Blessed in Brussels

This Caspian Jewess was blessed today, in a church in Brussels, by a man, with his hands dipped in blessed water which he in turn used to touch my forehead and either shoulders.
The odd part isn't that this man reached out to me, or that I found peace in a church; rather the peculiar thing was more when it happened. I was leaving the church and throngs of people were entering at that same moment. When the last person entered, he stared at me, dipped his fingers in the holy water and began the ritual.

Why?
Did he sense I was a member of another tribe? Did he feel I needed a blessing? Is this customary in a church to enter and bless the person leaving?
One thing for sure, we both held each other's gaze.

With that in mind, I felt blessed for a variety of reasons. I discovered a cute little organic bakery, Le Pain Quotidien, which offered a variety of organic breads and viennoiseries for breakfast in a family style atmosphere. Huge farmer style dining tables, an array of sour cherry jam jars, churned butter and other spreads. It was a great way to mingle with the locals and start up conversation or sit back quietly and read the local paper.

I also feel blessed for being at ease to roam the winding, cobblestone roads map free! It is a great feeling to know that you can make your way in a foreign city. I know some of my friends will be amused with this particular section of the blog, as they know that there are certain zones in my hometown where I require the use of my handy dandy Tom Tom. Perhaps the pedestrian lifestyle is more my calling?

Last but not least, I feel blessed to be in a foodie's paradise, in Brussels. Surrounded by delicious beers, chocolatiers galore, baked goods and waffle central, I am grateful to be car less, and aimlessly walking about to burn some semblance of these delicious calories!

Pilatus Kulm

As a seasoned traveler, I try my best to avoid tour companies. Over time, I have come to discover, that even as a solo traveler, I am not a huge fan of big groups, obnoxious people in droves, and tired tour guides who have perhaps done the tour one too many times.

That being said, every once in a while, I cave and join a tour company for the day when I wish to discover a place far enough that requires some explaining and some transportation.

Which brings me to Pilatus Kulm, not far from Lucerne. In 2009, I had done Rigi Kulm with this same tour company and was immensely pleased. I was hoping for the same wow factor. Needless to say, the people in the group can make the experience worth while or break it.

Pilatus in itself was a beautiful mountain, at about 7000 feet above sea level. Long time ago, the clergy believed that the mountain was demonized with dragons. It took the clergy a few attempts to trust that the great Pilatus was a safe place and so it was re-opened, once again to the general public.

To get to the top of this mountain, there are two gondola rides which bring tourists to bask in the views of Swiss Alps.
I failed to mention that while on the bus, there was a huge Iranian group from California. I am not proud to say that they were fellow Caspian Sea dwellers. I am also sad to say that understanding every word that came out of their mouths was embarrassing at best.

I guess the buck stopped when this one couple and a silver haired gentleman, all decked in designer labels and heavy perfume began to speak behind my back as we were lined up for a four seater gondola ride.
I was lined up ahead of them and overheard Agha Smelly Pants (Agha meaning Mister) say to his travel buddies that I hope to god we are not going to be stuck with that loner on the bus....we won't be able to be just us.

And so what do you think This Caspian Princess spewed? Take a wild guess? Please.

In a stiff Farsi, (their mother tongue), I said: did you maybe think I may not want to be stuck with the three of you on this Gondola? But seeing as my mother raised me well, please won't you step in?

I love the shock factor. For one, I don't look my heritage. Two, it is quite handy to have a semblance of language in a functional state for that special moment.

Well, needless to say, they climbed aboard and I surprisingly made friends.
At least, they thought so. They even had me sit next to Mister Smelly Pants and took our picture for posterity sake.
Obviously what followed was idle chit chat about my genealogy and the excitement ended once my mother was from Haifa. Mister Smelly Pants quickly mentioned that in the 16 Iranian couples, there was a token Jew amongst them. It's your family, you should meet them,he said.

Oh boy!
How to loose them on The Great Mount Pilatus?

Scheuble Hotel and the Red Light District

Scheuble Hotel is a delightful, three star Boutique hotel, centrally located in Old Town Zurich. At the time of booking it online, I had read the reviews, and was pleased with the appearance, location and value. Breakfast and Internet included, what more would The Caspian Princess need, after all?

My room is on the third floor of this beautiful building. My room is a trapezoid, complete with a balcony and a huge window. No need for air conditioning, as there is a lovely breeze coming through.

