Remembrance of Breakfasts Past

"What would you like for breakfast this morning?" my husband, Wayne, asked one dreary February morning as we were sitting at home in El Paso, Texas.

 "Eggs Benedict at Wynn's Hotel in Dublin," I replied facetiously. Our travel funds were in short supply with the stock market bouncing up and down, and we had no plans to travel to faraway lands anytime soon. But at least we have our breakfast memories.

Not all travelers may agree, but to us breakfast in a new city is one of the highlights of a trip.  (We have friends and relatives who prefer to sleep in and miss breakfast, can you imagine?)  We began to reminisce about breakfast meals we have enjoyed in our travels.

First place goes to Wynn's Hotel in Dublin, Ireland.  Wynn's is a traditional (shall I say staid?) Victorian hotel located near the famous Abbey Theatre.  A maitre d' ushers guests into the elegant dining room with views of  passersby on Abbey Street Lower.  Your coffee cup in filled with steaming strong coffee as you are being seated. Wayne invariably orders Eggs Benedict and swears that they are the best he has ever had.

Wynn's Hotel, Dublin Ireland

The runner-up for our best breakfast memory goes to La Fonda On the Plaza Hotel in Santa Fe, New Mexico.  Santa Fe is only a six hour drive from our home (close by Texas standards), so we have been guests at the hotel many times, often during the Christmas season.  The breakfast room, La Plazuela, is a large, bright area with a fountain in the middle and hand painted glass tiles on doorways. Eggs Benedict is again usually Wayne's menu choice.

La Fonda on the Plaza, Santa Fe, New Mexico

I generally order a less ambitious dish, like this one with yogurt, granola and fresh fruit.

La Fonda Hotel on the Plaza, Santa Fe, New Mexico

Another breakfast memory is not so much about the food but rather the incredible views from the balcony where breakfast is served at the CS Vintage House Hotel in Pinhão, Portugal.  This picturesque small city is located on the Douro River in the wine country.  I could sit all day and watch the boats on the river and gaze across to the vineyards on the hills. 

Pinhão, Portugal

A much less extravagant breakfast that still brings us happy memories was in a small tea shop in the village of Greenwich, UK.  I look forward to ordering tea (hot tea we would call it in Texas) in Britain because you are served not just a cup but a whole pot of tea with sugar and cream on the side.  Scones with clotted cream and jam are the perfect accompaniment to the tea, which always tastes better to me than our American tea.   

Greenwich, United Kingdom

A breakfast we can have any time we feel like driving about an hour from our home is in a small restaurant called The Shed in Las Cruces, New Mexico. What a perfect place to start a relaxed Saturday enjoying the multicultural atmosphere of the "City of the Crosses." We have to remind ourselves to bring a hearty appetite, because servings are quite large.  The quiche comes with a variety of fresh fruit and crusty bread.

The Shed, Las Cruces, New Mexico

Our last standout memory are the breakfasts served on the long distance VIA Canadian train between Toronto and Vancouver.  We have taken the four-day trip both ways, east to west and west to east, once in the dead of winter.  I can't say enough about how much we love to the travel on the Canadian. And being served a sumptuous breakfast while watching the Canadian landscape pass by through large picture windows is about as much fun as a person should be allowed to have.

VIA Rail Canada

I'm not sure where our travels will take us next.  To the Isle of Skye in Scotland? Northern Spain? A train trip in British Columbia?  Wherever it is, I know Wayne will ask me, "What do suppose they serve for breakfast?"

A Magical Visit to Taos, New Mexico

The arrival of the Christmas season each year fills me with expectation of something out of the ordinary.  I long for the Ghost of Christmas Present to sprinkle magic dust on our household as he did for Christmas Eve revelers in Dickens' famous work.

When autumn arrives, my husband, Wayne, and I start making plans for the Christmas holidays, trying to avoid having nothing better to do than sit around by ourselves, flipping through Netflix.  Our first choice is always to celebrate with family members, but logistics are often complicated.

For several seasons now, we have traveled to Santa Fe, New Mexico, about six hours from our hometown of El Paso, Texas, and stayed at the luxurious La Fonda on the Plaza hotel.  This year we decided to gamble on a new location—Taos, New Mexico.

Taos is a small town located in north-central New Mexico, about a seven hour drive from El Paso.  (Readers from other parts of the country may be surprised that Texans think nothing of spending long hours on the road.  We met a mother and daughter from San Antonio, Texas who told us they had traveled with their dogs for two long days to spend Christmas in Taos.)

And did we find magic in Taos?  Indeed we did, in small but significant ways.  Here are a few, in no particular order.

On a short drive to Taos Pueblo, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, we were charmed by the many beautiful horses roaming contentedly, often in front of humble dwellings. The snow-capped Sangre de Cristo Mountains formed a backdrop to the peaceful scene.    

