Decompressing in the Alps

There is good reason why people come to Annecy, the City and the alpine lake. Here one can feel any hint of stress disappear. The air is so clean that I find myself taking many deep breaths in disbelief, savoring the freshness and clarity, especially after experiencing so much second-hand smoke in Monaco and Cannes. A former Chateau transformed into Hotel Tresoms provides the perfect setting for complete relaxation. We are set apart from the traffic of the City on a mountainside above the lake. Here one eats only when hungry, rests when drowsy, and enjoys the birdsong of Spring without any interruption. This is perfect place to affirm the health benefits of vacation: the absense of schedule, deep rest and extraordinary cuisine.

The Old Town (la vielle ville) is a mere 15-minute hike down the hill. Pictured above is the 12th - 16th Century Island house which has served as a fortress, castle and prison. The river flowing around both sides of this tiny isle is fed from the clear waters of Lake Annecy. On a sunny 40F afternoon around, the locals were lined up for ice cream, walking their dogs and pushing strollers. People here are more apt to jog or ride a bike than smoke, a refreshing change for visitors from elsewhere in France. For dinner in the Old Town We enjoyed a wood-fired calzone, essentially a pizza folded over at the last minute of baking. Here they insert a fresh egg just before pressing the lip of the dough closed. Upon cutting the calzone open, one finds the delicious yolk blending with rest of the contents: ham, fresh mushrooms and mozarella.

At Les Tresoms, lunch was a 5-course gourmand experience. None of the courses were familiar to me, but all of there were uniquely delicious and satisfying. A gespacho of tomatoes and pesto provided a savory introduction to the meal, with just a hint of aged parmasean. A frail cylinder of thin and crispy frites held chunks of local freshwater white fish and asparagus in a light sauce. Spring lamb chops prepared a point were tucked next to seasonal vegetables with the juices of the meat providing a natural compliment. Local fresh cheese was served with orange marmolade (a first for me to combine sweet and savory in this manner) which yielded an unexpectedly delightful contrast on the pallet. The dessert came in a 3-tiered glass presentation. We were instructed to eat from the largest to the smallest: vanilla custard with a fragile, flakey pastry; diced pineapple with vanilla bean; and a lavendar infused shaved ice with a dollop of rich white gelato to cleanse the mouth.

The French have an expression for food which tickles the mouth: amuse-bouche, literally "to amuse the mouth". Truly our experience here has amused our entire beings!

Papal Time in Avignon

The audio guides are a brilliant invention because they give the tourist a quick summary of why something is historically significant. Touring the Palace of the Popes in Avignon, France, one is reminded of the turmoil of the 14th century in Europe. The Pope fled Rome and set up camp in Avignon, ordering a new palace/fortress to be built of course. So in 1309, work began on the complex above and continued for 30 years or so. Politics were such that 9 Popes in succession lived here before returning the Holy See to Rome. I think the duration of 9 Popes' reign is a long time, even in Papal time.

The many rooms open to the public include the various vaults and treasuries where valuables were stored, the "Jesus" room, the Pope's apartments, vast dining halls, the kitchen and an unremarkable chapel. Wherever a window is located one can see the thickness of the walls. In some cases, I estimated this to be over 10 feet of solid limestone. No wonder this structure has survived 6 centuries and counting. The audio guide provided interesting observations about the lavish feasts which occurred here. The Pope and his trusted "carver" had the only knives in the room for fear of assassination. Even the King of France, when he deigned to visit, sat at a table below the Pope. Oddly, superstition reigned in terms of detecting treasonous plans: a probe made of whale bone and precious ivory was believed to have the ability to detect poisons in the food.

The bridge at Avignon (le pont d'Avignon) is famous for many reasons, not the least of which is the children's rhyme "Sur le pont d'Avignon, on y danse, on y danse, sur le pont d'Avignon, on y danse tous en ronde" which translates to "On the bridge at Avignon, we all dance there, we all dance there, on the bridge at Avignon, we all dance there all in a circle." Any French citizen today of a certain generation can sing this song, just as Americans can sing "Ring around the rosie".

