Reflections of Travel to Africa

As a four-decade Certified Travel Agent, international airline employee, researcher, writer, teacher, and photographer, travel, whether for pleasure or business purposes, has always been a significant and an integral part of my life. Some 400 trips to every portion of the globe, by means of road, rail, sea, and air, entailed destinations both mundane and exotic. This article focuses on those in Africa.


The land of the Nile and the pyramids came alive during a flawlessly blue trip one December.

Cairo-accessed sights, almost without saying, included those very pyramids, whose construction commenced in 2550 B. C. as a result of Pharaoh Khufu’s order and which were negotiated by camel. Towering some 481 feet, the Great Pyramid of Giza, the largest, consists of some 2.3 million stone blocks, each weighing 2.5 to 15 tons and is considered the oldest of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World and the only one to remain largely intact.

Khufu’s son, Pharaoh Khafre, built the second pyramid in 2520 B.C. and it is part of a complex that includes the Sphinx, a mysterious limestone monument with the body of a lion and a pharaoh’s head, which itself may stand sentinel for the pharaoh’s entire expanse of tombs.

The third such pyramid-shaped structure, which is considerably smaller than the first two, was built by Pharaoh Menkaure in 2490 B.C. and features a much more complex mortuary temple.

Additional attractions included the temple of the Great God Ptah in Memphis, a 5,000-year-old symmetrical, alabaster sphinx, and the original statue of Ramses II. The Necropolis in Sakkara afforded an opportunity to inspect its tombs and its own step pyramid.

The immersion into Egyptology was capped with a visit to the Papyrus and Egyptian museums, the latter built by the Italian construction company Garozzo-Zaffarani and constituting one of the largest such repositories with 120,000 items, not all of which were on display at a single time. But some of its most significant were Tutankhamun’s Mask, the Grave Mask of King Amenemope, the Narmer Palette, the Mummy Mask of Psusennes I, the Statue of Khufu, the Statue of Khafra, the Statue of Menkaure, and the Merneptah Stele.


Two multi-mode trips to Arabic- and French-speaking Morocco facilitated considerable country coverage.

Significant Casablanca sights included its Medina, the Royal Palace, the Hassan II Mosque, the world’s second largest after that in Mecca, Mohammed V Square, and a Moroccan handicrafts store.

A drive to Rabat encompassed its own Royal Palace, the Mausoleum of Mohammed V, the Hassan Tower, and the Kasbah of Oudaya, evoking images of the Humphrey Boggart movie, Casablanca.

Morocco’s famous and wonderful couscous, sometimes enjoyed with live entertainment, was consumed in numerous restaurants. Lunch in the Golden Tulip Rabat, for instance, featured eggplant salad; olive chicken, couscous, and carrots; and thin chocolate pastries and custard-flan with fruit. A later sip of Moroccan mint tea in Rick’s Café in the Kasbah of Oudaya really generated movie memories. Its French influence was expressed in its crispy baguettes.

Marked by Moorish minarets of the 12th-century, Koutoubia Mosque, in Marrakech, was a former imperial city in the western part of the country, but is today characterized by palaces, gardens, and the densely packed, walled medina dating to the Berber Empire. Threading my way through its maze-like alleys, I passed and perused its souks, or marketplaces, which displayed some items as textiles, pottery, and jewelry.

While a train had linked the city with Casablanca, an internal flight closed the gap between it and Tangier, a port city on the Strait of Gibraltar that has served as a strategic gateway between Africa and Europe since Phoenician times. Its whitewashed hillside medina was home to the Dar el Makhzen, a palace of the sultans that had since been transformed into a museum with a rich collection of Moroccan artifacts.


Although Arabic and French similarly provided the communication lines in Tunisia, my German often substituted in English-deficient areas.

Tunis, located on the Mediterranean Sea and the country’s capital, afforded sightseeing opportunities in its Bardo Museum, Hammamet, and Nabeul.

Carthage, a seaside suburb known for its ancient archaeological sites and founded by the Phoenicians in the first millennium B. C., was originally the seat of the powerful Carthaginian Empire, which fell to Rome in the second century B. C. Today it retains a grip on its history with such remnants as its Amphitheatre, Byrsa Hill and the National Museum of Carthage, the Roman Theatre, the Baths of Antonin, and Sidi Bou Said.

A short, domestic turboprop flight to the island of Djerba varied my view of the country, with a stay in the seaside Hotel Hasdrubal and sightseeing of Guellala and Houmut-Souq. Its small, but elegant restaurant dripped of French cuisine and a butter-sautéed filet mignon entrée one evening was memorable.

A standard-shift Fiat rental car facilitated a drive to Medenine and Matmata, a small., Berber-speaking town in southern Tunisia, often on road stretches that hugged mountains and consisted of little more than sand and chopped rock. But they ultimately opened up to the latter’s anticipated, but virtually empty expanse of troglodyte architecture, because that consisted of surface-invisible, subterranean, cave-reminiscent construction to reduce exposure to extremely high temperatures during the day. As the most famous filming location of the Star Wars movie series, Matamata substituted for Tatooine, Luke Skywalker’s birthplace.

A return drive to Jorf completed the circuit to Djerba after a ferry crossing from it and another internal flight led to Tunis.

Cape Verde:

Officially designated the Republic of Cabo Verde, Cape Verde is an island country in the Central Atlantic Ocean, its ten volcanic island archipelago having collectively created the 4,033-square-kilometer landmass.

Enticing as a destination that it was, it regrettably only served as an intermediate stop in Ilha do Sal, or Sal Island, during transatlantic flights between New York and Johannesburg.

Democratic Republic of the Congo


Similarly, and sadly, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, historically Zaire and now the largest country in sub-Saharan Africa and the second largest on the continent, was only glimpsed on landing in Brazzaville, its capital, located on the Congo River opposite Kinshasa.

Nevertheless, the dark, predawn landing in Ilha do Sal was replaced by a bright morning one here after a sector from Lisbon that would continue to South Africa, except that the moment the main wheels touched its soil, a band of natives, perhaps ignorant of modern technology, emerged from the bush and stormed the runway.


Zimbabwe offered another multiple travel-mode and -aspect African-immersion, but provided several unexpected experiences and retrospectively taught just as many lessons. They could be pegged by the locations of the eight hotels.

After an overnight in Johannesburg, South Africa, for instance, a fully booked flight to Harare, the intended destination and gateway to Zimbabwe, caused a rerouting to Bulawayo instead. Although an unreserved rental car was miraculously secured, its less than shiny-new condition proved that facilities and standards were not always those expected in the United States.

