How to Pass the Time

…when this:

turns to this:

On a recent getaway to the Florida Panhandle, we were stymied by day after day of rain. And not gentle, misty showers, but heavy, tropical downpours that soaked us poor ever-hopeful beachgoers at every turn. Usually, the deluge would begin when you were on a bike, several minutes from home, loaded down with beach paraphernalia and with no alternative but to keep slogging through the sheets of water only to arrive at your destination looking like a drowned rat.

Fancy a walk?

Bike ride, anyone?

After consulting the local weather radar, we became resigned to the fact that our long-anticipated family beach vacation had morphed into hours and hours of family time together – inside. This included five adults and four teenagers. Hmmmm. Which got me thinking about passing the time when the beach trip becomes waterlogged:

- write a blog and amuse family members by taking dozens of photos of the rain

- sit on the porch with a good book and maybe even a little background jazz (we got lucky: our brother-in-law plays the guitar fabulously and there was nothing better than sitting on the porch listening to him quietly strum)

- plan meals (we ate magnificently!)

- make ice cream (under the porch – and more about that in a second)

- make up new card games – or play old favorites

- try on the homeowner’s extensive collection of straw beach hats

- curl up on the sofa and revisit a couple favorite old movies (we got in Fiddler on the Roof and Gone with the Wind – and then mimicked the characters at every opportunity)

- do laundry (sounds weird, but I love doing laundry on vacation. It feels like playing house and it doesn’t really matter if it gets done or not)

- do some online shopping

- take an afternoon nap and fall asleep to the sound of rain on a tin roof

- read magazines (the lovely little house we rented had dozens of back issues of Coastal Living, a stylish publication I just love.)

(Who wouldn’t want a beach porch like this?)

- Write in a diary

- Crank the Ipod and dance (Mimi, our mother/mother-in-law/grandmother, had a rocking list that included Abba and the Bee Gees, and one night after dinner, we had a dance party.)

Back to the ice-cream maker…we have an electric White Mountain ice cream maker that has the wooden sides and a bulky motor that attaches on the top.

And, it makes amazing ice cream. We tried a different batch each night, but the hands-down favorite was the Oreo. Here’s how we made it:

Homemade Oreo ice cream

You start with the base, which is a basic vanilla. This recipe makes 4 quarts, which was just about enough for nine ice-cream connoisseurs:

~3 cups milk

~1 ¾ cups sugar

~½ tsp salt

~2 cups half and half

~1 Tbsp vanilla extract

~3 cups whipping cream

~1 cup crushed Oreos

1. Scald the milk until bubbles form around the edge. Remove from heat.

2. Add sugar and salt. Stir until dissolved. Stir in half and half, vanilla and whipping cream.

3. Cover and refrigerate 30 minutes. Freeze according to your ice cream maker’s instructions.

4. Add the crushed Oreos during the last 5-10 minutes of churning.

Usually our efforts yielded different results – one night the consistency was a little too soft, another night it was too icy. We finally got it right, but decided that each and every batch was spoon-lickingly delicious and ice-cream making was to be a new family vacation tradition.

To fill you in on the rest of the vacation: on the last day, the sun finally peeked out, but sadly half our group was already packed and ready to go. Happily, and despite the rain, it was voted as a Best Ever Family Vacation -- which goes to show it’s all about just being together.

Tata!

M.

Heavenly Destinations

The great thing about the gallery gals is that we all gladly and enthusiastically share in each other’s little travel adventures.

So, when one of us returned from visiting a little slice of heaven (a long-anticipated family voyage and one that was to be treasured), it was fun to be peppered with questions and comments. Of course, it’s always a pleasure to spill the beans about beautiful Harbour Island in the Bahamas.

Harbour Island’s iconic symbol: The Lone Tree

What do we adore so much about this little jewel? Could it be the shell-pink beach that stretches for three miles? Perhaps the crystal-clear aquamarine water and endless skies? What about days filled with sunning, swimming, beaching, boating, fishing, snorkeling, island-hopping and diving? Or curling up under an umbrella in the shade with a really good book? You’re probably getting the idea now.

Dunmore Town

Dunmore Town is the only community on the island. It’s named after John Murray, 4^th Earl of Dunmore, who was the governor of the Bahamas from 1786 to 1798 and had a summer house there. Smart guy. As expected, the style has colonial flavor.

We all love arriving at Harbour Island (“Briland” is the island’s nickname: say Harbour Island 5 times quickly and you’ll see where it came from.) We come by water-taxi and when we see the sorbet-colored cottages and white picket fences that dot the shoreline, we all do a little dance of excitement. Our first visit here was 18 years ago, so our little family has spent many a summertime vacation here and this teeny island has a special place in our hearts.

The brightly painted cottages have a distinctively New England feel.

The preferred method of getting around is by golf cart – and what’s more fun than cruising around in one of those? The pot-holed and narrow streets of Dunmore Town are full of them and even though we’re driving on the wrong side of the street, we all get around perfectly. Brightly painted houses, cottages and shops line the streets and hundreds of roosters and hens and their chicks roam the island, as do the adorable “potcakes,” the sweet-tempered and native dogs whose lineage is at best a massive muddle of breeds.

