U.S. Botanic Garden

Waiting For Santa

Thought for the Day - 4

Music with dinner is an insult both to the cook and the violinist.
- GK Chesterton

Sun In An Empty Room

My favorite by Edward Hopper.

Palate Pleasing Pupusas

Today I finally had a good pupusa. For $1 you can choose a pork, bean, cheese, or combo pupusa at the Dona Azucena Pupuseria at 71 North Glebe Road. In case you don’t know, a pupusa is a very thick tortilla pancake with a little filling in the middle. It is the National Dish of El Salvador; in fact, November 13th is National Pupusa Day there. I had a pupusa revueltas (the combo) and it was delicious. Patted by hand and grilled to perfection (grill marks included) then served with curtido (cabbage salad like cole slaw) and salsa roja (not too hot). All this for $1! Of course, I also had to have a plantain - they know how to choose them and cook them so it was sweet, not greasy, and yummy. If you want a cheap and tasty treat in Arlington try the pupusas at Dona Azucena. Delicioso!

Thought for the Day - 3

Perfection is achieved, not when there is nothing more to add, but when there is nothing left to take away.
  - Antoine de Saint-Exupery

Missed This Mongolian Mammal

Click on the title to find out more about the jerboa. Evidently he lives in Mongolia. Worth going back for?

If you watch the video clip (click on the title above), check out the tail. It is quite nice. I was lucky enough to have seen a duck-billed platypus in the wild in Australia. That was a thrill.

Titian Tree on Key

"...A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair..."

Give 'em hell, Harry!

They must have brought a busload of pantsuited fifty-something females from NYC to the DNC meeting held in Virginia today. That’s what it looked like. Placard (“Hillary”) carrying followers swarmed the Sheraton lobby making it look like there were no other candidates. Ugh! I am suffering from Hillary-itis. After walking a mile to the hotel (no parking in the hotel lot today) and then waiting in the cold for two hours (I did convince two young female Edwards' supporters to listen to Obama’s speech), I finally heard the man speak. Needless to say, he more than made up for his camp’s disorganization, looking and sounding like a president should. "Change we can believe in." The crowd went wild proving numbers don't always matter; the Edwards' girls told me they were converted. And in the end, due to an unrelated hostage incident in NH, Hillary never spoke. Justice prevails.

Crash Test Kitchen

My very favorite vlog (actually, I only know one) is Crash Test Kitchen hosted by Waz and Lennie, a couple of young Aussies who live in London. If you are an Anglophile like I am, these episodes will take you back to England through the kitchen. I just learned a new word from them, too, "collywobbles," as in "watching the Republican YouTube Debate gave me the collywobbles." Check it out.

Waiting Just For You

Like Minded-ness

I want to be with people who think like I do.

Thought for the Day - 2

"It has always been the prerogative of children and half-wits to point out that the emperor has no clothes. But the half-wit remains a half-wit, and the emperor remains an emperor. " - Neil Gaiman

Now that's discouraging and explains a lot. It turns out Neil Gaiman is a well-known fantasy writer. He also wrote for "DC" Comics -which stands for "Detective Comics" Comics which I discovered last week while playing "Trivia for Dummies." Isn't it funny how some things repeat themselves (words, trivia, history?).

Expiration Dates

Do you ever wonder whether really old people think about how they'll never need to buy another this or that. Like they're going on vacation or something. When you're 86 how long does something have to last. (Now you know why I couldn't sleep last night.)

Click here: Postcard Secrets

Book, blog, and video.

Thought(s) for the Day

Happiness is a place between too little and too much.
-Finnish Proverb

Happiness is the meaning and the purpose of life, the whole aim and end of human existence.
-Aristotle

My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I'm happy. I can't figure it out. What am I doing right?
-Snoopy

Berit's Banana Cake

I am ecstatic at having found a crumpled old copy of this Banana Cake recipe. It is named after my Danish friend Berit who made this cake all the time in Nairobi over 20 years ago. I had thought my only copy was lost when my computer died last month. But lucky for me (and you, should you try it), here it is:

4 ripe bananas
2 eggs
1 t vanilla
1 1/2 c sugar
1 stick butter, softened
2 c all purpose flour
1 t baking soda
1 t baking powder

Mash bananas and set aside. Cream eggs, vanilla, sugar and butter. Add mashed bananas and slowly incorporate remaining dry ingredients. Do not overmix. Pour into greased bundt pan. Bake at 350 for approximately 50 minutes till toothpick comes out clean.

We always made this cake with the small, sweet Kenyan bananas (at least 8 of them) which made the cake even better than it is here.

Tastes As Good As It Looks

We had a spiderweb taco for our Halloween dinner last night. We didn’t eat the spider.

