At St. Paul's Chapel, remembering 9/11

Last fall, on a walking tour of Lower Manhattan, I stopped inside St. Paul's Chapel, on Broadway. From the churchyard, you can see the construction cranes on the spot where the World Trade Center once stood.

But what's inside the small church is what really got to me. And if you visit New York City and want to understand in a small way the toll of Sept. 11, 2001, this is a beautiful little place to remember and say a prayer.

The chapel, completed in 1766, is Manhattan's oldest public building in continuous use and its only remaining colonial church. It's the place where George Washington worshiped on his inauguration day, April 30, 1789, and you can see Washington's pew.

In the aftermath of the terror attacks, the chapel served as a place of refuge and recovery for those involved in rescue efforts at the World Trade Center site. For eight months, volunteers worked 12-hour shifts around the clock, preparing meals, making beds and offering comfort.

Today, if you walk around the chapel, you can see photos and other mementos of those who lost their lives in the attacks, a huge banner sent to New York City from the people of Oklahoma and something that I found incredibly moving - a pile of teddy bears left for rescue workers.

Into the woods - my Yosemite adventure

A new, six-party documentary by Ken Burns, The National Parks: America's Best Idea, will air on PBS beginning Sept. 27. At the series' Web site, you can submit stories and photographs about your national parks experience.

Here's mine:

In 2004, I visited Yosemite National Park with friends who live near San Francisco. Our first day we drove south, to Wawona, to see the giant sequoias and they were mighty impressive.

The next day, I wanted to spend some time in Yosemite Valley, so we split up. I took a bus from our motel to the visitor center and wandered around, went to the Ansel Adams gallery, saw a movie about the park.

Then, feeling energetic, I went to the information desk to get a list of Yosemite Valley day hikes. The park ranger gave me a sheet of paper with eight or nine hikes, a description and their level of difficulty from easy to very strenuous.

She checked off an "easy" one, Mirror Lake/Meadow, which you can do as either a 2-mile or 5-mile loop. I rode the shuttle bus to the starting point and I was ready to go. This particular hike starts with a paved trail, which was no sweat. Then, feeling ambitious, I went off the trail.

Bad idea.

Athough I was a Girl Scout, I must have missed the meeting where they taught us how to find our way around in the woods. Give me a city neighborhood and I'm fine. But what markers do you use in the woods? All the trees and rocks look alike! And there are no helpful signs to point you in the right direction.

While Yosemite does get crowded in the summer, it's easy to find solitude once you leave the paved paths. Every once in awhile other hikers or runners would come through but I was pretty much alone. The woods were beautiful and I kept climbing until I had a spectacular view of the meadow below.

Once I decided to head back down, though, I was in trouble. I could see the gigantic granite monolith of El Capitan in the distance, so I had a vague idea of which way to head, but I couldn't find anything resembling a paved path.

Of course I didn't bring nearly enough water and I was down to my last granola bar. Yosemite isn't like Disney World, where they check at the end of the day to make sure everyone's made their way out safely. I never tried my cell phone but I'm not sure it would have worked.

Up until that point, my new Merrell hiking shoes had kept me steady on my feet. Then, I fell and skinned my knee. Ouch, did it hurt! Luckily, a couple with a baby were behind me and helped me up. I told them to go on ahead, I'd be fine.

From then on, I walked very gingerly, carefully stepping over every rock. I could not believe there were so many of them. Clearly, this was not a path intended for human use. Mountain goats, maybe.

Eventually, I reached the main road and the shuttle bus back to the visitors center. You would not believe the rush of adrenaline I felt at that point. I felt like John Muir!

I could have gone to the first aid station to get a bandage but I didn't want to miss the next bus to the motel and I wanted to hit the gift shop. I weighed the options - Band-aid, souvenirs - and decided the knee could wait.

Now, I have a lovely, framed Yosemite poster on my wall and an adventure I'll never forget.

Travels with Fred and Hank

I can't resist a good travel story or a good dog story.

One of my favorite books is Travels with Charley, John Steinbeck's account of a cross-country trip he made in 1960, accompanied by his French standard poodle.