During a drive to the first destination, Hwange National Park, the travel group took guesses at the distance to it, since it appeared significantly shorter than the 500-kilometer one from Harare, the originally intended starting point. Most said, “It has to be about 100 kilometers.” But a glance at the map’s legend read 1,000 instead. Incredulous, all considered it a mistake. But here again US standards proved the culprit: while the distance was less than a quarter what it would have been from Harare, the assumption that a road existed to connect the two points was erroneous. The quoted distance was correct, because it required following a highway down south before intercepting the northerly one on the other side.

Signs along the road continually pointed to “braais.” This, as was learned, was the Afrikaans word for “barbeque,” which had been adopted into the English language, and its frequent appearance indicated the value locals placed on the activity with family and friends.

Accommodation in Hwange National Park’s Main Camp was in rustic, thatched-roof bungalows. At night, the Southern Cross appeared with crystal clarity, as if it had burned its imprint into a molten sky. Not a rustle could be heard, but at the first light of dawn, the surrounding animals emitted a collective grunt, shrill, and shriek that audibly cracked the silence more than the light visibly cracked the horizon. The day had arrived and their bodily clocks had been set by the rising run. It was time to eat..

The park’s dirt roads were plied during both self-drive and private game safaris, but the sunrise one in a jeep the following morning was particularly memorable as dawn infused the eastern horizon with a flood of color.

The elegant Victoria Falls Hotel provided a marked contrast to the game reserves at the next destination, and the famed falls, with their luminescent force and audible pound, were enjoyed both in person and from the air during a sightseeing flight. The outdoor “Africa Spectacular” performance, permeating the audience with waves of African rhythm, was a highlight.

While the following night’s Makasa Sun Casino Hotel was only marginally lower in scale than the previous night’s Victoria Falls Hotel had been, it still offered a close-proximity inspection, but the day’s small-boat Zambezi River safari, during which wine and cheese were served, was precarious for the half-dozen European vacationers in the neighboring vessel. The glide over the glass surface and the silent stillness were unexpectedly fractured when their boat mysteriously rose from the river and spilled its inhabitants into the water. Screaming and grasping for air, they latched onto the side of our own and we slowly escorted them back to shore and safety. The culprit, we ascertained, was a hippopotamus that had swam under the boat and then rose, lifting the contents on its back out of the river.

Shopping at the Falls Craft Village re-introduced life’s banality.

An overbooked commercial flight from Victoria Falls to Harare, with an intermediate stop in Kariba the following day, necessitated my relocation from the passenger cabin to the cockpit, but it gave me the opportunity to observe “up-front” procedures, take notes, and ultimately write an article about the experience.

After another single-night stay–this time in the conventional, modern-conforming, almost characterless Sheraton Harare-we were able to intercept our original itinerary. Inspections of the area’s Harare Gardens, African Unity Square, and the Epworth Balancing Rocks offered glimpses into its importance and a memorable dinner later than evening took place in the Ramambo Lodge Restaurant.

A second rental car facilitated travel to the Troutbeck Inn, located at a 6 500-foot elevation in the surrounding mountains and thus inviting exploration of the Nyanga Highlands’ scenic beauty and absorption of its crisp mountain air. Fireplace-provisioned rooms induced deep, peaceful, civilization-separated sleep. Multiple-course, menu-detailed breakfasts and dinners were included.

One breakfast, in the first case, encompassed the traditional Troutbeck buffet with assorted fruit juices, breakfast cereals, fresh and preserved fruits, assorted yoghurts, selected cold meats, selected cheeses, Danish pastries and croissants, homemade butter scones, and local preserves, marmalades, and honey. The cooked breakfast portion included fried, poached, boiled, or scrambled eggs, breakfast omelets, pork or beef sausages, crisp farmhouse bacon, sautéed potatoes and grilled, tomatoes. The day’s Troutbeck breakfast special was fresh minute steak with fried onions.

The dinner menu detailed pate a la maison served with crisp melba toast and Cumberland sauce; cream of celery soup garnished with chopped nuts; poached fillet of Nyanga trout blanc fume coated in a delicate rose wine sauce; entrees of grilled entrecote chasseur with an onion, tomato, and mushroom sauce, or roast leg of pork with roast gravy and apple sauce, Savoyarde gratin potatoes, country vegetables in season; Devonshire ice coupe with whisky liqueur and peach salad or lemon cream pudding; a selection of fine Zimbabwe cheeses and biscuits; filter coffee and Tanganda tea.

Morning horseback rides through the forest’s trails brought breathtaking views of Pungwe Drift and Pungwe Falls.

A return home, across the Atlantic, required a retracing of steps-first to Harare for another overnight stay and then to Johannesburg for a day room, before the sixteen-and-a-half-hour flight, via Ilha do Sal in Cape Verde, to New York.

South Africa:

Lile Zimbabwe, South Africa offered an equally varied, all-encompassing, multi-mode travel experience, resulting in significant kilometer coverage and an almost nightly hotel change.

Accessed by Johannesburg, it provided an introduction to its history in Pretoria, one of the country’s three capital cities and the seat of the government’s executive branch. Significant sights here included Church Square, the Kruger House, the National Zoological Gardens, the Union Buildings, and the Voortrekker Monument, the hilltop-located granite structure that commemorates the Voortrekkers themselves, who left the Cape Colony between 1835 and 1854.

Natural, almost other-planetary topographical features characterized the Transvaal Drakensburg, including those of Graskop, God’s Window, the water-eroded, geological Bourke’s Luck Potholes, and Blyde River Canyon.

The Floreat Protea Hotel in Sabie, offering the restorative rest after a day of mileage and a mélange of sights, was described as “Set on the banks of the Sabie River in the beautiful Eastern Transvaal, the Floreat has a special place in this heavenly part of South Africa. With its perfect climate, majestic forests and landscapes, and lush subtropical vegetation, this is the place.”

Kruger National Park, in northeastern South Africa, is one of the continent’s largest game reserves and offered several safari adventures with its particularly high density of “Big Five” animals, including lions, leopards, rhinos, elephants, and buffalos. Laden with cameras and lenses, I frequently preserved pockets of wildlife existence, snapping shots of cheetahs, spotted hyaenas, zebra, giraffes, kudus, impalas, wildebeests, and antelopes.

Nightfall necessitated two in-park stays-one in Skukuza, located at the confluence of the N’waswitshaka and Sabie Rivers in Mpumalanga, and the other in Crocodile Bridge-with outdoor kitchens, but indoor bedrooms in circular, thatched-roof huts. Provisions purchased at the local camp store provided dinner ingredients cooked under the crystal, clear Southern Hemisphere stars, whose majestic infinity sparked a conversation about God and eternity.

As was typical of flat, desert-like terrain, days created swelter, but nights rapidly descended to the freezing level.

