is a renewed source of

pride. The same thing is planned for the neighboring

Gran Teatro de la Habana, home of the worldfamous

Cuban National Ballet. To our chagrin, we

did not program attending a performance. A word

to the wise: obtain tickets upon arrival.

Carlos knew just where to take us for lunch for

our first taste of Cuban cuisine. Ropa vieja (old

clothes) is Cuba’s comfort food, and the specialty

of the intimate Café Mambo Habana. We dug with

gusto into Cuba’s classic dish of shredded pork

stewed with bell peppers and tomatoes, and a side

of Moros y Cristianos (black beans and rice). We

were to eat multiple versions of these dishes during

our 9 days, and Café Mambo’s was a delicious

“Hola Carlos!” rang out a number of times. Our

guide had grown up in the neighborhood, and

these were his “peeps”. “Not many Cubans choose

to live in this area of town anymore, except my

mother!” he exclaimed. He led us down a narrow

alley that opened up onto the elegant Paseo del

Prado. We stood facing a clone of our capitol

building. “Our capitol was built with sugar boom

money between 1926 and 1929,” said Carlos. He

added: “It was modeled after the US Capitol but it

is just a little wider and a little taller!” The landmark

was an eyesore for decades until local authorities

undertook its restoration ahead of

Havana’s 500th anniversary. The process took

close to ten years. Today, the resplendent home of

introduction. Three cooks, all young men, practiced

their culinary skills in the galley at the back

of this diminutive diner.

Our hunger pangs appeased, it was back to

Vedado along the Malecon, the 8-mile long oceanfront

boulevard that skirts Havana Vieja. Dog and

owners took their daily paseo, and youngsters

skipped long the sidewalk, or jumped into the

waves that crashed over the low parapet. Silhouetted

against the gray skies, lone fishermen stood

on the rocks hoping to reel in a fresh catch.

An excursion across the bay allowed us to take

the whole Malecon panorama from the fortress of

Castillo de los Tres Reyes del Morro. The view

from the ramparts made clear why Spanish ex-


plorers selected the enormous bay as the main

port of their New World colonies, and why, in

1592, King Philip II of Spain decreed Havana "Key

to the New World and Rampart of the West Indies".

The next morning, after breakfasting on Oralia’s

cheese omelet, piping hot ham croquetas, fresh

fruit, ham sandwiches, fresh orange juice and

Cuban coffee, it was off to the races — in this case,

the government run cigar factory. An oversized

portrait of a pensive Fidel Castro smoking a cigar

looked down on us as we stepped across the black

and white linoleum tiles towards Luis, a factory

worker-cum-guide. Like most men in the antiquated

building, he was chewing on an unlit cigar.

180


No photos were allowed past this point. We followed

him up narrow stairs reeking of stale smoke,

to a large workroom where men separated and

smoothed out the dried tobacco leaves spread on

wooden tables. They barely looked up as we

trooped past on the way to the top floor, reserved

for women seated at individual work stations.

Each one expertly wrapped and labeled Cuba’s

famed export with her identity number for quality

control.

“These women are the best paid workers on the

island,” explained Luis. “Each one can make 80 to

150 cigars a day and is allowed to take home 5

cigars to sell on the open market.” Needless to say,

a job as a cigar wrapper is as much sought after as


the end product: Romeo y Julieta and Monte

Cristo cigars.

The sweet aroma of fresh cigars permeated the

car as we drove along the wide Avenida 5a to

Fusterlandia, a most unusual neighborhood inspired

by Barcelona’s artist Gaudi. An explosion of

kaleidoscopic tilework greeted us down a discreet

side street. Gaudi, as well as world-famous

French-American artist Nikki de St Phalle, both inspired

the Cuban-born Jose Fuster to plaster his

entire neighborhood in tilework, from benches,

rooftops, and shops, to the Holy Virgin watching

over his pool.

A different style of art lined the walls of the

Callejon de Hamel, a shaded, pedestrian alley at

the heart of Havana Vieja, where walls, chairs,

lampposts and even old bathtubs displayed various

forms of graffiti. Our morning walk concluded

at Venami’s (www.tripadvisor.com/venami), an secluded

Italian restaurant near the Capitolio. “Venami’s

serves the best Italian food in Havana,”

asserted Carlos upon entering the tiny space, winner

of Trip Advisor’s Certificate of Excellence for

3 years in a row. We would have been hard

pressed to find it on our own. Paladares are under

182


private ownership, and hanging a commercial sign

is prohibited. More often than not, a chalk board

on the sidewalk is the only public notice.

The trio of young chefs who expertly manned

the brick oven had perfected their trade in Italy.

They slipped wooden pizza paddles in and out of

the brick oven at record speed to the sound of a

boombox vibrating with Cuban tunes. As we left,

satiated with chicken piccata and heaping bowls

of seafood fettucine, our waitress grabbed my

arm and insisted we take a spin on the pavement.

