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Swine Flu

May 31, 2013 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

Debunking the Myth: What can you REALLY do to avoid Swine Flu?

Swine flu is putting a huge dent in school attendance records and keeping people home from work. Those who haven’t gotten the H1N1 virus yet are doing whatever they can to avoid being the next victim, but unfortunately, many of the suggestions about staying healthy are untested and sometimes untrue.

Saltwater swabs of nasal and oral cavities might feel good and increase breathing capability, but representatives from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and Mayo Clinic claim they aren’t likely to prevent viral infections. Similarly, drinking hot beverages soothes sore throats and offers hydration, but hot liquids won’t wash the virus into your stomach to be destroyed. Mouthwash isn’t able to provide protection either.

“H1N1 lives mostly in the nasal area, so there is no way to gargle or wash it out,” says CDC spokeswoman Amanda Aldridge.

Dr. William Marshall, an infectious disease specialist at Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., agrees. He says the influenza virus is borne on droplets that are spread during coughs, sneezes and conversation. These can be transferred to the eyes, nose and mouth directly or by hands that have touched contaminated surfaces where a virus can survive up to 48 hours. As soon as the virus comes into contact with the mucous membranes, it is quickly absorbed directly into the body’s cells.

Researchers are testing the ability of green tea to inhibit influenza virus replication. The outlook is good, but so far no large-scale tests have been performed that would prove its effectiveness. The same is true of garlic, apple juice and cranberry juice.

“None of those things hurt if they make people feel better, but they are unlikely to increase chances that they will or won’t get influenza,” explains Marshall.

According to him, the best way to prevent an H1N1 infection is by being vaccinated against it. Go to www.flu.gov to find vaccination availability in your area.

Some people have sought out infection at “swine flu parties” in order to build immunity to H1N1, but the CDC recommends against this potentially dangerous practice.

After vaccination, the best defense against infection is hand washing with warm water and soap. This does not destroy a virus but removes it from the hands, thus preventing easy transfer to the eyes, nose and mouth. There is no need for a special antiseptic soap since the purpose of washing is simply to send the virus down the drain. Any soap will work to break down the grease and grime that hide lurking viruses, and using it will add to the amount of time spent at the sink. Wash for at least 20 seconds, being sure to scrub fingernails and between fingers thoroughly. Sing the whole alphabet song, and don’t rinse until “you sing with me.” Then dry with a paper towel; reusable cloth towels can be havens for viruses.

“We recommend soap and water,” says Aldridge, “but an alcohol-based hand sanitizer is a good alternative.”

According to Marshall, most are alcohol-based antiseptics that denature proteins. They work against a wide range of microorganisms like bacteria and viruses but need to have a minimum of 60 percent alcohol to be successful.

Some hand sanitizers contain triclosan instead of alcohol, but the CDC says that the health effects of this compound are unknown and that more research is needed to determine if it adversely affects human health. Aldridge says she has been told that avoiding triclosan might be a good idea until studies prove whether its antibacterial properties lead to antibiotic resistance.

Aside from good hygiene, use general courtesy and healthy habits to prevent the H1N1 virus from spreading. Cough into the elbow or a tissue that can be thrown away, and head to the sink for another wash. Stay away from crowded places and sick people. Don’t “hug” soiled linens if they have been used by someone who has the flu, and wipe household surfaces with antiseptic cleansers. If you are entertaining, consider plating food individually instead of offering a buffet, and set appetizers out in decorative cupcake papers so that people have individual servings and avoid sharing food touched by contaminated hands.

“Follow general measures to remain healthy,” advises Marshall. “Don’t smoke, maintain a good body weight, get exercise, get plenty of sleep, have a healthy diet with appropriate amounts of vitamin D and C – those standard things seem to make a difference.”

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Filed Under: Portfolio

Wedding Favors

May 31, 2013 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

FAVORED FAVORS
When it comes to gifts, there is a special option for every event

Few days in life are as significant as a wedding day, and the details associated with it are numerous. Most revolve around the bride and groom’s celebration of their union, but there is one element of the day that specifically nods to the guests.

The wedding favor is a token gift shared with those who attend a couple’s important event, and it is an opportunity for the bride and groom to demonstrate style, spunk, creativity and gratitude.

Since the sixteenth century, wedding favors have been “in favor.” Aristocracy in France and Italy gave bejeweled boxes that contained confectionary treasures. Sugar was a rare luxury and complimented such a sweet moment.

Couples of lesser means gave “love knots” of lace and ribbon that extended the bride and groom’s good luck to their guests. In the Middle East, the tradition included wrapping five almonds in beautiful fabric to represent love, fertility, prosperity, health and happiness. Over time, a candy coating was added to the almonds to represent the bitter-sweetness of marriage. These colorful “confetti” remain a common and traditional wedding favor around the globe.

Angela Cocker, owner and founder of Divine Details Event Planning in Columbia, S.C., suggested that the wedding and reception plans should be well underway before a couple selects a favor. That way, an item can be chosen that better enhances the event.

“For example,” said Cocker, “if the couple decides on an evening affair that will run late into the night, providing guests with some yummy breakfast items on their way out the door is a great way to say good night.”

Also, by choosing a favor after the guest list has been secured, it is easier to gauge who will attend and what kind of small gift is suitable for them. A raucous bash for close friends calls for an entirely different item than an elegant affair for guests chosen by the couple’s parents.

Budget is important, and there are ways to be elegant and personal without breaking the bank. A special flower tucked into each guest’s napkin adds a dreamy touch to the tables. A chocolate truffle, perhaps one in a thematic shape, draws upon the sweet history of wedding favors and is delightfully consumable for guests who prefer to enjoy the celebration without having to keep track of a crafty keepsake.

“The world is shifting and thinking right now,” advises Rebecca Gaffney, event coordinator and partner in Red Letter Days Events in San Diego, Calif., “so anything that is not wasteful is appreciated.”

With that in mind, “green” favors are becoming more popular. A lucky bamboo plant in a vase enhances an Asian-themed wedding table while a baby blue spruce bundled in burlap compliments a reception at a rustic inn in the mountains. A tulip bulb wrapped in color-coordinated cloth and tied with a ribbon bearing the couple’s name and wedding date inspires the continued growth of love. Plantable herb seed place cards make tasteful mementos that can be savored later on.

Incorporate useful local items that are thematic or seasonal. An autumn reception in the North Woods calls for a maple leaf shaped bottle of syrup, but in Napa Valley a corkscrew is most fitting. At a winter reception in New York, a sparkly ornament is appropriate, while in New Orleans, beignets and chicory-laced coffee are always a treat.

A personal way to favor guests is by sharing things that are hand crafted. Homemade soaps or candles tied with recycled paper or ribbon make a colorful arrangement near the guest book. Add inexpensive monogrammed boxes of matches for extra flair. Music-loving couples might share a CD of special songs and couples who delight in culinary activities might assemble a small collection of favorite recipes.

“One couple we worked gave cookies as their favor,” Gaffney said. “Each pouch came with recipes from the couple’s grandmothers — and a carton of milk.”

One of the newest and most popular favors that couples are sharing is the gift of giving. A civic-minded couple can donate to a favorite charity or foundation in each guest’s name or on behalf of the entire group. A note at each place setting or a sign at the guest book can explain the meaning behind the conscientious and contemporary gift.

Filed Under: Portfolio Tagged With: Favors, Wedding

Isla Mujeres, Mexico

May 31, 2013 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

The 19th century pirate Fermin Mundaca pledged his elaborate home and gardens on Isla Mujeres to unsuccessfully win the love of a local teenager, La Triguena.

Sand on toes feels good in the bright island sunshine.