Autumn AM Arlington

Baby Moses & The Boy Harry

The Mighty Midget

I don’t know how we missed seeing this cute place in Leesburg. It’s right across the street from the “Tuscarora Mill” restaurant where we had lunch a couple of weeks ago. The “Mighty Midget” smokes their BBQ just outside this little structure next to the only seating area: six tables which I imagine get pretty cold in the winter. The MOTH (man of the house) had a half rack of ribs (pretty good) while my daughter and I had a hot dog (excellent and only $2.50) and a pulled pork sandwich (bland but then again I didn’t order it spicy). It was a fun visit but I am not sure we have to go back.

Smile vs. Frown

Isn't he frowning?





But then again...

Cancelled!

The Little Prince Continued

“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important...”

Remember how we laughed at this book. Maybe if we had known it was written down the road in Asharoken...

From Newsday:
1942: Antoine de Saint-Exupéry Pens “The Little Prince” in Asharoken

In 1942, French novelist, essayist, and pilot Antoine de Saint-Exupéry spent four months in Asharoken, writing and illustrating “The Little Prince.” In the classic tale for both children and adults, a pilot crashes in the Sahara desert and meets a prince from a distant asteroid who is searching for the meaning of life. De Saint-Exupéry and his wife stayed in a 22-room white Victorian mansion on Bevin Place called Bevin House. He worked late into the night, fortified with coffee, soda, and his ritual food, eggs. The “foreign writer,” as his neighbors called him, also studied English with a tutor, Northport High School French teacher, Adele Breaux. Two years later, de Saint-Exupéry was killed while fighting in World War II. His delightful book continues to charm readers of all ages all over the world.

My Little Prince

“’What makes the desert beautiful,’ said the little prince, ‘is that somewhere it hides a well...’”

It has taken me more than forty years to appreciate “The Little Prince.” Reread it if you dare.

The Affectation of the Umlaut

Am I the only one who finds the New Yorker’s use of the “umlaut” an offensive affectation? Okay, okay, those pair of dots are really a “diaeresis” - I can’t show you (is it on my keyboard somewhere?) but when used by the New Yorker, e.g., on double consonants pronounced individually, they are actually little slashes higher above the letter than real umlaut dots would be. Just thought you’d like to know. Don’t want to be uncoöperative but aren’t they silly?

The Spiders Were Busy

The Spider holds a Silver Ball
In unperceived Hands --
And dancing softly to Himself
His Yarn of Pearl -- unwinds...
-Emily Dickinson

And unwinds, and unwinds. The other morning -a misty, moisty morning- I noticed that all our bushes, and everyone else’s bushes, were covered with beautiful spider webs.

Foolproof Apple Pie

The key to this pie recipe is deconstruction, cooking each component separately ensures perfection and eliminates any possibility of sogginess. It also looks great when done.

Pie Crust
Use your favorite recipe for a one-crust pie or use Pillsbury’s refrigerated. Roll out to fit a deep dish pie plate, dock profusely, flute edges, and bake at 400F for about 10 minutes till light brown (no need to blind bake with beans and foil which I believe steams the crust).

Apples
4 - 6 apples (I used Golden Delicious this time but next time I will try Matsus), peeled, cored, and sliced evenly into six wedges
4T butter
2T - 4T sugar
1t cinnamon, preferably Vietnamese
In a nonstick large frying pan, sauté butter with apples till just turning fork tender, add cinnamon and sugar to taste. Most of the liquid from the apples should have evaporated. Cool.

Crumble Topping
3/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup all purpose flour
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1 stick cold butter, diced
Use your fingers to incorporate butter into the sugar, flour, and nuts. Try to make some big crumbles.

You can wait to bake the pie at any time. Just put the cooled apples into the cooled baked pie shell, top with the crumble mixture spreading it all over the top of the pie, bake in a preheated 400F oven for about 20 minutes till the top is nicely browned. Cool a bit before cutting a piece. I would have taken a picture because this is truly a pretty pie but by the time I got my camera out the pie was gone.

Postscript China

This site as well as all of blogspot.com is blocked from view in China but not in Korea or Mongolia. The funny thing is that one can post quite easily although the template is only in Chinese!

Home, Sweet Home

Yes, I am bailing. Skipping Manila, skipping Hong Kong. Home, sweet home. I am tired of packing and unpacking and the thought of two more cities in three days isn't exciting me. Besides, I have no more clean clothes. It will be directly to DC for me and back to yada, yada, yada! Please leave comments.

Food For Thought

Foods:
1. The restaurants in Beijing vie for a “Wow” factor unknown in DC. I went to lunch in one decorated as a temple with votive candles, music to match, and a vegetable nori roll (see above) to die for. The “Romeo and Juliet” dish was made with blood red baby beets swimming with some chestnuts and fake abalone. That one didn’t taste great but it still looked great.

