Sao Miguel — unspoiled island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean

                                                        

In 1984, my then husband and I were on a chartered flight to Tenerife, one of the Canary Islands off the coast of western Africa. 

Several passengers on board needed to disembark in Sao Miguel, one of the Azorean islands, so in the early morning hours we came in for a landing. I was fortunate to have a window seat, so I had an aerial view of the island. What I saw was so magnificent and gorgeous I vowed that one day I would return to explore Sao Miguel.

Over the years, I researched the Azores and found that the archipelago is comprised of nine volcanic islands, one of them Sao Miguel. More than one article stated that the Azores are the Hawaiian islands of the Atlantic and possibly the lost continent of Atlantis. Now that I've been there, I can unequivocally agree that they are a close cousin to Maui and Kauai.

The vegetation alone shouts "Hawaii!" There are palm trees everywhere, steep mountains, black sand beaches and tropical flowers like bird of paradise, hibiscus and camellia. We visited in the off season (March 2024) and had hoped that maybe the hydrangeas would blossom ahead of schedule. Alas, they did not. But in April, the roadways will be awash in their brilliant shades of pink and blue. These beautiful plants are everywhere and are beautiful when in bloom. 

Our plan was a Friday to Friday trip, which we booked through AARP-Expedia.com. This Web site has never failed us. Not even once. Our hotel—Azoris Royal Garden—was in a quiet location just outside of Ponte Delgada, capital city of the Azores. Some people have complained that the noise level from planes taking off and landing at the airport only five minutes away detracts from the overall experience, but we weren't bothered at all. This hotel is a large complex and has modern decor. Comfort was built in with various furniture groupings where guests can sit quietly and read, enjoy a cup of tea, solve crossword puzzles or have a catnap. The ground floor is set aside for check-in. An elevator across from the check-in desk will take you to the first floor where there's a bar outfitted with a beautiful baby grand piano. In addition to drinks, the bar offers a light menu with burgers topping the list. On the opposite side of the floor, there's a game room where guests can shoot pool or play cards or other games. Just beyond this area is a spa. We opted for his and her massages and were not disappointed.

The second and third floors are set aside for guest rooms. We enjoyed our basic room—two twin beds, a bathroom with tub/shower, bidet and sink. Just across from the bathroom, there are closets with ample space to store our clothing. Woolen blankets are available in case the air is chilly. The room also had a small balcony. We used this area to dry our hand laundry. 

Each night, we enjoyed dinner at Koi, the hotel's restaurant. Order off the menu or create your own meal from the offerings at the nightly buffet.

 

We purchased two worthwhile excursions through Azores Wonderful: A half day trip to

Sete Cidades (seven lakes) and a full day to Furnas and Nordeste. We loved the naturally heated water at the thermal pool at Furnas and beauty of the twin lakes separated only by a narrow causeway. The smaller lake is green; the larger, blue. Our tour guide, John, explained that the difference in color is rooted in the vegetation growing at the bottom of the green lake. The corresponding lake's blue color is caused by its depth. According to a legend, a shepherd boy who lived near the green lake was in love with a girl who lived near the blue lake. When her father denied her marriage to the shepherd boy, he cried tears that filled the smaller lake while the young lady's tears filled the blue lake.  

 

If you're looking for a quiet destination, one that's unspoiled and not overrun by hordes of tourists, Sao Miguel might be what you're looking for. Check it out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Washington Crossing Inn — history plus superb food

By GAIL LOWE

WASHINGTON CROSSING, Del. — My daughter lives in New Jersey, and I live with my husband north of Boston. The question last fall that begged an answer was “How do we spend Thanksgiving Day together?”

We could have rented an AIRBNB and invited our daughter and three grandchildren to join us for dinner, but this would mean that the rental house would have to have a completely stocked kitchen, from gravy boat to carving knife. Why take a needless risk if the rental house didn’t have what we needed?

We also considered inviting them to Massachusetts. We could have cooked dinner and observed the holiday at our home, but this would require travel by train or plane and prove too costly by the time we factored in hotel lodging for two nights.

The third, and most logical, option was for us to go to New Jersey and find a restaurant that would be open on Thanksgiving Day. The Nassau Inn near my daughter’s home in Princeton was a possibility, but she and her family had dinner there on Thanksgiving Day 2018 and reported that it was fine but nothing special.

Baby grand piano in foyer of
Washington Crossing Inn

Starting in September 2019, I went to the Internet to research restaurant choices. One appealed to us greatly — the Washington Crossing Inn at the New Jersey-Pennsylvania border. As soon as reservations were being accepted in mid-October, I called the inn to reserve space for six. The entire dinner would cost about $375, including tip, but it turned out to be well worth the money.