Children love La Tortugranja, the turtle farm where they can feed endangered green turtles and white loggerhead turtles that have been rescued, hatched and raised to be released into the ocean.

Lovesick pirate Fermin Mundaca's grave is nestled among others that brightly celebrate the lives of the people whose remains are placed in the Isla Mujeres cemetery.

Refreshments served from a beach-side palapa make the tropical experience complete on Isla Mujeres.

In hopes of a healthy pregnancy, Mayan women came to Isla Mujeres to honor the goddess Ixchel hundreds of years ago.

Isla Mujeres boasts a public market where freshly squeezed orange, tangerine and grapefruit juices are sold along with vegetables, meats and tortillas.

Nothing is more appealing on a short, cold winter day than the idea of a vacation to somewhere sunny and warm. My friends and I had decided on Cancun until we discovered a near-by tropical gem, Isla Mujeres. While Cancun has been providing beauty, rest and opulence for almost 50 years, the “Island of Women,” three miles off its coast, has been the real draw for centuries.

We found a base for our explorations with a woman who rents her island residence to weary travelers in search of a comfortable ocean-side setting for a tropical vacation. Aptly named Xanadu after the mythical garden of Kubla Kahn, the property is peaceful and serene. Swinging on a hammock under a roof-top palapa with the sound of the surf crashing in the distance was exactly what we had in mind when we left the snow and ice behind us.

Evenings, as I stood barefoot in the kitchen making tacos with shells still warm from a tortillaria, fresh sea breezes blew gently into the dining, living and bedrooms. Fresh pico de gallo with vegetables and cilantro from a neighborhood market, and candles flickering in glass holders made our home-made Mexican feasts into celebrations of island colors, flavors, sounds and smells.

When it came time to discover Isla Mujeres, we found the locals warm and inviting. In search of limes for our first island dinner, we unsuccessfully poked into several vividly painted shops. Finally, a store owner listened patiently as I explained our problem in my meager Spanish. She called over her shoulder to her husband, and he brought five limes to sell from their own kitchen.

In the town square, families gathered to enjoy a pop-jet fountain and watch children playing chase and tossing balls to each other. Vendors offered tacos, drinks and warm pastries from push-carts. Narrow cobblestone streets were lined with shops that offered jewelry, souvenirs and necessities. Cigars were sold alongside dresses, bracelets and colorful pottery, and shop owners were eager to help us find exactly what we wanted to bring home as a memory of the island.

Tucked deep in the corner of town was a public market. Four little sidewalk restaurants made meals with fresh vegetables and the combination of spices that make Mexican food unique and savory. Other shops sold T-shirts, dresses and wood furniture, but the real prize at this market was tucked quietly behind the tables and trinkets. Through iron gates we found a dark building that opened into bright stalls of grocers and butchers where the warm scent of steaming, fresh tortillas wafted through the air. There we met Rafael who became our friend as we visited him frequently for fresh orange, tangerine or grapefruit juice that he squeezed daily and sold cheaply by the liter.

Isla Mujeres is 4.5 miles long, and to explore the farther reaches, it is necessary to rent a golf cart. A set of wheels allowed us to visit an aquarium where sea turtles are hatched and raised in incrementally larger tanks until they are large enough to be released back into the ocean. Children tossed pellets of food to hungry white and green turtles of varying sizes, and signs around the property explained the threats and possibilities for the endangered species.

Just down the road from the turtle farm is a legendary hacienda called Vista Alegre that was built in the mid-1800s. The story says that a pirate named Fermin Mundaca came to the island and began building an estate that eventually covered almost half of Isla Mujeres with elaborate gardens, wells, orchards and livestock. Eventually Mundaca fell in love with a local teenager known as “La Triguena” (the brunette) and pledged his home and property to woo her affection, but without success. Now open for public tour, the gardens are home to monkeys, snakes, iguanas and other small animals for tourists to enjoy.

Back in town the tale continues with a visit to Mundaca’s grave. La Triguena, it is said, married a local boy, and Mundaca soon died of a broken heart. The pirate’s above-ground tomb is marked with words of lost love that he carved along with a skull and crossbones before his death: “As you are, I was. As I am, you will be.” The burial place is tucked among dozens of brightly decorated graves that honor and celebrate the people entombed within. Colorful flowers, photographs and candles drew me in, and I spent an hour absorbing the physical and emotional warmth of love displayed there.

On the other end of the island, life had been celebrated in another way centuries before Mundaca came to Isla. More than 500 years ago, the Mayans honored Ixchel, the goddess of the moon, childbirth and medicine. The southern tip of Isla Mujeres is also the eastern-most point of Mexico. On this promontory a Myan ruin stands in proud honor of Ixchel, and the name of the island comes from the idols and statues of the goddess that Spanish explorer Fernando de Cordoba found on the island in 1514. He discerned that women came to the island to honor this powerful “Lady Rainbow” when they desired healthy pregnancies.

Now people come to the island to enjoy the white sand beaches, brilliant blue water, myriad dining establishments and a relaxing pace of life. Just a short ferry ride away is the bustling city of Cancun where fine dining, spa treatments and activities abound. It was fun to look across the bay at the glamorous and energetic young city, but I had found my bliss in my comfortable chair on an ancient beach where I read my book in peace, sipped Rafael’s fresh tangerine juice and listened to the sounds of tropical music drifting over the rhythm of the dazzling teal waves.

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If you go

Getting to the island:

Taxi from Cancun International airport to Puerto Juarez: Expect to pay about $42.

UltraMar Ferry from Puerto Juarez leaves every 30 minutes and costs about $7 round-trip.

Getting around on the island: Golf carts are the safest form of independent transportation and rent for about $60 for a 24-hour period. Alternatives include bike rentals for about $10/day or moped rentals for about $40/day. Taxis are another inexpensive option.

House rental: Several companies list private residences on Isla Mujeres. Visit www.islabeckons.com. www.lostoasis.net or www.vrbo.com to find private homes available for rent. Prices vary by season. Expect to spend at least $200/night for a two-bedroom oceanfront home.

Hotel rental: Hotel rooms can be found from $25-250 USD per night on the island. (www.isla-mujeres.net)

*Recent hurricanes have deposited sand from the eastern side of the island to the northwest corner which is now the best beach in town.

*Most of the restaurants, activities and shops are on the north end of Isla Mujeres, so it will be a long jaunt to town if you opt for a southern hotel.

*Downtown hotels are near the beaches but don’t have beach views. Also, they are bustling with nightlife and not as serene as some of the beachside hotels.

Snorkeling: Isla Mujeres is an attractive snorkeling destination. Captain Tony is well known on the island for his snorkel tours to El Farolito reef for less than $20/person. www.isla-mujeres.net/capttony/home.htm.

Scuba: There are many scuba centers on Isla Mujeres that cater to SSI, Padi and Naui certifications. Bring your certification card along, and only dive with a company that seems concerned to reference your experience level. Dives cost roughly $60 per two-tank dive. www.diveislamujeres.com , and www.isla-mujeres.net/cruisedivers

Swim with the dolphins: If it has been your life-long dream to swim with dolphins, this is your chance. Varying packages allow for touching, snorkeling among and being towed by dolphins. The encounters cost up to $100. www.dolphindiscovery.com

Garrafon Park: On the southwestern shore of Isla Mujeres, Garrafon Park offers an all-inclusive day of snacks and drinks with water toys, snorkeling reefs and interesting caves to explore for $50/day. For an additional $5, snap into a zip line and whiz over the teal blue sea.

Tipping: Customary tips in Mexico run 10 percent to 15 percent.

