A Pile of Rocks In The Middle of a Field on the Side of the Road: The Dominoes of Stonehenge

A BIT OF CULTURE NEVER HURT ANYONE

June 4, 2004.  There were only a few Must Sees for our England portion of our Europe trip; quality time with Naomi was #1 on that list, anything else was just whipped cream on the banana split. London came in second, with Stonehenge (okay, and eat fish and chips, too) not far behind. As it turned out, we would get to see both places with Naomi, putting the cherry on top of the whipped cream on the banana split (and served with fish and chips). I have often said that most people really don’t take advantage of what is at their backdoor. While that is not necessarily true for everyone, I have heard many people say that often tourists knew more about their city then they did, as more often than not, tourists do a bit of research on where they are going before they get there- I’m referring to educated tourists and not the Ugly American tourist who have given the rest of us a bad name. It seems to be that when you grow up surrounded by so much cultural heritage, that you become blind to it. Naomi had stressed to me that she was not much into culture/history the way I was; she was quite aware that I could be something of a history addict. Having been born and raised in a city less than 200 years old, it is really no wonder that I was starved to be wandering around a land which had thousands of years of history. I have wandered around ancient Mexico; I was ready for the Old World. I don’t expect others to share my enthusiasm for history, but it is a treasure when they humor me; Naomi was willing to go with us to Stonehenge and get a little cultured with us. Continue reading

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Cuba’s Southern Gem: Trinidad

 

Cuba, 2000: The day tour was called ‘Trinidad and Cienfuegos’, a tour to the southern coast of Cuba. Our first stop was at Cienfuegos, once called ‘the Pearl of the South’, and it was immediately apparent why. It had very well preserved old mansions by the sea, as well as a lovely main square with a colonial theater. We drove through a couple of blocks to gawk at the old mansions (more like palaces), made a quick stop to tour the interior of the Thomas Terry Theater with its original everything from chairs to décor; then we were off.

The main focus of the tour was Trinidad, about an hour away from Cienfuegos. I knew nothing about Trinidad, knowing the name only for its more famous tocaya (person/thing sharing same name), the famous Caribbean island. While I had initially gone along for the ride for amusement, I would return twice for the pleasure of wandering its lovely streets. Trinidad was nothing if not lovely, with cobblestone streets and colorful colonial buildings well-preserved; it came as no surprise that it proudly carried the title of UNSECO World Heritage town. Continue reading

The Great Mayan Race: Family, Snorkeling and Culture in 48 Hours or Less

 

My cousin Maggie’s birthday is this week, so this one is for her!

2002: I was in the Mayan Riviera with Vidal for slightly over three months before Mom came to visit; she and cousin Maggie came for a three night stay in our hotel. As they arrived early, we had a nice lunch and a relaxing afternoon by the pool. As the hotel grounds there were huge, there was hotel transportation from one end of the resort to the other, great especially for those of us who want to make the best of every minute and not be late for dinner. We met up in the lobby and got on our “train” to the restaurant. We dined in the specialty restaurant, having a nice Mexican meal while strolling mariachis played at each table, with a gorgeous view of the sea; a wedding party had arrived to have their small reception there.

We left the restaurant about 8:00pm, had to walk past two buildings to get to the transportation pick-up spot.  We knew Ma and Maggie would be exhausted, having had to be at the airport at 4:30am, and would be too exhausted to make it to the 10pm nightly hotel entertainment. But- God didn’t want them to miss out on a good show. Continue reading

Antigua: Guatemala’s Colonial Gem and Putting our Backpacks to Rest

August, 2002. It was chilly, although the elevation was only 5,029 ft – just over 1,000 ft less than the day before, but 5,029 ft higher than what we were accustomed to, just the same. Over a much needed cup of Guatemalan java, I perused my newly acquired used, dog-eared Guatemalan travel guide book (an ancient Rough Guide), to get ready for our day of exploring Antigua.  Guatemala, that is; not to be confused with the island of the same name.

Continue reading

Amigas in Cozumel

My dearest friend René offered to sacrifice a week out of her busy schedule and head to Cozumel for a week, where I could easily meet her. I had flown from Zihuatanejo across the country to the Riviera Maya to be with my husband, where he once again was working for a few summer months. I had only seen him for a few days by the time René arrived, but as he worked all day long and I would be alone all the time, I figured I might as well go enjoy the companionship of René and find new adventures, right? Continue reading

When in Rome… Roam!