This one is about Fred and Hank, two very photogenic beagles traveling across America with their best friends/owners, Jim and Joan Brady. Jim used to work for The Washington Post and handles the writing. Joan takes most of the pictures.

The foursome are in New Orleans, where they celebrated St. Patrick's Day, and Fred and Hank went a little wild with the funny hats. I definitely need to bookmark this. Thanks to Andrew Sullivan for the tip.

I'm looking forward to the movie, because you know there'll be one - and then, the musical!

I'm a stimulus package all by myself

Two of my favorite mainstream media blogs that cover theatre - Culture Monster at the Los Angeles Times and Theater Loop, by Chris Jones of the Chicago Tribune - have stepped into the debate over whether assistance for the arts should be part of the economic stimulus package.

At Culture Monster, Christopher Knight notes that the Senate passed, with bipartisan support, an amendment submitted by Republican Sen. Tom Coburn of Oklahoma "to ensure that taxpayer money is not lost on wasteful and non-stimulative projects." That means excluding "any ... museum, theater [or] art center" from getting aid.

In response, Knight offers "Five Reasons Congress Hates the Arts."

• The culture industry is cosmopolitan, so flag-waving options are few.
• The culture industry is pluralistic, but Congress is only marginally so.
• As corporations, arts institutions are nonprofit, so there's no money to be made via lobbyists.
• Culture is girlie, not manly.
• The arts often look at sexual experience -- eek!

And at The Theater Loop, Chris Jones makes a case for why the arts deserve assistance:

"Economic stimulus is dependent on the human spirit. The arts create confidence and self-worth, and those qualities in turn foster fiscal activity. The arts build neighborhoods and can help stem the decline in property values. The current recession is most devastating in inner cities, precisely where the arts are at their best."

The idea that the arts don't create jobs is absurd, Jones argues: "they just fuel different kinds of struggling workers, workers unaccustomed to bonuses. Their role in generating billions of dollars in ancillary economic activity for stores, restaurants and the travel business has been proven in bucketloads of surveys and analyses."

As someone who spent a week in New York City last fall, I can personally attest to all of the economic activity I stimulated:

• Amtrak, which got me there and back
• the hotel where I stayed
• all of the restaurants where I ate
  
• all of the stores where I shopped
• taxi rides and bus and subway fares
• museum admissions
• the $5 I paid to a sidewalk vendor for an umbrella

What do all of those things have in common? They provide jobs. Heck, I was practically a one-woman stimulus package. And that's not even counting all the money I spent on theatre tickets. The theatre - you know, an art - is the whole reason why I went.

My trip to the Twin Cities

I'm back from my weekend in the Twin Cities - lots of good food, good sightseeing, good theatre and of course, good friends. I met new people, got my first look at the Mississippi River, toured a restaurant kitchen and - I know this sounds hard to believe - walked a dog for the very first time in my life. In fact, at one point, I was walking two dogs!

I've always been partial to cities. Sure, the suburbs and the country have their attractions. I've been to many places with great natural beauty - the Scottish highlands and Yorkshire dales, Yosemite National Park and Sedona, Arizona. I've enjoyed all of them and there's lots more I'd love to see. But when it comes to travel, exploring a new city is at the top of my favorite things.

As I wrote last week, I haven't really spent much time in the Midwest and I've always wanted to see more of it. Here's a little bit of what I learned and saw during my whirlwind weekend in Minneapolis-St. Paul, thanks to my two wonderful tour guides.

It's pretty big - 3.2 million people live in the metropolitan area, which includes part of Wisconsin - and kind of flat. Also, despite the state's motto, there are apparently more than 10,000 lakes. And despite the Twin Cities nickname, Minneapolis and St. Paul have very different histories and cultures. Here's an interesting article that delves into the sibling rivalry between the two cities.

As a history buff, what I found really fascinating is that St. Paul is considered the last city of the East and Minneapolis the first city of the West. It's based in part on architecture - St. Paul's narrow streets and Victorian houses, versus the more modern look of Minneapolis. While St. Paul grew up haphazardly from its start as a fur-trading post known as Pig's Eye, Minneapolis was a planned city from the start whose base was in industry - lumber and flour mills.

