If we wanted to do something out at the capital city of Tashkent (S.Hrg.108-450)

After an overnight flight spent restlessly tossing on the worn padding of an Uzbekistan Airways flight to Tashkent, I knew I would need some excitement to get me through the day. The Uzbek capital is no London and lacks the lights of Las Vegas, and unlike New York, the city definitely sleeps. But we found plenty to do to keep me awake.

Generally, I wouldn't pick a tennis match as the best offense against jet lag, but I didn't want to pass up the chance to see the Davis Cup, the World Cup of tennis (left). After all, it's not every day you get front-row seats to watch two national teams face off. Americans Steve Johnson and Steve Querrey defeated Uzbeks Denis Istomin and Farrukh Dustov in three straight sets: 6-3, 6-2, 6-2 (right).

 

It was fun to hear some shouts of "U-S-A," but in the end, I didn't fly six hours to revel in American culture, so we struck out to see the achievements of Uzbekistan. A main source of Uzbek pride is Tashkent's TV Tower, the highest in Central Asia (left). From its observation deck, we could see -- but not photograph -- the entire city, including the old Muslim quarter. Right at the entrance to the quarter sits Kukeldash Madrassah, next to the Khodja Akhrar Mosque (right). Within the quarter lies Mui-Mubarak Madrassah, which houses the world's oldest Koran; unfortunately, we didn't stumble across the right madrassah to catch sight of the holy text.

Uzbeks are also proud of their national hero, perhaps best known as Tamerlane. The Mongol conqueror was born near Samarkand, but many cities pay homage to him, such as the statue in Amir Temur Square, adjacent to the Palace of International Forums, or International Congress Hall of Uzbekistan (top). From the square a promenade extends to one of the many well-maintained parks in the city (bottom left). It's difficult to decide which are more impressive: the carefully tended roses or the colorfully illuminated fountains, especially the one in front of Navoi Opera and Ballet Theater (bottom right).

The city gives off a good impression, but the countryside has its charms as well, as we saw on our way to Ugam-Chatkal National Park. When we weren't waiting for sheep herds to cross the road (left), we were steering clear of overloaded sedans (right).

Despite all the obstacles, eventually we made it to the mountains. Our car took us halfway up the heights, then we rode the rest of the way on Beldersay Cable Car (top left). At the end of the line, we got a great view of Mount Chimgan (top right). We were rewarded with an even more expansive vista after we hiked up Kumbel Mountain (bottom).

From the top of our hike we also could see Charvak Reservoir (left), which looked so serene that we decided to drive down and find a place to picnic beside it (right). Our meal consisted of some meat and cheese that I brought in from London, along with some fresh bread bought at one of the many local markets, which I discuss in an another post.

Necessary to ensure our ability to recover and to move forward (Serial No. 110-110)

After his race, it was easier for TJ to return home via Milan, so we decided to spend the rest of the weekend lazing in Italy. We didn't want to recuperate in Milan itself, so I looked at cities along the train routes there and picked the Piedmont town of Domodossola. To get there we had to take the Mont-Blanc Express (left), whose observatory windows provided great views of the steep slopes the train clung to as it chugged along (right).

In Martigny, we had to change trains, so we decided to take a short break to explore the French city, which had a surprisingly Italian feel because of its Roman ruins. Without the altitude of Chamonix, the sun was quite searing, so when we passed by the tepidarium, I fleetingly wished it were still in operation (left). At the amphitheater, I found a spot in the shade while TJ ventured into the center of the gladiator circle (right).

Next door to the arena that once housed lions now sits the Musée et Chiens du Saint Bernard. I happened to spy a few of the beasts housed there, including Barry, named after a famous mountain dog (left). Another guardian of the mountain, Chateau de la Batiaz, can be spied from many spots downtown, high on its outpost above the city (right). 

Before boarding the train for the second leg of our trip, we got off our feet for a snack at Cafe du Commerce. Through the window from the patio, we watched the one-woman proprietor prepare our meat and cheese tasting board in a small kitchen (left). If not for the branded coasters and glasses, I could've thought we were escaping the heat in the back yard of someone's home (right).

