Embraced by the verdant Euganean Hills, an archipelago of conical-shaped peaks dating back some 35-million years, the thermal baths of Abano Terme, just 54 km southwest of Venice, form the oldest and largest benessere (wellness) center in Europe and, arguably, the world. Specializing in fango-balneotherapy, La Città Termale (The Thermal City) has an ancient, mythical past.

A blend of marshland and forest, sulfulreous waters sprang spontaneous millennium ago in bubbling, cauldron-like springs, creating a lake that covered the near earth as far as the eye could see. A phenomenon of extraordinary proportions, this à ponus (Greek for relieving pain) reservoir, considered divine in origin, played host to cult ceremonies, complete with sacrifices offered up to Aponus, the god of thermal and curative water, and from whom Abano Terme derives its name.

Legend also has it that Hercules himself and his warriors soothed their battle-weary bodies in the miraculous waters in the land of Aponus. Many late-antiquity literary sources confirmed the fame of the fons Aponi during the imperial period of the Roman Empire, including Claudius Claudian, a 4th century AD poet, who waxed:

“…The soft soil sighs, and closed beneath the boiling pumice the wave digs flaky roads. In its midst, like a widespread boiling sea, a blue lake extends, spinning greatly, covering an enormous area.”

Geologically and geothermically speaking, these deep, underground spa waters originate some 80 km north up in the Lower Dolomites, seeping into the subsoil through the limestone. Reaching a depth of 3,000 m, where temperatures rise and the pressure increases dramatically, the mercurial water begins its slow — 25-30 years — flow until it bubbles up, at 87°C, in the Euganean spa basin. Rich in geothermal energy, dissolved substances and minerals make the spa water of Abano a truly unique thermal resource. Scientifically classified as hyperthermal bromo-iodine-salt water, these spa springs are just what the doctor ordered to treat a plethora of ailments, from skin conditions to osteoarthritis.

With over 75 spa-wellness hotels, 120 swimming pools, 50 tennis courts, a golf training center, an equestrian center and riding school, leafy residential streets, historical villas, loads of parks and gardens, haute cuisine and couture, and access to a network of cycling-walking-trekking paths and hiking and horseback trails, Abano is able to attract more than 250,000 overnight guests a year with an additional 2 million visitors stopping long enough during a calendar year to be statistically counted.

Thermal waters and therapeutic mud aside, what else attracts the curious to the city limits of this 20k+ person town?

For starters, its array of accommodations. Each of Abano Terme’s benessere hotels — from three-star comfort to five-star luxury, with half and full-pension options — taps directly into the rare, underground spa source, providing its guests with medically and professionally-monitored therapies and aesthetic treatments: from balneotherapy to fangotherapy, from hydrokinesitherapy to inhalation treatments, along with an array of beauty and relaxation programs. All fully recognized spa-wellness resorts are classified with the “I Super” qualification issued by the Italian Ministry of Health, guaranteeing your peace of mind.

The care and concern go even further at the Pietro d’Abano Spa Study Center — named in honor of Abano’s revered late 13th, early 14th century physician, philosopher, astrologer and alchemist — as experts continuously analyze and monitor the spa water and carry out systematic research into spa water medicines and the effects of fangotherapy.

After a full day of lounging around in your swimsuit and the hotel-provided white, Turkish towel dressing gown and slippers — pampering yourself with long soaks in tubs and pools of hot, ozone-enriched spa water; listening to calming music overhead while encased in an Euganean mud wrap; and, having your body turned every which way but lose by a masseuse — take that new-found glow out for a stroll along Via delle Terme, Abano’s high street.

Enjoy a bit of window shopping then stop for an aperitivo — bubbly prosecco or an Aperol spritz — at one of the many, lively outdoor cafés and just people watch until the ice in your glass melts away. Now, head back to your hotel, or out to one of Abano’s white tablecloth restaurants (I highly recommend Ristorante Verbena on Via Monteortone) for a gourmet dinner accompanied with a bottle of chilled Ca’ de Frate Lugana. When that first yawn appears, call it a night, turn in and sleep well, dreaming about doing the same regime all over again.

Any visit to Abano Terme should begin at the monumental entrance to Sorgente Montirone, the little park on Montirone Hill where the history of La Città Termale began. Located at the start of the pedonale (pedestrian-only walkway), at the corner of Via Augure and Via d’Abano, the Corinthian colonnaded gate leads you back in time to the very source from which the underground spa waters first bubbled to the surface.

It stands to reason that a town built solely around thermal-fired H2O would have plenty of fountains dotting the urbanscape, and you’d be correct. Along with just about every one of the town’s spa-wellness hotels sporting a water feature of some sort near their entryway, Greater Abano’s water features stand out and are open to the public. Two of the most popular are the circular Fontana di Arlecchino (Harlequin Fountain), the centerpiece along the pedonale, and Columbus Fountain in Piazza Cristoforo Colombo, the largest sculpture in all of Europe dedicated to the Genovese explorer-navigator.

Meander with the aponese through the Parco Termale Urbano (Thermal Urban Park), a master-planned, elegant green space — designed by the late Paolo Portoghesi, the world-famous, post-modern architect — with spacious apartment living in various complexes strategically placed above, and shops, outdoor cafés, tree-lined serpentine walkways, a cycling path, a kiddie playground and countless park benches below, that magically merge together down the middle of town, like tributaries forming up in a flowing green river. Host to many of the town’s festivals and celebrations, step out at the large fountain in Piazza dei Todeschini and end your passeggiata (walk) at its identical twin fountain in Piazza Dondi dall’Orologio.

Founded in 1989, the Parco Regionale dei Colli Euganei (Regional Park of the Euganean Hills) is the very first regional park of the Veneto and the protected home to 81 prehistoric-looking peaks of volcanic origin, that rise above flat, fertile agricultural land inside an elliptical perimeter covering approximately 19k hectares and enclosing 15 towns, including Abano Terme, one of its gateway communities.

Cyclists, runners and trekkers alike take to the E2 anello, a 68 km ring that circumnavigates the regional park and passes by undulating vineyards, olive groves, wheat and corn fields, irrigation waterways, castles, noble villas of the old Venetian Republic, religious sanctuaries and monasteries of historical significance. Add to that, 31 well-marked rustic trails that meander off the ring for bumpy off-road thrills and heart-pounding uphill climbs. It’s the perfect tonic if you’re looking to explore the great outdoors. Ask your hotel concierge for the use of one of their complimentary two wheelers, a map of the E2 circuit and then start pedaling.

Osterias, trattorias and farm-to-fork agri-restaurants (al Peraretto in Faedo comes to mind) await you at the end of a long walk, a strenuous hike or a vigorous bike ride; or, spend some time traveling along the Strada del Vino Colli Euganei (Wine Road) to sample some of the prized DOC-rated varietals harvested and bottled in the hills — bubbly serprino, dry moscato, fior d’arancio, cabernet, carmenere and merlot to name but a few — and cold-pressed extra virgin olive oils, on offer at numerous cantine (wineries) and frantoi (olive mills) that dot the route.

Be Herculean, come to La Città Termale and soothe your body, mind and nasal passages. Aponos will thank you.

Getting here

Abano Terme is conveniently located to four international airports, two major train stations and Italy’s vast autostrada (motorway) network. By air, choose between Venice’s Marco Polo Airport (55 km), Treviso’s Sant’Angelo Airport (70 km), Verona’s Catullo Airport (90 km) or Bologna’s Marconi Airport (110 km).

By train, the Terme Euganee station, in nearby Montegrotto Terme, is less than a ten-minute taxi ride from Abano Terme and serves as your hop-on/hop-off point for connections to/from Padova (10 min), Venice (45 min) or Bologna (70 min).

By car, driving the A13 Padova-Bologna motorway, take the “Terme Euganee” exit. Motoring in on the A4 Milano-Venezia motorway, exit at “Padova Ovest”.

For added convenience, private car or passenger van transfer service to any of the airports or train stations listed, or to plan day-trip excursions with a knowledgeable driver, can be arranged directly with A.R.T.E. Taxi Service, Tel. +39 049 667842. A one-way transfer from/to Marco Polo Airport in Venice, for example, costs €110.

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The property (which is part of a group of eight delightful, luxury hotels in Rome, Venice, and Florence) is owned and operated by the WTB Hotels Collection. (Why The Best, in case you are wondering.) And the head corporate honcho (chief timekeeper?) is a watch aficionado, who has infused each of his three L’Orologio properties with a unique décor that showcases a plethora of impressive watch-related accessories, sprinkled throughout the inspiring and comfortable design. You’ll never be too far from a dazzling timepiece.

The intimate (43 rooms and suites) Rome property sits comfortably in the Sant’ Eustachio neighborhood, not too far from Largo di Torre Argentina, the Pantheon, the Piazza Navona; it is across the Tiber River from Rome’s well-known Trastevere neighborhood (the former Jewish ghetto) and the Villa Farnesina, an impressive mansion built in the very early 16th century and one of the most majestic (remaining) Renaissance buildings in the city.