Helpful hint: Stop in to Digame phone service on the island for an extremely informative and user-friendly map of Isla Mujeres for $8 or order one on line before you travel at http://www.cancunstore.com.

Filed Under: Travel Stories Tagged With: Isla, Isla Mujeres, Island, Mexico, Travel

Crooked Road, VA

May 31, 2013 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

Toes on the autumn ridges of Virginia's Crooked Road

Mabry Mill on the Blueridge Parkway is the most photographed side on the limited-access highway in Virginia and an excellent place to pick up some local music during weekend jam sessions.

The Blue Ridge Mountains are alive with the pickin’, grinnin’ and stompin’ of feet that has been happening for centuries in Virginia.

Just off the Blueridge Parkway and very near The Crooked Road, Chateau Morissette is a dog-friendly winery that takes advantage of local Virginia grapes to make their many award-winning wines.

It was at the second of 26 wayside exhibits along The Crooked Road, Virginia’s Heritage Music Trail, that I met Cheryl Chrzanowski. I’d stopped in to learn about Appalachian music history at the Blue Ridge Institute and Farm Museum, and she happened to join me in a gallery dedicated to early local musicians. On learning that she was from the area, I asked if the old music was still a part of daily life.

Oh, sure. Music is alive in Virginia. We’ll throw a pig roast or a picnic, and every time there’s pickin’ and grinnin’ goin’ on,” she told me.

I was hooked and eager to hear more about something that sounded so fun. What I learned was that Appalachian folk music is the first truly American sound. Europeans brought their fiddles to the new world, and in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains, their melodies blended with the banjos played by African slaves. The bluegrass music that emerged in Colonial times is still played today and passed down from generation to generation. The instruments they use are handmade, and that art form is also passed down through families. Violins, banjos, guitars, harmonicas and sometimes a stand-up bass come together for jamborees.

I veered off The Crooked Road and onto the Blue Ridge Parkway, a stretch of limited-access highway constructed by the Civilian Conservation Corps where grassy shoulders are made for picnicking and the driving speed is limited to 45 miles per hour. I came when the leaves were alive with the reds, oranges and golds of fall, but it was clear that the panoramic views of the Blue Ridge Mountains along this drive would be spectacular at any time of year.

Rounding a busy bend, I spotted a familiar water wheel at Mabry Mill that my artist grandfather had oil painted when I was a child. I stopped in for a closer look, but it was my ears that got the real feast. I heard some of that pickin’ and grinnin’ going on and dashed up a small hill to find a gathering of musicians along the edge of a wooden dance floor where feet were flying to the rhythm of the songs. At the first break, I asked a woman if she would show me how it was done. She and her husband showed me some steps and said I was a natural. They said they enjoy dancing at many local places, and at the end of the song they sent me on my way with hugs and well-wishes.

Not far from the mill is Chateau Morissette, a hobby winery that the owners say got out of hand as their family winemaking evolved into a facility that produces 19 wines from grapes grown onsite or from other local vineyards. I relaxed by a stone fireplace with a glass of bubbly Star Dog after brunch and then wandered out along a wide deck toward the wine production facility and tasting room. On my way there I paused in the sunshine with other patrons and their pets – this is a dog-friendly winery – to enjoy the music of another local band.

Back on The Crooked Road as I drove away from the Chateau and the Blue Ridge Parkway, I found myself in Floyd, Va. A banjo suspended above a sign that read “Loitering Allowed” invited me to explore the Floyd Country Store. I thought it might be a place where I could pick up a CD of the music to which I had been dancing, but I found more than I’d expected. I could hear the sounds of pickin’ and grinnin’ spilling out the open store door and was slipping my backpack off to join the dancers before I could even see them in the back of the room. There, at least 50 people had gathered to hear an impromptu jam session. Some were sitting and tapping their toes. Others had taken up the dance in the corner. The woman next to me told me that there is a scheduled Friday night jamboree every week but that people come back on Sundays for whatever music they can pick up. She told me that she has taps on her suede-soled shoes to add to the rhythm of the music, and she gave me tips on my dancing.

“Most of the movement is from the waist down, but anything you do is right,” she said. “There is no incorrect step.”

This folk dance reminded me of Irish step dancing, and I could see how these steps, too, had been passed from generation to generation just as the music and the instruments had been.

The Crooked Road Music Trail winds through Franklin County, headquarters of the secretive – and formerly lucrative – moonshine business. Strict laws don’t allow locals to possess the ingredients needed to make moonshine anymore or to know anyone who does, so that source of income is gone from the area. But Chrzanowski and her husband shared memories of days gone by when their kin would soak fruit in the liquor for months before eating it – a true fruit cocktail. I asked if moonshine had been a drink to throw back like whiskey, and they laughingly said no.

“Not if you want to stand up afterward!” Chrzanowski’s husband teased.

Another financial hit came to this area of Virginia when important textile jobs moved overseas. As a result of these losses, the arts have blossomed in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Not far from Floyd is the town of Rocky Mount, the easternmost point on The Crooked Road Music Trail and the location of its first wayside exhibit. In this town, Carolyn Rogers is the gaffer at the Rocky Mount Center of the Arts. That means she is the head glass blower who works with three apprentices in a non-profit art center that her family has opened to showcase local talent. In addition to glass-blowing classes and demonstrations, there are painters, potters, weavers, spinners, quilters, woodworkers, photographers and jewelers who rent space in their studios. I was captivated by watching Rogers and her apprentice, Darrin Gendron, move together rolling the hot glass, holding it in the fiery “glory hole,” and adding color and texture to their work.

What had started out as a day to enjoy fall foliage along the Blue Ridge Parkway had become a trip into American history and an appreciation for the folk traditions deeply rooted there. Virginia artists, winemakers, musicians and dancers are proud of their history and warmly welcome anyone who wants to take part. Even now, I have my bluegrass tunes turned on, and as my feet tap to the music, I feel that Appalachian grinnin’ comin’ on.

When You Go

Getting There

The Roanoke airport is served by connecting flights operated by Allegiant Air, Delta, United Airlines and US Airways.

Where to Stay

Cambria Suites is very near the Roanoke Star and downtown area; www.cambriasuitesroanoke.com

For a more intimate stay, The Inn on Campbell is an upscale bed and breakfast worth consideration; www.theinnoncampbell.com

Dining in the Blue Ridge Mountains

Homestead Creamery takes advantage of local dairy and offers savory lunches and ice creams; www.facebook.com/pages/Homestead-Creamery-Inc/152846474769734

Chateau Morisette offers full meals by cozy fireplaces in their restaurant and winery that sits on a peak of the Blue Ridge Mountains; www.thedogs.com

Along the Crooked Road

Mount Center for the Arts is a great place to gather souvenirs and participate in local art; www.rockymountarts.org

The Blue Ridge Institute, the second stop along The Crooked Road, is a great place to learn more about the music, culture and history of the Blue Ridge Mountains; www. Blue Ridgeinstitute.org

Floyd Country Store has weekly jamborees and jam sessions that are open to any visitors who are ready to join in; www.floydcountrystore.com

Along the Blue Ridge Parkway

The Blue Ridge Parkway’s Explore Park and Visitors Center offers hiking trails, informational video and museum exhibits about the creation of the limited-access highway; www.roanokecountyva.gov/Facilities.aspx?Page=detail&RID=5

Mabry Mill is a restored gristmill along the Blue Ridge Parkway that attracts many visitors to its restaurant and seasonal activities; www.virginia.org/Listings/HistoricSites/MabryMill/

Filed Under: Travel Stories Tagged With: Blue Ridge, Crooked Road, Dancing, Roanoke, Travel, Virginia, winery

Paws Up, Montana

May 30, 2013 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

Toes on the river outside a luxurious glamping tent at Paws Up in Montana.

