TRAVEL ADVENTURE JOURNAL

But somehow we did it and at 9 AM we were out front waiting for our ride to the train station.  It was tough saying goodbye to Stefano - truly this week could not have been what it was without his larger-than-life presence and his endless supply of geniality and generosity.

Jennifer, a young Amerasian woman from Baltimore currently living near Darwin in the Australian Outback, was the first to head off after a quick round of hugs.  But there was still time for a last minute round of gelato for all - luckily there was a stand at the station! 

Teresa and I were the next to depart, accompanied by Corina, a thirtysomething young mom from Albany (NY); and Rachael, a twentysomething from Sydney.  We thanked Cinzia and said goodbye to Wendy and Sean, a couple (about our age) from San Diego; Margaret, an older traveler from New Zealand; and of course, Marci, our 26 year old Rose family clone who promised to come visit us in California.

It was a quick train ride to Rome and before we knew it we were exchanging hugs with Corina and Rachael and then we were on our own again!

It was getting late when we arrived in Luxembourg but we made it to our hotel quickly - third time's a charm!  A tall rabbit dressed in pink wearing a sign saying Kiss Me! greeted us at the door as we encountered the "tail" end of what looked like an insurance salesmen's convention.  (They were all wearing short sleeve white dress shirts with ties, except for the ones dressed as pink rabbits!)  It looked like a lot of fun - they were all drinking and laughing and singing loudly!  We would probably have fit right in but unfortunately no one saw fit to invite us to the party!  :-(

Tomorrow morning it's back to the airport, destination LAX, then home!

Early this morning, two minivans arrived to take us on a day trip to explore local Tuscan towns and other unusual sites.  Our first stop was the Abbey of Sant' Antino - Cinzia had hoped we could experience the chanting of the Benedictine monks during prayer, but we were disappointed to find that the next service would not be until later in the afternoon.  We wandered through the abbey, built around 1100 - and viewed the adjoining rectory where the monks showcased a beautiful flower garden against the backdrop of another distant hill town.

Next was the town of Montalcino, another hill town - Cinzia explained to us that all of the Tuscan villages were built on hilltops so that the inhabitants could spot potential invaders at a distance - each town was essentially a walled fortress with heavily reinforced entry gates.  There was also a fortress that towered above the town, the Spalti Fortrezza, consisting of a main building, four towers, and an elevated catwalk surrounding a central enclosure.  While Teresa chose to stay below, I climbed up to the tower (accompanied by Marci) to take in the magnificent views of the surrounding countryside.

Just as we were rejoining the group below, a sudden storm blew in and we began to be pelted with torrential sheets of rain.  We huddled just inside the courtyard hoping for it to pass, but with no end in sight we finally forged ahead (with umbrellas hoisted) into the town center and nearby market.  It was a quaint little town with narrow, twisting cobblestone streets lined with shops, but the open-air market wasn't much compared to others we've seen.  The rain abated for a short time but then the deluge resumed, so we finally made a beeline for the minivans.

We stopped at Bagno Vignoni for lunch, the same place we'd been to with Stefano - Teresa and I were glad we'd been able to experience it when the weather had been agreeable!  The small restaurant adjacent to the thermal pool was quite authentic - sort of cave-like, and an interior lined with ancient brick - it certainly seemed authentic.  The menu was pretty typical except for the piccione, baked pigeon, which I ordered.   It was served on an olive oil-drenched toasted bread crust seasoned with tangy spices, and was tasty though not very filling - really only a few bites of dark meat - not too gamey - kind of like turkey!

The rain had not let up when we emerged an hour later and about half the group chose to head back - fortunately we had two cars at our disposal.  Teresa and I and several others forged ahead - we really wanted to visit Pienza, home of Pope Pius II (elected in 1458), but better known for its trove of pecorino cheeses!  We saw that part of the movie The English Patient was filmed here - supposedly Pienza has the appearance of a Hollywood-imagined quintessential Italian town.  (Older readers may remember Franco Zefirelli's Romeo and Juliet which was also filmed here in 1968.)  I must admit - the town really had the feel of a massive Hollywood movie set!

When we emerged from our vehicle, lo and behold... the rain suddenly stopped and the sun emerged!  We walked the length of the main street, Corsa Rosselino, which was lined with wine and cheese shops, and ended up buying two large cheese rounds - one, a soft (new) peccorini, and the other, a hard (aged) peccorini.

In all, it was a challenging day - the cold and rain had worn us down, so after returning we rested in our room.  While relaxing I took the opportunity to review our travel plans for tomorrow - back to Rome then  Luxembourg!  Hard to believe this adventure is nearly over!

Later in the evening we gathered for our farewell dinner and Stefano broke open a bottle of Chianti that he had specially selected for the occasion.  He aerated it before decanting it into wine glasses then warmed it slightly before serving it.  It was a festive dinner with abundant wine and good food, and many photos were taken as email addresses were exchanged. 

He led us to another farm nearby where most of the local olive growers deliver their olive harvest for processing into oil.  It's a local operation with a huge olive press, and Stefano contributes part of his crop in exchange for having his olives pressed there.

In the afternoon we made our way back into town and decided to revisit the trattoria where we'd eaten last night.  I had a platter of spaghetti that was very different from any I've had before - very thick noodles, and the sauce had large chunks of tomatoes mixed in.  Very tasty!  We braved another sudden downpour on our way back but managed to avoid getting soaked by ducking into a local supermarket.

We met again with Stefano at 6:30 PM for a tour of his winemaking and food storage  cellar.  He said he can produce as many as 15,000 bottles of red wine each season, and also cans as much as possible of his own fruit and vegetables for use in the restaurant.  Lining the cellar walls were row upon row of canned fruits and vegetables as well as juices and preserves, not to mention hundreds of bottles of wine dating back to 2005.

Returning to the dining room we experienced an olive oil tasting session, sampling four different qualities of oil - first swirling the oil in our mouths then deeply sucking in air to expose the flavors and to appreciate the various levels of acidity of the various oils.  Stefano pointed out the differences between the cheaper, lower quality oils and the more expensive higher quality products.  He complained that "people have no trouble drinking a $25 bottle of wine in only 30 minutes but complain over having to pay $25 for a bottle of olive oil that last two months or more

Dinner was notable this evening for two dishes: one, a pasta dish with mushrooms that had an earthy flavor; the other, a delicious liver pate on bread crust.

We thought we might go hiking so we asked Stefano and he suggested a walk to the spa resort of Bagno Vignoni, a popular tourist venue about 12 km away.  He was also planning on driving over to the town of Montepulciano (where we'd cycled to yesterday) and asked if we wanted to go back and have a closer look - we really hadn't had much time yesterday.

At first we declined but Stefano seemed to be full of ideas for spending the morning so we agreed to join him - he was quite enthusiastic about personally showing us around the area.  We were joined by Marci and Rachael, two young women from our group.  He drove us through the back country way off the beaten track and we got to see some of the most beautiful scenery - although we didn't have a clue where we were.  He stopped in the tiny hill town of Castiglioncello del Trinova - only two families still live there but it's full of tourists in summer - the town dates back to 1117 and is an active archaeological site.  Stefano has a friend there who owns a restaurant and he served us refreshments on the terrace.  We were served glasses of grape juice - local, no additives - dark purple and a syrupy texture - it was the most delicious juice we'd ever tasted!

We then drove with Stefano to a nearby lake where he and his friends used to hang out and swim as teenagers - they would scrape mud from the lake bottom and plaster it on themselves just like at the nearby spa!  We drove to the hot springs at Bagno Vignoni where Stefano soaked his bare feet in the thermally heated stream and he showed us the adjacent spa.  Finally he dropped us off at Montepulciano around 1:30 PM and we explored the town more fully, having a late lunch before catching a bus back to Chianciano Termi.

Unfortunately for us, just as we got off the bus there was a sudden cloudburst and by the time we had walked the one kilometer back to the B & B we were drenched.  After hanging our wet clothing to dry and cranking up the radiator we stayed indoors for the rest of the afternoon.

Around 8 PM the rain let up so we ventured out, walking about 3 kilometers into the center of town to look for a place to eat.  We searched everywhere and finally found a trattoria that was open - no surprise, others from our group were already eating there - it seemed to be the only open restaurant in town!  Fortunately it had the two items essential for our well-being:  red wine and cold beer!

Fortunately the sun was shining as we energetically rode off into the nearby hills via a twisty but paved road.  At first there was no grade so we coasted along comfortably, but the slope gradually increased and before long we were huffing and puffing.  I geared down as much as I could but it felt as if my legs were spinning in circles while I seemed to be going nowhere.  I finally gave up and walked the bike but was soon joined by several others.  We finally crested the hill and remounted, then went flying back downhill.

Our leader took us off the main road and onto a gravel path and once again we were forced to labor uphill.  Before long my legs felt like they were on fire!  We struggled along our hilly route - at first I thought it was just me who was out of shape but it soon became obvious that the level of difficulty for the group had been significantly underestimated. 

We finally arrived at the outskirts of Montepulciano and stopped at the Tempio di San Biagio, a somewhat austere cathedral completed in 1529.  We then entered the walled fortress town and ascended to its highest elevation, the Piazza Grande, a central square that faces the Palazzio Communale, the town hall, and the adjacent Duomo, another cathedral.  While pacing the square I imagined the filming of the Twilight movie New Moon.  Nope - no vampires although it was still daylight!

