Belgian Chocolate

Pierre Marcolini - Brussels

Belgium has long been home to some of the world’s greatest chocolate artisans, and one of my trips to Brussels proved such reputation  true.  Most foreign visitors flock to Godiva or one of the other maisons de chocolat on the Grand Place, but the locals buy their chocolate from the master chocolatier Pierre Marcolini.

One grey afternoon I stumbled upon it during my search through the Upper Town for somewhere to have lunch – and what a magnificent discovery it was!  This lovely shop lives in building shaped much like a pie slice and lures you in by lining the window displays with innumerable cakes and chocolates.  It even offers a few pastries and preserves.

My afternoon treat

The sheer number of choices available was enough to leave me wrought with indecision.  But eventually, I opted for a box of pink champagne chocolate truffles for my mother, a box of various chocolates for friends, and one of these lovely red cakes for myself.  It was rich, but perfect in size and tided me over until I found my way to the Orangerie for lunch.

It wasn’t until I was back in London and brought the box of chocolates with me to a Belgian friend’s dinner party that I realized how legendary Pierre Marcolini actually is.  Their faces lit up as though I handed them something far more grand, like an original Gustav Klimt.  The box was – as you might have guessed – empty by the end of the night, and I was praised incessantly for my taste fantastique.  Money, I guess, is rarely ever wasted on good chocolate.

Window display at Pierre Marcolini

*Pierre Marcolini is located at 1 Rue de Minimes (Minimenstraat), Place du Grand Sablon, Brussels 1000.

**The photos of the displays are by the author.  However, the photo of the Pierre Marcolini logo can be found on: http://popsop.ru/wp-content/uploads/nestle_pierre_marcolini.jpg

A Gastronomic Delight in Coastal Maine

Walter's Restaurant - Portland, Maine

Portland, Maine is a small coastal city filled with heaps of gastronomic delights, but few compare to Walter’s.  Although my home base is half-way across the world, I’m a long-time customer of this terrific eatery.  My mother sparked my love for Walter’s when I was a teenager during our visits to Maine.  Dinner here was often my reward for being her patient day-long shopping companion.

In those days, Walter’s was a small, candlelit two-floor restaurant with exposed brick walls  on Exchange Street in the  heart of Portland’s Old Port.  But as of October 2009,  Walter’s moved a few blocks away to a larger venue on Portland Square.  And even though I love the charm of the old location, I understand the restaurant’s necessity to evolve and expand – and it was, by all means, a necessity.

There were very few instances in which I can remember Walter’s not being at full capacity, but now they are much better equipped to meet the astonishing demand they’ve created.  The new décor is classic with a twist of chic, and their menu reflects this polish.  At Walter’s classic dishes are infused with Asian, Caribbean and Mediterranean flair.

My top pick for starters is the crab cakes with roasted garlic chive aioli, which melt in your mouth.  Rare is it to find crab cakes that aren’t too weighed down in mayonnaise, but Chef Jeff Buerhaus gets it right.  When I was younger, I used to jump at either a chicken or steak dish, but a “California vegetarian,” I tend to opt for a seafood dish such as the shrimp with a hint Korean pizzazz or the salmon laced with a hint of sweetness.  And if that’s not enough to tide you over, have a look at their extensive wine list and the mouth-watering dessert menu.

Walter’s maintains its appeal by diversifying and changing their menu seasonally, using only the ingredients that are most plentiful at the time.  Should you ever find yourself in the Portland area, make your way to Walter’s.  And if you’re lucky, the succulent Blueberry Guinness Cheesecake will still be on offer…

*Walter’s is located at 2 Portland Square.   Tel: 207-871-9258.  Website: www.waltersportland.com.  Dinner including a glass of wine, starter, main dish and dessert runs about $40-50/person.   Photo courtesy of the Walter’s press kit.

Mornings on Portobello Road

Unike most European cities, London is not a coffee city.  But when you manage to find a great cappuccino or cup of joe, I guarantee you’ll make your way back often.  Having lived and worked in the Notting Hill area for a while before moving to Kensington, I spent my mornings at the Coffee Plant on Portobello Road.

The Coffee Plant has a very industrial feel to it – metal  bar stools and tables and a wooden L-shaped bar that lines two front walls.  It used to be a bit dingy, but after a face-lift in ’08 one could say it now has a clean minimalist or utilitarian look.  But despite the sparse furnishings, they serve the best of the best.  All of their tea and coffee is Fairtrade and the majority, organic.  And unlike most coffee shops, Coffee Plant’s beans are freshly roasted as needed in their West London roasting house and do not sit in bags for months (or years) on end waiting to be used.

