Travel – Tales and Travel

ON SAFARI

Elephants, giraffes, zebra, kudos, wildebeest, a hyena — I saw them all on my drive from the airport in Skukuza, South Africa, to the Idube safari lodge 3 1/2 hours away. I was excited and decided this was a good omen meaning lots more to come. I was right.

The highlight on the drive was a mother hyena with two tiny, lively puppies. Driver Cheryl said they were just a few days old, if that. Mom was worn out, sleeping soundly, not disturbed by one of her offspring who was chewing on her ear.

I spent the next two days at the Idube lodge and the following two days at the Motswari Game lodge. Both are vast private game reserves in Greater Kruger, an area with unfenced boundaries outside but adjacent to the Kruger National Park.

Game drives begin in the wee hours, about 6 a.m. It was winter in South Africa, coal black and cold, freezing, at that hour. Hot water bottles and blankets are provided, but still frosty until the sun pops up. At 9 we returned to the lodge for a hearty breakfast, setting out again about 3 p.m. for an afternoon drive.

A tracker sits on a special elevated seat in the front of the safari vehicle, his eagle and trained eyes searching for tracks, movement, listening for sounds, any sign of animal life. The driver/field guide is an encyclopedia of info, as well as a fearless driver, charging off road at Formula 1 speed to reach a site before the animal moves on. Duck under branches, bounce over bumps and ruts, hold onto your seat — more thrills than an amusement park ride.

An abrupt halt. There — right in front of us — is the Lion King, gnawing on a bloody piece of carcass. A thrilling, awesome, incredible sight. You almost need to pinch yourself to be sure it’s real.

As in this instance, it is astonishing how close the vehicles get to the animals which completely ignore the visitors. They are accustomed to human intruders and definitely not camera shy. Even with a phone camera you can get decent photos (I used an I-phone 16 pro). For perfection, however, serious gear is best.

Following are photos of my “sightings.” Since I am a “childless cat lady” who adores cats, large and small, I will devote a separate post to cats. I saw many, all magnificent. Watch this space.

No shortage of elephants on the game drives: majestic males, families, youngsters. These mammoth creatures can live to be 60 to 80 years old. If they manage to survive that long, they die of starvation as their teeth wear out, making it impossible to chew food. The elephant gestation period is 22 months and “babies” nurse for three to four years. Elephants can eat for up to 18 hours per day.

Rhinos, with and without horns. The horns are treasured in many Asian countries for medicinal properties, although there is no scientific evidence that the horns have medicinal value. In some countries, namely Vietnam, the horns are a luxury item and status symbol.

Hence, poachers kill for the valuable horns. In the Idube reserve, rhinos are de-horned at the age of two to dissuade the poachers. Not so in the Timbavati private reserve where the Motswari lodge is located.

There guide Landon told us that dehorned rhinos are defenseless against predators and in territorial disputes with other rhinos. Poachers may still kill them to avoid tracking the same rhino again. And, the dehorning procedure must be repeated every 12-24 months, expensive and labor intensive. It can also alter natural behavior, leading to social disruption. Rhinos in Timbavati keep their horns.

The buffalo, one of Africa’s most dangerous animals, is one of the Big Five of African wildlife (elephant, lion, leopard, rhino and Cape or African buffalo). We were lucky and saw not just a few of these aggressive beasts, but hundreds crossing a lake.

We never spotted a hippo out of the water, but we did see lots of hippo heads up for air in various lakes. Hippos can stay under water for six to seven minutes, we learned, and they eat grass not meat.

Ian, the guide in Idube, told us the hippo is the number two killer in South Africa, following malaria, number one. Number three is the buffalo. Landon at Motswari disagreed on number two. He said number two is the crocodile, not the hippo which is number three. Both put malaria as the number one killer.

An African safari is a thrilling, rewarding, unforgettable experience. In addition to being awed by the wildlife, I was intrigued with the country and its citizens. I talked to South Africans about their languages, tribal customs, problems in the country and life since the official end of apartheid in 1994. A look beyond safari in the next post.