Upon entering this conveniently-located hotel, you’ll spot the watch theme immediately-large, elegant art works feature classy and classic watches. A lobby coffee table is actually a model of an outsize, imposing Audemars Piguet watch, a yard or more in diameter. So amazing, you may not want to rest your lowly water bottle on the surface.

Several other design elements will not escape you: The illuminated numbers above the elevator glow with back lighting. The black background showcases a white-outlined number, and inside that outline there is a panoply of watch gears and rotary parts. It’s a charming reminder that time marches not only on, but, also, up and down.

When you arrive at your floor, you’ll find the halls lined with stunning, oversize photos of “important” watches. And when you get to your room, you’ll note that the door sports not merely the room number, but a “proper moniker,” referencing a watch movement. In my case, it was room 203, dubbed 2499 Perpetual, honoring a striking Patek Philippe model; between 1950 and 1985, Patek manufactured fewer than ten, and John Lennon owned one of them.

Embedded in the bathroom mirror, there is also a handsome clock, supplying a bit of mechanical counterpoint to the stylishly decorated chamber. As is apparent, the owner and design team put a great deal of thought and heart into this hotel, all aimed to deliver maximum comfort of their guests.

You’ll find the chronometer theme expanded in the fifth-floor dining room, with its outdoor terrace, replete with panoramic views of the city, including the Pantheon.

The cocktail lounge, Santa Cocktail Club Rome, is located here, as well, and you’ll find that the drinks are artfully prepared with house-made reductions and fruity botanicals.

Enjoy a buzzy cocktail at sunset and when you come back in the morning for the plentiful breakfast buffet, you’ll discover the custom-crafted china, again, embellished with the watch theme. Against the snow-white, ceramic background, steel-gray numbers form staccato accents, with an occasional ebony cipher. The dinner plates sport a soft-gray clock face along the rim, inside the large “O” for L’Orologio. The design level is of the highest quality and the attention to detail is unsurpassed, whether in the dinner service or the ministrations of the staff-to organize custom tours for you or to even walk you across the street to the cash machine. Ask about the runners’ walking/jogging workout, an archeology and antiquities guided tour, a fashionista’s shopping extravaganza, or a film-location tour; or create your own guided day out, which the hotel will plan for you.

You will be pampered here, and suffice it to say, you’ll want time to stand still so you can stay forever-eternally cossetted in the Eternal City.

Additional info: hotelorologioroma.com

© 2024 Ruth J. Katz All Rights Reserved

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There are many sights to see on the road to Santiago, Spain, better known to pilgrims as St. James Way, or simply the Camino. Perhaps one of the most unusual I’ve experienced is Herreria de Compludo – the Forge of Compludo. Older than the pilgrimage itself, which became popular during the Middle Ages, the forge dates back to the seventh century.

Not only is Herreria de Compludo the oldest blacksmith shop in Spain, but it has been continuously running with a fire in the forge since then. It uses coal mined in the mountains to the north for fuel, and an ingenious system of waterpower to run everything else. It is a self-sustaining industrial marvel crafted before the dawn of the industrial age, back in the shadowy prehistory of an automation that was just a gleam in the first smithy’s eye. And it is the last vestige of a farming community nestled in a remote valley of Northwestern Castilla y Leon, Spain.

We hiked in on what was probably once a wagon road, a half-mile path winding in from the highway along a crystal mountain stream. The water swiftly descends into the valley while the path gently climbs the steep slope above it. The elevation can be misleading. As the path and stream separate a stone-lined causeway becomes visible between them, seemingly flowing up hill. The illusion ends as the path levels and it becomes evident that gravity channels the water into a small, natural-looking reservoir between the path and the stream below. Beneath the reservoir is the stone building that houses the forge. It is so shielded by the lush greenery of the forest that a casual hiker could pass it by. A small sign announces Herreria de Compludo.

We walked down a woods path to the clearing in front of the forge to meet the smithy, Manuel Sanchez. He, with his faithful German Shepard named Rex after the popular Spanish TV series of his youth, “Rex, un Policia Diferente”, that starred a German Sheperd police dog, broke the loneliness of this nearly abandoned setting. He is the fourth-generation smithy to operate this self-sustaining forge since his great-grandfather took it over in 1908. Manuel has traced the ownership back to the 1700s, but local histories place a forge at this site one thousand years earlier! With sections of the original stone building – probably the residence – collapsed, the moss and lichen covered forge looks its age. It is thanks to Manuel’s commitment and perseverance that people can still visit to see the ancient process of forging metal into plowshares and other tools.

Behind an outbuilding there was a pile of stones with a tree growing out of it that Manuel described as what was the shared oven for the once-thriving farm community. As a baker, after seeing how the forge worked, I wondered what marvelous system they used to have in place to heat the communal oven. But that is another story lost to the ages.

Behind us, the runoff from the reservoir spilled down next to a water wheel before being channeled back into the stream. Everything looked rundown and cobbed together, the last repairs done before even baling wire was invented. It was a doorway into antiquity.

That doorway opened to a dark cavernous space with the crashing sound of water surrounding a lighted hearth. We entered the cave-like structure, our eyes adjusting to the glowing coal fire. That, and what light entered through tiny windows made my eyes widen at the primitive surroundings. There was nothing simple about what I perceived. Genius was evident at every turn.

The stationary waterwheel was as much inside the shop as outside, visible in the dim light as connecting to a massive tree trunk that we learned was basically a huge hammer. Through an ingenious rigging a cable snaked up through the roof and connected to a spillway door. One need only pull the cable to open the spillway causing the water to turn the wheel. How much it was opened determined the speed of the waterwheel which, in turn, regulated the speed of the hammer. Because this was all made out of wood except for the hammer’s head, the connections would overheat relative to the speed of the work being done. To counter that, a wooden trough was placed to catch more of the water the faster the wheel turned, channeling it to cool the friction sites. It was brilliant, if ancient, engineering!

The sound of cascading water came from the rear of the forge as well. Behind the hearth there were carved stone steps up through a curved doorway into a well-like structure. Hidden beneath ferns and moss was the wooden system that replaced the conventional bellows. It is a Catalan horn, in which air is injected according to the Venturi principle. As water from the reservoir came down in and outside wooden tubes that narrowed in size as they descended, air was forced into the forge. That air was in turn regulated by a stopper that, when removed, allowed the air to flow into the room, but when in place it directed the flow right into the glowing coals of the forge. No bellows were needed! So much of the labor was automated that the smithy’s main task was to move the hot metal from the fire to the hammer to be shaped. It enabled the farming community built up around the forge to have all the repairs and tools they needed to survive.

Speaking of surviving, Manuel is part of a family tradition. I asked him about a fifth generation, a son to take over and he said “I have no son to succeed me. It would be impossible! Don’t get me wrong. I can have sons, but not one to continue this tradition. No one would want to.” And with that final statement, he picked up a hammer and shaped a metal spike for me, pounding it flat on four sides and curving the head. While it was still hot he hammer-stamped my name on the shaft, cooled the spike in water, and handed me a historic souvenir 1700 years in the making.

To visit Herreria de Compludo contact Castilla y Leon Tourism or see:

The Herreria de Compludo website.

There is a fee and specific times it is open. It is advised to make arrangements in advance. It is well worth the visit.

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I raise my baton to alert the orchestra that I am ready to conduct. In my best imposture of Gustavo Dudamel, I cue the woodwinds, then coax in the stringed instruments, and finally, I direct the brass-perching on the precipice and at the ready-to chime in. I punctuate my air-piercing baton-swirling, with a jab toward the timpani to elicit an emphatic beat. Smug and sly, I think that Felix Mendelssohn’s Italian Symphony never sounded so expressive. As if following my intensity, the surrounding chamber becomes enveloped in a saturated vermillion glow that melts into an intense violet, as I command the orchestra…and we sprint together to the end of the first movement.

Alas, I am conducting nary a human, but rather a dozen or so electronic totems, synced to the digital leger-de-main that is the underpinning of Leipzig’s Mendelssohn House Effektorium, a room for making virtual music. This is 21st-century, sophisticated child’s play: A dozen or so monolithic speakers (labeled appropriately, first violins, double basses, French horns, and so on), populate this symphony hall. You take your position at the lectern and then follow the snaking, red-line guide along the score; press the touchscreen, wield the baton to change tempo and tone, and suddenly you and your crop are Bernstein, Mehta, or, well, Maestro Mendelsson.

The meticulously restored Mendelssohn House in Leipzig is where the musical genius lived from 1845 until his death two years later; he was the Kapellmeister of the city’s renowned Gewandhaus Orchestra from 1835 to 1847. The museum opened in 1997 and is a major draw here, in a city legendary for its musical history. This charming municipality represents, though, merely one reason to visit the northeastern federal state of Saxony, in Germany.