A domestic flight from Johannesburg to the port city of Cape Town, located on South Africa’s southwest coast on a peninsula beneath the imposing Table Mountain, became the threshold to a walk along the Alfred and Victoria waterfront, an ascent on the Cableway to the 3,500-foot summit of the mountain itself, a drive in the shadow of the Hottentots Holland Mountains through tree-lined lanes past white gabled Cape Dutch homesteads to the Paarl, Franschhoek, and Stellenbosch wine-making areas for tours through the oak- and grape-scented cellars and subsequent tastings, and a trek to the Cape of Good Hope, meeting point of the Indian and Atlantic oceans. Described as “the fairest cape that we saw in the whole circumference of the globe” by Sir Francis Drake, it was the southern-most point on the African continent

Source by Robert Waldvogel

The Resisting Winter (A Novel and Parody) Part Five – “An Era That Never Did Pass”

Part Five

Chapter Fourteen

Poggi Ingway, was walking downtown, St. Paul, along the riverfront, it was Christmas Eve, there was still a little light out, it was a cold, cold night. His dog was with him, and he looked at all the artificial Christmas dressing ornaments throughout the city.

Where he could go, what could he do, what was left in life for him: his dog, his apartment, his job, his only friend, true friend, Shannon? He looked down at the icy cold river, said to his dog, “Mutt, where should we go?”

Well, the dog didn’t know anymore than Poggi knew. And clearly, walking had tired him out some. He looked about, knew many of these people were out of work, yet buying this and that. Going on and on and on and on with life, as usual. He knew about this part of life, it went on, and on and on, nowhere is where it ended up. Every place he looked was the old same damn place he had been a thousand times before, he was either leaving or returning, to these same old places, places he just left. That was life.

“Mutt,” he said “this is what my friend Shannon fought the war for, yes indeed for folks like me, and dogs like you, so we could walk one day down this riverfront, and look at the cold, cold river.” The arc lights then went on, he looked at them, thinking and wondering, and contemplating.

He looked and looked and didn’t know what to say, perhaps because there was nothing to say.

“Speak dog speak,” he said, “What would you have me do?”

Poggi was tired, the holidays made him sad, and more tired, so tired, yet he picked up Mutt, held him in his arms tightly, looking over the railing down onto the river.

There was a lot of trouble going on in the country, the blacks were protesting; a war in Vietnam was building up, and draftees were burning their draft cards; hippies all over the place smoking pot; where was it all leading to? A rhetorical question perhaps, but was it all worthwhile?

He wished he wrote poetry, like that fellow poet who lived in Minnesota, Robert Bly, maybe then he’d not be so sad. A happy poem, one on nature, might cheer him up. He knew Bly liked the cornfields just like Shannon, although Shannon used them for his hideaway. San Francisco, ah yes, good old Frisco, there was still San Francisco, that would be nice to go visit again. Why not? Poggi kept striding on along the railing of the bridge, dog in hand, his mind racing. Then he turned about and walked up to the eatery.

Author’s Note to Reader

It was at this point, or a little earlier, reader, that Rosa, my wife asked me for the 4th time, “Are you finished with that story yet?” Wanting to read it, since I’ve been on it from morning to night like white on rice; yesterday we had company, someone who came over and wanted to meet me, I just had a conference on a book I did on Juan Parra del Riego (a poet, who has been dead now some 80-years), and so I gave her an autograph picture, and she was delighted. But the point I want to make is this: that when one is writing a book or short story, or even a poem, these things happen, although they do not show up in the story. Disruptions can cause the writer to drop everything, and attend to other businesses, then come back. So if this part is not as interesting as the rest that is perhaps why. But it is the risk one has to take, breaking for a moment. Mark Twain had his little hut to run to when writing, a little ways away from his house, and Hemingway, in Cuba, a little apartment, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, whom is from my home town, of St. Paul, hid himself in his room, up around Summit Street. Me, I’m to the contrary, I’m almost in the middle of the house, no place to hide, no place to run to.

P.S. -To the Reader (last chapters)

As we go into these last chapters, and if it doesn’t seem to be so bad, and it fits with the rest of the book, and if you got a laugh or two out of it, well then, your money was well spent, if indeed you purchased it. Go tell your friends to buy a book or two; I got to eat just like you and them.

Chapter Fifteen

Inside the diner, it was near midnight, January, 31, New Years Eve, and the New Year was but an hour away. Poggi sat up on a bench by the counter, talking to Old Josh, the black cook, silently and quickly through the door came Maribel, Shannon was with Annabelle, sitting in a booth at the far end of the diner. The young guitar player, that usually sat at the opposite end of the counter, saw Maribel before she got through the doors, and yelled, “Don’t look, she’s naked!”

A customer yelled, “Get her out of here!” She was forcibly ejected, then everyone heard her trashing through the trash cans along side of the diner, pushing them over, she was drunk, and Shannon was sober with Annabelle. Poggi looked at Shannon, and then outside at his wife, and at his dog, quietly by his side, the other ten customers were faint and shaken somewhat. The guitar boy started playing his Rick Nelson tunes.

“Good god,” said Josh directing his statement to Shannon, “Can’t you afford to cloths her?” And everyone started laughing. There was a note of terror in his eyes: as if a battle was about to start a war, he blanked it out.

Poggi was no longer listening to Josh and the police had taken Maribel away in a squad car. Something happened to Poggi just then, he said to Josh, “I was going to kill myself a week ago, something snapped inside of me, I felt lost, like Maribel I suppose, like Shannon who needs Annabelle now, like Annabelle who needs to capture another woman’s man, are we all on a road to self-destruction?”

“I don’t know, Poggi, I jes’ goin’ on a cookin’ likes I always does,” said Josh. And he walked behind the counter to make a hamburger, he was used to the simple life, simple ways, all this was too complex for him, or perhaps too silly.

Poggi got thinking about his time in San Francisco, when he met a redheaded girl, she was a movie star he had convinced himself, he never really knew for sure, so she looked anyhow, and he fell madly in love with her, they went up onto a hill, laid together, and he fell to sleep and when he woke up she had disappeared, and he got Poison Oak from laying in the grass and weeds, and it lasted for two weeks, he had it on his face, his lips, everywhere, folks thought he had syphilis, he had to hide in a hotel room. He could never find that girl again, and somehow he could never replace her. Today, he saw a woman in the raw, a glimpse of her anyhow, somehow he felt he had lost a lot of beauty in-between then and now. Things were going to change.

