Coolest day ever and we haven’t even gone to Machu Picchu yet

Maras Salt Mines

The view from outside our room.

Despite the exhaustion of the past couple of days, I woke up at 4:30am this morning (having gone to bed at 8:30). Once it was light out I stepped outside to get a look at our hotel, which we’d seen only in darkness the night before. It did not disappoint. It’s built in a 17th century monastery, with old stone walls, twisting passages, and flowering courtyards. Mountains tower over it on all sides.

Another view into the Sacred Valley.

Today we were easing into our volunteer service with a visit to the Anta Home for Girls, a home run by nuns for girls who are orphaned or whose families can’t take care of them. Our Peruvian leader, Jaime, was very anxious that we arrive on time. (“The nuns,” he said, “they are not relaxed about time.”) But on our way to the bus our American leader, Van, couldn’t resist a quick side trip into the backyard of the hotel to show us the “center of magnetic resonance” (I’m still not sure what that means), an area low in the ground with a strange stone structure that is apparently some sort of ancient massage chair. He wanted us all to try it to see how comfortable and relaxing it was, so we were a little late for the nuns.

Luckily they didn’t seem to hold it against us. The little girls at the home were thrilled to see Van, who visits regularly. They poured into the van, full of smiles and hugs for everyone. Despite their difficult circumstances, they seemed to be some of the happiest children I’ve come across.

Today the adults were working with newborns, giving baths and supplying new diapers and outfits. The teens had a great time running around with the little girls from the home, painting nails and playing tag. When we were heading out for a tour, a little girl beckoned us in to the courtyard — and we found ourselves in a raucous jump rope competition. Caroline gets extra credit for attempting to jump with a small child on her shoulders.

Later a volleyball game broke out, and we were amazed at how good the girls were and wondered how they’d learned.

Then Mother Superior arrived:

How cool is this nun?

After leaving the girls, with promises to return in a couple of days, Van took us to the Maras Salt Mines. (I should mention here that all our travels are by bus, and (1) that the views are so incredible all the time — the towering mountains are never out of sight; and (2) the bus drivers here deserve some kind of medal. Our driver has had to navigate narrow, winding streets with literally only a few inches of clearance on each side, and, more concerningly, narrow dirt mountain roads with sheer drops that are two-way but not wide enough for two cars. One of our scariest moments was when we were on such a road, headed to the salt mine, on the outside lane, and saw another bus approaching from the opposite direction.)

Anyway, the salt mines were incredibly cool. At a place where warm, salty water runs out of the mountains, the Inca built a huge system of terraces (these guys were the masters of terraces) and an irrigation system so that salty water could be routed into a shallow pond and left to evaporate, leaving a harvest of salt. There are a vast number of ponds that are owned and farmed by individual families from the area.

Native Peruvian hairless dog. Called by our guide, “the ugliest dog in the world.”

We hiked down to and along the salt terraces, sometimes on a very narrow path with a stream on one side and a drop on the other. We made it all the way down to the bottom of the Sacred Valley to the river. Zoe declared it the “coolest day ever”.

Bonus pic: Grumpy llama.

Airports, Andes, and Incas

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Cusco overlook

Sunset over New England

Zoe and I have started our adventure, a nine-day trip to Peru with several others from our town and the organization Generations Humanitarian. Turns out that getting 13 people from New Hampshire to Peru is quite an accomplishment. We knew it would be a very long day, but didn’t know quite how long. We were split over two flights from Boston to New York, and the five of us on my flight were trying to make the best of a 3+ hour layover by planning for a nice sit-down dinner at JFK.

Sunrise over the Andes

Alas, it was not to be. Somehow (we still don’t know how), in getting from our arrival terminal to departure, we managed to go through security and thus found ourselves back on the wrong side. Zoe’s friend Caroline is traveling without her parents, and they’d told us she’d need to get a boarding pass at the gate — so that meant we had to wait in the long checkin line since she couldn’t get through security. (It was very lucky we’d realized at the 11th hour that we needed a special form signed by Caroline’s parents, or the day would have gone much, much worse.) Back to security again — only to have them refuse to accept the boarding passes that Zoe and I had printed off at home because they had the wrong airline on them (our two flights were on different airlines). This time the line was even longer. By the time we actually go to our gate, we were lucky to have a few minutes to buy cold, soggy sandwiches. (Turns out we even could have held off on that, since Latam Airlines unaccountably decided to serve dinner after we’d taken off — at 1 am. We decided to pass.)

