Apartment living in Budapest, Hungary

Well, Rog spoiled me on this one. Yeah, I liked the villa in Verona, as much as I hated the cramped, awful place in Bellagio, but one was country living, the other was city, which were polar opposites, good and bad. With the apartment he found in Hungary, I have the best of both: space and convenience! Not an easy balance to strike when you are also wanting a reasonable deal.

View from our corner apartment down to the restaurant-filled lane below
Let’s talk numbers

Four days, three nights in this three-bedroom, two bath top floor in Budapest, one block for atelier shopping and seven minutes tops (about four blocks) from the central square in Old Town was roughly five hundred Euros. What a steal. Parking wasn’t included, and that was another 60 Euro, so all in, less than 600. Holy cow. Love Budapest! We had one of the best brunch restaurants twenty feet from our doorstep, on the corner of a pedestrian-only lane, which also has two eateries for gluten and vegetarian diners, but also a pub with billiards. Around the corner is Robert Maar boutique, and we met him, had clothes custom made for Rog, and I even picked up two handmade designs by Robert as well.

I’m going to cover the downtown, riverboats, parliament and other subjects separately, since this focus of this blog is to 1) demystify Budapest as a scary, big down for those of you who have shied away from going to the country and 2) show you what can be had for really affordable prices.

View to the pedestrian-only lane (UL), the sitting room (two couches on either side not pictured) (UR) the dining room.
Three bedrooms, one came with girls, too pooped to get out of bed
The building and atrium

Like all structures downtown, zero space exists between buildings. Just two down from us was another undergoing complete reconstruction, the new apartments Euro-modern, not old town. Aside from that is a graffiti-lace building that has yet to undergo a transformation. The units are designated by simple numbers (10-12) per block, so you just locate the number and you are set. Each has electronic pads for entry, then the 12’ high doors open wide. Marble floors, a lift (or elevator as we call it in the States) or the flight up. Being on the sixth floor, what do you think we did once our bags were inside? Walk, of course. Rog just doesn’t feel good about our massive caloric intake unless we get in our stairs.

It’s a beautiful hike though. A wide, 40×40 (at least) bottom floor, open garden is in the middle, and every floor landing has baskets with fresh flowers around the perimeter. The glass elevator is lovely, and we used it when hauling our bags, or when I was simply too pooped to party up those stairs.

Street view in the other direction. See the dome beyond? That’s the magistrate building in Old Town, where the carousel, main Piazza and grand Cathedral are located.
Gates, bars and three locks

Quite a few of the front doors are elegantly designed, and lack a single piece of metal for security purposes. Ours, however, is double doors, the first entry point all metal (in white, matching the door). This was one lock. Then to the door itself, which had two. Nothing is getting past this fortress. Once inside the top-floor, corner unit, we understood why. It’s straight out of the pre-soviet era, when structures were tall and grand. Actually, perhaps they are still that way—we wouldn’t know, but to our new-to-Budapest-eye, it was better than the pictures on Expedia (I think this was on both VRBO and Expedia, but we got a better deal on the Expedia).

As you can see from the pictures, inlaid wood floors, chandeliers which we learned were custom made for this apartment – I should have taken a close up—lilies in different colors accent the lighting in each room save the living room, a nice detail. Care is taken for the floor-to-ceiling drapes, the silk pattern in the living heavy and rich, whereas those in the large kitchen is yellows with a floral print. Yeah, I know this is a lot of info, but it’s worth noting. When you’re on the road for a while, or if it’s your one trip a year, you want the experience to be memorable. Would you rather pay four grand a night at the Four Seasons, or go for two weeks on that same amount of money and have this type of authentic, Hungarian experience? The good news is you have the option and know it’s attainable if you want it.

Best brunch we had–three days out of the four!
What I liked best

The convenience, cost, elegance, safety and vibe of the area. Oh! I can’t forget Café Brunch Budapest. It has several locations, one just below our apartment on the corner. We literally came back from Austria one day (about an hour drive) to get more blueberry muffins for Porsche, they were that good. (we got six).

The café (UL), how fried eggs are made in Hungary (meat added) and the mother-of-muffins which we crossed country lines to get.
What I liked least

This building has a few rentals like ours, but most units are privately owned. Our internet was the worst we’ve had in a month of travel—so bad I couldn’t load a single thing—not a picture or a document at all. We learned from the management that the owner is paying 300 Euro a month for service: Rog told him he was getting raked. Television reception was also horrid, which was too bad since the flat screens were monstrous and deserved to be used. But both were ok; I took a break from doing anything productive, and the lack of tv ensured we got out early and went to bed when we got home.

Feature photo: the Danube taken from the bridge

Hotel Turnerwirt in Salzburg, Austria

A boutique hotel at an excellent location & price

To this point, we’ve stayed at four apartments, a hotel, a villa and two bed and breakfasts. We have a few more countries and accommodations to go, but I’m receiving quite a few DM’s on places we’ve rented, the logic and pricing. At the end of the journey, I’m planning on a roundup of lodging, but in the rush of our trip, can only write full reviews on places as they deserve it. In this case, I’m writing about a boutique hotel we’ve been staying at in Salzburg, The Hotel Turnerwirt.

The lobby shot, old Austrian charm with modern convenience.
Why a “boutique” hotel”

As a matter of policy, we don’t stay in large hotels on overseas trips. The local flavor is what we want, and this is better found with apartments, homes or B & Bs, but we’ve not had good luck with what is called a boutique. We think that’s a euphemism for odd; like the place can’t determine if it’s really a B & B, which means a more homey feel, but doesn’t live up to the services or amenities offered by a large facility. Since “somewhere-in-the-middle” has never really worked for me, we’ve avoided boutiques altoghter.

Enter Hotel Turnerwirt. We fell into this hotel because in Salzburg, rental units of any kind were impossible to come by, even before adding our criteria of parking, air conditioning and helpful things like a washer/dryer. For our timeframe, nothing was to be had, so we had a choice of larger or boutique hotels, and we chose the latter. We also desired a hotel within driving distance to Hohensalzburg, which this is–about five minutes. It’s along the bus line route as well, which comes frequently.

A helpful map of historical Salzburg, Austria in the hotel foyer.
Hotel Turnerwirt

This is a boutique because it’s a traditionally built set of structures operating in the Austrian style of service, which means food service on the bottom floor, a game room for children, reading room for adults, a garden area outdoors and another building for spa treatments. Inside the main structure are wide staircases but narrow hallways, one-room “apartments” versus rooms, which define a family living experience. Situated on a corner facing the mountains, streams on either side require guests to cross one bridge to park, and another bridge to reach the hotel. It’s rather romantic.

The dining room where morning breakfast is served.

The breakfast (not included) serves a traditional Austrian breakfast of cold-cuts, cheeses, breads, musli (granola) and poached eggs.

