Where to stay in Barcelona

The other morning, before stepping into the shower, on impulse I reached out for those adorable complimentary bottles of Prija toiletries.

And within minutes, eyes closed under the soothing hot water, inhaling that intoxicating ginger aroma, I was back in Barcelona, in room 41 of the Musik boutique hotel.

I think it was sheer luck that we ended up there. In recent trips, Hubby chose our lodgings via Airbnb, for the most part. But this time, for no special reason, he looked at hotels. Not the big fat ones on main boulevards, but rather small ones on side streets. And so it was that he came across this quiet-looking hotel, with subdued decor and clean lines, infused with splashes of my favorite color. Yes, purple: go look at the hotel's website :-)

Still, it takes more than aesthetics to make a place comfortable. By the time we got there, we were rather knocked out from the journey, though a TLV-BCN flight is not a long one. We'd decided to get to the hotel by public transport. Barcelona public transport is excellent, once you get your bearings. But that first day, bus #46 from the airport dumped us at the spacious Placa d'Espanya,

and -- not knowing any better -- we took the Metro line #1, dragging our suitcases up and down flights of stairs, got off at Urquinaona, and got totally mixed up before realizing how close we were to our destination and walking down C. Saint Pere Mes Baix. There, at number 62, we saw the welcoming glass doors with the purple logo.

Sorry, that was a long digression.

We were welcomed by David and Daniel at the reception desk, which looked nothing like the formal-to-foreboding desks at big hotels. Everything was simple, relaxed and friendly. My amateurish photos of the room don't do it justice, but I'll upload one anyway, complete with our messy stuff on the desk, just so that you know how at-home we felt:

Breakfast is from 07:30 to 10:30, so we could sleep in if we so wished, or start our day early (in vacation terms) if we wanted to beat the crowds. The buffet was perfect, with something for everyone. I was rather unadventurous, sticking to pineapple, whole-wheat toast, butter, cheese, honey, and two big cups of coffee with hot milk. As I remembered correctly from our previous visits to Spain (1999, 2002, 2012), the coffee is usually delicious and strong; too strong for me, which is why I appreciate being able to add half a cup of hot milk to it.

Buffet

Coffee, tea, milk, toaster, etc

Here are the buffet, coffee machine, etc:














A word about the colorful Carrer Saint Pere Mes Baix and similar pretty streets: When the shops are open, it is both eye-catching and pleasant to browse, not to mention extremely convenient. Whatever you need, it'll be just a few steps away. Be it a Supermercat, a Farmacia, shoes, bags, clothes, art, or souvenirs and knick-knacks.
However, siesta-time is a cherished tradition here, and from about 2 to 4 pm all shops close down. With heavy metal shutters. Which are often covered in drawings or painting ranging from coarse-looking graffiti to beautiful, imaginative art. So the first time we walked down this street, when everything was closed, we weren't quite sure whether we liked the environment, the atmosphere. But soon enough we felt quite at home. Which doesn't mean you shouldn't heed the usual travel warnings concerning pickpockets.

Last few words before you get distracted by WhatsApp or Facebook or a sudden yen for chocolate:
Obviously, there's lots more to say about Barcelona. But the point of this post was to tell you how much we enjoyed our week-long stay at the Musik hotel. The small staff was obviously hand-picked by a boss (Alina) who's a good judge of character. David, Daniel and Alessandro at the the front desk; Esmeralda who works the night shift; Mabel and Elvis in the dining room and other duties; Bogdan and Georgeana behind the scenes. Hats off and a warm thank-you to you all. Hope to see you again.

Trip to Russia - Safety First!

Or: How my wallet was stolen

This should probably have been the first installment of my Russia series. But I didn't want to discourage you... It's not as if our little group was set upon by vicious brigands. Rather, it's how careless I was, and how you should learn from my mistakes.

The embarrassing story:
It was Tuesday morning, the third day of our organized trip, and our last day in St. Petersburg before sailing off to Mandrogi and other pretty places along rivers, lakes and canals on our way to Moscow.
We got up early-ish, and reached the world-famous Hermitage by ten a.m. Now, it's easy for me to say "world-famous", but I'd only first heard of it in the early 1990s, when Dmitri, a co-worker, (yes, a Russian), was disgusted at our ignorance. "Our" being his Israeli team-mates at LOGAL Educational Software, and our ignorance referred to our never having heard of the Hermitage museum.