Poggi looked about, everyone was talking, talking, talking, or listening, and the boy in the corner was playing his Ricky Nelson songs “Traveling Man,” quietly, and the cook was making a hamburger, and he knew now, Maribel couldn’t hang onto Shannon, and in the long run, Shannon would not be able to hang onto Annabelle, but isn’t that the way it always is, one loves more than the other, and who knows what follows.

Suddenly, he turned around on his stool, and before midnight, walked out of the diner, up the street with Mutt, and figured it would be a nice long wet leisurely walk, and by the time he’d get home, he’d be hungry, and Mutt would be hungry, and the house would be cold, and when he turned on the space heater, it would warm his bones, and that would be better than all the yelling and jumping up and down at the diner, to celebrate the new year, on planet earth.

Chapter Sixteen

A few more people left the diner, Shannon and Annabelle, remained seated, talking, drinking; he knew it was over for him and Maribel, there was only five of them now, plus the cook. Those six looked at one another, talked amongst each other, drank from hidden bottles of vodka, and rum, and whisky, hidden behind closed jackets, and coats.

Maribel was actually dropped off at her house, the police felt sorry for her, and she made no pretense, thinking she could hold onto Shannon any longer. She steadied her shaking body, turned up the heat, and put some cloths on.

She wrote on a letter, “Shannon Dear,” her hand shivering, “I will be at the St. Paul Hotel, if you want me to come home, call me please, if not, I’m going to San Francisco.”

Shannon looked out the back of the window of the café.

“Won’t you come home with me, Shannon?” said Annabelle.

“Yes,” he said, “I don’t really give a damn, but I will, why not!”

Annabelle dropped her head, “Oh Shannon,” she said, knowing she had her answer, she had won him, won him over his wife. It was over for Maribel, she was crying in her hotel room.

Annabelle sat up, she had a request, she was going to ask for something, only one thing, he might refuse her, but she was now willing to take that chance.

“Shannon,” she said in a soft and soothing voice.

“What is it?” Shannon asked, he saw intent on her face and that disturbed him.

“Will you get rid of that rat and can we go to Paris, or San Francisco, or maybe South America, you have that $8000-dollars yet, don’t you?”

“Sure I got it,” said Shannon.

“Thank you,” she said politely to Shannon.

The rat must have sensed something, and jumped out of Shannon’s pocket, and ran off, down into the cellar of the diner and disappeared. It seemed to him, he had just lost a great friend.

“Are you sorry the rat took off?” asked Annabelle.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said.

“Well, what the heck, let’s go to my place,” said Annabelle.

“That’s not my idea of a good time,” said Shannon, “but I guess it will do.”

“We’ll make love!” she commented.

“Don’t bother; I’m satisfied with it or without it,” said Shannon.

Her eyes lit up, not knowing what to say; her body was normally her weapon to all her victories. “I really love you Shannon,” she said sincerely.

“Will you get drunk with me in the cornfields in the summer?” he asked.

She repeated the phrase to him: I love you, I really love you, I do, I do, I love you, I really, truly love you. But somehow that didn’t hit home with him. It was a little fake, hollow, like an empty can of beans.

Into his mind he saw the cornfields, and his old wife, the one he really loved, thought he loved, the one that silently left him. She loved him, she was his woman. They drank together in the cornfields, like alligators swim together in the swamps.

He knew, somehow he knew, Maribel, and even Annabelle would never be enough. But they were enough for the moment. He would always stray away, he knew this; he simply loved those cornfields.


Josh, Zam-Zam and Jake
On the Third Shift

Affectation, can often be like confrontation, a good thing if handled properly, for those who are affected, it perhaps steams from hypocrisy, or deceit, or even vanity, but it becomes less a burden, less awkward, when one works on who he really is, than on whom he’d like to be …

“Why don’ you get married?” said Annabelle, to Old Josh.

“I want to lead my own life,” he commented.

“Well, then you should get out of this diner businesses, it puts you in a stupor!”

“No. I have it here the way I like it.” He told her.

“I say, don’t be obstinate, look how smoky and noisy and crowded it is in here, people can hardly move, the music is loud the moment people open the door on this third shift.”

“Funny, I don’t hear a thing,” then turned up his hearing aid, “yup, it sure is loud,” and walked away.

Someone had put several coins in the jukebox, and a small black boy was tap-dancing to the music, in the middle of the diner for loose change.

“I like him,” said Annabelle, “what’s his name Josh?”

“Zam-Zam, that’s what they call him anyhow; he comes in every so often a damn good dancer too.”

“I like him,” said Annabelle.

“Yaw, I’m kind of fond of him myself.”

Young Jake Harding was sitting in the back as usually of the counter, along site it, his guitar leaning against the diner wall, he shrugged his shoulders at the disturbance, it was 3:00 a.m., normally the time he got to sing his Rick Nelson songs, and he wanted to sing “It’s late,” he had practiced it all day. He’d go home when the first shift came on typically. But this evening Zam-Zam had broken his concentration, made it miserable for him to remain in his normal sedate constancy, his friendly mood was changed. Josh had noticed that.

“What’s the matter?” asked Josh.

“I don’t know. I just feel terrible.”

Zam-Zam started to collect his loose change from his hat, looked at Jake, and Josh, Josh was hoping he’d not continue, repeat the previous nightmare, that caused Jake to shift into a dark mood.

“Want to go?” asked Josh.

“Let’s go,” replied Jake.

“Alright,” said Josh.

“I’ll go change, down stairs in the dressing room, be back in a minute.”


“Where you going?” asked Annabelle to Josh.

“Downstairs to change my cloths, I’m taking Jake home,”

She nodded her head. “You mean he can find his way home at daybreak, but not at night?” she questioned Josh, adding, “Don’t be so ridiculous.”

“The streets are safer in the morning than at night,” responded Josh. She kissed him on the cheek, “I suppose your right.”

“Ready,” said Josh to Jake.

“Well, maybe…I’ll be here tomorrow night Annabelle, and so goodnight, sorry about having to have Josh take me home, wish I wasn’t blind, then I’d not be a burden on anyone.”

Chapter Seventeen

It is summer now in Minnesota, and the cornfields are high, and the trains are whizzing by the farmyards just outside of the city, Maribel is in San Francisco, she is dating someone. Poggi is walking with his dog along side of the Mississippi River. Old Josh is cooking at the diner. Shannon O’Day, has just stripped off his cloths, he’s in the cornfields, looking up at the crows, and he’s got a bottle of red wine, a six pack of beer, and a bottle of rum, he can hear the train coming. He kicks off his shoes, Annabelle, is there by his side, they went to Paris, and she looks as happy as a china rose in full blossom, they have been staying out there every night until the moon lights up, drinking away, she cast-off her garments, they both feel free as birds, and the old man, now her companion, and his new sidekick (he told himself he didn’t need a wife anymore, a sidekick was better), examine the bottles and each other and the sky. She’s now a snappy dresser, times have changed. A rat just ran by, it stopped took a long look, and then a train of little rats joined the big rat, and ran deep into the cornfields, “I think that was Rata,” said Shannon, to Annabelle, and they started laughing, and laughing, until they had to hold their bellies. As they lay back, the air seemed to soften the mood. Shannon gets an urge, the warm air is blowing all around them, her lips are moist. Shannon knew what he wanted all along and he got it.