The pièce de resistance is the evening entertainment from my "Juliette" balcony. At about 7pm, the sun has yet to set, and stunning Romanian young women, in sexy dresses and killer heels make their way a few feet away from my balcony. And so begins the strutting.

Contrary to other Red Light Districts in various cities, the sleaze factor has been removed. Perhaps, this Red Light District is not as entertaining as the one in Amsterdam, as the ladies are not sitting in store windows, in a boudoir state.

The Swiss experience is somewhat classy. I laugh as I am typing this, as the ladies are quite classy looking, complete with mani/pedi, matching shoes and clutch, blow dried hair and scents of freshness. Don't get any crazy ideas, as the only way to get to one's hotel is through this sexy, classy maze.

Clearly, one can see the benefit of legalizing Hookerville! Oddly enough, the Swiss Polizei circulate to protect the Johns. These classy broads are known to be aggressive!

Don't let Hookerville deter you from staying at Scheuble Hotel, as to balance it all there is a delightful church that rings its bells every hour on the nose!
Amen!

Wanderlust

The desire to travel, blend in with the locals, to bathe in the local culture, to taste the culinary delights are all ingredients for my perfect wanderlust.

It takes me close to a year to plan my summer trips. The ten days to two weeks, where my sons are off with their father, enable me to escape and wander off in hope for adventure, a little bit of a creative outlet, meeting new faces and hearing their stories, all the while hoping to learn something new.

Which brings me to the start of this summer's adventure, Switzerland! The flight in was pleasant and surprisingly restful. I shockingly napped. In best of circumstances, I sleep poorly back home, and yet the plane ride lulled me to sleep.

Once I landed in Zurich's Flughafen, I walked over to the rail way station to purchase a ticket to Old Town Zurich. Somewhere between buying the ticket and closely watching two young lovers reunite near an escalator, I got lost.

I chose to follow the lovers, who amused me immensely, instead of getting on my specific train, heading to my hotel. En effect, j'ai pris le chemin des écoliers! What if I said, it was well worth it, even in my semi jet lagged self?

This couple, in their twenties, had just caught up at the train station. The young man appeared to be living in Zurich, even though he appeared far from being a local. He seemed to be an English speaking foreigner.

The young lady flew from Toronto, spoke English decently, French barely and hints of German as it was far from fluid.

He greeted her with a multi-colored bouquet of roses and they shared a tender moment...and so began my journey with this couple.

Throughout the train ride, they spoke of oddities, in a broken version of English, French, and German. Neither accents were well respected and a few times, I had to hold back from asking them what is their actual mother tongue.

In Quebec, I had heard of Franglais, a mangled version of French and English; alas, their version was foreign to me.
These two managed to bastardize all three languages in a delightful, bemusing way. One couldn't help but be drawn and entertained...until of course, one realized one's train was heading the wrong way.

It took me forty minutes to make my way back to Old Town Zurich, a train, two buses and a tram plus a lot of walking with luggage, up a cobblestone, winding road.
Welcome to Zurich!

Ode to Technology!!

I found myself pondering about technology.
Perhaps it had something to do with my twitter post, this morning.
It appears I lost 7 pounds.
Did I? When did that happen?
My account was hacked.
Seems to be a common occurrence these days when one juggles email accounts, twitter, Facebook,  LinkedIn and so on and so forth.

Over a delightful morning brew with Baileys, I began thinking about when did I get all involved with technology.
My earliest memory of technology brings me back to my tween years, visiting San Diego, roaming the aisles of Price Club (now Costco). My uncle and my father were looking through the "computer" aisles and hearing them both chime in that "these look like the wave of the future".
They were staring at a Commodore 64.

We brought one home that summer.
We plugged it in.
We patiently waited for something to start.
Yet the screen was lit. The cursor was blinking.
But now what.

It took my father a while to realize we had no softwares installed on the unit.
And yet the manufacturer's box advertised all sorts of "nifty"things this Commodore 64 could do.
But now what?

My dad hired a son's friend who was ten or so years older than I.
He was a university computer science student.
He had a friendly disposition.
He taught my sister and I the basics of programming and algorythms.

It got boring.
In fact, it got to a point where I would look forward to his visits solely to bask in his scent.
AZARRO!!
Were it not for his weekly visits, I wouldn't have the need to pick up the keyboard and sniff out his scented fingertips all over the keys.

Yup that novelty wore off fast!

The next computer to enter the home was in my teens.
It was a PC.
One software for word processing was installed and it was, indeed, a primitive one at that.
This was the start of typing school work, and later on in university typing all projects, essays and proposals.