The homey atmosphere continued once we found our hotel in Domodossola. We did have to stop for directions once, but only because our hotel, the Locanda Piemonte da Sciolla, was tucked away in a hidden little plaza, where at night it seats guests of its acclaimed restaurant (left). Our room overlooked the plaza, and when we arrived, daily life was still going on in Domodossola, with our neighbors using a pulley system to lift groceries up to their third-story home (right).

 

Our little plaza, Piazza Convenzione, was just a narrow walkway from the main square of the old city, Piazza del Mercato. While wandering around the old city, we stumbled upon Osteria Via Briona, which was offering some salty snacks during apertivo hour (left). From there, our explorations spiraled out from the center, but as night set in, we ended up back in the main square, for a nightcap of some Birrificio Balabiòtt craft beer at Sali e Pistacchi; TJ tried the Rabelott IPA, while I had the Sciura amber ale (right). 

The next morning, we started our day with breakfast at the hotel, which had a spread bigger than I have ever seen for an included meal: local cheese, warm bread, cured meat, fresh fruit, and homemade pastry (top left). Perhaps some of the ingredients were bought from stands set up right outside the hotel's front door (top right). The Saturday market spread throughout the streets, old and new, of the city, with different sections focusing on different goods, from housewares to haberdashery (bottom).

We wound through the market crowds on our way to Riserva Speciale Sacro Monte, a national park that contains the Sacro Monte Calvario, one of nine "sacred mountains" in the Piedmont and Lombardy regions listed on the UNESCO World Heritage List. The 17th-century sanctuary consists of a series of chapels dedicated to the 14 stations of the cross along a path winding up Mattarella Hill (left). At the top, through the ruins of the medieval Mattarella castle, one gets a stunning of view of the town within its mountain valley (right).

After a slow walk back down due to TJ's overworked knees, we found a seat at Nuova Bar del Corso, where we joined the locals in having some late-afternoon refreshment (left). We had planned to take off for Milan already, but we couldn't resist one last bit of leisure, with the omnipresent Aperol spritz, at a table on the bricks of the Piazza del Mercato at the entrance to Via Briona (right). 

I rode with TJ to Garibaldi station in Milan, where I dropped him off for his train to the airport, then I doubled back to Domodossola for one more night in Italy before I headed home myself. I treated myself to a romantic dinner for one at Trattoria la Motta, starting with an appetizer of ricotta with river trout essence (left). My main dish of the regional version of gnocchi was served up with a side of Spanish guitar (right). My meal ended with a pineapple sorbet, which left a pleasant taste in my mouth, just like Italy always does.

My wife and I travel a lot--I was hiking in the Alps (S.Hrg.108-234)

I found it funny that on our trip to France, where TJ would run 40 miles using the power of his own feet, we had to take four different forms of motorized transport to get there. Because our flight left early in the morning, we couldn't use the Tube, which opens at 5 a.m., to get to the airport. So we took a bus to a train station, from which we rode to the terminal where we would board our plane to Geneva; upon arriving in Switzerland, we hopped on a minibus to get to downtown Chamonix, which lies at the base of Mont Blanc (left). The Arve River runs through the town (right), which attracts outdoorsy types of all kinds: climbers, skiers, and paragliders, to name a few.

We knew we had some walking ahead of us to get to our hostel, but we certainly didn't expect to be wandering around as much as we did. Based on the address from our booking, we headed toward the adjacent town of Les Praz (left). We wandered around the streets close to the town's central chapel based on the directions from our booking. But nothing got us to the right place, so a kind stranger looked up our place on her phone. Luckily, we were only a short walk away from the destination shown on her screen. However, we were too early for our prearranged check-in meeting, so we stopped for some beers at Hotel Eden, which had a good backdrop of Mont Blanc -- by eye and by telescope (right).

When the check-in time arrived, no one was to be found at our place -- or what we thought was our place. We decided to wait another hour and try again, in case there was some confusion about the time difference. Still no one was around, so we started hunting for help at nearby properties. We stumbled upon an unlocked room, which we thought might be ours, so we started charging our own phones in an attempt to contact the number listed on our booking. That cell number didn't work (because the owner was running in a 75-mile race at the time, as we later found out). As we continued to try to track down someone, the people staying in the room next door got spooked and called the owners of their place. 