Music of a different era enlivened the Hotel Nacional

de Cuba, a mafia hangout before the Cuban

revolution. A trio of musicians serenaded us as we

downed one mojito and then another beneath vintage

portraits of international celebrities. In

decades past, the edifice echoed with the footsteps

of Winston Churchill, Ava Gardner, Frank

Sinatra, Jean Paul Sartre, Yuri Gagarin, Lucky Luciano,

and other world-famous luminaries. It even

hosted a battle in 1933. The battle of The Hotel

Nacional de Cuba pitted the Cuban army against

non-commissioned officers who supported Battista.

Ensconced in deep armchairs in one of the

oceanfront salons, we sipped mojitos and tapped

our feet to our private WWII musical interlude.

We had barely downed our last mojito when

Carlos introduced us to Yordanka, the driver of an

eye-popping ‘52 royal blue convertible Buick.

“There are very few women drivers in Havana,”

said the attractive brunette. “I studied to be an

accountant, but I can’t support my family on the

government’s $35 a month.” Like Carlos, she too

felt the pinch of the US embargo. “And so I drive a

classic car!” The government keeps a stable of

several hundred of these classic autos, and leases

them out to (mainly male) drivers for a hefty

monthly fee. She drove us, top down, through Havana’s

leafier districts until we reached the enormous

Plaza de la Revolución. A large portrait of

Cuba’s revolutionary hero, Che Guevara, cast a

benign stare from nearby buildings onto tourists

examining the rows of vintage cars on the plaza.

Many cars advertised ”In Havana, you can rent

your fantasia”.

In addition to music and vintage cars, Cubans

are renowned for their agricultural expertise. The

island has long practiced ecological growing


methods, and we were curious to visit a working

farm. “One reason we follow ancestral farming

practices,” explained Carlos on the way to Vista

Hermosa Eco Farm, “is that the country cannot afford

to import expensive fertilizers or modern machinery.

This has forced farmers to revert to

ploughing fields with oxen due to the lack of fuel,

and to shun the use of chemicals.” Farm to table, or

“de la Granja a la Mesa”, is the norm in Cuba. This

catapulted Vista Hermosa to the forefront of the

Slow Food movement. The young farm manager

had travelled to Italy, birthplace of the movement,

on several occasions.

Vista Hermosa, a 165-acre finca ganadera, cattle

“farm, operates as a semi-private co-op, and

must sell 80% of its products to the government.

Most of their microgreens and specialty herbs

supply the hotel trade. Lucky for us, we sampled

their products at their charming “outlet”, the

Mediterraneo Havana restaurant. Blue and white,

so typical of Mediterranean countries, predominated

in the sun-splashed villa nestled in one Havana’s

better neighborhoods. For the next two

hours, young waiters plied us with Vista Hermosa’s

baby vegetables, farm-raised chicken,

home-made cheeses, farm fresh ricotta, and even,

their own Italian style salumi.

That evening our curiosity compelled us to attend

a dinner show at the fabled El Guajarito,

home of the legendary Buena Vista Social Club.

The packed cabaret was filled with groups from

around the world. Dinner, served by young women

in skimpy attire, began with a cup of broth and an

unusual bruschetta of stewed squid. The evening’s

high point came in the form of the show’s exuberant

star, 82-year old Tete,the liveliest person in

the room, who, in no time, had the place stomping

its feet and clapping to classic Cuban jazz tunes.

Our destination the next morning was Vinales in

the western province of Pinar del Río. Carlos had

advised us to dress in layers and take rain gear. On

approach, a rainbow arced over the lush countryside,

and the steep, dome-shaped limestone cliffs

emerged from the mist like those of Vietnam’s Halong

Bay. These mountains, called mogotes, attract

rock climbers from around the world and most local

casas particulares cater to long term visitors,

as did the aptly-named Casa Bella Vista, where a

diorama of domed-shaped mogotes faced the inn’s

terrace.

The skies opened up as we set off to digest our

heaping plates of meltingly tender lamb and Moros

y Cristianos. Rainer, our guide and botanical

expert, led us to shelter in an abandoned shack,

while delivering a rundown on the valley’s endemic

plants. These include 165 varieties of

mamey, and dozens of rare papayas.

We had expressed the desire to visit one of

Viñales’ famed tobacco farms to roll our own cigar.

Since neither car nor oxcart could navigate the

flooded paths, we set out on foot under a deluge,

our shoes sloshing with water, our clothes wringing

wet under our flimsy rain gear. We reached a

184


rickety barn after what seemed an eternity. Inside,

open shelves were stacked floor to ceiling with tobacco

leaves in varying stages of the drying

process. “Bienvenidos!” A farmer with the bluest

eyes I had ever seen flashed a row of gleaming

white teeth as he invited us in. Rain pelted the

leaky roof and the aroma of fresh leaves floated

around us as he demonstrated how to roll a cigar

unwrapping each leaf, and expertly rolling it into

Cuba’s signature product.

Thunder and lightning punctuated our return to

Casa Oralia. This sent me dreaming of home-made

chicken soup. We found it at El Biky’s, a newly

opened restaurant near our casa particular. A

steaming bowl of home-made chicken soup, and

their cracker-thin pizza crust smothered in fresh

mushrooms and melted cheese did much to soothe

our rain drenched souls.

