Blooming Berkeley

Succulents abound in Berkeley

   

     Don’t stay at The Graduate. We did, I made the rookie mistake of believing what I saw on Hotels.com. The lobby smells bad, the rooms are old and small with minimal amenities, the coffee “service” was an electric kettle and two small brown envelopes of instant. The housecleaning was inadequate, the staff ill equipped. Plus it was a mile uphill walk from the BART station. It redeemed itself slightly with the adjoining Henry’s Bar and Grill which had a good breakfast. I stayed there so that you don’t have to. 

The Graduate Lobby, lined with National Geographics

        During the flight realized I was reading the wrong book for book club. I was reading The Master by Colm Toibin (about Henry James) and I was supposed to be reading The Magician by Colm Toibin (about Thomas Mann). All you have to do in Berkeley is swing a cat to find a bookstore, and literally steps from the BART station I walked into Pegasus. and got the The Magician. I also went to the famous Moes Books, and I wanted to go to Sleepy Cat Bookstore, but true to the name, they weren't open when I went. I needed new reading glasses, and oddly I found that none of the bookstores, although catering to readers, sold readers.

The Sports Basement in the restored Berkeley Iceland

    Darr and I dashed into The Sports Basement in the morning, and then headed into the city lured by ads for the Monet and Venice exhibit at the DeYoung Museum. I did not realize that the destination was perhaps the farthest point from Berkeley. But we made it there with a combination of BART and buses and the kindness of strangers. 

Franky explaining ferns

 Wild mustard; hemlock behind Franky

With Nila, Tvisi, Peter, Franky and Darr post-nature walk

     Franky leads nature walks featuring edible plants on weekends, and we joined him in a group of twelve to forage the Fire Trails in Strawberry Canyon. Who knew there was so much toxic poison hemlock in the forest, and it's deceptively pretty.  No wonder Shakespeare writes hemlock into three of his tragedies.  You can pretty much grab a handful and go poison somebody. 

Pincushion Protea

        We learned about yarrow, wild mustard, dandelions, miners' grass, and thistles. Despite nibbling on many leaves, we were hungry after the nature walk and had to scarf down tacos and burritos at Cancun Sabor where someone else had done the foraging. 

Angel's Trumpet

    Berkeley seems to have every cuisine in the world. After we checked into the hotel we were airline-tired-hangry and stumbled into Mezzo, they make super-sized sandwiches on super fresh bread, served with the best minestrone soup I have ever eaten. We had great Thai at Racha Cafe; ramen at Ippudo; a French breakfast at La Note; Cheese Board pizza; coffee and pastries at Mey Cafe and Bakery; deep dish pizza at Zachary's Chicago Pizza, and yummy gnocci at Belotti Bottega.   It seemed sinful to have ice cream after any of these meals, but that didn't stop us, and we sinned at Lexie's Frozen Custard, and again at Miharu. Darr's birthday was that weekend and we celebrated at Gather, joined by our niece Stephanie and her sons, one of whom just graduated from the University of San Diego 

On the roof of Berkeley City Hall

    Nila works for the Mayor of Berkeley Adina Ishii whom I got to meet and then toured City Hall. My first job was in Tucson's City Hall, so it was fun to and see Nila in my old stomping grounds, local government. 

Nila and Franky

Graduation with Franky's mentor Brad, Franky, Darr, Peter, Nila

     Franky’s graduation was a joyous event, he was awarded his masters degree in education by Alder School of Education, at the Pioneer Amphitheater at Cal State East Bay. 

   

    I like Berkeley, the flats, the hills, the history, the hipness, the vegetation, the students, the weather, the bay, the bookstores, the food, and the coffee shops. Most of all I like seeing my loved ones, the great brother and sister teams of Peter and Franky, Nila, and Tvisi all growing and thriving like native succulents. 

