32 Search Results for ""old quarter""

• Souvenirs of France - Paris Souvenirs of France - Paris

  • From: jhickey
  • Description:

    I love the word, "souvenir," which, in French it means "memory."

    I have visited France in every season of my life, so my life is full of souvenirs of France. As a three year old, I admired the sparkling Eiffel Tower from my father's arms on a stopover on our way to my war-bride mother's native Casablanca. The summer I was 17, my parents rented an apartment in Nice so that we could spend time with family. Typical recalcitrant teen that I was, homesickness overshadowed the beauties of France. Nonetheless, the fountains of Versailles still sometimes flood my mind.  I pouted as we traveled from Paris to cloudy Normandy, through the chateaux of the Loire Valley, down to Provence and the Riviera. Once there, the company of my cousin and the sunshine of the Cote d'Azur slightly assuaged the lack of my boyfriend back home.

    As a newly married navy wife, I followed my husband's ship, backpacking a one year old, while pushing his 3 year old brother in an umbroller stroller. Whenever the ship was in a port, so were we, but when it cruised, we went to my grandmother's in Nice. Most of my memories of that trip have to do with sore feet and parks! When our sons were teens, we were stationed in Italy, so I made several train trips to Nice and ferry rides to Corsica to visit family. Before returning stateside, our younger son and I retraced my teenage Paris-Loire Valley car trip and, thankfully, his attitude was the polar opposite of mine at the same age! I enjoyed being the tour guide and interpreter for him and his friend and their exuberance was contagious.

    Early in 2008, my husband and I invited our neighbors to travel with us to France in April. My aunt and cousin were living near the Pyrenees, so it was the opportune moment to visit an area we had never been. Everyone agreed that they wanted to begin in Paris, visit the beaches in Normandy, and travel south to visit my family. Neither my husband, nor our friends speak French, so, once again, I put on my travel agent/guide/interpreter hat and began to plan the itinerary. Using the internet as my primary tool, I plotted a viable route, analyzed airfares, researched various lodging and transportation options, scheduled tour sites, communicated with family and presented it all to my "party." When everyone concurred, I sealed the deals. One of the most critical parts of planning was determining what sites were open on which days, their locations and which passes were valid.

    When I had traveled with our son, we had our own car and no set schedule; our itinerary and routes were fluid. We either called ahead for reservations or simply picked out a nearby hotel from a guidebook when we arrived at a stopping point. This time, things were different! I was planning for 4 adults who had varying interests and who preferred some creature comforts, so everything was confirmed in advance. We had a lot of territory and many sites to cover in 11 days.  

    We landed at CDG early in the morning and were picked up by a limo service (often the most expedient when shared by 2 couples) which delivered us to the apartment in the Marais district  that we had rented (www.vrbo.com .) My companions kept repeating something about "forced march," but I ignored them as we set off for the Pompidou Centre (Modern Art.) There we purchased our 3 day Paris Museum Passes,  then ascended the escalators for a panoramic view of this incomparable city. My husband insists on going to the highest spot in any place we travel..come to think of it, my souvenirs of Paris are mainly high spots!...We walked over the Seine and on to Notre Dame for Quasimodo's perspective on Paris. We all agreed that we were in pretty good shape if we could climb all of those stairs (and descend them) on our very first day. Our only minor faux pas was to recuperate at a sidewalk cafe directly across from Notre Dame. We most definitely paid for the ambience! Note: to save euros, order a biere pression rather than a bottle. We returned to "our" neighborhood and, before retreating to our apartment, stopped into a local grocery to buy the essentials: wine and cheese...but mostly we wandered aimlessly due to jet lag and sticker shock. After a quick drink, the agenda called for an early dinner and then much deserved sleep!

    For us, the apartment was the perfect choice. It was safe, quiet, centrally located and had all of the modern conveniences, including internet connection (important for keeping in touch with our businesses and ailing family members) and satellite tv. We had our privacy at night, but could meet in the living room or kitchen to share meals and plan our excursions. The best meal we ate in Paris was one prepared in our own little kitchen!

    The next day we bought a carne of metro tickets and walked 2 blocks to the Bastille stop. We rode to the Tuileries and walked to the beautiful Orsay Museum. Holding Museum Passes allowed us to skirt the line and enter by a different door. This converted railroad station is incredible both for its architecture and its masterpieces. Being very partial to the Impressionist period, I was in Heaven! Though very crowded on that April Saturday, one could still get very close to see the details of Monet's and Cezanne's and Renoir's or sit on a bench admiring sculptures by ..... Getting a seat in the restaurant was a bit more problematic, but, doable with a little patience. After a light lunch, we emerged to a shower and blustery winds. We walked along the Seine toward the gold domed, Les Invalides, Napoleon's Tomb. Not being too interested in artillary, etc. (and having visited here with our son,) we girls headed up the street to the Rodin Gallery. If you only imagine "the Thinker" when Rodin's name is mentioned, then think again! Throughout the museum/Hotel de Biron and the gardens, are works that leave one in awe. My particular favorite was the group, "The Burghers of Calais," which commemorates the courageous acts of four men who attempted to save their city.

    Sunday was definitely not our day of rest! It began at the blessedly uncrowded and quiet Picasso Museum. Though as a young art history student I had disliked modern art, thinking it to be meaningless and fractured, I found that here and now, I had a new appreciation for Picasso's humor; for the "method in the madness!" For me, this experience was a sortof transformation of a souvenir. (We found the film of the artist at work to be particularly enlightening.)

    On our way to the Seine, we strolled by the shops of the Marais. Since this is a traditionally Jewish quarter, many shops are open Sunday and closed Saturday. We browsed the lovely window displays, bought small gifts and sampled olives, tapenade, nougat and other Parisien delicacies.

    We next made our way to the Palais de la Cite (Palace of Justice,) the residence of French kings from the 10th to 14th centuries. By now a rather long line of tourists had formed to gain entrance to the Sainte Chapelle within the walls. Built in the mid 13th c. to house Christian relics (pieces of Jesus' crown of thorns and cross,) the magnificent stained glass windows are the main attraction! 15 windows tell the story of God's plan for mankind from Genesis to Revelation. The Western Rose window depicts Christ's glorious return at the End of Times. Despite the many amazed visitors, there is a hush within the chapel and it was for me an experience like a silent mass. I was awed by the way these artists had used their talents to inspire and to bring glory to God. It was difficult to leave.

    We trekked on to another famous palace, the Louvre. So many galleries, so little time! It is important to set a time limit and to designate a meeting place! Since I had previously seen the Mona Lisa, I skirted the mob and went on to other Italian and French artists and Greco-Roman sculptors (Venus de Milo resides here.) When we emerged from the Pyramid, it was raining. It seemed as if we had drunk so much culture that we had lost the ability to speak! So we quietly set off toward the apartment to rest our weary eyes, minds, and feet.  

    REMEMBER: April in Paris usually means APRIL SHOWERS! Dress and wear shoes/boots accordingly!  

    Our last day in Paris, so we could not allow rain to deter us from our appointed sites. We dodged the rain as we made our way to the Champs Elysees (please pronounce properly - shaanzayleezay!) During an interlude, we stopped by a kiosk for a quick cafe and crepe, then sprinted up the broad boulevard. At the next downpour we took shelter in a sporting goods store (gifts for the grandchildren) and I spent a few moments with nose pressed to the windows of Cartier. At Napoleon's Arc de Triomphe, all the tourists huddled together attempting to stay dry despite driving winds. It was not exactly condusive to honoring the war dead. We did, however, manage to get some interesting photos - I particularly liked the juxtaposition of the Arc de Triomphe and the Arc de la Defense, the gateway to the modern business center of Paris.

    We straggled in what we figured was the direction of the Tour D'Eiffel and found a cozy Tapas Restaurant in which to dry our feet and assuage our hunger pangs. Once revived, we marched onward to the symbol of romantic Paris. Sadly, it was overcast and the price of ascension did not seem worthwhile....but, we made a plan to return at dusk to witness the light display. We made our way back to the river and boarded the BateauBus.

    I was anxious to visit Monet's Waterlilies displayed in the Orangerie, so our travelling companions, who had had enough water for one day, set off to shop for dinner ingredients, while Dan and I sought out Monet's paintings (be sure to check their hours as they are rather erratic.) The Waterlilies were painted to specification for this particular museum. The three galleries have curved walls which are completely covered by the paintings. Skylights allow the paintings to change with the light and time of day. I was entranced! I wanted to stay to see the lilies in every season, but alas.......

    I was the duty chef, so I quickly prepared the beautiful salmon filets that Bill and Joanne had bought and tossed together a few accompaniments. A loaf of French bread, a great bottle of wine, salmon and a happy company....c'est la vie!

    As soon as the dishes were cleared, we layered on clothes and socks and hurried to the metro. By the time we emerged near the Place de Trocadero, it was beginning to get dark and cooling down rapidly. We were able to get to the "front row seats" - the wall looking directly out at the Eiffel Tower. While we waited, we enjoyed taking photos of one another and conversing with other tourists - young, old and in between.  Finally, the magic moment arrived when the lights came on! We oohed and aahed for as long as our cold feet would let us and then decided to get another perspective and fit in one more site. By this time it was well after 10pm, but we hopped onto the metro and arrived in Mont Martre 30 minutes later. After another long uphill climb, we arrived at the monumental, white church of Sacre Couer, all lighted up. It was eerily beautiful as it reigned on the mountain top overlooking the city. We found the best vantage point to see the Eiffel Tower across town, but all agreed that Trocadero was a better one. We walked through the almost empty streets of Mont Martre, saw a few hardy artists, and agreed that, on another trip we would spend more time in this charming little enclave.

    Dan was up and out early to pick up the rental car, while we cleaned the apt. and staged the luggage. When the car arrived, we loaded up and placed our gps on the dashboard. "Mimi" our French chip would be our navigator from now on......Au revoir Paris, Bonjour Normandy!

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• Prague monuments and attractio Prague monuments and attractions, Czech republic trip tips

  • From: lejla06
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    PRAGUE CASTLE It is the largest medieval castle in Europe. Constructed in the 9th century by Prince Bořivoj, the castle transformed itself from a wooden fortress surrounded by earthen bulwarks to the imposing form it has today. Rulers made their own additions so there is a mixture of styles. The biggest development came in the 14th century, when the Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV. made the Prague Castle his residence and had the St. Vitus Cathedral built there. Habsburg emperor Rudolph II. added some buildings in Renaissance style in the 16th century. Then the rulers moved to Vienna. Prague castle has had four major reconstructions, but it keeps its classical facelift it took on in the 18 century during the reign of Maria Theresa. The Prague Castle became a seat of Czechoslovakian (and later Czech) presidents in 1918.

    St. Vitus Cathedral St. Vitus Cathedral is the largest and the most important church in Prague. Apart from divine services the coronations of Czech kings and queens also took place in it. The remains of provincial patron saints, sovereigns, noblemen and archbishops are interred here. The first stone was laid in the year 1344 in the reign of Charles IV. The first architect was Matthias of Arras, after his death Petr Parler took over and completed much of the structure in late-Gothic style. Over the following centuries renaissance and baroque details were added and the job was completed in 1929.

    The Old Royal Palace Dating from 1135 it is one of the oldest parts of the castle. It was the seat of Bohemian princes but from the 13th to the 16th century it was the king's palace.

    St. George Basilica St. George`s Basilica was founded about 920 by Prince Vratislav I.
    The present Romanesque apperance is from 1142. It is the best preserved Romanesque church in Prague, the fasade is baroque from the 17th century though. There are tombs of Přemysl royalty. The acoustics make it a good venue for classical concerts.

    Golden Lane Golden Lane is a very little street with nice little houses. They were inhabited by the castle servants, perhaps goldsmiths and the castle marksmen. In the 18th and 19th centuries they were occupied by squatters, later it was the home of the writer France Kafka (house 22) and the Nobel-laureate poet Jaroslav Seifert. Most of them are souvenir shops today.

    www.hrad.cz

    OLD TOWN SQUARE  The Old Town Square is the oldest and most important square of the historical Prague. It is surrounded with historical buildings such as the Old Town City Hall with the famous Astornomical Clock, St. Nicolas Church and Church of Lady before Tyn, and many houses and palaces of various architectural styles and colourful history. It has been a centre of Prague Old Town since the middle ages, when it was a market place at the crossing of European merchants´ roads.

    The Old Town City Hall It is a complex of buildings from various historical periods and a tower with the famous Astornomical Clock. The city hall was a center of Prague Old Town administration since the 14th century. King John of Luxembourg sanctioned building of the Old Town City Hall in 1338. The Old Town citizens bought a private Gothic house from Wolflin of Kamen for it. The 66 metres high tower was added in 1364.

    Astronomical Clock The medieval astronomical clock adorns the southern wall of the Old Town City Hall.It announces every hour with 12 apostles passing by the window above the astronomical dial and with symbolic sculptures moving aside. That makes it a popular tourist attraction.

    CHARLES BRIDGE It is in Gothic style, 516 m long, 9.5 m wide and supported by 16 massive piers. Both ends are fortified by towers and was the only bridge in Prague up to 19th century. Named after the Emperor Charles IV in 19th century the Charles Bridge is Prague's most familiar monument. Designed by Petr Parler, it was completed in 1400 and it connects the Lesser Town with the Old Town. Although it is now pedestrianised, it withstood wheeled traffic for 600 years. The magnificent Gothic Old Town Bridge Tower was designed by Petr Parler and built at the end of the 14th century. It is considered the finest Gothic tower in central Europe, mainly for its decoration.

    Old Town Bridge Tower The entrance gate to the Charles Bridge from the Old Town river bank, the most beautiful gate of the Gothic Europe was a masterpiece of the Court Buildingworks, it was finished before 1380. It is richly adorned with sculptures - coats of arms of the countries belonging to the Czech Crown under the reign of Charles IV, statues of St. Vitus, Charles IV, Wenceslas IV, St. Vojtech (Adalbert) and Sigmund.

    Lesser Town Bridge Towers The smaller tower - the romanesque one, a relic of the Judita's Bridge, was constructed in the 12th century. The higher one is 200 years younger (1464) and its late gothis architecture draws upon the Parler's Old Town Bridge Tower.

     

    JEWISH QUARTER Named after the emperor Josef II, whose reforms helped to ease living conditions for the Jewish, the Jewish Quarter contains the remains of Prague's former Jewish ghetto. There are two figures synonymous with this part of the city, Franz Kafka (1883 – 1924) and the mystical humunculus Golem created by Jehuda ben Bezalel, also known as Rabi Löw.

    Old Jewish Cemetery Founded in 1478, it is Europe's oldest surviving Jewish cemetery. People had to be buried on top of each other because of lack of space. There are about 12 layer and over 12,000 gravestones.

    Pinkas Synagogue Founded in 1479 by Rabbi Pinkas this synagogue was rebuilt many times over the centuries.

    Klausen Synagogue This Baroque synagogue was completed in 1694. There is a good exhibition of Hebrew prints and manuscripts, an exhibition of Jewish traditions and customs and also drawings of children from the Terezín concentration camp.

    Old New Synagogue Built around 1270, it is the oldest working synagogue in Europe and one of Prague's earliest Gothic buildings.

    Maisel Synagogue Built by Maisel the original Renaissance building was a victim of the fire in 1689. A new neo-Gothic synagogue has been built in its place.

    Spanish Synagogue Built in 1868 the Spanish synagogue was named after its striking Moorish interior.

    High Synagogue Its prayer hall is on the first floor, this synagogue was built in the 16th century and financed by Mordechai Maisel, mayor of the Jewish Town.

    www.jewishmuseum.cz, Prague 1, Josefov

    LESSER TOWN The Lesser Town was founded in 1257 on the slopes bellow the Prague castle and conected with Old Town by Charles Bridge.

    Church of Our Lady of Victory - the Prague Bambino An early baroque building from the year 1611, 1634 - 1669 rebuilt by the Carmelite Order. The church is world-famous thanks to the Prague Bambino - Infant Jesus wax figure (of the Spanish origin), which was presented to the church by Polyxena of Lobkowicz (1628). www.pragjesu.info, Karmelitska 9, Praha 1

    Loreta A remarkable place consisting of a cloister, the church of the Lord’s Birth, a Holy Hut and clock tower with a world famous chime that has been situated in Prague Hradčany for more than 300 years. www.loreta.cz, Loretanske nam. 100, Praha 1

    Powder Tower A monumental entrance to the Old Town built by Matej Rejsek in the gothic style in 1475. Once it served as a gunpowder depot. In the late 19th century it was rebuilt by J. Mocker. When the Royal family moved from the Royal Court in the Old Town back to the Prague Castle in 1488, the Powder Tower was left unfinished. Some building work was done in 1592, when the new spiral staircase was built.

    Na prikope, Praha 1

     

    Vysehrad  Ancient legends situate the original seat of the Czech princes - the legendary Princess Libuse and the first Przemyslides - on the hill. In fact, however, this fort had not been founded until the Prague Castle was already in existence, since it dates back to the mid-10th century. In the latter half of the 11th and in the 12th century Vysehrad used to be the Przemyslides princes' main residence which brought about a generous building activity within its walls. Among noteworthy sight there are the precious romanesque rotunda of St. Martin (interior only for groups announced in advance), the gothic church of St. Peter and Paul (in the late 19th century rebuilt in the neogothic style), the Vysehrad cemetery used as a burial site of the Czech outstanding personalilties since 1869 with a collective tomb called Slavin, the underground casemates housing the originals of several baroque statues from the Charles Bridge. The Vysehrad site is open the whole day. www.praha-vysehrad.cz, V pevnosti 159, Praha 5 Not only Prague! Cesky Krumlov ��" very popular destination. Its destination number 2 after Prague. Definitely not for one day trip only due there are lot of things to discover. Mainly during spring and summer season its very popular place to chill out, do rafting, horse riding and of course sightseeing.300 protected buildings in the historical centre designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the second largest castle complex in the Czech Republic, and the oldest Baroque theatre in the world.Ideal buget place for backpackers, many hostels in historical center.  http://www.ckrumlov.info      Kutna hora ��" perfect place for one day trip. Only one hour by train from Prague.900y old town with huge history and famouse Bone Church.  http://www.kutnahora.cz         Karlstejn Castle - High Gothic castle founded in 1348, which has a unique position among Czech castles. It was built by Czech King and Roman Emperor Charles IV as a place for safekeeping of the royal treasures, especially Charles's collection of holy relics and the coronation jewels of the Roman Empire.About 40min by train from Prague.  http://www.hradkarlstejn.cz           Terezin Memorial ��" the concentration camp located about 1,5 hour from Prague by bus.The key mission of the Terezin Memorial, the only institution of its kind in the Czech Republic, is to commemorate the victims of the Nazi political and racial persecution during the occupation of the Czech lands in World War II, to promote museum, research and educational activities, and look after the memorial sites connected with the suffering and death of dozens of thousands of victims of violence.  http://www.pamatnik-terezin.cz      Olomouc - the ancient town of Olomouc lies in the heart of the so-called Haná region. Its history dates back to the 10th century AD when it became an important trade crossing-point. It has the second most significant collection of historical monuments in the country after Prague. The second oldest university in the Czech lands was founded in Olomouc in the year 1573.Deffinitely not for daytrip. Its about 3hours by bus or train. You can find there hostel or buget accomodation like pensions.  http://www.olomouc.eu        For more go to prague central hostels

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• Hiking Laguna Quilotoa to the Hiking Laguna Quilotoa to the Black Sheep Inn

  • From: nadavena
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    Riding the Bus to The Black Sheep Inn, and the Hike from Laguna Quilotoa

    I travelled to Ecuador to visit my daughter, Sarah, while she was in the Peace Corps. For the short twelve days I was there we were able to visit three of the four geographical regions of Ecuador: the coast, the Andes, and the Amazon. This entry recounts our adventure while in the Andes.
    

    18 September, Chugchilan, Black Sheep Inn
    
    To describe the journey from Quito to here in Chugchilan, neither my words nor photos can suffice.
    
    Only yesterday, and a world away, on the beach in Muisne, America again cooked us a fantatastic breakfast of eggs with sauteed red onions, sliced avocados with grated cheese and sweet fried plantains. Excellent. We then walked to Sarah's apartment to finish packing her things. When we were done she hired a tricyclo (the preferred mode of travel in Muisne, as there are no cars) to haul her bags to the dock and ferry. Ali and I walked. On the way I stopped at la tienda to pay Sarah's account. We then took the ferry to the mainland and waited for Byron and America to drive us to el aeropuerto.
    
    When they arrived Byron noticed that someone had let the air out of one of his tires! I began to think we wouldn't make it to the airport, but Byron soon repaired it and we were on our way. We arrived with time to spare, said our thanks and good-byes and boarded the plane. Except, while going through security I realized I had forgotten to check my Swiss Army knife, and they pulled me aside and made me fill out a dangerous weapons form, and told me I could pick the knife up in Quito. Yeah, right, I thought, I'll never see that knife again. But, lo and behold, after we got our luggage in Quito, we were able to retrieve the knife. Yay! In the states I would have been interrogated, put on some watched persons list, missed my flight, and never have gotten the knife back.
    
    Soon after we arrived in Quito it began to lightly rain. We went up to our room at the hostal on the top floor, and the roof was leaking on to the bed. Sarah said she would sleep there, but I insisted we change rooms, which we did. So, in our new room Sarah went to take a hot shower, but that was impossible with cold water. She called the front desk and they said they would fix it. Next morning we did, indeed, have a hot shower.
    
    After we unpacked we went to an Argentenian steak house. I had filet mignon (twice as big as normal in the USA), Sarah had a bowl of chile, and we shared a bottle of wine. Magnifico! (I have not eaten so well while in Ecuador since I don't know when.) We then crossed the street to Papyanet where I called home. We then returned to the hostal and packed for the trip to the Black Sheep Inn.
    
    19 September, Black Sheep Inn
    
    Sunrise. I'm sitting at the desk in our room, and it looks like the sun is going to rise directly in front of our window. Sarah is still asleep.
    
    Yesterday in Quito, we awoke, had our hot showers, went to breakfast at the Magic Bean, and then took a taxi to Terminal Terrestre to catch the bus to Latacunga. The bus was nearly empty when we left, but made dozens of stops and detours, and I feared we would never make our connection in time, but we did. We had 30 minutes in Latacunga to walk 2 blocks in the rain to catch the bus to Chugchilan.
    
    The trip to Chugchilan by bus is long, but scenic. The bus climbed high into the Andes and the paramor where the indigenas live. Llamas, sheep, cattle, and donkeys are abundant, along with the women in their traditional hats and colorful ponchos. At every bus stop they get on the bus to sell exotic (to me) foods, especially varieties of corn and fruits. Finally, the bus reached the small town of Zumbahua, and turned down a dirt road towards Chugchilan. Most people in the USA would never take their car down such a road, mush less a bus. But they do in Ecuador; you can take a bus anywhere. It's fabulous!
    
    We arrived in Chugchilan about 4:00 p.m., and walked the half kilometer to the Black Sheep Inn, but it was the walk up the driveway that took our breath away, literally. It's 10,000 feet high, you know. Inside, Michelle, the co-owner, welcomed us and offered us a delicious cheese plate and cookies. Also there were 4 German girls who were in the hostal next door to us in Musne! The same ones that woke me up my first night there at 1:00 a.m. with their loud party. (This ia a story I neglected to write about earlier. It would take too long.)  Sebastian showed us to our room, another breathtaking climb above the main lodge. But it was worth it. Our view is heavenly.
    
    A little while later we were invited to watch a group of children from the area perform several dances accompanied with traditional Andean music, dressed in brightly colored costumes. The children privided an entertaining and relaxing way to end a long day.
    
    After a beautiful sunset we stumbled  back down to the lodge in the dark for another delicious vegetarian meal (I haven't had a bad one in Ecuador yet), and sat around and talked with all the other travellers. Later, we sat around a fire outside our room with our neighbors, Robin, Paula, and Harlan, and sang a few silly songs. I guess I finally went to sleep around 11:00, and with the wood stove, it was warm and cozy in our room.
    
    The Hike from Laguna Quilotoa, with Dogs
    
    Sarah and I caught a ride to Laguna Quilotoa with Robin, Paula, and Harlan. Thay had hired a driver to take them back to Quito. I offered to pay them $10 if they would drive us to Quilotoa. They took me up on my offer. WOO-HOO! I am forever grateful. This saved us from having to awaken at 4:00 a.m. to catch the 5:00 bus to Quilotoa. Now we could wake up at a normal time, eat breakfast, and leave around 10:30.
    
    We arrived at Quilotoa around 11:15. The village sits surprisingly close to the crater rim. You walk a short distance and  the crater and lake abruptly and stunningly appear. Caribbean nearly describes the various shades of blue and turquoise of the lake, but still they seem to be unique colors. It's also several hundred feet from the rim down to the lake. And you can hike the whole rim, but we chose to hike about a quarter of the way around and down a "trail" back to Chugchilan. It was extremely windy. Actually, there is no one trail, but several. Some going inside the rim, others out. Routefinding is a guessing game. It took us about an hour to find the trail down the outside of the crater to Guayama, the village on the way to Chugchilan.
    
    Near the base of the crater we heard a chainsaw. Some of the locals were cutting down pine trees and creating perfectly shaped planks or boards. A little further down the trail we came upon four children who asked us in Spanish if we would like to take a photo of them for $1.00. Sarah obliged. I was particularly impressed with one of the boy's hot pink Chicago White Sox baseball cap.
    
    Soon we approached the first houses on the trail, and I heard dogs barking. I remembered in our trail guide the Black Sheep Inn provided for us that it might be a good idea to carry a stick to fend off "aggressive" dogs. So I found one. And good thing, too, beacuse as we passed the house two dogs came running and barking at us. And kept running and barking at us, displaying their plentiful, big teeth. At least that's what I saw. I turned towards them and began walking backwards, with Sarah behind me, pointing the stick in the dogs faces. I was ready to use it but the lead dog backed off, and we were safe. Temporarily. We soon reached Guayama, where there were a couple more aggressive dogs, but as soon as you passed their territory they would retreat.
    
    I should mention the many indigenas we passed along the way, again dressed in their colorful, traditional clothing, all working on various projects, including improving the trail, both men and women.There was something very communal and cooperative about it. It was comforting to me to see.
    
    After a while, we reached Toachi Canyon, which we had to cross to reach Chugchilan. Where the trail began its descent into the canyon was a work party of indigenas, improving the trail, plus a large group of German tourists. Sarah hurried me to begin hiking down the trail before the Germans started, but some beat us to it. (There were German women peeing behind some trees, in full view of some locals' house, who were outside the house laughing as they watched the Germans crouch.)
    
    Soon we had passed all the Germans who had started down the trail before us, and were making good time when we came upon a landslide. I thought it must have just happened because sand and an occasional rock continued to fall from above, and the trail was wiped out. There was deep sand where the trial had been. Sarah wanted to cross anyway, but I told her no. I feared everything giving way just as she was trying to pass.
    
    Soon a German reached us and said it was time for "el guia" to do his job. When his Ecaudorian guide arrived, I gave him my dog stick, and he started across the slide area. A couple of times falling rocks nearly hit him as he poked with the stick into the sand that reached his boot tops. He helped one German across, then Sarah decided to go, then me. We left them there with my stick (big mistake) because the guide had 19 more people to help cross.
    
    We finally made it to the canyon bottom, crossed a stream and climbed the bank on the other side to have lunch under some eucalyptus trees. We were tired, hungry, and Sarah was a little cranky. I made fun of her because of it. I'd forgotten how she can be like that at times. She was funny.
    
    After eating and resting, we were refreshed and began the final climb to Chugchilan. Shortly after we started hiking, we smelled a dead animal, and Sarah soon came upon the source: a horse. Fortunately, we realized we were headed in the wrong direction and avoided having to go around the corpse.
    
    The trail went straight up, and we came to a house with another aggressive dog. We saw a boy coming down the trail and waited for him to pass the house. Sarah then asked him in Spanish if the dog would bite, and he said yes. He then asked us if we had any food, so Sarah gave him some popcorn leftover from lunch.
    
    We had no choice but to pass the house, but by the time we reached it the dog had disappeared. Perhaps the owner had brought him inside.
    
    The trail continued up. And up, and up. And straight up. Apparently the indigenas never heard of switchbacks, which I think explains their longevity: they have the strongest hearts in  the world. I slowly made it up, though, step by step. Sarah would have left me in the dust, literally, if she hadn't waited for me from time to time.
    
