Autumn: Something Old & Something New

November 12, 2024.Reading time 8 minutes.

What an interesting time of year Autumn is.

It is my absolute favorite season with the textures of coziness and warm toned colours. Layers of sweaters and the warmth of a well styled scarf. A lovely hug of socks around feet that have not been enclosed for months. The sensation of caress from a fleecy shirt. Is it any surprise that fashion is a fancy of mine? Beyond the somewhat, but not necessarily, frivolous nature of fashion, there are the sweet mysteries of seasonal produce in the form of sugars found in squashes and fruits which make for a heady and satisfying addition to any menu. The putting to bed of all the perennials that delighted us with their foliage and bloom throughout the summer. There is the recognition that not everything will live to see another year and our annuals hit the compost bins, our crickets and bees die off, we pay our respects to everything that delighted us and close another chapter in the form of a season.

To the untrained eye it seems everything is dying or going into hibernation, afraid of the dark and cold. Retreating into itself for protection and self-preservation. We marvel at the change in colours of the leaves, the aurora borealis in the sky as it darkens earlier by the night, the sweetness of the autumnal produce and the various ways to preserve it for the coming onslaught all while watching wildlife scurry around with provisions for store. How fascinated we are by nature forgetting that we are creatures of similar ilk, naturally bound by seasons by technologically adjusted to bust through the seasons boundaries. Unnaturally considering our humanness to be beyond the scope of the changing of the seasons. Such errors in judgment can cause us to pay a high price in every way and gradually deteriorate to the point where we are forced to a complete and shuttering stop, often at a very high speed. The shambles created by our inattentiveness can be costly and the restoration and regeneration can be arduous. On the other hand, a steady path to wellness lays a good foundation for an upcoming season of darkness. We are well on our way to preparedness for the long night.

For me, September brings with it an anticipation for a time in the not-too-distant future when I can slow down and observe, absorb all the feelings and emotions that busyness pushes to the side and sit in liminal space to rest and recalibrate. Collecting reading materials, finding inspiration for creativity and taking stock of what needs adjustment in the coming season. What happens when we give ourselves space to just be? The possibilities are endless.

There is quiet work to be done. The work of making sense of ourselves and the lives we have created. The task of abscission and the care of the scar to prevent any lasting affects. Putting away, moving around, repurposing and chucking out to make the necessary slowing down and wintering process more pleasurable and fruitful.

Setting out on long walks with a sense of awe and wonder is soul food. Using a camera to record sights that will remind me of the beauty of the season is a wonderful way to bring my wandering pessimistic mind to focus on the truth of the moment. I love all of the red, browns, oranges, yellows and greens and every shade and tone of said colours. They remind me of the work being done in nature for the the wintering preparation. The shutting down of photosynthesis and the wonder of pigment that was always there but hidden from sight as the mighty chlorophyll begins the process of breaking down.

I tend to notice things in summer because the effects that sunlight has on my mind and body is exhilarating. I am filled with delight at the very though of a new sunshiny day. Watching flowers grow and bloom under the tender care of my watering can and fertilization. Listening to the early morning birdsong and simultaneously feeding my cells their essential Vitamin D while enjoying the exquisite flavour of processed fruit from a coffee plant. But somehow, I rebel at the thought of the natural brightness dialing it down a bit so that conservation and rejuvenation can take place in the perfect balancing act of nature.

Take time to watch and listen, borrow a new book to read, walk fast and walk slow, choose a new scent to burn, awaken your taste buds, in fact your mind, with a new cuisine to dabble in, find a new colour for your lips, breathe deeply, soak in hot water, listen to something new not chosen for you by an algorithm, find a new topic to explore…there are so many ways to feed the soul in the seasons of life we find ourselves in.

All of the things I strive towards in my interactions and relationships with others, I need to adopt in the face of my own humanness. On the cusp of slowing down and settling in, it is good to apply a sweet grace to my own soul and permit allowances for the natural needs of my being. This is who I am on the eve of my 59th celebration of life and I had better accept it with a wide inclusive hug. Feed my soul with what is good and true and be welcoming with genuine hospitality to whatever proceeds.

Authors I have been reading in the last few months: Richard Wagamese, Katherine May, Shana Abe, Pico Iyer, Allison Pataki and Richard Rohr

Ingredients I have been dabbling with recently: chilies, chocolate, herbs that make Oaxacan cuisine what it is and pomegranate powder

A new colour I have added to my wardrobe: olive green – it pairs well with pink, burgundy, navy, camel and more

Something new I have done: added heavier weights to my workout routine and increased my protein dramatically

Yours truly with smiles, Lael

Going Home

February 1, 2022.Reading time 20 minutes.

I was born here, I grew up here and I left here when I was 18 but this place will always be home to me.

I use the term home loosely in some ways as I no longer live in this city but in the most important way, the way in which one feels that they belong, comfortable, settled, the way in which it seems your spirit sighs with familiarity, that is the way in which I use the word home. The salt water air is tangy in my nostrils and it eases the tightness in my skin. My mouth begins to salivate as the memory of silky, perfectly fried fish and dictates my next move – dinner reservations for the next four days! Just to be clear, we love fish (Newfoundlanders hardly ever use the term cod, it is just assumed that you mean that specific species when you say fish). I was travelling with my husband, sister and brother-in-law and we had fish or some form of seafood for thirteen days straight. Somedays it was three times a day! For most Newfoundlanders, a trip back home is as much about what you eat and who you eat it with as it is about where you go and what you see. Of course we love the water, the landscape, the music, the walking and hiking, but to be truthful we all go home to eat and visit.

Arriving in St. John’s often has the added benefit of a significant time change. We were delighted – we popped into our hotel to check in and drop the bags into our room calling back to my sister to meet us in 15! And then we hit the blocked off streets of Duckworth and Water Street at a gallop. It was so wonderful to wander, remember and laugh at our stories and memories. I’m sure most of them were true, some exaggeration to be sure, but nevertheless they were our stories, our memories, our re-living and we were home. It was a long time before we turned around to make our way back to our beds. Pointing at different places, wandering the waterfront, recounting times and events with me having to stop from time to time to cross my legs, panting for everyone to stop with the recounting and shenanigans only to howl with laughter again the next minute. It was one of those nights where you found yourself asleep before your head hit the pillow, knowing that there would be plenty more to come.