2. The Peking Duck (never had it here before) we had in Beijing was not any more delicious than the Peking Duck we have in Falls Church. Except for the first bite. Dip a little piece of skin into the coarse sugar. Place in mouth. Salty! Sweet! Crunchy! Yum! The condiments not only include the usual hoisin and scallions but little cucumber batons, garlic paste, and some other unidentifiable items as well.

3. All our fast food places are in Beijing including Starbucks and more (Haagen Dazs).

4. The yuck factor I didn’t have to face: poor J. had to eat some kind of albino frog-fish. Whole. I think he just tasted it.


Thoughts:
1. The hotel in Beijing reminds me of the hotels (the Peninsula, the Mandarin) of yore in HK. I especially liked it when we first arrived both times and were whisked through Reception to register right in our suite. And I was met with a big bouquet of lilies and orchids!! Now that’s service. To say nothing of the 20 piece orchestra in the lobby playing “The Merry Widow.”

2. The old men in Beijing still bring their caged pet birds to the parks.

3. I can’t figure out what those people in Lhasa are praying for.

4. What’s with Tibet?

5. I am spoiled but at least I know it.

Crickets For Sale

Buy, Buy Beijing

Back in Beijing...

Hong Qiao Pearl Market
Near the Temple of Heaven is a heavenly place for those of us who like to shop. Here you can find the (fake?) Polos, purses, parkas, etc. On the third and fourth floors you can buy pearls at the same place Colin Powell and Bill Clinton shop.

Ikea, Beijing-style
Since our last trip to Shanghai we’ve been wondering what the Ikea in China is like (we saw the sign but didn’t have time for a visit). Now we know. Sunday was not the smartest time to go but we had no choice. As we all know, Ikea prides itself on its “store-flow” setup. It’s a maze you go through to get to the Marketplace section. Well, the arrows here are on the floor, too, but no one pays them any attention. It was so crowded with under-30s that we had to squeeze our way through. A glimpse at the cafe (huge) revealed some concessions to the local food- rice and stew- alongside the mandatory Swedish meatballs. Overall, though, pretty much everything else was the same at the same prices. Now everybody’s house will look the same.

The Bird, Insect, Fish Market
All the different kinds of turtles and fish make up for the fact that there are no birds at the Bird Market. I suspect it’s due to the Avian Flu scare. There are also rodents, rabbits, tarantulas, puppies, and kittens but the market is mostly filled with crickets and cricket paraphernalia. The crickets are sold by their individual weight and each one comes in a little ceramic bowl covered with a tin lid held in place by a rubber band. The surrounding sound of all these caged crickets is wonderful (my opinion) so I can understand why someone would want these little guys. Not only do they sell various little houses for them -ceramic jars, stick cages, little ornate boxes- but they also have itsy-bitsy food and water dishes (I bought some!) and training sticks, a long skewer with some string at the end (like a lion tamer has, only smaller, much smaller).

Leaving Lhasa

The Carpet Factory

All the books gave us the wrong address and the wrong phone number for the Tibetan Carpet Factory but we managed to find it anyway. Supposedly the factory prides itself on its working conditions which when we had a look around wasn’t that bad. Here’s their solar powered tea making apparatus. Of course, we ended up buying a carpet even though they didn’t have the one we really wanted called “Yak, Yak, Yak” which we saw in the Thomas Moser store in Georgetown.

Lhasa: Norbulingka

Summer Palace of the Dalai Lamas

Yak Butter

There was a strange, nauseating smell which permeated all of Ulaan Baatar (maybe all of Mongolia) and now I smell it here, too. It turns out to be the Yak Butter. The ladies carry it around in little tubs like purses to eat like peanut butter out of a jar when they get hungry. Or they have it in their thermos of hot salty tea, drinking it mixed in before it cools and congeals. Doesn’t it sound appetizing? Near the temples, there’s large vats of it burning with a wick like a semi-soft candle; that’s the smell filling the air and giving everyone (now including me, too!) that distinctive odor.

Need Some Air?

Just in case you get breathless during the night.

Lhasa Continued

Day Three Lhasa
J. tells me that people pay a fortune to come here. He says this while suffering a headache from the beer (alcohol and high altitude don’t mix well) he had with dinner -a dinner with government officials which I didn’t attend. He had to go in his sneakers and safari shirt having left all his business clothes and shoes in Beijing. Meanwhile back at the Tibet Hotel, I was able to get some sleep and feel better than I did yesterday but still miss the oxygen. I’ve noticed a lot of people here have bloodshot eyes; I am sure it’s due to the elevation.