And Minneapolis seems like a very livable city. It's big enough so that there's a lot to do but not so big that you constantly feel crowded. It's clean, it has some great restaurants, a big but walkable downtown with enclosed walkways for those bitterly cold winter months, lots of cultural attractions, green spaces and diverse neighborhoods. (I saw 2 of the 10,000 lakes - Lake of the Isles and Lake Calhoun).

Downtowns in America have been pretty beaten up over the past 25 years or so, with department stores closing and manufacturing folding up shop and residents leaving for the suburbs. Like a lot of cities, older buildings in Minneapolis are being renovated and turned into hotels and condos, breathing new life into downtown. And I think it's great that the new stadium for the Minnesota Twins is being built downtown.

I had to take in some sights from The Mary Tyler Moore Show. I saw the 8-foot bronze statue erected in 2002 at the spot on downtown's Nicollet Mall where Mary tossed her tam into the air in the opening credits. Mary Tyler Moore appeared at the dedication, where the crowd sang the show's theme song and had a group tam toss. And we drove by the house whose exterior was used for Mary's apartment. I didn't recognize it at first, because it's been repainted. It's a private home, at 2104 Kenwood Parkway, located on a quiet, leafy street in a very nice residential neighborhood. Now when I pop in a dvd from the tv series, I can say, "I've been there!"

We also stopped in Uptown to pick up a cake at the Twin Cities' famous Wuollet Bakery. (It was delicious!) From what I saw, it seems like a great neighborhood for browsing and strolling on a weekend, with a mix of quirky local shops, some national chains, ethnic restaurants, a movie theatre and a big bookstore. And the sign for the underground Walker Library, whose location is marked by large metal letters that spell out L-I-B-R-A-R-Y, made me smile.

And this was a total surprise for me - we went to Lakewood Cemetery, where I had a chance to visit the grave of one of Minneapolis' favorite sons, former vice president and senator Hubert H. Humphrey. I met Senator Humphrey in 1976, when I was a high school student on my first trip to Washington, D.C. I still remember how gracious he was in calling me by my first name (I was wearing my name tag from the Close Up program) and introducing me to his wife, Muriel. I'm glad that I had a chance to pay my respects and I'm glad I have a very thoughtful friend who knew how much it would mean to me.

I was also very excited about seeing the Mississippi River for the first time. The Guthrie Theater's cantilevered lobby, known as the Endless Bridge, offers a terrific view of the river and the old flour mills that once drove the city's economy. From its northern end the river seems so peaceful and calm. Hard to believe it's the same body of water that can lead to so much death and destruction at its southern end during hurricane season.

And the Guthrie itself, which opened in its new location overlooking the river in 2006, is beautiful. I saw Little House on the Prairie in the McGuire Proscenium Stage - the interior is draped in a deep red, with plush comfy seats and good sight lines and acoustics. I like the fact that it's a multipurpose building - you can see a show, (and there's often more than one going on at the same time) take a class or a tour, eat in the restaurants or just enjoy the view.

Food is a key element of a visit to any new city, and I had some great meals. Plus, Minneapolis and St. Paul have some of the friendliest, most engaging and talkative waiters I've ever met. In fact, one waiter spent so much time talking to us, I was certain my dining companions knew him. And another arranged a tour of the kitchen, which was a first for me!

On Friday night, we dined in St. Paul, which still had a few signs as reminders that the Republican National Convention had been there. We ate at Pazzaluna, where I had the house specialty gnocchi, with a tomato basil sauce, which went very nicely with some Banfi Chianti. I also got a lesson in the correct pronunciation of the tasty little potato dumplings. Believe me, I was in carbohydrate heaven.

On Saturday night, we ate at the 112 Eatery in Minneapolis, which got a nice mention last month in The New York Times. The restaurant is small and cozy, with a kind of old fashioned bar and grill feel. I had roasted halibut with marinated tomatoes. If you're not careful, white fish can come out a bit rubbery, but this was perfect - moist and tender and flaky. Accompanied by a bottle of Argentinian wine, bibb lettuce salad, spicy broccolini, cauliflower fritters and great conversation, it was a memorable meal.