The owners responded with shock yet sympathy when they found us trespassing on their property. Luckily, they knew the purveyors of our actual hostel, and we finally managed to make contact. We were so far off track that our host picked us up to drive us to Runner's Refuge. As it turns out, there are two properties named Runner's Refuge on two different streets of the same name. Despite all the runaround -- well, walkaround -- I preferred ours: a classic chalet rented out as a whole house during the winter skiing season but broken up hostel-style for the summer running season (left). Our room had a great view of the surrounding mountains and hot tub, which we unfortunately didn't have time to use (right).

 

We had to scramble off to find some supper for TJ, so he could get to bed at a reasonable time in order to get adequate rest before catching a 5 a.m. bus to his Ultra-Trail du Mont-Blanc race. Because of the series of five runs happening over the long weekend, every place was packed with race participants and fans, but we managed to get two pies from Pizzeria des Moulins before it started turning away customers because the chef suffered a severe burn (left). TJ didn't get as much sleep as he should have, but somehow he managed to get everything ready in time for the OCC (right).

The O in the race name stands for Orsieres, the sleepy little Swiss town where the race started. Everything in the town seem slow-paced, even the river bisecting the center right next to the main square (top left) and the woman cheering on the racers from her balcony (top right). But it definitely woke up and sped up when the runners streamed out of town along its narrow streets (bottom left). I was absolutely astounded that among the throngs I was able to spy TJ heading out (bottom right).

The first C in the race name stands for Champex, a Swiss ski resort. There was a rest stop in the town, but it was only 5 miles from the start, so even if I had rented a car, I would've been hard-pressed to beat TJ there, considering the winding uphill roads. Instead, I opted to follow TJ by way of the fan bus, whose first stop was in Trient. While I waited on the walls atop the hill of the Swiss town (top left), with a pretty pretty princess pink chapel behind me (top right), I took in views of the entire Trient Valley (bottom).

 

The town was at the 14-mile mark, so I had time to enjoy some apple cake and coffee as I watched the leaderboard from the concessions tent (left). I didn't linger there long, though, because I was worried I would miss TJ pass. As soon as the leaders came through, I settled into a good vantage point, where I could see him climb the stairs up to the rest stop (right).

Seven miles later, in another country, I found a perfect picnic table where I could eat my sausage and frites (top left) while keeping an eye on the precarious path down into Vallorcine, France (top right). It felt very strange not to have anything else to do but watch the runners come by. Usually, I crew TJ by trading out supplies along the way, but this race didn't allow any outside assistance besides that provided by the event, so all I could do was watch as he re-laced his shoes (bottom). I was even a little scared that giving him a good-luck kiss as he headed out for the final stretch would get him disqualified.

The final stretch was the longest. Not only were there 19 miles left, but TJ had to climb to La Flegere before descending to the finish line, which we had checked out the previous day (top). I could've tried to take a cable car to meet him at the top of his last ascent, but it was likely that the lift would stop running before I had a chance to get back down -- and I wasn't geared up for a steep downhill run. But I did, literally, run back to our hostel to pick up a bag of goodies with which to greet TJ at the end in Chamonix, the final C of the race (bottom left). After a few post-race snacks, I snapped a shot of TJ posing as a mountain guide at the Maison de la Montagne (bottom right). After all, he had conquered quite a few mountains that day.

To toast TJ's achievement, we headed to Micro Brasserie de Chamonix, so we could try some more of the microbrewery's offerings. After drinking the Blanche des Guides at the Hotel Eden the previous day, I decided it one of the best wheat beers I had ever had. The Biere du Inois amber ale at the hotel as well as the Plato Belgian blonde and Magnum IPA at the restaurant were equally delicious. We over-ordered two burgers, one beef and one lamb, along with a big bowl of poutine on the side, so we had to save half of the sandwiches (along with some leftover slices from our pizzeria meal) for the next day (left). To toast my encouragement, TJ graciously gave me the medallion from Chocolatier 4810, which the hostel gave us to make up for our trials and tribulations of finding the place. Oh, did I mention they didn't charge us for one night's stay? So really, I'd say we won this vacation all around -- and it was only half over.