Our small group stood a while in the long queue, and eventually joined the crowds in the museum's fancy corridors. Just so that you get an idea of what I'm talking about, here's a pic. The tourists in the foreground ("downstage") are my tour-mates:

A corridor in the Hermitage museum, St. Petersburg, Aug 11, 2015

We spent under 2 hours at the Hermitage, which is nothing, really. But time was short, the schedule was busy, and people had expressed their desire to have some free time to stroll Nevsky Boulevard and perhaps sit at a local cafe rather than have lunch consisting of an unappetizing lunch-box while sitting on the lawn in the park nearby.

I can't say exactly when I was pick-pocketed because, obviously, I felt nothing. As far as I know, I clutched my small, red, cross-body bag close to me at all times. But the place was crowded. I must have, at some point, raised my arms, perhaps to take a picture or just push the hair out of my face -- who knows. It was only a few hours later, once we were on the tour bus, that I looked at the messages on my iPhone telling me to contact my credit-card companies urgently... In disbelief, I checked my bag: no wallet. Absolutely and definitely. It couldn't possibly be hiding. It just wasn't there. Well -- you know the drill: Call your credit card company asap and cancel your card/s. And as soon as you have a chance, go online and check your credit and/or debit charges. "My" pickpocket was extremely swift and efficient, apparently, and must have made a dash for the nearest shops, where he or she spent a pretty penny. (As I write these lines, most of the charges have been cancelled, after the appropriate formalities.)

Helge looking at a flattering photo of me
he'd taken when we met in Toronto, winter 1972

My wallet had contained 2 credit cards and one debit card, not to mention some cash, a few photos of loved ones, a couple of business cards, and a small silver pendant that says I Love You, which I got from my ex-Norwegian penpal, Helge Blucher, when I met him for the first time (in Toronto, Canada, 1972) after having corresponded with him for nearly ten years. It was my good luck charm and had accompanied me in my travels for dozens of years.

As for the wallet itself -- it was a souvenir from our Thailand trip, an elephant(?) leather thingy dyed purple. My daughters thought it hideous.

As you can see, by this time we were at the glorious Peterhof Gardens, and I'm carrying my red bag sloppily on my shoulder, no longer caring whether anyone tries to fish anything out of it, since there was nothing left in it worth stealing. A small packet of tissues? Lip balm? Mints?..

Naturally, when my tour-mates found out about my plight, they were disgusted with how careless I'd been, and full of advice on what kind of bag I should have carried, and how silly it was of me to bring along three credit cards rather than one; or how I should have kept my valuables in a money belt covered by my T-shirt, and how I should get a form from the local полиция (police) confirming that I had reported the theft.

Naturally, I'd done none of the above. I can't stand money-belts -- they're extremely uncomfortable. I always take with me more than one credit card. And there's no way I could have gone to the local police; we were on an organized trip and had to get back to the boat on time, before it sailed without us. As for a cross-body bag that zips up more securely -- sure! Excellent idea. I've been having a whale of a time googling "secure anti-theft cross-body bags". My current favorite is this one. What do you think -- is $72 a reasonable price?

Tips before a trip to Russia, #2 - don't travel light

Okay, so we touched upon food & drink, cabin size, and general preparedness. When traveling for the first time to a foreign country, you should expect it to be "different". I don't see the point of traveling abroad if you're going to turn your nose up at local stuff and keep saying "we do this better at home". Which was the attitude taken by a few of my co-travelers.

But when in Russia, no matter where you hail from there are some things you can't possibly do "better", I suspect. No one can do Russian mentality and attitude as well as the Russians :-)

Back to hopefully-helpful tips: (the first four appear in my previous post.)