The bridge was created as a result of a conversation God had with a certain Monsieur Benezek. He claimed that God told him to build a bridge across the Rhone river, everyone laughed, and the church leaders said that if it was true then he should be able to lift a massive boulder as a proof of God's sponsorship. The story of Benezek's sainthood declares that he, indeed, lifted the boulder and threw it into the river as the first foundation of the original bridge (which fell down in the 17th century). Again, superstition reigned in this society regarding floods and the dangers of crossing a bridge. Men of letters of the day wrote that "...one cannot cross the bridge at Avignon without meeting 2 monks, 2 mules and 2 whores."

We enjoyed a Galette for lunch which is a savory crepe with contents of your choosing. I had spinach and goat cheese while Dennis enjoyed ham, tomatoes, mushrooms and goat cheese. The Galette is very filling and healthy at the same time. Yet another recipe to work on at home.

L'economie en France

The notion of economy is broad here, and it manifests itself from macro to micro. While Europe is considering a $1 trillion bailout for Greece, Portugal and the rest of the "Eurozone", we see the signs of conservation and sound economic practices in every day life. The hotels often require your room key/card to be inserted in a reader to keep the lights on. The objective is clear: when you leave the room, why waste electricity? Toilets have two flushing options, a light flush for liquid waste and a more substantial one for solid, therby conserving water. Our VW Passat rental car is comfortably getting 40 mpg (diesel) even when driven at the autoroute speed limit of 130 kph (81 mph). Rather than indulging in excess, the French use just as much as is needed.

When it comes to food, the portions are modest by American standards, but still provide ample quantities to savor the meal and feel pleasantly satisfied. Last night we enjoyed local lamb chopes and ratatoille, the latter being a very delicious mixture of tomoatoes, zuchini, eggplant, bell peppers, onions and olive oil. The melded flavors were amazing, so this is one dish I resolve to learn upon returning home. My lunchtime chef salad came with the dressing spread on the plate, then the salad and other ingredients place on top. This approach provided just enough dressing for each bite, and none was wasted. But does the notion of excess exist in other cuisine? Croissants are buttery because their extraordinarily flakey dough uses just as much butter as needed to meet the French standards of what a croissant is. Rather than attempting to pass a simple roll as something more, each kind of pastry is made following centuries old rescipes precisely. My mille feuilles patry (literally "thousand leaves" of exceedingly thin dough with strawberries and custard filling) tasted exactly as it should have, and as I remember it to be, because no corners were cut when selecting ingredients or preparation.

I am impressed how conservation of resources and predictable outcomes can live side by side in a society which prides itself on uniqueness and sustaining the culture. Lesson learned!

The Serendipity of Travel

Flying backwards in a newly configured 767 was an interesting experience. The seating is configured 2-2-2 across the plane with each pair of seats alternating direction. Within the module one had a large video screen with remote control, built-in table, lumbar support which automatically inflated/deflated and considerable space to stretch. The seats could be made to recline or lie completely flat, making a surprisingly comfortable bed.

Chicago was briefly visible (above) as we queued up to land at O'Hare, changing planes for Charles de Gaulle. The transatlantic 767 was configured the same way, only we faced forward for that flight.

One never knows who might appear in the course of travel. In the Red Carpet Club in SFO, we saw two friends whom we had not seen in years. One came out of retirement and is traveling extensively, and the other consults on the road nearly every week. It was good to catch up briefly and affirm that we will all try to get together more often. I hope that comes to pass.

In Paris we were hosted by Francois and his father Daniel for a delightful lunch in the Marais district. I met Francois when riding motos with Molly on Mount Tamalpais back in February. Exchanging email resulted in us actually meeting. The white asparagus was in season and rivaled the flavor of spargel in Bavaria. Who knew a chance meeting on the side of a road overlooking Marin in the fog would lead to a new international friendship?

