Yesterday we headed down the road about 30 miles to Ashland, Oregon, home to the highly regarded Oregon Shakespeare Festival, Southern Oregon University and, this weekend, the 6th Annual Oregon Chocolate Festival. Because I am one of those people who believes that chocolate should be a separate (essential) food group, you can be sure that I was not going to miss this event.

More than 30 vendors offered tastes and sale of their products at the lovely and historic Ashland Springs Hotel (formerly known as the Mark Antony), just steps away from the OSF theaters. The entire town was focused on the chocolate event this weekend: Friday night the monthly First Friday Art Walk included chocolate goodies in many of the galleries, and all weekend theater-goers could enjoy 50 percent off their evening show tickets by mentioning “chocolate” at the ticket windows. (We weren’t able to take in a show this year but will have to keep that in mind next spring!) Able to devote just a few hours on Saturday, we nonetheless made good use of our time and had our fill of all manner of chocolate and chocolate-related goodies.

Four local wineries offered tastes of red wine varietals and blends as well as sweet dessert wines that paired nicely with the baked goods and truffles on hand. Rogue Ales offered samples of their Chocolate Stout, and Organic Nation Spirits provided sips of organically produced vodka and gin — distilled right in Ashland. All of the companies represented at the festival are genuinely Oregon-based, and many hail from the southwest region; a heartening thought: I don’t have to travel far to get a chocolate fix or something delectable to go with my favorite vice!

I noted a couple of interesting variations on your typical chocolate decadence. Two vendors offered raw chocolate confections: no sugar at all, but sometimes flavors such as ginger or chiles were added. The idea, I guess, is to get the nutritional benefits of chocolate without those added, processed calories. And Missionary Chocolates out of Portland creates dairy- and gluten-free truffles; their creations are a feast for the eyes and the palate!

Several local restaurants participated in a Chocolate Dessert Competition, and this presented a nice opportunity to the crowd of sweet-lovers. Plates of the contested items were available at a silent auction, with proceeds to benefit a local food bank. Although we didn’t place a winning bid, it was great to see some truly extravagant presentations and make a note of a place or two where we might drop in for a special dessert some evening in the future.

Once we’d had our fill of chocolate (hard to imagine, I know, but it is possible) and the crowds, we took advantage of the sunny, warm, early spring afternoon and strolled Main Street for a bit of window shopping. Ashland is a charming town with plenty of fascinating shops which appeal to its flood of play-going visitors, and we’ve barely begun to plumb what it has to offer. I’m sure we’ll be back over and over again — especially if the chocolate is out!

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

Last week I wrote about taking part in a quintessential American experience — attending a big-time college football game. Last night I witnessed another event which I feel also helps to define our American identity, though on a much smaller scale. It was the Homecoming football game for our Rogue River High School, and though attendees numbered in the hundreds instead of the tens of thousands as at the OSU game, you can be sure that their pride in and enthusiasm for their team was no less than that of the Beavers’ fans.

I would imagine that the vast majority of GT readers who attended a U.S. high school have memories of their own homecoming festivities. They no doubt vary depending on the size of the school and when and where you attended. Both my husband and I attended large suburban high schools in the late ’60s and early ’70s, and the game was the focus and highlight of a week that included pep assemblies and spirit competitions between grade levels, but there were no parades or floats. It wasn’t until we moved to Southern Idaho for Harry’s first administrative job at a small, rural high school that we saw how an entire community got caught up in the excitement of homecoming.

Well before homecoming week arrived, each class (numbering perhaps 80 kids each) spent time plotting the construction of its float. In the days leading up to Friday, every afternoon was spent at a secret location (someone’s family barn or shop) decking out the flatbed truck or trailer donated for the event by someone else’s willing relative. Guided by that year’s theme, limited only by their imaginations and materials readily available, and fueled by the desire to create the winning float, the students put a lot of time and effort into constructing rather elaborate entries. The excitement level would reach a fever pitch by Friday, and you can be sure that very little studying was done that morning. Shortly after noon, seemingly the whole town turned out to view the homecoming parade trailing down the main drag, complete with antique cars, the band, a firetruck and a few patrol cars and, the highlight, the class floats carrying their royalty. Later that night the king and queen would be announced at halftime, and the stands would be packed with students, alums, boosters and family members hoping for a win from the team. 

Many years later, we once again find ourselves in a small town where community pride, activities and interest center on the local schools. With the football team having lost only one game this season (after winning not a one last year), the student body and the town are experiencing a resurgence in pride and spirit not seen for some time. Shopkeepers and townsfolk lined the parade route yesterday afternoon, and the stands were full last night, despite a persistent light mist turning to heavy drizzle turning to light rain (we Oregonians have as many descriptions of precipitation as the Eskimos reputedly have for snow). Sadly, our Chieftains, perhaps thrown off by the first wet game of the year and certainly by the absence due to injury of their star player for much of the game, lost 41-3. Nevertheless, the crowd remained and cheered loudly for their boys throughout the night, led by the ever-sunny cheerleaders, and one of the senior-class princesses along with her escort, were crowned this year’s Homecoming Queen and King.