Caroline is skeptical of the giant corn kernels

After a third flight from Lima to Cusco, we had finally arrived. We’ve been hydrating like crazy to avoid the effects of the 11,000+ foot altitude, and in Cusco started chewing coca leaves, the local remedy. The weather is beautiful — sunny and around 70. Our first stop was a restaurant with huge plate-glass windows looking down on the city. Our trip leader Van set us up with a six-course meal of foods that are traditional here, and it was so much fun to try all the different courses. Among other things, our meal included coca tea, a plate of giant corn kernels (I mean GIANT) with some kind of cheese, a soup, and a crazy, but surprisingly good, kind of purple juice

Alpaca! The entree reminded us of the $7 Galapagos dinners we enjoyed so much. I don’t want to break it to Bob that our six-course meal here only cost $7.50.

made from some kind of fermented corn juice, pineapple, and cinnamon (chicha morada). Zoe and I bravely elected to try the alpaca steaks, and they were amazingly good — tender and flavorful.

After that we hopped back on our bus to travel from Cusco to the Sacred Valley. It’s at a slightly lower altitude to help us adjust, but in order to get there we had to cross a pass at 13,400 feet. (Our trip’s leader, Van, told us that planes are required to use oxygen at 13,000.) There were amazing views around every corner and green peaks rising sharply on all sides. All the

Sacred Valley

mountainsides, however steep, seem to be covered with vertical lines — a remnant of the agricultural terraces built by the Inca.

We made another stop at the semi-famous market at Pisac, where we found amazing woolens and textiles. We picked up some great bargains, though after a while Zoe and I had to go into hiding, exhausted from the hard sells and our weak attempts at bargaining. At the end Van took us to a shop where they had original pottery from the Incas and before — available for $60 or less. (No, I am not going to attempt to bring that home in my suitcase.)

Pisac Market. Zoe is sporting her new alpaca sweater.

We were all grateful to eventually get back to our hotel, exhausted and desperate for showers. We’re staying at an old monastery in Urumbamba in the Sacred Valley. We couldn’t see much when we arrived after dark, but I’m guessing it’s beautiful.

Our options for dinner turned out to be a mile-long walk into town or the hotel’s fancy restaurant — so Zoe, Caroline and I unanimously opted for room service and an early bedtime (and the best and most-needed shower in the history of the world). Tomorrow we start our volunteer service at the Anta girls’ home.

Thighs of steel

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As the final part of our week arrived, we might have felt some temptation to rest on our laurels, and give a break to our aching legs. This would have been quite a hit to our egos, though, considering that we were surrounded by fit old people, zooming past us with no sign of fatigue.

I don’t know if all of Quebec is like this, or if Mt. Ste. Anne particularly is some kind of geriatric paradise, but we were astonished at the average age of the weekday clientele. Everywhere we went — the lift lines, the cross country trails, the apres-ski bar scene — we were among the youngest people there. Apparently retirees in Quebec don’t sit around on their patios playing shuffleboard. One man who rode in the gondola with us told us that he’d skied 115 days the prior year. The vast majority of them were better skiers than we were. And once the lifts had closed, there they were again, dancing to the live music in the bar.

In any event, Wednesday dawned with bright sunshine and a brilliant blue sky, and the cross country trail system (described to us by a fellow NH tourist as the best in North America) beckoned. So we set aside our downhill skis and took off into the woods, on beautifully groomed trails that seemed to travel into Narnia.

During our whole outing, we barely saw another person. (This may have been because they heard us coming and hurriedly decided to try a different trail.) The kids held up well, given that they had little to no experience on cross country skis. Within the first ten minutes most of us were down to our shirtsleeves. Our 8km loop was just the right distance for us to get in before returning to the lodge for lunch. At that point most of the underage crew decided they’d had enough, and petitioned for a return trip to Quebec City. Zoe and I decided to persevere on the ski trails, and managed to get in another 10km before the end of the day. We even tried a blue (intermediate) trail, despite my reservations. (I was more afraid of the downhill than the up, but apparently the laws of physics do not apply the same way in Canada, because I swear the loop was uphill both ways.)

