Bonjour Colorado

Wonderful Wolf Creek

Wolf Creek: The Snowiest Ski Area in Colorado

It’s terrific how quickly you can throw yourself into another season.  It’s been feeling like winter here in Colorado for nearly two weeks, every since a big November storm dumped two and a half feet of snow on a good part of the Rockies.  That’s just how I like it:  sunny and warm until mid November, then boom, hello snow.

I have much to write about my stay at The Broadmoor, but I’ll save that for later since right now I’m too excited about the start of ski season.  Our mountain, Telluride Ski Resort, opens tomorrow and I can hardly wait.  I already have the ski bug, especially after having whetted my appetite last week at Wolf Creek, a low key, family owned and operated ski area, known to be consistently endowed with the most snow in Colorado.  Tucked up against the Continental Divide, our nation’s backbone, Wolf Creek typically opens early November (sometimes even by Halloween) with a more than respectable base made up almost entirely of natural snow.

By the time we left Colorado Springs, Steve and I were eager to hit the slopes.  I had located my equipment in my secondary storage unit (read about my packing dramas here) and aside for the need of a good ski waxing, I was good to go.  (The bikini wax had, of course, been taken care of before heading out on our trip.) Since we were approaching Wolf Creek from the northeast, we decided to locate a nice place to stay in South Fork, a quaint and quiet little town, probably best known for its fly fishing during the summer months.  My Internet research pulled up Arbor House Inn, an elegant bed and breakfast on the Rio Grande river (which actually begins just a short drive up the mountain at the top of the Divide).

One of Several Well-Dressed Tables at Arbor House Inn

Hosts Keith and Laurie and Their Pups

Steve and I could not have been more enchanted with our choice.  I do think you can judge a book by its cover—at least most of the time—and you can also confidently select a place of lodging by its Web site.  Sure, there’s always a chance for surprises but seasoned travel researchers generally know how to separate the good from the bad.  We had nothing but delightful surprises at Arbor House Inn.  In fact we were amazed to find such a polished establishment in the middle-of-nowhere-town of South Fork.  Plush robes, candles in our room, well-stocked coffee and tea stations both in our room and in the inn’s dining room, candles at breakfast—there isn’t a detail passed over in this delightful inn.  A sumptuous breakfast, overlooking a bucolic river scene, completes the romantic tableau that innkeepers Keith and Laurie Bratton have created in this little haven of peace in southwestern Colorado.  Indeed these fine hosts are as gracious as their surroundings.  And if you’re a dog lover, you’ll enjoy their two adorable Dachshunds as well as Chloe’s Corner, a charming room decorated with portraits of all our favorite canine ancestors.  I love a place with a sense of humor and whimsy!

Chalet Swiss in South Fork

Second big discovery:  Chalet Swiss, a lovely restaurant and bar, located just across the street from Arbor House Inn.  In truth, I had been to this Euro-owned and operated bastion of tradition a couple of times before but it was fun to re-discover it with Steve, an Italian, who greatly appreciates fine dining without a bunch of fanfare.  (This is actually very European.)  Owner and Chef Fredi Brechbuehler presents specialties from his native Switzerland including Cheese Fondue, Raclette and Schitzel along with more traditional dishes such as Colorado Lamb Chops Provençale and Chicken Mushroom Fettuccine.  It’s all perfect fare for pre or post recreating on the mountain.

It was tough pulling ourselves away from Arbor House Inn, even with the excitement of heading out for our first day on the slopes.  Our enthusiasm mounted, however, as we embarked upon the climb to Wolf Creek Pass, a mere twenty-minute ascent that would take us to an elevation of 10,857 feet.  In some respects it felt like I was coming home since I skied Wolf Creek a whole season when I first moved to Colorado—Pagosa Springs, Colorado to be exact—nearly eight years ago.  (I can’t believe it has been that long.)