5. The weather: So what if the weather forecast displayed blue skies and warm temps? Who are you going to believe -- some pretentious little app on your smartphone, or your own experience that says "Weather is Fickle and Not to be Trusted"?  I consulted the Internet over and over again, as well as my Russian friend from exercise class. They were unanimous: Peter (the locals' name for Saint Petersburg) will be cool, Moscow will be warm, or hot.
For the first time in my traveling life, I decided to travel light. Big, big mistake. As it happened, Peter and the villages & towns along the river (Mandrogi, Kitzhi, Goritsy, Yaroslavl, Uglich) ranged from T-shirt weather to shivering-in-my-sweatshirt-and-scarf weather; while Moscow was downright cold in Israeli terms, i.e. 9-15 deg C (= 48-60 deg F). For locals that's super-mild, of course. I would have been far more comfortable had I packed a few more long-sleeved tops and a warmer coat.

T-shirt weather @ Peterhof Gardens

All bundled up on the way to Uglich. Nina in orange coat.

Which brings us to tip #6

6. Don't travel light: Last time I traveled to the U.S. and Canada (April-May 2015), I was determined to travel light. I knew that I'd never be far away from shops, whether in town or en route. Why, half the fun is saying, "Ooh, I've run out of body lotion", or "Gosh, it's cooler than I expected", and popping into a local shop. This was not the case in our Russian trip. The river boat, M/S Rublev, had a busy souvenir shop, but nowhere to buy toiletries or an extra pair of socks. The tourist-trap stalls do not carry bottles of cough syrup. And though I didn't look into it, I suspect a pair of Nikes costs far more on Nevsky Prospect than in your home town.

Among the items that I or my fellow travelers were happy they'd brought along were:
- Their fave brand of coffee/tea
- Their fave shampoo/conditioner
- Hair dryer, curling iron, hair-straightener
- Granola bars
- Tablet, iPad, (in addition to smartphone, obviously!) chargers for them and for any other electronic equipment
- Walking-stick with folding seat
- Umbrella

Laundry:
Small items such as lingerie and socks could be washed in the tiny washbasin in the tiny bathroom, using the complimentary bottles of shower gel or shampoo (because, for your hair, you'd obviously prefer using your own stuff); and they took a day or two to dry in the cabin. Larger items could be handed in. Laundry costs were around 70 rubles per T-shirt and 30-35 rubles for smaller items. Jeans probably cost more. So do you own math.

Items I could have done without:
- Book. I'm in the midst of The Reluctant Fundamentalist. It's interesting. I want to know what happens next. But I didn't have the time or energy to continue reading it on this trip. Hubby did find the time/energy to read books on his iPad. Don't ask me how.

7. Souvenirs: By now we should all know to beware of tourist traps, right? How much are you willing to pay for a matryoshka? How many of them do you need? How many of your friends and neighbors would really like to have one? The typical multicolored shawl or kerchief: Can you really tell the difference between an expensive authentic one, and a cheap synthetic imitation? Do you really need another kerchief? God knows I don't. Will your friend ever wear it, except, perhaps, on Purim? As for the coarse linen clothes and knits -- personally, I don't care for them; and if I change my mind, there are several Russian shops in the center of Rishon LeZion that carry them.
Keep in mind that you'll see more-or-less the same stuff everywhere you go, at different prices.
Yes, of course I bought a few souvenirs! I don't practice everything I preach; that would be inhuman.)

That's all for today; but there are more Important Tips to come!

Tips before a trip to Russia, #1 - of cabins, food and drink

So you've decided to go on an organized tour of Russia.

Why organized? Because that's the kind of trip we went on, so that's all I know, for now.
As for "Russia" -- it's a huge country, you know, so take into account that I only visited a bit of St. Petersburg a.k.a. Sanct Peterburg, Санкт-Петербург, a bit of Moscow a.k.a. Moskva, Москва, some rivers, canals, villages and cities in-between, and the ins and outs of a river boat.

River boat M/S Andrei Rublev, moored at Uglich

All that took 11 days and 10 nights, leaving me and most of my fellow-travelers exhausted. So I hope you're either young, or fit, or both.