Our perfect stay at Casa Benavides Historic Inn prompted my five star review on Trip Advisor.  Located just a block off the central plaza, Casa Benavides spoils guests with personalized service, comfortable rooms, and a breakfast worth getting up for.  On December 25th, we shared the breakfast room with a large family, all dressed in identical Christmas pajamas.  The ultimate comfort, although I would never be that brave.

At about 3:00 p.m., it was time to eat again, with afternoon tea and homemade pastries produced by three staff bakers.  On Christmas Day, tea was served in the decorated sitting room, where you could observe passers-by at the front window or chat with other guests. Staff members dressed up in holiday finery and joined us.

Casa Benavides makes liberal use of the distinctive shade of blue found in Santa Fe and Taos.  I can't replicate the color at home, but I can recognize it immediately.

We admired the rounded corners of pueblo-style architecture that have an amazingly serene effect on the soul. No sharp angles, just a pleasing flow.

A special dinner at Doc Martin's Restaurant in the Taos Inn (THE place for live music) satisfied both my carnivore husband, who ordered a steak, and my vegetarian leanings, with a quinoa and fall vegetable dish.  We shared a decadent dessert, something with strawberries and cream, as I recall.

Taos shops and cafes were open for business.  We popped in a small bakery for coffee and pastry, served by the baker herself.  Maybe because we showed interest in her baking  she handed us a bag of free rolls as we went out the door.  Also memorable was the proprietor of the only store open on the plaza on Christmas night.  When we thanked him, he said he enjoyed being there because he didn't have friends or family to be with.  

Of all of our experiences, my peak Taos experience was visiting San Francisco de Asís Mission Church as volunteers prepared the grounds for Christmas Eve.  

Paper bags turned into farolitos (luminarias) appeared to have been hand decorated, perhaps by school children.  Candles nestled in sand in each bag would be lighted on Christmas Eve.

From simple decorations on paper bags to intricate jewelry displayed in store windows, we admired the creativity on display.  Taos has long been a mecca for famous artists and writers.  I have heard said that the light in northern New Mexico has a special inspirational quality.  

Taos may not a vacation spot for ticking off tourist experiences, although if a traveler was of a mind to, they could visit the Rio Grande Gorge, Kit Carson Museum, and Taos Pueblo Christmas celebrations.  But on this Christmas holiday, Taos seduced me with bracing clear cold air, warm hospitality, and sunsets against the sky, a startling shade of dark blue.

A California Dreamin' Thanksgiving

To be memorable!  That's how I rate a holiday experience.  And my husband, Wayne, and I just spent a Thanksgiving holiday in California we are still reliving.

Celebrating Thanksgiving away from our home state of Texas (we are El Pasoans) was something we had done only once before. A typical Texas Thanksgiving is all about large doses of Food, Family, and Football.   This holiday, however, took us up the California coast, almost to San Luis Obispo. What would the weather be like?  What clothes should we pack?  What would be an appropriate hostess gift?  Would our hosts fix a traditional meal with turkey and all the usual trimmings? 

California Coast

Our first stop on the drive up the coast from Burbank was in the city of Ventura, where Wayne found the exact shoes he had been searching for in an REI store.  No crowds, no hassles, and a friendly young salesman who told us his family was having an unusual Thanksgiving this year because his grandmother's house had been affected by wildfires in the area.  We saw evidence of  a wildfire that had jumped ten lanes of traffic to wreck havoc on the other side.

Continuing up the coast, often with a view of a sunlit sea, what impressed us most was the abundant vegetation, dear to the heart of desert dwellers.  Lunch was in the coastal town of Santa Barbara. Excellent food, atmosphere, and service.  We weren't quite acclimated enough to sit in the outside seating area, even though the weather was mild.  I made a mental note to put Santa Barbara on our list of future vacation spots.  

Restaurant in Santa Barbara

Our reservations were at the Pismo Beach Hotel, a venerable hotel in the heart of the town, a block from the beach and two blocks from a cafe specializing in freshly made cinnamon rolls.

Pismo Beach

What a relaxing sight our first view of the ocean was!  I can still close my eyes and hear the waves crashing.

Beach at Pismo

The first night in Pismo was spent with family members doing wonderfully old-fashioned activities— first bowling and later playing billiards. (Wayne and I had aching muscles for several days afterwords!)

Thanksgiving morning we walked the short distance to Pismo Beach to watch the Turkey Trot, a well-attended run/walk for charity.

Participants waiting for Turkey Trot to start

Thanksgiving dinner turned out to be a familiar affair with turkey, dressing, vegetables, rolls, gravy,  pecan pie and apple pie made with apples picked that morning off a tree on the property. Guitar playing, board games, dominoes, ping-pong, and a football game kept everyone from falling asleep in the afternoon.