We had a light lunch at a small sidewalk café adjoining the square, then made our way back to the main road and eventually to Chianciano Termi.  It was a tough ride and I think it's safe to say most everyone was exhausted.

We reconvened for our scheduled cooking class at 4:30 PM under the tutelage of Chef Stefano.  He demonstrated the preparation of spaghetti pasta by hand, followed by a sausage making lesson using a mechanical grinder that compressed pork and onions into a sausage casing.  "I prepared it myself from the pig's intestines!" he proudly exclaimed.

We peeled and mashed potatoes then mixed them with cheese, flour and salt, and after rolling and dicing we had a large platter of gnocchi.  Lastly, we mixed ricotta cheese and placed it in a crust for a dessert pie.

Stefano took over from here, sending us to our rooms to rest and clean up, and when we returned an hour later he had turned our culinary-challenged conglomeration into an eye-catching and moderately tasty meal!

Cinzia had planned on a day hike but after a heavy overnight rain the route was too wet and muddy.  It was still overcast and threatening more rain so she made arrangements for wine tasting instead in the afternoon and we headed off into town on our own, by foot.

The town of Chianciano Termi is small and we walked its entirety in less than two hours including a brief stop at a supermarket.  Most of the shops were closed - some sort of holiday perhaps?  We returned to our room by 1:30 PM and rested before rejoining the group and heading for the winery about a mile down the road.

Riccardo Rosati, the owner of the winery Agricola Fontanelle, together with his two brothers Leonardo and Valerio, described how the winery had been in the family for several generations, and was started by his great-grandfather. 

Over the course of about three hours we tasted more than half a dozen red wines and savored the differences with fresh crusty bread, salami and prosciutto.  It was after 6 PM when we bade our farewells, having purchased a large stick of dry salami and two bottles of excellent vintage 2007 red wine.

We barely had time to sober up before dinner at 8 PM when we were presented with another magnificent meal prepared by Stefano, including an appetizer plate with both soft pecorino and hard pecorino cheese (made from ewe's milk) with honey, walnuts and balsamic vinegar.  The entrée was sliced beefsteak served with the house wine from Stefano's vineyard, and dessert was profiterole cream puffs.

An early flight on Luxair had us in Munich by 8:45 AM then it was on to Rome via Lufthansa.

We took the Leonardi Express train from the airport to the train station, a half hour ride, then searched for our G Adventures meeting point: 

Make your way to the GUSTO self-service restaurant in Termini station. This self-service restaurant is on the ground floor, towards the Via Marsala (Platform 1) end of the concourse, and is next to the United Colours of Benetton shop.  Make your way through the restaurant, past the tills to the tables at the back, and look for your G Adventures leader who will be wearing a G Adventures Core Value T-shirt. There will also be a G logo sign displayed on the table.

We walked through the GUSTO restaurant but didn't see anyone matching the description provided.  It was only 1 PM so we decided to have lunch there while we waited for someone to show. 

Not long after, Teresa spotted a couple of women who she thought looked like they might be in our group, so she approached them - she was right!  We joined them and a few minutes later we spotted our group leader, Cinzia Caggianese.  By 2:15 PM all the group participants had identified themselves, so Cinzia gave us all a brief orientation.  We'd be taking the train to Chiusi at 3:15 PM arriving about 5 PM, then we'd be driven to the town of Chianciano Terme, about a twenty minute ride. 

We arrived at the Agriturismo La Pietriccia and met the owner Stefano Mazzetti, a genial Italian who explained that he tried to operate La Pietriccia as a self-supporting, combined winery, vineyard, restaurant and bed and breakfast.  He also explained that most of the food and wine he served was grown on site, and that he was a stong partisan of the slow food movement.

We were shown to our room - we counted six rooms total - ours had an outside terrace overlooking the vineyard.  We returned to the dining room at 8 PM where Cingia reviewed our itinerary for the next few days.  We were then served the most delicious five course meal prepared by Stefano ("I am also the chef!"), including a meat entrée that combined pork and baby goat.

We had an earlier flight than the others so we bade our farewells then headed for our check-in counter.  We watched apprehensively as our tagged luggage rolled down the conveyor belt and disappeared into the bowels of the system. 

A few hours later we were back at the scene of the crime:  Luxembourg Airport.

Loitering by the baggage claim, I heaved a huge sigh of relief when our two bags abruptly popped up and out onto the belt!

Less than thirty minutes later we were checked into our hotel:  "Oh, no passports... we know you!"  Our second stay here and we are already old friends!

Two half liters of Bofferding.  Free wi-fi.  Buffet dinner.   Ahh... the good life!

For the third day in a row the sun was shining and the sky was blue!  Breakfast, then back on the bus.  Off to see Hare Island upon which stands the Peter and Paul Fortress with its narrow golden spire reflecting off the surface of the Neva River.  We studied the river closely, surprised to see that it was full of ice floes - this was the day that the frozen river upstream had suddenly thawed and broken up, sending huge chunks of ice to the sea.  What a sight - the reflection in the water of the golden spire interspersed with ice fragments!

Within the fortress, inside the cathedral, Galena showed us the tombs of the tsars including Peter the Great and his wife Catherine, as well as that of their daughter Tsarina Elizabeth.  In a separate chapel off to the side we also viewed a memorial to Tsar Nicholas, Russia's last tsar, and his family, all murdered by the Bolsheviks in 1918, their remains only recently interred here.

There was an interesting little gift shop selling illustrated books of Russian fairy tales (in various languages) -  quite unique I thought, so I bought a copy.

In the afternoon we toured the Cathedral of St. Isaac, built by Peter the Great (who else?) Impressive no doubt, but my reservoir of shock and awe was starting to run low.

I had seen a young man outside the Hermitage Museum the other night selling vibrant water color drawings of various iconic sights, so we asked to be dropped off by the square so I could look for him.  He'd had an especially impressive image of the Church of the Resurrection that I decided I wanted.  Teresa thought it was unlikely that we'd find him and I had to agree - it seemed like a long shot.

But - there he was!  Same young man!  After a quick negotiation I procured two drawings, the other being Catherine's Summer Palace.  I hope we can find a good place to hang them after they've been framed.

We were surprised once again to find that troops were assembling for another rehearsal, so we settled in on the sidelines to watch.  For nearly 45 minutes we observed as the rows of regiments were reviewed by what appeared to be senior ranking officers, then marched in formation around the perimeter of the plaza.  It was cool to see, even the second time around and this time I was able to capture much of it on video.  (I'll upload it to YouTube and provide a link later on.)

We did some last minute shopping although we really didn't find much of interest, then headed back to the hotel via the Metro.  We knocked on the door of Katie Mayer's hotel room and lo and behold there she was, so we spent the next hour or so reviewing the events of this past week and discussed future travel plans both hers and ours.  Katie has another tour in June, this one to the Baltic states.

Once again we joined several members of our group at the pizza joint next door.  I ordered a large bowl of borsht with sour cream, apparently a house specialty.  Only in Russia:  pizza and borscht!

The bus was waiting outside the hotel at 9:45 AM.  As we boarded, our group almost didn't recognize us... they were especially startled to see how cute Teresa was with nice clothes, good hair and a little make-up!

On the agenda for today:  the Hermitage Museum, one of the greatest in the world.  We've been to the Smithsonian, the British Museum,  the Louvre, the Prado... but this museum... what can you say?  It was the most astonishing collection!  Galena guided us and focused mainly on Russian history and historical artifacts from the tsars through to the revolution, although we did spent a substantial amount of time viewing the French Impressionist collection. 

The afternoon was free, so Teresa and I made our way back to Nevsky Prospekt for lunch, stopping at the "potato" restaurant for a quick bite.  (Ask her about the potato restaurant if you want to know more!)

Our next stop was the Church of the Savior, more commonly known as the Church of the Spilled Blood.  Now I've seen a lot of churches and cathedrals - I'm somewhat jaded when it comes to churches, but this cathedral has got to be one of the most spectacular I've ever seen, with its painted exterior of multi-colored spires, and the elaborate colorful mosaics that cover virtually every square inch of the interior.

There was a cluster of souvenir stands just across from the church so we wandered through... lots of nesting dolls in various configurations... world leaders, saints, angels, rock stars, etc.  "Tschotkes" is what Katie Mayer calls this stuff!  Icons of Madonna, Jesus, a variety of saints.  Innumerable carved Santa figurines.  Giant ceramic mugs.  (I love giant ceramic mugs so I bought one with an image of Peter the Great on his horse!)

We returned to Nevsky Prospekt and checked out a few buildings we'd passed earlier.  The Singer Sewing Machine Factory, now a bookstore; a high end grocery market; the Grand Hotel Europe; and block after block of brightly colored pastel buildings.  We decided to walk back to the hotel by following Nevsky Prospekt for well over an hour until we reached the Neva River.  No hotel in sight.  Should be around here somewhere! 

We stopped a passerby, showed him our hotel card, "Nyet.  Far.  Take the Metro!"  We stopped another passerby, showed her our hotel card, "Nyet.  Far.  Take the Metro!"

Hmm... maybe we should take the Metro!  We entered a nearby station.  Line 4.  We checked the map.  OMG!  We had walked more than three miles in the opposite direction!  Doh!  We passed nine stations and changed lines before finally emerging at Moscow Gate in front of our hotel.  Our feet ached and we were beat, but we quickly ducked into a supermarket next to the hotel and bought two half liters of Russian beer, then plopped down in the hotel lobby to unwind and avail ourselves of the free wi-fi.