Annabelle’s Advise

The only source around pretense is truth!

Shannon looked up in the sky, his young little mistress looked at him, “What is life all about?” she asked Shannon.

“How would I know,” he said. “I just know everyone is trying to be respectable, while they pick your pocket.”

He knew she could not learn it in the cornfield with him, no more than a matador can learn how to fight bulls, watching television, or reading a book, you had to engage yourself into whatever part of life you wanted.

“Yes, dear, I’ve been around, too much, way too much, drink your wine and beer and be content!” said Shannon, “This is some really dull talk,” he added.

“How about some of that rum?” asked Annabelle?

“Yaw, give me the bottle,” and she handed it to him, and he drank some straight from the bottle.

“Ok, OK I’ll brighten your future up for you,” he noticed her glass was empty, and filled it half way with rum, “just lie quiet and I’ll think up something rotten, better for you to hear that side of life.”

“Yes. Didn’t I ask you so? I’m ready for the big rotten world, yes, bring it on.” She pulled out a cigarette pack, offered Shannon one, he declined.

“I know things change, and I do not care. It’s been changed for me many times. Let it all change again, and it will. I’ll be gone before you, and you’ll change too, before the end of the world comes. Those long gravel paths I used to walk as a kid, are still around, it makes no difference: I’ve seen it come and go, things that you know, don’t know; I learned I can’t save the world, so let those who can do it. If you get the chance to see it, do it, while it’s still whole. The thing I told my daughter to do was simple: work and learn, make it easy on yourself, you’ll live longer. We all have a story for a book, but we are more than a book.”

“What are you doing there,” asked Annabelle, he was scribbling something down on an old envelope, with a pencil.

“Just a poem,” and then he fell backwards, and passed out.

The Envelope:

By Shannon O’Day

She’s the spider not the fly-
She has the cat’s eye, not I-
She’s like a serpent in the night,
Beware, beware of her plight!
She’s the Snyder not the fly
something, something…
(Not I)!

No: 2580 (3-24-2009)

The End

Author’s Final Note to the Reader

All right, the story has come to an end and life will go on from here, it always does, doesn’t it. It took me all of three days to write it (12-hours per day), all day long, and most of the night, to the wee hours of the morning, 3:00 a.m. But do you ever wonder what is truth and where is it in a story, and what is fiction, or where is it, and what parts are purely imaginations, and so forth and so on. So it was worth the effort, and now let me clear up for the curious reader a few of these points.

Mickey’s Diner is a real location, and the author has been there many times, especially with his wife and mother, the story puts it about in its proper location, it has been there since the 1930s, still is, it is a landmark.

The author also has owned a house on Albemarle Street, and NSP is where the author puts it also. The author did go to Erie, and lives in St. Paul, among other places. He did work in 1966, at Malibu Iron, and the job he described he did do, the shifting of the iron weights that is, as a youth, back in 1966, the time this story actually takes place.

The robbery was an experience the author had while in Minnesota, as well as acquiring Poison Oak, in San Francisco, and meeting the movie star type woman with the red hair.

The rat, it was kind of a pest more than a pet he had in Lima, Peru, in his garden, somehow he got into the story, he’d actually peek his head out of his hole in the mornings and look at the author, unafraid, and his wife, Rosa, poisoned the poor little fellow (should we call Animal Right’s on her?).

He has walked through some cornfields, and fell to sleep once in a carrot field of all places, and when he was a youth, he lived near the train tracks, and he’d hear the train in the evenings and mornings, and so when he wrote this story, he could hear of course those trains as clear as Elvis’s “Hound Dog.”

He was married a few times, and so Shannon has a little of the author in him, in all directions you might say: does he not?

The author did attend Washington High School, graduate class of 1965. And he has been to many fish markets, from Seattle to Germany, and even in Peru, but never did he find one in Erie, sorry about that.

And this amnesia thing came to his attention when he was in his counseling career, in the 1990s, while working for a Federal Agency. Besides all that, such cases were part of his studies, and felt it fitting to add to the story; in one original case, a man did end up in Germany, not knowing how he got there, from the United States. So he figured what the heck, it fits well into his parody of sorts.

If anyone was a drunk in his lifetime, it was the author, he was a professional drunk, in that, amateurs get sick, and he never did. He started drinking at fifteen, stopped at thirty-six, as of this writing, he has been sober for twenty-five years, and he gives that to the glory of God.

He lived in San Francisco, back in 1968-69, likewise. And he once had a friend, Mike Rossert, whom he used to scale the second story building knock on his window, and be let in by Mike, and they’d go about their way, like Shannon often did with Poggi.

The author puts in a scene with Poggi and the dog, and Poggi with a pipe, a reflection of the author’s days living with his grandfather.

The author mentions, Fay Wray, perhaps because he once met her, and he loves the movie, “King Kong,” the original.

There was a man the author knew in Alabama, back in 1977. He stopped drinking when he was forty, he said it was the worse thing he ever did, but he had to keep a job, and pay the rent on his house, and when he turned 62-years old, after his kids grew up and moved out, and he got his pension, and SSAN, at which time he started back up drinking, his wife left him then. The truth being, he waited for twenty years to drink again, that was always on his mind, like Shannon’s Cornfield you might say, and I suppose Shannon’s wife, who was his drinking companion, did not want to return to that life, whose to say. On the other hand, perhaps like the author’s friend’s wife back in 1977, once he started back up drinking, she flew the coop for the same reason. In any case, he returned to drinking as if he never had stopped, and died four years thereafter.

Source by Dennis Siluk Dr.h.c.

Enjoy the Best Wine Tasting Tours in Long Island

Do you want to try out some of the best wines in the country? Or find out more about the way in which wine is being made? If you are a fan of going on interesting and out of the ordinary tours which allow you to get a sense of a region in a more complex and creative way, then why not go on one of the beautiful Long Island winery tours? Enjoy the best atmosphere and see first hand how wine is being made right at its source! Long Island is renowned for being home to a large number of vineyards, such as the Macari Vineyards and Winery, Waters Crest Winery or the gorgeous Lieb Family Cellars. In case you did not know this, there has been a long lasting tradition for wine making in this area and Long Island is one of the most visited regions as a result of this impressive legacy. As a matter of fact, the area has even earned its nickname as the Long Island Wine Country, thanks to the large number of vineyards and the continuous expansion of the touring industry related to them. However, if you really want to enjoy this experience to the maximum, then why not choose a different and somewhat unexpected means of transportation through this vast and lavishing region? One of the latest trends in the field of travelling and especially applied to the tours offered in Long Island to places such as the Palmer Vineyards or Bedell Cellars is the luxurious travel in large deluxe limousines.

