Category Archives: travel

Traveler v. Tourist

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When I go on vacation to a new destination, I like to think of myself as a traveler, rather than a tourist. Although I do enjoy sighteeing, I also love exploring the culture and daily life of the people who live in the country I am visiting. Shortly after my now husband and I decided to get married, we took an “engagementmoon” to St. Lucia to celebrate. We stayed at a wonderful all-inclusive resort and had a marvelous, relaxing time. However, I do wish we had ventured outside of the resort a bit more. The locals who worked at the resort were so warm and friendly, I would have appreciated learning more about their culture and island life. In the photo essay inspired by these vacation pictures, my character, Violet Goodwine, discovers the unique qualities of life on St. Lucia at Hotel Chocolat, and the Gros Islet Street Party.

On Friday morning, Violet Goodwine, strolled by the lagoon shaped pool on her way to the main lobby of the resort. A group of hotel guests stood in the low end following the instructions of the water aerobics teacher. About half of the lounge chairs circling the pool were already occupied. It was another sunny day in St. Lucia.

Violet had spent the first couple of days of her vacation relaxing by the pool, drinking colorful cocktails and walking on the beach. The resort was a beautiful, luxurious retreat, but after two days, Violet was ready to venture out and explore more of the island.

Strolling into the lobby, she pulled a stack of postcards from her hand-woven straw bag. She gave the postcards to the concierge, and asked him about day trips around the island. While they were talking, someone tapped Violet on the shoulder.

“Excuse me,” a vaguely familiar woman said in an Australian accent. “I couldn’t help overhearing. You’re looking for an excursion today, isn’t that right?”

“Right,” said Violet, smiling uncertainly at the petite, auburn haired woman who was dressed in cargo shorts, a bright blue polo shirt and sneakers.

The woman returned her smile and said warmly, “I’m Kaleigh. This is my third trip to St. Lucia. I love this island. It’s known as island of iguanas, you know.”

Violet laughed, thinking of the iguana she had spotted down by the tiki bar. “I’m Violet, she said holding out her hand for Kaleigh to shake. “I’ve seen you around the resort. You’re a solo traveler like me, aren’t you?”

“You’re right about that. Don’t you just love traveling on your own?” Kaleigh asked with a twinkle in her green eyes. “I certainly do, but sometimes it’s nice when you find someone to join in on your adventures. Do you like chocolate? I’m heading out to tour a cacao farm now. Care to come along?”

“The Hotel Chocolat? I’ve read about that place.” Violet was intrigued.

Kaleigh nodded and gestured to the door. “Come on, I have a taxi waiting. Let’s go sample a bit of St. Lucia life.”

Violet glanced over her shoulder at the concierge, who was now chatting with one of the desk clerks. Swept up in Kaleigh’s infectious enthusiasm, she said, “Why not? Let’s go”

The new friends took a taxi through the capital city of Castries and down the coast to the 140-acre estate. Along the way, their jovial driver pointed out the sights and told them a little bit about the Carib culture and history.

At Hotel Chocolat, they joined a small group of other visitors to tour the farm, learning all about their sustainable practices of growing cacao beans and making chocolate. The grounds were lush and green and the chocolate samples were rich and creamy. Violet and Kaleigh were excited to end the tour by making their own chocolate bar and then sitting down for an authentic St. Lucian lunch.

Sitting by the window with a view of the rain forest, they each ordered cacao beer-battered fish and chips. While they ate fresh and crispy fish, they chatted easily, talking about their chocolate experience and sharing travel stories.

“That was such a great tour,” Kaleigh said. “Who knew that chocolate grows on trees? And I loved making my own chocolate bar! I can’t wait to try it.”

“Me too.” Violet laughed. She took a couple of bites of fish and then said, “This place reminds me of a tour I took in Costa Rica to a rain forest ranch, where they were just starting out their cacao business. Thank you so much for inviting me along today. I feel like I’ve gotten a glimpse of the real St. Lucia.”

Kaleigh took a sip of wine. “No worries. I’m glad you came with me.” She wiped her mouth with her cloth napkin and went on, “If you want to see the real St. Lucia, we should go to the Gros Islet street party this evening. I went to it last year and it was awesome. They block off the streets on Friday nights in a fishing village not too far from our resort, and there’s food and drinks and music. What do you think?”

“That sounds terrific,” Violet said. “Tomorrow, there’s a cricket tournament at the national stadium. Would you want to check that out? Cricket is really popular here, apparently, and I’ve never seen a cricket game. It might be fun.”

“Sounds good to me,” Kayleigh said. She raised her glass in a toast and the two travlers clinked glasses, looking forward to experiencing true island life.

Excerpt from True Love

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More than 30 years ago, my youngest sister moved west and settled in Fraser, Colorado. I have been out to visit her several times since she relocated. On each trip, I have appreciated the stunning scenery and the friendly atmosphere in her small town. We have enjoyed a variety of interesting activities and attractions, including white water rafting on Clear Creek, exploring Rocky Mountain National Park and checking out the historic Stanley Hotel in Estes Park. Of course, I have taken many, many photos to preserve the memories we have made. The pictures in this slide show, inspired me to set one of my Martini Chronicles short stories in the mountains of Colorado. Here is an excerpt from that story. Happy Reading!

