Farewell...

...and thanks to my Brits friends.

… for being such amazing hosts. Never ceasing to be touched by the manner in which the British people take me under their wing and nurture my understanding of their island, I forever look forward to my next return.

From walking the South Bank of London with friends, to attending Parliament’s questioning of the Prime minister to the amazing way the Brits display their pride and love for the place they live, I am the richer for this early summer’s experience.




Living garden planted and tended on the side of a building


One of my host's very Brit kitchen---lovely

Never in my wildest imaginings could I have seen myself sitting on the patio that hugs the Thames outside Parliament in eighty degree sunshine sipping on a fruity Pims beverage listening to a very dedicated and inspiring Member Of Parliament tell me of her most recent efforts to gain more equality through legislation for all her people. Adjourning into the House of Common’s wood paneled lunchroom, tuxedoed waiters serving delicious gourmet fare (expelling the wife’s tale that there is no good food in England); it was as if in a dream that I basked in the ancient climate of democracy.

I am eternally in the debt of the people who are at the root of our language and culture. They continue to prove why our bond is so strong and my draw to write about them and their country to be so right.

An Italianesque Greek Isle

The Greek islands are generally thought to be charming, if somewhat primitive in amenities; white washed buildings hugging the shore, windmills at lands end, stunning turquoise domes complimenting the sea. You may be surprised to find the isle of Corfu in Greece’s far northwest to be quite the contrary. It is its location in the Ionian sea a short sail from the Italian coast that has colored its environment. Locals tell me it is indeed the Venetian influence, buildings reflecting those of its neighbour much more closely than those of Greek extraction. Lovely ironwork decorates balconies, bright oranges, yellows and pink paint the walls. Fresh laundry flaps in the breeze strung from open shuttered windows.




The entire economy of the island revolves around tourism. They are eager and ready to welcome off islanders during the warm months of June through September. Seldom have I seen such organized productive use of resources in greeting new arrivals and seeing to the comfort of departing guests. The Corfu airport is a model of modern efficiency; a well oiled machine which may strain under the numbers of high season tourists, but has definite well-rehearsed plan to handle them. Innumerable open air cafes line the beaches and roads tempting the passerby to stop and linger awhile. It is indeed the pace of the island to pause and rest. Hotels offer balconies outside most rooms, beautiful vistas of the lovely clear water and verdant cliffs your reward.














Pricing is moderate and availability of delicious Greek fare everywhere.
Graceful magenta bougainvilleas drape over wall and terrace, potted flowers adorn patios, the dusty green of olive trees are interrupted by spikes of tall dark junipers.


Creamy yellow butterflies flit and the ever present refrain of the sea plays accompaniment in this dulcet holiday environ. Thunderheads build across the water above the Greek/Albanian mainland. Late night flash of electricity gilds the clouds in silver silhouette; far off rumbling of Zeus holding court high over the thirsty hills. A singular ferry cuts through the water making way for the sparkling thread of shoreline.

Ancient Phoenicians planted some eight million olive trees during their tenure on Corfu; the locals harvest their bounty, black nets rolled under each in anticipation of collecting the drop.

Olive oil, olive wood boxes and jewellery, herbs, kumquats, orange and lemons are produced in abundance still in the hands of small locally owned family farms. The tasty refreshment of Mythos lager is held in high esteem as is the gyros filled pitas. Lamb chops bathed in oregano seasoned oil and wine vinegar are the best in the world and the crisp Greek salad with its dark lettuce, crunchy cucumbers, purple onion, salty olives and ruby red tomatoes topped with a generous rectangle of feta cheese is repast of the Gods after a long hot afternoon of island exploration.



Food markets are well stocked and plentiful for those who wish to purchase supplies for picnicking in one of the myriad of lovely coves. Atop its tall hills, quaint villages cling, single track roads serpentine through narrow passageways.

Old men rest in the shade of town squares, scooters buzz about through the more traveled districts; the quiet of midday retreat from the intense Mediterranean sun an intelligent and anticipated habit. Restaurants come alive after sunset and remain so late into the evening.