As the Inn’s name suggests, its location is a stone’s throw away from the Delaware River where George Washington once made his crossing. Cross a bridge that spans the river, and you just about roll the rest of the way to the Inn. Parking is not a problem. The Inn has a lot, and patrons can use the bank lot across the roadway.

The restaurant itself is a gorgeous, historic colonial building dressed up with a baby grand piano and fireplace in the large foyer, crystal chandeliers hanging from ceilings and fine linens covering the tables. On the day of our visit, beautiful autumn floral arrangements were placed in all the lovely rooms. We enjoyed our dinner in the “library room,” a smaller, quiet book-themed space near the bar.

We had no idea what to expect for food selections other than turkey. I only hoped that the turkey served would not be the deli variety. It wasn’t.

The "library room" at Washington Crossing Inn

A buffet featuring just about every kind of food under the sun was offered in the main dining room. There were two types of turkey: Roasted and deep fried. Squash soup. Salads. Cheesed-up mashed potatoes (not at all cloying, I am happy to report) or rice if preferred. All kinds of vegetables, from string beans to squash, and pasta with red sauce and an assortment of desserts were also offered. If we didn’t eat enough after the first visit to the buffet, we were welcome to go back for seconds. We never once felt rushed, and our server was attentive and friendly but did not hover.

It takes a great amount of planning, coordination and hard work to feed approximately 2,000 people at two seatings in one day, but the Inn managed to do it, and they did it well.

As I write this, I wonder if we should make Thanksgiving Dinner at the Inn a family tradition. I will be checking its Web site this coming fall to see if they’ll offer the dinner again.

For more information about Washington Crossing Inn, visit www.washingtoncrossing.com or call 877-882-1776. The Inn is open for dinner year round. It does not offer overnight accommodations.

Edith Cavell, WW I Nurse and Hero

On a recent flight to London, I thought about what my husband and I would do once we arrived. Certainly, we wanted to see Westminster Abbey, Churchill’s War Rooms, St. Paul’s Cathedral and Big Ben. But side trips to York, Stonehenge and Bath were also on the agenda.

There was something else on my mind, and that was finding the Edith Cavell monument in

The Edith Cavell Monument

London. Most people have no idea who Edith Cavell is, including those who work in gift shops near Trafalgar Square, the approximate location of the monument. It’s actually at 10 St. Martin’s Place up from the right-hand side of the National Gallery, and I was determined to find it.

Before I go any further, I should tell you about Edith. She was born in December 1865 in Swardeston, a village to the west of London, and became a nurse in a working class area of London called Whitechapel, which is near the dockyards on the east side of the city and where Jack the Ripper wreaked havoc. The daughter of a vicar, Edith was educated at the local high school and several boarding schools. After her classwork, she went to Belgium where she became a governess for a family, then returned home to take care of her ailing father. This experience led her to apply to become a nurse probationer at the London Hospital. She then worked at several hospitals in the London area before traveling farther from London to nurse patients afflicted with everything from cancer to gout.

Dr. Antoine Depage recruited Edith when she was in her early 40s to establish a new nursing school in Belgium. She accepted the challenge and a few years later started publishing a professional journal called “L’infirmiere.” By the end of her first year, she was training nurses for three hospitals, 24 schools and 13 kindergartens in Brussels.

When the Germans invaded Belgium in 1914, Edith nursed both sides without discrimination. She took care of her own injured people as well as French and German soldiers. She helped many British and German soldiers escape to The Netherlands by concealing them and giving them money enough to travel and feed themselves. The Germans kept a close eye on Edith's activities, and when she was finally arrested and tried at court-martial, the British government could not help her, and she went to her death before a firing squad.

Today, the words “Patriotism is not enough. I must have no hatred or bitterness toward

Yorkminster, York, England

anyone,” carved into the monument, stand as a testament to her life and work.

American writer Terri Arthur wrote a book about Edith called “Fatal Decision: Edith Cavell, WW I Nurse.” Penned in the style of a novel, the story holds the reader in its grip from beginning to end.

Arthur, also a Registered Nurse, draws the reader into Cavell’s story by introducing well-defined, multi-dimensional characters and descriptive settings that support the suspenseful, beautifully written narrative. The chapters are mostly short and, on occasion, include photographs of various characters, newspaper clippings and locations where the action takes place, including the prison where Cavell was held.

Some libraries own the book. If yours doesn’t, you can order the book online for about $20.