Below, more photos.

Another hyena mom with puppies, one with his neck in her mouth. Guide Landon said the adorable hyena puppies are his favorite baby animal.

Wild dog puppies. The guide said two nearby packs were having a territorial dispute. The fight did not interest the playful puppies, but our vehicle did.

These fellows, nyala and a wildebeest, hung out in the front yard of my room at Idube. All were very tame, including the wildebeest. I thought I could try to pet him, but suddenly I heard screams. I was warned that he might decide I was not so friendly and turn those horns on me. I retreated.

This hornbill joined us for breakfast, hoping for treats.

Impalas are more numerous than other African antelopes.

I booked my African adventure, South Africa (Kruger) and Madagascar, with Worldwide Quest, http://www.worldwidequest.com

If not a Tales and Travel follower, please sign up here. Trust me. It’s safe. Your address is not shared. Don’t miss out. More about my travels in future posts: South Africa beyond safari, Big cats, the mysteries and marvels of Madagascar.

No new recipe this time. But, it’s not too late to take advantage of those summer tomatoes and try this delicious Savory Tomato Tarte Tatin. For more recipes, click here.

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Back on the Road Again

“Madame, vous êtes à la fin, » (Madame, you are at the end (of life), she announced as she massaged my ancient body. I had to chuckle, thinking to myself, “Yes, I know. But did you need to remind me?”

I had treated myself to a massage at an upscale hotel in Nosy Be, Madagascar, Part II of my solo voyage to South Africa and Madagascar (Mada), the world’s fifth poorest country.

Why would a handicapped old lady traveling alone (me) come to Madagascar? It was obvious those I met on the journey were surprised, if not baffled. I did not fit the profile of the typical Mada tourist.

Madagascar is a fascinating, gorgeous country, but crime ridden and poor – very poor. Most visitors are young and fit or older and fit, exploring Mada’s rich biodiversity and incredible landscapes which involve long, rigorous journeys over mainly dirt roads. Mada is huge, the world’s fourth largest island. Distances are great. Due to my disability, my excursions were near cities and mainly on paved roads with a private driver/guide – nonetheless challenging at times.

I was apprehensive, if not nervous, prior to departure. Had I taken a step too far? I was petrified of falling again. But I charged ahead.

Madagascar is home to 112 species of lemur, all endangered.

A woman I met my first night at a hotel in Mada gave me some words of wisdom. She is a health care worker who has a daughter with disabilities. “You need to push yourself, test your boundaries. Use it or lose it.’’

I reflected on those words many times in Mada – when faced with uneven, stony or dirt terrain to navigate, steep steps with no railings, hills with no steps. “You can do it. Slowly. Carefully,” I told myself.

Travel has been my lifelong passion. I relish learning about different lands, cultures, traditions. I love talking to locals. You learn so much. It is enriching. It can change who you are. Travel adds perspective to life and understanding of the world.

My late husband Bob shared my passion for travel and adventure. We traveled near and far. After several difficult years suffering from Alzheimer’s, he passed way two years ago. About the same time, I had a horrendous fall – a complicated femur break and a broken shoulder. Despite numerous surgeries, I have limited mobility and need a cane to walk. And, I don’t have full motion of my left arm following the injury.

I am à la fin, handicapped, but still alive. I can walk, albeit slowly. I no longer have a travel partner. What to do? Sit on the couch, watch TV ad wait to die?

NO. NO. Get up. Get going. Get back on the road again. I did. It was invigorating. I felt alive again. I loved it.

As Saint Augustine said, “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.” I want to read all the pages.

If not a Tales and Travel follower, please sign up here. Trust me. It’s safe. Your address is not shared. Don’t miss out. More about my travels in future posts: Sensational wildlife in South Africa, the mysteries of Madagascar.

See below for a new recipe just in time for all those ripe tomatoes.

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TODAY’S TASTE – Savory Tomato Tarte Tatin

Savory Tomato Tarte Tatin

Click below photo for recipe. For more recipes, click here.

