Off-cape, off-season

Leaving behind a few inches of snow in the Berkshires, we headed for Cape Cod on Palm Sunday.  En route on I-90 we made three stops: 1) Table and Vine, a massive collection of wines, beers, and liquors from all over the world; 2) REI, the sporting goods store where Russ used a gift card to buy a heart rate monitor; and 3) WPI, to check in on how our nephew Zach is doing in his first year of college.  Just after sunset we drove over the Cape Cod Canal to Brother Steve’s house in Bourne. 

Our primary purpose in going was not only to spend time at the Cape which is nice not only in-season but off season as well, but also to help out with a few projects.  An earlier winter storm had brought down several tree limbs and branches, so I started around the yard to pick them up.  Raking is still difficult as my left shoulder is still sore and I should probably have it checked out.  Russ worked inside on a number of projects in the laundry room downstairs. 

We took little breaks to enjoy the warmer outside temperatures, and ventured south into Falmouth on a shopping trip.  While standing in line at the lumber store, we heard quite a lot of Portuguese which got us thinking about exploring the communities off of the Cape. 

Before the Canal was dug and the Bourne and Sagamore Bridges were built, the Cape was a peninsula, but now the man-made waterway connecting the ocean with the Bay acts as a boundary.  During the hectic summer months, making trips back and forth over the bridge would be a ludicrous suggestion.  Typically it seems, when one is one the Cape, one stays on the Cape, but this past week we decided to head back onto the mainland.

We first set about exploring the other half of Bourne, on the mainland side.  While there were busy strip malls to navigate, there were also charming nurseries, storefronts, and cafes.  We walked along Onset Beach one day when the temperature neared fifty degrees.  The sun was shining from beneath the billowing white clouds, and the calm sea reflected the sky above. It looked just like other parts of the Cape, with architecture particular to this part of the country, narrow clean beaches, and sandy marshes.  Yet it must not nearly get the foot and car traffic for which Cape Cod is infamous for the simple reason that it is “off-Cape”.

While in Onset we bought a bag of bolos levedos, the Portuguese muffins that we indulge in every time we come down here.  With a smear of cream cheese and strawberry jam, it is infinitely better than the tastiest jelly doughnut.  We also found salted codfish and kale chorizo soup, again bringing the conversation around to visiting New Bedford, thirty miles to the west.

New Bedford is a fabled city of maritime lore, the setting for Moby Dick, which during the nineteenth century was the whaling capitol of the world.  It was one of the most prosperous cities in the country, as hundreds of whaling boats spent years abroad loading their ships with whale oil before bringing it home “to light the world”.  After the industry became a product of its own success - basically killing off huge populations of sperm and right whales everywhere on the planet - it turned to textile manufacturing.  Eventually it became a center for commercial fishing but those reserves were exhausted too.  Anyone in New England for the past sixty years would say that the city had gone way past its prime; in fact it had slid treacherously downhill.

Russ remembered taking his sister Sue to an art college there in the late seventies and thinking it was a dumpy, scary place.  What a difference thirty years makes.  The city is getting back on track, going through a major overhaul with the historic downtown area recently being designated a National Park.  The Visitors’ Center was our first stop when we arrived and after getting a good introduction to the town, we watched a film on the whaling history. 

Not only was it a commercial hub, but the city was one of the most diverse in the country.  There were, and still are, strong Portuguese, Cape Verdean, and African-American neighborhoods.  These were people who formed the backbone of the whaling industry, where wages were paid not on the basis of race or ethnicity but on skill.  The Quakers had a formidable presence and their openness to women’s rights and the anti-slavery movement was way ahead of its time. 

We peeked in the windows of the Seaman’s Bethel Church and poked our heads in the Whaling Museum to catch a glimpse at the skeleton of one very large sea mammal hanging from the ceiling.  How it was harpooned by one man in a small boat rowed by five other sailors is astonishing.  Before the art museum was built, all of the sculptures and paintings donated by the town’s wealthy families were housed on the third floor in the library, where several paintings remain on display, namely three large Albert Bierstadts, one of my favorite Hudson River School painters.