Having read the book before traveling to London, I stood in awe in front of Edith’s monument and took photos, one of which I later framed. Edith has become my hero.

All of London is a thick stew of history, and no trip to England would be complete without spending a day in York, north of London and easily accessed by train, and Stonehenge, Bath and even Windsor. The country is small enough to see it all within a week’s time. We loved York for its quaint small town and Stonehenge for its unique mysteries. Bath and Windsor were also 

captivating and stunningly beautiful.

Stonehenge

I will caution those contemplating a visit to England to be aware of hotel choice. Former brownstone-type homes have been converted into hotels (such as The Nayland near Paddington Station), and the rooms are just about the size of a closet. The bathrooms are nearly impossible to turn around in unless you’re five feet tall and weigh 100 pounds. I’d advise to book at a Marriott or even Holiday Inn where the rooms are more spacious.

If you plan to go, also consider a boat ride along the Thames. There’s one that speeds along the river while the James Bond theme is playing, but a woman at the tourist center told us to reconsider because it’s terror inducing. Much better for us was the gentle ride along the Thames, under the Tower Bridge and past a replica of The Mayflower all the way to Greenwich.  

There’s so much to see and do in sweet little England that it’s worth a repeat visit. Just make sure you create an agenda before you go so you won't waste even a minute.

Buried treasure on Oak Island, N.S. — fact or fiction?

By GAIL LOWE

Who doesn’t love a good mystery? Like any intriguing puzzle, they’re hard to resist.

There’s a buried treasure mystery surrounding Oak Island in Nova Scotia’s Mahone Bay that’s so intriguing it has prompted the airing of a reality television series on the History Channel called

“The Curse of Oak Island.” The show premiered on Jan. 5, 2014 and entered its fifth season this fall. 

Oak Island is a tiny island on the Atlantic side of Nova Scotia just south of Halifax and slightly north of Lunenberg where the Bluenose is dry-docked.

Accessible only by an 840-foot causeway, permission must be granted for entrance onto the island. Interest in the TV show and the buried treasure that could be the plunder of the Knights Templar has run so high that the Friends of Oak Island Society found a way to satisfy the “permission only” requirement by opening the island to group tours. Devoted viewers of the show can now buy tickets for $15 per person and visit the various spots with Tour Guide Charlie Barkhouse, including the Money Pit and Borehole 10-X, locations where drillings hundreds of feet below the ground have taken place.

Does this bore hole lead to the money pit?

While on tour, Barkhouse, also one of the show’s stars, told a story about Samuel Ball, a former slave turned cabbage farmer on Oak Island who may have already found the treasure. He bought multiple acres of the island, but where did he get the money to purchase? Pondering this and other questions only deepens the mystery. During the hour-long walk, Barkhouse also spoke about the geology of the island and pointed out Smith’s Cove, an artificial beach believed to flood underground tunnels, including the Money Pit.

The two top stars of “The Curse of Oak Island” are two brothers from Michigan — Rick and Marty Lagina — who learned about the supposed buried treasure on Oak Island through an article published in Reader’s Digest during childhood. By the time the brothers reached adulthood, their interest in the legends and tales surrounding the buried treasure became a passion.

Over the years, Marty became a successful businessman and decided to help his brother Rick find the lost treasure. He bought an interest in the island and was then approached by producers from the History Channel to air a show about the treasure hunt. Now, a portion of the tiny island belongs to the Lagina brothers. The remainder of the land continues to be residential property. 

For the past four years, Rick and Marty have taken up where others before them left off. But their dig is like none other. They’ve brought in heavy equipment, including bulldozers, boring machines and excavators, plus world renowned divers willing to go into narrow tunnels hundreds of feet below ground to help solve the mystery, a mystery that started 220 years ago and might even involve the Knights Templar.

The supposed treasure is buried somewhere on the island, but the nature of the treasure is far from clear — it could be anything, from pirate gold to King Solomon’s temple treasure, Marie Antoinette’s lost jewels and Shakespearean manuscripts. Perhaps even the Holy Grail is buried there. Numerous small discoveries and clues have been found but no signs of the major booty — yet.

The mystery of Oak Island began in the summer of 1795 when teenager Daniel McGinnis was wandering around the island and came across a curious circular depression in the ground. Towering over this depression was a tree whose branches had been cut in such a way that it looked like it had been used as a pulley. Having heard tales of pirates in the area, McGinnis went home and told friends about the tree, and the group returned later to investigate the depression. Over the next few days McGinnis, along with friends John Smith and Anthony Vaughn, dug deeper into the depression. What they found was nothing short of astonishing. Two feet below the surface, they came across a layer of flagstones covering the pit. 