To add to the delight, they train every barista they hire well – so much so that they steam milk perfectly and are often skilled at latte art – flowers, leaves, hearts, you name it.  If you prefer tea, they have a wide selection, including everything from English Breakfast to Ginzing (ginseng).  The last time I was there (8 months ago), a latte was £1.60 and tea was a mere £0.90.  An absolute bargain compared to the £3 lattes most Central London coffee shops are hocking.

As if good coffee wasn’t enough, this little place is full of life.  I would even go as far as to deem it the heart of the community.  Some of the best conversations of my life happened within a few feet of their espresso machine over a soya latte or ceylon tea.  Their reasonable prices coupled with the outstanding quality tends to make it an appealing haunt for many in the neighborhood.  Its clientele runs the gamut from bohemian types who barely scrape by to scions of English literary fortunes.  It’s rare to see such an eclectic blend of people hangout and enjoy each others’ company as much as they do at the Coffee Plant.

The photo I’ve included in this post is a testament to that.  I found it on Google – strangely didn’t take many photos during the years I lived in London – and the photographer captured a moment in the lives of two of my friends.  The gentleman just inside the door moved to London from Eastern Europe to work so he could send money home to his wife and family.  To do that, he opened a lovely boutique on Kensington Church Street called D-Lala (check it out!).  And the gentleman sitting out front with a white t-shirt and jeans is a fantastic poet.  If I wasn’t writing, a handful of us – including these two gentleman and a wonderful woman who shares my passion for Greece, film and travel – would spend our mornings talking story and discussing everything under the sun: travel, life, art, books, family, work.  Many years on, the lattes, the conversations, the friends and the people watching still warm my heart.

I guess this is proof that the gift of travel comes in many forms.   Because even though I wasn’t just visitor passing through London, I still had to make the decision to  pack my bags, cross the globe, and hang my hat somewhere new.  And as a resident, I experienced that beautifully simple pleasure of being somewhere foreign and getting to know people I would’ve never otherwise met – people who added an extra bit of color to my life.  And for that, I am forever grateful.

*The Coffee Plant is located at 180 Portobello Road (Notting Hill, London, UK).  You can get there by taking the Circle, Central or District Line of the Tube to Notting Hill Gate or the Hammersmith and City Line to Ladbroke Grove.  The Coffee Plant is open 7 days a week from 8am to 6 or 7pm (depends on business).

The Coffee Plant photo courtesy of: http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_P4Uad_Fsc2w/Rzngr_EIlSI/AAAAAAAAAM8/134h1KPlp98/s400/IMG_0992.JPG

Anarchy in Copenhagen

The entrance to Christiania

Approaching the area, I can’t help but notice the how over-grown the grass is (waist high), how decrepit the buildings.  Finding the entrance to Christiania is like trying to find a penny on the ocean floor –it’s damned near impossible.  Despite the lack of street signs or notable points of reference, I somehow find my way into this maze of a neighborhood, but not through – surprise, surprise – the main entrance, and when I do, there isn’t a soul in sight.

Having been in the area for over 30-minutes, I started wondering what all the hype is about.  This surely can’t be the anarchist community that’s had so much buzz around it for the last few decades… Within moments, though, I hear chatter and head towards it, the hub of the only surviving anarchist community in the world, Fristaden (meaning Freetown) Christiania.

Tucked away in the Copenhagen’s outer borough of Christianshavn, Christiania thrives very much as a hippy commune would.  Its roots trace back to the 1970s when homeless families began squatting in the abandoned red brick WWII military barracks, and they still do today.  And to their credit, they’ve done a bang-up job.  In front of me, there are buildings covered in vibrant murals, car-free streets, a clothes swap stand (a leave one, take one system), a neighborhood café and bar, and just behind me, a school and playground for the neighborhood children.

Just outside the gates of Christiania

But what grabs my attention most is the gathering of people – a hundred strong – in an open space up ahead of me.   As I get closer, the chatter gets louder and someone tests a microphone. 1-2, 1-2. Check. 1-2. As I round the corner, I notice that almost everyone has a granola feel to them: dreadlocks, Birkenstocks, paisley tops for the ladies, cuords, hemp necklaces.  Putting Bob Dylan on stage is about the only thing that could’ve made it more like the late 60s.  There’s even a café/bar housed in a building that looks like it were an old general store from the Wild West.  Curious about the upcoming performance, I linger and observe.  The sun is shining and there’s a light breeze that sends a faint smell of cigarettes and cloves in my direction as  happy children run around dirty-faced giggling together.

