Xi'an (China)

We headed to Xi'an on the bullet train, hitting 250 miles per hour! Most tourists flock to the capital of Shaanxi province to visit the Mausoleum of the First Qin Emperor (Qin Shi Huang), popularly known as the home of the Terra Cotta Army. In 1974, farmers digging a new well for an orchard broke into one end of a huge subterranean pit housing ancient terra cotta statues. The figures (an estimated 6000!) include infantrymen, charioteers, and high-ranking military officers intended to protect his body or accompany the emperor who unifed China (around 230 BC) into the afterlife. Excavation of the archaeological site continues to this day with only 3 pits, the largest of which fits in an airplane hangar, currently open to visitors.

While we'd heard that there are no 2 faces alike, we were surprised to find that all of them (~2000 to date) had to be painstakingly reconstructed from broken pieces, as time had destroyed the timbers holding up the ceilings of the mausoleum. I guess archeologists must be really good at jigsaw puzzles?!? It was cool to see the steps in marking and piecing together the artifacts. One section had rows of workstations and figures in varying degrees of reassembly. This gave us a real Westworld vibe, especially once we spotted one of the terra cotta horses suspended in a harness contraption... cue the haunting Westworld theme music!

We had hired a guide, which we concluded was, in theory, the right decision (it was very informative). In practice, however, she packed a whole lot of pushy in such a small package. We were mortified as she insisted other people move out of the way so she could take our pictures. We were quick marched  through the actual archaeological pits, forced to visit the terra cotta souvenir factory (bring home your own warrior!) and sit through a jade store sales pitch, before finally managing to extricate ourselves from further offers of her services.

After hitting up the terra cotta army, most tourists bugger off to elsewhere in China. While the mausoleum was interesting, honestly for us, it wouldn't have been worth the detour if that was all to see in Xi'an. The Big Wild Goose Pagoda, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, was a pleasant place to visit. The 7-story tower overlooks a public space with terraced fountains -  drawing many on a warm weekend - and it amused us to watch an overzealous young cop blowing his whistle at every picture-taking and water-touching offender while the veteran policemen chilled out in the shade. The grounds inside the pagoda walls house the Da Ci'en Temple complex. The buildings house important texts and golden statues of key figures in Buddhism. Offerings of gorgeous floral bouquets and pyramids of fruits line highly decorative altars. Gardens with little winding paths among the trees and trimmed hedges were an oasis from the heat and hordes. Not all on the temple grounds were filled with grace and calm. Nosy Rich espied 3 Buddhist monks in an argument so raucous, he watched to see if it would lead to fisticuffs!

Another worthwhile stop in Xi'an was the Shaanxi History Museum. There is a long queue to get in, but the ticket is free. Traveling has made it clear to us over the years that good curation is an art not fully appreciated by all, and the Shaanxi History Museum's efforts far surpassed any other historic monument we've visited in China. The galleries take you through the various dynasties that ruled over the province throughout history, and its significance in trade and exchange as the terminus for the Silk Road. There is even arguably better context given about the terra cotta army. Clear and intelligible translations in English for us foreigners also abound. The only downside was the wall-to-wall school groups and tour buses constantly jostling you for a closer view, or more likely, obnoxious selfies, but we're learning this is the norm for China.

On the other hand, the crowds - sorry, China has left me all out of synonyms for massive groups of people! - in Xi'an's Muslim Quarter make it an exciting spot for nightlife. The streets are packed with food stalls selling every delicacy and regional specialty. Brightly lit signs, elaborate costumes, and shouting street hawkers try to draw you to their wares. Lamb dumplings, wide biang biang noodles with chillies, and persimmon cakes stuffed with sweet sesame paste were some of the delicious dishes we sampled. As someone who, at this exact moment, has a whole lamb in her freezer back home, I wondered how good can the lamb kebabs in the Muslim Quarter actually be. They are really good. Tender, juicy, spicy with a kind of cumin and chili mix. Each kebab stall has an entire lamb or two hanging right in front with a man butchering as the night goes on and another couple grilling nonstop. You know options are dwindling for this most popular snack when there are clean ribs dangling left and right. Get'em while they're hot!

Our last culinary extravaganza in Xi'an was hot pot. We ordered yin-yang style with the pot divided into a mild broth on one side and traditional Sichuan chillies on the other. Along the wall are cabinet fridges filled with meats, seafood, tofu, and vegetables on skewers, and you grab a tray and go shopping! You cook your own in the rolling boil at the table, and there's a delicious chilli-peanut-garlic sauce to mix for dipping. At the end of the meal, the waiter comes by and counts the skewers to tally your bill, just like Basque pintxos!

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The Great Wall at Jinshanling (China)

For an early start, breakfast was pointing to order bits from a busy hole in the wall next to the metro station: a large square of dough hot from the fryer (yes, please!), a Chinese egg sarnie (yes!), steamed pork buns (eh, ok), and sticky rice and dates wrapped in a leaf (hell, yes!).

Started around 200 B.C. and built by the Qin and Han dynasties, the Great Wall has about a half dozen options available for a visit from Beijing. We chose the section at Jinshanling. The nearly 3 hour drive out of the city got us far enough away from almost all the day trippers who crowd closer sections like those at Badaling and Mutaniyu. That's not to say that Jinshanling's amenities were rustic.

Construction was booming. Billboards advertising new properties herald a future where Jinshanling will seem more akin to a chic ski village than remote outpost. One advantage of the gentrification were brand new toilet facilities, especially as there are none whatsoever on the Wall itself. The path up to the Great Wall had a fair incline, which was paved smoothly and with new steps. The cute souvenir shops, colored banners, and piped music lining the path made it feel eerily like we were in line for the big ride at a theme park.

At the top was the gate at Jinshanling, and we were headed to the gate at Simatai West. The section is mostly restored and broken up by a series of watchtowers. The Great Wall follows the ridgeline of the surrounding mountains so maybe priming one to think of rollercoasters beforehand isn't such a bad idea. Some parts were so steeply sloped that the Wall curved like the construction of a bridge, and other parts were graded with hundreds of unevenly sized steps. I was grateful I'd brought my trekking poles and that it wasn't rainier, making the bricks even more slippery. Unfortunately, the weather wasn't ideal. The Wall was shrouded in fog so while the watchtowers and ramparts were very cool, materializing out of thin air, visibility was such that we'd have been useless as lookouts for any Mongol invaders. Our pace was sweaty and grueling since an early map showed almost a dozen watchtowers to pass within the 2.5 hours allotted to get to the east gate and down to the bus parking lot. A little over an hour in, we were surprised to discover there were only 4 more watchtowers to go, rather than the 8 we were expecting... so either we misinterpreted the map (which became an all too common occurrence during our trip in China), grossly miscounted watchtowers on our route, or inadvertently passed through some bewitched portal in the mists of time... You decide.

Hiking gave us a good appetite for dinner back in Beijing. Each of the provinces have their own offices in the capital so we decided to try out the restaurant catering to workers from Sichuan since we wouldn't get a chance to visit. An enormous basin with red chillies, peppercorns, and bay leaves floating arrived at our table. The college kid serving us had to demonstrate skimming out the spicy stuff so we could reach the fillets of freshwater fish below. The other dish we ordered was frog legs stir-fried with piquant, pickled peppers. Both had enough bones to make eating a bit cumbersome, but no question that the flavors were authentic and the good kind of burn.