The skies had cleared the next morning when

we set off for Trinidad. On the way, we witnessed

first-hand how Cubans source daily necessities.


“You want to try a cortado?” asked Carlos, pointing

to a roadside stand. Of course! He disappeared at

the back while we sipped a Cuban espresso with

milk. He returned holding six tubes of Colgate

toothpaste.

“My supplier buys these in Miami!” he said with

a chuckle. We stretched our legs again at a roadside

stand festooned in strands of garlic. Carlos’

purchases done, we continued on to Cienfuegos,

originally settled by French immigrants from Bordeaux

and Louisiana.

Today, the town is a center for sugar and tobacco

production. The shaded central plaza

flanked in pastel colored colonial buildings

brought to mind a typical zocalo. Carlos led us to

the rooftop terrace of the Palacio de Valle, an extravagant

structure built in the Moorish style, to

sip daiquiris and take in the unobstructed view of

the bay.

“You will love Trinidad,” he declared when we

were back on the road. Francisco de Narvaez, one

of the first explorers of the southern coast of

North America, was the first to set foot in Trinidad

in 1527, before his exploration of La Florida.

Nowadays, visitors from around the world flock to

the flower-bedecked central square to access free

wi-fi. Trinidad native Yneisy and her Italian-born

husband Enzo were our hosts at their family home

a few minutes’ walk from the plaza. From the

Hostal Casa Groning (www.hostalcasagroning-

.com) we ventured out on our own to explore the

pedestrian streets lined in cobblestones originally

used ballast for ships. We navigated uneven sidewalks

and flooded side-streets filled with horsedrawn

carts, pedicabs, and bicycles. A laid-back attitude

contributed to the tropical charm of this

colonial era World heritage Site. Hemingway must

have felt it too. A trio of street musicians stood in

front of La Floridita, one of the famed author’s fa-

186


vorite watering holes. Open doorways afforded a

glimpse of daily life: students learning the samba,

a cobbler bent over his iron last next to a mountain

of shoes, a barber plying his trade inside a studio

lined with his own paintings. We ran into a number

of these informal art galleries, as well as one exhibiting

internationally-known Lazaro Niebla’s

stunning bas-relief portraits carved out of wood

(www.lazaroniebla.com).

The late morning temperature was turning oppressive

and we sought the air-conditioned confines

of Bar Frio. There, the jovial bartender

revealed the secret of making canchanchara, a

drink introduced by African slaves in the late

1800s. The bartender went to great length to

blend the sugar cane juice, honey, lemon and rum.

A different legacy of Afro-Cuban origin is santería,

a religious practice introduced during the influx of

Lucumí slaves from Nigeria. In Trinidad, the Templo

Yemalla, site of regular santería ceremonies,

displayed various facets of this syncretic religion

which combines elements of Yoruba and Catholic

practices. Inside the foyer, an array of offerings lay

at the feet of a black virgin attired in royal cape

and crown, and cradling a white skinned baby Jesus.

Trinidad abounds in souvenir shops where foreigners

can spend convertible pesos or CUCs.

Cubans, however, must use local Cuban pesos.

Their limited purchasing power was apparent

when we stood before a counter dispensing stacks

of “la libreta”, government-subsidized ration

books. The monthly allotment coupons detailed

the amount of rice, pasta, eggs, coffee, salt, sugar,

oil, beans, matches, and of course, cigars, for each

family. Rations usually last about 10 days out of

every month. The rest of the time, most Cubans

resort to bartering or purchasing necessities on

the black market.


188


One daily activity in Trinidad is to while away

the time on the steps of La Casa de la Musica sipping

mojitos and listening to live music. Dancing

erupted around the plaza soon after sunset, and a

strikingly tall black-skinned woman in an immaculate

chef’s jacket approached each table. “Would

you like to try my gratin of seafood?” asked the imposing

chef whose toque towered over our table.

The cooking class at Casa de Tonia, a private

home converted to a casa particular, dispelled the

memory of the previous evening’s lackluster

gratin! Our professional chef/instructor Eduardo,

flanked by an English translator, demonstrated the

art of cocina criolla using his grandmother’s

recipes. For two hours, he directed us as we sliced

and diced ingredients in his small and well-appointed

kitchen. In no time, we turned out fufu de

plátano, a plantain puree mixed with pork fat and

pork rind, sopa de frijoles colorados flavored with

a mild sofrito pureed peppers, and much more.

Most instructive was his use of latitas, empty cans

of sweet condensed milk instead of a measuring

cup. (So was the ingredients list that called for

“chicken bottoms” instead of chicken thighs!) Our

cooking completed, we retreated to the far end of

the patio, around a massive table set with crystal

and china. When we remarked on the ubiquity of

Moros y Cristianos, instructor and staff burst out

laughing: “El frijol se le hace diario en Cuba!” (In

Cuba, we make beans every day!)

Trinidad once was a hotbed of revolutionaries.

