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

2025 in Review and Holiday Wrap

The sun rises on a new year

It felt as if I didn’t do much traveling in 2025. But feelings aren't facts. Here are the facts:  Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida (February), Tucson (March), Japan (May), Vancouver and Berkeley (July), New Hampshire and Vermont (August), Rehoboth Beach, Delaware (September), Sebago Lake, Maine (October), Berkeley (November) and Tucson (December). 

Franky and the Dalai Lama

In April we hosted the triumphant return of Franky after his six-month stay in India, which was travel adjacent. We heard about aggressive monkeys, the largest religious festival in the world, and a meet-up with the Dalai Lama.  

 January and June, two of Washington’s cruelest months, I didn’t go anywhere. 

A Turkeyless Thanksgiving in Berkeley

Guests at Thanksgiving

This was our first Thanksgiving in California. Peter and Franky and Nila and her sister Tvisi, took on the enormous task of cooking, serving and hosting the Holiday Meal.  I finally experienced being the guest, and I liked it. I always wondered what those people were doing in the living room while I was sweating it out in the kitchen. 

Thanksgiving at Tvisi's

The Thanksgiving Turkey and I broke up two years ago, our relationship was becoming dysfunctional. I used to yell at the turkey in the oven, and the turkey became emotionally distant and withheld its pop-up thermometer to spite me. 

Who needs turkey anyway? The dynamic foursome prepared a delicious vegetarian meal. We started with mushroom soup, the entrée was an outstanding Vegetarian Wellington, a pastry crust stuffed with mushrooms, squash, and carrots, with a creamy sauce. Plus the usual sides, all vegetarian by nature—scalloped potatoes, Brussels sprouts, cornbread dressing, pecan and pumpkin pie, and kofta and raita prepared by Nila’s mother Sunitha. 

It was great to spend time with the full Ravi family, our eventual “to-be” in-laws.   One price of admission to the Ravi family is competence at the game of Rummy. (I almost said skill, I only aim for competence.) Nila and Tvisi’s grandfather Tha Tha likes playing Rummy more than anything in the world and that's what Peter and Nila did when they visited him in Chennaii. 

Sunitha, Nila, Franky

After dinner the site of our feast was converted to a card table. Peter and Tvisi cleaned up at the game. Darr and I stayed up, a true triumph after Thanksgiving dinner. Tryptophane or not, the holiday dinner may cause drowsiness. Avoid using heavy machinery. 

Post pizza at Jupiter

The next day we went to lunch at Chez Panisse Cafe so the cooks could get a rest. At our last dinner at Jupiter Pizza, the three meat eaters (Darr and Sunitha and I) were quarantined at one end of the table so the vegetarians didn’t even have to smell the pepperoni. But at their end they were adding ranch dressing to their pizzas. Thank God I was spared the sight of that. 

Berkeley Boys

Berkeley is always a fun visit, we continued to be charmed by the panoramic view from Franky’s house,  the ceaseless numbers of café opportunities, the world kitchen selection of restaurants (Tibetan and Japanese on the same block), the beautiful Berkeley campus, and its attendant bundle of brainiacs, professors, and students. 

 

A Chile Christmas in Tucson 

Finger Rock

We rented a house high up in the foothills, they were more like the knee-hills or thigh hills, they were that close to the Catalina mountains. We were so far north that you could walk to Finger Rock Trail. 

It rained twice while we were there, a Christmas miracle. The scent of the desert after rain can’t be bottled, although I’ve seen gift shops try. It’s like your favorite perfume wafting out all over the city. 

Wagon wheel Christmas

 I ate like Brendon Fraiser preparing for his role in The Whale. 

One day I had a chicken flauta for lunch at Michas, and a fish taco for dinner at El Torero, both preceded by cheese crisps. We went through two dozen tortillas from Tortillas Bryan, a dozen tamales from Tortillas Don Juan, a pint of refried beans from Casa Molina and a pint of salsa from Rosa’s. And that was just the take-out.

This is how we decorate in the desert

For Christmas Eve dinner we chose to go Italian, and bought a homemade four cheese lasagna, and tiramisu at the wonderful Roma Imports market. Our family suffers from tiramisu terror, the fear that the caffeine content will keep us awake after dinner. So we decided to have it for Christmas breakfast, a safe time for caffeine excess. It was a delicious extrrvagantly decadent breakfast, but not very stimulating. The label listed Kahlua as only coffee flavoring, and if you know anyone who can’t sleep after Kahlua (40 proof alcohol), be sure to let me know.

At one with nature

Cactus cloning

We made one exception to the Fab Four (Michas, Rosas, El Torero and El Minuto) by having lunch at El Charro Cafe Ventana on the east side. Why? Because we had just hiked in Sabino and I was too hangry for a long drive? No, because when we pulled into the parking lot, still arguing about where to have lunch, there was a roadrunner on the patio. Belying his name, he was stock still, posing for us. We took it as an avian omen, and stayed there.

Passenger lounge, Tucson International Airport

“Best green corn tamales in all of Tucson,” declared Franky. And I have to admit my Chile Relleno was perfect. So reluctantly, I will recommend the over-promoted, overpriced, self-aggrandizing, egocentric El Charro. The food is damn good. Even if the waiter does introduce himself and tell you he will be your server today. That’s just so wrong.

The rental house was large and lovely. We had a heated pool and jacuzzi, we had sunset in the front yard and sunrise in the back. We had so many presents to take home my suitcase weighed 46 pounds. We watched seven good movies, Diner, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, The Apartment, Marty Supreme, Do the Right Thing. 

But mostly we watched the desert in its glory, the mountains changing their look with every twist of the clouds and  sun.

From the living room