I would have to say that computers took on a whole new purpose once internet became available.
I remember the day I had attended a workshop on internet usage.
I was working with my (then) husband and we needed to upgrade the computer system at work.
The technician was insisting that we attend this workshop that will change the way we see communication.
At the time, listening to the droning of this GURU about the internet, made my husband and I immensely uncomfortable. The talk seemed vague and we couldn't see clearly what the future held for us.

Today, I can't imagine life without it.
I use it daily for pleasure, for work and for boredom!
Google has become my dictionary.
Itunes is my life line.
Facebook is my social life, albeit a virtual one.

My sons take ALL this for granted, in that they do not realize the extent to which information is readily available to them.
I am fully aware that I sound like some elderly person, recapping how it used to be.
That being said, I recall the countless hours of sitting at school and university libraries, sifting through books to search for the knowledge.
Today, one GOOGLES it.

Which brings me back to losing weight on my Twitter account....

Dear Hacker,
You have such wonderful strengths in technology and science.
Can you not use your strengths to better this planet and continue the paths that the JOBS and GATES of this world have done to improve and ease our way in and around this place?

Remembering a Tyrant

My Grand-parents with their three out of four children.

My maternal grand-father.

He passed away a few days ago, in a hospital bed, facing Mount-Royal and the famous cross.

He was 93.

He wasn't an easy man.

He didn't give you warm fuzzies.

If anything, you feared him.

Most of his existence, he lived a reclusive life.

He had no friends.

Towards the last two decades of his life, HE managed to alienate each and every one of his children, his grand-children and shockingly his GREAT-grand-children ( He had three).

Up until my parents became grand-parents to my sons, I really didn't have a healthy concept of what it meant to boast the joys of grand-parenting. Witnessing my parents cuddle, play, feed, read, wipe away tears and kiss "boo boos" away, made me aware that grand-parenting is a blessing and not some curse.

My sons are lucky!

They are loved.

Most importantly, my sons feel the love.

I didn't feel the love.

I feared my grand-father instead.

I tip toed around him.

Most times, I even hated him.

My Grand-father with his four children, wife and a mystery person

Our family celebrations usually involved someone cursing someone, someone crying, someone YELLING, followed by months of silence and then the YOUNG usually would have to meander their way back, pleading for forgiveness from the GRAND POUBA. Never mind memories of Brit Milas and Bar Mitzvahs with some dramatic twist, thanks to none other than my grand-father.

My perception of him?

 A tyrant.

Most often, he would sit at the head of the table and dictate.

No one dared sit on Archie Bunker's chair.

He ordered his wife around.

He ordered his four children around.

He demeaned, berated and scolded his children, as if they were still five.

He was fond of "threatening his grand-children" with belts. Naively, I would stare at his belt, as he snapped it like some animal trainer. I won't mention how docile we were, as grand-children.

As long his grand-children didn't make too much noise, didn't create too much mess and stayed somehow "out of the way", and enjoyed watching countless hours of world news, all was well in his home. If you liked Walter (Cronkite, for you neophytes), you were in my grand-father's good books...for a few seconds, at least.

If he visited us in our home, my parents began to nervously circulate around their very own space.

My dad would automatically be "de-throned" from his usual seat at the table.

The menu in our home would reflect this tyrant's NEEDS.

And this heaviness would enter our space...all in the name of FAMILY.

Rosh Hashana and Passover celebrations (euphemism for torture) usually entailed HIM leading the entire service. I recall this one time, my father, in his late forties, barely gained courage to inform the Tyrant that he would like to start having the celebrations at his home, as he would like to officiate some of these holidays too, before he grows too old. For a few years, we didn't hear from the tyrant. He was fuming with the decision. Rather than pat my father on the back for being "ready" to handle the responsibility and passing the torch, he shunned him. From that day on, we had small gatherings at our home, as my uncles and aunties had no choice but to attend the Tyrant's "celebration" and leave us to fend for ourselves....All in the name of family spirit.

A few hours before he passed away, I entered his hospital room, suited in some canary yellow "lab coat" and watched this tiny framed individual, with laboured breathing and I  found myself talking to him. Who are you? What did YOU like? Did you have dreams? Did you accomplish them? Did you have a passion? What was your favourite colour? I knew he liked Syrian food, and he loved his Arak!With all his longevity, I didn't have the opportunity to KNOW THIS MAN. Better yet, he was not open to the experience.