Celebrating its seventieth year, Wolf Creek epitomizes the sort of ski resort that many of us remember from childhood, the kind of mountain where lunch and lift tickets remain affordable and pretension of any kind feels out of place.  Steve and I were thrilled.  It took me a bit of doing to get going but once I heated up my boots beneath the blow dryer of the Ladies’ Room, I was ready to start my ski day.  (Hint:  Don’t ever leave your ski boots in a frozen car overnight, something I know better than to do but hey, we’re all rusty at the start of the season.  Also, it’s best to cover your boots or put them in a boot bag in storage since I found mine to be loaded—well maybe not loaded but bad enough—with mouse turds!)

Wolf Creek Powder Day

We hopped on the Raven Chair, Wolf Creek’s high-speed quad, an addition since I was last here, and began our day of skiing.  Our choice of cruisers felt limitless since the whole mountain was open and coverage throughout was excellent.  My ski conditioning workouts had paid off and Steve and I were able to ski run after run until we finally decided to stop for a bite to eat (I recommend the green chili stew here) and gulps of much-needed water.  I let Steve ski the Alberta Lift—the part of the mountain where you find the most challenging terrain—the rest of the afternoon while I did more laps on the blues.  It’s best to break yourself in slowly early season, at least for a cream puff like me.

Tomorrow I get to test my legs again on the slopes.  But this time, it’s here in T-ride, on the very slopes I can spot right out my window.

Thank you, Wolf Creek, for the primer.  Now it’s time for the big league.

Wolf Creek Ski Area, Pagosa Springs, CO, 800-SKI-WOLF (754-9653) and 970-264-5639, www.wolfcreekski.com

Wolf Creek offers a dozen or So Locals’ Appreciation Days on Wednesdays throughout the season.  All-day adult lift tickets are priced at $31. and no special I.D. is required.  The regular price is $52. most other days.

Arbor House Inn, 31358 West Highway 160, South Fork, 888-830-4642 and 719-873-5012, www.arborhouseinnco.com

Chalet Swiss, West Highway 160 across from Arbor House Inn, 719- 873-1100

What Kind of a Traveler Am I Anyhow? Part One: Packing

I can be a bit of a kook actually. Sometimes I’m frighteningly calm, other times I’m manic. Doesn’t traveling amplify all of our crazy, quirky, compulsive traits? Travel can be about totally letting go, but it’s also about zeroing in on the most minute details. For me, I love being in this mode of complete bipolarity when it comes to touring and discovery. But when it concerns the logistics of travel—planes and packing, for example—it can make me nuts. Or I just respond with a total laissez-faire attitude that can potentially make others around me go ballistic.

Let’s take packing. I’m from the bring-a-wide-selection-so-that-you-have-a-choice mindset. That’s totally Old School, especially with the baggage surcharges enforced by the airlines today. It’s tough though since I love to look my best when traveling and that often means switching out handbags and shoes along with a few different sweaters and a couple of coats. (We’re already approaching the limit here.) I had a near breakdown when I traveled to the east coast in September which prompted a major intervention I performed on myself (in the privacy of my bedroom, thank goodness) when I prepared for a second east coast trip in October. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I almost choked at the United counter in September when I had to pay $75. for two bags that I hadn’t even registered online. And that was just for the outbound segment. What made it worse was that I was to be spending most of my time in beach communities in Virginia Beach and The Outer Banks. How much room could a couple of bathing suits, sandals and assorted casual wear take up? This is pathetic, I thought to myself at check in. Granted I had a heavy silk dress and jacket packed in there for a wedding I was to attend (with, of course, the requisite matching sandals and bag). I was cursing my boyfriend, Steve, to myself for having urged me to take my sneakers. (Now that’s a space eater if there ever was one—who walks on the beach in sneaks anyway?) I had also thrown in my hairdryer since it appeared I might be without one for a bit. (Who travels with a hairdryer these days?) And my toiletry case ended up being the joke of our ten-day trip since it was stuffed with twenty some odd bottles (mini, but still), containing my prized potions and lotions that I presumably couldn’t live without. Now really? My God, an intervention was definitely in order. Clearly I hadn’t followed my own packing tips outlined here.