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Beijing (China)

Our arrival into Beijing was near midnight, and the taxi driver had some difficulty locating our hostel down one of Beijing's ancient hutongs. The narrow, tree-lined alleyway is a surprising respite from the bustling city, and home to a community center and small police station. Street sweepers were out every morning, and most of the traffic pedaled by on bicycles or drove small electric vehicles.

We eased into Beijing with a morning visit to the Temple of Heaven Park, a vast greenspace in Confucian design, surrounded by a stone wall in the middle of the urban landscape. We were early enough to catch the routines of locals. Elderly folks were very active - playing paddleball like it was a day at the beach; chanting and smacking themselves in unison in a sort of head, shoulders, knees, and toes exercise to get the blood flowing presumably; playing impressive hacky sack with what looks like a giant shuttlecock (a past-time called jianzi); and scrimmaging in actual badminton with the nets strung up between the trees. For the less strenuous but still social, there were choirs singing Peking Opera and amateurs gently swaying in dance routines with colorful scarves. Dotted here and there among the thousands of knotty cypress trees, there were individuals mediating or doing tai chi, birds with beautiful long tails darting from the tall grasses, and echoes of soft music piped in to speakers along the main paths. A variety of outdoor pavilions and pagodas drew the larger numbers of visitors. Crowds also gathered in the rose garden, snapping selfies in the most riotous display of every shade of red and yellow and white blooms I've ever seen.

The hordes were much more daunting at the Forbidden City, the sprawling palace complex that had been off limits to the public for 500 years during the reigns of the Qing and Ming emperors. The flood begins at the Meridian Gate, where all must enter. Wide courtyards, grand staircases, and bridges carved in marble separate what seems like an endless succession of Halls, Gates, and Palaces. Each structure is named for some lofty ideal or trait, like the Hall of Supreme Harmony or Palace of Heavenly Purity. Certainly, the ornately tiled roofs, elaborately painted timbers, and fierce guardian sculptures live up to the exalted names. Unfortunately, many of the interiors were actually empty, closed to access, or at best, furnished but dimly lit and visible via thousands of noses pressed into the plexiglass outside. Some of the smaller buildings deeper into the complex host exhibits of various themes in the collection, but to be honest, the labyrinth had already worn us out to muster much enthusiasm then.

We had no lack of enthusiasm for delving into Beijing's culinary offerings. Peking duck, roasted traditionally over fruit woods, cost a pretty penny but came with fixins for a party - tender baby bok choy with mushrooms, a spicy slaw, garlic and chili eggplant, crunchy lotus root in a pink jelly, and an addictive peanut and red onion salad. The duck itself arrived whole with the cook expertly slicing even portions with thin rinds of glistening, crispy skin, like a master carving a jamon iberico. Washed down with eight treasures tea (an aromatic blend of flowers, dates, nuts, and rock sugar), it was a grand feast.

Wangfujing is a famous pedestrian shopping area, but we were only buying street food. A narrow lane off the main drag is so packed with people and food stalls we felt in danger of being bamboo-skewered ourselves with so many double-fisting. The famous photo opp are the still-twitching scorpions on sticks. We bypassed these. As an entomologist, I've sampled a slew of specimens, and frankly, the scorpions seemed all exoskeleton. Giant soup dumplings, on the other hand, were a fun novelty, slurping the soup out with a straw and then trying to figure out how to eat the deflated result. Rich went with predictable but delicious choices - some kind of tentacles grilled and spicy, and for pudding, deep-fried rice flour sesame balls. I also tried and loved a kebab of unknown fruit, glazed in hardened sugar syrup and sesame seeds. The fruit looked like a rounder strawberry, tasted like cooked rhubarb, and contained hard seeds. Later we found out the fruit is Chinese hawthorn, and the kebab form is a very traditional treat known as tanghulu. Yum!

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Farmer-to-Farmer Program: Final Thoughts on Nepal

A former manager of mine had been to Nepal as a Fulbright Scholar, and he maintained his enthusiasm for the country from grad school through to his recent visit for a different Farmer-to-Farmer assignment. Despite some the initial difficulties, I am happy to report I share his good opinion of Nepal. I will definitely have to come back some day to see more of the country. 

Here are some odds and ends from my visit:

- Diversity: Even when boarding the plane in Dubai, I was struck by the ethnic diversity of Nepalis, just from the sample of overseas workers headed home. In a lineup of agro-vets, individuals could have easily been mistaken for Mexican, Arab, Indian, Greek, Chinese, or Native American. The day I showed up at the office sporting my only salwar kameez (the long shirt, pants, and scarf combo I purchased in India but is also common dress in Nepal), my Winrock colleague told me he nearly mistook me for a Nepali woman. The turnabout was also true. I couldn't stop staring at the Pesticide Registrar when we met because he was a dead ringer for my Filipino uncle. We even joked about it later, as through a translator, he told me he also thought I looked like his relatives! 

- Food: No matter the ethnicity, the staple for Nepalis is dal bhat or dal bhat tarkari. The lentil soup (dal) and steamed rice (bhat) is eaten 2 or 3 times a day. The upgrade includes a vegetable or meat curry (tarkari). The dal bhat tarkari I had with agro-vets was an excellent value for about 150-200 rupees ($1.50-2.00), and that would even come with seconds or thirds if you wanted! ... and instead of bread rolls or chips and salsa, they leave a bowl of popcorn for you to snack on. The fanciest dal bhat tarkari come with multiple curries and spicy pickles in little stainless steel dishes, similar to an Indian thali. When I've been on assignments, the limitations to local cuisine can be monotonous after so many days. Not so in Nepal, where even the dal changes daily or different cooks have different takes on the same lentils or beans. I credit Indian cuisine with teaching me to enjoy vegetables, and its less spicy - though still spiced! - cousin in Nepal was no exception. The veg curries came in varieties of cabbage, carrot, pumpkin, beet, okra, cauliflower, different greens, and even the dreaded bitter melon. Sorry, Mom, I still don't like ampalaya in any form. 

- Logistics: While my Winrock colleagues stuck to US/EU business hours, the government officers in Nepal have shorter days (~ 10 am to - 4:30 pm) but work 6 days a week with only Saturday off. Nepal also has their own calendar, a lunar one in which I believe the current year is 2072? When trying to set up meetings, what really threw me for a loop were Nepali numbers. Zero still looks like an "O," but the script for their 1 and 5 look more like how we write "9" and "4," respectively. Confusing! ...and of course, Nepalis drive on the left-side of the road like the Brits.

- Himalayas: One colleague liked to say that Nepal is not rich in much but mountains. Before this Farmer-to-Farmer assignment, my main interest in coming to Nepal would have been to go trekking in the mountains. As this would take more time than I had, one alternative was to take the Himalaya mountain flight. Catering to tourists, the plane leaves early in the morning and flies for 1 hour over to the mountains. Visibility is always an issue, and even the day, I went the flight was delayed a half hour as they waited for better conditions. Each of the approximately 20 passengers has their own window seat, and the flight attendants come down the aisle to point out Everest and the other tallest mountains in the world. It was something to see, especially since I had no other alternative and none of my commercial flights would have passed by them. However, the price tag is pretty steep at $200/seat and probably would have been better justified if I was a good photographer or had a better camera. We did each get to step inside the cockpit in midflight to see the Himalayas from the pilots' view - something I definitely thought, especially in a post-9/11 world, would never be possible!

