I give you a glimpse into the stories I cover, the fascinating people in the news, and the sometimes exotic locations I travel to.
Friday, January 30, 2015
Muscle Shoals, Alabama and FAME
Friday, March 7, 2014
Canadians seem to be colorful people! Banff, Canada, 2014
(Banff, Canada) March 7, 2014
Where else can you nearly break every limb in your body while skiing in bitter 20 below temperatures with constant snowfall, fend off an intoxicated naked Canadian woman sporting a tattoo in a very private area between her legs, (at a very public hot-tub), be lured into a belly dance by a librarian at a Greek restaurant, and live to tell about it?
Canadians, unlike Americans, seem to be much more open about their sexuality. They make us look almost puritan. The Canadian polymer dollar bill is certainly more interesting than the comparatively boring American dollar; their people seem to be similarly colorful.
Take the hot-tub hottie, for example. This 36-year old was naked, save a thin white wet towel slung across her shapely body. She did not seem at all self-conscious about sharing her nakedness with the 55-year-old man and his 16-year-old nephew, who sat, transfixed, in one of the two indoor hotel hot-tubs. Both men, fascinated, and sweating from both the hot temperatures in the room and hot woman bearing all, observed this creature dress, and undress. She periodically covered parts of herself with a towel or two, while she seemed to talk in an endless non-sensical way, admitting to affairs with women, a former professional football player, and a flirtation with a famous pro black basketball player. She claimed to be related to key political figures in Canada. The blond-haired, blue-eyed bombshell with full and likely fake breasts, an upturned nose like the kind plastic surgeons craft, lips so plump she couldn't enunciate her words, fascinated the three of us.
The 16-year-old boy, attentive, and attempting to hide his stares, learned more that night about women than in any sex-ed class. I wondered why his uncle allowed him to hear the conversation and witness her inhibition.
The uncle, clearly amused and entertained, enjoyed watching the bombshell tell me how much she liked my muscular legs, how graceful and pretty I was, and how I should have worn a 2-piece bathing suit to show off my figure, rather than the more conservative one-piece. But he clearly developed fantasy material when slapped my legs in an effort to show that they were muscular. Not trying to encourage this activity, I sat there, unsure of what to do next.
Thankfully, a hotel maintenance worker entered the room and shut the room down for the evening. The hottie grabbed my jacket by mistake, and put it on. I looked at the two men, asking them to NOT leave me alone with this woman. She returned my jacket, found her own, and some thin leggings, and put them on. We all left the hot tub together.
Yes, Canadians seem to be colorful people.
I was also surprised when a stunningly beautiful belly dancer at the Balkan Greek Restaurant in Banff wove her way around the Birmingham Ski Club's members as we finished our celebratory meal. Clad in a sequenced mid-riff and skirt, she delighted and impressed with her belly-rolling and hip shaking gyrations. She lured several of us from our seated positions into a duet in front of all the diners. We mimicked her as she shook, clapped and spun. This lovely woman, who works as a librarian during the day, and belly dancer at night, danced with several delighted ski club members.
When she pulled me away from my lamb shank, she found I did a pretty good job of mimicking her moves. She upped the ante by leaning back into a full back bend. I foolishly followed, just I had followed much better skiers that morning to the top of the mountain with no idea or skill set to successfully ski down to the base lodge. I put my head back and arched into the back bend, thinking all the while, ("I hope I can straighten back up," and "What do I do if I fall down?") 42 people watched as I unashamedly shook and mimicked her moves. She, in her perfect body and costume. Me, in my turtleneck and jeans.
Yes, Canadians seem to be colorful people.
Skiing in Canada requires one to be a bit more responsible than skiing at resorts in the United States. For example, there's the Rock Garden at Lake Louise. It's a run that requires the skier to traverse through trees in order to access the run. This usually "blue" run, given poor conditions, was downgraded to a single "black diamond" run. For non-skiers, let me translate. It means the run is more difficult. There were warning avalanch signs, and one that indicated generally poor conditions.