Spread out over 7,000 square miles and bordered snugly to the east by the Czech Republic and Poland, and to the south, Bavaria, it is one of the smallest of the 16 federal states comprising Germany. But it is enviably bursting with compelling sites and sights to make it your next travel destination. Here is but a smattering of things to do and see in this inviting, remarkable region of Germany.

Among other draws, it is home to a veritable cornucopia — more than 150! — of palaces (schlösser), fortresses (festungen), stately mansions (herrenhäuser), and regal parks, such as Muskau Park, a stunningly bucolic UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Some of these edifices are virtual ruins, like the Dahlen Castle; some, a fascinating pile of rocks, as the spellbinding remains of Neurathen Castle (with rooms that had been cut into the stones); some are absolute fortresses, like Mylau Castle; and still others are overwhelmingly regal manses, such as the stately Dresden Castle and Leipzig’s elegant Gohlis Palace. Some are just for visiting, presenting interesting photo ops, while others are luxury hotels, and still others are homes to museums, such as the stately Augustusburg Palace, where I spent several hours in its amazing Motorcycle Museum: Spanning over 120 years of motorcycling history, the exhibits range from funky bicycles to exquisite, burnished-to-perfection Harley Davidsons.

Music is a hallmark of Saxony’s heritage, and the Leipzig Music Trail is a must for anyone who loves music. It is just over three miles long and heralds Telemann, Bach, Schumann, Wagner, Grieg, Janáček, and Mahler, among the many notable composers who worked or lived there. Stainless steel swirls-think the Nike swoosh on steroids-mark the spots (11 of them) in the cobbled pavement where you can stop, listen to recordings, and read about musical history.

Do not pass up a performance at the legendary, glass-facaded Gewandhaus. And, while in Leipzig, be sure to visit the Holocaust Memorial, consisting of 140 vacant bronze chairs — representing the 14,000 Jews who perished — built on the site where the city’s Grand Synagogue once stood.

Despite its devastation in WW II, Dresden, another touchstone in Saxony, has been rebuilt and you’d never know the extent of the destruction 75-plus years ago. No mention of Saxony is complete without an in-depth stay in charming, history-filled Dresden, including a lengthy visit to the world-renowned Green Vault, or the Grünes Gewölbe, comprising the Historic Green Vault (dripping in sumptuous Baroque ormolu and splendor) and the New Green Vault (with more traditional collections). Combined, here is one of the grandest collections of decorative arts, simply put, in all of Europe. Founded by Augustus the Strong in 1723, its exhibits include everything, ranging from Baroque to Classicism. You could drool over the art here for days.

Leave music and art (but not architecture) behind for the moment and enter the razzle-dazzle of Hollywood, when you visit the cinematic epicenter of Eastern Europe-Görliwood, the easternmost city in Germany, properly known as Görlitz. Countless films, including Inglourious Basterds, The Reader, The Book Thief, and The Grand Budapest Hotel, among the many, were all filmed right here.

For architecture buffs, this town is also home to more than 4,000 listed buildings and is considered Germany’s largest heritage area. Some religious sites: The Holy Sepulchre is the most faithful copy of the Jerusalem site. Amazingly, the Art Nouveau-styled Görlitz Synagogue, built at the beginning of the 20th century, survived Kristallnacht. Thereafter, however, with no congregation to tend to it, it fell into tragic disrepair. After a 10-million-Euro restoration, the synagogue reopened; on August 20, 2021, the first service in 80 years was held. Today, it houses modest but highly evocative and meaningful exhibits, showcasing personal artifacts and memorabilia that had once belonged to Jewish residents of Görlitz.

And, parenthetically, while you are in Görlitz, you can actually savor a tiny taste of Poland: Cross the Old Town Bridge, et voila! You are in Polska!

Another city worth at least a day of your time is the town of Seiffen. While it’s true that the internationally renowned German Christmas markets, in general, are among the most celebrated in the world, it is here in Seiffen that you’ll feel you as if you’ve entered the North Pole and Santa Land.

Seiffen boasts a blindingly festive, year-round Noel. This holiday-themed town, nestled in the Ore Mountains, was once the go-to site for silver- and tin-mining, but as supplies of those metals declined, residents turned to wood-carving and -turning. Dozens of shops vend all manner of traditional ornaments, including the ever-popular pyramids and arches, and, of course, the nutcracker, first created in the 17th century in Germany.

(There is even a nutcracker museum-ErstesNussknacker Museum-in Ergzebirge.) There are workshops where you can watch master woodworkers spin their magic or create your own ornaments.

A must in Seiffen: The traditional Neinerlaa Xmas Eve dinner, with its elaborate, sculpted platter, featuring little niches for, among the nine obligatory foods, bratwurst, dumplings, and sauerkraut.

Seiffen is also home to the Ore Mountain Open-Air Museum, an ethnographic exploration of rural life pre-1900, documenting and showcasing over a dozen types of rural homes from the region. It is adjacent to the Ore Mountain Toy Museum, a must-see. Unique to this area: Artisans turn circular wooden forms against a lathe and create miniature animals, smaller than a dime. This craft is known as Runddreherei, a form of very sophisticated and intricate woodturning and must be seen to be understood.

Not to be outshone by the splendor of Dresden, the musical heritage of Leipzig, the Christmas magic of Seiffen, and the glam of Görlitz, the town of Chemnitz is the third-largest city in Saxony and it, too, offers many sights. The Villa Esche, built by Belgian architect Henry van de Velde, was the home of the Herbert Esche family, and features a stunning meld of Belle Epoque and Art Nouveau styles, well worth swooning over. I could have spent all day in the Saxon Museum of Industry, located in a former foundry in Chemnitz. It brings machines and man together in unexpected ways, whether exploring vehicles or textiles.

I could go on about Saxony and its plethora of UNESCO World Heritage sites and parks, the Museum Gunzenhauser (with a collection of nearly 2,500 works of modern art), the fascinating Bach Museum, the Grassi Museum of Ethnology (among the extensive collections, hundreds of teacups!), and-for wristwatch aficionados-the manufactures of A. Lange & Söhne and Glashütte Original, in the south. But, in truth, you just need to pack your bag and go! Willkommen!

For more info go to visitsaxony.com.

All photos courtesy of the author.
© 2024 Ruth J. Katz All Rights Reserved

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Question: What are some of the “things” or activities that people who live in Hanover do for fun?

There are numerous activities in Hanover that locals enjoy, including surfing on the Leine River right in the heart of the Old Town district. A surfable wave has been created there by installing a hydraulically controllable system, allowing water sports enthusiasts to engage in ‘rapid surfing.’

During summer, the annual Maschsee Lake Festival transforms the promenades around the Maschsee shores into one of Northern Germany’s largest open-air parties, featuring various stages and a wide array of entertainment acts.

In the winter, locals and visitors come together and drink mulled wine at the Christmas market. There are more than 100 festively decorated stalls selling culinary delights, as well as local goods, such wooden toys from the Erzgebirge.

Question: What’s one thing the public probably does NOT know about Hanover?

One lesser-known fact about Hanover is its status as one of Germany’s greenest cities. The capital of Lower Saxony boasts over 2,100 acres of public green spaces, including the ‘green lung’ of the city, the Eilenriede, which alone extends to about 1,600 acres in the city’s center, nearly twice the size of New York’s Central Park. The city center also features Maschpark and Maschsee Lake, along with historic parks like the Royal Gardens of Herrenhausen, which include a renowned baroque garden.”

A hidden gem of the city is the singing manhole cover in the city center. A Germany-wide unique piece surprises onlookers with unexpected music and adds a playful touch to the cityscape.

Question: What has Hanover contributed to the world?

Hanover has made significant contributions to the world, particularly in the realm of music technology. It is the birthplace of the first vinyl record, the production site of the first music cassette, and the location where the first CD was pressed. These innovations have played a crucial role in Hanover being designated a ‘UNESCO City of Music’ in December 2014, a title that celebrates the city’s ongoing influence on musicians and music technology.

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By Ruth J. Katz

Photos provided by Regent Seven Seas Cruises

It’s hard to imagine that there is feverish activity below decks, while you are more or less inert, above deck, sunning languorously poolside, with a frothy, umbrella-adorned beverage in hand. Such is “the life” on deck 11, on an at-sea day on Regent Seven Seas Cruise Line’s stunningly appointed Explorer, with its exquisite décor—punctuated by its extensive, on-board art collection, valued at some $6 million. 

But, on levels one, two, and three, there is unremitting bustle, a floating beehive in perpetual motion.  Your seamless and cosseted experience is possible only because this well-oiled hospitality locomotive—comprised of both “machinery” that boasts DNA as well as inanimate machinery—is constantly rechoreographing its balletic acrobatics, reacting to guests’ needs and assuring their comfort and well-being. 

Your experience is not about the state-of-the art sundry engines and sophisticated equipment that chug along without your being aware of them and which contribute to your seamless journey.  But, more importantly, it’s about the 2,200-odd legs and arms that belong to a crew of more than 550, a cohesive corps who inherently want to spoil you and the other 745 passengers on board.