Our first stop today was the Jokhang Temple where Pilgrims come from all over the Buddhist world to see one of the most revered Buddhas. We got a VIP tour (that means jumping the line) and were the only non-Pilgrims allowed to see that most revered Buddha up close and personal. He’s surrounded by candles burning yak butter which give off what seems to me a nauseating smell. The smell permeates the whole building and in fact, the surrounding area. If you don’t have a headache when you start the tour you do by the end. The line of Pilgrims to get in is very long and once inside the temple the people are smushed together like cattle. Outside the temple are Pilgrims praying -an aerobic exercise which involves standing up, moving the hands up and down and then kneeling into a prostrate position. Their hands (protected by pieces of plastic) make a swooshing sound as they then scrape the ground and stretch out. They do this over and over -exhausting I am sure especially given the atmosphere.

I Came So You Don't Have To

We arrived in Lhasa,Tibet on Wednesday, September 12 at 5.30 pm. After leaving UB at 4.30 pm Tuesday we got to Beijing at 9.30 pm, had a good spaghetti dinner (don’t forget Marco Polo), and a quick overnight stay because we had to leave at 7.30 am for the flight to Lhasa, stopping for an hour in Chengdu.

I am relieved to see all these oldie tourists (as well as the backpackers I expected) on the plane especially after the flight attendant's parting words- take care of the high altitude of Lhasa, move slowly and take deep breaths. J. is on vacation but a government official is at the airport to pick us up anyway. By the time we get to our hotel we are both breathless but headache-less. We leave the car and walk through some alleys too small for the vehicle to get to it. The House of Shambala - a NY Times recommended hotel -turns out to be too funky for either of us:
http://houseofshambhala.com/

Okay, I survived the Lake Jipe trip (the time we got stuck in the mud in Tanzania and had to sleep in the car surrounded by the locals looking in) but we’re not staying in a hotel that looks like an opium lord’s den. I can’t see into the corners of the room and the shower is a scary dark cave that I wouldn’t go into if you paid me. Unfortunately by now I can’t catch my breath (there’s oxygen available to buy, though) and I have a nosebleed. We’ll change hotels in the morning.

We make it through the night by sleeping in our clothes. The next morning our first stop turns out to be the Potala Palace which sits on top of a hill in the middle of Lhasa. The climb is not pleasant when you can’t breathe and I am glad when that is over. We move to the Tibet Hotel which if nothing else is much brighter and has a toilet and shower that work. And a big oxygen tank and the internet.

Ger, Sweet Ger

Nomad Welcome

I thought it would be impolite to take another picture a few seconds later when a million flies landed here.

Going to a Ger

It turns out that there aren’t any roads in Mongolia. The driver could choose from about 5 dirt very rough pathways and let’s just say, I did not fare well stomach-wise. The one lane paths don’t have any direction, it seemed, but we saw no other vehicles anyway. Our weekend tour involved just the two of us in a WB vehicle with a driver and guide, another vehicle from the tour company and a third vehicle with a driver and cook and a traveling kitchen. After the bumpy road and for the next day I really didn’t need the cook and tasted none of his cooking. We stayed in a traditional ger (yurt, the Russian word is frowned upon). The one we had was adapted for the Prince of Holland so it had a square metal addition with a toilet and shower. Guests in the other gers had to use the facilities in a small dining building -we ate there, too (well, I didn’t), but our food was prepared separately in the traveling kitchen. Sanitary conditions here leave something to be desired. The ger was cute and cozy and had a stove in the middle; although it was cool we did not need it lit. It was nicely decorated with bright red and blue fabric walls, a double bed and a single bed and oompah-loompah doors to enter and to go the loo.

The Hustai National Park where this ger settlement was located is home to the Przewalski Horses (Talki in Mongolian). We were lucky enough to see herds of them and then watched for 2 hours while they rounded up 3 who were tranquilized and put in crates to be sent to another park in Mongolia. The talki are more compact than a regular horse with a short-haired erect mane and a thicker neck. We also saw many, many marmots -the groundhog-like rodent which the nomads love to eat. They take the head off, clean out the innards (which they eat separately) and then roast them in their skin. Yum.

On the second day, we visited a nomadic family. The mother and her 3 year old daughter we met invited us in to their ger and offered us the traditional milk (this time the fermented mare’s milk), some kind of homemade vodka and plates full of fly-covered biscuits. I think J. took a sip. They had a TV (tuned to some kind of geometry program) and electricity thanks to a solar panel on the roof. Everything including the house is portable; they move each season to a different location. The mother took us to the herd of horses where she milked several of the mares. She does this every two hours during the day; at night the herd is let loose till morning. Evidently more intrepid (and younger) travelers than we are often are invited to stay with these nomadic families; they are very hospitable and seemed very nice to us. The tour guide left them with a bag of food goodies as a thank you.