Camping Butler Wesley Parks helps a young glamper prepare a perfect s’more along the banks of the Blackfoot River at Paws Up resort in Montana.

My daughter and I were strapped into harnesses and facing each other inside a giant beach ball atop a grassy, tree-lined hill in Montana. Our guide called out to hang on tight and then gave a shove. We bounced, rolled, screamed and laughed as we tumbled down the hill to a meadow below. It was 50 seconds of jolting chaos and then utter stillness as our ball finally came to a rest. We giggled with relief and dangled from our straps as we waited for someone to release us.

My daughter had picked this activity when we decided to go on a long “glamping” weekend together. The inflated ball, known as a Zorb, comes to the United States from Australia. I had imagined that we would get in the ball and wander around the prairies of Montana by walking within it. I hadn’t pictured a break-neck roller-coaster ride, and I was sure one try was enough to call myself a Zorbinaut, but my 10-year-old disagreed.

“You can’t say you really did it, Mom, if you don’t go twice!” she challenged.

So in we went again to plummet head over heels down the hill, laughing twice as hard the second time.

Our other activities were more in keeping with what I expected from a Montana dude ranch. We took a trail ride with two young wranglers whose sense of humor and knowledge made my daughter and me feel comfortable on our mounts and free to enjoy the woodsy smell, dappled sunlight and snow-capped mountain views. When the ride was over, we offered to help put the horses away, but this was where the glamping kicked in.

In glamour camping, the guest is queen (or king). If a trail ride is on offer, the horses are saddled and ready to go when the riders arrive and are then cared for after they leave. If a Zorb ball is to be tackled, the ball is ready at the top of the hill and returned there after each ride for guests who want to take multiple tumbles. If a canoe trip sounds fun, guides portage the canoes and paddle guests who prefer not to break a sweat.

I’m a do-it-myself kind of traveler, but the result of being pampered at every turn was an awareness of my surroundings that is often missed when I’m busy lugging gear, cleaning up messes, setting up tents or figuring out the next meal. With people assigned to handle those issues, I was able to play with my daughter, look for geocaching spots in the woods and really sink into the vacation. I especially enjoyed being handed a cold huckleberry lemonade every time I looked a bit parched.

On one afternoon my daughter went to a Kids Camp yurt, where she had lunch with guides who specialized in entertaining children. They helped her find arrowheads and make them into necklaces, and they all painted their faces before heading out on a hike where the saw an elk and two wolves. They returned to the yurt’s petting zoo and romped away the rest of the afternoon.

While she was being entertained, I slipped off to Spa Town to pamper my saddle-sore body with a massage. In a white canvas room I slipped out of grubby trail clothes and into a fluffy white robe. Eric Nygard ushered me into another small tent where I stretched out for my massage. Before he began, Nygard opened the tent’s flaps like a curtain, and I found myself with an unimpeded view across a vast meadow and up into a purple mountain. Strong rains had produced a babbling brook behind our tent that mingled with birdsongs, cricket chirps and the rush of wind through tall grass. As Nygard worked, the pitter-patter of rain began on the canvas and a distant roll of thunder sounded across the valley. The closeness to nature enhanced and relaxed me entirely.

Mealtimes, too, were handed over to guides and wranglers who entertained and cared for us. Christi and Steve Fraker are fifth-generation horse teamsters. They drove two wagons full of glampers down to the banks of the Blackfoot River, where a chuckwagon dinner of baked beans and corn on the cob from cast-iron kettles, meat roasted over an open fire and a steaming Dutch oven filled with cobbler was being prepared. While the adults enjoyed a full bar and a campfire, the kids went with the Frakers to dip their hands in paint and decorate a gentle white horse with a rainbow of handprints and hearts. Later, leathery cowboy Mike Doud taught the children to rope a mock steer head that had been attached to a hay bale.

More than anything else, the overnight accommodations elevated took the vacation to the luxurious level of glamorous camping. Our resort boasted some posh houses with huge kitchens, hot tubs and enough room for an extended family reunion, but it was the camp site where we stayed that finally drove home what it meant to go glamping.

When we arrived, our camping butler, Wesley Parks, greeted us with a smile, took our bags and led us on a leisurely stroll around Pinnacle Camp, one of three camp sites at our resort. Five large canvas tents were scattered around a wood and stone pavilion, where Parks showed us we could have a made-to-order breakfast each morning and a gourmet dinner any evening. We wandered on to our tent where we found wood floors, custom-made beds and a bathroom with a heated floor. A wall of twigs separated the tent into two rooms.

Once we were settled, Parks suggested a hike before dinner was served at the pavilion. He pointed us in the direction of a riverside trail and reminded us to make a lot of noise.

“Interpersonal communication is strongly encouraged here,” he laughed. “If a bear hears you coming, he’ll stay out of your way.”

As my daughter and I walked along the river we talked like magpies. We launched pinecones into the rushing brown flow and tried to imagine it as the clear fishing creek it usually is. We found a tall rock where we laid on our stomachs and tossed pebbles into the frothy water.

“This is a whole new kind of Top of the Rock,” she said to me. “In New York City, it’s surrounded by glitz and glamour, and here it’s just nature and beauty.”

When we got back to camp, the pavilion’s heavy brown and ivory striped curtains were pulled back to let a warm sunset shine on the heavy wood tables where our seared marlin appetizers awaited. My daughter charmed Parks into making another of his “perfect” cocoas, and I enjoyed an equally lovely margarita. We made new friends over dinner and then wandered to a nearby campfire. I snuggled into a chair to listen to a historian who had come to teach us about Louis and Clark and show us artifacts from the area’s history. Without a word, Parks delivered a coffee with just the right amount of cream and a sweet, golden roasted marshmallow he had made with the children. I folded it into a s’more and knew camping would never be the same again.

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WHEN YOU GO:

Where to go: Glamping experiences are springing up all over the United States. We fell in love with Paws Up in Montana, www.pawsup.com, but there are other options to explore based on individual interests and desired location: Glayoquot Wilderness Resort in Vancouver, www.wildretreat.com; Costanoa Resort in Northern California, www.costanoa.com; Storm Creek Outfitters in Idaho, www.glamourcamping.net. Other glamping ideas can be found at

www.glampinggirl.com and www.goglamping.net.

How to plan: Paws Up recommends that guests contact a pre-arrival concierge two to three weeks before their visit ranch to discuss activities and create a schedule. Activities can last all day, but most are half-day events that can be separated by a lunch of smoked trout salad and sweet potato fries at the Trough restaurant.

Who will enjoy it: There are glamping and kids’ camp activities for every age, but remember to ask about specifics for kids under 12. Zorb, for example, is not meant for the smaller set.

When to go: Paws Up operates in every season. We enjoyed lush, green springtime, but activities continue throughout the summer and into winter. Paws Up celebrates Christmas with sleigh rides, ski trails, snowmobiles and snowy horseback adventures.

How to get there: Paws Up is a half-hour drive out of Missoula, Mont., which is served by several major airlines. A ride to the resort is provided by knowledgeable resort employees who explain the area’s mining and ranching history en route.

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Filed Under: Travel Stories Tagged With: camping, glamping, lesley sauls, Montana, Travel, zorb

Roanoke, VA

May 30, 2013 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

“Suicide Sally” sculpture perches on a railing of The Taubman Museum of Art, situated very near the O.Winston Link Museum and historic Hotel Roanoke in downtown Roanoke, Va.

Roanoke, Va., is situated in the breadbasket of the South and has sweeping views of the Blue Ridge Mountains that surround it.