So were the jungle lined hills of Valle de los Ingenios,

which we explored during our excursion to

Topes de Collantes and Parque Guayanara national

park. Our hike took us deep into the lush

greenery, to the exuberant Salto de Caburni waterfall

and the frigid waters of a popular swimming

hole. For this senior citizen (albeit in good shape)

hiking downhill to the falls, then climbing up again,

necessitated more effort than my daily exercise

routine! Luckily, Carlos had planned a restorative

stop at a nearby family-run coffee plantation. After

my first shot of potrerito—a Cuban espresso

spiked with rum, lemon juice, and honey, I was

ready to climb mountains! There was no need, for

our next stop was Carlos’ family farm, a compound

consisting of housing for his 11 family members,

as well as a vegetable garden and small orchard.

Our host proudly showed off a pig pen and a

chicken coop. ““We have to grow our own food.

That’s how we survive,” he explained. Lunch with

his extended family turned out to be a highlight of

our stay.

We had planned to spend our last night at Casa

Carlos y Oralia. On the way back to Havana the

Ernesto (“Che”) Guevara Sculptural Complex in

Santa Clara was a requisite stop. The memorial

houses the remains of this longtime friend of Fidel

Castro’s and one of Cuba’s preeminent revolutionaries.

A youthful uniformed guard was all smiles

when we invited him to pose alongside us.

Carlos’ last requisite stop was at Los Martinez, a

thriving family restaurant by the roadside: “These

people know how to make a Cubano sandwich,” he

proclaimed, as we bit into our warm roll filled with

warm shredded pork and sliced ham smothered in

melted Swiss cheese and fresh pickles, and sipped

goblets of fresh guava juice. Our guide was right

once again.

Carlos Eire’s book “Waiting for Snow in Havana”

describes how the author’s favorite pastime as a

young boy was to have his father drive through the

waves crashing onto the Malecon. Susan had expressed

her wish to do the same. On our last

evening in Havana, we joined a crowd of ebullient

young Cubans running through the waves along

the promenade. Drenched and happy, my friend

and I could leave Havana having fulfilled our own

“fantasia”.

Kitty Morse is the author of 10 cookbooks, and

a staff writer for Wine Dine and Travel.

Susan McBeth is the founder and president of

Adventures by the Book (www.adventuresbythebook.com)

and Novel Network (www.novelnetwork.com)


ENGLAND’S

"Plague Town"

By Sharon Whitley Larsen

190



With the recent worldwide spread of the frightening

Coronavirus--COVID-19--we're vividly reminded of the

terrifying 17th-century Bubonic Plague. This is the

story of how brave villagers in a small English town

took it upon themselves to self-quarantine for 14

months and save lives.

As I stood by a charming, attached stone cottage

in this peaceful village, the heart of England's Peak

District, watching a homeowner sweep her walkway

on this crisp, sunny day, I was stunned to read

the plaque in front. Once--355 years ago--the

happy Siddall family had

lived here. And, one by one,

they had been struck down

by the plague.

First there was Richard,

age 11, who died on Sept. 11,

1665. He was followed,

within weeks, by his sister

Sarah, age 13, then his father,

and three more sisters.

Another sister died in April

and, by October 17, 1666,

when his mother died, the

family was gone. Except for

young Joseph, age 3, who

survived.

Few of us can imagine the

horror of an illness wiping

out not only most of one’s

family--but neighbors,

friends, nearly an entire

town. Of the 350 villagers in

Eyam (pronounced “eem”),

260 died this horrible death, including 58 children.

Caused by a bacterial infection, the plague hits

its victims with swollen lymph nodes, fever, chills,

headache, fatique, muscle aches. Symptoms can include

a rosy, red rash--and black boils, from dried

blood under the skin, caused by internal bleeding,

appear in the armpits, neck and groin. The “Black

Death,” as it is known, can be excruciatingly painful

and horrible for others to watch.

What makes this bucolic, mountainous Derbyshire

village (known as "The Plague Town ”) so

unique is not only that the plague wiped out such a

high number of residents in such a short time, but

also the way that its devastated townsfolk reacted

to the deadly, infectious disease. They sacrificed

themselves so others could live: Courageously cordoning

themselves off from the outside world, the

Eyam villagers kept the evil event from spreading

further, and this was the last place it hit in England .

The plague, which first surfaced around the late

1320s in China, spread rapidly by fleas and rats via

trading ships. Eventually it hit Europe and, during

the mid-1300s, killed some 25 million, one-third of

the population. Later, between December 1664

and the beginning of 1666,

some 100,000 died in London,

about one-fourth the

population.

It was during this time,

the summer of 1665, that a

resident of London--150

miles away--shipped

Alexander Hadfield, an

Eyam tailor, some cloth.

The package of old clothes

and cloth patterns arrived

wet and the tailor’s assistant,

George Viccars, who

lived with the family, was

told to take the cloth outside

and spread it out to

dry--as well as dry it by the

fireplace.

Obviously no one realized

that the damp cloth was already

infected by fleas carrying

the curse of the

plague. In just four days Viccars was dead, the first

victim in Eyam to die of the plague, buried on Sept.