Gentle sunshine filtered through the fluttering linen drapes.  I lay on my side in the large brass bed, watching the early morning shadows dance across the floor.  Outside, the birds were starting to sing.  I listened, trying to pick out any familiar calls.    I smiled at the cheery twitter of a goldfinch, recalling an afternoon bird-watching with my father when he had shown me the pretty yellow bird for the first time.

With a glance at the clock on the bedside table, I decided it was time to start my day. I climbed out of bed, stuck my feet into my slippers and put on the hotel bathrobe draped across the end of the bed.  I crossed the hardwood floor and stepped out onto the balcony of my second floor room. 

The morning air was crisp and clear.  In the distance, snow-capped mountains  stood shoulder to shoulder spanning the horizon. The morning sun cast long shadows across the manicured lawn.

“Good morning, hon.”

At the sound of my mother’s gentle voice, I turned from the stunning view.  She sat in a wicker chair on the adjacent balcony.  Her honey blonde hair was pulled back into a long braid, and she wore yoga pants, a Colorado sweatshirt and sneakers.  A carafe and two mugs stood on the table at her side.  She lifted the carafe and poured a fragrant cup of coffee.

“Morning, Mom,” I said, breathing in the tantalizing scent of hazelnut.  I pulled the matching chair on my balcony close to the railing, settled into its overstuffed cushions and then accepted the warm mug she handed over to me.  “Have you been out walking already?”

She nodded, pouring herself a cup and setting down the carafe.  “I took a stroll through the gardens.  They have the most beautiful columbines, and I saw two hummingbirds.”

“I’ll have to take my camera there later.  I can probably get some pretty photos.”  I   took a sip from my mug, savoring the nutty sweetness.  “Mmm.  This coffee is great.”

Mom stretched out her legs,  crossing them at the ankle and sighed.  “It looks like it will be a splendid day for the wedding.  Edmund and Joy are lucky.” 

Below, a man in a cowboy hat led a pair of chestnut horses from the paddock to a large meadow.  “I can’t believe I’m going to my brother’s wedding today,” I said.

“It seems like just yesterday you two were just going to your first school dance,” Mom agreed. “Eighth grade, wasn’t it?” Her expression softened.  “The sun shone just like this on the day your father and I got married.”

Trying to imagine myself in my twin brother’s place, I could envision every detail of my wedding day except the most important one.  After spending countless high school afternoons cutting out photos from the stacks of glossy bridal magazines my best friend, Nancy,  loved to collect, I knew I would be married in an off-the-shoulder ivory gown and carry a bouquet of roses and peonies. My veil would be fingertip length and edged with lace.  Of course, the wedding would take place at our parish church, St. Monica’s. The only missing detail was the identity of my groom. 

I sighed and took a sip of coffee.

“Your wedding day will come, Elizabeth Ann,” my mother said, giving me a perceptive look. She could always read my thoughts and feelings.

With a grateful smile, I replied, “When it does, I hope it’s just as beautiful as today will be.”

Amelia and Jane

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Amelia Reed, 10 years old, could not believe she was in Bath, England.  Her favorite author, Jane Austen, once lived here.  Jane must have walked through the Abbey Churchyard passing by the very spot where Amelia now stood beside her aunt, Joy.  All around them, people strolled across the square.  A couple of dogs chased each other in circles barking happily. A cello player performed in front of a bakery, filling the square with music.

Thanks to her fourth grade teacher, Ms. Crocker, Amelia had discovered Jane Austen that spring.  On the bookshelves in her classroom, Ms. Crocker had a set of Great Illustrated Classics, including Pride and Prejudice, Jane’s most famous novel, which Amelia borrowed for their drop everything and read periods.  As she read about Elizabeth and the other Bennett sisters, she quickly decided that Jane would be her new favorite author, edging aside L.M. Montgomery,

Amelia brushed her blonde bangs out of her face as she and Joy peered up at the entrance to the abbey, shading their eyes from the summer sun.  Amelia carefully counted the stone angels climbing the ladders on either side of the grand doorway.  Twelve.  She wondered what Jane would have thought of those angels.

“I’m so glad, Mom and I came to visit you in London,” Amelia said, slipping her hand into her aunt’s. “And thank you so much for taking me here where Jane Austen lived.”

“Oh, sweetie, I’m happy you’re here.  It’s too bad your mom had to go to her conference this morning.  I think she would love Bath.” Joy took Amelia’s other hand and spun her around.  Joy’s silver bangle bracelets tinkled merrily on her wrist and the skirt of Amelia’s lavender sundress swirled around her knees.

“Guess where we’re going next?” Joy asked and went on before Amelia could answer, “The Jane Austen Centre.  It’s a whole museum about Jane and it has an elegant tea room at the top.”