The convenience to excellent restaurants translates to a 5-10 minute walk in any direction, our favorite being Pizzeria gausthaus Schwaben, down the road and across the bridge. Hip, elegant and underpriced as far as we were concerned. Excellent atmosphere, just know the smoking shop right next door can draft more strongly as the evening wears on.

As usual, we were the early family diners. Nearly every table had a ‘reserved’ card when we arrived, and by the time we left, it was packed.
Schnitzel pre mushroom sauce (UL), fettucini carbonara (UR) and us girls
What I liked most about Hotel Turnerwirt

The location, local flavor and uber-helpful staff. Can’t ask for a better combination of those three elements.

What I liked least

The noise in the morning was pretty brutal. I’m not used to thin(er) walls and full families making a racket. Parking was also a bit tricky when we showed up after 7, but we improvised along the walls and made it work. Compared to most B & Bs, or even hotels, the $20Euro per person for the continental breakfast was a bit on the steep side, so we passed after the first morning.

Feature photo: from the Hotel Turnerwirt website

Five days on a Swiss Farm

We wanted, and got, the true Swiss experience

Not many people know that for my 50th birthday, I asked Rog to find us a place that was local (e.g. didn’t require a plane flight), unique (something we’d never done before in two decades of marriage) and not a lot of money.

“The impossible, in other words?” he asked. Pretty much.

When Rog came back to me a few weeks later, he was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “I don’t want to tell you, but I’m worried you’ll hate it, so as much as I want it to be a surprise, I have to tell you.”

Good thing I was sitting down, because he’d booked a newly-built farmhouse on an eco-farm on a hillside in Nelson, British Columbia (blog forthcoming). It’s owned and run by a Swiss family who’d emigrated ten years prior. The farmer had taken over a ramshackle, one-hundred-year-old home, remodeled it and proceeded to create three, descending ponds, create four garden plots, raise cows from which the wife made butter, cheeses and milk. The experience was so completely odd and wonderful, Rog felt that for this year’s trip, he’d do us one better.

“I found us a 500-year old farm house to live in!”

Wow. Didn’t see that coming.

The local market across from the rail line in the town of Oey, Switzlerand (the market was actually 100% alcohol, but then when one is stepping off the train after working in Bern or Thun, I expect a good stein is what people crave.
A day in the life

Located in the town of Oey, the Familia Herrman Farm is a working farm, which means they live on the output of eggs, veggies, milk, cheese, composts (jams) and other items they produce. The farm has been in the family generations, and is now run by the farmer, his wife Annagret and twelve-year-old daughter. A woman in her mid-twenties had a week off of work for summer break and answered an ad to help out during berry season. During our time, it was lingone berry season, so in addition to the daily routine of waking at 4:30 to be in the garden picking, pruning and cultivating, Annagret was also making jams.

Five hundred years old and looking sharp.

Of the three-story building, our temporary residence was on the top floor, about two-thousand square feet with three bedrooms, a living area, kitchen/dining room and single bathroom. One thing I need to remark about the Swiss, Germans and even Italians—one bathroom to three bedrooms is the norm. That said, the tubs are seriously long- my 5’ 10.5 frame can lounge out toe to head in each bath.

Like many Swiss homes, farm or not, a breezeway dissects the main residence with the outer building, which can contain anything–cars, shop, equipment etc.

Factoid: The Italian influence is felt across the country of Switzerland. Below the arches or above the doorway on the outside of homes is usually the inscription of the family, and its always Familia first, followed by the name of the family.

As we were going to bed at one or two in the morning, Familia Herrmann were up with the sunrise, working until about 11, when Annagret would make breakfast, usually of bacon and some divinely smelling concoction that made our mouths water. The rest of the afternoon was spent indoors, or in the pool to escape the sun. It’s been very warm during our day, the temperatures in the high eighties and one day the low nineties, which is uncommonly hot for this time of year—early July. Those temperatures are usually reserved for a week or two at the end of August.

Another element of Swiss architecture is the use of covered walkways, this one comprised of apple trees trimmed to grow in a linear fashion, up and over the path, to the tree.

My girls helped collect the food from the garden that fed the goats, gather the 80+ eggs from the two chicken coops, played with the dozen or so rabbits and lounged with the two cats. While none of these acts are individually extraordinary, what we wanted them (and us) to see is the day-to-day authentic living of a family, on a farm, in Switzerland. The twelve-year old worked as hard at her prescribed tasks as her mother and father; each contribution vital to the good of the family.

I took to walking morning and evening, doing a loop that was realllllly long and uphill if I went in one direction or short and downhill if I went the other. You know what my lazier self-wanted to do, but the pragmatist in me realized my pants have been getting tighter, so I went counterclockwise to fight the battle of the bulge.

After the daily showers, snails come out with army-like precision, huge and small. We were in awe this little guy went up a six foot apple tree, out the branch to dangle on the leaf, which, by the way, I nearly ran into face first.

One thing I did have to watch out for was the afternoon storms. About 2 p.m. every day, the dark clouds collected, quickly covering the mountains with a dark charcoal. The cracking sound preceded the thunderstorm then the heavens released its watery load. Pellets of rain, hard and furious, drench the entire area. Between the heat and high velocity rain storms, it’s no wonder this region is so blessed with the bounteous crops.

One of four gardens run by the Hermann familia.

Factoid: Horseflies come out at night, along with these uber-sized flying beetles. With the setting sun and cooler air, these wing born carnivores seeking human blood hover near the green fields, and if I walked within about five feet of the fence line, I’d get attacked. Thus, it was that my path was straight down the middle of the road.

Location, location

The quite-as-night rail line is a two-minute drive from the home, and ten-minute walk to Oey which itself has been a joy to explore. Two small grocery stores, a micro-bank, four local restaurants and two outdoor shops. Up the road out of town, we found two ski hills, one if for locals only, and I do mean, only. A small bus that goes up two times in the morning and the same down for the return is the only car that can get up the narrow road. It’s built on an individual’s private mountain.

A typical home in Oey, Switzerland, right off main street.

The other ski resort is would also be considered local, but this at least has five different, two-story chalets, two restaurants and a sports center. It’s running now, and the dozens of mountain bike paths occupied with avid outdoor enthusiasts.

Heading the other direction from town leads you across the lone bridge (and only ingress/egress) to Oey. Turning left heads you to Bern and Zurich, turning right to Thun, to Zermatt (prominently featured in my Danielle Grant romance series) through the Alps and in to Italy. In and around we have toured for five days and we want more!

What I loved

Everything I described. Our five-day, four-night stay on the farm was 574 Euro, which we thought was a screaming bargain. Goats, a pool, rabbits and farm fresh food? Any time.