Israel is notorious for its strenuous organized tours. The local agencies, familiar with their target audience and knowing that people want to feel that they're getting their money's worth, cram as much as they can into their itinerary, rushing people off their feet from dawn to dusk, or more accurately,  from early morning till late at night. I don't know how you, dear readers, feel about this. As for me, I prefer to sleep in when on vacation. And on every other day as well. So getting up around six a.m. is practically a nightmare for me.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. First things first:

1. Learn Russian. Okay, let me qualify that: Teach yourself the Cyrillic alphabet. If you're used to English, French, Spanish and the like, you'll find the Russian alphabet rather confusing. You look at the Russian sign above a shop or establishment, see the word ресторан, and mumble to yourself, "Pectopah? What on earth do they mean? Something to do with pectorals, maybe? Is this a gym, perchance?" Only to find out that it's pronounced "restauran", which is a perfectly understandable word.

Once you get acquainted with the alphabet, you'll find that you can make sense of lots of signs that provide a tourist with useful info. You'll be able to identify a traffic Stop sign (no, they do not use the standard hand symbol!), the location of bars and pubs, a few words on the menu (e.g. for soup, yogurt, banana, tea, coffee and more); and last but not least: туалет = toilet.

So, unlike my first tip concerning language in my China trip post, I am totally serious here.
Of course, you could travel with a Russian-speaking buddy and just follow him/her like a puppy. But I assure you you'll be awfully proud of yourself when you manage to figure out some of the words.
And remember the essential "please", "thank you", "hello", and "how much [does it cost]?" In transliteration, respectively: Pazhalista, spasiba, privyet, skolka soit...? [point to desired item].

2. Pick your travel agency with care. Research. Google. Ask friends for recommendations. Then go to their office if possible, or phone them, ask as many questions as you can think of, and write down the answers. Ask for the website addresses of the hotel/s or ship you'll be staying at; ask for names of the guides who will accompany you; make sure they speak your language fluently; ask for names of and contact details of previous travelers to your destination of choice. Read proposed tour plans. 

None of these steps are foolproof. But the more you know, the more prepared you are, the better.
For example: 
- We were told in advance that the cabins we would be assigned on the ship were small. We could easily see the cabins on YouTube, for example, and on the ship's website. So when we got there, we were not a bit surprised, and made ourselves comfortable. (No point in uploading a pic of a pristine, unlived-in room...)

Cabin #230, main deck

Another couple from our group, however, may not have looked into this issue, so when they walked into their cabin, they nearly had a fit, and demanded to be moved to a more spacious cabin. Which cost more, of course.

Nina doing her Russian homework

3. Food: Remember, you're in Russia. The food will most likely be either Russian, or an attempt at western/European food. It may not be what you're used to. But no worries! The big cities (certainly Moscow and Saint Petersburg) have plenty of McDonalds, McCafe, Burger King, Starbucks, and KFC. Of these, only KFC retained its English letters; the others' names are written in Cyrillic letters, which make them look weird... But the logos remain the same, and I'm sure you'll easily identify them. The  prices of light meals such as a sandwich or a salad at one of the bars aboard the Rublev were very reasonable, compared to Tel Aviv, say. See prices, in Rubles, below: (Yes, a sandwich is under a dollar, a Greek salad just over 2 dollars.)

However, the size of said salad or sandwich may be smaller than you are used to... For dessert, for instance, one of the options (after dinner) was always a so-called fruit platter. Which typically looked like this:

4. Drink: We were warned not to drink tap water. Bottles of mineral water were available on the boat, costing 130 rubles for a 1.3 liter bottle. That's just under 2 US dollars, or 1.65 Euro, or 7.30 NIS as I write, i.e. at late August 2015 exchange rates. That adds up if you consume a bottle or more a day. So, if convenient, buy water at any grocery or mini-market you come across. The sign will say something like продукт or similar, which -- once you've practiced your alphabet -- will sound like "product" or "products", which you can easily make sense of.

But cheer up! Beer and other spirits are relatively cheap! With special discounts during Happy Hour.(See below.)

On that happy note, I shall call it a day, and write my next list of tips as soon as possible.
See next list here.

Drinks menu #1 (prices in Rubles)

Drinks menu #2

Soft drinks & hot beverages

How about a trip to Russia?

The time has come for another trip, Hubby informed me.