Children are ever present; a genuine family atmosphere pervasive. Perhaps it is these very features that make this destination so attractive to young families. There is fun and relaxation for members of all ages.
Always in the background are the native Corfoits offering service and cultural color. They make their living during the short summer months working seven days a weeks metaphorical penance for well earned off season rest. Willing and helpful, they project a genuine air of hospitality. Although your ears and eyes may fill with the unfamiliar strains of Greek, most residents speak English, most menus translated. Some pockets of the island resemble third world neglect result of harsh marine environment and meager means, one never feels unsafe. Strong and proud, the Greeks are descendents of the fathers of modern thought, politics and our languages--the cradle of civilization. They wear the mantle well.

..

The Eternal City

The eternal city just may have earned its name by the breathtaking environs. At every turn there is a new cluster of shops, dancing fountain or hazy vista to please the eye.


The neighbor that is an island within it—Vatican City, influences the entirety of Rome.

Swiss Guardsmen watch over the grounds protecting the Pope and the integrity of the state.


St Peter’s Dome is central,

seen from all around the city as reminder of the deep roots of mother church. Arguably the most beautiful religious edifice in the world, Saint Peters dwarfs the individual by the grand scale of its soaring archways and exquisite art.

Shafts of white light filter through incense shrouded air adding to the ethereal effect.

Clergy gather for Friday evening Vespers; cardinals, bishops and priests shoulder to shoulder.

Men’s choral strain float to the heavens, pure rich aural refrain to the majesty of it surrounds.

The streets buzz with traffic skirting such ancient site as the Forum, Coliseum and Pantheon.


Mimicking St Peters in effect, the Pantheon stands a perfect example of the way Rome absorbs its history lying in the embrace of neighborhood houses and shops.

All this rich history is part and parcel of the heartbeat of this place.

A Piece of Italian Paradise

Gliding through the deep waters off the Amalfi coast is like being present on the set of a James Bond film. White water churning behind the boat, spray in your face, sheer cliffs resplendent with smooth plasterwork houses painted crisp white or any of an assortment of Tuscan oranges, cheery pinks or lemon yellow, one would hardly be surprised if one of the multi million Euro yachts launched a sleek speedboat into the sea in your pursuit.



Forty five minutes to the Ischia harbour, the captain of the ferry pulls back on the power and we sidle up to the pier. Life ashore hums with movement; scooters weave through traffic, pedestrians boldly compete for narrow sidewalks and the carabinieri stand at pivotal passageways allowing only certain vehicles to pass. We hop on one of a small fleet of island circling buses jostling along the smooth black cobbles toward the enclave of Lacco Ameno.



Up and over one of the numerous volcanic hills, we wind our way along the coast, warm breeze tossing hair about in playful welcome. The wind is not unlike that of the Hawaiian Islands keeping inhabitants gratefully cooled. On the crest of summer, temperatures have not soared into the discomfort zone and I am happy to shed the layers of clothing that have kept me warm the past few weeks in northern climes.



Time slows in this sleepy little piece of heaven. The appearance of Lacco Ameno’s landmark ‘Il Fungi’ mushroom shaped rock in the harbour ahead signal our arrival.





Claudia’s warm smile welcomes us to her B&B set a block up a private lane from the sea. Not only do I anticipate warm custard filled coronet crescent roll and frothy café latte in the morning, but evening meals are also included. Our hosts make sure the bounty of their island is served. Rabbit, fresh pesto, herbs harvested from pots decorating the stone walls of the garden and fish caught right off of the coast are amongst the nightly repast.



By the second or third day, I have forgotten the date, the existence of the modern world faded into the recesses of my mind as some long past memory. The sights, sounds and smells of the island fill me with eerily familiar feelings. The flora mimics closely the southern California environs; startling fuchsia bougainvilleas cascade over terraced walls, the dusty green of olive trees compliment oleanders in full bloom.









The height of the stay is the exhilaration of riding a sleek silver scooter through the winding narrow roads up and down the mountainous terrain lushly covered in grapevines, native grasses and wildflowers.



The smell of sulfur plays undertone to the many pleasant orders of cooking and the ever-present herbs. This is the island known Mediterranean wide as being the healing spa, its numerous caldera vents heating the sea in natural pools of varying degree. Even the Il Fungi has one, the sea warms as you slip by underwater along its perimeter.
The residents take great pride in the offerings of their shores. Restaurants are nestled in small alleyways and along the sea, smell of garlic and crisp crusty bread inviting the passerby to rest under the shade of a straw umbrella and sip a Peroni lager whilst enjoying the best pizza in the world.






Stores close from one to five allowing the island to rest in the cool shade under colorful awnings or retreat into the welcome dim of hotel room or spa.









