Memory Walk, Twin Cities

It wasn't the prettiest of mornings. It was, however, a decent day to get out and do some good.

We participated in the 2008 Memory Walk at the Highland Lake Park Reserve.

The walk was organized by the Minnesota chapter of the Alzheimer's Association, and all funds raised go to support research efforts in the fight against Alzheimer's.

Despite the overcast skies and the humid but chilly morning, an impressive crowd showed up.

We chose the three-mile route and were not alone in doing so.

The New 35W Bridge

My recent cocktail cruise on the Mississippi River brought me pretty close to the brand new 35W Bridge.

The bridge, which collapsed a year ago on August 1, 2007, re-opened just last week, on Thursday, September 18, 2008.

It's amazing to me that in just a little over one years' time, they were able to clean up the mess and rebuild the bridge while various other road construction projects in the metro drag on and on and on.

And on and on and on.

Nonetheless, here's to the brand new bridge.

Cruising the Mississippi

The mighty Mississippi cuts through downtown Minneapolis.

Seeing as how I've lived my whole life in the Minneapolis metro area, one might think I'd be well acquainted with the river. And I am ... to an extent.

I've crossed over it thousands of times. I've biked, hiked and dined along its shores. But I've never actually been on it. Or in it for that matter.

Well, things changed last night. No, I didn't go swimming. But I did go for a boat ride.

Good buddy Jen and I boarded the Minneapolis Queen, a refurbished old-time paddle boat, and took a cocktail cruise up and down the Mississippi.

The two-hour ride took us through the lock at St. Anthony Falls, which happens to be the very first lock and damn on the river.

We sailed underneath the Stone Arch Bridge, a classic Minneapolis pedestrian trek.

We also passed below the West Broadway Bridge, which I learned last night is built exactly on top of the 45th Parallel.

I was surprised to learn that the 45th Parallel marks the exact center between the North Pole and the equator. I had no idea that this line cut through my city.

So, as it turns out, not only did I finally get myself onto the Mississippi River, I also learned something new about this little spot on the globe that I call home.

And it was a beautiful night to boot.

Just a few of the local trees had started to turn to their autumn tones. The windless evening ensured that the river water, when it wasn't being disturbed by the spinning paddle of the Minneapolis Queen, stretched glass-like to its banks.

Plus, the passing city's lights twinkled on as the sun set.

Poutine Puts on Pounds, Quebec

While in Quebec this past week, I was introduced to a new food: poutine.

In the words of my Quebecois friend, poutine is what you eat at the end of a long night of drinking to sop up all the alcohol.

After just a few bites of poutine, I'm pretty sure that the only way I could finish off a batch would be if I were totally drunk. Otherwise, I'm quite certain my stomach would rebel, as well as my good sense.

Just think of the calories and fat lurking in this: a basket of french fries topped with cheese curds and smothered in gravy.

Fun with Father, St. Benoit du Lac, Quebec

One of the things I like most about travel is the opportunity to encounter characters -- people who grab life by the horns, are open to others, and willing to share their tales.

These types of people exist everywhere, even right close to my home. But at home, I don't often come face to face with strangers. I stick to my routine and the people I know.

But when I travel, everyone is a stranger. And therefore, everyone I talk to is a potential character.

Now that I'm home from my recent trip to Quebec and reflecting on the journey, one particular character stands out.

I met Father Bolduc for a morning tour of the Saint Benoit du Lac Monastery.

Father Bolduc joined the monastery at the age of 21 and has been there for 60 years. That puts him at a ripe 81 years of age.

I can only hope to be as spry, witty and with-it when I am that age. This father was making jokes, posing for pictures, and connecting with his office on his beeper while filling us in on the history of his monastery, his daily prayer schedule, his past travels to Italy, and his community's making of cheese and apple cider.

And then, suddenly, the bell tower struck twelve. He bid us adieu and disappeared down a hallway for his noon time chanting and church.

Sheepish at Ulverton Woolen Mill, Quebec

The road to the Ulverton Woolen Mill was bumpy and secluded.

So bumpy and secluded, in fact, that we started to wonder why we were going to there.

Jokes were cracked. Giggles were heard. Where, oh where, in the world were we going? And what, pray tell, would we do once we arrived?

But we had an appointment to keep, a tour to take. In other words, somebody was waiting for us.

We couldn't just no show and return to paved roads. And so we kept going, biased before we arrived. We'd do our duty, do our tour, and then be gone.

However, the woolen mill proved us wrong. This old mill, built in 1849, has been salvaged, restored and turned into a lovely, rural retreat.

The natural falls churned and kicked up bubbly waves. The covered bridge spanning the falls was a visual kick-back to another era. A skinny suspension bridge offered an easy walkway from the old mill, over the angry water, and to an assortment of wooded trails.