“Are we going to have tea?” Amelia gave a little skip.

Joy nodded, skipping alongside her niece, her thong sandals slapping cheerfully against her heels.

“And scones?”

“Of course.  Let’s go.”

An hour later, Amelia and Joy sat at a table by the sunlit window in the Regency Tea Room.  Amelia had a cup of peppermint tea and Joy had a citrus tea called Empress of Peking.  They shared a three-tiered plate of sandwiches and scones.

Amelia sliced her scone in half and slathered it with raspberry jam followed by clotted cream.  “This museum is excellent,” she said before taking a bite of her scone.  

“What did you like the best?”

Amelia finished her scone and licked jam and cream from her fingers.  “Dressing up in the Regency clothes and writing with the quill pen.  It was much easier than I thought it would be!”

“I liked learning all about Jane’s life,” Joy said.

Amelia nodded in agreement.  “Me too.  That picture of Jane that her sister drew is awesome.”

Joy laughed and gestured toward their empty plates.  “I’d love to end our tea with a sweet treat, but I’m pretty full.  I’ll bet you are too, right?”

Wiping her mouth with her cloth napkin, Amelia nodded again and gave a contented sigh.

“What do you think about this idea?  We can pop into that Cornish Bakery we saw near the church and get a treat to eat on the train back to London.  They had some pretty yummy looking things in the window.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“I have an even greater one,” Joy said with a grin, her hazel eyes twinkling.  “I think we should come back here next weekend and bring your Mom with us.”

“Okay,” Ameila agreed.  “Mom likes Jane Austen almost as much as I do, you know.”

Island Time

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Bermuda is one of my go-to vacation spots. The first time I visited was on a family trip in 1990. I honeymooned in Bermuda in 2002. Most recently, my husband and I flew to Bermuda for a long weekend in March of this year. We had a lovely, relaxing and Bermudaful vacation. On this trip, we stayed at the Fourways Inn, famous for its elegant retaurant. We spent a morning at the Bermuda Aquarium and Zoo, one of our favorite attractions in Flatts Village. We dined at various restaurants around the islands, enjoying the best meal of the trip at Coconuts at The Reefs. What made the strongest impression on us was the friendly and welcoming atmosphere in Bermuda. We felt like we were coming home.

Island Time

Gracie Goodwin took a sip of cold, crisp rosé as she drank in the ocean view. From the flower-bedecked balcony of her vacation rental, she overlooked the turquoise harbor.  Sailboats and a local ferry skimmed across the water under a cloudless sky while the rooftops and church towers of Hamilton floated on the horizon.

She and Ted had taken that ferry this morning and then walked up the hill along Queen Street to catch one of the big pink buses to Flatts Village where they spent a few delightful hours at the Bermuda Aquarium and Zoo.

Given her chosen occupation as an ornithologist, zoos, nature reserves and national parks were always at the top of Gracie’s vacation itinerary.  Listening to a nearby pair of yellow kiskadees call back and forth to each other, she picked up her phone and scrolled through the photos she took at the zoo.  Her shots of the flamingos and peacocks were fun, but a picture of a pair of Bermuda longtails swooping over the ocean in a graceful aerial ballet was the best.

“Here we go, Gracie.”

She  glanced up at the sound of Ted’s voice.  Smiling at him as he stepped through the French doors out onto the balcony, she reached for the  tray of crackers, cheese, grapes and salami he balanced in one hand.

Ted took the seat across from her and poured himself a glass of wine. He  piled a slice of cheddar atop a stone wheat cracker.  “What’s happening out here?”

“I was just looking at my pictures from this morning.  Aren’t these longtails gorgeous?  I love how they stand out against the deep blue sky.” She handed him  her phone. “Did you know that they only come to shore for nesting season? And they mate for life.”

“Nice.”  Ted scrolled through the pictures on the phone and gave it back to her with a laugh.  “I like this one of us in the Madagascar Exhibit best.”

In the photo, Gracie and Ted stood grinning goofily beside a trio of ring tail lemurs. Her round, owlish glasses glinted in the sunshine while her auburn curls blew around her face. Ted looked cool in his cargo shorts, bright orange polo and Raybans.

“Those lemurs were a riot lounging around in the sun like beach bums,” said Ted.  “They’re such awesome animals.”

Gracie stretched out her legs and lifted her face to the late afternoon sun.  “Today has been a truly splendid day.”

“I’m glad we decided to stay in tonight.  Finding that grocery store was a definite  stroke of luck.” 

On their way back from their busy morning at the zoo and then a filling lunch on the terrace of the Swizzle Inn, they decided to pop into a shop across from the bus station to pick up some evening provisions.  Together, they meandered up and down the aisles pushing a rattling cart in front of them as they searched for the makings of a typical Bermuda supper.

“This is the life,” Ted said with a contented sigh. “What can be better than French rosé, cheddar and brie and this amazing view?”