After hanging out for nearly two hours we stumbled next door to a small pizza and spaghetti parlor where we encountered several other members of our group munching on pizza and quaffing Russian ale.  We invited ourselves to their table and joined in, downing even more beer and chowing down on some fairly decent Russian pizza!

It was after 11 PM when we made it back up to our room, totally wiped out.  We were sawing logs before our heads even hit our pillows!

The dining hall was packed this morning.  I had called the front desk beforehand, uncertain as to whether breakfast was included, but it was!  It was a nice spread, nearly comparable to a cruise buffet!  I immediately threw back half a dozen cups of extremely good coffee before my brain finally kicked into gear - I'd slept fitfully, awakening several times during the night to fret about our bags.  What would we do the second week of our trip if we still didn't have our stuff? 

There wouldn't be time today to get out to the airport - we had a full agenda and I certainly didn't want to miss anything. 

Back on the bus we spent the first 90 minutes passing from one historic site to another while Galena explained the significance of each:  The institute where Dmitri Mendeleev created the periodic table of elements - on an outside wall where he worked there is a large painting of his original periodic table.   Further on we passed a plaque on the building where Pavlov did his famous dog experiments.  Then the apartment where Tchaikovsky lived... past the statue of Peter the Great astride his horse... the Hermitage Museum... St. Isaac's Cathedral... the Church of the Spilled Blood...  Peter and Paul Fortress... original home of the Soviet KGB.  What an astonishing amount of history!

We stopped for lunch at a small street just off Nevsky Prospekt, Saint Petersburg's main thoroughfare - Nevsky was a famous Russian prince... how odd - I used to work with Dave Nefsky - a distant relative perhaps?  Teresa and I ate at a small pastry shop that specialized in both sweet and savory pies.  We didn't know what we were ordering, so we pointed to items that looked good!  My favorite was a pastry filled with ham, cheese, olives, and mushrooms; and for dessert I had a chocolate covered poppy seed roll filled with almond cream - it was sooo rich, but I forced myself to finish it! 

We made our way to the outskirts of the city while Galena told us the story of the siege of Saint Petersburg which lasted 900 days, when the city was surrounded by Nazi troops and there was widespread starvation.  We passed a monument dedicated to the 20+ million Soviet citizens who perished during the Second World War.

Galena told us that although the Nazis seized the outskirts of Saint Petersburg they never were able to claim the city itself.  They occupied the Summer Palace built by Catherine the Great, ransacking it and setting fire to it before being pushed back.

The Palace, now fully restored to its original grandeur, is spectacular - and reminiscent of the Palace of Versailles.  Galena explained the history of the palace, including its construction, emphasizing the changes made by each successive tsar.  We walked the still dormant expansive grounds where the snow had only recently melted.

It was well past 4 PM when we boarded the bus for the return trip into the city in anticipation of the evening performance of Swan Lake, performed in the ballet theater of the Hermitage Museum. 

We were dropped off at the enormous Palace Square adjacent to the museum and were astonished to find thousands of Russian troops massed there.  As we watched this grand spectacle, a military band struck up the Russian national anthem, and every soldier stood erect facing the flag in the center of the plaza.  Various formations of the army, navy and air force began to march in a circular formation around the plaza.  Elena informed us that we were witnessing a rehearsal for the formal May Day parade in a few weeks.  When you travel, it's always the unplanned and unexpected that prove to be the most memorable experiences. 

We eventually made our way into the theater which was surprisingly small, with a center stage and a semicircular seating plan.  Of course Teresa and I immediately scoped it out and chose the best possible seats!

The performance was superb - the costumes, the sets, the dancers - and I actually remained awake for its entirety!

Although it was 10 PM when we exited, it was just starting to get dark - Saint Petersburg is so far north!  The plan was to return to the hotel via the Metro - only four stops on line #2.  Elena told Teresa and I to remain on the train until we got to the connecting station for the airport bus.  It was after 11:30 PM when we were dropped off at the airport terminal.  We made our way to the customs office located next to the Lost & Found where they were holding our luggage.  We identified our bags and showed our passports, then filled out some paperwork.  Then we waited.  And waited.  And waited.

I was only slightly mortified when the customs agent demanded 6000 rubles to release our bags.  Fortunately Elena had come prepared - she had the cash and told us to let her do the talking.  So we did.  (Sometimes it's hard for me to keep my mouth shut!) 

We finally emerged from the airport, bags in hand, well after 1 AM.  We were all exhausted when we got back to the hotel at 1:30 AM and stumbled up to our rooms, while offering Elena our grateful thanks for her help.  

On the ride to the train station, we studied the architecture of the city, row after row of what I would call horizontal skyscrapers - some of these buildings must stretch for more than a kilometer and most are no more than 5 or 6 storeys.

Toward the center of the city there are a number of wedding cake buildings, a style of architecture popularized by Stalin in the 1930's and 40's.  I'll post a photo later, but these buildings are multi-tiered, with each ascending level smaller than the previous - each looks like someone went crazy with a frosting bag and piping tip!

In a nutshell, Moscow is gloomy - not a city I'd be inclined to return to.

The train was very modern, similar to bullet trains we've traveled on elsewhere - reasonably spacious, well appointed.  No compartments, just rows of seats. 

Passing through the countryside, there was still a lot of snow on the ground.  Elena, a long-time friend of Katie's who is acting as our Russian guide, pointed out the many dachas - small cottages - basic summer getaways.

It was nearly 6 PM when we pulled into the Saint Petersburg station.  We boarded a bus for the short ride to our hotel while our local guide, Galena, gave us a brief overview of the history of the city.  She told us that it is a relatively new city, less than 400 years old, planned by Peter the Great as the Russian capital, and it remained as such until the Bolshevik Revolution in 1917.  As a planned city the architectural style is more consistent, with broad boulevards lined by buildings with colorful facades.  We immediately noticed that there was no snow and the ambient temperature was at least 10 degrees warmer than Moscow.  And it was sunny!

Just prior to our arrival at the hotel, Elena approached us and reluctantly informed us that the customs office at the airport was refusing to release our bags for delivery to the hotel.  They were demanding a huge tax she explained - she was clearly upset and told us she would accompany us to the airport after dinner to try to retrieve our stuff.  She'd been told they were open 24 hours.

After getting checked in, our group enjoyed a private buffet dinner arranged by Katie Meyer.  Katie has been truly magnificent in her attention to detail on this tour.  The spread included a wonderful variety of items - once again, the beef stroganoff was a highlight - one of my favorites!  Galena explained that Count Alexander Stroganov created the original recipe in Saint Petersburg.

After dinner we met Elena in the lobby and she wisely chose to call the customs office to confirm that someone would be there for us.  No luck, she was told - closed - try tomorrow!  She shared our frustration and annoyance, then we headed to our room to again wash our clothes in the sink!

I have to confess that up until today I'd always thought that St. Basil's Cathedral was the Kremlin.  But GUESS WHAT??  It's NOT!  And that, dear friends, is why we must travel!  Otherwise, we just don't know what we don't know!

We spent the early part of the day exploring and learning about the Kremlin.  The word Kremlin means fortress, and in fact the Kremlin is a huge walled fortress in the center of Moscow, and not to be confused with St. Basil's Cathedral which sits next to Red Square across from Lenin's mausoleum.

By the way, another interesting factoid:  Red Square is not called Red Square because of the Soviet Communists, rather the Russian word krasnaya can mean either red or beautiful. 

But I digress.  The Kremlin consists of a number of buildings, some old and some new, clustered around a large plaza, Cathedral Square, which includes three enormous churches notable for their multitude of golden domes.  We spent several hours inside the Armory, now the museum of the Kremlin, which is filled with artifacts collected from hundreds of years of tsarist rule, and includes crowns, robes, gold and silver service and tableware, and many remarkably well-preserved coaches and carriages.  We viewed ten of the original Faberge eggs in the Armory collection originally commissioned by Tsar Alexander III as annual Easter gifts for his wife, starting in 1885.

We also explored the interior of the Dormition Cathedral (one of the three) which looked like... well, another cathedral!

We headed over to Lenin's mausoleum only to find it closed (for the second day in a row).  Turns out it's only open four days a week and only from 10 AM to 1 PM.  I was disappointed not only because we didn't get to see Lenin's mummified corpse, but because the headstones of the other Soviet leaders are located in a secure area behind the mausoleum and we could only wave to Stalin and Brezhnev from afar!

By mid-afternoon it was raining heavily so we ducked into the GUM shopping mall which is adjacent to Red Square.  Once a model of Soviet inefficiency, the GUM department store, which under the Soviets was notable for its empty shelves, is now a high-end shopping mall full of designer stores.  We had a light lunch there then rejoined our group for the ride back to our hotel on the Moscow metro, noteworthy for its many well-preserved 1930's art deco stations. 

While I chose to relax for the evening, Teresa freshened up then joined Katie Meyer and a handful of others heading off to a performance of the Bolshoi Ballet.  When she returned late in the evening she enthusiastically described both the venue and the performance in glowing terms.

The breakfast room was packed, but the food was plentiful:  kasha (buckwheat), yogurts (both natural and processed), cheeses, sliced salami, sausage, bacon and scrambled eggs, cereals, and a variety of baked goods including breads, rolls and croissants.