Food drives most of our sightseeing and we headed away from the historic district to the South End, where we found Churroscaria Novo Mundo.  A true hole-in-the-wall, this tiny establishment seem to feature locals who all knew each other as they conversed in Portuguese and the heavily-accented English for which southeast Massachusetts is known.  We have enjoyed Portuguese food since living in Namibia (which also boasts famous coldwater fishing grounds); however, our healthy heart diet has moved past traditionally pounded flank steaks topped with ham and fried eggs.  I still love lincuica and chorizo but also passed on those instead opting for a fish sandwich, while Russ chose Mozambican roasted chicken and rice.  Both were delicious and topped with lots of fiery peri-peri sauce. 

We walked into a bakery and a corner grocery store which featured beautiful chickens, pork products, and delicate pastries.  From our tv pal Anthony Bourdain we learned many years ago that New Bedford is more Azorean than Portuguese, which is a fact to file away since I have never been to either place.  But in talking to people we met, they are quite territorial; they proudly claim to be distinctly Azorean in decent rather than Portuguese.  In reality, New Bedford and nearby Fall River are often called extensions of the Azores, hosting the largest population outside of that country.

Great finds!  We were happy to learn and see something new.  Even with our projects, it is delightful to be here in the off-season.  It does feel like a little more like spring here, and that should help to buoy our spirits as we move through the next six weeks of chilling weather as the Berkshires struggle to emerge from winter. 

Venetian Holiday

Venice…a floating city at the crossroads of so many influences; Byzantines, Asians, Romans, Greeks, Northern Europeans, Turks, and Persians all passed through here at one point or another.  It was part Disneyland with tourist traps galore and lots to show off, and part still-stuck-in-the-Renaissance, constantly redefining itself.   We had five and half days to soak everything up.

Arriving in the early evening at the main train station, we set out bravely for our hotel on foot.  Maps were not helpful in what should have been a twenty-minute walk turned into a ninety-minute venture through countless alleyways, over bridges, and across piazzas.  I remember the Tolkien quote “Not all who wander are lost”, as we enjoyed looking at everything as we tried to gain our sense of direction.

Only as the church bells began ringing the next morning and the sunlight streamed through our windows did we realize the great adventure lying in front of us.  Around the corner, we discovered the Rialto Market, a sprawling collection of stalls showcasing the most gorgeous fruits, vegetables, and fish.  I later bought a bag of tiny clementines and a container of ruby strawberries.

The beaten path brought us into San Marco Square, where our first stop was the 11^th century Basilica.  We noticed the similarities to the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, such as domed roofs covered in gold Byzantine mosaics and intricately tiled floors.  The undertaking to build such a structure on marshland was impressive, but we could not help but notice that the church as well as the island was slowly sinking.   Stepping in to the Treasury, we noticed the precious loot, as well as supposed venerated relics, stolen from Constantinople during the Last Crusade. Tsk, tsk.  The Golden Altar showed more of the same.  The Basilica Museum upstairs was the first of many museums to impress us.  Not only did it give us a better look at the ceilings, but we were able to look at icons reminiscent of St. Catherine’s Monastery in the Sinai, and the Quadriga (Four bronze horses) also brought from Constantinople, although they most likely dated back to the time of Alexander the Great.  The focal point was the winged lion, the ecclesiastical sign of St. Mark, the city’s patron saint. As Florence’s David is a metaphor for that city state, so Venice assumes the persona of the powerful lion.

Aah, the romance of strolling the streets and we took care to take our time.  We continued to lose ourselves as we walked through the neighborhoods of San Polo, San Marco, and Santa Croce.  There were hundreds of shops selling colorful Carnivale masks, twinkling Murano glass, and imported trinkets of all kinds on the one hand and high-end purses, clothing, and other designer goods at the far end of the spectrum.  I was decidedly unfashionable in my ski jacket and hat. Other shops sold pastries, pizza, bread and foodstuffs.  Only when we started to venture into residential neighborhoods did we start seeing small hardware shops, corner markets, and other everyday shopping needs.   We bought snacks and a few meals at a small grocery store, which served as a great way to eat well as our guesthouse had a small kitchen to use.  We made bountiful salads, soup, and ate delicious focaccia.