Trusted House Sitters

I call her the “cat whisperer.” Pet sitter Bridget rescued, rehabilitated, my two precious felines, Simba and Oprah. And, she saved me.

I had a serious accident requiring multiple surgeries, a long hospital stay then two months at a rehab facility in southern France where I live. I was transported to the hospital asap with no way to arrange care for my beloved kitties.

My remarkable apartment gardien and friends stopped by to refill the food bowl and empty the litter box. Simba and Oprah were both very shy and distrustful of strangers. They stayed hidden and had no human contact for a month.

Trusted House Sitters (THS), a noted pet sitting organization, came to the rescue. I am a member of THS. So is Bridget, the phenomenal sitter who worked a miracle with my traumatized, petrified cats. Both are long-haired rescue cats. Their fur was seriously matted. With love and patience, Bridget coaxed them out of hiding. She brushed them, petted them, showered them with TLC. By the time I came home, they were back to normal.

Bridget has become a friend, as have several trusted sitters. Thanks to THS, I can take off on trips knowing my cats (Now only cat Simba. Oprah succumbed to cancer last year) are safe and happy.

Meet some of my fabulous trusted sitters:

Trusted sitter **Bridge**t has found that pets, like Milo, are generally very happy with their sitters.

Bridget, raised on a farm in New Zealand, has been a sitter for many years. Her animal charges in New Zealand, where she lives six months each year, often include pigs, sheep, horses, cows, and chickens, in addition to cats and dogs.

“I miss having animals myself,” she says. “I love having the company of beautiful animals… and I love providing security, giving people peace of mind, helping them to enjoy their trip and come back to a clean house. I like to help make a difference.”

**Bridget** with pooch Fred in New Zealand where she pet sits during our winter months.

She does make a difference, and not just for the pet owners. “People think their animals are pining away for them, meanwhile they are generally sitting on my knee, purring away or sleeping in bed with me…. It’s so much better than a kennel or cattery which are a shock and high stress for pets.”

**Erika** with my Simba who loves tummy rubs.

Erika, a sitter from Switzerland, spent several months with Simba after I had to have more surgery and return to a rehab facility for three months. Like Bridget, she has many years of pet sitting experience and sterling reviews on the THS site. And, like some other sitters, she has no fixed home. She is in demand, and can usually move from one sit to another. Many of her “clients” have invited her to come back and stay between sits if she is in need of a “home.”

“I love animals. I like to travel and see new places,” she says. “People are very friendly. Many are very thankful that I was there and watched the pets, the plants and the house.” Erika has even had sits minus pets, just plants and a house to care for.

Clarissa and son Pierre from Geneva, Switzerland, were my most recent sitters when I went off to Paris. Clarissa, who has three cats of her own, is a devoted, zealous cat lover.

She has used THS for her own cats when she traveled. One sitter, she recalls, left her home in better condition than she had left it. I returned to find my apartment in tip top shape, plus a magnificent bouquet of roses to welcome me home.

Like many sitters, Clarissa can work remotely and enjoy sits in distant places. Son Pierre, when not in school, joins her. Another son lives at home and cares for her kitties when she is off on a sit.

Clarissa only sits for cats. “I am not comfortable with dogs,” she says. “I have met such nice people…I would never put my cats in a shelter.” She is happy to help others travel and avoid upsetting their cats.

Pumpkin, the pet pig. He liked to cuddle between Rose and Sebastien on the couch.

Rose and husband Sebastien from Colorado are remote workers who have sat, not just for cats and dogs, but also a parrot, rabbits, goats, horses, chickens, even a python and a pet pig. The snake, she recalled, had recently eaten so they did not need to worry about him. But Pumpkin the pig, a 200-pound beast, liked to crawl up on the couch and cuddle with them. “He loved bananas,” she said.

Rose and Sebastien, like many sitters, have repeat customers. This Doberman is a favorite, “the meltiest Doberman,” a pet they often sit for in Colorado.

Like most sitters, Rose and Sebastien began with local sits “to get a feel for it.” And, like Bridget, they prefer to have a Facetime call with pet owners before committing to a sit. “You have to think of your own requirements and what you are comfortable with.”