The mill itself has been converted into a museum that showcases wool-making techniques of yore. The machines inside, though, are not of the spinning wheel variety. They are leftovers from the industrial revolution - big, noisy and oiled contraptions.

Plus, a cafeteria in the old mill's basement serves up simple box lunches of sandwiches and chips. After our touring and nature walking, we partook of these box lunches on the mill's outdoor patio, surrounded on three sides by a bend in the river.

It was lovely at the old mill. Lovely. Lovely indeed.

As we said our good-byes to the place and gathered up our things to go, we felt sheepish at the jokes we'd been cracking not so long ago. It was a reminder of just how important it is to keep an open mind, whether in travel or in life.

High Tea Twice, Eastern Townships, Quebec

I will not be flying home from Quebec. I will be rolling.

I have been stuffed here like a foie gras duck. Or should I say like a Brome duck?

Since I've landed in this little neck of the woods, I've learned that duck farming is big business here.

Today, though, I ate no duck. However, I did eat a full breakfast, a filling lunch in the form of a proper high tea, and a four course dinner. Oh, and don't forget the afternoon break for scones and tea.

In fact, I consumed more tea in the past 24 hours than I've ever consumed in one day ever before! Forget about rolling home. Maybe I'll float.

But I greedily swallowed all that tea. I needed something to wash down the cucumber sandwiches, the spinach tartlets, the heavenly chocolate goodies, the sweet orange wedges dusted with cinnamon and -- of course -- the scones upon scones upon scones served with heaping mounds of clotted cream and berry-packed jams.

My first tea of the day was taken at The Uplands, a historic home in a village called Lennoxville. It was very nice. Very civilized. Very fine.

My second pot of tea for the day was taken at Manoir Hovey, a stately boutique hotel on a high hill overlooking a shimmering lake.

Sipping and Sniffing in Lac Brome, Quebec

Last night, after a filling and fabulous dinner, I was served a dark chocolate truffle that tasted of lavender.

It was an unexpected sensation, this hint of lavender on my tongue; my body is so much more accustomed to gathering this herbal delight in through my nose.

Well, today I shook the hand of a lavender grower when I visited a small lavender farm called Joie de Lavande.

Its fields don't yet measure up to those fragrant and photogenic acres upon acres in Provence, France. But this Quebec lavender farmer is still in his beginning stages. He only started his plants a few years ago.

Nonetheless, it was a pleasant treat to stop and smell the roses, er, lavender for a while or so. What was left of it anyway. Apparently, harvest season for lavender is in July.

To help me wash down my lavender-infused dark chocolate truffle last night, I sipped on a sweet and smooth iced wine.

And today, after various sightseeing, we stopped at the local winery that grew the grapes that produced the wine so that we could have some more.

The L'Orpailleur vineyard is the oldest in this part of Quebec, and it's managed to win quite a few international awards since opening in 1982.

Several of those went to the Vin de Glace, the sweet iced wine I enjoyed last night ... and again this afternoon.

In Fields of Green, West Brome, Quebec

I am surrounded by fields of green. Green clover. Green trees. Green, green. Everywhere.

I am in a village called West Brome, which is in Quebec, about an hour south of Montreal. Basically, once you look at a map, it turns out that I'm only about 20 minutes away from the US border and the state of Vermont.

I'm here on tour of the Eastern Townships, which is a road trip through small-town southern Quebec. I don't know much about this area, and I didn't study up on it before I arrived.

Even though this trip has been on my calendar for a month, it snuck up on me and my life and suddenly ... well, here I am surrounded by green.

After checking into a small inn just beyond West Brome, I slipped out of my room eager to stretch my airplane legs.

Seemingly endless amounts of green stretched from the inn's back door and a walking path was cut through it. I strode off, up a hill and passed grazing cows. In the distance, bails of hay dotted the landscape. After the hay, the trail entered wooded land.

Back in my room, I decided that maybe I should learn a little bit more about where I was. My inn, which is actually and inn/spa, is called Auberge & Spa West Brome.

It sits on 200 acres of land and the owners have put forth considerable efforts to keep the pastures green, not only in color but in the trendy version of the word as well.

For example, they capture rain water and use it in their spa treatments. The kitchen composts its scraps to bolster up the garden soil. The bar shreds its wine corks to mulch the garden. The garden grows organic herbs for use in the kitchen.

Plus, for every event held on the inn grounds (apparently this is a big wedding spot), the owners plant a tree and dedicate it in your name.

On top of that, because the inn is a bit off the beaten path, the inn makes a donation to offset the carbon emissions put out by the arrival of corporate types who come from the big city for company conferences.

No wonder I'm sitting pretty in fields of green.

