Travel – Page 2 – Tales and Travel

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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Check out my tried and true recipes — keep scrolling down on a phone, or, if on a /PC or tablet, up to the column on right then down to “Recipes.” I will add new recipes soon.

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.

Picture Budapest

Dynamic, bustling, beautiful. Old architectural wonders. Luxurious thermal baths. Trendy boutiques. Innovative eateries. A lively after-dark scene. Friendly, helpful folk -many speaking English.

Budapest’s Parliament is one of the largest parliament buildings in the world. It was inaugurated in 1902.

Budapest, the “Paris of the East,” is a fun and interesting place to visit. Husband Bob and I recently joined a group of eight from the British Association in Menton, France (near where we live) for a cheap Whiz Air flight from Nice to Budapest. All was grand until our return flight was canceled due to the air traffic controller’s strike in France. Getting home was complicated – a day waiting at the airport, an evening flight to Milan where we spent the night, then train and taxi. Nonetheless, we all survived and are happy we experienced this exciting city.

Following are photos of our visit. I will be writing more soon: A post featuring the views of Hungarians on their far-right Prime Minister Viktor Orban, and another on food. As an American journalist, I was curious to learn why Orban, a buddy of Donald Trump and chummy with Vladimir Putin, is so popular at home. As a passionate foodie, I was intrigued with the history of Hungarian cuisine and its specials (more than goulash). Stay tuned.

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The Great Market Hall, a major attraction, was built in 1897. It has three floors of goodies, from fruits and veggies to souvenirs, pickles and paprika.

We enjoyed an evening dinner cruise on the Danube with serenading musicians.

Budapest is a wonder of treasures from important eras of European architectural history. The Parigi Palace, above, is from the early 20th century.

The Dohany Street Synagogue (1854-’59), Europe’s largest synagogue, is a blend of Neo-Morrish, folkloristic Hungarian and Jewish styles.

Inside the Great Market Hall. Right, a delicious souvenir: Hungarian sausage.
.

Classy Old World cafes are a Budapest delight.

Many in our group spent a day at Szechenyi Baths, just one of many in the city often called “The City of Spas.” *BudapestBand/Bartha Dorka*

We attended a fabulous organ concert at St. Stephen’s Basilica, named after Hungary’s first king.

The Neo-Renaissance Hungarian State Opera House (1884) has recently been renovated.

Magyar chieftains surround the base of the column at Heroes Square.

More coming soon, including – at long last recipes.

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Croatia Calling

**Terraced beach on the Dalmatian coast near Dubrovn**ik

Last September I had the good fortune to accompany my friend Karen to her apartment on the Croatian island of Milna. She insisted on doing all the driving, about 1,200 kilometres or 750 miles. I felt like chauffeured royalty.

En route we detoured to Varenna along Lake Como in northern Italy for a two-day break. (See a previous post, “Bellissimo Lago di Como,” with many photos of the stunning area.)

Serenity on the Dalmatian coast

***The island of Mljet. There is a National Park on the western part of the island***.

The journey from Varenna to Milna was long. We waited in a line of cars for almost two hours to cross the border from Slovenia into Croatia. When we reached Split after a day and half of driving from Varenna, my dedicated driver finally had a rest. We boarded our first ferry for the trip to her island.

Sunset on the Adriatic

Ferries, all sizes, are the mode of transport among the Croatian islands. The country claims more than 1,000 islands, but most are small and uninhabited. Some ferries transport cars and people. Some are for passengers only. Backpackers, families with kids and dogs in tow, old and young – all aboard. We rode many during our week’s stay.

Karen’s apartment sits atop a hill not far from the ferry stop in Milna. This was her last visit. She had recently sold the apartment which she had owned for 13 years. The long trips to reach Milna were getting to be too much.

During our stay we visited other islands, swam in sparkling waters at idyllic beaches, and ate very well. Croatia is paradise for fish and seafood lovers. We savored monk fish with truffle sauce, black risotto with shrimp, fettucine with seafood, mussels, calamari, and scrumptious seafood platters.