7, 1665. A plaque in front of the home, "Plague

Cottage," lists some of the household members who

died within days of each other. Only one, the tailor's

wife, Mary, survived. She lost 13 relatives.

Another plaque summarizes the horror of the

Hawksworth family, who lived nearby. The husband,

Peter, was the third victim of the plague in

the village; his son Humphrey, 15 months, died just

weeks later. And Peter's wife, Jane, was the sole

survivor of the household, eventually losing 25 relatives.

192



During the next horrifying 14 months, the

stunned Eyam townsfolk quickly buried their dead,

trying in vain to keep the devastating disease from

spreading--especially to larger areas like Sheffield

and Manchester.

In fact, during these mournful months of the

plague, funerals were not held; families buried their

own--in the front or back yards or gardens, sometimes

using old doors or chairs as biers. Once the

last family member had died off, it became the horrendous

official job of Marshall Howe, a courageous

villager, to do the burial. He would tie a cord

194


around the neck or foot of the corpse--so not to

touch it--and drag it to a nearby garden or field,

where he had dug a grave. For nearly three

months he performed this awful task--never

dreaming that he would end up fatally infecting

and burying both his wife Joan and only son

William within days of each other in August 1666.

Deeply grieving, he blamed himself for bringing

the disease home to them. Miraculously, he survived

this evil epidemic and lived another 32

years.

(For a couple of generations, Eyam parents

would admonish their children to obey--or else

they would send for Marshall Howe! And some today

believe that the popular children's nursery

rhyme, “Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posy.

Ashes, ashes! We all fall down!” symbolizes the

plague.)

Once summer arrived, the church’s wise rector,

the Rev. William Mompesson, closed the Eyam

Parish Church to worshippers, fearing that the hot

weather would make things worse (in fact, August

was the worst month with many deaths). Instead

they met in an outdoor enclave, Cucklet Delf,

where they prayed twice weekly and held a Sunday

service. (Today, with the town's population now

around 900, it’s the site of the annual Plague Commemoration

Service, held the last Sunday in August.

And the Eyam Museum--highly ranked on

TripAdvisor, but which was closed the day of my

visit--pays tribute to the plague victims with many

displayed items.)

The pastor and his assistant, the Rev. Thomas

Stanley, had earlier admonished the townsfolk not

to cross a certain boundary surrounding the village,

designated by large stone and mound landmarks.

It was at the “Boundary Stone” and

“Mompesson’s Well” where outsiders (earlier notified

by the pastor) would quickly leave food and

medical supplies, many donated by the Earl of Devonshire

from his nearby massive Chatsworth

House. Then they would flee, lest they themselves

fall ill. Village volunteers would retrieve the valuable

items, leaving coins for payment that were

disinfected with vinegar.

And it was because of this self-enforced isolation

that the plague did not spread to surrounding

areas. The Rev. Mompesson visited

76 parish families during the ordeal, comforting

and praying with them. He and his beautiful

wife Catherine had sadly and reluctantly sent

their two young children, George and Elizabeth,

ages 3 and 4, to live with relatives in Yorkshire,

and they survived. However, Catherine, who

had stayed behind to be at her husband’s side,

died of the plague at age 27 on August 25,

1666, further devastating the townsfolk. She is

buried in the churchyard.

Just outside town are the “Riley Stones”--a

small graveyard where the farming Hancock

family is buried. Mrs. Hancock, who survived

the plague, had the incomprehensible, tortuous

task of burying her husband and six children in

eight days. She had one surviving son, who had

left the area prior to the plague breakout.

By early November that year, the deaths

ceased. As a precaution, clothing and furniture

were burned—and the bare necessities that remained

were fumigated.

As the Rev. Mompesson (who moved from the

village three years later) wrote a friend on November

20, 1666: “Our town has become a Golgotha,

the place of a skull; and had there not

been a small remnant left, we had been as

Sodom, and like to Gomorrah. My ears never

heard such doleful lamentations--my nose

never smelled such horrid smells, and my eyes

never beheld such ghastly spectacles.”

For sure, this charming, peaceful village—

then regarded as the valley of death--was hell

on earth.

IF YOU GO

www.eyamvillage.org.uk/

www.derbyshireuk.net/eyam.html

http://www.eyam-museum.org.uk/

http://www.visitpeakdistrict.com/

www.visitbritain.com

www.visitengland.com


BY WIBKE CARTER

LIFE AT A SNAIL’S PA

196


CE

What conjures up in your mind when you

hear the word, Burgundy? For me personally,

it reminds me of my mother as

burgundy is her favourite colour - she has handbags

and clothes this shade, that is not purple, not

brown, this deep rich wine colour. For many it

would be the world class Burgundy wine, which

the colour is named after, but little did I know before

my trip last summer that Burgundy had so

much food, even by the French standard, to offer -

Dijon mustard, Beef Bourguignon, the Burgundy

truffle, and Mâconnais cheese.