Another weird succulent

City Mice go to the Country

Little Ripley Lake

   

     I’m in a writing group of five women, three from the DC area and two from Minneapolis. We met cute on a transatlantic crossing on the Queen Mary 2 for a writing workshop. One of the Minnesotans, Sandra, has a lake house in Wisconsin and invited us for a five-day writer’s retreat. The emphasis was on treat. 

     Katy picked us up at the Minneapolis St. Paul airport. We drove through the beautiful state of Wisconsin for more than two hours passing excessive swaths of green, endless trees, sparkling lakes. We saw farms with silos, barns, and tractors, we saw a sign reading “deer corn for sale” and we wondered if it was edible. (It is not, for humans.)

Little Ripley Lake

    I don’t want to say I am a complete idiot when it comes to Midwestern geography, but I think I have to. On the drive I was stunned to see that we crossed the Mississippi River. Really? It starts this far North? What’s up with that? Without naming names, there were other visitors in the car who were equally astounded. 

    

Sandra's house

    Sandra’s lake house in Sarona, Wisconsin is spacious and beautiful, we each had our own bedroom. Her magical black cat, Bader, eyed the city mice with suspicion. The house is filled with light and a has a gorgeous deck overlooking Little Ripley Lake which is so still that it looks like a mirror. 

Pontoon boat happy hour

    The first afternoon we had happy hour on a solar-powered pontoon boat. The first mateys had several onboard tasks, shoving off, putting up the canvas shade, serving the brie and crackers, and directing a smooth landing into the dock. My contribution was witty repartee. 

Loons and loonlet

    The pontoon lead us to the loons. My knowledge of loons is confined to the movie On Golden Pond. There was a baby loonlet on the back of one of its parents. Sandra explained that the loon survival rate is low, because of predators, and the fact that loons can’t really walk. They have to propel themselves onto the land with a sort of scootching motion. Like seals.

    “I’ll go make a fire,” Sandra said confidently on the night of our cookout.

     “I’ll go make a fire,” she said again this time heading to the property's sauna, built by her husband Barry.

Lisa, city mouse, advises Sandra, Brave Pioneer Woman

    I was already impressed by Sandra's fire making skills but my amazement was to grow. After a morning walk Katy reported a tree down across the only road to the lake house. What did Sandra do then, but get a chain saw, and cut the branch into light and moveable pieces so that we could clear the road. It was then I realized I was in the presence of a Brave Pioneer Woman. 

Stairs to the dock

    We found our favorite nooks and settled into our primary purpose of daily writing. I used to be an exhibitor at national medical conferences, and there was a daily promise of “unopposed time,” a period when the attendees weren’t conflicted by panels, seminars and keynotes. 

     The writing at the lake was “unopposed time.” 

Who could be opposed to this?

     On a rainy day we went to Spooner, WI to have dinner at a brew pub called Round Man Brewing Company. But that very day the ownership had changed and it was now Railhouse Junction. It was so new that there was no drink menu and even the question "what kind of beer do you have?" stumped the waiter.  We ordered native cheese curds and beer cheese dip, and entrées of pretzel coated whitefish with rice and sauteed vegetables. The fish was not pretzel coated and  there were no veggies. Until then we had exercised patience and pity for the new waiter, but we demanded our promised sides which were hastily served in soup bowls. 

A pie iron at work

    The next night we made pizzas with pie irons. "What the hell is a pie iron?" I asked. We used the pie irons to make individual "pizzas"—two slices of buttered white bread that fit in the square shaped end of the iron, filled with pizza sauce, cheese, pepperonis and olives. Once assembled, the pie iron is turned over hot coals until it becomes a golden toasted melty foodstuff.

Pie iron picnic

     As if the pie iron and pontoon boat weren't enough new learning for me, I was also stunned to learn that Sandra's husband Barry makes homemade syrup by tapping 40 Maple trees on their property. I saw tapped trees and long tubes. We were given a bottle of maple syrup as a parting gift. 

     The lake had a wonderful effect on all of us. We made our own breakfasts and lunches and had dinner together, we had quiet times and chatty times, we sat together in a wicked hot sauna, we had focused writing times and on the last night we read our work to each other. We got along flawlessly; there wasn’t a ripple of discord on Little Ripley Lake. 