But as much as this seems like a mini hippy utopia, it hasn’t always been the case.  Christiania has long battled drug problems, so much so the residents chose to ban all hard-core drugs (i.e. heroin, cocaine, meth).  Its residents are, for the most part, peaceful, but they still struggle to keep out the drug dealers who flock to “Pusher Street,” and for whom violence and unrest tag along on their coattails.

The sound of someone tapping the microphone distracts me from my thoughts.  A man well over six-feet tall dressed in neatly worn jeans and a green flannel shirt sits down on a stool behind the mic and launches into a long speech in Danish, most of which I can’t understand.  Even though I would like to stick around and see what’s to come, my stomach starts to protest.

Morgenstedet - Photo by: Mette Walsted

With that I head off to find Morgenstedet – one of the few strictly vegetarian restaurants in all of Copenhagen – and leave behind the bluegrass music that’s just beginning.  Morgenstedet, meaning “The Morning Place” is a cozy, little restaurant that sings of homecooking the moment you walk through the door.  A hodge-podge of wooden tables and chairs fill the small room, curries simmer on the stove, and the quiet of diners happily filling their bellies pervades.  Famished, I order the daily special, which includes a choice of vegan salads, brown rice and a curry.  It’s not cheap (approx. US$12), but one of the servers explains to me – in perfect English, might I add – that all of their ingredients are organic and everything is made from scratch each morning.

In no time, I polish my plate.  The food was every bit as good as the guide book notes, though a local who shared a table with me mentioned that they rotate cooks so the quality can fluctuate.   I linger for a few moments just to take in the atmosphere before ordering a cup of their hot chai to take with me on a very long walk back to my hotel.   And it’s wonderful – the perfect amount of spice and sugar.  As I close Morgenstedet’s gate behind me, I see a group of tourists and hoping they’ll lead me to an exit, I start to follow, but they end up staying to listen to the tall, lanky bluegrass performer I left behind earlier.

Somewhere along the way, though, I make a wrong turn and find myself in the middle of Pusher Street.  Christiania seemed fairly pleasant until I came face to face with Pusher Street.  It is a long dirt street flanked by run-down buildings and filled with the roughest of people.  For a female traveling alone, it is beyond intimidating: stormy looking men line boths sides of the street, loud heavy metal and punk music screams,  and pitbulls run around freely.  Today, Pusher Street feels just as menacing as some of the chancy areas I’ve been through in New York and London.

It’s enough to make my skin crawl.  And although no one seems bothered by me, I pick up the pace a bit and say my prayers.  With each step my heart beats faster, and it feels like it’s going to burst through my chest.  I make it a point not to look anyone in the eye.  But before I know it, the sight of harmless hippies and the wild flowers that grow all over Christiania reappears, leaving the grit of Pusher Street behind me.  And as I round the corner, the elusive entrance gate I tried so tirelessly to find sits waiting.

*Morgenstedet is located at Fabriksområdet 134, Christianshavn, and is open Tue – Sun from noon to 9pm.

Note to Travelers:  If you go to Christiania, do not take too many photographs.  I read that it angers the residents, which is I why I have so few pictures of it.

Photo Credit:  The Morgenstedet photo was taken by Mette Walsted.  http://www.spottedbylocals.com/copenhagen/morgenstedet-christiana

The Basque Country in Pictures

The Basque country is a stunning region tucked away in the southwestern corner of France and spans across the border into northern Spain.  It boasts a handsomely rugged coastline, countless surf breaks, succulent seafood, white and chili-red colored Basque architecture, and mouth-watering chocolate.  Famous places and sights in the Basque country include the heart of French luxury, Biarritz; the breathtaking coastal city of San Sebastián; and of course, Frank Gehry’s masterpiece and home to envelope-pushing art, The Guggenheim in Bilbao.

For those of you who love photo-journals, here are a few snapshots I took.  I hope it will inspire to visit the region in the not so distant future.