Then for Sunday brunch, we went to Manny's Steak House, newly relocated at a new hotel, the W Minneapolis - The Foshay. Of course I had my favorite brunch beverage - a refreshing and sparkling mimosa, along with French toast with blueberries and part of a huge piece of chocolate brownie cake topped with whipped cream and ice cream - it truly was a sight to behold.

The hotel is in the 32-story art deco Foshay Tower, built by utilities magnate Wilbur Foshay in 1929 and modeled after the Washington Monument. It was a big deal when it opened - John Philip Sousa was commissioned to compose a march for the occasion. I'd never heard of the building, or Wilbur Foshay, but a small museum takes you through his career and the building's history. Plus, there's a great view from the open-air observation deck.

Of course, there was one final stop I had to make on my way to the airport - the Mall of America in suburban Bloomington. It's the most visited shopping mall in the world, with more than 40 million visitors every year to its 2.5 million square feet of retail space. Who am I to argue with that!

I only saw a small portion - it would take hours to walk through the entire place. The Mall of America has many of the same stores as any other enclosed shopping center - just more of them. It's like a mall on steroids. It's also the only mall I've been in that has its own amusement park, complete with Ferris wheel and roller coaster, an aquarium and a miniature golf course.

So, would I go back to Minnesota? You betcha!

On to Wisconsin - and Minneapolis

I'm at Logan Airport in Boston waiting for my flight to Milwaukee and from there, it's just a short hop to the Twin Cities.

I don't have a lot of experience with the Midwest. I spent a day in Columbus, Ohio, for a job interview. Another time, I traveled to Pontiac, Michigan, for a weekend with a busload of high school marching band members and their parents. And I changed planes once at O'Hare Airport in Chicago. That's about it.

So, I'm looking forward to soaking up the sights and sounds of Minneapolis-St. Paul. Tomorrow afternoon, I'll be at the Guthrie Theater for the musical Little House on the Prairie. Look for my review next week. The Guthrie, which overlooks the Mississippi River, is supposed to be a stunning building, and I can't wait to see it.

But most of all, I'm excited about spending some time with dear friends. Good friends, a new musical and the adventure of traveling to a new place and meeting new people. What could be better!

A tireless champion

I was so saddened to read yesterday that Sen. Edward Kennedy has been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Elected to the Senate in 1962, the Massachusetts Democrat has been tireless champion on issues that all Americans should care about regardless of their political leanings - health care, the minimum wage, education, civil rights.

I've only seen Ted Kennedy in person twice. In 1980, he spoke at Northeastern University in Boston when I was a student there. But four years earlier, during my first trip to Washington, D.C., I saw him on the floor of the Senate. I'll always remember it, because he was sporting a bright green tie in honor of St. Patrick's Day.

I went to Washington in 1976, when I was a junior in high school, under a Close Up Foundation program. Close-Up is a terrific nonprofit organization that promotes civic education. Under its auspices, thousands of students come to Washington every year for a week of sightseeing, a sense of how government works, and the role that they can play in it.

From my first view of the Capitol dome in the distance as our bus pulled into the city, I was hooked. This was before I went to college in Boston, before I'd done any traveling, and it was the first city I ever loved. I always wanted to live in Washington, but I never had the chance. I guess it'll always be one of my great unfulfilled ambitions. At least as an adult, I've had plenty of friends to visit there.

Washington is the best place in the world for someone who loves politics and history. I remember we met our congressmen and various government officials, toured the monuments and the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History (the beginning of my lifelong love affair with that museum). We even saw a show at Ford's Theatre, the gospel-themed musical Your Arm's Too Short to Box with God. (I don't recall anything else about it except the title).

At our hotel one morning, I saw a very tall, imposing-looking Muhammad Ali. One night, I peeked inside a banquet room where a dinner was taking place for Congress' Joint Economic Committee and had a chance to meet, among others, Alan Greenspan, (before he was Federal Reserve chairman) Coretta Scott King and Minnesota Sen. Hubert Humphrey. The former vice president was so gracious. He must have spotted my nametag because he called me by my first name, and introduced me to his wife, Muriel, who was standing next to him.