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Rich and Julie Get A Move On

Chicago, IL (United States)

Growing up in the Midwest, Chicago was the big city. There were regular trips as a child, though most of my memories seem to be of buying in bulk at the Asian grocery stores and bakeries of Chinatown. It's quite a ways from us now, but I still have a fondness for it ...and even better, a free place to stay with family.

Having enjoyed one of the Chicago Architecture Foundation's river cruises in the past (well-worth it but bring sunscreen), we were pleased to hear they also do walking tours. After living in a city popular with tourists for its own distinct architecture, Rich was a little embarrassed to be part of one of those groups with earphones and blocking up the sidewalks. But he got over it, since the opportunity to view skyscrapers in the city of their birth, with a knowledgeable docent explaining what's what, was too good to pass up. Plus, we were a drop in a bucket on the streets, compared to the 70,000 in town with tie-dye shirts and a lingering cloud of marijuana to celebrate the Grateful Dead's 50th anniversary 3-day festival.

On the tour, we learned a bit about the Chicago School style, which incorporates large windows for retail at the ground level, then offices in the mid-section with typical 3-part "Chicago windows," and finally, the highest levels capped with a cornice. In the early days, the architects occupied these spaces, and not because they were the luxurious penthouse. Because the public didn't trust that being so high up - say, 10 or 15 stories - was safe! It was surprising to walk around these very functional exteriors and then step into jaw-dropping lobbies of glamour and excess. With elaborate mosaics, Italian marbles, and shiny metal work, the object was to impress clients and investors. The docent pointed out the chandeliers that look like upside-down wedding cake, marble veneers cut so that the corners create diamond patterns, and the motifs so common in Art Deco: owls or eagles with big ol' beefy knees.

The Monadnock, at 17 stories high, was the tallest building with load-bearing masonry walls ever constructed, evidenced by the windows set deep into the 6-ft thick sides of the ground floor. I thought the funny name sounded familiar, only to realize later that my friends moved their offices to it (check'em out here if you are looking for a lawyer).

Our favorite by a landslide was Burnham and Root's Rookery, built in 1888. When we were headed in that direction, my relative said, "Hey, I think we're going to my eye doctor's!" Though there is an optician's, there are plenty of sights to make your eyes open wide. There are crows and pigeons and all manner of ornamentation in the exterior facade of terra cotta, marble, and brick. Frank Lloyd Wright did the redesign of the lobby in 1905, and the effects are breathtaking. Dominated by a courtyard of white marble and a Persian-style filigreed roof, it is filled with natural light. It came as no surprise that many people are interested in renting it out for weddings and special events.

For a walk only slightly less urban, we tried out the new 606 trail. An old train line was converted for walkers, runners, and bikers. Parts of the landscaping had been only recently installed, but the 606 was already becoming very busy. As an elevated path, it was interesting to be able to look at the different houses and peek into backyards. We weren't the only people taking snaps of the neat rows of celebrity chef and Mexican cuisine restaurateur Rick Bayless's beautiful kitchen garden.

My family really likes food. Our short trip to Chicago still afforded many occasions to engage in our collective eating-as-bonding experiences. Comedian Aziz Ansari's raves drove us into the long line at one of the city's 2 locations of Shake Shack, the burger chain New Yorkers go wild over. Boasting fresh ground Angus beef, it was a tasty burger, although the bun may not have quite stood up to the one we picked - topped with a kind of Yankee version of pimento cheese. The dog featured a Publican pork sausage, a local nod to the Second City. The real winner was the caramelized peach shake, which we grudgingly admitted beat out North Carolina's own Cook Out Creamery. Fancy dinner was at Girl & the Goat, reservations at which we had tried to get several times over the years. Top Chef winner Stephanie Izard makes an awesome kohlrabi and fennel salad, delightful stuffed squash blossoms, and a truly refined pan-roasted halibut. There were a few misses among the small plates, but the server was correct that the miso-butterscotch budino (butterscotch pudding, sponge cake, all creamy and crunchy and foamy light) was among the best desserts we've ever eaten. We finished up with that urban favorite: brunch. We got "Dutch babies" in the Gold Coast. The savory version of the German pfannkuchen derivative came filled with veggies and cheese like a quiche and the sweet with strawberries or apples embedded. Yum!

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North America

Final Thoughts on the Philippines

I hadn't been to the Philippines in years, and anxious that Rich should enjoy his first visit, I filled his ears with warnings and forebodings. Other than the ever horrendous Manila traffic, it was a pleasant surprise to discover that most of these dire predictions didn't come true. The shakedowns of petty corruption didn't occur, or at least, not so overtly as I recalled in the past. Most food was served actually hot in restaurants, not merely lukewarm (a pet peeve of Rich's). Squatters, beggars, and all manner of folks living in abject poverty, which before, down every alley and along every railway line, seemed as rampant as in some parts of India, were a far less common sight. Doubtless, we were staying at times in more affluent areas, but perhaps, some of the recent economic gains the country had made that my uncle described had improved their situations as well?

Rich found the the travelling around the Philippines pretty comfortable and relatively easy. The roads were in good condition, transport was easy to hail or organize, and communicating with people was simple. One difficulty, he cited, was in getting commitment out of folks. Since there is a strong cultural reluctance for telling someone, "No," he found the indirect methods - e.g., saying "Yes" to your face, but making you feel uncomfortable for your request and making it feel like a giant inconvenience - a bit annoying. He disliked the over-the-top Las Vegas-style flash, tackiness, and cheesy schtick of a few of the local tourist hotspots. But he loved that going a tiny bit of out of the way from them would land you in pristine, beautiful surroundings.

I was happy to get some of my favorite treats: warm pandesal buns with butter in the morning from the corner store; gorging on ripe Philippine mangoes, hands down the best in the world; and fresh ensaymada (brioche-like bread sprinkled with cheese and sugar on top). One of the highlights of staying at Apulit Island was the daily halo-halo bar. This concoction of candied tropical fruits (jackfruit, young coconut, sweet potato, plantain, etc.), sweet beans, and corn mixed into shaved ice with a shot of evaporated milk, topped with leche flan (Pinoy version of a rich egg custard) and purple yam ice cream, is heavenly and perfect for those hot and humid days. One slight disappointment was our limited seafood. There was one day where we picked out all the shellfish and fish we could wish at the market, but the restaurant we chose to cook them for us ignored our request. Instead of simple preparations (just grilled or steamed, maybe lemon or garlic), the cooks hammered most of it, suffocating them with cheeses, bacon, and overpowering sauce. Culinary crimes! We had better luck elsewhere with traditional dried fish (daeng) and requesting whole fried sweet-and-sour fish.

My palate has come a long way since our last visit so I tried to embrace the bizarre foods of Philippine culture. Woodworm went down. But we had to gird our loins for that most famous of Philippine delicacies. Balut is a half-hatched duck egg. Sold everywhere on street corners, my mom admitted to having a 2 baluts and a Coca-Cola daily habit as a kid. My dad picked up our specimens at the 7/11. The egg looks normal on the outside. I took one bite of the beige egg white inside, and it was oddly tough and chewy. Rich took a slurp of the grayish liquid and recalls it as "probably not disgusting." But we balked when we hit the fetus - and it is recognizably so. With tiny wings and a tiny beak. Defeated, I take great comfort that our other taste tester - Chinese and proudly proclaiming, "We eat everything!" - also didn't finish. My dad said it was a waste of perfectly good food and laughed at all of our turned up noses.