Welcome to UB

We arrived in Ulaan Baatar (UB) at about midnight; it’s only a 3 hour flight from Seoul but a world apart in terms of development. I already love it because it’s so different. Our first surprise was the Milk Welcoming Ceremony. The office staff met us just coming off the plane with a blue silk ribbon and a small chalice filled with milk for each of us. We were presented with these gifts and had to take a sip of the milk before being ushered into the VIP Lounge thus escaping all the passport and customs and luggage rigamarole. By 1 AM we were at our hotel -an architectural abomination in the Soviet style. The dozen plus multicolored roses waiting in the room made up for the lovely fluorescent lighting.

Today -Friday- we went to a WB sponsored Fair, a contest which featured hundreds of different small project proposals in the fields of health, education, environment, water and infrastructure made by ordinary people. Each of these proposals was simply displayed on a 3x4 poster board and all were set out in a large semicircle in the central square. In the end there were 37 winners of up to $10k. Before we had a look around though we had to stand on the dais while the Prime Minister and then J. made speeches about the hard working Mongolians who participated. Very impressive turnout and I wish they all could have won.

Stone Stoup
The dinner included all the WB staff- that’s about 17 women and 3 men. Several women drank Mongolian tea, a salty blend of green tea and milk (lots) while I stuck to Schweppes. In addition to dumplings, meat turnovers, and pickled vegetables there was the Stone soup-stew, a concoction of mutton, carrots, potatoes, and black rocks which had some kind of magical powers if you held them (if you could, they were greasy and very hot). I almost forgot about the large lasagna-type noodle on the top. Didn't get the recipe.

Good-bye Korea

I was concerned that we would leave Seoul without ever trying any Korean food. Of course, the thought of “dogmeat stew” did not turn me on and unfortunately most of the local restaurants had either the plastic food windows (see above) or menus with no English translation. We skipped the numerous Starbucks, KFCs, Outbacks, Burger Kings, Tony Romas, and even Au Bon Pain (those are for the times you are really desperate). Finally, for our last meal in Korea we had Bulgogi - the traditional stir-fried beef cooked at the table. It’s accompanied by about 10 side dishes of kimchi (pickled cabbage and other veggies) -ranging from spicy and peppery to a hot that scars your tongue. At least we had that and it was pretty good till I had that fiery pickle.

Korea: Cardboard Man

Here's the picture I meant to include earlier. My posting instructions appear in Korean so I am just guessing at what's included.

Korea Continued: The Thirsty Buddha

Wednesday, September 5
Saw a little bit of Seoul while the MOTH (man of the house) did his thing. There were about 10 people on the tour- 2 Canadian flight attendants, an American woman who lives in Hong Kong, an Indian doctor and his wife and a few others whom I did not meet. We went to a palace and a temple, had about 5 minutes in a Folk Museum and finished off with an obligatory half hour shopping stop at an Amethyst Ripoff Store. It was good.

Reporting from Korea

First day in Korea
Fourteen hours is an awfully long time to be in a plane; enough time to watch 2 movies and 2 TV shows until the MAM’s (middle age muse’s) eyes got bleary. We finally arrived in Seoul at 3.30 am EST (on time!) - that’s 4.30 pm Korean time. Luckily for us, a government driver was waiting to take us to our hotel.


Second day
We spent a sleepless night waiting till morning and at 9 am decide to walk over to the posh looking department store around the corner. It turns out the Lotte store doesn’t open till 10.30 so we take a walk pass a couple of Starbucks, stop at a Dunkin Donuts for a couple of donuts and get some cash from a bank machine. The old man above collects cardboard; just before I saw him another old man with a similar cart collecting old metal passed by clanking his old rusty shears loudly - I guess to announce his arrival.

We wanted to check out the opening ceremony at the Lotte store. As in Tokyo the doors are manned by female employees wearing cute little summer suits with matching hats and white gloved male employees waiting to open the doors precisely at 10.30. While waiting we noticed the giant sweatshirt on the building across the street. We had to crossover to get a better look. It turned out to be a giant sticker - see the picture above.

At exactly 10.30, the two ladies perform a synchronized march, bow and face the doors (by this time there’s a crowd of mostly women waiting to get in) and the male employees ceremoniously open the doors simultaneously holding back the crowd until all the doors are unlocked. A Mendelssohn march trumpets in the background. The store does not disappoint. After a quick up and down on the escalator we go down to the basement food hall. Wow. Fish and crabs in tanks, pizza being made, sushi, melons, and $100 mushrooms to rival Harrods. Each department has its own cute uniform. So that’s the wow.

Monastery Cows

My son likes my cows.