Among the upmarket cruise lines, Regent stands arguably alone when it comes to truly embodying the meaning of that “all inclusive” sales message: No tipping; no add-ons for alcohol (save, for example, for a Connoisseur Cognac Tasting); no fees for the more than 2,000 diverse shore excursions, in over 500 ports of call.  (NB:  There are some tariffs for a handful of over-the-top adventures.)

Always on the qui vive for enriching and previously-uncharted experiences for its customers (many of whom are brand-loyal to the core), Regent staff and its boots-on-the ground excursion partners plumb their imaginations and local geography and history to dazzle you with alluring excursion programs.  Recently added to the mix are Behind the Design Tours and Eco-Connect Tours, all touching on popular themes.

In keeping with the mantra that pampering knows no bounds for Regent guests (clients fly Business Class to and from their ships, on intercontinental flights from the U.S. and Canada), the 4,443-square-foot Regent Suite on the Explorer—the ne plus ultra cabin—is outfitted with a $150,000 Savoir No. 1 bed, which takes 120 man hours to hand-build, and which sports a mattress-topper lavishly layered with horse-tail hair, lambswool, pure cashmere, and even Mongolian yak hair. The company refers to its Regent Suites (one per vessel) as the most exclusive addresses at sea.

But even if you are not in a Penthouse Suite, outfitted with a pillow menu (gel, memory foam, down, buckwheat-hull—you get the idea), you will find luxury and service above your wildest expectations.

And while you slumber in comfort, that city that never sleeps below you is humming 24 hours a day: The engines, the mechanical systems, a desalinization plant, the laundry and dry cleaning plants, staff quarters, food and alcohol stores, butcher shops, galleys, room service staff, and crew-training facilities, are all purring efficiently, keeping everything ship-shape, just for you.

It is here in the wee hours of the morn that a half-dozen or so pastry chefs are knocking out thousands of rolls, croissants, brioches, muffins, donuts, Danishes, and even gluten-free breads for breakfast alone, while the crew in the laundry are washing and pressing thousands of napkins and tablecloths daily.  And the housekeeping staff are loading their carts with thousands of freshly laundered towels and getting ready to pounce like Ninjas to clean your suite after you have left for an excursion, and, of course, to replenish Nespresso pods and the L’Occitane Mer & Mistral line of toiletries in your marble-clad bath.

Multiple traffic cops and computer systems are in place to keep this human “appliance” waltzing smoothly, so that the many galleys are never bereft of, say, soy milk. During a typical seven-day cruise, more than 500 gallons of milk alone are consumed. In fact, on a galley tour, if you snoop around the refrigeration units, you’ll see they are filled with regular milk, heavy cream, half-and-half, 1% and 2% skimmed milk, regular skimmed milk, as well as almond and rice milks—maybe even a cow secreted away in the fridge.  On a typical seven-day cruise, the 82 galley chefs might blitz through 900 dozen eggs, 800 pounds of butter, 600 pounds of lobster, 700 pounds of cheese…and guests will consume 4,800 bottles of wine and nearly 1,000 bottles of Champagne!

Another fascinating aspect of the galley—and throughout the ship, in fact–is the separation of trash. Mindful of global ecology, Regent is striving to cease supplying guests with single-use plastics and in an effort to cut down on paper waste, the company has shifted paperwork to digital formats. In the galley, trash is scrupulously segregated:  Pulpable waste, shells and bones, plastic, cans, paper, non-pulpables, and so on, all have their own receptacles. And don’t think for a minute that the refuse you drop into your cabin garbage bin isn’t sorted.  Batteries, razor blades, plastics, are all separated.

But all these numbers and policies mean nothing, unless the services behind those facts and figures are delivered with a smile and style.  And, that they are. Regent is holistic in its approach to training staff and maintains a school in the Philippines, as well as a teaching facility on board. What is most important to the company, however, is to hire people who comprehend that they are the public ambassadors of the brand and its philosophy. Regent is committed to its mantra of serving guests with the utmost care, always remembering that they are the face of the company, and that the attention they give to details—anticipating and exceeding guests’ expectations—is Regent’s “normal.”  The crew, from nearly 50 countries—be it Kyrgyzstan or Mauritius—must love their jobs, as they repeatedly return to work on a Regent vessel.  Many have worked for the company a very long time, including Theodora, an employee in Prime 7 (the on-board steak house), who has been a Regent employee for more than 25 years.

You may well find that after your first Regent journey, you become just as regular a Regent devotee as its longtime employees and other guests. Bon voyage!

Regent’s six ocean-going vessels sail all year long, to seven continents, to more than 100   countries and 350 ports of call; more than 2,000 complimentary excursions are offered.  Average pricing for most Regent cruises starts at approximately $3,999 per person.

Additional Info: rssc.com

What Else is Cooking?

In between lazing about, eating, attending enrichment lectures, and heading shoreside for excursions, you will definitely want to save two hours for at least one of Explorer‘s Culinary Arts classes—assuming you can snag a place for these waiting-list-is-the-norm cooking classes. These hands-on, instruction-filled lessons were designed to enhance guests’ appreciation and understanding of a local port’s culture, history, and, of course, singular culinary profile. Taught in a state-of-the-art kitchen-classroom (deck 11, starboard, with sweeping, floor-to-ceiling window views), each student’s station is equipped with an induction cook stove, stainless steel sink, and quartzite work counter.  The program was designed by executive chef Kathryn Kelly, a graduate of and former instructor at the Culinary Institute of America. She first joined sister cruise line Oceania in 2011, when that company launched a highly successful seafaring cooking school on its Marina vessel. Regent’s classes include basics for those interested in things like knife skills, but the program excels at truly innovative, interesting classes, focused on ports of call…such as Epicurean Safari, which highlights delicious cuisine from Morocco, South Africa, and Namibia.  — RJK

© 2024 Ruth J. Katz   All Rights Reserved

The post Regent Seven Seas Cruises appeared first on Traveling Archive.

I woke from a deep, coma-like sleep.  Not entirely sure where I was…the celestial-looking ceiling above me seemed to ooze Heaven. Nimbus poufs of feathery clouds loomed languidly over my head…hints of statuary, or Cupids, or angelic cherubs, sketched in sorbet colors,floated gracefully on the canopy above my head.  Jet lag being what it is, it took me a few minutes to realize I was in a different kind of Heaven on Earth. I was in the Sofitel Rome Villa Borghese, floating on its signature-branded Sofitel MyBed, my body a limp whirl of protoplasm atop a bowl of weightless cotton candy!

As is fairly standard with an overnight flight from the States, I arrived in the early morn to the elegant, superbly located Sofitel, which was mercifully a mere half-hour from the airport. A stroke of luck—and it is rarely the case—the Foreign-Travel Fairy had somehow sprinkled her magic over the reservation roster for that day, and I was able to glide into my room early in the day, shower, and collapse—although I soaked up the stunning view from my room first.

The welcoming staff, perched behind two handsome, geometrically-carved, boulder-like desks, both burnished to gleaming perfection, had encouraged a snooze to re-energize my dazed circadian rhythm.

And I had followed that sound advice, but not before dipping my hand into a few of the clear glass goblets and apothecary-style chalices on the shelves in the intimate lobby,so I could swoop up a few Italian sweets. Then, I waltzed upstairs to my handsomely appointed chamber, where elegant, modern furniture beckoned: A dusty-gray-velvet recamier welcomed my luggage at the foot of the bed—such a refined resting spot for piles of clothing, as I fished for a sleep shirt. All this sophisticated design is from the artful hands of Jean Philippe Nuel, both architect and designer of the property.  He has sculpted a classy and classic masterpiece.  After dousing myself with the sweet-smelling Diptyque toiletries in the marble-clad shower, it was nap time. And sleep, I did.

This charming, five-star hotel is housed in a former 19th-century Roman palazzo, and is ideally located within walking distance of all that I wanted to drink in that first half-day, before I began serious sight-seeing and reacquainting myself with all that is Roman in my half-Italian blood.  Trevi Fountain, Villa Medici, the Spanish Steps (and all its glorious, adjacent shopping), and, of course, the splendor and majesty of the gardens of the Villa Borghese. (For sojourns farther afield, the Barberini metro station is just a six-minute stroll away.)

An intimate hotel by most yardsticks (71 rooms and seven suites), it still offers the more grandiose (included with your tariff) breakfasts Americans have come to expect in Europe, where lavish spreads overwhelm…what shall I have first?  The French toast?  The waffles?  The pancakes?  A custom-crafted omelette?  Cereals? Healthy, home-crafted yogurt, berries, and grains?  Or sinful pastries? No matter what you select for breakfast, your meal will be all the more enhanced and enjoyed because you’ll be dining in the hotel’s rooftop restaurant, Settimo, with a 360-degree view, including St. Peter’s Basilica, the Villa Borghese gardens, and those famous pines of Rome.