    I think our exemplary behavior was driven by the fact that we secretly hope to be invited back.

Fearless host Sandra with Bader

I’ve been from Tucson to Tumacacori

Hooded oriole on an ocotillo

    You are probably more familiar with “I’ve been from Tucson to Tucumcari” from the song Willin by Little Feat. But I was on a different journey. There is another line in Willin, "drivin the back roads so we wouldn’t get weighed." I was all for that after the way I ate in Tucson.

Desert bee in cholla flower 

    There's nothing like spring in the desert partly because it comes as such a surprise. The desert, normally dressed in camo, brown, beige, and green comes ablaze. Palo verde trees burst into sunflower yellow, lemon trees overflow with  fruit, the cacti blossom. Even the birds, evolved to disappear in desert landscapes seem to show more color.  

Gila woodpecker

    I started my 12 days in Tucson at my cousin Suellen's house in the Catalina Foothills, a neighborhood now in the national news because of  Nancy Guthrie’s disappearance.  She spent the last several months telling the television crews to move their trucks so that she could get into her driveway. Suellen conducted desert biology lessons for the mystified crews from New Jersey and New York. She taught them why if they decided to take a pee in the desert they might encounter a rattlesnake (after that they scurried to a nearby hotel for bathroom breaks), what a saguaro cactus is and how it retains water, and why there aren’t any fire hydrants in the neighborhood—because there is no water. 

Palo Verde tree 

    I had originally planned to stay with Suellen for a mini writing retreat, but then two family memorial services were scheduled in Arizona a week apart. The first was a memorial service for my sister-in-law Jane's brother Joe at The Arizona Inn, a site filled with heady memories. We got married there, we held my father’s memorial service there, and as a child Darr would sneak into the pool with his buddies on sweltering summer days. The Arizona Inn, painted in a Pepto-Bismol pink, has been considered Tucson's finest hotel since 1930. 

A guest at the Westward Look

    Next we moved to The Westward Look where we used to stay with the kids before we started renting houses. When I walked into the lobby, with its long copper topped registration counter, the smell of the air conditioning, the light coming in from the garden, I was overwhelmed with memories. We walked in the desert, had sunset happy hours, got a Caesar salad and fries delivered poolside. 

Westward Look

    Since most of my blogs about Tucson are a rehash of the Mexican hash I’ve eaten, you’ll be surprised to hear that I tried several new restaurants on this trip: Charro Steak which was okay, but I really don’t know why I bothered when Darr prepares the best steaks in the world at home; Locale; Scordato’s Pizzeria;  and Terraza Garden Patio and Lounge at Hacienda del Sol (disappointing). Of course I also made it to Rosa’s (twice) Micha's, and El Minuto where my dining heart belongs. We also ate at La Bocinita in Rio Rico, the only restaurant in Southern Arizona that was open later than 8 p.m. that could accommodate our big family party of 16. 

Catalina State Park

    Just when I thought I knew everything about Tucson, Darr introduced me to Catalina State Park, 5500 acres of foothills, canyons, and streams, and lush with 5000 saguaros. There are tons of hiking trails, picnic areas, a visitor’s center. We took the Romero Canyon Trail for a three mile round trip, although most people had gone all the way to the waterfall.

Crested saguaro at Catalina State Park

    On the weekend we headed south to Tumacacori, the site of the celebration of life for Darr’s sister Mary Ann and her husband Bill. We stayed at Tubac Golf Resort and Spa for the first time, ia luscious place with big guest rooms and beehive fireplaces, a great restaurant, a nice pool and spa, shops. And oh yeah, the golf course where the movie Tin Cup was filmed. The resort backs up to the historic Juan Baptista de Anza Trail another first time experience for us with a four mile stretch between Tumacacori and Tubac. 