The Bern region of Switzerland, lush and warm, bulging with agriculture and recreation, skiing, hiking and climbing, Alps style.
What I didn’t

The internet service has been terrible. What I thought was poor in Germany was space travel compared to the automobile which, like any car, was periodically out of service or struggling to even start up. But that’s what you get in the middle of the mountains; a small sacrifice.

Recommendation

Definitely a must-do if you want the authentic, Swiss family farm style experience. What a blast of a time.

The hills are alive…wait, that’s Austria. Regardless, this is what staying on a farm will make you want to do: break out in joyful song, hands in the air.
Feature photo: taken from the grassland in front of the Familia Hermann farm.

Two (Overlooked) Castles in Upper Bavaria: Burg Berghuasen and Saffig

Both come with small townships, local people and not a word of English

Ok. Maybe a word. Hello. that’s what we got and we were thankful for it. The rest of the time, we used Google Translate and smiled a lot.

Day two/37 amounted to three hundred miles , two castles, a butcher-bakery, finding our rental and trying to make an honest Bavarian food fair. Disappointment faded with the people, service and incredible cuisine however, and we ended the day at midnight, while I stayed up until 3 a.m. converting photos and writing blogs. ha.

No speed limits: everyone loves the Autobahn

Shooting down the Autobahn, where no speed limit exists, is the real reason we came to Europe, or so I teased him. He experienced nirvana for about 300 miles and I didn’t blink an eye. 100 mph are normal, and we were getting passed at 110. I won’t tell you how fast he got that Audi A6 touring mobile going as I want my mother alive and happy, not angry or dead.

Zipping through the mountains, we see this incredible (put perfectly normal) feat of German engineering–this unbelievable bridge connecting two mountains, and why? Because why go twenty miles around when that can be shortened to about 2, that’s why. No stopping allowed, so I did my best between trees going way-to-fast.

German roads are ‘da-bomb’ as my daughter said, and we made good time from Aachen through the countryside to our first stop at Burg Berghausen Castle in Keppen in upper Bavaria. This is a manor that didn’t even show up on Wikipedia or any other searches pre-trip, but our car (and Audi A6 touring sedan) showed it on our dashboard, we were going right by anyway, so thought, why not?

Each experience we created this day is special. The soaring tree which made us stop and say: God created this. The second was me thinking: I may need to write a book about a person inheriting a castle, and the last shot, with the girls, was taking as we hypothesized what the evening was going to be like for the couple getting married this evening, and the reception to be held on the deck behind us. What a night it will be for that couple.

It’s more of a manor than castle, but rightly got the designation because it has a bridge with a moat and lake at the backside. Across from the main building are large stables, servants quarters and substantial armory at the front entrance. It’s privately held, open only for special events, but walking the lawns and parks around is open and free. Muskrats the size of a small dog ate feet away from us, and a whole family of four (parents and little ones) waddled right on up expecting to be fed, as did the single, large swan in the lake and loads of ducks. The visit was short but impactful, with Rog and the girls identifying the muskrats and hundred-foot beech trees being their favorite parts.

The horse stables, side of the castle and another angle of the front
The world’s largest, tame muskrat, swan and servants quarters
Local eats in Keppen

Despite the luxurious foods offered at the rest stops, we wanted real German delicacies. Not two minutes in to town we found it at the town’s one and only butchery/bakery. Potato salad, the likes only found in my mother’s kitchen went hand in hand with marzipan and almond pastries, as well as sausage and cold cuts. It was sweet and salty, just the way I like it—so much that I took a pic of the mother-of-all bread making stoves and cajoled the owner to take a selfie. Her first ever. She was so embarrassed, she was fussing over her hair and giggling like a schoolgirl the entire time.

Today, Rog had his vehicular nirvana while mine was culinary. The marzipan pastry as long as Rog’s hand and the little town of Keppen. This was 5 pm-ish. Rush hour.

A note on Keppen: every person here has been incredibly kind and polite, but speak functional English (hello) at best.  We have not met a single person (in two days) who speaks conversational English, although we have two more days so things may change. I’ll keep you posted!

About ten minutes later, we were in Saffig, going up a dirt road to visit the local castle, which is only named Saffig Castle, another one that showed up on our Audio roadmap but not on Google or any listing anywhere! This castle is seriously old (13th century) and is undergoing complete restoration. Personally, I like the old, original stone, and we weren’t allowed to take any photos. Side note: we get that a lot, but usually ignore it, because it’s a ploy to get us to purchase stock photography. Yet sometimes, I ask for permission and get the wink and nod, thus allaying my guilt. That’s what happened with Castle Burg, but not here. I actually received a scowl instead of the nod, so I dutifully put away my camera, but did manage a single shot through the trees as we left the area.

My off-premises shot through the trees. See what I’m talking about on the restoration above? It looks fake and call me a traditionalist, but I like the original.
Our Bavarian rental

This time around, we wanted the fully country experience, which included cows, farmland, locals and meeting more German folks. We loved and appreciated going to towns where English wasn’t spoken at all, because it forced us to speak the language (or at least use Google Translate). Our desire came true with a home in Kammeltal, (pronounced like Camel-tall). From VRBO, we found the home, and are presently perched on the top floor of a two-story home, with three bedrooms, two baths, two balcony’s and modern kitchen, with views to overlooking the small town on one side, and farmland on the other. The backyard is grass, a trampoline and hothouse garden, all for our use. Check in time was 9, and we arrived at 8:40. It’s light here until 10:30, just like Coeur d’Alene. Our German hostess/owner and her family live below us, but we’ve only had a single sighting, which I expect will continue. The house, street and neighborhood are local, mostly older folks who ride their bikes the few blocks in to town—which is a completely different look, feel and style from Ashford, and that’s what we love. One day and veritable world away from what we experienced the day prior.

A few shots of our authentic Bavarian home
Baby room, front and back yard
What I love

People walk their dogs through farmland, which means strips of gravel separating wheat and corn fields, instead of paved paths alongside freeways or streets.

What I don’t

Only four restaurants exist that only has its name listed, without any other details. But the 4 km drive in one direction gives us one town, a 6 km drive in another direction gave us Gunzburg, and that’s where we went for dinner.

Gunzburg

Even before we knew that all four restaurants closed Friday night at 8 p.m. in Kammeltall, we were intending on hitting the food festival. Sadly, we missed that too! Yet the (slightly larger) town of Gunzburg has a much bigger Old-town/downtown (because a new/modern area doesn’t exist as of today). Fun fact: Gunzurg was founded in 70 b.c., although it does look slightly more updated. It features its own main square, where we found Greek, German and lots of outdoor pubs but after 9, only serve appetizers and drinks. Fortunately, one superb Italian restaurant is open until 11, and we were seated by the owner, referred to as “Uncle.” Love that. Pure Italian through and through, but has lived in Germany for 30 years. I’ll let the pictures do the talking, but suffice it to say we want to go back to Guntia again before we leave, eventho we will be in Italy for 5 days in another week.