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Philippines

Kaiseki and Japanese tea gathering in Durham, NC (United States)

For one reason or another, Japan had never quite made it to the top of our "To Visit List." A couple of wonderful, traditional experiences we had locally though just tipped the scales heavily on the side of Go, Go, Go.

Years ago we tried out a very nondescript Japanese restaurant in a strip mall near our then-apartment. The sushi was fine but mostly unremarkable with the usual Americanized fare. The only reason it stuck in the memory was my silent judging of the boisterous group at the next table over: chatty, middle-aged moms in schlumpy clothes who I imagined would balk at chicken with bones or a shrimp in its shell. Imagine my surprise when they enthusiastically ordered the most adventurous selections on the menu! The lesson from judging these books by their covers continues to ring in my head and still has power to humble the hater in me.

Fast forward to our return to North Carolina, and we see the same place -Yamazushi - has been accruing "Best of" awards left and right. Curious, a little digging revealed that a life-threatening illness convinced the owners to overhaul the entire operation and focus on the food they wanted to make: kaiseki. This ancient Japanese tradition is a multi-course meal, originating with Zen monks and, over time, formalized into haute cuisine fit for an emperor. A kaiseki meal can incorporate a dozen or more courses, often small and balanced for taste, texture, and appearance.

It was extraordinary. Autumn appeared as a persimmon and seaweed salad in a cup fashioned out of the fruit and an elegant soup with Japanese matsutake mushrooms - at an average of $90/kg, an ingredient I'd never imagined seeing outside of Iron Chef - served in a teapot. Each course gave us a new favorite. Scallop coated in crunchy rice crackers. A strange forest of carved vegetables with bluefin tuna belly that tasted weirdly like organ meat. A revelation of lightly charred Alaskan black cod that had marinated in white miso for days. And uni! Someone once prefaced our introduction to raw sea urchin as "like when a big wave smacks you down at the beach, and you come up with a mouthful of sand and water." About right at the time. At Yamazushi, however, the uni was a fleeting, creamy custard wonder that made us regret slurping it down.

The food wasn't the only marvel in the restaurant. The ambiance was more akin to a spa, quiet and soothing. During the 3 hour meal, the wait staff was courteous and attentive without being intrusive, even going so far as to ask if we would enjoy a break between courses. We did. Each dish and paired sake was personally described by the owner, and each course arrived on unique pottery thrown by the chef!

Loving attention to detail and appreciation of the seasons were also themes we saw in a traditional Japanese tea gathering (not a ceremony, as we learned is a bit of a mistranslation). Practitioners of the Chado, or way of tea, from the Urasenke family tradition host a monthly gathering at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens. It takes place in a Japanese tea house constructed a few years ago in the traditional 4.5 tatami mat style amid the already fine Asiatic Arboretum. We were guided to the waiting bench, where the host, enveloped in a brilliant orange kimono accenting the surrounding fall foliage, welcomed us. Walking down a tranquil, winding path encourages guests to leave behind worries and stresses. Our other host demonstrated the purifying of hands, and we all followed suit, scooping cool water and rinsing each hand, then the scoop and handle a little awkwardly.

The entrance to the actual tea house requires bending and crawling through a small door so that everyone must enter as equals... and cannot fit through with their swords, a point of significance in Japan's warring past. Everything from the sweets to the tea utensils to the poetry on the hanging scroll are thoughtfully selected by the host to highlight the season. The exquisite care taken is observable in the tea-making itself with how the napkin is gracefully folded, how the tea is offered and accepted, and how the bowls are held and turned. Most of the action takes place in silence. One would think the formality could be a strain. We found, on the contrary, that it was quite peaceful. How rare is it, in these modern times, for all of you, in such an intimate setting, to focus solely on watching one person perform their art? A truly lovely experience... only interrupted by the pins and needles building up in our legs. I guess we need to work on our own serenity!  

Montreal, QC (Canada)

Our arrival into Montreal was a little dubious. It was very late. The street signs were difficult to read through the grubby windows of the airport shuttle, and the indifferent driver made no announcements about the stops. As each tired traveler came to this realization, there was a series of amusing French-English pantomimes, like some sketch out of The Fast Show, as visitors and Quebecois alike tried to puzzle out where we were, using the map that only Rich and I had had the foresight to pick up. We made it to our hotel fine in the end… only to be greeted by a slurring, glassy-eyed man at reception who, I’m afraid, was very, very drunk.

Our outlook was much improved in the morning with bright skies above and a crisp autumn breeze. Our strolls through Plateau Mont-Royal, Mile End, and the Latin Quarter reminded us of the townhouses in D.C. and Chicago neighborhoods. The main difference is that, in Montreal, nearly every door has its own steep, external staircase to the sidewalk. Though all the styles and colors are pleasing to the eye, the sheer thought of the trip hazards over the long Canadian winter made me shiver.      

Jean-Talon in Little Italy is one of the oldest public markets in the city. While it’s not a great challenge to make fresh produce aesthetically appealing, the vendors here do a smashing job with beautiful vegetal arrangements like bouquets. We were fascinated by the different varieties on display: eggplants as big as your head, figs like tennis balls, and tiny plums the size of cherry tomatoes. The strangest by far though was an alien cauliflower whose pale green florets spiralled in mesmerizing fractals!

The city has some excellent cooked eats also. Like New York, Montreal is proud of its own take on bagels (handmade, boiled in honey water, and baked in a wood fire) and smoked meat sandwiches (beef brisket cured for days, smoked, and steamed, then sliced thinly and served with mustard). We also tried Quebec classics like poutine (pillowy cheese curds and rich gravy over fries) and tire d'érable (boiled maple sap on snow to make maple taffy… just like Laura Ingalls Wilder used to make!).

For serious stick-to-your-ribs grub, we headed to Au Pied du Cochon. Martin Picard’s spin on Quebecois cuisine is so extravagant that, along with standard sections like Starters and Sides, there is one dedicated to Foie Gras. Seared with a balsamic reduction, our choice brought back delicious memories of San Sebastian’s tapas bars. The canard en conserve (a literal duck in a can) was opened tableside to reveal duck breast, vegetables, and even more foie gras. Not to be outdone for gluttony, the melting pot had pork belly, roast pork, boudin blanc sausage, and black pudding over a heaping helping of mashed potatoes. The charming yet cunning waiter even convinced us (à la Monty Python’s “Finally, monsieur, a wafer-thin mint…”) to share a traditional pouding chômeur, Quebec’s maple-syrupped answer to a sticky toffee pudding. Rich & Julie: 0, Gout: 2. 

Reykjavík (Iceland)

In Þórsmörk, we came across a curious breed of tourist: the northern lights chaser. He caught the bug with a spectacular display of the aurora borealis in Norway. Since then, the gentleman had travelled again from his home in Thailand to the far reaches of New Zealand to try to see its southern cousin, the aurora australis, already this season. Coming to Iceland, we had lowered our expectations for seeing them since there are so many variables affecting the display (light pollution, cloud cover, etc.). However, with his enthusiasm ringing in our ears, and assurances that the odds for this evening were particularly promising, we booked ourselves on a northern lights tour that departed within half an hour of our arrival into Reykjavík.