Toes overlooking Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountain's

The sun sets over Virginia Mountain Vineyards in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.

A tribute to the black workers on the Norfolk & Western Railway can be found in the Virginia Museum of Transportation in Roanoke, Va., where a recreation of the original Big Lick train station and other interactive exhibits honor the history of transportation in Virginia.

The Roanoke Star was built to herald Christmas in 1949, but it remains a much-loved city symbol.

“Where the he– is Roanoke?” read the sunglasses band I was handed at Go Outside, the second annual festival for outdoor activities in that city. The man who offered it to me laughingly said he gets that question a lot at conventions. He has embraced the common question and made it into his logo, but it did give me a question to answer: Where IS Roanoke?

It is in the breadbasket of the south, the heart of the Confederacy, the launching point for a nation and an increasingly interesting place for visitors to explore. In the few days I was there, I learned American history, astronomy, viniculture and art.

On my first night in town, I looked out my hotel window to see the Star City’s namesake glowing bright white on Mill Mountain, and in the morning I headed up to take a closer look. The giant star was built to celebrate the Christmas season in 1949 and stayed on to become the city’s symbol. From the star I could see across the city of Roanoke and up into the Appalachian Mountains that surround it. When I was there, the trees were aflame in color, but the vista would be spectacular any time of year. And a night view from the star is equally magical; the city below twinkles like its own universe.

Virginia Mountain Vineyards, just north of Roanoke, provided another opportunity for me to enjoy the stars, but this time they were the celestial kind. The vineyard occasionally invites musicians to entertain guests who come up the curvy mountain roads to enjoy a casual dinner and wine, and for six years they have had an annual October event that includes stargazing. John Goss, vice president of the Astronomical League, a national federation of more than 270 clubs and 15,000 members, was the vineyard’s guide to the stars. He set up several telescopes in the dark vineyard where guests could wander out with glasses of wine to see the stars more clearly than they could in a light-filled city.

From his telescopes, I saw closely the craters of the moon and the stars of Cassiopeia that pointed to the Andromeda galaxy. A 9-year-old astronomer and his dad took me under their wings to point out the galaxy first through binoculars and then, when I had the location figured out, with my naked eye. They directed me to a telescope for a closer look and were as thrilled as I was with my discovery.

In town the next day, I learned more about Roanoke’s history. Originally called Big Lick, the city was developed at a crossroads of trails used by animals that came to lick the naturally salty soil and hunters who tracked them. When trains began to weave a web of tracks through the nation, developers changed the city’s name to Roanoke, the Algonquian word for shells that were used as money.

I had traditional peanut soup and rich, succulent spoon bread for lunch at the grand Roanoke Hotel, one of the first structures built to welcome the new railroads to Roanoke in 1889 by the original Norfolk & Western Railway Co. It was expected to house an increasing stream of visitors as the railway grew its Roanoke headquarters. In its 123 years, the hotel has hosted presidents, endured fire, celebrated special occasions, withstood six years of closure that almost led to its demise and is now, again, a grand hotel that is both a destination and a neighborhood haunt. A pool table in the Pine Room Pub is the regular meeting place for a group of good-natured businessmen who pick up a game and unwind at the end of the week.

To learn more about the trains that helped to establish the town, I went to the nearby Virginia Museum of Transportation. Housed in an original freight station, the museum is home to the only surviving steam engine of its size in the world. The huge engine was built in Roanoke and now retires there. Another exhibit invites people to walk through a vintage passenger car under restoration, and in one corner of the museum a touching display addresses the role of skin color in railways. Photos of black railroad employees line the walls, and a video shows interviews the workers as they discuss the ways in which color affected their jobs. One man remembers a curtain that was hung in the dining car when the train crossed from the North into the South to separate the black and white diners.

From that museum I walked a half-mile along the Railwalk to the O. Winston Link Museum and was entertained by an interactive display. I pushed buttons that illuminated lights like those used on real railroads, flipped a switch that lowered a mock train guard, clanged a bell and blew a train whistle. I also read plaques that detailed the railroad’s history and showed vintage photos of the city as it grew around its railroad arteries.

The O. Winston Link museum is housed in the former Norfolk & Western Railway passenger station, an appropriate location for a photographer famous for photographing trains at night. Although not a photographer by trade, Link used his engineering skills to make light the key element of his photographs. He did this by winding trails of wire to flash bulbs so that only the points in a photograph that he wanted to emphasize were illuminated. It was his opinion that light was the only thing he could really control, and his photographs are an impressive nod to the bygone days of steam engines.

Across the tracks is the Taubman Museum of Art. The collections in this museum are small but interesting. I enjoyed an exhibit of Faberge artifacts and a room full of sparkling Judith Lieber handbags. A traveling collection of dramatic photographs by Edward Burtynsky made me appreciate how vast and far-reaching the life cycle of oil is. But my favorite sculpture was that of a woman with her hands in her lap and her head bowed. She had no official plaque or information, but I learned that her artist was Mark Jenkins. He offers no title for her, but locals call the sculpture “Suicide Sally” because she sits on an upstairs balcony ledge that overlooks a busy road. She used to be positioned with her legs hanging toward the road, but several passersby called 911 to report a potential suicide. Now she is positioned with her legs facing in toward the balcony, and she looks a bit more like a “Texting Theresa” to me.

Back at the Go Outside festival, conveniently across the street from my hotel, I spent an evening listening to bands and meeting locals by a fire pit. Hillary, it turns out, works at the Taubman Museum of Art, and her husband told me secrets about Virginia moonshine history. I thought of the pool players who talked to me about their town, the father and son who taught me to see the stars, and the winemaker who showed me the tools of her trade in a back room. There is a lot to do in Roanoke, but the real stars remain the people who stand side by side in welcoming newcomers to town without affectation.

A man at the wine and stars night had explained it when he slung his arm around the man next to him and said, “I’m a river guide, and this fella’s an astronomy professor, but we sit on the porch and talk. No one cares what you do. This is a place where life slows down, and you are who you are.”

When You Go

Getting There

The Roanoke airport is served by connecting flights operated by Allegiant Air, Delta, United Airlines and US Airways.

Where to Stay

Cambria Suites is very near the Roanoke Star and downtown area; www.cambriasuitesroanoke.com

For a more intimate stay, The Inn on Campbell is an upscale bed and breakfast worth consideration; www.theinnoncampbell.com

The Historic Hotel Roanoke & Conference Center is located downtown and very near museums, restaurants and activities; http://doubletree3.hilton.com/en/hotels/virginia/hotel-roanoke-and-conference-center-a-doubletree-by-hilton-hotel-ROASWDT/index.html

Dining in Roanoke

Breakfast at the Roanoker has been a tradition of southern hospitality in Roanoke since the restaurant opened in 1941; www.theroanokerrestaurant.com

Farm to table cuisine is emphasized in the colorful and creative dishes at Firefly Fare in Roanoke, Va.; www.citymarketbuilding.com/firefly-fare

For a truly Southern meal, visit the Homeplace Restaurant where dinner is served family style and visitors wait for tables on front porch rockers or leaning on fence posts in the yard; http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Homeplace-Restaurant/115564841808913

Toasting in the Blue Ridge

Virginia Mountain Vineyards; www.vmvines.com

Blue Ridge Vineyard; www. Blue Ridgevineyard.com

What to do in Roanoke

Roanoke Star, Mill Mountain Zoo and the Discovery Center; www.visitroanokeva.com

Taubman Museum of Art; www.taubmanmuseum.org

Virginia Museum of Transportation; www.vmt.org

O.Winston Link Museum; www.linkmuseum.org

Filed Under: Travel Stories Tagged With: lesley sauls, Roanoke, Travel, Virginia, winery

Aitutaki, Cook Islands

May 30, 2013 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

A traditional warrior blows a conch shell to welcome guests to his motu, Akitua.

