Over the hills, under the moon - and off the beaten path

We We started our travels in 2024 at our house in the Ardeche mountains of Southern France. And - we had four absolutely miserable weeks!!! While Northern Europe experienced a lovely spring, we stayed mostly indoors,  covered in duvets, while persistent rain and even sludge beat against our windows. Well - this is now rainwater under the bridge. And plenty of it! We survived - and, eventually, we escaped  - and yesterday we arrived in a sunny, warm Berlin, where our new neighbors  were hanging out in some of Kreuzberg's many outdoor cafes. ----------------- o ----------------- Today we used a lovely Ascension day to make our own ascent onto what is probably one of the weirdest places you can visit in all of Berlin - the top of the Teufelberg mountain far out in the Grunewald forest. This rubble mountain turned Cold War listening post turned graffiti wonderland is a palimpsest of the last 80 years of German turmoil and rebirth. The approach to Teufelberg is unassuming ...

Our village of Antraigues looks so peaceful from afar, but this weekend it sprang to life as the center of the annual Ardeche chestnut festival drawing neighbors from all over the surrounding Cevennes mountains. Crisp autumn air and the scent of woodsmoke greeted us as we walked out from our townhouse and into the square just as the festivities were beginning.  Villagers mingled happily, voices rising in laughter as they awaited the evening's revelries. Tables groaned under the weight of honeyed figs, freshly cooked chestnuts, wheels of soft cheese, and loaves of crusty bread.  The rich aroma of roasted meats drifted from fires crackling nearby, while children scampered about, their delighted shrieks echoing off ancient stonewalls. As darkness fell, an air of celebration took hold under the light of the full harvest moon.  Friends clustered together, clinking gla...

We have a house in the Ardèche region of southern France, and on our many visits over the years, we have explored the countryside quite a lot. We have crossed its rivers, driven through the mountain passes, and visited many of the old medieval villages. We were actually beginning to feel confident that there were no major surprises left for us in the area. The other day we were proven completely wrong. A local friend told us that some hidden remnants of an ancient capital city actually lie just a few kilometers from our house. The ruins of what was once the center of the Gallo-Roman country of Helvia are more than 2000 years old. They sit atop the Jastre mountain, with no road signs or tourist brochures giving any indication that they even exist. They are completely covered by wilderness and have been lost to common memory for centuries. This was something we simply had to explore, and like two modern-day Indiana Joneses, we decided yesterday to climb the mountain and try to find this...

Photo: Finn Tranter After several months of living in the perpetual glow of the big cities,  we're now back in our house in the small village of Antraigues in the south of France. We miss the pulse and excitement of the big cities but at least we have regained the inky blackness of the night skies. Here in Antraigues, far from the garish illumination of modern urban life, the sky remains unsullied, allowing thousands of glittering stars to reveal themselves, and we appreciate that it is indeed a rare gift in this modern world to find a place completely devoid of light pollution. In the cities, we can forget what an unfathomable multitude of worlds exists above our heads, but in this sleepy Volane valley, surrounded by black mountains, the heavens astound. Last night, we stood on a grassy slope outside the village and saw all the familiar constellations rising in their full glory -  the Big Dipper, Cassiopeia, Andromeda, the square of the Pega...

The splendid city of Lisbon presents countless wonders to uncover, but there is one exploration that has risen to the top of my agenda: Finding a specific tree, and below that tree - a place that belonged to my mother's youth! Many years ago she visited Lisbon with some friends. It was during the heat of summer, and she often told about how one of those friends persuaded the group to climb a steep hill to sit in the shadow of a grand tree.  Not once, but several times during their weeklong stay.  As the years went by, my mother kept the many visits as a fond memory, but I never heard the reason why they had to climb that hill.  Now - years after her death - I have the time in Lisbon to finally find this tree. And perhaps discover  why they returned, again and again, to sit and reflect in its shadow? The internet can be a good solver of life's puzzles - and I did find an answer in one of its far corners: When the fabled P...

The unmarked door in the alleyway gave no indication of the feast that lay beyond. We knocked twice, and curious eyes sized us up before the door creaked open. Tonight we were visiting one of Lisbon's 'Chinês clandestinos', the illegal, non-regulated Chinese restaurants, which opened some twenty years ago during a wave of immigration from China. In a city that at the time was notoriously unwelcoming to immigrants, these underground eateries were sanctuaries, and some exist to this day in the narrow back alleys inside the multi-cultural Mouraria neighborhood Often on an upper floor and with no outer signs at all - just  perhaps a red Chinese lantern swinging high up on the wall The staircase was steep, grungy, and strewn with graffiti, but stepping inside on the first floor, we were immersed in delicious scents of Szechuan spices. We were led past the narrow kitchen, dodging woks ablaze with oil and a cook yelling...

I'll admit I was a bit anxious walking into my first attempt at making Pastel de natas, those dangerously addictive Portuguese custard tarts.  Michael and I have eaten them about every single day since we came to Lisbon. We've even tried them at the Pastéis de Belém - the legendary bakery,  which claims to have  the original recipe - but I've never tried my unskilled hand at crafting their intricate layers.  Until this morning, when I stood ready with about ten other newbie pastel bakers, while the chipper instructors at our cooking class reassured us that we'd all be custard experts in no time.  Martha and her colleague demonstrated how they carefully stretched the dough, explaining it should be made so thin that you would be able to read a newspaper through it. Soon I was elbow-deep in flour, attempting to coax my dough into ultra-thin plates, possibly using a few choice wo...