The TGV (train grande vitesse, or train of great speed) moved us at up to 320 km/hr (192 mph) from Paris to Aix-en-Provence. I had to laugh at the contrast between the transportation and the station. On the one hand, we enjoyed one of the most efficient, safe and environmentally friendly means of transport on the planet. Yet when we arrived in Aix, there was 1 working elevator to move passengers from the platform up to the skybridge which led to the station. Thus a 9-car train emptied hundreds of passengers on to a platform and the single, humble elevator moved 6-8 at a time to the station. One would have to wonder why the excellent design principles of the train were not carried through to the stations as well.

Travel with your intuition and instincts turned on full blast to savor the uniqueness which awaits.

A Timless Brasserie

Bofinger (bow-fahn-zhay) near the Place de la Bastille in Paris is one of the few remaining 19th century Brasseries. The decor is authentic, down to the scratches in the wood trim, the massive mirrors, even the ancient half-wall urinals with elaborate porcelain details. We made a reservation for Friday evening, but were told that there were no tables left on the main level beneath the beautiful stained glass ceiling. Upon arrival, the maitre d'hotel could not find our reservation on his list. Remaining calm paid off: he seated us near the center of the sought-after dining room.

The escargots (snails) were perfectly prepared with just enough garlic butter to clog an artery. Thinly sliced artichoke, offered in the style of "carpaccio", was an exceptional starter in flavor and artistic display. Being allergic to red wine posed a problem when ordering our main course because both of us ordered beef (Entrcote and Chateaubriand) and the tuxedoed waiter expected us to order a traditionally compatible wine. Our exchange (in French) went something like this:

"We would like a half bottle of the Sancerre from the Loire, and a half bottle of the Reisling from the Alsace".

He paused, and through a politely crumpled face he observed, "But you have ordered two white wines." His point was clear: how could one possibly consider eating beef and drinking white wine during the same meal.

"We have allergies", I explained. Without hesitation he suggested an alternate approach and even offered us un gout (a taste) just in case we might change our minds. I politely declined and he fetched the two half bottles and put them on ice in a bucket between the narrowly spaced tables.

The beef was delicious, grilled to perfection and accompanied by green beans, frites and tomatoes. Yes, two orders of creme brulee confirmed that Bonfinger retains the top rating of 10 for that amazing dessert. Whether it was serendipity or lack of maintenance, we both enjoyed noticing that the clock in the dining room displayed 7:05 on its unmoving hands, as if time has truly stopped in this unique and special place. Indeed, Bonfinger is timeless.

We will continue to enjoy Paris by following our stomachs and intuition.

Harley and Me

In front of Rosie's Bench, Volcano, California.

There are communities within communities. While the brotherhood of bikers (all genders included) is universal, bikes of a feather do flock together. Never was this more apparent than on Saturday's ride through the Gold rush foothills of Amador County, CA. Seven riders from our moto club at work showed up for the ride: 6 were on Harley Davidson Motorcycles, including the matching jackets, bandannas, and even special tiny bells hung on the underside of the bike to ward off highway gremlins. There is so much I do not know about the customs and protocols of this very friendly gang.

Like the bellows of an accordion, the gap between riders in formation expands and contracts to maintain the safe zigzag pattern as the traffic and road conditions change. As the only sport bike, and foreign to boot, I felt like an F-15 fighter among a posse of Boeing 747s. We rode through ghost towns like Plymouth, Drytown, Jackson, Fiddletown and Volcano. It is not an exaggeration to say that nearly 100 motorcycles were parked in front of the boardwalk hosting the historic Rosie's Bench. Every single bike but mine was a Harley. It reminded me of Sesame Street when the puppets sang, "One of these things doesn't belong, one of these things is not like the other..." It wasn't hard to find the outlier.



I have never been a member of a gang, but this group of gentle riders earned my respect and undying gratitude for letting me join the club, if only for the day.

Travel Details

Miles ridden: 253
Duration (actual saddle time): 5 hrs 9 minutes
Average mpg: 49
Average speed: 48 mph
Maximum speed: 92 mph (very briefly to reform the 7-bike zigzag on I-80 when 2 cars separated the group)

Fog? What fog?