Turquoise water is the trademark of Aitutaki’s coral-filled lagoon where snorkelers and divers swim with giant clams and sea turtles.

Soaking up the sun on Aitutaki's cerulean lagoon.

Honeymoon Island is the perfect place to stroll champagne beaches and savor the quiet moments of life with a friend.

An enthusiastic snorkeler leaps into the Aitutaki’s turquoise lagoon to search for tropical fish and, perhaps, pirate treasure.

Auntie Nane serenades guests with her hand-carved ukulele at the highest point on Aitutaki.A traditional warrior blows a conch shell to welcome guests to his motu, Akitua.

I’ve heard it said that you can pick your friends but not your family. A trip to Aitutaki in the South Pacific, however, challenged that old adage. When strangers welcomed me on my milestone birthday trip with hugs, kisses and eis – flower necklaces, I felt like I had arrived at a family reunion with distant cousins who were happy to see me again – even though we’d never met. My freckled arms were immediately encircled by rich brown skin, and my frizzy auburn waves tangled in straight, dark hair as I was greeted by women who called out the local welcome, “Kia Orana,” and were soon clucking life advice to me.

After dropping my bags in a beachside bungalow, I joined a group of travelers to spend a day snorkeling with a native guide in the crystalline blue lagoon that spans much of the island. Fifteen tiny islets, or “motus,” ring the lagoon where giant clams and coral abound. TeKing George met us at the boat landing for a bit of instruction before we boarded his vessel, his deadpan style opposite to the ebullient nature of the women at the island’s small airport. A dozen travelers from around the world piled on TeKing’s boat. We talked and reached eager hands into the cool salt spray that flew around the bow of the boat as we motored to our first snorkel site.

Once anchored, TeKing taught us tricks to attract curious butterfly fish, and one by one we leapt into the turquoise water, each of us armed with cameras and a healthy dose of enthusiasm. At least 50 butterfly fish immediately surrounded me when I submerged. They pecked at my mask and flitted between my arms and legs. I was a mermaid among the fishes, and I had to actively remember to keep breathing.

The butterfly fish moved on to a new visitor, and I set off on my own to explore the coral that grew around me in ledges and bulbs. TeKing had explained that the coral’s flat tops were a result of their need to be submerged to live. If coral grows too close to the surface of the water or is exposed for too long during a storm or low tide, it will die. I followed brightly colored fish through passageways between the tables of coral and found star fish and octopi tucked into their crevices.

After a break on the boat, TeKing took us across the lagoon where we focused not on the exotically shaped and colored coral surrounding us but on the giant clams that are native to this area of the world. Once in the water, he helped each of us wrap our arms around a heavy clam before guiding us on a snorkel tour to see them in their natural habitat. We could catch only a glimpse of the neon blue and green flesh that quickly sucked into their shell when they felt their surrounding water move. These clams had been over-harvested and are now in a protected area of the lagoon.

Knowing we were a bit waterlogged, TeKing dropped his charges on the long, white beach of uninhabited Honeymoon Island where we walked and splashed in the gentle, lapping waves. It was impossible to think of anything from home; no worries were allowed on this small stretch of paradise.

Lunch was grilled for us on Maina motu. TeKing and his assistant, Mai, grilled ahi and bananas and served them with fresh star fruit and mango salads whose chilled sweetness offset the warm and spicy entrees. An icy beer and a chat with TeKing finished the meal. He explained that he had lost everything and had been dying at the side of the road after a terrible accident only a year prior to our day together. After being flown to the mainland, Rarotonga, for emergency surgery, he was rebuilding his life again on Aitutaki one day at a time. His courage was an impressive example of the quiet strength I found in everyone I met on this island. His willingness to share his heartache moved us to a familial intimacy. We were not strangers with this man.

“This is paradise,” he said peacefully. “It’s freedom.”

A giant white turtle kept pace with us after lunch as we headed over to One Foot Island, another motu on the edge of the lagoon. TeKing took us for a walk and showed us how his ancestors had used the plants around him to make clothes and shelter. He pointed out where the Survivor series had spent a season, and he stamped our passports with the One Foot Island stamp – proof of our visit to paradise. Then he boated us through the quiet bay that had once been the Cook Islands International Airport before it had moved to a hard-surfaced field on the nation’s capital island, Rarotonga.

By nightfall we were sundrenched and exhausted, and everyone on the boat was hungry for seafood again. After a quick shower, I slipped into dry clothes and headed out to dinner. It took a small launch to shuttle me across a bit of lagoon to Akita motu where an island warrior blew a conch shell in greeting. On the beach, I enjoyed fresh ika mata served in a coconut shell under a private gazebo while the sun set and tiki torches blazed. By the time my succulent panna cotta had been served, the stars were brightly twinkling. From here I saw the Southern Cross, the most prominent constellation in the Southern Hemisphere, and was captivated by constellations I could not name – or forget.

Back at my beachside bungalow I curled up on my balcony to enjoy a tropical rainstorm and a glass of champagne. As the rain moved offshore, a full moon rose behind me and shone brightly at an ideal angle to create a moonbow across the South Pacific horizon. It appeared as a perfect white arc across the sky that beckoned me into a midnight dip in the dark and silent Aitutaki lagoon.

After a sumptuous breakfast with freshly squeezed tropical juices blended from luscious fruits that exploded in my mouth, I headed out to explore Aitutaki’s terra firma. I enlisted an island tour and was greeted with another ei and a giant hug from my guide who insisted that I think of her as my new auntie.

“You call me Auntie Nane!” she demanded.

In the next few hours my new auntie showed me around the island and explained local customs. She showed me the ring of rocks where eight tribal chiefs would gather when important decisions were required. And near those rocks is the Visitors Rock upon which visitors who came to the island by boat long ago would first set foot. It was here that they would be welcomed to the island as family. She explained that on Aitutaki, there are no strangers. Any visitor is the responsibility of the tribe with whom they are staying. Even hotels and resorts follow the tradition which explained why I had been so openly embraced by everyone I’d met.

Driving on a winding road, we stopped to pick some flowers. A local woman in the van named Misepa told us that she had to get up pretty early to pick enough wild flowers off of her bush to make a good ei before they were picked by her neighbors. In the Cook Islands the flowers and fruits belong to everyone. Individuals do not own property which means that everyone is responsible for and can enjoy every plant on the island. There are no arguments over lot lines or scoldings to children who pick the best star fruit, and there is a lot less daily stress.

At the highest point of the island, Maunga Pu, Auntie Nane pulled over and grabbed a plate of passion fruit from a basket. She laughed when I asked for a utensil and taught me how it is meant to be eaten.

“This is PASSION fruit, darling,” she teased me. “We use only our tongues to pull out the flesh!”

While the sweet juices dripped down my chin, Auntie Nane produced a hand-carved ukulele and began to sing. She sang to me about the frangipani flowers that hung around my neck and then joined her voice with Misepa’s in a language I couldn’t understand. The words were lost to me, but the sound of them captured the tropical sun, the luscious fruit and the endless deep blue ocean around us.

Having learned that I was a former airline pilot, Auntie Nane insisted that I come to her house before she returned me to my resort. There I found the front half of an old DC3 that had been left by a movie crew several years before. Auntie Nane’s son, also a pilot, had convinced the crew to let them have the wreckage which now stood in a tangle of lush plants and rust to hold up one end of Auntie’s clothes line.