    School must have been let out by now, becuase soon small groups of girls began coming down the trail, all dressed in their hats, colorful skirts, kneehigh socks, and loafers, sucking on lollipops or popsicles. Some were more outgoing than others, but thay all seemed to be happy-go-lucky in their little "utopia" in the Andes.
    
    Finally, we reached Chugchilan and the Black Sheep Inn about 4:15. Not bad time, but Sarah probably would have made it an hour earlier if she hadn't had to wait for her old man so often. We got back to the room, took hot showers, and went back down to the main lodge to have a Pilsener, the national beer of Ecuador. Andres, the co-owner, asked if we wanted to play volleyball, but I was physically unable.
    
    At 6:00, I went back up to the room to watch the sunset, then back down at 7:00 for dinner and visiting with the other guests, which was down to 6, compared to the previous night's 19. Three Brits and three  Americans. We ate and drank wine until it was time for bed and a 3:00 a.m. wake up call!

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  • 2 years ago
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• The Sultanate of Oman: Dramati The Sultanate of Oman: Dramatic Art and its Survival

  • From: silviabeltramini
  • Description:

    In Arabia, where micro-phoned prayer calls could drown out the loudest of creative voices, it’s no wonder the arts are losing the struggle to be heard. I spent a summer working in Oman, a Middle Eastern country bordered by Yemen and Saudi Arabia. Until 1970, Oman was ruled by a xenophobic sultan, had few miles of paved road, only a handful of lower level schools, and was jointly governed by the dogma of Islam. With the overthrowing and exiling of his intolerant father, the present Sultan--Qaboos bin Said--pledged to build a new foundation of prosperity and stability, while opening the door to the rest of the world. In the quarter century that followed, the country experienced a renaissance that catapulted it from underdevelopment to a thriving and growing nation. The new era of progress no longer forbids creative expression. However within many families, old habits die hard.

     

    Although Oman is Muslim by all standards, and liberal in its Islamic views, liberalism by Western measures is shaded an entirely different color. I am a drama therapist raised by artists, residing in Los Angeles, who votes liberally. I am un-religious in the conventional sense and believe that all people should be given an environment in which to fulfill their creative potential. Does the image of a square peg and round hole come to mind? I’m exactly the kind of person who goes to the Middle East and does not fit in, or so I thought.

     

    Oddly enough what brought me to Oman, aside from my interest in Islamic culture, is theatre. In the mid 90's I co-founded 24«7 Theatre Company in New York City. My training in drama therapy, and work in the theatre, led to an attempt to combine the arts with healing through autobiographical drama. Would a conservative society that found all its answers in its religious doctrine respond to personal exploration through theatre?

     

    It was a struggle to enter the country. Visas were rejected, explanations of why I’d be traveling alone were required, my single status, at  my age, was queried. Plane reservations were mysteriously canceled. After re-explaining, re-reserving and re-requesting I arrived in Oman as planned to work at the Arabian Institute for Training and Human Development. The institute was run by a Western woman who was a holistic psychologist. Although she seemed displaced in her surrounding, she felt reassuring and familiar to me, as she explained that this was the first original theatre program in Oman. Having just arrived from a city where there is one on every corner, I realized I had much to learn.

     

    The first lesson was that a silent caste system exists. Almost half the population of Oman are foreigners. The Westerners are primarily involved in either the export of oil or medicine, and although professionals, they’re deemed beneath the Omanis. Indians are largely merchant class and the Sri Lankans and Philippinos are classified as laborers, all falling short of "equality" as well. In light of the renaissance, a movement known as Omanization was instituted to impart  professional positions to Omanis. Given the recent establishment of upper level education, many nationals remain uneducated and yet are placed in positions of high authority. Problems prevail in many Omani run organizations, as the imbalance of power and lack of knowledge exploit the non-national. Aside from Omanization efforts, much of the submission is due to religious differences.

     

    In Oman religion is not a choice. It’s the core of the society and people breath the tenets of Islam as their life force. Prayer calls ring from mosques five times a day, freezing daily activity. Men flood the streets to the Meuzzin’s call of “Come to the mosque and praise Allah”, while the few women in public retreat to their homes to pray. The lesson learned was of the disparity of male and female rights as dictated by religion.

     

    The men of Arabia are paradoxically easier and more difficult to understand. Easy, because American women have many of the same freedoms Omani males have. Liberties to work, study, travel, say what we like, etc... Difficult because men are comfortable with the ownership of women, be it their wives, daughters, and in some cases, mothers. The Koran provides explanations for this condition, but are they acceptable to the sensibilities of the West? Female children have freedoms until adolescence. Walks on the beach are shared by men, male escorted women in black abayas, and young pre-menstruating girls. The young girls wear colorful clothes, not fully covering their heads if at all, and play and swim in the sea. Things they will no longer be allowed to do when forced into womanhood by their maturing bodies. The condition of women is unfamiliar and was a challenge in understanding and acceptance.

     

    I arrived at the Institute to direct the autobiographical theatre program with two days of exploring under my belt, a few newspaper articles about my work, a radio interview complete, and every finger crossed. There seemed to be interest in the program, but it was obviously sparked from a curiosity of what I was really up to. Why did the children have to work autobiographically? Who would anyone want to hear about their ideas, dreams, disappointments? As with the newspaper and radio reporters, I was met with resistance and made to defend the principle of my work. Parents would not enroll their children unless family and personal issues were left untouched. This was never actually addressed in a direct way, but in Oman few things are. I studied Arabic and as the weeks past, while I could construct little more than a simple sentence, I began to a get a glimpse into the mysterious language structure that favored indirectness. Each Arabic word conjures entire groups of images, leading to tremendous ambiguity. It’s the perfect language for saying very little with great eloquence, and communication seemed based on symbolic gesture to which I was not privy. 

     

    I managed to quell nervous families’ insecurities enough to have an adequately sized group. But what could we perform? The children claimed they lacked the imagination to write stories based on truth and asked for someone else’s work to memorize. I was neither prepared, nor interested in having Omani children reenact Lawrence of Arabia and boundaries were set on the autobiographical material I could cover. When I direct in the States, kids jump at the chance to say something truthful about themselves, and their parents pay admission to listen. Organized voyeurism in a sense, it serves its purpose--giving children a voice and forcing parents to hear them. I was unprepared for the restrictions in Oman. It became clear that I had to succumb to parental censorship or go home.  My  professional sensibilities were sinking and I wondered if, as a director, I would be able to stay afloat in the Middle East. I succumbed by default.

     

    I looked to the cardinal rule of good directing: to guide actors to their own feelings and truths, rather than projecting my own on them, and to trust they could speak through them. I wanted to help the actors bring out their best rather than telling them what I thought was best. Although they spoke some English, the language barrier was menacing. I knew little of Islamic life other than what I had read in books. I did not abide to the letter of Koranic law, and did not know what it would be like to have no political voice as a woman. I did not understand that familial loyalty, honor and appearance held more value than justice, expression and personal fulfillment. In a society that forces its people to look alike, believe the same ideal, and strive for identical things, would art still speak the language of the soul?  And if it did would it be heard amidst all the prayers?

     

    The first days were tenuous. Shy and seemingly repressed children filled the theatrical space. We spent time getting to know each other, with our respectively  hard to pronounce names and new accents. As unfamiliar as they were to me, I was equally as foreign to them, maybe more so. I did not live in abidance of the Koran. Therefore, not only was I different, I was also immoral. Could they trust me? Could we as a group transcend our indoctrinated beliefs and connect? The only absolute requirements were mutual support and confidentiality. We did many ice breakers, warm ups and theatre games. Mostly we sat in uncomfortable silences and looked at each other while I panicked.

     

    A child does not need to be taught to be free and playful, so I, the only adult in the group, let down my proverbial hair and started playing. I ran, laughed, screamed, hid, drew, and danced, following real impulses like I haven’t in years. It didn’t matter if we didn’t cover all the material in the syllabus that day. What mattered was that we were letting the creative spirit breathe. Finally the ice broke, and timid eyes filled with excitement and depth. We discovered and came to know each other in the universal space of creative play. The process up to this point had been slow. To break the walls of resistance forced us all to consider human likeness rather than difference. The Islamic children took a colossal leap of faith because on the surface there were few likenesses.

     

    We formed a collective voice starting with improvisation. Never were any of the ensuing dramas overtly about the kids and the intimate details of their lives, but in concealed ways they were. Because direct self disclosure is not encouraged or supported in their culture, they gravitate towards working through archetypal roles. Something I knew from text books, but little about in practice. Roles such as the victimizer and the victim were common, reflecting the social stratification with the labor class. Princesses and princes were dominant roles and usually engaged in relationships of gender oppression. One scenario was of a young girl locked in a castle tower whose brothers taunted her from below. My views of human equality were foreign to them, and I let go of my expectations, and we simply played. They enjoyed the freedom of creation, yet had academic demands as well. Unlike in the United States, where the kids would gladly work off improv, Omani children solicited lectures and theatrical notes to take home and memorize. Otherwise they did not feel like they were learning.

     

    I suspect that in Oman little is learned experientially, and nothing is taught through role taking. With the goal of a final original performance in sight, the children improvised and drafted a story about a boy who lost his imagination.  The roles of hero, victim and pariah were developed, and a story with structure and dramatic content surfaced. In the end, the children performed a beautiful fable about the power of fantasy. It’s curious that at home the drama is focused around family conflict and personal trauma and is often told in the first person. In Oman, the stories speak in an archetypic voice allowing the focus to be more universal. So simple, so telling.

     

    As a theatre artist, I am asked to assimilate what’s around me. As a human being, I am permitted to question its assimilation with my moral fabric, yet still attempt to understand it. This is the task I was resisting. How can I accept that children are forbidden by their fathers to draw, so with fear and shame do it secretly in the middle of the night? How do I appreciate that many children will never read a book other than the Koran? How do I accept that the taste of freedom young girls are given before menstruation will be taken away as their eyes are shrouded with black veils and their bodies are forced into hiding? And how do I defend the contaminating curiosity and narcissism that brought me to Oman in the first place? I returned home with a new understanding of art, myself and the Arab people, and it is my profound wish that the children feel the same. Perhaps I was really the student in class.

     

    Oppression and censorship fed the process and the artistic product, turning it into something else. Turning the artist into someone else. In Oman, required to adapt to societal rules, I found my directorial approach was enriched. Nothing was formula in this experience, my tricks didn’t work. I’m the product of my socialization and, like the children, needed to strip myself of the over-developed roles I was accustomed to wearing, and simply relate on a universal level. It was a human reminder of the potent language of the abstract. And its message was that deep down we can all relate.

     

    One opinion remains the same, the voice of the arts is stifled in Oman. Not once in three months did I hear of a concert, gallery opening or theatrical production, but that doesn’t mean the people of Oman are creatively dead. On the contrary, the simplicity in their expression is beautiful, pure and spoken in a human language. With no model to follow, in what other way could it be said? 

     

    Theatre in Oman is unlike Western theatre. On the surface they have nothing in common, but drama and the desire for self expression do exist even in expression oppressed countries. This society forces people into tiny boxes that are dark, dry and allow little room for creativity. But they are not locked tight, and with a little encouragement, the door swings open. As will the door of human understanding and acceptance. Like the terrain in Oman, the creative climate is also a desert. And like in the desert, when you find water, you drink.

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  • 2 years ago
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• Morocco Madness! Morocco Madness!

  • From: hhart
  • Description:

    I went to Morocco on study abroad in the Fall 2007 semester of my junior year of college.  I spent most of my trip taking classes and staying with my homestay family in Rabat. I also spent a lot of time travelling, and spent time in Asilah, Meknes, Fes, Mehdya, Azrou, Casablanca, Marrakech, Essaouira, Merzouga, Ourzazate, the beautiful Cascades d'Ouzoud and a small village in the Atlas Mountains. I hope you enjoy my stories!

    Drop Off

    On the second day of the SIT Morocco program, we students are required to be "dropped off." In this assignment, a bus takes students to random locations in Rabat, and drops them off four at a time with an assignment to complete. The assignment is ususally just to observe something, and in my case it was clothing and dress. We are to take note of varieties of dress, in my case, and report back on our findings to the group. Our other unoffficial and infinitely for difficult assignment, though, is to find our way back to the school INDIVIDUALLY and within about one and a half hours. This task may be relatively easy in a city like New York for instance, where people speak the same language and you and roads are marked clearly, but in Rabat that is not the case. A map is pretty worthless if you don't know the street you are on. We were given 20 dirhams (approximately 2 dollars) in case we got horribly lost and needed to take a taxi, but were encouraged to make our way on foot. For women, there is the added difficulty of street harrassment; it is not uncommon for a man to follow you for ten minutes whispering what he thinks are winning pick-up lines in your ear.
    For those of you who don't know me directly (aka, my mom's friends :) I have very little faith in my abysmal sense of direction. But I was determined to accomplish this task as gracefully as possible. My group was dropped off fourth and by no definable area. By that time I had given up trying to remember the way through the labyrinth and so just set off in the direction I came and hoped my intuition would kick in. Encouraged to make our own way, the four of us split off quickly and I immediately found myself in just about the worst neighborhood I could have picked. Stearing clear of the numerous motorcyle gangs, I navigated my way through the shantytown and panicked slowly as a realized that I had no idea where I was. Some moroccan guy asked me for directions, and I think I laughed at him kind of maniacally, looking like a crazy person. Finally, I hiked up a hill and breathed a sigh of relief as I saw my salvation--The ocean. My school is on the ocean so I knew that I just had to ask someone which way a major building was, and then I could follow the beach. I got up the courage to ask a lone guy for directions, and, being typically moroccan, he proceeded to have a five minute one-sided conversation with himself in French while I tried to portray an apologetic expression, which probably just came across as pained. Soooo, I walked along the beach for a while but then had to go into the medina to dodge a "hunter," as we jokingly call the pathetic guys who follow us. Time was running out, so I got on the main street that my school is on and hailed a taxi. Two minutes later it was a five dirham (about 60 cents) ride and I got out RIGHT ON TIME, with a feeling of accomplishment and a story to tell.

    Homestay

    I just moved in with my homestay family. There name is Ben Ali and they have three children: Amina, who is 19, Hamza, who is seventeen, and Zahira, who is five and adorable. Amina is in her last year of highschool, speaks English well and is a "crazy girl" by moroccan standards. That is, she dresses and acts very western (which means loud) and is friends with a lot of boys who she abuses publicly. Hamza is in highschool and is much like any teenage boy, kind of quiet and sullen, like someone else I know :) He speaks a little english. Zahira is the cutest little girl in the world, and doesn't really care that we can't communicate as long as I let her brush my hair. The dad, Robio, is retired and only speaks moroccan arabic, which is great because he is making it his business to teach me. The first word I learned was "ajee," which mean "come." The mom's name is Nezha, and she can't remember my name, but that's ok because she is very nice and washed my clothes for me while I was at school.
    How to describe the house. When you walk in, you go up stairs and there are two open rooms in front of you. One is the room for prayer, called the saloon, which looks the nicest because it is not really lived in. The other one, lined with couches, is the guestroom, and I sleep in there with Amina and whoever else comes to stay the night. Turn left and there is the family room, with the tv that is always on. It is next to the bathroom, which is the only room that has a door. The turkish toilet takes some getting used to. You then go up the tiny stairs through a hole in the roof, which makes you feel like you are climbing into a tree house. You are on the terrasse. You are currently in the kitchen, which is indescribable and not at all western. Duck under the clothesline and we are in the last room, which has the dual function of dining room and bedroom. There is also a tv there. No matter how I describe it, there is no way to convey what we would call the poverty they live in. They are middle class by moroccan standards, and it is amazing to see these people living so normally in conditions that we would consider unhygenic and decrepit. It is hard to remove the hygeine part of my brain, I didn't realize how engrained it was. Going to the bathroom is a compromising experience. But I don't want you to think I am negative. The hospitality of the people makes up for the dreary ambiance. And they are definitely not hungry. The eating schedule is different: Some bread with spreads in the morning, A big lunch around 2:00 in the afternoon, and a smaller dinner ranging from 8:00 to 11:30 at night. Eating late has proved to me a trial for some of us whose families eat around 11. These times do not include all the tea and bread that is served when guests come over, which is often. Other than that--A lot of arabic music videos and soap operas! Oh, and Ramadan starts this weeks, and I'm gonna try to fast. Wish me luck!

    Bargaining

    One of our assignments was to buy anything and eerything we could for 10 dirhams (A little over a dollar). The catch is, if you want to buy anything in the souks (markets), you will severely disappoint the shopowner if you don't bargain. If you keep a smile on your face, you can generally get a quarter off the shopowners starting price. The trick is to propose half of what the original price is and then bargain from there.
    Soooo, I went with another student to conquer the labyrinth, figuring, between her French and my arabic, we would do ok. The shopowners weren't as jolly as we had anticipated though, and we walked from shop to shop becoming progressively more defeated. Finally, I saw a pretty necklace and asked the guy how much it was, and he said 30 dirhams, so I abandoned that idea immediately. Then he showed me a matching bracelate, and said it was 10 dirhams. I went to 7, and he blew me off saying "No, good price," which made me feel like a failure. He kept trying to push the necklace though, trying to get me to buy both. Eventually I just had to stuff the 10 dirhams into his hand and walk off sheepishly with the bracelate, hearing calls of "30 dirham, 25 dirham," at my back. It was pretty darn depressing.

    Faux Pas

    
    Here is a priceless mistake I made: As a gesture of thanks, we students are told to bring gifts for our homestay families, such as books about the states we live in, small toys for children, music and tee shirts. I brought a cheesy book about California and two boxes of chocolates, thinking I was pretty clever. So, I unpack and my homestay sister Amina sees the chocolates and asks if she can have some. I was told that it is customary to give the gifts to the mother and have her distribute them, but I figured there were too boxes so that would be ok. I hand her the box of chocolates and she eats one, saying, "mmmm, muezian bizef" (very good) and handing one to her cousin. After biting into another chocolate though, she looks at the inside (which looks like a raspberry filling) and sniffs it. I ask her what is wrong and she asks what's inside. I say "fruit, berries" and she looks confused and asks, "alcohol?" I say "No, I don't think so," and she looks skeptical and passes it to her cousin, who sniffs it. I grab the box and read through the ingredients, and right in the last line it says "liquor." I tell her and she runs to the bathroom and spits out the chocolate, washing out her mouth. You can imagine how confused I was. She comes back and says "it is no problem, no problem, but here, it is very bad." I had known, prior to leaving, that many muslims do not drink alcohol, but it never occured to me that my box of chocolates would have a chocolate liquor in it, or that it would receive such a violent response. Anyway, I must have looked pretty apologetic the rest of the day, because she kept repeating "it is no problem". More than anything else, I am glad that it was her, and not her parents.

    Ramadan

    Nobody really knew if Ramadan was going to start on Thursday or Friday, because Islam follows the lunar calendar. So starting Wednesday night all the religious scholars and other important people camped out, waiting for the moon to announce the holy month of Ramadan. Here’s some background info:
    Ramadan is the month in the Muslim calendar in which everyone fasts from sunup to sundown everyday. It can last anywhere from 20 to 30 days, depending on the moon. Although it doesn’t sound like a party, everyone still eats the same amount, just at night. You have foutour (breakfast) right when the sun goes down, then another meal at about midnight, and then one again before sunup at about 4:00. So there is a lot of napping involved. It is like a month long Thanksgiving, with the family gathering around the table to have a wonderful traditional meal every night after a long day of cleansing their bodies.
    The food is fabulous. You break fast with tameroon (dates) covered in syrupy sugary goodness and spiced zitoon (olives). Then you have herira (soup), which has flour and Moroccan spices in the broth, and full of chickpeas and meat and unidentifiable things. There are lots of rif (flatbreads): plain square ones, round ones, ones filled with onions, and ones drizzled in butter and honey. There is an equal amount of variety in the cookies: shebekia with its floury texture covered in a honey/sugar glaze, cookies in the shape of flowers with hard, glasslike shells, and cookies with soft insides and unusual aftertastes. My host family has a lot of hoot (fish), which I’m not too keen on because they are caught in Rabat’s highly contaminated waters. But other than that, foutour is my favorite meal, because traditional is where it’s at when it comes to breaking fast.
    In addition to food, you are not allowed to drink water, smoke, or have sex, which is why you can count on fights breaking out between nicotine deprived young men at about 5:00 everyday. The whole thing’s a good deal for women, because they can walk down the street during the day without being harassed. Men either feel too guilty or just don’t have to energy to catcall creatively. There are also five days in which women do not fast: when they are menstruating. (I was very confused when my family would not let me fast when Ramadan started, before I knew about this rule). So, in addition to having for freedom on the streets, women get a brief respite from fasting.
    The nightlife is really fun during Ramadan. Although the streets are eerily dead from about 6:00 to 8:00 everyone comes out onto the street after foutour, newly revitalized and ready to mingle. (Here I should emphasize that Moroccans are very friendly people who really value community, and the primary form of entertainment is walking down the souks and main boulevards, chatting with neighbors and people watching at cafes). Men and women, young and old stay out until 11 or 12, shopping and playing soccer in the streets. Cafes open at 5 pm and stay open through the wee hours of the morning. There is something amazing about being in a country where nearly everyone practices the same religion. Fasting is much easier when everyone else is doing it. Restaurants are closed during the day, governmental organizations keep odd hours, nobody sells alcohol, and the 5am call to prayer exhibits the most beautiful singing I have ever heard. The fact that the administration and news media in the United States portrays Islam as a religion that condones and encourages violence makes me very sad, because living here in this country united in their shared religion, all I see is beauty.

    Hitting a Wall

    In anthropology, our main method of gathering data is through participant observation, meaning exactly how it sounds. So far, from my stay here, I've realized that I have a pretty good handle on the observation part: watching people and analyzing based on my findings is my strong suit. Not so good at the participant part though. After being here a month it is high time for some introspection, and here is my profound conclusion: I just don't like people very much.
    Anyone surprised by this revelation? Probably not. I can list a variety of adjectives: private, reserved, quiet, shy, aloof, unfriendly, whatever. They all lead to the same result. So, I have to ask myself, "Can I really do this anthropology thing?" Right now, I'm not so sure. I've hit a wall, that is certain. I am cordial to my homestay family. They feed me, give me a place to sleep; I listen to them talk and we exchange polite, cryptic conversation. But immersion stops there. It's not just the language barrier. I could be more active in the family. They invited me to the hammam, which is the public baths. You bring all your bathing stuff and get scrubbed down and come out smelling like oils and stuff. A lot of the girls really like it; apparently you feel clean for a week. But the thought of not wearing anything in front of a lot of women who stare at my white self anyway with clothes on, in a really hot room, with people touching me, for over an hour just made me want to cry. If I can't do this simple thing, how can I possibly be an active participant in a culture? Every time I walk down the street and someone wants to talk to me, I just want them to leave me alone.

    No Day But Today

    Some of you may roll your eyes at the slightly cheesy Rent reference, but it was all I could think about while I sat in an Amazigh (Berber) café at the side of a mountain, drinking my Coca Cola in a glass bottle while overlooking the spectacular shalal (cascades) of Ouzoud. Yes folks, I spent last Saturday chillin’ at a remote waterfall in the Middle Atlas Mountains, hiking and dining and drumming with rural Amazigh people—Isn’t life grand? Five of us set out at 1:30 Friday afternoon, and after we took the train to seedy Casablanca, a five hour bus ride to Beni Mellal, and an action-packed grand-taxi ride through the mountains to Ouzoud, it was 11:30 at night. Now, whereas staying in rustic huts sounded oh-so-adventurous at noon in warm Rabat, after a long day of traveling, I opted for a bed. (Am I my father’s daughter or what?) After our good friend Abdelsalaam showed us to our salon, by friends were all thanking me for pushing for the family-owned hotel. Our salon with five couches lining the walls, a fireplace, and a set of Amazigh drums was the coziest room I’ve ever stayed in for the equivalent of seven U.S. dollars. After a communal omelet and hot chocolates all around, we were dead to the world.
    Thanks to a rooster and a particularly whiny dog, we were up bright and early Saturday morning. The cascades were literally in our backyard. Peer over the cliff and aghast, water! The falls plunge from three different sources and crash into a pool before streaming into the river, which whiles its way down the mountain. I have pictures from just about every angle. As amazing as the falls were, they were nothing in comparison to the genuine and unmotivated hospitality of the people. While looking at the view from the top of a mountain, I met two Amazigh guys who lived by the falls, and when my friends started taking the wrong path down the mountain, one of them said he would show us the way. I told him he didn’t need to, that we could find the way, but he insisted that it was no problem, and took off down a path. In the cities, we are always skeptical when someone offers to help, because it is hard to know if they expect payment. But we learned very quickly that the Amazigh people in the Middle Atlas do not have any desire to exploit the naïveté of tourists. Their generosity is entirely selfless. After taking a boat ride under the falls, we set off down the river in search of an Amazigh village recommended by our guidebook. We walked passed a campsite, and asked a guy for directions, having no idea that he would be our faithful companion for the rest of the day. His name was Bijuma, and he grew up next to the falls, alternated between traveling and working every two months, smoked hashish like there was no tomorrow, and spoke the best English I have heard from someone who never took classes. I am constantly impressed with Moroccan’s ability to absorb language. Everyone speaks Arabic and French, and many speak English, Spanish, Amazigh, and German, for some bizarre reason. In the case of many people in the mountains, they learn these languages solely by communicating with tourists, from sheer desire. We had no problem communicating with our new friend, who insisted that he was not a guide, “just walking.” He just walked with us for four hours up and down a mountain, explaining aspects of the village to us, consenting to rest with us when we got winded, and pointing out excellent times to take pictures. Afterwards, he would not let us buy him dinner, and told us some wicked Moroccan jokes, while getting shamelessly stoned. He’s kind of my hero.
    The day never ceased to be amazing. We went back to the hotel to sleep that night, not knowing that we would be hosting a genuine Amazigh party in our room. We started chatting with our buddy Abdelsalaam in Arabic and French, and then his sister joined us, and before we knew it they were playing the drums and a bunch of their family and friends came in clapping their hands and dancing. One guy brought out his laptop and showed us some videos of different Amazigh groups singing and dancing. They taught us some basic words in their language and gave us hot chocolate on the house, saying that we were family now. Their kindness was overwhelming. I have no way of knowing if they treat everyone like this, or if they were impressed by our desire to communicate with them in Arabic. All I know is that I could go back there at any time in my life and feel at home.
    Oh, I also went cliff diving, and have gigantic bruises on my thighs to prove it. And I saw a monkey.

    While it is Raining in my House...

    The Moroccan dialect of Arabic, more commonly called Darija, has an often used verb- “bghreet”- which has two meanings: to want and to like. When I first heard this I was very confused, because surely “want” and “like” mean two very different things. You can like something (or someone) very much and not want it (or him/her). Because of this, I have been very careful in my usage of this word in conversation, should it be misconstrued. Recently however, I have come to realize why the dominant language in Morocco does not differentiate between the two concepts—the culture largely equates them. One example, which is fresh on my mind since returning from Marrakech, is shown in bargaining. From souk-hopping, I quickly learned that you never show interest in a particular item, and definitely do not ask the price, unless you are sure that you are going to buy it. Because as soon as you say bushhal (how much?) the shopkeeper starts bargaining, and you will walk away from the store with that item even if he has to chase you down the street. Why, because “I like this” is immediately interpreted as “I want this,” and the shopkeeper is not happy unless you are satisfied with the price and walk out of his store smiling.
    Another more vexing example is shown in the young men in Morocco. As a woman walking down the street, it is necessary not to make eye contact, and definitely not to smile, at any man you see. Any sign of recognition is interpreted as an invitation. If you smile or laugh at a silly pick-up line, the man thinks that you like what he is doing and that you want to go to coffee, the discotheque, and back to his place for some sweet lovin’. It is difficult for a foreigner, because you don’t want to offend anyone by saying that you don’t like something, whether it is food at your homestay family’s table, a beautiful shawl with a questionable price, or a guy who has spent the last half hour helping you with Arabic. The people get very perplexed if you show any discomfort, but it is necessary if you don’t want to make commitments. I like Morocco very much, but I can’t have it rule every aspect of my life.

    Falling in Love with the Middle Atlas Mountains

    I thought about writing a long summary of my week staying with a family in the Middle Atlas, but the experience was too overwhelming to chronicle. The best way to convey my experience is to provide you with direct quotations and scenarios, and you can make of them what you will.