This small city is full to overflowing with character and charm. As someone who grew up in St. John’s I never would have thought to book a walking tour of my hometown (my brother-in-law did it) but boy was it fun to wander the streets with Michael Boyle, hear his stories and witness him fall theatrically into the role of some of the cities original politicians, governors and other colourful characters quoting speeches, reciting poetry and the like. Definitely book a dinner theatre, check out live music (it’s everywhere) and plan on some late nights because it is one of those cities that is full of life at all hours if you choose to take advantage of it.

Being born and raised here gives me the advantage of having family in this wickedly beautiful place. What is it about the comfort of a Grandmother? My goal was to visit her everyday, not with any purpose other than to sense the numinous dimension of existence. It is a mysterious place, sitting beside my 98 year old Grandmother, hearing her play her old pump organ, transcendent really, knowing that you are experiencing something of the divine. She grounds me, puts me back in touch with parts of myself that easily get set aside in life’s bustle. But, then it’s time for dinner, so I make a call to my Aunt to see if there is any moose in the freezer. I can still smell and taste her partner’s moose burgers that he served me three years prior! It’s one of those food experiences one does not forget – the best I have ever tasted.

Of course there are walks at Cape Spear, Signal Hill, Logy Bay, Quidi Vidi, Conception Bay South and so much more. The Quidi Vidi Loop, Lady’s Lookout and North Head Trail are all in the city and walking distance from downtown. Within a short drive there are an abundance of trailheads and many of those are connected to the East Coast Trail so you can start ticking off segments of that if it is on your wishlist of trails to walk. Because we decided to travel in the fall of the year, we missed out on the kayaking, icebergs, whale watching tours and all of the fun that is usually on offer in summer.

I could go on and on about restaurants and breweries, museums and historic sites but there are very good guides, books and tourist information that include all of the options available. Best piece of advice I can give you is to read ahead, plan ahead and book ahead otherwise you’ll get left behind. Seriously though, trust me, you may not be able to do the things you want, get to the places you want or eat at the restaurants you want if you do not book ahead.

In the 1980s people (archeologists) started scraping off the surface of Ferryland to uncover a colony , The Colony of Avalon, because it seems that there were people there long before we decided to head there for a cup of tea on an afternoon. As it turns out this is big stuff. There was a settlement there in the 17th century and it changed hands from time to time as the English and French duked it out and now the lovely guides parade you down mainstreet of town pointing out a loo that was flushed with the tides, remains of homes, a forge, a cobblestone street and other things of interest. The museum has beautiful and well appointed displays of thousands of artefacts that were uncovered at the dig. On the way to the site from the museum there is a bench of your choice to catch a breather and a kitchy Purity garbage bin to dispose of your napkin after you have finished devouring your light and fluffy raisin bun from the kitchen of the cafe. There is a lighthouse that offers picnic lunches to be enjoyed on the cliffs, but be sure to book ahead as this is a very popular outing and there are no leftovers to be had. If it is a spur of the moment day trip, the cafe makes the best soup, biscuits, and full meals. Do not miss the desserts. The other option offered in Ferryland is the super popular dinner theatre. Check it all out. In all honesty, one of the surprising things that kept popping up on this trip is the fact that many of these super interesting, super fascinating places across the island were not really well known and not really researched, dug into and exposed to the general public for observation until the 1970s and 80s. What?!? What took so long? Anyway, I was super happy to be able to do a bit of tourism in my home province.

My husband, and I, my sister and brother-in-law had planned to spend the second half of our time in Southern Coastal Labrador and the Northern Peninsula of Newfoundland. We have visited many times before but usually not in tourist mode. I certainly had not read any tourist guide books about the place I spent so much time in – my mistake.

After touching down in Deer Lake and before the drive up the coast to catch the ferry to Labrador we had to pop into the Irving gas station for some sunday lunch. Nostalgia definitely, but not bad. Soup is always a hit, but really we were there for the hot turkey sandwich and it did not disappoint. Tummies more than full, we waddled to the car and up the highway for a teaser pass-through of Gros Morne because that was for the return trip but we did stop at the Arches near Parson’s Pond, one of my childhood homes. When I stop at places that trigger pleasant childhood memories it is never enough time. The memories that flood back are of people, smells, sounds, and funny enough, I often remember the clothes I was wearing. It is always an explosion of feelings too much to absorb no matter how much time is allotted. Anyway, on to the ferry at St. Barbe and across the Straits to see our friends.

This is my husband’s childhood home. (I didn’t ever get to Labrador until the year after we were married.) He left when he was six but his parents promised him he could return every summer. And he did until his was 17. He lived with his buddy’s family every summer playing on its shores, in its bush country and along its rivers and those friends remain close even now. The day after we arrived was a holiday so we packed up food, climbed onto the side-by-sides and took off into the country. What a time!

Ninety kilometres in before checking out the spot where Stanley George’s cabin once stood. Of course there was a boil-up stop at the 75km mark and what a memory that will forever be. As I have mentioned before, we come home for the food! Halibut steaks, halibut cheeks (the best), welks, smoked mackrel, fresh mussels, fresh bread, partridge berry jam and thick cream, baked beans…no end in sight.

When you step onto the land in Labrador there is a sense of stepping into a story of which you know nothing about. The Unesco World Heritage site of the Basque whalers in Red Bay, the H.H. Raleigh shipwreck at Point Amour, the 7500 year old burial site (the oldest known burial site in North America) of the Maritime Archaic peoples and that is only the tip of the iceberg on this southern part of coastal Labrador. Those are historical stories are of long, long ago but there are stories that are being lived out today that are vastly different but just as impactful because they are about a way of life that is uniquely found in that place. I can not state emphatically enough that you must eat at Whaler’s Restaurant in Red Bay. It was the best fish we had on this trip.

