Amsterdam: Bright Red Lights, Canals and Kushi

Amsterdam:  Bright Red Lights, Canals and Kushi.

City of meandering canals and weaving bicycles, Amsterdam has a charm all it's own.  We arrive in the central train station from Paris, and after a period of disorientation, make our way on the convenient tram to our hotel in the Museum district.  After dropping our bags, now stuffed to the gills, at the turn of the century Aalders Hotel, we use our leftover half day to see the Van Gogh Museum across the street.

This has to be one of my very favorite museums for several reasons.  It appeals to my sense of organization as it is arranged in chronological order and the well thought out audio tour details Van Gogh's brief ten years of painting up until his unfortunate death.  The crisp narrator describes each amazing painting's style and what was occurring in Van Gogh's life at the time he created it.

Supplemental  information explains the paints and brushes he employed and the painters with whom he associated and their influences on him.  I find it fascinating that he had so little formal training and through the arduous process of "practice, practice, practice" honed his prolific skills.  I am feeling motivated to pick up my watercolors again when I return home.  I adore his more vibrant colorful works of the Provence era, and the narrative, in "his own words" about experimenting with different pigments and studying others styles to build his own unique collection.  The outstanding book store has framed reproductions of most of his works.  

One type of transportation in the city is the bicycle taxi and KO and I are enthusiastic to try it out. You should see the rock hard leg muscles of our driver who does this eight hours every day.  He efficiently delivers us to the must see exhibit at the Anne Frank House in the Jordaan area.  Along with about one hundred other solemn visitors we stand in line for a turn to enter the house where this mature young girl hid away with eight other Jews.  They concealed themselves from the Nazis for two years in a secret annex at the rear of her father's office.  They had to remain silent and in darkness much of the time and a handful of righteous Gentiles, who were employed by Otto Frank, brought them food and other necessities.  In the end, an unknown collaborator turned them in and they were send to concentration camps. The only one to survive was Anne's father.  Anne contracted typhus and tragically died right before the camp was liberated.  The diary found on the floor by the helpers was returned to Otto Frank and he said he never realized " how little we actually know our children."  It has been published into more than two hundred languages around the world and is required reading in many schools.  In Amsterdam, before World War Two, there was a thriving Jewish community of eighty thousand and after the war only four thousand remained!  We visit the lovely  Jewish neighborhoods of yore bounded by the Portuguese  synagogue and the Jewish Cultural museum.  

Amsterdam is the home of one of the wonderful Kushi Institutes.   Situated  in the Museum District,  just a handful of blocks from where we are staying, we are so excited to visit and consume a macrobiotic meal here.  Unfortunately, their restrictive hours make it difficult for us to do this as the lunchtime meal from twelve to two is the only one served.  When we arrive we head straight to the basement to peruse the offerings the well equipped  store offers.  We are drawn to the bookshelf like bees on rice crispy bars!  I am thrilled to purchase the out of print Chef Sato's dessert book which KO has raved about for years.  Another find is the 2004 European Summer Conference's Cookbook which I vow to follow religiously for the next fourteen days.  I may even blog about it a la " Julie and Julia."  Other rare items for us are the almond cream, dry dashi, reasonably priced hijiki, large bags of dried chestnuts, kombu pickles, and black sesame gomashio.  I am going to cook up a tsunami when I get home!  Back upstairs, we load up on sorely missed pressed salad, bean stew made with dried tofu and sun dried tomatoes, daikon nishime, pickled cauliflower, Aduki bean rice, parsley pesto pasta and a delicious veggie soup.  I am in heaven talking macro with Karin Bankk, a macrobiotic cooking teacher and chef at the school.  She generously shares some of her culinary prowess with us and we sample her tiramisu  and luscious  rice pudding tarts.  Karin also clues us into a woman named Marija Petrovic who has recently begun preparing macrobiotic meals for needy travelers.  We decide to purchase a take out container of food for the plane ride home so we are not condemned to eating mystery meat sandwiches in Iceland.  

Three other notable restaurants in this area are Terra Zen, in the central Dam area,  De Bolhoed, in the Jordaan area, and de Waaghals, in the Museum district.  Briefly, Terra Zen is run by a Japanese woman and her Jamaican husband.  Two very small children show an incredible capacity for self amusement as their parents prepare our meal.  KO declares it to be, " more authentic than any other Japanese food I have seen or tried in the United States."  He waxes on, reminiscing about his journeys to Japan when he was a mere lad.  We feel lucky, as, on his trips, we have discovered a rare hidden gem down a quiet side street.  Pungent natto sushi rolls, homemade warmed amasake with ginger drink, and a delicate slivered carrot and onion tempura over fragrant soba noodles with broth compose our meal.  The gentle proprietress shares her custom of soaking Koji for five days and then putting it on everything.  

If you enjoy casual service and a cutesy,  busy atmosphere, De Bolhoed is for you.  We had an African couscous dish here that was only passable with delicious mini salads.  On the other hand, De Waaghals has a friendly vibe and we were the only patrons there.  The food was outstanding and the service impeccable.  Our repast was composed of sweet potato gnocchi topped with tempura skewered mushrooms, a wonderful watercress potato porridge, and creamy risotto with tempeh cutlets over stately white asparagus.  We have been fortunate to find excellent vegan fare in a city of rich apple desserts, hearty meat dishes, French fries overflowing from paper sleeves and raw slimy fish.  You know KO would not miss those crispy fries, served with mayonnaise, and the apple cake was delish, btw.