It was a bit of a scam. The "tour" was really a glorified bus trip to dump hundreds of tourists for a couple of hours in the cold somewhere outside of the city. Again a situation that would have been much improved if we had just rented a car. The glimpses we caught of the aurora were hazes of shifting green colors, so faint that it was hard to tell if you were just imagining them from staring so long into the dark. Amateur photographers with their expensive set ups caught a much more dramatic display in the nonvisible light spectrum. It's a shame the tour rounded us up a short time later since it was clear on our ride back that the show wasn't over yet.  

While we'd used Reykjavík as a base for some of our earlier adventures, we wrapped up our trip there to see a bit more of the capital. The art and music scene is remarkable for a country so small. One book credited Icelanders' open attitude toward failure as the reason so many in the country feel free to make a go in creative pursuits. Galleries and clubs abound, and we fell in love with 12 Tónar. This place carries the torch for old school record shops. The scruffy guy behind the counter gives recommendations and opens up new albums and, even better than that, serves free freshly-brewed espresso while you listen on quality headphones! The shop also owns a record label, where indie bands can get their start ... and really, all artists in Iceland aside from Björk and Sigur Rós, are indie. The music on heavy rotation in our household now is from Ásgeir Trausti, Sin Fang, Mammút, and Samaris.

Our new albums set us back a pretty penny, as does almost any purchase in Iceland. In Reykjavík, we had to get creative to afford some of the country's cuisine. Hot dogs are really popular and cheap. The yummy ones at Bæjarins Beztu Pylsur, a famous stand that has served Bill Clinton and Anthony Bourdain, are made from lamb and topped with 3 different sauces and 2 kinds of onions. After seeing it on menus across the country, we sought out a café serving traditional Icelandic meat soup... only to find out later that shopkeepers were ladling it out free to hundreds as part of their Annual Meat Soup Day further down the street - D'oh! While the hot dogs and soup were pretty straightforward, other traditional viands were maybe not so familiar. We saw seal, puffin, and whale advertised on tasting menus... though it's debatable how many of these historical seafoods (?) are consumed by the average Icelander versus as a strange food for tourists. The appearance of jellied meat products has always been unsettling for me, but I did finally satisfy my Laura Ingalls Wilder-induced curiosity about headcheese. The Icelandic version is from sheep and, I guess, not sooo bad on thickly buttered flatbread and with mashed turnips to accompany it.

This is not the case with hákarl. This traditional Icelandic protein starts with a carcass of a shark that is then beheaded, buried in sand, left to ferment for months, dug up, and dried out before serving. In short, ancient Icelanders must have been starving to consider this edible. The aforementioned Tony Bourdain called it, "the single worst, most disgusting, and terrible tasting thing;" bizarre food enthusiast Andrew Zimmerman described it as one "of the most horrific things I've ever breathed in my life;" and tough guy chef Gordon Ramsay just spat it out. We both tried a cube at the Kolaportið Market. It was soft and chewy - not surprising since sharks are mostly cartilage - with a strip not unlike sandpaper running through. The taste was actually not so off-putting until one begins to chew. This results in a release of an increasing and overwhelming flavor of... ammonia. We managed to choke it down, but let's face it, the lingering finish of household cleaner is just not something you can get rid of easily. ¡Qué asco! 

Food Fantasyland in San Sebastián (Spain)

Celebrity chef and consummate traveler Anthony Bourdain once named San Sebastián the place he would want to die in. Even among Catalans (who include such Michelin-starred luminaries as Ferran Adrià), the Basque Country stands out as a culinary destination... with Donostia-San Sebastián as its crown jewel.

In the Basque Country, tapas (small plates) are known as pintxos, which roughly translate to something speared. This makes sense since the bulk of options are a slice of bread with a pile of interesting toppings pierced by a long toothpick. Since the pintxos are usually laid out on the bar for customers to help themselves, the toothpicks serve a practical purpose, too. Once finished, you hand over your fistful of toothpicks for the waitstaff to tally your bill. Somehow this grand honor system works.

The traditional manner in which to partake of such beautiful bites is... bar-hopping. You stop in each place, grab a pintxo or two (preferably that bar's specialty), and move on. A nice accompaniment is Basque txakoli, a dry white wine that gets a little sparkling with its traditional high pour into the glass. Our first night, we decided to hit the pubs in spontaneous succession down one street in the old part of the city. Most joints are packed with patrons juggling plates and jostling for space along narrow counters. While the food was still above average, we weren't blown away by anything. Expectations running high, we were a little confused and disappointed so we had to regroup.

Things went phenomenally better on subsequent nights. Armed with a well-researched list of each place's premiere pintxo, we didn't allow ourselves to get carried away by the proffered abundance and frantic energy. The results were incredible! Truly sumptuous plates with well-balanced and many layered flavors. By far, the most successful were items we ordered à la minute - succulent seafood, crisp and melting pork belly of piglet, rich veal cheeks in red wine, and the list goes on and on. We only had one misstep - asking for what roughly translates to "a cone of lamb and cheese," we instead received a large plate of as-yet-unknown cut of meat consisting of mostly tiny bones, skin, and cartilage sauteed with bell peppers! At Bar Zeruko, we succumbed to the fajitas effect (as in, sizzling platter passes by: Ooh, what's that?! I'll take one of them!), ordering avant garde tapas that encouraged playing with your food. However, our favorite place by far was tiny La Cuchara de San Telmo. Tucked away down a back alley, the chalkboard with its rapidly disappearing menu items are a testament to its popularity. It was so good that we went twice!

See pictures in the Spain album on the left for gratuitous food porn.

Paris (France)

The fast train that goes under the English Channel can get you from London to Paris in a scant 2 hours and 15 minutes. High walls obstruct your views of a lot of the English countryside, but the ride was very smooth, and the security obligations were much less onerous than any airport.

In another railway station, the beautiful Musee d'Orsay houses mid-1800 to early-1900 art. The Impressionists and post- artists (Monet, Degas, Renoir, Van Gogh, etc.) were out in full force, and though the place was still fairly humming with visitors, I prefer the atmosphere and artwork here than at Paris's most famous museum. The Louvre, aka home of the Mona Lisa, is simply overwhelming. The place is a 12th century palace with all the ostentation one might expect of housing royalty for 500 or so years, and that's just the architecture! Once you pry your eyes away from the ornate ceilings, gallery after gallery holds the roughly 35,000 objects on exhibit everyday. Even with an art student leading another guy and us on a 3 hour crash course tour, we barely saw all the headliners.

For a country so renown for food, we had quite a few so-so and subpar meals, including some truly awful crepes (pre-cooked with underdone eggs and canned mushrooms). This was entirely our fault. Strolling in the crowds along the chestnut-lined Champs-Élysées and realizing suddenly you are all hungry is a deck stacked against you. Our two best meals were from proper planning and spontaneity, respectively, and above all, following the cardinal rule of eating in regular neighborhoods - or arrondissements as they're known - away from the tourist sites.

Luckily, our plans included a safeguard for Parisian patisseries. We took cooking classes! For 3 hours, we labored in the high art of croissant-making. Our floury, handwritten notes and diagrams covered both sides of the recipe sheet. Hint: The dough requires not a pat, but what could only be described as a whole frickin' tile of butter! The results were golden crisp on the outside and flaky soft on the inside. Besides your plain ol' croissants, we also made them with fillings of chocolate (the ever-luscious pain au chocolat) and almond (the divine croissant aux amandes). Another day and another cooking class saw us preparing our own Cafe Gourmand, which is a fanciful way of saying dessert tasting menu. We had fun with the blowtorch, making our tiny dishes of crème brûlée, and got messy coating chocolate onto our madeleines. The shell-shaped Proust favorite is actually a little cake, not a cookie as many Americans might think.