    
    "I want to be a Moroccan Man when I grow up" (Ellen).
    Referring to the fact that men in the village have comparatively few obligations next to the women, and spent the bulk of their days sitting around smoking keef (weed).
    
    "Sorry boys, but I wanna marry a man with a sense of dental hygeine" (Ellen).
    Referring to the fact that the women in the village were always trying to set us up with their unmarried sons and nephews.
    
    "You got kohled!" (Allison).
    Kohl is the traditional Moroccan eyeliner that unmarried women wear in order to attract husbands, and it never comes off.
    
    Hannah: What is that on your face?
    Rachel H: It is kohl, now tell me I am beautiful.
    Hannah: You look like a hooker.
    Rachel J: You look like a mama.
    Referring to the fact that I was balancing a five year old on my hip and holding another girls hand while my brother was getting water from the well. Yup. mom and pop and the kids. Oh, and there was a donkey present.
    
    Hannah: Oh, I never get tired of being made fun of.
    Rachel H: I would rather be made fun of than taken seriously.
    
    "Shnoo heda?" Translation: "What is this?"
    A five year old Moroccan girl looking down my shirt.
    
    "Abdelkarem wa kita keef keef" (Hannah). T: AbdelKarem (the baby) and the cat are the same
    Referring to the fact that the cat and the baby sound the same when they cry/meow. I didnt think it was all that funny, but my mom laughed about it for days, and told everyone that came over.
    
    AbdelAziz: (Snapping his fingers in my direction) Yellah, ajee! T: Lets go, come!
    Hannah: La, la heda. Smeety Hannah! T: No, none of this (snapping). My name is Hannah!
    Am I my mothers daughter, or what!

    Language and Communication

    For me, I don’t feel like language is much of a barrier. If you want to communicate with someone, you will. Knowing the same language as someone does not guarantee that you will connect with him/her on a deeper level. The comparison between my homestay family in Rabat and my brief homestay with a family in a village east of Bejaad is a prime example. My family in Rabat consists of mom and dad, my 19 year old sister, 17 year old brother, and 5 year old sister. The 19 year old speaks English, not fluently but proficiently. She is very nice, but we have nothing in common, so we don’t exactly have in depth conversations. My 17 year old brother speaks a little English, but I can’t tell how much because he expresses next to no interest in my presence, only occasionally rewarding me with a condescending smile. Baba is my favorite, and we communicate using a bizarre hybrid of Arabic and French and a smattering of English words that he enjoys using constantly. I also have enough of a functional grasp of Darija/Fusha to speak with mama on basic subjects. My 5 year old sister is adorable, and I understand almost nothing she says, but it doesn’t matter as long as she can abuse me. In short, I have little difficulty communicating with my homestay family in Rabat, but I am not close with them.
    My brief weeklong homestay in a rural village in the mountains is an entirely different story. My dad and mom only speak Darija (the Moroccan dialect of Arabic that we do not learn at school) and they have very thick accents because they are both illiterate. Mama especially was very difficult to understand. My 17 year old brother goes to school, so he knows Fusha and French, which he was sad to learn that I did not speak. But although I do not speak French, I understand some of it because of an intensive course I took last summer, and all the cognates. So he spoke to me in Darija and French, and I spoke to him in Darija and Fusha. It was a pretty good system. We had relatively in depth conversations in Fusha on paper, because Fusha is the standard Arabic that is written but not spoken. Sometimes I needed help understanding with the aid of an Arabic/English dictionary or a lot of miming on his part, but we always got the point across. I am a firm believer in using the words that you know to convey what you want to say, even if you cannot formulate a full sentence. It is better to speak and say something wrong than to not speak at all. The point of this entry is this: I forgot that I could not speak English with my family because I grew to love them so much. The language barrier did not matter one bit. I will never forget how quickly they enveloped me into their family.

    Taken From the Source

    I have been listening to my interviews for my original research project, and I came across some quotes that I thought you guys might want to hear. They are from young moroccans living at the Cascades d'Ouzoud.
    
    “When I open my eyes in life I speak Tamazight” Dude, what does that even mean?
    
    “If you don’t speak other languages, and you can’t speak with other people, you don’t know much in your life”
    
    “My dream is to live well, in a normal situation. I don’t need big car, I don’t need big house. I just need to be happy, and to have a good health”
    
    “We are here to help each other. You are brought here to this earth to like and to love and to help each other. Not to fight each other”
    
    “I am Amazigh, I am Moroccan, I am 26 years old, and I want peace and love!” This is why I love interviewing hippies
    
    "In Morocco, a lot of people have time. You go to shop, you argue the price, and you bargain. In Europe, it was the same way, then it changed. People don’t say “hello” on the street. They just go home"
    
    "When you think about the future, you think to do the very best to be happy, and to find material, in thinking in the money. And me, no same. I am not thinking in very high. I don’t think to be in a very high class. I just like to be normal. To live easy life, to not have problems in front of me. Eating simple things, and sleeping in simple place. That’s enough. For me, that’s enough"
    
    "How do we think different? We think simple. We do not try to get very far in subjects, you understand. We have limit. I don’t know how to—I am not American. If it was an American man here now, he would speak about these things very fluently and know what we say. But not me, because I am Berber. I don’t have that mind that think a lot, and thinks very hard. I think simple"
    
    "I am a normal man. Normal just means normal. I am not a very rich man. Life is normal; we live normal. We are just interested to live, to live on this planet. I am interested to spend a good moment, to have a nice time. And I like others, I like other people. I don’t hate them. And, I like people to love me"
    
    "I like my religion, but I don’t practice. I am thinking, I like to practice it, but not now. I am still young, I mean, between a population that is not good at following the religion. All of Moroccan, because of civilization and because of watching TV and goes to the internet. They’ve got a lot of information that is outside and away from religion. I am same, but I like one time to change. Because I still do every good things that our religion forbids us to do it. I do smoke, I do drink, I do meet girls, I do everything, everything in opposite what God tells us. But all the time I think and I hope to God, give me his help to do my prayers again and to follow his way and to stop all of these things"
    Boy, do I love interviewing!

    Prepare Yourself for some Intense Anger

    You wanna know something ironic? I came to the Cascades d'Ouzoud to do my independent study project because I felt comfortable here, and now I have to leave because I feel the exact opposite. In some ways I am very safe: I don't need to lock up my luggage; people worry about me if I come home late; there is always someone to offer me a flashlight or a steady hand down the mountain after dark. But safety is not the same as comfort. The longer I stay here, the more I realize that I will never be respected, at least as far as the men are concerned. It doesn't matter if I came here from Rabat on my own, or walk around by myself, or am brave enough to look people in the eye and ask for an interview. I will always be the white, American, twenty-year-old, beautiful, single girl who is up for it. It sounds crude, but it's true. Every twentysomething unmarried and nearly unemployed local guy that I have interviewed has tried their darndest to seduce me by taking me to their patented "romantic" spots and then back to their cribs for some sweet lovin'. Well, I am having none of it boys! You can whisper all your cheesy love sonnets in my ear, I don't wanna hear it. They all think that by giving me an interview, I will give them something in return, and it is definitely not money. In fact, the only person who I have interviewed who did not have an alterior motive was a woman. But, guess what, it is not the women who are jumping down my throats asking for an interview, no sir, because they actually have things to do. Actually, one of my favorite things that the woman I interviewed said was that women do not talk to people on the street because they are too busy thinking about all the things they have to do that day. The men have too much time on their hands, and they are sexually frustrated. This is why my appearance has caused such a stir. I would kill for someone to call me intelligent and interesting, instead of beautiful. I would love, for one minute, for someone to look at me soley as a researcher. Sure, women have come very far in this country, but they still have a long way to go.

    The Different Types of Men in Morocco

    1. Crazy-eye guys
    2. Asshole-bank guys
    3. Want-to-practice-my-English guys
    4. Stare-at-you-on-modes-of-transportation guys
    5. Odd-job man
    6. Underage charmers
    7. OLD men
    8. Seduce-you-with-their-mad-rhythms men
    9. I-wear-a-blazer-and-carry-a-briefcase-so-you-want-me man
    10. The cute ice cream man
    11. The idle (aka the WORST) man
    12. The lean-and-look man
    13. The fuzzy red jellaba man
    14. The hanoot man
    15. The "come into my shop" man
    16. The "I know your name and therefore we should get married"man
    17. The multilingual man
    18. The reverse psychology man
    19. The guilt-trip man
    20. The rasta man (My favorite)
    21. The ambiguous sexuality man
    22. The two-for-one (My second favorite)
    23. The foreign=beautiful man
    24. The woo-you-with-my-vocabulary man
    25. The grunts-n-whistles
    26. The Moroccan Mafia man
    27. The precocious child
    28. The tag team
    29. The my-smoke-rings-are-sexy man
    30. The student
    31. The man in uniform
    32. The infectious smile
    33. The preach-the-koran man
    34. The service-with-a smile man
    35. The man who does not know the concept of personal space.
    36. The stalker on wheels
    37. The nationalist
    38. The I-Hate-America man
    39. The crazy taxi driver

    The Rough Guide

    The Rough Guide, the most comprehensive travel guide around, offers a list of 37 things not to miss in Morocco. After being here almost two months, my friends and I have started a new list based on our experiences. Here is what we have so far:
    
    1. Walk down Mohammed the Fifth Avenue during foutour (breakfast) time during Ramadan and count how many people offer you bowls of harira (soup).
    2. Tell someone you are fasting during Ramadan and get some free dates and apple milk.
    3. Break fast during Ramadan with an eclectic mix of souk food while overlooking the sunset over the medina in Meknes while talking to a local who uses a lot of hand gestures to get his point across.
    4. Learn the intricacies of café life from an experienced guy.
    5. Learn the methods of avoiding street harassment from an experienced woman.
    6. Take the train to any location, and I dare you not to miss your stop.
    7. Ride the waves at the hidden beach in Mehdya.
    8. Take a taxi through the mountains and watch your life flash before your eyes.
    9. Hike to the Berber Village in Ouzoud, led by a local who speaks 5+ languages, can flip off a cliff into the water, jumps over ants because he doesn’t want to kill them, is always stoned, and tells wicked jokes.
    10. Go cliff-diving. It hurts really bad, but you can say you did it.
    11. Drink hot chocolate while Abdelsalaam plays the drums is a cozy saloon at the Cascades d’Ouzoud and become part of the family.
    12. Walk uphill to the Old Medina in Azrou and befriend the local precocious child magicians.
    13. Watch the progression of shooting stars to utter blackness to patches of light to pinkish glow to the spectacular sunrise at the Merzouga dunes in the desert.
    14. Drink 3 dirham orange juice is the square at Marrakech after torturing the rival juice-sellers by being indecisive.
    15. Haggle for at least 10 minutes with a smiley shopkeeper in Marrakech over anything that is ridiculously priced, and then have tea with him and get his business card.

    Additions to the list of thirty seven things to do in Morocco, based on a week spent staying in a rural village in the Middle Atlas Mountains:
    
    16. Pee next to a cow in a barn while a whole family tries to watch, fascinated.
    17. Play soccer with the boys of the village, let in five goals, and get replaced by a child.
    18. Ride a donkey into the mountains while making unintelligible sounds at sheep.
    19. Fall asleep with henna drying on your hands and feet.
    20. Fall in love with an eligible bachelor in the village/kindly decline a marriage proposal.

    All Good Things Must Come to An End 

    After an extremely long and exhausting trip, I am now in the states. It seems fitting to wrap up my study abroad experiences with an addition to the list of 37 things to do in Morocco. Enjoy!
    
    21. Watch an bunch of Amazigh men play drums, sing, and smoke shisha around a campfire after dark.
    
    22. Ride a sandbuggy under the Sahara stars while bundled in blankets.
    
    23. Navigate your way down a rocky mountain after a heavy rain while dodging cacti.
    
    24. Have a regular breakfast spot in Marrakech and laugh as every tourist sits at the bee-ridden tables.
    
    25. Try the ginsing drink with menthal on the Jamaa el-fna square.
    
    26. Go to Casablanca to see the Hassan II mosque, and then leave immediately after.
    
    27. Eat a 5 dirham street sandwich in Rabat.
    
    28. Make obscene hand gestures at the Passion Creme ice cream man.
    
    29. Watch the teenagers flirt at the Chellah ruins.
    
    30. Watch the waves crash at the beach in Rabat after a new moon.
    
    31. Drink ten cups of tea a day in the village of Masaha.
    
    32. Paint the sunset in Essaouira.
    
    The list is not finished because we all have every intention of coming back.
    
    Thanks for reading,
    Hannah Hart
    
    
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• First Class Greece: Mother-Dau First Class Greece: Mother-Daughter Trip Compliments of Airline and Hotel Points!

  • From: Hanlgt
  • Description:

    Long ago I went to a bookstore talk by a well-known frequent flyer who had written a book on how to collect points and get free vacations.  I purchased the book and started in on the project of getting myself, and my 20-year-old daughter to the Greek Islands as cheaply as possible, but first class all the way. This was mainly because, when I was 20 years old, I took a solo trip to Greece that I have never forgotten. I have talked about it for years with my daughter, and we planned this trip since the day I walked out of that bookstore, guide in hand. I was a quick study and worked obsessively toward this goal, and happily achieved it over a year ago. We flew first class for the first time (roundtrip from LA to Athens), stayed in fabulous hotels, and, all in all, gamed the system in such a extraordinary way that we are now hooked on deluxe travel on the cheap. Here’s the report of our incredible two weeks:

    
    LA to LONDON: A Salad Cart, “The Sanctuary” and an Overpriced Pedicure
    
    
    The first leg of the trip had me stopping in London for a few hours, which was fine with me, as I was certain I would need a break to stretch my legs.
    
    I had decided, out of fear of the last time I flew through Heathrow and they lost my bag, that there was no way I was checking luggage. So, even though I was meeting my daughter in Athens (who was coming from Tel Aviv) and she had requested all sorts of American lotions and beauty products, I didn’t bring them unless they were 3 oz or less. I managed to fit everything I needed for my trip into a 20-inch carry-on, along with a tote bag for use on the plane.
    
    I was rather amused by the American Airlines fawning flight service on the way to London as I had never experienced it before. I was especially bemused by “The Salad Cart” that the menu stated was “Fresh seasonal greens with an assortment of fresh vegetables offered with Pepper Cream Dressing or Castello Monte Vibiano Olive Oil and Balsamic Vinegar” which I thought was rather funny since the dude just came out with a little cart with what looked like a bag of grocery salad in a bowl and some sticks of celery, carrots and some sliced green peppers that he was carefully selecting with silver tongs as if it was something quite extravagant. At least that part was actually fresh—the rest of the food—including the “cream of chicken” soup was particularly…uh, bad…with the exception of a really (huge) nice ice cream sundae for dessert.
    
    I don’t know the different airplanes and how the seats are configured, but I do know that although I was thrilled at the seats that turn into sleepers, I was not particularly comfortable and only slept a couple of hours. (When I compare this to the incredibly comfortable seats I got when I returned with British Airways—I know now to try to get BA when going across the ocean.) Upon arrival in Heathrow, I had to make my way with hordes of others to terminal 3—lucky for me I had a number of hours to kill before my flight to Athens—otherwise I may have suffered from an anxiety attack by the amount of wait time to get to the different terminal. I know they have since opened another terminal, and this will hopefully solve that horrid Heathrow congestion problem.
    
    Upon arrival at Terminal 3 I found the pleasant BA lounge and got some lunch of pasta salad and a particularly nice tomato soup, and then asked where I could sleep until my flight to Athens. They told me about a place called “The Sanctuary” which was a door in the back into a room with low lighting and various comfy couches and soft music and not a soul was in there, so I plopped down my stuff and slept for a couple of hours. When I awoke I still had time to kill, so I decided it was time to get a pedicure (vacation being what it was at this point) so I found the beauty spa at terminal 3, which was surprisingly occupied by some men who were sitting in the very pleasant waiting area, relaxing and having tea. The price of the beauty treatment was outrageous, since it included entrance into the place, which in itself is a “sanctuary” from the noisy and crowded terminal—and you are allowed to stay there as long as you want. I realized that if I don’t fly first class in the future through Heathrow, (quite likely!) this place, for the entrance fee, would be worth it if I found I had to wait a number of hours for my next flight. Anyway, the pedicure was adequate and relaxing—but they offer massages and facials and a whole spa menu—at high prices of course.
    
    ATHENS: The Hilton and Bus #400
    
    In the evening I got on my BA flight to Athens, which was in Business Class since that particular plane doesn’t have anything higher. The service was excellent and flight uneventful and we arrived at 2:30 in the morning. I had been reading the helpful online guide “Matt Barrett’s Greece Travel Guide” (www.greecetravel.com) and I had arranged for the taxi service he recommended to have someone be there to pick me up and take me to the Hilton Athens, which took about 30 minutes at that time of night.
    
    The Athens Hilton is a super sleek modern hotel, although not exactly near anything you want to go to, so you have to rely on the metro (and the stop is not a place you want to exit at night, as it comes out in the middle of a rather lonely and dark park and you have to walk up a somewhat rocky path to get to the hotel) or a taxi to get around. I stayed here two nights on Hilton Honors points and, being a good student of points collecting, I had managed to become a gold member, and they put me on the 11th floor. This floor has its own concierge and check-in area and a wonderful little lounge area with a great view of the Parthenon from the little balcony. My room was on the other side, so the only view was of the street below, but the room was very comfortable and the bed and bathroom were great, especially the bathtub. There was a large fruit plate and a bottle of white wine waiting for me in the room, along with a bottle of water, and upon awakening the next morning, I went to the lounge where I had some free light snacks for breakfast along with my fruit and enjoyed the fabulous view and the beautiful weather.
    
    Right outside the hotel there is a bus stop for the bus number 400, I think, which is the bus that takes you around the whole city in a loop and you are allowed to get on and off with one ticket price of 4 Euro, if I remember correctly. Lucky for me, when I got on and asked how much to pay, the cashier woman said that "Today is National Arts Day" or something to that effect, which meant that all admittances to tourist things were free. So I rode around and decided to just take it right back to the hotel after seeing the city from the bus, since I was planning to meet my daughter the next day and do sight-see with her then. The whole circle is less than 90 minutes, and the bus is supposed to come every half hour, but I waited about 45 minutes at the stop and I don't know if that is typical.
    
    I ate dinner in the hotel restaurant, and besides being overpriced, it was excellent food and service and when I ate there around 6 pm there were about 5 people in the whole place. I wanted to use the Internet and the hotel business center was too high-priced so I walked to a nearby Internet cafe that was cheap.
    
    ATHENS: The Grand Bretagne, Stray Dogs and Grafitti
    
    
    The next day I took a cab (5 Euros) to Syntagma Square--the center of Athens, to switch hotels and meet my daughter at the Hotel Grand Bretagne, which I got free on Sheraton points and is indeed the classiest hotel in Athens. On the way, we were caught up in the very unusual looking “Changing of the Guard” ceremony at the Parliament Building, (every Sunday at 11 AM) which, to me, was a mixture of small town charm and tourist gawking annoyance. A band of some sort (that would have been rejected at the Rose Parade) follows various official looking people through the streets who are holding a wreath to lay at the unknown soldier’s tomb, They all follow dramatically behind the most absurdly dressed soldiers I have yet to see (think skirts and a feather-duster hat) while large numbers of foreigners crowd around snapping pictures and getting in the way of scurrying stray dogs. After the fun, I checked into the hotel, which has an old-world feel, and after the modernist Hilton, was a real change. The points rate did not allow for breakfast (too bad!) which was an incredible, huge, buffet, but I don't eat enough for breakfast to justify paying the equivalent of about $35 or so. I did request an upgrade to a bigger room, and got it, along with a truly great bathroom. The fixtures alone were worth seeing, as they are all marble and gold and quite grand. The room itself was smaller than the Hilton, but the place is old and dripping with hanging chandeliers and old-world charm. It is frequented by many cruise ship passengers who have add-ons to their cruises for a couple of days, and the well-heeled and smart looking English-speaking tourist is to be found everywhere. I witnessed the very able concierge at his desk with a line 5 people deep, with two phone receivers to his ear--in one he was speaking to an airlines to arrange ticketing in Greek, while the other he was talking to a "Madame” somebody ...", explaining directions in French, while showing me the address of a particular restaurant in English. They hype up the fact that anyone who’s anyone in European history has stayed there (Churchill, various Counts and Tzars, etc.) but they do neglect to mention that it was used as German Headquarters in Greece during WWII and Hitler was also a guest.
    
    Syntagma Square is a great location for a tourist in Athens, as the metro is literally downstairs from the hotel, basically, and one can walk to many restaurants or tour agencies. I know that many people notice and comment upon the unusual amount of stray dogs (often quite flea-bitten and mangy and sorry-looking) simply wandering around Athens and I was puzzled as to why they allow this as I have been to many cities and have not seen this phenomenon. But, to me, the most annoying aspect of modern Athens (which has potential to be a beautiful city) is the ridiculous amount of graffiti that is evident in almost every possible blank space that one could think to deface. I guess one could expect to see graffiti on those metal garage doors that you have to pull to cover up your little store--and every single one of them has been sprayed--but some of the owners seemed to have gotten the better of the graffiti artists and commissioned a sort of painting on their garage, and these were left alone. However, the amount of spray painted blank spaces are overwhelming. In Syntagma Square there are marble stone steps leading up to the street where the Parliament Building is located, and on each of these steps, as you climb them, you can see black spray painted Greek words, along with almost every other wall or side of a building, bench or sign. I noted that authorities managed to prevent the defacement of the actual Parthenon and, unbelievably, the entire brand new Metro system (good for them!), so clearly there is a way to stop this from ruining a city and it just makes Athens so sad-looking, in my opinion.
    
    After meeting my daughter and having a wonderful walk around the center of town, we slept happily in the “sweet sleeper bed” offered by the hotel, and the next day walked to the fabulous Parthenon, and the temple of Zeus ruins, and ate lunch in a sidewalk café, ordering Greek Salad, of course, and stuffed peppers—the least expensive things on the menu and they were delicious. We found out that Feta cheese is actually branded as such only if the cheese is made in Greece, sort of like the sparkling wine called Champagne only if it comes from that region. The Greeks are quite unhappy that others call their cheese “feta” when it clearly isn’t homegrown, and they sponsor resolutions in the European Parliament to deal with the problems of the imposters!
    
    We enjoyed our visit to the Parthenon and were awed by its beauty. We were also struck by the seeming unfairness of the issue of the Elgin Marbles, which are Greek statues taken long ago from the Parthenon and placed in the British Museum.  Although I would love to have seen those sculptures in their true setting, I can’t help but think that perhaps their present climate-controlled environment is keeping them safer. The general look of the area around the Parthenon did not strike me as being particularly that well looked after.
    
    
    THE ISLAND OF RHODES: The Hilton Resort, and a Jewish Quarter with no Jews
    
    
    After enjoying a couple of nights at the Grand Bretagne, we got on the great Metro system for a direct train to the airport (comes every half hour) and got on an Aegean Airlines flight to Rhodes, which took about 45 minutes and the flight left exactly on time. We took a cab to our hotel, which we shared with another couple, but the rule of the game is that both pay the 13 Euros and you don’t “share” the cost, which is, of course, quite convenient for the driver. We checked into the Hilton Rhodes Resort, which, again, I got on points for 4 free nights. Actually, I was even able to get these at a discount, since this resort was participating in Hilton's ValuePoint Awards, so it was totally worth it. This property is an all-inclusive resort, with a huge buffet breakfast (which we were allowed to have--even with the points rate--quite nice), evening entertainment, gym and spa, activities for children, and beach access and a few pools. The place is frequented by many Brits and Scandinavians--and quite a number of them are on staff there for the summer. In fact, there were many young staffers who did not speak Greek who were clearly from Northern Europe that use this job as a yearly summer camp type thing, I think--meeting the same friends yearly and living in staff hotels and generally having a good time away from their parents and schools.
    
    
    Upon checking in to this hotel, we were greeted warmly by a staffer who saw we were Hilton Gold members and for some reason this seemed to matter a great deal as we were personally escorted to the room after being offered various snacks and drinks and maps and schedules and all that. We had been given an upgrade to a sea view room, which was lovely and one could watch the huge cruise ships gliding by and also see the coast of Turkey. The beds and bathroom reminded me of a 3 star hotel in the States, but in general, we liked this hotel, particularly because of the excellent service we always received--and the free and bountiful breakfast. The beach right there is not particularly good--it is quite pebbly and the water is not pristine as other areas around the island are, so we only went there for about an hour one day.
    
    The rest of the time in Rhodes was spent going to various tourist destinations by bus that picks up from the front of the hotel, down by the main highway. We went to the town of Lindos where there is an ancient acropolis, the Valley of the Butterflies, where the views are beautiful although the butterflies were gone by then, and the old town of Rhodes, which is quite fascinating and historical. We walked around the old city area with our Frommer’s guide, looking for a recommended restaurant for about an hour, until it occurred to us that this restaurant has long since closed down. But there seemed to be hundreds of good eateries in the city and the food was excellent therer. We decided not to go on the day trip by boat to Turkey, as it was pricey and we had things we wanted to see on the island and not enough time. We only caught the nightly “show” at our hotel one evening when we got back early enough (a Beatles cover band that was cute) but the shows cater to families (acrobatics, magicians) and those who may not know English, I guess. Basically everything we encountered in Greece was in English, though.
    
    One comment about Greece in general that I need to mention is the total lack of interest in trying to accommodate people with disabilities. My husband is disabled and I often thought of the fact that I could not have brought him anywhere I went and therefore, it seems to me that he is simply not welcome in Greece as a tourist. Each national archeological site or tourist venue had stairs or rocky paths (with no banisters or concrete alternate paths), or any one of many obstacles that could not be overcome by the average disabled person. I don’t know if others have written on this subject, but it is why I vacation with my husband only within the US at this time.
    
    One thing I regret not seeing in Rhodes was the small Jewish Museum in the old Jewish Quarter of the Old City. I had looked it up online and the website (which is run by a South African now living in Rhodes, I think) stated that they would be open Saturday, along with the one synagogue that is left there, so we chose to visit on a Saturday, but everything was closed. We found an old Jewish guy who spoke to me in Hebrew and said that usually it is open, but…oh well..not today. He told me there were 34 Jews left in Rhodes today. Quite sad, as Rhodes had historically housed a large and vibrant Jewish community from even before the time of the Spanish Inquisition, that had created a unique brand of Jewish ritual and observance, but they were all deported to Auschwitz. (I had seen a documentary about those who had escaped to Los Angeles from this community, and I was curious about it.) In the main tourist area, before you get to the Jewish Quarter, you can find a small central square now called “The Square of the Martyrs” with some fading plaques in different languages attesting to the facts.
    
    
    THE ISLAND OF CRETE: A Big Goof, a Car Ride and Agios Nikolaus
    
    
    From Rhodes, we got on a flight with the commuter express airline of Crete called Sky Express, which is not my thing, nor my daughter’s. It is a 22 seat plane that is highly claustrophobic to even people like me who don’t mind tight-enclosed places with intense noise while you fly over open ocean. We had to literally squeeze into our seats, while listening to the pilot having some sort of screaming fit over the radio to someone, and while I looked sheepishly at the bored lone flight attendant, who was munching on a peach, she just shrugged. I asked her how many times she makes this trip daily and she said “two or three” which made me feel better considering that it is unlikely anyone would continue to put their life in danger repeatedly.
    