Burgundy prompts me to be a little adventurous,

and I try snails for the first time in my life, in

the restaurant at Château Sainte Sabine. When I

ask Véronique Beigenger from Burgundy Tourism

whether this is a delicacy only served in posh

restaurants, it turns out that snails in Burgundy, is

a bit like mushrooms where I come from. “My

whole family goes snail hunting. It’s strictly controlled

in terms of the timing and the size of the

gastropods, and it’s really messy preparing them.

But there are countless recipes with herbs and

butter, cheese or wine and they’re just delicious”.

Geographically Burgundy is in the heart of

France, and one can really feel the slower pace of

life. The French saying pour vivre heureux, vivons

cachés (to live happily, live hidden), couldn’t express

the local sentiment any better.

“I love having breakfast outdoors, listening to

the birds, the solitude”, says famous English sculptor

Paul Day who created the 30ft high The Meeting

Place in London’s St. Pancras Station. Traveling

around the world for his work to places like China,

Russia or New Zealand, he’s been calling Burgundy

his home for sixteen years and wouldn’t want it

any other way.


While the region is only 3.5 hours by car from

Paris, it must have felt like he was flung far away

into a different universe to Roger de Rabutin,

Comte de Bussy, the 17th century count who was

banished from court and exiled here. Author of

the Histoire Amoureuse des Gaules, a satiric account

of court love affairs, he was exiled for seventeen

years by King Louis XIV. His aristocratic

residence, Château de Bussy-Rabutin, is famous

for its collection of over 300 portraits including

generals, warriors and court ladies.

There is one that I find fascinating, titled “Levior

aura” meaning lighter than air, and indeed it shows

a woman who seems to be weighing less than

nothing on a balancing scale. Didier Doré, a history

professor showing me around solves the mystery.

“You need to look closely as some of the

paintings have a deeper meaning. The lady in this

particular painting depicts Roger de Rabutin’s

lover Cécile, Marquise de Montglas who left him

when he was sent to exile.”

There are more châteaux in Burgundy than any

other region in France. Nearly 100 castles, medieval

strongholds and manor houses of every architectural

style dot the landscape from Vézelay

to Cluny. It’s impossible to see them all but many

have been converted to small luxury hotels such

as Château d'Igé at which I get spoilt with awardwinning

cuisine (more snails, this time in red wine)

and a good night’s rest in the 13th century castle.

The next morning I drive through vineyards and

medieval villages with their narrow lanes, rosebush-clad

houses and old fountains. Occasionally,

a châteaux, often seemingly privately owned,

comes into view – it doesn’t get more idyllic than

that.

From the 13th to the 15th centuries, the village

of Brancion was an important regional centre for

the Dukes of Burgundy and many buildings date

from that epoch. “Its location on a hilltop meant

that the ruling family became rich by ambushing

pilgrims on the way to Cluny”, explains guide Leslie

Cleaver. Today, there are only about one hundred

residents left though it is a popular destination especially

for families because of the craft fairs. A

hidden gem is the Romanesque church of St. Peter

with its wall paintings from 1325. Service is still

being held occasionally in the dark and somewhat

198


damp building but there is an increasing shortage

of priests, mentions Cleaver.

Another, much larger church of the same architectural

style, the Abbey of Saint Philibert, is in

nearby Tournus but I’m much more interested in

the town’s Hôtel-Dieu. Built in 1675 with money

from a benefactor, this hospital, with three long

rooms of the sick, is not afraid to compete with

that of Beaune. The beds are still original so is the

furniture and equipment in the 17th century

apothecary. The hospital remained open as a convalescent

home until 1981 simply because the last

residents enjoyed the communal rooms and refused

to move.

After my morning boost of local history, I drop

into the Domaine de L’Echelette for a wine tasting

with owner Guillaume Champliaud who is looking

after the 120,000 bottle vineyard in the second

generation. There are three things I learn during

the quick stopover. One, Chardonnay is named after

a Burgundy village, two, local wine pairs best

with Comté cheese and three, in France, any fromage

is eaten before dessert.


200


Bourgogne wines have a long and rich history

spanning 2,000 years with the best grapes growing

between Dijon and Beaune. They are a legacy

of the Benedictine and Cistercian monks who

planted many vines in the Middle Ages.

The most influential abbey of the region was

that of Cluny. Founded in 910, it reached its height

of power in the 11th and 12th centuries when it

was the “mother house” for over 1,000 monasteries

reaching from Portugal to Scotland.

Today, only a fractional 8% of the once huge

abbey complex remains yet it still feels imposing

and impressive. Numerous monastic buildings are

spread throughout town but with a tablet and 3-D

technology in hand from the platform of the Tour

des Fromages (named because cheese was stored

in the tower during the 19th century) I can visualize

the abbey how it would have looked in the 12th

century.

From up high, I can see far into the Burgundy

landscape and much closer, locals sitting in front

of small bistros, with delicious food and a glass of

local wine in hand. They all look relaxed as if none

of them ever has to return back to work, simply

enjoying life, at the pace of a snail - not a bad thing

at all.

www.burgundy-tourism.com


BY CARL LARSEN

I've got a travel secret to share, and it starts

off with a wee dram of Scotch at London's Euston

Station late in the evening. Oh, and this

story has a famous cat.