With so much butter and cream in our system, it's a blessing that Paris is a lovely city to walk. Magnificent churches like Notre Dame and Sante-Chapelle rise with glorious stained-glass windows, and the beautiful basilica of Sacre Couer towers over Montmarte, which fans of Amélie will recognize from the film. Of course, most visitors to Paris will want to check out that most dominant feature of the  skyline - the Eiffel Tower. But for a different look, the Tuilleries Gardens are a fantastic greenspace and sculpture park along the Seine, and if that doesn't do it for you, surely you'll find at least one of the 37 bridges over the river picturesque. 

London (UK)

Built in the 11th century, the Tower of London is a massive palace and fortress smack in the middle of the city. A lot of the big names in British history have been associated with it. Richard III was rumored to have killed two princes in the White Tower; Anne Boleyn was beheaded on the Tower Green; and various luminaries - William Wallace, St. Thomas More, Sir Walter Raleigh, Guy Fawkes, and Elizabeth I, to name a few - were imprisoned within the walls when their causes fell out of favor. You can learn a lot from the colorful commentary of the Beefeaters, as the yeoman warders are popularly known. Although their costumes may make them look silly, these tour guides are actually all officers with over 20 years of honorable military service. They also guard the Crown Jewels in the Tower of London so prepare to be dazzled by the serious bling on show.

Tower Bridge, otherwise known as the pretty one that everyone thinks is London Bridge, was still gussied up from its prominent place in aerial shots of the Olympic Games. For a spectacular, non-helicopter view of the city, there are some beautiful panoramas from the slowly rotating wheel of the London Eye. Just across the River Thames (pronounced "temz") lies the Houses of Parliament. The iconic Big Ben is technically a bell within the clock tower, not the the tower itself. We took a walk around to Westminster Abbey and Buckingham Palace... or as my folks know them, "where Will & Kate got married" and "where they kissed on the balcony," respectively. Picadilly Circus, which my sister calls the Times Square of London, was abuzz with lights and crowds. In such a tourist trap, we despaired of finding anything decent to eat, but struck gold in a special at the Criterion Restaurant. Amid opulent neo-Byzantine decor, we indulged in an upscale version of that great British tradition - Sunday roast dinner. The beef was aged and tender, the roast potatoes were golden outside and fluffy inside, and the crisp Yorkshire pudding (a batter thing similar to a popover) was excellent in the rich gravy.

For a taste of that other English tradition - gardening, we visited the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. Boasting the world's largest collection of living plants and one of the largest herbariums, the place is enormous. It must take an army to keep the hedges trimmed, the beds consistently in flower, and the lawns so pristine. Even if the weather isn't cooperating, big and elegant greenhouses ("glasshouses" in British English) dedicated to the different regions or zones ensure there are still plenty of things to see. 

Windsor, Upwaltham, Chichester, and Brighton (UK)

Although they have crisscrossed the continent on coach tours and pilgrimages, my folks have never actually been to Paris or the UK. Hoping to not end up like some National Lampoon outtake, we organized a family vacation to remedy this.

A quick vocabulary lesson for the uninformed: U.K. is short for the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Great Britain is the island on which the countries of England, Scotland, and Wales lie (whereas Northern Ireland is on the same island as the Republic of Ireland). This is why you normally see sports teams from those individual countries compete in international events... and why it was also a kerfuffle when they had to join up and enter as Team GB for football in the Olympics. Make sense?

Arriving into Gatwick Airport, we promptly departed the city so that these Americans could see, at least a little, that there is more to the UK than just London. About 25 miles west, Windsor seems like a charming town out of a storybook England with its Union Jacks flying merrily. The castle is where the Queen spends most weekends, and we were there in time to see the Changing the Guard ceremony in the Lower Ward. The band that accompanies them tried to steal the show with such an ebullient rendition of "Puttin' on the Ritz" that we half-expected them to break out with jazz hands. Inside, the Royal Apartments are sumptuous and with enough weaponry and suits of armor to fulfill any role-playing game fantasy. You can also see Queen Mary's dollhouse - complete with functional plumbing - and visit the stunning Saint George's Chapel, where Henry VIII, among other queens and kings, is buried.

We headed south to Rich's roots in West Sussex. The sun was shining on the South Downs, and we stopped in to see family before popping by the church at Upwaltham. Rich's family has been coming for generations to this tiny 12th century construction... just check out the spooky upright tombstones in the graveyard outside. Chichester is an old place, too, dating back to the Romans and home to a medieval market cross and cathedral. But the high street has all your newfangled favorites - HMV, Marks & Spencer, et al. - and we enjoyed a traditional afternoon tea (scones, jam, clotted cream, cakes, finger sandwiches, and tea) in a decidedly more modern setting next to a contemporary art gallery. 

We met up with more family in Brighton in East Sussex. Having long been a fashionable place by the seaside, I was sorely disappointed the first time I visited to find the famous beach was not sand, but stones... stones about the exact size and shape to encourage ankle-twisting. Strolling by the sea (or rather, the English Channel) in this case is relegated to the long boardwalk, or "prom" as the Brits say. Brighton today is known for its arts and culture and home to arguably one of the best club scenes in Europe. The box we were ticking, though, was fish and chips. The iconic British meal is best served from a greasy chip shop (or "chippie"), wrapped in newspaper, dashed with salt and malt vinegar, and eaten with an ineffectual wooden fork in the sea air. With the wind a tad too chilly, we had it in a restaurant. The "fish" can be cod, plaice, or haddock, and I opted for that curious accompaniment popular in the north of England - mushy peas... pretty mushy and very, very bland.

Sydney, Part II (Australia)

Sydney's Fish Market is the second largest in the world behind Tokyo's. As a seafood lover and hobby cook, I couldn't resist the Behind the Scenes tour, despite the 6:45 am start time. The demographics of the tour group were particularly amusing – a bunch of Asians and a couple of Frenchmen. But really, who else would be eager to get up so early to look at fresh caught fish? Fisherman in Australia are now required to land 100% of their catch so the Fish Market Seafood School and other outreach programs have been working to educate Sydneysiders (as the locals are known) and visitors on how to prepare and appreciate all the riches of the sea. The seafood is sorted, weighed, graded, and crated on the floor, and various suppliers and buyers can wander through examining the lots before the auction begins at 5:30 am. The auction itself is complicated, and the big screens, stadium seating, and panel of buttons at each place look more akin to an off-track betting operation. Most lots are sold in reverse auction (or “Dutch” auction since it was popularized for selling tulips), where the price starts high and winds down on the screen until someone presses “stop” and wins. Other lots start high, wind down, and then confusingly go up again as interested buyers outbid each other. Weaving through the stacks of crates, the tour guide picked up interesting specimens, explaining how they are caught and giving tips on buying and preparing them. In the sashimi pavillion, we saw the big fish that would be auctioned as single lots: gorgeous sushi-grade tuna, swordfish, and even a couple of mako sharks!

Though the city is known for its life on the waterfront, Sydney's greenspaces are nothing to be sneezed at either. Hyde Park, named for the one in London, is centrally located and home to the Anzac Memorial. At various times, but most significantly in World War I, Australia and New Zealand troops (or “Anzacs”) fought for the British crown... often it seemed with devastating consequences under their British commanding officers. The Royal Botanic Gardens and the adjacent Domain also had their origins in colonial times but now are big, beautiful parks with prime locations in downtown Sydney. Many of the Brit expats (a.k.a. “Poms” in Aussie-speak) were so homesick that the section that grows plants native to their “green and pleasant land” was and continues to be one of the most popular in the Royal Botanic Gardens.

