Siracusa, Sicily. May, 1988

Pasqualino Giudice in his great restaurant Jonico ’a Rutta ’e Ciauli in Siracusa. We’d learned about Pasqualino and his local recipes (pasta with anchovies and toasted breadcrumbs, spaghetti with bottarga and smoked herring) from Paula Wolfert’s World of Food, so when we landed here in southern Sicily, we made a beeline to his table. A real showman, he soon presented us with some special memorial menus he’d had printed, signing them with calligraphic flourishes that added new meaning to the word baroque. When faced with non-Italian visitors, Pasqualino told us, he’d calmly say the only words he knew in English (besides “Paula Wolfert”): “Just a moment.” Then he’d hot-foot-it into the kitchen to fetch his English-speaking brother to help the conversation along. Nick and I had a great meal at Jonico and have since sent many friends there. Fortunately we did not have to consume any of the dishes shown in the photo, all of which (pork chops, sausages, pig face, all the rest) were fashioned out of almond paste. Today, the Giudice Family still runs the place, offering up “the ancient flavors of Magna Grecia” in their same location on the evocatively named via Riviera Dionisio il Grande.

Barcelona. November, 2010

When I visit a city, especially a European one with a strong culinary tradition, I’d much rather check out the produce in the market than the cathedral. In Rome, the open market in the Campo de’ Fiori displayed the most beautiful, long-stemmed artichokes I’ve ever seen. In Paris, the Bastille open market offered so many different kinds of shellfish. Montreal’s Marché Jean-Talon still has the most amazing samplings of cauliflower, like wedding bouquets in their extravagant splendor. And just look at these strawberries and mushrooms, side by side in Barcelona’s La Boqueria, formally known as the Mercat Sant Josep. In early November, the mushrooms were at their glorious peak. So many different varieties and in such abundance that they were on every menu of every tapas bar within the market, served up in a rich roster of preparations. Gaudí, the Picasso Museum, fine. But give me La Boqueria any day.

Istanbul. October, 2011

What do you think? Can I get away with harem pants? Fran Lebowitz once wisely advised never to get a haircut when you’re traveling. And I think the same wisdom can be applied to any number of trip-based decisions where the appeal of mysterious foreign surroundings can so easily cloud judgment. Here outside the walls of Topkapi Palace, the siren song of these exotic, overpriced vestments beckoned. Not really. As you can see, I’m a flannel-shirt-and-jeans kind of guy, not given much to billows and bling. At least not in public. Still, the display alone was enough to catch my eye. And I can imagine that less reality-based tourists may have succumbed...and are now dazzling all of Des Moines and Omaha with gauzy Turkish delights such as these.

Almería, Spain. November, 2010

During the Moorish rule of Spain, important cities were established, one of which was the port city of Almería. Acknowledged as a medina in the year 995 during the rule of Caliph Abd ar-Rahman III of Córdova, the city became the focus of some major construction. A defensive hilltop citadel, of course, but also a town within the walls, distinguished by houses, public squares, a mosque, baths and an inventive system of waterways, including some pretty remarkable engineering that brought water all the way to the top of the fortress called the Alcazaba (from the Arabic al-qasbah, meaning citadel.) Almería’s Alcazaba is the largest such fortification in Spain. Foolishly thinking from the guidebooks that this would just be a bleached-out series of crumbling stone walls, we almost missed one of the most beautiful sites of our trip. Cascading ponds and lush gardens, walkways of beautifully placed stones, silent grandeur...all reminded us of the Moorish architectural splendors of the Alhambra in nearby Granada. Almería has survived earthquakes, religious and political upheavals, economic turmoil and, more recently, tourists like us. Go there.

Tangier. November, 2010

We arrived in Tangier on a Friday, market day, the most important day of the week in Islam, when Muslims are called by the millions to midday prayer. It was also the eve of Eid al-Adha, the Festival of Sacrifice concluding the Hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca), celebrated by Muslims all over the world and one of Islam’s two most important festivals. Eid al-Adha [which began at sunset last night and ends at sunset today, November 7 in 2011], commemorates the prophet Abraham’s willingness to obey Allah’s command to sacrifice his son Ishmael, a slaughter avoided by Allah’s last-minute replacing of Ishmael with a ram thus sparing the boy’s life. The festival is marked by sacrificing a lamb and distributing the meat to relatives, friends and the poor -- an expression of zakah, one of the five “pillars of Islam.” Which explains why, as we exited the medina, we saw a crowd gathered around the open trunk of a car from which had just emerged two rams being prepared for on-the-spot sacrifice. Just one of many experiences that wonderful day that made us feel we weren’t in Kansas anymore.

Tucson. November, 2006

On the first Sunday following the Day of the Dead, Tucson puts on a big show. Costumes, lights, floats, altars, music, puppets, masks...artists of all kinds come together and parade through downtown in the city’s famed All Souls Procession. There are some who revere this tradition for its deeply spiritual connection to family and friends who have died. Others for the spectacle and circus atmosphere. And for some, it’s just an exciting night out. I’ve been a few times now, and nothing beats the memory of this end-of-show extravaganza put on by Flam Chen Pyrotechnic Theater, Tucson’s daredevil dance-meets-acrobatics fire performance group. Their flame-infused finale, complete with aerial artists and an intentions-filled cauldron that ignited above the crowd, forged a memorable blend of sacred and profane, and brought smoky closure to this annual madhouse of an evening.

Spanish Steps, Rome. October, 2011

Daddy’s little angel. One of the many scenes here on Rome’s Spanish Steps on this sunny Sunday morning. (And I don’t think the girl’s wings were in any way related to Halloween.) I had forgotten how Romans (all Italians, really) while away lazy Sundays, just strolling about with family. On streets full of closed shops. In parks like the Villa Borghese and the Gianicolo. At fountains, on benches or on storied steps such as these. Jay and I on this, our second day in Rome? After tracking down some favorite Caravaggios, I’d left him to find his own way through the Eternal Città as I backtracked to my favorite pizza place, wound my way through the centro to make dinner reservations in the Jewish ghetto and spent some silent time (in spite of the crowds) in my favorite building in the world, the Pantheon. A lovely Sunday for dolce far’ niente.