“The Bermuda fish chowder we’ll have in a bit, more wine and this view?” Gracie teased and held up her glass to clink his.  “The woman at the store assured me that the chowder is from an authentic local recipe.”

Gracie thoughtfully ate a few grapes and went on, “She was such a nice person.  So warm and genuinely friendly.  Everyone here seems to be that way.”

”And all the locals seem to know each other.  Did you hear those two gentlemen on the bus talking about their grandsons’ cricket match?  I was sorry when they got off at their stop.  I wanted to hear who ended up winning the game.”

”Imagine if this were our house.  How heavenly would it be to eat supper out on our balcony every night and fall asleep listening to the ocean? Living here would be a Bermudaful dream come true.”

“Maybe someday it will come true,” said Ted.  “You never know what the future might bring.” He grinned and held out his hand to her. “In the meantime, let’s go in and heat up that chowder.”

Boston: an enchanting travel destination

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Boston is known as a city where every corner tells a story. It is steeped in history, culture, academia, sportsmanship, good food and stunning architecture. Throughout the decades as a Boston resident, I have collected an abundance of memories, happy stories written in the squares, avenues, parks, museums, libraries, ballparks and restaurants of the city. I feel blessed to make my home in such an enchanting travel destination. The photo essay inspired by pictures I have taken in Boston, tells the story of a bride who is quickly falling under the spell of Massachusetts’ capital.

Margot O’Reilly woke up in the elegant bridal suite at the Copley Plaza Hotel. Soft sunlight peeking through the partially opened curtains lit up the quiet room. She sat up and stretched, taking in the plush armchairs by the window, the gleaming mahogany bureaus, and the marble fireplace. Smiling to herself, she snuggled back underneath the luxurious bed coverings as happy memories drifted through her mind. Last night, she and Oliver were married at the Boston Public Library. Their friends and family all raved about the unique venue.

Last spring during her school vacation, when Margot and Oliver flew to Boston from Philadelphia to visit his family in West Roxbury and share the news of their engagement, they had spent an afternoon wandering around the Back Bay. At the library, she picked up a pamphlet advertising wedding options. As she read through the glossy booklet, she knew immediately that she had found the perfect place to get married. To her delight, last evening had been flawless. The ceremony and cocktails in the Courtyard were followed by dinner in Bates Hall Reading Room and dancing in the Abbey Room.

“Good morning, Mrs. O’Reilly,” Oliver said. Wrapped in one of the hotel’s waffle robes, he stepped out of the steamy bathroom and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. His hair was damp and he smelled of lemony soap and minty toothpaste. He had gotten up early to use the hotel’s gym.

Margot grinned at the sound of her new name. She had thought about hyphenating their last names, but Beauvilliers-O’Reilly had too many syllables. She wondered how long it would take her students to get used to her married name.

“Good morning, my darling husband,” she replied. She kissed him and went on, “If you could order us some breakfast, I’ll jump in the shower. We have a busy day ahead of us. Art in the morning and the Red Sox this afternoon.”

Oliver laughed. “The MFA and Fenway, two Boston icons.”

Margot climbed out of bed and walked over to the window. She opened the curtains revealing their view of the library and Copley Square. “It looks like a beautiful day. Perhaps we can fit in a walk through the Public Gardens and the Common.”

Oliver nodded and reached for the phone to call room service. “Margot,” he called after her as she disappeared into the bathroom. “It’s going to be a great day. I’m glad we decided to honeymoon in Boston.”

Margot poked her head through the doorway. “Me too. I love this city almost as much as I love you.”

A Day to Remember

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Of all of the wonderful travel destinations in Canada, Quebec City is my favorite. The centuries old, historic city is replete with European charm. On a recent visit there with my sister, we toured the city on foot and by bus. We stayed in a comfortable, ideally located hotel in Old Québec. We had plenty of opportunities to admire the art and architecture, indulge in some delicious meals, and take a lot of photos. The pictures from our weekend adventure reflect the setting of my most recent short story. Please enjoy reading an excerpt of that story below.

I’ve always loved his grey-green eyes.  The minute our gazes met across the kitchen in Québec City, I was hooked. I met Lukas on my second day of vacation at a baking class led by one of the city’s well-known pastry chefs. Our instructor, a petite, middle-aged woman with a long, blonde braid divided our group of eight into pairs and Lukas was my assigned partner.


Lukas and I  worked well together, chatting companionably.  I found out that he was an only child who grew up in Bath, England and a chef, who was on the verge of opening his own restaurant. I described my job as a food critic for a local newspaper and told him about my family.

Our time in the kitchen flew by. Before we knew it, we were showing off a tray  of rather impressive maple macarons to the class.   As we were cleaning up our station, Lukas invited me to lunch.  From then on, we were pretty much inseparable for the rest of the week.

We explored the Basse-Ville neighborhood, walked along the walls enclosing the city and got our fill of history and québécois culture at the Musée de la Civilisation and the Musée National des Beaux Arts. On our last day together, we ate breakfast at my hotel and then walked off the scrambled eggs, fruit and almond croissants on the Plains of Abraham.