Monastery: Final Days

So many requests for the story of the end of my stay, so finally, here it is:
Day Two
Tuesday
June 5

I must admit, I slept well. Cheated a little with earphones to NPR half the night. I turned the air conditioning off and could hear the night sounds from the field outside. Just a little before 8 am (oops, missed Mass) I had to call home from my car. When I go outside, it’s that nice clean clear country air with lots of birds busy chirping. No one answers the phone at home.

I think I can get into this silence business -when I go back inside to have breakfast I don’t have to look at the little woman (the one who knew her way around last night at supper; for some reason, I already don’t care for her) who is the only other person in the dining room. The pickings are slim. Cereal, milk’s in the new little fridge also in the room, different kinds of packaged bread, apples and oranges, and the monastery’s own- produced creamed honey. Coffee and tea on the side. That’s it. It is sufficient.

Between breakfast and lunch (I mean dinner) a monk-priest (or is it a priest-monk) named Father Scott is available to guests for private half hour consultations. There is a sign-up sheet on the bulletin board; it’s all filled up for today. I sit and read in the library while the consultees come in and out of the little room. Father Scott, wearing full monk-ly garb, comes out looking for his next victim. He looks at me in the library (hah! eye contact) like Ricky Ricardo looked at Lucy when she tried to tell him she was expecting. I shake my head “no.” Luckily at that moment, Brother Robert realizes it is his turn and marches in after Father Scott. I hope they have a good session. I read my book.

The bells are ringing. Time for lunch, oops it’s dinner. It seems that there are three new guests, the “Guest Master” Brother Benjamin announces. But where are they? They don’t show up for lunch. Brother Benjamin has a sense of humor - “maybe they have fallen asleep, maybe they are too involved with something else or maybe they are not hungry,” he says. Evidently, the silence oath does not apply to him. He reads some passages about mysticism (I think, because his speech is still garbled to me) from a tattered paperback. He makes another joke about the letters after the author’s name - O.C. something, something. I don’t get it, but maybe that’s because, once again, I cannot understand him. While he reads, we line up around the horseshoe placed tables taking our turn to fill our plates. The food is getting really scary. Steamed slices of boneless ham with raisins and pineapple chunks, canned sweet potatoes “au jus” and cooked cabbage. No one says “Yuck.”

We can walk over to the “monk’s house” and main chapel just past the store. However, we cannot enter or go on the grounds around the big house. The chapel is open until 8 pm (from 3.30 am, I assume). Other than walking around, looking in the library and reading your own book, there is not much to do. Contemplate, I guess. Until supper time. Tonight we are served brown rice pilaf, broccoli and stewed apples. It tastes better than it sounds. Or maybe I am just getting really hungry. The three new guests show up. One woman (she has obviously been here before) and two men, one of whom seems a miniaturized version of Brother Robert next to whom he sits. Brother Benjamin reads something about friendship.


Day Three
Wednesday
June 6

I am up before the sound of birds but I wait until dawn (and the birds) to get out of bed, earphones connected to NPR. In the library I find a little pamphlet written by someone who spent six weeks on retreat. On silence, the author writes: “By the third day, I wrote in my journal that I had exhausted everything I had brought to do, and I still had five and a half weeks to go! I was going nuts.” So I am not alone. Turns out that the author is a priest to boot. He goes on to point out that there’s a big difference between keeping silent and being silent. Just don’t talk and you keep silent, I think, while if you are being silent you are better able to hear things. One thing I am not hearing is the telephone ringing and the radio (except with earphones). For me, this is bliss.

I am finding out more about the Trappists and silence. It seems that between Compline (7.30 pm) and the close of Lauds (about 7.40 am) there is Grand Silence. During the day silence is generally expected but the hours of Grand Silence call for strict observance. I do not know what the punishment is but I found this quote:

Monks should diligently cultivate silence at all times, but especially at night... When all have assembled, they should pray Compline; and on leaving Compline, no one will be permitted to speak further. If anyone is found to transgress this rule of silence, he must be subjected to severe punishment.
-The Rule of St. Benedict (Founder of the Trappist Monks)

There are three pillars of Trappist spirituality:

Prayer
Manual Work
Prayerful reading of sacred writing (lectio divina) -and just to note: the author-priest I mention above considers J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban to fit this category.

Prayer, as is obvious, is built into the day with all the vigils, vespers, lauds and complines. And regarding manual work, these monks used to sell a product called “Monastery Bread” - I know because I used to buy it at my Safeway. Several years ago they had to give up that endeavor. I haven’t found out why yet. Now they make fruitcakes (samples to follow, I am sure everyone is excited about that) and creamed honey in various different flavors. It’s good.


The prayerful reading (lectio divina) as it turns out is what Brother Benjamin has been doing everyday at dinner (what we call lunch) while we eat in silence. “St. Benedict felt that this practice would help keep the brothers focused on their solitude at a time when they might otherwise be tempted to break silence.”