Rancho Santa Cruz

    The memorial service was scheduled from 3 p.m. to 7 p.m. But the University of Arizona basketball team was playing in the Final Four at 5:45 p.m., so the die-hards among us went to nearby Abe's Pub to watch the game. The owner screened us to make sure we weren’t Michigan fans but then welcomed us in. We settled at the bar and watched Arizona's tragic loss. But then hey, we took comfort in the fact that we were in a classic dark bar in the desert with a pool table and a juke box and good spirits. The rest of the family joined us later. 

Abe's Pub with Megan Jane, Maley, Margie

    Cousin Maley had lunch for the family the next day on the patio at her beautiful house in Nogales. This was the biggest gathering of Beisers since our family reunion in 2019. I got lucky with my in-laws, I love them all. 

Extended Beiser family

I went. I saw. I conquered. I came back.

Nativity scene, private chapel at Chiesa del Gesu

    I went to Rome and Florence in February with my friend Jonell. We had never traveled together before. Our biggest disagreement was about sparkling or still water. She likes sparkling, I like still. We were compatible on the key measures--how much sightseeing, how much walking, how much pasta, and how much sleep.

Rome

    It was Jonell’s first trip to Italy and I couldn't wait to show her Rome. Someone had told her that Rome was “just another big city.” I would like to shoot anyone who describes Rome that way. 

Temple of Antoninus and Faustina, the Roman Forum

Trevi Fountain

    So I marched her over to the Spanish Steps the first evening, and plunged her into the [crowds at] Trevi Fountain the next morning, and she quickly realized Rome is like no other city in the world. Plus she liked the shopping.

    Our first morning in Rome, we took a golf cart tour with guide Oscar whose mother is Italian-American and father is Italian. Oscar studied classics and history at Johns Hopkins (no, he didn't find Charm City very charming); he spoke perfect English. and, man, did he know his stuff. He told us all about the mythology, the history, the religion, the architecture.  We stopped at Chiese du Jesu whose interior he thinks rivals the Sistene Chapel. He took us to Circus Maximus and explained why the Romans were not sadistic, bloodthirsty violent people who liked to watch people die. Ancient Romans went to work at five years old, married and had children at thirteen, and died by forty. So, amusements like deadly chariot races and gladiator fights made their lives look pretty good. He took us to Aventine Hill, covered in orange trees, and then over the bridge to Trastevere, a quiet, "bohemian" neighborhood with cobblestone streets, beloved by artists and celebrities.  

    Oscar dropped us off at his favorite Trastevere restaurant, the oh-so-authentic, Hostaria da Corrado. The waiter threw a paper bag with bread on our table and served us one of the best plates of tagliatelle cacio y pepe we had on the trip. 

Ferragamo Museum famous feet

Ferragamo Museum

    Speaking of shoes, after lunch my feet hurt so much that I had to crawl into a taxi that doubled as an ambulance. Jonell directed us to the luxury department store Rinascente where I bought Uggs and spent inordinate time with the Valentino cosmetics staff. 

These boots aren't made for walking

    The next day we went on a tour of the Roman Forum, Palatine Hill and the Colosseum. Larry took us on a fast-paced and educational swing through the Forum, up the stairs to the top of Palatine Hill and then over to the Colosseum. At 11 a.m. when we arrived the Colosseum had already reached its capacity of 3,000 visitors, so we had to wait. Our guide bemoaned the fact that “there is no off-season anymore”  quickly adding “That’s okay, we are always happy to see you!” 

    That afternoon we strolled around the park at Villa Borghese, four miles in circumference, filled with sculptures, temples, ponds, people lying in the grass, holding hands, and other indicators of la dolce vita.

    The IQ Hotel was modern and charming and staffed by a bilingual army of who didn’t even wait for an ill-pronounced “buongiorno” before launching into English. Apparently Americans are easy to spot. Chocolate covered espresso beans on the registration counter expedited the check-in process. 