Closing my eyes, I relived that wonderful day.  The weather had been perfect.  Blue skies and plenty of warm sunshine.   Bypassing the military museum at the entrance to the park, we made our way to the wide path overlooking the St. Lawrence River.

The park was busy that day, filled with joggers, dog walkers and picnickers. We strolled by the Joan of Arc garden, with its monument to the saint and one of the stone Martello towers, built to fortify the city. In front of the tower, a group of men dressed in eighteenth century military costumes, entertained a crowd of onlookers with stories of life in the army barracks centuries ago.  

When we reached the riverside walking trail, we paused to take in the view. We looked down at the roofs of the lower town and the glittering, watery expanse of the St. Lawrence. The silhouette of the famous Chateau Frontenac, Québec’s iconic landmark, shimmered on the horizon.

Shading my eyes from the sun to watch a tour boat churn by on the river, I said, “My brother and his wife were here last summer for the music festival. Edmund’s wife, Joy, is a singer. She has a life goal to attend at least one music festival a year. She said the Québec City Summer Festival was one of the best.”

”Apparently, concerts and festivals are a regular occurrence here on the Plains,” Lukas said.

“The Québec Winter Carnival in February is also supposed to be pretty awesome.  I’ve heard the ice sculptures alone make it worth braving the cold.”

Lukas linked his arm with mine, as we continued walking. ”We should come back in February,” he said.  “Do a bit of cross country skiing and brave the cold at the carnival.  Afterwards, we can cuddle up in front of the fire with a cup of tea or even better, a glass of mulled wine.”

”That might be fun,” I said. My heart filled with hope as his grey-green gaze met mine and we shared a smile.

Home Away From Home

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There are so many lovely places to visit in the world. My husband and I love traveling to Europe. Edinburgh in Scotland is our most loved city. In the past few years, we have also discovered some great North American destinations. While on vacation, we often enjoy popping into iconic hotels for lunch or a drink, which is a wonderful way to experience the property. Some of the outstanding hotels we have explored include the Algonquin in St. Andrew’s by-the-Sea, NB, the Hotel del Coronado in San Diego, and Dalvay by the Sea on Prince Edward Island. The pictures that have inspired this photo essay are from Dalvay by the Sea, which was built as a summer home in 1895 by Alexander MacDonald, a Scottish-American businessman. The hotel offers 25 guest rooms and 8 cottages, and is known for its European charm and excellent service. Please enjoy a brief visit to this luxurious home away from home through my words and photos.

After an invigorating and scenic bike ride around the north shore of Prince Edward Island, Cecelia Hart mounted the front stairs of Dalvay by the Sea, her home away from home on this autumn getaway. Feeling a bit wind-blown and quite hungry, she headed to the cozy bar off the lobby. She pulled off her hand-knit hat letting her wavy chestnut hair fall around her shoulders and unbuttoned her LL Bean barn coat.

The bartender greeted her by name. “What can I get you this afternoon?” she asked.

“I’d love a cup of hot coffee. Hazelnut if you have it. And how about the charcuterie board, please?”

“Very good.”

“Would it be alright if I sat in there by the fireplace?” Cecelia asked, waving toward the spacious, sunlit living room furnished with friendly groupings of plush armchairs and couches.

“Of course. Make yourself at home,” the bartender said with a smile.

Once she settled herself in one of the wingback chairs in front of the crackling fire, Cecelia didn’t have to wait long for the bartender to deliver a steaming cup of fragrant coffee and a plate of artfully arranged cured meats and cheeses accompanied by bread and crackers.

As she thanked the bartender, another guest wandered into the room and stood in front of the stone fireplace, warming her hands. Cecelia took a swallow of her coffee and watched the other woman with friendly curiosity. She was thin and wiry with a cap of silvery bobbed hair. She looked like she spent her free time on the tennis court.

“Hello, there” Cecelia said.

The woman turned, her blue eyes lighting up as she returned Cecelia’s greeting. “Do you mind if I sit here by the fire too?” she asked.

“I’d be glad for the company,” Cecelia said, introducing herself. 

“It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Alicia Peabody.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the bar and said, “Let me just order a drink. I’ll be right back.”

While she waited, Cecelia pulled her knitting from the depths of her Italian leather backpack. She was making a sweater for her 3-year-old granddaughter. When Alicia returned carrying a tall coupe of sparkling wine, Cecelia set aside her knitting. She nodded toward the matching armchair beside her own. “Please join me.” She gestured to her overflowing plate. “If you’re hungry, feel free to help me with this amazing charcuterie plate.” 

“How kind. That does look tempting.” Alicia reached for a wheat cracker and a slice of Havarti cheese.

The two women chatted amicably and discovered that they shared a love for writing. Alicia recently had a book of poetry published.

“That’s wonderful!” Cecelia exclaimed. “I wish I could write poetry.”