I finally had the courage to tell him "It is too bad you didn't have it in you to give unconditional love to your children. It's all they ever wanted."

My mom

 I barely stroked his index and walked out of his room.

No tears. How odd. 

I teared when I saw my mom lean over her father's bed, after 16 years of having been alienated from this man.

I teared when I saw her stroke this man's bald head.

I teared when I saw her whisper words into his ears.

For that, I teared.

One of his grand-children referred to him as "PRIMITIVE", yesterday afternoon.

Interesting wording, I thought.

Truth be told, it made sense.

This man, came from another "civilization", travelled the world and refused to adapt, to change and to "blend" with every bold step he took to cross the Seven Seas. Up until his dying day, he stayed true to his 1918 timeline and brought that part of the world into the 21st Century.

Shalom Aba!

As we lay you down today for your final resting place, be grateful that today is Sukkot and eulogies are not permitted at this time.  For it not for this blessing, few would know what to say in your honour.

Try to remember what my mother told you minutes after you passed away, "if in heaven they give you a new heart, learn to use it more kindly!"

Oslo and the midnight sun

Oslo, Oslo!!! What a pleasure it was to roam the capital....only 600,000 inhabitants in Oslo and over a million live in the Metropolitan area, yet one in five people own a boat of sorts, which explains why Oslo has a large harbour and many marinas. As for the midnight sun, not sure why this term is used as the sun sets around 10:30-11pm and rises around 3:30am ( if not sooner!).  No shortage of daylight and plenty of time to roam and stroll though the city. The body feels tired but the mind keeps going on!

Initially, I was surprised to see few cars on the road in and around the city center. Pedestrians can run relatively freely without having to face noise pollution and or traffic. Most cars in Oslo cross the city center using tunnels. Unlike Denmark, Holland or Germany, biking as a main means of transport is not all that apparent. Locals use the trams, the subways and buses. Tourists, however, can get duped by the taxi system. Thanks to Rick Steves, I was well informed to ask for one specific cab company. Yet even so, the driver managed to pull a fast one; arriving at the destination, the meter would read one thing while he requested another sum of money. “Minimum charge” he would chime. Not sure why the city of Oslo has yet to standardize these guys.

The harbour front boasts huge cruise ships that dock daily. Looking ahead into the Oslofjor, one sees 40 some odd islands with summer cabins for the locals to escape city life, to swim, to have a BBQ and most of all to relax. Aboard a cruise that sails further out into the water, one notices the most unusual landscape: summer cabins in bright colours in the valleys along with twin miniature versions by the edge of the water. Apparently, way back when, when the locals wished to swim and failed to “find” swimsuits, they would enter the miniature cabins that would allow the vacationer to remove their clothing in privacy while slipping into the water for a cool swim.

A multitude of mini museums are available in a park like peninsula, which showcase the rich history of The Norwegian Vikings (Viking Ship Museum), The Kon-Tiki Museum (which Thor Heyerdahl proved that early civilisations and their then technology could have crossed the oceans), and The Fram Museum (with the tales of Norwegian explorers who attempted to discover the North pole (failed), then attempted and succeeded to discover the South Pole, and in the process made an English explorer terribly disappointed as the challenge was already had by Norway).

Frogner Park (75 acres) was heaven on earth! Imagine a beautiful green park, manicured to some extent, with tall trees, green grass (not green weed), and 600 sculptures in bronze and granite of nudes by Gustav Vigeland, who captured universal themes in life such as birth, childhood, romance, struggle, child-rearing, old age and death. An artist who marvelled at August Rodin’s carving talent, he required  funds to begin his life’s passion. So in 1921, he made a deal with the city of Oslo where he would be offered a studio, a park and material...in exchange, he would beautify a park with his sculptures. I was moved by many of these displays. They were thought provoking and generated a well of emotion from within.

The people of Norway are reserved at first glance. That being said, they are more than happy to help a traveller find their way, share their favourite points of interest in their hometown, and they do so with a smile and in English! Education being free, they tend to be highly educated with a proud sense of philanthropy. I had the pleasure of meeting a local on a terrace and needless to say, three hours went by relatively easy with conversations about local politics, economy, day to day life, the trend of their society and immigration. Did you know that should you decide to get an education in Oslo, even as a foreign student the tuition in non-existent! As a parent, I am wondering why wouldn’t I invite and or convince my sons to consider studying abroad.

Food for thought!