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IMG_2402IMG_2400Some years back there was a campaign for good food and healthy eating with the slogan, “You Are What You Eat.” In fact, it started as a television series in the UK and spread from there. It’s an adage I’ve tried to follow, but obviously, when traveling, it’s far more difficult than at other times.

Here in the Finger Lakes, as I’ve been saying, life pretty much revolves around food production and wineries. There’s a good-sized Amish and Mennonite community whose pristine farms line the roads with cabbages, corn and other vegetables. FullSizeRender-17We started our outings today with one of the markets they attend, and ogled the variety. After that, we went on to a “Garlic Festival’ at one of the wineries, an event brimming with oils and vinegars to buy in flavors you’d never think of, honeys of every variety, and, needless to say, real garlic—not the store-bought stuff that’s virtually tasteless, but garlic that sings and zings in your mouth. No “EEEE-uwwwws” here, please; this was delicious stuff. And finally, we ended the day with a ‘wine walk’ in the town of Canandaigua, going from shop to shop, tasting wines and cheeses, cookies and dips.IMG_2405

But one man’s meat is another man’s poison, as the saying goes. Here at our B and B the day starts with what the innkeeper obviously views as a gourmet breakfast. This morning this consisted of tea, mango juice and pure grape juice shots (nothing like Welch’s). There was a gigantic blueberry muffin waiting on our plates as we sat down, swiftly followed by peaches on whipped feta IMG_2399atop bruschetta with a balsamic reduction. Before the last bite was down, blueberry pancakes were staring us in the eye with two rashers of bacon, baked with a sprinkle of sugar and walnuts. Finally, with hardly a second to spare, a mound of sliced strawberries sitting on a split scone sat in front of us, pretty as a picture. I won’t describe yesterday’s breakfast in such detail, but I will tell you it ended with wine ice cream on chocolate cookies.

If I am what I eat, I dread to think exactly what I am.IMG_0981



IMG_2387On Sundays opposite my New York apartment there is a farmer’s market. Most of the vendors come down from the Finger Lake region here in upstate New York, standing out in winter weather with numb fingers, half asleep from their very early rising to get to the city. Today, in glorious summer sunshine, I got to see their produce first hand.

vineyards in the Finger Lakes

vineyards in the Finger Lakes

The Finger Lakes region is primarily known for its wine. New York State wine used to be a joke many years ago, but a number of the wineries have now managed to build their reputations to an acceptable level. Cristal and I did a bit of a wine tour around the Lake—to the extent that it’s something of a miracle I can still write today. As Designated Driver, I had to decline tasting at the last winery—beginning to feel somewhat wary of facing these winding country roads.

Carp in The Japanese Garden at Sonnenberg Mansion

Carp in The Japanese Garden at Sonnenberg Mansion

Our tour also included a stop at the Sonnenberg Mansion, a post-Civil War home

The 'Old Fashioned Garden' at Sonnenberg Mansion

The ‘Old Fashioned Garden’ at Sonnenberg Mansion

in the Tudor style built by Frederick and Mary Thompson, a wealthy NY banker and his wife. Mary apparently loved flowers and gardening, and the grounds around the house are divided into twelve different types of garden. But what caught my eye was the story of how flowers actually ‘saved’ her life. She was travelling in Europe when she discovered the tulip festival in the Netherlands was taking place. She therefore changed her plans to return home and went to see the tulips. Mary had had tickets to travel on the Titanic…

Weeks ago in Nashville, as we wandered around The Old Opry and read stories of the great and the good of country music, there was the biography of Waylon Jennings. Jennings, before he was truly famous, had been a guitarist for Buddy Holly. He gave up his seat on Holly’s fateful flight to another man.