Lunch bells, I mean “dinner bells” are ringing. I can smell garlic, good sign. It is spaghetti, tomato sauce and garlic bread. Judging by some of the men’s portions, they are getting mighty hungry. Today, we learn, is Brother Benjamin’s day off. No lectio divina today, instead the middle aged woman who is the cook tells us she will put on music - Chopin, I believe. Nevertheless, Brother Benjamin is here, silently getting his own spaghetti, day off or not. One thing I have to say is that no food gets wasted. Take what you can eat, eat what you take. When you are finished eating and take up your plate for the dishwasher, it had better be empty because there’s no place to put waste left on your plate. And no one I have seen ever returns with any food on his plate anyway. Not even when I have thought “yuck.” There is a bit of levity at this meal (Brother Benjamin is not watching!). A retreatant (one of the new ones, I think) who is sitting at the end of the horseshoe passes around a post-it note saying “It’s too noisey (sic) in here!”. Halfway around when it gets to Father Alexander he gets up and turns off the Chopin, taking the note seriously. No one laughs. And now there’s no more music.


Carol (the phone answerer) presides over the supper. On the menu, carrots, green beans to make Julia Child proud (she hated crisp green beans and actually, I like them this way -a la Sholl’s Cafeteria) and scalloped potatoes. Canned fruit cocktail for dessert. Of the four women, two come late (not me) and one doesn’t come at all. Do they know something I don’t? Maybe. Here’s something I know: it is absolutely gorgeous outside and we are sitting inside in this room in total silence aside from the new age music Carol plays on the boombox. I finish and go outside thinking of picnics.




Day Four
Thursday
June 7


I take my breakfast outside. The cows are back in the pasture but at 7.50 they all start moving away in the same direction. I knew they came and went; I just never noticed that they knew how to tell time. There was one other guest in the dining room as I got my coffee. He asked me if this was my first time here. When I reply, he asks how I learned of this place. I tell him “from the nuns in Crozet” (which is true) and it ends the brief (illicit) conversation. Also, I notice a used McDonald’s cup in the trash -what’s this about? I’m a watchdog on the lookout for rule breakers.

Before lunch (dinner) I take a walk over to the Main Chapel. Inside Father Alexander is sitting in a pew all alone and leaves shortly after my arrival. A monk passes through, stops for a few seconds to pray and leaves by the opposite door. He’s wearing the official monk attire: long white robe with a hooded brown scarf around his neck. I cannot see his feet but I have read that there are special monk socks without toes which are held up by long garters attached to the underwear.

Dinner is chicken, stuffing and peas. Brother Benjamin is back but cannot remember where he left off in the book he was reading to us on Tuesday. He’s reminded that he read from the end of the book (about friendship) so he decides to start today at the beginning of the book. Once again I cannot understand what he’s reading but I am more polite than several of the other guests who leave while he is reading. One woman, it seems, has already left for good.

There’s room for 15 guests at the horseshoe in the dining room with two extra chairs on the side. Fifteen is the Retreat limit but there are actually 16 guest rooms. Fifteen for those expected and one extra for a stranger passing by in need of shelter. I like that. By now all these guests are recognizable to me although I only know their names from the bulletin board list -and I don’t know whose name belongs to whom. There are three women including me left, two men who look Indian (one is Father Alexander), two bald men (one one-legged and one with a white walrus mustache), two muscular men (one is Brother Robert, the other is short) and finally, four nondescript middle-aged white males.

This afternoon I take a ride around. Surrounding the monastery are several roads marked as scenic byways. Most are gravel and the main one goes to West Virginia just a couple of miles to the north. I see corn and Christmas trees, little churches and a house here and there. I am always surprised by all the dirt roads we still have in Virginia. I do not see another human being just a lot of birds, a woodchuck and a little brown animal that looks like a squirrel without a tail.

We do not have meat at supper; it has always been vegetarian. Tonight is no different; it’s red beans with corn, rice and kale. Although there is a kitchen (a regular house kind of kitchen) just off the dining room, I believe they prepare this food at the big house and bring it over already cooked because I never see any preparation going on. The cook leaves before supper and Brother Benjamin has to put the food out and in the warming trays. I want to believe that this is monk food. One more guest is gone. Brother Benjamin reads a story about two priests from Ireland who are transferred to California. And I can understand him.




Day Five
Friday
June 8

“So, Mom, what did you learn this week?”

Why I hate cocktail parties: this week there’s been no wine, just water; no fancy hors d’oeuvres, just beans and mushy veggies; no small talk, just silence.

Some people can pray (a lot).

Monks are not hermits. They know how to “be alone together.”

I like silence.