“It’s reciprocal. It’s an exchange,” Rose says. “Both get something out of it. It’s beyond vacation travel. It’s rewarding.”

Rose and Sebastien have also cared for Rex bunnies

Magdalene and Brian live in Krakow, Poland. She is Polish. He is Canadian. They too are remote workers and have had pet sits in numerous countries. Magdalene is “passionate about animals” but with their lifestyle does not think it’s fair to have pets of their own. “I like this experience. It feels like home with a pet.”

She previously worked as a nurse and remembers a sit when that experience saved a dog. The owners had not told her the dog was a diabetic. He got very sick, but she knew what to do.

A few years ago, I was able to convince my brother Steve and his wife Yoshie to try THS. Their cat Zippy is difficult, only likes them. Yoshie was very reluctant to have a stranger stay in their home in Boulder.

They had been paying $40 per night to board Zippy in a kennel, but it was stressful for them, as well as Zippy. He sensed that they were leaving, would hide, pee in the cage. “I was exhausted,” said Yoshie. Zippy cried at night for several days after their return. THS has replaced the kennel and all are happy.

Trusted House Sitters was founded in the UK in 2010 and now has 230,000 members. It operates in 180 countries. Pet owners pay a fee to join, from $129 per year, fill out the required forms detailing their pets and required care, as well as information about themselves. When they plan a trip, they post an announcement on the site with dates of travel. Owners do not pay sitters who pay their own transportation to the pet owner’s home.

A sitter entertained Filippo (now in cat. heaven) with videos.

Sitters pay approximately $250 for a year’s membership. To join, they fill out required forms. THS verifies their ID and contact info. Once accepted as a trusted sitter, they see the announcements of those needing sitters, and then apply to those that interest them.

Both sitters and pet owners are reviewed by the prospective parties. The reviews are published on the site. You can read what others have to say about their experiences.

If you choose to sign up with THS, please mention me, Leah Larkin, as a referral. I get brownie points.

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It’s time for asparagus. See below for link to a recipe for this seasonal favorite.

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TODAY’S TASTE – Asparagus with Parmesan Butter

Click below photo for recipe. For more recipes, click here.

Discovering the marvels of MUD

Five days a week, beginning in the wee hours, Askit is on the job, filling buckets with deep brown, slimy, gooey mud. Therapeutic mud.

The husky, jovial native of Albania then pulls a cart with six heavy buckets of the yucky substance to the treatment area at the Hotel Residence, a spa hotel in Abano Terme, Italy. He has been doing this for 30 years, he tells me with a hearty grin, then dumps a pail of mud onto a therapy bed.

Vanni, his Italian colleague, takes over, spreading the mud into one or more puddles on a bed in a small therapy room. The room also has a shower for hosing off the mud and a deep tub for après-mud soaking in warm thermal water.

Vanni motions me into the room. I shed the hotel robe. Mud treatments are not for the prudish. This is naked body treatment, however miniscule thong “undies “of a gossamer-like paper are available.

Vanni is a joy, always smiling. I stop trying to cover my sagging boobs with my arm and follow his instructions to lie on the bed, back positioned on the big puddle. He lathers me with mud, covers me in plastic, puts a blanket on top and disappears. The mud is hot initially, but soon deliciously warm. I stay that way for 20 minutes. Vanni returns midway to wipe my face with a cool, moist cloth.

He started working at the hotel in 1979, he says, and now calls himself “fango meister,” German for mud master. Many Germans previously patronized this spa hotel. Vanni has mastered the language in addition to the mud.

I am a water rat. The mud is pleasant, but I adored the soak in the hot, bubbling thermal water. According to the Abano web site (abano.it), the water makes a long, underground journey from the pre-Alps. Rain enriches it with mineral salts. It is transformed and “classified as salted-bromide iodic hypothermal water.”