We boarded our bus at 9 AM for an overview tour of the city's highlights.  Turns out that Moscow (called Moskva by the locals) is sprawling, and it's dominant architectural motif could only be described as Soviet concrete - enormous rectangular-shaped high-rise buildings constructed during the 1960's and 70's to house as many people as possible.  But the most striking feature of this city is the various onion-domed Russian Orthodox churches scattered around the central city.  But with at least a foot of dirty snow on the ground in various stages of thawing it was difficult to judge the overall appearance of the city - suffice to say it was not impressive.

However, one of the most interesting stops was the Novodevichy (New Maiden) Convent and Cemetery.  The buildings of the convent, consisting of several brightly colored onion-domed spires, were impressive, but it was the adjacent cemetery that captured our attention:  Many of the headstones were strikingly elaborate constructions, some consisting of either statues of the deceased or carved silhouettes, while others were wholly abstract such as the grave of former President Boris Yeltsin.  We passed by intricate memorials to Raisa Gorbachev, Anton Chekhov and even Nikita Khrushchev.  Khrushchev's was especially detailed and modernistic with a carved image of Khrushchev's bald head, although as Teresa was quick to point out, "I didn't recognize him without his shoe!"

We stopped at the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, originally constructed between 1839 and 1883, and completely demolished by Stalin in 1932 following which a swimming pool was built on the site.  But starting in 1994, over a little more than five years, this church was completely rebuilt according to its original plans and is now virtually identical to the original!

We stopped briefly at Red Square to admire the adjacent St. Basil's Cathedral with its iconic mult-spired, multi-colored onion domes.  We'll return tomorrow to see Lenin's tomb and perhaps even catch a glimpse of the great man himself!

Our final stop was the Inmilova Arts & Crafts Market with its row upon row of Matryoska (nesting) dolls, colorful music boxes, fur hats, animal skins and local knickknacks.  It was also a novelty experiencing an open-air market with daytime temperatures hovering in the low 30's (F).

Afterward, drinks and dinner at the hotel - what a relief from the cold outdoors.

e-mail status report:  A message late today from Christina in Luxembourg tells us that she has possession of our wandering bags and they will be enroute to Saint Petersburg by tomorrow!

A ten minute walk brought us to the Hotel Campanile Luxembourg, a smallish multistory hotel with a homey feel and welcoming staff.  We settled in at the hotel lounge, a wi-fi zone, and ordered up two half liter Bofferdings, the local brew.   Ahhh....

It was a bit of a struggle to stay upbeat - but heck - at least we had made it here!

The flights to Moscow today went smoothly, and hey - we didn't even have to worry about checking our bags!

We sped through passport control, visas in hand, and exultantly emerged to a warm welcome from Katie Meyer and the rest of our Russia tour group!

With another two hour time change it was nearly 6 PM by the time we got settled into our room.  Group dinner and orientation at 7:30 PM, so Teresa and I darted over to the open air market adjacent to the hotel to search for socks, underwear and laundry soap.  I figured if I was going to be wearing the same gray cargo pants and olive green REI t-shirt for the next few days, at least I'd have clean socks and briefs!

Dinner was a buffet, nothing fancy but noteworthy for several unique dishes such as beet root and bean salad, marinated whole tomatoes, pickled herring and beef tongue... Mmm...

Just before calling it a night, Katie Meyer called the airline for us and quickly ascertained that both of our bags had been located.  Fearing that they'd turn up again after we'd departed Moscow, we arranged to have them delivered to our next hotel in Saint Petersburg.

I want to get to the airport early.  This is bizarre.  The reservation is through American.  The flight is on Alaska.  The check-in is at Delta. 

Fortunately they are not busy - it takes the counter agent more than half an hour to figure out the mess of bookings and airlines!  The good news is that our bags are tagged through to Luxembourg.  I cross my fingers!

The bad news is no boarding passes until we get to LA.

We get to LA.  Find the American Airlines check-in desk.  Another twenty minutes for the agent to unscramble all the flights, but we finally get our boarding passes and seat assignments then head to the gate.  Thank goodness we have extra time!

Our boarding group is announced.  Our boarding passes are scanned.  We are told to step aside.  We are beckoned to another counter.  The agent informs us our booking has been cancelled.  I stare at him, dumbstruck!  "I don't believe this," as I start to protest!

"Wait!" he says.  "We've already rebooked you!"  He grabs our boarding passes, tears them up, hands us new ones, and points to the agent at the scanner.  "You also have your boarding passes for Heathrow," he tells us.

On the plane, Teresa still has her window seat but I've been moved to the bulkhead exit row - my chosen seat is long gone.  I settle in and begin to appreciate the extra leg room almost immediately.  No window but I can live with that!

Thanks to my luxurious bulkhead accommodation I actually sleep for nearly five hours, an unusual accomplishment for me.  It's an uneventful flight and we make our way through Heathrow airport eventually finding our departure gate.

Our boarding group is called.  Our boarding passes are scanned.  The agent beckons us aside once again.  Now what?  I let Teresa do the talking - she's so much more rational right now.

They have our bags - that's the good news.  They were on our cancelled booking - but they're here!  We just need to confirm that they are ours.  We show our baggage receipts.  Hooray!  We can board and so presumably will our bags.

I settle into my seat and start to write this note.

Post Script:  Our bags never showed up!  To be continued....

I hadn't given this trip a whole lot of thought until the past few days.  I spoke briefly with Katie Meyer last week and clearly she had everything in hand, at least as far as week one was concerned.

So I logged in to my American Airlines AAdvantage account all set for an effortless check-in. 

Whaaat!??

This isn't right!!  We're supposed to fly to Luxembourg via LAX on SwissAir!  We have a hotel booked in Luxembourg Friday night!  We're supposed to fly out of Luxembourg to Moscow via Munich Saturday morning on Lufthansa at 9:15 AM!  We're supposed to meet up with Katie Meyer Saturday afternoon!

But my itinerary - which by the way I confirmed a mere 48 hours earlier - now shows us overnight in Zurich and not even getting into Luxembourg until Saturday morning, an hour later than our departure flight to Moscow.

Stay calm, I demand of myself!  Calm.  Take a deep breath!  OMG - I could never be a travel agent!

Who do I call?  Stop.  Think.  Of course, don't be stupid!  American.  Call American!

I call American:  " Due to recent severe weather near Dallas Fort Worth airport, all of our agents are currently busy.  Please call back later."

Later?  Later??  I need to speak to someone NOW!  What weather?  Quick Google search:  "Tornadoes tear up neighborhood near DFW!" 

OK.  Think.  Swissair!  Call Swissair!

I call Swissair.  What if they don't speak English?  What if I can't understand them!  Panic.  What if I miss my connections?  I won't get there on time!  My visa dates won't match! 

A pleasant female voice comes on the line.  I switch on the speaker phone so I can hear better.  I try to explain my problem without getting hysterical.  "Please hold."

A minute goes by...  two minutes... she comes back on the line.  "Are you OK going through Heathrow?" she asks.  Yes.  "Please hold."

It feels like eternity until she comes back on the line:  "I've rebooked you on Iberia leaving at the same time.  Change to British Airways at Heathrow.  You'll arrive in Luxembourg ten minutes earlier than you were scheduled.  Is this OK?"

Yes, yes, it is, I exclaim with a sigh of relief.

I disconnect then fret until the confirmation e-mail shows up.  It's confusing.  Really confusing.  Here's what it looks like:

SMF-LAX Alaska Airlines (operated by Delta Connection)

LAX-LHR Iberia Airlines (operated by American Airlines)

LAX-ZRH SwissAir

LHR-LUX American Airlines (operated by British Airways)

ZRH- LUX SwissAir

Yikes!  I brace myself.  So many opportunities for missed connections and lost baggage!  My anxiety level is sky high as I try to explain it all to Teresa. "Well it sounds like you got it looked after," she calmly replies.

Wow!  Talk about exhausted!  The jet lag this time around has just about done us in.  I feel badly for Teresa - she had to go back to work less than 24 hours after getting home!

And with Christmas only a few days away - we have been running around like chickens with our heads cut off!  Oh-oh, maybe I shouldn't say that - too graphic!

I want to thank Carol for her wonderful daily posts - they allowed me to experience our adventures through new eyes - I know I enjoyed her observations immensely - I hope others did too.  And they were so timely -  she was constantly writing while we traveled from place to place.  It was also nice not to have to do it all myself!

But my poor laptop will never be the same.  In fact, after drying out it started working again, about a week after getting drenched - but now I have a split two-tone screen with a different set of colors on each side.  Oh well... 

This is the day we head home.  We have fulfilled our vacation potential to the fullest - time to face east with wings spread.  Today will be an easy unstructured day. 

After breakfast, Teresa, Scott and Brandon head out to do some last minute shopping, while I catch up on my blogging and check emails.  We check out at noon and since our taxi to the airport is not until 3 PM, I sense the opportunity to slip down the hall for an hour long reflexology and massage session accompanied by Brandon who also wants another go at it.  After an hour we return to the lobby so relaxed we are changed beings, and after a quick lunch we are off to the airport. 

We first fly to Hong Kong on Cathay Pacific where we meet up with Christopher returning from Hanoi.  We continue for another eleven hours getting into San Francisco at about 8:55 PM.   Picking up a rental car, then a two hour drive, we are deposited at the front door of Teresa and Scott's home at midnight. 

It's too late for me to continue on, so the following afternoon, after a restful night's sleep, I am on my way back to Tahoe. 