It was memorable week in many ways, including that glimpse of Senator Kennedy. While the outlook is grim, he's still with us, and I wish him the best.

Happy Independence Day

Tomorrow, Israelis will celebrate Yom Ha'atzmaut, Independence Day. I think this fits the definition of irony: Ten years ago, for the 50th anniversary, I was in Tel Aviv. This year, for the 60th, I'll be in New York City - that other Jewish homeland. To mark the occasion, here's something I wrote after I came back from my first trip to Israel, in August 1995.

I'm back from my first trip to Israel. Over two weeks, I stood on the Golan Heights, planted a tree in Jerusalem and dipped my toes in the Red Sea. We may have seen some things for only a few minutes, but we saw everything. I have the photos to prove it.

I'm not a religious person. I was afraid my view would be warped by having seen Exodus a few too many times. I thought maybe I was setting myself up to be disappointed. I told myself to be realistic. I didn't expend to find Paul Newman.

I needn't have worried. Israel is an incredibly compelling place. We had a great guide who not only knew the history, but spoke with such candor and love for his country that it was inspiring.

During dinner at a waterfront restaurant in Jaffa, driving on the highway to Tiberias, or walking around Jerusalem on a Sabbath afternoon Israel seemed like the most peaceful place on earth. I walked around Jerusalem, including the Old City, by myself and I felt completely safe.

I don't mean to poke holes in any long-held cultural stereotypes about Israelis being brusque, but everyone was friendly. Ok, there was one guy in a Tel Aviv store who got a little sarcastic when I asked him if he spoke English. "Only when I have to," he said. But when I told him it was my first day in Israel and I was afraid I'd broken my camera, he became the essence of helpfulness, fixing the problem with a little tape. And I never asked that question again.

Sometimes it seemed as though the word "line" didn't exist in Hebrew. I soon realized that if I wanted service in a crowded place, I'd have to speak up and hold my ground. But that's the same the world over.

I didn't even mind the famously stringent El Al security check at Kennedy Airport in New York. I tried to think what they'd ask to figure out whether I was Jewish without really coming out and asking me: Name three Woody Allen movies. What type of condiment would you put on a corned beef sandwich?

I knew it was for my own safety and I'm glad it was so thorough. But some of the questions did touch psychological sore spots left over from my childhood.

"Did you ever try to learn Hebrew?" I was asked.
"Yes," I replied.
"Why?"
"Because my parents made me go to Hebrew school."

After being asked for the third time why I wanted to go to Israel, I finally blurted out, "Because I'm Jewish and I've never been." That seemed to satisfy the security person. ("Aha," I imagined her thinking. "We got you to admit it, you assimilated, self-denying, non-observant American.")

When I finally got through it, I was sweating. But I felt like I had passed some test of my Jewishness. The Israelis though I was acceptable to enter their country. "Ok," further imagined them thinking, "we'll let you enter the Promised Land even though you complained about being forced to learn Hebrew, waited 36 years to decide that you wanted to come visit and we know you ate bacon yesterday."

What will I remember most?

I'll remember walking back from dinner along the promenade in Tel Aviv. It was nearly midnight and there were still plenty of people strolling. I thought, "I can't believe it. All of these people are Jewish."

I'll remember my bus ride in Jerusalem, disregarding a State Department advisory. When I asked someone at the tourist information center whether it was safe, he said "Sure. Most of the drivers are nice." That wasn't exactly what I was wondering, but I didn't want to admit that I was scared.

I was pretty nervous during the ride and I kept looking around the bus. I realized that this is what Israelis live with every day. When I saw my fellow passengers - small children, the elderly, Orthodox, secular, everyday working people - it brought the fear of terrorism home to me in a very personal way.

I wondered what it would be like seeing soldiers everywhere, and when a group of them walked into a museum in Tel Aviv, it did seem a little strange. Our guide explained that they were visiting as part of their training. Actually, I saw more soldiers in musems than anywhere else. After awhile, they were a natural part of the landscape, and they seemed so young.