Cairns, Port Douglas, and the Great Barrier Reef (Australia)

Domestic flights in Australia are reasonable with the discount airlines. We hopped on a plane rather than embarking on what would be the 20+ hour road trip northwest from Brisbane to Cairns, even though they're both in the state of Queensland. There isn't a whole lot to do in Cairns city. It has a weird Midwest-suburbia-combination-beach-town vibe (shopping mall sprawl and bars advertising fruity cocktail specials)... which is all the more strange because there is no actual beach! Instead, Cairns has a man-made shallow lagoon for mostly kiddies and a boardwalk called "The Esplanade" from which you can gaze upon the natural mud flats.

With travel agencies and information centers on every corner, one quickly realizes that Cairns is merely a base for the 600+ tours of the region. You can visit rainforests or vineyards, hot air balloon or sky dive, go caving or whitewater rafting, and the list goes on and on. But these are all secondary pursuits. Cairns's claim to fame is as the gateway to the Great Barrier Reef. 

Our first trip to the reef went directly out from the port in Cairns. Michaelmas Cay (about 30 km east) has only a tiny segment of beach for visitors since the rest is off-limits as a migratory bird sanctuary. It was nice for easing back into snorkeling since the water was quite calm though chilly. We were glad for the wetsuits and the hot tea after! Hastings Reef was farther out, and the waves were stronger. The site was larger and deeper. Beautiful parrotfish, butterflyfish, anemonefish (a.k.a. Nemo and cousins),  and countless others swam all around us in the gorgeous corals. On the way back to port, we even caught a glimpse of the spray from some humpback whales as they were migrating to their breeding grounds!

For our second trip, we decided to go with a boat out of Port Douglas, which meant getting up before dawn to catch the transfer to the town 70 km north. We were hoping that getting away from the Cairns-based hoards would mean more pristine reef, and the gamble paid off. During our first mooring in the middle of Opal Reef, Rich and I both had trouble believing we weren't swimming in an aquarium. The corals were so brilliantly colored, and the fish were so abundant in number and variety, that I kept expecting to turn and see a treasure chest opening with bubbles floating out! The other sites at Long Bommie (a bommie is the high point of a reef) and Tongue Reef were also very good. We could have gone with the bunch that the marine biologist was leading to Turtle Bay, but our choice to go off independently had its own reward. We didn't even notice that a turtle was so close until it zipped by right in front of us!

Back in Cairns, we splurged at one of the chic restaurants in order to taste some Australian wildlife. Rich finally got to try Moreton Bay Bugs, a prehistoric creature that looks just like a lobster tail with eyes. The verdict was disappointing: shrimp-like, but without any of the sweetness of a lobster or tiger prawn. I opted for what seemed like Australia on a platter: crocodile (slightly fishy chicken with a texture somewhere between breast and shrimp), kangaroo (really tender beef steak), emu (a little tough beef steak - but maybe it was overcooked since even medium rare is pushing it), and the popular Australian barramundi (nice, flaky white fish). I could imagine some of these could be strong and gamey, but this place did a fantastic job balancing the flavors and paring them nicely with a bed of potato/sweet potato mash and braised baby bok choi. I would definitely go back for seconds! 

Farmer-to-Farmer Program: Day 1 - 2 Kaolack, Tambacounda, and Kedougou (Senegal)

After a French breakfast of coffee and croissant, we head out for some administrative business at the USAID office in Kaolack. The city is about 3 hours southeast of Dakar. The roads are remarkably good for the most part. The land is flat and parched and red with clay soils. One of the small towns we pass has capitalized on this with many of the roadside stalls displaying ceramic tiles as wares. A common sight in the dry land is the baobab tree, whose enormous girth threatens to give those California redwoods a run for their money. Along with the lion, the mighty baobab is an important symbol of Senegal. We didn't see any lions, but that might have to do with the huge tracts of land cleared and already marked as parcels for new construction. As we neared the Saloum river, shallow stretches of water appeared on either side of the highway, along with big white mounds where locals have been harvesting salt. Different sections are worked by different people, and the harvest is so plentiful that salt dominates the cargo of the semi-trucks that pass us. Some is destined for neighboring Mali, and some even gets to Europe for salting roads.

Delays at the bank meant we needed to stay overnight in Kaolack. The upside was getting a fantastic meal at place nearby. A typical Senegalese meal is some kind of meat or fish in a generous sauce on a heap of rice or couscous. It sounds simple enough, maybe even boring, but it is not! My first foray was thiou kary, a sort of beef stew with all the love and tenderness of hours of slow-cooking. It brought back memories for me since it basically was a dead ringer for that Filipino favorite mechado. The only difference being the occasional chunk of a sweetish yam. Now that sounds like comfort food to me.

Another morning, another drive brings us to another USAID office in Tambacounda. It's really just a pit stop on the march eastward. Lunch is in a real local place for local people. Butchering is happening roadside and everything. Maafe is on the menu: some kind of red meat and African eggplant (texture like our eggplant, but maybe looks more like a mini-pumpkin and has very faint bitter taste) in a tomato and peanut (aka "groundnut" in many parts of Africa) sauce on a bed of white rice. I also got to try sorrel, a delicious and refreshing reddish-purple drink made from steeped leaves. Another win for Senegalese dining!

The scenery changes gradually as we continue onward. The rainy season has come just a tiny bit sooner this way, and shades of green go from just faint patches on the ground to full blown carpets. More shrubs and leafy trees appear, competing with the giant termite mounds in the landscape. As we near Kedougou in the far southeastern corner of the country, the road rises and falls into actual hills. Though Kedougou was our destination all along, it was great to be able to see the full swath of Senegalese countryside.  

Copenhagen, Part II (Denmark)

Another pleasant surprise in Denmark was how good the food was. Sure, the prices can still be a shock. Four hundred kroner, or 54€, for two main courses, a beer, and a juice would probably be considered reasonable by Scandinavian standards. But the right perspective on the fresh and local ingredients can be just as valuable. Eight euros for decadent heaps of smoked salmon, lashings of fresh dill and chive spread, and mesclun salad on newly baked bread the size of a sub is a bargain in my book!

At dinner in Copenhagen's Latin Quarter, we first became acquainted with the Danes' creativity with salads. Lentils with seaweed, anyone? For lunch, smørrebrød is really traditional. Billed as an "open-faced sandwich," the topping can be piled on so heavily as to render the bread invisible. The bread itself is a beautifully dark rye, densely packed with grains and seeds. Layers of thinly sliced meat, fish, or cheese are artfully arranged on top followed by various accompaniments - salads, pickles, and/or spreads - that seem to be sandwich-specific.