View from the gondola

The next day, of course, our legs were even more tired…but with several inches of snow having fallen the night before, the siren song of one more day on the mountain was too much to resist. We didn’t exactly get an early start, but eventually we’d gotten everyone out the door.

A return trip to the toboggan ride, which we discovered goes 44 mph! No wonder it was so terrifying.

If we thought we were in for an easier time than the day before, we were greatly mistaken. We found that the mountain had groomed only a few trails, leaving the others with large mounds of powder scattered across them in uneven lumps. After one run, our thighs were screaming. (I have never before had the experience of having to stop and unzip my coat because I was sweating from the exertion of going DOWNHILL.) Most of our crew called it a day by lunchtime. Bob, Chris and I dragged ourselves back after a long break in the condo, and were glad we did. After what we assumed would be our last run, we saw the lift was

Game night back at the ranch

still running at 4:05 — and hopped back on. Given how the weather has been in NH, this may be our last skiing of the year, so we wanted to make the most of it.

After that, not much remained but to pack up, eat and drink all the remaining food in the house, spend our last Canadian dollars at the grocery store (embarrassingly, we miscalculated and had to put something back) and prepare for the long drive home. The kids are already talking about a repeat next year, and we adults didn’t say it was out of the question.

Final trip to the IGA

Day of Champions

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A second day of skiing can be a tricky thing, We kind of just did the same thing yesterday. We know the mountain a little bit so a lot of the surpises have been revealed. Our legs are very sore.

It’s easy to look like a champ with this backdrop.

Still, if there’s one thing the Winter Olympics have shown us, it’s that in the face of adversity like this, people can dig down deep and show tremendous character simply by sliding around on frozen stuff. Today, almost every one of us did something of championship calibre.

Eliza skied her first black diamond — out of necessity, because the adjacent blue trail was closed — and immediately said she wanted to go back up and ski it again, on purpose this time.

Trisha skied the same green pea trail over and over again, then said she was ready for an easy blue square. She skied it like a pro, then decided she was happy going back to the green pea trail a few more times, si vou plait. She would end the day on one of the trickiest trails any of us has seen here, and she did it without complaint.

Lanie edges Eliza in the Get Ready After Lunch Derby.

Lanie won the “get ready after lunch” derby. She had her ski pants on and was working on her boots before most of us had put our dishes in the dishwasher. (It should be said that all the kids — and adults — were eager to get back to the mountain after lunch today. It was nice to see.)

Not only did Nadia go back out after lunch today, she was filled with energy all day long, encouraging several of us to try a new trail for our last run. It turned out to be a horrible decision that had us skiing down a frozen waterfall several stories high, but she still showed good initiative.

More diamonds than a Liberace concert

Jen looked graceful on all trails, even some really tough ones, and didn’t even seem to lose her poise when the North Side Express lift was getting ready to close and several of the kids hadn’t come out of the Enchanted Forest yet.

Zoe stuck with Eliza and talked her through the steepest part of her first black diamond, snatching a victory from the jaws of defeat.

Emma, who is nursing a knee injury, combined self-control and true Olympic grit. She seemed to know just when to turn in for lunch, so she could make it through the afternoon until last run. She also stuck around at the exit of the Enchanted Forest the last time until all her comrades made it out, which required quite a bit of waiting. The Enchanted Forest is lovely, but also very bumpy.

Chris spoke clear, if urgent, French to some ski patrollers while trying to explain that some of his kids might still be out on a closed trail at the end of the day. Although, he admits he might have said some of his children were under the trail or perhaps that some of his children lived on the trial, Chris eventually got his message across.

Yes, Halifaxians, they serve Keith’s at Mt. Ste. Anne.

I ate three big helpings of leftover burrito bowl for lunch — loads more than anyone else — and I also honored the Province of Nova Scotia by ordering an Alexander Kieth’s once our two-for one beer tickets had run out. (FYI, the two-for-one Tuesday lift ticket special is great; the two-for-one beer special is also great, particularly if you like Corona — that’s the only beer that the special applies to.)

