A Postcard from Above

 Happy 4th from Mile 13,790... 

... 3 stories up!

A couple passes on the sidewalk below.

My friends and I call them "The Nines."

They're in freshly-pressed whites -- she, a collared dress; he, a tee with dark jeans -- and matching straw hats.  They look good, as always.

Dressed to the.... 

Adaptive Travel Tip: Consider cultures close to home

You don't have to go far.

On my "Alive Day" each year, I like to focus on being present and grateful for... well, being alive.

I always want to do something special and out of the ordinary, but that's a bittersweet time of year for me, and often my energy is in short supply.

So where do you go when you're feeling drained -- and only have a few hours? ...

Adaptive Travel Tips from 13,500 Miles - Even the Smallest Steps Count

This was travel...

... BEFORE.

The summer before the accident, I did a home exchange with a family from Bordeaux, France.  

And the year before that, I exchanged with a family from Provence.  

It was the perfect way to travel.  I could go solo, live in someone's house, hop on their bicycle, and explore the world like a local.  

I was convinced it was how I'd travel for the rest my life...

Daycation: Almost Japan

こんにちは (Kon'nichiwa) from Mile Marker 13,140!

The Shofuso Japanese House and Garden is like dipping your toes into 17th century Japan without leaving 21st century Philly.

It's so peaceful -- I imagine I could live here.

But in real life -- I wouldn't last a day.

(Let's just say, I don't squat well!) 

At Mile 13,140, I step into my 14th year as an above-knee amputee.  

In socks!

It's November 9, and I want to celebrate my Alive Day, but the past few weeks have been exhausting, sorrowful, and filled with difficult news.  

I don't have the energy (or leg time) to go big or go far, but I'm still so grateful to be alive.  

So I'm searching out joy -- at least for a mile or two.

Enter the DAYCATION.

It's short.

It's sweet.
It takes minimal planning.  
And it stays close to home.

Is there nothing more perfect for an adaptive traveler?!

Friends Jasmine and Mark join me for a quick drive to the Shofuso Japanese Cultural Center in West Fairmount Park.  

Technically, we're still in Philly.  Does it even count as a daycation?  

(Jasmine says yes, and she introduced me to the word, so we're going with it!)

Anyway, a daycation is just what the doctor ordered. :)

Here, Japanese maples turn coral in the sun.
A school of koi circles the pond, eyes bulging, mouths gulping.

It's mesmerizing.

House rules.  We remove our shoes.  

Shoe-covers are provided for those who can't walk in socks, but they look a bit slippery.  

I decide to give socks a try.  Luckily, there's a bench to sit on to take off my shoes.

Even after 14 years, this gets a laugh!

The wood is warm in the sun, icy in the shade; the planks and bamboo are unexpectedly soft.  These sensations surprise me.

Because I live in shoes. 

My right foot rejoices.  But I'm surprised, even more, that on these surfaces, my prosthetic (left) foot does have some traction. 

At home, I've learned the hard way not to walk in socks.  (Remember Souperficial Wounds??)

But in "almost Japan," it almost works.  I watch my footing carefully, but it feels almost right.

The house is embedded in nature, its boxy rooms connected by wooden bridges through the foliage.  

Like a treehouse built into the landscape!

There's a Japanese tea cermony about to happen.  We're not invited, but I watch from afar.  

On the sidelines, I spy a hidden pile of modern thermoses and hot pots.  I love a peek behind the scenes. :)

We learn a few tidbits about Shinto, and the Minka style of housing.  

Then I lace up my sneakers again and use trekking poles to navigate the rocky garden paths.

I'm most charmed by one of the guides, Jennie, who tells us about her own recent trip to Japan.  

She describes how, in a restuarant in a rural town, the chef emerged from the kitchen to talk with her friend about her gluten allergy before preparing their food.  They were touched by his welcome and kindness.

I am too.  I love the human side of travel!

A mere hour later, we're back in the car, heading toward Chinatown.

Our daycation ends with a steaming bowl of ramen at a restaurant we've never tried -- Megumi.

It's a 5-Star end to the morning.

And best of all, it's on the way home!

This daycation -- a short, sweet adventure -- leaves me refreshed.  I'm ready to welcome another year on this journey.

Here's to travel near and far! 

Wherever you are, thank you for walking with me.

xo,

Rebecca

Buongiorno et bon matin...

