Travel

Interior of renovated synagogue in Leadville, CO.

On my way to Aspen, Colorado, to attend a Bat Mitzvah, I stop midway to grab a coffee in a funky little town called Leadville. While sipping my freshly roasted brew, I stroll along Leadville’s charming historic district, that looks more like an old western movie set,  taking in the breathtaking snow dipped Rocky Mountain tops visible in the distance.

Leadville, also known as Cloud City, for its high elevation (over 10,000 feet), is home to just under 3000 residents. I peek inside the Silver Dollar Saloon, dimly lit, but still serving locals since the silver mining boom of the 1800’s, and then walk further down to the Antique Emporium, in search of yet another chachka to add to my collection. In fact, I am so excited about my purchase (a pair of art deco turquoise glass candlesticks) that I almost miss the white sidewalk sign with a large black arrow pointing to Temple Israel Frontier Synagogue & Museum just down the road.

Like a kid on a treasure hunt, I follow, walking past lavender and canary yellow painted gingerbread homes, to the corner of 4th and Pine Street. I know that I’ve reached my destination when I make out three iron Stars of David placed symmetrically on the top of synagogue steeples. Once inside, I am overwhelmed with the beauty of this small two-storey structure, built in 1884- it is said to be one of the few remaining pioneer synagogues west of the Mississippi River.

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A few hours after arriving in Paris, reenergized by the espresso I had upon my arrival, my husband and I set out on our walk, stumbling across the cobblestone streets of the Left Bank in search of the perfect café. Then, it started to pour ferociously.

Since we had no umbrella, we ran to a little café only meters away, joining a gathering of locals who were busy celebrating another workweek ending. Cigarette smoke billowed around them as they laughed and chatted. The waiter must have detected our Canadian French accent as we were seated away from the others, under a covered terrace next to a couple in their late sixties. I guessed they were Americans from the south with their wide smiles and matching jean jackets. In fact, within seconds they told us that they lived in Houston, Texas.

We replied politely to the usual meet and greet questions, and thankfully, glasses filled with champagne arrived soon after alongside an enormous platter of mind-blowing cheese. I was hoping for a romantic start to our holiday, but our friendly Texans had more important matters to discuss.

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Branson Christmas parade

It’s only the beginning of November but it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas here in Branson. When the weather turns cold, and the summer crowds retreat, Branson transforms into a Christmas wonderland.

In the distance, the rugged Ozark Mountains look like a perfectly manicured golf course. The intoxicating scent of hot toddies leads me to an enclave of shops selling maple syrup infused candles and cutsie knick-knacks for the house. Outside, a giant Christmas tree standing 20-feet tall is loaded with crimson ornaments. If you’re looking for more Christmas paraphernalia, an endless selection of baubles await across the laneway at Kringles Christmas Shop, the largest store of its kind in Missouri.

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As the pink sun is setting over Las Croabas Park, past the breathtaking El Yunque rainforest, and over an hour drive east of San Juan, Puerto Rico’s capital, children are still playing in the ocean watching the waves roll in.

I pay for my savory crescent-shaped cheese empanada in American dollars from a small kiosk nearby before joining a kayaking excursion to Laguna Grande (Big Lagoon). I hear parents calling to their kids in Spanish “Ven aqui” (Come here), holding up enticing bags of churros- traditional Spanish tubular shaped donuts powdered in cinnamon and sugar. Well, I know that I’m in the U.S.A., but it sure doesn’t feel like it.

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