- But, but... I haven't even finished posting about our trip to the U.S. and Canada! I blurted. - Not to mention those amazing weeks in Paris and in the Loire Valley! All those chateaux! Marcadet Poissonniers! Place des Vosges! Orleans! Jean D'Arc...  I continued, spitting out names, looking at the pics on my iPhone.

Hubby shrugged. What was, was. After all -- that was in September 2014... nearly a year ago. Who's fault is it that I made do with uploading a few pics onto Facebook, rather than consulting my handwritten journal and doing some real blogging?

Honestly, I don't know how we decided on Russia. I wanted someplace not too far away (i.e., Europe, because most other nearby destinations are enemy territory), yet "exotic", and new to us.

Russia has always intrigued me. I know precious little about it. Considering that my maternal grandmother was born there (well -- in the former USSR, to be precise), and that I am pretty much surrounded by Russians wherever I go here in Israel, I thought it was high time I popped over and had a look-see. After all, some of the best books, plays, short stories I ever read are by the great Russian literary legends -- Chekhov, Gogol, Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky. My mother's father's surname was Caranefsky; doesn't that sound like something out of Anna Karenina?...

The long and the short of it is, we're flying to Russia in about 24 hours' time.

Not that everything has gone smoothly so far. Theoretically, it should be simple: Google "trip to Russia"; narrow it down to "Moscow and St. Petersburg", look at dates and prices, compare Travel Agencies A, B, and C; take out your credit card; et voila! You're booked on a 10 day trip.

To begin with, we decided that, for the first time ever, we'd go on an organized tour from Israel. Which means that our fellow travelers will be Israelis, and that our guide will be speaking to us in Hebrew. Despite his xy years in Israel, Hubby feels more comfortable in the company of English speakers.  Can't blame him. My folks lived in Israel from 1946 till their dying day scores of years later (2000; 2009) and still felt more comfortable among English speakers. And, possibly more important, Israelis are notorious for speaking fast; which would make following the guide's explanations more difficult.

In addition, we're not used to traveling with a group. Our organized trip to China in 2012, through a [now defunct] British travel agency, ended up being comprised of only 3 couples; and our tour of Thailand in 2006 was privately organized by the very capable Hagai Lahav of Golden Lotus. So this is a first for us.

By now we've met most of our dozen-or-so fellow travelers, as well as the CEO of the agency -- Star-Tours -- and their chief guide, who was supposed to be our guide but was called to more pressing duties. But in the weeks between our first meeting with the company rep to the day the tickets finally arrived, we were unsure of what was going on. Oh well -- we'll chalk it up to experience. And now, I should really finish packing and try to get some sleep. In addition to everything else, I'm looking forward to the Russian lessons offered on board the Rublev, during the Peter-to-Moscow cruise. It's all very well to be able to write 50 assorted words in Russian, but in practical terms, let's admit it, on their own those words are quite useless.

To Toronto, with love

Every night I go back there: The Annex with its old, beautiful houses. The Annex-section of Bloor Street, with its unpretentious shops and abundance of Asian eateries. After tossing and turning for hours (darn that jet lag!) I fall asleep and dream of Canada. I wake up and don't know where I am -- whose room is this? Is this the truly charming studio on Madison Avenue?

 Or am I on Dupont, with its faint, ongoing murmur of traffic seeping through the windows, and the four-poster bed?

Am I in Kingston, in Lettie's spotless, welcoming home?

 

Or is this still Quebec City, overlooking the river?...

Eventually, I get my bearings and realize I'm back home, for better and for worse.

During the first few days in Toronto, I didn't write a thing in my travel journal. For three or four days I was immersed in a sea of emotions, scents, sights; overwhelmed by a constant stream of sounds, views, feelings. It was difficult to absorb it all. Impressions swirled inside my head like on a swift merry-go-round, the music coming and going, the images flowing into each other and merging until I couldn't pull them apart into individual frames.