I have been declared a wimp by my lovely daughter for not sampling the smokey, funky smelling cigarettes offered in the "coffee shops" here.  So KO insists we, at least, visit the famous Red Light district.  Dodging racing bicycles, which are the main form of transport here, we brave the hordes of tourists of every description, and sheepishly sidle up to the red light windows.  The windows, which are more like life sized cupboards, dot the canal and attract many curious viewers. Imagine my surprise to see women of every age, shape, ethnicity, and size standing in their bikinis with either a come hither look or a bored "I'm on my I phone" look in their red "cells".  We observe an occasional brave soul approach the door, open it, discuss his business, and then...leave to check out the next prospect.  These "girls" have a union and standardized price list and we hear, if they are dissatisfied, they throw the subjects belongings right out the window.  Barkers  boldly stand outside their establishments pushing live shows as eager men line up to pay for a chance to glimpse some naughty delights.  KO, of course, must be forced to walk around with me! (Not) The oldest profession has a permanent home in Amsterdam.

Two and one half days to see Amsterdam is as difficult as trying to fulfill all the counselor's recommendations for a macro newbie!  We are disappointed we do not have more time to leisurely stroll the canals and listen to more street music, sample more of the tasty vegan food, and take a canal boat for a romantic evening ride.  Even  though the days here stretch to ten p.m., there are so many neighborhoods and interesting sites to see that we are unable to take them all in.

Heading home later today......

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Arriving in Paris

We eagerly boarded the Eurostar for our 186 mph train ride to the regal city of Paris, France.  After a quick metro ride to the charming Medieval section of the city, Le Marais, we call our contact who meets and escorts us through two iron gates and two aged wooden spiral staircases to our quaint apartment.  From home, on the Internet, I took a leap of faith and rented an adorable one bedroom apartment, complete with living room, galley kitchen, and full bath, and clingy, ravenous, possessive gosh darn washer.( more on this later).  It looks out over a charming courtyard from which sparkling sunshine flows through the windows.  We feel like real Parisians as we negotiate the narrow winding streets of Le Marais and then return to our own residence.  The  streets in this section are peppered with stately churches, cafes, patisseries, and gay bars.  The sugar laden patisseries cause our mouths to water longingly as we gaze at the flaky almond croissants, decadent chocolate tarts and sweet mini berry pies.  I am feeling light headed and yinny just looking at them!  I find out later they frequent every other storefront and are there just to torture me!

The first afternoon we decide to follow Rick Steve's walking tour in our guidebook from which I read aloud in my "I love history",  authoritative teacher cadence.  We stroll up the Rue de Rivoli to the Bastille.  Many of you may remember this spot from Les Miserables, Victor Hugo's novel, and later stage play and movie, where, during the French Revolution, the prisoners blockaded the road where the prison stood to boldly protest unfair government practices.  All that remains is a obelisk shaped marker in the middle of a very busy intersection.

Next we follow the tour to Place Des Vosges, home to the obscenely wealthy who built enormous mansions which form a ornate rectangle with a lovely green space in the center.  It is here that we pay a visit to Victor Hugo's home.  The writer who presented us with The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Les Miserables had a wife and mistress and built two identically furnished homes for them.  His wife was aware of this and did not, presumably complain.  Now that's a sweet deal for any red blooded male,  right?  Le Marais is a neighborhood built on a swamp so 

many building are actually sagging as the ground is not able to support them efficiently.  We rush quickly past those!  In the 1940s many Jewish citizens lived on the Rue des Rosiers and there is an unassuming tablet on the school reminding us of the day the Nazis stormed into the building and rounded up all the young students and their teachers and sent them off to the concentration camp, Auschwitz,  and to certain death  in the gas chambers.

This was a dark time in French history as the Vichy government fell to the Germans and many French turned in their Jewish neighbors to the enemy.  Now the street is lined with an unassuming synagogue, delis, felafel joints and bakeries filled with apple strudels and potato knishes.  We sample the chickpea laden felafel which is a tasty delicacy surrounded by pressed salad like slaw and cradled in a warm pita bun.

I researched all the vegan restaurants listed on Happy Cow before I came and then coordinated their locations with the sites we wanted to visit.  Le Potager du Marais was recommended by Macrotravelfriends.

The ample menu is enticing with its vegan versions of French standards.  We settle on the French Onion soup, Spinach Lasagna, Eggplant Rolatini and a refreshing green salad.  Everything tastes very authentic and it is so nice to be able to have vegan versions of our favorites.

When we arrive back at our apartment we make the ominous decision to do our laundry as I am down to no clean undergarments and do not want to go au naturel the rest of the trip.  KO, of course, still has a suitcase full of clean clothes as he, well,  he's a guy,  and I will leave it at that!  So we confidently negotiate the tiny machine and it runs its noisy little course.  Fine, great, my panties are on their way. I remove all the laundry and hang it on every surface and hook in the apartment, anticipating an entire clean wardrobe when I awake in the morning.  KO, in his efficient way, decides to use the quirky dryer and puts everything back and turns on the machine.  It runs its course.  But wait, we are dealing with Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors.  The machine has been holding our laundry prisoner for two days now and we can not get the darn door to open.  We leave for Amsterdam tomorrow so we are thinking of  dynamiting the evil contraption tonight.  Don't worry,  I keep hand washing my one pair of underwear every night!

We visited the usual Paris sites today including the Louvre, Arc de Triomphe, Tuileries garden, a walk down the Champs-Elysees, across the Seine and all the way to the Eiffel Tower.  Talk about a full day!  My poor feet are screaming at me to give them a rest, but we soldier on as we only have one day left and I have an agenda.  As it is, we arrive at the Louvre too tardy to see it, as the museum has closed, so we purchase tickets for tomorrow.  The most notable observations of the day are the massiveness and opulence of every structure in this area, including the wide avenues and decadent palaces of a bygone day. While the masses starved, the royalty poured millions into these enormous gilded mansions.  Hence the many revolutions experienced here where the unfortunate rose up to overthrow the oppressive and unfeeling government and royal families.