Tile is the choice of flooring as well as décor. It is soothing on weary feet and beautiful adornment to walls and storefront.






Civilization heralds from before the Roman Empire. Many visitors since have lingered making this place home. There is a supernatural feel to sea and air, accepting all who come here into its warm embrace. As I head for Rome, I am sad to leave this largely undiscovered island. Setting for an upcoming novel, it will fill the pages with riches beyond monetary wealth. Come along with me to an place bathed by turquoise sea, home to one of summers most prestigious film festivals and respite for the weary urban dweller.

The Road From Paris To Lyon

Paris takes on a more romantic air by night.

The business of the day is complete and the streets fill with diners and those who wish nothing more than to enjoy its charm. The sadness of the memorial service held at Notre Dame for the crash victims aboard an Air France flight gives way to the peace and comfort of dark. Those that filled the vast Luxembourg Gardens
have gone home and the streets are bathed in golden lamplight. The glass domed boats that cut through the Seine are moored.

Even the landmark monuments that glow white in the sun now whisper by night.

The famous and everyday lie side by side in Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise

Final resting place of the Doors, Jim Morrison,


dancer Maria Callas, literary genius Oscar Wilde and a host of affluent Parisian families entombed in mausoleums of chiseled stone). Structural lines fall into shadow casting each nuance of architecture in dramatic relief .

Gargoyles overlook passersby and the rotating searchlight of the Tour de Eiffel marks the rhythm of the city as it moves toward slumber.

Urban life slips away as my French friend and I listen to the metal on metal song of the high speed train that whisks us through the fertile centre of France to the city considered the culinary Mecca of Europe---Lyon. His parents spoil us with fine beef, pungent local cheeses and fruit so sweet there need be no other dessert. Always there is the bread---that quintessential icon of French life---the baguette.

Crust crispy perfection protecting its light open-textured heart, this is the definition of the staff of life at its pinnacle.

Touring the Burgundy region to the north, we dodge showers, enjoying the Saturday market,

lunch served in underground wine cellar of old and wine tasting at the premiere Chateau de Meursault.

The cedar of Lebanon has stood watch over the estate for two hundred fifty years, it the youth of a realm whose cellars and house date back to the eleventh century.

A Sunday walk along the Soane River reveals a city less congested than its capital sister to the north, but retaining much of the same feeling. Bicycles (Vivlib) are hirable for one Euro per twenty-four hour period allowing anyone with the desire to experience the streets, wind in hair atop cheap transportation. I used the Parisian version affording a vantage of the Seine and the many landmarks of Paris few foreigners experience.

Lyon is at the confluence of the Rhone and Soane bisecting the city providing miles of riverside walks. Elegant swans share the river with sleek barges


and the flags of country, city and European Union fly proudly. Seldom have I been treated with such genuine warmth, nor spoiled so regally. Can the caricature of the rude Frenchman be a myth? Perhaps the secret is to arrive quietly, absorb the atmosphere gratefully and savor the sights, sounds and flavours that are uniquely French. Oh…and having a native friend as guide and host is best of all.

Paris - One Day In June

Little to say that has not been said before about this most beautiful of cities so I will let the photos do the talking...

Buildings...









...and streets...









gardens...









restaurants...






people...















in the grocery...









lunch...



art is everywhere...









even in the everyday behind glass...

The Road To Aberfeldy

What took weeks before the car now but a couple hours along narrow roads that wind through some of the world's most beautiful scenery. I am escorted from the stark and wild isles to Scotland's heartland.

Lochs rest a'plenty in the glacial valleys, bracken awakens through the reminents of autumn,

romantic castles stand proud atop hills and on tidal islands

and water gurgles over granite, weeping from every hillside, roaring in scattered confluence of stream.


The town of Aberfeldy lies at the center of the country; every turn witness to a rich past. The famous Black Watch regiment born here,



Castle Menzies standing in sleepy meadow,

the enclave of Kenmore host to poet Robert Burns - one of his evening's works beautifully penned (by the author himself) above the fireplace in the pub.







Whiskey is made here; the pride of Scottish hands.

Stone circles lay in open farmland, sheep now grazing where men of antiquity left these markers of mystery.



Served by rail, Ronnack station lies at the end of the road, another piece of days gone by.






It is in reluctance that I leave this far northern region. Its secrets and beauty will surely draw me again both through my writing and my presence.