The mosaic-laden floor is awash with large botanically inspired garden motifs, created with chunky,stone inlays, in earth tones of raw umber, burnt sienna, and chestnut, or ofsage, pine, celadon, loden, and sea foam.  The lush fabrics on the chairs—saturated turquoise velvet accented with more lavish, forest-green florals-on-steroids—are all complimented by actual foliage. Even the hanging, lantern-style, indoor lighting fixtures are covered in cannon-shaped shades, florid with floral and leafy motifs. If you’re fortunate, you can snag an outdoor table and drink in all that Roman scenery, along with a high-octane shot of espresso to kick off the morning.

If you are enjoying La Dolce Vita completely, then allow that crackerjack staff at the front desk plan your days:  There are family packages available that include gladiator school, gelato workshops, horseback riding, and stargazing like a Roman astronomer; or ask about the hotel’s multi-day foodie tour, created with Lauren Caramico of Davvero Rome, one of the city’s leading culinary influencers and tour guides. Some of the days’ activities in that package might include truffle-hunting, kayaking, or wine-tasting. The hotel can also arrange for private city tours, in a vintage Fiat on the back of a Vespa (I did this and I loved both the Vespa and the guy driving it!).  For fashionista and culinary devotees, there are individualized tours, highlighting shopping and wardrobe-styling (for men and women)a la Romagna, or yoga among the ruins, or cooking classes, among the custom-crafted excursions.Ask about the film-inspired sightseeing tour (think “Roman Holiday,”“Angels and Demons”, and, of course, “La Dolce Vita,” among the many celluloid visions of Rome). There are even special packages for you and your four-legged BFF (Bark in the Park, is a picnic in the Villa Borghese garden; there is also ozone bath therapy Fido and dog-sitters available around the clock.

At the end of the day, though, you’ll be thrilled to return to Settimo, to enjoy sunset and a sun downer. The trip up to the seventh floor is in an elevator that is about as good as an elevator can get, anywhere, courtesy of a fantasy garden on the walls: Floor-to-ceiling floral prints, walls awash with trellises and oversize, lavish, grandiose flowers.I wish I could have had more than two dinners at Settimo, as there was so much more I wanted to sample, but suffice it to say, everything I ate was toothsome, savory, and satisfying.  A lovely menu is available for that aperitivo and dinner, as well.  A sampling of dinner fare: Crispy tuna millefeuille with avocado cream, red radish, and accented with aged Modena balsamic vinegar; velvety Romanesco courgettes, bread crumbs, and toasted almonds; Roman saltimbocca veal fillet, pan-fried with chicory and stewed onions.  And top it off with a cherry crème brulée or traditional tiramisù with crunchy chocolate.  No matter what you order, it will be a winner.

Regardless of how many nights you stay, you’ll want more. This is a tribute to the comfortable, but detail-oriented, service delivered by the attentive and caring staff—and by those angels on the ceiling in your room.

Additional info:  sofitelrome.com

©   Ruth J. Katz  2024  All Rights Reserved

The post Escape to the Glorious Sofitel Rome Villa Borghese appeared first on Traveling Archive.

This T-Boy writers’ poll is devoted to THE LAST PLACE in the world where you would NEVER want to visit, or revisit. The instructions were simple: it could be a nation, state, region or province, a city or town, or a place; like that fisherman’s bar in Valparaiso, where I was once thrown out of for singing the Sex Pistols’ rendition of God Save the Queen a tad too loud.

By Susan Breslow, T-Boy Writer – The Garden of Earthly Delights? Hell, no!

A travel guide to Myrtle Beach could save on photography costs by simply featuring the hellscape from the Garden of Earthly Delights on its cover to represent the destination. Hieronymous Bosch’s sixteenth-century vision of Hades is a portrait of chaos, gluttony, porcine characters, hideous body modifications, and antagonistic flags. Myrtle Beach features all of these… plus miniature golf and a beach whose water turns polluted brown after storms.

We drove into this redneck Riviera hotspot from the south, coming up from sedate Charleston. We had no way of knowing that it was Bike Week (held every May, it turns out). Harley-Davidson owners decked out in black leather with silver studs and their similarly appointed, slutty-looking molls (even those old enough to know better) preened along the main drag beside thousands upon thousands of shiny parked hogs.

Behind them, a maelstrom of marquees for bars and fast-food joints where “fried” is the daily plat du jour. These troughs stand alongside souvenir shops where skeevy-looking, gray-bearded riders of both sexes have no problem buying and wearing black T-shirts that boast, “Born to be Wild.”

Had enough of this American Grotesquerie? Myrtle Beach: For a good time, drive on by.

By Richard Carroll, T-Boy Writer – The MV Sundancer, on Alaska’s Inside Passage

I was on a cruise with my mom and I booked the MV Sundancer to Alaska’s inside passage and upon reaching the Seymour Narrows, it sank. This specific cruise is the last place I would want to return too. It was June 29, 1984, and at 8:30 p.m. I was in the main lounge interviewing a crew member while a small band was performing show songs to a few of the 787 passengers sitting about enjoying the moment, when suddenly there was a heavy jolting thug that vibrated the ship. The band instantly stopped playing, and the ship seemed to be quietly floating dead in the water, then another whack and the lights went out, fluttering dimly and the smell of oil permeating the air. The Canadian Pilot had miscalculated our position and the Sundancer had slammed twice into Maud Island near Campbell River, an attractive town with wonderful residents.

The ship was quickly taking on water from a 32-foot gash on the starboard side. I rushed to my cabin where my mother was getting ready to retire. I said, “Mom, we have a problem, and you need to get dressed and put on a life jacket.” Water was seeping into our cabin, and it seemed like it took mom forever to get dressed, I could hear people running in the corridor and shouting. I said, “Forget the panty hose,” which was a tremendously slow process with only one foot in place, “Just slip on a dress, we have to get up to the top deck ASAP.” Finally, we departed the cabin and made our way up the dark stairway, sloshing through sea water, past panicked passengers, some who were frantically crying, to the top deck that was tilted to a sharp downward slant.

Garbled messages from the captain were useless as were the lifeboats that were banging against the side of the ship. The Sundancer made it to the Elk Falls Mill pier at Campbell River with almost complete chaos on the ship. It seemed, and not a generalization, that most of the young passengers panicked, while the older ones were calm and quietly standing on deck with their life jackets. A young couple on their honeymoon were hovering near the railing, when the husband hopped atop the rail facing the water yelling “I’m not going down with the ship!” My mom grabbed his shirt shouting, “Get down from there young man!” His wife was aghast. She was looking at him in disbelief and must have been thinking, “Is this what I just married?”

Campbell River, noted as “The Salmon Capital of the World,” was incredible in organizing a Cherry Picker to host off the elderly passengers like my mom, and were a great help overall. The ship had destroyed most of the pier, and, not by choice, I was the last passenger off the ship climbing down a rope ladder into a tug boat with a young boy from Puerto Rico who had become separated from his parents. As he clutched my arm, he told me he didn’t know how to swim. On land at the Red Cross Help Center, the Campbell River people gave the passengers clothes, blankets, hot drinks, good thoughts, and thankful that no one on the cruise died. The young man who wanted to jump ship and leave his new wife behind was strolling around shirtless sipping a cup of coffee, his distressed wife staring at him with sad eyes. Mom came up to her and with a big hug said, “Honey, give him a chance, maybe he’ll be okay.” We flew back to Southern California with no luggage. Years later I discovered my late mother’s collection of matchbooks and spotted the Sundancer souvenir from her first and only cruise, a memento I keep on my desk to this day. Inside she had inscribed, “Went on cruise with Richard. Ship sunk.”

By Peggy Polinsky, T-Boy Writer – Chaos at Versailles

Yes, chaos at Versailles, in this day and age. Unfortunately. So sad. When I first visited Versailles in 1965 with two friends (we had just graduated from college), there was an orderly line to enter the castle. Then we just walked around and saw everything under the guidance of our friend who became a successful travel agent. It was a beautiful, memorable experience. And then we visited the gardens as well – just strolling through.

The next time I went was in 2019 with my husband. We signed up for a tour. Connecting to the tour was frantic. Upon entering the palace, we discovered that there were hundreds of tours with thousands of tourists. There were so many people that the only time you could really see anything was if you looked up. But, although beautiful, not everything is on the ceiling.

And it was so loud. So, we made it through and got outside where we could see the outstanding gardens at a distance. We knew we couldn’t walk that far. No one had told us about the trams that will take you through the gardens. By then it was too late in the day. So, we made it back to the train and then the bus that took us back to our hotel. Determined not to ever do that again.

By Raoul Pascual, T-Boy Webmaster – The Horror Stories of Iran

I would never ever want to visit Iran. Because of the horror stories of head chopping and degradation of women and infidels, this is the country I would avoid at all cost (unless I want to leave this earth prematurely). It’s a Hotel California trap – you may enter any time you want but you will never leave… at least with your organs in one piece.

