Every other year for the past 10 years my husband and I make the long and arduous trip from Los Angeles to Bangor, Maine for a week’s vacation at his family’s camp on Lake Pushaw. There’s nothing like relaxing on the dock with a nice glass of wine and listening to the Red Sox games on the radio. Usually we have to stop in New Hampshire or Massachusetts to get anything remotely drinkable because, in past years, the wines found in the grocery store were for emergency use only.
Always on the lookout for wine shops with a wide selection and affordable prices – it’s my not-so-secret obsession – I noticed a listing for the Bangor Wine & Cheese Co. on the Bangor city website and was intrigued. I still stocked up in MA before we left, because we couldn’t be left high and dry. A week is a long time without good wine.
I did it for you, dear reader. I did it all for you. I did something
I vowed I would never do. Not in a million years. But there I was in
Verona. City of Romeo and Juliet. City of beauty. And after seeing so
many beautiful things, one does get a bit peckish. And all the
guidebooks recommended the same thing: horse. It’s a specialty of the
area. So when Jim and I found ourselves at the local restaurant
perusing the menu, there it was, staring us in the face: smoked horse
with arugala salad. There was also pasta with a donkey ragú on the menu
like it was the most normal thing in the world to eat these equines. “
I guess we had better try it,” said Jim. “Really?” “Yeah. How bad can
it be?” He said nonchalantly. I could sense a challenge. “OK, go ahead
order it.” “Ok, I will,” he countered, adding, “and we’ll share it.” I
took a large gulp of my prosecco and waited anxiously for the dish to
arrive.
One of the finest lessons I ever learned in my life was from my
grandmother, "Mamie." We were having dinner at Harry's Bar in Venice
many years ago on a warm summer night in July. My parents had given me,
as a graduation gift from high school, a month in Europe. I had gone
through numerous brochures and found the perfect trip, 10 countries in
28 days. I was exhausted on day 22 but Mamie was quick to remind me, as
I was slouched in my chair, my head nodding dangerously towards what is
probably the most expensive spaghetti in the world, that most people
would break their left arm to have the opportunity to have dinner on a
Saturday night at Harry's Bar in Venice. I sat up straight in my chair
and have always remembered her poignant words.
There is good food everywhere. That's my theory and I'm sticking with it. In some places it is easier than others, to find something delicious. Sorrento is a pretty tourist town just a stone's throw from Naples. Orange trees pop up through the sidewalk and the views of the bay are breathtaking, especially at sunset when everything turns shades of pink and blue and grey. The town inspired many artists and poets and their ghosts are felt everywhere in the gardens, the public spaces and the names of the streets. I'm staying at the romantic Hotel Tramontano perched on the edge of the bay. The history of the hotel makes me feel as if I am stepping into a more refined era.
Google Maps will tell you that "we could not understand" the location of Las Aradas, Honduras. Weather.com advises to check your spelling. My trip coordinator suggested looking up the "nearest town over" which was a two and half hour drive away. Packing for a trip like this was a bit of a moving target. Las Aradas is a mountain village, six hours out of San Pedro Sula. For those of you who haven't been browsing the State Department's travel warnings lately--Honduras is not a stable country. The PeaceCorps pulled their volunteers out last year.