“What do you like to write?” 

“I’ve written too many book reviews to count, and quite a few articles for a librarian’s professional journal. Now that I’m retired, I want to try my hand at fiction. Maybe a historical novel.”

“Marvelous! As a librarian I’m sure whatever you turn out will be impeccably researched. Any ideas what you would focus on?”

“I want to find out more about PEI, actually. I adore L. M. Montgomery, but I’m sure there is more to this lovely island than just Anne of Green Gables. I’d love to find a forgotten story from the past.”

“This hotel has quite a fascinating history. The concierge told me it originally was built as a summer home for a wealthy family from Ohio and the granddaughters ended up marrying into European royalty. Can you imagine what it must have been like in its heyday?” Alicia gestured enthusiastically encompassing the fireplace, the gleaming woodwork, and the sweeping staircase leading up to the guest rooms.

Cecelia nodded thoughtfully. “Imagine the stories that have taken place here. I wonder if the hotel has maintained any historical archives . . .”

She raised her coffee cup to Alicia. “Thanks to your intriguing idea, I have a feeling I may be coming back to the Dalvay before long.”

Campus Life

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One of my preferred travel destinations is Washington, DC. For many years, my husband and I enjoyed a family tradition of spending Columbus Day Weekend in the national capital. Each trip was unique. Some of our favorite sights in DC include the National Zoo, the Phillips Collection museum, the National Mall Carousel and Ford’s Theatre. On our last trip to Washington in 2021, we spent a delightful afternoon exploring the Georgetown neighborhood and college campus. My photos from that day have inspired the photo essay below.

Last year at this time, Sasha was sitting on the lumpy couch in her high school Guidance Counselor’s office. While she waited for Ms. Burns to get off the phone, she flipped through an outdated issue of Campus Life magazine. The glossy pages were filled with photos of smiling students lounging on sunny lawns, laughing in Harry Potteresque dining halls, or listening attentively in high-tech classrooms. She and Ms. B were meeting to finalize Sasha’s college list with Georgetown University right at the top.

Now, here she was on her first Saturday as a college girl, walking across the Georgetown campus. So far, her campus life was nothing like the one enjoyed by the students in the magazine.  Instead of bonding with her roommate, Jessica, and making friends with the girls in her dorm, Sasha was spending most of her free time alone. 

Jessica was nice enough. They just had nothing in common with each other. Jessica was a soccer player and a physical therapy major. When she wasn’t in class, she was either on the soccer pitch, in the gym or in the common room with her PT study group. Most of the other girls on her floor were sporty like Jessica. Somehow, dreamy Sasha who majored in art history had ended up in a jock dorm.

This morning, Sasha had gotten up early, determined to go out and find her people. She would start by visiting the De La Cruz Gallery. She remembered the guide pointing out the art gallery on her campus tour last fall. Maybe she could apply for a work study job or at least a volunteer position there.

Sasha strolled along admiring the spires and arches that adorned the college buildings around her. The campus was quiet. The early morning sun shone down on the grassy quad in front of the library. A woman and her poodle were playing a game of fetch across the lawn. The clock atop the Gothic tower of Healy Hall struck the hour, the clear tones of the bells blending with the dog’s excited barking.

As Sasha wandered past the college’s honorary statue of Jan Karski (another highlight of her college tour), she noticed a girl sitting on the bench beside the bronze figure of the chess playing government and international affairs professor. She was dressed in a calf-length crinkle skirt topped with an over-sized college hoodie. An open sketch pad lay in the grass at her feet. She held her cell phone at an odd angle out in front of her.

“Do you want me to take your picture for you?” Sasha called out.

The girl lowered the phone and smiled at Sasha. “That would be great, yeah. I want to send this photo to my dad. This statue is of one of his professors, who was also a World War II resistance fighter.”

“That’s cool,” Sasha said, accepting the phone and snapping a few shots of the girl. “My name is Sasha, by the way,” she added. “I’m a freshman.”

“Me too. I’m Beatrice.” The girl took her phone from Sasha’s outstretched hand and nodded her head as she swiped through the new photos. “Thanks.”

Sasha started to walk away, but then turned back. “Hey, Beatrice. I’m going over to the art gallery, do you want to come with?”

Beatrice scooped up her sketch pad and pocketed her cell phone. “Sure, why not.”

The two girls chatted companionably as they walked together across the quad, and Sasha’s heart lifted with the hope that her real campus life was about to begin.

Montreal

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Montreal is a destination that offers plenty of culture, delicious food and eye-catching landmarks. My husband and I took a summer trip to this cosmopolitan city in 2015. We stayed in the historic neighborhood, Old Montreal. During our week-long sojourn, we made every effort to see as many sights as possible. Some highlights of our trip included visiting Notre-Dame Basilica, Place Jacques Cartier, the Museum of Fine Arts, and the botanical gardens, as well as two scrumptious meals at a charming restaurant called Jardin Nelson.