The Pioneer Trail from Forteau to L’anse-au-Clair, the Jersey Trail around the cove at L’anse-au-Clair, the Labrador Pioneer Path from Forteau to the Point Amour Lighthouse and the Labrador Coastal Drive in addition to the museums are only a few ways to interact with the stories that the land holds dear. It pays huge dividends to spend time walking the land, watching the water lap at its shores and listening to the wind. It is a vast and wild land that is difficult to leave.

Just across the Strait of Belle Isle lies L’anse-aux-Meadows, a truly fascinating place. A place where you are reminded that there was always someone here before you and if you ever think you can own the land, think again. There will be someone here after you and they will inhabit, but never really own. Another Unesco World Heritage site where the Norse set up an encampment after leaving Greenland. And when you are finished wandering the paths that crisscross across the marsh, eat at The Norseman – really, really good food. Then on your way down the coast there are the thrombolites in Flowers Cove (next stop where you can find these ancient biological formations is Australia).

Heading south on route 430 about 300km the next Unesco site you will encounter is Western Brook Pond in Gros Morne National Park. Best to stop off and walk the short path to catch the boat that ferries you in for breathtaking closeups of the many waterfalls cascading down 2000 ft that are dotted around this land-locked fjord, due to eustatic rebound. Grab a ticket and hop on the tour boat and if you are lucky you will be entertained on board with the most delightful muscians and tourguides. But realistically you will have to make reservations – this place is stunningly beautiful and even the locals like to spend a day taking it all in.

Heading south through Gros Morne National Park you must take in Norris Point and stop for a dinner at The Black Spruce and overnight at Neddies Harbour Inn. You can ferry across the bay to Woody Point if you don’t fancy driving, but the towns around this bay are quaint and unsurpassed in scenery. It is a place where life slows down, perspective is restored and you realize you have been given a gift of serenity, salt water air, and spectacular scenery as you stroll. The restaurants will always, and I mean always, give you a fantastic feed of fish and the craft shops do not disappoint. And that is not all…

The soul of the earth has been exposed. The Tablelands of Gros Morne National Park is one of two places on the planet where the mantle of the earth has been exposed for all to see. It is a surreal, orange landscape that, after the continents collided and the middle layer of the earth was thrust up, and millions of years of erosion is now tabletop flat and jaw dropping gorgeous. There are hiking trails carefully created and maintained for the enjoyment of those who wish to get close to the ethereal landscape. You can hike without ever seeing another soul, or if you wish to be with companions, you can curate the vacation of a lifetime with family or friends.

We had one more dinner with friends before boarding our flight. It is strange to feel like you are leaving home to go home but that’s the spell of this land. It just feels like home. Over dinner we planned our next trip – the south coast of Newfoundland by boat.

JERUSALEM – A YEAR AGO

February 15, 2021.Reading time 14 minutes.

The view of Jerusalem is the history of the world; it is more; it is the history of heaven and earth”

Benjamin Disraeli, Tancred

Quick, spur of the moment weekends away were an easy, peasy plan from Budapest. The airlines offered affordable flights so grabbing a small backpack with color coordinated clothing, slipping on my best fashionable walking shoes, a ready-to-go toiletry bag with the minimal products under 100ml made the transit rides to and from airports and accommodation stress free. Jerusalem was one of those places we always intended on popping over to so one chilly January morning when we looked at flights, everything looked good, price was right, we could find a bed, so off we went.

This trip was about Jerusalem, there wasn’t time to explore much else, and really our only plan was to feel the city. The Holy City has an energy and vibe that is unparalleled. There are definitely cities that hum with historical energy but the layers (literally) of Jerusalem coupled with the tension due to the significance of this place to various faiths and creates a constant tingling of energy. We wanted to see so many places; Mount of Olives, Garden of Gethsemane, City of David, Mount Zion, the Western Wall, the East Gate, the Garden Tomb, The Dome of the Rock and much more, but in many ways it was de ja vu because all of the names and sights are imprinted upon my mind from 54 years of reading and hearing about and watching this city in church, books, television and news teases you into thinking you have been there before. Even the food. I remember the first time I tasted falafel and hummus 34 years ago. I was hooked. But nothing could have prepared me for the sensory experience of walking into the city from the bus station, passing through neighbourhoods, listening to chatter all along the sidewalks as friends sat and philophized over an afternoon coffee. Eating on and in the land where the produce is grown and the spices are mixed, where the recipes are passed down not written out is a spiritual experience. There is a connection that is not felt in a bistro in another land, although I most certainly had a friendly rapport with the lady that handed me my falafel twice a week for many years. The buzz increased in volume as we approached a market, the scent of zatar was mixed with all the fruits and vegetables and fresh Jerusalem bagels only added to my excitement and all of a sudden it was time. Time to sit and indulge in a lunch of falafel and hummus. My palate was zinging with the flavours and I could not believe that I was here. In Jerusalem, a city of cultures, religions, foods, arts, languages and peoples from all around the globe. A city that so many claim as their own and yet it can not be defined by any one. Even the humble chickpea and sesame seed can become political.

We decided to spend the majority of our time in the old city, listening to the sounds, eating the food, enjoying the aromas of savoury and sweet and the unique combinations of these two that at times can confuse the palate. The iridescent orange knafe with sheep’s cheese, and a sweet syrup sprinkled with neon green pistachios is a popular favourite sold on street corners along with Jerusalem bagels, falafel, halva, and sacklav, pomegranate juice and mint tea.