More snow is coming. A lot more tomorrow night. This may have not been our last ski day after all.

Day 3, Where We Finally Get to Ski

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When we left you last, reader, it was snowing. It was lovely to watch from inside our condo and anticipate the impact the flakes would have on the slopes just beyond our vision.

You’ll remember that we’d had a day and a half of not skiing, even though the trails were right there, behind two rows of other condos, looming over us. It was difficult to wait.

Lanie was in the first wave to get to the hill.

Actually, we didn’t all wait. Jen, Chris and I did some cross country skiing yesterday on a neighboring golf course, and after a particularly steep climb and a glide through a sled-dog kennel, we found ourselves on one the the Mt. Ste. Anne downhill trails, and hour after the lifts stopped running. It was cool, but also stressful, because cross country skis and downhill slopes don’t mix well, in my opinion.

Today, though, everything fell into place. We had the right skis on the right hills. The right snow had fallen on the right trails. We finally got to ski.

First gondola trip up

Although some of us were ready well before the 9 am first lift call, we didn’t actually find ourselves on the lovely Mt. Ste. Anne gondolas until 9:10 or so. Much praise for Trisha, who decided to straight to the top and not mess around with the magic carpet and training hill. Our trail map suggested that there are several green pea trails that lead down from the summit, some of them quite long, one of them in the neighborhood of 3 1/2 miles long. (!) Trisha was ready to tackle them.

Trisha and Eliza skied for miles today.

The stars all lined up: we had new snow but no lift lines (not too many New Hampshirites came up here to celebrate school vacation, apparently). We had reasonable temperatures — no one asked for hand or boot warmers. There was a fair amount of sun and good visibiltiy, except for the brief blizzard that caused a little havoc right around lunchtime. We had the crock pot full of Jen’s chicken burrito bowl recipe waiting for us at the end of the day.

Beaupre is steep for a blue square, though it might not look like it here.

We had lots of fun. Most of us made it back out for afternoon runs after lunch and were rewarded with very forgiving snow and very little ice. This was particularly true on the north side of the mountain, the one we didn’t even know existed until we looked closely at the map.

The girls found several glades to explore and displayed enough competence that eventually the adults no longer felt obligated to follow them into the woods.

This crew, and the guy who took the picture, made it until the very end..

Our legs became sore, but we stuck it out to the very end. There couldn’t have been more than a handful of paying customers still on the mountain when we finished up and headed home for burrito bowl.

Tomorrow looks like another good day for skiing. We’re encouraged by the weather forcast and also the two-for-one ticket deal on Tuesdays here. Rumor has it the deal extends to drinks at the bar, as well. This might make for an interesting blog post. Stay tuned.

Day in the City, a Pictoral Display

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Jen and Trish sat down yesterday and made a plan for the week. This is what they drew up for day 1:

We went to the city. Here we are outside the gates, near D’Youville Place. It’s very close to where our apartment was in October.

Then we got croissants. First we picked them out. (Almost everyone got chocolate.)

Then we ate them. We took our time because it was cold outside.

We walked and shopped until we found the Chateau Frontenac.

We stopped into the tourist center to warm up some more. Eliza was the only one who came over to meet Bonhomme. Even she was a little skeptical.

Jen read a pamphlet about parking laws.

Back outside, it was windy on the promenade.

But we fought the gale.

And grabbed some tobaggans.

And took a few bronze medals in the three-man super scream.

Let’s see…We visited the lower city and enjoyed a cider tasting.

Lots of things are made of ice here.

Then it was time for maple taffy.

Fondue next.

It was snowing a lot by the time fondue was done.

But we made it back to the mountain and had a quiet evening, including cider by the fire.

The End
(Until Tomorrow)

Back in the PdQC

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Mont Ste. Anne in the background, as seen this past October.

We are finally back in Quebec.

Last fall Jen and I returned for a weekend after a 20- year absence. It made us want to get right back up here, preferably with a bunch of people.

The timeshare gods provided us with a vacancy here at Mt. Ste. Anne for February break and our friends the Halls were on board to help fill the place.