For example: The other night I tried to recall what Stelio, the ballet teacher, looked like, but couldn't. Instead, images of Baryshnikov (the later, silver-haired model) floated in front of my eyes. Then the dust settled, and I could see Stelio clearly. Complete with black split-sole dance sneakers (the kind I drool over when walking by a dance-shop window); the sleeveless black T-shirt; the twinkling eyes; his admirably-firm upper arm muscles and the endless grace of his arm movements as he demonstrated, explained, and encouraged us to do our best. Why, Stelio alone is worth a few notebook-pages! Though I was rather nervous about going to a ballet class (for the first time in, ahem, fifty-odd years), those couple of hours at Metro Movement turned out to be among the highlights of this trip.

Toronto isn't new to me. But this was the first time I experienced it less like a tourist and more like a temporary resident. I could imagine myself living there. I got a kick out of witnessing the extent to which my daughter had become Canadian. I wanted to be like her: to know my way about town, to feel at home, to know what to buy where, what to expect of people on public transport, in traffic, in shops and restaurants; and how I'm expected to act in return. (Politely, duh!)

I want to go into Mr. Pen on 683, Bloor St. West. (Obviously, I don't have enough cute stickers at home...) I want to pop into Midoco, on 555 Bloor St. West, and gawk at art supplies. I want to order a poutine for dinner from Poutineville on 296 Brunswick Ave. I want to relax over coffee at the Scout & Cash Caffe [sic!] on 146 Christie Street.

But most of all, I just want to walk hand-in-hand with my daughter under blue skies, under a benevolent, warm, spring sun.

Boston, is this really you?

Holiday Inn Bunker Hill, Boston. April 22-23, 2015

Beep-beep-beep! Overload warning!
Two weeks into our Canada/U.S. trip, my head is still spinning, a maelstrom of images and emotions. Bloor street and Queen street, Thornhill and Burlington; Liberty and Mr. G; Pemberton and Grounds for Sculpture; Silver Spring, DC, Etto's; Manhattan, the High Line, Celeste, Riverside Park -- all these are not mere words or names; they evoke sights and sounds and smells. Not to mention the beloved people that were the focal point and lodestone drawing me to these places.

My feelings upon reaching Boston, after a four-or-five hour drive from Manhattan, were along the lines of "I wish I'd spent another day in Manhattan instead..." (Hear that, Jonathan Torn?) But to be fair, I hadn't really given the place a chance. It's just that the hotel -- perfectly satisfactory once we were inside, except for the dour receptionist -- is in a dreary, industrial-looking part of town. Obviously, we had to do the touristy thing and follow the Freedom Trail Guide (or similar) to get a whiff of the pretty face of town. Which is what we ended up doing, having less than 48 hours at our disposal.

I get the impression you have to be American to appreciate the Freedom Trail. You don't have to be American (or British, for that matter) to have heard of the Boston Tea Party. And I have no idea whether I learnt of the ride of Paul Revere in American Poetry classes at Tel Aviv University, or possibly earlier when I thought I might be spending high school in Brooklyn with my cousin Sheri, and started reading up on American history. So, while I appreciated the attempt to make American history come alive for American youth, I couldn't get very emotionally involved.  (Which is a "nice" way of saying I was a mite bored.)

When it comes to ships, though, it's a totally different story. I love seafaring stories. I love big ships with huge masts and sails, I am awed by aircraft carriers. Just say Cutty Sark, the USS Intrepid, or any other name of a famous shipyard, and I'll hop on the nearest train to go visit.  So obviously we went to see the USS Constitution -- the ship and the museum.  There were lots of youngsters at the museum; looked like a school outing. Indeed, most of the illustrations and activities seemed geared to a young audience. Which is fine and dandy, of course. On the ship itself, two young Navy guys with a penchant for acting were giving lively explanations of the history of the ship, its travels and travails.
Still -- most of the ship was not accessible, and I was a bit disappointed. Maybe my memories of other ship-related experiences, such as the Chatham dockyards in England, got in the way.

Yes, I know -- there's more to Boston than the Freedom Trail. There are places where people live, eat, shop, study, enjoy. Quincy Market, for example, was bursting with activity. So much so, that, though hungry, we found refuge in the relative quiet of the nearest Pret a Manger. I'd love to add a link, but the slow wifi is driving me nuts...

On that happy note -- to be continued!