...from the Italian Market!

Yes, I know that's a language mashup, but that's where I am.  

Qui. Maintenant.  Here. Now.

Mile 12,615 =  Kilomètre 20,302

I'm gearing up for travel.

In just two weeks, I leave for Paris -- yes, Paris! -- to join travel writer Rolf Potts, and a whole new group of classmates for the advanced version of the travel memoir class I took there last summer.  I can't wait!

So I'd better brush up on my writing -- and walking.

Here at home, my little red car, "Happy," has just passed her 10,000th mile.

To celebrate, and sneak in some walking/writing, we drive down to our old favorite, Gleaner's, for a coffee and stroll through the Italian Market. 

The smell of baking bread leads the way.  
It fades into roasted coffee,

sugared dough,

melted tar, 

and garbage juice, spilled from a leaky bag.

In the first three blocks, I hear four languages:  Spanish, Italian, Cambodian (I think), and Greek. 

  

And this one??

It's barely 7:30.  The sun is still low.  The sidewalks are shady.  The breeze feels uncommonly cool.

I pass a bookstore, not yet open, with boxes stacked outside.  A scribbled sign says FREE.  The middle box sags with paperbacks of The Babysitter's Club, piled high like a mound of rainbow jimmies.  (Or "sprinkles" for you out-of-towners.) 

When I reach Passyunk (say "Pash-yunk"), a cheesesteak truck is parked inside an overgrown community garden.  

Pretty much Philly in a nutshell.

I turn onto a narrow street of rowhomes.  

A mirrored chrome railing reminds me of an 80's rollerskating rink.  A toddler's kitchen playset sits atop a metal grate.  How many toys (and shoes) have been dropped through those cracks?

It's a good leg day so far.  

On days like this, I feel like I could walk miles.  But I know better.  

The sun is getting higher.  

My prosthetic's getting looser.  

While I'm comfortable, like now, my feet and mind can wander.  But it's early yet.  

I need to save energy -- and precious leg time -- for the rest of the day.

So I turn up 7th, back toward the car.  

This patch of road used to be part of my bike route to work.  I pedaled through here every morning for years.  

I knew where cars rolled through the 4-way stop.  I knew where every pothole was.  

It looks different now. 

Smoother.  Brighter.

I almost don't recognize it.

But then, come the bikers.  

They whisper by in clusters, two and three at a time, helmets strapped, backpacks bouncing behind them in crates and saddlebags.  

7th Street, I realize, has become a bike superhighway.  

It feels good to walk among them.

When I arrive back at the car, my coffee cup is empty, but my notebook is full. 

And I'm happy to be here.

Walk on,

Rebecca

Perhaps... Paris

Bonjour from Mile 12,062!

Perhaps I'm in Paris...

Sure, I'm eating out of plastic containers, but I'm using real silverware!

Plus, the pesto is homemade, and I'm pretty sure the gazpacho is puréed with local tomatoes. 

Normally I'd just grab takeout.  But I'm determined to keep up the Paris vibe, which includes taking time out -- to eat, breathe, and write.

I open my pocket journal, which I found in a bin at Cést Deux Euros, the Parisian equivalent of a dollar store.

In the spirit of Paris, I start "perhapsing." 

Perhapsing is a technique I learned in my travel memoir class --  a method of filling in sketchy details and unknowns with our own speculations.  It's entirely "legal," as long as I tell you I'm perhapsing.  

So, I am. :)

It was one of my favorite exercises of the week.

Picture this:  One afternoon in the Jardin du Palais Royal, a blur of pink catches my eye.

At first, she's just a dramatic photo from afar!

But then I move in.  Park myself on a pillar nearby.

(Far enough to be discreet, close enough to be within earshot.)

She and her parents are positioned in the shape of a scalene triangle.  

Mom is closer to her, more engaged.  
Dad sits farther back, on his phone.

They're speaking in Spanish (I think), so perhapsing is my only option.  I observe -- and put the clues together.

"Mommy, watch!"

"One!" Cartwheel.  
"Two!" Cartwheel.  
"Three!" Cartwheel.

She cascades across the courtyard.  Mom laughs.

Dad looks up.  Smiles.  Goes back to his phone.

She scrambles onto a pillar, pink sweatshirt flapping behind.  