Some additional observations:

TP vs. Kleenex:  Scarce paper products seem to have different meanings and uses in Asia.  While our journey on the plane began with a delicate roll of TP to allow for the delicate aeronautical plumbing, as we moved into our tour of northern Vietnam, the paper fibers became so thin that we were hard-pressed to differentiate TP from Kleenex.   Then, at the restaurants in Sapa, boxes of Kleenex were suddenly designated as napkins.  This strange variability continued into Thailand where the only difference was the smaller 7" by 4" size pastel, pink, folded tissue used for napkins. 

Blonde hair:  OK, it became an entity in itself.  Long blonde hair was worth five camels in Africa in 1974.  (Karma.)  But in present day Asia it only gets stares and odd comments.  At the start of the trip, in Hanoi, while in close quarters with other families at the restaurant, I got a kick watching a two year old girl on her papa's lap stare at the back of my head, wide-eyed and drop-mouthed, while her father continually reminded her to attend to her meal. 

While visiting a street market in Sapa, a woman sitting on the ground by her vegetables (on a tarp) makes eye contact, gazes down the length of my pony tails, then asks Hiep, "How old is she?"  I really don't know what to make of that! 

And after our elephant ride in Chiang Mai, with my hair braided and a kerchief around my forehead, and sitting at the rear of the pickup, a local man gave me a serious look, pointed toward me, and in perfect English said "She looks like First Nation."  I cracked up, wondering when he'd seen his last albino native American!

posted by Carol

On our last whole day of the trip, Scott has an agenda of must sees from his previous travels here.

We have a sumptuous breakfast buffet breakfast then set out on foot for the Grand Palace.  It's going to be hot, but at this early hour, the air still feels (a bit) fresh.   We circle the palace looking for the entry gate, but several touts stop to tell us it is closed until 1 PM.  Really?  Scam alert!  Our Frommers guidebook has told us it's open daily from 8:30 AM to 3:30 PM, and warns not to believe any street people or tuk-tuk drivers who tell you otherwise.  The scam is that they talk you into getting into their taxi or tuk-tuk then collect big commissions by dragging you to tailor shops and other stores where you are trapped until you buy overpriced stuff.  So we ignore them and sure enough, we find the (obscure) entry gate, and walk in without a problem.   Until we get inside. 

Through the gate and past a table where a stern-looking fellow sits.  He glares at me.  I am wearing long pants and a sleeveless blouse but I have a large scarf to cover my shoulders.  The fashion police!  NO.  No scarf! 

I wonder what he wants me to do.  He turns his attention to Scott and Brandon who are wearing shorts.  NO.  He stops them and orders them to get long pants.  Turning to look at Teresa, he studies her:  a denim skirt to the knee and cap-sleeved t-shirt.  OK, he signals.  You go. 

"Hey, why does she get a free pass?" I exclaim, but he looks away and ignores me! 

What to do? 

We are ushered into a nearby building and must take our place in line.  For a deposit of 200 Baht each, the guys are given prison issue gray pants and I get a short sleeve button-down yellow shirt. I am irked to no end - there is no logic to it. As soon as I'm handed my receipt I crumple it up and stuff it in my bag.  Irritated, I move forward into the crowd.  I buy my ticket, then we all rent audio guides and are given maps and instructions.

We then enter a place so fantastic we stand agape.  The visual images - in the form of buildings, statues and murals - are stunning!  Gold twinkles at us from every direction and the sun reflected off of hundreds of tiny mirrors and glassy pieces of faceted porcelain is dazzling!  In every direction we look our attention is captivated by glorious craftsmanship.  The details we are seeing must surely reflect thousands of hours of labor.  Ninety minutes later, our mismatched wardrobes forgotten, we return our audio guides, turn in our fashion statements, and collect our deposits.

Another must see, close by, is the reclining Buddha.  Entering the walls of temple we locate an elongated building, remove our shoes, and go in.  Craning our necks upward, we are greeted by an oversized shining golden head and shoulders that tower thirty feet above us.  We follow a long line of sightseers across the length of the building until we reach the giant Buddha's feet that are inlaid with mother-of-pearl, quite a masterpiece!

Off again, we pace ourselves quickly along steaming sidewalks in search of the water taxi that will take us across the river to see the temple of Wat Arun.  But it's after noon and we are getting hungry - luckily we find what seems to be a fast food Thai deli - and a bonus - it has air conditioning - so we order several dishes of green curry soup and pad Thai.  Revived, we continue our search for the elusive water taxi.  We find ourselves wandering through a back alley near the river, and chance upon the wharf's wholesale receiving area - there are grungy little offices fronting warehouses stacked with piles of stuff. 

We finally find the taxi dock, scramble over piles of sandbags to get to the boat, then pay the grand sum of three Baht each (10¢) to cross the river.  After the boat slams into three old tires attached to the dock on the opposite side, we exit to the temple.  It's weathered and worn and not nearly as impressive as what we've just seen.   Teresa joins Scott who climbs up the steep temple stairs to get a view of the city, while Brandon and I wait at the bottom - we've had enough climbing for one day.

Crossing back, we head in the direction of Chinatown.  Teresa questions why, but Scott insists we must see it.  We traverse block after block of city sidewalks, passing beggars and street people, until we get to the entrance of a market where the passageway is only wide enough to accommodate two people, yet motorbikes thread through to deliver their wares.  We pass stall after stall of fabrics, buttons, jewelry, trims, hair decorations, piles of hello Kitty products, and every conceivable item that can be sold. We stop at a jewelry shop where we purchase several items - I find a cute little Siamese dancing figurine pin to decorate my memory book of the trip.  We pass by shop after shop for nearly a mile until we tire of the crowds and look for an exit.  Looking closely at his map, Scott discovers this is called the Thieves Market!  Clever!

It's a long way back along busy, loud, congested and smoggy streets, as we trail one another while skirting vendors' carts and auto repair shops that seem to have sprouted on the sidewalks.  A cornucopia of foodstuffs swirls by as we hasten our step, finally reaching our neighborhood market.  Five miles of walking, we figure.  Time for a beer!  At the same sidewalk café, we relax and review the day.

We watch as street people, hawkers, touts, suit tailors, wannabe street artists, tattoo artists and riffraff pass by.  Travelers of all ages, some who look to have been on the road too long.  Backpackers coming and going.   It's a circus worthy of a second night's review.

A bit later, we end up at last night's restaurant.  Different table, different entrées, but we are satisfied.

I unlock the hotel room door, turn on the light, and Teresa gives a yelp as she spots a cockroach scamper across the floor.  Eew.  We think we'll make it an early night, so lights out by 10.  But the music volume, even six floors below is even louder than last night.  Who knew that that 70's lounge singer would continue until 3 AM!

posted by Carol

At 8:15 AM, another shuffle of the baggage, taxi to the airport, checking in, waiting, boarding, flying.  Arriving in Bangkok, the taxi ride to our hotel takes nearly an hour while sitting in dense traffic.  Air quality is even more dense.  Lots of cars, tuk-tuks,  billboards, and signs in both Thai and English.

Our taxi dodges street vendors and pedestrians before finally releasing us to our hotel, the Viengtai. It's about 1:30 when we check in, and as soon as we get settled, Scott takes us on a walking tour of Banglamphu, the old city.  Over by the river we see signs of the recent flooding only a few weeks ago, with sandbags still piled everywhere - in fact we must walk on top of the hastily constructed levees to get past all the street vendors.  In front of some upscale shops there remains evidence of newly constructed concrete barriers built across doorways.  Many sandbags have been torn open spilling their contents and some areas resemble an ailing beach with debris strewn all around.  The pungent stench of dried fish, cooking oil and fried food emanates from the scores of stalls that line the street.  A continuous, repetitive scene plays itself out on the streets as we walk - a succession of street vendors, push carts, tiny stalls and endless hawkers proclaiming their wares.

Not far from our hotel, we choose a sidewalk bar along busy Khao San Road, and order several icy cold bottles of Singha beer, and we watch the constant stream of backpackers and other foreigners parade by.  

We are accosted by the sights and sounds of the street - vendors stop to demonstrate their wares -we are badgered to buy croaking wooden frogs and fake tattoos, while just across the street, fake ID's, fake California driver's licenses, and fake diplomas are offered up.  Table displays are covered with every imaginable designer item - all fake of course - from sunglasses to hairclips, shoulder bags, sundresses, t-shirts, dreadlocks, CD's  and on and on.  Rows of food carts have fresh-cut fruit: pineapple, mangos and watermelon, there is fried chicken, sausages, whole barbecued fish, hot noodle soup, and a variety of unidentifiable grilled meats.  It's a cacophony of sounds, flavors, sights and textures - and all viewed during the course of one beer! 

Back at the hotel we take some time to refresh and get cleaned up, then we are back on the street looking for a place to have dinner.  Not far from the hotel we find an appealing, somewhat higher end restaurant, oddly named "The Macaroni House."  (But only one macaroni dish on the menu.)

We are seated in an open-air atrium by a coy pond with a rushing waterfall in the background where we relax and unwind from the frenetic activity out on the street.  We order several menu items including what turns out to be a delicious barbecued sea bass which we all share.  Yum!

Following dinner we take a brief stroll along Khao San Road, but it's too raucous and crowded for our liking so retire to the solitude of our rooms.  Unfortunately, despite being on the sixth floor, we cannot avoid the din on the street out front - loud music with a heavy thumping base and lots of shouting that doesn't stop until after 2 AM!  Even earplugs are of little help.