At 10 feet down they ran into a layer of oak logs spanning the pit. Again at 20 feet and 30 feet they found another layer of logs. They were unable to continue the exploration alone and called it a day but with plans to return to continue the search. Eight years later, they were back with The Onslow Company and the group formed for the purpose of searching for the treasure. The dig got underway again, and at every 10-foot interval, more oak layers were discovered. That’s not all. At 40 feet, they found a layer of charcoal; at 50 feet a layer of putty and at 60 feet a layer of coconut fiber. Then, at 90 feet, the most puzzling clue of all was found – a stone inscribed with mysterious writing. 

Soon, water was seeping into the pit. The next day the pit was filled with water up to the 33-foot level. Pumping out the water didn’t work, so the next year a new pit was dug parallel to the original one down to 100 feet. From there, a tunnel was run over to the Money Pit. Again, water flooded in and the search was abandoned for 45 years.

Their discovery, however, is only a small part of the intricate plan by the unknown designers to keep people away from the stash. In 1849, the next company to attempt to search for the treasure, The Truro Company, was founded and the search began again. These new treasure hunters quickly dug down to 86 feet, only to be flooded. Deciding to try to figure out what was buried before attempting to extract it, Truro switched to drilling core samples. The drilling produced some encouraging results, but like the other hunts, nothing major turned up.

There’s another mystery begging to be solved that involves Oak
Island and its connection to a little fishing village called Overton on

The boulder at Overton

the Bay of Fundy side of the province. A boulder called the Overton Stone has petroglyphs etched in — a tobacco leaf, Knights Templar cross and quarter moon. The inscription dates to between 300 and 500 years ago. Whoever spent the time to inscribe these petroglyphs is unknown, but there’s an interesting fact about the Overton Stone and another big stone that was found in the town of Westford, Mass.

On the Westford stone someone inscribed a sailing vessel, an arrow pointing north and the number 184, the exact number of leagues north between Westford and Overton. Some historians believe there’s a tie between the stone and Scottish explorer and Prince Henry Sinclair. Did he inscribe these etchings and mean for them to be a treasure map?

Petroglyphs on the Westward stone

Here’s another astounding fact about the treasure hunters: While digging for the treasure, deaths have occurred and, according to legend, one more person has to die before it’s found. If this is true, then the Lagina brothers are putting their own lives as well as the entire search group’s lives at risk. In fact, the closing episode of 2015-2016 asked viewers to tune in this fall to find out if any lives will be lost. Devotees of the show will sit on pins and needles while waiting for word about the buried treasure. Will it be found? Will someone die?

Just this week, what is suspected to be a piece of bone was found. Testing will now be done to determine if it is, in fact, bone and if it is, did it belong to an animal or human?

If you're as curious about this legend as I am, tune in to the History Channel on Tuesday nights. Or visit www.oakislandsociety.ca to learn about the island's many mysteries.

Ireland in All Its Glory

By GAIL LOWE

Anyone who can claim Irish ancestry should make at least one pilgrimage to the Emerald Isle. But spending a week there — first Dublin, then Killarney and finally Galway — was just not enough. A trip to Ireland deserves not one week or two, but three or even more. There simply is not enough time to see all the sights, from the Book of Kells to the Ring of Kerry.

With Oscar Wilde

Every scene, every vista is more beautiful than the one before, and this is no exaggeration.

This is a country that takes pride in cleanliness. There is little to no litter lining the roadways, either highway or country lane. It simply does not exist in any manner, shape or form, and this makes Ireland all the more enjoyable.

We started out in Dublin at the Dublin Central Hotel on Talbot Street. Finding the hotel proved difficult because we were unfamiliar with the layout of the city. Talbot Street is north of the Liffey River, which flows through Dublin before it finds its way to the Irish Sea. The hotel’s signage is hung above a single entry doorway. Had we not looked carefully, we would have missed it. After a long overnight flight that landed us in London’s Heathrow before a connecting flight took us to Dublin, checking in was most welcome. There was limited parking at the rear of the hotel, but when we arrived there were two spaces left. We were so grateful.

The room we occupied was on the second floor, a small space without much room to move around. Even smaller was the shower stall. A man or woman of generous size would find it difficult to soap up and rinse off. But we had to make do, and we did.

Too tired to venture far from the hotel, we found a casino called “Play Land” directly across from the hotel. My five euros were gone within a minute or two. Hungry now, we found a pub called O’Shea’s and sampled delicious seafood chowder made with hake and cod, fishermen’s pie and burgers. Sorry, Legal Seafoods. O’Shea’s was just as good, if not better.