Pausing to rest at a boulevard cafe we indulge in a welcome glass of wine and rest our weary feet.   

In the distance we can see our target, the imposing Eiffel Tower.  We plan to arrive there right as the sun is setting so we can see it in the light and then lit up.  Visitors of every nationality are lining up to take the lift to the first viewing deck and capture a spectacular scene of the whole city from above.  Exhausted and sated we head for the metro and the three subway change journey back to Le Marais.

You have probably read the entry to this point wondering where the pickpockets come in.  This morning I was sitting with one hundred other tourists at the fountain next to the Hotel du Ville subway stop enjoying the sunshine, the fountain and the delicious couscous and lentils I had purchased at the local farmers market.  Suddenly I noticed two women obnoxiously harassing an unsuspecting young American tourist by thrusting petitions in his face and yelling a foreign language at him.  Then they suddenly vanished into the crowd.  There was a group of French teenagers lounging next to me and surprising one tall young man jumped up, ran after the women and triumphantly returned with the American guy's cell phone, which he had not even realized was missing!  What a lucky day for him, thanks to those eagle eyed kids and their sense of civic responsibility.  Later we learned that pickpockets are plentiful here and are often less than 10 years old and that the police have little power over them.  I start wearing my backpack in the front and KO starts keeping our phones and camera in his front pants pocket as a precaution.  

More tomorrow on our visits to the Louvre, the bohemian Left Bank and the Sacre Coeur.  I might mention that my high school French  has proved useful for asking directions, reading signs, talking with the locals and ordering meals.  So...I hope you listened and learned in eleventh grade as your teacher droned on and on about French language and culture!

Another note...We did find time to visit some boutique shops and observe that the European man  is built similar to our Macrobiotic male friends.  KO has difficulty clothing his slim frame in the states, but here it is no problem.  He eagerly eased into some lovely sports coats and they fit him like a glove.  Unfortunately at 600 American dollars a pop, he had to pass on purchasing them, but as soon his next cheffing gig pays off, he'll be back!  Same for that Maserati we saw circulating the avenues today.

Go With the Flow

Paris May Not Be Everyone's Cup of Tea

Safely lazing on the three hour train ride from Paris to Amsterdam, I am taking time to reflect on our brief stay in Paris.  The city offers the international traveller many opportunities to experience French culture.   Efficient Metropolitan subway afforded the ease to flit from place to place.

The grandeur of Sacre Coeur, perched high above the city, the regal Notre Dame with its ornate stained glass eyes, the museum Louvre with its popular Mona Lisa and Medieval underground, and the opulent palaces dotting the wide open Champs Elysees offer scenes of periods  of wealth and power.  I preferred the charm of relaxing at a sidewalk cafe in Le Marais and discovering a clandestine Vegetarian restaurant, Le Grenier de Notre Dame, or ancient Shakespearean bookseller buried among the twisted streets of the Left Bank, which carried me back in time to the Middle Ages.

One would be remiss to expostulate on Paris without mentioning the rave worthy culinary delights.  My favorites were the flaky almond croissants at the neighborhood patisserie, the delicate, lacy crepes consumed with gusto at a sidewalk cafe at sunset, the warming chai soy latte at Starbucks in the rain while rushing frantically to catch this train , the earthy vegan French Onion soup at Le Potager du Marais, and the sweet apple Tarte Tatin at Le Grenier de Notre Dame.

Practicing a macrobiotic lifestyle in Paris can prove challenging , but we found dining establishments where veganism  and brown rice are respected as a life choice.  Although London seems far more vegan friendly, Parisians have made some positive progress toward a healthier lifestyle.

Now I would like to say a word or two about the French people in general.  While the British citizens we encountered were friendly, helpful and inviting, the French experience was, disappointingly, not so positive.  Unless you are fond of rude landlords from rentparis.com named Fabrice( feel free to complain on our behalf on the site) whose faulty dryer traps all your clothes and then he tells you insultingly that it is all your fault and you owe him money and with warnings of brazen pickpockets in every public space including Notre Dame, your visit to Paris may be infected with some negative emotions.  Innocent  requests for directions, even when uttered in "perfect" French, were met with dismissive looks and hurried impatient responses.  Barring these unpleasant episodes we did enjoy the positive aspects of the city, although I sincerely doubt KO will want to return anytime soon.

When one chooses to leave the familiar and travel the world, one must expect to experience irritating delays and mishaps.  It is important to realize that "sh-t happens" even far away from home.  If you should say, accidentally, throw away your tickets from Cornwall to London when you thought they were the used ones from London to Cornwall, purchase your replacement tickets with a smile!  If all your underwear, and half your clothes, are trapped in a dryer in Paris and you are on your way to Amsterdam, just buy new ones, wear your boyfriend's, or wash your sole pair out nightly.  If you search all over for brown rice and can not find any, force yourself to indulge in a delectable replacement chocolate croissant.  Meal means grain, after all, and croissants ARE made from grain.  And....if the metro is lacking elevators and peppered with steep stairs, get your sweet boyfriend to schlep all the heavy, unwieldy luggage  up and down the stairs and reward him with whatever he'd consider to be a treat. ( in this case, a promise to visit Amsterdam's Red Light District with him). Also remember to be patient and considerate while said boyfriend is healthfully chewing his bites of food one hundred times.( those of you who have ever eaten with KO will understand this veiled reference)

So, as we watch the Dutch countryside whiz by our big picture windows, we are anticipating our visit to Amsterdam, city of Van Gogh, canals, the second oldest synagogue in continual use, the Anne Frank house and...the Red Light District.  See you there!