I can't call my drink Scotch for long, however,

because in a few hours I will be in Scotland,

where years ago I was admonished by a sassy bartender

when I ordered my drink of choice.

"Sir, you ARE in Scotland," she told me curtly at a

pub on the Isle of Mull. "To you, it's whisky."

Having learned my lesson, I sidled up to the bar

at Euston's first-class passenger lounge on an fall

evening and asked for my preferred Scottish-distilled

liquor by brand name instead.

Tickets in hand, having ended a day of sightseeing

in central London, my wife Sharon and I were

headed to Scotland by train, an easily done

overnight excursion that seemingly few Americans

know about. We'll be aboard the Caledonian

Sleeper, one of the many sleeper trains that The

Wall Street Journal reported are "back in vogue,"

particularly in Europe. Refreshed from the gentle

overnight rocking of the train, we're scheduled to

arrive in the next morning around breakfast time.

My secret is this: When we wake up, we'll be

high up in the Scottish Highlands, running on a single-track

route across the broad and forbidding

Rannoch Moor with a brief stop at its desolate station

-- the highest in the U.K. We're on one of the

most famous of railways -- the West Highland

Line. Going further, we'll arrive in the town of

Fort William, hard by Loch Ness and its camerashy

"monster" and watched over by Ben Nevis, the

highest mountain in the British Isles.

Making this ride even more memorable will be

our accommodations, or rolling stock. We'll be riding

in shiny new carriages that were just months

old and which are part of a global resurgence of

sleeper trains. The Caledonian Sleeper, with roots

Scottish

BY SLEEPER TO THE "NORTHERN

202


Surprise

PART OF THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERE"


going back more than 100 years, rolled out in 2019

an astounding $185 million-plus investment in a

fleet of new trains and in services that include passenger

lounges. Our travel will be aboard a train

featuring en-suite bedrooms and a club car serving

drinks and food, including a prebooked breakfast

served before arrival in the morning.

Perhaps no other form of transportation has

captured the sense of intrigue and romance more

than the sleeper train. Much of the mystique has

been bolstered over the years by Hollywood. Who

hasn't been caught up by seeing Cary Grant wooing

Eva Marie Saint aboard the 20th Century Limited

in "North by Northwest," or watching Hercule

Poirot play detective in "Murder on the Orient Express?"

Couple that with "listening to the rattling of

bone china, the clinking of whisky bottles. Now

picture yourself wedged into the middle of a

packed airline cabin, hearing the blare of the engine

and the snoring of your seatmate," as The

Wall Street Journal recently noted.

Today, a new generation of sleeper trains is

"catering to a growing faction of travelers looking

to escape the harried airline experience or simply

to indulge their nostalgia," reported the newspaper.

While waiting to board, our tickets allowed us to

use the first-class lounge at Euston, where we

watched the last commuters calling it a day in London.

Then, watching the departures screen, it was

our turn to board, around 8:30 p.m. for a 9:15 p.m.

departure. We walked to Platform 1 -- without a

security check -- where our train stood waiting.

With more than fifteen carriages and an engine,

the lengthy train looked as if it already stretched

to Scotland. Alas, there was no red carpet.

Checking in at trackside outside our car, we

were given a key card for our cabin, and made our

way to our compartment, complete with a double

bed, in-cabin sink, toilet, a shower and a kit of toiletries.

Refreshments and food were sold in a club

car a few carriages down. For this run, luggage was

stowed in our room, but some routes carry baggage

cars.

If you're a fan of the musical "Cats," you may remember

"Skimbleshanks -- The Cat of the Railway

Train." He led theater-goers over much the same

route we were soon to embark upon. Better

versed, Skimble can tell part of the story:

"And the berth was very neat with a nearly

folded sheet

And not a speck of dust upon the floor....

There was every sort of light

You could make it dark or bright

And a button you could turn to make a breeze.

And a funny little basin you're supposed to wash

your face in...."

Then, without warning, we were off, watching

the platform lights pass by with increasing speed.

Or, as Skimble would have told us, we were "off

at last to the northern part of the Northern Hemisphere!"

That was enough to summon my wife Sharon and

myself to the club car for a celebratory night cap,

with crackers and cheese. We raced by commuter

trains and pulled in a few minutes later to Watford

Junction in north London to pick up a few more

travelers before leaving the city behind. Those

wanting more substantial fare, and who couldn't

wait to be in Scotland, could try the haggis, neeps

and tatties. And the selection of whisky was fine.

Sipping your drink, you might be sitting next to a

Member of Parliament heading home to his or her

"constituency" after a day of law-making. Or listening

to a lively discussion of European politics,

business deals and current London theater. This is

not a train for tourists, which satisfied us a great

deal.

Before turning in for the night, we filled out our

breakfast-menu card, which offered a selection

that included a bacon roll, Eggs Royale or a complete

Highland Breakfast, with eggs and sausage.

