Travel

Montreal is a city of diversity – be it the multi-national communities, the varied, ethnic cuisines, fascinating neighbourhoods and marvellous mix of people. Everywhere you go the eye alights on interesting architecture (keep a lookout for outdoor spiral staircases along Laval Street), historical buildings, and a myriad of eateries. Of course, shopping the elegant chi-chi boutiques for designer clothes is also an important part of this vibrant city. Bookstores and bars, museums and markets abound whilst the nightlife is comparable to any major European city.

But where to start your journey of discovery can be a little discombobulating unless you are willing to just wander from one neighbourhood to another – clutching a earmarked map of the city in one hand and the proverbial bottle of water in the other.

Old Montreal is the soul of the city where you will find cobblestones, historic architecture, waterfront taverns and narrow streets – home to local designer boutiques and art galleries. Wander along St. Paul’s which is the first street in Montreal or drive in a typical horse-drawn caleche past the Notre-Dame Basilica dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Visit the Pointe-a-Calliere Museum where the beginnings of Montreal are displayed and enjoy café au lait and fresh croissants at one of the charming cafes along the way.

From Casablanca on the coast to the inland city of Fez in the northern part of Morocco, the area looks very much like the American Southwest.

Looking out the window of the van, there's not much to see.

A well-paved highway cuts through the flat, dusty farmland, passing villages remarkable only for the number of flat roofed houses with satellite dishes and the occasional donkey cart.

I'm with a group of travel and food writers visiting Morocco. Some of us are here for the first time.

Before we leave Casablanca we stop at the Mosque Hassam II, the 3rd largest mosque in the world, the largest in Morocco.

The scale of the doors makes visitors look very small. The detailing on tiles and metal work on the tall doorways is beautiful. The mosque overlooks the breakwater and harbor. A few blocks away, restaurants and clubs share the same view. We grab a quick breakfast after our all-night flight before we climb in the van for a three hour drive.

My roots are in Prague. Not my real hereditary-type roots — they lie somewhere in Lithuania, in some long-forgotten shtetl in the Pale of Settlement.

I’m talking about my cultural roots, my identity as a bohemian, or in the current vernacular, a boho. The bohemian movement started in Prague, or at least was perfected there. Also, Prague is the capital of Bohemia, which is an historical region that takes up about two-thirds of the current Czech Republic. So, Prague is Bohemian and bohemian. Around 1912, Franz Kafka met a Yiddish-Theater actor named Isaac Löwy, who introduced him into a world of writers, artists, thinkers, physicists and anarchists.

They hung out in bars or in Berta Fanta’s salon – upstairs from her husband’s pharmacy; they drank absinthe, they had sex with actresses (I’m sure they did; I don’t have historical data at my fingertips, but believe me, they did); they stayed up all night and talked about Expressionism and Modern Music; they discussed the ideas of Einstein and Freud, who were both kicking up their heels around this time.

I like to think I have a decent grasp on the 7 deadly sins. I’m not overly vain, anger isn’t an issue for me, and sloth & laziness have never fit into my neurotically busy life. But when we headed to La Cabrera in Buenos Aires for dinner last night, that one little tiny vice-o-mine came crashing into full view.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Gluttony.

Yea yea yea, I know it’s a sin. But it was my birthday and I’ll find any excuse to indulge and overdo it on every possible level. And last night I think we all exceeded our goals.

Buenos Aires is packed with parillas, the traditional Argentine meal of grilled beef that makes the Texas barbecues I grew up with pale in comparison. It’s not my goal to incite a riot here, but you can’t deny the love and passion the porteños have when it comes to their beef. I figured there could be no better way to celebrate than with wine, beef, and good friends.