    The flight lasted 40 minutes and we arrived in Herakilon, Crete at a quite modern airport at 9 in the evening. This is when my first trip planning screw-up occurred. I had booked the well-reviewed Hotel Lato on the Internet at an incredible price—30 Euros for the night when all other websites had offered that hotel for about $150. We took a taxi there—about a 10-minute ride—and when I showed my voucher, the guy said, “Wrong Hotel Lato—you see here? You need the one in Agios Nikolaus” So it turns out that the town of Agios Nikolaus is about an hour away, and when I had entered “Hotel Lato” in my Internet search along with the city “Heraklion” the Hotel Lato located an hour away came up and although I noted the address, in my stupidity, I thought that was the name of the street and did not check the address with the Hotel Lato in Heraklion. OK, then, what to do? I had made plans to have a rental car delivered the following day to this Hotel Lato, and so I reluctantly decided to just stay the night there and forgo the 30 Euro I had already paid to the other hotel. Bad news: I was informed they are full. But the guy behind the desk was helpful, and so he called the rental company and told me to wait and they would come by to give me the car, even though it was almost 10 pm by that time. So, we went upstairs to have dinner in the pleasant (small, nice view of harbor) but overpriced and underwhelming restaurant with mediocre food. 45 minutes later the car company shows up with my little car and two extremely helpful ladies who spoke no Greek and seemed to be Serbian and Danish or something, but they showed me a map and explained (wrongly, sigh) how to exactly get to Agios Nikolaus, and to the correct Hotel Lato. Our final destination the following day was supposed to be a small village called Macriyialos, which was on the south-eastern part of Crete, and at least going to Agios Nikolaus would be “on the way” and we would just get there earlier. Of course, the issue is that I would have to drive a tiny car with manual transmission (it’s been a while) about an hour in the dark, to a hotel in a town where I was surely going to get lost finding a small hotel by the sea. Which is exactly what happened, of course. The car rental ladies were more than gracious in that they actually had me follow their car to the main National Highway rather than assume I would have found it from within the one-way alleyways they call streets in Heraklion. Realizing I had an hour on this highway, and also realizing I was perilously close to the sea and Cretan drivers discourage people from going the speed limit, I found out the custom is to actually drive in the shoulder of the road to let people pass you---and it guess that way it turns out there are actually two lanes….!
    
    
    Upon seeing the signs for Agios Nikolaus, we promptly got lost and..well..eventually asked enough people for the accursed Hotel Lato, that we found it finally. We were rewarded with a pleasant pension-type hotel that we settled into after midnight. Weirdly, the guy asked to keep our passports up in the little receptacle where people leave their keys and I saw no one else’s there, and refused to do it. My daughter suggested we offer him our California driver’s licenses instead, which he took and they were still right there in the box in the morning. I also thought there was no electricity in our decent and clean room until the reception guy said to leave the key in the slot at the light switch, which turns on the electricity and then turns it all off when you take the key to leave. Later, we saw all our other hotels used this tactic, so I got used to it, and appreciated it for the energy saver it was. Now, how do I install this sort of thing in my son’s room….??
    
    
    CRETE: The Village of Macriyialos, Best Beach in Crete, An Olive Oil Lecture
    
    
    We had a nice breakfast at the Hotel Lato (included in the cheap-o rate—but the AC was not, and we were going to be charged to turn it on, but I complained that it was already 1 AM and we were only staying one night, so he gave me the remote control device at no charge) then did a quick tour of the lovely beach town and skedaddled out of there on the way south to our little Cretan village that I had found on the Internet. Agios Nikolaus is quite nice, in fact, a very pretty small town with a touristy feel and a pretty “lake” right at the harbor which it is known for. I didn’t think we needed to hang around as we were looking for our week of relaxation and a bit more pampering.
    
    It took about an hour to arrive at the small village of Macriyialos. We had received excellent directions from the owners of the Villea Village Hotel, which is surely the nicest place in this village, which is probably home to just a few hundred people, I would guess. It is near absolutely nothing at all, and if you want to have some adventures in Crete, you have to drive an hour this way or a couple hours that way—whatever—we didn’t care. We settled into our room, which was a very appealing apartment-style place with a little kitchenette, bathroom, dining area, and bedroom. The surrounding gardens were beautiful olive groves and bougainvillea, with many other flowers and trees that created a relaxing atmosphere. We were located near the pool on the lower level—surely the best pool for miles around—olympic size and pristine. There are numerous tavernas within walking distance and a fabulous beach across the road. The water was completely clear and the sand was soft and smooth (not rocky, like other beaches in Greece) and the slope upon entering the water was so gentle that I kept wondering why there weren’t families everywhere with their kids. I was able to walk out many yards –all the while able to see my feet in the sparkling clear water---and I never got to a point where I wasn’t able to stand. There were beach lounge chairs available right there and no one asked us for any money to use them. It was very lovely.
    
    We spent the next days enjoying the quiet and the various activities offered by the hotel (a hike at the nearby gorge, a “quiz night” ping-pong, a bike ride, massage, happy hour at the pool bar, and a lecture (and free tasting) from a local farmer about the history and benefits of olive oil), going to the little markets and bakeries to buy food, various local tavernas to eat dinner with people we met at the hotel, walking to an English style pub to use the Internet, etc.  One day we drove to what we were told was the easternmost point of Europe, a tiny beach town named KA, which consists of a beautiful vista, a small resort, a Palm Forest, and lots of European tourists walking to the top of the rock at the edge of the sea. It was about a 45-minute drive through super-windy small roads, with stunning views that were unequaled. We enjoyed our accommodations for the week in this small, unspoiled Greek village. We were able to find this place at an excellent price on an Internet auction website, and it was indeed worth it.  I would expect it to become quite commercialized within about 5 years, as I saw a number of hotels and buildings in the early stages of being built.
    
    
    SANTORINI: A Legendary Sunset and a Dive Center that Should be Shut Down
    
    
    We woke up at 6 AM to drive the 2 hours back to Heraklion and get on the “Flying Cat”, which is a fast ferry to Santorini that takes 1 hr and 45 min to get there. We had purchased business class seats and were led up to an upper deck and sat comfortably in Amtrak-style seats, where we promptly fell asleep and woke up about 10 minutes before arrival. Both of us have issues with seasickness on boats and so we took a Dramamine (another reason to be sleepy), which was unnecessary since the ride was really smooth.
    
    Arrival at the port in Santorini is quite dramatic. One look up at where the buses need to take you is enough to make you wonder why you didn’t think to fly in from the other side of the island. We had arranged a pick up by our small hotel staff, The Villa Manos, which is right outside the main town. I had picked it out from the Internet mostly due to cost (cheap--$30 a night!) and good reviews, and the fact that they pick up from the port.
    
    Poppy Filitis, the owner, sent her sister-in-law to pick us up (the whole place is a family affair, and quite friendly) and we arrived and were offered a glass of homemade local Santorini sweet wine, which was nice and then settled in to our Spartan, but clean, room, with an extra charge for the A/C, which luckily we didn’t need, as the weather was perfect.
    
    The hotel is located outside of the town of Fira, where the action is, and walking there on those narrow roads was not something I particularly enjoyed. There is a bus stop right outside the hotel and the bus comes every half hour, which is what we did one day after the first time we walked to town.
    
    Poppy signed us up for an island tour for a reasonable price for the next day and we got picked up right at the stop and really enjoyed the day long trip to the famous Santorini volcano on a boat and then to see the sunset in Oia, which is legendary.
    
    The breakfast Poppy and her brood provide for 5 Euro is delicious and affordable and the décor of the outdoor patio by the pool is lovely and we took advantage of the offer for this breakfast. There wasn’t anything like a restaurant within walking distance anyway.
    
    On our third day, I elected to stay back at the pool, while my 20-year-old daughter wanted to go scuba diving. We looked up the only dive center on the island (www.divecenter.gr) and she decided to buy the half-day trip and go there, as it wasn’t too far. She is an experienced diver, but realized that we would be flying that evening back to Athens, so knew she would not be able to dive that day, and therefore she just decided to go snorkeling from the boat and see the sights.
    
    Here is what happened:
    
    She got picked up at our hotel and taken to the dive site about half an hour away. There were 5 men on the boat: 2 guides and 3 tourists. One tourist was somewhat drunk or stoned, she said, and he continually made sneering comments and leered at her in her bathing suit, and no one said one thing to him to ask him to stop annoying her. The guide threw her a HALF wet suit only, while giving everyone else a full one and the water was not particularly warm. When they got to the dive site, the lead guide told her that they were all diving there and she could snorkel right above them. The boat would always be in view and they would all be back in about an hour. She assumed the assistant guide would stay in the boat, but he went down too. So they left her above them for 60 minutes, completely alone and she couldn’t believe it and said it all happened very fast and she felt she couldn’t protest. They were not in a secluded cove. She was able to see and hear ships (passenger ships) were sailing nearby and realized that she was not far from some sort of shipping lane. She felt quite uncomfortable, considering she was in the open Mediterranean, and considered getting back on the boat, but she wanted to see the reefs, etc, so stayed out for most of the time before climbing back into the boat, again, completely alone. They never once considered that they had left her in a dangerous situation smack in the middle of the sea. Again she was bothered on the way back or completely ignored, she said, with only one man (Australian) who attempted to fend off the leering creep and tried to be social. She was mostly astonished at the behavior of the two guides. The younger one, she said, was her age, and American, to boot, and he never said more than 3 words to her the entire afternoon. It was the most uncomfortable trip she ever experienced, she told me upon her return, and we told our new friend Poppy, the hotel owner, who was shocked, as she said there are occasionally sharks in the waters there, which she called “dogfish” and showed us a picture of them. We had a flight to catch to Athens, so we couldn’t do too much, but…we learned a great deal about what to avoid for future trips!!
    
    
    Home Sweet Home after one more night in Athens
    
    We flew back to Athens on Aegean Airlines, which was a simple half hour flight. We arrived in Athens at 9 PM and had to get the flight back to the States at 8: 30 AM the next morning, so we stayed at the Holiday Inn, Athens Airport, for the night, which I happily paid for with points, yet again. It was a very comfortable and modern hotel, with really modernistic décor—our room had 18 different lights—not counting the bathroom—we thought the décor was just a bit over the top. We ordered room service, which was quite mediocre, but the beds were comfortable and the big reason to select this hotel is that there is a free shuttle from the airport which is super convenient. The points rate for this nice hotel were on a special rate that I found as a diligent points hound -- 5,000 points a night, which is like free of charge.
    
    All in all, we loved our Greek vacation and we would love to go back again—next time trying different islands and also seeing the other side of Crete, which we were sorry we had to miss. So…I am busily hording points and cleverly exploring ways to fatten up those frequent flyer accounts. Maybe in about 2 years, I’ll have enough for a repeat performance.  If I made it happen once, it proves that hard work pays off, and anything is possible!

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• Lost in Francelation Lost in Francelation

  • From: jubu
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    Maria and I are headed to France!  Follow our adventures (and misadventures!) right here.  We leave January 9, 2009.  We hope to update this blog throughout the trip, though this will be the first-ever blog for either of us, so who knows how it'll go!  We'll also be trying to do a VoiceThread which you can check out at this address.  It's empty now, but we hope to fill it with our comments, photos and videos.  And please add your own comments to the blog and to the VoiceThread:

    http://voicethread.com/share/249813/

    Sunday January 11 (2:30 a.m.)

     

    Before we left, Maria had asked me to tell her about all the things that would be different in France.  So, as they occurred to me over the past few weeks, I told her about dinners that don’t start until 7 p.m. or later, cars that get parked on sidewalks and the fact that if you spot someone in Nikes you can be pretty sure they are American.  But I forgot about the smell.

     

    As we got off the plane and onto the jetway, I was struck by the smell of France.  It should have smelled like exhaust from the plane, but it was distinctly the smell of France.  I read somewhere that the nose can identify something like 10 times more smells than the brain can name and this is one of them.  I’m sure you’ve had the experience of unexpectedly smelling something and subsequently being flooded by memories, even if you can’t describe the smell.  There’s a definite element of perfume in this scent, but that’s the only piece I can specify.   It’s just “Eau de France” and if they sold it everyone who ever came here would buy a bottle.

     

    The flights over here went off without a hitch, in spite of snow in Detroit.  We were really lucky that the airport only had about an inch of snow, but my cousin who lives two counties away was unable to get to the airport to meet us for dinner because there was much more snow where she lives.  L

     

     

    The hotel is the nicest I’ve ever been in in France.  We’ve been upgraded to one of their best rooms just because no one else was booked in it.  It’s “La Tour Eiffel” room and guess what we see from our window?  Way cool!

     

     

    Our first day here was spent largely in trying to catch up on sleep (Maria has been very successful at this, but not me.  It is 2:30 a.m. as I write – from the bathroom!) and get our bearings, but we did get to go on a nighttime river cruise on the Seine.  My French friends warned me that it would be “cold” but considering that we’ve had temps around 15 at home, I thought a daily high of 30 would be pleasant.  Wrong!  I don’t know what the temp was during the day yesterday, but we are really glad we packed long underwear.  The boat was enclosed, but the walk there was rather frigid.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    OK, I'm off to try to sleep!

     

     

     

     

     

    Sunday, January 11 (at a much more respectable hour!)

    (from Maria)

    Today, we went to the cathedral of Notre Dame. It was all right.

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    We then went to Anne Frederique (Mom’s former host family’s daughter) and her husband, Nicolas’ apartment. Their apartment and cat were nice and we went on a chilly walk.

     

     

    Mom and I also went up the Arc de Triomphe, 284 steps! But it was worth it. The view was spectacular and I got a cute diary from the gift shop.

    

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    Then we went to the modern art museum. I had to ask mom a lot, “Why is this art?” But some of it was cool.

     

    It is 9:40 here and I’m going to sleep soon!

    Au Revoir!

    Tuesday, January 13, 2009

     

    Yesterday was a marathon.  I don’t know how we did it. 

     

    Once again, I was up for about three hours in the middle of the night Sunday night.  It must be my age, because jet lag has never been this bad for me.  I had a meeting with a woman at the Alliance Française at 10 a.m. and Maria came along and read a book while we discussed options for me bringing a group of students to Paris for an intensive study-abroad program.  It was all very impressive but I fear the whole thing will be deemed too expensive by the powers-that-be in Madison who would need to approve it. 

     

    After changing into warmer clothes we headed for the Eiffel Tower.  It had really been too cold to go up on the previous two days, but yesterday it was time to bite the bullet.  Personally, I think the tower is nicer to look at than be in (same for the Arc de Triomphe and Notre Dame).  But it is practically a requirement to go up your first time in Paris and Maria loved it.   

    

    Next we headed to the Louvre.  I should say up front that I’m not a big fan of the Louvre.  It’s just too blasted big!  Honestly, it was cruel for someone to put so much art in one location that you need three months and a GPS (the maps are awful!) to view it all.  But, I suppose, back in the 1600s when Louix XIV decided to leave the royal residence of Paris and build Versailles they had to do something with the building and low-income housing wasn’t an option at the time.  Nonetheless, we went and checked off The Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the Winged Victory and the Seated Scribe (which I’d never seen or heard of but Maria had).

    I observed more of the décor of the galleries than ever before, which was pretty amazing.  Much of the artwork is missed if you don’t look up (no doubt adding to that three-month figure!)   Maria also did some sketches in the ancient Egyptian wing, at which point I almost fell asleep. 

    From there we headed to the Orangerie, which is my all-time favorite museum.  It’s the home of two huge, round galleries specifically designed by Claude Monet to display eight of his largest paintings, les Nymphéas (the Waterlilies).  I read that he wanted to create a peaceful retreat in the middle of the city and that was just what we needed.  On the lower level are about eight rooms with other impressionist paintings and we noted a Renoir with a figure that bears a remarkable resemblance to Maria’s classmate, Ellie Knoll.  If you know Ellie, what do you think?

    

     

    After a quick trip back to the hotel and another change we went to dinner at a nicer restaurant that is rather known  in Paris, La Coupole.  I head read in “Paris with Kids” that it was family-friendly so I thought it’d be a treat.  Long story short, it was just a waste of money.  When we return we’ll stick with the ordinary cafés and restaurant.

                                                                                             

    As I write this we are on a train headed to Pau, in the southwest of the country – where it promises to be a little warmer!  The train ride is five hours and I couldn’t be happier to have all this time to just sitJ

     

    (10:30 p.m., Lascazares)

     

    We have done a 180 degree turn from Paris and are with Remi and Elisabeth in the southwest.  They live in a beautiful house in the country with a farm right next door (I was warned that we might hear the rooster early tomorrow morning).  I'll write more about this place tomorrow, but for now it's time to sleep.

    Wednesday, January 14 (Maria)

     

    I slept until about 10:00 and then we went to Lourdes. There was an underground cathedral. It was HUGE but too cold.

    Right above it was a different cathedral and the main attraction of that was a cave that I went in right next to the cathedral where Mary appeared to a girl 18 times!

    

    Also they had a spring of water that when Mary appeared, changed it from a mud puddle to holy water and they had faucets that had the water in it and I got have drink some.  It’s supposed to heal so that was cool! I wonder if it works. I’m beginning to feel homesick thoughL.

    (Julie) 

    Maria did a good job explaining our day (though she left out the fact that it is 50 degrees here :) ) so I won't recap.  I will, however, explain why we are here.  When I did my semester abroad in Strasbourg 17 years ago I lived with Remi and Elisabeth Bogner and their three children.  We have stayed in touch ever since and Paul and I stayed with them when we came to France in 1995.  When Remi retired in 2007 they moved here to the southwest.  Their hospitality is wonderful (it always was) and it has been lots of fun catching up with them and recalling stories from my student days. 

    If you have not read "A Year in Provence" I highly recommend it for a good laugh as well as an accurate glimpse into French life.  It's the story of a British ad exec who uproots his life and resettles in an old house in the south of France.  The picture I had in my head from reading the description of that house matches Remi and Elisabeth's house perfectly, and from what they tell me, the stories of the madness of dealing with French subcontractors also match those from the book.

    P.S.  We've loaded some pictures on the VoiceThread.  Click the link at the top of the blog.

    Friday, January 16, 2009

     

    We’re on a train headed back to Paris.  Yesterday Rémi and Elisabeth took us to the Pic du Midi, one of the highest peaks in the Pyrenees.  We took a cable car from a ski resort and had lunch at the summit, which is also home to a research center with high-powered telescopes.  I can’t describe what this looks like – I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves (of course, as soon as we arrived I realized that I had left the memory card for my camera back at the house, so Maria and Elisabeth were the chief photographers.)

     

    Back at the house we had dinner with Elisabeth’s mom, brother Michel, and cousin.  It was Grandma’s birthday and Rémi’s feast day (the feast of St. Rémi) so it was a little party, though a bit sad since it was our last night.  We enjoyed many animated discussions around their table about cranberries (unknown in France), American Girl dolls (also unknown, though Michel was fascinated by the store in New York when he saw it) and the proliferation of wild boars in France (Rémi and Michel hit one with the car.  The insurance agent actually came out of her office to look for boar hairs to ascertain if that was truly how the damage was done.)

     

    This morning we returned to Pau where I had a meeting with some people from the university there about establishing a study-abroad program there, which sounds very promising.  We had a very nice stroll outside on the lovely green grass – no hats, no gloves, jackets unzipped.

     

    Hi! It’s Maria and I’m going to tell you what happened other than a meeting. After dropping mom off, Remi, Elisabeth, and I, left for the castle of Pau where King Henry IV was born. We got there; only to find out they just closed and wouldn’t be opening again until I was on the train. So we went to lunch at a good pizzeria and went back to the castle to poke around outside and take pictures. I really liked the garden. Remi and Elisabeth were really nice to me and I thank them (Merci beaucoup!) I’ll find something to do for the rest of this boring ride. Bye!

     

    Sunday, January 18

     

    I can’t believe that today was our last day here!  The time really flew by.

     

    Yesterday was souvenir-shopping day.  We also visited the Sainte Chapelle, famous for its amazing stained glass windows , and strolled the Latin Quarter where we got this photo taken, which I think is the best of the trip.  Then we went to the home of our friends Olivier and Karine Maccarone in one of the suburbs. (Don't you love it -- peanut butter and champagne!) We met them in 2007 when they were visiting our friends Holly and Kevin in Wausau.  Olivier had been an exchange student with Kevin’s family in Appleton 20 years ago.  They have two boys, Baptiste who is 8 and Nolann who is 5.  It was fun to see how Maria, with her limited French, and Baptiste, with his limited English, managed to communicate and teach each other a bit.  It was a wonderful evening that concluded with Olivier driving us back to our hotel via the Champs Elysées!  We look forward to seeing them all again.

    Today was all Versailles – 6 hours and countless kilometers of walking!  I turn the keyboard over to Maria for the summary:

                Hi! Today we went to Versailles as Mom said and it was so much walking. I took 109 photos. Is that enough? Well we went to a lot of bedchambers and here’s one of them. We also went into the famous hall of mirrors. I don’t know what makes it famous but oh well, more pictures!  We then went to the gardens which, like the castle, are too big, but they are very pretty.  We also visited the queen's hamlet which is where the queen would go and play peasant.  Here's me in the queen's hamlet.  We also visited the king's and queen's "mini" castles.  They were tiny but sweet.

     

    This is our last post as we head to the airport at 11 a.m. tomorrow.  Thanks so much for reading our blog.  We enjoyed reading everyone’s responses – it made us feel not so far from home!  I’ll continue to sharpen this blog with a few more photos and videos in the next week, mostly for my own desire to try to preserve everything in the relatively sure-fire security of the web.  Check back in a week or so to see the finished product.  Au revoir!

    Wednesday, January 21st

    We're back home now, where we're glad it has warmed up to 15 degrees F (-10 C), though it's hard to forget that when our plane took off it was 60 F (14 C) in Paris!

    I'll call this last entry "Tidbits We Forgot to Mention Earlier" and it's going to be a hodgepodge.  I'll start with a short list of things that were noticeably different to me from 13 years ago.

    1.  The French smoke MUCH less than they used to.  Smoking in public places (including bars) became illegal a year ago, but they obviously made some significant progess long before that.  I can count on one hand the times when I found myself smelling cigarette smoke.

    2.  There were way fewer dogs out on sidewalks, thus much less caca to try to not step in.  This could be entirely due to the fact that it was winter, but it was still nice.

    3.  Parisians are friendlier.  This could be entirely owing to the fact that I speak their language.  But even with that, there were so many virtual strangers who wanted to engage in conversation, mostly to find out where we were from and details about our trip.  Parisians don't have a reputation for their warmth, but it seems they deserve that less and less.

    "Maria's Favorite Meal" -- la Raclette.  Leave it to the French to take a simple baked potato and turn it into a chef d'oeuvre!  To make this you use a special applicance that gets plugged in and set in the middle of the table (I'm so mad at myself for not taking a picture of this at Remi and Elisabeth's house:( ).  Each person gets their own little frying pan into which they put a particular variety of cheese made just for this purpose as well as bacon and onion, according to their preference.  While it melts you peel a potato and cut it up.  When it's all melted you dump your toppings onto your potato, using a small wood spatula to scrape it clean.  This is often served with deli meats and pickles on the side.  Maria liked this so much that she ordered it at a restaurant in Paris, where I did get a photo. 

    

    This "appliance" was different and was heated with a flame, but you get the idea.  There's a little handle that you tip up to facilitate the dumping.  Incidentally, you  use a different part of the appliance to grill food for a different type of meal, la pirouade (I know I'm spelling it wrong), which was what we had at Karine and Olivier's.  I found  one of these machines on the web and I'll be adding it to my birthday list.

    "Moment of Greatest Linguistic Achievement"  Outside the Louvre, I wanted someone to take a picture of Maria and I, so I approached a woman who had the air of waiting for someone and asked her in French if she could take our photo.  She shook her head and said, "Espagnole".  "OK," I thought, "I know enough Spanish to ask this."  So I said, "Pueden" (yay for remembering to use the formal form!) and then I drew a blank.  I wanted to say "mirar una photo" but I knew that was "look at a picture" so I just kept gesturing to my camera.  Mercifully, she said, "Sacar una photo?"  Yay for sign language!  Wanting to prove that I really could speak her language, I added, "De nos dos, con la pyramida..." at which point I forgot how to say "behind" but she was saying "si, si" so we went for it.  It wasn't until I loaded the photo that I noticed that her husband came along at just the right moment:

    

     

    Well, I think it's time to wrap this up for good.  I have to say that it was a more wonderful trip than I had hoped.  Maria was an awesome travel companion, motoring through 10 hour days often with more energy than me.  She was very bold about trying out her French whenever she could.  I should add that on the plane home she said "Bonjour" to the flight attendant with such a good accent that the woman handed us customs forms for French citizens entering the U.S.! 

    I also want to say a special thank you to all of our friends in France.  Getting to visit with Anne-Frederique, Nicolas, Remi, Elisabeth, Mamie, Bijou, Michel, Karine, Olivier, Baptiste and Nolann made this so much more than just a tourist junket.  On ne peut pas attendre la prochaine fois qu'on peut se revoir!  Merci mille fois!

    

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  • 1 year ago
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• Small Miracles in Assisi, Ital Small Miracles in Assisi, Italy

  • From: Janice St Marie
  • Description:

    A Promise Fulfilled
    A few years ago, I made a promise to myself: before I turned 50, I would return to Italy. It had been more than 25 years since I was there as a student in Perugia and Assisi,  located in the heart of Umbria. Little did I know what a wonderful surprise was in store for me once I arrived in Italy.
    
    I had studied mainly in Perugia but had taken a stained glass class in nearby Assisi as well. We worked in a rustic studio with arched doors and stone walls. My teacher was renowned in Italy and had a shop where he made and sold pieces commercially. I also learned cross-stitch (the famous local stitch called the St. Francis stitch) from a gentle old woman who worked in the public bathrooms. She was responsible for cleaning the restroom and collected coins as tips from tourists. I would sit next to her on an upturned bucket as she taught me the traditional stitch, stumbling through directions with my beginning Italian.
    
    The Search Begins
    Arriving by train to the city of Assisi, I realized I had left a part of myself there and it felt incredible to return. My first goal was to try locating the stained glass studio where I had studied. I wound my way up the crowded streets lined with restaurants, tourist shops and art galleries looking for something familiar. When I found the central piazza, I knew I was on the right track. “Up, up!” I thought. And so I continued. I stopped a little farther on and decided I had better ask someone if they had heard of the studio. I entered one of the many stores along the street and began my search there.

    An older woman greeted me. Her shop was the size of a walk-in closet and filled to the brim with souvenirs and handmade items. I asked if she spoke English. “No,” she said. With trepidation, I began to speak in Italian. I asked if she knew of the studio where stained glass had been taught many years ago for Americans by an Italian teacher (he must be 80 years old by now). She thought a moment and then asked, “Is his name Renato Rossi?” “Yes!” I said. “Renato Rossi!”  She was quite pleased for me and indicated on the map the area where she thought the studio had been. She said it was no longer there, but that Renato was still alive and lived somewhere near the edge of town.
    
    Pushing My Luck
    I was very grateful and I decided to push my luck even further and ask about the woman who had taught me the St. Francis cross-stitch. So, I described when and where I had met her and how she had taken the time to sit with me and teach me the stitch. The store owner listened to my query and then, after a thoughtful pause she said quietly, “She was my mother.”
    
    Unbelievable! Tears of surprise and happiness came to my eyes. What serendipity! I told Marisa that her mother had been very warm and generous to me and remained close to my heart. She told me her mother had died eight years ago and she missed her tremendously. Then she walked over to a stack of St. Francis cross-stitch handiwork, shuffled through the pile and selected two pieces. She handed one to me and said, “I want you to have this. My mother stitched it.”  Then, she gave me the second piece saying, “And this too, I stitched it myself.

     

    

     

    I accepted the gifts, still feeling stunned. We both marvelled at the chance of me walking into
    her store of all the stores along the road. Marisa was convinced her mother had a hand in bringing us together. I can hardly disagree.
    
    Life Can Be So Easy
    After more conversation and plans to meet throughout the week of my stay, I took the map she had marked for me and started up the hill once more to search for Renato. I stopped in a small shop where a kindly gentleman listened to my story and pointed me in a general direction. I was wandering around a neighborhood, map in hand, when I saw three women talking on a small side street. Approaching them, speaking in Italian I asked if they knew Renato Rossi. One of the women looked at me and said, “Yes, he’s my uncle.” Amid wild gesticulations and hoots of laughter (“Puo facile la vita!” Life can be so easy!), Rosana accompanied me to Renato’s house only a few blocks away. She buzzed his door and I heard someone shout, “Ooooah!” I hadn’t heard that expression for 28 years!
    
    Once inside, while we toasted fate with a glass of wine, Renato (he is almost 80) pulled out photographs from when I studied with him years ago. We exclaimed at how much younger we had all looked. After an hour or so of reminiscing, I agreed to return the next day for lunch.

    I walked back through the city as the sun was setting, thinking to myself, my first day in Assisi, after an absence of more than a quarter century, had been magical beyond all expectation.

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  • 2 years ago
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• Fiji Contest: Thailand, the l Fiji Contest: Thailand, the land of a million smiles.....