The Ayatollah Khomeini

“Ayatollah Ruhollah Musavi Khomeini, (May 1900 or September 1902 -June 1989) was an Iranian Islamic revolutionary, politician, and religious leader who served as the first supreme leader of Iran from 1979 until his death in 1989. He was the founder of the Islamic Republic of Iran and the leader of the Iranian Revolution, which overthrew Mohammad Reza Pahlavi and ended the Iranian monarchy.

Khomeini was Time magazine’s Man of the Year in 1979, and has been described as the “virtual face of Shia Islam in Western popular culture,” where he was known for his support of the hostage takers during the Iran hostage crisis, his fatwa calling for the murder of British Indian novelist Salman Rushdie, and for referring to the United States as the “Great Satan” and the Soviet Union as the “Lesser Satan.” Following the Islamic revolution, Khomeini became the country’s first supreme leader, a position created in the constitution of the Islamic Republic as the highest-ranking political and religious authority of the nation, which he held until his death. Most of his period in power was taken up by the Iran-Iraq War of 1980-1988. He was succeeded by Ali Khamenei on 4 June 1989.” – From Wikipedia.

Muslin Woman in the U.S. Today

Comment by Ed Boitano: Recently I met with a Muslim woman from Tehran, who spoke of her dislike of American liberals. I began to understand that her disdain stemmed from American liberals’ support of Iran’s Holy Muslim Quran, and that it was none of our business what goes inside of their country.

As the Muslim woman from Tehran continued with her tirade, she wished that U.S. liberals and conservatives alike would bond together and try to abolish many of the words in the Iranian Constitution, whose language, based on the Quran, spoke of misogyny, inequality and abuse of human rights. And whose words led to a state sponsored theocracy, the exacty opposite of what many of us in the U.S. pretend not to believe today.

By Ringo Boitano, T-Boy Writer – Hoodwinked in Daufuskie

As our little ferry boat graced the salt marshes of Hilton Head Island, surrounded by a world of sea grass in South Carolina’s Low Country, we were on our way to the island of Daufuskie Island in search of Gullah history. The ferry ride served as our introduction to our tour vendor, Tour Daufuskie. Little did we know that this very ferry ride would be the high point of our tour.

I recall the words on Tour Daufuskie’s welcoming sign, but noticed another on the ferry dock landing, which said, “No food Allowed.” But, before I booked my tour with Tour Daufuskie, I should have remembered the sacred verbal sign, which is known to all travelers as they journey throughout the world’s land: “Investigate Tour Operator Before Booking.”

My photographer and I were escorted by a Tour Daufuskie employee to a row of golf carts by a general store. His scripted remarks included “If you want any food you better get it here, ’cause this store is the only place on the island you can get it” (later we found an independent grocery in the island’s center), and “this is our BEST golf cart on the island… I know ’cause I just rode it!”

As we rode the BEST golf cart on the island, we were more than happy to leave the Tour Daufuskie man; and, with map in-hand of historic Gullah sites, we excitedly navigated our golf cart down the dusty dirt road in search of the past culture of these remarkable people who had once called Daufuskie their home. But our excitement was tempered, due to our golf cart, lumbering along at half speed. We returned it to the less-than-embarrassed Tour Daufuskie slicker, who offered no explanation, and were given another, which broke down ten minutes later. This time, a more qualified man arrived at the spot of our breakdown, and said we should have never have been assigned the first two carts and gave us another that actually worked.

But, first, a little about the Gullah; after all, that was why we were there. Research told me that slave traders brought Africans from Sierra Leone to the chain of Sea Islands for their expertise in planting, harvesting and processing rice. During the 1700s, American colonists in the Southeastern U.S. realized that rice would grow well in the moist, semitropical country bordering their coastline. But the American white plantation slave owners had no experience in the cultivation of rice, so they purchased slaves with a preference for Africans from the “Rice Coast” or “Windward Coast,” the traditional rice-growing region of West Africa. The enslaved people became known as the Gullah (Gul-luh), perhaps derived from Gola, a tribe found near the border of Liberia and Sierra Leone. Daufuskie itself: translated to “pointed feather,” a name attributed to island’s earliest inhabitants, the tribes of Muskogean stock.

I read that when the U.S. Civil War commenced, white slave owners hurriedly abandoned their plantations and slaves, and fled to the mainland, while some Gullah were actually unaware of the war and their eventual freedom from slavery had finally ended. Due to this isolation, the Gullah were able to preserve more of their African cultural heritage than any other group of African-Americans. They spoke a unique Creole language and maintained a life similar to that of Sierra Leone. I was anxious to meet a Gullah person and hear their unique language in conversation, and, who knows, maybe even a bit of folklore.

So, we were now officially off on our expedition in search of the Gullah, though it did take awhile. The map turned out to be fairly accurate leading us to the First Union African Baptist Church, listed as a historical landmark, followed by Maryfield School (circa 1930), the primary school for the Gullah children. This is the school where author Pat Conroy taught in the late 1960s, later documenting his experience in the novel, “The Water is Wide.” Transportation only began in 1950, so the children must have had a long walk in the woods, in particular with long walks without shoes. The small Billie Burn Historical Museum was next on our agenda, with Ms. Burn considered the first true Daufuskie historian, having documented life on the island’s past in her book, An Island Named Daufuskie.

The afternoon closed, after quick looks at the Maryfield Cemetery, the largest Gullah cemetery on the island. As we returned to the petite ferry, it was obvious that we had been misled and even lied to by Tour Daufuskie employees. Nevertheless, we were happy to see and learn all we did. But, were still annoyed that we had been taken advantage of, and wondered why such a company like Tour Daufuskie could even exist. It occurred to me that South Carolina is one of the least regulated states in the U.S., a state where the establishment of forming workers’ unions was once illegal. Curiously, the Sea Islands were the first place in the South where slaves were freed. And it made no sense to my Yankee mindset, for at the beginning of the U.S. Civil War, 96% of the population of South Carolina were African-Americans who wore the chains of slavery.

But the experience did serve as a life lesson, a lesson I had ignored; never book a tour with a vendor until you’ve thoroughly, independently, researched them and the specific tour. If not, there is a chance you might be disappointed. In conversation with others on the ferry ride back, it became clear not one of them had even a hint about the culture, let alone the existence of these proud and historic people, the proud and historic people simply known as the Gullah of Daufuskie Island.

By Fyllis Hockman, T-Boy Writer – The Most Difficult Trek We Had Ever Experienced

The eight of us huddled together, warned repeatedly to stay close and keep quiet. A soft cough escaped from one of our group, and the guide looked immediately askance. Coughing and sneezing were very much frowned upon. If you’re scraped by a stinging nettle, don’t even think about screaming – a usually fitting response. Sharing 98.4 percent of our DNA, the elusive mountain gorillas – whom we were seeking at the time – are very susceptible to human-borne illnesses and more gorillas die from such infectious diseases than from any other cause. We were carriers and they had to be protected from us. And this was before the pandemic!

Still, eight humans a day are allowed to visit these gentle giants, as they are known, for no longer than an hour, as we did during a recent visit to Uganda as part of an ElderTreks tour.

This is not exactly a drive-by photo op. With a vigorous (to say the least) trek of 1-7 hours, depending upon where the gorillas are that day, you have to REALLY want to see them. But even with visitation restricted to an hour, it is usually well worth the effort. But more on that later.

There are about 880 mountain gorillas in the world with almost half located in Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, a World Heritage Site clearly worthy of its name, in southwestern Uganda, an 18% increase over the last census due to increased conservation efforts, education and veterinary care. This is very good news.

The prelude to the hike is itself intimidating. Treks range from 1-7 hours according to the promotional material, with a maximum increase in elevation of 500 meters. Wear good hiking boots, don gloves for the nettles, a walking stick is mandatory, bring lots of water, don’t get closer than 25 feet – and remember these are wild animals.

Anticipation mixed closely with apprehension as every person on our tour, whether expressed aloud or not, felt “I hope I can make.” The tale I’m about to tell about my travel-writing husband Vic and myself is not the norm. The tale for the other eight members of our Elder Treks tour, from whom we were separated because of the limit of eight people to a gorilla trekking group, is the opposite extreme – also not the norm.

Boy, were we ever wrong. The trek was somewhat strenuous from the beginning, with steep climbs and slippery descents, traversing narrow ravines, but we were holding our own, feeling pretty good about ourselves. Until we entered the forest. And there was no semblance of a trail at all. The guides were trail-blazing with the help of machetes deep into the clearly “impenetrable” woods, the rocks, roots and brambles beneath our feet not even visible because of the thick underbrush. With walking stick in one hand and the porter’s hand in the other, I tried valiantly to move forward though at times the porter was literally dragging me up the precipitous slopes or keeping me from sliding down sheer declines, twigs and vines attacking from both sides of the non-trail, entangling my feet and arms to further impede progress in either direction. At times, I thought either my arm would be pulled off by the porter or my legs by the vines.