Louisiana On My Mind

Politicians and newscasters say it all the time: the world is shrinking, becoming more and more interdependent; big events now affect us all.

This is true, but while I watch the evening news from the comfort of my couch, or -- more likely these days -- read it on my computer screen, I rarely feel affected.

But Hurricane Gustav has made me feel, and I have travel to thank for that.

With the approach of the storm, media coverage focused on New Orleans. Since Gustav's passing, the coverage has mostly seemed to focus on that city's near miss with the hurricane. There hasn't been a whole lot of national attention focusing on the parts of Louisiana that really were hit.

Looking at a map of the storm's path, however, uneasiness overcame me. My stomach sank and my heart skipped. Not even three months ago, I was in that part of the state. It was just at the end of June that I went road tripping through Cajun Country.

And so, with the help of Google, I've been trying to follow the news of hurricane damage down there. And I've also passed a good deal of time simply wondering what befell the good-hearted, friendly, and funny people I met while there. As far as I can tell, most of them are still without electricity.

And sadly, Mulates, a dance hall where I dined and laughed and listened to music is now closed. Its roof was blown away.

That means that my business card, which I tacked into a wooden beam just like thousands had done before me, was probably blown away, too.

And I know that this tiny loss of mine, this loss of a small piece of myself that I left behind in Cajun Country, is nothing compared to the losses the people who actually live there are dealing with.

But still, I'm going to hold on to my silly little business card loss for a while longer. It helps me feel connected to my fellow human beings.

Putting a Cork In It

One of the things I like most about being a freelance writer is that my assignments put me in contact with cool people who are doing cool things.

Yesterday I met Andy and Dan, two men who've set up shop in St. Paul. Their business is called Vine Park Brewing Company.

When you go there, they help you make your own beer and wine. They supply all the equipment, know how and fermenting space. You supply the elbow grease.

When I called to set up my interview, they invited me over to check out the joint and join them in making of some wine. I agreed, figuring I'd just sort of observe and take notes.

Instead, they tied an apron around my waist and put me to work stuffing corks into freshly filled bottles of wine! When I finally looked up from all my corking, two hours had passed!

I wasn't complaining, however. Now I know exactly how a cork is squeezed into a bottle top, which is something I'd always sort of vaguely wondered about.

I even got to bring a few of those Kelly-corked bottles home. But I'm not supposed to drink them yet.

Even those this Zinfandel had already fermented away for six weeks on a back room shelf at Vine Park, it still needs another nine months or so to age.

I hope I corked those bottles tight! It won't be until June 2009 that I pop their tops.

Close, But No Che-gar

Whenever I go roaming from home, I'm on the lookout for Che.

In Hawaii, my mission was no different.

However, after nine days on the Big Island, I didn't spot my Che.

But I did run across a life-size version of his good buddy, Fidel. For this trip, I guess he'll have to suffice.

Our Hawaiian Celebrity Sighting

During our recent trip to the Big Island of Hawaii, we spent an afternoon and evening touring Volcano National Park.

We got hungry though, and looking for snacks, we left the park behind and headed into the nearest town, which is named (appropriately enough) "Volcano."

There, in the aisles of the itty bitty grocery store, while scrounging for potato chips and chocolate, we had a celebrity sighting.

Hubby spied Jason Scott Lee, who played the role of Bruce Lee in the movie Dragon. He also starred in real-life adaption of The Jungle Book and was the voice of "David" in the cartoon, Lilo and Stitch.

He overheard us talking about him and smiled our way. Then he graciously agreed to a photo op and I snapped this picture.

We didn't bombard him with questions, but did learn that he lives nearby. After a little bit of googling once home, I found a fairly recent (2005) profile of him in the Honolulu paper.

You can go here to read it -- and to coax you into doing so, I'll drop this tidbit: His home lacks a toilet.

RNC in MSP

We made it home from Hawaii just in time for the kick-off of the Republican National Convention.

We arrived back in MSP (airport speak for Minneapolis - St.Paul), wondering whether or not the place would be a zoo. While there was plenty of convention decor (welcome signs and balloons), the place was actually quite tame.

At first we thought this was due to our early morning arrival; we were standing around the baggage claim at 5:45 am. Then we turned on the news to learn about Gustav and the "toned down" affair. We also wondered, though, if most of the delegates hadn't actually beat us into town.

At any rate, now that we're back and settled in, we've hardly noticed there is a massive gathering of people going on in town.

Working from home means it's easy to sequester yourself if you want to, and that's what we've been doing, staying far away from both downtown neighborhoods.

And according to the local news reports we've been hearing, that's been a reasonable choice on our part.

While the convention is now regaining its momentum, those first few days of unexpected downtime sent the delegates and their like out and into the city, taking up bar stools and tables everywhere.