I was keen to visit Dubrovnik where I had been many, many years ago on assignment for the newspaper Stars and Stripes. I remembered those monumental city walls.

**Le Stradun, main artery in the old city of Dubrovnik**

Instead of staying in the city, we splurged on a luxurious coastal hotel. A bus took us to town where we joined numerous other visitors to walk atop the walls which are considered one of the best-preserved medieval fortification systems in Europe. Wall statistics: 1,940 meters long encompassing five forts, 16 towers and bastions. And steps: 1,080.

***A Dubrovnik must: A walk/climb on the ancient walls around the town***

**Get your exercise climbing 1,080 steps on Dubrovnik’s walls.**

More steps, a grand total of 4,343, are within the city perimeter. And cats. Everywhere. As a cat lover, I was thrilled and spent too much time trying to get the perfect feline photo. The kitties are accustomed to all the attention and seem to pose for photos as they lounge in the middle of plazas, take a cat nap on restaurant chairs, curl up in flower pots, saunter through cobbled alleys.

Dubrovnik cats are considered its oldest citizens. Their ancestors helped fight the bubonic plague carried by rats. The plague ravaged the city in the 14^th century when Dubrovnik, known as Ragusa, was a main trading hub between Europe and the Ottoman Empire. Trading boats, coming from all around the Mediterranean, brought goods to the city, ship cats who disembarked — and the plague. The cats were welcomed and treated well for their help in fighting the disease.

**12th century cathedral of Saint Tryphon in Kotor**

Even more cats wander freely in Kotor, a coastal town in neighboring Montenegro. I had read about the country’s spectacular coast and wanted to visit since it was so close We set off to Kotor with scenery photo opps the entire way. Those travel articles did not exaggerate. Kotor, like Dubrovnik, has a medieval old town, lively squares and twisty streets.

***A stop for a stroll in Perast on the Bay of Kotor, Montenegro***

The Kotor cat is a symbol of good luck. As in Dubrovnik, cats originally arrived via ships. They helped control the rat population, as well as snakes and other nasty critters from nearby mountains. Today the cat also contributes to the Kotor economy. Cat shops selling feline souvenirs and cat paraphernalia are popular. There is a cat museum. As one blogger wrote, Kotor is for “cat-o-holics” (me).

Before we returned to Milna, we spent a day lounging at our hotel, marveling at the beauty of the surroundings, swimming in the clear water, and taking too many photos. We did not want to leave.

I loved swimming in these waters, but was too chicken to jump from the rocks.

Croatia rates three Michelin stars plus – definitely “worth a visit.” Croatians are friendly folk, and English is widely spoken.

Thank you, Karen, guide extraordinaire, for sharing your swansong journey with me.

More photos follow.

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**Kotor cats. Many cat shop owners donate part of their proceeds to help with cat care and feedi**ng.

***Croatia is a Mecca for sailors and their boats. In Milna we met a Texan with his boat.***

***Karen found a unique necklace in Dubrovnik. Left, she check***s out souvenirs on the island of Brac known for Brac stone.

***Primosten, a village and municipality on the Adriatic coast***

On to Venice and Padua

I had visions of an empty Venice, like those I had seen during the lockdown. Deserted alleys and waterways. No gondolas on the canals. No lines to enter attractions, such as San Marco (St. Mark’s Basilica). A dolphin or two frolicking in the Grand Canal.

That was then. Fast forward to early July when I visited. Even though travel restrictions were in place, tourists had returned to Venice. Long, long lines to climb the campanile (bell tower) of the Basilica. Gondolas aplenty gliding through the canals. Happy crowds feeding pigeons on the Piazza San Marco.

And, it was hot, much too hot. But, I adore Venice. I was spending a week at Abano Terme, about an hour from the city. (See previous post, “Taking the waters – and the mud”) I could not pass up a visit, especially after a conversation with a staff member at the spa.