  • From: ilprincipe
  • Description:
    I think I slept all the way from LAX to Bangkok, about 16 hours. I only got 2 hours of  sleep the night before leaving due to not being "packed and ready"... Planning is my forte, but I must have slowed down a bit in my mature years...
    I am already in love with Thailand.
    Thailand means literally the land of the free. I would add, the land of the gracious and the land of smiles. They seem to be a happy people in general. They have a great sense of pride in their history and their figurehead king, Rama VII.  Thailand has never been colonised by other nations, unlike her neighbors Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos.
    Spent a couple of days in Pattaya, a seaside resort about 2 hours ride from Bangkok,  well known for its pornographic services.  
    The Thai people I met, and especially my guide Suri, seem to be proud about their "sex tourism". You have got to be number one at something. This is hard to understand since the country is about 85% Buddhist. Moslems make up most of the rest. This population, in general, is quite conservative socially and quite religious. This is quite puzzling. I guess, when money is involved, it becomes a matter of supply meeting the strong demand, mostly by male tourists looking for everything Thai.
    The Lady-Boy Show, presented by boys who have converted their sex into girls.

    The Vagina Show is no monologue. They demonstrate all kinds of vaginal skills, talents and capabilities I have never imagined were possible.

    It set a new paradigm and bar level when it comes to vaginas.

    And I thought I knew all there was to know about vaginas...

    I missed out on the "Penis Show".... too close to home.... I feel inadequate enough, thank you. What I do not know, will not hurt me....

    Saw a traditional song and dance show that included live elephants.

    A separate Elephant show showed elephants playing basketball, soccer, painting,

    A monkey show where monkeys were allowed to be monkeys.

    A cobra snake show, a prelude to try sell us "snake oil" for medicinal purposes.

    No thank you.

    A Jewelry factory, focused on the use of locally mined rubies and sapphires. Word of advice, to get the best deal on Jewelry, shop at Macy's during a sale. The quality and prices were no better than those in the US.

    Last, but definitely not least, a traditional Thai Massage that lasted 2 full hours was a great experience. It utilizes a lot of stretching, kneading, pushing and pulling, similar to Physical Therapy. All were fully clothed.

    Of course, there are numerous massage parlors, everywhere you look.

    They offer a variety of massages.... full body oil massage, water massage, massages with a happy ending and massages tailored to one's fantasy. All massages are offered at a very reasonable price.

    Every day, at the end of the day, for close to peanuts, I get my
    traditional Thai Massage, which takes away the stress and pain by focusing on
    stretching that is a lot more intense that what I ever got at Physical
    Therapy. It is a great way to unwind, get rid of the stress and pain of sightseeing all day, and provides for a wonderful and deep sleep.
    
    On the other hand, there is so much culture, arts, traditional music, dance, theatre, beautiful temples. great natural resources, the biggest supplier of orchids to the world. Thailand is also a big exporter of seafood and other food products.
    For fair balance, I did visit a museum, a couple of Buddha
    temples and most importantly the Grand Palace, which used to house the royal
    family. Currently it is the home of the Emerald Buddha, the whole
    sculture made of good green emerald, mined locally. This Buddha has 3 gold
    embroidered robes, for the summer, the winter and the rainy season. Only
    the King, currently, Rama the ninth, can dress up the Buddha. The huge
    palace is full of beautiful traditional architecture which relies
    heavily on gold. Another popular Buddha, is the 4 faced Buddha.
    No, he is not twice double faced as you might have concluded.
    He actually has one head and 4 faces, facing north, south, east
    and west, all in gold.
    This temple is located at a busy square in downtown Bangkok.
    These temples are full of devout Buddhists kneeling , lying prostate,
    burning candles, incence, spraying themselves with holy water, bringing
    food to the monks...
    Bangkok is overcrowded, crammed with traffic and very noisy.
    The best mode of transportation is by bicycle.
    One may use a "Bicycle-Taxi", meaning you ride behind the driver
    and hold on to him for dear life. Don't worry, he has an extra helmet for you.
    A ride for about half an hour is no more than a dollar.
    You may also rent a bicycle or a motorcycle, and appreciate the thrill of danger....
    
    I spent a day at a coral island, (just off Pattara), where my quest for a formidable tan has just begun. The water was crystal clear and the fish seemed to be enjoying it. The entire length of the beach was full of souvenir shops, peddling pretty much the same merchandise. Lots of stuff with an "Elephant" theme. The elephant is a well revered animal in Thailand. It helped the Thai build their country by doing the heavy lifting. It helped them defend themselves in times of war. It is still being used in the north in the Teak Wood logging industry.
    Bargaining is a part of the fun of shopping, and a strong expectation. The shopkeepers inflate their prices so much that it is quite acceptable to start the bargaining game by offering a quarter or a third of the asking price..... My policy is not to pay more than half the asking price, unless the product is quite unique and I fell in love with it. 
     
    On to Chiang Mai, a city in the north, an hour flight from Bangkok, that
    used to be the capital of Thailand.
    I attended a beautiful traditional dinner show from various
    tribes in the area. I was asked to get on stage and participate in the
    dance show. I obliged. The dance looked a bit like a Cambodian
    traditional dance I had learnt recently. it is a slow undulating walk ,
    with the couple side by side in harmony,
    around a circle while focusing on hand movement at the wrist and finger positioning.
    Each position of the fingers and the wrists have special sybolic meanings
    such as grace, love, peace, generosity etc.
    Dinner was served on a tray, on the
    carpeted ground, and the food is mostly eaten by hand.
     
    I saw the old city wall, and a couple of temples and pagodas, on top of
    the mountains overlooking Chiang Mai. One of the tribes in the area
    decided long necks on women is sexy and sophisticated. They train the
    young girls to "grow their necks" long by having them wear metal necklaces.
    They keep adding more and more necklaces until their girls look like
    giraffe. I tried to talk them out of this tradition, but failed. I
    tried to "Free the girls" but was chased out of town.... 
      
     
    
  • Blog post
  • 2 years ago
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• BEHIND THE RED CURTAIN AND ATO BEHIND THE RED CURTAIN AND ATOP THE GREAT WALL- CHINA!

  • From: patrickmurphy
  • Description:

    BEHIND THE RED CURTAIN AND ATOP THE GREAT WALL- CHINA!

    "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore." This was my first thought after exiting the train station in Guangzhou, my first city in mainland China which is a few hours north of Hong Kong. China does not put it's best foot forward with Guangzhou. It is a large city (4 million) with bustling traffic, some uninspiring architecture, and alot of smog. I must admit that it was a bit intimidating at first (especially given the reality that there are zero signs in English...as expected). However, after figuring out the currency, tackling the subway and making it to my hostel okay, I then had enough time to get situated and learn that the people were friendly and that there's nothing to worry about so I took the opportunity to get myself oriented for a day and do some travel planning.

    I've been fortunate to have had enough time to cover a lot of ground and traveled to some fascinating sites in the countryside, small cities, and large cities. Traveling this time of year in China is very cold which precluded me from doing more hiking to some of the famous peaks such as Huang Shan or Tai Shan or to visit more of the hillside villages, but the good thing, I guess, was that there are no tourists this time of year. I'd say that about 98 percent of the time I was the only non-Chinese person to be found wherever I happened to be, whether it was amongst the 15,000 people in the train or the bus stations, or at restaurants, hotels, the various historic sites, or on the street. I can say that China is a very, very safe place in which to travel, as I did not have a hint of any trouble anywhere.

    There are many versions of China. The rural areas are as rural as it gets, with farming families living in very simple wood-frame, mud, or concrete structures and where fields are still plowed with horses or water buffalo. Bicycles and scooters are still the main form of transportation in these areas. The rural highways are really something to be experienced...all vying for the same road space are buses, cars, scooters, three-wheeled motorized carts, horses pulling wagons stacked fifteen feet high with agricultural products or building supplies, and hordes of bicycles (including kids being towed on their bikes by grabbing onto the back of cement trucks or tractors). There are some stunningly beautiful landscapes, such as the areas around Yangshou and Guilin, along with areas of serious environmental destruction due to mass grading for new bridges and/or road projects that obliderate entire hillsides, factories spewing black soot into the air, and garbage dumps on hillsides overflowing directly into rivers. China is also as modern as it gets with Shanghai's bright lights, new bullet train connecting it's two modern airports (240 mph), and attractive modern skyscrapers. In between, there are many plain, uninspiring industrial cities (just what you envision when thinking of some of the older communist-era cities), along with many wonderful hillside villages, ancient historic cities, and world heritage sites. One thing in common with all of these different areas visited is the people...they are wonderful.

    THE PEOPLE / LANGUAGE

    China has managed to turn the Red Curtain into a Red Carpet. After six-plus weeks traveling here, I have been absolutely blown-away by the warmth and helpfulness of the Chinese people. I cannot say enough good things about them, especially the staff at restaurants and the hotels/hostels who were especially friendly and helpful. No matter where I went, the children were always the first to offer a cheerful "Hello!" or "Ni Hao!" (hello in Chinese), along with a wave and followed by a giggle or two. The elderly, who tend to speak no English, also were quick with a wave, a smile, and/or a "Ni hao". Sales people in doorsways would constantly yell out a "Hello" or "Hello, welcome to China!", along with a wide smile. I was constantly approached by people on the street, in train or bus stations, or restaurants who wanted to know where I was from, how long I had been in China, where I had visited and what I thought of China, and asking what life in America is like. Similar to other countries, I discovered that some were eventually only trying to sell something or trying to get me to sign up for a tour...which I have come to expect. The vast majority, however, were genuinely interested in just talking, learning about me and America, and learning what I was doing in China. The fact that I was taking time to visit their country absolutely thrilled them (the best "ice-breaker" was definitely bringing up the name of Yao Ming, the Chinese basketball player now playing in the NBA. Faces would light-up when I mentioned his name and when I complimented his play and his like-able personality.)

    I spent most of my time speaking with the under-40 crowd, most of which can speak some English and were always eager to talk. The University students, many of whom were English majors, flocked to me to have the opportunity to practice their English and discuss a variety of topics, the most popular being U.S. culture and politics. I discovered that most were very knowledgeable about the U.S. (our history, the Declaration of Independence, U.S. presidents, and the upcoming election). They had so many questions about the prospect of the first-ever woman or black president, which really interested them. They also spoke freely with me about their life in China and what political and social changes they were hopeful for. These were some of the most interesting discussions I have ever had...anywhere. With my trusty Lonely Planet travel guide and my small Chinese phrasebook, I was able to get by with respect to ordering food, getting a place to sleep, and finding my way from point A to B. Any attempt of mine to speak some Chinese was greatly appreciated by the locals. At such times when there was a language stalemate, I would resort to paper and pen and/or a game of charades to communicate what I needed. There were many, many laughs in these situations. The fact that one does not know a certain language should not get in the way of one visiting a foreign country. It takes some work at times, but it all works out in the end!

    THE FOOD

    Many people, as well as some travel books, attempt to steer one away from eating from street vendors. If I followed this advice, I would have missed out on some of the best (and most interesting) meals of my life over the years. If the locals are gathered around a food stand, hop in line and enjoy. From homemade ice cream or empanadas on the beaches in Baja, to home-made ceviche in Peru, to barbecued grasshoppers with hot chili powder in Thailand, treating oneself to these culinary delights is what travel is all about. The same holds true for China.

    Along the streets, alleys, and night markets were boiling pots of soup, dumplings, and steamed meat buns; smoking woks and frying pans serving up vegetables, omelets, and various meats; and 55-gallon metal drums on small wagons on the back of bicycles that were converted to mini ovens cooking up wonderful sweet potatoes or piping hot, fresh bread. The best outdoor food markets visited were in the Muslim Quarter in Xi'an, the night market in Kaifeng, and the daily markets tucked away in the hutong neighborhoods in Beijing. I went on a feeding frenzy at these markets. Half the time I had no idea what I was eating (or how to find out what I was eating), but it was all good. Most of the time I would resort to looking, pointing, paying, and enjoying. My favorite was a little food stand in Kaifeng which served fresh sesame bread sliced in half and packed with three different types of hot noodles, along with some vegetables, tofu, and smothered with a bean paste and hot chili powder for about 30 cents...and it was delicious! The various restaurants serve up some fine traditional Chinese plates and were always very good, but it is the street foodstands and markets that should not be missed when visiting China.

    TRANSPORTATION

    One cannot discuss China without touching upon the transportation system, which is extensive, efficient, and affordable (it has to be in order to move 1.3 billion people around a very large country!). It can also be chaotic. Much like traveling in South America, surviving travel in China requires a great deal of patience and a good sense of humor. Ticket lines and waiting lines for trains and buses can be ridiculously long, things are loud, and (obviously) everything is foreign so one needs to be able to accept being out of ones comfort zone a bit. If one can do this, no problem. The hardest thing for me was purchasing a ticket for a bus or a train (although just trying to cross a street without getting run over was a close second). Sometimes a hotel or hostel was able to take care of the ticket purchase for me (for a small commission), but most of the time it took waiting in line at the bus or train station, which can be quite the experience! I would jot down what I needed on a piece of paper in the best Chinese that I could and then try my best in broken Chinese to state what I needed (a ticket), to where, and at what time. This worked okay until I would get a question back at me, at which point I was clueless at to what was being said. There were a couple of instances where someone in line who knew some English saw me floundering and offered some friendly assistance. More times than not, however, I ended up guessing and buying a "mystery ticket", not sure what I really purchased until it had been handed to me. Luckily, every ticket purchased ended up being the correct one and I was able to get from point A to point B with no major complications.

    The other comical event to witness is the entering/exiting of the mass of people from the local buses and subways. There is no such thing as a "line" or "queuing" in much of China....if there is any kind of an opening someone is going to grab it. You can read all about it, but until you've actually witnessed and experienced it, it can't be truly appreciated. The best analogy I can use is that of a rugby scrum, where large groups would push, shove, and elbow their way into (or out of) the doorways, along with people being lifted and pulled through the back windows when the driver is not looking. The old ladies were the worst with the elbows (or, I guess, the best depending on how you look at it). They could throw elbows better than anyone and it amazed me how successful they were forcing their way onto the buses or trains. I am curious as to why roller-derby is not more a popular sport here given the flurry of elbows and shoulders flying about.

    THE SITES

    Guilin

    After my first stop in Guangzhou, I took a nine-hour bus ride northeast to the city of Guilin (population 700,000, which is a "small city" according to the locals). I spent three days here and although my guide book doesn't give it that great of a write-up, I enjoyed it. It is a clean, modern city with very friendly people along with some interesting sites to visit (including Wang Cheng, a 14th century palace with nearby Solitary Beauty Peak, as well as Seven Star Park). There is also a great public park in the middle of town which consists of a couple of lakes with nice walking paths around the perimeter and restaurants and shops along the path. At night, the pathways, trees, and bridges have ornamental lighting of yellow, green and and light purple and is very popular for casual strolls or night boat trips. The landscape around the city is spectacular with huge eroded limestone peaks in the shape of camel humps...or when a group of them are lined up together, the locals refer to the peaks as "the dragon's back."

    While in town, I attended a performance at the local theater which included a combination of dance, song and acrobatics with the theme focusing on the daily life of the various minority ethnic groups in the region. The stage props represented life in the rice fields, caves, and river, and the incredible backdrop of the Dragon's Back hillsides. The traditional costumes were also excellent. I was told that some of the acrobats who performed will be part of the open ceremony at the Olympics. If this is a taste of what is to come at the Olympic ceremonies with respect to costumes, song, and acrobatics, the world is in for a great treat! There was also a public participation segment of the performance in which four people were plucked out of the audience and brought on stage to participate in one of the dances...one of which was yours truly (I don't know if I was selected randomly or if it was because I was the only Anglo in the entire audience of a couple hundred people). Anyway, I was presented with a traditional Chinese ornament around my neck and then brought on stage with 30 or 40 elegant and graceful Chinese women (life can be rough at times) in traditional dress for about 2 minutes of a basic dance. I made it without stumbling or making an idiot of myself.

    Yangshou From Guilin,

    I then headed south to the the city of Yangshou. On the way, I went on a half-day boat cruise on Li River which snakes its way through some of the most stunning scenery of limestone peaks that are found throughout the region. Although it drizzled some, the low clouds helped to create an eerie feel along the river with some of the peaks being half hidden. The beautiful city of Yangshou (pop. 300,000) is also surrounded by the tall limestone peaks in every direction and had the most spectacular scenery of all. This is a wonderful city that has a "village" feel to it with pedestrian-only streets and great little restaurants and shops.

    The Li River passes right by the town as well as another river just outside of town. I spent four days here exploring the town and its surroundings which included I renting a bike ($1.20 for the day) and riding out into the countryside following a dirt road along the river for a five or six hours. Although I ended up getting lost for much of the ride, that turned out to be the best thing that could have happened. Time after time I'd choose the wrong fork in the road (no English signs) only to end up on dirt trails which eventually led me to agricultural fields and rice paddies...with nothing but a farmer, his dog, and a couple of water buffalo. I was always greeted with a smile and then pointed in the direction back to the main dirt road. My wanderings also brought me through some tiny little villages where I was greeted by warmly by the adults as well as the little kids who were off playing with sticks or kicking a flat soccer ball around...and having the time of their lives doing so. On Christmas Eve, a Canadian woman (also traveling the world) and I attended the famous light and dance show on the Li River which literally involves hundreds and hundreds of performers. The light show is directed by the famous Chinese film director who is in charge of the Olympic ceremonies. It was a great show.

    Ping'an

    From Yangshou, I took a bus four hours north to the small hillside village of Ping'an (pop. 500) which is famous for it's terraced rice fields known as the Dragon's Backbone. From the end of the roadway, it's a 15-minute hike up a narrow path to the village, where the only mode of transportation is your own two feet or a mule. The village's attractive wood structures are scattered across the hillside and connected by a series of dirt pathways. From the village, a handful of trails make their way up and over the hills to other small villages, one of which known for the women having the longest hair in the world. There were only four other travelers in the village at night (two from Germany, one from Spain, and one from Argentina). We enjoyed each others' company in the small cafe at dinner and then drank tea (and a couple beers) with the family who runs the hotel/cafe (the two daughters spoke very good English). I wasn't able to really see much of the terraced rice fields due to the low clouds which were draped over the hillsides then entire time, but it was great wandering through village along the hillside pathways.

    Shanghai

    Shanghai (pop. 15 million) is a huge city with a mass of people, bright flashing lights, chic billboards, a modern subway system (including the bullet train), and bold and attractive modern architecture. The city is bisected by the Huangpu River, along which is "the Bund", the famous financial street from yesteryear and a walkway which provides fantastic views of the main business district (Padang area) across the River (including the very recognizable Jinmao Tower). Despite the mass of people and traffic, I found Shanghai to be very safe and comfortable in my five days there....I really enjoyed it. I visited the very interesting Shanghai museum, the French Concession area, and the Old Town area with its classic Chinese architecture (including the historic Yuyuan Gardens). I also visited the Urban Planning Exhibition Hall which is a very attractive five-story building devoted entirely to city planning (if you can believe it). I debated whether or not to go in (being that it is a work-related subject), but curiosity got the best of me and I bought a ticket. The exhibit is actually one of Shanghai's most-popular tourist sights and includes everything you want to know about the history of the city and what is planned for the next 20 years. The most popular exhibit is the huge 3-D model of the city that takes up an entire floor of the building. It is pretty impressive as you walk around its raised platform.

    On my second day in town, I was befriended by two pleasant, bright young ladies...one lives in Shanghai with the other visiting her. For two days, they showed me around the city, which included the local restaurants, city sites, and some shopping (yes, Chinese women like to shop just as much as American women). We also went to a great acrobat show at one of the many performing arts centers in town which was simply amazing and included included a late night/early morning of karaoke, which was quite amusing. They had a ton of questions about life in America and were very up-front about talking about modern life in China, including politics. They expressed their frustration with the limitations on professional career opportunities for women. They had alot of respect for the U.S. political system (elections), the laws/rights protecting individuals, and the opportunities to succeed, regardless whether or not you happen to be a man or a women..or born poor. I am to have a hopeful that they someday may have the opportunity to experience this as China's political system continues to change for the better.

    Beijing

    From Shanghai, I took an 11-hour overnight train (very comfortable) to Beijing (pop. 15 million), which of course is the site of the Olympics this summer. The wrecking ball is alive and well in Beijing, as there are construction cranes everywhere and new apartment buildings (most of which are very plain looking) replacing the older neighborhood flats. Some of the construction is directly related to the upcoming Olympics, but most of it I'm told is just the continuation of the construction boom that started years ago. The Olympic venues are still "active construction sites", so I was not able to view any of them close up. During my six days in Beijing, the weather was dry, very smoggy, and pretty cold (daytime temps in the twenties and in the teens at night). I broke down and bought a heavier jacket for a whopping $28. Within two days all of the buttons had fallen off, but it served its purpose. I made it to the most of the must-see sites in Beijing, including the Forbidden City, Tiananmen Square, the Temple of Heaven, Jingshan Par, the Lama Temple. and many days of walking through the small alleys of the older neighborhoods known as the Hutong. The Forbidden City and Temple of Heaven contain amazing buildings and temples and art work and were really special.

    Tiananmen Square is massive (it is the largest square in the world which can accommodate up to a million people). The square is bordered by the Forbidden City, China Museum, the Congress Building and two large gates. In the middle is Chairman Mao's mausoleum, as well as a number of monuments .While strolling across the square, it was hard to no think about the events of 1989 and what the future holds. I have to believe that there will be more major political and social changes taking place in China over the next 5 to 7 years. There are simply too many young people who know too much of the world and social issues, coupled with their hunger for more professional job opportunties for change not to occur.

    To visit the Great Wall (one of the New Seven Wonder's of the World...my third so far on the trip!), I took a bus 45 minutes outside of town to the segment of The Wall at Badaling (there are different segments of the wall spread throughout the area...Badaling is the most visited). Due to the frigid temperatures, the crowd at The Wall was not bad. I was amazed by the width of the wall (easily wide enough for a large bus)and the terrain it was built across....it meanders up steep cliffs and down steep gullies, with lots and lots of steps.) President Nixon said it best when he uttered "this is a great wall." It certainly is.

    The rest of Beijing didn't do that much for me as the majority of architecture and streetscape is very plain and uninviting. Maybe the new construction associated with the Olympics will provide a jump-start for more appealing buildings in the years to come, as Beijing could use it.

    Harbin (Haerbin)

    Acting on a tip from someone on the train, I bought a ticket for an 11-hour train ride from Beijing to the City of Harbin (pop. 4 million) in the northeastern corner of China...on the edge of Siberia!!! The city has a strong Russian influence in its design, with churches and buildings having turrets and spires. Let me tell you, it is really, really friggin' cold in Harbin in January!!! The daytime highs was 0 F and at nighttime it got down to -15 F...along with a light breeze that was punishingly (is that a word?) cold. Human beings are simply not meant to live in such conditions. It was easily the coldest I have ever been and only helped to re-confirm what I've always known...that I am definitely a warm/hot weather person. So, why then did I come to such a frigid place? The answer: for the annual Ice Lantern Festival which is held each January. The festival features some pretty amazing ice and snow sculptures in the city's downtown park and across the river (which is frozen solid) at another large, scenic park. At nighttime the ice sculptures are illuminated with multi-colored lights. Along the river, there is also ice skating, hockey, sledding, and other outdoor activities. Even with the brutally cold weather, it was worth a visit to experience life in such extreme conditions. I tip my hat to those folks that can endure this for an entire winter.

    Pingyao

    After making it back to Beijing for a few more days after Harbin, I boarded a train for a 6-hour trip to Pingyao (pop. 40,000) which is one of the most well-preserved walled cities in China (one of China's many Unesco World Heritage Sites). The 30-foot high earthen and stone walls, along with its many watchtowers is quite impressive. Inside the walls are narrow, maze-like streets with nice little restaurants, shops, hostels, temples, and homes. Being off-season, it was very, very relaxing and I really enjoyed just wandering the streets, as well as my stay at a great little hostel with wonderful staff.

    Xi'an / Terracotta Warriors

    Xi'an is another walled city and one of China's oldest settlements, dating way back to the days of the Silk Road. It snowed the entire time that is was there, so I only saw a fairly small portion of the city, including the impressive Drum Tower in the center of the city, a portion of the ancient city walls and watchtowers, and the Muslim Quarter (including the Great Mosque). Like most folks, the primary reason for my visit to Xi'an was to visit the nearby Army of Terracotta Warriors. The life-size sculpted figures are situated in three large pits, with Pit 1 being the most impressive with over 6,000 warrrior figures. The scale of the site is astounding and the level of detail given to each figure is just incredible (apparently, no two warriors have the same face). It was a mind-boggling site to see.

    Luoyang / Longmen Caves

    I made a one-day stop in Luoyang (pop. 1.5 million) to visit the nearby Longmen Caves, another Unesco World Heritage Site. The combination of caves and carved out niches are situated along both sides of the limestone cliffs above the Yi River and include carvings of Buddha and other figures, ranging in size from a couple of inches high to over 50 feet high. The carvings were completed somewhere around 500 to 700 A.D. and, according to the information provided with my entrance ticket, include over 100,000 carved images in over 2,400 hillside caves/niches. It's an incredible piece of work which just kept going and going and going as I walked along the river banks.

    Kaifeng

    I made a brief stop in Kaifeng (pop. 600,000), which is another ancient, walled city. Due to the weather (heavy snow), I didn't get a chance to see much of the city's sites, but I did get a chance to enjoy the aforementioned night market with an incredible array of food!

    Suzhou

    With a population exceeding 5 million, I found the core of Suzhou to be a very attractive town with nicely landscaped streets lined with Sycamore trees with new and old buildings with traditional Chinese architecture. Similar to my stay in Kaifeng, there was heavy snow for the two days I was there, so I didn't check out the numerous gardens the city is famous for (gardens really aren't my thing), but I did get to check out the network of small canals and trails/alleys that are scattered throughout the city which were very pretty in the snow. I made it out of China just as the heavy snow was beginning (China is experiencing the most snowfall in 50 years). Had I stayed one more day in Nanjing, I would have likely been stuck there for a good week to 10 days, as the trains and buses are not running at the moment and hundreds of thousands are now stranded in bus stations and train stations. This is very sad, given that a billion people are now traveling across the country for the next 2 weeks for Chinese New Year, which is the only time many folks get to see their families all year. With the sweeping changes occurring in China at the moment, coupled with the excitement and national pride associated with the upcoming Olympics, now is a fantastic time to visit China. It is highly, highly recommended (maybe not in winter, though).

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• Great American Road Trip Part Great American Road Trip Part I {Day 1-4)

  • From: samolo
  • Description:

    Our family (2 parents, 2 children, 1 brother) decided to take a trip to see America (or at least part of it) on a 15 day road trip.

     DAY ONE

    JUNE 19, 2008

    We left for our road trip at 6:00 AM.  Our goal was to stop in Tennessee for breakfast and get to St. Louis by late afternoon. We succeeded in arrived at 3:30. The girls were really well behaved and were excited to open the envelopes I had prepared for them. Each was labeled with a different state name and they were allowed to open them when we go to that state. They also were able to earn souvenir money through the license plate game (a state quarter for each license plate found), a scavenger hunt with different items worth money, and money for making it through each state without arguing.

    Once we arrived in St. Louis we checked into the Drury Plaza Hotel. It was a very nice hotel and I wished we had more time to just hang out at the hotel. However, we didn’t come to St. Louis to visit a hotel so we set off for a short walk to Riverfront Park to see the river, the Gateway Arch, and the Museum of Westward Expansion. Imani didn’t want to go up in the Arch so I stayed with her while Albert, Robert, and Adera went up. When they were done I got a Jr. Ranger packet for the girls and they earned a badge, certificate, and patch for completing the exhibits in the museum. Then we walked around the gift shop before heading to dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory. Finally it was back to the hotel at 10:30 to rest up for the next day.

     

    HIGHLIGHTS

    AND LOWLIGHTS

    We all agreed that visiting the Gateway Arch was a highlight; even though Imani and I did not go up in the Arch. Not going up in the Arch was disappointing. We all tried to coax Imani and assure her that it was no different then when we visited the Hancock building in Chicago or the Washington, but she could not be persuaded. So while Albert, Adera, and Robert enjoyed the Arch Imani and I waited in the gift shop and on the benches for the 1 hour it took for them to finish. After Robert, Adera, and Albert came down from the Arch they all talked about how cool and fun it was. Adera said she wanted to do it again. This enthusiasm seemed to sway Imani’s mind and she said she would go in the Arch when we traveled through St. Louis on our way back home.

