Omnivore’s Revenge

by Jules Older

I am not a vegetarian.

I say it with pride: I am not a vegetarian.

But I live with a vegetarian — well, a mostly vegetarian, and when the vegetarian’s daughters (and mine) come home, then we get into serious vegetarianism. Because I'm outnumbered, three to one.

Now, I have nothing — well, almost nothing — against vegetarianism. It’s true, I think the best diet is a richly diverse one. And it’s true that I think everything about us, from our taste buds to the shape of our teeth to our digestive systems, indicates that we are built for eating meat as well as tofu.

But at home, I'm more likely to get tofu.

That’s why it gave me such pleasure when the editor of Vermont Magazine called and said, “Jules, m’boy, we’d like you to get yourself down to Windsor. Write us a story on the New England BBQ Championships.”

And I was even happier when he added, “Oh, and bring the vegetarian photographer with you.”

Payback’s a brisket.

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Confessions of a Slow Traveler

by B.J. Stolbov

I don’t like jets.  Yes, I know, they are the most convenient way to get somewhere far away quickly, but I still don’t like them.  Jets are just tubes with seats.  Soulless.  They make me feel detached from the earth.

I don’t like taxis, either.  I know that they get me quickly from place to place, mostly to or from airports.  They are a necessary convenience.  I often try to engage the taxi driver in conversation, but we both know that this is only a business transaction, and I know that the taxi driver’s job is to make the most money from an uninformed traveler.  I find it unpleasant, and I’m glad to pay and get out of a taxi as quickly as possible.

I do like to travel slowly.  I try to choose the slowest form of transportation available: be it car, bus, motor scooter, bicycle, boat, canoe, kayak, raft, horse, mule, elephant, or, my favorite, walking.  I like to see the landscape; I like to see mountains and rivers, rocks and caves, trees and plants.  It is the scenery moving by me slowly that soothes my soul.

Sure, I want to go somewhere, but the where is not really the point.  A hotel room is just a bed with a roof (when you close your eyes, all hotel rooms look the same).  A simple guesthouse with a friendly host is fine for me.  A bed under the stars is better.  When I want to see places, I want to see the roads, rivers, and paths that connect these places.  The adventure is in the getting there.

For me, traveling is in the snap of a twig underfoot bringing me directly into the world around me, the creaking of a bicycle seat at the turn at the bottom of a hill, the rocking in the wind and waves of the small boat, the bumping and bouncing of a bus, the road and the trees and the fields rolling by, the houses with their doors open, and the people, especially the children, smiling and waving as I go by; they are all a part, the most important part, of my journey. 

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The Great Migration Outside My Window

by Kristine Mietzner

Eyelids closed, I postpone viewing the new day. I linger in dreamtime until a familiar honking breaks the morning stillness in Benicia, California, a waterside community thirty miles north of San Francisco. The world outside my window rests under the great Pacific flyway, the north-south path of North American migratory birds. 

Eyes wide open; I peer through the bedroom window in time to see Canada geese, a trio in flight, noisily bound elsewhere, calling to one another, beaks pointed, necks stretched; chests lifted upward, wings flapping hard. I track their flight over Southampton Bay, the cove on Benicia’s west end. The pale gray clouds of the marine layer blanket the opposite shore of the Carquinez Strait. This wide watery ribbon funnels fully half of California’s water drainage through a deep channel on its way to the Pacific Ocean.   

Cuddling under a soft, embroidered, cotton quilt, while I marvel at the waterfowl, Franz Kafka’s translated words come to mind.  

You do not need to leave your room.

Remain sitting at your table and listen.

Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, and solitary.

The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, 

it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.

The universe blesses Benicia with a significant year-round presence of waterfowl—mallards, coots, the great blue heron, and snowy egret. Spring brings an upswing in activity: nesting and the annual migration of some birds to points north. 

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The Philippines: New Life, New Priorities

by B.J. Stolbov

Mortgage, insurance, car, cable, gas, electric, water . . . drowning in bills, bills, and more bills . . . money going out and out . . . oh, what to do. . . .  What to do?

Two years ago, I joined the Peace Corps.  I sold or gave away most of my stuff.  (Don’t worry: stuff is replaceable.)  I took a suitcase and a backpack, a whole lot of trust and my little bit of courage, and I moved to the other side of the world.

Now, I have two suggestions for you. 

Suggestion #1: The Philippines.  I live in northern Luzon in a beautiful province called Quirino.  It is a quiet, peaceful, rural province.  The place reminds me of Northern California, only with palm trees and fresh bananas.  The people here are warm, friendly, and hospitable.  (Hospitality is THE cultural trait of the Filipinos.)  The Filipinos will invite you their homes and will treat you like family.  You will not go hungry here, we eat as often as six times a day, and the food is simple and good.  The living is relaxed and basic.

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Triathlon to Tree Pose: Discovering the Power of Breath in Mexico

by Caren Osten Gerszberg

I am married to a man who loves to compete. He is long, lanky and as strong as an ox. Much less competitive but also athletic, I have shared many challenges by his side for more than two decades—from running and cycling to rock climbing and skiing. While he strives to win, I just want to sweat, stretch and inhale some fresh air.

Every year since our wedding 21 years ago, we’ve celebrated our anniversary with a trip—like biking in Croatia, skiing in Park City, Utah, museum and pub hopping in London, and golfing in Hilton Head, North Carolina. As soon as each trip is over, I start thinking about our next springtime getaway—a rare chance for us to have extended time together, away from our three beautiful kids and the stresses of daily life.

When it was time to plan last year’s trip, I was intrigued after hearing from a friend about Esencia, a small 29-room resort on Mexico’s Riviera Maya. I love Mexico not only for its food, climate, and culture, but it also makes for an easy trip—a non-stop flight from New York to Cancun, and then a one-hour drive.

Once the beachfront estate of an Italian duchess, Esencia is a 50-acre white-walled property that looks out over the Caribbean. It is a peaceful oasis with two pools, a day spa that uses ingredients like juniper berries and rosemary grown in its on-site garden, and a welcoming open-air restaurant called Sal y Fuego. 

But what really grabbed me was learning that Esencia offered yoga—every morning, free of charge, outside in the open air.

This was my chance. A rare opportunity for my point-scoring, lap counting, time-keeping husband to perhaps let down his competitive edge and try something that would greatly benefit his body—and soul.

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My Dream House

by John Lamkin

Sitting here watching the sunrise on the lagoon—Laguna Bacalar--I recall the time we arrived by canoe at the little cove here and decided that this would be an excellent spot to build a house. It was covered with scrub growth, weeds, some trees, coconut palms and the jungle was trying to reclaim it. Now, looking from the terraza of the house, it looks manicured, with lawns, flowers, intentional landscaping and the jungle held at bay. We had the house built by a Mexican architect friend with the unlikely name, Shiva. It's small, sets back about twenty meters from the water and has views of the Laguna from every room except the large bathroom which has its own indoor garden. It took awhile to manifest after the canoe ride, some looking at other places in Mexico, but it happened. It helped that it was on part of the land we already owned.

It seems there comes a time in a man's life when he has the strong urge to build, maybe something for 'posterity'--to make his mark on the land. I found locations for two other homes in somewhat the same manner as the Laguna house. The first was what they called a 'camp' in Nova Scotia. Back in California, where I came from, it would be called a cabin. I bought the 149 acres sight unseen.

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