Trek day three:  First activity this morning will be rafting on narrow rubber rafts, three of us per raft.  We toss our packs and shoes in the rear of a pickup truck as our rafting guide drops three rafts into the river.  We are handed ten foot long bamboo poles, one for the person at the front and one for the person at the rear.  Thinking this would be like guiding a canoe I get in front with Teresa in the middle and Scott at the rear.  But it's not like a canoe - the front person must steer us.  Yikes - I'm it!  We shove off.   I watch as the guide uses his pole to pilot the first raft down the fast-flowing river.  I better take a quick lesson in pole rafting, so I mimic the guide...

Here come the rapids!  I pole us around trying to get us moving forward but we quickly get caught on a rock sticking out of the water.  The current is pulling the rear of the raft around - Scott unsuccessfully tries to pry us free.  Suddenly the rough water breaks us free and we straighten out - I'm in control as we fly across the rapids!

The river is shallow enough for me to guide us by pushing along the bottom with my pole, but then we come to a sharp curve and my pole is submerged all the way to my wrist as I struggle to control the raft!  I fight to avoid several rocky outcroppings and do a bang-up job propelling us away from several low-hanging branches.  Reaching the back stretch the guide grabs my pole and pulls us to the nearby bank.  Success!  I've delivered us ashore!  I'm sweating like a pig from the exertion but we've survived and I am proud of my effort!  What a learning curve!

Back on the truck - its almost noon - then a pit stop.  We gather at a table covered with a dirty plastic tablecloth under a thatched roof pavilion and patiently wait for a most pleasant woman to prepare rice and stir-fry veggie dishes for our lunch.  Anticipating another no-protein meal, I pull out the last of my peanuts to share.  Suddenly someone spots a giant black spider hanging above our heads - it's the size of a grapefruit!  We all back away...

Next, our elephant ride:  An old man approaches us with bunches of bananas to feed the elephants, so we buy a cluster then climb a tall platform to board our elephant.  Brandon I crawl on to one elephant, Teresa and Scott on another, for the hour-long ride.  What an opportunity, at least in theory... but the reality is less so as it becomes clear that our elephants are not happy. 

Our driver sits on the elephant's head with his bare feet tucked behind its ears.  I ask and am told our elephants name is Mego.  As we lumber into the dense forest heading up a steep grade, an enterprising photographer snaps a quick photo from below.   But every few paces, the elephant winds her snake-like truck over to our seat, obviously looking for a banana treat.  We feed her often but she is persistent and our driver finally slaps her trunk away from us.  When she tries to leave the path to forage for more food, he uses a sharp tool of some sort pressed against her ear.  I assume she is hungry because she keeps probing the bushes along the trail, at one point grabbing a hillside of vines to munch on.   We use up all of our bananas to keep her moving along the trail and wonder if we should have bought more - she repeatedly refuses to move forward, and over and over her trunk  comes around and she blows hot breath into our faces - she wants more to eat!

What a conundrum!  We are sympathetic to this elephant - it starts to feel like a setup to get tourist bucks.  I begin to fear we may be on this huge beast forever, but we approach a watering hole, then reach the platform and get off.  Scott says he read that the money provides room and board for  elephants which might otherwise be destroyed for lack of funds, but I think it's a sad state of affairs regardless.

Off again to our next experience - another trip downriver but this time on a thirty foot long bamboo raft.  Nine bamboo poles have been lashed together and our guide will pole us along.  The four of us can either sit or attempt to stand while balancing ourselves precariously.  At first it looks intimidating, especially with so many sharp turns, but we start to appreciate that the length of the raft stabilizes us so that we are actually quite safe as we bounce through the rapids while remaining upright!  Brandon, being the tallest, must duck low branches and we all brace ourselves when the raft drifts too close to shore, brushing against rocks.  But it's great fun flying down the river hands-free to the wind, with water lapping at our feet, and we don't want this to end.

But the fun is over and we are back in the rear of the pickup for our hour-long ride back to Chiang Mai.  We say our goodbyes, exchange emails and make promises to stay in touch. 

At the hotel we head for the showers - the hot water turns black as it washes off three days of accumulated dirt.

As the sun sets, we head to the Night Market for dinner and for some late shopping.  We enjoy an excellent meal of barbecued fish, then wander through the  market and buy a number of items that are quite clearly authentic and locally made.

Trek day two:  Morning catches us bleary-eyed with no clean water for a face wash.  We slowly rally, pack up, then roll down to our picnic table for breakfast.  There is a soft mist rimming the distant surrounding mountains across from the rice paddies framed by banana and papaya trees.  It's a soothing sight as plates of hard-boiled eggs and thin slices of white toast are placed before us.  Kaud has two tubs of butter and a jar of strawberry jam that appear along with an unlabeled plastic jar of instant coffee and some creamer.  Hot water is poured into plastic cups from an ash-covered kettle boiling on the fire. 

Teresa notices that Scott (from the UK) still has half of his machete-sliced hard boiled egg remaining and she asks if he is done with it.  She would like to give it to the emaciated dog at her feet who has already gotten two slices of her toast plus one coaxed from Celina.  "Oh no," Scott says, "I'm going to feed it to the pig. I love that pig!"  After shelling his precious remaining portion of ovum and feeding it to the pig, he spends several minutes at her side communing with her.

And so, with our hearts warmed, we hoist our packs and traipse off into the woods.

An hour hiking to a waterfall where we are offered a chance for a swim.  Relieved of our packs, we sit in the cool mist of the falls while Kaud busies himself with bamboo and a machete.  Very soon a small package is delivered for lunch - it contains cooked rice wrapped in banana leaves and a shiny foil pack of pepper flakes tucked in, plus Kaud's newly carved bamboo chopsticks.  The effect is gourmet!   After also sharing some peanuts (for protein), we continue hiking for another two hours.  The trail is very challenging with several stream crossings (via bamboo poles), and some elements rise to e-ticket status.  (Our older readers will know what I mean!)                    

Late in the day we wander into another clump of buildings - our accommodations for tonight.

We get a quick tour:  the beer chest, and the VIP toilet (as Kaud describes it) - VIP because it is a sitter not a squatter!   Once again there is a tub of water for flushing and an additional luxury - a hand-held shower nozzle hooked to the wall ready to provide refreshing, icy showers to any brave soul who wishes to indulge.

There is a long cabin divided by a partition in the center with entrances at each end, so we split into two groups and select our sleeping quarters.  At first glance, I am reminded of the accommodations for the tobacco field laborers in the Connecticut River Valley where I'd grown up.  A mosquito net hovers over a row of thin mattress pads with several grimy-looking folded blankets and tiny pillows that resemble (and feel like) little bricks. We'll play seven dwarfs tonight and try to find a way to get some sleep!

After bracing myself with a cold beer I gather my courage for a shower.  Despite the frigid water, I feel refreshed, having removed all the sticky sweat accumulated over two days of hiking .  Dinner, once again, is prepared by Kaud - rice and two vegetable dishes including pumpkin and cucumbers. 

Later, Teresa assumes the role of social director and suggests a game we can play around the fire, where we each share a little known fact about ourselves, then allow the others to guess who it could be.  After, UK Scott suggests playing the "Who am I?" game and we enjoy another hour of frivolity before retiring for the night.

Nearby, in another open-air hut, a group of Kaud's friends have gathered to celebrate the birthday of one of their own - apparently they have driven out here to party with Kaud - we are told it is the friend's forty-second birthday. 

I am sure they are wonderful, caring friends - but they sing and eat and drink into the wee hours, long after we exhausted hikers have dropped into bed - and unfortunately our thin-walled building is far from sound proof.  So what's one more night of laying wide awake for a raucous party?

posted by Carol

Trek day one:  We gather in the lobby after breakfast to meet our trek guide.  He introduces himself as Kaud,  pronounced "could."  We drag our bags outside and down an alley to a nearby intersection where he points to a covered flatbed pickup truck with padded benches on both sides of the bed.  Lining the center with our bags, we climb aboard.  We've repacked our backpacks so that they now contain what we will need for the next two nights.  Off we bounce through the streets to the Buddy Tours office where we will store our bags while trekking.

Having freed up room in the truck, we pick up our fellow hikers:  first we meet Scott and Carly who are from England - Scott has just completed an engineering degree and they have planned six months on the road to see as much as they can.  India is their next stop.

Next are two young French women, Celina and Nathalie, who hop board with one large shopping bag.  They speak only minimal English and we are reminded of how much we miss Katie Rose, whose communication skills would be greatly helpful right now.  We make one more stop and a couple of extra backpacks are tossed in for the women to use. 

Packed in like sardines, we leave the city behind.  After about an hour driving up a steep, winding hairpin road we get to lush, densely forested mountainous area.  When we finally stop, we are directed to a path that has about 5000 steps leading uphill to Buddhist temple set among various odd-looking statuaries.  It appears  to be occupied by several monks who apparently live and work there as well as maintaining it.

The view from the temple is spectacular - the temple itself, with its covered prayer room, resembles a dollhouse.  There are several altars with fruit offerings (some with varying degrees of mold) which have been left as gifts for Buddha. The are several gold Buddha statues, of which the largest towers over us about a hundred feet tall.  We stroll back down and find that Kaud has provided small containers filled with spicy rice for lunch.  We gather to eat in a small pagoda using tiny plastic spoons.  Bon appetite!

Back in the truck we drive for another ten minutes until we arrive at the trailhead where our trek will begin in earnest.  Experiencing such beautiful mountain views I must pinch myself as a reminder that I am in Thailand.