On the train to Florence

Florence (just another small city)

Ponte Vecchio

    No. Nobody says that. It’s a thriving medieval city for God’s sake. How’s that for an oxymoron? The waitress at Osteria Vecchio Vicolo where we had pizza, wanted to make sure I used the barcode for wireless, pointing out that it the building we were in was from the 1200’s. 

    The first morning we went on a walking tour of Florence with Riccardo. It was raining (the only rain during the trip) but Riccardo made it work, we stood under cover in the courtyard of the Uffizi and later at loggia signoria. He showed us the difference between Medieval (the Bargello) and Renaissance architecture, like the Palazzo Bartolini Saimbeni with the inscription "reward for not sleeping" juxtaposed with the family crest featuring three poppies. 

    Riccardo anticipated our interest in the gold shops on the Ponte Vecchio. "Before you ask, these stores are doing something right to stay in business for 200 years. But the only time a Florentine shops there is for 'apology jewelry.'" 

Uffizi 

    The Uffizi gave me a giant pain in the neck. Of course the museum is unspeakably magnificent. But between looking down at the 126 steps to the main gallery, twisting my neck to adjust the audio tour, looking up at the paintings, and throwing my head back to see the ceilings, I got a serious tourist injury, the craned neck. 

Siena Cathedral

Santa Croce Basilica 

    Florence was compact and easy to get around. But we still got lost. A lot. Using the map app, what appeared to be a five-minute walk would turn into a twelve-minute walk because we’d made a wrong turn and were not redirected. We were both pretty mad at Siri by the end. But oh well, we got extra steps, and we often found serendipitous shopping along the [wrong] way. 

Bargello Museum, former Florence prison

Siena

    In Oltrano we made our way to Santo Spirito the home of Michelangelo’s wooden cross, a present to the priest who allowed him into the dead room at night to study the anatomy of corpses. I learned this and more in The Agony and the Ecstasy which, despite the name is not an agonizing read. We made it to the astounding Pitti Palace and Boboli Gardens. We went to Richard’s favorite, the Bargello Museum. We took the train to the medieval village of Siena.

Mangiate Bene 

Knock-out gnocci in gorgonzola sauce with pistachios

    Before we went to Japan last summer people told Darr and me not to worry about restaurants because everything would be delicious. Jonell and I found the same to be true in Italy. We chose restaurants based on a set of scientific factors—we couldn’t walk another step; we were starving; people were sitting outside and looked happy. And we never struck out once. Jonell, a vegetarian, was primarily limited to pastas and pizza. It takes no time on an Italian menu to find yourself ordering wild boar. I ordered carbonara a few times which was dotted with lardons. I’ve always wanted to use the word "lardon" in a sentence. 

Tagliatelle cacio e pepe

     The point is, every bowl of pasta was perfect whether in a red sauce, a white sauce, a pesto sauce, tossed with artichoke hearts and capers, or just topped with cheese. Restaurant highlights in Rome: Maestro Bistro, Tre Scalini, Café Martini , Babingtons; and in Florence Grande Nuti,  Obica, Il Bottegone. I don’t know why we Americans can’t sink our teeth into cooking pasta al dente. 

Dessert the one day we skipped gelato 

Mona Lisa by Denis Ouch

    The Frame Hotel in Florence has 24 rooms and is intimate and boutiquey. The man who stole the Mona Lisa from the Louvre in 1911 hid the painting in our hotel, which was then called Albergo Tripoli Italia. The Frame collaborated with American artist Denis Ouch to paint a variety of Modern Monas scattered around the hotel.

    One morning I came roaring into the breakfast room and the hostess looked at me and said, “Stai Tranquillo.” “Tranquillo,” she repeated, and mimicked deep breathing. No translation was needed. I had to slow the F down and relax. 

    But it was so damned exciting and stimulating and thrilling to be in Italy, to travel, to be immersed in a different culture and language, to see people from all over the world, and to get a new perspective on life. How am I expected to be "tranquillo?"

                                                    

With Jonell on Uffizi rooftop, Palazzo Vecchio in background