All the while, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for thinking to myself how little at that point I cared about the gorillas and how much I was worried about surviving the grueling trip back. I was seriously considering becoming a modern-day, Dian Fossey and staying with the gorillas, assuming we ever reached them, just to avoid the return trip.

I wish we could say the trip was worth it but by the time we finally dragged ourselves – or more appropriately – were dragged by the porters to the designated area where the gorillas had been, they had left. This is just not what you want to hear after what most of us on the trek agreed was the most difficult thing we had ever experienced.

By James Boitano, T-Boy Writer – Athens’ “Ammonia Square”

Athens, It’s not a terrible place: it’s just not at all that remarkable. It’s a big gritty working city that happens to have become the capital of Greece by default in their Ottoman wars of independence. I remember as breathing in all the auto fumes trying to catch a taxi on Omonia Square, we jokingly called it, “Ammonia Square.” Athens is a busy and charmless city which I rate as the most overrated capital city in Europe. There are many more lovely places to visit in Greece. But I will say it its defense: the view of the Acropolis rising above the city is its finest feature. But I never need to go back after seeing it once.

By Ed Boitano, T-Boy Editor – Beneath the Surface of Coeur d’Alene

The French name Coeur d’Alene when translated into English means, “Heart of an Awl.” Once, when I was traversing the pleasant small city streets, I remembered what “Coeur” meant, but had never heard of such a thing as an “Awl” before. Later I learned, it is a thin, tapered metal shaft, coming to a sharp point.

But then yesterday it hit me, and it hit me sharply to my core; when I read that on March 28, 2024, a Utah women’s college basketball team was seen strolling down Coeur d’Alene’s sidewalks from their sponsored NCAA Tournament hotel. They were there for fun, food and relaxation, in preparation for a NCAA Tournament game to be played later in Spokane, WA. A few passing cars packed with locals shouted obscenities at the University of Utah’s Women’s Basketball Team. But it’s not unusual for a city to mock a visiting team, but was there something more below Coeur d’Alene’s emotional surface? And then, local and national news broadcasts said that it was truly something much more.

SPOKANE, Wash. (AP) – “On Thursday, the Utah team and another women’s team staying at the Coeur d’Alene Resort were walking to dinner at a restaurant on Sherman Avenue when the driver of a truck displaying a confederate flag began yelling the N-word and other racial slurs at members of the basketball teams, cheerleaders, the band and others in the traveling party.”

Utah head coach Lynne Roberts said, “Her team experienced a series of hate crimes after arriving at its first NCAA Tournament hotel in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.”

“For our players and staff to not feel safe in an NCAA Tournament environment, it’s messed up,” continued coach Roberts.

“It’s getting to the point where people of color can’t even travel anywhere,” Spokane NAACP President Lisa Gardner said. “This is starting to be reminiscent of the ‘ 60s.”

And it really did become something much more worse than I had thought…

“Officials in Idaho tried to apologize Tuesday for the racism the University of Utah’s women’s basketball team faced in Coeur d’Alene before an NCAA tournament game at Gonzaga.

Yes, but: “Right-wing disruption shuts down Idaho’s apology for racism targeting Utah during NCAA tourney.” – Axios Salt Lake City.

And, the reason: “They abruptly shut down the news conference when a far-right operative began shouting questions at a human rights advocate.”

Why it matters: “Northern Idaho has become a hub for right-wing extremist groups.”

The latest: “Investigators in Coeur d’Alene are working with the FBI to determine which, if any, criminal violations occurred,” Hammond and police chief Lee White said at the Tuesday news conference. Idaho law forbids “malicious harassment.”

The Ridiculous and the Sad

Coeur d’Alene, like Idaho, is renowned for its recreational components where one can hike, bike and even ski right out your door. But it also has a long history of hate groups, white nationalists and exclusiveness, where realtors often market their properties for “likeminded”‘ transplants who can no longer bear to live a life in urban centers, such as San Francisco, Portland and Seattle. And security is essential, particularly in some cities and towns, for many properties are marketed as “bunker homes.” But, what for: THE pending doom of the Apocalypse? OR Muslim terrorists’ attacks? OR Martian invasions? OR you and me who happen to live in an urban centers outside of the state? I’m still not sure why, but did notice on my last trip to Idaho, that locals, often transplants, are fond of echoing Fox News talking points via Trump News Social, such as “Liberal urban elitists.” I was happy, though, that “Cappuccino Liberal” didn’t seem to work out, for it’s still my favorite coffee beverage wherever I’m about.

Will I ever revisit Coeur d’Alene and Idaho again? My reply is, perhaps not.

Sun Valley Resort: America’s First Destination Ski Resort

I should close and say, none of this applies to Sun Valley Resort, located in the adjacent city of Ketchum. The resort is well-known as a tower for tolerance and acceptance, where many of its employees are guest workers from foreign lands, with the intention for all of us to understand the many different cultures in the world in which we live today.

And if the liberal patriot Hemingway chose to live there, how bad could it really be.

The post The Last Place in the World Where I Would EVER Want to Visit or Revisit Again appeared first on Traveling Archive.

The Philippines is the only Catholic country in Asia.

Although there are other religions (Muslim being a far second and focused mostly in the southern region), 300 years of Spanish colonization since the coming of Magellan in 1521, the Catholic church has been a strong influence in the culture of this South East Asian country. So when Holy Week comes around, business essentially comes to a standstill for a whole week starting from Palm Sunday to Easter Sunday. The traffic congestion in the Greater Manila area miraculously disappears because the urban dwellers venture out to the different provinces.

Naturally, long traffic lines form heading out of the city starts usually on the weekend of Palm Sunday. And the same lines form coming back on Easter Sunday. Some horror stories claim upwards of 10 hours of travel time. Not surprising, considering many provincial roads are only 2 lanes. It takes a skillful driver to know when to overtake and cut travel time.

R Samonte shared the creative routes he took to avoid the traffic. Video made for Traveling Boy.

What Events Happen during Holy Week?

Moriones Festival

The big tourist attraction is the colorful Moriones Festival in the island of Marinduque (just south of Manila in the big island of Luzon). It is an annual Lenten festival where the locals wear paper mache face masks and costumes depicting the Roman guards who crucified Christ. In the sweltering heat these actors search the village for a legendary folk hero named Longinus who betrayed Rome by becoming a Christian. Rumor has it that Longinus had one good eye. But when he pierced the side of Jesus who was hanging on the cross, the blood and water fell on his bad eye and, miraculously, he was then able to see.

A Spanish priest named Dionisio Santiago started this festival back in the Spanish occupation of the Philippines in 1887. As in many traditions, there is no historical evidence that this man, nor the miracle existed but why bother with historical accuracy when you’ve having fun, right? In fact, the reason there are so many religious festivals in the Philippines is because creating festivals was part of the Spanish strategy for conquest: Instead of a prolonged bloody war, the Spaniards realized the locals loved festivals; so by creating more festivals more and more locals salivated to participate in the merriment and this resulted in fewer unrest.

14 Stations of the Cross

In Bulacan (north of Manila) devotees do a pilgrimage to “The Grotto.” A land owner who was dying of cancer was miraculously healed and she sponsored a construction of the 14 stations of the cross where life-sized sculptures of the stages of Christ’s suffering can be prayed to.

There are other religious traditions like the Pabasa (literally translated as “The Reading”) where a designated reader (or readers) read the passions of Christ out loud. Churches also add the washing of the feet commemorating Christ’s washing the feet of his apostles during the Last Supper. Many other reenactments also take place — giving much opportunity for the devotees to grab the spotlight.

High Mass

High Mass is ordinary hour-long mass in steroids. The celebration adds a long procession with incense and extra long prayers. There are a lot more singing.

I heard some people actually do bloody penitence. Is that true?

Flaggelation

It certainly is. For several “sinners” this is the one time of the year when they can make amends for their sinful behavior during the rest of the year by way of flagellation. Yes, you heard me right. It’s actually a great religious bargain — one day of self-induced pain to wash out the 364 days of sinful living.

The flaggelants hide their faces under a thin piece of cloth, strip down to the waist and march down the street for all the world to sympathize with them as they whip themselves with broken glass and other thorny material. Why? Catholics (especially the Filipino brand of Catholicism) believe in rewards for their suffering. They believe in sacrificing and long long prayers. The greater the sacrifice, the greater the approval from man and god.

C Fernando shared this video of a procession of street flagellants and cross bearers.

Nailing on the cross

Different towns have their unique versions of the religious festival but Pampanga (north of Manila) is the most popular one because it boasts of actual nailings on the cross. It’s not as bad as you think. The nails are quite small and they are thoroughly washed in alcohol before they are hammered into strategic areas of their hands to do the least damage. And their weight is supported on the cross by ropes on their hands and foot platforms. Of course, the pain is still real.

From Western eyes these all look like silly barbaric superstition but to the locals, this is their way of life. This is how they display their total devotion to God. You know how the saying goes: “When in the Philippines, do as the Romans do.”