There were some surprises. I was prepared to see soldiers, lots of men in yarmulkes, and American fast food. I wasn't prepared for the Volkswagens. They're everywhere.

I was amazed at the quietness of Jerusalem on a Saturday afternoon. I kept looking before I crossed a street, even though there were hardly any cars. Saturday seemed like Sunday and Sunday seemed like Monday.

Before I went, many people told me that Israel would feel like home, that I'd be amazed at seeing Jewish police officers and bus drivers. It wasn't quite like home - the bagels aren't as good - but it did feel comfortable.

When we visited the Western Wall, Judaism's holiest spot, our guide told us to remember that the stones weren't important. What's important is that we're here, that after Auschwitz, we survived. He talked about how Israel is gaining more international acceptance, coming out of its isolation. "It was like we were on another planet. Now, we can breathe like a normal country."

When I was growing up, being Jewish meant missing school for a few days every fall and explaining that I celebrated Hanukah instead of Christmas. It was never this much fun. I loved exploring the Roman ruins at Bet She'an, trekking up to the waterfall at Ein Gedi and browsing through the stores on Jerusalem's Ben Yehuda Street pedestrian mall. I know what our guide meant when he told us that in Israel, he didn't have to do anything to be Jewish.

Of course, two weeks as a tourist isn't the same as living in a country. And Israel is a real country, not a Jewish Disneyland. I talked to a few people about how difficult life can be, about their fear that the younger generation is losing a sense of purpose. I saw panhandlers and a few people sleeping on the sidewalk in Tel Aviv. There were a couple of bomb scares. But none of that negates what's been accomplished over the past 47 years, despite war, terrorism, international boycotts.

I feel a little embarrassed that I was nervous about visiting. I hope Israelis realize that their country still has the power to move people. And I hope that the 80-odd percent of American Jews who have never been there will visit. It doesn't matter whether they shop, sit on the beach or have a spiritual awakening.

I was moved in a way I never expected. I never expected to feel so deeply, so emotionally about the country, to the point that I was sobbing when I left. Oh yeah, I even saw Paul Newman - in the salad dressing aisle at the supermarket.

Up in the air, nothing to read

I hardly ever fly anymore, but this column in the San Francisco Chronicle resonated with me. John Flinn, the paper's travel editor, wrote about being stuck on a 16-hour flight from Milan, Italy, without his iPod, with a video screen that conked out before takeoff, and with nothing, absolutely nothing, to read.

(He said there was nothing in the English-language section of the Milan airport bookstore except Danielle Steel and John Grisham. I don't know why Flinn didn't pick up some Grisham, he's a perfectly entertaining writer of suspenseful legal thrillers. And in an emergency, Danielle Steel's not that bad. Not that I'd know from firsthand reading experience, of course).

Flinn describes rummaging around in his bag for an Ambien to help him sleep, but he'd taken the last one in Italy. The only thing that worked on the video screen was the route map, so he fixated on that for awhile. At one point, his wife gets up to use the bathroom and he "dived for her paperback like a starving man going for a deep-dish pizza. I'd barely read two pages, though, before she returned and wrestled her book from me."

He also offers some tips for what to do if you find yourself in a similar situation: commit your passport to memory, try to figure out what all the fuss is about Sudoku, (I wish he'd tell me.) study the Skymall catalog, turn to the route map in the back of the in-flight magazine and memorize the names of all of the "stan" countries.

Some of the comments on the column were pretty good. One person suggested he could have used the time to write haiku, another recommended traveling with a pair of knitting needles and yarn to knit a pair of socks. (Although I bet you can't bring knitting needles on a plane anymore).

A couple of people said that they always travel with a journal or something else to write in. Having paper and pen handy certainly saved me from more than an hour of boredom last spring when I was in New York, by myself, standing in line to take the ferry to Ellis Island. I used the time to jot down some notes about Curtains, the show I'd seen the night before.