The next day, our host, a native of the area, treated us to a driving tour.  Wayne's favorite spot was Hartford Pier, where he had his first delicious taste of fresh smoked salmon.

Amiable owner of shop at Hartford Pier

Describing the appeal of a coastal area in words is difficult.  The air was moist and sweet-smelling, the locals and tourists alike were relaxed and appeared to be taking life easy, and the flowering plants were exuberant compared to those that we nurse along in the desert.  I was especially impressed with the size of the succulents that can live outside all your round in this California climate.

California Succulents

My miniature succulents at home are already tucked inside in front of a bright window for the winter.

Our last meal in California before catching a plane for home was at a Mexican food restaurant in Los Angeles.  But it wasn't just any old restaurant; it was an all-vegan restaurant .Very interesting!  Pozole, tacos, gorditas, enchilada, tostadas, margaritas, chocolate ice cream all made without animal products.  Because I am not a meat lover, deciding what to order was easy.  I would have enjoyed anything on the extensive menu. I'm not sure El Paso is ready for an all-vegan restaurant, however.  We think our traditional Mexican food is the best in the world. 

Patio of All-Vegan Restaurant in  Los Angeles

The Thanksgiving we spent on the California coast now seems like a pleasant dream.  The holiday was enough like a Texas Thanksgiving for us to feel comfortable but different enough to challenge us with new ideas and experiences. I know our thoughts will drift back to coastal California for many more Thanksgiving holidays to come.  

On Arriving Home

Arriving home from an extended trip should be a joyous occasion, shouldn't it?  After all, "There's no place like home."  Certainly the week before a big trip I wonder if I am crazy for leaving familiar comforts and venturing out into the big, scary world.  But I find the day or two after returning from a trip equally as disorienting.

I arrived home in mid-July this year from a 17-day trip abroad with my husband, Wayne.  We  stayed in Switzerland,

Chur, Switzerland

and rode the Bernina Express through the Alps.

Alps viewed from Bernina Express

We had many adventures traveling on Italian trains and spent a week at a Tuscan villa with friends and family. Due to difficulties with plane schedules on the return flight, it was mid-afternoon before we finally pulled up in our own driveway   I am always happy to see our house still standing as we round the last corner. But I immediately started peering at the front yard to see if the desert plants had survived.  After all, it was July in the Desert Southwest, with daytime temperatures often hitting the 100 degree mark.

Our house cat, Bitsy,

Bitsy

punishes us when we travel by staying in hiding rather than greeting us at the front door.  Bitsy has a special cat minder who provides her with daily care, but that doesn't stop her from making sure we suffer because we abandoned her.  I look in all of Bitsy's usual hiding places — under the bed, on the window sill behind a table, behind my reading chair in the bedroom, and of course I call to her, but to no avail.

I wonder endlessly around the house and yard, trying to feel as if I belong here.  I apologize to plants and animals for being off enjoying myself instead of tending to their needs.

Commonplace duties are everywhere, demanding my attention.  Two weeks of newspapers and mail are piled up on the kitchen counter.

So many newspapers, so little time

I set the newspapers aside, vowing to at least glance at the headlines to keep up with local news.  The mail is sorted into a junk pile, an emergency pile, and a tend-to-later pile. The answering machine on the house phone is blinking a red light announcing nine voice messages.  I listen to them impatiently.  Only three of the nine messages need a follow up.  I write down the information to tackle tomorrow when I can concentrate.

My mind keeps drifting back to Italy.  What is going on today at our Air B n B  in Tuscany, Le Due Volpi?  Are new guests now in  "our"  rooms?  Have they discovered the postcard-worthy view of the valley from the villa patio?

View from the villa balcony

How are our traveling companions, my friend from London, and our son and his girlfriend?  Did they arrive home safely?  Did they enjoy the villa as much as we did?  I miss our daily get-togethers.  So many more interesting topics I would like to discuss with them.

Tomorrow I will get back on track.  I vow to make appointments, wash clothes, clean out the refrigerator, buy groceries, and balance the checkbook.  Ugh.  How boring.

But just for today, I want to daydream. I want to recapture the glorious feeling of being out in the world, where life is happening.   I want to remember the kindness of Italian strangers who pulled me through a train door that was already closing to leave.  I want to think about how proud I was when I finally remembered, after three shopping trips, to weigh and mark the price of the fruit before going to a cashier.  I want to taste the strong coffee that Wayne made us every morning in a special pot, a Moka, served in the outdoor kitchen at the villa. And most of all,  I want to wake up every morning wondering what great adventures are in store for me that day.

Duties and real life are already crowding into my mind.  The hills of Tuscany are slipping away, only to be recaptured in photos, conversations, and if I am so fortunate, flashes of remembrance.  I am settling in to ordinary life again, which I suppose is what I truly want to do.  

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