Think about it, why rent a car like you always do when you can go on a totally different tour and see the remarkable sights in the area from the comfort of a luxury limo which fits all your friends? Go on a different kind of trip and take one of the limousine wine tours in Long Island! All you need to do is find a reputable and trustworthy provider with a great fleet of cars and you can immediately enjoy the best experience travelling and visiting through the “Long Island Wine Country”! A luxury limo service offers cars ranging from SUV limos to Lincoln Super Stretch Limousines and Lincoln Town Cars. If you want you can even choose one of the Stretched Cadillac Escalade Limousine or a Yukon XL, this is how varied and extraordinary their choice of vehicles is. Ask your driver to take you to all of the most renowned sights of the region.

You can begin your visit at the Ternhaven Cellars or the Wolffer Estate and go down Long Island through the Pugliese Vineyards, Corey Creek Vineyards and Jamesport Vineyards before you reach the Laughlin Vineyards in the south of the region. Do not forget to pay a visit to the Castello di Borghese Vineyard and Winery if you really want to enjoy the experience to the maximum. Get the best of Long Island by visiting its impressive vineyards and wine making facilities! The best way to enjoy this amazing realm is to rent a luxury limo from a professional limousine service which also organizes specific tours of the region, including the vineyards, visits to special hosting events or live entertainment facilities.

Source by Groshan Fabiola

5 Great Wine Bar Franchises

Do you enjoy the atmosphere that surrounds a great wine bar? Have you ever thought that you would like to own your own wine bar? If you desire to succeed in your own business, here are 5 great wine bar franchises to help you get started!

1. The Wine Loft

Wine Bars are the up and coming business today, having come into their own from being part of a full scale restaurant. The Wine Loft is one of the best wine bar franchises available. Originally opened in 2003, they are growing in popularity every day, and franchises are expanding quickly. With its cozy atmosphere and laid back, no hurry attitude, wine bars are the new image of the pubs of the past. They provide a comfortable, friendly environment for people to get together. The Wine Loft has taken advantage of this attitude and created a very simple yet profitable franchise opportunity.

2. Wine Not International, Inc.

Providing franchisees with a complete training program in wine knowledge and running a wine bar, Wine Not International, Inc. is here to make you a success. Begun in 2002, they are aggressively expanding across the United States and Canada. Wine Not International is especially looking for women to franchise their business. Financing is available through the Small Business Administration. If you have ever thought of running your own place, they would love to talk to you.

3. PJ’s Coffee and Wine Bar

Begun in New Orleans, PJ’s has been a local favorite since 1978. They began franchising the business in 1989, and have gained a steady following since that time. They have recently ramped up their wine bar franchises and are looking for those who want to go into business. PJ’s serves a large variety of wines and desserts to go along with their coffees.

4. Bar Louie

Quickly carving out a unique niche in the wine bar franchises industry, Bar Louie is designed to be the neighborhood gathering place. It appeals to a wide demographic, while still providing a warm, welcoming environment. Bar Louie’s offers a great casual dining experience and also provides a children’s menu. Originally opened in 1991 in the River North neighborhood of Chicago, they have become a very popular business. One you will be glad to be a part of.

5. The Grape

The Grape offers franchisees everything you need to run an efficient and profitable business. You will be given a protected territory and full support to make your business a success. Along with an effective marketing plan and copyrighted products, the Grape has a very professional managerial program to make sure your business will take advantage of all marketing and sales opportunities. Definitely a business you want to check out.

Source by Edward Dean

Coffee, Wine, Weed & Health

The past few weeks have included buzz-worthy info on coffee, wine, weed and health. The three stimulants can be addictive, enjoy a robust retail market (weed in limited states) and may have health benefits. My clients and readers of this blog know my mantra-“There is no one thing that is all good or all bad and moderation is the key.” Though the research on the three is still a work in progress, the following is a brief overview of how they can impact your health.


According to the Statistic Brain Research Institute, 54 percent of Americans over the age of 18 drink coffee daily and 65 percent of these drinkers are consuming the coffee during breakfast hours. The key component associated with coffee consumption is caffeine. Coffee is a stimulant that can improve mood, increase energy and cognitive function. When coffee is consumed, caffeine is absorbed in the bloodstream, and travels to the brain where it blocks a neurotransmitter. This blocked neurotransmitter leads to a stimulant effect, thus people may feel more alert, energetic and positive, with improved cognitive functions.


I’m a wine enthusiast and I enjoy drinking wine in moderation. U.S per capita consumption of wine is approximately 3 gallons, much less than in other countries. Wine does have benefits for heart health, reduced risk of cancer and long-term depression. Red wine is high in antioxidants which are linked to heart health and reduced blood pressure. One of the antioxidants that has been touted recently is resveratrol. Although resveratrol is still being studied, this antioxidant in red wine is thought to protect blood vessels, reduce LDL (Bad) cholesterol and prevent blood clots.

White wine also has positive effects on heart health as a result of the antioxidants found in the wine grapes. There has also been early research which links drinking two to three glasses of champagne a week to the prevention of brain disorders such as dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. Now a glass of bubbly is always a good thing, however, note this research continues in search of definitive proof.


Still considered taboo in many circles, weed, aka marijuana, may also have health benefits. One-fifth of Americans live in states where marijuana is legal. The label medical marijuana refers to the use of the whole, unprocessed marijuana plant or its extracts to treat symptoms of illness and other conditions. The U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) has NOT approved the marijuana plant as medicine. However the FDA has approved the scientific study of chemicals in the plant called cannabinoids, which have led to two FDA-approved medications that contain cannabinoid chemicals in pill form.

To date research by the National Institutes of Health has focused on two cannabinoids-THC and CBD. CBD is a cannabinoid that does not create a “high.” Findings indicate that THC can stimulate appetite and reduce nausea which can be beneficial to patients undergoing chemotherapy. Researchers continue their work and are conducting preclinical and clinical trials with marijuana and its extracts to treat symptoms of illness and conditions of diseases that affect the immune system including HIV/AIDS, Multiple Sclerosis (MS), pain, inflammation and seizures.

This post is a brief overview of trending topics on coffee, wine and weed. These subjects will continue to be of interest and the upcoming California Wine and Weed Symposium will certainly be a catalyst for more conversation.