Pickpockets, Palaces and Patisseries

We eagerly boarded the Eurostar for our 186 mph train ride to the regal city of Paris, France.  After a quick metro ride to the charming Medieval section of the city, Le Marais, we call our contact who meets and escorts us through two iron gates and two aged wooden spiral staircases to our quaint apartment.  From home, on the Internet, I took a leap of faith and rented an adorable one bedroom apartment, complete with living room, galley kitchen, and full bath, and clingy, ravenous, possessive gosh darn washer.( more on this later).  It looks out over a charming courtyard from which sparkling sunshine flows through the windows.  We feel like real Parisians as we negotiate the narrow winding streets of Le Marais and then return to our own residence.  The  streets in this section are peppered with stately churches, cafes, patisseries, and gay bars.  The sugar laden patisseries cause our mouths to water longingly as we gaze at the flaky almond croissants, decadent chocolate tarts and sweet mini berry pies.  I am feeling light headed and yinny just looking at them!  I find out later they frequent every other storefront and are there just to torture me!  

The first afternoon we decide to follow Rick Steve's walking tour in our guidebook from which I read aloud in my "I love history",  authoritative teacher cadence.  We stroll up the Rue de Rivoli to the Bastille.  Many of you may remember this spot from Les Miserables, Victor Hugo's novel, and later stage play and movie, where, during the French Revolution, the prisoners blockaded the road where the prison stood to boldly protest unfair government practices.  All that remains is a obelisk shaped marker in the middle of a very busy intersection.  Next we follow the tour to Place Des Vosges, home to the obscenely wealthy who built enormous mansions which form a ornate rectangle with a lovely green space in the center.  It is here that we pay a visit to Victor Hugo's home.  The writer who presented us with The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Les Miserables had a wife and mistress and built two identically furnished homes for them.  His wife was aware of this and did not, presumably complain.  Now that's a sweet deal for any red blooded male,  right?  Le Marais is a neighborhood built on a swamp so 

many building are actually sagging as the ground is not able to support them efficiently.  We rush quickly past those!  In the 1940s many Jewish citizens lived on the Rue des Rosiers and there is an unassuming tablet on the school reminding us of the day the Nazis stormed into the building and rounded up all the young students and their teachers and sent them off to the concentration camp, Auschwitz,  and to certain death  in the gas chambers.  This was a dark time in French history as the Vichy government fell to the Germans and many French turned in their Jewish neighbors to the enemy.  Now the street is lined with an unassuming synagogue, delis, felafel joints and bakeries filled with apple strudels and potato knishes.  We sample the chickpea laden felafel which is a tasty delicacy surrounded by pressed salad like slaw and cradled in a warm pita bun.

 

I researched all the vegan restaurants listed on Happy Cow before I came and then coordinated their locations with the sites we wanted to visit.  Le Potager du Marais was recommended by Macrotravelfriends.  The ample menu is enticing with its vegan versions of French standards.  We settle on the French Onion soup, Spinach Lasagna, Eggplant Rolatini and a refreshing green salad.  Everything tastes very authentic and it is so nice to be able to have vegan versions of our favorites.

When we arrive back at our apartment we make the ominous decision to do our laundry as I am down to no clean undergarments and do not want to go au naturel the rest of the trip.  KO, of course, still has a suitcase full of clean clothes as he, well,  he's a guy,  and I will leave it at that!  So we confidently negotiate the tiny machine and it runs its noisy little course.  Fine, great, my panties are on their way. I remove all the laundry and hang it on every surface and hook in the apartment, anticipating an entire clean wardrobe when I awake in the morning.  KO, in his efficient way, decides to use the quirky dryer and puts everything back and turns on the machine.  It runs its course.  But wait, we are dealing with Audrey from Little Shop of Horrors.  The machine has been holding our laundry prisoner for two days now and we can not get the darn door to open.  We leave for Amsterdam tomorrow so we are thinking of  dynamiting the evil contraption tonight.  Don't worry,  I keep hand washing my one pair of underwear every night!

We visited the usual Paris sites today including the Louvre, Arc de Triomphe, Tuileries garden, a walk down the Champs-Elysees, across the Seine and all the way to the Eiffel Tower.  Talk about a full day!  My poor feet are screaming at me to give them a rest, but we soldier on as we only have one day left and I have an agenda.  As it is, we arrive at the Louvre too tardy to see it, as the museum has closed, 

so we purchase tickets for tomorrow.  The most notable observations of the day are the massiveness and opulence of every structure in this area, including the wide avenues and decadent palaces of a bygone day. While the masses starved, the royalty poured millions into these enormous gilded mansions.  Hence the many revolutions experienced here where the unfortunate rose up to overthrow the oppressive and unfeeling government and royal families.

Pausing to rest at a boulevard cafe we indulge in a welcome glass of wine and rest our weary feet.  In the distance we can see our target, the imposing Eiffel Tower.  We plan to arrive there right as the sun is setting so we can see it in the light and then lit up.  Visitors of every nationality are lining up to take the lift to the first viewing deck and capture a spectacular scene of the whole city from above.  Exhausted and sated we head for the metro and the three subway change journey back to Le Marais.

You have probably read the entry to this point wondering where the pickpockets come in.  This morning I was sitting with one hundred other tourists at the fountain next to the Hotel du Ville subway stop enjoying the sunshine, the fountain and the delicious couscous and lentils I had purchased at the local farmers market.  Suddenly I noticed two women obnoxiously harassing an unsuspecting young American tourist by thrusting petitions in his face and yelling a foreign language at him.  Then they suddenly vanished into the crowd.  There was a group of French teenagers lounging next to me and surprising one tall young man jumped up, ran after the women and triumphantly returned with the American guy's cell phone, which he had not even realized was missing!  What a lucky day for him, thanks to those eagle eyed kids and their sense of civic responsibility.  Later we learned that pickpockets are plentiful here and are often less than 10 years old and that the police have little power over them.  I start wearing my backpack in the front and KO starts keeping our phones and camera in his front pants pocket as a precaution.  