Life is full of those, ‘what if I had done this?” or “ what if that happened?” but for most of us, it doesn’t hit with such a resounding thud.IMG_0986


As I write this, I am watching a load of clothes perform a wild dance of twists and turns in a tumble drier—a reckless carousel of laundry. Having managed to previously get the wash done in either homes or motel laundry rooms, we have finally been reduced to a Laundromat. It’s not a pleasant experience, sitting here in intense heat, but a novel one for me, and perhaps good fodder for a book. Oldies but goodies are blaring on the sound system, and the pin board has some interesting notices, everything from smoked meat to a cute puppy found without a collar.

FullSizeRender-15We’re in Canandaigua in the Finger Lakes region of New York. Our license plate is no longer unusual, no longer an object of comment, and I’m pleased to be able to use the US dollar once more. The magnificent view of Niagara has been traded for an attic room view of Lake Canandaigua. We chose this area to go wine tasting, which we hope to do tomorrow. But for now, forgive my brevity, having wasted a couple of hours from one of our last days, we’re going to gather the semi-dried clothes and get the hell outta here.


IMG_2364On this blistering hot day, taking the boat to see Niagara Falls up close and personal was certainly a welcome outing. Very well organized, the seemingly thousands of people are shuffled through air-conditioned pathways, elevators down to the docks, poncho hand-out and on to the boat in military fashion.IMG_2348 While I dreaded donning the plastic rain protection in the heat, I couldn’t get it on fast enough once we approached the falls. That’s one heckuva lot of water.

As we sauntered back along the riverfront path, a small girl of about six years went running past us crying her eyes out and calling for her Mama. She finally collapsed on the lawn sobbing, and two young women went over to help her as we came up. A small crowd gathered for a while but dispersed when it seemed the two young women had things under control. Cristal and I stayed to help. The child spoke French but not English. As we discussed how we could help her find her parents, a man came running up, thanked us abruptly as the child acknowledged and recognized him. However, he grabbed the child, speaking to her in some other unidentifiable-to-us language. He started to yank her along—still whimpering—as the four of us stood watching in some dismay. We discussed what had happened: she was talking French but he wasn’t. Was he the parent? A step-father? An uncle? While I wouldn’t say she went off with him happily, she went off willingly. I pointed out that, just because we didn’t like the way he treated her, didn’t mean we could prevent a relative or guardian from taking her. The experience obviously left us all bewildered and uncertain, a bitter taste in our mouths and the thought, had we done the right thing?

So, like the man in the program says, what would you do?FullSizeRender



IMG_2317 I had looked forward to our visit to Fort York, imagining an 18th Century fortification in an area of green on the outskirts of Toronto. Maybe it was the broiling 90 degree temperatures or the fact our taxi IMG_2318had to drop us in an underpass that took the glow from my mood, but sadly Fort York was nothing like I had imagined. A modern visitor center a long walk from the barracks and other remaining buildings put a pall on our mood as we sweltered in the heat. But worse was the lack of information on each of the buildings, the fact that we’d never been told we could take an audio tour, and the high rise condos and two major highways which encircle the site like Godzilla snaring the unwary. It was a short visit.FullSizeRender_1

After a stopover at the studio of photographer Janusz Wrobel, whose photographs of water are internationally acclaimed, we stopped for lunch at a little ‘English Tea Room’ in the village of Dundas. The Olde Worlde charm soon paled into insignificance as we waited fifty minutes for a simple salad and quiche lunch, and the meter ticked away by our parked car. Tea was plunked down in front of us to steep while we waited for the ice to be bought and brought, causing the tea to be so tannin-heavy it proved virtually undrinkable. There were no apologies for the wait as the hostess sashayed around us, only 2 other tables occupied. This is the first time I’ve ever left a restaurant without leaving a tip.

