One of the best things about Europeans is when they invite you to come visit them, they actually mean it. When a co-worker of my husband’s found out we were journeying across the pond, they not only let us stay in their London flat, they insisted we come stay with them at their house in Deia, Mallorca. I initially didn’t want to intrude, but once I saw pictures of this beautiful Mediterranean island, I changed my mind.
Since this visit was off the original itinerary, I choose places I wanted to go by looking at the local postcards. One of our first stops was Sa Calobra. My husband and I aren’t exactly sun-worshippers, but this beach locked between mountain cliffs was a sight I had to see.
With directions from our hosts, Lanny and Shelly, which included a description about the road to get there and all the tourists we would find at the end of it, we set off. Not needing to see this natural wonder yet again, they agreed to meet us later for lunch.
Though given fair warning, nothing can prepare you for this journey, which takes you from mountaintop to seashore in 7 miles while descending 2000ft.
Most people go to Vermont to watch the leaves change colors in the fall but I like it in the spring when the leaves on the trees are green, 67 colors of green, so that the bonnets of the trees look like a jigsaw puzzle and the tulips are in bloom and the geraniums and the cherry blossom trees – there’s nothing fancy about Vermont, it’s all straight up plain flowers plainly blooming everywhere, as if the earth is starting fresh again after winter and toward the end of May it hits an optimum equilibrium even if it does rain every other day which if you’re only there for a day and a half isn’t very good odds, at least not of skipping the rain. But people in Vermont don’t mind, they just take out their umbrellas and keep on truckin’…. 
Where a certain quality of light illumines the lush foliage and warms the honey coloured brick of this fascinating country house hotel. It dapples the grey and pinkish white hides of the does as they playfully flirt and then shyly turn away from the piercing eyes of the antlered deer. It ripples across the quietly moving waters of the trout stream and turns the shining leaves of the great towering trees to gold.
After growing up in Western Massachusetts, it didn’t take me long to
become spoiled living in Los Angeles. Not only do we constantly have
fresh produce from around the world, but delicacies from every nation
are well-represented. Mexican food didn’t reach my hometown until I
was in college and even then it was either Chi-Chi’s or Taco Bell,
neither of which is very authentic or culinary genius. Regardless of
quality, the food was something completely new and I was immediately
hooked on guacamole, chips, salsa and greasy crispy tacos. Once I
landed here – and got a taste of the real thing – there was no
stopping my cravings for all things “South of the Border.“ L.A. is the
crossroads of the world when it comes to food and I never realized how
lucky I was to live here until I went to Europe for a month.