Joy gave me a book of moto rides in California for Christmas 2008. (Yeah, I'm slow). One of the easy-to-access recommended destinations is Mt. Tamalpais in Marin County. Anyway, today Molly and I took advantage of a break in the welcome rain storms and we sought the summit. The road poses far more interesting terrain than my straight-line commute. Ascending to the summit involves following a tightly coiled 2-lane road with many blind corners, magnificent views and the opportunity to share the lane safely with brave folks on bicycles.

Molly made textbook perfect turns on the unfamiliar road, braking before the turn, and then maintaining speed or accelerating through it. I like following her because we are of like mind: to arrive safely and have fun. As we rose above the mist and low fog, we enjoyed glimpses of the Pacific Ocean, the foothills in Marin and even San Francisco. The summit had limited sight lines and was really a parking lot providing access to trails which cover the park. Part way down, we paused at a remarkable overlook and met a delightful French tourist from Dijon. He graciously took our picture and tolerated my Belgian accent.


We ate lunch on the deck of the Mountain Inn overlooking spectacular estates in Mill Valley. I recommend the pulled pork sandwich, yet I'm confident Molly enjoyed her heuvos rancheros. This outing was a very peaceful and beautiful experience, and it's definitely worth doing again.

The Sutro Tower in SFO as seen above the fog on Mt. Tamalpais


Total distance travelled: 103 miles

Average Fuel economy: 45 mpg

Total saddle time: 3 hours 5 minutes

Number of bridge crossings: 4

Highest gear used on Mt. Tamalpais: 2nd

Turns Out You Can't Get Anything You Want....

....at Alice's Restaurant. But that's okay because just the experience of being there was, to use a '60s phrase, "Cool!". Yup, I'm a Bay Area Native who had never been to this infamous place before Sunday. But thanks to my Riding Buddy, Molly, we found ourselves heading south on Skyline to the little berg of Woodside. At an odd sort of confluence of small, country paved roads, one finds a collection of restaurants with many motos parked in front. To my casual eye, I was the only Italian sport bike in the lot. But that's okay because I'm used to being the outlier.


Molly and I have the same approach to riding: have fun and arrive safely with all body and bike parts in good order. We thoroughly enjoyed the road winding through the redwoods, despite the 49-degree air temperature. The sun came out which kept us comfortable while we enjoyed our lunch outdoors (the propane heater at our table did not work). I enjoyed holding on to my cup of hot apple cider as much as I enjoyed raising my core temperature by drinking it.

On the ride home, we found ourselves behind an inexperienced rider which concerned me for safety reasons. One never, ever applies the brakes on a moto while banked in a curve; however, this person did so repeatedly which told me that s/he did not really know how to ride. At the first legal and safe place to pass, I did so, but Molly chose to hang back.

We met up at the Scenic Overlook where Hwy 92 took us on separate paths home.

My trip home took me across the San Mateo Bridge, then up 880 briefly to 580, then 13 and the Caldecott Tunnel to 24. The total saddle time was 2-1/2 hours, my longest to-date. And I arrived comfortable, yearning for more. I am not sure where Molly and I will end up next...perhaps at the Beach during a window of nice autumn weather when the wind is not blowing sand across the Great Highway.

Here's Molly's account of the trip:

http://m-dash.blogspot.com/2009/10/alices-restaurant.html

The Bee

The Knoll Pool at The Ridge is aptly named because the desert community of Minden, NV is visible to the southeast while the green Lake Tahoe basin is visible to the north. At 7800' of elevation, I chose to gently glide through the pool rather than doing laps, taking my time to acclimate to the reduced oxygen.

What summertime and pools have in common at most elevations is the inevitable discovery of a drowning insect. The honeybee was nearing the end of his struggle, legs flailing uselessly as his body bobbed wherever the children's waves sent him. I paused, remembering the two times I was stung, and the fact that I'm allergic to bee stings and did not have my Epipen handy. In less time that it takes to read this sentence, I remembered that nasty yellow jackets had stung me without provocation, which is how I learned of my severe allergy. This honeybee was probably just doing his job when he became stranded by an errant splash of pool water.