I know better. But an overflow of stress, combined with a what-the-hell kind of attitude provoked me to throw all my stuff into one suitcase, a duffle bag and two carry ons. I schlepped this proliferation of possessions from plane, to car, to another car, to taxi, to bus (yes, even on the Greyhound; read Riding the Bus), then to more car, plane and car, cursing myself the whole way. You get the idea.

I swore I’d never do that again. And so I haven’t, at least not on my October trip back east. I followed my own advice and cut my wardrobe selection in half and let it hang on door handles in my room for a few days before departure. Then I thought more about all—accessories and toiletries included—and neatly folded my trim little selection into my suitcase the morning of my departure. Phew! The intervention had worked. Plus I had registered my one bag online within the twenty-four-hour period allowed. Boy was I feeling mighty!

Suddenly I’m struck with that panicky feeling again, a strange sort of anxiety brought on by pre-departure packing plans. I’m leaving tomorrow with Steve on an almost week-long jaunt to Colorado Springs. He’s the General Manager at Mountain Lodge in Telluride and he’ll be attending the annual Colorado Hotel and Lodging Association conference at The Broadmoor. I’ll be joining him at a few events in search of story ideas and more. I already had my wardrobe planned in my head (and on my door knobs), thinking I’d draw from some combination of Rocky Mountain casual and Parisian chic. (It is The Broadmoor after all.) Then suddenly he tells me he’d like to add on a day of skiing on the return trip. “Oh, sure, sure, that’s great,” I said. But then I thought about having to pack my ski pants and ski jacket, mittens, hat, the whole shabang. I had already been wondering where my skis and ski boots were located since I didn’t see them in my storage area in Montrose, an hour and a half from where I live, when I went to pick up my winter things there ten days ago. I’ve been meaning to check my other storage area in Telluride as well as my ski locker at the mountain. My heart quickened. I’ve been on the verge of throwing Getting Ready for Ski Season: Part Two into motion, but now I need to get it into full activation mode. (Fortunately I’m already well into Getting Ready for Ski Season: Part One.)

Jeez, this is really confusing. And then I wonder how many other people go through these kinds of mind games regarding travel. Our supposedly more relaxed lifestyle of The West can be thrown a curve ball when you add on “just one day of skiing” to a business trip/elegant romantic getaway. One would think I’d be a professional traveler and could handle any scenario. When I’m in full ski instructor mode I sometimes sleep in my long underwear, get up, have breakfast, wash my face, brush my teeth and fly out the door to the mountain in near record time. But this travel combo so early in the season almost seems daunting. I take a deep breath and remember all the calming words I uttered to myself during my little intervention. Ssssh, ssssh, ssssh, stop, I say to myself. So what if I have to take two different pairs of mittens, socks and a variety of layers in order to be properly prepared for any type of weather for our one day of skiing, our maiden voyage of the ski season. I can handle it, I tell myself. And you won’t bring more than one file along with your laptop, I add on, almost as an afterthought. Can it be a fat one? I ask myself pleadingly. All right, all right.

Thankfully Steve, who travels considerably for his work, is no better than me. Actually worse, I think. On our east coast trip in September, he also checked two bags and a guitar! I’m not altogether sure what he had packed in his duffels but he mumbled something about his wetsuit and booties taking up a lot of room. Like my hairdryer, his wetsuit, booties and guitar were used only once during the entire trip. He employed his surfboard considerably more but that he leaves stashed back east. I wouldn’t think of doing a packing intervention on him. In any event, I love the fact that I travel with a guy that brings more stuff than me.

I wonder how it will be for us this trip.  I’m already beginning to feel slightly superior after my October test, despite my sporadic mind chatter that has raised some new packing insecurities.  We are driving and neither of us has to worry about baggage allotments.  Hmmmmm.  Oh dear, I sense a binge coming on.