If one pays attention to the news, conflict may be the first thing to come to mind when thinking about Israel, but in fact, there is so much happening in the food culture of this country that is bringing people together. There are so many restaurants where Jewish chefs and Palestinian chefs are working together to create a vibrant menu that celebrates both cultures and traditions. Machneyuda is definitely one of these spaces. Yossi Elad and his co-owners have embarked upon an exciting challenge of building something new – a new culture, a new Israeli cuisine as part of the project of national identity, “that’s the way to make peace”, Yossi posits. Michal, a Jewish chef, and Yakub, an Arab, are a couple that have taken this concept a little further. Living in the Arab village of Ein Rafa where Yakub grew up, they have opened a restaurant combining both Arab and Jewish cuisines. It is a stunning venue with vast views in a cozy setting.

peace is made at the table is my mantra and it seems that many chefs agree

It pays to read and research. In this case my husband Dave, an avid reader with a memory that goes on and on was a spectacular travelling companion. Our first evening, after dropping off our backpacks in our hostel in the Muslim Quarter we went wandering and he mentioned to me that he wanted to head down to the King David Hotel and sit in the lounge so that we could soak in the history. Years ago Dave had read O Jerusalem by Collins and LaPierre and recently he snatched a book I had bought right from under my nose as soon as I got it home, Montefiore’s Jerusalem. He relayed to me the history and stories he had read and made that historical building vibrate and hum as if the stones and cellars themselves were telling their secrets. It was a memorable evening as we sipped the King David’s Hotel own wine label, a big, bold red, snacking on olives and absorbing the energy that emanated from the surroundings. Another evening we wandered up towards the American Colony. This place was founded by Horatio Stafford, the man that penned the hymn “It is well with my soul” along with his wife Anna. Their’s was a life of tragedy with the loss of five of their children but it was also a life of strange and bizarre (as in dooms-day cult) religious thought and practice. The American Colony was involved in humanitarian work during the wars, and is famous for being the place where the Turks surrendered with a white bedsheet from one of the beds. Today it has a neutral status because of its ownership and management, therefore creating space for a meeting place for both Israelis and Palestinians. The bookstore in the hotel complex was hosted by a fascinating gentleman who had us raptured in conversation for over an hour. Every conversation is centred around history and conflict, but this one was interesting because we were completely unaware of the bookstore owner’s ethnicity, biases or opinions. It was an utterly engaging hour and we spent the rest of our evening in the wine cellar of the American Colony Hotel mulling over our earlier conversation and Dave telling me everything he had learned about the place from his readings as a teenager. The biggest advantage I have as a traveller is having the most interesting and well-read companion.

We joined walking tours which made the buildings and streets come alive, we sat and absorbed the atmosphere as the church bells rang and the calls to prayer echoed out and enveloped the city. We pondered the quiet and empty streets on Friday evening as much as we smiled at the lively, awakened city on Saturday night. In order to indulge in the whole spectrum of the city, and the fact that there is limited restaurants open in the Old City, we decided to pop into the Armenian Tavern on Friday night as the Armenians are the least ruffled about religious protocols and found ourselves having quiet dinner in an ornately decorated, chandelier filled cavern where I read these words “from the unkind cup of history, they have drunk wisdom, not bitterness”. Happening upon a group of students who wandering around on the plaza who took the opportunity to burst into an impromptu performance! Joining groups of people indulging in late night shakshuka. Participating in the bursting, joyous, vibrant street-scapes at sundown. But for me Jerusalem is a memory of smells and tastes. I walked around with my eyes almost bulging at the sights but it was the piles of spices, the varieties of olives, the exquisite flavours that captured my heart. Most of what I indulged in I had experienced before, but partaking of it upon the land on which it’s grown and harvested was something unexpected. When food tells a story it becomes an indelible memory. It was as if my taste buds were hyped up and everything was amped up – I was taken a little unawares.

To regale the encounters that were packed into three days is impossible. The sudden realisation that we were witnessing a youtube sermon being preached by a very zealous young Jewish man standing high on a wall while his wife recorded from down below. Drinking morning coffee and smiling at three muslim women having a wonderful morning together at the next table only to be proselytised in the end. Sitting on a stopped train only to be told that there was a tragedy takes ones breath away. Watching two crazy people having fun on a scooter only to realise it was a ruse for thievery. Meeting a precious young boy while walking along the East Gate. Knowing that what we thought we saw was actually metres below the surface and what we were seeing was the top layer of many. These were not the streets that Jesus walked, these may not be the exact spots that miracles happened – those places are long buried, but that does intimate that the myths of faith traditions are fictional. It is a city of vivid stories and sordid histories, and the stones hold the truth. That is why I felt the need to walk the streets and touch the walls, it is a tactile city.

Funny enough, on our way to the airport, which is between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, we whizzed passed the airport on the fast train and headed straight to the ocean in Tel Aviv for a couple of hours. Dave knows I’m an ocean gal and we had a lovely afternoon wandering the ocean front and exploring a couple of neighbourhoods before grabbing a quick train back to the Ben Gurion Airport heading home for work the next day!

IT ALL STARTS AT THE MARKET

October 18, 2020.Reading time 8 minutes.

MY FAVOURITE VENDOR @ FÉNY PIAC – BUDAPEST, HUNGARY

My bedroom begins to illuminate with the light filtering in from our living area window. I wonder what the day holds; what will happen? who will I encounter? where will I go? what will I see? It has been a couple years of new experiences for me and I am usually excited to grab ahold of every opportunity and sensation that each day brings. But, I almost always begin in the market. It is a space in which I feel fully alive, comfortable and energised. Not a bad starting line for the day.

My neighbourhood market is full of excitement for me. Every week has a new product, I am always eager to find out what’s in season, what has been imported from other European countries, and what new fruit or vegetable can I try. Not everything is familiar to me, but then again some of what is familiar I cannot find. So I enjoy my animated game of charades with the vendors as I try to find out flavour profiles and preparation methods and particular cuts of meat. There are animal noises and touching particular parts of the my body as I try to describe, pork belly or cheeks, chicken thighs…I think you get the picture! But they must enjoy it too as we often conclude our encounters with giggles or laughter or sometimes just a shake of the head and I’m sure when my back is turned, an eyeball roll. My non-existent Hungarian language capabilities annoy me but I am rarely treated with anything other than kindness and generosity. Of course I have my favourite vendors, those who I know will help me find what I’m looking for, or who have consistent products, or whose personalities I really click with. And there are those I stay away from. My hand has been slapped when I mindlessly picked up a product to look at it for quality. I’ve been charged more than double what I should have been and I did not have the language to rebuke (after that encounter, my Spanish friend told me that shouting isn’t any particular language!).