Pack up the kids. Cue the expeditionary music. Off we went.

Then we hit Franconia Notch. Drizzle before. Drizzle after. But mahem as we passed through the notch. Snow, sleet and wind made passage from Lincoln to Littleton a strenuous and slow slog. After some rest and Thai food in Littleton (a nicer town than I had anticipated, and the Thai restaurant is great), we hit the road again. The Halls did some calculations in their van and called to inform us in our van that, based on the time and our current speed, we wouldn’t be getting into our condo until after 2 am. Ugh.

After breakfast in Barton,: American olympians,Canadian flag.

We secured two cabins in possibly the northernmost cabin outpost currently operating in Northern Vermont. Thanks for your hospitality, Barton, VT, and congratulations to your two winter Olymians. Our ne- return to Quebec would have to wait another half day.

But now here we are in a lovely condo, provided by Grammy and Grampy’s timeshare. Smack-dab in the heart of the Province du Quebec, Canada.

This is what people look like in Canada.

Cookie production line

It’s right at the foot of the mountain. The sun is out. There are beds for everyone. Some of us ventured out to check out the lodge and the trail maps and such. (Others stayed in the condo and hatched a plan to bake cookies.)

The ski conditions were improved by last night’s storm — 6 cm of new snow . What’s more, we’re expecting another dozen or so centimeters (just deal with it, we’re in metric Canada now, buddy) tomorrow afternoon. Based on this intelligence, we’re planning out our week (those of us who are not baking). Other things to consider:

— Tuesday is two-for-one day at the hill. We’ll be skiing that day.

— Quebec City is only 30 minutes away and Jen and I are the only ones out of our whole group of nine who have ever been there. I think we’ll go there tomorrow.

— We have skating and cross country skiing equipment, but people keep skiing past our window and it really makes us want to ski on the mountain.

— We took a look at the map and realized that what we thought was the whole mountain was really ONLY HALF. There’s trails all over the other side of the mountain, too! It might be tough not to ski tomorrow.

On the rink, trying not to get tagged

— The smallish skate rink with the island in the middle is perfect for skate-tag, even though some of us looked up at the night skiing going on right above us and wondered if anyone would really notice us getting on the gondola for one quick run, just ot check it out

I’m sure we’ll get skiing at some point. We’ll let you know what happens as the week reveals itself.

Overdue re-visit

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With a world full of places to explore, it’s been our general policy to steer away from revisiting. There are notable exceptions: Orlando, San Francisco, Boston, New York. They’re all in the archives of this blog more than once.

On the other hand, this list is tiny compared to the list of places we’ve loved but will likely not see again. The cayes of Belize. Quito. Cody Night Rodeo and Custer State Park. Rome, wonderful Rome. We might not even make it back to the St. Louis City Museum.

So, readers might infer that there is something special about Quebec City. This is our third time visiting here, and we’re dedicating to it a milestone anniversary and a lovely long fall weekend.

Infer away. From the cobblestones right to the top of the tallest buildings, you’re surrounded here by rich history and cool modernism. Th restaurant scene (which Jen covered a bit yesterday) and the sounds of the street musicians shout out Quebec’s culture and class. It’s the kind of city where you can find anything you want if you walk around enough (more on this later).

Peak foliage and apple harvesting time make for a nice setting for cider tasting.

In some ways, it feels like a new city to us. Where’s the white winter coat it wears for Carnival (and the day-glow snowmobile suits everyone was wearing 22 years ago)? Even in fall, this city is very clean and well-maintained, and the foliage rivals that which causes tourists from away to flood New England this time of year. It’s crowded with tourists here, too, but things seem bustling and convivial as opposed to oppressive and claustrophobic.

This is the first time we’ve ventured significantly outside the old city. On Saturday we walked down the hill to patronize the wonderful farmers’ market and to (somewhat unsuccessfully) seek out a hip neighborhood called the Saint-Roch district.

Then, on Sunday, we struck out even farther, to the farmlands that seem to surround this city in a way that suburbs and sprawl surround every other city we’ve explored in the past.

Also good for a vineyard visit — note the Chute-Montmorency is that white smudge in the distance toward the top left of the picture. This was during a break in the fog.