Sure enough, rocks, trees, branches and roots were exposed where there wasn't enough snow. Good skiers can maneuver around these obstacles, but ordinary ones, like myself had more difficulty.
I followed some very capable, experienced skiers from the Birmingham Ski Club into the Rock Garden. They skillfully missed hitting thick pine trees, exposed rocks, and bare areas. Lacking in confidence to do the same, removed off my skis in an attempt to walk past these treacherous areas. It was a bad plan. Never should have done it. Never should have been there in the first place. Bad, bad idea! With every step I took, I fell more deeply into the powder. I eventually climbed out, much to the amusement of my ski buddies, who watched me struggle. Thankfully, we encountered no avalanches and the understated warning signs were dead on. This run was more difficult!
Yup, these Canadians seem to be colorful people.
Where else can you nearly break every limb in your body while skiing in bitter 20 below temperatures with constant snowfall, fend off an intoxicated naked Canadian woman sporting a tattoo in a very private area between her legs, (at a very public hot-tub), be lured into a belly dance by a librarian at a Greek restaurant, and live to tell about it?
Canadians, unlike Americans, seem to be much more open about their sexuality. They make us look almost puritan. The Canadian polymer dollar bill is certainly more interesting than the comparatively boring American dollar; their people seem to be similarly colorful.
Take the hot-tub hottie, for example. This 36-year old was naked, save a thin white wet towel slung across her shapely body. She did not seem at all self-conscious about sharing her nakedness with the 55-year-old man and his 16-year-old nephew, who sat, transfixed, in one of the two indoor hotel hot-tubs. Both men, fascinated, and sweating from both the hot temperatures in the room and hot woman bearing all, observed this creature dress, and undress. She periodically covered parts of herself with a towel or two, while she seemed to talk in an endless non-sensical way, admitting to affairs with women, a former professional football player, and a flirtation with a famous pro black basketball player. She claimed to be related to key political figures in Canada. The blond-haired, blue-eyed bombshell with full and likely fake breasts, an upturned nose like the kind plastic surgeons craft, lips so plump she couldn't enunciate her words, fascinated the three of us.
The 16-year-old boy, attentive, and attempting to hide his stares, learned more that night about women than in any sex-ed class. I wondered why his uncle allowed him to hear the conversation and witness her inhibition.
The uncle, clearly amused and entertained, enjoyed watching the bombshell tell me how much she liked my muscular legs, how graceful and pretty I was, and how I should have worn a 2-piece bathing suit to show off my figure, rather than the more conservative one-piece. But he clearly developed fantasy material when slapped my legs in an effort to show that they were muscular. Not trying to encourage this activity, I sat there, unsure of what to do next.
Thankfully, a hotel maintenance worker entered the room and shut the room down for the evening. The hottie grabbed my jacket by mistake, and put it on. I looked at the two men, asking them to NOT leave me alone with this woman. She returned my jacket, found her own, and some thin leggings, and put them on. We all left the hot tub together.
Yes, Canadians seem to be colorful people.
I was also surprised when a stunningly beautiful belly dancer at the Balkan Greek Restaurant in Banff wove her way around the Birmingham Ski Club's members as we finished our celebratory meal. Clad in a sequenced mid-riff and skirt, she delighted and impressed with her belly-rolling and hip shaking gyrations. She lured several of us from our seated positions into a duet in front of all the diners. We mimicked her as she shook, clapped and spun. This lovely woman, who works as a librarian during the day, and belly dancer at night, danced with several delighted ski club members.
When she pulled me away from my lamb shank, she found I did a pretty good job of mimicking her moves. She upped the ante by leaning back into a full back bend. I foolishly followed, just I had followed much better skiers that morning to the top of the mountain with no idea or skill set to successfully ski down to the base lodge. I put my head back and arched into the back bend, thinking all the while, ("I hope I can straighten back up," and "What do I do if I fall down?") 42 people watched as I unashamedly shook and mimicked her moves. She, in her perfect body and costume. Me, in my turtleneck and jeans.