More tomorrow on our visits to the Louvre, the bohemian Left Bank and the Sacre Coeur.  I might mention that my high school French  has proved useful for asking directions, reading signs, talking with the locals and ordering meals.  So...I hope you listened and learned in eleventh grade as your teacher droned on and on about French language and culture!

Another note...We did find time to visit some boutique shops and observe that the European man  is built similar to our Macrobiotic male friends.  KO has difficulty clothing his slim frame in the states, but here it is no problem.  He eagerly eased into some lovely sports coats and they fit him like a glove.  Unfortunately at 600 American dollars a pop, he had to pass on purchasing them, but as soon his next cheffing gig pays off, he'll be back!  Same for that Maserati we saw circulating the avenues today.

 

Castles, Kings and Fairy Tale Endings

Anyone who knows me well has discovered that I adore fairy tales.  I believe in the independent princess( a la Atalanta in Free to Be You and Me), the gallant knight who listens to all her problems without trying to solve them and cooks her delicious macrobiotic food appropriate to her condition, and the self cleaning castle.  So we could not pass up a visit to an authentic castle named St Michael's Mount in Marazion, one town away.  Started in the twelfth century as a monastery for the Benedictine Abbey of Mont St Michael in France later it would become a castle fortress, port and family home to the St Aubyn family.   We arrived at high tide which necessitated the use of a bumpy motorboat to approach the castle.  Later  we would return at low tide across an uneven cobblestone trail which floods at high tide.  Flanking the path, but now exposed, were oodles of what looked like kombu seaweed and other forms of sea life.  In order to reach the lofty summit we put on our magic non slip super sneakers to conquer the wicked steep, winding, wet, weathered walkway that would certainly have deterred any sane marauding invader!  Following Henry VIII's banishment of Catholicism, so he could divorce his wives, and the establishment of the Church of England, the monastery was abolished.  The Mont became a stony fortress which has been inhabited by the same family for all these years.  The furnishings date back to medieval times.  Hidden passageways lead to unknown destinations.  The lovely stain glass windows in the chapel surround stone tablets which commemorate past family members.  Exiting the royal dining room, we meandered out on a lovely terrace which overlooks the stunning gardens below.  Gun batteries used during the War of the Roses and the Civil War serve to protect the castle from interloping seagulls nowadays.  Descending the peak down the treacherous rocky embankment we wonder how many serfs lost their lives here just fetching a bottle of Mead for The Lord of the Manor.  ("We just lost another one, honey!)

We had an amazing history lesson with one of the guides at the castle.  An aspiring historian, she detailed the descriptions of King, Queen, Prince, Duke, Marquis, Lord and Baronette.  Then we discussed the order of descending to the throne and why the Royals are referred to as the Duke of Cornwall or the Prince of Wales.  I am ready to take my quiz on this right now!  There will soon be a change in law so that if Prince Wills and Kate have a first born girl she will be able to take the throne if her number comes up.

Sadly we must bid farewell to the Cornish coast.  We will never forget its dazzling sea views, Afternoon tea with scones, friendly chats with the locals, KO's new passion for pasties, and the peaceful serenity we experienced here.  On to London for one more night tomorrow and then we are taking the Eurostar to Paris.

Reflecting in an Enchanted Seaside Village

As we pulled into the station at St Erth, after a lovely five hour train ride b,from London, we were surrounded by a gathering of purple, blue, yellow and pink wildflowers.  We schlepped our luggage up the stairs and over the tracks to board the train that would take us to St Ives on the Cornish coast.

The town of St. Ives perches over the Atlantic Ocean, gazing out over the cliffs like an expectant wife patiently awaiting her seafarer husband's return.  Ancient stone churches and rocky promontories dot the cliff trail that overlooks the icy cold azure water below.  "Too many beautiful photo opps," complains KO as he expertly snaps his 2000 th snapshot.  So as not to languish in one spot for too long, I am forced to enlist drastic measures and threaten to take away his beloved electronics and newest passion, the veggie pasty, to prompt KO to move along.  We do linger at the aged stone church over the cliffs, taking in the majestic sea as it changes from cerulean blue to turquoise blue to royal blue.

The Little Leaf  Bed and Breakfast is our home for the next three nights.  The young proprietors, Lee and Dan, are escapees from London and have recently welcomed an adorable baby girl named Darcy.  We are immediately welcomed to a cozy table with a stunning view and before we know it, a steaming pot of tea and  lovely ginger cookies are placed before us and Lee is offering her touring hints.  Our spacious room dwarfs our London dwelling and it is wonderful to spread out and relax.
Breakfast here is a traditional English one, veggie style.  We receive veggie sausages, hash browns, granola with soy milk, fresh fruit, baked beans, brown toast, grilled tomatoes, tea, and especially for us, greens.  If we don't watch it we may need a wheelbarrow to cart our indulged bodies home.!  Sadly we miss pancakes and waffles which are only offered on weekends.  Lee greets us cheerily each morning with the energy of an Everready Bunny, popping between her challenging duties as innkeeper and new nursing mother.

This welcome respite from the rest of our jam packed schedule affords us the opportunity to have some fascinating thought provoking conversations.  While listening to the lilting sounds of a flute, base and acoustic guitar in a pub, strolling on the sea wall path or indulging in delectable afternoon tea, we chat endlessly.  We marvel at the Brit's growing awareness and consciousness for its peoples' health( no GMOS, no high fructose corn syrup, less artificial additives, and clean cosmetics), the high value placed on bigger is better and excess in the States, the benefits and drawbacks of small town life, the fate of the independent book store in an Amazon age, and humorous names for the pelicans we meet.