The trail takes us through forested terrain, some of which is very steep.  After one such climb over slippery pine needles and fallen leaves, and with no path in sight, Kaud admits he took a shortcut.

There are numerous river crossings over makeshift bridges of fallen trees or bamboo poles, some with lashed handrails, some not.  There are precarious trails sloping sideways toward dizzying drops into the jungle below.  With gaps at several dry waterfall junctures we must jump across to other sloping footholds.  (A hop and a prayer get us over!) 

After traipsing through rice paddies we trudge onto the grounds of our overnight accommodations.  Glancing around, our eyes widen as we note several similarities to our Sapa home stay. We trade glances with knowing certainty - there will be at least one night in the rough. 

Cold beers are offered for sale by the villagers, and bracelets are hawked by local ladies who have materialized out of nowhere.  There is an oversize picnic table and when we sit, our feet are dangling.  At one side of the table is an open fire with smoke billowing.  Around the corner, three brick stepping stones lead to the wooden door of a latrine which houses a porcelain squatter on a mud base.  Plumbing consists of blue plastic PVC pipe with a tiny faucet dripping into a concrete tub of water in which a plastic pail floats.  Apparently this is used to dump water into the "toilet" so as to flush it. 

Hmm... a high tech, interactive, energy-efficient, gravity-powered device.  Ingenious.

Within the latrine the floor is, apparently, perpetually wet.  This explains the "no shoes" rule before we climb the steps to our sleeping quarters.  There we find three partitioned sleeping areas with each space enclosed by a brightly colored mosquito net.  Each sleeping space is designated by a folded blanket and pillow, two spaces per net, and the well-worn bedding appears to have spent many nights with other trekkers without being changed. 

Seated back at the picnic table, Kaud explains that this is a special day for the villagers.  Students from the city have come to the village to provide gifts and supplies, therefore this will be a night of celebration!

Fireworks crackle overhead so we follow a road leading up a nearby hill where we see tents and what seems to be a fairground.  There are tables piled high with food and a large barn upon which a movie is being projected onto one wall.  The group spots us and waves us inside with friendly greetings.  Almost immediately a plastic cup of homemade whiskey is passed around to share with us, and a following obligatory respectful sips, they pass around a platter of a strange kind of split roasted nut which we crack open and sample. 

It's dark by now and, using our flashlights, we return to find that Kaud has prepared dinner for us - sticky rice and two types of mixed vegetables - not much protein, Teresa observes.  After eating, we remain seated around the picnic table observing our surroundings.  The fire smolders, putting out thick smoke, the pig snorts, and chickens appear and disappear in the bushes nearby.

The first day for the trekkers has ended - but unfortunately, it isn't over for the not-so-distant revelers up on the hill.  Their karaoke speakers blare as their festivities ramp up.  Ready for some rest, we retire to our mats under the mosquito netting, listening to a cacophony of sounds.   Local pets chime in with much barking and meowing, and even after the noise subsides, someone nearby is rattling the hut with loud snoring - a sound night's sleep may be beyond reach!

Taxi to the airport in Siem Reap, plane to Bangkok then on to Chiang Mai. 

Yesterday I'd found my special purchase from Cambodia.  A vendor at Prasat Kravan was selling a ten inch tall marionette puppet - a little doll with a white painted wooden head who had a silly grin and was dressed in an exquisite sequined costume.  I could envision this little guy hanging from some wall at home and so I did a little bargaining (as expected) and walked away with this comical character.  Fretting over how to get him home last night, I asked the hotel desk for assistance - they produced a carton from the kitchen and chopped it down to size.  Now only TLC will assure his safe arrival.

We are given a form to complete on arrival in Thailand, stamped and collected when we go through customs.  Overhead, there it is in red lights: "Welcome to Thailand." 

A two hour layover, then we are on our way to Chiang Mai, a small city not far from the Burma border.  On the flight we are seated by a group of older folks from the US and Canada and enjoy exchanging travel stories. 

At the terminal we locate a taxi - our elderly driver, driving on the left, negotiates twisting city streets, enters the old walled city, then turns down a narrow alley and a sign with our hotel name suddenly appears - and we come to a halt.  We drag our bags into a small lobby and are given the keys to our rooms on the third floor - oops no elevator!  We look in our rooms - oops - one queen bed in each room - slight problem! 

The problem gets resolved - a change of rooms and a rollaway bed - then Teresa, Scott and Brandon head off to locate some needed supplies for our trek  tomorrow.

posted by Carol 

A bit more sun today - a tad toastier but still within the range of normal weather for here.  Phoeun is waiting for us at the appointed time as we head out - more time in the tuk-tuk as  our destinations today are further apart.  We will visit Preah Khan which includes the ruins  at Prasat, Neak Pean, Ta Son, East Mebon, Pre Rup and Prasat Kravan. 

The sites are as splendid today as yesterday, each unique, but with one difference - the vendors.  So many ladies with scarves stretching the entire length of each arm, plus baskets of the same hung on both shoulders, all crowding around as soon as we enter each site. 

It is incessant:  Madam, a scarf for you?  Buy from  me?  Look, pretty color for you.  They trail us an inch from our elbows no matter how often we say no thank you - the entire length of the walk to the ruins, sometimes a quarter mile, escorted by hopeful but pestering entrepreneurs.  Always sweet with soft voices, but as persistent as mosquitoes. 

At another location we are met by little girls, each with baskets full of wicker bracelets, refrigerator magnets, hand-carved flutes, and bamboo fish decorations.  I listen to their little girl pleading voices, two or three together, almost like a chant.  And all with the likely goal of a meal at the end of the day. 

Once back at the hotel we thank our driver for his two days with us and settle the bill. Brandon asks that he write his name in his native Khmer and he produces miniature art.  Brandon then takes a photo of he and I, and he offers his email address to send a copy to him later.

As we enter the hotel a few drops of rain begin to fall, and by the time we get past the lobby the skies have opened. We are aghast at the ferocity of the torrential rainstorm.  Back in our room, Teresa and I watch out the window as a 150 gallon concrete rain tub behind a nearby home fills to the top in minutes.  Phenomenal! 

Scott and Teresa wait nearly an hour for the rain to subside before heading out on a last dash shopping spree.  Christmas is coming!

When they return, we head off to a lovely restaurant next to our hotel for dinner - the background music is provided a Cambodian style marimba, while the sweet and attentive restaurant staff complete a perfect evening.

posted by Carol 

Just scheduled a foot massage for 9 PM - can't wait!   One hour of reflexology for $8 - I'm in!  But let me start at the beginning. 

Slept for 10 hours to catch up - much needed cool rooms - breakfast is a large buffet with many choices, very satisfying.  We gather in the lobby at 9 AM.   Scott appears late, limping - he  plugged in the laptop under the desk and got a back spasm - going to be a tough day for him.

Our tuk-tuk is waiting and we pile into a Day-Glo lime green carriage which offers a rear seat with a back and a padded bench seat facing reverse.  Our driver introduces himself as Phoeun -  "patience".  Off we go, bumping along in the open air sharing the rutted road with motorbikes, bicycles and enormous tour buses.  He takes us on a loop to the various temple sites:  Angkor Wat, Banteay Kdei, Ta Prohm, and Ta Keo.   Each site is a massive temple ruin where we can climb, stoop and crawl up steep steps - if we were anywhere else I'm certain no one would be allowed to trample upon the ancient stones in their sneakers. 

Crumbling hallways seem to go on interminably, and steps appear which deposit us atop yet another altar to Buddha.  Enterprising monks are more than willing to place incense sticks in our hands for a modest donation, motioning us to prop them in a bowl of sand.  Each temple has its own unique blueprint but all are composed of blackened and encrusted stones in various states of disrepair or reconstruction - lichen covers every surface.  Phoeun drops us off at each site and gives the name and layout and tells us where to find him when we are done.  He waits in our carriage alongside dozens of others - the drivers wait patiently for their fares to return. Many have hung small hammocks beneath the shaded roof of their tuk-tuks and nap. 

After a long morning we stop for lunch at a small restaurant - an Intrepid group is eating there - so it must  be clean.  We continue our explorations - Angkor Thom, Pneanakas, Preah Palilay, Baphugn.  As we walk through a densely forested path through dry brown football-size leaves, a sprinkle of rain turns into a downpour in a matter of seconds.   Carrying my umbrella that I'd brought for a sunshade, I continue on comfortably, but Teresa, Brandon and Scott are soaked by the time we find shelter beside a ten foot covered smiling Buddha. 

With no end to the torrential rain in sight, our hardy team plugs along with nary a blink - one last ruin before we can call it a day.  As the rains abates, I realize that instead of clearing the air, this downpour seems to have created an unexpected outcome -  SWAMPY - what an excellent adjective for the Weather Channel - the 110 % humidity causes our sticky clothing to bond tightly to our skin! 

Back at the hotel, we ride the elevator to the rooftop for an impromptu cocktail hour.  The view is great as we watch the sunset, and Brandon jumps in the pool to cool off!

Dinner and a show!  Scott has booked a table for the Apsara performance at a nearby dinner theater - it features traditional Khmer music and dance - and also includes a plentiful and delicious buffet.   We settle in with giant bottles of Angkor beer and watch as tour groups fill the long tables stretching across the room.