Auntie Nane delivered me back to my resort but refused to say goodbye. She said she would see me again at the airport before I left the island. That is how family is treated on Aitutaki.

As promised, she met me at the airport with her broad smile. She said that her nephew was going to be the pilot on my flight to Atiu, another of the beautiful Cook Islands, and insisted on introducing me to him when he arrived. We chatted as we waited for the plane to load, and then she wrapped me again in her strong brown arms. The hours we had spent touring her homeland had brought us close together, and she had given me important advice that eventually changed my life. But for that moment, she held me close, pouring her energy into me.

“Next time you come to Aitutaki, you stay with your Auntie Nane,” she said with tears in her eyes.

How can I refuse?

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When You Go

Cook Islands History:

With inhabitants dating back over 1,000 years, the Cook Islands was protected by the British in the 1800s and spent the first 65 years of the 20^th Century as a colony of New Zeland until it was granted self-governing status. It is now a democracy with a parliament that includes a representative from the hereditary island chiefs and a representative for those Cook Islanders who live in New Zealand and Australia. The head of state remains Queen Elizabeth II, as the Queen of New Zealand where Cook Islanders are granted automatic citizenship.

Getting there:

Aitutaki is part of the Cook Islands nation that is located just south of the equator and east of the international dateline and is comprised of 15 islands that are spread over a maritime area of over a million square miles. There is only one direct flight from the United States to the Cook Islands each week on Sunday night for a return the following Saturday night. The Air New Zealand overnight flights provide a refreshed arrival in both countries and cost around $1000. After enjoying the capital island of Rarotonga, book a flight on Air Rarotonga to Aitutaki. This round-trip flight over the azure South Pacific will cost about $300.

Where to stay:

With no high-rise hotels anywhere in the Cook Islands, travelers find familial intimacy at smaller resorts. The Pacific Resort on Aitutaki(www.pacificaitutaki.com) offers beachside bungalows that boast privacy and an open view of the water. Aitutaki Lagoon Resort and Spa (www.aitutakilagoonresort.com) exists on its own motu (islet) and offers over-water bungalows in addition to beach bungalows.

Getting around:

The island is only about 10 sq mi, so some exploring can be done on foot, but the best way to find your way around the island is to book a tour when you arrive with Nane & Chloe’s Tropical Tours (www.cookislands.travel.com).

Explore the lagoon:

There are several tour operators who offer dive and snorkel trips in Aitutaki’s lagoon. To learn more about having your passport stamped at One Foot Island during a day with TeKing, go to www.teking.co.ck.

Where to eat:

Most resorts offer restaurants that have delicious local seafood and produce and will provide picnic hampers for days spent on the beach, and day trips on the lagoon include lunch. To explore other local restaurants, ask hotel staff for recommendations.

More information:

For more detailed information about the Cook Islands and all that is available there, visit www.cookislands.travel

Filed Under: Travel Stories Tagged With: Aitutaki, cook islands, lesley sauls, snorkel

Atiu, Cook Islands

May 30, 2013 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

Toes in the tropical jungle of Atiu.

: Atiu’s only airport terminal welcomes guests to the tiny island where jungles reach down to the water and community is found in its very center. (Lesley Sauls)

Polynesian sun shines down into a centuries-old water cave on the island of Atiu in the South Pacific, allowing just enough dim light for a refreshing afternoon dip. (Lesley Sauls)

I had just bushwhacked through a dense jungle on an ancient coral reef and crawled into a dimly lit cave behind a silent Polynesian guide named Paul Kura on the tiny island of Atiu in the southern Cook Islands. When he wordlessly gestured toward a shallow pool of water in the bottom of the cave, I was a bit confused as to what was on offer. But when he stripped off his clothes and dove down into that pool, I got the idea. The depth had been deceiving. This was no tiny cave-puddle, this was an underground oasis – a place to cool off after our sweaty trek. I admit to a moment’s hesitation after I had peeled down to my mud-smeared skivvies and was teetering on a cliff of damp limestone, but I’d come halfway around the planet to challenge my boundaries in honor of a significant birthday, and I wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass me by. I closed my eyes and jumped.

After splashing about for a while in the refreshing water, I found a little nook in the cave where I could rest on a submerged ledge with my upper body leaning against rough stone. The clear water stilled around me, and I could sense the explosive history that had created this volcanic island – how far it was from my busy city life. In the dark quiet, a long black shape slowly curled around my legs and then drifted away from me. No one else saw it, and I began to wonder if I had imagined some kind of mystic cave creature.

Four other brave explorers played with us in the water cave, which I learned was on Kura’s family’s land and rarely visited by outsiders. We were lucky to have been introduced to him by the owner of our resort, Roger Malcom. An atmospheric physicist and 31-year resident of the island, Malcom knew how to help his guests find the adventure of a lifetime. He even turned a minor emergency into an education when he whisked us down one of the island’s five roads to the local hospital, a small building next to a raised plot of land. While we waited for one of our group to be bandaged up after a fall on the jungle’s sharp coral floor, Roger pointed to what is now the doctor’s residence atop the elevated property.

“Medicine came with the missionaries,” he explained. “Before that time the locals put sick and dying people on that piece of land. When they died, the bodies were left there until only bones remained. Then their families would take the bones to a burial cave.”

Oddly enough, when the missionaries came, they built a hospital on that sacred spot. Locals were so conditioned to its purpose that they only brought dead and dying people to the hospital, not people who could be healed. Eventually, respect for local custom, the missionaries moved the hospital to a plot of land nearby and made the building on the raised area into doctors’ quarters.

Local custom is deeply rooted in Atiu. Once our injured member had been safely bandaged, Malcom invited his guests to participate in a centuries-old tradition called a tumunu. We ducked back into the edge of the jungle and approached a rustic shack on which was crudely painted “Rising Sun Boys.” From within wafted the smell of mosquito coils, sweat and fermented fruit. We respectfully slipped onto wooden benches within the small shed and waited quietly to be introduced to Daniel Tearaitoa, the boss of this tumunu. Malcom had already explained the expectation of tumunu guests to us, so we each knew to wait patiently for the barman in the middle of the room to dip a small coconut shell into a bucket between his knees. He slowly scooped out a local brew and handed it to each of us in turn so that we could take it with one hand, gulp it in one drink and then hand the shell back.

“Put your hand up if you want to pass on a round,” said Malcom. “I suggest you take 10 turns. That will give you a slight buzz and a feeling of joining in the ceremony, but your head and body will feel fine in the morning. Any more is up to you.”

While we ritually shared the communal coconut shell cup of jungle brew, Kura and Kau Henry sang, played guitar and talked to us. They told me that my mystic cave creature had been a vaiakaruru, a freshwater eel, come to honor me. After a few local songs, they struck up some tunes that their foreign guests might know. We loosened our inhibitions with every round of sweet fermented fruit juice – the recipe for which is not shared with outsiders. A South African visitor repeatedly raised his shell in toasts to peace, health, love, life, happiness and well-being. He said that he had learned this 8,000-year-old toastmastering, or tamada, tradition in Eurasian Georgia, and that at the end of the toast we should all join him in a Buddhist chant. So we did – all of us. And the cup kept passing. A few rounds later, we were people from seven countries with arms entwined singing “Que Sera, Sera” at the top of our lungs.

That was when the barmaster’s shell tapped his jug, and the group fell silent. Henry explained that this was the serious time in the evening when he would pray for us. Then we were each expected to introduce ourselves and share a few words. Some people simply said what country they had come from or what they did for work. Others shared what impact the Cook Islands were having on them. I found myself unable to speak for a moment when I tried to explain how welcomed I had been by everyone on this island of 400 people and that I had never so openly and intimately experienced a joining of so many cultures. When the Rising Sun Boys – including the boss’s wife, Vaine Tearaitoa – introduced themselves, they were equally solemn in their shared comments and gratitude for our congregation.