Our dining experience in Gunburg was tops, the freshly made mozzarella caprese my favorite
Daughter number 1 passing out on #2’s lap, who then enjoys sparkling water at the white table clothe experience of Guntia
Feature photo: Burg Berghausen Castle

Ashford, Kent

From Manchester, through Eton and Windsor Castle, eating with the locals and preparing for the Channel Train

We’d traveled down from Manchester, choosing Ashford as the destination to spend the night, taking the channel train the following morning at 6:55 am. Sometimes, the best laid plans go awry, and we’d not been in Britain 24 hours when we learned that first hand, but I’ll get to that in a moment.

Why Ashford? It was logical, pure and simple.  We chose Manchester as the airport instead of Heathrow as a forcing function to see a bit of the countryside going down the country (think Leeds Castle, Windsor Castle in Slough) and the farmland. Because it has the EuroStar channel train, we planned to wake up, have breakfast at the B & B, drop off the car and walk to the terminal. On the return, it’s our intention to drive up the coast, wandering along the rocky shores, connecting with an author friend I met on Instagram and have now virtually known for four years.

Reality of driving from Manchester to Ashford

We had no clue about the traffic from Manchester all the way down to London. Like the States, Britain chooses to use the summer months for road construction. Instead of an easy four hours, it was more like a stop and go six, slowing the pace of travel to 50 km per hour. It was torture for both rog and myself, but cameras are everywhere, so we kept alongside the locals to be safe.

So, we had pa-lenty of time to enjoy the cows, sheep and other livestock dotting the lush, green countryside, my girls claiming they’ve never smelled such a strong odor in their lives. Personally, I didn’t mind. Nothing like being thrown back to memory of being on the Alberta farm where my father grew up, in the youthful days of summer, when we thought digging in cow-pies was fun and had no issue jumping in to the slow-moving, leach-ridden, cow-trodden river that ran around the base of dad’s farmland.

Along with way, we stopped half a dozen times, each time marveling at the rest-stops which are more akin to a nice park and a bit of San Diego shopping mall experience rolled into one. I made and posted a short video on Instagram with visuals, but think hardwood floors, curving leather and modern couches, individual and group gathering areas under skylights have been designed in the center of the building, with the shops on the outer rim.

As time grew short, we were in jeopardy of missing our check in time, making us take a rain check on Leeds Castle, but did do a swing by in Eton and the Slough area, which conjured images of my last visit. I spent a few days in the area, and in my free time, went for what I thought would be an easy run to Windsor Castle and back. I became woefully lost, ending up back at home in the near dark, but the next time, was determined to do better. Once again, I got myself lost. The saving grace was it ensured I saw (and re-saw) the old town, castle and backroad streets, searing the map in my mind, which helped us out.

The charm of Ashford, all off High Street (and within two blocks of the B & B)

Back on the road, we hustled to Ashford, making it by eight p.m. Rog had selected a bed and breakfast two blocks from old town. The older neighborhood is quaint and traditional, red brick stand-alone homes with attached. While Rog took care of some business, me and girls grabbed the camera and wandered about the neighborhood. During an hour’s walk, we encountered two cats and a one man, standing on his front doorstep smoking.

First time Bed & Breakfast: Hayesbank B & B

The Haysebank Bed & Breakfast is on the corner the tree lined street heading in to town, the red brick, three story building with attached cottage offering 11 bedrooms. Gabriel, the proprietor, is German, a lovely man who helped Rog guide his car in the small, parking area behind the restored home. The rooms are quaint but tidy, the mattresses perfect and like most European rooms, lack sheets. Just a bottom sheet and a comforter. First-timers to Europe are usually quite distressed by this detail, but I don’t even think of it anymore. (Rog tells me to include these finer points in my blogs in the hopes they increase the actual usefulness of the piece. What are husbands for if not continual improvement?)

L to R: Haysebank B & B, which is on the corner of this street (upper right) and bottom is the neighborhood. Lovely, quaint, quiet, safe, and just two blocks from town.

For dinner, we walked about two blocks west, across a street and under a portico we emerged to see Old Town, instantly transported to the 17th century. The girls remarked the buildings looked original, and most certainly the streets and narrow passages were intact and unchanged from the forefather’s layout.

(As I’m typing this piece as we ride the Eurostar through France, on the way to Brussels, thinking I should be looking outside—so I stop, and we are going by so stinking fast, I wouldn’t be able to take a picture if I wanted to. Oh well!)

The question of food

We searched for “authentic English” food, and you know what? Other than pubs, which aren’t the places to take our girls, instead, we found were Arab, Indian, Chinese and Mediterranean cuisine. It was a culinary melting pot, exactly what Britain has become and is. After twenty minutes of wandering, we gave up, going back to the Mediterranean, which was mix of Greek with a splash of middle eastern.

This is High Street, in Old Town, Ashford, Kent. About half-way down is The Fountain Kabob.

We were expecting Switzerland prices and serving sizes, but it was more like the outrageous portions of the Cheesecake Factory for under thirty dollars. I couldn’t eat half my meal, nor could the girls, and even Rog was hard pressed to finish his lamb and pita. The three gentleman at the Fountain Kabob on High Street, a hole in the wall eatery on the main old town street (and only establishment with a neon sign) were lovely.

Happy and full, we wandered up and down High Street, then branching off on either direction, ending up at St. Mary’s Church. It was closed to visitors but the grounds were open, and we did a full circle of the 17th century house of worship. The grounds are small but well-kept, the wrought iron fencing original.

St. Mary’s Church: straight out of a Pride & Prejudice novel
A neighborhood rap party

In bed by around ten thirty (well, they were, I was up until midnight), the breeze picked up, which was an answer to prayers, because it became very muggy around seven. The downside was someone, somewhere, in one of the local homes or flats, started blasting the UK version of Wiz Khalifa, LOUD. Now, I’m good with some wanna-be Wiz, but not at 1 a.m. on a school night. Ears ringing, windows rattling, the punctuated swear words like a rock hitting the wall, increasing in strength that it finally woke up Rog and Porsche, who can usually sleep through the zombie apocalypse. He mumbles for a bit, after at 2 a.m. rises and gives me warning: It’s coming.

Standing at the window, he shouts: “Are you kidding me? Can you turn it down please? We are trying to sleep!” Imagine Rog, yelling at the top of his lungs, waking the entire neighborhood as he seeks to quiet the music. Porsche jolts up right in bed, I hold my breath, wondering if we are going to have a incident far larger than the music itself, but the music turns shuts off immediately. The street goes dead silent. At that point, Porsche starts to mutter that on the scale of extreme, “Dad is a twelve,” she says. I start giggling, because I thought Rog sounded like a madman. The people upstairs, who’d been creaking around all night, also cease all movement. In fact, it seemed as though even the air was afraid to move because Rog might go postal.