Even ordering just a roll at the bakery for breakfast, each kind receives a specific jam (e.g. sour cherry for poppyseed, rhubarb for pumpkin-seeded). Curiously, these rolls were labeled "danishes" on the menu. What we would call "danishes" were known as wienerbrød (or "Viennese bread"), and a dizzying array confronted us. Cinnamon swirl made for a good choice. The dearth of baked goods in Spain caused me to lose my head a little among such bounty that first time around, and 3 cakes seemed to just order themselves. They became an addiction really, especially when we discovered that Copenhagen's delectable Lagkagehuset bakery has multiple locations. In all seriousness, as a connoisseur of fruit tarts, let me just say that their jordbærkage (or "strawberry tart") is the absolute ideal. This blissful creation has a moist almond cake base coated in dark chocolate and crowned with a delicate chantilly cream and perfectly ripe strawberries. Don't even try to share it. Maybe get one for the road, too... easily achievable, since Lagkagehusets are at the train station and the airport!

Tallinn (Estonia)

Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, is a fine city. As an important port for trade in the Gulf of Finland between Western/Northern Europe and Russia, it was owned at some point by the Danes, Germans, Swedes, and Russians. The charming Old Town - much larger than Riga's - reflects its medieval heritage. We embraced it by sampling some of the culinary history. In one candle-lit establishment, you can choose a "feast" from a menu in the style of an illuminated manuscript - calligraphy and all - while minstrels in medieval dress play flutes and drums in an upper loft. Traditional recipes paraded before us: juniper-marinated smoked beef, crisp pickles, smoked salmon, grilled salmon in a savory sauce with some unidentified nut, forest berries (possibly currants or lingonberries), rabbit in a wild mushroom sauce, and saffron spelt. Our personal favorites though were the game pot (a rich, minced mixture of wild game), the braised wild boar (almost like having barbecue), and the sausages made from moose, elk, and BEAR! No wonder people in those days were always suffering from gout. In case such feasting makes one thirsty, the beers come in big crockery to put some hair on your chest. But seriously, my cinnamon beer was really lovely, probably the closest I will ever get to pumpkin ale in Europe. Ok, the place was a little touristy, but we never did get to go to Medieval Times in the States, and the food here was really pretty good.

Tallinn has more modern alternatives, too. Every corner seemed to have a chic restaurant touting haute cuisine - morel soup! - or a cozy cafe with delectable cakes and dozens of armchairs to sink into. Sure, there were still places catering to the bachelor party pub crawl crowd. Nevertheless, there are also boutiques selling one-off pieces for the aspiring fashionista. Quality Estonian woolen handicrafts (each region has its own distinctive patterns), woodwork, and ironwork are abundant in the high street shops as well. Rich was so fascinated with the latter that I suspect he'd build a forge and start a smithy if we had the space. He had to content himself with buying a sinister-looking iron knife, which the shop lady raved was indispensable in the kitchen.

Riga (Latvia)

Brr... it's cold here! Leaving Barcelona, where the tourists have already begun to appear in sunburned masses, for the snowy Baltics is a shock to the system. The upside is that visiting the former Soviet states in the low season means that British stag (bachelor) parties, which have boosted local tourism, seem noticeably absent.

First impressions of Latvia are not that promising. The landscape is flat, a thin layer of snow is on the ground and grey slush in the streets, and big box shopping malls abound. Not unlike the Midwest in the U.S. from which I fled, really.

Thankfully, Riga improves upon further inspection. The capital of Latvia has delightfully-colored gingerbread-like dwellings in the old city. The Blackheads' House could double as the face of a gilded cuckoo clock. Saint Peter's Lutheran Church has a fantastic Gothic spire, but the "Cat House," sporting a spooked black cat on the roof, is considered the most iconic symbol of Riga's skyline. The gorgeous architecture is almost overwhelming in the Art Nouveau district. Elaborate stone carvings of flora and fauna adorn the facades while human and monster faces stare down from the cornices. For a glimpse of more beauty, we also popped into the Riga Bourse Art Museum, which was hosting an exhibit of the wondrous works of Russian jeweler/artist Carl Fabergé (he of the Fabergé eggs).

Five ex-German zeppelin hangers house the Central Market, impressive even by Spanish standards. One whole hanger houses the fish market, where the catch is so fresh that the eels are slithering and the carp are still flopping. Shoppers purchase tubs of glistening caviar by the big scoop. Pastries sell for 0.30 Lats (0.43 €/0.56 USD) each, and we managed to decide on a couple of small danishes... and an almond-studded, circular concoction the size of our heads, which lasted for several days of delicious breakfasts. Cured meats and cheeses are also on prominent display in the market. The Latvian fondness for fresh milk products (including kefir, a fermented milk drink) were a welcome relief from the UHT milk (boxed milk) dominance in Spain.

Food outside the market is also ridiculously cheap. Latvia is in the European Union but hasn't yet been able to convert to the euro due to inflation issues (2014 is the predicted introduction). This made watching our budget a little easier. There seemed to be a lot of cafeteria-style joints, which also makes for easier ordering - just point - and the options are filling. Pelmeni (traditional Latvian dumplings akin to ravioli or potstickers) and pancakes (think blintzes) come with different savory or sweet fillings and are topped with a generous dollop of sour cream and sometimes jam. Most of our meals came to 5-8 Lats (7-11 €/9-15 USD) for 2 people, including alcohol and dessert!

Rome (Italy) and the Vatican (Vatican City)

Only a 2 hour flight away, Rome seemed like an excellent choice for a weekend break on the continent. Unfortunately, we seemed to have selected the one weekend when the Eternal City got hit with snow, the likes of which it hasn't seen in almost 30 years.

Ever the optimists, we traipsed around the streets, encountering one closed door after another. The results were an excellent tour of the outsides of many of Rome's most famous sites - the Colosseum, Forum, Palatine Hill, Pantheon, and the Borghese Gallery. The weather also put a damper on the cafes in the Piazza Navona (although there were a determined few huddling around the heaters in the terraza), but the Spanish Steps and Trevi Fountain were still experiencing brisk tourist traffic.

We had already discovered when we tried to book our tickets earlier in the week that the famed collections of the Vatican Museum and the Sistine Chapel were closed the entire weekend for some holiday that was completely unrelated to the weather. But we headed to Vatican City anyway to check out Saint Peter's Basilica, figuring they couldn't possibly close church, THE church no less, on a Sunday. We were in luck! We arrived early, and the stoic Swiss Guards let us pass into the cordoned section near the altar with the magic word, "Misa?" just as mass was beginning. Rich, who giggles whenever he sees clergy doing everyday things, was absolutely delighted when the nun in full habit in front of us started snapping pictures like she was at Disneyland... which it was, I'm sure, for her.

Our luck held upon leaving the Basilica, when we noticed the people amassed in Saint Peter's Square all seemed to be focusing their attention on a certain little window. Sure enough, the pope himself appeared! Pope Benedict XVI trotted out to give his Sunday blessings. I felt bad when I saw a religious coach tour breeze by with what I'm sure was a busload of angry pilgrims demanding it to stop so they could listen to him speak.

The other bright note in our trip was, of course, the food. We managed to avoid the most touristy spots and get some really good grub. The pastries for breakfast - or whenever - were divine concoctions. The cappuccinos were deserving of their reputation. A couple of tiny trattorias gave us beautiful, fresh pastas and simply prepared meats. I did have a slight misstep when I ordered what I thought was probably lamb (the word looked similar to the Spanish one), and instead, received a plate full of organs... with artichokes, at least. Rich then cheered me up with gelato from Fassi, a.k.a. Il Palazzo del Fredo Giovanni Fassi. The oldest gelato place in Rome once counted Mussolini and Hitler as clients. Rizo, or "rice," as in rice pudding - complete with bits of rice in it-, is a flavor I've never seen elsewhere. It was so good that we had seconds!