IMG_2341We are in Niagara Falls at the moment, on the Canadian side. I read once that it was the commercialization of Niagara that partially encouraged President Grant to make Yellowstone a National Park. If it was commercialized in 1872, with people going over the falls in barrels, you can only imagine what it’s like now. No longer the place where runaway couples hoped to elope, it’s a gambling mecca, and as neon as Vegas. I’m hoping the view and the walks will recompense.FullSizeRender



Traditional Mexican dress

Traditional Mexican dress

It’s been quite an interesting day one way and another, and it’s led me to thinking—no moans, please, nor wise cracks. Here’s the thing: I’ve noticed, since being in Canada, that Canadians refer to those of us from south of their border as ‘Americans.’ But aren’t they Americans, too? And during a visit to the Royal Ontario Museum today (a place singularly devoid of guards and docents, by the way), we visited an exhibit of traditional Mexican handcrafted clothing in which Mexicans referred to themselves as Americans. Canadians and Mexicans have each apparently decided on some form of identity that, to me, seems devolved from their view of themselves in relation to the USA. Maybe I could now describe myself as a ‘Statian?’

But wait! There’s more. We also viewed a photography exhibit in which an

Mexican hand-embroidery

Mexican hand-embroidery

American of Asian Indian origin juxtaposed photos of herself with photos taken by Edward Curtis of Native Americans. So, as she had it, there were American Indians vs. Indian Americans. But what is contained in these names? As one bright spark put it to me once, if Columbus had been looking for Italy, Native Americans would have been called Italian Americans.

Further on was an exhibit of the changing borders of Africa with maps through the ages starting with the 14th Century through 1665, on to a map of Stanley’s expeditions, a Missionary map from 1891 and so on. Not only have the names of the countries changed but the names the people call themselves have changed. For instance, the Hausa, Ebo, Yoruba,, who now make up Nigeria, also spread into neighboring present-day countries. Is their identity as Nigerians or the individual tribes?

Mexican hand-beaded bag

Mexican hand-beaded bag

Now, to complicate matters even more, Cristal and I stumbled into a wonderful restaurant for lunch called ‘Signs’ Unbeknownst to us, the name came from the fact that the entire staff, bar the maitre d’, were  deaf, and there were lessons on how to sign your order via a ‘cheat sheet.’ Not only did we have a great lunch but we learned something, too. But—here’s my point—are we thinking of those individuals as, ‘that deaf waitress Katie’?

Women used to complain about being identified as somebody’s mother, somebody’s wife, somebody’s whoever. This question of identity has numerous layers to it ,and I suppose we need to pigeon-hole people to distinguish each other, but as the Bard said, “ A Rose by any other name…”IMG_2312



IMG_2305 We are in Toronto, city on a lake, city of gleaming buildings, city of multi-national immigrants. We have driven out of peace and quiet and a white population, into a rainbow of humanity and a cacophony of sound, numerous dialects and varied cuisines. While I always prefer country life, it’s good to feel the exuberance of a city on occasion, get charged and, on a trip, get pampered.

Arriving at a city hotel is not like arriving at a motel or b and b. A doorman IMG_2306awaits, along with a valet to park your car. All thoughts of schlepping your bags—as we did yesterday, up a flight of steps to a second story motel room—vanish as a cart is wheeled out and our bags collected. The slight kafuffle at check-in because our room was not ready was soon forgotten with an apologetic offer of free breakfasts for our stay.IMG_2302 And then there’s the magical opening of the door to the room, discovering an expanse of space in which all our luggage gets dispersed and we collapse after the day’s drive. While some of the accouterments are generic—the coffee machine, the robes, the safe—I spot some new ones like spray starch for ironing. The bathroom has all the old toiletries of yore, now often reduced as hotels follow airlines in the nickel and dime business. But this, in our sixth week of travel, is heaven.

