The Grape, Stranraer, Scotland

We were in transit from train to ferry, from Scotland to Northern Ireland, on a one-night stay in the harbor town of Stranraer. It wasn't a pretty town, it was a utility town, all about the huge ferry terminal and the sleek trimaran that would take us to Belfast in the morning. We bumped our roller-bags through town looking for a place to stay. An old woman we met on the street with a walker and a wonderful lilt in her voice pointed us to "her favorite" hotel up the hill. We went there, but it had apparently been closed for decades. Down the street we found a lovely home with a room available and stowed the luggage. It was time for refreshment.

We peeked in doors of bars and cafes. None beckoned. Finally we found The Grape, down a few steps from the street and through an ancient door. It was warm inside, a dark heavily-carved wood bar and tables filled with people, a cheerful fire in the grate. There were women here, something noticably missing from the other places we had peered into. Two stools were open at the bar; we took them and ordered drinks.

Our end of the bar was anchored by a group of the usual Irish/Scottish bar lads with their ales - ruddy-faced, a little boisterous, what you’d call experienced drinkers. They wanted to know where we were from and conversation erupted. One of our new friends was the owner of The Grape, a 400-year-old public house. Before we knew it, single malt scotches were lined up in front of us, each smoother and better than the last...try this, try this. Amazing hospitality and a memorable evening....

Waikiki Beach, Oahu

The Beach at Waikiki
Dana Hill

A steady stream flowed off the nose of the statue of Duke Kahanamoku, father of modern surfing. It formed a pool at his feet and finally escaped in little rivulets running swiftly out onto the white sand, searching, searching to be reunited with the vast gray ocean.

It was raining on Waikiki Beach.

This was Wayne’s first trip to Hawaii, a favorite place of mine. I love the feel and smell of the air when you get off the plane in Honolulu, the heavy sweet scent of flowers wafting through the airport, open to warm ocean breezes and the sounds of waves breaking. I feel the air in my soul here, and I relax. I had eagerly planned this trip to share this aloha, this warm feeling, with my boyfriend Wayne.

It had been raining since the night before, when we arrived. “This is an unusually hard rain for Honolulu,” I commented in the taxi from the airport. “I’m really looking forward to hot beach weather tomorrow. Rain only lasts a few hours here, don’t worry. The sun is inevitable!”

Now it was morning and it was still raining. In the many times I’d been in Honolulu over the years, I couldn’t recall ever seeing rain in the morning. It was not beach weather. Kalakaua Avenue, the main street along the beach, was a sea of umbrellas. Surely by this afternoon the sun would return and we would go to the beach.....

San Miguel de Allende, Mexico

I love the patterns of plants, and this cactus in the hills high above San Miguel spoke to me. So creative and yet so geometric, like a giant artichoke!



Weathered and patient, he sat contemplating perhaps the state of the world or, more happily, the tranquillity of his surroundings. Majesty in ruin, strength in decay, his languid gaze seemed rooted in reflection.