Porsche continued wisecracking, which kept me laughing and we were up another hour. Hence, last night, I actually fell asleep at 3 a.m. and was up a bit before five.

Ashford Train station and final tips

The drop off area for rental cars at the Ashford Eurostar station is under construction, requiring a seriously out of the way drop off. Avis’ directions were worthless, and we spent over an hour going back and forth on a do-loop before it became clear we were going to miss the train through France to Belgium then on to Germany. That was $700 Euro I was not about to throw down the toilet.

“We are leaving the car in the lot,” I mandated, dropping the keys to security at the terminal and calling Avis. I hypothesized the price we may pay was far less than screwing up our entire itinerary. The great news is this: the attendant outside the Avis station (which was closed) willingly took the car keys, then the Eurostar manager (an equally pleasant gal) accepted our tickets, learned of our plight and sent a note to management, and in five minutes we were going through French customs just in time to be led to platform 4 for boarding. The girls thought it downright Harry Potter, the only difference being the bullet-like train speeding forth minutes after we made it to the platform.

The march from the international train to the massive, city-like structure within Aachen, Germany. Marble walls, clean floors, quiet and sooth running, like most German things.

Another tip (while I’m thinking about it). We saved the money for the Ashford to Brussels leg of the trip, purchasing economy. It’s open seating (not assigned) and we lucked out with the girls getting two seats together. Me and Rog are spread out, but his mate is working and mine is sleeping, most of the occupants (as I surreptitiously glance around) are professionals heading to the city, and a few mid-twenties men clearly way too spry for this time of the morning. Quiet and comfortable, even economy is a great experience, no food or wi-fi, but plug-ins galore. The next leg is business class, assigned seating with tables and I’m hoping for a few photo opps.

Am I working at all??

For five of the nine-hour flight from Seattle to Manchester, I wrote the framework for two new books. I felt like a prisoner released on parole, because three months ago, Rog mandated I not start outlining or work on a new book, but focus on the family and travel blogs. Needless to say, the dam burst forth, but I’m telling you what. Like an explosion of water, what erupted from my mind was messy! After being out of it for that long, it felt as though my desire was cruising along in fifth but my car was struggling between first and second. It may turn out what I wrote ends up in the garbage, and that’s ok. At least I was able to get back to it, and it felt good.

Feature Image: off High Street in Ashford, an original building now housing an Indian food restaurant. A completely modern day representation of old and new worlds unified.

The best of Bellagio

Lake Como, Italy is more than a single body of water

“Are we going back to Bellagio?” is how Rog remembers asking the question. My recollection is slightly different. I thought it was more akin to “We are going back to Bellagio,” the statement said with a bit of force.

The town holds a singular point of divinity for Rog, which would similar to a devout Christian would think of the Garden of Eden being placed in your back yard. In other words, heaven on Earth. Nope, this isn’t the hotel in Las Vegas, Nevada mind you, but the slim peninsula situated on Lake Como.

The beauty of the Italian Alps–this was just a random stop at a persons home, and I couldn’t resist (they were polite and pleased I adored their home/view)
It’s all about the food

The similarity centers on food, the apple in one instance, but meats, cheese, and yes, a few apples on this one. You see, by the time we arrived in Bellagio, we were starved. We roamed the streets, getting in a few sites before stopping at a restaurant situated half-way up a narrow allow, but wide enough o allow a two-person table. We took the waiters recommendation, ordering what we thought would be an appetizer-size plate. It turned out to similar in size to a large pizza, the wooden plate laden with an assortment of cold cuts, cheeses and fruits, fresh bread, crackers and all types of jams.

This was culinary nirvana for Rog: massive quantities of the authentic fair. So it is that we are taking the girls back this summer, his hope to find this exact eatery once again and replay the experience that made such an imprint. Shopping? Yeah, we did that, purchasing items for relatives at seriously discounted prices given the currency exchange. The ferry ride? Check. Walking the waterfront? Yep. Traipsing up and down the narrow streets, indulging in the local gelato? You betcha. But nothing…nothing ranks up there in Rog’s mind like that platter of food. Me? I was along for the ride, literally. I loved it all.

Narrow streets (this was actually one of the wider ones), no lane markers, the motorcylists racing between cars already packed like sardines in a can. This is where I got the idea to have one of my lead characters in the Danielle Grant series die while on his motorcycle. It’s real!
The journey, and I’m going to throw in Menaggio and a bit of the Lake itself

This day trip to Bellagio started out as a one-day itinerary once we arrived in Lake Como. To the uninitiated, the locals, and Italians spell the lake Como, pronouncing it “oh,” as in Lake “Coh-moe”, slightly different that Americans, who tend to spell it “Cue—oh-moe”, and spell it with a ‘u’. It doesn’t really matter, because the either way, it’s big, diverse and takes a while to drive around.

From Zurich, we went over the Swiss Alps, using the road favored by touring bikers (motorcyclists) and the sports cars who thrive on the twisty-turvy road. Along the way, you encounter the Contra Dam, cows and a dramatic change of scenery (which I partially cover in my blog on those topics).

What we didn’t expect to see was such a dramatic change once we reached the top of the mountains, seeing the planted Italian flag. The differences were stark. The roads, just as twisty, were not as well maintained, so we had to be careful of the potholes and general condition, yet we were so captivated with the views and architecture of the hillside homes it didn’t matter. Mountain lakes like Lake Lugano were dark grey, the clouds giving the glossy covers a matte finished look. The roughly three-hour drive from Zurich ended when we hit the first down on Lake Cuomo, Menaggio.

The top of the mountain has a mother Mary statue for safe passage of travelers. I was safe but I was cold!
A plethora of towns

Unlike my adopted home town of Lake Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, which is 22 miles long, and retains the name wherever you are actually located, Como has townships dotting the shoreline. In the States, certain areas are named (Loffs Bay, Mica Flats, etc.) but those are informal neighborhoods. On Como, each township is just that: its own town, with a center, police force etc. We stayed in Menaggio at the north end, choosing a place right close to the tunnel for ease of access to what we’d call a freeway, but is more like a narrow, two-lane road. We also desired a pool, (thinking it was going to be hotter than it was), parking (hard to come by) walking distance to the center of town and most of all, the ferry.

Menaggio offered all of that, but then we learned, so do many other little areas. This summer we decided to be closer to Bellagio and are staying on the opposite side of the lake in Verena, the ferry ride to Bellagio about five minutes, versus the fifteen from Menaggio.

The official marker in to Italy was anti-climactic. I wanted officers and a stamp (as I wrote in one of my novels) and I got crickets.
Hillside rentals

The relatively low prices of rentals on the lake are what astounds most folks (Americans) we speak with. I believe it’s because the impression is one of such exclusivity for the lake itself as the vacation spot for celebrities and the wealthy. The reality is the hills are full of vineyards cared for by the full-timers, and the price of top floor penthouse is less than $2,000 US for ten days, the private elevator, parking, three-bedroom, three-bathroom flat with five decks a bargain.