The Guggenheim in Bilbao

Traditional Basque architecture

The tiny town of Arcangues

A Biarritz estate

La Côte Basque

The Basques: The original chocolatiers

Simple beauty

European surfing capital

French & Basque sign (traditional Basque lettering below the French)

Steak Country?

A heaping plate of mixed salads

When I first told people I was heading to Argentina, some expressed envy, but most just laughed.  A vegetarian in Argentina?  It baffled them.  “What are you going to eat, twigs and leaves?  That’s steak country, you know.”

Contrary to everyone’s predictions, I thrived – and well at that.  Salads and pastas were a plenty at most places, and  I was astounded to discover a few vegetarian gems in the land of steaks-are-us.  My favorite, though, was Naturata, which is located in the heart of Mendoza.  It is a small family business, overflowing with color, cheer, and life.

For 18 pesos ($4.60 or £3 with today’s exchange rates), I opted for the all-you-can-eat lunch buffet.  With produce rich in color and aromas pouring from the kitchen, how could I not?  A large part of Naturata’s allure is the obvious love and pride that goes into the preparation of each day’s food.

Lunch anyone?

Offerings tend to include lasagna, a couple quiches, empanadas, a few pizzas and a dozen or so salads – all vegetarian, and freshly made from the best available ingredients.  Excellent service and scrumptious homemade bread tops off the entire lunch experience.

Naturata’s  food is so well known in Mendoza that it also attracts a large non-vegetarian clientele as well.  For those of you who plan to visit Mendoza for wine tasting, trekking, and horseback riding, I cannot recommend a better lunch spot.

*Naturata is located at Don Bosco 73 and is open from 12 noon – 3:30pm, Monday-Saturday.  Their website is currently under construction, but contains some basic information: www.restaurantnaturata.com.ar.

Fresh-Air Fiend

My ragged copy of Theroux's travel stories

Traveling on your own – as I often do – is exhilarating, inspiring, complicated, lonely, engaging and yes, challenging.   Every journey teaches me more about myself than I ever anticipate.  And sometimes more than I care to learn in one bang.

This testing and stretching of personal boundaries – however trying – allows us to see the world and ourselves with fresh eyes.   No one articulates this condition  – the condition of the traveler – better than Paul Theroux.

I encountered Theroux’s name throughout my early teens, but didn’t  read anything by him until 2001.  In a bout of procrastination, I sat in my dorm room whittling away the hours on Amazon looking for music, books, DVD.  (Yes, my form of procrastination got pricey).   I searched the key words “Travel Writing,” and they led me to Theroux’s Fresh-Air Fiend, where I was given the choice to purchase a new or used copy.  Aside from the difference in price, I chose a used copy from the UK because used books are magical.  They cross borders, change hands, and unconsciously link groups of strangers.  I clicked “Add to Cart,” and two weeks later I held the book in my hands.

In three days, Theroux took me from the Massachusetts coast to Europe, Maine, Florida, the Zambezi River, back to Cape Cod, then to Germany, China, Hawai’i, and through various South Pacific islands.  And what a journey it was.  But the single greatest joy of this book was the Introduction: Being a Stranger.  Never have I related to a piece of writing as much as this.  He speaks of being a stranger, the phenomenon of ‘otherness,’ the inner experience of the traveler, and the quiet understanding the traveler gleans of his/her home.

Whether you’re in between travels, planning your next trip or pondering taking your first leap ‘out of bounds,’ then maybe, just maybe, Theroux’s book will inspire and touch you as much as it did me.

Note to Readers: Paul Theroux is best known for The Great Railway Bazaar (1975).  It details his experience traveling from Europe to the far East on the Orient Express.  For those interested in fiction, Theroux also writes brilliant novels.  My dear friend Denby once recommended I read Hotel Honolulu, which exposes the seamier side of paradise.  It was a thrill to read, and is by far my favorite of Theroux’s novels.

Seoul: A Hiker’s Heaven

Sapaesan

No matter how much you’ve hiked in your lifetime, you haven’t hiked until you’ve hiked with Koreans.  They are the most stylish and well prepared hikers you’ve ever seen.  They sport the newest hiking poles and always don the best hiking gear.  Such kitting out generally signals the presence of a poser, but Korean men and women are nothing of the sort.  They are bona fide mountain men and women.  They know the trails inside and out, rarely ever show signs of tiring, and all the while manage to carry a feast on their backs!

