Train to Munich

Many years ago while I was studying in Rome, Italy, I took an overnight train to Munich. My friends all opted for the sleep cars, but I decided to try my luck in second class. The seats on the train were designed to slide down and meet in the middle creating a sort of bed, which was more than sufficient for my needs as a traveler.


On the platform, my friends and I parted ways for the approximately eleven hour journey, they, to the front of the train, I, the back. Each train car contained several discreet compartments along with some pull down seats along the aisle. I chose a compartment in which two older gentlemen had already claimed the window seats. It was clear that they knew each other and, not long after our night train departed, they began preparing the little fold out tables for their train picnic. Each brought something- a little sausage, some wine, bread, cheese, a cylinder package of cookies and a thermos of coffee, perfect for two travelers settling in for the long journey from Rome to Munich. The two chatted quietly to each other and offered to me various morsels of their dinner for two. I declined, not wanting to usurp their meal or invade their conversation.

As the evening wore on and the book and my eyes grew tired, I began studying these two men. Both in their late 50s, early 60s, each a little round about the waste, with hands showing signs of hard work. Each supported a kind face and permanent crinkles around their eyes, which still sparkled with boyish charm, as many men’s eyes continue to do long after they have finished their rites of passage of rough housing and pranks.

We all settled in for the night. Pushing the two seats together I laid down, covered myself with my coat and fell fast asleep. The two men did the same- each trying carefully not to invade my space.

Some time late into the night we awoke to the Austrian border patrol pounding on our compartment door demanding to see our papers. All three of us, blurry eyed and chilled by the icy air pouring through the open doors, produced our various forms of id. This was still at a time when Europe had borders, a strange concept now that we can zip in and out of countries no differently than leaving city limits. Apparently, there had been an avalanche on the tracks and we were being rerouted. No problem.

The night continued. Falling in and out of sleep as happens on trains when someone needs to exit the compartment to use the bathroom, smoke or just move their legs. We three moved through the night, through tunnels and valleys, without being able to see a thing. At some point, the heat in our train car went out. The thermos reappeared and this time, when the thermos was offered, I thankfully accepted.

As the temperature dipped further and we were able to see our breath, the two men began their quest with me now under their wing. They told me to stay put and they would find a more suitable location for the three of us to ride out the rest of our journey. (Note: I am not used to this kind of ... chivalry? Letting someone else take care of things? What a very strange idea.)

A short while later, they returned, suggesting I grab my bag and we were off, through stomach of the snaking train to our new, warmer compartment. This compartment was cozily crammed with significantly more people and luggage. We shimmied into our assigned seats exchanging pleasantries with our new neighbors. Sitting next to me was one of my original train mates, now awake and prepared for an even longer journey than originally bargained for. We swapped stories and photos.

Although life long Italian resident, this lovely man had made up his mind to relocate and open a pizza restaurant in Munich. How amazing is that? How often do we, at any age, throw caution to the wind and follow our dreams? His friend, as he told me, was coming along to help him set up and visit his son while there.

The early morning became late morning. We shared stories and cookies amongst the group. Instant friendship- we melded together so easily - crossing the abyss of language and culture and age. I cannot say I have ever experienced something as naturally cohesive as that group. Oddly, I felt at home in my overcrowded compartment.

Pulling into the station we each said our goodbyes and wished each other well. They continued on their journey, I on mine. Further down the platform I found my friends wide eyed, refreshed and ready to tackle Munich. I cannot say I was quite as refreshed, but I was happy, and Munich awaited us.

A Toronto Evening

I find I am easily seduced by each new city in which I find myself. I believe any city worth its salt can seduce even the most hardened traveler. And yes, all worth visiting cities are femme to the core, regardless of what phallic shaped towers and art man attempts to conquer them with.

Toronto was the same for me. Walking down the glistening evening streets in search of a meal as pleasant as the city, I realized that wherever I ended up would have to outweigh taking photographs of the city’s movement, her curves and shadowed corners. I am intoxicated by the people passing, the pipe steam filling the graffiti filled alleys, the colors, the sounds and lights.