Take Away: There may be undiscovered health benefits with coffee, wine and weed in the future, however my caveat is to make wise choices and moderation is essential.

Source by Michelle J Stewart

Book Review: The Slaves of Solitude, by Patrick Hamilton

Alfred Hitchcock fans may know of the work of British novelist and playwright Patrick Hamilton through the director’s experimental film, Rope (1948). Hamilton is also famous for another play turned film, the mystery-thriller Gaslight (1944). While these plays and films gave Hamilton considerable fame and fortune, he also wrote many well-regarded novels.

The Life of Working Class Britain

The Slaves of Solitude (1947) was written between 1943-1946, when the writer was in his early forties and a fully blown alcoholic, apparently downing three bottles of whisky a day. This no doubt explains the long time the novel took to write. In style and insight, The Slaves of Solitude is perhaps closest to George Orwell’s non-political fiction of the late 1930s, such as Keep the Aspidistra Flying (1936) and Coming Up For Air (1939). Whereas Orwell’s fictional voice remains fairly cheerful despite his resignation to life’s slings and arrows, Hamilton maintains a gloomier, more morbid outlook. The Slaves of Solitude ends with its main character, Miss Roach, tossing and turning in bed, needlessly worrying herself over fairly inconsequential details, with the narrative voice crying “God help us, God help all of us, every one, all of us”.

Like Orwell’s non-political fiction, Hamilton provides a realistic insight into the humdrum life of Britain’s working classes, their struggles and personality clashes. As does Orwell, Hamilton provides a convincing cultural landscape of ordinary Britons, their food, drink, popular entertainments and living arrangements. (Norman Collins’s sprawling 1945 novel London Belongs to Me is also an excellent example of this type of snapshot of the English during wartime).

The plot is essentially built around a series of personality clashes, exacerbated by the close living circumstances of a boarding house, called the Rosamund Tea Rooms. Enid Roach, who works in London in the publishing business, is staying in Thames Lockdon, a suburb some twenty-five miles out of the city centre. Staying in the boarding house is one Mr Thwaites, a man approaching old age who has taken upon himself the job of being a thorough annoyance to all. To try and improve her social situation at the boarding house, to get an ally on side really, Miss Roach suggests to a friend / acquaintance that she move into the Rosamund Tea Rooms. This friend is the German Vicki Kugelmann. Vicki is quick off the mark and approaches Mrs Payne, who runs the boarding house, and manages to get a place there.

Miss Roach should be delighted, but is more put off by what she sees as Vicki’s effrontery. Things go from bad to worse as the analytical and impatient Miss Roach finds fault after fault with Vicki’s character and fast-track temperament. In short she thinks Vicki is pushy and a crass bon vivant, a tasteless flirt that pushes all of Miss Roach’s wrong buttons.

Added to this psycho-drama is the American solider, Lieutenant Pike. He’s a good time Charlie as well, described by Miss Roach as ‘inconsequential’, meaning vague about himself and what drives his emotional life. This last matter is of especial interest to Miss Roach, as Pike has professed a romantic interest.

Miss Roach is your typical no-nonsense English woman, always concerned about propriety and being decent (she’s no prude though), simply trying to find out what Lieutenant Pike’s actual intentions are. This is made notoriously difficult by Pike’s constant flirtations with other women, Vicki Kugelmann included.

Hamilton’s Prose a Joy to Read

The Slaves of Solitude is a joy to read, its prose wearing like a deep, comfortable chair. The structure of the novel is beautifully realised, with all the various characters and incidents seamlessly interlocking together. There’s not a loose end in sight. The novel absorbs the reader deeper and deeper as the inward lives of its characters (especially Miss Roach) are slowly revealed in all their complexity. It’s amazing how true to life Hamilton’s story is today, sixty years after it was first written. It perfectly illustrates every annoying little habit or insipid utterance that people make when we are forced into some type of confinement with them – be it work, family or other obligatory social situation.

In the end, Miss Roach’s problems are personality problems. She is the over sensitive type who must roll things over a thousand times in her head, trying desperately to sift out the meaning from the pointless chatter and noise of daily life. Or as Hamilton writes after one of the novel’s memorable episodes, “Such were the psychological accidents, errors, and complications which governed a person’s movements and destiny.” What Patrick Hamilton achieves with The Slaves of Solitude is a faithful and lucid account of what that state of consciousness is like to live with. This is a novel that many may find quite close to the bone!

The Slaves of Solitude, by Patrick Hamilton. Published by Constable. ISBN: 978-1-84529-415-1

Source by Chris Saliba

Fixing Wine Stained Lips and Teeth After Red Wine

Most people have been in this somewhat embarrassing situation before: they’ve had several glasses of red wine-Merlot, Cabernet, take your pick-and the evidence is all over their teeth and lips. Whether enjoying an evening glass at home or while eating out with some friends, people don’t require anything special to rid themselves of wine-stained teeth or lips. A few easy fixes-and some solid preparation-can mean having your cake and eating it too, or, better yet, having your red and drinking it too.


If someone notices they have red teeth as well as red, wine-stained lips, it is likely the byproduct of the wine’s pigments clinging to the plaque on the teeth’s surface, so the easiest fix would be to remember to brush before partaking. It’s also essential to brush your teeth before drinking because wine is very acidic. Enough exposure to the acid in such drinks can wear enamel down, therefore making teeth susceptible to tooth sensitivity or decay. Vigorously brushing to rid teeth of stains could cause further damage, so opt for a soft-bristled brush after a night out.

Additionally, when lips are dry, it’s more likely for them to become stained from red wine as dry lips will absorb more moisture from whatever a person’s drinking, which might manifest as flaky, red lips. Before drinking, take a moment to exfoliate the lips using a clean, dry toothbrush, some water with baking soda mixed in, or a towel for ridding the lips of its dry skin. From there, use a quality lip balm for hydrating the lips, which should lessen the likelihood of stains.

During Drinking

Admittedly, it may not exactly be a refined way of enjoying red wine, but it could at least protect the lips from stains: use a straw, so that the wine bypasses the lips altogether. In case you’re in a restaurant and feel uncomfortable requesting a straw, just ask your waiter for a wine spritzer or a mixer in a tall glass rather than a standard wine glass.


For those in public who notice their lips have stained already, they can ask for a lime or lemon wedge with their drink. It’s easy to discreetly bite into the citrus using the lips, and the high amount of acidity can help dissolve the leftover stains from the wine. If the lime or lemon juice touches the teeth, swish some water around in the mouth to keep the acid from lingering on the teeth’s enamel.