Jen orchestrated this trip and she should be congratulated for steering us toward the Isle d’Orleans. This island in the St. Lawrence River is 15 minutes from the walls of the old city, but calm, quiet and pastoral. It’s quiet, but the concentration of agro-tourism outlets is quite rich. To find a setting like this outside their city, a Bostonian might have to drive two hours to get to Vermont or lakes region New Hampshire or far-western Massachusetts.

Once across the bridge and onto the island, we had 40-plus miles of vineyards, cideries, bakeries and farm stands for us to wander through, and some of them were in view of the city! That is to say they would be in view of the city except that for much of the morning we were frustrated by drizzle and fog. During our first vineyard visit, the fog broke briefly and we were able to see first the river, then the mainland, and then we were even able to make out the white smear of the Chute- Montmorency, a waterfall higher than Niagra Falls, way over on the the far bank.

Then the fog came back and rain. Then more rain. Then rain and wind. We kept on driving along. The attractions on the north side of the island were mostly art galleries, we were told, and we were ok passing them by while staying dry in the car.

That’s sunlight peeking our behind me while I wait for the Resto de la Plage to open.

Just before noon, we stopped at almost the halfway point along the route. We waited for a restaurant by the water to open, and, wouldn’t you know it, first the wind went away, then the rain, and by the time we were eating, there was blue sky and sun. It was the nicest weather for the whole trip so far, and it allowed for extensive views east and west along the river. The soup was nice, too.

The sun and clouds battled each other for the rest of the afternoon while we stopped in a bakery, a locally-made vinegar shop, a boutique selling Quebecois-designed clothes that Jen really liked, a dairy that produces a version of the first cheese made in the Americas (we were not around back then to verify its accuracy, but it tasted very good roasted in a pan), a few cideries, a few vineyards, and a microbrewery. The tastings offered at the latter locales were small and Jen and I were sharing them; still, the day started to take on a bacchanal-like feeling. (The last vineyard we went to was even named after Bacchus.) The wines and hard ciders seem of fine quality to us, especially the ice wines and ciders which are produced from fruit harvested after they’ve frozen on their vine or tree.

Here’s where we tried the first cheese made in the new world.

All along the route were farms, some for hay and livestock, and others for the main produce crops on the island: strawberries, apples and grapes. Such is the climate here that all three of those crops were being harvested as we wandered past. (Strawberries in October!)

One other stop of interest was to climb a four-story tower (during one of the day’s sunnier moments) on the northeast corner of the island. Not only could we see well down the St. Lawrence, we could also look across to the north bank and see Mount Saint Anne, the ski resort that we’ll be visiting during February break. This weekend’s itinerary is serving as a reconnaissance mission for February’s family trip.

Mount Saint Anne in the background. See you in February.

With the this reconnoitering goal in mind, we turned ourselves loose on the Old City again this evening in search of the fondue restaurant we visited during our first visit here — or something similar. It seems like the kind of dinner the girls would appreciate. We walked by dozens of other highly promising restaurants to investigate a “fondue” offering at one of the bars in the lower city, only to find the description on the menu drew a picture of something much more like mozzarella sticks than we had in mind.

Mission accomplished! Course three of the fondue trio

So we walked back up the hill (no funicular for us this trip). Before we could decide which of the promising restaurants we might try, guess what we found at the base of the Chateau Frontenac itself? A creperie that featured a three- course fondue meal. Ask here, and ye shall receive.

And if you ask in makeshift French like ours, you’ll likely get answered in cheerful English.

Revisiting our youth

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When planning a trip for our 20th anniversary, I thought it might be fun to return to a place that we enjoyed long ago, before children and houses and all the associated responsibilities of middle age. So we returned to Quebec City, a place we visited a few times before we were married.

Of course, a few things have changed since the days where we were roaming around the Winter Carnival with our friends Sarah and Chris, carrying a hollow red cane shaped like Carnival’s mascot, Bon Homme, that was filled with a mysterious liquor known as

It’s Bon Homme himself!

“caribou”. For example, not even once today did we take swigs from a random bottle of alcohol that we found protruding from a snow bank. (There are not yet snow banks available, even up here in the north.) Also, in October there are not so many people wearing comical snowsuits.