I do not cook an elaborate meal every day. Somedays I just need joy, some days I need inspiration, and other days I just need a ritual to begin the day. If I’m off kilter it recalibrates me, if I am excited about the possibilities it inspires me, and if I have no plan it refocuses me. I am grounded by the necessity of food but ecstatic by the variety. It is so unnecessary to have so many varieties of radish and endless varieties of tomato, and varying levels of sugar in strawberries, and different colours of watermelon but what a joy! Sweet. Sour. Hot. Smoky. Stinky. Tangy. Crisp. Soft. Juicy. Velvety. And then there is subtle and shy, those lovely additions that make people go “Hmm, what is that?”. Food is so exciting!

There are times I wander giving thanks for the farmer and the vendors, but always it reconnects me to the land and I give thanks for creation. Since being in Hungary and restricted to travel within its borders, our jaunts surprise me with the richness of agriculture in this land. For this opportunity I am grateful.

Visual stimulation is the beginning of any creative process for me. As a young child I realised that I could experience the world through cookbooks. I had a better understanding of the land and the culture by reading recipes and if they had stories of people in them I considered them novels! Some people like to prepare for their travels by reading Lonely Planet, Rick Steves or Eyewitness Travel but I head to the cookbook section of our local library. There is so much to be learned by observing the kitchens of a country. In many ways I feel like I have been to countries I have never set foot in. It was a few years ago now, but I will never forget when the lifestyle section of The Calgary Herald,our local newspaper (remember those? actual paper copies, delivered to the door every morning!) had an article on a new cookbook that was just released. The featured recipe was chicken paprikas! I tried it and then promptly headed out to my neighbourhood bookstore. I was entranced as I curled up on the floor leaning against the bookshelf reading about the author’s Hungarian heritage and the recipes passed down to her through her family. Who would have thought that one day I would be here in her country, enjoying as many varieties of chicken paprikas as there are family kitchens, all similar but all different.

SENSORY OVERLOAD @ MAHANE YEHUDA MARKET – JERUSALEM, ISRAEL

Spices, herbs and aromatics transport me to various places around the world. There are some products such as cauliflower which can be used as a canvas for many cuisines; Mexican, Greek, various Asian, various Middle Eastern or Indian cuisines. Fresh seafood is another canvas I love to play on. There is a time for simple oil, butter, salt and pepper, a fresh herb or two. Some produce is so exquisite and stunning on its own that anything more would be an assault. But, then there is also a place for a complex plethora of flavours – ginger, tamarind, mustard seed, sage, fenugreek, zatar, chilis, juniper, cumin, coriander, lime, galangal, turmeric, cardamom, peppercorns and on and on, because the star of the show is the land, the culture, combined together to create a symphony. Both methods of preparation provide me endless amounts of fun and creativity depending on whether I want to celebrate the beauty of an outstanding product or whether I want to feel the explosion of flavours and savour the dance that erupts when the magic of umami happens.

Cooking is like everything else. You learn the basic rules and theory and then you are able to tweak, substitute, and practice your skills to create something that is beautiful and uniquely yours.

MY HUNGARIAN HAPPY PLACE

September 17, 2020.Reading time 12 minutes.

I have found my happy place in Hungary! A place I love because it is beautiful and serene but vibrating with energy. It is so important to me to find such places where I am to be resettled for an extended period of time . A place of retreat. Somewhere where I feel at home, comfortable and relaxed, so that I can settle in and engage in self-care every now and again when the cares of day to day living need resorting and reassessment. And I have found it. It is a lovely hill with legends and history but currently populated by the most wonderful community that seek to live on it with care and respect.

There are still COVID-19 concerns and restrictions so my table has remained relatively empty over the past several months. In the meantime, my brilliant husband, Dave, decided that we would explore what we could, when we could, where we could so we took to the backstreets and side streets of Budapest until it was announced that we could leave the city and explore the countryside. And we did. Our first overnighter was to a small cottage on Szent György-Hegy. We both fell in love with this area of Hungary. It is stunningly beautiful as well as peaceful, exuding an energy that is both calming and rejuvenating. Looking to the south there are views of Lake Balaton, the largest lake in Central Europe, with vineyards and pinces (cellars) dotted all over it and gazing north provides a vast vista of the Transdanubian Mountains. The Balaton uplands, is a monogenetic volcanic field where every eruption creates a different volcanic hill, leaving the landscape with a vast selection climbing options! The resulting basalt columns and interesting topography makes David very happy and it has an easy and chill atmosphere that makes me very happy, so it was the best for both of us.

There is so much creativity on this hill, winemakers, bakers, and restaurant owners all so wildly passionate about what they create that it is difficult not to feel their energy. Our first interaction was with the owners of Bencze Birtok when they opened up their cottage again after the COVID-19 lockdown. We booked immediately and their welcome was very generous (and they so kindly helped us with a hilarious but unfortunate event with our car). That visit was purely to get out of the city and head to a place where we could do some hiking and reconnect with nature. We were hooked.

It is serene but never silent. It is a labour intensive way of life on this hill. There is always the brrr of a chainsaw, the pounding of a hammer, the slap of mortar on bricks, a hoe picking its way through weeds, or a mower running between the vines and even an ice cream tricycle that plays that old familiar earworm. The labour that puts vino in our glasses, though, is silent. The grapes are harvested by hand and pressed in présházak (press houses) owned and operated by families that cherish their land and take pride in their produce. The tasting rooms are inviting and generally smallish because the wines are best when they are enhanced with the view that their teraszok (terraces) provide. There were old family vineyards, although the communists took much of the land and most have started again from nothing, others are young dreamers who love the lifestyle of agriculture and want to bring their ideas about wine to fruition.

Volcanic soil and vines make a great grape and the winemakers create a fantastic wine

We have returned for the third time in just as many months and everyday we discover something else that encourages our love affair with this part of the country. We are drawn here to retreat. Wandering the single lane roads, climbing the hill, looking over the vistas, planning which hill to gallivant over next. Scattered vineyards and family pinces entice you to peek around the fruit trees and rose bushes and inquire whether they are open for tasting – they almost always are. The varietals are extensive and many exclusive to Hungary. There are many owners and winemakers here who are committed to produce organic wines, some unfiltered, that have been harvested and bottled according to the moon cycle. There is a connection with the land in this place that is felt through the product that you taste in your glass. The terroir and the grape becomes a work of art created by the winemaker and is best appreciated whilst sitting and overlooking the very vines it came from. Although, it is always difficult to walk away without bottles to share with friends back home.