New York Splendor

Eleven Madison Park

Serendipity and travel go together like food and wine.  It’s usually the chance encounters or haphazard discoveries that occur along the way that make the difference in your journey, even if that trip lasts only a short while.

This was my experience on a recent flash visit to New York City.  I was to spend just under thirty hours in this bustling metropolis, primarily focused on the more business aspects of my work.  There was little time for travel writing research per se, so I knew I’d have to catch a story on the fly.  My best bet for finding my travel highlight was lunch on the second day when my good friend, Jane (see Gallery Going with the Ladies from Larchmont), was to meet me before I headed out of town.

I counted on Jane—someone who seems to be in the know about just about everything most of the time—to provide the restaurant suggestion.  She proposed Tabla, a swanky Indian restaurant, convenient for us both.  We didn’t call ahead and when I arrived, they apologized that they were exceptionally closed that day for lunch.  The rain was falling in sheets outside and I practically begged for another recommendation close by.  I was informed that their sister property, Eleven Madison Park, was just next door.

“Isn’t that expensive?”  I couldn’t help blurting out, aware nonetheless that these sort of remarks are more than acceptable during these challenging times.

“They have a $28. prix fixe menu,” Kevin, the manager at Tabla, replied.

I made a quick calculation in my head, figuring the price of at least one glass of wine, a coffee, tax and gratuity.  I had just come from my publisher, St. Martin’s Press, located nearby in the Flat Iron Building and possessed more of a sense of optimism about the publishing world than I had in a while.  It felt right.

I placed a call to Jane and made it a go.  A wave of excitement hit me as I realized I was about to experience the restaurant in New York that I really wanted to go to some day.  I had read a review of Eleven Madison Park in The New York Times a few months ago, one of the last written by Frank Bruni, their renowned restaurant critic, who bestowed four-stars upon this beloved New York dining establishment.  His description of this superior dining establishment was so vivid that I easily imagined myself seated in the restaurant enjoying a superlative meal with a glass or two of wine.

Jane and I were escorted to a corner banquette that furnished wide-angle views of the restaurant’s stately, high-ceilinged dining room.  “It’s a quintessential New York restaurant,” Jane remarked, referring most certainly to the dramatic tone set by this vast space and its decorative architectural embellishments, all representative of Art Deco design.  “We brought our friends from California here when they came to New York and they loved it.”

We took turns observing the details that make any dining or lodging experience stand out.  Jane pointed out the embossed decoration of leaves (representing the four seasons, not too unlike those of the Four Seasons), the trademark of the restaurant, on the butter.  I commented on the salt served as a side to the butter and made a mental note to ask about its provenance (but never did, sorry).  Of course we opted for the $28. prix fixe, one appetizer, one entrée menu and then selected a half bottle of chablis from the $28. page of the wine list that included two bottles, two half bottles and a few glasses, all at the $28. price.  The manager explained that these prices were introduced a year ago and are here to stay, at least for now.  “Oh, a woman must have designed that,” Jane quipped, an insightful remark lost on the manager that I didn’t comprehend until about ten seconds later.

We laughed and chatted, vainly attempting to encapsulate the essential of our current lives into a two-hour lunch.  Our attention hardly waned, however, from our table and the entire room.  A flourish of amuse bouches (mini-apps), which included heirloom tomato marshmallows and black pepper sablés topped with foie gras and cranberry gelée, wooed us from the get-go.  And we practically swooned over the savory gougères and mini olive ficelles and baguettes that had been served up both warm and imperceptibly.