Mom poises her camera.

The girl shoots a peace sign.

Puts her hands on her hips.

Strikes a disco move -- Travolta-like -- pointing to the sky.

Mom snaps, and snaps, and snaps.

Dad looks up.  Smiles.  Goes back to his phone.

Mother and daughter huddle together -- a curtain of long hair -- as Mom flips through the photos.

Then the girl skips to her father.  Pokes her head between his face and his phone.

"Daddy, did you take a photo?"

He looks up.  Smiles.  Pecks her on the cheek.

I scribble in my journal so I won't forget this moment and this place, this perhapsed dialogue, and all the details I've perhapsed about this family.

It's just an exercise, but it's opened up a world to me.

Au revoir, Palais Royal!

At Mile 12,062, I'm back in Philly -- and a world away.

The couple next to me is discussing Scandinavian cake, with a plastic bag of peanuts sitting between them on the table.  

It's odd on both counts.  

We're at Talula's Daily, which serves neither Scandinavian cake nor peanuts.

I listen in -- and start perhapsing.  (Perhaps the man's name is Herb...)

"I'm thinking of a simple dessert, like a Scandinavian cake," his wife says.

Herb nods, nudging the bag of peanuts with his finger.  

"Well, what do you think of that?"

He pauses.  "I just don't think you have to try so hard."

"She's young.  She's having health problems."

"So?"

"So a Scandinavian cake isn't hard.  You can just serve it with some light cream or lemon.  She used to work at the hospital, you know."

Herb touches the knot on the bag.  He wants to open it, but now that she's shifted from cake to health problems, he isn't sure.  

"You mind?" he says.

She sighs.  "Whatever you want.  I'm very agreeable today."

Perhaps they're going to visit their daughter's friend, the one with health problems.  Perhaps their own daughter is traveling (perhaps in Paris!), and perhaps they feel guilty about that.  Perhaps Herb is missing the Phillies game, and the peanuts are as close as he can get. 

For perhaps a half hour, I am transported from this table in Philly to a graceful café in the center of Paris.

It's a good place to be.

I look up from my journal.

It's unseasonably cool for Philly, with a mask of clouds and a breeze that feels like rain.  

Perhaps I've brought this weather back from Paris.  

I get up to leave.  

Then, in a unwelcome burst of reality, my leg bumps the chair -- metal on metal -- and my elbow knocks the fork handle, the one that's balanced on the edge of the plastic container.  

And the whole thing -- sandwich and all -- nearly catapults to the ground.  

By some miracle, I catch it.

I'm not graceful, and this isn't Paris...

Perhaps... I'm still me. :)

Walk on,
Rebecca

Taste is Travel

Café Tolia is the newest spot in our Philly neighborhood.  

It's spacious and warm with exposed brick and white-washed walls.  The owners are friendly and welcoming.  Elbe bakes the pastries.  (I'm not sure how.  She must get up at 2 AM!)  

The walls are covered with black and white photos, also by Elbe, of their family's travels and transitions through Europe.

I'm with my friend and walking buddy Mark.  We arrive just minutes after they open.

When we walk together, Mark always gets a cappuccino and I always get a coffee.  We always take them to go, and we always keep walking.   I always eat fruit and yogurt when I get home.

But today, Mark suggests trying a pastry.  We haven't planned for this, but I have to admit I'm curious.  

As if to convince me, Elbe emerges from the kitchen with a wooden platter of buns fresh from the oven.  

Turkish pastries, but with French and Mediterranean flavors.

(Come on, you'd be tempted too!)

"They're savory, with lavender and herbs de Provence inside," she tells us, "and also some cheese and olives."

She had me at lavender.

But the thing is, I have certain routines, especially to start the day.  It's one way I manage my digestive issues.

Eating outside that comfort zone can feel, well... uncomfortable.

On the other hand, I've been working on my "flexibility muscles" for both mind and body.  

Why?  Being flexible is necessary for travel.

I want to travel.  
I love to travel.  
I want to love traveling!

(It's just uncomfortable sometimes.)

So I'm practicing...

I give into the buns.

As we unexpectedly take a seat -- instead of taking our coffees to go -- I relax into the pastry.  

Feel the butter on my fingertips. 

Taste the tangy olives, the subtle herbs. 
Watch crumbles of feta fall onto my plate.