Visits after that first one were more engaging with the local community as restrictions eased and everyone became more adept to masking and social distancing. We discovered that Szent György-hegy is full of gems that sparkle with owners that produce such superb products that your palate will sing. We arrived on a Monday and had heard about a bakery that was only open Wednesday – Saturday so we patiently waited. Búzalelke Péskesség, opened by Bea Kovacs, was well worth the wait. Her sourdough offerings are superb and I could never return to Budapest without bringing some of her products to my friends. But, it’s her pastries that keep us going back for a second breakfast!

It takes time to find gems, you have to walk the roads and chat with those in the know. One such place, Zöldülő Terasz, is a lovely short 150m stroll through vineyards to a terraced garden that features local wines, cheeses, cured meats and Vivian’s homemade bread. Two young people who enjoy playing games so much decided to share them with others and along with their food and wine menu have created a menu of games for you to choose from and engage in as you imbibe and while away your afternoon! Vivian, Tomas and their puppy Deo live in a house in the family vineyard that they are caring for and decided to open up the bottom level of their home to welcome people. Incidentally, their house white is deliciously refreshing on a warm fall day!

It was harvest time on the hill and Nyári Pince was in full swing. Their Chardonnay, Háslevelű and Cserszegi Fűszeres are among my favourites, but that being said, I haven’t tasted one of their wines that I do not favour. Their tasting room features a beautiful covered terrace that overlooks the hill and has stunning views of Lake Balaton. It is not difficult to see that the family works very hard diligently caring for the property and produce that the Grandfather purchased and planted.

Down the hill a few metres is a lovingly restored building that is now home to a wonderful restaurant. Tarányi Présház was a passion project of some investors that couldn’t bear to see an old baroque building fall into disrepair. They have created a stunning homage to it’s previous life. I think the best way to pay homage is to invite people to slow down, sit, drink and eat and view the work of craftsmen and best of all, good local food and wine and they do that with a gorgeous terrace fitted out with a pizza oven as well as a grouping of privacy lounge couches!

It is literally a hop across the road from there to Gilvesy Pincészet, and like so many others on the hill, they are doing viticulture and winemaking organically. The volcanic soil is specific to this region and, if done right, you can taste it in the glass because at this winery you can definitely do that. They “authentically preserve and express the unique character of the mountain” in their wines with a diligent and respectful nod to the ancient volcanoes and those that lived on the land before them.

Our next stop down the road was Szaszi pince. Every pince has a story and this one is no different. A family who has deep roots on this hill and after communism had wreaked havoc on this country, repurchased land to again do what their ancestors had done before. Their wines are well balanced and crafted to showcase each distinct varietal. We visited the restaurant for lunch and felt a gentle familial pride and welcome. It was a joy.

A patio with a view while dining on white grape soup over smoked trout and smoked pork

Never take for granted a place that offers hospitality. Generosity and welcome are not always difficult to encounter, but it must always be received with a grateful heart. It is with a spirit of thankfulness that I am compelled to share my story of Szent György Hegy. We may have just returned from our third trip there, but it will definitely not be our last!

Heartfelt Thoughts

August 7, 2020.Reading time 13 minutes.

“Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild with a faery, hand in hand, for the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.” – William Butler Yeats

Reading has always been a central part of my life and listening to different voices has regularly occupied my podcast and youtube playlists but I now have a feeling that I had fallen victim to algorithms. It takes energy and time to seek out voices to listen to from both sides of an argument and a deliberate effort to not be swept up in the ardour of an issue without taking time to listen and make choices that are well thought through and purposed toward a sustainable change. I am beginning to wonder if I have any understanding at all about the issues that are meaningful to me or my children and I now know that the feeling I have of falling down a circular tunnel desperately trying to jam my rubber soled, old lady walking shoes into the sides so as to avert a crash landing is fear. It is a fear of not having the right language, a fear of not speaking up, a fear of speaking up, a fear of coming to conclusions with out enough supporting knowledge from all sides of the discussion. This fear has settled deep in my body, it is persistent and heavy to bear. This fear occupies huge chunks of my time while I am walking, driving, shopping, cooking, and even the beautiful lavender moments on either side of sleep.

After the agonizing deaths of Breonna Taylor in March 13, 2020 and of George Floyd on May 25, 2020, I seriously had to revisit my experiences and realise that there were moments I should have spoken to security personnel when they took my friend Moji aside. I should have had a keener eye to catch incidents that were uncomfortable for my Haitian friends in the medical office, and I began to wonder what I had missed over the years. I could not believe how insensitive I had been. The fact that I was unaware of their experiences was a loud piercing screech that spoke volumes to their pain that I was not privy to. Where had I been? Was I oblivious? Was I not listening? Did I not care? Was I callous? Was it even their responsibility to tell me how uncomfortable they had been? I was embarrassed to have such a smack-up-the-side-of-the-head moment thinking that just because we had a friendship that I would be privileged to hear about their pain. My white privilege shows up again and again and I have not been tuned in to it until now.

So I sit. I sit with my heartbreak, I sit with my mind numbing Netflix series and my fascination with all things chateau related on youtube. I sit with my white body. I shed tears for my family. I cringe for my friends. I remember times when I should have spoken out and did not. I wish I could be different than I am. I turn on my music but I am really only interest in Blues, Jazz, Spirituals – the type of music that speaks to lament and confusion and interestingly enough it bring me peace, it resurrects new hopefulness and gives me gumption to continue to seek out new voices, settle down deeply into a new learning and a willingness to live with the lament, watch closely, listen critically and absorb ways in which I am ignorant and careless. A significant length of time has passed but I am reading, I am thinking, I am confronting and I am determined to be as aware as I can be and change what I need to change so that I can be the best damn friend, the best damn mother-in-law, the best damn mother and the best damn potential grandma that I can be. I dream of a better world for my kin.