Snippets of our table side critique continued in between volleys about our very different lives, hers in New York, mine in Colorado.  Our commentaries about each other’s activities intermingled with our impressions of our appetizers (Heirloom Beets with Lynnhaven Farms Chèvre Frais for Jane; Red Endive with Buffalo Mozzarrella, Basil and Persimmon for me).   All had been exquisitely plated.  Our entrées (Ricotta Gnocchi with Artichokes, Taggiasca Olives and Bacon for Jane; Seared Scallop with Celery, Meyer Lemon and Black Truffles for me) continued to provide a feast for the eyes as well as the palate.  For me, the utensils were far too small, especially in proportion to the over-sized plates.  For Jane, they were just right.  “Must be a European thing,” I commented.  “In France at least, the utensils are large and weighty.”

The end of our lunch neared, our broad plates were swept away and a most refined dessert cart was wheeled before us.  No gloppy confections here.  Instead we marveled at an array of stream-lined sweets that would be the envy of Paris’s most sophisticated pâtisserie.  Sadly we declined this great temptation since we had surely surpassed our calorie count and budget by now.

We wrapped up our visit over rich coffee, served with hot, steamy milk.  I was waiting expectedly for a little tray of sweets to be placed before us, just like in fine French restaurants.  (Eleven Madison Park is a Relais & Châteaux after all.)  Nothing came but I thought that maybe it was best not to overdo, keeping totally within the spirit of this sleek establishment.  It’s O.K. to feel totally satisfied yet wanting a little more.

I felt this way about Jane as well when we bid each other goodbye as I ducked into a cab outside of Eleven Madison Park.  I took solace in knowing that she’d be a best friend for life and that we had shared such an exceptional moment together.  Maybe next time we’ll try Tabla.

Eleven Madison Park, 11 Madison Avenue at 24th Street, 212-889-0905, www.elevenmadisonpark.com

Tabla, 11 Madison Avenue at 25th Street, 212-889-0667, www.tablany.com

The National Trust and Us

Richard Moe: Our Nation's Top Preservationist Enjoying the Great American West

People don’t want to go to a place that has lost its soul.

—Arthur Frommer

Richard Moe, president of the National Trust for Historic Preservation, shared the above quote with me in a recent Travel Fun interview.  As our nation’s leading historic preservation organization, the Trust has saved the soul and character of countless places in its sixty years of existence. From main streets to historic sites, this bipartisan organization works tirelessly toward preserving our country’s heritage.

As a part-time resident of Telluride, I’ve had the privilege of chatting with Dick Moe about historic preservation and some of his favorite destinations several times.  He loves his time in the West and makes Telluride his base every summer for visiting some of the most significant cultural sites in the United States including Canyon of the Ancients in southwestern Colorado.  In our interview, he also talks about other exciting locales in the region such as Durango, Silverton, Chimney Rock and the Rio Grande Gorge in Del Norte.

As for Telluride, it’s clear that it stands a cut above all other Rocky Mountain destinations.  ”Telluride has done a better job of preserving its historic character than any other mountain town,” says Dick.  He also shares his thoughts on the Telluride Valley Floor, a 500-acre parcel of open space that he fought hard to preserve.

The Trust’s programs on sustainability and historic preservation are also discussed in our interview. Currently the organization is committed to a sustainability program that focuses on the environmental value of “recylcing” older buildings for new uses and retrofitting them for greater energy efficiency.

Heritage tourism is the fastest growing part of tourism, already a huge industry in our country.  The National Trust has offered tours all over the world for quite some time but they’re expanding their reach with Gozaic, a one-stop shopping portal for heritage travel.  You can hear what Dick has to say about this in our chat as well.

Listen to the entire half-hour interview I conducted with Richard Moe by clicking on the play button here:

People want to experience what’s real and genuine in communities.

—Richard Moe, President of the National Trust for Historic Preservation

Note that at the same time of this story posting, Richard Moe announced his retirement from the National Trust for Historic Preservation.  He has been the longest serving president in the sixty-year history of the Trust.  He plans to continue to hold that position until a replacement is found, likely in the spring of 2010.

National Trust for Historic Preservation, 202-588-6000 and 800-944-6847, www.preservationnation.org; you may become a member of the Trust and receive their award-winning magazine six times a year for as little as $20.