Mark and I talk about how taste creates experience.  How it can define a place as much as, or more than, our other senses.

How taste and travel go together.

I tell him about a trip I took to Bordeaux in 2010, the summer before my accident.  

I was braver back then.  Fearlessly independent.  More flexible.  Less clingy to routines.

I biked everywhere.  Hiked everywhere.

Ate everything!

Each morning I set out to discover what the locals were eating for petit-dejeuner, and that's what I'd order too.

But even back then, I was just one person -- and a petite 90-pounder at that.  Although I wanted to taste everything, I just didn't have room to put it!  

One morning I sat in the window of a local café watching some teenagers seated outside.

As I savored my own chausson aux pommes, I observed their fantastic spread:

du jus d'orange
du chocolat chaud
du thé
du café
du gateau
des pains
du jambon
des fromages
des oeufs!

"It was all so spectacular," I tell Mark, "I recorded their entire meal in my journal!" 

When I get home, I search out that very page...

...it turns out to be 2 pages!!

Thirteen years later, I can still taste that morning.  I still remember that meal like it was yesterday.

Maybe it's because of my own challenges that eating something new feels so special.

It's like freedom.  Like setting worry aside, just for the moment.  Like making room for uncertainty and welcoming it in.  

Mark and I finish our pastries.  And before I know it, I'm back home again.  

But taste is travel.  

And this morning's adventure made an old route feel new again.  

Like we left our neighborhood -- and ventured much, much further.

Bordeaux 2010 :)

To Market, To Market...

These peppers deserve their own postcard!

On an unexpected early morning, I spot them in the crowded aisle of a little Italian grocery shop called Claudio.  

"Claudio's" (as the locals say) is at the northern end of South Philly's Italian Market.  It's across from Gleaner's Café, a longtime favorite coffee stop.

After coffee, Ellen wants to pop inside for "one thing."

(It's been years since I've been in Claudio's.  So... why not?)

What starts out as a quick errand turns into a full-fledged field trip.

Don't you just love when that happens??

See, peppers aren't really the point of this postcard -- MARKETS are!

In the years of the pandemic and not traveling, I forgot the way a local market can be a travel adventure in itself.

When we step inside, all those memories come rushing back.

Take Copenhagen -- my last trip before the world shut down.

Natalie and I arrived in Copenhagen in the evening dusk.  Granted, sunset was at 3:45 PM, but after an overnight flight, a connection in London, a train from the airport, and dragging our luggage along the drizzly sidewalk, we were too exhausted to search for a restaurant. 

Instead, we were lured by the fluorescent lights of our neighborhood Lidl...

Smoked salmon!  
Dark rye!  
Local yogurt!
Bars of chocolate!  

Our eyes widened.  

Every shelf was exciting!  
Seeing Danish shoppers was exciting!  
Counting our kroner at check-out was exciting!

"The Lidl" became our regular stop
on the way home each night!

If you have mobility or health issues like I do, local markets SCORE BIG.  They're a relief  -- and a necessity -- when traveling.

They offer flat terrain,
climate control (sometimes), 
and a welcome reprieve from heavy restaurant food.

One can't subsist on pastries alone --
or at least I can't!

In Austria, where "Gluten" Morgen was a daily greeting, Marla and I (and my tender digestive system) took refuge in local shops where we could pick up fresh fruit, salads...

...and my personal fave,
homemade Austrian muesli!

And in Nice, on my very first trip overseas as an amputee, Mary and I discovered the famous and colorful outdoor market, Cours Saleya.  

A perfect place for early morning walks!

Shopping à la francaise (aka "French style")
was even better than eating out!

Our food vocabulary blossomed.  We progressed from pointing and pantomiming to actually talking our way through transactions.  

By the end of the week, we even asked a fromagière
to wrap cheese for our airline trip home!

Today's stop at Claudio's reminds me how a market is a glimpse into local life -- wherever you are.  

We stand in line behind a South Philly dad.

He orders fresh mozzarella balls,

a log of soppressata longer than my forearm, 
and a super-sized container of marinated octopus, complete with suckers.  

His wife and kids stand patiently beside him cradling bags of hand-shaped pasta.  

As they reach the check-out counter, his daughter points to a four-pack of fancy Italian lemon spritzers.  She looks hopefully at her dad.  

He nods.  And she adds it to their purchase.