The mineral rich water is the secret ingredient of the mud. Abano is at the feet of the Euganean Hills, a region of prehistoric volcanoes in northeastern Italy. Clay is extracted from lakes in the area, filtered and purified, then left to “ripen” for at least two months in special tanks with the hot thermal water. Not just hot, but scalding water which emerges from the ground at 75-90 °C (167-194°F). For pool use, it travels through a piping system and is cooled to 30-35 °C (86-95°F).

The final mud product is natural therapy with a healing, anti-inflammatory and analgesic action. It is said to stimulate cartilage restoration, enhance the immune system, as well as restore vitality and a mineral balance of the body.

The tub soak is a delight, but even better are the thermal pools, large indoor-outdoor pools with warm thermal water and powerful water jets. They are not meant for swimming, just relaxing and enjoying the soothing water. I could have spent hours at the pool, but learned from experience that was not a good idea. The recommendation is for 30-40 minutes maximum per session. Of course, I disobeyed the first time, and then was completely wiped out.

Abano has been a wellness destination since ancient times. According to legend, the first settlement in the territory was founded by Hercules who is said to have restored his strength and health here after his challenging feats.

Romans were fans of water treatments and appreciated the healing properties of hot springs and mud from the valley. More than 2,000 years ago, they built villas and settlements whose ruins are still prevalent in the area.

This was my third visit to Abano. The first was in the summer (not recommended). See my previous blog, “Taking the waters – and the mud” for more details.

This past Christmas as well as Christmas 2023, I joined friend Angi for a 10-day visit to Abano. Angi is a dedicated fan of the mud. For years she lived in Rome and spent two weeks every year in Ischia, a volcanic island off the coast of Naples known for thermal springs and mud. She had serious back pain following an auto accident which resulted in five fractured vertebrae. The treatments “took away the pain and inflammation,” she says.

Friend Vera has been to Abano six times for “wellness, cooling out, relaxing… I enjoy it. I enjoy the treatments,” she says.

I can’t say Abano made any difference with my numerous body infirmities following my disastrous fall and seven surgeries. But it was sublime, a definite morale booster, a rewarding experience. For me, it did “restore vitality.” I just may return next Christmas.

In addition to mud and water, I treated myself to massages and facials. I spent an afternoon exploring nearby Verona. I joined the excursion to Villa Selvatico, one of many villas, castles and abbeys in the surroundings. I attended a church concert. And, I found bargains at the town’s weekly market.

Food was another highlight – very good, varied, healthy. Angi and I shared a table in the welcoming dining room. Fatima, an “angel” from Brazil, was our waitress. She brought us real cappuccino in the morning so we could skip the watery machine variety. She gave us advice on menu selections. Like most of the hotel staff, she was cheerful, helpful and fun to chat with.

The town Abano Terme has a population of 20,000, but claims 250,000 visitors annually. There are some 37 spa hotels of all categories offering pools and mud treatments, as well as other hotels and different accommodation possibilities.

Best burger I have ever had, Italian version of an American barbecue burger.

My package included nine nights single room, three meals per day excluding drinks, unlimited pool and sauna use, plus bus transportation: 1,400 euros (about $1,500 at current exchange rate). A doctor visit is required before beginning the program, 70 euros ($72). The doctor determines, recommends which treatments are best for each visitor. I paid 35 euros ($36) for each mud wrap and tub soak; 70 euros ($72) for a heavenly detox facial; 75 euros ($77.50) for a 50-minute-deep tissue massage. The latter were so exquisite, I had to have more — an anti-stress facial and another deep tissue massage.

Thanks to Shakespear’s Romeo and Juliet, Verona is known as the city of love. The statue of Juliet under the famous balcony of her house is a must for visitors.

Throughout the year, GB hotels, a group of five Abano spa hotels, organizes bus transportation from several cities in southern France where I to Abano.

More information on Abano: www.abano.it. More info on the four-star Hotel Residence and other Abano hotels at www.gbhotelsabano.it

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Hotel California

Welcome to the Hotel California, but it’s a hospital, not a hotel. Nonetheless I instantly thought of that Eagles hit song from 1977 when I entered this bizarre place.