The post Holy Week in the Philippines appeared first on Traveling Archive.

After driving three hours into the burning desert of Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula, we arrived at our destination, Saint Catherine’s Monastery, officially the Sacred Autonomous Royal Monastery of Saint Catherine of the Holy and God-Trodden Mount Sinai.

As we stepped out of our van, the same team was with us as before: the well-versed driver; the official police officer; the two very nervous American tourist, who still continued to speak ceaselessly of the nearby war; and our highly educated guide, Salaam, who thought it best to simply smile when the two very nervous American tourists would rant.

Saint Catherine’s Monastery was sanctioned by the orders of the Byzantine emperor Justinian I, between 565-548 B.C.E. But, in the year 330 A.C.E., the Empress Helena, the mother of Roman Emperor Constantine the Great, built a church with massive granite blocks, believed to be on the site where God spoke to Moses through the burning bush.

We had to advance deep into the valley for there are many hermit cells and a shrine at the site of the Bush. The Bush is verdant to this day. This is the Bush of which I have spoken earlier, the one from which God in a flame of fire spoke to Moses. – Author unknown.

The first Byzantine Orthodox monks arrived approximately around year 330 A.C.E., and still live according to the traditions of the early Christian monastic order, based on the spirituality of the desert – Because life in the desert is cruel and harsh, but it is here where one may find God.

The monastery was eventually renamed after Saint Catherine of Alexandria, a saint in Europe’s Catholic Christology, during the Middle Ages, who was sentenced to death in her defense of other Christians. Her body was placed on a spiked breaking-wheel, but, at her touch, the wheel shattered to pieces. It was then ordered that she be beheaded. Centuries later her body was said to be found in a cave close to Mt. Sinai, and was taken to the monastery. The relics of Saint Catherine, which are kept inside the monastery today, continue to inspire pilgrimages from people throughout the world.

Controlled by the autonomous Church of Sinai, which is part of the wider Greek Orthodox Church, Saint Catherine’s Monastery became a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2002 for its unique importance in the traditions of Christianity, Islam and Judaism. The site holds the world’s oldest continually operating library, along with rare works, such as the Codex Sinaiticus and the Syriac Sinaiticus, and, but still debated, the largest collection of early Christian icons. Also inside is the earliest known depiction of Jesus as Christ Pantocrator, which represents the dual nature of Christ, illustrating traits of both God and humankind.

Saint Catherine’s Monastery and the area consumed by Mount Sinai also remains sacred to the monotheistic religions, Judaism, Christianity and Islam.

The climate was cool when our group stepped into the rooms of Saint Catherine’s Monastery, taking refuge from the staggering desert heat outside. The monastery was compact, almost like an ancient city with chambers, pathways and gardens, captured between four granite walls.

It was easy to find the purported Burning Bush, or the Bush which no longer burns, as we assume it is a remnant where most had disappeared into ashes long ago.

Soon, we spotted the Well of Moses, where Moses apparently met his future wife, Zipporah. The Well remains today as one of the monastery’s main sources of water. As I took a sip of water from its drinking fountain, I wanted to to believe it was all true.

We quietly walked into the main chapel with a strong sense of reverence, and were surprised by the small size of the worship room, which was clearly overburdened with many icons and relics. We noticed on the other side of a short, waist high, dividing wall that an elderly monk was deep in prayer, and wondered what he was praying for. The dividing wall made it clear that it served as a threshold that should never be crossed. And we also assumed that after the monk had finished his prayer, not a single word should ever be crossed. But the moment he saw us, he walked over to greet us and gave us a warm hello. He asked where we had traveled from, and we told him that we had traveled a long way from the United States, which he nodded was truly a long way. And then replied with a grin, You know, I have a cousin in the United States… who owns a restaurant in Philadelphia.

As we bid farewell, we promised that if we ever did return to Philadelphia, we would look his cousin up. But decided not to mention that the City of Brotherly Love, the birthplace of our republic, is often referred to as the City of Brotherly Shove.

The time was too brief for our tour, as the doors at Saint Catherine’s Monastery would soon be closed for tourists, but it was important for our group to realize the ritualized monastic life. Priests meet in the morning at 4:00 a.m. and pray in their cells until eight a.m., followed by a one-hour period of rest. And then, each monk begins their assigned task; working in the library, the garden, cleaning icons, etc.

The first meal is lunch at 1:00 p.m., where all monks eat in silence while a novice reads religious texts. From 1:30 to 5:00 p.m., there is another resting period, after which vesper service is held until 7:00 p.m., and the monks return to their cubicle. At 10 p.m. the lights are extinguished, but the monks are allowed to read in their monastery cells by candlelight.

The monks fast three days a week, followed by eating simple vegetables, all grown from well-maintained gardens. It was a stroke of genius or part of God’s Holy plan, that the monks had managed to create one in the rough landscape of unbearable heat and endless desert sand. There were also many citrus and olive trees, where the olive itself is often a symbol which defines Greek and Mediterranean life the best.

In the garden rests a small cemetery within the Chapel of St. Tryphon and the Charnel House. The sparsity of earth does not permit permanent graves, so the monks buried in the cemetery are later exhumed and their bones placed in the ossuary. One of the oldest remains is of the hermit, Stephanos, a 6th century monk, who is believed to have lived on Mount Sinai in a small dwelling, where he solemnly struggled on behalf of his own monasticism.

As the monastery’s clock ticked down to 1 p.m., we took a mad cap dash to the small gift store for postcards, gifts and souvenirs. To our surprise, the monk behind the counter turned out to be the one with a cousin in Philadelphia, with whom we had met earlier before. As we hurriedly piled our growing load of treasures onto the counter, I wondered if I should suggest that perhaps there should be a slight discount. But I assumed what the kind monk would smile and say, All profits go to God, who looks down upon us now. Back home, I wondered where the profits of a bible marketed by a former U.S. president would really go; for he too looks down upon us, but in a very despicable way.

When we left Saint Catherine’s Monastery, we hopped back into the van for the long ride back to Sharm El Sheikh. Thinking of the monk’s cousin, food was soon on our mind. So, halfway through our trek, Salaam suggested we should make a hard right turn to a local seafood restaurant on the Red Sea, where the very polite staff of Egyptian waiters presented a large platter of seafood, caught that very day. We were curious, and not sure why; Salaam, our driver and policeman chose to sit inside. Perhaps they needed a break, before realizing they probably needed a break from me.

After we made our selections, we realized the authenticity of a real seafood restaurant, unlike the rather faux ones at Sharm El Sheikh’s Four Season’s restaurants. Our meals had been enjoyable at Sharm El Sheikh, but this late lunch easily tipped the scales, serving the best meal during our entire three-weeks in Egypt.

Our balcony table was set just above the shore’s waters. It occurred to me that this was as close as we had ever been to the historical and biblical waters of the Red Sea, the waters which I had imagined I would dive into the moment after our immediate arrival to Sharm El Sheikh. But then I remembered that tomorrow would be a very different kind of day.

Red Sea Underwater Adventure

The following day after we left our resort property at Sharm El Sheikh, we really did tip our feet into the Red Sea. The holy act was the first act for a planned underwater adventure, which I refer to as a hybrid tourist vessel, where the lower body of the ship drops down below the water’s surface, while the top remains above.

After cruising out of the congested mooring, we shuffled down a flight of stairs to witness the Red Sea’s underwater eco-system, home to over 300 species of coral and 2,100 species of fish from the vantage point of two long observation windows. What I found more interesting was another kind of hybrid on the boat: Russian, Egyptian and North American tourists.

The Russian passengers were polite, and basically kept to themselves, but were enthusiastic and appreciated the underwater wonders on the other side of the hybrid boat’s windows. The women seemed fashion conscious, were well dressed in vibrant colors, many with trendy sun glasses. They paid great attention to their mobile phones, and were generally part of large groups or families. It was easy to see they were from landlocked areas in Russia, and this was a vacation of a lifetime.

Many of the Egyptian passengers were busy as workers on the vessel, but the others seemed open, and easy to please, and simply happy to be there.

As for the North Americans… well, we were North Americans, but also seemed pleased to be part of this fascinating hybrid experience.

One of the most colorful moments was a post-cruise lunch, where we saw an attractive-looking Russian woman, dressed in typical beach clothes and sandals, after speaking on her mobile phone. Seated at the next table, was an attractive Egyptian woman, dressed in a black burka and tennis shoes, after speaking on her mobile phone. Two divergent worlds, unbeknownst to each other, were sitting back-to-back at their tables. Did someone really say, Truth is stranger than fiction?

The next day we departed from the Sharm El Sheikh Four Seasons Resort. As we passed its gates, the Icon of Peace was standing as it was before. The above image was used in an earlier installment, but it never can be seen too often as the world struggles to seek international peace.

A few hours later we were on a plane and gone.

Related Articles:

• Egypt: A personal interpretation of its land, people and antiquities, Part 1
• Egypt, Part II: The Sinai Peninsula

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