The following morning we could have walked to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells, and Grafton Street for a bit of shopping and even St. Stephen’s Green. But the drive to Killarney was four hours, and the collective thought was that it was best to get on the road.

We left Dublin — a big city much like Boston except the buildings are far smaller — on Thursday morning, and touched upon Kildare, Ennis and Limerick as we drove along the highway toward Killarney. We found our next lodging place — Castlerosse Hotel in Killarney, about mid-afternoon. A family of deer live on the nine-hole golf course and woke us the next two mornings with their bugling.

Killarney is not much more than a village, but it was chockfull of boutique shops, pubs and restaurants. On this day, we toured the

Dingle Peninsula

Dingle Peninsula by way of a comfortable touring bus. Only six or seven other people joined us as we cruised along the sometimes twisting coast and marveled at the steep cliffs, stone beehive “homes” indigenous Christian people lived in centuries ago and startling green fields where sheep and cattle happily grazed. The tour took up the day, but we were not too tired in the evening to drive to Killarney to sample Irish stew and fish ‘n chips at O’Donoghue’s, a restaurant and music venue. Both were delicious.

Later that night, we searched for authentic Irish music and found what we were looking for right at our fingertips — O’Donoghue’s. We listened to an Irish foursome sing songs like “Whiskey in the Jar” and “Dirty Old Town.” Fabulous songs accompanied by squeezebox, banjo and two guitars. Now I’d like to hear Irish music played at a restaurant in Somerville’s Davis Square.

We had reservations in Galway for Saturday and Sunday nights at Flannerys Hotel, an easy find. While in Galway, we visited the downtown and canal that runs through the city before dumping into Galway Bay. We knew a hurricane was brewing in the Atlantic — Ophelia — and wondered if it would impact our travel. It did, but not to the point that it spoiled our trip.

Sunday afternoon, we visited with our traveling companions’ cousins in Wakefield (Galway County). Late by 15 minutes, we arrived at 2:15 p.m. and cousin Frank’s wife Una promptly seated us and began serving dinner, which she took great pains to prepare. First course: A multi-vegetable (accent on squash) pureed soup that was absolutely delicious. Second course: Plated pot roast slices, mashed potato, baked potato, sliced carrots, broccoli and gravy. She also set on the table a casserole dish of cauliflower with cheese sauce and sliced peppers in various colors.

Cliffs of Moher

Not to be missed were the Cliffs of Moher, which we visited the following day, a spectacular scene of impossibly tall cliffs. The wind here was fierce, and people are repeatedly warned not to get close to the edge. We viewed the cliffs from a safe spot where a wall prevents falls. A lone sea stack sits in the water below where rolling surf comes in from the Atlantic.

At night we dined at Murphy’s, a pub for “old men” and enjoyed traditional Irish food, including Irish stew.

Hurricane Ophelia was threatening life and limb, so we left Monday morning and drove back to Dublin for a final night’s stay at the hotel where we started out — the Dublin Central Hotel. Three people in various locations in Ireland lost their lives during Ophelia, the biggest storm to hit Ireland in 50 years. Sadly, we missed seeing the Book of Kells, St. Stephen’s Green and Grafton Street because everyone had buttoned up — from restaurants and pubs to schools and colleges.

We did, however, enjoy one final stop at Madigan’s, a pub where some of us enjoyed a pint of Guinness. A jolly sort of man took my hand and showed me a wall of framed pictures of famous writers who had found food and comfort there. That’s how it is in Ireland. Entrance into a pub guarantees that you’ll leave having made a new friend.

While in Ireland, the famed Irish mist graced our skin. We heard Irish brogues everywhere. And one taxi driver showed off his Irish humor by telling a joke about Steve Jobs, Johnny Cash and Bob Hope. We even got a rainbow in Dublin when Ophelia moved in.

Rainbow over Dublin

There’s truth that Irish eyes smile and that the country is Emerald green. The Irish are proud of their heritage and take equal pride in Irish writers like James Joyce and Oscar Wilde.

Someone once told me that of all the countries he had visited, Ireland was the one place he wanted to return to again and again. Now I know why. I want to return, too. To walk Dublin where literary giants breathed the air. I want to hear more of that Irish music and humor. I want to talk to the people and ask them what they think of Americans. I want to find that four-leaf clover and kiss the Blarney Stone. I want to marvel once again at the remarkable green vistas where sheep, cattle and horses graze.

I want to fall head over heels in love with Ireland all over again.