One holiday weekend, I didn't plan well and the only thing I had available was a copy of The Thin Red Line, a novel by James Jones about a fictional World War II battle between American and Japanese troops on Guadalcanal. (Jones is best known as the author of From Here to Eternity.) I don't really like war novels, so I'm not even sure why I took it out of the library. All I remember is, I read it pretty quickly and thought it was just okay. I probably finished it on Sunday, and the library was closed until Tuesday, and I couldn't get to someplace to buy a book.

And then there are practical considerations of deciding which book to bring. Is the book so short that you'll finish it too quickly? Is it too heavy to carry? The worst thing is being stuck with very big book you absolutely hate. This did happen to me once. In my case, it was a behemoth of a novel by David Foster Wallace called Infinite Jest. And it truly is a behemoth - 1,088 pages long. And it has footnotes!

Don't ask what possessed me to read it. I know it's kind of a cult classic, but its appeal is way beyond me. The plot centers around a film, Infinite Jest, that is so addictively entertaining, anyone who watches it loses all interest in doing anything else but viewing it repeatedly. I doggedly kept reading, hoping I'd find out what this mysterious movie was about. Well, the joke was on me. I never found the answer, but I did learn quite a bit about the competitive world of junior tennis, a key subplot of the novel.

Running out of reading material used to be a big fear of mine, but I've learned to have a book with me at all times, in case I'm stuck waiting in a doctor's office or who knows where. And now that I have an iPod filled with audiobooks, podcasts and music, the chances of finding myself in a situation like Mr. Flinn's are pretty slim. Still, I could relate. I've been there.

My Israel

On his trip to Israel last week, President Bush made the obligatory stop at Yad Vashem, the country's memorial to victims of the Holocaust. His visit reminded me of two things.

The first was something I heard from my tour guide during my first trip to Israel, in 1995. At the time, an official from some country, I've forgotten which one, had balked at visiting Yad Vashem, and it caused an uproar. Our guide told my tour group, "Why should we force anyone to see our tears?"

The second is something I read years ago in New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman's excellent book on the Middle East, From Beirut to Jerusalem. Friedman was lamenting that while all foreign dignitaries visit Yad Vashem, no one visits Degania, Israel's first kibbutz.

I realize that no one forced President Bush to go to Yad Vashem. I'm glad he went. I've been there twice, so I know it's a very moving experience. It's a vital reminder of the need to confront evil and bigotry everywhere, and of the need for a strong and secure Jewish state.

Standing on the grounds of Yad Vashem, you get a commanding view of Jerusalem. I remember looking down at the city and thinking about what Israel has accomplished. In spite of war and terrorism, it remains a vibrant, thriving, modern country. At times it's noisy, quarrelsome and far from perfect, but it's a democracy. It's the Israel I wish more Americans could see. For a great collection of blog postings about everyday life in Israel, check out Israelity.

These are some of my favorite places to see and things to do:

In Jerusalem, I like to stroll through Machane Yehuda, a bustling open-air marketplace, where you can rub shoulders with people of all backgrounds and get all kinds of food, the Ben Yehuda Street midrechov, the city's downtown pedestrian mall, with its mix of ethnic restaurants, outdoor cafes and American fast-food chains, and the maze-like streets of the Old City. While both Machane Yehuda and the midrechov have been the site of terrorist attacks, they are living proof of the resiliency of Israeli life.

In Tel Aviv, where I lived for a year, I liked walking on the Tayelet, a promenade along the Mediterranean, Dizengoff Street, the main shopping area, trendy Sheinkin Street, sometimes referred to as the city's Greenwich Village, and HaYarkon Park, the city's answer to Central Park. My first evening in Israel, our tour group ate at a seafood restaurant overlooking the port of Jaffa, and from that vantage point, Israel seemed like the most beautiful, peaceful place on earth. Plus, you get a breathtaking view of the Tel Aviv skyline, pictured above.

There is much, much more that I could mention.

I loved visiting the national park at Ein Gedi, near the Dead Sea, and climbing up to the waterfall at Nahal David. According to Jewish tradition, it's the place where David hid from the wrath of King Saul. In northern Israel, I've walked through Safed, a center for the study of Jewish mysticism that's also become an artists colony.