It has been hard for me to strike a balance between the importance of scientific thought and evidence, emotion, old and ancient wisdom, the human condition and intuition. There has always been a conundrum for me in that if I feel that I have tipped the balance of my attention in one way or another, that I may be missing something that will speak truth into the conversation I am trying to have with myself about any particular topic. Therefore, I insist on having a large table at which many voices are invited, opinions are welcome, blatant disregard for others is not tolerated and above all humility is vital. If there is one thing that really pisses me off, it is a lack of humility. I have turned off more than one voice in the past five months because arrogance was in the tone and verbiage of the speaker or writer. I do not mind passion, disagreement or even heated debate, I do not mind strong opinions but I do have a problem with those who are not considered in their speech and have not taken the time to listen to others who are part of the discussion.

“We do not see things as they are, we see them as we are.” – Anais Nin

In many ways it has become confusing for me to unravel what I am feeling because there has been catastrophe upon catastrophe. Between the global Covid-19 pandemic, Black Lives Matter, my inability to hug my children and loved ones, serious family illnesses, and financial instability among family and friends there are many conversations happening at once and I am a slow, very slow, processor. Therefore I have learned to refrain from spouting off (which in my earlier years got me into a lot of trouble) and take the time to listen and learn and find ways to imbed that new knowledge into my daily ways of living. It often begins with a conversation over dinner with my loving and well read husband, Dave. I process things through discussion and this is a great way to start off then it moves into my interactions as I move about the city. How do I feel when I encounter something that makes me uncomfortable, and how does my body respond to that and most importantly, why? I sure learn a lot about myself and the world around me when I take the time to be aware. I sometimes think that part of the issue of racism and other systemic plagues is that we don’t take time to ask the “why” question when we have a reaction, or even take the time to notice our reaction. We need to retrain our bodies and brains to not see everything that makes us uncomfortable as a threat.

What I have learned:

sit – I have to be still to feel. My ability to process feelings and thoughts is directly related to the heart rate function on my smart watch. Passage of time needs to occur for me to become aware of my thoughts and feelings and how my physical body and state of emotions are affected.
listen – It is important to listen to voices with whom I agree and disagree. Suppress my urge to say “but, but…” Listening without constructing an argument while doing so. Listening with out narcissistically making it about me.
feel – I need to put words to my feelings. Words such as fear, rage, numb, vexed, shame, hopeless, anger, irritation, hurt, distress, guilt, rejection, defiant, tired, old, stupid…speak truth to my increased heart rate, my tears and my withdrawal.
lament – Listening to stories of pain, feeling the cadence of anguish, reading the book of Job and ancient women who have learned the language that embodies sorrow – why oh why??
hope – It was difficult to allow my natural tendency to find ways defy this hot mess. I felt guilty that I wanted to look for glimmers of hope and positive stories and to hear about things that were right in the world but it was necessary.
nuance – Things are not as simplistic as they are purported to be. There are always layers upon layers that have relevance to any situation and I cannot begin to understand so I must invite others into the conversation I am having with myself.

Some of the voices I am reading and listening to (in no particular order, just as they came to mind):

Kmele Foster
Thomas Chatterton Williams
Chloe Vladary
John Wood
Ijeoma Oluo
Glen Loury
Rachel Elizabeth Cargle
Courtney Quinn Color Queen (for fun and a smile)
Ibram X Kendi
Coleman Hughes
John McWhorter
Austin Channing
Resmaa Menakem
Emily Bernard
Voices from my faith community who have made it their life’s work to advocate for individuals who have been affected by the abuse of power
People of colour who sit at my communion table
And many white people who are engaging with people of colour in a respectful and meaningful way

Before I finish, I want to again reiterate what I wrote about in my first blog post a couple of months ago. The best practice I have engaged with is meditation. It prepares my mind and heart to accept truths about myself and my world and creates space and freedom to engage with dissenting voices and being the journey of transformation.

I hope for a better world for my children, grandchildren and more. I hope for a better humankind. I hope that we acknowledge the transgressions and trauma of the past so that we may heal. I hope that we do not ignore the wisdom of the ancients. I hope that I become more loving, more kind and more courageous. I hope I do not lose faith.

“Perhaps many things inside you have been transformed; perhaps somewhere, someplace deep inside your being, you have undergone important changes while you were sad.” – Rainer Maria Rilke

TWO WOMEN IN BUCHAREST

July 5, 2020.Reading time 8 minutes.

“Hospitality is the key to new ideas, new friends, new possibilities. What we take into our lives changes us. Without new people and new ideas we are imprisoned inside ourselves.”

Joan D. Chittister

Hospitality is as much about receiving it as it is about giving it. If you are not open to being changed, you will not be open to receiving the hospitality extended to you.

Ten days in Bucharest, no problem. My husband, Dave, had to head to the regional office there to do some work and I was keen to tag along. There hasn’t been a place I have visited that I have not been able to feel comfortable, enjoy, and find interesting things to see. Oh, there were interesting things to see, but I did not feel comfortable and I was not enjoying myself. After the first couple of days of wandering by myself I arrived back at our apartment dejected and frustrated. I had walked and walked, revisited a couple cafes, wandered down a couple of familiar paths trying to get a feeling of comfort. Nothing, I was not at ease and having a difficult time understanding what the cause was. The architecture was confusing, the charm was missing, I could not seem to get past Ceausescu’s Romania. Everything that I had encountered prior to this trip was about the absurdity of the communist regime and the hardships, suspicion and fear on the part of Romanian citizens. The 1989 story was embedded in my brain and it was the lens through which I was visiting the city. There had to be more to the story. What was before communism? What was Romania now? I had explored the old city, trendy streets, coffee shops, historical sights and buildings and read all the guide books and articles, youtube and blogs. Nothing.

Dave suggested I hire Cristina Iosif from unknownbucharest.com for a day and see if that helped, after all I did have another week in town. She was available the next day (midweek) so picked me up at 9am and we were off on an adventure. After introductions and niceties she wanted to know what I was interested in, I told her my difficulty of feeling the vibe of the city and that I needed to know more than Ceausescu and 1989. Her first words still make me laugh “Well, in 400 AD” and our day exploded from there. I say exploded because I spent the next few days revisiting the places she took me so I could regurgitate, reflect and appreciate – she relayed so much knowledge and feeling about her country and city that I had to take time to allow it all to sink in. She invited me into her story of her place and every now and again I could feel the pain, dread and the joy and pleasure she experienced as she watched her country and city transform. It was such a wonderful place to be – invited into someone else’s story.