A Briland potcake dog

One of the two grocery stores is a Piggly Wiggly (our Southern readers would feel right at home) that keeps odd hours and even odder selections in the aisles. India Hick’s Sugar Mill is an ever-so-chic little boutique that feels right at home along with Dilly Dally, which stocks a dizzying array of touristy shell tchochkes. And, congregating one recent morning at the popular Arthur’s Bakery was an international melting pot that included hungry Americans, Brits, French and Dutch.

Harbour Island is a study in contrasts.

Beautiful vases from India’s shop, Sugar Mill.

Dilly Dally

There’s no shortage of wonderful restaurants on the island and there’s a nice assortment of hotels so lunching and dining is always a treat. One of our very favorites is Sip Sip (Brilandese for gossip) which overlooks the beach and is the perfect spot for killer lobster enchiladas and exceptional people watching.

And, if you’re lucky, your fishermen will come home with fresh yellow fin tuna that is truly a delight for the taste buds, especially when served carpaccio-style, with soy sauce, sesame seeds and wasabi.

The fearless fishermen

And that’s the beauty of Harbour Island: it’s a place of delightful contradictions The Brilanders live simply and efficiently here while incognito supermodels, moguls and jet-setters flock here in the pre-requisite sunglasses and hats.

This sign says it all.

It’s unbelievably laid-back, but impossibly easy to spend a small fortune of a hotel room and meals. Maybe it’s the price of paradise, but no-one seems to gripe about it too much and, luckily, there are plenty of options for everyone.

Yes, the sand really is pink.

In the last decade or so, Briland has become ultra-chic butt at the same time, it has managed to retain its sweet soul. One of the first questions you get is “how long have you been coming here?” and if you can breezily say, “oh since at least the sixties,” your ranking goes way up.

Whatever the accommodations, whatever the occasion, Harbour Island’s magical combination of sea, sky and beach never fails to delight the senses and soothe the soul. It’s truly a little piece of heaven on earth.

Where is your favorite idyllic getaway to escape the rigors of everyday life? We're always looking for new paradises to explore!

Tata!

M.

Huffing It Alone

Postcards from Paris...

A Huffington is on her way to Paris, on a solo trip for a few days, and has been musing about the joys of solo travel …

La Femme Mysterieuse by Lorraine Christie

A quick disclaimer before I start: I love traveling with my family, friends and fellow Huffingtons and I’d never trade traveling with them for traveling alone. But having said that, there are times when you either have to travel solo or choose to, and when that happens, it can be a wonderful gift to be relished and appreciated. At least I think so, for the following reasons:

- You can spread out in the hotel room and take up as much room as you want

- Especially on those first jet lagged nights, you can toss and turn to your heart’s content, without bothering anyone

- You don’t have to worry about running out of hotel shampoo and you can use all the hangers in the closet (and take the top drawers in the dresser)

- You can order room service! Or you can go out and buy your food and wine and make your own little dinner. (Sometimes I order something small from room service, just to get the set up and silverware, and complement that with take out from a local deli or “traiteur.”)

- You don’t ever have to say, “What do you want to do today? “

- You can go through a museum at your own pace, spending hours in front of a favorite painting, while skipping entire civilizations if you want to

- You can try on as many pairs of shoes as you want to

- You can say yes to the whipped cream on the hot chocolate

- You can wear what you want the minute you step in (or out of) your room

- You can eavesdrop on interesting conversations (I heard all about a remarkable 19^th century female artist – a contemporary of Manet, whom Cezanne worshiped, and who until now has been unknown – but couldn’t quite overhear her name, so she’s still unknown to me!)

- You can order however many courses you want without having to synchronize your meal in a restaurant

- You can justify a very expensive restaurant, because dinner or lunch is so much less when it’s just for one. I especially recommend doing this in France – and really all over Europe, I think -- where the restaurants will treat you with very much respect even if you are a woman dining by herself.

In fact I’ll end with a funny little anecdote. Several years ago, I was traveling alone on Mother’s Day. Never one to feel bereft, I decided to treat myself to a very nice restaurant and hotel for the night knowing that my sweet family would surely approve. I picked the Auberge de Noves, famous for its fine cuisine (and proximity to the Avignon train station where I had to catch an early morning train), and I ordered a full course meal delivered to my room.

I was prepared to have a glass of ordinary wine to go along with it, but then I changed my mind and called the sommelier for some suggestions. He was thrilled and said it would be an honor, Madame, to match my meal with a perfectly complementary wine. After asking a few questions about what I liked and what I was eating, he brought me a very fine half bottle of Burgundy, a 1998 Saint-Joseph Domaine Courbis, for which I was too embarrassed to ask the price.

It turns out that it was one of the best meals I’ve ever had and the wine tasted like liquid velvet. It was perfection.

