While I was strolling with my new found friend, Dana, yesterday, she told me, “Don’t leave town without seeing Emerald Bay. If you haven’t seen it, you missed the best part of South Lake Tahoe!” Ya’ know what? She was RIGHT! WOWSER! I was transported back to 2003 when my ex and I took a trip this same time of the year to Glacier National Park in NW Montana. This drive had magnificent forests and veiws of the lake most people never see. I’m sorry to say that pulling the trailer kept me from pulling over to get some really great shots but I think you’ll get enough of an idea to drive the four hours from Vegas to see it.

The drive to get to the Emerald Bay overlook was pretty spectacular!

Road leading up to Emerald Bay.

First peek at Emerald Bay through the trees!

Majestic just like Glacier National Park in NW Montana!

Drive back from peek of Emerald Bay view.

Road back from Emerald Bay on the way toward Eldorado National Forest.

Then I drove through Eldorado National Forest, yet another phenominal drive!

Drive through Eldorado National Forest on the way to Petaluma, CA.

Cabins on the river in Eldorado National Forest.

Then on the way to Napa Valley!

Me and my hyper ADD Montana traveling partner in Napa Valley.

The road through Napa Valley in Sonoma toward Petaluma.

Napa Valley

Napa Valley

Road to Petaluma, CA

Tomorrow morning I head straight for the Pacific Coast Highway just north of San Francisco! I have reservations to camp for four days at a campground which backs up to a redwood forest! I have Ava with me but I still think of calling her to tell her how beautiful the drive is just like I’ve always done.

Happy Trails!

It’s NOT the mall or presents or people or things;
It’s the joy of love and all that it brings.

It’s NOT the tree or ornaments or lights;
It’s the stars that shine the way in the nights.

It’s NOT the green or white or silver trees;
It’s being humble and getting on your knees.

So, let’s not celebrate what Christmas is NOT;
And remember the joy of all the love it’s got.

Since last Christmas, it was my year-long quest  to exorcise  all the trappings that got all wrapped-up and warped-up into my last 16 Christmases and, I believe, how most Americans of the 21st century celebrate the birth of Christ.

It became a quest this year because my core got lost in those relationship years mainly because I wasn’t with a Christian and, secondly, because I wasn’t sure how to celebrate it while respecting his faith. My ex thought Christmas was about trees, presents and parties. I love entertaining for the holidays and jumped in with both feet; by last year, I ended up lost in cleaning, laundry and cooking mostly for non-believers (New Testament believers,that is).

The surreal moment came on Christmas evening last year when I found myself  surrounded by non-believers singing Christmas carols at the top of their lungs so proud of how they sounded without so much as a smidgen of conscience about the prayers coming from their lips… a total contradiction to their own beliefs. I was stunned. I was also extremely tired which seemed to emphasize all-the-more the ludicrousness of that evening. See, one of the participants had actually complained about their landlord having decorated their premises for Christmas. Now that same person was singing Christmas carols. See what I mean?

Hence the need for my recent trip to New York City. Where else in the world could you overdose on lights, trees, Christmas crowds and an amazing performance to remind you through shock therapy what your core is. I totally immersed myself in the experience and finally found it at the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular… specifically their Nativity portion of the production. It was so unexpected, traditional and spectacular.

Funny thing is that no one who knew my quest and had seen it before told me anything other than I needed to see it. Mom and Pat (my best friend who couldn’t go) both knew I’d find it there. I want to thank them from the bottom of my heart for encouraging me to see it because I would NEVER have paid any amount of money to get caught in a crowd of people pushing into and then out of a concert hall. Nor would I ever pay money to see women kicking up their heels. It was my trust in these two women who know me so well that liberated my Christmas soul.

Thank you Mom and Pat. I and my Christmas sanity will forever be indebted to you both for loving and understanding me.

For the first time in years, I’ve put up my porcelain nativity scene with the angel tree topper hovering over the event. It’s on my bar where I can enjoy it every minute of the day. I also have a very small potted tree decorated with my 4th of July red, white and blue lights and mini-ornaments out on my front deck. Sweet.

There will not be presents. I give those I love whatever they need from me all year.

The only other thing I might do to celebrate the season, is to string popcorn and cranberries as I used to do with both kids when they were little. This time, it’ll be for the critters at the cabin and not ornamentation for a tree.

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.

The last time I remember celebrating Christmas... 1994

Day 5:  There were only a couple of items left on my to-do list. Stanton Island Ferry and the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular. I took the M15 Downtown (an express bus) which took only about 30 minutes to get me down to Battery Park where I could catch the free Stanton Island Ferry. My only complaint is that someone really needs to clean the sidewalks around the entrance of the building every single day.