Studio apartment in the Annex, Toronto

Brief addition to my previous post:
This is the building in the Annex where we stayed. Our white, chunky, rented Hyundai Tucson can be seen peeking at the right-bottom of the photo:

And here are a few pics of the interior, starring Audry Hepburn, my cardigan and scarf, and Michael:

As I wrote in my feedback on Airbnb, the place was near-perfect. It was more spacious than we expected -- the pics on Airbnb don't do it justice; and there was plenty of room for all our stuff. Believe me, we had -- and still have -- lots of stuff. (I over-packed, surprise surprise...)

Incidentally: Before finding this place on Airbnb, I don't think I'd ever heard of The Annex, though this was by no means my first visit to Toronto. By now, I've heard it described as "funky", "old", "student-hippie-like", and assorted other adjectives. Whatever it is -- I like it.

All this seems like eons ago...
So difficult to keep up! But -- as I always say -- may that be the worst of my problems.
TTFN!

From TLV via LHR to YYZ and the Annex

The whole idea was to reach The Annex (you know -- the one in Toronto, ON) by the most efficient, least painful route, to see our daughter Shira whom we hadn't seen in about a year and a half, which -- as far as I'm concerned -- is way too long a time not to see one's daughter.

Our 2-part flight was blissfully uneventful. During the first part, the seat to my left was unoccupied, which is a great convenience, since you can drop all your stuff there after takeoff rather than try to squash it on the floor under the seat in front of you and in the tight pockets of the seat in front of you. Also, the gentleman next to the empty seat just minded his own business and responded politely and helpfully when I asked him for something.

This flight took me to hitherto unfamiliar sections of Terminal 5: B & C, for our connection to Canada. Security was quite strict, which led to several misunderstandings, baffled looks, angry complaints and what-not. One Israeli guy couldn't believe his ears when the security guy stone-facedly told him that he could not bring his seriously-large chunks of halva into the U.S. "But this is halva, it's not margarine based, it's not liquid, it won't turn into liquid!" He kept repeating. "It's for my daughter, she loves halva, what am I going to tell her now?" he beseeched. Then he insisted on speaking to the security-guy's boss. Mr. Boss came along, and coolly confirmed his subordinate's ruling.
I, on the other hand, caused the metal detector gate to beep loudly as I passed, though the female security guard who patted me down couldn't find anything metallic on my person, aside from my jeans' zipper.

No time for serious shopping at the Duty Free. Which was just as well; as soon as I step into WHSmith or Boots I go glassy eyed and helpless, befuddled by the selection. I couldn't even choose a pretty box of chocolates for my own daughter! My husband, on the other hand, did managed to choose a couple of bottles of whisky with fancy names.

On to the Toronto-bound flight. Minding my own business is not what I did on this journey. There were only 3 seats across (as opposed to 4 on the LHR-bound flight), and to my left sat a serene, impressive-in-an-understated-way woman, who was marking papers. The editor in me was intrigued and wouldn't keep quiet. I immediately decided she was either an editor or a prof at some university/college. I longed to ask, but didn't want to bother her or break her concentration. Guess what? Eventually I broke down and began talking to her. Indeed, she's a professor at Kent Law School in the UK. And a lovely person to boot! Hope I get to see her again, maybe in Israel.

Landed in YYZ as planned. It was cold and dreary out. But who cares! Our daughter was there to greet us. Went to the Avis desk. Were too tired and distracted to resist the sales pitch of the guy at the desk, and thus ended with a large, heavy-set Hyundai Tucson instead of a more modest Elantra, or a VW Golf. But, having driven a 25-ft RV, I can barely protest that the Tucson is too big for me...

To make a longish story short, we got to our pre-booked accommodation -- a lovely studio apartment on Madison Ave in the Annex -- a name I'd never heard of until we started searching AirBnB for a place within walking distance from Shira's.

I wanted to upload a couple of pics, but either my oldish laptop, or the wifi here, or both, are sluggish. So this is where I stop for now, hoping to continue with some impressions of Bloor street (don't turn up your noses, please!), Queen street, and -- most important -- ballet class with the amazing Stelio.

Ta-ta for now.