Top deck view, the tunnel to the North in the background. It was quiet however, barely a sound. The hill behind our flat were vineyards.
Back to Bellagio

The first time we visited Bellagio, we decided to drive, and it was a journey of about five hours all the way down and around the southern tip of the lake, then up to the peninsula. Nope, we had no idea it was going to take this long, but with only a single, extremely narrow road to navigate and a ton of stop lights, we made it as quickly as possible. Needless to say, we took the ferry on the return trip, and the journey was shortened by about 5 hours (it was only a fifteen-minute ride across the lake!)

The ferry schedule is every thirty minutes all day, docking portside to the center of town

Bellagio has two faces, really. The center of town, which is flat and lakeside. This is where quite a few of the major shopping takes place (think Hermes and the like). Yet dozens (hundreds?) of smaller boutiques with Italian goods dot the steep alleys that extend from the center up the hills. The majority are perhaps the size of my living room, crowded with silks of all types, jewelry, shoes or purses—the kind of things favored by women from out of town (me!). You’d think I would go crazy, but actually, I didn’t. I stopped after purchasing a few leather bracelets, because I’d seen quite a few of the same items in Lugano (another township) at a lower price—roughly 30%. I held my money and went back to Lugano to purchase a purse and a few other things, still enjoying the experience of Bellagio without feeling like an irresponsible shopper. To give you an example, a purse I’d seen in the US was $700. In Bellagio, that same purse was $500, which is quite a discount. In Lugano, it was $300. No that’s called savings.

Steep, narrow walkways–this was one of the less traveled–others can be wall-to-wall people

The other face of Bellagio is just outside the center, within walking distance, and it’s what I’d call the local areas. Lovely, mostly empty beaches, gardens and what I’d call sitting areas—secluded spots with benches for sitting and watching the ducks on the water. We could only rationalize that those who come to this lake want to “be seen” at the hotspots either on a boat or on a packed beach, rather than enjoy the quiet and romance that’s actually available and free! So it was that we went exploring and, in an hour, counted four different waterside areas, all in the area of Bellagio, all as free of people as the next one. On several occasions, these public areas were right next to high-end hotels. Glancing through the trees separating hotel from the public area, we saw the pool area packed with sunbathers, the chairs right next to one another. It’s all a matter of preference, we surmised. If you want to come to the lake, sit poolside and be pampered, then you have plenty of options.

Lakeside pools offer slips for boats but also much warmer water than the glacier-fed lake
The waterfront

By now, you are probably sick of reading my commentary on “the waterfront” of whatever lake we’ve visited. Sorry, it’s going to continue. Upon reflection of my seeming obsession with waterfronts, perhaps it’s because they are all so different—country to country and town to town. Such care and attention is given to the trees, pathways and facilities, more than often I feel like I’m in some version of Cinderella’s castle and the ferry godmother is going to pop out and grant me a wish.

The lovely (and basically empty) pathway leading to the center of Bellagio

And on that note, don’t be afraid to drive that rental car to Lake Como or pick one up when you arrive. Parking is plentiful in the Lake and surrounding areas. Not all rental homes have parking, but many do, as well as the hotels.

What I liked best

Each township has its own vibe, culture, eateries and destinations to see. It’s no wonder people come for a month and spend days roaming the 146-kilometer areas. If you are bored and want to visit the celebrities, I found this guide just for you, which also gives you some options as to how to best get to the lake.

Up the hillside are villas and wineries
What I liked least

The driving! Whoa, never in our lives have we encountered the insanity of the one-way, narrow, basically lawless driving along the lakeshore, particularly between and within the smallest of the townships. Because we have gone at the beginning of the summer (June and to mid-July), instead of the high season, which is August, we didn’t even experience the worst of it, but what we did encounter was enough. Oh well, it’s part of the experience.

Feature image: taken from the deck of the flat


Best parks for Trailering

Today the topic was to be Bruges, Belgium, but I can’t do it. I have camping on my mind, and specifically, trailering. In America, “trailering” has been converted into a verb, and now is the time to book before all the good spots are gone. This is a short compilation of our top stops we go to time and again, and you need to book now because they are worth it. PS- if the spots below are booked on your dates, make sure you check around midnight because cancellations take effect when the clock turns over. We have skated in several days before thx to cancellations. In no particular order, our favorites are:

Cape Disappointment State Park, (south of Oceanside, Longview, Seaside) Washington

The reason it’s so named is because of all the shipwrecks that occurred off the coast. This unique location offers Yurts that can be rented (rounded, tent like structures but are permanent), beachside slots for all sizes of RV’s and the inner “suburbs” for more trailers which are walking distance to the coast. Like most state parks, it offers showers among the amenities, and lots and lots of biking trails. We go annually for clamming—a task so easy even our then-four-year-old could do it. Beware, the top temperature is high sixties unless you go in August, and the clamming isn’t so great at that time, but the weather is better. Less rain, more sun.

This is the site to make reservations for ALL Washington State public parks.

This is rush hour at Cape Disappointment. Strangely, some of the warmest days are in June
RimRock Lake Resort, Naches, Washington

Located on the opposite side of Washington (locally known as the Eastern side of Washington), this lake is large, rather remote while at the same time easily accessible. We have been going nine years in a row now, booking our spot at the RimRock Lake Resort a full year in advance. At this particular resort, the property has a pinnacle setting, wherein it’s located on two jutties. One has a 280-degree view of the lake, wherein trailers can be positioned all around the point. The resort also features a peninsula that only allows for a handful of trailers. You walk out of your trailer, and can jump off the rocks into the clear, cold lake below. We have rented three spots, one at the very end, and either one beside us for friends (or just for the privacy). The Resort has a small shop and tackle, and a restaurant but the hours are limited. We just usually drive down to Yakama, which is about 45 min east of the lake. Trails with soft dirt circumference the resort, leading down to a swimming area that’s naturally protected from the rest of the lake. The dock is a short swim, and thankfully, the bottom of the lake in this area is both rock and hard sand, not soft and gooey, which is a plus. The facilities include an indoor showering area which is known for the incredible water pressure and length of hot water (most showers are on a timer and go cold after a few minutes to force one out. Lastly, the Resort also has its own boat launch, and requirement for lakeside!

My friends served as models for these shots:) I chose both of these because they show how close the trailer is parked to the edge of the peninsula at RimRock Lake Resort. Walk out a few feet and jump off into the cold water. It’s glorious.

If RimRock isn’t available, a number of small, lake side resorts exist, some with cabins and other with the option for trailers, but I can’t recommend one in particular, as we’ve always stayed at RimRock Resort.