Yes, Canadians seem to be colorful people.
Skiing in Canada requires one to be a bit more responsible than skiing at resorts in the United States. For example, there's the Rock Garden at Lake Louise. It's a run that requires the skier to traverse through trees in order to access the run. This usually "blue" run, given poor conditions, was downgraded to a single "black diamond" run. For non-skiers, let me translate. It means the run is more difficult. There were warning avalanch signs, and one that indicated generally poor conditions.
Sure enough, rocks, trees, branches and roots were exposed where there wasn't enough snow. Good skiers can maneuver around these obstacles, but ordinary ones, like myself had more difficulty.
I followed some very capable, experienced skiers from the Birmingham Ski Club into the Rock Garden. They skillfully missed hitting thick pine trees, exposed rocks, and bare areas. Lacking in confidence to do the same, removed off my skis in an attempt to walk past these treacherous areas. It was a bad plan. Never should have done it. Never should have been there in the first place. Bad, bad idea! With every step I took, I fell more deeply into the powder. I eventually climbed out, much to the amusement of my ski buddies, who watched me struggle. Thankfully, we encountered no avalanches and the understated warning signs were dead on. This run was more difficult!
Yup, these Canadians seem to be colorful people.
20 degrees below zero on Lake Louise
Frozen eyelashes
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Beaver Creek, Colorado
The Business of Skiing
March 3, 2011
Fast lifts, friendly staff, ski-in-ski-out, gourmet restaurants, snow boarding, ski lessons, special fancy ski wear and helmets, Nastar races, snow mobile rentals, ice skating, pools, spas, fast new skis and inexpensive rentals. Skiing in 2011 is easy, fun and an experience that even non-skiers or non-snow boarders can embrace.
Years ago, when I was in high school, and the sport seemed to be in its infancy, we skied in thick jeans, wore heavy, plastic-covered boots, packed our lunches, were transported by tow ropes, bought our skis, held our desire to use the bathroom until we could ski down to the base, and expected that if we fell, our clothes would soak through.
Today the ski industry is keen to attract and support vacationers searching for a safe, family-oriented adventure whom can afford to spend a couple of thousand dollars for the experience. From cozy fireplaces, to free hot chocolate drinks offered at busy gondolas, ski resorts have learned what draws vacationers to them. The resort planners tamed snowy winters and made high elevations palpable in order to woo adventure-seekers.
As I stand in short lift lines, I hear accents from European nations, countries in South America, and even as far away as Australia. They are lured here by beautiful stone buildings nestled into a tree-filled mountain side, tastefully decorated condos and hotel rooms, and luxurious spas.
Want to race for fun? Many resorts feature Nastar races. All are welcome. Even 94-year olds are ranked and rated. The prize for the fast skiers are gold, silver and bronze metals. The competitive skiers bask in the glory of a high ranking. They are encouraged, through positive reinforcement, to race regularly.
It amazes this journalist to see the number of retired people who populate the slopes. They ski with caution, take up more space in their ski outfits than they used to, but spend just as much as their younger counterparts while enjoying the great outdoors. The resort operators know this and encourage it.
Donna Francavilla, Beaver Creek, Colorado
March 3, 2011
Fast lifts, friendly staff, ski-in-ski-out, gourmet restaurants, snow boarding, ski lessons, special fancy ski wear and helmets, Nastar races, snow mobile rentals, ice skating, pools, spas, fast new skis and inexpensive rentals. Skiing in 2011 is easy, fun and an experience that even non-skiers or non-snow boarders can embrace.
Years ago, when I was in high school, and the sport seemed to be in its infancy, we skied in thick jeans, wore heavy, plastic-covered boots, packed our lunches, were transported by tow ropes, bought our skis, held our desire to use the bathroom until we could ski down to the base, and expected that if we fell, our clothes would soak through.