„This could be heaven or this could be hell“

…And she showed me the way

There were voices down the corridor

Thought I heard them say

…”And I was thinkin to myself

Welcome to the Hotel California

Such a lovely place. Such a lovely place.“

My room: Old, shabby, paint chipped walls, a big hole in the ceiling. Ahh— but the view from the 4th floor balcony is splendid with the Mediterranean Golfe-Juan in one direction, and the Bay of Cannes in the other. “A postcard view,” as a visitor said.

I am here for therapy following my third femur surgery since my great fall last June (see a previous post, My Sorry Story). Helio Marin, this facility, has a sterling reputation as a rehabilitation center, although as I looked around that seemed hard to fanthom. I was seduced by the view and figured I could tolerate the depressing room — until I pulled back the plastic curtain and glanced into the minuscule bathroom. NO TOILET.

I completely freaked out. “ There is no toilet in the bathroom,“ I shouted to the aide who had led me to my new home. That is true, she said, but there is a toilet down the hall. What? This is 2024 and the rooms do not have toilets. I was incredulous, thinking back to student days traveling with “Europe on $5 day.” That was then — some 60 years ago. I am old, too old for down-the-hall bathroom treks.

“I cannot stay here.“ I was upset, angry, bewildered. “ I will call the „Cadre“ (big boss),“ the aide said. Madame Cadre (MC) appeared. Medium length, straight dark red hair. Glasses. Stern demeanor. No welcome smile, but a piercing stare meant to instill fear.

I was adamant. I insisted that I needed a room with a toilet, that I could not make the trips down the hall. “Why not? You can walk.“

“Lady, I am in a wheelchair. I can’t walk. That’s why I am here.”

She stated that this was the only room available. Take it or leave it, but she could put me on the waiting list for a better room with toilet.

I was frantic. I called the hospital where I had the recent surgery. They had arranged for me to come here. Please find me a room somewhere else, I pleaded. The woman in social services insisted this was the best place for my recuperation. Just be patient. You will get a better room, she said. The other facility she had recommended had no rooms.

I was stuck. It was either stay here or go home. I knew I was in no condition to go home and take care of myself.

I did not unpack, hoping I would have a better room in a few days. I gazed into the bathroom one more time. No shower either. That too is down the hall. Nothing to do but retreat to the balcony and let the view soothe my troubled soul.

Not for long. MC returned. “What are you doing out there? It’s dangerous, forbidden,“ she screamed. „Get in here.“ I dutifully wheeled myself back inside. This was too much, like a bad dream.

I later learned the balcony, a wide structure with the rooms opening onto it, is like everything here: Old. It is wooden, rotting and in danger of collapse. You can tread lightly at your own risk, but only on the initial portion. The area near near the edge is off limits. When MC departed, I disobeyed and ventured to the edge, the best place for photos. I was not the only one.

The next day I wanted to take a shower and wash my hair, yet there was a problem. I had neither towel nor wash cloth. You are expected to bring your own. How was I to know? During previous hospital experiences, they had been provided. Someone scrounged up a towel for me. I asked an aide if I could have a disposable wash cloth. I know they come in packages of 100. Hospitals use them.

„I have to ask the Cadre“ he replied. Madame’s answer: NO! I was not entitled to a disposable wash cloth. I obviously had not endeared myself to MC. I would be punished.

Originally a plaque supported my broken femur. It too broke and has been replaced by a rod.

According to the Helio Marin welcome brochure, for a fee you can have laundry service. I asked my friendly morning nurse team about it. They only knew of a washing machine and dryer for the use of patients. But, they would ask the Cadre. I told them not to bother, that she did not like me.

“Don’t worry. She does not like anyone.”

Bottom line. Brochure lied. There is no laundry service. The washer and dryer only work with payment by credit card. When I checked in, I had been advised to leave valuables (cash, jewelry, credit cards ) with the office for safe keeping. I did.

Now I had to go back and sign out a credit card to do my laundry. What about detergent?

You can buy it at “Snack”, I was told. Wrong. Snack has no detergent for sale. My dirty clothes had to wait for my friend Karen to bring me detergent.