The Athenee Palace (Hilton) housed both Axis and Allies, foreign journalists, dignitaries, British spies and Gestapo whiling away the time awaiting WWII

16th century Mihai Voda Church and its accompanying ‘stand alone’ tower was moved 245 metres on railway tracks to avoid Ceausescu’s radical and devastating redesign of Bucharest. It is now enclosed in the middle of apartment blocks with the only access through a drive under an archway into what is like a courtyard/parking lot.

Cristina Iosif extended a welcome that I could not refuse. By entrusting some of her story to me, I was compelled to understand and see the Medieval, Romanesque, Art Nouveau, Art Deco, Communist, Interwar, Neo-Romanian National Romanticism, and some Moorish elements too, with a new vision. Even the empty and half built monstrosities that are left with plastic, sheet metal and debris blowing in the breeze have a story. But when there are names like Eugeniu Iordachescu, the engineer who wanted to save the churches of his city and whose plan began by watching waiters carrying around raised trays of glasses around the restaurant, attached to the history it suddenly became alive and personal and my heart was touched. It wasn’t a city of faces and buildings anymore, it was Cristina’s city, it was Eugeniu’s city and realized that invitation and welcome was essential to feeling at home.

Cărturești Carusel – beautiful bookstore to relax, read and drink coffee

What can I say about Andreea Beca? She walked away from her corporate work, enrolled in professional cooking classes and her passion is palatable. A woman who followed her heart and in doing so gave me a memory I will not soon forget.

Where to eat? That is always my first question when I decide to travel somewhere. I like to look for places that do not always make it on the top 10, places that tell the story of the city on the plate. Beca’s Kitchen is open Monday to Friday, 5pm to 10pm and the menu is on a chalkboard. She hits the market, touches, smells and chats with the vendors, sees what is fresh, cooks with her heart and then writes it on the board. It’s hard to get a table there, she does two seatings and is almost always fully booked. Beca wanders among the tables throughout the evening, smiling and chatting (and taking pictures if you want) and talking about her food if you ask. There are memories of her mother and grandmother in her recipes and there is an invitation into her imagination on her plates. It wasn’t just Romanian food, it was Beca’s food. Delicious and beautiful! Again I felt at home, welcomed.

When you sit at someone’s table and they share their life with you, you are changed. Whether it is a story told verbally or a story told on a plate, the encounter can be monumental in the way it impacts your life. Two women, Cristina Isosf and Andreea Beca, welcomed me into their lives, their stories, their city and I will never be the same again.

“There is an emanation from the heart in genuine hospitality which cannot be described, but it is immediately felt and puts the stranger at once at his ease.”

Washington Irving

EXPANDING MY CAPACITY FOR COMPASSION

May 29, 2020.Reading time 5 minutes.

A LITTLE MEDIATION GOES A LONG WAY

On March 11,2020, when Hungary (the country in which I now reside) declared a state of emergency, staying reasonably sane became a little more difficult. There was a bombardment of information to keep straight and with family living in different countries and in different time zones and all being in different places on all the Covid-19 models and graphs, there was an endless torrent of statistics and protocols to keep up with. As the news and details and regarding the pandemic unfolded dramatically every day, actually it was every hour, it was not only overwhelming but at times conflicting.

Stay isolated but stay connected

Relax and veg, laze and watch but ramp up your exercise routine, learn a new skill

Eat what you want but watch what you eat

It was sometime during the first week of quarantine that I noticed I had stopped my routine morning mediation. My new habit was to catch up with the latest family news and commiserations the moment my right eyelid cracked opened. I searched and scrolled to keep updated and my ability to settle into stillness and silence, focus on breath and meditate was assaulted by a constant buzz of input. Irritation and agitation were common feelings as I found my capacity to hold conflicting emotions to be diminished by fear and anxiety. I did not want to feel disdain for those who had ideas and theories that were different from mine. I wanted to feel compassion for people not threatened by them. I did not want to have fear of other people. I wanted to smile and nod a welcome. I wanted to celebrate when my youngest finished his undergrad and received acceptance into the Master’s program. I needed to feel the intensity of joy and relief when my mother completed her year of weekly chemotherapy treatments. I wanted to experience the jubilation with my son and daughter-in-law as they purchased their first home. There also had to be a way to find space for the daily things that brought me joy – smelling strawberries touched by the heat of the sun, donning a fun outfit, seeing the tomato varietals at the market, or cooking a delicious meal.

A book on my bedside table, Neuberg and Waldman’s How God Changes Your Brain: Breakthrough findings from a leading Neuroscientist, explains how meditation strengthens a specific neurological circuit that generates peacefulness, social awareness and compassion for others and that spiritual practices, even when stripped of religious beliefs improve physical and emotional health. When we perceive God with a benevolent personality (which I do), the anterior cingulate cortex is activated, generating feelings of empathy, tolerance and acceptance towards others in the frontal lobe while decreasing activity in the limbic system and amygdala thereby subduing our anger and fear. There are exercises that I could do that would help expand my capacity for compassion and empathy. This is what I needed to hear.

I had been telling myself that my response and reaction to social media and the news regarding Covid-19 was an expected and natural response to a pandemic, but I could not negate the niggling I had that it was not necessarily the best response. Feelings of anxiety, depression and anger had settled in very quickly and had soon become my “new normal” but I wanted to know how and why this was happening and how I could address it. Attending to my spirit was as important as watching what I eat and doing my necessary menopausal stretching and strengthening exercises. I needed to exercise my brain in a loving and compassionate way. I needed to begin my mediation practice once again.

There is so much more that I would like to share with you all but thought that it would be vulgar not to acknowledge the sadness of the situation we find ourselves in worldwide. I look forward to meeting with you in this space again soon and sharing life together.