After nearly ten years, I still have fond memories of our trip to Montreal. Perhaps, it is time for a return visit. In the meantime, the photo essay below is inspired by the pictures I took in 2015.

“What a wonderful meal in such a lovely setting,” Camille remarked, gazing around the flower-filled terrace and taking a final sip of her crisp white Bordeaux.  She clinked glasses with  her niece, Florette.  

They had just enjoyed a filling lunch of seafood crêpes at Jardin Nelson, a popular establishment in the heart of Montreal’s historic district.  Across the sunlit cobbled square  a cello player serenaded the passing tourists  with a soulful version of  Leonard Cohen’s  “Hallelujah.”

“I’m so glad you liked it,” said Florette.  She folded her cloth napkin and set it beside her plate.  “I’m happy you’ve come to visit too.  I wish I didn’t have to go to classes, so I could show you more of my favorite things in Montreal.”

“Don’t be silly.  I don’t mind exploring the city on my own.  This morning, I visited the basilica where Celine Dion was married.  All of that glowing stained glass took my breath away.”  She put her folded arms on the table and leaned forward.  “Besides, school comes first.”

Florette nodded.  “I know.  That’s what my mom would say too.”

 They shared a laugh.  “Tell me more about your classes at the art school,” Camille said.

Florette sighed and spread her arms in delight. “The Ecole des Beaux Arts is fabulous!  My favorite class is my still life drawing class.  The professor is so talented and inspiring. Last week she said my drawing of a bowl of oranges was nearly perfect.”

As they paid the check and gathered their belongings, Florette chatted on about her other art courses.  In front of the restaurant entrance, she posed so Camille could take a photo.  Glancing at the time on her cell phone, she said, “My next class isn’t until 4:00.  Do you want to come with me to the botanical gardens?  I have to do some sketches and you could take more photos.”

“What a marvelous idea,” said Camille.  They linked arms and made their way down the street looking for a taxi.

Montreal’s botanical gardens were nestled in the city’s Olympic District.  Florette pointed out the Olympic stadium as they rumbled by in their cab.  At the entrance to the park, they hopped out of the car and strolled through the gates.

Florette pulled up a map of the gardens on her phone. “Let’s head over to the alpine garden. I love the flowers there and the rocky landscapes.  All of the flowers are so tiny and sweet.  I’m going to sketch the phlox and the rock roses.”

“Sounds good to me.  I have to warn you though.  I may burst out into an off-key version of Edelweiss.” Camille joked.

“Remember how I made you watch my Sound of Music video every time you came over when I was little?”  Florette said with a giggle.

“It was your favorite.  Mine too.”  Camille said, swinging her arms and glancing up at the brilliant sunlit sky.  After a moment she went on, “When I visited Austria, I went to Leopoldskron Palace, where they filmed some scenes from the movie. The gardens there are stunning.”

“I’m sure.” Florette couldn’t keep a hint of envy from her voice.  “I’d love to go to Austria, or anywhere in Europe.” She gazed admiringly at her aunt.  

“You’ll have your chance to travel,” Camille assured her. “You’re just twenty-one. There’s plenty of time!” 

As they followed the brick paved pathways, Camille read the signs pointing out the locations of  the different gardens.  “Japanese garden, Chinese garden, alpine garden,” she said.  “It looks like you can travel around the horticultural world in one day here.”

“Did you know there are more than 20,000 types of plants here from all over the planet,” Florette said.

“Amazing!”

They fell into a comfortable silence, walking past the rose garden and the aquatic garden. As they approached the Chinese garden, the carved roof of the pagoda appeared in the distance.  The splash of a waterfall or fountain filled the air along with cheerful birdsong.

Florette said, “When I finish my sketching, we should check out the Chinese garden. The pond in front of the pagoda is filled with lily pads and there’s a gorgeous willow tree.  You’ll get some excellent photos.”

“Speaking of lily pads, I’d like to look at the aquatic garden too, if we have time.”

“Sure.  Of course”

“One of the best gardens I’ve ever been to is Monet’s garden in Giverny.  I was there in April, so the famous water lilies weren’t in bloom, but there were so many other lovely and unusual flowers it didn’t matter,” she said, following her niece into the enchanting alpine garden.

“One of these days, I’ll have to make a summer trip to Giverny.  The water lilies come out in July usually,” Camille went on.

Florette opened her sketchbook and found a shady spot beside a rockery carpeted with a bed of fragrant lavender, pink and white phlox.  She let out a wistful sigh and said, “I want to be a world traveler like you.”

“You know,” Camille said thoughtfully, “next summer after you graduate would be the perfect time for a trip to France . . . we can go to Giverny together to celebrate.  And we can ask your Mom to come along too. ” She beamed at her niece. “A girls’ trip to Europe will be a grand way to kick off your quest to see the world!”