But after relishing every bite and sip, I started to feel a little guilty about the mysterious cost and worried about the wine bill that would face me in the morning. (And what a terrible downer from Mother’s Day to be doing dishes in the hotel dining room!) It’s fair to say that I lost sleep over it – even though there was nothing I could do.

When I finally checked out in the morning, I quickly perused the bill and braced myself for a horrible shock. But the shock was that this exquisite bottle of liquid velvet cost only $16! If I’d known it upfront, I would have been spared all that unnecessary (and so female) angst and could have just enjoyed the moment. But then again, traveling solo and treating ourselves takes some getting used to and it doesn’t always come naturally. So maybe the final point should be:

- Traveling solo is a treat: Enjoy it!

Tata!

A.

Huffingtons Go To New York

New York City is a favorite destination for the Huffingtons – how could it not be? We’ve lived there, studied there, taken countless subways and buses, eaten at hundreds of restaurants and each have our favorite neighborhoods and haunts. Art and food usually figure high on the list of preferred attractions for the visiting Huffingtons and on recent visit, this was no exception.

One of us Huffingtons recently landed at LaGuardia with a friend and couple of teenage daughters in tow. The teenagers, sweet girls anyway, were delighted with our proposition of mixing rocking retail therapy with art eye-candy for the adults.

First Stop: The Whitney Biennial 2010 (http://www.whitney.org/), which is the 75th edition of the museum’s signature exhibit. It’s a breath-taking compilation of modern and production art by contemporary American artists and runs the gamut from a 1950s white hearse with a black and white film flickering on its cracked windscreen to one of our favorite pieces by Jennifer Jackson Hutchins: a childhood sofa repurposed as art and covered entirely by newspaper articles about Barak Obama.

The re-purposed sofa as art by Jennifer Jackson Hutchins at the Whitney

One of my favorite pieces is this simple and beautifully edited 12 x 12 oil painting by Maureen Gallace, who purposely leaves her structures without doors and windows so that the viewer can attach his or own associations to the building. I love the luminous simplicity of this painting with its wet-on-wet layers of oil. (Run, don’t walk to this exhibit, which shows through May 30th, 2010.) We wandered, eyes open and mouths agape, and loving every minute of it.

Maureen Gallace, Cape Cod, Early September, 12 x 12, oil on panel

Next, on to the Metropolitan Shrine . How does one describe this mecca of beauty? Even its stately presence on upper Fifth Avenue is powerful. We stood on the steps, in the sunlight, just drinking in the sheer physical aura of this place before dashing in to admire the lobby’s frothy and enormous cherry blossoms (brought in twice a week from New Jersey, we found out)

We zipped through Ancient Greeks and Romans (stopping to oogle the jewelry which feels fresh and chic even today, 2,500 years later.) Then, up the stairs to the ultimate altar of art: the Impressionists. Call me old-fashioned but Monet’s light-filled rendition of the Houses of Parliament brought tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. The funny thing about the Met is that after a while, the sensory overload begins to dull the senses so after a while, you find yourself thinking, oh is that a Degas dancer? Nice. Oh, and a Van Gogh still life? Hmmmm, let's move on to that Manet over there. It's a rather decadent feeling.

It doesn't get anymore beautiful and inspiring for me than this, The Houses of Parliament, Effect of Fog by Claude Monet.

My cute girlfriend wanted to see her favorite painting, Madame X by John Singer Sargent and we were perplexed when we couldn’t locate it. “It’s not where it normally is!” wailed my friend. (I thought, hmmm, even the Met rotates paintings just like us Huffingtons.) The lovely and polite docent kindly directed us down to Visible Storage, which, if you haven’t been, is a treasure trove.

It’s a cavernous space filled with acres of glass display cases, full of Mary Cassats here, John Singer Sargent there…oh, and yes, here’s Madame X, sans frame. There were miles of gilded, ornate and carved frames. And we didn’t even get to the decorative arts cases.

Back up to modern art, where we feasted our eyes on a Mark Rothko (one of my all-time fave artists.)

...but felt a little insecure about Damien Hirst’s preserved and odd shark. We weren't sure if we got it.

Damien Hirst's The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living, 1992.

And, sadly, by this time, it was time to put into action the Short-but-Sweet museum theory, which always works perfectly for the younger ones in the group. The key is make it fun and lively…then leave just when everyone is ready for more. Believe me, this strategy works everytime…our cute teens are already begging for their next trip to museum land.

As we skidded down Fifth in our cab, I reflected for a minute about the immeasurable power of art in all its forms to document beauty, translate social and cultural ideas and to inspire, empower and provoke its viewers to a higher level. It was a special moment that made think about how much I love what I do and how lucky I am do have our little haven of art and beauty.

Then, it was on to Balthazar for lunch (a transporting experience and the closest thing to Paris this side of the pond) and our pretend NYC life kept zipping along at ninety miles an hour…

The fun and lively scene at Balthazar

Au revoir, New York! Until we meet again..hopefully sooner rather than later.

Tata!

M.