KO and I have figured out a way to make a killing in the stock market.  Every single person in the UK ingests Heinz Baked Beans for breakfast on a daily basis.  We are thinking of selling all our Kuzu and putting the cash in Heinz!

The quaint  English language spoken here is charming and unique to our uncultured ears.  Expressions like lift (elevator), loo ( toilet), mind the gap ( for don't fall to sudden death on the third rail), cheers ( Bon Appetit), brilliant ( good job), and have you gone mad ( for have you gone bonkers) continue to enchant us.  The accents seem to differ based on region and social class.  Viewing " Bridget Jones Diary" last night we noticed Colin Firth's educated private school cadence, while in parts of London the sound is more guttural Cockney and here in Cornwall the sing spongy tone is more apparent.  Next to the British we sound like uncultured language heathens.  Our hostess shared that while visiting San Francisco she saw one careless driver cut off another driver.  The wronged party screamed, "Asshole."  Lee exclaimed, "We 're in America.  It's just like the movies!"

The second half of this blog follows.....

Treats That Call Out to Me in the Night (and day)

Practicing Macrobiotics for me involves making a commitment to my health and well being.  This can be an exercise in total futility at times!  I know what makes me feel healthy and that would definitely include fresh organic food like brightly colored greens, hearty beans and sturdy grains.  These wholesome choices create exuberant energy, good clear skin and a calm mind to make balanced decisions.  But...... the baked treats of London are calling out to me.  The golden scones whisper in their tantalizing tones, like the Sirens of Greek mythology, "Eat me. eat me NOW!"  The Vegan Tofu Cheesecake utters in a convincing voice, "You know you want me.  "Crisp, warm vegetable pasties scream out, "We are warm and we melt in your mouth."  So, have I indulged in one or two of these tasty items?  I'm only human aren't I? What would YOU do?  Fortunately I have brought with me some ume plums, ume concentrate, kudzu and kukicha tea to crank myself back into balance. ( yin and yang and all that).  Discharges are unavoidable, if you catch my drift!

Almost everything I have learned about British people is derived  from the cinema.  Colin Firth as Mr Darcy in Pride and Prejudice wouldn't dare laugh aloud let alone smile.  the English Patient's Kristin Scott Thomas kept a stiff upper lip through all her turmoils and even Hugh Grant held himself together in the radiance of Julia Roberts smile in Notting Hill. ( but apparently not in LA on Sunset Boulevard!).  So....imagine my delighted surprise to see Londoners spilling noisily out of cozy pubs( kind of like Eliza Doolittle's Da in My Fair Lady when he had to, "Get Me to the Church on Time." ). With shouts of raucous laughter these people seem to genuinely be able to enjoy themselves and let loose.   Our British Macro Travel Friends enchanted KO and me as they wove their colorful tales of life back in the decadent 70's and the eclectic lives they embrace today.  Is it the British accent that makes everything they utter more romantic and engaging?  ( The British people we have met think WE have an accent!).  The moral of the story is "Don't judge a book by its cover," and "Carpe Diem!).

Now we can write the book about "How to see the British Museum in One Hour."  If you were me you would quickly decipher what centuries and cultures catch your eye and make a beeline to those locations in the Museum setting a time frame in minutes for each and switching promptly when the buzzer went off.  This would involve expert skimming of texts and speedy footwork.  In KO's case,  your plan would include standing in front of the Rosetta Stone for a while, setting up the PERFECT photo, reading every single word of the text as slowly as watching brown rice syrup exit a wide mouthed jar, and then thinking about it for several moments.  At this point I have already catapulted through the Persian,  Egyptian and European rooms.  Traveling with a partner proves to be an exercise in Herculean patience and developing genuine respect for different styles of exploring through the world.( on both our parts)

Yesterday, on our way to Old Spitalfields Market we passed through the Lexington Street Tube Station.  Upon exiting, there stands a spell bounding bronze sculpture of a solemn group of children.  They are dressed in 1940's garb and carrying their comforting furry teddy bears and beat up valises to a New World.  In the late 1930's desperate Jews tried to seek safety in many countries, but were turned away as  no one would offer them refuge.  The excruciatingly painful decision to save as many of their children as possible led to the famous Kindertransports.  These distraught mothers and fathers had to choose which of their" lucky " children to put on a train to an unknown destination, never to lay eyes on them again.  This spot in Liverpool Station is the first location the bewildered children found themselves.  Many British families took the children into their homes and hearts and raised them as their own, often, throughout their lives, not even uttering a word about it.  The families of Margeret  Thatcher and Richard Attenborough were two such families.  Gazing thoughtfully at these statues evoked such emotions in me as I realized these children could have been my cousins who instead perished in Dolginev Bellarus on a dark day in 1942 when the Nazis decimated the whole town.  Thank goodness the British were able and willing to help the Jews in those harrowing days of World War Two.

On the Western Line Train to Cornwall now.  The  quaint villages,  patchwork quilt farms and lime green fields pass by my window.  I feel the pressure of the city melt gently from my shoulders.  Soon KO and I will be ensconced in the land of Rosamunde  Pilcher's novels.  ( the Shellseekers).   Just five hours from London, I can realize one of my dreams:   to inhabit a small English seaside artist's town for three days.  Off to the land of King Authur and Merlin....