My problems won’t disappear but thinking about nothing is good.

Cows can be noisy.

And like one of the Brothers here said, I have “no regrets, no complaints, only thanks... (but) it is time to go home.”

PS: So just before leaving I say “good bye” and “thank you” to Brother Benjamin and, I just can’t resist it, “sorry we didn’t get to talk more.”

My Monastery Retreat #1

“Come away... to a deserted place and rest a while.” Mark 6:31

Day One
Monday
June 4

It is not the first time that I have driven on Route 7 past Leesburg. It’s truly amazing how quickly the scenery turns from suburban to rural. I get to Snickersville and can see the mountains - all part of the Shenandoah Valley preservation area- this is one beautiful state. Anyway, it is too early to look for the monastery, the trip didn’t take very long from Arlington and check-in time doesn’t start until 3 pm. I continue down Route 7 and turn in to the Veramar Winery. I don’t want a “taste” so I just drive down the unpaved road to their gate, through a forest while Ottmar Liebert plays on my Ipod, perfect timing in my opinion. I take a quick look around, it’s nice, very European looking, and then backtrack on Route 7 to find the turnoff for the monastery.

The map shows the road to the monastery running along the Shenandoah River which is hard to miss. I find it quickly and about a mile down another forested road swarming with tufted titmice and redwing blackbirds, I find the driveway gate for the Holy Cross Abbey. Up that long driveway I see two gray buildings and a smaller building with a parking lot in front. Up to now, it had been a beautiful sunny day but all of a sudden (an omen?) torrential rain starts falling. I park in the the little lot waiting for the rain to subside and notice an “open” sign in the window. Turns out this is the monastery Gift Shop -my kind of place. When the rain fizzles to a drizzle I take out my “happy face” umbrella, walk in and tell the cloaked monk at the sales counter that I am here for my retreat. Oops, wrong place. I’m told to go further down the road to find the Retreat House. So I do as I am told. The Retreat House is a modern brick building in a T-shape (maybe it’s a cross, now that I think of it). No one is here to greet me so I just go in, look around and find an older man in worn-out khakis and a flannel shirt in the dining room. He introduces himself as Brother Benjamin; he has a hard time hearing me though because his hearing aid does not seem to work well. He finds his list of expected visitors (everyone comes on Monday) and there I am, right up on top. My room assignment is A3, he tells me and points down a dormitory-like hallway at the end of which is a door to a small simple chapel. Okay. The room doors remain open as each is yet unoccupied. My A3 room is clean and good-sized with cinder block walls and carpeted floors. The windows open and look out at the mountains. When I look at the map I realize that I must be looking at West Virginia because we are so close to the border. Like all the others, this room has a single bed, an armchair, two lamps and a built-in desk. There is also an ensuite bathroom complete with a shower and two towels. Brother Benjamin told me that I would find “instructions” in the room. I get my stuff out of the car and settle down to read the instructions. No radio, no cell phone, no musical instruments. And no newspapers or magazines. Breakfast anytime before 9.30 am, dinner at noon and supper at 6.25 pm. Promptly. For your spiritual needs, Vigils at 3.30 am (!!), Lauds (with Eucharist!) at 7 am, Midday Prayer at 2 pm, Vespers at 5.30 pm and Compline (what’s that?) at 7.30 pm. I read until dinner. I am prompt but just to be sure everyone is on time, Brother Benjamin walks down the dorm hallway ringing two bells. The tables in the dining room are placed in a horseshoe shape, set with placemats, napkins and silverware. I sit down because the only other occupant, a white haired man with one leg, is already sitting down. After Brother Benjamin’s bells have rung, the other guests, eight of them, all file in and stand behind their chairs. Brother Benjamin says something, his speech sounds garbled to me, and finally everyone (but me and the one legged man, we’re already sitting) sits down. One of the women guests (she must be an old-timer) takes it upon herself to pour the water for everyone. The supper is “serve yourself” which works especially well given the horseshoe shape. The menu... let’s just say, good thing I ate a big burrito at Moe’s for lunch. It’s what Brother Benjamin calls “Monday Night Soup.” You know what that means. Oh, yes and cheese slices and salad with “pour on your own” bottled dressing. While we eat, Brother Benjamin speaks. All I hear is near the end. We must try to keep silent. It’s more about discipline than virtue, he tells us. Just can’t have 4 or 5 people speaking across the dining room. Who would want that? I notice, too, that we do not look at each other -no eye contact. Supper ends in silence, eyes down. It’s 7.15. To fill up the time, I check out the guest list posted on the bulletin board. Of the nine guests, there are 3 women and 6 men. Of the 6 men, there’s a Father, a Brother and a Monsignor. Who knew? More news tomorrow.

Herbie's Sweet Smile