One of our best meals was outside Venice proper to the east of the Arsenale. We sat outside in the sun and ate risotto al mare (with seafood) and spaghetti sepia al mare (with squid ink and cuttlefish).  Deliciously washed down with a carafe of red wine. Conversely, our biggest meal disappointments came in the busier center of the city where quality and presentation both lacked.   As we walked around, we stopped for gelato (trying a different flavor each day), a Bellini cocktail or mocha coffee, or other snack.  A popular eating point was the chicchetterie, where sandwiches and small bites were eaten while standing up.  Wonder bread sandwiches (with crusts cut off and filled with tuna, salami, prosciutto, or mozzarella) were never so delightful!  Other interesting inexpensive food finds included boxed red wine (not bad), Barilla pasta (same as at home), and meringues the size of softballs.

Another day, we walked to Accaddemia Gallerie to marvel at the works of native sons Titian, Tintoretto, Bellini, and Veronese, as well as medieval art.  In the Italian art world, Venice seems to take a backseat to Florence and Rome but is a treasure house unto itself, financed by wealthy merchants and powerful Doges.  It mirrored other centers of Italian Renaissance when Biblical art was transformed into more humanistic renderings.

Other museums included the Correr Museum and Doge’s Palace, both endless in their displays of paintings, sculptures, murals, furniture, and weapons. Similarly, we ducked into several churches – San Zaccario, La Salute, San Giorgio, and the Frari to name a few – to see masterpieces in situ.

During the first two and half days, we literally walked all over the island further discovering the neighborhoods of Santa Margarita, San Toma, and Castello.  Our feet were incredibly sore, but because our hotel was somewhat centrally located, we could easily pop in for a rest before heading out again.  On the third day, we also bought a valporetto ticket, which allowed us unlimited access to the water taxis.  That made the remaining two days much more pleasant as we hopped on and off the boat, looking at Venice from the water instead of the sidewalks.  We were glad to have pounded the pavement however because we made several pleasant culinary and shopping discoveries that we were able to revisit later on.

We did not know what to expect on the islands of Murano and Burano, but we found them to be positively delightful.  Although undoubtedly busier in the summer, we were pleasantly surprised by the sleepy character of both.  Murano is well-known for its glass blowers while the residents of Burano on the outskirts of the lagoon handknot different kinds of lace.  What we noticed immediately were the brightly colored houses that looked more like Central America than northeast Italy.  They were in direct contrast to Venice where the stucco had long worn off and the bricks were starting to deteriorate.  The church tower, like many in Venice, was leaning to the angle of the one in Pisa but this was the first we had heard about it.  Russ and I made fantastical plans to spend future summers here; he will varnish fishing boats while I read and write.  We will both learn Italian and eat fish everyday.

The weather was pleasantly cool and sunny on most days.  On the morning of our departure, it rained steadily, and we were doubly glad for the water taxi to ferry us down through the Grand Canal to the lagoon.  The city itself is an engineering marvel in how it built itself up from the marshy silt using wood pilings for its foundation.  The streets and buildings are constantly shifting, and it was easy to see the effects of rising water.  Repairs, deliveries, garbage, and sewage required creative but seemingly efficient solutions. 

The train ride back through the Dolomites and Alps to Innsbruck and then Munich was as scenic as before, noting vineyard after vineyard, terraced hillsides, and church steeples.  Entering Tyrol, the church steeples changed in style but not in number.  There was more snow but not as much as when we left a week ago.  The trip was peaceful and picturesque.

So ends our small-scale Grand Tour.  We were thankful for the opportunity to connect with friends and also to have plenty of time to really sink ourselves into Venice.  Some might say trip-of-a-lifetime, but I won’t, hoping to come back again some day.