Rome was our favorite city. The history, the charm – and above all, the food! A few weeks ago, Vidal and I were searching YouTube for some fun travel and food videos in Italy, as we reminisced of our wonderful trip to Europe back in 2004.  Whenever we talk about that trip, we always bring up our most favorite restaurant there – the Taverna Romana- which was a truly Italian experience; unforgettable.  I searched on YouTube, only to find that the owner, Tonino, had recently passed away, and his beloved wife sold the tavern.  I can’t imagine going back to Rome and finding any restaurant as authentic as that mom-and-pop taverna.  We were blessed to have experienced it.  I had read tourist reviews of people raving about the food, but thought Tonino was a cranky old guy.  How sad that they didn’t see through that rough exterior to see the wonderful man we saw, He even smiled for us, and welcomed us back the rest of the week with open arms. Like family.

AN ITALIAN DRIVER AND HIS QUIET MOBILE CALL: WELCOME TO ROME!!

Wednesday, July 7, 2004. Still nursing a knee injury from running with the bulls in Pamplona (well, from dancing in the streets beforehand), Vidal had gotten me a wheelchair at the airport and a bulkhead seat on the Volare plane. We landed at 8:30pm, but unfortunately I was the last one off, due to the wheelchair. We saw a man holding up a sign: ‘Sr. Vidal’, and assumed it was our driver, but we had to wait for our luggage, which came out last. Another 15 minute wait for that before we got in his Suburban, then he asked us where we were going. Confused, as he had been sent by the nuns at our pensione to get us, I just said we were going to the Convent. He asked us which one. I pulled out my papers to look for the name, told him it was Istituto il Rosario- on Via Sant’Agata dei Goti. Where is it?, he asked… He did not know where it was, so he picked up his mobile phone to call his office…. All this of course as he was driving at full speed, like he was in Mexico City or on Chicago’s Dan Ryan, no sign of slowing and it might as well have been rush hour with a ton of traffic ahead of us, going quite a bit slower. He rode on the tails of cars without seeming to bother the drivers whatsoever, as they would simply change lanes to get out of our way without complaint, as if he were Moses parting the sea of cars; all of that while he was talking on his cell phone. Let me rephrase that for anyone not accustomed to Italians having a conversation: all the time he was yelling – loudly – on the cell phone. Then he would hang up and ask us something in a perfectly normal friendly voice, like where are you from, first time to Rome, etc. I was trying hard not to laugh out loud, thinking, oh, yeah! WE ARE IN ITALY!! Poor Vidal was sweating profusely and turning green, thinking we were going to die… His only experience with Italians was our Italian-American friend Tony from New York, who was an even-tempered Prozac addicted card carrying flower child compared to our driver.

THE ANCIENT CITY IN LIGHTS

It was late, the convent had a curfew, we were starving and there was no way I could be in Rome and not see something my first night. For that reason I had chosen the convent, as it was supposed to be a few blocks from the Coliseum. I started to pray for three things: 1- Please get us safely to the convent; 2- Please let us see something of Ancient Rome along the way so I would not have to drag Vidal’s butt out 5 minutes before curfew to see the Coliseum, and 3- Please get us to the convent in time to feed our growling bellies- we were famished! Suddenly, I saw some ancient buildings that were lit up with floodlights and asked what they were; he simply said, ‘Caracalla’. My heart leaped and a grateful ‘Thank You’ went up to heaven- we had just passed by the Terme di Caracalla, the Roman baths of Emperor Caracalla of 212AD; we were in ancient Rome! Prayer #2 answered, I knew I would sleep happy that night! We passed up an old aqueduct; I thought to myself, ho-hum; I had seen Roman aqueducts before so it was not as thrilling as the Caracalla, but then realized they were different… They were Roman aqueducts- in ROME- my first aqueduct sighting in the great city itself! Then suddenly… There it was- the Coliseum, all lit up! I was so thrilled and thankful to God for it! I knew we were close then, as the convent was only a few blocks from the Coliseum; it was 9:40pm. Even so, our driver got lost and had to make another screaming call…