I've been as far north as Kibbutz Hanita, near the border with Lebanon, and as far south as Kibbutz Yad Mordechai, named for a leader of the Warsaw Ghetto uprising and which was the scene of bitter fighting during the 1948 War of Independence. I've stood on the Golan Heights and dipped my toes in the Red Sea during a visit to Eilat, on Israel's southernmost tip.

I admit that my list isn't what comes to mind when you think of visiting Israel - it's a little low on religion. I've been to all the Jewish, Christian and Muslim holy sites in Jerusalem, including the Western Wall, the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and the Via Dolorosa. I've taken an evening cruise on the Sea of Galilee, known in Hebrew as Lake Kinneret.

But for me, the truly spiritual experiences were the everyday ones: shopping, sitting in restaurants, visiting museums, celebrating holidays, walking everywhere, going to work, studying Hebrew at an ulpan with students from all over the world. It was getting to know a country that had been born in the wake of unspeakable evil and against all odds, had flourished.

To me, there are at least three Israels - the Holy Land of Christian pilgrims; Eretz Yisrael, the biblical Land of Israel of religious Jews; and Medinat Yisrael, the modern, secular State of Israel in which most Israelis live. My Israel may not be everyone's, but it's mine.

Around the world

This geography game, the Traveler IQ Challenge, comes via Fimoculous. You can test your knowledge of U.S. capitals, major cities, and world cities and capitals. I did very well on U.S. capitals, fair on world capitals. The goal is to click on a map to identify the location, and the faster you do it, and the closer you get, the more points you score. The difficulty increases with each round of the game. It's pretty addictive - and educational.

My Visa problem

Add this to your checklist of things to do before you go on vacation: call your credit card issuer and tell them about your plans. Yes, in addition to stopping the paper, putting a hold on the mail, asking a neighbor to watch your house and boarding the dog, apparently you also have to alert Visa, and probably MasterCard, too.

I found this out the hard way during my weekend in New York City earlier this month. The first inkling of a problem came when I was in the subway, trying to add some money to my MetroCard, and it wouldn't accept my Visa. I thought maybe the magnetic stripe on the back had become worn. Luckily, I had my American Express card, so I used that instead.

Usually, as a safety precaution, I only travel with one credit card. But for some reason, I forgot to take the AmEx card out of my wallet. And I'm glad I had it, because when I tried to check in at the Marriott Marquis in Times Square, the desk clerk informed me that my Visa wasn't being accepted there, either.

He was very discreet and nice about it. I knew the problem wasn't on my part. I always pay my credit card bills in full every month. In 25 years of carrying a card, I've never, ever carried a balance. I said a silent prayer that I had my new best friend, American Express, with me. Believe me, you don't suddenly want to find out on vacation that your credit card isn't accepted. It's like having an insurance policy that only covers you when you don't need it.

In addition to the inconvenience, I was angry because I have a Borders Rewards Visa and I was looking forward to getting some hefty Borders bucks with my next bill. I'm one of those people who charges almost everything - groceries, gas, etc., and every month I add to my little pile of $5 coupons that I can use toward books, cds and DVDs from my favorite bookstore.

Later that evening, I called Visa customer service and was told that they'd put a hold on my card because they saw an unusually large amount for a hotel room reservation. Apparently, no one at Visa has ever reserved a room in Times Square in November, on the New York City Marathon weekend, or they wouldn't have been surprised at the amount!

I told the customer service representative that this was my third trip to New York in six months, and I'd used my Visa multiple times on the previous trips, including to pay my hotel bill. It never raised an eyebrow. What was I supposed to do, I asked, let Visa know when and where I'm going on vacation? Yes, that's exactly what I should have done, she replied. And she did agree to credit my account, so I'll get my full complement of Borders coupons.

Look, I like my Visa card. We've been to some great places together, shared a lot. But I just don't feel the need to tell my credit-card issuer in advance when I'm taking a trip and where I'm going. I understand that the company is doing this for its own protection, as well as mine, in case my card is lost or stolen. (And if I read the fine print closely enough, I'm sure I'd find that I'm actually obligated to tell them). I guess I should be glad they care. Still, it seems so intrusive.