Another difference is that we’re at an even greater language disadvantage. For one thing, I’m 20+ years further out from my high school French classes. Also, I discovered that attempting to learn Spanish a couple of years ago, during our Central America trip, has had a disastrous affect on what little French I used to possess. Last night I told someone “gracias”, and today realized that I’d been responding to the parking lot attendant with “si”. It’s all jumbled up in my head as “language that is not English” and there’s no telling which will emerge when under pressure.

Still, it’s pretty cool to drive a mere six hours from our home and feel like we’ve been transported to Europe. Melodious (and incomprehensible) strains of French swirl around us as we pass by patisseries, cafes, and ancient buildings of brick and stone. Our airbnb rental is a tiny flat on the outskirts of the old city, looking out over the cannons guarding the old wall.

The drive was pretty good, too. The foliage colors in Vermont were stunning, and St. Johnsbury proved to be an excellent dinner stop, even if it did prove a bit challenging to actually find a restaurant.

Apart from miles of wandering, today’s main excursion was a food and drink walking tour of old Quebec. I did a food tour with some friends in Charleston a few years ago, and realized that this is a great way to get an overview and orientation to the area. On our six stops we sampled local favorites such as poutine, smoked meat sandwiches, and seafood fritters, as well as wine, a cocktail, and herbal tea from the local monastary (which has become a health spa).

At some point we’re planning to venture beyond the walls of the Old City into the Sainte Roque district for dinner. But now rain has begun to fall, and we are enjoying a bottle of ice cider that we purchased at the farmers’ market — so it may need to wait until tomorrow.

A day of extremes

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Bob and I must be gluttons for punishment. Despite freezing our tails off in Bryce on Friday, we went back for more — and upped the ante — by getting up at 5:30 on Saturday morning and heading back to watch the sun rise.

The early hour did not improve the temperature. The car’s thermometer read 25 degrees as we headed into the park. Since our children were still sleeping warmly in their beds, I borrowed Nadia’s jacket (which I judged to be the warmest) as an extra layer. It didn’t seem to help much. There was snow visible on the path and topping the many hoodoo rock formations.

But we joined a small group of intrepid tourists at Sunrise Point (conveniently named by the National Park Service so you don’t need to wonder where the best place to go is), shivering as the sun appeared from over a distant mountain range. This place is amazingly gorgeous at any time, but the sunrise colors in the sky and the early morning light hitting the red rock took it to another level. (Not having to listen to complaining children also helped.) We took a short hike into the canyon and vowed to return again someday.

Then, in a move sure to shock our systems, on to a five-hour car ride in the car with three kids, heading to a loud and crowded indoor amusement park in Las Vegas. Zoe has been very concerned about maximizing this part of the trip, and so actually had managed to get her sisters up and mostly packed by the time we returned to our cabin around 8am. After a quick breakfast (sadly, the Bryce Pioneer Village breakfasts do not hold a candle to the Zion Ponderosa Lodge’s breakfasts), we were on our way.

The car ride actually went pretty smoothly. During the drive to Bryce, I’d decided to approach the intermittent bickering like an anthropologist, and identified each child’s One Fatal Flaw when it came to sisterly relations. My assessment was that we have one child who never lets anything go, one who goes out of her way to provoke people when she’s bored, and one who overreacts to everything.

We found the far northern end of the Strip to be considerably seedier than the middle where we spent our day last week.

Sadly, this combination does not always make for harmonious family time. Imagine, if you will, a long car ride where Likes to Provoke People is seated next to Overreacts to Everything. Never Lets Anything Go doesn’t get into arguments as often, but when she does, they’re guaranteed to last for hours and rise again, phoenix-like, days or weeks later.

Between the fun that everyone was having guessing their own and others’ Fatal Flaws, and the candy that Bob doled out occasionally, good spirits mostly prevailed on the drive back to Vegas. We also had the entertainment of watching the car thermometer climb 60+ degrees over the drive. I can’t think of too many places within five hours of each other that would be as different as the cold, snowy, quiet and natural Bryce; and hot, sunny, crowded, loud Las Vegas.