Despite the damp weather and the disappointing final score, I was left with a warm sense of community and an appreciation for the ability to take part in such a unique and special American experience. “Homecoming” seems to be truly the most appropriate word for it.

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader 

Just this past weekend Harry and I enjoyed one of our favorite summertime activities: taking in an outdoor concert. I don’t know if it’s luck, fate or some subconscious choice on our parts, but for the last 20-some years, we’ve managed to find homes that are in fairly close proximity to some outstanding outdoor amphitheaters. Last summer I mentioned two of these in a blog about summer concerts — Chateau Ste. Michelle in Woodinville, Wash. (about two miles from our then-house) and the Gorge at George, Wash. (about 40 miles’ drive from our place in East Wenatchee). Happily, our new home is equally blessed being sited close to a great concert venue. Jacksonville, Ore. (less that 10 miles from the house), has been home for decades to the Britt Music Festival. While at its inception the focus was primarily on classical music, these days the acts booked there run the gamut from country western to African folk music to rock. On this particular evening, we were looking forward to enjoying the music of The Moody Blues.

 One of the aspects we appreciate most about the Britt is that one can bring in whatever food and drink one wants. No need to buy overpriced, unappealing (and barely warm) food or beer (not cold enough) or wine not to one’s taste — outstanding! One thing we don’t particularly enjoy is the lack of parking anywhere near the amphitheater. Jacksonville is a charming little town established in the mid-1800s during a gold rush boom, and it boasts a shopping district with all the original storefronts and streets lined with quaint Victorian houses and churches (The Great Northfield Minnesota Raid was filmed here). All that original architecture means that the streets are no wider than they were in the horse-and-buggy days, so we found ourselves lugging the makings of our gourmet picnic uphill (because of course the venue is set in a natural bowl on a hill above town) from quite a distance in the full blaze of the late-afternoon sun. Once settled on our blankets on the green lawn under the shading pines, a cool glass of Chardonnay in hand, we forgot that inconvenience and settled in to people-watch, visit with our fellow concertgoers and nibble on our appetizers.

Right on time, the band appeared with little fanfare and no warm-up group. Original members Justin Hayward, John Lodge and Graeme Edge were joined by newer additions Paul Bliss (keyboards and guitar), Norda Mullen (great flutist!), Gordon Marshall (drums) and Bernedette Barlow (keyboards). I have to say that, unlike some of their contemporaries who are also still rockin’, Hayward and Lodge still have clear, strong voices, and Edge’s rendition of the “Breathe deep . . . ” monologue in “Nights in White Satin” retains its wonderful, deep resonance. They played for a good 45 minutes before taking a 20-minute intermission, playing both well-known tunes as well as those less familiar from several of their albums.

Just as the band returned for their second set, we looked up to see the space shuttle Endeavor, a fast-moving point of light among the stars emerging in the darkening sky overhead, tracking directly over the site . . . a nice addition to a lovely evening. We enjoyed another hour or so of great music, concluding with “Just a Singer in a Rock and Roll Band” and “Nights in White Satin” before a double encore of “Question” and “Ride My Seesaw.” By the time the last note was played, the audience made up mostly of we aging baby-boomers was on its feet and loud in its approval.

I’m happy to say we’ve got tickets for at least two more shows this summer; what a treat to look forward to!!

–Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

Global Traveler has joined the world of social marketing. For breaking news, special offers and much more, fan us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter @Gtmag!

The next morning Chris and I arrived at the Oslo Airport early in the morning, again taking the Airport Express train.  We arrived so quickly there was hardly another soul at the airport.  Within the hour, however, the airport came alive and we swiftly boarded our SAS flight from Oslo to Tromso, Norway — the purpose for the entire European trip.

It was early, and the all-economy flight to Tromso was packed.  I tried to sleep and work, but neither were productive.  Upon landing, I was struck by the beautiful topography. I commented on the landscape to my seat mate.  We chatted about my trip to play golf. My new friend was unaware there were any courses this far north.  He was connecting and traveling even further north to Kirkenes — near the Russian border.

We picked up our rental car from Avis and, without a map, drove to the center of Tromso.  There are some fantastic tunnels through the mountains, complete with circles so you can connect to other roads underground.  Amazing Nordic engineering! We stayed at the centrally located Rica Ishavshotel.

Here we met with our local contact, Knut Hansvold, and were given the lay of the land for our 10:30 p.m. tee time at Tromso Golf Park.  Before the game, we toured the town — going to the Arctic Museum and having lunch and dinner — and left for the course at about 9:30 p.m.