“I love Venice,” she said. “You must visit.” She planned an all-day itinerary for me. “Don’t schedule any treatments on the day you visit Venice. You will need all your energy for Venice.”

More energy than I had. I followed her recommendations, took the train to Venice, then hired a water taxi to take me to the Piazza San Marco, under the Rialto Bridge, past magnificent centuries-old palaces. There was no shortage of boats of all sizes on the Grand Canal. No dolphins in sight.

Campanile (bell tower) of the San Marco Basilica

I was surprised and disappointed to see the lines, both to enter San Marco and climb the campanile. I decided against both, instead opted for a very expensive cappuccino (11 euro) at one of the many cafes lining the piazza. The pricey cafes had few customers. However, the legendary San Marco pigeons happily soared above, then landed and soaked up attention from tourists who were happy to fed them and pose for photos.

Even though the waiter at the cafe complained of little business, restaurants I passed during my wanderings were not lacking for customers. Gondolas seemed to be in high demand, yet a young gondolier also complained. “It’s very quiet. There are not a lot of people. Normally in July and August, it’s crazy. You can’t walk around here.”

Perhaps I was lucky after all. I could walk without being pushed by throngs. I found a quiet restaurant adjacent to a canal and enjoyed a fascinating lunch. A government building stood on the opposite side of the canal. A police boat arrived. Two scuba divers jumped off and quickly disappeared under water. Looking for underwater explosives? It was intriguing. I also wondered about the wisdom of being immersed in this water which I assumed was dreadfully polluted. Then I noticed fish. I mentioned this to the restaurant proprietor. He threw some bread in the water. More fish appeared. The dolphins have not returned, but, at least for now, fish are thriving.

Thanks to a recent ruling by the Italian government to ban cruise ships from approaching Venice’s lagoon, things could be looking up for those fish, not to mention the foundations of the city.

Cruise ship opponents argue that the massive ships which can transport more than 5,000 passengers each are responsible for waves and pollution that damage the delicate fabric of the city. Work is underway to construct a cruise terminal outside the lagoon.

The Wall Street Journal quoted Gianluigi Rizo, a porter at the Piazza San Marco, who summed up the sentiments of those whose business depends on tourists. “It’s good that tourists are back, but the real money comes from the cruise ships with the Americans and the well-off Asians. They spend big in a short time, before sailing out.”

View of Venice from the Terrazza Panoramica, a new observation deck a top a multi level. upmarket shopping gallery.

Even with the tourists and the heat, I was happy to return to Venice. I love to meander, discovering intriguing alleys and passageways, off the beaten tourist track, usually getting lost. However, since I had a train to catch this time, I dared not be too adventurous.

The trek to the station was longer than anticipated. I panicked, walking faster and faster so as not to miss my train. I made it, exhausted and perspiration drenched.

That excursion should have been enough. Perhaps best to stay and relax at the spa.? No, I needed to see Padua, again urged on by my mentor. She raved about the city’s star attractions, the Scrovegni Chapel with frescoes by Giotto and the Basilica of St. Anthony.

Giotto, an Italian painter of the late Middle Ages, and his team covered the walls of the entire chapel with frescoes illustrating the life of the Virgin and life of Christ. Their work, completed in 1305, is considered a masterpiece of the early Renaissance. It is mind boggling.

St. Anthony’s Basilica with Byzantine-style domes and art treasures was a must for me. St. Anthony played a role in my Catholic upbringing. My mother was a fan of the saint, the patron of lost items. Whenever she or we lost something, “Pray to Saint Anthony,” she urged. Often he came through.

The church shelters the saint’s grandiose tomb. Worshippers place hands on the tomb and pray. St. Anthony holy cards are available for free. I gave a donation, took a few, and mailed one of each of my three brothers.

I passed up relaxing days and therapeutic treatments at the spa for Venice and Padua. I have no regrets.

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Another monumental church in Padua: Basilica of Saint Giustina

We recently returned to Marseille, one of my favorites. It merits a blog post. And, soon I will off for Adventure Croatia with friend Karen.

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