Lincoln Rock State Park, Wenatchee, Washington

If lakes or the ocean isn’t your thing, try a river. Our local favorite is the Columbia River, staying at the State Park. It’s always hot (think 90-100 degrees July-September), the river very cold and the park itself is laid out really well. For the premier spots, try for “the bluff.” This is limited to trailers and the massive diesel pushers. If you score a sport on the ride of the plateau the spots offer unobstructed views of the dam, river and valley below. You can take your dog for walks down the short hill, to the other areas of the park, which are segregated into tent-only areas, RV trailer areas and the like. For non-trailering folks, the loudest areas area always the tent-only locations. The reason should be obvious—they aren’t inside being boisterous, it’s right out there! The park has a boat launch and shore line where you can ride your jet ski up and park beachside.  

When your pitbull thinks she’s a lapdog, but conveniently keeps you warm as the campfire gets going.

If this Park is sold out, Wenatchee Confluence State Park is our second favorite. The downside is that the layout, which makes it seem far more crowded, and it’s not as easily accessible. This also has a marina and a rocky beach area but easy enough for jetskiiers to ride up to the short.

While many lakes have banned stand-ups, most of the State Parks have not, nor have the rivers. Hurray!
Mt. Rushmore KOA at Palmer Gulch Resort in South Dakota

This is the mother-of-all trailering parks, and the reason is fascinating—it’s the second oldest KOA in the country, and it’s located on the spot of a former golf course that went bust. From the glorious entrance and center (which is well-managed by through-lanes when you arrive), to the portioned areas.

As my husband says, “This is a camping Disneyland.” From the miniature golf course, outdoor theatre, three pools (at last count) horses back riding, rental bikes and an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast every morning for $4.00. One can even rent a guest house, which were a part of the golf course and were included in the sale. Some of the bigger homes are 5-6 bedrooms overlooking the entire valley. Quite lovely!

It’s right around the corner from Mt. Rushmore, no more than 15 minutes. We went mid-June, when the reservations were open (and we booked about this time, early May), and were pleasantly surprised to find the lines at Mt. Rushmore were non-existent. We went on a Friday morning, found front-row underground parking and had a great two hours. More on Mt. Rushmore in another blog, but for a visitor wanting the premier location to stay, this is it.

Medicine Lake, California

This region is prominently featured in Chambers: The Spirit Warrior, which is book two in the series. As I mention in the back of the book, it’s because I grew up spending every summer here as a child with my family. The lake is a long-dormant volcano, and the places visited by the characters are real: Glass Mountain, the undergound catacomb tunnels, which can be explored for miles, as well as Captain Jack National Monument.

Dozens of other wonderful destinations exist within the State Parks, to say nothing of private resorts, but time is short and I had to pick my favorites.

Tip: for booking on-line, each state has its own state park website. This is the one for the State of Washington. The reservations for booking is here.

Book away, and we might see you there!

Feature image: this was taken at Cape Disappointment. The ecology is so amazing- from the coastal waters to this almost rainforest-like area. the Yurts are located within these spooky woods–beautiful and sheltered from the blowing wind.

Luxury for less: finding the best accomodations

Call me crazy, but I love a good deal, and for those who know me, a good deal doesn’t equate to going on the cheap. When I say I got a good deal, that’s code for “I got the luxury I want without paying triple.” In other words, I want the Four Seasons experience without the overhead, both financial and mental. (Can you hear the glee in my voice as I type this?)

This article is the first of what will be an on-going, detailed account of our accommodations. I do realize that by exposing our secrets, they will be secrets no more, but that’s my gift to you, the reader, traveler and explorer. If more people know travel can be both luxurious and economical, they’d do it more!

Our criteria: location, cost and convenience

When we travel for two weeks, we find a “home base” from which we can drive to lots of destinations. This allows us to get a major cost break for staying more than five days. We have found one pays a lot more when the stays are minimum, such as 2-3 days. Anything over five days can usually be negotiated down quite dramatically. 7-10 days is optimum.

For instance, during a four-week vacation, we picked Belgium, and specifically, Tervuren, for eight days. From this location, we visited many destinations in Brussels, the Netherlands and France. Using VRBO, we found a 5-bedroom, four bath, two story home with an in-ground pool. It was road off Park Tervuren, also known as the Empress’s Park. That meant it was also a ten-minute walk from the quaint downtown. It had garage parking for two spaces, and all the facilities one expects in a lovely home.

Luxury on Lake Cuomo: 3 bedrooms, 2 baths, private elevator and rooftop terrace. Every door opening to a private terrace

The price? $1,200 US. That’s right. All that for $150/night. A comparable location in Brussels central (twenty minutes away) first off, wasn’t even available. Homes don’t have pools, and aren’t for rent unless you are paying diplomat fees, which are about $10K/month, or $2,500 a week. Hotel rooms are about $400/night, and a family needs two. (Our family does anyway. Don’t know about you, but we believe in intimacy while on vaca).

To provide another example, in Vienna, we found a 2-story, 3-bedroom downtown apartment near the Palace. It was $1,400 for a week. In Prague, it was a 2-story, 3-bedroom modern apartment about three blocks from old town for $800. Both places were penthouses, with decks, by the way. Where did we find such deals? VRBO. Don’t worry, I’ll be posting more in-depth reviews with more pics on each in that country section.

Two-story penthouse in Prague, modern, private decks and triple security (inner/outer doors)
VRBO and Airbnb

Generally speaking, hate mail doesn’t resonate with my soul, but on this topic, I’m going there, no matter what comes. In our experience (underline, bold and with emphasis), VRBO is the only way to go for travel, for the following reasons, each one vital to the safety and security of our family.

  1. Vetting. VRBO seems to have a process for background checks/screening, credit/reputation, management of the property and overall, quality listings. Compare this to Airbnb, where anyone looking to sublet out a room, couch or whatever can just throw it up and list it. It’s sort of like buyer-be-ware.
  2. Quality. Along the lines of the above, you can rent chalets, mansions, apartments, flats and just about everything in between. The next time I want to entertain 40 of my best friends, I’ll snap up that lakeside mansion on Lake Cuomo for $10K for 2 weeks, but until then, I’m super happy I got the two-story, 3-bedroom penthouse with it’s private elevator on the waterfront of Bellagio (which sits on a peninsula Lake Cuomo) for $1,100 for eight days. The accommodations, whatever they may be, must be true to representation, or risk getting a bad review, which results in the owner (and associated location) being banned from VRBO. This accountability really is fantastic for us travelers.
  3. Management and payment. On VRBO, most of the locations have an on-line calendar for direct booking. Depending on the location, direct communication is required with the owner and/or manager of the site. A small deposit is usually required, but we have learned over the years that negotiation is always possible—e.g. small deposit, part cash when we arrive if all is in order, and then the remainder of the cash when we check out. This makes it a 1/3, 1/3, 1/3, reducing the risk of the site being awful and us getting stiffed.