After the serious ritual, the singing and stories resumed. A young woman from Los Angeles grabbed a guitar and belted out the blues with her long brown hair swirling to the beat. Beside her, Polynesian men clapped, flower-adorned Tearaitoa pounded a drum, and our international summit continued long into the night.

# # #

When You Go

Getting there: From the Midwest, the trick is to get the direct Air New Zealand flight from Los Angeles to the main island of Rarotonga that runs every Sunday night for a return the following Saturday night. These overnight flights allow for a refreshed arrival in either country, but the connection to Los Angeles can be hard to find online. Be creative; it’s worth the effort. The total cost of these flights will be less than $2,000. After a day or two in Raro, hop a flight on Air Rarotonga to Atiu. This round-trip flight over the tropical blue South Pacific will cost about $300.

Staying on Atiu: Roger and Kura Malcom offer air-conditioned jungle cottages that sleep up to five people for about $200/night. Their property boasts a pool and grass tennis court that is perfect for late-night star-gazing. Book online to find discounts at www.atiuvillas.com. Other accommodations are available with Marshall Humphreys (www.atiutoursaccommodation.com) and with Auntie Nga and Papa Paiere at Taparere Lodge (www.atiutourism.com) for less than $100/night.

Where to eat: Kura Malcom is a fantastic cook and welcoming hostess who serves dinner and drinks nightly. Do NOT leave Atiu without trying her delicious Pota, a taro leaf/coconut cream concoction that captures the sweet flavor of the island. In addition to Kura’s Kitchen, you can grab a burger and a snack at Super Brown Burgers, and all accommodations provide self-cooking areas.

Tours and activities: Your hosts will likely welcome you as family and help plan your activities, but to see what’s available, go to www.atiutourism.com. You won’t find your tumunu there, though. For that, you’ll have to live like a local and ask around when you arrive.

Filed Under: Travel Stories Tagged With: atiu, cook islands, Island, Lesley, lesley sauls, tumunu

Walking to Alaska

September 26, 2011 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

In 2006 I dusted off my old walking shoes and realized it was time to drop 20 pounds and get healthy again. I started walking five miles a day every day I could manage. It’s been five years now, and I’ve logged my progress across the country by marking a map of my progress. In 2009 I reached my first goal of walking the distance from my home in northern Wisconsin to the friendly city of Seattle, Wash.

Since then, I’ve turned my sights further north and started marking my trek toward Anchorage, Alaska. My goal is to reach Anchorage by 2013 and hopefully celebrate my success by going to visit the quickly disappearing glaciers there.

Since I began my walking, I have encountered sleet, wind, rain, snow and ice. I have sweltered in the midwest humidity. I have shared deep talks with walking friends. I have been forced indoors onto my treadmill and into the local mall where I enjoy watching the Christmas decorations come out for the holiday season. I have watched my children enter elementary school, and I have struggled with personal relationships. Through it all, my walks have kept me grounded – literally.

I have marked the progress of time as I walked with books on tape, then books on CD, then books on iPod and fianlly books on my iPhone. I began my walks by logging a known distance with my car and then following that path daily. Then I invested in a pedometer and now have a GPS that lets me mark my distance wherever I might be. Ah, the benefits of advancing technology!

Recently, I have turned off the books, though. I walked in March with a medicine man in the Cook Islands who admonished me to take advantage of my walking meditation time. So, I’m turning off the noise and listening to my own thoughts now. I can’t say I make much sense of them, but Pa said I will in time. He was a wizend old man who seemed to know what was what. I believe him.

Walking. It won’t hurt my joints, it allows me meditation, and it is taking me to a beautiful goal of a helathy body and a glorious icy vacation. Stay tuned for my progress. Fall is in the air…with lots of rain. Hopefully it will dry out soon.

Filed Under: Blog

Pine Mouth Problem Causes Epicurean Distress

August 23, 2011 by Lesley Sauls Frederikson

Pine nuts, used by creative cooks in salads, pestos and snacks, are now reportedly causing an unpleasant condition called "pine mouth."

Embracing international foods and experimenting with culinary embellishments has become a way of life for creative cooks, and pine nuts have become popular additions to salads, pestos, confections and baked goods. But recent reports say that these nuts are responsible for a bitter, metallic, sour aftertaste that persists as long as two weeks.

“I ate pine nuts on a Sunday, and had symptoms by Monday,” says Cheryl Thiede, a cooking enthusiast in Eau Claire, Wis. “I was very anxious about what it could be – anxious enough to go to the Internet to see what horrible medical condition I could have.”

What she found was pine mouth, a condition she ultimately endured for a week. Thiede’s symptoms were similar to others who shared her problem. Her taste sensors were normal when chewing any food, but within seconds of swallowing, a terrible aftertaste would blossom in the back of her mouth. Fortunately there were no other health implications, but the bad taste was distressing.

“It was really disturbing because I love food and discouraging because I couldn’t get rid of it,” she explained.

Time is the only cure for this culinary landmine that is selective in whom it affects. Two people can eat from the same pile of pine nuts with one escaping unscathed.

The increasing problem may have its origins in plant species and international consumerism.

The pine nut has been used since prehistory as a culinary supplement in Europe and the Southwestern United States, but it was sustainable by the people enjoying its gentle flavors until recently. Now that the globe continues to shrink and demand for what was once known as a gourmet item continues to rise, there is a supply-and-demand issue.

“There have been about 100 complaints [of pine mouth] from Feb. 22, 2009, to the present,” notes Mike Herndon of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration’s Center for Food Safety and Applied Nutrition.

The first known case of pine mouth happened in Belgium in 2001, but many cases go unreported. Since then, several studies have been performed on pine nuts in an attempt to determine which were causing the bad tastes. A report done by Nestle Research Center in Lausanne, Switzerland, suggested that like fingerprints, the fatty-acid profiles of pine nuts are specific to the species of tree from which they are harvested. The report suggested that two of the several species of tree from which commercial pine nuts are harvested are not considered to be edible, those commonly known as Chinese white pine and Chinese red pine. Other reports propose that it is the oxidation levels of the nuts that are to blame for the taste disturbances.

The specific origin of pine mouth remains debatable, but the European Union was concerned enough about the situation to issue an EU Rapid Alert System for Food and Feed in August 2009. Their explanation for the discomforting aftertaste was that edible Chinese pine nuts had been combined with inedible nuts that had high tannins and different fatty-acid profiles, especially during the 2008-09 seasons.

Fortunately, the China Tree Nut Association, the China Chamber of Commerce for Imports and Exports of Foodstuffs and the Chinese pine nut processors have listened to the concerns of their international customers. In November 2009 they gathered together to pursue the pine nut situation. Their determination was that the white “Huashan” variety of pine nut should not be used in snack, salad or bakery products. Furthermore, it should not be mixed with other pine nut varieties for overseas markets.

Until market reliability returns, however, there are steps that can be taken to prevent the distasteful affliction. This might be an excellent time to broaden culinary horizons and use walnuts, almonds or pistachios to sprinkle on salads or blend into pestos. The slightly different flavors will nod to gastronomic creativity.

But the gentle flavor of these ancient nuts is enticing enough to overcome the worst threat of pine mouth’s horrible aftertaste.

“I think I’ll eat them again,” says Thiede, “but for a long time I will pause and think about it. I don’t want to have pine mouth again for sure.”

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