Stanton Island Ferry on the Stanton Island side

Brooklyn Bridge on a foggy morning... cool, huh?

It was so cool seeing only fog... and then, there she was.

I just don't get tired of seeing her... fog, night, day, sunset... anytime.

Isn't it cool how the fog wraps itself around Manhattan?

Last image of the southern most part of Manhattan... awww. I'm going to miss it.

I hooked up with my friend to head out for the Radio City Music Hall Christmas Spectacular!

Ya’ know, I’d NEVER would have paid $95.00 for one ticket to see a bunch of women, no matter how beautiful, kick their legs up in the air in unison. It’s just not my idea of a great show. I’m spoiled. My son-in-law works for Cirque du Soleil so I’ve gotten to go to many of their Vegas shows and traveling ones. They really know how to put on an incredible show!

But, I gotta’ say that it was my dear friend, Pat, who convinced me this was a MUST in our quest for a renewed Christmas connection. She was so right! WOW!  I experienced the most truly spectacular show EVER to reconnect with my spiritual roots at this time of the year. Yes, it had great costumes, precision kicking, tap dancing, but it also had the “reason for the season” complete with why time is more valuable than gifts in 3-D storytelling and a full nativity with scripture. It was fun, fantastic and fabulous.

After the show, I decided to walk back to the hotel. I was a happy pensive knowing it was my last night in the city of magic and lights. During my walk, I realized I couldn’t take Pat’s chocolates back on the plane with me so I had to hustle back to the hotel, get them and rush to the closest Godiva Chocolate store before they closed to ship them. I actually made it and strolled back again thinking only of packing and going up to the hotel restaurant for a nice glass of wine before going to bed.

When I got to the 26th floor around 10PM, I was immediately sorry I hadn’t made the time to come up before. The view was magnificent. My table overlooked Roosevelt Island, the Brooklyn Bridge and a vast city, seemingly at my feet. It was beautiful until…

During the night, my stomach started feeling uncomfortable. By 6 or 7 AM on the day of my departure, I realized I had contracted food poisoning! I couldn’t afford to stay and the hotel was in total denial, not wanting to accept their responsibility. I just don’t understand how they can maintain a conscience about their other clientele. I’ll pay $1700 for a 6-day stay but not $70 for a dinner that made me sick? I was faking it? Really? They’ll get a great deal more than negative press over not dealing with this appropriately that day than causing me to challenge the charge for the very expensive meal. As before, I have challenged it with the help of American Express.

Armed with Dramamine and ginger ale, I made it to, through and at the airport, plane, flight and home.

WHAT A WILD RIDE! Told you it wouldn’t be boring!

Day 4: On Sunday, I slept in and didn’t feel guilty one bit for it. I walked to Central Park as my dinner destination was in that direction. I was thrilled to  “unwrap” the southern part of the park in a slow-Christmas-morning-present-opening experience.

I strolled down paved paths trying to absorb the moment and there, to my left was a beautifully restored carousel. I’ve always been partial to carousels of yesteryear. They are an art form all their own. Needless to say, I happily paid the $2.50 to jump aboard. It brought back so many happy memories of my own childhood and that of my children.

I love them so much that I bought a carousel horse named Tim. During a time of severe depression and crisis, I sold him. Tim, I hope you have a great, loving home.

My daughter, Ava, used to be an ice skating competitor and I can’t look at a rink and not think of those days. I can just see her out here showing them all how it’s done!

I took winding paths working my way back out of the park toward Il Vagabondo restaurant on 62nd Street between 2nd Avenue and 1st. It had been my favorite restaurant in New York.

The Cheers-type bar in the front at the bottom of the small stoop was empty for the first time. Of course, I was early (5:30 PM) and  it was Sunday when most people are trying to get ready for their week.

Charlie (left) keeps the place moving and grooving. Arber (right) is part of the wait staff.

First, I noticed that the wonderful old New York photos on the wall along with the red and white checkered table clothes had been removed and the place whitewashed. The last  time I was there about twenty years ago, the place was packed with a happy crowd waiting for their checkered table-cloth covered corner where you enjoyed the pictures of old New York City hung proudly on the walls.

The place is still complete with Bocce Court but it’s a much more refined experience than before. Even though Italian is still the primary language of the establishment, it’s sadly “less Italian” as the waiters are not rushing around gesturing as they call out orders in Italian toward the kitchen while they’re at least a whole room away. It was wonderful then.