For those who notice they have red lips, there is always embracing the color by making it appear intentional. A fast onceover with some lip balm could add enough shine so the red color looks like gloss rather than wine residue. There is also keeping clear gloss inside a purse to avoid any further embarrassment from wine-stained lips.

Source by Gerald McConway

Children’s Books Will Never Die

Page Turners In An Android World

It was really not that long ago, young kids would sit in classrooms, wearing uniforms, not talking, sitting straight, hairs cut, eyes wide, and minds on; reading ancient text books fearful of the ever watchful eye of their dark overlord guardian/teacher/mentor. To breathe a word out of line warranted violent abuse and to be late or not properly dressed resulted in hospitalisation. The idea of pageless books was mere science fiction.

To be an author was to drown one’s self in whisky and cigarettes over a second hand typewriter looking out through a rain-soaked window contemplating the deepest chasm of human emotions. It was to lose sleep over characters, scrolling encyclopaedia-like adventure series’.

These were the days before kids could flip through online flip-books on their android whilst catching the bus to school, before stringing two clever sentences together on reddit made you a genius wordsmith and before sharing stories could be done with one simple click.

Children still crave adventure, kids still seek fiction, and fun, fantasy and escape from this world, but other means of obtaining such content have emerged from the muck in the same way God created Eve from the ribs of Adam. Media platforms never cease to expand, becoming ever smaller, ever faster and ever easier for us to simply zone out from reality. You can now even read flip-books for babies online.

Nonetheless, a peculiar phenomenon has bubbled to the surface of the shallow mindless future we call the present. Books, in particular children’s books, have not only stayed the course. They have been swimming through the digital age as if on a cloud of immortality, taunting technology with the distinguished silence of a twice-bitten cow.

According to various online sources, sales of hard and soft cover fiction novels are holding strong against their electronic counterparts. And whilst e-books are famously known for being easier to access and cheaper, a majority of respondents agree that reading the actual physical copy of a book is far more pleasurable.

But why? Has digital reached its maximum infiltration into our lives? Are people retreating from the intrusion of e-spying? Or do people simply prefer the texture of ink and paper? The smell of new pages? The beauty of these questions is that each person will answer differently.

There will always be a place for digital books, taking on great easy-to-use platforms such as iPads and Kindles. Budding entreprenuers can even make extra pocket money selling other authors books via affiliate networks, allowing customers to bypass actual stores.

However the best place for a nose to be (according to most avid readers) will always be buried between the covers of a fresh smelling page turner of a tale. The product is the same, regardless of if it was purchased online or from a bookstore.

The Proof Is In The Pudding.

The exciting part about all this hoo-ha and ramble is that pieces of literary classic and fiction are not being lost, rather, preserved. Roald Dahl is still the king of telling weird wonderful and wacky adventures, newcomers to the scene such as J.K. Rowling are amassing fans worldwide through physical hardcopies of their stories.

As for the days of concentration camp schools, where education came second to discipline, will the opposite of our generation be paying for the switcheroo of the later and former in the future? That is for the hourglass. All that should be important is the smile on a kids face, lost in adventure.

Source by Rob Towner

One Of My Favourite Quick Pasta Recipes

Quick Pasta Recipes are very popular with many people, perhaps because of the little effort, low-cost, and variety of dishes you can turn out. The dish below is one of my favourite quick pasta recipes.

Quick Pasta Recipes are regarded by many as great dishes to prepare as they have many advantages. firstly, the low-cost, you can easily prepare a delicious lunch time meal or dinner for your family that costs next to nothing, but is still impressive, filling, and tasty. The simplicity of these dishes also works in their favour. Easy pasta dishes are also useful to people involved in sports, as pasta has the ability to release energy slowly, which is useful in gym sessions or endurance sports.

Flour, eggs, and water are the main ingredients in pasta, you could even make your own pasta if you desired! Pasta comes in many varieties, containing fillings like meat or tomatoes, by including spices and herbs, pasta even comes in a variety of colours by adding dye, this is mainly done for presentation.

There is also many different varieties of pasta that are used in different dishes. Such varieties are noodles, which can be used in soups or stir fries, flat wide sheets wich are used in dishes like Lasagne, spaghetti which is used in many italian dishes like Bolognaise, and there are many other different shapes and sizes! Such as Macaroni Cheese, there are also different types of fresh and dried pasta too. All of these different pasta provide different tastes and characteristics, and can be used by anyone to make simple delicious meals. An incredibly simple tuna pasta salad recipe:

What you’ll need to prepare this dish for 2 people:

-Can of tuna
-Sliced cucumber
-Rocket leaves
-1 chopped pepper
-8 halved cherry tomatoes
-Few spoonfuls of salad cream

Here’s the easy part:

-Follow the packets instructions to cook the pasta the way the want it (firm or soft)
-When the pasta is cooked, mix it with everything else and stir well
-Yes it’s that simple!

There you have it! An easily prepared, tasty meal for 2.

Source by Robbie JK Jones

Laksha Chicken Recipe

Here is a hot and spicy noodle soup, which is great, as in one cup of flour makes it special. It is widely served in five star hotels all around the world. It is Served as a starter.

Ingredients needed for this recipe:

Chicken breast, cut into strips 500 grams, 1 inch piece of ginger, 3-4cloves garlic, 4 shallots, lemon grass stalk, chopped 1 inch piece of two-, sesame oil (til oil) 3 tablespoons, 3 cups of chicken stock, fresh red chilies, seeded and 2 sliced, 1 teaspoon curry powder, salt to taste 100 g snow peas, black pepper powder to taste, lemon juice, 1tablespoon coconut milk 1 / 2 cups noodles, cooked 1 cup scallions,sliced 2-3, cucumber, sliced 1 medium, fresh cilantro, 1 tablespoon chopped fresh mint leaves, chopped 1 tbsp lemon juice, 2 half.

Preparing method for Laksha Chicken Recipe

Grind ginger, garlic, shallots and lemongrass paste.Heat with two tablespoons of sesame oil in a large frying pan or wok and fry chicken over high heat until golden brown. Drain on absorbent paper.
Heat the remaining oil in same skillet, add ground paste and fry until fragrant. Add chicken broth, red pepper slices and stir.
Add snow peas and curry powder, salt and pepper powder and mix again.
Mix the lemon juice and coconut milk and bring to a boil. To serve, place cooked pasta on individual bowls and add the chicken, scallions, cucumber, chopped fresh coriander and mint.
Pour hot soup over, say half a lemon on the rim of bowl and serve immediately.

Preparation Tips for this recipe:
1. Preparation time: 10-15 minutes
2. Servings: 4 people
3. Cooking time: 15-20 minutes

Source by Tom Schavo