–Fran Gallagher, publisher and CEO

Global Traveler has joined the world of social marketing. For breaking news, special offers and much more, fan us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter @Gtmag!

The five tiny towns and their surrounding vineyards of Cinque Terre became an Italian national park and a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1997. The region was recognized, in large part, for “representing the harmonious interaction between people and nature to produce a landscape of exceptional scenic quality that illustrates a traditional way of life that has existed for a thousand years and continues to play an important socio-economic role in the life of the community.” Those words don’t begin to do justice to the beauty of the place, but they do hint at what makes this bit of coastland unique in all the world. The two major industries which provided sustenance to the people who eked out their livings here all those centuries — fishing and winemaking — have, in the last twenty years or so, been joined by a third: tourism.

Certainly now there are more rooms to let, B & Bs, restaurants and cafes in the towns here. However, the physical landscape has prevented widescale changes and overwhelming growth. Whatever semi-flat land suitable for construction that exists here has long since been built upon, so the ranks of tower-like homes and stone churches and towers have not been defiled by modern hotels and storefronts. It is ironic, however, that where some of the terraced vineyards have been abandoned as their owners find less labor-intensive ways to make a living in catering to the tourist trade, the dry-stone walls which contribute to the unique character of the place are beginning to crumble and erosion occur, threatening that very landscape.

Fear not, there are still plenty of vineyards in production, and we were fortunate enough to taste a sample of the local wines over lunch at Ristorante Gambero Russo in the town of Vernazza. The first was a crisp, fresh white, perfectly chilled and fruity without too much sweetness or acidity. One sip and I could feel myself relaxing as we sat at the side of the town’s tiny cove at the edge of the square, listening to the water softly lapping at the curve of sand just below us. Later our charming server, Andrea, brought us a liter of the house white, a smooth, almost buttery wine reminiscent of a luscious Chardonnay. Later I sought out a wine shop and selected one small bottle of one of the region’s renowned late-harvest wines to bring home to share on some special occasion with my oenophile husband. But that was at the end of my day in Cinque Terre, and I have gotten far ahead of myself.

We began our day in Manarola and made our way down to the waterfront. As in all of the towns here, the buildings housing businesses and homes are at least four or five stories tall, packed closely together and stepping down the hillsides along narrow creeks and ravines to the harbor. We were told this was to aid in defending the communities against sea-going marauders of the past, but the balconies, windowsills and doorways decked out with grapevines and flower-filled pots softened what might have remained of more imposing facades.

From Manarola we made our way along the famous Via dell’Amore (Lovers’ Way) to Riomaggiore, the most southerly of the five towns. Today the paved and graveled path is made safe with railings and a widened route, but it is still an impressive passageway literally carved out of the rocky cliffs just above the sea. Here we got an up-close look at those dry-stone walls as well as some of the native vegetation: enormous agave plants and cacti and flowering shrubs and vines. From Riomaggiore we would take a small public ferry boat up the coast to Vernazza, but only if the sea was just right. Even though it was a lovely, sunny day, our guide explained that if the waves were too rough, the ferry would not be able to pull in to the landing to board us. When we got down to the site, we understood what she meant. The “landing” was a slab of concrete that had been poured over the rocks at the water’s edge to create a semi-level surface. The boat pulls up and drops a gangway off the prow onto the pier, and the passengers scuttle across, just above the waves washing over the rocks. It wouldn’t take much of a wind or a rough current to make that maneuver impossible both for the boat and the passengers. Luckily for us the sea cooperated, and we chugged a few miles up the coast, enjoying a fantastic vantage point from which to take in the sweep of the Cinque Terre coast, its villages and terraced mountainsides.

We bypassed Corniglia, another of the villages and the only one lacking an actual harbor at sea level; it is accessible only by foot or via the small railway line that links the villages with the outside world. Our visit this day would also omit a stop in the northernmost town of the five — Monterossa — and the one with the most accessible beaches. In Vernazza we were given at least two-and-a-half hours on our own to eat, shop and explore, and my sisters and I used most of that time for our leisurely lunch harborside. Soon enough we had to meet the rest of our group to board the train for a return trip to La Spezia to meet our motor coach for the rest of the trek back to Livorno.

My brief sojourn in this lovely, remote region left me with the desire to return to spend more time there, for I never got the chance to really climb above the coastline and explore each town more thoroughly. It is a place I would enthusiastically recommend to anyone traveling to this corner of the Mediterranean; just be sure to give yourself plenty of time to enjoy all of it!

– Patty Vanikiotis, proofreader

Global Traveler has joined the world of social marketing. For breaking news, special offers and much more, fan us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter @Gtmag!