"I'd like to go to his house for dinner," Ellen whispers.

By the time we step outside, it's like we just returned from Italy...

via South Philly!

No plane fare, packing, or planning.  Just minutes from home.

My souvenir -- a $6.99 jar of Sicilian-style roasted peppers with pine nuts and golden raisins. :)

Pretty good bang for the buck.

Shop on!

Happy travels,
Rebecca

Spring Signs (a little poem)

In Old City
spring lights up the trees

and fire escapes.

And construction zones.  

And moving vans too.

So watch your step.

It's in the hats and gloves
and the morning chill
as café owners set tables on the sidewalk.

In spring it seems
everyone smiles more.

Even this early.

Even on a Tuesday.

And at OCC (my favorite stop), there's a special drink in the air --
a violet tea latte,
which I'll sample sometime soon

on a warm afternoon.

When you walk the same path every day, 

you notice the smallest changes.

These are mine.

What subtle signs of spring are on your well-traveled route?

Art Walk

Walk 2 blocks.

That's what we did.

We simply walked east instead of west, as we usually do.

Of course, like always, it's not quite as simple as it sounds.  To venture off the beaten path -- to walk those 2 blocks east -- involves a downhill slope, a kind of shadowy underpass, and a stretch of sidewalk that's a bit more isolated than I like.

The city has tried to make it more palatable.
(And safer!)

Technically it's well-lit and filled with car traffic, but for an above-knee amputee like me, walking down here alone still feels vulnerable.  I'm more comfortable sticking to my usual route around the neighborhood.

Everything's easier with a friend though.  (Thanks walking buddy, Jasmine!)

Before we know it, we emerge onto the sidewalk along the Delaware River.  

Can you see us??

There, we're embraced by all kinds of ART!

I'm especially taken with this piece by
Becky McIntyre  -- and the Philly community!

Cherry Street Pier is a century-old industrial pier that juts out into the river.

It's been rehabbed into a public art space with studios and workshops,

 rotating exhibits
like this one by Athena Astraea,

and murals by local artists.

Philly style --
"Yous" know what I mean :)

I've been to events here before, but it's my first time wandering around for no reason at all.

On this Sunday afternoon, it's quiet and open -- an array of colors, metal, and glass.   Art is EVERYWHERE.

It's in the structure and shapes,
the well-worn stone, 
and the deep cerulean sky.

I recently read this quote by author Gretchen Rubin:

We can walk into any room and call it a museum.

I couldn't agree more, but I'd take it one step further...

We can walk out of any room too.

To sidewalks
and waterfronts

and cityscapes

and community spaces.

You never know what you'll find.

About a year into the pandemic, I wrote a post called Walk Until Your Day Becomes Interesting, inspired by one of my favorite travel writers, Rolf Potts.

Back then, I was trying to conjure up a new adventure.  And though I never quite reached the goal I set out for in that particular post, I still love -- and live by -- this philosophy.

Walks are interesting.  Exploration can be its own reward.   

Go ahead.  Walk 2 blocks.  

You don't have to wander far.  (I rarely do!)

Just keep your eyes...or ears...or mind... open to whatever you find.

And then, stop and enjoy the view!

(Jodie, I thought of you a thousand times on this walk!  Can't wait till we can walk together. xo)

My Favorite Kind of Snow

...Is this kind.

The kind that settles lightly on car windshields, but leaves the sidewalks bare.  The kind that's soft and powdery, like the dust of sugar on cookies.  

Like someone decorated the city just for me.  (And maybe they did!)

GRACIAS :)

As a solo traveler and above-knee amputee, I'm especially cautious in the winter.  I fear snow, ice, wind, and all the hazards that come along with them.  

Really, anything could take me down.  

And, if I go down, my independence goes down with me.  (This gets complicated when you live on your own!)

Snow makes everything more difficult.  It lingers in the city, restricting my ability to run errands, step off curbs, and even park my car.

Long after it's clear enough for "most people," snow continues to confine me at home.

But not this kind!

Today the pavement is drying.  The puddles in the street are liquid, not ice.  

And bonus -- as I start down the sidewalk, a familiar voice calls out my name.

Running into Donna makes even the smallest walk BIG FUN.

Go Eagles!  Go Flyers!

Good vibes, Philly!

For me, this kind of snow is an unexpected win.