Today the ski industry is keen to attract and support vacationers searching for a safe, family-oriented adventure whom can afford to spend a couple of thousand dollars for the experience. From cozy fireplaces, to free hot chocolate drinks offered at busy gondolas, ski resorts have learned what draws vacationers to them. The resort planners tamed snowy winters and made high elevations palpable in order to woo adventure-seekers.
As I stand in short lift lines, I hear accents from European nations, countries in South America, and even as far away as Australia. They are lured here by beautiful stone buildings nestled into a tree-filled mountain side, tastefully decorated condos and hotel rooms, and luxurious spas.
Want to race for fun? Many resorts feature Nastar races. All are welcome. Even 94-year olds are ranked and rated. The prize for the fast skiers are gold, silver and bronze metals. The competitive skiers bask in the glory of a high ranking. They are encouraged, through positive reinforcement, to race regularly.
It amazes this journalist to see the number of retired people who populate the slopes. They ski with caution, take up more space in their ski outfits than they used to, but spend just as much as their younger counterparts while enjoying the great outdoors. The resort operators know this and encourage it.
Donna Francavilla, Beaver Creek, Colorado
Sunday, November 28, 2010
The Final Days of the U.K. Experience
Final days. Saint Andrews and Edinburgh. (Don’t pronounce this place as Ed-in-bur-g. Locals say, “Edinbura.” Go figure. It took my tongue days to perfect the correct pronunciation of it.)
Large snow flakes cascaded downward, sideways and in intense bursts, wetting the streets and sticking to cars, sidewalks and old grey stone fences which line Saint Andrews. That made the drive to Edinburgh (remember don't pronounce the "g,") slow and challenging, but our driver was pleasant, remained calm and took it all in stride. (Thanks Amy!)
Our last days in this famous and idyllic town were spent sipping hot cocoa, and hot coffee, hitting golf balls at the famous Saint Andrews driving range, walking along the famous old golf courses, dining in pubs, and, like good tourists, shopping for cashmere sweaters and scarves, shirts, hoodies, gloves.
We walked considerable distances in the brisk, cold weather, past where my niece Maria used to live during her first and second years here. We walked to a Saint Andrews museum, which showed the Royal family’s connection to the town, images of famous golfers, including our own Tiger Woods, stone and pottery relics dug up from the earth and images of how the town developed over time.
My brother, Aldo, joined me in ordering and eating what many of you suggested I try: The Scottish food, “haggis, neaps and tattles,” served with red wine and onion gravy. We agreed the food was quite tasty.
I experienced my first “pat down” thanks to the TSA. It was the first time I had been "felt up" by another woman. But I digress....
After hugs and goodbyes, Greg and I left for car journey to Edinburgh. Amy detoured on the way to the Holiday Inn, to navigate through old Edinbough, past museums, a castle, a large park and other sites. We arrived at our hotel room around mid-night. Our wake up call rang at 4 a.m. We dragged suitcases through snowy roads, and flew first to Paris, then to Atlanta, and finally home to Birmingham. Birmingham, Alabama, not Birmingham, England. Home Sweet Home. We are happy to finally be warm!
Thanks for taking the time to read this blog! I enjoyed sharing our adventure with you.
Donna (and Greg)
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Scotland, Days 4 and 5
First of all, Happy Thanksgiving!
If your belly hurts from laughing too hardily, and eating too much, then you likely had a great holiday.
As for Greg and myself, we had a very full day. We trained from Matt Booker's apartment to Heathrow Airport, flew to Edinburgh, then taxied to Saint Andrews.
Everyone who told me Scotland was beautiful, was, indeed, correct. The grass remains green most of the year, which surprised me. Shortly after meeting up with my niece Maria, together with my brother and his family, we walked around town to see the town's most famous sights.
Just about every old wall, fence and building is made of thick, grey stone. The buildings appear stately, like grey hair on a man as he begins to age. The "5 Pilmour Place" bed and breakfast,t where we are staying, sports tall ceilings, long, wide windows, modern furniture and spacious rooms and exceptionally large bathrooms. The facility is decorated tastefully.