Back at the hotel, Teresa, Brandon and I are met on the sixth floor by three young ladies and taken into a small room subtly lit along the perimeter by with Tiffany lights - a strong aroma of camphor fills the room.  An hour later we are relaxed and ready for bed!

It was a restless night's sleep knowing that the luxury segment of our trip is about to end.  At breakfast, Marcelle has a "major" announcement:  "I feel I have known each of you for all my life!" she proclaims.  Ditto, I think to myself.

The luggage goes out in the hall to be loaded onto a high speed motorboat that will take us to the Cambodian border and on to Phnom Penh.  A young woman collects a fee of $22 from each of us to cover the cost of the visa - she advises us that our passports will be returned at the border with the visa affixed.  

An hour or so later our boat pulls up to a decrepit dock where tourists appear to be milling about aimlessly waiting for instructions.  We disembark and I notice a woman with a wad of Cambodian currency offering to exchange bills.  I stand in a line for the WC - once inside I turn on the faucet and hear water splashing - a quick peek behind the sink reveals the water flowing from the basin on to the floor and into the river below!

With nothing else accomplished, we return to the boat but then repeat the process ten minutes later - this time we are directed to an outdoor waiting area - after a few minutes our stamped passports are returned to us - we head back to the boat where we settle in for the three hour journey to Phnom Penh.  About an hour later, much to our surprise, lunch trays are revealed and passed out.  We will be fed!  On my tray is two slices of bread, one slice of ham, a packet of strawberry jam, a triangle of cheese (Laughing Cow, what else?), two thumb-size bananas and two frosted rice cookies. 

It's well after noon when we pull up to the dock at Phnom Penh.  It's a quick round of hugs and farewells as we all part company.  Scott is anxious because he did not hear from the travel agency before we left this morning.  Will it be a five hour bus ride or a forty-five minute plane ride?   The young woman who had handled our visas had earlier called the agency - she told  Scott someone would meet us at the dock with the tickets, but there is no one here.

While Teresa and I baby-sit the luggage, Scott and Brandon search for an Internet café.  When they return Scott is jubilant - he has retrieved an email with our electronic tickets and confirmation information attached.  Negotiating for a taxi, we load up and speed off to the airport where we track down the check-in desk for Cambodia Angkor Air.

Just before 4 PM we are loaded on to a 36+ seat turboprop, an ATR 72 ( according to Brandon) and are whisked off for the forty minute flight to Siem Reap.  This same journey by bus would have taken five hours over bumpy, winding roads!

On the way to our hotel in Siem Reap, our taxi driver uses the entire time to sell us on hiring him as a driver to tour Angkor Wat.  At first he offers his taxi, then when we refuse, he offers his tuk-tuk - only $30 to drive us around the temple grounds for the next two days.  It sounds reasonable so we hire him on the spot. 

As its after 6 PM and we are fatigued from a full day of travel, we have dinner at the hotel -it's convenient.  We are hot and the beer looks good so we order giant $3 dollar bottles of Angkor beer.  I see the tray coming across the room and roar with delight - they are enormous - the size of wine bottles!  This proves to be just what we need!

Tomorrow our driver will pick us up at 9 AM to take us to Angkor Wat, and in the evening we have a reservation for the Apsara cultural show with a full buffet dinner.   The adventure continues. ..

Scott:

I still hadn't heard back from Star Travel in Phnom Penh by the time we disembarked the L'Amant.  The last note I'd gotten indicated that they were holding four seats but we'd not received a confirmation number or e-tickets.  The visa lady had called from the speedboat on her cell phone and she told me someone from the agency would meet us at the dock when we arrived.  I tried not to dwell on it during the four hour journey, but when we arrived and no one was there I was concerned.  I'd paid for the tickets online, so should we just go directly to the airport?  But if there were no tickets there, we'd miss the last bus to Siem Reap at 2 PM.  I supposed we could hire a private car. 

I was greatly relieved when I found an internet café , logged on, and the tickets were waiting!

posted by Carol 

Breakfast at 8 and we share email addresses with promises to keep in touch.  We step into our skiff and set out for a nearby village, passing anchored houseboats with clean laundry hanging astern while women prepare food on the back stoop.  We see a cluster of bedraggled wooden boats tacked together, all covered by corrugated rusty tin roofs - literally a floating village!  Children wave excitedly, jumping up and down and yelling hallo as they spot us.  Small yappy dogs add their excited chatter as we float by, punctuated by the persistent rat-a-tat tat motor of our boat which sounds like a machine gun firing.

Our driver spots some bright red flags festooning one particular boat - could it be a wedding?  Our driver makes a beeline toward it - we are the ultimate wedding crashers but we get a welcoming reception as well as an up close view of the event.  We crowd around to take photos of the beautiful young bride dressed in a rich, long, strapless gown that is the equal of any American wedding dress. Her groom is dressed in a starched white suit and smiles constantly.  We are told that the bride's family is now leaving her - she will live with her in-laws - they wave in unison and their boat putters off.

We pass many small fishing boats whose nets are strung on bamboo poles protruding upward like insect antenna - when submerged they will scoop up today's catch.

Arriving at the village we exit on to a rickety, elevated, plank walkway about four feet off the ground. It is only about 18 inches wide and composed of rough planks with irregular spacing and a handrail consisting of thin bamboo poles lashed together.  We are told that the village is prone to floods - it was under five feet of water not long ago.

The houses, huts actually, are all raised up on 10 foot poles to stay dry during the frequent floods. Peter guides us up a ramp into a shop where there is a woman weaving scarves and we observe her at her loom.  We leave with several scarves after a round of intense negotiations.  We cross a monkey bridge - a single eight inch wide bamboo pole lodged in the Y of two crossbar poles sticking into the ground below - one misstep and we will plummet five feet down into the mud - I wonder what level of skill this will require to precariously balance myself and traverse the twenty meter distance.

We progress in single file through a narrow street lined with tiny storefronts around vegetable carts while dodging motorbikes and bicycles.  Peter takes us into a mosque and explains that this town is home to a separate Muslim ethnic minority that avoids contact with other Vietnamese to protect their culture.

After lunch on board, we are picked up by an aging minibus for our afternoon adventure, an excursion to Sam Mountain.  The bus, its sagging suspension groaning, carries us to a lump of a mountain in the distance, our destination - climbing up and around hairpin turns we are deposited at the top of the mountain and from there we view the Cambodia border, while Peter tells us about Vietnam's war in 1979 against the Khmer Rouge - gruesome - more than 20,000 local Vietnamese were slaughtered by these barbarians.  Before heading back, Marcelle and Jacques pay a token sum to free four small caged birds - it is a gesture to the saint of the mountain. 

On our way back to the boat we pass a dried fish market (what a stink!), stop at two more temples and hear a bit more local history.

While relaxing before dinner, Peter distributes Cambodian visa applications and collects photos and passports in preparation for tomorrow's passage into Cambodia.  The gong sounds and we have our last evening meal together: grilled fish skewers, lobster hot pot, and bananas flambé for dessert. Claire informs us that the speedboat to Cambodia will depart at 7:15 AM and breakfast will be served at 6. 

After dinner, we guests head to the sundeck to discuss the matter of tips for Peter and the crew.   It is like a family budget meeting - eventually a consensus is reached regarding a group tip. Tips are deposited into two envelopes and signed by all. Robert, our resident financial expert, calculates Dong vs. dollars so that we can relieve ourselves of all our local currency before we exit Vietnam.

For the second day in a row I find myself first to arrive for the early bird coffee and croissants on the sundeck...  Note from your fellow caffeine addict (Scott):  I was the second... perhaps they should just inject the coffee directly into our veins!

Another delightful buffet breakfast before heading off to the town of Sa Dec, the site of both the novel and film L'Amant.  We visit the elementary school where author Marguerite Duras' mother taught, as well as the original house once occupied by her Chinese lover's family. We see recent photos of the cast of the movie as well as long-faded family photos of some of the original characters. (Click here to see snippets of this elegant French movie: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0101316/ & http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=apdgsxdlZhw )

As we exit this house we learn that Loec and Sarah, our shipmates and newlywed couple, will be leaving us to continue their honeymoon at a more private location.  We pose for several group photos on the front stairs of the house, then hugs and kisses and they are off.

Then we are off to see the local Cao Dai temple, one of the first, built in 1936, only a few years after this religious hybrid was founded.  It is also known as the "one-eye" or "third eye" temple, and represents a religion created entirely by the Vietnamese people with more than five million followers, five percent of the population.  It incorporates various aspects of Taoism, Buddhism, and Confucianism to create a unique belief system and there are now more than 3,000 temples.  Among other tenets, the monks can marry and have children, and the populace must attend services six days per month. 

This temple is one of the most colorful and delightful structures, I have seen in days.  And parked just next to the temple is a large truck with similar patterns as painted on the temple pillars, apparently it is a hearse.  We learn about the current education system which is compulsory for preschool and elementary age children up to age 11, with  most of the population being too poor to afford school after this age so that almost no one continues.

We are offered a respite of tea with fresh ginger candy chips then head back to the boat for a free afternoon, our first. We relax on the sundeck, some attending to and sharing technology, some reading and listening to music, some visiting, etc.  At 4 PM the gong chimes calling us to cooking class. We are going to be shown how to make spring rolls by the chef. 

We are duly instructed and produce two full plates of inconsistent size rolls, then are told they will be brought up to the sundeck within fifteen minutes, deep fried and ready to eat.  We enjoy cold beer while waiting, then enjoy our appetizers when they arrive.