    The definite lowpoint was our dinner at Old Spaghetti Factory. First we had to wait over an hour for a table. However, that paled in compare to the HORRIBLE waitress we had. She was so nonchalant and really sucked at her job. Robert had to get a manager to get the rest of our drinks and salads. We even tried to talk to her to see if maybe she was having an off day, but it didn’t help. After our meal (which was delicious) I left her a note to let her know the reason she was receiving only a 10% tip. Albert said I shouldn’t have left anything and now that I think about it I agree.

     

    DAY TWO

    JUNE 20, 2008 

    Today was a long day. We woke up at 7:00 to get an early start. We headed down to a delicious breakfast and relaxed and talked. I reminded the girls what we had planned today and checked that I had all of the directions, coupons, etc. we would need. When we left it was drizzling and I was glad that we had come in the day earlier and were able to enjoy the nice weather. Robert and Albert secured the extra luggage to the top of the car and we were off. We had a lot of driving to do today 9 ½ hours. To break up the drive we stopped in Kansas City, which was 4 hours away. In Kansas City we ate lunch at Arthur Bryant’s and went to the Moon Marble Company. I had planned that we would only be in Kansas City for 2 hours but it ended up taking 3 ½. This wasn’t a big deal since the time frame was just an estimation of how long I thought things would take.

    After leaving Kansas City we settled in for the 5 ½ drive to Sioux Falls. The drive was long but enjoyable. We saw lots of corn, cows, farm, and a beautiful sunset. I hope we get to see more sunsets once we settle in to our cabins in Custer and Yellowstone. We arrived at our hotel at 9:30, checked in and went to dinner next door at Johnny Carino’s. After dinner we headed back to the hotel to relax and to prepare for tomorrow.

     

     HIGHLIGHTS

    AND LOWLIGHTS

    One of the highlights for Albert, Imani, and I was the Marble Moon Company. Robert and Adera liked walking around the store but didn’t really enjoy the demonstration (it was a little long since it took about 40 minutes). However, we all enjoyed looking at all of the cool toys and objects they made. We sat through a marble demonstration where the owner of the store made an amazing clear and blue marble with stars and crescent moons and a swirl in the inside. It was so interesting to see how he melted the glass, added the color, and made the designs. Afterwards Albert and I had to buy one for a souvenir. Imani and Adera bought playing marbles. We stayed at the store for about 1 ¾ hours which meant we wouldn’t arrive at the hotel until 9:30 and immediately headed to the restaurant next door for dinner. Later the girls played a game of marbles by making a circle out of the air mattress cord. It was wonderful to see them enjoy their purchases so much.

    One of the lowlights was our lunch at Arthur Bryant’s. All the websites and print sources I checked raved about how great the bar-b-q was at this place. However, we all agreed that while the food was good it wasn’t the best bar-b-q we have eaten (I personally think Famous Dave’s does a better job). Either way the food was filling, and was just what we needed to satisfy our hunger.

     

    DAY THREE

    JUNE 21, 2008

    Our ultimate goal this day was to reach the Black Hills, with interesting stops on the way. Our first stop was the Badlands. Originally when we were planning this trip I had not planned for us to stop in the Badlands. However, after talking to people who used to live in South Dakota or had visited South Dakota they convinced me that stopping to see the Badlands was worth the detour. I am so glad that I listened to them. Even though traveling through them required taking a 35 mile scenic loop and added 1 ½ hour to our time table; it was a site worth seeing.

    We first say a glimpse of the Badlands while we were traveling on I-90 W. There was a scenic overlook and you got a glimpse of this eroded desert that was in the middle of these lush rolling hills. We would look to the left and see a flat prairie and not 200 feet from that prairie was dry rocks. It was amazing. According to the information the National Park provided the Badlands are over 25 million years old and the result of erosion. We could certainly see the evidence of the erosion in the rocks. There are brilliant purples, reds, and oranges. While walking along the cliffs we felt as if we were on something unworldly; and in someway I think it was.

     After leaving the Badlands we headed to Wall Drug Store. Before I continue here is a little history behind this famous Drug Store. Apparently during the depression the owners of Wall Drug wanted to figure out how to get the visitors on their way to Mt. Rushmore to stop. They decided that the best way would be to offer free ice water. This idea worked like gang busters and 70 years later they are one of the biggest tourist stops along I-90. All that being said we decided stop at Wall Drug for lunch and a short look around. While there we ate at the cafeteria which had decent food (I had my first buffalo burger). After the cafeteria we headed out to the backyard to partake in the free activities. The girls had a blast playing in the water fountain and posing by all of the different props; even Albert joined in the fun. He wanted to take a picture that looked like he was picking Thomas Jefferson’s nose, but I didn’t want to take that picture. We also stopped in to pick up our free Wall Drug bumper stickers and buy some magnets to add to our collection. After about an hour of walking around and taking pictures we had had enough and continued on our journey to Custer.

    Once in Custer we checked into the Roost Resort. We really liked our cabin and there was a play set outside for the girls to play on. After we settled in we were all really tired and decided to only go to Crazy Horse for dinner and the laser show and postpone going to Mt. Rushmore until Saturday.

    Since we had such a busy day; 5 hours of driving, visiting the Badlands, and visiting Wall Drug we were a little tired by the time we arrived at our cabin in Custer. The original plan was to go Crazy Horse for dinner and to look around for a couple of hours and then to go to Mt. Rushmore for the lighting ceremony. But, once we settled in we all just wanted a few hours to relax. Instead we decided to hang around the cabin for a couple of hours and then do dinner and the laser show at Crazy Horse.

    We left with plenty of time to get to Crazy Horse but got a little lost. I didn’t have directions and the GPS couldn’t find it. Somehow we all missed the signs pointing to it and ended up at Wind Jewel Cave instead. After we backtracked and found the correct route we arrived in enough time to make it to the restaurant (which closes at 8:00). Robert, Albert, and I decided we wanted to try traditional Native American food. Both Albert and I had the fry bread tacos and Robert ate the Tantanka Stew. The fry bread and the stew were really good. During dinner there were Native American singers outside singing songs and talking about their culture. Robert and the girls were able to see a little of the performance while we waited for our food. After eating we walked around the museum to learn more about Crazy Horse. Our evening ended after a laser show which told about Crazy Horse’s life. We learned so much about him and felt really proud that by visiting the monument we were helping to fund the completion of the project.

     

    HIGHLIGHTS

    AND LOWLIGHTS

    The whole trip to the Badlands was a highlight. If there was any thing that I would want to change it would be to make the weather  5-10 degrees cooler. It is amazing how hot 83 degrees can feel when there is no shade or clouds to filter the sun.

    During our short trip we walked along the cliffs, pointed out unique features in the rocks, and awed at the beauty that was the Badlands. When we first pulled up we saw people on top of the bluffs and thought they must be crazy and that we would just observe them from the lookouts. That way of thinking lasted about 5 minutes into our visit. Upon closer inspection we discovered that the bluff formed walking paths and were almost inviting visitors to explore it more thoroughly. Robert, Albert, Imani, and Adera were wearing tennis shoes and I was wearing flip flops (with barely any traction) so they were able to explore a lot more than I was. However, we all walked and just couldn’t seem to take enough pictures or be awed by the beauty that was before us.

    Another highlight of the Badlands was seeing a field of prairie dog mounds when we were exiting. We stopped the car and took a few quick pictures. I assured the girls that we would see more of them during our visit to Custer tomorrow.

    Visiting Wall was neither a highlight nor lowlight. As we were driving to the store we saw plenty of signs advertising the 5 cent coffee and all of the attractions they offer. Wall Drug is a place I wanted us to go just to see what all of the hype was about. The food was reasonable and the activities were fun. The girls had a wonderful time playing with all of the items that were available. Since we went there knowing it was a tourist trap we weren’t sucked into buying stuff we didn’t need. Robert and Albert joked that Wall Drug could afford to give away free ice water and 5 cent coffee since they were charging an average of $10 for a complete meal and other money to do the gold panning or make some of the attractions work. Regardless of the potential money pit this place can be the girls enjoyed themselves. Adera said she loved running around in the fountains, posing on the jackalope, and pretending to drive the wagon. Imani said she really liked running around in the fountains and seeing the T-Rex “come to life”.

    Our cabin in Custer was also a highlight. When you book something based on internet photos and other traveler’s reviews you may not get what you bargained for. However, our cabin was just as it was described. It was nice to have a little extra space to spread out after spending time in the hotel suites.

    Visiting Crazy Horse was a wonderful experience. You first see the monument when you are still on the road. It is HUGE! Later we learned that the entire Mt. Rushmore monument could fit into the head of Crazy Horse. However, the project refuses to accept government funds so it has taken 60 years to get to its current stage. The Crazy Horse memorial faces in the direction of  the Mt. Rush-more monument. It is said that when Crazy Horse was asked where his land is he pointed to the  Black Hills and said, “My land is where my dead are buried”.

    Another thing that was great about our visit was the Native American singers. Robert said the singers had so much emotion when they were singing and that it was very moving. It was nice to have actual Lakota Native Americans at Crazy Horse; it allowed us to make a stronger connection with the artifacts we were seeing.

    Our evening ended with a wonderful laser show. Our waitress told us the best view of the laser show was in the parking lot so we  moved a bench around and settled in for the show.  I was a little bummed since I  forgot my tripod at the cabin and couldn’t get a clear picture. Once I got over this I was able to enjoy the show with everyone else. We were all so glad that we had chosen to do the laser show. I am not sure what we missed at the Mt. Rushmore show but felt that this had to be just as good.

     

    DAY FOUR

    JUNE  22, 2008

    We all woke up feeling refreshed after a night in our cabin. The cabin was so nice. It had 2 bedrooms and  more than enough room for us to spread out. After breakfast we headed to Custer State Park for a fun filled day. The first thing we did was get a Jr. Ranger packet so the girls could earn a patch for the activities they attended. They learned about nature and then made their own tree ring of their life, panned for gold in the creek, and made a basket out of pine needles. After they completed the activities they earned their badge. The park ranger did a wonderful job presenting it to them and had everyone in the visitor center clap for them.

    We also went on two scenic drives. The first was on Needles Scenic Highway. The most interesting part were the jagged rock  formations (including Needle’s Eye) and the two narrow tunnels we drove through.  The second drive was the Wild Life Loop. We saw buffalo (there were two of them across the visitor’s center the whole time), elk, deer, turkey, prairie dogs, and a coyote .

    Finally, our day ended with a very entertaining Chuck Wagon cookout. On the way to the cookout we sang songs, listened to stories and jokes. Once at the cookout we had a hearty cowboy meal and listened to more music before heading back. All and all this was a wonderful day.

     

    HIGHLIGHTS

    AND LOWLIGHTS

    Besides everyone (except me) getting a little altitude sickness this was a wonderful day. Although we attended three ranger led activities the girls enjoyed the gold panning (although the creek was cold) the most. They sloshed their pans around hoping to find some gold, but didn’t. However, Imani did find a garnet, but since it is a state park you weren’t able to keep anything you found.

    Another thing that we all enjoyed was seeing the wildlife. The entire time we were at the visitor’s center two buffalos hung out so we were able to observe them and take plenty of pictures. We also loved seeing some of the animals that make the park their home. However, we all loved feeding the begging burro a carrot from the car window (it is the only animal you are allowed to feed). The donkey came right up the window and took the carrots from the girl’s hand. We also really enjoyed seeing the bison up close when they walked right past our car.

    Our final activity of the day was to go on the Chuck Wagon Cookout. We each received a hat and a bandana before taking a 1 hour drive to the cook site in a covered wagon. The drive to the cook out was funny and entertaining. Our folksinger, Keith, kept us entertained the whole time. One of the funniest things that happened was when Adera went to use the Port-a Potty. She closed the door and about 20 seconds later opened it and said, “How do you use this thing”.  Priceless!

     

    

     

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• Travels through Vietnam Travels through Vietnam

  • From: patrickmurphy
  • Description:

    VIETNAM

    The trip began via a boatride down the mighty Mekong River which I caught just outside of Phnom Penh, Cambodia which then proceeded into southern Vietnam. It was a fantastic way to enter a country! The 10-person boat passed along the banks of the Mekong River and then meandered through a network of small canals which passed a number of small villages where we were greated by smiling, waving families. We then made our way to the town of Chau Doc on the Bassac River which is part of the extensive Mekong delta. Over the next 4 weeks, I inched my way from south to the north and was able to experience a good cross-section of Vietnamese living, which is more similar to traveling in China than nearby Cambodia or Thailand. Similar to China, the people are very animated (not so quiet) and the sound of load motorbike horns, car horns, and bus horns is non-stop along the highways and city streets. Vietnam has a quite a wide diversity of terrain including endless bright green rice paddies, lively cities, stunningly beautiful coastline, and some great hill tribe villages with terraced hillsides for growing rice. It was a bit strange visiting such beautiful, peaceful areas knowing that 40 years ago it was a much different scene with the "American War" (as it is called here). I wasn't quite sure what kind of reception I'd be given as an American (especially in the north) given the war. I am pleased to report that everyone greeted me with nothing but smiles and helpfulness everywhere I went. The people of Vietnam were wonderful. Similar to Cambodia and much of Thailand, English is widely spoken throughout the country.

    SOUTHERN VIETNAM

    Mekong River/ Delta

    I found the town of Chau Doc to be quite nice place for a "border town." It is clean, friendly, with lots of activity along the waterfront, along with a great, bustling market. From Chau Doc, I made my way south to Can Tho which is mainly known for its great river and canal tours. I took a 6-hour trip on a small boat up the Can Tho River (beginning at sunrise) and visited two separate floating markets which are quite a site to see as there are hundreds of boats (big and small) filled with every kind of vegetable and/or fruit imaginable. The boat ride then veared off the river and made its way through a maze of small canals lined with dense vegetation, coconut palms, and an occasional small village.

    Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon)

    Until I visited Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon), I thought Bangkok was the motorbike capital of the world. Saigon easily wins that title as motorbikes must outnumber cars 300 to 1. It is quite an experience to catch a ride 7km across town on the back of a motorbike darting between cars, buses, and swarms of other motorbikes with the very skilled driver chosing to stop at only one stoplight. Everyone has complete command of their motorbike, whether their 15 years old or 70 years old. In addition to being the main mode of transport for the people, the motorbike is also the daily "workhorse" as I witnessed people carrying ladders, bags of groceries, bundles and bundles of coconuts, TV's, collapsable tables, large water bottles, pigs (live and dead), and even a small office desk. Similar to other areas in SE Asia and China, it is very common to see 3, 4 or 5 persons on a single motorbike. While in town, I went on my own walking tour of the key sights, including the Reunification Palace, the very attractive People's Committee Building, the War Remnants Museum, the Municipal Theatre, the Museum of HCMC, and numerous neighborhoods and interesting back alleys. The tree-lined streets provided much-needed shade from the sweltering heat/humidity and where there were no trees, I tried to find refuge in the shadows cast by the dozens and dozens of powerlines/cable lines strung together above the streets (amazing to see).

    Dalat to Hoi An

    From Saigan, I caught a bus to the attractive mountain town of Dalat which is situated amongst pine trees (who would have thought that there are pine tree forests in vietnam?). It was also a good place to escape the heat and humidity of the flatlands for a bit. I then caught a bus to the very nice beach city of Nha Trang which includes some very interesting Cham ruins/towers on the edge of town and then up to Quy Nhon which also has a large number of fishing boats and nice beaches, but not as many tourists as Nha Trang. My trip from Quy Nhon to Hoi An provided me with another entry in my ever-expanding of "Bus/Van Rides from Hell" chapter of my trip. The 5-hour trip began with 15 people in the 16-person passenger van (I was the only non-local) which then steadily increased to 17, 18, and 20 people along the way... until it reached the apparent maximum of 24 people that can be stuffed into a van. Each bench seat was crammed, with others sitting on the floor, and an old man stuffed in the back with the luggage. Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, a couple of passengers decided it was an opportune time to light up a cigarette. It was a brutal trip. The good thing is that in the end I arrived in Hoi An which was definately one of my favorite places in the country.

    Hoi An is a terrific town located on the Thu Bon River and is one of the very few places in the country that was not battered by the various wars over the years. As a result, it retains some fantastic architecture and includes pedestrian-only streets in the old part of town and has been named as a UNESCO world heritage site. I enjoyed spending a few hours of one of my afternoons just siting at small table/chair with a couple of older local ladies drinking the juice of a freshly-topped coconut with a straw and just taking in the sights of the active riverfront market and the loading/unloadign of produce and people out of boats. At night, the town is really a treat with the attractive lighting of restaurants, museums, temples, and various shops (including many silk lantern shops that are very attractive with all of the different colored lanterns lit on the outside).

    From Hoi An, I hopped on a good bus to the city of Hue, which contains one of Vietnam's most famous pagodas overlooking the Perfume River as well as the large Citadel complex which was constructed during the time when Hue was the capital in the early 1800's. The walled complex includes numerous pagodas/temples, museums, the palace, impressive gates, and Vietnam's own Forbidden City with the emperor's residence and state buildings. Tour of the Demilitiarized Zone (DMZ) North of Hue is the "demiliaritzed zone (DMZ)" which marks the old line dividing North and South Vietnam. Some of the heaviest carpet bombing and fiercest battles of the "American War" took place in this area. One of the strangest sights is to see is the many, many round bomb craters now filled with water in the middle of the rectangular rice paddies. I was the only American on tour and given that it was a Vietnamese-run tour, I found it interesting to see a small American flag plastered on the dashboard of the bus, as well as a small one over the local drivers seat. The interesting tour included visits to locations of the Ho Chi Minh Trail (network of trails created by the North Vietnamese to supply their forces to the south), "the rockpile" (key lookout point/command post for the U.S.), the faint remains of a U.S. army base, and the absolutely amazing Vinh Moc tunnels dug by North Vietnamese villagers who lived in them for 4 years to avoid the enemy and keep supply lines open for the North Vietnamese troops.

    NORTHERN VIETNAM

    Ninh Binh /Tam Coc

    Two hours south of Hanoi is a small city of Ninh Binh. The town is an average looking rural city, but the surrounding countryside is just spectacular. A 20-minute bicycle ride southwest to the small town of Tam Coc is a real treat as the scenary is similar to that found in the Guilin/Yangshuo area in China with towering limestone cliffs/karst topography rising from the flat rice paddies, through which is a river filled with boats, some of which are rowed by operators using their feet!!).

    Hanoi

    Similar to HCMC, Hanoi is very, very busy with thousands and thousands of motor bikes, blaring horns, and fantastic street life. I spent most of my time in the historic Old Quarter with its narrow, tree-lined streets, and Hoan Kiem Lake. Sidewalks are absolutely jammed with restaurants spilling out onto the walkways with tiny tables and chairs that made me feel like an NBA player while seated with my knees up to my chin. The restaurants serve tasty dishes of food including Pho (soup) and great spring rolls washed down with very inexpensive bia hoi (beer) and/or rice wine. Besides roaming through the Old Quarter, other sights visited in town included the site of Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum, the very interesting temple of Literature, the one pillar pagoda, and numerous other temples and neighborhoods.

    Halong Bay

    East of Hanoi is Halong Bay which is known for having some of the most spectacular scenery in the world with its limestone formations/karst topography similar that found near Nihn Bihn, except that the tower cliffs are in the middle of a bay, which makes for an incredible boat ride. I took a boat to Cat Ba Island for a few days where my very nice six dollar a night room had fantastic view off the bay. There are numerous nice beaches are within walking distance of town and I also rented a motorbike for a day ($3 dollars) to get around hilly/densely vegetated island, most of which is a national park which contains some great hiking.

    Northern Highlands: Sapa & Boc

    Ha Similar to the hillside areas I visited near Ping'an/Longshen in China, the northern portion of Vietnam includes some amazing mountain scenery with small hilltribe villages (such as Bac Ha) and terraced rice fields stepping down the hillsides. The Bac Ha sunday market was really interesting as hundreds of indingenous villagers, mainly Flower H'mong who are easily recognizable with their beautiful, colorful dresses and leggings to buy/sell vegetables, meats, clothes, etc. A few hours west of Bac Ha, is the town of Sapa which is very popular with tourists. It is a very, very attractive town situated atop a mountain with great views (when it's clear...which luckily is was while I was there), and nice accommodations and restaurants. I went on some great hikes down the mountain to some small villages (Cat Cat and Ta Phin) inhabited by the Black H'mong and Red Dzao people.

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• Espana! Espana!

  • From: PhebeSchwartz
  • Description:

    Phebe & Richard’s Tour of Spain 12-24-05 – We started our trip with our usual panache – we got a ride with friends to the airport, checked in, made it through Customs, and had about an hour before the flight. We sat down to relax, and I suddenly realized that I hadn’t checked that we had Richard’s meds – I asked, he also had forgotten them in our 6:30 AM departure! It took several minutes to find an airline agent to unlock the door and let him out of the airport – he found a taxi driver willing to take him up to the house (on the back roads), wait, and madly drive back to the airport. I was waiting, ready to tell the ticket agent that he wasn’t back yet as they called for the final boarding of our flight to Miami – but Richard miraculously appeared in the Customs area, they waved him through, and we rushed onto the plane. The rest of the trip overseas was uneventful, but with that start………….
    
    12-25 – We picked up our EuropCar rental – got a Yaris! Standard, 4 door, but otherwise much like my car. Started driving out of Madrid, and tried to find a place open for a bite of breakfast – at this point, the suburbs we were in were very arid, barren, and ugly! We wound our way through and managed to get back onto the highway. We drove, periodically going to rest areas (“area de servicios”) for bathroom breaks, stretch our legs, maybe a café con leche and a bite to eat. The first service area was in a small town, and the way back onto the highway wasn’t clearly marked – somehow, we ended up on an old dirt service road that paralleled the highway, and we drove along for several miles before we found the entrance back onto the highway. After that, we kind of got the hang of it – drive into a small town for gas station and café, stand at the bar having café and a sandwich or pastry, nod to the other patrons hanging out, and then drive through to catch the highway entrance on the other end town.
    
    By late afternoon, we reached the town of Trujillo, home of some of the famous Spanish explorers, and some famous matador. The Plaza Mayor is the center of the old city, built around a Moorish Castle; the plaza has a beautiful center square surrounded by picturesque buildings, with the castle making one side of the square. We had pizza at a place owned by, get this, the former girlfriend of a guy we know here on St. Thomas – such was the reason we stopped there!
    
    We finally reached Lisbon in the evening – a dark and stormy night. We didn’t have a map of the city, so became totally lost and couldn’t locate any of the streets mentioned in our directions from the hotel. People kept giving us directions, and then saying “and then ask someone else when you get that far” – we finally found three young women who lived near the hotel, and they told us to follow them and they’d lead us right there, which is what we did. Madrid to Lisbon – 627 km.
    
    12-26 – Monday, plus a holiday in many areas, so most museums and historic sites were closed. We drove from Lisbon to Sintra, a very pretty and quaint town that also houses a Moorish castle that the subsequent royalty turned into a palace. [Note here, because I didn’t know all of this – Spain was ruled by Arabs for several hundred years, and was a center of Islamic culture and learning for a long time. Then the Spanish rulers united, and kicked the Arabs out (and the Jews at about the same time) and have ruled Spain since, except during the time of Franco (fascist dictator, and ruled from after WWI until his death in the 1970s. Just to confuse matters, the Spanish kings/queens were related to the Hapsburgs of Austria – but so many of the European leaders intermarried – so it’s kind of confusing to someone who didn’t grow up with it.]
    
    Okay, back to Sintra – We were high in the hills so everything was misty with passing showers; the palace and castle, and the palaces nearby (which had housed the various nobles and courtiers of the king) were closed, but we were able to wander through the outside area of the lower palace. We walked through the town, also, and bought some ceramic tiles from an artist with the musical name of Orizia.
    
    We drove through the rest of Sintra and the woods, saw the upper palace and mansions, and various gorgeous gardens – and kepts driving through various villages and a tangle of impossibly narrow roads flanked by walls and houses growing from those same retaining walls – on and on to Cabo de Roca.
    
    Cabo de Roca is the westernmost point of the European continent – a lovely place, high on a rugged and dramatic coastline of sheer cliffs falling straight down to rocks and pinnacles and barren spires jutting out of the ocean, crashing waves on the coast, huge white splashes of foam, and wind whistling through and blowing around everything. Very dramatic, almost theatrical – very end-of-the-world feeling place. The sun came out, and the day was glorious!
    
    We had lunch in the restaurant looking over the valley and hills opposite the shore – I had huge shrimp (with the heads on) grilled in olive oil, spices, and tons of garlic – served simply with lemon and wonderful rustic bread to soak up the juices. They were the best shrimp I have EVER eaten!!!!!!!! Absolutely fantabulous! (And probably totally fresh, too!) I grossed out poor Richard by popping a few shrimp heads onto my fingers and having them talk to each other. Poor guy, doesn’t like to play with his food.
    
    We drove along the coast and looked at the beach and ocean, which were okay but after the Caribbean we’re just spoiled; drove through more picturesque fishing villages; and managed to get somewhat lost getting back to our hotel. We truly need a map. At least we’ve learned to pronounce the name of the street (Visconte Valmor, with the “s” pronounced in the Portuguese way of “sh”). We wandered through the neighborhood, and visited a posh mall nearby.
    
    12-27 – We were staying at a small, local hotel, so there wasn’t a car park – so we had our car parked nearby at a parking garage (named Park Valbom, which cracked us up). Richard went to get the car and opened the driver’s window, but it came off the track and was stuck halfway down, and sticking out at a strange angle – so we called EuropCar and they sent out a mechanic who had a little mechanic’s shop in the back of his Toyota, complete with a swing-out vice grip. We spent the morning in Park Valbom, but finally the car was fixed.
    
    Another aside – our hotel was Hotel Residencial Italia, a very nice place in a quiet neighborhood. Included breakfast. We can give anyone the website if you want.
    
    So we finally got on the Metro to downtown, wandered around a bit. Took a tram to Castelo de Sao Jorge – while on the crammed together crowd, a man tried to pick Richard’s pocket, and was standing in back of him reaching out backwards – but, as Richard said, he was a really bad pickpocket, because Richard could feel him doing it (and I could see this, too) – besides, R’s wallet was in his front pocket, so it was kind of pointless. Everyone was looking at this man, and another guy started yelling at him – they got off at the top of the hill with us, still yelling at each other, and our potential pickpocketer immediately jumped onto another tram.
    
    We wandered through another labyrinth of meandering narrow roads in Bairro de Castelo, got to the Castle, which was very cool. [All of the Moorish castles are traditional crenellated fortresses and towers, all made of golden brown rock – I don’t know why, they all seem to be the same color!] Huge rooms, thick walls, towers and walkways and ramps – and a beautiful view across the city, all the way to the Atlantic. [Lisbon is divided into two parts by an inlet and river, which create the port.]
    
    We climbed around the castle for a while, then went to the restaurant for lunch. [We had agreed ahead of our trip to eat on the Iberian schedule – meaning lunch would be the big meal of the day, breakfast would be coffee and bread/toast, and we’d have an afternoon snack and very late very light dinner.] The restaurant was very posh, with ceramic tiles forming murals on the walls, alternating with French doors providing a view across the city; and vaulted arches formed of brick for the incredible ceiling. (I had baby sea bass with a sliced potato crust; Richard had lamb.)
    
    We walked back down the hill to the center of the shopping area and window shopped – stores are open until about 8 or 9 PM, and there are beautiful, creative holiday light displays through most of the streets and especially is the plazas and squares – so even though it was chilly and dark by 5 PM, the streets were packed with people shopping and promenading.
    
    Metro back to our neighborhood; snack at Patisserie Versaille (which looks unbelievably like a place we like in Old San Juan, down to the surly waiters who don’t speak English and take forever to come over to the table); got the car out of the car park and parked for free on the street; and back to our friendly little hotel.
    
    12-28 – Left Lisbon at 7:15 AM, for a long day of driving to Cordoba – another day of 600+ km, about 350-400 miles. It was an easy drive to Ponte Vasco de Gama – but the bridge and the entire area were lost in fog – we could barely see two car lengths ahead – for about half an hour we couldn’t tell if we were still on the bridge or not!
    
    Drove through the farmland of Andalucia, farms (ranches?) with steer (toros!), lots of storks circling in the air looking just like Satsuma porcelain – huge (HUGE!) white birds with long necks and legs and beaks, black feathers along the edge of the wings – and monster-sized nests atop chimneys and electric towers.
    