WE ONCE WERE LOST BUT NOW WE FOUND OUR WAY TO THE CONVENT

We pulled up at 10pm at the convent, with Vidal’s help (yes, his fake Italian was that good) and assistance from 3 people in the streets and a call to the nuns. Prayer #1 answered- we checked in at 10pm; the sisters were so lovely, so sweet, and spoke perfect Spanish… They were all from Columbia! We got turned around trying to finding our room, #202; isn’t that the way it always is when one is pressed for time…? Cute room with separate twin beds, it was still bigger than what we had in a few other places in Europe. We went back down quickly to ask about something nearby for dinner as we were cutting it close for the 11pm curfew; they directed us to a local tavern (Sisters! Really?) – the Taverna Romana. We asked the sister, a lovely little elderly lady from Columbia, what would happen if we got back a few minutes late, as we were concerned we could not eat that fast. With a straight face, she told us not to worry, they would just lock the doors and just let us in when they opened up in the morning! A bit more relaxed, we followed her directions: Walk to the end of the street, turn right at the wall, a few doors down. We hurried (I hobbled fast); just a short walk away we found it.

THE BEST LITTLE RESTAURANT IN ROME: NO PASTA, FINITO!

The Taverna Romana was a family run tavern, quite busy, but there was fortunately one table open. The owner, in his white shirt, white pants and white apron, greeted and seated us. He gave us menus, showed us the pasta side of the menu, told us in Italian,

“No pasta, finito!”

then turned the menu over, told us ‘si’ for that side of the menu, ‘no’ for the pasta side of the menu. He told us the specialty in Italian, Abbacchio scottadito- ‘burned-finger lamb’, pointing to it on the menu. We ordered wine, water and antipasto to start; Vidal ordered the lamb, I ordered sausage. He told me no, pointing to the lamb. I pointed to the sausage again. He said no, pointing to the lamb. Slightly confused at the apparent communication problem, I showed him the pasta side of the menu and said, ‘pasta no?”; he smiled and nodded in agreement, “Si, pasta, no!” I was in an Italian comedy, right? I held up the other side, pointing at it- ‘this side, si?’ He smiled and said “Si”! So I pointed to the ‘Si’ side, and ordered the sausage. He smiled, repeated again sausage no, you want the lamb… at least, I assumed that was what he said, as it was all in Italian! I gave up, ordered the lamb. He smiled and said ‘Molto buono!’ He walked away, I about bust a gut laughing, trying to tell Vidal that was a typical Italian scene from a comedy… Oh dear God, thank you so much! I love Rome! The antipasto, olives and hollow bread came out… Oh, my dear Lord, we are in HEAVEN! The best Pecorino cheese, the best spicy olives, delicious bread, sausage and some indescribably delicious spicy dried beef, accompanied by a small jug of splendid house wine; even the mineral water was perfect-not too fizzy. It was all so perfect; it was to die for… And then came the Abbacchio scottadito… six lamb chops each, finger smacking good, I could read into our new Italian friend’s smiling eyes- “I told you so”! I couldn’t wait to see if they made my favorite dish, Fettuccini Alfredo. We both knew we would be returning there, to our new favorite restaurant IN THE WORLD, every night. We asked for the check at 10:50pm, we were back at the convent seconds before the doors shut at Il Rosario at 11pm sharp.

ON A CLEAR NIGHT, YOU CAN SEE ALL WITHIN ROME

Back at the convent, Sister Marta told us breakfast would be served from 7-9am (ha ha, Vidal, can’t sleep late!), and recommended a hop on hop off bus tour to get us oriented. Great, we said, we love those! -we had been so grateful that we took advantage of a hop-on hop-off bus tour earlier in Barcelona, it was really a great way to get the lay of the land without losing precious time, and with trivial bits that I love so well, to boot! Sister Marta also told us we should take a look up on the roof, as we could see the Colosseum, so we did… It was like a dream, seeing the top of the Colosseum all lit up, just a few short blocks away. I found a copy of Luke’s Gospel in our room, in 7 languages. This is sooo cool, thank you, Lord! Sweet dreams, fair sisters…

– Excerpt from: A Pile of Rocks on the Side of the Road: Taco’s European Adventures, Chapter  40

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Cousins & Aztec Stomping Grounds: Mexico City, 1978

It was summer of 1978; Ma told me we were going to Mexico. It was not a question, it was a statement; she was taking me to Mexico.  I was thirteen yrs old, which translates to ‘rebellious teenager who prefers to be with her friends doing nothing than go gallivanting anywhere with her mother’.  Okay, so it kinda sounded like fun; after all, I was half Mexican, Taco was my nickname, I was taking Spanish in school and excelling (naturally!).  Mom then said Mary and Steve were also coming along.  I yielded; we were on our way to Mexico! Continue reading