In the Alps

Nestled in a valley surrounded by towering mountains, Innsbruck is a smaller city than Munich and perhaps not as picturesque, but similar in architecture and possibly more Catholic than its Bavarian neighbor.   Crucifixes and religious murals dotted most buildings.  Our hotel was conveniently located near the Old Town, and we walked around the colorful historic plaza last Friday scouting out places to eat and shop before our friends arrived from Kuwait.  What was apparent to us was how clean and orderly it was, which was not really surprising.  Nor were the boutiques and specialty shops - one selling hats and gloves, another just different types of speck, another health foods.  Rarely did we come across a department store.  When Sara, Grant, and Aaron did get there on Saturday, we all walked around some more and settled down in a bierhalle where we found that all the good beer is from Munich anyway.  It was good to catch up with them.

We chose Innsbruck as our ski destination from a childhood fantasy Russ had watching Franz Klamer ski in the 1976 Olympics.  Austrians are mad about skiing that might rival some countries’ obsession with soccer or rugby.  Skiing is a part of the school curriculum.  There were three winter sports channels on for most of the week - one showing Nordic skiing and jumping, one showing downhill and slalom, and yet another showing skeleton, jumping, and bobsled.    Riding on the public buses was free for anyone wearing ski clothes, and it seemed as though we skied with mostly Austrians. 

The package included a five-day ski pass to a nine-resort area, the furthest being over ninety minutes away.  We rented skis from a nearby shop and the bus came right to the hotel, although dropped us off at the train station on the return, which was a fifteen-minute walk in ski boots with all of our gear.  One thing all the resorts had in common was that there was no lodge or common space.  People just arrived and started skiing.We learned this the hard way as on the first day we brought all kinds of stuff with us.  By the end of the week, we were much more efficient.

Sunday – We set out for Axumer Lizum (7697 feet), one of the Olympic sites in 1964 and 1976, and still one of the more advertised resorts in Innsbruck.  It has snowed overnight, giving us a foot of new powder.  It was still snowing when we got there so the visibility was not very good.  The bus had to put snow chains on halfway up the mountain.  We still skied for most of the day, even taking a few runs on the Women’s Downhill course.  Being the weekend, it was quite crowded.  Aaron, by far is the best skier, and he took off on his own, meeting up with us for lunch at the top of the mountain.

Monday – We went to the far reaches of the immediate ski area to the Kuhtai Glacier (8036 feet).  This was my favorite place to ski, and it was the start of our “Spring Skiing Week” with sunny skies and increasingly warm temperatures.  The snow conditions were very good on this day.  Aaron scouted out backcountry runs, and Sara and Grant practiced on the smaller hills.  Russ and I did a little bit of both.  There were some very steep runs and areas that reminded us of the ski club, only on a larger scale.  The highlight was sking to a restaurant halfway down the mountain where we sat outside for a while in the middle of the day with some beers and food.  The downside was that we took the wrong bus late in the day which brought us twice as far away.  Fortunately, we landed in a town with a train depot that brought us back to Innsbruck

Tuesday – This was a rest day for all of us.  Having skied exceptionally hard the day before, Aaron stayed behind and the rest of us went to Mutterseralm (5900 feet), which was the closest place to the city.  We took it easy on the gentle slopes (still a two mile run) and made it a short day.

Wednesday – While Grant and Sara stayed behind, the Aaron, Russ, and I returned to the Kuhtai.    Russ and Aaron traded their downhill skis for backcountry ones and spent the entire day off the track.  Becaus of the rising temperatures, the avalanche season will be starting soon, but they took great care and it was not a worry.  This type of skiing was relatively new for Russ but he enjoyed the time with Aaron immensely, and described walking in the solitude of the high country as almost a religious experience.  I went skiing on my own and it was my best day as I skied on familiar terrain and tried new slopes.  The weather was sunny and very warm.

Thursday – Aaron went back to Kuhtai and the rest of us traded our skis in for toboggans.  Because we were able to take the gondola up at Mutterseralm, we enjoyed  the three-mile run that we took several  times.  It was a very fast track and we were surprised at how tired we were by the middle of the afternoon. 

Every day ended with Apres Ski in the Old Town.  We had Thai, Indian, Italian food as well as German/Austrian fare (three times).  Nearby supermarkets provided us with plenty of snacks. 

It's always a little sad to say goodbye.  It was a great ski holiday.  While our friends head back to Kuwait today, we will take the train to  Venice, again enjoying the journey through the Alps and Dolomites.