I cupped my hands under water to ensure adequate cushion for the bee, and then I lifted my make-shift bowl and set him on the pool deck. Initially, he walked, staggered really, in an erratic path. Perhaps this was the remnant of his frantic attempt at swimming. Then he abruptly stopped walking and stood still on the warm pool deck in the full sun. I stayed in the water, watching him, cautioning approaching barefoot humans to give him a wide berth.

After several motionless minutes warming in the sun, the bee began to "groom" himself, forelegs wiping over his head like a fly, tentative movement of wings, abdomen noticeably flexing. I thought this was good news and hoped a hungry Bluejay did not intend to appear and ruin the moment.

When the bee suddenly lifted off and flew away, I felt a sense of connectedness to creation. What a perfect way to ease into a summer nap.

Aliens on Mt. Shasta

Sundown on Mt. Shasta

Driving south on Interstate 5 returning from Ashland, one can't help but notice how often there are odd cloud formations near the top of Mount Shasta. As the sun set one January afternoon, I was struck by the clouds shaped like rings of Saturn near the summit. My friend Sue thinks that the Lunarians live in the mountain, so probably these special clouds give them cover to land undetected.

The trip back to the Bay Area is visually interesting through the Siskiyou mountains, then you arrive in Redding. Sigh. Continuing south is rather dull, flat, many miles of straight uninspired Interstate with such exciting exits as "Proberta", "Balls Ferry" and the ever popular "Zamora". Often these exits do not provide any services, so one wonders why there is an exit at all. Once I reach the Hwy 505 cutoff back to I-80, the nonsense exits continue. My favorite paradox is Exit 17 to a destination called "Road 8".

Miles to Nowhere

Interstate 40 crosses the Tehachapi Mountains and the Mojave Desert before entering AZ

We took a 1,100 mile road trip to Lake Havasu, Arizona to visit Dennis' mom last week. The Colorado river widens into a man-made lake at this location because of a downstream dam. So the location is popular with the boating community and those who want to see the London Bridge which was relocated brick by brick to become a tourist attraction. In summer, the temperature can easily reach over 115 degrees, cooling down at night to a mere 104. At least that was our experience when we visited 3 years ago for mom's 75th birthday, and so we nicknamed the barren area "Gates of Hell".

This visit was very nice, including delicious meals and play time with siblings, cousins, aunts, nieces, nephews and (of course) dogs. A paved 4-mile trail is well organized with bicycles going clockwise and walkers going counterclockwise. On skates with dogs, we considered ourselves walkers. Roman actually sustained a 4-mile trot as I skated beside him on the second day. The family members who walked completed the loop in about 1 hr and 20 minutes, a pretty good pace indeed.

Cyndie, Paula, Roman and Josie on the 4-mile path

Cousin Paula made the most hilarious observations of the topography and local community:

• "This place is just like Afghanistan, only without the bullets!" (referring to the rugged, treeless terrain)




• "Bin Laden is probably hiding in the Model homes!" (as we passed an abandoned new housing development with only 3 model homes built and no activity whatsoever, who would think to look for terrorists there?)


Abandoned new housing development with 3 hearty palm trees attempting to survive




• "Mr. Bunny was surprised!" (referring to the cottontail rabbits who routinely traverse mom's backyard and did not expect two dogs to be there, the rabbits left quickly and dashed into the "wash", a gully designed for flash floods. Perhaps the coyotes got them.)




• "It's time for pee-pee NOW!" (this is the universally understood road-trip cry when there are no rest areas for extended periods while crossing the desert)

I was struck by the lack of solar panels on homes. Of all the places I have visited, Lake Havasu would be the ideal location to generate electricity from the sun, especially with the heavy use of residential air conditioning (even the garages have their own, separate swamp coolers!).

On the ride home, I took the snapshot below of the airplane storage area in the Mojave desert. Presumably, planes are stored here because of the low humidity....they don't deteriorate as quickly as they might in a wetter location.



Roman is a great traveler and never once complained about the long stretches. He just slept in doggie business class, the entire backseat being given over to him.