Seashells, Sunshine and Serendipity

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Having family in Maine provides me with several marvelous New England travel destinations. My parents and my sister and brother-in-law live in Brunswick and Harpswell. A trip to both of these towns, along with nearby Freeport or Portland, always promises scenic beach walks, fresh seafood enjoyed with waterfront views, and shopping at farmer’s markets or eclectic shops and galleries. Every August, Brunswick hosts an Outdoor Arts Festival. One summer as I wandered among the booths, I stopped to admire a small watercolor depicting two little girls standing side by side on a quiet beach watching the incoming tide. Although I was tempted to purchase the lovely painting, I left it behind. Later that year, my thoughtful mother surprised me on my birthday. She had bought the painting for me . This charming scene, along with photos I have taken in Maine have inspired this new photo essay.

The late night storm swept a garden of kelp and sea lettuce across the sandy shore. Hidden among the strands of seaweed is a treasure trove of shells, pebbles and sea glass. Now, the late morning sun shines down from the clear blue sky and the churning waves have calmed. Elizabeth Ann and her daughter walk along the water’s edge where the damp sand remains firm beneath their bare feet.

The little girl skips and dances like a sandpiper, swinging a yellow plastic bucket at her side. She pauses every few minutes to bend down and examine the glittering array of shells scattered across the beach. She picks up a perfectly formed scallop shell and calls back to her mother, “Look at this one, Mommy.”

“That’s a keeper, Eliza,” Elizabeth Ann says, admiring the pristine white shell. She holds up a heart-shaped piece of green sea glass. “What do you think of this?”

“Ooh, it’s so pretty.” As she places the treasures into her bucket, Eliza glances over her shoulder at the friendly sound of a dog barking.

A West Highland Terrier trots down the porch steps of one of the homes lining the beach. The dog runs toward them, followed by a girl who looks to be around 4 or 5 years old like Eliza. Her long dark hair is tied back in two braids and she holds a hand to her head to keep the floppy sun hat that matches her purple sundress from flying off in the ocean breeze.

“Where are you going, Callie?” the girl calls out. “Please come back right this instant.” Her voice has a distinctive British lilt, that makes Elizabeth Ann smile. Memories of her college semester abroad in London and her first love fill her mind, as she watches the girl bend down to hug her dog, who has obediently returned to her side.

“Good girl, Callie. You’re such a good dog.”

Eliza skips over to them. She sets down her pail and asks, “Is it okay if I pet your dog?”

“Of course. She’s quite friendly.” The girl smiles at Eliza and goes on, “My name is Maisie. That’s my dad.” She points to a man standing on the wide front porch of the white clapboard bungalow. “What’s your name?”

Crouching down beside the terrier, Eliza says, “I’m Eliza Grace, but you can call me just Eliza. My mom likes to call me Eliza Grace sometimes, so I’ll have two names like her. She’s Elizabeth Ann.”

“How funny.” Maisie grins up at Elizabeth Ann and gives her a little wave. She takes a tennis ball out of her pocket and hands it to Eliza. “Callie loves to play fetch.”

Eliza tosses the ball and the little girls giggle together when the dog chases after it. Elizabeth Ann watches them play, taking pictures with her cell phone. Through the phone’s video screen, she spots the man descending the stairs of his front porch. He jogs across the sand toward them and as he draws near she recalls a weekend trip to the beach in Devon on the south coast of England. His tall frame and loping stride seem awfully familiar.

“Maisie, it’s almost time for lunch. Come on home,” he calls out and Elizabeth Ann’s heart skips a beat. She knows that voice. She remembers the first time she heard it in that London pub when Sebastian introduced himself. From that moment, they had fallen into a whirlwind romance, but in June had gone their separate ways.

Elizabeth Ann studies him, her heart swelling with bittersweet emotion. She knows that Sebastian recently lost his wife to cancer and hopes that he and Maisie are coping well.

“In a moment, Dad,” Maisie says. “Callie and I are playing with our new friend, Eliza.”

“You’ve met a new friend then,” he says glancing from Maisie to Eliza and then finally Elizabeth Ann.

Standing beside her daughter, Elizabeth Ann slips her phone into her pocket. “Hello,” she says quietly.

Their eyes meet and his spark with surprised recognition. “Elizabeth Ann?” he says. “My God, it is you. It’s been a long time.”

Elizabeth Ann smiles up at him, hardly able to believe that he is standing right in front of her. There are a few lines on his face and his shaggy hair is now neatly cut, but his warm sherry colored eyes and engaging grin are the same.

“And this is your daughter?” he goes on, turning to Eliza. “Pleased to meet you,” he says with a formal bow.

The little girls giggle and Maisie says, “Dad, you’re being silly.” She waves an arm toward the gently rolling waves. “Can we go for a paddle?”

Sebastian glances at Elizabeth Ann. She nods and he says, “No going above your knees.”

The girls wander hand in hand to dip their toes in the water, Callie following at their heels.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,” Sebastian quips, quoting Casablanca.

Elizabeth Ann draws in a deep breath of salty air and grins at Eliza and Maisie’s shrieks of delight as they run and skip in the shallow water. She laughs and says, “I think so too.”