Pleasant Travel Surprises

Today was an amazing day full of unexpected surprises.  We rose early to descend the four flights of stairs and enter the cozy breakfast room of our hotel.  English breakfasts include poached eggs, baked beans, bacon, sausage, and yogurt.  These offerings do not really jive with our macrobiotic way of eating.  Fortunately we were clever to bring packets of instant oatmeal and miso soup with us.  Choices from the lavish breakfast bar completed our meal with fresh fruit and granola as well as the beans.  In the spirit of sampling British staples we nibbled on marmite ( a potent yeasty fermented delicacy that gives Natto  a run for the money), and Nutella ( a heavenly chocolate creamy spread).

Eager to begin a full day of touring, we bounded off on a brisk walk to the Half  Price Ticket Booth in Leicester Square.  After perusing the available shows on the board surrounded by a bevy of other tourists we queued up to purchase reasonable tickets to Singing in the Rain.

Then  it was off to the Original Hop On Hop Off narrated sightseeing tour where we could bask in the rare London sunshine while a learned tour guide regaled us with the history of the sites passing by.

Purely by chance we happened upon two amazing restaurants that surprised us with their vegan consciousness.  Adjacent to the London Eye, we stumbled into Zen China, an aesthetically attractive spot with floor to ceiling windows framing the Victorian Parliament buildings perched on the River Thames.  The waitress presented us with a smooth as silk tofu veggie soup that we enjoyed so much we ordered another.  Noodles with fresh asparagus and snow peas completed our repast.  A Buddhist shrine with offerings  of Mandarin oranges, apples and bananas was an interesting site to see near the windows.  The modest prices served to increase our enjoyment of the relaxing setting away from  the crazy hubbub taking place outside.

As darkness set in,  we scurried among the Times Square like hordes to our show in the stunning Palace Theater, which I discussed in yesterday' s blog.  It was as if we had been transported back to another era as we took our excellent seats in this historic setting.  As it was the final show for Singing in the Rain and it was a full house, the cast was top notch!  The most exhilarating element of the show occurred as buckets of " rain" poured  from the "heavens" and covered the stage while the gifted dancers kicked up their feet and doused the patrons in the front row.

Finally heading home and hankering for a small bite to eat, we chanced upon an establishment called Amico Bio.  Their brightly lit sign boasted organic, vegan and vegetarian fare.  our curiosity got the better of us and so glad it did.  it turns out the friendly owner/ chef trucks in his vegetables from his organic farm in Italy every two days!  We opted for the creamy Baldo brown rice risotto,  a refreshing green salad, and delicate tempura zucchini.  The food was flavorful and clean.  The owner shared that he has many macrobiotic patrons to his restaurants in Italy and London and there is much more concern for non GMO, organic and vegan food in Europe than in the States.  I could help but wonder why the Europeans countries are way more attuned to the health of their citizens than the United States.

Off to rest up for a big day tomorrow at the British Museum, Spitalfields market and a dinner with new Macro Travel Friends.
If you are out there and reading the blog please make some comments below.  I would love to hear from you.

The Agony and Ecstasy of Travel

The experience of flying in a cramped Icelandic airplane for 5.5 hours can be less than gratifying. No longer do they ply you with a lovely meal and refreshing beverage. The seats are created for narrow hipped, stubby legged beings who have been trained to sit straight up while still able to sustain a restful sleep. I am not one of these odd creatures. I am the one who spends exhausted minutes, then hours, watching the tiny representation of our plane creep slowly across the Atlantic on the minuscule screen in front of me. So reclined is said seat that I can see the dandruff specks on the considerate fellow's head as it grazes my lap! Needless to say, I arrived in London Heathrow feeling unrested and frankly cranky. Fortunately we packed lightly because the journey from Heathrow to Paddington station went smoothly. The glitch was attempting to purchase an Oyster Pass( the card that gives you discounts on tube rides). After standing in one long line, both my credit cards were rejected for exceeding their limits. Did I buy a luxury car I had forgotten about? After waiting in another queue that was so long you'd have thought the Beatles were in town, the kind gentleman behind the glass secured the tickets with ease. They say not to take a nap when you arrive so you can adjust to the time change, so we conked out, like the dead, for two hours. Rising a tad refreshed, I noticed our WC ( bathroom in British speak) was so tiny, that my knees kissed the door when I was sitting on the loo. The shower would be perfect for Olive Oyl with her svelte figure. KO and I opted to stroll in the brisk night air to our predetermined restaurant choice, Mildred's in Soho. What stood out for me was the luxurious Royal Theater in Coventry Garden. Commissioned as The Royal English Opera House in 1880 and designed by Edward Collcutt, the building is a site to behold. Currently the awning at the entrance is graced by a plethora of colorful umbrellas and a cardboard fellow "Singing in the Rain." Passing rowdy crowds of drinkers spilling out of the pubs of Soho, we arrived at Mildred's. Mildred's did not disappoint, although the other diners made it necessary to have a megaphone to hear your dinner partner. Every item is marked vegan, vegetarian or gluten free. Brown rice and steamed veggies are staples. Our dinner consisted of a tagine of chickpeas, squash and onions over a bed of tasty couscous. The bright green broccoli, golden leeks and al dente green beans were a welcome sight for sore eyes as I had not met my quota of veggies for 24 hours. A traditional mixed mushroom, porcini and ale pie with mushy peas completed our meal. For dessert, we allowed ourselves to indulge in the moist pomegranate laden polenta cake with quenching mint tea. Around eleven pm, KO and I ambled along still spirited crowds toward our inn. KO stopped to enthusiastically take a photo of a billboard promising one hundred naked girls as I firmly tugged him away from the entrance and toward restful slumber.