I wonder if there’ll be chocolates when we get back from dinner.IMG_2310




Manitoulin Lighthouse

Manitoulin Lighthouse

Some years ago, there was an episode of West Wing in which the Alison Janney character is asked how a multi-billionaire might use his money to help emerging nations. “Roads,” she answered, “it’s not very glamorous but…” As someone who has now traveled some 7,000 or so miles through the United States and Canada on one trip alone, let me tell you something: it’s not only emerging nations that need new roads. It’s developed nations who are now declining. Like the United States and Canada. Sorry, but if you’ve driven on the roads that I’ve driven on over the past five weeks, seen the questionable bridges and highways of our beautiful country, you’d be as worried as I that our infrastructure is in sad decline. And I’m not talking about backcountry gravel or dirt roads here; I’m talking major highways. These roads will keep you awake while driving because the sound of your tires on them is not only unbearable, but stops all conversation so that you put on blaring music. And these roads will keep you awake at night because you’ll be wondering when you’ll next get a flat tire or, worse, be on a bridge…well, you get the picture. As Alison said, it’s not very glamorous, but

After one hour on one of these roads, we found relief by making the two hour ferry ride to Tobermory,

Tobermory Lighhouse

Tobermory Lighhouse

a delightful town on Lake Huron known, apparently, as The Big Tub. It’s apparently a freshwater diving centre and resembles so many places on Cape Cod or even the California coast, seagulls and all. And we are very, ferry happy to be here.




view from B and B

view from B and B

One of the good things about a road trip is that if you’re unhappy in one place, you know you’re moving on. And conversely, if you really love someplace, you also know you’re sadly moving on. You trade the plastic smell of identical motels for the luxury of a well-furnished room in a Victorian B and B; you exchange long scenic walks through breathtaking scenery for long tedious drives on horrific roads; dinners in city top spots become pizza in the room and, occasionally, an overindulgence in historical sites becomes a relaxing day ending with a bottle of wine, fresh fish and a man with a guitar.

even the birds have shoreline houses

even the birds have shoreline houses

We’ve tried to take it easy today, did a bit of touring of this immense rural island set on Lake Huron, got a taste of the First Nations here as native Americans are called, and now look forward to returning to restaurant nirvana. Last night, we walked down to the harbor to a place called ‘Buoy’s’ We sat in the marina restaurant,IMG_0879 a bottle of highly quaffable wine by our side, watched the sun go down, enjoyed a cooked-to-order meal of fresh fish, and listened to the melodious voice of some guy with a guitar singing Leonard Cohen and



Elton John. In the end, we closed the place down.

As we shall no doubt do tonight.IMG_0882




IMG_2270Three nights ago—on Sunday—I suddenly awoke in a panic. I had diligently made sure that my car insurance, which comes due July 28th, would be paid on time and would cover all fifty states. I never thought to ask about Canada. Sweat seeping out of every pore, I checked my policy, which I had brought with me, and sure enough it covered Canada. Sigh of relief. Then a hasty look on the internet revealed I needed an extra card proving this insurance. An early Monday phone call to my insurance agent was promptly answered and the response was, you no longer need one. Bigger sigh of relief. As I put the phone down, I suddenly thought, but what about Medicare? Cristal’s UN insurance was still operative and valid throughout the world, but me? To the internet again, and to my horror discovered Medicare doesn’t cross the border. Off I went on an internet search to get travel insurance. That was swiftly accomplished. Then Cristal asked, what about our phones? Is Canada a foreign country as far as Verizon is concerned? It is! Of course it is; if Verizon can get an extra buck out of you, it will. So, global data plan added on. And, at that point I had to ask myself, how could someone as well-traveled as I be such a total idiot?

The answer seems to be that somehow Canada doesn’t seem foreign. As I said yesterday, for the most part they speak English. They have the same shops and malls along the roads and everything, when you’re sitting in NY and planning, just doesn’t seem foreign the way, maybe, going into Mexico seems. But look again! IMG_2271The roads are marked in kilometers, temperature is measured in Centigrade, and the money…what is this plastic see-through stuff and the funny coins with the Queen on them? Forgive me, Canada: you’re not an extension of the USA even if your television seems to have more of our news than yours.IMG_2269

We are on Manitoulin Island, no thanks to Betty who wanted to get us here by a scenic route of gravel back roads. I think she knew full-well we dare not use Hilary because of the costly data plan.