Saint Andrews could be classified as "quaint." Small stores thrive here. Pubs and cafes serve as gathering places. People walk everywhere. The town feels safe. University students can be seen everywhere one looks-- studying in coffee shops, kissing on street corners, rushing off to class, at movie theaters, and shopping in local supermarkets.
The North Sea roars energetically nearby, its waves lapping up against the University and golf course. Old wooden fishing boats still bring in a fresh catch daily.
I regret to report experiencing only one new Scottish food item today: black pudding. Sandwiched between a biscuit and soft-boiled egg, the cooked minced sausage was tasty.
On Thanksgiving, we ate American foods. It was a bit challenging to find the ingredients necessary. Maria paid 50 pounds for a 15 pound turkey, which had to be pre-ordered at the butcher's shop. The English cranberry sauce was delicious, but didn't sport those ridges from a can we are so found of seeing annually, In Scotland, eggs are not refrigerated. Dinner was fabulous under Kris's watchful eye with assistance from Maria and Alex. Maria made cornbread; Alex-pumpkin pie. Fantastic.
We saw Harry Potter in Saint Andrews. We, the Americans, had trouble understanding the words spoken, but the crowd in attendance did not!
I'm running low on battery power, so will sign-off. Thanks for reading this post. Tell me if you've been to Scotland, and what you liked or remembered about it.
If your belly hurts from laughing too hardily, and eating too much, then you likely had a great holiday.
As for Greg and myself, we had a very full day. We trained from Matt Booker's apartment to Heathrow Airport, flew to Edinburgh, then taxied to Saint Andrews.
Everyone who told me Scotland was beautiful, was, indeed, correct. The grass remains green most of the year, which surprised me. Shortly after meeting up with my niece Maria, together with my brother and his family, we walked around town to see the town's most famous sights.
Just about every old wall, fence and building is made of thick, grey stone. The buildings appear stately, like grey hair on a man as he begins to age. The "5 Pilmour Place" bed and breakfast,t where we are staying, sports tall ceilings, long, wide windows, modern furniture and spacious rooms and exceptionally large bathrooms. The facility is decorated tastefully.
Saint Andrews could be classified as "quaint." Small stores thrive here. Pubs and cafes serve as gathering places. People walk everywhere. The town feels safe. University students can be seen everywhere one looks-- studying in coffee shops, kissing on street corners, rushing off to class, at movie theaters, and shopping in local supermarkets.
The North Sea roars energetically nearby, its waves lapping up against the University and golf course. Old wooden fishing boats still bring in a fresh catch daily.
I regret to report experiencing only one new Scottish food item today: black pudding. Sandwiched between a biscuit and soft-boiled egg, the cooked minced sausage was tasty.
On Thanksgiving, we ate American foods. It was a bit challenging to find the ingredients necessary. Maria paid 50 pounds for a 15 pound turkey, which had to be pre-ordered at the butcher's shop. The English cranberry sauce was delicious, but didn't sport those ridges from a can we are so found of seeing annually, In Scotland, eggs are not refrigerated. Dinner was fabulous under Kris's watchful eye with assistance from Maria and Alex. Maria made cornbread; Alex-pumpkin pie. Fantastic.
We saw Harry Potter in Saint Andrews. We, the Americans, had trouble understanding the words spoken, but the crowd in attendance did not!
I'm running low on battery power, so will sign-off. Thanks for reading this post. Tell me if you've been to Scotland, and what you liked or remembered about it.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Editor's note
Please note that Kate's name, who is betrothed to Prince William, was incorrectly spelt as "Cate." Forgive me for the oversight. Also, "mulled" wine was also misspelt. Finally, Catherine's name is correctly spelt Katrin. Again, having only heard these words and not seen them, I made a mistake. Thanks!
Donna
Donna
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