    On that note, we have read horror stories about travelers paying half and showing up to find that the place doesn’t exist, the reviews were fake and someone took their money and ran. These were 100% Airbnb, never VRBO. Still, one can never take chances. If the owner/manager doesn’t get back promptly, the dates show up then disappear on the calendar, or other anomalies, they are red flags. Nothing is worth the risk of standing on foreign land without a place to stay
View off the deck of the 5th story penthouse on Lake Zurich. Most buildings are modern with natural treatment for roofs. Down the cobblestone lane (beside this building) is the waterfront. The apartment, waterfront and surrounding yoga studio and eateries are all featured in the Danielle Grant trilogy.
More on Parking

It’s not always possible to get a place with its own parking spot, so in those cases, we use a local garage. In Vienna and Prague both, the $10 daily fee (for a week rate) was nominal. Day rates can be higher, but we never paid more than $20/day. If your location doesn’t offer parking, ask your contact about local parking availability so you come prepared.

Final notes on rentals

When locating a home base for our travels, we look for laundry facilities and air conditioning. For Americans, many are shocked to learn that the majority of non-hotel accommodations (and even quite a few hotels) around Europe lack air conditioning. One must look, double and triple check these things or else you will be in for a nasty surprise. It’s usually in the ‘details’ section of the listing, along with things not allowed—think dogs, and quite a few places don’t allow children. On that note, we’ve found that if we identify the ages of our children, and that they are girls, we’ve had pretty good luck. Sorry to say that discrimination against young boys does exist, and there’s not a darn thing you can do about it but look elsewhere.

Feature image: taken from the balcony of the penthouse villa in Lake Cuomo

Kissing Pete Townshend While Living on a Prayer: Hard Rock PV, Mexico

Kissing a rockstar was never on my bucket list of things to do. Still isn’t. Yet, when the opportunity presents itself, one must take it, mustn’t one?

It all started when Rog said that ‘we needed a break’ and he wanted to spoil me. I don’t recall the order of those two comments, but when one is offered a Mexican vacation, the standard response should invariably be ‘yes.’ When he asks about where I want to stay, I didn’t have an opinion (when you’ve been going to Mexico for as long as I have, you’ve pretty much seen it all–or so I thought).

A day later he tells me he has mixed it up and booked the Hard Rock Hotel in Puerto Vallarta. Yes, I’d seen the ads for the one in Las Vegas (in case you have missed the MTV-like commercials, everyone has seemingly stepped from the pages of a magazine, the music is all that is hot and sexy and the food heaven sent), and yes, they were offering a special ($1,500 worth of hotel credit). Thus, I checked out the spa, read the reviews (mixed on all aspects) and said ‘why not?’

So it was that the plane ride down was all about introspection. That ended the second we pulled up to the hotel and was assaulted with You give love a bad name by Bon Jovi. I turned to Rog. “You made sure to order up all the sexy people right?” He nods, humoring me.

At the counter, we are informed we can rent any one of 22 Fender guitars, along with headsets and amplifiers to we can practice without disturbing anyone. I don’t catch his last comments because A Whitesnake song comes at me from above, like a demon from hell, piped down in overhead speakers (and I only know its Whitesnake because Rog tells me). As we walk through the lobby (with looping videos of Pitbull and past a stream of authentic rockstar items), I’m suddenly face to face with a lifesize picture of the Guns-N-Roses band members. I realize that Slash has bigger hair than me (I feel a twinge of jealously) and Axl Rose was so skinny his entire waist was the size of one of my thighs.

2015-02-20 23.59.58

post Tom Petty and pre Spinal Tap

It’s about four pm, and as we head into the elevator, I’m starting to snicker. No sexy people. The original flag from Woodstock (it’s of big lips btw) hangs just below the arch of the hallway is the line “Love in an elevator,” by Steven Tyler, nicely called out in subdued, foot-size silver lettering. Are you getting a visual yet?

Blessedly, the room has no music, but I can hear the blasting from the pool area. It’s Back in Black and I start to fantasize about earphones and my favorite Sesto Sento Moby remix–really loud.

You can do this, I tell myself. It’s only a week. I keep hope alive that poolside will feature people in my decade and those that evidently chose the music. But first, I want to work out. The sun is setting, the breeze is coming in. The music in the gym has got to match the vibe. Steel, modern, pool front with the ocean in the background. Rog even takes a picture (the smile is genuine. I’m in a warm place, not much clothing and am positive the gym will be rocking).

2015-02-19 19.59.26

Spinal Tap is alive…every day at the gym

It is. To Tom Petty. Who. In. The. H**l works out to Tom Petty? He’s a great writer of lyrics, of course, but I certainly don’t feel like having my heart drug around.

That’s quite alright I repeat to myself, smiling falsely at Rog. I don’t want him to feel bad for booking this place nor do I want to appear an ungrateful shrew for hating the music. I walk forward with fortitude. Right into a life-size picture of Spinal Tap. For my dear readers who are as cool as I am, do you know who Spinal Tap is? I didn’t. Rog did (his Colorado roots are starting to seep through, don’t you think?). Now folks. When working out, isn’t it more appropriate to see images of beach bodies–or no images at all, rather than be forced to look at a skinny man poured into a lycra outfit that should only be worn by downhill skiiers racing at 100MPH? My thoughts exactly.

I know at this point, you really don’t believe me (I could barely believe it myself), so I started taking pictures as evidence. I made it through the workout, thanking Steve Jobs once again   (may he rest in peace) for the iPhone that saved my ears, changed for dinner and walked to the elevator.

Two things then happened at once. The first is I was struck by Bon Jovi everywhere singing Living on a Prayer.

my air guitar

my air guitar

The second thing was I had (somehow) missed the image of Pete Townsend in front of me, doing the air guitar movement. (I call it this because most men who insist on doing the air guitar never, ever, actually have a guitar. They just think it’s cool to whip their arm around as though they were, are or in their fantasy, will be, Pete Townsend. But I digress).

I can’t take it anymore. I lose myself to the notion of being a product of the seventies, channeling my inner flower-child-meets-bic-lighter-groupie and stand by Pete. In a single moment of rock-star-ness, I swirl my arm like every seventeen year old wanna-be guitarist and I become one with the picture. Of course it would only be fitting that in my moment of anonymous greatness than a woman walks by. She offers to take a photo and I do what I’ve never previously wanted to do. I kissed the rock star. Or at least his picture. That’s as close as I’m ever gonna get. kissing peteAnd as the final notes of Bon Jovi fades, I’m thinking about my prayer. One that includes music from the 90’s, 00’s, 10’s and maybe, just maybe if I’m really lucky, 2019. That is, if my prayers are answered.