Bocce Court is still to the right of the tables.

Now, the table clothes are white on white, the waiters wait much like a cruise ship and the ambiance lost in the desire to please their current clientele who know absolutely nothing about ambiance. Poor them.

I warned Sal, my waiter,  that I was going to take my time savoring the taste, touch and feel of the experience. I ordered a nice, sweet Pinot Grigio, stuffed mushrooms, Special Salad and a chicken-artichoke-lemon dish entrée.

Sal - what a wonderful young man. Ask for him if you go to Il Vagabondo

Be sure to ask for the olive oil of the bread-dipping variety as they won’t offer it. Funny, but I thought it was an Italian must! After all, I think it’s the only way to eat good bread in an Italian restaurant. The bread, though fresh, was of the baguette variety.

I did totally indulge by having coffee and dessert. The coffee was the best and the Tiramisu was light and a great way to finish a nice meal (half of which went home with me). And, yes, I did order decaf coffee so as to counter the glass of wine. After all, I had thirteen NYC blocks to walk back to the hotel in the dark. Heck, I was going to be up late anyway writing my notes and I did need some sobering up… and yes, I’m a cheap drunk. Always have been; that’s why I don’t usually indulge.

Day 3: I started my morning off by a brisk walk to the grocery store to stock up on protein drinks and enough foods to hold me over until I left. I saved $2.oo alone on the protein drinks over the “rip-off deli” prices so that alone was worth the hike. Plus, I got fresh vegetables and fruit!

I jumped on the Downtown Gray Line tour bus to get to Battery Park where the Brooklyn portion of the tour would start. It was cold and windy as we waited way too long for the tour bus. It was worth the wait only because of the tour guide: Tom Botti.

Tom is as real as it gets; he’s as Brooklyn as it gets. He’s; an incredibly informed about his surroundings and very proud of his multi-generational Brooklyn-Italian-New Yorker heritage. He’s a proud American who lost 47 in the 9/11 attacks. He told us right off to “fogetaboutit” if you ever thought about any conspiracy theory because there wasn’t one. He told how he volunteered after that horrible day and how proud he was that one of his six sons verified the death of Osama Ben Laden. He gladly shared his soul with those who listened. I’ll forever be impressed with him and will feel privileged to have met such a man on this trip.

When he said he’d retired from driving a cab after thirty years I was reminded of another crusty, endearing cab driver from my last trip to New York some twenty years before. As I engaged this man from yesteryear, I asked him how long he’d been driving a cab. “Forty years,” he replied in a gruff, cigar-smoking voice. “Wow! You must really love driving a cab!” my naive self responded. “Nope. I hate my wife!” is all he replied. I couldn’t stop laughing for the remainder of the ride to Grand Central. He hugged me and gave me his card and told me to call him anytime I was in New York.

Tom is the same, Billy-Goat-Gruff wonderful person as this guy so it was only natural that I’d be attracted to him right away. Those are the people who have the best stories to tell. His love of his hometown is unmatched. His in-your-face “Brooklynese” rapid fire delivery takes a couple of seconds to get acclimated to. His clever, energetic presentation of the coolest New York information is the best I’ve ever experienced anywhere. He told us at the beginning to listen carefully, take notes or feel free to audio or video record him so you’d learn the valuable information he was about to impart. I only wish I’d had a film crew following me during this whole trip… and especially this part. He needs to be filmed. Talk about a reality show!

As I waited for my friend to pick me up for our scheduled World Yacht night lights tour, I defrosted at the closest Starbucks. I’d forgotten to eat again.

Still having time to kill, went directly into the National Museum of the American Indian across from Battery Park. It was a wonderful synopsis of the Pueblo of Isleta.

After my friend picked me up, we worked our way uptown to Pier 81 to catch the World Yacht sunset dinner cruise Pat and I had booked. I’ve got to say the food was surprisingly good. I’m glad we only booked the tour and decided to order off the menu.

As Tom’s recommendations for free events included the Stanton Island Ferry and the National Museum of the American Indian, I was going to make room in my schedule for both of them. Sunday was going to be their day.

Tom’s picks for restaurants were: Congee at 207 Bowery for Chinese, any restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, Katz’s Deli at Ludlow and Houston (pronounced House-ton), Jeremy’s Ale House at 228 Front Street for British food, Sambuca’s on 72nd Street for Hispanic cuisine and Eataly at 5th Avenue and 23rd Street for Italian food. I only wish I’d had enough time to try them all. Oh well, I’ll just have to come back!