    There were periodic castles, forts, cathedrals, and monasteries in various stages of use or ruin towering over the landscape, usually atop hills and silhouetted against the sky. We stopped at a few rest areas, and of course a few small villages. Had our café con leche and snacks leaning at the bar, along with a handful of mostly men in town – the lady behind the bar hopped up onto the counter to kiss a few of her local customers.
    
    At one point entered the province of La Mancha, and finally saw one of those white windmills that seem emblematic of the area – I could just imagine the old Don Q jousting with this.
    
    We reached Cordoba, but I had booked the wrong night on our reservation – a very nice lady at our hotel (which didn’t have a room for us that night) called a nearby hotel and got us into the Hotel Tablon, right near the ancient mosque (la Mezquita), which is what Cordoba is best known for. We got settle in, wandered through town, promptly got lost (again in a tangle of narrow, winding streets and alleys, some only wide enough for two or three people, a few with cars going only in one direction), had tapas in Bodegha Mezquita, and wandered some more.
    
    12-29 – Spent the day in Cordoba, began our day with our café and tostada (toast) at a little pateleria across from our hotel. We walked around the old Jewish quarter – known now at the Juderia – and visited Plaza de Maimonides with it’s statue of Moses ben Maimonides, one of the most well-known, prolific, and most influential Jewish philosophers and religious leaders of the Middle Ages (and the reason I wanted to see Cordoba). Maimonides wrote the “Guide for the Perplexed” which I always thought showed a sense of humor along with his scholarly abilities. We also visited the ancient synagogue (sinagoga) in which Maimonides may have worshipped – it’s from the 8th century, and covered with decorative panels of arabesques and repeating patterns, with carved Hebrew running around the panels. There was an overwhelming sadness in the synagogue – it’s no longer used for worship, isn’t maintained by the Jewish community but by the town of Cordoba, has very Arab-influenced decoration, and just exuded a sense of the sad and desolate history of the Jews in Spain, and none of the richness or contributions of the culture. We couldn’t go upstairs to the area that women would have sat in, it’s closed off. This was just one of the three synagogues that survived the Inquisition and the expulsion of the Jews. As I said, I was overwhelmed by the sense of sadness in this place.
    
    We lunched at the Patio de la Juderia, which didn’t have pastrami, much to Richard’s chagrin! (And, I hade to admit I had shrimp – totally tref!) We ate a few Cordoban specialties, most notably a strange dessert known as tarta de Cordobesa, a nice crust with a weird center of cooked orange or pineapple or something, served with burnt sugar sauce and whiskey-flavored whipped cream – very sweet and a bit overpowering, but worth a try.
    
    We later visited la Mezquita – this is supposed to be the largest mosque in Europe, when Cordoba was a huge Islamic center and had a major university (roughly 1000 years ago). La Mezquita has very cool double arches inside, in alternating cream stucco and red brick. The size of the place alone is impressive. Very ornate carved and painted ceiling panels of various motifs and arabesques and repeat emblems. But much of the Mezquita has been turned into a cathedral, so the center and parts of the edges have all sorts of Catholic art, paintings, statures, etc, all of which looked anachronistic, out of time and place.
    
    The place also had a beautiful courtyard paved in a pattern of cobblestones, and planted with orange trees. And occasionally there’d be the ring of bells from the cathedral’s bell tower.
    
    We had been parking across the river, in a free area; so we walked across, got the car, and drove around the new part of town and got totally lost, eventually found our way back to the old area and parked outside La Mezquita and right by the hotel.
    
    Had a light dinner of tortilla española (potato omelette), and whiskey cake – frozen cream and cake layers topped with a big hit of whiskey – actually very yummy!
    
    My new favorite tapas – sliced grilled red bell peppers mixed with tuna, and eaten on slices of bread. We also had bay shrimp fritters, which were excellent.
    
    My new Spanish word for the day – descaffienado en la machina – con leche – I can now have decaf café con leche, yay!
    
    12-30 – drive from Cordoba to Valencia, another 400 or 600 km drive. Long day of driving – LOTS of fog, pea soup London fog. Barely a glimpse of the countryside until we got near the coast. Periodically we’d go through a tunnel and come out the other side to catch a glimpse of rocky hills bordering on mountains. Castles on hills, towers overlooking towns that looked like they’ve looked the same for 500 years.
    
    Fog cleared about the time we reached the province of Valencia – took a while to find someone who directed us to the Plaza de Ajudemente (central plaza) and found a hostale nearby – Hostale Tartessos – it was okay, great for the last minute. Checked in and dropped our stuff, went out to a “fun run” with hundreds of people in the street, some for the run, some to watch – and the runners were either bundled up for the cold, or in running clothes, or in bizarre costumes – it looked like a Hallowe’en or Carnival race! My favorite was the man in longjohns with balloons attached all over – but there were men in dresses, women in swimsuits with floats around their middle, devils, angels, etc.
    
    Gorgeous old historic buildings were outlined in holiday lights – one in particular (with turrets) became our mark to find our way again. We wandered around to get a feel for the town, and stumbled upon Valor – a chocolateria chain across Spain – OMG, what amazing chocolate! I could live in that store/restaurant!!!!!
    
    12-31 – Valencia to Barcelona – another 400 km drive, long drive with muchas areas des servicios. Tunnels through the coastal area just before Barcelona.
    
    BUT - good news, I actually had a map of Barcelona and we located the guesthouse with little trouble. The only problem was not knowing which road was one-way in which direction. I was very impressed with myself, after having been so lost in Lisbon.
    
    We checked in to Ana’s Guesthouse III, which is lovely and in an old house on Provença Street (which turns out to be a perfect location). Beautiful room with a terrace overlooking the street, lovely owner (Graciella), comfy room in blue and off-white and carved ceilings. Settled in, and then went out for New Year’s Eve.
    
    We spent the evening between Plaza Catalunya and Las Ramblas – the area to see and be seen. Many people, very crowded, very drunk or stoned – and a lot of loud M-80 firecrackers – huge boom of noise and smoke but no lights – which left Richard and me a bit nervous after our time in Israel, just waiting for the screams and sirens.
    
    We fought our way through the crowds – the police eventually put up blockades to funnel people into small areas where they could check for bottles and make sure everyone poured their drinks into plastic cups – apparently the custom is to smash the bottle after finishing it, and we certainly saw small piles of smashed glass on the sidewalks. Took the Metro back to Ana’s and came by La Pedrera (one of Gaudi’s buildings) at night by accident – WOW!
    
    1-1-06!!! – Since it was New Year’s Day and Sunday, most things in Barcelona were closed. We had a nice breakfast with Graciela and a few of the guests, and found that we were located on the same street as two of the major architectural works by Antonio Gaudi, one of Barcelona’s most famous sons. Our guesthouse was about halfway between La Pedrera (“The Quarry” – the famous wavy building with seaweed-like balconies) and La Sagrada Familia – the Temple of the Sacred Family, Gaudi’s famous and unfinished cathedral for the 20th century.
    
    [I only knew about Antonio Gaudi’s architecture because I studied his mosaics for my murals class at Evergreen, and was intrigued by his buildings. Gaudi’s style shows the Art Nouveau influence of his time, but goes beyond the flowery and flowing ornamentation and actually makes the buildings follow the same fluid and flowing lines. His walls curve in and out like waves, his support posts and arches curve and flow, and his buildings look impossible, as if they wouldn’t stand. He also greatly influenced subsequent architects, most notably Frank Lloyd Wright, who took the same concept that architecture should look like it grew out of the environment in which it is placed, but who became much more of a cubist designer, if that makes sense.]
    
    Anyway – knowing that things were closed, I had planned on a walking tour of Gaudi’s buildings – I even had everything highlighted on my map. Richard chose to accompany me, and we started with La Sagrada Familia – it still is being built, with fifteen towers (twelve apostles, Jesus, and his parents), mosaics, sculptures, and each façade is different. I circled the building marveling at the details, and Richard waited patiently in the park. We later walked down the other way to La Pedrera, and then down to Avenida de Gracia (or Rambla de Gracia?) for the building where the balconies look like shark jaws, and the pillars and arches on the ground floor look like curving trees. It was a long hike around, but I was definitely in art teacher heaven!
    
    We had an evening walk to Plaça de Sol, and dinner at Sol Solera with Steven, a young Californian we met at our guesthouse.
    
    1-2-06 – Shopping day in Barcelona. Started at the Museo de Xocolate (in Catalunyan, that’s pronounced Chocolatte), which was interesting – displays on the history and production of chocolate, and amazing chocolate sculptures including all of Gaudi’s buildings! We had a snack at the café there – OMG what amazing hot chocolate! It was like hot liquid chocolate for coating cookies or cakes or something – liquid dark barely-sweet chocolate about 80%, with no milk added – just pure rich bittersweet chocolate! And they have special machines that are vats with a permanent mixer going, and a spigot on the base to let out a cup of liquid chocolate. Absolutely the best and thickest and richest and darkest chocolate EVER!
    
    Then to Mara Maxim (or something like that), the mall at the port – with a walk across a very strange curvey bridge (reflective of Gaudi’s style, but in stainless steel instead of his stone) and floating on a dock – kind of bouncy in the center!
    
    Walked up La Ramblas to El Corte Inglecia for some shopping, lunch in the restaurant on top of the building (lovely leg of lamb in a light tomato and Tia Pepe sauce). Walked up Rabmla de Catalunya, and wandered around the shops. Found another Chocolateria Valor and had a little dessert (instead of dinner), shopped at La Pedrera on the way home.
    
    1-3 – Barcelona to Madrid, a long 600+ km drive with a few stops – nothing major – though at 7:30 am we had trouble finding our car park in Barcelona! (Turned right instead of left out the front door, and it kind of went downhill after that…..)
    
    Made it to our hostale in Madrid (again, a map of the city helped!) – turned out we’re in the Plaza Santa Cruz, between the Puerta del Sol and the Plaza Mayor – hot spot of the city, with a huge lit tree, some sort of holiday play going on at one end, stores open late and throngs of people walking and shopping and eating. Pedestrian mall area, interesting shops; had a light dinner (Richard had been ill the night before); walked around and window shopped; and early to bed.
    
    1-4 – Museum day! We spent much of the day at the three art museums – the Reina Sophia, the Prado, the Thyssen (which had minor works by major artists, often the case when a private individual collects artworks and then creates a museum, though there were several well-known and world-famous pieces – but on the whole, some very mediocre pieces by the major French Impressionists). I was happy to see a number of paintings by Camille Pissarro, who was (finally!) identified as being born on St. Thomas (Santo Tomas) – most American museums label him as French, though French museums label him as Danish (which St. Thomas was when he was born here in 1830).
    
    We spent most of our time in the Reina Sophia, which houses “Guernica,” Picasso’s famous (and huge) depiction of the town being bombed, and which has come to be emblematic of anti-war art. To say it is powerful is, well, trite and clichéd, but there aren’t the right words to describe the impact of this painting. You see it with your eyes and feel it in your stomach. The painting depicts the horror of war by showing the twisted, dead, and dying bodies of animals and women and children after the bombing, in flat black and white and greys, which seem distant and unemotional and thus they make the pain and drama of the picture all the more disturbing. And only the horse in the center, the horse who seems to sum up all of the pain and suffering in his twisted frenzy of death, only the horse has any shading or texture. Tongues are like bayonets, lips are pulled back in grimaces of death, and you can only stand and stare.
    
    I hate to say that that night, it was my turn to be ill – I spent the night miserable and sick, and then
    
    1-5 – I was still sick. Spent the day in bed, and Richard got some over-the-counter meds so I could keep down water. Tried to get rehydrated. Richard spent some time with me, and some time out. That night, our neighborhood was the center of the Three Kings Day parade – it was televised, but we could see it going by our hotel room, from our tiny balcony that we were both too afraid to stand on. Anyway, there were floats with the kings, and various mythical kinds of characters, and marching bands in costumes that looked like soldiers from 500 years ago, and stilt dancers (again in red and gold soldier or guard-type costumes) and ladies on some high contraption that made them look like they had 10-foot skirts as they rolled along. There were Roman candles shooting up gold sparks all over, and gold confetti floating down, and people on floats tossing candy out to the crowds. It was gorgeous, and made our Carnival parade (which is pretty fancy and flashy and amazing) look paltry.
    
    1-6 – Our last day. We got to the airport about 9:30, but the entrance to the rental car parking area was pretty obscure – so I got out and waited while Richard was supposed to circle the parking lot and re-park inside the gate – but at the round-about, he made a wrong turn and ended up halfway back to Madrid before he could find someone to help him with directions – he finally came back to the airport, where I was waiting by the gate so he would see it (he was about the 5th person to park in the wrong place in the half hour that I waited). We returned the Yaris, checked in inside, and had an uneventful flight.
    
    Miami – couldn’t find our luggage at Customs, were assured that it would go through to St. Thomas, and not to worry. This was from an Iberian agent. Our flight out of Miami was about 2 hours late, which meant that the airport in St. Thomas would normally be closed. (I’ve been on flights that turned around and went back to San Juan because it was too late to land in St. Thomas!) But the airport was open, we landed, our luggage didn’t arrive, and we went home.
    
    1-10 – After days of calling the airline and getting “We don’t know, we’re working on it,” Richard went to the airport and charmed the attendant to allow him to check the baggage room. Of course, there was our luggage. We’re glad it’s home, with presents and clothes and dirty laundry.
    
    In retrospect – we had a great time. Fun trip, saw lots of wonderful things, got a taste for places we’d never been, got a feel for each city. We stayed in small, local hotels to get a better feel/taste of each place, instead of the Americanized version – but sometimes this meant smaller beds (our last place was the worst, we truly need a queen bed for the two of us) or no parking. We also were a bit too ambitious in our plan – it was doable, but we had 5 days that were mostly driving – and if we had to do it over again, I’d do more time in fewer places. Or plan less, and stop along the way more. (Though I do like to know where I’m going to sleep each night.)
    
    We definitely want to go back to Lisbon and Barcelona – and we want to add Bilboa and Toledo next time.
    
    

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• GR trails and beer in SW Franc GR trails and beer in SW France

  • From: ktm730
  • Description:

     

    10/2, Thursday:

    Plane to Madrid, plane to Paris. Train (TGV) to Libourne. Train to Perigueux. Walk across town to hotel. Door to door, apartment to hotel, trip is roughly 24 hours.

    Check in, drop my bag, go out to explore. Have first overseas meal - a pizza. Asked if they serve single slices. Not understanding, the guy says "yes", then proceeds to make me a whole small pie. From scratch. Cheese, tomato, olive. I have 2 heinekens. Walk about town, with my pizza in tin foil, and have some beers in various bars/cafes. I'm mesmerized by the town. Places close early, and i head back to hotel for my first night's sleep in europe.

     

    10/3, Friday:

    Wake up and find ONE sock soaking wet on the floor, while rest of clothes and floor itself are bone dry. I ponder this for 20 minutes and find no possible solution. Still remains a mystery. 

    Walked around Perigueux all day, see sites - 2 churches, river Isle, antique shop. 

     

    10/4, Saturday:

    Wake up very early. couldn't sleep. this is to be the first day of my walk. 

    Walk toward Perigueux town limit while trying to hitch a ride, fully understanding that i could not possibly make it to Montignac on foot by nightfall. Walk about 2 miles / 45 mins before going into a random hotel to call a taxi. Car takes me to St. Geyrac, leaves me on a road about 2 miles off GR-36. I walk to Chateau l'Herm which is surrounded by the trail and I proceed to walk over a mile (2km-ish) in a wrong direction. This stems from my not understanding how to read the GR trail markers correctly. Locals then misguide me further. Finally find the trail, and as I step foot on the offical GR path for the first time, I already have a blister. 

     I walk on. Stop for lunch in a field, where i have cheese, tomatoes, and bread barefoot.

    Continue on, and soon after, get lost again (I only had regional map for this leg, not area map). Getting nervous now b/c the day is wearing on and i have yet a ways to go until i reach montignac. If I continue on like this - getting lost in the woods every km, the sun will begin to set and/or i'll run out of water. Plus, i have no flashlight. There are no convenience stores in the middle of the forest.

     At Prouillac, after spreading my map out on the grass and staring at it for 5 minutes, I decide to skip the GR and walk the road to Plazac where I can possibly get a cab to Montignac and, if nothing else, some water. More or less, as soon as i start walking down the road, a car randomly pulls over, w/o my hitching, and offers me a ride to Plazac. The driver is a man named Dominique, about 60 yrs old, kinda hippie-ish, though i get the impression that he's also lived the 9-5 life for years and left it at some point.

     We go to a cafe in town for a coffee. Soon after, I continue on my walk toward Montignac, and following Dominique's advice, try again to hitchhike. Soon a van pulls over w/ 3 young people. Girl driving and 2 guys in front. I get in back which has no seats - only a broken mini trampoline - and 3 mangy dogs. They are smoking joints and speaking to me in broken English about the area, and take me about 4 or 5km. 

    I get out, and again continue toward Montignac on foot. I try hitching, then stop in grass to eat some blackberries (from market earlier that morning in Perigueux). It's late afternoon. About 3km outside of Montignac, another car pulls over. Two women, approx 45 yrs old - Corrine & Joelle - pick me up. We go to Montignac, where they live, and go to Corrine's place for tea and cookies. The tea was brewed also with fresh herbs that they had just gathered. "lavande"?

    Hang out for an hour and we leave. Corrine walks me across town to my hotel. We make tentative plans for a drink in Sarlat, where it turns out she works. 

    10/5, Sunday:

    I'm walking for about 20 minutes when I stop at a random spot to put on my knee brace. I put my gear back on, stand up, and a dog emerges from a hidden path and comes over to me. I start to walk on the street again, and the dog goes back into the path, causing me to look into it. I then notice that it is my designated trail. Once going in, I see two paths and don't know which is mine. The dog takes the higher one, so I follow. He walks with me for about 5 minutes, sometimes ahead of me, sometimes behind since the path only has room for single file. I see that I am now on the right trail by a GR marking. I turn around, and the dog is gone.

    I walk and walk, some tough terrain. Significant amount of inclines. I hear many gun shots and encounter several hunters. Pick and eat wild blackberries throughout the day when i see them.

    For lunch, I stop in a field next to a horse corral. Stay approx. 30 minutes and have cheese, wine, and bread, again barefoot (to air out feet and shoes to help prevent blisters). A deer runs across the meadow.

    After walking further I feel quite tired but have to keep going. Walk to St. Leon-sur-Vezere. From there I decide to leave the GR in favor of a road where I can try to hitch. I walk and walk and no cars stop. I resign myself to the idea of walking straight to les Eyzies where I can hopefully get a beer before going to the farmhouse in Tayac. Kilometers wind on and still no ride, but finally a French couple - about mid 40s in age - stops. They drive me about 4km to les Eyzies where i DO get a beer (3), as well as bread and water before walking on to my lodging for the night.

    Meet the owners and another married couple who are guests - Ken & Dot.  We spend time in the main room, which is gorgeous, and talk while drinking plenty of wine.

    No ghost sightings or monk chants, which apparently both occur in this farmhouse dating back to the 12th century.

     

    10/6, Monday:

    Lounge around and read most of the day before going back out to town. Go into a cafe to have a beer, and meet Ria - 50ish year old woman from Holland/Australia - at the counter. We both speak English and are carrying French translation books, so start talking. We sit down together outside, under the looming rock outcroppings above the town. We end up splitting a tart from a boulangerie, then walk across town to have dinner together - sharing two dishes and a bottle of wine.

    I return to house, grab a bottle of wine from my room, and join Ken & Dot, and a new couple - Art & Jody from Toronto - in the main room. We drink wine and talk for an hour.

    What's great about this situation is that i'm hanging out with people that i would never cross circles with otherwise. 

     

    10/7, Tuesday:

    Couple from Toronto offer me a ride to Sarlat, which I take, and am therefore in the town a whole half-day earlier than anticipated. 

    I Roam streets and alleys, then buy postcards. Check in at hotel, room is mediocre. Construction site directly across the street and out window. They are at the coring / drilling phase. Not pneumatic, one-man drilling, but big-multi-ton-machine-coring-into-the-bedrock drilling. It's non-stop hammering until 6pm. It doesn't bother me all that much b/c I occupy myself in town anyway.

    Couple hours pass. I walk around Sarlat on a self-guided foot tour of sites. Find a really cool bar on a back alley with dim lights, really good music (that i've never heard), and great decor. 

     

    10/8, Wednesday:

    8 am, relentless drilling starts in again. i'm tired but realize I won't sleep any more b/c of it, and won't want to deal with the same thing tomorrow.

    Call a B&B about 3km east & reserve a room for that night...somehow (entire conversation in French). 

    Eventually leave Sarlat to begin walk to B&B (didn't want to arrive too early). Walk is mostly inclined. Get there, after some disorientation at one point, at about 2pm. They show me the house and my room - they speak zero english. I realize there's no way i'll be able to sit around this place all day, so tell the lady that i think i'll take a taxi back to sarlat where i can roam and have some dinner before taking a taxi back to the house. I mill about for 20 minutes then decide, screw it, i'll just walk back to sarlat since i wont have my backpack, and the walk will be mostly declined. 

    Arrive back in Sarlat and grab a bite. After a couple hours, toward later afternoon, I decide to buy two small bottles of Chimay (one of my favorite beers) and walk back to the house before the sun goes down, rather than having a beer in town and taking a taxi back. 

    Get back to house and sit outside with a chimay and my book, overlooking some fields as the sun begins to set and a rooster crows.  

     

    10/9, Thursday:

    Went down to dining room for breakfast. Eat some, pay, and head out. Within 15-20 minutes of leaving, i'm lost again. Same zone as yesterday's disorientation. After some study, I realize that the GR trail has been slightly re-routed so that it is not the same as on the map. Either that, or the map was originally printed wrong. After that incident and another short spell of uncertainty, I am on my way. this leg of the walk is quite forest-heavy as far as they go. Walk a few hours, another great day for walking: sunny, cool, clear. 

    I walk on, and near the town of Limejouls, take a road south that will link with another road toward Souillac. This rather than continuing on the GR into the forests. Walking the roads is just as novel b/c of the hitchhiking. picking up rides from strangers, most of whom speak only french. this is exciting and curious to me (never having hitchhiked before this trip).

    I walk the road and turn onto the other.  I start hitching and relatively quickly, after about 15 mins, i get a ride. Elderly couple. They bring me directly into 'centre ville' - town center. 

    Find a cafe in the Old Quarter. Go in, order a sandwich and find a pretty girl working there. I try to make small talk but she doesn't speak any english. I comment on '50 Cent' (who is playing on the radio) and tell her that he and i are from the same area in NYC, and now here i am in a cafe in the south of france hearing him. She doesn't seem to get my point, but understands that i'm from NY.

    My hotel room is small, but nice. Window has shutters and overlooks a courtyard across the street and an old church which has a clocktower, so i always know what time it is rather than having to turn my old cell phone on and off. 

    The town is standard for this region, I suppose, but still charming. The Old Quarter with aged bldgs and narrow alleys, small plazas ("places") with cafes. Boulangeries and shops on back streets. 

     

    10/10, Friday:

    I go for a walk up into the residential hills. Up there I find views over a river valley. Walk back toward town, grab a cheese sandwich. Go back to room, eat that with some wine at my window opposite the courtyard and church. watch people and traffic go by down below. i'm feeling kind of lethargic - not tired enough to sleep, but too tired to go back out right now. i lay in bed for about 30 mins, just staring.

    part of me wants to open the bottle of chimay I picked up, and another thinks that's not a good idea, seeing that its an expand-when-opened cork meaning that when it's open, it's open; i'll be drinking all of it. 

    fuck it, i'm opening the chimay. i drink cups of the beer while reading. it tastes great. soon it's finished. 

    it's at about this time, or maybe shortly after, that i make a conscious decision (rather than having it creep up on me as a matter of course from just being out) that i am going to get unnecessarily drunk today into the night. why not? i have no walk planned for tomorrow morning, and i'm on vacation.

    roam streets again, grab a croissant. While walking down an alley, i pass the girl i have a crush on as she sits on a curb outside the laundromat, and give her a mildly enthusiastic 'bonjour'.

    i go to the cafe, grab a table outside, and begin to fill out postcards. As it happens, she walks over to another table also and sits with 2 women (that i learn work in the cafe as well).

    We exchange glances a few times and i realize then, that as difficult as it might seem, i'm gonna have to ask her out...in french, somehow. 

    Go back to my room and after some relaxing, set off again - now with a quasi-mission. 

    With enough stalling behind me, I walk into the cafe. She is working now. Order a beer and compose a note in very broken french from the limited-words pocket guide that i carry asking her out. it has to be a note, otherwise, i'd be flipping through the book for every word that i needed as i was speaking to her.

    Note roughly translated into "you and i will spend the hours together tonight or tomorrow?". She walks in from outside at one point, and i give her the note, which she apparently understands, b/c she says she has a boyfriend. 

    Goddamit. well, okay, at least i asked. got that off my chest so as to not have to regret NOT asking after i've left town. 

    some guys might've taken that as the cue to finish the beer and leave. i thought it better to order another beer so as to convey the thought, 'hey, you can't blame me for trying right? so, there's no need for awkwardness'. 

    i go to the bathroom and come out to find 2 girls talking to her, who are giggling. i start to smile b/c it could not have possibly been more obvious that she's just told them. My approach of ordering another beer rather than leaving seems to have worked perfectly, though, b/c the 3 girls and I start to talk. well, to write. She tells them that i'm from the same town in NY as 50 Cent. They soon leave and i meet an English-speaking Portuguese couple. Become friendly with them. I call it a night and pass the girls in an alley street. Say "bonsoir" to them and head back to my hotel. Per my earlier decision, i am definitely drunk.

     

    10/11, Saturday:

    wake up at 8am, as evidenced by the church bells out my window (2nd time on this trip that my window was opposite a 700+ yr old church with bells). 

    Go out for a walk around 11:30. Go to church of St. Marie. It's empty. Spend 1/2 hour inside.. Discover an alluring cemetery. Spend 1/2 hour in the cemetery too, though a 'sign' might have warned me not to - as i was about to enter, the gate just closed in front of me. 

    Back at the room, I open another bottle of Chimay and catch up on some notes. Relax, shower, and have a beer at an outside table at the cafe downstairs. It's nowhere near as good as Chimay... Well, uhhhh, i'll need some water at some point, so i guess i should go back to the market. And, hell, while i'm there, i'll pick up another bottle of chimay - but a small one this time. 

    Back at the room. 7pm. drinking the small bottle of chimay and thinking about where to go.

    Irish pub down the road? that bar in the alley? Tabac on the strip? I've been to all of these at least once. I'm reluctant to return to my girl's (name is Sar) cafe as i'd like to 'quit while i'm ahead', even though i'm not ahead. I'm just not behind, i guess, having left off on good terms. i'm at my window as i write notes and think.. 

    Perfect evening. Dusk, mild temperature. Clock tower with sun setting behind it. I leave. 

    First step points me toward the Irish pub (where i had gone yesterday and met the brazilian bartender), but I then, for reasons unknown, go toward a plaza opposite my hotel.

    Pass another cafe in the plaza that is closing up, but i look in window and see the Portuguese couple from last night. I knock on window and wave to them. They tell me to come in, but i explain that the owner is closing. "John" tells the owner to let me in and he buys me a Portuguese beer. Turns out its his birthday.

    They tell me that they will go back home, paint a bit, and then go back to the cafe from last night - Sar's cafe - and have drinks for his birthday. I say i will meet them there to buy him a birthday drink. He counters, saying that he will buy all the drinks and that he will introduce me to a Portuguese liquor, which he says is quite strong. 

    Shit! This is not boding well for tomorrow's walk to Rocamadour.

    I go to Irish pub. Order Amstel and browse French newspapers while watching soccer. Brazilian bartender from last night - not working now - makes a point to say "bonsoir" to me, which is nice. i think she does it b/c she remembers i'm a traveler and can't speak to anyone. I invite her to play a few matches of tic-tac-toe. She is pretty bad, but i let her win a few rounds. I return to the hotel, eat some bread and consult the clock tower, now surrounded by a swarm of bats, and see that it's 9:55pm. Will now head out to cafe to meet John for his bday drinks.