A temple along the way

My first introduction to hiking in Seoul was with a hiking group led by five Korean men and women who ranged in age from late 40s to early 60s.  We met our guides at the base of Sapaesan located in the northeast of Seoul one Saturday morning, having absolutely no clue what was in store for us.  Words to describe this experience: thigh-breaking, surreal, invigorating, inspiring.

For the first hour or so, we hiked up a rocky path that sloped at a 45-degree angle (or steeper!).  As we huffed and puffed, or guides chatted, smiled and occasionally encouraged us with “Come on, not so bad…”.  The good news is that we were handsomely rewarded with a brief rest at this temple, which if I’m not mistaken, is called Hyerong.  A couple monks scurried about cleaning and making repairs as we watched on, entranced.

The following three hours had us walking a trail not much wider than our waists, scaling rocks with ropes that seem to have been put on the trail many, many years ago, and stepping aside to let the avid local hikers passby.  Yes, Sapaesan was trying, but it was equally enlivening.  Between the crisp mountain air and the breathtaking landscape, it was hard to believe that we were still in Seoul – that we got here by subway and that dozens of more hikes just as rigorous as this pepper the city.

Nuns hiking Sapaesan

About forty-minutes from the summit, though, something incredible happened: we spotted a small group of nuns ahead of us.  As they powered up the mountain – habbits and all – they broke every single stereotype I held about nuns.  In the west, I had never seen nuns challenging themselves through exercise or immersing themselves in nature; they were always tucked away indoors, deep in prayer (or so I imagined).

As there are various trails that lead to the summit, I persuaded our guides and my fellow hikers to follow the nuns.  And follow we did.  My curiosity and my desire to observe them far outweighed the urge to make it to the top.

The nuns feast at the top of Sapaesan

They lost us for a while – too quick for us foreigners – but when we got to the top, there they were.  As I approached, I noticed they were already well into their lunches.  Instead of disturbing them, I took in the view and tucked into my lunch.  Looking through the haze at the concrete jungle of Seoul in the distance was surreal.  It was still hard to believe that one of the world’s largest cities was in spitting distance, but it was even harder to believe that I encountered a lovely group of nuns who were even gracious enough to allow me a few photos atop the mountain.

Je T’aime, Provence

a Provençal vineyard

Provence always conjures up beautiful memories and sensations.  Any amount of time spent in the region is enough to make me wish I were Peter Mayle’s neighbor – yes, even if it were to mean dealing with French bureaucracy, the fickle nature of the country’s builders, and highly inquisitive townspeople.  The joys of Provence are abundant, and countless travelers from all over the globe come to discover (or re-discover) them every year.

For me, Provence means impressively long stints at various farmers’ markets, exquisite 8€ bottles of rosé, strolls through Avignon, the view from the hill in Gourdes, the energetic Mediterranean temperament of the Provençals, and baguettes baked to perfection.  The thing about Provence is that it somehow illuminates the beautiful in the typically mundane.  And it is for that precise reason that one of my greatest pleasures in Provence is sitting at a sidewalk café  and watching the locals go about their daily lives.

an olive oil shop in Avignon

I wouldn’t be surprised if after one visit to the region you start investigating the feasibility of relocating.  Trust me, you wouldn’t be the first to embark upon such mental gymnastics over an aperitif in a French village.   The skillfulness with which Provence leads our senses and imaginations off on wild tangents is unrivaled.  It never fails to open us up to the grandest possibilities of life, and perhaps, ourselves.

**For those who have never visited Provence or simply adore it, feel free to email me for a list of books and films set in the region.

Athens: The City of Gods

Right now is a devastating time in Greece – especially, Athens.  Between all of the family businesses that are closing their doors and the fatalities resulting from riots, Athens (Athina in Greek) is a disaster.  Government corruption and the “grey market” (tax evasion) has run rampant for decades on end, and now it’s on the brink of sending this beauty-filled and historically rich country careening down into anarchic ravage.

As a Greek citizen and someone for whom Athens holds a special place in my heart, this post and small collection of photos is dedicated to the elegance, legacy and joie de vivre (kefi in Greek) that filled the streets of Athens not so long ago.

House of Parliament

Lycabettus Hill

Athenian chapel

Café near Syntagma Square (Constitution Square)

Restoring the Hadrian Library

The Plaka (Old Town)

Taverna in the Plaka

Greek fast food

A sunny Athenian morning

Athens has the most beautiful subway system in the world

Athens: Once a hub for small businesses

Living history

*All photographs have been taken by the author.