And there was Stoats Scottish Porridge, as well as

tea, of course. Breakfast is served in the club car

or is brought to your room.

The Caledonian Sleeper is in fact two separate

trains that leave Euston each night except Saturday

for destinations in Scotland that include Glasgow,

Edinburgh, Aberdeen, Inverness and Fort

William. The Lowlander route train to Edinburgh

and Glasgow leaves at 11:50 p.m.; while the Highlander

train for Aberdeen, Inverness and Fort

William leaves at 9:15. Cars can be boarded well

before departure, and passengers have a few extra

204


CORONA VIRUS UPDATE

The corona virus pandemic has suspended some

of the Caledonian Sleeper services from London

to Scotland.

Late in March 2020, trains were suspended

temporarily on the routes to Aberdeen and to

Fort William (described in the accompanying

story). Trains still were in operation between London

and Glasgow, London and Inverness and London

and Edinburgh.

Also, all station lounges used by passengers

were closed, and on-board club car service was

suspended. Instead, passengers could order food

and drink brought to their cabins by room service.

Passengers also can bring food and drink aboard

for consumption in their cabins.

In London, the two Caledonian Sleeper trains

-- Highlander and Lowlander service -- leave every

night except Saturday from Euston Station.

Trains coming south into London arrive around 8

a.m. All trains feature new carriages put into service

in 2019.

Passengers taking the Caledonian Sleeper

have a variety of accommodations available. Cabins

with beds include Classic Rooms, Club Rooms

and Caledonian Doubles. All rooms have wash

basins, and some include toilets and showers and

personal toiletry kits. All rooms have charging

points for electronic equipment. Fares in some

classes of service include a full breakfast; for others,

breakfast is available for purchase. In addition,

there is a car with seats for those travelers

not wanting full bedrooms

• Fares can change, depending on time of

year and time of booking.

• For up-to-date Caledonian Sleeper information:

https://www.sleeper.scot/

• The Alexandra Hotel, Fort William:

https://strathmorehotels-thealexandra.com

• Royal Highland Hotel, Inverness: https://

www.royalhighlandhotel.co.uk/

• Visit Scotland: https://www.visitscotland-

.com/


minutes upon arrival to freshen up before they

must exit. A chair car serves thrifty travelers not

wanting the extra-cost sleeper accommodation.

Stops along the way are few and far between. I

confess I'm a railway fanatic, so I'd prop my head

up to peek out the window at middle-of-thenight

stops that include the British rail mecca

Crewe. Outside, the platforms were empty, save

for a few staff members servicing the train.

Sleeper trains, in general, lack one benefit --

daylight views of the passing landscape. That's

why we took the Fort William route. It's the

longest, and arrives just before 10 a.m., giving

ample time to see the beauty, and barren nature,

of the Highlands while having breakfast or sipping

a cup of tea.

The new trains have not arrived without

birthing pains, with some passengers complaining

of late arrivals or service malfunctions. Our

trip, however, matched the description of service

and met expectations with the aid of a helpful

staff.

Arriving on time in Fort William, we made our

way down the platform into the small station,

where there's a ticket office, cafe and small

shop. No cab was needed because our hotel was

right next door -- the venerable Alexandra Hotel

on the city's "parade." The town is small enough

to walk through its shopping district and to find

a suitable pub, while taxis wait just outside the

hotel at a grocery store.

A focal point for mountain climbers and other

outdoor adventurers, Fort William makes a good

base for Highlands exploration. You can take a

separate train trip to Mallaig, where there's

ferry service to the Outer Hebrides and to the

Isle of Skye. This route includes a run over the

Glenfinnan Viaduct, better known as the "Harry

Potter Bridge," a massive arched bridge made

famous by the Hogwarts Express. From May to

October, a steam-powered excursion train

called the Jacobite makes day trips over these

tracks from Fort William and back.

After exploring the Fort William area, Sharon

and I took a 65-mile cab ride cross country along

the famous Loch Ness to Inverness to explore

more of the Highlands. We stayed at the suitably

named Royal Highland Hotel, connected to the

train station and in the heart of the city with a

shopping mall around the corner.

After two more days of exploration, it was

time for Part Two of the Sleeping Car Adventure

-- the journey back to London. We had a light

dinner at the hotel, where our luggage had been

stored, and strolled over to the station to board

the southbound Caledonian Sleeper for Euston

Station, arriving just before 8 a.m.

Upon boarding, I felt we had become welltrained

in rail etiquette from our trip north. I

was ready to try another whisky. And, who

knew, maybe there'd be a modern-day Agatha

Christie or Alfred Hitchcock sitting in the club

car as we pulled away into the night.

As Skimbleshanks famously said:

"You might say that by and large it was me

who was in charge

Of the Sleeping Car Express

From the driver and the guard to the bagmen

playing cards

I would supervise them all more or less...."

206


“Upon boarding, I felt we had become well-trained in

rail etiquette from our trip north.

I was ready to try another whisky.”


208

242


WDT MAGAZINE WINTER2018



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214


WINE DINE AND TRAVEL SUMMER 2020 -- SOUTH AFRICA

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