    I go to cafe but John is not yet there. I leave and two french guys in their mid 20s start talking to me. Kind of, anyway. very broken english. They take me back to a cafe that i was at earlier, where there were young guys watching rugby. The young guys are all still there. The one smaller frenchman, upon our arrival, announces that he's found an american. I can tell he uses me as the butt of some jokes, but i'm not bothered by it. he buys my a beer and tells me to chug it so that we can move on to the next spot - a place, he tells me, with a brazilian bartender. We lose his friend and head off. 

    He and I go to irish pub and it's now packed with young people. I order two pints for us - actual pints, not these little beers - and he wanders off. I talk to another guy who tells me about some girl troubles, and i tell him i have to leave to meet a friend for his bday.

    Head back to Sar's cafe and she is now outside w/ her friends at a table. Say 'bonjour' and go to John and Maria at the bar. Hang for a while, she comes in and out, is kind of hovering about (which is when i got her name - with some translation from the Romanian)..

     

    10/12, Sunday:

    Wake up and can feel the drinks from last night, yet again.

    Go out to mini-market and boulangerie, and even at 9am, it already feels mild out. Go back to hotel, check out, and am on the road by 10:00. By 10:30, i'm down to just my T-shirt (compared to the departure from Perigueux & Montignac where I had T-shirt, thermal, outer shirt, and hooded sweatshirt on for first hour or two).

    Once in the forest, the walk is lovely. 

    Trail overlooks the river down below. Very tranquil, no noise anywhere. 

    In and around Pinsac, though, and extending to "Pont de l'Ouysse" near Belcastel, the walk takes on its best, most picturesque leg - probably of the whole trip. Have lunch in Pinsac cemetery. It's too warm out. Hang there for 1/2 hour, think about how I'd like to spend a few days in Pinsac (maybe combined with Souillac) in the future, and head on. 

    Somewhere on today's route, the GR markers become quite infrequent. Numerous times I question whether i've left the trail - plus i wasnt using my map. Afterall, I was now a master trail-walker. 

    The rest of the walk (after Belcastel, where terrain changes from quiet woods and postcard picture villages to gravel trail among rocky cliffsides with no shade) becomes difficult. Beside the terrain change, my blisters have come back, shoulder & neck are aching, legs hurt, i'm tired, and water is running low. The 40 lbs of gear that I carry makes a huge difference.

    I cannot attempt hitching b/c the road still holds 14km to Rocamadour, where the GR has 6. Can't risk NOT getting a ride. I force myself to keep trekking and at one point come to a closed fence on the GR. There is a hostel. A "Beware the dogs" sign is on the gate as well. 

    I knock on the door for two reasons: to confirm that the trail continues beyond this gate, that i wont be walking into a dog pen, and also to ask for water. Success, as both needs are met. I drink one bottle there and take 3 more for the road. 

    The walk continues to be tough but I finally reach Rocamadour.

    I pass a 2-star hotel whose windows i can see into. It looks fine.

    Get the room, shower, and feel as though i'm getting sick from pushing my body too far after yesterday's drinking followed by today's walk. Head out to main strip and am basically limping and groaning. Get a cheese sandwich and croissant, then get a beer which i can barely put down. It's about 5pm. 

    This town marks the finish line of my walk, and couldn't have come a moment sooner. i'm shot.

    Head back to room but dont want to sleep b/c im afraid i'll be up for the day at 3am the next morning.

    Sit around, watch French TV, and go for another walk at 9pm. Climb the stairs, carved into the rocky cliffs, up to the chapels. I chose the right time b/c i had the places to myself. 

    Very old church, many candles lit, chants playing softly on speakers. 

    See the Black Madonna which i'm astonished to see is open to be touched (or taken, for that matter). Find a smaller chapel in the back which is amazing. It is HERE that the Black Madonna is. The other was a fake. I regret not having brought the camera on this night's walk.

     

    10/13, Monday:

    First thought upon waking up is that i don't know where the station is to catch my train to Paris. Station on ticket says "Rocamadour-Padirac". I look at the map and see that Padirac is about 8km NW of Rocamadour. Not good considering i thought my walking was done. I decide to walk the roads toward Padirac so I can attempt hitching. 

    At one point, a woman picks me up and says, while we're driving, that she thinks Paris-bound trains leave from Gramat, which is 9km south of where we are. We pass a train station and keep going. Soon she lets me off and I decide I will walk to Alvignac - a town midway between Rocamadour and Padirac. There I can get more info, I hope. 

    But then I change my mind and decide to go back to that train station that we passed a short while ago, just to make sure it's not my station. Ten minutes later i find it, and sure enough, it's the Rocamadour-Padirac station. i'm relieved to know where my station is, but now i have 13 hours to kill before the 12:25 (midnight) train arrives. I walk the 3km to Alvignac where I figure i can while away the hours. 

     

    Get there, though, to find not much at all happening. Go to a cafe and order a sandwich. i tell the people that i am a vegetarian, so cant have any meat. then i add that i don't want any butter, which is standard on their sandwiches.. no meat, no butter? i'm sure they find this odd. 

    i eat slowly then leave. Only there's nowhere else to go - not to mention my body still hurts. I wander up and down the main street. Eventually, i go back to the cafe and have 2 beers while catching up on these notes. Again, though, I leave the cafe. I notice them giving me some glances. I roam about, sit on curbs for an hour at a time. there's nothing to do.

     

    As much as i don't like the idea, i realize i'll have to go BACK to the cafe for a third time (after theyve seen me pass in front of it, back and forth, numerous times). 

    So i do. i try to explain through broken french and hand gestures that i'm taking a late train to paris and have a few hours to kill, and i'd like to stay there as late as possible. she seems to get it. i go to the bathroom and can hear her explaining to the others my situation. i'm sure they were asking who this guy was, walking around all day with a backpack, who has a black arm and doesn't speak french.

    i have several beers and read over the course of a couple hours. watch some tv there. soon, all other patrons are gone and i'm afraid the family is hanging around solely for my sake. 

    I ask them to get me a cab, and they say the father will drive me to the train station on his way to rocamadour. he and his son/grandson take me and leave me at the train station at 9:15pm. 

     

    the place is relatively deserted. there is a shelter, with a bench, but no employees. no street lights on roads outside. nothing really nearby. i wonder what i'm going to do for over 3 hours in this room. i open a can of beer from my backpack and drink it. i sit on the bench for 15 minutes, then i get up and pace for a minute, then i go outside for a minute. i hear rustling coming from the darkness outside the station, near some dumpsters. it sounds like a person walking on the fallen, dry leaves. this doesn't scare me so much as make me wonder who the hell would be roaming around in the pitch black by dumpsters outside a deserted train stop. no one comes out, but i know whoever is there can see me b/c of the light from inside the station. 

    I go back in and stroll out the other side, by the tracks. i hear another noise, in a different direction. Some type of animal by the tracks in the bushes. it sounds loud, but i figure this is only b/c it's dead quiet and any noise would be amplified out here. As i turn to go back into the station, a stray dog walks in from the opposite side - the side with the dumpsters.

    I pet him and become friends with him and decide that it must be he who is the one rustling around outside, not a person. 

    this is good to know, b/c for over 3 hours i hear the rustling and i no longer have to question what it is. i never see him again, though, only hear him. 

     

    10pm comes, 11pm, 11:30. it would make me feel better to see someone else at the station, not for safety but just so i'd feel more confident that there IS, indeed, a train scheduled to come. the fact that no one ever shows up - even as late as 12:15 - makes me wonder. by 12:20, i grab my stuff and stand by the tracks. i see no lights in the distance, hear nothing. 12:24 comes and i see no sign of anything. now i start to worry b/c i have no plan B. if no train comes, i will have to sit in the station until the sun comes up, plus it will completely wreck my Paris plans. 12:27 comes and still no train and i don't know what to think, but finally, thank god, a train is coming. i get on and take a seat.

    sleep intermittently - maybe for a total of 2.5 hours - throughout the ride. that is my night's sleep. 

     

    10/14, Tuesday:

    i arrive in paris just before 7am. get off train and get croissant and tea in station. 

    catch a subway to other side of the city, where i walk along the seine for a while until i reach Eiffel tower.

    wait in line for 45 minutes to take an elevator to the top. hang out for ten minutes. walk on some more. pass some sites - the louvre, notre dame. take some pictures, buy some postcards. after hours of roaming about, at about 2pm, i go to a tabac and order a beer.

    sit outside to fill out postcards.. beer is warm, and costs 8 euros! i guess i'm now that tourist who gets ridiculously overcharged.  continue on toward 13th district toward my B&B, but these damn maps aren't drawn to scale, with any roads less than blvds or avenues left out,  and the streets are all diagonal that i have trouble getting there.. eventually find it, and the room is really nice.. clean and modern. has a radio, tv, dvd player if i want them. clean bathroom. personal decoration, rather than hotel room stuff, and the best part is the solarium / deck.   

    i shower, change, put on some classical music and sit in the solarium with the door to the deck open, while drinking a tripel style beer that i picked up on the way here. relax there for a little while, then decide i have to head out again b/c my time in paris is very limited..

    i walk the streets, jumping here and there into bars for a beer. nothing is really blowing my mind here. not one place seems worth staying in for more than one drink. walk and walk, and eventually go back to the room where i watch some tv and go to sleep..

     

    10/15, Wednesday:

    wake up at 9am and have breakfast downstairs. it would be very difficult for any B&B to match the experience at Tayac, including the food, but this place does a really good job too. again with the fresh bread and croissants, local jams, cheese, tea, orange juice.. just like at the other place, i realize i'm full at some point, but cant stop eating b/c it's all so good.

    i leave a short while later with all my stuff and set off to see more sites..

    first stop are the catacombs under the streets of paris.. didn't pay much attention to the details, as i walked right by all the informational signs to get to the heart of it, but something about cemeteries' worth of bones were moved here, underground for some reason. the 'innocents' from some event or another.. anyway, thousands of bodies worth of skulls and bones make up walls of these underground caves.. i was surprised by two main things:

    first that there were this many, i was expecting maybe one room, but the corridors go on and on and on.

    second, that nothing was roped off. you could just pick up the skulls and bones, which i did.. pondered on the fact that i was holding the skull of someone who lived 250 years ago.. strange.

    after that, i took the subway to another side of the city.. went to Moulin Rouge to take some pictures for dad, since he liked the movie.. 

    i then consider going to a show there later in the evening.. it's quite expensive, about $150 per ticket, but i figure that i'm not in Paris all that often.. 

    i have a beer in some cafe, then walk up to the Sacre Coeur.. walk about inside.. i must've been inside almost ten churches on this trip.. go down a hill and buy some bread, cheese, and wine.. eat and drink on a bench.. it's been overcast since arriving in paris yesterday morning which i think is affecting my outlook on the city.

    at this point i decide that if i'm going to go to the 11pm show at Moulin Rouge, i should go to my airport hotel -  a 'Paris Hilton' - to drop my bag, shower, etc., before coming back to the city to have some beers and get my ticket.. turns out the train to hotel is a 40 minute ride and is more money that i had hoped. 

    the room in the hotel is really nice. just like in the B&B, i wonder if i should just skip going out and take advantage of the nice lodging.

    but, i decide to go back to paris.. i ask the clerk at the train station what time the trains stop running out here, from paris, and he says at midnight.. that pretty much rules out a show at the moulin rouge, which sucks, b/c i was now looking forward to it..

    go back anyway, and do nothing good.. eat a little, walk around, and say 'goodbye' to paris.

     

    10/16, Thursday:

    check out, shuttle to airport.

    flight to madrid is very turbulent. for one second, i think i even move beyond fear to acceptance of death. 'But', I thought, 'if the plane goes down, at least it will have been after my trip in France'.

     

     

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• Prague Unanswered Prague Unanswered

  • From: reneevenegas
  • Description:

    During and after every vacation my husband and I always ask each other a lot of questions that start with why. Why don't we travel at this time of year? Why are we trying something we know we will hate - repeatedly? Why don't we stop for a great coffee? Most of the time we have answers to our own rhetorical questions. But, after our recent trip to Prague we were left with a few unanswered questions. Maybe others have had these or similar questions run through their minds too.

    1. Unclean Prague

    Prague has been open to the world for 10 years and has been a hotspot for tourists ever since. That means millions of dollars, euros, etc. have poured in, but yet many of the sites are still full of the grime and blackened by years of neglect. Why have these been neglected? But then again, would I want to see a shiny brand new Prague? I don't think I do. There is something moving in seeing Prague as it was before the curtain fell. Seeing sites as they saw their city during all those years of hardship. Completely shiny Prague would be having tourists miss the Prague of the past, and these sites serve as a reminder of what it has overcome.

    2. Budweiser

    Admittingly, we are beer snobs. Well not beer snobs, just not American beer fans for the most part. The day my husband comes home with a pack of Bud, Bud Light, or a similar brand I will know he has suffered from taste amnesia. So, when we saw signs in Prague for Budweiser we had to find out about it. To find out Czech Bud is the original Bud was a little frustrating. Then to taste it was more than a little frustrating. Why has (the former) American beer stolen the name and changed such a great tasting beer into a cheap American counterpart? Why did the Czech company not defend its name and honor to the death? Sipping this Czech brew made me gain a new respect for Bud - well, at least the Czech variety!

    3. Speaking of Beer

    I guess I should clarify who is the beer snob - the male counterpart of our household. While I willingly have a pint now and then, I will most of the time opt for another fizzy beverage - soda. It was almost funny the price discrepancy between my little Coke and his large beer. There wasn't so much a price discrepancy as there was a quantity difference. However, this is not the greatest mystery when it comes to foreign drink. Yes, I want to keep my bottomless soda at every American restaurant. The real question is - Why don't American restaurants jump on board with this wonderfully cheap (and delicious) beer price? Prague is like a happy hour every hour!

    4. Speaking of Food

    Being a native Californian turned east coaster, we have been a little disappointed (to say the least) about the lack of quality Mexican food. Plus, I should insert the fact that my husband is half Hispanic and homemade Mexican food was pretty easy to come by back home. However, when we came across the Cantina in the Little Quarter in Prague we just had to laugh. We walked by it several times, and each time it was completely full. It was the only restaurant that was totally full. Finally, on the last night, we were full to the gills with goulash and wanted to try something else. One last time we walked by the Cantina, and it was the only time we had to wait for a seat in a restaurant - even in October! During our meal, we were forced into hysterics. Why does Prague Mexican food, made by Czechs, taste just as good if not better than east coast Mexican food? This made us laugh all the way back to our hotel.

    5. Fog Keep You In

    Flying into Prague was delayed by an hour due to thick fog. Having totaled my parents car in thick fog, I felt it was best to stay on the ground. However, once in Prague, we weren't going to let it stop us from taking in as much as we could. Three out of four nights a layer of mist and fog would settle over the city making the view up to Prague Castle a little shrouded. But, not to be deterred, we trudged forth anyway. In the evening, we walked all the way from New Town to Castle Hill and were pleasantly surprised - it was nearly empty!While it didn't make for great photos on my point-and-shoot camera, it was amazing to feel like the castle was ours. Why don't most tourists come out into the fog and mist? At times we felt like we were trespassing, because we were that alone. Prague was all ours. It was all ours as we walked our domain on Castle Hill and lucky enough, a wonderful coffee was awaiting at a nearby cafe.

    6. Tourist Sites Suck Us In

    There is a need I have to make sure I see all or most of the recommended sites, even if they were slightly tacky or useless. What if I never make it back to Prague? I have to see it all. Hence, the astronomical clock in the Old Town Square. It was not sufficient to just see it. I had to wait around for 20 minutes while hundreds of others were drawn to the wonderful mystery of a chiming cuckoo clock. When it was over, and people were done clapping, my husband and I just shook our heads in wonder. WHY? That is all I could say. Why did I just spend 20 minutes of my vacation waiting and watching, when there are small Cokes to drink and good Mexican food to be eaten?

    
    While these are questions with variable answers, this is why we love to travel. We love discovering things not always found in guide books, online, or previously answered by someone else. But, the more questions I have the more I realize I must travel. I need to answer more questions and more importantly, I need to never stop asking.

     

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  • 2 years ago
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• The Day We Couldn't Get There The Day We Couldn't Get There From Here

  • From: rdon47630
  • Description:

    Some trips you just can't seem to get where you want to go no matter how many sideroads you take. This day was like that because the White River was literally everywhere. lol. The day started out wonderful we took a few sideroads off of Hwy 57 headed up to my favorite counties of Martin, Lawerence, and Orange counties.
    Along the way we found these awesome old buildings. This country store is still in operation in the small town of Stendal Indiana. Next to it we saw this other building that I thought was interesting.
    We saw a historical site marker and of course we went in search of the historical spot. At the edge of a cornfield, we saw this marker. It read: Burr Oak School/ 1903-1939/Burr Oak and Buffalo presided over this land. Then came a school for lives to grow and minds to understand./ In front of this marker embedded in the concrete was a plaque that read: Time capsule to be opened 2039. WOW interesting bit of history there.
    
    What you see here is a small cabin with a cook pit next to it. Nothing special right? until you realize that its only about 5ft tall notice the house in the background upper right. It was so cute and so exact I had to take a picture of it. Someone spent a lot of time on this. On the subject of architecture. Look at the pattern of the shingles on this house. Absolutely stunning.
    
    Like I have said before, you never know what you might find exploring backroads.
    
    Eventually we ended up to the white river. Several places we tried to cross but had to turn back. What follows are scenes from this.
    
    Doesn't look deep does it? Remember only a foot of rushing water on a roadway can lift your tires up enough to wash your vehicle off the road. As they say...Turn around...don't drown.
    
    
    
    This fellow's mother was on the same side of the water as we were. He was going to wade across and then drive her to his home which is about a quarter mile up the road at the top of the hill from here. As you can see, once he got out there, he thought better of it and turned around much to his mother's relief.
    
    As we wandered through the backroads, we found ourselves at Williams Dam in Williams Indiana. I've never seen the water up so high.
    What you see here are actually playground and basketballs plus a 55 gallon drum at the bottom of the falls churning in the water.
    
    
    
    
    Of course being so close to Williams and on our way home, we went across the Brooks Bridge. This is the longest and oldest covered bridge still open in Indiana. I love it, but won't drive across it. Tom has to drive at this point. lol
    As the sun was getting low in the west, we came across these two deer feeding in a cornfield. What a perfect end to the trip.
    
    
    
    

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  • 10 months ago
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• Independence's Day Weekend in Independence's Day Weekend in Japan

  • From: dni
  • Description:

    For July 4th, Raymond gets 4 and a half days off. Yep, your tax dollars hard at work -- paying for our very patriotic trip to the old capital of another country. List of cities on our agenda this time is Himeji, Kyoto, Nara, and a quick lunch stop in Kobe. Since this trip took place almost 4 months ago, I will do my best to include the details of our trip. Here we go...

    
    

    July 1st, Wednesday afternoon, Raymond and I picked up our rental car and headed out of town, but we got lost, and ended up very hungry at a near by shopping center an hour later and decided we'll have dinner first. Now that our stomach is full, we headed up north on the express way.
    
    
    
    
    

    Himeji is located in the Hyogo Prefecture, south of Kyoto, and it's one prized treasure is it's Himeji Castle. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, and the best example of a true Japanese Castle. In fact, after seeing this castle, pretty much all other castles seemed less impressive. The castle was built in 1346, but was badly damaged in the 1600s, so it was restored and expanded to the current seven story castle. It is so awesome that when Tom Cruise shot The Last Samurai, it took place here.

    
    

    
    
    Our first full day, we decided to tackle the castle first. The grounds was like a maze, and as you wind through the maze up hill, you'd eventually reach the magnificent castle. From it's top story, you could see the rest of the Himeji city, surrounded by mountains and ocean. This was a definitely a place to build your castle to defend your ground from invaders. Before you enter the place, you are required to remove your shoes. Then an old Japanese lady hands you a plastic bag to hold your shoes in while you're inside. At the end, you return the plastic bag to another old lady, where she then folds the used bags very neatly into a flat new-looking plastic bags to be reused. Wow, I wonder how much they pay for that job.

    
    

    With our Himeji castle tickets, we acquired a combo ticket for the near by Kokoen Garden. The garden was absolutely lovely and huge, and has nine individually themed gardens. We arrived early morning, so there was barely anyone there, except for about 30 employees working diligently on spurning the trees. The place was tranquil and peaceful, we strolled around the garden through its many water falls with giant asian gold fishes.

    
    

    
    
    Continuing our journey, we headed north to Kyoto, the old capital of Japan prior to WWII. We selected a small Japanese style inn as our home base for the next 3 nights. This was the first time I've ever set foot in a Japanese styled hotel, and boy it is small. If I thought Japanese hotel rooms were small, this was even smaller. The room was sparsely furnished. A small table for tea, a water heater, plenty of tea bags, 2 cups, and mats for sleeping. That pretty much concluded all the things that were in the room.

    
    

    We didn't dwell and continued our sightseeing. Our first stop was Fushimi Inari Shrine. Inari is a fox like creature and is represented in shrines as a god. It is also the god of business, so many Japanese company donate money to this shrine. For example each of the torii below is donated by a particular Japanese firm, with the name of the company written on the side of the torii.
    
    
    
    

    The next day, we decided to visit a few of the famous temples and shrines. First stop Ninnaji, originally built in 886, but was destroyed in 1450s and rebuilt and expanded (sound familiar?) 150 years later. This temple was also the home to a line of imperial lineage, when an emperor retires, he often became a priest/monk, and here would be his home. This tradition carried on from 900 to almost 1900.

    
    

    

    
    

    Two of the prized possessions of this temple is its original hand painted screen walls and a beautiful zen garden. Here is where we decided to relax a bit, enjoy some of Japanese mocha (whipped powder green tea) and the view of this peaceful zen garden (reminds me of the last fight between Uma Thurman and Lucy Liu in Kill Bill Vol One).

    
    

    Next stop Ryoanji, meaning the Temple of Peaceful Dragon or Peaceful Dragon Temple as the literal translation. All of the names of the temple are written in Kanji or Chinese characters because Chinese language came to Japan along with Buddhism. A lot of the Chinese characters remained in their language, but Japanese also have their own set of alphabets.
    
    
    The temple was under construction when we visit, so a lot of the sites were closed off to tourists. However, its most impressive and famous site was not, and that was it's dry zen garden. A dry garden is basically a garden made of small pebbles/rocks, and this one was no different. The small pebbles are raked precisely in a particular direction or another to indicate the flow of water or qi (air). Maybe I lack inner peace to fully appreciate this beautiful garden, but it was kind of a disappointment. AKA, I don't get it.
    
    
    Of course, we saved our best sight for last -- Kinkakuji or more famously known as Golden Pavilion Temple. I was very excited to see this temple because this was the place where Ikkyusan studied as an adult zen master. Ikkyusan is a Japanese animation series that aired in China when I was little, and I watched it religiously everyday. So it was pretty cool to see this temple in real life. Plus, it's just a beautiful temple, and it doesn't hurt that the top two layers of this temple is built using pure gold leaves.

    
    

    
    
    
    Lunch, finally!!! We decided that we'd go all out and have a nice sit down lunch at somewhere fancy near the Imperial palace, but we ended up lost and walking in the opposite direction before finally finding the place suggested by our guidebook. When we arrived at Mankamero, they were about to shut down for lunch, but thankfully, we made it just in time for them to seat us at a nice, private room, facing their peaceful and lush garden.
    
    
    The hostess and waitress were all dressed in traditional kimonos, while they waited on us. Instantly, I felt we were underdressed for this place. There was no menu and no words were spoken, they began by serving us some tea and a fresh cold towel. Then the lady exited the room without ever turning her back on us, and then returned with some cold and fresh sashimi, jelly, and some rice. When she returned, once again no words were exchanged, except her absolute courteous gestures, she took out our emptied tray and immediately brought in more food. A straw basket with many different types of sushi and sashimi beautifully presented with a few maple leaves, a separate bowl of rice with a dash of sesame, and a bowl of miso soup. Once again she exited quietly without turning her back towards us.
    
    
    As soon as she left, Raymond and I chowed down the food. The texture of the sushi was wonderful, along with a few other things I can't name. The rice was flavored with sushi vinegar, and the miso soup had pieces of decorative "mystery stuff" in it. Everything tasted and looked so pleasing. I couldn't help but take pictures of EVERYTHING.
    
    
    
    
    
    The waitress came back in once more, refilling our sake and water, took out our emptied trays, and then brought back dessert this time. A quarter of grapefruit, but instead of actual grapefruit inside, it was grapefruit jello with a piece of cherry on top. It was just beautifully presented and what a novel idea! Made me want to do that when I get home. After we finished all of our food, we sat there and slowly enjoyed our tea and our view of the garden. It was so peaceful that I could have possible fallen asleep right there on the tatami mats. We signaled to have our bill brought to us, and it was a whopping ¥12000, but it was worth every yenny.
    
    
    Day 3, our agenda was to visit the near by city of Nara. It was once a rival with Kyoto as the imperial capital, but after year 800, it fell out of favor. The city is modeled after the capital of China, Xi'an (terra-cotta warriors) during the Tang Dynasty. Today, the city has also fallen out of favor as a tourist destination, but the city is currently promoting and many sites and parking is free - which is unheard of in Japan. Our first destination is Todaiji.
    
    

    

    
    

    Todaiji features a gigantic statue of buddha in its main hall. And when I say gigantic, I mean just the face of the buddha is 17.5 feet tall -- so it's gigantic. The rest of the temple ground features lots of intricately carved water fountains, where people can wash up (usually their hands) and cleanse their mouth by drink and spitting out the water from the fountain, and bronze lanterns hung low on the outside of the buildings. There's also a temple at the hill top overlooking the entire temple grounds. A nice place to take a rest and feel the breeze of the air.
    
    
    
    We took our time getting up on the last day of our vacation. Our agenda is to drive to Kobe to get some authentic French food for lunch before driving home leisurely back to Iwakuni. Kobe is a big city where there's a lot of foreigners, foreign architecture, and home to the insanely expensive kobe beef. We arrived in Kobe on a Sunday morning, and the place we had picked out for lunch was fully booked because Kobe is apparently a huge wedding destination for the rich Japanese. So every expensive foreign restaurant was catering a wedding or two. We thought we were out of luck, when we finally found one nice, quietly tucked away French restaurant that had an expensive wine list and good French-Japanese food. Bingo! And with that we concluded our first vacation in Japan.

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• Ronda, Spain Ronda, Spain

  • From: nature
  • Description:

    Ronda is an amazing city in the Spanish province of Malaga. It is situated 2,500 feet above sea level. The Guadalevin River runs through the city, dividing it in two and carving out the steep, deep El Tajo canyon upon which the city perches. Ronda was settled by the Celts in the 1400's.  The population is approximatly 35,000. We took public bus transportation on a frightening one lane road with two way traffic going up the steep mountain with no rails or barriers. The natives seemed comfortable with the ride but it was white knuckles time for me. Absolutely worth the trip though as the antiquity and architecture of the buildings was beautiful, and the complete openess and friendliness of the residents was a delight.  Ronda hosts the oldest bullfighting ring in Spain built in 1784 that is still in use. I don't recommend taking in a bullfight for the feint of heart. I am glad I experienced something that is so important to the Spanish culture, but I would not do it again.  

    Ernest Hemingway and Orson Welles spent many summers in Ronda as part-time residents of it's old town quarter called La Ciudad.  After Wells dies in 1985, his ashes were scattered in a Ronda bull-ring.

    There was a population of Jewish people in Ronda before the Jews were expelled from Spain in 1492.

    History abounds here. If you ever make a trip to Spain, be sure to visit Ronda.

     

  • 1 year ago
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• #1 Tuk-Tuk driver in Hanoi, Vi #1 Tuk-Tuk driver in Hanoi, Vietnam

  • From: LadyTraveler
  • Description:

    During my visit to the Old Quarter in Hanoi, I spent hours just walking the maze of streets.  I was just too tired to try to my way back to my hotel in the Old Quarter.  So, I flagged down this gentleman to take me to my hotel.  He was charming and we tired to talk to one another.  It was about a 15 minute ride to my hotel and he allowed me to take his picture when we arrive.

  • 1 year ago
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• Basket Seller - Old Quarter, H Basket Seller - Old Quarter, Hanoi, Vietnam

  • From: LadyTraveler
  • Description:

    Just as I was walking out of my hotel in the Old Quarter in Hanoi, I saw this lady seller her baskets from her bike.  There were several local ladies around her buying them.

  • 1 year ago
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