Queens Street. She is a beauty with so much to offer- down each side of the street with tributaries flowing off of her leading the meanderer to hidden gems. High on sensory overload, I walk; pupils dilated trying to absorb each sight knowing I may miss something if I do not pay close attention (like the friendly exchange in the tattoo piercing parlor). Oh, the colors, the emotions exchanged and shared. Even in the downpour I am pleased to be walking these streets barely aware of my soaked jeans and hat.

My original mission was to walk to a restaurant called Full Moon. I arrived at the stated address, but found not the restaurant. This was not the first time something such as this has happened, but I did begin to question myself as to why I didn’t stop at one of the many other places along the way. Quick bite to eat- get in/get out. But no, I want to experience more than just the eating. I can get sustenance anywhere. The pizza vendor, the “to go” creperie- these were all available to me, but no- none of these would fulfill my desire to dine well.

As I began to retrace my steps I noticed a little restaurant, Fressen. The name sounded familiar. Was this one of the vegan restaurants on my list? Why yes, and the serve late!! Lucky since I lose time when walking. Time only stands still in my head, everywhere else it marches on in ordinary course. Stepping inside, with an hour to go before closing, I am relieved when Sarah beckons me in with a warm smile and menu. I am alone; because of this, there is no reason not to eat seated at the bar. The vantage point is better and I like any opportunity to chat with locals.

I started out with lovely crisp croquettes on a salsa with greens, moved on to a seared encrusted tempeh with wilted greens and root vegetables, to finally end with an amazing dark chocolate ganache stuffed with a date and nut puree surrounded by fresh fruits. If all vegan faire was this delightful there would definitely be a larger vegan following. I hinted that they should consider Chicago for their next location. In between courses, Sarah, the beautiful petite server who welcomed me in with her smile shared gossip and travel stories with me.

This is what it means to experience a place. Why go on the “fish tank” tours where you touch nothing and nothing touches you? Get in, get dirty, but experience! I like to travel this way. I want to know that when I get home I was somewhere else.

After my extended dinner, I said my goodbyes and shared my gratitude for a meal well prepared and headed back to the hotel in the continued downpour. Contented that, yet again, with the disappearing of the destination that I had originally set my sights on, another opportunity, originally overlooked, had a chance to be noticed and, with that, a pleasant surprise changing the course for the better.

First Night in New Orleans

The Big Easy... a place of mystery and secrets. A place where one can turn over the glitter exposing the dark to turn over the dark to expose the glitter- spinning like a coin- each a necessary side filling in the city's character. If I had to choose, I would argue strongly and definitively that city is definitely a lady.


She has all the seduction of the most alluring courtesan and the strength of the strongest of matriarchs. She holds her own, bringing the culled to her breast to hug and kiss away hurts, while drawing others in with her oil lighted lamps and promises of warm caresses for those willing to promenade her deserted streets. At night, lights reflect off her black ink river like flashes of lust from a restless lover’s eyes.

As one finds oneself uncertain of being awake after waking from a nightmare, I recently found myself in New Orleans (or N'Awlins or New Ooorleeaans) with the hope of freeing myself from the everyday boredom... and to volunteer time with Habitat for Humanity. Each reason gave its own lift to my soul, in different ways, but both necessary and long sought after. The evening I arrived (and after a strange exchange with the valet), I dropped my bags and headed out into the night with the vague notion of finding dinner- leaving Bourbon for another time.

Walking along her fairly deserted streets, I wanted her to fill me, consuming my disjointed thoughts and even more disjointed feelings. I hoped she would reveal some of her secrets in exchange for my homage. Quickly I fell under her spell soaking up her offerings in the shadow of barely lighted streets and creole homes wearing their history and familial ghosts seen through dark shuttered doors and windows as badges of honor.

At night after the crowds have dwindled the city breathes deep sighs of relief. Walking alone, a tinge jealous, I could hear the slight sound of restful life behind closed doors and open windows. I knew what that life was like, once. I remember the comfort of curling up in another’s arms and snuggling into the crux of his neck. With the fresh rawness of uncertain freedom, I hurried back onto more traveled streets, away from the slumber and damaged memories.