Planning for Travel 101

Preparing to leave on a trip can be both exhilarating and anxiety producing. I am traveling with fellow macro KO and our styles are similar to the story of The Tortoise and the Hare, me being the hare and he being the tortoise. A week ago I came with my lists ready in my hand and presented him with the mother of all suitcases for us to share. He looked at me quizzically, as if to say "Is it already 2 am the night before the flight?" ( Is this a guy thing?) Since I am a person who makes the proverbial bed when someone gets up to go to the bathroom and KO never sees a need to make the bed at all, you can realize the challenges this might present. KO smiled and said, "Put everything you want to take here, next to the suitcase, and leave it to me." Since I remembered that he packed his entire week for the Holistic Holiday at Sea in a medium backpack, I felt the pressure to downsize. I reluctantly put half the stuff I thought I needed back into the drawer and called him over. Well, if there were a prize for Super Duper Packer Extraordinaire, KO would win it hands down! He fit all our things for 15 days into two carry-ons! It was like watching a slight of hand magician as he gently smoothed the garments, coaxing them to lay comfortably together in a space sardines squeezed into a can would find cramped. Then he asked, "Why are our suitcases packed and in the car trunk four days before we leave?" Only I know the answer to that one and it is the same reason that we have all our train tickets, hotel reservations, restaurant destinations and contacts in a color coded folder tucked neatly into my backpack! Other crucial preparations include clueing my 22 year old daughter in on the culinary needs of my adorable cat Mitzi and my plethora of thirsty plants. I have created a colorful calendar for her detailing the days and amounts needed to provide them with sustenance in my absence. Hopefully I will not return to an overflowing litter box teaming with, well you know what, and Mitzi laying listless with her tongue hanging out because she did not get her preferred organic canned food on time, which she just licks the liquid out of anyway. I am certain Ari (the 22 year old) will do these tasks after she finishes watching the Kardashian clan and Diners, Dives and Donuts, making her already beautiful hair more beautiful, creating lavish recipes she finds on food gawker, texting her friends, and throwing a big raucous drinking party in my absence. I am just kidding about the last one, I hope! Heading to the kitchen at 7 am this morning, I set my soaked rice to boiling and wrapped up the delectable fruit and nut bars I made last night. Stuck at Dulles airport on Monday night, while my friend's flight was delayed from Turkey, where she just barely avoided being sucked into the unrest, I noticed finding snacks at the airport was like trying to secure a Christian match on J Date. I ended up buying the nut bars offered by Starbucks but that just made me thirsty and more hungry, probably their intent so I would lust after one of those double chocolate chip with caramel macchiato frappacino drinks they are pushing. (Did you know Tom Hanks lost 30 pounds just cutting those drinks out for a year?) Plus they cost a pretty penny and are made with honey. So I thought, "I can make a better product with organic nuts, fruits and brown rice syrup, which as every good Macro knows, is less glycemic than sticky honey or, the devil incarnate, sugar. Here is the yummy recipe for all of you. 1 cup raw sunflower seeds, 1 cup sliced almonds, 1/2 raw walnuts, 2 cups rolled oats, 1/4 cup raw sesame seeds, sliced small organic dried apricots, sliced small organic cherries, 2 tablespoons cinnamon, 1/2 cup brown rice syrup or more if you want it sweeter, 1 teaspoon almond extract and 1 cup of currants. Mix the dry ingredients. Stir in the wet ingredients. Pat into a pan with sides and bake at 250 for 45 minutes. Let cool in frig and cut into bars. I am also bringing a bunch of rice balls with ume plums nestled in the center, which keep for several days without refrigeration. Healthy snacks will keep us from careening head first off the wagon and grabbing our drugs of choice. Mine are baked flour in the guise of cookies, brownies and cakes, which as we all know, and Warren K has reminded us more times than I care to remember, are verboten for some conditions. KO's temptations are crispy salty kettle chips and sugary nuts from Fresh Market. I must admit I am prone to indulge in those as well especially when there is nothing else around. As travel is yang and chips and baked flour are yang, these are just the temptations we will be craving and will hurt us, if we do not offer ourselves alternatives. Finally, my goals for this blog are to create a global community of people who are interested in making healthy choices, whether at home or away from home. I want to feel like I can just ring someone up (showing my age here), or email them and meet up in London or Paris or anywhere to share a meal and chat about our lives. I began this goal with the creation of Macrotravelfriends on facebook, potlucks and bulletin boards at Summer Conference for emails. Connection is what is missing in our modern world and I hope in my small way, in our community, I can affect a change. In addition, I am striving to demystify traveling so even if you find it a chore to organize or afford a vacation now, I hope to demonstrate that it does not have to break the bank to get away from home and experience the world. My other challenge will be to open myself up to chance and not over plan every single second of the trip so that there is room for the impromptu discovery of a hidden gem that is not in a Rick Steves book. Thanks for following me on this journey. Next post LONDON.

Trip to Europe

Getting ready to embark on an adventure to London, St. Ives, Cornwall, Paris, and Amsterdam. My goal is to enjoy my travels while exploring vegan options along the way. I have spent many hours previewing the bed and breakfasts and restaurants that will suit our need to stay healthy on vacation. On prior trips I indulged in decadent afternoon teas (12 teas in 13 days on one trip!) and luscious chocolate croissants.  Now that I am practicing macrobiotics and a healthier lifestyle for the past four years, I want to see how I can travel healthy.  Before on prior vacations I might wake up in the middle of the night ill from indulging in rich foods, not a pleasant feeling. This time I'm ready to enjoy myself and explore the wonderful restaurants Europe has to offer that are vegan, organic and non GMO. I am discovering so many choices while using Vegan magazine articles on Paris restaurants and Happycow.com. I am prepared for our plane ride as well. We are taking a homemade dinner and breakfast for the long ride so we are not stuck with gloopy cheese on overcooked veggies as our only option.  Our rented apartment in Paris has a kitchen so we can go to the wonderful markets and do some cooking there in the apartment.